There is comfort in that embrace, though it's mostly limbs entangled and bodies trying to hide one another's pain. His hands begin to move on their own accord; trying to soothe, to comfort in a way that makes sense. It's piercing, the way Tidus bawls. And when Roland strains his ears, catches just the slightest bit of his words muffled against his own mouth, he hears enough.
Like fragments of his own mind come to life. The regret turning into the monster they fear. He holds on tighter to Tidus, but he doesn't know why he does so. It's instinct running on high, perhaps a deeper part of him just trying to protect this boy from more pain. For a burden he wasn't supposed to carry, a burden for which it seemed, he had no choice but to take. And what could Roland say to that, then? What if he could have saved them? The pragmatic side of him knows the answer, and he's tattooed it in his very soul the moment he woke up in another world: you'll never know, now. There's no way to. It would be too easy. It wasn't that simple.
He remembers it again.
What great wrong did I do to deserve this?
Roland silently clenches his jaw, grits his teeth.
And so the tide rolled in.
Tidus would never know. Roland should say that. He should say what the boy needs to hear, just like a few moments ago when they were at each other's throats, trying to incite anger, trying to get one to give in. He should tell him that life is cruel, that they are slaves to history, and they couldn't change what has come to pass. There were no what-if's. There were no do-overs.
- But there was starting over again. And again. And again.
He doesn't dare pull away, not now. Roland answers eventually, tilting his head upwards, watching the clouds roll by slow and steady like time hadn't passed for them at all. He knows what he must say but he doesn't let it come to pass. He'll say what he believes in, instead.
"Then they'd be saved." The sky is still so bright, even in the brink of twilight. There are stars beginning to appear, twinkling distantly in some other form of space and time, some other sphere of the celestial bodies. It is spoken like a certainty, guilt be damned. Roland's conviction will bring him back. He will try. So he words it justly: it isn't then you would have saved them, it isn't it's too late to know now. It is declarative. Simple. A trust he conveys no matter how many times Tidus has forced him to think otherwise. An absolution in itself, for whatever small mercy that's worth. That in Roland's eyes, regardless if the end has come for Zanarkand, Tidus was not at fault.
He bends his neck down, lowers his gaze again, comforts Tidus as his tears continue to fall.
"This second chance isn't a punishment. Don't let it be."
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Like fragments of his own mind come to life. The regret turning into the monster they fear. He holds on tighter to Tidus, but he doesn't know why he does so. It's instinct running on high, perhaps a deeper part of him just trying to protect this boy from more pain. For a burden he wasn't supposed to carry, a burden for which it seemed, he had no choice but to take. And what could Roland say to that, then? What if he could have saved them? The pragmatic side of him knows the answer, and he's tattooed it in his very soul the moment he woke up in another world: you'll never know, now. There's no way to. It would be too easy. It wasn't that simple.
He remembers it again.
What great wrong did I do to deserve this?
Roland silently clenches his jaw, grits his teeth.
And so the tide rolled in.
Tidus would never know. Roland should say that. He should say what the boy needs to hear, just like a few moments ago when they were at each other's throats, trying to incite anger, trying to get one to give in. He should tell him that life is cruel, that they are slaves to history, and they couldn't change what has come to pass. There were no what-if's. There were no do-overs.
- But there was starting over again. And again. And again.
He doesn't dare pull away, not now. Roland answers eventually, tilting his head upwards, watching the clouds roll by slow and steady like time hadn't passed for them at all. He knows what he must say but he doesn't let it come to pass. He'll say what he believes in, instead.
"Then they'd be saved." The sky is still so bright, even in the brink of twilight. There are stars beginning to appear, twinkling distantly in some other form of space and time, some other sphere of the celestial bodies. It is spoken like a certainty, guilt be damned. Roland's conviction will bring him back. He will try. So he words it justly: it isn't then you would have saved them, it isn't it's too late to know now. It is declarative. Simple. A trust he conveys no matter how many times Tidus has forced him to think otherwise. An absolution in itself, for whatever small mercy that's worth. That in Roland's eyes, regardless if the end has come for Zanarkand, Tidus was not at fault.
He bends his neck down, lowers his gaze again, comforts Tidus as his tears continue to fall.
"This second chance isn't a punishment. Don't let it be."
What if I could have saved them?
Then, they'd be saved. Right, Tidus?