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Prompto did not like the way Ignis was looking at him.
No, no, not in that way. Perhaps the best way to describe it would be the look you make when you see the sample question on a standardized test and already know you're going to fail.
Here Prom was, doing absolutely nothing but playing a game of Solitaire on his phone, but he could feel Ignis' gaze burning into his soul every time the man glanced up from his magazine. He figured Ignis would've been satisfied to have him quiet until Noct and Gladio got back from doing whatever, but nooo.
"Can I help you?" Prom asked, tired of being placed under this obsessive scrutiny.
Ignis perked up with a start, trying to redirect his gaze as if he were entirely innocent. However, pretending to plunge back into his intellectually stimulating Which Med-Resistant Supervirus Are You? quiz was no longer an option. "No. Sorry," he coughed, and made himself more comfortable from his position on the opposite side of the couch. Prompto turned his attention back to his card game.
"Well, actually..."
Prompto fixed a perplexed stare onto his friend. "Yeah?" He motioned with his free hand for Ignis to continue.
"I'm sorry, It's just..." And then Ignis closed his magazine, which, to anyone who knew the guy, was a sign that things were about to get very serious from here on out. The urgency of the situation made Prompto lean in anxiously, ears open and attentive to Ignis' extremely important next words:
"Was it a conscious decision to put that outfit on before we left Lucis?"
Prompto fell back, bewildered. "W-what?"
"That outfit, Prom," Ignis repeated.
"What's wrong with it?"
Ignis sucked in air through his teeth. "A lot," is all he said.
Prom looked down, gave himself a once-over, and glanced back at Ignis with a gaze of incredulity. He certainly didn't see anything wrong with his own style. In spite of everything that went down, this was what Ignis wanted to give a lecture on?
Ignis scooted closer to the blonde. "Just—out of everything in your closet, why this?" He tugged on the blonde's vest, only to have his hand swatted away.
"I get you, Igs," Prom began sarcastically. "The king gets stabbed in the back, the city is under siege, and everything within a five mile radius wants us dead, but I should've looked fabulous—" he struck a pose, "—before I stepped out the door."
Ignis receded. "I mean, I'm not saying you have to be dressy or anything, but Prompto." He snatched a handful of the plaid crimson cloth underneath Prom's vest. "What is this?"
"It's called plaid, Igs. Duh!" And Prom felt immense satisfaction from that one-up.
"You mean flannel, Prompto. Why is it longer than your vest? And it's with two other layers of clothing, in this Duscae heat no less! Great gods, Prom, aren't you hot?"
Prompto tore his flannel out of Ignis' grip. "I sure am. And I bet you think so too, Mister Let's-stare-at-Prompto-for-ten-minutes-straight! Now move!"
But Ignis just kept pressing it. "And what's this? Four different patterns at once? Ridiculous!" One by one, Ignis listed them off. "Leopard print, then rhinestones, then plaid, then...whatever the hell this squiggly pattern is. How uncoordinated!"
"Yeah, well—you—I'm—!" Prompto worked his jaw for a stunning retort. When he couldn't think of one, he searched Ignis up and down until an opportunity appeared. And when he saw that opportunity, boy, did he lunge for it; the same way your nosy mom busts into your room trying to catch you doing something wrong but only finds you studying math like the sweet little angel you are.
"You're wearing leopard print too!" he cried desperately, pulling at the collar of the man's dress shirt.
"Yes, and it's worn with solid colors. Solids. As in, completely acceptable to wear in public. Also, have you ever thought about getting a haircut, or at least investing in a comb?"
Prompto blanched at that, feeling at his luxurious golden locks. You could make fun of a man's rags all day, but his hair? Why, a blow to the hair is like a blow to the soul.
"Me? Haircut?" Prom scoffed weakly. "You could use a few inches cut off yourself, you know! Oh, and a lot less gel."
"Oh please, swept-up hair is certainly in style nowadays. And I don't cake my hair in gel." But anyone who knew the guy knew that was bull. "Meanwhile, you look as if you plucked an entire family of chocobos and glued their feathers to your scalp!"
"Oh yeah?" Prom shot back. "Well, screw your haircut and the fivehead underneath it!"
