sposa bagnata, sposa fortunata

Most went through life never knowing their other half.

How fortunate they were to be brought into it together.

The man looked divine bathed in red.

A pulse beat within his grasp; gauntlet wrapped tightly around the other’s neck. It amused him how such a simple act could render one defenseless, and he pressed the man harder against the stone wall, a pleasant burn coursing through him as the man tried to dislodge his grip, legs swinging in the air.

He was drunk with ecstasy, a laugh bubbling forth. How long had it been since he felt such a rush of energy? Such delight from seeing the blood flow from new wounds?

Such joy at the sensation of living?

There was a choked gasp, and he wondered if the pleasant buzz in his body could grow any stronger when the man angled his neck, the sound of a chain drawing his attention to the man’s collar.

The pendant was brilliant. Beautiful and red, reflecting the glow of his armor splendidly.

And familiar.

In a panic, he flung the man aside, a sharp gasp echoing from the body as it bounced off the nearby crumbled wall like a puppet.

“We’ll always be together, right?”

He gripped his head. It was painful. Painful, painful, painful! It felt as if something had burrowed in the depths of his mind and begun to eat through it, splintering memories in its wake.

Someone—was that him?—scoffed. “Not like you’d ever leave me alone in the first place.” A playful nudge, matching pendants clinking together as they started to tussle once more.

A yell ripped its way out from the back of his throat, and he staggered backward, electricity surrounding him as blue flames burned through him. His vision was hazy, but he managed a glance at the unconscious form of the man.

The man in red. Beautiful, beautiful red.

Beautiful, beautiful Dante.

He fled.

“I thought being twins was supposed to be a good thing,” he muttered, the book closed on his lap. He glared at Dante, who currently slept soundly one seat over. “This one’s just annoying…”

A hand ruffled his hair, and he glanced up.

“But you’re never lonely, right?”

He mulled it over. “I guess not… But,” he scooted over, making room for his mother to sit. “Doesn’t make him any less frustrating.”

She laughed, readjusting Dante so that his head was comfortably resting on her lap. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. His brother always had a bad habit of being babied like that. Honestly, what a child.

“It just makes him all the more endearing,” she leaned back against the wall, patting the other side of her lap. He perked up, moving to rest his head, placing the book in her waiting hand.

He enjoyed it when mother read, her voice soothing as she brought the text to life.  

She opened to the first page, and her words slowly formed magic. He closed his eyes, listening to his mother narrate the story of the bride who waited for her true love to return to her and the man who went on a perilous journey to see her again.

Something shuffled across the fabric of his mother’s skirt and nudged his cheek. He opened one eye and scoffed, rolling his eyes as he placed his hand in Dante’s, entwining their fingers together as their mother’s voice washed over them warmly.

In the end, love always won, didn't it?

The armor wouldn’t come off. Sludge filled his head, and he grit his teeth behind the iron corpse he inhabited, electricity crackling around him as he leaned against the wall in the hallway, remnants of the previous patrollers laying nearby.

Memories coiled around him like intoxicating fog; sensations carved deep into the grooves of his bones.

Dante. Dante. Dante Dante Dante Dante Dante—

Focusing energy into his palm, he reached up and dug his nails on the iron that covered his collarbone. The armor crackled as if fighting back, and he growled, pushing harder till the shell cracked. Slowly, he pushed past the armor’s veins with great strength, managing to feel the surface of the pendant he wore. He ripped his hand back, the armor mending itself shut.

They had just finished fighting, Dante resting heavily against him. Normally, he would have kicked his brother off, but he was too tired, instead opting to lean forward and count blades of grass.

“...hey.”

“I’m not playing anymore, Dante,” he pulled at the earth, “I do have other things to do in my life. Unlike you. ”

Dante leaned against him harder, the additional weight agitating fresh bruises. He grunted and pushed back.

“You’re just stingy!” Dante huffed, the two now sitting back to back. He was silent for a second. “Hey… What happens when we grow up?”

He raised a brow. “Huh?”

“Do we have to leave each other?” Dante asked curiously, pressing closer to him. He mirrored the action, the wind kicking up the grass he had pulled. “Do we have to say goodbye?”

The leaves whistled in the wind, and he looked toward the house. There was smoke coming from the chimney, a sign their mother was preparing for their tea time. He looked back to his sword. The wooden handle felt light in his hand, and he gripped it tightly.

“I never thought about it.”

