Hearing the guy was as telling as what he said. Broken ribs, torn leg--and if there was anything else, well, hopefully his magic was going to find it in time. He was in pain, that had been evident already, but the signals that push the point further are enough to to make Tidus shift on his knees, one pressed into the side of the bedding as his other hand comes to weave his fingers as one.

The pulse of light emitting from his palm grows, and the wisps dash quicker and many, slipping from white to blue, a faster spread of healing to the points throughout Gerome's body as his cure spell switches to cura.

And Tidus closes his eyes, finding himself thinking back to the lesson he's been teaching himself in scattered sessions, if to the standards of the one who taught him them or not. Focus on this one thing, keep a steady mind. Don't slip or think or become frantic. Don't think about that dull sensation in the back of his mind. Forget about the drink and whether he should have drank it or drink some now.

The numb in Gerome is like a limb fallen asleep on, while his body becomes stitched back together; only once they've reached closer to a healthier condition of being does the sensation ease, and an odd tingling take its place. Tidus doesn't look up, doesn't speak; his head slowly come to dip, to hang, and his hands lowering closer to the body beneath them to let his arms relax some, and then some more. A spell wavering slightly, but not stopping, as the lights dance into Gerome, working for as long as they need to.