etrayalogs | it's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall (closed)

it's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall (closed)

WHO: Vergil + others
WHEN: Between missions 12 & 13
WHERE: Various locations
WHAT: Some emotional talks. Some yeeting of children. It's a little bit of everything.
NOTES\WARNINGS: No open prompts this go around, but if you are wanting something, feel free to slap down a starter or request one. There will be discussions pertaining to complex family dynamics (particularly between siblings) that may also further include topics such as loss/death of parents and/or siblings, assumed fratricide (of the accidental variety), and grief pertaining to aforementioned losses. Warnings will be in headers, but will update this as able to/needed!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Vergil steps out of the cafe, hot tea in hand. The day is his to do with as he pleases now that they are free from both the company and world of the Fae. With Christmas looming on the horizon, he intends to go looking for presents for his family, and if he feels there is time, perhaps peruse one of the various bookshops for himself. But the primary objective is absolutely to return home with at least a gift for both Nero and Dante, and get them into the apartment without detection.

What is not on Vergil's agenda is to have someone trying to take him out at the knee. Fortunately, he has become neither slow nor inattentive to his surroundings and the sudden motion just out of his periphery is enough to alert him to the incoming strike. Tossing the cup of tea up and slightly behind him, Vergil catches whoever it is by the ankle before they can make contact. Vergil swings them around in front of himself to see the identity of his attacker as he simultaneously tips Yamato for the bottom of the scabbard to be pointed towards the sky. His tea lands neatly and without spilling a drop on the very end of the scabbard, perfectly balanced. A frown forms almost immediately as he raises her a little higher for mildly better eye contact.

"I should have known," he mutters more to himself than to Kyoko. Without making any motion of lowering her to the ground or simply dropping her on her head, Vergil speaks louder and more clearly directed to her. "What are you doing, Kyoko?"

Kyoko had been following Vergil for a while now, ducking behind anything she could to stay out of sight. A shame then she wasn't very good at it and her red hair tended to give her away. Still, she had waited in ambush, thinking surely she could catch Vergil off guard as he came out with his tea. She pouted for all of maybe five seconds when she was grabbed by the ankle and held out at arm's length like a rag doll but quickly just grinned from ear to ear, flashing a peace sign as she dangled.

"Trying to land a hit on you, obviously. C'mon, you can't expect me to see what you could do and not want a second round or something."

She does look a little sheepish as she glances behind him. As Vergil grabbed one leg, she had attempted to catch his tea with her other foot, and while she had managed to get her foot under the cup, it unfortunately bounced before she could react again.

"Sorry about your drink though. I tried to catch it but..."

"It is no matter," he says with a put upon sigh. He isn't surprised Kyoko managed to identify him in the absence of his glamour. Although made to look younger and a few alterations here and there, his features were not as dramatically changed as some. There are also simply not that many about with white hair running about Etraya, never mind styling their hair the way he does. Vergil lowers gently her back down to the ground, leaning forward slightly when he feels her head make contact with the ground so the rest of her can roll to the ground or otherwise make a controlled descent when he releases her ankle. After he's released her, Vergil plucks his cup of tea off the scabbard and sets Yamato right again. "I see you have made it to Etraya."

His tone does not lend itself to the idea he thinks that is a positive or negative. It is a simple observation of fact.

As soon a Vergil began to lower her to the ground, she puts her hands out on the ground so that as soon as he releases her ankle she can transition into a half cartwheel fairly gracefully before shoving her hands back into her jacket pocket where she pulls a piece of bubblegum out and pops it into her mouth after unwrapping it.

"I did! I'm glad the other guy I met at that party did too. He went by the name Mizu. Real cool samurai type!" Kyoko glances down at Yamato before getting a grin on her face. "You should meet him! Maybe he'd be more of your speed as a friend than being pestered by me. Not that I'm gonna stop pestering you or anything."

