Work Text:
You loved his freckles.
You don’t think you’ve ever said it outloud, but you knew you showed it. Whenever you would sit together, by the campfire, in the hotel rooms, outside the RVs, you would always be tracing his freckles. It was usually his arms, talking quietly together while you ran your fingers gently between the spots. He never seemed to mind the fact you rarely looked into his eyes when you talked, preferring instead to focus on his skin.
Sometimes you thought his skin was the most perfect thing about him. He had a few scars, like anyone else, and even some he was self conscious about. Little imperfections about him that he tried to hide from you, but you were blind to the little imperfections his skin held. To you they weren’t imperfections at all, they just made him more beautiful.
You loved everything about him of course, even the way he would awkwardly pull away from you when you got too affectionate in public, or the way he would always resituate himself as soon as you got comfortable. He could be so annoying sometimes, with his little quirks, but really you loved it when you find him annoying. Mostly because it helped you cope with the fact you could never find yourself as perfect as you found him.
Most of the time when you two had time alone, you would find yourself curled in his lap or pressed to his chest. You don't often get opportunities to run your hands over his face, but you always took advantage of the time. You would run the pads of your fingers along every part of his face, over his eyelids and his lips, marveling at this perfect being that you could call yours. It was almost automatic at some point, he would close his eyes and you would indulge yourself in your significant other’s perfection. He didn’t really mind, and he’d said so before when you had asked, afraid you were making him uncomfortable.
His eyes held the sky and his skin held a map, he was your entire world in a single perfect being and he had no idea. You could say it a thousand times and he would never be able to fully comprehend just how accurate it was. He had others after all, but all you had was him.
Not to say you didn’t count the boys as your friends, they just meant a lot more to Prompto than to you. For you Prompto was your entire world and the boys were part of the distant universe, the boys were things you spent time with and admired while Prompto kept you alive.
For Prompto, you and the boys were his entire world. It just wasn’t the same.
You could spend everyday doing nothing but tracing pictures over his shoulders and down his back, up his arms and across his chest. Every single image would make him more beautiful, he was the universe and every blemish, every mark, and every freckle was a star that made him even more marvelous. Some days you would try in vain to kiss every single freckle that covered him, always losing count as you lose yourself in him.