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Noct could sleep through an earthquake.
If the Archaen himself awoke in a fury, threw off his chains and begin jumping rope with them, Ignis is positive he wouldn’t so much as stir. That’s why he’s not surprised to find that through Gladio’s snoring, the television blasting, and Prompto’s nervous leg shaking the doors off the apartment--he’s sleeping serene as a pond.
The news flashes its countdown, showing off the streets of Insomnia packed with couples, ready to ring in the New Year together. A quarter to midnight, and Prompto’s the only one who’s made it awake. Not exactly a surprise, but even he is usually dozing by now--but he’s as alert as a watchdog. Moreso, in fact. The poor boy looks ready to leap up for his morning run, eyes fixed somewhere in middle distance. It’s been a long day, an even longer party, and Ignis has to admit that he’s looking forward to bed himself. Not Prompto, evidently, and it’s not a hard guess as to why.
Sitting back in the arm chair, hands folded serenely over his chest, Ignis breaks the not-so-silence.
“Something the matter, Prompto?”
Prompto jumps out of his skin, thoughts passing across his face as clear as Insomnian headlines. “Who, me?” He tries to laugh, a jumpy, off-tune thing closer to a stutter, fingers skittering through his hair. “Nope, I’m good. Great, even. Never better.”
Ignis drums his fingers, lips pursing and eyes piercing. Prompto’s always been a bundle of jittery energy, nerves fraying like they’re one spark away from one impressive flare-up. Skittish is no new look for him, but something’s really eating him up tonight. And if the furtive glances are any hint, he might know what that something is. Ignis narrows his eyes when Prompto won’t meet his, hazel to violet, violet to closed blue. The clock ticks down in the background. On the television, an interviewer rambles on about his resolutions. There’s the boom of an early firework, fizzling out a neighborhood over. And in a firm whisper, Ignis rips off the bandaid.
“Now, Prompto,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “A New Year’s kiss is nothing to be so nervous about.”
Prompto positively blanches. “ Iggy ,” he says, sounding like he’s half-choked on a piece of bad meat. He looks like the time they went camping with Iris and Clarus, and they slept in a cave half the size of Noct’s bedroom--trapped and panicked, with no way out except to run.
“Simply pointing out the obvious,” says Ignis. And checking his watch again, “Not much time left to gather your courage.”
Prompto wrings his hands so hard it looks painful, his bouncing leg shaking the whole city let alone the apartment.
“But what am I even supposed to do? ” He says, with as much distress as one could possibly fit into a whisper. “Do I just go for it, or should I ask first? But oh gods, then what do I do if he says no? I mean, look at him, Iggy, what if he just sleeps through it and I miss my chance for the third time in a row? Then I’ll have to wait a whole more year just to tell him that I--”
Noct stirs on the cushion next to him, and Prompto shuts up so fast his teeth click together. The people on TV are cheering, confetti raining from the rooftops to litter the ground below. Noct’s eyes blink open, and you’d think Prompto spent a week under the Leiden sun the way his cheeks burn.
Voice thick and scratchy, Noct says, “Midnight already?” He blinks his eyes slow, paws around for Prompto’s hand. “C’mere,” he says, yanks him forward--and kisses him, like it’s nothing. Then he smiles, a soft and gentle thing--a smile he’s only ever had for Prompto--and he flops back on the couch, closes his eyes, and his breathing’s evening out before Prompto has a chance to blink.
Ignis barely stifles a laugh, muffling a short into his hand. He elbows Gladio, who wakes with a snort--giving a half-hearted toast to the new year before settling back down himself.
Prompto just sits there, mouth hanging wide, more still than Ignis has ever seen him. When he comes back to himself and looks at Ignis, his smile lights the whole room--and Ignis knows that this will be a wonderful year.