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The music swells above them, distorted by the distance, half drowned in the rustling of leaves and water. Prompto’s fingers are warm around his, twitching slightly, sending bolts of lightning down his veins with every brush of skin. In the back of his mind, Noct finds himself counting the beats, slow and steady. Much slower and steadier than his breaths.
“But… You know…” he goes on, as if his brain didn’t just freeze for a split second there, “I think… It would suck if you went to a ball and didn’t get to dance even once, right?”
“Huh?” Prompto looks about as stunned as he feels. His eyes dart between Noct’s face and their entwined hands for a couple times before he gets it. “Oh. Yeah. Man, I’d hate that.” -
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