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Prompto thinks that, possibly, maybe, this is the happiest he’s been all his life. It beats the time his parents actually came home on his tenth birthday with a shiny new camera and a trip to the chocobo farm outside Insomnia, the first and last time he’s ever been outside of the Wall. It borders the time he found Tiny and gained a new friend, both in animal form and in Tenebraen princess form. It’s the happiest time of his life because it’s not just one day, one week, Prompto’s been riding this high since he slapped the prince on the shoulder and declared their friendship with all the brevity and confidence that he has not once felt a day in his life, and four months later, he’s still happy. He has a friend.
No.
He has a best friend.
A best friend who he can go to the arcade with, or make idiots of themselves at a park or mall, who sits with him during lunch at school and even studies with him on the rare occasion either of them decide to open their textbooks. He has someone to play King’s Knight with, to do raids late at night when they’re both supposed to be sleeping.
Granted, that said best friend happens to be the Crown Prince of Lucis, and everywhere they go together there’s always one or both of the scary guys looming in the background, but after a while that becomes like TV static to Prompto, but a TV static that glares and has huge ass muscles or exhibits an aura of disapproval that’s even more terrifying than giant muscles. Not to mention that Noct seems to surround himself by people that are so hot it’s intimidating, and Prompto can practically feel his weak glass bones snapping in half if they glare too hard.
The whole princely part never bothered Prompto in the first place, not since he was a kid and saw how lonely the prince had looked, surrounded by all those kids that weren’t there for him, not really, just for the crown on his head. High school is only slightly different in that everyone stares at him from afar rather than up close. That’s another thing that has become like TV static, the feeling of eyes on him, the judgemental glares and jealousy of why him.
The fact that he wonders the same thing isn’t lost to him, but it’s all TV static, and Prompto is gradually able to turn the volume down until he can barely even hear it anymore.
“Arcade today?” He asks, nudging the prince slightly with a smile, “or is your royal ass too busy for good ol’ me?”
Noct snorts, and Prompto feels a surge of victory at the small, relaxed smile that’s been appearing more and more often around him, and he has a feeling that he’s not the only one who’s glad to have a best friend. The prince nudges him back before turning his face towards the sun, eyes fluttered shut.
They usually have lunch out behind the school, in a secluded area that has a nice patch of sunlight that Noct heads straight to like a cat. The warmth of the sun makes the prince lazy and boneless, while Prompto himself prefers to stay in the shadows because his pasty skin burns like a stick under a magnifying glass.
“Not today, I got work, remember?”
They both groan at the same time, head banging against the wall they’re sitting against, and Prompto nudges him again with a grin and he nudges back, and they end up wrestling over the ground instead of finishing their lunch, but it’s fine.
It was Prompto that suggested he get a job, and he thinks that that might be the only reason why the scary glasses guy gives him appraising looks now rather than the former unimpressed ones, after Noct complained about how the said scary glasses guy constantly gets on his back about responsibilities and duty, both of which sound exhausting to Prompto as well, who has long since learned both of his parents’ signatures to pay bills and go on school excursions and get a tattoo two years ago, a cute little chocobo on his ankle, also known as the only hint of rebellion he has ever done.
So there Noct is, working at a little coffee shop called Can’t Sleep Beans, with a hilariously ugly brown smock that has a dark green bean sewed onto it, and Prompto bursts out laughing as soon as he walks in and sees him, the prince leaning against the counting with a defeated look in his eyes.
“Shut up,” Noct mutters, pressing his cheek against the glass display tiredly, “this is your fault.”
Prompto wheezes.
“Dude you look like a bad avocado,” he chortles, and the prince shoots him a scathing look, except it falls short because his mouth quirks up instantly.
The coffee shop is relatively empty, a couple sitting by the window and a man sipping coffee on a laptop behind the couple, a hat covering his face. There’s a giant cork board alongside one of the walls, adorned with various flyers and drawings. Huge floor to ceiling windows surround the door, the flooring consists of warm wood. It feels oddly cozy in here, almost glowing in warmth. Prompto’s fingers twitch to capture it with his camera, maybe get the look on the prince’s face as well.
In the display, large slices of cakes and square brownies sit on little white plates, and each and every one of them look tempting. Prompto pushes down the small whisper of just one will be okay and leans against the counter to give the sleepy prince a grin.
“Do you have any spicy food here?”
Noct wrinkles his nose in disgust, a haunted look in his eyes that tells Prompto that he, too, is thinking about the time Prompto dragged him to a genuine Galahdi restaurant and nearly burnt a hole in his stomach.
