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Noctis steps on the gym mat at the Kingslaive's signal. His face is somewhat familiar so maybe he saw him around Cor's office before. "Ulric" does kind of ring a bell, even if he associates it more with Cor's exasperated frown rather than some heroic actions. Well, pushing Cor to the point where he cannot hide his annoyance at you is an exploit in itself, so it might be the reason.
The point is, this Glaive has a friendly attitude and has been breaking protocol since they started the presentation of the royal armies in second period. It made his teacher cringe every time the Glaive Ulric referred to him as "Noctis". He doesn't derail from the plan: he introduces the two factions of the Lucian army and what they do, answers some questions, and then explains what one can expect from a carrier in the military. He treats him like any other student - a nice change from the guy they sent last year- up until the moment they get to the gym to display a little bit of magic. He only asks Noctis to help then, since a little bit of showcase is way easier when they are two fighters, but that's it.
Every year there are some Crownguards and Glaives sent out in schools to introduce the formidable military life. It's a necessary evil when you are at war and need to attract some new blood within the ranks. It also serves as a pacifier: it's a good reminder to the younger generation that their military forces are, overall, like the average person and not some bloodthirsty murderers they should be afraid of when they cross them in the streets of Insomnia.
Unfortunately for him, his involvement in the whole thing had started when he was twelve. The Council pestered until Regis relented. They hoped Noctis's so-called popularity would be a catalyst for recruitment, while the King hoped it would be a good reminder for everyone his son was not an easy target. Honestly, as if anyone in this freaking school could forget he was royalty.
"Ready, Noctis?"
Noctis sees Eridani shoot dirty looks at Prompto when his friend gives him a thumbs-up for encouragement. He heard the guy brag he had some training and could help with the demonstration. The Glaive had gently turned him down and Eridani has been sour since.
"Well, if you give him a warning, we all sure hope so." Eridani seethes between his teeth.
There it is. A sarcastic comment. Again.
The guy's ego is old news, so Noctis ignores it. The Glaive Ulric is a cool guy though, he just winks his way out:
"Since today's paycheck doesn't include hazard pay, I will pass on any real fight, thanks."
Girls giggle in the back and Prompto has to hide his smile behind his sleeve. Seems like it shut Eridani's trap for now.
Wishful thinking.
"So, just to give you a quick idea of what the King's magic looks like, we will be doing one maneuver. This is a standard procedure you learn whether you are a Guard or a Glaive. Basically we use the magic to ‘teleport’ from one point to another: this is called ‘warping’. It greatly helps to reach flying enemies when you are out of the walls, but it is also extremely useful when you need to urgently evacuate people that cannot move easily on their own. "
"Like the evacuation during the fire in the twelfth district last week!" some girl peeps. Noctis thinks her name is Jess...or something.
"Exactly." Ulric smiles, making Jess turn red. "But we will improvise a bit here. Noctis, what do you have at hand?"
It takes a second to understand what he means.
"Err...a shield?" It's all he kept from his last training with Gladio, with the promise to train some of his forms before their next session tomorrow. "I am not sixteen yet," he reminds the Glaive.
"Well I figured even you wouldn't be allowed to have a weapon to your name before the legal date, but I was hoping for something like a staff or something similar."
"Sorry, that's all I have." He carefully keeps silent on the pair of daggers he has stashed in the armiger. There is a loaded gun, too. Those are for extreme emergencies only, like kidnapping and assassination attempts, so he can defend his life if no one is there to it do for him. He figures the Glaive knows that much.
"Then I guess you're bound to do the dodging."
"What?!" That's his teacher freaking out. "You said no real fighting!" He turns to the Crownsguard who has been accompanying Ulric, but the guy just shrugs, apparently used to the other's antics.
"Since we showed you a few self-defense moves," Ulric continues, unbothered "we will take the theme a tiny bit further. I will try to hit Noctis here with this stick..." the standard wooden staff shimmers into reality in his open palm, “...and Noctis is going to dodge and disarm me. We will keep it nice, but of course His Highness will have to show some magical moves, right?"
Oh Astrals, he is so on!
Usually Noctis hates being the center of the attention. He abhors whenever something comes up and reminds his classmates that he is the heir to the throne, so he keeps silent on the training regimen he follows. Even if everyone assumes he has one, only Prompto knows what it entails - mostly because Noct complains about it all the time. Warping is a skill Noctis had developed at a young age (stories of him running out of the bathroom and around the Citadel butt-naked at four is apparently famous among the staff) but lost after the Marilith attack. He had been able to do it again right before getting in high school, and was seriously trained only since the Winter Solstice. He is so fucking proud because he sucks at magic overall, yet he exceeded all expectations of his instructors when it came to warping. He's been dying to show Prompto the moves he learned, especially the ones that look like this special attack in Kings' Knights. Prompto is still not allowed on the Citadel's training grounds, so this is the perfect chance.
He doesn't care if he has an audience. Hell, for once, he kinda wants to brag. Show them what ‘Prince Sleepy’ is capable of.
"I live to please," he answers and feels quite cool in his delivery.
As promised, the Glaive Ulric is keeping things nice. Well, maybe not for an outside, untrained eye. But Noctis can see he is mostly just swinging the staff around without meaning to really strike him. He does it once, out of nowhere, maybe because he is bored. Or maybe he just wants Noctis to display a little bit of magic so they can get it over with and go home. But then comes a second strike and a third; Noctis has to roll over to avoid it. He is back on his feet in a jump, tugs at the familiar string in his core. The shield appears from his armiger in a flash of sparkling blue lights, extracting an awed exclamation from their public.
There is some cheering from the sides. It's nice, because Noctis is more used to the barking tone of Gladio commenting about how he is supposed to place his feet or balance his weight. It pushes him to stride forward and do something. No real fight, but he has to disarm the Glaive, right?
Except Ulric has quite a grip on his staff and doesn't let go when Noct applies the moves he just taught to the rest of his classmates. Well, maybe he should put more force into it. Ignis had reminded him they needed to show more of his abilities for this year and the next, still it's a surprise. After all, they want some students to attend the "Royal Bootcamp for Noobs", as Gladio calls it.
When the next strike comes, he lets it land on the shield and drops to his knees. The shield vanishes, resulting in Ulric losing both his balance forward and his grip on the staff. It's enough for Noct to rip it from him and hurl it away. He warps, sends the staff flying high up to the gymnasium ceiling and warps again when he feels Ulric grabbing his wrist. The Glaive probably didn't think he was able to do long-distance wrap in the air, because his eyes go comically wide. Noctis sends them back to the ground in a flurry of blue. He manages to land them right where the staff landed, planted between two mats. While his knees protest the heavy reception, he remains upright and uses his momentum to pin Ulric on the floor like he was taught to.
