[His gaze is sharp. As sharp as the sword that he's famous for carrying. It's so serrated, so piercing that just eyeing her, she feels as if he could impale her with it. It's a haunting experience, standing against him like so, unmoved and rooted to where she stands. Yet that's all they do. They stand against one another, scrutinising, examining, analysing, and saying more with the words they don't use than the ones they do.

He moves, a change in his expression that she almost misses, and the tension in her frame grows. Travels right up her, more so when she refuses to move. She must not let him see her hesitance.

He knows.

As he continues, her eyebrows knit together. The closer he grows, the more her chin tips up proudly. Or something like it. She offers him no immediate response. Aerith only listens, files away what he has to say. He says plenty. Is that wise of him? Maybe he says it because he also understands she likely can't do anything about it.

Finally—]

It served nothing. Truly? [She shakes her head at him, unimpressed. Her death in the future serves nothing? She can't decide if that's more or less insulting than simply being killed.] I think I don't know what he's thinking or what he thinks when he sees me. [But she suspects he doesn't realise she knows what's coming and that he's been trying to protect her from it. Sometimes... she gets the same feeling from Nanaki.]

What are you really getting at? You and I are both better than games.