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Harrowing and haunting were words that fell far too short of describing the horrors of literal hell experienced by our heroic poets. They had clawed their way up and down the matted back of Satan himself. Now, covered in sweat and soot, Dante heaved, his hand coming up to stay at his abdomen. Virgil had just set him down onto Earthly ground, and so he was slowly coming to terms with all that he had seen down below.
Dante had seen guts and gore upon guts and gore, repeatedly and unceasingly, to consume all of his five senses. His heart was still in shock, and his nerves seemed like they would never be able to return to their original state. Now he could only seek the sole person who had given him any sort of solace… Who had been his constant throughout the whole journey… Who, as an added bonus, felt like an extension of his own mind…
Virgil knelt down beside him to catch his own breath. His slender fingers sat atop the grass, the blades slipping through his ghostly form.
His golden curls now draped over his eyes and soft nose, and the laurel crown he wore was just slightly askew. His silken robe fell to reveal his left shoulder, which was tilted closer to the ground, so Dante could just catch sight of the pale pink skin and the sharp clavicle that pressed up from beneath it.
“Dante?”
“Mmm?” He blinked slowly, forcing his attention back.
“I said, look,” Virgil’s brows were furrowed, but a knowing smile graced his lips. Dante’s eyes followed where his gracile hand pointed, and…
Abbiamo visto le stelle. We saw the stars.
“Caspita…” Dante murmured. The dark, midnight sky was littered with specks of white and gold. It was nothing like he had ever seen back in Florence, nor even in the provinces. He could not help the tearful grin that overcame him upon seeing it, upon now realizing that the air was finally breathable and the atmosphere was cool on his skin.
“Right… I have not seen this in centuries,” said Virgil, long fingers coming up to brush his hair aside. There was a half-chuckle in the way he said that that prompted Dante to look over at him— it surprised him to see that there were big beads of tears in his guide’s eyes, almost matching his own that he had tried to brush away.
“Master…”
“Virgil,” He corrected, his tone prompt and curt.
“Virgil…” Dante nodded, “I cannot fathom experiencing this beauty with anyone else.”
Virgil could only hum, eyes shut as his head bowed back. He rubbed at his eyes before turning once more to his companion. He was still at a loss for words, so his (rather talkative) student continued, now stumbling over his words.
“I— I apologize, I know we have only formally met this last… But I have known you forever.”
“I know.”
“Studied you. In detail. Enamored by your every word— Sentence— Phrase!”
Virgil’s cool hand fell atop Dante’s warm-blooded one. Dante stilled at the action, and waited patiently for his beloved guide to respond. It took more than a while for him to speak, but Dante was cued by the gentle squeeze of his hand.
“I wish I had known you in my time. I wish I were still alive. But wishing is futile, and it saddens me to know that we only have these few days to spend together. As reluctant as I once was to begin this journey, I now find myself humbled by the sheer love that I fee—”
The poet halted. He was normally so careful with his words, how could he have been so reckless! His hand picked itself back up, fingers coming to cover his lips.
“You…?”
He sighed. “Dante, in my time, I was not interested in being an object of affection to the fairer sex, and other scholars were well on their way to discovering this. Writing was my method of dealing with that which I had to conceal. But I burned in love’s fire for that which was forbidden.”
“But can one set bounds to love? ‘O Cruel Alexis’,” Dante noted. Virgil smiled. He truly had such extensive knowledge of his works that he could quote them from memory?
“You... are correct, I cannot. For then I had you, who I have known for nary three days. You who have taught me so much in so little time. You who are all that I wished I had the fortune of meeting when I was alive.” Virgil stared between his knees at the weeds growing in front of him.
“You still have me, Virgil,” Dante’s voice was soft as he shifted himself closer to his companion. This prompted him to look at he who smiled gently beside him and adjusted his red cap with such caution.
Virgil sat in silence, pondering for a few seconds, before finally speaking up.
“I… as well… Am glad that I have the privilege of seeing this with you.”
Virgil feared that Dante could easily catch on to his feelings, but he was glad that his student respected his desire to brush them off for now. He calmed at the returning touch of his companion, whose hand had risen to plant on his shoulder. But Virgil refused to acknowledge that, at the peak of Purgatory, he would have to let go.
But Dante spoke once more, his arm now a welcome pressure on his guide’s. He spoke with caution and a slow pace, to select his words carefully.
“You… have dissipated my fears and anxieties for the past few days. God knows that you will assume that role again soon as we continue our journey up that steep hill. Now please, allow me to do the same for you.”
“I…”
Virgil smiled. He took Dante’s hand in his with more resolve this time, and began his tale. No longer a lengthy account of the rivers in Rome. No longer a description of what was going on below them in the pits of hell. This time, he spoke of what mattered to him.
☆
The sun rose from behind the two, officially welcoming Easter Sunday’s arrival. Virgil awoke to the sound of birds somewhere off in the distance. He sat up, spectral hands pressing on the grass that he could not feel, and admired the sleeping figure next to him.
Dante had kept his red cap on, and was still curled up on the grass, robes splayed around his form. It looked like he was shivering from the cold dew on the blades of green that surrounded his body and the cool breeze that passed them by.
Virgil tilted his shoulders, sliding off the white silken toga he wore and draping it over his companion. He now sat in his tunic, bare legs bent as he leaned back onto his arms. He wished he could feel the warmth of the sun, or the wind that rustled the trees as it swept by…
But he knew there was one thing he could feel. He came to this realization as he remembered the various times he had carried Dante with no question. The times that he covered his eyes with his hands, and pulled his body into the shadows to protect him from danger. It was as if God himself had granted his ghostly figure one more taste of humanity, and Virgil would be (more) damned if he would not let himself run his hands along Dante’s arm and caress his jaw. An apology, before He with a capital H would take Dante away from Virgil.
Before they would be separated once again, like they were before they had even met.
Before one would be fated to Eternal Life, the other to Limbo.