Work Text:
Faust lightly pushed them down onto a chair in the corner of her cold white room. The walls this time were lined with not only complex mathematical formulas but also all kinds of complicated tools ranging from basically just differently sized knives to laser saw scalpels. Whenever Dante ends up in her room, it's always either a surgeon's palace or a mechanic's paradise. “Please sit still. I will proceed with removing your face plate to closely inspect the insides of your head. No tools will be used aside from a standard screwdriver.”
Dante tensed as Faust held their head in place, not helping the headache actively knocking against their skull... they don't have one, but if they did, they would've cracked it open already with how badly they've been knocking on their head for the past week to lighten the pain. It didn't help much, and now the headache was starting to noticeably affect their work. Wings forbid anyone notices their worsening state— Dante had finally cracked under the pressure and decided to consult Faust about it before Heathcliff spreads any rumors of their manager suffering from ligma-induced headaches.
They almost jumped at the feeling of something cold pressed up to their neck for a second. It was probably an instant thermometer. “When did the seeds start to appear?”
<Errr, some time ago, I don't—> Dante gripped onto their knees tight once Faust began to work on the screws at their "chin". The headache made their removal extra uncomfortable with the way it amplified the sensation of them scratching against the holes in their head, Dante dreaded just how horrible the feeling of hands digging through their cogs and wires will become soon. <Maybe... two weeks ago? Before the headache... They're so small, I just thought it was some trash stuck in my clock hands or something.>
Faust removed their face plate much more carefully, seeing them in plain. She immediately noticed something stuck in between its edges that made it more difficult to take off, as if some wiring got messy and something will tear if she pulls on it too much. “Itching? Fevers? Any additional concerns?”
<I would've told you— OWOWOW-!!>
“Faust doesn't think so.” With a harsh, risky pull, something snapped — something that looked like a torn black wire stuck to the back of Dante's face plate, but it was actually a thin... vine of some sort? It was completely covered in machine oil, making it so discolored, which then dripped onto the floor and made a nauseating iron stench hang in the air. Faust was quick to cover her mouth and nose, after which she'd finally peered into the insides of Dante's head. Her eyes widened just slightly enough to be concerning. “...Oh.”
<Umm... Faust, that thing is dripping right onto your shoes...>
“Dante, I am not pleased to inform you that your head cavity is entirely overtaken by rotting foliage.”
Dante couldn't sense its smell, but it's a good thing they couldn't. They couldn't see it either, although Faust's description of the sight, as brief as it was, made their gore-and-death-filled imagination run wild. Some of this "rotting foliage" began to actually spill out from inside their head and over their clothes, its dark, yellowish juices sticking to their shirt and making it all feel that much more disgusting... Faust had to take a step back to breathe, Dante would've done the same in her shoes, honestly. Her oily, rot-stained shoes...
“The reason for your headache must be... that.” The woman's brow twitched, and she audibly gagged. Wings, Dante wishes they could rot with the rest of the filth dripping out of their clock head. “Faust is unable to recognize the specific genus of... the plant that has overtaken your body, but it does seem to possess petals. I have also found some young seeds stuck to the back of your face plate, and I can say with full confidence that these specific parasitic seeds are a byproduct of the hanahaki disease.”
<...Parasitic seeds? Hanahaki disease...?>
“Are you not aware of the nature of parasitic entities, Dante?”
<I... am, I think some Abnormalities might've had stuff to do with parasites.>
“Although the hanahaki disease is not related to any Abnormality, it makes itself a natural part of hostile flora. It's not common, but certain species of flowers have a chance to be hosts to the parasitic seeds which cause—”
<Okay, okay! So the flowers growing because of these parasites cause headaches?>
“Not necessarily. The most common symptom of the hanahaki disease is flower petals clogging up the subject's lungs, causing internal damage to the respiratory system, which in turn forces the subject to cough up these petals, further spreading the disease.”
<So... that's why something in my chest felt kind of—>
“Dante.”
