Perhaps there is a part of Tidus that Roland was able to reach, after all. There is no going back as he is witness to Tidus coming undone.
The painful cries and the tight grip against his shirt grounded Roland as he watched every piece fall into place. He sees it now, vivid even as he closes his eyes for a breath. The child that hid behind a confident façade, finally emerging from the depths, buried underneath the rubble of Zanarkand. He is grasping, begging, pleading; and Roland is overcome with the swell of Tidus's agony. But even then, Roland remains standing strong. This is pain he gladly welcomes, will cradle close and keep with him forever. He will take it from all of them. The guardian. The gatekeeper. In the first world, in the second, and in every world to come.
I can take it. I can take all of it.
It's natural to Roland, what comes next. Though the boy before him was a little taller in stature, he was bent now, Tidus's forehead leaning against his chest with but an inch of space. Roland closes the distance. There is nothing that stops him from letting the hand that wipes Tidus's tears make its way gently against the back of his neck. He draws him in, keeping him close, shielding him from prying eyes and preying nightmares. Roland's head follows the motion, dipping until the tips of Tidus's hair tickles at his nose, his face. And the arm that remains free drapes just slightly over broad shoulders. He can feel the dampness stain his shirt, warm as it meets his skin.
From this, Roland no longer moves. His eyes grow narrow; his hand anchors Tidus to shore. Though he speaks against the volume of Tidus's sobbing, he knows he will hear him just as well.
"It must have been so heavy." He hears himself speak; low, laden with an affection that can come only from empathy. Roland doesn't phrase this as a question. He doesn't want it to sound like one. "You kept this to yourself, from us, all this time. All by yourself." He mourns then, at that moment; for Tidus, for the ghosts that haunt him, for the ghost he thinks he deserves to become. But it's not true, and you know it too. Don't you? That's why you're crying. That's why even now...
"I lost them too." Roland says. It is his offering; his revelation that the same string of tragedy has wrapped itself around their hearts. He doesn't need to explain, to say what he can't hear himself speak. His head bows lower, until his forehead can meet what it can, the back of Tidus's head, until Roland can close his eyes. He wonders what it was like, to live where he did. He wonders if fate would let their paths cross again one day, away from the void, so he could see what this life did not allow them.
Visiting a new world. His world. His home. Seeing him play the way he's always imagined. The grip against Tidus shakes.
"Stay, Tidus. I...I've got your back. I'll look for it with you. So, don't leave. Not until you're sure you know where you want to go."
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The painful cries and the tight grip against his shirt grounded Roland as he watched every piece fall into place. He sees it now, vivid even as he closes his eyes for a breath. The child that hid behind a confident façade, finally emerging from the depths, buried underneath the rubble of Zanarkand. He is grasping, begging, pleading; and Roland is overcome with the swell of Tidus's agony. But even then, Roland remains standing strong. This is pain he gladly welcomes, will cradle close and keep with him forever. He will take it from all of them. The guardian. The gatekeeper. In the first world, in the second, and in every world to come.
I can take it. I can take all of it.
It's natural to Roland, what comes next. Though the boy before him was a little taller in stature, he was bent now, Tidus's forehead leaning against his chest with but an inch of space. Roland closes the distance. There is nothing that stops him from letting the hand that wipes Tidus's tears make its way gently against the back of his neck. He draws him in, keeping him close, shielding him from prying eyes and preying nightmares. Roland's head follows the motion, dipping until the tips of Tidus's hair tickles at his nose, his face. And the arm that remains free drapes just slightly over broad shoulders. He can feel the dampness stain his shirt, warm as it meets his skin.
From this, Roland no longer moves. His eyes grow narrow; his hand anchors Tidus to shore. Though he speaks against the volume of Tidus's sobbing, he knows he will hear him just as well.
"It must have been so heavy." He hears himself speak; low, laden with an affection that can come only from empathy. Roland doesn't phrase this as a question. He doesn't want it to sound like one. "You kept this to yourself, from us, all this time. All by yourself." He mourns then, at that moment; for Tidus, for the ghosts that haunt him, for the ghost he thinks he deserves to become. But it's not true, and you know it too. Don't you? That's why you're crying. That's why even now...
"I lost them too." Roland says. It is his offering; his revelation that the same string of tragedy has wrapped itself around their hearts. He doesn't need to explain, to say what he can't hear himself speak. His head bows lower, until his forehead can meet what it can, the back of Tidus's head, until Roland can close his eyes. He wonders what it was like, to live where he did. He wonders if fate would let their paths cross again one day, away from the void, so he could see what this life did not allow them.
Visiting a new world. His world. His home. Seeing him play the way he's always imagined. The grip against Tidus shakes.
"Stay, Tidus. I...I've got your back. I'll look for it with you. So, don't leave. Not until you're sure you know where you want to go."