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“Hey Dalia, remember that time Lady shot me in the face?”
Her hand stopped mid-gesture, the dust cloth that was being dragged across an extremely old and semi-broken jukebox found its respite from the filth; it balled in her fist and dropped to her side when she turned around to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
“That’s happened a lot of times, Dante,” she pointed out, cracking a tiny smile at the sight of his realisation that he’d have to be specific. There was also a shade of belated indignation at the knowledge that not just once or twice, Lady had shot him many times.
“Okay, fair. The time in the tower, you were there with me—she thought I was kidnapping you or something.” He threw a hand up as if the misconception her sister made was ridiculous. Bluntly speaking, she couldn’t really fault her sister for it. They’d entered the tower together to stop their father, for all they knew everything and everyone in there was an enemy.
“I remember, why do you bring that up now? It’s been…” She trailed off, looking up at the ceiling in thought as she counted the years. “Like at least 11 years since then, right? Put the bottle down Dante,” she chided, holding the feather duster out towards him as if it was some sort of threatening weapon. To Dante? She supposed the thought of cleaning possibly was a threat to him.
“C’mon, it’s basically 5. It doesn't count as day drinking anymore. I’m thirsty,” he groaned, removing the cap of the whiskey despite the scathing looks she was giving him.
“Drink water,” she sighed but didn’t argue. “Don’t get too drunk tonight, okay?”
“Don’t worry, it takes a lot to get me even slightly tipsy, you know that. Anyway, I know I have a job in the evening. ‘You staying?” He took a decent shot from the bottle, not even bothering to grab a glass or even a cup.
Dalia opted to put the cloth and cleaning equipment down, something told her she wasn’t going to get much more dusting done today.
“For the job or are you asking me what I’ll make for dinner?” He looked like a petty thief caught red handed.
“Both?”
Hiding her laughter with a loud sigh, she approached his desk and leaned herself slightly over the top of it, her palm colliding with the polished wood to make a resounding thump echo throughout the otherwise empty room.
“How about you finish what you were saying about my sister shooting you?”
His eyes lit up as he recalled the initial topic of their conversation.
“Right! I was just thinking and I remembered it, I think that was the first time I’d laughed so hard in a long while. What was it you said? Sis! You can’t just go around shooting people like that! Or something, but whatever it was had me dying more than the bullet in my head.” He was grinning and cackling, the nostalgia of the memory seeming to have returned full blast as he practically fell to hysterics. It had Dalia wondering if that really was his first drink of the day.
Her cheeks turned a dust of pink as a wave of mild embarrassment pricked at her skin, sure at the time it felt like a normal thing to say, but looking back? God, it was so ridiculous.
“In my defence I knew you weren’t human!”
His unashamed cackles died down to a wide grin, his eyes narrowing only slightly in scrutiny as he ran over the events again. While he likes to forget the majority of that time, meeting both Dalia and Lady ended up being quite the gift.
“Come to think of it, you were pretty accepting of that—unlike your sister.”
Blinking, Dalia turned her eyes away in thinly veiled shame.
“At the time I controlled my anger a lot better than Lady, I had every intention of using you to achieve my goal. I didn’t care about demons, I just wanted that man gone,” she explained, turning away from the desk to head over to the sofa, far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to read her as well. “You might’ve been a demon, half of one at least, but you… You were gullible and easy to manipulate. You’re too kind to people, Dante. You shouldn’t have trusted me like you did back then.”
“Easy to manipulate you say,” he repeated, musing over the words and coming to no core memory wherein she did any such thing. “So you were lying to me the whole time?” He asked with genuine curiosity, no sign of malice in his voice. It was over a decade ago now, any sort of grudges regarding the incident were less than water under a bridge. Well, not like he believed it anyway.
She laughed shortly, almost pitifully. “No, I could never bring myself to do so, even when it was for my sister’s sake. If I did then I’d be no better than that man, plus… You had been nothing but friendly to me. Granted, it might’ve been due to the fact I’m a girl,” she almost sneered at the recollection of his shameless flirting as a teen. His lines were definitely unique… She much preferred when he spoke to her like a normal person though.
“Don’t tell me you fell for me back then? Guess I really do have charm. Hey—mind if I tell Morrison?” He teased, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, a foxy smile baring his teeth in the lowlight. The bottle of whiskey went essentially ignored as he carelessly discarded it on the floor by the leg of his chair.
“It most definitely wasn’t any of your ‘charms’, I’ll tell you that. In fact I still think you suck at flirting.” She waved him off casually, not showing any sort of reaction to his leap in logic.
