Dante stalked through the big ornate bronze doors that swung open upon his presence. He briskly walked the expanse of his chamber before entering through numbers of doors and reaching his hidden bedroom, locked away from the many prying eyes of the general public. He hung up his coat and set his amulet on top of the set of drawers next to his bed, its glowing centre fading slightly at the loss of contact from its owner. Heading to his makeshift study in one corner of the room, he located a dusty, weathered book that had not been touched in what seemed like a few centuries – this was the guide that he was meant to read and become accustomed to before his first day in office, but rather opting to 'wing it' and handle things with his own sense of flair left the book collecting more dust than was originally intended.

The book landed on his desk with a flat thud with clouds of dust escaping from its pages. Making himself comfortable in the padded office chair, he heaved the covers open to find the index and jotted down specific page numbers and got to work: the more he read, the more out of place Vergil's hypotheses seemed, and the more farfetched the ideas became, farther than any reasoning fit for existence. Turning to the final page, the name of the demon appeared at the top left hand corner above a sketch of a handsome yet bizarre looking creature; the next page listed all of the crimes against his name and documented abilities that made him one of the most feared demons for centuries. As a quirk for himself alone, he paged back on his notepad to check the spelling of the name, making sure it correlated with one the hospital had given him.

Vergil moved the soup to a microwavable container and set it to the highest setting, watching it bubble away under inhuman levels of radiation and heat. Looking to Nero's door he could swear he heard random voices coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, and slowly coming to the realisation that the teen could have turned on his TV; that meant he wasn't sleeping and that implied he wasn't resting, bring the acids in his stomach to a boil similar to the food he was warming.

Upon entering his room the speakers of the TV hummed softly as a movie played across the screen and a transfixed Nero glued his eyes to the scene playing out in front of him. "I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"And you said you'd be back in a bit." His back was flat against the wall making the entire other half of his bed empty for whatever spot Vergil wished to occupy. His eyebrows furrowed as the steam soaked into the rest of his senses, sitting upright and letting the cold air in. "What's that smell?"

The demon stood at the door holding a tray with the finished product watching Nero's face soften at his comprehension: the smile seemed out of place in contrast to the arm that hung limply at his side, and the loud rumble coming from his stomach could not have been more perfectly timed. Nero slotted the picture in his head and got into position for his meal. "How do you know it's for you?"

"Because you had enough ice cream to last you an hour and you tend to not overdo it when it comes to the human stuff." Nero pointed to his lap, urging him on. "Plus, you hate warming things – the microwave gave you away."

Vergil breathed a heavy sigh as he laid the liquid meal across Nero's prepared lap, moving the spoon to the correct side for his left hand to manhandle it as he so pleased. Grabbing the messed up Rubix cube on his bedside table, he perched on a lone metal chair in the corner of the room adjacent to his chest of drawers, wanting more than anything to take his mind and line of vision out of watching Nero slurp his food. The whirlwind of events presented on this day could not have been the total opposite of what Vergil had predicted; there was no logical route to pin the happenings of today on himself – he thought he was doing Nero a favour in giving him some space, and here he resorted back to the old version wanting to do things for him. No one asked for that.

He placed the tray on the bed next to him. "You still not gonna talk to me?"

Vergil wished he could see the seething glare he gave him; he probably did, owing to the fact that he refused to look in his direction and kept his eyes on the TV. "That's fine. I get it-" He flinched at having to use his bad hand to grab his medication and water, and Vergil's eyes narrowed at his brain pleading with the rest of his body to help the injured man. "Just do me one favour: come lie with me. I can't get comfy anywhere on this damn bed, but it helps if there is another person here. If I don't get comfy I know I don't feel safe and having someone close by kinda helps." Nero leaned on his good hand and looked toward the direction of the plastic blocks being manipulated. "I won't ask you for anything else ever again."

That was a bad deal, seeing as this was the first time he had ever asked for anything involving the demon. The second he heard the weight lifting from the chair, he lay on his side and smoothed out the sheets next to him. Vergil got rid of the tray and set it on a small table just outside his room – removing his jacket and hanging it at the back of the chair, he reluctantly moved to the bed and climbed in facing the wall. Nero's bed was horrendously softer than his own, so he moved closer to the centre where his large build would be at equilibrium with the rest of the Underworld. He looked at the tiny space occupied by his housemate who didn't mind being squashed in the least; Vergil wrapped the blankets all around the teen's body ensuring that the cold wall behind him played no role for the duration of the night. As he bunched up the material between them – forming the last part of the makeshift nest – Nero unexpectedly grabbed him by the arm and placed it on his pillow, lying his head on the crook of Vergil's elbow. Deciding not to fight it, he pulled him closer to his body to throw the remaining piece of blanket behind him.

