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Prompto’s cold.
That’s what he tells himself as he walks towards Ignis’ room, and it’s what he’ll say to anyone who asks him about this later. Not that people will be asking about it, but he’s prepared, just in case. He certainly won’t be telling Noct or Gladio about this -- they already tease him plenty for his obvious-from-the-Astral-plane crush on the guy, and there’s only so much of that Prompto’s fragile soul can take.
No, this is going to be locked away, preferably forever, where he can either cherish it or watch it burn in the fiery pits of his heart.
Prompto doesn’t know what Ignis will have to say about all this. He hasn’t let himself think about it, because if he did, then he’d still be in his room with the door locked.
Leaning on Ignis’ shoulder -- cut from marble, muscular enough that he can feel the definition whenever his cheeks get close -- while they’re watching Netflix on the couch is far different from crawling into each other’s beds at night. Prompto knows this, and he’s trying diligently not to get his hopes up.
Admittedly, it’s not very effective.
Prompto rolls his eyes at himself. Even half-asleep and freezing his ass off, he’s standing outside the guy’s door waxing poetic.
Unbelievable.
“Stop being an idiot, Argentum,” he berates himself, hopefully quiet enough that Ignis doesn’t hear him. “Either he says yes, or he doesn’t.” Prompto finishes, almost wishing he had a mirror. These talks always go better when he can angrily stare at himself.
He pauses in place for a few extra moments, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to generate the nerve to actually push the damn thing open. He’s already told himself he’s only going to say something if Ignis’ is awake. Prompto’s not that cold.
Okay. Maybe he is, but he also happens to have an extreme aversion to inconveniencing Ignis in any way. He's not going to wake him up for this. The advisor has enough on his plate without Prompto's pathetic meddling.
He finally pushes the door open and is baffled to see Ignis still awake in bed. He’s propped up against some pillows, and he has a tiny mountain of documents spread out around him. He’s speechless, for all of four seconds.
“Have you even been to sleep yet?” Prompto asks, incredulously.
Ignis’ head snaps up almost immediately, eyes widening only slightly at Prompto standing in his doorway. His roommate’s gaze darts from his torso to the top of his head and back again, and it’s then -- horrifying and in slow motion -- that he remembers he has two stray blankets wrapped around him like a cloak.
Prompto thinks he might be wearing mittens. He can’t exactly feel his hands, is the thing.
“Uh,” Prompto says, at a loss for words.
Ignis’ mouth twitches wide, smoothing into a smirk that’s fond, yet the corners of his eyes are wrinkled like he’s worried. Prompto’s too tired to know what to make of that.
“Are you feeling ill?” asks Ignis. The words are barely out of his mouth and he’s already setting the report in his lap aside like he’s going to march to their kitchen and make Prompto some tea. He doesn't examine that thought too closely, he'll combust if he does, Prompto's sure.
He wraps his blankets around him tighter, grinning lopsidedly. “I asked you first, Iggy.”
There’s an answering sigh. “It seems the Council is feeling particularly vindictive today,” he offers dryly.
Prompto snorts and pads over to stand by Ignis’ dresser. “The reports and the Council can wait! You need to sleep.”
“What I need is to finish these reports,” Ignis corrects him, but there’s no bite to his tone. He sounds tired, which coincidentally makes the urge to shove Ignis under his comforter that much louder.
Prompto rolls his eyes, but he knows Ignis, and Ignis is far more stubborn than he tends to get credit for. He scratches behind his neck, because honestly he has no idea how to ask Ignis now that Prompto’s worried all over him. Truthfully, he tries to keep his worrying about Ignis in front of the man to a minimum, but obviously, he doesn’t always succeed.
Ignis places the report he’s holding in his lap. “Now, answer my question, Prompto: is there something bothering you?”
He jumps, and hastily trips his way to the door. Yep, totally not going to happen. Prompto can barely choke any words out, nonetheless the ones he means to really say.
“Ah, uh! No, it was nothing, Iggy. I’m sorry for barging in here like that,” He apologizes. It's better to cut his losses and suffer in his room alone; at this point, he can probably fall asleep if he tries hard enough.
But, Ignis is fixing him with a look that makes his stomach twist in knots.
“If you’re not uncomfortable with telling me, that’s more than alright. I’ll only ask you not to lie to me,” Ignis tells him diplomatically.
Well, shit.
