[ There's a tangle in his throat, threads made up of words and half-conjured thoughts, but nothing that can unknot, figure out what they're meant to be - what it is Tidus wants to say. Someone who likes to hurry on, get things sorted out and done, practicing a patience that has him opening and closing his mouth a few times noiselessly, until the small release of breath with the hang of his head. ]

We can. Nothing's changed. [ Right? Can he say that, and have it be the truth? Eyes lifting to meet Inigo's; not searching for a reassurance, but displaying his belief. ] If you had a secret that you couldn't tell me - it'd be fine with it. So long as you weren't hurting yourself, you know?

[ The sound he lets out is mirthful, though still light. ]

No keeping life-threatening illnesses or hiding wounds to yourself, alright?