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"I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
(- Vincent Van Gogh)
It’s a chilly night out, but it’s a clear one – the air is crisp and smells of the pine trees that are growing nearby. An abundance of stars decorates the ink black night sky; the pale moon casting enough light to illuminate the surrounding terrain.
It’s not a full moon – not yet. Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after.
The silence is a comfortable one, caused by their filled bellies and drowsiness, and interrupted only by the crackling fire, and the quiet rustling his bag makes as Prompto puts his camera away.
He’s taken a quite few good pictures today - he'll have to be careful, or else his storage will be full before they've made it to Altissia.
Gladio half-heartedly hides a yawn behind his hand, and Prompto grins. “Tired, big guy?”
“You would be, too, if you’d fight a little harder.” Gladio stretches and crosses his arms behind his head. It’s just banter, Prompto knows, and actually pointless today more than any other time – on their hunt for Garchimacera earlier, it was Gladio that had one of them sneak up from behind, and it was Prompto that had shot the thing before any real damage could be done.
A rare enough occasion, really, but of course, because it’s so rare, Prompto plans to rub it in a few more times. “Not fair,” he says – aims for a matter-of-fact tone and lands somewhere between a whine and a pout. “I totally saved your ass earlier.”
Noctis, who’s stoking the fire, snorts at that, and Gladio laughs, loud and boisterous.
“Indeed,” Ignis agrees. “Though, in reply to your previous question, perhaps it would be wise to turn in for the night.”
Prompto, too, stretches. He’s not that tired yet - and, contrary to Gladio’s opinion, that is not for lack of fighting. His muscles still hurt from that fight, thank you very much - and he’s a minute away from suggesting taking the first shift of guarding their campsite. But then, he thinks, as his glance wanders over to where Noctis is still playing with the fire, their esteemed prince is hard enough to get out of bed in the mornings. Prompto decidedly does not want to be the poor idiot who gets stuck waking him up in the middle of the night for his shift.
Apparently, neither do the Ignis and Gladio, because they, too, are looking at him.
Noctis, who seems to notice the three sets of eyes on him with the speed of a King’s Knight I loading screen – that is to say, with no speed at all – looks up and groans.
Such a dignified royal, Prompto thinks with affection.
“You’re making me take first shift again, aren’t you.” It’s – yeah. It’s not really a question.
“Well, Noct,” Ignis begins, in his diplomat’s voice. Noctis’ eyebrow twitches. “For the sake of everyone’s safety – yes.”
“Dude. The last time I tried to wake you, I thought you were gonna summon your sword on me.” It was a traumatising experience. If he hadn’t known Noctis any better, he would have been sure of his imminent death. As it was, he had known Noctis better. And that meant he could be absolutely certain that his best friend completely lacked the ability to do anything that required movement before breakfast. Well – anything other than rolling over and falling right back asleep.
Gladio gets up and pats Noctis’ shoulder in passing – a gesture that might have been apologetic had it come from anyone other than, well, Gladio.
“I’ll take second,” He says, smirking, then adds,“g’night!” and disappears in the tent.
“Alright.” Ignis gets up. Adjusts his glasses. “Prompto? Shall I take third, or would you rather?”
“I’m fine with either, really.” Prompto shrugs. “Go on, then. If I take last shift, it’ll gives me the chance to take some good shots of the sunrise.”
“You’re supposed to be guarding the camp, not taking photos of the sky, you know,” Noctis grumbles behind him. Prompto decidedly ignores him.
So does Ignis. “Then it’s settled.” He nods once, to himself. “But even as you appear not quite ready to go to sleep, I would suggest not staying up too late. We all need to be awake and alert tomorrow.”
Prompto salutes him. “You got it.”
Then Ignis, too, disappears in the tent.
With just the two of them left sitting by the fire, Prompto shuffles a few feet closer to Noctis. “Hey buddy. Mind if I join you?”
Finally having abandoned the stick, Noctis leans back and glances over. “’Course not. But aren’t you going to sleep?”
“Nah. Not that tired yet.”
They fall into comfortable silence. In front of them, a spark lands on the stick and it catches fire. Using his foot, Noctis moves it out of reach.
Prompto hums contently. It is a nice night. They’ve been so busy; between fighting for their lives and looking for tombs and hiding from the empire, there hasn’t been a chance for them to actually catch their breath.