Kyoko did not need to provide that detail of when exactly she crossed paths with Mizu for Vergil to know it was at the party. The fact she knows Mizu's name at all would have signified it was before Vergil found Mizu amid the crowd, sneaking away out of the party. Vergil followed after her naturally, preparing himself for the likelihood that she would not remember him. Little did he know, Mizu did the same, and that it was all for naught. After their reunion, Vergil kept Mizu hidden away in his room until the Fae left. What few people she crossed paths with, she would have likely utilized an alias to stay on the safe side as he advised.

But Vergil does not volunteer this information. He resumes walking in the direction he intended instead.

"Is that so?" he says, giving no indication if his question is to her suggestion that he ought to befriend Mizu or the notion that she refuses to give up on being within his limited social sphere right away. Vergil sips his tea before he continues, "What an odd coincidence that you should run into a swordsman named Mizu. My lover happens to both be a swordsman and named Mizu."

Woe to Vergil that his sarcasm is likely lost upon Kyoko.

Kyoko follows along behind Vergil, arching an eyebrow at the revelation. It does amuse her that she met both sides of the couple - and she never would've guessed they were together just based on their personalities - at the party. Still, it is clear that Vergil is attempting to make a joke, so Kyoko plays along, doing her best to not let on she was in on it as she responded.

"Oh wow, that is weird. Heh... a couple more and we'll have a real rainstorm on our hands."

She's not generally one to think of wordplay in the moment, so making a joke about Mizu's name in such a way is an accomplishment for her. Should Vergil turn to look at her, she'd be very proud of herself for that one.

Vergil does not just look at her, he actually comes to a complete stop to look at her. His expression is absent of anything remotely close to amused and is a pure distillation of disapproval. His jaw clenches and there is a few dozen things he could say in response. But in the end, all he does is draw a deep, steadying breath through his nose before turning away from her and walking again.

"Stop talking, Kyoko."

Kyoko just giggles to herself for a long moment. She didn't expect Vergil would actually laugh, but that she could get beneath his defenses in some way or another was enough of a victory for her.

"You're just mad that you didn't get to make that joke first~!" Of course judging by her tone, she doesn't seem to believe that at all, just making more jokes or trying to ruffle Vergil's feathers some. "Still, kinda surprised to hear you two are together. Personality wise you two seem pretty far apart... but I can definitely see how that would work out."

Kyoko takes a couple steps to get even with Vergil, leaning to one side, intending to bump his shoulder again when her brain catches up to her and reminds her how well that went the last time. Instead she just straightens her posture, and takes a half step to the side, giving him a bit more of a personal bubble.

"I'm happy for you guys, really. When I found out that we got snatched out of different time periods and the people back home might not even know we're gone... I'm not gonna lie, I kinda panicked. Mizu helped me get my head back above water, so I'm glad you guys have each other."

Although he does not look back at her while she is still trailing behind him, Vergil raises an eyebrow when Kyoko remarks about discrepancies in their personalities as being the source of her surprise. He cannot help wondering if she means something else by that comment because he has always found Mizu to be of a similar temperament to himself. Vergil did not feel as much pressure to speak in Mizu's presence because there never was an expressed desire for small talk from either of them. They spoke directly and without concern how their words would be received by the other. Neither behaved in ways that were pushy or overly sentimental, allowing the other to speak their mind as far as they willed and not a step further. They developed a mutual respect because of their general low tolerance for nonsense. To put it simply, it was...easy. With Mizu. More than Vergil has ever truly experienced with others.

And yes, he knows some of that is a credit to his own shift in priorities and perspective that he was even open to the notion of friendship with Mizu. But were they dissimilar, Vergil does not know that he would have been capable of forming a bond with Mizu as quickly as he had, whether by the measure of friendship or what they have since become. So, her evaluation that Mizu and Vergil differ to such an extent that their coupling seems odd and unexpected is striking enough that he questions a hidden meaning behind her words when he cannot fathom Mizu being anyone other than herself. He just cannot think of what else she may be avoiding saying directly or implying.

