'Double date? Absolutely not. I'm here only because my jerk brother wanted to hit on your friend.'

A story about two completely opposite twins — Dante and Vergil — whose views on love and relationships couldn’t be more different. While Dante lives a vivid and chaotic romantic life, Vergil shows complete indifference toward romance, causing concern for their parents and curiosity for his brother. A forced attempt to drag Vergil into a double date turns into a personal challenge filled with sarcasm, family confrontation, and tension between opposing personalities. But will this event become a turning point — or just another battle of stubborn wills?

Initial messages:

Vergil had never been interested in romance.

Not even a little.

Back in kindergarten, while the other kids blushed furiously and whispered about their “crushes,” or loudly argued over which boy or girl would play with whom, Vergil observed it all with the quiet judgment of a man accidentally attending a cult meeting.

Five minutes was usually enough.

“Degenerative debauchery,” the three-year-old would conclude coldly, as if delivering a political analysis.

Not exactly the words one expects from a toddler in a sandbox.

Whenever adults asked,

“Is there a girl you like?”

Vergil would reply with a perfectly blank face:

“No.”

No blush. No hesitation. Not even a flicker of embarrassment.

His parents would laugh awkwardly and wave it off. “He’ll grow out of it.”

He didn’t.

Years passed.

If the younger twin, Dante (only five minutes younger! — imagine Dante screaming that across the house), was already building romantic experience at the age of five — proudly counting a peck on the cheek as one of his greatest life achievements — then Vergil would merely wrinkle his nose.

“foolishness.”

By sixteen, hormones usually raged like a storm at sea.

Especially for Dante.

Their parents could barely keep track of the steady rotation of girls at the front door. It felt like they needed a whiteboard schedule labeled “Girlfriend of the Month.”

And against this blooming, fragrant garden of Dante’s love life, Vergil’s was an arctic wasteland.

When Dante finally calmed down and girls stopped appearing quite so frequently, their parents noticed something else.

Vergil had no one.

Not even a rumor. Not even a suspicious late-night text. Nothing.

And the thought began to gnaw at them:

What if he was hiding something?

They had always been understanding parents. Why would their son feel the need to conceal anything?

The question tormented them so much that they assigned Dante to “casually investigate.” For a symbolic fee, which Dante called “compensation for emotional labor.”

Though if he was honest — he was curious too. Had anyone conquered the Snow Prince’s heart?

Vergil noticed the surveillance within a week.

“If you continue your painfully obvious attempts at spying,” he said without looking up from his book, “you’ll get a black eye. At best.”

Dante wasn’t scared. If anything, he was intrigued. But even his patience had limits, and after weeks of finding absolutely nothing remotely interesting, he gave up.

Their parents, however, did not.

One night, after a family dinner where everyone had been drinking slightly (everyone except Vergil, of course), Sparda gathered his courage.

Picture this: Vergil and Sparda sitting side by side on the edge of the bed. Sparda looks like he’s about to announce national emergency measures.

“Son... we need to have a serious talk.”

Most teenagers would immediately assume total catastrophe.

Vergil, however, was perfectly calm. He had nothing to hide.

“We’ve noticed that you... don’t seem interested in girls. Or love. At all. Tell me honestly.”

Deep breath.

“Are you ?”

Silence.

Vergil raised one eyebrow.

Sparda interpreted that as a confession and immediately pulled him into an emotional side-hug.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We love you no matter what. It’s completely normal...”

Vergil stared at the wall for a few seconds.

“Did Dante give you that idea?”

A nod.

An eye roll.

“Dad, let me reassure you. I’m not interested in boys.”

Relief flickered across Sparda’s face.

“...or girls.”

The relief died instantly.

“I’m not interested in relationships. With anyone. So please stop worrying about nothing. And you should probably get back to the kitchen. I can already hear Dante taking out the karaoke mic. I am not prepared to listen to wolf howling until three in the morning.”

He escorted his father out.

The blessed silence lasted exactly until the opening notes of I Will Survive echoed through the house.

Vergil closed his eyes.

This was going to be a long night.

---

Now, back to Dante.

Unlike the drought that was Vergil’s romantic life, Dante’s resembled a well-watered paradise.

For the past few days, he had his eye on a particularly cutie. He chose the perfect moment, activated his lazy-but-dangerously-effective charm — and got a yes.

“This couldn’t have been easier,” he thought smugly.

“There’s one condition.”

His grin faltered.

“And what would that be?” he purred.

He’d heard it all before.

Don’t fall in love.

Pick me up.

Pay for dinner.

But this?

“It has to be a double date. My friend is coming. And your brother.”

Silence.

Dante stood there with a frozen smirk slowly transforming into the face of a man who had just been struck by divine punishment.

A double date.

With Vergil.

This wasn’t just risky. This was doomed.

Rumors about Vergil’s complete disinterest in romance were practically public knowledge.

But Dante was nothing if not stubborn. So Dante had a plan to convince Vergil to agree to this. Despite the negligible probability of success of such a method, less than if an infinite number of monkeys pressed the keys of a typewriter for an infinite time to type the entire contents of Hamlet (if you're curious, the chance of this is about 1 in 3.4 * 10^183 946), and yet Dante tried, If the probability of success was greater than zero, then it existed.

He asked directly.

“Will you come on a double date with me?”

“No.”

Immediate. Automatic. Merciless.

It became a matter of principle.

And thus began Vergil’s personal hell.

“Changed your mind?”

“What about now?”

“What if I say please?”

“What if I say it twice?”

At dinner. At school. In the middle of the night.

Once — through the bathroom door.

Vergil briefly considered the hypothetical scenario in which Dante suffered a sudden, tragic accident.

He dismissed it quickly. Dante would find a way to annoy him even in death.

And then, one day—

“Yes.”

Dante blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yes,” Vergil repeated, irritation sharp in his tone. “Before I change my mind.”

There would not be a second chance.

---

The day arrived.

Both twins were getting ready.

“You’re putting in a suspicious amount of effort for someone who didn’t want to go,” Dante smirked.

Vergil shot him a cold look.

“You look no better when you preen in front of the mirror like a peacock.”

Before leaving, Dante sprayed on a generous amount of cologne, even with one spritz into his mouth.

“Foolishness,” Vergil muttered, absolutely (Un)deserved.

But after everything, failure was not an option.

And now they stood there, waiting.

And the real trial was about to begin.

Dante, radiant with confidence.

Vergil, internally composing contingency plans. He stared into the distance and briefly reconsidered the murder option.

But knowing Dante, even death wouldn’t stop him from being insufferable. And that, truly, was the most terrifying part.