He feels so useless in there. Standing around when they first enter, making room for Esteban, but waiting on him to take the lead once they're in the greenhouse. He's the one who brought them here, and even with the bags, the general idea known, it'll take either watching Esteban or being told what to do to know how to approach this task.

This delicate task, careful, caring. Most things Tidus never knows how to be, and especially doesn't, in this instance.

But what's harder is-- the flowers. Sitting next to them, just trying to focus on the task. Eyes wandering back to them, and everything they represent to Tidus. He knows a few of these: there's the ones that Inigo brought back from Jema'grethy, the flower he bought for Inigo in the town in Irivar. The small ones he bought for his fake birthday; the one he threw for him and Taiki, since they never got to celebrate one.

His eyes sting before they blur. He sniffs, a sound he quickly regrets, tries to pretend he didn't make.

"I can't," he says weakly, pathetically; the heat from before extinguished, or smothered by what's always been cradled beneath it. Eyes that avoid Esteban, a face turned aside so it cna't be looked at. "I can't do this right now."