Beside him, Noctis lets himself drop backwards until he his back hits the floor. Over his shoulder, Prompto watches him. Watches him breathe; the steady rise and fall a comfort.
Watches the worry lines on his face smooth out as he gazes up at the stars.
He looks relaxed. At ease. Lately, he’s had an air of unease around him, frown seemingly etched onto his face permanently, and shoulders hunched almost if caving under the weight of responsibilities put there much too early. Not that Prompto blames him. It’s a lot. It’s too much. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all him.
Now he looks – younger. More like the boy Prompto knows; the one who spent his time lying on the couch playing video games with him. With whom he used to fight over the last slice of pizza.
(They’re too young, Prompto catches himself thinking. All of them, and Noct especially. Prince or no, he should be playing games at the arcade and getting fries at the diner down the street from there. He shouldn’t have to carry so much.
It’s a dangerous thought. Ignis would tell him, it is what it is. Thinking about what isn’t will only bring misery. But still.
Still.)
“What?” Noctis asks. He’s no longer looking at the sky; instead, his eyes rest on Prompto. “Did I get food on my face?”
“You wish,” Prompto says. “I think that was the last of our supplies, too. If we don’t find anything edible tomorrow, we’ll go hungry.”
“As if Specs’d let that happen.”
“True. Prompto stretches, and then lets himself fall down next to Noctis with a soft thud.
“What’s up?” Noctis asks.
“Just thinking about how Iggy’s gonna have an aneurism when he finds out the crown prince is lying in the dirt, when there's a perfectly good camping chair right over there.” He gestures vaguely, without really looking to see if he's actually pointing at it.
“Like that’s the worst I’ve done on this trip.” He snorts. “And I guess, technically I’m the king now. What’s he gonna do about it?”
And – oh. Prompto really didn’t think about that one, did he? He bites his lip and worries, for a moment, that he’s ruined the mood. It hasn’t been that long, after all, that they stood on the steps of the Citadel and bid the king – former king now? – goodbye. Even less time since they heard about his passing.
But Noctis looks at him and grins a little, and yeah, Prompto isn’t that good at walking on eggshells anyway.
“Shit, really?” he exclaims. “Don’t you, like, have to be officially crowned or something?”
“There is a ceremony for it, but it’s more of a formality at this point. As it is, I guess I am the acting king.”
Prompto hadn’t known that. It’s weird, kind of, how they’ve been friends for over five years; how he’s become part of his Crownsguard without a second thought, and he still doesn’t know so much about that part of Noctis’ life.
Compared to everything else, it’s just never seemed that important.
“Uh, damn,” he says, eloquently. If about nothing else, Ignis would have an aneurism over this conversation. “I sure hope I didn’t, like, offend you, your majesty. Far be it from me to insult your royal ass.”
“Oh, shut up.” Noctis punches his arm playfully. Prompto reaches back and shoves him. It doesn’t have the desired effect – or, any effect, really. The angle is awkward and they’re both lying on the ground, but Prompto thinks it’s the thought that counts.
Obviously, his current foe disagrees. “That was pathetic.”
“Shut up.” So he’s using Noctis’ words against him. So they’re behaving like children. So what.
He shoves Noctis again, with about the same result as before – which is none – but then he can’t quite stop himself from laughing after all. Neither can Noctis though, and soon, they're both laughing.
Hell, Prompto loves that sound more than anything. More than the soft kweh-ing a happy Chocobo makes.
They do try to keep it down, mindful of Ignis and Gladio sleeping in the tent just a few feet away, even if Prompto guesses that Gladio sleeps through anything his brain doesn’t immediately consider a threat, and Ignis wears earplugs, and eventually, their laughter quiets down to more of a soft chuckle.
This time, it’s Prompto who turns to look up, but even though the stars are beautiful, his eyes soon stray to the side again – to Noctis lying there, right next to him – and find that he is already looking back.
And it’s like there’s something there, something tangible, lying in that short distance between them, and if Prompto just reached out, then maybe he could touch it, and finally know it for what it was.
He doesn’t dare.
They’ve touched before, of course, countless of times – Prompto has always been tactile around Noctis, and Noctis has always reciprocated – but this feels different.
