[That gratitude is absolutely heart-warming. It’s a degree that he didn’t expect, though he shouldn’t be surprised at Prompto’s eager earnestness. Still, to see someone appreciate the work Markus has employed (even if it’s just a chicken, the brushstrokes are vivid, the canvas itself smelling still of lingering oil paints, color mixing and complimenting, his own style so very obviously ingrained in the piece) wrenches warmly at his insides, makes him feel an amount of pride that he keeps to himself, shown only in brighter eyes and a more grateful smile.

Such is his mood when he makes a move to sit down — slowly, carefully, pain throbbing across his middle — and finally sinking into the cushion neighboring Prompto’s.]

I am, too. I’m sure it’s important to you, and like… a piece of home, come to visit.

[Sentiment, with the potential of melancholy. But a way to ease homesickness, lost in memories, too.]

Let’s take a look. How many are there?