Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all characters involved belong to Capcom.
I don't know where this came from, really. Out of nowhere I had the overwhelming urge to write Agnus fanfiction.
What was love? A word? An excuse? Agnus had never believed in love.
Until he met her.
He had lost count of the number of years he had worked for The Order. His parents' faces had long faded from his memory. Childhood? Had he ever had such a thing? And yet, that one day was permanently imprinted in his mind.
It was spring. Birds twittered cheerfully, flowers were beginning to bloom, and Agnus cared not for any of it. He didn't even remember why he had been in the Opera House; there was very little indeed that could coerce him into turning his attentions from his research. Looking back, he felt grateful that he had gone that day. And at the same time, he wanted to impale whoever had caused him to be there on a flagpole, for she was his one weakness and he hated himself for it.
Her voice had brought tears to his eyes, stolen the breath from his lungs, evoked emotions he had never known, and in that moment everything he believed in had shattered like glass. Then he made the mistake of looking at her. To say his stomach had done a somersault would be a great understatement. A gymnastics routine might describe it better. He wouldn't know – he had never done either.
Agnus could not think of a simile or metaphor impressive enough to even begin to describe her. He doubted such words even existed. Who was she, this angel?
The answer to that question had been less than pleasant. He had heard rumours of her beauty and talent, but paid them little attention. He regretted that now. Perhaps if he had listened he would have know happiness sooner; had longer to bask in it's welcoming glow before it was snatched away from him again.
He felt his lip curl as he thought of the cold words that had torn his heart in two.
"You will never touch her, Agnus. My sister could never love you."
The threats, the abuse, none of that mattered to him. It had barely even registered. But those words, such cruel words, had destroyed him. They had destroyed him because he knew they were true. What could someone so perfect ever see in him, a stuttering, hideous monster?
A tear escaped his eye, and he cursed. How did she do this to him; make him so weak? Why did he, every night, fall asleep sobbing into his pillow at the memory of her voice? Such a sweet, innocent voice… He saw her every time he closed his eyes, her serene face gazing silently back at him from the depths of his imagination, and it was torture.
When he thought of the recipient of her affection, that pain turned to anger. That insufferable parasite was not worthy to breathe the same air as her, let alone… Sharply he directed his mind away from those thoughts. He couldn't bear to imagine what the fiend had already done to her.
Slowly Agnus moved to the window and gazed out into the night. The sky glittered tonight with stars, and he felt himself calm down slightly, soothed by the sight. Then he felt his eyes widen as he realised he was looking at a shooting star. He had never seen one before, but recalled the silly tradition regarding them. Such foolishness.
And then he thought of her. Was his longing for her not foolish too?
Agnus closed his eyes and did something he knew he would never do again; he wished upon a shooting star. He only needed one word.
Kyrie.
Constructive criticism is absolutely welcome. After all, practice makes perfect.
Might I just add; in my twisted mind, I am now convinced this is the reason for Agnus' dislike of Nero, and his apparent dislike of Credo.