Chapter Text
Vergil met Dante on a street corner one winter dusk.
“Met” wasn’t really the right word, though. Vergil had run into him too many times for that. After all, you can’t really “meet” the same person over and over on the same street in the same day—it sounds a bit off, even eerie.
Then again, the whole thing was pretty eerie to begin with. Not that an ordinary person would have noticed, given Dante’s skills. But Vergil was no ordinary person. So when he passed an alley and heard a sudden clatter inside, he knew it wasn’t just a stray cat scurrying away.
Or maybe, in a way, it was.
This particular “stray cat” had been following him all the way from his office to his home. He hid in the alleys along the route, rode on top of the approaching subway train, stepped across the glass tiles of skyscrapers, and lurked between shop windows. Vergil had known the whole time. He just pretended not to notice—maybe even found it a little amusing.
And precisely because he had turned such a blind eye, he wasn’t all that surprised when, just steps from his door, he was suddenly yanked into a dark alley, a sharp blade pressed against his neck. Vergil was shoved against the wall with a thud, the force brutally indifferent, making him frown.
He looked up into a pair of blue eyes, wary yet holding a certain warmth. Those icy blue eyes glared at him with intense pressure, as if they wanted to swallow him whole. For a moment, Vergil couldn’t tell if it came from sheer hatred or from the exact opposite.
“You don’t look surprised,” the other said, his voice cold and heavy with menace. Interesting.
Vergil smiled and raised a hand. The man’s body reflexively tensed up. But Vergil simply raised his hand further and pointed to the building behind them—his home.
“Want to come up?” Vergil’s tone was light, tinged with playfulness. “I could pour you a cup of coffee.”
The man was caught completely off guard, and Vergil knew his little act had succeeded perfectly.
***
Clang. When Vergil emerged wrapped in a pale blue blanket and actually set a cup of coffee down in front of Dante, Dante just kept staring at it. Vergil ignored him, settling into the seat opposite. He stirred his own steaming coffee and took a small sip. By all reason, he’d already had too much caffeine today—but Vergil didn’t care.
The other man still hadn’t gathered himself, so it fell to Vergil to speak first. “You’re a Dante from another world, aren’t you?” Vergil drank quietly from his cup a few times before speaking, his tone light. At those words, Dante’s head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes warily at Vergil.
Vergil studied him. Compared to the others he’d met, this Dante seemed more mature and colder. His brothers always carried an air of charming roguishness, a cynical, breezy confidence tinged with pride. No matter how those visiting Dantes felt about Vergil, they were always like that—it was practically Dante’s hallmark. But this one was different. Rather than try to fit him into any of those descriptions, it was better to discard the words altogether.
“This place is very different from your world, isn’t it?” Vergil waited a moment, but when Dante didn’t speak, he went on. “It seems so… ordinary. But perhaps because it’s so different, all sorts of versions of you end up visiting, curious to take a look.”
“If you really want to look around, I can take you on the weekend. I have work the next couple of days, though, so you’ll need to explore on your own first. It’s fine—you can stay here at my place.”
“What’s different about this world?” Dante finally spoke. He hadn’t touched his coffee. Instead, he sat stiffly, fists clenched, gaze locked on Vergil—as if Vergil might draw a weapon any second and he’d need to counterattack immediately.
Vergil realized this wasn’t a friendly visitor. He’d met all kinds of Dantes: some young and lively, some arriving in pairs. But this Dante seemed closed-off and subdued, his focus that of a lone wolf. He must have been wandering too long, Vergil thought, feeling a faint tinge of melancholy. That there could even be a Dante like this…
What story did you live through? How did you suffer, how did you weep, and how did you walk away in the end?
Still, he was Dante. Vergil knew he wouldn’t strike first, so he didn’t feel weighed down. “Hmm… completely different.” Vergil shifted his blanket. He’d changed into a black turtleneck; the blanket was draped loosely over his shoulders and arms, giving a very homey impression. “For example, your world here… is just a game.”
“My brother wrote it. He was the writer and lead producer.”
After speaking, Vergil lowered his gaze and took another sip of coffee, waiting for Dante to absorb the information. He admitted it wasn’t something easily accepted, so he simply waited. Now and then the coffee was too hot, and he’d blow softly at the white steam rising from the cup. Both slender hands came to rest around the mug, and Vergil looked out at the gloomy sky beyond the window.
It’s going to snow, he thought distantly.
