He could tell him that it'll be alright - that it'll be okay, Inigo will be okay. It's a reassurance that Tidus wants to give his friend, standing there; the vulnerabilities he admits to and can't stop himself from wearing, exposed. Dressed in his weakness and shame.

Tidus doesn't let go of their held hands as he steps in close. Without rushing, without the need to, his other arm coming around the other's shoulders in a tight hug to express what words alone can't: comfort, security. The kind of reassurance - the it's okay - that can't come off as dismissive.

"Then let's figure it out," he says gently, spoken close to Inigo's shoulder, hand rubbing the back of it. "However long it takes. We'll talk about it -- and take our time. How ever long you need."

Your own pace. No pressure. Because this didn't sound like anything that was going to be easy to fix in a day -- when Tidus wasn't sure it was a matter of a fix at all.

When it was everything building up, and wearing Inigo down.