He glances down at her with a furrow in his brow for the answer he cannot find rather than her sudden presence at his side. Although he does still brace himself for the impending collision of her shoulder into his. It never comes, however, and Kyoko moves a little further away. Vergil relaxes.

"As am I," he says without any sign of any particular softness or warmth even if it is still the truth. He does not feel compelled to share any further about the matter of how deeply he missed Mizu when he was brought to this world, and just how happy he is to have her back. That warmth he feels at every thought of her is for him and Mizu. Vergil looks ahead to where they are walking again, and redirects the conversation. "You should consider yourself fortunate that there are those that would be concerned about your absence.

In Folkmore, it was never particularly uncommon for Vergil to spend a couple of days at Mizu's cabin. Doing so provided his family with their own degree of privacy—especially for Nero and Kyrie after the latter's arrival—while also giving Vergil and Mizu plenty of quality time spent together. And while it wouldn't be unfair to assume Vergil was seeking more of that quality time with Mizu again with more enthusiasm given both their recent reunion and abatement of fear that Mizu would not make it to Etraya, this was noticeably far less planned than usual. Not to mention, it is not as though Vergil has ever been one to neglect quality time spent with his family, especially so soon after the Christmas holiday.

Something was likely more noticeably amiss, however, when Vergil opted to return his family's apartment only really long enough to exchange a few changes of clothes (albeit sans a shirt or two as he pretends to not have noticed how they've mysteriously found their way into Mizu's closet or they somehow manifest as a sleep shirt for Mizu at night) and a book or two from the beginnings of his collection. Normally such a departure would not result in a return to spending the night for several days if not an entire week. But Vergil was back shortly and with every clear intention of staying the night again.

Foolishly, however, Vergil has hoped that nothing has struck Mizu as particularly off about him or this prolonged visit. There is little else that he can think that he would want to do less than to tarnish his time with her in talking about his recent fight with Dante. So, although quieter than usual, he has been soaking in her presence and warmth not just for his own comfort, but for the simple sake of it as well. He's enjoyed the quiet, domestic little routines and patterns they fall into with one another in this shared space. He finds himself with a smile on his face more often than not as he watches her doing the most mundane of things. Occasionally Mizu catches him and his face warms, but he gravitates to her all the same. He revels in their touch whether it is curling up on the couch together with books in hand or his hand simply brushing past the small of her back as he passes behind her in the kitchen. Sleep comes to him more slowly at night and with greater difficulty as his mind cannot help but turn the argument with his brother over and over and over and over again, but he's calmed by the steady rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her heart thrumming steadily in her chest.

So, with any luck, she will not have noticed anything. And she will see his decision to stay at least one more night to solely be a matter of the holiday as this is the winter holiday he chooses to spend with her rather than his family anyways.

After returning with his things and putting them away, Vergil sets a gift down on the coffee table in front of her before joining her on the couch himself. It is wrapped neatly in red paper, the tag being an amendment from a Merry Christmas to a Happy New Year.

"It's from my brother," he says, although inspection of the tag would indicate as much if the color of the wrapping paper did not give it away. Vergil's tone is...careful. Mostly because he does not know what to think or feel right now, and he folds his arms almost defensively.

Vergil does not know when exactly Dante went and acquired the gift. He did not even know there was an intention to give anything to Mizu in the first place. Dante had asked Vergil prior to Christmas if Mizu would be joining them for the holiday. As much as Vergil would have been thrilled to have Mizu there, however, he did not feel it appropriate. Not this year, not yet. Even with as much as Dante appeared to be trying to embrace Mizu as part of Vergil's life (and Nero, too, albeit with more time in doing so than Dante), it felt too soon to seek out acceptance of her as family as he had. And perhaps too much pressure for Mizu to navigate both a holiday she does not participate in and a family she is still trying to find her footing with. So, he simply offered the explanation that Mizu does not celebrate Christmas. Thus, the day was just for the three of them, but Vergil would spend New Year's Eve and Day with her as that is a holiday she celebrates, but did not carry with it as much meaning and weight as Christmas did for Nero.

