Archive of Our Own ^beta

Granted, Prompto should’ve been paying more attention to where he was swinging. He’s been running-away-slash-thinking-of-a-plan for the past hour, and it’s kind of hard to distinguish the streets of Lucis when he’s got some weird, giant mechanical bird right at his tail, along with a dozen and a half police cars tagging along. 

Honestly, it’s not the worst night he’s ever had. But his arms are getting sore, and the gash below his rib where the sharp metal feathers had cut through the suit was starting to sting. Even with his enhanced healing factor, the skin tauts painfully whenever he raises his arms, and all this piled up with his depleting stamina is starting to get to him. 

The web-shooter on his left hand beeps and flashes red and—great, even after all of this, Prompto’s about to fall and splat on the ground like a real spider because he’s run out of web fluid, of all things.

He considers hiding away in one of the alleys to regain himself, but there’s a heavy mob of civilians in the next block, and he’s not willing to risk any casualties tonight. 

“Hey!”

He looks up, spots someone on top of a building, waving their arms frantically.

“Over here!”

There’s a shrill, ear-piercing cry behind him. Prompto only has enough time to think that this is probably a bad idea before he uses the last of his webs to launch himself upwards, narrowly missing being skinned alive by a pair of razor sharp talons. He goes tumbling across the rooftop, raising his head to see the same someone peering over the edge of the building.

Regaining his footing, he leaps towards them. “Hey! Get back, it’s dangerous over there.”

“It’s not coming up here,” they guy tells him, not looking up from his position. Prompto joins him, peering over to see the metal bird latching onto the side of the building, squawking angrily at him.

“It’s probably too heavy,” the guy says. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Beats me. Started chasing me up Fifth Ave a couple hours ago.”

The guy turns to him, and Prompto feels his breath catch in his throat. Black hair, dark eyes, head tilted curiously and gazing at him in a way that made his eyes glint under the moonlight.

“Thanks for saving my butt out there, um…”

“Noctis,” the guy says.

“Right,” Prompto gulps. “Uh, I’m—”

“Spider-Man.” The guy nods. “Yeah. I know.”

The bird lets out another cry, apparently not happy about being ignored.

“Look,” Prompto says slowly. “I know it doesn’t look like it but you really can’t be out here—”

“Are those for your webs?”

Prompto follows his gaze to where Noctis is staring down at his wrists. He turns them over, showing the flashing red lights blinking against the metal.

“Oh, these things?” He raises an arm, rotates it around. “Yeah, they’re my web-shooters.”

Noctis gapes. “You mean that stuff doesn’t come out of you?”

“What? No.” The lens of his mask narrows. “Gross.”

He looks back down at the nozzle of his web-shooters, figures there’s at least one more cartridge in there with enough fluid to swing him home. But then that leaves the bird very much conscious and not behind bars and ready to terrorize all of Lucis. Well, maybe not all of Lucis. The big clunk of metal doesn’t look like it could take a well-aimed fist to the beak.

But again, he’s not willing to risk it, not when one miscalculated swing could leave him webless with talons ripping across his stomach.

“Aren’t you gonna fight that thing?” Noctis asks him, gesturing to the bird.

“I… can’t,” Prompto says lamely. “Think I’m gonna leave this one to the cops tonight.”

Noctis frowns. He looks like he wants to argue, but eventually closes his mouth. Instead, he nods to Prompto’s rib. “Well, if you’re stuck here tonight, might as well clean up that cut. We’ve got first aid in the stairwell?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve got… healing powers.”

“Oh.” His brow raises. “Guess you’re not a total fraud, then.”

Prompto rolls his eyes, but he probably couldn’t see that through the mask.

The bird squawks again. By this point, two dozen cop cars had surrounded the building, and a mass crowd had formed a half circle over the streets.  They peer over the edge and watch policemen pour through the entrance. 

Prompto sighs, slumping over the edge. “Can’t exactly call this a good patrol night, then, huh? Sorry about the, uh… mess.”

Noctis shrugs. “Not the first time it’s happened.”

“The press are probably gonna be here in an hour.”

“Twenty minutes,” Noctis smirks. “If you leave now they won’t shove you in front of a camera.”

“Aw, and miss out on some good Spidey content in the news?” He makes a show of flapping a hand at Noctis, the other one fanned out over his chest. “I’d break everyone’s heart.”

Noctis snorts, a quiet sound carried by the wind. Somehow, it eases the tension in Prompto’s shoulders a little bit, makes the air a little more breathable.

He stays on the rooftop for a couple more hours that night, telling himself he’s really only here to patrol and make sure the bird doesn’t try anything. And to make sure a certain someone doesn’t fall off the rooftop and into the beaks of death. No other reason.

Prompto laughs when the policemen spray water at the bird through a hose. Noctis straight up cackles when one of the policemen throws a grenade at it, which only clunks against the metal and bounces back inside. They boo when one of them shoots a taser gun, which went just about as well as they’d expected.

Definitely no other reason.

Eventually, when the bird looks like it’s had enough, it pries off of the building with one last shriek and goes flying into the night. 

“Looks like that’s my cue,” Prompto says. He hauls himself over the ledge, crouching down and looking over his shoulder at Noctis. “You gonna be alright tonight?”

Noctis nods. He hesitantly steps forward, hands bracing against the ledge. 

“I’ll… see you around?”

Prompto tilts his head. “So long as you stay up here where I can see you.” He tries to wink, unsure if he’d programmed his mask lens to follow that command. Judging from Noctis’ expression, it probably worked. “Catch ya later, Noctis.” 

He leaps off of the building and swings away.

Prompto and Noctis had been going to the same school since they were in grade school, maybe even before then, if Prompto could somehow remember his daycare days. They didn’t have every class together, but Prompto had been around the guy for most of his childhood, and it’s hard not to notice someone who’s practically been around for years.

He’s the only son of the CEO of Caelum Tech, rightful heir to the industry, the same one that has been generating power to Lucis and some of its neighboring countries for generations. Noctis is practically a celebrity. Not a single month goes by without his appearance on The Lucis Times. Prompto knows that much.

He knows that Noctis is smart. He’s fairly good-looking, he’s usually top of his class, and he’s…. quiet. Not so much so that Prompto doesn’t recognize the sound of his voice, but enough that they don’t typically get a word out to each other despite being around the other for years. He’s usually got a crowd of people following him around the school—ones that he doesn’t really address unless necessary—but he’s rarely ever seen alone.

Prompto had wanted to be friends when they were kids. But with the usual crowd constantly surrounding him, and Noctis’ possible unwillingness to hold a conversation with him—well, he hasn’t had much luck.

But yeah, Prompto knows Noctis. He’s not sure he can say the same for the other way around.

“And you’re sure it was him?” Cindy asks, trying to catch Prompto’s eye where his head is practically shoved into his locker. “You were on that roof with Prince Noctis?”

Prompto scrunches his nose. “Don’t call him that. And yeah, it was him, really.”

“And he helped ya out?” she asks.

“He did.” Prompto says. At her skeptical gaze, he adds, “Really!”

Cindy scoffs. “Wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t hear it from ya.” She pauses. “What were you doin’ on that roof, anyway?”

“It was that stupid bird chasing me, the one on the news. I had it under control, okay? But then I ran out of web fluid and I sort of forgot to bring extra—don’t look at me like that. Look, that’s not important,” he flails, “it was Noctis, and I was on the rooftop of the Caelum Tech building—”

“Oh boy, here we go.”

