Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- prologue - ｡.｡:+*

Ignis stirs honey into Luna’s tea on her behalf, before sliding it across the table. Luna manages a weak smile as she takes it.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“Should I prepare some for Ravus as well?” Ignis asks.

Luna shakes her head and pushes her bare feet more firmly against the grass beneath them. Under the table, Pryna rolls over, shoving her cold nose against Luna’s ankle.

“He’ll refuse when he knows where I got it from,” Luna explains.

Ignis exhales, frustrated but not surprised, she’s sure.

“Did you at least have a nice time?” Ignis wonders.

“Yes,” Luna breathes, her smile coming easier. “I always do. It was nice to see him—just because.” Luna drums her fingers against the side of her mug, another gift, another something Ravus does not approve of her holding dear.

Tacky. Cheap. Mortal.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asks. “There’s nothing outside the usual things to worry about, I promise. I know it’s harder than it should be, but nothing seems to have deteriorated further.”

“I know.”

Everything is so blue. She likes it that way, makes it that way, but she never really acknowledged it before. The castle is behind them, out of sight, out of mind and sky all around them, above and below. Luna prefers to be outside as much as she can, out in the bright light and the warmth. It’s simply in her nature, she would suffer without it.

And yet Luna would give it all up willingly, if it could fix everything.

Luna belongs in Summer, she is Summer. But Winter won’t kill her—not right away, not before she can fix everything.

Luna feels it when Ravus and Gentiana return home, a small ripple in the realm that settles almost at once. They’re also supposed to be here, it feels right to have them home.

“How’s Iris?” Luna asks as they come close. Ravus pauses to kiss her head before taking his seat and she closes her eyes, leaning into the affection.

“Recovering well,” Ravus says. “It hit her especially hard this time. Noctis must not have bothered to temper himself at all.”

Luna sighs—huffs, shooting Ravus a glare.

“He’s doing all he can—”

“Gladio is doing all he can,” Ravus interrupts. “To help Iris. Though the worst is over now. Spring started harshly, but she’s gotten it on track now.”

“I can take over early,” Luna says—again. Feels like the thousandth time. “She looks to Gentiana instead, almost frantic. “You told her that I would? It won’t hurt for summer to start a little early—plenty of them like that.”

“I did,” Gentiana promises. “You should visit her yourself soon.”

“You should have been there today,” Ravus interjects.

“I had other plans,” Luna tells him, keeping her voice pleasant and even, though her gaze is cold. She loves Ravus with all her heart, her dearest, most wonderful brother.

But he seems determined for everyone around him to dislike him.

Ravus looks away, rather than biting again and she is so, so grateful not to be arguing already. He’s not going to like what she has to say next; Luna doesn’t like it very much herself, but she doesn’t know how to move forward without saying it.

Luna glances at Ignis, nervously clutching her mug. She crunches the grass beneath her toes, something to ground her when Ignis gives her an encouraging nod. Pryna huffs into her skin.

“Ignis and I,” Luna starts, uncertainly. “We—found something.”

Ravus looks nonplussed, looking between them.

“Something?”

“A way to solve the issue,” Luna says. “Certain scriptures we hadn’t checked before.”

Ravus sits upright, his already uneasy expression sinking into a frown only just shy of a glare.

“There is no way to solve the issue,” Ravus argues.

From the moment she found out, Luna has wondered if Ravus knows. If he’s had this knowledge all along, if curiosity and a want to help he keeps hidden, pushed him to look for answers himself. If he found out during the span of time his duties are nothing at all and kept the information secret because he couldn’t bear to think about what that actually meant.

“Perhaps I should leave,” Ignis suggests. Not frightened, Luna knows, never frightened, but polite enough to know this is a family matter. “Gentiana, will you accompany me for a walk?”

“Yes,” Ravus says, in the same beat Luna insists, “No, stay.”

“There are scriptures,” Luna says, glancing at Ignis, desperately in need of another of his silently reassuring nods and getting one. “That seems to have predicted this—that set out methods to fix the problem.”

“The problem is Noctis—his entire damned line. They should never have been elevated to their position; they have been nothing but one problem after another. His magic is unchecked and unrestrained, he lets Winter rage on and on, battering into Spring with no buffer so—”

“That’s not his fault,” Luna interrupts, leaning forward and setting her tea down before she accidentally tosses it. “He is an only child. His father was an only child. He wasn’t blessed with a you, Ravus, to share the burden and ease Winter’s passing.”

Ravus sniffs, turning his head away.

“He needs a Harbinger. He should have been Spring’s Harbinger, but no second child came, and godhood became his duty. Of course, Noctis struggles to temper the full force of Winter’s magic,” Gentiana says simply. Her hand reaches for Luna’s gently slipping into Luna’s and unfurling her anxious fist to hold it safe and secure atop the table.

“We tried forcing the issue before,” Ravus reminds them. “And Ignis was the one that paid the price. It feels unlike you to offer up someone else as sacrifice.”

Luna didn’t know the memory still bothered Ignis, but the muscle in his jaw twitches, even though he stays otherwise perfectly still. The realization makes the guilt swell up in her to steal her breath right out of her chest. Ignis offered, it was his idea, but they should have known. Powerful as he is—was—he’s Summer born without the benefit of true Godhood.

Of course, Winter ravaged into his very soul and obliterated every ounce of magic within him.

“No sacrifice,” Luna says, though her voice shakes regrettably. It will make it seem like she doesn’t go into this as willingly as she does. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ravus’ surprise—or perhaps it’s anger—makes him stand. His chair topples with the force, but disintegrates into sheer, yellow petals before it can shatter the quiet with noise. A breeze picks up to whisk them out of sight and drops away again.

“Well, that was unnecessary,” Ravus drawls.

Luna smiles blandly. “Says the man who knocked over his chair.”

Across from her, Ignis smiles too.

Ravus rolls his eyes, asking, “Can I have another chair?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

Ravus mouth pinches and Luna feels a tug in the air around her, an uneasy pull at the magic she wields so easily. This isn’t what Ravus is good at, his skills are different, the way he wields is different. It’s necessary for that to be true, but she knows it rankles him, that he cannot be perfect at everything.

For a time, that had been an issue between Ignis and himself. Ignis who was no one, technically, blessed with an understanding of magic Ravus was born to weld. Happier than him, testing and pushing at the bounds of what’s possible. Until he wasn’t.

A new chair appears, less fine than the others gathered around the table, wooden and functional, if nothing else.

“I suppose you can,” Luna says.

Ravus reclaims his seat with a swish of his long coat.

“Having his child will kill you,” Ravus says bluntly.

“You know that’s not true,” Luna says. “Only one thing can kill me.”

“There are worse fates,” Ravus intones.

Gentiana squeezes her hand.

“You know,” Luna says.

“I don’t—of course I went looking for answers,” Ravus admits. “Noctis inability to do his job is already affecting you, if it goes on forever, it will only get worse.”

“It’s not Noctis’ fault,” Luna reminds him again.

“A true child of Summer can be tempered by Winter to become Spring’s Harbinger,” Ravus recites. “Noctis has no sibling, so a child is necessary to restore balance to his realm. Your child. But trying this is not worth the risk. It is not worth you.”

“Not a child,” Luna says. “You are misunderstanding. Even if it were the only option, it would take decades for such a child to be ready to take their role.”

Gentiana ducks her head and Luna wonders if she understands.

“If not a new child, then—”

“Not my child,” Luna says. “Me.”

“No,” Ravus says.

“A true child of Summer; me. Can be tempered by Winter to become the Harbinger of Spring.”

“That will kill you faster than—you want to live in Winter’s realm? His magic will kill you.”

It’s not a matter of want, so much as need.

“I won’t die,” Luna says, more confident that she has much right to be. “Winter doesn’t hurt me.”

Hurt is the wrong word. It feels wrong, makes her uncomfortable, stifles her powers and muffles her senses, but it’s survivable. It might even get better if she stayed there, if she becomes altered by it to become something new altogether.

She’ll miss the blistering heat, the feel of damp grass against her skin, wonders if Pryna and Umbra will come with her to live out their eternity in Winter by her side.

“That’s not fixing the problem,” Ravus says. “It’s moving it. A Harbinger is gained but a God is lost. The scriptures are nonsense, they do not truly understand the problem and their advice should not be trusted on how to fix it.”

“Another can do my job,” Luna says.

Ravus scoffs. “Who? There’s no one left.”

Not Ravus. That’s his lot as the first born, destined to lose the true connection to where he was born, abilities lost and altered when he became Autumn’s Harbinger.

“There was a time when we could have bargained for Ignis to step in, but that time is long gone,” Ravus says. Thoughtless, thoughtless. Too much like blame on Ignis. Who failed despite all efforts to bind himself to Winter and fix this problem that still needs solving,

“Summer has one more true born child,” Luna reminds him.

Ravus frowns, glances at Gentiana even though no, she is not what they need either. Given to summer by the higher gods they all serve, bound and destined to serve each God of Summer as they are born and reign. Each season has their anchor, Gentiana who is wise enough to keep Summer from over spilling its bounds, Libertus and Aranea who are calm and brash in turn to even out the tempers of their own Gods of Autumn and Spring. And then there’s Cor.

Cor who has seen and served more Gods than the others combined, who has bonded and mourned more generations of Winter than Luna can quite fathom. The only being steady and strong enough to survive everything he has, Luna is sure, who does all he can, more than he easily can to help Noctis even though the ability to do so is kept far from his reach.

It’s obvious the moment Ravus realizes, though Luna thinks it takes too long. His eyes sweep over the table and catch on her mug. Hand painted in a little studio a few decades ago, preserved, and perfect in a realm where almost nothing can change unless Luna wills it to be.

The flowers are clumsily added, paint too thick so the lines of it are obvious under the varnish. Luna treasures it.

“No,” Ravus hisses. “He’s banished.”

“He is Summer’s true born son,” Luna says.

“He’s nothing.”

Luna blinks, feels tears prick at her eyes. So cruel, so cold. For no reason other than a prejudice instilled into him from a father who barely liked them.

“He’s our brother.”

“He killed our mother,” Ravus argues.

“Father killed mother,” Luna snaps. “When he sent her son away. He broke her heart over petty jealousy.”

Gifted immortality for the price of seeing the world from season to season. Punished shortly after for arrogance and pride with just one weakness, just one true moment of true mortality.

Luna will live forever—so long as nothing breaks her heart.

The air turns thick and heavy, like the precursor to a summer storm. Luna checks herself and knows it isn’t coming from her. She wants to reach out to Ravus to reassure him, to calm him, but he catches it himself, stops his emotions from overflowing faster than should be possible.

Luna whisks the remnants of it away on a breeze and Ravus’ expression clears completely as she does. The calm she finds there is more worrying than his anger.

“He isn’t trained,” Ravus says. “He cannot possibly do what you do. If you’re worried about it taking decades for balance to be restored this is not the right course.”

Luna grips Gentiana’s hand but Ravus turns from her to look at Ignis instead.

“You understand?” Ravus asks and Ignis nods. “You agree?”

Ignis glances at Luna and says, “It’s not my decision.”

Ravus pinches the bridge of his nose and when he lowers his hand his smile is saccharine sweet and fake.

“If you think our dear, darling brother has the potential to take over your position then it stands to reason he—”

“No,” Luna says, almost shouting. She leans forward, breaking her grip on Gentiana’s hand and leaving herself adrift, without anchor suddenly when she most needs assistance.

“Summer’s true born child can be tempered by Winter into Spring’s Harbinger,” Ravus goes on.

“So, if it’s me the scriptures are useless nonsense, likely to get me killed and not worth listening to,” Luna says. “But if it’s Prompto, it’s worth trying. Is that it?”

Ravus’ jaw twitches like it always does when she dares actually speak Prompto’s name. Talked around and alluded to, referred to only as he when direct conversation is necessary. Easier that way, for Ravus to pretend he is not something actually real.

“Frankly, yes.”

“I will not ask this of him,” Luna says flatly. “The risk is higher, you know this. He may not have the same gift we do; he’s been away too long. I won’t die, but he might.”

“But offering him an opportunity of Godhood after a life bumbling about in the mortal realm, for too long, you admit yourself—you’ll do that?”

“Offering him his birthright after being denied it for so long,” Luna corrects. “That I can offer—can ask of him.”

“His birthright?” Ravus grits out.

A third child. Not unheard of, but uncommon. Prompto’s only crime, the great sin he committed to have him banished eternally from the Summer realm, is simply not being Luna’s father’s son. He is the culmination of love that her parents could not find in each other.

“He belongs here,” Luna says. “I want him here and the only reason I have not had him return is because I also love you and I understand that would bring you pain.”

“I cannot serve under him,” Ravus admits. “Losing you, even if it’s only to Winter, it will—”

It will break his heart.

Ravus turns to Ignis.

“We should at least ask him,” Ravus says. “Risking Luna is reckless when there is another choice. I know you agree.”

“Ignis, please,” Luna says. Be on my side, please.

Ignis looks sad, unfathomably sad.

“It should be Prompto’s choice,” Ignis says. “He should be given every option and allowed to choose.”

“He should be allowed to refuse,” Gentiana puts in. “An unwilling God is often worse than no God.”

Luna cuts her brother a glare before he can rally against Noctis again.

“Of course, he can refuse,” Luna mumbles. Her voice sounds damp, which does not surprise her. Only sheer force of will keeps her cheeks dry.

“It’s tragic, isn’t it?” Ravus asks unexpectedly. “That we are granted immortality except for one tiny thing. Something we should be able to control but fail at time and time again.”

A greater tragedy would have been to take love away from them. To have them soulless and immortal, to strip away their one link to humanity that’s been allowed to remain. It’s worth it, worth risking a life for the chance at love. In whatever form that takes.

Ravus doesn’t even mean tragic like that, he thinks it’s pathetic, beneath their status, to be able to succumb to something as trivial as feelings.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Luna says. “I would not give love up for anything.”

Not even the chance of it.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- one - ｡.｡:+*

Noctis stirs from his nap when a low bark disturbs the quiet.

Umbra jabs into him sharply with his cold nose for taking too long to rouse and Noctis throws out a hand with his eyes closed to pet him. It earns him an overly wet lick, streaked across his palm, accompanied by an annoyed huff that finally forces him to open his eyes.

Surprisingly, Umbra doesn’t appear to be carrying a note or parcel from Luna, even more surprisingly, Pryna lying beside her brother, belly to the ground and tail wagging back and forth. Noctis rolls further onto his side and reaches out towards her in turn, and she nibbles his fingers, as she is wont to do to thank him for the effort.

Noctis pushes himself up, the loose sleeve of his robe gaping and falling down his arm as he scrubs over his face. There’s not much else for him to do besides sleep in seasons that are not his own, just to keep his energy up and make sure locking the force of Winter inside his realm is as manageable as possible.

Cor is an unendingly steady presence at all times, so familiar it’s sometimes difficult for Noctis to pick his energy up from amongst everything else. His Anchor doesn’t care much for conversation though, and Monica does so much for him that distracting her because he’s bored feels like a crime even though he’s technically the one making rules.

And apart from the three of them—there isn’t anyone else.

Ignis comes sometimes—more often than he truly has the time to spare. Dropping by whenever he is free from Summer duties and the thing that draws him to Autumn is unavailable to him. Usually that thing comes too, ferrying Ignis along to see his friend now he’s unable to do it under his own steam.

At least Ignis isn’t hurt by being here, not anymore, the only good thing to come out of what happened. A silver lining that still feels more like a regret than anything Noctis would ever have dreamt up.

“What are you guys doing here?” Noctis asks—only the moment he voices his confusion, he realizes the answer.

Luna.

Her warmth is right there, easy to pick out now he’s feeling for it. Only—today she burns, hotter than she’s ever been, her power so unusually intense it blinds him to every other thing. It always feels stranger, her being here, though not bad. And today is stranger still, her usual spot of Summer brightness barely identifiable underneath this new feeling.

Immediately Noctis understands—something must be wrong.

Is it him? Luna’s magic feels off, so she might be pushing it stronger just to buffer him. Outrageous and pathetic of him to have so little control over himself Luna is forced to visit him in the midst of her own season. Immediately Noctis tries to pull it back, to draw himself inside but—

Unless he’s so out of control he can’t even feel his own magic, he doesn't seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary.

Yet, whatever is wrong but be dire to bring Luna here during Summer. To risk her own strength when she needs it most by spending time in a place that she finds, at best, inhospitable.

Noctis scrambles to standing, eager to help so Luna can be on her way, back home to recuperate the strength slowly being drawn from her by a strength he feels like he has little control over. A single step takes him all the way outside, focusing on the location of that heat to bring himself right to Luna’s side—

Blonde hair and blue eyes—but not Luna.

The unknown man blinks, blue eyes framed by thick lashes and Noctis simply stares. Can’t stop himself from doing it, can’t make himself look away, even as a pink tinge of embarrassment spreads across freckled cheeks.

Luna is there, the simple train of her dress a white swirl against the dark grass, waving to Cor as he leaves them, sword strapped to his back even though there hasn’t been fighting for generations.

That burning feeling: the bright, vibrant magic of Summer isn’t coming from Luna at all, but lives inside this man. The magic is unrestrained, and unfiltered, so pure it feels almost chaotic. It ripples around him, with no effort made to pull it back— maybe, impossibly he doesn’t know how.

Strangely, nothing hurts.

It’s not even uncomfortable; it’s simply fascinating.

The man tilts his head, brow furrowing as Noctis continues to look but says nothing. The man’s clothing is so plainly mortal it highlights his strangeness. Nothing but tight jeans and a sleeveless cotton shirt that bears his pale arms to air that Noctis is sure must feel cold to him.

“Um, hi,” the man tries, sounding desperately unsure of himself.

Noctis’ mouth gapes slightly but he can’t make words. It’s not like he’s had any practice at this—there are only half a dozen or so people in the entire world willing to talk to him and even then, it’s hard for most of them to spend much time with him.

Noctis can’t visit without causing damage to their realms and only Luna, of those not touched by Winter themselves or without any magic of their own, is able to stand existing here for much longer than a minute.

When was the last time anyone but Nyx and Ignis came to visit him? Let alone a stranger, not just someone he doesn’t know but whose existence he can’t explain. Let alone one that looks like this, looking back at him with curiosity but no fear and no distrust. The possession of magic proves he’s not-mortal but everything about him suggests he can pass for one. He’s either young or stopped aging shortly after becoming full grown like the rest of them.

Who is he?

“Noctis,” Luna says, the single word distorted by a laugh. “I wanted to introduce you to my brother.”

Noctis takes a step back, realizes belatedly how close he’s been standing. Careless of him, when proximity to him can literally be deadly. Winter leeches at everything it encounters, greedy and selfish even though Noctis tries his hardest not to make it so—it doesn’t even take the energy it steals to do anything, just destroys it so it’s good for nothing at all.

Brother.

Noctis already knows Luna’s brother—has shared a regrettable acquaintance with Ravus since the moment of his birth.

Or he knows one of her brothers, at least.

The other is a poorly kept secret, half-legitimate and discussed in hushed voices and not at all when Ravus is nearby. If Noctis remembers correctly, they were born the same year—the scandal of the other’s birth overshadowing Noctis’ by some margin. The two of them are young, for gods, though improbably ancient for mortals.

“You’re—Prompto?” Noctis says, taking yet another step back. Prompto looks almost offended before Noctis yanks his gaze away, turning to Luna for an explanation.

Somewhat infuriatingly she smiles.

“He’s not allowed to be here,” Noctis reminds her, but really, he’s asking, in case he’s misremembered.

Not just Winter, where no one is allowed for their own safety but this nebulous space they take up as Gods. Noctis doesn’t know what Prompto did, but Noctis was still a child when he first learnt of Prompto’s existence and how he had been banished to the mortal realm.

“A decision made by Gods that are not us,” Luna says. “And easily overturned.”

“Except Summer,” Prompto says. “If Luna tries to take me home—to Summer, Ravus will probably kill me.”

A horrible thought when Prompto is Summer. Banished from his own home because—because of what?

“Can Ravus kill him?” Noctis asks, glancing briefly at Prompto but having to look away again before too long. He’s too much, bright and beautiful, standing in the midst of Winter like he hasn’t a care in the world.

If Prompto is Luna’s brother—is he not a god too?

Luna exhales, long and shaky.

“I’d like not to risk it,” Luna says simply. When she extends a hand towards Prompto he goes to her easily, lets her grip his arm with one hand and brush down an errant, golden spike with the other. His mouth is a flat, unimpressed line but when Luna smiles at him it cracks into an easy grin.

“Why are you here?” Noctis blurts. “Not that I’m not happy to see you—but you know it’s not safe for you here. Not at the moment.”

“I wanted you to meet Prompto,” Luna says.

“We—”

“Somewhere private.”

“Not safe?” Prompto wonders, eyes flitting over her face before settling on the hand still clutching his arm. Placing one hand over the top of hers, he asks, “Are you hurting right now?”

Luna shakes her head, looking uneasily at Noctis who scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Luna,” Noctis says. “I know.” More surprising, is that Prompto doesn’t. Is he that isolated?

Luna’s smile is sheepish—an odd look for her.

“Not hurting,” Luna argues. “Just—uncomfortable.”

Prompto’s face falls. Noctis doesn’t know he’s seen such an obvious expression of anguish in years and years. Strange to see someone express themselves so openly, without apparent fear or concern for other’s opinions.

“You know you can tell me no, occasionally.” Prompto tells his sister. “You said it could wait—you could have insisted.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Luna teases.

Prompto laughs, though he seems to do so reluctantly.

“And you call me reckless,” Prompto mumbles.

Luna’s expression pinches, just for a second, brows and mouth drawn tight as Prompto quickly becomes distracted by his surroundings again.

Noctis doesn’t know how—Winter is boring. It’s dull and dark with little interesting to look at despite Noctis’ best efforts. There’s only so much he can do to keep things nice when nothing can live or and thrive here. The trees grow tall and narrow, disappointingly uniform in color and shape, but the grass stays short. In the parts where Noctis pays less attention, bushes grow low to the ground, filling up empty voids with narrow curled leaves and branches covered in thorns. So here, where he and his people live, he stops them from growing, they hardly need one more thing close by that causes discomfort.

“Luna,” Noctis says, desperate for answers. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

As far as Noctis knows Prompto has been safe in the mortal realm, living as close to a normal life as he’s able. If something about that has changed, Noctis doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be the one to help.

“Nothing’s wrong. We just want to try something,” Luna says carefully. “We think we might have found a way to help you. To take some of the strain of holding Winter all by yourself.”

“The only way to do that is for Winter to have its Harbinger,” Noctis reminds her. “And I don’t have a secret sibling tucked away anywhere, so it’s not going to happen.”

Prompto laughs, a short, abrupt snort that makes his cheeks color and has him wiggling out of Luna’s grip and turning his back on them because the tree behind him is apparently fascinating.

“Do you remember when Ignis—”

“We are not trying something like that again,” Noctis snaps. “I’ll be better—I’ll find a way. Please, don’t try something like that again.”

Not for him, not because of him. Not again.

“It’s possible we misunderstood the guidance before,” Luna explains gently. “A child of Summer can temper or be tempered by Winter to ease the passing into Spring.”

Which they tried with Ignis, tried imbuing him with Winter similarly to how they had Nyx when he was little more than a babe. Tried to alter his makeup to enable him to wield Winter rather than it causing him harm.

And tempered Ignis was. Tempered too far, until every inch of Summer was eroded from him, and nothing came to take its place.

“We tried that,” Noctis grits out. He tries not to be angry, Luna has always been his closest friend, has always tried with him more than anyone else. Noctis doesn’t think she can mean anything but kindness, yet the reminder of what happened hurts him.

“This is different,” Luna says. “Don’t you trust me?”

Yes. With anything and everything—except perhaps this.

Already Noctis struggles with knowing that people are hurt because of him, directly from contact and because he can’t always control what it does, and those consequences sometimes trickle down in truly unexpected ways.

Ignis lost all his magic.

Iris—poor Iris—struggling to maintain the beauty and gentleness of Spring with the full brunt of Noctis’ magic crashing at her boundaries completely unchecked each and every year.

Noctis does all he can but it’s too much. Two people’s worth of magic all thrumming through him with no one around to teach him how to manage it.

“I don’t understand,” Noctis admits. “Nothing else has ever worked.”

“It’s me,” Prompto drawls. “You see—I’m incredibly special.”

Noctis almost forgot he was listening, so Prompto’s words make him startle.

Now he’s spoken it’s obvious Luna means Prompto and Noctis feels dumb for picking up on it sooner. Helplessly, he stares again, trying to work out what makes Prompto special, what makes Luna think he can do what no one else has ever been able to do before.

“That was a joke,” Prompto blurts, ducking his head, cheeks flushing pink again. “Sorry—you both just look so intense.”

Luna laughs, but when Noctis glances back to her she’s pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Prompto has agreed to try,” Luna says, and she sounds strained now, the worry she’s been keeping under check until now plainly out into the open. “He’s going to come stay here with you, during Winter, if you’ll let him.”

“It’s too risky,” Noctis argues. “Prompto he could be—” Noctis cuts off and turns to Prompto, rather than simply talk about him right in front of him. “You could be hurt, could die maybe.”

“I’m aware,” Prompto says simply. “Luna gave me a pretty intense lecture.”

“Perhaps not intense enough,” Luna mutters.

Prompto shrugs. “It’s starting to affect the mortal realm, right? Winters are extra spicy, and people are struggling to adjust—Spring doesn’t last long enough to do what Spring does…”

Noctis flushes with shame. It’s not like this is new information, but it stings doubly so coming so casually from Prompto’s mouth.

“If I can help, I want to,” Prompto says firmly. “I haven’t been here for a long time but—I have a duty, I guess. We just never knew what it is.”

“I mean it,” Noctis insists. “You’re Summer born, you’re not supposed to wield Winter, it could end badly if you try. Do you even know how?”

Slightly infuriatingly, Prompto shrugs again.

“If you think you feel bad now imagine what it would be like after a month here,” Noctis tells him. “After three.”

Prompto’s eyes widen, gaze swinging back and forth between Noctis and Luna.

“I don’t feel bad now,” Prompto says. “Am I supposed to feel bad?”

“You—what?”

“You don’t feel a change in your magic?” Luna asks him.

Prompto shakes his head, but grimaces. “I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“I think you’d be able to tell,” Luna says, holding out her hand again. “Come here, please.”

Prompto does, hurrying over while Noctis is helpless to do anything but watch Luna push back his hair again, staring intently into his face.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, her unease giving way to a grin. She pinches Prompto’s cheek, and he bats her hand away with a huff.

Loneliness aches in Noctis’ chest.

“But you’re affected?” Prompto asks her.

“Starting to feel it,” Luna admits. “I’ll have to leave soon.”

“I can go get my stuff, right?” Prompto asks. “I don’t have to stay from right this second?”

All the air wheezes out of Noctis’ chest.

“You can’t stay now,” Noctis insists. “No way.”

“Now is the worst time, darling,” Luna says. “I warned you.”

“But I’m not in any—”

“Let’s not push it,” Noctis begs.

Prompto scowls. “Why not?”

“The realm is—particularly harsh right now,” Luna says diplomatically, offering Noctis an apologetic smile. “Noctis has to maintain all of it, right here, until Summer is over.”

And he doesn’t always do a very good job of it.

“But I’m fine,” Prompto insists.

“Please,” Luna says. “For me. Don’t you want to go home for a little while?”

Prompto looks embarrassed, though he doesn’t blush again. Noctis is a little disappointed.

“Fine,” Prompto mumbles. “I guess I have some loose ends to tie up and whatever.”

Luna pats his cheek this time and Prompto bristles like an angry cat. Smirking, she catches Noctis’ attention again.

“I’ll bring him back when Autumn has passed,” Luna says.

And despite the fact he never actually agreed to try this out, Noctis says, “Okay.”

Prompto beams so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners and the decision feels right all at once.

It would be a shame to never see that again.

“Hey,” Prompto says excitedly, his enthusiasm catching so quickly Noctis is disappointed when his exclamation is for Luna instead of him. “Can I go say hi to Aranea, or do you have to go straight home?”

“I can handle a little sojourn in Spring,” Luna promises him. Prompto pumps his fist then holds up his hand for a high-five which Luna grants him with the air of someone being asked to betray their very soul. Archly, she tells him, “Say goodbye to Noctis.”

Prompto does, with a smile and an unnecessary wave before Luna whisks the two of them are gone just as quickly as they appeared.

In the wake of their departure Noctis is so distracted he allows a frost to blanket half the realm, so deep and sudden Cor feels compelled to come investigate it. Noctis isn’t actually scolded, but sometimes with Cor it feels like that anyway.

It’s simply a relief just to have something familiar happen.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Autumn passes with Noctis making a space for Prompto in a realm he’s not designed to thrive. As best he can, Noctis pushes up plants and trees, forcing them into something like an attractive configuration around the building Noctis makes new just for him. Noctis draws out some bushes, and half frantic with his need for beauty he manages to fill them with dark purple-blue berries and a complete absence of thorns.

It’s better than nothing—Noctis can offer that much at least.

Noctis has been waiting since the day Nyx ushered Autumn cleanly into Winter and passed responsibility into Noctis’ hands. Time doesn’t usually mean much to him—to any of them. They live so long, have the potential for eternity that word soon could mean anything and to say something will happen later just means it’s not happening right now. Later could be decades from now,

But when Autumn has passed is as close to a specific date as Noctis has ever gotten from a fellow God and that time has been and gone.

Prompto might have changed his mind of course, and there would be some relief in that. Luna suggested the plan, but she doesn’t seem confident. Maybe that convinced Prompto to look out for himself. Maybe the drear of Winter only became apparent to Prompto after he went elsewhere.

Noctis wants him to come. Noctis wants him to decide to stay away.

Part of Noctis feels shameful for his excitement. Winter is when Noctis works, but it’s the easiest time for him by far. Harsh Winters are less problematic than unexpected ice storms at the start of Autumn, or a Spring that takes most of its duration to fully thaw. Noctis doesn’t need to be as much in control once Nyx has done his work, not at first, not until he has to try and pull back, lest Iris be knocked flat out when it’s her turn to do her duties.

Prompto is putting himself at risk, maybe dire risk and Noctis is excited because he misses being around people that smile as easily as him.

Noctis feels a ripple, the tell-tale pull of his borders as someone crosses into his realm, breath catching with excitement then a rush of fresh guilt when the realization it’s Nyx stings with disappointment.

Ignis being with him is not a surprise, but it still makes him sad that Noctis can no longer sense his arrival.

“How’s Selena?” Noctis asks, forgoing a greeting.

“Resting,” Nyx says. “The season was fairly easy on her this year.”

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks.

“Fine,” Noctis shrugs. “This is the easy part for me.” He purposefully doesn’t answer the question Ignis is really asking, not confirming that he’s nervous for Prompto’s arrival.

The nerves feel good, mostly excited more than anxious. Noctis still half thinks—maybe more than half—this might all end with disaster but he’s falling into a trap of hopefulness he hasn’t felt for most of his life.

“If you need—”

Noctis doesn’t know if they can feel it too, or if they both simply react to his reaction, but Ignis cuts off just a single heartbeat after Noctis feels them. Luna first, soft and almost small when it’s immediately followed by Prompto. It feels brash this time, just as unrefined as before, a bristling, bursting heat and light Noctis thinks Prompto himself is unaware he holds.

It’s an instinctual thing to abandon Nyx and Ignis where they stand, to take a single step and cross his realm to reach where the siblings have entered. The inhabitable space isn’t large, they’ll catch up quickly. But the idea of taking long enough to walk over and greet them seemed completely unfathomable.

“Hi,” Noctis says quickly, before he can forget again. “Hello. Welcome to, um—welcome.”

Luna presses her mouth into a tight line, and he’s embarrassed enough to be thankful she at least isn’t laughing out loud.

“Hey,” Prompto says. “Thanks for having me? I guess.”

Like before he’s dressed in jeans, tattered to half gone this time and a thin t-shirt. He has a bag over one shoulder, clutching the strap with his hand. Noctis wonders how he isn’t cold, but mostly he’s just drawn into how fascinated Prompto seems with everything around him even though Noctis thinks it entirely dull.

