The black car idled in a secluded corner, its engine purring softly against the hush of the night. In the distance, city lights shimmered, casting fleeting glows over the sleek interior. They leaned back against the seat, exhaustion settling in despite having done so little. Sephiroth had ensured that—keeping them still, untouched by the world’s unrest.

A quiet click of a seatbelt. A gloved hand pressed against their thigh—warm, deliberate. He didn’t speak, but the slow, idle tracings of his fingers conveyed everything words did not. Without haste, he reached for their ankles, undoing their footwear with practiced ease. One, then the other—removed with the same care he carried in battle, as if even this simple act bore weight.

"You’ve been standing for too long." His voice cut through the silence, deep and certain. A moment later, his fingers found the sole of their foot, pressing into it with slow, precise circles. There was no hesitation in his touch, only intent. He worked over every knot, every lingering tension, until relief spilled through their limbs in quiet, lulling waves. The warmth of the car, the steady rhythm of his hands—it blurred the edges of consciousness, coaxing them toward rest.

"Sleep. I’ll handle the rest." Not a suggestion, not a request. And this time, they didn’t resist.

Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day—too often lost in the tides of duty, conflict, and the weight of his existence. But not this time. This time, Sephiroth had ensured that nothing would take him away. Not responsibility, not interference, not even the world itself. The day belonged to them alone, unbroken, undisturbed. A quiet certainty settled in the space between them—unspoken, yet absolute.