Archive of Our Own

A man. 30 years of age. Blonde, scrawny, a guy made from liquid sunshine who holds a gun in front of him and shoots bullets into the darkness.

A second man. 30 years of age. Wielding a sword made of stars and wearing a crown upon his head as he ascends ancient stone steps.

“You can’t change the past.” A voice says, spoken by both and then no one at all. “But you can change the future.”

Eleven words, spoken. The two meet each other’s gazes. There is time, space, and all the distortions in-between. A moment of hesitance, uncertainty, doubts and hopes tightened into a flask with the cork on tight and…

One of them disappears into balls of light: the other cries his heart out.

~~~

Prompto. Age 7. Elementary school. A plump blonde with glasses who waddles his way through the hallways with his head perpetually turned towards his shoes.

All around him are kids his age. They run through corridors lined to the brim with colorful posters, waving around papers full of numbers and books depicting superheroes in an attempt to conjure conversation. There is screaming and there is whispering. There is chattering and there is gossiping. Groups of students form in little packs, huddling in every nook and cranny the school can offer as sacks full of food make their appearance.

Prompto eats alone. He sits in his classroom seat – the desk furthest from the front and closest to the door – and pulls out a paper sack full of goods he has secured earlier from a trip to a local fast food place. A greasy burger cold and stale alongside fries now devoid of taste make their way into his mouth, summoned by stubby fingers that eagerly await the body’s reaction to food oh-so-salty.

He’s looking through his camera in the meantime, flipping through images of dogs and cats and abandoned sidewalks left waiting for tourists at the rise of dawn. These images mean nothing, if he’s honest – just pretty images of pretty sights he’s sure he’ll lament not shooting if he doesn’t do it then – but he likes to view them for the purposes of boredom.

He’s an amateur photographer at heart: a boy whose attraction to beauty lies in the ideals of water painted sunsets and city streets packed to the brim with lively citizens. His photos are of the romantic sort – of places he’s seen many times over captured by the lens of a camera, changed by the passage of an image through filters and gradients – but they are flimsy and uncertain, masterpieces left to the hands of a skill-lacking beginner.

Prompto aspires to be better, however. He aspires to be like the photographers he’s followed on every photography website ever, taking pictures of city parks and stone waterfalls that set the heart aflutter. He’s not quite there yet – his photos are too full of blurs, fingerprints, and minute cracks to be up to par with the professionals – but he knows that, one day, he can be the kind of person who takes pictures everyone would die for.

This, for all intents and purposes, is the reason why he starts taking an interest in the prince. Prompto, while shy and insecure – a boy of many hesitancies and many uncertainties packaged into harrowing doubts and defeatist tendencies – has an ambition for photos that will make his viewers see the world in a different light. He aims for the most life-changing of things: the arrival of dawn just over the horizon, a star-lit sky basking in the glow of a gleaming purple wall, the sight of the Citadel pressed against a backdrop of white clouds and silver skyscrapers and-

-and a prince whose smile is always nonexistent.

~~~ 

Noctis Lucis Caelum. That is the name of the prince who stalks through the halls of the elementary school like a wraith borne from the graveyard of royalty.

Prompto doesn’t know a lot about Noctis, but he knows enough. He’s seen the boy from a distance, seen the way he travels down the hallways with a flock of people always watching him. It is hard not to watch Noctis. It is hard not to see the way the prince of Lucius himself strides down corridors and staircases with an air of incorruptible power about him.

Perhaps that’s why Prompto takes an eventual fascination in him, a keen sense of awe and curiosity drawing him to the prince the way a lantern draws moths to its flame. There is no denying that Noctis is a marvel in of himself – an idol in the flesh masquerading as a common citizen among one of the poorest elementary schools in Insomnia – but what really gets Prompto is the fact that Noctis – the tiny ray of sunshine in a kingdom decorated with the Crystal’s light - never smiles.

See, that’s the strange thing about Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. He is a boy Prompto’s age, a child whose mere presence should elicit the expressions of laughter and merriment even at the smallest of things. But Prince Noctis, for all his holiness as royalty incarnate, has never once shown an expression beyond the bored stoicism of a politician. He is unlike the other kids in Prompto’s school. He never chats with others, never huddles in the corner with a group of friends to discuss the weather or the latest gossip. Rather, he is an anomaly – a loner whose conversations are brief and simple, a child whose apparent loneliness has made him succumb to the fringes of society like a ghost trapped at the ends of a graveyard.

He relates, in a way. He, too, stands on the edges of the society he calls middle school, friendless and alone and yet biding his time in the dalliance that is school and homework. Perhaps that’s why Prompto takes a curiosity in Noctis. Perhaps their connection, however subtle, is the reason why his infatuation with princely romanticism drives him to admire the prince from afar.

Noctis is like him, he thinks. Noctis knows what it’s like to be alone, to knowingly choose to remain on the edges of a world already furbished with friends and to carry on a path forged from independence and self-will. It is that selfish notion – the notion of a relationship manifested from commonalities observed from afar – that drives Prompto to both admire and fear the prince from afar.

And he says “admire and fear” because there is no way one can look upon Noctis with respect without feeling the harkening insecurity that comes with it. Noctis, unlike Prompto, is a prince. Noctis, unlike Prompto, is surrounded by adults and teenagers who will guide him through life. Prompto is not like Noctis. He is not a prince and he is not an important person surrounded by other important people. He is a commoner – a mere peasant left to gawk at his prince from afar as he makes wishes about crossing paths with a boy whose crown commands authority and desire.

But, for all his fear and hesitance, Prompto has wished to see one thing from the prince and one thing only: a smile that could rival the most beautiful of sunsets and the most pretty of models. Of all the photos that Prompto can take of the world – of oceans glistening against distant shores, of cactuses grown from golden sand and coeurls prancing across plains of grass – Prompto thinks the image of Noctis’s smile, the appearance of pulled-up lips on a prince who never beams with happiness, is a picture of incomparable entrancement.

It might be foolish – and perhaps a little stalkerish – to think in that way. A person’s smile cannot mean much in the long run after all. A smile is just a smile – the upturned jutting of lips meant to express a merriment secreted from laughs and ecstasy. A photo of the prince smiling should be something of little consequence (after all, Prompto has always seen photos of the young prince smiling before, lips as tight as a shut door and eyes wrinkled with furls of annoyance) but to Prompto, capturing such a precious moment would mean the world to him.

If he can take a photo of Noctis smiling, even if it’s once, he would be content with never seeing the prince again in his life if that is the price he pays for it. It’s selfish of him, perhaps even creepy, but for Prompto – a boy who chases after photos of beauty – it is something he wants to capture as soon as possible.

There are, of course, problems to this whimsical desire that Prompto has. For one, he has never once been able to get close to the prince – to stand in front of him and demand the boy’s attention the way any official tabloid might. He is too shy and awkward to attempt such a thing – distracted by “what-ifs” and “no-gos” that dissuade him from any such antics.

For another, as mentioned previously, Noctis never smiles and nothing has ever made him smile. The boy is always stone-faced even in the most hilarious of situations, gaze coldly viewing a display of boys telling fart jokes and the performance of slapstick comedy composed without warning by kindergarten crushes and distraught children.

It’s terribly saddening. Prompto thinks there’s something wrong with the world – especially if it is a world where Noctis never thinks to let loose feelings of merriment upon the world. Bliss is a fleeting thing in society – a high chased after by every individual ever – but it is an emotion deserved to be worn by one who has not yet reached the pique of his youth.

Still, Prompto is a coward. He is a coward but he is a coward because he is aware of the reality of the world he lives in. He is but a mere peasant who lives on the fringes of society – left neglected by parents too busy to attend to him and forgotten by peers who’ve long since formed their social circles without him.