“On top of the state-of-the-art labs! And the weapons, the warp machine—do you think I should ask for a tour? As Spider-Man, of course. Maybe I should just sneak in, now that I know there’s a door on the roof,” he mutters. “No, that wouldn’t do. They’ve got the best security system in all of—”

“Prom.”

“Imagine the web fluids I could make with that kind of technology,” Prompto sighs, practically melting against his locker. “I’d kill to work there.”

“Alright, enough of that.” Cindy steps forward, shoving herself into Prompto’s space. “Let’s go back to how you forgot to bring extra cartridges and almost got yourself killed—”

Prompto thought he could’ve weaseled his way out of a Cindy Lecture today, but he’d probably build his own warp machine before that happened. He at least tries to look apologetic—tries giving her the puppy-dog eyes that always makes her cave. It doesn’t work—probably because he did something very risky and not just stupid like that one time he wasn’t watching where he was swinging and crashed right onto a hotdog stand.

His attention is drawn elsewhere, however, when Noctis steps out into the hall. He’s got a crowd around him, talking loudly over the events that happened last night. Prompto pries his ears.

“…at your place!”

“—must’ve been scary.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous,” he hears Noctis say. The crowd stills, staring at him. “And he didn’t lure it over. I called him there.”

The crowd erupts into chatter again. They pass by without sparing a glance at Prompto, but he doesn’t care all that much. Instead, he watches Noctis’ retreating back, wonders if he would look at him if he could just tell him.

He locks eyes with Cindy, sees the understanding flash across her face.

“That’s probably a bad idea, right?”

She nods. "Definitely a bad idea.”

And he supposes he’ll just have to live with that.

Nothing happens on Thursdays, ever. 

That’s just how things roll in Lucis, and probably the rest of the world if you asked him. But Prompto still goes out for patrol anyway—because great power and great responsibility and blah, blah, blah—but mostly because he’s got a project in the photography club that he managed to push back until the last possible second, so he straps his camera around his suit and hauls himself out the window of his apartment.

It’s a nice evening out; the sunset casting golden hues across the city skyline as Prompto swings himself between towering buildings. He circles his usual alleys, and when things come up as expectantly  empty, he drops down onto a familiar rooftop and aims his camera towards the sky.

He feels the presence before he even sees him.

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Noctis says. He saunters over to where Prompto’s crouched on the ledge, throwing his arms over the edge.

“You see that?” Prompto waves a gloved hand across the golden sky, now tinted with pinks and blues. “It’s got ‘A on my project’ written all over it.”

Noctis tilts his head. “You’re a photographer?”

“Aspiring.”

“Hmm,” he says. “Can I see?”

Prompto lets him scroll through the camera. There’s about twenty pictures of just the sky from today, five from the park after the rain, dew drops glistening under the sun. The rest of them are mostly of busy crowds in the streets, pets taken from high angles, and the storefront of his favorite bodega.

“These are really good,” Noctis says, all earnest.

“Yeah?” Prompto spurs. “You think it’s enough for my portfolio to the Lucis Times?”

“Maybe,” Noctis hums. “But from what I can tell, you could probably earn some brownie points with the news outlet if you sold them pictures of their favorite headline.” He emphasizes by pointing the camera at Prompto, winking at him through the lens.

“As if,” he rolls his eyes, not that Noctis could see that through the mask. “We both know you’re the one with the stories here.” 

He snatches the camera back, points it at Noctis. “So, Your Highness, what can you tell us about the latest Tech project?”

“Oh, y’know, that I accidentally blew it up yesterday in the lab.”

“Interesting,” Prompto nods. “And would you say this project has the words… ‘warp’ in it?”

Noctis smirks. “Maybe.” He leans forward. “Is someone interested?”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Prompto makes a show of panning the camera to the sky, beatboxing some awful news channel theme song loudly. 

Noctis snorts, cheeks tinted pink in the chilly air. Prompto kind of wants to snap a picture of him.

“I’m sure they’d love you,” he says, nudging him. “You already got all the qualities of an annoying news reporter.”

“Aw. I’m so flattered.”

Someone pounds on the roof entrance door, calling Noctis’ name in a British accent. Noctis makes a point to ignore the pounding until it gradually gets louder, to which he pushes off the ledge with a resigned sigh.

“Sorry. That’s my advisor. I gotta run.”

“Advisor? Wow, you really are a prince.”

The pounding turns into jingling as Noctis’ advisor fiddles with the doorknob using a set of keys. Prompto lowers from the ledge, sticking onto the side of the building.

“See ya, Highness.” Prompto winks at him just to see Noctis flush, then leaps off and swings towards sky-stretched buildings.

Saturday is when the fun begins. 

That was also how things rolled in Lucis. The city is always lively in the clock-strikes-twelve hours of Saturday night, people mingling in bars and local pubs. Vibrant neon lights dance across the street, illuminating the city in pinks and purples. Prompto usually spends his night sitting on the fire escape, watching people dance to the muffled sounds of club music. 

But tonight, the lights blur past him as he swings through alleyways, chasing down a big mechanical rhino charging through the city. It comes to a stop in the middle of the street, turning around to look at him.

“What’s with all the robot animals lately?” Prompto says.

The rhino head flips open, revealing a massive guy with face tattoos and a nasty grin. “Spider-Man!” he bellows in a heavy Russian accent. “You like the new horn?”

“It’s a little… on the nose.”

“I had it made especially for you,” he says. “So I can tear you limb from limb.”

“Charming.” He drops to a crouch. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not the worst thing I’ve seen all week.”

The rhino goes charging at him on all fours, horn aimed straight to his chest.

Now, when faced with big things like this, it’s a good thing that he’s small. Big things are heavy, and they take up space, which means big things can’t move the way he moves. Prompto weaves in between lampposts, egging the rhino to crash into solid buildings as it stomps after him. It doesn’t falter in its movements, but some of the metal parts began to creak under the pressure.

He webs a loose brick and hurls it at him, knocking out a shoulder plate. Some of the crowd began to cheer.

But the bad thing about being small is… well, everything else.

Rhino leaps upwards in a wide arc—what the hell? How did it do that?—and slams its horn right into his side, sending him careening sideways onto the building across the street.

Prompto is distantly aware of people screaming. The crowd around him had begun to flee in panic, screaming and shouting and tripping over each other to get to safety. He thinks he hears muffled cackling coming from inside the rhino head, but his head is throbbing and his vision is doubled and Prompto kind of feels like throwing up.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Can we time out for a sec?”

The cackling is closer this time. His spidey-senses flare up just in time to send him leaping away before a metal hoof stomps down on the spot where he had just been, creating an ever bigger crater in the brick wall.

Prompto rotates midair, shoots a web at the offending hoof. He webs the rest of the body to the wall, sends a brick flying onto the head just for good measure. Rhino strains against the webs, machines whirring and metal creaking against each other, before it collapses into a heap on the side of the road.

“This isn’t over yet, Spider-Man!”

“Um, it kinda… is?”

“Just you wait,” the guy smirks. “When Boss’s all set up, he’ll have your head on a stake.”

“When…” Prompto steps forward. “Wait, who—”

“Hands in the air!”

Prompto is firmly pushed back by a hand on his chest. In a matter of seconds, policemen swarm the area, guns pointed at Rhino, who’s got his hands raised out of the machine. One of the cops shoves Prompto out of their half-circle, ushering him to step away.

