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[ Miraculously, she's actually getting sleep. Maybe it's a small blessing, something little to make up for the brutality she'd been forced through, but it's something. Or perhaps it's the depression, sinking in it's fangs where it's least welcome. She shakes it off, though, makes sure she looks happy to see him, and just wiggles the basket again until he takes it. At this, she beams. ]

I wanted to see you!

[ Silly question, to her. She's only teasing. ]

You must be exhausted. [ She perceives that easily, and understands. Who wouldn't be. Hands together before her, she rests them over her abdomen before tilting her head with a curious little gaze to pair with that smile. ]

Talk to me. I want to hear your voice.

[ From carrying the basket to the smile, she tries not to let anything but her own whims take her. She wants to be in control, to feel like the world is moving forward, even if this is the state of things.

But she isn't really lying about the things she wants, either. It's a peek at the loneliness she's holding onto. ]

[ Throughout his life, anytime someone initiated a meeting with "I wanted to see you," was typically followed by a, "I need to consult with you on a specific point in Orr's history," or "Could you provide some insight on the recent change in Risen activity north of Terzetto Bay?" or "Marshal, I need those bereavement forms signed off on by the end of the day."

"I want to hear your voice," is the last thing he expects.

Regardless of Aerith's true motives behind the statement, he can say with definitive certainty that no one has ever said that to him before. For a moment, he isn't sure if he's hallucinating this, or if the words are simply a product of all the other jumbled thoughts tumbling endlessly through his mind. He almost doesn't believe it.

But he decides to, because it's a nice thing to hear amidst all the lingering nightmare and trauma. Gingerly, he grasps the basket handle and threads his arm through the loop, an easy, yet tired smile crossing his face as he does so. ]

I'm flattered, Aerith. Thank you.

[ He settles the handle of the basket in the crook of his elbow and glances down at all of the apples inside. What is he going to do with all of these...?

He'll figure that out later.

With a tilt of his head, he gestures to the path before him, over Aerith's shoulder. ]

I was just on my way home. Walk with me--perhaps we can stop somewhere on the way. [ He's seen plenty of little establishments on the way to and from the archives, but he is always too focused to ever stop at any of them when he walks this way. ] And you're in luck. There's plenty to talk about.

[ About recovery. The aftermath. ]

[ When Trahearne takes the basket of apples, Aerith lets out a pleased little giggle. It's like she's won some non-existent argument, though that isn't the truth. She nods, satisfied, and then looks back up to his face to take in his expression with a knowing little glance. It isn't the first time she's been viewed as saying or doing something terribly impossible or easy to mistake as simply not happening. She'd be terribly used to it if she knew, but she gets the feeling he's mulling over it in astonishment or something similar to it anyway. Maybe it's just what happens when you nearly die saving a friend together.

That exhaustion is still seeping through his smile, but she doesn't mind it much. It's not like he's going to be getting less tired anytime soon, and, selfishly, she still wanted to see him. He laughed with her about Eustace before, maybe today they can do the same— she isn't so sure, but she hopes that if not today, some day... ]

Sure is! [ Would she actually talk about it? She's not sure. ] Sorry it's just apples. What's your favorite thing to eat? Mine is anything my mom cooks. I could eat myself stupid off a pot of her chicken noodle soup right about now!

[ This is probably not the conversation he expects, but admittedly, it's a little nugget peeking into her brain. She wants to be coddled by her mother right now. ]

[ It most certainly isn't the conversation he's expecting, and maybe she'll notice the confused glance he briefly throws her direction, but he shouldn't be surprised. Their first conversation was full of surprises--why shouldn't their subsequent ones be just as...as...interesting?

He still wants to make sure she's okay, considering he'd heard she took a bad injury, but they'll get there. She seems fine, on the surface, at least.

At her apology, he glances down at all the apples. It's fine, in all honesty. He'll just snack on them when he inevitably finds himself awake in the wee hours of the morning. ]

Chicken noodle soup. [ He repeats, not like it's a foreign word, but to solidify the image in his mind. A warm cup of soup does sound nice, especially considering the circumstances. ] That sounds delightful.

[ He smiles at her. ] I can't say I have a favourite in particular, but I do enjoy spicy foods. Did you manage to visit the Wild Harvest when they were holding the contest?

I woke there, actually.

