photobombed: (9)
prompto argentum | final fantasy xv ([personal profile] photobombed) wrote in [personal profile] iwillshieldhim 2017-04-13 12:17 am (UTC)

Prompto needs a moment for relief to process and to run through the How To's of Smiling.

He's still staring at Gladio, eyes glittering behind a mask of grime and blood, as the first restraint creaks open at the wrist and his hand flops down. For a moment he's able to get it around Gladio's shoulder for support - the next second he loses whatever control he had and it slides, boneless, down his back. His next attempt is a bit better with his hand able to grip against the other man as he slides free of Ardyn's fun rack. A hiss escapes through Prompto's teeth as there's a moment of resistance and something pops out his back: what looks like a thick IV line drops down to splatter some kind of translucent blue fluid across the floor, the long needle gleaming as it swings to a stop.

"My hero," Prompto mumbles. His chapped lips try to rise into a smile and don't quite get there. He loops his arm around the back of Gladio's neck, trying to make it easier even though he knows how strong the guy is and that he could've probably lifted him, no problem, if it wasn't for the fact his whole body felt like it was made of noodles. "Man, I hope you had leg day."

His words come out slurred and a hair above a hoarse whisper but the relief he feels blooms and seems to spread across a body that seems like so much dead weight as he clings to Gladio for support. Feels the tension of his muscles in his neck and shoulders. Picks up that familiar scent of his leather jacket that feels like home, whether it was the hints of it from the Regali'sa backseat or whenever they were crammed together in the tent. He hadn't realized how much he took it for granted until now.

(Prompto doesn't ask about Noct. Not yet. Maybe he's just being a coward, but...)

He manages to access that energy reserve from before, this time using it to get his legs under him so he isn't trying to strangle Gladio with his body weight.

"Can't stay here," Prompto swallows, trying to work moisture back into his mouth around the metallic tang of old blood. "He'll come back."

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