Chapter Text
Prompto had fallen into a funny kind of routine by the start of the second year.
Every morning, he woke to a darkened sky. There was no sunlight filtering through the window, no-one to greet him as the dawn broke, just the quiet buzz of electric lamps and his heart pounding from dreams that clawed him awake. Nightmares had always been a constant, but over the past year they’d grown more varied, more vivid, like his mind couldn’t decide which memory to punish him with next.
Sometimes it was the roar of a distant train and the weight of snow, so much snow. Endless and suffocating, swallowing him whole as he fell and fell and fell, the cold biting through his skin like punishment, burying him, choking him as he reached towards the sky.
Other nights, he stood frozen, gun trembling in his hands, watching Verstael’s face shift and blur into that of his friends: Gladio, Ignis, Noctis. Each one of them collapsing in front of him, blood blooming like ink across their chests, shock and accusation painted across their faces. The word murderer echoed in his ears, louder each time, until it drowned out everything else.
Sometimes he was strung up, metal biting into his wrists, laughter curling around him like smoke. Ardyn’s voice, sweet and cruel, whispering truths Prompto didn’t want to hear.
And then there were the ones where he wasn’t Prompto anymore. Where he woke up in a sterile lab, wires in his spine, eyes glowing blue. Where he looked in the mirror and saw an MT staring back.
Worst of all, though, were the dreams where he begged the crystal to give Noctis back, screamed until his throat tore, fists pounding against stone until it shattered into a thousand shards that cut him open from the inside.
It always took him a while to pull himself together when he woke up, to steady his breathing and convince his hands to stop shaking long enough to move. But eventually, inevitably, he’d stand, his familiar and practiced mask back in place, before heading out and continuing with the routine.
New hunter HQ wasn’t much to look at. Really, it was just a cluster of tents and repurposed buildings tucked behind the Lestallum power station, buzzing with generators and a low hum of voices that never quite included him. But even so, it had become a second home of sorts, even if only because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Most mornings, he headed straight there, picking through the mission board for whatever was left at the bottom of the pile (usually the ones no one else wanted because they were too far, too messy, or too boring to bother with). He’d tag along with whoever didn’t mind pretending he wasn’t there, kept his mouth shut, and focused on the job, doing his best to ignore the sideways glances and muttered comments that trailed behind him.
They followed him everywhere, those whispers; Niff. Sleeper agent. Monster. None of it was particularly original. Growing up, sneers and whispers had been there too, like there was something about him people sensed but couldn’t name. But being the prince’s friend came with a kind of shield to it all, and for a while, that was enough to keep the worst of it at bay. People didn’t look too closely when he was standing beside royalty. They didn’t dare to ask questions with the threat of the Crown looming in the background. But now, with the world falling apart and the old protections stripped away, the whispers had come back louder than ever with no one left to drown them out.
Over time, he’d learned which supply officers would glance past him like he wasn’t there, which ones always seemed to run out of rations the moment he showed up, which medics suddenly had no antiseptic, no bandages, no time. Sometimes he got shoved in the hallway hard enough to bruise, and sometimes he came back from missions with marks he hadn’t earned in the field, but he never fought back, never gave anyone the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
It was easier that way, to pretend it didn’t matter. He told himself he didn’t need help, that he was fine, that maybe he even deserved it, just a little.
Anyway.
When there were no missions to throw himself at, or the animosity was too much for even Prompto to pretend not to notice, he trained. And trained. Then trained some more until his vision blurred and the artificial lights overhead turned harsh and alien, sharp against skin that hadn’t seen the sun in years.
At that point, something in him usually pulled the brakes before it got too far – the fraying edges of his sense of self-preservation, perhaps. But it was just so easy to slip back into old, familiar, insidious rhythms, to push past the hunger, past the exhaustion, past the pain. So yeah, sometimes he stopped, but increasingly, he lost time entirely and woke up with the floor cold against his cheek, sweat dried stiff against his shirt, limbs aching in ways he struggled to place.
It didn’t really matter: nobody would ask. Nobody cared, not when everyone was struggling to survive their own days.
It was fine though - he was fine! It’s just. He needed to keep working to get stronger. He wasn’t trying to be a hero - Prompto knew that would never be him. He just wanted to be better than the weak link. Better than the joke. Just… better. Maybe if he'd been that sooner, Noct would have come bac-
So. Routine.
