Note: contains mild episode Prompto spoilers and mentions of child abuse in later chapters.

1.

Cindy's getting ready for bed when he shows up at the Hammerhead, battered and bloody. He's too thin, his face is sunburned, and his lips are broken and chapped. Worst of all, is the wild, fractured look in his eye.

It's been a while since she last saw him, and time has not been kind. She once adored him for his sweet disposition and bright smile. After all, who could resist someone so full of life and laughter? He was always her favorite for that reason alone, but the sorrowful, pitiful man sitting in the middle of her garage is not that vivacious boy anymore.

She heard the news three months ago and cried for a whole week. She never thought she'd see any of the others again, but here he is, trembling like a kicked dog with his rifle clutched to his chest like it's the only thing that will save him from drowning.

"Prompto?"

"I didn't know where else to go," he says and his voice is raw and hoarse. "I'm sorry."

Cindy drops to her knees on the floor and takes his dirty, bruised face in her hands. His lips tremble and he makes a sound that hurts her all the way to her bones.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," she says.

She can't tell him it will be okay, because it won't. Not right now and maybe not ever. It isn't right to lie and Cindy knows well what loss can do to a person.

"Why don't you come inside, get cleaned up," she says. "Maybe get you somethin' to eat."

He nods and Cindy helps him to his feet. His steps are slow and pained, and Cindy can see why.

"You're a bone rack," she says. "How long you been walkin'?"

"A while."

For three days, he doesn't leave Cindy's couch. She begins to worry that he won't come back. She's so worried, it distracts her from her work. When she smashes and breaks three of the fingers on her right hand, she splints her hand and closes the garage for the day.

She returns to her house and roots through the kitchen pantry for a potion. She finds one on the shelf in the back and sits at the counter to unwrap the bindings. From the couch, Prompto watches from a nest of blankets, his haunted eyes lucid for the first time since he showed up.

"Nothin' to worry yourself over," she promises.

He sits up with a quiet grunt of pain and holds out a hand.

"You're hurt."

"Broke a few bones," she says. "No big deal."

"Please," he says and beckons her to him.

She isn't so injured she can't tend to her own wounds, but she senses this is something he wants to do for her. Not because he thinks she's weak, but because he needs to feel like his efforts are worth something.

It couldn't be more plain. It's written all over his face.

His hands are gentle as he finishes unbinding the splints and his expression darkens when he sees the bruised, swollen digits. He doesn't talk as he works, and he won't look her in the eye, but his ministrations bring relief, and the bones set and heal, and all that's left is a bit of stiffness in the joints.

He hasn't bathed since the night he got here. His hair is matted and greasy and his sunburned cheeks peel.

"Startin' to smell a little ripe there, Mister," she says lightly. "How about a long, hot soak in the bath? Maybe a change of clothes?"

She has to help him to the bathroom, and she runs the water while he strips off his dirty shirt. She adds some bubbles, just for fun, then leaves him to get clean on his own.

"Throw your stuff out and I'll give it a wash," she says on her way out. "My bathrobe's on the back of the door."

She starts a load of laundry, then goes to the garage and finds a clean pair of coveralls that'll fit for the time being. He doesn't have much but the clothes he came in.

Back in the kitchen, she makes sandwiches and coffee. By the time the pot finishes brewing, a sweet-scented Prompto emerges from the bath, wrapped in her chocobo yellow bathrobe.

Her laughter makes him blush.

Prompto can't focus on any one thought for long. They all eventually lead back to Noctis, to Luna, whom he never got the chance to properly thank, and to the what they gave up to spare the world from darkness.

Luna, who steered him to Noctis. Noctis, who accepted his friendship without question, his first and best friend.

It hurts too much.

Before Noctis, Prompto never had anything to call his own. To have that ripped away, it's more than he can handle, even after so long an absence, because even in his absence, there was still hope.

That hope is gone now, and he isn't sure he can move on. He isn't sure he'll ever be okay.

