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Chapter Text

The moon has just risen over the cityscape of Insomnia when Noctis Lucis Caelum is born. He is a large infant and his cries are loud and lusty, undeniable proof of his health now that he is outside of the warmth and safety of his mother's womb. His face reddens, meaty fists clenched tight as his newborn arms wave erratically with the strength of his innocent fury. His angry squalling is silenced when his mother cradles him to her breast, his newborn instincts leading him to latch on and nurse.

This is the only memory Regis has of his wife and son together, because in the ten minutes that follow the birth of his heir, his beloved wife hemorrhages, and Regis watches the life bleed out of his soulmate while his son contentedly suckles at her breast. She meets his frantic gaze with rapidly dimming eyes, mouths I love you for the final time, and dies.

And so, Noctis is born under the rising moon and his mother dies under that same moon, leaving Regis to grieve for his wife and learn how to be both father and mother. He loves Noctis with all that he has, and lesser men would have blamed the death of the mother on the child, but not Regis. Regis is the king of a crumbling kingdom, and though Noctis is but an infant, he has a hard future ahead of him. Noctis will know only love, no matter the cost to Regis or his kingdom.

Noctis, despite the darkness surrounding his birth, is a child full of light and life. His nursemaids adore him and spoil him remorselessly, be it with affection or secret sweets that Regis would shake his head at if he knew they were being given to his son on the sly. Noctis grows up knowing only love. For his father, his nursemaids, for all the palace staff that dote on him. Regis pretends not to notice when stray cats make their way into the royal nursery, and turns a blind eye when the black and white spotted one with a litter of kittens makes the nursery her home. Not many people can say no to a wide eyed, pouty Noctis, and the nursemaids had been powerless to deny him the cat and her kittens.

Despite the nursemaids, Regis makes a point of always being the one to help his son dress for bed and he is always the one to tuck prince Noctis in. This one fact makes all the women in the household staff swoon over Regis when he walks into a room, and he is left baffled every time a red faced and flustered maid curtsies and backs out of a room, giggling uncontrollably and unable to look even in his general direction.  Regis and Noctis' nightly routine consists of a bath, which Noctis detests but endures only because his father happens to make the best soap bubble sculptures, a story (sometimes two if Noctis can push his luck) and a long cuddle in bed until Noctis has fallen asleep with his face pressed against his father's chest listening to the soothing beat of his heart.

 Noctis is introduced to Ignis Scientia when he is three years old. Ignis is quiet and reserved and somehow, despite his youth, exudes an air of propriety and maturity beyond his five years of age. Noctis adores him immediately, if only for the reason that Ignis is one more person who seems perfectly content to sit and play with Noctis for hours on end. Ignis does it simply to keep the prince out of trouble but the prince of course doesn't know this. Noctis is introduced to Gladiolus Amicitia this same year. Gladiolus does not like Noctis, and it comes as an unpleasant surprise the first time the prince is snubbed by the six year old when he asks him to play with his colourful wooden blocks. Noctis has never been denied before, and he instantly grows to dislike the older boy when he wordlessly walks away from Noctis and his blocks. Three year olds hold surprisingly long grudges, and despite their best efforts, Regis and Clarus are unable to coax their children into becoming friends. It is a less than auspicious start to the relationship between the future king and his not-yet sworn shield.

* * *

The first scar appears on Noctis' milky white skin during bath time. Regis has just lathered up the soap across Noctis' back, leaving a thick layer of white bubbles smelling of lavender and vanilla over his porcelain skin. Noctis laughs and turns to look at his father, his sweet high voice chiming, "Papa, draw a kitty on me?" Regis chuckles and complies, tracing a poor caricature of the white and black nursery cat across the expanse of his son's back, but the joy in his eyes quickly turns to concern, then disbelief as each stroke of his fingers exposes lines of red across Noctis' otherwise unblemished skin. The prince squeals in surprise when Regis unceremoniously douses the suds off his back and reveals the skin there to his disbelieving gaze. There are seven lines in total, red and angry. They crisscross over Noctis's back and the origins and intent behind the marks are clear. One wraps around his left hip, another curls around his ribs and yet another vanishes into the hair at the nape of his only child's back. Regis can only watch in horror as yet another lash appears across his skin, this one redder and angrier than all the rest. Noctis is fussing now, and turns to pout at his father who has ruined his bath with the sudden and unexpected deluge of water over his back. Regis can only reach into the depths of the tub to pull the plug, wrap a fluffy red towel around his small son's body and hold him to his chest, fighting back tears in his misty eyes.

For the first time, Regis abstains from choosing a book from Noctis' book shelf. This time, he sets Noctis on his knee once the boy is dressed in a black one pieced sleep suit with a white kitten across the front, and looks him in his deep blue eyes. Regis has a story to tell to Noctis, but it isn't one that can be found in any book.

"For countless years, the Crystal has blessed the line of Lucis Caelum with the power to harness its magic and use it as we see fit. This is known to all the people of Eos. Once, long ago, there were many Crystals and many different types of magic that could be used. Now, son, only our Crystal remains and it grants us the magic to protect our people and ourselves. Our magic is diminishing, along with our bloodline. Soon it will be no more. Although our Crystal is the only one that remains, the magic of one other Crystal can still be found in the world. That is the magic of soulmates, Noctis. Not many people are aware it still exists, as the magic has no outward purpose but to bring two people together no matter what may separate them. It manifests itself in one way: soul scars. They appear on your skin when your soulmate receives a scar, but unless the damage is life changing or fate altering, they vanish almost as quickly as they come."

Noctis looks up at his father. He is young, merely five years old, but he does his best to understand his father. He knows in his child's heart that this is important, he just doesn't understand why, or how. Uncharacteristically, he does not interrupt Regis to ask him questions as they grow in his mind, rather he continues to listen silently, blue eyes intent on his father as he continues his story.

"I had a soulmate, Noctis. Your mother. She brought love and light to my otherwise boring life. She taught me there was more to being king than the title and duties that come with it. She gave me you. Aside from your mother and I, there have been no recorded soulmates in Lucian history for many, many years. And now, child, there is you. You have a long road ahead of you Noctis, but I pray that with Ignis and Gladiolus at your side, and whoever your mysterious soulmate may be, you will walk the road with honour and dignity. You are my son, and you are the heir of Lucis. You carry a heavy burden, I pray only that you have the strength to see your journey to its end."

By the time Regis has finished his impromptu lesson and speech, Noctis has nodded off against his father's chest, small hands gripping the fabric of his overcoat and head tucked in under Regis' chin. His breaths are even and light, and Regis wonders how much his son heard. He stands up with a soft groan, aching back muscles protesting the added weight of his son, slender though he may be. He tucks Noctis into his bed, and can no longer stop the tears that fall when another scar appears on his only son's face, an angry red welt below his left eyebrow, and only leaves his side once the scar has vanished and he sees no others appear. He prays, for the sake of his son, that no more scars appear for a long, long time.

* * *

Noctis turns six when he receives a permanent soul scar. It appears in the middle of a joint lesson with Ignis. Noctis tries his best to ignore the pain in his right wrist, but when he glances down and sees the black design spreading across his skin with slow and agonizing precision, he nearly bites clean through the skin of his lower lip. Ignis hears the deep, pained whimper his companion is unable to hold back, and immediately turns his attention from their tutor towards his dearest friend and prince.

"Noctis?" Ignis questions, eight years old and still wise beyond his years. He sees the pain Noctis is trying to hide, and he is filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

That's all it takes, and without any warning Noctis has thrown himself from his desk chair and crashes his six year old body against a very surprised Ignis. He bares the skin of his wrist to Ignis, the steadily growing black mark hidden from their concerned tutor by their torsos, and Ignis can only stare in stunned disbelief at what can only be a soul scar. When their tutor moves to separate the boys, Ignis wraps his slender fingers over Noctis' half-marked wrist, ignoring the pained hiss Noctis breathes between his teeth and drags the other boy from the room without a word.

Noctis is openly sobbing when they make it to the throne room where Regis sits in deep discussion with Clarus. Regis looks up in irritation at the interruption until he sees who it is at the doors to the room, at which point he sweeps down from his seat and, when Noctis lets out a particularly pained cry, uses an uncharacteristic display of power and warps down to his son, landing sloppily on bended knee. He pulls Noctis from Ignis' grasp and Ignis lets him go without resistance, standing with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Regis envelops his son in the familiar and beloved cradle of his arms, eyes tracing over every bare inch of skin he can see.

Noctis breaks down then in the safety only his father can provide, and his tortured wails can be heard through the whole wing the throne room is located in. When Ignis wordlessly points to Noctis' wrist with a shaky hand, Regis looks in the direction he is pointing and he feels his whole body turn to ice. Regis has seen this mark before, he understands immediately what it means and he understands with perfect clarity how cruel the Crystals can be with their chosen ones. Clarus has caught up to the trio by now, and when he settles his appraising eyes over the finally formed barcode, his eye brows rise high up on his forehead and he wonders, not for the first time, if Noctis Lucis Caelum truly is the chosen one, or some divine joke meant to mock the Lucian bloodline. Surely no prince of Lucis would be fated to be one with their sworn enemy?

But the proof is there, inked plainly on the pale skin of his prince's right wrist, and Clarus knows that his foolish son will have to get over himself if he is to provide Noctis with the shield he so clearly is going to need in the years come. Regis meets the eyes of his eldest friend, and the unspoken royal decree to never speak of what he has witnessed is passed from king to shield, and Clarus nods. The prince's secret will be safe with him. Both men turn to Ignis, who pales under the weight of their intense gazes.

"Your Majesty, I swear on my life not to speak a word of this to anyone," he pledges, managing by some herculean feat to keep his youthful voice steady. Regis regards the boy who has chosen to give his life and his future to advise the future king, and nods once. Ignis, though young, will stay true to Noctis. The Scientias are an old and noble family, and Regis knows that they teach their children to honour their oaths above all else. Ignis will not betray his prince.

Noctis learns in the hours that follow that the mark on his wrist is the codeprint of an MT, the infantry designed by the Niflheim Empire to wage war, and most recently the war is against Lucis. This raises a slew of questions amongst Regis and Clarus, namely, if the MTs were supposed to be unthinking robots designed to kill and destroy, why then has Noctis found a soul mate in one? The question keeps Regis up at night, leaves Clarus questioning everything he has ever known about the Magitek forces he has trained countless soldiers to fight and destroy, and both men wonder just how depraved the Empire really is, to turn human beings into weapons of war.

All Noctis knows is that from the day the mark appears on his wrist, he is required to wear a thick leather strap around his wrist. It chafes against the tender skin where the mark appeared, and Noctis begins to act out in lessons. He refuses to listen. He leaves early, he talks back to the tutor he and Ignis see for hours every day. When Ignis tries to convince him to come back to classes after he has left early yet again, Noctis turns his slender nose up at the older boy and stomps off in a childish fit, headed straight for the kitchens where Ignis knows Noctis will sweet talk the head cook into giving him a slice of the chocolate cake they always have on hand and a glass of milk to wash it down.

This is where Regis finds Noctis, chocolate frosting smeared around his mouth and a speck of frosting on the tip of his nose. He is mid bite, the fork still between his teeth, when Regis clears his throat behind Noctis and startles his son into inhaling a crumb of cake. He coughs hard, eyes watering, and when the food is finally cleared from his windpipe he turns around to guiltily look up at his father.

"Noctis, you are not behaving in a very princely manner," Regis scolds, looming over his son as only a father can do. "I'm very disappointed in your behaviour  as of late." The words cause Noctis to curl in on himself. It isn't often that his dad chastises him, and each time effectively brings him out of whatever childish mood he has gotten himself into. "I want you to apologize to your tutor. She spends so much time and energy teaching you, and you repay her by acting out and leaving lessons early?"

Noctis' lower lip wobbles. Tears threaten to spill over his lower lids, and eventually they do. Big, salty tears that make his vision blur and leave wet streaks down his reddened cheeks. He sucks in a shaky breath and reaches his arms up to his dad, eyes wide and beseeching. Regis draws his son into his arms and hugs him close, resting his cheek on the fine black hair at the crown of Noctis' head. He inhales the lavender and vanilla scent of the shampoo he uses to wash Noctis' hair, and works to soothe his obviously distressed son.

"Dad, I'm really scared," Noctis whispers into his father's ear, the words barely audible despite their close proximity. Regis waits, knowing his son sometimes needs time to gather his thoughts before he can find the words to express himself. This time is no different. "I keep seeing new marks. They go away really fast, but there's so many. Someone is hurting them dad...."

The words break Regis' heart. Silently, he settles Noctis on his feet and leads him back to his own quarters, Noctis holding tight to Regis' hand. When they enter the room, Noctis relaxes visibly, his shoulders slumping and the tension easing from his back. The bed in the middle of the room is a large four poster with thick black curtains pulled open on all sides. Noctis toes off his uncomfortable school shoes and crawls into his father's bed, situating himself into the middle of the mattress. Regis takes off his royal raiment, leaving the black dress shirt and slacks on as he settles in beside his son and tucks them both in under the covers.

Regis has no words to comfort Noctis, so instead he rocks him until he falls into a restless sleep. He presses a kiss to his tearstained cheek and lays in thoughtful silence for the rest of the afternoon and evening, skipping the dinner service entirely. Regis and Noctis don't leave the room until the next morning, when a very confused housekeeper stumbles in on them, fast asleep and curled in on one another. The sound of her dropping her bucket of cleaning supplies wakes them, and Regis spends the next several days sighing in exasperation when every single female house staff he chances upon in the citadel suddenly finds themselves unable to look him in the eye and scrambles to disappear, their girlish giggles following them as they flee his very confused presence.

Chapter Text

Regis watches with growing dismay as his son seems to wilt and fade before his very eyes every time a new mark appears and vanishes on his otherwise unblemished skin. The bright face Noctis tries to show the rest of the citadel is slowly replaced by a sullen frown and not even the cats in the nursery where Noctis still spends a fair amount of his free time are enough to bring him out of his dark mood. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Cor Leonis not long ago and wonders if he has sent his up and coming Marshall on a fool's errand. The decision to send Cor into Niflheim in search of clues pertaining to his son's soulmate was not one he came by lightly, but as Regis once promised himself, Noctis will know only love, no matter the cost to the kingdom. The road is long, but with one unfailing and true companion at his side, perhaps the road will not be as hard. His only wish, even now, is for Noctis to be happy.

Each day that brings Regis no news about Cor's progress and shows his son withdrawing further and further into himself is another day Regis feels he has failed his child. His patience with Clarus and Gladiolus grows thin, and eventually his firm hold on his temper snaps and he delivers an ultimatum to his oldest and dearest companion. "Get control over your boorish son, Clarus! The last thing the heir of Lucis needs is a Shield he is too terrified to even be around!" Clarus winces at the implication, but Regis carries on, "If you can't find a way to steer that boy of yours right, I will break a hundred years of tradition and find another Shield for Noctis. Figure this out, Clarus."

His words are heavy with finality, and Clarus bows deeply to Regis, an act in and of itself that shows Regis just how deeply he has cut his Shield as neither man has been known to stand on ceremony since long before Regis' coronation, before he backs out of the throne room and retreats to his quarters. Regis is right of course, but Clarus can't help but be deeply offended that he has threatened to throw away a century's worth of friendship between their two families because of a disagreement of personalities. The boys are young, and surely with time and maturity they would grow to tolerate, perhaps even like one another. Yet it seems they have run out of the very time he is hoping for, and so Clarus must find a way to get the message across to his child.

He debates internally with himself for several sleepless nights on the best way to remind his headstrong son of his duty to the line of Lucis. The years have not lessened the animosity between Gladiolus and Noctis, in fact they seem to have deepened it. The boys can routinely be seen in the Citadel crossing paths but steadfastly refusing to acknowledge one another aside from an upturned nose from Noctis, and where the little Prince learned that gesture has yet to be discovered, and an often audible scoff from Gladiolus. Clarus knows where Gladio learned that, since that very sound falls from his lips far too often in the presence of his son. The citadel staff gossips about the boy's dislike for one another in the kitchens, in the throne room, in the meeting rooms where Clarus has spent so much time lately with Regis and all the Royal Advisors locked in strategy meetings in regards to the ever active Empire.

The confrontation with his son comes sooner than expected, and his pre-planned script on honour and duty is thrown out the window when he comes upon his son and Noctis in the training room in the middle of what can only be a confrontation long in the making. He hears the mocking tone of his son, "You're barely even in a prince, Noctis!" and Noctis' subdued response, "Why are you so mean to me?" as he opens the door and settles his gaze on the scene before him. Noctis is curled in on himself with shoulders hunched and knees slightly bent, upright but cowering in apparent fear. Gladio has just raised his hands to shove the young prince across the chest when Clarus slams the door shut behind him, effectively separating both boys and leaving Gladio furious but silent and Noctis obviously distressed, hand clenched tightly over the wristband that hides the imperial barcode that had been burned into the prince's wrist several months prior.

"Gladiolus Amicitia! Or should I even bother calling you that any more, you foolish child!" Clarus' voice is reprimanding and disappointed wrapped up in one neat bundle, the volume of his voice low but the intention behind his words obvious. He  watches out of the corner of his eye as Noctis slinks out of the training room, shoulders hunched uncharacteristically and Clarus hears faintly the sound of the training room door clicking shut. His anger deepens, takes root in his belly alongside the shame of seeing his son, his heir bullying the Prince of Lucis. He rounds on Gladiolus, eyes furious.

"You dare attempt to lay a hand in anger on your Prince? Need I remind you of your sworn duty to the Crown?" Regis snarls as he advances on his son, towering over the boy, already tall for his age, a pillar of anger that washes away all of Gladio's hopes that his father would let him off with a lecture rather than a lesson. "Get your practice sword, boy. We need to talk."

Gladio winces at the obvious insult, having graduated from wooden blades the previous month. He gathers the practice blades and the polished wood feels heavier in his hands than even the Lucian developed steel alloy used to craft the short sword gifted to him by his father. He tosses one blade to Clarus, who catches it without taking his eyes off his son and stands still, waiting for Gladio's move. The moment the nine year old boy advances, Clarus snarls and with a lazy sweep of his arm he sends his son's sword clattering across the room. One stride brings him within striking distance, and another sweep of his sword arm has the flat of the wooden blade slapping against Gladio's exposed side, leaving a sharp pain in its place. He knows better than to complain. Gladio doesn't even have a chance to speak before Clarus is ranting again.

"What makes you think you are so important, so special, that you can bully a boy younger than you and intimidate him? Does it make you feel big, to have the Prince of Lucis cowering before you? Do you need to be reminded that your duty is to protect the Crown, not cause it harm?" Clarus' voice becomes lower, quieter, more ominous the more he speaks. "Or shall I give the duty to someone else, someone more worthy to be the sworn Shield of the future King of Lucis?"

This, the insinuation that Gladiolus in all of his nine years of age is unfit for the duty he has been born and raised to perform is what finally prompts the boy in question to speak back to his father.

"Noctis doesn't even like me! He doesn't like anyone but his stupid nannies and his stupid cats and all he does is complain about how hard his life is and--" but Clarus cuts him off with a harsh slap to his cheek, the sound reverberating in the room. Gladio slowly lifts a hand to his stinging face, the soft flesh there already reddening and sure to leave a bruise in the shape of his father's palm by the time he goes to supper tonight. He is shocked into silence, Clarus having never laid a hand on him in anger before. Practice bouts and sparring are different, when going easy on him could mean the difference between life and death in the future. But never, never, has Clarus struck his son in cold anger. It leaves Gladio stunned, and allows the next words Clarus speaks to penetrate the headstrong and thick skill his son has developed over the years.

"Do not assume, because you live in the Citadel, that you know all the inner workings of the lives of your King and your Prince. Do not think, because you are Noctis' Shield and my son, that you know every detail of the future that awaits Lucis and its heir. And do not think, that because of some misplaced sense of superiority, that you are ever better than any other person in this world. You are the Prince's sworn Shield. Your duty is to protect Noctis, not to cause him harm, be it physical or emotional! You have no right to call yourself an Amicitia if you can't even get over yourself long enough to see that there is more at stake here than some petty and foolish disagreement you had with Noctis in the past that means nothing now!"

Gladio still has his hand cupped over his cheek, and each word his father speaks cuts him deeper than any accidental knick in the training room ever has. He finds himself ashamed by his actions, both today and in the past, and knows that his father is right in doubting his suitability to remain Noctis' shield. The prince may be a spoiled, inconsiderate brat in his opinion, but he is still the prince and he is due all the respect that his title entails.

"....I'll do better, dad." Gladiolus whispers, voice thick and on the verge of tears. Clarus sighs deeply and lays a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, drawing the boy close and holding him against his body briefly.

"You're my son, Gladiolus. It pains me to speak to you like this, but you are too much like me to be brought to your senses any other way," and with those words, Clarus leaves his son in the practice room. He hears a soft sniffle as he closes the door behind him and leans against the shut door, sighing deeply and rubbing his calloused hand across his tired face. He prays that raising a daughter will be significantly less difficult than raising a son has proven to be so far.

When Gladiolus finally gathers himself into some semblance of his former composed self, he exits the practice hall and immediately makes his way to the kitchens, where he knows Ignis Scientia can be found at this hour. Why the other boy spend so much time in the kitchens is a mystery to him, but Gladiolus does know that if he is to succeed in his duty to the crown, Ignis is a good place to start. At worst, he will find someone to commiserate his lot in life with. At best, he will gain some insight into the workings of Prince Noctis' mind and perhaps learn to tolerate the boy more than he currently does. War is coming, and even nine year old Gladiolus knows that Prince Noctis will need to trust him implicitly if he will ever be able to do his job like he has been raised to.

Ignis stands over a pot on one of the many stoves in the kitchen, wooden spoon in one hand and a serious look on his face as he meticulously stirs in a clockwise manner.  There is a cook not far away who watches Ignis closely as he works at the stove. Ignis spares Gladio a glance and gestures him closer to where he is working and the boy steps close. When Gladio glances down into the pot, he is fairly certain he can see the makings of a three bean soup and his belly rumbles appreciatively. Ignis raises an eyebrow and finally turns to face him once he is satisfied with the state of the soup, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot and laying it to rest on the spoon rest beside the stovetop. He meticulously wipes his hands clean on the apron covering his torso and thighs and without a single word he leads Gladio out of the kitchen and into an infrequently used corridor to the side of it.

"Are you okay Gladio?" Ignis asks, eyes serious as he gazes through his spectacles at the older boy. He knows this is the time set aside for Gladiolus and Noctis to practice sparring, though more often than not the Prince skips it all together in favour of cuddling with the cats in the nursery. Gladio shrugs, suddenly unwilling to open up to his only other companion in this massive Citadel they both call home. Ignis patiently waits, correctly assuming that, given enough time, his friend will let him know what seems to be on his mind. Several minutes pass with Ignis waiting patiently, arms crossed in front of him and Gladio pacing restlessly, before the Gladio finally looks up and meets Ignis' passive gaze.

"How do you do it, Ig? He's so spoiled, he doesn't even care about his duty!" The words feel like they're ripped out of his chest, and he subconsciously glances over his shoulder as though to ensure his father isn't within earshot, his father who at this very moment is locked in a serious meeting with Regis regarding their children.

Ignis sighs and suddenly seems much older than his eight years, and shakes his head softly. "Noctis isn't selfish. He's just a scared boy with very few friends. Why don't you try to be his friend too?"Gladio scoffs at this suggestion, ready to argue back that Noctis has more than enough friends, when Ignis continues speaking. "Just try, Gladio. The Prince isn't who you think he is."

Gladiolus spends the next several days mulling over Ignis' words before finally deciding that to take them to heart . The next time Noctis and Gladiolus cross paths in the Citadel, Noctis is so shocked at the polite greeting his Shield gives him that he trips over his own feet and ends up face first on the tiled floor with a very frantic Gladio helping him back up onto his feet and brushing him off. This comes as a great surprise to the prince's entourage, who manage to spread the news of what may be a blossoming friendship between Prince and Shield like a wildfire through a drought stricken field.

* * *

Regis, Clarus, and the Royal Advisors are in a meeting regarding the state of affairs outside of Insomnia when Clarus' mobile phone rings suddenly, interrupting the meeting with a series of beeps and trills. The display reads Cor Leonis when he pulls the device out his pocket. He mouths the man's name to Regis as he quickly gets out of his seat, the legs scraping against the tile floor as he slides the chair back under the table. He exits the room swiftly, answering the phone as the door swings shut behind him with a muted thud.

"Clarus here, what news do you have?"

The voice on the other end of the line is tinny and cuts in and out, but he manages to piece together the gist of the message. "I have a boy, he has the mark. I found him in Gralea, outside of a heavily guarded compound."

Clarus nods as the words come through, already formulating plans rapidly. "Bring him in."

Chapter Text

The Niflheim Empire is not an easy place to live. Darkness weighs heavily on the minds of all who dwell in the territory. Gralea, the capital city, is constantly shrouded in a black pall. The only thing that keeps the daemons at bay is the technology that allows bright light to shine through every street in the city without fail, day and night. Outside Gralea, the villages and small towns are less fortunate. The days have progressively grown shorter, until the sun barely shines long enough to ensure the growth of the crops that sustain the people of the land. In one such struggling village, a fair haired woman has just given birth after a long and almost unbearable pregnancy. She holds the skinny, quiet child in her arms and gazes into his newborn eyes. She thinks of the nightmarish circumstances that have led up to this day, and she cries.

"Prompto..." she whispers, naming her son though she knows eventually he will have even that taken from him. In the time that she has left with her child, she will show him a love he will never forget, and teach him to see light even in the darkness. It is the only gift she can give her son, an apology for the life she will later give him up to. It isn't as though she has a choice in the matter. What the Empire wants, the Empire takes. There is no room for disobedience.

And so it comes to pass that when Prompto turns three, an imperial airship descends upon the farm he and his mother live and work at. Three armed MTs drop from the airship and turn to face Prompto and his mother, who rushes in from the field and throws herself in front of her only child, hands covered in dirt from the harvest. She knows that there is no fighting the Empire, but a mother's instincts know no limits and she cares not about the risk to herself. Instead, she stands in the path of the advancing MTs and it is only when they wordlessly toss her aside like the weeds she had spent the entirety of the summer plucking from the fields, that she cries out for her son.

"No, no, not my boy!" she pleads, scrabbling on hands and knees after the troopers who have unceremoniously hauled Prompto into the gaping maw of the airship. She can hear her son crying out for her and his childlike "Mama, Mama!" is seared into her memory, along with the image of her sweet Prompto disappearing along with the airship into the distant sky. When dusk settles over the land once more and she no longer has Prompto to ground her in reality, she finally lets the darkness overtake her. With a shifting of scales and the hiss of many serpentine tongues tasting the black air around her, she vanishes into the wilderness surrounding the farm.  She only remembers one thing from her time before the change, and that is image of a tiny blonde child with vibrant blue eyes and long gangly limbs. Her voice has changed, become raspy and dangerous and she thinks only of the little boy.

"My baby....."

* * *

Prompto doesn't know why the scary men in armour won't speak to him, but by the time the airship has landed in a big city and darkness has fallen, he has finally gotten past the shock of being ripped from his mother and fallen into silence as his questions go unanswered. He wordlessly follows the three troopers as they herd him with ungentle gestures through a large iron doorway on the biggest building he has ever seen. When the doors slam shut behind him, he jumps and lets out a half strangled whimper. A man is standing before him, a bright white light shines behind him and Prompto thinks immediately that he is safe. He is wrong. When Prompto opens his mouth to ask the man where his mama is, the man's hand snaps out and he is slapped across the face in a gesture so shocking and brutal that he is stunned into silence.

So Prompto learns to speak only when spoken to, to listen and obey without hesitation, for hesitation leads to punishment, and the healing lashes that crisscross his back in a disjointed pattern are proof enough that it is better to do as he is told than it is to disobey. Prompto cries himself to sleep for the first three months, but when no one ever comes to soothe him, he stops crying. He stops smiling too, and soon he is like every other pale, blonde and unhealthy looking child in the facility. He takes the abuse without complaint when he performs poorly in whatever tasks the  adults in the laboratory command  him to perform. By the time Prompto is four years old his back is a mess of scars, both old and fresh, and his cheeks have sunken in. The skin around his eyes is constantly red and his eyes are permanently bloodshot. His lips are raw and scabbed from all the abuse they take when Prompto bites them to avoid crying out and provoking further punishment for his transgressions, though he knows not what they are.

In spite of all the physical suffering Prompto is subjected to in his first year as a test subject in the Imperial laboratory, the worst is when the adults in white inject him with the dark oily substance that gives him nightmares. He dreams he becomes a monster, all scales and long teeth and jagged claws. Those dreams are the worst, and he learns not to sleep after the black stuff has been injected into him.  They try to take his name from him, giving him a series of numbers and letters that he learns to respond to when they are called, but every night before he falls into a fitful sleep he remembers what his mama once called him, and in the impenetrable darkness of his cell, he whispers, "Prompto."

Prompto knows he was loved, once upon a time.

The day comes sometime during the third year of his imprisonment when the same man who greeted him in the lab with a slap to his cheek opens his cell door. It's not hard to remember the face of the person who changed your life forever. Prompto cowers in the disputable safety of his bedroll, curling his shoulders in on himself and hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt to look small. The man gestures Prompto out of the cell with a flick of his wrist, and despite his deep reluctance to obey the command, he pulls himself up on unsteady legs and feet and exits. The man leads him down a series of halls, turning without any sort of pattern and when he stops at a small nondescript door, Prompto nearly collides with his back but stops himself at the last moment, his nose nearly brushing against the starched white fabric of the older man's lab coat.

The door opens, and Prompto doesn't need to be told to enter the room. There are two things in the room. The first is a small metal chair with wide arms and a tall back. Leather straps dangle limply from the arms of the chair and the legs, and when Prompto sees them he understands that whatever is in store for him in this room, it is going to hurt. He doesn't realize just how much until he is seated in the chair and the straps are tightened around his forearms and ankles and his head is pressed back against the unforgiving metal that makes up the back of the chair.

The other thing in the room is a console beside the door. There are only two buttons on it, and the older man pushes the green one once Prompto is properly situated in the chair. "Be silent," the man commands, though Prompto hasn't spoken. Prompto watches, eyes widening further and further as a long metal appendage drops down from the ceiling, a long needle attached to the end of it. A black hose connects to the device, and Prompto swears he can smell the scent of the evil oily substance he has been subjected to so many times before. He barely has time to gather his self control before the needle meets the unmarked flesh on the outside of his right wrist, and then he experiences a pain like he never has before. He screams until his throat is raw and he can taste blood. He screams until his voice is hoarse and broken and eventually fades to nothing. When the pain ends and the device recedes into the ceiling, Prompto has soiled himself and lays limp in the chair, tears leaving salty stains down his pallid cheeks. He doesn't remember throwing up, but the foul combination of stomach acid and blood in his mouth suggests he has at some point. He doesn't struggle as someone releases his arms and ankles from their bonds, and he knows no more until he awakens in a long room. There are at least two dozen other children in the room with him. They all share the same blonde hair and pale complexion, and every single one of them has a black barcode imprinted into the flesh of their right wrist. He doesn't know what it means, but Prompto does know that for the first time in three years, he isn't alone.

This new life lasts several months until an eccentrically dressed man with hair the colour of the bloodstains Prompto has tried to scrub out of his clothes saunters into the sleeping quarters of the captive children and sizes them all up until his gaze finally lands to rest on Prompto. His eyes widen dramatically, and then he doubles over and laughs long and hard, clapping a hand on his knee in his mirth. The children all stare at the man like he has gone mad, though none of them dare move or make a sound. He finally straightens himself up into a standing position, dramatically wipes a tear from his eye, and points a well manicured finger directly at Prompto.

"Not this one," the man drawls, one side of his mouth curled up into a smile that doesn't meet his dangerous, glittering eyes. "This one was a mistake. Get rid of him, he has a different role to play in this unfolding drama." Prompto doesn't understand anything of what the man is saying, but when yet another MT marches in and grabs him roughly by the upper arm and hauls him out of the dormitory, he once again finds himself afraid.

He ends up on the streets outside the facility, tossed outside the compound fence and left to lay in the refuse, and for the first time since he was taken he sees the outside world. It terrifies him, and once he has found the relative shelter of a bus stop to settle in for the night, he cries openly for the first time in a very long time.  Several hours later, his loud, wracking sobs have tapered off into weak sniffling and he doesn't hear the approach of another human until a heavy weight falls on his shoulder.. He flinches at the unexpected sensation of a warm hand on his shoulder and springs back, hands curled into claws in front of him and a feral look in his bloodshot and tearstained eyes. The man in front of him, hand still cupped where he had it on his shoulder moments before, is tall and rugged. His hair is a light brown and he has a serious look on his face. Prompto breathes heavily, his body frozen between the urge to flee and the urge to stay and obey whatever command it sure to come next.