He patiently waited for Vergil to feel uncomfortable. "You can still watch the movie, ya know?" The interest in what was playing plummeted to a new low when Nero snuggled into his chest, burying his face in the soft material of his shirt. "You see, you don't really need eyes to watch a movie – the greatness lies in being able to see without seeing. All good movies have the ability to move you and keep your attention without having to open your eyes at all." He smiled into the human cocoon he constructed, relishing the knowledge of finally getting a good night's sleep. "Become immersed in the characters and their feelings and emotions; become bound with the decisions they make and the consequences they face; feel what they feel at any given moment; and when it's all over, remain empty for days until your brain forces itself to makes sense and you can carry on with daily life. You should try it."

For the briefest of moments, Vergil caught him gazing upward; their eyes met and Nero immediately looked away – how he knew the demon was looking back at him would astound many generations to come, but for now his only priority was enabling the best environment for a safe recovery for his roommate. Being this close to Nero consoled him for feeling so detached during the hours that had passed and he couldn't help but admit that having him in his arms brought an undeniable sense of calm that was needed to cap off what was a ridiculously lousy day. He, however, wasn't skilled in the art form that was human intimacy and the thoughts that plagued his mind were of no use in this situation; with his forearm now free, he took the chance in playing with the baby hairs at the hairline of Nero's neck and relaxed his other hand on the small of his back attempting to sooth his philosophical antics so late at night. Instinctively, he rested his cheek on the soft head of hair below, breathing in the peachy aroma that tinged his blonde locks. He'd blame it on being comfortable and nothing more. "Sleep, Nero."

He sighed deeply and Vergil felt his warm breath ghost the scar on his chest. "I just wanted to make dinner – to say thank you for everything."

"I know." Vergil felt an inhumane ache in his ribcage; it was a sweet gesture that took one wrong, deadly turn and he wasn't beyond rational in seeing the intent behind it, but what really bugged at his sanity was that Nero had tried to prove that he was no different from any other when in Vergil's eyes nobody came remotely close. There were moments so infuriating that he curbed the urge to slit his throat in one strike and other moments, similar to the one now, where the card at play was simply enjoying one another's company. He tried not to dwell on the latter too much for the sake of common sense, yet he lived for moment he could flip the logical switch in his head and just be. "You should than your lucky stars I'm not strangling you right this moment."

Nero hadn't noticed how warm Vergil was until now, taking advantage of the cosy twist to his night. "Is death your answer to everything?"

"Only when it concerns you." Not grasping how tired he was, Vergil unknowingly sank deeper into the bed, making himself comfortable between the sheets and shuffling closer, indirectly imposing Nero's bubble.

The pain in his arm followed a steady decline the deeper he fell; his hand contentedly landed against Vergil's beating heart, and the soft vibrations through his shirt soothed the ache underneath the bandage. Nero's eyes slid closed and breathed in his scent, the allure alone making his eyelids heavy. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Vergil stood at the edge of the bed closest to Nero's feet. He would feel bad for having to wake him from a possible life-changing slumber, but he had been sleeping through the better part of the day and he was well aware of the effect little nutrition had on the teen: cranky, late-onset pubescence was something he could definitely do without and something he would wish to prevent rather than cure. As he began to kick the base of the bed, he noticed the skin of his arm had adopted a bluish tinge since the night before and Dante's words replayed in his head for the thousandth time since their conversation – the blood was quickly making its way through Nero's system and tampering with his DNA, but the physical changes was something he had yet to experience for himself.

Vergil spoke softly from the threshold. "Are you hungry?"

Nero pulled the covers off with the bandaged hand and rubbed his face from the dead. "I could eat."

"Can I change your bandages first?"

The painkillers he took in the middle of the night somehow erased the memory of him having a fatal wound. "Please. They're really itchy." He scratched at the blue skin with no reaction other than pure relief – no signs of sensitivity or discomfort. "But the pain from yesterday is completely gone."

