[ Call it a nervous tic, call it a flesh-memory, a visceral, gripping fear, but as she asks that question, Prompto's hand tightens in his shirt, right below his sternum. There's a scar there, a recent addition, though by appearance it looks like it has been there for ages. Even so, it's new to him, as are all the memories associated with it, with that simple, straightforward question.
He swallows thickly, his gaze still not lifting from the floor. ]
Some of Rasyc's goons. Got, uh...got the better of me.
[ What a hilarious understatement. ]
'm fine now, though. [ He is quick to add, even if that much is evident. ] Y-you should've seen the other guy...
[ He didn't, but he can make a damn good guess about what happened...after. ]
no subject
He swallows thickly, his gaze still not lifting from the floor. ]
Some of Rasyc's goons. Got, uh...got the better of me.
[ What a hilarious understatement. ]
'm fine now, though. [ He is quick to add, even if that much is evident. ] Y-you should've seen the other guy...
[ He didn't, but he can make a damn good guess about what happened...after. ]