Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regis folds and unfolds his hands on top of his desk, his skin worn down, beaten far beyond his years.

“How is he getting on with his new cane?” Regis finally asks.

“Well,” Ignis says, “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it at dinner on Friday.”

Regis half smiles. Ignis isn’t sure exactly what happens at their weekly dinners, he just knows that sometimes, if Noct’s mood is sour enough, it may be the only short hours he spends with his father in a given week.

The minimal contact isn’t really what either of them want, but it’s one of the rare things that Ignis has never found a way to fix. Noctis isn’t half so malleable to other people’s influence as he believes himself to be.

“I hear his grasp on magic is nothing short of spectacular,” Regis says, smile spreading a little more true even as his hands ring together nervously, “He’s not over exerting himself?”

Ignis shakes his head, “He finds warping more enjoyable than walking most days.”

Regis chuckles, it’s a little hollow, half helpless, almost.

“He’s doing just fine, Your Majesty,” Ignis assures him.

“For the circumstances,” Regis says.

“I think just in general,” Ignis says. He wants to say many things right now, but fears saying too much, worries about exposing a secret part of him that only Noctis and Gladio really know about and that they had promised not to share with another living soul.

“Noctis is smart and determined,” Ignis goes on, “He has almost insurmountable pressure on his shoulders but I do not doubt for a second that he will vanquish every challenge laid out before him.”

The King’s face softens, a little bit of pride clear in the set of his brow and his shoulders a little straighter. A tiny change, so subtle many would find imperceptible. But Ignis is not like many.

“Thank you,” Regis says earnestly.

Ignis nods and starts to rise from his chair, “I should get back to him.”

Regis is halfway to the door when Regis seems to remember something, calling Ignis back.

“Sire?”

“Noctis is almost twenty,” Regis reminds him.

“Just a little over four months,” Ignis agrees.

“Then we’re running out of time,” The King says, “If he won’t choose, Ignis, I may have to ask you to make the choice on his behalf.”

He’d known it was coming, known that eventually this task would be handed to him just like many others. This wasn’t something for Gladio to shoulder, though Ignis’ choice will affect him just as much as it does Noctis. This is the kind of task Ignis agreed to complete when he’d first taken his place officially at Noct’s side.

No matter how much Noctis might come to hate him for it, this was his burden to carry.

“We have a little time before then,” Ignis says - hopes more than anything.

“I’ll need official progress by month's end,” Regis says with just enough authority to let Ignis know he really means it, “I’d rather you did this than it gets handed off to the council and the three of you end up with something you would rather not.”

Ten days then.

Ten days for Ignis to get Noctis to agree or he’ll have to undermine the trust Noctis has in him to do it anyway.

Ignis offers Regis a respectful bow and makes his exit without another word.

-

Gladio and Noct are all but done with today’s training when Ignis finds them. Noctis is stretched out on the mat going through his post training exercises.

They’re perfectly crafted by the Citadel’s finest physiotherapist, and overseen by Gladio whenever Noctis is in a mood to let him help. This is what Gladio’s trained for, the little subset of his skills that many do not know he even holds.

The prince grumbles and snarks through the routine on most days but he needs to do it, the lingering damage from his accident as a child demands it lest he only suffer more.

“Hey, Ignis,” Gladio greets him, glancing up as he presses back on Noctis’ knee to deepen the stretch.

Noct winces enough that Ignis feels a little dart of panic at seeing him in pain, only his trust in Gladio preventing him from calling the whole thing off. Gladio lowers the leg slowly and carefully back to the mat and Noctis lets out a rough little breath of air as soon as his foot is flat on the ground again.

“How’s Dad?” Noct asks without looking up. It’s hard to know what Noctis wants to hear when Ignis can’t see his expression properly.

“In desperate need of some time with his son,” Ignis tells him honestly.

Noctis’ mouth pulls up on one side and his profile is almost startlingly like his fathers had been just half an hour ago.

“Maybe I’ll go see him tonight,” Noct offers. He stretches his arms up above his head looking gloriously relaxed. When Gladio pats his knee Noct’s expression falls but he obediently raises the other leg to repeat the previous motion.

“But you told him I was - ah, getting on okay?” Noctis wonders, face pinching again. This time Gladio lets his leg down sooner, looking concerned as he works his fingers over the joint. Noctis sighs, like the simple touch has put the world to rights.

It takes Ignis a moment to answer, because he had definitely gone to lengths to assure the King Noctis is currently getting on just fine, but that doesn’t preclude the fact that Noctis currently is - and inevitably will continue for some time - to cause a problem for them.

“Ignis?” Noctis pushes, sounding tense. He starts to move up into a sitting position and Gladio helps him, placing a hand on Noct’s slender shoulder and lingering for perhaps a moment longer than is necessary. It’s not jealousy that stirs in Ignis’ gut watching them touch each other so freely but something not entirely dissimilar. A kind of longing that extends to them both.

“Your father reminded me that your birthday is coming up,” Ignis hedges.

“Why? Had you forgotten?”

Gladio snorts a short laugh, but he catches Ignis’ expression when he looks hoping to share that amusement, and sobers up at once.

“It’s not that close,” Noctis carries on, oblivious to the tension suddenly shared between his retainers.

“Close enough that you need to make a choice now, Noct,” Ignis tells him.

Noctis’ eyebrows draw tight together and he glances from Ignis to Gladio and back again a few times. Ignis would like to assume this is a classic case of Noctis simply playing dumb to avoid something difficult but this is something that Noct refuses to acknowledge with such intensity that he’s probably, truly, put it completely from his mind.

“Do I need to pick a theme so you can plan my party or something?” Noct mutters. He bends his knees and puts his palms flat on the ground to push into a sitting position and slowly rise to his feet. Gladio stands too, quickly enough to be able to help Noctis if he needs it but not so quickly to chafe at Noct’s need to be independent.

Noctis rarely needs them now, though the wheelchair in the corner of this room acts as a stark reminder to all of them of a time they would all rather forget.

“Noctis,” Ignis sighs, “You know the rules.”

Noctis starts to limp away from them and Ignis has to grit his teeth to keep himself from rushing over to help. Only when Noctis asks with Ignis support him with an arm, only then. Ignis will not belittle his friend by insinuating he does not know his own boundaries.

“I have a lot of those,” Noctis complains. He reaches the bench where all their things are waiting for them and sits down to toe out of his sneakers and drag forward his preferred boots.

“Noctis,” Ignis says, firmly enough that he looks up from what he’s doing to meet Ignis’ eye from across the room, “You need to have at least three members in your retinue by your twentieth birthday or -”

“Or what?” Noctis snaps, “I don’t get to be the Prince any more? What a shame.”

“Noctis. You know they can’t take that away from you -”

“Exactly. I can do what I want. And what I want is not to have another retainer. I don’t want to force a stranger to spend time with me. It’s already bad enough that you two -” Noctis cuts himself off, the angry flush that had risen in his cheeks draining alarmingly fast.

“Noct,” Gladio murmurs, “You know we want - “

“I don’t know anything,” Noctis says. He stands abruptly, reaches for his cane and starts to walk from the room.

“Noct,” Gladio calls, “Where are you going?”

Without turning his head Noctis tells them, “I’m going to see my Dad.”

Ignis can’t really argue against that. If Noctis is determined to storm off anywhere then Ignis would like it to be towards his father.

When the door swings closed behind him Gladio mumbles, “He’s supposed to use his chair after training.”

“He’ll be alright,” Ignis promises, “We’ll make sure of it.”

Gladio comes close to his side and softly presses his hand, open palmed and gentle, between Ignis’ shoulder blades. It lingers, just for a moment, but Gladio pulls it away before it could truly be taken for anything more than a friendly pat on the back.

“What are we going to do?” Gladio asks.

“I have a few ideas,” Ignis says, “Though Noctis won’t like any of them.”

“What can I do?” Gladio asks, he touches Ignis again, a hand on his arm to turn the adviser slightly toward him. “Let me help,” Gladio begs, just on the edge of desperate.

“You know the Guard and the Glaive best,” Ignis says, “Start thinking of people you think Noctis would like if he allowed himself the chance. Bring a few of them to some training sessions that need not be private.”

Gladio nods with a smile that’s almost a smirk, knocking his fingers against his brow in a little salute. Ignis resists the temptation to roll his eyes, appreciating the attempt at humour more than he’ll admit.

“What about you?” Gladio asks, curious but not judgemental.

“I have an idea,” Ignis admits, “But it’s not - I’m not sure Noctis will ever forgive me.”

Ignis is almost certain of it.

Chapter Text

Prompto sets his laptop down on the kitchen counter - wary of the almost completely busted hinge - and clicks on a video at random from his MoogVids subscription feed hoping he’ll be at least slightly entertained by whatever it churns out.

He has cold rice in the fridge, a little bit of leftover chickatrice and just enough vegetables to make dinner interesting if not extravagant. He drags one of his large pans from the cupboard where they permanently exist in an lopsided stack a strong breeze away from falling over. Prompto dumps oil and spices into the pan, waits until it sizzles audibly then tosses the meat in on top.

Prompto’s not a good cook by any stretch of the imagination but he gets by and he’s never poisoned himself. Yet.

Prompto grew up on a mix of takeout and convenient microwavables but he long since traded those habits for cooking food that actually tastes good and isn’t just salty enough into fooling him into thinking it does. He had thought, way back when, that the switch would make him shed the weight that hadn’t vanished with his growth spurt, but it hadn’t. He doesn’t mind, not now, but he had during his senior year of High School. The way everyone gets a little obsessed with the way they look.

Prompto’s happy with the way he looks, most of the time, his cheeks are soft and he smiles easily and if it wasn’t for the world forever reminding him that maybe he should look different, then he might spend absolutely no part of days thinking about the fact he never grew out of the chubbiness that had gotten him teased as a child.

It doesn’t stop him from running every day nor does it affect the way he takes pictures. And if he has those two things then he’s pretty much content with his lot in life.

Prompto only just catches the meat before he takes it too far, tosses in the rice and the veggies all at once then gives it an overly vigorously stir. He’ll have leftovers which he always likes to do, providing he stops tossing grains of rice all over the top of his stove.

Prompto dishes up a hearty serving and picks a spoon out of the cutlery drawer to stick upright into the rice like an empty flagpole. He’s just picking up his laptop with his empty hand to relocate to the couch when it pings obnoxiously with a notification.

Any excitement he feels at the noise is quickly squashed when he sits down, balances his dinner on his knees and mouses over the notification to see it’s just an email. And from a .gov address to boot. Whatever that is can certainly wait.

Prompto swaps back over to MoogVids, starts the video over and settles back to eat his dinner.

-

Prompto doesn’t think much of the email at all until he’s settling down to sleep for the night - his mattress might be lumpy but it’s a double. He’s just about to thumb open the King’s Knight app when he sees the +1 notification on the email app

from [[email protected]]

to [[email protected]]

Subject: Open Invitation to Apply

Dear P. Argentum,

An exciting opportunity is before you!

The Citadel is opening up Crownsguard applications in a never before seen way! Would you like elite training from the best of the best? Have you been looking for an exciting opportunity to improve yourself and fast track your way into an exciting career? Would you like to fast track into the Prince’s personal guard? Are you motivated and intelligent? Are you between 18-25? Are the standard rigmarole of a nine to five just not for you?

Apply now!

Simply fill out the aptitude test and personality quiz to determine if we’re the right fit for you! We look forward to hearing from you,

Crownsguard Recruitment Team

Organised by Royal Adviser Ignis Scientia.

Prompto almost laughs. It has to be a joke, right? A mockery of the recruitment posters from during the old war?

He scrolls further down and there’s a picture of the prince there, face almost scowling, with a list of hobbies and interests that might put the average dating profile to shame.

Why are they recruiting from the general population for the Prince’s royal guard? Don’t they have a hundred well trained, highly efficient soldiers to do the job? Soldiers that are already loyal and devoted.

And why in gods’ name are they doing it with such a tacky recruitment email? Prompto’s had less awful emails from desperate marketing ploys begging him to invest now.

Why does the prince even need another retainer? Prompto’s seen him on television, a guard flanking him on each side, both tall, both terrifyingly intimidating despite the stark difference in their appearance. Even the thinner one looks like he could break Prompto’s leg just by thinking about it hard enough.

Prompto doesn’t actually think the fabled Lucian magic is capable of that. He’s pretty sure.

Prompto sets the phone down on his bedside table, not expecting the email and it’s contents to ever pass his mind again and yet. Almost an hour later he’s still awake, thinking about how he’s exactly the right age and he’d liked all but one of the hobbies listed underneath the prince’s picture.

When on Eos would Prompto have had a chance to go fishing?

Prompto’s not what they’re looking for though, of that he’s sure. The email mentioned a basic aptitude test, a compatibility test if he gets through that and -

There’s no way.

Prompto likes his life now. He has his own space, he has a job that has not yet completely sucked the life out of him. If he keeps squirrelling money away every month the way he is now he can seriously consider the photography course he’s been eyeing since he finished high school.

If he does that he’ll have some legitimacy behind his name and with it a better chance of making it as a photographer.

Prompto doesn’t want to be a guard. The daydreams of magic at his fingertips left behind with childhood, any residual desire for such a thing is far outweighed by how much he realises he’s just not cut out for being a bodyguard. Such a high profile one too. The prince doesn’t leave the Citadel much, if the newspapers are to be believed, but Prompto’s sure it’s a risk every time he does - is sure that risk is part of why Prince Noctis barely sets foot outside.

Prompto has no strong feelings one way or another but not everyone in Insomnia loves the King. They can’t, not when hurt feelings and perceived slights run rampant and barely checked.

People born in Insomnia don’t tend to like those they perceive as outsiders and said outsiders don’t like how often it feels as though they’re passed over for literally everyone else in the city.

Prompto gets it. He’s an outsider too, the worst of the worst though that you can’t tell just from a quick glance. Blond is rare in the city but it's not non-existent. The thing that truly marks him apart is carefully hidden, doubly protected by the shield of foster parents that are not only Lucian through and through but Insomnia born and bred.

They don’t spend much time here now and haven’t for a long time but even that is a mark of their loyalty, working abroad to serve their country in a way Prompto has never fully understood. No one would ever suspect them of fostering an outsider, especially not one from -

Prompto rolls over and shoves his arm under his pillow. His wristband is still on - it’s never off - but now it is doubly hidden, two layers to completely block it from his mind.

He is definitely not the sort of person they’re hoping to join the Prince’s retinue. There’s no way.

- - -

Prompto’s job did a really good job of trying to suck the last bit of life out of him today.

Every customer had something to complain about - the bathroom smelt too clean, there’s only one type of pre-packaged sandwich left at three o’clock in the afternoon and on and on. No one was happy, no one said thank you without twisting their tone so far it felt like an insult.

Maybe it’s just the drag of a double shift, working through even with two colleagues calling out sick for the first one and not really getting any better in the second half of the day despite being better staffed.

Prompto had grabbed one of those not-great but not-gross oven ready single server lasagnes as he left work and he dumps it into the oven the moment he gets home without bothering to let it pre-heat. Prompto sets the time, cranking an extra five minutes on the end and heads to his room to strip off his polyester uniform and run himself briefly under the shower. His bathroom could never be called too clean and he really ought to find some time this weekend to give it at least a quick go over.

Maybe he should stop saying yes to double shifts, to just dropping everything and heading to work whenever his boss calls. What’s the point in the extra money for a course or a camera lens if he’ll never have time to make use of them?

Prompto comes out of his room in pyjamas and with damp hair when there’s still ten minutes on the oven timer. It’s a bit late in the day and he got home at an awkward time so everything on tv has already started. He still flicks around the channels until he finds a movie he’s seen a hundred times, only ten minutes in. He waits eagerly by the oven, watching the movie over the back of his couch, as the last three minutes count down.

The cheese could be more golden, but it’s all melted and the dish is hot through so Prompto plates it - messily of course - and settles onto the couch to eat. The food is good, in that it’s hot, filling and requires almost zero effort from him after a difficult day.

Prompto should head to bed the moment it’s finished but he’s just not tired. He’s exhausted, he’s been on his feet for sixteen hours, but he’s not tired. There’s a weird, almost anxious sort of energy thrumming through his veins and the thought of laying down fills him with an almost sick sensation.

With the movie still playing in the background Prompto digs his laptop out from under the coffee table - he really needs to start putting it on his desk when he’s done with it, really needs to start using the desk he’d thought was vitally important for his day to day life and gets used for maybe six minutes a week.

A good use of this energy would be to edit some photographs, beef up the photography blog he uses as a portfolio so that’s what he does. Falling into the easy patter of the usual routine, opening up the software and flicking through social media as it slowly loads.

When he opens his MoogleMail account the same email from yesterday is already open. The open invitation to apply.

Prompto glances away from it, watches the hero of the movie be pulled from danger by his best friend and turns back to the email before Prompto can start to feel lonely.

There’s that picture of Prince Noctis again. Expression sombre. Sad.

Prompto wonders if Prince Noctis could possibly be lonely too.

He looks at it, sometimes, in pictures and on television. Flanked on either side but never talking, never laughing and smiling even if his father drops from regality into something more human.

Prince Noctis never went to school, not that Prompto knows about. He remembers there had been a flurry of excitement when he was in middle school - private and not worth the money his foster parents had paid in tuition - that Prince Noctis would be joining them soon.

Then something had happened, an accident or -

Prompto doesn’t think that he was ever told. All he knows is that Prince Nocyis was supposed to come to his school and he never had. And surely had not attended any of the other schools either.

But Prompto vaguely remembers the crown announcing that the prince wasn’t attending this year but perhaps would the next.

But he never had.

Apply Now sears itself into Prompto’s eyes and he clicks on the hyperlink without considering it too much.

What could it hurt?

Prompto will never get in, but applying is free. At least it’ll give him something to think about, something to talk to the people he works with. Every one of them that falls into the age gap had mentioned it at least once today, every single one of them had planned on filling out the application.

Imagine working with the Prince, one of them had gushed.

I bet the pay is ridiculously high, another had speculated, hazard pay.

The assessment part of the form is over quickly, just a few basic questions then a request for the grades he graduated high school with. Prompto was a respectable if not impressive student. When it asks if he has any plans for further education he checks the box labelled mildly interested next to university.

As he does a little message pops up underneath and Prompto feels a rush of genuine excitement and interest.

Successful parties may be able to undertake further education funded by the crown as long as their duties are not undermined by the endeavour.

Prompto changes his mark to very interested.

He doesn’t think too much about it as he drags a slider back and forth during the compatibility test, going with his gut instinct and moving on before he can overthink things like he normally does.

A night at home with friends is better than a night in a busy bar with people you don’t know yet.

Strongly agree.

Comic books are not a worthwhile hobby for adults.

Strongly disagree.

You only make decisions through logical means and never allow your heart to sway you.

Disagree.

You much prefer being up early in the morning to staying awake late at night.

Agree.

Prompto ignores that the time has ticked technically over into tomorrow.

Prompto often finds himself awake late like this but he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s usually a last ditch attempt to work on something he loves around horrific work hours or quiet the nagging, anxious part of his brain that tries to spin lies and twist reality into something to be frightened of just as Prompto’s about to drop off to sleep.

The test is long. Really long. It takes Prompto almost an hour and a half to get through the personality section. He imagines that the pool of applicants will be thinned by this fact alone. Prompto doesn’t like it when job applications take this long - and most of those he’s at least held an inkling that he might be successful.

Part of him almost gives up after the first forty-five minutes but he hates giving up on things.

You always strive to finish any task that you begin. If it is within your power to do so.

Strongly agree.

- - -

Prompto had woken up the morning after filling out the application online to a short email thanking him for his interest and assumed that would be the last of it.

He sort of expected the reply to be an automated rejection, that his results would be run through a system and his unsuitability would be identified in two seconds and Prompto told all about it.

He supposes a more official way to go about it is to keep everyone on tenterhooks until the final day then let everyone know all at once. He expects to be able to hear the collective sigh of disappointment among his peers when it happens.

Prince Noctis is so mysterious - and handsome obviously - it’s no wonder that so many people are interested in a chance to get to know him. Hell, prompto’s never thought about it until now but even he’s interested in hearing more than just the stilted comment from him. Wonders what it’ll be like to hear him say something other than a speech at an event that while moving and elegantly performed are likely not the thoughts that exist in his own mind at all.

Prompto’s only scheduled for a mid-shift - his least favourite - just four hours standing behind a register and smiling as he exchanges bland conversations with everyone that passes by him. By the time there’s just six minutes until the end of his shift, he’s all but counting it down in seconds.

Yet when the assistant manager appears from the storage room to ask if he can work until eight o’clock this evening he immediately says yes.

Prompto should say no, he’s done so much over time this month already but it’s a full thirty crowns more and the new lens set sitting in his online basket demands to be paid for as soon as possible.

He says yes and he traipses home later than he would have liked with yet another convenient but ultimately unfulfilling meal in his backpack - the last decent looking food from the salad counter this time - and settles in front of his television to watch another movie he’s seen a hundred times as he simply waits for the day to turn into another.

- - -

Graveyard shifts at least give Prompto the day to himself. He walks to the subway a few blocks from his apartment and rides into the inner city where apartments cost more a month in rent than he earns in an entire year.

The Citadel looms not unpleasantly over the area.

When he was younger the building had scared him. It’s still intimidating now, huge and dark and full of more important people than Prompto can possibly fathom exist. At least now he’s older he can also appreciate that it’s beautiful in it’s starkness. .

Glass and stone and dark metal, the sun rises steadily behind it as morning turns to afternoon, yellow light burnishes the windows into a more cheerful exterior.

It photographs well, though it makes Prompto really want for those new lenses. He’s pretty sure he gets some decent content for his photography Mooglepics and Kweh accounts at least, hopefully without too much fussing at his laptop.

“To think one of us might be inside there soon,” says a girl as her and her companion walk past Prompto.

“I can’t believe I almost missed the application deadline,” says the other.

One of them is taller than Prompto, almost as wide as he is in the shoulders and certainly looks strong enough to blend in with the Crownsguard. Both of them have the dark hair so common in Insomnia and Prompto can easily picture either one of them in the dark uniform. One of them is much more likely to get in than him.

It’s not like he wants to get in. He’s not got his heart set on it.

The rejection, when it comes, won’t hurt him at all.

- - -

Prompto’s first full day off in two weeks comes conveniently at the point when his apartment is completely out of groceries. He has only two teabags, half a jar of hot mustard and a single egg to his name which forces his only plans for the morning to be a leisurely jog around the neighbourhood - just to wake up - then gathering up all his reusable bags and heading out to the grocery store.

Not the one he works at.

The weather is unusually fine for late April when he leaves home but thick clouds have filled the sky, heavy and grey tinted when he gets out of the store. They look fit to burst at any moment so he takes the miniscule financial hit and dutifully stands to wait for the next bus. The heavens split open, the very moment he’s aboard, hitting the exterior of the bus in a cacophony of noise.

The bus takes such a circuitous route that it’s barely faster than walking home but at least Prompto can put his bags down and just chill out on his phone for fifteen minutes. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about wasting a little extra time in King’s Knight if there’s nothing else for him to do.

The rain peters off into a miserable drizzle before Prompto’s stop comes into view. He thanks the driver brightly and half jogs to the door of his building, trying not to jostle his groceries too much. The door opens under gentle pressure from his shoulder, the lock on the main door left in the latch like it so often is - there’s no point in Prompto taking it off, the safety measure will likely be undone before he’s all the way back upstairs anyway.

Prompto lives up on the third floor which is better than having to listen to everyone traipse in and out of the building at every hour of the day but means he has neighbours above, below and on either side of him. His upstairs neighbour seems to jump around at one in the morning too, or at least something that sounds that way.

The one benefit to completely running out of food is that he doesn’t have to check the dates on anything in his fridge as he unpacks - hot mustard doesn’t go bad, right? Prompto unloads haphazardly, making it a future Prrompto problem and instead spends his effort deciding what to make for lunch.

He’s just flicked on his television for something to entertain himself while he chops when there’s a knock on the door.

“The TV isn’t even loud,” he mutters, tossing his knife onto the chopping board and stomping to the front door.

It is not one of his neighbours there to complain about noise, however.

“Um, hi,” Prompto says and all the anger he’d built up on the way to the door evaporates in a wave of surprise.

Prompto doesn’t really get visitors that aren’t his landlord asking for money.

“Mr Argentum?”

The eyes that look over him are unsettlingly keen - and green, holy heck - as they look him over. Prompto doesn’t feel judged so much as he feels very seen but it still makes him squirm a little where he stands.

“That’s me,” Prompto confirms, voice oddly sing-song as his nerves get the better of him.

His visitor is tall, dressed in a sharp, dark suit with his hair perfectly spiked upwards and cheekbones that can cut glass. He looks kind of familiar and Prompto wonders if they crossed paths at school, if he was an intimidating senior and Prompto a nervous freshman. He certainly looks like he’d gotten a first class education at an expensive private school - and just made better use of it than Prompto.

“My name is Ignis Scientia,” he introduces himself, holding out an elegant, gloved hand, “Though you may simply call me Ignis.”

Prompto’s brain short circuits.

He’s seen that name written at the end of an email just a week ago, has seen his face on television standing shoulder to shoulder with the Prince of Lucis during the Solstice address a few months ago. This is the prince’s adviser, he works for the crown, probably has a big fancy office at the citadel.

The suit he’s wearing probably costs three month’s rent.

Ignis clears his throat pointedly and Prompto startles back to reality, clumsily shoving his hand into Ignis’ and giving it an awkward shake-squeeze combo. Never has he felt less prepared and more surprised than he does at this very moment.

“It’s, uh - nice to meet you,” Prompto says. Ignis lets go of his hand and Prompto drops it to his side, flexing his fingers.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss your application,” Ignis says.

His application.

“For the Crownsguard?” Prompto blurts in disbelief.

Ignis almost smiles, he thinks, his left cheek twitching before his lips press together in a tighter line.

“Have you made an abundance of applications recently?” Ignis asks.

Prompto shakes his head. Ignis tilts his, just a little.

“Do you have time now? Or can I arrange a more convenient time?” Ignis asks. Prompto likes his accent, a pleasant lilt to it that makes Prompto think Ignis could insult him for several hours straight and he’d still like the sound of it.

“Oh! Sure,” Prompto says, “I - sure. Come on in.”

Prompto tries not to cringe as he steps back to allow Ignis to enter his apartment - clean and relatively organised but small and not excessively well kept by his landlord. Ignis is already stepping out of his shoes before Prompto can tell him that’s really not necessary.

“Please, um - take a seat,” Prompto offers, gesturing to his couch.

Ignis does, folding himself gracefully onto the cushions and crossing his legs at the ankle. Prompto hadn’t noticed he had a briefcase with him before, too busy focusing on everything else but he sees it now, propped on the floor beside the coffee table.

“You live here alone?” Ignis enquires resting his hands against his knees.

Prompto nods, scratching awkwardly at his cheek, “Would be a little small for two people.”

“Cosy,” Ignis says and Prompto laughs.

Ignis takes a look around, craning his head to peer into the kitchen.

“I interrupted your lunch,” Ignis says, sounding regretful, “Let me -”

“It’s fine,” Prompto says, “It can wait. I’m not very hungry.” He’s lying but there’s no way for Ignis to know that.

Ignis looks just a touch uncomfortable but he manages to smile again and reaches for his briefcase.

“I had some questions,” Ignis tells him.

“Okay.”

Ignis looks at him for a long moment and suddenly laughs, just two short chuckles.

“Are you also going to sit down or would you like to stay standing for some reason?”

“Oh!” Prompto says jerking to life. He takes the short steps to his computer chair and wheels it around to be closer to and facing the couch. Prompto drops into it.

“Hit me,” Prompto says, then realising a potential error says, “Metaphorically, not actually.”

Ignis laughs, covering his mouth with his hand and eyes crinkling almost adorably at the corners.

“I promise not to hit you,” Ignis says.

He hits the latches on his briefcase and they pop open with a noise like a gunshot.

“You filled this out by yourself?” Ignis enquires and he pulls free what must be a printout of Prompto’s application. Prompto nods. “And you’ve never met His Highness anywhere before?”

Prompto snorts, “When would I have had the opportunity?”

Ignis tilts his head a little to one side again.

“You don’t know anyone that works at the Citadel? Or for the Crown in general?”

“My foster parents work for the Crown,” Prompto admits, “Technically.”

“You no longer live with them?” Ignis asks, glancing around the apartment again.

“I no longer see them,” Prompto admits and Ignis’ face pales. “Not like that,” Prompto adds hastily.

“Ah, forgive me, I don’t mean to pry…”

“They moved away from Insomnia. They’re researchers. They work for the Crown, or at least I always thought they did,” Prompto explains, “We still speak on the phone every once in a while and they help me make rent, it's just -” Prompto shrugs. He’s not really sure just what it is exactly.

Having a son was probably not everything they thought it would be. Maybe he specifically was not what they thought he would be, a little more baggage than they were anticipating, a little less smart, a little more high energy.

They never complained, but they started leaving him alone in Insomnia as he was old enough not to burn the house down if left unattended. They care about him, Prompto has never been in doubt of that, just not enough to want to stay with him.

Nervously Prompto drums his fingertips against his denim covered thigh.

“Why does it matter?” Prompto asks.

“Well when we compared your answers it turns out you and His Highness are extremely compatible,” Ignis says.

Prompto’s fingers still.

“We…are?”

Ignis nods, “Almost suspiciously so. In fact, mostly the differences between you seem to entirely stem from the fact you are a morning person and His Highness is -” Ignis laughs, “Decidedly not.”

Prompto smiles though he has to make a conscious effort to do so.

He and Prince Noctis - compatible?

Very compatible.

Prompto’s, mostly, just a quiet nerd that doesn’t want any trouble. What could he possibly have in common with the Prince of Lucis?

“I’m sure when you start really getting to know each other you’ll disagree about specific things, of course, but that’s simply ground for good conversations, I say,” Ignis goes on, focused on looking through the papers spread across his knees and not glancing at Prompto.

When you start really getting to know each other.

“When,” Prompto croaks.

“Sorry?” Ignis says, looking up.

Prompto clears his throat, “When we start getting to know each other.”

“Indeed,” Ignis goes on, not picking up on Prompto’s exact point, “The sooner the better. We’re under a bit of time pressure because Noctis’ birthday is coming up but you’re such a perfect candidate and we found you so quickly it’s been quite the relief.”

“I haven’t agreed,” Prompto blurts.

Ignis freezes. He blinks, twice, behind his glasses and Prompto watches as his jaw visibly tenses.

“You applied,” Ignis points out.

“Right. But I, um -” Prompto vaguely gestures at himself but Ignis looks none the wiser, “I never expected to be suitable. Or compatible.”

Ignis is silent for a moment, shuffling the papers into a neater stack and balancing them on his knees.

“So why did you apply?” Ignis asks.

Prompto shakes his head. He doesn’t have a reason.

“This was never something you considered before?” Ignis goes on.

“Never,” Prompto says, “I just - I think it was a what’s the worst that could happen? kind of thing.”

Ignis hums thoughtfully and spares a moment to adjust his glasses.

Ignis sighs and mutters, “Honestly, I think that makes you more perfect.”

“Sorry?”

“You’ve not been dying for a position at the Citadel, you’ve not been eyeing the Crownsguard since you were a child and seeing as I arrived with no warning yet there is no visible Crown memorabilia in your home I assume this is not simply a ruse to get close to either His Highness or His Majesty,” Ignis explains. He glances around one more time.

Prompto feels compelled to tell him, “I don’t have a shrine in my closet or anything.”

Ignis laughs gently but it peters out quickly into another sigh.

“You’re saying no?” Ignis asks.

Prompto should say yes, I’m saying no, he should apologise for wasting Ignis’ time and send him on his way.

“I’m not saying yes,” Prompto says, “Right now.”

Ignis sighs again, his relief so palpable Prompto feels it in his own gut.

“It’s an important decision,” Ignis says, “A big undertaking. You’re right you should - you shouldn’t go into it without proper thought.”

“Do you have, like, any information about what I’ll have to do, if I say yes?”

Ignis reaches for his briefcase again.

“Yes, I have the contract you would need to sign -” Prompto’s shocked expression derails him slightly and Ignis goes on, “Which at this point is only you committing to the first six weeks of training and nothing more. But it does detail your expected attendance - though we’re willing to make allowances if you need them.”

“Is it like a full time job?” Prompto asks.

“Yes,” Ignis says, “Very much so.”

Prompto grimaces, “I can’t afford -”

“You’ll be paid of course. All members of the Crownsguard are paid a living wage. Even trainees.”

“Oh,” Prompto murmurs. That’s certainly something. Prompto currently works full time in extra shifts and overtime but he’s not guaranteed it. A little more security in his income would be nice.

Ignis hands Prompto a short stack of paper, joined in the top left corner by a purple paper clip. Prompto holds it in a nervous grip.

“I have some reading to do,” Prompto laughs.

“If you have any questions,” Ignis says quickly, “You should call or email me and I’ll do my best to explain it though I assure you outside of confidentiality clauses there’s nothing much different than a standard employment contract. You’re an intelligent man, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble.”

Ignis reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieves a small card and pen. Ignis clicks the top of the pen decisively and scrawls something onto the card.

“Here,” Ignis says, thrusting it forward, “I’ve added my personal email and telephone number, the ones printed on there route through an assistant but I - I’d rather you could contact me directly.”

“Thank you,” Prompto says, startled, “You needn’t go to the trouble.”

Not for him.

“I’m sure if I don’t work out you’ll find someone better,” Prompto adds softly.

Ignis shakes his head, sitting forward eagerly, “I don’t think we will. Prompto you’re - on paper - you’re perfect.”

Prompto’s face feels incredibly hot.

“If you need anything in addition to what’s offered let me know, I’m certain we can come to an agreement,” Ignis tells him earnestly, “Almost anything at all.”

“I don’t really want much,” Prompto says, trying to ease tension. It works enough that Ignis settles back against the couch again, expression less intense and more contemplative.

“You said you wanted to attend university,” Ignis points out, “What is it you’re interested in?”

“Photography,” Prompto says immediately, “If I was going to go - it’d be for that.”

“I’ll amend your contract to reflect that the Crown will have you enrolled at Insomnia University on the course of your choice as early as next September.”

“I- “

“Unfortunately we won’t be able to arrange it this year as almost as soon as His Highness turns twenty we have to embark on a - a road trip of sorts that I fear would rather disrupt the start of your school year,” Ignis finishes.

“Wow,” Prompto mumbles, turning Ignis’ card over in his hand, “It’s like you really want me or something.”

“Yes,” Ignis says, “It’s exactly like that.”

Chapter Text

The pastry is buttery, rich and flaky as Noctis bites into it. It’s feels perfect but -

“The filling is a bit too, um…” Noct trails off, not sure the correct word for it.

“Tart,” Ignis says, “I thought so too.”

“Thanks for trying though,” Noctis mumbles around another mouthful. It’s still good, Noctis is content, but Ignis won’t stop at good, he wants perfect.

Ignis smiles, eyes soft and Noctis feels his belly squirm in a way that has nothing to do with the food.

“I’ll keep trying until it’s right,” Ignis promises.

Gladio rubs his hands together to dust the last crumbs off his fingers and Ignis’ eyes fall on him instead.

“And you?”

“Everything you cook is perfect,” Gladio says without missing a beat as Ignis' smile grows. Noct refrains from rolling his eyes with some effort. He mostly thinks that too - when Ignis isn’t blending carrots into his ragu - but he’d get accused of pandering for saying something similar.

“Have you got the rest of the day off?” Noctis asks his adviser, thinking and hoping it’s true, wondering if he can convince Ignis and Gladio to just hang out in his rooms for a while. Until the two of them ultimately feel compelled to return to their own homes to sleep.

It’s been a while since he’s convinced either of them to stay here with him overnight, not when he doesn’t need them to stay. Noct hates how much he relies on them already, unable to even consider pretending to seem more weak than he already is just for a little attention.

“I have something I need to do for a little while this afternoon but I can come back after if you’d like me to,” Ignis says.

“Yes,” Noctis says, remembering perhaps a beat too late to add, “Please.”

“Are you out of food already?” Ignis teases. Gladio laughs and Noct feels heat rise in his face.

“No,” Noct mumbles, drumming his fingers nervously against the shiny, pristine wood of his dining table, “I just think it would be nice to spend some time together. Just because.”

Noct stares at his fingers against the wood grain while he speaks, unwilling to embarrass himself further in the way eye contact ultimately would, so it’s something of a surprise when Gladio’s hand grips his shoulder briefly.

“You want me to destroy you in Heroes of Damnation while we wait for Iggy to get back?” Gladio asks, when Noct has turned to look at him.

Noctis scoffs, “You wish. Button mashing can’t beat actual strategy.”

“Keep telling yourself that, charmless.”

Noct leans over to shove at his arm but he’s smiling. He misses them like this so much. Things have been so complicated recently, every single day that he gets older feels like more and more things pile up for him to worry about. More and more responsibilities stacking onto the shoulders of him and his friends.

But Noctis wouldn’t give it up. Wouldn’t give them up for anything.

He might not be able to have them in every way that he wants so he’ll have them every way that he can. Stress, anxiety and arguments included.

“What do you even need to do this afternoon?” Gladio asks, turning to Ignis but settling back down with his chair closer to Noct's, his warmth almost pressed up against Noctis’ side. “There’s nothing on the schedule,” Gladio muses.

Noctis wonders this too - he pretends not to pay attention to his carefully, minutely organised life, that he can at least pretend not to know where he’s supposed to be at any time. Generally if he doesn't show up for something it’s because he doesn’t want to be there and not actually that he didn’t know better.

And even if some sick little part of him likes that Ignis always chases after him, it's mostly just that he really doesn’t want to do some of the things they ask of him.

What is the point of attending an education budget meeting if all his suggestions are scoffed at and pushed aside? No matter that he’s usually, by far, the person in the room that attended any type of school most recently.

Ignis doesn’t answer right away and Noct looks up, watches Ignis physically hesitate, before speaking.

“I need to make sure everything is in order for our new trainee tomorrow morning,” Ignis says carefully. He glances at them with the most peculiar of expressions, expectant and almost disappointed.

“Of course,” Gladio says with a rough sigh, “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Hopefully there will be time tomorrow for you both to meet him,” Ignis says.

Both of them. Noctis too. There’s never any reason for Noctis to meet a new recruit, not right away.

“I’ll make time,” Gladio says, “This shit is important. Me and Noct can push training back if we have to.”

Noctis looks between them, head shifting back and forth as he takes in their conversation. It seems so normal, so absolutely inconsequential and yet -

There’s a sick feeling in his gut, like he’s missing something, like something he’s been avoiding is about to happen despite his best efforts to avoid it.