<I don't think about these things that much! It's not much different from feeling sore in the neck after five of you get decapitated and I have to revive you all, I wouldn't know!>
With a disappointed frown, Faust took out a spare surgical mask out of a nearby drawer and began spraying disinfectant into the air and all over Dante. “Do you happen to possess romantic feelings toward anyone in our closest p—”
<W-What does this have to do with the... this!?>
She sighed, pulling her mask further up and over her nose. “...The one and only way to cure the hanahaki disease in our current day and age is to confess your feelings toward your person of interest. See, this disease progresses with the subject's increasing stress levels, more specifically those resulting from the possibility that their romantic attraction to a certain other individual may be one-sided, so getting rid of that source of stress is the obvious natural solution to making the disease inactive.”
<...uh-huh.> Dante scrunched up like a dry sponge.
So their headache... or rather the rotting flora filling their head to the brim... is caused by some weird disease that feeds on unrequited crushes? Okay, Dante has heard and seen much weirder things, they're sure that some Abnormalities and Distortions are capable of spreading much worse plagues and even parasites, but they've never affected them personally, meaning that the best cure was always turning back the clock. Dante never got sick either, not sure if it's because of their clock or the piece of the Golden Bough inside it, but they've never experienced any colds.
And now... this? Oh no, oh Wings, will they never be cured? How do they tell Faust about this...?
<ACK-!!>
A rushing stream of water was shot right into their open face. In Faust's hand was a small, yet powerful water hose. “Please cooperate and tell Faust about your person of interest. If they reside outside of the LCB or Limbus Company, I will try my best to get in contact and-”
<Waaaaaait wait wait, ough— is it weirder for me to— ow- to have a crush on someone part of the LCB or outside of it—?>
“It depends.”
<Crap, umm->
“You, being in position of our Executive Manager, are not allowed to have romantic and/or sexual relations with any of the Sinners, as they are legally considered to be your subordinates regardless of any personal interpretations of your social standings.”
<Is, umm... is Vergilius also considered to be my subordinate?>
Faust turned off the water hose, Dante wasn't sure if her expression right now was her being unimpressed or disappointed in them. “...Dante.”
The remaining water quietly spilling out from the inside of their clock head gave Dante the opportunity to express their inner crybaby. <Yeah, I know, not a chance. Haha.>
“I would've liked to ask about your reasoning behind this decision to pursue a relationship with your guide, but that decision in of itself to me seems completely unreasonable.”
<I've never decided to like him, it just happened!! A-And I'm not pursuing anything!> They were offended. But, at the same time, they did agree that their crush on Vergilius of all people was surprising, to say the least, when he has the overall reputation of being the stick to Dante's carrot.
Not everyone gets to see his tender side. Not when they're all too busy being thrown around and pushed to the floor for their frequent misconduct! He's way too soft on Charon in contrast — if the rest of the residents of the Mephistopheles are sinners, then she is the purest, most innocent saint that can do no harm (since broken necks caused by a sudden push on the brakes of the bus can be fixed whenever). He does go lighter on Dante too, as he can't risk hurting them (only because they're the manager, not because he likes them or anything, you know), but in addition to that he's started praising them occasionally in the recent times. Wings, they are so afraid of breaking his trust in their skills again cause they cannot live without his word now...
They wish he'd smile at them like he does at Charon...... or that he'd smirk at them more, they like that too......... or that he'd bonk them on the head more often, ohhhh they can feel something moving up their throat, they shivered like one would after a good sneeze and then—
A burst of bloody red petals, soggy leaves and tiny seeds burst up from where their throat connects to their head and filled their clean cogs and gears with rotting filth again.
Faust took a cautious step back, yet still had to bend down to have a closer look at her patient. “...Hm. It seems that as your lungs and breathing canal are being filled with more flowers, the rot stuck in the upper levels of your respiratory system is being pushed out and into your head.” She closed her eyes thoughtfully. “A good solution for your headache would be to block off the exit of your throat, but that could cause irritation to— ah.”
<Wha...?>
“Faust thinks it would be better to proceed with surgery on your lungs to clear out the built up flowers in your system.”
<Wait, you can do that!?>
“This surgery won't stop the disease, but if performed weekly, it can prevent it from overfilling your head and causing headaches.” Faust looked away with a somewhat strained sigh. “This option is the safest, as I've been informed — some more unfortunate cases of the hanahaki disease, upon a subject's unsuccessful attempt at confessing their feelings to their person of interest, can cause a rapid progression of the disease that can lead to organ rupture.”