[ She gives up this information so easily, like she's commenting on the weather. She smiles, though, and notes that down; next time, she'll beg Susato to make a plate of spicy curry to go for him. Free of charge, of course: She thinks they all deserve a free meal now. ]

Susato and I... actually go back a bit. Not as much as her and Kazuma, obviously, but, a fair bit. [ Her expression, here, sinks a little, as does her heart. When she'd stood in that storm, smiled at Tifa and Susato, she'd known that there might be no coming back from that decision. But she couldn't allow herself to linger, to roll over and let Susato handle it, like she surely would have. She's too bright and young, and protecting someone she cares about is second-nature to Aerith. ]

I'm proud of her. I'm proud of you, too.

[ And it's nice information to have, in all honesty. He's genuinely happy for Aerith--to awaken in a place with a small group of people who, he knows, are willing to immediately lend a hand to a newcomer. And to forge friendships with those people--such meetings are irreplaceable, and hard to replicate. He's glad she has Susato, and Tifa.

At mention of Susato, he makes a mental note to drop by and say hello later.

And he is about to agree with Aerith--perhaps he doesn't know her well enough to say he's proud of Susato, but he can offer kind words about her foresight and preparedness. That they may have saved his life, all things considered.

But yet again, Aerith blindsides him with yet another phrase he's fairly certain no one has ever said to him before. As he adjusts the basket of apples in his arm, he regards her curiously, unsure if she means it, or if he should smile, or begin a detailed critique of his actions as to why he doesn't deserve it-- ]

...You're proud of me? What ever for?

[ And so, he settles for clarification. ]

[ There are a number of reasons that come to mind, all of them centering around the fact he had practically preened over praise in their first meeting. Though she has the hindsight of the costumes now, she thinks there’s more to it than that. There’s something to be said about that lion costume and the way he embodied the scaredy cat archetype only to turn into a soldier at the ready again in the midst of a fight. She may not have been with him but she knows deep down in her heart that it isn’t always easy fighting.

So Aerith looks up at Trahearne with a little smile that doesn’t quite match her face, blinking slowly and breathing easy as she doesn’t answer for a long moment. She’s proud of him for staying and for coming out at all and for sticking to it and getting them enough time to get Tifa and the dogs out. She’s proud of him for sticking it to Eustace and she’s proud of him for getting up and about and for being himself. It’s awful hard just to exist after everything. ]

I don’t think you’d be able to understand all the ways I’m proud of you, Trahearne.

[ He dodges. They’ve all been dodging, in fact. No one can accept it, and they feel blameful for something that wasn’t even their fault. Doing everything you can but feeling it worthless is the worst feeling in the world. ]

So I’ll put it just this one way. You were brave. Thank you for that.

Oh.

[ Trahearne can handle quite a bit--the fact he survived this entire ordeal and is up and walking around now, and the fact that he resisted the dragon's voice for forty-plus days is a testament to that.

Praise like this, though? Praises for himself, on a personal level? He's never sure how to take.

His gaze drops to the basket of apples on his arm as he falls silent, and embarrassingly, he feels a sting on his cheeks. For a second, he observes the patterns and imperfections on the fruit, quietly hoping she doesn't see or notice the gold coloring his cheeks.

When he does speak again, his voice is quiet. ]

Thank you, Aerith. That's very kind of you to say.

[ When he looks up again, he's regained his composure, the unusual color on his cheeks gone. He offers her a little, half-hearted smile in turn. ] My only regret is that I was not there to stand and fight alongside the rest of you. [ Maybe he could have done more to help then.

And speaking of: ] ...I hear your injuries were quite severe. I suppose you being here means you're recovering well, all things considered?

[ It comes from a place of genuine concern, and a bit of guilt. ]

[ He’s lucky that the girl from the slums, who spent a quarter of her life in a steel shoebox of a room, has no experience with syvlari biology, so that he might be spared the endless amounts of teasing. Maybe she’ll realize it some day, and retroactively cash them all in, but for now, he’s spared. Walking with him, Aerith beams and tilts her head, listening to him speak.

The smile fades, loosening as he asks about her wounds. Then, she looks ahead, hands over her chest, near the scar. It’s fading, becoming less pronounced but still present all the same. Her shoulder aches only slightly, but is incomparable to the agony she felt before. She remembers it all too clearly, but refuses to buckle under it. She does not hesitate in her answer. ]

I don’t know Eustace as well as you do. But between stabbing me and shocking me, it’s not a great track record.

[ At least she’s teasing. With a thoughtful hum, she continues, ] It’s not as bad as it could be. Ori did an amazing job, and I’ve been taking care of it since then. But… to tell you the truth? [ Here, her voice droops, falling in tone with the same sort of lilting grace that dying petals might possess. ] If you hadn’t winded him earlier, who knows… I thought… that was it.