“It’s not recruitment season,” Noctis says. .

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, mouth suddenly incredibly dry.

“Noctis,” Ignis sighs, “I would prefer if you didn’t play dumb right now. I know you’re intelligent. It doesn’t work on me.”

“I literally don’t know what you’re talking about,” Noctis says flatly, drumming his fingers against the wood so a tap, tap, tap fills the silence.

Gladio covers his fidgeting fingers with his own warm hand, stilling them against the countertop.

“We talked about this,” Gladio tells him, tone gentle, “You wouldn’t make a decision, Ignis didn’t have a choice but to make it for you.”

Noctis looks back and forth between them again, thinking, desperately thinking for what Ignis could possibly have had to do because Noctis wouldn’t -

“No,” he shouts, yanking his hand out from underneath Gladio’s.

Noctis grips tight to the armrests of his wheelchair until his knuckles turn white and his fingers hurt. The gloves he’s supposed to wear are long discarded because he assumed he wouldn’t be moving again for a while.

Bad enough that he’s confined to his chair today, the near uselessness of his legs right now like another knife wedging itself in his back. Stupid weather, changing like it did. He’d been fine yesterday then it had to start raining again.

“Noct,” Ignis says softly.

“No,” Noct repeats and he feels something swelling up from his stomach, threatening to crush his chest and stop his lungs from working too.

“Without me choosing someone now so you - we - have the opportunity to get to know that somebody the council would have stepped in and assigned someone on your twentieth birthday. There was no way around it, you know this to be true” Ignis tells him calmly.

“Yes there was,” Noctis spits, “There was a way around it but nobody cares enough to try and find it.”

Ignis flinches, his face going blank.

“Don’t ever accuse us of that,” Gladio rumbles, “Of not caring.”

“Why not? Why do you guys want things to change so badly? Why couldn’t you just support me and make them change the rules?” Noctis begs. He feels emotional, throat tight and eyes worryingly damp.

“It’s not just about that,” Ignis says.

“It’s about keeping you safe,” Gladio says.

They’ve had this fight before of course, though never in these specific circumstances. Never with Noctis facing down the reality of his retinue expanding. Tomorrow.

“I hate them,” Noct spits. A stranger, an outsider suddenly here with unfettered access to all the private parts of his life.

“Don’t say that,” Gladio pleads, “Iggy made sure you’d get along. Please, Noct, try to keep and open -”

“How?”

Ignis adjusts his already perfectly straight glasses.

“We put out a special recruitment bulletin - though marketing certainly presented it in a way I was not completely happy with.”

“Iggy,” Gladio says gently and Noct glances at his Shield just long enough to see him shake his head in a minute movement.

Ignis sighs and pushes on despite the next words sounding almost painful, “We opened recruitment to everyone within a set age group - your peers, you understand. Alongside the standard aptitude test was a - a personality quiz of sorts that I used to determine compatibility with you.”

Noctis grits his teeth.

It had seemed strange, but not unusual enough to make him wary, when Ignis had asked him to fill out a personality assessment last week. Ignis had stated it was just something interesting to do and had even settled next to him on the couch and filled it out alongside him.

“Why did you lie to me?” Noctis seethes.

“You never would have done it otherwise,” Ignis says, “And I never technically lied.”

He says it so matter- of-fact, so confidently that Noctis can’t find the strength to argue. Ignis is right but he’s loath to allow Ignis the credit even of knowing him right now.

He certainly doesn’t have the energy to get into a discussion about whether omitting information counts as lying.

“You can’t force me to like a stranger, Ignis,” Noct spits, “You can’t just add them to my retinue like that.”

“If you just give them a chance they won’t be a stranger anymore,” Ignis says as patiently as he can. Ignis tries to reach for him across the table but Noctis wheels his chair back so he’s out of his reach. When Gladio tries to grip his shoulder again Noct moves even further away.

“You need more than just us,” Gladio tells him.

“I don’t,” Noct insists.

Ignis sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Noctis can almost pinpoint the moment his patience reaches snapping point.

“Regardless,” Ignis says, “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Good for them,” Noct spits and he turns his wheelchair as sharply as he can manage and pushes himself towards the door.

“Noctis,” Gladio calls and Noct doesn’t turn back, but hears a chair drag against the floor, the beat of silence followed by the clatter as the chair resettles.

“Let him go,” Ignis says as Noct fights to get the door open. Ignis sounds so tired.

He can’t believe this is happening.

He feels so betrayed.

Noctis doesn’t want any more friends. He doesn’t need them. Noctis has never wanted anyone in his life but Ignis and Gladio.

Just -

He’d like Ignis and Gladio to be able to be by his side entirely free of obligation. Because they’ve chosen to be here..

Noctis doesn’t need another friend all tied up in the tradition and the hubbub of his title.

A well meaning Citadel maid rushes to push the button on the elevator when she sees him coming and Noctis tries not to let this make him angry too. She’s only trying to help, she doesn’t mean to infantilise him, to imply that he’s completely useless on this, one of the rare days where his legs refuse to cooperate at all and every shift of his spine is like a burning lance of pain.

“Thanks,” Noct manages to grit out as the doors open and he manoeuvres himself clumsily inside.

The elevators are big enough for Noct to turn himself around so when it arrives half a dozen floors lower it’s the simplest thing in the world to roll out and make his way along one of the Citadel’s bland, repetitive hallways.

There’s guards outside his father’s office and they shift just a little at Noct’s approach but ultimately do nothing when Noct spins himself around and reverses into the door to bump it open with a satisfyingly loud bang.

He half wonders if their instinct was to help or hinder Noctis on his quest for a rare moment with his father.

“Noctis,” Dad says, surprise clearly evident in the uptick of his tone.

“Dad,” Noctis says, completely ignoring that both Cor and Clarus are in the room too. Clarus is bent over to look at something more closely on the desk, but the Marshal looks at though he’d just taken half a step in Noctis’ direction.

“Have you got a minute?” Noctis asks as neurally as he can.

“Of course,” Dad says easily, “We needed a break anyway.”

Clarus begins to shift the papers about but Dad just touches his arm and gives a small shake of his head so they stay scattered about the desk. Cor gives Noctis’ shoulder a gentle pat as he passes on the way to the door and Clarus earns himself a scowl by messing up his hair.

Noctis has never quite gotten used to these kinds of gestures from Dad’s oldest friends, he knows which is least irritating to him but he’s not sure he’d choose to give up either even if he could. .

“Something is bothering you,” Dad says before the noise of the door closing has even settled.

“What tipped you off,” Noct snaps, knowing his anger is misdirected but not being able to do anything about it.

“Noctis,” Dad sighs.

“Sorry,” Noct mumbles. He drags his palm across his face.

“Is this about Mr Argentum starting tomorrow?”

“Who?” Noct queries - though there’s only one person that could be.

He’s just being petty now, in reaction to his father’s calm, to his own lack of control over his own damn life.

Dad must have signed off on those, must have chosen not to warn Noctis what was going on. Maybe he helped Ignis put together the questions for the compatibility test.

Noct thinks of Ignis’ face, perplexed at the idea that Noctis didn’t know what was happening and wonders if, somehow, he had already been told and just failed to notice. Refused to notice.

“The new addition to your retinue. If everything goes to plan,” Dad tells him.

Noct’s head jerks up, staring at his father with great interest, “So he might not join. If something goes off plan?”

“Noctis,” Dad says, tone firm with warning, “I will not allow you to sabotage this young man. He’s done nothing to you.”

“Except force his way into my life,” Noct mutters.

“He did not force,” Dad says, tone still harsh, “He was invited. By Ignis, who you hold in the highest regard.”

Noct scoffs and Dad heaves another sigh.

“Ignis’ idea was the one with the most merit,” Dad goes on, “You and this boy have many great things in common. A lot of common ground to build a lasting relationship.”

“I don’t want any more friends,” Noctis says, tired of repeating himself over and over.

“I know,” Dad says, “But the rules are the rules and a third member you must -”

“But why?” Noctis all but yells, “You’re the King, make new rules.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Dad says, “You know I would change many things if it were that simple.”

“Dad. Please,” Noctis begs, “For me.”

They look at each other for a long time. There’s similarities in the way they look but Noctis is his mother’s son through and through. Dad’s eyes are green and he’s taller than Noct has given up all hope of ever being. But those trashy magazines that like to dissect their appearances every time they make a television appearance always bang on about how they have the same jaw and nose - that the way they move their mouths when they speak is almost identical.

“I can’t,” Dad says eventually, “And for what it’s worth, I think broadening your social circle will be good for you.”

“What?”

“You were always supposed to go to school,” Dad says, “To mingle with your peers, to have a normal life -”

“You need working legs for one of those.”

Dad’s mouth forms a flat line, his already pale face draining of colour.

“Sorry,” Noct mumbles, “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean that.”

“Life has not been fair to you my son,” Dad says. He reaches across the table, both hands palm up in invitation. Noct hesitates, inching forward in his chair so he can place one of his own into them.

“You have always shored up under the most difficult of circumstances,” Dad says, folding Noct’s hand between the warmth of his palms, “And this will be no different.”

“Dad,” Noctis pleads, one last time, one last ditch effort, “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Noctis.”

Noct yanks his hand back and starts backing away from the desk.

“Make sure someone knows where you are,” Dad tells him, watching him go and sounding just as exhausted as Ignis had.

“Uh huh,” Noct mutters.

Cor and Clarus are still standing outside but Noctis ignores them completely, moving to the elevator again as fast as his arms can make his wheels go round.

Noct doesn’t have an electric wheelchair simply because he doesn’t want one. Noct knows, deep down, that there’s no shame in needing his wheelchair. He knows that if it were anyone else but him struggling he would encourage them to use their chair more than they need, to not over use their legs even on their best days.

But for him?

For the Prince of Lucis?

For a disability that’s been kept hidden from the public so it cannot be used as a tactical advantage - so that Noctis cannot be targeted when he’s at his most vulnerable.

That is why he’d never gone to school. Not because he wouldn’t have managed, but because he could not guarantee he could manage just on the power of his own legs or the simpler support of his cane.

Dad always tells him he has nothing to be ashamed of but when you parcel this major part of his life up into a secret it’s difficult to believe it.

Noct hits the button for the ground floor so hard he kind of hurts his hand, rocking himself back and forth impatiently as he waits.

The rules say Noct should go back to his room right now, unattended as he is, but, frankly, fuck the rules right now.

There’s not much Noct can do in the way of rebellion, never has been and likely never will be. Not without undermining his family legacy.

Noctis doesn’t much care about being King one day - doesn’t particularly want it but he’ll do it.

His father has worked so hard to get the Kingdom where it is, has tried so hard to fix the things broken by people that had come before him and Noctis knows he has to carry on lest it be undone by someone less invested.

So he tries now, learns now, so that eventually, in what he hopes will be many years to come, Noctis can be the best king he can.

The Citadel has four gardens on the ground floor and greenhouse-like conservatories dotted around the other floors, external walls turned entirely to glass then the spaces filled with pots upon pots of green foliage and bright flowers to add some life to an otherwise stark and lifeless building.

From the edges of the most vague memories Noct knows that the paths all used to be gravel, but replaced by stone slabs now sometime after his accident. They’re perfectly laid, smooth and even so Noctis can reach the depth of the garden as easily in his chair as he can on his feet. With no more effort than traversing a hallway.

In the garden on the west corner there’s an average sized weeping willow at the end of the paved path, tall and slender with hanging boughs sheltering a patch of trodden dirt around the trunk and hiding anything that might be behind it from view.

It won’t be easy to get back onto the path, especially not with the ground damp as it is, but Noct eases his chair off the paving slabs anyway. The willow branches tickle his cheeks as he pushes through them.

It’s quiet here.

Blissfully so, one of the only calm spaces in this entire place.

If he really listens he can hear the sound of the distant road and some closer shuffling, the sound of leaves shifting against the ground as some small critter or bird hunts for food.

Noctis doesn’t come here a lot, he wouldn’t get away with it but he comes here whenever he needs no one to follow him.

More than a dozen people probably saw him come this way, but he’s never been disturbed here, has always been free to spend an hour hidden behind the branches of the tree. It frees him, however briefly, from the pressures of doing just for a short time. Gives him the opportunity to dick around on his phone without interruption or judgement until he’s no longer drowning under whatever thoughts had made him run away.

Except today a brief examination of Noct’s pockets reveals that he’d left in such a hurry he hadn’t even grabbed his phone.

Even if he wanted to let Ignis or Gladio where he was - Gladio, his mind urges, not Ignis, not now, not today - then he couldn’t. Nor does he have the option of bumbling through some solo quests in King’s Knight for a bit, or squinting at one of his comics on the small screen.

“There you are,” Gladio says, a rustle of branches and the crunch of leaves under his boot announcing his arrival.

Noct glares as his Shield he ducks under the branches and invades his small refuge.

“How did you know I was here?”

Gladio half smiles, “You have exactly two hiding places and I watched you leave your bedroom, so...” Gladio shrugs, and lowers himself to the ground in front of him. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s damp or that for once Noctis almost towers over him.

“Why are you here?” Noctis asks.

Gladio shrugs, “We were supposed to spend the afternoon together. Where else would I be?”

“With Ignis. Plotting out my entire life. Without bothering to tell me.”

Gladio doesn’t look offended like Noct thought he might, he just looks kind of disappointed.

“That’s not what we’re doing and you know it,” Gladio says, “Ignis is just doing his job. That he does exceedingly well because he cares about you so much.”

“Then why won’t he listen to -”

“Why won’t you listen, Noct?” Gladio cuts across, “You’re being such a brat right now.”

Noctis squirms, more affected by the disappointment on Gladio’s face than he’d ever admit out loud.

“Ignis’ hands were tied, we had to do something. You refused to do it and rather than let councilman Count Doucheface insert his nephew into your retinue in an attempt to gain control over you, Ignis spent hours developing something to find someone you might actually stand a chance of liking.”

Noctis grits his teeth. He really hates being called a brat, a throwback and a terrible reminder to a time when he was younger - powered by nothing but spite and rage and frustration without the ability to explain any of that to the people that claim to care about him.

With Gladio saying it like this, after a short breather to calm down Noctis almost understands. He’ll never like this, will never like them. But -

Noctis takes a deep breath and the little nugget of pain in his ribs that feels like betrayal eases and gives way.

“It’s a stupid rule,” Noct mutters. The fight has all but gone out of him and now he just hurts, physically, emotionally, all of it.

Gladio chuckles, “Definitely - but, Noct. Don’t you think it’ll be nice to have extra company? Someone new for you to talk to?”

“No,” Noct says softly. He really feels like he means it, “Why are you bored of me?”

The question is more honest than he means, more open and vulnerable. Gladio only rolls his eyes and Noct can’t work out if that makes him feel better or worse.

“What if -” Noct starts but quickly cuts himself off, heat rising in his face. He doesn’t know if he can say it out loud, doesn’t know if he’d ever live it down if he manages.

Gladio rests one of hands on Noctis’ knee and the prince resists the temptation to fidget. It’s too much but not enough and Noctis wishes all the other shit would just fall away so he was free to think about how handsome and smart and caring and hot his retainers are without worrying about the fallout of declaring those feelings in a public way.

It would be easier if only one of them made Noct’s heart skip and his belly flutter, that much might be manageable, a scandal for sure but not one that wouldn’t settle eventually, over time.

“What if?” Gladio nudges, fingers squeezing gently. It’s the way he touches Noctis when he helps him cool down after practice but it feels so different here, in a different space.

“What if you like him more than you like me?” Noctis blurts, “What if Ignis has picked someone that’s everything I’m not, everything he wishes I was and you guys just stop wanting to hang out with me and I -”

“Woah,” Gladio says, effortlessly shifting so he’s on his knees, right up close to Noct’s legs and so fucking tall that they’re basically the same height.

“None of that is going to happen,” Gladio says. The necklace Noct had given him when he’d sworn himself into Noct’s Crownsguard hangs dead centre in Gladio’s chest, the first thing to mark him as Noct’s while the tattoo had slowly filled his torso.

Noctis wraps his hand around the cross now, the sharp points of the cross digging into his palm, the cool surface of the skull details cold against his fingers.

“You don’t know that,” Noct mumbles.

“Yes I do,” Gladio says, “Ignis wasn’t worried about Prompto getting along with us - that’s not important. He’s - we’re only worried about you. He’s only ever worried about you.”

Noctis clenches his jaw to stop anything else tumbling from his mouth. How he doesn’t want Ignis to worry about him, how he doesn’t want to be someone that people have to worry about.

Gladio wraps his own hand over Noct’s, palm warm and the pads of his fingers are just a little rough where they press against his skin.

“You wanna get out of here?” Gladio asks.

Noct looks up, meeting Gladio’s eyes for the first time in a hot minute. He doesn’t look disappointed any more, doesn’t look pitying or angry or anything. Just open and honest and earnest in his offer.

“Of the Citadel?” Noct clarifies.

Gladio grins and pulls both his hands away and Noct drops the necklace. Gladio’s palms shimmers with the magic gifted to him by Noctis, until, with one small crack he’s holding two objects. Gladio waves Noct’s fishing pole in a way that’s supposed to be enticing probably and shoves the ball cap onto his head before Noctis can lean out of reach.

“It’s already the afternoon,” Noct points out, watching Gladio banish the fishing rod again.

“You think fish stop existing at four o’clock?”

Noct scoffs, “Not but - am I allowed?”

Gladio leans in to whisper, even though they’re completely alone, “You know I’m the person that gets to decide that, right? I wasn’t planning on telling anyone else.”

-

Noctis is exhausted enough not to complain when Gladio pushes his wheelchair through the parking garage and into the elevator.

“Sorry,” Noct says, covering his mouth with his palm as he yawns.

Gladio removes the cap for him, gently smoothing his fingers through flattened hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gladio says, “Feeling better?”

He is. Much better. Nothing but a quiet lake and a smattering of civilians that barely looked twice at him. Certainly no one looked at him and thought that’s the prince of Lucis, no one approached to offer deference or make demands. It was just him and Gladio, two men enjoying an evening together, enjoying an activity they both enjoy with no other expectations on their shoulders.

“Thank you,” Noctis tells him, “Hey, you don’t think…”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t think Iggy’s waiting for us?” Noctis asks.

“Nah,” Gladio says, “He’s already at home. He’ll be with you first thing in the morning but he’s smart enough to know you need a little space.”

“He knew where we were, huh?” Noct muses.

“I know you didn’t want to actually worry him, so yes. Iggy knew where we were. It was partly his idea.”

“Oh,” Noctis says.

Trust Ignis to think of him, to take care of him even when Noct isn’t speaking to him. To almost reward Noctis for acting out the way he had by encouraging this respite for him.

“If you talk to him,” Noctis says tentatively, “Will you tell him I’m not angry any more?”

“Sure thing.”

- - -

When Gladio said first thing he really meant it.

Ignis doesn’t wake him up the moment he arrives but wakes him up he does, knocking on Noct’s door a little before eight to let him know there are pancakes waiting for him.

Normally that’s a good thing. Normally Noctis loves Ignis’ pancakes - a rare treat for when he cares more about Noctis eating at all rather than eating well. Yet today they feel almost like a bargaining chip in Ignis’ crusade to force Noctis to make friends with a stranger.

Noctis swings his legs over the bed and climbs out without thinking about it too much. His legs are tired but they hold up well under his weight, just a faint tightness in his knee and an ache in his back that he undoubtedly needs to simply walk off. Noct reaches for his cane - black with matte silver details, a recent gift from his father - and slowly makes his way out to the living area.

Ignis looks up the moment his door opens and is smiling when Noct approaches. He’s so happy for Noct that he can’t help but smile back.

“You’re feeling better today?” Ignis asks.

“Much,” Noct says. Ignis quickly stacks three pancakes onto a plate and sets it down at the end of the breakfast bar, alongside a bowl of chopped strawberries, and to Noct’s true delight, a small dish of chocolate chips.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Noct says earnestly, climbing up onto the stool.

“Would you be more comfortable at the table?” Ignis checks, hand hovering over a jug of syrup.

“I’m fine here,” Noct says, rolling his eyes a little. Ignis smiles again.

Noct adds his toppings and Ignis pours his syrup, being a little more generous than normal and Ignis picks at the leftover strawberries while Noctis eats.

“Have you had some?”

“I ate while you were still getting up,” Ignis assures him.

For a blissful moment Noctis forgets what had happened yesterday, his brain telling himself this is a normal Tuesday. Yesterday's trip with Gladio was just because, and Ignis made him pancakes only because Ignis is so wonderful and thoughtful.

So completely does Noctis fool himself that he finds himself asking, “What are we doing today?”

Ignis carefully wipes the strawberry juice from his fingers onto a waiting dishtowel.

“I promised to meet with Prompto for his registration at nine o’clock,” Ignis tells him, tone so neutral it almost makes Noctis wince, “If you would like to come.”

“No,” Noctis says flatly, immediately.

He tenses, waiting for the arguments and the wheedling to start.

“Very well,” Ignis says, “I’ll be busy all day because of his arrival and Gladio has agreed to come have lunch and attend Prompto’s first physical training exercise this afternoon. I’ll make sure someone you trust is shadowing you during that time in case you need something in particular or would like to go somewhere.”

Noctis blinks.

“O-kay,” Noct says slowly.

“Nyx is probably available, if you prefer,” Ignis says, “I’ll have to check his schedule but if you’re feeling up for it today perhaps you should practice your magic with him.”

“Okay,” Noct says again, “You think he’ll help me with warping?”

“I’m sure,” Ignis says, “But you’ll be sure to take it easy?”

“I - of course,” Noctis agrees.

It’s so far from what he was expecting that it feels like the ground beneath him is suddenly made of wavering crowds, insubstantial and liable to give way at any moment.

“Will you be back this evening?” Noctis asks hopefully. He thinks he probably sounds like a child.

He can’t remember the last time he went a whole day without seeing Ignis. He’s never really wanted to go a whole day without seeing Ignis. Not since he was barely a teen and he often preferred to go entire days without seeing anyone at all.

“The three of us can have dinner together if you’d like,” Ignis offers.

“Yes, please.”

Ignis smiles and reaches to smooth over some of his hair, likely still in disarray from sleep.

“We’ll pick up yesterday’s plans, shall we?” Ignis asks.

Noct flushes.

“Noct,” Ignis starts and he so rarely uses his nickname that it makes Noct look up, because Ignis is talking to him, not his Prince.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Ignis says, “I don’t want to hurt you. I simply must do my job but I will no longer attempt to force you to work alongside me.”

“Ignis -”

“I don’t want to fight,” Ignis repeats, brushing his hair back again.

“Me neither,” Noctis says, “And I know - I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Ignis exhales. “It’s the last thing I’d ever want,” Ignis whispers

Noct meets his eyes again and Ignis holds it, the air between them suddenly charged, electric and exciting.

And ultimately not something Noctis can do anything about.

Noct drags his eyes away, shifting in his seat a little as Ignis clears his throat.”

“I have to go,” Ignis says, “I think Gladio will be up soon.”

“Sure,” Noct says, “I mean - good luck.”

He looks back just in time to see Ignis smile.

“Thank you, Noct.”

-

“Oh wow, you’re showered. What did I do to earn such special treatment?” Gladio teases, settling beside him on the couch.

“Fuck you.”

“In your dreams,” Gladio mutters.

Kind of, Noct thinks. A line of thought that is not helped when Gladio drapes his thick arm along the couch, right behind Noct’s head.

Have you seen him? Noct wants to ask even though he doesn’t care. What’s he like? Noctis wonders and regrets it.

Noct won't ever meet him, not if he has anything to do with it, so it doesn’t matter. And if he is forced to meet Prompto - which he probably will be - then he simply won’t speak to him, not ever, not one time.

“Did you do that personality test thing that Iggy made?” Noctis asks instead.

Gladio shrugs and it shifts him a little closer. Noct could lean over and rest right against his chest so easily.

“Nah,” Gladio says, “Like I said yesterday, we were only worried about Prompto getting along with you.”

“Huh,” Noct grunts, “Feel like Ignis could have just done it without my answers, figures he knows me well enough.”

“We did,” Gladio says, “But Ignis wanted to be completely sure. We were only slightly off on like three things.”

Noct hums.

“You have more strong opinions that I thought you did,” Gladio muses, “Turns out I actually fell for your apathy bullshit.”

Noct elbows him in the ribs and Gladio chortles.

“Alright, alright,” Gladio says, “Why don’t you play a little Assassins Creed for me.”

Noct perks right up, “Really?”

“Sure. I’m enjoying the story.”

“Nice.”

-

Gladio leaves.

He lets Noct play a few hours of his video game with only minimal commenting on the dumb goofs he makes - he doesn’t get to play as much as he’s like - then forces Noctis to shut it down when he’s due downstairs.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” Noctis asks, climbing onto his knees and shuffling across the couch as Gladio gets his stuff together.

“No can do.”

“We could have lunch,” Noctis offers.

“I’m going to introduce Prompto to the gym and have lunch with him and Ignis,” Gladio explains, “You’re welcome to come.”

Noct sinks back to sit on his feet.

“I’ll see you later,” Gladio says, “Don’t wander around until Nyx gets here.”

Noct sighs. Gladio raises an eyebrow in an obvious challenge.

“Alright, alright,” Noctis mumbles.

“I’ll try and convince Iggy to let us get pizza tonight,” Gladio offers and Noct is, as always, appeased.

For about ten minutes.

He’s not normally so easily bored, so readily distracted by nothing at all.

Noct collects his cane and walks to the door of his suite, carefully pulling it open to peer out down the hallway.

“Where are you going, Little Prince?”

Noct doesn’t jump, but it’s a close call. He turns to the left of his door where Nyx Ulric is stationed, leaning casually and spinning one of his daggers around in his fingers.

“For a walk?” Noct says but it comes out more like a question.

“Well come on then,” Nyx says, dagger disappearing in a shimmer of blue magic.

Nyx is pretty good, as far as guards that are not Ignis and Gladio go. If he wasn’t a Glaive and far too talkative for Noct to handle on a permanent basis then Noct might have considered him for his retinue. Maybe.

The Glaive doesn’t hover but follows Noct at an easy half dozen paces, only closing the gap at all when they’re ducking into an elevator to head downstairs. Noctis pushes a button without realising and they travel down to the ground floor, ambling slowly towards the training hall.

“No magic until you’ve eaten,” Nyx says, easing his pace to walk at Noct’s side.

“Right,” Noct mutters. He’s not sure why he’s come down here. Inescapable curiosity, perhaps.

He doesn’t want to know Prompto. To talk to him or even know what he looks like - Noct doesn’t care about him one bit.

Yet his feet have walked him here. To where Prompto might be.

“Canteen?” Nyx suggests, “We can eat then I’ll let you beat me at King’s Knight for a bit before we go over how to keep the fire in your hand and not let it engulf your whole arm.”

“That happened one time,” Noct grumbles and he pretends to whack Nyx with his cane.

Noct does redirect slightly to the canteen, stomach lurching because he’s about to come so close to where his three retainers are gathered.

Together. Getting to know one another.

Without him.

Noct shakes his head.

This is what he wants.

It’s pretty early so there’s not many people already eating. Which means there’s no crowd to block Nocts’ view of his oldest friends sitting at one of the tables with a short, round-faced boy sporting a tumultuous mess of yellow blond hair.

Very briefly he entertains the thought of simply running away. If he goes directly to the kitchens they’ll feed him, they always do. He might be able to sneak in behind Nyx, quickly grab some food and take it away with him to scarf down in private.

But Gladio is trained to be alert and he looks up the moment they step in, a smile spreading across his face faster than Noctis can blink.

He looks so happy to see Noct that when he raises his hand to wave, it beckons Noctis towards him without even trying. Ignis turns to look over his shoulder when he realises something is happening, smiling a little grin of his own and it's a guilty squirm that builds in Noct’s stomach.

They think he came here on purpose. They think this is him making an effort, coming down to greet Prompto in the way he, in his heart, knows he should.

“I’ll be over here,” Nyx says, getting his attention with a gentle tap on the shoulder and jerking his head towards a table with familiar looking but not well known to his Glaives.

The new recruit - Prompto, Noct reminds himself - watches him walk towards them with wide eyes. He offers a wave of his own then the flush on his face deepens, his hands flopping down onto the table. Prompto can’t seem to stop looking at him which Noct isn’t a huge fan of but Noct has to begrudgingly give him credit for the fact his eyes barely linger on the walking cane in his hand.

Noctis wonders if the others warned him about it, if Prompto had been warned at any point exactly who and what he was being trained to protect.

“Noctis,” Ignis says warmly, sliding along the bench so Noctis can drop down at the end of it, “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Um, hi,” Noct says, unable to look at any of them for more than half a second each.

Prompto’s face is so open, so earnest that it’s particularly difficult to focus on. He smiles, a little crooked, a little tension in his otherwise soft jaw but he makes no efforts to say anything. Noctis looks back and forth between his friends before his eyes fall on Prompto once more. It’s impossible to look at his smile for very long, Noct finds, so he drops his gaze.

He almost starts when he sees the image emblazoned on his t-shirt, the familiar blue acorn wrapped in a winged, black serpent that has been the trademark of Noct’s favourite band since he was about thirteen years old.

Noct tears his eyes away from it and back to Prompto’s face in time to watch the other boy glance down at his own chest, face pulling into a wider smile, less strained around the edges.

“You like Beyond the Book too?” Prompto asks. His voice is pleasant, maybe a little higher than Noct would have expected and as soon as the words have left his mouth he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and buries his teeth into it.

There’s no Your Highness, no Prince Noctis.

“I guess,” Noct mumbles.

“They’re his favourite band,” Gladio tells Prompto and Noctis can hear his eye roll.

“Mine too,” Prompto breathes, then he wrinkles his nose and appears deep in thought for a moment, “Maybe anyway. Most days, sure. But some days I want something that doesn’t make me think so hard, you know?”

Ignis and Gladio laugh softly and Noct’s gut churns with something and, before he can reconsider it he snaps, “Not really. I generally think thinking is a good thing.”

Prompto blushes ever deeper, the one ear tip Noct can see under his hair glowing almost scarlet.

Under the table Ignis’ hand brushes over his knee and for a blissful moment Noct thinks he’s about to feel the comfort of Ignis’ gloved palm resting on his thigh but instead he’s given a very soft jab. More subtle than a sharp elbow and nowhere near strong enough that Noct could be harmed by it.

“Of course,” Prompto mumbles, staring down at the table top, “Sorry.”

All traces of Gladio’s welcoming smile vanish.

“Have you eaten, Noctis?” Ignis asks him. The soft Noct from earlier is long gone.

“Not yet,” Noct tells him.

Ignis is halfway off the bench before Noctis is done answering.

“I’ll get you something.”

Noct half expects Gladio to rise too, to stand from the bench under false pretences but he just gives Noct a flat look and turns to Prompto again.

“How was all the stuff I missed this morning?” Gladio asks, “Paperwork right?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says. He keeps his eyes on the table for a little longer but tentatively looks up as he goes on with his answer, “Lots of forms which Ignis did warn me about. Though I guess I didn’t read the guidelines he emailed me properly because they confiscated some of my stuff when I first arrived.”

Noct doesn’t like the sound of that. Not because of Prompto, of course, just that the thing that would one day be his legacy would just take things from civilians as they enter the Citadel.

“What stuff?” Noct asks.

“Nothing bad,” Prompto says quickly, eyes widening a little frantically. He doesn’t offer any extra information and Noctis doesn’t feel inclined to try and get it out of him.

“Here,” Ignis says, sliding a tray in front of him, “They’d just made fresh fries.”

“Oh cool,” Noctis says, “Thanks, Iggy.”

Prompto’s eyes widen a little at that and Noctis can’t - nor rather much wants - to work out why that might be.

“You sticking with us all afternoon?” Gladio asks, reaching over to steal a few fries. If Noct had been eating with a fork instead of his fingers he might have stabbed him with it.

“I dunno,” Noct says, “Was gonna do magic training with Nyx.”

“Wow,” Prompto breathes.

“Well, seeing as Prompto can’t start his physical training yet -”

“Sorry,” Prompto blurts.

“It’s not your fault, I should have prepared a range of shoe sizes,” Ignis reassures him.

“I can just wear these,” Prompto says, “I wore my running shoes specifically.”

Noctis sighs. How are he and this boy supposedly compatible when he runs, of his own free will. Even if his legs cooperated every day Noctis would never take that up as a hobby.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Ignis says, “But for today perhaps we could just spend some time together.”

“Prompto hasn’t had a chance to play the newest Assassin's Creed,” Gladio offers pointedly, “But he’s a big fan, maybe you guys could play a little together.”

It’s almost too perfect.

An unassuming guy that doesn’t spout his title, wearing a t-shirt for his favourite band and with an interest in his favourite game - what are the odds?

“Everyone likes Assassin’s Creed,” Noctis says dismissively.

He glances at Prompto just after he says it but it’s like looking at a puppy that was denied a treat despite doing everything he’s told and Noctis has to look away again, staring at the food on his plate.

“Not everyone,” Ignis reminds him.

“Well if he’s not played he can’t see where I’m at because it would spoil the story,” Noctis says.

Noctis picks up the sandwich Ignis had bought him, discarding a stray bit of lettuce and eating it in four big bites so he has an excuse not to talk.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Prompto says, smiling again, “The internet pretty much ruined it for me anyway.”

He picks up the other half too, to make it perfectly clear that he’s done with this line of conversation. Literally none of this is Noct’s problem.

“We could show Prompto the gardens,” Ignis tries again.

Noctis all but slams his sandwich back onto the plate.

“Ignis,” Noctis seethes.

“Noctis,” Ignis says.

Prompto laughs, more of a nervous titter than actual amusement but it still grates on Noct’s nerves.

“I’m done,” Noct says, nudging his tray away and starting to stand.

“You should at least eat more,” Gladio suggests. Noctis can’t read his expression, isn’t sure he wants to.

Noct grabs the sandwich again, clutching it in his hand as he leaves them, rushing to join Nyx where he’d sat with his friends.

Noct’s very aware of Ignis leaning close into Prompto as he leaves, Gladio bracing his arms on the table to duck his head as the three of them fall into a hushed conversation.

Let them.

They can have each other.

Noct doesn’t care.

-

Noct almost sets the training hall on fire.

One of the mats is probably ruined beyond repair but it’s better than Noct had feared as he’d watched his misplaced firaga engulf the back wall.

Nyx only laughs about the mishap but calls an immediate halt to their training.

“Not today my dude,” he says when Noct pleads for just one more try.

“Oh but -”

“Nah,” Nyx says, “Your head isn’t in the game and no, we cannot do warping instead, you used more magic than you probably think you did with that little stunt. Little and often, remember.”

“I’m capable of more than this,” Noct mutters.

“I know,” Nyx says, “And in an emergency I’m never gonna tell you not to give your all. But today? In the training hall? It’s not worth you potentially hurting yourself just to prove that you can.”

“Didn’t you break your leg in training just to prove you could warp up twelve floors?”

“I make these dumb mistakes so you don’t have to,” Nyx tells him. He ruffles Noct’s hair and adds, “Want me to sit with you while you play a game or something?”

It’s too close to what just happened with his friends - his friends and that stranger - that his frustration bubbles up and over all at once.

“No,” Noct snaps, “I’ll just go nap or something. It’s what I’m best at.”

Nyx looks vaguely like he’s in pain.

“If that’s what you want,” Nyx tells him.

It’s not, not really. But what other options does he have?

-

Noct doesn’t actually sleep.

Nyx resumes his post outside the door to his suite and Noct slumps off to his bedroom, pulls the curtains closed and lays down on his bed.

After a while he pushes off his socks with his toes and after another while wiggles right out of his jeans. He’s probably not going to manage any sleep but he can at least be comfortable.

It’s hard to know how much time passes. Months spent in a hospital bed and days upon days recovering on his back have robbed Noctis of all real sense of time. He does nothing but lay there, staring up at his dark ceiling, room almost completely pitch black thanks to his heavy curtains, just the faint light from his living room streaming in through his half open door.

He finally dozes, is right on the edge of sleep when the door opens wider and a wider shaft of light spills into the room.

“Iggy?” Noct mumbles, a little groggily.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Gladio says.

“No it’s -” Noct sits up and drags the back of his hand over his mouth, “I’m not disappointed.”

“Ignis is getting pizza,” Gladio tells him. Noct hears his feet shuffle across the carpet.

“Then I’m definitely not disappointed.”

Gladio laughs, “You wanna sleep longer. I heard you were on fire in training today.”

“Ugh,” Noct complains, “That would have been bad even if Ignis said it.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Gladio says. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed to kick off his shoes, then swings his legs up onto the mattress and sits back against the headboard.

Noct stays where he is, watching Gladio get comfortable and when he’s stopped moving Gladio casts him an expectant look.

“Shouldn’t we get up?” Noctis asks, even as Gladio makes himself look all the more enticing by extending his arm slightly, opening up his side as a prime resting spot.

“Iggy will be a little while,” Gladio says, “Waiting here is as good a place as any.”

Noct shuffles over to his side, pressing up against him and resting his cheek on Gladio’s collarbone, exhaling when Gladio’s arm settles loosely around his waist.

They shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Every time they blur a line, step right over it into different territory it makes it harder to come back - to resurrect the shaky boundary of friends and colleagues.

It’s his fault, of course, he’s the one with rules and expectations. Ignis and Gladio could be together, could have been together for a long time already but they’ve refused.

Every time Noct remembers Ignis telling him how their feelings for him prohibits a relationship from which Noctis is excluded, he writhes with a mixture of delight and guilt.

Ignis is cautious, rarely touching him, rarely speaking their true feelings into existence but Gladio is more open, more willing to push and bend at the rules around him. He’s rigid and implacable when it comes to his job but Gladio’s never been one to shy away from positive feelings, never one to step back because the risk of getting hurt is too great.

“So Prompto’s really nice,” Gladio offers.

“Ugh.”

“You guys would probably have a really fun time together,” Gladio goes on.

“Gladio,” Noct whines and he starts to pull back.

“Alright, alright,” Gladio says, holding him close with the hand on his waist.

They’re not really that close together. Noct’s legs are under the blankets and Gladio’s over them but Gladio’s warm and firm and he smells good if not freshly showered.

Noct drums his fingers against Gladio’s leg, pulling his hand back when he realises what he’s doing even though Gladio seems completely unbothered by it.

“So what did you guys do?” Noct asks.

“Hmm?”

“This afternoon. You and Prompto,” Noct clarifies.

“Just hung out,” Gladio says, “Took him to the gardens, just talked to him, you know,” Gladio squeezes his waist playfully, “Got to know him a little.”

“You know he’s probably faking it, right?” Noct says, “Like there’s no way we actually have that much in common and even if we do it doesn’t mean we’ll easily be friends.”

