A/N: So, I decided to do that thing where you put your iPod on shuffle and write one-shots about the first song that comes up. I really hope this will help my writing and I hope you all will give me plenty of critique. Also, it should be really fun to have so many different things to write about, even if a difficult topic pops up. Writing long stories is fun, but I can sometimes get bored with one part; so I hope this will be enough entertainment that I can focus more on my multi-chapter stories. I may have to cheat sometimes, though. I have some weird stuff on my iPod that I can't even think of a story for. Lol Or if I happen to get two songs in a row by the same artist. I hope everyone enjoys this. Read and review, please! As always, excuse any typos. I have less and less time to proofread these days. If you see anything major, tell me and I'll fix it.

Possible Warnings: Language, Violence, Blood/Gore, Homosexuality(Yaoi/Yuri), Suggestive Themes, Ideologically Sensitive Material

Chapter-Specific Warnings: Language, Brief Suggestive Themes

Song: ATWA by System of a Down

Characters: Nero, slight bit of Dante

Disclaimers: I do not own any songs referenced in these one-shots. I also don't own Devil May Cry, its characters, environments, etc. Capcom does. I should really start putting disclaimers on all my stuff.

Every morning, every day was the same. Wake up, shower, dress, try to make himself presentable for another day of repetitive work that hardly paid enough. Nero struggled on a daily basis to make ends meet and the stress was starting to show. He didn't sleep anymore and was lucky to get in three hours of rest. He often had dark circles and bags under his eyes, blood vessels bulging, full to bursting and webbing across the whites in a tell-tale painting of his hardship. Even his usual cockiness had dissipated. It just wasn't possible; he couldn't muster the energy to be himself. Nero wasn't one of those people that blamed everything on everyone else, but this wasn't his fault. Kyrie had kicked him out without so much as a warning. She acted as if it didn't bother her in the least that he had absolutely no money and nowhere else to go. Her argument was that he had changed. Yes, he had changed, but for the better.

After meeting Dante and defeating Sanctus, Nero had been filled with utter confidence and was almost always ecstatic. He just went about life, happy and positive, making his–their lemons into the sweetest lemonade. He and Kyrie lived in the luxurious home that the once great general and dear brother to his lover, Credo, had left them, along with all the money he had when he died. Nero went out to work his usual position as a knight in the newly reformed Order while Kyrie worked a peaceful job in a cute little cafe that they both loved to eat at every week. Being just the two of them, they made enough money to indulge in material things. Nero didn't; there weren't many objects he could say he cared for, but Kyrie wanted to renovate their old home and that meant paint, décor, new furniture and much more. Nero didn't mind buying her things. He worked hard to buy her anything she wanted.

Nero busted his ass working nine-hour days and taking any overtime he could. He even left to participate in special missionary work, despite that he disagreed with the teachings of the church, just for the pay. The church's extreme involvement in Fortuna's government guaranteed that he would be paid even for things that seemed as if they should be entirely voluntary. Kyrie acted like she appreciated him. She would cook for him when she was home and bring him things home from the cafe. She kept the house nearly spotless, but left all his things as he liked. She was even compliant and daring enough to give him blow jobs on the rare occasions that he seemed a little worn out. That was as far as they had gotten in their new relationship and Nero was the kind of person to think that real, full-blown sex should have came first, but was he complaining? Absolutely not.

So, did he see it coming at all when she up and demanded that he move out?

Absolutely not.

She said that he had changed, but Nero knew the truth. Kyrie had said that she wanted him, regardless if he was a demon or not. But that was temporary. She apparently hadn't known what she was "getting herself into". Nero couldn't understand. He was absolutely enraged when it happened. He left the house that they had shared with bitterness in his heart and a slam to the expensive, imported doors hard enough to chip the jamb. All he had was a big, black, canvas duffel bag, stuffed full with all the clothes he had and anything else that he cared to take. But it may have made more sense to just strip naked and run into the woods to live like an animal. He had no house, no money and no one near that he could stay with. Nero had never thought once in his whole life that he could end up homeless and, yet, he slept on the stoops of abandoned buildings at night, trying to scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. It would have taken much less time to make enough money if it weren't for having his money stolen several times as he slept. Nero remembered it and could still taste the outright disappointment and hopelessness when he had been on the verge of having enough to rent a nice apartment, only to have it all snatched out from under him from a worthless bum. But, for once, he couldn't call them bums, couldn't blame them for stealing. He could only empathize with them because he was one himself.

Eventually, he got the money. It didn't take him as long as a dramatic sob story would have had it, only a month, but it was probably the longest month he had ever weathered. It didn't matter though because he finally had a place to stay and that was all that mattered. But happiness didn't last. Fortuna was known for its exquisite taste and a cheap apartment was hard to come by. There were dirt-cheap ones on the slumsy outskirts of town, but the prospect of living with filthy rats or roaches was something that he–a man who had lived in primped and perfect Fortuna all his life–couldn't take. So, his rent matched his apartment and he had to pay it. There were also food and other supplies, which, surprisingly, ran him higher than he had ever expected. But those were all things he could live with. Without the worries of being out on the streets, Nero had more time to dwell on his new life without Kyrie; and, though he wanted to hate her, his memories haunted him and Nero knew he thought about her far too much to truly be done with and despise his ex-lover.