[ Maybe, for a second, it had been. ]

I guess you did fight with us, if you think about it.

Edited 2022-09-19 20:58 (UTC)

[ It really isn't a very good track record, is it? Trahearne isn't sure what it is about Aerith that makes Eustace want to do that to her--she strikes him as a very kind woman, all things considered--but he can't help the quiet chuckle when she says that anyway.

But as her voice takes on a more serious tone, his brows raise a bit in concern. The thought that it could have genuinely been the end for all of them had not escaped him, either. There's a sting in his chest, a reminder from his yet-healing wound that he was lucky it was not a real bullet.

His smile takes on a lopsided quality when she says her last statement. ]

In spirit, I suppose. If only I had been there physically to help.

[ He guides them both around a corner and onto another street, this one a bit quieter than the last. Ahead, he spots the cafe he had in mind, but makes no mention of or motion to it yet. There's no rush, as far as he's concerned. ]

It would have been an honour to fight alongside you again. I was rather impressed back in Oz; it would have been a delight to see what you can do against more than mere monkeys.

[ He turns back to look at her. ] I'm glad you're doing better.

[ She's not so sure he would have enjoyed seeing it, she thinks. She doesn't say it, though. A rush of wind tousles the skirt of her dress and she looks at him, pointedly, expression a mixture of worry and guilt as she remembers that she's put Tifa and Susato through the memory of seeing her impaled like a specimen to be looked at, or maybe as a warning to the both of them. Eustace may have done it, but that just makes the memory all the more personal to him, too— will they ever look at one another the same again? She chuckles a little as she remembers him in the form of a dog. Trahearne wants to see her fight against something bigger, more of a threat to anything than be-winged monkeys, and she wonders if the sentiment would be the same if he'd see her hung up like a prized kill.

She looks away, hands to her chest. ]

I'm glad you didn't see it.

[ That perhaps his memory of her can something so capable and strong, and not so lonely looking. ]

I wouldn't want to weigh you down. Not like that.

[ Shaking her head, she keeps staring forward, relying on the mere energy of Trahearne's presence to keep her anchored, from feeling the weight of loneliness. With a little sigh, she works up the courage to look up at him again; this time, it's with an encouraging little smile. ]

More importantly, how are you healing? Too soon to ask for a chest bump?

[ He's too tall they could never.... ]

[ As she turns to look at him and their eyes meet, Trahearne finds his expression slipping. The guilt and worry on her face tells him--well, it tells him almost everything he needs to know. Maybe it was a lot worse than he thought it was. Maybe he was lucky to have gone out first, spared the visions and inevitable nightmares of the memories of how Eustace cut down the rest of them. He knew firsthand just how upset Ori was to watch him get injured; he can't imagine how horrible it was for the rest of them.

When she looks away and speaks again, he mirrors her, gaze dropping to the apples. She admits not wanting to weigh him down--worry him, he presumes--and his mouth presses into a thin line. He'd just been over this. He wants to worry and care for all of them, and he doesn't understand why they won't let him.

He feels her look at him again and he glances over, a look of uncertainty on his face. But her suggestion catches him so off-guard, he can't help his expression loosening, and he lets go a short, quiet laugh. Not a chuckle, the sort he often voices, but a real laugh. ]

Yes, unfortunately. Ask me again in a week or so.

[ A hand comes to his chest as he turns his attention down the road again. ] I've been healing well, much to my surprise, and I think that's in no small part owed to Ori's help. [ He genuinely hopes she's taking time to herself to rest. Mental note to nag her later. ] I genuinely thought that would be the end for me, too. But...I'm still here.

[ Worry and weighing someone down are two different things to her. She watches him for a moment and realizes that perhaps that's a notion, an idea, that they don't share in. For Aerith, the decision to worry about her is something she treats with great respect and gratitude. She'll always be a little possessed by the little girl held in captivity, who was forced to paint her visions on the walls and on paper, and hope and pray no one was punished for them. Trahearne is, to that end, a world away from her, but some day, maybe, she'll hear about that. Maybe she'll understand, then.

Thank goodness the joke lands, because his laugh cuts through the tension like knife through butter. ]

Don't laugh! I'm really bummed now!