“Did Iggy tell you how compatible you were?” Gladio asks.

Noct shrugs. He’s not sure he cares.

“Ninety-two percent.”

Noctis rears back and this time Gladio lets him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he blurts.

“Right?” Gladio laughs, “Ignis was suspicious at first but if he had cheated, why wouldn’t he have just matched you a hundred percent?”

“To make it less obvious,” Noct says. That was a stupid question.

“Prompto put in his answers before Ignis had them from you,” Gladio reveals, “So that seems unlikely.”

Noctis huffs.

“Also,” Gladio says, “My instinct is that he’s just a good guy - not what I was expecting - but a good guy.”

“You’ve had shitty instincts before,” Noct reminds him.

“I have not.”

“Uh, what about me?” Noctis asks, “You thought I was nothing but a spoiled brat.”

Gladio looks at him for a long moment, “Being twenty percent wrong is completely acceptable.”

Noctis hits at his chest with barely any force because he’s more likely to hurt his own hand than Gladio’s chest that way.

“You suck,” Noctis mutters petulantly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Is he coming back tomorrow?” Noct asks.

“Prompto? Yeah - you didn’t manage to scare him off, don’t worry.”

“Maybe I should try harder,” Noct mumbles.

Though his father’s warning about sabotaging Prompto rings loudly in his head.

“This isn’t a fight you can win,” Gladio says, “If Prompto leaves we’ll have to try someone new, over and over until eventually the council inserts all their sycophants into your inner circle.”

Noct wrinkles his nose.

He knows this. Knows that, on paper, this is the best option they have but it’s just not sitting right with him.

Noctis wishes he had more control.

Maybe it’s that image of the three of them sitting close as he’d walked away, talking low and intimate. A rapid flash of his deepest nightmare come to life.

“You both really like him?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah,” Gladio says, “I think it’ll be cool to get to know him - to make a new friend. Though I’ll reiterate what I told you last night. We don’t like him more than you. We just like him. It’s different. We have space for both.”

“But -”

“No buts,” Gladio says, “You’re Noctis, you’re everything. Okay?”

Noct flushes.

“You guys aren’t in competition,” Gladio says, “There is no competition.”

Noct bites his lip and, before he can convince himself not to, darts forward to brush a kiss to Gladio’s beard rough cheek.

“Noct,” Gladio breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Noct says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Gladio reassures him.

The door to Noct’s suite opens and closes.

“I've got pizza,” Ignis calls.

“It’s okay,” Gladio says again.

Chapter Text

Prompto hadn’t understood that Noctis didn’t want him.

And not just an indifferent doesn’t care kind of doesn’t want that Prompto is used to dealing with but instead a very active, very immovable dislike of Prompto that apparently cemented itself before Prompto ever opened his mouth.

Ignis explained it to Prompto in a way that made him assume Noctis was just shy, that he was nervous and unused to socialising outside his small circle. Prompto thought it might take Noctis some time to get to know him, to warm up and start talking. Prompto can work with slow, with little steps across a rickety bridge - he can’t scale a wall.

The Citadel is just far enough away from his apartment that Ignis had insisted on giving him what Prompto views as a frankly magic bus pass. There’s no numbers on it, no words detailing what it is but the first time he steps on and swipes it against the little machine the bus driver’s eyebrows shoot way up his forehead and he waves Prompto away to his seat without bothering to ask where he’s going.

It largely makes up for that first morning when he’d rocked up at the visitor’s entrance - as Ignis instructed - handed over the pass Ignis had given him and submitted to a bag search. Ignis had only just arrived in time to stop his camera from being smashed into several pieces.

Apparently you’re just not allowed to take pictures inside the Citadel - or maybe it’s just if you’re being thrown into the path of the prince? - but Prompto thinks it’s a pretty dumb rule when almost every cell-phone out there is capable of snapping a picture more quickly and discreetly than his often cumbersome camera can.

Prompto had only wanted to preserve some memories, a few shots of the impressive architecture, a couple close ups of the exotic flowers allegedly growing in the greenhouses. The architecture he can confirm is impressive but he’s yet to visit a greenhouse.

It feels weird to go out without his camera but he leaves it on his desk, packs up the rest of his things and heads down to the bus stop early enough to have to wait just a couple minutes before it arrives. He has to ride it an extra stop now, right round to the employees entrance of the Citadel where he swipes an ID card with his picture and designation on it. The employee entrance leads into a dark, foreboding corridor.

Neither the building or the training are as terrifying as Prompto thought but he still feels incredibly out of place. Even wearing his training uniform he feels like a child playing pretend when he lines up amongst the other recruits to wait for the morning’s session.

Gladio’s always around; somehow comforting despite how intimidating the Shield can look standing still. Prompto thinks Gladio could look threatening even if he was a foot shorter; impossibly broad with arms full of ink and a row of pircings in his ear that makes Prompto wince just thinking about getting. Both Gladio and Ignis join Prompto for lunch every day - Ignis always with an excuse to explain that Prince Noctis is busy.

In the canteen Gladio is all smiles and laughter, but in the training hall he’s something else entirely. He’s focused on his training, naturally showing off his strength in a way that draws attention from all angles without even trying.

Prompto doesn’t really understand how he’s supposed to protect the prince at all, how he’ll be useful in any meaningful way when he already has a six and a half foot wall of muscle ready to jump between him and harm in the blink of an eye.

When Gladio’s not training he’s watching. Standing against a wall in the training hall with his arms crossed over his chest and a perpetually frustrated expression that Prompto can only assume he’s put there.

Prompto’s supposed to start training with Gladio from next week on the provision that he makes it through this most basic of training. He’s aware he doesn’t look like he’s particularly athletic but he’s been running for years and walking as much as he can in order to save money. Prompto doesn’t get tired easily so he can keep up with all the other recruits purely on stamina. Maybe he gets a little redder in the face and he has to do it with the added emotional weight of their stares on his back. He’s clumsy though and he spends most of the first hand to hand session on his back, his feet knocked out from under him. He’s better the second day, even better on the third and now, on Friday, he’s barely apprehensive about it at all.

At least he’s learnt how to fall now.

Prompto’s not sure he’ll ever be good at it, but one of his instructors says to him, in a low voice none of the others can hear, that to protect Prince Noctis he doesn’t need to be good so much as he needs to be distracting so the prince can get away to safety. The thought is sort of terrifying but also more manageable than convincing himself he’ll ever be good at this.

Prompto’s good at being distracting, he’s been making something of a spectacle of himself his whole life - just rarely on purpose before.

“Good morning, Prompto.”

“Oh! Hi, Ignis,” Prompto greets the adviser, hand on his heart to settle where it just tried to rocket right out of his chest. He takes a second, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the locker room while his heart rate slows.

Ignis smiles and Prompto feels his heart do something else. Ignis really is just annoyingly handsome. Even his glasses - which should make him look dorky like Prompto’s do for him - only add to his appeal, highlighting the green of his eyes and his sharp cheekbones. Prompto touches his own face, soft and round, so entirely different.

At least here, on a bench in the training room dressed in one of his sharp suits and his shiny shoes Ignis looks a little out of place.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry,” Ignis assures him.

“I just don’t normally see you first thing,” Prompto says, disregarding his apology and finally moving into the room.

To Prompto’s surprise Ignis almost flushes, little dots of pink appearing on his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Ignis says, “My mornings are often busy. With the Prince to -”

“It’s cool,” Prompto rushes to reassure, “You’re a busy, important dude, I get it. You don’t have time to babysit me, it’s all good.”

“Prompto that’s not -”

“So hey, you know my new phone?” Prompto asks.

Ignis pushes up his glasses, “Are you having trouble with it?”

“No, I uh - so my old phone is bad. I was wondering if I’m allowed to use this one for stuff other than, like, your number and my training schedule?”

Ignis exhales, smiling again, “Yes, Prompto. That phone is a gift to make your life easier, you may use it for anything you wish.”

“Sweet.”

“And I commend you for putting your training schedule onto it,” Ignis adds.

“Dude, organisation is not my forte,” Prompto admits with a laugh, turning to shove his things into his locker, “So any help I can get is a plus.”

Ignis doesn’t respond for a moment and Prompto panics, realising how negative a light that puts him in.

“I mean - I’m never late. I’ve always managed to keep a schedule it just -”

Ignis laughs.

“All the more impressive that you’ve been early every morning so far.”

“Well...better early than late,” Prompto chirps.

“I completely agree,” Ignis says, “Ah, before you get changed.”

Prompto turns, already halfway through the motion of toeing off his sneakers. The new shoes he got as part of his uniform are great but prone to giving him blisters. Prompto really needs to just suck it up and push through the tricky breaking in stage. Sore feet be damned.

“What is it? Did I - have I failed already?”

He’s joking. But there’s a very real part of him that would not be at all surprised if the next word out of Ignis’ mouth is yes.

“Gods no,” Ignis says, “The opposite. There’s no need for you to carry on with what you’re doing now, you’ve proven you're quite capable, so Gladio and I would like to spend the day introducing you to some of the other aspects of your role once you’re on active duty.”

“If I’m successful.”

Ignis blinks, “Of course.”

“I don’t know,” Prompto says hesitantly, “No one else gets to skip bits of training. Feels like special treatment.” From what he’s heard the opposite is more likely, people repeating the bits of training they struggled most with.

Ignis blinks again, his cheek twitching with what might be a suppressed smile.

“Well, of course. Special treatment for a special person.”

Prompto doesn’t really know what to say. He’s pleased, he thinks.

“Um. I should still - I still need to do all the training, or I can’t do my job. The job. If I get it.”

“Everyone else can take as long as they need, Prompto. Most people take around six months to become full members of the Crownsguard, others the better part of a year,” Ignis pauses, crosses his legs the other way and goes on, “We don’t have that luxury with you, I’m afraid.”

Prompto chews on his lip. They have so little time. What will happen if he can’t do it? What if time runs out and Prompto isn’t everything they need him to be?

“Wouldn’t it have been better to pick someone that’s already trained, that you already know can do the job?” Prompto asks.

“If it were for anyone but Noct, yes” Ignis says, the shortening of the prince's name rolling off his tongue like the simplest thing in the world.

“He hates me,” Prompto points out.

“He doesn’t hate you, he doesn’t know you enough to hate you,” Ignis sighs, “And when eventually he lets himself get to know you I can’t see him being anything but charmed.”

Prompto feels his face go hot.

“I don’t know about that,” Prompto murmurs.

Ignis smiles again, “I do.”

Shyly he pulls a hand through his hair, asking, “So I don’t need to put my training clothes on?”

“Perhaps just the jumper if you won’t be too warm. Less likely to be constantly harassed for your badge all day then.”

“Good point,” Prompto murmurs, hastily swapping his own black hoody for the new one with the Crownsguard insignia emblazoned on the back and a smaller version on the left breast.

“When I was at school,” Prompto starts idly, “There was, like, a huge market for counterfeit Crownsguard gear and Kingsglaive patches and stuff.”

He expects Ignis not to care, to simply not react to what he’s saying, a little tidbit from the life of a commoner. Instead he turns to see Ignis grimace and shake his head.

“I know, it was a nightmare,” Ignis says, “People ended up losing their jobs over it.”

“Wow,” Prompto murmurs, “Note to self, don’t forget your bag on the bus.”

“Now that would be an accident and something we could completely look past.”

- - -

“Dude,” Prompto groans, flat on his back and looking up at the high, oddly ornate ceiling of the smaller training room.

Gladio laughs at him.

“Do I still have legs? You’d tell me if I didn’t have legs anymore, right?”

Gladio laughs harder. Prompto hears the mat creak and musters the energy to turn his head and watch Gladio lower himself down to sit next to him.

“You’re doing good,” Gladio tells him, “I know it doesn’t feel like it but I promise you are.”

Prompto groans again and Gladio gives his thigh a playful little shove.

“So speaking of legs,” Prompto blurts and then winces. In the history of bad segues and inappropriate comments that’s got to be somewhere near the top.

He’s closed his eyes in embarrassment but he cracks one eye open and squints up at Gladio. He doesn’t look offended, just surprised and more than a little amused.

“You wanna know about Noct being in his wheelchair?” Gladio asks. There it is again, Noct, a little nickname, casual affection even though the prince isn’t around to hear it.

Grimacing Prompto answers, “Yeah, but I realise Prince Noctis should be the one to tell me right? So I don’t wanna know what happened, I just wondered why it wasn’t, like, a thing that people knew about.”

“Security mostly,” Gladio shrugs, “Bigger picture safety stuff too. Noct’s not fragile and he’s perfectly capable of looking after himself. Something about his accident supercharged his magic and more than half the time his legs are fine.”

“But?”

“But. If certain people knew he sometimes needed help moving, or that his legs are an obvious weak spot then they’ll use that against him - against us,” Gladio explains.

Prompto pushes himself upright, leaning back on his palms.

“So. The world knows he had an accident and you just let the world think he got healed up while he was in Tenebrae,” Prompto tells him, “We really have no idea.”

Gladio sighs, “Yeah. And I get why we keep it a secret, and I don’t think we really can just announce it to the world without risking his safety…”

“But?” Prompto presses again.

Gladio snorts, “But. I don’t think it’s good for him. To have something he can’t control about himself being kept secret. If we were more open about it I wonder if he would be too. I think it’s part of why he’s so embarrassed about it.”

“But that’s - that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Prompto says, “He hasn’t done anything wrong, it doesn’t make him a bad person or weak or -.”

“I know,” Gladio agrees emphatically, giving Prompto’s shoulder a little pat, “One day Noct will get there too. I just don’t know that it’ll happen when we’re constantly telling him he can’t talk about it.”

Prompto flops back on the ground.

“Why don’t we break for lunch,” Gladio suggests.

“Can you bring the canteen to me?” Prompto whines. It’s amazing that only a week straight of being in someone’s company will do because Prompto has completely stopped being terrified of Gladio.

Socially.

Physically, Prompto’s still a little terrified.

“No can do, short stuff,” Gladio says. The mat creaks again as Gladio gets to his feet, “But I’ll give you a hand up, come on, up you get.”

- - -

Gladio had to pop in to see his father on the way to lunch so he hovers awkwardly just outside the double doors to the canteen, wondering if Ignis will join him before Gladio. Being alone is still a little nerve wracking. He gets a lot of stares. Whether that’s because of his appearance or word getting around why he’s here he has no way of knowing.

Prompto hears them before he sees them, Gladio’s rumbling laugh and Ignis fond sigh. Then, a new laugh, soft and husky that Prompto’s never heard before but can only belong to Prince Noctis.

Prompto doesn’t know why he does what he does next, but -

He hides.

Races into the canteen and hides behind the open door, peering at the three of them through the crack between it and the wall as they come his way.

Prompto should use this opportunity to get to know Noctis, approach with a friendly greeting and try to ingratiate himself into the prince’s life. But Prompto’s never seen him this cheerful before.

Prompto doesn’t want to ruin it.

Prompto doesn’t want to see Prince Noctis scowling again.

They look so content together, pausing on their approach so Ignis rests his hand on Prince Noctis’ arm to ask him a question. Noctis shakes his head and Gladio retaliates by grabbing him round the shoulders and rubbing a knuckle over the top of his head.

Prince Noctis is standing unaided today, no wheelchair, no cane and Prompto thinks back on his conversation with Gladio, wondering if that’s the reason the prince looks so happy today.

Prince Noctis wiggles his way out of Gladio’s hold, slapping his palm against the Shield’s firm chest then shaking his fingers loose with a wince. He lets Gladio steer him back under his arm though, steps close and lays his head against Gladio’s collarbone.

Huh. That must be nice.

Ignis touches Prince Noctis’ arm again, chafes his hand lightly up and down it as the three of them huddle closer to carry on their conversation. Prompto’s glad he can’t read lips, he feels guilty enough for invading their privacy this much.

They’re so close, Prompto realises. Not just physically in this moment but emotionally, the sort of bond forged from a lifetime together, childhood friends turned adult companions.

No wonder Prince Noctis doesn’t want Prompto in his group, how is there possibly any space for him?

Prompto wonders what that’s like. Friends, real friends, rather than a smattering of acquaintances that come and go as he moves on from place to place.

It really must be nice.

“You okay, kid?”

Prompto startles, hand at his chest and turns to see one of the Glaives. Older than Prompto by a decade or so he looks down at him, concern obvious in the notch between his eyebrows.

“Fine,” Prompto squeaks.

“You know you’re allowed to eat without your babysitters, right?” he says.

Prompto wishes he knew his name. He recognises him, dark hair shaved at the sides and Galahdian marks on his face. Ignis has stopped to speak with him a couple times. The conversation usually ends with an eye roll from Ignis and the Glaive agreeing to whatever Ignis is asking of him.

“They’re not babysitting me,” Prompto says.

“Not right now,” the man says. He ducks down to peer over Prompto’s shoulder through the gap in the door.

“Ah,” he says, “You should go out and talk to them.”

“I don’t want to upset Prince Noctis,” Prompto admits.

“He’ll get over it,” he responds, “He kind of has to, right?”

“Right,” Prompto murmurs.

The man straightens up, “Buckle up, kid. Here they come.”

“What - what do you -”

“Ah, Prompto, there you are,” Ignis says. A hand touches his shoulder but it’s too large to be Ignis’ and Prompto turns to see Gladio smiling down at him.

“Sorry we’re late,” Gladio offers.

Several paces back, not glaring per se but decidedly less happy than he looked a minute ago waits Prince Noctis. As he watches his friends greet Prompto something in his expression twitches.

“Nyx,” Ignis says and Prompto tries to commit the name to memory, “Are you ready for your training with Noctis?”

“Always ready,” Nyx replies. He and Gladio exchange nods then Nyx is strolling off towards Noctis. The Glaive raises his hand and Noctis slaps his palm against it almost lazily.

“Ready to eat?” Ignis asks him when the other two have disappeared from view.

“Oh sure,” Prompto says. To Gladio he asks, “How was the stuff with your Dad?”

“Fine,” Gladio says, waving away his concern, “You really have to stop being so frightened of him.”

“I’m not frightened,” Prompto insists but his voice cracks embarrassingly and when Ignis leads them away to join the line for food Prompto follows without further comment and valiantly ignoring Gladio’s snickers behind him.

- - -

Prompto was already sweating when he stepped off the bus this morning, the early May sunlight almost oppressively warm and he feels downright disgusting by the time he finishes up his outside session with Gladio.

The Citadel has outside training equipment and Gladio’s a big fan of it apparently. Which is nice.

It might be genuinely nice too, if Prompto could spend more than three minutes outside without turning bright red in a way that persists painfully for days after.

Prompto stumbles as he disembarks the rope climbing wall.

He’s both stronger than he was a month ago but more tired too. He has aches in muscles he didn’t even know existed.

“Gotta work on your balance,” Gladio tells him. He doesn’t sound angry, he doesn’t even sound disappointed. Just stating a fact.

“I know,” Prompto agrees.

“Lets call it there,” Gladio says, “I have to do something today so Ignis is looking after you this afternoon.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, offering, “I can just join general training.”

“Nah, Ignis has got you.”

Prompto’s intimidated by the idea of training with Ignis. Sure he doesn’t have the sheer bulk of Gladio but a couple of days ago Prompto had watched him toss a knife in the air and kick it straight into the heart of a training dummy.

“I just know that he’s busy -”

“And I’m not?” Gladio interrupts.

“What - no! That’s not what I mean,” Prompto rushes and Gladio starts laughing.

“You’re mean,” Prompto whines.

“Come on,” Gladio instructs, “Let's get you out of the sun before you’re permanently that colour.”

“Is it that bad?”

Gladio squints at him, “Ignis is gonna yell at me about not getting you sunscreen..”

“Dude this is with sunscreen.”

Gladio doesn’t make any noise but he mouths the word wow.

They almost walk right into Ignis as they push through the double doors back into the Citadel, opening up into the long corridor that leads off into all the different training facilities. Prompto hasn’t seen most of them yet. He probably hasn’t seen half.

“I was just coming to look for you,” Ignis says. His eyes pass over Prompto and he asks, “Did you not put on sunscreen?”

“I did,” Prompto promises.

Ignis hums thoughtfully, “I’ll get you some aloe vera.” He turns back to Gladio, “You’re going to be late to pick up your sister.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Gladio says, grinning, “Try and take it easy on him this afternoon, I sure didn’t.”

Gladio lifts his hand in a wave and Prompto chirps, “Have fun.” The hand turns into a thumbs up and Gladio disappears rapidly down the hall.

“Unfortunately Noctis is having lunch with his father today,” Ignis says, “So he won’t be able to join us.”

It’s cute that Ignis is still making up these excuses when Prompto already knows that really Prince Noctis is doing absolutely everything he can to avoid eating with Prompto ever again. Prompto’s trying not to let it bother or upset him and doing a not very good job at it.

Prompto sighs, “That’s okay.”

“I did wonder, if you might like a change of pace this afternoon,” Ignis goes on.

Pretty much all of Prompto’s days are different now. He moves on from one part of his training to the next so quickly. Hand to hand training is still very basic and he’s been stuck swinging around the same stubby little short sword for too long because he’s just not improved at all since the moment Gladio and Marshal Leonis stuck the wooden blade in his hand.

A tiny part of him wonders if he might not be having more luck and progress if they’d just give in and try him with something else or if the Marshal might take over more of his weapons training.

Gladio’s not exactly subtle so every day Prompto tries but gets no better and makes the frustrated set of Gladio’s jaw more pronounced; his tired sighs just a little louder.

Prompto’s not saying the reaction is why he’s not getting better, but he might do better if he’s not tense and anxious waiting for it to happen.

“Change is always good,” Prompto murmurs.

“Excellent. I have some errands that I need to run and I wondered if you might accompany me. It’s the sort of thing that might happen when you’re a full member of Noct’s retinue.”

“That sounds fun,” Prompto says brightly, then quietens when he considers the facts, “But shouldn’t I - don’t I need to train?”

“Rest is important, I don’t think a single afternoon off will set you back,” Ignis tells him. At first he’s smiling, then his face drops a little and more seriously he adds, “Though I won’t force you if you’d rather join a training group than accompany me.”

“No!” Prompto says, “No forcing here, I swear.” He lets himself smile, “You know, I’ve taken care of an errand or two in my time.”

“Splendid,” Ignis says, “Perhaps we’ll get done in half the time.”

“Uh, if we’re going outside do you mind if I shower. The general public might not be quite so used to the sweat smell.”

Ignis laughs, “You go on. I’ll get you that aloe. Actually, why don’t you meet me in the kitchen when you’re done? You know where it is?”

“Uh, back towards the staff entrance but turn off before the elevator,” Prompto says.

“Perfect,” Ignis says, “No rush, come meet me when you’re ready.”

But Prompto does rush because he cannot fathom keeping a man like Ignis waiting for even a second longer than absolutely necessary.

The water pressure here is good though, better than his little apartment so he lingers just a little. And there’s really no way to rush through drying his hair, not if he doesn’t want to walk around with an amorphous blond cloud on his head.

Prompto gets a tiny bit lost on the way to the kitchens, of course, zoning out while looking at the filigree decoration on the top part of the walls. He only realises he’s walked too far when the elevator dings open behind him.

“Shit,” he mutters and spins on the spot.

He really only finds the door to the kitchen because it smells good. He hopes developing a decent sense of direction isn’t part of his training.

Ignis is working at a big centre island, packing food first into small containers and then into a basket.

A picnic basket, Prompto realises, an honest to gods picnic basket.

“Hey,” Prompto says to announce himself. A couple other heads turn with Ignis’ but they take one look at him and shift away again.

“Ah there you are,” Ignis says, “I forgot to ask if you had any allergies or food preferences.”

“No allergies,” Prompto says, “And no real preferences.”

Ignis looks up at him, watching him keenly, “What does that mean?”

“I try not to be fussy,” Prompto explains.

“I can handle fussy,” Ignis laughs, “Try me.”

“I like the taste of coconut but not the texture.”

Ignis half tilts his head, “I’ll keep that in mind. No coconut whatsoever today.”

“For what?”

“I thought we could take lunch out with us,” Ignis explains, snapping the lid on another container and tucking it into the basket, “Enjoy the weather a little in case it turns wet again.”

“Wait - you made that stuff for us?” Prompto asks, slightly shocked. He knows Ignis cooks but in an abstract sense and was under the impression it was for the prince’s benefit only. Prompto never thought Ignis would make him a meal. Not unless Prince Noctis was there too.

And well -

He’s not exactly making strides in that department.

“Of course,” Ignis says with a smile. He refocuses on the talk at hand and without looking up adds, “The aloe is on the counter there. I’ll make sure we sit in the shade later.”

Prompto laughs, “It’s a curse.” He squirts a little of the goopy liquid onto his fingers, rubbing it in where he feels most tender along his hairline and the tip of his nose.

Ignis packs up the last of the food and quickly cleans up after himself despite the kitchen staff obviously waiting to do just that and not letting Prompto help either.

“What errands are we running?” Prompto asks as they leave the kitchen, absolutely not sulking because Ignis won’t even let him carry the basket.

“We need to collect some things for His Highness,” Ignis says and it sounds almost like a warning, “He has very exact tastes.”

“I would be more surprised if he didn’t,” Prompto muses, “Like, you’re raised a certain way you expect certain stuff.”

“I wish it was good taste,” Ignis says. He laughs and goes on, “Honestly I don’t know who even gave him boxed macaroni and cheese the first time but I have less than kind words for them.”

“Wait, really?” Prompto blurts, “Okay but for what it’s worth some of the brands are good.”

Ignis sighs, “Yes, really. Though it is one of the few things he’ll make himself. He can cook, I want you to know. He just chooses not to.”

“Well you’ll do it for him, right? So why would he bother?”

Ignis looks slightly surprised by the remark. Prompto’s not sure if he was surprised by what he said, or simply that Prompto was the one to say it.

“I suppose I am my own worst enemy,” Ignis muses.

Prompto follows along at his side, down a turning he’s never used before then through a door that opens almost directly onto a flight of stairs.

“The parking is underground,” Prompto realises as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Lowest security risk that way,” Ignis says, “Obviously there’s visitor parking above ground but it’s best if the public don’t have free access to our cars.”

“Is that something we need to worry about?” Prompto asks. He hadn’t thought about the general public being an issue. He’d just assumed his adversaries would be the obvious - Niflheim, daemons and maybe the odd wild animal he was silly enough to disturb.

“Public opinion is calm right now,” Ignis says, obviously choosing his words carefully.

“But sometimes it’s not?”

“Sometimes it’s not,” Ignis confirms.

“So which car is yours?” Prompto asks, “Let me guess, it’s the black one.”

Ignis laughs, deeply from right in his chest and Prompto feels something corresponding and light in his own.

It’s a dangerous thing, to have his happiness so easily affected by the happiness of people around him, especially people he still doesn’t know very well. Prompto doesn’t even know what he is to these people. Just a colleague? Just someone to fill a gap simply because it needs filling before something worse takes its place.

Will they ever view him as warmly as he does them? Something like a friend.

Somehow Ignis manages to wrest his key from the pocket of his well fitted slacks while keeping hold of the basket. It’s not very big, but Prompto still feels bad.

A car parked near the end of a row flashes twice and Ignis stows the basket in the trunk while Prompto hovers awkwardly at his elbow. Ignis is a good driver, efficient and safe, driving at the speed limit but not over it. Prompto can’t drive - he could never afford to run a car before now - so he sits as quietly as he can, trying not to fidget or speak so much as to be distracting.

“Would you like to put the radio on?” Ignis asks him.

“I’m good,” Prompto squeaks, assuming that if it didn’t come on when Ignis started the car then he doesn’t normally listen as he drives.

Ignis shakes his head, just a little and presses something on his steering wheel, the centre console lights up and the inoffensive music of Insomnia City Radio quietly spills out.

“Feel free to adjust it,” Ignis muses.

Prompto leaves it at first but then a pop song starts up, one with a chorus so catchy it’ll be stuck in Prompto’s head for days if he has to listens to one single line of it.

“That’s better,” Ignis sighs when he’s adjusted it to a radio onto something a bit more mellow.

“You could have just asked,” Prompto says.

“As could you,” Ignis retorts.

They don’t drive for very long, Ignis reverses into one of the few spaces marked up beside a local park. Prompto seizes his chance to grab the picnic basket while Ignis is still opening the trunk, triumphantly hooking it over his arm and gesturing for Ignis to lead the way.

As promised Ignis finds them a bench under the shade of a tree heavy with leaves. Prompto settles the basket on the bench and takes a seat so it’s between them.

Ignis slowly unpacks it, divvying up the food. He starts by handing Prompto something substantial wrapped in waxy brown paper then unearths crudites and diced fruit, a little pot of pasta salad and several different dips.

“Wow,” Prompto murmurs, grateful and impressed, “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” Ignis responds, reaching for the second sandwich and carefully unwrapping it. Prompto copies him, getting it half unwrapped before taking a big bite, flavours exploding on his tongue.

“Wow,” he says again, once he’s managed to chew and swallow, “This is amazing.”

“It’s nothing much,” Ignis says, “There was less for me to work with than I would have liked.”

Prompto finds it hard to believe that Ignis made this with limited options but Ignis also doesn’t strike him as the kind of man to lie. It’s rich meat thinly sliced and layered with crisp lettuce and tomatoes and a thin spread of something like mayonnaise just a touch more luxurious.

Ignis smiles when Prompto reaches for some of the veggie sticks, trying out each of the dips in turn and declaring each one of them perfect.

Prompto’’s not even exaggerating.

“You’re a very good eater,” Ignis comments and Prompto feels the warmth that had been hanging around in his chest freezes solid.

It’s the sort of thing he’s heard before, a jab cleverly covered up as a compliment. Of course you like food, they really mean, you’re fat.

Prompto can’t think of anything to say and his appetite escapes him all at once. He doesn’t even think he eats that much, he can’t afford to be a glutton. He can’t afford the healthiest of foods all the time but he wouldn’t eat them all the time even if he did. So what if he wants a burger now and then? Who cares if he likes to add a little extra cheese to his pizza?

Pretty much everyone, apparently.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, “I’m sorry - that was poorly worded. I just meant that you’re not fussy. It’s very gratifying to see someone eat and enjoy themselves. To do so without picking it apart for stray lettuce or flat out refusing to eat it at all because I dared put carrots into it.”

Prompto shifts against the bench.

“Really?”

“Truly, Prompto, I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise,” Ignis says.

“I know a lot of people look at me and all they see is -”

“A very handsome young man.”

Prompto’s face burns completely independently from his recent sunburn.

“Oh gods,” Prompto mutters, “You can’t just -”

“Tell the truth?” Ignis asks, smirking.

Prompto bites into his sandwich again to give himself something to do, quite unable to look Ignis in the eye.

“I really thought that, after we met, you’d change your mind about me being suitable, you know?” Prompto mumbles, “Because I don’t look the part.”

Ignis sighs, “Well I hope you’re at least glad that I didn’t. You’re fitting in so well and exceeding any and all expectations that we could have had for you.”

“Except Prince Noctis still hates me.”

For a brief second Ignis actually grimaces.

“He’ll come around,” Ignis says. Prompto thinks that Ignis really believes that. “He doesn’t have it easy - I know it looks like he does but with people he really doesn’t. He’s been let down too many times, taken advantage of then cast aside. Please have a little more patience with him.”

Prompto nods. What else can he do but agree? Prompto can be patient, he’s got patience in spades. Ignis sighs, his brow smoothing.

“So why did you learn to cook? For Noctis?” Prompto asks, thinking it best to change the subject.

“Mostly,” Ignis says, “Though I’ll admit I don’t always enjoy the act of cooking, I do love caring for people in this way. The joy I can offer simply by making something they enjoy.”

“I get that,” Prompto says, “And just so you know I am completely full of joy right now.”

Ignis laughs and the last little dregs of tension in the air around them dissipates.

“Do you cook?” Ignis asks him.

“Kind of,” Prompto says, “But I’m impatient and not very good so I mostly get by on shortcuts and little hacks.”

“Whatever works,” Ignis says.

-

Despite having to do nothing at all the process of collecting the prince’s suit is like torture. Prompto swears he stays completely focused on his task yet Ignis manages to catch him making eyes at the comic book store across the street.

“But we’re working,” Prompto insists when Ignis tries to encourage him inside. Ignis just gives a little shrug and Prompto might have argued further but Ignis puts his hand on the small of his back and Prompto is powerless to resist moving in the direction it pushes him.

Prompto never has the budget to buy much, but he deserves a treat for starting his new position. One that he can actually even afford thanks to his new job.

“I believe,” Ignis says, leaning for a closer look at a few volumes front and centre on display, “That Noct reads these.”

“Astrals and Elements?” Prompto asks, surprised and elated, “They’re my favourite. Though, I have to wait for the trade paperbacks because collecting the individual issues is too expensive.”

“I’ll get Noctis to show you them sometime,” Ignis says, making it sound almost like a promise.

“Has he read Raine and Thunder? It’s about the main character's little sister. Uh - you know maybe he actually wouldn’t be that interested.”

“Why ever not?” Ignis asks.

Prompto shrugs and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Raine is just an ordinary girl, so maybe that wouldn’t appeal to him so much,” Prompto explains, “Like, why would you read about a person that’s less interesting than you are?”

Ignis blinks, “I think that’s exactly what he’d like actually.”

“Really?”

“Show it to me,” Ignis instructs, “It would be nice to soften the blow of asking him to spend an evening trying on suits with something he’ll actually enjoy.”

“O-kay,” Prompto says slowly, brightening up as the full implications hit him, “It’ll be over here. Oh! And if he likes that maybe he’d like Phantom’s Thief, similar premise but without the overt religious undertones.”

-

“Thank you for your help today,” Ignis tells him once they’ve dropped the basket off in the kitchen.

Ignis has to let Prompto help now. As impressives as Ignis is, he only has two arms and they have a lot of stuff to carry. Prompto holds the grocery bag closer to his chest, raises it up so it hides some of his stupid smile.

“I don’t know how much I really helped,” Prompto muses.

“Plenty,” Ignis says, “But if you insist on fighting me, I will instead just thank you for being such excellent company.”

Prompto feels his cheeks burn again.

“You should try the new mac and cheese that comes in the blue box,” Prompto tells him. Again. “I swear it’s actually good.”

“I’ll pass,” Ignis says. He sighs but it sounds fond.

There’s an odd clicking noise, approaching down the hallway and they turn almost as one to face it. Gladio appears, wheeling a white bicycle far too small to be his own with just one hand and bending himself almost in half to keep it steady.

“Is something wrong with Iris’ bike?” Ignis asks, causing Gladio to snap his head up to take notice of them.

Iris is Gladio’s sister, Prompto’s almost certain.

“Yeah,” Gladio says, “I’m trying to find somewhere to fix it. I’ll probably have to drive her to school in the morning.”

Gladio comes closer and the bike continues to make the same noise. It’s not familiar to Prompto, because it didn’t happen to his bike much, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

“Let me look,” Prompto says and before Gladio can respond he’s carefully stashing his bag on the ground to kneel beside the bike.

“You know what you’re doing?” Gladio asks.

Probably.

“I used to bike everywhere to save money,” Prompto tells him, wiggling his fingers into the mechanism to adjust the chain, “Then my neighbour crushed it between the front of their car and a wall and it ended up being cheaper to get a bus pass than replace my bike.”

Prompto slots the chain back into its proper position and tugs the bike away from Gladio’s grasp to wheel it forward. The clicking still sounds and Prompto works his fingers back in, searching and easily finding the exact loose part he had been expecting.

“So I can’t remember what this is called,” Prompto says to Gladio, “But if you find me a wrench I can tighten it up and it’ll be good to go again.”

All of Prompto’s bike fixing knowledge comes from frantically typing the symptoms into Moogle search after school and desperately trying out every single option provided to him until something worked.

“Really?” Gladio says, “That simple? I figured I was gonna have to pay someone to fix it.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Prompto admits.

“What odds are we looking at?” Gladio asks, voice almost teasing.

“Eighty-six,” Prompto says randomly, “Point four.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Gladio says, “Thanks blondie, you’re something else.”

Prompto thinks Gladio means that in a good way.

Chapter Text

“They’re going to set me on fire,” Prompto says.

Which is not at all what Gladio had said would happen, actually.

“No,” Gladio says, trying not to laugh and only mostly succeeding, “I said, at some point, they’ll need to test your magic affinity and resistance.”

“By setting me on fire,” Prompto insists.

“It’s not real fire,” Gladio says, “And they’ll stop before it really hurts.”

“Is that - is that something I can fail on?”

Gladio shakes his head, “No. We just need to know. If you have a strong affinity you’ll get more training so that you can use it in a fight. Not like the Glaive or anything, but Iggy can put an enchantment on his daggers - it just takes a lot out of him.”

“Wow,” Prompto murmurs, “Did you have the extra training?”

“No,” Gladio snorts, “Born for this I may have been but special magical abilities I do not have.”

“You can summon a sword from the air,” Prompto reminds him.

Gladio does just that, reaching into the armiger and pulling forth his favourite sword, pressing the tip of it into the ground to show off how it stands as tall as his shoulders and wider than his arm.

Prompto’s eyes go wide. Impressed. Gladio should think about how happy that makes him but he doesn’t.

“That’s cool,” the blond insists.

Maybe it really is, Gladio thinks, maybe he’s just used to it.

- - -

Ignis steals Prompto away for some paperwork and for the first time in a few weeks Gladio has the morning to himself. It’s not that he’s actively training Prompto every second of every day but he likes to just kind of be where Prompto is training. Whether that’s with Cor running drills or going through the motions of a general training session. Gladio likes watching Prompto miraculously living up to all the expectations set before him.

Gladio likes the guy, more than he thought he would, more than he wanted to after Noct’s reaction to him and his concerns. But Gladio’s not completely sure that Prompto’s really cut out for this work, not in the extremely limited time frame they have in which to get him prepared.

Not in the long run.

He’s just not what Gladio was expecting.

Prompto is prone to fits of shyness but can be hilarious and talk a mile a minute when he’s not blushing into the collar of his hoodie.

Gods Gladio wants Noct to get over it, needs him to just talk to the guy.

Gladio doesn’t know what kind of social science magic Ignis pulled when he created that questionnaire but Prompto really does feel like a perfect fit, not just for Noctis but the group.

If he can manage the physical aspects.

Gladio wishes he didn’t feel so bad every time he has lunch with Prompto, wishes he could stop imaging Noct, upstairs all alone or sneaking into his Dad’s office to avoid being so. Noct is the one making the choice, Gladio knows that he can eat with them if he chooses, they’re not forcing him out. Gladio wishes he’d choose to - he’s sick of being torn between the feeling of wanting to spend more time with Noct and more time with Prompto. It’s stupid that those two feelings have to be mutually exclusive.

