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It was a bright afternoon in August at the opening ceremony for the Galahd Refugee and Veterans Social Luncheon in Insomnia’s very public and well-attended downtown Kings’ Shields Memorial Park, and Ignis’ best advice to Prompto had only been to try to “sweat discreetly”.
It was the opposite of working.
Noct was probably in worse shape sweat-wise than he was. He had just wrapped up a speech to the crowd gathered to witness a new public fountain honoring the civilian victims of the Galahd conflict that had decidedly won the Galean War for Lucis, and the crowd was applauding massively, cheering their young king. He turned to Prompto, quirked a smile, and took his hand. Cameras flashed as they departed the podium together, Gladio falling in behind them, a staunch, imposing black mountain in his own dress uniform. Prompto wondered how the pictures of them would turn out, if the silver detailing on his and Gladio's uniforms would frame Noct and make the dramatic flow of his black capelet really pop. He almost wished he could be part of the mob of reporters that trailed them around public events: he could get better shots than half of the images that still splashed across the newsstands.
As for paparazzi, nobody got better candids of Noct at home in his boxers than Prompto.
“Stinking hot… Why couldn’t our color be anything but black?” Noct whispered in his ear. Prompto grinned, and somebody in the crowd sent up a cheer. They must have accidentally looked cute again. He waved at the direction of the cheering absently: waving was newly etched in his DNA at this point, like breathing. Wake up, oxygen in, carbon dioxide out, one foot in front of the other, smile and wave…
“At least black hides the sweat stains!” he said brightly.
“Ugh. You think if I ‘accidentally’ forget our clothes at Ignis’ place tonight, he’d wash them? Like for fun?”
“Dude, the way you smell right now, we’d probably just get them back in a hazmat barrel.”
“Hey!” Noct snickered, swinging their hands together as they drew even with the new fountain and its bright-red ribbon. Ignis and the small entourage of junior bureaucrats and interns who both shadowed 24/7 and lived in fear of him these days were already waiting, along with most of the crowd from the podium who had raced ahead, craning to get a better view. Hands bearing smartphones broke from the top of the crowd like the old legends of lake-dwelling, sword-distributing water fae as Ignis handed a large pair of silver scissors to Noct. “Prompto’s still in uniform,” he reminded them gently, and Noct twitched in the way he’d developed when stopping himself from rolling his eyes in front of reporters and let Prompto’s hand go. “Great. Thanks.”
“Hey, Ignis!” Prompto stage-whispered conspiratorially, and got a tiny, utterly appropriate smile out of the man.
“Hello.”
“Dinner still at your place?”
“Served at eight; don’t be late,” he advised, with a meaningful look at Noct. They had planned a small family get-together at Ignis’ apartment in the Citadel for the sake of privacy. However, Regis and Clarus had suddenly decided to depart on an Accordian cruise line to celebrate Regis’ early retirement, and Iris was out of town on a school camping retreat, so it had narrowed to the four of them, just like old times.
Unfortunately, when it was just the four of them, Noct’s attitude towards keeping their appointments versus taking an extra chunk of time to let Prompto turn him out in the back seat of his car tended towards a firm “…Whatever.”
Due to the presence of half of Insomnia watching them intently, Noct could only smile, the picture of innocence. “Sure thing, Specs. We ready to do this?”
Prompto’s job was to hold the ribbon as Noct cut it, and Noct lightly bumped his shoulder as he sidled up to him. One of Ignis’ Vast and Infinite Rules of Note for Romancing Noctis Lucis Caelum that Prompto had committed to memory early was the ‘No Giggling at Public Events Honoring Dead People’ rule, and he bit his own tongue reminding himself.
The ribbon sliced cleanly, Noct managed to applaud along with the rest of them without stabbing himself with the scissors, cameras popped, and Prompto felt a little devious. He offered his left arm to Noct, beaming at him. Noct hesitated, but lightly wound his hand through the crook of Prompto’s elbow. Despite the relative elegance with which they somehow pulled it off and the cheers from the crowd, Ignis’ brow barely creased in a display of acute social grief.
“Hey, I’m in uniform, Noct's not!” Prompto said. “He can have my non-dominant arm, right?” He waved at the crowd with his right hand and Noct laughed as they departed. “Later!” Gladio tilted his chin roguishly in Ignis’ general direction as they departed, and Prompto heard Ignis mutter something that sounded like “bloody insubordination” as he was swamped by interns in their wake.
~*~
“Ribbons and Ribbings: King Noctis and Prince Consort Prompto Argentum Share a Laugh as They Celebrate Their First Sunny Year of Wedded Bliss,” Gladio quoted loftily, snorting at the “THEE” magazine article, featuring a heavily-photoshopped and edited snapshot of the young couple at the park that same day. He’d already showered, and sprawled in loose sweatpants across Ignis’ living room. “Looks like everybody’s trying to sell some copies this week. Everything at the magazine stand was about ‘em. Aww, you’re in this one, see? You look pissed.”