<So, like, if I were to confess my feelings to... Vergiiiiiilius and he'd turn me down, then I'd... die?>
“Most likely, yes.” Faust always sees a 99.9% in everything, doesn't she... “In the worst case, there is a chance that the company could provide you with a new body as HP ampoules won't kill the remaining parasitic seeds left in your system, but that is... Ah, but if those remain in your head...”
Pausing yet again, the woman turned around and stared into a wall with her arms crossed, focused. The Gesellschaft must be scrambling for any info it can get its many hands on right now.
Dante just hoped they could continue working as normal... They melted in their seat. <I'll take the surgery. I'm alright with that.>
“For the time being, please refrain from any attempts at—”
<I know, I wouldn't have even thought of confessing to him if it wasn't for this, um... Hanahaki disease, was it? It's not like I'd get anything from this, and how would he ever have feelings for someone like...-> Dante gripped their chest at the sudden sharp pain coming from the inside. Their body spasmed, which made more rotting flowers explode into their head again with a nasty squelch. <O—Oh, I'm- so sorry, I just->
Faust shot a stream of water at her manager's head again, it being so powerful this time that it had sent the clockhead off their chair and to the floor.
“I will provide you with some books on meditation, as the surgery will have to take place on the weekends to provide some time for you to recover after the procedure.”
<Hrrmeghrghhhhrrrmmmrhrhrshmmm—>
———
Bonk... bonk... bonk...
Left all alone in the nightlit bus for their voluntary night patrol, Dante quietly knocked the side of their head against a nearby window. Not having the need to sleep was cool until it wasn't.
Can the night just... pass any quicker? Their thoughts are swirling around in their head like shit in a toilet bowl. Woah, language! They're mean now, this hanahaki deal sucks now that they're aware that something is growing... inside of them.
It's in their lungs, in their head. But what if it does spread further? With how blackpilled Dante feels right now, trying their best to not think about anything let alone the one who shall not be named, their mild anxiety has skyrocketed into "Oh Wings what if he finds out, what if he has to help me and pretend to love me back and deep inside I'll know that he's only pretending so I won't be able to believe him and will turn into a flower bed right then and there!?"
Thankfully, Vergilius had left the bus to deal with some side tasks Limbus Company had left for him to make up for his involvement in the stuff that went on at the basement of Wuthering Heights. Gosh, it was so worth it, not only to not have him here right now but to have him there back then. Back when they'd exhausted themself to the point that the Sinners and the Peccatulum melted together into one red blur, he came to push them back behind him and... He felt so different, solemn, yet determined. Dante knew he never liked seeing the Sinners in pain, and the fact that he came down to help them out despite his contracts showed how much he really cared.
But he is also very mindful! He never spoiled the Sinners with care (only occasional treats), letting them grow alongside their enemies. All that experience Dante had cherished with their whole heart, having learned of the City's strict rules and dangers by now. He was a true mentor to Dante, distant enough to let them follow their own flow yet close enough to stir them in the right direction when any potential roadblock is in sight. He puts up with their incompetence, gently taking a hold of their hand and... and...
He holds them like one would hold a key. Careful with its edges, guiding it to its destination, a keyhole, to a door that'll hold behind it a home. Sweet home. Warm and calm. Dante, in some way, liked the thought of being something meaningful to Vergilius — surely they'll let him have whatever it is that he's searching for behind that door, he'll use them one last time and hold them in his back pocket as a distant, warm memory. They'll help him embrace his loved ones again, as they love him for what he is, and not just what he is to them.
So why must they be so egotistical? They love being his tool, not even in a dehumanizing way, they genuinely like helping him, and others at that matter, but they want something more from him. They want to be a fond memory he can look back to, at the very least, and at most... they must admit to themself how much they wish for him to crave them as much as they do him.
But with their head full of wilted flowers and body this close to bursting with more, with their stench that of a corpse rotting on a heated day, would he really keep them in his pocket? This rusty key with not a single intricate shape to it, bland as the rest of the keys in the bunch.