“You know how to hit a guy where it hurts…” He groaned, holding his chest in mock pain as if he’d just been stabbed. But he was used to being stabbed, enough that he wouldn’t really react strongly to it. “What’s wrong with how I flirt?”
“It’s impersonal and feels shallow, not to mention you never ask before being physical—oh! And there’s the instances where you call one girl babe and then in front of her face you switch up and start flirting with another lady. Need I say more?” She frowned, pointing a stern finger at him. Far from accusatory as it was all true, he wouldn’t deny that.
Still, there was one thing that stood out to him.
“You don’t like when I touch you?” As far as he could recall he had never crossed any serious boundaries with her, keeping his hands to her shoulders or arms, her back when they hugged (which was rare, unfortunately), any other time would’ve been in battle and at that point they don’t really have the luxury of being thoughtful.
The mention of going between girls like a change in the weather was a tough pill to swallow; that was during a hard time when he frequented the bar down the street. Yes, he never truly meant any of the sweet words he said to any of the girls, and he wasn't too fussed about who he hurt in the process of forgetting for a night. She was right when she said his words felt shallow and impersonal, it was because he never intended to get to know any of the girls he flirted with. He’d long since stopped flirting like that with Dalia, that old trick wouldn’t work on her and she didn’t deserve his flaky compliments anyway. No, she deserved better. A lot better.
“Huh? No—I mean, it’s not me, you rarely get physical with me at all actually,” she stuttered and tripped over her words as she tried to figure out just what she was trying to tell him. “Sorry, I guess that one was a little weird…”
He raised a brow. “You wanna get physical with me?” He almost, almost, burst out laughing at the explosion of blood rushing to her face.
“I never said—!” She yelped before taking a deep breath to calm herself down, it wouldn’t do to have her run her mouth at this point. Who knows what might come out of the woodwork. “Since we’re discussing it, I suppose I wouldn’t mind… Although I spend many nights here you do seem to keep somewhat of a distance from me. I understand your respect and I’m grateful but it would be nice, you know? Every now and then.” Her voice was strong and didn’t waver but he could tell that she was affected by the words she was saying—admitting. Her hands bounced in her lap, her fingers fidgeting and rolling over each other in a nervous bout to keep her outward composure intact.
This was shaping up to be an evening extremely different to how he envisioned it. Was it his birthday or something? For what he could recall, he only stopped trying to get closer to her because she started keeping her distance from him—a yet unexplained choice that apparently she was rescinding now. Dante decided to take his chances.
The chair scraped against the old and worn flooring, his boots making a deeper thud against it when he stood up. He glanced briefly at the photo frame on top of his desk before setting his eyes on Dalia, still sitting bashfully where she’d always been; within reach but so far away. She grew skittish upon realising he was approaching her, fretting over making space for him. It might’ve been a pretty shoddy couch, small too, but there was already plenty of room for him to take a seat. The leather groaned under his weight but there was a familiar comfort to reclining into the concave of the pillows. Shoving his arm across the top of the backrest, he turned his full attention on the woman curled up beside him; he was smiling before he even realised it.
“You asked for it Darls,” he harped, enjoying the vibrant show of colour as it travelled to her ears.
“I wouldn’t go that far…” She muttered, attempting to restore any semblance of control over herself.
Dante let the silence steep for a minute before bringing up a tiny little tidbit he noticed from their previous conversation.
“Y’know, you never actually denied it—falling for me back then.” He leaned closer to her in an attempt to shake her up a little, not intending to really do anything other than hopefully get her to spill her thoughts.
Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t about to let herself freefall into his fingers. She wore a devious smile as she turned to him, not reacting to the lack of distance between their faces—he was a lot closer than both of them thought. Still, neither of them showed any sign of fluster when their noses just barely ghosted over each other.
“Well… You were quite the looker. Swept me off my feet a couple of times too. Ignoring the terrible pick up lines you were kinda my type.” Dalia held a slack fist up to her mouth, a modest gesture that just about hid the thoughtful pout on her lips. She turned away and looked upwards like she was remembering those times. A decent act.
“And? What about now? No need to be coy,” he hummed, placing a gentle hand on her arm; testing the waters slightly in regards to her request from earlier.