“The Dante who belongs to you,” the man across from him finally spoke. He sounded deliberate. When Dante said it, his eyes seemed to darken further, something like an undercurrent swirling in their depths. Vergil turned back to face him. “Where is he now?”
Vergil raised an eyebrow. That was rare—to ask about his brother’s whereabouts instead of pressing for details about this world. Why the curiosity about him? Was he interested in his parallel self here? What was there to be interested in? Vergil couldn’t read this Dante’s thoughts, but his expression was utterly serious.
Where is he now? The thought made Vergil smile faintly. “He died a long time ago,” he said, his tone light, almost detached, as though stating a simple, impersonal fact.
Once again, Dante was caught completely off guard. He stared at Vergil, blinking slowly.
***
“……I see.” Dante finally replied. He leaned forward to pick up the coffee from the table—the first time since arriving that he’d looked away from Vergil. “My brother is dead, too,” he said, his tone passing over it lightly, as if it hardly mattered.
“Are you sure about that?” Vergil had heard this before; he was used to the looks travelers gave him. “From what I’ve seen, no Vergil ever truly dies. You could wait a little longer. He might still be waiting for you in the future.”
“He’s dead,” Dante said coldly. Vergil could tell he didn’t like the topic, but Dante explained anyway. “Soul scattered, the Yamato ground to dust. I killed him myself. There’s no coming back.”
Ah.
Vergil regarded him with a touch of surprise. But it was at that moment Dante turned his gaze away. Instead, he stirred his coffee, glaring at it as if it had personally wronged him. “…I’m sorry.”
Dante laughed at that—the first time he’d laughed since arriving. “Hearing you say that… feels so strange.” Dante shook his head with a faint, disbelieving smile, then looked back up at Vergil.
“This version of you… is weird.”
They always said that. He was weird, and Vergil was used to it—he understood why. After all, he’d met other versions of himself: some came with their Dante, others ended up here by accident. Those Vergils were haughty, aloof, contemptuous. Elegant, sharp, meticulously composed. By that measure, he really wasn’t like them.
But he hadn’t always been different. “I’m in my forties now,” Vergil tilted his head slightly. “If I still acted like that all the time, people would call me childish.”
He’d been surprised too, back when his brother designed him like that for the game. ‘That’s just how you are, Vergil. Remember all your ‘glorious deeds’ from school? Even the dean was afraid of you. I’d say you’ve earned the villain role.’ His brother had grinned, arm slung around Vergil’s neck as he pointed at the character on the screen. ‘How cool is this? Other than me, you’ll easily be the coolest one in the whole game. You’ll have loyal fans everywhere.’
Thinking of it now felt like flipping through yellowed old photographs. It was all so long ago.
“If you ever come to court to observe, you might recognize the work version of me better,” Vergil added. “My profession is lawyer.”
“Lawyer… huh.” Dante let out a soft sigh, as though he’d never imagined the two things could be connected. His brother—a lawyer. It almost sounded ironic. “The type who debates the whole room?”
“More evidence-focused. You know I don’t like wasting words.”Dante smiled again, nodding in agreement. “Mostly, just me standing there is enough to scare the majority of lawyers.”
Still smiling, Dante leaned back and sank into the sofa. “I can imagine,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. He immediately frowned, stared unhappily at the cup, then set it down heavily on the table.
Still loves sweets. Some things never changed, no matter what else might. Vergil noted it inwardly, a slight curve touching his lips. No matter how many times he’d seen it, that touch of appropriate childishness always felt… endearing.
Then they fell into silence again—though this time, it was the comfortable kind. Dante studied the room while Vergil closed his eyes to rest. He’d been busy all day; he really was tired.
“Well?” Vergil opened his eyes once he felt rested enough—time to get back to work. He stood and carried his coffee cup to the sink. “Decided? Do you want to stay here for a while?”
Dante looked at him, silent for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.
Outside the window, snow had begun to fall—the first snow of the winter. With tenderness, delicacy, and a care that held no coldness, it settled quietly over the streets and rooftops.
***
Rather than letting Dante wander on his own, the man had practically become his shadow. Vergil could sense him following at a distance during work hours—never too close, never too far. Whether it was distrust or simply because this Dante had lost his own brother and now sought to stay near him, Vergil didn’t mind either way. He quietly savored the time Dante chose to spend by his side.