“Thanks for the help, Spider-Man, but we’ll take it from here.”

Prompto looks between him and Rhino. “Wait, but I gotta talk to—”

“He’s under police custody now,” he says sternly. “No use stickin’ around. Go home, kid.”

Prompto watches Rhino get escorted to one of the police cars in handcuffs, eyes locked on him and smirking all the while. It drives a nasty pit in his stomach, and he spends the swing home trying to brush it off.

“Goodness, sugar, what happened to you?”

Prompto groans. “Lower your voice, Cin. You’re making my ears ring.”

“I’m whisperin’, Prom.” Cindy tugs at his arm. “Come on, sweetpea. Teacher’s not here yet, I’ll take ya to the nurse.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Prom. Your face is black and blue-r than a rotten huckleberry.”

“I don’t know what a huckleberry looks like.” Prompto pulls the hood of his jacket lower over his head. “You got the answers to that chem worksheet I texted you about?”

Cindy sighs. He buries his face back into his crossed arms while she rummages around her backpack. A moment later, he hears the sound of paper being slammed down on his desk.

“You really ain’t goin’ to get yourself checked?” she asks him. “Did you even get a wink of sleep?”

“I did sleep, thank you very much.” When she looks skeptical, he adds, “like, the 10 minutes I was in class before you got here.” He thumbs through the worksheet. “Cin, this number is wrong.”

She sighs again. “Well, at least we know your brain still works.”

There’s a racket at the door as Noctis waltzes in, followed by what looked like the entire rest of the class. The girl and boy at his side are talking animatedly, no doubt arguing over his little run-in the day before. The girl is swooning over how cool Spider-Man had been when he had woven a web barrier between two lampposts, shielding the crowd from flying debris. The guy scoffs, tells her Rhino was obviously cooler—

It looked like a giant hunk of scrap metal, Prompto thinks.

“It looked like a giant hunk of scrap metal,” Noctis says. “Do you still think it’s cool?”

The guy withers under the tone. Noctis shoulders past them to his seat, resting a hand on his chin and taking a bored sweep around the class. He briefly locks eyes with Prompto across the room, eyes going a bit wide as he takes his face in. Shit. Prompto quickly ducks away.

Cindy is looking at him the same way she would look at a child. “You did great out there, Prom, y’hear me?” she whispers over. “But next time ya might wanna put some ice on it ‘fore ya walk in.”

“Right,” Prompto says, wilting under the hoodie. 

“Or… y’know, don’t get your ass kicked into next Thursday.”

“Got it.”

He peeks a glance at Noctis, finds that the guy’s taken his usual slumped over position on his desk, head pillowed on his crossed arms. He thinks he might be asleep. Prompto’s not at all surprised when he stays that way for the rest of the period.

“Okay, okay. I know you said you wanted the Meat Lovers, but when I got there these guys were, like, totally trashing the place—which, great timing, right? Anyway, I had to deal with them first, but then one of the guys destroyed the pizza oven in the back, and they only had olive and pineapple out front, so.” Prompto drops the box at his feet. “Enjoy.”

“Olive and what?” Noctis crawls across the floor, opening the pizza box and gaping at its contents. “Webs.”

“Hey. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.” Prompto plops down on the ground beside him. “Veggies are good for you, kid.”

“Olives and pineapples are both fruit.”

“Really? Both of them? Huh, someone should change that. Anyway,” Prompto leans back on his hands, “what’d you bring, Highness?”

Prompto’s been looking forward to this. He even wrapped up his patrol early just so they’d have more time together. By the time he had webbed the last guy up against the counter, the sun had just started to sink over the water and the air had turned chilly. It’s a comfortable kind of chill, and he sighs as the warmth from the cement roof seeped in through his legs and hands.

“Garlic bread,” Noctis says, pointing to one of the boxes. “Fried chicken, mac and cheese, cookies. Oh, and apple slices. Y’know, to balance it out.”

“Now we’re talkin’.” He grabs a cookie. “You don’t know how long I’ve been living off of bodega sandwiches.”

Noctis turns to him. “You live alone?”

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

He pulls his mask over his nose to take a bite. Beside him, Noctis is picking his way through a slice of pizza, careful to avoid any of the toppings.

“—And that is why you should never be around construction sites when there’s a wind advisory in effect. Ever. Well, the ones with porta potties, anyway. I still think about it at night.” Prompto shudders. He turns back to Noctis, who’s frozen and staring at his face a second too long. “What?”

“I didn’t know you were…” he gestures to the back of his head. “Blond.”

Prompto brings a hand to his nape where blond tufts are curling over his mask. “You got somethin’ against blonds?”

“It suits you. I mean, you’re already different.”

A long time ago, Prompto would’ve flinched at the notion of being called different. He’s not fond of sticking out in the crowd, and the idea of attracting so many eyes would’ve sent him running for the hills. As it turns out, people don’t usually pay attention to you if you kept your head down and your mouth shut. 

It’s different when he’s Spider-Man. He does attract attention. But Spider-Man does all the attracting, not Prompto. And while he knows the media’s got a lot to say about him, it helps that they’re not talking about the guy behind the mask.

“I thought about changing up the suit,” he tells him. “Blue’s not really my color, see? I wanted to go all black, but that would’ve scared off the kids.”

“You’d look like a burglar. With the mask and all,” Noct says through a mouthful of cookie. “Primary colors are the way to go. Like street performer style.”

“You’re saying I look like a clown?”

“Kids like clowns!”

“What kid do you know likes clowns—”

The sun sinks into the ocean, casting the sky in a dark blue canopy. Prompto’s never really noticed how big the sky looks from a rooftop. He can see twice as many stars up here compared to his bedroom window, and if he squints, they shine twice as bright as well.

The photography club’s final projects are pinned to the school’s bulletin board. It was the counselor’s idea, something about ‘sharing your identities to the world’—which Prompto admits is a nice thought, even if it does sound a bit lame. There’s a small crowd hovering around the board, peeking at the pictures behind the glass.

Cindy had sent him a picture of the board before it got too rowdy, and Prompto’s been staring at it all morning. There’s a beautiful picture of the Lucis park. Next to it, a picture of the school’s basketball match, along with their cheerleaders. Cindy’s project was also hung on the board, a photograph of her grandfather’s garage, an array of scattered tools and gears across the frame.

In the center was Prompto’s, a picture of the sunset he had taken from that day; the vibrant orange, blue, and pinks glowing across the sky, golden shaded clouds surrounding the sinking sun. 

He’s gotten a few compliments as he walks past the halls, and it brightens his mood considerably for the day. He’s not even that bummed out when Cindy tells him she’s got other plans for lunch—which is another way of saying she’s ditching him to hang out with her girlfriend.

The schoolyard is pretty much empty when he steps outside. Prompto settles on one of the lunch tables, pulls out his homework for the next period, and buries himself in his work.

“Hey. Um… it’s Prompto, right?”

Prompto raises his head. 

It’s Noctis, standing to the side of his table with his hands tucked inside his jacket pockets. He’s alone this time, looking down at Prompto, lips pressed firmly together.

“Hey,” Prompto says.

“I like your picture,” Noctis tells him. His hands are wriggling in his pockets. “The one on the board. It’s really nice.”

“Oh, for real?” Prompto perks up, beaming. “Thanks, dude.”

Noctis nods. Prompto expects him to walk away, but Noctis stays rooted to the spot, weight shifting from one foot to another. 

