Work Text:
It was the faint smell of black color that caught Noctis’s attention.
Then there was a sweet humming accompanied by a smile he couldn’t see just yet. But he knew that this person had a curve upon their lips - a gentle one. Curiosity killed the cat: The prince followed the voice carefully, only his steps echoing within the rich walls of the Citadel.
Pure white marble created a stark contrast to his pitch black boots; white so gentle against a black so strong. Thoughts clouded his perfectly working mind.
Who was this person?
Why were they there?
What were they doing?
Why was he so keen on seeing, meeting them?
Just before he could reach his destination, Noctis spotted a blank space where a painting should hang. A painting drawn long ago with an old brush and shaky fingers, scared of drawing a mistake the artist couldn’t erase; much like drawing without an eraser or living life without any introductions on how to survive in a corrupting world that lay at the mercy of the Six.
Ocean blue eyes glimmered in confusion. Why couldn’t Noctis remember the painting that should hang there to remind everyone of the Kings of Lucis?
The male shook his head, exhaled softly and kept walking, walking, walking.
For some odd reason, his heart pounded within his ribcage like a bird screaming for freedom within its very own cage. Sweat gathered in the middle of calloused palms, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together in a tight line.
When Noctis wrapped his hand around the golden doorknob, he noticed how shaky his fingers were. The humming came from within the room.
“No need to freak out now.” He said to himself, took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
He expected an old man or woman to stand there, hoped it was someone who wouldn’t make his heart stop for one or two beats. Someone who wouldn’t catch his attention like strangers in the streets of Insomnia.
But there you were, surrounded by paint splatters, brush in hand and the golden-white decorations adorning the walls he grew up with. The sweet tune leaving your lips was a song unknown to him; perhaps it was something you made up? Whatever it was, Noctis found it rather pleasant.
It didn’t take long until he noticed you were fixing the painting of the Rogue Queen that he had accidently damaged so long ago.
Did it really take his father so much time to find someone to repair the damage done to the drawing?
Ah, so that was the missing painting.
“Ah! I’m sorry I haven’t noticed you sooner, Your Highness.” Voice soft as silk, you ripped Noctis out of his thoughts.
True to his assumption, your smile was gentle. To his surprise, it was somewhat broken, tired. He shifted his weight onto his right leg, hand rubbing the nape of your neck. “Uh..Nice painting you got there.” Awkward. The prince cursed himself silently. After all, it wasn’t you who originally drew it but someone who passed away a damn long time ago.
Eyes twinkled, chuckles leaving your chapped lips, teeth peeking at him so sweetly. “To think I’d be complimented by the prince, sheesh.”
Red tinted Noctis’s cheeks in a shade so soft it was barely visible; but Noctis swore his face was burning.
Averting his gaze, the raven-haired male spotted the paint decorating your wrists. All shades of pink, red and purple were already dry on your skin. Other colors still were fresh and shimmered in the sunlight falling through the large windows.
Delicate fingers continued their magic on the painting of the once proud Queen of Lucis, paid attention to her dark hair flowing down just past her shoulders. “What brings you here if I may ask?”
Standing next to you, the prince searched for an answer. He couldn’t say it was your voice drawing him into this exact room. That’d only embarrass him further. “Dad said someone wanted to fix the painting. Just curiosity, I guess.” The male gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for dodging burning embarrassment and achieving the arts of coolness; or so Prompto would say.
“I’m honored to have you as my guest, Your Highness.” Lips cracked into a small yet kind smirk. Maybe, you made out the little lie the young Prince saved himself with.
A gentle dab of grey was enough to give the Queen a stern, almost cold gaze.
A gentle dab of white was enough to give the Queen a sparkling, somewhat tender look.
A gentle stroke of orange was enough to illuminate the Queen’s soft jawline.
“How about you just call me Noct instead?” It was always Highness this, Highness that. Noctis couldn’t really stand the formality others had toward him. He was just another human being living in Insomnia like Prompto, Gladio or Ignis.
“Noct, huh?” you repeated, letting the nickname roll off your tongue like warm chocolate on a cold winter day. “If that’s what you prefer, Noct.”
And so, the prince watched in awe as you finished your magic on the Rogue Queen with patience, grace and a few curses when the brush didn’t do what you told it to do. It was true that the prince had no idea of painting -the best he could do was a stick figure- but he could tell that you were doing an amazing job.
A cold liquid met his cheek. Bringing his hand up to his face to investigate it, Noctis’s eyes widened momentarily. Black paint.
You shot him a cheeky grin. “Would you mind helping me clean the space up, Noct?”
Oh Six, his heart skipped a beat when you said his name.
It was thirteen years later when Noctis looked at the ripped painting in the destroyed Citadel that he knew you had been waiting for him from where the grass was greener. Calloused fingers brushed over the dusty surface, revealing a color as vibrant as your loyalty toward him was.
Noctis, now King, cracked a smile at the fond memory he had of you.
“Prompto, can I have one of your photos?” The man turned around to look at his glaives, friends, family. He saw the torn look of wanting the dawn and wanting him to live in their eyes, but there was no turning back now. “I only need one.”
The blond nodded. “Sure. Take your time,” Prompto handed his best friend the camera who skimmed through memories first, letting them fill his mind once more. Hammerhead, Galdin Quay, Lestallum, Caem, Altissia.
Only after a moment did the King of Lucis choose his photo to take with him.
“This one? Sure? There’s no backsies.”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
It was the first time sunlight touched the photograph.
The picture of Cor, Monika, Talcott, Cid, Cindy and the last King’s best friends, including you in Caem.
A picture he knew you wanted to paint once he was King.