“It’s lovely to see you, Noctis,” Luna greets him. “We’re a couple days late, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Noctis assures her. “It’s fine.”

If he isn’t telling Ignis he’s been anxious for their arrival he’s certainly not telling them either.

Prompto glances around for a moment, strangely, half lifts his empty hand, flexing his fingers a few times.

“You’re right,” Prompto says, turning to Luna. “It does feel different.”

“You said you weren’t in pain before,” Luna says sharply and it’s eager to see the way her concern rises quickly.

“I wasn’t,” Prompto defends. “And I’m not now either—it just feels different. Like you said. Less intense.”

“Good,” Luna says softly. “That’s what I hoped.”

Both Ignis and Nyx are adept at moving so quietly it’s not until Prompto’s attention is caught and he beams while saying, “Hey, Ignis,” that Noctis understands they’ve joined the group.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Prompto,” Ignis says, inclining his head respectfully. Prompto seems startled by it, just briefly before pulling a slightly affronted expression that seems to amuse Ignis more than chastise him.

“Hey, kid,” Nyx adds and Prompto’s face pulls even further.

“Shut up,” Prompto snaps. “You’re the worst, I don’t miss either of you at all.”

Nyx slaps his hand over his heart, jerking back like he’s taken a physical blow.

How does Prompto know Nyx?

Ignis makes sense. They’re both summer born—maybe Ignis is the one to accompany Luna when she visits him in the mortal realm. But Noctis has never heard of Nyx joining them.

“Okay if everyone could stop looking at me right now, I’d really appreciate it,” Prompto mutters, scratching his cheek.

The problem with that is Prompto’s easily the most fascinating thing here. Maybe the most fascinating thing Noctis has ever seen. Noctis doesn’t want to look away, but he does, because Prompto asked. Instead, he watches Luna for a moment, to find that she has not afforded her brother the same courtesy.

“Seriously,” Prompto whines. “Stop it.”

“Do you want to see where you’re staying?” Noctis offers him.

“Yes,” Prompto breathes. “Please, holy shit.”

He starts to walk towards Noctis, but Luna reaches out, grabbing his wrist.

“He needs to eat,” Luna stresses. “Please don’t forget.”

“I do not,” Prompto argues.

Luna rolls her eyes and sighs. “Okay. He is accustomed to eating and will be grouchy if you don’t remember to feed him.”

Prompto jerks his wrist free and stalks over to where Noctis is standing, going so far as to tuck himself away behind Noctis, like he’s trying to hide from everyone’s inspection.

“Please,” Prompto mumbles. “Treat me more like a dog you’re dropping off for vacation.”

“No one knows what that means,” Luna tells him flatly.

Noctis almost jumps out of his skin when Prompto tugs on his sleeve.

“Can we go, please?” Prompto begs.

“You know how to get in touch,” Luna says quickly. “If anything feels even the slightest bit off—”

“I know, I know,” Prompto says.

Noctis can’t quite work out if Prompto’s annoyance is genuine or fabricated but he stalks back over to Luna and lets her press a kiss onto his cheek.

“I love you, okay? Stop worrying,” Prompto tells her quietly. Noctis feels guilty for hearing it.

Luna fixes her gaze on Noctis. “Look after him,” she demands.

“I’ll do my best,” Noctis promises. Though he worries, almost painfully so, that he is not best equipped to do so.

Prompto appears back at his side to tug on his sleeve. Too close. Noctis doesn’t want to warn him off, to scare him, but he might have to before Prompto accidentally hurts himself.

Noctis remembers his manners enough to turn his attention on Nyx and Ignis instead of leaving, only for Nyx to wink at him and wave him off with a gloved hand.

“We’ll come visit in a couple days,” Ignis promises. “Once you’re settled.”

Noctis nods at them, then turns to Prompto to ask, “Do you get motion sick?”

“I don’t think so,” Prompto answers, eyes wide.

Despite just thinking about it, Noctis almost reaches for his hand but catches himself at the last second.

“Grab my sleeve again,” Noctis instructs. It’s not ideal, but it’s contact enough.

Prompto does, fisting it so tight the heavy fabric pulls tight across Noctis’ shoulders. He takes a step, thinking hard of home and has them there a moment later. To his relief Prompto is still by his side. The relief only lasts for a second, before Prompto releases Noctis’ sleeve to take a wide step back and slap a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” Noctis blurts. “You said—I’m sorry.”

Prompto shakes his head, still covering his mouth. He lets his eyes droop closed, breathing through his nose and paler than ever. It takes a long while of Prompto standing still and breathing heavily through his nose, but eventually he cracks his eyes open one by one and dares to lower his hand.

“I’ve never seen anyone else do that,” Prompto says.

“They can’t,” Noctis explains. “I’m the only one that—I really am sorry.”

Prompto shakes his head again. “It’s okay. Just warn me next time.”

Next time.

“I promise,” Noctis says and Prompto smiles, the color returning to his face.

“That was fun,” Prompto says, unexpectedly. Noctis laughs, almost chokes on it in his surprise. “Like a roller coaster, you know?”

Noctis doesn’t, and he almost lies to save himself the embarrassment, but he can’t bring himself to lie, so he just shakes his head.

“No shit?” Prompto says. “Wow okay.” It doesn’t feel like he’s being made fun of so it’s easy to simply watch as Prompto nods to himself, looking around until his eyes alight on Noctis’ manor.

“Is this—it?” Prompto asks. His tone is strange and again Noctis doesn’t feel like Prompto is judging him, but his confusion is only a little easier to process.

“Yes,” Noctis says. “It’s—is it not okay?”

It’s boring, Noctis knows that. Flat gray stone and dark wood with as many windows as Noctis can justify when the light is never particularly bright. He doesn’t spend much time inside of it, not while he’s awake, so he’s not changed it much from how it was when he inherited it from his parents.

Added a room recently, then took it away again, double guessing his actions.

“No, it’s fine!” Prompto almost yells. “It’s nice—it’s modest.”

“That’s okay?” Noctis asks again.

“Just surprising,” Prompto assures him. He drops his bag onto the grass, so he can raise both hands up beseechingly, like he’s afraid he’s offended Noctis beyond repair. “Luna and Ravus live in a castle,” Prompto rushes on. “In the sky. I didn’t know Gods had it in them to be chill. That’s all.”

“I’m kind of always cold,” Noctis warns. “I can’t tell—but to other people.”

Prompto’s laugh catches in his throat, forcing an inelegant snort that has him covering his mouth with his hand again.

“I meant easy,” Prompto says behind his fingers, using his other hand to make a smooth wave through the air. “Relaxed, you know? It’s nice.”

“You’re not disappointed?” Noctis checks, already pulling at the form of the manor. “I can change it.” It starts to rise up from the ground, gaining another level, becoming just a little grander even though he’s already stressing about what to do with all that space.

“No, no, no,” Prompto says urgently, frantically waving his hands. “Please—I like it the way it is.”

Noctis stops, lets the magic dissipate and the manor slowly sinks back into what it was before, his indecision not yet giving it cause enough to snap into place.

Prompto exhales, watching carefully until it’s fully returned to normal.

“I was actually a little worried,” Prompto admits, biting his lip. “I’ve never lived in a castle before. Doesn’t seem like it would be comfy.”

“No,” Noctis says, agreeing with him. “What do you need all those rooms for?”

“Exactly,” Prompto breathes, finally looking calm again. “Do I have one though? A room?”

“No,” Noctis says and Prompto’s expression falls all over again. “I made you a house.”

“A—house?” Prompto asks. “We’re not going to be living together?”

Noctis has always been bad at reading expressions, and he hates it now more than ever because what he thinks he’s seeing is disappointment, but that can’t possibly be true. He doesn’t want to misjudge and misstep before he knows Prompto.

Noctis wants a chance to know him.

“So you could have some privacy,” Noctis explains. “You don’t have to—I’m not expecting anything from you. I know how hard this must be.”

“It’s not—thank you,” Prompto says.

“It’s just through here,” Noctis says, stepping around Prompto to lead him into the crop of trees that have only been growing beside the manor for a few weeks. He stoops to grab Prompto’s bag, tossing the strap over his shoulder as he moves, biting back a smile at the shocked noise Prompto makes as he follows behind.

The trees are too closely knit together, Noctis realizes as they try to pass them, with no easy path back to the manor, so he simply makes one, the desire for it so sudden and strong it forms with barely any thought.

“Wow,” Prompto mumbles as soft earth turns to bricks beneath his feet. It’s something, though Noctis doesn’t know what, that these simple feats of magic seem to surprise Prompto who is bursting almost at the seams with it.

Strange and fascinating.

If Prompto thought Noctis’ home was modest, the house he’s made for him is that three times over. Just four rooms with comfortable furniture and bare walls. Ignis called it a quaint cottage when he saw it but offered no actual criticism. Noctis worried about making it grander, any attempts to make it seem more impressive seemed to turn it into a prison. Noctis wants Prompto to feel like he can come and go easily, that he’s not trapped inside this home or even this realm if he finds it not to his liking.

Because he can come and go easily. The moment he breathes a desire of not being here anymore, Noctis will facilitate him getting away.

As a last-minute addition Noctis added a fence around the grass and shrubs directly in front of Prompto’s house, making him a little yard using the lightest coloured wood he could find. The bricks too, are lighter than the main building, the closest thing Noctis could form to something that made him think of Prompto after their brief interaction.

“It’s cute,” Prompto says. “I—thank you.”

“If you need anything else…” Noctis trails off.

“I won’t,” Prompto says.

“If you do,” Noctis says.

“I’ll ask,” Prompto promises. “I won’t need anything—but I’ll ask.”

Noctis almost laughs.

“I should leave you to get settled,” Noctis says.

“Oh,” Prompto says. “I—sure.”

Noctis goes to hand over his bag and Prompto reaches for it, carelessly almost knocking his hand into Noctis’ as he does. Panicked, Noctis drops it before Prompto really has hold of it and almost lets it fall to the floor.

“Sorry,” Noctis mumbles. “I’m—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto says, brow creasing in confusion. Noctis steps back, goes to turn away but Prompto calls out to him. “Wait.”

Noctis doesn’t say anything, just faces him again, waiting for Prompto to speak.

“Is there anywhere I can’t go?”

“Of course not,” Noctis says. “Everything within my borders is welcome to you.”

Prompto nods, biting his lip.

“It might be best though,” Noctis tells him. “If you stay fairly close—it can get quite intense, the further away from the manor you get.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Prompto says. “So, I guess—I’ll see you around.”

Noctis swallows, nods in a small bow that, regretfully, copies the way Ignis had deferred to Prompto a short while ago.

“I hope you’re comfortable here,” Noctis says quickly, then takes a large step that allows him to drop straight down onto his bed and bury his face in his pillow.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- two - ｡.｡:+*

It’s more difficult than Noctis expects to keep himself away from Prompto. He’s alone so often that having someone right there, someone new, someone who seems to like talking is almost too great a temptation.

There’s no reason not to seek Prompto out of course, but it feels wrong to impose on him when he’s already had his life turned upside down and inside out on what may be a fool’s errand.

Prompto is powerful, Noctis is aware of his magic bristling in his realm at all times though he never seems to use it. What good is power if it cannot be controlled? Noctis is tantamount to that. Two much power in one person, a gift and a burden that should have been divided in two because it’s simply too much for one person.

For a few days Noctis can only sense Prompto in that little house, doing whatever it is he does to entertain himself, his energy staying mostly in one place. Noctis expected him to explore, considering he asked specifically if he was allowed and the fact that he hasn’t is almost disappointing, in a way.

Noctis can’t push his way into Prompto’s space—promised himself he wouldn’t, that everything beyond that fence would be Prompto’s private space. But if he explores, if he goes looking for things Noctis can think of a reason to talk to him, can show him the few things there are to see, awkwardly try and move them along into a real conversation.

He wishes he had more practice at it.

And then, on the fourth morning, Prompto leaves the house. Noctis waits, down in the antechamber where they have council, where the main doors open into, hoping Prompto will come through them. Hoping that Prompto’s left to come see him specifically.

Prompto walks the other way.

Noctis slumps down in his chair. Maybe he should just go for a nap.

There’s nothing to do right now. Winter is progressing as it should, needing so little input from Noctis it’s almost worrying. Everyone is busiest while their seasons are in full tilt, while Noctis’ magic just spreads and works of its own accord the moment Noctis stops trapping it in place. That’s the part that tires him out—keeping Winter in check while everyone else does their work.

It’s not even any effort to go back to his room, can make it there in a single step, but still he just sits there, staring up at the ceiling, just as boring and drab as everything else in his life.

“Are we having a meeting?”

Noctis jerks, cracks his head against the back of his chair and whirls around to glare at Cor where he’s standing across the chamber. Cor is Winter through and through, so Noctis can’t sense him the way he can visitors. It’s like that with Monica, though she at least makes noise as she moves around, hums to herself or wears the kind of shoes that click, click against the stone floor. Cor moves silently, trained for it way back when, in a time so distant that Noctis can’t even fathom.

“No,” Noctis says, barely raising his voice. “I’m just—bored.”

“Do you want to have a meeting?” Cor asks him.

Noctis scrunches up his nose. Cor laughs.

“I didn’t expect to see you around this much,” Cor says, coming further into the room.

Noctis flushes, tries to duck his head. He’s been annoying the last few days. Restless and bored, not wanting to bother Prompto so he starts following Cor around like he did when was small.

“I’m just trying to stay out of the way,” Noctis says. “Of Prompto. Sorry if I've been bugging you.”

“You’re the God of Winter, Noctis,” Cor sighs. “You can go where you please, whether it annoys anyone or not.”

Noctis frowns, flicks the sleeve of his robe so it’s covering his hand.

“I don’t want to annoy you,” Noctis specifies. Anything but that.

“You haven’t been,” Cor assures him. “But tell me—why are you not entertaining our guest?”

Noctis lightly knocks his head back against his chair again.

“I don’t know how,” Noctis admits. “What if he wants to be left alone?”

“That seems unlikely,” Cor muses. “If he wanted to be left alone, he never would have come here.”

Noctis cannot argue with that.

“Where were you going?” he asks Cor, diverting the conversation before he has to think too much about it.

“I was looking for you actually,” Cor admits. “Monica made a recipe Luna sent over, but she wants to test it before giving it to Prompto. And I believe she thinks it would be best if you delivered them.”

“He’s out right now,” Noctis says quickly.

Cor quirks an eyebrow. “Perfect time to test them out, then.”

Noctis sighs, pretending like eating Monica’s food is a great sacrifice. He sits up and Cor’s cheek twitches like he’s suppressing a smile.

“What is it?”

“Some kind of dessert,” Cor says, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Smelt sweet.”

“And that answers why you wouldn’t do it,” Noctis says. He sits upright, stretching his hands above his head. Something about Cor being around has always made him feel easy—nothing can truly terrible can happen when Cor is around.

“Come on,” Cor encourages. “Monica’s been enjoying cooking again—and apparently these are Prompto’s favorites.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

After another three days of listless boredom Monica presses a tin of perfect lemon cookies into Noctis’ hands and begs Noctis to take them to Prompto.

“Before they go bad,” Monica urges him.

Prompto’s not at home again, wandered off quite early this morning, going almost too far for Noctis’ liking. He’s right on the edge of where Noctis thinks is safe for him to be, where the form of Winter is metered and controlled. Just in case, Noctis tries to push at the bounds a little, making his home a little wider, in the hopes Prompto stays comfortable.

Something Noctis could be about to ruin, by forcing himself into his company. Even if he only intends to do it for a brief time.

Noctis finds Prompto sitting in a small clearing, an almost perfect circle of unkempt grass surrounded by trees and the thorny shrubs that thrive so well, much to Noctis’ displeasure. There’s a book spread open on Prompto’s knees, thick and heavy, the corners balanced against his legs where he has them crossed against the ground.

Prompto doesn’t notice he’s there until he’s quite close, startling into alertness and slamming the book shut all in one movement. He smiles though, and seems genuinely pleased to see Noctis approaching.

Still, Noctis feels compelled to say “Sorry,” even as Prompto greets him with an easy, “Hi.”

Prompto shakes his head, still smiling.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” Prompto asks.

“Of course,” Noctis says, not mentioning his interference from before. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Lucky for you, I am unbotherable,” Prompto laughs. “Bothersome sometimes, but not botherable.”

Noctis laughs, just a rough exhale that escapes him almost silently. Prompto tilts his head, like he hasn’t a care in the world and Noctis wonders if there’s a way to keep him looking like that forever.

“Why did you come?” Prompto asks, twisting to set the book on the ground beside him.

As always Prompto’s in jeans, so tight Noctis doesn’t quite understand how he’s even folding his legs like that. Today’s top is sleeveless again, cut so that it gapes under his arms and every movement he makes exposes the shape of his chest.

Noctis looks away, mouth suddenly dry and shakes the tin of cookies.

“I have these for you,” Noctis tells him.

Prompto’s eyes widen curiously, and he beckons Noctis closer with both hands, even going so far as to pat the grass beside him when Noctis starts coming towards him again.

There’s no way Noctis can sit the way Prompto is, his knees ache just at the thought of bending that way, so he lowers himself beside Prompto while arranging the fabric of his robes to hide his inelegance.

To his surprise and dismay when Prompto pulls the lid off the tin his face falls into what can only be melancholy.

“What’s wrong?” Noctis blurts.

Prompto looks up from the cookies, offering Noctis a sad smile.

“Did Gladio and Iris send these?”

Noctis shakes his head. Why would they have?

“Monica made them for you.”

Prompto utters a completely silent oh and gives the tin a gentle shake, shifting the cookies from side to side.

“I haven’t even met her yet,” Prompto says. “She’s been getting me the food, right? I cooked for myself before. She really doesn’t need to.”

“She’s been enjoying it,” Noctis reassures, because he can see the beginning of a frown creasing Prompto’s forehead.

“As long as it’s not a hassle,” Prompto says.

“You are the least hassling thing in my life,” Noctis assures him. It’s maybe not true, not in practicality. Prompto himself is offering no hassle at all, but the idea of him, this thing they’re trying to do is consuming almost every spare thought Noctis has available. “Our lives,” Noctis corrects. “Winter, I mean.”

Prompto’s smile twists a little happier and he offers the tin out towards Noctis.

“I’ve already eaten about twelve of them,” Noctis reveals, but he puts his hand into the tin and takes one anyway.

Prompto tilts his head again; curious.

“Monica wanted them to be perfect,” Noctis explains. “So, she was practicing for a few days.”

“Holy shit—she didn’t need to do that,” Prompto breathes. “All lemon cookies are good lemon cookies.”

“I’ll let her know you’re grateful,” Noctis promises.

“More than grateful,” Prompto mumbles, breaking a cookie in half and shoving the entire piece into his mouth.

“Why did you think Iris and Gladio might have sent them?” Noctis wonders.

Prompto has to chew and swallow before he can talk and something about the way he does it makes Noctis think he takes longer over it than he really needs.

“Their mom used to make them for us,” Prompto says quietly.

“Their mom—how did you know their mom?”

Prompto bites his lip. “You don’t really know much about me, do you?”

“None of us know much about you,” Noctis says. “You’ve not been here.”

Prompto grimaces.

“So, after I was born, Luna’s dad, he banished me,” Prompto starts. “You know that part. But you can’t just send the child of a god down into the mortal realm before we’re full grown. Who knew what I was going to be able to do.”

“I didn’t realize he sent you away as soon as you were born,” Noctis admits.

Prompto shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, but Noctis is currently struggling to think of anything worse.

“Luna thinks he was holding out hope I was his, even though mom told him I wasn’t,” Prompto says quietly. “I guess he looked at me and he hated me enough he was willing to risk his wife in order to get me out of his sight.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis whispers. Clearing his throat, he asks, “So they sent you to Spring?”

“No one was supposed to know,” Prompto says. “But mom sent me there because she—Hyacinth, you know—she is, she was mortal. So, if anyone had a shot at teaching me how to be one, it was her.”

“She did a good job,” Noctis says.

Prompto snorts. “Too good—turns out what I don’t know how to do is be a god—demi-god, however it works when there’s nothing for you to do.”

Noctis has so many things he wants to ask. He remembers Hyacinth’s funeral, remembers how the grief took Clarus just a few years later and they laid him down to rest at her side. Prompto wasn’t there at either service, how could he be? But these are the people that raised him for all intents and purposes, who kept him safe until he was ready to go out into the world.

“It’s part of why I agreed to come,” Prompto admits. “If I can help all of you, that’s great, but if I can make things easier for Iris specifically? That’s something I want to do.”

Noctis wants to know, wants to comfort if it’s something that still makes Prompto sad but he’s physically and mentally ill-equipped to be the one to do that. Prompto already looks gutted, like saying just this much has taken everything out of him.

So, instead of satiating his burning curiosity, he asks, “What were you doing out here?”

“Oh!” Prompto brightens at once, setting the cookie tin carefully onto the grass so he can reach for his book again. “I was reading this—Luna gave it to me, to help me work out, how to help.”

“Is it helping?” Noctis questions.

“No idea,” Prompto admits. “Luna says it’s about what kind of magic you have.”

Prompto’s impression of his sister is not very flattering and Noctis will take that knowledge to his eventual grave.

“It’s not just as simple as what season you’re blessed from. Like, take Luna and Ravus for example. Luna’s good at the fine things, her control is impeccable, right?”

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, admitting, “I’m a little jealous.”

“She’s good at making and bringing things to life, she’s precise. Ravus isn’t like that,” Prompto goes on. Then stops, drumming his fingers against the spine of the book.

“I think you’re supposed to say something nice about Ravus’ magic,” Noctis teases.

Prompto pulls a face, sticks out his tongue and everything.

“Ravus is very good at not losing control,” Prompto allows.

“Good enough,” Noctis says.

“And you,” Prompto goes on, pointing right at him even though they’re only feet apart. “Are good at moving—stuff and you. That thing where you warp from one place to another, only you can do that.”

Noctis shakes his head. “Nyx—”

“It’s different,” Prompto cuts across, grinning. “Nyx can only go as far as he can see, but you just…go wherever you want.”

“Not wherever,” Noctis argues. Bizarrely, his cheeks feel a little warm. “So, what about you, what do you do?”

“I don’t know. I mean, not much,” Prompto says. “I don’t—I haven’t had much practice.”

“Will you show me?” Noctis asks.

Prompto drags his tongue over his bottom lip and Noctis tries not to stare at its journey too intently. There’s no answer, but Prompto shifts uneasily, moving his weight from side to side as he takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly. The heavy book gets anchored to Prompto’s chest with one arm, so his other hand sits just a few inches up above the ground.

First Prompto squints, then the blue of his eyes disappears completely as they close in concentration. A muscle in his jaw twitches, his mouth pulling down at the edges as a low hum builds in his throat.

Noctis feels it happen, Prompto’s magic almost jerks as he tries to wield it. The force of it swells, makes Noctis’ chest feel tight, difficult to fill with his breath. Prompto’s picking at his magic, not just trying to do something independent of it but knowingly or not he’s pushing at Noctis’, touching Summer to Winter in ways that normally spell disaster. It’s too much, it’s terrifying, Noctis has a yell on the tip of his tongue, a beg for Prompto to stop until suddenly and all at once it goes, settles back into Prompto’s normal thrum and—

Prompto lists to one side and Noctis clenches his hands under the sleeve of his robes to keep from grabbing for him. Thankfully Prompto manages to catch himself, shifting his hand before it drops down with all his weight behind it to crush the flowers he’s bloomed under his palm.

Noctis is speechless.

Never did he think he’d see something like this in his realm. He’s tried and tried for it, wanting some semblance, just a hint of life around him.

They’re precious, delicate, and fragile looking. Tiny little white roses, petals curled and furled together, just half a dozen of them sitting proudly in Noctis’ too dark grass.

“Pretty lame, huh?” Prompto says, panting for breath.

“They’re beautiful,” Noctis blurts. “How did you—are you for real?”

Prompto blinks, manages to sit upright without supporting himself against the ground. He looks almost wounded.

“You don’t need to make fun of me,” Prompto mumbles, refusing to look at him.

“I’m not,” Noctis promises. “You know how hard I’ve tried to make something like that—to have something alive here?”

Prompto swallows, stares at Noctis for so long he starts to feel uncomfortable.

“You mean dark green, green and gray aren’t your preferred aesthetic?”

Noctis laughs, breath going short all over again, the desire to do so extending itself over and over when Prompto joins in. Eventually, he has enough control over himself to say, “Not even a little bit.”

“So that’s—that’s something, right?” Prompto asks hopefully.

“Definitely something,” Noctis says.

“And you’ll help me practice?”

Noctis hesitates, wanting to kick himself for how it makes Prompto lose a shred of his brightness.

“I can try,” Noctis says. “It’s just—I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Well, I don’t know how much I can learn,” Prompto says. “So maybe that makes us a good match.”

Something about that makes Noctis want to laugh and cry all at once.

“Maybe.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Are you going out today?” Monica asks him as he rifles through the kitchen.

Luna must have been on to something. Now that Noctis is eating regularly it’s bothersome if he forgets or chooses not to do it.

“I don’t think so,” Noctis says.

Monica sighs as he pulls open the pantry for the third time.

“Sit down and I’ll make you something,” she says, almost laughing and not bothering to pretend otherwise.

Noctis knows better than to argue with her, so he sets himself into one of the tall chairs pulled up at the counter and watches as she carries on with what she’s making already. Finely cut raw vegetables all tossed together with some kind of dressing. Noctis is distinctly not interested in it, but he understands Prompto really likes it so bites his tongue to keep from complaining.

“If you’re not planning anything later, perhaps you could take these things to Prompto for me,” Monica suggests.

“Uh—I’m busy,” Noctis tells her.

It’s a lie and he can tell from the flat look she gives him that Monica knows that too.

“I thought you were getting along?” Monica urges.

“We are,” Noctis says quickly. “It’s not—I just have something to do.”

It’s not about a problem with Prompto. Noctis likes him well enough, perhaps a little too much, if anything. He went back to that clearing the next day, and found Prompto there again, more of those little flowers all around him and his gaze studiously fixed on the book. True to his word, Noctis tried to help, but Prompto seems to understand more of the fundamentals than he does.

No one ever taught Noctis—what hope does he have?

It’s not embarrassment that keeps him away, not entirely at least. Prompto is obviously distracted when Noctis is there and he knows how imperative it is that Prompto knows as much as he can by the time Noctis needs him to try, then he needs to focus as much as possible. Noctis doesn’t have it in him to stop Prompto talking about anything and everything that comes into his mind.

Noctis learns about many things, little nuggets of mortal life. About Prompto’s favorite books and music, about televisions and movie theaters and every good thing mortals have made for themselves without the gods’ interference.

In return, Noctis offers nothing at all. Has no fun stories of his own, no wisdom of knowledge to help Prompto reach his unenviable goal.

Better to stay away, for Prompto’s sake.

Better not to risk getting attached, for both of them.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“The Islands are suffering,” Nyx tells him. “If you could pull back a little—”

“Yeah,” Noctis says quickly, trying to soothe him. “Easily, it’s okay.”

“If you just have to redirect it somewhere, you’re not solving a problem. Just moving it,” Ignis warns him.

“I know,” Noctis says.

“Because we can—”

“I know, Ignis, okay?” Noctis snaps, frustration boiling over. He looks at Nyx dead on. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you,” Nyx says. Uncharacteristically he inclines his head in a quasi-bow. Noctis doesn’t much care for the deference but the extra strain this will cost him feels more worth it when it means so much to someone he cares about.

“Otherwise, everything is going well,” Ignis says.

Already feeling bad for being rude a moment ago, Noctis says, “Thank you for doing this—I know you don’t have to.”

To his great relief Ignis smiles.

“It’s my pleasure,” Ignis says.

For a moment Noctis thinks he should explain himself. Tell them how he’s distracted because it feels like Prompto is right outside. Tell them some of the worries that he can’t shake loose from his mind. They’re worse, a lot of the time, when Ignis is close. His scarred hands are a stark reminder of what they tried and what was lost.

“How’s prince charming?” Nyx asks.

Noctis frowns, repeating, “Prince charming?”

“Yeah, you know—”

Footsteps distract them, rapid and slightly uneven like someone is running right at them. Ignis half turns and over his shoulder Noctis gets the perfect view of Prompto running, flush with excitement, into the antechamber only to pull to a stop so abruptly he skids several feet across the polished stone floor when he spots them all.

“Hi,” Prompto offers sheepishly.

Noctis is out of his chair in an instant.

“Are you okay?” he demands.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. He’s more than a little flushed, Noctis realizes, but red up to his hairline, where sweat is starting to curl the strands that hang over his forehead.

“Did something happen?” Ignis asks.

“I did something,” Prompto admits. “I wanted to show you—Noctis.”

“Were you practicing?” Noctis clarifies, his worry giving way to excitement. Prompto nods and Noctis hurries forward a few steps. “I’ll come see.”

“I didn’t know you were busy,” Prompto says. “It can wait—it’s not very impressive.” He sounds almost apologetic now.

“We were done,” Noctis says—decides.

“I guess we were done,” Nyx teases. Noctis shoots a glare over his shoulder.

“Really,” Prompto stresses. “It can wait.”

“I wanna see,” Nyx puts in quickly, almost petulant now.

Somehow the red on Prompto’s cheeks deepens.

“It really is nothing.”

“We can wait in here,” Ignis offers.

“Seriously?” Nyx blurts, the complaint clear in his tone.

Thankfully, Prompto laughs.

“Okay, fine,” Prompto decides. “Everyone can come see, but only if they have really low expectations.”

“All the way on the ground, short stuff,” Nyx tells him. It’s tough to know if his aim is to reassure or tease with this one. Prompto both, knowing him.

Prompto just sighs, loud and put upon, spinning on the spot with little fanfare and storming directly for the main doorway into the manor. He’s fast; manages to disappear out of sight almost and Noctis forgoes cheating to get outside ahead of him, not sure entirely where the final destination is supposed to be.

Not far, is the answer, becoming immediately apparent the moment they get outside. Prompto stands there, arms outstretched to one patch of the hedges surrounding the manor on all sides.

Prompto slowly wiggles his fingers and says, “Ta da!”

Every foot of foliage is covered in tiny blue flowers. Different in not only color but size and shape too. If the roses were small, these are minuscule, though no less perfect.

“They’re lovely,” Ignis announces, while Noctis continues to gawp.

“They’re nothing,” Prompto argues.

“No,” Noctis insists. “Not nothing. Prompto, these are—you’re incredible.”

“It’s just flowers, Luna could do it half asleep,” Prompto says.

Clearly, he too is concerned about his progress. Or the lack thereof, as it were.

“Not here,” Noctis reminds him. “Here, not even I can do that.”

Prompto sways slightly,

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a lot of nothing magic in one day,” Ignis reminds him. “Rest is important.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, covering up a yawn by slapping his hand over his mouth.

When Prompto takes a step, he almost hits the ground. Noctis wants to grab for him but can’t, feeling a mix of jealous and grateful when Nyx rushes forward to keep Prompto upright by grabbing him by both arms.

Nyx’s Harbinger marks look stark against Prompto skin. Jet black at the very tips of his fingers and slowly softening in intensity as the depiction of vines and water stretches up towards his elbow. Noctis hasn’t seen them for a while, realizing that Nyx has taken to wearing gloves more often than not. It’s a kindness to Ignis, Noctis is sure, not showing off what he could have had but lost at no fault of his own.

But seeing them now is a stark reminder of what they’re trying to do here—if Prompto succeeds he’ll get marks of his own. And if he doesn’t—

Prompto groans, and Nyx shifts him, so he’s being held up with an arm just under his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Prompto curses.

“I better get him home,” Nyx says. “Nothing a little rest can’t fix.”

Prompto nods; after the third bob it seems difficult for him to raise his head back up.

Noctis wants to help more than anything, but Prompto is bare-armed again, all pale freckled skin that Noctis should absolutely not risk touching when Prompto is flagging in this way. Instead, he has to watch as Nyx saves the day, doing ninety percent of the moving for both of them as he starts to slowly walk back to the cottage.