“Oh, did you want your pictures taken?” Prompto twirls his pen. “I can’t do after school, but if you want we could—”

“Oh, no,” Noctis quickly says. “I just came to tell you that. I just… yeah. Um,” he points to the seat across the table, “do you mind if I sit here?”

Prompto blinks. “Not at all, dude.” 

Noctis sits down, settling his backpack beside him. Prompto’s kind of at a loss of what to say, and his stomach is beginning to flutter nervously, so he ducks his head and turns back to his work.

“Is that Mr. Sinclair’s class?” Noctis asks him after a while, following the movement of his pen. “I have him fourth period.”

“Sixth,” Prompto says. “He’s… a real piece of work.”

“Or so I’ve heard.”

“Gods, you wouldn’t believe it,” Prompto groans. “He’s always bullying me, like, all the time. Calling me out and picking on me. I think he’s got a thing for public humiliation.”

“Same thing happens in my period,” he nods. “But he’s never picked on me before.”

“Well obviously, with all the money your dad’s—” Prompto clamps his mouth shut. Ah, fuck. 

He was so busy running his mouth that he nearly forgot Noctis and Prompto don’t know each other the way Noctis and Spider-Man do. They’ve never talked—much less joke around with each other—which means he must’ve crossed a line just now.

He spares a glance at Noctis, prepared to book it if the other guy looks about ready to beat him into the ground. Instead, Noctis is smirking with that glint in his eyes, head tilted to the side.

“You were saying?”

Prompto’s face goes up in flames. “I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, Gods, I shouldn’t have said—“

Noctis waves him off. “It’s cool.”

“No, really, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You wanna know why Mr. Sinclair’s picking on you so much?”

“Huh?”

And then Noctis goes on this long spiel about their social studies teacher, about his ex-wife who cheated on him—who apparently was a blonde—and how their teacher was now trying to make every blond kid’s life miserable just because they resembled his cheating wife in the dumbest way possible—and it’s the most ridiculous thing Prompto’s ever heard in his life, but holy shit, all of it makes sense, somehow.

“Hang on,” Prompto cuts in. “Peter’s a blond, but he’s never been picked on.”

Noctis frowns. “Peter has brown hair. He dyed it blond.”

“What, he’s only going after the naturals?” Prompto tugs at his own blond locks. “Does it work the other way around? What if I dyed my hair black?”

Noctis hums. “Technically, that wouldn’t work,” he says, “but you could give it a shot. Y’know, just to mess with him. Then again, I don’t think black hair would suit you.”

Prompto gives him a flat stare. “You’re telling me he looks at me and he sees his wife?”

Noctis makes a face at that. “On second thought, maybe black hair would suit you.”

The bell rings not long after that. Noctis slings his bag across his shoulder, smiles at him, then scurries off with a ‘see you around,’ and Prompto’s not even angry about the fact that he didn’t get to finish his homework.

Prompto and Noctis are friendly with each other. They’re not friends—Prompto doesn’t think he could call them that—but he’s made it a point to acknowledge the guy a few times a week, which should count for something. Especially since Noctis was beginning to do the same as well.

Most days, they settle for nodding at each other when they pass by in the hallway. On good days, Prompto gets a nod and a ghost of a smile thrown his way. Sometimes Noctis might even stop and chat with him when the halls are quiet, when there’s no one who would barrel in and drag his attention elsewhere.

“Coach yelled at me today,” Noctis said, bumping shoulders with him. “Said I wasn’t becoming ‘one with the stick.’”

Prompto snorted. “Who the hell likes lacrosse, anyway?”

Despite everything, he looks forward to their little interactions. It’s a nice change of pace in his already hectic life, and he gets to rub it in Cindy’s face that ha, he’s not the brooding, asshole prince she thinks he is. Noctis is cool, and funny, and a bit nerdy, and sometimes he snorts like he’s sucking snot into his mouth and it’s kind of adorable, in a gross way.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, Noctis is observant. Weirdly so. Thing is, Prompto doesn’t really expect anyone to pay attention to him, much less Noctis. If anything, it should be the other way around. But somehow, Noctis knows when something shady goes on with him, something spider-related, and if that doesn’t make panic crawl up his throat he doesn’t know what will.

“Whoa, sick bruise you got there,” Noctis says. He leans down, trying to catch Prompto’s gaze under his hoodie. “You alright?”

There’s a blooming welt on his left cheekbone, the same spot where some wacko had nailed him with a metal pipe on his patrol last night. It doesn’t really hurt anymore—the throbbing had gone down significantly—but it probably looks just about as bad as it sounds. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… fell down. I’m all good.”

“Dude. You look like a raccoon.”

“Heard that one before.”

“Like someone stuffed a grape under your eye socket.”

“Stretching a little far with that one.”

Noctis has stopped trying to peek under his hoodie, but his expression grows no less serious. “Is someone hurting you?”

Prompto kind of wants to bark a laugh, but that probably wouldn’t help the situation at all. “No! No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Prompto reassures him. “It’s completely my fault, honest.”

“Okay,” Noctis says. “Well, you should still put some ice on it. Does it hurt a lot? I’ll take you to the nurse.”

“Dude, it’s fine.” Prompto meekly shoves at his shoulder. “Go. You’re gonna miss fourth period. Woo-hoo. My favorite teacher.”

“Are you sure? I don’t really care abou—”

“Go,” Prompto says, shoving him away. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch ya later.”

“What’s it like being Spider-Man?”

“The million-dollar question, huh?”

“I mean,” Noctis turns his head to look at him, his hair dragging against the cement, “is it hard? It’s gotta be hard, right?”

Prompto sighs. “It doesn’t pay the bills, I’ll tell you that.”

“Do bad guys track you down and come after you? What was the toughest thing you’ve ever had to fight?”

“Probably poverty.”

“What about your family? Are they also spider-people? Do they let you go out and fight bad guys just like that?”

Prompto chews his lip. Ugh, the f-word. “My parents aren’t around,” he says. “I got taken in when I was a kid, but she’s not really around that much either, so. Yeah.”

“Oh.” Noctis says. He turns back to the sky, sprawled out on his back against the ground. If Prompto stretches his arm, their fingers would be touching. He doesn’t really want to think about that right now. “Sorry to hear that.”

Prompto shrugs. “What about you?”

“My mom died when I was young,” Noctis says. Prompto remembers hearing something about that on the news. “My dad’s… well, he’s busy, so he’s not around much either. But he tries, y’know? He’s a good dad. But most of the time it’s just my advisor and bodyguard.”

“Hmm.” He closes his eyes. “Sounds nice.”

Someone to look out for him. Someone who worries and fusses and asks him if he’s eaten or if he’d done his homework. Prompto doesn’t really know what it’s like to have a family, but he knows what it’s like not to. It felt like silence. It felt like coming home to an empty apartment. It felt like blank picture frames and empty dinner tables and leaving in the middle of the night to go looking for crime because anywhere was better than here.

“I could introduce you,” Noctis says. “Not like that, but—Iggy and Gladio, they’re good people—“

Prompto snorts, but it comes out weaker than he intends. “I appreciate it,” he says to the sky. “But adults… they’re not really fond of me, y’know?”

Noctis is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Assholes.”

Prompto laughs at that one.

It falls silent again. They listen to the lulling breeze of the evening air. 

“Hey, Webs?”

“Hmm?”

“You—” Noctis pauses. He waits until Prompto turns, the lenses of his mask fixed on him. “You’re really amazing. You know that, right?”

