Work Text:
Prompto knows it’s going to be a rough day as soon as he wakes up.
He’s roused from a restless sleep when Ignis starts shifting around to get up, but feels as though he hasn’t slept at all. He listens to Ignis leave the tent, Gladio following a few minutes later. Their soft, unintelligible conversation barely reaches past the thin canvas walls, and vanishes altogether under the sounds of pots and pans clanging as Ignis starts working on breakfast.
Noct’s still asleep behind Prompto, deep breaths loud in the confines of the tent. Prompto closes his eyes, trying to let the familiar sounds of his friends lull him back to sleep, but all it does it hit him with the overwhelming feeling that he doesn’t belong.
It’s a common thought that runs through his head. Most days, he’s able to ignore it, focus on keeping everyone’s spirits up, put it on the back-burner until he’s lying awake at night, staring up at the ceiling of the tent or a hotel room, thinking of nothing besides the fact that he shouldn’t really be here. Today though, it’s loud, right there in the forefront of his mind, and he can’t get past it no matter how hard he tries.
Prompto knows he’s good at hiding things, has been all his life. It’s almost natural, at this point, to hide when he’s not quite feeling himself, when a joking comment hits a little too close to home, when the wounds sustained in battle hurt more than he’s letting on.
Today, though, putting on his cheery, carefree character seems like too much effort. He’ll just blame it on lack of sleep, praying the others don’t notice, or worse, don’t say anything. As soon as he manages to drag himself out of the tent, however, Ignis asks, “Are you alright, Prompto? You’re looking rather haggard.”
It’s easy to give him a little smile and say, “I’m fine, Iggy. Just didn’t sleep too well, I guess,” with a casual shrug. It’s not a complete lie - he really is tired, just maybe in more than only a physical sense. Ignis doesn’t need to know about that, though, so Prompto keeps the smile plastered on his face until the older man accepts the explanation and turns back to cooking. Prompto immediately collapses into one of the chairs near the remnants of last nights fire.
Gladio comes back from his daily morning run just as Ignis is finishing breakfast. He nods at Prompto in greeting, choosing not to comment on the tired look he wears, and ducks into the tent to drag Noctis out of bed. Noct looks nothing short of grumpy, dropping heavily into the chair next to Prompto, and Gladio joins them a moment later, chugging a water bottle.
Prompto spaces out for a while, staring blankly off into the distance at nothing in particular. A plate suddenly appears in his vision, and he blinks rapidly, glancing up at Ignis. “Oh, um, no thanks,” he declines, trying to be polite. “I’m not really hungry.”
Ignis’ brows draw together, concern clear on his face - Prompto’s always hungry, and he’s usually ecstatic to eat anything Ignis cooks, shoveling it down like it’s the last meal he’ll be having for a while. Despite it being odd, Ignis decides to let it go, not pushing for details. He simply responds, “If you say so,” and hands the plate to Noct instead, resolves to make sure Prompto eats something later, and that’s the end of it.
Breakfast seems to wake Noct up a little more. Around a mouthful of eggs, he asks, “So, how far out are we, Specs?”
Ignis fixes him with a disapproving look for talking with his mouth full, but Noct only rolls his eyes and continues to shovel down his food. Ignis merely shakes his head and says, “We should be rather close now. Maybe an hour, give or take.”
Prompto’s been so caught up in his thoughts, he’d nearly forgotten they’re on their way to collect a bounty. Sabertusks, if he remembers the shitty drawing on the flyer correctly. Normally he doesn’t mind the occasional hunt, but today he’s loathing it. He figures if he can just do his part, avoid any mistakes, make sure he’s not in the way, he’ll be fine, and maybe it will somehow lessen the worthless feeling that’s settled heavily in the pit of his stomach.
The hot sun beating down on them, relentless, makes the walk seem ten times longer than it really is. Noct’s managed to keep his complaining to a minimum, leading the way with Ignis as his side, and Gladio ambles along behind them. Prompto brings up the rear, trailing behind slightly and kicking up dust as he trudges along. No one mentions his lack of enthusiasm - lack of anything, really. He’s been quiet all morning, and while he’s grateful that no one’s brining it up, his heart pangs with the idea that they're not saying anything because he’s not important enough. But he can't have it both ways, he knows, so Prompto keeps his mouth shut and follows them like he’s supposed to.