And he’s lonely, oh so lonely, but even loneliness cannot stifle Prompto’s reluctance to interfere in the life of a prince made untouchable.

~~~

Prompto finds a dog in front of his apartment. He finds a dog and he names it Tiny and he clucks his tongue in sympathy when he realizes the poor dear has gone and gotten itself wounded.

The little dog – merely a white bundle of fur mewling pitifully like a cat drenched in water – watches him with beady eyes, body tensed as if it can’t bring itself to trust him.

That’s okay, he doesn’t quite trust himself, either.

Still, he’s not one to let limping dogs continue fruitlessly through roads marred with danger at every turn. So, he approaches the dog carefully, roll of bandages in hand, and soothes her worries by gently curling the bandages around her wound.

Tiny, as he’s come to call her, referencing her pitiable size, gives her thanks when he releases her. He watches her move around his kitchen floor, urging her to stay a few more nights to heal the wound, but she barks at him and absolutely insists on being let out the door.

He complies with some reluctance – unsure of why he’s bowing to the whims of a dog – and lets Tiny continue off on her merry little way. He watches her disappear around a corner, sniffing the walls as if to search for some trace of something, and then smiles to himself.

He’s done something good today.

He’s proud of himself.

~~~ 

It is one week later when the letter from Lady Lunafreya arrives in his mailbox. He notices it only because it sticks out like a sore thumb, white paper glinting between rusted panes of mailbox red. He retrieves it with some lamentation, noticing the way rust has marred the beautiful white envelope with a stain of copper brown.

Still, he is more in awe of the letter and its mysterious contents, savoring the sweetness of perfume as he searches for a letter opener. While rummaging through his kitchen, he can’t help but wonder if the letter is even meant for him – it is decorated in the fanciful curls of gold that aristocrats normally use, after all, and certainly a peasant like him has no place in opening it?

But – securing the letter opener with a hesitant hand – he finds that he has no choice but to open the mysterious letter. Silver slips through white, creating a rift which opens up to reveal cream parchment inside a darkened crack.

He retrieves the letter, once again savoring the delightful scent of flowers from afar, and reads its contents.

~~~

The letter is to him, of that there is no doubt.

Still, the words written inside, wrapped tightly in black ink looped with cursive writing, stir a desire of possibility inside him.

Lady Lunafreya has given him the means to see Noctis in person, to talk to the prince who never smiles and be the one to befriend a prince claimed to be “beyond lonely” by the girl treasured far and wide as his fiancée.

It’s a bit touching, to know this stranger has so much faith in him.

But it’s also sad, too. Prompto feels guilty, in a way. He’s not the friend Noctis has. He’s not the friend Lunafreya suspects him to be.

He sighs, uncertain, and finds himself wandering the streets of the city. It’s quiet out now, darkness riddling a world dozing in the wake of night.

It’s here that he finds himself wandering into the confines of a garden laden with roses well-tended by crown-employed gardeners. He’s in a public park – one known for hanging around in the richer parts of the city – but to his surprise he finds he’s not alone.

A man is sitting on the edge of the park’s central fountain, tucked under the gaze of an angel as water lit by lamp-posts falls out of a jug and into the pool below. He is a tall man, imposing and almost regal in appearance – all angles and jutting shapes fitted into the outfit of an aristocrat burning with the black color of nobility.

At first, the man takes no notice of him, seemingly staring up at the starry sky up ahead. There is a forlorn expression to the man’s face, one of mystery and entrancement. The look on the man’s face is the look of a person who has never seen stars in his life – a stranger whose infatuation with distant balls of light has him smiling like a child at a sky too haughty to reply.

That blue-eyed gaze, however, keeps staring, a strange sense of wariness mixed with familiarity haunting the windows of the man’s soul. Prompto feels as if his presence here has distorted something – time, space, perhaps even parallel dimensions of alternate happenings – but the man seems to take the tension in the air with a sense of ease, smiling the way a supermodel might.

It makes Prompto a little bit envious: this man has clearly been borne with the good looks of an idol, all rugged and handsome like a statue carved from the Astrals themselves.

“Hello,” the man greets him in kind, stilling as if afraid to spook off the boy who flutters nervously in front of him. “You look troubled. Is there something on your mind?”

Prompto flinches, not sure if he should mention something as stupid as wanting to make the prince of Lucis smile to a total stranger. He keeps his guard up, standing away from the man, uncertain of how to approach, when the stranger nods in understanding.

“You’re pretty young,” he says, softly, the way one might call to a dog trembling with anxiety. “Surely you’re not being troubled by the words of Lunafreya?”

There's a heartbeat. Silence drifts between them, hesitance alight on a midnight breeze, and Prompto watches as the man’s face shifts to a look of exasperation.

“How do you know that?” Prompto asks, quietly. There’s a burning flame that eats at him, guilt and fear forcing him to stand in place as he observes the stranger.

“A…slip of the tongue, I suppose,” the stranger rubs the back of his head, threading fingers through black locks. “Let’s just say that I…well, I know some things I probably shouldn’t in this day and age. Lady Lunafreya’s communications with you about m- the prince being one of them.”

Prompto peers at him, unnerved by the stutter that is hastily smothered inside the man’s mouth. He stares, silently, unsure of what to say. The man stares back, seeming more and more awkward, before the stranger comes to a stand and nods to himself.

“I have no bad intentions,” the man says. “Only…well, if you need help getting into the prince’s heart, perhaps I can help?”

Prompto flinches, embarrassment flooding him with shame and guilt as he shrivels up inside. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know that I wanted to get close to the prince?”

“Ah.” The man hums to himself, looking sideways as he rubs the back of his neck. “Well. It’ll sound stupid if I explain the reason out loud. Just…trust that I happen to know about the prince and the going-ons in his life. Rather, more importantly, if you want help becoming friends with that prickly prince, I can help you do that.”

“You…can?” Prompto peers at him, startled, before he looks down at his feet. “But, the prince wouldn’t want to be close to someone like me.”

There’s a snort. Prompto flushes, glaring up at the man, but finds himself with widening eyes as the man reaches down to pat his shoulder.

“Answer me this: is the prince human?”

Prompto frowns. “...Yes…of course...?”

“Well, if he’s human, he needs friends, doesn’t he? Especially if he’s a prince. He’s going to need someone to be there to guide him when no one else will. You can do that for him.”

“I can?”

“Easily.”

There’s a grin on the man’s face, one that’s friendly and promising. Prompto feels himself swayed by it, finding comfort in its warmth, and he can’t help the stars in his eyes as he asks:

“You can help me be Noctis’s friend?”

“I can help you get there,” the man says, as if correcting him. When he notices the way Prompto deflates, sinking like a balloon let loose of air, the man gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m not a miracle-maker. I can’t make the prince immediately trust you in a heartbeat. But, I can offer advice on how to do that.”

“How?” Prompto asks. “How can I get him to trust me?”

“Well, step one, believe in yourself. Don’t look at me like that, I’m being honest here. Being yourself will definitely get his attention, believe me.”

“Oh...okay…” Prompto frowns. “I’ll um...I’ll try to do that. But um...how do I know that what you say will even work? I mean...it kind of feels...weird...that you’d know anything remotely related to becoming friends with Noctis.”

The man’s expression turns alight with mirth. Prompto watches the man, suddenly aroused with suspicion, when the stranger runs a hand through his hair and nods in full agreement.

“I don’t expect you to trust me. Hell, it’s better if you don’t. But, I’m not one to let a poor soul like yourself suffer so obviously. Nor the prince, for that matter. What an absolutely oblivious child that prince is.”

“I’m...not understanding anymore.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” the stranger grins. Then pauses, frowning as he rubs his chin as if struck with a sudden realization. “I don’t think I asked your name.”

“I don’t know yours,” Prompto responds with wariness.

“Fair enough. I’m...King.”

“King? Wouldn’t a name like that be considered bad? People might mistake you for the actual king, wouldn’t they?”

“Full of questions, aren’t you?” King grins. “I don’t mind that. Let’s just say...I’m from a foreign place. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

At this Prompto bites his bottom lip, wanting to ask more but not knowing if he’ll get an actual answer. King seems to notice this, nodding, before he comes to a stand, stretching his arms and legs. 

“Nice to meet you, kid,” King smiles. It’s warm and kindly. Prompto decides he likes that smile, even if he’s a little cautious of it. “But I should really be getting on my way now. You too. It’s nice to wander around in the dark but this City...well I suppose it’s safe enough, the way it is now.”

“Now?” Prompto asks, a slight quiver in his voice.

King says nothing to that, only waving a hand and walking away. The glow of nearby streetlights illuminate him, casting a white glow that dapples his figure as he melts into the shadows of the park. 

Prompto watches him go, wonders what a man like him, whose stride is powerful and whose aura is unnecessarily kind, would have to do with a kid like Prompto. 

He never answered my question about Lunafreya’s letter, the boy muses, realizing that his initial question has been lost in a sea of chatter. Something about that still bugs him. Lunafreya lived in a far-away place and, while her penning to the prince as a common fact to the general populace, it was unlikely that anyone would look at him and think “ That’s the boy who got lucky enough to get Lunafreya’s letter .”

Still, the words King has told him, the hope that King has given him, however slight, sticks in Prompto’s mind with a fondness. Noctis...can he really be friends with Noctis, the boy whose smile he is looking for?

He wonders, doubts flooding into his mind again. It’s intimidating, to think that he could be capable of becoming friends with the prince, much less be able to talk to him. Lady Lunafreya’s letter, with its air of comforting perfume, and King’s words, patient yet giving hope, make him think that maybe, just maybe, it’s possible.

