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Happy Isles

Chapter Text

You were trying to mind your own business.

In his defence, so was he.

V sat on the couch, one hand holding his book open, the other lazily scritching the velvet neck of the panther napping in his lap. You watched as his attention drifted down the pages, his deep green eyes shifting beneath dark lashes as he read between the lines. His inked chest rose and fell with his calm breathing; his soft, jet-black hair laid beautifully around his face. With the nature of recent events, you couldn’t remember the last time he looked so at peace.

It filled you with insurmountable rage.

“Is something the matter?” he asked softly, not looking up from his book. It didn’t take a demon hunter to sense the aura of unbridled fury emanating from your entire being.

You couldn’t take it, anymore. “You are overwhelmingly attractive and it makes me ANGRY because I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE IT.”

Your face was burning—from frustration or from embarrassment, you weren’t sure—but it was worth it, damn it, to finally see V with something other than smug composure on his face. For a moment, he looked at you with widened eyes, his mouth rounding some voiceless word of surprise as the slightest of pinks dusted his cheeks.

And the moment was gone.

He returned to his reading, lowering his head to hide his eyes behind his swept hair.

“You flatter me,” he said, his voice as unwavering as ever. “I am…quite privileged to have drawn your gaze. And your ire, it seems.”

The smile on his face was obvious.

You were going to fucking explode.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t expected to discover a living garden on your most recent excursion. Though demonic vines still plagued the buildings around you, clusters of bright red flowers were growing through the crumbled pavement at the center of the outdoor plaza. Beneath the ever-present atmosphere of destruction, life and colour had begun to rise from the remnants, and you found it beautiful, somehow.

As the area was secure, V entertained your idle wandering, as he always did. He left you to your devices, opting to lean against a slate of debris nearby and read from his book as you explored the immediate area to your heart’s content. Griffon and Shadow were by his side--until, of course, they weren’t.

When the absence of his familiars went on long enough to rouse suspicion, V finally glanced up from his reading. You were seated on the ground of the demolished plaza, surrounded by flower patches; both Griffon and Shadow were at your side, transfixed by the sight of your fingers working around the stems of the flowers you had picked.

“Whatchya makin’?” Griffon asked.

“You’ll see,” you smiled back.

The stems were unnaturally firm and pliable--with enough twisting, you didn’t even need wire to hold them together.

Shadow watched you finish your handiwork, keeping perfectly still as you gently placed the small crown of red flowers on her head. It slanted off-center. She closed her crimson eyes and rubbed her cheek across your hand in thanks, her loud purring like an idle engine against your skin.

“Oh, so the overgrown pussycat gets a sweet accessory and I don’t?” Griffon huffed. “Talk about favouritism.”

“Well, give me a second!” you laughed.

You had to make the second one a little smaller to fit his head. When you were done, you balanced it carefully atop his own bony crown.

Griffon was thoroughly pleased.

“Ohoho, pretty slick!” he cackled, flapping his wings in excitement. “Hey, make me a necklace or somethin’ next, would you? I’m tired of bein’ the only one without a cool outfit.”

“Maybe in a bit,” you said, gathering more flowers.

V found himself enchanted by how committed you were to this newfound project of yours. The way your brows knitted together as you focused, the little pout of concentration on your face, the way your hands danced between flowers with practiced ease--you were absurdly endearing, and the sight of you alone filled him with warmth.

Finally shutting his book, he made his way over to you.

“Now,” he started, a playful lilt in his voice, “what is this task that has been blessed with your attention?”

You had to look up as he approached, as you were still sitting on the pavement.

Frowning, you lifted your chin and put on a fake, haughty voice. “Kneel.”

Amused, V did as you asked, leaning on his cane to get down on one knee before you. You rested the last flower crown on his head, the mass of red petals brilliant against the stark black of his hair.

“For my prince,” you beamed, trying to sound royal but coming off a little shy.

V dipped his head when he smiled, something he always did on the rare occasion you made him feel bashful.

He took your hand into his own. “And we will crown thy head with garlands of the ruddy vine; for now thou art bound; and I may see thee in the hour of bliss,” he recited, before touching his lips to the back of your hand.

Though you were still smiling, you’d turned as red as the flowers in his crown.

