[Prompto slaps his hand over his mouth, but the outburst's already burst out, too loud over her shaking, wounded honesty. Still watching her, how small she looks, his expression crumbles and he lets out half-breath, chest too calcified with remorse to expand fully.]
No, I didn't... that wasn't what I wanted to say. To you, when I--when.
[The words get tangled up. Tongue-tied always sounds so cute as a descriptor, no one ever talks about how much knots can hurt. He struggles with it and finally shoves out:]
No one likes me. I-I know that's not true anymore, not now, but... it was true. For a long time. And I still--I, I'm trying to explain what happened. Why I... left. [He flinches away from his own weak admission, then lowers everything, voice, head, hands. If he was too loud before, Prompto's maybe too soft now, and growing quieter.] It wasn't because I didn't want to give you the crown. I. I did. Want to. ...I was never going to give it to Ignis.
[Whatever the flowers mean, the crown was never meant for anyone but Summer. Prompto wraps one hand around the other, twists at his fingers, plucks at the fold of muscle in his palm.]
But if I gave it to you and you didn't want it, it would've been--weird, and nobody's ever wanted that from me. I'm nobody. The, the last girl I liked, I think maybe she doesn't even know my name, even after everything we've done for her. And even my parents, they adopted me and it was like they never--never really...
[His eyes are stinging and how unfair is that, when he's the one who hurt her? Ashamed, Prompto presses his lips together and then shakes his head, banishing it all, the excuses, the reasoning. He messed up. A small noise tries to escape and he muffles it, rubbing his knuckles under his nose.]
I'm sorry. I... if there's a flower that means "I'm sorry," I wish I could give it to you. For the flowers I should've given you then.
[Nothing he can do will fix this. He holds his hands low in front of him, palms up, in supplication or surrender before crystal blue light illuminates them, tinkles away, withers. Loose petals, red-yellow, fall to the floor, but in his hands, fresh and unchanged from the day he made it, is the crown. Her crown. White, violet, pink, red.
Prompto holds it close without crushing it.]
I'm a jerk. I picked them because they reminded me of you. And the way I... feel. When I'm with you. [Pink and blooming, that peony. Dandelion bright in her hands. He raises the wreath before his face like a shield so she can't see him bite down on his lip.] I should've given them to you anyway, but now I messed everything up. I'm sorry. I'm not--I've never been good, no matter how hard I try.
[Never been good enough. Never been anything but a failure. Shivering, he tries to swallow.]
Of course you're pretty. You're so pretty, and funny, and, and... and you made me like the color red again. Because it's yours. And I thought--I thought--I didn't want to mess it up and make you not like me anymore, but that was worse, and I'm so. I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to hurt you...
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[Prompto slaps his hand over his mouth, but the outburst's already burst out, too loud over her shaking, wounded honesty. Still watching her, how small she looks, his expression crumbles and he lets out half-breath, chest too calcified with remorse to expand fully.]
No, I didn't... that wasn't what I wanted to say. To you, when I--when.
[The words get tangled up. Tongue-tied always sounds so cute as a descriptor, no one ever talks about how much knots can hurt. He struggles with it and finally shoves out:]
No one likes me. I-I know that's not true anymore, not now, but... it was true. For a long time. And I still--I, I'm trying to explain what happened. Why I... left. [He flinches away from his own weak admission, then lowers everything, voice, head, hands. If he was too loud before, Prompto's maybe too soft now, and growing quieter.] It wasn't because I didn't want to give you the crown. I. I did. Want to. ...I was never going to give it to Ignis.
[Whatever the flowers mean, the crown was never meant for anyone but Summer. Prompto wraps one hand around the other, twists at his fingers, plucks at the fold of muscle in his palm.]
But if I gave it to you and you didn't want it, it would've been--weird, and nobody's ever wanted that from me. I'm nobody. The, the last girl I liked, I think maybe she doesn't even know my name, even after everything we've done for her. And even my parents, they adopted me and it was like they never--never really...
[His eyes are stinging and how unfair is that, when he's the one who hurt her? Ashamed, Prompto presses his lips together and then shakes his head, banishing it all, the excuses, the reasoning. He messed up. A small noise tries to escape and he muffles it, rubbing his knuckles under his nose.]
I'm sorry. I... if there's a flower that means "I'm sorry," I wish I could give it to you. For the flowers I should've given you then.
[Nothing he can do will fix this. He holds his hands low in front of him, palms up, in supplication or surrender before crystal blue light illuminates them, tinkles away, withers. Loose petals, red-yellow, fall to the floor, but in his hands, fresh and unchanged from the day he made it, is the crown. Her crown. White, violet, pink, red.
Prompto holds it close without crushing it.]
I'm a jerk. I picked them because they reminded me of you. And the way I... feel. When I'm with you. [Pink and blooming, that peony. Dandelion bright in her hands. He raises the wreath before his face like a shield so she can't see him bite down on his lip.] I should've given them to you anyway, but now I messed everything up. I'm sorry. I'm not--I've never been good, no matter how hard I try.
[Never been good enough. Never been anything but a failure. Shivering, he tries to swallow.]
Of course you're pretty. You're so pretty, and funny, and, and... and you made me like the color red again. Because it's yours. And I thought--I thought--I didn't want to mess it up and make you not like me anymore, but that was worse, and I'm so. I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to hurt you...