“I see you’ve stocked up.” Ignis raised an eyebrow at the clutter of generic water bottles with much-reused headshots from Prompto and Noctis’ wedding plastered over them. They were joined by “royal wedding” ping-pong paddles, granola bars, tape measurers, breath strip packets, and car air fresheners. Ignis examined one of four otherwise simple coffee mugs, now ornamented with Noct and Prompto’s smiling faces and a poor illustration of the Lucian royal crest behind them. “And decided to annex my kitchen.”
“Sorry. It’s mostly stuff to troll ‘em, but you never know. Their kids might get a kick out of some of it.”
“Sentimental,” Ignis tsk’ed fondly as he cleared the countertop. “You know Prompto is likely to thank you, and then use the mugs for target practice.”
It wasn’t malicious intent that inspired casual destruction of their memorabilia. As far as anyone could tell, Noctis and his “blushing groom”, as one tabloid had crowed in the media-saturated days surrounding their wedding, bore no ill will towards the various publications of Insomnia (and abroad) that were still making a sizeable chunk of income through attempting to report on their relationship on a time-sensitive basis. Even if the papers had decided to lose interest – no such luck – numerous online forums and borderline stalker blogs existed to track the supposed movements and public appearances of the “royal couple”. The Insomnian public had only doubled down on their adoration of Noctis the moment he and Prompto had decided to “step out” officially. In reality it was about four years after they’d actually started “courting”, but there had been no easier way to navigate the media blitz surrounding Noct after King Regis had abdicated for his health after the end of the war.
“You’d think they’d run out of flowery ways to say ‘the kids are still fucking like bunnies, news at eleven’,” Gladio sighed, stretching out on Ignis’ torturously uncomfortable couch. “This is gonna be the rest of their lives. People love royalty.”
“How did your father handle the publicity?” Ignis asked as he stirred a pot of pasta sauce.
“Oh, he did great. He was already running Regis’ security when they got together, so he controlled how much about their relationship got leaked. It was the perfect storm. I think he still uses his connections to keep them away from Iris, because he never said anything to me about it when he passed the job down.”
Ignis hummed noncommittally, sampling the sauce. Gladio grinned at him. “You thinking about it? Making an honest man out of me? Maybe get in a few gossip magazines ourselves, huh?”
“I think the journalists of Lucis have quite enough entertainment…for the time being,” Ignis simmered at him over the rim of his glasses.
Gladio hoped Prompto and Noct got there soon so they could turn in early.
“It’ll go faster in here if you give me a hand,” Ignis told him. Without looking up from his magazine, Gladio pulled a Royal Anniversary novelty plastic clapper from his back pocket and waved it, plastic applause ringing through the room. Ignis tossed a hand towel over his shoulder and gazed at Gladio with utter disdain. “C+. Mediocre at best.”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”
“Hardly. Any pun of mine would be vastly superior. Did Prompto tip you off to that one?”
As if summoned, a melodic knock drummed on Ignis’ door. Gladio gladly disembarked the Unpleasant “Ergonomic” Death Couch and swung the door open to find Noct, a duffle bag in one arm and Prompto – covered in hickeys and grinning like crazy – in the other. “Really? You guys couldn’t even change out of your event clothes before you got here?”
Noct shrugged. “Something came up. We’ll change in the bathroom, no big. Hey Ignis.”
Prompto poked him in the side and Noct nearly buckled trying to pretend he wasn’t ticklish. “Dude, they don’t need to know when stuff ‘comes up’!”
There was a sudden clatter of plates. “Dinner’s served!” Ignis shouted, his voice nearly cracking. Noct snorted. “Don’t break Ignis ‘til after dessert, okay?”
“No promises.” Prompto limped towards the kitchen. “I can set the table! Just like old times, right?”
Gladio watched Prompto mince away, folded his arms, and raised the patented Amicitia-Lucis-Caelum Eyebrow at Noct. “Seriously?”
“What? It was a long ride over, I gave him his present in the car.” Noct grinned, hefted his bag over his shoulder and retreated to Ignis’ bathroom. “Don’t eat without me!”
~*~
“Dude, where do you even find these?”
Ignis’ special linguini had been utterly decimated, and Noct was eyeing the cake on the counter, untouched under its pretty glass dome like it was about to be next. The tabloids were spread out on the coffee table, and Prompto was flipping idly through them. Noct sighed. “Is this what you guys do for fun around here? Little creepy…”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s a present! Your ‘paper’ anniversary, right? The can opener and toilet paper with your faces on it are also yours. I know, I’m awesome.”
Noct squinted at him. “What’s a paper anniversary?” Ignis leaned out of the kitchen and stared at Noct as though he’d just sprouted a second head.
