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Prompto almost never gets sick. That’s the thing. Noctis will bail on school at the slightest hint of a sniffle (any excuse to kick it at home playing video games) but he also actually gets sick like, all the time. Prompto will come by and tease him about being a miserable lump of blankets until Ignis kicks him out. At this point it’s just a given thing.
So when Prompto gets sick, well, at first he just does what he always does: ignore it. He grinds vitamin C tablets between his back molars in class and wipes his nose on the inner elbow of his uniform. And if he puts his head down more in class to try to drown out the way even quiet noise makes it pound, no one notices. It’s Friday anyways, he figures. He has all weekend to recover.
After class he runs into Noctis in the hall.
“Wanna hit up the arcade?” Hmm. Tempting. But not only is he out of money for the week (shouldn’t have splurged on the good film), he also feels like a walking piece of trash.
“Nah. Probably gonna stay home and study,” he says. “Plus, I think I’m getting sick.”
“Oooh, see how you like it,” Noctis says, grinning. Yeah, Prompto probably deserves that.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says.
“See you Monday then,” Noctis says, a little wistfully, and a fragment of guilt nestles itself in the still-soft parts of Prompto. Noctis doesn’t really have any other friends. Prompto doesn’t either, of course, but he’s used to being alone. He’s too tired to walk, so he takes the train home, and he almost falls asleep three times. So when he gets home he thinks: fine, I’ll just sleep it off and be better by Monday.
(#)
On Monday he wakes up with an empty blister pack of bold medicine beside his bed, half his blankets on the floor, and drags himself out of bed to eat a nourishing breakfast of instant ramen, which he manages to keep inside his body for all of ten minutes. Slumped beside the toilet he flips his phone open and finds five texts from Noctis. Well, four texts. The last one is a gif of a boat sinking.
PRINCE OF SULK: u going to school?
PRINCE OF SULK: cuz im not
PRINCE OF SULK: you got me sick
PRINCE OF SULK: im dying
PRINCE OF SULK: *boat gif*
Prompto squints at his phone for a minute trying to think of something to say.
PROMPTO: Not going either
PROMPTO: But ur always sick, lol
In the time while he’s waiting for the next text to come in, he dry heaves a few times, spits a string of thick saliva into the toilet bowl. The ping of his phone is the most comforting thing he’s heard in what feels like weeks.
PRINCE OF SULK: ignis is gonna b pissed because if ur sick u cant get me my homework
PROMPTO: Awww, tell Iggy im sorry
PRINCE OF SULK: lol
PRINCE OF SULK: no
PROMPTO: :(
After a while basking in the comfort of the cold bathroom tiles, they get as hot and sticky as Prompto already is, and he drags himself back to bed.
(#)
“I’ve prepared some nourishing soup,” Ignis says, stepping into the bedroom with the tray balanced in one hand and the thermometer extended in the other.
“I’m not that sick,” Noctis says, rolling his eyes.
“Oh? You were certainly that sick this morning.”
“Yeah well. I’m feeling mostly better,” Noctus says, eyeing the controller where he left it on his desk. Ignis slides it away pointedly to set the tray down.
“Then I’m sure you’ll want to get back to studying, won’t you?”
“Iggggy,” Noctis groans. Rather than offering any kind of sympathy, Ignis hands him the thermometer. He shoves it under his tongue after an exaggerated sigh, and hands it back when it beeps without bothering to read the numbers himself.
“Fever’s gone. You should be studying,” Ignis remarks.
“Should I be studying, or should I be eating nourishing soup?”
“I can’t imagine why the two would be mutually exclusive activities,” Ignis says, turning to leave. He pauses in the doorway though. “How about your homework?”
“Prom’s still sick, so he can’t bring it.”
“If only your highness had more friends at his disposal,” Ignis says. There is a hint of a smile behind that. Noctis throws a pillow at him.
“How can you brutalize a man like that when he’s sick?” he calls.
“Barely sick,” Ignis calls back. He’s already down the hall. Noctis hauls himself out of bed to eat soup, or at least, to drink the broth. He abandons the vegetables in a sodden pile at the bottom of the bowl.
A few hours later Gladio comes by, partly to complain about Noctis skipping training and partly to eat Ignis’s cooking. They sit on the couch watching game shows.
“Where’s loud and blond?” Gladio remarks, flipping channels to skip an ad break.
“He’s sick too,” Noctis says. He swipes his screen to refresh the chat again. It’s been an hour or so since Prompto has replied.
NOCTIS: ignis is giving me so much shit about skipping school
NOCTIS: he thinks im gonna fail algebra
NOCTIS: like why do i even need 2 know alegrbra
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: U can’t even spell algebra
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: Hey
NOCTIS: what
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: Am I still Guy Who Eats Bugs in your phone?
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: It was just one time
NOCTIS: no, i changed it
NOCTIS: hey, do u remember if the test is thursday or friday?
