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Prompto isn’t often the first one up—that honor generally goes to Ignis—but he and Gladio trade off on second place. This morning, when the early morning light changes the color of the tent walls and pulls him out of sleep, Prompto can still feel Gladio’s solid warmth at his back, an arm draped across his hips. It’s not surprising considering Noctis and Gladio took the bulk of the beating during yesterday evening’s hunt. Those anak might look like majestic, graceful creatures, but they’re really assholes at heart. Both Noctis and Gladio got thrown across the battlefield more than once, and they went to bed exhausted.
Noctis is pressed up against his chest, one hand clutching his shirt, his face buried against his collarbone. His breath is warm on Prompto’s skin. Beyond him, the space where Ignis was is empty.
Prompto takes a couple minutes just enjoying being in the middle before he shifts and tries to figure out how to untangle himself from his two still-sleeping boyfriends. But Noctis grips his shirt tighter. “Prompto?” His voice is a low, tense whisper. “You awake?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Prompto carefully cards his fingers through Noct’s tangled, dark hair. “You okay?”
A brief huff of air. “Not really. Can you ask Ignis if we’ve got any painkillers left?”
“No problem.” Prompto tries to sound confident, soothing, and not like his heart has started up its anxious how-bad-is-this-boyfriend-hurt rhythm. He drops a kiss to Noctis’s hair. “Your back?”
“Yeah.”
Prompto knows Noctis took a hi-potion after the fight last night, but he also knows that Noct’s back is a special case, and getting thrown around and then having to camp out is a good recipe for muscle spasms and pain regardless.
“Okay. Gimme a second.” Prompto strokes Noctis’s hair until Noctis finally lets go of his shirt. He’s less gentle with Gladio; Prompto lightly smacks the elbow settled over his hip. “Hey, big guy. Let me go so you can cuddle Noct.”
Gladio mutters something that’s not quite coherent, but when Prompto wriggles out from under his arm, Gladio immediately takes Prompto’s place next to Noctis.
It takes a few fumbling moments to find his sneakers and glasses and a hoodie in the muted light—Gladio’s from the size, hanging past his fingertips and hips. Prompto unzips the tent flap and steps outside onto the flat stone of the haven. The sun is only halfway above the horizon, staining the world pink and gold.
“Good morning, Prompto.” Ignis is hovering at the cook station, just starting up the camping stove. The kettle is waiting off to the side along with several other items that are probably meant to eventually be part of breakfast, so Ignis hasn’t been up long if he’s just getting to the water for the morning’s coffee and tea.
“Morning, Iggy. We have any painkillers?”
That gets Ignis’s attention. He puts the kettle on the burner and then turns to look Prompto up and down. “Not many, and not very potent at that. They’re one of several things we need to restock once we’re done with this hunting trip. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but Noct’s back is bothering him.”
Ignis frowns. “How serious is it?”
“Bad enough he couldn’t find where you’ve stashed medicine in the Armiger.” If Noctis had, he would have taken some already, even if he doesn’t ever like being the one to use up the last of their supplies. Prompto can relate to that. Sometimes the fight over who has to take the last potion turns into an angry debate with three of them ganging up on the fourth. But for Noct’s back—when it does hurt, it’s almost always bad enough that he takes whatever relief they have with minimal resistance. Prompto could search for them in the Armiger himself, but asking Ignis will be faster since Ignis is the one who put them away.
Ignis’s gaze goes unfocused for a moment while he searches through what Prompto thinks of as the deep storage part of the Armiger, and then a small white bottle appears in his upturned palm. He turns it around to read the label before he takes off the cap and peers inside. What he finds—or doesn’t find, honestly—makes his expression go pinched with concern. “Have Noctis take two of these now, and in four hours he can have the third.” He hands the bottle and the lid to Prompto. “Is Gladio awake?”
“Not sure.” Prompto shoves the lid into the hoodie’s front pocket and grabs a water bottle from the end of the cook station.
“Wake him, if he’s not. Have him help Noctis. Stretching or massage, whatever Noct would prefer. It will take about half an hour before the medication begins to help.”
“Will do.” Prompto pauses for a second to kiss Ignis’s cheek, wanting to soothe him at least a little, and then he heads back to the tent.