“I still don’t know how you were able to eat that stuff.”
“That’s because I’m cultured,” Prompto sniffs, turning his nose up dramatically. Noct ducks his head to hide his smile, but the other catches it anyway.
“Not my fault that you have delicate taste buds, your highness,” he teases, reaching over to poke at his nose, laughing as the prince goes cross eyed to follow it. Noct gives a playful scowl, it looks a lot like his real scowl, but it’s the eyes that give it away, brighter and more vibrant when he genuinely means something, and swaps the arm away.
“What you mean to say is, your taste buds are so burnt that you’re even okay with eating vegetables ,” the inherent dislike in his tone is hilarious, so is his battle against vegetables every week, muttering something about an Ignis and tricky bastard while he carefully picks at his food with his chopsticks and drops them into Prompto’s own bento with a scowl. Prompto himself doesn't really like vegetables either, but he has long since gotten used to choking the taste down until it becomes like an afterthought to him.
In consequence, sweet foods also aren’t as good to him as they used to be, but just looking at them makes his mouth water as always.
“You ever tried these?” he asks, eyeing the huge piece of red velvet cheesecake in particular, suddenly remembering he hasn’t eaten all day, having woken up too late to eat breakfast and giving into Noct’s plea to the special raid in King’s Knight during lunch. He had planned to make himself a BLT when he got home, but maybe he’ll wait until Noct gets off and they can go to Kenny’s instead.
Noct shrugs, peering down at the desserts curiously, “I’m pretty sure I saw the guy who made these sneeze on them so I wouldn’t recommend.”
“Ew, gross,” Prompto recoils, kind of relieved that the cake no longer looks delicious to him anymore.
The prince nods solemnly.
“Um, excuse me, I’d like to order please,” a person mumbles softly behind him and Prompto flushes slightly, realizing that he’s still standing in front of the counter like an asshole. He shoots Noct a wink, the prince gives a specific kind of eyeroll for whenever he does that, and steps aside. He gives the woman a sheepish grin and apologizes.
There’s still barely anyone in the shop, the couple had left, but the guy working on his laptop is still sitting there, and the woman leaves with a caramel macchiato. As soon as the door shuts the prince lets a heavy sigh and Prompto snorts.
“Shut up,” Noct mutters, pressing his head back against the display case. Dark locks fell across his face elegantly, cheekbones gleaming in the light. Prompto’s fingers itch for a camera and not for the first time, he wonders how he managed to become friends with the prince of Lucis, when he looks so untouchable like this, even with the bad avocado smock on.
“I didn’t say anything,” Prompto pats the prince’s arm, “besides, I think you did a pretty good job.” Noct grunts, but he places his hand on Prompto’s wrist and squeezes gratefully, fingers cool and human against his skin.
The prince may be untouchable, but Noct isn’t.
The consistent kwehs infiltrates his dreams, Prompto doesn’t even notice it at first. He can’t quite place what he’s dreaming of either, something foggy and muffled, quiet, hoarse whispers. He thinks he hears numbers, thinks he sees cold eyes, but it all fades before he can grasp it completely, melts like butter and ash. The fog drifts into something different, sunshine shimmering through white curtains. Noct is there, staring out the window pensively. The sun casts a glow around his outline, highlights the fine features on his face, blue eyes deep and glowing and kweh.
Kweh.
Noct turns and he visibly brightens, a small smile blooming across his face.
Kweh.
The kwehs grasps Prompto’s consciousness, pulling him forcibly away from Noct, from the bright warm smile and sunshine, until he groggily wakes to a dark room, his phone blinding on the bedside table beside him.
Prompto squeezes his eyes shut with a muffled groan into his pillow, arms flinging wildly for his phone, smacking into his alarm clock instead and sending it to the floor. His phone vibrates again, another kweh, before his hand encloses around it and he answers without looking, groaning into the phone.
“Prom,” Noct whispers, “I need your help.”
Prompto jerks up, remnants of the dream slipping through the crevices of his mind. He yanks his phone off the charger, stumbling over his entire body and his blanket to get out of his bed. He yelps when his foot stays tangled into the ground and he crashes into the floor.
“Prom?”
The alarm clock on the floor reads 2:45 in the morning.
“I’m fine,” Prompto slurs, pain throbbing in his tailbone, but sleep officially washed away, “what’s up? Are you alright? Listen, I don’t know much about hiding bodies but that’s nothing a quick moogle won’t solve and-”
A small, familiar huff of amusement filters through his phone, and Prompto can see it easily beneath his eyelids, the huff of laughter that escapes the prince involuntarily, blue eyes crinkling softly.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” he says, dry and amused, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, but- uh- that’s not what I’m here for.”
