Chapter Text
i.
When the bell rings, the first thing Prompto can do is let out a sigh of relief. He rises to his feet with the rest of his class, bowing towards their teacher to mark the end of his final day of elementary school. There is still a ceremony to go through, still goodbyes to say and forms to fill, but he’s finished. As his head falls forward, he catches a faint glimmer of red tucked into his desk and a smile stretches across his lips. While he straightens again, the class is dismissed with a laugh and a wave from their teacher. Prompto reaches in his desk, pulling out his red Canon digital camera.
As the class clears out, he plops back down in his seat, making the desk shake a little as the edge catches on his stomach. He ignores it, turning his attention to the small device flickering to life in his hands. It’s filled with memories, different views of different moments Prompto never wants to forget. And today, his last day before moving to a new school and new grade, he decides he wants to move on too. He flicks to the gallery, adding a star beside the few he thinks are worthy to be kept, before deleting everything else. Every nameless face of passerby's on the street, every event at his school he wished he had the confidence to be a part of, every attempt to regulate some sort of healthy diet before failing. He keeps a picture overlooking Insomnia, taken from a rooftop of a tourist building, only a few blocks away from the Citadel. He keeps it because he thinks it's beautiful, thinks it's exciting, thinks the Citadel is where he wants to be someday.
Prompto shakes his head, dismissing the thought just as quick as it enters his mind. The Citadel was for royalty, something Prompto surely was not. Maybe someday he could scrounge enough money together to go on a tour, but that was all. He could step foot inside, but he would never belong within such a grand place. The rest of the pictures are not unlike this one. Ranging from portraits and photoscapes, capturing the daily life within the crown city, or the great flashy barrier that protects it. Prompto decides that if he’s ever to become a professional, he’d do well to keep these ones, showing that he’s been talented since the beginning.
With a click of his tongue, he puts the camera to sleep, gathering his things into his red school bag and preparing himself to step out in the late afternoon air. He allows his steps to take him away from the classroom and the loud, rowdy children inside.
A fresh start. And Prompto hopes he won’t spend this new life alone.
-
It’s lunch of his first day at his new school, he’s already taken too many photos to count, found the best lighting and the best angles for the scenic views, but he still hasn’t made any friends. He sighs as he sinks a little lower in his chair. He flicks through the photos and cringing at the ones he thinks are a little to shaky, the ones where the lighting is just off, the aperture could be raised to make things clearer. Eventually he finds one he’d taken from his own home that morning and sighs. He stands with the camera at his side, in nothing but his sleep clothes and glasses. It’s in pictures like these that Prompto feels insecure and determined at the same time. He’s uncomfortable with his weight and the way he looks. He knows the only way he can fix it is through exercise and changing his diet, but habits are hard to break when you are doing it alone.
Another student is knocked against his desk, and it startles the camera right out of Prompto’s hands. The red metal clatters to the floor, display screen face down, and Prompto looks up to meet startled brown eyes.
“S-Sorry!” The boy says, picking up the camera and setting it back on the blond’s desk, before turning back to his friends.
Prompto grabs at it, allowing his heart to calm down while he checks for scratches or dents. As much as he wants to make friends, he finds it difficult to approach a person and try. He’s noticed over time that people tend to shy away from him because of his looks, but a lot of the time when he hears the other boys talking about the different games and shows they’d watched on their weekends, Prompto feels himself itching to join in. To give his opinion and ask what their thoughts were. But he is shy, and he is nervous and afraid.
His camera is undamaged, and he lets a lump of apprehension leave his throat when he sees it. But there is dust and dirt stuck to the screen, and he’s afraid to scratch the screen wiping it away. Instead, he rises from his chair (the desk shakes and he pretends not to wince at the scrap of his stomach against the chipped wood- it hurts) and makes for the hallway. He’d noticed a water fountain just around the corner, and hopes he can get the grainy edges out from inside the casing. He’s leaving the classroom when a rush of girls clatter down the hallway, joining a larger group in a rush. They’re all laughing, smiling and blushing.
Now, normally this would never be an issue. Prompto usually tried to ignore girls- they were loud and annoying and shallow, and it’s not like they had ever given him a second look. He’d usually carry on past them, going in a different direction just to avoid even the slightest bit of confrontation. But this was different. Prompto’s homeroom classroom was at the end of the hallway, and the water fountain was right behind the swarm. He’d have to go through them if wanted to clean his camera. He stands, watching girls from his own class squeeze past him to join in, and thinks about his options. He could give up, turn and plop himself right back in his desk and hope that whatever the commotion was would clear up by the end of the day. Or, he could stay to the side and try and push his way through, and come back with a potentially unscratched camera and go on with his day. Prompto leans more towards the former, but his love for his camera has him steeling himself for the latter option. Taking a breath, he takes a few faltering steps before racing towards the windows on the other side of the hallway.
He’s doing fine, even sees a clear path along the side of the group the girls make, and he’s doing a good job ignoring the jostling and the bumping he’s getting. But he can’t ignore the words spoken around him, “Prince Noctis! How many servants do you have?”
“Prince Noctis! How much do you get to eat in the palace?”
“How big is your room?”