When they’re alone, Ignis nudges him gently in the arm.

“You’re allowed to make a friend, you know,” Ignis tells him. “I think it’s even encouraged.”

“It’s not that,” Noctis admits. He trusts in Ignis’ ability to keep secrets in everything but a life-or-death situation of which this is just not one.

Prompto’s improved, sure, but with that much magic in him it shouldn’t be this hard. There has to be something holding him back, making it difficult.

And it’s probably him. Probably Noctis and this forsaken realm leaching his power and strength, even if Prompto is tuned in enough to his own power to realize it’s happening.

“I don’t think I can help—that I’m good for him,” Noctis says, settling on something close to but not identical to the truth. “So, I’m keeping my distance.”

Ignis hums.

“I’m not sure that’s your decision to make.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- three - ｡.｡:+*

Noctis sees a flash of white streak past him just as he’s leaving the manor for a walk and he turns without thinking, following after what must be Pryna come to visit.

When did he become the sort of person that went for a walk to cure boredom, rather than settle into a nap? It must be Prompto’s energy in the realm, always restless, always vibrant. Even in the moments just after he overexerts himself, when Noctis is desperate to go and help but pulls himself back for fear of making it worse, Prompto’s a bright flame in the center of his realm.

Wavering but never extinguishing.

It’s the only thing that keeps Noctis hopeful as Winter runs its course.

Because soon he has to pass the reins to Iris, has to try and shove Winter back into a box small enough the force of it doesn’t sap her completely of energy before she’s even started. It’s why there’s supposed to be someone else, a buffer of someone touched just a little by the season that follows to temporarily twist the two seasons into one.

Maybe Prompto can help, even if he can’t do what a Harbinger does, maybe he can do something. It’s Noctis’ responsibility, but he can’t let pride keep him from accepting help that’s willingly given, not when he’s the only one not affected by his refusal.

Pryna is with Prompto, their reunion immediately apparent even before Noctis sees them. She barks, excited little yips as Prompto talks in a high, excitable, cooing voice that would earn him a growl. When he does see them, Prompto’s dropped down onto his knees, both arms wrapped around her body and rocking them slightly from side to side. Pryna’s tail is wagging so she must be enjoying it too. When Prompto pulls back and presses no less than six kisses to the tip of her nose, Noctis can’t help but smile.

Prompto’s back feels comfortable for once, steady, and easy. Maybe that’s just because he’s not testing himself for once, but maybe it’s more than that, maybe it’s because Pryna is here—a mark from his actual home. Prompto is fluffing up both her ears when he spots Noctis, leaning against the gate so he can watch their reunion. He hadn’t meant to disturb them, never means to disturb Prompto at all, always waiting for him to seek Noctis out rather than go find him in turn.

“Hey,” Prompto says, before Noctis can apologize.

“Hi,” Noctis says. “I was just going for a walk—and I saw Pryna. I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, we’ll come with you, huh girl?”

Pryna yips, shoving her nose into Prompto’s chest to shove him a little away, urging him upright. It’s on Noctis’ mind to refuse, though he doesn’t know why, and certainly can’t do it in good grace.

“Pryna visits you a lot?” Noctis asks as Prompto straightens up, brushing grass off his knees.

“Mhm,” Prompto hums. “Luna sends stuff with her when she can’t visit. I send some stuff back sometimes. You know she can’t make tea?”

“Luna?” Noctis clarifies. He doesn’t see how that can be right, Noctis has shared tea with Luna. It’s probably her favorite mortal thing.

Prompto laughs, just softly, “Yeah. All the things she can make and grow and bring to life and she can’t grow a decent tea.”

“So, I’ve been drinking your tea all these years?” Noctis asks.

“Yeah,” Prompto says, and the knowledge seems to make him happy. “I guess so.” Prompto starts walking his way and Noctis pulls open the gate for him. Over his shoulder Prompto mutters, “Come on girl.”

“You know she’s not really a dog. You don’t have to treat her so much like one,” Noctis says.

“I’d argue that no one else treats her enough like a dog,” Prompto retorts. “She likes it.”

Noctis can’t really fight with that, not when Pryna comes trotting to Prompto’s side and stays there as they turn away from both houses, her tail raised high and wagging gently back and forth.

“How often does Luna manage to come see you?” Noctis wonders.

“Couple times a year?” Prompto says uncertainly. “It depends on what’s going on. Less recently compared to when we were younger. The only time I’ve—Ravus came once. Just to drag her back because he thought she’d been away too long.”

“Of course he did,” Noctis says. The urge to apologize comes thick and strong, but it will be meaningless coming from him.

An apology directly from Ravus would probably feel empty at this point.

“What about you?” Prompto asks.

“Oh, Ravus hates me as well,” Noctis reveals easily, earning one of Prompto’s bright laughs.

It warms Noctis more than his magic ever could.

“No—I meant,” Prompto starts, struggling to talk around his giggles. “Do you ever go to the mortal realm or the other seasons?”

“No,” Noctis says. “It’s not really safe. I’m too—Winter is too much. If I waltz it right into Spring or Autumn, Iris and Selena suffer for it.”

“But you can all see each other in the in-between place?”

Noctis grimaces and watches Prompto’s mouth sink similarly into unhappiness.

“Why not?” Prompto demands—almost petulantly.

“It was fine when I was younger,” Noctis explains. “But as I got older, just being around me, even in a place where we’re supposedly equalized—it was starting to affect them.”

“So, you’re just in here all the time? All alone?”

“I guess—”

“That’s not fair,” Prompto spits. He stops walking, seemingly just so he can stamp his foot against the ground. He’s wearing little yellow sneakers today, pale canvas against the gloom and it makes his attempt at anger all the more amusing.

“I have Cor and Monica,” Noctis tries to reassure him. “Ignis visits when he can, and Nyx isn’t affected like everyone else. Gladio tries, but he can’t stay long. I’m not—I’m not alone.”

To say he isn’t lonely, a lot of the time, however, might be a lie.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Prompto mutters. With a sniff, he starts walking again, leading Noctis to the clearing where he found him that first time. The flowers he bloomed there are gone, though Noctis noted a vase of larger ones in a vase next to where Monica works in the kitchen.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Noctis wonders.

Pryna drops down onto her belly and Prompto all but throws himself down onto the ground beside her. He looks up at Noctis, impatience and frustration set into the sharp line of his brow.

“I thought I just made it pretty clear that I did,” Prompto says, letting himself flop over onto his back.

“No, I mean—me. I really don’t bother you,” Noctis tries to explain himself.

Prompto’s brow pinches further. “Yeah, dude, you suck, please leave immediately.”

It’s a joke, he’s joking, but Noctis still feels a swoop of dismay—of fear at the words.

“My magic,” Noctis further clarifies, dropping down onto the ground too. Again, he covers up the inelegant positioning of his legs. “It really doesn’t hurt you. Can you even feel it at all? You’re not even cold, are you?”

“No,” Prompto says softly. After a few breaths he rockets himself upright, looking concerned all over again, dragging his hands over his always bare arms. “That means there’s something wrong with me, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Noctis reassures him quickly. Peculiar, sure, Noctis has never known anyone else with these powers that cannot sense them in others too. But it doesn’t have to mean anything bad. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Prompto whines. “I don’t work right, and you think it’s good.” He sounds so genuinely perturbed, pouting prettily as he folds his arms over his chest that it makes Noctis’ chest lurch, something not quite comfortable picking at every one of his senses.

“It’s nice—that we don’t hurt each other,” Noctis specifies. “Don’t you think?”

Prompto’s expression eases into a soft smile.

“Yeah. That is nice,” Prompto admits. After a moment, his smile stretches to almost a smirk. “You don’t happen to have cookies again, do you?”

“No,” Noctis says apologetically. “But I can go get some.”

“Nah that’s—wait that’ll take you like four seconds, won’t it?” Noctis nods. “Then hell yeah, buddy. I’ll wait right here.”

Prompto flops back against the grass again, closing his eyes when Pryna shuffles forward to set her head on his chest.

The wait is a little longer than four seconds, because Noctis allows himself that many seconds to just look at Prompto, relaxed and calm against the grass.

Winter is slowly making its way to the end of its course. Who knows if or when Noctis will have the opportunity to see this again.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Prompto’s in the clearing again. Before he was here, Noctis never thought of it at all. It was an empty space, neither purposefully made nor unwanted, just something that exists. Now he’s glad for it, that it took this exact form and shape, making a space Prompto feels comfortable enough to spend most of his time.

Noctis can tell he’s there, would normally leave him alone, but his magic seems a step beyond restless. It’s not like when he’s testing himself either, there’s no push against Noctis’ own, it’s simply prickling along his senses.

Laying on his stomach and flicking idly through his book, it almost looks like nothing is wrong at first glance. Only one step into the clearing and Noctis spots the tense line of his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks.

Prompto jumps, cuts off his scream before it can really take real shape, but not before it reveals his surprise.

It’s cute.

“Gave me a frickin’ heart attack, dude,” Prompto complains. He drops his head, lets it thump down against his book.

“Sorry,” Noctis apologizes, barely sorry at all.

“Unforgivable,” Prompto mutters, muffled by the paper.

Noctis is starting to get used to this habit, where Prompto says something he doesn’t really mean. At least not exactly the way he’s saying it. One day, he’ll stop having to think so hard about it, when they’ve spent another time together everything will be—

Noctis shakes his head, physically shaking off the train of thought.

“You’re upset,” Noctis guesses. “Did something happen?”

Doesn’t know what could have happened. There have been no major changes, no one has come and gone for some time now and as far as he knows Prompto hasn’t even spoken to Monica and Cor in days.

Cor mentioned it this morning, not quite able to maintain the air of indifference he was likely intending. Prompto’s managed to get under all their skin.

“Winter’s almost over,” Prompto says quietly. “I can feel it. I’m—worried.”

“About what you have to do?” Noctis wonders.

Slowly, so as not to startle Prompto all over again, Noctis lowers himself to the ground beside him. If he were anyone else, he could offer more overt comfort, a bracing hand on a shoulder or just anything better than the necessity of keeping his hands to himself and an inability to really say how he feels.

Prompto hesitates, lifting his head, but only so he can fold his arms on top of the book and bury it in them instead.

“Yeah,” Prompto admits. “Something like that.”

“Has your book been any help?”

Prompto shrugs.

“If you’re—you can just go home, Prompto. It’s okay.”

Prompto’s shoulders pull up towards his ears.

“You want me to go?” Prompto asks. His voice is so very, very small. “You don’t think I can do it.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Noctis corrects.

Whether Prompto can or not is another thing altogether. There’s no doubt he’s powerful enough, the problem seems to be Prompto doesn’t know how to use that power. That every effort to do so leaves Prompto exhausted and weak with only minor feats to show for it. Noctis is permanently in awe of everything Prompto manages to create, sure that in another time and space things would be quite different for him.

If Prompto was first born, or even second—he would be thriving in Summer, creating unfathomable things without even lifting a finger.

“Everyone keeps saying that, but nothing has hurt me so far,” Prompto mumbles. He turns his head, looking up at Noctis with one cheek squished against his arm. “I don’t know why it’s suddenly going to be different.”

“Because it’s hard for you,” Noctis says. “Even if it doesn’t hurt, it’s not easy.”

“I just haven’t been trained—”

“Have you ever tried your magic anywhere else? Spring or the mortal realm?”

Prompto frowns and Noctis doesn’t need him to answer.

“So, we’re worried,” Noctis says. “When you have to wield Winter to ease it into Spring, we have no idea how that’s going to go—or what it might do to you.”

Worried that he can’t. No matter how much he wants to.

“I wish someone could teach me,” Prompto says.

Noctis feels the guilt crawl at him. It should be him, if he can’t do it, he should at least know how, but he’s tried touching Spring and all he did was obliterate it, froze half the world so late in the year the consequences were still being felt when Luna had passed control of things into Selena’s steady hands.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says—the only thing he can think to offer.

Prompto sighs, finally pushing himself upright, kneeling on the ground and glaring down at his book.

“You say that a lot,” Prompto mutters. He scrubs his palm over his face and Noctis chest tightens, suddenly afraid.

“I’m sorry a lot,” Noctis tries. The attempt at brevity falls flat, just causes Prompto to make a low, frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“Sure,” Prompto says. The book slams shut and Prompto almost staggers to his feet. Noctis realizes Prompto’s exhausted, hadn’t picked up on it before because he was so worried about his mood.

“I’m gonna go back to the house,” Prompto says.

“I’ll leave,” Noctis offers, scrambling to his feet, face burning when he trips on his robe in the process. It doesn’t even make Prompto smile.

“No, I need to lie down,” Prompto says. “Sorry if I’ve been—I’m just tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” Noctis begs.

Prompto presses his lips into a flat line, jaw twitching. All he can offer is a nod before he turns to head back to his house.

Noctis feels young for the first time in a long time.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis wanders from his room to the library he never uses then somehow ends up in the kitchen again. No new cookies or anything but the chiller is chock full of everything Noctis could imagine and many things he cannot.

So distracted by this discovery is Noctis he doesn’t notice anyone else is around until they make a noise behind him.

Whirling around, he finds Ignis setting a basket down on one of the cabinets.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before,” Ignis muses.

“I’ve been eating more often,” Noctis explains. “You kind of get used to it.”

“You get hungry now?” Ignis asked—if Noctis isn’t mistaken he sounds pleased by the idea.

“I guess,” Noctis says. “Kind of annoying.”

“I suppose you’ve been eating with Prompto,” Ignis muses.

Noctis hasn't actually. Outside of a few batches of cookies he hasn’t eaten with him at all. Sure, when Monica cooks for him a plate of it inevitably ends up in front of Noctis too. That’s odd, now Noctis is thinking about it, the two of them eating the same meal but alone.

“How did you get here?” Noctis asks, suddenly realizing that Ignis is here but unaccompanied. “Is Nyx—?”

Noctis slams the chiller closed so he can concentrate, trying to pick up Nyx and sure enough, buried beneath the tumultuous wave of Prompto he can feel Nyx’s presence in his realm.

“I don’t know how I didn’t feel you come in,” Noctis mumbles.

“Nyx says it feels different here, at the moment,” Ignis says. “Gentler, I think was his word. I wonder if that’s distracting you.”

“It’s always different at this time of year.”

“More than that,” Ignis says. “More like the other realms feel.”

“It’s—working?”

“For now,” Ignis says. “Nyx doesn’t think Prompto can keep it up—that the moment he gets control of his magic, yours will start affecting him like it does us.”

“So, we need him to stay out of control?” Noctis blurts. “Which means he can’t—this isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t start getting worked up,” Ignis says urgently, coming close enough to set a hand on Noctis’ shoulder. The touch makes Noctis shudder, so terribly unfamiliar though not even a little unwelcome. “That’s why we came,” Ignis goes on, softer now. “Nyx is—”

Noctis gasps, has to slam his hand down against the counter to keep from falling down.

It’s like a pressure drop, like all the noise suddenly vanishes from the world.

Prompto’s gone. The feel of him vanished like it had never been there. Winter suddenly feels vast and foreign all around him.

Noctis is cold.

“He left,” Noctis whispers.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asks.

“Why has he gone?”

“Noctis,” Ignis urges. “Are you alright?”

Noctis takes a breath, air fills his lungs and when he blinks, everything feels a little better. Already he’s adjusting to Prompto being gone—to being alone—to not having the buffer of warm magic pressing up against his own.

“I’m fine,” Noctis says breathlessly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—where has he gone?”

“Nyx is taking him to see Gladio,” Ignis explains. “They’re going to tell Prompto what it’s like for them. He’s coming back later, I promise.”

“That’s smart,” Noctis says, sounding more like himself with every word. “Someone should have thought of that sooner.”

Ignis offers a tentative smile, the hand on his shoulder shifting to rub his back.

“He affects you that much?”

Noctis nods. “It’s good though—I think.”

The flowers Prompto gave to Monica are wilting in the vase. Noctis can’t remember if they were like that when he came in or if they’re turning because Prompto is gone, his absence sucking all the life from Winter he’s managed to bestow.

“It doesn’t hurt you?” Ignis wonders. “Doesn’t make you weaker?”

“No,” Noctis assures him. “It’s—I don’t know how to explain it. I wish you could feel him, Ignis.”

Ignis’ face clouds over a little.

“As do I,” Ignis says.

Noctis feels rotten again, but it’s not like before, this time it’s an old wound, something that hasn’t and might never heal properly.

“Ignis, I’m—”

“Hungry?” Ignis interrupts, pulling away and reaching for the basket he carried in with him. “Good, because I made enough food to feed a dozen of you.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Iris sends word to let Noctis know it’s time, but he can mostly already tell. The edges of Winter feel a little frayed, wrought over after being allowed to roam almost free for so long.

Instead of dwelling on his worry, he goes to find Prompto to make sure he has warning too. Again, Noctis finds him in the clearing but he’s not reading for once, he isn’t doing much of anything, just sitting with his legs crossed, twisting his fingers together, over and over.

“It’s almost time?” Prompto asks.

Somehow, he looks paler than normal. He watches Noctis as he approaches, but as he settles to sit with him, he lets his eyes fall closed, brows pinching together like he’s in pain.

“Yeah,” Noctis confirms. “Any day now.”

“Tomorrow,” Prompto says roughly. “It’s—tomorrow.”

Noctis can never tell for sure exactly when. Usually, after Iris sends word, he just starts pulling back, waiting for the moment Spring pushes hard enough against him it almost hurts, then yanks Winter back as harshly as he can. It’s not the perfect method, not by a long shot, but he can’t do what truly needs to be done.

Maybe Prompto can.

Prompto stretches one hand against the other, pushes his fingers so firmly against his palm they crack.

“I’m scared,” Prompto whispers.

Nothing Noctis can say to reassure him isn’t also a lie.

“Do you know what you need to do?”

Prompto scowls, even though his eyes stay closed.

“Yeah. Luna says—she says my magic is best or strongest or whatever when I’m not actually controlling it. I should just let it happen, she says, that it’ll be okay if I don’t fight it too hard.”

“That actually makes sense,” Noctis says. “With what I can feel from you.” Lines up with what Ignis suspects as well. It doesn’t make it any easier to grasp.

Prompto cracks one eye open. In the slight gloom the blue seems to glow unnaturally bright.

“Okay—but how on earth do I lose control on purpose?”

Noctis shakes his head, “I don’t know.” Like he was expecting the answer, Prompto sighs and shuts his eyes again.

All Noctis’ life has been the opposite, trying to wrestle control of something too large for him to handle. He’s lost control plenty of times, but that’s never been a good thing.

“What do you need?” Noctis asks. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

“Don’t—” Prompto starts, pausing to drag his tongue across the plush part of his bottom lip. “Don’t leave me alone?”

“Not even for a second,” Noctis promises.

“Thank you,” Prompto breathes.

“You look tired,” Noctis says. “Why don’t you rest?”

“Okay,” Prompto says, slurring slightly. “That seems—smart.”

“Let’s get you home,” Noctis says, wishing he could take Prompto’s hand and have him there in half a second, but he can’t. Maybe if he’s very careful he could pick him up without touching Prompto’s skin, but it’s not worth the risk. Not worth inflicting even the smallest token of harm on Prompto—not ever, but especially not when he’s about to do something so terribly difficult.

Prompto shakes his head, sighs roughly and slumps against the ground all in the same second. Briefly, Noctis panics, lurching up into an awkward crouch only to watch Prompto roll over onto his side, pillowing one bicep under his head.

“Just—here,” Prompto mumbles. “Just for a little while.”

“Okay,” Noctis says, forcing himself to side back down. “Okay.”

“Maybe I can just—maybe I’ll be able to dream everything into being perfect.”

☼❆

Prompto does not rest for only a little while.

Noctis watches and waits for hours and hours until finally giving in to the growing sense of certainty that Prompto is simply not going to wake up.

It’s almost instantaneous; the moment he knows he needs help, the moment he thinks he needs Cor he’s there, crossing the edge of the clearing from between the dense trees.

“I don’t know what to do,” Noctis blurts.

“Stay calm,” Cor tells him, the very picture of it himself. “I’ll send word—but it might just be this is supposed to happen.”

“Cor,” Noctis breathes. “It looks like he’s dying.”

“He’s just sleeping,” Cor says. “He’s still here—still with us. You can feel it. I know you can.”

Noctis can. Prompto’s still hot and present within his borders, finally tempered a little, smooth, and quiet, but still unmistakably there.

“Be quick,” Noctis begs.

Cor ruffles his hair and then is gone.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Cor is only gone for an hour or so, taking up position on the edge of the clearing, telling Noctis nothing but he’s there to keep them both safe.

A full day later Noctis feels when Pryna arrives, busting into his realm near the manor then running over to them. She slows a little as she enters the clearing, trotting over to Prompto and inspecting him with her nose from his toes all the way up to the top of his head. Pryna snuffles into Prompto’s hair for a long moment, setting it into greater disarray than normal before giving a low huff and licking his cheek.

Seemingly satisfied she moves over to Noctis, flopping down at his side with all her weight pushed against his thigh.

“You’re the cavalry, huh?” Noctis says to her, petting behind her ears.

She twists to nibble his fingers, then rolls the rest of the way over onto her back, revealing a note tucked into the harness on her chest.

If Pryna stays Prompto is not in danger. L x

Pryna stays on her back, so Noctis rubs her chest, digging his fingers into her thick fur. When she closes her eyes, so comfortable she readies herself for a nap, Noctis finally allows himself to relax.

Just a little bit.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis is so fixated on Prompto he doesn’t notice them at first. It’s only when Pryna, awake from her nap, darts forward to squash one under her paw that he acknowledges their existence.

They swirl out around Prompto like a sunburst, bright yellow daisies no bigger than a coin, with almost orange centers, so vibrant they almost glow in the dark light of winter.

Noctis dares to brush over one with his fingers and it sways towards him as he pulls his hand away again.

Noctis pretends that means something.

Hopes that Prompto is, in fact, dreaming Spring into being.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“You should sleep.”

“I don’t need to,” Noctis argues. “It’s not—I’ll be fine.”

“I know you don’t need to,” Cor tells him. “But it’s been four days—if your control slips, you’ll make it harder on him.”

Noctis takes in a breath, but when he exhales it stutters out of him.

Cor’s logic is sound, but all Noctis can think about is how pale Prompto looks.

About how soft his magic has gotten.

“Noctis,” Cor says.

“You’ll—”

“I won’t take my eyes off of him,” Cor promises. “You have my word.”

Cor’s word goes a long way, so Noctis gives Pryna one last pet that half pulls her from her slumber and regretfully gets to his feet.

“I’m sure by the time you wake up again, it will almost be over,” Cor assures him.

Noctis watches him bury the tip of his sword into the grass, then take up Noctis’ position on the ground, just a scant few feet away from where Prompto has lain in almost perfectly still since he first fell asleep.

Noctis hopes Cor is right—he’s not sure what he’ll do if he’s not.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis is dragged awake when all the breath is ripped out of his chest.

It takes him a second—disorientated and lightheaded—to work out the cause.

Then he feels it, or doesn’t feel it, more like—Prompto’s magic, barely perceptible. Noctis tries reaching out for it, just in case it’s only a matter of control, of Prompto finally cracking the complicated code of his own being and he’s done this under his own steam.

But no, Noctis can tell it’s diminished, not contained. Dwindling at nothing more than a little thrum, weaker than the wings of a newborn bird.

One step brings him to the clearing, disheveled and unsteady on his feet. Cor seems to have rolled him over onto his back, head resting on a bundle of cloth that can only be his own cloak. Fingers at Prompto’s throat, Cor kneels next to him, his usually impassive face creased with worry.

“How did he—when did this happen?”

Noctis wants to reach out for him, wants to check his skin and his pulse with his own hands, but that can only make things worse. Instead, he has to sit back, watching Cor be the one to test the life in him, ancient fingers against skin that’s gone so pale it looks almost translucent.

“Not long ago,” Cor says. “It looked like he was suddenly having a nightmare, then suddenly went completely still—I thought his heart had stopped.”

“It’s…”

“Weak, but there,” Cor says.

“He’s immortal,” Noctis says, willing it to be true. “He has to be it—it doesn’t matter that he’s not been here. It can’t.”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Cor mutters.

Pryna whines.

“I said I wouldn’t leave him,” Noctis says—choking on the words.

“You’re here now,” Cor says. “That’s what matters.”

With Prompto’s magic so weak it’s easy to feel when the realm shifts as someone enters.

Cor looks up at Noctis, fingers still on Prompto’s pulse.

“Gladio?”

“It feels like it,” Noctis agrees. “Why isn’t he with Iris?”

Cor just shakes his head and although he knows going to Gladio will get him answers Noctis stays put, afraid that if he goes away even for a second the last of Prompto’s magic will dissipate and Prompto will cease to exist right along with it.

To quell the need to reach out to Prompto, Noctis buries his hand into the grass, threads one of the flowers between each of his fingers and, as he looks at them, they grow upwards to curl over his fingers.

Noctis has to blink to clear his vision.

Pryna jumps up to greet Gladio when he appears and to his credit, he mostly ignores her, only brushing over her head so she’s appeased enough to clear a path to Prompto.

“He needs to be moved,” Gladio says succinctly. “He won’t recover here. Not from this.”

“You’re taking him?” Cor asks.

Noctis can barely process what’s happening.

“We’ll look after him until he’s well enough to go home,” Gladio says. He drops down, knees hitting the ground with a dull thunk and reaches out to push Prompto’s hair back off his forehead.

“Damn kid, what have you gotten yourself into this time,” Gladio mumbles.

It’s been so long since Noctis saw Gladio he’s managed to forget how big he is, how much skin the feathers and flowers of his Harbinger mark take up. Like Nyx, his fingers are permanently stained dark, almost black, with the mark of his birth season stretching up across his forearms and biceps towards his shoulders. Gladio has always worn his with as much pride as he does his job, determined to be the solid pillar of strength his sister needs.

“You’re taking him to summer?” Noctis clarifies.

That’s good—makes sense. Be in the place his strength comes from in order to regain it.

Gladio looks over at him and he looks stricken.

“Ravus won’t allow it,” Gladio admits. “We’ll look after him in Spring.”

“You’re kidding,” Noctis blurts. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Gladio shakes his head, bending further to get his arm under Prompto’s shoulders and start to lift him off the ground.

“Ravus’ pettiness knows no limits,” Gladio rumbles. “Asshole.”

Gladio gets his other arm under Prompto’s knees and hefts him up against his chest and gets to his feet.

From the ground, Noctis asks, “Will that be enough?”

Gladio looks at Prompto, face racked with a tenderness usually preserved only for Iris and not for the first time Noctis wonders just what their relationship is or was or could have been if things were allowed to be different.

“It has to be enough.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- four - ｡.｡:+*

“Have you heard anything?”

“No news,” Cor says.

“Okay.”

“No news is good news, in this case,” Cor says—the attempt at reassurance is appreciated though not particularly effective.

“Monica has food for you,” Cor goes on.

“I’ll eat it later.”

A sigh, then Cor says, “Very well.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

Noctis rolls his face more firmly into his pillow, hiding from the question, from Ignis, from everything.

He feels so lethargic.

But nothing is wrong exactly. Noctis has the energy to pull in a blizzard strong enough to decimate half the world, could reform the entire structure of his realm without breaking a sweat or take a single step that has him right up at the door of Luna’s castle.

He simply doesn’t want to.

Doesn’t want to sow chaos—doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Fingers brush the back of his neck, slipping underneath the hair that usually covers it and Noctis flinches, immediately panicked and desperate to get away.

Ignis shushes gently and all the fight leaves him in a great shuddering breath. It’s Ignis—just Ignis, it’s okay. Noctis can’t hurt Ignis, not like that, he can’t sap magic that doesn’t exist.

“You feel fine,” Ignis muses.

“I am fine,” Noctis sighs, forcing himself to roll over in the hopes that Ignis seeing his face will set him at ease.

The sight of Nyx leaning up against the wall by his door surprises him, though it shouldn’t, Noctis felt the shape of him when he entered into the realm. Noctis just—forgot?

Nyx is frowning at him, arms crossed loosely over his chest, and Noctis can’t tell if it’s concern or frustration. Noctis sits himself up, pulling his hand through his hair.

“What?” Noctis snaps defensively.

“Nothing,” Nyx says, not rising to it. He looks away from Noctis, making a small jerk with his head in Ignis’ direction. Softly, he wonders, “Do you feel better now?”

Ignis hmms thoughtfully. “Not particularly,” Ignis says, touching Noctis’ forehead and, this time, he is aware of himself enough to appreciate the gesture rather than recoil. “You’ve stopped eating,” Ignis says.

“No—have I?”

“Monica seems to think so,” Ignis says.

“Is there any news? From Spring?”

Noctis can’t bring himself to say Prompto’s name. If the worst happens, he doesn’t deserve it.

“He’s still alive,” Nyx says.

“And Ravus still—?”

“No,” Ignis says. “He won’t be reasoned with, and Luna cannot afford to press the matter.”

“Okay,” Noctis says. Even though it’s not okay at all.

“Come eat with us,” Nyx says. The leather of his boots creaks loudly as he pushes off the wall. “That’s not a request by the way.”

“You think you can make me?” Noctis asks. In truth, he’s not annoyed by the suggestion. It’s kind of nice that they’ve come here to see him for no other reason that they—or at least Ignis—is concerned about him.

“You’re gonna fight me about it?” Nyx asks, mouth stretching into a grin. Ignis sighs.

“No,” Noctis says. “I’m not gonna fight with you.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis forces himself from bed every morning. Starts taking his walks again and makes sure to check in with Cor every day or so. He’s not always the easiest man to track down, but Noctis tries, and Cor doesn’t seem bothered by the efforts at least.

The touch of Summer in Gladio’s magic startles Noctis when he feels it. Embarrassingly, he’s in what has become known to him as Prompto’s clearing when Gladio arrives and owing to the fact Gladio can sense his location moving himself will amount to nothing.

Noctis feels strange when he looks at the starburst of yellow daisies that still carpet the short grass. Pleased they exist but still sad to look at them. It doesn’t make any sense because they’re happy, joyful little blooms but they make something in Noctis’ chest ache just by their very existence.

Gladio starts to say hello but the easy smile he always wears, switches to confusion when he takes in the ground.

“I thought they’d have died by now,” Gladio says. So had Noctis. “Prompto made those, right?”

“Yes,” Noctis confirms. He sweeps his eyes over Gladio, broad as always, arms uncomfortably covered by sleeves for once. “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Noctis observes.

Gladio’s smile slips back into place. “Prompto’s awake.”

“He’s okay?”

“Annoyed he took a power nap of death, but yeah,” Gladio laughs. “He’s right as rain.”

Noctis exhales, feeling like he can stand taller all of a sudden.

“Thanks for coming,” Noctis says earnestly. Gladio claps him on the shoulder, only letting his touch linger for a single heartbeat even though they’re completely covered. “I mean it,” Noctis stresses. “I know it’s hard for you to come, especially right now.”

Gladio shrugs. “It feels different,” Gladio says. “It’s easier—not saying I’m gonna be able to stay for a long time, but it’s better than it used to be.”

“Nyx said that too,” Noctis says. “But I thought—it’s always been easier for him anyway.”

“He has to be right occasionally, I guess,” Gladio teases. Noctis smiles, he can’t remember the last time it was so easy between them. Iris, after all, is the one most affected by Winter growing out of control.

“How’s Iris?”

“Good,” Gladio breathes. “So good. I can’t believe it. The change over wasn’t perfect, but she hasn’t been this well this time of year in so long.”

“I’m glad,” Noctis says, the words a poor representation of the relief he feels.

“She wants to visit,” Gladio tells him. “Maybe not this year, and not during Spring just in case but—she misses you.”

“I miss her too,” Noctis admits. How long since he last saw Iris with no tension? How long since she could stand to be near him for longer than a few minutes—since Winter became so overwhelming it could freeze over the in-between place if he didn’t keep proper control over himself.