Griffon strutted around the two of you, his chest puffed up in his newly-crowned self-importance. “Alright, alright, knock it off with the lovey-dovey crap. You’re gonna make me chuck seed all over kittycat’s new hat.”

Shadow gave a low, warning growl.

“I’m kidding, take it easy! Hey, V, you think Nightmare would want in on this?”

You and V glanced at each other.

-

The circlet of red flowers still looked brilliant on V, even after his hair made the shift to white; the two of you were now craning your necks to look into the single eye of the behemoth sitting patiently before you, waiting for its crown.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea,” V mused. He watched you leave his side. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to need a lot more flowers.”

Chapter Text

  • The thing to remember about V is that he did not expect to live this long. From the moment he was separated from Vergil, V lived with the understanding of being the opposite side to Urizen’s coin, and the month or so of V’s lifetime was absolutely consumed with the directive of making things right again. So when V is granted the opportunity of his own existence, he’ll need some time on his own to self-reflect and reorient himself with the prospect.
  • V would like to travel, for a little while. A happy ending in my mind means he has his familiars by his side, or some alternate version of them, uncorrupted by Vergil’s trauma. Before the events of DMC5, V spent a month in Red Grave helping civilians escape, so we know he’s a helpful, sympathetic man at heart—but he’s also robbed at least one person to gather enough money to hire Dante. I think he’d fare fine wandering on his own for a while, either exchanging small favours with locals for room and board or, as a last resort, taking what he needs to survive.
  • V develops his calligraphy skills writing letters to his friends, the longest and most verbose of which are those he sends to Vergil. He takes great pride in his lettering, and stationary. There are probably wax seals on them and everything.
  • Once he returns to wherever he chooses to call home, the first thing V does is build a personal library. The book of Blake’s poetry was from Vergil’s childhood, but the love of reading is his own; not a single book enters V’s library without him having read it first, cover to cover. As you can imagine, he has a lot of catching up to do.
  • I imagine V would devour other sources of media and fiction the same way. V has Vergil’s memories of old books/movies/music/plays, but with his new lease on life, he would want to experience as much as he could firsthand. V would be extremely open-minded about listening to/watching/reading new things—yes, that includes anything you might think is ‘bad,’ as he wants to experience it all because he’s alive and he can—but he’s also brutally honest as he develops and curates his own picky tastes.
  • As he’s living on his own, there is no doubt in my mind V would learn how to cook. He’s not very good at it, at first, and Griffon doesn’t keep that a secret. But it’s the art he takes up to improve at, and he enjoys appreciating signs of his progress. His goal is to get good enough to host a fancy dinner party with the rest of the DMC crew. No one else even knows the man cooks until the over-the-top, fancy-calligraphy invitations go out.
  • V adores abstract strategy games and would learn to play as many as he could get his hands on, possibly keeping a collection he started during his travels (some of the ways he made money was by being an absolute shark.) Chess, Shogi, Go, Mancala—all of his sets are on display in his library. His prowess has discouraged his regular opponents, though, so no one ever actually plays games with him anymore. Sometimes Griffon will humour him with a match or two if V lets him win at cards enough times.
  • Finally, V enjoys any activity that reminds him he exists—less hobbies and more the idle moments of reflection he never, ever takes for granted. Reading by the fireplace with Shadow resting in his lap. Sitting with his old crew as they laugh at stories shared around a late-night diner booth. A cloudless sky outside his window that lets him see the stars. Anything that reminds him of how happy he is to be alive.

Chapter Text

Tonight had been rough, to say the least. V overexerted himself during the course of his last battle and was forced to retreat ahead of the rest of the crew.

Right now, the two of you were sitting on the couch in the back of Nico’s van to recuperate, the small lamp above you casting a warm glow across the room. The brown leather cushions beneath you were worn and duct-taped in places, but still incredibly comfortable.

Too comfortable.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you stirred awake, finding the side of your face nestled into the silken mess of V’s dark hair. You were seated by the arm of the couch; V had his head against your shoulder, one of his hands still holding his cane upright, his other hand tangled in yours. You weren’t even sure if he was asleep, until you felt him rouse beside you.

“My apologies,” he said at once, his voice sleep-ragged and weary. “I must have been more exhausted than I believed.”

