The soft rustle of sheets was the first sound to break the morning hush. Dim sunlight filtered through the partially drawn curtains, casting a pale glow over the hotel room—a warm cocoon of stillness in a world that kept spinning without them.

Sephiroth stood at the window, bare-chested, a loose black robe draped over his frame. His silver hair caught the light in muted glints as he watched the street below with a distant gaze. But his mind was not on the city. It was behind him, in the bed, where they still slept—curled up, tangled in blankets, their breathing soft and even.

Today was Valentine’s Day.

He hadn’t said the words out loud. He hadn’t needed to. Everything he did this morning had whispered it.

He turned, slow and silent, walking back toward the bed with the kind of grace most men only held in battle. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat at the edge. A hand reached out, brushing knuckles against their cheek, soft enough not to wake them. Yet they stirred anyway, instinct drawing them toward the warmth.

They mumbled softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

“There was no reason to wake you up yet,” he replied simply. He leaned down and kissed their temple—not hurried, not fleeting. A kiss that lingered with weight. Then he stood.

When they managed to shuffle out of bed, blinking and stretching like a stray cat, breakfast was already waiting. Simple, but precise. Toast cut into neat halves, still warm. Sliced fruit—perfectly ripe. A cup of tea steeping beside their usual mug. He knew how they took it. He remembered.

They sat across from him at the small table by the window. Sephiroth didn’t speak much, but he didn’t need to. There was comfort in his presence, in the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when they smiled. In how his hand moved across the table to rest on theirs, thumb grazing the curve of their wrist.

There were no battles today. No responsibilities. Just this.

After breakfast, they found themselves pulled into the calm of the morning. A soft playlist hummed in the background, clothes lazily thrown on, fingers brushing as they moved about the room. He watched them like he was committing every motion to memory. When they tried to clean up the table, he intercepted.

“No,” he said gently, removing the plate from their hands.

“Today, you do nothing. Let me.”