Gladio is awake now. He’s sitting cross-legged next to Noctis when Prompto ducks inside the tent and kicks off his sneakers. Gladio’s still only wearing his pajama pants, probably because Prompto stole his hoodie, but he somehow convinced Noctis to roll onto his back, legs bent so his knees are up and his feet are flat on the sleeping bag. He has one of Noct’s hands, their fingers threaded together, and his thumb is rubbing a soothing line over Noct’s skin.
“Morning, Gladio. Hey, Noct,” Prompto says, and he carefully makes his way to Noctis’s other side. “Iggy found some medication for you, but it’s not much. You gotta take some now, but it’ll be a little while before it kicks in.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get.”
Now that Prompto’s across from Gladio, he can see the scowl on Gladio’s face much better. It’s clear he’s just as unhappy as Prompto is about how strained that answer sounded. Noctis complains plenty about little hurts and annoyances, but when his back is acting up, he withdraws to a scary degree. He’s definitely in don’t-touch-me-everything-hurts territory now, and Prompto hates it.
Gladio leans down and carefully slides his free arm beneath Noctis’s head and shoulders. “Here, let’s get you up. Slow.”
Noctis still hisses on his way to mostly upright, but he only gets that far due to Gladio’s help. He leans into Gladio’s tattooed shoulder, and Gladio adjusts his hold on Noct so that his back is braced by the curve of his arm. Prompto shakes out two pills into Noct’s unsteady palm and then takes off the lid of the water bottle. Once Noctis has the pills in his mouth, Prompto hands him the water bottle and hovers close, ready to offer a steadying hand if he needs it.
Noctis manages the water on his own, though he gulps it down in between short, tense breaths that are not quite gasps. Prompto takes the water bottle from him once it’s empty and puts the lid back on it and the cap back on the pill bottle and shoves everything back into the hoodie’s pocket.
Gladio lets Noctis rest against him for a few moments, and he’s trying so hard to hide his concern for Noctis that Prompto doesn’t even want to tease Gladio for still holding Noctis’s hand like the romantic he is. Prompto waits until it seems like Noctis has relaxed a little to ask, “Hey, you want Gladio to help you with stretches or give you a massage?”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” But Gladio’s using his fake menace voice, the one he uses when he is more interested in putting up a token protest than actually being menacing. Prompto isn’t always great at telling the difference still, but right now with Gladio cradling Noctis the way he is, it’s obvious which one it’s meant to be.
“Nope!” Prompto’s heart is still being obnoxious, so he tries to drown out its anxious beat with an overdose of cheer. “Iggy already volunteered you.”
“Can’t fight Specs,” Noctis mutters into Gladio’s shoulder. And then, “Stretches. Please.”
It’s that terse little please that gives away just how much pain Noctis is in right now. Prompto scoots in closer and helps Gladio guide Noctis onto his back again. Noctis reaches for his hand, and Prompto offers it immediately. They let Noctis lie between them and catch his breath for a minute; Prompto pretends he doesn’t notice the way Noct’s breath hitches because that will just embarrass him.
Noct hates being laid out like this. Everyone else hates seeing him like this and not being able to help as much as they wish they could. Ignis is probably berating himself for not having a pharmacy of painkillers on hand even though they’ve been painfully low on money for weeks; Gladio doesn’t have anything to attack, and it’s not like he can defend Noctis from his own body; and the best Prompto can do is try to distract him.
Which isn’t nothing, considering the way Noctis clenches his jaw when Gladio finally lets go of his hand and moves to help him start stretching out his lower back. Prompto has seen Noctis do these stretches before, plenty of times, and with unfortunate and increasing frequency on the road. In what seems like a never-ending stream of fighting for their lives, crappy motel beds, and too many nights camped out on havens, it has been happening more and more frequently. Gladio has to help Noctis bring his right knee up to his chest and hold it there. Prompto refuses to wince at the way Noct’s fingernails dig into the back of his hand. Instead, he lifts their hands together and turns them so he can kiss Noct’s knuckles.
“Sorry,” Noctis gasps out, but he can’t quite manage to relax his hand.
