[The words leave Nero so casually that for a brief moment, it doesn't exactly register what Nero said at first. Vergil huffs a soft sound, quietly amused and perhaps even a touch pleased at the similarities between them. It has, after all, been a bit difficult for Vergil to really see much of himself in Nero. Outside of his temper at least. That much is quite obvious. But then it actually registers what Nero said and Vergil does a double-take.]
[You really are my dad.]
[There's never really been a distinction for Vergil. Father is just as much of a term of endearment as it is a sign of respect rather than a word to keep one's distance or signal a sense of detachment (or often resentment in Dante's case). But he knows Nero does not hold the same perspective. That much is obvious in how Vergil's name is often used to keep him at a safe distance while not denying him as a person. Father is a term that reflects fact and a position more than a person. Not to say that there is no emotion, no connection behind it whatsoever, but it's colder than just using Vergil's name instead. Dad, on the other hand... Even as a descriptor like this...? It's... Well, it's just...]
[It's for just a moment, but Vergil has forgotten how to breathe. Or perhaps he was too frightened to breathe because if he did, some illusion would shatter and he'd realize he misheard Nero after all, and it was merely wishful thinking in the end. But he breathes when he remembers it or perhaps the air in his lungs simply needs to move. Whatever the case may be, he breathes and nothing changes. Not in an unpleasant way, in any case. Not really. Even if stings a bit on that next breath, the air feeling sharper than it did a moment ago and he has to blink back uninvited emotion welling up in his eyes that he makes no direct acknowledgment of beyond looking away from Nero for a moment again.]
[Since learning of Nero's existence, Vergil hoped that Nero might make the allowance for him to be part of his life. However, beyond not casting him completely aside, Vergil didn't allow himself to envision what it might look like. Some of that was arguably due to a lack of imagination, but the real reason for it was the hope. Vergil could not allow for himself to hope because it would have been his ruin. Oh, if Nero could not have found it within himself to give Vergil the chance or to forgive him, it would have been awful. There is no scenario in which Vergil could find that ideal or anything less than terrible, but he could have lived with it. Provided that he did not allow himself hope, he could have done exactly as he said a moment ago and still refused to abandon Nero even while being kept at such a distance that the gulf between them is ultimately insurmountable.]
[He could not if he allowed himself to hope.]
[But he feels it now, and it's what took his breath away and brought unspent tears to his eyes as for the first time, a future feels all the more within his reach for the first time in... Well, he doesn't know exactly how long. But it's something he knows with every fiber in his being that he will do everything he can to fiercely protect it, no matter what it takes. Which feels so alien to Vergil as everything at once feels so large and overwhelming, and yet so quiet and simple all at once.]
[He doesn't know what to say, but it's not a loss of words that comes riddled with anxieties he's about to say the wrong thing that could spoil it all. No, it's a decidedly much better way to be rendered speechless. He draws another breath before he tries to speak, gathering enough of himself to borrow words in lieu of his own.]
I have no name. I am but two days old, [he recites, which Nero may very well recognize the lines from one of Vergil's books.] What shall I call thee? I happy am. Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee.
Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee; thou dost smile. I sing the while sweet joy befall thee.
[He doesn't know if Nero will understand it. There's a good chance he won't given the times his nose wrinkled whenever V would recite lines of poetry. But it's close enough to an explanation and perhaps better than just grunting back and forth that he very well might.]
no subject
[You really are my dad.]
[There's never really been a distinction for Vergil. Father is just as much of a term of endearment as it is a sign of respect rather than a word to keep one's distance or signal a sense of detachment (or often resentment in Dante's case). But he knows Nero does not hold the same perspective. That much is obvious in how Vergil's name is often used to keep him at a safe distance while not denying him as a person. Father is a term that reflects fact and a position more than a person. Not to say that there is no emotion, no connection behind it whatsoever, but it's colder than just using Vergil's name instead. Dad, on the other hand... Even as a descriptor like this...? It's... Well, it's just...]
[It's for just a moment, but Vergil has forgotten how to breathe. Or perhaps he was too frightened to breathe because if he did, some illusion would shatter and he'd realize he misheard Nero after all, and it was merely wishful thinking in the end. But he breathes when he remembers it or perhaps the air in his lungs simply needs to move. Whatever the case may be, he breathes and nothing changes. Not in an unpleasant way, in any case. Not really. Even if stings a bit on that next breath, the air feeling sharper than it did a moment ago and he has to blink back uninvited emotion welling up in his eyes that he makes no direct acknowledgment of beyond looking away from Nero for a moment again.]
[Since learning of Nero's existence, Vergil hoped that Nero might make the allowance for him to be part of his life. However, beyond not casting him completely aside, Vergil didn't allow himself to envision what it might look like. Some of that was arguably due to a lack of imagination, but the real reason for it was the hope. Vergil could not allow for himself to hope because it would have been his ruin. Oh, if Nero could not have found it within himself to give Vergil the chance or to forgive him, it would have been awful. There is no scenario in which Vergil could find that ideal or anything less than terrible, but he could have lived with it. Provided that he did not allow himself hope, he could have done exactly as he said a moment ago and still refused to abandon Nero even while being kept at such a distance that the gulf between them is ultimately insurmountable.]
[He could not if he allowed himself to hope.]
[But he feels it now, and it's what took his breath away and brought unspent tears to his eyes as for the first time, a future feels all the more within his reach for the first time in... Well, he doesn't know exactly how long. But it's something he knows with every fiber in his being that he will do everything he can to fiercely protect it, no matter what it takes. Which feels so alien to Vergil as everything at once feels so large and overwhelming, and yet so quiet and simple all at once.]
[He doesn't know what to say, but it's not a loss of words that comes riddled with anxieties he's about to say the wrong thing that could spoil it all. No, it's a decidedly much better way to be rendered speechless. He draws another breath before he tries to speak, gathering enough of himself to borrow words in lieu of his own.]
I have no name. I am but two days old, [he recites, which Nero may very well recognize the lines from one of Vergil's books.] What shall I call thee? I happy am. Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee.
Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee; thou dost smile. I sing the while sweet joy befall thee.
[He doesn't know if Nero will understand it. There's a good chance he won't given the times his nose wrinkled whenever V would recite lines of poetry. But it's close enough to an explanation and perhaps better than just grunting back and forth that he very well might.]