"Hey kid, what's your name? Mine's Cor," the man asks, voice placating and calm. He maintains the distance between the obviously distressed little boy and awaits a response. Prompto rattles off a series of numbers and letters that mean nothing to Cor, so he blinks and tries a different approach. "That's good, but what's your real name? Everyone has one."

Prompto clenches his hands into fists at his side, his expression changing rapidly and his eyes drift to one side. He's obviously trying to remember something, so Cor maintains his silence.

"...Prompto," the boy in question finally whispers, so softly Cor has to strain his ears to hear it properly. He nods thoughtfully, eye tracing over the scars on Prompto's malnourished body. He sees the darkness swirling beneath the surface, the dark stain on his right wrist and the even darker stain that must be on his soul, and understands, not for the first time, that fate works in mysterious ways. He makes a decision.

"Do you want to come with me Prompto? I know a safe place to go." Of course, he means Tenebrae and the court of Queen Sylva, but that can be explained later, once he has the boy's cooperation.

When Cor gestures for Prompto to follow him, he follows without complaint, falling into step slightly behind and to the right of the older man. There is zero hesitation, for Prompto has learned over the years that the only reward for disobeying an order is pain, and he has had more than enough pain for one day. Cor is just one more stranger in a long line of strangers to lead him into the unknown.

 The train they eventually board is cramped and smells strongly of unwashed bodies, but Prompto utters not a single complaint for the duration of the trip. There is safety in silence. The train stops in Tenebrae a long while later and they disembark to the view of a large manor backed by craggy mountains. The air Prompto breathes in is cool and crisp and some of the freshest he can remember breathing. An older woman greets them at the grand entrance to the manor, smiling benevolently down at Prompto despite his inability to make eye contact with her. She ushers the pair into a sitting room with a view of a garden full of beautiful blue flowers, and instead of taking a seat in the plush chairs scattered throughout the room, Prompto stands by the windows. He presses his hand against the pane of glass and loses himself in the splendor before him.

This is how Princess Lunafreya greets him, and when she gently clears her throat to gather his attention he springs back from the window, back straight and shoulders squared before he remembers himself and slumps forward slightly, peeking bashfully up at the pretty girl standing in front of him. She smiles fondly at him and Prompto finds himself reciprocating the expression, lips curling up in a hesitant smile. She is several years older than Prompto and her presence inexplicably brings him a peace he has not yet experienced in his short life.

"Prompto," Lunafreya says, cradling one of his thin, chapped hands between her smooth and slender ones, "I'd like to know what happened to you. Will you tell me?"

By the time Prompto has finished his tale, the sun has begun to set behind the peaks of the mountains and darkness swiftly approaches. There are tears in Lunafreya's eyes, and she delicately reaches up to brush them off her cheeks with the tips of her fingers. Prompto thinks, in that moment, that Lunafreya is the prettiest, kindest person he has ever met in his life.

"I think we need to speak to my mother, Prompto. She can help you."

Where Lunafreya goes, Prompto follows, and in short he is introduced to Queen Sylva of Tenebrae, the current Oracle. When Queen Sylva lays eyes on Prompto and sees how deep the darkness has spread into his young soul, she breaches court protocol and scoops him up into her arms. He doesn't fight the embrace, because much like her daughter, Queen Sylva has a deeply calming presence and he finds himself feeling safer in her arms than he has since he was taken away from his Mama. She presses her forehead against his, murmurs a string of words he doesn't quite catch, and with a burst of golden light a sudden warmth rushes through him, starting from the place their foreheads touch and spreading outward like an explosion to envelope his entire body. The heat washes away the remnants of insidious darkness from his time spent in the test facility, and it leaves him so incredibly tired it seems only natural for him to let his eyes fall shut and drop into a deep sleep in the arms of the Queen.

She looks fondly down at this boy, this little Prompto, and despite the upward turn of her lips, internally she grieves the future the Astrals have shown her. The Gods use their chosen ones harshly, she muses to herself, tracing the pattern of black on his wrist with her eyes. When Cor opens his arms to take Prompto back, she presses a lingering kiss to the boy's brow and relinquishes her hold on him. This is all she can do for this broken child - banish the darkness that has dwelled inside him for far too long and give him one fleeting moment of a mother's love. She bores her gaze into Cor's when he looks at her from across the throne room and he pauses to hear her words.

"Be gentle with him, Cor Leonis. The fate of Eos rests in your arms."   

* * *

Prompto has never seen the ocean before, has never even heard the word spoken in conversation and so when he finally sees the shimmering blue expanse of water spread across the horizon, he stumbles to a halt and gazes at the sight in slack-jawed wonder. Cor stops several steps later and turns to scold the boy for holding up their progress, but the words die unspoken in his throat at the look he sees upon Prompto's young face, and it warms something in his chest. He gives the boy several long moments to take in the view before guiding him towards the passenger ship set to ferry them to Lucis and does his best not to acknowledge Promptos' flinch when his hand lands heavily on the his shoulder. Any physical contact thus far has resulted in withdrawal from him and the evidence of Prompto's abuse becomes more glaringly clear the longer their time together grows. The rich food in Tenebrae had given Prompto stomach cramps and held up their journey for over a day, his poorly nourished body unused to food designed not only to sustain the body but to be enjoyed as well. His unwillingness to initiate any physical contact, even at the risk of being lost in the press of bodies at the toll booth they crossed to enter the docks, is another entrance in an ever growing list of reason's Cor despises the Empire.

"Prompto, let's go," he says, and attempts to lead him towards the docks and the ships beyond, but Prompto resists for the first time thus far on the journey and plants his feet, refusal to continue obvious in the set of his feet and shoulders. Cor sighs and looks down at Prompto, who hesitantly meets his eyes.  "This isn't up for debate, Prompto. We're getting on that boat."

At his words, Prompto can feel his jaw start to quiver and his vision blurs just slightly as his eyes become glassy, holding back tears. Of all the new things Prompto has experienced so far on his journey since being rejected from the facility, this is the one that finally causes him to rebel. He clenches his fists at his sides, bony knuckles white from the pressure he exerts on his hands.

"No."

Cor sighs long and loud, and before Prompto even knows what has happened, he's unceremoniously  thrown over Cor's shoulder and carried onto the boat, kicking and screaming, until Cor claps a hand over his mouth and silences him. The other passengers on the boat stare suspiciously at the oddly matched pair but make no move to help Prompto out when Cor flashes the symbol of his office. A few older passengers grumble about the Lucian king minding his own business in the peaceful country of Tenebrae, but otherwise there is little reaction to the spectacle.  

Prompto therefore refuses to speak to Cor during their journey across the ocean. He only knows it's called an ocean, because despite his silence during the trip, Cor has spoken to him, at length, about the three lands Prompto has traveled through and will travel to during their journey. Prompto appreciates the lessons for what they are and soaks up all the new knowledge, though his resentment for the ill treatment he received on the docks still simmers below the surface.

Several times he overhears Cor whispering things into the thin, rectangular device he holds up to his ear when he is supposed to be sleeping. Things like, "Yes, Clarus, I do believe it could be him," and "No, Clarus, he hasn't said anything yet," but most recently, "No, Clarus, I refuse to--" and this is when Cor finally loses his temper and angrily presses a red symbol on his phone, tossing the device into the corner of his sleeping cot and turning to face Prompto.

"Listen, kid, I know you're awake. When we make it to Lucis, we've still got a ways to go before our journey is over. You've got a lot to learn, so you may as well give up on this tedious silent treatment you've been giving me and start asking all the questions I can see rolling around in that head of yours. You've got a long road ahead of you, if you are who the King thinks you are." His words are blunt and he makes no effort to soften them.

Prompto doesn't quite understand the words Cor speaks to him. Long roads? Who does this King think he is? Prompto knows he's just another failed experiment of the Empire, that he will never be anything more than someone's unwanted responsibility. He scowls darkly at Cor and turns his back to him, burrowing further under his scratchy woolen blanket and forcing his eyes shut. Why bother getting attached, when he knows that once this King meets him, he'll be sent away again. He falls asleep that night with his hand clenched tight around the black ink on his wrist, and his dreams are dark and scary. He dreams of Mama, sick and twisted, her body covered in scales and her tongue forked. She reaches her unearthly green arms out to engulf him in a hug, eyes glittering and black. Before she can reach him, Cor shakes him awake and he bolts upright at the waist, his breath coming hard and choppy.

Cor gives him time to recover from the nightmare, though he makes no effort to comfort him, instead choosing to pack up their shared bag. When the packing is done, Cor turns to look at Prompto and takes in his pale visage, the salty tear tracks on his cheeks, and the black ink branded into his wrist. He knows now that they are back on Lucian soil, secrecy is key and so he reaches back into their bag and pulls out one of his black button up shirts. Prompto watches suspiciously as he cuts a strip from the bottom of the garment. He balks, backing himself into a corner, when Cor advances on him with the strip of fabric in his hands.

"Relax kid, I'm not going to hurt you," Cor rumbles, his attempt at sounding soothing falling short. "We just need to cover that mark on your wrist. To keep you safe." He adds when Prompto narrows his eyes, upturned nose crinkling ever so slightly with the expression.  They stand like that for several tense moments, Prompto unwilling to move and Cor patiently waiting, the fabric dangling limply from his outstretched palm. Prompto finally relents and holds out his wrist. Cor grunts his approval and wraps the fabric around his thin, bony wrist several times before knotting it.

"Now, let's get you onto Lucian soil."

They disembark.

Chapter Text

Prompto barely has time to appreciate the splendor of the beach resort of Galdin Quay when he finds his gaze landing on a massive bird with flashy sunshine-yellow plumage standing on two long legs. He gapes wordlessly at the animal for several long seconds before Cor turns to him in exasperation, prepared to throw him back over his shoulder. The threat goes unspoken however when Prompto breaks his personal vow of silence to raise a still too-skinny arm and points with a hand that shakes at the bird.

"Wha-- what's that?" His voice is croaky from disuse, and he has to clear the phlegm from his throat before he can properly voice his question. A surprised snort is forced out of Cor at this, because of course Prompto would refuse to speak to or even look at him while they crossed the entire ocean, but once faced with a chocobo he suddenly finds his voice again. All boys, it would seem, have the same priorities no matter their lot in life.

"It's a chocobo, kid," he responds once he is sure his voice won't betray the odd mixture of mirth and irritation settling in his gut. Prompto of course pays no heed to the tone of his words and instead wanders towards the large yellow bird in what can only be described as a trance.

"Hi chocobo," Prompto whispers to the chocobo, which turns its head to focus one huge, brown eye on the boy in front of it. It emits a soft "kweh!" eliciting a gasp of delight from Prompto, before bending its neck down and cocking its head in an obvious request for physical affection. Prompto complies without hesitation, reaching up to place a still trembling hand on the bird's beak and cards the fingers of his other hand through the feathers just behind the bird's head. Cor watches silently as the tense, angry boy from the journey on the boat melts away and is replaced with the child Prompto should have been, and feels something inside him thaw ever so slightly. He tamps the feeling down and clears his throat.  Prompto jumps and backs away from the bird, his face closing off and becoming guarded, his shoulders hunched but posture otherwise rigid. The sudden difference in Prompto's demeanor shouldn't surprise Cor after this long together, but it does, if only because he had been so open and carefree with the chocobo moments ago. His next words will likely cause Prompto to combust with excitement if merely seeing the bird is enough to excite him.

"We're riding one on the way to Insomnia, you know," he offers casually, turning his body away from Prompto but not so much that he can't see the look of pure joy that crosses his face at the news. He hides a smile behind a hand raised to his mouth and busies himself with paying the rental fee for the chocobo.

Prompto is again enraptured by the chocobo and reaches up once more, no longer hesitant, to stroke his hand along the length of the bird's wing. It ruffles up its feathers under his attention and reaches down once more with its beak, this time to comb through his hair, causing Prompto to giggle in childish delight. Chocobos, Prompto decides, are the best thing in the world. When Cor makes his way over to Prompto, their bag slung over his shoulders, he is again warmed by the sight of the boy openly laughing as the bird preens his hair, which messes the blonde locks up until they resemble the backside of a chocobo. His lips quirk up in a smile and he clears his throat to get Prompto's attention. This time, the boy doesn't skitter away but instead looks back over his shoulder to gaze up at Cor with brilliant blue eyes, clearly lost in the joy of the moment.

"Up we go," Cor orders, before he scoops Prompto up by the armpits and settles him at the front of the bird's saddle. He makes note of how easy it is to lift the boy up, the way he feels every rib as he ensures he has his balance on the saddle, and files the information away to process later, when his mission for the King is over. He climbs up behind Prompto and clicks his tongue to the bird, and they are in motion, swaying with the slightly uneven and awkward gait of the chocobo beneath them. Prompto whoops softly in delight and throws his arms up above his head and nearly tips off the chocobo but for Cor wrapping a muscular arm around his torso. He settles quickly into silence as the ocean resort fades from view behind them and the dusty, winding road stretches out ahead of them.

The journey to their next destination is relatively eventless, serving only to numb Prompto's bottom and make his legs ache from the prolonged position they are in, spread out over the back of the chocobo. Eventually he tires of sitting bolt upright and leass back against the firmness of Cor's chest, allowing himself to relax just slightly into the older man. Cor says nothing, his only reaction to encourage the chocobo to increase its pace with a click of his tongue.

"Wh-where are we going?" Prompto speaks so softly Cor nearly misses the question. This is one of the few times Prompto has initiated a conversation, yet it is the second time he has done so in this day alone. He considers this an improvement, a sign that maybe this kid from the Empire isn't so messed up that he won't be any good for his Prince and his King.

"We're headed to the Hammerhead first, to pick up the car and afterwards we drive to Insomnia, where King Regis awaits you," Cor supplies, glancing down at the top of Prompto's blonde head. The boy is silent for a stretch of time, and the creak of leather from the chocobo's saddle and bridle are all that can be heard in the gap in the conversation.

"What's a car?"

Again, Cor is struck by how little of the world Prompto has been exposed to, and his opinion of the Empire and its ways sinks even lower than it previously has been. What sort of child doesn't even know what a car is? Not to mention the ocean, for that matter?

"A car is like...." Here Cor trails off, mulling over the best way to describe the vehicle in question. He finds his answer as the sound of an engine can be heard ahead of them, and he points at the dark shape forming in the distance before speaking again, "you'll see right away, kid. It's easier to show you than to explain anyway."

They fall into silence again, and when the car is finally within viewing distance Prompto uses a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and squints at the shape in front of him. It's blurry, and it isn't until the car is nearly upon him that he sees the vehicle for what it is, and he perks up.

"It's like an airship. Can cars fly too?"

Cor considers this, then shakes his head. "No, cars can't fly. Prompto, how do you know what an airship is?"

So Prompto finds himself telling a second person just how he knows what an airship is, and then the story that accompanies it once Cor prompts him to do so. The explanation lasts well into the afternoon, and by the time he has finished with it Cor can see Hammerhead on the horizon. The sun is beginning its descent towards the horizon, therefore the timing could not have been better for this leg of their journey to end.

"Prompto, I'm sorry," Cor finally says after several long moments of silence. What more can he say, in the face of such overwhelming abuse the boy he shares a saddle with has experienced. Prompto shrugs in front of him, curls in on himself in what Cor has come to recognize is a defense mechanism, and falls silent once more. He pretends not to hear the soft sniffles Prompto emits, nor does he react to the slight tremor he can see in his shoulders.

Prompto cries softly until the Hammerhead garage is directly in front of him. He wipes the tears and snot from his face on the back of his hand and then onto the nondescript grey pants he wears, sniffs once loudly to clear the mucous from his sinuses, and clears his throat. Cor leads the chocobo up to the entrance of a modestly sized garage before he stops the bird and climbs down, patting it on the neck once he is back on solid ground. His muscles protest the sudden change in position and he bites back a groan, instead reaching up to help Prompto down, but Prompto surprises him by clamoring down all on his own, a mess of skinny long legs and arms. His feet hit the pavement with a light thud and he throws his slender arms around the bird's neck, nuzzling his face into the soft feathers on its chest.

"Thanks, chocobo," he whispers into the softness, and the chocobo warbles softly, rustling its feathers in contentment. Prompto backs away from the chocobo and looks up at Cor, a question on his lips, when a feminine voice cuts across the lot.

"Pawpaw we got company!"

Prompto turns his entire body to the sound of the voice like it's a beacon calling him home, and his eyes fall upon a girl much older than him, blonde haired and tall, and his mouth falls slightly agape. Lunafreya is forgotten immediately, replaced instead by this girl who is definitely the prettiest person he has ever met in his life. He is dumbstruck, even more so when the girl comes closer and smiles down at him, bending forward to see him face to face.

"Why, you're a cute little thing!" she chirps, and reaches forward to muss up his hair. When he flinches away from the touch she frowns slightly and backs up, hand falling to her side. "Sorry cutie! Name's Cindy, nice to meet ya!"

Prompto blushes from the tips of his ears down to his toes, and refuses to speak, instead choosing to stare down at his feet and grind the toe of his left shoe into the pavement. Cor chuckles in amusement and chucks Cindy on the chin, who grins toothily up at him and scampers backwards towards the entrance to the garage, calling over her shoulder, "I'll get Pawpaw, and he'll get your car mister Cor!"

"She's cute, huh?" Cor teases gently, and Prompto shoots him a horrified look from the corner of his eyes. "Oh don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Cindy emerges from the depths of the garage a few short moments later, another figure beside her, taller and slightly bent over. When they're close enough for Prompto to make out their facial features, Prompto realizes it's an old man beside Cindy and he subtly steps behind Cor, to the relative safety his imposing form provides. He peers around Cor's torso and keeps a suspicious eye on the old man while the adults talk to one another.

"This is what ol' Reggie sent you out on a mission into Niff territory for?" The old man asks, gesturing to Prompto who shifts even further behind Cor so that he can no longer see the other man. He makes Prompto nervous, reminds him too much of the older man who marked him at the facility in Gralea.

"Cid, you know I can't discuss the particulars with you," Cor hedges, shifting his weight to one hip and crossing his arms across his chest. Cid scoffs and waves a hand in the space between the two men. There is an odd tension in the air and it makes Prompto want to hide somewhere safe and quiet.

"What, the good King can't trust ol' Cid anymore?" The words are mocking but Prompto catches the bitter undercurrent as well. There is more going on in this conversation than what is presented on the surface. Prompto shivers uncomfortably, desperate to carry on with their journey and be done with this old man.

"Cid..." Cor sighs, reluctant to continue along the same vein of conversation. Prompto agrees with the sentiment, wishing fervently that whatever needs to be done in this place is done soon so he can be away from Cid. The desire to leave outweighs any desire he may have to stay and look at Cindy and admire her.

Cid clears his throat and flaps his hand at Cor again. "Whatever, I'll get yer car ready for you. Tell that King of ours his old friend Cid says hi, would ya? Wouldn't do to have him forget one of his oldest buddies."

With that, Cid turns and wanders back in the direction of the garage and Cindy sighs woefully.

"Pawpaw never lets me pull out the vehicles. I'm twelve you know, I can drive just fine!" She huffs, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead, and Prompto peers back around Cor to get another look at her, suddenly finding his voice.

"I'm... I think I'm six," he offers, the tips of his ears red and his voice wavering only slightly. Cor furrows his brow. He thinks he's six? He files it away in his mind as one more question to ponder when his duty is done and he is back in his own room at the Citadel.

Cindy positively gushes, shoving Cor out of the way by ramming two hands against his waist and leaning heavily into them until he awkwardly shuffles to the side, revealing a very bashful Prompto standing with his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes pointed downward. She chatters nonstop at him until the rumble of an engine can be heard and a nondescript, slightly aged black car pulls out of the garage and rolls to a stop beside the trio. The driver's side door opens and Cid steps out with a groan, stretching his back once he's completely out of the vehicle.

"Well, there ya go, Cor the Immortal, better hit the road."

The dismissal is clear and Cor ushers Prompto into the passenger seat of the vehicle, buckling him up securely and closing the door on him. Prompto presses his hands and his face against the glass and watches out the window as Cindy leans against Cid, the elderly man wrapping and arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. He feels the unease uncoil slightly from its tight ball in his belly and barely flinches when Cor gets into the driver's side and slams the door shut. As the car pulls out of Hammerhead, the last thing Prompto sees before his vision becomes too blurry is Cindy waving excitedly at them,  and he presses his forehead against the glass and shuts his eyes. How many more people did he have to meet before this long and confusing journey was over?  Eventually he leans back in his seat and the sound of the engine lulls him into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

When Prompto wakes next, it's to an entirely new world. There are bright lights every direction he looks, and some of the lights look like they reach up to the sky and brush the stars. It must be late at night, but the crush of traffic has slowed their vehicle down to a slow crawl and when he turns towards Cor to ask him where they are, he sees the man looking significantly more relaxed than he has been on their entire trip, turning his entire demeanor softer, somehow more approachable.

"Where are we?" Prompto asks quietly, hands idly twisting the seatbelt stretched across his lap as he awaits a response. Cor glances towards Prompto briefly before returning his eyes to the road and the traffic in front of them.

"Insomnia. We'll be at the Citadel soon, and then you'll meet the King."

Prompto considers this response briefly before he settles back into his seat and stares thoughtfully out at the sights before him. He has never seen so much activity in such a small space, and the view enchants him. Slowly the crowd and the press of vehicles tapers off and Cor eases their vehicle up a long drive, stopping before a tall and heavy iron gate. He unrolls his window and presses the pad of his thumb onto a panel in the wall beside the gate. A series of beeps follows, then the sound of gears grinding and shifting into motion, and suddenly the gate swings open. Cor rolls the window back up and advances the vehicle.

When the car stops moving and Cor cuts the engine, they are in an underground parking lot. They step out of the vehicle, Prompto clambering down on unsteady legs, and close the doors behind them. The trunk pops and Cor scoops up their lumpy pack. When he starts walking towards a door at the far end of the compound, Prompto follows dutifully behind him, skinny legs moving rapidly to keep pace with his companion. Before they can reach the door, it swings open and a tall, imposing figure steps through the doorway and stops, blocking off their exit. Prompto skids to a stop, unable to force his body to advance any further due to the nervous energy gathering inside him. Cor stops too, bowing slightly at the waist to the other man.

"Cor Leonis, back from the depths of Niflheim. This is the boy?" the new man asks, staring hard at Prompto and making him shiver in anticipated fear. He can feel his palms sweating and the desire to flee is so strong it almost defeats his body's inability to move any further. Cor nods and gestures behind him to where Prompto cowers.

"Clarus. Yes, this is Prompto. News from the King?"

Clarus eyes Prompto for a long moment before returning his gaze back onto Cor, who stands erect and at attention in the face of his superior. He doesn't miss the way Cor subtly shifts his body to block his view of the Imperial child and scowls slightly at the observation.

"The nursery for tonight, then in the morning the King will meet the two of you for breakfast. You're dismissed, Leonis."

With one final assessing look at Prompto, Clarus turns back and disappears through the doorway. Prompto feels the weight of his terror peel itself off his shoulders and breathes deeply in relief. Something about Clarus sets his nerve endings on edge, makes him want to run for cover and never come out. Cor waves Prompto forward and leads him through a mind boggling maze of corridors and stairwells until he opens up a pair of double doors into a well illuminated room. The walls are series of murals and carvings, obviously well crafted by skilled artisans. Prompto can make out several different landscapes and is pleased to see Galdin Quay depicted along a section of wall beside him. Before he can look further at this new room, a soft mew sounds at his feet and he looks down to see a small white and black furred animal twining its way between his legs, tail curling around his thin ankle and tickling him. Before he can even ask the question at the tip of his tongue, Cor provides the answer to his curiosity, "It's a cat, you're going to have to get used to them around here."

Prompto leans down to let the cat sniff his fingers, and when the animal rubs its silky cheek against his hand he smiles in delight and scratches it behind the ears. It lets out another soft meow and saunters off, tail upright and bobbing jauntily with every step. He cautiously steps further into the room and then towards a bed bigger than anything he has ever seen in his life. The linens are black and when he reaches out to touch them, they're as soft as the cat's fur and he wants to press his face into the material and curl up to sleep. Cor chuckles from behind him and Prompto jumps in surprise, drawing his hand away from the blanket and standing at attention.

"Relax Prompto, you're safe here. Try to get some rest, I'll be in the next room over. I'll hear you if you need anything." He sees the panic growing in Prompto's eyes and after a slight hesitation, reaches out to cup Prompto's face in one of his calloused hands. The boy flinches slightly but doesn't withdraw from the touch, searching for some sort of reassurance in this moment.

 "Prompto," Cor repeats himself, "you're safe. Nothing can touch you here. You're safe. I swear it on my life."

Finally, Prompto relents and withdraws from his touch, slipping off the well made shoes the Queen of Tenebrae had given him and crawling straight into the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he unknots the strip of fabric from around his wrist and drops it on the floor. He curls up under the blankets and stares up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the constellations painted into the tiles above him. Cor makes his way into the chamber reserved for the nursemaid on duty, unused now for over a year, and allows the door to swing  almost closed until it is left slightly ajar. Prompto hears him going about his nightly routine and when Cor finally settles down and the room becomes silent and dark, he is left staring above his head, unseeing due to the inky blackness.

Prompto doesn't sleep, his mind unable to slow down enough to grant him the reprieve of rest, and so when the door to the nursery silently swings open hours later, he notices almost immediately. A small, slender figure is illuminated by the light in the hallway outside the nursery. The black and white cat is there to greet the intruder with a slightly squeaky meow and is rewarded with a scratch behind the ears. The door closes again, enveloping the room in darkness once more so Prompto feels, rather than sees, the figure as it makes its way towards his bed.

Each step that brings the other person closer to his bed sends Prompto deeper into paralyzed fear. He can't even close his eyes, trapped in his own body and unable to command it to move, run, flee. Cor said he would be safe, but the fact of the matter is that there is a strange person in this room and they are coming towards him. The footsteps stop beside his bed and a tear is slowly tracking down his cheek when the blankets are tossed off his body and finally his body obeys his urgent pleas to act.

He lets out an ungodly scream, bolting upright in bed and flinging himself bodily towards the person in front of him. They collide in a tangle of limbs, falling to the floor where Prompto lands on top of the unknown person, hands clenched tight on their shoulders and fingers digging in painfully deep. The light switches on at this point as Cor stumbles out of his room and into the nursery, letting out an impressive array of curses at the sight he is met with.

Finally Prompto sees the stranger, and when their eyes meet in the light his breath catches in his throat. It feels like an MT has just struck him in the chest, leaving him breathless and dizzy. His throat aches and his body feels disconnected from his mind. His hands fall limp at his sides as he stares down at the slender black haired boy beneath him, who appears wide eyed and very clearly rattled, likely due to the sudden and unexpected attack. He can't look away, but neither can the other boy. The world narrows down to just the two of them.

"It's you," the stranger breathes at the same time Prompto wonders aloud,

 "Who are you?"

Chapter Text

Cor is completely forgotten by both boys in the series of events that rapidly follows. Prompto, frozen as he is by the other boy's declaration, finds himself completely immobile and unable once again to move his limbs at will. The dark haired boy wriggles his way out from below Prompto and moves to kneel in front of him, eyes tracing his thin, unkempt form and finally stopping on his bared right wrist. Prompto feels a deep sense of loss when they are no longer touching one another and shakes his head slightly to dispel the feeling. It doesn't work, and his fingers itch to reach out to him again. The other boy's deep blue eyes widen slightly, before he reaches out lightning fast to grip Prompto's wrist and hold it up into the light, inspecting each line and shape of the tattoo that mars the otherwise pale flesh there. The sudden unexpected contact sets off a flurry of butterflies in his stomach and leaves him breathless once again.

Prompto finds his voice at this point and asks once more, "Who are you?"

Distractedly, the other boy responds, "Noctis," as he reaches up with his other hand to delicately trace the lines of Prompto's codeprint. He shudders at the sensation and attempts to tug his wrist away, overwhelmed by the feeling the touch elicits, but Noctis refuses to let go. "What's your name?" He tacks on, almost as an afterthought, so obviously engrossed in the dark ink on Prompto's wrist.

"Prompto," he provides, successfully wrenching his wrist away from Noctis and defensively clutching it to his chest, hand clasped tight over the mark to obscure it from vision. Cor told him to keep it a secret, that if people knew he could be in danger. Cor also told him not to tell strangers his name, but that fact seems less important to Prompto at the moment.

"Prompto," Noctis parrots, before lifting his own right wrist up to his mouth. He uses his teeth and free hand to clumsily unclasp his leather wrist band and allows it to fall to the floor between them.  The strip of skin bared is even paler than the rest of him, and he turns his wrist so that Prompto can see the matching mark on the bare skin there. He stares wordlessly, until an invisible force prompts him to raise his own hands to cradle Noctis' pale wrist and run his index finger along the dark pattern there. Noctis shivers but remains still, blue eyes boring into Prompto's, though he is too engrossed in their matching marks to return the gaze. Is it possible that someone else made it out from the facility in Gralea?

It's then that Cor's voice finally breaks through the bubble they find themselves in, and they register the words he speaks into the phone held up to his ear.

"How was I supposed to know His Highness was going to - you can't possibly think - Clarus why on Eos would I -" he finally lets out a frustrated groan and grabs a handful of the short hair at the side of his head and tugs it in frustration, clearly angry as he continues speaking, this time determined to make himself heard, "No Clarus I did not do this, what could possibly make you think I would disobey an order from my King?"

He paces restlessly, glancing often to the two boys still knelt together on the floor, engrossed in the twin marks they share on their wrists, and he feels his frustration at the situation grow by leaps and bounds the more Clarus barks at him from the other end of the line.

"What, now I can't be trusted to escort His Highness and an Imperial child to an audience with the King? Fine, whatever. We'll be here."

He ends the call with an angry tap to the red button on the screen of his phone and turns to the two boys before him, determinedly forcing himself to calm down and not take out his irritation on the Prince and his young charge. The Prince never reacts well to outward displays of negative emotion, and Prompto is no different in that regard. Once he is sure he is capable of speaking to them in a calm manner, he clears his throat loudly to get their attention. They ignore him completely to instead stare at one another wordlessly. Cor tamps down his frustration and changes tactics, clapping his hands together loudly in a sharp staccato that reverberates throughout the room, echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Prompto, true to character, jumps violently at the sound and scrambles to his feet first, leaving the Prince to kneel in front of him before he too gets up onto his own two feet, albeit more gracefully. He looks pained at the sudden separation and Cor watches curiously as the boys gravitate back towards one another until their arms are close enough to brush together. They both seem to relax at the physical contact, though Prompto still appears guarded and Cor can see the excited energy buzzing through the Crown Prince.

"The King and Clarus are on their way down here as we speak," he tells the two children, running a hand back through his hair and sighing in resignation before he continues, gaze trained solely on Noctis "It seems your inability to sleep has upended their plans to introduce you two in a more formal manner."

To Prompto, it's obvious Cor is stressed out and the fact that his companion and perhaps protector is out of sorts is enough to bring the nerves back in full force to run rampant in his belly. He feels a cramp starting and clutches his aching abdomen with his left hand, biting back a whimper. Noctis notices however and turns to focus his energy on Prompto, hands hovering uselessly around Prompto's abdomen.

"Are you okay?" Noctis asks, concern evident in his voice and serving only to distress Prompto more, for he still has no idea why his body reacted so intensely to Noctis minutes prior, nor why he suddenly finds himself wanting to reassure the other boy that he is fine when he very obviously isn't. He doesn't get the chance to mull over his questions because at that moment, the nursery door is flung wide open and in strides a tall, regal looking man with a thick dark beard peppered with grey. He wears a dark blue pajama set with white pinstripes and a pair of black woolen slippers.  Noctis turns immediately to him, attention focused on him with a deep intensity.

"Dad!" he shouts, hurrying over to the other man and tugging on his arm with both hands, leading him towards Cor and Prompto impatiently while he continues to speak, "why didn't you tell me? It's him, dad. My soulmate!"

"Your Majesty," Cor greets, bowing low to the other man, and Prompto finally realizes this must be the King, which means that Noctis is the Prince. The Prince who, several minutes ago, Prompto had pinned to the floor, ready to fight for his life. He feels a sudden sense of dread overtake him and takes advantage of the distraction Noctis poses to the King to quietly make his way to where Cor stands at attention and hovers slightly behind him though he is still able to take in the scene unfolding before him.