His ass stings, legs wobbling as he clutches at his bed to lift himself up. Prompto makes sure to return his alarm clock to the table, shaking his leg frantically to displace his blanket still clinging to him desperately.
“Then what are you her- wait, what?”
Here??
“Yeah, could you let me in? It’s kind of cold out here.”
He nearly falls down the stairs, tripping over his own feet. Prompto hopes that Ignis or Gladio came with him but somehow he doubts it, and that is confirmed when he opens the door to reveal a hunched over, shivering Noct and no one or nothing else around, not even a car.
“ Noct,” Prompto hisses, dragging him in hastily, “ are you trying to get me waterboarded?”
Noctis arches a brow, mouth curling up, “you’re not gonna be waterboarded, Prom.”
Prompto flings his hands in the air, hoping to convey how much he does not want to be accused of kidnapping the Prince of Lucis, mind searching for words other than hnnn and I’m gonna die Noct!!
Noct is dressed in his typically dark clothes, black sweatpants and hoodie. His hair is unstyled, falling across his face messily, eyes dark with slight shadows beneath them. Prompto can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen him up so early in the morning.
He looks softer with his hair down like that.
Prompto swallows, feeling somewhat odd and self conscious, bringing his flailing hands down to tug at his own shirt, bright yellow with a baby chocobo curled up on top of a sleeping lion club and his bright blue checkered boxers. His legs look particularly chickenish in the shitty lighting of his house.
This isn’t the first time Noct has been over at his house, but it is the first time he’s over at two in the morning, while Prompto is in his pajamas, and it’s more vulnerable and open this way, and the thoughts of being waterboarded, well, it doesn’t exactly go away, but it recedes to the back of his mind.
“So, uh, what are you- coffee?”
Nice one, Prom, he tells himself, mentally facepalming, his dumb brain overworked itself and couldn’t decide which to ask first, so it tried asking both at the same time, and now he looks like a- well, like himself, he supposes. Noct gives him another one of his huffs, and it’s enough to calm his overworking brain-cell somewhat, and Prompto meets his small, amused smile with one of his own.
“No, I’m not coffee,” the prince says casually, “but I’ll take one.”
“Dude, terrible joke.”
Noct, Prompto had found out, is very good at making coffee, while Prompto makes it too bitter and thick enough to stop a bullet, which is apparently not how coffee is originally made. He distinctly remembers the look of horror on his friend’s face when he told him that that’s how he learned to make it (by himself, when he was running off of insomnia and dreams and found a container of coffee grounds his parents left behind).
The prince gives a grimace when he takes a sip, nose wrinkling up, but he takes another drink anyways with a determined swallow, and Prompto has a take his own sip of his own thick, bitter coffee to cover how his chest went all swoosh at that. He clears his throat.
“So what’s the sitch, Your Highness? Or did you just want to spend time with your bestie?”
Noct snorts into his coffee, before he sets his cup down and releases a groan and thunking his head against the kitchen table, hard enough that the coffee cup rattles in alarm. Prompto feels somewhat alarmed as well, but another part of him relaxes at his friend's usual attitude, and he sits on the table to poke at his arm playfully.
“Trouble in paradise?” He asks, in the roundabout way of asking if it’s a teenager problem, a royal problem, a general human problem, or all combined. Either way, Prompto is ready to arm himself with a listening ear and shitty coffee for his best friend, or a distraction if he needs one, it’s nearing three in the morning, so there’s bound to be terrible shows they can make fun of together.
For a second, he doesn’t move from his head on the table, then he looks up at Prompto with steel in his eyes, raw determination and focus, and Prompto feels oddly aware of his own heart beating underneath his chest.
“Prom,” he says, gravely, “we’re going on a mission.”
That’s how they ended up here, breaking into their own school at three in the morning on a Saturday, with silver magic sparking and gliding around Noct’s palms while they walk through the dark halls to the gym room, where the prince had forgotten something so incredibly important he couldn’t wait until Monday to come and get it.
“Noct, buddy, my main man, homie-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“- this is illegal,” Prompto hisses.
“So?”
“Soooo, you better have an escape plan if we’re getting caught because I’m shoving you under the bus and making a break for it,” he lies through his teeth, fully aware that he’ll shove himself under the bus so Noct could make a break for it, but the prince doesn’t need to know that.
