Energetic rock riffs flowed from his radio -an oldie but goodie- and Prompto thrummed the air guitar to the intro, jamming to the music.

"All the...small things-" he broke into singing as he finished buttoning his shirt and went to try and rake his hair into a more ruly composition.

"True care...truth brings. I'll take one lift, your ride...best trip!" His comb substituted for a makeshift microphone as Prompto sang his heart out, his morning preps suddenly all but forgotten.

"Always...I know, you'll be at my show." He and Noct always used to mime the actions; this time was no different. "Watching, waiting, commiserating." Chuckling to himself, he finished with his hair. A quick once over, satisfied, and Prompto went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

'Say it ain't so, I will not go turn the lights off, carry me home-'

Even as he was brushing, he kept humming to the song.

"Say it ain't so, I will not go turn the lights off, carry me home!" Prompto pointed his forefinger at his reflection as he directed the lyrics to his image.

'Keep your head still, I'll be your thrill

The night will go on, the night will go on

My little windmill'

Finished, Prompto gave his hair one last finishing touch before nodding to mirror Prompto, offering his double a small grin. The next song had come on. Humming the tune, the boy grabbed his uniform jacket and, after making sure he had everything he needed for school, flicked the music off. He was out of the door in a few long strides.

"I'm leaving…" he half-muttered to the empty entrance hall. He didn't even know why he kept saying that. Prompto had learned not to expect an answer. His parents always left before him, and they'd be back late in the evening. If they were coming back, that is. His father hadn't been home for the past two nights, and his mother had said maybe the grand total of ten words to her son over that time, most of which consisted of 'there's food in the fridge'. Sighing, Prompto pushed the door shut behind him, eyes on the ground.

The last of the dew still glimmered in the morning sun as he locked the door and set off for his destination. The streets were mostly empty, save for the elderly couple living next door. The pair were having their morning tea on the veranda. Prompto waved them a greeting as his steps almost automatically sped up into a leisurely jog.

His neighborhood was a quiet one; nothing ever happened in this part of the city. The most disturbance the area ever saw were the occasional raccoons finding a dumpster to feast on. Unassuming, if one were to describe it.

Perhaps that's why Prompto never paid attention to the row of parked cars by the side of the road as he passed them by.

Perhaps he should have.

Perhaps then he would have noticed that in the red SUV, sat a man. And that as he passed the car, the man got out, and started after him.

Prompto was maybe four blocks from his home when he first heard the rapidly approaching revving of a car. The noise came from nearby, was it the next street? Prompto's brows furrowed. "The hell…?"

The sounds were coming closer.

Prompto let out an angry bark as a car sped towards him on the narrow street. He scampered back just as the car screeched to a halt right in front of him. There was barely two feet between his nose and the polished black metal.

"Hey! Watch it! You could've-"

His sentence was interrupted as something heavy slammed into his back. The force of it was enough to send him flailing. It didn't register when someone grabbed him, but the next thing he knew, he was being shoved against the car roughly.

The impact knocked the air out of him a little. Slightly disoriented, he was gasping for breath, but the weight on his back pressed his chest tightly against the metal, making breathing difficult.

"H-hey! What're you- mmmph?! Mmmph!" A surge of panic splayed his eyes wide as the hand clasped over his nose and mouth pressed down harder, robbing him of air. Instinctively, he tried to pry the offending limb away, and for a second he managed to tear it off to gasp in some much needed air.

"Help-!"

Someone gripped his hair and smashed his face into the metal. The initial impact left him dizzy with the burning scrape on his forehead. He wasn't given any reprieve; his face met the metal again, tearing a pained moan from his throat. Prompto had gone limp in the arms that had now wrapped around his waist like a lasso.

His vision swam with the sudden pain and dizziness. He only managed a small, protesting sound when the hand came back over his face, and clamped down. Wild, animalistic fear rushed through him again. Instincts had him thrashing as he started suffocating. But weak with the disorientation, his fight was feeble and quickly wrung out of him as the vice grip around his body tightened. He was moaning into the flesh, wordless cries as his head spun. The blackness loomed at the edges of his vision, his struggles got weaker and weaker as his lungs came alive with the burning demand for air.

