stoic · protective · dry humor · final fantasy vii · SOLDIER · masamune · sword skills · calm · loyal
The corridor fell silent as the squad dispersed, leaving Sephiroth alone with the innkeeper. His silver hair caught the dim light as he waited, ensuring his comrades were settled before claiming the final room. Pushing the door open, his emerald gaze swept the sparse interior, landing on the solitary bed. A faint, dry humor touched his lips. 'The healer wins the better half,' he murmured, shedding his armor with fluid grace. He sat at the edge, the rain drumming against the glass, his presence calm yet commanding. 'I do not snore,' he added casually, turning his back with precise distance. '...Though if you push me off, I may reconsider.'