[ It doesn't worry him, the way that Tifa's fingers loosen--and in a way he's grateful for it, as though it proves once again that she has trust in him, that she's willing to extend herself that far for him. With a soft, careful squeeze, he drops his hand away, almost awkwardly sliding it down into his pocket instead; he worries a little that he might try to walk her back to the room anyway, hand at her back, and that would absolutely ruin both her graciousness with the situation and his own words.
With a small, bashful smile, he nods, indicating that she should go ahead and take the steps back up all the way. ]
Promise I'll be right behind you.
[ And it isn't a difficult promise to make--or keep, either. Even as he makes his way back down into the lobby, the couple ahead of him doesn't take too long to check in, and his conversation with the front desk is brief. There is room service, he finds out, but it's a little expensive; he had been expecting that, of course, and doesn't mind shelling out for the sake of celebration. With the order placed and the promises of the staff to knock and leave the wine outside the door, he hurries back to the staircase.
With a slow breath to calm his nerves, he forces his steps to be more measured--by the time he makes it to their door, he thinks he's mastered the art of looking cool and collected, carefully seeing himself into the room and closing the door, gently, at his back. ]
Tifa? [ He decides it's safer to call out to her before accidentally surprising her in a less positive way; he gently moves to hang his jacket up in the small closet, at least, getting rid of his shoes at the door. ] Don't tell me something in the room gobbled you up.
[ It's wry and almost bemused, as he moves forward further into the room. ] That would be just my luck, you know.
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With a small, bashful smile, he nods, indicating that she should go ahead and take the steps back up all the way. ]
Promise I'll be right behind you.
[ And it isn't a difficult promise to make--or keep, either. Even as he makes his way back down into the lobby, the couple ahead of him doesn't take too long to check in, and his conversation with the front desk is brief. There is room service, he finds out, but it's a little expensive; he had been expecting that, of course, and doesn't mind shelling out for the sake of celebration. With the order placed and the promises of the staff to knock and leave the wine outside the door, he hurries back to the staircase.
With a slow breath to calm his nerves, he forces his steps to be more measured--by the time he makes it to their door, he thinks he's mastered the art of looking cool and collected, carefully seeing himself into the room and closing the door, gently, at his back. ]
Tifa? [ He decides it's safer to call out to her before accidentally surprising her in a less positive way; he gently moves to hang his jacket up in the small closet, at least, getting rid of his shoes at the door. ] Don't tell me something in the room gobbled you up.
[ It's wry and almost bemused, as he moves forward further into the room. ] That would be just my luck, you know.