[ At first, he's frozen. Strange, considering that it isn't cold. Despite the fact that snow is swirling around him, making his head spin, he isn't cold. Yet he shivers, wraps his arms around himself, if only because it feels wrong. Wrong is putting it lightly; he feels like he doesn't belong here, like an unwanted guest. He doesn't like this. But it's a familiar sight-- ]
Prompto.
[ He breathes it more than speaks it. It hadn't taken long for him to make the connection; he'd just found Prompto in a blizzard like this not that long ago. It chills Noctis to the bone; what's got Prompto so wound up, wound up so tight he might snap at the smallest nudge? Noctis can't tell, and he has no idea.
He knows that he needs to find Prompto, that's all. It's a thought that repeats itself over and over in his mind, a chant, a prayer, a desperate whisper that soon turns into a deafening roar. He can ask questions later, wonder about all of this later. Prompto comes first. ]
Prompto!
[ He yells out his best friend's name, heart thudding in his chest, so hard Noctis thinks it might be audible. He pushes onward, and-- ]
Wh-- What the hell?
[ It's the mouth that gets him to pause. The mouth that looks so much like Prompto's; Noctis's heart leaps up into his throat, and he staggers, like the world is falling out beneath him. This is bad. It's bad, worse than bad, and he hasn't found Prompto yet. If he fails Prompto, the single most important person here-- who the hell is he?
... A nightmare, if the image of himself is anything to go by. Noctis yells out and raises his arms, his mind too scrambled and racing too fast for him to pull anything out of his damn Armiger. He pushes onward. Pushes as hard as he can--
The voice echoes, echoes like in his nightmares. Noctis stumbles, stiffens, and he covers his ears. Nothing else matters; it passes in a blur. He's panicking now, breath coming out in ragged gasps, his thoughts racing, one word repeating over and over again--
He halts, his voice cutting through everything. Noctis lets out a yell and goes to him, his father's sword appearing in his hand. But he falters--the nightmare Prompto is wearing Prompto's face. He can't-- raising his sword to him is painful, and he trembles. ]
april 15
Prompto.
[ He breathes it more than speaks it. It hadn't taken long for him to make the connection; he'd just found Prompto in a blizzard like this not that long ago. It chills Noctis to the bone; what's got Prompto so wound up, wound up so tight he might snap at the smallest nudge? Noctis can't tell, and he has no idea.
He knows that he needs to find Prompto, that's all. It's a thought that repeats itself over and over in his mind, a chant, a prayer, a desperate whisper that soon turns into a deafening roar. He can ask questions later, wonder about all of this later. Prompto comes first. ]
Prompto!
[ He yells out his best friend's name, heart thudding in his chest, so hard Noctis thinks it might be audible. He pushes onward, and-- ]
Wh-- What the hell?
[ It's the mouth that gets him to pause. The mouth that looks so much like Prompto's; Noctis's heart leaps up into his throat, and he staggers, like the world is falling out beneath him. This is bad. It's bad, worse than bad, and he hasn't found Prompto yet. If he fails Prompto, the single most important person here-- who the hell is he?
... A nightmare, if the image of himself is anything to go by. Noctis yells out and raises his arms, his mind too scrambled and racing too fast for him to pull anything out of his damn Armiger. He pushes onward. Pushes as hard as he can--
The voice echoes, echoes like in his nightmares. Noctis stumbles, stiffens, and he covers his ears. Nothing else matters; it passes in a blur. He's panicking now, breath coming out in ragged gasps, his thoughts racing, one word repeating over and over again--
Prompto, Prompto, Prompto, PromptoPromptoPrompto--
He halts, his voice cutting through everything. Noctis lets out a yell and goes to him, his father's sword appearing in his hand. But he falters--the nightmare Prompto is wearing Prompto's face. He can't-- raising his sword to him is painful, and he trembles. ]
Let him go!