If he were in better shape, he'd argue further too, but as it is, he's fading. "Help me get my shoes off?" he asks, and barely remembers getting his feet out and rolling onto the bed before sleep takes him.

When he rouses, he has no idea how much time it's been, and for a panicked moment all he can think is that he shouldn't be sleeping; Aerith's out there getting farther from them every minute he wastes. "Aerith," he rasps, throat dry.

Except his back is sore and restricted, and in another moment and his eyes fall on her, and the memory of what happened comes groggily seeping back in.