After three seconds, there are cheers and applause. Ulric taps out and gives him a proud smile when he rises up.
"Not bad."
For the rest of the day there is a small crowd gathered around Noctis and Prompto. It's a little bit annoying, but for once Noctis is not uncomfortable under the praise. It feels like he really deserved it, even if he keeps reminding his classmates that the Glaive wasn't trying in the slightest. ` can't stop saying how cool it was, and damn he wished he had been able to record this, it must have been quite the show for them.
Noctis sees his friend sending out a worried glance behind them from time to time and it's only when the last bell chimes and that Eridani purposely jostles his friend on his way out that he understands.
"Hey, you alright?"
Prompto isn't looking at him when he nods. He keeps tracking Eridani's retreating back in the mass of chattering students, absently massaging his bruised shoulder.
"I sort of expected him to be an asshole today, but like, not to this point."
"Did he do something to you?" Noctis asks, alarmed.
It's old news that Eridani Vaillant is bad news . Noctis had his fair share of violence and badmouthing against him, but Eridani belongs to his own category. From what he was told, the Vaillant were a former Noble family: if not for the loss of their money during the war when Mors was still reigning, then their social circles would have overlapped. Eridani didn't seem to handle the fall gracefully, if his anger issues were to go by. The stereotype of a bully.
‘A delinquent’ as Ignis would happily correct him. Because Ignis didn't like Eridani much - which was the understatement of the century. The fact that he had been one of Prompto's tormentors during their middle school days wasn’t helping any.
"Nah, no worries. It's just stuff he kept saying when you were doing your thing with the Glaive. He's been fuming since September. I'm surprised he hasn't blown up yet, somehow."
They keep walking towards the gates, stopping by Prompto's locker so he could retrieve his chemistry homework.
"Yeah. I told Ignis he fucked up when he went to the Headmaster. He still insists they didn't threaten to remove him from the scholarship program if he didn't improve his attitude." Prompto grimaces at the reminder.
"I know we hate his guts but I reeaaally can't blame the guy for being mad. Obviously he has issues with his family not being rich anymore. Our highschool is nice, but the public one would never suit His Royal Jerk's standards, if he couldn't be in the program anymore. I mean, no offense, but half of the new program and the new equipment magically came with you, dude."
Noctis must have made a face because he adds with a comforting pat on the shoulder: "See the bride side: us random students got a free upgrade!"
"Sure," he snorts.
But Prompto gets that look again. The one when he gets super serious. It's unusual from his bubbly friend and it comes out only for important matters. There were a lot of things Prompto noticed that Noctis didn't get. Things people like him, surrounded by trained psychologists and armed escorts, were sheltered from. Like that time at Rachel's birthday party, when Noctis had made that dumb joke about the big jewelry she wore on her wrists and Prompto had discreetly pulled him apart to explain that those huge bracelet probably weren’t a fashion statement and more an attempt to hide self harm scars. Since then he had taken note of Prompto's own wristband. He was still waiting to be worthy of the trust that came with it.
"The words he used...that wasn't his usual style. Dunno, ” he added as an afterthought, voice still low and serious. "Felt more like really threatening violence to me."
"It's just words," he tries to placate. "Unless you believe he will want to go after you?"
"Nah, don't think so. Maybe you're right, I'm just overthinking this."
"Hey, that's not what I'm saying. If you really think he will try something stupid..."
"Look!" They reached the front gates. "He is not waiting for us to chop our heads off, so I might just have been imagining things!" Prompto is back to his cheerful self. "Guess I was worried for nothing."
"Told you so."
They stay by the gates for a few minutes. Enough time to plan for their next King's Knight raid this weekend, which Noctis eagerly awaits.
With Prompto gone to his job at the pet store, Noctis takes the time to exchange a few words with the two envoys from the Citadel who lingered behind. M. Armandio still looks flustered from letting a Glaive manhandle his royal student and it takes a good twenty minutes to comfort him that, in fact, Noctis experiences ten times worse four times a week.
After declining the offer of a ride to his apartment, Noctis starts walking back home. It takes around thirty minutes to get there by foot, except when he uses the shortcut, which reduces the time by half. Cor hates it, naturally. Even if it's a good neighborhood, the fact that it's a back alley, with no view from the road and little to no pedestrian traffic, caused the Marshal to make him swear never to use it alone. Which he does, all the time. Well, not all the time. He is not stupid enough to use the path in the middle of winter when there is no light to check if someone is there waiting for him.
Today the daylight might be low but it's still daylight so Noctis doesn't give a fuck and takes his usual turn behind the laundromat. School let them out early thanks to the ‘Military Introduction Day’. He wants the extra time to take a nap before he has to get ready for his father's Birthday Gala tonight.
Of course this great day would go wrong.
Because why wouldn't it?
He is halfway on his journey home when he meets a waiting Eridani.
"Heyyy, Prince Highness. Nice move back there...for someone used to fleeing."
Yep, definitely looking for a fight. Noctis tries to bypass him but Eridani blocks his path. The guy is taller and broader than him, the passage barely wide enough for two persons. Ignoring him isn't going to cut it, he guesses.
Really it is no surprise to see Eridani getting all worked up by himself - that's what he does. However the glint in his eyes is making Noctis nervous. Prompto was right, something is not right with him today.
He tries to keep his voice even to deescalate the situation like he was taught to. Turns out, it's much more difficult in real-life situations than when Ignis has him do mock-negotiation sessions. Maybe he should have been paying more attention too. He only half listens to Eridani monologuing about the Glaives only having eyes for the rich and not for the deserving. Noctis tries to say they don't start looking at potential candidates for recruitment until Bootcamp. That has Eridani seething that if they let volunteers with real potential participate, they wouldn’t need the Bootcamp at all.
"Is this about this morning? You do realize they can't do that, right? Even if the student wants to do it, their parents can file a complaint against the army if their child is hurt." He is getting snappy now. What the hell does Eridani want him to say? He is sixteen for fuck's sake, it's not like he has a say in it either. "That's why they only recruit at boot camp."
"Except for you apparently."
"Well sorry for having been trained, not my choice."
"Don't get too cocky, I could kick your ass anytime."