“Dude, it’s fine.” And it is fine. It hurts a lot less than some other things Prompto could name, like getting trampled by a garula or stabbed by MTs or slammed into a dungeon wall by daemons. Prompto doesn’t want to get stuck in a cycle of apologies and reassurances, so he launches into a rundown of the rumors he read on the King’s Knight fan forum about next month’s update. It’s mostly speculation about what kind of stats the new weapons will have, whether or not they’ll be introducing a new character, things like that. He doesn’t ask Noctis any questions because he wants to distract, but not distract distract, from important things, and half the time when Prompto sneaks a look at Noctis, his eyes are squeezed shut against the pain.
After a while, Gladio jumps in on Prompto’s one-sided conversation, mostly to make snide comments about Prompto’s favored playing style and being a downer about the likely stats for the new content while he eases Noctis through the stretches. Gladio’s not the kind of guy who likes to just fill the air with empty things, but he’s a good person to get a boost from when Prompto’s running out of steam, and Prompto runs with whatever conversational tangent Gladio tosses his way. Noctis occasionally chimes in with a yeah or dunno or something too pained to be a snort when he’s got the breath for it. Prompto makes sure to kiss his knuckles or his wrist after every one and gives Noctis two whenever he sides with Prompto instead of Gladio, just to be petty.
Gladio catches on quick enough, and even though he rolls his eyes at Prompto, the scowl on his face slowly softens until most of what’s left is a warm, familiar concern. Even Noctis is starting to—well, not relax , but be less of a ball of misery—by the time Ignis peers into the tent. The sunlight isn’t as pinkish gold as before, but it still highlights Ignis’s hair nicely and changes the regular sharp lines of his face into something surprisingly gentle. Prompto tells himself he can take a picture of Ignis in this kind of light tomorrow morning. Ignis will pretend to be put-upon, but he’ll let Prompto have his way (and be secretly pleased, if the picture turns out okay).
“Noct. How are you feeling?”
“Been better. Getting better,” he adds, and Prompto almost believes it because he can hear exhaustion in Noct’s voice, not just pain. “Think the medicine’s starting to kick in.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Have the stretches helped?” asks Gladio.
“Yeah.”
“Need a break?”
Noctis groans, so Gladio gives him a knowing half-smile and helps him into a comfortable position. He even tucks a pillow beneath Noct’s knees to help ease the pressure on his back, and the quick little squeeze he gives Noct’s thigh is cute enough that Prompto decides not to tease Gladio about it. “You did good, Noct.”
Ignis steps inside the tent, takes off his shoes, and sits in the open spot next to Prompto. He normally doesn’t re-enter the tent once he’s left it in the morning, so Prompto takes the opportunity to scoot closer until their thighs touch.
“I’ve given the matter some thought,” Ignis starts, which is his casual way of saying he’s completely replanned everything in order to try to manage his concern over how this morning started, “and I think it best if we head back to Lestallum. We can turn in the hunts we have already completed, get Noctis more suitable medication, and spend the night in a decent bed.”
Prompto hesitates, glances to Noctis. “Isn’t there an outpost closer than Lestallum?” Lestallum’s at least two hours by car, if he remembers the map right.
“Yes, but it doesn’t have a pharmacy from what I recall, so I doubt we will be able to obtain anything of the strength that Noctis requires. And the motel there was atrocious. Or have you already forgotten the roaches?”
“Yeah, no way. Ugh .” Prompto gives a theatrical shudder and leans into Ignis. “I won’t go back, even if you’re going to protect me again.”
He bites his lip to keep from smiling when Ignis sighs and puts his hand at the small of Prompto’s back, like it’s as an unpleasant a chore as chasing down the roaches with his shoe while Prompto and Noctis curled up in the bed together and Gladio alternated between laughing at all three of them and critiquing Ignis’s roach-killing technique. It isn’t the worst place we’ve slept , Gladio had pointed out, like somehow they were only allowed to be grossed out whenever they found a new worst .
“There aren’t any roaches at the Leville,” Noctis says, his eyes shut again.
“One of the many points in its favor. If there are no other objections? Very well then. I’ll finish preparing breakfast, and then we’ll break camp as soon as we can and be on the road. I’d like to reach Lestallum in time for lunch.”