Easier for everyone else that Noctis kept himself away. Isolated where he could do his best not to hurt anyone.

“You probably need to get back,” Noctis says.

“I think I can stay for a while,” Gladio explains. “I came to get Prompto’s stuff but even so—I’ve got time to catch up.”

“I’ll show you to his house,” Noctis says.

It’ll be the first time he’s been inside since he built it, Noctis realizes.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Spring passes and word comes that Prompto has gone home.

As Summer goes Noctis wonders, but no one says anything, and he cannot bring himself to ask. Prompto’s house stays standing, even though it’s empty and Noctis has no way of knowing if it will ever not be that way again.

It worked.

Prompto did what Noctis thought impossible, but will he be able to do it again? Willing?

Prompto almost died, that fact is inescapable. Noctis assumes his magic is still intact as no one has mentioned otherwise, but he may not be able to survive it twice.

“It was my mistake,” Luna says quietly. “I’m sorry Selena.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Selena says, reaching across the table to take Luna’s hand. “It happens to the best of us.”

“You’ve been unduly stressed,” Ravus cuts across from his place standing tall and proud behind her.

Noctis just thinks he doesn’t want to lower himself down to their level. An ungenerous thought but with the way Ravus is constantly glaring at him.

“It was nothing a little rain couldn’t fix,” Selena says easily. “Noctis helped me, so I didn’t have to exhaust myself, it’s fine.”

Usually, these gatherings are because of him. A snap frost when there absolutely should not be one or a blizzard on a blistering Summer coastline. A temperature spike so high an entire forest caught fire on the west continent was not something Noctis ever expected to be summoned to help fix. He never expected Luna to lose control of herself.

Luna—the most controlled of all of them, who spends every season sharing her magic out to ease everyone else’s strain.

Selena doesn’t bother to pretend she’s not glaring at Ravus, twisting her neck to face him so fast her thick, dark braid slips off her shoulder to fall down her back. With a gentleness not matched in her expression, Selena strokes her thumb across Luna’s knuckles.

“Once Prompto’s back, you’ll feel better,” Selena says.

Noctis jerks his head up, luckily catching Ignis’ eye before he can start demanding an explanation. Ignis shakes his head, so minutely you might not notice if you weren’t already looking at him, mouthing the word later.

“Pryna will find him,” Luna says. “She always does. I’m sorry for getting upset.”

“Don’t be,” Iris urges. “We’re here to support each other.”

Ravus has the audacity to scoff and Noctis is saved from having to comment on that by the way Gladio cracks his knuckles. Ravus doesn’t flinch or snap back, because the one thing you can allow Ravus is that he’s not stupid.

“No harm, no foul,” Selena says. She turns to Noctis now, though her gaze is only beseeching.

“It was nice to be able to help for once,” Noctis admits.

Selena’s smile is tinged with pity, which Noctis doesn’t particularly like, but he can hardly blame her.

“I’m sure you’re all sick of being around me,” Noctis says. “If no one else has anything they need to talk about…”

“It was nice to see you,” Selena stresses. “I mean it.”

“Noctis is right—not about the sick of him part,” Iris says, though if Noctis isn’t mistaken, she sounds a little out of breath. “There’s no need to talk about this anymore.”

“Thank you,” Luna whispers. “I appreciate the forbearance.”

☼❆

Noctis paces back and forth, in the patch of his realm where most visitors appear. Impatiently waiting for whenever Ignis’ later comes to fruition. He knows it could be a long time, that Ignis gave him no specific indication when, but he simply cannot sit still while he waits.

To his surprise Cor waits with him, sedately resting with his back against a tree and so still he very well might have fallen asleep.

When Noctis questions his presence the only answer Cor will give is: “I would also like to know why Prompto needs to be found.”

When Ignis comes, it’s with Nyx and Gladio at his side, their appearance a small jerk against his magic.

“Easy,” Nyx warns him. “You’re not spilling over, but it’s pretty obvious you’re close to it.”

“Sorry,” Noctis says. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself and it’s Gladio’s soft hum which lets him know he was successful.

“You said Prompto went home,” Noctis says, hopefully not sounding too much like he’s accusing anyone of anything.

“He did,” Ignis reassures. “But he asked to go home, before we really thought he was ready for it.”

“Why?”

Gladio sighs. Nyx and Ignis exchange a look. Nyx is the one that drags his hand over his mouth and starts explaining.

“I took him to Autumn, so he could meet Selena,” Nyx says. “Which shouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Ravus turned up,” Gladio puts in.

“He knew Prompto was here,” Noctis says.

“I don’t think he understood Prompto would be going anywhere but right here,” Ignis explains. “It was out of sight, out of mind.”

“What did he do?”

“His usual bit,” Nyx grumbles. “I’ve never been more sorry we can’t really hurt each other—shit, sorry, Noctis.”

Noctis’ face must have shown how much that stings.

“If he’d just let us know he was coming,” Nyx barrels on. “But of course he doesn’t. He never does any more than exactly what he has to, just hides out in Summer and ignores the rest of us like—fuck. I’m just putting my foot in my mouth today, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Noctis mumbles.

Noctis would spend more time with them all, would help out and get to know them better than he does now, if only could without hurting them.

Doesn’t want to hurt anyone—yet he’s the only one cursed with the privilege of being able to do so.

“It’s not,” Nyx says. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough Autumn so far.”

“Which is why you should be resting,” Ignis says.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Nyx smiles at him, fond enough that Noctis almost squirms with the embarrassment.

“We’ll be okay,” Nyx says. “But thank you.”

Noctis is glad for that, truly. But he can hardly appreciate it when something else is scratching at all his senses.

“So, Prompto left…”

“Because Ravus was cruel to him,” Gladio says.

“I don’t think he intends to be cruel,” Ignis says. “But he cannot see sense where Prompto is concerned.”

“Don't defend him,” Nyx insists. “Ignis, come on.”

“I’m not,” Ignis says. “It’s unforgivable.”

“You don’t know where he went?” Noctis asks. “Can he travel to and from the mortal realm without help?”

“No,” Ignis says. “Nyx delivered him home. But when Gladio and Luna went to visit him, to arrange his coming to stay again this year he had moved on.”

“What does that mean?”

“He moves all the time,” Nyx says quickly. “He has to because after too long people realize he’s not aging, but he usually waits until just after he’s seen one of us, so he can let us know where he’s going.”

“You think he didn’t tell you on purpose?” Noctis wonders.

Nyx shrugs one shoulder, completely helpless.

“We’ll find him,” Gladio says. “It’s just tough when you don’t know where to start looking.”

“You can’t make him come back,” Noctis says.

“Noctis—”

“No, I mean it,” Noctis insists. “If he doesn’t want to do it, please don’t try to convince him otherwise.”

“He really helped,” Gladio says.

“I know,” Noctis says. “But—if it was Iris, would you let someone force her into something like this?”

Gladio’s answer comes easily. “No, of course not. You’re right.”

“Still—we do have to find him,” Ignis says.

“Fine. And I want to know he’s safe, of course I do,” Noctis says quickly. “But if he doesn’t want to come back, to here—” to him “—or any other realm, you leave him be.”

“Noctis.”

“Promise me,” Noctis demands.

“Okay,” Ignis says begrudgingly. “Very well. I promise.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis smacks his head against the underside of a cupboard as he jerks up and Monica hisses in sympathy.

Earlier, she dragged him into the kitchen that morning, playfully frustrated at his restless pacing and told him he could help her prepare for Prompto’s arrival.

Noctis tried to argue, “We don’t even know if he’s coming?” but Monica wouldn’t listen.

“But if he is, he’ll be here soon.”

Noctis forgot what he feels like, how intense and vibrant Prompto’s magic feels as it rushes into his realm before slowly creeping out along every inch of it to take the same shape.

Did that happen last time?

“Did you know?” Noctis blurts.

Monica shakes her head, and Noctis looks down at the counter, where her hands are still pressing into bread dough and his own are covered in flour.

“I have to—”

Noctis isn’t really cognisant of taking the step, but he blinks and then Prompto is there, just as bright, and beautiful and alive as he was when Noctis first met him last year.

“Noctis!” Prompto cries happily, smiling so wide his eyes squint a little.

“Hi—I didn’t know you were coming back, I—hello.”

“Hi,” Prompto says softly. “I didn’t know either. I’m sorry.”

“You do want to be—”

“Yes,” Prompto says quickly. “I definitely do. Sorry that it took me a while to decide.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Noctis breathes.

“Oh hey, Noctis, it’s nice to see you. You too, Gladio, thanks for bringing Prompto, I really appreciate it.”

Face hot, Noctis whirls around until he can see Gladio, standing right there, holding boxes stacked three high so he has to lean out around them to see.

“I do really appreciate it,” Noctis says. “Thank you.”

Gladio only winks in response, so Noctis knows he wasn’t really bothered by it.

“Prompto’s house still standing?” Gladio asks.

“Of course.”

Gladio starts moving off towards it immediately, probably not wanting to waste the time he can spend comfortably here hefting boxes.

“You kept it?” Prompto checks when they’re alone. “This whole time even though you didn’t know I was coming back?”

“Of course,” Noctis says again. Prompto starts to talk but cuts himself off, looking more awkward and unsure than Noctis thinks should ever be allowed. “You bought boxes?”

Prompto has the same bag he bought last year hooked over his shoulder, though it looks a little fuller. He’s clutching onto it, just like he had then too and Noctis feels a wave of fondness he can’t quite understand.

“Yeah, I made sure I bought some more stuff to keep me busy this time,” Prompto admits.

Noctis grimaces, realizing, “You were bored last year.”

“I—yeah, dude. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis blurts, “You should have said something.”

“No! It’s okay. Luna warned me you didn’t really do stuff. I just didn’t realize what she meant.”

Noctis flushes, a creep of embarrassment that makes the back of his neck prickle. Has he always been so boring? Prompto doesn’t seem to notice, or at least, chooses not to make a big deal out of it.

“It makes sense really, because you have the least attachment to mortal things and that’s where all the fun is,” Prompto rambles. “I bought some board games—have you ever played one?” Noctis shakes his head. “Ah shit—okay. So, I bought my two player ones but what are the chances you could get Cor and Monica to play with us, too?”

Without knowing what it exactly entails it’s hard to say.

“Monica for sure,” Noctis guesses.

“Damn, Cor is a no go?” Prompto teases. “It’s all good, we are going to get so damn good at scrabble.”

Noctis offers to take him straight to the house but, unsurprisingly, he asks if he can walk himself.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

It’s Noctis’ home but he still feels compelled to knock lightly against the door frame before entering the room where Prompto is lurking. Not necessarily to ask permission, but to let him know he’s there.

“Hey,” Noctis greets, more than a little surprised to find Prompto here of all places.

“Are you mad?” Prompto asks.

“No—why would I be?”

Prompto shrugs. “I’m kind of snooping.”

“I told you before—you can go anywhere you want,” Noctis reassures.

Prompto’s shoulders sink down a little, some tension finally leaving him. It’s hard to tell if it’s just the light in here, or if Noctis’ memory is failing him, but Prompto’s freckles seem darker than when he last saw him—more plentiful, too.

“What exactly are you snooping on?” Noctis wonders.

Noctis already knows what portrait Prompto is standing in front of, because it’s the one he comes to see most often himself, but he still makes his way down the narrow room so he and Prompto can look at it together.

“I was maybe asking Luna about you, before,” Prompto admits. “And she told me about this gallery. So, I kind of annoyed Cor until he showed me where it was.”

Knowing Prompto asked about him makes Noctis feel warm in a way that’s very different from his magic.

“This is my mother,” Noctis reveals.

“I know,” Prompto says. “She’s beautiful—you look like her. I could tell.”

“I—thank you.”

That warmth is suffusing Noctis’ cheeks now, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Prompto’s gaze.

“What about you? Do you look like your mom—do you know if you do?”

“Luna gave me a picture,” Prompto reveals. “I bought it with me this time so I can show you later if you like— I guess you never met her either, huh?”

Noctis shakes his head. “Luna was already the Goddess of Summer by the time I was old enough to know what was going on.”

“Luna thinks I do look like her, but I think there’s too much of my dad in me,” Prompto says. He sounds sad.

“Do you know who your dad is?” Noctis asks.

It’s a mystery for the rest of them. No one knows, or anyone that does know refuses to share the secret around. Not a mortal, or Prompto’s mother would have simply admitted to it, not someone from another season, or the whisper of that magic would be detectable inside Prompto.

“Does it matter?” Prompto asks bitterly.

“No,” Noctis says quickly. “Of course it doesn’t.”

“It’s not like I can do anything about it,” Prompto snaps.

“I know,” Noctis says. “Trust me, I know.”

Prompto blinks, some of the uncharacteristic anger slipping away to make way for open curiosity.

“Do you know the story about the first God of Winter?” Noctis asks. Prompto shakes his head eagerly and Noctis almost grins at having successfully distracted him. “Well, they were brothers—”

“It always is, right? God and Harbinger are siblings?” Prompto interrupts.

“Yeah. First born becomes Harbinger, second born becomes the God,” Noctis confirms. “Well, the first time it was our turn—and back then, we weren’t separated from the other gods like this, so we interacted a lot more and there was drama every other month.”

Noctis isn’t a very good storyteller, but Prompto’s a good listener, rapt with attention and hanging on to every slightly stilted word.

“But these brothers, they fell in love with the same woman,” Noctis tells him.

“Uh oh,” Prompto mumbles and Noctis laughs.

“Exactly—neither wanted to give her up and in the end, there was a fight and the Harbinger stabbed his brother.”

Prompto doesn’t seem to care that Noctis fumbled the ending.

“But we’re immortal,” Prompto says. “So, being stabbed shouldn’t matter.”

“It probably still hurts,” Noctis points out.

Prompto snorts. “Yeah, okay. But I mean—the God of Winter still lived, right?”

“You’re logically right but the tale goes that he died,” Noctis admits.

“We could just ask Cor,” Prompto suggests. “He was there, right?”

“No, he’s not the original Anchor,” Noctis explains.

“What?”

“Why does that surprise you so much?” Noctis laughs.

“Because when you look at Cor you can tell he’s eight million years old,” Prompto says.

Noctis stares at him and Prompto stares back, eyes slowly going wide. The silence is bordering on uncomfortable when Prompto slaps both hands over his mouth with such force the crack echoes slightly.

“I’m gonna tell him you said that, Noctis threatens.

“Please don’t,” Prompto begs—words slurred behind his hands. “If anyone knows a second way to kill a God, I bet it's Cor.”

Secretly, Noctis agrees and even without him saying as much Prompto seems to understand his threat was an empty one, lowering his hands away from his face.

“What happened to the Anchor before Cor?” Prompto asks, voice a little rough.

“He was involved in the love triangle—”

“So, a love square?”

“I feel like you are determined to tell this story yourself,” Noctis deadpans.

Prompto’s laugh definitely echoes around the high ceilings and he covers his mouth again, but more gently this time, with just one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto gets out around a giggle.

“Anyway,” Noctis goes on, unable to keep from grinning. “He loved the Harbinger—and losing him made him unable to continue on with his work.”

“Did he die?” Prompto asks.

“No, he just broke the rules, so the Greater Gods sent him to do penance elsewhere.”

Anchor’s aren’t supposed to fall in love. They’re not supposed to do anything but care for their realm.

“It really is just us with that little caveat, isn’t it?” Prompto mumbles.

“Just a little cruelty to keep us in check,” Noctis agrees.

To his surprise, Prompto looks stunned.

“You think letting us fall in love is a cruelty?” he asks.

“No—I think the cruelty is making us too afraid to risk it.”

Prompto stares at him, his sadness so intense it even seeps into his magic, dampening the usual vibrancy.

“Did you see everything you wanted?” Noctis asks, hoping to distract him.

“Oh,” Prompto startles, clearing his throat. “Yes, thank you—I’ll leave you to it.”

“That wasn’t what—”

“I know, it’s okay,” Prompto promises, already walking away. “I’ll see you later.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Even saying Prompto’s name from the edge of the clearing doesn’t get his attention. Noctis worries about startling him, but Prompto is humming, and the sweet sound draws Noctis closer like a siren’s call.

The daisies are still blooming and though Noctis hoped Prompto’s return would bring more flowers to Winter no more have come. Noctis is careful to avoid stepping on them as he crosses towards Prompto, harder to achieve the closer he gets, and the daisies are at their most dense.

It’s not until Noctis waves his hand in front of Prompto’s face that he realizes he’s not alone, jerking his head up and pulling at strings leading into his ears so tinny, scratchy music spills from the ends.

“Holy shit, I was daydreaming so hard,” Prompto laughs.

Noctis’ normal apology for disturbing him dies in his throat, fascinated, and confused by the noise now coming from Prompto’s lap.

“What’s that?”

Prompto retrieves a flat, gray rectangle from the [cavity] made between his crossed legs, swiping his thumb over what looks to be painted glass and making the music cut out.

“This is my phone,” Prompto explains—though it explains nothing at all.

Noctis is not so completely removed from mortal life as to not know what a phone is but the device in Prompto’s hand is so far removed from what he knows it to look like he doesn’t want to believe him.

“Obviously it doesn’t work here,” Prompto explains. “But it has all my music on it.”

“It’s—technology?” Noctis guesses.

Every time he and Prompto speak he intends to ask him about last year. About how he managed to usher in Spring, about his recovery and subsequent departure. Noctis desperately wants to know if Prompto left on purpose or if it was a misunderstanding, he wants to know how Prompto is feeling. But it never feels right somehow and Noctis won’t steer the conversation away from something which makes Prompto happy into something that inevitably will not.

“Yeah,” Prompto says, grinning. “Sit down, I’ll show you.”

Noctis lowers to the ground clumsily, leaning forward to get a good look as Prompto swipes his thumb over the glass again so the image changes, flicking through different menus. Prompto taps twice at something, too fast for Noctis to follow, and the poor-quality music cuts out.

“If you want music I can play music for you,” Noctis says. “I just—”

Panicking slightly because it’s not something he does often, Noctis tugs on his magic, fumbles with it until the first song he can think of fills the air. A lullaby sounds all around them, too loud at first until Noctis mellows it out into something pleasant and soothing.

Prompto stares intently all around, head swinging back and forth, searching for something. When his hand raises up, grasping and flexing over literally nothing at all he starts laughing, breathless with wonder.

“Wait—hang on,” Prompto stammers. “I can’t think, can you stop it?”

Stopping is easier than starting, it cuts out the moment Prompto asks it of him and Prompto gives his head a minute shake, throwing some hair over his forehead.

“Okay,” Prompto says, still laughing. “I need you to know that you would be a hit at parties in the mortal realm.”

Unlikely, though, Noctis doesn’t know what his accidental touch does to mortals. Instinctively, he thinks it won’t be good. Ignis manages, but he’s not mortal, just similarly devoid of the magic which Noctis’ being attacks without his control.

Noctis should tell Prompto this, warn him so he knows exactly who he’s talking to, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But there’s something so human about shoving a headphone into your ear and blasting your eardrums so hard every problem you have ever had fades away never to be seen again,” Prompto explains, gesturing with his hands. “Or at least until the song is over, I guess.”

“We’re not human,” Noctis reminds him softly.

“Aren’t we though?” Prompto wonders. “At least a little. At least in part.”

“I don’t know,” Noctis admits.

Weirdly, Prompto smiles.

“Let me show you,” Prompto says, setting the phone on his knee and starting to thread the string—headphones—through his hands until he has the split ends on his palm, rounded little nubs tucked together.

Noctis is too busy watching to keep his guard up, fascinated by the deft way he hooks and flicks the headphone around until the bud is between thumb and his forefinger, all while his other hand reaches for his phone again.

It’s a poor excuse, but the only one he has for not deflecting Prompto when he reaches before him, when his hand holding the headphone curves around the side of his face, up under his hair, the edge of his thumb pressing right up along Noctis’ cheek while he nudges one end of the string into Noctis’ ear.

Noctis freezes, stops breathing, waits for the recoil, the yell of pain, already trying to work out how he’s going to handle having that memory in his head even after Prompto recovers from the shock.

“Don’t look so scared—I’m going to find a song that won’t blow your mind too hard,” Prompto says easily, tone normal, movements fine and uninhibited as he tucks the other end into his own ear. When it’s secure, he looks up from beneath his lashes, the heat in his violet-blue eyes rocking Noctis to his very core. “We can do that later,” Prompto drawls.

Too much, too many things happening. Noctis is still tense with anxiety, but warmth unfurls low in his gut, lurching in a way Noctis normally avoids giving his attention. Noctis can’t handle the first thing—Prompto touched him—let alone anything else.

“Seriously,” Prompto says, voice a little more urgent, ducking his head to try and steal Noctis’ full attention. Like it’s possible for it to be anywhere else. “Don’t be scared, this is awesome. One of those mortal delights we rave over.”

The music starts with isolated strings, played softly directly into Noctis’ ear and somehow, Prompto is right, listening to the music, focusing on the way it slowly builds, layering with more string and eventually a piano, drags Noctis away from the domino of anxiety which just crashed over him. Noctis closes his eyes, wills himself to be soothed, let’s Prompto’s confidence in this settle his thoughts into neat little packages to be dealt with later.

A woman starts crooning in his ear, low and mournful without being melancholy. Noctis doesn’t feel sad, even though the subject of her song isn’t joyful.

Noctis opens his eyes and Prompto is watching him intensely, a little smile curving his mouth.

With his new sense of calm, it’s easy for Noctis to tease out the one concern he needs to have, the only answer he currently needs.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

Prompto’s head tilts a little to one side.

“Is the earbud uncomfortable?” Prompto asks him.

“No—your hand. Where you touched me, doesn’t it hurt?” Noctis stresses.

Prompto glances at his hand and shakes his head.

“No. Should it?”

Doesn’t matter whether it should or not, just that it almost unanimously does everyone else that dares to try.

“It does everyone else,” Noctis says.

“Everyone?”

Prompto yanks the headphone from his ear, momentum tugging Noctis’ free along with it. The silence is both better and worse.

“Everyone not from here,” Noctis says. “And Ignis—Ignis doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“That’s—”

However, this news makes Prompto feel causes his magic swell; prickling and turbulent, washing over Noctis and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Okay,” Prompto says, before sucking in a deep breath and pushing it out long and slow. “That’s—fuck, okay.”

Prompto doesn’t seem scared as he reaches towards him, curling his hand around Noctis’ where it’s resting lazily against his knee. Noctis makes himself still, clenches every muscle in his body to keep from jerking away as Prompto presses their palms together before flexing his fingers. They slip in-between Noctis’ easily and though he expects Prompto to feel burning hot he is only pleasantly warm, his skin soft and almost perfectly smooth.

“There we go,” Prompto says softly. “To start making up for it.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- five - ｡.｡:+*

Noctis can’t make sense of Ignis’ expression as he watches Monica set a plate of food down in front of him. It’s good food—healthy for what that matters—so Noctis wonders for the briefest second if he might be jealous.

Not about the food, but that Noctis allows Monica to feed him several times a day.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Monica asks Ignis. She’s holding another plate, covered over by a dome to keep the heat in.

“Perfectly,” Ignis promises. “If I return home fed, Nyx will be most displeased.”

Noctis hesitates with his fork in hand, trying to keep his expression neutral as he parses the fact Ignis just freely referred to Nyx and home so quickly together they feel tantamount to the same thing.

He’s happy for them.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Monica says. “Cor is still with the others, so if you need anything—”

“I’ll be fine,” Noctis says. “Take some time for yourself. Please.”

Monica doesn’t agree, just gestures with the other plate of food and crosses the antechamber towards the exits, the heel of her boots clicking against the floor as he does.

Ignis frowns at him.

“What?” Noctis asks defensively. “I thought you liked that I was eating?”

“I do,” Ignis says. “It’s not that.”

Noctis just raises an eyebrow at him while shoveling some of whatever this is into his mouth. It tastes good, which is all Noctis cares about.

“You don’t have to be lonely, Noctis,” Ignis says. Noctis blinks at him, still chewing and Ignis gives a rough sigh and leans forward slightly. “I worry that—circumstances have made you used to the feeling, but it’s never been right or fair you had to be alone so often.”

“I know Ignis,” Noctis says, setting his cutlery back down. “I know, It’s okay. You did everything you could.”

Ignis gives a sad little smile that barely pulls up one side of his mouth.

“I thank you for that. But that wasn’t my precise concern,” Ignis explains. “Why are you eating alone?”

“You didn’t want any dinner.”

Ignis exhales through his nose. “Very funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Noctis defends—he almost never is, it’s not something he’s very good at.

“Monica cooks,” Ignis says. “She delivers food to you. Then she delivers food to Prompto.”

“Uh, yep. That’s what happens.”

“Noctis,” Ignis sighs. “Why aren’t you eating together? I was under the impression you liked Prompto.”

Too quickly, Noctis responds, “I do.”

“I promise your table manners are more than satisfactory. Most of the time.”

“I don’t want to bother him,” Noctis explains. “He’s already given up so much. The least I can give him is a little space.”

“Believe me when I tell you that Prompto is not one to thrive in isolation,” Ignis says. “It’s part of why he managed to thrive in a mortal life. And why it was sometimes so difficult.”

“You know him well?” Noctis questions.

Ignis visibly hesitates over his answer, guilt creeping in at the edges of his expression.

“Not as well as I should,” Ignis eventually offers.

“Did you go to visit him in the mortal realm?”

“No. Not after it—it happened,” Ignis says.

“Why not?”

Ignis wouldn’t be able to travel under his own control anymore, but at least he wouldn’t affect the mortal realm during a visit either. It makes sense for him, more than almost anyone else, to be the one to check on Prompto from time to time.

“I was afraid they wouldn’t let me back.”

Sometimes it’s easy to forget they are not their own masters. So rarely do they suffer interference, even when situations get dire enough intervention feels necessary. Noctis never anticipated that they might be able to seal Ignis from this place. Had not until this very moment ever considered they could call him back at any moment.

“We’d never let them,” Noctis promises.

“I appreciate the thought.”

☼❆

Noctis raps his knuckles against the door to Prompto’s home, nervous but determined. He hasn’t been here since he and Gladio helped Prompto move his things in at the beginning of the season. He’s too close to sense Prompto’s exact location, simply that he is near, but Noctis hears him rush for the door, feet slapping against the wooden floor within in a way that makes it sound like he’s running.

The door flies open, Prompto leaning up against the wood in the space it leaves available. Prompto’s expression goes from surprise to joy in a heartbeat.

“Noctis—hey.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you,” Noctis says. “It’s a little late.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto says. “Did you—is something wrong or?”

“Everything’s fine,” Noctis reassures. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” Prompto encourages.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

Prompto blinks and the very apple of his cheeks turn pink for some reason.

“Tomorrow?” Prompto clarifies.

“Yes. But also—every day?” Noctis suggests.

“Yes,” Prompto blurts. “I mean—sure, yes. That sounds—I hate eating alone.”

Noctis lets loose a breath he’s been holding.

“Good,” Noctis smiles. “Where—”

“Whatever you want,” Prompto says quickly. “But, tomorrow, if you come here, I can show you how I’ve decorated it. That’s if—I don’t know—If you want.”

Noctis isn’t sure he’s ever wanted anything more.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis raises his hand, preparing to knock when he notices the paper stuck to it just below eye level. It’s so lurid pink Noctis doesn’t know how he didn’t clock it from the gate.

       Doors open!!! I’m in the kitchen

           just come on in xoxo

Prompto’s handwriting is neat but almost abrupt looking, the tails and talls of letters cutting early, sometimes with a little jerk on the paper like Prompto was desperately rushing onto the next letter.

Even invited in, it feels odd to just put his hand on the handle and press down to turn it and walk inside by himself.

Prompto’s house feels warm, even though the temperature doesn’t change even a little. The lights are soft, drifting out into the hall from both the room Noctis thinks Prompto uses as a living room and the room towards the back of the house where Ignis helped Noctis form a working kitchen.

“Noct?”

Noct.

Noct.

No one has ever given him a nickname, no one has ever shortened his name down with familiarity. It puts something in his chest, a swell of an emotion he can’t place, happy and comfortable but new. It’s like how he feels when Prompto smiles at him for no damn reason.

“It’s me,” Noctis confirms because, yeah—Noct feels like him.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Prompto calls.

Noctis shuts the door carefully behind him, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the pleasant feeling in Prompto’s home. The walls are still the same not-white colour, but Prompto’s stuck and hung things everywhere. Little square pictures with white borders plastered haphazardly along one wall and framed, bright paintings on the other. The hallway isn’t long, but it seems to be packed with little things, never overwhelming but interesting enough to keep Noctis distracted that he makes it to the kitchen distracted, eyes alighting on other things Prompto has added to his house.

It means he doesn’t see Prompto, not at first, not until he says, “It’s cluttered, I know.”

“It’s nice,” Noctis says quickly—honestly, swinging around to face him.

Prompto smiles, a little lopsided, lingering for a moment, then something bubbles on the stove, and he swings around, cursing under his breath.

“Are you cooking?” Noctis asks. He hadn’t expected that, but he doesn’t know why.

“Mhm,” Prompto confirms, stirring a spoon through one of the pans. “It’s nothing fancy though, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Noctis admits.

Prompto shrugs, looking back over his shoulder.

“I like to do it sometimes,” Prompto says. “Like when I’m back—when I’m not here. But Monica is so much better than me eating badly cooked eggs and toast feels extra bad when she seems not to mind making something better.”

“She doesn’t mind,” Noctis reassures, braving taking a step closer. “She’s enjoying it. Ignis is jealous.”

Prompto snorts. “Why?”

“He likes cooking, but Luna really just wants to eat sugar and nothing else.”

“That’s my fault,” Prompto admits. “I showed her cotton candy, and I don’t think she’s ever been able to move on from that.”

“What’s cotton candy?”

“Sugar,” Prompto says, laughing again. “I’ll bring some next year. You need to experience it to understand.”

Next year.

Noctis struggles to think of something to say, of how to talk about the things he wants to in a normal way. Prompto is better at this than him, at filling quiet air without being forceful, but cooking them dinner—the concept of which is making Noctis feel all funny again—is making him less chatty than usual.

“I can’t cook at all,” Noctis reveals.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Prompto says. “Did you ever even eat much before?”

“No,” Noctis says. “It didn’t seem—it was just effort. For everyone involved. I would eat with Luna sometimes. Whenever we—she could be around me but not in pain.”

Prompto’s shoulders hitch up towards his ears, just for a moment.

“Well, okay. Look—come here,” Prompto says, half turning again. He throws out a hand, grabs Noctis’ arm like it’s nothing, like he’s not afraid or even a little concerned about touching him.

Noctis will never get over it.

Noctis lets himself be dragged close to the stove, doesn’t fight it when Prompto grabs his wrist and sets the handle of his wooden spoon against Noctis’ palm.

“Stir,” Prompto says, mouth twitching.

Noctis drags the spoon around, touching the bottom of the pan the whole time as the red sauce bubbles around it. When it comes close, Prompto scoops the draping of his sleeve back and holds it away from the open flame even though it puts his fingers against Noctis’ bare skin. Just a finger, just grazing against his pulse but every nerve in Noctis’ body narrows down into that tiny patch of skin.

“There,” Prompto says. “You’re cooking.”

“I feel like you did the bulk of the labor,” Noctis mumbles.

“Don’t let the sauce burn while I drain the pasta,” Prompto says. “And we’ll call it even.”

Prompto folds the fabric over on his sleeve so it’s secure then let’s go of Noctis and he feels like he could float off into the air or sink right into the ground without Prompto him to anchor him in reality. Instead of that, Noctis focuses on stirring, agitating the sauces so none of it sticks while Prompto takes the lid off another pot, letting steam billow out into the small kitchen. When he hefts the pot up to carry to the sink Prompto lets out the smallest, almost imperceptible grunt and Noctis grips the spoon so tight his knuckles turn white, so he doesn’t whirl around to stare.

When Prompto asks if he wants it stirred in or on top, Noctis both does not understand the question and has no opinion, only manages to stammer out that however Prompto likes it will be fine. So, he’s gently nudged away from the pot and Prompto dumps long noodles—spaghetti Noctis remembers—into the pan before starting to patiently coat it all in the sauce.

