( He honestly hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd gone off and said what he had. He meant it. Means it. If anything were to happen to either Vergil or Nero, he would be there to take care of it — take care of them in whatever ways he needed to. In the years since the trauma of their childhood, he's always shouldered the responsibility of needing to take care of things. At first, he hated it. Hated the fact that it was him having to clean up after and take care of his old man's messes he'd left behind for him.
But he did it. Over and over and over again until it was pretty much all he knew. It hurt sometimes — ripped his heart out and left him crying on the floor of his office after losing Vergil again. He's mourned his brother three times in his life and each time, it's damn nearly killed him. He still doesn't know how he survived each time. Because he never got over it, no. He survived. Just as he did that day back at their old home in Redgrave. Getting over it would imply he still doesn't hurt from it — still doesn't have wounds that bleed when he thinks too much about it. But he does. All over his heart and they still hurt like a bitch when they're torn open by unexpected force.
He takes a sort of pride in what does, sure. Keeping the human realm safe... it's given him a sort of purpose in life. Even if it's tiring some days and he's left wondering if it'll ever really end. So he doesn't even really think twice about offering to handle whatever might happen here or in their lives. It's... what he does. What he's done for years even when he thinks he can barely get through it. So to see the reaction from his brother there when he says what he does, it has him pause in the twisting of the cap off his bottle and he stares over to him when he goes on about looking for some place else. Somewhere bigger.
For a moment, he's quiet. Eyes roaming their gaze around the place with hands stilled on the bottle. He's not about to disagree that a bigger place would be nicer for them, but. After learning about Mizu and Vergil's wandering off some nights— not to mention Nero being here and the both of them knowing who they are to one another... he figured this was all temporary until he found some place for himself. So for that to not be the case as he'd assumed... he stands there. Silent. A little unsure how to respond to that, especially the part about looking at places together.
Teeth gently press into his bottom lip, gaze dropping down to the bottle he holds. Serious conversations between them have usually led to an argument at some point in them, often due to their being at odds with one another — differing points of views. This, however, isn't necessarily the case and it's why he's not sure what to say. Vergil is trying. He can see that. It's what he's always wanted his brother to do and yet, the moment he does, he's left unsure with how to react to it. At least for a moment.
In the silence that falls over them, there's a sort of tempered contentment there as he'd had when he was a child and Vergil finally gave in to wanting to play with him. The smile that touches his lips faint and hidden before he finds it within him to finally say something. )
So you wanna play house with me, huh? You do the cooking, I do the dishes. We take turns taking the trash out. Socks on the doorknobs as a courtesy to each other.
( Good way to break any tension there with throwing in a nonchalance about it all. Shrug of his shoulders, he holds his arms out at his sides some. )
Alright. But on one condition. ( To which he smiles. ) I want a jukebox.
no subject
But he did it. Over and over and over again until it was pretty much all he knew. It hurt sometimes — ripped his heart out and left him crying on the floor of his office after losing Vergil again. He's mourned his brother three times in his life and each time, it's damn nearly killed him. He still doesn't know how he survived each time. Because he never got over it, no. He survived. Just as he did that day back at their old home in Redgrave. Getting over it would imply he still doesn't hurt from it — still doesn't have wounds that bleed when he thinks too much about it. But he does. All over his heart and they still hurt like a bitch when they're torn open by unexpected force.
He takes a sort of pride in what does, sure. Keeping the human realm safe... it's given him a sort of purpose in life. Even if it's tiring some days and he's left wondering if it'll ever really end. So he doesn't even really think twice about offering to handle whatever might happen here or in their lives. It's... what he does. What he's done for years even when he thinks he can barely get through it. So to see the reaction from his brother there when he says what he does, it has him pause in the twisting of the cap off his bottle and he stares over to him when he goes on about looking for some place else. Somewhere bigger.
For a moment, he's quiet. Eyes roaming their gaze around the place with hands stilled on the bottle. He's not about to disagree that a bigger place would be nicer for them, but. After learning about Mizu and Vergil's wandering off some nights— not to mention Nero being here and the both of them knowing who they are to one another... he figured this was all temporary until he found some place for himself. So for that to not be the case as he'd assumed... he stands there. Silent. A little unsure how to respond to that, especially the part about looking at places together.
Teeth gently press into his bottom lip, gaze dropping down to the bottle he holds. Serious conversations between them have usually led to an argument at some point in them, often due to their being at odds with one another — differing points of views. This, however, isn't necessarily the case and it's why he's not sure what to say. Vergil is trying. He can see that. It's what he's always wanted his brother to do and yet, the moment he does, he's left unsure with how to react to it. At least for a moment.
In the silence that falls over them, there's a sort of tempered contentment there as he'd had when he was a child and Vergil finally gave in to wanting to play with him. The smile that touches his lips faint and hidden before he finds it within him to finally say something. )
So you wanna play house with me, huh? You do the cooking, I do the dishes. We take turns taking the trash out. Socks on the doorknobs as a courtesy to each other.
( Good way to break any tension there with throwing in a nonchalance about it all. Shrug of his shoulders, he holds his arms out at his sides some. )
Alright. But on one condition. ( To which he smiles. ) I want a jukebox.