“Did you want to do something?” Gladio asks Noct.

Noct looks up from the comic he’s reading slowly, like he can’t bear to drag his eyes away from it.

“What kind of something?” From anyone but Noct it would sound like flirting.

“I don’t know - how are you feeling? We could even just go hang out in the gardens or something.”

“It’s gonna rain,” Noct says dismissively, turning back to his comic.

“No it’s not,” Gladio says, “The forecast says it’ll be warm.”

“Forecast is wrong,” Noct says, “I can tell.”

“How?”

“My knee hurts,” Noctis says simply.

“Are you okay?” Gladio asks, sitting forward on the couch, hand half extending towards Noct’s knee and retracting again before Noct can notice.

Noct sighs, “Not that kind of hurt.”

“You wanna play a game then?” Gladio asks.

“In a minute,” Noct agrees, “Just let me finish this.”

“What is that, anyway?”

“A new comic Iggy found for me,” Noct explains, “An offshoot of Astrals and Elements.”

“Ugh,” Gladio groans - half serious.

Noct kicks him playfully but is finally roused enough to put down the comic.

“I don’t make you read it,” Noct complains, standing and heading over to the TV cabinet to switch on the console and grab controllers.

“You need someone to squeal over it with,” Gladio teases.And it’s not that bad, Gladio just doesn’t like the main character.

“I do not squeal,” Noct retorts and Gladio laughs.

“You know,” Gladio says, “I bet Prompto likes Astrals and Elements, he seems like the sort.”

“Uh huh,” Noct mumbles, “That’s nice.”

It was a good try, Gladio thinks, but no luck.

- - -

Prompto leans over, rests his palms against his knees as he catches his breath.

“You good?” Gladio asks him.

“Yeah,” Prompto says, “Just need a second.”

“You think you’re gonna be okay,” Gladio wonders aloud, not really sure what he’s saying, “Moving forward. It’s only gonna get tougher.”

Prompto straightens up, arching his back the other way like he’s trying to pop his back.

“I’ll adjust as quickly as I can,” Prompto says, “It’ll be tough, because I don’t have much adjustment time, but I hope I’ll get there.”

“I hope you’re healthy enough,” Gladio wonders aloud.

Prompto’s face goes curiously blank, his shoulders tense immediately, pulling up around his ears.

“Because I’m new right? And I don’t have the same practice time everyone else does? And not any other reason?” Prompto asks. All the personable tone Gladio is used to hearing from him is gone, evaporated in a heartbeat.

That, Gladio thinks, and the fact he doesn’t look like he’s cut out for this.

Gladio thinks he’s cute, it’s not that, but cute isn’t going to protect your knees when you’ve gotta be upright for sixteen hours.

“Prompto -”

“Dude, if you’re about to tell me I’m too fat for this I swear - couldn’t you have maybe done this three weeks ago?” Prompto asks. His voice isn’t bland anymore but Gladio’s not sure he likes this any better, high, almost a little shrill. Almost panicked.

“I just - it’s not gonna be as easy for you as if you were, you know -”

Gladio gestures vaguely and Prompto’s sharp eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“What exactly? Are we seriously about to have a conversation where you tell me health and thinness are synonyms because that’s seriously rich dude.”

Now Gladio is offended, he’s the epitome of health, has worked his ass off for years to get this physique. It wouldn’t matter who or where the critique came from, it'd set him off immediately.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s literally a fact that -”

“That you’re chronically dehydrated? Seriously, if you chug a pint of water do you lose all definition in your abs or just some of it?” Prompto asks.

“That’s not -” But Glaido pulls back before he’s forced to lie. Gladio can’t argue that’s not at least partially true. He doesn’t exactly restrict how much he’s drinking but he’s painfully aware that he looks the best, tight and defined, when he’s running on a slight deficit of both calories and water.

“I run almost every day,” Prompto says, “Not so much right now because I’m here busting my ass every day - and keeping up, might I remind you. I never come last on the track, I finished top third in the obstacle course yesterday.”

“Prompto -” Gladio tries again. Everything Prompto is saying is true, it was never Gladio’s intention to undermine him like this - it was never his intention to mention it at all unless he absolutely had no other choice.

“If you think my weight is holding me back in some way and you want me to do something about it then I need you to show me how that’s true.”

“Look, you’re doing okay now,” Gladio says, “But in the long run -”

There just aren’t many heavy people in the Crownsguard and there has to be a reason for that. Gladio’s not wrong, he absolutely knows he isn’t wrong and yet he feels bad. He shouldn’t have been the one to bring it up, he knows that, it’s not his place. But it is his place to make sure Noct has the best of the best looking out for him.

Crownsguard aren’t soft like Prompto.

Libertus crosses his mind in an almost startling fashion, agile and fit and capable and there’s no other way to describe him but chubby.

Gladio knows he doesn’t need to stay as defined as he is for strength, would probably have an easier time of it if he wasn’t so obsessed with the aesthetics of it all but -

“What’s going on?” Cor asks, coming up to them suddenly. Gladio realises they’ve been standing still for a long time now, while everyone else carries on around them. Prompto’s voice was almost raised too, uncharacteristically. Prompto blushes, embarrassed, and Gladio hates that he did that to him.

“Nothing,” Gladio says.

The magnitude of what he’s just done falls heavily on him, like two lead bricks sticking his feet to the ground.

Cor turns to Prompto and Gladio watches the blond swallow nervously.

“Gladio thinks I’m too fat to be here,” Prompto says, “Sir.”

“Hang on,” Gladio says, holding up his palms, “I never said that. I’m just worried about his - I’m just worried about your health Prompto. I swear, it’s not -”

“Prompto passed his physical,” Cor tells him, “Absolutely no health concerns. Which is more than can be said for everyone in the Crownsguard right now.”

“Right,” Gladio says, “I get that but -”

“But nothing,” Cor says, “Prompto is doing exceptionally well and right now I think you’re the one in need of adjustment.”

“What?”

“Laps, now. Until you’ve reconsidered this shitty opinion,” Cor demands.

“Sorry?” Gladio says in disbelief, “You can’t - it’s been years since I’ve -”

“I’m still your superior. Laps. Now,” Cor snaps. He turns away from Gladio, completely ignoring him in favour of Prompto, “Do you want to go over that hold again? See if you can get a handle on the escape today.”

“Thank you,” Prompto breathes, his voice little more than a soft tremble, “Yes, sir.”

They step back up onto the mat and Cor deigns to throw him one last glance, bitterly disappointed and cold.

Gladio leaves without further comment, steps through the doors into the training field and starts running.

For two whole laps he doesn’t think at all. Anger burns bright in his chest, the ridiculousness of him, Shield of the future King, being sent to run laps crowds out everything else.

He shouldn’t have bought it up, he thinks again, it wasn’t worth it. He should have ignored it until it became an issue.

If it became an issue.

Maybe it won’t become an issue, maybe Prompto will do okay and it won’t matter.

But he’s studied nutrition and health and sport science, it had been a given, he’d had to - it’s been beaten into him by professors and society that to be healthy you have to look -

Not like Gladio, maybe, but there’s a certain image, muscle groups and -

At five laps Gladio has to slow to a slow jog, the annoying voice in the back of his head reminding him he needs to work on his cardio. It’s followed quickly by another voice, snarkily reminding him that Prompto can run ten laps without stopping.

Maybe he’s wrong? Maybe this was not only a massive social faux pas but could the meat of what he was saying was wrong too?

On what ground is he doubting Prompto? And out of nowhere to boot. Prompto’s quick on his feet, fast and a strangely charming blend of clumsy and agile. Occasionally he’ll pull off a grand feat of athleticism then turn around and trip right off the crash mat ten minutes later.

Gladio slows all the way down to a walk, follows the track around only so far to reach a door that opens into a general hallway rather than the training hall.

Gladio needs to talk through this with someone that won’t bite his head off. He needs to talk through this with Ignis.

Ignis’ office door is half ajar when he approaches but he knocks even as he pushes it open wider. His friend looks up from his laptop immediately, offering a smile that is noticeably tight.

“Iggy I think I fucked up,” Gladio offers with no preamble.

“It seems that way,” Ignis says calmly. He’s not short, not like Cor had been, his expression open as he gazes up at Gladio, “Seems we’re both having issues keeping our feet out of our mouths this week.”

Gladio certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“What do you mean?”

“I may have alluded to something similar when we had lunch on Tuesday, though it wasn’t my intention and I was not quite so, shall we say, severe as you,” Ignis explains. He pushes his glasses up though they’re already at the top of his nose and pushes out a rough breath.

“Wow,” Gladio says, “At least we’ll go down as assholes together, huh?”

Ignis laughs, bitter and hollow. “Between us and Noctis I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around and never came back one of these days.”

“Poor kid,” Gladio murmurs. He wouldn’t be shocked either, would barely blame the guy at this point.

“I didn’t have a chance to speak to him,” Ignis tells him and Gladio glances at the clock. It’s still a little early for Prompto to not be around.

Ignis catches his curious expression and explains, “Cor sent him home early. Seems he managed to master something he’d been struggling with so Cor rewarded him with an early start to his weekend.”

“Is Prompto upset? Still upset. Did Cor say?” Gladio asks.

Gladio regrets that most of all. He never wants to hurt Prompto.

“The Marshal felt it unnecessary to inform me of that information,” Ignis says flatly. He’s almost snappy when he adds, “Stop standing there like a stranger and come sit down.”

Gladio didn’t know he’d been waiting for the invitation until it came. He lowers himself into the chair in front of Iggy’s desk with a groan.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Gladio says, “I don’t even know why I bought it up -”

“Gladio. You - we - are perfectly at liberty to not like how Prompto looks just as we could not like how anyone looks. But it’s probably best to refrain from undue criticism when that will only hurt someone.”

“That’s not it,” Gladio murmurs. That’s not it at all.

He does like how Prompto looks, likes his soft cheeks and the way they dimple up when he smiles really wide or someone draws a laugh out of him. Gladio likes how different he looks to everyone else around him, his body, his hair, the freckles splashed across his cheeks and his nose.

Gladio likes it perhaps more than he should, considering his heart is already dedicated to two men he’s not sure he’ll be able to have the way he wants.

Ignis’ eyebrows rise up above the line of his glasses.

“So what is it?” Ignis asks.

“I don’t know,” Gladio admits, “We were just training and some of it’s hard on him and I was trying to think why and I just wondered if…”

“Gladio,” Ignis sighs, “I understand why you had this opinion, look at the way you’ve been raised, the ideal bodies you’ve been subjected to - I don’t know that we could have expected anything else from you. You know why some of this is hard on Prompto and you know it has nothing to do with that.”

“He’s never done this before,” Gladio says flatly, “It’s so new.”

“You need only apologise,” Ignis suggests, “And I’m sure it will all be fixed.”

“I will,” Gladio promises, “Gods I didn’t even - I didn’t know I thought these things.”

“Some things are so ingrained in us by society,” Ignis says slowly, folding his hands together tightly on top of his desk, “Or our families or social circles that we form opinions without thinking about them. But we can change, we can be different.”

Ignis keeps his eyes down for a moment and Gladio wonders. He thinks about Ignis’ uncle and how they never talk about him. Thinks about how Ignis didn’t come out until Noct had haltingly blurted something out to his dad over a family dinner, unsure and still half confused. How it was still a solid year after that before he ever uttered a word, living by himself in a small apartment from far too young an age and half a city away from the man with whom he shares a surname.

Gladio wonders.

But he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t pry. Even though he’s one of the few people in the world that can pry with Ignis, to do so right now would feel like trying to turn the tables, to take the focus off himself and the things he’s done wrong.

Gladio scrubs his hand over his face.

“Should I call? Go over to his place? I need to apologise.”

“It can wait until Monday,” Ignis says, “So he understands you really thought about it and can tell your apology is genuine.”

“My apology would be genuine now,” Gladio argues.

“I know that,” Ignis says, “But think about how Prompto has been dealing with this his whole life and how I affected him just days ago. He’s likely had to unlearn these very things himself.”

Gladio sighs and slumps forward, elbows on Ignis’ desk so he can drop his forehead into his palms.

“Come have dinner in Noctis’ suite,” Ignis suggests.

Ignis’ fingers stroke along the back of his hand, leather warm and smooth and Gladio shifts onto just one of his palms so he can turn the other hand over and tangle their fingers together. Ignis rubs his thumb - bare skin - over Gladio’s knuckle and the shield doesn’t even think, just tugs their interlocked hands towards his mouth to kiss the back of Ignis’ hand.

“Gladio,” Ignis says, tone almost sharp.

“Sorry,” Gladio mumbles, releasing Ignis’ fingers all at once.

Gladio doesn’t want to let go, not even a little bit but it’s the agreement they made. Back when everything came to a head and the feelings got all mixed up. Noct had begged them to be happy without him and maybe they could have been, if they tried. But they don’t want to be happy, not without Noct.

“It’s alright, it’s just -”

“Not fair,” Gladio finishes.

Ignis is silent for a long moment and Gladio watches his fingers drum restlessly against the top of his desk.

“If we head out early I can make those meat pies you and Noctis like so much,” Ignis says.

Gladio lifts his head, offers Ignis a smile.

“Sounds great.”

-

“Would you like some ice cream, Noct?”

The prince doesn’t even look up. He doesn’t acknowledge that they’re even there with him, just sits there, nose buried in a comic again and ignoring his oldest friends standing at the counter dishing his favourite treat into bowls.

“Noct,” Gladio barks and he almost startles, looking up with an immediate glare.

“What?” Noct snaps.

“Would you like some ice cream?” Ignis asks again.

Noct’s face smooths out and he closes the comic carefully, sliding it onto the coffee table.

“Thanks, yeah,” Noct says.

“You’re so obsessed with that damn thing,” Gladio says but he’s teasing. He likes seeing Noct enthusiastic about anything, even if he doesn’t feel the same enthusiasm.

Noct blushes, adorably pink across his cheeks and Gladio finds it tough to look away.

“It’s not my fault,” Noct says, “Ignis picked it out - complain to him about it.”

Ignis laughs, “I didn’t pick it out, actually.” He turns a perfect scoop of ice cream out into one of the bowls and puts the spoon back into it to dig out another.

“What?” Noct blurts, “What do you mean?”

“Prompto chose it for you,” Ignis says calmly, like he’s not just setting off a nuclear bomb in the middle of an otherwise calm evening.

“Why would he do that?” Noct snaps. Gladio picks up the full bowl and takes it to the couch with something like urgency - he feels like the faster he gets ice cream into Noctis’ hands the better.

Unless he decides to throw it, of course.

“I noticed the series you like so much,” Ignis explains as Gladio literally grabs Noct’s arm to pop the bowl into his palm, “And he told me about some others he thought you’d enjoy. I didn’t recognise them so I assumed you hadn’t read them.”

Noct’s mouth forms the most perfect flat line Gladio’s ever seen, his eyebrows dropping and pulling together to be it’s match. Gladio sits down beside him, close enough, he hopes, to be comforting, but not so close to crowd him in a moment where he likely wants some space.

“I’ll have to let him know on Monday that you’ve enjoyed them so much, I’m sure it will make him very happy,” Ignis muses.

Ignis clears up and still without any acknowledgement of what he’s doing to his charge right now elegantly picks up the other two bowls and carries them to the couch.

Gladio watches Noct carefully, watches his mouth half open and slam shut again. He waits for an explosion, an argument but in the end all Noct does is dig his spoon viciously into the ice cream - metal screeching against the ceramic - and shove what Gladio can only assume is a painfully large scoop of the frozen dessert into his mouth.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Gladio says, as he’s passed a bowl.

Ignis glances at Noctis too, then catches Gladio’s eyes and silently raises one eyebrow.

That’s progress Gladio thinks.

He hopes he didn’t mess up their chances today.

- - -

Prompto’s found his nerves again come Monday morning.

Not nerve in the good kind of confidence way, but nerves as in nervousness. He barely looks at Gladio when he enters the training hall even though they’re in a private room for weapons training and there’s nowhere else for him to look.

Prompto was early, halfway through his warm up before Gladio arrived despite the fact the shield had attempted to be early himself.

“Morning,” Gladio offers, not completely calm himself. He’d tried not to go over and over his apology during the weekend, conscious of Ignis’ comment about his apology sounding sincere.

Prompto takes a deep breath, his shoulders bunch up then drop lower than they normally sit.

“Good morning,” Prompto returns in a terrible approximation for his usual cheer.

“I’m really sorry,” Gladio says right away, “About Friday, I was out of line, I was wrong. It really was a garbage opinion and I don’t have it any more I promise. I never should have had it in the first place.”

Prompto’s eyebrows raise a little with each comment Gladio adds.

“I thought this was gonna be another fight,” Prompto admits.

Gladio shakes his head, “No. I trust you. You say you can do it and don’t show me any actual reason why you can’t and I’m never gonna question you again.”

“Oh,” Prompto murmurs.

Gladio’s cheek twitches with a smile, “You’d planned points hadn’t you.”

“A little,” Prompto admits.

“Hit me,” Gladio says, “With your arguments, not your fists.”

“Dude,” Prompto says, “If you don’t need to hear it -”

“I want to,” Gladio says, “This isn’t - I’ve never been in your shoes before. Show me what it’s like.”

Prompto scratches his nose.

“Well you know there are already big people in the Guard right - well, the Glaive at least. Like I don’t know his name but I’ve seen him work and if he can do that then I’m sure I can be trusted to run and eventually do something meaningful with a sword.”

“Libertus,” Gladio tells him, “You mean Lib, yeah he’s - well, he’s the best of the best,” Gladio shakes his head, “I feel like such an asshole.”

“You were an asshole,” Prompto tells him flatly, “But I could have stayed calmer and we could have had a real conversation about it then rather than me picking a fight with you. So I’m sorry too.”

“I don’t think you need to be,” Gladio says, “But apology accepted.”

Prompto smiles, the good one again, that dimples his cheeks and adds vibrancy to the violet-blue of his eyes.

“I do eat well you know,” Prompto says, “Like yeah I indulge sometimes but my diet is amazing compared to when I was like twelve or so.”

“What do you mean?” Gladio nudges. He drops into his first stretch and Prompto follows suit, carrying on with his warm up.

“My foster parents were away a lot,” Prompto starts, “So they used to leave money on the counter for dinner. And I was twelve so I got the same burger with fries and orange soda every day.”

“I didn’t know you were fostered,” Gladio murmurs.

Prompto clears his throat and fidgets with one of the sweatbands he wears every day.

“I don’t know anything about my birth parents,” Prompto says quickly, “Before you wonder.”

“Sorry,” Gladio says quickly. Normally he never apologises and yet here he is, blurting the words out over and over, “I didn't mean to -”

“It’s okay. But my foster parents were - are - great, but they have to be away a lot for work,” Prompto barrels on, “So I learnt to look after myself.”

“That must have been rough. Twelve is young.”

Gladio tries to imagine looking after himself at twelve, or Iris alone and all but abandoned while in middle school.

“I obviously didn’t know what was good for me. I got the fast food because it was easy and cheap - if I didn’t get any extras all week I could go to the comic book store on a Saturday and buy myself something,” Prompto tells him.

Gladio thinks that sounds so sad. Eating the same thing day in and day out, not because it was your favourite but to cling to the small hope of doing something nice for yourself just one time a week.

At twelve years old.

“I don’t even know what made me start to change, like it was so insignificant I don’t remember. Probably some kid called me a fatty or something,” Prompto says. Gladio winces. “But I decided that I would make changes. And by changes I mean I ate only salad and ran every day before school.”

“That’s also not healthy,” Gladio says, “Pot calling the kettle black, I know, but kids aren’t supposed to exercise like that.”

“I know that now,” Prompto assures him, “But I did lose some weight, thought about losing more but - man I was miserable. To keep losing weight I was gonna have to starve myself, run twice a day, you know. I’m just not built that way. I’m not made skinny. Eventually I realised I was happier like this than I would be skinny, unhealthy and never able to eat taiyaki again.”

“I’m glad,” Gladio says, “I hope it goes without saying that I don’t approve of people starving themselves.”

“I figured,” Prompto says, “So yeah, I get that I’m not stereotypically handsome or whatever -”

“Yes you are,” Gladio enthuses.

Prompto snaps upright out of his stretch.

“What?” he asks.

“You are handsome,” Gladio says, making sure to say every word clearly, “Whatever I said before I never thought you weren’t handsome. Astrals, Prompto, sometimes you’re almost too cute.”

“Shut up,” Prompto blurts, a nervous giggle following the words, “You can’t just - jeez, if I drop my sword on your foot it’s not my fault today.”

“Fuck the sword,” Gladio says, “It’s obviously not for you.”

“But I thought I had to pass sword training before I could try something else?” Prompto wonders.

Gladio shrugs, “I really don’t care about that. You don’t need to keep hitting a wall that’ll never fall for you.”

“Thank fuck,” Prompto breathes, “I don’t know how much more of your disappointed face I could handle.”

“I don’t have a disappointed face,” Gladio argues.

Prompto snorts and alters his own face, chin pushed out almost comically far, eyes squinted a little as he drops his body into a forced casual pose, arms crossed over his chest.

“I do not look like that,” Gladio says.

“Duh,” Prompto says, “You’re like a foot taller than me.”

Gladio tosses his hands into the air, “Come on, lets try you at range.”

-

Daggers are a no, lances a hell no.

They’re going through the available training weapons, one at a time, working away in the armoury, when Nyx in all his overconfidence yells across at them:

“You know guns exist, right?”

Prompto turns to him almost hopefully.

“You wanna try a gun?” Gladio asks warily.

Gladio has pretty much no experience with them. He’s trained enough to show them to Prompto safely but he’s such a bad shot - an embarrassingly bad shot - he won’t be able to teach him anything beyond where to pull the trigger.

“I’m surprisingly good at first person shooters,” Prompto offers.

“I don’t think it’s remotely the same thing,” Gladio warns him.

Yet somehow Prompto’s first go out with the gun is better than anything Gladio’s ever managed, his second go so good Gladio thinks he must be lying when he promises he’s never done this before.

“I swear,” Prompto says, “I’ve never touched a gun before. Unless water pistols count and then I’m definitely lying to you.”

“Water pistols don’t count,” Gladio mumbles, looking over the almost neat cluster of bullet holes on his second target.

“Beginners luck?” Prompto tries.

“Or we just found your weapon,” Gladio says.

“Seriously?”

“You’ll need a second,” Gladio tells him, “But yeah, Prom. I think we just found it.”

Chapter Text

“You sure it’s okay?” Prompto asks.

From the way Ignis rolls his eyes Prompto figures he must have asked that a lot today.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was going to be a bother,” Ignis tells him, “I won’t even need my office at all today, please make yourself at home.”

“I just gotta practice my gun maintenance,” Prompto tells him, “I really just need space to spread out.”

Ignis glances around, “Let's move my desk back a little.”

“No!” Prompto insists, “Ignis that’s not necessary.”

“It’ll only take a second,” Ignis tells him, with such finality Prompto drops the box the Marshal had put together for him and matches Ignis’ position on the other side of his desk. They shift it back several feet, chair trapped between it and the wall so Ignis can’t use it even if he wants.

“You can connect your phone here if you’d like to listen to some music,” Ignis points out, waving Prompto over to a little cabinet under the window. When he’s close enough Ignis leans in and drops his voice like he’s sharing a grave secret. “This is also a fridge so if you’d like a soda please just help yourself.”

Prompto laughs, “Does everyone have a fridge in their office or just you?”

“Just me,” Ignis says, “And perhaps His Majesty.”

“Not even the Marshal?” Prompto asks. He’s been in that office a few times but very briefly, barely enough time to answer the questions asked of him, let alone root around for details.

“He would see such a luxury as an attempt to keep him inside it more often and that’s something he’s never stood for.”

“Man, yeah I can’t imagine him behind a desk all that much,” Prompto muses.

“Careful not to upset him or you’ll be charged with handling his paperwork as a punishment,” Ignis warns but he’s smiling and Prompto can’t tell over the way his belly flips if Ignis is being serious or not.

Idiot, he chides himself, stop it.

“I better be going,” Ignis says, “I’ll swing by to pick you up for lunch, alright?”

“Yes,” Prompto says quickly, “Thank you. Again - seriously I appreciate it.”

He’s tried to do this in the shooting range, sitting at one of the tables set aside for such tasks but everyone had just watched him while he was doing it. Stared down at him as they waited for their turn in the shooting gallery. They stood too close to peer over his shoulder, scrutinising him as he slowly got used to pulling the pistol apart for cleaning and slotting it all back together.

Cor’s given him a few guns from the stock to go over alongside his own gun, his assigned training weapon he’s been instructed to keep with him at all times. It’s a real gun as far as Prompto can tell – or at least was at some point. The mechanism is different now, not faulty, as such but altered so it can’t fire real bullets. Gladio says it's just there to let Prompto get used to the weight and the feel of a weapon strapped to his thigh as he masters the rest of his training.

“Make sure to lay out the sheet please,” Ignis advises with a little smile as he makes his way to the door.

“You got it,” Prompto says, throwing him a playful salute.

Prompto does that first, eager to keep oil and other stains off Ignis' carpet. When it's settled and flat, he crosses to Ignis' little sound system and plugs in his phone. There's a playlist he uses when he needs to concentrate, first created when he was at school and added to over time. It’s mostly low-key stuff, video game soundtracks and remixes, nothing with lyrics or too much going on.

Nothing able to distract him - something which happens almost terrifyingly easily.

Prompto spreads his tools out on the floor, laying the weapons down in a neat line next to them. He leaves the box on the small but clearly well loved couch against the wall. Prompto settles himself amongst the work and begrudgingly drags the manual Cor had sent him away with into his lap for a perusal before doing anything else.

An hour later he has one dismantled gun, dirty fingers and a pretty solid idea of how to slot the thing back together again.

He thinks.

The door opens – weird, he wasn't expecting Ignis back so soon.

Prince Noctis walks in.

“Hey, Iggy, have you seen -”

“Hi,” Prompto says nervously, “Ignis isn’t here.”

Noctis blinks and casts a quick glance around the room.

“I can see that.”

“He should be back in another hour or so,” Prompto offers helpfully.

“Right,” Noctis says. He stares at Prompto for long enough to make him uncomfortable.

Desperate for anything else to focus on other than the prince’s keen gaze Prompto hastily grabs a component of the gun and his cloth, setting to cleaning it right away.

“Is this the Midnight Conquest soundtrack?” Noctis suddenly asks, “From the second boss fight.”

Prompto looks up again and tilts his head to better pay attention to the music.

“Yeah,” Porompto agrees breathlessly, “Blew my mind the first time I played it.”

Noctis lets out a little huff of air. If it were anyone else Prompto might even call it a small laugh.

“I wish I could forget it and experience it all over again,” Noctis says.

“Dude, same,” Prompto blurts.

He should probably not call the Prince of Lucis dude actually.

But Noctis smiles and takes another step forward, closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing in here anyway?” he asks Prompto.

Carefully he rests his cane against the wall and picks his way across the edge of the sheet to perch on the end of Ignis’ couch. Prince Noctis leans forward to look more closely at the array of things Prompto has spread around him.

“Learning my gun maintenance,” Prompto explains, “Apparently firearms are the only primary weapon where you have to pass a maintenance exam before you’re allowed to do the competence exam.”

“Sounds about right,” Noctis murmurs, “So um, that’s what you picked? You’ll use a gun?”

“Yeah.”

Prompto doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know why Noctis is actually talking to him today. Prompto can’t fathom what changed since the last time they’d seen each other until now that’s stopped Prince Noctis just walking off in a huff.

Shit how should he address him? Gladio mentioned once or twice he hates his titles but Prompto doesn’t have his permission to call him by name.

Does he need permission? Not to do it in his own head probably, he’ll just have to watch himself out loud.

“Huh, that’s cool,” Noctis says.

“You, uh, have training with a lot of weapons, right?” Prompto asks. He’s desperate to keep Noctis talking but also dreading the idea of asking too much, of doing something that pushes Noctis back into his normal behaviour.

“Kind of,” Noctis says, “I can shoot a gun, I’m just not very good at it.”

“Neither is Gladio,” Prompto says without thinking.

Noctis laughs.

“I’m better than Gladio, at least,” Noctis assures him.

“Well that’s not hard,” Prompto teases because apparently he has foot in mouth disease today.

Prompto braces, waits to be yelled at and for Noctis to get up and leave with a slammed door as a farewell. Instead Noctis is smiling.

Noctis rubs the back of his hand against the tip of his nose and drums his fingers against his knee.

Prompto wonders if Noctis is nervous too.

“I can’t help you with the maintenance stuff,” he admits, “They didn’t make me do it.”

“Figures,” Prompto says, “But it’s okay, I actually kind of like it.”

Noctis wrinkles his nose and all the regal iciness that Prompto had been so frightened of before disappears behind the almost startling realisation that Noctis is cute.

“Really?” Noctis asks him, “But it’s just more work.”

Prompto shrugs, “I like knowing how things work.”

“Huh,” Noctis murmurs, “That’s fair I guess. Gladio, he - uh, he was pretty insistent that I knew how to clean my sword and stuff. So, I know that.”

“Dude, I was so bad with sword training that Gladio gave up trying to teach me,” Prompto tells him.

There he goes again. Calling the prince dude.

But he really just seems like such a normal guy now they’re talking, just some regular kid on the cusp of adulthood. Just like Prompto.

“No way,” Noctis argues, “Gladio’s too stubborn for that.”

“Yes way,” Prompto promises, “That’s how bad I am.”

“Wow,” Noct says.

They lapse into silence for a few seconds but it’s not as painful as Prompto would have expected. He feels pressure, certainly, a creeping sense of anxiety that he needs to say something and he needs to say it soon so Noctis doesn’t get bored and leave.

“So, uh -” Noctis starts before Prompto can think of something, “What did you do before you got roped into this? I hope you didn’t leave anything too exciting.”

Prompto snorts, “Not even a little bit. I worked at a supermarket.”

“And that’s not fun?” Noctis asks.

“Not at all,” Prompto says, “Sometimes it was interesting - we had some real characters for regulars. But it's almost exclusively the opposite of fun at all times.”

“Did you have any favourite customers?” Noctis asks him.

“Kind of,” Prompto says, “But they were mostly little old ladies that bought the same thing over and over even if it never made any sense.”

Noctis laughs softly, “Like what?”

“There was one lady that always bought these super expensive ham slices, one single tomato and pot of the most extra luxurious overpriced coleslaw. And, yes, you might say that is the workings for a delicious sandwich...but I never, ever saw her buy bread.”

“Maybe she makes her bread,” Noctis muses.

“Huh,” Prompto says. He’s never considered that. Not even once. “I forget that’s a thing that people do,” he admits.

“Ignis does it sometimes,” Noctis offers, though his shoulders sink a little when he adds, “Though it usually means I’ve stressed him out.”

Prompto can’t imagine Ignis genuinely stressed – or at least showing his stress, because his job certainly must be stressful. Ignis is just so calm all the time, absolutely the most put together person Prompto has ever seen in his life.

“Did you just work?” Noctis asks quickly, like he doesn’t want the previous comment to exist for too long, “You didn’t go to school or anything?”

“I was saving up for college,” Prompto explains, “I wanted to do photography so there aren’t really scholarships and the classes can be expensive.”

“Sorry,” Noctis says.

“It’s not your fault,” Prompto says - then realises that maybe, in some minuscule way, there is something Noctis could have done about it.

“Photography is cool though,” Noctis tells him, “Have you got a camera?”

“Yeah,” Prompto sighs, “My baby.”

“Can I see it?”

“They don’t let me bring it into the Citadel,” Prompto says.

Noctis frowns, “Why not?”

“Uh - the impression I got is that’s it’s so I can’t take pictures of you.”

“That’s so dumb,” Noctis all but yells, “Literally everyone here has a cell phone.”

“That’s what I said,” Prompto agrees, “Well, thought. If Ignis hadn’t come when he did they would have destroyed my camera and I was trying desperately to avoid it.”

“Dude, that sucks,” Noctis murmurs.

Prompto nods. He wholeheartedly agrees.

“Is that why you applied?” Noctis asks, “So you could go to college?”

“No - yes, maybe,” Prompto says, “I sort of did the test just because?” He says it like a question and Noctis’ expression turns confused.

“Really?”

“Yeah - like it was almost a joke. I thought why not,” Prompto goes on, “And then the next thing I know Ignis is at my crappy little apartment telling me I have a spot on the Crownsguard if I want it.”

“Did he come in his suit? With his briefcase?” Noctis asks.

Prompto snorts a half laugh, “Yeah.”

“Idiot,” Noctis rolls his eyes, “I bet he was terrifying.”

“I did think there was a tiny chance I was being arrested,” Prompto agrees.

Noctis sighs, his shoulders sinking down again but this time in a way that makes him look relaxed rather than resigned.

“Oh, hey, did you like Raine and Thunder?”

“Dude. Fuck yes,” Noctis says enthusiastically, “Like I think it might be better than the main series? And that’s basically perfect.”

“I know,” Prompto responds, “Raine is such a good character.”

“And that final arc, right? Where she -”

“Wait, wait!” Prompto cries, waving his hands, “I haven’t read it yet, I'm waiting for the compendium.”

Noctis slams his mouth shut with wide eyes and mimes zipping it shut.

“Thank you,” Prompto breathes, “You would not believe the gymnastics I have to do online to avoid spoilers.”

“I guess that’s the one benefit to not really being allowed social media,” Noctis muses.

Prompto shrugs, “It often does do more harm than good.”

“I’ll lend you the single issues,” Noctis tells him, “Hey, maybe we can -”

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Ignis announces, pushing open the office door, “Noct, there you are - what are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” Noctis says abruptly, getting to his feet.

“You needed me for something?” Ignis nudges.

“I don’t remember.”

“Why don’t you come for lunch with us and we can see if the information returns to you, hmm?” Ignis suggests, mouth pulling up in a little smile.

“No,” Noctis says, “I have to - I gotta go.”

And go he does, all but flying from the room, so fast it feels like he simply blips from where he’s standing to the door.

Ignis sighs.

“You two seemed to be getting along at least,” Ignis muses, “Was he here long?”

“A while,” Prompto tells him, “And yeah we were - it was nice.”

Really nice.

- - -

“What do you want?”

“Ignis I’m fine,” Prompto says, “It barely hurts -”

“The sling is overkill,” Gladio agrees.

“Well I needed something to force you to rest it for an hour or so,” Ignis says, “Tell me if you have a preference for lunch and I will collect it for you.”

Prompto sighs, “I don’t really mind. Just no rice, I guess. I had it for dinner.”

Ignis nods, “I think I know what you like by now.”

Gladio ruffles the back of his hair, “Go sit down before Ignis has a complete conniption.”

“That’s not even the right use of that word,” Prompto tells him, though he’s probably wrong.

“Yes it is.”

Prompto laughs as he turns away to leave his friends in line for the food.

He stops abruptly when he spots someone sitting at their usual table.

Noctis sits up a little straighter when he feels Prompto’s gaze on him, slowly raising his hand in a little wave.

“Hey,” Prompto says, when he’s swinging his leg over the bench.

“Uh, hey. I hope you don’t mind me - shit dude, what happened?”

“Ignis tried to stab me,” Prompto explains as seriously as he can.

Noctis flounders for a second then blurts, “What?”

Prompto snorts.

“I was training with Ignis while Gladio did something then Gladio came back, called my name and, being a dummy, I stopped paying attention turned to Gladio and -”

Prompto makes a chopping motion with one hand into his other palm.

“Ignis was using his training knives right?” Noctis asks.

Prompto nods, “Yeah but he fully expected me to dodge so I’m probably gonna have a hell of a bruise in the morning.”

“Can’t you just use a potion?” Noctis says. He looks very worried, almost to the point of fretfulness.

“No blood, no broken bones,” Prompto says, reminding him of the - very simplified - rules in place for injury treatment during training.

Noctis stares at him for a long time, his eyes focusing on the sling Ignis had insisted on putting his arm into after realising there was no way to simply patch him up. Prompto’s not too proud to admit that it hurts, really hurts, but he knows that the sling and a potion are both far too much fuss for what actually happened.

“And you’re sure this is better than stacking shelves?” Noctis asks.

Prompto laughs, really laughs so hard it makes his belly hurt.

“One hundred percent,” Prompto says, a little surprised by how much he means it, “Though no matter what I do I always have a muscle that aches somewhere.”

“You should talk to Gladio about that,” Noctis says, “He has really great hands for that kind of thing.”

Noctis blushes as soon as the words are out of his mouth. It takes Prompto a second for the insinuation to settle over him but when it does his own face warms too.

“So um,” Prompto starts, rubbing his chin nervously, “Do you want me to go tell Ignis and Gladio you’re here so they’ll bring you some food?”

“Okay first off, you don’t have to, like, do shit for me, I don’t expect it -”

“Sorry, I just -”

“And Gladio totally knows I’m here. He waved at me the second you started heading this way. So if I’m not delivered fries within the next three minutes I’ll have him put in the dungeons for treason,” Noctis says.

Prompto opens his mouth, closes it again, then manages to ask, “Do you really have a dungeon?”

“Sorry you’re not highly ranked enough yet for me to confirm nor deny such a claim.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Prompto laughs and only the way Noctis smiles stops him from panicking that he’s about to be thrown into the hypothetical dungeon.

“That can certainly be true,” Ignis says, “Though I have to wonder what he did this time.”

“Iggy,” Prompto says, a little breathless both from laughing and from the shock of their arrival. The lack of oxygen must be what makes him put his foot in his mouth twice in such a short period of time. Or maybe that's just something Noctis brings out in him. Prompto barrels on, hoping Ignis doesn’t notice the casual use of a nickname Prompto’s sure he doesn’t have the right to use.

“Does the Citadel have a dungeon?”

Ignis sets down his tray and Gladio slides another one beside it.

“You’re not high enough ranked to know that information yet,” Ignis says.

Ignis is smiling wide enough to show off some of his perfect teeth and something about it reassures Prompto enough to say, “Ugh, you’re both jerks. Gladio is my favourite.”

“Score,” Gladio says, holding up a hand which Prompto slaps his own palm against immediately.

“I guess I’ll just take these comic books back to my room then,” Noctis mumbles. He reaches onto the tray, tilting cups slightly until he finds one he likes the look of most.

“Wait what?” Prompto says, “I take it all back, I like you all the same.”

“Traitor,” Gladio tells him, settling on the other side of the table at Noct’s side, “That was my soda,” he tells the Prince, but simply reaches for one of the others and takes a drink of that instead.

Prompto feels a little like an outsider, like he’s watching something from another room.

Noctis holds up his hands, “So what is for me?”