Involuntary naps on the training room floor aside, he was improving. He was still a liability a lot of the time, he still got hurt more often than not, but he was getting better. He had to get better if he wanted to cling onto the ever-dwindling hope of making it through the night. If sometimes that meant he overworked himself whilst trying to close the insurmountable gap between his skill and that of his peers, then that’s the way it had to be.
Rarely, his routine stuttered from its rhythm and he saw Gladio or Iggy. Rarer still, he worked alongside them, just like old times, but also very much not. Mostly, though, they didn't have the time for him because they were important in a way that he would never be, and that was fine too. They’d all started drifting months ago, he knew it, they all felt it, even if no one said it out loud.
Without Noctis there to pull them together, the group was slowly unravelling.
Sure, they were all still friends. He trusted them with his life. Trusted that they trusted him back. But something was missing now. And Prompto, poor Prompto, always just outside the frame, always the one holding the camera, was slipping out of focus.
It did hurt sometimes, sure, when he let himself think too hard about all the ways he’d come up short, how many times he’d failed to be enough. But it was fine. Not good. But he had his routine. He had his purpose. He was fine.
Most nights ended the same way. He returned to the dorm late, bruised and aching. Sometimes catching a glimpse of his dorm-mates: fellow hunters like him, quiet, and mostly absent. They were nice, he supposed. They usually nodded if they saw him.
He locked himself in his room, lay down without undressing, and waited for the nightmares to come. They always did.
And then morning came. And he did it all again.
He kept going. There was always another mission, always more training to do. Noct’s absence pressed into his chest like a physical weight, but risk dulled the thoughts. Pain muted the noise. He came back to the dorm more injured each time. He skipped more meals. Skipped more sleep.
And it worked.
For a long time, it worked.
*****
Prompto kept moving. Days, weeks, months: they all blurred together into the same grey rhythm. Time didn’t pass so much as dissolve. With no sun and no seasons, it was hard to tell how long it had been: only the calendar on his phone, unbothered by the state of the world, insisted it was summer now. About one year and 8 months since Zegnautus, but who was counting, right?
Prompto stepped into HQ just after what was probably dawn. The room hummed with a familiar chaos - fellow hunters trading missions, sharing bad jokes, comparing bruises. Cups clinked. Reports shuffled from hand to hand. He moved through it all like static, more presence than person.
As he passed the supply counter, he made a mental note: Need more bandages. He was running low again which wasn’t ideal, especially when it was a fifty-fifty shot whether the person stocking them would actually hand any over. Prompto went through a lot of bandages these days, he thought with a grimace. Magic wasn’t something you could rely on anymore, and potions were scarce enough that most healing had to be done the long way round. But that could wait: he’d earn them first.
Which, he realised as he reached the mission board, clearly wasn’t going to happen today.
It was empty.
He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, as if something might materialise if he waited. It didn’t, of course. Just a blank screen and the quiet hum of a system with nothing to offer him.
He sighed and turned away, boots slapping against concrete as he headed toward the training yard. If there was no work, he’d just have to make his own. He could still at least pretend to be useful.
Outside, frost-bitten clouds swelled against the ink black sky. Fluorescents buzzed overhead - one flickered, then steadied. His phone sat like a brick in his pocket. Gladio had messaged him yesterday. He hadn’t opened it yet. He probably wouldn’t.
He was halfway to the yard when motion snapped him out of his thoughts: a hunter rounded the corner at a jog, coat half-buttoned, gear clinking with each step. Prompto didn’t move fast enough to avoid the collision. They hit hard, enough to knock a surprised “oof” out of him.
The hunter steadied Prompto by the shoulder and winced apologetically. “Hey - sorry, man. You okay?”
Prompto blinked, startled by the lack of hostility. “Yeah. No sweat. I wasn’t-” He cut himself off. The guy was clearly busy from the speed he’d been moving, there was no point finishing a sentence that didn’t matter. “It’s my bad.”
The hunter gave a quick nod, turning to leave, but then he paused, squinting at him, eyes flicking across his face. “You’re with Amicitia’s crew, right?” he asked, uncertain.
Prompto let out a breath and scratched the back of his neck. “Nah, just another hunter these days.”