[ Her voice, overdramatic and performative, does not match the way she smiles as bright as the sun, so wide that the corners of her eyes are crinkled with joy. She could ride the high of making him laugh for weeks now. ]

If it's hurting you, I can try, too. You could come visit, if you want. It isn't a full fix, but I might be able to make it a little bearable, at least. Good thing you lived, or else I'd never get to invite you over to my house.

[ She's teasing— though it's true, of course. ]

You need people worrying about you more, I think.

[ The wide smile causes Trahearne to smile in turn--it's infectious. And she has every right to ride the high of making him laugh. It's a rare, rare occasion indeed.

But at mention of his injury, he brings up a free hand to press it gingerly to his chest, on his armor (clothing? (leaves?)) that covers his scar. The slight wince on his face, if she catches it, should be answer enough. It hasn't completely healed yet, though he can move around and go about his day without it bothering him too much now.

He's about to answer her, verbally, when she brings up worry. It's something he and Ori ended up arguing over not long ago, and she was right--he always insists on worrying and fussing over others and refusing to let others care for him. And so to hear that same sentiment coming from another person entirely (unless they've been passing notes, he doesn't know), really makes him think about it.

Maybe that needs to change. But he just doesn't know how to change it. ]

...What makes you say that?

[ They come to the cafe, a narrow little establishment nestled between two bigger buildings. Trahearne slows to a stop beside the chalkboard sitting outside, advertising seasonal drinks and soups of the day. He isn't paying much attention to the shop, though. He peers curiously at Aerith, feeling suddenly unsure of himself; he isn't sure if he can take people worrying about him as he worries about others. ]

[ It’s an odd thing to say, she knows. It’s not like most people just come out with it, but Aerith’s not like other people. She has no reason to be. The world has built her up in certain ways, the people of Gaia holding her to strange ultimatums and ideas, and it’s all Aerith has to be herself in the face of everything else. When Trahearne asks what she means, then, she thinks of her mother and Elmyra, and she thinks of Cloud and Tifa, and she thinks of all the people she’s met in the world who lost everything and had to rebuild it. The trust you find in others, pockets of forgiveness and togetherness, a wholly new experience that keeps you sane— that’s what she’s considering when she looks at him, doe-eyed, amused, and a tiny bit confused. ]

When you worry about somebody, it’s an act of care. You choose to do it. Don’t you think… people should be choosing to care about you, too?

[ Not that she’d ever say it, but there’s something about him that at once makes her feel at ease and a little bit uncomfortable. Trahearne is, you see, the closest thing to another Cetra she thinks she might ever meet. Ori may have powers like her own, but there’s something about Trahearne’s origins that sticks to Aerith like honey sticks to toast, or the same way cream melts into coffee.

It makes her think of the tired woman who carried her away from her mother’s body, who took her home and made her feel cared about. ]

Sometimes, we just have to accept it. That we’re cared about, even if it’s not always the ways we want to be cared about. You can’t do every tiny bit on your own.

[ He simply watches her speak, studying the minute changes in her expression as thoughts unknowable to him roll through her mind. What he sees is just a glimpse of what he senses to be consideration for others that runs deep. Her speech calms him; he feels bad that he flew off the handle when Ori essentially said the same thing to him. But then again, he's feeling much better now. That isn't her fault.

You can't do every tiny bit on your own. He knows this logically, and he has told himself over and over that he's not alone. The way they all come together, come to him in the aftermath of distressing events should tell him this. Yet he always finds himself putting himself to the side and others first.

Old habits die hard, he supposes. ]

I think you're right. I admit, it's not something I'm used to. Circumstances at home often meant I was the one looking after others, and rarely the other way around. You'll have to forgive me if the transition is...not as smooth as it should be.

[ He opens his mouth slightly, I hope you'll let me worry for you, regardless, dying in his throat as he does. That probably goes without saying, but the phrase embarrasses him, for some reason.

He clears his throat. ]

Speaking of care...

[ The smile comes back to him, growing slightly over his face. His eyes flit to the cafe beside them, an empty little table accompanied by two chairs sitting outside the window. There isn't anyone else inside or around, considering the time of day. ]

Would you care to stop for refreshments before we head onward? My treat.

[ It’s impossible to not be charmed by him in some way. Maybe it’s the idea that she has to forgive him for something that simple— it’s not going to inconvenience her one bit if he’s a bit difficult about letting her fuss over him from time to time. It’s himself he needs to apologize to, for not finding the part of himself to unlock and let that in sooner. In some ways, Aerith muses, he must be his own worst enemy. When she looks up at Trahearne to stare at his golden eyes, she thinks he looks like he’s wrestling with a number of things now. Maybe she’s not really helped at the end of the day. Who is to say?