Prompto huffs another laugh. “I don’t know about that, dude.”

“This city wouldn’t be the same without you,” Noctis tells him. “So just… take care of yourself, alright?”

Prompto swallows. Something gets stuck in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice comes out thick. “Yeah.”

Prompto has his own laboratory, sort of. 

It’s an old, busted down warehouse that Cindy’s grandfather had passed down to her when she turned sixteen. It’s on the outskirts of the city—a few subway rides from the school, or a half-hour swing on a good day. 

Cindy loves the place. She had been kind enough to lend it to him as a makeshift lab to make web-fluid and adjust his shooters. They’ve got a good system going—Prompto typically handles the chemical-mixing mad scientist bullshit (her words, not his), while Cindy helps out with the more gear-like physical components, because she’s got a steady set of hands and better eyesight than the ones the spider bite had given him, somehow.

Prompto loves the place too, but he would never tell her that. 

“Careful where you’re swingin’ those tools,” Cindy says around her welding helmet. “If ya knock my head out with one of ‘em hammers I might die.”

“Mm-hmm,” Prompto says absentmindedly, eyes glued to the whiteboard in front of him. He’s hanging upside down from one of the warehouse beams, holding a beaker in one hand and shooting webs with the other.

“And turn the burner off if you ain’t usin’ it. You’ll light the whole place up in flames.”

“Mmm.”

Cindy sighs. He faintly registers her walking over, coming around to stand behind him and stare at the contents of his board. “Whatcha workin’ on? New web formula?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with the old one?”

“Too sticky,” he tells her. “Not durable enough. And the dissolving time is too long. I keep leaving a trail of white gunk everywhere I go.”

Cindy wrinkles her nose.

“Sorry.”

“Well, I fixed up your shooters for ya.” She tosses him a web-shooter. “Cartridges should automatically eject and rotate when it’s empty, that way you ain’t have to worry about reloading. Oh, and I turned off the light. You were right, it was getting annoying.”

Prompto puts it on, flexing his wrist and testing out the ejection setting. “That’s so much better, thanks.” He wriggles the metal around. “Did you mess with the sizing too?”

“No, hon. That’s ‘cus you ain’t eatin’ enough.” There’s a thumping sound that indicates she might be sitting down somewhere. “Prom.”

He shoots another web, making a point to ignore her.

“Prom.”

Prompto is still upside down, but he moves to turn around and face her, only because her voice is taking on a more serious tone and it’s sending chills down his spine. Up his spine. Whatever. 

“I know we’ve had this talk before, but you need to start takin’ better care of yourself,'' Cindy says. “You’re showin’ up to school black and blue more times than I can count, you’re always late to class, and you’re too skinny for your own good—don’t give me that look, I’m tryin’ to do you some good. And get down from there.”

Prompto drops to the floor. “I know. I’ll be more careful next time—”

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You said that last time, too.” 

Prompto groans. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Why don’t ya tell me what’s really goin’ on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

And of course, of course Cindy doesn’t buy it. They’ve known each other for years. 

“When was the last time you’ve been home?”

“I…” Prompto thinks about it. Really thinks about it. “I don’t know.”

“When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep instead of goin’ out patrollin’?”

Prompto frowns. “I don’t know.”

Cindy sighs. “Your mother, Prom. Where is she?”

“I don’t know!” Prompto blurts. “Look, I don’t know, okay? I tried calling her but she wouldn’t pick up and I—look, whatever, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

She frowns. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

“It’s not,” he presses.

She walks over and plops down so that they’re sitting on the ground, cross-legged and facing each other. Gently, she coaxes one of his hands from his lap, holding it to rub a soothing thumb across the back of it. 

“Prom,” she says, not unkindly. “You can’t be Spider-Man all the time.”

“I know that.” He looks up, but drops his gaze again. “It’s just… y’know…”

She tilts her head down, trying to meet his eyes.

“Do you know what it’s like to be Spider-Man?” he says. “It’s like… being another person. When I’m Spider-Man, I don’t have to worry about anything—not school, or the bills… or mom. I don’t have to think about anything, I can just be... me.”

She looks at him expectantly, so Prompto continues.

“Spider-Man makes a difference in this town. And—I know what you’re gonna say, it doesn't mean I’m not important, but… y’know, it’s a lot easier to pretend like all those murals were made for both of me.” He takes a breath, steels himself. “I don’t know if the me under the mask is worth all this. If it’s worth anything at all.”

He startles a bit when Cindy’s warm hand cups his cheek, swiping underneath his eye. He doesn’t think he’s crying, but the apology slips out anyway. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sugar. You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, huh?” 

Distantly, he wonders if this is what it felt like to have a family. 

“Listen, Prom. I don’t know much ‘bout savin’ the world, but you’re a lot more than what you can offer the world—all of you,” she says. “I know this is somethin’ ya gotta figure out for yourself, but I hope you can see that someday, hon.”

He leans into her hand. Cindy smells like oil and metal and a little bit of smoke. If he closes his eyes, he could almost pretend like she’s someone else, but it doesn’t feel right to do that to her.

“Why don’t ya take the night off,” she says, gently pulling back. “I’ll order us pizzas, Paw-paw won’t be back ‘til late.”

Prompto flashes her an apologetic smile. “You know I can’t.”

“Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “Figured it was worth a shot. Just remember what I told ya, hm?”

He stays on the floor for the rest of the day, watching the sparks fly around her welding table as Cindy works. At some point, one of his burners bursts into flames, and she abandons her work to give him an earful—it’s a burner, it’s supposed to do that!—Prom, your beaker’s on fire.

When evening falls, he tugs on the suit and bids goodbye, to which she pulls him into one of her bone-crushing hugs. He pulls away and tries to ignore the look she gives him.

Prompto shuffles through a small gap in the roof and swings towards the city.

“Caelum Tech is opening an internship program,” Noctis tells him that morning. “You’re signing up, right?”

Prompto opens his locker, shrugging his bag off his shoulder. He knows that already. Noctis told Spider-Man about it a few days ago. 

“I don’t know, dude,” he says absentmindedly. “I mean, me?”

“I’ve seen your chem scores.”

“Okay, but—it’s high school level chem.”

Noctis gives him a look. Well, Prompto thinks it might’ve been a look. He’s got half of his head buried in the locker, and he’s really trying not to look at Noctis today.

He was going to sign up, had been over the moon about it too. But that was before he realized the internship would’ve meant after-school laboratory visits to the building, and Prompto just couldn’t juggle that kind of schedule with his patrols. 

Noctis slips a form into his hands. Prompto reads it over and great—a registration fee and parental consent. So much for that.

“Just consider it.”

Prompto nods, doesn’t really think twice about it. “Sure thing.”

The robot bird finds him faster than he had anticipated.

Prompto hadn’t seen the thing flying around Lucis for months now, so he had just assumed the cops managed to apprehend it and throw it behind bars. That part was his mistake, because now it’s back and it’s somehow bigger and faster than the last time Prompto had seen it, and it’s got him pinned down against one of the beams of the bridge.

The traffic on the bridge is jammed, and a crowd is starting to gather below them, people yelling and pointing and running. The commotion is slowly drawing the attention of the bird, and it’s making Prompto’s spidey-sense go haywire.

“Hey!” Prompto slams his fist against a metallic leg. The bird cocks its head at him, crowd completely forgotten. “Anyone ever told you vultures are just seriously ugly?”