The King glances towards Cor and Prompto and his eyes focus in on Prompto, taking in what he is able to of the boy from where he is obviously hiding. He frowns slightly and wraps an arm around Noctis' shoulders, pressing his son against his side affectionately before he speaks, "Hello Prompto. My name is Regis, would you please come out from behind Cor?"

Prompto can't disobey an order like that, and so he hesitantly makes his way toward the king, each step feeling heavy and convinced his life is about to end. When he finally stops before the King and Noctis, Noctis makes to move back to Prompto's side but the arm around his shoulders tightens and he is forced to stay where he is. Regis looks down at Prompto and takes in the sight of the bedraggled boy, barefoot and in ill fitting clothes with questionable stains on them, then narrows his focus down to his right wrist. Prompto covers the mark there self consciously, gaze trained steadily on the King's knees and not an inch higher.

"Please, let me see your wrist," Regis requests, and although it's the last thing Prompto wants to do, he uncovers his wrist and steps even closer, holding his arm up for inspection. He lets his gaze fall to the side and land on Noctis, who looks like he could crawl out of his own skin any minute due to the nervous energy buzzing around him. He can't stand still, fidgets restlessly and shifts his weight from one foot to the other repetitively. When their eyes meet, Noctis smiles brilliantly at Prompto who looks away rapidly, unsettled by the response and his body's desire to smile back in turn.

"Noctis, yours too." Noctis obliges, holding up his right wrist so that they are side by side, and again Prompto marvels at the perfect match. No child in the facility had the same mark, each one varying slightly so that the machinery could be adjusted automatically to suit each child as they went through testing. Regis hums thoughtfully, then nods and releases his son from his grip. Noctis ducks under Regis' arm and is about to make his way back to Prompto's side when the door opens once more, so hard the knob smashes into the wall beside it, and Prompto flinches, stumbling back a few steps.

Clarus stands in the doorway, and for one brief moment Prompto knows fear like he hasn't since his marking. Then his eyes travel downward and he sees exactly what Clarus is wearing. It's a light grey night gown that hangs loosely, stopping just below his wrinkly, knobby knees. He wears nothing on his feet. Prompto can feel the beginnings of a smile, so foreign to him, and bites down on his lips to halt the expression in its tracks. Noctis is less successful, and lets out a bark of disbelieving laughter, before clapping his hand over his mouth, eyes wide but shining with mirth. Clarus scowls at the two of them, the weight of his gaze making Prompto once more wish he was hidden behind Cor.

"Clarus, so nice of you to join us," Regis welcomes the final member of their impromptu meeting. Clarus bows to his King before rounding back on Cor, anger clear in his eyes.

"You had one job, Leonis!" he snarls, stepping around Regis and making his way towards Cor with obvious intent to harm. Prompto doesn't know what comes over him, but before he can stop himself he purposefully puts himself in Clarus' path, skinny arms crossed over his chest and a stubborn set in his shoulders. Clarus scoffs and brushes him aside easily, causing him to stumble and land hard on his knees, the skin there burning immediately.  There isn ’t enough time for Cor to react to either Prompto’s or Clarus’ actions, because Noctis gasps in outrage and grabs a fistful of Clarus' sleepwear, tugging hard on the fabric as he shouts, "Leave him alone!"

At the same time Noctis grips the night gown in his small hand, Regis barks out a sharp, “Clarus! Stand down!”Fury rises through the King at the sight of his chosen Shield knocking a mere child down in anger.

Clarus halts  at the command of his King though he  turns to stare darkly down at his Prince before his eyes land on the boy on the floor beside him. Noctis, seeing he has succeeded in stopping Clarus, hurries to Prompto's side and helps him back up, though Prompto initially brushes off the assistance, still too rattled to accept the physical contact. He looks down to his knees and sees the redness seeping through his pants and mourns the ruin of his last clean pair of pants. Noctis looks down, sees the same redness, and recognizes an opportunity.

"Dad, I can prove he's my soulmate!" Noctis declares, and without further ado he tugs down his black pajama pants, baring his underwear, but most importantly his knees, to the room. The angry red patch of skin on both knees is there, an obvious sign of a fresh soul scar, and Noctis crows proudly, "I knew it!"

"Prompto?" Regis requests, though he already knows the truth behind his son's words. Prompto can only stare in confusion at the King, not understanding what he is asking of him. Noctis impatiently gestures to his knees and he understands then, gingerly pulling up the legs of his pants until the weeping flesh there is visible to all in the room. The proof is undeniable.

Clarus lets out a shocked, "Shiva's tits!" before he can catch himself, eyes trained on the boys' knees. Cor is more reserved, taking in the sight before him silently. It was always a possibility that he had brought the right child, but he truly didn't think it could have been so easy. Perhaps it was too easy.  There were still so many questions left unanswered.

Regis only lets his gaze linger briefly on their knees before he strides slowly towards Prompto and reaches out to grasp his bony chin gently between thumb and forefinger.

"Look at me, child," he whispers, tipping Prompto's face into the light. Prompto meets his eyes then, feeling small and terrified while Regis scrutinizes him. He takes in all the little scars littering the boy's face, ranging from the soft silver of old wounds now healed to the more angry red of fresher scars, and he knows. The mark below his eye brow matches the same mark that once appeared on Noctis' face as he slept so peacefully, the night Regis saw the first soul scars. The knick in his upper lip that marred the otherwise perfect pout, the still angry and red scar on his left cheek, below his eye. His gaze trails down to Prompto's neck and he sees the thick silvery scar that curls up from under the neck of his shirt, flicks up to just below his ear, and he knows.

He curses the Crystals, the Astrals, fate and life itself in that moment. Would that his son was not chosen to walk this path. What would it mean, to the citizens of Insomnia and Lucis, that their Crown Prince, marked by Bahamut himself to be the Chosen King, was a perfect match to, the soulmate of an Imperial creation bearing the mark of their cursed army. He releases Prompto's chin then, nods once to himself and turns toward Clarus and Cor who have put aside their irritation at one another  for the time being to await his next instructions.

"It's him. Go back to your wife and children, Clarus. We ’ll talk later. Cor, you're dismissed. You'll be rewarded properly as soon as I am able."

The two men bow stiffly before they move to leave the room in a single file, Cor taking up the rear and glancing once more at Prompto, who looks terrified at the loss of the only person he knows in this strange place. He hesitates, then turns to face the boy fully and crouches down.

"C'mere, kid," he coaxes, and with less reluctance than he would have had at the beginning of their journey together, Prompto makes his way into Cor's open arms and presses his face into his shirt, clenching his burning eyes shut as he breathes in deeply. "You're safe, Prompto. The King and the Prince have been waiting a very long time to meet you. I promise, you're safe. You can go with them."

Prompto shakes his head delicately, letting out a shaky, stuttering breath, and backs out of the embrace, wiping his face with both hands. He looks up to Cor when he stands to leave again and whispers a nearly silent, "Okay.."

Cor nods to him once, bows again to his monarch, and leaves the room.

"..Pull your pants up, son," Regis breaks the silence in the nursery, and Noctis hurries to obey, tugging up his sleep pants and tightening the ties in the waist to keep them around his hips. Prompto is left standing apart from the father and son, crossing his arms over his abdomen and curling in on himself slightly. He wants to believe that what Cor has told him is the truth, but he is so tired from their long journey and this even longer night, that all he really wants is to lay down and not wake up for a long, long time.

Noctis must sense his unease, because the next thing Prompto knows, he has a head of black hair in his face and Noctis is peering up at him, bent over slightly to ensure they make eye contact. He wants to back away from their closeness, but his body refuses to listen, instead making him lean towards the other boy rather than away. Noctis grins and backs away, though he stays within arm's reach.

"Dad?"  Noctis queries, looking  over to his father and meeting his regal gaze with wide, pleading blue eyes.

"Yes son?" Regis replies, very aware of what his son is attempting to do but powerless to stop it, completely unable to say no to his only child's beseeching eyes.

"Can Prompto stay in my room tonight?"

Regis considers all the reasons why this is a bad idea, a foolish thing to agree too. He considers all these things and still knows he will be giving into his son's wishes, unless..

"Why don't you let him decide? Surely Prompto can speak for himself," Regis responds, turning his heavy gaze over to the blonde haired boy in question, who stands a little taller under the gaze of both royals, desperate to make a good impression despite his exhaustion.

Prompto looks from King Regis to Noctis, lets his tired gaze settle on Noctis for far too long while he deliberates, and then shrugs passively. What does it matter where he sleeps, when surely in the morning they will have realized their mistake in welcoming him into their Citadel and allowing him to stay the night. Noctis cheers in delight at the gesture and bounds over to Prompto, carelessly grabbing his right hand and tugging him out and into the hallway despite Prompto's reflexive flinch at the unexpected contact. Neither of them hear Regis's calling after them in exasperation before the door swings closed. He follows Noctis, unable to do anything but allow himself to be led down another twisting maze of stairways and hallways until he enters into a large bedroom.  

Prompto doesn't even bother to take in the room itself, instead zeroing in on the bed with laser focus. He makes his way over to it, climbs in and crawls under the covers. His knees sting when he uses them to get into the bed but it hurts significantly less than anything he ever experienced at the facility. The moment his head hits the plush pillow, he falls into a deep sleep.

When he awakens in the early hours of the morning, he is uncomfortably warm and there is an arm slung across his waist. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder and sees Prince Noctis pressed up against him, nose nestled into the soft hairs at the base of his neck and soft breaths tickling him with every exhale. He considers shrugging out from the other boy's embrace, but before he can do so, exhaustion overtakes him and he sleeps soundly once more.

Regis makes his way into his son's bedchambers later that morning, after Noctis has officially missed breakfast, and the view that he is greeted with both warms his heart and chills him. Noctis is sprawled out on his back. Prompto is on his belly, one leg slung across Noctis' legs and an arm across his torso. Their hands are clenched tightly together and the black ink of Prompto's codeprint is glaringly obvious in the morning light.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. He wishes for his wife, for the wisdom and guidance she always offered him, and waits for the children to wake.

Chapter Text

When Prompto awakens again, it's to the welcome sight of the sun shining in through gauzy white curtains hung over a window across from him and a soft breeze on his face. His hand is held tight in Noctis' in the bed they share, but he finds that he is so relaxed and comfortable that he doesn't mind the physical contact. He eventually yawns loudly, pulling his hand from Noctis' grip and sits up slowly, stretching lanky arms high above his head. When he opens his eyes again after yawning, he sees the King sitting in the chair across from the foot of the bed and yelps in terror, scrambling backwards in the bed and smashing the back of his skull against the heavy wooden headboard. Noctis rouses at the commotion and slowly sits up, smacking his lips and rubbing his face with both hands. He groans softly then turns to Prompto and suddenly he is fully awake, eyes trained on Prompto as he crawls towards the other boy, flapping his hands uselessly around his body, unsure of what to do.

"Prompto?!" Noctis calls out to him, and the other boy stills at the sound of his voice, one hand pressed firmly to the back of his head where he can feel a lump beginning to form. "Are you okay?" Noctis continues as he pulls Prompto closer to him to get a better look at the back of his skull. There doesn't seem to be any bleeding, so he relaxes and sits back on the bed again, peering quizzically at the other boy. "What scared you?"

"Ah, I believe I did, my boy," Regis supplies, and this time it's Noctis' turn to yelp in surprise as he whips his head to the side to look at his father sitting in the wing backed chair they read together in every night. Prompto nods his agreement with the King's words and slowly settles back into a more relaxed posture, sitting with his legs crossed, though he can still feel the sting of his abused knees. Noctis copies the motion, and his knee brushes against Prompto's thigh from their close proximity, sending a tingle through his body. He frowns at it, but Noctis grins at the sensation.

"I took the liberty of having breakfast sent up for you boys, if you'd care to eat? We have a lot to discuss, and it's best to have important conversations on a full belly rather than an empty one," Regis says, waving his hand over a platter on a portable table, piled high with a wide assortment of fruits, pastries, yogurt, granola and breads as well as various meats which are still steaming hot. 

"Dad! You're the best!" Noctis crows before crawling off the bed, making his way to the pile of food before him. He picks up a giant cinnamon roll covered in thick white frosting and Regis sighs in resignation at his only son's blatant refusal to eat his fruits. Prompto is more hesitant to make his way over to the food, but the enticing scent wafting from the overloaded table finally lures him over. He picks up a ripe red apple and nothing more before he steps quietly back to the bed, crawling up to sit on the edge of it and nibble at the apple. His experience in Tenebrae with the rich food the Queen had served him has made him hesitant to eat much more than fruits and vegetables and the occasional slice of bread, too afraid to risk the horrific stomach cramps and urgent trips to the bathroom to try any more new food.

Regis frowns slightly at Prompto's choice, but says nothing as he dishes himself up a bowl with granola and yogurt and several slices of thick, juicy bacon on the side. He waits until they have all settled in to eat, Noctis having sat himself up beside Prompto on the bed, close enough for their forearms to brush every time Prompto lifts the apple to his mouth, before he speaks again.

"Prompto, what do you know about the Crystals?" the King asks Prompto, who pauses mid bite to stare wide eyed at the older man. He hesitates only briefly before shaking his head, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Regis hums and swallows a bite of bacon. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Noctis then, when we found out about you."

Noctis finishes up his cinnamon roll and settles back into the bed, leaning against the headboard with his knees bent and arms wrapped around them. Prompto stays where he is, though his entire body aches to be closer to the other boy.  He refuses to give in to his body’s urges. His apple sits forgotten in his hand, only half eaten.

"A long time ago, there used to be many different Crystals scattered throughout Eos, but over time and after many wars and conflicts, only one remains, though the power of another Crystal can still be seen today. The remaining Crystal is here in Insomnia, kept safe by the powers it bestows upon those of the Royal blood. We use its power to protect our city from the  Empire's attacks and to keep our citizens safe, among other things. The other lost Crystal's power is to bring two people together. We call those people soulmates, and you and Noctis happen to be the only known pair at the moment. The magic manifests itself in the way of scars, shared between two joined souls. They're called soul scars. Some stay with both mates forever, while others simply appear then vanish on the other person."

Here Regis pauses to take another bite of his breakfast, gazing pointedly at Prompto's exposed wrist. Prompto follows the King's gaze to the ink on his wrist, then turns around on the bed to look back at Noctis' wrist as well, where the matching mark is visible against his pale white skin. He returns his attention to Regis, who speaks once more.

"No one knows why the Crystal's magic remains though the Crystal itself is gone, nor do we know why or how it chooses the people it does. There seems to be no other purpose to its magic than to bring two highly compatible people together, no matter the barriers between them. I sent Cor to Niflheim to find you when that mark appeared on Noctis' wrist. We knew you weren't safe where you were, and Noctis was very distraught to think that his soulmate was in such danger."

Prompto is abruptly reminded of all the pain and terror he has been through during his time in the facility in Gralea, and in addition to the deep-seated dread and fear that always comes with remembering, a new emotion slithers into existence beside it. He feels badly for making Noctis suffer, for making the other boy worry about him while he didn't even know who he was, or that he even existed. He bows his head and lays the abandoned apple on the bed beside him, clutching his hands together in his lap and feeling immensely uncomfortable with the situation he has found himself in.

Regis is reluctant to mention the prophecy regarding his heir, unwilling to contemplate the fact that his only son must sacrifice himself in order to banish the Starscourge. He has cursed the Astrals and their plans for years, since the prophecy first came to light, but has found no way to avoid the death of his only child and the subsequent end of their bloodline. The Astrals use their chosen ones harshly, but Regis wishes only to shield Noctis from the worst of it until he is old enough to understand properly what fate has in store for him. He chooses not to discuss it at all, since Noctis himself has yet to learn about his prophesied fate.

The room settles into silence after Regis' speech, until finally Prompto finds his voice and asks hesitantly, "How did you know where to find me?"

"We didn't, but the mark on your wrist is only found in the Empire, so we began our search there. Later, Cor will brief me on his journey to find you and your journey back to Insomnia, but for now this is all I can tell you," Regis responds before finishing his breakfast and settling back into the chair. He lets his gaze fall heavily on the two children in the room. Noctis is relaxed, leaned against the headboard of his bed but Prompto is sitting uncomfortably at the edge of the same bed, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed.

‘It's a lot to take in,'  Regis muses, 'when your whole word is swept out from under you and you're introduced to a boy someone tells you is your soulmate, your perfect match.'   His musings are cut short by Prompto's next question.

"How do you know I'm the right one.. what if this is a mistake and I'm not No-Noctis' s-soulmate?" His voice starts to waver, and he finds himself unable to keep the tears at bay any more. They fall, hot and heavy, dripping onto the dirty grey fabric of his pants and darkening it with their dampness. Regis moves to comfort the boy but his son reacts quicker, scooting forward until he can wrap his arms tight around Prompto's chest from behind and tug him in close.

The sensation that burns through Prompto at the contact makes him gasp in surprise, but the tears still fall and he sits on the bed, curled in on himself and miserable, as Noctis holds him against his chest and rests a fair cheek on his matted blonde hair. Eventually the tears subside to a soft sniffle, and he wipes the wetness from his cheeks with the back of his hands. He makes no move to escape the Prince's embrace, but instead leans back into it, allowing the warmth from the other boy to seep into him.

"Can't you feel it, child?" Regis asks, after Prompto has settled down and his tears have stopped falling entirely. "It's strong now, as you have just met, but the feeling will always remain. The rightness  you sense when you're close to one another. No one else in the world can experience it, only soulmates know what it feels like." He thinks back to his beloved Aulea, and a mournful expression crosses his face briefly before he suppresses the pain for later, when he can be alone and doesn’t need to focus all his attention on his child and their kingdom. He moves on to different matters.

 "Noctis, you've been given the rest of the week off from your lessons and duties," here, Noctis lets out a whoop of delight, jarring Prompto as he pumps a fist in the air, "so that you may help settle in our new friend Prompto. First though, I think a bath is in order."

Noctis groans, but Regis is adamant that both boys be bathed properly and dressed in clean clothes before they are allowed to start their day. Noctis of course had his bath last night, but Ramuh knows when Prompto was last bathed, given the state of his unkempt blonde hair and the sheer amount of stains and dirt on his clothes and skin. The bath is more for Prompto's benefit, but Regis is determined not to single Prompto out and make him feel more uncomfortable than he already must feel.

"..What's a bath?" Prompto asks, hesitant to follow along with Regis' instructions due to Noctis' negative reaction. When the question is voiced, he immediately wants to take it back as both sets of eyes in the room zero in on him with disbelief.

"What's a--" Regis begins but Noctis cuts the King off entirely, crawling off the bed to stand before Prompto, hands on his hips and bewilderment on his face.

"Dad! He needs a bubble bath! Prompto, Dad makes the best bubble baths, come on!" and just like that, Prompto finds himself being led once more by the hand by an overly enthusiastic Noctis. He leads them across the bedroom to a second door, white and carved with an image of a tub, which he pushes open to reveal a room full of white tiles and black countertops, with a toilet in one corner, a giant sink in another and a massive silver tub with clawed feet.

This, Prompto recognizes, though not because he has had a bath before. No, Prompto recognizes this from experiments back at the facility, where testers would submerge him and other children into the foul smelling inky black liquid until they would gasp for breath, inhaling the thick fluid into their lungs, before letting them up to gasp and choke and hack out the fluid from their bodies. The memory hits him like a punch to the gut, and all he can see before him is the people in white lab coats, the children being lifted out of the tub, limp and barely breathing, black ooze dripping off them. He feels the stuff seeping into all the open wounds on his body, the darkness spreading throughout him, making him sick to his stomach with dread and disgust.

He balks, planting his feet on the floor and refusing to move any further into the room. Noctis stops too when their arms stretch out between them and he finds he can go no farther. He turns to see Prompto, eyes wide and glassy, gaze unfocused, standing in the middle of the room unable to move. When Noctis frantically waves his hand in front of Prompto’s face to get his attention and receives no response, he starts to panic.

"Prompto?!" Noctis calls to him, and the sound of his voice shocks Prompto out of his reverie, bringing him back to the present. Noctis stands in front of him, hands against his cheeks and concerned eyes locked on his. He blinks several times to dispel the last traces of the memory, before shuddering bodily and breathing out in a long, heavy exhale. He remembers the words Cor spoke to him before he left him in the care of the King and his son. ‘ I'm safe. They want me here, and I'm safe. ’

"I'm okay..." he whispers as he clenches his fists tightly at his side, inhaling deeply before letting it all out, the stress of the unexpected memory fading with the exhaled breath. Regis, assured that Prompto is not in any immediate danger, busies himself with filling the tub with the appropriate amount and temperature of water while Noctis strips off his nightclothes and drops them in a pile in the middle of the bathroom floor. Prompto is slower to follow suit, and carefully removes his threadbare socks, the oversized grey shirt with numerous questionable stains, and then pauses when he looks down at his pants. The red patches have dried and darkened on his knees, and he peels them back delicately, hissing at the sting of several tiny scabs ripping off and opening up again. He looks at the angry red abrasions on his knees, then trains his eyes on Noctis' knees and sees the marks from last night have already faded.

Noctis follows his train of thought and shrugs carelessly, shucking off his underpants and turning to the now full bathtub before he speaks, "Scars like that go away really quickly, and they don't hurt me when it happens. But the one on my wrist was bad... did it hurt for you too?" Prompto doesn’t respond to the question except to nod his head with a jerky motion, determined not to lose himself once more in memories of his time at the facility.

Regis helps him climb in before he turns to Prompto, who stands awkwardly in the bathroom, toes curled against the coldness of the tile floor and arms crossed uncomfortably over his belly. The lack of clothes exposes more scars on Prompto's body, all in various states of healing. Regis has to fight back the urge to scoop the small, scared boy before him into his arms and hold him tight, because he knows the action would not be appreciated, or likely appropriate given the current circumstances.

"C'mon, Prompto, we'll go together and then we can go find Lucy cat," Noctis urges, and Prompto is unable to resist the command, though he is still hesitant to let himself be submerged in the bath water. He allows Regis to lift him in and turns to clutch on tightly to the edges of the deep tub once in the water. Regis and Noctis both gasp when Prompto's bare back is exposed to them for the first time, and reflexively he tenses up. He knows what they see, the thick lattice work of scars that crosses his back, and he feels shame like he hasn't since his time in the test facility.

Regis sees the scars on Prompto's back, turns to look at the pale, unmarred skin of his son's back, and if there was ever any doubt that Prompto was meant for Noctis, it leaves him in this moment. In his mind's eye he recollects the memory from so long ago, of Noctis in the bath tub when the first scars appeared on his back, so shockingly unexpected and so harsh against his pristine skin. A deep, seething hatred for the Empire settles over him the likes of which he hasn't experienced since Niflheim took over all the provinces surrounding Insomnia, and Regis knows there is no going back. Prompto is here to stay, prophecies, Crystals and Astrals be damned. He will protect this fragile, broken child like he should have been from the moment he was born.

When Noctis reaches up to trace the lines of the thickest scar on Prompto's back, one that cuts diagonally between his shoulder blades to curl around his right hip and his over left shoulder, Prompto jumps in surprise, splashing water and bubbles over the edge of the tub onto the floor below. Noctis doesn't stop though, instead he flattens his hand in the space between Prompto's shoulder blades, where the thin bones jut out so far, and leaves it to rest there. Six years old and filled with an emotion he doesn't yet know the name to, Noctis closes his eyes and makes an oath to the other half of his soul, "I'll take care of you. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise."

Prompto can only shiver at his words, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but in a bathtub, the entire history of his life up until now on display for King Regis and Noctis to see. He doesn't deserve their pity, their promises. But maybe, he thinks, remembering his Mama and the sweet words she used to whisper to him as she rocked him to sleep, some day he could be good enough for them.

Chapter Text

Regis meets with Cor after settling Noctis and Prompto in the Prince's rooms after their eventful bath. He gives the boys strict instructions not to leave the rooms until they have been given notification that it is alright to do so. However, Regis also knows Noctis is notorious for not listening to instructions or orders, and so he takes it one step further and locks the bedroom door from the outside, ensuring his son and Prompto have no choice but to listen to Regis’ instructions. He heads toward his first meeting of the day, bumped back by several hours due to Noctis sleeping in, which is to be expected, and the impromptu bath both boys had partaken in.

Cor awaits him in his sitting room, and when he sees Regis entering into the room he stands up from where he had been sitting in a plush armchair, hands clasped behind his back and feet shoulder width apart, shoulders upright and proud. Regis takes in the formal posture and sighs audibly, waving at Cor with his left hand while he uses the right to push the door closed, shutting it with a soft click.

The room itself is of moderate size, though it looks cramped due to the overflowing bookshelves, full of all manner of object from literature to trinkets. Most notable on the bookshelf is a row of poorly made figurines of varying media, from wooden sticks to dry, flaky clay. Regis looks fondly on the collection, memories of Noctis proudly displaying his creations to Regis coming to mind as he admires them. Where bookshelves don’t cover the walls, meticulously framed and hung scribbles are visible, ranging from streaks of bright colour to gradually progress to recognizable shapes. A tall figure and a shorter figure, both with dark hair, are prominent in the artwork on the walls. Noctis adores his father, and it is clear that Regis loves his son, as his private study is half work space, half curation of Noctis’ works as he grows and develops from infancy to boyhood.

“Cor, please. We’ve known one another far too long to stand in ceremony when it’s just the two of us. Sit down, relax,” Regis urges, gesturing to Cor’s abandoned chair as Regis sits back into his own, matching armchair, leaning back into it with a satisfied groan. “Ah, that son of mine and his new companion are quite the handful. Please Cor, tell me about your journey to Niflheim?”

Cor hesitates only briefly, before dropping his adopted formal stance and sitting himself back into the armchair, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. He sits with his hands clasped over his waist and considers where to begin his tale.

“When you told me you were sending me to Niflheim in search of a child with the marking of an MT, my first thought was to head to Gralea where their main production facility is located. I stopped at Hammerhead first, to drop off the car you loaned to me and check in on Cid. He’s just fine, by the way,” Cor begins, musing over the frosty reception Cid had given him on his return trip from the Empire. “He sends his wishes. That grand kid of his is sure growing like a weed, too.”

Regis raises a brow to Cor, considers how much this journey seems to have changed Cor from the formal, serious man he left as into someone who comforts small children and comments on the well being of old friends and their families. The change suits him, Regis muses, and urges Cor to continue.

“When I made it to Niflheim, I headed straight to Gralea by train. It’s not possible to travel by foot any more, the daylight doesn’t last long enough and it’s clear that darkness is encroaching on the land more and more each day. The people look so worn down and defeated. I spent a long time in Gralea, trying to get information without alerting anyone to my business or my curiousity with the MT production facility. It was late one night when I was heading back to my lodgings that I chanced upon the boy – Prompto – squirreled away in the corner of a bus stop. He looked wretched, Regis. He was wearing rags, covered in bruises and bloodied beyond anything you could imagine. He was feral, too. Nearly took my eyes out when I surprised him. But when I asked him to come with me to get off the streets, he followed me without question. I wasted no time getting him to Tenebrae, though I know that was out of the way and not part of your plan should I find someone matching the description you gave me. He was oozing the Starscourge though, Highness. I don’t know how much longer he could have lasted in that place had I not chanced upon him.”

Cor reflects on his time in Tenebrae to Regis, mentioning only briefly the meeting Prompto had with Princess Lunafreya. Only when he mentions Queen Sylva drawing the darkness out of Prompto does Cor remember the words she spoke to him that day, and he repeats them back to Regis.

“The Queen told me to be kind, that Prompto is the fate of Eos. Sire, isn’t Noctis..?” Cor trails off, his questioning gaze settling heavily over Regis. Regis sighs and shakes his head, drawing a calloused had down his face and scratching his nails against his thick beard.

“Yes, Noctis is the prophesied child. Prompto changes everything though, so Queen Sylva may yet be correct. We need to keep the boys together, regardless. I won’t have my son’s soulmate wandering unprotected in Insomnia, whether or not he can change Noctis’ fate.”

Cor nods before continuing, “Prompto knows so little of the world. I spent the majority of our journey back to Lucis explaining things to him. He followed every command I gave, even when I worded them as suggestions. He shied away from physical contact, would flinch every time I did have to touch him. At one point he refused to board the ferry to Galdin Quay. That was the first time he refused to listen. I had to carry him onto the boat, kicking and screaming. He refused to speak to me until we made land at the Quay.”

Here, Cor smiles fondly and his entire face changes, softening his features until he appears more open and fond of whatever it is he recalls. Regis waits for Cor to continue speaking, sure that if it was important to the tale, Cor would tell him.

“We rode chocobos back to Hammerhead. The kid loved them, he opened up to me on the journey. Told me about what he experienced in the production facility. Regis, they’re turning the children into hybrids. Part human, part demon, part MT. There’s no other way to explain the things they did to Prompto. It’s a miracle he survived, or that they let him go. The Empire is an evil, twisted place. That new Chancellor of theirs has only made things worse I fear.”

Regis nods, memories of the schmoozey Imperial Chancellor coming back to the forefront of his mind. With his auburn hair and absurd taste in attire, Chancellor Izunia is a memorable individual. He oozes an otherworldly confidence and speaks in such bizarre turns of phrase that holding any sort of conversation with him ends up a tiresome ordeal. Lately, he has been the only contact between the Empire and Lucis. The year has not been pleasant for Regis since Izunia came into the position as Chancellor.

“We made it back to Insomnia, Clarus met us in the parking garage and instructed us to meet you here this morning. We settled in for the night in the nursery, since Prince Noctis has his own set of rooms now. I know, Regis, that I should have locked the doors. It was a gross oversight on my part. I never expected anyone to come into the nursery though, never mind the Prince himself. It was a coincidence, no more. I would never disobey an order from you, Sire.”

His tale finished, Cor leans forward in the chair as he uncrosses his legs. He rests his elbows on his thighs and rests his chin on his knuckles, eyes trained on the floor between his feet. He awaits the judgment of his King, convinced that he will be reprimanded for going off the course Regis had set for him when he sent him out on his mission. Regis, as always, surprises him.

“You've done well, Cor. You brought Prompto here safely, you sought out the aid of Queen Sylva without needing direction from Clarus or I. It's clear you've grown somewhat attached to the child. I have one final request of your time, and then anything you want is yours, as a reward for a job well done.”

Cor looks up at Regis then, surprise evident on his usually solemn face. “Sire?” He queries, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“I need to have a conversation with Clarus. Please, watch over Noctis and Prompto in the nursery until I can find safe accommodations for the boy.” Regis explains, and Cor nods with no hesitation, bowing to Regis.

“Of course, my King,” he acquiesces and turns to go, but Regis stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Your reward, Cor?” Regis reminds the other man, curious to know just what his stoic and duty driven companion will request. He sets the key to Noctis' rooms in Cor's hand as he awaits his reply.

“...Keep the kid safe, Regis. He's earned his childhood. Please let him have one.”

Cor leaves before Regis can reply, though the King has no words to speak to him. The one thing Cor requests is the only thing Regis may not be able to grant him. Prompto's fate was written for him the moment his mark appeared on Noctis' wrist. Regis sighs heavily and leaves his sitting room. Meeting with Clarus is next on his long list of tasks to accomplish for the day, and this meeting is one Regis dreads more than any other. Clarus is opinionated, set in his ways and more bitter towards the Empire than even Regis himself. Yet he must answer for his actions towards Prompto, regardless of his personal resentments.

* * *

Regis meets Clarus in his living quarters in the citadel just after the noon hour has passed. He knocks once, briefly, on the wooden door labeled “Amicitia” and moves to open the door on his own. Before his hand can reach the door knob, it turns of its own volition and swings inward. The familiar face of Jared, the family butler, appears before Regis' vision and he can't help himself as he smiles fondly at the other man, who bows low in return and ushers Regis into the quaint living quarters.

“Sire, you're here to speak with Master Clarus I presume?” Jared formally asks as he leads Regis through the interior of the well maintained apartment. He nods in greeting to Lira, Clarus' wife from her spot in the living room where she sits on the floor with their daughter Iris, just recently turned a year old and full of vivacious energy. The little girl turns to see what distracts her mother from their play, and babbles incoherently at Regis, brandishing a pink building block at him and smiling brightly. Regis stops following Jared long enough to waggle his fingers back at young Iris and pulls a highly undignified face at the girl which causes her to giggle in delight before she turns back to her mama. Regis smiles fondly at the sight, steadfastly holding back the sorrow he feels when he thinks how his beloved Aulea never had the chance to spend such time with Noctis. She died too soon, too young, and Regis mourns her loss every day.

