[Nero's answer takes Vergil by such surprise, he's not even certain that he heard it correctly at first. He takes a deep breath to ground himself, to listen to Nero's fuller answer without losing pieces of it in his own surprise. By its end, Vergil still says nothing right away, allowing the words to hang there in the air undisturbed. He believes Nero's answer to be the truth. It's clear how much Nero wants to forgive Credo, but the unanswered questions raises far too many doubts for that forgiveness to be given so cleanly. No, the reason for his silence is that Vergil is of two minds about the whole thing.]
[On the one hand, what Nero says does nothing to really alleviate Vergil's skepticism. Not to say that Vergil would have backed down entirely from the notion simply because Nero emphasized the man's positive traits, or even if he provided some evidence to Vergil that would dismiss the thought process of a less than honorable mentor whose affection had its limits in the end. But too much of Nero's own doubts mirror Vergil's in a way that can't be ignored. For Nero to so openly and plainly state that he bears his own doubts about what Credo truly thought and felt when Vergil knows him to offer so much more benefit of the doubt to the people he cares about... It's telling. That's the very least Vergil can acknowledge.]
[But on the other hand, Vergil also knows what it is like to struggle with such forgiveness. When he held so tightly to the belief that his mother had been too weak to save him, that she abandoned him in favor of his brother and died with him instead, he still had questions. Even with as angry as he was, as certain he remained about his decision to turn from his humanity as it served no purpose beyond acting as an inherent weakness, as much as he would have denied it had he ever been asked, Vergil still wanted to know why. Why did she not come when he cried for her? He was not keen to forgive her as Nero seems wanting to forgive Credo, and did not want the answers as a means of absolving her, but... He wanted that closure. As much as any child would to someone they believed was meant to protect them, but failed in a catastrophic manner. In a way that felt like a deep betrayal from which there is no healing.]
[He draws another breath, looking away from Nero even as Nero's eyes remain closed.]
I don't know what will bring you peace. [Vergil had the benefit of Dante to know more of the truth, to change his understanding and forgive Eva for not reaching him that day even as his hatred of his mother now settles as a regret, as something he can never seek forgiveness for himself. Nero does not have that luxury. There is no one that would have known enough to know Credo's mind in those final moments to bring him such clarity.] But I hope you are able to find it. Regardless of whether or not he deserves forgiveness, you do not deserve to carry his mistakes forever.
[He hopes so too, even though he doubts it. He certainly thinks he'll carry guilt about Credo forever. After all, if he was just a little faster, stronger, smarter, more experienced, he wouldn't have been captured by Sanctus. Credo wouldn't have needed to save him. Maybe he wouldn't have doubted him in the first place, never chosen to turn on Nero for whatever reason he saw fit to.
But no matter what happened that awful day, no matter how sick and betrayed he feels about it, he doesn't want to be angry at Credo. Can't think of him easily in those harsh terms. Not when he still remembers him as a younger man, a teenager himself, a knight recruit. Too old to need to humor or play with the little sister and her companion who pestered him, but always willing to-- even with a performative huff or roll of his eyes.]
Their parents... [He's not sure what's making him want to go into this too. That fond memory of Credo, perhaps.] Credo and Kyrie's mom and dad. They used to volunteer at the orphanage. They liked me. Thought I was funny. I think they might have adopted me, eventually, if they had the chance.
When they died, Credo took over raising Kyrie. And he kept an eye on me, too. Still treated me like one of the family. They were the only thing like a family I ever had. All of them.
[He tightens his jaw for a moment, then swallows.]
I let myself trust people. Then I get kicked in the face for it. Kind of a pattern my whole life. But it doesn't mean I want to stop trying. I just... keep wanting to be close to people, and hoping it'll work out eventually. Or hurt less the next time, at least.
[His fingers tighten on Vergil's leg, and he shifts to curl in a little closer with a shiver.]
[Things slot into place as Nero shares the memory of the parents he almost had even before Nero puts such clear words to it. Vergil's lips purse together as he realizes just how much loss Nero has experienced. His heart aches for him, for his child, and just how so shortly after birth, he came to know loss and grief. It makes more sense now why it seemed to come as such a revelation that his parents would have loved him beyond words or measure. Why he needed so much the reassurance that Vergil would not choose to act in a manner that would harm him even when doing otherwise was against his own self-interest. Why he felt so strongly to prove himself as strong and capable to Dante, to Vergil.]
