[ the day he anticipates Aerith giving him a genuine compliment is the day that never happens, so he doesn't even think to take that one seriously. that's true of pretty much all people and pretty much all compliments, though—his face is pretty okay, but anyone taking the time to say something about it is either trying to get in his pants or trying to butter him up because they want something (or both), it's not like they'd mean it or anything. that's silly.

either way, he leans right back and lets Aerith cop her feel, looking as pleased as a pig in shit the entire time. he is damn proud of that chest (he must be, since he's always showing it off) and also, honestly, pretty proud of this fashion choice he's just made, too. wearing t-shirts suck. plunging necklines are the only way to go. (he's probably spent way, way too long in uniform to be comfortable with anything else, especially since Midgar took a dive, but that's a whole different issue.) that pinch actually finally gets a genuine jump out of him, along with a brief but audible sharp inhale through his nose. ain't enough to fluster him, but look, he's sensitive there, alright? ]

You—

[ with one finger, he prods Aerith right in the middle of her forehead to push her head back. ultimately pointless, since it's those damn icy fingers that are the offenders here, but he isn't necessarily out to make her stop. ]

—are a fuckin' menace, even worse than the last time I remember seeing you. I know everybody in this room thinks you're cute, but I know better. You're gettin' away with it now, but I'm not gonna forget this.