[ Whether or not they're supposed to discuss isn't really the question. There's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with it. It's fine. He's worked so hard to come so far in convincing himself of that, his friends have worked so hard. And yet, there's something about being slapped in the face with it so suddenly like this that he's taken aback, gripping his seat, knuckles white.
— That is, until the nervous tics kick in, and Prompto takes his right wrist in his left hand, grip tight as he worries at his bottom lip.
It's fine. It's just a dumb game, right?
He releases the breath he's been holding, though it tumbles gracelessly from his lungs, colliding with words and mangling them on his tongue. ]
Oh. Uh — y-yeah. Guess I...never told you about that, d-did...did I.
[ And there's something...almost shameful about that. If there's anyone Prompto should have been comfortable telling something like this, it's Connor. But it never came up, and now here they are. ]
no subject
— That is, until the nervous tics kick in, and Prompto takes his right wrist in his left hand, grip tight as he worries at his bottom lip.
It's fine. It's just a dumb game, right?
He releases the breath he's been holding, though it tumbles gracelessly from his lungs, colliding with words and mangling them on his tongue. ]
Oh. Uh — y-yeah. Guess I...never told you about that, d-did...did I.
[ And there's something...almost shameful about that. If there's anyone Prompto should have been comfortable telling something like this, it's Connor. But it never came up, and now here they are. ]