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Prompto is having a shit day at Stargils. He feels like less of a ‘customer service rep’ and more of a ‘pulverized coffee slave’. The doors were frozen shut this morning so he had to ask the 24/7 convenience store two fronts down to give him a large cup of hot water at six am. Which, Astrals bless those guys. The POS system is glitching, his co-worker called in sick so Prompto’s working the whole shift alone and every asshole in a twelve-mile radius wants fucking expresso today.
Prompto would like to be cremated.
Not, like, later or anything. Right now.
Just end it all.
Then, around the dull tedium of the mid-morning lull before lunch rush, some psycho in a button-down shirt comes barrelling into the store.
Prompto is about to ask ‘what can I get for you today?’ when the guy hauls ass over the counter and drops like a stone behind the fronting. He curls, back to the register, and Prompto is about to demand an explanation when three reporters, one of them with a full camera rig propped on his shoulder, come writhing into the store.
“Hey, Kid,” the main reporter grunts, “did you see the Prince go past?”
Prompto blinks.
There are even more reporters lingering on the street outside.
“Kid,” the reporter harasses him out of his stupor. “Which way did he go?”
Prompto considers the psycho currently hiding behind his till.
You have got to be kidding me.
“Dude,” Prompto scoffs, “get out of my store.”
“But—”
“Clear off!” Prompto orders. “I’m working here! Scram!”
The reporter lets off a dismayed, frustrated, huff and drags his camera crew back out of the coffee shop.
Prompto watches, deadpan, till the press crews scurry away.
“Uh…” Prompto glances down to his feet where the other young man is waiting.
“Are they gone?” He asks.
“Yeah, they’re gone.” Prompto nods.
The young man- the Prince?- wheezes and throws his head back weakly.
“Do you wanna buy a coffee, Highness?” Prompto jokes, frankly already exhausted.
The Prince snorts. “Do you mind if I hide here for a second?” He supposes. “I need to text my team to come pick me up.”
“Well…” Prompto wavers. “Dude, honestly? I’m about to get fucking railed by lunch rush. Don’t suppose you know how work an expresso machine?”
It’s a joke.
A bad joke.
But the Prince--
“No, but I know how to run a POS system.” He grunts. “I can cover orders for you till my crew show up if you let me hide here?”
Prompto should absolutely not agree to that.
But today has been shit and honestly? He could take all the help he can get, royal or not.
“You’re going to have to throw on an apron, Highness.” He offers his hand.
The Prince takes it. “Call me Noct.”
‘Noct’ isn’t a bad cashier. He moves fast and he obviously orders here a lot because he knows the menu. With a corporate cap on and an apron covering his dress shirt he is also not afraid to tell customers to take their attitude and stow it.
One particularly perky college student skips the line at one point and starts charging into her order when—
“Ma’am you’re going to need to wait at the end of the line,” the Prince gestures.
“I’m really late for classes and I just need a mocha.” The girl insists, fluttering her eyelashes. “Can you please just--?”
“The line ends out there.” Noct gestures again, total deadpan.
“Ugh. Listen--” The girl starts to charge into it.
“Lady they don’t pay me enough to deal with you. Everyone else has got places to be too. It’s called time management, look it up.”
The girl turns scarlet. “What’s your name? I’m going to call corporate.”
“Sure, go ahead, call corporate.” Noct replies. “It’s Noct. N-O-C-T. Numbers on the sign you’ll see as you leave so I can serve everyone who’s actually waiting their turn.”
In a fluster, furious, the girl stalks out.
The Prince doesn’t even waver. He’s right back to taking orders like it didn’t even happen.
Prompto might, sincerely, be falling in love.
Honestly with Noct watching his back Prompto can just focus on running orders out fast. Two blenders, one expresso machine, the toaster oven… He’s on fire with someone competent watching his back and, before he knows it, the lunch rush is dying down.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” Prompto whispers conspiratorially.
“Yeah?” Noct grins.
“What’s the secret?” Prompto laughs.
“Councilmen are way worse than Becky and her mocha.” The Prince grins, winking.
Prompto snickers into his knuckles. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Noct assures. “I appreciate the cover.”
“Should put you on the roster, I could use competent company,” Prompto jokes.
“I don’t think corporate could afford my going rate.” Noct snorts.
Prompto laughs.
“Noctis.”
They turn back around to find a well-dressed man and a looming beef cake at the register. The guy in glasses looks mortified.
“What’re you doing?” He hisses.
“Hi, welcome to Stargils,” the Prince recites, “what can I get for you today?”
“Noctis,” the man pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “You can’t seriously—”
“Yeah, Sir, if you’re not going to order anything I’m going to have to ask you to move along.” The Prince replies, shit eating grin simmering just under the surface of his deadpan expression.
The big beefy guy is laughing his ass off and declares; “can I get a cookies and cream?”
“Of course, regular or large?” The Prince chirps.
“Gladio—” The well-dressed man whips back around venomously.
“Large.” Gladio responds, grin infectious and fearless.
“Would you like whipped cream with that?” The Prince continues.
“You are both—” The well-dressed man fumes—
“Yeah, please.” Gladio smirks.
“That’ll be six-fifty.” The Prince rings him up, turning to hand over a labelled cup with a; “Yo, Prompto.”
“Coming right up!” Prompto tries not to snigger.
The well-dressed man physically buries his face against the counter.
“Sir I have to clean that.” The Prince warns him.
The well-dressed man groans into the promotional material.
After a few moments Prompto hands Gladio his frappe and, sucking on the straw innocently, Gladio tries to ignore the furious glare of his companion.
“Noctis,” the well-dressed man tries again. “You have appointments.”
“Yo, Prompto,” the Prince turns, “when’s your shift end?”
“In about an hour,” Prompto answers. “Why?”
“I’ll stay till you clock off then.” The Prince declares.
“Noctis—”
“We don’t leave things half finished, Ignis.” The Prince seems to quote, sing-song, back at the well-dressed man. “Oh, and Prompto, do you wanna grab some dinner when our shift is over?”
Ignis, assumedly, is glaring a hole in Prompto’s skull but—
“Sounds great dude!” Prompto laughs.