I'm sorry, [he murmurs, removing the cloth from Nero's forehead.] My reasons for not being there had nothing to do with you.
[That's something Vergil knows Nero already safely assumed once he knew for sure that Vergil didn't know he existed until he was told that Nero was his son. Vergil gently presses the other, cooler side of the cloth to Nero's forehead.]
They do not matter, however. The simple fact remains that I should have been there. [Rather than returning to Nero's hair, Vergil's hand comes to rest over Nero's hand on his knee.] You should have known how precious and loved you are from the moment you were born.
[With no conditions placed upon any of it, and nothing more important that could possibly cause such a deep betrayal to happen again.]
[To the extent that he can in this position, Vergil's other arm holds Nero.]
But I have no power to change the past any more than you do. All I can do is ask that you trust me because there is no one more precious to me, and there are no promises more important than those I've made to you, my dear child.
[He didn't intend this to be an indictment of Vergil, or a demand to know where he was back then. He's almost inclined to say as much. But Nero hesitates when he finds Vergil's words resonating inside him, echoing against that dark, hollow place where Urizen's hateful words repeat, over and over. Like a salve on an ache, they work their way in and start to unravel the pain. It's what he wants, needs to hear to banish those lingering fears, at least for now. A promise that he wants to believe in, more than anything.
Nero never mentioned Vergil's role in his nightmare, but somehow they've stumbled their way around to reassurance all the same.
He balls his fist under Vergil's hand, and recognizes the awkward attempt at an embrace. It's a moment before he can say anything.]
I know shit happens. Especially with us. But... I can't tell you how much it means to me when you say that.
[His eyes open slightly, tiredly looking up at Vergil from beneath the washcloth.]
Maybe it's stupid, so soon, but... I do trust you. Just remember that, okay?
[Realistically, it's not anything Vergil didn't already know. Every step closer Nero has taken towards him has been a demonstration of trust in its own right, including the simple fact Nero was willing to afford him a chance to begin with. But Vergil feels the weight of that trust differently in having it spoken aloud, acknowledged and shaped into something nearly tangible as words often have the way of doing. It's not a terrible weight. It does not rest upon him as a burden. But it is noticeable, and it brings more clarity to just how strong his son truly is, to continue trying in ways that Vergil knows he and Dante had given up on when they were just children.]
[He nods a little.]
I'll remember, [he says, giving Nero's hand a light squeeze. Vergil allows it to remain an unspoken promise, but he does not want to fail Nero, to give him reason to ever regret placing that trust in him. Whatever it takes, Vergil wants to prove himself worthy of it even if Nero would likely say (aloud at least) that Vergil doesn't need to prove anything.] Although I will still risk that foul mouth of yours in telling you that I'd really like it if you'd consider being a little less stubborn, and try to drink something before getting some rest.
[He's careful not to ask Nero to sleep. Even if he's talked about the nightmare, vented some of the feelings and thoughts that manifested it into existence, Vergil isn't stupid. He knows Nero is liable to still be reluctant to actually sleep. But making an effort to relax to ride whatever this is out would be Vergil's preference for Nero.]
[Nero smirks at the request, but grumbles in his throat irritably all the same. He can definitely tell he's calmed down some, but his stomach is still a yawning, queasy void that feels like it got wrung out like a dishrag and then slapped back into his guts.]
I'm not stubborn. I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck.
[But he is awfully thirsty. So after a moment he makes the effort to slide an elbow behind him, sitting up enough to try and discern where his water is.]
[Vergil believes Nero when he says he feels he's been hit by a truck, but he meets the claim at not being stubborn with obvious skepticism even if he says nothing aloud to challenge that particular claim. Once Nero begins sitting up, Vergil loosens and releases his hold on Nero to allow him the movement under his own will and strength. If his hand hovers and lingers nearby for just a second to be certain Nero isn't feeling dizzy, Vergil says absolutely nothing of it. Nero's water remains on the other nightstand, and Vergil sits closer to it with the way Nero's managed to curl himself so close. He nudges Nero to sit up a little further, allowing him to lean and shift back just far enough that he's able to get the glass for Nero.]
