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When Prompto opens his eyes, he’s staring up at a white ceiling.
He’s not quite sure where he is, or how he got there. He sluggishly glances around. The room is cold, empty, nondescript. There’s no doors or windows. Yet, somehow, it all feels familiar, like he’s been there thousands of times before. He’s lying on a table, the metal cool underneath where it presses into his bare back. He feels as though he’s been submerged underwater, but his entire body is trembling from a cool draft that’s constantly blowing on him.
When Prompto moves to bring a hand to rub at his face, nothing happens. He tries again, then looks to his right to see his hand restrained to the table he’s lying on with a thick metal cuff. He can see the edge of his barcode peeking out from beneath the cuff. His other hand is in the same situation, as are his ankles. The room is silent save for his harsh breathing and panicked noises as he struggles to free himself.
Prompto loses track of time and suddenly bright lights flicker to life above him, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he’s temporarily blinded. When he manages to crack them open, someone is leaning over him, just a silhouette haloed by the lights. Prompto can’t tell who it is, can’t see any features besides a dark shadow thanks to the bright light, but terror grips at his heart all the same and he starts struggling against his bonds with a renewed vigor. Another person joins the first one, and they’re talking above him in a garbled language he can’t understand, but sounds familiar all the same.
Despite neither having any visible features, Prompto can still tell they’re both looking at him, studying him, scrutinizing him. He squirms, feeling exposed at their unseen, penetrating eyes. Someone runs a finger over his skin right at the edge of the cuff, tracing his barcode. Prompto flinches and shuts his eyes, willing whatever this is to all be over. He risks another peek, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. His heart plummets into his stomach when the first person holds up something that glints in the light. When they bring it down, a burning pain erupts in Prompto’s side.
His whole body jerks against the table, and the pains not going away, and he’s screaming and crying for it to just stop-
Prompto bolts upright with a gasp. The room is dark.
For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is. Then, over his own harsh breathing, he hears Gladio snort amid his noisy snoring, and his brain registers: It was just that dream again. You’re at the Leville. They guys are here. You’re safe.
But he doesn’t feel safe. There’s silent tears streaking down his cheeks and his entire trembling body is coated in a cold sweat and his barcode feels like it's practically burning on his wrist. He struggles to kick the blankets tangled around his legs away, too restrictive, just like the metal cuffs-
“Prompto?” Ignis mumbles from his side. In his panic, Prompto had forgotten he was even there.
“Go back to sleep,” Prompto whispers, hoping Ignis isn’t awake enough to notice how badly his voice is shaking. Ignis says something unintelligible, and when he doesn’t say anything more, Prompto practically falls off the bed and stumbles towards the balcony door.
He gulps in the fresh air as soon as the door’s shut behind him, but it doesn’t help. Despite the familiar humid warmth of Lestallum’s nights, he’s still shaking, a persistent chill working its way under his skin. Prompto’s legs feel like jelly and he feels seconds away from collapsing, so he sits down beside the door and tucks them up to his chest. Tears are still steadily dripping down his face, soaking the knees of his pajamas.
For a long time he just sits, trying to get his panicked gasps under control and fight back remnants of the nightmare. He feels silly, getting so worked up over something that didn’t even make sense to him. He’s been having this nightmare for as long as he can remember, so why does it still terrify him so much? It always feels so real, though, so familiar. Like it’s not just a dream, but rather a memory long since suppressed.
When Prompto finally comes back to himself, there’s warm hands cupping both his cheeks. Ignis is sat in front of him, murmuring, “You’re alright, Prompto, just breath.”
“Ignis?” Prompto whispers. His voice is hoarse.
“I’m here,” Ignis says. He gently brushes away Prompto’s tears with his thumbs.
Prompto’s still shaking as Ignis moves to sit next to him instead, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tucking him close. Prompto can hear Ignis' heartbeat, and focuses on it as the last of his panic slips away.
“Would you like to talk about it? You don’t have to, but it might help,” Ignis says after a long stretch of silence.
“It’s stupid,” Prompto says. “It’s just a dream I’ve had since I was a kid. I don’t know what it means but it freaks me out every time.” Ignis hums, and Prompto feels it vibrate through his chest. Prompto takes a deep breath. “It’s always the same. I wake up in an empty room, and it’s freezing, and I’m strapped down to some kind of table. And then the lights turn on, and then there’s people standing over me except I can’t really make anything out about them, ‘cause it’s too bright. They always talk to each other, or maybe to me, I dunno, but I can’t understand them. And then-” Prompto pauses, shudders, and Ignis gives him a reassuring squeeze. “I dunno, they get- they get a scalpel or knife or something, and it they- it hurts.”
His breathing has picked up when he wasn’t paying attention, and Ignis is rubbing his arm soothingly. “It’s alright,” he says, and Prompto tries to relax.
“I wish I just knew what it meant,” Prompto says, frustrated and desperate, because maybe if he could figure out the meaning behind it, it would lead to answers on how to stop it. His fingers find the sweatband he always wears to bed, slip under it to rub at the barcode hidden beneath. He’s always felt it was connected to the dream, somehow. But it’s not like he can really tell Ignis that, so he just melts into the man’s side and lets himself be consoled.
Ignis can't magically interpret the dream, so he does what he can, and holds Prompto close to him and keeps up his comforting actions. Gradually, the blond’s shaking lessens until he's still and calm against Ignis’ side. Eventually, Ignis asks, “Do you think you want to go back to bed?"
Guilt suddenly washes over Prompto. First he’ woken Ignis up, and then he’d kept him out here on the balcony for what's probably been a really long time when he could’ve been sleeping. “Shit, I’m sorry. You didn’t need to stay out here with me, you should’ve gone back to bed.”
“Prompto, it's fine,” Ignis reassures quickly, as if he can sense where the blond’s train of thought is headed. “I want to be here for you. I want to make sure you’re alright.”
Prompto leans up to press a kiss to Ignis’ lips. “Thanks, Iggy. Love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ignis says, and kisses him again.
They spend a few more minutes out on the balcony like that, trading soft, languid kisses, before Prompto feels ready to go back inside. Quietly, they fix the blankets that Prompto had thrown off the bed in a panic and slide back under them. Ignis holds Prompto close, wrapped safely in his arms, and they exchange one last kiss before drifting off.
Ignis' warm embrace keeps the nightmares at bay, and Prompto can’t remember the last time he’s slept so well.