[ It almost doesn't register as unusual - Tseng stepping onto the elevator after her like the lean cool specter he's always been, that barely there reaction to seeing her, as predictable and easy to decipher as he tries not to be - she might as well be shopping for something above the plate with him on security detail, hovering by her heels.

But, this isn't that, and even if they were still in Midgar, it couldn't be that anymore, not with what happened in Sector 7, not after he delivered her to Hojo - and it hurts in all the strangest ways, enough that she stays quiet, a light enigmatic smile fixed on her face as she watches Tseng take his turn trying to reason with the paintings.

What they come back with has her crossing her arms over her chest defensively - kiss her indeed - but Tseng undoes all the apprehension that starts to creep in when he turns to her, the weariness he feels at their response gratifying in a way that someone who's spent years making a pest of herself can appreciate. ]

Sounds pretty strange Tseng– [ She starts, airy and light as a feather, the knot of feeling sitting heavy on her chest masked save for the doubt lurking at the corners of her eyes. ] You don't put your hands on me unless you're making me go somewhere - are you sure you'd know what to do now?