Jared leads them to a door at the end of a long hallway and knocks three times on the door before he makes himself scarce, walking back in the direction they came from. Once out from under the careful watch of the family butler, Regis pulls the door open on his own before Clarus can do so and walks into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Clarus' study is a sharp contrast to Regis' own. Where Regis fills his study with evidence of his son and his accomplishments, Clarus has maps of the provinces outside of Lucis as well as a detailed map of Insomnia spread out across his walls. There is one bookshelf in the room which holds several volumes of strategy and warfare along with political histories and treatises from ages long past.

Clarus himself is sitting at his desk, an old mahogany affair with several notches dented out and scrapes across the surface from decades of use. He doesn't move to stand up when Regis enters his study, as is the norm between both men for years long gone by. For once, Regis wishes Clarus would stand on ceremony. It would make the impending discussion easier. Instead, he seats himself across the desk from Clarus in a lumpy armchair and crosses his legs at the knees, regarding Clarus for several long minutes until he finally breaks the silence.

“We need to discuss your behaviour last night, Clarus.”

“What's there to discuss?” Clarus responds gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair in an obvious display of nonchalance. Regis closes his eyes briefly, taking a short moment to gather his wits for what he now knows is going to be an argument the likes of which they have not had in many, many years.

“You injured a child in my care, Clarus. And you attempted to attack Cor as well, with no provocation and in front of the children,” he replies, and is pleased with his ability to keep his voice calm and steady despite the irritation he feels towards his oldest companion.

“That child you speak of is a creature of the Empire and has no business being in Insomnia, never mind in the Citadel where we live and work. And Cor Leonis deliberately disobeyed a direct order from you and I to travel to Tenebrae to meet with the Queen. He added days to their journey, potentially risking both him and that boy in the process, and for what?” Clarus responds, and the tone of his voice makes it apparent to Regis that there will be no swaying Clarus of his opinions on Prompto today or any time soon. He tries a different tactic instead.

“Your duty is not to dole out punishment for perceived insubordination, nor is your duty to harm children who have done nothing to threaten you or I,” Regis states, crossing his own arms across his chest and mirroring Clarus' earlier motions as he sits back in the armchair, though he maintains his air of authority despite the relaxed position.

“My duty is to protect you, Sire. That boy is a threat to us all, and I won't stand to have him in the Citadel or around my family!” And there it is, the crux of the matter.

Regis exhales slowly, buys himself time to gather his thoughts as he attempts to form a reply that won't cause Clarus to explode in a fit of anger before he speaks again, “That boy is but a child forced to grow up in miserable conditions. He could no more harm me than you could harm Iris. Tell me what the real issue is here, Clarus.”

“The issue,” Clarus bites out as he leans forward in his chair and slams his fists onto the wooden table top and causing several objects to rattle, “Is that ever since this business with Noctis' soulmate being a Niff has come up, you have spent more time doting on your child than you have tending to your kingdom! You sent Cor off on a wild mission into the home of our enemy, and you brought that creature back into the Citadel with no thought to the danger he poses to us all. You forget that we are in the middle of a war, Regis. There is more at stake here than your son's happiness!”

Regis stands up from his seated position in the chair and leans forward enough to plant his hands firmly on the aged and battered wood of the desk that separates both men, and when he next speaks his words are low and his tone is full of danger, “And you, old friend, forget just who it is you are speaking to. Everything I do, I do for this kingdom. Every day I spend locked in meetings with advisers and council members in an attempt to end this war, I spend away from my son, my heir. He is the king of prophesy, and you would do well not to forget that. I will give him everything in my power to make his path easier. Prompto is his soulmate, the other half of his whole, and you would do well to remember that next time you attempt to injure him in anger.”

“I won't stand by idly while that boy is in the Citadel! Either he goes, or I go and my family with me. I will not tolerate my wife and children living in the same walls as that thing,” Clarus drops the ultimatum between them and the words settle heavily into the silence that follows as Regis composes a response. Clarus is out of line, too far gone in his disgust for the Empire to carry on a rational conversation about Prompto. He carries a deeply seated sense of duty to the Crown however, and Regis pulls on those strings now to wrestle control of the argument back into his favour.

“You would forsake your duty because of a child? You would leave your King without his Shield, disrupt the Prince's training and risk the security of the Citadel because of a child?!”

Clarus finally pauses in his restless pacing at Regis' words and turns to look at him, the anger simmers below the surface and the struggle between carrying out his duty and allowing himself to hold on to personal grudges is plainly visible on his troubled face. Finally he sighs and throws his hands up in the air above him, glancing heavenward as he speaks once more, “Fine, Regis. You are the King, and your word is law. I will not leave the Citadel and I will do my duty, but I refuse to trust that boy. He poses far too much of a risk to our security to let him loose unsupervised inside these walls.”

“Fortunately,” Regis snipes back, patience run thin and desperate to end this conversation with the upper hand, “your only duty is to keep me safe. Leave the Citadel to the Crownsguard. Prompto is not your concern, Clarus. You would do well to remember that.”

With that, Regis takes his leave, maintaining a regal and proud air to his steps as he lets himself out of the Amicitia holdings. The mask slips the moment the door to their apartments closes behind him however, and he sags tiredly against the wall beside the door, rubbing his temples in an attempt to dispel the tension headache forming behind his eyes. 'Clarus, old friend, you are far too set in your ways. I pray only that your son does not take after you in that regard.'

Chapter Text

The first thing Noctis does once he is sure his father has left the general area of his bedroom is try he doorknob. It doesn't twist under his touch, and Noctis lets out a frustrated huff of breath, rattling it once more just to be sure before he turns back to Prompto, who stands uncomfortably in the middle of the room wearing a borrowed outfit from Noctis. He's in all black, from his t-shirt to his socks, and none of it fits him properly but that doesn't bother him. The clothes are clean and they smell wonderful, completely different than anything he has ever worn until today. He fusses with the hem of the t-shirt, rolling it up in his fingers and releasing it, over and over, until Noctis lays his slender hand over top of Prompto's, causing the other boy to still immediately at the foreign sensation and glance up at him through bright blonde eyelashes.

“Dad locked us in, so we have to find something to do until someone comes to get us,” Noctis explains, sliding his hand up to grasp Prompto's wrist over their shared mark before he tugs him along across the room to a massive wooden chest, painted bright blue and inlayed with carvings of various animals. Prompto takes note of the chocobo carved right in the center of the lid and points towards it with his free hand as he raises his voice to speak to Noctis.

“Um, do you have chocobos here?” He asks, young voice clear and only slightly shaky as he turns his head to look at Noctis. The Prince, delighted to have his soulmate speak to him without prompting, grins wide and lets go of Prompto's wrist to heave open the heavy lid of the trunk, revealing the contents inside.

“We don't have any real chocobos in Insomnia, but I have so many toys, I bet I have a chocobo in here somewhere!” He responds, already elbow deep in the trunk. The box is so tall that he has to bend over at his waist and his feet lift off the ground the further he digs into the trunk, threatening to tip him right inside.

Prompto furrows his brow in confusion as he steps towards the trunk and peers over the edge of it at the contents inside. A mess of colour and various textures greets his eyes, and it takes him a moment to realize the trunk is full of several different figurines and soft stuffed creatures. He recognizes the yellow colour of one such plush creature, and only hesitates momentarily before he reaches in and pulls the chocobo out of the box, allowing himself a slight smile as his eyes run over the familiar figure.

“This is a toy?” He asks, curious eyes tracing the shape of the chocobo and running his fingers over the fluffy fabric that makes up the bulk of the bird. Noctis stills for a moment, then pops up from his exploration of the trunk to stare in surprise at Prompto.

“Um, yeah. Haven't you ever had a toy before, Prompto?” He asks, head tipped slightly to the side with a suddenly serious expression on his usually cheerful face.

“..No. Where I was... we didn't have anything. Sometimes not even food...” Prompto explains, feeling his cheeks heat and colour with the sudden feeling of inadequacy that washes over him. He knows so little of the world, and what little he does know is only because Cor taught him on the journey to Insomnia. He suddenly regrets refusing to speak to Cor on the ferry, wishes he had been able to ask more questions and learn more about the world before he was brought here.

“Oh...” Noctis whispers, subdued. A dark look crosses his face, so quickly Prompto thinks he imagines it, before he brightens once more and reaches forward to pat Prompto on the shoulder. Prompto reflexively flinches away from the unexpected contact and clutches the chocobo tight to his chest. “Um,” Noctis continues, “you don't really like to be touched, hey?”

Prompto shakes his head and looks away from Noctis, uncomfortable under the other boy's close scrutiny. He has no words to offer in explanation, nor any desire at this time to give them to Noctis even if he could find the words to say. Noctis lets his hands drop back to his sides and contemplates the socks on his feet, wiggling his toes against the thick carpet.

“I've never had a friend before,” Noctis offers up, patting his hands against his thighs in an uncoordinated rhythm, desperate to reach out to Prompto and assure himself the other boy is actually there in front of him. He resists though, not wanting him to be any more uncomfortable than he already is. It's enough that Prompto is here in front of him. It can be enough, if it has to be.

“What's a friend?” Prompto asks, allowing his gaze to settle back on the dark haired boy in front of him. Noctis looks unhappy, and it makes Prompto want to reach out and take hold of his hand, but the chocobo in his arms provides him an excuse not to, gives him something to shield himself with from the unsettled feeling he has had since waking up in Noctis' bed this morning.

“Friends are...” Noctis begins, before he trails off and considers his response. He contemplates his relationship with Gladio, his unwilling partner in the training room, past bully and most recently begrudging companion, determines that Gladio is certainly not a friend, and instead turns his thoughts toward Ignis. Ignis is always there to help Noctis, gets him to their lessons on time and forces him to eat the vegetables on his plate at lunch time. But Ignis doesn't go out of his way to play with Noctis, doesn't make time in his day to visit him when they aren't at classes together. Noctis has no real friends. “Um, I don't know. But I'd like to find out.”

Prompto considers Noctis' response as he presses his cheek against the soft fabric of the chocobo. If he has to live in Insomnia now, and if Noctis is his soulmate, then perhaps learning what friends are together will help him adjust to his new life. It doesn't help that Noctis looks so sad, and Prompto feels a deep need to bring a smile back to his sullen face.

“Okay,” he whispers, peeking at Noctis over the chocobo's fluff. The Prince smiles delightedly, his whole face lighting up, and Prompto feels a rush of warmth spread throughout his body, from his scalp down to his toenails, and can't help but smile back at Noctis in return before he continues speaking, “Okay, let's be friends.”

Prompto releases the chocobo with his right hand and reaches out to offer it to Noctis, palm up and fingers spread. Noctis' smile looks like it could outshine the sun, it's so radiant, and he lays his own hand in Prompto's, locking their fingers together before he squeezes Prompto's fingers gently. The physical contact, willingly initiated by both boys, sends a jolt of sensation through them, causing Prompto to shiver and the hairs on his arms to raise up, but Noctis takes it in stride and laughs in delight. The sound carries through the room and Prompto decides in that moment that he will do anything to make sure Noctis never stops laughing.

The sound of the doorknob rattling interrupts the moment, and Prompto drops Noctis' hand as well as the chocobo as he glances rapidly around the room, desperately searching for somewhere to hide. Noctis opens his mouth to reassure Prompto that no one could hurt him while he is in the Citadel, but the door finally swings open and the imposing form of Cor steps through the open doorway. The change in Prompto is immediate, and he sags in relief at the sight of the familiar face of the older man.

Cor clears his throat before he speaks, “The King has asked me to escort the both of you to the nursery, where you are to spend the rest of the day.”

Noctis groans in disappointment, visibly wilting as his shoulders slump and he hangs his head dramatically at the announcement. All Noctis wants to do is show Prompto his home, all the secret places he has found over the years and all the best places to spy on people without them knowing. However, Lucy cat is in the nursery so perhaps it isn't the worst place they could spend the day. He decides to make the best of the situation.

“C'mon Prompto, lets go!” he calls over his shoulder, already headed for the open doorway and the hallway that awaits beyond it. A hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks, and he looks up in confusion at Cor.

“Shoes, Highness. Please put some on, and help Prompto with his if he needs it.”

Noctis sighs in exasperation as he impatiently turns to root out his shoes from under the bed where he had kicked them the previous night. Prompto silently does as he is told, sitting down on the floor to slip into his shoes and tying a perfect bow in the laces. When Noctis comes up from underneath the bed, his hair is in wild disarray and he holds two shoes in his hands. He sets to work putting his shoes on, but struggles with the laces when it comes time to tie them. He grows more and more frustrated as the laces become tangled further than they were initially, and is about to toss the shoes across the room in favour of a pair of slippers when Prompto's hands settle over top of his, stilling his movements as the buzzing sensation spreads where their skin meets.

“I can do it for you...” Prompto offers shyly, unable to make eye contact once again with the other boy. The frustration rushes out of Noctis and in its place comes pleasure from the offer of help from his new friend.

“Thanks,” Noctis says, and watches in fascination and a small amount of jealousy as Prompt deftly untangles the knots Noctis had made and ties two more perfect bows in the shoelaces before he stands up and turns to Cor. Noctis follows suit and is almost out the door for the second time when Cor clears his through meaningfully, eyebrows raised. “What now?!” Noctis whines, stamping his foot in irritation. Cor stares pointedly down at Noctis' exposed wrist, and the Prince groans in frustration and stomps back to the stand beside his bed, footfalls muted by the carpet beneath his feet. He yanks out two leather cuffs, deftly buckles the first one onto his own right wrist before turning to Prompto who hesitates only briefly before holding his wrist out to Noctis. The Prince smiles in delight and buckles the strip of leather onto his proffered wrist, pausing briefly to gaze fondly at the black mark imprinted in his skin before it is covered up.

“Now can we go, Cor?” Noctis pleads, and Cor finally nods with only the slightest upturning of his lips. The boys file out of the door in a single line and Cor takes up the rear, briefly resting his hand on Prompto's shoulder. He flinches, but doesn't shrink away from the touch. The walk to the nursery is uneventful and they meet no one in the maze of hallways along the way. Noctis pushes the door open and steps through, immediately kicking off his shoes and running to a corner of the large room occupied by what appears to be a tree covered in carpet with several platforms on and around it. “C'mon, Prompto, you need to meet Lucy cat!”

Prompto glances up at Cor, who gives his shoulder a light squeeze before nodding and releasing it. Prompto takes off after Noctis, though he doesn't run but instead hurries his way over on silent footsteps. Cor closes the door behind him once he enters the nursery and engages the lock with a twist of his fingers on the deadbolt. There will be no more repeats of the last time he had Prompto in the nursery.

When Prompto makes it over to the strange structure, Noctis is on his knees with his face pressed close to a large box at its base with a hole cut out in the front. He waves Prompto over and waits until the other boy settles down beside him on hands and knees before he rubs his fingers together rapidly and makes a squeaking sound with his mouth. A soft meow emanates from within the box followed rapidly by several shorter, higher pitched sounds and the black and white cat from the previous night daintily steps out of the box to greet them. She purrs rapidly, a soft rumbling sound that sets Prompto at ease, as she first greets Noctis with a sniff to his cheek and a dainty lick then bestows the same treatment on Prompto, who sits completely still except for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Noctis strokes the cat's fur as she wanders around Prompto, her tail sticking up and tickling his arms as she twines herself through them, before the sounds from inside the box draw her attention back towards whatever is inside.

“Lucy had kittens,” Noctis explains quietly as the cat in question disappears inside briefly before coming back out with the smallest living thing Prompto has ever seen in his life. She deposits the creature – the kitten – in front of him and it lets out an angry yowl, all black fur and sharp pointed claws as it roots around for something to keep it warm. Prompto hesitates, then reaches out to stroke its slender back with the tip of one finger. It quiets immediately, and emboldened, he gently scoops the kitten into his hands and inspects it with rapt fascination.

Lucy has vanished back into the box twice in the time it takes Prompto to pick up the black kitten and delivered two more tiny bundles of fluff to the boys. Noctis pats her on the head once more before he picks up a grey and white kitten, nuzzling his cheek against its soft body as it yowls angrily at him. Lucy curls herself around the last kitten, a near exact copy of herself, and settles in to give it a thorough cleaning with her tongue.

“They're so small...” Prompto wonders aloud, holding the kitten in his hands up to his face to admire it further. It wiggles awkwardly and he hurries to tuck it in against his chest where it won't fall to the floor below and strokes its soft back again, soothing it.

“They're just babies, she only had them a few weeks ago, “ Noctis explains before setting the kitten down, motioning for Prompto to do the same. He does so reluctantly and stares in fascination as the kittens wriggle their way against Lucy's belly and start suckling contentedly. “We should leave them alone, Ignis says I can't play with them much until they're older.”

The afternoon passes quickly for Noctis and Prompto, who devote their time to fawning over Lucy and her kittens, determining who can build the tallest block tower, and to the dismay of Noctis, Prompto's tower stands higher and longer than his, and finally finds them sat at a short table beside the cat tower, a mess of coloured pencils and wax crayons spread across the table and several pieces of paper in front of them.

Noctis is leaned close to Prompto, so close the sides of their heads nearly brush every time Noctis nods at something Prompto does, and is teaching him the letters of the alphabet. When Prompto had mentioned not knowing how to spell his own name, it had opened up a plethora of curious and disbelieving questions from Noctis until the Prince had decided to take Prompto's education into his own hands.

“Each letter has a big and a small way to write it, I'll teach you both ways for each letter okay?” Noctis coaches, and Prompto dutifully nods his head, concentrating hard on the paper before him. The Prince draws out “A” as well as “a” onto the paper before he hands the black crayon back to Prompto and encourages him to do the same, “That's 'A', the first letter. Now you do it.”

Prompto complies, and they have worked their way to 'G' before a knock sounds on the nursery door, startling both children out of their concentration and alarming Prompto so much he grasps Noctis' hand before he can consider the action, clutching it tight in his own hand. His blue eyes are wide and terrified and Noctis hurries to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders in an attempt to reassure him. The buzzing sensation comes back with the physical contact and Prompto relaxes slightly into Noctis' side as the door opens. Regis steps through the door looking tired and worn out and nods courteously at Cor.

“Cor, thank you for your help. You're dismissed,” Regis says to the other man, long forgotten by both boys over the afternoon spent together. Cor bows to Regis and Prompto suppresses the urge to beg Cor not to leave him again, instead holding tighter to Noctis' hand in his own as he holds back the tears that threaten to fall. He has cried more in the day he has spent in the Citadel than he has in nearly three years, and the emotions and sensations that come with the act are uncomfortable to bear. As if he knows Prompto's current emotional state, Cor turns to him and squats down, gesturing with a twitch of his fingers for him to come closer. Prompto peels himself away from Noctis, immediately missing the warmth from the other boy, and moves to stand in front of Cor.

He smiles fondly at Prompto, slowly reaches up and once he is sure the other boy is comfortable, ruffles his hair until it resembles the rear end of the chocobos that Prompto so adores. “I'm not going far, kid. We'll see one another soon, so chin up,” he reassures him, chucking his chin with a curled index finger. Prompto nods and sniffs softly as Cor stands up once more and, bowing once more to Regis and then to Noctis, takes his leave of the room.

Prompto is left alone again in the company of Regis and Noctis, but the prospect of an evening spent in their company is far less frightening than it had been in the early hours of the morning, after his and Noctis' first explosive meeting. Prompto turns to look at Noctis, who grins at him in response before making his way over to Regis to hang off his arm and chatter excitedly about their day together, and considers the fact that perhaps this new life will be better than his last.

'Maybe it's okay to be happy,' Prompto muses as he makes his way towards his new friend, and reaches out once more to take Noctis' hand in his own. He allows himself to enjoy the contact the entire way back to Noctis' bedroom where supper awaits them.

Chapter Text

The week passes by quickly, each day bleeding into the next. The days start with Prompto waking up in bed, Noctis curled up against him with his face nestled into the crook of Prompto's neck. They spend time in Noctis' room, in Regis' sitting room, and in the nursery where they practice Prompto's alphabet and admire Lucy and her trio of chubby kittens. If Cor isn't the one to watch over them during their day, the duty falls to a nursemaid sworn to secrecy. The first time Noctis sees her, he gasps in delight and untangles himself from under the blanket he is curled under in the nursery, throwing himself into her open and waiting arms. She smiles fondly down at the Prince and brushes her fingers through his hair, returning his embrace. A rush of dark emotion passes through Prompto, new and unpleasant, and he frowns sullenly at the display, wishing Noctis would come back to his side. When the nursemaid, Ilena, introduces herself to Prompto with a welcoming smile and open arms, he ignores her entirely. He doesn't like that Noctis' attention can be so easily taken away from him, by a strange woman with soft brown eyes and long brown hair. He dislikes her immediately, jealousy seething within him.

By the end of the week Ilena has redeemed herself, as Noctis almost entirely forgets about her as soon as the initial excitement of seeing his old nursemaid wears off. He returns his attention to Prompto and their games together, dotes on him and does his best to teach Prompto everything he has learned from his tutors and his lessons with Ignis. Ilena has taken it upon herself to supplement Noctis' rudimentary educational material with her own knowledge, and she helps the boys to recite the alphabet, teaches Prompto his colours and has even begun teaching him his numbers.

Regis interrupts them in the middle of one such lesson, thanking Ilena for her work over the past week and dismisses her. She offers up one last hug to Noctis, who gladly accepts it, and smiles warmly to Prompto and wishes him well. He waves politely to her as she exits the room with one last bow to Regis, before the door swings closed and he turns his attention back to both boys.

“Boys, it's time we had a talk,” Regis begins as he ushers the children back to Noctis' bedchambers where supper awaits them. Once they wash their hands and settle in around the table brought into Noctis' chambers at the start of the week, Regis continues speaking. “Your week off from lessons is at it's end, Noctis. Tomorrow you go back to your lessons with Ignis and your tutor. And Prompto, it's time for you to move on as well.”

Here, Noctis gasps, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter as pasta and tomato sauce tumbles to the floor. “No!” he exclaims, hands clenched in fists on his thighs, tears glistening in his eyes. “You can't take him away, he just got here!”

Regis shakes his head and sets his own fork down on his plate, wipes his face with the napkin on his lap and levels his gaze onto Noctis. “I can, and I must.”

Prompto remains silent through the exchange, frozen to the spot as he attempts to process the king's words. What did he do wrong? Did he say something wrong to Regis during one of their evening meals together? He recalls the past week, desperate to remember the cause of his sudden and unexpected dismissal from the Citadel. Was it because he was better at towers than Noctis? Was it Ilena, and his frosty greeting?

'I don't want to go.' Prompto confesses in the safety of his own mind, appetite suddenly lost as he sits in his chair, shoulders curled in on themselves like they haven't been in days, and stares sullenly down at his lap in silence. The last thing Prompto wants is for Noctis to fight with his dad, so with resignation he says, “I'll go. Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

Noctis twists around in his chair so rapidly that it threatens to topple, but Regis steadies it with a hand before it has the chance. Having a son like Noctis has done more for his reflexes than any amount of combat training with Clarus ever has. “What?!” Noctis exclaims, eyes wide and disbelieving. “No, Prompto you can't go, Dad, don't make him go!” Noct is pleading now, and his voice rises with every syllable he utters until he is nearly shrieking his displeasure.

Regis pauses, not having planned for either of the boy's reactions to his announcement. He briefly reviews what he said to them, and oh, it suddenly makes sense. “No, no, son. I'm not sending Prompto away forever. Noctis no, I would never,” he soothes his child, but Noctis is too focused on Prompto, who steadfastly stares down at his lap and the hands he has in a tight grip there. “I meant only that the staff are starting to ask questions about young Prompto. Cor has agreed to care for him in his house outside of the Citadel. Prompto?”

Prompto looks up when addressed, and the resigned, broken look in his eyes is identical to the look he held the first night he spent at the Citadel. It makes Regis' heart clench unpleasantly, and he regrets that he has to separate the children, but he must, for the sake of secrecy. “You will attend public school during the week, and on the weekends you will either spend your time here or Noctis will be allowed to spend the days with you and Cor,” Regis explains and the relief that washes over him at the loosening and softening of Prompto's expression is nearly overwhelming. Prompto nods and picks up his fork again, dutifully placing a forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewing in silence.

“Dad, why didn't you say that before?” Noctis whines as he picks up his fork and continues to eat as well. Regis sighs and shakes his head, and the rest of the meal is eaten in an uncomfortable silence.

* * *

That evening Prompto finds himself once more in the bathroom standing in front of the bathtub. It's full to the brim with warm water and bubbles and he swallows back the bile in his throat at the memories it brings to the forefront of his mind. He takes several minutes to work up the courage before clambering into the tub of his own volition, unwilling to have Regis help him in this time. Regis and Noctis sit in the bedroom outside, Noctis having already had his nightly bath. The water is the perfect temperature, and when Prompto sweeps his hand across the layer of bubbles at the surface of the water he is relieved to see the clear water beneath. He sinks down into the water so that he sits on his bottom with his knees bent and both arms wrapped around them, and stares at the dark red scabs on his knees. He considers his life since being rejected from the facility in Gralea.

Cor is the first adult since Mama that has made him feel safe and wanted. Aside from the time before they boarded the ferry to Lucis, Cor has always been patient and kind to Prompto, never pushing him beyond his limited boundaries. When Prompto sees Cor, he knows that he will be safe from any harm. Cor makes Prompto feel like he can let go of all the fear and anxiety that often overwhelms him.

Lunafreya and Queen Sylva seem like a dream to him, two figures he spent so little time with but are imprinted in his memory. Regardless. He remembers Lunafreya's soft, warm hands and her kind words. Lunafreya is the first person Prompto told his story to, and she listened to him without interrupting. Queen Sylva gave Prompto the gift of the first peaceful sleep he has had since being taken from Mama. When he woke up, the dark, twisted feeling that used to live inside him, threatening to break free at any moment, was gone.

Cid and Cindy feature briefly in his recollections, though Cid's chilly reception to Cor still makes Prompto shiver with discomfort and causes him to hug his knees tighter to his chest. Cindy is the prettiest person Prompto has ever met. Prompto wishes he could see her again, because she seems like the kind of person who would be happy to spend time with a boy like him.

Clarus..... Prompto shivers again and puts the angry older man out of his mind, instead redirecting his thoughts to King Regis. King Regis has given Prompto a home in Insomnia. He sent Cor to find Prompto, when all they knew about him was the codeprint on his wrist and the country he lived in. Prompto thinks, with enough time, he might grow to be as comfortable in the King's presence as he feels in Cor's. But King Regis always looks so sad, and Prompto wonders why that might be.

And then there is Noctis. Prompto allows a small smile to curl his lips upward, and he stretches his legs out in the bathtub, finally relaxed enough to allow the heat of the water and the soothing scent from the soap to soak into his tense muscles. Noctis is so patient with Prompto, never pushing past his boundaries now that he knows them. He has taught Prompto how to write the alphabet and to spell his own name. At night time when they lay beside one another in the huge bed in Noctis' bedroom, Noctis' fingers brush against Prompto's until he inevitebaly twines them together and they fall asleep like that, the gentle tingle of their skin touching a soothing presence. Prompto hasn't had a nightmare since he met Noctis.

Tomorrow, everything is going to change. Cor is going to take Prompto to live with him in his home outside of the Citadel. He has to attend something called school, with other children his age, where he will learn to read and write and so many other new things. Regis says it's for his and Noctis' safety, that no one can know they are soulmates or that Prompto comes from Niflheim, but it still hurts to be separated from his only friend. Noctis promises that they'll see one another on the weekends, when neither of them have lessons or duties to attend to, but Prompto still worries. Will Noctis forget about him?

With a heavy sigh, Prompto finishes his bath as quickly as he can before he tugs the chain of the plug up, and watches the water drain around him until he is left sitting in an empty tub. He sits like that until he shivers, then carefully climbs over the edge of the tub and onto the soft mat below. He dries himself off with a fluffy black towel and changes into the pajamas King Regis supplied him with halfway through the week.

On nearly silent footsteps, Prompto makes his way out of the bathroom and over to the side of the bed, where Noctis awaits him with a slightly subdued smile. Regis, assured that Prompto made it out of the tub safely, has left to attend to other affairs. His friend pats the mattress beside him, and Prompto climbs in without hesitation until he sits on the bed, knees bent and feet tucked under him, bum resting on his heels. Noctis scoots closer to Prompto, sitting with legs crossed. Their clothed knees brush and Prompto finds himself missing the now familiar tingle of skin on skin contact.

“I'm gonna miss you, Prompto,” Noctis whispers, voice wavering slightly. Prompto nods in response, and after a moment of hesitation he climbs under the covers. Noctis follows after him quickly, settling in on his side of the bed, body positioned so that he lays on his side facing Prompto, who mirrors the position.

Prompto initiates the contact this time, reaching out with steady hands, free of the tremors that often wrack him when he takes any sort of initiative in their friendship, and presses the tips of his fingers against Noctis' cheek, just below his eye. Noctis' eyes flutter shut and his eyelashes brush against Prompto's fingers. Emboldened, Prompto presses the length of his fingers against his cheek, cupping in in his hand. Noctis leans into the touch, sighing softly.

“Don't forget me,” Prompto whispers as the tears fall freely from his eyes, and they move towards one another until they lay in the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. Prompto cries then, loud, aching sobs that echo throughout the large bedroom, and Noctis holds him tight against his chest, fighting back his own tears. Their pain is shared through the bond, multiplied until it is nearly overwhelming in its intensity, and when Prompto's tears finally die down, he lays in Noctis' arms, trembling with leftover emotion.

“I'll never forget you,” Noctis promises Prompto into the silence of the room. Prompt sniffles once more and presses his face against Noctis' chest, rubs his cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, and holds on tighter to the only familiar thing in the room. The nightmares are held back that night again, but neither boy sleeps restfully.

When Regis and Cor awaken the boys the next morning, they are subdued and silent, going through the motions of preparing for the day on autopilot. Neither are willing to be far apart, so they spend more time bumping into one another than they do getting ready. Regis and Cor watch them silently, both thoughtful, and Regis regrets that this is the decision that had to be made.

When Prompto stands before Cor, dressed in a set of Noctis' hand-me-down- clothes, he resembles the beaten and broken boy from Gralea. The boy that blossomed into existence under Noctis' doting affections is nowhere to be seen. When they move to leave the bedroom, Noctis steps forward and speaks, “Wait!”

Prompto turns back to Noctis, who disappears behind his bed briefly before returning with the stuffed chocobo Prompto had latched onto their first day together, and an envelope in hand. He offers them to Prompto, who takes them with shaking hands. “So you feel safe even when I'm not there,” Noctis explains bashfully, a rosy tint to his cheeks. Prompto smiles warmly, and the adults in the room catch a glimpse of the child Prompto should have been all along. He envelops Noctis in a tight hug, breathes in his soothing scent once more, and basks in the warmth of their bond for a too-short moment before he steps away from Noctis and turns to Cor, his gifts held carefully in his hands.

“Thank you, King Regis, for letting me stay here,” Prompto says to the King, who places a friendly hand on his shoulder. Prompto successfully fights the impulse to flinch from the touch and when the King releases his shoulder, he follows Cor outside of the room. Each step that takes Prompto farther away from Noctis opens up a hole in his chest, leaves him aching and miserable. He pays no attention to the journey from the Citadel to the car, or the car to Cor's modest home in a neighbourhood near the citadel. Mechanically he follows Cor into the house, allowing himself to be led into a small bedroom with a smaller bed, a nightstand and a lamp in one corner, and a dresser and closet on the opposite wall. The single window in the room offers a view of the house next door though Prompto has no urge to look outside. He eats the meal Cor places in front of him, then sits silently in a lumpy chair in Cor's sitting room, staring blankly at the wall across from him. Cor tries to engage him in conversation, but after multiple times of being completely ignored, he stops and instead gives Prompto his space. They eat supper in silence and Prompto goes through the motions of bathing, cleaning his teeth and dressing for bed. He climbs in and finally pulls out the envelope from the nightstand where he had hidden it upon his arrival into the bedroom that morning.

He opens the envelope and tips it upside down. Several photographs fall out onto the blanket. Noctis features in all of them, smiling brightly at the camera. Prompto covers his mouth with one hand to stifle the sound of his grief and reaches out to press his fingertips to Noctis' face in the photograph on top with his other hand. He cries himself to sleep, stuffed chocobo clutched tight in one arm and hand laid over top of the pile of photographs of Noctis.

