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Hammerhead is blistering hot when they step out of the Regalia. In the sweltering heat, the four men part ways to get started on their now-usual pit stop.
Ignis heads to the store to replenish their stock of foodstuffs, elixirs, and remedies. An unspoken hope that the attendant might have finally received a shipment of Ebony.
Noctis finds Cid in his usual perch; on the lawn chair, legs stretched out. The old man gives Noctis grief as they chat about modifications to some of their weapons.
Gladio sets off to Takka’s to exchange proof of their hunts and to pick up a few more listings.
Prompto drools over his goddess of gears as she likely asks for another shop-related favor.
It’s business as usual. Or at least, what passes for usual these days.
Noctis jots down a list of things Cid requested (“Cactuar Needles– ugh”, “Courel Whiskers– ugh, could have done that a week ago”) when he hears a gruff voice beside him.
“Blondie doesn’t seem to be making progress,” Gladio comments, as he nudges Noctis to take a look at the haul from their hunts. Noctis quickly eyes the gil and confirms it was what they were expecting. They could splurge and book a real hotel to have semi-unlimited hot water and soft beds for a night.
Noctis then looks over to his best friend, fidgeting and beet red in the face. This flustered look is reserved for seemingly every woman that speaks to Prompto.
It’s a familiar look. One that Noctis has seen in a hundred different ways since he and the blonde became friends.
“Yeah, Prom’s got no game.”
“Oh, man,” whines Prompto, as he takes a seat back from his voyage to the vending machine, “I am never going to get a date with her.”
The ‘her’ in question rotated frequently.
So frequently that Noctis has stopped asking which ‘her’ Prompto was referencing.
“It’s like I’m totally invisible, I don’t get it.”
Noctis pokes Prompto's forehead in a motion to say ‘not invisible’ as Prompto mocks pain in response.
“Yeah, yeah,” Prompto smiles as he playfully swats away the prince’s hand. In a stunning switch of topics, he says, “It’s your lucky day though, I got a 2-for-1 drop in the vending machine! Here!” he exclaims as he offers a bag of Lil’ Malbuddy Muddy Buddies.
Noctis takes the package and their fingers touch briefly. The metallic material crinkles in his hand as he stares down at the little one-eyed, tentacled mascot and powdered sugar-covered cereal mix.
He looks back toward where Prompto was just trying and failing to impress his latest infatuation and nods in that direction with a smirk and says, “Should’ve given it to her?”
The look of offense is immediate.
“What? No way dude, those are like one of your favorites, right? And it was free. Kismet, man. Take the grace of the vending machine gods.”
Noctis can’t argue with that logic. He opens the bag and basks in that strange warmth of friendship as he munches on (indeed one of) his favorite snacks.
Noctis has noticed that Prompto is prone to slapping on a smiling face even when he is clearly not happy.
Personally, he doesn’t like being pushed to talk, so he won’t push Prompto either if he wants to pretend to be unbothered. That doesn’t mean Noctis can’t see the obvious sadness in his best friend’s eyes.
Prompto got stood up for a movie date. A date that he couldn’t stop chattering about all week long. He had bravely snagged an agreement from one of their classmates that they’d go watch Warm Bodies— a zombie-themed rom-com that was sure to be “equal parts spooky and romantic” according to Prompto. He would hold her hand, or maybe sneak his arm around her shoulders, if she got scared. Like how they do in the movies. It was going to be “the greatest night” of Prompto’s young life.
And Noctis heard all about it.
Every detail. Every hypothetical.
All week long.
So he was surprised to get a text from Prompto so close to the start time. With minimal prodding, he figured out that something went wrong and lightly hinted that he was alone; suggesting Prompto come over to the apartment if he had time later. Watch a movie or play a game with him. A paltry offer compared to what he was looking forward to, but Noctis hoped it’d take his mind off of the rebuff.
