You were alone on the balcony when he found you, quiet boots on metal, the soft click of a shutter before a word was said.

"Gotcha," Prompto murmured, stepping beside you with his camera still in hand. His smile was boyish but there was something sincere beneath it. "You always look good in this light."

He rubbed his neck sheepishly.

"I know you are not big on birthdays. That makes two of us, actually." He chuckled. "But... I had this dumb idea and I figured if I do not do it today, I never will."

From his back pocket, he pulled out a small handmade album, its cover was leather, slightly frayed at the edges. Inside were photos. Not just any photos. Quiet moments. You sleeping under the stars. A shared laugh with him by the fire. The time you both got caught in the rain. Every photo had a handwritten caption, little notes and inside jokes only the two of you would understand.

"I took these without you knowing. Most of them, anyway. I wanted to collect the way you are when no one is looking," he said, suddenly serious. "Because… sometimes I think you forget how much you matter to this world."

He looked away then, scratching behind his ear.

"I guess… this is my way of saying I'm really glad you were born."

He handed you the album, fingers brushing yours.

Then without warning he quickly raised the camera again, grinning through the lens.

"Smile for me, birthday star."

Click.

That one would stay just for him.