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The water pounds against Prompto’s back, so cold he shivers in the bathtub yet barely offering any relief to the scalding skin on his neck and shoulders.
Stupid mistake and Prompto’s been being so careful up until now. When the sun is bright and high, he burns in three seconds with no protection, glowing red and skin peeling off in the weeks that follow but although he saw Ignis smearing sunscreen across his nose and cheeks at lunchtime Prompto was fooled by the cloud cover, the haze of mugginess that accompanied them amongst the rolling hills. It tricked him, the breeze against his skin keeping him cool throughout the day so he didn’t realise how bad it was until he flopped back into the Regalia and his raw skin slid against the leather.
A potion would fix him right up, soothe the burn without the itching peeling phase to contend with, while also evaporating the light ache the long walk locked into his knee.
There are only three of them left though. One each—for everyone else. All three to save one person if it gets that bad. Prompto can’t use one because he was stupid enough to get a sunburn.
It hurts though, skin tight and prickly, aching as bad as a bruise. They were outside for so long, even Noctis is a little pink, just on the tip of his nose. Gladio looks the same as always, burnished and unaffected even though when the sun is truly relentless Ignis makes him cover up with sunscreen too. Or put on a shirt. Just a little longer and then Prompto will turn the water off, let himself air dry to avoid pressing fabric against where the burn is worst and slather himself in the aloe lotion Ignis put aside for him.
Prompto’s going to have to sleep on his belly, if he actually manages to sleep at all. They turned in hours ago, but Prompto just lay there, too hot under the thin sheet, too hurt to cuddle up with Noct as he’s accustomed, watching the digital clock tick on minute by minute before giving up as they crested the three am mark.
The door handle rattles, no knock, and Prompto calls out, “Sorry, sorry. I’m almost done.” He feels bad for the noise now. Wouldn’t have risked it if he hadn’t made sure Ignis put his earplugs in before laying down, if he didn’t know for certain that Noctis and Gladio are capable of sleeping through a tsunami in a secure room.
The door pops open, a sliver just wide enough for Noctis to slip through. Prompto ducks his head, wrapping his arms around his knees and avoiding Noctis’ gaze.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it would wake you,” Prompto mumbles.
The bath mat muffles the sound of Noctis’ footsteps, but his body blocks out the yellow light from the overhead bulb when he’s standing at the edge of the tub. Prompto winces when he drops down, knees audibly hitting the tiles.
“You’re shivering,” Noctis says.
“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, teeth chattering. Only a little and that’s preferable to the pain.
Noctis reaches behind Prompto, fingers brush through the water to touch Prompto’s skin, carefully focusing on the pale patches which were covered by Prompto’s tank top.
“Take the potion,” Noctis says.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s blistered.”
“No it hasn’t,” Prompto blurts. Stupidly he twists, trying to get a look himself, even though it pulls his skin taught enough he almost cries out from the pain, even though he can’t possibly twist enough to get a look.
“It has,” Noctis and he very gently prods at the worst part with his thumb. Prompto hisses, biting back a yell.
“I’m fine,” Prompto says again.
Noctis leans over the tub to press his cheek to Prompto’s bicep, the hair he trails against Prompto’s skin grows dark and heavy from the spray that catches him.
“Please?” Noctis tries.
“No—we don’t have enough spare.”
“We’ll get more,” Noctis barters.
“With what money?”
It’s words he’s said before. On the trip, before it. Back home Noctis would make grand plans, suggest getting and buying things Prompto could never conceive in his wildest dreams, forgetting that for Prompto money was in fact a concern. Always a concern. They’re not always that short now, but frugality has been seared into Prompto’s being, deep in against his bone marrow.
“We’re turning in the hunt in the morning,” Noctis says. “And I trust Ignis to get us back to Lestallum without getting us into a car accident so bad we need three potions to recover.”
Prompto wavers slightly, almost swayed. The water patters down against the ceramic around him muffling his words and pain, a little of his thoughts.
“It’s my fault,” Prompto says. “I should put up with it.”
Noctis snorts, more annoyed than amused, before peeling himself away from Prompto.
“Please?”
“No, Noct,” Prompto says. Noctis is stubborn but so Prompto can be too, has had years now to learn from the best.
Noctis pushes up onto his knees, stretching a little taller. He uses the extra reach to lean over and nose at Prompto’s hair instead.
“Please,” Noctis whispers. “I don’t like sleeping without you.”
The words land like a blow, a soft admittance of something he’s never owned up to before. They abandoned the concept of a futon spread across Noctis’ floor after their first sleepover. Noctis’ bed was wide and comfortable, it was less effort to share than set up somewhere separate.
