Dante came to visit last night. It was surreal, to say the least. I wasn't expecting him, obviously. So I dithered around trying to clean up some of the mess around my place while he just stood in the door and laughed at me. I finally had to as well. I just told him to come on in, as usual. He went through the routine, left weapons, boots, gloves, coat and vest at the door, on respective hangers, then plopped down on the couch with a sigh. I wanted to ask what was wrong; the man look really stressed, but I figured he'd get to it when he was ready to tell me. I just kept my mouth shut and brought him a glass of tea, heavy on the ice.
I couldn't help but wonder what'd gone wrong; he usually comes around after a really tough mission, or one hard on his nerves. Most folks might think such impossible for the son of Sparda, but he's still human too. He hurts, cares, loves, and aches just as we all do. So much rides on his shoulders, though. It boggles the mind to think. Still, I try to do what I can to help him ease the stress; I'm insanely thrilled when he turns up at my door. He says it's just a good place, mine, better than that ramshackle pad he's got back home. I have to laugh and poke him, telling him he needs a remodel. He always agrees, but we both know he'll never do it, the lump.
But last night was a bit different; he took the glass and set it aside, holding up a hand for me to sit beside him. I'm not stupid, so I did. He looked over at me and said, as serious as anything, "Jayden, this job's gonna be the death of me." I could only blink. A sarcastic tease leapt to mind at first, but he didn't seem to be in a playing mood. I just sighed and leaned my head against the back of the couch. I had to ask. "Dante, what happened?" I wasn't surprised when he didn't answer right away. But finally he went into his monotone dialogue of the mission; seems on his plane he'd taken a routine call that turned nasty. Some idiot moron had made a deal with the demons and offered 'em as payment for something or other. I didn't really get the details and Dante didn't elaborate. I didn't really wanna know, actually. But the father had called the cops, who relayed the message to Dante. He'd been at another site and didn't get the call in time. He arrived at the specified place too late; the mother and kid had been butchered and ... feasted on. He glossed over, for which I was thankful. I just closed my eyes and wanted to cry so badly. Cause he wouldn't.
Not that he couldn't, but he wouldn't. Never let 'em see you cry. He's told me that countless times since I met him. It makes sense, but sometimes it's all right, and that's what I told him after he finished. I just reached over and took his hand, wanting to just … I don't know. Make him release some of that pain. Dante just stared at the wall, which is unimpressive, I'll admit, and said nothing. But his fingers curled around mine, nearly painful but I didn't say anything about it. Let him cling, if he would. I leaned my head on his shoulder and sighed. It was then that I felt it. He was oh-so-slightly shaking. I sat up, chiding softly, "Dante…" He turned and looked at me with those dark blue eyes, haunted with pain. "I can't, Jay. I just can't. It's too new, too fresh in my mind."
How I wanted to help him! But I couldn't. I didn't know how. And I was actually afraid to try. I mean, really, I'm next to nobody, good grief, a twenty-five year old nerd, with a fetish for blades and red leather. Which is why we get along so well, I reckon. But anyway, he just turned back to staring at the wall. I knew that really bothered him, he was so quiet and still. But he'd have to let it out in his own way. I was thankful, not to mention flattered, he'd shown up tonight. Me, I'd have gone home and hidden under the bed for the next decade or so. But I suppose that's why he does what he does. I sighed softly and curled my feet under me, leaning back against him, offering what comfort and solace I could. I even offered my red velour blanket. Not that significant, I know, but that's my favorite coverlet. He knew it and gave me a small smile when I draped it over us. I had the lamp on, so it was dark, cool and quiet in my apartment. Just how Dante liked it. Just how I liked it, too.
We sat there on the couch for about half an hour or so, not speaking, just sitting quietly. I could hear the strong beats of his heart, his steady deep breathing. The sounds were strangely comforting for a solitary creature as I am. It's not often I have company, but he knew he was always welcome here. Our fingers were still laced, his thumb slowly stroking over the back of my hand. So warm and comforting. I was slowly getting drowsy. I think I might have dozed off for a few minutes, because I heard him chuckle deep in his chest. "Did you hear me, Jayden?" I couldn't help but yawn, which made him laugh a bit. I grinned and sat up, blinking at him. "Nope," I answered. "What's up?" My stomach did that damnable fluttery thing when he lifted his other hand and pushed a bit of hair out of my eyes. "I said," he repeated, eyes earnest, "would it be all right if I stayed tonight?"