Dante stood up suddenly, and he fell back with a thud. He groaned, watching as Dante lifted his sword dramatically. 

“Hey! Let’s play some more.”

His brow twitched. 

“Granted…” Dante set the sword on the ground, leaning against it as he rocked on his heels, eyes closed and face smug. “I get if you don’t wanna play anymore. I did beat you pretty good. I get if you wanna go lick your wou—”

He stood up, dropping into a stance. “As if, crybaby.”

Dante opened one eye and smiled, sharp teeth visible.

Perfect for him to knock out.

It was just another Sunday afternoon.

Poison flooded through his veins, watching as Dante stood below, chalice in hand. He gripped the sword handle tightly and laughed, calling for attention. 

Dante glanced toward him and glared, lifting his arms and igniting the flames around his new toy.

It was oddly satisfying, he thought as he lifted his sword high in the air, power thrumming through it. 

Dante, Dante, sweet, crybaby Dante.

How long had it been?

It took but a second for him to jump down into striking range, but oddly, it felt as if an eternity had passed. Dante tried to block the arc, but it proved too forceful, sending him flying back. He watched as his brother rolled back onto his feet, arms ready to strike as he raced at him.

(He wondered if it was possible to see his smile.)

It was just another Sunday afternoon.

“I don’t have time for a bride, but… I could figure something out.”

Dante stopped mid sniff, wiping his tears. “Huh?”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the page. The book wasn’t terribly interesting, even less so when Dante was currently in the process of sobbing in the background. 

“I’m saying we could get married. That way,” he turned to Dante, “No one else has to suffer with you.”

Dante raised a pillow to throw but paused just as quickly. “We could stay here, then?” He placed the pillow on his lap. “And have sword fights? A lot, a lot?”

He bit back a groan, almost wanting to retract his proposal, but Dante’s face was practically sparkling, and sometimes Dante’s happy face was better than his tear-streaked one.

“I guess we could,” he said, wondering how many swords they’d need. “I wouldn’t want a weak wife.”

Before Dante could open his mouth to make any jabs, he handed him a napkin. He watched as his brother opened the cloth and gasped silently, awestruck. He turned away, fiddling with the page again. “Don’t tell mama.”

Dante launched at him. “Vergil, what would you ever do without me!”

He grunted, their combined weight sending them tumbling off the bed. He pushed his hands against Dante’s face, trying to get some distance. “I just don’t like hearing you cry, especially over something as stupid as a strawberry ban!”

“You’re so shy, Vergil.”

“And you’re a brat!”

“Well, you’re stingy!”

“Fine! Give me the strawberries back!”

“No!”

“Dante!”

“ARGH!”

“ARGH!!”

Had they stayed awake after their tussle, they would have heard their mother walk into the room and sigh, staring at them fondly, taking note of their strawberry covered nightgowns and clasped hands.

Gently, she tucked them in and placed kisses on their foreheads. She held back a laugh when it made them huddle closer to each other, no doubt sharing a dream. Moonlight filtered in through the window, her children bathed in its soft light, carefree and peaceful.

She brushed back their bangs. “Goodnight, boys.”

They smiled in their sleep, leaning into her touch.

Lightning flashed across the skies, the storm rattling the edges of the glass doors. The clouds hung low, neverending as they blanketed the castle and hid the sea.

Mundus was growing impatient. 

He chuckled to himself softly. 

There were more pressing matters to attend to.

The door opened, and excitement bubbled inside him. He turned, Dante standing there, guns gripped tightly in his hands. His brother smirked and shook his head, mouthing off like always.

Summoning the last dregs of his memories, he bellowed out a mighty roar, forcefully removing the helmet. Dante watched wearily, no sign of recognition on his face.

He raised his sword toward the sky and prepared his vows.

(How long had it been?)

The runes on the sword glowed, power surging through him.

(He never thought he’d be one to get wedding jitters.)

He launched forward, sword swooping in and throwing Dante back. His brother was quick to get back on his feet, jumping over the next strike. 

Delight swept through him as the room around him echoed the clashing of their weapons, Dante attempting to hurdle himself out of striking range.

The distance mattered not. He would cross it in between the beating of their hearts.

[Till Death Do Us Part.]

Dante equipped Ifrit and set himself ablaze.

He laughed and raised his arm, swords manifesting in the air.

The ceremony had begun.

There is no marriage without tears.

Soon it would be Monday morning.