It was sprinkling out when he finally arrived at Nero's house; Dante shoved the ten in Lucio's hand and saluted him before jumping out of the cab and yelling that he should stop calling him 'kid' as the man drove off. He then proceeded to run up to the front porch and knock on the door fervently as the droplets quickly stained his clothes and the wind started to make his teeth clatter.

The teen heard a loud grunt of affirmation spark from the other side; no doubt Nero's brother was especially moody after coming back from an exhausting trip that involved seeing the family. Then again, there were very few times when he wasn't especially moody. As assumed, the man wrenched the door back and gave Dante a pointed look before gesturing to him to get inside.

He's always been a gruff man, for as long as the teen could remember, he'd never given any indication to giving a rat's ass about any of his brother's friends, Dante especially. Most people just chalked it up as absolute old people syndrome, doomed to yell at kids to get off his lawn as his age increased, most also agreed he'd only get more bitter with time.

His sister, however, was the complete opposite.

"Dante! So nice to have you over! I'm sure Nero will be happy to see you, he wasn't exactly getting along with his cousins over the holiday." Kyrie was a sweet girl, very homely and welcoming, such a contrast to the man she was related too—it's hard to believe she was related to him at all. But, Nero was always grateful to have her presence around; having two cold stone figures around growing up would've killed him. His sister always balanced the atmosphere perfectly.

"Oh, that's too bad to hear, Kyrie, I do remember meeting Agnus and Miles a few years back, and I don't recall them getting along back then either."

"I know," She sighed. "Well, anyways, Nero hopped in the shower the second we got home, he should be done soon, though. Why don't you go wait up in his room? He stuck his suitcase in the closet and I don't believe he unpacked it yet, there should be a little trinket in there for you." Dante smiled, nodding his head with half lidded eyes before making his way up stairs.

The rain could be heard outside, picking up from a drizzle to something a bit rougher, causing the droplets to pitter-patter against the roof. He vaguely recalled that saying about April showers bringing May flowers and hoped that stupid April would end soon—the gloomy skies were really killing his mood.

He made his way into Nero's room, softly closing the door behind him. His walls were painted a light blue, his best friend's favorite color, lined with various pictures and posters. Glow in the dark stars were scattered across the ceiling, always giving Dante something to stare at when he slept over. Blue eyes made their way over to Nero's closet, which was cracked only slightly with a dark blue suitcase peeking from the shadows.

He realized then, at that weird moment in time, that he couldn't remember the last time Nero's closet was open—he couldn't even remember the last time he had seen inside it.

He recalled, briefly, times when they were younger, running around the house finding games to play. Their unspoken favorite was hide n seek, even if the game became a bit dull with only two people, and he did remember flashes of hiding in his best friend's closet. But…that was a long time ago. Before sex became interesting and girls started noticing him. Now—now he wasn't sure why it was always closed, probably because it was messy, his sister was always anal about Nero keeping his room clean.

Dante smirked, sliding the closet open and peering inside. It was surprisingly clean, actually, all his clothes were hung perfectly and all his shoes were paired up in little dividers. Nothing really seemed out of place, no hidden stack of porno mags or suspicious looking hand lotion. Because, come on, Nero easily had girls slobbering all over his dick, but he persistently shut them down and opted to sustain from sex until he found the right person like some gushy chick waiting for their prince. In other words: he expected his best friend was jerking off constantly, there was no other way he could avoid the teenage hormones.

Dante just shook his head with a smirk, pulling the blue suitcase out into the room. But, something decided to intervene, apparently, some sort of freaky shit fate. He wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place, Nero was still supposed to be in Fortuna for another couple days and Dante was supposed be down at the mall wooing whats-her-face. But, as it turns out: he was here. He was here, about to shut Nero's mysterious closet when he accidentally tripped—on what seems like nothing—falling into the closet completely and knocking his head against the wall.

Blue eyes blinked a few times, rubbing his head persistently with a pained groan. "Motherfucker." The teen took a few experimental steps, trying to adjust the spots of color dancing across his eyes. Once his vision went back to normal, he slid the closet door open wider, letting the soft light flood into the small space.

Immediately, for some unknown reason, his eyes were drawn to the top shelf of the closet.

