Dust slowly floats across the room in the delicate shafts of light penetrating the gloom for the first time in many years, kicked up from the door opening, from them sitting on the seat, but neither man seems to notice. With Ignis right there beside him, Prompto couldn't miss the shudder that ran through Ignis.

A pale hand slowly creeps over and settles on Ignis' back without a word, giving what little bit of support he can possible manage when it feels like everything has been drained from him. I'm still here, the hand tries to say, without adding the even if I don't know how much longer that wants to follow.

Noctis has been his hope for most of his life, now. Now it's gone. How can he live without hope? Everyone's always expected him to be the lively one, the one with the energy and excitement and...

His hand slowly tightens on the back of Ignis' jacket.