The blade glistens in Eridani's clenched fist.
"I trained too, you know. And all by myself. Didn't have a fancy gym or ten instructors to pull drills on me."
Eridani's voice sounds close to hysterical. Noctis's stomach somersaults at it. He internally vows not to laugh at Gladio next time he insists the air changes when things take a turn for the worse, because it sure does.
He has to keep calm. That's the best way to handle sparking violence. Never feed your opponent's fire.
"I'm not here to fight, Eridani. You don't need that kind of record either."
"Like it would matter! My record is stained, thanks to you, Your Highness !"
Jeez, he knew that stunt would come back to bite him in the ass someday. He will have a lovely time to throw his 'I told you so' to Ignis when this is over. He steps back, holding his hands in front of him in what, he hopes, is perceived at a peace gesture. Fuck, he needs to make some distance between them so he can turn around and run to a public area. He is pretty sure Eridani will not dare to keep this shit on if he has witnesses.
"And I'm sorry. I learned only afterwards what happened."
"Are you trying to flee?" Shit, not subtle enough. "Apparently this is all your royal kind can do. Wanna see if my moves are better than yours?"
Oh shit, this is happening.
He jumps aside to avoid Eridani when he launches himself at him. Pain erupts in his shoulder when he hits the cement wall. The alley is too narrow, he needs to run away, and fast. Or maybe just run directly towards his apartment? With Eridani behind him, the path is clear. He can probably outrun him, slow him down by kicking down the garbage cans or something. But Eridani is still too close and now is up again, shit!
Shit, shit, shit!
Eridani's movements are clumsy. The obvious lack of training makes evading him worse, since he never knows what the guy is aiming for. Noctis knows deep down he should use what he has at hand in his armiger, but hell, Eridani remains just a civilian. He can hardly pull out his shield, let alone a gun. What if the idiot ends up stabbing himself when his knife inevitably bounces against the heavy metal of the shield? What if he truly gets hurt? How could he explain that to the press?
There is enough discontentment rumbling against the royalty about the discrimination against refugees. They cannot afford to feed this fire right now, his father has enough on his plate already.
Tonight should have been a night of reprieve. Why is it going on like this?
Turning his back is his undoing.
His feet get caught in some trash laying around. Eridani must have launched after him; they collide violently, falling hard on the ground.
Pain explodes on his left side. For a moment he is left breathless, head swimming - did he hurt his head when he fell? - until training kicks in and he rolls onto his knees. As soon as he tries to push on his legs to stand, his strength leaves him.
His shirt is damp, his jacket too. There is blood on him.
His head fills with buzzing sounds.
Something rattles next to him. It's Eridani, pale as a ghost. The expression on his face is one of dawning horror, which should have been a clue in itself, and yet it's only when he notices the bloody blade still firmly held that Noctis's mind catches up. He is the one wounded.
"Oh shit, I...I didn't..Shit, shit, shit!!"
Eridani wastes no time to scramble back on his feet and run away. Noctis watches him go, numb. Did he just...leave him to die here?
The dampness on his clothes feels heavier and heavier and his head seriously starts swimming. He puts as much pressure as possible on the wounded area with one hand and looks around. He can't find his phone. He had put the device in his pocket a little bit before entering the alley but now it’s definitely empty. It was probably dropped somewhere when he tried to dodge.
Astrals must have had some pity for him, since he locates his schoolbag close enough for him to reach and immediately digs in. Time is running out , even if he can find his phone it will take too long to unlock it and tap the emergency call before he faints. He feels himself starting to fade away already. But he had purchased that soft drink at the machine during lunch break, if he can find it...
A small victory cry escapes him when fingers meet the cool touch of the plastic bottle.
Crafting potions was one of the skills Noctis wished he was better at. No matter how hard he trained with his father, it seemed he couldn't get it. His link to the crystal was spotty, thus his magic seemed unwilling to remain stable. When sorting through the armiger and warping was a call to the magic he made in a brief moment, making cures out of beverages took much longer. His body always faltered before he could make anything more than an elixir, if he managed to craft something at all.
But now he didn't have a choice. Eridani, Mr. Asshole of the Day, had flown away and no one would be calling an ambulance for him where he was. If he didn't heal himself, he would bleed out on the ground.
His hand trembles when he shakes off the bottle, concentrating the magic in the leftovers of the soft drink. Gods, he hopes this will be enough. Uncapping the bottle, he pours it directly on his wound while he hollows out the palm of his other hand to prevent the liquid from dripping away too fast. Sheer relief hits him when the tingling sensation numbs his flesh. He gives a tentative look under his shirt. The wound doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore but there is a scarring gash that the potion should have healed.
Maybe he didn't pour enough magic for it to work? Probably. He survived though, so he liked to count it as the win.
After a few minutes spent just taking deep breaths, he stands up and looks around. Turns out his phone had flown a few meters away, near Eridani's forgotten bag. Noctis ponders if he should call someone. That's the most sensible thing to do. They have a full list of security codes depending on the situation. He is not sure if he should engage one of the protocols though. Do you still count yourself as endangered, if you were hurt but healed afterwards? Cor gave him examples of course but none of them fit his situation right now. Maybe he should just call Ignis to warn him of what happened? It doesn't look too bad. With the potion still working his magic, he might not even need stitches. Seems like a waste to crash at the ER and...
Gods, the hospital!
It hits home that the number he is about to dial will set into motion a big, wild mess. His retenue and the Crownsguards will be called. Ignis and Cor will both rush to his location to bring him to the nearest hospital, or at least to the Citadel's medical wing.
Speaking of the Citadel, the Gala in honor of his Father's birthday is supposed to be held tonight. Eridani's stupid stunt would be classified as an assassination attempt against a member of the Crown until further investigation. Even if he manages to convince Cor not to lock down the Citadel, he could trust the man to raise the security level to the maximum. Eridani would be hunted down for questioning and his family's house investigated for any connection with Niflheim or terrorist groups. He could already read the headlines of the 24/7 News channel tomorrow: "Prince almost murdered on the King's Birthday." His school's reputation tarnished. The Council asking him to attend another, fancier, Prompto-free school in the best case, forcing him to pursue his education with private tutors within the Citadel's walls at worst.
Hesitant footsteps bring him out of his musing.
"Noctis?...Noctis, you there? Oh my God, please don't let him be dead..."
"Yeah, I'm alive," he calls back.
Trembling, timid Eridani comes into view.
There are some muttered words of relief before Eridani asks, dumbfounded.
