Roland's eyes crinkle in delight as he meets Inigo halfway, wading with his arms making side sweeps in an almost uncharacteristic show of graceful haste. He's not going to say no to that! "Thank you, Inigo. I owe you one." So now that's he positioned in such a manner that Inigo had full access to his shoulders, he can face Tidus fully now, more awake alert than earlier.

He cocks an eyebrow up, though his tension immediately melts away the moment Inigo's hands begin any sort of ministration. The young boy may find that his shoulders and neck are as coiled and tense as a rock, knots in every which way under smooth skin. Don't go gentle on him now, son!

'R-Rolo....!' His expression drops by a fraction just because he's never going to get used to these little nicknames, but Roland doesn't dwell, hoping Tidus doesn't catch on to his...discomfort. Instead, he jumps immediately to the meat of the matter, arms folded and an eyebrow quirked up at him.

"Wait," Roland remarks, a note of clarification. "Tidus, you let your fans touch you? Hug you?" The president blinks, looking mildly impressed. "Wow. Back home, star athletes have a very strict no-touching-fans policy. They'll get mobbed."