“Now?” She whispered, her voice undertaking a dark tone he’d never heard from her before… It was—it was sultry almost. He didn’t have time to get his head around that revelation before another occurred, her hand stroked across his cheek leaving a trail of magma-like heat in its wake; her fingers curled around his jaw and brushed over the badly shaven stubble there, she continued to recede her touch until all that was left was her fingertips burning holes into his skin. He chased the feeling, drinking in every orchestrated flutter of her eyes and how she looked at him through her eyelashes; he leaned forward, unashamedly desperate for more. Her touch left his face and a wide and torturous grin spread over her lips; she knew exactly what she had done. A damned vixen, he couldn’t help but mirror the expression. A tension grew inside of him as he felt her breaths against his mouth, the button of her nose lightly pressed against his and just as he was about to lose himself in her—the heat and carnality left, vanished. Gone as soon as it came. “Right now I think it’s time you get ready to head out. You have a mission, remember?”
There was no mistaking it, she was more than a fox, she was far more devilish than he was—than half of the devils he’s met.
“You’re killing me here Darls,” he groaned, leaning back as she stood up. His head fell over the back pillows and he brought his arm up to cover his eyes, gradually the shock of what just happened started to settle in as all he could see in his mind was the image of her, the way she was looking at him… He took a moment to look down only to grimace. She wanted him to get ready after all of that? Now? Fuck the mission, he wanted her to sit back down and continue where they left off. What mission could possibly be more important than finally, finally, getting a chance to tell her everything he felt for her?
“We both know you can take a much harsher beating than being left a little high and dry, think of this as payback,” she harrumphed as she walked away, referring to something he didn’t have a clue about.
“Payback? For what—? Hey, c’mon Lia, don’t walk away,” he called out for her in vain. She was quick to ascend the stairs, passing through into the living quarters of the building without another word. “Shit…”
Thus he went on that shitty mission with frustration and a surplus of questions fighting in his heart, it was a war trying to figure out what she meant—why she teased him like that and walked away like it was nothing. He didn’t remember her being so… Cruel? He’d never seen her like that before. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, now that was another battle entirely.
When he returned the lights were off in the office. He opened the doors to pitch black, the only light being that which bled in from the flickering street lamps. It wasn’t too big a deal, he had decent eyesight in the dark and the momentary vision gained by the lamps was enough; he knew the layout of his business like the back of his hand. Although, the figure on that cursed sofa was strange to see. In all honesty he expected her to have left by now, either gone home to her apartment or crashed out in her room here.
He didn’t greet her, simply watched her as he stood idly by the entrance. His eyes followed her when she moved, closer and closer; her footsteps pattered against the wood, the boards creaking in the silence of the night. With each step she took towards him he was able to see her with gradual clarity. Though his hands twitched to stretch out and feel hers, he kept them tied by his sides.
“Still up?” He was intending to get back and drown his new sorrows in cheap whiskey, so much for that now.
“You were going to drink again weren’t you?”
She should be happy he didn’t go straight to a bar or something from the job.
He sighed, the all too familiar lecture he’d heard a million times. Dante wasn’t in the mood for it, not anymore.
“Keep out of my business for once, will you?” He griped, turning with every intention to brush past her when he found himself rooted in place; ensnared. “What’s this for?” He asked, keeping a steady frown. His eyes narrowed in further perplexity. Talk about mixed signals, he was getting a little tired. Still, although he could break out of her arms with the same ease it took to step on an ant, he didn’t.
“I felt bad for acting that way earlier, it was rude and unfair to you. I’m sorry.” She apologised and in an instant his bad mood dissipated into the atmosphere. It helped that she was hugging him in spite of the fact he was covered in dirt and muck.
“You said it was payback,” he said, opening the topic for explanation on her part. As much as he wanted to stay in her childish hug, they were sorta standing in front of the door. Not to mention the Rebellion on his back, so if she was planning to keep hugging him, he’d like to put the sharp things away safely.
Thankfully, kinda, she stepped away and allowed him to strip himself of his gear, taking care to put everything neatly away where they belonged. He then absently followed her over to that damned sofa and took a seat beside her, lifting a leg up, he turned to face her as best he could.
“Yes, you won’t—you don’t remember this,” she paused and he could feel a subtle venom on her tongue when she reworded her thoughts. “But there was a time a couple years ago—I know, I’m ridiculous for dwelling on it but you can’t blame me for it.” Dalia turned, barely able to make him out in the darkness but occasionally his eyes would glow from the dim lights outside. “You were drunk.” She started to explain the thick of it, pronouncing each word with a sullen tone. “Really drunk. There were so many bottles around you, but I didn’t blame or fault you for it because I understood. I understand,” she sighed. He could practically hear her hands rubbing together in her lap. “You… You said a lot of strange things when I tried to help you to bed, I’d like to note that you didn’t make it easy at all.”
