The arm comes around him, pulling him in easy, when Tidus doesn't expect it, doesn't have the time to resist it. But he doesn't, even once it's does; the full voice of the man beside him, affected, maybe more so than him. It's a story - a life, done and said - that he's already had time to come to grips with. Questioning now the what ifs that lead him nowhere - but still, that he can't keep off his tongue, his mind or otherwise.

The idle fussing between the higgledy and its connected stop, and Hibber-Gibber looks over to Roland with its squiggly-like eyes. And hops, from limb to limb, leg to leg, to traverse the route of Roland's terrain, to prance with a spin up onto his farthest arm before he might think to do much; climbing up where he wishes - or Tidus wishes - to be.

Upon his free shoulder, a comfort to him. A brilliant hue of sea-blue, reaching to soothe the despair washing into his shores.

"The fayth wanted sleep," he says, simply; drawn into a resigned tone - one not stubborn, not coated in spite. A finality, as the ending is. "But... The dreams. The people. Everything would have just... ended."

Ceased. And the word has all the heaviness that, too, the end of life comes with when doused in tragedy.

"No one wants to die," he says, falling the recede of a silence. "No one living their lives."

And that was the difference, between the dreams and the dreamers.