Noctis, stubborn to the core, refuses to let Gladio carry him to the Regalia. It means an eventual hunched, limping walk across about thirty meters of uneven terrain that makes everyone else wish that Gladio would just scoop Noctis up in his arms and haul him to the car. Noctis ends up hanging onto Prompto’s arm for the last half of it, nails digging crescent moons into his skin despite the hoodie he’s still wearing, and Prompto lets him. Sometimes it’s easier for Noctis to accept help from him than from Gladio or Ignis—not that Prompto knows why, exactly, but Prompto doesn’t care so long as Noctis lets someone help him.
They get Noctis to accept the passenger seat, which he hates, but which also reclines and will let him keep a somewhat neutral spine, unlike lying down in the back with his head in Gladio’s lap, which is his preferred napping position in the car. Prompto doesn’t enjoy being in the back of the car, and with Noctis reclined so far in his seat, it means Prompto has no choice but to squish into the middle seat and up against Gladio. It isn’t exactly comfortable with their elbows digging into each other. Gladio must still be really worried about Noctis because he doesn’t complain about his lack of space or how sharp Prompto’s elbow is.
Ignis confirms they’re all settled, starts up the Regalia, turns the radio to Noctis’s favorite station, and starts to drive.
It’s a clear, sunny morning, and it would be a great day for a drive or for photo ops, but Prompto’s more focused on the silence up front. He leans forward and turns a little so he can see most of Noct’s face. Noctis has his eyes scrunched closed again, and his jaw is tight. Prompto can’t hear the hitch of his breathing over the wind rushing by, but he knows it’s there by the occasional unsteadiness in the rise and fall of Noct’s chest.
Maybe he should try to distract Noctis again? Or would that be too much noise over the sound of the radio? Maybe he could find some funny cat videos to play on his phone? Prompto hesitates, leans in closer, tries to gauge from Noct’s pained expression what would be best.
“Quit squirming,” Gladio says abruptly. He puts his hand on Prompto’s shoulder and pulls him back solidly against him.
“Hey!”
Gladio lets go only to drape his arm around both of Prompto’s shoulders. He lets his hand settle on Prompto’s chest and leans in close so he can murmur in Prompto’s ear. “Let Noct rest. I doubt he got much sleep with his back how it is.”
Prompto considers that for a moment, debates the merits of shrugging out of Gladio’s grip on principle anyway, but ultimately decides that if Gladio wants to be snuggly, he’ll let Gladio be snuggly. He rests his head on Gladio’s shoulder and tries to get his heart to calm its worried rhythm.
Some combination of the medication, stretching, and better positioning must help, because Noctis manages to make it all the way from the parking lot to collapse in a bed on the second floor of the Leville. The owner, thankfully, knows them well enough that he is willing to give them a room key even though they don’t have the cash on hand once Ignis shows him the fliers for the hunts and their bloody trophies and swears they’ll have the money to him in an hour.
(Noctis, slump-shouldered and grimacing in pain might have provided the pity points that tipped the scales in their favor.)
Gladio crouches beside the bed so he can start untying the laces on Noct’s boots. “I’ve got him,” he tells Ignis. “You and Prompto go turn in our hunts and see about getting him some better meds.”
“We’ll bring back food as well.”
Prompto fishes out the pill bottle and deposits it on the little nightstand between the bed that Noctis claimed and the empty one. “He can take the last one in about half an hour.”
“Got it.”
Prompto can tell, so far as Gladio’s concerned, they’re already out of the room. He’s carefully pulling off Noct’s left boot and setting it aside. Prompto and Ignis head for the door and lock it behind them.
By the time they turn in their hunts (not as much gil as they’d planned since they’d cut this hunting trip short) and put in an order for stronger pain medication at the closest pharmacy (Ignis triple checked that it wouldn’t interfere with the pills they’d already given Noct), Prompto is regretting his decision to steal Gladio’s hoodie. With the sun high overhead, Lestallum is sweltering, and Prompto feels like he might spontaneously combust. At least then the agony would be over.