He doesn’t really have to say it. Too many people have wanted her to let them care for her in their lives— thank goodness, she thinks, that he’s more like the charmers in the slums and less like a hulking tower of a man that visits her in her nightmares. She may not know what it is that makes him this way, but she welcomes it in some respects; it makes him easier to tease, she thinks.

The fastest way to her heart, however, is food. Her gaze breaks from staring at him to look at the little chalkboard sign, leaning closer on the tips of her toes. She reads the scratchy white letters for barely more than a second before she gasps and grabs his hand, tightly, already pulling him in. ] Trahearne, look! They have pumpkin drinks! That’s so incredible…

[ The slums never had the luxury of seasonal drinks. It tickles her a little, to think of commercials broadcast from the towers near the reactors, things that they’d never have, reminders of the city overhead that walked on them daily.

He doesn’t know it, yet, as it is, but he’s been taking care of her little by little. She remembers how boldly he says things like he wanted to see her fight something more powerful than a monkey, how he respects her as a warrior and… a friend, perhaps. She hopes. Too often is it that people coddle her. ]

[ The thought he could be charming has never crossed Trahearne's mind. People at home rarely had a favorable opinion of him, much less thought he had any sort of charm. It's the last thing he'd think of himself as.

In the split second after she grabs his hand, he looks down, allowing her to pull him into the cafe. And in that split second, he thinks. He thinks of all the people he's met so far, all of whom have been kind and understanding and exceedingly friendly to him. But all of them, he realizes, had sensed the walls and barriers he had put up around himself. They respected the arm's length he's kept them at, happy to step closer only when he allowed them to. And slowly but surely, he's found his friends this way--a slow, quiet strengthening of bonds.

But then comes Aerith, tearing down his walls and barriers and inviting herself in, making herself at home, cheering him on and showing up out of the blue with apples and expressing her pride for him and now, grabbing his hand and leading him into the cafe like it was her own idea to begin with.

And while she's not looking, he cracks a little smile. She reminds him of someone.

The cafe itself is not very big--there's a display counter with some pies and cakes and a lone shopkeeper stands behind the register. They greet them with a smile as Trahearne's gaze drifts up to the cluttered menu of drinks and food on the wall above them, trying to see if he fancies treating himself to something than his usual black coffee. ]

Aerith. [ He murmurs, eyes still on the menu, gently nudging her in the arm. Does she still have a hold on his hand? He hasn't checked. ] It's not your mother's, but they do have chicken noodle soup.

[ And he glances at her curiously. Maybe he'll get a cup of it. ]

[ Inside the shop, there is a cornucopia of choice for her to marvel at. It is overwhelming in some respects; being from the slums, she has never seen so much choice before. It’s usually a “to order” sort of situation at cafes and the like, with few exceptions. When she finally lets go of his hand, she’s leaning over to peer into the display case, green eyes sparkling like jewels. He hums a happy little tune then, as Aerith leans this way and that way. Marveling at the sweets without abandon, she barely cares about how silly it must look.

She’s terribly glad she mustered up the energy to get up and seek him out, specifically. When Trahearne’s voice interrupts her thoughts, she looks up at him, tilts her head, and registers what he’s saying a moment later before standing up right, beaming again. This is a cause for very serious consideration. ]

Two cups of chicken noodle soup, please!

[ He doesn’t get a choice— in truth, it’s not her mother’s soup, but a cup of something warm and relaxing with a friend is just as important and lovely to her. She’s not had the chance before, and making up for it sounds delightful. ]

[ Trahearne's no different, really, with how he stands there and gapes at the sheer amount of choice on the menu. This is a very human thing--so rigid, so specific.

He glances at her as she stands and gives her order, and he can't help a brief chuckle. ]

How did you know?

[ In truth, he'd been thinking about chicken noodle soup ever since she brought it up. Weird how ideas like that planted themselves in one's mind and took root. That he brought it up at all should have been clue enough for her, he supposes.

With a smile, he directs his attention to the person behind the counter and adds to the order, ] And two pumpkin spice lattes, please.

[ He isn't sure about that...but he'll try it.

The shopkeeper informs him of the price and immediately gets to preparing their food and drinks. Trahearne quickly pays for it, and turns back to Aerith as he's putting his wallet away. ]

I pass this place almost every day, but I have never been inside. And I don't think I ever would have if you hadn't found me. [ A smile grows across his face. ] Thank you, Aerith.

