[ everything about this feels so surreal, and he isn't sure how to explain it. her voice and the way she looks lit up in the lantern light... it's even better than he'd ever imagined it being all those years ago. and the memories he has war with the idea of just throwing his arms around her to hug her close, like they're old friends. but he also has to remember that she died in altissia, that altissia has been behind him for over two years, and he struggles with putting on a good face for her, the weight of her hands on his shoulders a punch straight to his heart.
once upon a time, there had been so much he'd wanted to say to her. how he'd wanted to thank her for giving him the courage to pursue a friendship with noct, for all the kindness she'd given him despite having never met each other. for taking a chance on someone like him. prompto opens his mouth to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, and then, he just drops his head and squeezes his eyes shut. ]
Yeah. [ there's a soft catch in his breath. don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. ] Yeah, I'm great. I — [ it's suddenly a lot harder to breathe. ] I'm sorry you're here. [ because how could beacon mean a second chance if someone as wonderful as luna had wound up there? it's a conflicting thought, hands curling at his sides in an effort to keep himself as composed as possible. ]
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once upon a time, there had been so much he'd wanted to say to her. how he'd wanted to thank her for giving him the courage to pursue a friendship with noct, for all the kindness she'd given him despite having never met each other. for taking a chance on someone like him. prompto opens his mouth to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, and then, he just drops his head and squeezes his eyes shut. ]
Yeah. [ there's a soft catch in his breath. don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. ] Yeah, I'm great. I — [ it's suddenly a lot harder to breathe. ] I'm sorry you're here. [ because how could beacon mean a second chance if someone as wonderful as luna had wound up there? it's a conflicting thought, hands curling at his sides in an effort to keep himself as composed as possible. ]