You pressed a kiss into his hair. “You needed the rest.”

There was a distinct scent to him, crisp and earthen, like the ground after it rained. Though he was awake, he made no effort to move away from you; instead, he idly traced his thumb along your knuckles, the feel of his leather glove against your bare fingers always a lovely sensation. As V was taller than you were, he was normally the one embracing you--but having him lean into you felt wonderful in ways nothing else did, like it was your turn to protect him from the world.

Somehow, you could tell he felt a little self-conscious for letting himself drift off in this position by your side, within your embrace, so arrant and vulnerable.

“It is rather unbecoming,” he said softly, “how I forget myself around you.”

You felt your heart burst beneath your chest.

Leaning back into him, you buried him in a flurry of chaste kisses, from his hair to his forehead, from his brow bone to his cheeks, from his jaw to a spot against his neck that made a small, breathy laugh escape him.

He slid his hand along the side of your face and redirected the efforts of your lips against his own.

You hoped you made him feel loved.

Chapter Text

V would be a switch, with a preference for dominance.

He is a man with a strong presence and tenacious personality. When he knows what he wants, he will work for it, and it gets dangerous when he wants you, especially since he is a fast learner when it comes to knowing exactly which buttons to push. Do you like his eyes? Expect sidelong, split-second glances in public, brief enough to keep secretive but intense enough to set your heart racing. Enjoy his voice? He will politely excuse himself from the group, and on his way out, lean over your shoulder to whisper something filthy in your ear. V will tease you to hell and back then make it seem like it was your idea, like some kind of game.

Oh, but when he has you where he wants you, you are completely at his mercy. He has you riled up enough to do anything at this point, and though he may be poetic in his manner and speech, he is not shy to ask things of you. To use your mouth, your hands, your body on him. To stop holding back your breathy moans as he fucks you deep, or to muffle your cries behind his hand before someone else hears. He loves being in command, loves being the only one able to make you completely unravel. It’s a power trip.

However, it’s because V is always in control–in battle and in life–that, on occasion, he enjoys letting go. The days he is exhausted from fighting and needs help to unwind. The nights he wakes from nightmares he cannot remember, and you can tell he wants your soothing hands and kisses against him to grow heated. It’s impossible for you to keep your hands off of him, sometimes, when you feel him ease so completely beneath your touch.

You want to take care of him, so he lets you.

He turns languid beneath your hands, his body reacting to your touch wherever it may lead. Though not without his slow smiles and gentle, teasing remarks, he allows himself to become lost within the depths of your affection. Sometimes, you take your mouth to him, and you’re blessed with the sight of him looking down at you from behind his dark lashes, while he presses the back of his hand to his parted lips in nervous lust. Sometimes he is beneath you, his back arched beautifully, his hands tangled in the sheets as you roll your hips, making you do everything in your power to commit the angelic sight of him to memory.

Regardless of who is in control, he relishes every moment.

Chapter Text

Familiar, mounting tension tainted the days as they went on, like a countdown to an inevitability. Nothing short of a gentleman, V placed no undue pressure on you; though he loved threading your fingers together, loved pressing gentle kisses to your hair and leaning down to touch his forehead against yours, he never insisted or inquired for anything more.

You knew you would have to have tell him sooner or later, the fact you would never ‘progress’ to what was always assumed to be ‘the next stage’ of a relationship, yet his temperance made it all too easy to bury the conversation for another time. It was selfish to keep him in the dark about such an important part of you, you knew it was, but you wanted to hold onto him a little longer before risking having it all fall apart.

One evening, you were having drinks with the group after a particularly lucrative hunt. You hadn’t abstained, but you weren’t nearly as fargone as some of the others; the normal dirty jokes and vulgar comments were giving way to explicit tales of personal sexual exploits now making their way around the table.

Nico herself had just finished sharing a particularly racy story of conquest, smiling lazily at the laughter now erupting around the table.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s always the quiet ones that are the nastiest,” she slurred. She turned to you and V, pointing a lit cigarette at the two of you. “Take these two, for example. Betchya they fuck like rabbits.”

Before the embarrassment had a chance to fully rise in your face, you felt a gentle hand twine with yours.

“Excuse us for a moment,” V said, leading you from the room.