He'll throw them away, it's only fair, they weren't good enough, downright disgusting— some sentient key they are, wishing to be held, or remembered, or just thought about. Please keep me, I'll be good, I'll be clean. I am soiled with sin, but I don't indulge, you know? I only wish to serve and cleanse, I beg you—
Ugh, the headache is unbearable... Faust would've been so disappointed in them here, after all her efforts in cleaning the insides of their head. It's all ruined again, they can feel the half-melted decay mixed in with their own blood roll around inside. They never noticed it before, as they thought it was just some faint sensation of soon approaching chronic pain after all of the abuse of their clock head...
A moment of pure, thoughtless bliss passed by them as they focused on the liquids and mush rooooolling and sliiiiiding in between their wiring. Then their wrists began itching, their calfs too. Something felt wrong, almost as if something was running, crawling, slithering under their skin...? The hanahaki disease is not supposed to leave past their lungs. Right? Maybe Faust assumed that their case hasn't come that far? No no, Faust must be right, they're just imagining things. They rolled up their sleeves and the itch was gone, moving up their arms. They would've believed some bugs were having fun there at first.
Faintly, the thought of a thin vine intertwining itself with a single odd vein of theirs makes them shiver and forces them to hug their body to calm the tremors running up their arms. Their heart beats against their ribcage, knocks on it so hard it physically pushes them forward bit by bit, each sudden 'thump' making them worry if something will try to jump and burst out from inside them at any moment. Something prodds and pokes, somewhere, maybe some parasitic seeds had fallen under their skin, maybe some of them had made it into their bloodstream? Their fingers are getting colder under their gloves, the seeds must've blocked off the arteries there and their fingers will start to rot soon enough. But the meat under their fingernails tingles now, the seeds sprout right under them, lifting those up just enough for air to hit the tender flesh right under, and thorns cut through the tips of their gloves to let the fresh new flowers birthed out of their fingertips breathe, something is- something is crawling out, their shoes feel too tight- their stomach, it's making noise, it's shifting, it's inside them it's inside them it's inside—
“C. B.”
Dante's nonexistent breath hitched. They looked down at their hands digging into their knees — the gloves look fine. Heat slowly returns to their fingers...
They try raising their face to meet the Sinner's sharp stare, as it would be polite to face your conversation partner at least when you're greeting them, but Ryōshū probably doesn't care about these small things, thankfully. Still, they try to fit her in the corner of their hazy vision to the best of their ability.
<H...Huh... Wh-... Ryō... shū...?>
“Mhm.” The woman, cigar in hand like always, looked down at the pitiful manager coming back to reality with her best blank expression. “What's up, C. B.?”
<Clock... what?>
“Crybaby.” She corrected. “Could hear your whining from the very back.”
<That's... no, wait.> Dante shook themself awake to reason. <I can't cry, even just audibly, a-and even if I could, the rooms are... they should mostly be soundproof, at least enough to—>
“Pfft.” Ryōshū smiled, amused. “Got me. Came to smoke. Hate how it builds up in my room, gotta have it somewhere fresh.”
Dante looked down at their hands with a small nod. Their heart is still knocking onto their ribcage painfully.
“Tch... you're no fun.”
<I'm... sorry?>
“Heard you caught a major case of ligma.”
<...Ligma balls, I get it now, haha...> They sighed, leading back in their seat. <Heathcliff told you?>
“I know you've got hanahaki on you, actually.”
<...Uh-huh...>
“—You gonna say anything or what?”
Dante leaned their head back against the window, shoulders slumped. <Am I supposed to...?>
“Vent it out or something, I.D.K.” Ryōshū took a drag of her cigarette and puffed out the smoke away from Dante. How surprisingly thoughtful of her. But it would be cool if she threw a lit cig at them actually to make them burst into flames with all the extra foliage in their body. Head on fire, body on fire, cool.
“Go on.” Even more surprisingly, she sat down near them. “Say something.”
