[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.]
[Nero recognizes that glance-away maneuver, knows it intimately. Honestly, every time he looks at Vergil and sees one of his own mannerisms unconsciously mirrored, it dawns on him once more, in sharper relief. But now that he's said it aloud, it's easier to think it without dodging around the word, or using his name, or tripping over a far too stuffy "father." This is his dad. And for the first time, he can admit that he means it as more than a bland descriptor. Vergil is his dad. He wants to be. He's fighting to be. And Nero wants him to be, too.
A quick swipe at his eyes isn't enough to fully hide the tears, but it takes care of most of them. With another snort he's through the worst of it, and he can even vaguely look in Vergil's direction again. Seeing him struggling with his own emotions hurts, but in the good way. Like stretching a sore muscle to the point it finally relaxes.
Then, for lack of a better description, Vergil can't hold back anymore and bursts forth an explosion of poetry. Nero smirks the moment he recognizes it, thinking fondly of V and his inscrutable soliloquies. Only this time, he recognizes it from somewhere else.]
William Blake, right?
[He reaches over and clasps Vergil on the forearm, a gesture of affection that isn't too over-the-top and doesn't require Nero getting up from his chair. Mostly because if he somehow coerces a hug from Vergil right now he's gonna fucking cry hysterically.
And with it comes a profound statement of understanding and empathy. The only thing he can really think to say to something like that.]
[Beneath Nero's hold, Vergil's arm turns just enough that he's able to return the gesture. His hold on Nero's forearm is firm, but it's fair from tight. There's no desperation, so much as it is a reflection of his words. And Nero's as well. Even if Nero is far more succinct. Vergil does not dismiss it out of hand because of its brevity or its simplicity. After all, it's not as though Vergil summoned a word of his own. Nero at least managed one. It pulls a faint, fond smile to Vergil's face. Well, that and Nero's recognition of the poetry he just recited. Vergil had his suspicions that Nero was reading his books after weeks of finding them just slightly off from where he left them and Dante not taking ownership of it as some sort of prank wherein he's testing to see how long it takes for Vergil to say something, but that confirms it.]
[He says nothing else beyond that, not feeling the need to, and leaves his hand there on Nero's arm for a moment or two longer before ultimately taking back his arm to gather up the empty takeout containers to dispose of them. He leaves the open container of dumplings still in the middle of the table for Nero, and his own unfinished hot chocolate. Vergil isn't particularly concerned about it getting cold as he won't likely be gone long enough for that.]
I should shower. And you... [he says, rising to his feet. Before he picks up his dishes as well to bring to the sink, he leans over far enough to gently ruffle Nero's hair. The gesture is equal parts affectionate and grateful.] You should finish with Blue Rose.
[Vergil may be far from an expert when it comes to firearms, but he knows Nero can't leave her half-cleaned like that.]
[They're not holding hands, they're... they're finding something that works for the both of them. Words don't come easily to either of them, and so they find ways to do without them. Borrow them. Communicate in other ways that they can both understand. That's been the name of the game so far, but... hard to deny that something about it must be working.
He takes a moment to trace it in his mind: the way it feels when his father squeezes his arm. The way it looks when he smiles at him. He's entirely memorized it by the time Vergil lets go.]
Yeah. I'm almost done. Two chambers to go.
[Then Vergil ruffles his hair in the same manner Dante always does. Nero doesn't swat at him, though... not yet. Maybe in another few times when it'll come across more facetiously bratty than as a rejection. Maybe when Nero isn't so enamored by the novelty he doesn't want to at all.]
[Vergil tosses the takeaway containers into the trashcan before rinsing his dishes off in the sink. He simply sets them in there for the time being rather than washing them for now. For as much grief as he receives over his fastidiousness, Vergil is occasionally capable of leaving behind a little mess. To deal with later, of course. But still. He's not about to lose sleep over an unwashed plate in the sink.]
I'll be up reading at least for a little while. See if your uncle decides to grace us with his presence tonight or not.
[That's not said as scathing or critical as Vergil might otherwise say it, but there is a weight to it all the same.]
[Vergil is often the last one to bed most nights. When he was in this apartment by himself, that pattern of staying up relatively late each night was just one he hadn't managed to give up just yet. For a long time, he's slept as much as he needed minimally, avoiding whatever nightmares may come to him and keeping certain he remained safe when there was no one else for him to rely upon in watching over him. But now? Now, Vergil knows there is some part of him that does not and cannot entirely relaxed until he knows Dante and Nero are at least settled in for the night when he's here. When he's with Mizu in her cabin, it's much the same with her. Even if they're not entirely asleep by the time he closes his eyes, it's enough to know whether it's Mizu or Dante and Nero that they're close by and they're within reach. They're safe.]