Ignis’ estimate of an hour is nearly spot on. Eventually they reach the designated area, and they climb up a hill to get a better vantage point. They spot the pack of sabertusks roaming around a little ways away.
“Any plans?” Gladio asks, turning to Ignis, but Noct is already gone, warping towards the pack, before he can answer. Ignis sighs heavily, and Gladio lets out a huff, and the three of them slide down the rocky hill to join Noct.
Prompto flits near the edge of the battle, doing his best to stay out of the way and pick off any stragglers. Things are going well, he thinks, except there seems to be more sabertusks than originally anticipated. He watches Gladio take down three with one swipe of his sword, and their numbers don’t seem like it will be much of a problem.
Normally, the only time Prompto is completely and utterly focused is in combat. He knows he can’t afford to slip up - it only takes one little mistake to put someone’s life on the line. He tries to focus, really gives it his all, but when he sees how well the other three work together, moving swiftly around each other with seemingly no effort after years of training together, all he can think is that they don’t need him here. They’re much more capable than he is. He probably just gets in the way - how can they focus on the fight at hand if they’ve always got one eye on him?
Letting his thoughts distract him turns out to be a disastrous mistake. A snarl to his left snaps him back to reality, and he barely has time to turn before a rogue sabertusk pounces at him. He gets a shot off as it tackles him, but it misses its mark and hits the dirt instead. Prompto lands on his back, air knocked out of his lungs, and his gun clatters to the ground in the process. Claws rake into his shoulder and collarbone as the sabertusk pins him. It goes for his throat immediately, but Prompto’s quick enough to throw up an arm for it to sink its teeth into instead.
A strangled shout escapes his lips as blood drips from the wound, but the creature doesn’t let go, only bites down on his arm harder. Prompto struggles to get some leverage, trying to kick the creature away from him. His free hand desperately searches the dirt around him, trying to locate his fallen gun.
The sounds of the fight rage on around him, but all he can hear is the growling above him and his own panicked, pained cries. He wants to yell for help, but whatever name he was going to call for dies in his throat. He doesn’t want to distract them, end up getting them in the same position he’s in. He can’t focus on anything other than grappling for his life with the creature on top of him.
He bucks against the sabertusk, trying to ignore the blood and saliva dripping onto him and the way his arm feels like it’s on fire. Finally, finally, his fingers close around the grip of his gun. With a pained grunt, he shoves the muzzle under the creature’s throat and squeezes the trigger.
It drops lifelessly onto him, and he wastes no time in prying its jaws from his arm, shoving its body away from him. His ears ring loudly, the loud crack of his gun still echoing in them. His injured arm dangles uselessly by his side and he’s shaking all over, but he moves to climb to his feet, wanting to get back into the fight before the others think he’s slacking off or can’t handle himself, or another sabertusk seizes the opportunity to finish him off while he’s weak and vulnerable.
By the time he manages to stand on wobbly legs, however, he can see Noct finishing off the last sabertusk, Ignis and Gladio beside him. Once it falls, they dismiss their weapons, and Prompto waits.
When they don't immediately come rushing over to him, he deems is safe to assume they either didn't see his struggle with the sabertusk, or don't care. Which is good - it gives him time to figure out how he can hide the injury from them.
It’s not that bad, he thinks, looking to his arm. And, well - it’s pretty bad, but he’s had worse, so it’s fine. The real concern is that it’s big, and there's a lot of blood - both his and the sabertusk’s - dripping down his arm, soaking into his shirt. He can't hide this, he realizes.
He watches as Gladio crouches to grab something off the sabertusk to prove they’d really completed the hunt, Ignis and Noct surveying the scene with crossed arms, and tries to think of something, anything, he can do, but it’s hard to think past the haze of pain clouding his mind. Gladio stands, and Noct takes a look around, spotting Prompto, and then they're walking over.