This feels like skipping close to the edge of a cliff and reaching for a lifeline that might not be there. Another step forward would be one too many, and Prompto, for all that he loves the idea of flying, is deathly scared of falling.
(Noctis is looking back though. He notices that. He can’t not notice that.)
“Hey,” he murmurs eventually, softly, because the moment feels heavy but he doesn’t quite dare to disturb the quiet.
There’s a small smile hiding in the corner of Noctis’ lips as he whispers back, “hey.” Prompto counts that as a win.
“You should still have one. A coronation. When all this is over.”
Noctis doesn’t reply, but turns slightly, propping his head up on his elbow, and regards him. Which, to anyone fluent in Noctis, means ‘I’m listening.’
“Well, I just think – you’d deserve one? You’ve been raised for it, trained for it, studied for it. Might as well have the celebration to go with it?”
“Hm.” Noctis hums noncommittally. “I don’t know. It’s not as grand as you’re making it out to be. There’s a ceremony, and speeches, and drinks and dancing. Like all the other social functions I’ve had to attend. They’re pretty dull.”
“Ehhh. You’re partying with the wrong people, man. I bet it’d be a blast if I was there. Hearts would break. Chandeliers would fall. It’d be great.”
“So be there.”
“Huh?” Prompto turns on his face to face Noctis fully.
“Be there,” Noctis repeats. “If we have one. I’d want you there.”
“Right.” Prompto chuckles. It is a funny thought – Prompto Argentum in a room full of nobles and important people. He’s sure it’d feel like a game of odd-one-out, if, y’know. The odd-one was glaringly obvious.
(For a moment – just a moment – he allows himself to continue that train of thought. For just a moment, he indulges.
Noctis, walking down the corridor, about to receive his crown. Cor would be there, of course, and Ignis, and Gladio.
Noctis, standing tall with the crown on his head, facing the crowd as he turns to sit on the throne that is rightfully his.
Himself, standing next to Noctis, because where else would he be?
And Noctis would turn to him, and smile, and –
Prompto stops himself there.)
“I mean it,” Noctis says.
“Ah, but you know. The other guests would not be ready for my dance moves.”
An eyebrow raised, Noctis looks at him, amusement written clearly on his face. “Dance moves, huh?”
“Yep.” Prompto drags the sound out; puts emphasis on the ‘p’. “They’re amazing.”
“Oh?” Noctis pushes away from the ground and into a sitting position. “Let’s see them.”
“What? Now?”
“Of course. Unless you can’t deliver.” There’s a smirk on Noctis’ lips and Prompto thinks, damn.
Thinks, I would do anything for this boy.
“You’re on,” he says, as he moves to get up. “Prepare to be amazed.”
He starts bobbing his head to imaginary music, and then follows with a combination of dance moves he’s seen in clubs and from music videos; throws his arms wide open and twists and turns in a way he’s not sure doesn’t completely look ridiculous. And because he is the type to go the extra mile, depending on what the reward is, he strikes a pose when he’s done.
“Bet you – ah,” He stops to catch his breath. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
Noctis is staring at him, mouth slightly open in an impressive mix of horror and awe that Prompto is sure he’s picked up from Ignis, and then he seems to come alive – he doubles over; hand pressed to his mouth and body shaking with laughter as he tries to keep even remotely quiet.
(And yeah. That reward was worth the extra mile.)
“No – “ he gets out when he’s calmed down a little. “No, I did not see that coming.”
He snorts; breathes laughter as Prompto joins him on the floor.
“Prom. By the Astrals, Prompto. We’ll have to work on that. That was – yeah. We’ll work on that.”
“Oh, you’re just jealous.”
“That is… not the word I would have used.”
The laughter dies down eventually, and Prompto sighs, almost wistfully. ‘We’ll work on that,’ Noctis says. Like it’s a thing that might be happening. Like it’s something more than a pipe dream.
Prompto has, since the beginning, known that he would follow him anywhere. He wishes he could share in a moment like that. It’s just – he’s not important like Noctis is.
“You’re frowning,” Noctis says, as he nudges him with his foot. “It’s not a good look on you.”
“Excuse you. Everything’s a good look on me.” His mouth feels heavy, but he smiles anyway.
“That’s debatable.” Noctis nudges him again. “What’s up?”
There are lots of things that he could say, of course, because they would be easier than trying to understand, but right then, between the crackling of the fire and the starlight, it feels like there is no room for anything but the truth.