"How?!"
Was this guy serious?
"I'm immortal, you moron," he deadpans.
Five minutes later he is on his way back home with Eridani's coat - no way he can walk home looking like a bloody zombie. Surprisingly, it took almost no effort to convince his attacker to lend him his winter jacket and to scamper away. He is literally fuming. Guy had the guts to flee after stabbing him, and came back to check if he was dead. One would think Eridani would have been thoughtful enough to call for an ambulance or some sort of backup. But no, absolutely not. Ignis was so right to hate him.
His brain tries to catch up with what transpired the whole way back. By the time he clamped shut his own apartment door, he had envisioned all the scenarios ( "Scenarii! It's old Accordian. " Ignis would correct him) and none of the outcomes satisfies him. Which brings him to the conclusion that no one - absolutely no one - can find out before the Gala has truly ended. Brownie points if he can avoid word of the fiasco from reaching his father before Cor has dealt with Eridani.
It's a whole process to dig out the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. Still, he has to thank Ignis to keep it so well stocked. And Cor as well, for the medical training he got. It might be not much, given half of it includes handling wounds only until the medics can take over, but still...It helps to reduce his Moogle search.
And damn, that's so much blood; he can already feel the bile rising up in his throat. Carefully, he dresses down to his boxers and starts to clean.
The freshly healed skin is contrasting sharply against the paleness of the rest of his body. The trajectory of the knife digging and ripping him apart - something he hadn't noticed in the moment - draws an almost horizontal line from his left side towards his navel. While the potion cured the internal damage, its power ran out before it could mend the origin of the wound, leaving him with edges of flesh puckering like gruesome lips around the hole where the knife dug. He can barely stand to touch it, disgusted at the sight of his muscle peeking out underneath.
The looming dread he felt all the way home, thinking about the number to dial slowly lifts.
Obviously he is not stupid enough to hide the whole ordeal completely. By all means, there was a serious talk coming Eridani’s way - including good therapy - but maybe he could delay the emergency. A little. Like, tomorrow morning.
"I am not looking forward to explaining this to Iggy," he growls out while carefully applying the gauze to the wound, careful to exhale as much as he could and to fix it with medical tape. Now that he has been bandaged and drank a big glass of cold water, Noctis feels immensely better, if drained.
"It's the adrenaline crash," he mutters to himself for comfort. "I just need sugar."
So sugar was what he had - soda drank from the bottle like a barbarian. His uniform along with Eridani's coat are already in the washing machine, despite Noctis foreseeing none of them being salvageable in the end, and he checked for blood stains to swipe away from the foyer to his living room. Even if he has to kiss his nap goodbye, at least he is free to take as long as he wants to put on his suit. Which, given how skittish he is to move around with his current bandages, is a blessing. His waistcoat also provides a comforting additional protection against his injury to settle his nerves.
He feels almost back to normal when his phone rings the Chocobo Ranch song.
"Hey, Prompto." He is battling to lace his shoes without bending too much. Oddly, he feels pride at how his voice doesn't quiver. Even his legs have stopped trembling.
"Hey Dude!" Prompto chirps. The sense of familiarity is welcomed with how crazy his afternoon had been. "Just calling up to check on you. You good?"
"Yes, twenty minutes or so before Specs comes to fetch me. Are you on break?" And surely, the clock of the microwave indicates Prompto should be feeding dogs by now.
"Yeah, break time."
"Is everything alright?" Prompto's voice sounds slightly off. Eridani wouldn't have gone to him, right? He wouldn't have the time to bother Prompto before his best friend started his shift. Did he even know about Prom having a job..?
"Sure! I just wanted to check on you. Bad vibes from Eridani today…” No kidding. "I dunno...He seemed more like...hugh!”
"You're a man of many words."
"Don't laugh at me!" Hearing his friend’s whine makes him chuckle. He jolts as an afterthought, finds no pain. Only the golden embroidery of his waistcoat, like an armor. Confidence grows in his chest. It might be Prompto's concern for him, or his surprising success in his healing magic attempt.
"Didn't it feel to you like he was more...violent, today?” Prompto keeps on at the other end of the line. Meanwhile, Noctis puts him on speaker and uses the coffee table to adjust the hem of his trousers. Ignis would kill him if he knew but, hey, A+ for multitasking.
"He kept telling the Glaive he started martial arts last summer so he could pass the Crownsguard exam. Is it true, what he said about the Guards in training? Do they truly have access to the armiger?"
"No way. Or like, not anymore at least. Noble families used to send their first son to serve at war so they technically could request access to it if they pledged and if their family paid a fee. King Mors abolished the thing because the Nobles were more willing to pay for their children not to be sent in the front lines, and yeah, he kind of wanted the money for the war."
"I thought Gladio could use it?"
"Dude, Gladio is my Shield. He and Ignis are a special case. By the way, it's my armiger they use, not my Dad's. And don't let Ignis fool you," he adds, “he did stash a set of cooking knives in there. According to him, the ones I have in my apartment suck."
"Probably not the words he used, but blackmaiiiiiil!” Prompto sings through his phone speaker.
"Barely, with all the dirt he has on me."
"To be honest, it's not difficult. In your natural habitat, you're, like, a hobo. Or a very glorified sloth."
"Hey!"
"I wasn't even sure you would answer. I was almost expecting you to be napping before your big evening."
"Made the mistake once. Ignis got on my case because my suit was all wrinkled. Trust me, you don't want him mad at you when he has a hot iron in his hands. Dad finds it hilarious. By the way, just because you couldn't make it tonight doesn't mean the offer expired, you know. Dad wants to meet you and I really want to introduce my best friend. "
Prompto had been so reluctant whenever Noctis offered to meet at the Citadel. Obviously the prospect meeting the King of Lucis terrified him, so Noct had tried to be patient. Surely Prompto would understand with time that a dork like Noctis could have only been coming from another, bigger dork. He could only pray Prompto would overcome his insecurities and come to see him at the Citadel while Cor would be running his investigation. They had reached a point in their friendship where Noctis wasn’t worried all the time about Prompto deciding being friends with a Prince was too much of a hassle. That fear only came back during occasions like these, when the stone life threw into the calm water was bound to bring a full tsunami on the shore whereas normal people were expecting only ripples.
"Yeah..." Prompto sounded much less confident. "I mean, yes, I want to meet your Dad. It's the big party broadcasted on national TV I'm not sure about. Besides, you told me it was your special time with your Dad. Wouldn't want to rip it away from you."