The school at night appears taller and bigger than it usually does when it’s crowded with students and cars, with the loud enthusiastic chatter of teenagers and hormones. Every little shuffle seems to echo around the halls, and Noct’s glowing magic juice casts deep, haunting shadows. Despite having bundled up in semi dark purple sweatpants and a large sweater that Prompto is pretty sure his father accidentally left behind, the dark shadows and shimmering silver blue light makes him feel cold.
He wishes the gym wasn’t on the other side of the school.
They walk without talking, Noct leading the way while Prompto tries not to grasp his arm and huddle in close. He’s too focused on lifting his feet off the floor to nervously ramble, until his eyes catch the door to their history room and Prompto pauses, an idea popping into his head spontaneously and almost seductively. He grabs the prince’s arm.
“Dude,” he whispers, “do you think the doors to the classrooms are unlocked?”
“Probably not,” Noct whispers. Prompto’s shoulders slump.
“Why?”
“I wanted to unscrew some parts of Mr. Asinus’ chair and watch him fall off it,” he admits, refusing to be ashamed, because, well, Mr. Asinus is an asshole and deserves it, and not just because he keeps failing Prompto no matter how hard he works, he made a girl cry the other day by verbally berating her in front of the entire class, and the sheer pampering he shows Noct makes the blond feel nauseous somehow. He’d probably lick his shoes clean if Noct asks.
Noct gives him a long, studying look, thoughtful and almost unreadable, then a mischievous smile blooms across his face, bright and daring in the dark.
“Well,” he says, tapping his chin in thought, “the front entrance wasn’t locked either, yet here we are.”
A bubble of relief pops in his chest, filling his veins with adrenaline, and Prompto mimics tapping his chin playfully. He doesn’t really do pranks, but then again, he also doesn’t break into schools with his best friend, but here they are, tapping their chins in the dark hallway like idiots, Noct’s magic lighting the way.
“Well, I dare say you’re right,” he grins, bumping his shoulder against Noct’s, “why don’t we pay dear old Assinus a visit.”
Under the gentle glow of the light, Noct’s eyes glow and reflect like stars in a clear night, and they’re mesmerizing like that. When he smiles, the much more rare wide smiles, they crinkle up almost tenderly.
It’s a good look on him, Prompto decides, although there’s never really a bad look on him, except maybe when he’s curled up, body aching from phantom pain too real to escape from, but not real enough to heal, something that Prompto can’t even pretend to understand.
“He deserves it anyways,” Noct adds, as they disassemble the teacher’s chair to put back together with a couple of parts missing, “for being such an ass to you.”
“Dude, he’s way worse to other people, and the way he slobbers over you should get him a restraining order or something,” Prompto snorts, shoving the screws to the chair in his pocket. It’s a small, cliche prank that will fill his heart with the happy chemical once he sees the teacher crumble to the floor.
He turns towards Noct, wondering if they could get away with taping all the stuff to the ceiling or not, only to see him staring at him, an odd look on his face.
“What?” He’s pretty sure he has nothing on his face, except maybe a couple of acne scars he’s very conscious of and his dumb freckles that comes out at full force during the summer.
“Nothing,” he says, almost exasperated, and Prompto can hear the fondness in there as well, so he stands and wipes his hands in triumph.
“I think that’ll show him,” he grins, giddy. He’s never done a prank before, he can’t wait to see the look on the old man’s face, “now that the side quest is finished, let’s go complete the mission.”
Noct gives out a laugh, before nudging his arm with his own, and Prompto doesn’t feel as cold or scared anymore as they continue. In fact, he feels like he’s floating.
Overall, the mission wasn’t very challenging at all. In fact, it was suspiciously easy, Prompto has some serious concerns about the safety of the school, anyone could sneak in here.
After receiving the secret object from the locker, they fall into easy steps back towards the exit.
“It’s a totem,” Noct explains, fingers curling around the object, “my dad gave it to me, it’s for healing.” Prompto can’t quite see what it looks like, but it shimmers like Noct’s crystal mojo, blue and bright, and he can see long slender ears, like a rabbit’s.
“Technically, I don’t need it anymore, but sometimes I bring it with me when my back is bothering me.”
Prompto nods, today, or yesterday, Noct had been more cautious in his movements, in a way that’s barely noticeable. A slight shift there, a tug of his mouth, a crease in his forehead, Noct is good at hiding the bad days, but only to the people that don’t know him. Prompto doesn’t know how he injured his back, just an incident when he was young, but he doesn't need to know.