He dreams of Mama, dark and twisted, with sharp teeth and evil eyes. She snarls at him, angry for his betrayal, angry at being forgotten and replaced. So angry, and so evil. She reaches out to him with hands that end in sharp claws that dig into the tender flesh of his arms and pulls him in close. Her mouth opens, and opens, and opens, until she bends down to swallow him whole. Just as the rancid stench of her rotten mouth reaches his nostrils, Prompto forces himself out of his nightmare and into wakefulness. He's alone in the dark, in a strange room. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath, eyes wide and heart pounding. The only thing he wants is Noctis. Noctis is the only thing he can't have. He spends the rest of the night gazing longingly at the photographs Noctis gave to him under the dim lamplight, eyes tracing the round curve of Noctis' cheek, the careless way his hair falls over his forehead, the soft curve of his shoulders, memorizing him.

A few short miles away in the Citadel, Noctis sits bolt upright in his bed, awakened by an unknown force. He can feel Prompto's panic and pain through their bond, and his chest aches with the need to comfort him. He presses his face into the pillow Prompto used for the past week, inhales his only friend's lingering scent, and holds the pillow tight. He wishes he had a picture of Prompto to keep beside his bed. The distance, the separation is unpleasant. Saturday can't come soon enough.

Chapter Text

The incessant pressure on Prompto's overfull and straining bladder finally urges him out of bed shortly after sunrise the following morning. He makes his way down the hall to the only bathroom in Cor's small house and attends to his body's needs. When he exits the bathroom, wiping his hands dry on his black cotton sleep pants, the smell of toast meets his nostrils and he allows himself to follow his nose into the small, cramped kitchen. Cor stands in front of a small rectangular box on the counter, butter knife in one hand, tapping his foot impatiently against the beat up linoleum floor the kitchen boasts. When a sudden 'pop!' emanates from the box and two pieces of toast spring out the top of it, Prompto jumps in shock, drawing Cor's attention to him. The older man turns his head to look at Prompto over his shoulder, lips quirked up in a small smile, and gestures for Prompto to step into the kitchen.

“Hungry?” Cor asks as he butters both slices of toast. At Prompto's hesitant nod, he places one of the pieces of toast on a plate and turns around to hand it to Prompto. His brows furrow when he sees the boy properly for the first time that morning, lingering on the black bags under his eyes and the exhausted slump to his shoulders.

“Today was supposed to be your first day of school, but you're in no shape,” Cor muses aloud, mentally rearranging his plans for the day. Regis has given him the day off to settle Prompto into his home, so today is as good a day as any to outfit him with a new wardrobe.

The outing does not go well, despite Cor's best efforts to avoid the busier parts of Insomnia's shopping district. The early morning crowds, meager as they are, overwhelm Prompto and the boy spends more time clinging desperately to the leg of Cor's pants, fingers clenched so tight they ache, than he does picking out clothes. In the end, Cor provides his credit card information to a very flustered shop attendant and asks her to pick out one of everything they have in stock in Prompto's size and have them delivered to his address. The Crown will reimburse him later.

They head home a mere hour after setting out on the ill advised shopping trip, and Cor settles Prompto into his living room on the two cushioned couch, bundled up in a blanket with his stuffed chocobo and the TV turned on to a child-friendly channel. The afternoon and evening pass uneventfully, with Prompto saying little and Cor saying less. They go to bed in silence that night, and Prompto's exhaustion sees him fast asleep only moments after his cheek touches his pillow. His exhaustion keeps the nightmares at bay.

* * *

The public school Prompto has been enrolled in last minute is small with modest classroom sizes. They are well into the last semester of the school year and it sets Prompto back immensely. Cor explains that he has been accepted into the kindergarten class. When they park in front of the school,the children milling outside stop and stare at the sight of the Royal Insignia on the side of Cor's vehicle. Cor exits his side of the vehicle and Prompto hesitates only briefly before pushing his door open and climbing out of the passenger seat. Children, he can handle. There were plenty of children at the test facility, and they never went out of their way to be unkind to one another. There was enough of that from the adults that the children kept to themselves for the most part. Cor guides Prompto into the school with a hand on his shoulder, the solid warmth of his palm a comfort to Prompto who follows along obediently.

With his introduction to the Principal, a kindly elderly woman with grey hair up in a frizzy bun and thick eyeglasses completed, Prompto is escorted to his kindergarten classroom by a dark haired girl who appears to be around his age.

“I'm Asha!” She proclaims proudly, guiding him with her hand in his to his classroom. Prompto memorizes the path, determined to not need any more help than necessary. He misses the tingle of warmth that spreads through him when he touches Noctis, and wishes Asha would let go of him. She does, but only after delivering him to his classroom and urging him inside before she saunters off, ponytail bobbing jauntily with each bouncing step she takes away from him.

The classroom is bright and open, with colourful paintings on every available wall and the windows are open to let in the fresh spring air. There are several round tables, and each table has chairs around it. Children sit in the chairs, and there appears to be one empty chair. Prompto moves towards the open chair, assuming it must be his, when a throat being cleared from the front of the room causes him to jump in surprise and stand at attention. A quiet snigger breaks out in the classroom, and Prompto feels his cheeks flushing in discomfort. He turns his attention to the front of the room and sees the woman standing at the front. She smiles warmly at him and urges him forward with a beckoning gesture. He complies, until he stands beside her as she places a soft hand on his shoulder. He struggles to contain the shiver at the unexpected and unwelcome contact.

“Class, we have a new student joining us for the rest of the year!” The woman chirps cheerfully, lightly pushing on Prompto's shoulder to move him a step forward. He does so, and she continues on, “Why don't you introduce yourself, young man?”

Prompto is prepared for this question, as Cor prepped him and quizzed him and demanded he repeat the following words until he could do them unthinking, “My name is Prompto Argentum. My family is from Tenebrae, but my Mama and Papa got sick so I was sent to live with my guardian, Cor Leonis.” His youthful voice fills the room, blessedly free of the nervous tremor it so often holds. The children perk up in interest at this information, and one little boy leans forward in his seat eyes wide and thoroughly impressed.

“What's it like, living with Cor the Immortal!?” he demands, eyes shining in curiosity.

Prompto blinks at the question, then shrugs, “Okay, I guess?” he offers back, glancing to the side to avoid the stares of tall the children in front of him.

A barrage of questions follows, too rapid for him to follow or even respond to, until the teacher clears her throat once more and claps her hands together three times, causing the children to quiet down immediately. She talks into the relative silence, “Now now, children. Let's leave our new friend be for now. He's only just arrived, let's make him feel at home!”

And so Prompto's first day of school carries on and comes to an eventual end. When Cor meets Prompto at the front gates of the school several hours later, he is astounded to see Prompto separate from a crowd of children and wave cheerfully over his shoulder as he makes his way to the car. Cor stares, flabbergasted, as Prompto crawls inside and buckles up, a small but obviously delighted smile lighting up the boy's often subdued visage.

“...Well how'd it go, kid?” Cor eventually asks as they pull away from the school and head back to Cor's house. He sees Prompto shrug from the corner of his eye.

“Good.” Prompto responds, and the conversation ends there. Prompto stares out the window the rest of the way home, hands folded neatly in his lap and the smile still lingers on his lips as they make their way back inside and Cor sets out the supper prepared for them by the Citadel staff.

The week passes in a similar manner, with Cor dropping a quiet and thoughtful Prompto off at school only to return at the end of the day to be greeted by an entirely different boy. Four days of school has allowed Prompto to be a normal child like a week in the citadel and a month of traveling had not been able to accomplish. The change is shocking but not unpleasant. Prompto no longer avoids physical interaction, instead he initiates the contact, rubbing his cheek against the fabric covering Cor's belly on Friday evening as he wraps his slender arms around the other man's waist before he needs to tuck himself into bed for the night. Cor returns the embrace, ruffling Prompto's hair fondly as the boy pulls away and disappears into his bedroom. Tomorrow they will return to the Citadel, and if Regis' grumblings about his contrary son are any indication, Prince Noctis is going to be overjoyed with the arrival and the change in his young companion.

* * *

When Cor shuts off the engine of the car in the parking garage at the Citadel, Prompto swiftly unbuckles his seat belt, pushes the door open and hops outside of the vehicle. An incessant tugging has kicked up deep inside him the moment Prompto woke up that morning, and each minute that brought him closer to the Citadel also increased the tugging sensation in his chest. His fingers tingle in anticipation as he impatiently waits for Cor to exit the vehicle from the other side. When he finally does, Prompto sets off ahead of Cor towards the entrance to the garage. Cor follows him silently, curious to see events as they play out. Prompto walks as if in a trance through the winding basement corridors of the citadel, up several flights of stairs and pushes open the door on the fourth floor landing with no hesitation.

The moment he steps into the thickly carpeted hallway, Prompto breaks into a jog, messy blonde hair bouncing with every forward step he takes. The tugging in his chest is nearly unbearable when he reaches the door to the nursery, and he throws it open in a rush and steps through the doorway. Noctis is standing across the room in front of a massive window, and whirls around to gape wide-eyed and slack jawed at Prompto, who rubs at the ache in his chest as he stares across the room at his soulmate, his very first, very best friend.

The urge to bridge the distance between them is too strong, and both boys hurry to reach one another. Prompto reaches out and catches Noctis up in a warm, enveloping hug, and presses his face against the soft skin on the side of Noctis' neck. The skin contact sets off a rush of warmth through their bodies and Prompto sighs in relief as the tugging finally fades from his chest, replaced with the warmth and comfort of being together with Noctis again.

“I missed you,” Noctis says as he holds tight to Prompto.

“Me too,” Prompto responds into his neck, the words muffled but still audible.

Cor smiles, and leaves the boys to their reunion. He closes the nursery door as he exits and steps out to find Clarus. Cor has had two weeks to consider his feelings in regards to Clarus' actions towards Prompto in the nursery the night he brought him to the Citadel. Two weeks for his unpleasant feelings to stew and fester and change from mere irritation to disgust and anger. Clarus has a lot to answer to, and Cor intends to confront him today, before the animosity between both men can sour their relationship further.

Inside the Nursery, Prompto reluctantly steps back from his embrace with Noctis, only to look up at his friend and smile brightly at him. Noctis grins back, and Prompto blinks in surprise at the gap in Noctis' previously perfect set of pearly white teeth. He reaches up and pokes his finger into the space where one of his front teeth used to be, and Noctis squishes up his face and leans his head back and away from Prompto's probing finger.

“What happened?” Prompto asks, hand dropping back to his side. The concern is evident in his voice as well as by the furrow in his brow and the slight frown on his lips.

“It was loose so I pulled it out last night!” Noctis proudly proclaims. At Prompto's baffled expression, he sets off into a long and detailed explanation of the journey of his loose tooth from initial discovery to final extraction, and Prompto hangs on to every word, tongue searching out loose teeth in his own mouth. He finds one, way at the back and on top, and points it out to Noctis who inspects the tooth with eye and finger before confidently diagnosing the tooth as loose.

This is how Ignis Scientia comes upon Noctis and Prompto. The Crown Prince has his hand in Prompto's mouth, face disconcertingly close to the other boy's, with his other hand on his shoulder, steadying himself as he wiggles the loose tooth. The door swings shut with a soft click, though neither of the two young boys notice it.

“When will it fall out?” Prompto wonders aloud, and Noctis shrugs in response as he wipes the slobber off his finger onto the leg of his pants. Ignis clears his throat then, and both boys look up in surprise at the interruption.

“Oh, hi Ignis!” Noctis greets the older boy, holding tight to Prompto's hands when Prompto brushes their fingers together for reassurance. He can feel Prompto relax at the touch, and tugs him along as he steps forward to say a proper hello to Ignis and introduce him to his dearest friend. “Ignis, this is -” Noctis begins, but Ignis cuts him off.

“Prompto, I know. Hello, Prompto,” Ignis states matter of factly, holding his hand up to Prompto for the other boy to shake. Prompto uses his free hand, his right one, to clasp Ignis' hand in his own, but Ignis instead reaches slightly further up and wraps his slender fingers just above the black leather wristband covering the mark on the skin below. He trains his eyes on the leather, as if he could see through the material to the secret hidden beneath it. “Ah, knew it. I know exactly who you are, Prompto.”

“Oh, good,” Noctis breathes out with relief, before he turns to Prompto and continues his introductions. “Prompto, this is Ignis. Dad says some day he's gonna advise me, but I don't know what that really means. We have lessons with my tutor during the week. Remember, I told you about him?”

Prompto nods, overwhelmed at the influx of information, and gently tugs his wrist out of Ignis' grasp. Ignis allows his hand to fall to his side and smiles politely at Prompto, who averts his gaze to stare intently at the black and white whorls on the carpet below their feet. The room falls silent briefly, and Noctis is moments away from opening his mouth to fill the silence when an impressively loud growl emanates from Prompto's abdomen.

Prompto clutches his noisy belly with his free hand, still holding tight to Noctis, and feels his face flush from the tips of his ears down his neck in a vibrant shade of red. Ignis allows his lips to turn up in a small, amused smile and asks, “Doesn't Cor feed you enough?”

“No, no.. I mean yes!” Prompto replies, desperate to ensure Ignis that he is fed enough, that Cor doesn't neglect him and that he is safe to stay with Cor, “I'm just hungry! I'm always hungry.”

“Well, let's go get some lunch,” Ignis says, and leads both boys from the nursery into the kitchens. The head chef, a short, plump woman with her hair tied up in a severe bun, greets them as they trail through in single file, Prompto having let go of Noctis' hand when they passed through the nursery doors into the Citadel proper.

“Boys!” she says, ushering them into the kitchen with a broad sweeping motion of her arms, before zeroing her gaze in on Prompto who stands awkwardly before her, “You! Sweet child, you're far too skinny. I'll fatten you up in no time flat, just leave it to me!”

The chef, “Agatha,” as she introduces herself, treats the boys to a hearty and filling meal of potato soup and fresh dinner rolls, and Prompto finds himself enjoying his day thus far at the Citadel, even with the unexpected addition of Ignis and Agatha into his precious time together with Noctis.

It's when they are leaving the kitchens and have headed back to the nursery to play with Lucy and her kittens, now a week older and more active, that trouble arises in the form of Gladiolus, tall and irritable and in no mood to play nice with the Prince who has been causing so much grief in his household these past two weeks since his mystery guest arrived with Cor late in the night and caused a fight between Clarus and Regis that still hasn't been resolved.

He sees the trio of boys, Ignis at the forefront, hands gesturing and in the middle of a sentence, Noctis and the blonde boy trailing slightly behind, walking so close to one another they nearly trip over each other several times in the few seconds it takes them to converge in the main hallway of the citadel, and snarls angrily, “What, bringing cats into the Citadel wasn't enough, now you're bringing in stray kids too?”

Ignis gasps , the sound equal parts surprise and disapproval, and moves to stand between Noctis and Gladio, but to everyone's surprise, it's Prompto who intercepts the brewing confrontation. Noctis has told Prompto a lot about Gladiolus Amicitia, and from what Prompto knows, he's not a nice boy, maybe even a bully. Prompto knows a thing or two about bullies. He spent three years of his life surrounded by people who lived to hurt him. Prompto also knows he has just as much right to be in the Citadel as Gladio himself does. A week of public schooling has instilled a confidence into Prompto that may have taken years to develop otherwise, had he spent it in the Citadel, sequestered away from the world.

“L-leave him alone,” Prompto says, voice strong despite the involuntary stutter. He has to look way up to meet Gladiolus' eyes, but he does so with a stubborn tilt to his chin, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Gladio blinks, taken aback by the sudden turn of events and the skinny blonde kid standing in front of him, and Prompto continues before he loses his courage, “Noctis never did anything to you, so leave him alone. You're just a.. a mean bully!”

“Prompto, no, you don't have to -” Noctis cuts in, when it looks like Gladio wants to say something harsh in return, and reaches out to grasp onto Prompto's hand. Prompto twitches his hand away from Noctis' own, and the sting of rejection is painful in its unexpectedness. The feeling is in direct contrast to the warmth spreading out from his chest as Prompto defends him from Gladiolus. Prompto continues speaking overtop of Noctis, voice rising slightly to be heard.

“I'm fine, I'm n-not afraid of him,” Prompto says, eyes trained on Gladiolus. The older boy stares long and hard at Prompto, before his eyes finally travel over the blonde's body and settle on the leather cuff on his right wrist. Noctis wears a similar band, and has worn it every day for the past several months, and Gladio slowly pieces the information together while the three boys in front of him wait tensely for some sort of response.

Gladio's dad has been grumbling about King Regis making rash decisions lately, has ranted and raved and raged over Cor's top secret mission last month, and has been even angrier since Cor returned with a strange kid in tow. Noctis spent last week sequestered away from the rest of the Citadel, and just when the staff were starting to gossip and Gladio had a chance to glean the information his dad withheld from him, the mystery guest left with Cor and business went back to normal in the Citadel. Noctis has pouted and moped and generally been a giant brat since his guest left, and now suddenly here Noctis stands with a scrawny blonde kid, wristbands matching and looking for all the world like he wants to protect the other boy from everything and everyone, starting with Gladio.

Gladiolus isn't stupid, he has a good head on his shoulders, he just also happens to have a short temper and doesn't think before he speaks a lot of the time. So when he puts all the pieces of this particular puzzle and comes to the conclusion that this kid, Prompto, must be Noctis' soulmate, he finds his sympathy for his father's recent ranting and raving dry up and fade into nothingness. Soulmates are serious magic, there's no getting out of it and there's no point fighting it. Noctis' behaviour suddenly makes sense and Gladiolus is deeply ashamed of his ill thoughts towards his Prince.

“My dad's so dumb,” Gladio finally mutters, brow furrowed but no longer angry. The fight has been knocked out from under him with the realization that he now has two people to protect from harm. Two people to train and guard and guide with Ignis at his side. Gladio sighs, the breath leaving him in a rush of pent up emotion, and holds his hand out to Prompto, a peace offering and an offer of friendship, “Gladiolus Amicitia, Sworn Shield to Prince Noctis and now, your Shield too.”

Prompto hesitates only briefly, but the silence from the two boys behind him offers him no guidance and he is too focused on Gladio to glance back for support from Noctis, so instead he reaches forward and shakes Gladio's larger, rougher hand, and smiles bravely at him, “Prompto Argentum... W-wanna be friends?”

Chapter Text

The rest of the school year passes for Prompto and Noctis in a blur of classes and tutoring, weekends together, and immense personal growth. Prompto has come out of his shell, opened up like the sylleblossoms he had so admired in Tenebrae. Cor is immensely proud of the child he has grown deeply fond of, for both his perseverance and his inner strength. He has, against all odds, managed to seamlessly integrate himself into public school life as well as into life in the Citadel with Noctis, Ignis and Gladiolus.

Cor's relationship with Clarus is no longer soured, after the heated and angry argument they had had the first weekend Prompto spent back in the Citadel after moving out with Cor.

* * *

“Clarus,” Cor greets the older man coolly as he crosses his arm overs his chest. A frown paints itself across his often thoughtful face. They stand stiffly across from one another in one of many sitting rooms dispersed throughout the Citadel. The door is closed and the room is out of the usual route of staff, away from prying eyes and ears. This is a conversation that does not need to be overheard.

“Cor,” Clarus grunts in response, mirroring Cor's posture and expression, closing himself off to the other man, his young companion from so long ago. Cor raises a brow at the gesture, and Clarus continues, “Well, get to it then. You can't possibly say anything Regis hasn't already said to me.”

Cor scowls as he shifts his weight from his left side to his right, uncrosses his arms and hooks an index finger in his pants pocket as he allows the other hand to hang free at his side. “Fine then,” he begins, “What the hell is wrong with you, Clarus? Prompto is a child, what gives you cause to attack him? In the presence of the King and the Prince, no less?”

“A child? He's a creature of Niflheim, designed to kill Lucians and terrorize our country. How can you allow such a thing to live and sleep in your house? How do you sleep at night with that monster under your roof?!” Clarus scoffs, gesturing angrily in front of him with a wild motion of his rough, calloused hands.

When Cor hears Clarus' words, he rolls his eyes with so much disrespect and sarcasm that Clarus has to clench his fists at his sides until his nails bite into the flesh of his palms to keep from striking out at him. Cor replies, “Yes, a six year old monster lives in my house. He eats my toast and leaves crumbs on the counter. A monster leaves his clothes in a pile in my bathroom, and every night I tuck that little monster into bed and have the absolute displeasure of listening to his nightmares as he relives his time in Niflheim. What monster do you know that has nightmares of being hurt by his own mother? I hear him scream out and sob 'Mama' almost every night we spend together, and every morning he pretends it doesn't happen. He's just a kid, Clarus. Just like Gladiolus and Ignis and the Prince himself.”

Clarus growls in frustration and slams his fists against the sides of his thighs, jaw clenched angrily. “You compare that boy to our Prince? To my son? What nerve do you have, that you'd put him on the same level as a Lucian child. He's a menace, a danger to our peace and safety and I won't tolerate-”

But here Cor cuts Clarus off as he fists the fabric over Clarus' shoulder and tugs the other man towards him, so close their foreheads are almost touching. Clarus can see every fleck of colour in Cor's irises, sees the way his nostrils flare with repressed rage and the tight wrinkles at the creases of his eyes, and he feels Cor's hot, angry breath on his face as Cor spits out the next words, “You don't need to tolerate anything, you stupid man. Prompto is a ward of the King, he is the Prince's soulmate and he is here to stay.

Cor shakes Clarus with every point he makes, slowly backing the man against the wall behind him, and continues his tirade, “I rescued that boy from the bowels of Niflheim, saw him cured of the Scourge by the Queen of Tenebrae and was ordered by that very same Queen, the Oracle I might add, to keep him safe because 'The fate of Eos rests in that boy.' The Oracle has vouched for him, the King has vouched for him, I have vouched for him! If you think your outdated, disgusting prejudices are going to stop the King and I from giving that boy the chance at a normal life that he deserves then you are sorely mistaken.”

Clarus stays silent, for once cowed into keeping his sharp tongue and hot headed temper in check, as Cor continues, “and if you ever attempt to threaten that boy while he is under my protection or cause him harm in any way, I will make you regret it until my dying day. You're the King's Shield, and you're training Gladio to be Noctis' Shield. No wonder your kid is such a wretched bully, when you are the man he has to look up to. Shame on you, Clarus Amicitia. Start acting like the man I used to respect. I don't even know who you are anymore.”

With that, Cor shoves Clarus away from him roughly and turns abruptly on his heel, storming out of the room with angry stomps of his feet, though the sound is muffled by the thick carpet beneath their shoes. Clarus allows Cor to leave the room before straightening up, adjusting the way his jacket lays over his shoulders and smoothing out the wrinkles left by Cor's grip there. He clenches his jaw, torn between anger at Cor and a slowly uncoiling shame for his recent actions, and exits the room stiffly. He leaves his pride behind, shattered and beaten into the carpet by Cor's words.

* * *

Summer for Prompto comes and goes in a blur of tutoring, weekends spent at the Citadel, and days off spent with Noctis at the small fishing pond situated far into the massive grounds behind the Citadel. Prompto develops freckles and a healthy golden cast to his previously pale, sallow skin. Noctis is infatuated with the dusting of colour across his best friend and soulmate's face and shoulders and it's only when Prompto begs him to stop tracing patterns into the freckles that Noctis leaves them alone, though he never stops gazing in delight at the little brown spots.

Prompto grows, shooting up taller than Noctis, and he gains enough weight that his clothes no longer hang off his frame. Cor has to replace Prompto's entire wardrobe over the summer, and Regis raises a regal eyebrow when the bill crosses his desk one afternoon while he tends to paperwork. He signs the bill without hesitation, but reflects warmly to himself that he is glad his son's soulmate is thriving in Insomnia.

The weekend before school is set to start again for another year, Noctis turns seven and the Citadel celebrates for the entirety of the weekend. Prompto is allowed to spend the night on Friday and Saturday, and both boys spend as much time together as possible when not called away by birthday festivities and dinners held in Noctis' honour. At night, Prompto and Noctis curl together in Noctis' big black bed, two small bodies nearly drowning in sheets and comforters. They twine together like the cats in the nursery and those nights are the best nights Prompto has had since moving out of the Citadel.

When the school year starts again, Prompto's novelty from the year before has worn off and the students are less enamored with him. He has a small group of friends in his class but otherwise he is left to his own devices. His classmates seem to have collectively decided after the first month of classes that the strange Tenebraean boy who flinches away from teachers and never disobeys an order, who never acts out in class and who is always so polite and respectful to the adults, is not worth their energy to cultivate.

Prompto brings an invitation to a birthday party home with him after school shortly after October arrives. He opens the envelope in the car after he buckles up and begins to read aloud to Cor, “You are invi-invited to a party! Join Asha and Clarita on Saturday, October 14^th for an afternoon of fun and games!”

Propto grins towards Cor, proud of his recitation of the card, and Cor returns the smile fondly, though inside he considers the logistics of keeping watch over Prompto while he is at a birthday party without bringing attention to the fact that the child is a ward of the Throne. He'll make it work, of course, if that is what Prompto wants.

“You wanna go, kid? It means you won't see Noctis that weekend,” Cor responds.

Prompto hesitates as he considers this thoughtfully. Noctis is his best friend and Prompto always looks forward to the time he spends in the Citadel, but Asha and Clarita are his friends too, and maybe Noctis would like to hear about the birthday party?

“Can I call Noct after the party?” he asks instead, having been introduced to the telephone weeks ago when Noctis called him to tell him all about the massive fish he had caught that afternoon, unable to keep the news to himself until the weekend.

“Of course,” Cor replies, and sees Prompto nod from his peripheral vision, eyes focused on the road and the crush of traffic at the end of the day, thousands of Insomnians attempting to head home by various methods of transportation.

“I want to go,” Prompto confirms.

* * *

The party itself is uneventful, just a handful of over excited children overindulging in sugar and snack foods. There are various games set out in Asha and Clarita's back yard, and Prompto takes his turn at each one, though he never wins any of the rounds he plays. When it comes time to open up gifts, Prompto bashfully hands the twins their gifts, each one a small box crudely wrapped in pink chocobo printed paper. They open them together and coo in unison, lifting out delicately braided bracelets with tiny clear glass beads woven throughout. Prompto helps to tie them onto their wrists, black and blue for Asha and pink and white for Clarita, their favourite colours.

“Friendship bracelets!” the twins proclaim, and engulf Prompto in a tight, joyful hug. He returns the embrace without hesitation, warmth pooling in his belly now that his painstakingly made gifts have been approved of and making him feel content and safe. “Now we match, because you always wear a bracelet too!”

The smile nearly falls from Prompto's lips at that, but he forces it to remain, though it no longer meets his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, and suddenly he wants to go home, to crawl onto the couch beside Cor and talk to Noctis on the phone. He misses his best friend with an ache that won't subside, misses the other half of his soul so deeply that it makes his belly churn with uncomfortable cramps. When the girls turn their attention to the remainder of their gifts, he drifts to the periphery of the group and anxiously rubs at his own black braided leather bracelet, a gift from Noctis, and counts down the minutes until Cor picks him up and takes him home.

The party ends uneventfully less than an hour later, and Prompto heads home after another round of hugs and thank you's from Asha and Clarita. Cor attempts to start up a conversation in the car, but Prompto is silent, staring thoughtfully out the window with a frown on his face. Cor falls quiet after several failed conversation attempts and finally offers Prompto the cordless phone once they are back in the house, dialing in the number for him before he gives the phone up.

“Noctis?” Prompto breathes into the phone when the other boy answers, and Cor sees Prompto visibly brighten, the frown falling from his face to be replaced by a carefree smile. His shoulders relax and he sits up straighter on the couch where he has settled himself, tucking his feet in under his bottom. The smile falls from his face almost as soon as he hears whatever the Prince says though, and he blinks several times in surprise before he responds, “No, I didn't forget... No, Noct. I was at a birthday party, I told you... I didn't? I'm sorry!”

He falls silent again, and Cor watches from the doorway to the living room, eyebrows crawling closer and closer to his hairline the more Prompto seems to recede in on himself. He silently makes his way into the kitchen to pick up the second cordless phone and turns on the line, pressing the phone to his ear in time to hear Noctis mid-rant.

“-alone, you never told me you were going to a party! I waited all day and you never came and I was so worried!”

“I didn't mean to, I promise. I'm sorry Noct, I wanted to tell you all about Asha and Clarita's party because you always ask what it's like outside the Citadel....” Prompto's voice is pleading now, and Cor can hear the telltale quiver that so often precedes tears.

“Asha? Clarita? Who're they?!”

“They're my friends, Noct.. We go to school together, remember?” He begs Noctis to understand, to remember the party he is positive he had mentioned the last time they were together, but Noctis is too caught up in himself to hear the impending breakdown obvious in the way Prompto's voice cracks and breaks as he speaks.

“I thought I was your only friend! You don't need those people, you have me!”

“I... what?”

“I said you don't need other friends!” The words fall heavily across the telephone line, and Cor hears Prompto's soft, surprised gasp both through the phone and in the other room.

“Noctis I can have more than one friend, you know I'll always love you best...”

“Well you're my ONLY friend, Prompto! And now I won't see you for another week!”

“I'm sorry? I thought you'd want to hear about the party...”

“Well I don't! I don't want to hear about those girls! I don't even want to talk to you right now!”

There is a click, and then after a beat, “...Noctis?” Prompto queries, voice uneven.

But the line is dead, and by the time Cor has hung up his phone and hurried back into the living room, the damage has been done. Prompto is curled in on himself on the couch, clutching desperately to the phone with eyes trained unseeing on the device. Cor can hear the dial tone when he steps closer to Prompto, but it's soon drowned out by the sound of Prompto endlessly whimpering Noctis' name through his tears. They fall hot and heavy from his eyes, wetting his cheeks and leaving dark spots on the upholstered couch. Cor gently pulls the phone from Prompto's grip, turns it off and scoops him up into his arms.

The boy clings to Cor like a life jacket, arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he shakes with the force of his emotions. He rubs one of his hands in soothing circles over Prompto's sweaty, hot back and holds him up under the thighs with the other hand, cheek pressed against the top of Prompto's head as the boy cries out his pain into Cor's shoulder. It takes a long time, but eventually the tears taper off into hiccups and then exhausted breaths, and the shaking fades into the occasional shiver until Prompto is limp and silent in Cor's arms, his crying having finally exhausted him.

When Cor attempts to deposit Prompto into his bed, the boy whimpers in distress and clutches tighter to him, begging into the skin of his neck, “Please, can I stay with you?”

Cor turns around with no hesitation when he hears the words softly spoken to him and heads for his own bedroom, where Prompto sleeps fitfully beside him in his bed, tossing and turning and thrashing about, mumbling incoherently except to occasional whisper Noctis' name. Cor doesn't sleep that night, instead he lays beside Prompto as the child dreams and considers how best to approach his King about the altercation between their boys.

As it turns out, Cor need not worry about bringing last night's disastrous phone call to Regis' attention, because the King appears on his doorstep at seven o'clock the following morning with a sullen and grumpy Noctis in tow.

“Higne- er, sorry, Regis, hello. Good morning, please come in,” Cor stutters and greets the King as he gestures for Regis and Noctis to enter into the small house. Noctis follows behind Regis, clearly miserable and obviously unimpressed at being hauled out of the Citadel so early in the day, but Cor can't seem to find it in him to be concerned for his Prince's well-being after spending a sleepless night soothing his emotionally distraught charge.

“We snuck out of the Citadel before Clarus could catch us, we don't have much time, I'm afraid,” Regis offers in explanation as he steps out of his glossy black designer leather shoes and onto the carpeted floor of Cor's front entrance way.

“Noctis, take your shoes off,” Regis orders his son as Noctis attempts to step around both men, still clad in his plain black running shoes. Noctis rolls his eyes snarkily at his dad and kicks off his shoes with a huff. “Attitude, son. You'd do well to check it, since it happens to be the very reason you are out of bed this early on a Sunday.”

Noctis deflates at that, and hangs his head guiltily before he responds, “Sorry, Dad.”

“Not yet you aren't,” Regis responds ominously, and Noctis pales slightly under the implication of that statement. Cor watches the interaction silently as he pulls out a seat for Regis at his old and weathered kitchen table and sets the coffee maker on to make a pot.

“Coffee, Regis?” He asks for politeness' sake, and Regis grunts his approval before turning his attention back to Noctis.

