top-tier moment in the phantom of the opera novel is when raoul goes to the opera looking horridddddddd and the managers are hanging out in box five and moncharmin is like 'that's the vicomte? he looks ill and should be in bed.' and he was so so right because approximately two minutes later christine looks at raoul and he begins sobbing directly into his hands
Since escaping hell with his foolish brother on his heels, Vergil had become lenient of the everyday world. Although harsh and unrelenting in his many pursuits, he allowed himself to sit with his mistakes long enough to hollow out his chest. He never thought himself capable of such sentiment, not since you. And fate was a fickle thing. He would never trust it, but he promised to be better once you reached into the depths of his darkness with one harmless little question.
“Wanna try this again?”
You had always been too forgiving for something like him.
And now, two years into this benign second chance at life, he was as collared by your love as he was in his youth.
“What do you think? Is the bow too much?”
Vergil allowed the words on the page to blur into the background before his focus resumed on you, perched on the top rung of a ladder and framing the same portion of wall. The clock hanging to the left revealed you'd been at this for an hour now, and the house you had picked to live out the rest of your days in wasn't exactly small.
“It's meant to be the centerpiece, is it not?” He snapped his book shut as your lips curled into a familiar pout. “Come down. You've done enough tonight.”
“No, it has to be perfect,” you argued, crossing your arms as if it would cajole the decor to listen.
He always enjoyed your determination. It had been one of the few things to knock him breathless before you had managed to steal the last bit of heart he had left.
“We're hosting Christmas here this year. I want it to feel like home for everyone.”
“With how often that door opens, one would assume they actually live here," Vergil sighed.
“We're closer to Dante’s office than his apartment! He shouldn't sleep at a desk all the time. I wish Nero and Kyrie lived closer,” you grumbled, hand going to your neck. Vergil frowned as you began tugging at your earlobe, your hair trailing over your shoulder. “Maybe I should've put the wreath here instead. The bow would fit the front door a bit bett-AH!”
The legs of the ladder rattled with Vergil’s kick, staying in place and leaving your body to fall back into his arms.
“God!” You smacked his shoulder as soon as the shock faded. He only smirked down at you, turning to gently lay you over the couch. “You ass! Gonna have a heart attack, Jesus Christ.”
“You should have come down when I requested the first time.”
“Requested, sure,” you huffed, eyes rolling. You hummed as he sat near your feet and laughed as he grasped your ankles and lifted your legs up. Always lithe and smooth with any movement, Vergil slipped himself under your thighs in one blink and grabbed his book to resume his reading. You knew you were stuck once his arms settled over you, one fair-skinned hand smoothing the sleeve of your pajamas up to begin massaging your calf.
Blowing out a soft breath, you tilted your head back to stare up at the high ceilings. The ornaments you'd hung earlier this afternoon twinkled in the warm light of the crackling fireplace. The ladder was an eyesore, but that was a chore for later. Glancing over at the other walls you'd have to get to tomorrow, your eyes widened as you spotted the picture frames that were up year-round.
“Did you switch out the photographs?”
His deep affirmation tickled your ears, icy gaze stuck to his pages. You smiled to yourself, hands twisting into your oversized shirt as you marveled the pictures. Most of them were from the heavy snowfall last year, your sweet, bubbly grandchild playing in the snow and bundled up with a mean-faced Nero in the background of every shot, anxious over his darling girl. You adored the one with her on Vergil’s shoulders, reaching for a squirrel on a snowy branch and him grimacing from her grip on his hair. There was a smile hidden in the corner of it.
You're not sure when you'd gone from ogling the picture to his actual face, but reality resumed when those sly eyes roved from inked words to you.
“What is it?”
You shook your head, pushing up from the couch. His hand went to the crook of your knee to anchor you as you snuggled into his shoulder, humming happily.
“Nothing. Just love you,” you murmured.
“So you say every single day.” His tone was banal at best, but those sharp eyes glinted something softer when you grinned up at him, burying into his neck. “Am I not close enough?”
“Mm-mm.”
He clicked his tongue but raised his arm so you could sink into his side. The subtle strength of him moving you into his lap had you giggling.
“Be quiet,” he muttered, sneaking a kiss over your lips. “Some of us enjoy reading in silence.”
“Is this reading?” you whispered, face heating as he kissed under your eye, trailed the bridge of your nose. “I don't think it is.”
He chuckled—a rare, warm sound that never failed to make you melt.
Needless to say the book was abandoned along with the Christmas decorations for the night.
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