Now that he’s here, Noctis can’t quite ignore the dejected look in his eyes; a look that doesn't offset the mismatched bright smile, as he bypasses Noctis to take his shoes off and marches straight for the couch, exclaiming, “Ok, Noct! Get in position!”
And so they do; intertwining limbs, as they take opposite ends of the couch. Prompto wraps legs around Noctis’, effectively sandwiching the prince’s legs in place. They sink further into the cushions together, a convoluted but comfortable twisting of bodies.
Prompto wraps his arms around Noct’s sock-covered feet as he fires up his mobile app. Noctis turns the cable on in the background for noise, and a familiar movie pops up (My Big Fat Galadhian Wedding, one of Prompto’s favorite romcoms– a risky movie given the circumstances, but he hopes it will make his friend happy nonetheless).
Noctis mindlessly strokes Prompto's calf as the game loads in. He slips his fingers up the pant leg and plays blindly with the fine blonde hair on his shins.
Casual touch wasn’t something Noctis was used to until Prompto slapped him on the back with a reintroduction.
Prompto has no boundaries around Noctis, and Noct fucking loves it. It's weirdly freeing that Prompto doesn’t seem to share the idea that countless people in his orbit do— an unspoken, distant motto of “do not touch the royalty”.
Prompto though…well, maybe the interpersonal touching was a little jarring at first, but now it’s so common and comforting, Noctis can’t quite remember what it was like to live without his familiarity. He doesn’t want to think about those days when he didn’t have someone to sit so close that their thighs touched; didn’t have a friendly arm slinging around his shoulders; didn’t have a couch gaming ‘position’ equal parts intricate as it was cozy.
Nights like this remind him that it’s not just Noctis who finds comfort in this closeness.
If Prompto embraces Noctis’ legs a little more closely during the evening, neither boy calls attention to it.
Noctis wouldn’t call Prompto a ‘one-track mind,’ but some days it’s a near thing.
Unlucky for him in this life, Noctis didn’t fancy attention. Not from the staring classmates over the years. Not from council members, whispering how he is so unlike his father. Not from paparazzi, who think they’re going to catch an incriminating photo of the nation’s heir.
Not from a girl who (to her credit, bravely, probably) butts in on Prompto and his conversation. Not that they were discussing anything important on this lazy, sunny afternoon, but all the same, the interruption came in the form of a classmate who laser-focuses in on His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis, and never says more than two words to Prompto.
Apparently, this meant that Prompto (curse him) sensed romantic and flirty ‘vibes’ and decided to exit stage right with a hearty, “Welp, I was just heading to work. See ya later, Noct!,” as he walks in the exact opposite direction of where he works.
If looks could kill, the glare Noctis shot at Prompto as he left the fountain would have been his demise. His friend, if one could still call him that, shot him back a wink, paired with a shit-eating grin, as he hand-signaled a phone as if to say ‘call me later.’
The flirting classmate interaction doesn’t last much longer after the departure. Noctis doesn’t want to be rude, but he literally cannot think of anything to say to her. His answers are short. Brusque. And, well…rude, if Ignis were here to watch and say anything about it. But his mind draws blank after blank. He vaguely knows this girl, but she is usually surrounded by friends, in the groups of people at school who’d rather stare and make comments about him than interact with him. Noctis politely declines the offer to go grab a coffee, finally thinking of an excuse that might work; a throwaway line about needing to head to the Citadel for the afternoon.
When he gets back to his apartment, he throws himself down on the couch and stares at the ceiling.
Today was shaping up to be a pretty good one. He didn’t have homework and Ignis hadn’t come by to tell him a list of “to-dos” from the Citadel. Noctis and Prompto both had a free afternoon, and some days, it felt like stars had to align to make that happen. He was looking forward to doing nothing with his best friend.
He feels…angry? In a way. Disappointed, in another. A weird mix of bitterness and something that he can’t quite name. He picks up his phone and shoots Prompto a text.