~~~

It’s not possible.

Prompto feels himself flooded with doubts and insecurities, a rush of adrenaline making him almost want to cry. 

Just moments earlier, he’d attempted to call the prince’s name, to greet him and act like he wasn’t just a shy kid trying desperately to earn the attention of someone so much higher than him. 

Then he tripped. And fell. Made a disgrace of himself. And then Noctis had come to help him up, offering a hand and a smile that just made Prompto make himself feel more embarrassed at such an awkward entrance.

Noctis had disappeared shortly afterwards, called away while Prompto was left staring after him, stars in his eyes yet a pit of dread in his stomach. Man, he was so uncool. Too uncool. Surely, the prince would think he was too uncool to hang out with now, right?

It’s with these thoughts that Prompto wanders, long since dazed by his very first (and probably) last encounter with prince Noctis. He moves through the streets of the city, pondering his insecurities, when he notices, up ahead, is a familiar face, staring at a sky cloudless and full of sun.

“Hello again,” King greets him without even looking, gaze apparently caught by the brightness shining overhead. 

“H-Hello, sir.”

“You look troubled.”

“I feel like I’m always troubled.”

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.” King turns his gaze away from the sky, blue eyes looking at Prompto. “Tell me, having trouble talking to that prince of yours?”

“I-” Prompto flusters, “...yeah. How did you know?”

“It’s written all over your face,” King grins, then frowns when he seems to notice the way Prompto’s face falls. “Hey now. Relax. First tries don’t always go the way you want them to. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try again?”

“How will I know a second attempt wouldn’t be as embarrassing as the first?”

“You never know. People’s first judgements of you aren’t as necessarily unkind as you may think. Clumsiness might be mistaken as endearing over annoying. The confidence to approach someone when no one else will may be seen as something to be envious of instead of despicable.”

“That doesn’t mean the prince wouldn’t think of me as an embarrassment.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Come on, build some confidence in yourself!” King pats his shoulder. “The more you bury yourself in your woes, the more you mistake potential happiness for misery. The prince is just like you, after all.”

“In what way?”

“Well. He’s still a child at heart. Sure, he’s been saddled with the responsibilities of a prince, all high and mighty, but he still wants friends just like you do.”

“You don’t know that.”

King goes quiet at that. Prompto looks at him, suspicion aroused at his sudden silence. However, King seems to not to be offended by the narrowed eyes Prompto showcases him, only rubbing the back of his head as he offers a sigh.

“You might be right to say I don’t know that for certain,” King tells him. “After all, for all you know, I have no relation to him. But I do know this: everyone is lonely in life, no matter how much they deny otherwise, and it’s up to you whether you want to become that prince’s friend or leave someone else to do that for you.”

Prompto nods, finding wisdom in those words however doubtful he is of the man. 

“Thanks,” he says, not sure if he quite means it but speaking it anyways.

“Hey, no problem.” King gives him a grin that’s strangely radiant. “If ever you need me for my advice, I’m sure I’ll be around.”

The man walks off after that, his hands in the pockets of his black jacket. Prompto watches him go, watches the sun catch on the slope of his shoulders and wonders with absent-minded curiosity what right a man has to offer advice whenever the need comes. 

“It’s not like I’ll ever see him again,” Prompto mutters. 

The boy kicks at a stray pebble, watching it bounce on concrete, before he departs. His mind concentrates on the words of the man, thinking about what it means to be “confident” and a good “friend” to someone who is considered “alone”. 

“Do I even have the right to be at the prince’s side?” He asks himself before shaking his head. “If I have confidence in myself, I’ll be able to prove to myself I’m worth being by him.”

He tells himself this, expecting the words to sound like empty inspiration, but instead feels a swell of determination well up inside him. He nods to himself, wondering how he’s going to go about improving himself.

Lose the weight, for one. If he sheds weight from his body, he’s sure he’d be more confident in himself. He doesn’t have to do it, not if he doesn’t want to, but he feels like it’s something he wants to tackle about himself

Stay fit, is another. No more fast food, however much he might crave it. No french fries, no hamburgers, no late night salty snacks. If he wants to feel better about himself, exercise is the way to go.

Become prouder of himself. This one is important. He knows he wrestles with insecurity, feeling like the world will reject him for any wrong move he makes. But if he can overcome that, can see the value in himself and his actions, he’s sure he’ll gain faith in himself.

With these thoughts in mind, Prompto makes a plan. He’ll start exercising, stop eating fast food, and become someone who can be more confident in himself. If he does that, he thinks he can take King’s advice to heart and be able to approach the prince whose smile he wants to see.

~~~

Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years.

As time moves on, Prompto grows. He becomes taller, skinnier, muscles emerging where there used to be fat. But more importantly, he finds himself more confident in himself, shaking most of his insecurity in order to come to terms with the new self he’s developed.

On the first day of high school, when the students are crowding through silver gates and chattering in blossom-filled courtyards, Prompto spots a familiar face swimming through the crowd. It’s of a boy who is surrounded by no one, shoulders slouching and a grim look on his face. He hesitates for a moment, standing a ways behind the boy, wondering if he should take a step forward.

Then he realizes that he’s been working for this moment for years and that he’s not about to squander it for some half-hearted second of indecision.

He runs forward, his legs flying through air, and lands his hand on the shoulder of the prince.

There’s a jump from the boy, a look of confusion and surprise as he looks upwards, gaping and baffled all at once, before Prompto smiles at him.

“Hey there, buddy,” the words flow so smoothly from his mouth, as if he’s talking to an old friend he hasn’t seen in years instead of a prince who looks as shell-shocked as a turtle. “What’s up?”

The prince doesn’t immediately answer - leading to a split second of fear in Prompto that the plan he’s been building up to has gone awry - before the boy laughs, answering his words in kind.

Prompto grins, hearing the sound of music notes in Prince Noctis’s voice, and he can’t help but think how lucky he is to be accepted so easily.

~~~

“Did you finally make friends with that prince of yours?”

Prompto is sitting outside the local arcade when a man approaches him, the man taking a seat on the bench beside him and leaning against it.

It’s been years. Yet, somehow, King’s appearance hasn’t changed. He still has the same rugged look to him that Prompto remembers, blue eyes sparkling and a loafy kindness to his voice.

“How’d you guess?”

“You look happier,” the man says. “Last time I saw you, it seemed like you weren’t sure it was possible to get close to him.”

