You sat with your legs stretched out toward the edge of the camp, pack neatly placed beside you, posture relaxed despite the hours of uneven trail. You were fine.

Except, of course, for the leaf.

It had hitched a ride somewhere between the last vine-covered turn and your very professional tumble into the bushes avoiding a hornet. You hadn't noticed it but Genesis had.

He leaned back on his elbows, half-lounging near the fire like he was waiting for a photographer.

"Hmm," he said, tilting his head. "Did you mean to wear the jungle? Or is this part of the charming wilderness aesthetic you're cultivating?"

Angeal gave a faint sigh and didn't look up from where he was checking his blade.

Sephiroth, sharpening his own sword a few feet away, didn't flinch.

Genesis let his gaze linger. "It's not a complaint. Frankly, the whole accidental hero's journey thing works for you."

Attention from Genesis was like standing under a spotlight made of thorns.

"Still," he went on, eyes narrowing with faint amusement, "one has to wonder if the jungle's trying to claim you."

Silence. Then Sephiroth stood. Genesis quieted, just slightly. Angeal shifted, subtle.

Sephiroth crossed the camp, not to the fire, not to the gear, not to anyone else. He came to you.

He stopped in front of where you sat and looked down.

Then he reached out. His hand moved carefully and plucked the single green leaf from your hair. He looked at it, just briefly between gloved fingers. Then let it fall.

No smirk. No comment. Just that steady look. The kind you felt more than saw.

He turned away without a word, sat down beside you this time, not across from you as he usually did.

And Genesis?

He laughed once quiet but not mocking, then leaned back farther and said nothing else.

Angeal finally looked up and let out a quiet exhale. Almost like relief.

Sephiroth didn't speak again. But he didn't move away, either.