Auron's grown accustomed to having very little; from the time he served in Bevelle to setting foot in Zanarkand, Sin receding behind him like a tidal wave in reverse, the most he's ever been able to call his own was a long pilgrimage gone too quickly. He should have been able to stop it. It should have ended on his terms. But that wasn't his part to play, and his story is not a story about absolution, recovery, or hard-earned second chances. Tidus's story is just beginning; it may never begin.

Ending or beginning, ended or never started; there might not be any perceptible difference between the two from where they're standing. Everything that's really his is untouchable. Not hidden away, protected, but as an apparition. Already gone.

Their noses bump when he kisses the corner of his mouth.

It's enough to be here. It's enough to be able to do anything. His hands find Tidus's hips again, then curve lower, pressing their bodies together from the hips down. A flush of heat uncurls from low in his stomach, spreading to his chest, his thighs, the tips of his fingers. He's been stingy with how he's been touching him. It comes from a contradiction that he still hasn't solved.

But he can move, regardless.