The hunter gave a distracted chuckle as he shifted his weight to leave, his attention already elsewhere. He clapped Prompto’s shoulder once more, casual and half-absent, then jogged off without another word.
And just like that, he was back to being the ghost in the machine. Prompto stayed rooted to the spot for a few long moments as the world moved around him.
It was the longest conversation he’d had in days.
His phone buzzed again. Not Gladio this time, just a system alert. Another daemon sighting near the perimeter. He stared at it for a second too long, then shoved it back in his pocket.
They’d probably already dispatched a team. Probably didn’t need him.
Still… he turned toward the location and carried on his way.
*****
More time passed. Gladio left more messages. Ignis too. Prompto listened to them all and replied to none.
It wasn’t deliberate, not really. He’d thought about answering, typed out a few half-responses, hit backspace, hovered over the call button, but he could never quite bring himself to press it. What was there to say?
He’d called Noctis’ contact once, back towards the start of it all. He didn’t know why. Maybe, against all logic, he’d pick up. Maybe he’d tease him for being so pathetic over all this.
The number had been disconnected. It was a bad day.
Today, Prompto didn’t feel like training; not that he was sure he even could after his last foray into the dark. His ribs still ached from a daemon’s blow that had landed too close for comfort, and with no backup for the backup, he’d had to handle it alone. By the time he’d finished, his teammates were already dust in the road. A little anger rose up at that, and he debated telling someone, anyone, but in the end, he just limped home and slept it off like usual. The need to be alone outweighed the urge to beg for a potion he knew wouldn’t be offered, not for something so inconsequential.
Now though, his room felt too small, the silence pressing in from all sides. He considered staying anyway, but the air was too thick, the walls too close, and the quiet too loud. Prompto had never really done well with quiet, empty houses.
There was a kind of cafeteria area in the downtown. It had enough background noise to fill in the blank spaces, but would still be empty enough to avoid bumping into anyone that was likely to start an actual conversation. It wasn’t much, but it was more than the four walls of his tiny box room, at least.
He stood, wincing as his ribs protested, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He just needed to see someone’s face, he decided, even if it was just the bored-looking guy behind the counter. Anything was better than this. He grabbed a couple of protein bars from his desk - caramel something or other - and made his way out.
The walk wasn’t long, but every step jarred his ribs just enough to remind him why he should’ve stayed in bed. Still, the city had a rhythm he couldn't help but relax into, even in its quieter corners; signs flickering, someone’s music leaking from a cracked window. It helped, at least a little.
The cafeteria was just as he remembered it: fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, a few scattered tables, and the guy behind the counter flipping through a magazine like he’d been born bored.
The light inside was sharp against his eyes, but he pushed past it, picking a table near the back of the room and sliding into the seat with a sigh that didn't quite make it past his throat.
His head ached. The lights felt too bright. He considered leaving, but the silence screaming from his room kept him rooted to the chair. He bit into one of the protein bars, chewing slowly. It tasted like cardboard.
Prompto was halfway through the second bar when someone slumped into the seat across from him. It was one of his dormmates. He couldn’t remember the name.
“You look like hell.” They weren’t mocking, just tired.
Prompto shrugged, shooting a half-hearted finger gun. “You should see the other guy.”
They didn’t laugh. Just eyed the bruises running along his temple, the way he kept blinking like the lights were too sharp until Prompto shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“You sleep lately?”
“Sure.” He lied.
“Eat?”
Prompto held up the bar. “Caramel protein sludge. Classic.”
A pause. Then, softer: “You know, Ignis checked in last week. Said you hadn’t been answering his calls.”
Prompto’s smile stayed frozen on his face whilst he crushed down the familiar stirrings of guilt: he knew Ignis meant well, but it somehow made it worse. “Ah, yeah, Phone’s busted, you know. I’ll get back to him.” He knew it sounded fake, even to his own ears.
“He asked me to let him know if-”
“What, he’s checking up on me through you?” Prompto interrupted with a forced smile. Too bright, and way too final. “Don’t worry about it, I’m totally operational. See? I’m all good, man.”
His dorm-mate looked sceptical, but just gave a slight nod, and that was that. He’d said something similar to Ignis, back when he’d moved out. It hadn’t convinced him either.