He felt his brows furrow, she was recounting an event he truly didn’t have a single memory of. Sure he could recall a good lot of times where something similar to that could have probably happened but… He ran a hand over his face.
“What did I do, Lia?” He breathed out, hesitant to know the answer. He was starting to feel like a beast and it wasn’t his conflicted feelings, nor was it his dysmorphia over the whole half demon thing—no, this was fully on his human side. “God, what did I do…” He didn’t have much faith in himself which told half the story already, he knew he made terrible sober decisions and even worse ones when pissed out of his mind, there was no telling what to expect.
“Well, you first tried to coerce me into your bed.” He felt his breath hitch in his throat like he’d swallowed a wad of sandpaper. Releasing it in a shaky exhale, he listened intently when she continued. “Of course I said no and you did argue a little but you let it go once we got inside—“ This time a sigh of relief came out but it was within seconds that he couldn’t breathe again. “—You said I was the only good thing to have happened to you, which flattered me at first until you kissed me.”
“Fuck,” he thought, a whisper on his tongue too. As if it couldn’t get worse, she carried on.
“At the time I didn’t know what to think, you had me pushed up against your wall and, while I was sure you wouldn’t hurt me, it was quite scary at first. Imagine my surprise when you follow that up by sobbing and telling me that you love me but don’t deserve me.”
This was a lot worse than he had assumed. A hell of a lot worse. What the fuck? No fucking wonder she doesn’t want him to drink himself to the point of blacking out anymore, he practically threw himself on her—to put it lightly. Hell, he won’t sugarcoat it he straight up fucking violated her, didn’t he? From the sound of it that’s what he thought, he didn’t remember it at all which made it so much worse. Dalia wouldn’t lie about something like that either. There was a prick in the back of his head urging him to run, to take a drink and escape from the issue, but the mere thought of alcohol triggered an unbridled anger to coil up inside him.
“Firstly, I’m—I am so, so sorry. I… There’s nothing I can say or do right now to make it up to you but if I could take back what I did to you, I would—I know I can’t but… God, I’m so sorry Dalia.” A million thoughts rushed through his mind, graciously burying all of the pathetic calls to his escape mechanism. “Why didn’t you tell me? Hell, why didn’t you pack your things and leave? I wouldn’t blame you,” he uttered, ashamed by the very sound of his own voice. He couldn’t bear to even look in her direction, the pitch black abyss that made up the floor felt like it was swallowing him whole—part of him wished it would.
“I did tell you, or I tried to. I wanted to,” she sighed. “When you woke up the next morning I helped with your hangover and asked you if you meant everything you said the night before. Wanna guess what you said?” He really didn’t but she took his silence as a sign to continue anyway. “You didn’t remember a thing. Still, I remembered it so I thought maybe there was a chance it was actually true and real.” Her voice lowered, turned bitter, saddened. “I guess I jumped the gun a little, you went to that bar in the afternoon and you came back with a lady under your arm, flirting all the way upstairs.”
So the situation that he thought had just reached the pinnacle of worse had worsened yet again. What the fuck was wrong with him? Problem was, as much as he wanted to deny it and defend himself, he knew he couldn’t. Not only did the morning after sound somewhat familiar, it was definitely something he could see himself doing back then, he was a little better now at least but… Her story felt familiar to him, just like the excruciating burn in the centre of his chest. Pain, a terrible pain. Lingering like a ghost’s kiss but far less kind, there was a machine mangling his insides, razors tearing at his flesh from the confines of his lungs. And by God, he had a passing thought that ripping his heart out would hurt less than the ache reverberating across his body; that beating organ of his was being squeezed by frozen and gangly hands, sharp nails of ice digging into him like blades. He couldn’t begin to fathom an inch of how Dalia must’ve felt all this time, what he was feeling now must’ve been only a smidgen of it. Not for the first time in his life, Dante wanted to disappear.
“I thought it would be better to forget about it but… I think I must have been cursed or something, I started seeing you differently after that,” she laughed humorlessly, her voice coming out breathily and strangely lighter. “I didn’t mind it, you know?” She confessed, he still refused to look up. “A please or may I might’ve been nice but… I liked it.” Dalia smiled in spite of everything. “Dante, you might’ve been drunk and unaware of yourself—you might’ve scared me a little by being too forceful at first; but Dante, you gave me every opportunity to push you away. It was my choice not to, not when you were holding me so tenderly, like I was something divine. I’d never been treated that way before. So you see, I took advantage of it and I lost myself in you too; we both went too far that night.” She paused and inclined her head to look at him, only to realise she couldn’t in the dim light, even with him being inches away. Dalia was quick to turn on the drab floor lamp, her lips flattening swiftly afterwards at the sight of Dante curled over himself, head in his hands. She didn’t want to make it worse so she held her tongue.