It’s short. Like his temper at the moment. It takes 6 minutes for Prompto to respond.
Noctis frowns at the responses. He doesn’t want to make this a ‘big thing’ but the whole interaction this afternoon left him stuck in a sour mood. He debates what to respond but comes up blank, for the second time today. He ends up pocketing the phone without a response. In 13 minutes, he feels it vibrate as it rings.
“Dude, you’re not actually mad, are you?”, Prompto starts as soon as he picks up.
Noctis can hear the nervousness in the chuckle at the end of his question. He’s not mad at Prompto. He’s just…
“Hello?”
He shouldn’t have answered the phone. Unable to name how he felt about the whole thing has thrown him into a strange spiral, feeling wholly unlike himself.
“Noct?” Prom’s tone, getting progressively more worried than at the start of the call.
“I just…I wanted to hang out with you today. Not some random girl that I don’t know.” For some reason, the explanation feels heavy on his tongue.
“Oh,” breathed Prompto, like the thought didn’t occur to him.
A few seconds pass and Noctis doesn’t know what more to say. Apparently, neither does Prompto and that makes his gut sink further.
“I- I’m sorry, Noct.”
He can hear Prompto swallow and take a shaky breath, continuing with a hushed, “I didn’t want to be in the way.”
The admission makes Noctis sit up, alert, “What?”
“I didn’t want to be in your way. You’re so…,” Prompto trails off and starts his next thought, “I just wanted to– to let you talk to a girl without me lurking there.”
“Prom, you’re never in the way.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Can you—,” starts Noctis, then corrects himself to say, "Do you want to come over?”
There’s still a silent pause. Noctis' heart pounds in his chest, and he's about to open his mouth to throw on a 'please?' that he probably should have included in the first place when he hears Prompto take a breath.
“Yeah, of course.”
Lestallumn is a refuge in more ways than one. It reminds Noctis of home, nearly, seeing all these people milling about. So different than Insomnia, but it reflects the city so much that it makes his heart hurt watching all these people gather for a festival of sorts. A Brew Fest, from what Gladio was telling him on the drive over.
Noctis didn’t join in; letting his friends take the night off without having to worry about him for once. He opted to stay at the hotel, now watching from the roof as groups of people mingle from the fountain, traipsing to the market and back.
He can spot his friends below from this angle. Gladio and Ignis found a food truck. Gladio was saying earlier that he wanted to try the deep-fried Cup Noodle on a stick. He imagines Ignis is trying to talk him out of it. Meanwhile, Prompto is stalling by a group of women who look as though they just got off work, judging by their Exineris outfits hanging low by their waists. The blonde hedges in their periphery, but doesn’t seem to be making much progress.
Noctis laughs to himself.
Noctis wonders, not for the first time, why Prompto doesn’t just try to act like he does around Noctis. He’s way more fun and charming when he isn’t channeling some Gladio-like masculine persona he thinks will attract women; a persona that he inevitably fails at, tripping and stumbling over his approach. Any of those women probably wouldn’t have turned down a drink from the sunny dude he knows and loves, if he could just act as himself for once.
Prompto is hopelessly bad at flirting.
Noctis is hopelessly in love with his best friend.
But Prompto is straight and that’s that. Time and again he lets the world know that he is infatuated with women.
Women like those in the group below— strong enough to break him in two, more than smart enough to outwit circles around him, badass enough to fawn over, time and again, presented in a hundred different versions of Prompto's ‘type’. All Noctis can do is watch him fail to flirt with them effectively, as he nurses his own sad state of affairs.
He must have been staring too hard. As if by sense, Prompto scratches the back of his neck and turns to look up, instantly and straight at Noctis. They sustain eye contact across the stretching space between them. It’s weirdly hypnotic. Noctis swallows and tries to snap out of the moment that seems to have pinned him in place. He remembers his role as a best friend, and moves his hand in a small wave of encouragement for Prompto to try his luck with the group.