The book you gave me, [he says as he passes the glass to Nero and sits upright once more.] I've read it a few times already, but... I suppose you could say sometimes one prefers the company of an old friend.
[It's the best way Vergil knows how to explain it. While he enjoys revisiting other books and poetry from other parts of his life, and sometimes is even so bold as to read a book published in the last century, there is a comfort in reading his favorites that cannot be replicated with any others. These past few weeks, he's felt he's needed such a comfort although he gives no such indications to Nero that's the case. As far as Vergil is concerned, this is a bit of small talk now before Nero makes an earnest effort to rest.]
[Nero attempts to get up on his own power, briefly, but finds such a drain of exhaustion weighing him down that he swiftly gives up. He stays upright long enough to let Vergil fetch his water for him, then carefully takes it. He slumps back at enough of an angle where he can try to drink without dumping it all over his face, still leaning as bodily on Vergil as the position allows.
He perks up a little when Vergil mentions the book. Glances, as though to confirm it's the one he bought. Then he looks quietly proud of himself.]
Is it good? The guy at the bookstore said he thought it'd be nice.
[Vergil doesn't mind the way Nero props himself up against him, and is frankly prepared to prop him entirely if need be. But he takes it as a good sign that Nero is only partially leaning on him in the end and able to hold himself up even a little.]
It is, [Vergil confirms with a nod.] It rounds out my collection of Blake, and is a good start to the others.
[Dante had taken issue with Vergil's refusal to really acquire much by way of things for himself. He had been here for nine months on his own, and hadn't taken the liberty to acquire his own books, contenting himself with borrowing copies from the library for as much as he needed or wanted. Frankly, Vergil still finds it a bit silly to concern himself with gathering books when he will not likely be able to take them with him when he leaves this place someday. Folkmore is, after all, just stop along the way back to the human world and by far not Vergil's final destination. But he won't deny that it's been...nice. To have copies that are his own again. Even if he finds himself in disagreement with Dante's logic overall, he can see some semblance of a point to it now that he's had a few more tangible things to call his own after being so long without beyond the clothes on his back and the Yamato.]
I'm surprised you didn't take the chance to read some of it before gifting it to me. You were getting quite good at making the books seem untouched at the apartment.
[Nero's been a little busted as far as reading Vergil's books is concerned for a while now, but it's only now that Vergil's chosen to acknowledge it openly.]
[Nero outright smiles, pleased at his success. Part of him wondered if the book might be kind of basic for somebody who reads as much as Vergil-- like buying the equivalent of a kindergartner's first poetry book for a lifelong enthusiast, or something.
He's taking a sip of water when Vergil slyly suggests he could have read it beforehand, and mentions his prior, secretive snooping around the books at the apartment. Now that they live in Vergil's room he's not touched them much. But it's not really that he was sneaking them...
He swallows gingerly.] I tried to. Same as I tried all your other poetry books. [He purses his lips a bit, then shrugs a little sheepishly.] Afraid they all make the same amount of sense to me. Which is, not much. But I've never been a real great reader when it comes to the fancy stuff.
[Vergil raises a slight eyebrow at the labeling of poetry as "fancy stuff." While he cannot really speak to how strong of a reader Nero is or is not, Vergil certainly doesn't find poetry to be something so out of reach for even a weaker reader to grasp some understanding. Poetry, after all, had its origins as an oral tradition rather than written. To that end, he asks,]
Out of curiosity, did you ever read them aloud or were you only reading them in your head?
Nope. [A beat.] Unless you count moving my lips while I read.
["Words pretty I guess" is most of what Nero has ever gotten out of reading poetry. Except he managed to find that one Blake poem while he was flipping through, it was short enough to read over it enough times to realize it would be a really nice, heartfelt spot to leave his envelope full of baby pictures.]
I wouldn't, [Vergil says with a slight shake of his head.] If someone only ever reads poetry in their heads and never hears the words aloud, they are missing important elements that help bring its meaning together. We tend to read quickly when not reading aloud. That leads us to fail in noticing subtle details in the poem's structure, and in losing that, we lose a significant amount of meaning and connection to the words. The specific rhythm of the words chosen, the line breaks, even the punctuation itself are important to the experience and expression of the poem.
