[ he is jostled by the nudge at his shoulder, but he hardly seems to even notice it. head ducking low, eyes still cast downward. lingering over the scuffs toes of his boots, along the handguard of his rifle. prompto's admission is a welcome one; though a part of him knew that situation with victarion hadn't been ideal for either of them, hearing it is much different than assuming it, and even if he would never wish such self-doubt and discouragement on anyone, let alone a good friend like prompto, it's comforting (in a strange way) to know that he is not alone in his feelings. ]

Yeah, [ he echoes quietly, voice thick around a knot in his throat. he tries to swallow around it, but it only seems to grow larger in protest. he hesitates for only just a moment, but in the end he's never been one to really keep things to himself anyway. ]

I don't know if I'm cut out for this. [ "this" he punctuates with a vague gesture at everything. the rifle, the insignia no longer pinned to his chest. ] Back home, I was a paladin of Voltron. A defender of the universe. But back home, I kind of had to be. There wasn't really anyone else around. But here...

[ here, there's so many of them with different abilities, different skills and gifts. even among his friends, he'd always been the average one. compared to everyone else here, why should he even bother? ]

The people here should be protected by someone who can actually do it, right?