“Well, yeah.” Prompto looks at him, noticing the stubble on his chin and the untidy hair that reminds him strangely of Noctis’s. “I took your advice, got confident in myself. And I...well, I ended up approaching him. It was kind of scary, not going to lie.”

“Did he reject you in the way that you thought?”

“Not at all.” Prompto smiles. “Rather, he acted like me approaching him was natural. I’m kind of surprised. He never said anything, either. I just acted like we were friends and he...accepted.”

“Is that a bad thing? You’ve got what you wanted, after all.”

“Mm, I suppose it’s not a bad thing.” Prompto nods his head. “Honestly though? I thought it would be a lot worse. I kind of expected him to call the Kingsglaive on me or something but I’m...happy it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Perhaps the prince saw your willingness to be his friend right away,” King says. “Perhaps he knew all along that you were watching, waiting, and that he too was waiting for the moment you would approach him so he could approach you.”

Prompto fiddles with the zipper of his jacket. “You may it sound like you know him personally.”

A pause. “Nah, not me.” Prompto turns his gaze upwards, watching as King stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’ve simply got good intuition, that’s all. It isn’t hard to take one look at the prince and see what he needs.”

“So you’re saying the prince wanted a friend?” Prompto pauses. “And that any friend would do?”

King blinks at him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then he lets out a small laugh, trying to mask it as a cough, before the man splutters with an indency that has Prompto raising his eyebrows.

“What’d I say?” He asks.

The man shakes his head. “It’s...It’s just...that conclusion it’s...it’s surprising, that’s all.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I don’t mean anything by it,” King runs a hand through his hair, taking in deep breaths before he speaks again. “I just didn’t realize how hard you are on yourself. You’re a great kid. You shouldn’t let insecurity get to you.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“You think just anyone can become the prince’s friend?” King asks him, as if to suddenly change the subject.

“Well...didn’t you say as much to me when we talked?”

“I may have implied it, yes, but I don’t mean it the way you might think.” King grins a sloppy grin. “Rather, to put it more appropriately: I think you’re a perfect fit for the prince. As his friend, of course.”

“A perfect fit?” Prompto raises his eyebrows, snorts, and then leans back on the end of the bench he’s sitting on. “But I’m...just a nobody. Anyone would be a better fit than I am, right?”

King clicks his tongue. The man steps forward, his shadow looming over that of Prompto’s. The boy peers upwards, thinking he’s somehow annoyed the man, but is surprised to find King looking at him with a soft, almost fond look in his eyes. The feeling is somehow nostalgic, like Prompto is looking through a mirror and seeing something familiar.

In a way, King reminds him of Noctis. Same black hair, same blue eyes, same kindly aura mixed with a feeling of power. But, unlike the Noctis he knows - the Noctis who is boyish and friendly, grouchy yet sincere, his best pal and also his worst insecurity - this man is something else. He radiates with a knowing that is tired and sad, speaking of the residue of something lost and perhaps ancient. There is an air of weatherness to him - poetically tragic and yet mystifying all at once. King reminds him of Noctis but is not the same as Noctis. Instead it’s like he’s...an older brother to Noctis, one who looks just like him but as an adult. 

It’s...weird to put into words why Prompto feels this way, why there’s a sudden look to King that is almost picture-perfect of his best friend. Yet Prompto finds that, unlike Noctis, this man carries about a certain kind of charisma with him - one that eludes Prompto’s sense of suspicion with smiles and kindly words. He is ruggedly handsome - the type to be a celebrity, honestly, and kind of Prompto’s type, now that he thinks about it - but the familiarity of him is what Prompto clings to most, finding ease in the man’s presence despite knowing nothing of him.

“You’re a good person, Prompto.” King says. “Most would be thinking of how to take advantage of the prince if they were at his side. Instead, you’re focusing more on yourself and how you can be better for him. If you think about it, that makes you more qualified to be Prince Noctis’s friend more than anyone, isn’t that right?”

“I…” Prompto swallows. “If you put it like that….”

King tilts his head, opening his mouth as if he wants to ask more, before a voice cuts through the air. 

“Prompto!”

The voice of Noctis fills his ears and he immediately jumps to his feet, spotting his friend peeling through citizens as he waves his hand in greeting. Prompto waves his hand back, grinning as the boy walks up to him.

“Looks like I kept you waiting,” Noctis says, a sloppy grin on his face as he puts his hands on his hips and huffs.

“Nah, it’s fine. I was actually talking to someone.” 

“Really?” Noctis frowns. “Who? I don’t see anyone here.”

Prompto furrows his eyebrows, looking to his right where King had been standing, then to his left. He spins on his heels, gazing around him, before he realizes that Noctis is, indeed, right and that there’s no one around him. He opens his mouth, trying to fish for an explanation but failing.

“I...I could’ve sworn he was right here.”

“He?” Noctis glances at him. “Who?”

“A guy named King.”

“King?” Noctis snorts. “It’s not my father, is it? No wait, the press aren’t here. There’s no way they wouldn’t be swarming him if he came all the way out here.”

“No King is...well, an acquaintance I occasionally talk to.”

“Oh?” Noctis says, looking quite curious. Prompto shifts on his feet, not knowing what else to say, and Noctis seems to pick up on that. He grabs Prompto’s hand, beckoning him after him, and the blonde boy follows the prince into the glowing neon colors of the local arcade.

“Come on then,” Noctis tells him, “since you’re done talking, let’s go and have some fun now.”

Noctis smiles and Prompto can’t help but feel himself staring in a daze as he squeezes Noctis’s head and nods his head.

“Okay,” he says.

~~~

Prompto spends a lot of his time with Noctis. In fact, most of his waking hours seem to be spent chilling at Noctis’s apartment or at his side in class or just while taking a stroll through the local park. He spends so much time alongside the boy that he’s honestly feeling like it’s impossible to separate from him. They do so much together, from enjoying bowls of ramen underneath glistening moonlight to playing games on their phones when they think their teachers aren’t looking, that it’s honestly becoming hard to go one moment without having Noctis in his life in some way.

Of course, being so close to someone forever and ever, for time immerorial, starts to awaken feelings in Prompto. Feelings he’s felt before - itches that have come and been scratched away - but now which are setting root in him like a sticker bush with a quest for vengeance. 

Put more simply: Prompto thinks he has a crush on his best friend.

The feelings come slowly, ever so slowly, but Prompto can’t find any other reasonable explanation for why he’s suddenly so fascinated with becoming close to Noctis. Every touch of their hands or every whisper of Noctis’s voice in his ears sends his heart pounding, thrilled with any interaction he can get but also all too aware of the hormones suddenly setting his blood on fire.

In a way, he feels guilty for having these feelings for his best friend. Noctis isn’t the type to care about relationships, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling the longing in his veins or having stars in his eyes. 

Noctis is perfect in that way: untouchable, like a deity. It’s a sin to crave the likes of one he cannot have, to reach for that which is put on a pedestal and to think for even a moment that his selfishness can be reciprocated. But Prompto dreams. He dreams of a life alongside his best friend, one where they spend endless days side-by-side in the glory of their lively city, tasked with ruling the kingdom just as much as they are tasked with enjoying a sunny day in the park. 

However, what Prompto dreams of is an impossibility. It’s a hopeless aspiration, an idea built merely on the foundation of want instead of possibility. And it is for this reason that Prompto keeps his thoughts to himself, never burdening Noctis with the romantic desires lingering inside.

It’s better this way, Prompto thinks to himself, reaching for stars in his ceiling and coming back with oxygen in his hands. If I tell him anything about what I feel, it’s going to be over between us.

He can picture it now: the surprise on Noctis’s face, the confusion, the annoyance and irritation melded into one. Noctis might be kind about his rejection, feigning ignorance after any confession Prompto makes so as to settle the inevitable tension that’d soon follow. Or, Noctis might reject him entirely, declaring Prompto unfit to be by his side and replace him with another.

It’s the rejection Prompto’s afraid of. He’s afraid of the aftermath of making one bold confession: the consequences of letting his feelings leak from him like a stench to be cleared. He’s so close to Noctis, always so close, and Prompto feels as if Noctis’s rejection might leave him devastated. He doesn’t want to be abandoned, doesn’t want to be left alone the way he has before, with his parents far away and with no one else to call friend. But he’s also desperate to be rid of the feelings on his chest, to clutch at Noctis and hold him tight, to breathe him in the way lovers do on the cheesy romcom flicks they watch together and feels Noctis’s lips on his own.

It’s a pipe dream. A fantasy. But even still, Prompto hopes. He knows he has no chance. He knows Noctis will never look his way. But even so, he dares to cling onto the yearning he feels, wishing - praying - that he can find reciprocation from the boy the world calls prince and the boy whom he calls friend.