Prompto didn’t understand that not everyone felt as intensely about their best friends as he did—does. There were shockingly few warning signs at first, almost nothing in his brain telling him to be careful and cautious, to give himself some space and distance before he slipped over the edge into something he could never come back from. Probably pointless to try, there’s never been a single thing in the world that’s meant as much, that has been as precious as his friendship with Noctis.
Noctis sighs and gets back to his feet. Prompto thinks he might have won, even though it’s not much of a fight, until Noctis swings his leg over the side of the tub and starts to climb inside.
“You’ll get wet,” Prompto argues.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll get cold.”
“No shit.”
“Noctis—”
The prince folds himself down in front of Prompto, barely getting splattered by the spray but a few drops ricocheting off Prompto to dampen his t-shirt. He’s stripped to just that and his boxers, dressed down for bed, while Prompto is bare assed in the cold tub.
“You should just go back to bed,” Prompto says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Nah,” Noctis says.
He leans forward, chafing his hands up and down the sides of Prompto’s legs.
“You’re frozen,” Noctis murmurs, mouth flattening.
“Only a little,” Prompto admits.
“But you’re still in pain,” Noctis says.
Mostly. Parts of him have gone a little numb now, which is preferable in so many ways. It’s ridiculous how bad it managed to get without him noticing it. It was only when they stopped for the day his skin started to bother him. Gladio idly commented that Prompto looked a little pink when they stopped for lunch and he put that down to being flushed from the exercise until they were pulling into the motel with skin so hot and painfully tight, Prompto was worried he’d tear it to shreds with every move.
“Why are you being so stubborn—just take the potion,” Noctis says.
“There’s only three left,” Prompto reminds him.
“And?”
One of Noctis’ hands falls away from him, just as a familiar crackle in the air and then all three of the potions are precariously balanced on Noctis’ palm.
“You should use all three if you need to,” Noctis goes on. “It’s not your fault we’re this low. We all should have been paying better attention.”
Except it is mostly Prompto’s fault they’re down to three. He took a hail of bullets to the shoulder during an MT skirmish last week, just one day before taking a coeurl charge right to the chest. That one was scary actually, Prompto distinctly remembers not being able to breath after, the smell of him charring. Less embarrassing than the potion he needed just four days ago while they were in Lestallum—he was so distracted by Noctis’ laugh he walked right into the road and got hit by a car.
It wasn’t moving very fast, so Prompto got away with barely a bruise and a little grazed skin where he hit the concrete. He probably would have been alright untreated, but Gladio smashed a potion over him during the panic, while Ignis checked to make sure Prompto didn’t damage the car.
Gladio hasn’t had to use one for a while, not since Ignis had to yank a curved claw out of bicep where one beast or another left it behind after taking a swipe at him. Ignis takes his share of knocks in fights but he’s right in there, unavoidably close to the action. If Noctis is using potions he’s doing it where Prompto can’t see him. By his own estimations Prompto burns through half their stockpiles on his own.
He refuses to use another one because of a sunburn.
“I’ll use one after we replenish,” Prompto barters. Buy one especially for this, from his own little cut of the funds.
“Right—so you’re gonna use one, which means you might as well use it now.”
Prompto meets his eye, half despairing at the stubborn note in his voice. The potions are still there, resting loosely in Noctis’ hand. One wrong move would send them all crashing against ceramic—completely wasted.
“I won’t make you,” Noctis sighs. He could—has several ways he could go about it too, but Prompto trusts him enough to respect any genuine boundary he puts in place. “But it would be cool, or whatever, if you did.”
Prompto lets his legs fall apart, folding them similarly to Noctis’ own pose, his hands resting lazily against his shins. He’s long gotten over the awkwardness of being naked with Noctis—familiarity breeds contentment in the end—and doesn’t even flinch when Noct’s eyes track over his body in an extremely obvious way. He smiles, just the softest curve of his mouth that from anyone else might make Prompto feel a little anxious, maybe a touch of shame but from Noctis he just aches, deep in his chest in a way that’s mostly pleasant.
A touch too young to fall in love this deeply. A touch too reckless to fall in love at all, given the circumstances.
“Cool,” Prompto repeats.
“Yeah,” Noctis says. “Cool if we could dry off and warm up and sleep in the actual real life bed with pillows and clean—ish—sheets that I bartered for us to share.”
“Bartered?”