So, finding the gift left out with the plain intention of being seen by Vergil felt like a punch to the gut. Dante must have acquired, wrapped, and hidden the gift before Christmas based upon the tag, likely hoping to give it to Mizu when she arrived. However, Vergil's indication that he had not invited her meant he chose to change gears and offer the present as a New Year gift instead. He most likely would have sent it with Vergil when Vergil left the day of to spend time with her, surprising not just Mizu, but Vergil as well.

Dante could have chosen not to get her anything at all. Vergil doubts Nero prepared anything for her with his focus so centered on Vergil and Dante, and making the holiday as special and wonderful as he did. There would have been no offense taken by Vergil or Mizu had Dante chosen to do nothing just as there was for Nero. Even now with the twins not speaking and avoiding each other as much as they are, Dante could have chosen to add to that level of avoidance by not gifting Mizu the present. Vergil would have been none the wiser for it had he chosen that. Hell, even if he did somehow become aware of it, Vergil does not think it would matter much to him at that point as it would be a mere drop in the bucket.

There is an unknowable, swelling storm of emotions that feel just as at odds with one another as the brothers are, causing Vergil to glance away from the package rather than watch Mizu open it.

Far be it from Mizu to complain about having more time with Vergil than she expected. She always wants more time with him but checks herself because he loves his family and ought to have time with them as well. And them with him. Their home is smaller than the house the Sparda family moved into in Folkmore but thankfully larger than the studio apartment Dante and Nero first shoved themselves into. Dante may still sleep on the couch, but the couch is in a different room from where Vergil and Nero sleep. It's a place they can be together and still have quiet moments of peace that Vergil, at least, regularly requires. Coming over to Mizu's apartment, so close given they live in the same set of apartments, is about seeing Mizu, not getting a little space. Usually.

Mizu says nothing at first, only appreciates the time they have together. The apartment lays out differently than her cabin in Folkmore, and the sounds of neighbors regularly come through, reminding Mizu that their privacy isn't as private as before. Their activities are mostly quiet, whether cooking or reading or Mizu falling asleep first at night. It's a comforting sense of routine in a place where Mizu feels unsettled and uncertain. She hasn't made a new routine yet, still exploring what the city has to offer and what being here means. Vergil grounds her as much as ever and their routines with it.

Vergil lays another gift on the table, beyond the tools he already gifted her, and Mizu is confused as to why he'd have a second gift so soon until he speaks. The bright, nearly garish, red is his brother's color and makes far more sense coming from Dante than Vergil. She never expected— Mizu stares at the gift in surprise. She's aware the foreign holiday includes gift giving as a tradition, but Mizu expected that to mean the Sparda family exchanged gifts among each other and Vergil, thoughtful to include her, gave her a gift. Her chest tightens in thick emotion at the thought of Vergil's gift, the tools immediately her prize possession, even without a forge with which to use them. Somehow, they mean more the second time he's given them to her than the first. The first set of tools was so that she could replace the parts he broke in their first spar. This set, this second set, comes only because she is a smith, and a smith needs tools. Something she hadn't thought for herself to get yet. It's the thoughtfulness and inclusion, without pressure, to his holiday that Mizu expects of Vergil because he's like that. Dante, however? Dante who barely knows her and met her again for the first time only recently? It's beyond what Mizu imagined.

Mizu picks up the small present and holds it for a good half a minute. There's no immediate need or curiosity to open it because its presence, regardless of what lays inside, means so much. Mizu, even if only by proxy to Vergil, is worth including in the giving of gifts. He thought about her or saw something and thought of her. He chose to get it (even if everything here is free), wrap it, and when Mizu did not come on Christmas Day pass it on to Vergil to give to her. Mizu brushes the red wrapping paper with her thumb and commits the moment to memory.