~~~

Days tick by. Time unravels in slow motion. There are talks of hostility from Niflheim, of negotiations and threats and war on the horizon. The king is growing weary. And, as the man who rules all of the Kingdom of Lucis grows more concerned with the tensions growing between Lucis and their neighboring Empire, so too does Noctis.

“My dad takes things so seriously,” Noctis says, running his fingers through his hair as he enjoys a bowl of ramen noodles on top of his couch. 

Prompto is across from him, sipping from the broth of his bowl as he nods his head. “Is he making you do more work again?”

“You bet. I swear I’ve had so much paperwork shoved at me that I’m going to be drowning in it at this rate.” Noctis raises his chopsticks, clicking them together as he pauses in his eating. “It’s not like my old man is going to die any time soon though, you know? I mean, sure, things with the Empire are getting pretty bad but as long as we have the Crystal we’ll be fine.”

Prompto nods to this too, letting his friend rant as he finishes off his meal. Noctis is flamboyantly passionate about his distaste for the work sent in his direction, criticizing his father’s decision to hurry up his training as prince and scowling like an unruly teenager as he states his detest of Niflheim’s presence.

Then, a whisper. Soft and concerned, as if merely a murmur in a room that suddenly feels deafening. 

“There’s talks of me being engaged to Luna.”

Prompto pauses, blinking once...twice...thrice.

“ What?”

The blonde boy glances up, feeling a vibration of shock rock through him as he locks eyes with the deep blue of Noctis’s own. He notices the furrow in Noctis’s brow, the slight pout to his lower lip, and the uncertain expression on the boy’s face - carefully molded into an expression of neutrality but just revealing enough to showcase a sheen of concern.

“It’s just a rumor, right now.” Noctis leans back in his seat, wiping at the juice on his lips. “But my father’s considering seriously engaging me to Luna.”

“Why Luna though?” He asks, carefully, trying not to let the beating anxiety in his heart peer through his expression.

“Something about that’s what Niflheim wants in order to guarantee peace between our Kingdom and the Empire. I don’t really know.” Noctis looks at his legs, crossed across each other, and fidgets with his jeans. “It seems like a good idea. If I can get married to her and keep people out of harm’s way, then it makes sense for me to marry her. Just…”

“Just?” Prompto leans forward.

“I don’t know...I love Luna but like...I don’t think I’ve ever thought of being with her forever in that way, you know?” Noctis scratches the back of his neck, looking guilty. “Like, yeah, she’s cool and honestly I envy the way she can keep her calm even in the nightmare of a situation she’s in but...as much as I hate to say it, I’m not even sure I’d be happy being with her eternally, you know? I don’t want to force this on her. Heck, I don’t even know if she even likes me in the manner everyone supposes she does. But...I get that it’s important for us to marry if it means peace. I don’t know. It’s tough.”

Prompto watches as the boy heaves a sigh, looking quite awkward, and he suddenly wants to reach out, replacing the frown on his friend’s face with a smile.

“Whatever choice you make, I’ll be happy for you.” Prompto says. And means it. 

However, those seem to be the wrong words to say. Prompto watches as his best friend winces, visibly cringing, and he immediately wonders if he’s done something wrong. He opens his mouth, trying to rescind the words he’s let loose, before Noctis shakes his head and speaks before he can.

“Thanks,” the boy says, his voice firm and detached, as if he’s distracted and unable to say the truth in his mind. “It’s just...a lot, you know?”

“Sounds like you need a break,” Prompto says, saying the words quietly and then picking up in braveness as Noctis’s eyes glitter with curiosity. “How about we go and get some ice cream tomorrow, you and me? It’ll take your mind off of politics for a bit, at least.”

“Are you paying?” Noctis asks.

“You’re more than rich enough to pay for yourself.” Prompto snorts, beforing noting Noctis’s daggered gaze and holding up his hands. “Sure, sure. Consider it my treat.”

“In that case, you’ve got a deal,” Noctis grins, normality returning to his body once again as his eyes shine with vitality. “Can’t wait.”

Prompto finds himself grinning at this, glad to be rid of the awkwardness.

~~~

A few weeks later, the announcement is official.

Noctis and Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae are getting married. 

The news is everywhere: plastered on anything and everything, from the newspapers toted around by Lucius citizens to the bulletin boards broadcasting reporters telling of the tale every place there’s a screen. It’s inescapable - Prompto can hear the wedding bells follow him as the image of Noctis and Luna standing side by side follows him like a greedy specter. 

It hurts. 

He doesn’t want it to, but it hurts.

Prompto wants to be happy for Noctis. And he is, truly. Noctis is following the destiny his father has set for him. Willingly, at that. But, still, something about the way images of Noctis and Lunafreya show up everywhere he goes - clearly doctored yet somehow realistic in their appearance - sets Prompto ablaze with cold, cruel jealousy.

It tugs at his heart, soaking him in envy, and all he can think about is how he wants to replace Lunafreya on the posters he passes and how he wants his face to be in place of hers on the TV ads that crow loudly into his ears.

He’s selfish. Awfully selfish. Why can’t he just let this go? He’s not meant to be with Noctis - that much is clear. Even if Noctis admits to thinking of Lunafreya as anything but a romantic partner, that doesn’t meant things won’t change. Maybe Noctis will find himself in her. Maybe he’ll happily grow to love her, raising a family of kids who would pass by him and call him “Uncle Prompto” like he’s no more than just a family friend to that of their father. 

Ah. It’s no good. Thoughts like these are stabbing into his heart like needles, piercing into the flesh of the organ until he can feel himself bleeding blood more than he’s pumping it out. 

He leans against a nearby railing, sitting on its silver surface as he gazes upwards, trying to fight the frustration in his veins with the expectation of nothing in return.

“Your friend is getting married, huh?”

Prompto finds himself blinking as a familiar voice enters his ears. He’s pulled from the daze that is his shock and numbness to see King standing before him, the man’s hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he grins. 

“Hey there,” King says. “Trouble in paradise?”

He snorts. “You could put it like that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess you’ve heard the news?”

“Prince Noctis is marrying the lovely lady of Tenebrae, huh?” King nods. There’s a long pause between them before King continues. “How’s it feel?” The man asks softly. “You look like you’re in distress.”

“Just a bit envious,” he says, kicking his legs back and forth. “My best friend gets to get married to a lovely girl. I feel a little left out, you know?”

“Is that it?” King’s gaze is inquisitive yet somehow piercing, lips upturning as if amused by the suggestion laid before him. “Or are you really jealous of Lady Lunafreya?”

He pauses, flinching so greatly that he almost tumbles from the railing in his shock. 

“W-What?” He asks.

King chuckles. “Don’t try and hide it. I can see it on your face. You like the prince, don’t you? And you’re jealous of Lunafreya. I can say it’s not something to be ashamed of. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling jealous. It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know about natural but...how do you even know what you’re saying is factual?”

“Intuition,” King says, “and a bit of knowledge. You look so lovestruck it would surprise me more if you didn’t have a crush then if you did.”

“I hope I’m not that easy to read to Noctis,” Prompto flusters. “I mean...I don’t...it’d just make things weird between us, wouldn’t it?”

“You never know.” King hums, leaning against the railing beside him at a comfortable distance. “Maybe he wants to reciprocate those feelings of yours.”

Prompto frowns at the teasing note in the man’s voice. “I doubt it. Noctis is...not the type to date his best friend.”

King peers at him. “Then what type is he?”

“Perfect. Handsome. The king of guy who has a lucky lady clinging to him and a best friend to watch his back.”

The man beside him hums again. “But aren’t you just making assumptions?”

“Assumptions?”

“Yeah. Have you even talked to the prince? Do you know that’s what he’s truly thinking? You say he’s probably going to have a lady at his side and that he’s going to forever treat you as his best friend but...how do you know that to be true?”

“I…” Prompto fumbles for an answer. Finds he can’t grab one. Pauses, and slumps his shoulders. “I suppose I don’t know any of it to be true.”

“Exactly. You’re leaping to conclusions here.”

“But even still...I don’t think there’s a snowball of a chance that Noctis likes me back, you know? I may...have a crush on him but it’s kind of...well, ridiculous to think he’d look at me the way I look at him.”

King stares at him, the blues of his eyes calm and endearing yet also softening upon locking with Prompto’s own. There’s something enticing about that gaze, freshly painted with the colors of a newborn ocean and yet wizened by countless eras of foam and sand. His eyes are like Noctis’s - strong and firm, alluring yet somehow mysterious - and Prompto finds himself swallowing, wondering why the stirrings in his chest remind him painfully of his infatuation with Noctis.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” King says after a moment, quiet and thoughtful. “Give the boy some time. If you do, you might see some results.”

There’s nothing more to be said after that. King bids his goodbye to Prompto, saying he has things to take care of, joking of enemies he has to track, before he takes off, melding into the mold of Lucius’s citizens despite the looks of fancy sent his way.

Prompto thinks he likes that man, watching the darkness of his backside escape into a melting pot of colors. It’s not quite the same feeling as Noctis - not quite the yearning sensation of his heart pounding his chest or fire in his veins - but it’s a more tame version, an idolization, so to speak. If Prompto had to put words to it, he’d describe his fondness for King like a celebrity crush - finding the man handsome and charismatic, but knowing full well that he is too young to fantasize about such a person in his life.

Still, it gets him thinking: Who is King? Where has he come from? The man never explains himself when he appears, only manifesting when Prompto seems to need him and disappearing when he deems fit.

A mystery, that one. But mysteries are a part of life. And, one day, Prompto’s sure he’s going to get his answer for who King is.