They don't feel like talking, at least to others. They can mumble something to themself, that would be enough, and all that mumbling leaves after itself is the faintest ticking of their clock, unintelligible even to fellow Sinners. Despite not being able to understand what they were mumbling, Ryōshū nodded along a couple times, one leg of hers thrown over the other and her hands behind her neck. Why is she trying to get something out of them...?
The haunting silence of the night became more chilling with the 4th Sinner by their side. They're not sure if it'd even be any better with any other Sinner in her place—
“Boohoo. If only you'd seen that whiny brat's face when I told him you've got H.A.N.A.”
<So you've... So Heathcliff knows now, great.> Ryōshū is good at starting fires.
“Who's that dipshit that got you in all this trouble?”
<Neither I nor Faust know where I got the disease from...>
“You heard my question, Clock.”
<—He didn't even do anything, I just... fell, for... him, I guess. Look, I'm not attempting to cure the—>
“Dumbass.” Ryōshū sighed, biting her cigarette in frustration and putting it out with her foot once she threw it to the floor. She stood back up. “S.A.D. (Such A Disappointment), W.E.T. (Why Even Try)”
Dante crossed their arms. <...I can't risk dying to just being dumped, I'd rather have me split in half or something, at least then my death would seem cool.>
“You're quite the time waster, C.H.” The woman fished out another cigarette, looking off into one of the bus windows on the other side. “After all, no death of yours would ever make for art. With your insufferable defeatist mindset, any death of yours would only produce ridicule.”
<Didn't say I wanted to die, but sure.>
“Letters. Ever heard of those?” They're clearly starting to test her patience if Ryōshū's willing to... provide advice? She flicked some ash at their face, but who doesn't she do that to?
<A-B-C's or, like, paper?>
“Yes.” She sighed. “Write a letter. Say how much you like 'em, give it to them. Or pass it over, through someone else, or leave it in their room, forget about it. A.B.S (Absolute Bullshit Strategy). Works.”
A letter... That could work. If, say, they sneak into Vergilius's office and leave their letter in some dark corner, if he never responds to it they can just gaslight themself into thinking that he just hasn't found the letter yet. Genius. Now, Dante is nowhere near a professional gaslighter, so it is risky, but... maybe they do want the slightest chance. Maybe deep inside Ryōshū is genuinely worried about them being sad and alone, maybe worried about them suffering in a not so pretty way, all gloomy and soggy.
Maybe they're hoping that if someone like Ryōshū can care about them, then—
“If I'm the one you're into, consider yourself already dead.”
<—Wrong red-eyed fatale, nope.>
“E.W.W.”
—then Vergilius can too, wholeheartedly.
“Be glad that I'm putting up with your S.O. (Shitty Odor) to be here.”
<Errr... whatever you meant there, I... thank you, genuinely. I feel much better.>
“...Heh.” Ryōshū smirked, a hint of something genuine in the corner of her eye. “You owe me.”
Just as the conversation was about to die down, its flames had burst bright yet again once a new log welcomed itself into the bus through its door — not the corridor, no, only one man could welcome himself into the Mephistopheles so nonchalantly in the middle of the night.
Dante scrambled to take off their overcoat and pull it over their head — they could already feel tremors run up their neck, they were almost like a volcano ready to erupt, oh-
<...Ryōshū, it's him, right—?>
“Huh...” Classic Vergilius "huh" there. Dante could imagine his expression now, looking at them: blank, judgmental stare, pitying yet patronizing all the same. “Tell me, if you will, Sinner #4, what is it that you have shown your manager that has them curl up like a motherless kitten left on the roadside?”
“Y.D.M. (Your Dumb Mug)”
“I don't know what I even expected. Oh well.” Didn't seem like he got Ryōshū's message, she probably didn't care if he got it or not either way. Dante could hear his steps get closer now. They'd gulp if they could, or maybe it's better that they can't since they'd immediately choke on all the rotting flowers stuck in their windpipe.
Nothing is leaking out of their head, right? Crap, they have to get out of there...
“You weren't sleeping off your night patrol duties while I was gone, were you?” He gently lifted up the coat covering up their head, as if seriously expecting them to be asleep right now. Dante didn't know why, but Vergilius seemed amused, seeing one corner of his mouth lifted up. “Morning, manager.”