Noctis could hear someone calling in the background before he could reply anything to that.
"Break is over?"
"Yeah, time to go back! - Yes, coming! - But I'm glad I could snatch you before you go. Eridani really weirded me out, I was really worried he would look for a fight with you. I'm glad you’re ok."
The soft admission makes Noctis choke out "Worrywart.", which, fortunately, went unnoticed. Hiding the truth from Prompto is a big mess he will have to clean up later.
"And tell your Dad Happy Birthday from me! Or like, well, you know. The fancy way you say Happy Birthday. I have to go now. Talk to you tomorrow!"
Now alone with his thoughts in his apartment, the whole day feels surreal. The mirror in the hall sends him back the picture of the quite handsome Prince he is supposed to be, as if there hadn't been blood stains on his bathroom floor not too long ago. It reminds him of the picture of Leide after the bomb raids under Mors' reign. People buying their weekly groceries in shops where the walls had been half-blown away the night prior. There was something wrong in the way you could pretend some horror didn't happen. Something his mind was still struggling to accept.
He keeps telling himself it's for the best - he looks perfect, nothing is amiss - until Ignis comes to fetch him.
To prove today was indeed extraordinary, Ignis, for once, was running late. Or more like, he was behind his own planned schedule, which meant they would be right on time if not early, even with clogged traffic. A blessing in Noctis' books. He manages to slip into the car away from prying eyes while his advisor gives a quick wipe on the car, grumbling about muddy roads on a sunny day and time schedule.
It took five good minutes after they left the safety of the garage before Ignis' mood brightens, commenting on the choice of his suit with a proud tone. Usually he picked from the choices laid out by whoever was in charge - tonight’s suit had been the very first one he had supervised the design of.
"It will never cease to amaze me how meticulous you can be when it comes to the King's Gala," Ignis appraises.
"Well, it is different. I can't look like a hobo at my Dad's birthday party."
"How I wished you could so easily go to such lengths for matters unrelated to your Father's sake. While, I must admit, you made great efforts lately. There were several very good ideas in the last report analysis you provided."
"Please, Specs!" He is not above whining if it helps him escape work-related subjects for tonight. At this point, he only wishes to enjoy the evening and not think about the hard work he put in during the last few months. The relief of escaping the Citadel's pressure by living on his own had come with the guilt of letting his father shoulder the Council's pressure on his own. He had pushed to be flawless, both in his studies and in his involvement with the Crown's matters. Stumbling his way through expectations he failed to meet more often than not, despite his advisor’s vigilance and all the help provided. At the end of the day, he felt like he had tried to eat more than he could chew, leaving him with that glooming sensation of upcoming doom whenever he thought about his father's declining health and the duties he would have soon to carry by himself.
"Alright, alright. I will hold my tongue for now," Ignis cuts in, probably sensing the shift of his mood. "As for tonight, since I will not be needed to attend the festivities, I requested Gladiolus to send me the word whenever you and your majesty excuse yourselves from the party. This way I can retrieve the package from your old rooms and bring it down for your little surprise."
"Thanks, Iggy." The pull on his injury when he leans forward makes him wince. "I think I will bring Dad in the library they keep open for the public. It's the only place I am sure they have the piano tuned once a year." Ignis keeps silent, so he goes on: "I am 100% convinced the grand piano they have in the music room hasn't been touched since Mrs. Foogs stopped teaching me when I was twelve."
He is surprised not to hear Ignis add anything at the mention to their old professor. He can't discern the face of his friend through the darknesses of the tunnel they're passing, apart from the green stare fixed on the road, reflected by the rearview mirror.
"Noctis." Ouch...that's Ignis' business voice. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe you were in great pain just for a moment."
"I'm fine."
"I couldn't help but notice you were extremely stiff when I picked you up,” he adds, discarding Noctis’ automatic answer. “And again, I might be the wrong, but I felt you were excessively prudent when you climbed in the car.”
Shit, was he really that bad at hiding his pain?
Mind reeling, he tries to keep a cool facade. If a brief moment together was all Ignis needed to notice, surely others would as well. What if the press picked it up? What kind of dark, far-fetched conclusions would 'Insomnia Now!' come to if their reporters saw? He had completely forgotten about their presence tonight, too focused on what they could write after his attack was made public. His plan couldn't fail now. He just needed to work around this new parameter. Adapt and overcome, as Cor would say. Right? He couldn't blame the pain on the training he didn't have, and he didn't want Ignis to know the truth yet, but maybe a half-truth would be enough to get out of his radar.
"Noct..." Shit, he had stayed silent too long.
"It's nothing big, don't worry. It stings a little bit but I will be fine."
"Did you hurt yourself?”
"Sorta?"
"Sort...I swear by the Astrals, Noct...!"
"Cool your jets, it's nothing serious ok? Don't freak out. I am fine. And I will tell you every detail of the who, when and how after the party. Ok?"
"Who...?"
"After. The. Party," he asserts with his best commanding voice. He mentally crosses his fingers for Ignis to take the bait.
Euphoria bubbles in his chest when Ignis lets out a long sigh.
"For the sake of his Majesty's birthday, I shall not insist and wait until I bring you back home. Please, promise me you will not strain yourself, at the very least."
"You're the best Specs. And don't worry. I have handled far worse."
"I know firsthand the extent of what you can handle when it comes to bodily harm." The memory of afternoons spent working on making fragile legs support his weight is perceptible in the silence that follows. "Which is precisely why your choice of words has me more worried than comforted."
"I don't remember you voicing this opinion last time I had the flu."
"Because children handle the flu with less complaints than you do,” hee banters back. "More seriously, we have known each other for a long time. I know that, while you are quite vocal for small inconveniences, you are extremely discreet when it comes to handling real pain. The fact that you refuse to state plainly what happened is unsettling at best. You have been prone to ignoring help in order to deal with your difficulties alone lately, so I fear you are hiding something more serious than it looks at first glance. As I said, I am willing to wait for the truth since you are up and about. However, as soon as we are in this very car again, rest assured I will not let the subject go as easily."
Noctis doesn't know how to reply to that.
Their relationship has strained significantly since Ignis had become his advisor the year prior. Noctis hated that he couldn’t discern Job-Ignis from Friend-Ignis anymore. He seemed to go smoothly from one to another, with the border between the two traced on the ground by invisible chalk. He hated how he couldn't see that line, crashing into the severity of his advisor when he thought there were only two friends in the room. He abhorred how stupid and ashamed he felt whenever that happened. But maybe it was hard on Ignis, too. Noctis tended to forget the first year on the job was always full of trials and errors. And Ignis was still adjusting that boundary, trying to maintain a balance between the two worlds he was part of. A feat he was never sure he would achieve whenever he interacted with Noct, if the nervous drumming on the wheel was anything to go by.
