He was prone a moment, his body still warm from the imprint of hers and his thoughts suddenly scattered to all corners of Ivalice. Hands tightened into fists, and fists loosened into palms, and then they were fists again. Vayne listened to the soft, steady patter of Tifa's footsteps across the floor behind him, a stark contrast to his heartbeat.

A quarry that could surprise me, he thought again. And growled.

Vayne rose to his feet. The night swept another breeze into his chest, but he could barely stomach the mere sight of the window any longer. He turned to where Tifa stood, panting and triumphant. For his own temper's sake, he kept his eyes on her face.

"Indeed. And doubtless you've never imagined you might sleep in the bed of a king." Before she could protest, Vayne turned the sort of stare on her that could silence even Gabranth. "I agreed to let you sleep untouched. I did not say you would choose where."

He went - stormed, perhaps, to the divan behind Tifa, over which his white shirt was draped. Vayne all but threw it on. "It should take me until tomorrow to return from Nalbina, so by all means, make yourself comfortable," he said without looking at her. He would remain calm. He would not chance what looking at her might entail. "Your friend has a name, I imagine. What is it?"