Slowly and neatly, Mizu unwraps the paper, setting it aside to use in some fashion, at least as scraps for a fire if nothing else. When she finds the stylized chopsticks, Mizu blinks. They look like something sold at a festival that children might like and use to duel each other instead of eating their food, much to the chagrin of their parents. At least, that's how she imagines households with parents and children act. Ridiculous as they look, the gift comes with some thought. Mizu eats food with chopsticks daily, and she is both a swordsman and a swordsmith, so that the theme of the pattern is appropriate. It's more than she'd ever expect, and Mizu finds herself stupidly fond of them for that reason alone.

"I did not think to get him, or Nero, a gift," Mizu says. She rarely gives gifts, and she doesn't expect them either. She's not sure exactly what to do in response. However, a quick and thoughtless gift certainly isn't appropriate. Perhaps in time, she can get or make something for him. Oh, not a sword, Mizu knows better than that. All of Vergil's family have the weapons that suit them and no need of her hand. It's a shame Vergil's lost the knife she made for him in Folkmore, expected as that may be. "I'll be sure to thank him."

The gift makes it seem an appropriate time to exchange further gifts. Mizu stands and retrieves a small package, its width and height that of a small book, while the thickness means it could only be the thinnest of volumes. The wrapping paper has blue fireworks on it, that being the best or least strange option Mizu found readily available to her. The tag has nothing more than Vergil's name and hers. Inside it has two items. The first is a small book, hand bound. Inside, Mizu's written many of Keats's poems by hand in Japanese, the translations coming from the work of scholars beyond her time. Her part is only the flowing strokes of her characters bringing it to life in another language. The second is a single piece of paper that could first be mistaken for a card. It has only a short poem, a haiku on it, in Mizu's hand:

Ocean, enormous,
Roiling waves and deepest calm.
It pales next to you.

Not as well written a poem as any of the Keats, nor as the poetry of her time and country. Mizu's no scholar or poet, but for Vergil she's tried setting her feelings to verse. Mizu watches him, uneasy though she knows he'll accept and care for it. So much time spent on so few words, only for them to feel as though they fall flat, unable to convey what it feels like for him to ground her. She waits and watches, the red chopsticks in hand then gently set aside. She'll find a place for them as well as some better idea of the emotions receiving them raised. First, however, is the promise of a further torrent of emotions.

Vergil looks over when Mizu speaks up, his gaze going from her to the chopsticks in her hands. He sighs, quietly enough to be barely perceptible and shakes his head slightly. He could not have possibly guessed what Dante selected for Mizu given he was not even aware a gift had been chosen at all, but he finds himself ultimately not surprised by the choice in the end. It's thoughtful albeit not in the ways most gifts tend to be. It is genuinely something only Dante could give and have it be a sincere expression of thought. The goal, he thinks, was no doubt to make Mizu smile even if he has not yet come to know Mizu well enough to fully know her sense of humor. And perhaps not just smile. Perhaps even give her a reason to laugh.

The thought stings.

Vergil glances away again, saying nothing to her thanking Dante the next time they cross paths, but watching her as she rises from the couch to retrieve something. Vergil looks at her curiously as she passes the thing, small package to him. He demonstrates as much caution in unwrapping it as she had the gift from Dante, although his concern was less with thinking the paper could serve future purpose and not wanting to damage whatever was inside. He sets the wrapping paper on the coffee table before leaning back into his seat on the couch to inspect the book. He's careful with it. Even if he has confidence that Mizu has chosen sturdy materials, he does not even want to leave so much as a crease as he looks through it. He traces a few of the lines, envisioning each careful stroke of the brush in Mizu's hand with a soft smile. She had to have spent a great deal of time on this for him. Upon finding the haiku, however, he feels it most likely pales in comparison to the time she spent writing this.