“Stop trying to make me feel better, why are you sharing the blame? I came onto you with no warning, Dalia. I could’ve hurt you—I did hurt you!” He shouted. But he wasn’t angry at her, no, how could he be? He was angry at himself.
“You could never truly hurt me Dante,” she stated with a cold sternness to her voice. “When you pulled away the first time I was the one to follow up, the second time it was me kissing you. It isn’t just you, we both were there. I had no intention of making you hate yourself like this over it, so please don’t think any worse of yourself. We both made a mistake and it’s okay. Besides, it isn’t the kiss I wanted payback for.”
He wanted to argue that it was in no way okay but couldn’t stomach hearing his own voice—he didn’t even want to think, he couldn’t stand the feeling of being in his body.
“I…” Dalia stammered slightly, scratching her nose as she considered the best way to put it. “After hearing what you had said and after the kiss, I said before that I started seeing you differently. Hearing that confession gave me hope, it opened my eyes to a new possibility for something amazing—“ He knew what happened next, she didn’t need to say anything. “That hope dwindled with each new girl you brought back, until I soon came to wonder whether you ever even meant the words you told to me. I tried to forget about them too, I really tried to get over it, I did—“ She grew distressed as she fisted a hand in her hair and sighed heavily, running a palm over her face. When she spoke her voice broke and quivered. “But then last week, out of the blue, you called me beautiful; said that the man I end up marrying will be the luckiest one alive—and it all came overflowing back out again.”
Oh he could assure her those words he told her were true, truer than any other word he’s ever said and ever will say. On that he was certain. And he was even more certain when he convinced himself that she didn’t deserve those words from him, not because she wasn’t worth enough, but because she was worth too much—far more than he could ever hope to call his own. He didn’t deserve her, this he believed to the very core of his soul.
“Guess there won’t ever be such a man though. After all, you’ve always thought marriage to be a waste of money.”
Yet he’d die to see her draped in a white gown, flowers held in her small hands, feathers falling by her feet.
Way to ruin everything Dante, nice work! All in a night’s effort, yeah? Imagine if you could just keep it in your pants for a while, or is that asking too much?
Thank God he was better than that now. But, when he dreamed about this scenario (he’d dreamed about it a lot) it had never turned out this way. A disaster was the only way to put it, he couldn't even rejoice at what was a blatant confession on her part.
He felt her hand brush over his shoulder and while it felt just as nice as it usually did, he felt too vile a thing for her to touch. She might’ve twisted her words around and made excuses for it but he still couldn’t get over it; he did all of that to her, hurt her badly, he told her such sweet things only to basically spit in her face. Even if she forgave him, he couldn't.
“Dante, please don’t beat yourself up. I know you feel bad but please don’t, you’re going to hurt yourself even more if you spiral again. I’m telling you it’s okay, you’re okay. I just got crushed by my own lofty expectations. It's not your fault.” He heard her pleas and let them turn to ash in the wind. What else was he supposed to do? Brush it off and act like an arrogant piece of shit? Fuck that. He’d do right by her, he’d earn the forgiveness she so wrongly gave him, even if it took the rest of his life to do it.
“Dalia it’s not that easy, I know you said I didn’t but I hurt you. I told you I loved you, kissed you, and then took a different woman to my bed the very next day. You might forgive me for playing with you but I don’t, not when I meant every word of what I said,” he explained, levelling an even tone despite the war raging inside of him. How could she say it wasn’t his fault? It’s always his fault.
She was quiet for a while, her hand was heavy on his bicep until it lifted, followed shortly by her getting up from her seat. Her footsteps echoed and he could see the tips of her boots approach him.
“Okay, how about I make it so we’re even then?”
“What—?” He rasped, cutting short every thought and word on his mind when her hand cupped his cheek like he was something delicate—like something divine. Then she kissed him with a fierceness unlike her. Minty. Like the toothpaste they both shared; the passing realisation that she’d stayed up to wait for him after getting ready for bed wasn’t lost on him. He felt his palms sweat as he balled them up white knuckled and yearning to grab her, any part of her. He didn’t dare. She was of a differing opinion on the matter, shooting her other hand into his hair, grasping it tightly. He wasn’t a pansy; she pulled with a death grip but hell would freeze over before he complained about it—yank it harder, he didn’t mind. She could cut into him with words or a knife and he’d thank her for the attention.