"Every single detail, Specs." He makes sure his voice carries his gratitude. “Even the boring ones, I promise."
"Good.” The hands on the wheel relax.
"Was I that obvious? Do you think the press will notice?"
At his concerns, Ignis blinks.
"Well...it is difficult to say if I noticed because I've known you for so long, or if it will be obvious for the untrained eye. Should we warn Cor we will use the back entrance then? We can always pretend you were already at the Citadel."
"No, no need to worry Cor with this. Besides they always have a recording crew inside, so it will look weird if we claim I was there and none of them saw me. I will be fine,” he says with more confidence than he feels. "The stairs will be no problem. I may need to brace myself to get out of the car though."
"If that is the case, I shall open the door for you." They were getting closer to the Citadel now, Noctis could see the lights behind the tinted window. "The press is only allowed on the right side of the stairs, if I remember correctly. I will position myself on the other side once I have opened the door for you. It should be enough to block the view when you step out. From the outside, it should only appear like we are slightly stricter on the protocol than usual."
"That's...actually brilliant, Specs."
The smile they share via the rearview mirror has the taste of their mischievous childhood.
"So...I conclude the pain is located either on your chest or your back?"
"Ignis!"
"After the party, yes, yes, yes."
***
Ignis's plan works like a charm, as expected of the man.
His father is waiting on the stage when he makes his entrance. His eyes immediately lighten up when he spots him, which brings a smile on his face in return.
He ducks his head until he climbs up the steps to brace himself for the biggest lie of the evening. His skin prickles at the uncomfortable bandage his mind can't help but focus on under his prestigious garnement. If he wishes for the incident not to spoil the night, he must have his father believe nothing is out of the ordinary. And for the pitiful liar he is, that means pushing the mere thought of today's afternoon as far as he can in the back of his mind.
"Heya."
Regis laughs, just like he always does whenever Noctis purposely breaks protocol when they are alone.
"Hello, dear Noctis."
"So...I heard it's someone's birthday today." He smiles and gives a side hug to his father. "Happy Birthday, Dad."
"Thank you my son." Regis fondly murmurs in his hair.
Those rare moments when they can break the decorum and indulge in the familiarity are few and far between, he can't help but melt against his dad. The sturdy texture of his father's ceremony jacket against his cheek and the faint hum of the way too spicy cologne, forever embedded in the royal garnement, all of it engulfs him like a well-loved childhood memory. For the first time since he stepped out of school grounds, his heart is at peace. Today will become a day they will laugh at in the future.
"My, my...look at you." Astrals, he knows that teasing tone. "Such a sharp man. I will soon have to send Cor and his men to chase away all the adoring young ladies."
"Come on, don't start being embarrassing now. You don't even have a audience to entertain."
"I am the audience." Through the composure their attendance requires, his father radiates glee. "However I regret that young Prompto could not attend the festivities tonight. And I believe a few pictures of you in this suit would be a suitable gift to send to Lady Lunafreya."
"Dad!"
His father has no shame for bringing crimson to his cheeks, letting out another rumbling laugh.
There was nothing better than to look at him, joy making him younger by a decade despite the wrinkles and the steadily greying hair, knee brace all but forgotten. That joy travelled until it reached Noctis’ stomach, brewing into a bubbling warmth, making him more giddy than champagne could. He had missed this - missed his Dad - so much.
"You're in a very good mood. What gives?"
"Can a man not be joyful at his own birthday party?"
"Yes he can. Now, spill the beans. What did you do?" He looks around for answers, Clarus is nowhere to be seen. "Where is Clarus?"
"Oh." That smile again. "I reckon my shield had an incident with his shoes.”
"An...incident."
"A rather sticky incident." The smile blooms in a full, downright mischievous grin. "Plum flavoured."
It takes a moment until he connects the dots.
"You didn't put plum jam in Clarus' shoes." He can’t hide the awe in his voice. Prompto will never believe him when he tells the story.
There is something like a scratch being ripped from his skin when he laughs, pretends to cough to hide his sudden discomfort.
"Noctis, are you alright?"
"Just tired." Only a half lie. His afternoon has been an exhausting wreck. He gestures at the ballroom slowly filling: "But not enough to miss this. Besides, I have the best gift of all this year."
"You always do." There is nothing but fondness in the words directed at him.
The party picks up shortly. The King makes his gratitude speech. Of course he has to sneak in an extended metaphor of fruits and sweets to jab at Clarus, who rolls his eyes so hard that Noctis thinks the man might just go blind.
They make their usual round to greet the guests. Granted, anyone attending understands from all the previous years that Regis, as charming as he is now, will not spare much time in the crowd, so they keep the discussion light. Noctis does his best to actively participate in the discussion. Turns out, slaving on the reports has given him basic knowledge of most of the current political situations, which makes it much easier to throw his two cents. He sees the proud smile his father sends his way once or twice whenever he does.
The prolonged discussion between the King and Accordo's minister of the Environment provides him the chance to excuse himself and grab Gladio. There is no surprise in seeing him among the guests, since Gladio is supposed to have been enlisted as a security staff member for the night. As he had several times last year, as part of being a Shield in training. It's definitely weird to see him all business - stern face and fuzzy voices coming from his earpiece - when he is barely legal himself. Noctis briefly instructs him to meet him in the lounge room around midnight. He manages to indicate in a few that words something has happened in the afternoon and they need to talk about it on their way back to Ignis, then takes off and gravitates back to his father's side. Gladio has seemed a bit miffed to be told so little but has quickly recovered his impassive mask, so Noctis couldn't decipher if he was actually angry at him or just grumpy because his suit was too tight for his massive body.
Only decorum prevents him from moaning out in relief when they finally get back to their seats. He feels so stuffy in his vest - has been for the past hour- and mourns he is not in the proper setting to be allowed to remove it. Luckily, his favorite part of the party is starting.
By now, the television is broadcasting some kind of documentary - about Tenebrae, Prompto informs him via text. Which doesn't surprise him, considering that Luna has come of age last autumn. The guests are enjoying the food and the dancing. His eyes follow the trail of a cameraman assistant who braves the crowd to bring some refreshments in the next hall where an auction is being held.
