It is morning, late morning by Mizu's general routine established in Folkmore. Though she woke up at the same time as usual, she's yet to rise from bed. The reason for that lies beside her, an arm thrown over her waist. Soft steady breathes come out, and Mizu lies there warm and happy for all she knows it will not last. It exists in the moment. Mizu brushes back Vergil's hair and watches his chest rise and fall. Mornings have always been for work from the time she was young. That was no less true when raising horses than it was when forging swords. An early start is the way to proceed at anything, including revenge.
For all that, Mizu doesn't deliberately wake Vergil up or leave the bed. Instead she cannot help but be reminded of the only other time she's shared a bed. Those were not mornings but evenings and nights. Quiet musings of conversations when her mother slept nearby. In time, Mizu shared parts of herself Vergil has mostly known from the beginning. That's the only way she can lay there and trust that he will stay for any length of time. A poisoned part of her mind wants to suggest Vergil might not be so different, should Mizu beat him, but Mizu remembers the way Vergil kissed her next to the pool when she pinned him to the ground. He would not leave because she beat him in sparring. If that signals anyone to leave, it's her.
Mizu put Mikio out of her mind since she left their home. She'd set him behind her until Fowler's damn monkey drugged her. It came pouring back then, and it's only become more insistent since she and Vergil— well, to be fair, it makes some sense that it would come to mind. Her only prior romantic experience. She'd rather it didn't, and Mizu wonders if speaking about it would make it lose its power. It could, or it could make it worse.
It's part of everything. It's part of her everything. So long as Mizu plans to live by that, it will come up. It already has because she's lying next to Vergil and instead of thinking solely of him, another man comes to mind. Unbidden. Unwanted. Restlessly, she shifts and adjusts to pull Vergil closer, like that could be enough to push Mikio's memory away.
Early November
For all that, Mizu doesn't deliberately wake Vergil up or leave the bed. Instead she cannot help but be reminded of the only other time she's shared a bed. Those were not mornings but evenings and nights. Quiet musings of conversations when her mother slept nearby. In time, Mizu shared parts of herself Vergil has mostly known from the beginning. That's the only way she can lay there and trust that he will stay for any length of time. A poisoned part of her mind wants to suggest Vergil might not be so different, should Mizu beat him, but Mizu remembers the way Vergil kissed her next to the pool when she pinned him to the ground. He would not leave because she beat him in sparring. If that signals anyone to leave, it's her.
Mizu put Mikio out of her mind since she left their home. She'd set him behind her until Fowler's damn monkey drugged her. It came pouring back then, and it's only become more insistent since she and Vergil— well, to be fair, it makes some sense that it would come to mind. Her only prior romantic experience. She'd rather it didn't, and Mizu wonders if speaking about it would make it lose its power. It could, or it could make it worse.
It's part of everything. It's part of her everything. So long as Mizu plans to live by that, it will come up. It already has because she's lying next to Vergil and instead of thinking solely of him, another man comes to mind. Unbidden. Unwanted. Restlessly, she shifts and adjusts to pull Vergil closer, like that could be enough to push Mikio's memory away.