When she decided to tear herself away, although he subconsciously leaned to follow her, he didn’t try starting anything more or continuing where she left off. She was close enough to imagine it though. Her breath was mixed with his own and the tips of their noses squished together, something he took note of as she seemed to enjoy doing it; when she moved a little closer he could feel her lips ghost over his teasingly, painstakingly. It was torture.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered, cradling his face in her palms, locking her eyes onto his and imprisoning him there—almost taunting him into trying to look away. How could he? When he was staring into a silver mirror of stars, where a soft desire oozed out of every glimmer, bleeding into his reflection from those fanged eyes of hers; let them bite into him further, let them enthral him until they drew blood.
Silken affection seeped from every pore in her body. Her fingertips felt like heaven as they drew tender lines over his cheeks, tearing ravines of heat into his skin; it was enough to make him go insane. “Hey Dante?” He choked on his response, earning a subtle flutter of her eyelashes and a tiny but gentle smile he couldn’t quite see. Was he crying? Maybe, he wasn’t too sure. Probably, he couldn’t remember when the last time he blinked was.
“I’ve been madly in love with you since that night two years ago.”
With those words said, once again the heat of her skin on his vanished. It was like being tossed into an ice bath yet again as she moved away from him, leaving him frozen in place. Confused, yet again; perplexed, he was utterly baffled. What? What? The hell just happened? He was speechless watching her turn her back to leave up the stairs, she didn’t look back at him; he waited for a moment and heard a door open and close, she went to her room… She was—what? Wait, huh?
He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. He fucked up two years ago and did something he probably shouldn’t have, fast forward to the present, she got reminded of that night and played around a bit as ‘payback’, he found out about what happened and got depressed which, now he thought about it, why was he getting depressed? He should’ve been asking her if she was okay, he should’ve talked to her more about it and worked through it more. No, instead he continued to act like a goddamn child. And then she kissed him. He did a double take. She kissed him, he wasn’t dreaming that part, right? His fingers came to his lips instinctively, they were still hot and covered in the reminder of her mouth. Did he get drugged on the mission or something? Did she?
There was no way he was sleeping tonight.
Or so he thought but he must have passed out at some point after lying down on the couch to think. He felt groggy upon waking up, a bit disoriented and able to feel a massive kink in his neck. He could hear some unsubtle whispers just across from him, he assumed it was Dalia, she wasn’t very quiet in both keeping her voice down and in moving around. He heard the phone click as it was pressed down before she grumbled to herself, something about Morrison not being there when she needed him.
“I expected it from Enzo but Morrison too? Why don’t we have more friends?” Seemed like she called up that old wiley bag of work too. He thought they had plenty of ‘friends’, he’d probably label them as acquaintances though. Dante opted to keep feigning sleep as she scurried out of the front doors of the shop, but when she didn’t return for a good 10 minutes he grew bored and sat up, reaching for a stray magazine to read while he waited for her.
His impatience to talk to her about what happened was stifled almost instantly as he watched her enter the store with a man he’d never seen before. Dante met her wandering eyes with an owlish look of amazement, she smiled brightly and greeted him casually, acting like there was nothing strange going on despite the seemingly equally confused man trailing behind her. Dante looked at the dude for less than a second before deciding he wasn’t worth any attention, who even was the guy? Like an electrician or something? Did a fuse blow in her room? He wasn’t certified but he’d worked as a jack of all trades for long enough to know how to fix something like that.
“Sorry, did I wake you? Hope you slept well—“ She paused for a second and turned to the man behind her, whispering despite knowing Dante would be able to hear her with full clarity. “What was your name again?”
“Jake, um—“
“Jake and I are gonna go to my room and have a really fun time now, aren’t we Jake? C’mon!”
Dante honestly didn’t have words. What? He couldn’t compute what the hell just happened. Dalia grabbed the dude’s arm and basically dragged him upstairs, but the dude looked even more confused than he was. Uncharacteristic was putting it lightly, this had never happened in the eleven odd years he’d known her. So, wait, did he actually dream up last night then?
No, it couldn’t have been. He remembered it vividly, too vividly for it to have been conjured by his mind. Dante wanted to believe it was real, hence why his delayed reaction was to jump up and run to the stairs after them. Hell no was some random ass guy gonna come in and—oh.
