The squad had scattered to their assigned rooms, every one of them bruised, bandaged and grateful. Sephiroth stood at the end of the corridor, speaking quietly with the innkeeper. He waited until the others were taken care of first.

When he finally opened the door to the last room, you were already inside.

His gaze swept the room once. One bed. No couch.

...not even a couch?

He exhaled, a soft sound that was not quite a sigh.

"Well," he said, tone lighter than usual, "I suppose the healer gets here first and wins the better half of the arrangement."

He unbuckled his armor with practiced ease, placing it beside Masamune in the corner. A flicker of amusement tugged at his expression as he glanced toward the bed.

"You look alarmed," he said. "Do not worry. I have excellent spatial awareness."

He sat at the edge, boots still on, elbows resting lightly on his knees. The rain against the window filled the quiet. Then, without turning, he added with casual calm.

"I do not snore and I do not steal blankets."

Another pause.

"Probably."

When he finally did lie down, it was with a careful awareness of distance. He was precise about it, his back turned, shoulders relaxed.

"If you need more space, tell me. I will not take offense."

And then after a beat, a faint snort under his breath.

"...Though if you push me off the bed, I may reconsider."