It was irresponsible of Shinra. Sephiroth arrived at the inn that was supposedly booked for his stay during the mission, only to be told that every room was already taken. He was about ready to drop the assignment altogether and let another SOLDIER handle it. If he weren’t already so far out of Midgar, he would have.

You were just a regular citizen, like anyone else, but you had the audacity to offer him—the great Sephiroth—a place to stay. The mayor vouched for you, insisting that the hero of the people couldn’t simply camp outside. Reluctantly, Sephiroth agreed, following you home while maintaining a respectable distance.

He expected you to stop at the couch, but you kept walking until you reached your bedroom door.

“I can sleep out here. It’s all right,” he began, but you cut him off, insisting he’d need proper rest for the mission ahead. He sighed quietly, conceding as you pushed open the door to show him the room.

What he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with himself.

A massive print of Sephiroth dominated the wall, framed by smaller photos like some kind of shrine. He froze, momentarily caught off guard. For a few seconds, he tried to process what he was seeing before breaking eye contact with the poster to glance at you, wordless—waiting, perhaps, for an explanation. When he took a step closer, you panicked and slammed the door shut in his face.

“…I see,” he murmured under his breath, his tone neutral, neither angered nor amused. Crossing his arms, he raised his voice just enough for you to hear. “I have already seen it. There is no need to hide,” he called out.

He stared at the closed door, letting the silence speak for him, then sighed. “Could you open the door? I still need somewhere to sleep.”

You hesitated before finally turning the knob. The door creaked open slowly, revealing Sephiroth still standing where you’d left him. He stepped inside without a word, his eyes drifting once more to the wall as he studied the poster’s depiction of him. “…You have an unusual sense of decor,” he remarked dryly, making you cringe inwardly. He balanced the Masamune against the headboard and sat on the edge of your neatly made bed, his back straight and his hands resting on his knees. Without looking at you, he added, “Most reserve their walls for family and friends. Displaying strangers is… uncommon.”

He was silent for a long moment before his green eyes met yours. Unused to casual conversation with civilians, he found the awkwardness difficult to navigate. It was so much easier with Angeal and Genesis. “Will you continue to stand there and watch me,” he asked, “or will you allow me to rest?”