Eventually, after a few attempts at stilted small talk, they stood and left, though not before sliding a bag of some sort of dried fruit across the table towards him.
Prompto couldn’t finish the second bar. He stowed it and the fruit in his bag, then stood, wavering slightly. Ignis’ disapproving face flashed in his mind: Once, Ignis had scolded him for skipping breakfast before a mission. Now Prompto couldn’t even finish a protein bar. Prompto blinked hard and looked away. The cafeteria was quieter now.
His footsteps sounded strange, like they belonged to someone else. The memory of the silence from his room felt almost like an accusation.
Maybe he’d train a little after all.
*****
Back at the beginning of the Night, a few months after everything with the crystal, Prompto and Ignis had rented a small room in downtown Lestallum. It felt a bit like driving a car with two busted tires, but they stuck it out together those first few months.
Gladio had already left by then. According to Ignis, he wasn’t far, just a few blocks away with Iris: Cape Caem wasn’t safe anymore, so they’d relocated, and Iris was doing everything in her power to join in with the daemon hunts, much to Gladio’s displeasure. He sent over money when he could. Never visited, though. Or at least, he didn’t when Prompto was around. Prompto kept telling himself it wasn’t personal, but he knew that was a lie.
Still, Prompto was trying. He had to. After how spectacularly he’d driven Gladio away in that first post-crystal month, being useful to Ignis felt like the bare minimum.
The early weeks were rough. Ignis didn’t complain, not really, but Prompto could see it in the way his shoulders tensed when he misjudged a step, the way his fingers hovered over objects like he was daring them to move. He hated asking for help. Hated needing it. And Prompto, who was barely holding himself together, tried to be what Ignis needed: the bright, sunny, mood-maker Prompto, the Prompto who didn’t make people want to leave at the first chance they got.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was something.
Ignis never said how much it hurt to lose his role as advisor, strategist, anchor. But Prompto saw it in the way he sat too still some nights, hands folded like he was waiting for orders that would never come. And because Ignis didn’t talk about it, because he carried it with quiet dignity, it felt selfish, somehow, to fall apart in front of someone who was already broken.
So they danced around the grief. Prompto helped where he could: guiding Ignis through crowded streets, reading out supply lists, describing all the ways in which the world had changed. And Ignis didn’t push too hard. That was the unspoken agreement. Help, but don’t ask. Stay close, but don’t dig.
They both fell out of step sometimes. Sometimes he just had to resign himself to not even being able to leave his bed, let alone the apartment. Sometimes he aimed for light and landed too close to bitter. Sometimes a throwaway joke tightened Ignis’ jaw in that quiet, worried way. Sometimes - often - his nightmares and panic were too obvious to hide, and sometimes Ignis tried prying a bit too much into how he was really doing whilst Prompto kept on skittering away from talking about anything of real importance until they both ended up stewing in frustration for the rest of the day.
It wasn’t great. But it was fine. It had to be.
When Iggy didn’t need him, or more shamefully, he needed a break, Prompto followed Gladio’s lead and picked up his gun again, signing on for occasional hunts.
He couldn’t really go out alone; he wasn’t a fighter like others. On the road, he’d always preferred to hang back and provide well-timed backup rather than rush directly into the fray. But well-timed backup was a sought-after luxury these days, and the hunters were grateful for anything that could help get their people home safe. Even if some of them didn’t like that the help was coming from someone like him.
It was through a hunting job that Prompto learned Gladio had been recruited barely a month after leaving, for a special mission training civilians to defend themselves. It made sense. Gladio thrived in action, in leadership. Of course, he’d find a new purpose fast.
Ignis wasn’t far behind.
Despite everything, despite the hiccups along the way, he adapted with startling speed. By the three-month mark, Prompto’s help had dwindled to the occasional arm offered on uneven terrain. Ignis insisted he didn’t need it.
Truthfully, he didn’t. All Prompto was doing now was slowing him down.
One afternoon in the fourth month, Prompto came back from a supply run to the smell of rosemary and seared meat. The scent hit him before he even opened the door- warm, familiar and grounding. Ignis was cooking, just like he always had.
