The tears begin to well in Mizu's eyes and it is not long after that they begin to spill. It is difficult for Vergil to say what spurns the tears on exactly, but he would also hazard a guess by the sobs that leave Mizu's breathing uneven and uncontrolled that Mizu also does not know. But it is a great, pent up emotion that Mizu releases now through her tears, and that neither she nor he likely know what to do with. So, Vergil does little to impede it and he lets her cry for a few moments in her silence, watching her in the dark morning. He witnesses her emotion rather than trying to soothe it away, but he stays and he's willing to stay for as long as it takes whether that is for her to seek him out for more comfort or gathering herself back up enough to speak. Tears slip from her face to land quietly and gently upon the pillow she rests her head upon, and he can feel the way each sob shakes her frame. The most Vergil is willing to do is gently wipe away at the tears that manage to reach his hand there on her cheek.
She finds her voice again eventually, and with his hand leaving her cheek, Vergil pulls the blankets up over both their heads. He makes the world even darker, yes, but he also makes it smaller. An intimacy wherein there is only her and him, and their shared warmth and mingling scents as he draws her in closer to himself with both of Vergil's arms wrapped around her once more. This time, his fingertips trace along her neck, slowly and repeatedly as he allows her to hide as little or as much as she wants there in his arms.
"I don't believe it is only me," Vergil says quietly, as if there was a possibility of his voice carrying and the wrong ears were to hear it. The words are only meant for her, but he also knows they are likely difficult words to hear. Even if they are kind ones, they must still be so challenging for her to hear. "There are others. But it is hard, Mizu. It is hard to allow them after everything."
Whether or not Mizu is able to recognize it in the storm of her own emotions, Vergil is speaking from experience. One may crave love, crave the care and attention of others, and yet still find it an impossible and daunting thing to be loved and cared for. Vergil knows this because he has spent the better part of his life craving love, and yet, he has run from it nearly every damn time it has presented itself. It did not matter if it was a failure to recognize his mother's love, rejecting his brother's hand, or fleeing from his son's mother and her kindness. Even here with Mizu, it was not an easy decision on Vergil's part to allow for his feelings, to allow for the possibility that Mizu herself returned those feelings. To be loved is something that requires courage, and he has not possessed that courage for the majority of his life. He doesn't believe Mizu has much herself either. Not very often, at least.
But there have been moments of love in her life. Vergil knows there have been because he has seen it firsthand with her swordfather, and because he himself loves her. Others must have been able to look beyond their prejudices to see her and love her. But Mizu could not see it. She could not understand it. She could not accept it. It is easier to believe herself unlovable and broken in some way, to think it madness to care for her, than to allow herself to be loved and love in return. And Vergil knows what that is like. His reasons may differ, but he knows it all too well that aversion to such vulnerability that comes with connecting with another person.
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She finds her voice again eventually, and with his hand leaving her cheek, Vergil pulls the blankets up over both their heads. He makes the world even darker, yes, but he also makes it smaller. An intimacy wherein there is only her and him, and their shared warmth and mingling scents as he draws her in closer to himself with both of Vergil's arms wrapped around her once more. This time, his fingertips trace along her neck, slowly and repeatedly as he allows her to hide as little or as much as she wants there in his arms.
"I don't believe it is only me," Vergil says quietly, as if there was a possibility of his voice carrying and the wrong ears were to hear it. The words are only meant for her, but he also knows they are likely difficult words to hear. Even if they are kind ones, they must still be so challenging for her to hear. "There are others. But it is hard, Mizu. It is hard to allow them after everything."
Whether or not Mizu is able to recognize it in the storm of her own emotions, Vergil is speaking from experience. One may crave love, crave the care and attention of others, and yet still find it an impossible and daunting thing to be loved and cared for. Vergil knows this because he has spent the better part of his life craving love, and yet, he has run from it nearly every damn time it has presented itself. It did not matter if it was a failure to recognize his mother's love, rejecting his brother's hand, or fleeing from his son's mother and her kindness. Even here with Mizu, it was not an easy decision on Vergil's part to allow for his feelings, to allow for the possibility that Mizu herself returned those feelings. To be loved is something that requires courage, and he has not possessed that courage for the majority of his life. He doesn't believe Mizu has much herself either. Not very often, at least.
But there have been moments of love in her life. Vergil knows there have been because he has seen it firsthand with her swordfather, and because he himself loves her. Others must have been able to look beyond their prejudices to see her and love her. But Mizu could not see it. She could not understand it. She could not accept it. It is easier to believe herself unlovable and broken in some way, to think it madness to care for her, than to allow herself to be loved and love in return. And Vergil knows what that is like. His reasons may differ, but he knows it all too well that aversion to such vulnerability that comes with connecting with another person.