“How expensive are your clothes?”
He moves far enough that he’s behind the crowd, and can see clearly into the centre. The Prince wears all black; a simple shirt over simple black shorts. He stands with his hand in his pocket, head downcast, so Prompto can’t really see his face, but there’s a quick misbeat of his heart and he has to look away. His heart is pounding, beating so loud he can hear it in his ears, can feel the colour rushing up to his face and tinting the entire thing red. He shakes the feelings away, and focuses on the water fountain only steps away.
He takes out the handkerchief he still keeps in his pocket from when he first left Niflheim and wets an edge in the water, using the dry edge to brush of the dust and debris on the display before lightly scrubbing away anything left over. When he’s finished, and the screen is shiny and free of scratches, he smiles. The bell rings, and as he turns to make his way back towards his class he sees the pack of girls sighing and heading away, clearing the way for Prompto to make his way without any altercations. His gaze falls back towards his camera; there is still a thin layer of dust sitting on the buttons, so he brushes it away with his fingers. When he looks up again, he’s met with downcast, blue eyes, shrouded under black bangs and long curled eyelashes. He feels the pressure in his chest return when Prince Noctis’ eyes shift to meet his, and realizes that he’s not walking anymore, just standing frozen in front of the young prince. He stares at him, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks and the heat radiate from them. Noctis’ eyes flash with something, and the frown he was wearing previously stutters into something of a muted smile, lifting his head to fully look at the blond.
“Sorry,” He says, and steps around Prompto, and the latter is frozen. Doesn’t make a move when the prince steps around him, doesn’t stutter a reply when he stops slightly, seeing if he would get one. Prompto watches in frozen fear as the prince’s mouth twists again into a frown and starts off down the hall for another classroom. It’s not until the final bell rings that Prompto realizes that he’s still frozen, standing alone in the hallway.
He shakes himself and heads back inside the room, his heart pounding and breath shaky. As he sits his mind is foggy, and he has to take a second to right himself. He closes his eyes as their teacher starts her lesson, feeling his heart slow and his breath calm again. Darkened blue eyes and a small attempt at a smile engraved to the back of his eye lids.
-
He starts to see the prince more often, whether or not he means to, his eyes seem to seek him out in crowds, in hallways, on his walk home. Prompto finds him -more often that not- alone, sitting in the shadow of the equipment room. But the blond’s almost positive that the building is off limits to students at lunch hours. He watches him, from the safety of his classroom, clear windows blocking out the spring air. The prince is huddled against the corner, small boxed lunch balanced on his thighs and legs tucked underneath him. There is a slight breeze and his hair ruffles; his hand lifts to brush his bangs on his forehead where they stop just above his eyes. Prompto can see from his distance the small frown on his lips when he picks up something green from his box and flicks it towards the grass. Watches Noctis watch a squirrel chase after it.
If anything, Prompto thinks he’s lonely.
He’s leaving his favourite fast food restaurant on his way home. It’s early spring and there’s only a month of school left, and the blond hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still alone, he hasn’t made any friends, and he’s still eating fast food. He sighs and kicks a rock, disappointed in his current progress. Being alone doesn’t bother him as much as he wished it did. The blond had secrets, and he felt it better to be alone lest they be revealed. But when he sees the other kids in his class, sees them laughing, he almost wishes he was like them too. He wishes there was someone he could tell the truth too, someone he could be himself with and not worry about judgmental gazes, or stinging words. The blond reaches down into his pocket, pulls out his camera and turns it on, the display screen lighting up when he opens his gallery.
The pictures he’d taken at school flash by him as he scrolls to the very beginning, looking for the pictures he’d taken earlier in the year. There’s pictures of the school building, pictures of their baseball team mid-game, volleyball players in ready position, pictures of the prince alone in the background. Prompto freezes, seeing just how many unintentional pictures of the raven he had collected. In one he sits alone by the equipment room. In another sitting beneath a tree in it’s shade. Another he is buying something from the vending machine just across from his classroom. The final one has the Prince sitting on a bench with a green coloured book sitting on his lap. What Prompto notices first, is the smile stretched across his lips as he looks inside. Prompto stares at him on the small display screen, traces the thin line of his brow with his eyes, the curve of his jaw and the barely there smile painted onto his lips. He thinks the prince is beautiful, he ponders, if a boy can be.
He’s shaken from his trance when he hears some shuffling and a yelp, and his eyes flicker to the sides searching for the source of the noise. There is a small white puppy, limping along the side of the road, and Prompto can see from his distance the gash across the dog's back leg. Stuffing his camera into the pocket on his shorts, he races forward, dropping heavily beside the injured dog. In the same motion, he’s brought his hand forward for the dog to sniff, and reaches into his pocket to pull out the handkerchief to quickly press to the wound. He’s surprised to how easily the dog allows him to touch him, allows him to tie the cloth around the wound to stop the bleeding. Surprised by the lack of resistance when he scoops the dog up and jogs -with breaks- the rest of the way home.