Prompto stops fidgeting and turns to face him. He’s sure Ignis looks as beautiful as he always does -- there’s not a been a single moment he’s known him where he’s looked anything other than carefully controlled and unabashedly attractive -- but he’s going fuzzy at the edges, now. He left his contacts and glasses back in the room, and now he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing.
He would never be able to get the words out if he hadn’t.
“I can do that. Sorry, Iggy,” squeaks Prompto. “The heater in my room broke again. I’m using all the spare blankets but… I, uh, I still can’t fall asleep.”
Prompto wonders if he sounds as embarrassed as he feels. He hopes not. He’d love to wake up tomorrow morning with at least a scrap of dignity intact.
Ignis is still for no longer than a second, gliding right back into action as if he never stopped in the first place. He reaches forward to gather some of the reports on the bed and places them on the nightstand. Prompto’s heart falters in his chest.
Is he -- is he clearing space for him?
Prompto’s mind goes completely, utterly blank.
Ignis looks up, takes in Prompto’s drooling, gaping mouth, and falters.
“Pardon me. Did you only want me to repair the heater?”
Prompto starts waving his hands frantically.
“No! Wait -- yeah. I mean, kind of? I want you to teach me how to fix it so I can stop bothering you to do it for me? But I, uh I-I was actually wondering if I could maybe sleep in here. You know, tonight.”
At last, his mouth slams shut.
Ignis resumes cleaning off the pile of reports again. Prompto watches him, chest oddly tight, and tries hopelessly not to look like he’s in love with his roommate. Which he is. Prompto’s never been a good actor, but luckily Ignis isn't looking at him anymore.
“You’re more than welcome to sleep in here tonight, Prompto,” Ignis tells him. “Will the light bother you?”
All the mushy feelings Prompto's been feeling for the last five minutes are instantly joined by exasperation. It sends his head spinning.
“Iggy.”
Ignis smooths out the rippled fabric leftover from the reports and gives him a slightly pointed look.
“Fear not, dear Prompto. I only plan to finish the one I’ve already started. The rest can wait until morning.”
Prompto squints at him.
“If you're lying I’ll pinch you,” he threatens, though the ferociousness of it is sabotaged by a yawn.
“Terrifying,” Ignis monotones. “Now, would you please get in bed before you keel over?”
The only way Prompto can hide the way he shivers at Ignis’ words is by vaulting himself onto the bed. It’s an Astral-tier miracle they don’t crash into each other.
There’s an awkward beat of silence.
“Heyaz,” Prompto greets, lamely.
“Be more careful,” Ignis warns him. “I'd rather you not hurt yourself.”
Prompto waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. So, what’s this report on, anyway?”
“Public transportation.”
Prompto whistles.
“That is… way less exciting than I thought it’d be, not gonna lie, buddy.”
Ignis laughs, low and charming, and it’s stupid, really, how just because Prompto’s in his bed it’s all the more devastating to hear.
“It isn’t entirely miserable. I imagine I’ll have far more dreadful reports waiting for me in the morning.”
Prompto crosses his legs and leans over to get a good look at Ignis’ report. This is probably breaking protocol and at least three Lucian laws, but Ignis doesn’t stop him. He simply turns the paper at a better angle for Prompto to squint at.
He’s a Crownsguard, and he’s on the Prince’s personal retinue. He took an oath for Noct, and he intends to keep it.
Ignis knows that.
“I wonder if my reports are this dull,” he comments, absently.
“On the contrary, I have it on good authority that they’re quite the opposite.”
Prompto grins, ducking his head so he can attempt to hide the redness gathering on the tops of his cheeks. “Well, in that case… I’m totally cool with you reading a few of my reports whenever you wanna add some rhythm to the good ol' bureaucratic circle-jerk.” He ends the word on a cough.
Bureaucratic circle-jerk?
Prompto needs to stop talking like this. He won’t be able to get away with it for much longer. He’s sworn to protect the crown, now, everything he says, everything he does is under constant scrutiny.
Luckily, Ignis doesn’t look offended. Gods, no, his expression is reluctantly amused. He wants to laugh but knows he shouldn’t, which is another crisis averted. Prompto silently sends up a prayer in thanks.
Ignis’ laugh will likely lead him to do something irreparably stupid to their friendship. He’s too damn close to their lease renewal to risk it by crawling into Ignis’ lap like he truly craves.
Prompto has a steel grip on his self-control.