<Hhh... hh... hiii...> They heard Ryōshū snort at how pathetic that sounded, oh Wings.
“Hm. You sound like you didn't miss your guide too much. And...” He sniffed for a sec. Oh no. Vergilius visibly grimaced. “...Guh. You reek of rot... How can you allow yourself to be so unhygienic, Executive Manager?”
<Eeek-!>
“I really wasn't hoping to have to wash you myself.”
“L.G.B.T.Q. (Loathly, Gross, Basically Torture, Quitting)”
Vergilius picked something small up with a raised brow, something off their face. “Getting shit in your eyes too...? What's—”
Rudely pushing the man off them with both of their hands, Dante rushed to escape right after Ryōshū with sparks flying off their feet, passing by her to run further down the corridor and into their room with their bursting flames leaving behind them a trail of black smoke. They shut the door behind them right as they got inside with a loud BANG sure to alert anyone sneaking into the nearby kitchen in the middle of the night.
Slowly sliding down the door, butt hitting the soft carpet of their office, upon Dante came a horrifying realization. The hanahaki disease is contagious. Faust said that them turning back the clock would safely kill off the parasite in any Sinner's body, but...
Vergilius. He touched one of the seeds, they were sure.
Dante gripped onto their head, shaking it around angrily, scratching on it, turning and twisting it back and forth as if to pull it off like some head of a mascot costume. Why...! Why didn't they run immediately!? Why did they let him get so close?! Why, why!?!
The letter. Not even mentioning their love thing, they had to let him know he's infected before it's too late. Maybe he can be cured while it's in its inactive state? Maybe they can at least warn him to not fall for anyone? What an absolute mess they've made...
They didn't want to get up, but they had to, for Vergilius's safety. Go take their old notebook out, rip a blank page out, scribble down a quick explanation and slip it in somewhere, ASAP. Their body acted before their head could even catch up with the words they were writing on paper. Soon enough, they found themself peeking out of the door to their room. The corridors were clear.
Vergilius could be back in his room already, at least they'd hope so. However...
“Manager?”
Right as they stepped foot out of their office, of course he's here, holy sh-
<U-Uh...> They awkwardly reached a hand out with the flimsy note paper crumpled in between their fingers. They're ready to turn back around right as Vergilius takes it from them, but the man knew better and caught their hand in the bear trap that was his own grip.
“...So what is this?”
<Do I have to make some noise for you to read the damn note??>
“Hanahaki disease...? You think you'd infected me?”
<YES, that is exactly what the note says!>
“Huh...” Vergilius let them go. Dante rubbed their wrist in pain. “You know I'm immune, right?”
.........
Wh-
“If you thought that someone like me could be so easily infected by some floral parasite you'd be dead wrong, Executive Manager.”
Is he already in a relationship or something!? Or what?! Or-...!?!?!?
“I suppose I do appreciate your concerns for me...” Vergilius sighed, hands in pockets. “If Faust finds out that you've caught a parasitic disease though—”
SHE KNOWS ALREADY!!
“—Ah, but it mustn't affect you much if you don't have a mouth or anything. Or is that smell...?”
Dante let out a quiet toot of a train whistle, head low. They did have to communicate properly now, thankfully their note paper had some space left on it.
[The bad smell comes from the flowers stuck in my head that have rotted.] Vergilius didn't look too pleased at hearing (or reading) that, now holding a hand over his nose and mouth and looking away as Dante wrote the rest. Man... [Faust had actually found out about it first, she said that weekly surgeries will help—]
Sharp pain resurfaced in Dante's chest, making them drop the note and pen in their hands. They clutched onto their body again.
“—Dante?”
Something is squirming inside... Any time they move, it's as if something is nastily scratching and rubbing against the inside of their ribcage.
Vergilius grabbed them in a hurry, as much as they tried to distance themself. “Is the person you're sick over on the bus?”
Crap. Nice of him to ask, as rough as he may be— he really is kind of similar to Ryōshū in this regard, but that's...!