Subtlety was never Vergil's strong suit: he wrenched him from his bedroom and sat him down at the edge of the bath, cautiously and hastily removing the cloth to confirm the irksome suspicion his brother had planted in his head. Surely enough, what stared him in the face made him believe Dante knew much more than he had initially lead on: the navy blue colour travelled all the way up his forearm and was slowly reaching the bend in his elbow; his fingers and palm both began glowing a paler shade of the cerulean skin as peculiar cracks started forming down his wrist; the tips of his fingers altered to sharp talons to complete the overall daunt to his new arm. The cut itself was nowhere in sight. "You're sure that you feel absolutely nothing?"

"Nothing – like I got a new arm overnight."

Nero was over the moon at his recovery, getting fidgety as Vergil applied new bandages for the sole reason of making him believe there was still something wrong; at some point the material would rip to shreds owing to the possible armour that would be growing in its place and he made a mental note to break the news to him the further along the process was. He tucked the end in and stood, giving Nero a hard hit to his shoulder. "I'm going to catch a head start before you eat all the pancakes."

Vergil was already making his way to the dining room. "Pancakes?"

He did as he was told and followed the varying aromas twirling inside his house. It took Nero a good five seconds to hone in on the pancakes, taking his seat directly in front of them; they were fresh out of the pan, butter melting and drizzling over the sides of the tower Vergil had constructed. The demon managed to slug three blueberries and two maples before his housemate made it to the table, so they were all up for grabs. Nero stuck his fork into it and dragged four onto his plate, digging in while Vergil cautiously drizzled maple syrup when the teen's hands were occupying the hole in his face. He sat back and observed him stuff down number five from above the rim of a coffee mug. "How do you get them to taste like this?"

He cuddled the mug and soaked the heat into his hands. "Mom's recipe – I used to watch her make them every morning." Vergil replaced it on the table and leaned in, recalling the moments he stole from his childhood. "We got the special ones for our birthday, when she used to stuff them with a thicker type of custard so it wouldn't ooze out. She would prepare the batter a day before allowing it to thicken in the fridge overnight so it would hold firm against the yellowy insides; she'd call my brother and me just before it was ready and when we sat down she would flip them onto our plates and make smiley faces in sweetened whipped cream and sprinkles on top." He loved to catch his mother off guard when she wanted to surprise them. Regrettably, Vergil was an amazingly light sleeper and the sound of a pin dropping would wake him a heartbeat. His mother would then send him back to bed and ask him to pretend for it to be a surprise with his younger brother – their mutual smiles always warmed his cold heart and it was an image he would carry with him until he ceased to exist. Whenever that may be. "I've tried many times, but the custard never reached the correct consistency, so I've opted for the boring version."

He retreated to the kitchen as number six disappeared to be digested by Nero's stomach. "You call this boring?"

"Compared to what my mother used to make, very much so." Vergil returned with the coffee pot and refilled their mugs, happy that the other was eating to his hearts' content. Nero reminded him of Dante and how they both managed to squeeze bucket loads of food into such slender, lean bodies. "Did you have any sort of tradition for that type of thing?"

Nero stopped midway in sliding half of a pancake into his mouth; his face suddenly dropped in colour, a melancholy overshadowing the peak of happiness that he was in a few seconds ago. He slowly lowered it to his plate as he shuffled his chair closer to the table. Opening his eyes wide, he cleared his throat, and Vergil instantly knew this was a topic he chose to avoid for the duration of his stay. Something about the way his body slouched at the mention of his past hit a sore nerve and he was afraid to find out why. "We never celebrated my birthday."

"May I ask why?" Vergil awaited a typical teenage response and couldn't think you any in his head.

Nero masked the grief with a futile smile on his lips, but its inauthenticity forced his eyes into his lap. He knew Vergil would see right through his attempts at seeming okay so he avoided his stare entirely. "I don't know when it is."

Vergil halted mid sip and was tempted to call his bluff, but his impulse was tersely quelled owing to the new shade of pale his face had adopted; Nero felt uncomfortable at the morose silence following his confession and scratched at the piece of exposed skin between the useless bandage – whether or not he could feel it was another story for another day, and it was clear that what was happening bothered him. It was a miserable thought, but Vergil was thankful that the man across from him couldn't see his face; the interest in his past took a wrong turn for both of them, and the regret that laced Nero's features were bright as day. "Nero, I didn't mean to-"

"I know. I know." He pushed his chair to leave the table and Vergil mistakenly followed suit, wanting to calm the obvious storm he had brewed inside the younger man only to be hindered by a single hand in his direction. The dejected smile took most of his human energy, desperately needing some space before he became an emotional rollercoaster that was too much for the demon to handle. "Thanks very much for breakfast." Nero went into his room and bolted it from the inside.