Ignis hands out the plates, wraps with fries or chips and a little salad for everyone. The second tray holds an assortment of fruit cups and cookies and Ignis slaps the back of Noctis’ hand when he tries to grab for one.

“But Iggy there’s salad on this,” Noctis complains.

Ignis sighs, closing his eyes as though in pain.

“I will look away for approximately thirty seconds. If the salad disappears within that time how am I to know you didn’t eat it?”

Noctis shoots Prompto a desperate look and trying to stifle his own laughter he spins his plate around, pushing it closer to Noctis to try and avoid any overt spillages as he transfers the lightly dressed leaves over to Prompto.

“Come on, you normally eat the cucumber,” Gladio chastises.

Noctis huffs, but takes the veggies slices back again.

“Happy?” Noctis asks.

“You’re so spoiled,” Gladio answers. Prompto gets the impression Gladio is rather happy about it.

“I hope you take a really good multivitamin,” Prompto comments, spearing some of his extra lettuce on the end of his fork.

“He does,” Ignis puts in sounding devastated, “They’re gummies.”

“I hate swallowing pills,” Noctis defends himself, “Aren’t my pain meds enough?”

Prompto glances at Ignis just in time to see the adviser’s face soften, his eyes all tender consideration.

“I put extra hot relish in your wrap,” Gladio tells Prompto.

“Awesome, thanks,” Prompto tells him, throwing a chip into his mouth. It’s weird to have someone know enough what he likes to do it without asking. Prompto likes it.

Noctis picks up half his wrap then hesitates, looking at Prompto. Gladio nudges him gently with his elbow.

“So, uh - what do your friends think? About you doing this,” Noctis asks. He takes a huge bite as soon as he’s done, like he’s desperate to prevent any expectation of further words.

“I haven’t really told anyone,” Prompto admits, “I haven’t checked in with my foster parents for a bit. And I just gave my notice at work and Ignis did something so I didn’t have to work it.”

“A simple letter,” Ignis says, “Nothing more.”

“Wait so you haven’t told anyone?”

Prompto shrugs, “I don’t have anyone to tell.”

“But what about - you went to school right? So what about all your friends?” Noctis asks, setting his food down again.

“I kind of never made any,” Prompto admits, flushing, “There were people I talked to but I didn’t - don’t really have any friends.”

Noctis blinks at him.

“I’m a little offended,” Ignis says, “Gladio?”

“Same,” the Shield says, “No friends, what are we? Chopped liver?”

Prompto’s face burns brighter.

“So you play King’s Knight right? Ignis said you did,” Noctis says, switching gears. He tosses Ignis a wary look, half suspicious and half hurt.

“I do,” Prompto says, “But it’s so hard grinding solo.”

“Well - here,” Noctis says. He reaches into his pocket for his phone, almost fumbling it down into his food as he tries to pass it over to Prompto, “Give me your friend code. I mean - if you want to, that is.”

“Dude, yes,” Prompto says.

Prompto keys in the code and passes it back. At Noctis’ encouragement he pulls out his own phone so they can play one handed while they eat.

Gladio and Ignis talk quietly at their side, occasionally pulling them into the conversation. Once or twice the noise in the canteen swells and Noctis reaches over to tap his hand and get his attention in order to speak with him specifically.

Gladio stacks up the dirty plates and Ignis divvies out the cookies and fruit - plain sugar cookie and a fruit cup that’s all red for Noctis - and a sense of rightness settles over Prompto like a warm blanket.

He ends the meal with the little burning hope in his chest. The thought that perhaps now he has two friends.

And might very well be on his way to a third.

- - -

“We didn’t expect you to be this far along already,” Cor tells him, “Don’t make that face, it’s a good thing. Making us wonder if more people could get up to standard faster than we expect.”

“My blisters say that’s maybe a bad idea,” Prompto says.

Cor doesn’t laugh but he doesn’t glare either and Prompto chalks that up to a win.

“The next big thing we need to do is your magical affinity test,” Cor says.

“That’s the one where you set me on fire, right?”

Cor does laugh this time, just one single chuckle.

“Not me personally,” Cor says, “If you’re nervous I can let you pick the Glaive. Or we’ll get His Highness to do it. You two seem to finally be getting along.”

They are getting along. Extremely well - which means there must be some sense in the system Ignis put in place. Prompto hopes he feels vindicated.

There is a tiny part of Prompto waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him though. For Noctis to suddenly return to his old self, quiet and sheltered and unapproachable.

“I don’t mind,” Prompto says, though he’s not sure it’s true. “Pain is pain, right? No matter where it comes from.”

“There’s some truth in that,” Cor agrees, “I’ll try and get it scheduled in. Friday or early next week, okay?”

“Okay,” Prompto chirps, already dreading it.

- - -

“There’s nothing I can do to practice,” Prompto asks Ignis as they make their way down a hallway.

They’re further up in the Citadel than he normally goes, heading down a hallway even more luxurious and decorative than he’s already used to seeing. It’s lunch time, or thereabouts, and Prompto assumes they’re running a short errand before meeting up with Noctis and Gladio.

“You have an affinity or you don’t I’m afraid,” Ignis tells him, “There’s no way to study for a better result.”

“Shit,” Prompto mumbles.

Ignis stifles a short laugh.

“Where are we going?” Prompto finally asks.

“Ah, I’m quite sick of cafeteria food,” Ignis admits, “And today’s offerings are particularly substandard so I thought I’d cook for us all. I should have asked, I apologise”

“Don’t apologise,” Prompto insists, “I wondered when I’d get to eat your food again.”

“I promised Noct I’d make one of his favourites,” Ignis says, “So I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Prompto says.

“No dessicated coconut, I promise,” Ignis says.

“Aw, Iggy you remembered,” Prompto says.

He keeps dropping the nickname completely by accident, but Ignis doesn’t react again, only puts his hand on Prompto’s back to steer him the right direction when the hallway forks.

They’re friends now, Prompto reminds himself, but he’s not sure of the protocol here. Is he supposed to ask first? Wait for them to offer something similar and start returning in kind? Prompto’s never had a nickname before - not a nice one anyway - and he feels completely lost at sea.

“Of course I remembered,” Ignis says. There are two guards standing outside a door about halfway down the hallway, and Ignis nods to them as they pass through into a suite.

“Oh,” Prompto breathes, “This is Noctis’ room?”

Ignis hums in agreement, “High time you learnt where it was.”

“Noctis doesn’t mind -”

“Prompto, you’re here!”

“- does he?”

“I rather think not,” Ignis teases.

“Think not what?” Noctis asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Ignis says, “Has Gladio arrived yet?”

“Wasn’t he with you guys?” Noctis asks.

“I’m going to start making lunch,” Ignis tells them, “Noct, remember, you are to be reassuring.”

Noctis rolls his eyes as Ignis makes his way further into the apartment, “Yeah, yeah.”

“What’s going on?” Prompto asks.

“I’m meant to be answering your questions about getting set on fire tomorrow,” Noctis tells him with a little grin. Prompto thinks it’s super cool that someone told Noctis that’s how he’s been talking about it, super cool.

Prompto pulls his hand through his hair, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah well,” Noctis says, dropping his voice low, “I can’t really, seeing as I never went through one myself.”

“So what are we -”

“Come on,” Noctis says urgently.

He reaches for Prompto’s wrist, fingers catching on his wrist band, dislodging it just enough that pure panic shoots down Prompto’s spine and he jerks his arm back.

Noctis can never see.

Ignis and Gladio can never see.

This would all vanish - disappear in the blink of an eye if they knew and -

And it means too much to him now.

Prompto doesn’t know when this became something he wanted over something he was simply trying.

When it turned from a simple curiosity to a need.

Prompto flutters his hand over the wristband, twisting it back into place and reminding himself how to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says, sounding a little desperate, “I don’t know what - dude, I’m so sorry -”

“It’s fine!” Prompto says loudly - too loudly, “I’m sorry, you just startled me.”

Prompto blinks and takes in Noctis, standing close, breathing oddly heavily and looking like someone just slapped him.

“Are you sure?” Noctis says, “I didn’t know that - I shouldn’t have just grabbed you.”

“It’s cool,” Prompto insists. He exhales roughly, and asks, “What did you want to show me?”

Noctis takes a halting step back and makes a valiant attempt at a smile.

“Ignis mentioned you’d never seen all the single issue Astrals comics…did you want to -”

“Yes,” Prompto says, “Please.”

Noctis has laid them out all across his gargantuan bed, covering it almost from one side to another.

“I have second runs of issues one through twelve,” Noctis tells him, sounding regretful, “But everything else is first prints.”

“Nice,” Prompto breathes, “Wow they all look so - wow.”

Noctis laughs, the noise petering out slowly.

“Hey about tomorrow…”

“Hmm?” Prompto says.

“If you want me or Ignis to do it, we can, if that’ll make it easier on you,” Noctis offers.

“It’s okay,” Prompto murmurs, “I’ll be fine. Nyx is free to do it and Cor says pulling the pure magic takes a lot out of Ignis.”

“Yeah but he wouldn’t mind - not for you,” Noctis assures him.

Noctis touches his shoulder at the exact moment Prompto shrugs and the prince retracts his hand so fast it makes an audible noise where it slaps against his side.

Prompto’s insides squirm uncomfortably. He keeps fucking up today.

“It wouldn't be difficult for me,” Noctis says.

But from the way Prompto’s had it - magic - explained to him he doesn’t think that’s entirely true.

Prompto has so little grasp on the way the magic works, on how different people can call on it, control it or resist it. He doesn’t understand how one person might simply be able to carry weapons while another can call forth burning flames or press palms to flesh to take away pain.

What Prompto does know is that the magic helps Noctis, that it stops his bad days from being unbearable and there’s not any part of Prompto willing to take even an ounce of that magic away from Noctis just to save himself an extra momentary blip of pain.

“Nyx is already booked in,” Prompto tells him, “I think he’s looking forward to it. Weirdo.”

“He’s such an asshole,” Noctis complains fondly.

- - -

Prompto’s test lasts all of three minutes from start to finish.

A painful three minutes that knocks him flat on his ass then shocks him unconscious.

“So it’s bad,” Gladio surmises.

He rubs circles on Prompto’s back with the flat of his palm and a moment later Ignis kneels on the ground to press a steaming cup of tea into Prompto’s grasp.

Ignis’ face is creased, a little notch between his eyebrows and a line at the edge of his downturned mouth.

This is bad.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto murmurs. He takes a swig of the too hot tea and it burns all the way down. It hurts less than the magic had done though.

Flames had licked up his arms and they’d looked real, the pain had been real but there’s no marks left behind, no flesh turned shiny and pink. There’s no pain now but for the phantom memory of it aching with every flex of his fingers around the hot mug.

“Nothing you can do about it,” Gladio rumbles, still stroking Prompto’s back, “It is what it is.”

Prompto can’t place his tone, can’t work out what he’s thinking.

They must be disappointed. He’s disappointed.

Prompto hadn’t been expecting much but he’d wanted more than this - more than nothing.

He takes another gulp of his tea, still too hot and making his chest uncomfortably warm as he swallows.

What a let down, Prompto thinks, what a total failure.

“I have to go,” Prompto says, surprising even himself.

Gladio retracts his hand and Ignis leans away from him.

“It’s almost lunch time,” Ignis says, “You should eat, that would have been -”

“I’m not hungry,” Prompto says. If he eats he’ll be sick, for sure.

Ignis puts his hand on Prompto’s knee, “I know it must feel like that but it’s imperative that you eat. This takes a lot out of you and you won’t start to feel better until -”

“Later,” Prompto says. He stands up and awkwardly hesitates with the mug still in his hands. Ignis takes it from him and Prompto realises his hands are shaking.

“Prom,” Gladio says, “Come on -”

Prompto steps around Ignis still kneeling on the ground.

“I’ll be back for this afternoon's training,” Prompto promises.

“I’m not worried about that - Prompto, come back!”

Prompto doesn’t turn back and no one seems to follow him. He walks almost blindly, getting half lost until he eventually walks through a door that puts him in one of the gardens. It’s hidden from the city by a tall thick wall but full of sunlight and grass and trees.

Bypassing a bench he abandons the path, padding out onto the grass and ducking between some low hanging branches - a willow he thinks - letting them close behind to act as a curtain between him and the world.

The leaves are thick, limited light filtering through and the smell of slightly damp earth is rich in his little haven.

He sinks straight onto the dirt, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him up.

He failed.

Prompto actually failed.

Prompto bends his knees, drags them towards his chest and drops his forehead onto them.

Is it over? What will he do now? What will Ignis do now?

He’s finally been making progress with Noctis, finally feeling like he was part of the group rather than being an almost useless add on to an already perfect machine.

Why couldn’t he just have been better at this? Why couldn’t he have just had this one thing?

Gods couldn’t the mark on his wrist meant something good, meant that whatever had happened to him before he got to Insomnia made him good for something.

What if that’s what made him so bad.

“How did you find my hiding spot?”

Prompto sits up in shock, aware there’s wetness gathered on his bottom lashes and when he blinks it transfers to his cheeks.

“Noct,” Prompto blurts.

“Dude,” Noctis says smiling, “You finally learnt my name.”

“I’m sorry!”

Noctis laughs, shaking his head and comes further in, the branches rustling as they settle behind him. He’s using his cane, leaning heavily into it as he moves.

So at least Prompto was validated in that way. At least he prevented some extra discomfort from occurring today.

Noctis lowers himself down onto the ground in front of him, groaning as he shifts his right leg into a more comfortable position.

“We can go sit on the bench,” Prompto says, “Come on, let’s -”

“Stop worrying,” Noctis says, “I prefer it under here. I’m fine, my joints are just a little stiff because it rained overnight. And, to reiterate, you should call me Noct more. It’s what I prefer.”

“I just didn’t think I should because you hated me for so long,” Prompto says in a rush.

“I never -”

“Don’t say you didn’t hate me. You despised me,” Prompto says, “It was so easy to tell.”

Noctis sighs, “Okay but I was young and stupid and you shouldn’t hold that against me.”

“It was like a week ago.”

“And I’m older now,” Noctis says - deadly serious.

Prompto snorts.

“Knock, knock,” says a familiar voice from behind the natural curtain. Nyx.

“That was fast,” Noctis says.

Nyx pushes his way inside, a large, well packed brown paper bag with a familiar logo emblazoned on it in one hand, the other clutching a tray of takeaway cups.

“I figured it was the least I could do considering I made him pass out,” Nyx says, “I sort of warped there and back.”

“Of course you did,” Noctis mutters.

“Worked didn’t it?” Nyx says. He places the bag down beside Noct’s knee, “I don’t know what milkshake you like best so I got all four flavours and I’ll feed the ones you don’t like to hungry Glaives.”

“Oh - I don’t mind,” Prompto says, completely unsure of what is happening.

Noctis grabs two cups seemingly at random and pushes the rest back towards Nyx.

“Thanks,” Noctis says, perhaps not quite sincerely enough for the task Nyx seems to have carried out for him.

“You’re welcome,” Nyx tells him before fixing his eyes on Prompto, “You feeling okay, kid?”

Prompto nods.

“Eat something,” Nyx advises.

“I feel a bit sick - “

“Eat and I promise that will go away,” Nyx assures him, “You know I have to tell someone where you are, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis mumbles.

Nyx waves and disappears again in another rustle of branches.

“So I ordered a butt tonne of fries,” Noctis says, ripping into the bag, literally, “And Kenny's does the best chicken strips in the city so I also ordered a smaller butt load of those. You want the spicy ones?”

“I - sure.”

Noctis picks up one of the cardboard containers and opens it up. He sniffs it and wrinkles his nose, passing it along to Prompto who takes it with a hand that feels almost too numb to work.

“Noctis - Noct,” Prompto starts.

“Hmm?” he responds, still distracted by the food. He pours a portion of fries into the lid of Prompto’s container.

“Why are you doing this?” Prompto asks.

“You had a shitty day,” Noctis says simply, looking up to catch Prompto’s gaze, “I wanted to try and make you feel better.”

Prompto picks up a chicken strip and bites one third of it clean away. It’s delicious and swallowing it doesn’t actually make Prompto feel like he’s in imminent danger of upchucking all over the prince like he'd assumed it would.

“I don’t think I’ll feel better unless there’s a way to make me actually better,” Prompto mumbles.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Noctis says, attempting to wave his concerns away with a chicken strip, “This is entirely unimportant.”

“That’s easy for you to say -”

“Because I know it’s the truth.”

“But I need to be able to wield magic to be in your retinue,” Prompto reminds him, “How else will I get my weapon?”

Noctis rolls his eyes and drops the food in his hands, hastily wiping the grease off against his shirt.

“No one has ever not had enough magic to access armiger,” Noctis says, “Put out your hands and I’ll show you.”

“What?”

“Prompto,” Noctis sings, wiggling his fingers, “I’m waiting here.”

Prompto copies Noctis, wiping his hands on his clothes as quickly as he can before lowering his hands directly into Noctis’ palms.

“I don’t understand what we’re doing,” Prompto admits.

Noctis bites his lip for a moment, the picture of concentration.

Finally he grits out, “Giving you access to my armiger.”

“What?” Prompto yells, “No, you can’t -”

Blue light wraps around their joined hands. It tingles a little, painless and soft and welcoming.

Chapter Text

Noctis doesn’t know how they got here - how he got here.

Two weeks ago, hell one week ago, he would never have thought he’d be throwing all the rules out the window for this - for Prompto.

It’s almost annoying how right Ignis was, how perfectly Prompto fits in.

How easy it is to talk to him, to talk and laugh and just exist.

Noctis wants to know more about him, wants to know everything about Prompto as fast as he possibly can. As soon as he let himself have just one little inch of contact Noctis just wanted to be with him all the time, to see him smile and make him laugh and talk about everything. Dumb shit and real shit and everything in between; why the middle parts of trilogies are always disappointing and how they were both so alone for so long and why Prompto is wrong and cats are infinitely better pets than dogs.

Prompto makes Noctis feel a lot of things all at once. But mostly he makes Noctis feel normal.

Noctis shoves a french fry into his mouth, tastes the salt bursting on his tongue and watches as Prompto half picks the breading off some chicken - he’s clearly overthinking shit again - before taking a bite.

Noctis gets that he’s disappointed, completely understands that he wanted to do better but it doesn’t matter. He’s probably got no less affinity than Gladio, it’s just that Prompto is much less accustomed to that kind of pain.

“But I need to be able to wield magic to be in your retinue,” Prompto says miserably, “How else would I get my weapon?”

Noctis rolls his eyes. Did no one teach Prompto anything?

“No one has ever not had enough magic to access armiger,” Noctis tells him, wiping his hands on his belly to get rid of the grease, “Put out your hands and I’ll show you.”

“What?” Prompto says.

“Prompto, I’m waiting here,” Noctis teases, wiggling his fingers.

Prompto copies Noctis, hastily wiping his hands on his clothes before lowering his hands directly into Noctis’ palms. His hands are warm and soft and Noctis adjusts his hold on them so it’s more secure, less easy for Prompto to snatch them back again.

Prompto fidgets and says, “I don’t understand what we’re doing.”

Noctis can’t answer right away, too busy drawing his magic up in this particular way. There’s no way to make this easier, no way to practice it. The ease of the transfer depends on the strength of the bond, the loyalty between Noctis and whoever he’s gifting it to.

To his surprise it comes easy, after the first initial tug. There's a little nudge, letting it know it’s needed as it builds up inside him, bubbling, excited, ready to welcome Prompto in – to make a home inside Prompto too.

“Giving you access to my armiger,” Noctis says roughly, letting the magic spill out and into Prompto.

“What?” Prompto yells, “No, you can’t -”

He cuts off as the magic becomes visible, the familiar blue of Noctis’ armiger wrapping around their joined hands.

Prompto doesn’t make any noise, not even as Noctis feels the power take hold. Linking them together.

Noctis draws back his magic, the colour fading around where they’re still holding hands. Prompto’s trembling a little.

“That didn’t hurt,” Prompto says in wonder. He pulls his hands back and Noctis reluctantly lets him go.

“Of course it didn’t,” Noctis says, almost offended, “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” Not if he can help it. Not without warning him first at least.

Prompto looks up at him, a pretty blush spreading across his cheeks. He’s cute, Noctis thinks, so fucking cute it almost hurts.

He swore he’d never let himself feel anything like that again not when he couldn’t -

It’s just friendship, he tells himself, just the overwhelming feeling of making a connection faster and easier than he ever has before. It’s not that, it can’t be that, not when it took so long with Ignis and Gladio and he’s only just coming to terms with the idea of Prompto as a person.

“Noct, I -”

“Well you waited longer than I did, at least.”

“Dad!” Noct cries in shock, demanding, “What are you doing here?”

“Glaive Ulric told me where you’d run off to,” Dad explains

Noctis sighs, “I thought he’d tell Iggy.”

“I think he’s heading that way, too,” Dad says.

“Your Majesty,” Prompto gasps, “I’m so -”

Dad holds up his palms and Prompto falls silent.

“Please, Prompto. You may simply call me Regis.”

Prompto immediately turns a yellowish kind of white that tells Noctis that will never happen, not even once. Dad’s been saying it to Ignis for years and the most informality Ignis has managed is dropping his proper honorific for the more subtle Sire.

“What did you mean?” Noctis barrels on, to protect Prompto from being harassed by dad's probing questions, “About waiting longer than you?”

“Should we stand?” Prompto whispers, “I feel like we should stand.”

Dad laughs outright but Noct catches Prompto’s eyes and shakes his head, wordlessly trying to reassure him. Yes, his dad is the King of Lucis but he’s also a giant nerd that dislikes titles and protocol almost as much as Noctis does.

He’s also embarrassing.

“I linked Clarus to my armiger when I was fifteen,” Dad explains, “The day I got it.”

“What the fuck,” Noct exclaims . He grabs some more food while it’s still hot, dunking one of the strips into ketchup before transferring it to his mouth and taking what is definitely too large a bite to take mid conversation.

“Language,” Dad sighs, “And manners, please.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Noctis says, mouth still half full just to irritate his Dad. Noctis will consider it payback for interrupting his time with Prompto, “If you try to reprimand me now – I mean what would you even do ground me? big deal - then you’re a hypocrite.”

“I’d known Clarus for fifteen years,” Dad reminds him, “You’ve been speaking to Prompto for about that many days.”

Noctis huffs and Prompto finally gives a short laugh, immediately stopping and chewing on his lip when Noct and his father turn to look at him.

“I’m happy for you,” Dad says.

Noct looks up at him in surprise.

“Huh?”

“I’m happy that you wanted to do this,” Dad clarifies, “Though I wish you’d cleared it with someone first.”

Noctis feels heat in his cheeks and looks away again.

If he could deflect without potentially hurting Prompto’s feelings he would. But saying I don’t know what the big deal is counts as a lie and runs the risk of making Prompto think this wasn’t a big deal.

It’s a very big deal. To the Crownsguard, to the Crown.

To Noct.

He doesn’t think he would have been compelled to do something like this for anyone else.

“Noctis.”

“There’s Iggy,” Prompto says, half anxious, half relieved.

“I’ll leave you to him,” Dad says, offering Prompto a shallow bow, “It was lovely to meet you, Prompto. Welcome to the Crownsguard.”

“Thank you, Your - Sir, Majesty. Sir.”

Dad chuckles, “I’ll try to convince him to take it easy on you.”

“Good luck,” Noct mutters, finishing off the food in his hand.

“Dude,” Prompto says quietly as Dad leaves again in a rustle of branches, “I told you we’d get in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble,” Noctis says, “And Iggy’s never been mad at me for longer than five minutes.”

“I don’t believe that,” Prompto says with a nervous laugh.

“Okay, maybe seven minutes,” Noct says, “If what I did was really bad.”

Prompto snorts and raises his hands slightly off his knees, flexing his hands.

“How do you feel?” Noct asks.

“Fine,” Prompto says, “Good. Normal. I thought I’d feel magic but. I just feel the same.”

Noctis sighs with relief, “That’s how it should be. Try and summon something.”

“What.”

“I don’t think I have any guns in there right now,” Noct says, squinting as he tries to sort through the contents, but there’s - “Huh - Gladio must have put a football in there. Try that.”

“I meant 'what do you mean I should try summoning something now' not 'what should I summon',” Prompto says, sounding borderline hysterical.

“You can practice summoning tomorrow,” Gladio says, pulling the branches aside to let Ignis slip under then following behind him.

“Hey Iggy -” Noctis starts casually but Ignis looks him straight on and holds up one finger.

“No,” he says flatly.

“What?”

Turning to face Prompto, Ignis asks in a much kinder tone, “Are you feeling alright now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Prompto squeaks.

“Gladio’s going to drive you home,” Ignis says, “If that’s okay.”

“I can stay for training,” Prompto insists.

Gladio chimes in, “You should get some rest.”

“If you’re sure,” Prompto hedges.

“I was gonna take you for lunch, but Charmless beat me to it.”

“You suck,” Noctis complains, “You know he needed to eat as soon as possible.”

“Maybe we can go for dessert instead,” Gladio goes on, ignoring Noct.

“Yeah,” Prompto says, “That sounds nice.”

“Up you get short stuff,” Gladio says, offering his hand.

Prompto makes a face at the nickname but takes Gladio’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Gladio pats Prompto’s shoulder when he’s upright, almost kind of hugging him and Noctis feels a pang of something akin to jealousy remembering all the times he’d awkwardly reached out and Prompto had seemed to pull away.

“If you need tomorrow too -”

“I’ll be fine, Iggy,” Prompto says, “But I promise I’ll call.”

Ignis offers Prompto a smile and reaches out to squeeze his arm as he passes by. Gladio does properly wrap his arm over Prompto’s shoulders as they walk, listening attentively as Prompto starts chattering away at a simple nudge.

“Noctis,” Ignis says seriously, “Stand up, please.”

Noctis sighs and starts to rise.

“Do you need help?”

“I’m okay,” Noctis reassures, pleased that he’s at least not so mad he would let Noctis struggle.

Ignis reaches to brush a few stray leaves off his jeans and Noctis preens a little under the attention.

“Go on,” Noctis sighs, “Lay it on me.”

Ignis drags him into a hug.

“Oh,” Noctis says, wrapping his arms around Ignis’ waist, “Huh.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Ignis murmurs.

“What do you mean?”

“For trying and being open and trusting someone,” Ignis explains, “Thank you.”

“Well you and the computer said we were compatible,” Noctis mumbles.

Ignis squeezes him tighter and something brushes against the top of his head. Lips, Noct thinks, a kiss.

“You know you do have to face consequences,” Ignis says.

Noctis snorts and presses his forehead against Ignis’ throat.

“Figures.”

“Only so when people find out - and they will find out soon rather than later because the Citadel is a horrendous gossip pit as you know,” Ignis pauses to take a deep breath, “So when they find out we can prove you feel suitably chastised and remorseful for your rash actions.”

“Weirdly I don’t feel either of those things right now,” Noctis teases.

“Good,” Ignis says, giving him another squeeze, “That was my intention.”

- - -

Noct spends an entire week doing nothing but attending council meetings. Visible and present and engaging.

He’s bored and exhausted.

He only sees Prompto for about twelve minutes in total and only gets to see Gladio for longer because his Shield has more confidence to just stroll into Noct’s room at the end of the day to see him.

Noctis refuses to entertain the idea that Prompto doesn’t want to see him.

Prompto’s still only been up that one time and Noctis doesn’t know if it’s because he didn’t like being there or because he simply doesn’t understand the open invitation extends to him too.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Noct asks Ignis, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He’s still in his pyjamas, grey plaid cotton pants and a ratty black t-shirt that belonged to Gladio back when he was sixteen. Noct’s pretty sure it made its way into his own wardrobe via Ignis' but it was so long ago now he can hardly remember or work it out.

He thinks it was back when they almost -

The first time Ignis had lent in close and Gladio had teased get on with it already.

Before everything had fallen apart again.

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks in response.

“Fine. Bored. No more transport meetings, I beg you.”

“Up for training? Gladio would like to do some partner exercises with you and Prompto.”

“Yes!” Noctis says eagerly and Ignis buries a smile behind a coffee cup, “Yes, I’m up for that.”

“Breakfast first,” Ignis says and Noctis wolfs down his eggs.

-

“Why are you wearing that?” Noct asks Prompto, pointing at the holster strapped to his thigh.

“So I can get used to the weight of a - hey, yeah. Why am I wearing a holster? I was never gonna need it in the long run,” Prompto says, rounding on Gladio.

Over the top of Noctis’ and Prompto’s heads the other two share a look. Noctis is pretty sure it has something to do with him.

“Words, please,” Noctis snaps.

“We weren’t sure you’d ever get access to the armiger,” Ignis says carefully.

Prompto blushes and Noctis feels heat in his own chest, burning shame for how he had acted before.

“You thought I might not finish training,” Prompto says, like it’s a fact.

“No,” Noctis says mulishly, “Because they thought I’d stay stubborn forever.”

“The latter,” Ignis says, “Yes.”

“Oh,” Prompto murmurs, “Well it’s handy right now anyway, because I’m struggling to summon anything. Are you sure magical affinity has nothing to do with it?”

“Completely sure,” Noctis says, “I gave you all the magic you need to use it.”

“I think you expect not to be able to do it and thus struggle to do so,” Ignis says, “A little more confidence and a little more practice is all you need.”

Prompto looks the opposite of convinced. He glances at all of them, double taking when he notices Ignis is in his training top and fitness leggings.

Valid. Noctis has been looking too.

“Are you staying too, Iggy?” Prompto asks.

“Yes, though as we’ve all trained together before we’ll focus on getting you and Noctis in sync,” Ignis explains.

Prompto raises a fist toward him and Noctis bumps their knuckles together.

“You fight completely differently,” Gladio says, “Noctis up close and you, Prompto, from range.”

“So we’re not really fighting together,” Prompto muses.

“It’s about supporting each other,” Gladio says, “If we’re fighting several things at once and Noct is fighting something head on you’ll need to keep an eye on his flanks to make sure he doesn’t get overwhelmed.”

Prompto nods, face so intense it makes Noctis laugh.

“Dude, it’s not that serious,” Noctis says.

“Yes it is,” the other three echo in unison.

Noctis rolls his eyes.

“Okay but can we at least pretend it’s fun?” Noctis asks.

Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose, “You understand that an activity can be both serious and fun, don’t you?”

“Sounds fake,” Noctis responds. Prompto giggles. Noctis feels his belly flop like the first time Gladio ever put his hand on his thigh.

Gladio sighs and shoves Noct lightly in the shoulder to get his attention.

“No showing off,” his shield warns.

“As if I would,” Noctis snaps.

Noctis heeds that warning for maybe half an hour.

But around the same time Ignis backflips around his lance and Gladio boosts Ignis into the air with just one hand Noctis gets the urge to say hey I'm cool too. Metaphorically.

Prompto’s fast, and he manages to plink a little rubber bullet into every single target Gladio calls out to him. He hesitates over shooting Gladio directly, no matter how much all three of them reassure him the impacts barely hurt. Prompto picks things up fast, Noctis realises, but has fairly obvious weaknesses. Gladio manages to knock him down easily whenever Prompto gets caught close but Prompto simply pauses with a disappointed look for all of three seconds then pops back to his feet, ready and eager to go again. Ready to improve.

Gladio corners Noct against a wall and when the big guy grunts softly - presumably hit by one of Prompto’s bullets - Noctis seizes the opportunity to throw his sword through the gap under his arm so it pops out of the world with a crack of blue sparks and reappears wedged right at the top of the high walls.

“Noct,” Gladio snaps, and Noctis ignores him, pulling on his magic to follow after his blade, laughing and kicking his legs playfully against the wall where he hangs.

“That’s cheating,” Prompto shouts with something of a victorious laugh.

“You should shoot him down,” Ignis adds.

Noctis grins triumphantly, Prompto would never.

Noct means to pull the sword free, to quickly toss it to the ground and warp back to safety.

Instead he makes a stupid dumb mistake he hasn’t made since he was twelve.

He vanishes the blade, dismisses it back into his armiger and Noct is so stunned, can’t think quickly enough, act quickly enough to stop his inevitable crash into the ground.

“Noct,” Ignis yells, “Noctis.”

It’s misery. Misery and pain that shoots up and down from his hip, seizing his back and twisting his leg almost too far.

Noctis is pretty sure he makes a noise, thinks he might even howl with the intensity of it all.

“What can I do?” Prompto says, panic pushing his voice into a pitch Noct’s never heard before.

“Easy,” Gladio says, “We need to see what’s happened first.”

A hand touches his shoulder and Noctis flinches away from it, curling tighter into himself against the ground. Another dumb mistake. The hand didn’t hurt but moving does and Noct’s only aware that he’s crying when the sob leaves him as a rough gasp.

“Is this a potion appropriate time?” Prompto whispers.

“It won’t help if it’s his old injury,” Ignis explains calmly. “Noct,” he says, “Noct can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Noct moans, sniffling pitifully.

It hurts so much.

How could he have been so stupid.

He’d just had so many good days in a row. He’d almost forgotten.

“We need to move you to the infirmary,” Ignis goes on, “Do you think it’s safe for Gladio to lift you or do we need to collect a gurney.”

Gladio, he thinks, Gladio, yes. He won’t make it worse, he’ll help - make it go away.

Noctis sneaks his hand across the floor and Gladio’s hand meets it at once, warm and large and familiar.

“Be careful with him,” Ignis warns.

“Like I’d do anything else,” Gladio mutters.

“Prompto,” Ignis says, “Would you run ahead and let them -”

“No,” Noctis spits.

No.

He’d almost forgotten Prompto was here, that Prompto was seeing him like this.

Noct never wanted that, never wanted Prompto to think he’s anything but strong and capable - whole.

“Go away,” Noctis mutters.

“Noct,” Gladio says, squeezing his hand.

“I want Prompto to go away. I - he’s not welcome. Go away.”

“Noct, darling. You don’t mean -”

“Go. Away,” he spits.

There’s a shuffle and a whisper he can’t work out.

Then Gladio whispers, “Prom…”

“It’s fine,” Prompto says but his voice is odd, “I’ll go warn the hospital and be gone before you guys get there.”

“Prompto -” Ignis starts but the next thing Noctis hears is the door swinging shut.

“I’m gonna move you,” Gladio warns after a too long pause, “You tell me if something hurts too much.”

-

“How long for?” Dad asks the doctor even as he pushes back Noct’s hair.

He hurts less now, but the lingering embarrassment and fresh ache in his knee stings worse than the needle in the back of his hand.

“He’ll need to be in bed for a few days then exclusively use his wheelchair to get around for at least a week,” the doctor says, “We’ll monitor closely.”

“Thank you,” Dad says.

Noctis doesn’t look up but there’s a few footsteps then the door opens and closes. He just hears the start of Ignis’ voice before it’s blocked out again. Dad leans down to kiss his forehead and Noct doesn’t jerk away like he might if he was feeling better.

“That wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Dad says, trying for a lightness Noctis finds impossible to feel.

Noctis blinks, tries to act like his eyes haven’t been perpetually damp all afternoon.

“Why isn’t Prompto in the waiting room?”

Noctis bites his lip then admits, “I sent him away.”

Dad brushes back his hair again.

“I didn’t want him to see me like this,” Noctis answers the unspoken question.

“Oh, Noctis. You say that like there’s something wrong with you,” Dad says gently.

“Well there is, isn’t there?”

“No,” Dad says firmly, “Nothing at all.”

“You can’t say that,” Noctis mumbles, “You can’t say things wouldn’t be easier if I’d never gotten hurt or I’d recovered better or -”

“Or you’d been born with wings.”

“Dad,” Noctis complains, almost laughing despite himself, “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“Perhaps not,” Dad says, “But it doesn’t change the material facts. You are a wonderful man that has continuously pushed onward in the face of adversity. I am always proud of you and nothing about the remnants of what happened to you as a child will ever do anything to change that.”

Noct sniffs and averts his eyes again.

“Will you make them let me go back to my room?” Noctis asks him.

“Ignis will have to stay the night to monitor your IV,” Dad warns him.

“He threatened to spend the night here anyway,” Noct says. Noctis probably wouldn't have fought against it either, even if he had the strength.

Dad touches his hair again, more of a tender ruffle this time and promises, “I’ll get everything arranged.”

-

“You should message Prompto,” Gladio tells him, prohibiting further talk by loudly fluffing a pillow between his large hands.

Noctis should. But he’s frightened all over again, worried over what he did, horrified by how he spoke to Prompto.

Scared of what Prompto must think of him.

“Tomorrow,” Noctis says, leaning forward so Gladio can tuck the pillow behind him.

“It’ll only be harder the longer you leave it,” Ignis tells him.

That’s true, Noct thinks, he can’t imagine this is one of those it’ll be better in the morning situations.

“In a little while then,” Noctis agrees. Ignis hesitates and stoops to brush a terribly brief kiss onto his forehead.

“What do you need?” Ignis asks.

“I can drag the TV in from the living room,” Gladio offers, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m good,” Noctis says, “I have comics and my phone. I’ll fall asleep before I get bored.”

Gladio laughs, “That sounds about right.”

“We’ll be right outside,” Ignis says, “Unless you want us to stay for a while.”

“Go watch a movie or something,” Noctis instructs, “Seriously, I’m bad company right now.”

“Holler if you need something,” Gladio tells him and they shuffle out of the room.

Noctis lays there for a long moment, staring up at his pristine ceiling. Early evening sun casts a shaft of light across his dark carpet. His chest aches and he starts to wonder if he was too hasty in sending Ignis and Gladio away.

He reaches for his phone, opens King’s Knight and immediately closes it again.

Until now he’s not messaged Prompto much. Usually just the where are you and be there in a minute variety. It’s not that he hasn’t wanted to, he's just not how to start, isn’t used to wanting to talk to anyone but the people currently in the next room.

Noctis thumbs open the messenger app and taps on the generic chocobo picture he’d set for Prompto’s contact as a placeholder.

[Noct 17:33] hey

Prompto texts back gratifyingly fast.

[Prompto 17:34] hey! how are you feeling?

[Noct 17:36] lousy, but ill get better

[Prompto 17:37] are you still in the hospital?

[Noct 17:39] nah. on bed rest for a few days but in my room. probably in my chair for a while though

[Prompto 17:40] could be worse right?

[Prompto 17:41] sorry that was probably really insensitive.

[Noct 17:43] nah. youre right. could be worse

[Prompto 17:45] we’ll come up and eat lunch with you tomorrow! are you fully stocked on mac and cheese? do I need to make some or will iggy let you indulge?

[Noct 17:46] gods YOU picked out that decent brand, didn’t you?

[Prompto 17:47] (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

[Noct 17:48] that shit is basically artisan. how often do you eat it?

[Prompto 17:49] almost never? dude that shit is too expensive for me

[Noct 17:50] …. do we need to …. pay you more?