It almost seems like he got the message, when he suddenly turns about-face and disappears from view.
Noctis blinks and tries to find him in the crowd.
He sees Gladio taking a bite of his prized bounty.
He sees Ignis shaking his head as he eats his spicy skewers instead, pausing to take notes in his little black book.
Noctis doesn’t see his favorite head of blonde hair again. Not by the crowd of women. Not by the beer booths. Not by the food trucks. Not by the fountain.
“Thought you were staying in the room?”
The sudden voice nearly makes Noctis jump out of his skin, if it weren’t for the fact that it belonged to the boy he was looking for in the crowd below.
“Thought you were going to going to try to woo someone?” laughs Noctis, trying to play off the jump scare from his sudden appearance.
Prompto presses a beer into his hand. ‘Meteor Madness’ it reads, in bright orange lettering.
“Well, I thought maybe you could use a drink too,” grins Prompto.
They clink bottles and he cracks it open to take a swig. Nothing quite like a cold beer to stave off the oppressive heat of Lestallum; despite the evening temperatures, it’s still so much warmer than their home city. The cool condensate coating the glass feels so good in his hands and the buzz from the alcohol content is nearly immediate on his more or less empty stomach. Noctis turns the bottle around in his hands and spots the alcohol percentage. Meteor Madness indeed.
They chat amicably about the festival. Noctis tells him Gladio was successful in his hunt. Prompto tells him he saw Ignis try a bite of something and grimace, but now that he has the full picture, it makes them both laugh.
“Why don’t you come down for a little while?” Prompto asks, a little breathless from the laughter.
“Ah, that’s alright,” Noctis responds, peeling at the corner of the label, “I probably shouldn’t have come up to the roof anyway. I told Specs that I’d stay in the room.”
Prompto hums and shrugs his shoulders, “Music’s pretty good, though.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. It was partially why Noct came to the rooftop in the first place. Their room for the night didn’t come with a coveted balcony. The lure of the music and the opportunity people-watch for a little while was too much to pass up so early in the evening.
They both overlook the crowd below. Noctis sees some of the faces of the women from earlier. “You should head back and ask one of them to dance?”
“What? No way. You overestimate my skills and abilities.”
Noctis purses his lips in a poorly suppressed grin, “You can’t be that bad.”
Without another word, Prompto pushes himself up from leaning on the wall and dramatically offers Noctis his hand.
To dance.
There isn’t anyone else up here.
No one could see them.
He’s not sure if it’s the Meteor Madness talking or the fact that they’re alone, but Noctis polishes off the drink and gives in to the offer, taking the proffered hand.
And so they dance, in and out of rhythm to the tropical salsa music from below. They come together and split apart as the steel drums ebb and flow. It’s goofy and genuine all at once; Noct busts out some long-forgotten dance lessons from his youth and drags Prompto along for the ride while a muted trumpet takes on a trilling solo. Prompto for his part mimics moves he’s seen in movies and tv shows over the years, dramatic and flashy. It’s a flail of arms, a spinning of his partner, fancy unrhythmic footwork.
It’s one of the few times Noctis forgets to think too seriously about the task at hand; forgets for a minute the devastation and looming imminence of their journey. He feels like he’s floating along the marimba bars, that he’s drinking the notes as they croon from the saxophone. It’s all bright smiles and eyes turning into happy crescents as Prompto bravely dips him in a grand finale of the tune.
The dance ends, and the small space between them is filled with breathy laughter and beaming expressions. His head feels about as floaty as his heart. Noctis remembers belatedly to let go of Prompto’s hand as soon as he realizes he is still holding it.
“See? Just do that and you’re golden.”
Prompto has a wistful expression on his face, “Yeah? Maybe you’re right.”
Noctis doesn’t want to keep him from his evening on the town. He smiles and slaps him on the back with a tried-and-true, classic-and-cocky, “You know I’m always right.”
