[It's not as cut-and-dry as Prompto seems to think it is. The darkness that was in his heart in that memory is something that isn't present here and now--Dante's not really sure how he knows, but he can't feel the same weight of it in his heart, weighing down on his soul.
But at Prompto's other question, he'll get a snort of humorless laughter in response.]
Drank myself stupid, that's how. [But before he can get any sort of response Dante waves his hand, shaking his head.] No, not really. I did get trashed that first night, but after that it was just a matter of coming to terms with it all.
I don't think I've mentioned it before, but my old man's a pianist. When I was younger, I used to tour with him and my mom. You don't... really make a lot of friends that way. You meet people, then as soon as you start to get to know them, you're leaving again. And then I messed up, so my parents sent me away to make sure I couldn't do anything more to damage the family name.
[He's being unfair to them, he knows. Dante knows there was more to their decision to send him back to his grandmother than that. But it stung then, and it still stings now, realizing that the only way he can stand by their side is if he's the model son they want him to be.]
So I guess I always just assumed I'd wind up by myself, you know? [A shrug.] But hearing her say it in that memory... it confirmed everything I'd been afraid of. And the past me, he had a pretty good life. He had friends and hopes and dreams--so if he ended up that way, there's no way I wasn't going to, right? It didn't matter that I've got friends now, or a girlfriend, or any of that. If he managed to mess up that badly, there's no way a fuck-up like me could avoid it. I already told you, I've got a bad habit of being a dumbass.
[His gaze is back to the floor, not wanting to see the look of pity he expects is on Prompto's face. He doesn't want pity--he doesn't want to feel any smaller than he already does.]
But I talked to a couple people after I got back, and they made me realize. My past self fucked up, but that doesn't automatically mean I will too.
[Now he finally looks back up at Prompto, trying to meet his eyes.]
I can either make the same mistakes he did, or I can try and do something different.
no subject
[It's not as cut-and-dry as Prompto seems to think it is. The darkness that was in his heart in that memory is something that isn't present here and now--Dante's not really sure how he knows, but he can't feel the same weight of it in his heart, weighing down on his soul.
But at Prompto's other question, he'll get a snort of humorless laughter in response.]
Drank myself stupid, that's how. [But before he can get any sort of response Dante waves his hand, shaking his head.] No, not really. I did get trashed that first night, but after that it was just a matter of coming to terms with it all.
I don't think I've mentioned it before, but my old man's a pianist. When I was younger, I used to tour with him and my mom. You don't... really make a lot of friends that way. You meet people, then as soon as you start to get to know them, you're leaving again. And then I messed up, so my parents sent me away to make sure I couldn't do anything more to damage the family name.
[He's being unfair to them, he knows. Dante knows there was more to their decision to send him back to his grandmother than that. But it stung then, and it still stings now, realizing that the only way he can stand by their side is if he's the model son they want him to be.]
So I guess I always just assumed I'd wind up by myself, you know? [A shrug.] But hearing her say it in that memory... it confirmed everything I'd been afraid of. And the past me, he had a pretty good life. He had friends and hopes and dreams--so if he ended up that way, there's no way I wasn't going to, right? It didn't matter that I've got friends now, or a girlfriend, or any of that. If he managed to mess up that badly, there's no way a fuck-up like me could avoid it. I already told you, I've got a bad habit of being a dumbass.
[His gaze is back to the floor, not wanting to see the look of pity he expects is on Prompto's face. He doesn't want pity--he doesn't want to feel any smaller than he already does.]
But I talked to a couple people after I got back, and they made me realize. My past self fucked up, but that doesn't automatically mean I will too.
[Now he finally looks back up at Prompto, trying to meet his eyes.]
I can either make the same mistakes he did, or I can try and do something different.