They’re leaving the school and Prompto is confident to turn around with a wide grin, “mission succ-”
A clatter is heard from behind them, then a flashlight beam narrowly misses them, shining on the door that’s still partially open.
“Who’s there?!”
“Fuck, run,” Noctis hisses, grabbing Prompto’s wrist and bolting towards a street so sudden that Prompto stumbles, before quickly catching himself.
“Hey!”
Panic blares like a siren in his head, and soon he’s the one leading Noct, turning his hand to grab his as they tear out of the school yard like a bat out of hell.
He’s pretty sure no one is giving chase, but that doesn’t stop the adrenaline in his veins forcing him to run all the way to his house, dragging the prince behind him like an afterthought. They pull to a halt in front of his door, and the breeze cools the sweat on his face instantly, his lungs are lashing out for the impromptu jogging session, without warm up stretches or anything. Noct is wheezing beside him, face flushed in overexertion, and Prompto remembers how much the prince hates running.
The blond opens his mouth to say something, probably to tease Noct relentlessly, but a breathless, wheezy sound escapes him instead.
Then they’re laughing, relief and high nerves combined with something giddy, and the edge of the street lights brush over them, brushes over Noct like it’s hesitant to do so. Prompto’s lungs hurt, his legs are shaking so bad he’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed yet, but his cheeks ache in the best way and Noct’s laughter fills the entire space, loud with an ugly wheeze, and Prompto is sure he can fight the Astrals and last longer than ten seconds at that moment. In fact, he’s sure that he’ll last longer than thirty seconds.
It’s terrible, it’s brilliant, it’s ass o’clock in the morning and Noct is still clutching his hand tightly, hands sweaty and warm, and they lean towards each other for support, Prompto’s other hand on Noct’s shoulder to keep himself up, and it’s terrible, it’s brilliant, and it’s perfect.
Oh.
Prompto lays on his bed, wide awake, while the clock transitions into 6:43 am, then 6:44, then 6:45. Noct has long since texted him that he arrived at his own apartment safely, and is probably fast asleep by now, but Prompto’s entire world has shifted into focus, an image forming crystal clear. He’s used to revelations coming while he’s trying to sleep, his brain choosing that moment between the haze of sleep and wakefulness to helpfully remind him that doors are essentially vertical lids, that lightning strikes might be Ramuh farting, and that he’s in love with Noct.
He’s in love. With Noct.
The prince.
His best friend.
Prompto shoves his face in his pillow and screams as long and as loud as he can.
Prompto very clearly does not avoid Noct, because he isn’t an asshole and it’s not the prince’s fault that Prompto still feels his hand in his, warm and perfect, and the sound of his laughter. In fact, he’s rationalized that there is essentially only one thing he can do, and that’s to shove this feeling down so he can enjoy beating Noct at the shooting games at the arcade. So he can focus on their competitive streak they fuel off of each other, rather than how warm and soft the prince’s skin looks, glowing softly, or how his hair frames his face nicely, or the shine in his pretty, dark blue eyes or-
Prompto still wins, because he may have the coordination of a newborn dear but his aim is almost instinctive. However, he wins by a marginally smaller amount of points than usual.
“I think I’m getting better,” Noct points out, nudging him with his elbow, “only lost by sixty points this time.”
Prompto ignores the shot of warmth at his touch and snorts instead.
“You’re still terrible, I’m just going easy on you.” Teasing is good, stick to good old friendly teasing, Noct is pretty cute when he pouts like that-
Goddamnit Prompto get yourself together.
They move onto other games, and Prompto catches Gladio- Noct’s Shield who’s still terrifying but significantly less so after Prompto caught him crying watching anime in Noct’s apartment- tapping on his phone by the claw machines, looking even more beefy and manly beside the pile of cute, stuffed animals.
Noct is better at controller based games than shooting ones.
“Really know how to yank your stick around huh?”
“Shut up.”
They stay there for hours, shit talking to each other, and Prompto finds it easy to slip into the fun of it all, trying to distract the prince with a hand to the face, stomping his foot, yanking his ears, snorting up pop when a kid punches the prince in the shin for stumbling over his huge ass moogle prize, and his feelings, he’s glad to note afterwards, goes into the TV static section of his brain. Of course, they come back to the surface when he’s back inside his empty house, but he can gay panic in peace there, so it’s fine.
“I want spicy food,” Prompto announces as soon as he bursts into the cafe, startling a business man on his way out.