[So, despite the fact he hasn't grilled Dante about his whereabouts on the nights he doesn't come home, nor does he even really kick up a fuss that Dante doesn't seem to consistently inform anyone that he won't be home seeing as how he comes home the next morning no worse for wear, it still does not sit well with Vergil to have Dante out and his whereabouts generally unknown by the time Vergil knows he must sleep.]
[That's "I'm going to sleep in your room tonight" in not as many words. Sure, he could take the pullout since Dante's not around, but he doesn't want to get jostled awake in the middle of the night by a returning Dante when he gets in. If he gets in.
Maybe he's out at one of those all night clubs or something? That'd make sense.
Also maybe he just wants to sleep next to HIS DAD tonight, so there!
Vergil's niggling discomfort over Dante being out does not escape his notice, though.]
I can send him a message if you want. [He will not go on to suggest that Dante's fine or he shouldn't worry or anything to even imply such a thing. Nor will he remind Vergil that HE could send Dante a message if he wasn't so goddamn stubborn and old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, then resumes cleaning Blue Rose. Should only be another five or ten minutes before she's pristine.]
[Vergil moves from the kitchen over to his closet, sliding it open and pulling out his sleep clothes.]
That's not necessary, [he says on his way to the bathroom for his shower with a slight shake of his head.] Dante can take care of himself.
[...Vergil may be more convincing himself than Nero by saying that, but it's also not inherently untrue either. Both of them have been on their own for long enough that Vergil and Dante absolutely know how to look after themselves, and stay safe. There also just really isn't that much that could pose as a threat to either son of Sparda in Folkmore realistically speaking. So, there's probably nothing to really worry about, but... Well, he's just as intent on being the older brother that he always should have been to Dante as is to be a father to Nero, and Vergil simply does not believe in half-measures when it comes to anything. But he will at least avoid nagging his brother even through his son.]
[Disappearing into the bathroom for his shower, Vergil's glad to be out of his clothes more than anything else. They're mostly dry now, but it's never particularly comfortable remaining in clothes that were previously dampened or outright soaked by the snow. He's quick with his shower and readying for bed likely as Nero is finishing up with Blue Rose. Plucking one of his books from the shelf, Vergil returns to the table only long enough to pick up his hot remaining hot chocolate as a substitute for his nightly cup of tea before heading to bed. The hot chocolate ends up on the nightstand as he props his pillows against the headboard to comfortably sit up in bed and read. Since Nero intends to turn in, he turns on the light on the nightstand so the rest of the apartment can be darkened and Vergil's reading is less likely to bother Nero while he sleeps.]
[He almost argues that it's not a matter of taking care of himself, or anything of the sort. It just seems kind of stupid to sit around obviously bothered about Dante's whereabouts and yet refuse the easy, technological solution to that.
But hey, whatever. Nero will just message Dante of his own volition.
Vergil heads off to shower and Nero finishes up his cleaning, then neatly puts Blue Rose back together and stores her in her case. He packs up his cleaning supplies and turns off the relic, then heads into the kitchen to wash those dishes in the sink. By the time he's done, Vergil's out of the bathroom and he can head in himself.
He heads into the bedroom, teeth brushed, dressed down in a tank and boxers, and says nothing as he slips into bed on the other side of Vergil. Only then does he muster his courage and get out what he's been thinking ever since Vergil headed off.]
[Vergil glances over at Nero as he settles into his side of the bed. It's just a brief look as he turns a page, not interrupting his reading as his eyes return to the page once more before Nero's even fully reclined and settled. He's only brought to a halt when he hears that name, gaze immediately pulled from the words in front of him to the son lying beside him. Oh, it's so foolish the way his heart leaps into his throat upon hearing it, but... Well, it's not so small and simple a thing, is it? Not to a man who didn't dare hope for anything and set his expectations so very low.]
[He avoids staring at the boy, turning his gaze back to his book, but without any ability to read even if that were his intention. He merely stares at the pages before him, drawing a shaky breath as his vision blurs. Before Vergil can catch it, there's a soft plop against one of the pages, wetting one of the corners.]
