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It’s one of those lazy Sunday afternoons that trickles past like honey slowly falling off a spoon. Noctis’ fingers comb listlessly through Prompto’s hair as they watch, but not really watch, the television.
Prompto is on the floor with the scattered bits of the internal workings of a robot or at least six toasters spread out on the coffee table and the floor around him. Noctis is on the couch with folders of Citadel reports haphazardly shoved under a cushion that are leaking papers which are probably supposed to be confidential.
Friday night’s projects that bled into Sunday but never quite got done.
Noctis’ fingers move through Prompto’s soft hair like it’s water. Like he’s on a boat, sailing down the golden afternoon sun and catching a handsome mermaid prince instead of the fish he’s expecting.
The silence between them has stretched out like a comfortable blanket that’s starting to get worn with use. Noctis’ fingers glide down Prompto’s neck and linger for a moment before he drapes his hand over Prompto’s shoulder.
Prompto turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Noctis’ knuckles.
“I want pancakes.” Noctis declares.
“So make pancakes.” Prompto picks up a screwdriver and starts fiddling with something.
“I don’t want to make pancakes.” Noctis wriggles forward on the couch and leans his chin on Prompto’s shoulder. “I just want to eat them.”
Prompto is unscrewing the back of some kind of motherboard. Noctis idly watches as the tiny magnetic screws get added to the bottlecap Prompto is keeping them in. His fingers stroke the ends of Prompto’s hair.
“I’m not making you pancakes.” Prompto says after all the screws are in the bottlecap and he puts the tiny screwdriver back on the coffee table.
Noctis flops his forehead against Prompto’s shoulder and scrapes his chin against the couch upholstery. “What if I helped?”
“Help by your definition or mine?” Prompto ruffles Noctis’ hair.
“Ugh.” Noctis flops back against the couch. “That toaster had it out for me since we got it.”
“Ah yes.” Prompto gets to his feet and offers Noctis a hand. “It was the toaster that started the fire.”
Noctis accepts the hand up and nimbly steps around Prompto’s mess. “I mean, technically, yes.”
The kitchen never seems big enough when they’re both in it. Noctis always ends up bumping into Prompto and getting flour or milk or something on the floor. Like cooking and baking is some kind of dance he never learnt the steps for.
“You’re in the way, Noct.” Prompto gently pushes Noctis away from the counter and towards the fridge with a foot. He sets the mixing bowl down on the counter Noctis was just leaning against.
“I wanted to help.” Noctis grumbles as he leans against the fridge door.
“You do.” Prompto leans up and kisses Noctis’ cheek. “When you stay out of the way.” His eyes glint mischievously.
“I’m out of the way.” Noctis catches Prompto by the back of the neck and pulls him in for another kiss. “Unless I have to go sit at the table.”
“No.” Prompto bats Noctis’ hip with the handle of the wooden spoon. “Stay there and keep looking handsome.”
“That’s just my face, Prom.” Noctis points out. “Almost as handsome as yours.”
Noctis will never get tired of the way Prompto blushes at the slightest compliment. Maybe his cheeks don’t go as pink as they used to after all this time, but the tinge is still there. Like the pink clouds of sunrise clearing away the darkness and gloom of the night before.
“You could get the plates out, though.” Prompto says as he stirs the mixture.
Since the plates are past Prompto, Noctis settles for hugging him from behind and resting his chin on Prompto’s shoulder.
“I’m taking the long route to the plates.” Noctis says before Prompto can say anything.
“Uh huh.” Prompto just keeps stirring.
Noctis slides his hands down Prompto’s sides and rests them against his hips. “Are you complaining?”
“I will in a minute if you don’t get the plates.”
“Okay.” Noctis lifts his head and kisses the side of Prompto’s neck. “I’ll behave.”
“For now.” Prompto leans back against him for a moment before straightening. “Go on.”
“You know,” Noctis says as he drizzles honey onto his pancakes. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh oh.” Prompto scrapes out the last bit of strawberry jam with a butter knife. “About what?”
“You.” Noctis sets down the honey container and leans forward. “Do you want to get married?”
Prompto sets down the jam jar and blinks at him. “Not if you ask it like that.” He picks the jar back up and resumes his mission to find the last bit of jam. “And not if you’re only asking for a lifetime supply of Sunday afternoon pancakes.”
“Damn.” Noctis cuts a piece off and savours the still-warm slice of buttery, fluffy pancake. “You saw right through me.” He reaches forward with his foot and bumps it against Prompto’s ankle.
“Always have, always will.” Prompto grins. He reaches across the table and catches Noctis’ wrist in his fingers. “Love you.” His fingers squeeze gently before he lets go.
“Love you too.” Noctis smiles. “But you’ve got jam on your nose.”