Work Text:
Prompto was standing in the stables between the big yellow birds, he loved so much, but today his thoughts were clouded by some sadness. And while he was cleaning out the old bedding, he was softly singing.
“Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum
This is my winter song to you
The storm is coming soon
It rolls in from the sea
My voice; a beacon in the night
My words will be your light
To carry you to me
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love”
One of his feathered friends came a little bit closer and started to groom Prompto hair gently with his big beak. Prompto looked up to the big eyes of the caring bird and asked.
“Hmm, what’s up? Do you want some cuddles? I think I need some too.”
He hugged his arms and face tight in the fluffy feathers of his strong friend, hiding unshed tears. He started again to sing, the voice a little bit muffled of the feathers, but beautiful and sad.
“They say that things just cannot grow
Beneath the winter snow
Or so I have been told
They say we're buried far
Just like a distant star
I simply cannot hold
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
This is my winter song
December never felt so wrong
Cause you're not where you belong
Inside my arms
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum
I still believe in summer days
The seasons always change
And life will find a way.”
Prompto could feel the head laying on his shoulder, while the big beak stroked his back gently and caringly.
“I'll be your harvester of light
And send it out tonight
So we can start again
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?”
The other birds had approached them and were now shielding him from the cold and unwanted glances. He could hear the birds humming, he hadn’t known that this bird could hum.
“This is my winter song
December never felt so wrong
Cause you're not where you belong
Inside my arms
This is my winter song to you
The storm is coming soon
It rolls in from the sea
My love; a beacon in the night
My words will be your light
To carry you to me
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?
Is love alive?”
Prompto didn’t let go of the feathers, until he had ended the song. Then he rubbed his teary eyes and looked up to the birds head.
“Thanks, Buddy. I feel better now.”
The big bird looked curiously at him, nodded and laid his beak on Prompto’s head.
“Kweh!” He answered, if this was an answer.