“Well, get on with it then Noctis, we don't have all day,” Regis orders the Prince, but Noctis looks around the kitchen and the doorways that lead out from him and stalls, obviously unfamiliar with his surroundings and confused as to where to go from here. Despite the assurance that the boys would spend more time together both at the Citadel and at Cor's house, Noctis has been unable to visit Prompto at home until now, and so he has no way of knowing where Prompto may be, regardless of the now familiar tug at his chest, the soulmate bond hard at work to reunite the boys.

“Head out that doorway beside you, Prince Noctis, and it's the second door down the hall,” Cor instructs, and both men watch intently as Noctis disappears down the hall.

“What on earth happened, Leonis?” Regis asks as Cor pours two cups of strong, black coffee. He sets one in front of Regis and seats himself in the seat across from the King, blowing across the top of his own mug of coffee in a poor attempt to cool the drink down enough to taste.

“From what I heard, the boys had a lack of communication.” Cor supplies, but Regis snorts and raises an eyebrow in Cor's direction.

“Yes, and we're at war with Niflheim. What else happened?”

“..Noctis seems to be rather jealous that Prompto has made friends outside of his influence. He was upset Prompto went to the party yesterday instead of spending time with him at the Citadel. He told him the only friend he needed was Noctis himself and when Prompto tried to defend himself, Noctis yelled at him and hung up.”

“It seems I have spoiled my son into thinking he is entitled to anything and everything he wants. I have done him a disservice, and I have unduly caused young Prompto emotional grief because of it. I apologize.” Regis responds after a moment's silence before he takes a sip of his coffee and smacks his lips appreciatively. He changes the topic abruptly, though Cor is no stranger to Regis' conversational approaches after over a decade of friendship with the King. “Ah, Cor! You always did make the best coffee. Say, is there any way we can listen in on those boys?”

* * *

Noctis tiptoes into the bedroom Cor had directed him to moments prior, and immediately he feels the ease of tension in his chest as Prompto's mop of messy blonde hair becomes visible to him in the dim light that filters through the curtain covering the sole window in the room.

“Prom...” Noctis whispers before rushing the rest of the way to the nest of blankets Prompto has himself wrapped up in, sound asleep with a significant puddle of drool drying on the pillow below his cheek. Noctis doesn't care, instead he sees the dark circles below Prompto's eyes, the puffiness and redness in his lips and eyelids, and groans in dismay. He did this to his best friend. He hurt his soulmate so badly he felt it through the bond last night.

“Prom, wake up,” Noctis urges, climbing into the bed beside Prompto and leaning over the sleeping boy. Prompto frowns as he dozes, puckering his lips up slightly and leaving small furrows in his forehead. Noctis leans closer when Prompto starts mumbling something in his sleep, so close his ear almost touches Prompto's lips. “What are you saying..?”

“Noctis.....” Prompto mutters in his sleep, the syllables slurred but still audible and recognizable. Noctis stills immediately, warmth and shame coiling together in his belly and making him feel sick from the dueling emotions.

“I'm right here, buddy. Wake up,” Noctis replies and buries a hand in the pile of blankets. His hand seeks out Prompto's as though an invisible string is pulling them together, and when his fingers brush the exposed skin of Prompto's wrist the buzzing, tingling sensation that shoots through his nerve endings leaves him breathless.

Prompto rouses then, twitching his hand until his fingers slide through Noctis', gripping tight to his hand, and slowly comes to full alertness. When he is coherent enough to comprehend what he sees, Prompto heaves out a breathy sob and throws himself onto Noctis' lap, still holding tight to his hand.

“I'm sorry!” Both boys apologize at the same time. They laugh then, though Prompto's is watery and punctuated by several soft sniffles and Noctis has to clear his throat and swallow past the hard lump that forms at the sight of Prompto fighting back tears over something Noctis said to him.

“I didn't mean it, you can have as many friends as you want!” Noctis wails, and Prompto holds onto him even tighter, his grip squeezing the air out of Noctis' lungs.

“You'll always be my best friend,” Prompto promises into Noctis' shoulder where he has buried his face, inhaling deep to ingrain the scent of Noctis' laundry detergent into his memory.

“Mine too,” Noctis returns, and as quickly as their argument had begun the night before, it ends. When Regis and Cor quietly enter the bedroom half an hour later, Noctis and Prompto are laying face to face with their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and breathing softly, though neither appears asleep. Noctis is rubbing the black ink on Prompto's wrist over and over, nail bitten finger tracing the lines of the mark as though to reassure himself it still remains.

They close the door quietly behind them as they leave the room, a silent agreement to allow the boys a few more minutes of time together before Regis takes Noctis home to face Clarus' wrath. Being a king is hard, when you can't even sneak away from your seat of power to help your only child reconcile with the other half of his soul.

Chapter Text

The week Noctis turns eight years old, the Citadel is awash in preparations for a grand party celebrating another year of growth for their Crown Prince. Noctis is beside himself with excitement, and chatters incessantly to whoever will listen – be it Regis, Ignis, Gladiolus, or Prompto – about how thrilled he is to be the center of so much attention. Gladiolus soon grows tired of the constant bragging and rather than take to the bullying he would have two years ago, he instead takes out his frustration in the training room, attempting and often succeeding in teaching Noctis new techniques for self-defense. It works well – Noctis has to concentrate on fending off Gladio's blows enough that he stops talking, and Gladio doesn't have to listen to Noctis repeat one more time, “And it's all for me, Gladio! I'm so excited!”

Ignis is more reserved, and often tends to calmly remind Noctis that, “Prince Noctis, it's not very regal to brag about a party in your honour, now please may we return to our lessons? The party isn't until Saturday, we have much to learn.”

Regis merely tolerates the excitement, for he knows that Noctis will not have an unlimited number of happy birthdays, and so he wants to make each celebration as memorable as possible. His son will not have the lonely childhood so many people would want him to have. It's enough that Noctis is heir to their kingdom and that he bears the weight of a prophesy on his young shoulders. So he allows Noctis to gloat and grin and positively squirm with excitement at the prospect of a weekend of parties and excitement.

When Noctis tells Prompto about the party, the blonde boy is nearly as excited as Noctis himself, bounding across the room and throwing himself bodily against Noctis will a thrilled laugh, causing both boys to stumble back and fall in an undignified heap on the floor of the Nursery where they have met after a week of separate schooling.

“A party? Like last year, Noct?” Prompto asks, fond memories of a weekend spent frolicking with Noctis and falling asleep together trickling in to his mind, long forgotten until this very moment.

“Yeah, and we get to be together all weekend, Dad says you don't have to go home until Sunday night!” Noctis confirms, giddy with excitement and practically quivering with the force of his delight. Prompto grins up at Noctis, a gap in his top front teeth where one had fallen out several days ago, and untangles his arms from around Noctis to press his best friend's cheeks together between his hands.

“This time,” he practically begs, “let me blow out some candles?!”

Prompto blows out all the candles, in the end, because Noctis is far too distracted by how happy Prompto looks to be sat at the seat of honour beside him at the head of the table to realize it's time to blow out his eight candles until Prompto has already done so. When Prompto opens his mouth to apologize, Noctis shakes his head and unceremoniously shoves a sticky, chocolatey, icing covered handful of cake in his mouth and around his face to keep him quiet. Prompto is taken utterly by surprise, but retaliates in kind, smearing a fist full of the gourmet cake into Noctis' black hair.

The food fight that ensues is an all out brawl, and no one save for Regis himself is safe from the destruction and mess that comes of it. When the crumbs finally settle on the ground and there's no cake left to throw around, much less eat, Noctis and Prompto are still seated at the head of the table but both are so covered in cake from head to toe that it's hard to tell which boy is which, save for the colour of their hair. Even Ignis looks rather disheveled, with a large smear of frosting occluding the left lens of his wire framed eyeglasses and a smear of icing covering his left eye where someone had shoved their hand up underneath the lenses.

“Well,” Regis sighs in resignation, “I had meant for you to open all your gifts now, but that will have to wait for tomorrow, once this is all cleaned up.”

Noctis groans in dismay, draping himself dramatically across the disgustingly sticky and stained table and making an even bigger scene than he already has, until Regis firmly orders him to head back to his room to wash up for bed. He goes, but not before looking longingly at the pile of prettily wrapped gifts at the other end of the dining room, thankfully unscathed after the cake fight.

Prompto and Noctis shower together for efficiency's sake, since taking a bath is out of the question entirely. They help one another wash the cake out of their hair and scrub sticky icing off the back of the other's neck until both of them are clean again, smelling of the lavender and vanilla soap that Noctis still uses and Prompto is so fond of. Prompto doesn't even mind when Noctis' hands linger on the silvery, ropy scars across his back, instead he takes comfort in the gesture, leaning into the touch. They leave their wristbands off when they towel dry and change into pajamas, and when they step out of the bathroom Regis is waiting for them with a book to read before bed, like every other night they have spent together.

They fall asleep halfway through the book, Prompto leaned heavily against Noctis' side, his head resting on his shoulder, and Noctis with his arms wrapped securely around Prompto's middle. Regis smiles fondly at the boys as he tucks the blankets around them. It will be two years in the Spring since Cor brought Prompto back to Insomnia, and the change in his son has been incredible. Noctis is growing into a fine young man, selfless and loving. Prompto has changed the most, from the terrified, broken and bruised little boy from Niflheim into the healthy, albeit slightly chubby, cheery little boy who soaks up affection like a sponge and returns it in droves to anyone he trusts enough.

Regis glances back one more time before he shuts off the light and closes the door to Noctis' bedroom. The boys have shifted into a more comfortable position, with their arms on top of the blankets. They're holding hands, and the black ink etched permanently into Prompto's wrist is on full display. For once, Regis feels nothing but fondness for the scene. Once upon a time, he would have been chilled by the sight, but Prompto has proven time and time again, through his actions and his words, that he is not the monster Clarus still sometimes claims he is. Perhaps some day, Clarus himself will believe it.

* * *

“Cooor,” Prompto whines, sulkily throwing himself backwards into one of the wooden chairs around their tiny kitchen table a week after their return from the Citadel and Noctis' birthday celebrations. The morning light filters in through the gauzy curtains that cover the kitchen windows, making Prompto's hair even paler than it normally is as the boy continues to whine, “I wanna go with Noct to the country.”

This particular discussion has come up several times over the past week, but the end result is always the same, and never in Prompto's favour. Cor sighs in frustration as he looks at Prompto, slumped in the chair and pouting furiously, arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face, bottom lip stuck out just enough to look ridiculous. He responds the same way he always does when Prompto brings it up,“You know why you can't go, Prompto. It's not safe for both of you to leave Insomnia together, not when neither of you are strong enough or trained enough to defend yourselves.”

“But there's nothing out there that can hurt us, we have King Regis and even C-Clarus to keep us safe... and the Kingsglaive!” Prompto retorts as he furrows his brow, thin wrinkles forming over his forehead with the facial expression.

“You're not leaving Insomnia, Prompto. This isn't up for debate,” Cor responds, his tone one of finality and no small amount of irritation. What happened to the mild mannered boy who never spoke back, who was always to quick to obey? Cor mentally shakes himself at that, mortified with himself at the mere thought of wishing for the return of the Prompto from two years ago. That Prompto obeyed because it was all he knew, because defiance meant pain. This Prompto has learned to trust and to feel safe, and despite his current rebellious streak, Cor would never wish a regression to his past state on Prompto. “Please, kid. Nothing you say will change this. The King himself gave the order.”

“Cooor,” Prompto whines again, drawing out the sound so long that Cor is amazed the boy even has enough breath to complete his name. “I just have a bad feeling about it. I don't want Noct to go without me.. what if something happens?”

“You said it yourself, Prompto. Between Regis, Clarus and the Kingsglaive, there's nothing to worry about,” Cor says, getting up to pour Prompto a glass of milk and set a bowl of porridge with berries in front of him, loaded up with sugar and cream.

“Ugh!” Prompto huffs, but he knows enough to end the discussion there before Cor ends it for him. He sullenly tucks into his breakfast and drinks his milk, steadfastly refusing to make further eye contact or conversation with Cor.

Ever since Noctis announced to Prompto the morning after the epic cake fight that he would be touring the lands outside Insomnia as a rite of Princely passage, Prompto has had a sick, nagging feeling in his gut that won't dissipate. He tries his best to ignore the sensation, but the closer their departure date gets, the worse Prompto feels and even though he knows Cor's answer will never change, he begs every morning to be allowed to go with Noctis. The mere thought of Noctis going on this trip without him sends spikes of anxiety shooting through his body, making his stomach cramp and his belly roil with nausea.

“I'm just really worried,” Prompto whispers to himself as he finishes tending to his morning business in the bathroom he and Cor share. He pats his hands dry on the bright blue hand towel hanging off a battered towel bar and stares at himself in the mirror. “It's gonna be okay. Regis won't let Noct get hurt. He's the King, and he's his dad. Noct will be safe.”

The pep talk does little to soothe the nerves that have taken up residence in his body. With a sigh, he leaves the bathroom and heads back to his own bedroom to change into his outfit for the day – a black pair of shorts and a bright red short sleeved shirt. The sun is still unbearably hot this time of year, its rays still powerful enough to leave a painful sunburn if Prompto doesn't take care to smear protective lotion all over his exposed skin. He has only made that mistake once, last year, and ever since he has dutifully taken steps to prevent sunburn.

The mere memory of sunbaked skin, stretched tight and dry, red and painful to touch, has him hurrying to lather the sunscreen on now before he meets Cor in the back yard to practice drills. Cor has already changed into a more comfortable, breathable outfit than the usual stuffy black blazer and pants he so often wears. Prompto catches the wooden staff Cor throws his way, and they spend the better part of the morning practicing defense and offense. By the time they stop for lunch, Prompto has worked up so much of an appetite that he forgets to be nervous about Noctis' trip, which is to start tomorrow morning.

Cor works Prompto through drill after drill that afternoon, until he is so exhausted that his feet drag across the dusty packed soil of the back yard when Cor finally allows their training to come to an end. Prompto sluggishly goes through the motions of washing up for their meal as Cor reheats leftovers from last night and sets them out on the table for the two of them. When Prompto falls asleep at the table, Cor nods to himself, a job well done, and carries the sleeping, exhausted boy into his room. He pulls off his shoes and socks and tucks Prompto into bed, brushing a glossy lock of blonde hair off his forehead, before he exits the room, leaving the door open a crack to allow light from the hall to seep into the mostly dark bedroom. His duty to the Crown complete, he settles in for the evening.

When Prompto wakes up the next morning, Noctis has already left Insomnia, and Prompto is inconsolable in his grief and his anger at Cor. “You didn't even let me say goodbye!” Prompto howls, pounding his fists against Cor's toned chest with each word he utters. Cor allows it momentarily, then catches Prompto's wrists in his hands and holds them tight, staring down at Prompto with a sternness he only saves for the most dire of offenses.

“Calm yourself, Prompto,” Cor orders in a calm, commanding voice, but it only serves to infuriate Prompto more, who thrashes his arms in Cor's grip and slips loose, fists swinging once more to connect with whatever surface of Cor's body he can reach.

“You lied, you said we could say goodbye and you tricked me! And now he's gone and something bad is going to happen, and I never got to say bye!” Prompto wails, tears streaking down his face as he spits out in a vehement voice, “I hate you, Cor!”

Cor blinks in rapid succession as Prompto's words process in his ears, and he watches in stunned silence as Prompto storms back to his bedroom making as much noise as is possible for a seven year old boy and slams the door so hard it rattles in the doorframe, causing the glass framed painting on the wall beside it to fall to the floor and shatter.

Prompto doesn't leave his bedroom for the entire day. He refuses offers of his favourite meals, he ignores all of Cor's threats, his apologies and his soft spoken words meant to coax him back out of his room. Cor tries, once, to open the door but Prompto seems to have pushed something heavy in front of it because it doesn't swing open when he tries. Prompto's last words to him echo in his mind endlessly, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” and for the first time in his life, Cor questions the orders of his King. It had never been his intention to keep the boys separate, to deny them the chance to say goodbye, but Regis' orders had been specific and Cor had done his duty to the Crown despite his misgivings.

Finally, Prompto emerges from his room the next morning with a scowl on his face and eyes obviously bloodshot and swollen from crying the majority of the night. If his face hadn't given it away, his heartbroken sobs and whimpers throughout the night had made it perfectly clear that the boy hasn't slept a wink all night long.

Prompto refuses to speak to Cor, refuses to even make eye contact with the older man, instead focusing on pulling out an apple from the crisper in the fridge and heading back into his room. Moments before Prompto slams the door, Cor calls out, “If you slam that door one more time, I swear to Ramuh I will take it off its hinges and never give it back, Prompto Argentum!” Instead, the door swings shut with a quiet click, which only serves to frustrate Cor further.

Children are so difficult, so impossible to please and to understand. He doesn't know how to make things right with Prompto, doesn't even know where to begin to address the situation they have found themselves in. Cor never expected his life to turn out this way, with the soulmate of the Prince of Lucis living under his roof, making a mess of his bedroom and finding any excuse under the sun not to pick up after himself. He doesn't understand the way his heart aches when he realizes that in carrying out his duty to the Crown, he has failed in his duty as a father figure to Prompto.

“I'll find a way to make it right,” he promises to himself and to Prompto, and carries on with his day, though he is often distracted by thoughts of Prompto and how betrayed he had looked when he realized Cor tricked him into missing Noctis' departure from the city. Days pass in silence, and before either of them realize it, a week and a half has gone by and Noctis' return to Insomnia is encroaching quickly on them.

* * *

“Not much longer now, Prince Noctis,” Ilena murmurs to the sleepy Prince as he rests his head on her shoulder, yawning in exhaustion. Their trip outside the wall, to the provinces outside of Insomnia, has been long and taxing on Noctis. He isn't used to the impossibly hot and dry weather or to life on the road, staying at shabby and rundown inns with uncomfortable beds and scratchy blankets. One night, they even had to stay in a tent and Noctis spent the entire night tossing and turning, miserable and unable to find a soft spot to lay on the hard, lumpy surface of the Haven they had made camp at.

He misses Prompto, it feels like a piece of him is gone and his chest aches with the need to be near to his best friend. He wants to curl his fingers around Prompto's and feel the warm tingle of their bond again, aches with the memory of how Prompto's messy blonde hair gets into his face when they share a pillow and tickles his nose when he's trying asleep. He misses his soft snores and his bright blue eyes. He misses Prompto, and he can't wait to be back in Insomnia.

“I wish Dad would have let me take pictures, I want to show Prompto so much,” Noctis says, snuggling in close to Ilena's side. She hums in response and wraps a slender arm around his shoulders, holding him close to the warmth and comfort of her body.

“Perhaps next time, the King will let you both go,” she responds, but Noctis has very nearly nodded off to sleep and so he doesn't respond. She smiles fondly down at her sleeping Prince and settles further into the leather seat, content to allow Noctis to sleep on her for the rest of the journey. It truly is not that much farther to the safety of the Wall, only a half hour drive at most. It's a relief, all through this journey Ilena has worried that some sort of ill would befall the Prince or even the group as a whole. She has not been able to enjoy the trip like she would have when Noctis was a young child, before Noctis grew too old for the nursery and Ilena was delegated to another job in the Citadel.

When the car at the head of their convoy explodes with a thunderous boom, bursting into a pillar of flame and blasting a wave of heat over the vehicles behind it, Ilena screams before she can stop herself and Noctis jolts awake with a shocked gasp, eyes wide and frantic as he searches for the source of the explosion and his favourite nursemaid's terror.

He can't see over the headrest of the seat in front of him, but when the Glaive sitting in the driver's seat looks back with determination that barely disguises the fear in his gaze and commands for them to run, Noctis knows that whatever is about to happen, it isn't going to be good.

Ilena acts first, unbuckling Noctis' lap belt with unsteady hands before she struggles to undo her own. She ushers Noctis out of the passenger side door and follows after him. He peers over the hood of the car in time to catch a glimpse of a massive serpentine shape coiling around the wreck of the car that exploded, before Ilena grabs him by the arm and tugs him away.

“Run, Noctis. Don't look back!” she orders urgently, voice cracking as she speaks. Noctis hears the sound of blades being drawn and the clash of combat but for once, he obeys, and he doesn't look back as he scrambles beside Ilena, desperate to escape.

“Where's dad, Ilena?” Noctis asks her, voice loud enough so that only she can hear him as they flee the vehicles and the terrifying daemon wrecking havoc on their convoy. Ilena doesn't answer, but instead continues to urge him towards the distant blue runes of a haven, barely visible ahead of them. Someone screams in agony before the sound is abruptly cut off, but when Noctis tries to turn around to see, Ilena grabs his arm tighter and pulls him forward, towards the haven that is too far away to do them any good but still their only chance of survival.

“Ilena, where's my dad?!” Noctis tries again, voice rising to be heard above the noise of battle behind them, but she shakes her head and continues to force him forward. He opens his mouth to ask again but the sudden rasp of massive scales behind him dries up all the saliva in his mouth and makes talking impossible.

“Run!” Ilena sobs then, grabbing hold of Noctis' shoulders and shoving him in front of her body just as he cranes his head back to see the huge daemon rise above them. It's massive, with a snake's body from the waist down and a human body above that, joined together at the hips in a disgusting melding of flesh and scales. It has six arms, and each arm ends in a clawed hand that clutches a sword nearly the same size as the greatsword Clarus has promised to teach Gladio to use when he is just a bit older.

Noctis can only stare in horror as one of those arms comes down, bringing the deadly sword with it, to slice clean through Ilena. She falls on top of him, pinning him beneath both halves of her ruined body. The daemon roars and the whole world shakes. It drops its sword and reaches through Ilena to tear through the exposed flesh of Noctis' back with fingers tipped in claws, and rips apart the skin and muscles, exposing bone and all he knows is pain. Pain worse than when he got Prompto's codeprint, a hundred, thousand times worse than anything he had ever experienced in his life. It's all encompassing, consumes him from the inside out and he is powerless to stop the daemon from ravaging him.

He screams then, a horrible, wretched, broken sound, and just as his vision begins to blacken he sees the light of spectral weapons appearing above him, clashing with the daemon's swords and beating it back, inch by inch and then foot by foot, until the creature no longer roars in triumph but in dismay. “Dad...” Noctis thinks to himself, as black spots dance over his eyes, and then, “Prompto....”

* * *

Prompto is in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water when a pain so intense and unexpected rips through his lower back that he screams, the sound tearing out of this throat, and drops the glass into the sink where it shatters, water and shards of glass thankfully contained in the basin of the sink. He tries to hold himself up on the chipped edge of the countertop but the pain his lower half is so unexpected, so agonizingly unbearable that his fingers fail to grip the edge of the counter. He hits the floor hard, the back of his head connects with the tile floor with a sickening thud and his vision goes blurry immediately, though the pain in his head is nothing in comparison to the pain radiating from his back.

His ears ringing and vision blurring, Prompto hardly registers the sound of Cor's rapid footfalls as he rushes into the kitchen to check on Prompto. He sees the other man drop to his knees before him, vaguely hears him calling out to him, but his lips don't seem to be able to make shapes and his voice fails him. He wants to talk to Cor, to tell him he never meant it when he said he hated him, but everything is fading into darkness and the pain in his back is only getting worse. Just before he succumbs to the darkness, he manages to whimper Noctis' name, and then he knows no more.

Chapter Text

When Noctis finally regains consciousness, his eyes settle into focus on a small, fox-like creature covered in thick, pale blue fur with what appears to be a ruby horn in the center of its forehead. He furrows his brow in confusion, convinced he recognizes the little creature from somewhere else, but quickly loses that train of thought when he turns his gaze instead into his surroundings. He's in the Citadel, or at least, he's in what's left of the Citadel. When he concentrates hard, despite the searing pain in his head and his back, he recognizes his shattered surroundings as the throne room. The stairs are crumbling and the red carpet on them is in tatters. An entire wall is blown out to the left of him, and the throne itself is in disrepair, with the arms battered and missing chunks, the backrest cracked and the seat caved in. Noctis whimpers at the sight of his beloved home, his safest place, in ruin.

The creature makes a chirping sound which draws Noctis' attention back to it, where it sits delicately on the floor, fluffy tail wrapped around its front legs and curling back around its back end into an almost perfect circle. Noctis stares suspiciously at the animal, eyes squinting against the force of his headache and legs weak from the pain in his back. The creature stands up slowly and shakes itself out, just before a trilling voice echoes through his mind.

“Prince Noctis! It's me, Carbuncle!”

Noctis stares in disbelief at the creature, and then the memory of the small figurine that has always been at his bedside for as long as he can remember clicks into place in his mind like a missing piece of a puzzle. He takes a tentative step towards Carbuncle, who hops in a quick circle and takes off up the battered stairs of the throne room as it continues to chatter to him.

“You were attacked by daemons, Noctis. This is a dream and the only way to wake up is to find the way out!”

Noctis follows Carbuncle up the steps until he stops at the remains of his father's throne, placing his hand palm down on the rough surface of the back rest. A vision flashes through his eyes of a maroon haired man sitting here, relaxed and carefree, with a vicious grin on his face. The man opens his mouth to say something, but Noctis rips his hand away from the throne and brings himself back to reality.

Carbuncle twines itself between Noctis' ankles before it sets off to the door on the right hand side of the throne, leading to the small sitting room beyond. The room is significantly less damaged, though time has still ravaged it. Carbuncle carries on through the room and out the door on the opposite side to a hall Noctis has never been allowed to walk down.

“You've never been here before. Regis won't let you come here until you're much older, but this is just a dream so it doesn't count!” Carbuncle chirps into Noctis' mind and trots down the hall, furry tail bobbing along like a beacon. Noctis obediently follows Carbuncle, reaching up to rub his aching forehead as he trods along behind the fox-like creature.

The hall gradually slopes downward, then upward again and eventually curls around and around until Noctis is nearly dizzy with how often he has walked in a circle. He knows he's walking up one of the spires that make up the back portion of the Citadel, and he knows exactly what is at the end of this long walk. There are no guards standing in front of the massive, armoured doors, like he had learned in lessons long ago. The Royal seal on the door shines blue, full of ancient and terrible magic, illuminating the end of the otherwise dark hallway. Noctis knows what to do to open this door, he has always known what to do.

He raises his trembling right hand up to the door and presses it, palm down, into the middle of the seal. The magic curls around his fingers, over the back of his hand and wraps tight around his wrist, pressing in hard on the black ink there. Noctis hisses from the painful pressure and is about to pull his hand away and find another way out of his dreams when the door begins to swing open.

That's when Noctis hears the voices from inside the room, one he would recognize across time and space, and another he doesn't recognize.

“I'll do anything to keep him safe,” one voice vows, determined, and so achingly familiar. Noctis wants to keep walking into the room but he also desperately wants to hear the rest of the conversation before he reunites with his most precious companion.

“Child, that is not a promise to make lightly. You know not the path Prince Noctis will need to walk to fulfill his destiny,” the unknown voice responds, deep and powerful. Noctis shudders at the sound of it, deeply uncomfortable with the conversation he is overhearing.

“I don't care. Noctis gave me everything, and I'll do anything to help him,” Prompto says, voice stubborn and Noctis can see clearly in his mind the mulish set of his best friend's jaw. “He's.... everything.” Prompto whispers softly, so softly Noctis almost misses it. His chest explodes with warmth at the quietly voiced words, and he takes a step into the room, towards the other half of his soul.

“So be it, child of the Empire. Do as you will, but his destiny will never change,” the voice echoes throughout the chamber, tone final and impassive.

“I'll change it, you'll see,” Prompto says back, still stubbornly clinging to his promise to the otherworldly voice. Noctis has had enough of this confusing conversation, he just wants to be with Prompto again.

Noctis steps completely into the room then, and what he sees chills him. Prompto is standing in front of Lucis' crystal, with his right hand somehow inside the center of the crystal. A blinding light shines from within the massive stone, and when Prompto turns his head to look at Noctis, the white light spills out from his eye sockets, his nostrils, his ears and his mouth. Noctis doesn't want to look, but he also can't look away at the sight before him.

He completely forgets Carbuncle in his haste to reunite with Prompto, to pull him away from the blinding power of the Crystal. He trips over the creature, earning an irritated squeak from the fox-like animal as it scrambles to move out from underfoot. Prompto reaches out for Noctis with his free hand, and Noctis collides bodily with Prompto, wrapping his arms around his torso and holding him tight. The moment their skin touches, cheek to cheek, their bond rushes throughout their bodies and Noctis thrills in the sensation, pressing his cheek so hard against Prompto's that he can feel the other boy's eyelashes against his temple. Prompto curls his free arm around Noctis' shoulders, squeezing tight, and Noctis revels in the rightness of their embrace.

Then he remembers the Crystal and the grip it has on Prompto, and he breathes out a soft, “I'm sorry,” before he tugs hard, wrenching Prompto's hand free from the its jagged interior. Prompto cries out, tucking his injured and bruised hand up against his chest, between their bodies. Noctis presses their foreheads together and gazes intensely into Prompto's eyes, his uneven breath puffing out onto Prompto's half open mouth.

“I finally found you,” Noctis whispers and closes his eyes. He can already feel the world falling out from beneath him, feels the darkness encroaching on him once more, and allows it to overtake him, secure in the knowledge that he has found the one thing most important to him in the world. He'll never let Prompto go again.

* * *

Prompto awakens from a confusing dream, memories of mysterious voices, a massive Crystal that threatened to consume him, a prophesy and the oath he had made before Lucis' Crystal. He remembers Noctis holding him at the end, tearing him free from the Crystal's influence. Now, he's in a hard bed wearing uncomfortable and scratchy clothes. The world seems blurrier than it used to be, everything soft around the edges and difficult to focus on, but Prompto can still see well enough to parse out his surroundings. The room he lays in is stark and white, empty save for a short nightstand and a tray that stands half over his bed. The sound of beeping creeps into his ears, and he glances up and over his head to see a monitor, flashing with confusing, blurred numbers and with lines and different coloured lights. A glance to the left shows a tall pole with a bag of fluid hanging from it, and Prompto traces the tubing connected to the bag of fluid with growing horror down to a pump, and from the pump down into the crease of his elbow.

He doesn't think, just reacts, reaching over with his hand to rip out the offending line from his body. He bleeds almost immediately, but he doesn't care. His hands grope across his bare chest, yanking off various monitors and cords until he can't even hear his panicked breathing over the sound of monitors screaming out alarms. There's an incessant tug somewhere deep in his chest, letting him know Noctis must be close. He needs to get to him. Prompto scrambles to the edge of the bed, terror giving him strength when he still shouldn't be able to get out of bed after his head injury, and jumps onto the floor, landing barefooted on the cold white tiles. His legs hold him up, something he is grateful for once he remembers the searing pain in his back and the loss of sensation in his legs that had caused him to fall and hit his head.

Intuitively, Prompto knows that he is safe and he is still in Insomnia, but waking up alone in a stark, clinical room, connected to monitors and with a bag of fluid attached to his arm, his instincts have taken over and sent him into flight mode. This room is too much like the facility in Gralea that it brings back memories of his trauma. His bare feet slap across the tiled floor as he makes his halting way to the doorway, to safety, his unsteady legs valiantly holding him up with every step he makes.

Once he is clear of the room, he follows the tug in his chest further down the hallway, to a room at the end with frosted glass sliding doors. Prompto heaves the door open and steps through as it closes automatically behind him. He can hear the hurried footfalls of hospital staff rushing down the hall, probably due to the continued alarms coming from the room he had just vacated, but he doesn't care.

In front of him, in a bed much the same as the one he just climbed out of, lays Noctis. His head is bandaged, as is his entire torso, from armpits to hips, and Prompto lets out a broken sob at the sight. Noctis doesn't move, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest, visible proof that he is still alive. Prompto's cry rouses Regis from his sleep at Noctis' bedside. The King raises his head at the intrusion, ready to punish the person fool enough to interrupt his son's healing, but when he sees Prompto standing before him, chest heaving, eyes wide and terrified, fists clenched uselessly at his sides as he stares down at Noctis in horror, he softens his approach.

“Come, Prompto. You're not supposed to be out of bed, but I suppose it's too late to tell you that now,” Regis says, gesturing with a hand to encourage the boy to step closer to Noctis and the bed he rests on. Prompto hesitates only briefly before he hurries towards Noctis, reaching forward to lay a trembling hand on Noctis' arm. He slides his hand down to the wrist, noting the band that covers the dark mark on his flesh, and probes his fingers around until he can feel the steady pulse of Noctis' heart below his fingertips. The tingle of their connection sears through him, and Prompto closes his eyes at the sensation, sucking in a deep, unsteady breath. The pressure in his chest eases and he feels the world start to settle and right itself around him.