Sometimes.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Ignis says, unable to keep the mirth completely at bay. “At this point I’m unlikely to forget.”
“That’s me, always making a lasting impression,” jokes Prompto.
There’s another pause, and this time it’s longer.
“Indeed.”
Prompto blinks.
Ignis sounds quietly earnest, as if he hadn’t meant to say that loud enough for Prompto to hear.
It sends the flush roaring over his cheeks anew, igniting across his skin. Part of him wishes Ignis would stop being so sweet with him; it only sinks the hook deeper. Prompto coughs, unsure of what to say, if he should say anything. Probably not. This is one of those moments he definitely shouldn’t ruin.
He collapses back against the pillows instead, hoping the silence will spur himself into getting a decent amount of sleep. It’s silent for a long while, and Prompto’s stupidly grateful for it; bless Ignis and his terrifying work ethic.
Prompto tries to relax, as much as he can allow himself to, of course. His muscles are still a bit tense, though that has as much to do with the company as it does trying to fall asleep in an unfamiliar place. Sure, he’s been in here before, but he’s never tried to sleep in Ignis’ bed, either.
Tonight is full of firsts, apparently.
He loosens his death grip on his homemade hooded cape to (hopefully) ease his body into relaxing properly, and scrubs his free hands over his face. Prompto should probably take his mittens off, too, now that he’s thinking about it.
Prompto peels them off, setting them on Ignis’ nightstand -- if he was in his own room, they would’ve been blindly thrown in whatever direction his arm happened to move first. He may not respect his own space, but he surely respects Ignis’.
“Withdrawing from your cocoon so soon?” Ignis asks.
Prompto catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eyes, and even with his atrocious vision he’s close enough to see every handsome curve and cut of Ignis’ face. It knocks him breathless, if he’s being honest, which is entirely unfair.
He’s lying down. His lungs should be at optimal performance.
“Metamorphosis is an ugly process,” Prompto begins, sagely. He has no idea what his mouth is even doing at this point. “One I’m not sure I’m ready for, dude.”
Ignis shakes his head on a smile. “Metamorphosis? Of what sort?”
Prompto grins.
“Absolutely no idea. That’s why I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“Perhaps you should get some sleep in the meantime,” Ignis suggests, tone a gentle rasp.
He raises an eyebrow. “Tryin’ to get rid of me, Scientia?”
“Merely suggesting you get some rest,” His roommate assures him.
Prompto hums good-naturedly and pulls his blankets over him more securely. His feet peek out from the bottom, but he’s luckily he’s wearing socks. He pats Ignis’ leg lightly with a covered hand.
“Thank you,” he mumbles. “For letting me stay in here.”
“No thanks are necessary, I assure you. What kind of roommate would I be if I were to let you become a Promcicle?”
Prompto groans, burying his face in his hands so he doesn’t throw a pillow at Ignis’ face.
“Iggy! That one was so bad.” Prompto tells him.
He hopes Ignis never stops. Prompto would listen to a thousand more bad puns if Ignis were to say them.
“The smile on your face makes that rather hard to believe,” teases Ignis.
“Conditioned response,” he quips back, heavy eyes closing.
As he falls asleep, all he can hear is the shuffling of papers and the melody of Ignis’ laughter, softly lulling him under.
---
Prompto wakes up warm.
This seems especially significant this morning, though he can’t quite bring himself to care why at this exact moment. He’s warm, and he’s comfortable, and he would very much like to go back to sleep. Through his haze Prompto registers a mattress much softer than his own (this doesn’t seem all too important, either) and a heavy line that sears across his waist.
Prompto doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what any of this means. The functioning part of his brain is so content even his anxiety doesn’t have the chance to rear it’s destructive head, which is no small feat. Prompto’s anxiety has been ruling over him since he was a child.
But it’s oddly gone quiet. And he isn’t even awake enough to fully appreciate it.
He lays there for an indeterminate amount of time, floating in and out of consciousness. The pressure around his torso is a calming constant, even if he doesn’t yet understand what it means.
Prompto’s thoughts being to catch up to him once he remembers it’s not supposed to be there, and he only barely contains a screech when everything starts to sink in. He’s not in his bed. He doesn’t know whose bed he’s in but the thread count caressing his face is one he’d never be able to afford.