Oh.
So that was her game. Making them even, he didn’t really understand what she meant by that at first, but now? He didn’t want her acting stupid on his account, what if this joke of a guy had issues or something? There’s no way he’d be able to just sit around while she put herself in danger—come to think of it, he ran past in a hurry but was it just him or was Ivory missing from the display?
He heard a shriek come from her bedroom, only it wasn’t hers.
“Listen up Jake, sorry to threaten you with a good time. It’s not the kind you might’ve been expecting but I’ll still be gentle. Here’s the deal: we play ten rounds of cards, then you leave and probably never see me again, okay? Try anything and it’ll be you crying for your mommy, not me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
He was kinda jealous at first but now he was straight up envious. Sure, he didn’t expect her to go through the full and exact motions of what happened back then, but a part of him was scared she’d take it that far. It would’ve been well deserved but… She was too loyal to her feelings for that. Dalia wasn’t an immature idiot of a man either, although as he sat outside of her door listening to the flicking of cards he began to wonder about that.
“You’re not very good at cards, are you?”
“I’m sorry ma’am.”
“Would you stop calling me ma’am? And stop looking over there, it’s not going to fly up and stab you on its own, try focusing on the cards and maybe you’ll win one.”
He did not win one. Dante took a seat downstairs once he’d ascertained she wasn’t doing anything ridiculous. Questionable actually, but she was safe at least. She and the Jake fellow came down after just under an hour, the guy looked like he’d come back from a war zone, white faced and drained of all vitality.
Dalia saw the man out and turned to go back upstairs, basically ignoring Dante as he sat leg bouncing waiting for her.
“What’d you do to the poor guy?” He asked, trying to calm his own nerves with the bad joke. Hardly a joke really. Apparently hardly a question either as she didn’t even properly react to him, merely offered a noncommittal shrug as she walked back.
Seeing as she wasn’t acknowledging his clear want to speak to her, he hurried after her and stopped her with a hand on her arm just as she began climbing the stairs.
“Hey, can we talk about last night?” He bit the bullet and opted for the direct approach. “Please? He muttered, adding it when she didn’t say anything.
Confusion, mirroring his own from the morning.
“Last night?” She questioned, tilting her head. “What happened last night?” Dalia placed a hand on her chin and looked up in thought, furrowing her brows as she attempted to wrack her brain for the memory of what it was he could be talking about.
Taken aback, Dante took his hand off her arm.
“What…? Wait, you don’t remember—“ Either he was losing his mind or she was still playing that game of hers.
“Did I do something strange? I don’t remember it…” She mumbled, looking far from saddened, she looked excited. “I know I’ll remember whatever happens today though, if you want to jog my memory?”
He stared at her for a while.
“You forgot? Everything?”
“Everything.” She nodded, grinning a little too widely for someone with apparent selective amnesia.
“What about two years ago?”
“What happened two years ago?”
He blinked, then he laughed. This was so stupid. They’d have to talk about it and discuss it properly at some point; he wanted to talk about it and deal with it maturely like he should’ve at the very beginning, but for right now? Right now this was all he could ever dream of. She’s perfect. Too perfect and too good for him—for anyone on this Earth.
“I fucked it up the first time but I won’t make the same mistake twice. I won’t make you regret giving me another chance, Darls, I swear.” He gingerly took her hand in his, wrapping his fingers around the small expanse of it. No rushing, he’d take it slow this time.
“You’d make quite a few enemies if you did that,” she laughed, he paled. Yeah, he didn’t wanna face down an angry Lady nor Trish, let alone both at the same time.
He grasped her other hand, anguishing over the fact he didn’t take his ratty gloves off.
“Darls, meeting you was the best thing that’s happened to me, falling for you is a close second.” Taking the plunge, he dropped his head onto her shoulder and almost fell to his knees at how he slotted there like he was made for her. Squeezing her hands with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he even had, he breathed in her scent and could see himself swearing off oxygen for it instead. There wasn’t any heating on in the building but he felt several suns worth of warmth radiating off where their bodies touched and brushed. “Thanks for sticking by my side all this time, I know I haven’t done much to deserve it.”
“Why must you put yourself down like that?” She sighed, breathing slow and taking a soft tone despite the obvious threads of thin disappointment lacing it. Dante almost began to panic when she slipped her hands out of his hold, but he was placated simply and quietly when she instead took a step down, closer, and curled her arms around his waist instead. “You’ve been through more than any normal man could handle, you’re not a perfect human being—regardless of you being half demon—but I don’t expect you to be—I’m definitely not either. But Dante, to me you’re everything, to me you are perfect. It is all of your imperfections that make you perfect to me. You have done more than enough, credit yourself for all the work you put in, just for once, won’t you?”
