Of all the mundane activities that spread across every race, Vergil's favourite pastime was ripping paper. Not only was it the purest form of wasting time and resource, the shredding noise and action replicated the same technique he used on the organs and limbs of a helpless victim that somehow got in his way and the slight thrill of catching them at a peculiar angle for the nagging pain of paper cuts added to its overall amusement. He managed to get through a bunch of A5 leaflets when a timid knock at the door broke the stride in his mind-numbing activity.

He had arrived home an hour ago from Dante's chamber. After giving the human a new home, his brother left him standing next to the throne as he got ready to do his weekly rounds of the receding levels of Hell. Covering his bare shoulders with his trademark red coat, he holstered Ebony, Ivory, and Rebellion, summoning a few of his toughest guards to accompany him. He strode past a still-stunned Vergil, rooted to the spot with seething rage. "So you've resorted to babysitting as a fitting sentence?"

"Just for you; because I know how much you hate to do things for other people."

The tiny burn itched frantically. "There are things I despise more."

Dante read between the lines. Hostile was not a word to be used around Vergil owing to its tameness. "He might surprise you, Vergil."

He didn't wait for Dante to finish his thought before disappearing behind a cloud of blue haze and landing at his doorstep miles away. Vergil was surprisingly calm being away from Dante, but now he had to make the necessary amendments for his new occupation as a caretaker. It left an unsettling taste on his tongue as he stepped through his threshold and noted his house was larger: an additional bedroom and bathroom had been added, along with much needed extensions to his own room, kitchen, lounge, study and library. His residence was easily three times its original size – more places for him to neglect his given task and have the boy look after himself. He took a full tour of his new house and was thoroughly impressed; it was short-lived when the reality of his situation overwhelmed him and he scrummaged through an open drawer, found something he could tear up and took a seat at his new dining room table.

Why was he knocking? He had a doorbell.

Vergil took a deep breath and expected the worst. He was upset with his brother, not the worthless lump of skin and bone that presently adorned his doorstep and there was no reason to take out his anger on a human – they were strongly outmatched and he couldn't take pleasure in savouring a victory against someone not inclined in putting up the least bit of resistance.

He opened his front door to find a young man no older than eighteen staring at the floor: he was five feet nine, pale skin, blonde-bleached hair, broad-shouldered, looking nothing like a human – not any human he had ever seen. He had come to know the species as scared, weak and fragile, and the person before him was the complete opposite. He looked like he was accustomed to fighting for his life, given his strong arms and toned physique, but something was off. The manner which Dante had approached his disobedience he assumed he would be getting some destitute, skin-covered skeleton that broke to pieces by a tap on the shoulder.

Vergil moved out of the entrance to his abode, the universal signal for 'come in', but the boy remained glued to his spot keeping his gaze at the spot just under Vergil's feet. He must have heard the small click of the door opening and lifted his head an inch, but that was all. He toyed with the straps on his huge backpack that carried everything he owned, shifting the weight of it around for a more comfortable position. Vergil frowned in his direction, utterly confused. Maybe he was one of those tortured souls who did nothing without instruction? Or maybe he was extremely shy.

"Are you planning to stand there the entire time?"

The stranger looked toward the direction of the noise and stared into Vergil's chest.

And he immediately saw it.

"I didn't know where you were." He spoke softly, like his normal tone would offend. It was as far away from threatening, scared even, and it served as the solitary tie he had to being human. Vergil took what time he could to have a good look from head to toe, and quite frankly he figured the next month to be a walk in the park, apart from that… one aspect. He had only ever heard of it, so he stepped forward and grabbed the boy's head in his hands and had a closer look for confirmation. The boy wasn't baffled in the least, almost as if someone manhandling his face was an everyday occurrence. Not knowing his own strength, he accidentally wrenched him through the door and pulled his face closer, spreading his fingers on the width of his neck as his hands sat comfortably under his prominent jawline. Two thin concentric circles outlined his dark pupils, vastly contrasting the untouched cerulean blue of his irises. The man at the end of Vergil's inspection stood perfectly still with a playful smile on his lips.

Vergil felt his stomach drop, abruptly grasping the purpose of his task. "You're blind."

"Trust me I know."

They stood in that position for a couple seconds more, not realising that he just pointed out being blind to a blind person and that the boy couldn't do much without Vergil making the first move: his hands left his neck and located his hands, pulling him over the threshold and closing the front door. Moving as quickly as he could, he guided him by the shoulders and led him to the big dinner table. Vergil was the one who needed the seat over his counterpart. "How the hell am I supposed to do this?"

