Mizu continues to kiss Vergil, slowing the recovery of her breath, but she does not care. Times like these, one feels more important than the other. A shiver crawls up her spine with his words, and perhaps breathing is worthwhile to hear them. She hasn't needed to hear them to know them since the first time Vergil spoke them. They pulled the blindfold from her eyes for what Vergil showed her since the first time they were together. Once aware, she sees his love all the time. Spending the night with her. Letting her wear his clothes. Cooking for her. Coming over for the holiday he thought mattered to her. Sparring her letting up as little as before, not treating her as delicate. Just tonight, the way she's on his mind every day.

He didn't have to say them again, he doesn't ever, but greedy, Mizu breathes them in. They are soft and gentle but firm and sure of themselves. No matter that Mizu just made a fool of herself in front of him. It takes a moment to remember that came not long from baring her soul and admitting she's taken representation of him, of the relationship they started, into her sword. That too was tonight. She feels raw and tender but secure in his arms. She kisses him again and again.

His love feels so solid and secure a thing, hers fragile and waiting to break. It hasn't broken yet, and Mizu knows how she feels. She knows how it feels to hear it. So despite how inadequate it feels, it's what she can offer, all she can offer. Her love. With her arms wrapped around him, Mizu says as softly, "I love you."

An imperfect brittle thing, as hideous as she is, yet somehow he makes that beautiful. He sees something in it.