Your sudden departure was met with knowing jeers from the rest of the group, and you were sure your uncontrollable blushing did nothing to quell their lewd suspicions.

Your heart sank lower with every step you took. This was it, you were sure of it. You hadn’t expected this conversation to happen so soon, but any time would have been too soon. You would never be ready to risk letting him go.

V took you outside, away from the rowdiness—somewhere quiet, private. He didn’t release your hand, even as you came to a stop.

“You were not alone in your discomfort,” he assured. “I thought it best to leave before the others embarrassed themselves further.”

That was a gracious way of putting it.

The alcohol in your system already had your eyes glazing over. You nodded, as you didn’t trust your voice to not break otherwise.

“Tell me,” he began, and you were not prepared for the sudden softness of his voice, “am I broken?”

You swallowed, hard. He was no more broken for wanting sexual intimacy than you were for not wanting it, but you were not in any position to be the one assuring him, right now.

“Do I make you feel broken?” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

“You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You tried not to choke on your breath.

You wished he would let go of your hand.

“But,” he continued, “these...sexual sentiments run rampant. I overhear them from our allies, in the nature of the humour they share—even in the literature I read, poetry and prose alike—and I find there is no escaping it. It feels as if there is something within me I am meant to have, but was born without. As if I should need something I feel no desire to seek.”

The red in your face gave way to paling. It was only then when you realized he wasn’t meeting your eyes, either, vying to stare at the ground beneath his feet as if it would help anchor him.

Your mind went white. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“Your patience so far has been kindness enough, beloved, but you deserve someone who satisfies you completely.”

And suddenly, it all made sense—why he never pressured you along the way, why he was so quick to vacate the table at Nico’s remarks, why the words of his questioning rang so clearly within your own heart.

You let go of his hand and hugged him tightly, burying yourself against his chest just before your tears spilled over. A laugh escaped you, comforted and joyful and impossibly relieved.

V stilled in your arms before returning your embrace.

“I don’t understand,” he said, a reasonable measure of confusion in his voice.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “I’ll help.”

Chapter Text

“Nico will be a while,” V said, hanging up the payphone. “She and Nero are dealing with a situation across the city.”

“Crap.” Sitting up against the wall, you rubbed at your arms to try and rid yourself of goosebumps. “Did she g—give you an ETA?”

“No such luck. She sounded...preoccupied with their current battle, on the phone.”

You nodded. Nico normally defied all known laws of time and physics when it came to picking you up—you didn’t have it in you to be upset, especially not when she and Nero seemed to be tied up with something dangerous.

Still, at this point, you could see your breath in the air. You had no idea the temperature could drop this much past sundown. Not life-threatening, but still uncomfortable. You were the kind of person who got chilly on the best of days, which made it even worse for you when the weather actually got cold.

A slight breeze picked up and another icy wave of air washed over you, making you squeeze your eyes shut and cower in on yourself. You were full-on shivering, now.

Your kingdom for a fluffy blanket.

V leaned on his cane to kneel and sit next to you, propping his back up against the same wall.

“We could keep warmer if we were together,” he said, a smirk on his face. “What do you say?”

You shook your head. “You d—don’t have to. I—it’s my f—fault for not bringing a j—jacket.”

“...starlight, have you considered the possibility that you are not the only one here who is underdressed?”

You glanced at him. Sure enough, his cheeks and the tip of his nose were both red from the cold. Somehow, you hadn’t considered he was wearing even less than you were.

You shuffled over without another word. He spread his bent knees and you seated yourself between them, pressing your back to his chest. His jeans and leather coat were frozen to the touch, but then he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head as he held your body snugly against his own, and you almost forgot all about how cold you were.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Shadow slink towards the two of you, pacing in contemplative circles before she curled to lay across both your and V’s feet. V may have been warm but Shadow was a furnace—you might as well have had a fire going right in front of you.

You kept that way for a while, nestled between V and Shadow. The gentle weight of V’s chin on your head, his arms tight around you, the heft of Shadow’s warm body stretched across your feet—the closeness of it all filled you with enough warmth to last a winter.

Nico could take all the time she wanted, you could’ve stayed like this forever.

You heard the sound of a slight shift beside you. Griffon was sitting on the ground nearby, his eyes shut. His brilliant blue feathers were all fluffed up, and his head had retreated so far into his body his neck had disappeared.