Noctis feels like he’s in the way as Prompto moves around, getting bowls and starting to dish up the meal but Prompto never complains, just slides around Noctis when he needs, touching his back or his arm or his waist, asks Noctis to hand him something if it’s close by and he has a reasonable chance of Noctis knowing what he’s asking for.

“I never eat in here,” Prompto reveals, almost sheepish, as he sets the dishes down on the little table tucked into the corner of the room. It has two chairs but the empty vase on the table makes Noctis feel oddly melancholy. “It’s nice to have an excuse.”

“Where do you normally eat?” Noctis asks. Before answering Prompto yanks out one of the chairs and gestures pointedly, not budging until Noctis takes his seat.

“You got me that comfy couch,” Prompto admits. “But I’ll have lunch outside sometimes. If I’m feeling restless.”

“I’m sorry you’re trapped here,” Noctis says.

Prompto shakes his head. “Dude, I got restless with the entire mortal realm to explore. You are not at fault in the slightest.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Noctis admits.

Prompto just smiles, picking up a fork to start eating. Noctis follows suit, twisting the strands around his fork while he tries, again, to work out how to bring up what he so desperately wants to talk about.

“You look like you’re in pain,” Prompto muses a few minutes later.

Noctis sets his fork back down.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Noctis says.

“You’re allowed to do that,” Prompto laughs.

“It might not—it might not be fun for you,” Noctis warns.

Prompto lifts just one shoulder in a shrug. “Can I ask you something back?”

“Yeah.”

Prompto stares at him.

“Well go on then,” Prompto urges, laughing all over again.

“Oh,” Noctis says, startling into a laugh of his own. “It’s about last year.”

Prompto’s sobers at once.

“Okay,” he says softly.

“What was it like for you?” Noctis asks. “You just fell asleep. And you wouldn’t wake up.”

Admittedly, Noctis didn’t try very hard because although he didn’t know exactly what was happening, he could tell Prompto’s magic was doing something. What they needed him to do all along. If Prompto needed to be asleep for that then so be it, Noctis couldn’t risk him or his work for anything.

“It was like that,” Prompto says. “I was asleep. But I knew I was asleep. I couldn’t control my magic, but I could feel it and yours and Iris’ like how I normally can’t.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re kind of terrifying, Noct,” Prompto says, though the way he looks at Noctis—soft and a little fond—takes away the sting Noctis expects those words to have.

“Did it hurt?” Noctis breathes. His biggest fear, he realizes, never going away no matter how often it’s proven Prompto seems completely fine in his presence.

Prompto shakes his head. “No, it was just big. And loud. Iris was a little softer like—” Prompto snorts “—like spring rain.”

“At least we make sense,” Noctis muses.

“What do I feel like?” Prompto asks.

Noctis thinks on it for a moment, struggles to really put it into words that are true and express even a tiny amount of what Prompto’s magic pressing against his own feels like.

“Nice,” Noctis says. Prompto frowns. “Really nice! I mean—I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I was hoping I felt super badass,” Prompto mumbles. “Nice.”

“That too,” Noctis says. He does, in a way.

Prompto looks slightly appeased and Noctis hates to push him again so soon, but—

“You didn’t wake up,” Noctis says. “After, when Spring was here. You just—didn’t wake up.”

“That I didn’t know,” Prompto explains. “That actually felt like sleep. Like, I woke up weeks later and had no idea I’d been asleep at all. I felt completely fine. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Noctis says.

“And we’ll know better for this year,” Prompto says. “So, it won’t be as frightening.”

“You can try falling asleep in bed,” Noctis suggests. Prompto literally scowls. “Or not.”

“Everyone’s been riding me about that,” Prompto sighs. “I’m just comfy there, okay?”

“I don’t mind,” Noctis says quickly. “I’m glad. I like it more now.”

“Good,” Prompto says, starting to twirl his pasta again.

“What did you want to ask me?” Noctis wonders. His curiosity is mostly sated. While he’d like to know more, Prompto visibly seems done talking—or at least has said everything he feels confident saying.

“Why do you dress like that?” Prompto asks without missing a single beat.

“What?”

“What—what?”

“Why do I dress like this?” Noctis repeats.

“You seem to be struggling with the question,” Prompto says. “Do you want a drink?”

“I—yeah, sure.”

Noctis isn’t struggling with the question, he just didn’t expect it. Prompto pushes up out of his seat and Noctis stares down at his covered arms and the fabric draped over his lap. Noctis dresses like this because he always has and his father dressed this way. It’s easy to throw on a black robe in the morning and not worry about it.

Granted today he changed before coming over, swapping his normal one for a nicer one where the stitching on his sleeves is shot through with golden thread. It felt important to do so for some reason, to make an effort at looking nice. When he attends court, he has a special cape he’s supposed to wear but as no one else dresses up—most of them wear mortal-like if not entirely so garments instead—Noctis hardly bothers.

“I don’t know,” Noctis tells Prompto, when he comes back with glasses filled with something dark that appears to be bubbling in the glasses. “I just do.”

“So, you don’t particularly like dressing this way?” Prompto prods.

“No. I guess not,” Noctis says. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I figured as much,” Prompto says. “I figured it was an always been this way thing rather than something you liked. But it’s good to know that for sure.”

“That’s really what you wanted to ask?”

“Well, yeah,” Prompto says, like Noctis is being obtuse. “Nyx wanders around in that killer leather jacket and Ignis wears the sweetest designer-looking suits I’ve ever seen.”

“And me?”

“You dress like a God,” Prompto says.

“Oh,” Noctis whispers. He doesn’t think he likes that. “Still, our questions don’t seem even.”

“I got an answer I wanted, and so did you,” Prompto says. “That’s what matters.”

Noctis busies himself by reaching for his glass, but he’s barely swallowed his first sip before he’s pulling it away from his mouth again. He glances at Prompto, then down at the liquid fizzing at the edges.

“You’ve never had a soda before, have you?”

Noctis shakes his head and Prompto’s grin spreads wide—almost a little terrifying.

“This is gonna be so much fun.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Prompto aggressively shakes the bag a few times, the contents clinking together before he deals them each out a set of tiles face down. Noctis sets them into his stand, already arranging the characters as he starts trying to make decent words out of them.

“I’m going to win this time,” Noctis insists.

“Uh huh,” Prompto says. “You wanna go first?”

“You don’t want to go first?”

“I’m just trying to help you win, dude,” Prompto says.

“You go first,” Noctis says.

“Stubborn, stubborn.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Prompto blows softly over his fingertips, breath cold. Noctis might shiver at the feeling but he’s already holding himself completely still just to compensate for the fact Prompto is holding his hand. Essentially. Again.

“Does it come in other colors?” Noctis asks—just to distract himself.

“Hmm? Oh—yeah. It comes in every color,” Prompto tells him. Clearly, he is already distracted. Handy, because despite all Noctis’ best efforts he’s not sure how chill he’s being.

“Right,” Noctis says. “You only use this one?”

“Mostly,” Prompto mumbles.

The polish is cold as Prompto sweeps it over Noctis’ nail for a second coat. His concentration is paying off in neatness, which Prompto warned him might not be a possibility.

“This seems like a lot of work,” Noctis says.

“It is,” Prompto admits. “I don’t do it that often.”

“But you bought it with you,” Noctis says, surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Prompto says. His breath washes over Noctis’ fingertips again and then he seems to be finished, dropping Noctis’ hand before screwing the lid back onto the bottle. “I had a feeling you would like it.”

Noctis turns his hand, flexes his fingers, and gets a look at his painted nails from every angle.

“I do,” Noctis says. “Thank you.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

The beckoning of Spring arrives one morning, before any warning from Iris, snapping at Noctis’ heels before he can really process it. It seems sudden, earlier than normal and immediately sets Noctis’ heart racing. If he wasn’t ready last year, he’s not even remotely prepared this time. Noctis hasn’t even thought of Spring yet, hasn’t had a chance to talk things through with Prompto, even though he’s been planning to do so.

It’s gone too fast.

Noctis has been too busy enjoying himself, enjoying Prompto to bother preparing them. Too easy to lose himself in everything Prompto is, his open smile and the easy way he touches Noctis without thinking about it, the soft sweep of his hair and a laugh that goes on and on and on.

Rushing into a robe, Noctis doesn’t even bother to feel for Prompto, he already knows where he’ll be right now.

The flowers are pink. It’s the first thing Noctis notices.

Prompto’s sitting in the middle of him, like he often does.

“Feels early,” Prompto says at once, his voice rough.

“It is,” Noctis says. “I’ll send Cor—find out why.”

“Not anything we can do about it,” Prompto mumbles.

“No,” Noctis agrees. “There’s not.”

“I thought we had more time,” Prompto complains. Already his breath is shallow, sweat beading along his hairline. It’s too soon, way too soon.

At least Prompto has bought a pillow out with him this time, Noctis wishes he’d bought a blanket.

“You’re tired?” Noctis asks.

Prompto hums. “Not long now.”

Noctis doesn’t know what to do, knows he can’t really do much of anything.

“I thought we had more time,” Prompto says again. “I wanted to show you—I’ve been practicing.”

“You can show me later,” Noctis promises him.

The fact Prompto has been practicing with his magic is no news to Noctis. He’s been able to feel it all season, just like last year. But if Prompto hasn’t wanted to show it to him, Noctis wasn’t going to push him.

“Okay,” Prompto says. He blinks and it seems to take him far too long to get his eyes open again.

Already?

“You should lie down,” Noctis suggests.

Noctis doesn’t want him to go so soon, but he can already see how he’s struggling. Has the gut feeling Prompto won’t allow himself to go down until Noctis tells him he should.

“Okay,” Prompto agrees softly.

Noctis drags the pillow over and Prompto settles down onto his side like last year, his cheek pushing into the checked fabric.

“Will you—I don’t want…”

“I’ll be right here,” Noctis promises.

A lock of golden hair falls across Prompto’s forehead and Noctis reaches out for it, pushing it back and tucking it away. Normally he stops himself, letting Prompto be the one to reach out, to initiate their touches, but the fear keeping him back seems to flee him at the sight of him lying forlorn and pale against the flowered grass.

Noctis lets his thumb stroke above Prompto’s eye, following the curve of his eyebrow. Prompto’s eyes flutter but he seems to be smiling.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis naps in the clearing with Prompto whenever Cor does not force him back to the manor for real rest, some food and access to hot running water.

Twelve days.

Prompto stays still and quiet the whole time, though his presence seems to be fading. A couple times Noctis feels a tug on his magic that he doesn’t remember happening the year before.

Like it’s a fight.

Once, just once, Prompto mumbles something, but it’s too quiet and over too fast for Noctis to know exactly what. Pryna comes and goes, less concerned than last year but still just as curious. Physically Prompto doesn’t seem any worse than last year, and that alone gives Noctis the hope that even so it seems to be harder than it’s been before, Prompto will pull through just like he did then.

He’ll go. Somewhere safer to recuperate. And Noctis will only have to suffer through the horror of missing him but not losing him, wait patiently and keep himself in check so Prompto can come back to him again.

Because he’ll come back. Prompto will come back.

☼❆͎

A touch on the shoulder jerks Noctis up from a doze he hadn’t intended to take. He sits up, dragging his hand over his cheek where he can feel the rough imprint from the grass.

“It’s over,” Noctis says.

Ignis crouches in front of him, blocking his view of Prompto before Noctis can really get a look at him.

“Gladio’s taking him now,” Ignis announces.

“Okay,” Noctis says—because what else can he say?

Already, Gladio is lifting him from the ground and Noctis tamps down the thrill of panic that gives him. Noctis looks away, stares at the pretty pink flowers swirling out from where Prompto lay moments before.

“Keep me updated,” Noctis begs.

“Every day,” Gladio promises. “If you want.”

It’s pointless and unhelpful. But Noctis does want.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Gladio’s presence pops into his realm with no fanfare while Noctis is reading a book Prompto lent him before everything happened. Reading it again.

Noctis takes himself to Gladio’s side, still holding the book, position marked with his finger.

“He’s awake,” Gladio says and Noctis takes it in, but he doesn’t acknowledge it because Ignis is with him and he’s holding something odd.

Flowers. But not any kind Noctis has ever seen before.

Beautiful, with delicate dark stems but large blooms, all white at the base of the petal but brightly coloured at the tips, like they’ve all been dipped in vibrant inks.

“He sent you these,” Ignis explains softly.

Numbly, Noctis holds out his hands to take them, settling the bouquet into the crook of his arm. When he raises a hand to brush a finger over one of the petals—like a rose but not—he nudges against a folded piece of paper tucked in between two of the flowers.

      I’ll show you more soon

         promise xoxo

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- six - ｡.｡:+*

The feeling of Iris crossing into his realm during the peak of summer hits Noctis almost like a physical blow. In the midst of trying to remember the last time Iris visited him here he realizes that she never has—it’s never really been safe.

Noctis is young by all accounts, but Iris is even younger, a full decade, barely into triple digits. All of them are too young for this really, even Nyx, who’s the oldest of them all. Never has there been a group so unanimously unprepared for the task they’ve been given and yet they persist.

Succeed even, for the most part.

Noctis rushes to Iris, expecting to find her in difficulties; in need of passing him news and anxious to do it quickly to prevent her suffering. But when he sees her, Iris looks fine.

Better than fine.

Her curiosity is palpable, looking around in a way that is so reminiscent of Prompto’s first visit here it makes Noctis’ chest ache. It takes Iris a moment to notice his arrival but when she does, she only smiles at him.

“I assumed there would be snow,” Iris says. It explains the sweater she’s wearing, so oversized and loose it must belong to Gladio.

“I can make some, if you want,” Noctis offers. “But you won’t be able to stay long enough to enjoy it.”

Iris’ smile is brighter than Noctis has ever had the privilege of seeing it.

“Something’s wrong?” Noctis urges. Iris shouldn’t linger. Any second now she’ll start feeling the effects—they can’t really get sick, except for this, except for a dip in magic bought on by excessive time in Winter’s realm.

Luna can last the longest of all of them. Summer is big and loud the same way, has force and energy enough to survive a little beating but Spring and Autumn are both a little softer, transient in nature without the reservoir of energy really needed to survive an unexpected Winter storm.

“No,” Iris says easily. “I just visited Prompto, and it made me miss you.”

That’s—

Noctis doesn’t know how to process that.

“How is he?” Noctis asks. No point pretending, he isn’t curious, that he doesn’t care, Iris will see right through him.

“Miserable,” Iris says laughing.

“What—”

“He’s fine,” Iris reassures. “He had to move again—wanted to move again. He can’t seem to settle anywhere anymore.”

“I thought he liked living in the mortal realm,” Noctis says. “Assumed he did, anyway.”

Iris shrugs. “I think he’s been reminded he’s not mortal, so now all the things that make him not seem like bigger obstacles.”

Prompto’s not in pain when he comes here, but it still hurts him, has still altered his life in unexpected and irreversible ways. Surely, Prompto used to be happy, and just two years—two seasons—with Noctis and he’s unable to find that happiness anymore.

“Why do you look sad?” Iris asks. “You should be happy he’s happiest here.”

If he’s happiest here, he should be here all the time—except he can’t be. They don’t think he can be, anyway, and it’s hardly worth risking both Prompto and the newly re-established smooth change of seasons just for the chance to find out.

Noctis just shakes his head.

“Are you feeling okay?” Noctis asks her. “If you aren’t we can go into the in-between. It’ll be a little easier.”

Easier for Luna. Tougher for Noctis. Summer is the hardest time to tamp down on his powers, safer for him to stay tangled up in the place they need to remain than go elsewhere but he can and will do it, if it’s what Iris needs.

“I’m fine,” Iris says.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Noctis fires back, voice growing just a little tight with quick building frustration. “This is the worst time to be here, I won’t take it personally.”

“I’m not pretending,” Iris insists. “I can feel it, it’s a lot, but it’s not painful, not like it used to be.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Iris giggles. “You’re losing your edge.”

“Do you want to look around a little?” Noctis offers. She’s never had the opportunity before.

“Can I see Prompto’s meadow?” Iris asks at once. “His house?”

Prompto’s meadow. Noctis feels stupid for not thinking of it that way sooner.

“The outside of his house,” Noctis allows. If Iris wants to see inside that’s a conversation she’s going to have to have with Prompto directly.

Iris pouts but doesn’t argue with him.

Eventually, it does get to be a little much for her, but she makes her way back home before she’s struggling to draw breath. By himself in the meadow Noctis allows himself to do something he never has before, stooping down to tease a bloom away from the grass and gently pluck it free. It’s the softest pink Noctis has ever seen, at first, petals smooth and fragile feeling under his thumb.

Noctis stares at it, wondering how long he can keep it alive in a cup of water, wishing desperately he was holding Prompto’s hand instead.

Even as he looks the flower changes. Color changing at the edges, deepening, and spreading until the flower in his hand is red.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Luna absolutely has ways of letting him know she’s coming to visit, but she never does. When she pops in this time Noctis plans to rush to her, in his usual way but there’s no need, he turns and finds her right there.

“Fuck,” Noctis blurts, caught off guard.

“You’ve been spending too much time with my brother,” Luna says. Her words are accusatory, but both her tone and her expression suggest she’s pleased.

“Hi Luna,” Noctis says. “It’s nice to see you. I miss your dogs.”

Luna sticks out her tongue, but otherwise does not rise to it.

“I’m going to get Prompto today,” Luna says simply. “Would you like to come?”

“To the mortal realm?” Noctis clarifies. “That’s—no. That’s a terrible idea.”

Luna blinks at him. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ll kill people if I go down there,” Noctis reminds her.

“You don’t know that,” Luna says earnestly. “Mortals have no magic. There’s nothing for you to draw from, nothing for you to hurt.”

“But it’s not Winter. If I go down there now, I might mess things up—there are other ways I can hurt people.”

Luna seems to consider that at least.

“But don’t you feel more in control?”

Noctis hasn’t thought about it, but he does. There’s not been one instance of him losing it during the other seasons since the very first time he saw Prompto even though, inevitably, Noctis has always messed up at least a couple times every year.

It’s why he’s been so difficult for everyone else.

Of course Luna’s noticed; she hasn’t been cleaning up his mistakes.

“Yes,” Noctis admits. “But I’m not—I don’t feel ready. Sorry.”

Luna smiles sadly, “Very well.”

“You’re going to get Prompto now?” Noctis asks. “It’s not even Winter yet.”

“It’s not,” Luna agrees. “Prompto just misses you—so I’m bringing him back.”

She leaves before he can respond, because of course she does.

☼❆

Noctis expects Luna to spend a few days with her brother, but he is wrong.

The warning Luna deigned to give him is barely two hours of buffer. Not that it matters, Noctis still can’t do anything to make Winter more attractive and in a way it’s better, because Noctis only has to pace, fretting and anxious for such a short period of time.

Prompto’s energy smacks into him with force once again, stealing his breath in a way that is not easy to recover when Prompto’s physical presence ends up hitting him with a similar blow.

“Noct.”

Prompto doesn’t yell, he just throws himself straight at Noctis with a breathy little sigh. Arms wrap over Noctis’ shoulders and Prompto’s solid weight sinks against Noctis’ form. For a moment Noctis flounders, too long a moment with his hands awkwardly hanging in the air and Luna’s unreadable expression visible over Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto turns his head, presses his forehead against the skin of Noctis’ throat and Noctis finds it suddenly easy to clutch him back, stroking his palms up Prompto’s back and cinching his arms around his narrow waist.

It feels good to hold him and be held back, Noctis feels his throat close up at the realization, thankful that it’s easy enough to hide his face in Prompto’s shoulder and that he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to pull back.

“I missed you,” Prompto whispers, right against his skin.

It feels dangerous in his mouth, like a secret he should not reveal though he cannot tell why. But Noctis says it anyway, not least of all because Prompto deserves to know.

“I missed you too.”

☼❆

They settle together at the table in Noctis’ manor kitchen so Prompto can make Luna tea with some of the stash he’s brought back with him. Noctis is almost certain the room has never been so lively.

Prompto’s arrival came with barely any luggage this time, just the same old soft bag full of clothes and a box of what Luna calls junk food.

“Plus, all the things he has squirreled away in other seasons,” Luna reveals, ignoring the way Prompto briefly turns to glare at her.

Noctis should probably pay attention and ask questions about that, but he can’t stop looking at Prompto. Not just because he hasn’t seen him for a while but because he looks different. It shouldn’t be possible—they reach full grown, and they stop changing. They can cut their hair, but there’s no going back after that.

But Prompto’s is definitely longer. He has half of it pulled back, the front secured back away from his face in a little ponytail.

How?

The front has always been long, Noctis remembers that well enough. Is he misremembering the rest of his hairstyle? It was spiked at the back, most of the time, though sometimes it would lay soft and almost fluffy…

When he looks at Luna again her expression has turned grim. She leans forward and Noctis instinctively bends towards her, glancing nervously at Prompto to check he’s still distracted warming the water.

“We should talk about it later,” Luna whispers. Noctis doesn’t trust himself to be as quiet as her, so he just nods.

“Now you have to try this without honey first,” Prompto announces, just as the sound of pouring water fills the kitchen.

“Oh, but why?” Luna whines, her earlier discretion undetectable.

“So, you can actually taste it, Lu,” Prompto sighs.

Knowing Luna has a nickname too doesn’t lessen Noctis’ enjoyment of his own. Somehow it makes it better even, Noctis doesn’t need to be special, he gets enough of that day in and day out what he wants—what he’s always wanted—is to be like everyone else.

To be included.

“I don’t think we even have honey anyway,” Noctis reveals.

“You do. I gave Monica a ton last year,” Prompto tells him.

He carries all three mugs over to the table at once and Noctis, once again, finds himself unable to look away.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

The only thing that surprises Noctis when Umbra pokes him awake one morning is just how early he’s doing it. Noctis can tell Prompto is still asleep which is odd, because he’s almost always awake long before Noctis.

They don’t need to sleep, but it’s more comfortable when they do and Noctis likes to, seemingly much more than Prompto.

“Okay, okay,” Noctis grumbles, patting Umbra’s head even as he yawns. “I’m coming.”

Noctis dresses in the first robe he touches and pulls his fingers through his hair just to make himself a tiny bit presentable.

Stepping out of his realm is not as easy as traveling within. Largely, because he usually travels towards a person, but he can’t sense Luna when she’s not within his borders. Fairly confidently he assumes she’s not waiting for him at her home, so he puts his hand in the thick fur around Umbra’s shoulders and takes them both into the in-between place.

“Good morning, dear,” Luna teases.

She’s set up a tea table where their usual circle of high-backed chairs resides.

“This feels totally necessary,” Noctis mumbles, falling into one of the chairs.

“Comfort is always necessary,” Luna retorts—sounding quite serious. “Though I suppose that’s not a privilege you’ve been allowed.”

“I—maybe,” Noctis says. He shakes his head, hoping to shake off the last dredges of sleep.

“Tea?” Luna offers. Noctis shakes his head again.

“Prompto ages?”

“No,” Luna says. “Though—perhaps a little.”

“What does that mean?” Noctis asks, laughing helplessly.

“He changes,” Luna says. “In the mortal realm his hair grows, he can gain and lose weight. He gets a tan when he lives somewhere sunny enough for it to happen.”

“You have to age for that to happen,” Noctis says. “Right?”

Luna presses her mouth into a flat line, gives an almost helpless shake of her head.

“Our bodies are frozen,” Noctis goes on. “Just as they are now. It’s part of our immortality.”

“Prompto is not mortal,” Luna says decisively. “However, I think—if we had truly abandoned him there, like my father wished, left him alone and never reminded him of what he truly is…”

“He might have become so,” Noctis guesses.

“Yes,” Luna breathes. “Yes, I think he would have.”

“Shouldn’t we have let him?”

“But then he’d die, wouldn’t he?” Luna says. Her eyes are glassy and Noctis feels bad for even suggesting it.

Doesn’t want Prompto to die but doesn’t want him stuck here either. Wants Prompto to live whatever life he wants most. Noctis hurts at the thought of anything else coming to fruition.

“He should have at least been given all options,” Noctis says regardless.

“I gave Prompto every option,” Luna says. “I promise. He chose to come here.”

“What options? Continue to live a mortal life and leave the Gods to which you technically belong will continue to suffer and maybe perish or give it up so that only you suffer and maybe perish?” Noctis scoffs. “You know Prompto—to him, that’s no option at all.”

“Those weren’t the only options,” Luna says softly.

Noctis frowns. “The only options I knew about.”

“A child of Summer could fix it,” Luna says. “It didn’t necessarily have to be Prompto.”

“You?” Noctis question. “But you would have been in pain—”

“Only for a while,” Luna says. Quietly she raises both her hands, turns them over and inspects them from all sides. “They’d suit me well, don’t you think?”

It takes him too long to realize she’s talking about Harbinger marks.

“Prompto doesn’t have Harbinger marks,” Noctis points out. That he would have noticed.

Luna sets her hands flat on the table.

“No, he does not,” Luna says. “I thought for sure, after he recovered the first time, but no. He does not.”

“That’s good,” Noctis says. “At least this way he can still leave—if he changes his mind.”

Luna smiles softly, drawing her hands together.

“It pleases me, how much you care for him,” Luna says.

That’s nice because it terrifies Noctis.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

The itch of Autumn giving way feels worse than normal. Makes him restless and tetchy in a specific way that nothing else does. Noctis doesn’t like feeling this way, particularly doesn’t like giving into it while Prompto is nearby.

“He’d probably take your mind off it,” Cor suggests.

Noctis doesn’t need Cor to explain who he means, it’s fairly obvious. Noctis simply does not want to take advantage of Prompto’s kindness like that—because he’ll take one look at Noctis’ off mood and set about doing everything he can to rectify it.

But that’s not his job. So Noctis is staying mostly alone, stewing in his own bad mood, trying and failing to get comfortable wherever he’s sitting or laying.

The antechamber chairs are uncomfortable almost by design, and no way that Noctis sprawls or leans fixes that. He might be more comfortable in bed, but Noctis doesn’t care, feels like he should be here in this room where he’s supposed to be productive and active.

Cor exhales in a way that feels like a laugh.

“Don’t you have stuff to be doing?” Noctis asks him.

“Technically,” Cor starts. “My only stuff is keeping the realm safe.”

“Ugh.”

Noctis drops his head back, not so far gone as to not realize he’s being a little dramatic.

The tap is so quiet, Noctis doesn’t register it. Doesn’t even realize what it is until Prompto’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Knock knock.”

Noctis lurches upright and thankfully Cor steps out of the way to prevent being struck by a stray limb.

“Hi,” Noctis says.

“Hey, am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Cor says. “We were hoping you’d stop by.”

Noctis wishes he managed to clip him with his foot after all.

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks.

Prompto shakes his head with a little, nervous smile.

“Luna mentioned that time of year can be difficult for you,” Prompto says. “So I’ve come with a distraction, if you’re feeling up for it.” He indicates the bag hanging by his hip—the one that usually holds all his clothes.

“Oh, I—”

“That’s really great, Prompto,” Cor says. He plants his hand between Noctis’ shoulder blades and gives him a rough enough shove to get him up and out of his chair. “Thank you.”

“Great,” Prompto says, taking a few, hesitant steps forward. “Do you have a bedroom?” he asks.

Noctis clambers out of his chair.

“Why wouldn’t I have a bedroom?”

“I—dude,” Prompto laughs. “I mean this in the best way possible; but sometimes I have no idea what to expect from you.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and before he can think about it, before he can second guess himself, he grabs Prompto's hand to start leading him across the room.

“Come on,” Noctis says. “I have a room and it’s normal, I promise.”

Prompto laughs, giving his hand a little squeeze. It’s only a set of stairs and a short corridor to get there, but even so the journey seems impossibly fast with Prompto’s fingers intertwined with his own.

The door swings open when Noctis pushes his shoulder against it and Prompto hurries in ahead of him, dropping Noctis’ hand so he can swing his bag up onto the end of the bed so he can look around.

“Nice, nice,” Prompto says. “It’s just as drab as I expected.”

“Rude,” Noctis mumbles, but he can’t help but smile. “What’s your distraction?”

Prompto ignores his question, gesturing to Noctis’ wardrobe.

“Can I?”

“Go right ahead,” Noctis allows, already prepared for yet more teasing.

The doors are heavy, because all the furniture in Noctis’ room is made that way. Prompto swings it open easily, though, revealing the uniform state of Noctis’ clothes. Noctis expects him to laugh, or something, but instead he simply stands there with his hands on his hips staring at the contents.

“It’s worse than you thought,” Noctis guesses. Dragging his feet, he takes himself over to the bed and drops onto the edge of it.

“Just relieved everything I picked out for you is mostly black.”

“Everything you—”

Prompto whirls around, beaming, bounding across the short distance to the end of the bed and throwing himself onto it with such force Noctis is almost bounced right off.

“I got you clothes,” Prompto says happily. He settles himself cross-legged, like he does in his meadow, and drags his bag into his lap, yanking open the zip so excitedly he manages to get it stuck twice.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll look awesome in skinny jeans,” Prompto says, in such a tone his entire sentence sounds like one long duh.

“How do you get clothes for someone who isn’t there?” Noctis wonders.

He’s kind of excited, though clothes have never interested him before. Prompto’s turned up this time with supplements to his usual wardrobe, a series of large, comfy sweaters, some knitted, some not, but most of them gape off his shoulder and make the line of his throat and collar look elegant and—

Noctis doesn’t want to think about it.

“We’re roughly the same size,” Prompto says casually. “You’re just a little more…” he trails off, making a gesture with his hands that Noctis needs to never be explained to him because he’s determined just to assume it means something positive.

Noctis tries to peek into the bag but it’s mostly just a sea of black. Even Prompto’s own sleeve is black today, loose around his arm so it’s difficult to make out the proper form of him.

Prompto drags two items out of the bag, one’s clearly the aforementioned jeans, while the other seems to be a t-shirt with a black-on-black design. Dark cotton, stamped over the chest with a black skull motif. Noctis leaves it there, sitting on the bed between them until Prompto laughs again, snapping his fingers.

“Come on, come on,” Prompto says. “I wanna see.”

Noctis forces a huff he does not actually mean and grabs up the bundle before stomping over to his washroom. It’s nice to know Prompto has him completely pegged because he just giggles the whole time, ignoring Noctis’ journey and going back to organizing the contents of his bag.

The clothes are easy enough to get into, even fairly comfortable when he realizes that tugging the jeans up a little higher stops them from digging into his hips. Noctis pads back out to the bedroom barefooted because his other shoes seem completely wrong for this, startling when Prompto flies up off the bed at his entrance.

“Amazing,” Prompto says. “Perfect.”

Prompto sweeps his palms over Noctis’ shoulders and down his arms before stepping back. He nods to himself, then comes close enough to fiddle with his sleeves, rolling the hem back twice so it stays put and reveals more of Noctis’ bicep. Prompto circles around him, one hand on him at all times so it touches the small of his back and his side and then so low on Noctis’ stomach he has to grit his teeth against a noise that will embarrass him.

“You were born to be a mysterious college student that everybody wants, and nobody dares to approach because you look just a little too brooding and emo and yet sadly, you are trapped here where no one can see you,” Prompto rambles. “A crime.”

Noctis tries to process that and comes up a little short.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“You look so good dude, what the fuck,” Prompto enthuses. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah—I think so,” Noctis says.

“Do you wanna see the rest?” Prompto asks, glancing briefly down at where their feet are close together, Prompto’s covered in little red canvas shoes. “I got you some fun socks.”

Noctis is kind of desperate to see them.

“Please,” he says and for a moment Prompto grips his arm again, squeezing his bicep with such obvious affection Noctis thinks he might burst.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

There’s a tap on Noctis’ bedroom door, then Prompto is pushing right in without waiting for an answer. Noctis is in the clothes Prompto got him again, more jeans and a cozy hooded sweater Noctis is kind of obsessed with and a pair of the fun socks Prompto promised him. They have little, bright yellow birds on black cotton and Prompto says they’re his favorite thing in the entire world.