Prompto hummed. “Maybe I should start freelancing after all. I’m better than half of what the Sunset Gazette prints. I mean, I guess they do their best…”
“Woah!” Noct fished out a black-and-white magazine that was little more than rough napkins held together with newsprint. “You got the Determiner? Man, they suck, it’s like 100% made up!”
“Ooh! Do they have an update on the human-chocobo hybrid they found in Leide?” Prompto asked with some genuine excitement. Gladio saw Ignis peer suspiciously around the kitchen door at them again. “Prompto, care to help me with the dishes?”
Prompto stood and stretched, wincing a little as he went. Noct smirked up at him. “You doing good?”
“Awesomesauce.” Prompto leaned over to kiss Noct as he passed him on the couch. “Love my present.”
“Guys. You’ve gotta cut me some slack,” Gladio groaned, pulling a frustratingly flat pillow over his face. When he looked up, Prompto was gone and Noct was flipping through the Gazette. “Huh. Apparently my poll numbers are pretty close to Dad’s when he was two years in. Nice. Aaand over here…” he picked up the Determiner as Prompto and Ignis returned with plates of cake. “…'It’s Over! Clarus Storms Out! Gladiolus Is Out of the Will! Divorce Details, page 22'. Huh.”
“Bummer. Guess I’ll open a gym. I’m *your* bitch now, Iggy.”
Ignis scoffed. “’Now’?”
Prompto choked on his cake, spraying crumbs into his hand. “Oh my gods…”
Noct was still perusing the Determiner. “And on page 45…oh, gross!” He shoved the paper out of his lap frantically.
Prompto scooped it up. “’King Noctis’ Bad Heir Day: it’s been over a year since the royal wedding that took Insomnia by storm, and still the question remains – where will the next heir to the throne come from?’ Okay, first, homophobic.”
“Second, they ended their sentence in a preposition.” Ignis made a face.
“What’s a preposition?”
“I’m leaving you.”
Prompto continued reading. “The Lucian bloodline currently lacks an outlet to continue, and sources indicate that King Noctis and Prince Consort Prompto Argentum have yet to communicate with a surrogate.’ That’s totally not true, I commented on Wiz’s FaceLook page just last weekend.”
“We can’t adopt a chocobo chick and call it my heir, Prom,” Noct reminded him in a voice that indicated they'd had the conversation before. Prompto stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “Yeah, even though it’d be awesome. I know. Blame politicians.”
“Homophobic,” Prompto repeated, and returned to the magazine as Noct slung an arm over his shoulder to pull him close. ‘As the clock continues to tick with expectations of an heir from the Lucis Caelum line, and…oh, eww!...Determiner reporters have just unearthed classified evidence indicating that there are plans under way to artificially inseminate the younger sister of King Noct – AGH, I can’t read it! That is nasty!”
“Wanna burn it together?” Noct asked as Gladio slowly strangled his throw pillow.
Prompto shuddered. “Okay, so…grossness, homophobes, kinda sexist, and Iris is like, barely legal…including the free space, I think they got Scumbag BINGO!”
“Do you know what’s pleasant? Cake,” Ignis said. “Let’s all just eat some cake. How very pleasant that would be.”
“Never thought the actual press would feel tame,” Noct sighed. “So glad you ended up being cool with all the pressure.”
Prompto smiled. “Hey, you’ve been putting up with this your whole life, right? At least now it’s something we can deal with together. Like, share the load, I guess.”
Noct smiled back at him, blushing under the cover of his bangs. “Love you.”
“Dude…” Prompto leaned in close and whispered, “That’s kinda gay.” Noct groaned and kissed him. Prompto fell back against him to snuggle and jumped suddenly, squeaking in alarm as Noct attacked his ribs. “Revenge is best served--”
“There’s homemade ice cream in the freezer,” Ignis said smoothly, and the two of them exploded off the couch in a flurry of limbs resembling nothing so much as a pile of excited puppies, tripping over each other and trying to slow each other down by grabbing limbs. One of Ignis’ deformed 'modern' lamps was almost a casualty before Noct seized a pillow and warped into the kitchen, Prompto limping after him, nursing a bruised elbow and crying foul. Gladio just watched Ignis eat his cake with a sappy smile on his face until Ignis caught him at it. “Something the matter?”
“You’d be a good dad,” Gladio said.
Ignis glared at him. “That’s quite enough of that, now.”
“It's true! I mean, we have to work on your shitty taste in furniture, but other than that...”
“Oh, hush.”
“I come bearing frosty goodness!” Prompto announced. He raised the ceramic bowl high above his head and yelped as Noct took the opportunity to slap his ass. “Excuse me, I am married, sir!”
“Quite enough excitement indeed,” Ignis murmured, “at least for the Sunday papers.”