“It’s just,” he begins. Smiles. “I do wish I could be there.”
“You should be.” And then Noctis is the one frowning. “You will be.”
“Noctis. Noct. Buddy.” Prompto’s hand finds the edge of his glove, and he tugs it higher over his wrist. A nervous tic more than a conscious action. “I wouldn’t belong there.”
“Why not?”
And really, Prompto watns to hug Noct, and kiss his stupid face, because he can be so endearingly naïve. It’s ridiculous, that they call him the clueless one.
“Well, you’re –” Prompto makes a vague motion with his hand, gesturing from Noctis’ head to where he’s sitting on the ground. “- that. And I’m, well. Me.”
He’s met with an uncomprehending look. “So?”
“Oh, Noct.” Prompto laughs, quietly. “There are going to be important people there. I’m not like that. I have no place there.”
There’s a moment where Noctis just stares. Then realisation dawns on his face, and his eyes narrow. “Prompto,” he says. “Prom.”
And then he leans forward and grabs Prompto’s elbow, and Prompto, who had been toying with the hem of his glove until then, let’s go in surprise.
“You are important,” Noctis says, and his eyes burn with something intense as he stares into his eyes.
Prompto breathes a nervous laugh. “Noct-“
“No.” His grip tightens infinitesimally. “No, Prompto. Listen. You are important. I trust you with my life. You are my best friend and part of my Crownsguard, and when they crown me, I want you there.”
Noctis releases his elbow, but his hand slips down to Prompto’s hand. “I don’t care about anything else. Your place is with me.”
And it’s – it’s a lot. Noctis isn’t a big talker. Has never been, not about things like these. His is more a language of actions, one where what he doesn’t say holds as much weight as the words he does speak. For him to say all that – well.
The hand holding his wrist squeezes once more and then falls away. “Okay?”
Nodding, Prompto takes a shuddering breath and tells himself that now is not a good time for waterworks.
If Noctis notices, he doesn’t say anything. Prompto is grateful.
“Now that that’s settled,” Noctis leans back. “I was serious about the dancing. Because that was atrocious.”
“Shut up,” Prompto aims for a grin. He thinks he manages. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Yeah,” Noctis disagrees. “It was.”
“Well, sorry, your majesty. Not everyone was taught ballroom dancing since early childhood. For us plebes that’s usually a thing we solely do in, y’know. Clubs.”
“Ah.”
Prompto ignores his well-that-explains-it voice in favour of grabbing another log and placing it on the fire. Watches as the flames start licking it. It’s gotten colder, but this close to the fire, he doesn’t really feel it.
“Okay,” Noctis says, some time later, when the flames have begin dancing on the new piece of wood, breaking off pieces here and there in a complicated step sequence and turning the edges black. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?” Prompto asks, absent-mindedly, still mesmerised by the fire.
“Dancing. I’ll teach you.”
That gets his attention, and he looks up to see Noctis staring at him. He waits a beat, then two, for the punchline that’s sure to follow.
There is none. He waits a moment longer, just to be sure, and when the only thing he receives is an oddly determined look, Prompto sits up straight.
It’s a dangerous look, that. It’s the same he wears when he’s taking down a boss in King’s Knight, and the same he wore the day they snuck the Regalia out for a test drive only to crash it not even ten miles out of the city.
“Huh?!” The sound is caught somewhere between shrill and perplexed, tone rising an octave towards the end that’s surely undignified. Prompto claps a hand over his own mouth, thinking of Ignis and Gladio, and his next word is more of a harsh whisper. “What!”
Noctis doesn’t acknowledge his tone, but he does give a little shrug. “You said it yourself – no one taught you. Let me teach you. Or we can wait until tomorrow, if you’d rather have Ignis do it, but then you’ll also have to live with Gladio’s commentary.”
Prompto makes a face. “Yeah, I’d rather not.”
“I figured.”
It occurs to him belatedly, that he’s not even being given a choice here – either do it now, or do it tomorrow with Ignis. Either way, you’ll learn.
He could still say no, of course – Noctis wouldn’t ever make him do something he flat out refuses to do, except maybe make him eat his vegetables when Ignis isn’t looking – not that Prompto is honestly complaining about that one, either. But that’s not what this is about.
