[ Yes, and no. While, perhaps, not knowing the full extent of things, Angeal is at least somewhat aware that Sephiroth has not had what one would call a conventional childhood. He hasn't been caught up in a tree when a pair of teenagers were making out and whispering sweet things in the shade beneath starlight, torn between wanting to interrupt and tease them, and trying to not move, curious, fascinated, and embarrassed all at the same time. He hasn't watched his parents share moments of tenderness. He hasn't experienced half the town being in an uproar because of a lovers' quarrel.

There are things in which it is understandable if Sephiroth does not take the first step, and Angeal can and will take responsibility for being an idiot and afraid, and not looking close enough to know that there is a first step to be taken, rather than each of them languishing (heh... possibly not exactly languishing) alone.

Either way, he is melting into the gentle touches, his eyes (tired and still a little wild and) adoring up at Sephiroth. His expression turns sheepish - because Sephiroth isn't wrong, he probably would leave his legs to fall asleep - but there is a bit of a smile to it also. ]

It'd be a shame to break us if we're feeling comfortable. [ ... no, right now, disentangling from Sephiroth does not feel appealing at all. ] I've wanted to be this close to you for a very long time. But ... let's see.

The couch?

[ He isn't letting go or trying to get up.

The last two years, he has learned many things about his own flight, after all.

His normal strength is one thing. His wing, yet another. ]