And The King and Prince of Lucis? The King and Prince of Lucis are people watching.
Nothing in the world can compare to this moment when, even when they remain obviously displayed on stage, no one pays attention to them, not even the press. There is way too much entertainment around. There comes the time for gossip between father and son, the perfect chance to imagine silly "what-if" stories about the people that go by. The whole fun lays in coming up with the most exuberant stories while whispering it to the other with the straightest face they can manage. The press will ponder tomorrow what sort of state secrets they exchanged, when his father, King of all Kings when it comes to this competition, would have been sprouting a wild tale of two chocobos meeting a crab to explain Lady Orion's feathery hat. Noctis basks in the moment, wishing with all his heart for it never to end. He finds comfort in the fact that, when times will turn darker and people will remember Regis only as a King, he will be able to share with his own family the memory of his father, nodding at appropriate times with a grim expression, when Noctis speculated about the mustache of the Minister of Law and Justice being sturdy enough to hold a few Winter Solstice decorations.
It feels so nice to be here, joking around as if tomorrow doesn't exist. He feels his whole heart cloaked in happiness at the sight of his father, who has been oozing mischief all night.
But it's also utterly draining.
He tries not to shuffle too much but his legs are cramping and he is constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The heaviness of the suit, at least, grounds him into reality. His head keeps getting lighter and lighter, as if he is starting to dream the night rather than living it. He didn't want his time with his father to end but, Astrals forbid, he can't help but wish for the concert to start so they can retreat for the night. He hates that he is sweating buckets because of the tight bandages and the extra layers of clothes- it feels so sticky under there. Anxiety is slyly crawling back, whispering to his tired mind all the ways his injury could be the reason he feels so uncomfortable right now.
Maybe he should have eaten more appetizers. He is probably just lacking some sugar, right? The last ones he ate made him nauseous, so he had given up the idea of dinner early in the evening.
"Sorry, I think I missed that."
His father looks at him pensively. It might have been because of how tired he feels, but Noctis can't read his expression really well, for once.
"Hold on for a moment more." He puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, doesn't repeat whatever he said that Noctis is pretty sure missed twice already. "We ought to be evading soon."
As per his words, it takes only another half an hour before the band starts gathering on stage and they can fade away under the dimming lights.
The cool air of the corridor hits his face, it's a wonderful pick-me-up. He instantly feels better. Whatever sound he makes doesn't escape Cor, who eyes him, intrigued. Noctis makes a face at him while unbuttoning his collar as an explanation.
Just like he hoped, the public music room is much fresher than the ballroom. Now that he isn't broiling anymore, he feels back to his usual self and is happy to find that Ignis, true to his word, has left the package on the piano bench for him to find.
"I believe this is not our usual hideout."
Noctis hums and brings his present to his Dad with another “Happy Birthday” who sits in one of the ancestral chairs by the wall.
His father takes the package from his hands, unwraps it with utmost care, not bothering to hide he is taking his sweet time just to drive his son crazy. His expression melts into utter fondness again when he finally fishes out the CD from its silky wraps and reads the back cover.
"These are the songs I wrote for your mother." The wetness in his voice makes Noctis' own throat tighten. "Thank you, my dear boy. I am astounded you managed to find these at all. I can barely remember the last time I opened those notebooks myself."
Joy and pride unfurl in his belly, making it easier to ignore the wave of dizziness striking him when he rises to his feet.
"I stole them from your library two years ago," he confesses, "so I could do this."
He sits on the piano bench and hits the first notes.
His father perks up immediately, eyes wide and Noctis isn't certain which of them is most delighted at the surprise lighting up the King's gaze.
Noctis focuses on the staves and on the black and white keys, concentrating on when to push the pedal to soften the notes at the right moment. His father's song to his late mother fills the air of the room, wiping away the last of his nerves. He has practiced so hard to ensure his Dad would hear them again- these precious love letters to the woman they both cherished. His father still speaks often, and still so dearly, of her, as if the time itself couldn't erode the love he had for her. Noctis mostly knew his mother from the tales his father had regaled him with, his own memories too blurred. Magazines would still recall the memory of the Queen from time to time, but no one else but his father could teach him about who his mom was.
Noctis plays the three songs he has mastered. His father is smiling wide even if his eyes are definitely wet, so he attempts the first stave of one of the songs he hadn't had time to learn properly to relieve the atmosphere. A laugh erupts at his failure, and it doesn't take long before his dad joins him on the bench to start teaching him said song.
The suffocating warmth of the ballroom has left for a numbing cold that makes his fingers stiff and slightly shaking. His dad has started being suspicious too, for all the looks he sneaks his way every so often. He remains silent on the matter, probably as unwilling as Noctis to bring an end to their family time. He asks Clarus for a blanket to put on their laps, to ease the coming ache in his bad knee from the chilly room, which is a badly disguised excuse to warm up Noctis. Noctis won't have to hold on for long, he knows. Soon enough he will meet Gladio and explain, let Ignis fuss over him and fix whatever needs fixing. Sure, he will be in for quite the earful. Having been able to enjoy tonight as he had wished, he finds little dread at the upcoming consequences.
"As per your promise, it was the best gift of all,” his father murmurs, fingers kneading Noctis' nape in a tender gesture that has become too sparse since he had began high school. He can't help but to lean into hit, unbothered by the grin his dad bears. "Thank you again. Tonight was a treasure in itself, though I am afraid it has been quite straining for you."
His vision is a bit blurry. He blinks it off.
"While you maintained a good front for the sake of our guests, you kept waning through the night. You seemed to enjoy yourself, which is why I didn't wish to cut our time short, but you are getting paler by the minute, dear."
"It's fine." The lie leaves his lips easily. There is a tingling wave rising from his toes and climbing up to numb his feet. "I will just rest at home."
The admission has his father rising up and playfully shooing him to bed, but not before checking for a fever himself and bidding him goodnight with a warm embrace.
They part ways at the music room doors, Clarus and his father on one side while Noctis goes to Gladio, keeping watch a little further away.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself, Highness. You don't look peachy."
"Yeah." It feels like his mind is extra aware of everything, but his body grows colder and number. He lowers his voice, hoping the empty corridor will not carry his words further than their intended recipient. "Thanks for meeting me here."
"Sure."