This is about Prompto fearing that he doesn’t fit in, and Noctis lending a hand.
“Ah, what the hell. “ He shrugs, helplessly. “Why not.”
There’s a grin, Prompto sees that; a flash, bright and blue, and then Noctis is right there, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. And – okay no, warping just isn’t fair when he can’t do it, too.
“Not cool, bro,” Prompto complains. “Weren’t you complaining about being tired all day today?”
His only response is a laugh, and then Noctis tugs him along, a few feet away from the fire and the tent.
“We’re gonna start with the basics,” he says. “Get the steps down. You’ll follow at first, but I’ll teach you to lead, later, when you’ve gotten used to it.”
“Okay?”
Noctis holds out his free hand, and Prompto places his other one in it, hesitatingly. “Am I not, like, gonna hold onto your shoulder or something?”
“Sure,” Noctis says. “Later. But let me teach you the steps first.” He tugs him a little closer, so their arms aren’t completely extended but bent a little bit.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Let’s start with a slow waltz. It’s one of the easiest dances. It’s in three-four time, so you have three steps, a pause, and then three more steps, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Because you’re currently following, you’ll start by stepping back with your left foot, and I’ll step forward with my right.”
He does. Prompto’s eyes follow the movement as Noctis’ foot inches closer to his, and he answers by stepping back. Then Noctis steps forward with his other foot, slightly angled to the side, and Prompto mirrors the movement, Finally, he gives Prompto a small nudge to the side as he moves his right foot next to his left, indicating for Prompto to do the same with his left.
“Good!” he approves. “See, it’s not hard at all. Now we’re going to do the same again, except I’ll be the one stepping back with my left foot, and you’ll step forward with your right.”
He pulls Prompto with him as he moves back that step, and this time, Prompto finds it easier to move in time with him, knowing which step is going to be the next.
When they’re both standing with their feet together again, Noctis says tells him, “It was easier for me, when I learned, to imagine two triangles. That’s how you move: two sets of three steps. He begins moving again, lightly pulling and nudging Prompto along. They’re moving slowly, the steps separate and not flowing together yet – Prompto occasionally confuses which foot he is supposed to be moving, but Noctis never makes fun of him for it. He just pauses and lets him follow in his own time.
“See? You’re doing well. It probably took me longer to remember the steps.”
“Noct,” Prompto deadpans, “you were, what, six? Five?” But even as he says it, he can’t quite stop the smile blooming on his face.
They repeat the set of movements a few more times. Noctis, as it turns out, is a really good teacher – Prompto doesn’t know if that surprises him or not. He’s always had a bit of a short temper when it comes to video games, or his royal duties, but then, on the other hand – he’s Noctis.
Noctis, who feeds stray kittens and gets excited over fishing and hugs his pillow when he sleeps.
Prompto knows that underneath it all, Noctis is nothing but soft, and kind.
Eventually, Noctis reaches up and places Prompto’s hand on his upper arm. He moves his own to Prompto’s back and pulls him closer, until they’re standing almost chest-to-chest.
This close, Prompto can feel Noctis’ breath on his skin.
But then they’re moving again, and Prompto stumbles a little, distracted. Noctis hold on him tightens. He says nothing.
Even here, away from the fire, Prompto finds the cold doesn’t bother him. It’s warm in Noctis’ arms – Noctis, who hates the heat and never seems to get cold. It’s safe. Noctis smells of the sea, and that scented hair gel he insisted on bringing along – that Prompto sometimes steals from because it smells so much better than his own – and of something so achingly familiar that it makes Prompto almost a little homesick. It reminds him of lazy afternoons in his apartment, and hours spent at the arcade.
“See,” Noctis interrupts his thoughts. “We’re even turning with no problem.”
He’s right – at some point, Noctis has started angling his steps so that they’re slowly turning in circles. Prompto never even noticed. The triumph over actually slow dancing with no mistakes a short lived one, however, because he recalls the step sequence in his mind, thinks, wait, was it the left or the right foot next?
And accidentally steps on Noctis foot.
And freezes.
“Shit, Noct,” he exclaims. “I’m sorry!”
He tries taking a step back, but Noctis holds onto him, grip on his hand tightening ever so slightly.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing well.” He smiles. Starts moving again, pulling Prompto with him. “You know, when I was taught how to dance, they told me that more often than not, the person who’s foot is on top is actually in the right.”