Prompto panics, and he doesn't know what else to do, so he angles his body away from them, trying to hide his arm and chest from view. He’s suddenly aware of the gun still held limply in his hand, so he dismisses it with a pop of blue sparks.
“Well, that was easy,” Noct says as soon as he’s close enough.
“Yeah,” Prompto replies, cringing at the sound of his own strained voice.
The others pick up on the tone too, because they all furrow their brows, and Gladio asks, “You good?”
Prompto clears his throat awkwardly, trying on a small grin. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine-”
But he must shift, or Noct must catch sight of his injuries somehow, because he’s surging forward to twist Prompto towards them and saying, “Shit, Prom.”
“It’s fine,” Prompto says immediately, taking a step back, hunching a little to try and hide the limb from view again.
Gladio scoffs. “Doesn't look fine to me,” he counters.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Prompto insists. “Really.” He wants this to be over with, wants them to drop it and leave him alone so he can clumsily wrap his wounds and act like nothing happened. “It’s not- it’s not all my blood.”
“Let me have a look, Prompto,” Ignis says, voice tight in a way that leaves no room for argument, and holds out his hand expectantly.
“I’m fine,” Prompto tries to protest one last time, but Ignis fixes him with a look that has him relenting. He straightens, the scratches on his chest protesting with the movement, and turns enough to let Ignis look at his arm.
It’s a bloody, mangled mess, and even Gladio winces at the sight of it. Ignis inspects it carefully, poking and prodding here and there, undeterred by the repulsiveness of it all, and Prompto tries to focus on his breathing instead of the unrelenting pain.
“Well, the bites are rather deep, but I think a potion or two will do the trick,” Ignis declares after a few tense moments. “I’m going to clean them up a bit first to avoid any infections.” Prompto swallows another protest. He doesn’t want to use up their potions - doesn’t deserve them. It’s his fault for letting his emotions distract him. He’s not quite sure why they aren’t reprimanding him for such a stupid mistake.
But he holds his tongue and lets Ignis lead him to a nearby boulder, knowing that saying anything now will get him nowhere. He’ll wait for Ignis to clean him up, hope the wound looks a little better under all that blood, then convince them to save the potions and use some bandages instead. Once Prompto is settled, Ignis wastes no time in getting to work. Every touch hurts like hell, no matter how gentle, and Prompto bites his lip to keep any involuntary noises at bay. He clenches the hand on his uninjured arm, pressing little crescent moons into his palm, and berates himself for wasting their time and their resources.
Noct and Gladio are hovering awkwardly nearby, watching Ignis like hawks, clearly wanting to help despite knowing there’s nothing they can do. Finally, Noct can’t take the tense silence anymore, and asks, “What the hell even happened, Prom? I didn’t even see you go down.”
Prompto sighs. “I got distracted and one pinned me. It was a stupid mistake,” he explains, keeping his eyes on the ground.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Gladio says, and Prompto wants to laugh, because how can he not worry about it? But then Gladio’s continuing, “Happens to the best of us.” Except it doesn’t.
“Yeah,” Noct agrees. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he adds, “Why didn’t you call out, though? We could’ve helped.”
Prompto gives a one-armed shrug. “Didn’t want to distract you guys, too. Plus, it was my own mistake, so I didn’t want to bother you with it. ”
His eyes still remain fixated on the dirt, so he misses the look passed between the rest of them. They’re so caught off guard by the comment that none of them really know what to say, so they’re all silent while Ignis finishes cleaning out the wound.
Prompto inspects his own arm. “It’s not so bad,” he decides. It’s still pretty bad, just cleaner, and without all the excess blood it’s easy to see how deep the wound really is. “Can’t you just use some bandages instead? We don’t need to waste any potions.”
“It’s not a waste if you need ‘em,” Noct says, already handing a potion to Ignis, and then Ignis is breaking it over Prompto’s arm. He grits his teeth at the familiar burn as he watches his flesh knit itself back together. One potion doesn’t cut it, but Gladio is pressing another into his hand before Prompto can protest that it’s good enough. He has no other choice but to break it in his fist, and the rest of his wounds heal in a matter of seconds. Ignis deems him fine and Prompto mumbles his thanks, standing as soon as the older man is out of his space.
