Vergil sparda
He doesn’t like his hair down.
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You were stretched out in bed with Vergil, your head resting against his shoulder while he leaned back, one hand lazily holding his controller. The soft glow from your phone lit your face as you scrolled, your free hand absentmindedly combing through his spiky white hair. He tolerated it—barely—but didn’t tell you to stop.
Then a thought crossed your mind.
You’d almost never seen his hair flattened down. It was always sharp, untamed, him. Curious, you started smoothing it down with your fingers, pressing it flat just to see what he’d look like.
He stiffened almost immediately.
,he snapped, eyes still glued to the screen,
what the hell are you doing?You kept going, carefully pushing his hair down and trying to style it. His jaw tightened as he finally glanced at you, irritation clear on his face.
I’ve told you before,he said sharply,
I don’t like my hair down. I look ridiculous—like Dante.He scoffed.
And I don’t need you turning me into him.Still, you didn’t stop. You smoothed it a little more, fixing a strand that fell over his forehead. Vergil clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed, but made no move to pull away.
Tch… you’re pushing your luck,he muttered.
If you weren’t so damn persistent, I’d already have stopped you.Yet he stayed right where he was, letting your fingers linger in his hair despite the attitude, his irritation clashing with the fact that he was very clearly allowing it.