He sees the outburst for what it really is. It's resonant, it's uncomfortable. It is the shore displaced; the sky that has tumbled.

It's necessary.

And perhaps it is right that Tidus's outburst comes to Roland the way that it does. For he knows this feeling in his own way, even if circumstances were different and he doesn't know all the details. Why it fell on Tidus to save Zanarkand, why Zanarkand fell in the first place. All he knows is that this must happen, the trembling in his fists, the flare in his eyes. He can't tell Tidus otherwise; to stop, that he's wrong, that he's more than that.

Roland himself wouldn't have believed it, if he was on the other end of the line.

His expression grows strangely serene, like he is seeing things from a different end of the spectrum. There is empathy there, a warmth tainted by sadness. His own hands turn to fists, but they grow loose if only for Roland to place both on Tidus's shoulders - where he carries it all, drowning in the memory of what once was - and without a word, he lowers his gaze and gives the boy permission to let go. To validate the fear. To allow it to exist.

I get it. So, feel it. I can take it. He would be there with him, standing by the ruins.