The walk back is uneventful. They’re making a straight shot to the Regalia, past the haven they slept at the night before. Prompto easily falls behind once more, keeping some distance between himself and the others. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and Noct takes the time to quietly wonder, “What’s up with him today?”
Gladio takes a quick glance behind them to see if Prompto gives any indication of having heard them, but the blond only shuffles along quietly, eyes trained on the ground. Regardless, he keeps his voice low as he answers, “I dunno. He’s been pretty quiet all day.” They look to Ignis for an explanation.
“He told me that he had a bit of trouble sleeping last night,” Ignis supplies, voice equally low, “but I’m having a hard time believing that’s the only cause for his recent behavior.”
Noct hums. “He’s definitely more than a little tired.”
“Bad day?” Gladio guesses.
“Perhaps,” Ignis says. “Let’s just keep an eye on him for now, then. Once we’ve settled down for the night, we can try talking to him.”
Prompto kicks absently at a small pebble as he walks. He can hear the other three murmuring amongst themselves up ahead, no doubt criticizing his latest mistake. He feels even worse off than he did when he woke up, and he tries to focus on the area around him, to look for anything that catches his eye for a photo, but his thoughts are buzzing so loud it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. Besides, he’s not in the mood for taking pictures.
He wonders how many mistakes and wasted curatives it would take for them to be fed up. And then he thinks: what would he do if - when - they finally get tired of him? It would be so easy for them to just drop him off somewhere and tell him to get lost. The thought is so sudden, so terrifying, that he almost freezes, steps faltering for just a moment, but he somehow manages to carry on like nothing had happened.
The rational part of his mind tries to reason that they would never do something like that to him. But he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to thinking about things rationally, so the idea that yeah, they might very well just decide to ditch him eventually wins out and becomes a real concern.
They make it to the Regalia after a few hours of walking. Ignis grabs a spare shirt from the trunk for Prompto to switch out with his blood-soaked one, and once he’s changed they pile in wordlessly. It’s a long drive to the nearest outpost, and Prompto spends the whole ride curled up in his seat, body turned away from them, watching the world blur by. Noct seems content to nap in the backseat, and Gladio quickly gets lost in a book. Ignis focuses on the road, sparing a discrete, concerned glance at the blond every so often.
By the time the reach their destination, the sun is low in the sky, bathing the world in a gentle orange. They park the car and wait while Noctis fills it back up, then look to Ignis for their next move. The advisor leads the way to the local Crow’s Nest so they can retrieve their bounty, and Prompto lingers quietly behind them while they talk to the man behind the counter. Their next stop is the area where all the shopping stands are lined up, nearly ready to pack up for the night, and Ignis rattles off a list of things it would be wise for them to pick up as they walk across the street.
Prompto wants nothing more than to escape to wherever they’re staying for the night. He wants to get away from the pitied stares they think he doesn't see and the endless questions. He knows they're already suspicious though, and doesn't want to make things worse, so he dutifully follows them to the little stands, grabs what they ask him to grab, carries what they ask him to carry.
“So,” Noct starts after they’ve collected everything they needed, conveniently placing himself where Ignis has a complete view of the motel behind him, “where’re we sleeping tonight, Specs?”
“Well,” Ignis says slowly, “we’re already in the area. I suppose we might as well get a room for the night.”
Noctis cheers and Gladio grins, and even Prompto lets out a sigh of relief. At least a hotel room will give him some space instead of being crammed with all of them in the tent. He waits quietly with Noctis, listening to him ramble about King’s Knight, while Ignis and Gladio go get the room situation sorted out.
Prompto declines the offer of the first shower, so Noct takes one instead. The blond escapes to the balcony as soon as he’s able, wanting some fresh air. He sits, back against the wall, legs tucked up to his chest, and clicks absentmindedly through pictures on his camera so it would look like he was doing more than wallowing in self-hatred if anyone bothered to come out and find him.
