( prompto's pretty sure his face is hot enough to rival the fires of in the heart of ravatogh at this point, and just when he thinks it couldn't get any crazier aranea's lips are on his own and the gunner has never been more convinced that spontaneous combustion is a very, very real thing even as he leans back into it. for those few seconds, though, prompto can almost forget about the crapsack town they're both trapped in. they are, at the very least, still in this together.

the colour in his cheeks hasn't yet left entirely, but when they pull apart the blond has it in himself to look aranea in the eye. ) It's nothing. Seriously. Y'don't need to thank me. And I don't mean it's nothing like "it didn't mean a thing" but it was more of -- you know... the "no sweat" kinda way? Sorry, I just mean -- you're really strong, okay? And I'm not saying you aren't but even so, dying couldn't have been fun. ( especially for aranea, his own despair aside. just thinking about it triggers a surge of some sort of longing, and prompto shifts slightly to bump their noses together, seeking comfort in the contact. ) Let's maybe not do that again.