Work Text:
Noctis startles himself awake, and he finds he’s in an unfamiliar room, nicely tucked in and comfortable. The room is familiar in a way that he knows he’s still in Altissia, with the intricate golden carvings on the walls and the blue and white colour scheme, but he doesn’t know where exactly he is. As in, whose house is this?
He’s confused for a moment; he has trouble recalling what happened that could possibly end with him in this bed. His body is sore, he’s really hungry, and when he sits up, someone stirs on the side of his bed, muttering something about rowdy chocobos. It’s when Noctis turns and sees the familiar mop of blond hair that it clicks.
That’s right: Leviathan and her shitty trial; Prompto and Ardyn and how that son of a bitch almost killed him—
Noctis closes his eyes, and he releases a shaky breath. He then opens his eyes again, and slowly, he reaches out to Prompto, who’s fast asleep on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his arms. Seeing him asleep like this, beside Noctis all this time, brings a warmth to his chest that Noctis knows only Prompto can ever bring, and he allows himself a fond smile as he puts his hand on top of Prompto’s head, his fingers combing through golden locks.
He doesn’t say anything as Prompto slowly stirs awake, still running his hand through Prompto’s hair, and when Prompto halfheartedly swats at his hand, he chuckles softly.
“Rise and shine,” Noctis says, and his small smile widens just a little when Prompto finally opens his eyes and blinks at him.
“…I—oh. Holy shit.” Prompto immediately sits up in his chair, and Noctis raises his brows at him. “You’re awake?”
“I think so,” Noctis says with a small frown. “What do you think?”
Prompto snorts, and he lightly punches Noctis’ shoulder. “Ha ha,” he says, smiling, then he yawns and rubs his eyes for a second. “Do you even know how long you were out?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Two days, smartass.”
Noctis gapes at him. “Oh.” And Prompto laughs.
“That’s fine,” Prompto tells him. “As long as you’re okay.” Prompto studies him, blue eyes trailing from his face then downwards, as if looking for something, and he has to admit, he likes the attention. Prompto looks up at his face again. “You’re not hurting anywhere, are you?”
“No,” he says. “Sore, yeah. But nothing else.” He smiles shyly at Prompto. “Thanks to you.”
Prompto blinks, then he shakes his head. “It’s nothin’,” he mutters, looking down, and Noctis can practically count the freckles that pepper across his face. It makes Noctis realise how close they’ve gotten the past few minutes. “I mean,” Prompto continues, “I wouldn’t really know what I’d do if something were to happen to you, you know?”
Noctis stops at that, and he watches the way Prompto frowns: how his brows furrow slightly and how his lips curl downwards, his lower lip jutting out a little. Prompto looks up at him, blinks, and then he flushes. Oh.
“You could, you know,” Prompto says, looking down again. “Say something, instead of staring at me like that.”
“Can I kiss you?” Noctis blurts out without really thinking, and Prompto widens his eyes at him. His ears turn red, too, and he laughs.
“You are so smooth,” Prompto teases, even though he’s just as red as Noctis thinks he himself is. “That’s why I love you.”
Before Noctis can say anything—probably something equally cheesy or embarrassing, he hasn’t really decided yet—Prompto holds his face between his hands, and Noctis doesn’t miss the way his hands feel: rough and calloused, and very gentle.
Prompto kisses him.