It awakens many instincts in him. But Inigo also, for once, realises what Tidus is trying to do now. For all their attempts at nonverbal communication, sometimes more succesful than other times, this may actually be the moment Inigo gets everything Tidus is doing the most - or feels like he does, anyway. Tidus is trying to move on, and so, despite the urge to say something about this, or grab Tidus and cling onto his back while crying, Inigo tries to do the same.

It's the least he can do.

He takes a big step when Tidus looks back, and then another, catching up with him until he's right at the other guy's side. Inigo makes sure it's on the side that doesn't have a sticky mess of fudge inside of it, so he can instead grab a hold of the empty hand. Fingers intertwine in less than a second, and Inigo squeezes the hand with such a force that it's almost as if he's trying to break it. As if he's desperately trying to cling on, desperately trying to convey something he feels like he can't quite put into words without ruining it somehow.

Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Despite not opening his mouth at all, it's like the emotion flows out desperately all the same.

Tears spring into Inigo's eyes.