Still recovering from his wounds and the energy healing takes from him, he sleeps deeply with no dreams. It's likely that that's a result, too, of her warmth draped against him, an anchor and a shield from the world.

He hazily stirs as she stretches out, head heavy and thoughts slow. Something brushes against his jaw and his shoulder and he lets out a questioning hum, not quite able to form words, not quite sure when or where he is. Her voice registers first, and for a moment panic seizes through him as he tenses, trying to sit up. The first mate must have put him down with a sleep spell again, blast it, he has to get to her, has to find Piaget --

There's another soft touch -- lips. He struggles to get his eyes open, memories shifting around, trying to sort themselves out.

"Aerith?" he whispers. His hands squeeze, not realizing the warm thing he's holding is her.