“I love you,” he confessed not for the first time and not for the last time. “I love you,” he repeated.
“Do you think you deserve me?” She whispered, cradling him like fragile china that was about to break. Not far from the truth.
He wanted to shake his head, adamantly argue that no he’d never deserve her because that’s what his head was screaming at him. He was still a wreck, he still had nights where he’d get drunk and make a disgusting mess of the shop when she went out, he didn’t take women of the night anymore but he still dropped by the bars sometimes. He had bad habits, was terrible with his money and, realistically speaking, he had nothing to offer her. Even with all of her efforts to help him heal over the years he was still stuck in place; sure he’d progressed somewhat but it felt like he’d only taken a single step forward in the entirety of the twelve years it’d been since he met her. Of course she didn’t deserve to be saddled with a man carrying all that baggage, let’s not even mention his demonic heritage, he was more work than it’s worth.
He nodded into the arch of her neck. It felt like a lie but there was something freeing about the way it felt when he said yes. When he felt her poking him, Dante reluctantly pulled away to see what it was she wanted his full attention for—which she had already really, but he guessed she wanted to look at him properly or something, he could get behind that sentiment. Losing her arms around him was a critical wound, however, and he mourned them the second he felt them slither away; when she held his face between both of her hands, well, he swiftly forgot about the loss.
“I love you too,” she beamed, pressing her nose against his with a certain urgency. “But if you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds I’m going to go insane.”
Who was he to deny the lady of what she wanted?
He closed the distance fast, helped by the fact she was just as impatient to lean in closer. It wasn’t their first kiss, although they would probably agree later to call it that, he knew inherently it would not be the last. Their lips danced an orchestrated song around each other, angled perfectly to taste that same damn mint toothpaste—briefly he considered he probably had the worst morning breath in the world but, apparently, she didn’t seem to mind it all that much. Who cares, she was sharing the mint anyway.
Hands roamed, breaths mingled, Dante remembered grabbing her thigh to pick her up; taking pause when she wrapped her legs around him, he’s pretty sure he made it to the snooker table but she didn’t unravel herself from him. He could’ve sworn she pulled his hair at some point, a fair play considering he probably broke a couple of buttons on her shirt.
“I think I liked you better back when you didn’t wear a shirt,” she snickered into his ear as he trailed messy kisses across her neck. It caused a bubble of laughter to escape his throat, interrupting his path down.
“I’m sure I can arrange something for the gorgeous babe in the short shorts. Y’know, the two buttoned shirt was a killer—and the tie?” He chuckled. “I can think of a few other uses for it besides being tied around your neck.”
Her eyes widened considerably at his straightforward comment, and while a blush flared on her face, she didn’t seem to be averse to his crude flirting. She slapped his arm and laughed alongside him.
“I lied,” she hummed. “I quite like you as you are now.”
Dante smiled at the gentle press of her lips across his cheek and jaw. He started to absentmindedly draw circles with his fingers on her hips, managing to bury his hands beneath her ruffled shirt in order to feel her skin against his fingertips.
“That so? I’m a bit of a mess y’know Darls.”
“A hot one at that, but I can make you messier—“ She snickered through a quiet breath across the shell of his ear. To say a violent wave of shivers ran down his spine is putting it lightly, he felt his body quake beneath the weight of her words. “—What do you say to pizza?”
He laughed heartily, leaning back and trying his damndest not to remove his arms from around her.
“Now that's a language I speak,” he chuckled and picked her up effortlessly again, this time heading over to his desk in order to grab the phone to call up the nearby pizzeria. The same motions he made often, only this time his lap was a little heavier when he sat down. “Any preferences babe? Dessert?”
“Well, since it’s a celebration… We should splurge a little. Sundae?” She mirrored his knowing smile. “As for the pizza, you know what I want.”
Although his hand brushed over the phone, Dante didn’t opt to pick the receiver up, nor did he attempt to dial up the familiar number; he heard her reply and felt a mischievousness rise within him, so he kissed her. It was one part him wanting to and the other was in referral to her wanting him to kiss her—it still stood to effect. Needless to say it distracted them both from ordering the pizza, and even then it was a task listing the order when they finally got around to it. Why? Because they were incapable of keeping their hands and mouths off each other—which makes one think how they managed to skirt around for two years without losing their minds.