[His touch is unknowingly careful when he receives the camera, some part of his subconscious taking over. This is an item of high sentimental value to his roommate — it would be the equivalent of V handing Prompto his book of poems (now missing) — and so he treats it like a relic, a chassis encasing countless memories and colorful experiences. Gently, gently.

A press of the arrow key, moving from picture to picture.]

So these are your friends. [He says with a crook of his usual smile, drawing itself out.] They look like a lively group.

[The same faces, over and over. Prompto really did surround himself with them, kept them close, through both battle and quiet moments in the night. If V feels an ache in his chest, an almost-jealousy, he is an expert at keeping it tamped down and not showing.]

You look like you’re having fun. When you’re not being attacked by… creatures, that is. [Daemons?]