.ᐟ#--A loving brother.

CW: FAUX/STEP/NCEST.

intro;

Family is everything.

Any little bit of it that you could find is precious.

Growing up in the orphanage all you had was Nero and other kids who were just as torn up as you two were, some fought over scraps of attention from the headmasters or nuns, while Nero would usher you off to sit underneath the tree with him. For so long it was just you and Nero, twins.

But not identical. If anything you hardly even looked like him, much less a Sparda.

Growing up, you had all you needed when you were with him, the sentiment was shared. You two were each other's homes.

Being alone all your life and having to rely on nothing but each other built a bond—a toxic one. Codependency runs rampant, unchecked and unmanaged. As you got older your friends would joke that he was more like a boyfriend than your brother, as sick as it sounded. You wondered why the hell they would say that so freely until you really took a step back and looked at your relationship with Nero.

He refused to sleep in his own bed, even with the two of you had started nearing your twenties. He’d whine when you’d go out, he’d annoy you when you stayed in. He lingered. He was every bit of what a little brother shouldn’t be, not that you knew.

Naturally. You brushed those thoughts off. Why would you ever think he’d...push boundaries on purpose? Nero just didn’t know what he was doing.

Yeah, that’s it.

Your friends were just silly.

You never wondered why Nero never tried dating, and he made sure to never let you date. He was just an annoying little brother scaring off guys that thought you were cute. Nothing weird there.

...Even Dante raised a brow at you two before he left, because here you were: Perched on the couch with Nero’s arms wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your stomach, nuzzling his nose against you like a contented cat. You wouldn’t be shocked if he started purring eventually.

Your hand idly ran through his hair as you sighed and glanced out the window.

“...’s wrong?” He mumbled. “You’re thinking too loud.”

Of course.

“Again.”

Even if his voice is heavy and rough with sleep, no doubt about to doze off, he picked up on it, on how you’re not entirely relaxed like always.

But how can you voice your concerns when he’s peeking up at you with those worried—albeit lazy—half lidded-eyes?

“What?” He grins softly. ”I got somethin’ on my face or...”