“...psst.”

He opened a golden eye at you.

You let go of V’s arms to stretch out your own.

Griffon looked offended, for a moment.

(Just a moment.)

Though visibly torn at first, the giant bird eventually waddled over, nestling between your legs without comment. You hugged him, warming him up at once.

“Kid,” Griffon grumbled, “you ever tell anyone about this—”

You shook your head, cuddling him close. “Not a word.”

Chapter Text

Vergil retains every memory of your time together, every emotion V experienced with you in Vergil’s stead. However, the reunification of V and Urizen creates a layer of detachment to Vergil’s affections; it muddies Vergil’s current feelings towards you, as if the bond you created with V was little more than a fever dream.

You weren’t around for the moment the merge happened, but before Vergil absconds to the underworld alongside Dante, he comes to see you one last time, shooting you a meaningful glance from a distance.

“Until we meet again, starlight.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Considering Vergil’s personality, his immediate concerns, and his general demeanor at the end of DMC5, I find it difficult to imagine you would be a priority to Vergil at all. Thoughts of you would linger throughout his travels, of course—as a parallel to V’s existence, Vergil is now in possession of memories and existential sentiments that are not entirely his own. He would not act on them, not at first. He is far too selfish for that.

Depending on the circumstances of his return, Vergil would have spent so much time away from the human realm throughout his life at this point, that he has absolutely nothing waiting for him when he gets back. Only upon this realization does he seek you out—the second person on earth, aside from Nero’s mother, he had ever established some kind of compassionate connection with. Maybe he could build something new for himself, with you by his side.

Who knows how much time has passed since then?

How long had it been since he left you?

Vergil tries. So do you. The intention is there—so are V’s words, V’s mannerisms, V’s memories—but it’s just not the same.

Though he only returns to you in a selfish pursuit of self-preservation, in a strange way, Vergil feels like he owes it to himself and to you to attempt to rekindle what was lost. The remnants of V’s love and longing still linger within his aching heart, emotions which are difficult enough for a man like him to navigate without the knowledge he hadn’t really formed the feelings himself.

For you, Vergil and V are not the same person. Yes, V was part of Vergil, V has always been Vergil, but Vergil is far different from the man you fell in love with. Physical changes were one thing, yet whatever this is has proven far beyond that. There is a deep-rooted stoicism, a selfishness, a constant desire for power you find unappealing. As much as Vergil tries to adapt himself to what he once was, what he still is on the inside, there are some facets of a man’s personality you just cannot change—and it was a disservice to both you and Vergil to go on pretending he was someone he wasn’t.

Burdened by the undue pressure of how much you both thought you should care for one another, your eventual separation is mutual. A relationship cannot be whole if each person only brings half a heart to the table, after all.

The experience uncovers nothing but buried grief for the both of you. You, having to mourn the one you loved, again. Vergil, having failed, again.

Much to his frustration, Vergil still can’t do anything about the fierce yearning for you burning inside of him, and he despises it more than anything—all these memories of you that weren’t his own, alongside the knowledge he was no longer welcome to the happiness with you he once had. Frankly, for him, it was distracting to his progress.

He just wants to move on.

Vergil finds that, somehow, he can carve out this part of himself without compromising his current form, at the petty cost of being unable to feel love again. Discovering that he can manipulate Yamato’s powers in such a manner is simultaneously the most selfish and selfless act of Vergil’s life.

You had no idea what he was planning, at least not until Vergil’s heart is on your doorstep, as dark-haired and doe-eyed as you remembered him, naked as the day he was born.

“…hello again, starlight.”

Chapter Text

Whatever reactions he may have been expecting from you, this certainly wasn’t one of them.

Pinned to the wall, V shuddered as he felt your mouth move down his body, your hands forcing his shirt up to reveal more of his inked skin to your lips. His dark hair was messy around his flushed face, thanks to your eager hands having earlier run through it. He was already painfully hard; his aching cock tented the front of the skirt draped around his thighs, a telltale wet spot already forming against the folds of dark red fabric.

You’d barely touched him and he was already falling apart.