Its head hovers just a few centimeters in front of his own, red, glowing eyes fixed on him. The bird pries its beak open with a horrible screeching sound, and Prompto looks inside to find a man’s head poking out of the bird’s throat, grinning at him.

The man’s face is obscured by large aviator goggles, his neck covered by what looks like a brown feather boa. He cackles wildly, forehead creasing into dry, pink wrinkles and—okay, Prompto kind of gets where the vulture idea came from.

He wrenches the talons from his chest, scrambling up the beam and narrowly missing another clawed stomp to his back. “Keep the beak closed next time, okay dude?”

Prompto jumps off the bridge and swings himself in the direction of the city.

“Hey, that bird thing is back,” Gladio says, eyes trained on the TV. “And it’s chasin’ that spider guy up Fifth Ave.”

Noctis sits up on the couch, his phone completely abandoned in his lap.

“Quite an uproar they’re causing,” Ignis says. He’s tapping away at his own phone. “I’ll have the security systems lock down the building.”

“Wait!” Noctis jumps to his feet. “Don’t lock the building. And don’t go to the rooftop!” He snatches his backpack from the floor and rushes out of the room.

Prompto doesn’t have a plan.

He’s learned by now that the bird isn’t interested in civilians and is just hell-bent on gutting him alive, which is a good thing on its own because that meant he could swing around the city without causing any casualties. But now the problem was that he can’t seem to shake the thing off his tail, and he can’t get a good web-grip on it to throw it off its course.

His fourth web cartridge ejects from his shooter. He’s running out of places to run.

The bird lets out an ear-piercing shriek behind him. Prompto barely registers his spidey-sense flaring wildly before something sharp pierces him right below his shoulder blade, sending white-hot pain singing through his ribs. He cries out, and a weakened grip on his webs causes him to plummet from the sky, crashing onto the streets below.

Prompto raises himself with a groan. The bird hovers overhead, angrily screeching. He swings towards an alley and ignores the stinging pain on his back.

He considers taking another lap around the city when he hears it. Small, but distinct in his ears.

“Webs! Over here!”

He turns his head, catches someone waving at him from a rooftop.

The bird shrieks again behind him. Prompto narrowly misses another swipe of talons, and goes rolling across the familiar rooftop without a second thought.

“That thing is back?”

“Yeah. It’s bigger this time,” Prompto gasps. He moves to get up, but his back flares with pain. 

Noctis looks at him and winces. “You’ve got—okay, hold still. I’m gonna pull it out.”

“You’re gonna wha—ow!”

Noctis drops a metal feather at his feet, blood coating a good four inch of its sharp tip. Gods, he didn’t even know the bird could do that. He’s lucky it didn’t pierce a lung.

“What’s your plan?”

“Can’t blow it up,” Prompto says. “There’s a guy in there.”

“There’s a guy in there?”

“I know. It’s kinda gross.” He stumbles to his feet. “He keeps shooting feathers at me. I can’t get a clear shot.”

Noctis pauses, and Prompto can practically see the gears turning in his head. He turns on his heel and starts rummaging through his backpack. 

“I have a plan,” he says. He pulls out a metal bracelet, equipped with buttons on the wrist. It’s similar to Prompto’s web-shooters, except there’s something written across the metal—

“The warp band?” Prompto reads, gasping.

Noctis nods. “It’s a prototype. But it should work.”

“Holy shi—”

Noctis tackles him to the ground as the bird dives for them, talons wide open. Prompto rolls them over and covers them as the talons narrowly miss his head by a few inches. As it pulls back up into the sky, Noctis and Prompto clamber to their feet.

“Use this button to activate it,” Noctis says breathlessly, hands scrambling to attach the metal to Prompto’s wrist. “Just shoot a web where you wanna go.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?”

“It has to.” Noctis stares into his mask lens. “Go knock ‘em dead.”

The first time Prompto warps, he almost throws up in his mask.

His vision had clouded with white and blue sparkles, and he felt his core getting pulled in uncomfortable, tight squeezes. But when he opens his eyes again, he finds that he’s hovering behind the bird, its head cocked left and right in confusion. 

Not willing to pass this chance, he pulls back and lands a hard punch onto the bird’s head. Distantly, he hears Noctis whooping.

After that, he gets used to it. He warps left, grabs a handful of feathers and pries them off the wing. He warps down, webs the talons together and pulls them towards the ground. When the bird crashes onto the street, he warps above to pin it down and rip the head off its neck hinges.

The guy inside looks over his shoulder at Prompto. He snarls at him, baring ugly, yellow teeth, and— Gods, he’s never gonna get used to looking at this guy, is he?

“Cops are gonna be here soon,” Prompto tells him. “We can do this the easy way.”

The guy cackles loudly, the sound startling Prompto. It’s enough to throw him off a second too long as the guy wriggles from underneath him. He spreads his wings, then launches into the sky straight towards Noctis.

No.

“No!”

Everything disappears in a flash of white and blue. When he opens his eyes, he’s standing in front of Noctis. With a sharp cry of pain, Prompto looks down and sees the pair of talons lodged in his stomach.

“Webs!” Noctis cries behind him.

He grabs onto the leg, using his other hand to shoot a web at one of the wings in his peripheral view. With one last ounce of strength, Prompto pulls, ripping the wing right out of its socket.

Prompto watches him tip over the building’s ledge, gasping when the talons are pried out of stomach. The guy goes tumbling through the air with a crackled yell, and Prompto drops to his knees.

“Webs. Hey.” He feels someone at his back, feels them pull him into their arms. Noctis’ hands are pressing on his stomach, and his eyes are shining bright, too bright.

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay,” Noctis is saying, his voice shaky. “Keep your eyes open.”

Prompto gasps for breath. Panic floods him for a moment as he feels fingers scramble against his mask, but Noctis only pulls it up high enough to uncover his nose and mouth.

“Deep breaths,” he hears Noctis say. 

Prompto looks up at him, eyes tracing the tears rolling off his cheek. “It’s okay,” he rasps. But then he coughs, splattering blood on his suit, and it doesn’t help his situation at all.

“The medics are gonna be here soon, okay? Just–just hang on.”

“It’s okay,” he says again. This time, he brings a hand to his middle and lays it on top of Noct’s, swipes a thumb across the back of it, the same way Cindy would do to him. “I’ll be okay.”

Noctis cradles him, occasionally whispering soothing words and wiping blood from his mouth when Prompto starts to cough. When he doesn’t feel like he’s about to projectile vomit all over them, Prompto cranes his neck to look at him again. 

Noctis notices him looking. “How’re you holdin’ up?”

He groans. “I feel… like a fish.”

“Like a fish?”

“Got gutted,” he clarifies. Noctis looks unimpressed. 

Prompto blinks at him for a moment. “You okay? You’re not hurt?”

“You could stand to be a little more conceited, you know.”

“Just makin’ sure.” He thumps his head back down. “When it came after you…” he takes a breath, closes his eyes, “….scared me.”

Noctis also takes a breath, the tension seeping out of him. “Yeah,” he says. “But you… Gods, you’re such an idiot.”

Prompto laughs, which dissolves into another coughing fit. 

The entrance to the roof bursts open, and through Prompto’s bleary vision he can make out two new figures hovering above him. Noctis is yelling something to them, and a minute later he feels something tight wrap around his middle, another one around his chest. He moves to sit up, but a hand presses him back down, leaning his head to rest on a thigh.