The kitchen looked different to how he used to arrange things on the road, of course. The knives were arranged by feel, not by sight. The spice rack had shifted, each jar meticulously labelled in braille, a task Prompto had taken on in the early days with trembling hands and a quiet desperation to be useful. He’d spent hours hunched over the tiny dots, double-checking every label, hoping it would help Ignis feel even a little more at home in the dark. And now, here he was. Moving with ease. No hesitation, no assistance. No need for Prompto.
Prompto stood in the doorway longer than he meant to, watching. Something in his chest tightened. It wasn’t jealousy, or even sadness. Just the familiar ache of being outgrown.
It was only a matter of time after that before Ignis revealed he’d been approached by what remained of the Crownsguard. Strategic support. Administrative command. A role that didn’t need eyes, just a mind sharp enough to cut through chaos.
Prompto was happy for him. Really. But the more Ignis stood on his own, the more Prompto felt like dead weight. And that, at least, was a problem with an easy fix.
He upped his mission count. Spent more nights at the hunter dorms. Eventually, moving out wasn’t a decision; it was inevitability. He could go where he was needed. Stop dragging Ignis down.
Leaving was easy.
The conversation wasn’t.
“Prompto,” Ignis said, arms folded, brow drawn tight with quiet concern, “I don’t feel comfortable letting you leave like this.”
Prompto froze, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, filled with his meagre few possessions. “I’m not a kid, Iggy.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.
The words hung in the air, heavier than either of them expected. Ignis didn’t push back. He just looked sad, to Prompto’s shame. Prompto cleared his throat, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. “I looked after myself for years before I met you guys. I can do it again.”
A pause settled between them, the air thick with tension.
“I don’t doubt that,” Ignis started, voice careful. “You’ve endured more than most would. But this isn't just about survival.” Ignis stepped further into the room, cane tapping once against the floor. “You’ve barely slept. You’re not eating well. And you haven’t spoken to Gladio since he left.”
Prompto flinched. “That’s not-” He stopped himself. “That’s not what this is about.”
Ignis didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was low. “He didn’t know how to help you. That doesn’t mean you deserved to be left behind.”
Prompto’s jaw clenched. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”
“I know.”
Prompto turned away, grabbing his jacket. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine now. I can handle myself.”
Ignis didn’t move. “You said that before. Back when you wouldn’t leave the crystal. Back when you stopped getting out of bed.”
Prompto’s breath hitched. “That was different.”
“Was it?”
Prompto spun around, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know what you want from me, Iggy! You want me to talk about it? About how I can’t sleep without seeing what I went through at that place? About how I kept hearing myself scream and couldn’t tell if it was real or not? You want me to say it out loud when you won’t even talk about what you lost?”
Ignis didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was low. “I talk about it.”
“No, you don’t. You just moved on! Like it was easy.”
Ignis’s voice was steady, but his hands were trembling. “It’s not easy. It’s never been easy.”
Prompto’s anger faltered, and he winced as his own words registered. “Shit. Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Ignis stepped forward again, voice quieter now. “You think the dorms will make all of this easier for you? We’re stronger when we stay together. That’s what Noctis wanted for us. What we’ve always stood for. What you helped build between us.”
“Well Gladio sure didn’t feel that way,” Prompto couldn’t help but bite out. Then, more resigned: “Is that what all this is about? You need to keep an eye on me out of duty to Noct?”
“All of this is because I care about you,” Ignis said simply. “Because I see what you’re carrying, even when you won’t show it. And because you are a friend I value deeply.”
Prompto looked away, throat tight. “I’m sorry Iggy I just. I need to do this.”
A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Ignis nodded, slow and resigned. “Then go. But don’t pretend that you’re not running away.”
Prompto lingered at the door, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes stinging. “Goodbye, Ignis.”
He heard a muted sniff behind him. Prompto left quietly, and the apartment felt impossibly still.
*****
The soft glow of Prompto’s camera screen cut across the dark as he sat slouched on the edge of his bed, eyes glazed, thumb moving out of habit as photo after photo slid by. He didn’t really see them. Just shapes. Light. Smiles that felt three steps removed from reality.
It had been just over two years since Noctis now. Eight months since he’d last seen the others.
Gladio was... somewhere. The thought made his chest tighten. Prompto could reach out. He could. But the sharp, bitter edge of inadequacy always stopped him cold. Gladio was everything Prompto wasn’t: tireless, resolute. Strong.