All too often, V would stumble upon you wearing something from his closet, usually a shirt or hoodie of his that was way too big on you, considering your height difference. He found it endearing, how you liked wearing his clothes, and he thought he’d tease you about your little habit by returning the favour—to his surprise, however, you’d found the image of him in one of your skirts a little more than just endearing.

Now, you were on your knees in front of him, and the sight of your hand pumping his cock beneath the loose fabric was somehow even more obscene than if he was completely bare.

Trying to maintain some semblance of bravado, he smirked down at you, breathlessly. “You will be the death of me, you know.”

“Not the worst way to go,” you smiled back, before dipping your head beneath his skirt.

And then your mouth was on him, soft, gentle, your tongue tracing delicate swirls along his crown and savouring the sleek, salty taste of him practically dripping with his own arousal. It didn’t take long before your languid strokes and teasing mouth made his thighs start to tremble; he was always so confident, so sure of himself, that the rare occasion of him unravelling to your touch was intoxicating, and you intended to get drunk off of him as long as he would let you.

A slow, deliberate drag of your tongue along his slit drew a strangled noise from his throat.

“Please,” he whimpered, finally, “please.”

Your smile hidden beneath his skirt, you took him fully into your mouth without warning, instantly rewarded with a weak, shaky sigh from above.

“Oh, love—”

With trembling fingers, he cradled a hand against your head, softly threading through your hair for anchor. The sounds of your wet movements against him were absolutely filthy. You hollowed your cheeks, stroking your hands and curling your tongue as you slid the silky length of him to and from your mouth, over and over again. His hips rocked softly in time with your movements, and he stifled his moans against the back of his hand; his knees were shaking harder than ever, now, having trouble keeping him upright. His uneven voice spiralled higher and higher, and you could feel him getting close, his body curling over you as you eagerly helped him chase his peak.

His voice broke when he came.

You took him from your mouth at the last moment and painted him with the ribbons of his own release, pearly white threads spilling over your hands, across his shirt, onto the red fabric still hugging his hips. You revelled in the way he twitched in your gasp as his legs finally gave out—he slid down the wall to sit on the floor in front of you, flustered and messy, his knees apart as his spent cock peeked out beneath the bottom of his now-ruined skirt.

You kissed him deep, long before he could catch his breath.

He truly was a sight to behold.

Chapter Text

The first thing you felt as you roused from your slumber was a hand brushing your hair from your eyes, before those gentle fingertips were replaced by the warm touch of lips to your forehead.

“Morning, love.”

That dark, lovely voice.

You squeezed your eyes shut harder before wrapping the sheets tighter around yourself. Sleepily, you were drawn to the warmth lying beside you, and you burrowed up against V’s chest, nestling into his cradling arms to close the distance between you. The snuggle earned a chuckle from him, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath his chest. Sincere. Comforting. Like you were right at home.

He pressed a kiss to your head. “Why do you hide from me?”

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

“You dream of me?” He stroked your hair, idly. “Surprising. As if I do not bother you enough during your waking hours.”

“Never enough.”

“You are truly insatiable. Though,” he hummed, “after last night’s performance, that should not come as a surprise.”

As if by magic, the traces of his pampering blossomed to attention. The marks his mouth had left against you ached in spots all across your skin. There was a telltale soreness between your thighs that lingered only after the nights he brought you to completion more times than you could count, until his jaw was sore and your body was trembling and the only word left on your lips was his name.

Another kiss before he purred into your hair. “Oh, I do so love hearing you sing for me.”

Warmth rose in your cheeks. Sensing your ripple of embarrassment, he wrapped both arms around you, holding you even tighter against him. The swell of your bare chest pressed against the flat of his own, and the snug closeness made a content little sigh slip from his throat.

With blurred visions of the previous night swimming behind your still-shut eyes, your hand drifted up, tracing a slow, familiar path along the side of his body and feeling the soft fabric of the dress shirt he still had on; it was still unbuttoned down the front, you noticed, as your fingers made contact with his chest. You remembered now what set you off so badly, why you’d stolen him away mid-undress and refused to let him go until you had your fill, until he’d filled you completely.

V shifted from you, just enough to cradle your face in one of his hands. “Come, now. Let me see you.”

You blinked your eyes open--slowly, carefully.

“Tell me, love. Are you still dreaming?”