He’s not like them. Noctis is the damn prince, for gods sake. Prompto certainly isn’t a prince, and he isn’t strong like Gladio or smart like Ignis. He can shoot a gun, and that’s about it. He’s just some dumb kid who’s been following Noct around like a puppy, starved for the attention his own absent parents were never around to give him. He’s the odd one out, and everyone knows it.
The sound of the door sliding open pulls him from his thoughts, and he glances over to see Gladio poking his head out, hair dripping.
“Hey,” Gladio greets, and Prompto wonders if he’s here to tell him to man up, to quit moping around and get his shit together. Much to the younger man’s relief, Gladio only says, “Noct and I are gonna go get some dinner. You feel like having anything in particular?”
Prompto shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, “get whatever. I’m not really hungry, anyways.” Gladio frowns, and Prompto knows he’s going to have to eat whether he’s hungry or not. Ignis would make sure of it, especially since he’d skipped out on breakfast that morning.
“‘Kay,” Gladio says, feigning indifference. “Iggy’s in the shower, so you’re up whenever he’s done. See ya in a bit.” He disappears back inside, and the door slides closed behind him.
Prompto stays on the balcony for a while longer. When his ass starts to hurt from sitting on the ground, he decides to go back inside - with Gladio and Noct out, and Iggy in the shower, he figures he might have enough time to fall asleep so he won’t have to deal with whatever talk he feels they’re inevitably going to give him.
When Ignis emerges from the bathroom, Prompto’s laying sideways, across the foot of one of the beds, head pillowed on his arms and feet sticking off the edge. His cheek is a little squished where it rests near his wrist, the one that isn’t covered by a thick leather band. The TV is playing quietly; bright and colorful animated characters waltz about the screen. Prompto’s looking at it, dully, but it doesn't seem as though he’s really watching. His eyes are half-lidded, blue orbs unfocused in the dim hotel lighting. They don’t track any movement on the screen, just stare blankly in the general direction of the TV, like he’s lost in deep thought. Ignis scans the room for the others, but Noct and Gladio are nowhere to be seen.
Ignis comes closer, moving to put his dirty clothes by his bag, and Prompto finally seems to notice his presence. His eyes slide over to look at Ignis, watching his movements, but his eyelids stay droopy, and he makes no attempt to move. He must know that Iggy’s got him figured out at this point.
“Where are Noct and Gladio?” Ignis questions, sitting on the bed behind where Prompto’s head is resting.
“Gettin’ food,” Prompto mumbles, voice slightly muffled by his arm.
Ignis hums in response. They sit for a while, quiet save for the low sounds of whatever cartoon is playing. Ignis doesn't recognize it. Eventually, he asks, “Are you alright?”
Prompto is silent for a moment, and then he sighs, and then he’s silent again. After a few seconds, he turns his head to look at Ignis, resting his opposite cheek on his arms now. He stares up at him, eyes searching, and for a moment the advisor thinks Prompto’s going to open up, but the blond only lets his eyes slip closed and says, “‘m tired.”
It’s the same excuse he’s been using all day, but this time, Ignis senses it has a deeper meaning. It’s a start, he supposes. He runs a gentle hand through Prompto’s dirty hair, and doesn't miss the way Prompto deflates a little at the contact, eyelids fluttering. “You should shower,” Ignis suggests. “You'll feel a little better afterwards.”
Prompto makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a vague agreement. It takes him a few minutes to find the motivation to get up and get moving, but Ignis doesn't rush him. Eventually he slides off the bed and gathers his stuff, and the bathroom door closes with a soft click.
Ignis shuts the television off and feels a little restless, so he busies himself with organizing their things while he waits. It’s not long before Gladio and Noct return, arms laden with bags. Or rather, Gladio’s arms are - Noct’s only got one, probably whined until Gladio got annoyed enough to carry everything himself. The bags are set on the small table off to the side of the room, and Gladio’s eyes drift to the bathroom door.
“He’s been in there for a while,” Ignis informs them, “so I’m not sure how much time we have.”
“Were you able to talk to him?” Noct asks, frowning when Ignis shakes his head.
“I thought he was going to talk, but he only told me he was tired again.”