[If he were asked, there is absolutely no way Vergil could possibly articulate the swell of emotion he feels in his chest. The moment he knew Nero was his son, that was simply it. He loved Nero beyond words, beyond anything or anyone he's ever loved before. There was no real choice in the matter, Vergil thinks. Each day that he's gotten to know him better has only solidified and strengthened those feelings even further. Vergil lives less and less solely for himself, and it feels that his continued survival through everything that has happened to him, that he has brought upon himself, takes on a greater meaning and purpose. It was all in service of this. But he knows it's not that simple for Nero. He's grown up without a mother or a father. He's found family in his own way, and he doesn't really need Vergil. But it's been his choice to give Vergil a chance. It's been his choice to forgive him for his wrongdoings and his shortcomings. It's been his choice to accept him as his father, as his...dad.]
[He'd have to be an idiot not to recognize how much of a gift that is.]
[He swipes at his eyes with the back of one of his hands before wiping away some of the moisture from the page to avoid it wrinkling later. If there's a little sniffle, he'd deny its obvious existence. It's clearly just a sound from him adjusting his hold on his book again so he can reach over to Nero with the hand closest to him to run his fingers through his hair ever so gently just the once. Quietly, he says,]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
A quick swipe at his eyes isn't enough to fully hide the tears, but it takes care of most of them. With another snort he's through the worst of it, and he can even vaguely look in Vergil's direction again. Seeing him struggling with his own emotions hurts, but in the good way. Like stretching a sore muscle to the point it finally relaxes.
Then, for lack of a better description, Vergil can't hold back anymore and bursts forth an explosion of poetry. Nero smirks the moment he recognizes it, thinking fondly of V and his inscrutable soliloquies. Only this time, he recognizes it from somewhere else.]
William Blake, right?
[He reaches over and clasps Vergil on the forearm, a gesture of affection that isn't too over-the-top and doesn't require Nero getting up from his chair. Mostly because if he somehow coerces a hug from Vergil right now he's gonna fucking cry hysterically.
And with it comes a profound statement of understanding and empathy. The only thing he can really think to say to something like that.]
Ditto.
no subject
[He says nothing else beyond that, not feeling the need to, and leaves his hand there on Nero's arm for a moment or two longer before ultimately taking back his arm to gather up the empty takeout containers to dispose of them. He leaves the open container of dumplings still in the middle of the table for Nero, and his own unfinished hot chocolate. Vergil isn't particularly concerned about it getting cold as he won't likely be gone long enough for that.]
I should shower. And you... [he says, rising to his feet. Before he picks up his dishes as well to bring to the sink, he leans over far enough to gently ruffle Nero's hair. The gesture is equal parts affectionate and grateful.] You should finish with Blue Rose.
[Vergil may be far from an expert when it comes to firearms, but he knows Nero can't leave her half-cleaned like that.]
no subject
He takes a moment to trace it in his mind: the way it feels when his father squeezes his arm. The way it looks when he smiles at him. He's entirely memorized it by the time Vergil lets go.]
Yeah. I'm almost done. Two chambers to go.
[Then Vergil ruffles his hair in the same manner Dante always does. Nero doesn't swat at him, though... not yet. Maybe in another few times when it'll come across more facetiously bratty than as a rejection. Maybe when Nero isn't so enamored by the novelty he doesn't want to at all.]
You gonna go to bed after that?
no subject
[Vergil tosses the takeaway containers into the trashcan before rinsing his dishes off in the sink. He simply sets them in there for the time being rather than washing them for now. For as much grief as he receives over his fastidiousness, Vergil is occasionally capable of leaving behind a little mess. To deal with later, of course. But still. He's not about to lose sleep over an unwashed plate in the sink.]
I'll be up reading at least for a little while. See if your uncle decides to grace us with his presence tonight or not.
[That's not said as scathing or critical as Vergil might otherwise say it, but there is a weight to it all the same.]
[Vergil is often the last one to bed most nights. When he was in this apartment by himself, that pattern of staying up relatively late each night was just one he hadn't managed to give up just yet. For a long time, he's slept as much as he needed minimally, avoiding whatever nightmares may come to him and keeping certain he remained safe when there was no one else for him to rely upon in watching over him. But now? Now, Vergil knows there is some part of him that does not and cannot entirely relaxed until he knows Dante and Nero are at least settled in for the night when he's here. When he's with Mizu in her cabin, it's much the same with her. Even if they're not entirely asleep by the time he closes his eyes, it's enough to know whether it's Mizu or Dante and Nero that they're close by and they're within reach. They're safe.]