Iggy had been doing something incredibly official, incredibly important and incredibly classified. He wouldn’t resurface for months. Maybe longer.
Prompto tapped the side of the camera. The image froze.
A photo of him and Noct filled the tiny screen. It was old, back from when the sun was still visible. A New Year’s day in Insomnia. Noct’s grin was careless, Prompto’s arm looped around his shoulders like nothing else mattered. Prompto remembered the way Noct had laughed that day. The way the city had felt alive. The way he’d believed, just for a second, that things might stay that way forever.
He used to be so naive.
His calendar said New Year's passed three days ago. Prompto hadn’t even noticed.
His throat closed. The photo blurred as the screen caught the moisture in his eyes. He swiped at them - sharp and fast, like it might undo something. But the ache stayed.
With reverent care, he turned off the camera and slid it beneath the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.
It would be a long time before he touched it again.
*****
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Prompto. It’s Gladio. Been a while. You used to send me photos of everything: can’t believe I kind of miss those dumb selfies. I’ve called a few times, passed through HQ earlier, asked around. You’re making a habit of dodging me, huh? Call me back when you’re not busy ghosting.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“It’s Gladio. Remember when we did those runs together last spring? You were sharp. Just... quieter than usual. I figured you needed space, didn’t want to push. But it’s been months now, and. Listen. I should’ve said something sooner. You don’t have to go radio silent to deal with this. We’re still here.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“It’s Gladio. You alive? Heard you took the Vaullery job. That team’s green as hell. Stay sharp.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Hey, it's Gladio. Guess talking to your friends is still out of fashion. Look. I know it’s a mess out there, but you’re not the only guy fighting. Would be pretty stupid to try to do it all yourself. Iggy’s worried too. Keeps asking if I’ve heard from you. I don’t have answers for him, man. Step the hell up.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Cor saw your name on a mission report. Said you took point solo. Not smart, Prom. You’re not invincible.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“You need to get it together, Prompto. I know you've been getting my messages. You’ve been through a lot, we all have but right now? You keep going like this and you’re not just gonna get yourself killed, you’re gonna drag everyone else down with you. Answer the damn phone or I’m coming down there and waiting outside your door ‘til you show your face.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Look, I’m not good at… This. I'm sorry I lost my cool, but I'm not sorry for what I said—you needed to hear it. I did visit, you know. Think you were asleep. Your dorm-mates have been filling me in a little. They’re worried too. Just—call me, okay? You aren’t alone in this.”
“Please leave a message after the beep.”
“Prompto? This is Ignis. We just… we just want to know if you are well. We miss you.”
*****
The messages kept coming. Gladio’s voice, rough and familiar. Ignis’s, soft and careful.
He didn’t listen to them anymore. Just watched the notifications pile up until the screen went dark.
Prompto turned off his phone.
*****
Another winter had come and gone. Or at least, he thought it had. The seasons blurred together: just cold, then slightly less cold, then cold again. Spring was halfway spent before Prompto even noticed the air wasn’t biting quite as hard.
It had been getting hard lately. Or maybe it had always been like this, and he’d just run out of distractions.
The phone stayed off.
The camera stayed buried.
Getting out of bed was a challenge. Leaving his dorm had become a once-a-week triumph.
But when he did, he was already halfway geared up before anyone else had even begun to wake up. Took off solo once or twice. Maybe more. Cor ordered him not to. He did it anyway.
He found that he didn’t really care what happened.
Training and missions were the only things he had left. The only things that made him feel like he was still moving, still useful. You didn’t have to think, you just acted. You followed orders, or didn’t. You kept your head down, or didn’t. Either way, at least you were doing something.
People started noticing. He could feel it. The way they looked at him, like they were waiting for something to snap.
He didn’t even know what he was trying to prove anymore! Maybe that he could still feel something other than all consuming emptiness. Maybe nothing at all.
Until that stopped being an option too.
*****
It was late spring of the third year when Cor finally stepped in.
He hadn’t yelled. That honestly made it worse. It had happened in the hallway just outside the dispatch bay: Cor standing still, his arms folded tight across his chest, voice low enough to demand attention.
“You’re reckless, Prompto. And don’t tell me you’re not - I read the report. I saw what happened on that last supply run.”
