“Easy, easy,” Prompto says, his voice soft but tinged with concern. His normally bright, playful demeanor is subdued as he kneels in front of you, rummaging through his pack for a med kit. “You really got yourself in a tough spot, huh?”

You wince as he carefully peels back the torn sleeve of your shirt to examine the wound. The cut is deep, but not too serious—nothing a few stitches and a bandage can't fix. Prompto’s touch is surprisingly gentle as he cleans the wound with a disinfectant.

His fingers linger just a little too long on your skin, his eyes focused on your injury, but his mind clearly elsewhere. He lets out a shaky breath as he begins to wrap the bandage around your arm. "You’ve gotta stop scaring me like this, you know," he says, his voice low, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.