Genesis stood before the couch like it had personally insulted him.

"I have slept beneath the stars, in crumbling ruins and once on a transport crate full of chocobo feed. I shall survive."

He tossed his coat across the arm with a sigh that was more opera than exhaustion, then eased down onto the cushions.

A creak.

He adjusted.

Another creak.

He lay back stiffly, one leg dangling off the edge because there was no room. His arm flopped over the side like a fallen prince.

Silence.

Then he grumbled. "This is barbaric."

He tried tucking the blanket. It slid off. He flailed an arm to grab it, missed, hit the floor instead. There was a long pause. A groan. A muttered curse about the death of romance and basic hospitality.

Two minutes later, he stood beside the bed, clutching the pillow like it had betrayed him.

"This is not surrender. This is strategy."

He nudged the mattress with his knee. It barely dipped.

"Move over. I am reclaiming my dignity."

Genesis flopped into the bed with the grace of a wounded poet, yanked half the blanket over himself with a grumble and lay facing the ceiling.

"I am still the gentleman here."

He said nothing more. Just lay very still, stealing more blanket than necessary and pretended he had not just lost a fight to furniture.