Distantly, he’s aware that this is kind of embarrassing, and it’s probably bad for the whole secret identity thing. Noctis ushers the two figures to go back inside, so at least it’s just them two now, even if it shouldn’t make any difference, technically.

The moon is high above them by the time Prompto opens his eyes again. Suppressing a groan, he slowly stumbles to his feet. A hand to his middle tells him he has what feels like rolls of bandages wrapped around it, and it’s enough to stop the bleeding at least.

“I gotta get home.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“‘S not my first rodeo.” When Noctis doesn’t look convinced, he tries again. “I’ll manage.”

The streets are still busy with the flashing of police cars as he rushes by, but the crowd pays him no mind, too busy huddled around a clunky heap of metal on the ground.

Spider-Man is on the news the next morning.

Clips of his fight are plastered everywhere—some footage from when he had been on the bridge, others when he was swinging around the building, and most from when he had been warping and twisting around the bird like a real spider. He disappears in a flash of blue, then reappears somewhere else, over and over until there's nothing left of him but a tangle of webs. 

Some are speculating that it might be a new superpower, others are saying he stole unreleased Tech. Prompto turns the channel and comes face-to-face with Vulture.

Verstael, the news channel says. He used to work for Caelum Tech, was known for being the best engineer in the whole industry before they found out he had been mass producing robots in a secret warehouse—walls and walls of metal helmets and glowing red eyes. He’s raving on about clones and taking over the world, and it’s a lot less threatening now that he’s doing it from inside a jail cell.

But Prompto feels sick all over again when he turns the channel, and the footage of Vulture going straight for Noctis replays over and over in front of his eyes. How it had shot through the air to get to him, and how if Prompto had been a second too late it would’ve been Noctis with a hole in his stomach, his blood on those talons.

Prompto turns the TV off, stomach churning with nausea. Without a second thought, he grabs his suit and leaps out of the apartment window.

“Sorry for the hold up.” Noctis comes bounding over to him, beaming as he fixes the collar of his shirt. He’s got a neatly pressed suit on, paired with slacks and dress shoes. “I had to go over some things with dad for the testimony.”

Prompto watches him skid to a stop in front of him. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Noctis tilts his head. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, um…” Prompto shuffles around his suit, pulling out the warp band. He thrusts it forward. “Here.”

Noctis looks down at it then back up to him. “You’re giving it back?”

Prompto nods.

“Why? I made it for you,” he says, hands coming up to smooth the front of his shirt. “Well, it’s not perfect yet, but I fixed up some of the kinks. Next time you could—”

“I’m not coming back,” Prompto says. 

Noctis stares. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. “You’re—“ he starts. “What’s wrong? Is your stomach—“

Noctis reaches for his middle, and Prompto flinches. They both stand stock-still, staring at each other, and Noctis slowly lowers his hand.

“No. No, it’s not that, I…” he falters, feels his heart ramming against his throat. “I can’t see you anymore. After yesterday, the attack, I shouldn’t—I can’t be around you.”

Noctis frowns. “What?”

Prompto feels frustration bubbling from his chest. “Didn’t you see the news? You could’ve gotten hurt. I could’ve gotten you killed,” he stresses. “There’s no point to this.”

“No point?” Noctis echoes. His voice had taken a dangerous tone, and it takes everything in Prompto not to physically recoil.

“It’s dangerous.”

“I saved you twice, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t need you to save me. You weren’t supposed to get involved at all!”

“So what, you’re just gonna leave?” he seethes. “Act like you’re protecting me, but really you’re just running away?”

“I am protecting you. You wouldn’t understand.”

“How wouldn’t I understand?”

“If the public finds out you’re involved with me, they’d come after you,” he hisses. “They’d hunt you down. I can’t risk that.”

“I’m not helpless. I can hold my own just fine!”

“No, you don’t get it, okay? I can’t be here for you—”

“Prom, I saved you.”

Prompto comes to a dead standstill. His heart lurches in his throat, thundering in his ears. “What did you just call me?”

Noctis startles, as if he’s just coming to his senses. “Wait—”

“You knew it was me?” Prompto steps back. “How long—how did you know?”

Noctis presses his lips in a thin line, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Noct!”

“I figured it out. The blond hair, the bruises—Prom, you showed me your camera,” he says. “I wasn’t going to tell you, not until you were ready. I didn’t think it mattered—”

He feels something get caught in his throat.

Noctis’ eyes widened. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s my fault.” Prompto laughs a little, and it comes out dry. “I thought if I—” he presses a hand to his face, “I never should’ve gotten involved with you.”

“Prom—”

“I don’t want to do this anymore, okay? Can we just…” the tension seeps out of him. “Please.”

Noctis looks like he wants to say more. He opens his mouth, then clamps it back shut again.

Prompto hands the band back to him, doesn’t look him in the eyes as he says, “It’s been fun.”

Later, Noctis’ hearing is played to all of Lucis. Prompto hears him say Spider-Man– and unplugs the TV for the rest of the night.

Nothing changes after that.

Prompto’s not stupid enough to delude himself into thinking they were friends just because he had cozied up to the guy a few times. They’ve really only been playing pretend for the past few months anyway, so it’s not like it changes anything in his life. He’s used to people leaving, never really expected them to stay in the first place. 

It might’ve even been for the best. At least this way, Prompto doesn’t have to worry about hiding his other half, or having to tiptoe around interactions to make sure he doesn’t accidentally reveal anything. No more distractions, he thinks bitterly.

He glances at the empty desk where Noctis sits. It’s weird to turn around and not see the usual slumbering figure at his table, but it’s even weirder that everything goes on like nothing is wrong. Noctis’ absence stirs a weird feeling in his chest, like someone had carved a hole there and left it gaping wide open. He doesn’t want to think about what that means. 

Distantly, he wonders if anyone’s ever felt that way about him.

Cindy keeps looking at him sadly, her eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way she could read him like an open book sometimes. It makes him feel like he’s been stripped naked. It makes him feel like a child.

“Sugar, I think you boys are goin’ ‘bout this the wrong way,” she tells him between classes. “You oughta talk to ‘im.”

She doesn’t say anything else—just pats his shoulder and hurries off to her next class. That hole in his chest gapes wider, and he’s got a feeling she might be right about something he doesn’t know yet.

The fight drains out of him when Prompto steps through the front door.

His absence lingers around the apartment like a ghost—dust coating the cabinets, piles of mail on the coffee table, week-old laundry in the hamper. The moment Prompto had walked through the door he thought about leaving. He thought about his suit, tucked away in the confines of his closet. 

It’s more out of habit, if anything. He doesn’t think he could stomach putting it on right now, let alone go off looking for trouble. He picks up a sock lying on the ground, and gets to work tidying up.

When the silence becomes too much to bear, Prompto turns on the TV.

“—think Spider-Man should be apprehended?”

Prompto looks up from where he’s folding laundry on the floor, and sees Noctis in a suit, frowning at something off camera. 

“It’s not his fault what happened,” he says. “He was trying to save people. He saved me.”

There’s an array of cameras flashing, and Prompto copies Noct’s squint as the lights flicker in his face. He knows what that feels like.

“Do you know who might be behind the mask?”

“No. I don’t,” he answers easily. “And it shouldn’t matter who’s behind the mask. He’s still Spider-Man.”

“—a public nuisance! What do you have to say about that?”

“He’s not—” Noctis pauses, as if he’s just remembering that he’s being recorded. “You people don’t get it, he’s done more for this city than any of you have.”

