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There’s a beat of silence, then:
“How can I trust you?”
Ignis makes a sound in the back of his throat that reminds Prompto of a dying cat, but Prom can’t fault him for it. Gladio coughs, takes a step back. Prom himself stands there, wide-eyed and frozen. Noct is in front of them, looking suspicious and confused, his feet planted in a ready stance like he’s going to either bolt or fight.
Prompto would rather not fight him. He holds up his hands placatingly. “Dude, listen—,” except he doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are drawn to the trail of blood on Noct’s temple, dripping from beneath his hair, and the weird flashing glow of his eyes.
Ignis steps forward, slightly in front of Prompto. He sees the fight response in their friend as well, Prompto might be capable against daemons and MTs, but against a Lucis Caelum might be too much. The “Noct, don’t you remember me?” is on the tip of his tongue, but he knows not to say that again. Instead he goes with:
“You don’t.” Gladio shoots him a sharp look. Noct’s stance wavers momentarily in surprise. “You don’t know that you can trust us, other than we haven’t attacked you this entire time, have we?”
Noct’s hand unclench from curled fists, his shoulders drop their tenseness. His feet stay firm on the ground, but he’s wholly more approachable now. No one moves.
He touches his cheek where blood is starting to dry then stares at his fingertips. The glow of his eyes flicker like a bad connection. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you’d tell us that,” Gladio says.
Noct looks at them. “What’s my name?”
Prompto swallows thickly. “Noctis,” he answers faintly. “We call you Noct.”
He hums, goes back to staring at his fingers though now his gaze is blank and distant. “What does it mean?” he asks almost arbitrarily.
Gladio’s the one who answers this time. “Night,” he says quietly. “Your name means night. Light of the Night Sky.”
“Pretty,” Noct replies. “Are you sure that’s mine?” Ignis nods silently. “Doesn’t seem right.” But he sounds uncertain. “What happened?” he asks again.
“We don’t know,” Ignis says. “You were alone when whatever it was happened. You’re the only one who would know.”
“Oh.” Noct sways on his feet. The flickering magenta of his eyes stops, but the otherworldly color doesn’t fade. “How can I trust you?” He tilts forward, “I don’t—,” and falls.
“Shit!” Galdio lunges forward, catching his prince just in time. Noct’s face ends up pressed against his chest, arms trapped by Gladio’s, legs splayed behind him.
“You’re warm,” Noct murmurs, words slurring. “Are you always warm like this?”
Gladio huffs a strangled laugh. “You’re warmer,” he informs him.
“Now I know you’re lying to me,” Noct replies. He pauses. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Yeah, kiddo, you probably don’t.”
Ignis kneels next to them, brushing Noct’s hair off his forehead. He stops when Noct flinches. “Can we take you to a haven?” he asks, doing his best to keep his voice level and calm, refusing to show how much his flinch bothered him.
“My head hurts,” Noct says in response. Gladio maneuvers him into a more comfortable position, on his back and shoulders cradled in his Shield’s arm. He groans, closing his eyes. They’re still magenta when he opens them. “What happened?”
This time Prompto makes the noise that sounds like a dying cat. “We don’t know, buddy,” he says. “But, c’mon. We can help a little better if we get you to a haven.”
Noct squints up at him. “Okay,” he says, innocent and child-like. “Okay.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Ignis promises him.
“Okay,” Noct repeats in a sigh, going boneless in Gladio’s arms. “I trust you.”
They walk to the haven in silence.