The boy slung his backpack onto where he assumed the table would be and obliterated the pyramid of tiny torn papers Vergil constructed minutes before. "First off, clever choice of words; second, you don't have to do much. All I need from you is a full tour of the house with as much detail as you can give me. I need to paint a picture in my head of the general layout and then I'm out of your hair. I might bother you occasionally about small things, but that's about it." He laid the backpack down in front of him, feeling for the hidden pockets at its side. "I don't know the real reason I had to move in with you and I don't want the specifics, but I guess you must have done something pretty messed up to have a dead roommate who can't see." The undertone of 'having to help a disabled person' wasn't lost on Vergil, but he respected the boy's honesty about the matter. "I want you to know that I don't intent to make your life any more difficult than it already is. I can be a nuisance, but-"

"Please stop talking." Vergil fostered the habit of pinching the bridge of his nose in extreme frustration, pulling so hard at the skin that it nearly tore each time with the pressure bringing him close to tears. Vergil may have a history not pleasing to the eye, but he could not fathom the concept of self-pity; aside from misunderstanding the notion as a whole, he figured it pointless for anyone to talk themselves into a state of consciousness counter-productive to self-worth. Disregarding the humanoid factor, the new addition to the house had no right to make the judgement himself. That was Vergil's job. "Don't talk yourself down like that. It's infuriating."

The man on the other end of the table smiled; he was meticulous with his words and testing the waters without his host knowing and this was his way of scoping what kind of person Vergil was. He chose not to make a decision too early in the game, but so far, he gaged living with him wouldn't be a hassle. "My kind carries a certain stigma. I'm just-"

"Don't bother. I have no prior experience with 'your kind' and I would appreciate it if you allow me to raise my own prejudices if there are any." Vergil calmed down and rested back in his chair. "If you decide to make my life hell, let me hate you for my own motives. Don't give me reasons why I should and then have me hate you for something else. That's a waste of both our time."

He permitted himself some ridiculous moments and this was definitely one of them. He realised how farfetched it sounded, but it made logical sense in his head which is where it counted most. The man across from him seemed to understand as well and nodded. He found what he was looking for and held it in his hands, getting up and heading to Vergil's general direction. "I'm just trying for a good first impression. I'm a total dick." Without another word he handed the envelope over and Vergil recognised the handwriting as his own. "Instruction manual, ya know, in case I break."

It was Vergil's turn to smirk – something he hadn't done in a long time.

The newcomer sat peacefully in his seat. "Doesn't the silence kill you?"

The routine urge to not answer stupid questions was not a luxury he could afford. Sound was now key to his task's survival, so ignoring the world away was erased out of his vocabulary. "Things are never silent. Something is always happening somewhere; it's soothing in a destructive way."

He gave him a weak smile and slumped in his chair, restlessly slinging his arms over his bag. Vergil had to be in a particular mood to have to deal with his brother, but as previously stated it could include something important – it disgusted him to the ends of the earth just thinking about it, but he would use all the help he could get. Vergil watched him in morbid fascination as the letter sat open in his hands:

Vergil,

I'll say what I need to say in the short time your temper will allow me. Firstly, he is now your priority. Please put him first; he has struggled for far too long. Secondly, you are restricted to your day job, the grocery store, and house as places to go. Thirdly, and he won't tell you this, but he has a mild allergy to peanuts – he unfortunately loves the stuff and will try to eat them on the sly. Try as much as you can to stop that.

Lastly, and I added the line for dramatic effect, try your best to be the better version of yourself for him. Looking after him won't make sense to you now, but I know that time with him will be enough for you to understand why I did this.

I love you, brother, contrary to your own belief. For now, be safe and healthy with him by your side. Be there for him as much as he will be for you.

Vergil couldn't make sense of it as a whole, but he got the gist of what Dante was trying to say. He completely ignored his plea of attempting to sympathise with and compartmentalise what he was going through; with that being said, the task ahead didn't seem as challenging as he initially believed. The demon looked out his window out of habit, forgetting that Hell had no timekeeping system and couldn't blame delaying the day's first objective on bedtime. He didn't have one, but he presumed he would have to implement one for his guest. He was deep in contemplation until a soft voice derailed his train of thought.

"You mind helping me out tonight? You must be tired, but the sooner I know my surroundings-"

Vergil folded the paper and placed it on a close shelf, resisting the urge to tear it to tiny pieces. "This is something that needs to be done. Don't make it sound like a burden or I'll treat it like one." He made quick work cleaning the earlier paper off the floor and his new housemate listened judiciously to how and where he moved. He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious as to what the real deal was with the man across the table. "This house is as much yours as it is mine now. If you need anything, ask."

The man stood with an amused expression. "But I said-"

"And this is me officially being okay with it." To an untrained ear, the reply was deadpan – Vergil's attempt at dry humour was caught by the teen who laughed unexpectedly. A sound of this nature was meant to send him cringing to the floor – the ones he grew to love were the absurd, crazed giggles that spouted from the last breaths from his victims, regularly paired with bouts of blood. Why was he okay with it? Was it a subconscious move to prove to his brother that he couldn't be broken, or was it the more obvious answer, that he might just enjoy having the company of someone else and not only the voices in his head? Vergil, however, found a silver lining in all this – the joyous relief that he no longer had to physically control his emotions: the only thing more exhausting than keeping a straight face was pretending to keep a straight face.

"Fine: you got a name?"

Vergil walked briskly to him and lightly clutched at his forearm. "Call me anything other than Vergil and I will kill you. Yours?"

The subtle mix of anxiety to the new environment and the determined excitement for his new house reverberated from him, and the hint of a smile crept to the his face. "Call me anything other than Nero and I'd probably be fine with it."