[He's quiet when he listens, in part because he doesn't know how to respond. Prompto is scared... of most things. Tangible things like failure, and spiders... and most bugs? Okay. All bugs. Pain. Fighting? Being forgotten... living alone. A lot of things. Then there were the fears about ghosts, daemons and everything in between. Treants? They made trees scary!

He steps a little closer, bumping shoulders and he apologizes under his breath.

Prompto contemplates what was last said, turning his gaze down to watch shadows flicker and the slight wobble in his own steps.

To haunt a place like this...]

Maybe they never had anything in the first place.

[It's blurted out before he can stops himself. And now that it's out there he can't bring it back. Hands stretched out in front of him, entwining his fingers together nice and tight to the point his knuckles ache a little.]

A lonely place for a lonely sort of people. I think... if you're so used to the quiet and darkness, where no one knows you exist... you'd be drawn to places like these. Couldn't be near people, it's too noisy and you'd be forced to watch the sort of thing you were never able to obtain when you're alive.

[A tremble. In his tone and his hands, so he untangles his fingers, his right arm stretching to the side so he can touch the old and forgotten concrete and stone that made up the walls.]

So you go somewhere forgotten.

[A beat.]

That's what I think.

[It hits too close to home, and he's not sober enough to realize how it all sounds. Until he does and he blinks back unshed tears. Oh great. He's an emotional drunk! That's not manly!

Huffing out an amused sound, scuffing his shoe lamely.]

Don't listen to me, they fed me waaaaaaaay too many drinks back there! Got me thinking dumb things.