[ There’s something about what he says— the implication that her presence is better than the absence of it, that gets to her. Aerith stares for a moment, hunched over to stare into the display again, with her hands on her knees. Silently, she just looks at him, and thinks about being alone in the trainyard; that moment is what kept her from falling deeper into a deathly slumber, she thinks to herself, and when she stands straight again, there’s a tiny, warm smile on her face.

Without another word, she closes the distance between them, only to land a very familiar, very careful playful smack upon his arm, without the intention of him. ] And here I thought I was coming to cheer you up!

[ It’s the most she says about her own state, beaming the whole long way, before moving to pass him. The seats outside are too tempting, and she’s not going to stand still and wait. She never has. ]

Oh, and…

[ Stopping at the now open door, Aerith looks to Trahearne over her shoulder, her smile far more mischievous now than it had been. She didn’t tell him how she knew, though part of her thinks he had just been brushing aside how stubborn she is. Her mother had thought of her as such, at least. ]

I have my ways.

[ Of just knowing.

With that, she walks out into the sunlight again, arranging a table for them eagerly. There’s three chairs; one next to her, and one across. Does he take the bait? Hmm. ]

[ Trahearne studies her as she moves; as he looks back at her, he wonders what's going on in her mind. What is she thinking of in response to his thanks?

The answer surprises him a little bit, and he instinctively reaches to rub the spot she smacked. It doesn't hurt, of course. He doesn't even think about the motion. It's more an act of wonder; if thanks was enough to cheer her up, then he would readily give it. He has plenty of gratitude, after all, for many things. Including her.

That thought, however, puzzles him. His gaze follows her as she moves to the exit, and what she says registers just barely in his mind.

Where did that come from?

The shopkeeper's announcement that their food and drinks are ready snaps him back into reality. With a brief word of thanks he scoops up the tray and takes it outside.

It isn't long after Aerith that Trahearne emerges, carefully balancing the tray of soups and lattes in his hands and the basket of apples in one arm. ]

I hope I didn't keep you waiting.

[ He gently sets down the tray on the table, angled so that Aerith is free to pick whichever soup or latte she likes. The basket of apples goes to rest on the chair between them, and Trahearne takes his place in the chair opposite. ]

It smells delightful.

[ And he unceremoniously reaches for whichever soup and latte is left over. ]

Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to make it up to me.

[ When he leaves the shop, coming back to her with their food and drinks, Aerith is sitting with her elbows on the table, feet swinging back and forth. It isn’t as if she couldn’t put the heavy soles of her boots onto the ground if she wanted, but it does stop as he unloads. Placing the basket between them catches her attention and she not so subtly looks from it to him, brows furrowing in what probably looks like a silly display. There’s only a moment of deliberation before she picks it up, and swaps seats with the basket so that they’re next to one another. Ahem. This isn’t an interview, Trahearne.

She doesn’t wait long to tuck in, though she steals a few glances to look at him, measuring his reaction before she speaks again. This isn’t the first time she’s had to close the gap between herself and someone else, but if he tries to move… ]

So, Trahearne.

[ Spoon in hand, she fusses with the broth, stirring it for a moment more… ]

Are you… actually alright?

[ The sudden movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Trahearne freezes mid-bite (does one call it a bite when the food in question is essentially liquid?). The spoon remains in his mouth and he watches, wide-eyed, as Aerith moves the basket of apples and quickly rearranges herself and settles in beside him. What follows is nothing like he's ever experienced before; he simply stares back into emerald, wondering why she ultimately decided to sit there and not where he could easily see her. The atmosphere isn't quite awkward, but he is...surprised. He'll leave it at that.

When she speaks, he finally swallows and sets his spoon down, turning his attention to his coffee cup instead. As he brings it to his lips, he pauses again when she asks him the question.

The temptation to say yes is very strong, but if this incident taught them anything, it was that it's best to be honest when it comes to these things. Especially since he sort of has a feeling that this is the true purpose of the visit, much like how Ori and Beatrix came to see him several days prior. He stares into the ripples of his drink, breathing in the sweet scent of cinnamon. ]

...I'm not entirely sure. [ He blinks, and for a second, he can see his own hazy reflection in the cup. He looks tired. ] I'm not sleeping well. I thought I was healing all right, but my staff sent me home once I arrived at the archives. [ Which is why he's on his route home so early.

A lopsided smile crosses his face as he looks up at her again. ] Though I suppose that's for the best, since it led me to you.

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