[There's a slight furrow in Vergil's brow as he tries to think of how to illustrate his point perhaps a little more clearly.]
It would be akin to reading the lyrics of a song you like, but never once listening to the song itself. You would lose the rhythm of the words and vocal quality and technique of the singer as well as the instrumentation and musical composition meant to heighten the emotion and intent behind the lyrics. The words could still bear meaning just reading them plainly written, but you wouldn't experience it to the fullness that it was meant to be experienced.
[Vergil purses his lips at being called a nerd. He's not offended or necessarily put out by the ribbing. It's not as though Nero dismisses his point outright and leaves it at that. But... Well, it's one of the few things Vergil can confidently say that he likes and he's notably willing to indulge in often for purely the sake of it rather than for a function it may serve alone. Had he the access to books more consistently, it's likely it would have likely been among the few constants throughout his life. So, it's a bit hard for Vergil not to be a little displeased at being poked at over it, especially when it's been so rare that he has anyone with even a mild or passing interest to talk with about it. Even here in Folkmore, with his tendency to keep largely to himself, Vergil really hasn't found anyone to match his interest. Thus, Vergil doesn't quite bristle or snap, but there's a light color to his cheeks and he doesn't really return Nero's humor. Rather instead, he pushes right past it as though it wasn't said at all.]
Something to consider then, if you should choose to try to read them again.
Nero isn't trying to be dismissive though. He simply never thought about reading aloud, not least of all because he's not sure how to pronounce some of those words. The idea of being overheard fumbling through a poem uneases him more than being caught squinting and struggling ever did.
After a moment, and with another sip of water to bolster his courage, he makes a suggestion.]
[He hesitates to answer for a brief moment. It's not because he finds the idea abhorrent to the extreme end of things or mildly disagreeable on the lesser, but Vergil has a brief moment where he doubts it to be a sincere suggestion. Poetry does not appear to particularly appealing to Nero, and while he has demonstrated effort in reading through the books Vergil brings him that were among Beatrice's favorites, that is a bit different. Nero's mother is not here. He cannot form a connection with her in really any other manner than through Vergil's memories of her or by reading the books she loved. Nero does not need to rely upon such similar methods to know Vergil. He is right here for him to know and learn. Whatever investigation into Vergil's choices in literature remain far more superficial then, and it is of little consequence if it's not an interest Nero can develop for himself.]
[But Nero is honest perhaps to a fault, and it is not truly within his character to say anything he does not mean.]
[That hesitation briefly worries him, as though he might be about to catch some mockery for being childish. Maybe Vergil has better things to do than read to his adult son like he's a little kid, or would rather be left alone than bothered.
But that's chased off once he agrees, and Nero nods back, unintentionally echoing his movement.]
I have trouble reading 'em on the page. So maybe hearing them, they'll make more sense.
You may fare better with revisiting the poems in Songs of Innocence to start, [he says, nodding in the direction of his bookshelf where the copy the Folkmore bookfairy and absolutely not the other son of Sparda currently sits. Vergil doesn't know how much of the poems in the book Nero gifted him Nero actually read through, but he had plenty of time to read through that one while they were still in the apartment.] The poem you chose for the photos comes from that collection. They're meant to be similar to nursery rhymes.
[Thus neither as long nor complicated as Paradise Lost in their presentation and far more straightforward.]
They are where I began when I first took an interest.
[Nursery rhymes with super metal illustrations. Or... wait, was that that other book? Nero won't even take offense at the suggestion he should start with nursery rhyme-grade poems because he might understand them better.
He turns his head and blinks up at Vergil as though gauging him for something. Then he takes another sip of water before actually going for it.]
[His eyebrow raises, but Vergil doesn't ask aloud if Nero really means for Vergil to read to him now while he is generally feeling unwell and may be more prone to not retaining any of it. He only spares a brief glance toward the bookshelf before ruling that out completely. Nero's not likely to move off him enough for him to stand up right now. So, he nudges him to sit up enough that he can lean to the other nightstand where he placed his book down and collect it.]
[Well, what else is he doing, right? Sitting here spilling his guts-- figuratively, not literally again, thank goodness.