-
Over the next few days of taking care of Tiny, (Prompto thought the name fit the white canine perfectly) he’d established a routine: Wake up, check Tiny’s food and water; head to school, sit in the back and lightly pay attention, take some pictures on his break, stare at the prince; head home, take some pictures on the way, stop and get some dinner, play with Tiny, check and change the bandage over the dog's injuries, head to bed. It was nice to have something to come home too, nice to have something waiting for him when he enters the dimly lit room at the end of the day. He’s so use to being alone, to the silence ringing loud in his ears as he steps inside the small flat. But now when he enters, he hears small paws rap against the wooden floor boards and all but feels the bark Tiny lets out when he rounds the corner and greets him. Prompto forgets who he is, forgets what he's not, and he’s happy.
He sits in the entryway, slipping on his shoes while Tiny wags his tail beside him, seeing him off. He’s better now, he's no longer staggering and limping, keeping his weight off his back paw. The handkerchief still remains -washed daily- keeping the puppy from picking at the wound. Prompto turns to give the dog a quick pat on the head, watching Tiny’s tail wag quickly while he does so.
He stands, throwing a quick goodbye over his shoulder and heading out the door. He walks quickly, excited to come home again at the end of the day. The sky’s a dull gray, hinting at a dusting of rain coming Insomnia’s way. When he finds himself walking across a bridge only a block from his school, he decides to take some pictures. The lighting is perfect and the already damp grass glistens just right in the sun. He sets his bag down gently at the foot of the red railing and takes in the morning sky. The air feels slightly damp from the rain likely to fall, but it’s cool and Prompto feels comfortable in this setting. It’s quiet, the sound of cars and city life distant in the background, the sky still pink with a rising sun peeking through the four towers of the Citadel. He raises the camera to his eye, pressing it close and taking a few shots, changing the shutter speed a few times until it’s just right, and the birds flying above are as clear as the sky. He smiles, the pictures coming out wonderful.
It’s not until after he’s taken a few more photos from a few other directions and spots that he realizes he’s late, spent too much time basking in the morning and forgetting about why he left his home in the first place. Quickly gathering his belongings he rushes to school, getting to the front of it just as the gates close and the first bell goes off.
He sighs, realizes he won’t be getting in the school until lunch break when the gates open again. There is a sudden rush of calm that washes over him, takes his hand and leads him from the adrenaline he’d been experiencing before, and pushes him straight into the anxiety that comes with missing class. He sighs, thinks about all the things in class that he’s missing, in the classes he knows he’s weakest in, how much worse he’ll become. He runs a hand through his hair, down his face and feels the sweat on his forehead from the over exerted state he’d pushed his body to. Lunch doesn’t start for another three hours, his watch tells him. So he waits, back against the wall and camera in hand.
When the bell finally rings, he’s immediately to his feet, ready to rush into class and apologize to his teachers until the agree to give him the notes he had missed that morning. He brushes off his shorts, the camera quickly (gently) shoved inside his pocket before he rushes inside; Zig-zagging through the rush of teenagers on their way to lunch. Once he's up on the third floor, breath rushed and heart pounding, he puts his hand on the railing and takes a small rest. His eyes flicker up, looking out the window at the students mingling about on their lunch.
He watches as a boy runs, jumps, and catches a frisbee, laughter tumbling from his mouth and infecting the people who had thrown it. Watches as a group of girls laugh as they watch, calling out to the catcher and laughing again as he throws the frisbee and misses, and the previous thrower has to dive to catch it. Watches at how easily they get along, sees how different he is from them. Prompto pulls out his camera, snapping a picture of the view outside.
Maybe it's because it’s automatic to look for him now, or because he's come to understand where the Prince likes to spend his school breaks, but his eyes fall directly onto a dark black head, the strands standing in all directions, frizzy and slightly unkempt. He sits in the shade of a cherry tree the thick trunk blocking him from the view of the rest of the students, and the blond can’t help but think he looks to be sheltering himself. Putting space between himself and the rest of the world. Prompto couldn’t fault him for that, wanting to be alone in such a crowded place. The prince had been born with a heavy burden on his shoulders, and while most would think the prince’s want for personal space to be selfish and unkind, Prompto understood. There’s a green book in his lap, pen in his right hand, and Prompto thinks he might see a dog there as well. He watches him, reading over the lines in the book before moving to write underneath it, and the blond almost thinks he’s replying to the words scrawled above. The Prince is quick in his writing, and Prompto sees a bit of the smile he was to afraid to return that first day. It’s when he finds himself tracing the curve of his lips that he breaks his eyes away, looking again at the frisbee group of students, now resting on a bench.
His face is red, and he can feel it burning across his ears and all the way to the back of his neck. He can’t understand why the Prince draws him in so much, can’t understand why his eyes look for him during the lunch hours, why he’s come to memorize the shape of his face and the curve of his lips.
A loud bang startles Prompto enough that he almost drops his camera, and the laughter that follows directs Prompto to the student who had clumsily fallen down the stairs and shook him from his thoughts. Once the student has picked himself up and proved he was okay, Prompto turns back towards the window, seeing that the Prince had disappeared from his spot hidden behind the tree. With a sigh, the blond heads back up the stairs, coming back to himself and remembering why he was rushing in the first place.
He can’t help looking around for a flash of blue-black hair for the rest of the day.