[ They can't keep going - at least, Tidus isn't sure that they can. When Inigo takes off his crown, brushing away their conversation and trying to move on, doing his best to bury it. The pitch of his voice, everything that isn't clicking as right or into place. A part of Tidus tells him to ignore it; go along with it, follow his lead.

But he can't. Not when it's the only thing in the room now. Not when the clothes Inigo wears and the clothes Tidus doesn't, the sex, the foreplay - when none of them no longer matter. It's like a weighted silence still with a message, but Tidus can't interpret it. He can't. He can't.


He wishes he couldn't. ]

You're not weird. [ His own hands had moved, loosened in their hold where they met around Inigo's waist. But now they withdraw, uncertain for a second when to go before they raise to Inigo's arms, holding on firmly. ] You're not weird, [ he repeats, knowing that's what Inigo is really saying. His gaze lifting from the tiara, a struggle (as a voice tells him not to, no, you can't-), but coming to his face. ]

You're my best friend, and... you know I don't think you're weird. I care about you a lot, and I always will. I want you to be happy, and confident - and you'll always be an important part of this life I got. You're one of the best people I know.

[ It's rambling, if slower than his usual kinds. Avoiding saying what he doesn't want to say, while knowing he can't run away from this. That neither of them can, but that he can't be the only one to talk.

As scared as he is, as much as it threatens to break his heart. ]

Inigo.

[ He speaks his name as a plea, a request. For the truth. To tell him if he's really wrong, or what. ]