While they wait for the medication order to be fulfilled, Ignis heads for Lestallum’s main market. Prompto falls into step next to him and tries to pretend he’s as untouched by the heat as Ignis looks. It’s very much a losing battle, but Prompto doesn’t want to abandon Ignis to silently worry on his own even if the AC at the Leville is calling his name. The least he can do is be anxious beside him.
“What are you thinking about for food?”
Ignis pauses as he looks out over the food stalls. The market is busy this afternoon, and the vendors have their spices, produce, and other foodstuffs piled high for inspection. “For lunch, something that will be easy for Noctis to eat lying down, if necessary. It’s better if he doesn’t take the medication on an empty stomach. Something cheap for dinner, because we may need to book a second night at the Leville.”
Prompto does some mental math based off of what they got for their hunts and wrinkles his nose. They could do a second night at the Leville, and maybe a third, depending on how much money they had before they went on this hunting trip, but then they’ll be lucky to fill up the Regalia’s tank.
“Sandwiches for lunch, maybe?”
Ignis hums thoughtfully as his gaze goes unfocused. He’s searching through the Armiger again. “We still have some garula sirloin, and I have all the ingredients except the oil for a pesto. Perhaps a tomato and a head of lettuce, too, not that Noctis will eat those.”
Prompto bites his lower lip to keep from smiling, because it isn’t often that Ignis just gives up on making Noctis eat some vegetables before he even starts cooking. One very small perk of debilitating back pain, he guesses.
“A good loaf of bread is a must, of course.” Ignis’s eyes are focused again, and he’s scanning the crowded market like he’s coming up with some kind of intricate strategy.
“Of course,” Prompto says. He never really had a refined palate with how he grew up, and he still doesn’t know a ton about the finer points of, well, a lot of things, but one thing he very much appreciates is how good the food tastes whenever Ignis has taken charge of it. “What about dinner?”
“I believe mother and child rice bowls will do nicely. We have the chickatrice legs. We’ll just need to replenish our eggs and our store of rice.”
“You’re going to make Noct a happy guy,” Prompto says, and when Ignis glances sideways at him, Prompto waves his hands in a I-didn’t-mean-anything-by-that gesture. Ignis worries a surprising amount about fairness, particularly when it comes to Prompto and how he feels in their group relationship as the latest addition. Sometimes Prompto thinks that Ignis keeps track of the affection he shows the rest of them just to make sure it all comes out evenly. “That’s a good thing! He’s kind of miserable right now. You making his favorite foods and not trying to sneak vegetables into them? He’ll be thrilled.”
Ignis lets out a breath that’s not quite a laugh. “Please remind him of my mercy today the next time he complains about it.”
Once they finish shopping and pick up the medication, Prompto takes Ignis’s wallet and waits in line at the Leville’s front desk to pay for their room while Ignis heads upstairs. Prompto makes sure to smile a lot at the owner and thank him repeatedly for his generosity and kindness in giving them a room before they had the cash on hand to pay. He spends a little while talking to the man, getting a feel for the level of Imperial activity in the area, and once he’s satisfied that things haven’t changed much, he retreats to their room.
Noctis is sitting up in bed with his phone in hand, albeit propped up by many pillows and leaning back against the headboard when Prompto arrives. There’s an empty glass and the new pill bottle on the nightstand next to him, and he gives Prompto a smile when he comes in. Well, it’s more grimace than smile, but it’s the best effort Prompto’s seen so far today, so he smiles back. “Hey, Noct!”
“Hey.”
Gladio gives Prompto this little grunt to acknowledge his return, but he’s sitting on the other bed and has one of his greatswords draped across his lap and a whetstone in his hand, so Prompto lets him be.
Ignis is back in the tiny galley kitchen, already slicing up garula sirloin into sandwich-appropriate chunks. He has his jacket off, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and an apron on. Prompto slips Ignis’s wallet into his back pocket and then wraps his arms around Ignis’s waist. “You need any help, Iggy?”
“That is not helping.”
Prompto presses a kiss between Ignis’s shoulder blades. “You sure?”
“Most definitely.” But Ignis’s voice has softened at the edges, and that means he doesn’t mind.