Prompto had shifted, his fingers curled into fists inside his pockets. “I made a call. It was messy, sure, but-”
“You almost got two rookies killed,” Cor cut in sharply. “You almost got yourself killed. You can justify it however you want, but that wasn’t a call, it was recklessness.”
Prompto felt heat rising in his cheeks, but he held his ground.
“I know! I know. I wasn’t trying to get anyone hurt,” Prompto’s voice was low, shame thick in his throat. The silence that followed made it worse. “I just… I didn’t know how else to keep going. Sitting still doesn’t help-” He swallowed hard. “Out there, at least I’m doing something.”
Cor’s expression softened just slightly. “Look. I get it. I know things haven’t exactly been easy since… everything changed. I’m not here to kick you while you’re down.”
Prompto bristled. “Then why bench me?”
“Because if you go out like this again, I don’t think you'll come back. And if you get someone else hurt along the way…” He paused, exhaling slowly. “I care about you, kid. You may not believe it right now, but I’m trying to keep you alive.” He hesitated, then added, quieter: “You think you’re the only one who wakes up wondering what the hell you’re still doing here?”
Prompto’s voice cracked as he spoke next, quieter. “If I don’t do this, I don’t know what I am anymore.”
Cor looked at him, not with pity, but with something heavier. “You don’t need to figure that out on a battlefield. You may not want to hear it, but I’d rather have you pissed off and alive than just another dogtag to collect.”
Prompto didn’t respond. Just nodded jerkily, throat tight, before stiffly walking away. He didn’t look back. Whispers followed him through the halls. He barely heard them over the ringing in his ears.
*****
It had felt like this before, too. Back when the world first ended and everything shattered. They’d stuck together at first - Ignis, Gladio and Prompto, clinging to the idea that their bond was stronger than the apocalypse. But even then, Prompto knew in his heart that it wouldn’t last.
He had issues he was barely holding together before it all, and since everything that went down at Zegnautus, ever since Noct… Since Noct... Ever since that day, everything had been worse. He’d been worse.
Even on the not-as-terrible days when he managed more than the minimum, the nightmares were a constant. And between having to talk him down from the all-consuming terror every night and coaxing him through the apathy that clouded whatever a day even was in this new world, Prompto could tell that he was eroding the others’ energy and patience. He could see it in the way Ignis’ shoulders sagged a little more each day, the way Gladio’s silences stretched longer and longer. He was wearing them down.
It was at the point where Prompto had gotten into the habit of feigning sleep to make Gladio and Ignis think he at least wasn’t having the nightmares anymore because hey, a little sleep deprivation was a small price to pay to give them a break from having to take care of him like a child every night.
It didn’t make a difference though. After all was said and done, it took just a single month for Gladio to leave Prompto and Ignis in the dust when the night fell.
It was during one of the nights when Prompto was pretending to sleep that Gladio dropped the bombshell to Ignis, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would be gone by the weekend.
“I’m leaving by Friday.”
Ignis was quiet for a long moment before responding, haltingly. “We could come with you. Maybe it’s time we moved on too-”
“No. You need to stay,” Gladio cut in without hesitation. “This place works for you. It’s safe.”
“I’m not fragile,” Ignis replied tightly. “You know that.”
“This isn’t about fragility.”
“Then what is it about, Gladio?”
Gladio laughed without humour. “You’re really gonna make me say it?”
Ignis was quiet. Then: ”Prompto?”
Gladio sighed, his next words sounding as though they were muffled through his hands. “I can’t keep pretending I know what to do. He’s... he’s drowning, and we’re just watching it happen.” His voice broke on the last word. “I hate this. I hate leaving. But I don’t know how to help him.”
Prompto curled tighter into the sheets, tears seeping silently into the pillowcase.
Ignis let out a slow breath. “You leaving won’t solve that.” His voice wavered, just slightly.
“No. But staying won’t either.” He sounded exhausted. Guilty. Like he'd left already in his mind.
There was a pause, and then the sound of movement - Gladio was approaching. He hovered near the bed. The silence stretched until Prompto felt a shift in the blanket, a gentle pull over his shoulder. If Gladio noticed the dampness soaking through the fabric of the pillowcase, he didn’t mention it.