“No,” Noct says instantly, not looking up from his usual spot of resting his head on the display case. Prompto ignores it, instead flicking the top of his head and watches as he jerks up with a scowl. The cafe is more busy than it usually is, and the man on the laptop is sitting in the same table he always is, and Prompto is 70 to 77 percent sure he’s one of Noct’s scary hot bodyguards.
“Let’s go to that Galahdi restaurant again.”
“No.”
“But Nooooct,” he whines, reaching up on his tiptoes so he can curve around the display case and crossing his arms like Noct, resting his chin on his forearm. Noct lifts his head up and woh he’s way closer than Prompto expected, close enough that their noses are almost touching, and Prompto freezes, his breath stilling in his chest. Up close, he can see small specks of silver in the prince’s eyes, and they really do look like the night sky, wide and endless.
“Please?” It’s meant to sound whiny, maybe with a loud, overexaggerated pout, but instead it’s a borderline embarrassingly breathless whisper.
Noct jerks back as if startled, before scratching the back of his head.
“Fine,” he mutters, staring down at the daily special, a triple chocolate brownie with cream cheese in the middle, hair falling across his face so Prompto can’t really catch his expression.
The light pink he caught on Noctis’ cheeks must’ve been the trick of the light.
“Yes!” Prompto punches his fist in the air, a bit louder than he usually is, because he’s desperately trying to override the loud racing of his heartbeat while hoping no one notices the real flush he can feel staining his own cheeks.
He’s ready to drown his lovestruck feelings with spicy curry with the special cayenne chili sauce.
He drowns his lovestruck feelings with spicy curry with the special cayenne chili sauce. Noct is definitely judging him, but he ordered the most vanilla thing on the menu so Prompto is returning the judgement without hesitation. In the seat beside them, the guy with the laptop is greeted warmly by one of the waitresses, and Prompto sees the beads braided into the man’s hair for the first time, the kind of braids he knows people from Galahd wear.
The guy meets his gaze and Prompto waves in pure panic. Something crosses the Galahdi’s features, probably something between amusement and unimpressed, before he flicks his hand in a wave.
He turns towards Noct, ready to point out that his bodyguard sucks at being inconspicuous, only to see the prince glaring at the Galahdi intensely.
“Noct?”
Noct scowls and stabs his plain noodles, shoving it into his mouth with a mullish pout. Prompto couldn’t help but give a huff of laughter, something that he’s adopted from Noct himself, at his strange antics. This wasn’t the first time he acted that way either, glaring at someone then pouting, it’s pretty harmless- as far as he can tell, there’s no bad reason for why he does it- and it’s kind of cute.
He takes another slurp of his curry, letting the burn slide down his throat deliciously, before kicking Noct in the shin. The prince chokes on his spaghetti, turning his glare towards him and Prompto grins.
“Since we have finals coming up, I suggest a movie night with popcorn and the cheapest, junkiest food we can find at the convenience store,” Prompto declares, successfully drawing Noct away from his mood.
Noct drops his fork with a groan, “don’t remind me, our history one is next week and I’d rather fight the Astrals than study for it.”
Prompto shudders, Mr. Asinus’ exams are intense and they also have to write an essay about a piece of history and how it changed society into what it is today on top of an exam, with dates. Karma has a funny way of kicking ass, because the teacher had promised that this exam will be difficult, and he has a feeling it’s because the entire class laughed at him when he sat on the chair and tumbled over like a jenga tower.
No regrets.
“I haven’t even started on the essay yet,” Prompto bemoans.
“Same,” the prince sighs.
There’s a beat of silence.
“How about we change movie night to movie weekend?” Noct suggests, and Prompto is nodding before he finishes the sentence.
“We can start afresh Monday, our minds cleared, our crops watered, then Mr. Asinus will get fired and we all pass.”
Noct grins, and Prompto helplessly grins back, excitement and fondness pumping through his veins quickly, as it’s prone to do every time the prince smiles at him like that, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be and no one else he’d rather be with.
Prompto knows that certainly goes true for him.
In looking back, he’s not entirely surprised that he’s in love with Noctis, the revelation may have hit him in the early hours of the morning but it was a long thing coming. Being best friends is being a little in love with each other anyways, not romantically, but in all the ways that matters. Prompto should know, because he never had a friend before, never really known the concept of love. His parents are gone, they have been for a while, long enough that his house doesn’t even feel lonely anymore or empty, it’s just his. His best friend comes along, and it’s a confusing mess of feelings from the start, and it evolves deeper and deeper until he’s forced to confront it, forced to acknowledge it.
