` i can still love you with my eyes closed. ’ :)
their hands are painted with the ruby scars of sacrifice & duty – protection & offense. the subtle trickling of a creek marks their path so that they don’t get lost ; their movements flow like water with the time. prompto is quiet for a moment, head still bobbing to nothing in particular, just some fabricated display that things are cool, things are okay, some strange reassurance through his movements that he’s okay, however dishonest it may be. it doesn’t last long, though, until he’s still & gazing off into the wandering clouds above them. they move quickly with the wind . . . he’s surprised to see them travel so fast. it reminds him of their journey to safety. chased by brigands, unable to defend themselves in their entirety. at times, it truly is best to flee, despite the guilt of cowardice that comes crawling from beneath his skin each time he escapes with his life. if only they were so lucky as he.
in his daze, his footing would lose itself & he’d trip straight into the stream, the ankles of his pants now drenched & dripping, his shoes squelching when he walks.
❝ eugh . . . sounds so gross. ❞
silence again – inigo smiles, & prompto expects some sort of crude remark, but nothing comes. he thinks that he can probably sense the bizarre turmoil that clouds his thoughts, consuming his heart with its baseless anxiety. though, he cannot bring himself to stop it – this fear is one intangible, something he cannot run from, something inescapable. claws that feast & fester on him, a parasite that drains him of his usual livelihood & bouncing travel. the way that he can hear the chirping of birds makes him vaguely uncomfortable. they’re usually the talkative types.
he supposes its his fault, the strange elephant in the room that he can’t ward off, can’t spray away, can’t usher into a place unbeknownst to him. it sits there, bold, stubborn, heavy, annoying. prompto breathes, arms stretching behind him in an awkward display of lacking conversational skills. he can feel his bracers cold on his neck.
he craves for some show of affection, some reminder that he’s cared about – deeply. dare he think, that perhaps he’s loved, or that someone might put him above any others, even if just a few. it’s selfish, he knows, but there are times where he cannot stand but to commit himself to such questions. expectancy of the worst often prepares him in the event of disappointment.
❝ i know this is kinda a stupid question, especially right now, y’know . . . i mean we barely got out alive and like . . . well, y’know. i dunno. guess it’s been weighing on my mind lately. you, um . . . do care about me, right ? i’m not trying to offend you, or anything . . . it’s like . . . i’m not really used to it, so i just kinda . . . need the reminder sometimes. i think. ❞
& the squeaking sounds of water in his boots makes him all the more embarrassed. he stops, & so does inigo. they wait a moment, & he speaks:
‘ i can still love you with my eyes closed. ’ – that’s all he needed to hear. a warm grin blossoms on his face like petals opening to morning’s light.