Vergil reads it over a few times, his arm coming to rest upon her thigh beside him. He reads it a dozen more as his thumb lightly strokes at the inside of her knee. One would think he was pouring over one of his beloved poems by one of his favorite poets with how intently he reads it again and again. It is such a simple, straightforward, and short poem, but it bears more than it appears on its surface.

Squeezing her knee lightly, Vergil draws a deep breath to keep the sting out of his eyes from the overwhelming warmth that spreads from the center of his chest. He finally lifts his gaze from the words written on the page to their author, uncertain of what to say. And how could he know what to say?

It is a poem... Written for him. Inspired by him. Its length or Mizu's perception of its quality simply does not matter in what Vergil thinks of it in light of that.

He leans over to kiss her, brief and chaste.

"Thank you," he says, softly as he rests his head against hers. It feels a silly thing to say in how short it comes in expressing everything inside him right now, but it is as close as words can possibly get right now. Or at least words that he can find right now. Vergil kisses her hairline as he takes his hand from her knee to slip it behind her and wrap his arm around her middle. He rests his head on hers again.

Mizu watches Vergil intently. She set the Keats poetry on top, to be seen first, both so that it can be appreciated on its own and so that the gift of greater confidence is at the front. Her handwriting is clearly her own, for all Mizu took care to write the poetry. Seeing it in Japanese, reading it in Japanese, it changed Keats for her somehow. The words aren't different, but they feel different, more tied to her. To put them in her own hand, in her tongue, for Vergil felt something like writing the poems themselves. Her feelings come through her ink, no matter the words belonged first to a man she's never met. The smile on Vergil's face makes it well worth the effort, and Mizu's sure he will spend time with these poems in this form, not only his usual books.

Originally, that was meant to be the gift, the entire gift. If he received it, with no idea of any other possibility, it would be well received, she's sure. After all, he likes it now. It simply hadn't felt like enough. It didn't feel weight like Vergil giving her tools once more. It was a gift, but it wasn't a gift. She doesn't regularly give gifts, her timing with Vergil in the past having less to do with holidays and more with the moment feeling right. Like that, Mizu wanted it to feel right. So it needed more.

He reads the words over and over, and Mizu wonders if he is remembering the trial on the train nearly a year ago. They had to part ways, the way the trial worked, but he gave her his amulet to wear for the duration of the trial, until they saw each other again, so that she took a piece of him with her. She had nothing of the sort to give back but felt the weight of carrying his amulet, even for a short period. It meant he went without it, when that so rarely happened. So she'd said something, impulsively, that he'd pointed out was something like a poem: you are like the ocean. Those words, falling short of her feelings, were all she could give him to support him through the rest of the trial. They were the seeds of this poem now in his hand.

Fortunately, they've spoken before of what the ocean, and the cold, is to her and how Vergil acts in a similar fashion. He knows the feelings behind the poem, so that it is easy to understand. That knowledge makes it easier for him to understand the words, easier for the words to carry weight. Mizu's unsure whether they would carry themselves if he didn't already know the sentiment at their heart. She pushed herself to find better words to hold those feelings and immortalized them in ink for him to see whenever he wishes, whenever they can give him strength.

Mizu smiles when he looks at her, and she leans against his side, her head against his, with a deep exhale. It went well. Mizu knew, logically, it would, but the relief remains all the same. The poem for the one who's cared about poetry since he was young. His opinion matters heavily.

"You're welcome," she says softly, voice thick. She doesn't know how poets do it, how they ever write anything of more words or make so many poems as to be able to be put together in a book. She could barely manage this one poem and threw away more words than wound up in the poem itself. Even once she put them to the page, Mizu'd fought the urge to change it further. It's worse, far worse, than the far readier process of making steel and forging it.

She picks up her chopsticks from the table, turning them in her hands. "Copying those poems, they were all about you for me, but I thought you deserved..." Mizu waves one hand, chopstick still in it, "It felt wrong there wasn't a poem about you, to you. One originally meant that way."