There’s a push and pull in falling love, but Prompto thinks he has it down to an art form by now.
When he’s holding his camera, he can’t stop himself from taking pictures of Noct. Noct in the sun, haloed by the light. Noct in his apartment, slowly falling asleep on his hand while attempting to do homework. Noct diligently making drinks at the coffee shop. Noct holding his hand out for a stray cat to sniff. Noct’s pout, his scowl, his smile, the occasional red tint on his cheeks, when he tucks his hair behind his ears, when he chews on his lips when focusing on a game, his tired slump after every customer he serves.
That’s the pull, Noct is more like the moon than the sun, but he still pulls at Prompto, at everyone around him really. It’s contagious, like his laughter, somewhat addictive, like his touch.
Then, there’s the push. The rapid beating of his heart, thumping against his chest hard enough to hurt, the warmth in his chest, the urge to lean into Noct’s touch. It’s push and pull, trial and error until Prompto feels full with emotions, uncertain and certain and it bubbles over, overwhelmingly so, and if Prompto doesn’t tell him soon he’ll explode and it won’t be pretty.
The best view of Insomnia is on the roof of Noct’s apartment at night. It’s high up enough that they can see a collage of bright lights, the city much quieter and muffled, but Prompto can still hear the occasional car horn, high pitched laughter, a background layer of chatter. Despite the cool breeze, there’s something about seeing Insomnia alive and busy below him that fills him with warmth. This is his home, after all, no matter where he came from, he’s here now. At night, the wall shimmers faintly.
Noct is a line of solid warmth beside him, from where he’s pressed up against him on the ledge of the roof. There’s a tub of ice cream sitting on each of their laps, Noct with his usual Chocolate Delights while Prompto had searched into the deep crevices of the 7-Eleven to dig out his Banana Cream Raspberry Cheesecake (with almonds) ice cream, the metal spoons keep bending under the stubbornness of the ice cream.
His head is buzzing, chest filled with an unimaginable warmth despite the ice cream and cool weather, and it absolutely has something to do with the half empty bottle of malt whiskey they had set behind them.
Noct had whipped it out of his magic pocket with a sly grin and Prompto obviously doesn’t approve of underage drinking on a rooftop, no sir he doesn’t, which is why he had grinned back and took the first swig. It’s still disgusting, even halfway through the bottle, but it’s easy to drown it with his ice cream.
Today was the last day of finals, finally,, and Prompto is ready to flop down and not get up for at least a week, but what better way to start their vacation than getting drunk?
Prompto reaches back and takes another swig of the whiskey, letting a urngd at the taste, then he hands it Noct and shoves a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, ignoring the whisper in the back of his head that Noct’s lips are touching the same thing his lips have touched. Noct looks a million times cooler when he’s drinking, even his grimace is casual and smooth, and there’s a flush on his typically pale cheeks, eyes brightened with the lights of the city. Noct’s mouth wraps around the bottle for another drink, his throat bobbing as he swallows.
Prompto feels dizzy, all of the sudden.
He grabs the bottle out of Noct’s hand and takes another large gulp, hoping the terrible alcohol would smother the boiling in his veins, but all it does is make him splutter like a fish on land.
It’s not the end of the world, he feels too warm and warm to do anything other than smile a bit lopsided when Noct laughs at him, louder than usual.
This was the best idea ever.
“Yeah,” Noct hums, leaning back and kicking his legs against the side of the building, he tilts his in a way that causes long dark hair to fall across his face. Prompto blinks, both because of the distracting sight but also because he wasn’t aware he said that out loud.
Brain to mouth filter is very important.
“It sure is, buddy,” Noct snorts, patting his shoulder while Prompto groans.
There's a gust of wind that passes by, causing Prompto to shiver, goosebumps erupting across his bare arms, because he completely forgot to bring a sweater with him.
“Here,” the prince grabs his own sweatshirt, shifting to lift it off his body. The tub of ice cream slides off his lap with the shift and plummets to the ground below.
There’s a long pause, where Noct freezes with his hoodie wrapped around his head, then Prompto hears a quiet splat from below.
Prompto bursts out laughing.
He hunches over his own ice cream, the lone survivor, and wheezes so hard it’s painful. In the corner of his tear soaked eye he sees Noct slowly push the sweater off his body to reveal a blank face, and something about it all just sends another wave of laughter over his entire body.
