Prompto’s curled up on your couch, bundled in a blanket like he’s trying to merge with it. His nose is red, eyes a little puffy, and he’s clutching the plush cactuar you gave him like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

You bring him soup and tea. He groans dramatically, flopping his head back. “I’m dying. Tell my chocobo I love him.”

“You sneezed three times,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, but the third one echoed. That was a final boss sneeze.”

You hand him the soup, and he takes it with exaggerated effort, sniffling. But then, quieter: “I like this. You taking care of me.”

You sit beside him, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You always take care of everyone else. Let me do it for once.”

He leans into you without hesitation, warm and soft and just a little pathetic in the sweetest way. “Remind me to get sick more often,” he mumbles.

You laugh, kissing his temple. “Only if I get to be the one nursing you back to health every time.”

His fingers find yours under the blanket. “Deal.”