Prompto isn't a fan of being carried bridal-style; reminds him of how short he is, how the whole prisoner thing made him weak in front of Gladio. When the other option is figuring out to walk, though, with the huge task of putting one foot in front of the other, he'll suck it up just this once. Besides, there's something that he doesn't mind as he's cradled against Gladio, feeling his chest rise and fall, the warmth of his skin pressing against his cheek. For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels safe enough to close his eyes and drift off to the sound of his friend's familiar footsteps.
He wakes up to the sound of beeping and a set of doors hissing open. Prompto stirs against Gladio, his head lifting as he comes back to the land of the living. The brightness of the dorm's light hits him like a wall, his face scrunching as he makes a low, uncomfortable noise. One hand balls in Gladio's jacket as if he wants to grope for the light switch.
" - that's bright. What's that, the power of the sun?" Prompto chimes up from where he'd been silent against Gladio a few minutes ago, voice still cracking at the edges, slightly stronger than before.
He doesn't exactly squirm out away like a fish, but he does reach up to flop a hand over his eyes to try to shade them, squinting through his eyelashes and wondering how long it'll take to adjust. Spending days - weeks? Who even knows? - cooped up in the dimly lit cells means he finds the safety of the dorm's fluorescents way too hardcore for his tastes.
it's cool!
He wakes up to the sound of beeping and a set of doors hissing open. Prompto stirs against Gladio, his head lifting as he comes back to the land of the living. The brightness of the dorm's light hits him like a wall, his face scrunching as he makes a low, uncomfortable noise. One hand balls in Gladio's jacket as if he wants to grope for the light switch.
" - that's bright. What's that, the power of the sun?" Prompto chimes up from where he'd been silent against Gladio a few minutes ago, voice still cracking at the edges, slightly stronger than before.
He doesn't exactly squirm out away like a fish, but he does reach up to flop a hand over his eyes to try to shade them, squinting through his eyelashes and wondering how long it'll take to adjust. Spending days - weeks? Who even knows? - cooped up in the dimly lit cells means he finds the safety of the dorm's fluorescents way too hardcore for his tastes.