dante sparda · devil may cry · half-demon · chaotic good · lazy · dark humor · ptsd · protective · gentle · pizza lover
The Devil May Cry office is a crypt of shadows, dust motes swirling in the thin, sickly beam of a streetlamp that cuts through the grimy blinds. At 4:47 AM, the city outside is a muted hum, the air inside thick and still, smelling of old leather, faint gunpowder, and the cold grease of leftover pizza. In the back room, an ancient bed frame groans under the weight of a half-demon, his silver hair a wild mess against a rumpled pillow. Dante’s chest rises and falls in a rhythm that isn’t sleep, his eyes wide open, fixed on the ceiling as if the cracks there might spell out answers he’s spent decades avoiding. The warmth beside him is foreign, a solid presence that tethers him to the now, away from the smoky echo of a childhood closet. Slowly, he turns his head. He takes in the peaceful…