Noctis picks up one of Prompto’s hands with his empty one, playing almost lazily with the lengths of his fingers. Their hands are both a little rough, but worn in different ways, calluses in different places.
“If breakfast is raw or burnt in the morning, you know why,” Noctis says.
“Maybe even both,” Prompto teases.
“Maybe even both.”
Noctis sighs.
It does sound good. Crawling under sheets and curling around Noctis on a mattress. Sounds good if his skin can take it; if the reality of Noctis touching him pretty much anywhere else wouldn’t have him gritting his teeth to take the pain.
Prompto plucks up one of the potions.
“It’s a waste,” he says.
Noctis rolls his eyes. “You not being in pain is never a waste.”
“Ugh,” Prompto says. “I’ll replace it.”
He holds the potion closer, shattering the glass with a firm squeeze. The relief is almost instantaneous, his skin relaxing and cooling, the prickle of his burn. Then the water stings, icy cold against perfect normal skin and Prompto bites back a high squeak as he twists around to turn off the taps.
“Holy shit that’s cold,” Prompto whines. He knew that, has been cold for a while now, but everything else was distracting enough it barely mattered.
“Yeah,” Noctis says.
“You must be frozen, dude,” Prompto says, turning back around. “We should get—”
Noctis grabs him by both arms and yanks him forward. His chin hits Noctis’ collarbone a little awkwardly but Noct’s arms are strong and warm around him. The prince noses into Prompto’s hair again, his hands chafing up Prompto’s back, one coming to squeeze the back of his neck, gently then more firmly when it’s obvious the burn is all gone and he’s not going to hurt him.
“I think Ignis feels bad,” Noct mumbles.
“Huh?”
“He said he should have reminded you—but you’ve been remembering so he assumed you had it,” Noctis explains.
Prompto thought he learnt his lesson that first day in Galdin. There was a potion there too, but mostly because Gladio clapped him on the back and made a sticky situation with Prompto’s blisters.
“That’s dumb. He shouldn’t feel bad because I’m dumb,” Prompto says. Noctis pinches the back of his neck and Prompto relishes the fact it doesn’t hurt so bad he might cry. “It wasn’t even sunny.”
Noctis hums and Prompto pulls away to sit upright properly before his back gets stuck at this angle.
“I don’t know how you didn’t get more burnt, you’re just as pale as I am,” Prompto says. The end of Noctis’ nose barely even looks pink anymore.
“I was wearing sunscreen,” Noctis says. “I’m always wearing sunscreen.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Noctis says. He reaches up to brush some stray drops of water off Prompto’s jaw.
“No, seriously—what?”
“I put it on every morning,” Noctis says.
“You have a skincare routine,” Prompto accuses. “I feel like I’ve never known you until this moment.”
“I do not—I put on sunscreen, that is not a routine,” Noctis defends. They stare at each other and predictably Noctis crumples in three seconds. “And there’s a cleanser in my wash bag and maybe I use this under-eye cream every night but that’s it.”
“Who are you?” Prompto fake gasps.
Noctis pushes to his feet with a huff, his boxers cling to his legs, dripping rivulets of cold water down past his knees. He steps out of the tub and reaches for the nearest towel, opening it up.
“You can’t tease me to deflect from the fact your self-worth is apparently less than a fifty gil potion right now,” Noctis says.
Prompto starts to climb out of the bath but stops before he gets very far, frozen in an awkward half crouch not helped at all by the fact that he is still naked and very cold. They stare at each other again.
“I’ll drop yours if you drop mine,” Prompto offers.
Noctis half smiles, visibly biting the inside of his cheek to keep it in check.
“For now,” Noctis agrees, which Prompto will have to take as a win. Noct wiggles the towel. “Come here.”
Prompto rushes at him, letting Noct bundle him up in the dry towel. It takes minutes for them both to get dry, soft and gently, filled with touches too tender to not let linger just a moment too long. They peek out into the bedroom, Noctis’ damp clothes tossed into the tub to be dealt with tomorrow, to make sure Noctis won’t be flashing one of his retainers if they’ve mysteriously woken up.
Prompto crawls onto the bed, stretching out and poking at his untarnished skin as Noctis retrieves fresh clothes. The mattress dips as Noctis joins him and they roll together without words. Prompto wraps his arm over the slip of Noct’s waist, cinching them tight together, legs curving into the same shape. He kisses the back of Noctis’ neck.
“Thanks—sorry.”
Noctis laughs, quiet and surprised. “You’re welcome?”
Noctis strokes along his wrist to his hand, linking their fingers together over his stomach. They’ll both have a cramp in the morning but, oh well.