What a strange place to be lost in: himself. Navigating waters that he was sure he was over, is, but this - no, this pain. This grief. He grew up with it, his only way to hold onto the man he knew as his father. The great. The legendary. The drunkard, the man getting on and the whispers a kid shouldn't hear. Always wrapped around him, engulfed by the shadow of who Ject was, or suffering by the hole in a son's heart where a dad should be. Those murky waters don't entirely dissipate, despite the pride that now lives in them, when there's reasons for the tide to push them in.

The hand is a mystery, entering his vision. Tidus blinks, staring, looks before Roland gets to explain. Nothing but the draining of feeling in his chest to allow him a reaction, except to comply. His hand raises, and second a second, it appears: a sphere surrounded by a disk weightier than the orb itself.

He hands it over without a word at first, low on the conversational tank. But, after a moment: "...You press the button on the bottom to start it. Red button makes it play."