[Prompto 17:51] oh

[Prompto 17:51] my

[Prompto 17:51] gods

[Prompto 17:52] i keep forgetting i’ve had a change in paycheck.

[Noct 17:53] buy yourself that good shit, you deserve it

[Prompto 17:54] i will!

There’s a momentary lapse in messages, where Noct can’t think what to say next and scrambles for how to turn the conversation onto something that might continue for a long while.

Then -

[Prompto 17:58] are you totally bored already?

[Noct 17:59] it’s not so bad

[Noct 18:00] got comics. got you to talk to

Noctis almost immediately regrets sending that last part.

[Prompto 18:02] what are you reading?

[Noct 18:03] thinking of restarting free infinity

[Prompto 18:04] you know I’ve never read them

[Noct 18:05] ……..

[Noct 18:05] WHAT

[Prompto 18:07] LOOK. the store just never seemed to have issue 1 when I was looking to buy it.

[Noct 18:08] youre borrowing mine. no argument

[Prompto 18:09] (◕▽◕)

[Prompto 18:09] i’ll pick it up tomorrow!

[Noct 18:10] i put it in the armiger dummy

[Noct 18:11] look at a picture of the cover art if you cant get it

[Noct 18:12] visualising helps

[Noct 18:14] prom

[Noct 18:15] …. prompto?

[Prompto 18:16] I DID IT

[Prompto 18:16] [Image_16873.jpg]

[Noct 18:17] nice. i didnt doubt you for a second

[Prompto 18:18] liar

An hour or so later Noctis falls asleep with his phone on his chest, feeling remarkably better than he thought he would that afternoon.

- - -

Noctis has a routine for a few days. Wake up in a bad mood, struggle through until everyone arrives for lunch then fail to stop the inevitable plummet of his mood back down to rock bottom as Ignis works away in the main room of his suite.

It’s nice that Ignis is close but frustrating that Noct doesn’t feel like he can reach out and draw him into conversation for fear of distracting him from his work. He doesn’t want to become even more of a nuisance and a burden than he already is.

On the third day Ignis unexpectedly leaves. He makes sure Noctis has drink and snacks, checks his phone is fully charged then pushes back Noct’s hair - that he’d embarrassingly helped wash that morning - and leaves in something of a rush.

It feels like he’s alone for hours but every time he glances at the clock he can see that only a few minutes have gone past.

He grinds for a little bit on King’s Knight then tries and fails to pay attention to a tattered, well loved comic that Prompto had left on his bedside after lunch.

Noctis regrets not letting Gladio drag the TV into his room.

When an hour has actually finally passed he hears the front door open and close.

“Ignis?” Noct calls.

Footsteps, fast and a little uneven make their way towards him before a short arrhythmic knock sounds on his door.

“Hey, buddy,” Prompto says, pushing the door open and stepping sheepishly inside.

“Prom,” Noct says in surprise, forcing himself a little more upright.

Prompto’s dressed down, jeans and an unfamiliar band t-shirt with a blue-grey flannel tossed over the top. He looks good.

His backpack is hanging off one shoulder and Noctis is surprisingly touched by the idea that Prompto took the time to come see him before heading home.

“What are you doing here?” Noctis asks.

“I’m here to spring you - if you feel up for it,” Prompto explains, “Where’s your chair?”

“It’s in the main room,” Noctis answers reflexively, “Hang on - what do you mean spring me?”

Looking somewhat sheepish, Prompto tells him, “I think it’s time you went to an arcade, man. You need it.”

“But I’m not allowed,” Noctis blurts.

Prompto shrugs and leaves the room again, returning less than a minute later walking backwards and dragging Noct’s wheelchair with him.

“You’re serious,” Noct says.

“As a heart attack,” Prompto responds, then, “Are you wearing pyjamas under there?”

He’s not actually, just a t-shirt and boxers. Noctis flushes and matching heat suffuses Prompto’s cheeks when he realises what it means.

“Uh, there are jeans in my closet, could you -”

“Sure thing,” Prompto says, immediately turning to it, “What are you feeling today? Black or black?”

Noct snorts, “I have one pair of blue jeans actually.”

“I think it would look really suspicious if you wore them though,” Prompto says, voice echoing slightly in Noct’s walk-in closet, “We’ll worry about making you incognito once we’re outside.”

Noct feels a thrill at the words.

Outside.

Not in a convoy of cars or surrounded by a net of bodyguards.

Freedom.

“How on Eos are we gonna get out?” Noct ponders and Prompto reappears with a pair of jeans and a plain hoodie. The denim is artfully ripped at the knees and came with an original price tag that would probably make Prompto sweat.

“This place has like eight thousand doors,” Prompto says simply, as though that is a full and masterful plan, “Do you need help or -”

“No, no I can do it,” Noctis hastens to assure him. Prompto turns his back politely and Noct feels compelled to explain, “The bed rest is more about me not making it worse than me being in too much pain to do anything.”

“Oh, good,” Prompto says, “I figured because Iggy said this was okay - “

“Ignis knows?”

Noctis throws back the covers and swings his legs over the side. Getting his legs into the narrow denim is not the easiest thing he’s ever done but he manages without being out of breath at the end.

“Kind of,” Prompto says, “Like I asked if theoretically you were well enough to go to the arcade and he said as long as you used your chair he didn’t see why not.”

“But you didn’t ask if we could go?”

“Ask for forgiveness not permission. Or however that goes,” Prompto laughs, “You decent?”

Noct closes the button fastening and says, “Good as I ever am.”

“So I figure that Ignis is so smart he knows exactly what my plan is and the fact he isn’t here to stop me is the same as him giving me the green light.”

“There’s a strange kind of logic there,” Noct laughs.

Prompto grabs the shoes Noctis has set by his bedroom door and brings them closer, watching as Noct slips them onto his feet.

“Hey, so maybe I can just use my cane -”

“No,” Prompto says firmly, “Come on. You know that just means you’ll be in the chair for longer overall.”

“But I can get around less noticeably -”

“In here maybe but honestly no one outside the Citadel knows you use a wheelchair anyway,” Prompto explains, “It’s actually an amazing cover.”

“Good for something I guess,” Noctis mumbles but he pushes himself off the bed and takes the two steps to his wheelchair.

“You ready to go?” Prompto asks him after giving Noct a minute to settle.

“Yeah - no. Wait, I got you something,” Noctis says, desperate to give him the gift that's been stashed away since the day before his accident.

Noctis hadn't wanted to give it to him with Gladio and Ignis here.

Prompto’s so surprised he actually takes a step back.

“You did?”

“Yeah though. I don’t know much about it and I went with what I read online so if it’s no good and you know a better one we can exchange it or whatever,” Noctis says quickly. He wheels himself back a little then yanks open one of his draws, rifling through t-shirts and pyjamas until he puts his hand on the sizable box he’d stashed last week.

“So I think the reason they don’t like your camera is because it’s digital and you could redistribute the pictureseasily or something, so I figure this will be okay. And if you, you know, just keep it here at the Citadel they can’t confiscate it from you anyway.”

Prompto shuffles forward and carefully takes the box - white with little in the way of flashy decoration. The words instant camera are printed in neat black letters along one side though with a group of complicated looking numbers and specs just beneath it.

“There’s like a thousand different brands,” Noctis goes on, nervous in the face of Prompto’s silence.

“I’m confused,” Prompto says.

“You seemed upset about not having your camera so I wanted to give you one you could use here,” Noctis explains, “Is it - is it okay?”

“This is expensive,” Prompto whispers. Noctis shrugs.

“Because it’s good? Right?”

“It’s amazing,” Prompto breathes. He turns and sets the box down onto Noctis’ bed before carefully opening the box.

Prompto doesn’t speak for a few minutes, busy pulling things out and attaching a strap and slotting in batteries with an almost attractive level of efficiency.

“I wonder how much charge they have,” Prompto mumbles as he turns around to face Noct, bringing the camera to his eyes, “Say cheese.”

“No - Prompto,” Noctis chides but he’s laughing, smiling even as Prompto gently pulls free the picture the camera prints.

“It’ll take a couple minutes,” Prompto explains, passing it over to Noct.

It’s just a grey square with a white border right now but Noct believes Prompto’s words.

“I haven’t used anything but my digital for years,” Prompto ponders.

“I’m sure you’ll be just as good at it with this,” Noctis says truthfully.

“You don’t know what my other photography looks like,” Prompto accuses, still smiling.

“Uh,” Noct says awkwardly, looking away, “Gladio showed me your photography, uh - thing.”

“My MooglePix?” Prompto clarifies

“That’s the one.”

“Damn,” Prompto sighs, “He could have at least showed you my proper blog.”

“Why don’t you show me,” Noctis suggests.

“I will. Later. We better go before Iggy gets back or we’ll be caught before we get anywhere.”

Noctis nods and begins to wheel himself out of the room, manoeuvring around a few of the things he’d tossed aside during his captivity. Prompto carefully packs the camera into his bag and follows. Just as they’re about to exit the suite completely Prompto touches his shoulder.

“So uh, do you mind if I push you - not the whole time. But I think me visibly helping you will pad up my super tight cover story of you having an appointment if one of the guards stops us.”

“I don’t think this is gonna work,” Noctis says honestly, “But sure. I suppose we can pretend you’re taking me for a check up or something.”

“Accompanying you,” Prompto corrects, “You’re not a package to be delivered somewhere, you’re a person.”

The guards outside his room barely look up as they exit but Prompto offers them a completely convincing casual wave anyway.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Noctis asks as the elevator doors hide them from view.

“Trust me,” Prompto says.

Noctis finds he does - and that the mere idea of this is enough to make him risk it anyway, even if it’s gonna blow up in their faces in the end.

And, somehow, it works.

“What the fuck?” Noctis whispers as Prompto scans his pass to open the gate that leads out of the staff entrance to the Citadel.

Prompto laughs.

“We have serious security issues,” Noctis says, pushing himself forward while Prompto hold the gate open.

“There is normally a guard here,” Prompto says, “Like usually I’m showing people my pass, not the little beepy dude.”

Noctis laughs, “Maybe they messed up the rotation or something.”

“Full disclosure: I’m very happy about it right now, but it does happen way too often, that’s how I knew this would be okay,” Prompto muses, “Let's get to the end of the street and I’ll give you your disguise.”

Noctis laughs until they stop moving.

It’s not the greatest disguise, just a hat and a soft, blue hoodie that Prompto hands over with a sheepish expression. Sometimes with this kind of thing less is more.

“It’s probably way too big but -”

“No,” Noct insists, taking it eagerly, “It looks comfy and I - I steal clothes from Gladio all the time, so…”

Prompto smiles at that, waits as Noct slips off his own and carefully folding it into his backpack for safe keeping. Noctis pulls Prompto's over his head and it's so comfortable; soft and obviously well loved, rich with the scent of generic detergent and something citrusy and sweet that might be Prompto’s shampoo.

Prompto snorts, “That’s so obviously mine.”

“We probably just look like boyfriends,” Noct blurts without thinking.

Silence falls between them, awkward and loud. Prompto clears his throat with a little cough then steps closer again to pull the hat over Noct’s hair.

“A whole new man,” Prompto says, “Or well - different enough from the three pictures of you they release a year that no one is even going to look twice at you.”

Noct laughs and bats Prompto’s fingers away to rearrange his ears more comfortably under the fabric.

He’s a little anxious - nervous and excited - and he tries not to let it show on his face.

“There’s an arcade just a few blocks away,” Prompto says, moving to his side and making no move to help push any more, “It’s not the best but you’ll get the authentic experience for sure.”

They come to a pedestrian crossing and Prompto presses the button at just the right time that the lights immediately shift to amber then red. The little green man isn’t up quite long enough for the two of them to make it across with ease but the car waiting doesn’t honk their horn or start to edge forward in frustration as Noct bumps himself up the low curb.

“Question,” Prompto says.

“Shoot.”

“How come you have such a basic chair - like, couldn’t you have a fancy solar-powered, turbo boosted thing.”

Noct snorts, “I could but I don’t want one. I don’t want to use this at all, most of the time, and not everyone is as privileged as me to be able to have something like that so if I don’t need it I don’t want one.”

“That makes sense,” Prompto says, “You’re really - like you’re really cool Noct, I don’t know if people tell you that enough.”

Noctis ducks his head, glad for the low light and hoping it hides his blush.

The streets are fairly quiet, cars drive past intermittently and they barely run into any pedestrians at all. The quiet helps Noctis settle a little, slows the way his heart has been pounding painfully against his ribs since the elevator hit the ground floor.

It’s not like he never leaves the Citadel. Sometimes he goes to the movies with Ignis and Gladio. He goes fishing semi-regularly and Ignis will take him to a comic book store when they have the time.

But he never goes out in his chair. He never goes out without careful planning. Without knowing that, even if he can’t see them, there’s a huge contingent of guards just watching him from a distance.

Noct’s never allowed to be spontaneous.

Noctis hears the arcade before he sees it but he stops his chair a ways before it, gaze fixed on a little food stand across the street, lit up by the bright lights spilling from the arcade.

“Hmm?” Prompto murmurs, stopping as soon as he realises Noct isn't moving. Noctis is suddenly more hungry than he’s ever been in his life.

Noctis tugs on Prompto's sleeve and points across to the stand.

“You wanna get taiyaki?”

Yes, he thinks, grimacing when he realises what he’s done.

“I didn't grab my wallet,” Noctis tells him, though he's not sure the little stand would even accept his debit card anyway. Swiping it during an unapproved excursion is probably a bad idea too. It probably flags up on a system somewhere every time he uses it.

Prompto scoffs, “Tonight is on me, obviously. What kind do you want?”

Noctis gets chocolate, obviously, teasing Prompto for eating beans on principle alone - the bean filling is actually something he secretly enjoys.

Ignis can never know.

They’d be eating bean stew three days a week.

Noctis’ order is ready first and he's too busy blowing on the outside, eager to sink his teeth into it to notice Prompto is rummaging in his bag until he hears the shutter on his camera.

“Prompto,” Noct complains over the whir of the picture sliding out of the camera.

“Don't you want a memory?” Prompto teases. Noctis notices he doesn't shake the image like people always do on TV, just holds it gently by the corner.

“Like I'll ever forget this,” Noct says honestly.

It makes Prompto go pink in the face and Noctis feels really proud of himself.

“Did you come here a lot?” Noctis asks as Prompto's handed his own food, “In High School?”

“A little,” Prompto says, “They’re not as fun alone.”

It still baffles Noctis that Prompto claims not to have any friends. He just doesn’t understand it.

Prompto’s so nice. He’s kind and funny and smart.

Noctis can’t imagine a world where people aren’t just flocking to be his friend.

They finish eating in companionable silence and when Noctis tries – and fails – to toss the trash into the can without wheeling closer Prompto makes fun of him the entire time he's picking it up for him. It should be annoying, being teased, but Noctis only laughs along with him.

“So uh - there’s a couple machines where we can sit but -”

“I can stand at the arcade machines,” Noct says, “I’ll be okay.” Noctis is pretty sure he can lean against them too, to take some of the weight off his hip and knee.

They hover in the entrance, the noise and the smell all so new to Noctis that he’s a little distracted, almost misses the way Prompto’s face pinches as he considers saying something and changes his mind.

“I trust you to know your limits,” Prompto says eventually.

Disappointingly, Noct hits his limit faster than he would like.

Prompto exchanges more of his money for tokens and Noctis feels bad even though Prompto is all easy smiles.

They try out an ancient Justice Monsters machine first and it is frustratingly but deliciously difficult. Their score is not even a quarter of anyone holding the top ten places but Noctis has never had so much fun winning as he does losing at Prompto's side.

Prompto ushers him into one of the seated racing games, hovering as Noctis slides into the little plastic seat. It's not super comfortable by any means but even Prompto complains about it when they stand so he figures it's a universal problem.

Noctis is better at this than Prompto, even if he does spin the digital car out and gets a game over before reaching the final lap.

He tries not to look tired as they stand shoulder to shoulder, smashing buttons frantically to try and outdo each other at games they're not quite familiar with. But when Prompto narrowly secures a third victory in a row he turns to Noctis looking so concerned it makes something in Noct’s chest squeeze tight.

Because of course he'd figure something was wrong rather than considering that he's just better than Noctis.

“Do you wanna go?” Prompto asks.

Noct shakes his head but lowers himself into his chair.

“I’m not ready to be done,” Noctis admits.

“We could get some food but, I warn you, it’s awful.”

Noctis shakes his head, “Can I just watch you play something?”

“Won’t that be boring?” Prompto asks.

“You’ve never watched Let's Plays on MoogTube?” Noctis retorts, knowing already that he has.

Prompto tilts his head, “Only every day. Come on then, I wanna see if I’m even better at Dead 4 Dayz now I have training with a real gun.”

Noctis doesn’t know if Prompto’s better but he’s definitely good. He comfortably slips onto the leader board in seventh place with what looks like almost no effort.

“Try again,” Noct says eagerly, “Bet you can get top five -”

Prompto’s phone ringing a cheerful little tune interrupts him.

“Uh oh,” Prompto murmurs, swiping his thumb across the screen and holding it to his ear, “Hey, Ignis.”

Noct winces and Prompto grimaces in return.

“Mhm, he’s with me - perfectly safe. We’re having fun - do you wanna talk to him? Uh, okay, yeah. Gladio doesn’t need to come get us, we're only a couple blocks away. Back in twenty minutes, I promise. Nah, the food here is bad so I - okay. Oh. Oh, no I didn’t realise it was that bad. I just thought because you - uh huh. Yeah, we’ll leave immediately. Okay, see you soon.”

Prompto hangs up the phone three shades paler than he was two minutes ago.

“How much trouble are we in?” Noct asks.

“What?” Prompto chokes out, “No, everything is fine. They just need us to come back.”

“It didn’t sound fine,” Noctis presses.

“I just - you know,” Prompto laughs, his usual brightness cut through with something close to hysteria, “I don’t like talking on the phone.”

Noctis can tell it’s a lie, or at least half of one, he thinks Prompto might be the worst liar he’s ever seen.

But he looks at Prompto’s face, the flat line of his mouth that’s almost trembling and can’t bear to make it worse by questioning him further.

“Let’s go then,” Noct says as easily as he can.

Prompto exhales, shoulders lowering from up around his ears, waiting for Noctis to turn his chair around before falling into step beside him.

Prompto doesn’t say anything, doesn’t start up a conversation or make a silly joke like he normally does and they’re almost back at the crosswalk when Noct’s so fed up with the silence that he forces himself to break it.

Reaching out he taps Prompto’s hand where it’s clenched at his side, “Don’t forget to show me your photography blog.”

“Right,” Prompto says, sounding a little startled. He fumbles his phone from his pocket and taps a code into it before pressing it into Noct’s hand and moving to push Noct’s chair so they can keep moving, “Um, it’s right there in the MooglePress app so you can just -”

“Hold on - why are so many of these apps just moogle-something?” Noctis asks him, staring at the little icons with a furrowed brow. They’re all similar, the same palette of inoffensively bright colours with simple white symbols over the top to differentiate them.

“Because they’re run by moogles,” Prompto tells him.

“You mean moogle, singular. The tech company?” Noct clarifies. He’d never realised just how many different apps they had.

Prompto looks away and mumbles, “Sure.”

“Prompto,” Noct says, reaching over his shoulder to tap his hand again, “What are you -”

“I’m just saying,” Prompto blurts, voice lively again, “How do we know moogles aren’t real and they’re not just super-smart tech geniuses with a huge monopoly over the internet and the services it provides?”

Noctis flounders for a second, “Because that’s - it’s not…” It’s ridiculous for a start.

“Perfectly logical? Prove that I’m wrong,” Prompto challenges.

Noctis glances at the apps again, even thumbs open the one called Kweh to see the words powered by moogles in the banner and somehow finds that, right now, he can’t prove Prompto wrong.

“Fuck,” Noct mutters as they stop at the cross walk. He opens up the app Prompto had mentioned before, trusting Prompto not to get them both run over as he flicks through the pictures.

They’re mostly landscapes and pretty sunsets, the occasional animal picture or arty black and white shot of something completely ordinary that he’s somehow managed to make look exceptional.

Noctis likes every single one of them.

“So as you can see I don’t have a lot of focus,” Prompto says and at first Noctis thinks he’s implying his pictures are all blurry but that can’t be true, not when they’re all crisp and pristine.

“I’d call it range,” Noctis says, “Why would you only wanna look at the same thing over and over again?”

“I don’t know man but that’s what my art teacher always used to say to me,” Prompto says, mockingly going on, “Focus, focus, or you’ll only ever be mediocre.”

“They said that?” Noctis asks in shock, “Damn, maybe I was better off not going to public school than I thought.”

“Maybe,” Prompto agrees. His improved mood seems to be sticking around and for that, at least, Noctis is grateful.

“Though maybe we would have gone to the same High School,” Noct muses, “I would have gone to a fancy private school, I bet.”

“I went to one of those,” Prompto admits.

Noctis tries to turn to look at him in surprise but the angle hurts his back. He's beyond overdue a dose of his pain medication. Not that he'd trade that for this right now.

“I thought your foster parents -”

“They care about me,” Prompto insists, “They’re just not very uh - affectionate. But they always did what they could so they scrambled together the money for tuition.”

“I didn’t mean to imply -”

“I know,” Prompto says earnestly, “But I also know how it looks sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Noct says quietly.

“Nah, it’s all good.”

Noctis locks Prompto’s phone and reaches back to tap his hand with the device. The blond takes it and Noctis resumes responsibility for his wheelchair as they approach the wall that surrounds the Citadel.

They lapse into silence again as they get closer to the gate and Noctis knows he needs to say something, to thank Prompto for what he did. For these precious hours where he was no one or anything except himself but it’s too hard. Noctis should be better with words than he is but he can never find the right ones when he needs them.

The gate swings open just as they’re about to reach it and they come to a halt in perfect sync.

“There you are,” Gladio says, stepping out first, quickly followed by Ignis.

“Sorry,” Prompto says, “Did we take longer than -”

“No, we just thought it would be better to wait out here,” Ignis says. His voice is too level, flat and terrifying in how it gives absolutely nothing away, “I’m going to take you home, Prompto.”

“I can get the bus,” Prompto offers but Ignis shakes his head.

“It’s no trouble.”

“Come on, Princess,” Gladio says, “There’s food upstairs for you.”

“It’s kind of late, shouldn’t Prompto come up for -”

“Not tonight, Noctis,” Ignis interrupts.

There’s something about the way he says it, the way Gladio is standing in the way of the gate so no one can get past.

Is Prompto not allowed inside? Are they in that much trouble?

“I moved my car to the front lot,” Ignis tells Prompto, “It’s easier to walk to it from here.”

Prompto’s not allowed inside.

“Ignis -”

“Oh hey,” Prompto says, swinging his bag round to his front suddenly, “You better take this, Noct.” He pulls the camera free and passes it over, Noct raising his hands and taking it because he doesn’t know how to say no.

“I bought it for you,” Noct reminds him.

“But it’s supposed to stay in the Citadel, remember?”

But that only works if Prompto is also in the Citadel.

“Wish I’d thought to take more pictures tonight,” Prompto laments.

So does Noctis. What if they never have another chance?

“I shan’t be long,” Ignis tells Gladio.

“Five crowns he’s asleep before you get back,” Gladio retorts.

Ignis rolls his eyes. “That would be a fool's bet.”

Prompto offers them all a little wave, spirits obviously low and Ignis gently touches his back to turn him and start walking away and Noctis can’t - he just -

His hand shoots out and grabs Prompto’s, the gunslinger turning immediately in surprise.

“Thank you,” Noct tells him, oddly breathless, “Thank you for this, for everything.”

“You had a good time?” Prompto checks.

“The best.”

“Then that’s all I care about,” Prompto promises, giving his fingers a squeeze before letting go again.

Ignis’ face flickers with something desperate for so short a heartbeat Noct can’t be sure he even saw it.

“See you tomorrow,” Noctis makes himself say.

Prompto waves again and Gladio gives him a pat on the shoulder as he passes but Gladio doesn’t say it too, doesn’t confirm that he'll see Prompto when a new day begins.

Ignis and Prompto are out of sight when Gladio finally steps away from the gate, crouching down before Noct so they’re basically eye level.

“That was really dumb,” Gladio says.

“Maybe,” Noct responds.

“But you had fun, right?”

“So much,” Noct confirms, “Tired though. Standing.”

“Sorry me and Iggy never thought to take you,” Gladio says, straightening up. He heads back to the gate, popping it open and ushers Noct through it.

“I’d never thought of it either,” Noct admits, “Don’t worry I wasn’t pining away for the arcade.”

Gladio reaches to ruffle his hair like he normally would but all he really manages is to slightly dislodge his hat.

“The only thing you’re pining for is Prompto.”

“What,” Noct snaps, “No I’m not - that’s so -”

“Honestly with how long it took for you to talk to him I thought a crush would be a little farther off but I don’t mind being proved wrong.”

“I don’t,” Noctis insists.

But he thinks of Prompto now, of the fact that if he tilts his head down he can smell Prompto’s shampoo and heat rises in his cheeks.

“I can’t blame you,” Gladio says as they make their way along the path to the staff entrance, “He’s really cute, right?”

“I don’t know - I haven't looked. I -”

Gladio laughs and stops outside the door.

“It’s okay, Noct.”

“No it’s not. What about - about…”

“Me and Iggy?” Gladio asks.

Noct nods, teeth pressed into his lip.

“Does it make you feel differently about us?” Gladio asks. Noctis shakes his head, and Gladio sighs. “And does it change your mind about what you - we - decided about that?”

Noctis swallows and shakes his head again.

He honestly thinks he could cry.

He can’t be with Ignis and Gladio and they won’t be together without him.

They exist in a strange limbo of being in love without ever saying it or acting on it. Noctis only has the most fleeting of memories of them together, fingers interlinked, the soft press of a mouth against his and watching Gladio kiss Ignis on the forehead.

Prompto doesn’t change that. Doesn’t make those feelings less or mean he can act on them any more easily.

All it does is make them more complicated.

Another layer of things he wants but can’t ever have.

Gladio leans down, folding himself basically in half so he can rest their foreheads together.

“Everything will be alright,” Gladio promises, as he always does.

Noctis sniffs, “How much trouble is Prompto in?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gladio says, “Ignis will take care of it.”

“Ignis seemed mad,” Noctis says.

Gladio shakes his head and their noses knock together.

“Not mad,” Gladio whispers, “Just scared.”

Chapter Text

"Ignis," Prompto says and Ignis has to take a deep breath to steady himself before he can speak.

"You'll need to come in to work tomorrow," Ignis tells him, "Bright and early."

"Ignis can you just tell me if I'm in trouble - if I'm fired."

Ignis can't tell him.

Because he doesn't know. It's not up to him, Ignis can't use his influence to fix this, to allow Prompto to stay in spite of the fact he did something so completely and utterly against the rules.

Ignis thought Prompto was asking if they could all go, if Ignis would help him arrange something with the proper security and attention. He didn't think Prompto was trying to hint at the fact he was planning on kidnapping the Prince of Lucis.

"You'll have a meeting with Cor first thing," Ignis says instead, "I can sit in with you if you'd like, or you can go in by yourself if that's what you'd prefer."

"Of course I want you to come with me," Prompto says, voice barely more than a whisper.

Ignis' hands clench on the steering wheel and it takes no little effort to remove one of them so he's able to activate the handbrake when they pull up at a traffic light.

It suddenly occurs to him -

"You said you hadn't eaten.”

Prompto, who had been slumped against the door wringing his hands, freezes then perks up a little.

"I have food at home," Prompto assures him, "I'll cook when you get in."

Ignis isn't sure why that bothers him so much, why he suddenly feels like a fuck up because he didn't think to have food prepared for Prompto when that’s not even a part of his job.

"It's late," Ignis mutters.

Prompto manages a laugh, hollow and not like he usually sounds, "I'll make something quick."

Ignis has only done it a few times but driving to Prompto's apartment is already second nature. He wonders how long it will be before Prompto moves, rents himself something better now he has the extra income.

If he still has the extra income.

Ignis pulls up outside the apartment block and kills the engine even though there's no reason to, even though Ignis won't be getting out of the car.

Prompto doesn't move.

Ignis grips the steering wheel again, hands almost shaking.

"Prompto…" Ignis whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for taking care of Noctis today," Ignis breathes.

"But I -"

Ignis turns, pushing himself forwards and onward before he can second guess himself and brushes a kiss onto the warm curve of Prompto's soft cheek.

"It's not all about surrounding him with security and keeping people away," Ignis goes on, talking faster than normal, needing to get it out in case tomorrow goes poorly and he's left without the chance.

"Noctis needs pulling from his own thoughts a lot of the time," Ignis says, "Someone to remind him that everything is fine, to see all that is good and hopeful before him, to stop him from dwelling on things that ought not be dwelt upon."

Prompto blinks, Ignis watches his eyes carefully as Prompto takes in everything he just said - the strange almost violet quality enhanced in the low evening light.

"I don't understand," Prompto admits.

"Nobody has ever been as good at letting Noctis be himself as you are," Ignis says, "Not even Gladio and I."

Prompto swallows, loudly enough that he cringes and a little more pink rises in his cheeks.

"He deserves to be happy," Prompto says, "He deserves to be exactly who he is."

"Yes," Ignis agrees, "He does."

-

The door is barely closed behind him when Gladio's voice calls from Noct's bedroom, "Prompto get home okay?"

"No," Ignis calls back, "I drove him eight miles in the wrong direction and kicked him out of the car."

Ignis toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. He should check the food he made, see if Noctis bothered to eat or not but instead he just shuffles towards the bedroom, trusting Gladio to have taken care of it for him.

Ignis is surprised by what he finds there.

The two of them, in bed together.

Gladio is sat up against the headboard, reading in the light of the lamp but Noctis seems to be asleep, head pillowed on Gladio's thigh.

"Do I need to go out and search for Prompto?" Gladio asks, without looking up. Like this is something normal that happens all the time.

Gladio turns the page, his hand dipping down to stroke over Noct's head softly.

"That can't be good for his back," Ignis says.

"He said he felt fine," Gladio answers, finally closing the book and setting it aside, "After today I trust him to tell him to tell us the truth. To not stress himself more than he needs to."

"Hmm."

"Come lay down," Gladio says.

"You're not laying down," Ignis responds, surprised by the suggestion and trying to pretend otherwise.

Gladio laughs, "Come sit on the bed then - don't make that face. There's plenty of space."

Despite the inappropriateness of it Ignis shuffles forward to join them, sitting up against the headboard on Noct’s other side. The prince mumbles something in his sleep and shuffles back a little until his butt is pressed right up against Ignis' leg.

Gladio grins, the lout.

Ignis watches Gladio's fingers move through Noctis' hair again and when he pulls them back Ignis replaces them briefly with his own, bending himself over even though the angle is awkward and uncomfortable to press a kiss to the back of his head.

"Why can't we work this out?" Ignis murmurs, "Right now it seems so easy, so simple."

"Though missing something," Gladio murmurs.

Ignis looks up and catches his eye. The words flow between them without sound. Prompto is missing.

"Will he be alright? Tomorrow?" Gladio asks.

"I don't know," Ignis admits.

Gladio's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Can't you get him out of it?" Gladio questions.

Ignis shakes his head, "Not this."

"You can do anything," Gladio says and Ignis can't tell from his smile if he's being sincere or cajoling.

Ignis laughs, "Unfortunately, no."

"Idiots," Gladio says fondly, "I can't believe they thought it was a good idea."

"It was a good idea," Ignis argues, “In theory. The practice leaves a little to be desired. Did Noctis have a good time?"

Gladio hums an affirmative, "The best time, I think." After a short pause he adds, "He really likes Prompto."

"Oh?" Ignis says, "You got him to admit it?"

"I can be persuasive," Gladio smirks.

Ignis pets over Noctis' hair again, smiling.

"I know," Ignis says, "We should probably go."

"Or we could stay here," Gladio argues, "I'm already comfortable."

Ignis knows that he's right, that he should persuade Gladio out of the bed and back to their own homes. He knows that it will be a scandal if anyone were to come by in the morning and find the three of them tangled in a bed together.

Ignis stays in the bed.

- - -

Prompto arrives earlier than normal.

He must have gotten on the bus that comes two slots before his regular one. Prompto is so early that he beats Ignis to the locker room even though he'd purposefully been trying to get there in time to be waiting for him.

"I wasn't sure what time Cor wanted to see me," Prompto says instead of a greeting, "And you said bright and early, so. Here I am."

Prompto's still in his jeans and a dark graphic tee that Ignis thinks he's seen a couple times before but his training uniform is folded neatly on the bench beside him, like he can’t quite decide if getting into it was worth it or not.

Ignis finds he can’t quite decide either.

“Perhaps you should put on your jacket,” Ignis advises in a weird echo of a conversation they’ve had before, “So you’re not constantly asked for your ID.”

Prompto half smiles and retrieves the garment from the bottom of the pile, standing up to store the rest safely into his locker.

“So, um,” Prompto starts, when his back is still to Ignis, “Any advice?”

“Be honest,” Ignis says, “I know it might seem the best course to just say what you think Cor wants to hear but, for me, Prompto, please just answer everything honestly.”

Prompto turns around, surprise obvious.

“Seriously? Even if the truth is bad? Or it’ll get me in more trouble?”

“Yes,” Ignis promises.

-

Cor is unusually stern, even for him.

He sends Ignis a message at 8:57 asking him to bring Prompto to the consultation room two doors down from his office at nine.

They make it in time.

Cor barely looks up, simply nods at the two chairs opposite him. Ignis pulls out one and gets Prompto settled into it before sitting down himself.

“This is a formal meeting but I won’t record it unless you think it’s necessary, Prompto,” Cor says.

Prompto glances at Ignis and he shakes his head. Unnecessary, not with Ignis here to make sure nothing untoward happens - not with Cor running the meeting and being the sort of man incapable of doing anything untoward in the first place.

Cor clears his throat.

“In that case. We’re here to discuss the two major misdemeanours that have -”

“Two?” Ignis interrupts.

Cor stares Ignis down as he pointedly turns the page, glances at it briefly then holds his gaze once more to say, “Thirteen days ago Mr Argentum allowed His Royal Highness to connect him to the armiger, against all protocols.”

“Prompto’s hardly at fault for that,” Ignis says. He cannot fathom why Cor is tacking that on to this, why it’s being brought up now when it’s been two weeks since it occurred, when Cor has had a thousand opportunities to reprimand him before now.

“But I could have stopped him,” Prompto says, “If I’d really wanted to.”

Ignis wonders if he’ll regret telling Prompto to be honest. He hadn’t meant this honest.

“And yesterday Mr Argentum took the Prince from the Citadel without clearance and without proper security.”

Ignis can’t argue with that.

It had been him that realised Noctis was gone, that had called Gladio in something of a panic while the Shield was in a meeting with Cor and had set retrieving the two of them in motion. Not that they’d needed retrieving in the end - Ignis had simply called Prompto and the blond had turned around and bought Noctis right back.

Physically none the worse for wear and emotionally…

Noctis had woken early and brightly, on cloud nine until the moment Gladio had asked what time Ignis thought the meeting with Cor would be.

The prince had crashed back down to Eos, anxiety obvious, asking if they could all go down, if there was anything he could do to fix everything.

There isn’t, not really.

Noctis could theoretically fight and scream his way into letting them make Prompto stay but if Cor says it’s not safe, that prompto can no longer be trusted then His Majesty will simply overrule him.

Ignis had only remembered Prompto’s stilted questions about taking Noctis to an arcade after he’d called Gladio, had only realised what he might have been hinting and telling without actually saying when Ignis had already put things too far in motion to stop them. They couldn’t sweep it under the rug, punish Prompto simply by making him run twenty laps then clean every gun in the Citadel.

Not when everyone on duty that night already knows what he did.

It’s Ignis’ fault that they’re here now. With Prompto’s future balanced on a knife edge.

“I assume you’re not going to deny it,” Cor says, looking at Prompto this time.

“No, sir,” Prompto says. Cor continues to look at him, waiting for something else. Prompto’s throat works as he swallows then with a little less surety he adds, “I’m not going to apologise for it, either.”

Cor’s cheek twitches. Prompto probably doesn’t notice it, but Ignis does. That’s as good as a smile.

Cor turns another page and the sound cuts through the room as loud as any gunshot. He taps his pen against the table and Prompto all but flinches.

“Was it your intention to cause His Highness harm?”

“What?” Prompto snaps, face creasing in distress, “Of course not.”

“Were you aware that what you were doing was against the rules?” Cor asks without reacting to Prompto’s previous answer.

Prompto hesitates, his tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip.

“Yes,” Prompto admits.

“But you did it anyway?” Cor nudges.

“I thought it was the best thing to do in the circumstances,” Prompto says. Cor raises his eyes to the recruit again, contemplative as he watches him. Prompto squirms and is the first to break their staring content. Ignis gets to see Cor’s cheek twitch again.

Cor sets his pen down, closes the folder.

“Do you promise to never do it again?”

Again Prompto hesitates, teeth buried into the softness of his bottom lip. Prompto glances at Ignis and unable to fathom what it is he needs from him in that moment Ignis can only muster what he hopes is an encouraging nod.

“No,” Prompto says, “I can’t promise that. Not if - not if escaping just for five minutes is what Noct - Noctis needs.”

Ignis almost gasps. The tender feelings that have been building inside him since the moment he first stepped foot into Prompto’s little apartment swell almost painfully inside his chest.

It’s been easy to ignore the way he’s feeling until now, easy to call it friendship and focus on the flames burning and prickling at his breast for his other friends. They’ve been around longer, are as painful as they are pleasant when he thinks about how Noctis believes they can never be - easy to forget everything else in the face of a heartbreak he’s not sure will ever be healed.

But Ignis likes Prompto, is surprised by it almost as much as he supposes Prompto will be when - if ever - he finds out.

“Even with your job on the line and what would amount to a criminal record you refuse to promise never to remove the Prince from the Citadel without proper cause again?” Cor clarifies.

Prompto colours, bright spots of pinks on his cheeks.

“I think his happiness is proper cause,” Prompto says.

Cor snorts, then sighs.

“Sir?” Ignis says.

“Do you want to call the tailor or should I?” Cor says to Ignis, “I think it’s time we got Prompto his uniform.”

“Sir -”

“What do you -”

“Your job is to keep Noctis safe,” Cor says, “You keep doing you, kid. But let's get you doing it with the proper support and authority.”

Silence reigns for a few seconds then Prompto, in little more than a whisper, “I’m not fired?”

“You’re officially part of the Crownsguard, kid,” Cor tells him, “Though don’t think you can slack off in training.”

“I’m -” Prompto starts, “Confused.”

“Scientia will go through the details with you but next time you want to do something just call for a discreet, plain clothes escort, okay?”