He cautiously opens an eye. The details of Ignis’ room come into syrupy, blurry focus and he blows out a sigh of relief as the details start flooding back. The heater in his room broke again, but that doesn’t explain why Ignis is so close to him.
Their legs are tangled together. Prompto doesn’t want to know how he managed to slide his feet under Ignis’ sheets; he’s already mortified enough to exile himself to his room for the next three weeks without that haunting detail.
He barely manages to keep his breathing steady as he tries not to think about how this is what he’s been quietly yearning for since they moved in together. Waking up entangled with Ignis was simultaneously the worst and best thing ever. This is everything he’s ever wanted perfectly wrapped with a bow, but that’s what also makes it sting.
This isn’t real. This is a fluke; this is only happening because Prompto couldn’t fall asleep in his own bed. No matter how many times he tells himself this, he can’t calm the churning in his stomach, or the way his heart tries to beats a love letter in his chest.
The only small solace is somehow, by some small act of the Astrals, Ignis isn’t awake yet. Perhaps he can make a small getaway. Run into the lonesome comfort of his freezing room and tend to his wounded heart in peace.
That is, at least, until Ignis’ arm twitches around his waist and the vaguely Ignis-shaped furnace at his back stiffens.
Goddammit.
“Morning,” Ignis greets.
He’s so close his breath tickles the bit of Prompto’s neck that isn’t covered by blankets.
Well. There’s no way he’s escaping this anymore. He might as well jump right in.
“Good morning,” Prompto says, and miraculously gathers the strength to do an about-face towards his roommate. “You know, the one thing I didn’t take you for is a cuddler.”
Is that? Is Ignis blushing?
“That happens to be news to me, as well,” Ignis says, not quite fumbling over his words, but close. “I… apologize.”
Prompto bites his lip, avoiding his gaze. He knows Ignis didn’t mean it, which is fine. It still hurts, though, carving into his ribs and burrowing deep. “You don’t need to apologize, Iggy.”
“Obviously, I do. It seems I’ve upset you,” drawls Ignis. The warmth from his arm is gone not a moment later, and Prompto finds that he misses it. If only he could draw it over him again.
Prompto shakes his head. He can’t say it only hurts because he knows this isn’t going to happen again, so he reaches forward and loosely wraps his fingers around Ignis’ wrist.
“I’m not upset,” Prompto tells him, almost begs him to understand. Part of him is elated, over the moon, doing everything it can to savor this moment and commit it to every spare brain cell he has. Even if this hurts, he doesn’t want to forget it. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with… waking up like this.”
“There is nothing shameful about human contact, Prompto,” says Ignis, sounding sincere, with a little smile taking root at the corner of his mouth.
“Even when you wake up wrapped around your roommate?” asks Prompto, voice coming out weaker than he intended it to. At least his voice doesn’t crack.
Ignis’ smile blooms into a full blown grin. “Even then.”
Prompto hides his smile into Ignis’ pillow (a little gross, but his heart is fluttering too hard to focus on that). “I can’t argue with that, dude.”
“Good to hear. Now, let us get up, and I’ll go make us breakfast. We both have a somewhat busy day at the Citadel today.”
Prompto groans. “Don’t remind me, Iggy. I can’t even feel my legs right now.”
Ignis untangles himself from the sheets, and Prompto's feet and raises an eyebrow. “I can carry you to the kitchen, if you’d prefer.”
Nothing spurs Prompto into motion faster, and he (literally) trips out of bed and falls flat on his face. Wonderful. Absolutely fantastic, he’ll have a bruise on his face to match the one on his pride.
"I think they're working again," Prompto says, face full of carpet.
The bereft hollowness from before fills with so much light, so suddenly that he doesn't bother lifting his head until there's a gentle press of fingertips to the back of Prompto's neck.
"Perhaps I don't need to fix breakfast, it seems as if you're getting your fill already," Ignis comments, absently.
Prompto gasps, pushing himself up from the carpet to narrow his eyes at him.
"No one gets in between me and your pancakes, Iggy. No one. Not even Noct."
Ignis -- dramatically, Prompto notes elatedly -- shrugs his shoulders, but the corners of his eyes are crinkling like they do when he's happy.
"Then I suggest you get off the floor."
Prompto salutes him, sloppily getting onto his feet. His legs feel like jelly, partly from spending the night wrapped around Ignis, partly from The Immortal's excruciating training regimen.
"Fine, fine. Lead the way, buddy," says Prompto.
Ignis does exactly that.