Prompto hangs onto him for a few moments, feeling Ignis breathe, listening to his chef’s knife against the cutting board, enjoying his warmth. With one last kiss, he lets go of Ignis and heads back to the bedroom so he can climb into bed next to Noctis. He settles cross-legged at Noct’s hip, so his knees brush Noct’s thigh.
“How’re you doing?”
“Better than this morning,” Noctis says, which sounds good at first, but Prompto knows Noctis and his tendency to downplay his pain. There’s a wide range of awful between better than this morning and decent . They got him stronger medication, but it’ll still take a while for it to kick in.
Then again, Noct is sitting up, which is a good sign, considering Gladio’s on the other bed and would have no problem making Noctis lie down if that’s what was better for him. Prompto has first-hand experience with Gladio draping an arm and a leg over him to keep him from getting up and insisting he was fine when he really wasn’t.
Gladio doesn’t glance up from his work on honing the edge of his greatsword, but a smirk lurks at the corner of his mouth. “He is. Did another round of stretches while you two were out. He might actually be able to touch his toes tomorrow.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I thought it was funny,” Prompto says, and he easily blocks the pillow that Noctis tries to hit him with. “See? You’re still way too slow, dude.”
“Wanna bet?”
That’s how they end up playing a stupid racing game on their phones until Ignis declares lunch is ready. Prompto is pleased with himself for being able to distract Noctis better this time—he even gets Noct to laugh once when he misjudges a tight corner and his little avatar goes right off a cliff and into the ocean while Noct’s avatar zooms past. It’s a tight, surprised, tired laugh, but still a laugh.
Prompto makes sure to point out that Ignis didn’t even try to stick tomato or lettuce on Noct’s sandwich. Noct’s grudging little thanks actually earns a faint half-smile from Ignis for the first time all day, so Prompto takes mental credit for that one, too.
Some combination of a miserable day, sitting upright, playing games, and/or eating takes its toll on Noctis—or, if Prompto’s being optimistic, maybe he’s finally on the way back up from the low point, when Noctis finally starts letting himself get clingy—because by the time Prompto finishes washing the dishes and comes back, Noctis is lying on the bed with Gladio (amused) on one side and Ignis (fondly exasperated) on the other. They make a cute picture, and Prompto’s fingers itch to take one. He glances toward where his camera—
“Prompto,” Noctis says, his voice too tired and strained to be sullen. “We are taking a nap.”
Gladio smirks, but his hand is gentle as he combs his fingers through Noct’s hair. “He’s got the perfect excuse today.”
“Not that he has ever needed an excuse, perfect or otherwise.”
Noct’s glare would work better if he didn’t look equally exhausted and content between them.
“Guess I can spare the time to support some royal shuteye,” Prompto says, but his long-suffering tone is undercut by how quickly he climbs into the open space on Gladio’s other side. He cuddles up close behind Gladio, wrapping his arm around as much of Gladio’s waist as he can, and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, like he did with Ignis. Gladio’s warm, as he always is, and even though Prompto is the big spoon at the moment, he feels far more reassured than he does reassuring.
With Gladio’s massive shoulder hiding the rest of the bed from view, Prompto can’t see what’s going on when Noctis says, “No alarms,” but he can guess at it: Ignis getting caught trying to sneak his phone out of a pocket.
“Not even for your next dose of medication?”
“Fine.” There’s the sullen that was missing earlier, but it doesn’t last. There’s a sigh and a shifting of the mattress as Noctis tries to find a more comfortable position; the rest of them shift closer like echoes. “But only for that.”
“As you wish.”
Prompto closes his eyes, listens to his boyfriends’ breathing and the white noise of Lestallum outside the window. He didn’t expect to feel so sleepy so soon, but a day of nothing but constant worry about Noctis is draining, too. But Noct’s better now, should keep getting better now that they’ve got him better meds and an actual bed. Right now they’re all safe and in a pile, and Prompto’s heart is finally, finally easing itself out of the anxious rhythm it started this morning.
“Thanks,” Noctis mutters to the room at large, and Prompto resists the urge to lever himself up so he can see if Noctis looks as embarrassed as he sounds. Instead, Prompto hides his smile against Gladio’s back and pretends that he is fast asleep.