Noctis doesn’t know if Prompto means the socks or the birds.

“What if I was naked?” Noctis asks and Prompto, bizarrely, looks him up and down before stepping into the room and snapping the door closed behind him.

“Then I would have had a very good time,” Prompto teases, immediately following it up more seriously with, “And been very, very sorry and embarrassed. Cor told me I was good to come straight up, I didn’t think. My bad.”

Noctis snorts, “You’re fine.”

Crawling back onto his bed, Noctis settles himself up against the wall and shoves a pillow under his knees, pleased but not altogether surprised when Prompto follows right after, sitting right up along his side. There’s something in his hand, bigger than his phone from last year but similar in aesthetic, that Prompto sets down on his knee.

“You remember we were playing that game last year,” Prompto starts, already a little breathless with how excited he is, “And you kept saying how the strategy was fun, but the battles were boring because they were just little plastic nubs.”

“They were boring because they were just little plastic nubs,” Noctis insists. “I don’t care how brightly coloured they are.”

Prompto snorts, almost snickering with a laugh that crinkles his nose in the most adorable way. It’s almost overwhelming, sometimes, how much he wants Prompto. Just sitting here is enough, will always be enough but Prompto brings out something new in Noctis he’s never wanted before. Rarely has he even thought about it, though he knows the ins and outs of what—of what attachments entail.

Noctis has never been interested before now, and not simply out of fear.

“So,” Prompto stresses. “I was thinking about how you would probably enjoy video games more—you remember I explained what they are?” Noctis nods. “Well, I couldn’t show you last year because I didn’t bring a console with me. And I figured it wouldn’t work here anyway or the battery would just run out and I’d have no way to charge it because there’s no electricity here. You know what that is, right?”

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Yes. I even know how it works.”

Prompto blinks at him. “Really? Do explain, I always looked just about old enough to avoid mortal schooling.”

“Just because I can explain doesn’t mean I want to,” Noctis says quickly.

Prompto smirks and it’s no less intriguing than when his nose wrinkles.

“Okay, so anyway,” Prompto drawls. “My phone never ran out of charge last year, so either the realm keeps things charged or I do.”

“It’s probably you,” Noctis says.

“Because if it was the realm you’d know, right?” Prompto goads. Noctis is being teased but he doesn’t mind. He kind of likes it.

“Yup,” Noctis says flatly.

Prompto just smiles, all teeth and crinkly eyes, scooping up the device on his knee and, somehow, nestling even closer to Noctis’ side.

“I’ll play first so you can watch, okay?” Prompto suggests. “Then you can have a go and I’ll teach you what to do.”

Noctis nods and Prompto brings the screen to life, settling the device in his hands so he’s gripping each side, thumbs already pressing at the buttons to make it do something. He knows he’s supposed to be watching the game, to get a feel for how it works, but it’s much more interesting to watch Prompto, easily absorbed into this thing he obviously loves so much.

After a while, Prompto suddenly ratchets the noise up, seemingly forgotten he could. It's easier then to focus on the game and not Prompto right there beside him. The character jumps and swings his weapons under Prompto’s command and it does seem more exciting than pushing plain bits of plastic around a fake map.

Noctis isn’t really sure how long he watches before Prompto sits up a little straighter and pushes the console into Noctis’ grip instead. More patient than Noctis has ever seen him Prompto shows him which each button is for, giving him a mile a minute run down on the overarching story hidden within the game.

Noctis isn’t very good, but Prompto never complains, even when he seems to burn through Prompto’s in-game resources. He just stays warm and helpful at Noctis’ shoulder, getting quieter and calmer the longer it goes on and the better Noctis gets.

Prompto sets his cheek on Noctis’ shoulder, more comfortable for watching, Noctis supposes, and goes quiet for a long time.

“Wait—what do I do here?” Noctis asks, staring up at a fake waterfall with a too wide expanse of water behind him and no idea how to safely move on. “Prompto?”

Noctis turns his head, as much as he can without really moving and—

Prompto is asleep.

Noctis touches the button on the top of the console that dims the screen and makes the noise cut out, carefully setting it down on the bed beside them.

Some of Prompto’s hair has escaped the binding at the back, falling across his cheek. It’s not as terrifying to reach out and push it back as it used to be, but Noctis is still glad Prompto is asleep so he can keep the tremor in his hand to himself.

Noctis sets his cheek atop Prompto’s head, half nuzzles into his soft hair.

It's not the best way to sleep. But as they don’t really need to—there’s no need to worry about it.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- seven- ｡.｡:+*

Prompto rolls over onto his side, knee bumping against Noctis’ thigh. It isn’t until Noctis looks at him, setting the game aside for a moment, that he registers the noise Prompto makes as a snore.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Noctis teases. “Is it Spring already?”

Noctis takes a deep breath, then reaches over to tap his fingertips against Prompto’s cheek. Thankfully, he comes out of his doze with a smile, half batting Noctis’ hand away but really just grabbing it to hold on top of the grass between them.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Prompto opens just one eye, peering up at Noctis with obvious confusion.

“Of course, I am,” Prompto says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been sleeping a lot,” Noctis points out.

Hypocritical, maybe, but Noctis sleeping all the time isn’t a revelation. Prompto’s always been more energetic, willing to run around on little to know sleep—the one part of immortality where he seems to thrive. Except recently, he’s been falling asleep all over the place. In Noctis’ room, at his own kitchen table, in his meadow over and over again.

Prompto closes his eye, but it does little to hide the way he’s frowning.

“I’m just—comfy,” Prompto explains.

“Okay,” Noctis says. He doesn’t buy it, but the only explanation that makes sense is too terrifying to think about.

Prompto came too early, lived in Winter during the roughest part of the year where Noctis struggles with its mass and form. Now is fine, the part where Noctis doesn’t have to pay attention. It’s the last few days of Autumn where he’s most dangerous, where he has to be the most careful not to burst out of control and keep Nyx from effectively doing his own job well.

They’ve always kept Prompto away until Winter is underway for good reason. It doesn’t hurt him, or so Prompto claims over and over again, but it drains him, it has to, or it wouldn’t take so long for him to wake after he tempers Noctis’ magic along safely into Spring.

Prompto squeezes his hand.

“I can hear you thinking,” Prompto says. “You’re worrying about nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Noctis mumbles. Prompto is the opposite of nothing.

“I’m fine,” Prompto insists but he already seems to be falling asleep again.

“Okay,” Noctis says again, hoping it’s true.

He should go back to the game, to distract himself, but Prompto hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Nyx cracks his knuckles, stretching out his fingers while kneading against the leaf which seems to fill the entire back of his hand.

“Everything’s been off this year,” Nyx says. “Luna needed to pass off earlier than normal, Selena struggled to let go…so it’s not just you.”

“I feel fine,” Noctis reiterates. “But whatever is going on, I think it’s messing with Prompto.”

“Where is he? Cor said you guys have been inseparable this year.”

Noctis flushes, knows exactly what Cor is likely to have told Nyx and how it sounds. Nothing is happening, but three times Cor has run into them leaving Noctis’ room together in the morning. They’re just talking, or gaming or whatever but Noctis is not so naive as to not understand how it looks.

Isn’t naive enough not to half wish it was true.

Maybe a little more than half.

Noctis is well practiced at ignoring Nyx’s smirk, so he just turns slightly away.

“I think he’s sleeping,” Noctis admits.

Nyx’s surprise, in Noctis’ opinion, is an appropriate reaction.

“That’s—”

“I know,” Noctis says. “I know. He says he’s fine but—I’m worried.”

“Try not to be,” Nyx reassures. “You’ve got to learn to trust—what the fuck?”

Noctis struggles for a moment to catch his breath, glad he’s sitting down so he didn’t do something embarrassing like fall over. It stings, like something sharp being tapped against his skin over and over, not enough to break his skin but enough to irritate, to take all his attention and make it hard to think.

“Is that Spring?” Nyx mumbles.

“Something must be going on with Iris,” Noctis gets out.

“I can go check—Noctis.”

Rude to walk away while someone is talking but Noctis cannot worry about social etiquette, not when he has more pressing things to worry about. Nyx follows, Noctis is aware of that much, even seems to realize the source of his anxiety if his low curse is anything to go by.

For a moment, Noctis is so off kilter he forgets everything he can do, just walks in a completely normal manner instead of—

Noctis stops, almost blindly reaching for Nyx’ wrist then takes them right inside Prompto’s house with a single step. Nyx is well practiced enough in this he doesn’t complain about the momentum, doesn’t even mention it as something out of the ordinary.

Finding Prompto asleep in his living room and not his bed is also not a surprise to either of them. It’s more of a mess than Noctis is used to, books everywhere, a collection of empty cups on the low table. Noctis drops to his knees beside the couch, reaching out to tap Prompto’s cheek.

When it does nothing he tries again, using enough force to make him feel guilty.

Prompto stays asleep.

“What are you doing? He always sleeps through it.”

“Not so soon,” Noctis says. “He’s normally—I’m normally there when it starts. He’s not normally already asleep.”

It’s too soon. Last year was too soon but this feels one hundred times worse than that.

Heaving a sigh, Nyx reaches over and pushes back Prompto’s hair. He looks just as still and calm as he has all the other years, yet something in Noctis squirms, cold and uncomfortable. When Nyx retracts his hand, he brings up his other to rub at his wrist and Noctis feels a rush of guilt on top of everything else.

“Sorry,” Noctis offers.

“Hmm? Oh man, don’t, it’s fine,” Nyx says.

“I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“It doesn’t hurt—it never really did, Noctis, okay?” Nyx presses. “I have a little Winter in me, don’t I?”

“Right—yeah,” Noctis mumbles.

Nyx sighs again. Noctis just swallows, trying to ignore the fear burning in his chest, and pushes up from the ground. Prompto seems particularly small when Noctis hooks his knees over one arm and tries to get a good enough grip on him around his back to lift him into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Meadow,” Noctis grits out.

“I can carry him,” Nyx offers.

“I’ve got him,” Noctis snaps.

Noctis hefts him up, takes a moment to check he’s secure, then abandons Nyx where he is to take them both to the meadow in one easy step.

Pink, white, yellow.

It’s just a mixture of flowers now, ever changing and almost spilling over the borders. Noctis doesn’t know if he does it on purpose, meant to ask, meant to help Prompto push himself this year, to try new things and see if more time here has helped him wrestle control of his magic or not.

Noctis meant to do a lot of things.

It doesn’t take Nyx long to catch up, Noctis has barely lowered Prompto down onto the ground when he joins them.

“Comfier in a bed?” Nyx suggests.

“Probably,” Noctis allows. “But he likes it here.”

“Then here it is,” Nyx says. “I don’t want to leave—”

“You should check on Iris,” Noctis says. “There’s nothing I—we can do for Prompto right now.”

Noctis can try and push Iris back a little, though she’ll suffer for it in the aftermath. Spring is coming early and it’s coming fast, Noctis can help mitigate it so he will. Possibly he should wait for council input before acting, but he needs to make sure Prompto has time to do whatever it is he manages while he’s asleep and isn’t overwhelmed by the unusual force Iris is exhibiting.

“I’ll send someone,” Nyx promises. Briefly he touches Noctis’ shoulder, and then he’s gone.

☼❆

Ignis first, then Luna, then Gladio—apologizing on his sister’s behalf.

“She got upset,” Gladio says simply. “She lost control” It seems like he doesn’t want to explain further than that but eventually he adds. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Noctis says, though it doesn’t feel fine.

“What did you do?” Ignis asks.

Gladio laughs, obviously nervous.

“There’s no way I’m telling you that.”

“Spoil sport,” Noctis mutters, attempting to drag himself from his mood.

“Just this once,” Gladio says.

Noctis expects him to leave, it would be understandable if he did, with his sister in potential distress, but he just joins them in the meadow, settling down at Noctis’ side so he is flanked by both him and Ignis.

“Is he okay?” Gladio asks.

“Much the same as normal,” Luna confirms. “It’s just a little early.”

Gladio grimaces.

“He’ll be alright,” Ignis says. “I’m certain.”

Noctis wishes he had that confidence.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis learns Prompto is awake again from Prompto.

When Luna arrives, Noctis figures that’s what she’s come to say. It’s taken longer than it ever has before, which Noctis tried to reassure himself was fine. Prompto was working for longer than normal—it only makes sense.

The pressure of her in the realm is almost immediately overwhelmed by Prompto himself, rushing over every sense Noctis has all at once until he is very almost overwhelmed.

Noctis rushes to him because what else can he do?

Prompto looks—not fine. Not bad necessarily, but he doesn’t look back to normal either. He looks tired, like he’s been dragged out of bed after only a few minutes and not weeks and weeks of slumber.

“You’re awake,” Noctis says.

“Just about,” Prompto retorts, his smile a little thin.

“You didn’t have to come see me,” Noctis tells him. “You should be recovering still.”

“I’m fine,” Prompto says quickly. “I wanted to see you. We normally get to say goodbye, or at least—we know when it’s the last time we’ll get to talk for a while.”

Noctis can’t remember what they talked about last. It was before they parted to sleep, back to their respective homes for once, probably something inconsequential but Noctis wishes he knew. The memory of it all is too tangled up in the anxiety he felt during the month it took Iris and Prompto to set Spring on track.

“I—I’m glad you’re okay,” Noctis says. “I’m sorry it was difficult this time.”

Difficult every time, Noctis is sure, but worse this time.

“It’s whatever,” Prompto says, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Noctis says quickly.

Prompto’s hair is loose, hair-tie gone, and the way he tucks it behind his ear screams of nervousness. When Prompto glances at Luna, she gives him an encouraging nod.

Prompto takes a step forward, then sucks in a deep breath. Noctis can’t handle it anymore and he strides forward to swallow the gap between them, scooping up one of Prompto’s hands. He startles, so much so that Noctis almost lets go, but Prompto holds tight, letting out a breath slowly.

“Can I stay?” Prompto asks, voice so soft, Noctis can barely make him out.

“Stay?”

Prompto chews on his bottom lip.

“Here,” Prompto clarifies. “With you.”

Noctis stares at him, so lovely even in his fatigue. Prompto can’t stay here. No matter how much Noctis wants him, no matter how wonderful it would be to have Prompto close every single moment, he can’t.

It would ruin him.

“No,” Noctis says. “Prompto—you should go home.”

Prompto snatches his hand back, the muscle in his jaw twitching. When he blinks his eyes glisten in the low light, even though Prompto ducks his head.

Noctis feels sick.

“Prompto—”

“It’s fine,” Prompto says.

“You don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Prompto insists. “Whatever.” He takes a couple steps back then whips his head round to his sister. “Can we go?”

“Of course,” Luna says, holding out her hand.

Prompto doesn’t look back at him, but Luna does; she sends him one, terrible glance that’s so sad Noctis wouldn’t be able to talk around the lump in his throat even if he could think of a single thing to say.

They’re gone for a long time before Noctis can move, might never have tried if it weren’t for an unexpected touch between his shoulders.

“Come on,” Cor says gently. “Let’s go back.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Gladio pops in and out of his realm so fast Noctis almost thinks he’s imagined it. Then Ignis’ shoes click on the chamber floor and Noctis is already hyper aware of the purpose of his visit before Ignis can say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis whispers, burying his face in his folded arms.

“How can we help?” Ignis asks, instead of berating him, like he deserves.

Noctis knows he’s out of control, and can feel it slipping over and over again. The only silver lining is that it’s not poor Iris taking the brunt of him again, Spring already eased right along into Summer. It’s not easy for Luna, but she’s slightly better equipped to not be overwhelmed by him.

“You can’t,” Noctis says. “I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

“Should we get Prompto?”

Noctis jerks his head up, glaring at the suggestion. Ignis does not seem cowed by the look, just stares back, blinking impassively as he waits for a real answer.

“No,” Noctis spits. “Prompto is—it’s bad enough he has to be here during Winter. He should—he has a life to live.”

“For someone so concerned with Prompto getting to make his own choices, you’re not very good at honoring them.”

“What does that mean?”

Ignis sighs. “You know what it means,” Ignis says. “He asked to stay.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s asking,” Noctis argues. “He’s never been here that long.”

“He’s capable of asking to leave if it ever gets too much for him,” Ignis says.

“He’ll be lonely,” Noctis says.

“I didn’t know you ceased to exist outside Winter,” Ignis drawls. “How fortunate I am to have found you today.”

“I’m not good company,” Noctis says quietly.

“You ought to give yourself more credit,” Ignis says. “Present conversation excluded.”

“I just think it’s a bad idea,” Noctis says.

“Clearly,” Ignis says.

“I’ll try to do better,” Noctis offers. “Tell Luna I’m sorry.”

Ignis sighs. “She’s going to have to end Summer earlier than normal,” Ignis reveals. “No one blames you, but it is what it is.”

“That’s half the year off schedule already,” Noctis realizes.

“Yes, you and Iris both having an emotional crisis the same year is terribly inconvenient.”

“I’m not—!” Noctis starts, but Ignis stares him down with such ruthless efficiency Noctis doesn’t dare trying to finish it.

“Eventually someone is going to need to pick up the slack,” Noctis says instead. “Can Selena handle it?”

“She’s already had to lend Luna some strength,” Ignis explains. “To take care of some peculiar tide patterns.”

“How did I do that?”

Ignis shrugs, he almost smiles. “We don’t really know. Under different circumstances it would be quite impressive.”

Noctis huffs. “So, if not Selena then—me?”

“If you’re amenable,” Ignis says.

“It’s the least I can do,” Noctis says. “Tell her to let me know when she’s ready. It’s probably best if no one else visits. For a while.”

“I’ll advise accordingly,” Ignis says. “Will you try not to be so hard on yourself?”

“While I’m messing up?”

“Your existence is not a crime,” Ignis tells him. “You deserve to have friends and—and anything else you might want. More people ought to tell you that.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Holy shit you are wallowing.”

Noctis rolls his eyes, but as he’s sitting in Prompto’s meadow, wearing the clothes he got Noctis, there’s not really any way to argue against it.

“I figured you’d be with Selena,” Noctis muses. “Sorry I’ve been making it so hard.”

“You’re doing your best,” Nyx says and Noctis bites back his knee-jerk response to that comment.

Ignis will correct him gently, while Nyx is just as likely to knock him on his ass. Literally and figuratively.

Noctis has been better since Ignis came to see him, though it hasn’t been easy. His magic feels wrought, like it does at the end of Winter, uneven and frayed, so that every time Noctis thinks he finally has it under his control it slips through his fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Nyx presses, coming to sit right in front of him. He crosses his legs, the same way Prompto does, but he winces the whole time.

“Better now,” Noctis teases.

“Ignis’ joints bend more than one way, I swear,” Nyx complains, straightening his legs out again. “How do they even sit like that?”

“I’ve given up trying,” Noctis admits.

Nyx chuckles, and when he’s sobered up, he taps Noctis’ shoe with his boot.

“Now answer me seriously,” Nyx demands.

“I’ll do what I have to,” Noctis says.

“Selena’s already tired,” Nyx says carefully.

I know, I’m sorry,” Noctis says. Nyx shakes his head. “I can keep myself in check now, I promise.”

Bold promise to make when he’s truly sure he can keep it. If Noctis has anything, it’s enough stubbornness to see it through.

“You know that Prompto—”

“Not happening,” Noctis says flatly.

“You miss him,” Nyx suggests.

Noctis touches a flower without any real intention.

“Yes,” Noctis admits. “But that’s not important.”

“Feels important to me,” Nyx says.

“It’s complicated,” Noctis defends.

“We just worry about you,” Nyx tells him. “We want you to be happy.”

Noctis would like that too—just not at the cost of someone else’s life.

Noctis doesn’t think he can be happy, if Prompto isn’t happy.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

When Noctis asks Cor to send a message to Luna asking if she’s available to meet with him, Noctis does not expect her to arrive into the realm that very same day. Though perhaps he should.

“You want to talk to me about Prompto,” Luna surmises.

“I—yes.”

“Walk with me?” Luna suggests, offering Cor a respectful nod to bid him farewell.

Naturally, they end up walking towards Prompto’s meadow, which does not make what Noctis has realized he needs to do any easier to face.

“You should tell him not to come back,” Noctis rushes out.

Luna looks less surprised than Noctis imagined she would.

“He wants to be here,” Luna says.

“He just—”

“He asked to stay,” Luna cuts across him. “I witnessed it just as well as you did.”

“Prompto is selfless,” Noctis says. “You know it. He knows he makes it easier for me and everyone else. Of course he’s going to convince himself that he’s okay being here if he’s helping everyone so much.”

“He does help,” Luna says and it’s not like her to miss the point so massively. “I feel like we keep having the same conversation over and over.”

“Because no one is listening to me,” Noctis says, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Noctis…”

“I just think if Prompto really understood the reality of being trapped here forever, he wouldn’t want to do it.”

Luna’s mouth pulls down at the corners. “Because no one else ever wants to,” she guesses.

Noctis turns away and she lets him without fuss.

“I have a court of two people,” Noctis says. “Everyone else that’s ever been sent here has been sent here for punishment.” Not that Noctis has ever known anyone else, they were before his time, almost all before his father too.

“That was a long time ago,” Luna whispers. “It’s different now.”

“For now,” Noctis mumbles.

Luna reaches for his arm, their skin separated by the robes he’s started wearing again and tugs him back around.

“You’re different,” Luna insists. “You’re too kind for how harsh the Greater Gods want Winter to be—you always have been.”

“They picked the wrong family,” Noctis blurts.

“Yes, but not because you’re unworthy or not powerful enough,” Luna says. “But because you are being forced to wield a magic you do not enjoy and therefore cannot fully master.”

Noctis never once considered enjoying his role. It seems unfathomable to him, that it could possibly be something to look forward to.

“Do you enjoy it?” Noctis wonders.

Luna smiles, “Yes.”

“I didn’t know,” Noctis admits.

“I think that Prompto, also, enjoys it,” Luna tries. “If that’s worth anything.”

“It’s—I don’t—he should be in Summer,” Noctis eventually manages.

“Should be, maybe,” Luna says. “But he’s not—and it’s not what he wants. This—you are what he wants.”

Noctis shakes his head.

“Noctis, you’re so afraid,” Luna realizes, her anguish palpable.

“I’m not,” Noctis argues, though he doesn’t really know what she’s talking about.

“You are,” Luna insists. “You don’t have to be—it’s okay, I promise. It doesn’t always end the way you think it does.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Noctis admits. “What am I afraid of?”

“Of being in love.”

No.

No.

“Stop,” Noctis begs. “Luna—please.”

“It’s alright…”

“You’re wrong,” Noctis says. “It’s not that.” Can’t be that; Noctis won’t let it be that.

Luna purses her mouth but makes no answer.

“Just talk to Prompto for me,” Noctis says. “Just tell him—try to make him see sense.”

“I will remind him he has options,” Luna agrees. “And nothing more.”

Noctis hopes that’s enough.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

It feels like something snaps.

Noctis has never felt it before, not in his magic, not in anyone else’s either. Something in the realm shifts, rather than himself, and he feels utterly disconnected from the source.

It doesn’t take him long to find out what it is, not after Cor and Monica say they never felt a thing, not when Noctis so naturally goes to this place whenever he feels almost anything at all.

Would be easier to take if they were simply gone. Instead Noctis can still see the evidence of them, every bloom Prompto has ever flowered in his meadow there but—

Withered. Collapsed and void of all color, already mulching down back into the earth from which they once grew.

Noctis isn’t heartbroken because he’s still alive. But this must be something close.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- eight - ｡.｡:+*

Try as he might, Noctis cannot pick out another person’s magic underneath the swell that Prompto drags into the realm with him.

Prompto is angry, that much Noctis can tell, an edge to Prompto’s magic Noctis has never actually felt before. Frustration he’s familiar with, an almost sad turn and pull which always makes Noctis a little forlorn in turn. Childishly, Noctis wants to avoid him, to avoid himself really, and the way he feels grief and joy in equal parts knowing Prompto has chosen to return to him.

Noctis finds Prompto at the gate to his property, clutching a single cardboard box in his hands. When he realizes Noctis has joined him he tosses the box carelessly over the fence and folds his arms tightly over his chest.

For some reason instead of saying hello, or telling Prompto he missed him, or he was worried about him, or he thinks about him every single day, Noctis just asks—

“Who bought you here?”

Prompto scowls, kicks his foot into the ground.

“I bought myself, okay? Don’t be pissy with anyone.”

Prompto cut his hair again, taking all the length off the back and sides, but left his fringe long, just like how he was the first time Noctis saw him.

“You don’t know how to travel between realms,” Noctis says. “I mean—I thought.”

“Well, I learned,” Prompto snaps. “Not all of us were born being able to do everything. Took me a while to get the hang of it.”

Noctis has never seen Prompto so hostile.

“Prompto,” Noctis says softly.

The fight goes out of Prompto all at once, his arms unraveling, but his helpless expression is hardly any easier to look at.

“You sent Luna to keep me away,” Prompto says. “You can not want me here all you like—but everyone needs me to be here, so here I am.”

It’s exactly what Noctis doesn’t want; Prompto here out of a sense of obligation, throwing his life away on something he doesn’t really want.

“I—”

“It’s whatever, Noct, okay? I’ll stay out of your way,” Prompto promises, hip checking the gate open and letting it swing closed behind him without looking Noctis in the face. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

That’s so unlikely it feels impossible, but Prompto disappears before Noctis can find a way to put that into words. Especially in a way that Prompto will even want to hear.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Prompto’s meadow stays bereft of flowers and the man himself. Nobody sees him, from what Noctis can work out, neither Cor nor Monica catching even a glimpse of him.

It’s tough to keep away. Noctis absolutely does know Prompto is here, is achingly aware of it every second of the day. Winter isn’t even fully here yet and it is reckless to be so unanimously distracted all the time but a requested check-in with Nyx reveals that things have actually gotten easier in the past week since Prompto’s return.

This is worse even than the first year Prompto was here, and it was difficult to stay away. That was ignorant curiosity but now Noctis knows. He knows what it sounds like when Prompto laughs, was even, at a time, fairly deft at making him do so. Noctis knows what it’s like to hold Prompto’s hand, to wake up tucked back-to-back in a bed not designed for two full grown gods.

Memories do not make Prompto being closer easier. They make Noctis ache. They make him restless, but not irritable, like he was when Prompto was away.

Prompto being close is painful, but at least he’s here, where Noctis can feel him.

It’s the last thing Noctis thought would bring him comfort.

It twists him up in knots until he can’t decide if he loves or hates that Prompto is here, if he wants to beg and plead for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve or grab Prompto by the hand and march him straight into Spring by his own hand.

“He wouldn’t have come early if he really couldn’t stand you,” Noctis mumbles to himself, smoothing his hands over the t-shirt he put on. Black, with a bright image compressed into a box which Noctis doesn’t understand but has twice made Prompto giggle until he lost his breath.

Talking to Prompto is the easiest thing Noctis has ever done and yet approaching him now, seems like a mountain almost impossible to climb.

It’s just one step, just a few taps on a door. If Prompto doesn’t want to speak to him, he just won’t answer.

Noctis walks the long way—the normal way—just to give himself extra time to gear up for it, to go over in his head what he plans to say.

He’s sorry. He’s so happy Prompto is here. He misses him.

Noctis raps on the door, inadvertently tapping out an eight-beat rhythm from the game he and Prompto spent much of last year playing together. The game has been untouched since Prompto left—it just hasn’t felt right to play it without him.

“Noct?” Prompto says, before opening the door. He looks guarded, confused more than upset, sweeping his eyes from Noctis’ shoes up to his face.

“Hey,” Noctis says.

“Is everything okay?”

I’m sorry. I miss you. I’m glad you’re here.

“Yeah,” Noctis says. “Um, how are you?”

Prompto’s eyes widen a little.

“Bored,” he admits. “Confused.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis blurts.

That muscle in Prompto’s jaw twitches and his chest fills with a silent inhale.

“What for?” Prompto asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

“I missed you,” Noctis admits. “I’m sorry that you thought otherwise.”

For a moment, for too long, Prompto looks much the same; impassive and immovable. Then all at once his expression crumples and he kicks his front door open a little wider so when he falls back against his hallway wall and covers his face with his hands, Noctis can still see him.

“Prompto?”

Prompto takes a deep shuddering breath and Noctis steps forward just to get a better look at him. Not fully inside the house, not until Prompto invites him again.

“You have to make up your mind,” Prompto says, voice both trembling and muffled. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“I—tell me what you want,” Noctis begs.

“No,” Prompto snaps, uncovering his face. “You tell me what you want. For once.”

“I want you to be safe,” Noctis says easily.

“Fuck that,” Prompto says. “Ignore that, all the bullshit about magic and whatever. If that wasn't a factor, would you want me here or not?”

It’s not even a question.

“Yes,” Noctis says. “Yes—Prompto.”

Prompto pushes off the wall, closes the gap between them so there’s not even an arm’s length between them, so that when Prompto sets his hand on Noctis’ chest and spreads his fingers over that inexplicable drawing his arm is bent nearly in half. Prompto doesn’t giggle looking at it this time, but this is better somehow.

“You just want me safe,” Prompto mumbles. “You don’t secretly hate me.”

“No,” Noctis blurts stupidly, horrified that Prompto could think so. “I like you best of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Prompto laughs, low and rich, so Noctis feels it as much as hears it, uncurling something warm in the pit of his stomach. They stare at each other, Prompto looking slightly up at him, eyes framed by thick lashes and so impossibly pretty Noctis clenches his hands into fists at his sides because he cannot misstep now by reaching out to cup Prompto’s cheek or something equally ridiculous.

“That’s quite the compliment,” Prompto says. “Would be more of a compliment if you knew a wider selection of people, but I appreciate it all the same.”

There’s probably something Noctis should say to that, a further reassurance but he’s too distracted by how close Prompto is after being separated in every sense of the word. His hand strokes up Noctis’ chest, until his bare fingers brush Noctis’ neck and send a shiver all the way down Noctis’ spine.

Prompto makes a low noise, inquisitive, but Noctis doesn’t know what silent question he’s being asked.

Prompto tilts his head, just a fraction, hand trailing back, half into Noctis’ hair and his thumb pressing in behind Noctis’ ear. His mouth parts, but Noctis stays quiet through sheer force of will.

“Noct,” Prompto whispers, half smiling. His other palm cups Noctis’ cheek, and Prompto holds him gently in place between his hands as the distance between becomes nothing.

Prompto’s mouth is dry but his lips are soft against Noctis’ own. Noctis breathes in sharply through his nose, hands grabbing Prompto’s hips desperately for something to cling to while his legs feel like they might give out. Another breathy noise and Noctis tastes this one right against his tongue, parts his mouth a little wider because he’s eager for more, wants all it, absolutely everything Prompto has to offer him.

After that they’ve moving, Noctis’ hands slip up Prompto’s back to feel the curve of his waist he’s admired for so long and the subtle strength in his shoulders. Prompto goes up on his tiptoes so the inestimable difference in their heights vanishes, the hand cupping Noctis’ cheek moves to first cup the back of Noctis neck then clutch at his back.

Noctis isn’t sure if he steps forward or if Prompto tugs him backwards, but he does know that the feeling of Prompto’s body trapped between him, and the wall sears itself into his brain forever. It’s obscene, how good it feels, how good Prompto feels, solid and firm but his skin soft and the shape of his hips supple under his hands.

Prompto kisses the corner of Noctis’ mouth, trails his lips across Noctis’ cheek to the edge of his jaw. Essentially, he nuzzles there for a moment, warm and affectionate, the tips of his fingers digging into Noctis’ back through his t-shirt, every single place Prompto touches Noctis almost electrified.

“Prompto,” Noctis breathes.

“It’s okay,” Prompto whispers back. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Prompto catches Noctis’ chin between thumb and forefinger, turning their mouths together again. Unable to help himself, Noctis drags his hands across Prompto’s body, daring to touch from his waist down to his thigh. Prompto gasps, delicious and thrilling, hooking his leg up around Noctis’ hip.