~~~

A lot of things have happened in the past few days. 

A lot of things have happened and Prompto is in disarray.

Niflheim has invaded. The Citadel has fallen and with it the capital of Lucius. There’s still hope. At least, Noctis thinks there’s hope. But that hope is cruel - a denial of reality - and Prompto’s not sure how much of his friend’s grief he can handle before feeling like wallowing in despair himself.

So, with tension in the air between Noctis and his other “brothers” - Gladio and Ignis - Prompto opts for a walk, taking a stroll on a long stretch of white sand as he does so, wary of daemons but needing a moment to himself.

Of course, it is at this moment that he finds a familiar face coming to greet him, black shoes slick and shiny (yet noticeably worn with age, leather flaking at the bottom) entering his field of vision before he hears the familiar voice.

“What an awful night,” King says.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

King kicks at a pebble. It bounces off the pier, into the water, and falls beneath the frothing currents. 

“My father. I couldn’t save him.”

Prompto looks up, trying to catch a glimpse of his companion’s face and yet finding it strangely obscured by the darkness of the night. 

“Was he in Lucius?”

“...Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” King takes a seat beside him. “You have no reason to be sorry.”

“It’s just...my friend. He also lost his father tonight.”

“The king, right?” There’s a tang of bitterness to King’s voice. “What an utter loss for Lucius. I can only imagine how the prince must be feeling. His father was important to him, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I’m sure he thinks he could’ve saved him. That if he stayed he could’ve done something to keep him alive.”

Prompto frowns. “Yeah, he said those words today. How’d you know?”

“Because that’s how I would feel, if I was in his shoes.”

“Aren’t you going to blame him for running away?”

“Running away?” King’s voice is musing. “No, if anything, I see his actions as being rather brave. Returning to his father’s side is foolish. There was likely nothing he could’ve done. Even if he was to go back in time...well, it’s as if the results are the same.”

Prompto furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?” Then he sighs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You know, for how many times you’ve shown up before me, you’re pretty mysterious.”

King doesn’t say anything to that, so Prompto continues.

“You always seem to act like a...guardian angel of sorts to me. Always coming and going, but seeming to appear just when I need someone to talk to. And, strangely enough, all our conversations seem to involve Noctis.” He pauses, looking upwards, squinting despite the sudden chill that sweeps across him. “You’re not here to hurt him, are you?”

“Why would I do that?” King asks softly. “If anything, I just want to give him happiness.”

“Again with the crypticness. Who are you?”

“A...foreigner from beyond. I’m a traveller of worlds, you could say. I’ve come here on a mission. Part of that mission is to destroy Niflheim where it stands.”

“So you’re an ally?” Prompto pauses. “I mean...because we want to destroy Niflheim too but…”

“Are you thinking of asking me to join you?” King inquires.

“No I...I mean...I don’t really know you enough to ask you to do that but...do you have anything that could help us fight against them?”

“Time,” the man says. “And patience. I’ll handle the rest.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is if you let it be.” There’s a sorrowful tease to his voice, a lilt of something wistful mixed with longing. A sigh comes from the man beside him, yearning and grateful, before Prompto hears the rustle of the man’s clothes as he turns as if to walk away. “As for your prince...he’s going to need to heal on his own. There’s nothing you can do to help him but allow him to grieve.”

“But I want to help him.” Prompto says, feeling scratchiness in his voice. “I mean...I see him suffering and I just...I want to do something for him, you know?”

“Keep that feeling about you,” King says. “That prince of yours...he’s going to need someone like you to lean on. In the future, I mean. He’s no more than someone your age, but a supporting hand such as yourself can go a long ways.”

“I…” Prompto exhales. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you. I’ll...try to support him. In any way I can. No, I will support him.”

A chuckle, soft and whispery, like a passing breeze.

“I’m sure that prince of yours will appreciate it,” King says.

And then he is gone.

~~~

The journey through Lucius, through Niflheim, though the Kingdom and the Empire, has been a tough road to travel.

Prompto’s seen his fair share of tragedies during the course of this trip, starting with the loss of Noctis’s father, continuing with the death of Lady Lunafreya, and ending with a man carved from shadows.

There is, of course, a snowy land covered in illusions and the mirage of a robot that haunts him so, but Prompto has conquered that which must be conquered to reach a final conclusion:

Noctis is his prince and his best friend, his brother in arms and his sole companion in a world that is losing its luster. And it is Prompto’s duty, as his subject and friend, brother and fellow comrade, to protect him, to serve him well and bring him to a finale of light in a world darkening with rapture.

Of course, that is before Noctis touches the crystal. That is before Prompto bursts into a room with a pedestal, Ardyn and Noctis, and finds that a beautifully nightmarish sight is unfolding before him.

The Crystal that has protected all of Lucius for eternity and beyond is grabbing at Noctis, glittering light eating at his fingers, his hands, his arms until, finally, he is swallowed whole by the Crystal itself, eaten by that which was supposed to save them all.

Prompto charges at Ardyn then, guns blasting in a fury he has not known himself to wield before. It’s desperate and uncanny, like something inside himself has cracked and broken. He shoots and shoots, Ignis to his left, Gladio to his right, but everything is to no avail.

Shadows creep from Ardyn’s form, similar to the likes of the mist covering the bodies of daemons. Ardyn doesn’t look human anymore, sneering down at the three of them as the Crystal glows, perfectly immaculate despite it swallowing the last hope that the planet has for redemption.

“Wait your turn,” Ardyn says, before he disappears in a plume of black, teleporting to who knows where as Prompto collapses.

Ignis and Gladio take to investigating the Crystal, desperate to pry their beloved prince from its clutches, but they come up empty-handed. Prompto despairs at hearing that, crying tears he has once refused to shed and slamming bloodied fists onto glittering galaxies of blue mixed with the sparkle of white and pink stars.

“There’s nothing more we can do,” Ignis tells him, comforting, his hand shaking even still on Prompto’s shoulder.

“Let’s go find someone who can tell us what the hell just went on,” Gladio affirms, hoisting Prompto up to his feet and allowing the boy to lean on the muscles of his arm. “Come on now, the prince isn’t dead. He wouldn’t die this easily. He’s going to come back someday.”

But someday could be forever. Someday could be tomorrow. It could be five weeks from now. It could be a year, maybe even ten. Someday could also be the day that Prompto is nothing but a pile of bones buried in the ground. Someday, for all that it was worth, could mean an eternity of waiting - a period of endlessness, forever and ever toiling, until it collapses in upon itself.

But someday is a possibility. And Prompto, who has been taught the power of possibilities - of the hopelessness of presumptions and the strength in belief - decides he will wait.

He will wait for Noctis. He will wait as long as it takes.

He will wait and wait and wait.

Forever and ever.

Until he can hold Noctis in his arms again and cry on his shoulder, begging for the one he loves and hoping to be his salvation.

