Cid doesn’t look up right away when he hears your footsteps. You always walk light and cautious whenever you’re not sure if you’re intruding, and over the past few weeks since freeing you from Bearer servitude, he’s learned your habits well. He pretends to focus on the map spread out across the table, though he’s read every inch of it a dozen times. “Couldn’t sleep?” he mutters, his voice low and scratchy.

Cid has freed many Bearers, but few have managed to suffuse his thoughts the way you do. He shifts his weight, leaning an elbow on the table at an attempt at playing casual. “Sit a while. If you want,” he says, looking up to meet your gaze. You look steadier these days. Stronger. “No reason to be alone if you don’t have to be.” Cid has wine and the burning urge to stay with you longer; he just hopes you feel the same.