Gladio has this strange look on him again, the one Noctis is unable to read. Shit, he hopes his request to meet didn't put his shield in trouble. Was he required to stay for the whole duration of the festivities, or did they put him on a time shift? Surely, if Gladio informed his upper hierarchy the Prince had requested his presence, they would be understanding but still...Noctis wasn't there to support the request himself. He can't remember if he was supposed to advise Cor of his orders, or if Gladio has a free pass when it comes to this kind of situation. What was the protocol again?
Maybe he was supposed to tell Cor or Clarus first? He had claimed needing Gladio for stupid, selfish stuff in the past - like fetching that new game the date of its release when Gladio was supposed to take part in a Crownsguard meeting. It hadn't ended well and Gladio had to suffer the consequences. Maybe that was why he bore this expression. Maybe he was just angry but couldn't explode because they were still within earshots of their fathers.
"First: don't freak out, and I am fine. But something happened on my way back from school today."
"Your choice of words is not comforting at all."
Funny, how he sounded like Ignis.
That was the last thing Noctis heard.
The loud sound of a body dropping like dead weight on the carpeted floor wasn't what Regis had expected to hear when parting with his son.
Gladio's surprised shout that followed brought him and Clarus back to Noctis' side in a flash.
Nothing would have prepared him to see the dark stain on his son's shirt when they removed the constricting garments to help him breathe. Immediately Clarus had pulled out a hi-elixir from the armiger but whatever had caused this wound - Oh Astrals, that gash must have been deep to leave such a scar - the harm had been done too long ago to allow the cure to have a full effect.
Noctis was brought back to consciousness a few minutes after they reached the medical wing. Cor had asked for all the security to be on high alert, but given his son had been partially healed and bandaged before arriving at the Citadel, it was unlikely his attacker was part of the attendees. Which proved to be a correct reasoning when Noctis realized what had transpired and promptly explained.
He had protected his son from daemons and imperial armies, and it turned out he was almost killed by a mere classmate in a brawl. A brawl! The rage threatened to overwhelm him. Only the pride knowing his son had managed to produce a cure in his pitiful state with barely half a bottle of soda could lessen his burning desire for murder. The parents of the culprit better had to have a good lawyer, because even if Regis might succumb to Noctis’ plea to keep the incident under wraps, he would make sure the consequences would match the offense.
"The blood loss from the original injury was probably the cause of the fainting spell." The doctor had assured them later on. "It's likely the wound was mostly healed, and His Highness strained himself during the evening. Since the first potion wasn't strong enough and His Highness kept moving, the wound reopened on the surface, hence the additional bleeding. Currently the injury is fully healed. With a bit of iron supplement and rest, His Highness will be as right as rain in a few days."
The incident brought on lecture upon lecture about keeping oneself safe, especially from Cor. Clarus's son and the young Scientia took part in those as well, but their gazes could barely hide how guilty they felt. Regis reminded himself it was part of learning the jobs, those failures. Astrals knew he had given quite the scare to Clarus in his time too. They were needed to learn and improve. And while he despised the mere thought, this incident was a first but might not be the last. Noctis, after all, was at this age where he had enough knowledge and confidence to make decisions in difficult situations, but not enough experience to comprehend all of the possible outcomes. The possibility of his attacker attempting to end his own life to escape the consequences of his act had apparently never touched his son’s mind until Regis suggested it. Fortunately, Ignis had been quick in obtaining the Vaillant's phone number and ensured their son was alive and well.
Without Clarus to calm down his fury, he would have gone to the house to teach a lesson to the Vaillants himself. Apparently the boy had gone home, promptly got drunk with fine wine until his parents found him sobbing. Instead of inquiring the whereabouts of the Prince, they remained at home waiting for their sentence to fall.
The memory of his son, limp and pale like a corpse on Clarus’ back was bound to haunt his dreams for the next decade. He found salvation in the fact that Noctis was strictly forbidden to leave his old rooms until the doctors gave him the free pass to live by himself.
Which found Regis two days later in the library adjacent to Noctis's rooms, rummaging through shelves to find the requested astronomy book, when he heard the lesson being taught again. Little did he know that this time, it would stick.
The friendly voice had been wobbly at first: inquiring if Noct was really ok and are you really sure? Noctis kept rambling and apologizing, and the more he kept on and sputtered excuses to explain his lies, the higher and angrier the other voice became.
He had heard Gladio turn angry at Noctis, send jabs at his son even, their tough love exchanges being well-known in the Citadel. He had heard Ignis be witty and sharp, kicking Noctis's butt with only words. However nothing could compare to the verbal tearing this new person wasn't afraid to put Noctis through. Whoever this visitor was, he had no qualms in saying aloud whatever words others had carefully covered with diplomacy, too aware of Noctis' rank.
"This is so much bullshit! You lied and that's it! Just because it turned all well doesn't mean we couldn't have ended in burying you next Monday!" The sentences may have been hiccuped through sobs, and the visitor didn't let Noctis put one word in.
"I don't care if it was your Dad's birthday or your freaking wedding day! You could have never made it to your place, or he could have come back to finish you because that asshole is a jerk! And no one would have known until we found you could! What kind of birthday that would have been, huh? Next time you tell someone, so at least there will be one person to tell you how stupid your idea is! You're sixteen, Noct! As princely you are, that's still too young to handle a life or death situation alone!"
"But I knew how to make a potion with..."
"I don't care! I don't give a fuck about your crystal magic! Just because you know how to swim doesn't mean you go to the beach during a tsunami!"
Regis remained hidden by the door until the screaming turned to sniffling, Noctis' quiet apologies murmured as heartfelt promises of changing his behaviour. When he peeked a look in the room, the sight of a teenager with blond hair greeted him.
Of course, he mused. If there was a person Noctis would be willing to change for, that would be the only person he befriended on his own. But also the only person the Crown hadn't attached to Noctis by the duty string. A friend that came for Noctis and not the Prince, but one that could also easily be lost forever.
His son knew that fact - and feared it as much as he liked it.
He waited a moment longer by the door so the boys could wipe away their tears and find some sort of composure. His patience was mostly for Prompto’s sake; his son, after all, had given him quite the scare. Some payback was due. And what else than some embarrassment from his Dad in front of his best friend?
Besides, for all the boy had done to brighten his son’s life, he’d never had the chance to show his gratitude. Time to redeem himself on that front.
“I must thank that young man for daring to yeet at you the words that have been burning my tongue for the last two days.”
"Oh my God, please don't send me to a dungeon," Prompto squeaked.
“That’s not even close to the proper use of ‘yeet’,” Noctis grumbled at the same time.
Regis barked out a laugh.