Some nights, the world is perfect. The horizon is at peace, glowing faintly with the fading euphoria of a sunset. Dull foreboding ceases to burn away Tidus' faith; weariness is held at bay by the soft embrace of Yuna's eyes. She watches him, worried. He wants to tell her it's all right, but he thinks she will not understand.
She does not want him to go.
But like the ebb and flow of time, he is at peace, and the idea of "death" does not frighten him. She cannot accept that the end is part of who we are, as much as the beginning, and all that we are to everyone we touch during the in-between. There is a faint wish to show her that gentle resignation, and the serenity it brings.
When he is gone, maybe she will find it for herself.
It is enough, that she does understand the one thing he cannot come to voice.
They will remember it, at the end.