Prompto holds eye contact with him for a few more seconds. For some reason, it makes Noctis want to shrink under the examination, but he holds the stare until he can’t quite bear it any longer. He blinks and looks back towards the area of the festival.
“Right…I’ll guess I’ll leave you to it. Have a good night, Noct.”
Noctis isn’t the most adept wingman, but he does what he can for Prompto.
Even if it means waking up early for some half-baked idea of taking a photo of the Hammerhead Garage at sunrise to appease his grease-monkey goddess.
But when they run into her on the hallowed hill, the morning photo-op turns into a stuttering, stumbling display of Prompto’s tongue-tied curse. Noctis tries to steer the conversation in a direction to help out Prompto. He muddles through a decent banter, and Noctis even gets a photo of the two of them together. Yet, when she turns to continue her morning hike, Prompto turns on Noctis and slams his head down onto his shoulder in defeat.
“To think, the goddess graced us with her presence,” he sighs, followed shortly by a more negative, “Ugh, I’m a sweaty mess. Why can't I just be cool and smooth and put together and smell amazing like you?”
“I smell terrible,” Noctis says, teasing, as if the other adjectives were true. Prompto might wear his hang-ups on his sleeve, but inwardly, Noctis always related to the whole ‘not being good enough’ vibe that Prompto seemed to drown himself in.
But to the point of odor, all four of them haven’t had a proper shower in days. They were on their way to rent, at minimum, a caravan tonight, after spending the last several days trapped in a dungeon.
Prompto takes an exaggerated whiff.
“No, you smell amazing.”
Noctis pats Prompto on the back in sympathy and he tries to ignore the heat in his cheeks at the comment.
“You did great. Even got a better photo than you set out for, if I do say so myself.”
Noctis hears a soft snort and Prompto raises his head. The blonde eyes the camera, but doesn’t turn it on to look at the photo for himself.
“Don’t you go stealing my hobbies, dude. I won’t be able to take it when you inevitably replace my role as resident photog of the team.”
“Yeah, yeah. You better watch it photo-boy. I’m coming for you.”
He dodges Prompto’s attempt at a shove, and they banter and tease each other all the way back to the camp.
It’s not that Noctis had failed to appreciate the gradual changes in Prompto since they started their journey, but without Gladio in the group, it is more glaringly obvious that Prompto has really shaped up to be a valuable asset in their team.
Prompto tries harder than anyone Noctis has ever met.
At this stage, he’s morphed into a verifiable competent badass. He whips out various firearms and machinery like it’s nothing (which is rich, in a way, since he barely completed basic first aid and self-defense training with Cor before they departed Insomnia to head to the wedding).
Noctis feels a weird blend of awe and pride, guilt and sorrow, when he watches Prompto torch and blind the target with his newly developed starshell method.
He shouldn’t have to be here doing this, fighting daemons in some strange and mystical underwater cavern, but he is here anyway. And he is just so wholly competent and badass in the techniques he’s personally devised that it is near enough to leave Noctis in a double-take reexamining the boy who still trips on his own two feet.
He never wanted Prompto to have to become a fighter like this. So many times throughout their new lives, Noctis has struggled with Prompto’s presence; half wishing he’d decide one day to stay someplace safe, yet half wishing he’d never leave their little team.
Guilt tears at Noctis if he thinks too hard about it. The trip Prom signed up for was a wedding, a semi-celebratory event, despite its ties to a dubious peace treaty; maybe an evening of dancing, speeches, and having a little too much to drink, if movies were anything to go off of. But…
Obviously, that’s not what happened. Their world was flipped upside down. Insomnia fell, along with his father and so many others. The home they knew, gone in an evening. Their lives now are a scramble to get it back— nights of camping under the stars, hiding from the Empire, fighting monsters and daemons and MTs and anything that might stand in their way.
And Prompto is still here, despite it all.
Still here, cracking jokes and humming songs and slapping Noctis on the back.