When the sliding door opens again and a hesitant nurse tries to usher Prompto back out of the room, citing hospital policy and the need to assess him now that he has awoken, Prompto curls his fingers around Noctis wrist and stares wide eyed at Regis, begging the king with his blue eyes not to separate them again.

“I think that can wait, ma'am,” Regis says to the flustered nurse, who opens her mouth to argue, remembers who exactly she is about to talk back to, and bows rigidly before leaving the room again.

“T-thanks..” Prompto says softly, relaxing his grip on Noctis' limp wrist.

Regis smiles sadly at the little boy in front of him and rises up from his chair to round the bed and place two heavy, warm hands on Prompto's shoulders as he speaks, “I'll give you two some time, son. Cor will want to know you've woken up.”

Regis exits the room, leaving Prompto alone with Noctis' unconscious form. Climbing into bed without disturbing all the wires, tubes and bandages that cover Noctis is difficult but Prompto manages to do so without displacing anything. He presses up against Noctis' side, careful to avoid the bandages around his torso, and nestles his face into the crook of Noctis' neck. He inhales the faint scent of Noctis, barely there below the pervading odour of hospital and stale sweat, and closes his eyes at the rightness that washes over him when their skin makes contact once more. He lets the sensation of their bond erase almost three weeks' worth of worrying about and pining for Noctis and slots his fingers in loosely between Noctis' limp ones.

“Wake up, Noct..” Prompto murmurs into his best friend's ear, remembering the strange dream he had between falling into darkness and waking up here. “I promised to keep you safe, so please come back to me.”

He cries then, soft, broken whimpers that leave him trembling and with an aching throat as the tears trickle over his nose and cheek to drop onto the sheet below his face. He doesn't care that he's soaking the fabric below him, cares only for the boy laying limp and lifeless in the bed beside him, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Please Noct, you're all I have,” Prompto pleads, brushing his bare feet against Noctis' pant clad legs, rubbing his face against the bare skin on Noctis' shoulder as he fights back tears. He doesn't notice when Noctis' breathing changes from slow and steady to something more irregular but significantly more natural, but he does notice when the fingers in his hand tighten around his own, and his eyes shoot open in disbelief.

“Prom..?” Noctis croaks out, voice rough and cracking from both his screams during the attack and the lack of use since being unconscious in the hospital.

Prompto sits up quickly but carefully, mindful not to injure his friend with the motion, and looks down at Noctis' tired blue eyes through a fog of relieved tears.

“Noctis!” Prompto half laughs, half sobs, as he wipes the rapidly falling tears off his face with the back of his free hand, steadfastly refusing to let go of Noctis' other hand, which he grips tightly, relishing in the reciprocal gesture from his friend. His smile falls when he sees the concerned frown on Noctis' face, and he hastens to ask, “What's wrong?”

Noctis pauses for a long time, jaw quivering and eyes glistening with unshed tears, before he looks up to Prompto and says, “I can't feel my legs..”

* * *

The physicians perform every test and scan imaginable when Noctis confirms that he can not, in fact, move his body from the waist down. The days bleed into one another, with each day bringing another inconclusive result or failed test and furthering Regis frustration and desperation to cure his son and heir. He loses his temper only once, raging at the hospital staff and threatening to have them all exiled from Insomnia before Clarus, of all people, steps in and clears up the political mess Regis is making in his despair over the fate of his only child.

Gladiolus and Ignis are allowed to visit several times a week, though Gladio is uncomfortable in the hospital and has trouble finding the words to talk to Noctis or Prompto. Ignis brings piles of school work and tasks himself with helping the boys maintain their studies, though they both grumble at the prospect of education when all they want is to be alone with one another.

Prompto is a constant presence through the weeks that pass, leaving Noctis' side only to have a few cursory exams performed on him and go home with Cor in the evening. He arrives in Noctis' room late one morning of the third week, where Noctis is seated in a well-made wheelchair with a blanket folded on his lap and a scowl on his face. Prompto bashfully looks at Noctis, who grumpily makes eye contact for the briefest moment before he blinks twice in surprise and straightens in his chair, leaning forward for a closer look at Prompto's face.

“What are you.. are those glasses?” Noctis asks, using his hands and arms to move the chair closer to Prompto, who blushes a bright shade of red and nods, self consciously crossing his arms over his chest. Prompto is wearing a pair of black wire glasses, and they look utterly alien on his otherwise familiar face. “Why are you wearing those?”

Prompto rubs his hands over his cheeks in an attempt to dispel the redness there before he answers Noctis, “When I hit my head, it did something to my eyes. I need them to see... I guess I'm just like Ignis now, huh?”

Noctis winces, knowing he is the reason Prompto fell and hit his head, and pulls up a smile and plasters it onto his face to comfort his friend. Noctis may be miserable, may hate the life he currently has to live, but it doesn't mean Prompto has to be unhappy as well.

“I like 'em,” Noctis reassures his best friend, leaning forward to squeeze his arm gently. Prompto smiles weakly at Noctis and sits down in the chair reserved for visitors by the window, leaning into Noctis' shoulder when he wheels up beside him to look outside.

They sit in silence for a long time, watching the world pass by below them, until Regis enters the room followed closely by Clarus and Cor. Prompto cranes his head around to keep a suspicious eye on Clarus, still not comfortable in his presence. Cor hastens to Prompto's side and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure him of his safety. Clarus steadfastly refuses to make eye contact with Prompto, having moved on from distrust and dislike to forced indifference for the young boy. It's a step in the right direction, albeit a tiny step.

“We're going to Tenebrae. There's nothing more they can do for you here, Noctis. Queen Sylva has offered to have her physicians examine you. We leave tomorrow.” Regis declares, cutting straight to the point.

Immediately Prompto stiffens in his seat and Cor glances in concern at his young charge.

“You can't go without me again!” Prompto begs, reaching for Noctis on instinct and relaxing only when Noctis clutches his hand tight in his own. Neither boy can handle the separation right now, relying too much on one another for emotional support to be apart for longer than a night.

Clarus scowls deeply at Prompto and snarls, “You will not address the King in such a manner, boy!”

Prompto glares right back at Clarus and opens his mouth to say something incredibly rude to the older man, but Regis speaks again before any unforgivable words can be exchanged.

“Of course not, Prompto. You will join us in Tenebrae. Now, let's get you two out of his hospital and back to the Citadel.”

Chapter Text

Tenebrae is exactly as Prompto remembers, from the verdant green foliage of the numerous trees and shrubs to the vibrant colours of all the flora surrounding them. The ancestral home of the Nox Fleurets, Fenestala Manor, is located deep in the heart of the Zoldara Henge mountain range. The only way to access is it via train. When Prompto, Noctis and King Regis disembark from the train, Prompto can barely contain his excitement, having spent the majority of their trip to Lunafreya's homeland singing her praises to Noctis. Regis has endured the excited chatter with the patience only the father of a willful prince can display, if only because Noctis is so absorbed by Prompto's descriptions of Lunafreya and Tenebrae that Noctis has had no time to dwell on his injuries.

“And Noct, I can't wait to show you the sylleblossoms. They're so pretty, but they only grow here!” Prompto prattles on, walking beside Noctis in his wheelchair as Regis pushes his son off the platform and down the long and winding path towards the Manor.

By the time they've reached the front steps of Fenestala Manor, Regis is thoroughly winded and his knee aches enough that he has developed a slight limp, though he does his best to hide the evidence from his son. Prompto leans forward, resting his hands on his knees and panting loudly from exhertion, his words having tapered off halfway through the long walk to the Manor.

“..It's not as big as I thought it'd be,” Noctis complains, voice sullen and arms crossed over his chest. “I want to go home, Dad.”

Regis closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the heavens, praying for patience and the return of his formerly cheerful son. “We're not going home,” Regis says calmly, “Not until Queen Sylva has had a look at you.”

The massive double doors at the top of the carved stone stairway in front of them swing open on silent hinges then, and three figures step out into the sunlight. One is the regal, elegant Queen Sylva, draped in an elaborate and elegant gown. The second figure is a tall, blonde boy with short hair and a sullen expression on his face that matches Noctis' right down to the furrow between his fair brows. The third figure is a slender young girl with shoulder length blonde hair, the same shade as her brother and her mother.

“Luna!” Prompto calls out to her, reaching up to wave excitedly at the princess. She smiles fondly at him and returns the gesture, nodding her head politely before she curtsies to King Regis. Noctis scowls even further at the exchange between his best friend and this foreign princess, unimpressed thus far with everything and everyone in Tenebrae.

“Please,” Queen Sylva says, “be welcome in our home.”

* * *

They spend their first official day in Queen Sylva's Manor getting settled into their respective suites of rooms and unpacking their luggage. Prompto is quick to tuck Noctis' clothes away into a set of drawers for him, as the wheelchair renders Noctis nearly incapable of fending for himself, something that only serves to further sour Noctis' already unpleasant mood. He doesn't want to be in Tenebrae, he doesn't want to be in this dumb wheelchair, and he doesn't want to have his best friend wait on him hand and foot. He wants to be at home with Lucy cat and Prompto, tucked away in the Nursery and plotting pranks to play on Ignis and Gladio. He wants his legs to work again and he desperately wants people, his dad especially, to stop looking at him like he'll break at any moment.

“Prom, show me the flowers?” Noctis asks, desperate for a distraction from his negative thoughts. Prompto visibly brightens at the request and hurries to put away the last of their clothes before he slides the door closed with a dull thump.

“Okay, yeah!” Prompto responds, situating himself behind Noctis in his wheelchair and pushing him forward and out the doorway. “I think the gardens are this way...”

The gardens are not, in fact, the direction Prompto pushes Noctis in, and the boys find themselves outside of an ornate set of doors, cracked slightly open, just enough that they can hear the serious conversation behind the doors. It's Regis and Queen Sylva, locked in deep conversation. When the words register in Prompto's ears, he staggers to a halt to listen in on the conversation. Noctis stays blessedly silent, keen on eavesdropping on the adults as well.

“The prophecy was clear, Sylva. He has to be the one to do it, and he has to do it willingly.” Regis' voice is solemn and carries the tone of someone who has resigned himself to an unpleasant understanding. Prompto stiffens, though Noctis doesn't notice.

“I know, Regis, but surely there must be another way?” The Queen sounds hopeful, her voice clear and lovely despite the dark conversation at hand. There's a sound of rustling fabric as she shifts in her chair, turning to fully face Regis.

“I've searched for years, there is no other way! In order to restore light to Eos, the prophecy must be fulfilled.” Regis replies, resigned. He sags back in his chair and looks so tired, so old, that Prompto can't help the shudder that runs through his body. He doesn't want to listen to the rest of this conversation and continues to push Noctis past the door, but not before he hears its last strains.

“But then...”

“I know, Sylva. I know.”

Prompto makes it through three hallways and random turns before Noctis grabs hold of the wheels of his chair and forces Prompto to stop pushing him at the risk of hurting him. His voice, when he speaks, is curious for the first time in weeks.

“What were they talking about?”

Prompto hesitates only momentarily before lying to Noctis for the first time in their friendship, “I dunno, Noct.”

Not knowing any better, still unaware that Prompto is anything but honest with him and convinced his strange dream after the daemon attack was just that, a dream, Noctis doesn't press the issue, but allows Prompto to continue pushing him until they finally make it out to the gardens.

The sylleblossoms are in full bloom, their lovely perfume filling the evening air around them with a pleasant scent. Princess Lunafreya tends to the flowers in a raised bed across the gardens, white skirts spread out around her where she kneels, hands in the earth as she plants a young flower. Prompto smiles broadly and pushes a reluctant Noctis towards her.

“Hey Luna,” Prompto greets her, stopping Noctis slightly to the side of the princess and standing behind his chair. Luna looks up at the boys from her position on the ground and smiles warmly at them, brushing off her soiled hands on the old apron around her waist before she gracefully rises up onto her feet to greet the prince of Lucis and his dearest friend.

“Prince Noctis, Prompto,” Luna offers, bobbing into the daintiest curtsy in greeting to Noctis that either boy has ever seen. “I hope your first day in Tenebrae is to your liking?”

Prompto nods his head excitedly, smiling as he opens his mouth to speak but Noctis cuts him to the chase with a grumpy and sullen, “It's boring. Dad just left us alone in our room and we got lost on the way out here. I'm supposed to be getting better but instead I'm looking at flowers.”

“You asked to see the flowers!!” Prompto gapes at Noctis, astounded at how incredibly impolite his words are, but Lunafreya merely laughs, tipping her head back to expose the pale, creamy skin of her neck. Prompto's next words die on his throat, and Noctis suddenly finds himself appreciating Tenebrae slightly more than he had before.

“You're so impatient, Prince Noctis. Healing isn't a race, it's a slow and steady march. Rest first, and tomorrow Mother will tend to your wounds,” Lunafreya responds, her eyes crinking at the corners with the width of her encouraging smile. She reaches out to pat his hand fondly and Noctis tolerates the touch, though he aches for the warmth and comfort of Prompto's hand in his own.

He allows himself to be wheeled back inside after an hour of pleasant, meaningless conversation with the Princess and Prompto, and before he knows it he has been fed and bathed and tucked back into bed, Prompto curled up at his side.

“She's really nice, huh?” Prompto muses, tangling his fingers in between Noctis' own.

Noctis allows his lips to quirk up in a small smile before he responds, “Yeah, she is.”

When they wake up the next morning, Lunafreya greets them outside their door and graciously offers to push Noctis in his wheelchair towards their next destination, Queen Sylva's private chambers. Prompto opens his mouth to rebuke the offer but Noctis nods and instead reaches for Prompto's hand, cupping it in both of his own. Luna smiles fondly at the boys, unseen from her spot behind the wheelchair, and makes her way through the manner to her mother's chambers.

Regis and Sylva await them in an airy room decorated in blues and whites. There is no medical equipment, no sterile hospital bed and no team of physicians to asses Noctis. He visibly relaxes in his wheelchair and obligingly offers her his hand when she reaches out to him moments later, stood in front of him.

“Oh, little one. You've been through so much, I can see the darkness all around you,” Sylva whispers sadly, cupping Noctis' cheek in her other hand. He leans into the touch, achingly desperate for a mother's love, and shuts his eyes. “Regis, you old fool, why did you wait so long?”

“I didn't want to believe...” Regis mutters ashamedly, seating himself in one of the white and blue armchairs in the room.

“You shield him too much, he needs to be given space to fly, Regis,” Sylva chides, grunting softly with the effort it takes to pick up Noctis' young body into her arms. She tucks his head under her chin, cradles him in the warm circle of her arms and whispers strange words as a golden glow spreads out around their body, illuminating the room so much that the other occupants squint from the brightness.

Noctis feels the warmth of the golden light permeate through his skin, sink deep into the fibers of his body and something inside him lets go. For the first time in nearly a month, he can feel the socks and shoes on his feet, the way the scratchy fabric of his black pants rubs against his legs. He concentrates hard on his feet and is rewarded with the wiggling of his toes in his socks. He lets out a breathy laugh and looks over the Queen's shoulder to meet Regis' eyes, chin trembling and eyes watering so much that his father's image blurs. His voice cracks when he speaks.

“Dad, it worked!”

* * *

It doesn't work as well as Noctis would like, since after nearly a month of lack of use and no sensation, his limbs are utterly incapable of carrying his weight and so it is with great frustration and disappointment that Noctis resigns himself to his wheelchair for the duration of their time in Tenebrae.

“We'll hire physiotherapists to improve your mobility son, you'll be walking before winter,” Regis promises over supper one evening when Noctis sulks over his peas and carrots, mulishly mashing the vegetables on his plate until they are no longer recognizable. Prince Ravus is seated directly beside him and watches the spectacle Noctis makes with such disgust on his face that Regis is certain his features will stay that way long after they return to Lucian soil.

Ravus wants nothing to do with Noctis, unimpressed with the Prince of Lucis and his poor manners and commoner friend. He dislikes the secrets surrounding their time in Tenebrae and resents the time Luna has spent in Noctis and Prompto's company away from Ravus.

“I just want to be better now...” Noctis whines before pushing his plate away from him and sitting back in his chair to watch the rest of their group finish the meal. Ravus rolls his eyes at the display of poor manners and makes a point of eating all of his vegetables, pointedly looking at Noctis the entire time. Noctis, of course, ignores him completely in favour of listening to Lunafreya and Prompto make plans to keep in contact after they return to Insomnia.

“I have something to show you later,” Lunafreya whispers conspiratorially into Prompto's ear, the boy grinning ear to ear at the idea of a secret kept from the adults, and it's enough to send Ravus off the edge and into the deep end.

“You're all so childish!” he explodes, slamming his hands onto the table and standing up abruptly, his chair screeching across the floor with his movement until it topples backwards. The room falls into stunned silence, and Ravus glares spitefully at Noctis before he storms out of the room.

“RAVUS!!!” Sylva shouts after her son, mortified with his boorish behaviour, before she apologizes hastily and takes off after the angry teenager, surely to give him a stern talking to.

Supper is completed in stony silence, interrupted only once by Lunafreya who offers to walk Prompto and Noctis back to their room and help Noctis out of his chair. Regis allows it, smiling fondly at the pretty picture all three children make as they leave the dining room, Prompto holding tight to Noctis' hand and Lunafreya dutifully pushing Noctis along in his wheelchair.

When they arrive in the room and Noctis is safely seated on the edge of the bed the boys share, Luna pulls out a narrow, red leather bound notebook from the pocket in the front of her dress and presents it to the boys solemnly, opening it to the first page to display the sylleblossom carefully pressed between the pages.

“It's a special journal. No matter how far apart we are, we'll always be able to write to each other. Just address it to me and shut it when you're done, and it will find me. I'll do the same for you, but you have to start, when you get back to Insomnia,” she explains quietly, her words a mere whisper to avoid the risk of being overheard.

“Where did you get it?” Noctis asks as he takes the journal into his hands and inspects the leather covers, runs a finger over the delicate dryness of the preserved flower.

“It was a gift from the Astrals. No one but us knows about it, it has to be a secret, Noctis. No one can ever know,” Luna replies, stressing again the need for secrecy.

“Yeah, okay,” Noctis responds, handing the book over to Prompto who looks it over thoroughly before passing it back to Noctis. He tucks it into the inside pocket of his puffy black vest and fails to fight off a yawn, jaw quivering with the effort to resist his body's reminder of his exhaustion. Lunafreya laughs fondly and presses a soft kiss to his brow, kindly ignoring the blush that spreads across his cheeks at the overly familiar gesture. She moves to repeat the affections with Prompto, but he makes a retching sound and scrambles back on the bed, out of reach of her kisses.

“Eugh, Luna that's so gross!” Prompto exclaims, waving her off and pointing rapidly at the doorway. “Goodnight, goodnight. Get out!”

She laughs once more and curtsies sweetly to Noctis before seeing herself out of his bedchambers and shutting the door behind them.

* * *

Queen Sylva and her children, along with Regis and his two boys, are on a leisurely walk through the forested area surrounding the Manor, tucked into the mountainside away from prying eyes, when the drone of massive engines interrupts Prompto's never ending chattering with Lunafreya. The group looks up as one and watches a huge airship slow to a stop overhead, visible through a gap in the canopy of the trees above. A chill sweeps through Prompto, who recognizes the aircraft from his youth, before he was taken away from Mama and forced to endure years of suffering and loneliness.

“Children, come here at once,” Sylva orders, and they obey without hesitation, Lunafreya hurriedly pushing Noctis' wheelchair towards the adults.

Prompto can only stare with wide, terror-struck eyes as the hatch opens and a squadron of MTs drops from the sky to land before them. Ravus turns to run in the other direction, back towards the Manor, but more of the machines drop from the sky from a second airship and cut off their only route of escape. The MT closest to Ravus raises its armored arm and the wrist flicks back to expose a barrel. In a flash of heat and light, fire explodes from the tip of the limb. Ravus stares, helpless, as the flames shoot towards him.

“RAVUS!” Sylva screams, and throws herself between her heir and the flames. Ravus collapses to his knees behind his mother, the heat of the flames drying out on his exposed face until it's hot and tight, painfully so. Then a broad, double sided blade spears through Sylva's torso and stops centimeters from Ravus' face, splattering him with his mother's hot, red blood.

A massive armored figure emerges from the smoke as it clears, wrenching its blade out of Sylva's lifeless body and marching past Ravus with purpose. He curls protectively over his mother, sobbing brokenly. The figure ignores him, instead focused on Regis and Noctis, across the clearing.

“Glauca,” Regis snarls, clenching his right fist. When he opens it again, a sword materializes in his open palm in a shimmering of blue light which rapidly disperses as the weapon solidifies. He brings it up in time to stop the rapid downstroke of Glauca's broadsword, but he knows he isn't strong enough on his own to fight off the General. He summons his Arsenal, digging deep into his power though it rapidly saps his strength from him. Six more swords clash against Glauca's one sword, and Regis pushes with his mind and his magic, throwing Glauca across the clearing and smashing him into the thick trunk of an ancient tree.

Regis doesn't pause to admire his work, instead turning to Noctis and Prompto. He opens his arms to Noctis, who throws himself bodily out of the chair and holds tightly around his neck. He wraps both arms around Noctis and runs, waiting only long enough for Prompto to grab hold of the bottom of his black suit jacket. He summons the Armiger once more, panting with the effort of carrying his son and wielding his spectral weapons, and opens up a path for the three of them. Lunafreya appears at their side, and he lets go of Noctis with one hand to clutch Luna's hand in his own. Prompto stumbles and falls, losing his grip on Regis' jacket and cries out in dismay.

Regis doesn't stop, though Noctis screams at him to do so, hammering his small fists into the side of his neck, his face, the back of his head. “Dad, stop! Dad, not Prompto too!” He begs, but Regis takes two more long strides until he feels Luna slip her own gloved hand out of his. That causes him to halt, to turn and watch as the Princess of Tenebrae runs back to tug Prompto back up onto his feet. She steadies him, then shoves him towards Regis and Noctis before the approaching MTs can capture him. They entrap her instead, but she doesn't fight them.

“Run, Prompto! Noctis needs you, Eos needs you!” she shouts, urging Prompto with her words and her actions to flee and to survive. He runs, and Regis waits long enough for Prompto to grip Noctis' ankle tightly in his numb hands before moving forwards again, towards the Manor and the escape tunnel hidden deep in the basement.

By the time they arrive back in Insomnia, travel-worn and weary, covered in several week's worth of grime, news has spread that Tenebrae has been invaded and occupied by the Niflheim Empire. Lunafreya and Ravus have been taken captive and placed under house arrest in their own Manor, orphans of war, stripped of their title and their privilege.

When Cor greets them at the gates of the Citadel, Prompto breaks away from Noctis and Regis and throws himself against the comforting familiarity of Cor's broad chest. He breaks down in tears then, having held strong throughout the duration of the journey home for Noctis' sake. Cor holds Prompto tight to his body, cupping the back of his head with one calloused hand as he settles his gaze heavily on Regis.

“Thank you, Regis, for bringing my boy home,” Cor says to his king, voice thick with emotion. Prompto tightens his grip on Cor's waist as the words register to his young ears and presses his cheek firmly against Cor's lean torso. Regis looks away from Cor quickly, but not before Cor sees the guilt that flashes across his face.

“There's much to be discussed Cor, but not tonight. Please, can we tend to the children?”

Cor drops the subject, and together they head into the Citadel, wrapped in the absolute safety that Regis' magical Wall provides to them. There will be time to talk later, to discuss the particulars of their time in Tenebrae, but for now, Noctis and Prompto require a bath and a bedtime story. They sink into the routine as though they had never left it, and Regis and Cor leave Noctis' bedroom after one final glance at the sleeping children, tangled together under the sheets and breathing steadily.

Chapter Text

Cor watches in disgusted fascination from his seat in the kitchen as Prompto slouches into the house, pocketing his cell phone as he does so. The blonde haired teenager kicks off the ratty shoes he refuses to replace, sending them soaring across the entrance way to hit the opposite wall with a thunk before they land on the previously clean floor, now covered in dried mud and pebbles. He drops his backpack in a pile directly beside his abandoned shoes and steps into the kitchen, rapidly tapping out a text message on his phone and completely oblivious to his rapt audience. He pockets his phone once the message is completed and pulls open the fridge door, taking stock of the contents before he pulls out mayonnaise, mustard, three day old meatloaf and three slices of processed cheese. Setting his selection on the counter, he moves to the pantry cupboard and pulls out a half eaten bag of salted potato chips, a vanilla pudding cup, a loaf of sliced bread and the last box of chocolate flavoured cereal.

“Hey, kid. How was school?” Cor eventually dares to ask, still intently watching Prompto as he pieces together the most disgusting sandwich he has ever seen.

“Fine,” Prompto replies, spreading on a thick coating of mayonnaise and mustard onto a slice of bread before he places all three slices of cheese, potato chips and meatloaf down and tops it all with a second slice of bread. He squishes the monstrosity of a sandwich down with the flat of his hand and uses a finger to swipe up then lick off the mustard and mayonnaise that oozes down the side.

“Didn't you eat lunch?” Cor ventures, swallowing hard against the bile threatening to rise in his throat at the spectacle taking place in his kitchen.

Prompto takes a massive bite of his sandwich, the chips crunching and more condiments dripping down the side of it, before he responds with his mouth still full, “Still hungry. Gonna call Noct.”

He leaves the kitchen before Cor can respond, his foul sandwich and the rest of his foraged meal precariously balanced on one hand and arm has he pulls his phone out again to dial Noctis' phone number.

The boys are fourteen years old, and Cor wishes desperately, with every passing day, that the sweet, clean and well mannered child from years gone by would come back to him and replace this ill mannered, unwashed and downright gross teenager that has taken up residence in his house.

“He just saw Noctis not half an hour ago, what can they possibly have to talk about..” Cor questions the empty room, allowing himself a brief moment to think back to the days of Prompto's childhood, before puberty struck and changed everything.

Inside his bedroom, Prompto settles down in the middle of the bed, legs crossed as he holds his sandwich with one hand and holds his sleek black cellphone to his ear with the other one. “Hey Noct!” He greets his best friend cheerfully, smiling wide at the sound of the prince's voice on the other end of the call.

“Hey Prom, I can't talk long, Iggy wants me to read some meeting minutes but we've got a bit of time.” Noctis' voice speaks into Prompto's ear, slightly tinny and distorted but still so familiar. Prompto takes another crunching bite of his sandwich and grunts when a glob of sauce drips onto his lap. “Whatcha eating?”

“Just a sandwich. What's the plan for this weekend? Do we have it all to ourselves or does Ignis have plans for us?” Prompto responds through a mouthful of sandwich before he swallows. He finishes off his sandwich as Noctis responds.

“Well right now there's nothing going on, so we can hang out in my room and play games all weekend if you want. Wanna stay over? I'm sure Dad won't mind.”

Prompto brushes the bread crumbs off his face and falls back into his pillows, sighing in delight as he contemplates a weekend alone with Noctis, with no royal duties to tend to and no arms lessons with Cor or Gladio to interrupt their time together.

“Yeah I'll ask Cor at supper. I'm sure he'll say yes, he always does. Hey, we still gonna hang out with Asha and Clarita after school tomorrow?” Prompto asks, thoughts turning to the beautiful twin sisters that have somehow worked their way into Prompto and Noctis' social life. They have thick black hair that spills over their shoulders and deep brown eyes Prompto often finds himself lost in. Their bodies changed over the summer break as well, hips widening slightly and their shirts fitting just a bit tighter around the chest. They remind him of Cindy, somehow. Cheerful and bright and always happy to chat with Noctis and Prompto.

“....Yeah. Not long though? I've got arms practice with Gladio before supper.”

Noctis is slightly less enamored with the twins, but over the years he has learned to accept Prompto's friendships outside of the Citadel and even catches himself enjoying their company from time to time, probably due to their changing figures. Both boys have agreed on multiple occasions that the girls are pretty enough to kiss, though neither has made any effort to engage the girls in such an act.

“Ah, Ig's here. Gotta go buddy. See ya at school!”

And just like that, Prompto finds himself alone in his room. He stretches out languidly like Lucy cat, who still rules the roost in the nursery, though her days of mothering kittens and princes alike are past and she's now in her twilight years. Arms above his head, face turned to one side, Prompto catches a whiff of unpleasant body odour. He cringes at the offensive stench and runs a hand through his greasy hair as he turns to sniff the other armpit with similar results.

“Gross..” he grumbles, hauling himself up off the bed to wander in the bathroom. He glances briefly at the bathtub and considers showering, but instead adds another layer of deodorant to his armpits. He sniffs them experimentally and, pleased with the results, returns to his room. Cor's only been nagging him to shower for the last three days, he can probably get away with one or two more days before Cor hoses him down outside and forces him to bathe himself properly.

* * *

Asha and Clarita are wearing matching bows at the ends of their long, silky braids when Prompto and Noctis meet them after school after heavily dousing themselves in cheap vending machine cologne and aftershave pilfered from Cor's drawer in the bathroom vanity. The girls smile prettily at the pair of them and fall into step on either side of them, Clarita beside Noctis and Asha beside Prompto.

“So where are we going?” Asha asks Prompto, turning her charming smile towards Prompto only to let it fall when she realizes Prompto and Noctis are staring intently at something on the prince's phone.

“Huh? Oh, the arcade. We've got some free tokens to use and after school they serve free soft drinks,” Prompto says distractedly, looking up from the phone only long enough to glance briefly at Asha, who scowls at her sister over the hunched forms of the boys between them when Prompto looks back down at the phone. Clarita crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at her sister, causing Asha to roll her eyes and smile.

Boys.

The walk to the arcade is mostly silent after Noctis finally puts his phone away. Clarita brushes the tips of her fingers against the palm of Noctis' hand and is immediately rebuffed when he twitches his hand out of her grasp, murmuring a soft “sorry” as he does so. The sensation of her smooth skin against his hand is alien and unwelcome, and he's not actually sorry but Ignis has firmly ingrained manners and etiquette into him over the years. He counteracts the discomfort of her weak attempts at handholding by subtly curling his fingers around Prompto's slender wrist for several seconds before releasing it.

When Asha attempts the same maneuver with Prompto, he blinks in surprise at her before smiling shyly and allowing her to grip onto his hand, pleased with the friendly gesture though he notes a distinct lack of pleasant buzz with the skin on skin contact. She smiles brightly, though doesn't notice the slight furrowing of Noctis' brow as he catches sight of the gesture. Prompto continues to walk along, warmth radiating upwards from his left wrist where Noctis had gripped it, and the foreign pressure of Asha's hand held loosely in his right hand.

“We're here. Come on, Prom. You get the tokens and we'll find a good game to play,” Noctis directs the group of teenagers, making a point of placing his hand on Clarita's shoulder as he guides her through the doorway and into the arcade. Prompto doesn't even notice, too intent on claiming a spot at the line up before the employee dispensing tokens. Noctis rolls his eyes in irritation and huffs off to their favourite shooter game, the girls following him with obvious dismay at their surroundings.

The arcade is aged and smells faintly of body odour and feet. Both girls scrunch up their noses at the smell and the dingy interior, making note of the peeling paint on the walls and the questionable stains spread across the carpet. All in all, this is not one of the better dates a pair of boys has taken them on.

“Um, Noctis?” Clarita ventures, her voice difficult to hear over the various noises of a busy arcade, “We don't even know how to play these games, we've never been here before.”

Noctis turns to stare at the girls like they've both suddenly sprouted a second head on the shoulders and responds, “What?! Why not? Prompto and I come here almost every day!”

“...Yeah. We like to go to movies and sit in the park and go for walks when we go on dates, not... this,” Asha adds, standing beside her sister in solidarity. Prompto enters the conversation in time to overhear the end of Asha's sentence and stands beside Noctis, holding a plastic bucket loaded to the brim with cheap brass tokens, dented and discoloured after years of use.

“A date? This isn't a date. We just wanted to hang out!” Prompto clarifies helpfully, offering the bucket of the tokens first to Asha and Clarita, who raise their eyebrows in perfect synchronization, before shaking their heads at the bucket.

“This was supposed to be a date. You said you wanted to take us somewhere after school. That's a date, Prompto. Noctis, you're a prince. Don't you know anything about dating girls?!” Clarita responds, crossing her arms across her chest which only serves to draw the boys' attention to the slight swell of flesh above them.

Noctis doesn't reply for a long time, focused entirely on her chest, until Clarita clears her throat loudly and snarkily states, “My eyes are up here, Prince.”