He does cooperate in moving as much as necessary to let Vergil fetch his book. Gives him a chance to lie back with his head on Vergil's lap again, holding his water glass atop his stomach and watching what liquid remains jostle as he breathes.]
[Vergil rolls his eyes slightly at the preach it to me, but it is in good humor with a slight smile. With Nero settled, Vergil opens the book. He mentioned reading it several times before, and it shows with how relatively quickly he's able to flip through to the poem of his choosing. Vergil adjusts his hold on the book to holding it with one hand to read while the other strokes Nero's hair. The poem Vergil chooses may not seem an obvious choice for one that he might like a lot given his temperament. And there are certainly plenty among those more critical of such naive joy that Vergil favors as well. But of those Nero may have more familiarity with, it's this one that Vergil bears a little more appreciation for these days.]
[Vergil knows the poem well enough that he truly does not need to look at the page the entire time to recite it, but he keeps his eyes there rather than looking to Nero. It's only when the poem is at its end that he looks back down to Nero in his lap after a brief moment to let the last of it settle.]
[Well... this one's easy. It's kids playing on a big, green, open field. Funny how the images come to mind so smoothly when he's not tripping over reading the words himself.
He's quiet for a moment after Vergil finishes, eyes closed. Then he opens them to find his father gazing down at him, almost expectantly.]
You have a good voice for that. [First thing that comes to mind for him to say, for some reason. He smiles.] I liked it.
[It's a bit of an odd compliment. Certainly not one Vergil anticipated receiving even if he's had plenty of experiencing reading poems. He says nothing about it though, brushing it aside more in favor of the whole point in reading it to Nero in the first place.]
I take it that means it made more sense to you than reading it for yourself?
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cw: reference to parent death
[On the one hand, what Nero says does nothing to really alleviate Vergil's skepticism. Not to say that Vergil would have backed down entirely from the notion simply because Nero emphasized the man's positive traits, or even if he provided some evidence to Vergil that would dismiss the thought process of a less than honorable mentor whose affection had its limits in the end. But too much of Nero's own doubts mirror Vergil's in a way that can't be ignored. For Nero to so openly and plainly state that he bears his own doubts about what Credo truly thought and felt when Vergil knows him to offer so much more benefit of the doubt to the people he cares about... It's telling. That's the very least Vergil can acknowledge.]
[But on the other hand, Vergil also knows what it is like to struggle with such forgiveness. When he held so tightly to the belief that his mother had been too weak to save him, that she abandoned him in favor of his brother and died with him instead, he still had questions. Even with as angry as he was, as certain he remained about his decision to turn from his humanity as it served no purpose beyond acting as an inherent weakness, as much as he would have denied it had he ever been asked, Vergil still wanted to know why. Why did she not come when he cried for her? He was not keen to forgive her as Nero seems wanting to forgive Credo, and did not want the answers as a means of absolving her, but... He wanted that closure. As much as any child would to someone they believed was meant to protect them, but failed in a catastrophic manner. In a way that felt like a deep betrayal from which there is no healing.]
[He draws another breath, looking away from Nero even as Nero's eyes remain closed.]
I don't know what will bring you peace. [Vergil had the benefit of Dante to know more of the truth, to change his understanding and forgive Eva for not reaching him that day even as his hatred of his mother now settles as a regret, as something he can never seek forgiveness for himself. Nero does not have that luxury. There is no one that would have known enough to know Credo's mind in those final moments to bring him such clarity.] But I hope you are able to find it. Regardless of whether or not he deserves forgiveness, you do not deserve to carry his mistakes forever.
cw: reference to parent death
[He hopes so too, even though he doubts it. He certainly thinks he'll carry guilt about Credo forever. After all, if he was just a little faster, stronger, smarter, more experienced, he wouldn't have been captured by Sanctus. Credo wouldn't have needed to save him. Maybe he wouldn't have doubted him in the first place, never chosen to turn on Nero for whatever reason he saw fit to.
But no matter what happened that awful day, no matter how sick and betrayed he feels about it, he doesn't want to be angry at Credo. Can't think of him easily in those harsh terms. Not when he still remembers him as a younger man, a teenager himself, a knight recruit. Too old to need to humor or play with the little sister and her companion who pestered him, but always willing to-- even with a performative huff or roll of his eyes.]