Still here, even when his Shield isn’t.
The daemon disappears into the ether, to the tune of victory fanfare.
“Where would you guys be without me?” Prompto says as he dramatically takes a swipe at the prevailing smoke in the room. Smile, near as bright as his gunfire technique. He’s showboating, a little, no doubt to impress their escort to the Mythril.
Ignis smirks and has that expression of his that says he is biting his tongue with a sassy retort.
Noctis is about to make a quip that they wouldn’t have a soundtrack.
Aranea beats them all to the punch, simply saying, “Not too shabby.”
Prompto beams at the praise and winks in her general direction.
She rolls her eyes and starts heading to the next room that no doubt contains more stairs.
“You’ll get her next time, champ.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
“Tryin’ to impress the prince, then? Ain’t you just the sweetest?”
Prompto could feel his face heating up instantly as Cindy teased him. The heat of the day, paired with the heat of embarrassment? He’s sure he’s sporting a bright shade of red; enough to rival those Lucian tomatoes Ignis chopped up that morning with breakfast.
He already had trouble articulating around this competent amazing kickass grease-monkey goddess, it definitely didn’t help that she seemed to see right through him.
He was trying to impress Noct (always, perpetually, forever) but hearing her say it out loud so blatantly leaves Prompto a stammering mess.
“I—,” starts Prompto, trying to think of some excuse to say.
“Aw, don’t worry sugar. I won’t spoil any secrets. I hope he loves it.”
She hands him the compact box and, with a wink, she heads back into the shop.
Her teasing hit a little too close to the truth.
Sure, he is a liiiittle infatuated with Cindy—not only is she literal model-status gorgeous, but she is so talented and passionate about her work. It’s like watching a historical artist figure perfecting their craft. How could he not admire that?
Prompto admittedly develops crushes like he develops freckles in the sun.
Noct though…well, that’s a different story.
He wills his face to turn back to a normal shade before joining his team. Before facing Noctis, especially, though he could probably blame the redness on the heat or brush it off with a laugh.
“Didja get the honey-do list from your girlfriend?” prods Gladio.
“Nope,” he responds, popping the P. “No list today.” And since Cindy pretty much never lets them leave without a request, Prompto hurriedly asks a follow-up question, “Did you get the fat stack of gil from Takka? Are we in for baths? Beds? Please say yes.”
With three yeses, Prompto’s hopes were lifted, and quickly dashed with an asterisk— yes, but not til after their next stop. They had a plan to camp once more, before splurging for a night. Looking to turn lemons into lemonade, Prompto thought maybe this delay in luxury would be perfect timing to give Noct the surprise.
He approached Noctis at the fire that evening, with a proposal of another morning together for something mundane, before breakfast and a long day in the car. Each of the retinue had done this at one time or another during this journey; a little one-on-one time with their friend.
Noctis easily agreed, though with a traditional reluctance and groaning at the thought of waking at the early hour. With a sassy wink of his own, he told the prince that he’d make it worth his while. Of course, this confidence façade waxed and waned during the night. When the sun rose, Prompto nervously checked his pocket several times throughout their short jaunt to a nearby body of water.
Through the pretense of the morning was a casual walk through the woods and a quick photo sesh at the pond under the morning light, Prompto really wanted to have a minute alone with Noct so he could open the gift without Gladio and Iggy around.
Heart hammering, Prompto wipes his sweaty palm on this pant leg before nudging Noct with the box in hand, “I got you something.”
Curiously looking between the box and best friend, Noctis appears a bit bewildered— maybe trying to think of why or what occasion?
When he opens the box, his midnight blue eyes immediately fixate on its contents. Noctis scrunches his face in evaluation, he picks up the piece of metal and turns it over in his hand; traces the letters with his eyes, then with his fingers.
“…How?” The word slips out of his mouth, more of a wondering thought than an actual question to Prompto.
He answers anyway.
