Three months. By Cloud's standards, that's a long time - too long. Who knows what Sephiroth could do with three months and no opposition? Where will Tifa and the others think he's gone? That's assuming any of this is real to begin with, but he can't start questioning that, or - well. He just can't. So he buries that thought as soon as it crops up, barely acknowledging that he ever had it in the first place.

Without turning, he says, "Don't 'have' to believe anything. You're choosing to." But it's not a criticism. "Guess it doesn't matter, though." He glances around at the monorail they're riding, and a faint smile crosses his face briefly. "Ain't no stoppin' this train we're on, so - we just take it as it comes and look for an opportunity."

Finally, he turns all the way around to at least pretend he considers himself a part of a conversation. He's still working on his tea, so it's only a matter of time before he notices the liquor's effects, but so far he hasn't yet.

"So who are you?"