Their parents... [He's not sure what's making him want to go into this too. That fond memory of Credo, perhaps.] Credo and Kyrie's mom and dad. They used to volunteer at the orphanage. They liked me. Thought I was funny. I think they might have adopted me, eventually, if they had the chance.
When they died, Credo took over raising Kyrie. And he kept an eye on me, too. Still treated me like one of the family. They were the only thing like a family I ever had. All of them.
[He tightens his jaw for a moment, then swallows.]
I let myself trust people. Then I get kicked in the face for it. Kind of a pattern my whole life. But it doesn't mean I want to stop trying. I just... keep wanting to be close to people, and hoping it'll work out eventually. Or hurt less the next time, at least.
[His fingers tighten on Vergil's leg, and he shifts to curl in a little closer with a shiver.]
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I'm sorry, [he murmurs, removing the cloth from Nero's forehead.] My reasons for not being there had nothing to do with you.
[That's something Vergil knows Nero already safely assumed once he knew for sure that Vergil didn't know he existed until he was told that Nero was his son. Vergil gently presses the other, cooler side of the cloth to Nero's forehead.]
They do not matter, however. The simple fact remains that I should have been there. [Rather than returning to Nero's hair, Vergil's hand comes to rest over Nero's hand on his knee.] You should have known how precious and loved you are from the moment you were born.
[With no conditions placed upon any of it, and nothing more important that could possibly cause such a deep betrayal to happen again.]
[To the extent that he can in this position, Vergil's other arm holds Nero.]
But I have no power to change the past any more than you do. All I can do is ask that you trust me because there is no one more precious to me, and there are no promises more important than those I've made to you, my dear child.
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Nero never mentioned Vergil's role in his nightmare, but somehow they've stumbled their way around to reassurance all the same.
He balls his fist under Vergil's hand, and recognizes the awkward attempt at an embrace. It's a moment before he can say anything.]
I know shit happens. Especially with us. But... I can't tell you how much it means to me when you say that.
[His eyes open slightly, tiredly looking up at Vergil from beneath the washcloth.]
Maybe it's stupid, so soon, but... I do trust you. Just remember that, okay?
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[He nods a little.]
I'll remember, [he says, giving Nero's hand a light squeeze. Vergil allows it to remain an unspoken promise, but he does not want to fail Nero, to give him reason to ever regret placing that trust in him. Whatever it takes, Vergil wants to prove himself worthy of it even if Nero would likely say (aloud at least) that Vergil doesn't need to prove anything.] Although I will still risk that foul mouth of yours in telling you that I'd really like it if you'd consider being a little less stubborn, and try to drink something before getting some rest.
[He's careful not to ask Nero to sleep. Even if he's talked about the nightmare, vented some of the feelings and thoughts that manifested it into existence, Vergil isn't stupid. He knows Nero is liable to still be reluctant to actually sleep. But making an effort to relax to ride whatever this is out would be Vergil's preference for Nero.]
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I'm not stubborn. I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck.
[But he is awfully thirsty. So after a moment he makes the effort to slide an elbow behind him, sitting up enough to try and discern where his water is.]
What were you reading?
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The book you gave me, [he says as he passes the glass to Nero and sits upright once more.] I've read it a few times already, but... I suppose you could say sometimes one prefers the company of an old friend.
[It's the best way Vergil knows how to explain it. While he enjoys revisiting other books and poetry from other parts of his life, and sometimes is even so bold as to read a book published in the last century, there is a comfort in reading his favorites that cannot be replicated with any others. These past few weeks, he's felt he's needed such a comfort although he gives no such indications to Nero that's the case. As far as Vergil is concerned, this is a bit of small talk now before Nero makes an earnest effort to rest.]
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He perks up a little when Vergil mentions the book. Glances, as though to confirm it's the one he bought. Then he looks quietly proud of himself.]
Is it good? The guy at the bookstore said he thought it'd be nice.
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It is, [Vergil confirms with a nod.] It rounds out my collection of Blake, and is a good start to the others.
