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Just Skin and Bones

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Another weird dream again.

Prompto’s gotten used to them by now, but he still wakes up in a daze, unsteady on his feet. And unlike most of his other dreams (and nightmares), he remembers most of the details when he wakes. 

Most of them. They’re blurry, though, like a painting that’s been left out too long in the rain. He’s out in the wild, in a car with three others and no matter how much he tries, he can’t remember their names. Their appearances change too. The big one has the shortest hair of them all in one dream, and the longest hair in the next. And one of them has glasses that hides their eyes, he thinks, but a memory of them with scars that hide them is clearer.

He doesn’t think much about it, chalks it up to a weird side-effect of watching too many action movies and playing too many RPGs. But there’s always that nagging in the back of his mind, this weird feeling in his chest when he thinks about his dream.


 

Prompto’s made peace with the fact that he has no friends, and will probably never have any. He still wishes he could talk to somebody about his dreams, though, and get a second opinion on it on those days where his dreams are all he can think about. 

On those days, he’s usually struck by a strange sense of wanderlust, to walk away from everything and never come back. To journey out into the wild and forget about Insomnia. But no, he’s stuck here in a high school with nobody to care.

He’s got a lab partner, and they’re quiet. When they introduced themselves, they were so quiet. Prompto could barely hear them, but he swore he heard a ‘Noct.’ He doesn’t know where it came from, but it just sounds so… right on his tongue. 

The guy swears his name is Noctis, though, and nobody’s ever called him Noct. In his mind, Prompto still does because it’s strange thinking of him as anybody else.

They’re leaving the building one day, having had to stay after school to work on their lab, and Prompto waves bye. Noct— Noctis does too and when he turns, Prompto watches him leave, anxiety settling deep in his stomach. He’s gotta be pretty lonely if a lab partner is the closest thing he’s got to a friend and if their simple goodbye hurts this much.

He feels like he should call out to Noctis, stop him from walking away. Instinct tells him to do that, but Prompto’s always been pretty good at ignoring that.

(When he goes home, his thoughts are filled with ice-blue eyes that gaze at him with more warmth than Prompto realizes).


 

In the middle of the night, Prompto wakes up with a gasp. He’s breathing hard and blood’s pounding in his ears, but through the dark, he doesn’t see anybody in his room. Listens hard and doesn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t having a nightmare, either (there’s only so many times he can get scared of experiment tables and red eyes and metal clanking). In fact, he was having one of his nicer dreams.

One of those dreams where he was, y’know, with his friends (he doesn’t know if he can call them that and it seems pathetic to call fake-people his friends but it just seems right) and they were camping somewhere?

There were chairs and a tent and a fire that glowed blue instead of orange. It was growing dark, but he and the others were enjoying themselves over a meal. 

It was a peaceful dream, so Prompto is surprised when he touches his pillow and it’s damp under his fingers. He tentatively touches his cheeks—there are tear tracks running down his face and his eyes are itching. 

That strange feeling is back in his chest again, the one that makes him want to run away, to cry. He should probably move and get himself cleaned up, but his limbs refuse to move and keep him sitting on his bed, staring out the window, until dawn breaks.