NOCTIS: i told iggy friday so he’s get off my back but I’m pretty sure that’s wrong
He refreshes again, but still no reply. Probably Prompto fell asleep. It might be nice to be at home with your actual parents, Noctis thinks. Not that he has a problem with Iggy and Gladio. Or he wants to see his dad right then. But still.
NOCTIS: u fall asleep
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: Yeah, for a bit
NOCTIS: im bored out of my mind over here. gladio only likes old man shows
At this time, Gladio wrestles the phone from Noctis’ hands and tapps out a response of his own. When Noct gets it back it reads:
NOCTIS: This is Gladio.
NOCTIS: I do not like old man shows
NOCTIS: Tell Noctis he’s being a little baby
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: you
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: re a baby noct
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: ugh
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: i feel fucking terrible
Noctis frowns.
“Did he tell you you’re a baby?” Gladio asks.
“Yeah,” Noct says absently.
“What’s the matter?” Gladio asks. Noctis types out another text in lieu of responding, not bothering to keep Gladio from reading over his shoulder.
NOCTIS: did your parents take you to the doctor or something?
NOCTIS: hav u been sick this whole time since friday?
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: they;re not home
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: business trip
Gladio’s eyebrows had pulled together.
“His parents aren’t home? And he’s been sick all weekend?”
NOCTIS: when did they leave?
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: the eighth or ninth
NOCTIS: what////
NOCTIS: *????
NOCTIS: that was like 20 days ago
“It was literally twenty days ago,” Gladio cuts in. Noctis elbows him in the gut.
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: im used to it dude, its no big
NOCTIS: do you have food and stuff?
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: dude, im not a bdvt
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: ba b
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: *baby
NOCTIS: dude r u fucking dying?
UNREGISTERED HYPERCAM 2: my sccreen is sweaty
NOCTIS: dude
And then that was it. Radio silence through dinner. Noctis sends about twelve texts with mostly the same content: “hey, r u alive?” and gets not so much as a single letter in reply. He tries calling once or twice.
“I’m certain he hasn’t actually expired. Unlike you, Prompto actually has a modicum of common sense,” Ignis says over the sound of the sink running as he scrubs the frying pan.
“He’s there alone,” Gladio says. “His parents haven’t been home in twenty days. Or longer.”
“And he’s been sick all weekend,” Noctis adds. Ignis shuts off the water.
“Fine. If you’re that concerned--”
“I am.”
“If you’re that concerned. We’ll check on him.”
“Okay.” Noctis moves towards the front door, but Ignis puts a gloved hand on his chest.
“Ah. Not you. You’re sick. So sick you can’t go to school. So you’re resting. Gladio and I will go.”
“Hey, I said it sucks he’s alone, not that I was volunteering,” Gladio says. This earns him a glare so strong from Noctis that he just goes and puts his boots on without bothering to add anything else.
(#)
It’s already dark out when they pull up and there’s not a single light on at the Argentum household.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” Gladio asks.
“Yes.” Well, if Ignis says it’s the right address, it pretty much has to be. They knock and wait. It genuinely looks like no one lives here. There’s a bunch of flyers crammed in the mailbox and a damp newspaper on the steps.
“When did it rain last?” Gladio asks. “Yesterday, right?”
“Saturday morning,” Ignis says, leaning past him to knock again.
“Should we just go or what?” Gladio asks. Ignis’ face has a pinched expression, the one he wears when Noctis insults his cooking or leaves his socks on the floor.
“I suppose we’re going to have to,” Ignis begins to say, but then the door opens. Prompto is standing there in boxers and a loose t-shirt. He looks like shit (that’s putting it nicely).
“You’re alive,” Gladio says.
“What are you guys doing here? Wait, how do you even know where I live?”
“It’s our business to know,” Ignis says, sounding almost a little affronted. Prompto scrubs a hand over his face. He looks paler than usual, and that’s saying something, because he normally sits somewhere between eggshell and bone white.
“Oh, right,” Prompto says. A weak laugh saws out of him. Something in Gladio is triggered--a subroutine for taking care of Iris, or something, and he just reaches out to press the back of his hand to Prompto’s cheek. It’s feels like touching a metal railing that’s been in the sun. Like putting your seatbelt on in a hot car.
“You’re really sick,” Gladio says.
“I’m actually aware of this,” Prompto retorts.
“Well, given the circumstances, I think it would be best if--” Ignis begins, but Prompto cuts him off.
“Look thanks for coming and, sorry Iggy, about Noct’s homework, but I’m fine really. I’m just gonna sleep it off.”
“How’s that been working out so far?” Gladio says. Prompto’s hands are shaking, he’s noticing now.
“I mean, it’s not like--” whatever the end of that sentence is supposed to be, they don’t find out, because Prompto’s knees buckle under him and Gladio has to step forward and grab him to keep him from face planting on the front porch.
“Easy there,” Gladio says.
“Into the car, please.” Ignis is already down the steps, and Gladio can’t tell if the order was for him, Prompto, or both. Either way he gives Prompto’s shoulders a light shake.