“Well…I found an old card in the glove box, if you can believe it. It was kinda worn down, probably from bein’ in there for a while. Looked like it was an old birthday card from your dad?”
Noct nods. Expression, surprisingly, alight with wonder.
“I thought I’d try to find a way to make it more permanent for you. I asked Cindy for help, to make this for you, so I think quality-wise it should last…”
Noctis doesn’t say anything in response. Still thumbing over the written words as if he could try to conjure the image of the man who wrote them; the emblazoned metal tag bore a permanent indentation of the handwriting “I love you, son. –Dad.”
“Not sure what you’d want to do with it exactly, but… I was thinking it could hang on your sword or maybe it’d look good on the mirror of the Regalia or you could wear it on a chain…whatever you want, really. Or, heh, none of the above!” he rambled on, nervously filling the silence.
As soon as Prompto found this card, he wracked his brain on how to protect it; a now valuable and rare thing— handwriting from Noct’s deceased father. And without truly knowing the state of the Citadel and Insomnia itself…well…it might be close to the last memento of its kind that exists.
“The card itself is in a protective sleeve now too, but I left it in the dash for safety.”
Noctis’ hands are shakey when carefully sets down the gift, subtly wipes at one of his eyes, and reaches to pull the blonde in for a wordless hug.
Long ago, Prompto had developed a rule of thumb whenever hugging Noctis (something that didn’t happen all that often, but had its moments over their 5 years of friendship): ‘Let Noctis let go first.’
Initially, it was because he didn’t want to overstay his welcome; perpetually worried about being annoying or overt or too clingy. As they got closer over time, that rule of thumb stayed, but its reasoning morphed into the desire to give Noctis what he exactly wanted. The trepidation of overstaying shaped into sticking around; if there were days that Noctis wanted a lingering hug, Prompto certainly wasn’t going to be the one to deprive Noct of that comfort.
Today's hug lasts and lasts. He rests his head against Noct’s, rubbing his back for a little while before finally settling one hand in the small of it.
He could stay in Noctis’ arms forever, if that were an option.
But it’s not. He knows it’s not.
As close as they are, Prompto can’t get a good read on Noctis when it comes to those types of feelings.
Those types of feelings, that Prompto holds close to his chest.
Those types of feelings, that Prompto leans heavily away from, loudly and overly flirty quips about anyone who is not the prince of their (now fallen) nation.
He swears though…some days, it feels like they’re on the same page.
On other days, that oh-so-carefully trained face gives no indication of ever even considering being on the same chapter, let alone the same page.
And in the end, does it even matter? This whole journey started because Noct needed to go marry someone else. Literal Oracle and Princess extraordinaire. Beautiful inside and out. The closest thing this Star had to a living angel. And sure, that whole wedding was a shoe-horned thing for a rouse of a peace treaty, but damn if it didn’t make Prompto sad-happy (…sappy?) to think that Noctis at least got paired up with a perfect match. To someone that he’s essentially been a pen-pal for so long. A faraway friend turned fiancée. Literally the stuff of romance novels. And while the wedding isn't exactly on anymore...it's not exactly off either.
Prompto tries not to dwell on these thoughts, so instead, he basks in the hug, feeling pleased and warm that the gift seemed to go over well.
He closes his eyes.
In parting, a hair apart and barely a breath between them, maybe there is a shift.
A shift in those eyes Prompto loves, down to the shape of his own mouth.
And barely-there motion, but enough to mean so much.
A shift in their bodies.
A shift of their mouths.
A shift in how they think of each other; a shift to the same page.
When Prompto actually opens his eyes, it coincides with Noctis has finally decided that he's gotten enough out of the hug today. He gives Prompto's shoulders a parting squeeze, with a quiet but emphatic thank you. A lingering gaze into the blonde's eyes. A mention they should get back to the others.
None of that shifting daydream happened. And...it will never happen.
Because Prompto has no game.