Prompto wanted to scream at his body to get up and keep fighting even when the death-like fatigue spread into his limbs. Starting from the fingers and toes up, it was like his limbs had turned to lead, and as much as his swirling mind still tried to coax them to move, he was going still in the arms that now supported his fainting weight. The ache in his chest was fading out as his eyelids drooped, leaden like the rest of him, as Prompto's rebellious mind was snuffed out. The last he knew before the darkness took him was a dark, splotchy figure rising from the car and two voices talking. There, his eyelids lost the battle with gravity.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXV

Rumbling.

That's so loud.

It hurt.

And why was everything trembling? He was nauseous.

Stop it.

With a throaty groan, Prompto shifted around a bit. There was an instant sting on his wrist at the pull. "Ugh…" The blue eyes cracked open, to look at darkness, and he gasped.

"Ugh?!" Now instantly awake, the earlier panic flooding back, and his initial reaction was to move. A bad idea, as the sudden but fleeting pain grazed his wrists again. "Gh!" He tried again, more carefully, only to still with a deep-rooted fear now creeping into his core as his hands remained confined behind his back lest he wanted to irritate the sting there any further.

His head was throbbing, a warmness there that didn't feel right. His world was turning slowly, spiraling to the left. Groaning, he laid his head down, to try to anchor it from carouselling, but the constant trembling was making it difficult. His stomach turned viciously and he gagged lightly, trying to hold back the nausea as his eyes moved in the darkness.

There wasn't even a sliver of light. His breaths quickly turned into light pants. He was lying on his side, and there was the constant trembling. This rumble too…

Prompto's blood ran cold as he added that up.

Groaning, the boy tried to wriggle his hands again. Gritting his teeth against the burning, he struggled, but was forced to give up when the bindings only dug deeper into his flesh at each twist. His gaze went around the darkness near frantically - something, even a glimpse, anything!

There was nothing. Prompto shifted around, only to feel the closeness of the wall at his back, the top of his head brushing against something else. Everything was trembling.

The initial panic had him thrashing. The walls were closing in on him. He was gasping for air. The primal urge to run had his blood thumping in his ears as the bindings burned his wrists. The air was running out. He was suffocating!

"Let me out of here!"

It hurt! His side, his head, his arms...hurt.

His chest burned. The vertigo was back with a vengeance, and the boy curled in on himself with a small whimper as the bile threatened to rise into his throat again. His head spun, the constant, unkind tremors now like a horseback ride as he could feel himself swaying.

He was going to be sick.

The air was pressing down on him. His panting was hot and heavy in his ears; Prompto was hyperventilating. The oblivion teased his mind now instead of his vision. Squeezing his eyes shut against the dizziness, the blond pressed his chin to his chest.

"Help me," was whispered into the darkness. It wouldn't have made it past the roar of the engine anyway.

XVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXVXV

The trembling had got worse in the past few minutes. Like the road was in lousy condition. Prompto's eyes were squeezed shut. Not that it made any real difference, but it helped with the nausea.

He'd rather have the darkness of his own volition if he had to choose.

The small breaths the sole thing he focused on, the boy laid limp on the rough bedding. He might have fainted a little, Prompto didn't know. It was all so hazy. Just the tremors - and the ache.

He whimpered as the car hit a bump; his stomach lurched. Gritting his teeth to fight back the discomfort, the blond drew in small breaths through his nose.

What was happening? Where were they even going?

And why him?

Prompto had to will those thoughts away. He didn't dare to venture there, not now, or it might trigger another panic attack. He breathed deep, and focused on counting his breaths out loud. He couldn't afford to lose it. Whatever this was, when they eventually would arrive to wherever the hell it was they were taking him, he needed to be ready.

And as it seemed, the when would be sooner than later. They were slowing down, the tremors eased out as the car slid to a halt and the engine was killed.

His heart thrummed as the doors were opened, then slammed shut. There were steps outside, coming his way. His gaze followed the sounds in the darkness. When they stopped just outside, the young man gulped, torn inside. Part of him was scared. Scared of what was going on, what he would find when the hatch opened - but oh gods just please open it up already! He couldn't take this anymore. The metal dug into his skin, he just wanted to get out-!