On days when he worked in the office, Vergil would even tap on the glass window to signal Dante down—Dante always perched somewhere on the building’s platforms in ways Vergil couldn’t quite grasp, though then again, he wasn’t exactly bound by physics or gravity. Dante would appear almost instantly, head hanging upside down, hair tousled wildly by the wind—a sight that was almost comical.
Vergil offered him coffee, but Dante would shake his head until Vergil handed him chocolate instead. “If you want a sundae later, I can take you to the McDonald’s across the street during my break,” Vergil said. Dante gave him a strange look, silently accepted the chocolate, struggled for a long moment before mumbling a “thank you,” and then darted back so fast Vergil could hardly follow.
What kind of life did he live before coming here? Vergil wondered, putting his glasses back on and returning to work.
When the weekend arrived, Vergil finally had time to spend with his temporary guest. He knocked on the guest room door to call him for breakfast. Dante answered fully dressed, and Vergil glanced inside—the bed was neatly made, everything tidy and spotless. What a well-behaved Dante.
Dante stared at the omelet Vergil had made, then at Vergil himself, looking back and forth several times as though wanting to speak but holding back. Vergil let him be—this wasn’t the first Dante he’d taken in. Travelers were so used to hardship at the hands of their brothers that even simple kindness left them hesitant. Vergil didn’t blame them.
There was only so much he could do, anyway. Even if he wanted to stage some dramatic conflict, who was there to play the other part? Travelers came, and travelers left, returning to their own brothers. Vergil’s house stood empty most of the year, so having a visitor always lifted his spirits.
“…You cook well,” Dante managed, a rather strained compliment. He kept his head down, avoiding Vergil’s eyes, seeming somewhat uneasy.
“Only occasionally,” Vergil replied. For guests—he didn’t usually have the patience. “Then again, you’ve never really had anything good to eat.”
As planned, he would take Dante around today to see how different this world was. Vergil had already mapped out where to go—he was a planner by nature, unlike his brother, who lived on impulse. “You should buy some new clothes,” Vergil remarked. Dante paused. “Walking around like that, you look like you’re in cosplay. You’ll attract attention.”
“And don’t bring any weapons. It’s safe here.” At that, Dante’s eyes narrowed warily. Seeing his expression cool rapidly, Vergil amended, “You can carry a gun if you must, but don’t just take it out.”
“My clothes are fine,” Dante grumbled as Vergil locked the door. “My world’s modern too. I haven’t spent my whole life in the demon realm—most of it was in the human world.”
Vergil took out the car keys and opened the garage. “Modern in a game and modern in real life aren’t the same,” he explained. Dante made an impatient sound. “It’s fine if you don’t want to change. I won’t force you.”
But Dante fell silent then, watching Vergil’s back, looking even more at a loss.
Vergil lived in a big city, so getting to any bustling district was easy, and he was used to ignoring things like traffic jams. Seeing Dante’s impatient expression, Vergil actually smiled. “You know, if you tried riding a motorcycle over all these car roofs here, you’d get arrested.” Another Dante had already suggested that.
“I’d get arrested in my world too,” Dante shot back, still sulking over their earlier exchange. “I just don’t care—and they don’t dare to bother me.”
True enough, Vergil thought, recalling his brother’s game settings. “Sounds rather dashing.”
“You’ve lost all your edge here, Vergil,” Dante remarked coolly after they’d been stuck another ten minutes. “Become just one of the crowd. It doesn’t suit you at all.”
Hearing that, Vergil studied Dante for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. “This world is just thrilling in a different way,” he said. “You haven’t felt it because you haven’t been here long enough.”
“So thrilling it smoothed you right out?”
Vergil narrowed his eyes. Dante was provoking him—now that sounded like his brother. When he glanced over, Dante was watching him intently, waiting for his next move. He seemed to think they might actually fight here, and part of him seemed to expect it.
“…If you say so.” Vergil finally said, restarting the car as the road cleared. “It’s true, my world doesn’t have world-shattering catastrophes. You must find it boring.”
He didn’t want to explain. Vergil was always reluctant to explain, to argue, to waste words. Unless work demanded it, he preferred silence. He didn’t want to spell out this world’s crueler realities to Dante. For a visitor, it was enough to experience its quiet beauty and ordinary peace—even if he couldn’t understand it.
“Then I’ll stay longer,” Dante said suddenly. “Let me see what could make you like this—what kind of ‘thrilling’ you’re really talking about.”