Prompto presses against the small of Noctis’ back and he grinds his hips into Prompto’s without thinking. The heat in his belly unfurls slowly, creeping down lower and lower, until it burns, until Noctis is whining behind his teeth, gripping Prompto so tight it has to be hurting him.

Prompto laughs, but not cruelly, soothing Noctis with little pecks, a hand on his waist trying to direct Noctis’ movements more smoothly.

“Are you okay?” Prompto whispers against his mouth.

Noctis freezes. “I—don’t know.”

Noctis feels good, Prompto feels good against him, but at the same time there’s a feeling in Noctis’ chest that might crack it open at any moment. Noctis has wanted this, secretly, barely letting himself think about it before, and getting this part of it now is overwhelming. Joyous and wonderful—but so much to process it’s almost painful.

Prompto kisses his nose, but unwinds his leg, shifting so they’re not pressed so tightly together. Immediately it’s easier to breathe, to think and to try and understand what’s happening.

“You look like you’re about to combust,” Prompto says, breath stuttering. Carefully he pulls Noctis’ hand off his hip, cradling his wrist and kissing his palm. “Which is sometimes fun, but maybe not right now.”

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees. Feels like it too. “It’s good though, I think.” More good than bad. “This isn’t what I expected to happen.”

“We’re—that happened really fast,” Prompto admits, something about it bringing a fresh pinkness to his cheeks. “We can stop—should stop.”

“I was expecting you to yell at me more,” Noctis admits, mind chugging too slowly to keep up with what Prompto is saying.

“We can do that later,” Prompto laughs. With the flat of his hand, he puts gentle pressure on Noctis’ chest, not pushing him back exactly, but it gives Noctis enough pause to decide he does want to—even though he doesn’t.

Noctis steps back, until he hits the opposite wall and Prompto keeps his hand up, suspended between them, for a long moment before slowly letting it drift back down to his side.

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks. “I didn’t—that didn’t hurt you?”

Prompto rolls his eyes, “You’re so worried about killing me,” Prompto says. “That you fail to realize you’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.”

“I—that’s…” Noctis stammers.

That’s everything.

“Are you starting to understand now?” Prompto asks.

“Maybe,” Noctis hedges.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Prompto asks.

“Because you want to be,” Noctis says. He believes that now.

Prompto hums. “You are almost all the reason I want to be,” Prompto tells him. “I know it’s going to take you a while to believe that.”

“We have time,” Noctis says.

“Endless time,” Prompto agrees. “So, if you need some space right now, that’s okay.”

“Maybe,” Noctis says. “I’m sorry.”

Prompto laughs, quickly closing the gap to press a soft, barely there kiss to Noctis’ mouth without touching any other part of his body.

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” Prompto assures him. “I want you, but I’m not a monster. Just stop pushing me away—stop sending me away.”

I want you.

“Okay.”

“Promise?” Prompto asks, voice going very small.

“I promise,” Noctis says, daring to lean forward and be the one to take a kiss. “Never again.”

He means it. He thinks he means it. Noctis doesn’t know how to go without this now. If Prompto actually is safe, if being close to Noctis won’t hurt him, then he means it.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Prompto says.

Tomorrow sounds good, when Noctis can get his legs working again.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Paper crinkles between Noctis’ cheek and the pillow when he rolls over.

He sits up, peeling the thing off his cheek and finds one of those square, pink note papers, stuck to his fingers. The only thing on it is a slightly wonky heart but it makes Noctis’s heart swell, nonetheless.

Squinting, Noctis can see a line of them, every six inches or so, across his dresser and the wall, leading all the way to his bedroom door.

Noctis washes up quickly, pulling on some of Prompto’s clothes—his clothes that Prompto bought him, before heading back out and going back to the start of the trail. Mostly it’s more hearts, a few arrows pointing the very obvious direction Prompto wants him to take. Noctis picks up everyone, collecting them into a pile in his hand,

It all culminates with a simple, one word message on his bedroom door.

dinner?

Noctis takes that one too, not caring for what time of day it is and takes himself to Prompto’s front door in one single step. Luckily, he’s still inside, though it wouldn’t exactly be difficult to find him if not.

It takes Prompto longer than normal to open the door, but Noctis finds he has endless patience currently. The high from last night is holding strong. Noctis is still a little overwhelmed by everything, not helped by the prickling sense that Winter is right there. In truth, Noctis wishes he could talk to someone else about everything, but he doesn’t really know who he can turn to in order to unravel the mess of thoughts he’s having about shoving Luna’s brother up against a wall the day before.

About how he might very well be in love.

“You know most people consider dinner to be an evening thing,” Prompto says, beaming when Noctis holds the stack of notes aloft for him to see.

“I wanted to see you,” Noctis admits easily.

“Cute,” Prompto smiles.

“How did you even do this?” Noctis asks him.

“You sleep like the dead, dude,” Prompto says dramatically and it’s reassuring to see that not very much or maybe nothing at all, has to change just because they’re something else now. “It’s kind of terrifying, I was in there for ages.

Noctis rolls his eyes, almost not paying attention enough to catch Prompto reaching for the notes in his hand. To stop him, Noctis has to stretch his arm up as tall as possible and even then, if Prompto really wanted to get them, he could.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll throw them away for you,” Prompto offers, reaching for them again.

“What—no,” Noctis blurts. “These are mine.”

Surprise crosses Prompto’s face, just for a moment, and then his eyes widen in a softer way, his mouth extending into an unmistakable pout. Both Prompto’s hands plant on Noctis’ shoulders and he uses those for leverage to arch up and drop two, quick kisses onto Noctis’ mouth.

“You’re sentimental,” Prompto sings.

Noctis didn’t know that about himself. He doesn’t really know that he is, or would be, if it was anyone else. He just shrugs, not dislodging Prompto’s hands.

“I like that,” Prompto breathes. “I didn’t know I’d like that.”

“It’s nice not to be the only one discovering new things,” Noctis admits sheepishly.

Prompto’s expression softens even further.

“I’m still me,” Prompto says. “That hasn’t changed. Nothing has to change.”

Noctis cups his cheek, dragging his thumb softly over scattered freckles.

“I’d like some things to change,” Noctis offers.

Prompto kisses his palm, then quickly and briefly catches Noctis’s thumb between his teeth. The feel of it does nothing, but watching Prompto do it settles that warmth in the pit of his stomach, immediately making his breath turn shallow.

Prompto releases him, digging his teeth into his bottom lip instead. It’s hardly better.

“Sorry,” Prompto mumbles. “Slow, I know. I keep forgetting this is new. I’ve been thinking about it for so long.”

“Me too,” Noctis says. “Well—you. I’ve been thinking about you for a long time.”

“A long time?” Prompto urges.

“From the first time we met,” Noctis explains. “I thought you were beautiful.”

Prompto blushes.

“And I liked watching you blush,” Noctis teases.

Prompto slaps him on the chest, hand loose so it causes more noise than pain.

“You’re the worst,” Prompto complains. Doesn’t take him a second to realize Prompto doesn’t actually mean it, anymore, now he just knows. Is starting to think, in general, what Prompto means is the exact opposite.

Prompto sighs. “Well, we can both try something new right now,” Prompto says. “I was going to show you pizza, and we can have it for breakfast, which is something I’ve never done before.”

“Pizza for breakfast,” Noctis says. “And that’s odd?”

Prompto laughs. “Maybe not for us.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Prompto’s fingers scratch against his scalp and Noctis tries not to be embarrassed about the low noise that rumbles in the back of his throat. Prompto’s laugh is silent, but Noctis feels it where his head is pillowed in his lap.

“You’re like a cat,” Prompto teases.

Noctis doesn’t respond, just tries to ease the slight tension in his spine by rolling onto his other side. It's not the worst he’s ever felt after taking the season out of Selena’s hands, but it’s hard to judge anything compared to the past. Everything feels better now, simpler, and easier, because in any moment it’s not he can just turn to Prompto for comfort and support.

“And you’re sure you’re feeling okay?” Prompto asks. “We can go inside.”

Definitely not what he wants. After seeing Prompto’s meadow wither and die, Noctis needs to be in it now as it begins to burst with new life. Small daisies are already prevalent, but there are new things too, patches of tall, fragrant lilacs on the borders and tiny little budding flowers with just the tips of white petals showing through, the leaves surrounding them long and serrated.

“I’m fine,” Noctis promises, desperate not to move a single inch. “It was easy.”

“If you say so,” Prompto says, dragging his fingers through Noctis’ hair again.

“Didn’t you promise to read to me?” Noctis reminds him.

“Fine, fine,” Prompto mutters and Noctis listens as he rustles the pages.

“I’m not doing voices,” Prompto threatens.

“Uh huh.” Noctis says, not believing him for a second.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis hits the buttons in sequence, only able to do so quickly if he lets himself stop thinking about it.

Surprisingly easy not to think about anything at all with Prompto’s fingers walking up his spine. Even with his t-shirt between them Noctis’ breath almost catches with every single touch.

“You’re distracting me,” Noctis mutters.

“Oh no,” Prompto deadpans. “That was not my intention at all.”

“If you want a turn, you can just ask,” Noctis says.

“I don’t want a turn,” Prompto sighs.

A leg is tossed over the small of Noctis’ back, and curious when Prompto makes no other move, Noctis glances at him over his shoulder. Prompto only grins, waiting until Noctis is focused on the game again before shifting again.

The full weight of him settles along Noctis’ back, slight enough to be a comfortable wait rather than feel threatening. Determinedly he wiggles his hands between Noctis’ chest and the mattress, cuddling up to him from behind.

“Comfortable?” Noctis laughs.

“Mmm,” Prompto hums, nuzzling through the hair spilling over the back of Noctis’ neck to kiss the rarely touched skin.

Noctis laughs, messing up in the games so badly the game over jingle fills the room. Prompto snorts, it's odd, but not unpleasant against his skin. In retaliation, Noctis half rolls, until Prompto falls off his back and flops onto the bed giggling. When he’s righted himself, on his side with his chest pressed against Noctis’ shoulder, Noctis shakes his head at him.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Noctis says.

Amazingly, Prompto blushes, like he does every time. It’s almost like he doesn’t already know, or stranger still, simply doesn’t believe it.

“Do you want me to show you how it’s done?” Prompto offers.

Noctis shakes his head, leaning forward, but not having to stretch because Prompto always notices, is always curious and eager for whatever Noctis offers him.

“Later,” Noctis mumbles against his mouth. “Maybe.”

Noctis is never going to get over seeing Prompto here. Not in his realm, not in his home, but in his room, his bed. It feels impossibly easy, and part of Noctis is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was alone too long; it cannot be this simple for that to change.

But, at least for now, Prompto being here only feels right.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis strokes his hands up Prompto’s back beneath the cotton covering him and he doesn’t shy away from the touch, just raises his arms above his head and pulls away from the kiss so Noctis can tug it off. Carefully, he tosses it to one side, hyper aware of the vase on his bedside, full of those same strange, whiter and coloured flowers Prompto gifted him [two] summers past and the strange new buds slowly overtaking his meadow.

Over and over, Prompto apologizes for them not blooming yet. He doesn’t understand why, doesn’t know why his will is not enough to bring their full beauty into the world. It’s why Noctis kissed him in the first place, partly to stop his worrying and partly because Prompto’s nervous rambling is too sweet to ignore.

Noctis feels fine, when Prompto peels Noctis’ shirt off him in turn. The thrum of nerves he feels is only excitement, without any of the anxiousness he felt last time they tried to take this step. Noctis anchors himself in the feeling of Prompto’s thighs draped over his own, of the delighted way his fingers map out Noctis’ chest and his mouth welcomes each one of Noctis’ advances.

“If I knew you liked flowers so much, I would have tried this three years ago,” Prompto teases, a little of the effect lost by how obvious it is he can’t quite catch his breath.

“You didn’t want me three years ago,” Noctis argues.

“I did.”

Noctis drags the back of his fingertips over Prompto’s collarbone, following the movement with his mouth.

Prompto shivers and he pulls back in alarm.

“I’m not cold,” Prompto blurts. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” Noctis checks, unable to resist searching for reassurance just one time.

“So good,” Prompto whispers.

So, Noctis does it again, parting his mouth a little more so his kisses are wetter, tasting Prompto’s skin as he moves across it. Prompto’s skin is smooth, almost flawless, freckles spread across more than just his face. Noctis touches it greedily, mapping out every inch he can on his way down to his hips. Noctis grasps at him, wiggling his fingers into the non-existent space just under the waistband of Prompto’s jeans and the touch but be nothing, but Prompto moans outright.

“Noct,” Prompto sighs.

“Prompto,” he answers. “I want—”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says. “I just—I don’t know how…”

“It’s okay,” Prompto says, voice suddenly more alert. “I’ll show you. Let me—please.”

Noctis tugs on Prompto’s hips and he slips up further onto Noctis’ lap, most of his weight settling there, pinning Noctis to the bed.

“Please,” Noctis echoes. “Thank you. Please. Yes.”

“I’ve got you,” Prompto promises and when they tumble back onto the bed Noctis doesn’t remember what he was so worried about.

☼❆

There’s cut up fruit in the chiller and Noctis drags it out onto the counter for Prompto to choose from, too sluggish from content to muster up the energy for anything more complicated with Prompto clinging to him from behind.

“Oh.”

At least Noctis insisted on them getting dressed. Monica’s expression is already enough, just from having caught them like this, let alone a state of undress. Prompto jerks away from Noctis like he is suddenly made of ice.

What happened to all his confidence?

Ignoring the heat in his cheeks, Noctis greets her, “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you both,” Monica replies. One of her cheeks half sucks into her mouth and Noctis wonders if she’s biting back a smile.

“Did you want me to make you breakfast?” Monica asks.

Noctis shrugs, looking to Prompto for deference. This is much earlier in the day than he normally bothers to eat.

“The fruit is fine,” Prompto says quickly, voice a tone or two off his normal pitch.

Prompto’s embarrassed. Noctis kind of wants Monica to leave so he can press his lips against his cheek and feel the warmth there.

Monica doesn’t leave, just moves further into the kitchen to start boiling water. Prompto sends him a frantic, wide-eyed look and Noctis just pushes some of the fruit towards him.

“I suppose you’ll be removing Prompto’s house soon,” Monica says, without looking at them.

“What—why?” Noctis asks quickly. The idea of it is almost enough to make him panic.

“Well, if Prompto’s going to be sleeping over here, it doesn’t seem necessary, does it?”

Prompto squeaks, moving back to hide behind Noctis all over again. It’s nowhere near as satisfying when his hands are fisted in the back of his t-shirt and not wrapped around his waist.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“You’re early?” Prompto asks Gladio, craning his neck back to look up at his face.

“Iris wanted you to have warning this year,” Gladio says, grimacing for a moment.

Prompto glances at Noctis, a frown pulling his eyebrows into almost one flat line across his forehead. Noctis reaches out and tries to smooth out the skin above his nose with his thumb.

“It’s almost a month later than last year,” Noctis points out.

“No,” Prompto disagrees. “It can’t be. Are you sure?”

Noctis nods, trying to be hurt by how Prompto looks to Gladio for confirmation.

“Iris has held off as long as possible,” Gladio says. “To make up for it.”

“We appreciate it,” Noctis reassures him, because now Gladio looks concerned too, that almost never happens.

“You’re not ready,” Gladio guesses, staring at Prompto.

“No, I just—I hadn’t noticed,” Prompto murmurs. He puts his hand to his chest, frowning. “Oh—you’re right. I feel it now.”

“Today?” Noctis asks. He can feel it too, but only just, only because he knows to feel for it from Gladio’s warning.

Prompto shakes his head, “Tomorrow.”

Gladio nods.

“We wanted to give you more warning,” Gladio says. “But, like I said, Iris was trying to hold back.”

Prompto manages a smile, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes.

“Give her a hug from me,” Prompto insists.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Why are you nervous?”

Noctis has been waiting to ask him, almost unfairly, until Prompto is drowsy with the incoming Spring. It’s seemingly obvious to Prompto because he glares before his expression is ruined by a yawn.

Noctis wasn’t nervous. Even last year, which was rougher than normal, ended up with no harm being done. At least this time Noctis is going to get to say a temporary goodbye, to cradle Prompto’s head in his lap as he does this task, he’s chosen for himself.

“I’m not nervous,” Prompto mumbles. “I just didn’t realize it was so soon.”

“Enjoying yourself too much?” Noctis teases.

“Yes,” Prompto says simply. “I’ve been—I have so much I need to tell you.”

Noctis strokes his thumb down Prompto’s nose, watching his eyelids flutter.

“You can tell me when you wake up,” Noctis promises.

Maybe, if he’s brave enough, he’ll have something to tell Prompto himself.

“I’m coming back straight away,” Prompto says—it sounds like a warning.

“Good,” Noctis says.

Prompto seems to try to lift his arm, but doesn’t get very far, so Noctis gently grasps his wrist, raising it up to press a kiss to his palm. Whatever he was trying to do before, this seems to appease him.

“You know you were being stupid before, right?” Prompto says. “About me.”

“Yes,” Noctis says, mostly to reassure him.

“M’gonna be fine,” Prompto says. “You know—because I’m immortal too.”

“Yes,” Noctis says, chest tight. “You are.”

“So, I’m gonna—gonna be fine,” Prompto says again, words running together. “You’ll make sure m’okay.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- nine - ｡.｡:+*

Three days.

Winter fades into Spring in just three days.

It’s so easy. Noctis barely even notices how Winter is all locked up inside his realm—inside him—again because it all retracts back into place with absolutely no effort on his part. Prompto takes the fight right out if it. Noctis’ magic eases back, slips back into himself at a nudge from something that almost feels like home. He used to have to wait for Iris’ to start pushing him back, only able to feel the edges and borders when Iris spread out to take over in his place.

Prompto’s magic has dimmed, but barely, mellowed more than anything.

Noctis is only certain it’s really over when Gladio strides into the realm, his appearance a surprise double over because he doesn’t come alone.

“Iris?” Noctis wonders, having to drag his eyes from Prompto’s sleeping face with some effort.

“I want to check everything was okay,” Iris says.

“Was it—is something wrong for you?” Noctis asks. Another cruel twist of fate if this getting easy for Noctis makes it harder for Iris.

“No,” Iris says. She stares down at Prompto, searching and searching, until Gladio sets his hand on her shoulder and steps round. “Nothing was wrong for me.”

“I’m gonna take him,” Gladio announces, almost like a warning and Noctis glances at his face to find himself being watched warily.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” Noctis reassures. Going is what’s best for Prompto, so it’s what Noctis needs to happen. “Keep him safe for me.”

“Always,” Gladio promises.

Noctis’ lap feels a little cold when Gladio eases Prompto out of it, carefully shifting him until his head tucks into Gladio’s shoulder. When Gladio takes a step, ready to take them both home, Iris stays standing, looking at Prompto with a little frown.

“Iris,” Noctis says, waiting until she turns to look at him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Iris says—but she sounds heartbroken.

“Sweetheart?” Gladio urges softly.

“Was it always supposed to be this easy, Noctis?” Iris blurts. “How have we—why has it always been so difficult?”

“I don’t know,” Noctis says honestly.

Iris laughs, oddly bitter from her usually bright personality.

“We’ll bring him back when he’s better,” Gladio says, his wary look from before turned on his sister instead.

“Don’t bother,” Noctis says and the surprise ripples through them before he adds, “He can bring himself.”

“Can he now?” Gladio drawls. “He’s always been full of surprises.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Not being able to surprise you is actually super frustrating,” Prompto complains, even as he tilts his chin up to silently beg for a kiss.

“You surprise me every day,” Noctis reassures him.

It’s barely been more than a day since Gladio took him away and yet here he is awake, vibrant, and already laughing. Feeling Prompto pop back into the realm—back home—so soon, definitely surprised him.

“Not being able to sneak up on you is actually super frustrating,” Prompto amends.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Noctis says.

Prompto’s frustration melts away.

“Still not sick of me?” Prompto teases.

Noctis kisses his cheek, whispering, “Never gonna happen.”

Prompto laughs, pushing up on his tiptoes so it’s easier to wrap his arms around Noctis’ shoulders and clutch him tight.

“That just means I’m not trying hard enough.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis is still talking to Ignis in the chamber when Nyx calls out from the kitchen.

“It looks awesome in here.”

Noctis’ sentence cuts out, the thought he had completely gone from his mind.

“You remodeled the kitchen?” Ignis asks hopefully. It’s something he’s been encouraging him to do for a while—for years. But Noctis has never known what to do with it and Monica has never asked for anything specific so he’s always just left it alone.

“No,” Noctis says. “I didn’t do anything.”

They fall in to step together as they rush to join their partners.

The kitchen looks very different.

Noctis put in a window, but it wasn’t as big, and it didn’t have a sink underneath it. The room seems bigger, but Noctis doesn’t remember the manor looking altered from the outside. The table Noctis made was functional but nothing special, probably not quite big enough for four, but Noctis assumed they would just make do.

“—we’re all going to be eating together. I didn't want it to be so sad,” Prompto is telling Nyx.

“You made the changes?” Ignis asks.

Prompto whirls round, grinning, but he seems to realize something is not quite right and his expression evens out.

“Yeah,” Prompto says.

“This is Noctis’ realm,” Ignis reminds him.

Noctis’ realm—where every little thing is technically made of his magic. A place in the universe where his powers hold true at all times, unbending and unalterable by anyone but him.

Even Cor can’t manipulate things like Prompto plainly appears to have done so, and he’s more Winter than anyone. Maybe even Noctis.

Visibly fretting, bottom lip pulled back behind his teeth, Prompto asks, “Should I have asked first?”

“No,” Noctis says quickly. “No, I think it looks great.”

“You didn’t notice him doing it?” Nyx asks. Noctis shakes his head.

“I did something wrong again, didn’t I?” Prompto asks. He rubs the tips of his fingers against the fabric of his jeans, back and forth, over and over.

“No,” Noctis says again.

“You did something unexpected,” Ignis clarifies.

“You shouldn’t be able to alter things here,” Nyx says plainly. “You shouldn’t be able to alter Noctis’ magic without him noticing—you didn’t notice, did you?”

Noctis shakes his head.

“Is it bad?” Prompto asks. He looks at Noctis again. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Noctis says. “It’s—I want you to be happy here.”

“I don’t need a bigger kitchen window to be happy,” Prompto mumbles.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you how you finally managed the light,” Ignis says. “But now I suspect that wasn’t you at all.”

“The light?”

“You haven’t noticed the light is different?” Nyx laughs. “And you accuse me of being unobservant.”

“The window is bigger,” Noctis points out. “Of course, the light is different.”

“In Winter,” Ignis says. “You’ve been trying to make it brighter for as long as I can remember. I thought you finally managed it.”

No—Noctis had given up trying.

“That was me too,” Prompto says quietly. “I think. It was the only thing I really wanted to change. I thought about it a lot, and it seemed to get better over time.” Prompto shakes out his hand, then rubs his fingertips against his thigh again.

“I didn’t notice,” Noctis admits.

Never does, when things slowly change over time, it’s only the big things he picks up on.

“I shouldn’t be able to do it?” Prompto asks.

“You can,” Nyx says warily. “But Noctis kind of has to give permission. I can change things—but he has to let me.”

Prompto raises an eyebrow, so Nyx seizes one of the glasses set out on the counter. Immediately Noctis feels it, an almost painful tug, Nyx trying to tease his magic in a direction Noctis didn’t intend. It takes some effort to let it slide, even though Nyx’ magic has a little winter to it, even though in many ways it’s infinitely more familiar to him that the power Prompto wields.

It’s barely anything, all Nyx does is frost the top of the glass, make it look like icicles are permanently embedded into the surface. The object feels foreign though, just sitting there, obvious, and noticeable on Noctis’ periphery at all times.

“Oh,” Prompto says softly. After a moment he chuckles. “You’re all about the finesse, too, huh?”

“You know it,” Nyx teases. He reaches over and taps Noctis on the shoulder. “You need me to change it back?”

It’s a kind offer, but already the thing feels more at home here. Settling back into something which belongs to him.

“It’s okay,” Noctis says. “But thank you.”

“You looked like you were in pain,” Prompto says.

“It’s not pain,” Noctis says, but he doesn’t know how to clarify it further in a way that might be understood by everyone in the room. “It doesn’t feel like anything when you do it.”

“That’s good?”

Ignis tries to catch his attention without really moving, but Noctis mostly ignores him. If it is bad, Noctis doesn’t want to hear about it. To him, it just feels like another sign Prompto is supposed to be here.

After a while, Ignis asks, “So, what have you planned for dinner?”

Prompto brightens immediately.

“I’m not, like, a fancy cook,” Prompto warns.

“Spaghetti again?” Noctis teases and, satisfyingly, Prompto goes pink across the cheeks.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure I can smell garlic bread,” Nyx says.

“You do!” Prompto enthuses.

“Greatest mortal food invention,” Nyx says seriously.

Prompto raises a fist, and Nyx bumps their knuckles together.

☼❆

“That was nice,” Prompto mumbles, face pressed into the back of Noctis’ neck. His arms are looped loosely around Noctis’ waist and occasionally he reaches out to flick some of the bubbles in Noctis’ sink water.

No need to wash-up like this, not really. But Prompto said using magic to avoid using a sponge is wasteful.

“It was,” Noctis agrees. “You really think they felt fine the whole time?”

“I don’t see Nyx as the suffer in silence type,” Prompto laughs.

And of course, Ignis is no longer affected. Noctis wonders how long it will be before that fact never slips from his mind.

“We should invite Iris and Gladio soon,” Prompto suggests. “’Nea too.”

“Aranea won’t be able to come,” Noctis explains carefully. “Anchors are—well—anchored to their realm.”

“Shit—for real?” Prompto blurts. It’s amazing how much Prompto has never had explained to him. “She must hate that.”

“It’s not something she anticipated when she took on her role,” Noctis says. Or so the story goes. Aranea doesn’t talk about it much anymore.

Prompto hums thoughtfully at his back, arms squeezing Noctis so tightly around the waist it almost burns.

“You can go see her whenever you like,” Noctis reminds him. “Especially now.”

Now Prompto can travel himself between realms without escort.

“I don’t like leaving you,” Prompto says.

And Noctis going to Spring is out of the question still. Things are not that different yet. Maybe during Winter, when Noctis’ magic isn’t clinging to his form, not during Spring, certainly, even if it’s just about run its course.

Unexpectedly, Prompto’s hand presses low on his stomach and starts to creep even lower.

“Prompto,” Noctis warns, not entirely sure he’s reading the initiation right. “We’re in the kitchen.”

Inherently, Noctis knows this is not a room where that is supposed to take place.

“Your kitchen,” Prompto specifies. “Or so I’ve been led to believe.”

“That’s—”

Prompto mouths at the back of his neck, warm and wet—nothing else really matters.

Noctis turns around and Prompto seems to be expecting it, mouth opening under the most gentle pressure. He takes two steps back and Noctis follows easily, nowhere else he’d rather be. When Noctis palms Prompto’s hips, he hops up onto the counter, spreading his legs wide for Noctis to step between.

This is almost Noctis’ favorite part, just their chests pressed together, hands roaming and kissing with no hurried expectation. Prompto sighs into Noctis’ mouth, offers his tongue to him and swoops his hands up Noctis’ back underneath his t-shirt.

The moan is soft, the edge of breathless, but Noctis isn’t sure which one of them makes it.

“Oh—I’m sorry.”

Prompto drags his hands back so fast Noctis feels the stitching at the seam of his t-shirt start to give way. Noctis starts to step back anyway, but Prompto still shoves his foot against Noctis’ hip to give him a little push.

The red on his face goes all the way up to his ears.

“Monica,” Noctis calls, before she can run too far away. “It’s okay.”

“I was just coming to clean up for you,” Monica says, ducking back into the room. Prompto slides down off the counter, moving so Noctis mostly covers him from view.

“We’re mostly done,” Noctis says.

“Let me finish up for you,” Monica insists. “Go enjoy the rest of your evening.”

It’s a testament to the strength of Prompto’s embarrassment because he simply takes Noctis’ hand to drag him from the room rather than kick up a fuss about someone cleaning up after him.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Weirdest place you’ve ever lived?”

Prompto tilts his head as he thinks, staring up at the dark foliage growing over their heads.

“Lighthouse,” Prompto says. “Only for half a year—it wasn’t for me.”

“Lonely?” Noctis guesses.

“Yup,” Prompto says.

“Best place you ever lived?”

Prompto winces, sucks in a long-long breath between his teeth.

“Too hard,” Prompto says. “I lived a lot of places I loved. I usually liked the places I could hang around longest. Cities where my neighbors changed all the time so no one realized I wasn’t aging. I lived on a mountain once, with some monks, who I think technically, worship you.”

“No one worships me,” Noctis laughs.

“Yuh huh,” Prompto says. “One devout follower, right here.”

Prompto tries to lean forward for a kiss, but Noctis cups his palm over Prompto’s mouth and lightly pushes him away.

“You’ve done so many amazing things,” Noctis tells Prompto, to which he shrugs.

“Don’t you want to know about the worst place I’ve ever lived?” Prompto asks.

“I thought—the Lighthouse…”

Prompto shakes his head. “That was weird, not bad.”

“So, what was the worst?”

“Boat,” Prompto says. “I stuck it out for two years, but I actually get horrible seasickness.”

“No way,” Noctis laughs. “That’s not possible.”

“Definitely is,” Prompto argues.

“We don’t really get sick,” Noctis says. Not like humans do, not physically. Really their magic gets sick.

“You are denying my lived in experience,” Prompto laughs.

Noctis picks up one of his hands, dropping a kiss against his palm in apology. Prompto smiles, fidgets with his other hand, rubbing the tip of his fingers against his jeans. The movement is becoming familiar, despite its oddity.

“Are you okay?” Noctis asks.

“They’re itchy,” Prompto complains. “All the time.”

Noctis frowns, can’t think of any possible explanation for it. When he holds out his other hand, Prompto gives his own to him easily, and it surely doesn’t erase whatever Prompto is feeling, but it at least seems to settle him.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Do you think Luna’s alright?”

Prompto asks the question after a long patch of silence. They’re in his meadow, Prompto determinedly trying to get the flowers with the serrated leaves to bloom, but to no avail.

Neither of them can work out why it won’t work. They are wholly Prompto, made and thriving because of his presence, Noctis feels no connection to them whatsoever. Not magically at least—he feels a connection to them the way adores everything Prompto creates—but they are definitely not a part of him.

“Have you seen her since—”

“She tried to tell me to stay away?”

“—she reminded you of your options?” Noctis says pointedly.

“No,” Prompto mumbles. He flicks one of the flower buds, then scratches fingers over his palm. Noctis can’t tell if it’s his palm or his fingers that are causing him discomfort, or if the action has simply become some kind of habit.

“You know she was doing that because I asked her to?” Noctis reminds him.

Prompto half glares at him, but when he shifts closer and hooks an arm around Prompto’s waist he isn’t shoved away, so Noctis figures Prompto at least mostly forgives him.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. “But she—I don’t know.”

Noctis kisses his cheek. Comfort is not something he is well versed at offering.

“Sometimes, I think I should just go there, you know?”

“Where?”

“Summer,” Prompto says. “Just walk right in. What can Ravus do? I’m immortal, right?”

Prompto asks it hopefully, tentatively, like Noctis has any answer for him other than—

“Yes.”

Prompto kisses him, long and slow.

“What made you think about her?” Noctis asks. “Just that it’s Summer?”

Prompto shrugs. “And maybe—I think she would be able to help me with these.” He nods mournfully at his flowers.

“If you want to go,” Noctis says carefully. “I’ll support you, obviously. But—”

“You want to come and distract Ravus?” Prompto teases.

“I’d rather not wilt all of Summer,” Noctis admits with a wince. “I was going to ask you to take Gladio with you. And Nyx.”

“They’d go against Ravus?”

“For you?” Noctis clarifies. “I’m pretty sure they would.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“You are bad at this,” Prompto teases.

Noctis sniffs and Prompto laughs, digging his toes into the top of Noctis’ thigh. He wraps his fingers around Prompto’s ankle, accidentally smearing bright blue polish off the brush over Prompto’s calf and lifts the foot off his lap. Again.