He noticed a box, unmarked unlike the rest of them, which looked to have shifted slightly after his head made contact with the wall. The flimsy lid was displaced, just a tiny bit, to the point where Dante could see a small red ribbon falling out. He probably should have stopped there, for his sanity's sake, just turned on his heel and closed the door behind him without looking back. But…it was just...something about that ribbon that sparked his curiosity. It looked so out of place in this seemingly normal closet that was put together with prim and proper care.

He'd once read somewhere, and for the life of him he couldn't remember where, that colors play a part in many different things—including moods and socializing. Red, among being the most sexually attractive and seductive, was also the most eye catching. Somebody was more likely to come up to you and start a conversation simply because you chose to wear the color red. Its very intriguing, dangerous, the sign of sirens and trouble and lips and blood and other carnal advances. And, even though Dante's thought process didn't work beyond simple curiosity, this was probably the reason why he decided to pull the box down and tear the lid off.

What he found inside was…surprising.

It was all girls clothing, dresses, skirts, blouses, even lingerie. And that ribbon, that beautiful ribbon, belonged to a particularly sexy number, this fiery red dress that probably left little to the imagination. Underneath it were a pair of matching, frilly, red panties and a small red hair bow. Though, this all seemed to raise the same question: what were these doing in Nero's closet?

His first thought was: Nero, you sly, sly, dog. Got me thinking you're celibate when you're banging chicks so often they're leaving articles of clothing here. But, why would he lie to Dante? And…why were all these sexy pieces all the same size?

Does he have a secret girlfriend I don't know about?

But, Dante didn't have much time to ponder, footsteps could be heard approaching the room and he quickly put the lid back on and put the box back where he found it. Luckily, Dante stumbled out onto the room floor just as Nero opened the door. "Um…hi. Why are you on the floor?"

The blue eyed teen rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, looking up at a freshly showered Nero impishly. "I…fell?"

His best friend smirked, shaking his head so that little droplets of water landed on Dante purposely. "Right."

He was clad in a simple black muscle shirt and gray pajama bottoms, silver hair dripping all over his clothes. His neckline hung low enough to where Dante could make out the tattoo that Nero had gotten on his left collar bone last year. Just Breathe. Dante always admired that tattoo.

"So…how were the Tunas, eh?"

Nero laughed lightly, throwing his clothes into a nearby basket. "Apparently they don't like when silly city kids stereotype them."

"…I thought you were kidding when you said you bought Agnus a can of tuna."

"Nope. And apparently he didn't think my joke was funny." Nero grinned, taking a seat on his bed while leaning against his headboard lazily. Dante looked over at him from his spot on the floor, drumming his fingertips against the blue suitcase idly.

And the teen thinks for a moment: hey, maybe he doesn't know Nero as well as he thought—if that box were any sort of indication. And he wonders whether or not this'll be the last time this occurs to him.

"Nero?"

"Hm?"

"You'd tell me if you were dating somebody, right? Even if you think I wouldn't approve or something?"

"Of course," His eyebrows drew together, cocking his head to the side as Dante avoided his direct gaze. "…Why exactly do you ask?"

"I dunno," He whispered, tracing circles on the suitcase. "Just seems like something we never discuss. I mean, you know I talk about chicks all the time and sex and shit but you've never really said much."

"I told you, we just have different views on the matter."

"But why, I mean, why put yourself through the frustration when you could easily have whatever you want?"

The rain pounded outside, droplets creeping over the window, clouding up the view of Nero's oak tree just outside. An empty nest laid on a visible branch, twigs slowly falling free as the rain didn't show signs of letting up.

I wonder…where do the birds go?

"I can't." He hissed, clearing his throat before back tracking in his sentence. "Just forget it, alright? I've had a long fucking couple of weeks; I don't really feel like having this conversation again. You're starting to sound like all those meat heads at school."

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? Sometimes I think things and then simply just say them, I can't help it. My mom always says I'm like my father." Nero's expression softened a bit, eyeing the cut below Dante's lip at the mention of his dad. Blue eyes studied it for a moment, causing Dante to look away. His pale thumb swiped across the tiny scab, closing his eyes instinctively, not wanting to see Nero watching him.

It was an echo behind his ears. The heart beat that clouded his memories, sometimes. It was the anger that created melodies and the emotions that made it impossible. And something kept repeating, whispering in his ear, where do the birds go?