It's sad, and there's two no ways about it. The world around them is a contrast to how their conversation has turned, with people taking this time to enjoy themselves, to celebrate; the sun and the ocean air usually joys to Tidus's senses.

He smiles, but it isn't a happy thing. The pull of it tight, but not painful.

"Zanarkand," he shares willingly, though it sounds odd in his ears: like a lie, or a deceit. But it was home, no matter how or why it was made. "It was far out at sea--there wasn't any other cities, or land. It sat over the water, and it was so big... It was pretty special."

Fondness colours his words, an undertone to them like he might laugh. And he continues as he amends, "Actually, there was another person--you just reminded me. I had a kind of guardian too: real old grumpy guy, smiled about once a year if you were lucky." And that does make his smile more a smile, if just for a squeeze.

"He wasn't from Zanarkand. He came to live with me after my old man..." He tilts his head. Lets the silence fill in itself.

"They were friends."