He's far more remarkable than the woman Keats loved, even if she inspired such poetry and gathered it to be published altogether after he was gone. It's not that she lacks anything, save that Mizu does not love her.

Vergil huffs quietly in his emotion and a mild amount of amusement, his smile briefly widening. For all that Mizu has said she does not understand poetry and has denied a certain degree of fondness for it, she has taken to it far more than Vergil thinks she realizes or gives herself credit for. A fact that Mizu has always offered disagreement whenever the topic has come up. Unfortunately for her argument, this poem of hers that she has written demonstrates Vergil's assertion even better than her choice to keep poetry books in her cabin or her memorization of certain verses. Regardless of any skill associated with its composition, she clearly sat with her own feelings and tried to find a way to put them into written words. Vergil knows it likely did not come easily to her, not compared to the more meditative efforts of copying down Keats' words in her own tongue. Who knows how many dozens of drafts and versions there were of the poem she'd written before she finally came to the conclusion it was as good as it was going to get? Vergil would not even be surprised to learn some part of her is still revising it even with its completed form. But as far as Vergil is concerned, it is perfect the way it is written. The poem is not meant for anyone else, but the intention that he feel her perspective both in her thoughts and feelings clearly laden throughout the brief lines is so thoroughly aligned with what he has always sought and loved in poetry.

And it is not just for him, but about him.

All in all, it is far more than Vergil has ever done, and he has loved poetry since his childhood. So, any future protests that poetry is somehow not for her are not going to be met with any semblance of acquiescing. Hence Vergil's mild amusement amid all his other emotions wherein he feels at once so small and big, and so well loved by this woman for reasons he cannot always fathom even if he accepts them without question.

"It is a perfect gift," he says softly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. Vergil does not lack in any sincerity when saying it, his eyes drifting back towards her poem again to marvel at it. A poem. Written for him. About him. There are plenty of people in the world who could claim such a thing, but Vergil never once speculated that he could be among them. Never mind that such love and affection for him could serve as the inspiration for it in the first place. He promises Mizu, "I shall cherish it always."

His eyes drift down to the chopsticks in her hands as she fidgets with them, and Vergil must swiftly push aside all that arises in his mind when he does. He does not wish to neglect Mizu's own emotions and set aside how it must feel to her that Dante had taken the time give her something, but he does not wish to broach the subject of his brother. He also does not wish for his mind to wander to the letter he'd received Christmas Day. He thought just as sincere as Mizu's poem that first time he read it and intended the same as what he just promised Mizu, but when he reached for the letter again, trying to find some degree of reassurance within it, the cold hollowness that Dante's other words rang out in over and over instead made it too painful a thing to keep.

He holds Mizu a little tighter against the slight twist of guilt with that broken private promise cast aside. Right now is not the time, nor is it the place. And he will not have this moment, this gift tainted by the complications of his relationship with his brother when he has so much else to be happy about right now. Vergil wishes for nothing more than to be present with Mizu on this day.

"Are you hungry? I can make us dinner."

They've both had few people in their lives and spent much of it alone. The only person Mizu could imagine writing Vergil poetry, Nero's mother, lost her chance or lost the chance to show it. Vergil has loved poetry his whole life, has loved Keats so long, and he's borrowed those words to share his feelings longer than Mizu recognized he did so. Vergil never took credit for Keats's words, but Mizu hardly asked him where his words came from. No, she struggled early on—she still struggles, sometimes, if she's honest—to accept the words for what they said about her, how they saw her. It's part of how he communicates, and Mizu's learned it for that alone. That and she must agree Keats put his feelings to words better than most people can. So Keats, and other poets, will always have some place to be relied upon. Mizu doesn't need Vergil to write poetry about her. She's glad he can tell her how he feels in whatever words. That's all still there. Atop that are her words for Vergil to carry with him, the warmth of being written about and to surely enough to make up for the shortcomings of the poem itself.

