As restful and calm as Mizu feels, the moment feels odd for Vergil to admire her eyes. Her liveliness and mood may live in them, but there's little of that to see. A little playfulness over deep calm. The color must stand out all the more for nothing to distract from it, but Mizu holds Vergil's gaze without turning away. As little as she understands it—even his appreciation of her spirit he sees there is one of logic, not feeling—Mizu permits it. The ever foreign feeling washes over her. Vergil looks at her and her eyes with admiration and appreciation, without hesitance or repulsion. A year ago she would say the sun would sooner rise in the west and set in the east than anyone look at her eyes so intently with pure affection.

Her eyes light up in amusement as Vergil mentions going home naked. "It would be better I send you off with nothing at all than only a shirt, would it not?" Mizu asks, "You need only transform until you reached the privacy of your room. Carrying or wearing a shirt like that would only draw more attention to you."

She pauses. "I suppose you could don the shirt before you transform. That would work, and it would make that shirt smell like you faster."

The greatest issue at stake, clearly.

"Why then, I could dress entirely in your clothes with only modest effort to account for your size." Mizu is tall, for a woman, but many men are taller than her still. Vergil among them. It's no serious idea, given he's nearly a head taller than her. His shirts drape her, and she has no experience with the sorts of clothes he wears that she'd easily take them in to wear them properly. Yet there's an appeal there beyond Vergil forced to transform to hide his human nakedness.