like yes, dante is a demon hunter that fights demons from hell, but he also is fighting the demons in his head because he’s not over you, his ex, at all.
(artist is Warsong_zhange on X)
being a demon hunter meant dante had seen some pretty horrifying things – limbs torn off, hell gates opening in the middle of suburban malls, one time a demon that looked suspiciously like his landlord. but nothing, nothing, came close to the horror of realizing he still wasn’t over you.
and yeah, that sounded dramatic, but so was he. sue him.
he was currently slicing through a hellspawn with rebellion, blood and black goo flying everywhere, but all he could think about was how you used to get mad when he came home tracking demon guts across your nice rug.
“you have two feet, dante. two!”
“yeah, and they both kicked ass today.”
“you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“... that’s fair.”
gosh, he missed that couch. not because it was comfortable (it wasn’t), but because you were on it. in a hoodie three sizes too big, hair a mess, and snuggled up against him after cleaning his dirty blood-stained clothes.
now? his clothes were still stained with demon blood. but he had no hoodie-wearing ex to nag him about disinfectant or maybe not fighting a lava demon with a hangover next time.
he slammed the last demon’s head into the pavement with a grunt, letting out a breath. the alley was quiet again, save for the soft squelch of goo under his boots.
“great,” he muttered. “another tuesday night and i’m talking to myself like a lunatic.”
he checked his phone. no new texts. no calls. not even spam.
romantic, huh?
dante shook his head. he knew he was a mess.
not like “oh, some paperwork’s out of order” kind of mess. more like “the building’s on fire, there’s a weird creature sleeping on the roof, and uh oh, i’m using the microwave to dry my socks again” kind of mess.
trish had stopped by earlier and taken one look at him slumped over his desk with an energy drink in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza on his face before saying, “you look like if insomnia had a kid with bad decisions.”
accurate.
he hadn’t really slept since you left. sure, he could pass out after a rough mission, but the dreams were hell. either he dreamed of demons ripping through the city, or worse, dreamed of you.
you, in his arms. you, calling him an idiot. you, stealing his coat and insisting it was now yours “legally.”
you, walking out the door because he couldn’t stop shutting down every time you tried to love him properly.
dante wasn’t good at feelings. he was good at fighting, flirting, and ordering pizza. he was less good at not being emotionally constipated. but hey, he was working on it. kind of.
he sat back, stretched, and cracked his neck. then promptly groaned because apparently he was twenty-something with the spine of a boomer.
“man, maybe i’m the demon,” he muttered, rubbing his back. “i mean i know i am, but metaphorically.”
he picked up a picture frame that had somehow survived the chaos. it was you. holding his sword. upside down. grinning like a gremlin. you’d written ‘guess i’m the real demon hunter now, loser’ on the back.
he stared at it for a long time. then he said, out loud, “i hope you’re doing okay, wherever you are. and also, i hope you haven’t replaced me with a boring guy named ‘todd’ who doesn’t know how to hold a sword.”
the next morning, he got a call from lucia. demon outbreak near fortuna. ruins. weird spikes in energy. usual deal.
he said yes immediately. not because he wanted to save the world or anything noble like that. mostly because he needed a distraction from the fact that he tried to cuddle a pillow last night and whispered “you smell like her” to it (which he would be taking to his grave).
but it was unsuccessful as you still stayed rent-free in his head, even when the ruins were cold and dramatic and full of fog. perfect date night setting, honestly. just needed a bottle of wine and someone to scream: “THIS ISN’T EVEN MY FINAL FORM!”
dante wandered through, sword slung over his shoulder, humming something off-key.
he’d just sliced through a hellhound when he heard a voice. a familiar one. a voice that made every single hair on his neck stand up and also reminded him of the time he spilled coffee on your favorite white shirt and tried to blame it on a poltergeist.
“hold the scanner steady,” your voice rang. “you’re shaking like a chihuahua on espresso.”
dante froze. peeked around the pillar. and there you were. glasses on. gloves off. scolding some poor assistant. clipboard in hand.
you looked good. too good. offensively good. like, “he might actually throw himself into a demon pit out of spite” good.
and worst of all? you were smiling.
he ducked back behind the pillar like a man who’d just seen his ex and remembered he hadn’t washed his hair in three days. which he hadn’t.
“okay, dante,” he whispered to himself. “you’ve fought literal satan. you can say hi to your ex without having a breakdown.”
lies.
but he squared his shoulders, walked up like nothing was wrong, and casually said: “so… this is where you’ve been hiding, huh?”
you blinked. turned. stared. and then said, “are you wearing two different boots?”
he looked down. “... no,” he lied.
you raised an eyebrow. “left one has pizza sauce on it.”
“okay, maybe yes.”
your eyes scanned him. he looked like a disaster. like the human embodiment of “i miss my girlfriend and i also haven't done laundry in a week.”
you crossed your arms. “i thought you were dead.”
“nah. just emotionally unavailable.”
you snorted. and gosh, it went straight to his heart like a dagger.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, voice softening.
“same thing as you, i guess. fighting demons. both in reality and in my head. real normal.”
you hesitated. “i didn’t think you’d show your face around here again.”
he scratched the back of his neck. “was kinda hoping to accidentally bump into you, actually.”
your eyebrows shot up. “oh my gosh,” you said. “did you stalk me?”
“no! well, okay, yes, but not like creepy stalk. like romantic movie stalk. like ‘serendipity,’ but with more blood.”
“... that’s somehow worse.”
he smiled, crooked and boyish. “i missed you.”
you inhaled sharply. and then, after a long, painful pause, you said, “i missed you too, idiot.”
his heart actually did a little flip. a stupid, dramatic flip.
“but,” you added, “you still owe me an apology.”
he stepped closer. “i’m sorry,” he said. “for being a dumbass. for shutting you out. for thinking i could fight demons with a chainsaw sword and not deal with the ones in my chest.”
you blinked.
“... okay, wow,” you said. “who are you and what have you done with my emotionally illiterate ex?”
“therapy,” he said proudly. “well, unofficial therapy. i yelled at a mirror for two hours and then got stabbed by a demon. character growth.”
you laughed. it echoed through the ruins.
and for the first time in months, dante felt something inside him uncoil. lighten.
he didn’t know what would happen next. maybe you’d get dinner. maybe you’d punch him in the face. maybe both.
but you were here. and so was he. still fighting demons. still kind of in love.
and maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them to stop fighting each other.
i’m fighting demons one wolf is saying get a lot buffer and be abby anderson and the other is saying get a tiny bit buffer and then a tiny bit leaner and be ellie williams
