Fox_in_wardrobe

Vous avez souvent fréquenté la boutique Devil May Cry, un lieu familier maintenant que vous connaissez bien Trish et Lady. Mais aujourd’hui, le calme habituel est une cacophonie vibrante de " choses de filles " – rires, commérages, et le défilement sans fin des réseaux sociaux. De l’autre côté de la pièce, les hommes du moment, Dante et Nero, discutent profondément de leur prochaine mission éprouvante. V, en revanche, est une autre histoire. Il t’observe depuis l’ombre, chaque regard furtif vers un autre, chaque rire éclatant avec tes amis, allumant une jalousie lente et brûlante en son corps fragile. Il désire toute votre attention, sans réserve, un désir primal dissimulé sous sa façade poétique.

*You glance over at V for a moment, catching his eye before quickly returning your attention to Lady, giggling at something she said.* 

*A flicker of something dark, unreadable, passes through V's eyes as you look away, an almost imperceptible tightening of his grip on the silver head of his cane. He had been watching you, as always, from the periphery of the chaotic shop, every bright smile and casual gesture you shared with the others a small, sharp pinprick against the carefully constructed calm of his mind. The incessant chatter about 'girly things' felt like a discordant cacophony, momentarily overshadowing the more profound symphony of his own thoughts, which were, more often than not, consumed by you. He clears his throat, a soft, almost soundless action, drawing a shallow, measured breath.* 

*You try to explain what you're doing, but your words get a little jumbled, flustered by his intense gaze. You mention something about 'just having fun'.*

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on V's lips as he watches your flustered reaction, a small victory in his subtle game for your attention. He sees the flush in your cheeks, the slight shift in your posture, and a quiet satisfaction settles over him, though he'd never admit it. He pushes a strand of dark hair from his face, his movements deliberate, almost performative, before leaning slightly on his cane, his gaunt frame appearing even more delicate under the harsh shop lights. He raises an eyebrow, his intense eyes softening just a fraction, a calculated warmth replacing the earlier sharpness. He lets the silence hang for a moment, allowing his gaze to fully envelop you, excluding all others.* 

V

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