#mt stuff

Somebody breathed in sharply. Prompto knew it wasn’t him because it was too difficult to breathe, even as he started to get a hold on himself again. The puking slowed. The burning sensation in his throat did not.

He felt Lunafreya squeeze his hand. Slowly, the burning dimmed.

“Holy shit,” Noctis swore. He scrambled to wrap his arm around Prompto’s shoulders in support. “Prom, are you okay?” His head snapped up, his eyes trained on Lunafreya. “What was that?”

“MTs,” Lunafreya said. Her voice was sorrowful but firm. “They were human once. Infected by the Starscourge. It is not incurable, if you are not too far along.”

The implication that it was incurable to some hung in the air.

Prompto didn’t know anything about a Starscourge. But he knew about the tattoo on his wrist and the uncertainty of his birth.

“MT,” Noctis repeated. Em—tee. Empty.

If Ignis and Gladio were still watching, they hadn’t made themselves known in forever. Prompto didn’t look at them.

His head swam. He couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from the pool of liquid at his feet. It resembled oil and wet coffee grinds. Disgusting. That garbage had been inside him. He desperately tried not to register its aftertaste.

Distantly, he was aware of the mark on his wrist and the pounding of his heart.

Noctis ducked back down. His fingers dug into Prompto’s shoulders. “Prom? Say something. How do you feel?”

Prompto breathed in, again and again. There was a thin layer of sweat by his hairline. His vomit brushed the edge of his shoe.

How do you feel, Noctis had asked.

He felt good. Prompto felt good in a way that made him realize for the first time how bad he’d felt before.

Prompto opened his mouth, unsure of how to describe how he felt. He coughed weakly instead. He was terribly aware of the way his blood moved in his veins. It was still impossible to stand up straight.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when Lunafreya crouched down in front of him, but he was. He wanted to warn her not to get too close or risk coming into contact with his taint—with him—but she squeezed his hand again, and any thoughts he had left his head immediately.

Her skin was so warm against his clammy palm. Lunafreya’s smile was radiant.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said.

He felt like a towel someone had rung all the filth and ruin from, and now he was brand new. Exhausted. But new.