Every day, his thoughts drifted back to her. At first, he had been furious with her. Nero couldn't fathom why, even if she wanted them to split up, she would just up and kick him out without even a penny of their money, a lot of which he had made. But, as time went on, he thought about it more and rage gave way to a deep depression. The more he thought about it, the more Nero realized that Kyrie was nothing like a lover. She was like a sister. How could she not be after all the years they had lived together, after she and Credo took him in when he was just little? Nero could easily see now that their relationship would have ended anyway when they both came to the same realization. However, that didn't ease the sting in his heart. When he was injured fighting off those Assaults and his arm morphed into its scaly, demonic state, Nero knew his life would never be the same. He couldn't even walk out the door without lying to people and pretending that it was broken, always with the fear that someone would figure it out and expose him for what he was. Kyrie was the one he had looked to from that day on to accept and love him regardless. And she did for the longest time, even after she discovered what he truly was. But, yet, she threw him away so easily and it didn't seem to bother her at all. It only hurt worse when he saw her parading around town with another man holding her hand.

Nero's thoughts would keep him up many nights, but that all came to an end eventually. When he stopped feeling the pain of their separation and his loneliness, Nero felt the stress of making money, only to spend it all on what he needed to live and be left with a few, measly crumbs of what he had worked so hard for. When he numbed to that also, he had nothing left to feel, but emptiness. He couldn't find any reason to care about anything anymore. Nero felt truly as if he could no longer feel emotion, not happiness nor pain. He only felt distant and hollow, a listless shell of his former self. And, yet, somehow that nothingness could keep him up at night, could ruin his appetite and absolutely erased his interest for anything. He breathed only to live, but not to be alive. He was living like an animal, taking care of his basic needs with nothing else to aspire to. But the difference between animals and humans was emotion. Humans were selfish, spoiled. They couldn't live and be happy with only the food in their stomachs and the sun rising every morning. He could live like an animal, but he couldn't be an animal. Somewhere behind the walls he had built to block out the emotions that would have surely sent him to suicide was a desperation to be human again.

Nero was crawling out of bed as he did every morning to the blaring buzz of his alarm clock to brave another bleak day of work and sleep. He did everything he used to, bathed, dressed, brushed his teeth and combed his hair, made himself presentable. But there was one thing he hadn't been able to do for a long time. Whenever he passed the mirror, the only one in his apartment, in the bathroom, Nero couldn't even look at himself. He was too afraid of waking up to reality and bringing all that pain back. In all honesty, he didn't think he needed reality. He could live every day, moving along mechanically to just slide by. He had been doing it every morning for almost a year. But Nero was never one for routine.

This life was getting old.

As he made a poor effort to rush to get ready and go to work, Nero made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Though he grimaced at the sight, he simply couldn't take his eyes off what he saw. The person he saw staring back at him wasn't himself. He didn't know who it was. The figure was almost lifeless, looking far older than any twenty-three-year-old should. The was no cocksure, fiery look in his eyes. They were empty and he looked utterly crestfallen. There was almost nothing left. Nero thought he would have been shocked, but how could he be? Now that he thought about it, reflected on his life on his own, everything he had been through, how could he be surprised? He was a demon in a human's body, all alone in the world and struggling to live a life he had no desire to keep. Nero had told himself over and over that there was no other option than loneliness until it was drilled so far into his skull that he could hear it no more. But he had let himself become this empty thing he saw staring back at him in the looking glass.

Because there was always a way out.

Nero stared almost breathlessly before a sigh broke through his lips. All this time, he had tortured himself because he was too full of pride to find help. Reality came back and Nero expected to be bombarded with the emotion he had kept bottled up for so long. But he wasn't. It was as if the discovery of his only possible escape had just wiped that all away. But, after so long, he could feel again and all he felt was hope. The smallest twinge of hope, but hope, nonetheless. And, with that, he made his decision. He wasn't going to work today and he wasn't calling in, yet his hand still snatched up the phone once he rushed from the bathroom to grab it from the kitchen wall. He dialed a number that he had been curious enough to find a while back, but never brave enough to call. Nero had considered making the call several times, but was always certain he could work things out himself. He had never needed it more than he did now. His fingers deftly dialed the memorized number as if he called it every day. The phone rang and rang again, doubt beginning to settle with ever second. But, for once, fate came through for him and Nero heard the voice of a person he suddenly longed to see more than ever.

"Devil May Cry..."

A/N: Well, what did you think? I kind of think this one was a fail on my part. I couldn't get a hold on my thoughts. It's like they were just in the back of my head, but I wasn't really concentrating on them. Of course, it would help if my sister and her damn friend weren't so freaking loud when I try to write and my laptop cord wasn't fucked so I could actually move it around. * rage *