I have a new favorite word. Mawkish!!!!
Almost missed this one!
Sorry >>
He gently caress the photo, faded now. It’s almost time to print a new copy of it. The room is small but it’s all he needs really, not like he’s ever going to add another person to his life, not now. The bright smile on his face, on Noctis’ 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 doesn’t think so, but then again…there’s not really anyone to ask. Ignis and Gladiolus don’t 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. There’s something on the plastic covering and he gets up again, carefully removing the offending dust. It’s perfectly preserved, if he unwraps it he can smell Noctis’ sweat still soaked into the fabric. He only does that on the really, really awful days. Prompto’s a war hero, so they don’t ask him questions when he goes down the street to get pictures reprinted, or when he’s working. He doesn’t have a real job, just helps to rebuild whenever he can. He knows, eventually the world will be together again and he’ll fade even more, without people to save, but for now…for now it’s what he has.