Gladio crosses arms against his chest, shifting his weight. Noct says, “Did something happen, you think? Like, are we missing something here?”
They’re quiet as they think back to recent events, but nothing sticks out, especially not anything that would dampen Prompto’s mood so severely and quickly.
“We’ll ask him once he’s eaten something,” Ignis says, and if anyone was going to add something, the sound of the water shutting off stops them. They listen to Prompto shuffling around behind the closed door, drying off and getting dressed. The door opens and he steps out, dirty clothes bundled in his arms.
“You’ll never guess what I found, Prom,” Noct says, digging around in one of the bags while Prompto’s putting his old clothes away. Noct produces a small bag of candy - Prompto’s favorite, the one he always relied on as comfort food, the one that was, more often than not, rather difficult to find. He can’t remember the last time he had it.
Noct passes the bag over to Prompto, smiling gently. Prompto stares down at the bag, plastic crinkled in his hands, eyes widened slightly. He’s surprised Noct remembers, even after all these years. “Thanks,” he says after a moment. His voice sounds a little thick, but no one comments. He doesn’t raise his eyes to meet Noct’s, just keeps staring at the brightly colored packaging.
“Of course,” Noct tells him, eyes soft. “But you know Specs’ rules: real food first.” He holds up a Cup Noodles, shaking it slightly to get Prompto’s attention.
Ignis wants to scoff, to reprimand them for thinking that Cup Noodles could pass as ‘real food,’ but Prompto’s giving Noct a hesitant nod and putting the bag of candy to the side, so he stays quiet and figures it's better than nothing. Noct and Prompto sit crossed-legged on one of the beds while Ignis prepares the noodles, and Gladio helps him carry them all over once they’re finished.
Prompto manages to finish half his cup, and Ignis must be satisfied with it because he doesn’t say anything or try to urge Prompto to eat more. They clean up and take their seats again; Noct sits next to Prompto, Ignis on the adjacent bed, and Gladio leans back in one of the chairs, arms folded across his chest.
“How’re you feelin’?” Gladio asks, and Prompto must be sick of the question because his face scrunches up in a weird way.
“Just tired,” he says again.
“Of what?” Ignis asks this time, because now he’s positive that the word has a double meaning.
Prompto shrugs, looking a little taken aback, and his eyes slide over them, sitting patiently and waiting for him to elaborate. He turns his attention to his hands, anxiously picking at a thread coming loose from the blanket under him and works up the courage to say, “I’m tired of pretending that I fit in here.”
The room is silent and tense for what must only be a few seconds, yet feels like years, and Prompto wishes he hadn’t said anything. Finally, Ignis says, “What do you mean?”
Prompto sucks in a deep breath. “I just… I know I don’t belong here, with you guys. I'm different. You’re all royalty, you're all important. And I'm just… me. A nobody.” He risks a glance up at them, but drops his gaze again almost immediately. “I shouldn’t be here.”
And then it’s like a dam has been broken, and there's nothing he can do to keep everything he’s left unsaid for so long from spilling out. “I’m not smart or strong, like you guys. I don't even know why you let me come with you in the first place - you'd be better off without me. I just get in the way or make dumb mistakes like getting distracted in the middle of the fight, and then you have to waste all our potions on me. It would be better if I just left.” His eyes flicker to the door, as if he’s considering getting up and leaving that very moment.
He thinks of the barcode on his wrist, sharp lines and crisp numbers stark against pale skin. He feels like it'll somehow burn through the leather band he wears to cover it, exposing his secret for the world to see - for his world, the three men sitting around him, to see. He instinctively reaches to run a finger over the worn leather, reassuring himself that the brand is still hidden. That they don't know.
“Prompto…” Noct starts, and Prompto braces himself, braces himself because Noct is going to agree with him, or maybe tell him to leave. Prompto’s expecting it - has been since they met all those years ago. But when he speaks again, Prompto can’t decipher his tone, and he says, “Do you really believe all that?”
Prompto shrugs again, avoiding eye contact. He suddenly regrets everything he’s said - of course he believes it. He doesn't need to sit here and listen to them tell him he’s right. “It’s true,” is all he can think to say.
