There's too much that is spilling across them all, things Esteban does not know, cannot understand. Pieces, shards of them in their individuality, perhaps, but this is-- far greater. Too much. He's trying to keep his head out of the water, to keep his hold onto them both. And to keep his hold on the train because all Esteban wants to do is reach and hold and pull.

The odd sensation that Tidus does not like stone. He's grabbing on too hard, too greedy, and slowing them down instead. Fleeting faces of people he doesn't know, flashes memories of brief happiness overshadowed by horror. By grief. Trying to find the right words to say.

But Esteban can never say the right thing, not when it matters.

So he pushes everything that he can in between them all, colours and sunshines and clouds of silver outlines, bright in the dawn. It's so little, too little, but there's no words that he can convey that might matter at all, and yet he can't not try. He can't ever not try.

He doesn't know on who to focus, this tumble of emotions spinning out of his hands, wants to offer comfort and warmth, but feels the stretch between them grow quiet, grow still if he shifts his attentions too much from Tidus. There's sunshine in his hands, but it feels fragile, weaker, intangible and Esteban can't let it go out, won't let it go out.

Focuses less on the memories, more onto the person. The smiles and the casual talks. Kindness and caring and reaching for sweets he doesn't particularly like to give to Inigo. The mischief in his eyes, the effort he went through to pull Esteban back on his feet when he got just a bit worried.

'Come on, Sunshine.'