~~~

A world without Noctis is a world without light.

It is cold and dark, this world. Nothing natural shines in the presence of darkness. Lanterns and flashlights may cut through the miasma of the daemons, providing hospitality to the few shelters of humanity left to stand, but it is not enough.

The daemons are strong. Hungry. They are overpowered monsters who feed on the absence of the prince of light, merciless in nature and desperate for the craving of human blood. 

Prompto is a mercenary in these trying times, working in relation to Cindy to keep the remnants of humanity safe and alive. It’s the least he can do in a world that’s gone to hell. It’s what Noctis would do, rounding up the last of the surviving humans and tucking them under his wing with a promise of safety and hope.

But waiting is tiring. Years pass him by, aging him. There is something awful about the premise of waiting. Prompto is supposed to let every hour, every minute, every second of his life without Noctis not affect him. 

After all, it’s what the others have done. 

Gladio and Ignis work side by side now, mercenaries in their own right and yet partners even outside the field. Their teamwork is impeccable. But, without Noctis, Prompto doesn’t feel right working alongside them. He misses their camaraderie, sure, but there is nothing that can replace Noctis.

Prompto misses him, honestly. Misses Noctis’s laughter, his voice, his grouchiness and sleepy yawns. He misses sharing a bowl of ramen while watching the TV - back when ramen was still being sold and TV was a functional source of entertainment. He misses the jokes and the moments spent together during parts of their journey, of the heart-filled talks and the pleasure of adventuring the world beyond the city. There’s something sad about living without Noctis - a burden that Prompto hates. For, it almost feels like he is the only one in the world who is willing to wait.

He’s waited a long time. Five years, in fact. And, according to a prophecy left written in ruins and the worlds of a man caved in by time, there is still five more years to go.

Noctis needs to absorb the light from the Crytsal. Once he does so, he will be able to emerge and bring light upon this plague-ridden world. 

But Prompto wants him to hurry up. Wants him to come home faster, wants to be able to see him again and to hug him tight, to make him promise to never leave again.

But hopes are just hopes. Dreams are just dreams. Reality is cruel, merciless. So Prompto waits. He waits and bides his time, slaying the daemons that have forced Noctis from him while he takes reprieve in a place coldly familiar, remembering a car made of the start of journeys in a station made of food and shelter.

~~~

There’s rumors that the prince is alive and walking. 

It’s three years too early.

But, even still, Prompto is desperate. Any scrap of news regarding the reappearance of the prince of light is always on his radar. He knows not where Noctis has gone, knows not where he will reappear from, but he does know this:

Noctis will come back,

So, perhaps it is with foolish haste that Prompto leaves his job at Cindy’s side to chase after that which is a festering rumor. It’s a tale that has spread from word of mouth - the incarnation of the prince of light walking among them, alive again as if woken from the dead - but a tale is still a possibility in human form.

Prompto traverses through stretches of rocky road, barreling through an underpass haunted by a daemon most fierce, before he arrives in an outpost guarded by former soldiers of Lucius. Outside the encampment, standing away from the barbed wires laced with glitterin electricity to ward off daemons, is a man who seems so familiar yet also so unwanted at the same time.

“I heard the rumors,” King says to him, approaching with a strange look in his eyes: as if he’s seen a ghost. “Were you searching for me?”

“You are the one they’re calling Noctis’s reincarnation, are you not?”

Prompto sees the resemblance, sees the way people might mistake him for a grown-up Noctis. He looks like Noctis, from the swoop of black hair to the electric blue eyes to the sloppy smile on his face, but he is also ageless: as picture-perfect as the moment Prompto first met him, handsome and yet without the wrinkles that should accompany one of his age. 

However, this man can’t possibly be Noctis. They look and act the same, but unlike Noctis, who is bound to the follies of youth, this man radiates with an aura of royalty, wise and yet tense nonetheless.

“A mistake,” King says, his voice soft and parched, as if he hasn’t drank for years. “An honest one, but a mistake nonetheless.”

“So who are you? Really?” Prompto’s eyes narrow. “You look like him. But you can’t be him. You’re too...old...yet you seem to know him very well.”

“You’re perceptive,” King says. “But not wrong. I am as you say. But, I cannot say much more than that. I must be careful and appear only when the time is right. I can’t do that in front of your prince.”

“Everything you say sounds suspicious. You realize that, right?” Prompto is insistent on this, digging his fingers into the only scrap of sense left dangling before him. This man confuses him - with an appearance that looks like that of a grown-up Noctis and with a wisdom that is clearly beyond him - but Prompto finds solace in the fact he resembles the one he misses most. “Who are you, really?”

“A sinner who has failed to repent.” King pauses. “Something like that. Perhaps it’s better to call me a traveller who has come to right a wrong. For the sake of my own friend, crush, and brother in combat.”

“Sounds like we have something in common,” Prompto sighs. “And here I was hoping I would find Noctis here.”

“He will come to you.” King says in a surprisingly firm voice. “Be patient.”

And to that, Prompto falters.

“But what if he never comes back.”

King’s hand is on his shoulder, reassuring.

“He will. Trust in him. Wait for him.”

Prompto drinks in those words, feeding from them as he closes his eyes. He nods his head, opening his eyes and wanting to tell the man his thanks, when he sees King has disappeared.

~~~

Noctis is back.

It’s scary how much he looks like King.

In fact, Prompto has a hard time separating the two.

King looks like Noctis and Noctis looks like King. They are separate people, but it’s scary how deep the resemblance goes. Noctis has King’s blue eyes. He has the same rugged swoop of black hair and aura of charismatic handsomeness. They both are wise in their own way, demanding of power and yet kind nonetheless.

Prompto is scared of that fact, wondering at the King he’s met before and his relation to Noctis, before he realizes there’s something more important to attend to.

Noctis is back . He’s back and alive, safe in Prompto’s arms, older and wiser but full of a strange strength made from the light of a crystal.

There are so many things Prompto wants to talk to him about. So many things he wants to say, do, to confess about. Instead, he cries on Noctis’s shoulder after it is decided they must head to the capital to defeat Ardyn, and is embraced by the man who was once a boy.

“Hey, now,” Noctis had told him, nestling closer to him as if seeking comfort in Prompto’s embrace, “it’s okay now. I’m back.” 