“You’re distracting me,” Noctis defends. Noctis isn’t sure if he can do a better job distraction free though, the skin around Prompto’s toenails has just as much polish on it as his actual nails do.

The shifting of seasons that are not his own are barely noticeable to Noctis, but he can feel it. Prompto seems to be more acutely aware of it, either because he is Summer born himself, or due to lingering thoughts about his sister.

“It’s more fun when you’re distracted,” Prompto insists.

So, Noctis lets Prompto wiggle his foot back into his lap, even though it gets nail polish all over his jeans and his hands, because if Prompto can have fun, Noctis wants it for him.

That, and absolutely no other reason.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“This is my least favorite time of year,” Prompto admits.

Noctis nudges his hip until Prompto rolls over onto his side and they’re staring right into each other’s faces.

“How come?”

Prompto forces his leg between Noctis’ before he answers. Though it isn’t so much force as Prompto gently nudging his knee against where Noctis’ thighs are resting atop one another and Noctis raises a leg to let him in.

“I won’t get to see you for a while,” Prompto mumbles.

Noctis laughs outright, tossing his head back a little, meaning Prompto has ample space to duck in and hide against his throat.

“Four days,” Noctis says. “It was four days last year. And you slept through most of it.”

“That’s at least three too many,” Prompto says. Not too gently, he nips at the skin between Noctis’ neck and shoulder.

“Well, maybe you should do your job faster,” Noctis teases and he earns himself a muffled giggle.

Prompto settles and Noctis can start to sense the edges of fatigue starting to settle into him, Prompto’s magic starting to work at the edge between Winter and Spring, seemingly almost without his notice. They have a little time left, though not a lot, not enough.

For all his teasing, Noctis rather agrees with Prompto’s sentiment.

“Noctis,” Prompto says after a long, long while.

Noctis cups the back of his neck and kisses his forehead.

“You should know…”

“That you get chatty when you’re sleepy?”

Prompto breathes deeply, shivering when he lets it back out.

“That I love you.”

Noctis’ chest feels like it cracks wide open, but it doesn’t hurt, isn’t a little bit uncomfortable, just feels like it’s easily making space for something else to take up a residence next to his beating heart.

“I know. I mean—” Noctis stammers and Prompto laughs, thankfully, a wet chuckle that soothes Noctis’ embarrassment over his misstep.

“I love you, too,” Noctis says.

Prompto gasps, like it’s news to him and Noctis uses the light grip he has on the back of Prompto’s neck to pull his head back and get at his mouth.

Prompto has to know, has to be able to tell. Maybe Prompto has felt this way before, but Noctis has never even come close. He wants Prompto all the time, wants to be with him every moment, trusts Prompto like he’s never trusted anyone before.

Prompto taught him this—not necessarily how to love, but how to be loved, with no expectation or uncertainty.

Noctis slips his hands beneath Prompto’s clothes, greedy for him all at once. When Prompto rolls onto his back and pulls Noctis over him, it’s his bare skin pressed into the grass. They shift together, hands grasping at each other and every patch of skin that’s become so familiar in recent years.

Tears gather on Prompt’s lashes as he stares up at Noctis and he feels his own fill in return. They splash down onto Prompto’s cheeks and in return he gently pets into Noctis’ hair, dragging him down so everything mingles between them, sighs and tears and moans.

“I love you,” Prompto whispers again, over and over, until there is nothing else in Noctis’ mind.

☼❆

Noctis wakes slowly, groggy, and uncomfortable, a hand shaking his shoulder.

“You need to pull it back,” a voice says. “Now.”

Noctis can’t get his eyes open. Something feels wrong.

“Noctis.” A sharp tap on his cheek, then another, the noise of which stings just as much as the pain.

“Gladio?”

“Noctis,” Gladio says again, with something like relief. “Come on man, you’ve gotta pull it back. You’re—Iris can’t handle it.”

“But…” Noctis mumbles stupidly. “Prompto?”

Noctis can’t feel him at all.

“Something is wrong,” Gladio says. “So, you need to pull it back. All at once. I know it’s hard, but it’s the only way.”

Noctis struggles, brain processing everything so slowly it’s almost painful. Bizarrely, he becomes aware of the fact he’s still naked before he senses his own magic, utterly and horrifyingly out of control.

Has it ever been this bad before?

It's not even like when Winter is at the peak of its existence in the mortal realm, it’s worse than that. The edges aren’t frayed and tenuous, but solid, still moving, still pushing out and trying to spread even though there’s almost nowhere for it to go. Noctis struggles to get hold of it for too long, doesn’t manage until he feels Iris there, doing her best but so terrifyingly small.

“That’s it,” Gladio says, encouragingly. “Thank you, thank you.”

Noctis doesn’t know if it’s quite good enough, but he dares not reach out to check how she’s recovered, lest he overwhelms her all over again.

“Prompto,” Noctis says again. Because—where is he? Why is this so difficult?

“Can you open your eyes?”

Nyx—Nyx is also here.

It takes a moment, but he can, blinking up at Gladio and Nyx leaning over him. The moment he sees them, he also feels them, their magic a pleasant and familiar thrum. They’re more noticeable than they have been for a while, like more of his senses are free to—

Because Prompto isn’t there, isn’t crowding around him in the most enjoyable way. They must have already taken him away. Gladio said something was wrong—they must have had to take Prompto away early.

Tentatively, Noctis tests his realm, feels Nyx and Gladio, then stranger still, he feels Luna, though he hasn’t heard her speak yet.

Noctis sits himself upright, swaying slightly so Nyx has to reach out and steady him, more exhausted than ever before in his life.

There’s Luna, half hidden behind Gladio’s broad form. Her head is bowed, crouched over something—someone, but still Noctis can see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Noctis feels hollow all at once, though he doesn’t know why, can’t put any of the information before together in a way that makes sense.

Trembling, Noctis lifts his hand, pushes at Gladio’s shoulder and only half paying attention to the fact he doesn’t flinch away from Noctis’ touch. With a grim expression, Gladio shifts to one side and—

Prompto.

Prompto is here.

But Noctis can’t feel him.

Noctis digs for him, stretches himself too far, dangerously so, trying to search out a nugget of his warmth, just a single flicker of the magic that burns so brightly within him.

Nothing.

Nothing.

It’s not even like that first year, where Prompto’s magic exhausted itself to almost nothing, where he was a barely noticeable presence on Noctis’ periphery. Was harder to pick him out then too, because Noctis didn’t know him as well, but Noctis still managed to find him.

“I’m taking him,” Luna says.

“But Ravus—” Gladio starts.

“I don’t care,” Luna snaps. “He needs to come home—he needs…”

“I’ll bring him,” Nyx says easily. “Let me pick him up, we’ll take him together. Gladio, can you stay with Noctis?”

“Yes. I need to get back to Iris soon—but yes.”

Noctis just stares at Prompto’s lifeless body, as Nyx carefully shifts him into his arms. He should be doing something, Noctis should be able to do something.

Prompto’s gone. They’re taking him to Summer but Noctis knows it’s too late. Noctis searches and searches, feels his cheeks grow wet the more times he confirms there’s just nothing there.

“Ignis will come,” Luna whispers.

“Don’t,” Noctis croaks. “Please. Just—all of you go home.”

Sickeningly, Prompto’s flowers have bloomed. Now he’s gone they’ve finally done what he’s been so desperately trying for. They’re beautiful, but Noctis thinks he hates them, stacks of cupped blue petals, almost frayed at the edges where they fade to perfect, snow white. They’re delicate and lovely; everything Prompto himself is—was—and Noctis never wants to see another one.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Gladio says.

Yes he should. Look what happens when he’s not.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- ten - ｡.｡:+*

Noctis told Prompto they can’t get sick, and yet he can barely keep his eyes open for minutes at a time and when he does his stomach churns and burns with pain. He’s aware, vaguely, that Ignis is with him. That he is dressed and returned to his home, but he cannot remember what order that happens in.

Whenever he’s alert his question is always the same.

“Prompto?”

And Ignis always responds in kind.

“Summer.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

There’s a beat, then Ignis, in such a rough tone it has Noctis desperately trying to sit up, says, “Nothing feels right.”

“I mean his magic.”

It’s Nyx. Nyx is here again—maybe still.

“Prompto—”

“Not him,” Nyx says quickly. “Shit. I wish you could—you’d know exactly what’s going on.”

“Noctis?”

Yes. Yes, he wants to say. Wants to let them know he’s here and he’s trying. It hurts to try, Noctis can’t find anything. He only assumes he’s in Winter because it doesn’t make sense for him to be taken anywhere else, but Noctis can’t feel it.

It’s like suddenly he’s blind, blinkered off to the magic which he usually uses to make his way through the world.

It’s like—Noctis’ magic drained right out of the world when Prompto’s did.

Noctis is more than his magic though, he should be more than his magic. Why can’t he just move even without it?

Vaguely, Noctis is aware of his hair moving, off his forehead then off the back of his neck. Something presses against the base of his skull and it’s cold.

Cold isn’t something Noctis feels often—it’s something he is, but not something he experiences. But the thing touching his neck is so cold it hurts, the intensity of it so much it swings right round to burning again.

“He shouldn’t feel hot,” Ignis says.

“No,” Nyx says. “He shouldn’t.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis sleeps so much, he can hardly blame them for assuming he is now. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it. Everything is too much and too difficult, no matter how much Noctis tries he cannot open his eyes let alone lift his hand to let them know he’s technically awake.

“He’ll get better,” Nyx says.

“You can’t be so sure.”

“His temperature is back to normal,” Nyx says. “When has he ever not survived something before?”

There’s a sniff, wet but very brief.

“Iggy,” Nyx whispers. “It’s—”

“I’m worried he’s going to die,” Ignis admits. “If Prompto doesn’t make it back—Noctis will die.”

Prompto?

Noctis doesn’t know what they’re saying. He can’t keep track.

“They’ll keep each other alive,” Nyx says, oddly confident. “Loving each other will keep them alive.”

“Is that what you call this?”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis floats.

Or—something.

There’s something in him missing, some massive part of him he cannot find. It’s like a hole in his chest, like a buzzing in his brain that will not stop.

He barely knows where he is or who he is or why—why is he here?

He’s missing something—someone?

He drifts, trying to grasp onto something with his hands or even his mind. There’s empty space, so much emptiness inside him even though he’s sure there used to be something there.

Something important.

Empty, then heavy, his chest feels heavy. The weight presses down on him, drags him back.

Anchors him.

“Cor?”

The pressure on his chest comes from in front and behind. Hands. Large hands, one on his chest and one on his back, holding him upright though his spine feels like it’s made of water.

“There you go,” Cor says, voice rough. “You’ve had long enough—time to come back now.”

A thrum starts in his chest. His heart fluttering back to life, something else nestled beside it, familiar and once terrifying, Noctis remembers. Big and almost too strong, it was, Noctis knows, harsh enough to break even the strongest of Gods.

It was always too much for one man.

For him.

Freezing storms and snow flurries. The snap of cold that kills, which sends things back into their buds, resting and waiting for a time more hospitable.

Winter.

Home and horror all at once.

“Cor,” Noctis says again.

“I’m here,” Cor gruffs. “I’ve got you. You’re here.”

Winter.

Noctis is in Winter.

Noctis is Winter.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Noctis sits at the table, listing slightly to one side. When Ignis nudges him upright, Noctis notices there’s snow dusting his shoulders.

“You’re making it snow,” Ignis tells him.

“No, I’m not,” Noctis argues. It really doesn’t feel like he is—he even tries to feel for it, to make it stop, but there’s nothing. Noctis’ grip on Winter has been tenuous since he woke up, difficult at best, but that’s not as terrifying as it used to be, not when his power seems so far diminished from what it once was.

Maybe it’ll come back again, Noctis hopes it doesn’t.

“Who else could it be?”

Noctis doesn’t want to accuse Cor or Monica of anything, but, as Ignis said—who else could it be?

Maybe losing Prompto is almost as hard on them as it is Noctis.

To think Noctis forgot him, even for a moment. Forgetting himself is more forgivable than that.

“Try to eat,” Ignis urges softly and Noctis realizes there’s a bowl of something in front of him, steam rising from the surface in little waves.

“I’m not hungry,” Noctis tells him.

“It might make you feel better,” Ignis says.

“How’s Prompto?” Noctis asks.

Ignis hesitates and Noctis wonders if, finally, someone is going to be willing to admit that he’s dead.

“Is he still in Summer?” Noctis presses.

“No,” Ignis says. “Gladio collected him just yesterday.”

“Spring?”

“We decided to try something new,” Ignis explains.

“He’s not dead?”

Something clatters, like Ignis dropped something, which doesn’t make sense, because Ignis never drops things.

“You thought he was dead?” Ignis whispers.

“I couldn’t feel him,” Noctis says. “He’s gone.”

“No,” Ignis says. “No, he’s just—very far away.”

“Because of me.”

“No,” Ignis says quickly. “Not you.”

“Who else could it be?”

Ignis doesn’t respond, so Noctis takes that to mean he’s right.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“I don’t want to.”

Nyx ignores him, grabs one of Noctis’ arms and hooks it over his own shoulders so when he stands Noctis is forced to go right along with him. Annoying, Noctis just does not have the strength to push him away.

“I’m not really giving you a choice, buddy,” Nyx says, grunting softly as they start moving. Noctis doesn’t necessarily mean to drag his feet, but he also can’t seem to make them move like he normally does either.

It’s still snowing outside, Noctis discovers, several inches deep on the ground and it crunches under Nyx’s boots as he drags Noctis through his own realm. He flinches as they pass Prompto’s house and Nyx mumbles an apology, Noctis suddenly aware of the arm around his waist when Nyx gives him something akin to a hug as they walk.

“Please,” Noctis begs, keenly aware of where he’s being taken and desperate not to go. It’s too much, too painful. Noctis doesn’t know what it looks right now but he doesn’t know what will hurt him more, seeing it empty, like Prompto never existed at all or the opposite, a preservation of his spark, a perfect reminder of everything that’s been lost.

“I think you need to,” Nyx says. “Just try—for us.”

Noctis doesn’t know what Nyx expects this to achieve, but he still can’t fight him off, so he does. Quietly and silently, just gritting his teeth, scrunching his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see, have to find out what state Prompto’s meadow is in.

Nyx doesn’t try to force him to look at least, Noctis only knows they’ve arrived when they stop. As Nyx lowers him down, lays him down, he cups his hand over the back of Noctis’ head to cushion him as he goes.

The snow here is soft, oddly comfortable and Noctis opens his eyes without thinking about it. Nyx leans over him, obscuring the canopy above them, surprising flitting over his face and quickly replaced by what Noctis can only pinpoint as joy.

“Hey there,” Nyx says.

“When is it?” Noctis asks clumsily, though Nyx seems to understand him.

“Summer.”

All of Spring gone by so quickly.

“Am I—?” Noctis drags his tongue over his bottom lip, suddenly nervous. “Is everyone okay?”

Noctis has been so unaware, his magic must have tripped his borders. Only—it doesn’t feel that way.

“Fine,” Nyx says easily. “You’re contained right here. Ignis thinks it’ll be a while before you’re bursting at the seams again.”

Noctis nods, relieved, but unable to quite appreciate that the way he knows it deserves. From the corner of his eye Noctis sees one of the flowers, the blue petals artificially darkened against the snow, so they look almost black, the tips perfectly frosted like they didn’t grow that way, but they’ve been touched by the snow that surrounds them. They’re the only thing persisting, at least the only thing growing up above the snow.

Noctis hates them—wants to hate them— but staring at one makes his eyes almost brim over with tears.

“Cor?” Nyx calls softly.

“I’m here,” Cor responds and yes—Noctis can tell, a kernel of Winter so stubbornly eternal Noctis once grew used to it, once stopped being able to feel how it's almost a perfect echo for the thing that lives inside the very core of him too.

“I won’t let him slip that far again,” Cor promises.

“I guess now is as good a time as any to try,” Nyx says.

Gladio’s magic feels off when he arrives, but Noctis just puts that down to the terrible grasp he has on his own magic. Bizarrely, Nyx’s seems to swell slightly in response though—everything just feels wrong.

“Hey,” Nyx says, with a sort of forced casualness that makes Noctis grit his teeth.

“You sure this will work?” Gladio asks him.

“Any better ideas?” Nyx retorts. “Any other ideas whatsoever.”

Gladio just grunts.

“Set him down close,” Nyx suggests, tone more gently.

Him.

Nyx is still cupping the back of Noctis’ head and he takes advantage of that now, forcing Noctis to turn slightly and watch as Gladio kneels down almost directly beside him with Prompto in his arms.

They’ve wrapped him in a blanket, butter yellow, so almost nothing is visible but his golden hair and perfect, precious face. Gladio sets Prompto onto the ground at Noctis’ side and he’s utterly fixated on the way Prompto’s chest rises and falls beneath the blanket.

Noctis’ heart beats, beats, beats in his chest for the first time in what must be an age. It hurts. It’s perfect. Noctis can’t breathe. Noctis finally feels alive again.

He sits up with surprising ease, Nyx’s arm right there, braced to catch him but ultimately not necessary.

The relief at seeing Prompto is short lived when he Noctis searches, plucking the threads of his magic carefully, seeking Prompto and finding nothing. There’s Summer in his realm but the feel of it is achingly familiar as Gladio’s mixed magic. Prompto’s nowhere to be found.

“He shouldn’t be here?” Noctis says, though it comes out like a question. “I can’t—” Noctis’ voice catches around his sob. “—I can’t feel him.”

“Yes you can,” Nyx says quickly. “I promise you can.”

“Stop looking for Summer,” Gladio offers. “Just feel for Prompto.”

“I am,” Noctis hisses.

If there’s no Summer, there’s no Prompto. It’s as simple as that.

“Slow down,” Nyx says. “It’s different and it’s small because he needs you, but it’s there.”

“He needs to be in Summer,” Noctis says. “Why did you move him from Summer?”

“It wasn’t helping,” Gladio says. “And then Luna sent for me—when they came in.”

Gladio and Nyx exchange a glance which Nyx cuts off to jerk his chin at Prompto laying on the ground.

“Show him,” Nyx decides.

Gladio nods, giving Noctis one long look, before carefully rearranging Prompto’s blankets to free his arms.

Black fingertips are terrifying until Noctis sees what goes beyond them. It looks like his arms are made from shattered glass fixed back together, small flower buds growing between the cracks.

“We tried Spring,” Gladio says. “Harbinger of Spring—we thought it made sense.”

Of course it does, there’s Spring right there in the title. And after all, hasn’t Prompto thrived there before? Not just recovered, but grew there, from baby to full grown. It makes sense to put him with his family.

But the Harbinger of Spring is only Spring touched—they’re usually Winter born.

Prompto was born in Summer, his magic has always been Summer through and through. Vibrant and bright and so, so big in the universe it overwhelms almost everything it comes into contact with.

This isn’t possible, yet Noctis is seeing it with his own eyes.

“That’s better,” Cor says.

Noctis can’t rip his eyes away from Prompto so it’s helpful when Gladio asks, “Prompto?”

“He’s supposed to be here,” Cor says. After a moment, bizarrely, he laughs. “Noctis was so sure it wasn’t him.”

Not Summer, just Prompto.

Not Summer, just—

So small; so small and fragile and trembling as it struggles to find its place.

Noctis reaches out with his own magic, wrapping all around it. Prompto used to be almost shocking against him, the sheer energy of him something Noctis could barely handle. It made Prompto easy to read and find, maybe one day Noctis will miss that, but this is infinitely better.

Moments ago, Noctis’ magic felt diminished, not even half of what it used to be but at the first touch of Prompto’s it swells, growing and strengthening, energy enough to cocoon around Prompto’s while it’s still fledgling and weak. Yet, almost at once, Prompto’s answers in kind, a surge of that old vibrancy, tempered but not softened or weakened, until it’s something more in tune with Noctis’ own.

It’s natural for Noctis to pluck at it, to test and feel how Prompto’s magic takes form and—

Noctis snorts, tries to catch his breath but ends up sobbing. Nyx flinches, carefully reaching out to touch his arm.

“I’m not making it snow,” Noctis confirms.

“Prompto?” Nyx asks, squeezing him gently.

Prompto is not Winter born, of course, but he’s Winter thriving. After everything, it makes sense that even almost depleted Prompto has strength enough to blanket an entire realm in snow.

How could he expect anything else?

“Prompto,” Noctis breathes.

Prompto’s alive.

And he’s making it snow.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Alive Prompto may be, but it seems they’re asking too much of him every time they beg him to open his eyes. Each day that passes, Prompto gets stronger, Noctis too, and while Noctis would be back up and moving if he was willing to leave Prompto’s side, his love stays asleep, or something like it.

The snow stops falling but takes days to melt away. Only starts receding when Prompto’s flowers double and triple in density among the grass. They start out like that first time, a swirling starburst from the place Prompto rests, but slowly everything else is swallowed up by them too.

Noctis sleeps in the meadow, hand outstretched towards Prompto but never quite touching, his fingers just a breath away from the flower bud etched into Prompto’s skin. When Ignis brings him food, he eats. When Monica makes a batch of lemon cookies Noctis has two then sets the plate close enough that he hopes the smell might rouse Prompto from his slumber.

Physically, Prompto seems fine. His magic too, recovers quickly to what Noctis is used to feeling from the others. He hopes Prompto isn’t disappointed by the new strength of his magic.

Noctis hopes Prompto isn’t disappointed by a lot of things.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“You can wake up at any time,” Noctis mumbles.

The two of them are alone, so Noctis doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing him. A few days ago, Nyx teased him for talking to himself, but Noctis is not talking to himself—he’s talking to Prompto.

“I’m the one that’s supposed to sleep all the time,” Noctis goes on. “We don’t have to have all the same hobbies, you know?”

Prompto was the one to tell him that in the first place.

A breeze rustles through the meadow and blows some of Prompto’s hair across his face. The breeze is new, but then so is the light so bright Noctis occasionally finds himself squinting to shield from it. Maybe Prompto will be able to find a better balance for that. Maybe they can do it together.

Noctis reaches over and carefully pushes the stray hair back into place. Briefly, he lets himself stroke across Prompto’s forehead, with just the tip of his finger and then, drawn in by how soft and alive Prompto feels he allows himself to cup his palm around Prompto’s cheek, admiring the sight of his hand against Prompto’s skin.

Prompto’s chest expands, wonderful but so commonplace Noctis has almost gotten used to it again. Only—for a second—it stops and almost silently Prompto’s breath catches. Noctis gently traces his thumb over Prompto’s bottom lip to feel it and his nose crinkles, eyebrows drawing together.

If Prompto were less beautiful, his eyes fluttering open after so long would almost be anticlimactic. It’s the simplest thing, one moment Prompto is asleep, the next he’s staring up at the sky, not quite frowning as he seems to take everything in.

Selfishly, Noctis turns Prompto’s head just a little, so in one sweep of his gaze Prompto sees him, sitting right there at his side, then drags his hand away for fear of overwhelming him. For a second, a sickening, panic inducing second, Prompto looks confused, like he too has the capacity to forget everything they are to one another.

Then Prompto smiles.

“Hi,” Prompto says. His voice is hoarse from disuse, but that’s hardly surprising.

Wetness gathers along Noctis’ lashes without his permission, and he smiles so widely they’re forced to spill over. Prompto’s smile trembles.

“You took longer than three days,” Noctis tells him, his laugh a horrible, wet sound.

Prompto raises a hand, frowning slightly as he touches it gently to his own chest.

“It’s okay,” Noctis tries to tell him.

It’s okay that he’s confused. It’s okay that he feels different. Everything is okay as long as Prompto is still here.

Prompto lifts his hand further, reaching for Noctis’ face perhaps, but he’s distracted after not too long, eyes locked on the new markings on his skin. He turns his hand over, looking at his mostly clear palm, then tilts it the other way to take in the lines spreading out from his fingers.

“Oh,” Prompto whispers.

“Is it okay?” Noctis asks. Unable to help himself, he gently encircles Prompto’s wrist and tugs it the rest of its journey, cupping Prompto’s palm over his jaw.

Prompto’s eyes fill with tears too.

“We’re supposed to be together,” Prompto says. “I’m—we did it.”

“You did it,” Noctis corrects, turning his face to kiss Prompto’s palm and breathe two words against his skin. “Thank you.”

“For what? Loving you?”

“Yes,” Noctis says. “For doing the impossible.”

Prompto snorts, stroking his thumb over Noctis’ cheek.

“I dunno, seems easy to me.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“We’ll have to let someone else see me eventually,” Prompto murmurs.

“Cor saw you,” Noctis reminds him.

“He hugged me,” Prompto whispers in awe. He laughs, ducking his head a little and adjusting his position where he’s propped up on one arm.

Prompto sets his hand against Noctis' bare chest, distracted by the sight of his marked skin. It’s a lot to take in, but he’s taken it well. There was some disorientation at first, but thankfully all of Prompto’s magical mishaps have been confined to their realm.

“Do you like them?” Noctis wonders.

Prompto flexes his fingers, nails scratching pleasantly against Noctis’ chest. He feels the same as ever, skin soft and smooth, no colder than he was before.

“Do you?” Prompto retorts.

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Noctis says.

Prompto shakes his head. “It matters to me,” Prompto says, biting the inside of his cheek to bury a smile. “You’re the one that has to look at me.”

“They’re beautiful,” Noctis says. “Like you.”

Prompto ducks his head, folds himself small and buries his face against Noctis’ chest, tucking in close to his body. Noctis pets through the back of his hair then as far down his back as he can reach.

“I think so too,” Prompto admits.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“You won’t miss it at all?”

Prompto shrugs, “I didn’t know it. Very little of me was Summer at all.”

“I’d argue differently,” Noctis says. “But I think I get what you mean.”

“I’ve not been back since I was born,” Prompto says.

“That you remember.”

“Okay, cryptic,” Prompto mumbles.

Noctis laughs. “Luna took you there to recuperate,” Noctis explains. “Until everyone realized what you really needed.”

“I needed to be home,” Prompto says decisively.

Noctis just smiles.

“At least Luna can visit here now,” Prompto says.

The realm is so mild nowadays.

“Struggled to get Iris to leave yesterday,” Noctis fake-complains.

“Everyone has missed you,” Prompto says.

“They just want to see your flowers.”

Prompto’s pride is palpable.

Not just in his meadow any longer but spread throughout all of Winter. In the bushes Noctis only managed thorns, surrounding both their homes and even up their walls in creeping floral vines.

“It’s—whatever,” Prompto says. “It’s not like we need to be in a hurry to work it out.”

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

“I like your house,” Noctis sulks.

“We don’t need two,” Prompto says again. “And I like your house.”

“Luna and Ravus live in a sky castle,” Noctis reminds him. “You think we don’t deserve two houses?”

“Where would we sleep?”

“Wherever we want,” Noctis says. “It would give us more options.”

Prompto shoves him in the shoulder and, briefly like it always does, the sight of his Harbinger Mark catches his attention and distracts him. It doesn’t bother him, Noctis doesn’t think, just that it’s new and shocking.

“We could make a new house,” Prompto suggests after a moment.

“Now you want a third house,” Noctis teases, pretending he doesn’t know what Prompto means.

“Brat,” Prompto mutters.

“A new home—together?” Noctis says.

Prompto nods, his smile so bashful and his cheeks so warm that it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done to press their mouths together and lose the entire afternoon in a kiss which goes on and on.

⤹⋆❀｡˚۰˚☼˚⁀⸙｡˚❆͎۪۫⋆ ༄

Chapter Text

*+:｡.｡- epilogue - ｡.｡:+*

The fact that Noctis is unaccustomed to being the center of attention does not surprise Luna, but it’s somewhat charming to see the effects of that so openly on display before her. Prompto fares better, even though he is naturally shy, has more practice being around people even if it’s not something he necessarily wants to do.

“It’s not my birthday,” Noctis laughs, voice ringing clear across the meadow.

Noctis speaks truth—ironically, he was born in Summer and even if he weren’t, birthdays become mostly meaningless after the very start of their long lives.

Only Prompto retains the joy in them, his connection to the idea of mortality still fresh enough for him to tell tales of three dozen twenty-first birthday celebrations and the trappings there within.

Luna watches fondly as Prompto dances away from Noctis, his laugh bright and carefree, even as he refuses to drop Noctis’ hand.

Prompto’s meadow is a pretty place for a party. More so even than normal will little lights all in the trees and the tables scattered around. Luna sits along the outskirts, happy to watch, to do little more than bear witness to the happiness which ease has brought to them all.

It’s less easy for Prompto than he’s letting on, she’ll wager, though it’s getting easier for her to admit she doesn’t know her brother as well as she assumed. Neither of them.

When Prompto first awoke he and Noctis sequestered themselves away safely in Winter while their powers settled back into balance. Only briefly, Prompto visited each realm, to let them know he was well again and ask them for patience. Bravely, he even came to Summer, though he must have been uncertain in the face of Ravus’ potential wrath. Ravus did nothing, in fact, did not shout or rave, just silently waited for Prompto to leave and remained silent for a long while after he was gone.

Only later, in the midst of the first Winter they truly share, did invitations arrive, asking them all to visit. To join them in a Winter realm so much transformed to be almost unrecognizable in feeling, if not appearance.

Ravus, too, was included in the invitation, something which Noctis revealed in a private note was down to Prompto’s forbearance rather than his own. Luna cannot blame Noctis for his feelings, it is much easier to forgive pain done onto yourself than the people you love.

Whether Ravus turns up before the party is over or not is another question entirely.

“And why are you hiding over here?”

“I’m not hiding,” Luna argues, turning to glare playfully up at her friend.

Selena takes the empty chair at Luna’s side, reaching over to pluck the mug straight from her fingers. A grimace is Selena’ reaction to the first sip, as it always is, and the familiarity in this moment is more reassuring than Luna anticipated.

“How are you feeling?” Selena asks. She is not best known for talking around a topic.

“Everything is fine,” Luna says. “Perfect, even.”

Selena rolls her eyes, leaning close so their shoulders press together. Through the sheer fabric covering Selena’s arms her skin is warm.

“That’s not what I asked,” Selena points out.

Every role filled; every person whole. Things have never been easier or sweeter for them all. And yet—

Prompto never covers his Harbinger marks, displays them proudly and still looks at them in wonder. Its Winter etched into his very skin for what they all hope will be an eternity. The budding flowers on his skin are a glowing reminder of how things used to be and how he alone managed to set them right.

All Luna wanted, all she thought she wanted, was for Prompto to come home. Summer born but exiled—it didn’t seem fair. Luna loves him, has always loved him in what she thought was the best way she could and even though they were not truly close, they always had the connection of their birthplace.

Now they share a mother. And almost nothing else.

She wanted him close, wanted to always know he was happy and healthy and get to see him a thousand times more often than she did before.

Luna lost and gained him all at once. Prompto is the happiest she’s ever known him to be, but he is no longer hers.

Winter thriving, Noctis calls it.

Nothing could be more true.

“I’m happy we can all be here together,” Luna tells Selena, and she seems to take that for exactly what it’s worth—a half honesty—handing Luna’s mug back over with a smile.

Now is not the time to hash it out, even if Selena is the one person Luna trusts to take all her thoughts and treat them as kindly as Luna needs. Today is a time for happiness, and celebration.

Winter is just the same as any season now. No longer a death sentence, no longer an immutable force which not one of them, even Noctis, can withstand forever.

Too much magic for one person, is what they always said, is why Noctis could never quite keep a lid on it as securely as they needed.

Now it’s split two ways, half inside Prompto, to help usher in the Spring like Luna suspects he was always destined to do.

“Noctis will be able to come to the wedding,” Selena muses. “I only just realized.”

Luna stares at her, eyebrow slightly raised to ask her meaning, heart quickening even though she silently begs herself not to be foolish. Not to hope when she has been given almost no reason.

“Ignis and Nyx, of course,” Selena explains.

“I did not realize an offer had been made,” Luna says—because she knows no offer has been made.

Ignis will be leaving Luna too, when it comes.

“Not yet,” Selena says. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

Time enough for them all, Luna hopes.

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