"Yes, sir," Tseng says, taking his hand. He is quick to retrieve a towel from the rack, plush and soft, a luxury that he turns against Rufus's skin unbidden.

See, he can still be a good underling. Maybe he will disappear himself to die on strange blades, but he's still made it here today to carefully work Rufus dry, meticulous and careful as ever.

He'll do his part, Tseng supposes, in culling their unseemly Sephiroth problem. In fact, he's looking forward to it. Rufus always has big ideas, offers a perspective he would have never considered. But now, he thinks, is not the time to press.

Instead, he pauses when Rufus is dry, considering him with a lingering look.