Not a little bit smug, Auron turns halfway to glance behind him, eyebrow raised this time in poorly concealed amusement. It almost makes him appear younger, hair a mess, glasses pushed up and away from his eyes; even the ugly scar claiming the right half of his face is hidden from where Tidus is standing now. He doesn't say anything in answer to the protests he receives. He doesn't say anything as he climbs down into the cabin and pushes open the door to the room he used to stay in, back when he had little choice about whether or not he should stay, and for that reason still had to maintain certain illusions.

It was no one's room before he came, previously commandeered for storage space, and later rearranged. There's a neatly made bed; a table beside the bed; old furniture, pushed aside; boxes of old clothes, neatly stacked; and boxes of trophies that don't belong to Tidus.

Auron sits on the side of the bed and plucks his glasses from his hair, folding them closed and placing them on the table. Then, he unhooks his collar, leaves it over a bedpost, and begins to pull off his boots.