He doesn’t notice Noct’s blank face melting when he looks at Prompto, too busy trying to put his lungs back into his chest where it belongs, not very carefully shoving the ice cream behind him so it doesn’t join Noct’s to its death. His stomach aches in the best of ways, head a little too floaty, and he feels heat course through his entire body. It’s good, it’s all good.
It feels like five hours has passed, even though it’s probably more like 30 seconds before he’s able to breathe enough to look at the prince, a wide smile stretching his face to the point that could’ve been painful but he doesn’t feel it.
“Dude, I can’t believe you just committed hom ice ide.”
There’s lips on his.
It’s so sudden and so fast, Prompto doesn’t even realize it at first. His eyes are still wide open, and through a thin haze he sees Noct’s eyelashes, long and pretty, as his eyes are squeezed shut. Then the haze is flushed out of his system so quickly, he’s surprised he didn’t go into shock (or maybe he did, because he feels frozen, rooted into the rooftop ledge, head so empty his own rapidly picking up heartbeat echoes throughout it).
Noct’s lips, he registers then, are cool and slightly chapped, and there’s a hint of the chocolate ice cream on them.
It’s over before Prompto is able to restart himself, the prince drawing back to give him a wide eyed shocked expression, as if he’s the one that got randomly kissed by his best friend/ person he’s been in love with since at least forever.
Prompto is positive he died, that the ice cream was actually him that plummeted to the ground and he’s an alternate universe where Noct actually kisses him.
His brain restarts, exclusively to internally scream at him.
“Ah, shit, I didn’t um-“
“Do that again.”
Noct blinks at him, the red flush on his face that Prompto suspects only slightly has to do with alcohol deepens considerably and fuck he’s too pretty to exist. Noct clears his throat.
“Wha-“
“Noctis,” Prompto breathes, unusually confident with the taste of chocolate on his lips, and the flush on the prince’s cheeks. He leans close and feels a surge of something when Noct’s breath stutters, not quite smug, but more like adrenaline dipped in cherry flavored fondness and certainty that comes with being half drunk and completely infatuated.
It feels like a lucid dream, his hand moving by its own will to gently cup Noct’s cheek, which is warm and absurdly soft and it distracts him enough that he runs his thumb over his cheekbone, feeling the smooth skin in a daze.
Wait, what was he doing again?
Noct leans into his touch, it’s enough for his eyes to flick up to meet his eyes, dark and intense, and right.
Prompto has never kissed someone before, never really wanted to before Noct, and he’s glad he hasn’t. Nothing would’ve compared to this,, anyways, pressing his lips into Noct’s, retasting the chocolate, discovering something more heady and rich, something distinctly belonging to Noct.
Noct’s hand encloses around his hip and it sits there, branding into his skin through his shirt and Prompto releases a soft noise against his lips. Their lips slot together awkwardly at first, but it smooths out so wonderfully after he tilts his head that all thoughts leak out of his brain.
Noct tastes like chocolate and alcohol, like cheeseburger and toothpaste and energy drinks, and Prompto can’t get enough of it.
His hand tightens around Prompto’s hip and the blond feels a shot of heat erupt in his chest. He moves without thinking, climbing onto Noct’s lap without letting go of Noct’s mouth, and it would’ve been hot and smooth if they weren’t on the ledge on a roof.
His body tilts backward and Prompto yelps, hands flying to clutch on Noct’s shoulders and jerking forward, successfully headbutting the prince in the face and sending them careening down onto the roof with a solid thud. Beneath him, the air forcibly escapes out of Noct’s lungs with a loud wheeze.
“Fuck,” Prompto scrambles to side, more than slightly mortified that his attempt at seducing his prince ended up crushing him instead, “shit, Noct are you alright?”
Noct wheezes again, his shoulder shaking, and for a split second Prompto thinks he’s crying, but he recognizes that ugly wheeze quickly enough, and his panicked worry crumples away underneath it.
“Prom,” Noct looks at him from where he’s laying, a small smile lit up by the moon, his heart melts into a pool of goo, “I really like you.”
Prompto feels the blush all the way to his gooey heart, and he doesn’t stop the goofy smile he knows he has on his face. He reaches down and flick Noct’s nose playfully, giggling when the prince goes cross-eyed.
“Noct,” he says, “I really like you, too.” It feels good to say, not explosive or rushed, but soft and freeing, it’s like feeling the sun on his face after staying holed up in the house for a while, or the first bite of the spicy curry, fresh and hot. He leans down and kisses him, and it fails because he can’t stop smiling, so he tries again, and again, and they try again together. It’s a push and pull, trial and error until they get it right, except it’s already right, and it’s good, it’s all good.