I have a new favorite word. Mawkish!!!!
Almost missed this one!
Sorry >>
He gently caress the photo, faded now. Itās almost time to print a new copy of it. The room is small but itās all he needs really, not like heās ever going to add another person to his life, not now. The bright smile on his face, on Noctisā exists only in the photographs on his wall. He sets the picture, a selfie of them kissing, on the pillow beside him as he lays down. Should thirty-five feel so old? Prompto doesnāt think so, but then againā¦thereās not really anyone to ask. Ignis and Gladiolus donāt spend so much time with him, they did when they thought he would move forward eventually, but when he only withdrew more, well.
His gaze falls too the black outfit carefully kept on the opposite wall. Thereās something on the plastic covering and he gets up again, carefully removing the offending dust. Itās perfectly preserved, if he unwraps it he can smell Noctisā sweat still soaked into the fabric. He only does that on the really, really awful days. Promptoās a war hero, so they donāt ask him questions when he goes down the street to get pictures reprinted, or when heās working. He doesnāt have a real job, just helps to rebuild whenever he can. He knows, eventually the world will be together again and heāll fade even more, without people to save, but for nowā¦for now itās what he has.
