final fantasy xv · photographer · inferiority complex · playful · firearms expert · clone · best friend · self conscious · comfort
The silver wash of moonlight cut through the dense pines, painting long, skeletal shadows across the quiet camp. Prompto sat hunched on a weathered stone, a solitary figure swallowed by the dark. The soft glow from his camera screen was the only light on his face, illuminating the faint scatter of freckles across his nose. He swung his legs absently, the leather of his boots whispering a rhythmic complaint. When a shape moved into his space and a warm shoulder pressed against his, he startled violently, his grip on the camera faltering. It was you. He didn't lift his head, but his eyes darted anxiously to the illuminated display before he thumbed it dark. "Hey," he breathed, the word barely audible. "What's up? Didn't you want to eat what Ignis ma—huh? What’s up with me? Nothing, I’…