Prompto nods.

- - -

Noctis is sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table when Ignis and Prompto get upstairs, Ignis isn’t sure that’s good for his back but Gladio puts a firm hand on the prince’s shoulder when he tries to rocket off the floor the moment the door opens and Ignis supposes it’s okay.

Prompto hasn’t said a word since they left the consultation room.

Ignis had asked if he was okay and received a nod for confirmation, when he’d ventured to ask if Prompto was happy the blond had nodded again, two little bobs of his head before curling in on himself and staring at his shoes.

“Prompto’s here!” Noctis almost cries, excitement obvious.

“Calm down charmless or you’ll scare him away,” Gladio teases, to Prompto he tosses out, “Congrats on not being fired.”

And suddenly Prompto laughs. Laughs until he’s crying, until he’s clutching his belly like it hurts, until Ignis is gently leading him over to the couch and Gladio is reaching to place a steadying hand on his shoulder too.

Gladio jerks, flinching where Noctis has been digging his bony knuckle into his thigh.

“You said there was no chance of him getting fired,” Noctis accuses, bristling under the curtain of his dark hair.

“Oh, yeah, I totally lied to make you feel better,” Gladio admits.

Prompto’s laughter peters off and he scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Ignis asks him, desperate to be useful, helpful some way after an evening, night and morning set adrift from his ability to fix.

Prompto glances up at him then away again quickly, flushing guiltily.

“Skipped so I could get the earlier bus,” Prompto admits.

Ignis tuts but it’s more affected than honest. Noctis laughs, barely stifled in his shield’s knee.

“I’ll fix you something then I’ll go back downstairs and get the sample book,” Ignis says, “No training today, I don’t think.”

“Cor specifically said I wasn’t allowed to slack off,” Prompto reminds him and Ignis smiles.

“Stop. Rewind,” Gladio demands, actually snapping his fingers, “When you say the sample book…”

“The - the uniform sample book?” Noctis asks in a whisper.

Ignis nods.

“Holy shit,” Noctis cries and flies up from the ground so violently Ignis is sure Gladio keeping him down would have done more harm than good. He hits Prompto with an actual noise and the two of them tumble back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs that makes Ignis’ soft heart beat too fast. .

“What about your back?” Prompto half shouts, laughing as Noctis squeezes him around the shoulders.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Noctis promises, pressing their heads together in a mess of dark and light strands.

Prompto’s hand comes to rest against that back anyway, slowly easing them upright so they’re sat more normally on the couch beside each other.

“Better not let you get hurt on my first day,” Prompto murmurs.

“We actually don’t get in trouble when it’s a self-inflicted injury,” Gladio says as Ignis finally tears his eyes away and heads into the kitchen like he’d said.

“Nice loophole,” Prompto says.

“Ignis, what are you cooking?” Noctis calls.

Ignis sets the pan on the stove and reminds him, “You’ve already eaten.”

“Huh,” Noctis mumbles, “I’ve not heard of that before, is it Galahdian?”

Prompto laughs, giggles like he just can't stop and even Gladio snorts. Ignis has to give Noctis points for being clever at least.

“Eggs and toast,” Ignis says, “Maybe some mushrooms if Prompto is less fussy than you.”

“Mushrooms are good,” Prompto says, “Do you want some help?”

“Traitor,” Noct hisses, distracting Prompto from his rather unnecessary offer. They scuffle, talking low for as long as it takes for Ignis to retrieve ingredients from the fridge and get the mushrooms chopped. He needs a second pan, he realises, and as soon as the faint echo of the steel setting down against the stove top has passed he hears Prompto's voice again.

“What’s the big deal about the uniform sample book?” he asks, “I’ve seen the uniform a hundred times, don’t they just need my size?”

“Um, no?” Noctis says, “Royal retainers get custom made individualised uniforms to show how important they - you are.”

“What?”

“We tell Prompto literally nothing,” Gladio grumbles, with a sigh he heaves himself off the coach, “Behave,” he says and Ignis looks up to see him pointing a finger at Noctis, “And I’ll go get the book.”

“Fabric samples too,” Ignis calls.

Gladio heaves another sigh, “I don’t know what to bring.”

“Just anything that you think Prompto might like,” Ignis says. They share a look, contemplative and full of meaning. Gladio nods and leaves.

Gladio gets back in time to watch along with Ignis’ despair when Noctis swipes the last corner of toast from Prompto’s plate, scrunching up his nose and muttering about mushroom juice but eating it anyway.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Prompto says, rising with his plate and rinsing it in the sink before stacking it into the dishwasher. All without being asked.

Ignis looks at Noctis, raises an eyebrow and Noct rolls his eyes, biting his last mouthful of toast almost aggressively.

“Come back here,” Gladio says, slamming the book down on the table and taking the chair next to the one Prompto just vacated. Gladio swings a cardboard box up onto the table too, which Noctis immediately reaches for and starts unpacking.

Prompto doesn’t look quite as excited as Ignis would have assumed he would be at the prospect. He’s stylish, in his own way, even if Ignis doesn’t quite understand it. Ripped jeans and chunky bracelets on his wrists, post training hair spiked up on one side.

Really he just looks overwhelmed.

“Obviously there are rules,” Ignis says, settling in the seat across from him.

“Black,” Noctis chirps, “Everything is black.”

Ignis shakes his head, “Not true. My shirt is purple.”

“Iggy’s fatigues are a suit,” Noctis tells Prompto, rolling his eyes, “Because Ignis is boring.”

“I bet you look great,” Prompto says quickly, blushing such a pretty colour it makes Ignis want to smirk.

“Dude,” Noctis gasps, “This patch has the word fuck on it.”

“Yeah,” Gladio grins, “Figured it was perfect for Prompto.”

- - -

“It’s a box Ignis, it won’t hurt you,” Prompto says, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Food shouldn’t come in boxes,” Ignis says. He turns to look at Prompto to see fair eyebrows pulled almost to his hairline.

“Complete meals shouldn’t come in boxes,” Ignis corrects.

Damn Noctis. Damn those pitiful sniffles and his big blue eyes, the pitch of his whine as he’d clutched Prompto’s hand and begged him to please get Iggy to make my mac and cheese.

“Well, we also need milk and butter,” Prompto says, “Plus we can fancy it up with some real cheese, put breadcrumbs on it and put it under the grill.”

That does sound better but also -

“That’s not what Noctis asked for,” Ignis sighs.

Prompto laughs and seizes the box, “Here, I’ll do it. We should probably make two, if Gladio’s coming too.”

“He is,” Ignis confirms.

“Measure me two cups of milk?” Prompto asks as runs his finger under the tab of the box to open it up.

Ignis tries not to focus on the little plastic packets that fall from the box and focuses on retrieving the milk Prompto asked for.

- - -

Noct’s allowed to walk around his rooms but the doctor has requested he stay in his chair when he leaves, just for another few days. It means he doesn’t leave much and Ignis has to guilt him into the training halls by begging him to come help Prompto get the hang of summoning his weapon.

Prompto sits himself on the bench and Noctis sets up in front of him. Prompto frowns when Noct suddenly reverses about ten feet.

He pulls a ball from the armiger and holds it aloft.

“Throw this back to me, okay?” Noctis says.

Prompto nods and sits forward. Noctis vanishes the ball.

“Oh,” Prompto says.

“You didn’t think we were just going to play catch didn’t you?” Noctis teases.

“Shut up,” Prompto laughs.

Nothing happens.

“Prom -”

“Show it to me again,” Prompto begs, “I forgot what colour it is.”

Noctis laughs and the ball comes back into his hand, just a basic tennis ball, almost lime green and Ignis knows it would make a specific and telling smack if it were bounced against the polished floor beneath them.

“Right,” Prompto says, giving Noctis a nod and it vanishes once more.

Then -

Nothing.

Again.

“Prom -” Gladio starts, Ignis smacks his arm.

Give him a chance, Ignis thinks, give him just a little time.

This is all so new to him. Give him some time.

The problem with Prompto fast tracking his already too fast training program is how other people are seeing it. Already there are murmurs, questions and glares. Ignis doesn’t want Prompto to be hurt by it so the best thing they can do is get his skills up, make him visibly and obviously a match for his peers.

Make it plainly obvious Prompto deserves to be here.

Not that they are his peers, Gladio keeps reminding Ignis whenever he mentions it. What does it matter if members of the general Crownsguard are walking around bad mouthing Prompto? What are the chances of him hearing? Why does it matter as long as they all know the truth?

Technically Gladio is right, none of that matters. But Ignis just can't bear the thought of people existing in the world thinking poorly of Prompto.

To Noctis’ credit he doesn’t fidget, doesn’t push or prod or tease Prompto again. He just waits, face encouraging, half grinning as Prompto frowns at a random spot on the floor in front of him with his hand half raised.

Then -

Magic crackles around his hand and dies. Noctis leans forward, Gladio fidgets at Ignis’ side.

The ball pops into Prompto’s palm, vibrant and solid.

He jumps up, crying in triumph and flings it full force at the wall. They laugh, ducking and scattering a half second later when the ball rockets back towards the group.

“We can give him his real gun now, right?” Noctis laughs.

- - -

Training was tough today.

Even Gladio is wincing whenever he stands to head to the bathroom, legs tired after a whole day on his feet. Noctis trained today, in fits and bursts with heavy rests in between. But he was there, egging them all on, reminding them why they throw their whole selves into their work.

Prompto’s asleep. Full up from Ignis’ best curry and curled up on his side. Noctis had put on one of the movies that they both enjoy and Gladio had teased the prince, telling him he’d be asleep twenty minutes in. But to everyone’s surprise it’s Prompto that drops off, slowly sliding sideways against the arm of the couch until he softly snoring into his own arm.

“He’ll miss the last bus,” Gladio whispers as he walks past. Ignis thinks the Shield is about to wake him, wondering how he can stop him without making enough noise that would also wake the sleeping boy, but Gladio just reaches for the blanket that’s always laying across the back of the couch for when Noctis gets cold and lays it gently over his form.

“I’ll drive him back,” Ignis says softly.

“Or he can stay,” Noctis offers, “I’ve got a spare room.”

True. Though it’s never used. If Noctis wants someone to stay with him then he usually wants them with him. Curled up in the bed at his side even if they’d stopped slipping under the covers to be with him, as they’d all gotten older. As their feelings had all gotten deeper and stronger and more.

It would be nice, Ignis considers, to have Prompto to feed at breakfast too.

Maybe he could make something special.

Altissian toast. Rice porridge. Tamagoyaki. Waffles. Whatever Prompto might prefer.

Noctis shifts around on the couch, rearranges the blanket so it’s over his legs too. When he falls asleep just ten minutes later Ignis knows he should wake him, he knows that Noctis sleeping upright like this isn’t very good for his back. But he looks at them together, legs pressed tight and Noctis half curling in towards his friend and leaves them alone.

Gladio leans over to reach for Prompto’s bag and Ignis scowls to discourage that kind of invasion of Prompto’s privacy but Gladio just rolls his eyes, pulling his hand back with Prompto’s instant camera in his hand. It’s probably not the best shot, not without Prompto’s assistance, but Gladio snaps a picture of the two of them sleeping not quite together on the couch and slips the camera and the picture into Prompto’s bag without saying a word.

Chapter Text

Prompto rolls over and glares up at his ceiling.

It’s not fair.

Why are they all so -

All three of them just -

Ugh.

Prompto pulls the pillow from behind his head and holds it over his face. Somehow he resists the urge to scream into it.

Until now Prompto’s had maybe two real crushes in his entire life. A pretty girl with dark hair and even darker eyes that had been in his photography club in high school and a misguided infatuation with the weekend manager at his first job. He’d been older and cool in a way that only makes Prompto cringe now.

It had been important though, a milestone in him finding out who he really was - what he really liked.

Prompto’s dated a little, not much but some. Mostly it’s just awkward, nerve wracking with very little payoff.

Gladio, Noctis and Ignis are all gorgeous, all nice. All completely unattainable and on a different level to him.

And Prompto’s pretty sure they have something going on already.

All three of them.

Together.

That’s….a thought.

A tantalising, intriguing thought that Prompto can’t focus on too much or he might lose his mind.

Prompto bets it’s messy, bets they haven’t talked to him about it because it’s forbidden or they don’t want to make him feel like a third - fourth wheel.

He hopes they’re happy though. Even if these crushes will remain unfulfilled, growing as he spends day in and day out in their company. Every day he sees something new, something sweet or tender or hilarious and the warm little kernel in his chest grows bigger and stronger, switching the rhythm of his heart until it beats only for them.

Prompto’s alarm finally sounds and he allows himself just one scream into his pillow before heaving himself upright to turn it off.

- - -

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Prompto asks.

Noctis makes a playful jab at his shoulder, like he’s trying to goad him into attacking him.

“You wanna see my doctor’s note?” Noctis teases, “Come on I feel good for the first time in ages, fight with me.”

Prompto snorts, “Fighting you feels backwards.”

Noctis makes a face, almost like he’s offended and Prompto rolls his eyes.

“Not because of that,” Prompto says, “But because I’m supposed to protect you.”

“It’s so we know each other’s weak spots,” Noct says, “Like, if I never remember to block my left side you know to fill the gap for me.”

Prompto raises a hand and swings it towards Noct’s left side but he easily bats it away.

“I’m not gonna tell you my weak spots,” Noct says, “That would be dumb - though, I mean. Please don’t like, kick my legs out from -”

“Dude, I wouldn’t,” Prompto says.

Noctis seems to relax a little, raising his arms again and shifting side to side in a poor parody of a boxer gearing up for a match.

Prompto still doesn’t want to fight Noctis though, so mostly he just reacts to the slightly lacklustre attacks Noctis sends his way, occasionally grappling Noctis so he can practice wiggling out of his hold and back to safety.

Realistically it will be harder to escape from a real kidnapper than Prompto but he hardly believes he’s genuinely less eager to let him go even if his intentions are more than a little different.

They’re laughing as Noctis tries to turn out of one, the prince wiggling his fingers into Prompto’s ribs to try and break his hold. It makes him loosen his grip, but only so much that Noctis can turn around in his arms and smile so wide his eyes crinkle.

The laughter peters out, Noct’s eyes fix on him. Noct stops squirming, seemingly content to be wrapped in Prompto’s arms.

Prompto doesn’t let go.

“Fuck it,” Noctis whispers.

Prompto blinks.

“Wha -”

Prompto is being kissed.

Noctis is kissing him.

His lips are a little dry, his mouth mostly closed and Prompto is frozen, unsure how to act, unsure if he should pull Noctis closer or push him away and remind him that this is probably a bad idea.

But it makes Prompto’s heart pound against his ribs and his pulse thrum faster with every second.

Prompto would kiss Noct forever, even if it was only ever this, even if it were to cost him everything.

Noctis pulls back slowly but it still somehow feels like being dunked into ice water out of nowhere.

“Sorry,” Noct mumbles.

“No it’s -”

Noctis breaks free from his hold and takes a step back.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says again.

“Noct it’s fine -”

“No it’s not,” he says miserably, “It’s not fine. It’s not fair.”

Prompto opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say to sooth him but before his brain can come up with anything, Noct spins on his heel and sprints from the room.

Noctis kissed him.

Prompto wonders if maybe he’s still asleep.

-

Being fitted for a uniform is not something Prompto enjoys.

He’s fine with his body, has learnt to dress it in a way that makes him happy, makes him feel confident and comfortable. What he doesn’t like so much is being measured and prodded and stared at while Ignis and the tailor flutter around holding up his preferred fabric samples.

It was worse the first day. When it had been all measuring tapes and fingers prodded into the soft part of his arms to get him to lift them up.

Not all of his arm is soft now, Prompto knows, there’s muscle too, not enough for definition with serious flexing - which Gladio had made him do a few days ago - but enough that he feels strong, fit for the first time in his life.

Running was more of an escape than anything, he’d never gotten really fast though he's found he can beat both Gladio and Noctis in a flat race. Endurance is what that had given him, the power to stay on his feet for hours, to keep pushing on and on through waves of exhaustion that threaten to pull him under.

“It looks too small,” Prompto says, frowning at the vest the tailor is holding up.

It’s hard to concentrate, honestly, when all he can think about is Noctis kissing him just an hour ago. His soft mouth pressed against Prompto’s and the sight of him fleeing from his room.

The fact he hasn’t answered his phone since.

“Made to measure,” the tailor cuts in primly, “I’ve yet to add the uh - fringe.”

Probably because he hopes Prompto will change his mind.

“Everything else is in the changing room,” Ignis says, “Why don’t you try it on, if it’s not right we can make changes.”

I think you’ll look best in clothes that fit, Ignis had said last time, when Prompto was trying on pants, explaining that he usually grabbed something a size bigger than he needed.

Prompto snorts when he sees his pants on the hanger, somehow forgetting what he’d ordered. Soft, durable denim distressed with a coeurl print pattern. He was mostly joking when he suggested it but the tailor had pinned Ignis with a flat look and accused the adviser of undue influence, eventually giving in and pulling one of Ignis’ spare shirts from a sealed box in the back room.

They match.

Something about that sends a tingle all the way from the base of Prompto’s neck to the tip of his toes.

“Any luck?” Ignis calls, voice slightly muffled by the heavy curtain separating them.

“It fits,” Prompto says back, pulling at the hem of the vest.

The tank is nice, the pattern subtle but defined and honestly the kaleidoscope of patterns should be an eyesore but Prompto likes it, likes all the different textures and the little injection of colour that he’s managed in different places. He’ll feel better when the mismatched skirt of plaid is added to the bottom of the vest.

“Well come on then,” Ignis says, almost laughing.

Prompto tugs on his wristband, checks that everything is still covered and cringing at how tatty his new clothes make it look.

“Perfect,” Ignis says the moment he pushes back the curtain.

“You think so?” Prompto checks, fiddling with the vest again, “Nothing is too, uh - tight?”

“Not to my eyes,” Ignis promises, turning him around to face the main mirror and smoothing a gloved hand across Prompto’s shoulders. “If you’re uncomfortable we’ll change it,” Ignis goes on, “As many times as you need us to.”

A glance at the tailor reveals a curiously blank face and Prompto has no way of knowing how they feel about such a promise.

Prompto loves his fatigues, there’s no other word for it, all the patches and the stitching so quintessentially him. He's still missing his boots, special lining and soles being added to a pair - or three - he’d picked out on a shopping trip with Ignis. They’re calf length and sturdy, the base of them thick enough to add an inch to his height without it being obvious.

“I recommend getting something made up with sleeves,” the tailor suddenly cuts in, “So far only his dress uniform has any.”

“There will be the full roster of casual wear though,” Ignis says, without glancing away from Prompto’s form in the mirror, “Hoodies, t-shirts, the rain jacket and such.”

Gladio wears that hoodie all the time, Prompto knows. Or, he carries it all the time, tossing it at whichever of his friends dares give the slightest weather related tremble.

“I could make up the tank as a long sleeved alternate,” the tailor offers, “In case Mr Argentum needs to attend Noctis somewhere suffering from anything more than a light draft.”

Prompto snorts and Ignis’ eyes almost roll towards the sky. Lightly he tugs on Prompto’s ear.

“Very well,” Ignis says, “A couple should suffice.”

The tailor nods and steps a little closer to give Prompto his own once over. Prompto squirms under the four eyes watching him, fingers touching his wristband on reflex once again, just to check it’s there.

“I’ll take an inch off the jeans,” the tailor says.

Ignis brushes both hands over Prompto’s shoulders this time, settling them with his gloved fingers lightly gripping the bare skin of his upper arms.

“You’re happy?” Ignis asks.

“Yes,” Prompto squeaks.

Ignis smiles warmly, reflected in the mirror and encourages him to turn around. Prompto does, because he usually does what Ignis tells him to but he ducks his head, feels the warmth of shyness fill his cheeks.

He wonders if Ignis knows somehow. If one look into Prompto’s eyes is enough to let him know he was kissing Noct earlier that morning.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asks softly.

Footsteps move away from them, quickly shifting over the thick carpet and Prompto raises his eyes enough to see the tailor heading away back towards their desk.

“Nothing,” Prompto murmurs. He glances up at Ignis once then stares down at his socked toes again to admit, “I don’t like people looking at me.”

“Shall I close my eyes?” Ignis laughs and, sure enough, when Prompto looks up again Ignis’ lids are covering his eyes behind his glasses, long, fair eyelashes brushing his high cheekbones.

“Iggy,” Prompto giggles, “That’s not what I meant.”

Ignis cracks one eye open first, seemingly relieved to find Prompto smiling. His hands squeeze gently where they’re still gripping Prompto’s arms.

“You look wonderful,” Ignis says, “Perhaps I should have been explicit before. Handsome and strong, deserving of your place here.”

“Shit, Iggy. You can’t just say -”

Ignis gently nudges him until he’s turned around to face him. Prompto’s pretty worried about looking directly at Ignis’ face but he’s rewarded for his efforts by Ignis sweeping the back of his fingers along Prompto’s cheek. The heat of his skin is surely burning Ignis even through the leather of his gloves.

Prompto never kissed either of those other crushes and yet today, somehow, he’s racked up two out of three.

Ignis’ mouth is surer that Noct’s had been, a little less warm but his lips fuller, more forceful. Prompto half gasps and, for a moment, Ignis draws his bottom lip into his mouth, tenderly pressed between his own.

There’s an audible noise when their mouths separate, Ignis pulling back in one large stride of his long legs, leaving Prompto completely bereft of him and out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis says.

Prompto’s pretty sick of people saying that after kissing him already and it’s only ever happened to him twice.

“Ignis, I -”

“Oh,” Ignis says, dramatically patting his pockets. Smoothly he retrieves his phone from his slacks, looking at it like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world despite the screen being dark and still and not a single noise or vibration having sounded from it this whole time.

“I’m sorry Prompto I have to go,” Ignis says.

“What - “

“Castano will look after you,” Ignis says, “And you have training with Gladio, don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Prompto promises, “But Ignis, can you just wait a second -”

He can not just wait a second as it turns out, turning and doing the closest to fleeing that Prompto thinks Ignis has ever done.

“If you get changed back,” the tailor says - Castano, Prompto now knows, “And I’ll get everything squared away. You’re - you’re quite sure you want both plaids together?”

“Yes,” Prompto says.

It’s about the only thing he is sure of anymore.

-

When Gladio finds him Prompto is hiding in a training room, laying on the floor with an arm tossed over his face to completely hide himself from the world.

They’re supposed to do endurance training today, which sounds like possibly the worst thing he can imagine with his mind all a mess like this.

Noct kissed him.

Ignis kissed him.

With a lot less strength than he actually has, Gladio kicks the sole of Prompto’s shoe.

“Why don’t we go for a walk,” Gladio says.

Prompto pulls back his arm to squint up at him suspiciously, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Gladio says, raising his palms, “It’s a nice day out, you look like you have stuff on your mind.”

“Doesn’t this count as slacking off?”

Gladio shrugs, half laughs, “I’m technically in charge of your training,” he says, “So, nah, I don’t think it does.”

Prompto raises his hand and Gladio grabs hold of it, pulling Prompto steadily to his feet. He pats Prompto between his shoulder blades and as they’re leaving the hall Gladio bumps their shoulders together.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Prompto mutters, “I’m fine.”

“Very convincing,” Gladio says, but he doesn’t push for more.

They leave the Citadel and no one even glances twice at Prompto anymore, the guards watching the doors and the gates either used to him by now or unwilling to question Gladio’s companion. Perhaps a little of both.

There is more security, however, Prompto notices, since his and Noct’s little sojourn to the arcade.Which is actually a good thing, he can’t really deny it.

“So,” Gladio says again, when they’re across the road and walking under the trees of the nearby park, “What’s on your mind?”

Prompto sighs.

“Come on,” Gladio urges playfully, stopping at the edge of a path looking out over a little copse of trees. The bushes growing beneath them are colourful, summer blooms against dark, green foliage.

Prompto stands next to him, turning over some short sticks and fallen leaves with the toe of his boot.

He can’t tell Gladio. Not if what he suspects is true. Prompto kissed his boyfriend today - boyfriends.

“Prompto,” Gladio says, “Come on. You want me to call Noct? Iggy?”

“No,” Prompto says quickly, too quickly, if the way Gladio’s eyes widen is anything to go on.

“What did they do?” Gladio asks.

Prompto drops his shoulders in defeat and exhales slowly.

“They kissed me,” Prompto admits.

“At the same time?” Gladio clarifies. He leans closer and a little of shaft of sunlight hits him just right to glint off the row of piercings that fills his ear. Prompto has to look away before his thoughts get the better of him.

“No,” Prompto says, “Noctis in training and Ignis when we were sorting out my uniform.”

“Huh,” Gladio says, “See and I thought we had agreed we wouldn’t do something like that.”

“What?”

“Dammit,” Gladio goes on, “Seriously? When I wasn’t there? That’s not fair. I would have liked to see that.”

“Gladio, wait. Stop.”

“What is it?” Gladio asks. He looks down at Prompto, eyes all soft and warm.

“You can’t just - aren’t you mad?” Prompto asks.

“Mad?”

Prompto looks away again, “You like them? You’re dating them? One of them? Both?”

Gladio hooks a finger under Prompto’s chin and turns his face back to look at him.

“Yes and no,” Gladio admits, “Yes, we like each other. No, we’re not technically together. But we’re not with anyone else either.” Gladio hums thoughtfully, “I guess there’s you now.”

Prompto sputters but no words come out.

“Didn’t you like it?” Gladio asks, hand still gently holding his chin.

“It’s not that.”

Gladio grins, “So you did like it?”

“What’s not to like,” Prompto mutters, “But if Iggy and Noct are, like, yours…why aren’t you mad?”

“Hypocritical of me to expect them to only have feelings for one person,” Gladio says.

“It’s different with the three of you -”

Gladio’s hand shifts, stroking along his cheek.

“Sorry,” Gladio says softly, “I mean, to never develop feelings outside the three of us.”

“Why would that be hypocritical of you?” Prompto whispers. He wonders if Gladio can hear his heart, hammering up against his ribs.

Gladio shakes his head.

“You wanna make it three for three?” Gladio teases.

“Come again?”

“Can I kiss you?” Gladio asks.

“If you want,” Prompto squeaks.

“A little less enthusiasm,” Gladio says flatly, “I beg you, or my ego will get too big.”

“Yes,” Prompto whispers, “Please.”

Gladio kisses with the most confidence. He’s the warmest and the wettest too, sweeping in to taste Prompto and bringing up his second hand to cup Prompto’s face too. Prompto clings to Gladio’s wrist, trying to breathe, trying to keep up. He wants to match Gladio press for press to let him know he wants this more eloquently than he could ever manage in words.

Gladio pulls back, resting his forehead against Prompto’s.

“There we go,” he says gently.

“Why did you do that?” Prompto breathes.

Gladio laughs, “Mostly because I wanted to. But also because you’re cute and the other two bozos got a turn so fair is fair.”

Prompto blinks.

“You think I’m cute?”

Gladio huffs, pulling back to drop a kiss on his forehead too.

“I see you’re still suffering from my foot-in-mouth-asshole-disease from a while back,” Gladio says.

Prompto cringes, remembering the day well. Gladio questioning his health, criticising his weight and all the crushing feelings that more than a decade of teasing and judgement had suddenly pressed down on him again.

Gladio apologised and Prompto believes him, understanding that Gladio just didn’t know any better. That in his own misguided way he’d meant well and now he knows better.

“It’s fine -”

“It’s not fine,” Gladio argues, “It hurt you and I’ll always feel bad about that. And obviously it put the silly idea in your head that I couldn’t like you.”

“I - oh.”

Gladio rubs his thumb across Prompto’s cheek, presses the pad of it briefly against the very corner of his mouth then drops his hand.

“I’ll take you home,” Gladio offers, “You’ve had a long day.”

“I’ve barely done anything,” Prompto argues.

But Gladio walks them back to the Citadel and Prompto puts up no fight when the Shield tells him to go grab his stuff while he steals the keys to a car in the pool and drives him home.

“They ran away,” Prompto tells Gladio when he reverses into a space outside his apartment block.

Gladio scoffs, “Of course they did.”

“So they regret it?”

Gladio shakes his head, “It’s not that simple. It’s complicated. The three - four of us.”

Prompto doesn’t need to ask why.

There’s four of them.

Noctis is the prince.

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto all technically work for him - or his Dad anyway.

There’s nothing not simple about anything that’s going on.

“I’ll talk to them tonight,” Gladio promises, “Make sure they don’t avoid you for too long.”

Prompto laughs, “Thanks. Was weird not seeing them today.”

Gladio reaches over to squeeze his hand as he gets out of the car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Prompto says, unsure how he should say goodbye. Gladio seems not to expect anything at all.

“I’ll book some time in the range for you,” Gladio promises and Prompto grins as he pops the door open and slides from his seat.

Gladio sounds the horn as he pulls away and Prompto waves, hoping he can see him in the rear view mirror.

What a day.

Physically underwhelming but his mind has been galloping one hundred miles an hour all day long.

There’s a letter on his doormat when he pushes the front door open and Prompto stoops down to pick it up in the same move he tosses his keys towards his desk.

It’s strange for him to get mail at his actual door, because all the mailboxes are downstairs. Prompto only bothers to check it a couple times a week, there’s never anything more exciting than a bill inside and there’s only so many copies of the menu from the crappy pizza joint down the street that one man needs.

The envelope is unmarked and Prompto turns it over in his hands as he toes out of his shoes and drops his bag unceremoniously onto the ground.

Miraculously he’s home early enough for a nap without it completely messing up his schedule and there’s a thousand other things he could do but it’s pointless to even pretend he’ll do them.

He slips his finger under the tab of the envelope and tears through it. It doesn’t feel like there’s much inside - maybe a note from his landlord?

He’s paid his rent fine and there’s no way he’s got himself a noise complaint. He barely spends any time here anymore.

If it weren’t for everything that had happened today Prompto would probably be eating at the Citadel with them tonight, would have played some games with Noctis and teased Gladio for his weird taste in books. He could have helped Ignis hide veggies in Noct’s dinner, disguising them in ever inventive ways.

It’s not a letter from his landlord.

Prompto sits heavily on the edge of his bed as the world screeches to a halt around him.

Where did they get this?

Who sent this?

Prompto turns the photograph over the moment he lays eyes on it, barely being able to stomach the sight of his secret documented like this - physical and irrefutable.

Prompto never lets it be visible outside his own home. Never been in a position to let someone take a picture of his bare wrist - to let them see it.

His parents didn’t teach him much, but they taught him the risk of exposing it like that. They taught him just how easily they could lose everything if the knowledge was made public.

It’s so small. His wrist is tiny. Back when he was a child he thinks, though somehow he can tell it is his wrist - the little cluster of freckles just under the bottom edge.

The photograph crinkles, almost folds in on itself as Prompto’s hands clench, trembling as he takes in the five words scrawled across the back in green ink.

We know what you are.

Chapter Text

Dad always said Gladio’s heart was too big, that he should have had more siblings to share it with, that he should have been more free to make friends with whoever he wanted, whoever he deemed worthy of his affection.

So of course Gladio manages to fall in love with three people.

It might be a little soon to call what he feels for Prompto love, he supposes, but Gladio’s gut is almost never wrong and that’s what it’s screaming at him.

Ignis’ office door opens before Gladio can knock on it, his fist raised almost exactly in front of Ignis’ face when it appears.

“Gladio -”

Gladio opens his fist to cup his palm over Ignis’ cheek, stepping right into his space to kiss him without warning.

Normally Ignis pulls away, softens the blow by nuzzling their noses together but pulls away nonetheless and reminds him that they can’t and it’s not fair.

Today he makes a low, shocked noise in the back of his throat and tangles his fingers into the long parts of Gladio’s hair so he has the leverage to tug Gladio deeper into his office.

“Hello,” Ignis murmurs when they at last separate in order to breathe.

“So, who’s a better kisser?” Gladio teases, “Me or Prompto?”

Ignis goes white.

“When Prompto’s back tomorrow we can ask him to rank all three of us, to make it fair,” Gladio says.

“All…three.”

“We were busy today,” Gladio grins.

Ignis licks across his bottom lip.

“Even Noctis?” Ignis asks.

“Kissed him first, I think,” Gladio says, leaning down to gently brush his mouth over Ignis’ again and feeling his stomach squirming when he lets him.

“That’s a relief,” Ignis says hoarsely, “I was worried he’d feel betrayed when he found out. And then you -?”

“Kissed him when I found out about you two, felt left out.”

Ignis scoffs, “Of course you did.”

“Ignis?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why did you run away after?” Gladio asks.

Where he’d gone white before Ignis suddenly burns red, pulling out of Gladio’s hold with a low noise of distress.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Ignis admits.

“Which is like a horror show for you,” Gladio muses.

“He seemed fine but we’ve never even - none of us have ever even alluded to anything like that with him and I didn’t want him to feel forced or coerced.”

Ignis leans back against his desk and even though Gladio doesn’t really want to he gives Ignis the breathing room the adviser always needs in order to think.

“It’ll be alright,” Gladio tells him, not for the first or last time he’s sure.

“Why does it feel easier?” Ignis murmurs, “It’s an extra person, an extra heart and thoughts and -”

“It’s Prompto,” Gladio says simply, “He’s what we needed. Thank you for finding him.”

Ignis looks startled.

“I did, didn’t I?”

Gladio closes the gap a little, just enough to cup Ignis’ cheek and his friend turns his head slightly to press more firmly against his palm.

“Let's go see Noctis,” Ignis whispers.

“Where were you going before?” Gladio asks, gently reminding him he was about to do something before he’d been interrupted.

“Not important.”

-

Noct’s working when they let themselves into his suite, pouring over a report with such rapt attention it pulls Ignis up short a little when he lays eyes on him.

“I’m gonna kiss him,” Gladio decides, just loud enough it catches Noct’s attention.

“What - kiss who?” Noctis stutters, eyes widening as Gladio strides towards him.

It’s quick, almost perfunctory, nothing like their previous kisses have been back when they thought they were kisses they’d get to experience every single day of forever.

“Um,” Noctis says when it’s over, “Hi?”

“Better or worse than Prompto?” Gladio asks.

“Honestly,” Ignis sighs, “Is that all you care about?”

“Pretty much,” Gladio says, “What else is important?”

Lots of things, Gladio knows. But hopefully brevity will keep them from panicking.

“I’ve never kissed Prompto,” Noctis says slowly, brow creased with the effort of telling such a lie.

“You need a better poker face,” Ignis says, “Even if Prompto hadn’t told Gladio the truth we’d know you were lying.”

Noct drops his head onto the table with a low thunk.

“Are you mad?” he whispers.

“Of course not,” Ignis promises. He comes close too, reaching out to run his fingers through the hair on the back of Noct’s head, “Darling,” Ignis goes on, “It’ll be alright.”

“No it won’t,” Noctis mutters, “I - I’ve ruined everything.”

“No you didn’t -”

“I ran away, like a coward. I didn’t ask first - we didn’t talk and then I just ran away and didn’t answer his messages all day.”

Ignis sighs, pulls his fingers more determinedly through Noct’s hair.

“So did I,” Ignis confesses, “Though he didn’t even try to message me.”

Noctis rockets upright again.

“You kissed Prompto?” he blurts.

Ignis nods and when Noctis’ eyes track to Gladio he shoots the prince a wink.

“Both of you?” he demands.

Then his face does something strange, eyebrows drawn together and a little wrinkle at the top of his nose. Normally the way his face goes pink is cute but today -

“Are you jealous?” Gladio snorts.

“No,” Noct says too fast to be true, “Not in the way you think.”

Ignis tugs on a lock of his hair.

“I just wish I’d seen it is all,” Noct murmurs, the colour on his face deepening even more. Gladio thinks it would burn his fingers to touch it.

“Next time,” Gladio promises.

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” Noctis says, “You know that we can’t.”

“Says you,” Gladio replies.

“Yes, says me,” Noctis says, “It’s not fair. Not on anyone, we can’t drag Prompto into it too.”

“Too late for that,” Ignis says softly.

Noctis pushes away from the table stiffly.

“We’ve talked about this,” Noct says, “A thousand times. Nothing is different just because we’re stupid enough to let all this bubble over onto someone else. We can’t be together, it’ll never work.”

“Because being apart is working out perfectly for us,” Gladio snaps.

Noctis pulls up short.

“That’s because you two won’t try,” Noctis shouts.

“And leave you all alone?” Ignis whispers.

“Yes,” Noctis insists, “Because it’s what’s right.”

“Okay,” Gladio says, “Me and Ignis will date Prompto, glad that’s decided.”

Noct’s jaw tightens, his teeth grinding together so fiercely Gladio thinks he can almost hear it.

“We’ll try and get someone you like to cover security when we all go out on dates,” Ignis promises.

“Fine,” Noct mutters.

“Because this is what you want, right?”

Noct’s mouth trembles and Gladio wonders if he’s taken it too far, if they pushed enough to have him actually pull away from them once and for all.

“Oh Noctis,” Ignis sighs, opening his arms up, “It doesn’t have to be like this, we can work it out. I promise.”

Noctis takes a half step towards his adviser then freezes. Gladio raises his hand to rest between Ignis’ shoulder blades, to take the sting out of it if Noctis turns away from him. It ends up being useful, Noctis crashes into Ignis’ chest with such force Gladio’s sure it’s only his strength that keeps them from falling down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Noctis mumbles, over and over again.

“Hush now,” Ignis says, enclosing him in his arms.

“I don’t know why I’m so bad at this,” Noctis says, voice thick.

“Not like you’ve had a lot of practice,” Gladio reminds him, stepping up to their sides and putting a hand on Noct’s back too.

“None of us have, really,” Ignis adds.

They stay like that for a long time, embracing in the middle of Noct’s living room. After a while Noctis lifts his head, eyes red-rimmed and it’s always such a surprise to see emotions writen so clearly on his face.

“How will it work?” Noctis wonders.

It’s a conversation that they’d had before. More than once, more than a dozen times probably, though it’s always been fraught, from opposite ends of a room rather than wrapped up in each other.

Gladio gently pats down his spine and murmurs, “Like this I imagine.”

Noctis snorts.

“I meant with me being a prince or whatever.”

Ignis buries his smile in Noct’s hair.

“Like that’s ever bothered us before.”

- - -

Noctis paces back and forth in front of him and Gladio’s just about decided he has to grab him on his next pass for his own sanity if nothing else when Ignis pushes through the door. They both perk up, desperate to see Prompto, to talk to him but -

“He’s late,” Ignis says.

“He’s never late,” Gladio and Noct say together.

Ignis is already tugging his phone from his pocket.

“I’ll check the bus schedule,” Ignis says, “Do either of you have -”

“Nothing here,” Gladio says and Noct turns to retrieve his phone from where he’d stashed it in his casual sneakers when he’d swapped into his training shoes. “That’s really gross, you know,” Gladio tells him.