They nodded, reluctantly. Maybe he'll let them deal with it on their own, like, they can just walk over to whoever's room that they need. Dante's not sure if their recent behavior would convince anyone (including themself) that they were fully capable of being independent and approaching someone though — they would probably be fine at confessing their feelings if it had nothing to do with VERGILIUS OF ALL PEOPLE. Probably. Hopefully.
Vergilius was hard to read, but they could see that his expression was his usual relaxed one, so he wasn't angry at them.
Still... He's taken, right? If he's so calm about this. Even if he's not, he knows they're infected, and if he knows that all that's required of him is to say the three magic words, how will Dante ever convince themself he really means it?
But even in his calm demeanor, Vergilius's frustration at Dante's lack of any action would slowly rise. His grip on their arm is already getting harder, he's practically juicing more rot out of them to fill their head as he pulls it further and further. “Dante.”
No... they can't... ah, can they not wait for the surgery? They can already feel the thorns and vines inside their lungs push into their walls and rub against their delicate ribcage, testing the waters and poking and prodding in between some of its bones. All Dante can think to themself is "Am I really going to die here of all places? Don Quixote once said that to die in the hands of your beloved would be the best way to meet your end in the cold and uncaring City, but all I feel is pathetic. This isn't a battlefield of any kind, nor will any intense dramatic storm pass by inside of the bus—"
“Tell me, Dante,” Vergilius sighed, rubbing his brow. “What is it that is holding you back?”
<Eugh- um->
They were almost about to point at the man himself, but he was much faster in continuing his lines. “Is it because it's one of the Sinners? I can assure you, there's nothing wrong with that. Either way, I'm sure any of those idiots would be head over heels for their manager dearest.”
Said manager had bent over, further down, a loud KCH- leaving their clock as if the thing was trying to sneeze. It was... successful, somehow? A lone petal managed to make its way past their creaking face plate and jump out of some loose edge of its, slowly falling to the floor.
“Or... Haaaah, Charon must've told you by this point. I don't care if you're into someone else, I really don't, not that you should consider the feelings of your old guide.”
...Wait, what did he mean by that.
“Or it must be the whole "forcing someone to love you back" thing, of course you'd be worried about that. Look, you've seen all the horrid shit the City is capable of for—”
Dante tugged on the man's sleeve, trying to communicate to the best of their abilities. They didn't have their pen and paper in hand (not that they'd do well with a pen in their shaky state), so they had to make due with tracing a single word into Vergilius's palm with a finger. [Charon?]
“....”
<........>
“...She told you. Did she not?”
[What?]
“Did she not—” It had finally struck him. Vergilius pushed a hand into his face, mushing it all over. “...Alright, this is not about me.”
Dante repeatedly tapped at Vergilius's arm, as if to yell "IT IS" at his face over and over again.
“Look, manager, you're about to bend into a flowery pretzel, stop looking into small shit again.”
TAP. TAP. TAP. Dante made small angry brows over where their forehead would be with their fingers, all >:( and pissed.
Siiiiiigh. “I have feelings for you. I was never planing on acting out on them however, at least not consciously.”
Inside of the manager's head now now a kettle slowly boiling to its max degree and letting out its characteristic long whistle in the process.
A hint of red colored Vergilius's pale grey ears as he turned his face away. “I... Haah, I apologize for my slip of the tongue. I was sure that, since Charon has often been threatening me with telling you about my personal feelings towards you and has... moved on to other kinds of threats recently, I assumed that she has already approached you and were already... informed.”
Dante could physically feel the rotting flowers inside their head melt into some sick liquid and boil at the heat of the metal surrounding it.
“...Anyways,”
They wrapped their arms around Vergilius before he could say anything else. They were just about to call it quits and give up on life. To think that their reliable yet distant guide could ever sound more pathetic than them...
Dante rubbed their dial against Vergilius's back like an overly social cat begging a big grumpy one to play with it. They can't wait to tell Faust this, umm... funny story, they're not sure if she'll even believe them at first.
“So I am... correct in assuming that you are cured now? Did you seriously-... sigh.”
Dante couldn't really nod against the man's back, but they did draw a bunch of hearts all over it as they filled his ears with happy jingles. Vergilius pushed them away, only to turn around and return their embrace with a face that did its best to stay neutral and at least somewhat threatening as he spoke. “You're not telling anyone about this, Dante.”
