[There's certainly room for philosophy there— does anyone ever quite see themselves the way others do, for better or for worse? Decidedly not, he thinks; even those brimming with confidence have the potential to be their own harshest critics. Aerith thinks herself to be quite ordinary, and to him, it seems perfectly plain that she is not.

He doesn't know that he can ever explain it to her satisfaction, but there's every chance that he can show her.

He gently catches her by her wrist to further guide her touch against his chest, eyes closing halfway as he leans into it; his thumb brushes against the back of her hand and his smile softens to become something fond and indulgent, even as his gaze has grown intense with wanting.]

There is not explanation enough— but given time, you may understand better.

[And even if only a little, they do have time. One hand moves down the length of her thigh, over the hem of her dress to gently nudge it into falling towadrs her waist, and he bends his head to press a single, chaste kiss against the inside of her knee, lingering.]

For now, you don't need to see things as I do. You need only relax.