Noctis shoots him a scowl, “Yeah, if I had your feet.”

Ignis sighs and when Gladio glances back his way he’s pressing his phone to his ear.

“You’re calling?” he asks.

Ignis nods, “The busses are all on time. He might have missed it but it’s unlike him not to let one of us know something like this.”

“Nothing for me,” Noct says, dropping his voice to a low mutter, “But then I ghosted him yesterday so why would he?”

“Come here,” Gladio tells him and it’s only the barest hesitation before Noct comes to settle on his thigh.

Ignis manages a smile, indulgent and pleased as his phone rings on and on and on.

It cuts out abruptly.

“Maybe he has no service,” Noct suggests, but he doesn’t sound even the least bit sure about it.

Ignis slips his phone back into his pocket.

“We should…get started?”

Gladio adjusts his stance on the bench and pats his other thigh, “Or we could just wait all comfy like.”

Noctis giggles.

“Incorrigible,” Ignis mutters, but he joins them.

-

“Does he have a landline?” Noctis wonders, “Maybe he’s really sick and his battery died.”

“He doesn’t,” Ignis says.

Scowling Noctis digs out his phone again.

They never started training, simply shifting from the hall into Ignis’ office, all squashed up together on his little couch.

“What are you -”

“Seeing when he was last online,” Noctis says, opening up one of their games to the usual fanfare. It takes him a few long seconds of tapping and swiping to find the information he’s looking for. “Huh.”

“When?” Ignis asks.

“I guess - when he was on the bus in yesterday?” Noctis supposes, turning the phone so Ignis can see it. The adviser nods, sitting back with a sigh.

“That’s weird,” Noctis mumbles, “He always logs in...”

“The phone definitely rang earlier?” Gladio asks Ignis, receiving another nod.

He always does this, turns basically monosyllabic or worse when faced with a problem he cannot immediately solve.

“We have to tell Cor,” Gladio tells them, “Three hours isn’t late, it's absent.”

“It’s missing,” Noct adds.

Ignis sighs, removing his glasses briefly to rub at his eyes.

“He’s probably just avoiding us after yesterday.”

“So let’s go get him,” Noct suggests, “Bypass Cor, at least for now, and go to his apartment to bring him in. To explain everything.”

“I’ll go,” Ignis agrees easily.

“We should all go,” Noct argues.

Gladio and Ignis shake their heads in perfect synchronisation.

“You leaving would draw too much attention,” Gladio points out, “So far no one's even noticed Prom’s not here.”

Noct scowls and settles back against the couch with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You better bring him straight here,” Noct demands, not softening until Ignis brushes a kiss over his forehead as he departs.

-

It takes seventeen minutes to drive to Prompto’s apartment. Or thereabouts.

When traffic is good.

It takes Ignis thirty-seven minutes for Ignis to return from the apartment without him.

“He’s not there,” Ignis says unnecessarily.

“Then where is he?”

Gladio and Ignis exchange a look.

“Time to tell Cor?” Gladio asks.

Ignis nods.

-

“That can’t be right,” Noctis says, snatching the file out of Cor’s hand. There’s barely anything in it even though he’d had a formal disciplinary just a few weeks ago, even though he’s been fast tracked and closely monitored since the moment he first walked through the doors.

Gladio lets Noct look at it for about four seconds then snatches it away to look at himself.

“He has no next of kin?” Gladio says, needing to see the empty line to believe it.

“Not ones he’s listed,” Cor says.

“But he said his foster parents were nice,” Noctis says, words almost a whimper.

“Nice but absent,” Ignis adds, “Even if we could call them, they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

“What’s next?” Gladio asks, not sure if he’s expecting Ignis or Cor to reply. They look at each other for a moment, Ignis calm but not quite as collected as normal and Cor allows the silence to stretch on for two, three seconds before taking over.

“You go back to his apartment and this time you go inside,” Cor says, “He’s nineteen so I can’t file him missing for twenty-four hours unless there are signs of foul play.”

“Twenty four hours from when?” Noctis asks immediately.

“The last time someone can confirm they saw him,” Cor says.

One pair of blue and one pair of green eyes swing around to him at lightning speed.

“About three o’clock yesterday,” Gladio tells them quickly.

Noctis huffs and Gladio gets it. That is still several hours away.

Gladio’s been trying not to worry about it, trying not to think about it but it’s been there all day in the back of his mind -

Did he see Prompto go inside his apartment yesterday?

Could he have been snatched right off the street as Gladio drove away?

-

It’s not hard to get inside Prompto's apartment building, Ignis tells them, the code for the front door is scrawled on the wall for any passerby to take note of it they wanted.

“That’s - what?” Noctis hisses, “Give me something to cover that up with.”

“I don’t carry paint with me,” Ignis mutters, keying in the code, “And last time I came inside here the door wasn’t even closed so this is an improvement.”

It’s not quite what Gladio was expecting.

He knew it was small, knew it was old from the way Prompto always describes it. But he wasn’t expecting it to be so run down, for the wallpaper to be peeling and for the carpet to be stained with a decade of dirty footprints.

“How far up does he live?” Noctis asks.

“Third floor, do you want to wait down here with Gladio?”

Noctis bristles between them and Gladio is almost glad for his stubbornness this time, not wanting to be sidelined.

“We might need to break the door down,” Gladio says.

Ignis sighs, “We might, yes.”

They do.

Noctis bangs on the door, calling Prompto’s names and a plethora of words that probably shouldn’t be uttered by the Prince of Lucis in public. One of Prompto’s neighbours appears in the hallway to yell back a few choice words of his own.

“Apologies,” Ignis says smoothly detaching from them to run mitigation.

Ignis gives Gladio a pointed look as he passes and in the brief minute the neighbour is distracted by Ignis’ platitudes Gladio shoves his shoulder against the door until it pops open with only the faintest splintering sound.

Gladio’s not super happy about how easy it was to do that.

The apartment is dark, curtains drawn and no lights on so Gladio fumbles for the light switch as Noctis rushes in ahead of him.

It’s tiny, the entire space barely bigger than Gladio’s bedroom, just a couple counters in the kitchen and a microwave balanced on top of a half-sized refrigerator.

“Can I buy Prompto a better TV?” Noctis wonders, passing his hand over the top of the boxy little thing.

“Absolutely not,” Ignis says, “You’d make him feel terrible.” Ignis closes the door behind him and while it no longer catches it shuts the rest of the world out.

“Prom?” Noctis calls, wandering further in.

“Everything okay?” Gladio asks Ignis.

“They didn’t see Prompto though he thinks he heard him come home yesterday,” Ignis explains.

“Useful,” Noctis scoff.

Ignis brushes past him, beelining for the window where he draws back the curtain to let afternoon light filter into the room. It helps, makes the space feel better, the sunshine reminding him of Prompto.

Strangely Ignis checks his fridge before anything else, a low hum Gladio’s not sure the meaning of escaping him before he straightens back up.

“Hey,” Noct says, “Look at this…”

On the wall of what amounts to Prompto’s kitchen. Right beside the door to his bedroom is an oversized cork board.

Covered in rows and rows of neatly arranged pictures.

Of them.

A shot of Noct looking right at the camera, slightly disgruntled in his wheelchair. Ignis up on Gladio’s back during training, clearly trying to drag Gladio onto the ground. A selfie of Prompto and Ignis that Gladio never saw being taken even though the back of his own head is just visible in the corner of it.

Ignis pauses to look at them only for a second, face paling before he turns to push open the only other door with enough haste to belay his calm exterior.

“Prompto, darling?”

Silence.

Ignis raps his knuckle against another door and Gladio moves himself into the bedroom behind him to watch him carefully peer into what must be Prompto’s bathroom.

Prompto’s bedroom is small too, carpet an uninviting beige but with a colourful rug tossed haphazardly over it. There’s only enough space for his small double bed and chest of drawers against the other wall.

Noctis shuffles in behind him, casting his eyes around with his brows drawn tight together over unusually intense eyes.

“He’s not here,” Noct says softly.

“There’s no toothbrush,” Ignis says breathlessly as he reappears, “And I can’t see any shampoo or anything in his shower.”

“He…left?” Noctis asks, sounding very much like he might cry. Gladio gets it.

Ignis magically retrieves his phone again in only the time it takes Gladio to blink.

His voice is low, urgent.

“Prompto. Please, I don’t know why you left and it’s - it’s okay. Please, just let us know you’re okay. And if you’re not okay, let us help you. We miss you - we just - we want to help.” Ignis stops, swallows audibly and goes to hang up.

“Wait,” Noct cries and rushes to Ignis, grabbing hold of his wrist to pull the phone close to him and fervently whisper, “Please, Prom. It’s not the same without you now. Come home. Please.”

Ignis stares at Gladio and he shakes his head miserably.

There isn’t a single thing he could possibly add.

What went wrong?

Sure everything was confusing yesterday but Prompto was happy, right? He wasn’t sad when Gladio dropped him off, he didn’t seem frightened or worried.

Ignis hangs up and raises the phone to his ear again.

“Cor?” Gladio asks and he shakes his head.

“Someone to fix the door,” Ignis mutters, wrapping his free arm around Noct’s waist and cradling the prince against his chest as all the strength seems to drop out of him all at once.

-

Cor is waiting for them when they get back.

With a grim face that doesn’t flinch even a little he presses a magazine into Ignis’ hand.

“It’s all over the internet, too,” Cor adds ominously.

“Ignis -” Noct starts, trying to reach for the magazine and angle it more towards him.

“Did you know?” Ignis blurts, pressing the page into his chest to hide it from view and staring at Cor.

“Not about the tattoo,” Cor says carefully, “But I knew where he was born.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ignis demands.

Cor’s eyes narrow a fraction, “Does it matter?”

“Does what matter?” Noct shouts, forcibly tugging the magazine away from Ignis with such ferocity the adviser winces.

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” Ignis says, “But I could have - would have been prepared -”

“For a catastrophic leak of information about one of our more vulnerable employees that could put him seriously at risk? How could you possibly have prepared him for that?”

“I wouldn’t have let him leave,” Ignis snaps.

“Holy fuck,” Noct whispers.

“What is it?” Gladio begs and Noctis slips the magazine into his outstretched hand before he has to ask again.

Royal Retainer: Niflheim Spy?

“What?” Gladio hisses.

“It’s not true,” Noctis says.

“Of course it’s not,” the other three all say together.

“He is from Niflheim,” Cor puts in, “But he’s not a spy.”

“Or he’s the best spy in the world,” Ignis considers.

Noctis snorts.

“I’m with Noct, he’s got the worst poker face in the world,” Gladio says, pinching Noct’s cheek, “Worse even than yours. Noctis punches him in the arm but judging from the way he shakes his hand out it hurts him more than it does Gladio. Serves him right.

“And the tattoo?” Ignis asks.

Gladio forces his eyes back to the magazine and sees it, an almost innocuous image of tattoo. Stark black lines with a series of letters and numbers along the top and bottom. The wrist is small. Tiny. A child.

Prompto’s had this since he was a child.

What monster tattoos a child?

“There was something locked in his file,” Cor says, “But that happens with adoptions sometimes. I assumed it was his birth parents but -”

“Do we know what it means?” Ignis asks.

“Not yet,” Cor says stiffly.

“Cor,” Noctis interrupts, “Cor it’s not been twenty-four hours but -”

“I’ve assembled a team of Guards,” Cor assures him, “And we have volunteers from the Glaive. We’ll find him.”

“Should we call again?” Gladio suggests, “Let him know we know but we don’t care? That it's safe to come home?”

“What’s the point?” Noct mutters, “He won’t answer.”

“We’ll find him,” Cor says again.

Noct’s face pinches in distress.

“Noct?” Ignis says gently.

“I need some paper,” Noctis says, and the custom gun they’d given Prompto just last week materialises in his hand, “And a pen.”

-

Cor’s office is closest so they set up in there, Noctis full of determination and purpose right up until Cor actually places a pen in his hand.

“What’s your plan?” Cor asks, obviously unable to watch Noct flounder for a moment longer.

“I’m gonna write him a note so he knows it’s okay then I’m gonna stick it in the barrel of his gun.”

“How likely is he to use his gun?” Gladio wonders.

“Not very, but if he gets - gets threatened or frightened then he’ll pull it out and know that we’re thinking of him and we care and maybe he’ll…”

“Come home,” Ignis finishes.

Cor clears his throat, “You can’t put it in the barrel.”

“Why not?” Noctis frowns.

“Might make the gun misfire.” Gladio tells him, “And, not to brag, but pretty sure he was trained well enough not to stare down the barrel of his own gun at any time for any reason.”

“That,” Cor says.

“Damn it,” Noctis mutters, “Well I’m out of ideas.”

Ignis laughs, “Or I could just find you some string.”

“Oh,” Noct says, he looks up at Gladio, “That’ll be okay?”

“That’ll be perfect.”

Gladio finds himself a little conflicted as he watches Ignis’ clever fingers tie a neat little knot in the string.

On one hand he’s desperate for Prompto to see the note, to pack up wherever he’s run off to and come back to them but on the other hand he hopes he never sees it. That he’s never in a position to need his gun, not when he’s somewhere without Gladio there to watch his back.

Chapter Text

Insomnia isn’t exactly a place people simply pass through so finding something in the way of temporary accommodation isn’t the easiest thing.

His only options are the sort of seedy motels that aren’t really designed for sleeping in at all but it’s where Prompto is forced to take himself. He takes the bus as far out as it will go then walks the remaining six miles with his hood pulled up and his hands furiously clenched around the straps of his backpack.

We know what you are.

Interesting that, because Prompto has no idea.

What. Not who but what.

Like he’s not even a person.

Prompto can't be sure if they really know something he doesn’t or if their bias against Niflheim is so intense they consider anyone from that place completely beneath the respect of even basic humanity.

The motel is dingy, brown carpet, beige walls that may or may not have started their life white. The proprietor doesn’t ask for an ID, just demands payment upfront and takes Prompto’s cash with a sniff.

“Someone joining you later?” they asked gruffly.

“No,” Prompto had squeaked and they’d laughed and pushed a key across the counter at him, a green plastic tag with a chipped number six emblazoned on it.

The bed is okay, in that it doesn’t collapse when Prompto falls onto it and it’s not so lumpy he thinks his back is at any risk. He doesn’t wiggle under the covers though, that seems like a bad idea.

He should have packed his own sheets.

Prompto feels the pangs of hunger stirring in his gut. He has food, but only the lacklustre offerings he'd scrounged up while half delirious with fear at a convenience store on the way here, face shrouded in the fabric of his dark hood. Snack bars and off brand soda.

All hidden beneath a magazine that he hadn't been able to not buy but he hasn't been able to make himself read yet either.

Prompto had recklessly bought it with his debit card, wanting his cash to pay for the room, to spend around where he was staying so he's not leaving a digital trail all around him.

Prompto knows he can't put it off forever, knows the article is about him. He needs to look at it. Needs to know what’s being said about him – what the world and his friends are being told.

Whatever is in that magazine will decide for him.

If this is far enough away or if he needs to get out of the city all together.

Tomorrow, Prompto decides, rolling over to put his back to the door.

Tomorrow he’ll eat and he’ll face down whatever it is his life has become.

- - -

Prompto’s never been well equipped for staying cooped up. Never been one for sitting still when there’s something that might need doing.

Half of him had expected his entire world to shatter into pieces that morning - half eaten protein bar in his hand as he read the words Citadel Scandal: Renegade Recruits and flicked to page eleven like the magazine instructed.

It’s nothing. Prompto should have known from the fact it was relegated back to page eleven but it’s really nothing at all. Just a statement that exclusive information had been handed to Lucis Today and they would keep their readers updated as information developed.

Was it about him? Or was it about something as silly as an in-team affair?

The protein bar is dry in his mouth, powdery in only the way an astonishingly cheap one can be and Prompto tosses what’s left of it into the small trash can set beside the door. The resounding ding it makes as it bounces off the metal side and into the bottom is all the confirmation Prompto needs to never eat another one of them again.

Dammit.

Ignis has been spoiling him.

Even the Crownsguard canteen has been spoiling him, in comparison to this.

Prompto tries not to think about Ignis.

-

Prompto walks past the first convenience store he finds, they're half a crown a dozen in this part of the city so he won't need to walk far. Though he wants to put at least a mile between himself and the motel if he’s going to be swiping his debit card again.

Maybe he should walk even further out, completely empty his bank account so he can survive with just cash…for a while.

But Prompto's exhausted. He barely slept, he’s eaten half of two different protein bars - the other brand was absolutely no better - before forcing himself to sit on the bed for hours watching one of the only two channels the crappy TV picks up until he thought he might actually go mad from boredom.

It’s not dark, but it’s getting there and Prompto walks straight past another convenience store - too busy, a group of rowdy kids milling about on their skateboards in front of the automatic doors.

No matter, the further away the better.

-

The shop smells a little, like bleach and pine scented disinfectant, so it could be worse, but Prompto can’t help but wonder what they’re trying to cover up.

The motel has a working kettle, but not much else, the small pot of complementary teabags set alongside it so old there’s probably nought but dust inside. It’s enough, anyway, to make food that feels real, even if nutritionally it’s less than adequate.

Prompto throws cup noodles into his basket and tries not to think of Gladio.

He finds sachets of just add water mac and cheese and adds those too, definitely not wondering if they’d pass muster with Noctis or not.

They wouldn’t.

Prompto throws a bottle of hot sauce in as well, spicy enough to make pretty much anything palatable.

A couple of people are waiting for the register so he hovers in a different aisle, stuffs a bag of peppered chips into his basket and turns to face the display at his back when the crinkling of the bag causes a few people to look his way in reflex.

Magazines.

Finance and fashion, two wedding volumes that proudly display a month long since past. And -

Royal Retainer: Niflheim Spy?

Prompto’s suddenly glad his stomach is empty, it might be the only reason he doesn’t vomit right there all over the pine scented floor.

He shouldn’t read it. He doesn’t need to read it, he already knows what it’s going to say. Yet he tucks it down the side of his other purchases and makes a break for the register while no one else is there.

Prompto lucks into another cashier completely uninterested in paying her customers any attention and he swipes his card with only the murmur of total uttered before she’s burying a yawn into her own shoulder and completely disengaging from what’s going on in front of her.

Prompto would have got fired for that, at his old job, back before he was -

Nothing.

He’s nothing now. He’ll have to get another shitty job, just like that. He can’t even go back to what he was, he’ll have to be something new.

Someone that knows exactly what they’ll be missing out on.

It’s fully dark now and Prompto walks faster on the way back, not out of eagerness to be back but out of an innate city living instinct that makes his legs move faster after dark.

Everyone walks fast after dark, so it’s not necessarily a red flag that there are people behind him, keeping pace, just a dozen feet back.

He crosses to the other side of the road though, instinct kicking in without thought again.

They follow.

Prompto doesn’t want to turn to look at them, doesn’t want them to know he’s realised so he can only guess that there’s three of them by listening to their footsteps. He transfers both his shopping bags into one hand and shoves the other into the front pocket of his hoodie.

It had always been so hard before. Had always taken so much effort with Noct and Iggy and Gladio staring at him, expectations so high and so obvious.

It’s almost easier than breathing now.

The metal is cold against his fingers as he wraps them around the hilt of his gun - overly fancy, he’d thought at the time, too pretty, too much fine detail for something designed to kill. But Noctis had pushed it into his hands and Gladio had whistled and Ignis in that damn accent of his had simply said suits you quite well, I think. And now the gun is his, kept safely in armiger where he has only a middling success rate of being able to retrieve it.

Until now.

Prompto doesn’t want to use it, doesn’t want to hurt someone he doesn’t have to, not when they’re probably just poor kids down on their luck and after whatever money he has on him. But the sight of it should be enough, he thinks, if they get much closer, if they get aggressive he can just pull it out, wave it around and unless they also have a weapon hidden away he’ll have enough of an advantage they’ll be smart and scatter.

He’s not worried about getting hurt, not after all his training. He’s worried about doing the hurting, about causing enough of a scene that the police are called - the Crownsguard - and Prompto will be dragged back and forced to face the reality he’s had laid at his feet.

“Hey,” a voice calls behind him. His age, or younger - just kids, like he’d thought.

Prompto keeps walking.

“I’m talking to you,” he says. They quicken their footsteps but Prompto doesn’t run, there’s no use.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Prompto says, without turning his head.

His hand tightens around his gun, little finger brushing against - what is that? Card? Paper?

What’s it doing attached to his gun?

“There doesn’t need to be trouble,” says a different voice, “Just give us your money and we’ll leave you alone.”

It’s not only unlikely but also impossible for him to comply with. Prompto needs that money just as much as they do - possibly more unless they’re all living on the streets.

“I don’t have any money,” Prompto says.

A lie.

It had seemed safer to carry it with him than stash it somewhere at the motel. The owner definitely has another key, Prompto had seen a maid pulling a cleaning cart around that morning - for what good she does - so there was absolutely a chance that someone could go into his room at any moment he wasn’t there.

“Those are fancy shoes for someone without any money,” the first guy points out.

His Crownsguard boots.

Not from his fatigues, those are still stuck at a manufacturer somewhere but his training boots. Sturdy. Comfortable. He’d thought they’d been the best choice.

Stupid.

“Spent all my money on shoes,” Prompto quips.

“Maybe we’ll just take those then.”

Prompto pulls to a stop and they copy him, uncomfortably close.

“I really don’t want any trouble,” Prompto says.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he twists around, smacking it away, with the hand clutching his gun.

“I mean it,” Prompto says firmly.

He doesn’t hold the gun up, doesn’t point it at them or threaten but three sets of eyes follow it, tracking it just the same as if he had. Two of them shuffle back half a step, a shorter boy and a girl whose face is more obscured by a hood even than Prompto. The one up front, the leader visibly hesitates but doesn’t retreat.

“You won’t shoot us,” he says.

“Maybe not,” Prompto says, “But can you be completely sure.”

“Let’s go,” the girl whispers, “Ko, let’s just go.”

The other boy steps forward, to tug on Ko’s sleeve.

“It’s not worth it,” they mutter.

He backs away slowly, keeping his eyes on Prompto until he’s more than a dozen paces away where he turns and the three of them head back the way they came.

Prompto relaxes his arm further, and the little square of paper or card or whatever it is bumps against his little finger. Setting his shopping on the ground he tugs on what he now sees is a square of paper neatly folded over at least three times. The knot pulls free easily enough, separating the note from the weapon. In harsh yellow light from the overhead street light he can make out just one word.

Prompto.

-

The magazine has the same picture of his tattoo that was slipped under his door.

His wrist is tiny in the picture, frail. It wouldn’t identify him by itself except his name is repeated in the article six times over, his school photo and what must be an illegal photograph of him, Noctis, Ignis and Gladio framed inefficiently and unattractively on the page.

…there’s no way of knowing what it means…reports suggest bio-weaponry…artificial intelligence…Niflheim have always been the world leaders in science…ill advisedly so close to the heir of…passing information to our enemies as we sit on the fringe of war.

Have they seen this? Do they know now?

Did his friends see this before he did? Did they understand something of his life before he ever had the chance to learn it himself?

It can’t be true.

Not much of it.

Not any of it.

He’s not passing information to anyone. He’s never been in Niflheim while old enough to be cognisant of the fact.

He’s not a machine.

Or at least he doesn’t feel like one. And that’s what matters, right?

Artificial intelligence can not feel pain like this, surely.

He’s almost a little proud of himself for not crying.

He feels nothing, numb to the additional hurt on top of hurt, pain and loss all swirling up inside him in a big mess until it ceases to exist.

There’s only one thing left to look at.

Prompto had tossed the gun back into the hold of Noct’s magic - belatedly impressed that he even still had access to it.

He’d stood there on the sidewalk with the square of paper clutched in his fingers, plain brown string dangling from the tiny hole that had been punched through the pages. But he couldn’t make himself read it. Prompto knew who it was from, knew that he’d find Ignis’ elegant handwriting inside spelling out words he just isn’t ready to read.

It’d gotten stashed in his pocket along with a clenched fist and Prompto had retrieved his bags from the ground and headed home.

No. Not home.

Just back.

The noodles were overly salty but hot food rejuvenated him in a way that shouldn’t have taken him by surprise but did.

There are three distinct handwritings on that piece of paper when Prompto unfolds it.

It doesn’t mean anything. None of what it says matters. You’re still Prompto.

Please come back, we’ll take care of you. You’ll be safe.

We love you.

Prompto presses the note against the bed. Smooths it flat with his palm and reads the words over and over again.

You’re still Prompto.

You’ll be safe.

We love you.

The words can’t be true.

They can’t -

Prompto’s phone has been off since he left his apartment, half charged and tucked into the bottom of his backpack just in case.

They must be able to track it, the Citadel. It must be a safety thing, to be able to find Guards and Glaives that go missing in action. It’s why he can’t turn it on, he can’t risk it.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Prompto fumbles with the button on the side of his phone as he tries to power it on, hands suddenly clammy so he almost drops it twice as the screen comes to life in a burst of colour as the apps load in one by one.

If he’s fast - gets it done before they can focus in on him.

[Prompto 21:37] i’m sorry

He doesn’t know what else to say.

-

Prompto doesn’t think he’s slept.

The numbers on the digital clock are eye searingly yellow and that only makes the fact that they read 03:03 worse.

He’s not seen every number tick past, so surely he’s dozed, but he thinks he’s seen most of them. Each one crawling by at a snail's pace as anxiety crawls at his gut.

Three in the morning.

When was the last time he was awake at three in the morning and not elbow deep in a video game?

“Prompto!”

Prompto blinks and rolls onto his back.

Did he just -

“Prompto which room are you in?”

“What’s all this yelling? I’m running a business here.”

“Terribly sorry. We were wondering if you could tell us -”

There’s a harsh knock against his room door, the wood rattles from the force of it.

“Prompto I know you’re in there,” Noctis shouts, “Prom, please, open the door.”

“Noct, you don’t know he’s in that room - just hang on a second,” Gladio tries to placate him.

“I do know,” Noctis argues, and the door handle rattles, “I can sense it.”

“The owner says that’s his room,” Ignis chimes in.

They’re here.

They’re right here, banging on his door at three o'clock in the morning.

They came for him.

“I see you have a key in your hand,” Noctis' voice says flatly and Prompto scrambles up off the mattress.

“Yes.”

“You gonna use it or shall we just stand here all night?” Gladio asks.

“Shut up! We’re trying to sleep here.”

“I’d like to give Prompto a chance to let us in,” Ignis says, “Wouldn’t you prefer that?”

There’s a dull thunk then Noctis says something, but Prompto can’t make it out at all.

“Prom?” Gladio says, “Please let us in. We’re not mad, we just want to see you.”

Prompto didn’t cry earlier. But he’s pretty sure he’s gonna do it now.

The problem is that he can’t move.

“You can come in,” Prompto says, trying to pitch his voice loud enough to be heard.

“Prom?” Noctis says.

“You - you can unlock the door,” he says, managing, he assumes, to be heard because the distinct sound of a key in a lock seems to fill his room.

The door bursts open and half a second later Noctis is in his arms.

“You’re okay,” Noct breathes, squeezing him impossibly tight.

“I’m - yeah.”

“Let someone else have a turn,” Gladio says gruffly and Noctis huffs, hot breath right against his ear and pulls back. He gives Prompto a blazing, earnest look with shining eyes before he’s all but shoved to one side by Gladio’s hands.

“Scared us half to death,” Gladio says, hand alighting on Prompto’s shoulder to drag him close, up off the bed, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Gladio cradles Prompto against his broad chest, hand cupping the back of his head. He feels gentle pressure on his hair - a kiss.

Prompto sniffs to pull back the tears but it’s pointless now.

When Ignis crowds in at his back, long arms wrap around him underneath Gladio’s and Prompto can’t stop him from letting loose the ugliest sob he’s ever done in his whole life.

“Shh,” Ignis murmurs into his hair, “It’s alright now, you’re alright.”

-

It takes Prompto a long time to calm down and they leave him be, carefully wrapped in strong arms and only being pried away so Noctis can wiggle his way between their bodies too and hide his own wet face against Prompto’s shoulder.

When his breath is back and his tears have run dry he’s manoeuvred back onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard with Gladio and Ignis either side of him. Noctis crawls onto the bed like a cat and settles his head on Prompto’s thigh, his body curled up atop Gladio’s.

“You didn’t think we’d mind, did you?” Ignis asks him, cutting right to the chase but lessening the sting by idly playing with Prompto’s fingers. Gladio presses a kiss to the side of his head, quickly pulling back with a wary expression. Prompto tilts his head so it’s resting on Gladio’s broad shoulder.

“I thought I’d get arrested,” Prompto admits, “Or that you’d hate me because of the - the, uh…”

Prompto half raises his wrist, covered in a sweatband then lets it flop bonelessly against the mattress. Noctis grabs for it almost roughly and presses a loud smacking kiss right against his palm.

“There’s a lot to unpack there,” Gladio says with a short laugh, “But, what would you be arrested for?”

“I’m an illegal immigrant?” Prompto half asks. He’s not actually sure.

“Not true,” Ignis says, “You have formal adoption papers. You’re legally a Lucian citizen.”

“Oh,” Prompto whispers.

“And Insomnia isn’t exactly hot on immigration papers,” Noctis mutters, “Dad doesn’t care, I don’t care - let everyone in what does it matter.”

Prompto watches Gladio scratch his fingers against Noct’s scalp, smiles when Noctis twitches into the touch like a cat.

“And we would hate you because of a tattoo you didn’t choose to get…why?” Noctis asks.

“I - maybe it means I’m a monster.”

“Prompto.”

“Darling, no.”

“Sometimes you’re really dumb.”

“Mean,” Prompto mutters, playfully bumping his head into Gladio’s jaw.

They settle and though there must be a thousand other questions they want to ask they don’t rush Prompto. There’s something specific about the quiet that exists around them right now, the kind of silence that you can only find wrought out and exhausted on the edge of four am with your entire life ahead.

“Noct,” Gladio whispers, “You sleeping, princess?”

“No,” Noct slurs, but his eyes are closed.

“It’s late,” Prompto murmurs, “You guys should…go?”

“We should all go,” Ignis argues, “But only when you’re ready.”

“I can’t go back,” Prompto argues, “Everyone knows what I am.”

“Who,” Ignis corrects, “And they’ll forget about it in time. We’re forcing the magazine to write a retraction and Cor told us just as we were leaving they found the person responsible for releasing the information. It looks like they were working alone.”

“They’ve been fired,” Noctis says sleepily, “I did it myself.”

“I would have liked to see that,” Prompto admits, managing a laugh.

Ignis hums and Gladio confirms, “It was really something.”

“No one fucks with my Prompto,” Noctis says flatly, a little less sleep in his tone. He turns into Prompto’s thigh a little more, face obscured by his hair.

My Prompto.

“Why does the magazine have to write a retraction, isn’t that just for false -”

“Speculation amounting to slander,” Ignis explains, stilling his hand and linking their fingers together.

“They had no facts so they just accused you of a bunch of things and hope something stuck,” Gladio growls.

“I wonder what did?”

“None of it,” Ignis says, “I won’t let it.”

Prompto swallows.

“I didn’t turn up to work for -”

“Paid time off, due to stress,” Ignis says with a hint of finality that makes Prompto slam his mouth shut.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Gladio urges, “I know seeing the magazine must have been bad but -”

“They put a note under my door,” Prompto says, “With the picture of my, um. You know.”

“What?” Ignis snaps.

“You’re not going back there,” Gladio says. His arm wiggles between Prompto and the headboard, giving him a firm squeeze.

“Prompto can stay with me,” Noctis mumbles, “I’ve go’the space.”

They fall silent again.

Ignis resumes playing with his fingers and Gladio rubs his arm.

Noctis sleeps.

“So we’re…we're still friends?” Prompto asks, squeezing his eyes tight and turning his face into Gladio’s shoulder.

“Well,” Ignis says.

“The thing is…” Gladio trails off.

“Boyfriends,” Noctis says from his lap, eyes still closed.

“But I - we - I thought…” Prompto stammers.

“Only if you want,” Ignis hastens, “We appreciate it’s a lot to take on -”

“No!” Prompto blurts loudly. He disturbs Noctis on his thigh and the Prince twists a little, opening just one eye to glare up at him.

“No?” Gladio nudges.

“I mean yes, obviously,” Prompto says, “I just thought - we couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed. And that - that you guys had decided against it.”

“Things change,” Gladio says.

“Like what?” Prompto wonders.

“You,” Ignis says calmly, “You did. You changed us, made us whole where nothing else would.”

Prompto’s worried he might cry again.

Instead he smiles at Ignis, turning his head from Gladio’s shoulder and more tentatively than he’s ever done anything in his life leans in towards him.

Noct’s weight disappears from his thigh.

“If we’re kissing Prompto again I want to go first,” Noct demands, all traces of sleepiness gone.

“Technically you already went first,” Gladio complains.

Prompto and Ignis hesitate, mouths just inches apart.

“Thus setting the standard for the rest of our lives,” Noctis explains.

Prompto snorts and leans back so he’s not laughing right in Ignis’ face.

“See, Prompto likes the idea,” Noctis says proudly.

The prince puts his hand on Prompto’s chin, gently turning his face towards his own and closes the gap.

It’s better than last time, more sure, less dry. Less confusing.

This time he knows that Noctis wants him, that they all do, even if he doesn’t quite understand how or why.

Of course, it’s made all the sweeter when Ignis and Gladio lean close to kiss each side of his face at the same time, completely knocking the wind out of Noctis’ sails.

Noct pulls away with a huff and Ignis is quickest, takes advantage first, gently turning Prompto’s head so Gladio’s mouth is forced to leave him too, nose nuzzling into his hair at his nape.

“Okay, that’s hot,” Noctis

Prompto has to pull away to laugh again and Ignis, rather than look offended, just smiles indulgently and passes his thumb over Prompto’s bottom lip.

“Saving the best for last again I see,” Gladio sighs.

Prompto doesn’t wait to be turned this time, angling his own face in the best way he can with Noct straddling the bottom of his legs and Ignis keeping a firm hold of his arm so he can barely turn his body. Thankfully Gladio leans down to meet him halfway and Prompto would never seriously pick favourites but kissing Gladio is a pretty good way to round out an evening.

Chapter Text

“I hope Luna likes me,” Prompto murmurs.

Noctis drapes himself over his back against the floor, peering over Prompto’s shoulder at the console in his hands.

“Watch your -”

“I got it, I got it,” Prompto promises, “See. Stop worrying, I’m better at this than you.”

Noctis whines at the obvious slight on his precious gaming skills.

“One day,” Noctis murmurs. He drops a kiss against Prompto’s ear and even from across the room it sounds wet. Ignis would have shoved Noct’s away in reprimand but Prompto seems completely unfazed by it.

Still the best at handling Noctis, even now.

“Luna will love you,” Ignis says, backtracking to acknowledge Prompto’s previous concern.

“My wife is gonna be so jealous of all my awesome boyfriends,” Noctis laughs.

Prompto goes slightly off colour and Ignis would send Noctis a look for purposefully needling him into blushing but he’s buried in Prompto’s soft hair. Ignis hardly blames him.

“You’re sure she doesn’t mind?” Prompto asks for possibly the hundredth time.

“She said I can have as many boyfriends as I like as long as she can keep kissing her girlfriend and I let the dogs sleep on the bed we’ll pretend we share,” Noctis reminds him.

“Did she say who her girlfriend was yet? Is she coming back to Insomnia with Luna?”

“No idea,” Noctis says, “She’s being a brat.”

“Who’s a brat?” Gladio asks, reappearing from the bathroom still rubbing a towel through his hair, “Besides Noctis of course.”

“Why do I like you?” Noctis cries dramatically, rolling off Prompto’s back and onto his own, cushioned against the plush carpet.

“You love me,” Gladio reminds him, “And it’s because I can pick you up with one arm.”

“Oh, yeah,” Noct says dreamily, “That’s it.”

Gladio wanders over to where Ignis is carefully dicing potatoes, dropping a kiss onto his cheek and settling with his hip against the counter.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” the Shield asks.

“Prompto has hand to hand -”

“Gross,” Prompto chimes in.

Ignis clears his throat and carries on, “And not much else. You wanted to check the tent while the weather is dry. Maybe we can do that this afternoon.”

“Day camping in the training field?” Gladio laughs.

“Sounds lame,” Noctis says, “I’m in.”

- - -

“You sent them a picture?” Gladio asks Prompto as they head down the main steps.

“Email,” Prompto says, “Last time I spoke to them they said phone service was spotty. This way they’ll see it when they get to a computer.”

Gladio nods, like this is fine but Ignis can’t help but wonder how long it’s actually been since Prompto last spoke to his foster parents. Ignis doesn’t think they’ve congratulated their son once on his recent string of achievements.

“Hey, Iggy?” Prompto says in his sweet voice, chasing the last of the negative thoughts from his mind.

“Yes, love?”

“Can I drive?” Prompto asks earnestly, almost a little desperately.

He did only pass his driving test a few days ago and he’s been positively itching to get behind the wheel of a car.

“When we’re out of the city,” Ignis promises, looking away quickly so as not to be swayed by his pout.

Cor leads them to the Regalia and Regis follows them down the steps to tease his son.

“See some landmarks, pick up my wife and bring her home,” Noctis promises his dad, “Best behaviour, I swear.”

Regis rolls his eyes and catches Ignis’ with a grin.

“I trust you to make sure he behaves himself?” The King asks him.

Ignis nods, “As always, Your Majesty.”

“One last thing,” Regis says and Ignis feels Prompto’s body tense, “Have fun, won’t you?”

-

“Just follow the signs for Hammerhead,” Gladio says, “You can’t miss them unless you're trying.”

“Got it,” Prompto says, bristling with energy.

Noctis reaches around the seats to squeeze Prompto’s shoulder.

It’s not Prompto’s fault.

There’s no way it’s Prompto’s fault. It’s simple happenstance. A complete and utter coincidence.

“What’s that noise?” Noctis asks, raising a hand to shield his eye from the sun.

“The car?” Prompto says, though it sounds like a question.

“I think you should pull over,” Gladio advises, “We can find someone to look at it.”

“Isn’t that what Hammerhead is for?” Prompto complains.

The car whines, then something grinds together and, if Ignis didn’t know any better, he’d suggest that something literally fell out of the vehicle and onto the road.

“I really think you should pull over,” Gladio says, more firmly this time.

Ignis is just about to reach for the steering wheel himself when Prompto suddenly sighs, throws on the indicator and pulls the Regalia off to the side of the road.

“Uh,” Prompto says, “Maybe I shouldn’t drive anymore.”

“Agreed,” the other three echo at once.