<Mmwell...> Dante had to awkwardly pick up the paper they'd dropped to the floor. [Faust already knows. Ryōshū might also...?]
“That's... fine enough, I suppose. We'll have to talk, then...” Finally, that hard glare of his melted into a concerned, almost sad gaze as he looked into Dante's "eyes". “How are you yourself feeling?”
[Much better, I think? I can feel the flowers and rot start to melt inside me... I almost thought I'd die once you said you were immune out of nowhere, I thought it meant that you were already with someone, or are you—]
“Immune means immune. Even the most basic of body enhancements can block off most parasites and diseases.”
<...Ah.>
“—Hold on, I need to check something.”
With no further warning, Vergilius pressed a hand into Dante's chest.
<W- WH- HEY!!> The manager grabbed the offending hand with both of theirs and pulled it down, their flames bursting up into a fiery pillar. <Say "I love you" first at least!!>
“Dante, your ribcage is broken.”
<...........>
“...Stay here, don't move, I'll bring Faust.”
Too bad love and kisses can't mend broken bones.
———
Sitting on a small stool in Dante's bathroom, Vergilius was doing some cleaning inside the clockheaded manager's head. After all was said and done with the hanahaki disease, Faust was both relieved and disappointed that she wouldn't get the chance to do some underground surgery, and possibly get her hands on more parasite samples she could send to one of Limbus Company's research departments too... but all is well. All that's left is to get rid of any stinkiness left inside of Dante's head, and Vergilius offered to help in a much more gentle manner compared to that of water gunning it.
A thin stream of hot water entered their head cavity through a shower hose their guide had left on one side of it as Dante lied on their back. Water pooled at the back of their head while Vergilius worked on scrubbing their gears with a toothbrush coated in soap. They could compare the feeling of it to receiving a thorough massage in a heated sauna — the air in the room was getting hotter by the minute — or this could be how a coffee cup feels when it's being washed by someone. Either way, Dante melted at Vergilius's skilled work.
What was once a nagging headache had turned into a pleasant tingle once the cleaning was done. They could still feel Vergilius's hands inside them, they'd almost wished he'd clean them again like this, and he probably knows this by the way he's eying them while he's busy washing his hands after dealing with them. His smirk makes their head tingle even more...!
Dante's shoulders slumped as they sat up, wrapping themself up in the towel that they were lying over moments ago. <...So is this how a deep kiss feels like...>
“I assume that you want to thank me for a job well done.”
<Would me brushing your teeth feel as good for you? I kinda, uh... I'm not sure if I should ask that, actually...>
“No need to thank me, really. At least while no one else is cleaning you like this.”
They feel so warm in his pocket, him clutching them in his hand to not lose his favorite key at the dark depths of it with some small trash that might be left there. Knowing that he'll pick them up and and polish them whenever needs be, their heart melts and pools in their lower abdomen like sweet, succulent honey, filling their office with its soft aroma when the two finally leave the heated bathroom, Dante wearing only a fluffy white bathrobe. Maybe he'll even take that key and spin it around his finger in his free time — and how would that feel?
At least while no one else is cleaning you like this... No way, this feels way too intimate now. This hint of possessiveness in his voice too...
A low, quiet yawn left Vergilius. He grabbed onto the handle of the door out of their office. “Goodnight, Dante. Keep yourself clean till morning, Faust said she'll be checking.”
<Don't worry about it, you should really hurry off to sleep while you can.> Only 3 hours left until work hours start after all. Dante waved at the man with a pleasant doorbell chime, hoping to themself that Faust will let him sleep in tomorrow. For now, they should relax and let their chest rest after an HP ampoule had pieced it back together not too long ago. Brrrr...
In the meantime, Vergilius slowly closed Dante's door behind himself to not make any more noise in the corridors.
“Verg was Tick Tock's roomie?”
“...Charon? What are you doing up so early?”
“Charon will tell the weirdos that Verg is sneaking into Tick Tock's room at night if you don't give Charon candy that you hid on top of fridge.”
“Charon, no.”
“Charon yes.”
“Charon...”