Murmur breaks out in the crowd, but Noctis continues.

“He might’ve had his faults, but he risked everything to protect you people. He willingly put himself in danger for you. So don’t sit there and talk about him like he’s some menace—he’s a hero. And he’s important to me.”

“In case he’s watching tonight, is there anything you would like to say to Spider-Man?”

For the first time since the interview rolled, Noctis looks nervous. He’s looking into the camera with wide eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. Prompto feels his heart thunder in his ears.

“Hey, Webs,” he says, smile slanted and voice soft. Prompto feels his breath catch in his throat. “I know we’ve had some… technical difficulties as of late. But I had a lot of fun, and I want us to work, and I care about you, Webs, I— ” Noctis stiffens, eyes glancing around the reporters anxiously. “I want to fix this. Please. You know where to find me.”

“Is it true that you—”

The rest of the news reporter’s voice turns into static in Prompto’s ears. He’s clutching a sweater to his chest, willing his heart to calm down. 

Gods, what an idiot. He’s an idiot.

Noctis’ soft eyes, his crooked smile. The way he snorts at something funny, and the way he lights up when he starts talking about his tech. His nimble hands, holding Prompto close, trying to keep blood from his mouth. This city wouldn’t be the same without you, and the whole time he hadn’t been talking to Spider-Man. He had been talking to him. 

Has it always been right in front of him all along?

Noctis laughs at something the news reporter says, and Prompto watches the way his face scrunches up, feeling his heart thrum through his entire body.

Prompto drops to a crouch on the ledge of the rooftop.

Gods, he doesn’t know what he’s doing here. The original plan was to talk to Noctis, tell him he was wrong and that he was sorry, and maybe they can part ways with a high-five and a see you tomorrow. But now that he’s here, his hands haven’t stopped shaking, and he’s pretty sure he might throw up.

Oh well, his brain helpfully supplies. Better to rip the bandaid off than to let it stay on forever.

He’s running the words through his head when the entrance swings open and Noctis steps out, lugging a backpack on one shoulder. He freezes when he spots Prompto, his entire body going stock-still.

“Hey.”

Noctis blinks. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, “someone told me to come here on live television.”

Noctis flushes at that, the tips of his ears burning red. “You saw the interview.”

Prompto nods. He steps off the ledge and yanks his mask open, letting blond tufts get ruffled by the wind. When he shakes the hair out of his eyes, Noctis is staring at him with eyes so wide Prompto thinks they might pop out of their sockets.

He raises a brow. “What’s that look for? You knew it was me.”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve never…” Noctis falters.

Prompto looks down at the mask in his hands, wringing the spandex between his fingers. He takes a breath. “Look, I… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. About everything. I shouldn’t have told you to cut things off—that you’d be better off without me. I didn’t think about how it would’ve made you feel.”

He turns the mask around until he’s looking into his own lenses. “I was just scared after that day. I realized how easily I could’ve lost you—and it scared me, how I could’ve let that happen. I thought it would’ve been better if I kept my distance. But I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, everything is silent save for the light breeze blowing through the building and Prompto’s roaring blood in his ears. He grips the mask tighter and holds it against his chest.

Then there’s the feeling of light fingers on his hand, tracing the spandex there. Prompto doesn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but when he opens them he’s greeted by the sight of Noctis’ face, standing close and holding his hand.

“Hey, I’m sorry too,” he says. “I didn’t mean to get angry. I know you were just trying to protect me.”

He slots his fingers through Prompto’s. “I should’ve come clean to you sooner. I wanted to tell you that I knew, but I was afraid you’d freak out—that I’d ruin things. It didn’t matter to me if you were Prompto or Webs—I liked you. I liked being around you. It was nice to just be… us.”

Prompto hums. He brings his hand up to his face, lets his lips trace over Noctis’ bony knuckles. When he looks up, Noctis is blushing that cute red again.

“Then let’s just be us,” he says.

Noctis gives him that crooked smile, and when he leans forward and plants a kiss on his cheek, Prompto feels like his heart grew ten times and is going to burst right out of his chest.

Noctis suddenly bolts upright from where he’s lying beside Prompto on the concrete, yanking his hand away. “Shit!”

“What is it?”

“I forgot to tell you,” Noctis points to a corner of the wall. “We have CCTV installed on the roof.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Prompto lies back down. He turns his head and makes eye contact with his mask.

“Shit!”

“Wait, run that last part by me again. And don’t crack your voice this time.”

Prompto groans. “Are you sure I can’t just have Spidey do the speech?”

“I’ve seen your Spidey speeches. Iggy wouldn’t be impressed.”

He groans again, and swipes through his flashcards.

In front of him, Noctis is also swiping through his own set of flashcards, his face uncharacteristically solemn as he reads through the words. He looks really good in his button-up shirt and dress pants, and Prompto really wants to ditch the whole speech practice to fool around with him. Ignis would probably smack him upside the head if he tried anything.

Noctis is sitting on one of the laboratory tables, which is probably a safety hazard on its own. Then again, Prompto is hanging upside down from the ceiling with his webs, so he’s not one to talk.

 “Okay, that’s much better,” Noctis says. “Now listen to mine.”

“C’mon, you always nail your speeches, dude.”

“Yeah, but dad’s real serious about me doing the opening speech for the internship program this year, so I can’t mess this up. Also Iggy would probably kill me.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

Halfway through Noctis’ speech, Prompto gets distracted. He sways forward on his web and bumps heads with Noct to peck him on his lips. Noctis laughs, sets his flashcards aside, and holds Prompto still by his shoulders. He counts that as a win.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you look really good in black.”

“Yeah?” Noctis leans forward, but then the laboratory door swings open, and Noctis shoves him away so hard he goes swaying around the room.

“Ah, there you are, Prompto,” Ignis says, completely unfazed. Gladio steps through the door behind him. “I have your intern ID card. You didn’t take it from the front desk this morning.”

“Oh! I forgot about that. Thanks, Iggy.”

“Yes, please refrain from using the fifteenth floor window when you enter the building next time.”

“Duly noted.”

Noctis takes the lanyard from him. He puts it around Prompto’s neck, which goes right through his head and drops to the floor. Ignis looks unimpressed.

Gladio comes around behind Prompto. He lightly shoves him on the back, and he goes swaying around the room again. “How’s the speech lookin’?”

“Aw, dude! I got this chief intern speech down to a T, don’t even worry about it.”

“You know this is gonna be different from your Spidey speeches, right?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate you doin’ finger guns behind the podium.”

“Well, in any case,” Ignis taps Prompto gently, and he steps down from the web to let him put the lanyard around his neck. “I believe you both will do wonderfully. We’ll leave you to it, then.”

Ignis and Gladio leave the room—but not before Gladio winks at Noct and makes kissy faces at him. When Prompto turns to him, Noct is thumbing through his cards with a frown again, so Prompto sits next to him on the table and pats him on the knee.

“Hey. You’re gonna do great. Don’t worry so much, hm?”

Noctis looks at him then, and the frown dissipates into something softer. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re not trying to distract me again, are you?”

“Nope!” he drums his fingers on Noct’s thigh. “But if you want me to…” he waggles his eyebrows. 

Noctis snorts. He takes Prompto’s hand and links their fingers together. “I love you.”

Something inside Prompto melts, and he leans forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “I love you, too.”

“Bodega sandwiches on the roof after this?”

“It’s a date.”