While Mizu steps away to begin filling the tub, Vergil begins to strip his layers. When she returns and begins to remove her own clothes, he watches her. Vergil's gaze is one of admiration and appreciation rather than one of desire in this moment. It's not a rare sight for Vergil to see, but he's still captivated all the same because it's like this that Mizu has shed everything that is not her. The expectations of others that she must always answer to bears no further weight on her. She simply is, and breathes easier for it in not just the literal sense of the phrase. Her skin is not without blemishes—there are scars from old wounds and marks still fading from the last time they made love—and she seems a contradiction with such soft curves alongside hard lines of muscle, but she is nothing short of exceptional and perfect in Vergil's eyes. He makes no secret of that thought either as he looks at her.

"You're still welcome to them," he says, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, right over one of his faded marks. It used to be just one set of clothes Vergil left behind, but he's left more with Mizu since learning of her little habit in his absence to allow her to indulge in it as much as she likes. Or, in this case, allow her to indulge without leaving him without anything to wear. Vergil runs a hand through her hair, pulling some strands forward as he does, idly noting just how long it's grown. His other hand rests at her hip, thumb lightly stroking at warm skin. Vergil wants for nothing right now, his contentment plain in his expression.