Chapter Text
“The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their places, in so much that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.” — Plutarch, Theseus
Two months, three weeks, and five days.
It had been two months, three weeks, and five days since Dante and Vergil returned from Hell after severing the portal to the demon world and arrived unceremoniously on the doorstep of Devil May Cry. Longer still had been the wait between them leaving and reappearing, which had taken six months, three weeks, and eighteen days. In their absence, Arcade had been assisting Morrison in day-to-day affairs within the office alongside Trish and Lady, as well as mailing correspondence to the branch back in Fortuna as well as his parents, who had been worried sick.
It was right before the holidays when the two brothers made their unexpected return. An invitation had been extended to Nero, Nico, and Kyrie to attend a dinner party at the main branch’s office as a family. Kyrie was in the middle of shooing Nico out of the kitchen for smoking cigarettes in close proximity to the food when a knock at the door caught everyone’s attention, and in stumbled the two twin sons of Sparda, looking completely disheveled, covered in demon blood and god knows what else, and in desperate need of showers.
Dante had settled back in easily enough- Devil May Cry was his home, after all, and business resumed as usual, even if the withering of the Qliphoth tree meant marginally less demons had been tormenting Red Grave City- Which ordinarily would have been a good thing, but it meant less jobs for the devil hunters who relied on carnage to keep the lights on.
The upper floor of the office had been converted into guest bedrooms several months ago when Arcade was first hired on as a repairman and then an official devil hunter and requested use of the space. There were two rooms on that floor, one being his, and the other being currently occupied by Vergil.
In the rare moments Arcade was able to peer into the second bedroom, he noted how it remained eerily devoid of any personal belongings, consisting of only a bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand, on which was placed the collection of poetry bound into a book that Vergil had requested back from Nero and had been holding onto ever since. If it wasn’t for that one item, it looked like nobody even lived in that room.
For those two months, three weeks, and five days, Arcade had been struggling to approach Vergil. In his mind, he was constantly trying to rationalize why this man was seemingly so different from V, the person he had known prior and fell in love with. It felt as if Vergil was an entirely new person and V had been replaced completely- But he knew that couldn’t be true. Hell, he saw firsthand V reunite his dying body with Urizen after carrying the man to the deepest depths of the Qliphoth tree with Nero, he saw V become Vergil.
But if this was fundamentally the same person, why did he feel like a stranger had taken up residence in the room next door? Who was this man he let into his heart, and when did he plan on asking if he still felt the same?
Arcade sighed heavily as he sunk his weight into his ratty bean bag chair in the corner of the main office and rested his head against the fading wallpaper, staring up at the ceiling. A plate of half finished near-stale cookies from the week prior sat on the coffee table in front of him, but he found his appetite had left him. The hum of the halogen light bulbs that was ever-present if one listened closely was normally easily digestible background noise to him, but right now they were broaching the cusp of becoming unbearable.
Being idle was the one thing he hated. If he had a task assigned to him for the day, he could put his attention towards that and not have to confront the barrage of thoughts constantly swirling around in his mind like a maelstrom. If he was distracted for long enough, he could go a good portion of the day without ending up in a spiral and ultimately shutting down, but today wasn’t one of those blessed days.
Ever since the roots of the Qliphoth were severed, there was no easily accessible route for demons to access the world of humans, meaning days where Arcade and the other devil hunters actually had to do their jobs were becoming more and more infrequent and spaced apart. Far be it for him to complain, less demons meant less people being mercilessly slaughtered, but it also meant he didn’t have some form of excuse to justify his procrastination.
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was at an impasse, standing at a cliff edge overlooking deceptively calm seas, and he knew he had to make a decision he didn’t want to make. He also knew that Vergil was in the exact same position he was in as the two of them had barely spoken more than a handful of words to each other since the latter’s return from the demon world.
Both of them knew that they would have to move forward eventually, but neither of them wanted to be the person who had to make that excruciating first step. Perhaps the winning move in whatever game they were playing was not to play at all, if it spared them the pain of rejection.
Two months, three weeks, and five days. And today was not that day.