He isn't sure why he's here. He walked for days and weeks and months without thought, surviving on instinct without a plan. Maybe to prove that he could, maybe with a subconscious desire to be killed by something he couldn't fell on his own.

Now, he sits across from a woman he fell head over heels for when he was more naïve and innocent.

She's kind, understanding, and she doesn't ask questions he's not ready to answer. If he isn't careful, he might fall for her again.

His heart is too broken and battered to take that risk. After all, loving someone gave them the power to hurt you, and Prompto has been hurt enough.

Prompto's been here a week now, and Cindy begins to wonder just how bad off he is. He gets up on his own now, around dawn, and disappears into the desert for the better part of the day. When he returns, he's covered in dust and monster blood, and sometimes comes back with sacks full of loot and cooking ingredients.

It's another two weeks before she understands what he's doing.

She follows him out one morning and finds him at a nearby campsite. The sun's barely up but he's already covered in dirt, and there's a deep scratch on his arm. He peers at her from the ledge above, his chin against his arms that are folded over his knees. He's not angry, just lost.

At the top, she joins him and takes in the view. She doesn't expect him to volunteer information, and is content to sit with him for as long as he'll allow it.

"This is the first place we ever camped," he says after a while.

"Bet that was fun," she said. "Bunch of city boys roughin' it out here in the wild."

"I thought so," he says. "Exciting, you know? Being with friends. On an adventure. We thought we were invincible."

His eyes take on that distant, haunted look again.

"I wish it was still that easy," he says. "The only thing we had to worry about was Noct sleeping through it all and making sure he ate something besides junk food."

Cindy wishes she could make that look go away. His wounds are still raw, still bleeding, and they're not the kind that a potion can heal.

"Guess I thought coming here would help," he says. "You know, to remember the good stuff instead of the bad."

"Did it?"

"It just makes me miss him more."

"You might always miss him," Cindy says. "It ain't easy, lettin' go."

He glances at her and then drops his chin against his arms again.

"Does it ever stop hurting?" he wonders.

"No," she says. "It just hurts less after a spell."

A hot breeze sweeps across the plain and Cindy watches a dirt tornado form and then disappear in a cloud of dust. There and then gone. Like a lot of people she's known.

"I guess I should be moving on soon," he says. "Can't sleep on your couch forever."

She doesn't want him to leave. Not yet. Not in this sad and broken state. Not while she's sure if he goes, he'll find himself outmatched out there on the plain, whether by accident or design.

"You most certainly can," she says. "For as long as you need it."

"I don't want to be in your way," he says.

"You ain't, sweetie," she says. "You ain't."

He stops going out to the desert unless he's picked up a hunting job. Most days, he helps Cindy at the garage and tries to shut out the barrage of memories that plague him.

They settle into a comfortable routine. Sometimes, they play cards after dinner or sit outside and watch the stars. She comforts him whether he wants it or not on the days he's not okay, and soothes him back to sleep when he wakes from nightmares. Sometimes, she even sings him lullabies, something no one has ever done for him before.

Before he knows it, he's been at the Hammerhead for a year and he's left permanent dents in Cindy's couch. They make him think about moving on again, but all he can picture is an endless string of motel rooms and lonely nights without a friendly voice to chase away the darkness.

"You don't take pictures anymore," she says one afternoon.

There's grease on her cheek and a screwdriver in her hand, and Prompto's sure she's still the most gorgeous creature he's ever laid eyes on.

He can't remember the last picture he took. He doesn't even remember what happened to his old camera, or the photos from their journey. All he knows, is memories are too painful to document anymore.

"Shame," she says. "You were real good at it."

He forgets about this conversation until his birthday, when Cindy presents him with a brand new camera and a case to go with it. It leaves him speechless and near tears. All he can do is nod at her and fall in love all over again.

Cindy, barefoot in a pale blue sundress, her hair free of her trucker cap, is the first picture he takes in far too long.