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Being back on earth was an entirely new form of hell for Vergil. He had no power over it.
Sitting on a couch felt foreign, having multiple meals a day and clean clothes had gone from its status of a distant memory to a daily occurrence which was just plain weird, having a son was also significant but not the strangest thing that ever happened. He could live with it, Nero seemed like a decent albeit angry young man - great at slapping Dante, as it turned out, which filled Vergil’s cold little heart with joy; his fiancée - Vergil’s future daughter-in-law - was a great conversation partner, and Dante–
Dante was the sole miscreant responsible for turning Vergil’s freshly-regained vaguely human life into hell.
Yes, they shared their space back there, but hell, just like its ruling king, was cold and dangerous, and they needed each other to survive. It did not give Dante the right to act the same way back on earth in Vergil’s mind.
They did not need to keep each other warm through sharing body heat. Yet Dante insisted, by constantly staying close and constantly touching .
Initially, Vergil wasn’t sure what to think about it. Dante tried to keep physical contact with him all the time but never hurt , not since they came back. It’s not that Vergil was itching for a fight, but he was expecting it. But the attack would never come.
He would almost prefer to fight. It would be easier than wondering why exactly Dante decided that he could just place an arm around his waist with no consequences. He even dared to fidget, the fool. And so Vergil stared at Dante’s hand, trying to come up with a punishment harsh enough for playing not only with his literal but also metaphorical buttons.
“Hey, uh– Why is there a sword above my head?” Dante was looking up at the mirage blade hovering over him and he was smiling,
Vergil refused to believe that when they’d got back from hell Kyrie thought he was the evil twin. He might have been, he still did not appreciate that.
“You’re touching me.” That came out shakier than he intended.
“I’m not going to die from it, am I?” Dante ran his fingers up the column of buttons.
“You might.”
“Okay, fine.” Dante laughed and removed his hand from Vergil’s side, causing his older twin to flinch. That was somehow even worse.
Vergil sighed as the mirage blade fell, blunt end hitting Dante’s head on the way down. He felt cold without the arm around him yet the softness was too unnerving for him to just allow it.
The next few minutes were uneventful, with Dante, surprisingly, keeping his distance. Vergil’s patience was wearing thin as he found himself craving. He considered himself a patient man, thought it was about as realistic as Dante considering himself mature.
Dante’s hand was easier to grab and place back where it belonged than he expected.
Being back on earth was an entirely new form of hell for Vergil and, by Sparda, he was going to rule it the same as the previous one.