"What is, and here me out, people do love you? Be it for the ice cold demon you say you are."

You tore apart strains of his silver hair, a low glow of intimidation offering him a single whiplash of fullest bliss, greatest reassurance, for the next few moments, till you'd continue.

"What if you're closing yourself off, because it is you, who doesn't see all those people trying to send you love – in their own way? Don't tell me your mind is so rusty from the time down in hell."

It had been a difficult topic ever since. And Vergil did everything to keep it exactly that way, pushing you away, as soon as wise themed words just slipped off your brims, was it fallaciously or on purpose. But sooner or later he had to admit these things. So if you didn't start talking to him about it in the most ridiculous situations, when then?