There was a clunk, and Prompto immediately squeezed his eyes shut as the too bright -angry, searing- light flooded in. Colors danced behind his eyelids, and little by little he cracked his eyes open again to look at the dark form looming over him.

"The kid's awake," the raspy voice sounded mildly surprised.

What's that supposed to mean? Prompto didn't care. Just get him out of here already!

"There, use that," another voice replied almost disinterestedly.

There was a sound of rustling, and Prompto wanted to cry as the plastic bag was entered into his field of vision. Panic unlike any he had ever known rushed through him in a gush of adrenaline as the form bent down. He was thrashing, trying to escape, but despite his protests and pleas, the bag was still slid over his head, and tied below his chin.

Losing his cool, unintelligent sounds of discomfort rained down from his lips as he tried to wriggle the bag off. The plastic stuck onto his sweat-sheened skin, and he tried to shake his head to break the contact, but it would only stick again. He was grabbed roughly and hauled out from the trunk. Carelessly enough for his knee to hit the edge, pain flaring up and down his leg.

Prompto wasn't ready when he was shoved forward. "Walk!" He almost lost his footing, but managed to stay on his feet as he stumbled forward blindly. He was gasping, the plastic sticking to his face on every shuddery intake. The dizziness was rushing in fast again. A small whimper built up in his throat.

There were hands upon him, slid beneath his arms, the action pulling on his wrists. Seeing no other way, Prompto surrendered himself to be walked, all the while drawing in small, light puffs, trying to focus solely on that, and block out everything else.

The light diminished suddenly, and the air against his skin felt a bit cooler. As he trampled forward, there were sounds like glass being crushed beneath his shoes. There was a slight height difference beneath his shoe, something elevated from the ground, and his steps careful, he crossed a threshold into cooler air.

Prompto was left gasping greedily when the bag was finally pulled off. Only after the third inhale did he raise his eyes to meet the man sneering down at him.

The man looked around 35. His long brown hair was tied into a ponytail, the style highlighting the high cheekbones and the sharp jaw. There was something wild in the hazel eyes that were narrowed into jestery slits. He was wearing an expensive-looking button-up shirt, which complemented his slender build.

"Prompto Argentum," he mused. He didn't look like his voice. Or, on the contrary, he just might have. Velvety, yet deep. Suave, and deadly.

"Would you like a seat?" He nodded towards a simple chair sitting next to the blond.

"I'd rather stand, thanks," Prompto bit back, jerking against the hold a little.

"I said sit down." There was a pressure in the back of his knee, and the blond crumpled. He was pushed into the chair and, despite his struggles, his hands were pinned behind the backrest, and a hefty rope came around his chest. All the while, the brunet stood watching him, his arms crossed over his chest and an eerily pleased expression on his face as he took in Prompto's twitching.

The other man stepped out from behind him, too. This one almost a head shorter than his friend (still taller than Prompto), he had a lean build, but the clearly defined muscles stood out beneath his long-sleeved shirt. His brown hair was shaved at the sides, leaving a tuft on the top. The shorter man paid no more heed to the boy as he passed them by, and headed deeper into the space, to talk to a third man that was setting up some cables onto what looked like a TV set and some sort of a signal transporter. A router perhaps? It was difficult to tell from this far.

Only now did Prompto come to take a better look around, too. The space was a single room, but there were doors leading to what he presumed were bathrooms and storage. The walls were solid concrete, the dirty windows were barricaded with planks from the inside, only allowing little light through. The worn-out Coernix logo painted onto the wall had been redecorated with numerous layers of graffiti.

This place had been abandoned for a long while. Prompto's jaw slacked as he took note of the old counter that had long since lost the saloon doors leading to the cashier's side. One half hung sadly from its hinges, the story doesn't tell what became of the other one.

The tall man took a chair and sat himself before Prompto . His fingers forming a triangle beneath his chin, the man supported his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward, studying the boy. The way the eyes roamed his body was less to Prompto's liking. It was somehow esurient. He struggled again.