He jumps then, guilty at being caught, and forces his gaze up to meet Clarita's angry eyes, noting a dark blush staining her rounded cheeks. “Um! Sorry!” his voice cracks in his nervousness and he turns a bright red in his embarrassment at being caught staring. “No one's really given me lessons on how to.. date someone. Mostly it's economics and learning all the different members of the nobility?”

Asha rolls her eyes so hard it looks like physcially painful and Prompto winces sympathetically at the action. “You're both clueless,” she says, reaching down to tap her sister on the hip. “Let's go, Clar. It smells bad here, and I'm not having fun.”

Clarita doesn't even bother to say anything further to Noctis or Prompto, just turns on her heel with her sister falling into step beside her and stomps out of the arcade, making as much of a scene as two angry teen aged girls can make in such a small place. Silence follows their departure, with the older teenagers in the arcade wincing in sympathy at the rejected boys.

Noctis and Prompto stare at one another for a long time, utterly baffled at the sudden turn of events. Eventually, Prompto holds up the bucket of tokens between them and smiles crookedly. “More for us?”

Noctis nods after a moment's silence and replies, “Yeah Prom. More for us. Who needs those girls anyway? They're crazy.”

Prompto nods in agreement, and reaches up to tug playfully on Noctis' uniform tie. With an insincere grumble, Noctis swats Prompto's hands away and snags the bucket of tokens from him, relieved to have Prompto's attention focused solely on him again. The girls are usually nice company, but today they were weird and Noctis is glad to have them gone, left alone in the comforting presence of his best friend.

“You wanna be player one?” Noctis asks, and Prompto beams at him before he plucks out several tokens and inserts them into the slot on the front of the machine.

“Yeah I do, I'm the better shot anyway!”

“Hey!” Noctis exclaims, and Prompto laughs loudly, leaning over to bump shoulders with him before he presses play on the game and focuses his attention to the screen.

They get the highest score on the machine, and when it prompts them to enter a player name, Prompto grins conspiratorially at Noctis and keys in PROMPTIS.

Chapter Text

Prompto chooses his accessories carefully for school the following day. It's picture day, and he wants to look the best he possibly can for the photos as he plans to send several of them to Luna in the journal the next time it shows up in his or Noctis' room. They've been writing back and forth with regularity for some time now, starting several months after their escape from Tenebrae. The evidence of Luna's survival and supposed health was a relief, even if the large fluffy black and white dog that appeared in Noctis' bedroom in the middle of one of their sleepovers was completely unexpected and utterly horrifying. Umbra has been a constant fixture in their life since then, and always a welcome visitor when he graces them with his presence.

On his left wrist he has a braided leather bracelet, a gift from the twins. He hesitates over whether or not it's worth putting it on, given their bizarre behaviour the day before at the arcade but in the end decides to leave it on. Perhaps it will remind them that they were in fact friends, first and foremost. Friends don't go on dates, and he has no idea how they got the idea that going to an arcade was a date.

He mulls over a woven basket on his dresser filled with wrist bands, digging through piece after piece, undecided on what to wear to cover up his codeprint. It's an important day, and his wristband should have some sort of meaning behind it. His fingers brush up against the soft, worn leather of an aged and well loved cuff and he smiles fondly at it, plucking it out of the pile. He holds it up in his hand and rubs his thumb up against the snaps on one end of it, remembering the day Noctis presented it to him, along with the matching one he wore on his own wrist.

When Prompto attempts to fasten it, the snaps seem somewhat loose but they hold together and the fit is still comfortingly snug on his wrist. It'll do, he determines, and leaves his bedroom. He stops at the bathroom to glance at himself in the mirror, approving of the what he sees in the reflection. The contacts Cor bought for him on his fourteenth birthday have been a blessing. He hated his glasses and how dorky he felt wearing them. They always smudged, and they always got in the way. He likes the way his face looks without the dark frames masking his sharp features.

Leaving the bathroom, he heads into the kitchen to find something quick for breakfast. He makes himself two slices of toast and coats them in peanut butter and honey, practically inhaling them in his haste once he glances at the microwave clock and realizes the time.

“Gotta go, Cor! See ya later!” He calls over his shoulder as he trips out of the house, hopping on only one foot for several feet as he struggles to pull his uniform shoes on and maintain his balance simultaneously. Cor rolls his eyes fondly from his place in the kitchen where he nurses a coffee and muses over the morning newspaper, already in his uniform for a day at the Citadel.

“Maybe if you didn't spend an hour in the bathroom fussing over that unruly hair of yours you'd be on time...” Cor mutters to the closed door, taking another sip of his coffee. The sound of a car door slamming shut alerts him to Prompto's departure, and he turns back to his newspaper, relaxed in the knowledge that Prompto is safe in the Regalia with Noctis and Ignis.

Prompto and Noctis arrive at school, miraculously on time despite Prompto's self-inflicted tardiness, and scramble out of the Regalia. Ignis groans in defeat at the undignified scene they make as they make their way towards the tall brick building, bumping shoulders and playfully shoving one another to the side, school bags swinging precariously from their shoulders.

“Prom, buddy, you look... good,” Noctis compliments Prompto once their childlike antics come to an end, eyeing his friend with approval. Prompto wears the same uniform as everyone, but he's lost a lot of weight in the past year and it fits him well now, the black blazer laying flat and tight across his shoulders and falling relaxed down his torso. He has the sleeves bunched up, showing off his toned forearms and calloused hands from long afternoons and evenings of arms practice with Cor. Noctis doesn't allow himself to drop his gaze any further, instead focusing on Prompto's tastefully styled hair and slightly pink cheeks.

“Aww thanks Noct! You do too, did Iggy dress you?” Prompto teases, and Noctis squawks indignantly, shoving at Prompto's chest and pushing him back a few steps. Prompto laughs in delight, throwing his head back and exposing the line of his neck. Noctis admires the view briefly before he realizes just what he's doing and looks the other way, forcing his features into a frown.

“Ignis doesn't dress me, you loser,” He defends himself, adding very quietly after a pause, “...But he did help me with my hair.” He only scowls further when Prompto laughs louder, throwing his arm over Noctis' shoulder and pulling him in close in a side hug. Noctis allows himself to relax into the embrace, molding himself against Prompto's side.

They part at their lockers, putting away their school bags and pulling out their books and supplies for their next class as their conversation picks up again, Prompto speaking up, “Picture day today, I wanted to look my best. Y'know, for.. the book.”

Noctis hums in response as he slams his locker shut and waits for Prompto to finish up in his before he responds, “It's been a few weeks, I hope everything's okay.”

They fall silent then as they walk to their first class, Prompto sitting in front of Noctis. The twins, who sit beside them in this class and are often the first and most genuine to greet him, don't even look their way as they sit down. Asha and Clarita instead make a very obvious show of sniffing and turning their heads the other way to speak to the boys who sit on the other side of them. Prompto frowns slightly at the snub, unsure why exactly his closest school friends are still so upset with them, but Noctis doesn't even react, instead opening his books and waiting for class to start.

Noctis only nods off during class once, waking up when the student behind him kicks the leg of his desk and jars him into alertness to let him know class is over. He nods his thanks and fights back a yawn that threatens to rat him out to the teacher, who stands at the front of the classroom watching as students file out. Though, even if he had been caught sleeping, being a prince has its perks and his habit of falling asleep in class generally goes unpunished. Prompto considers it completely unfair considering the one and only time he dozed off in class Cor was called and he was punished with an early bed time for an entire week and extra sparring with Cor and Gladio as well, “To give you a real reason to be tired, you lazy boy.”

After an unsatisfying lunch of soggy fries and limp cheese pizza, their class is given the announcement to line up for photographs in the auditorium where a makeshift photobooth and a place for the class photograph has been set up. Asha and Clarita still make a point of ignoring them even though they line up in front of Noctis and Prompto, instead turning to one another to whisper quietly, occasionally sending furtive glances their way. Noctis and Prompto trade baffled looks at the continued bizarre behaviour Asha and Clarita display and turn to one another as well, falling into their own conversation.

“Hey after school you wanna go to the arcade?” Prompto asks, glancing in irritation at Asha when she scoffs loudly after his suggestion. Were they eavesdropping?

Noctis sighs mournfully and shakes his head, “Can't, gotta avoid death at Gladio's hands then supper with Dad after that.”

Prompto frowns, full pink lips turning down at the edges as his face reflects his disappointment. “Oh, okay man. Call me after?” Clarita actually snorts at that and Prompto scowls at the back of Clarita's head, sure now that the girls are listening in on their conversation. How rude.

“Yeah, before bed?” Noctis confirms their usual routine, and Prompto nods his agreement. Their conversation ends when their teacher organizes them into rows based on height, leaving Noctis and Prompto somewhere in the middle of the group, surrounded by students on all sides since neither of them are particularly tall. Noctis schools his face into the expression reserved only for press and publicity photographs while Prompto eases his face into a relaxed albeit slightly uneven grin. Their thighs are pressed together and their pinkies touch where their hands are resting on their thighs. Soon enough the class photos are taken and once again they find themselves lined up for the individual photographs.

“Ugh, I hate pictures!” Noctis groans in complaint to Prompto, who rolls his eyes at the display though he pats his friend's shoulder consolingly.

“We need these ones, remember?” Prompto reminds him, and Noctis sighs reluctantly, shuffling forward as another student steps into the booth.

“It'd be easier if you just took them for us..” Noctis gripes, shoulders slumped and head hanging dramatically.

“With what camera, Noct? Cor won't buy me one and I don't have any gil to buy my own with,” Prompto answers back, though the idea of a camera of his own burrows into his mind and settles there to stay. It'd be nice to be able to take his own photos.

“So I'll buy you one,” Noctis responds, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Prompto shakes his head at Noctis as they continue forward until he's at the front of the line awaiting his turn.

“Yeah I'm sure the King will be cool with you spending that kind of gil on a scrub like me.”

“You're not a scrub!” Noctis gasps, offended on Prompto's behalf even though he's the one disparaging himself.

“NEXT!!!” The photographer yells, as the student ahead of them steps out of the booth,past Prompto and Noctis. Prompto waves cheerfully before walking into the booth, taking his seat in the designated chair. The photos themselves go by smoothly, and before Prompto even knows it he's being ushered out and waiting patiently for Noctis on the other side of the curtain. He reaches down to pick up both their bags and sling them over his shoulder, grunting when the strap catches on the leather cuff on his wrist before sliding onto his shoulder. He thinks nothing of it when he shoves the sleeves up on his uniform blazer.

Then someone gasps, and a familiar hand reaches forward to grasp his bare wrist and twist it to display the incriminating black ink there.

“Prompto, is that a tattoo?!” Asha asks in shock, holding his wrist up to the empty space between them to inspect the mark properly. He freezes, eyes wide and panic rising, as all attention in the auditorium turns to him and the remaining half of his class zeroes in on his bare wrist. “It's.. weird.” She adds, twisting it to and fro to get a better look.

Then someone else steps up and pulls his wrist from Asha's grasp and blunt, bitten nails dig into the flesh around the ink. It's one of the bigger boys in their class, the one with the bent nose and crooked teeth. Prompto doesn't know his name, has never wanted to know his name. He sneers at the markings and turns his accusing gaze up to Prompto. “S'not a tattoo, Asha. It's a barcode.”

Prompto regains his faculties then and wrenches his wrist out of the boy's grip, clapping his left hand over his exposed wrist and cradling it protectively to his chest, eyes darting around the room at the various faces turned in his direction. His shock leaves him mute, unable to defend himself.

“I've seen a picture of it before,” The boy continues, preening under the attention he garners with every word he speaks, “My dad works at the borders. Everyone who enters Insomnia gets checked for one of these.. they're the mark of a Niff!”

A gasp spreads out through the students and it seems that as one, they all take a step back from Prompto, before a low mumbling starts. Noctis steps out from behind the curtain then, his pictures finished, and takes in the scene before him. Prompto, cradling his wrist protectively against his chest. The students backed away from him, glaring at him like he's some sort of monster. The broken leather cuff laying useless on the floor.

“Prince Noctis!” It's the same boy again, and he brazenly steps forward to stand between Prompto and Noctis. “Get away from him, he's a monster! It's not safe!” The words cut deep, and Prompto shrinks away from the accusation as soon as it's voiced, throat aching with the need to cry and eyes burning with unshed tears. He glances into the crowd, and even Asha and Clarita are looking at him like he could turn on them at any moment.

“I'm not...” Prompto begins, finally finding his voice though it cracks, but the boy turns to him and raises his hand, fingers clenched into a fist with obvious intent. He opens his mouth to say something to Prompto, but long, pale fingers with perfectly trimmed and shaped nails wrap around his wrist and pull his fist back down to his waist, twisting the bigger boy around to face Noctis once more.

“If you touch him, I'll make you wish you were dead,” Noctis growls, his tone low and dangerous.

“You can't be seriously defending him?! He's not even a person!” The boy exclaims, attempting to raise his fist again.

Noctis snarls and grabs him by the tie, tugging him down to his height until they're eye to eye, and whispers softly so only Noctis, Prompto and the boy can hear, “If you want to keep your head you'll tell everyone right now that you were wrong. Prompto's no Niff, he's a Lucian. Say it.”

The boy gulps, but eventually nods and breathes deep in relief when Noctis releases him. He clears his throat and turns to the class. “Um. I was wrong. Just a tattoo. He's a cool guy. W-wish I had one...”

Noctis shoves past him to get to Prompto, knocking rudely into his shoulder and sending him stumbling into the silent group of classmates. “C'mon, Prom. We're going home.”

He curls his arm around Prompto's shoulders and brings him up against his side, and Prompto can only follow him along in shell shocked silence as Noctis leads them out of the auditorium, to their lockers and then outside into the courtyard.

“Prom? Prom, I need to let go. I'm gonna call dad, okay?” Noctis attempts to let go of Prompto, but the blonde lets out a choked sob and turns into his chest, pressing himself up as close to Noctis' body as he can, his right hand still cradled between their bodies and his face nestled into Noctis' neck. “Um. Okay, just.. I need my phone......”

Noctis eventually works his phone out of his schoolbag, though the action is made awkward by the way Prompto presses up against him and refuses to be apart from him. Noctis dials his dad's number before he tucks his phone between his cheek and shoulder and wraps both arms around Prompto's torso, holding him close. The phone rings four times and Noctis worries it'll go to voicemail before Regis finally picks up.

“Son? I'm in the middle of a counsel meeting, this had better be important,” The king sounds irritated, and Noctis finds himself getting frustrated in return at the tone of his dad's voice.

“Dad. Someone needs to come get us. Some people saw Prom's wrist. He's not okay,” he snaps out impatiently.

There's a long pause, and then some shuffling, a quick apology and the sound of a door closing softly. Regis must be leaving the room. His voice echoes through the phone and he finally sounds concerned. “I'll send someone immediately. Stay where you are.”

“Dad? What are we gonna do?” Noctis asks, rubbing Prompto soothingly on the back when he whimpers and trembles against Noctis' body.

“We'll figure it out, Noctis. We knew this day could come.”

The line goes dead, and Noctis lets go of Prompto long enough to tuck his phone back into his school bag before he reaches up to coax Prompto to look him in the eye. He holds his freckled face in his hands, cradling his tear streaked cheeks in the palms of his hands and looks deep into Prompto's watery blue eyes. The pain and fear he sees there makes him want to run back into the school and hurt the person who did this to Prompto, but even more than the desire to maim the person who hurt Prompto is the deep and urgent need to comfort him, who stands before him fighting a losing battle with his emotions.

“Prom. Prompto. It's okay. I've got you, buddy,” Noctis whispers, leaning forward enough that he can press his forehead against Prompto's hot, sweaty one. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, allowing a calmness to spread through his body and hopefully through him into Prompto.

“I'm a monster...” Prompto breathes out, and the words physically hurt Noctis to hear. He aches for the pain lacing Prompto's words. He would give anything, do anything, to make this better. He shakes his head, the movement brushing their noses together.

“You're not,” Noctis responds, dropping his hands from Prompto's face to wrap around his waist instead, pulling him close enough that their hips bump together. “You're not a monster.”

“He said I wasn't even a person...” Prompto whispers, voice breaking on the last word, and Noctis can feel himself breaking with him. He needs to keep it together long enough to get Prompto home, to the safety of the Citadel.

“You are, Prompto. You're my person,” Noctis assures him, throat thick and aching with the tears he fights back. He needs to be strong for Prompto, needs to be strong enough for both of them. Prompto has nothing else to say at that, though his trembling lessens slightly and he breathes a little easier, leaning into Noctis' arms and allowing himself to be held and comforted. It's enough for now.

When Cor pulls up to the school twenty minutes later, he finds the boys in that same position. Foreheads together, bodies tight against one another, with Noctis protectively holding Prompto in his arms. He gently ushers the boys into the back seat of his car and nods in the direction of the school once he has Noctis' attention. Noctis nods in return then turns his focus back to Prompto, petting the hair at the back of his head in a soothing, continuous motion.

The car door closes and Cor makes his way towards the school.

Chapter Text

It's the end of the school day, that much is obvious by the sudden influx of students rushing out of their last class, a wall of noise preceding their physical arrival into the hallway that Cor purposefully strides down. As the students begin to recognize him, a hush falls over the crowded hallways and the mass of teenagers steps back to give him space on his way to the administration office. One student in particular, big and burly with a crooked nose, pales as Cor approaches and then passes him, eyes tracking the older man as he carries on.

Cor ignores it all. He has a lot to do, and not a lot of time to get it done in. He doesn't even knock on the door to the office when he arrives, instead opting to push it open hard enough that it bounces off the doorstop, rattling noisily on its hinges. The young secretary at the desk jumps at the intrusion, ballpoint pen twitching out of her fingers to tumble onto the floor at her feet.

“U-um, do you have an appointment, Sir?” She hesitantly asks, leaning into the back of her chair in an attempt to distance herself from Cor when he pushes the door shut behind him. His mere physical presence in the small office space is enough to intimidate the already timid secretary.

He turns his gaze to her and frowns in displeasure before responding, “No, and I don't need one. I'm Cor Leonis. Where's your God's damned principal? I need to speak to her.”

The secretary squeaks when Cor drops his name, opting to gesture in the direction of a short hallway ending with a door rather than verbalize the directions to the principal's office. Cor nods to the young woman and strides down the hall, his heavy boots thudding ominously on the cheap tile floors in the office. When he reaches the door he once again disregards social etiquette and opens the door without knocking, interrupting the principal in the middle of a phone call. She glances up to Cor and scowls darkly at him, holding up one finger imperiously to indicate he will have to wait.

Cor doesn't wait.

He takes the four steps to reach her desk, leans over snoothly and plucks the phone out of her hand to set it back down on the receiver with a resounding click. She looks at him with wide eyes, eyebrows raised so high they nearly merge with her hairline, flabbergasted by his rudeness, and reaches to pick the phone up again.

“I don't think so, Ma'am,” Cor snaps out, laying his hand heavily on the phone to hold it in place. “I have an issue with one of your students, and I'm not waiting to discuss it. It pertains to my ward, Prompto Argentum.”

“Please sit, since you've already welcomed yourself into my office,” The principal waspishly retorts, gesturing with forced hospitality to the sturdy wooden chair on the opposite side of her desk.

Cor raises a solitary eyebrow at that and chooses instead to remain standing, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I'll stand, Ma'am. I want the name of the boy involved in the altercation with Prompto Argentum that took place this afternoon, along with the contact information for his parents.”

“My name's Helena. Stop calling me Ma'am. The information you're requesting is confidential, and I won't be handing it over to you,” Helena responds, crossing her own arms over her chest and meeting Cor's steely gaze, unflinching. “I won't be bullied either. I know my rights.”

“Helena,” Cor begins, then stops. He shakes his head and starts again, “You may know your rights, but I know your king. This isn't a request from a guardian. This is a demand from the Crown. Give me the contact information for the boy involved or you'll find it very difficult to keep your job here, or find one anywhere else in Insomnia.”

Helena clenches her jaw at the threat to her career, then wilts in her chair and nods tiredly to Cor. “Fine,” she says tiredly, “I'll gather the information.”

* * *

When Cor opens the car door over an hour later, Prompto and Noctis haven't moved from their place in the back seat, though a careful glance at the two of them shows that Prompto has at least fallen asleep at some point. Noctis glances only briefly at Cor before he turns his attention back to Prompto, making soothing sounds when the sleeping blonde whimpers softly, fingers twitching despite their tight grip in the lapels of Noctis' uniform blazer.

“Can we go home now?” Noctis asks Cor quietly, and their eyes meet in the rear view mirror. Cor nods and pulls away from the curb. The trip to the Citadel is silent, save for Prompto's occasional soft sound of distress and Noctis' responding soothing whispers, too quiet for Cor to hear over the sound of the car and the mid afternoon traffic.

Cor cuts the engine and steps out of the car, moving around it to open the door on Noctis' side and gestures for the prince to release Prompto and step out of the vehicle.

“I don't wanna...” Noctis grumbles, frowning at Cor.

“I'll carry him, Highness. Please, if you'd gather up the file folder in the front seat?” Cor explains, tacking on his request when Noctis works his way out of the car, laying Prompto delicately on the back seat as he does so.

“Yeah, yeah... What're we gonna do, Cor? That kid, I don't even know his name! How do we fix it?” Noctis worries aloud, gathering up the file folder obediently before he watches intently as Cor leans into the vehicle to gather up Prompto's slumbering form. He groans at the ache in his back when he straightens up, one arm tucked behind Prompto's knees and one behind his shoulders.

“Not as little as he used to be...” Cor mutters to himself, turning towards the elevator at the Citadel entrance of the parking garage. Noctis hurries ahead to call the elevator down, anxiously trailing his eyes over every visible part of Prompto. “I'll take care of the public, the King too. You take care of this kid.” Cor adds as he steps into the elevator. Noctis presses the sixth floor button then pushes his thumb against a fingerprint scanner, and turns back to watch Prompto.

Prompto groans softly, turning his head in his sleep so his nose presses up against the fabric of Cor's suit jacket. Noctis hovers nearby, resting a soothing hand on Prompto's exposed neck, knowing the skin contact will comfort him. It does, and Prompto settles again, though his fingers tremble slightly.

When the elevator doors open up on the sixth floor, Noctis hurries ahead to open the door to his room for Cor, kicking several articles of dirty clothing out of the way to clear a path for the older man to reach his bed. Regis refuses to allow the cleaning staff in to Noctis' room, claiming the prince is old enough to keep his own space tidy, and Ignis has not yet caved and picked up after him. The room is in a sorry state, though not nearly as bad as Prompto's.

Cor deposits Prompto on the mattress, stopping before he straightens to smooth the hair over Prompto's brow. “I need to talk to the King, Highness,” he explains to Noctis as he turns to leave the room. Noctis merely waves in Cor's general direction, attention focused entirely on Prompto, who has curled in on himself as he sleeps, huddled into a small ball of misery.

Noctis' heart aches for the other half of his soul, and though they haven't shared a bed in more than a year, he kicks off his shoes and crawls into the unmade bed with Prompto, folding himself around the other boy so that Prompto's back is pressed tight to Noctis' chest, with Noctis' top arm draped loosely over Prompto's waist. It's an intimate position, one they gave up a long time ago in favour of more space in the bed and then eventually their own personal beds. Prompto settles with Noctis' warmth wrapped around him, and rests peacefully.

They remain that way for over an hour until, just as Noctis is about to drift off and join Prompto in sleep, the blonde in his arms stirs, yawning wide enough that his jaw must surely ache, stretching as he does so and forcing himself closer to Noctis, though his elbow nearly clips the prince in the face with the motion. Noctis opens his mouth to complain to his sleepy companion when Prompto arches his back, pushing his bottom against Noctis' pelvis and suddenly the words dry in his throat. Noctis forgets how to breathe as an entirely new kind of sensation rockets through his body.

He's trapped, Prompto's weight on his arm and their feet tangled together. Noctis has to crane his head back to avoid getting a face full of Prompto's fine blonde hair. Every inch of Prompto's back is pressed up against Noctis' front. It's exactly like it used to be, when they were little kids.

Except it isn't.

Then Prompto sighs softly and rolls off Noctis' arm, and Noctis can't move away from his friend fast enough. What he fails to realize is that they've been sleeping on his side of the bed, and when suddenly the mattress vanishes from below him, Noctis lets out an undignified shriek as he lands on the floor on his shoulder and his hip.

“Oww,” he moans aloud, rolling onto his back an allowing his head to fall onto the carpet with a soft thunk. There's a shuffling from above, and Prompto appears above him, his hair in perfect disarray, eyes still foggy from sleep and swollen and red from crying.

“Buddy?!” Prompto asks, leaning over the bed and eyeing Noctis with concern. “What happened? You haven't fallen out of bed in ages.”

A furious blush paints itself across Noctis' cheeks and he forces himself to look away as he responds, “Nothing!”

Prompto, blessedly, takes the response at face value and props himself up on the bed on his elbows, chin resting in his hands as he continues to look down at Noctis before he speaks again, the fog of sleep rendering his filter nonfunctional. “Um.. will you come back to bed?”

“It's easier when you're beside me,”Prompto adds in his thoughts, though he keeps that to himself. The long buried pain of spending his formative years in a test facility like some sort of lab rat has been forcibly brought to the forefront of his mind with a handful of poorly chosen words, from a classmate he hardly even knows. It hurts, deep and aching inside him where all the memories had been locked away for so long.

Noctis considers the uncomfortable tightness of his pants, then considers the pain he instinctively knows Prompto must be feeling, and wordlessly climbs back into the bed. He'll always chose Prompto's well being over his own comfort. Prompto worms his way back into the middle of the bed and sits himself upright, legs crossed and elbows now resting on his knees as he considers his thoughts. Noctis mirrors the pose, though he makes a point of resting his hands in his lap to cover up his unexpected reaction to Prompto's earlier closeness. Their knees are pressed together in the center of the bed.

They sit in silence for what feels like hours but is really only minutes, as Prompto works up the courage to explain his time in Gralea to Noctis. It's not easy, opening yourself up to the pain of the past after years and years of bottling it away. Finally, he speaks.

“That kid.. he was right, Noctis. I'm not a person. I was born to become a monster. Just a soulless monster in the Imperial army.” Noctis opens his mouth to interrupt, but Prompto shakes his head urgently and barrels on, voice slightly louder to dissuade Noctis from speaking, “They used to hurt me. They'd put needles in me and pump me full of black stuff, until I had nightmares and eventually couldn't sleep. They took my name away and gave me a number instead.”

Here, Prompto displays his bared wrist to Noctis, though the prince knows by now exactly what he'll see. NH-01987 is visible in bold black letters, a stark contrast to Prompto's fair, freckled skin. Noctis is quick to uncover his own wrist, dropping his leather wrist band onto the bed beside him. He holds his wrist up beside Prompto's. Their marks are, as always, a perfect match.

“NH. Non-Human,” Prompto explains, voice quavering only slightly in the heavy silence of Noctis' bedroom. “I'm not a real person. I was designed to be a soldier. They did all sorts of tests on me, hurt me until I couldn't even scream. Kept me in the darkness for days on end. They held me down in a tub of black stuff until I was forced to breathe it in... They used it to make this disgusting mark on my body.”

Prompto pulls his wrist away then, pressing the marked flesh against his thigh to hide the evidence of his dark past.

“They were wrong though,” Noctis whispers into the thick, suffocating air between them. “You do have a soul. You're just as human as I am, Prompto.”

Prompto shakes his head at that, face twisting into a pained grimace.

“You are,” Noctis repeats himself, leaning forwards towards Prompto to bridge the space between them. “You're my soulmate. You're the other half of me... and if you're a monster, then so am I.”

“What, no!” Prompto shouts, leaning back and away from Noctis, horrified at his best friend's words. “You're not the monster, I am!”

“Neither of us are monsters, Prompto,” Noctis states, then reaches forward to catch Prompto's marked wrist in his hand, turning it to expose the ink again. Prompto shudders delicately at the touch, shaking his head minutely as Noctis continues, “I wish you'd stop calling yourself one. It doesn't matter where you came from. What matters is that you're gone from that place.”

They both fall silent again until Prompto speaks, voice soft, “Thanks, Noct.”

Noctis doesn't respond with words. Instead, he draws Prompto into a tight hug, made awkward by their positions on the bed. His awkward reaction to Prompto had settled down a long time ago in response to Prompto's unpleasant confession. Prompto's knee ends up in Noctis' stomach and Noctis is pretty sure he's going to have a bruise later, but it doesn't matter. Finally, the pain in Prompto's eyes has eased, leaving him tired but reassured of his place in Noctis' life.

“I promised you I'd never let anyone hurt you again... we may have been kids but I meant every word Prom.”

A prophecy overheard during a hushed telephone conversation on the boat to Lucis so many years ago. The discussion he had with Bahamut while struggling to awaken in the hospital. The loaded looks Cor and Regis share when they think neither Prompto or Noctis is paying attention to them. The locked door in the Citadel, an exact copy of the one he once saw in his dream. Queen Sylva's words to Cor after healing Prompto of the Starscourge. “The fate of Eos rests in your arms.”

It all comes back to Prompto in one overwhelming burst of memories.

Prompto swallows hard around the solid lump of dread in his throat and leans away from Noctis, resting his hands on the Prince's shoulders and holding his gaze with steady, earnest eyes.

“I won't let them hurt you either, Noctis. No matter what.”

If Noctis is confused, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he offers Prompto a small, special smile and tilts his head so that his cheek rests on the back of Prompto's hand on his shoulder. He allows his eyes to flutter shut, dark eyelashes so long they nearly brush against the swell of his cheeks. Prompto lets out a small breath through his nose at the intimate gesture and flips his hand so that he cups Noctis' cheek in the palm of his hand. The sensation that hums through him is just like before, but something seems different. He can't put his thumb on it.

“It doesn't matter what your destiny is. I'll find a way to keep you safe.”

* * *

Prompto and Noctis eventually make their way out of Noctis' bedroom after another two hours of quiet companionship. Their plan is to find Regis, probably in his study, and confront him about the plan for Prompto now that someone has seen the ink on his wrist that marks him as a member, albeit unwilling, of the Imperial army.

Instead, they catch the tail end of Regis and Cor's meeting with Prompto's accuser and his father.

“Since your son is but a child, the punishment shall fall to you, Marcus Sr. I hereby strip you of your duties as border guard. You'll be compensated, of course. I would never leave one of my subjects without a means of survival, in particular not one with a family to feed. But you'll never work in law enforcement again. It's obvious you can't be trusted to keep the particulars of your job confidential. I'll have my employment liaison coordinate with you to find a job more suitable to your abilities.”

Prompto winces, he knows how proud his classmate was of his dad's job. Marcus Jr will undoubtedly take his anger and frustration out on the kids at school, in particular at Prompto and his small circle of friends. Excluding Noctis of course.

“I won't punish your son, but as of today he is no longer a student at Insomnia Middle School. He will need to be enrolled elsewhere, and he had best learn to hold his tongue. If I or my Guard ever catch wind of either of you spreading lies about my son's friend or any child under my care again, I will not be so merciful. Now get out, before I change my mind.”

Noctis can practically see the tired sag of his father's shoulders, they way he must be rubbing a hand over his face in relief to have the discussion over with. It's the same thing his dad does after a long day on the throne or in Council meetings, when they're sitting at the supper table and catching up on their time spent apart.

The click of the door opening has both boys springing back from there place in front of it, where they had their ears pressed to the smooth, glossy wood in an effort to hear the conversation better. Noctis stands tall, hands at his side, while Prompto shuffles beside him awkwardly, utterly incapable of hiding his guilt. The door swings open as they're still scrambling to look nonchalant and both Marcus' step out of the room, the elder one first followed by the younger one. Marcus Jr catches Prompto's eyes and bores his gaze hard onto him, a sea of loathing and disgust in his steely blue eyes. Noctis takes notice and makes the motions to lunge at the bully, but Prompto grabs him by the shoulders and holds him back, eyes still locked with Marcus Jr. Noctis tenses under Prompto's firm grasp, but makes no further efforts to confront the boy who caused so much trouble and pain in Prompto's life. Instead he watches him like a predator would its prey, as both father and son make their way down the hallway, escorted by Cor himself.

“If he ever hurts you again, I won't let you stop me,” Noctis declares, his words an oath. Prompto sighs and releases the Prince's shoulders.

“I know, Noct. But I can take care of myself,” Prompto responds.

Noctis turns towards Prompto then, and catches up both of the other boy's hands in his own, holding tight to to them as he speaks, “I know, but I want to help.”

Prompto smiles then, a soft, lingering upwards curve of his lips, and nods. “Okay.”

Regis' voice echoes from his study then, “Boys, I know you're out there. Come on in, let's have a chat.”