“I’m heading out to help with the hunts,” he said softly. “They need backup and we need the gil.”
There was a pause, and then more quietly, “It might be a while before you see me again.”
Prompto’s breath caught, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
Ignis stood. “Gladio, please be serious about this. You really think that walking away will make it easier? For you, maybe. But not for him.”
Gladio’s jaw clenched. “It’s not about easy. It’s about doing the right thing”
“Then stay and fight for him,” Ignis snapped, barely above a whisper. “Don’t just leave him behind.”
Gladio glanced toward the bed, then lowered his voice. “Let’s not do this here.” Ignis hesitated, jaw tight, then nodded. “Fine. Outside.”
Ignis returned alone. He didn’t say anything. Just sat down on the edge of his bunk, elbows on knees, head bowed.
By morning, Gladio was gone.
*****
Weeks after Cor’s warning, Prompto looked at himself - unshaven, unrested, blank. There was nothing but emptiness reflected back; and wasn’t that a cruel irony.
The dorm light buzzed overhead, flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on or give up. The air smelled faintly of metal and mildew. His gear lay untouched in the corner, half-packed, half-forgotten.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cor’s voice still lingered:
“I care about you, kid. You may not believe it right now, but I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Prompto wasn’t so sure he believed that.
*****
It was summer again. Year three of the night now. His dorm-mates - a pair of hunters from out near the countryside - were gone when he woke that morning, already out on a job. No goodbyes. No awkward questions. Just silence.
They’d be gone for a while too. They’d told him the night before that they'd be away for a few days at least, and if he'd noticed the reluctance in their voices, he hadn't acknowledged it. At the beginning of their cohabitation, they were rarely around (the sight of a cold, empty apartment day after day was almost nostalgic), but they’d been oddly attentive over the last couple of months, hovering like he was made of glass, barely giving him any time to himself. He thinks Cor might have put them up to it. Ignis or Gladio maybe.
But now, the apartment was empty. For the first time in weeks.
It was the only window he’d get. And he was ready.
Prompto got to work immediately, buzzing with a strange kind of clarity. He scrubbed the apartment top to bottom, folding his clothes, sweeping every surface, smoothing the sheets on his bed like it meant something. He cleaned like he was scrubbing soot from broken walls, like he was clearing the debris of his existence from the ruins of a house already half-collapsed.
He wrote a note for his roommates. They deserved that much for tolerating him for the past couple of years. Just a quick thank-you.
And then, after a long pause and a heavy breath, he left another note, this one for Ignis and Gladio.
He carefully placed his camera beside it.
He hadn’t used it in a long time, not even to look at the photos within it. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually wanted to. But the memory card still held pieces of the Before, snapshots from their journey with Noct, long before the world fractured. Maybe Gladio would want to look through them. Maybe he’d tell Ignis what the light had looked like.
Maybe that was enough.
Prompto packed light: gun, bullets, his phone out of pure habit, though it had been a long time since he’d bothered to turn the thing on. He didn’t take food. Didn’t take armor. It’s not like he needed it now. Just stepped out the door and let it close gently behind him. The door didn’t slam, but the sound still felt like crumbling brick.
Time seemed to skip a little after that, and when he was next aware of himself, Prompto had reached the edge of Lestallum, out of breath and quietly dizzy, like his body didn’t know how to move anymore. The city's glow stretched out behind him, buzzing warm through the misted air. Lestallum had become something of a symbol of hope amongst the people over the last few years, a steady beacon of light in the endless dark. And whilst he could never really bring himself to call it home it was something close to it, so he tried his best to commit the view to memory. But the lights just made his eyes sting, pulled at something in his heart when he looked for too long.
He couldn't turn back now. He didn't want to turn back now.
Prompto swiped at his damp face, drew a breath that didn’t steady him, and stepped away from the light. Each streetlamp behind him blinked out in turn, like the city was forgetting him.
He walked until the city disappeared. Until the road beneath him stopped feeling familiar. Until even the shadows were swallowed by darkness.
Something gave a guttural growl in the near distance.
Prompto cocked his gun, took a shaky breath, and followed the sound to its source. There was no going back now.
It was four years into the night when Prompto walked out into the dark alone.
It was four years into the night when Prompto decided he wasn’t going to come back.