“Hey, you with me? Think you can walk?”
“Yes,” Prompto mumbles. “Why is this happening?”
“Well for one, you’re probably brutally dehydrated,” Gladio says.
“Wait, this is kidnapping. You can’t kidnap me. And--wait, my phone is in there,” Prompto squirms, but Gladio gently but forcefully folds him into the back seat.
“I’ll grab his things,” Ignis says, darting back into the house. He comes back with keys and phone, and locks the door behind him. Prompto has stopped fighting. In fact, he’s stopped doing much of anything. He slumps against the door in the back seat and his eyes droop shut. Gladio feels something twist in his chest.
They ride back to Noct’s apartment in silence. Gladio fires off a quick text to let Noctis know they’re bringing Prompto back. Prompto doesn’t wake up the whole time, dozing with one knee drawn up to his chest and his head pressed against the window. But as they’re pulling into the parking garage, Gladio looks back again, and he can see Prom’s eyes are open. He’s looking out the window, and there’s tears tracking down his cheeks.
“Prom?” Gladio says softly, and then of course, Ignis twists around in his seat and blinks in surprise. Prompto raises a hand to scrub at his eyes. “Prompto,” Gladio says.
“I don’t get it,” Prompto says thickly. “Why’d you guys come?”
“What does that mean?” Ignis says.
“It’s not your job.” That really tears it. Gladio wishes he had something to hit.
“Let’s get inside before midnight, shall we?” Ignis says, a pillar of tact and calmness. Gladio all but carries Prompto up to the apartment. In fact, when they get out of the elevator Prompto is sagging so much against him that she just sweeps his legs out from under him and hefts him in his arms. They’ll get there faster, he figures. To his secret horror, Prompto doesn’t even protest, just curls a hand in the front of Gladio’s shirt, and oh, shit, he hates feeling protective of anything or anyone. Iris is enough for him, and Noct, but that’s work, even if the boundaries are getting blurrier every year.
He’s so light. And he’s burning hot, like a tiny candle.
“Hey--whoa,” Noctis says, when they get inside and lay Prompto down on the couch. “He looks terrible.”
“That’s what I said,” Gladio remarks. Noctis brushes Prompto’s hair away from his forehead.
“I should have gone to see him earlier.”
“He’s your classmate, not your responsibility,” Ignis says. A little hypocritical for someone who is sorting through medicine bottles on the counter while heating soup on the stove. Gladio cracks a smile. He sits down on the floor in front of the couch and flips the TV on, drives the volume down to almost zero. Without a moment’s hesitation, Noctis lift’s Prompto’s feet and sits down on the couch, dropping them back on top of his lap.
“He needs to drink something,” Ignis calls from the kitchen.
“I’m trapped here, you have to bring it,” Noctis says. Gladio tugs a pillow of the nearby armchair and throws it at him. Prompto stirs, cracks his eyes open. Ugh, even that looks painful.
“Gladio,” Prompto says.
“What’s up?”
“He has to drink something,” Ignis calls again, and Noctis huffs and extracts himself from under Prom’s feet to get the glass of electrolyte drink Ignis has slid across the counter.
“I’m sorry about before,” Prompto is saying. “I didn’t mean to say that weird shit in the car.”
“It wasn’t weird, it just made me feel like I’m not a great friend,” Gladio says.
“What?” Prompto says, and he looks genuinely confused, and god, Gladio feels like such a fuck. Then Noctis, returning with the glass of weirdly pinkish water in hand, leans over the back of the couch and presses a kiss on the side of Prompto’s head. It makes an audible smack. Gladio gapes. That’s about the most affectionate thing he’s ever seen Noct do (outside of limp hugs).
“Specs says drink this weird water,” Noctis says, holding it out. Prompto pushes himself into a sitting position. If he wipes his eyes surreptitiously, they pretend not to notice. Prompto sips the drink and then sticks his tongue out.
“Blehhh.”
“I know. Iggy makes me drink it anytime I throw up. It tastes like salty juice.”
“That’s exactly what it tastes like.”
“You can stop drinking it when you stop shaking so much,” Gladio says. Prompto takes another sip.
“What are we watching?”
“S’a gameshow where dogs have to choose the suitcase with the money, but their owners can only motion to them, no speaking commands,” Gladio explains.
“It’s garbage,” Ignis puts in. “Do you like soup?”
“Um. Yes?” Prompto says. “I mean, as much as the next guy.”
“Only if the next guy isn’t Noct,” Gladio says.
“Hey, turn it up,” Noctis says. Gladio turns it up. A few minutes later he sets Prompto’s empty glass on the floor by his feet.
“Hey,” he hears Noctis say, softly, but in his serious tone of voice. “Next time, tell me you need help.”
“Really?” Prompto says.
“Yeah. Next time tell me.”
“K.”
“Which dog are we meant to root for?” Ignis asks.
“Obviously that weird-faced one,” Prompto says, without any hesitation. Noctis cracks a smile.