And Prompto had hastily wiped at his face, embarrassed for the tears he’d shed so easily, nodding his head with a shy smile as he said:

“I’m happy you’re back.”

~~~

King has disappeared.

Prompto’s been wondering for a while but...he wonders if “King” and Noctis are one in the same. They carry the same mannerisms. Carry the same endearing look in their eyes whenever they look at him, affectionate and yet distant all at once. But whereas King is detached, Noctis is close, always staying within arm’s reach and holding to him tightly as if Prompto is the last anchor left in a cold and undying world. 

Some part of him wonders if King’s vanishing - if the disappearance of him and the rumors that came with him - is intentional. There’s something way too odd about having a Noctis who resembles the man of the rumors and a Noctis who is merely himself. In fact, if Prompto didn’t know better, he’d say perhaps that Noctis was King himself. But, he knows better. There is no way that Noctis is King, no possibility in which such an event can occur. It just doesn’t make sense, honestly.

But Prompto has little time to think about what makes sense. Instead, he has to think about the end of a journey.

Noctis is prepared to fight the darkness of the world, to defeat Ardyn and restore peace and tranquility to a world that is rotting from miasma. 

Prompto has pledged his life to Noctis and thus he is obliged to follow him to the ends of the earth.

So that’s what he does, trailing after Noctis as they waltz into the confines of a once wonderful place. 

The city that used to house the capital of Lucius is dilapidated, broken at its core and reeking with the aftermath of a fight that has occurred only a decade before. There are memories in this place - lingering thoughts of sunny days spent in grassy parks, woeful moments of failed tests and tasty ice cream, the glimmer of bulletin boards across a star-filled nightsky - but those memories are just as corrupted as the city itself, tattered and worn like pieces of paper left to rot away.

“Damn Ardyn…”

Noctis’s voice is choked, as if the impact of his absence on the capital of his kingdom is unexpected. His gaze is lost, empty, like the sight before him is upsetting. Prompto grabs at his hand, squeezing it, and Noctis’s consciousness seems to return. He turns to Prompto, his smile wobbling, but there’s a nod that comes from him, a confirmation of gratitude for Prompto’s reassurance.

They trek forwards, looking with sorrow at the sorry state of the city that they have long since left behind.

“It wasn’t like this, once,” Noctis says.

“But things change,” Ignis says to him.

“Time changes things.” Gladio adds.

“And time has changed all of us, too,” Prompto murmurs, softly.

“But it hasn’t changed you three,” Noctis responds, smiling.

“I don’t know about that,” Ignis says, leaning against Gladio with a content sigh. “Our relationships have changed.”

Prompto looks to Noctis, humming an agreement. “That they have,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice as Noctis’s fond gaze meets his own. 

“But we can focus on that later,” Noctis says, beckoning them forward as the ring on his finger glistens with an eerie power. “Come on now, we have a world to save.”

And Prompto laughs at that, agreeing completely as they travel through the city, intent on bringing down the one who brought darkness upon them.

~~~

Ardyn is defeated. 

He is defeated, but not without a price.

“Noctis!”

Prompto shouts to the man in his arms, holding Noctis close to him. Noctis is unconscious, badly wounded but not enough that he is to die at any moment. 

Still, the miasma that has encased the world has yet to vanish. Ardyn has fallen, his body dissipated into mist, and yet it doesn’t feel as if his death has given them an ends to a means.

“Why isn’t the miasma going away?” Gladio asks, curling his lips at the limp daemon bodies that surround them - inanimate but not disappearing. 

“Wasn’t Ardyn’s defeat supposed to end this scourge?” Ignis adds, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” Prompto says, meaning it.

“But I do.”

A calm voice. Power and omnipresent, familiar and yet strange all at once. It sounds like Noctis’s voice, but Noctis is still in Prompto’s arms, unconscious and still yet breathing nonetheless.

The blonde man looks upwards, meeting the man who calls himself King as he approaches. Beside him, Ignis and Gladio tense with confusion, obviously surprised by the doppleganger approaching, before Prompto raises a hand and they still at the gesture.

“King,” he greets. Then shakes his head. “No...you’re Noctis, aren’t you? In some way or form?”

“You figured it out?” The man who calls himself King approaches with hesitant footsteps. “You’re correct. I’m the same as that man in front of you. My true name is Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

“But how can two of you exist at once?” Ignis asks, softly, disbelief written on his face.

“Time travel, mostly. And avoiding him whenever possible. I’m still uncertain if him knowing of me in any way will bring up a time paradox, so I’ve only been meeting with a certain someone until then.”

“Me,” Prompto breathes.

“King’s” voice is teasing. “You. Are you surprised?”

“I...but why? Why didn’t you ever just tell me who you are?”

“Because if I did, I don’t think you would’ve ever trusted me. I mean, who would believe me if I said I was your prince from the future? The Prompto I knew-” A pause. “King” swallows. “The Prompto I knew...he told me that you’d never believe me if I told you such a tale like that.”

“Your Prompto...you mean, from the timeline where you came from?” Curiosity envelops him as he holds his Noctis close to him, protective and yet worried all at once. “What happened to him? I mean...me?”

“We parted ways when I crossed to the past.” The expression of Noctis from the future is sad, almost tearful. “I promised him I would fix everything, that I wouldn’t let the world succumb to the same darkness it did in my world. But I was...I couldn’t stop anything. Not Niflheim’s invasion, not my father’s death, I couldn’t do much even as I took on Niflheim and tried to help you out from the shadows. It feels pointless. But now,” the eyes of “King” hold his own, looking at him firmly before shifting his gaze to the man in his arms, “now I know what to do.”

“And what is it you must do...if we’re to believe your story?” Gladio inquires.

“I will sacrifice myself for the sake of your own Noctis.”

Prompto’s heart jumps in his chest. “What?”

“It’s the only way,” Noctis from the future states. “In order to get rid of the darkness, the prince of light must take his own life to give back to those who have sold their own souls for his safety. But you don’t have to sacrifice the Noctis of this timeline. I won’t let him die. Not when he still has his Prompto alive and kicking.”

“So does that mean…?” Prompto swallows, looking at the boy in his arms and then to the man standing above him.

“If you haven’t put together the pieces already, Noctis loves you very much, Prompto.” The man says. “He shares my feelings. And I can say without shame that just as I like the you from my past, I can guarantee he’s been hopelessly pining for you all the same.”

“I...that’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure my mere existence is a lot to take in,” this Noctis jokes, before sobering completely. “Still, I’m glad to talk with you one last time. It won’t leave me with any regrets. If I die here, I’m sure I can be happy with the Prompto from my timeline, knowing that I’ve saved this world and your own timeline from the fate of mine.”

Prompto watches as the man heaves a sigh, smiling painfully, and feels like he should say something. But the look on Noctis’s face - determined for death and unable to accept any alternatives - has him flinching, rescinding his words with the realization that this man before him has made his decision firm and clear. 

“Goodbye,” he offers instead, finding no otherwords to say as he feels his eyes turn hot and sticky for a person he barely knows but now feel like he’s known all his life.

“King” smiles at him, the skin underneath his eyes crinkling, before he takes a seat on a throne made of light and is stabbed thirteen times forth by swords made of astral stars and galaxies.

~~~

Light returns to a world once plagued by darkness.

King is gone, but Noctis is still here.

Prompto considers himself lucky. In many ways, the fact he’s still alive is a testament to that. He’s gone through hell and back, stared at the darkness of the world and watched it fester, only to work with a man made of light to destroy that which is eternal and to watch the sacrifice of a man he knew closely.

Sometimes, Prompto still thinks of King. He thinks of the man who he’s known since childhood, the ageless man who has always worn Noctis’s face and yet who has guided him on his insecurities. He thinks of how happy that Noctis must be, to finally return to the side of the Prompto of his world, and how happy he himself is to be in love with his best friend.

Kisses are done in the light of morning. Whispers are said in the darkness of night. Prompto has confessed to Noctis, embolded by the words “King” has left behind. And he finds that Noctis welcomes him with open arms, eager to create a relationship free from doubt and full of love. And Prompto thinks, as he watches the way that Noctis smiles just for him, that this is the way it’s meant to be.