[Dante had taken issue with Vergil's refusal to really acquire much by way of things for himself. He had been here for nine months on his own, and hadn't taken the liberty to acquire his own books, contenting himself with borrowing copies from the library for as much as he needed or wanted. Frankly, Vergil still finds it a bit silly to concern himself with gathering books when he will not likely be able to take them with him when he leaves this place someday. Folkmore is, after all, just stop along the way back to the human world and by far not Vergil's final destination. But he won't deny that it's been...nice. To have copies that are his own again. Even if he finds himself in disagreement with Dante's logic overall, he can see some semblance of a point to it now that he's had a few more tangible things to call his own after being so long without beyond the clothes on his back and the Yamato.]
I'm surprised you didn't take the chance to read some of it before gifting it to me. You were getting quite good at making the books seem untouched at the apartment.
[Nero's been a little busted as far as reading Vergil's books is concerned for a while now, but it's only now that Vergil's chosen to acknowledge it openly.]
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He's taking a sip of water when Vergil slyly suggests he could have read it beforehand, and mentions his prior, secretive snooping around the books at the apartment. Now that they live in Vergil's room he's not touched them much. But it's not really that he was sneaking them...
He swallows gingerly.] I tried to. Same as I tried all your other poetry books. [He purses his lips a bit, then shrugs a little sheepishly.] Afraid they all make the same amount of sense to me. Which is, not much. But I've never been a real great reader when it comes to the fancy stuff.
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Out of curiosity, did you ever read them aloud or were you only reading them in your head?
[He idly smooths down a tuft of Nero's hair.]
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["Words pretty I guess" is most of what Nero has ever gotten out of reading poetry. Except he managed to find that one Blake poem while he was flipping through, it was short enough to read over it enough times to realize it would be a really nice, heartfelt spot to leave his envelope full of baby pictures.]
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[There's a slight furrow in Vergil's brow as he tries to think of how to illustrate his point perhaps a little more clearly.]
It would be akin to reading the lyrics of a song you like, but never once listening to the song itself. You would lose the rhythm of the words and vocal quality and technique of the singer as well as the instrumentation and musical composition meant to heighten the emotion and intent behind the lyrics. The words could still bear meaning just reading them plainly written, but you wouldn't experience it to the fullness that it was meant to be experienced.
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Okay, Nerd.
[He's smirking though, with a playful nudge back of his elbow lest Vergil think he's actually making fun of him to be mean.]
That makes sense though. I'm not inclined to read aloud when I don't know what half the words are, but that does make sense.
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Something to consider then, if you should choose to try to read them again.
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Nero isn't trying to be dismissive though. He simply never thought about reading aloud, not least of all because he's not sure how to pronounce some of those words. The idea of being overheard fumbling through a poem uneases him more than being caught squinting and struggling ever did.
After a moment, and with another sip of water to bolster his courage, he makes a suggestion.]
Maybe you could read some to me, sometime.
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[But Nero is honest perhaps to a fault, and it is not truly within his character to say anything he does not mean.]
[Vergil nods a little.]
If you'd like.
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But that's chased off once he agrees, and Nero nods back, unintentionally echoing his movement.]
I have trouble reading 'em on the page. So maybe hearing them, they'll make more sense.
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[Thus neither as long nor complicated as Paradise Lost in their presentation and far more straightforward.]
They are where I began when I first took an interest.
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He turns his head and blinks up at Vergil as though gauging him for something. Then he takes another sip of water before actually going for it.]
Read one to me.
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Any particular requests?
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He does cooperate in moving as much as necessary to let Vergil fetch his book. Gives him a chance to lie back with his head on Vergil's lap again, holding his water glass atop his stomach and watching what liquid remains jostle as he breathes.]
Something you like a lot. Preach it to me.
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[Vergil knows the poem well enough that he truly does not need to look at the page the entire time to recite it, but he keeps his eyes there rather than looking to Nero. It's only when the poem is at its end that he looks back down to Nero in his lap after a brief moment to let the last of it settle.]
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He's quiet for a moment after Vergil finishes, eyes closed. Then he opens them to find his father gazing down at him, almost expectantly.]
You have a good voice for that. [First thing that comes to mind for him to say, for some reason. He smiles.] I liked it.
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I take it that means it made more sense to you than reading it for yourself?
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