It’s a sweet attempt at a distraction – Prompto sees it for what it is. But he’s focused on the steps, and not squashing Noctis’ feet under his own. His head is turned down, watching their feet move in concentration.
“Hey,” Still directing Prompto’s movements with the hand on his back, he lets go of his hand in favour of lifting his chin up to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he says. “Stop thinking so much. Just look at me.”
That, at least, does the trick. Prompto is looking at Noctis, finds him looking back. He can see his eyelashes flutter together as he blinks – they’re long, really; some people might get jealous – and it strikes him, once again, just how incredibly beautiful his best friend is.
Incandescent. Ethereal. The right words have not been invented yet.
As it turns out, it’s an easy rhythm to fall into, once you can stop thinking about what your feet are doing. Because Noctis is looking at Prompto, and Prompto is looking at Noctis, tracing the outlines of his face in his mind, committing to memory the way his skin is almost glowing in the fire light, and how his dark eyes seem endless, and that soft smile he’s smiling, and oh.
Oh.
He was so worried about playing on the edge that never even noticed he’s already falling – has been falling for some time.
It’s not an earth-shattering revelation, realising that he’s in love with Noctis. Not like he might have imagined, had it been something he considered, even once. Instead, it’s a quiet moment of yeah, this makes sense – like he’s been working on solving a puzzle and the last piece has finally fallen into place.
It feels a bit like opening a door, and a lot like coming home.
There’s nothing to be done about it – Noctis is still engaged to be married; they’re still fighting for their lives every day they’re out in the wild. There’s nothing to be done.
He can’t exactly stop himself from wanting this moment to last, though. Can’t help noticing that it would only take leaning forward to touch his lips to Noctis’.
(And with the way Noctis is looking back, he can’t do anything about the fact, that, just for a moment, he thinks Noctis might want him to.)
He doesn’t. Instead, he enjoys Noctis’ warmth. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. There is no room for worries here – this moment is theirs. He settles for leaning his head on Noctis’ shoulder and closes his eyes – which is certainly not customary for ballroom dancing, but society can stuff it. He deserves this, at least.
It ends too soon. The fire is burning low, and Noctis says, “it’s probably time to sleep, huh?”
Prompto hates that he’s right.
Noctis lets go, but his hand lingers on his wrist for a moment; covers the markings hidden underneath leather and cloth and a lifetime of lies. It’s a rather unpleasant reality check.
I could tell him, he thinks, suddenly, and for a moment, he’s absolutely certain that Noctis wouldn’t turn him away. The hand feels warm where it touches his skin, anchoring, and the weight on his chest feels light enough to breathe properly.
He almost says something. The words are there, a jumbled mess on the tip of his tongue, and if he could just find the way to begin, surely he’d find a way to make sense of them.
He opens his mouth, almost says something, almost–
But then Noctis squeezes and lets go, and Prompto’s courage leaves him.
“Okay, yeah,” he says with a grin that feels too heavy. Maybe tomorrow, he thinks. Probably not. “I should maybe get some sleep, shouldn’t I?”
But someday. He vows this to Noctis in silence; vows it on his life and soul and everything he’s ever held dear. Someday he’ll tell him. Someday he’ll prove that he trusts Noctis with his deepest secret; trusts him not to shatter his heart after finding out.
“So,” Noctis asks, “When all this is over?” It takes Prompto a second to realise he’s referring to the coronation.
“Yeah,” Prompto promises, and means more than just that. “When all this is over.”
“Get some sleep, nerd. And don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ll keep giving you dance lessons, until I think you can hold your own in a ballroom.”
It’s meant to sound like a threat. Prompto takes it as a promise.
“That’s brutal, dude,” he says, and tells his heart to calm down. “Don’t forget that I can make Gladio wake you up tomorrow.”
Noctis snorts.
Prompto grabs his bag as he walks over to the tent. Opening the flap, he looks back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Noct. And thank you.”
“Anytime.”
There’s more that he could say, probably, but those are secrets for another day. He nods, and enters the tent, climbing over Gladio’s form. Leaving room for Noctis at the far left side, because Noctis doesn’t like sleeping sandwiched between two people, Prompto pulls the blanket over himself.
He falls asleep to the memory of warmth on his skin, dreaming of laughter and light.