“And a cake?” Angeal half-whispered, holding the door to his room at the inn open for you to step through first. The mission was finished, and the three of you were heading back to Midgar in the morning—but, true to form, Angeal was already thinking ahead. “You think he’d like one? I haven’t really cooked since I left Banora, so it might be a good excuse to brush up.”

He glanced across the room at the second twin bed and froze at the sight of a lump beneath the covers. Quietly, he approached and pulled the blanket back just enough to catch a glimpse of familiar silver hair. “Still asleep,” he murmured, visibly relieved. He sat down beside you, eyes flicking now and then to the tuft of Sephiroth’s hair sticking out from under the blanket.

“What if he just ignores all of it?” Angeal asked after a bit, uncertainty creeping into his voice. It was supposed to be Sephiroth’s birthday—or close enough to it—and Angeal was fairly sure he’d never had a real one. Not like he had back in his village, surrounded by people who remembered the date. Even you, who had joined later as a SOLDIER Second Class, had probably had someone say happy birthday once or twice.

Across the room, Sephiroth lay still. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were talking about him. He didn’t move, didn’t react when the blanket was pulled away from his face, even though the light it let in was irritating. It took all his effort not to yank it back up. Instead, he kept still, feigning sleep, and carefully cracked one eye open when you started whispering. You were quieter than Angeal, so he had to read your lips to decipher your words.

Were you two planning something behind his back? The thought bothered him more than he expected. He was the celebrated young hero, praised and admired by all, but that didn’t seem to matter much when it came to you. Here you were, in their shared room, whispering with Angeal while he lay right there. You must’ve preferred Angeal over him.

When Sephiroth heard something about chocolate, he decided he’d had enough of your canoodling. He groaned quietly, acting as if he’d just woken from slumber. “Could you shut up?” he grumbled, rolling over without bothering to open his eyes. “I’m trying to rest here.”