“It’s bullshit,” Gladio corrects immediately. The fierceness in his voice gets Prompto to flinch and look up at them, eyes wide. They’re angry, and Prompto winces, dreading what’s coming next.
“You don't have to be royalty to be important,” Noct tells him, reaching out to grip Prompto’s knee and - that wasn’t what Prompto had been expecting. “You've been by my side through everything, Prom. Sounds pretty damn important to me.” He sounds a little choked up.
“Prompto,” Ignis says, and when Prompto turns to him, he continues, “the only person you have to be is yourself. You may not be as physically strong as someone like Gladio, but you’ve your own strengths.” Gladio nods along in agreement. “Everyone is intelligent in their own ways, and that’s what makes them unique.”
Prompto looks a little lost. “But I don’t belong,” he insists, a little desperate, a little broken, like he’s trying to make them understand, confused as to why they aren’t agreeing with him.
“You really think we would’ve fought so hard to take you with us if we didn’t really want you here?” Noct says, and Prompto doesn’t know what to say.
“Trust me, kid, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” Gladio tells him. When blue eyes meet amber, Prompto can see the seriousness and determination, and knows Gladio is being completely genuine. He looks to the others, then, and finds the same thing. They’re all being completely genuine.
“It’s okay to struggle,” Ignis says softly. He reaches across the gap between the beds to grip Prompto’s other knee, rubbing it with his thumb comfortingly. “I only wish you’d let us know when you’re struggling so we could do our best to help.”
Prompto’s cheeks feel wet. When had he started crying?
“Oh, Prompto,” someone says, and then he’s pulled against a warm chest. Three pairs of arms wrap around him protectively. He’s never felt so warm, so safe, so loved. It’s overwhelming, and only makes him cry harder.
The others are patient with him, patient in a way he feels he doesn't deserve. Their grip never falters and whispered reassurances never let up. They sit on the bed, curled around him, for what feels like a lifetime.
Finally his sobs turn into quiet hiccups, then cease altogether. Gladio cups his face with large hands, thumbs gently wiping away his tears. Distantly, he realizes he should be embarrassed, that he should feel stupid for crying like a baby in front of the very people he’s been trying to impress for as long as he can remember. He pushes Gladio’s hands away and pulls away from Noct’s chest, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed.
Ignis grips his wrists, gentle but firm, and pulls Prompto’s hands back down. “Come now, none of that,” he says, pressing a cold water bottle into one of Prompto’s shaking hands. He guzzles half the bottle before handing it back to Ignis, then collapses back into Noct’s chest. “Let’s turn in, shall we?” Ignis suggests, and Prompto nods. He’s not sure who will be his bedmate for the night. He doesn't want to choose, if he’s being honest.
Ignis slips away, followed by Gladio, so Prompto figures he’s with Noct for the night. Said man maneuvers him under the blankets, still holding onto him tightly. Moments later, the lights shut off and Prompto is surprised to see the outline of Ignis slide in behind Noct. He feels Gladio climb in behind him.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks, confused, voice still a little hoarse from crying.
“Going to bed?” Prompto can feel Gladio’s chest rumble against his back with every word.
“Oh,” Prompto replies.
It’s a tight squeeze, but they manage - Prompto and Noct take up the middle, Gladio and Ignis bracketing them protectively from either side. Gladio nudges Prompto closer to the center of the bed - he’s larger, needs more room - and Noct wraps his arms around him and pulls him close, Prompto’s forehead resting against his chest. He plants a kiss in Prompto’s hair before settling back against the pillow, chin taking the place where his lips had just been. Gladio’s pressed up against his back, arm slung lazily over both him and Noct, hand coming to rest on Ignis’ hip. It’s a comforting weight. Ignis has his arm over them as well, but it doesn't quite reach all the way to Gladio, instead curling around Prompto’s middle, slender fingers spread against the small of his back.
“Thank you,” Prompto murmurs, muffled against Noct’s chest. The three holds around him tighten in response.
For once, he thinks that maybe he does belong. That maybe he’s supposed to be here, squished between his closest friends.
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.