"Who are you people?" Prompto grunted.

Blinking, the man straightened up to lean casually against the backrest. "You don't need to worry your pretty little head with that. Although, if it helps, you can call me Viper."

"Isn't that a bit theatrical?" Prompto snorted.

Viper seemed amused by his taunt, however. "Rather loud-mouthed, aren't you? I think you just hurt my feelings," he brought a hand over his chest mockingly.

"What do you want with me?" Prompto glared at him.

The smile cooling a good few degrees, Viper reached into his pocket - and pulled out Prompto's phone. On the screen, a chocobo figure was holding an envelope in its beak, the sender's name making Prompto's heart skip a beat.

Noct.

Of course…

"Now, I understand that you are in rather friendly terms with the prince."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Prompto snorted angrily.

The rise of the neat eyebrows screamed, Really? "Oh? But it would seem that this 'Noct' is an acquaintance. See what he wrote? 'Prom. Where are you, man?' Sounds rather fond to me."

"Noct's just a name. So what if someone has a similar name to the prince."

The strike came swift and painful. Prompto's left cheek was on fire as the friction raked into his skin. His hair was gripped, head pulled back. "Now, my boy, you're not just being rude, you're flat-out lying," was hissed into his face. "And you should know, I do not like being lied to. And I will always find out if you're not telling me the truth. You had better keep that in mind."

It was disgusting. The scent of this man's cologne way too close, the ripples of panic again pooled in his gut as his personal space was breached. "G-get off me!" Against his better judgment, Prompto kicked the man's shin as hard as he could. There was a yelp of rage, and the grip disappeared. Prompto smirked triumphantly.

His victory was short-lived, though, as Viper's now blazing eyes met his again. Suddenly, Prompto wanted to apologize, to explain, to honest to god beg if only it could have made up for his mistake. "Why, you little...!" There was a cracking sound, and Prompto cried a strangled cry, turned into gurgling by his now broken nose.

His head was pulled back again, almost far enough to cut his airway. "I suggest never doing that again," Viper hissed. "Or you might find that not only am I a man who doesn't like having to repeat himself, I also excel in causing pain beyond any you can ever imagine. And lest you want to test that out, you won't be getting any clever ideas from here on, is this understood?!"

Gasping for air, Prompto nodded what little he could, and the grip was released. Viper sat back onto his chair, arms and legs crossed, a finger tapping his upper arm irritably. "Now look at what you've made me do…"

Prompto didn't. He was barely hearing. Panting through his mouth, he hung his head, blood dripping from his nose onto his lap. Still, or perhaps because of his moment of delusion, what came out of his mouth was raspy and small, but it was still undeniably identifiable as laughter.

"I'm...not telling you guys anything."

There was a brief silence, and Prompto was already waiting for another strike, another jab of pain. Because it would make sense, wouldn't it? If he was to be interrogated, these men would surely try to beat the answers out of him. Prompto watched TV. This is how these things always went. The whole pumping him for information routine. The kidnaps and...and the torture…

He knew how these things went.

But the pain never came. Instead, there was a stifled chuckle. Prompto's confusion was voiced in a small sound.

"Now, don't look so surprised. You see, my dear boy, we don't need anything from you," Viper shook his head, his shoulders shaking a little with contained chuckles.

His teeth grit at the insinuation. He wasn't being questioned? That didn't add up. "Then why am I here? What do you guys want with me?"

Viper didn't answer. Instead, he rose to retrieve something from the countertop -another phone- and tapped on it almost disinterestedly before his expression brightened up as he struck gold. "The real question is, what does he want with you?"

He showed him the screen, a photo. Of him and Noctis, his arm wrapped around the raven's shoulders, the prince looking away and scratching the back of his neck like he always did when he was embarrassed.

Prompto knew that look.

He had been the cause of that look.

"No more games, Mister Best Friend of the Prince."

Prompto could have sworn it was winter, even though the trees were in full bloom outside. With the way his insides turned to ice, it couldn't possibly be anything but.

"Now, how much would you value your friendship with Prince Noctis?"