Selfishly, it means Mizu will be with him one more way. Those words are short, easily put to memory. With no competition, they'll wedge themselves into his heart. It's there in the promise to cherish it. Mizu cannot help but smile, amazed that somehow it all came together. A perfect gift, an anchor for him the way he's one for her. It's a content moment.

The moment shifts, slightly, due to a reason Mizu lacks the explanation for. There's more going on, for both of them, than each other in their lives. It's no insult to Mizu that something else rears its head or presses upon the moment. That sense of something else going on comes up again and again in small ways. Mizu doesn't want to push Vergil to speak about something he isn't ready to discuss, but his reactions make her wonder how well he's dealing with whatever it is. It seems unlikely that someone else is helping him out, should it continue to erupt unheeded upon other moments. Or that help is insufficient. Like her, Nero and Dante can only help so much.

Mizu considers asking about what makes him hold her tighter, what means he needs the reassurance of her presence. They've had a perfect moment, a quiet calm of gifts being given and appreciated. Mizu can wait a moment or two longer. The scene can shift away from the one of gifts so that whatever it is, if it truly is bad, doesn't mar the memory.

"Yes, please," Mizu says, "You wouldn't think so, but someone keeps stealing small portions of what I make for myself. In some ways I'm disappointed my food's edible, so they don't get a nasty surprise. However, I'd think after the first time they ate my cooking, they'd steal someone else's."

Vergil hums thoughtfully at her comment about bits of her food going missing.

"Strange..." he says. Granted, he has not been in Etraya long, but what she describes sounds more akin to the sorts of odd occurrences in Folkmore rather than this place based upon his observations. Etraya seems a place of science and technology. But perhaps just as it appears to draw people, places, and items from other worlds, mischievous spirits are just as prone to joining them here. Perhaps even more now that at least three people have been brought here with memories of Folkmore. "I shall have to remain vigilant for signs of the culprit then.

"Unless, of course, this is your clever means of weaseling your way out of helping in the kitchen tonight," he teases. Although he holds no expectations to that Mizu help with the meal as she had last year. It is entirely her decision, and he does not mind handling it on his own.

Vergil takes his arm back from around her middle, drawing back more into his own space. He proves Mizu's judgment to wait moments longer before broaching the topic when he turns her chin towards him to kiss her again. It is chaste once more, but sweetly lingers longer than the one he gave her after reading her poem several times over. The moment is not yet done, bridging itself over to the next gradually rather than immediately, and it would be foolish to be surprised by that. Vergil has never received a poem written for him before, and even with the weight he pointedly has been ignoring in his time with her, his heart and head still feel immensely light. Like a kite dancing about in the wind, anchored for the moment only by the string held in Mizu's hand. When he breaks off the kiss, Vergil remains close enough it would take little effort on either of their parts to kiss again. His smile is shy despite absolutely no need to be as he rests his forehead against hers. His thumb gently strokes her cheek near to the corner of her mouth, and he says nothing to further express his gratitude for her, for the poem, or for the book. Vergil does not doubt her belief that he deserves such a gift from her, but Vergil knows not what he has done to deserve it and always finds himself in such quiet awe of all that Mizu gives him. Vergil affectionately bumps their noses together before kissing her one more time with a soft, quiet hum.

He pulls away from her, his hand drifting from her cheek to her knee. Leaning forward, he places both the book and Mizu's poem on the coffee table as a safe place for now. Although his order is reversed from how the gift was presented, Mizu's poem sitting atop the book rather than hidden behind it. Both are expressions of her love, but Vergil cannot help proudly displaying Mizu's poem first and foremost. He sits back again, just long enough to kiss her cheek and it is with a light squeeze to her knee that he finally stands up to go to the kitchen.

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it's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall (closed)

👟KYOKO

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❄️ MIZU

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