[So, despite the fact he hasn't grilled Dante about his whereabouts on the nights he doesn't come home, nor does he even really kick up a fuss that Dante doesn't seem to consistently inform anyone that he won't be home seeing as how he comes home the next morning no worse for wear, it still does not sit well with Vergil to have Dante out and his whereabouts generally unknown by the time Vergil knows he must sleep.]
no subject
[That's "I'm going to sleep in your room tonight" in not as many words. Sure, he could take the pullout since Dante's not around, but he doesn't want to get jostled awake in the middle of the night by a returning Dante when he gets in. If he gets in.
Maybe he's out at one of those all night clubs or something? That'd make sense.
Also maybe he just wants to sleep next to HIS DAD tonight, so there!
Vergil's niggling discomfort over Dante being out does not escape his notice, though.]
I can send him a message if you want. [He will not go on to suggest that Dante's fine or he shouldn't worry or anything to even imply such a thing. Nor will he remind Vergil that HE could send Dante a message if he wasn't so goddamn stubborn and old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, then resumes cleaning Blue Rose. Should only be another five or ten minutes before she's pristine.]
no subject
That's not necessary, [he says on his way to the bathroom for his shower with a slight shake of his head.] Dante can take care of himself.
[...Vergil may be more convincing himself than Nero by saying that, but it's also not inherently untrue either. Both of them have been on their own for long enough that Vergil and Dante absolutely know how to look after themselves, and stay safe. There also just really isn't that much that could pose as a threat to either son of Sparda in Folkmore realistically speaking. So, there's probably nothing to really worry about, but... Well, he's just as intent on being the older brother that he always should have been to Dante as is to be a father to Nero, and Vergil simply does not believe in half-measures when it comes to anything. But he will at least avoid nagging his brother even through his son.]
[Disappearing into the bathroom for his shower, Vergil's glad to be out of his clothes more than anything else. They're mostly dry now, but it's never particularly comfortable remaining in clothes that were previously dampened or outright soaked by the snow. He's quick with his shower and readying for bed likely as Nero is finishing up with Blue Rose. Plucking one of his books from the shelf, Vergil returns to the table only long enough to pick up his hot remaining hot chocolate as a substitute for his nightly cup of tea before heading to bed. The hot chocolate ends up on the nightstand as he props his pillows against the headboard to comfortably sit up in bed and read. Since Nero intends to turn in, he turns on the light on the nightstand so the rest of the apartment can be darkened and Vergil's reading is less likely to bother Nero while he sleeps.]
no subject
But hey, whatever. Nero will just message Dante of his own volition.
Vergil heads off to shower and Nero finishes up his cleaning, then neatly puts Blue Rose back together and stores her in her case. He packs up his cleaning supplies and turns off the relic, then heads into the kitchen to wash those dishes in the sink. By the time he's done, Vergil's out of the bathroom and he can head in himself.
He heads into the bedroom, teeth brushed, dressed down in a tank and boxers, and says nothing as he slips into bed on the other side of Vergil. Only then does he muster his courage and get out what he's been thinking ever since Vergil headed off.]
G'night. Dad.
no subject
[He avoids staring at the boy, turning his gaze back to his book, but without any ability to read even if that were his intention. He merely stares at the pages before him, drawing a shaky breath as his vision blurs. Before Vergil can catch it, there's a soft plop against one of the pages, wetting one of the corners.]
[If he were asked, there is absolutely no way Vergil could possibly articulate the swell of emotion he feels in his chest. The moment he knew Nero was his son, that was simply it. He loved Nero beyond words, beyond anything or anyone he's ever loved before. There was no real choice in the matter, Vergil thinks. Each day that he's gotten to know him better has only solidified and strengthened those feelings even further. Vergil lives less and less solely for himself, and it feels that his continued survival through everything that has happened to him, that he has brought upon himself, takes on a greater meaning and purpose. It was all in service of this. But he knows it's not that simple for Nero. He's grown up without a mother or a father. He's found family in his own way, and he doesn't really need Vergil. But it's been his choice to give Vergil a chance. It's been his choice to forgive him for his wrongdoings and his shortcomings. It's been his choice to accept him as his father, as his...dad.]
[He'd have to be an idiot not to recognize how much of a gift that is.]
[He swipes at his eyes with the back of one of his hands before wiping away some of the moisture from the page to avoid it wrinkling later. If there's a little sniffle, he'd deny its obvious existence. It's clearly just a sound from him adjusting his hold on his book again so he can reach over to Nero with the hand closest to him to run his fingers through his hair ever so gently just the once. Quietly, he says,]
Goodnight, Nero.