Ignis was about to reply when the door to the caravan opened. It was Noctis and Gladio, back from their perilous journey of doing whatever. More importantly, they held little black bags in their hands. Even more importantly, Prompto saw yet another opportunity to take the heat off of himself.
"You wanna talk about needing a haircut, Igs? Just look at Noct!"
"Prom, keep my name out your mouth," growled the prince, dropping his bags on the makeshift kitchen counter.
"He's gotta point, Noct," Gladio said as he followed him. "I'm not telling you how to live your life or anything, but don't be surprised if you wake up one morning and something has nested in that head of yours."
"I'll concede to your point, Prompto," agreed Ignis. He fixed on Noctis a censorious stare. Not a rude one, just purely critical. "And those capris don't look good with those boots either."
"You know what else doesn't look good, Iggy? That attitude." Noct pointed a chastising finger at him. "What the hell were you two talking about while we were gone?"
Prompto pouted. "Igs was cramping my style again."
"Hah!" Noctis cried. "What style do you have, Prom?"
Ignis broke in before Prom could let loose again. "All I'm saying," he explained, "is that it would've been nice for you all to have brought some better clothes along when we left Lucis."
"Oh yeah, I agree," Gladio espoused proudly, but the sarcasm was obvious in his haughty tone. "I wanna look drop-dead gorgeous when I fight so my attacker will steal the clothes off my back before murdering me in the name of the emperor."
Noctis snorted, plopping down onto a chair adjacent to the couch. "Oh yeah, Igs. Just run up to my closet and get filled with the lead of a thousand Niflheim bullets."
"Exactly!" Prom chirped.
"Actually, I think it's good that Noct didn't bring extra clothes," Gladio said. "Kid can hardly dress himself in the morning as it is."
Now it was Noct on the defensive. "Uh, yes I can. I've been doing it my whole life, haven't I?"
"Barely," coughed Ignis.
"Yeah!" Prompto affirmed. "Didn't the king blast you only a year ago for almost going to a meeting with two different shoes on?"
The flush of mortification on Noct's face betrayed his tone. "I was rushing—"
"No you weren't. You're so dead in the morning that if someone handed you a sparkly pink dress to wear for the day, you'd still slip it on."
And then Prom did his practiced imitation of Morning Noctis, moaning like a zombie, grabbing at an invisible dress as he mumbled his thanks to Octavia, a castle servant. Even started to slowly slide off his denim vest. Thankfully this display got a few laughs out of Gladio and Ignis before he could reach his belt buckle.
"Alright, alright," grumbled Noct. "Enough about me. But Igs, you know we can't just stroll around wearing 5,000-gil suits. We're wanted men. We have to blend in."
Ignis sniffed. "We won't be so inconspicuous if either one of you ends up in a ad as the Fashion Fax Paux of the week. You know how Lestallum is. And besides," he added, "you look nice in a suit."
"Totally," Prompto agreed, and this time he was entirely sincere. "You look sharp as hell whenever you're going out for a meeting or something."
"Better than what he wears on a daily basis," said Gladio. "Now, if only we could get him to go out for a date..."
Noctis sent his fellow swordsman a withering glare and received a cheeky smile in return. "Then," Noctis began, voice tinged with self-consciousness as well as a genuine desire to quench his curiosity. "What do I look like on a daily basis?"
"A commoner," Ignis supplied simply.
And Gladio: "A gangly teenager."
Only Prompto decided to be nice. "You're adorable, Noct." Wait, adorable?
Before Noct knew it, the blonde had captured his cheek in a painful grip. "Whose my wittle man?" he cooed, before his hand was hit with the royal slap. The prince hated that when his dad did it, when the castle servants did it, and he hated it even more now.
Ignis (sort of) came to his defense. "The rest of you hardly have room to talk," he chided them. "It would be nice to have 20-something year-old men dress like, well, 20-something year-old men."
Gladio let out a comical gasp. "Oh gods, is Ignis embarrassed by us?" He threw an arm around the man's shoulder, ignoring the other's gasp of surprise. "Well, too bad! If he really hated our wack taste in fashion, he would've dropped out of this clique ten years ago. Plus, there really is nothing bad you could say about me."
Prom snapped at that. "You aren't even wearing a shirt."
"Well, what can I say?" Gladio chuckled. "The ladies want what the ladies want."
Prompto waved him off. "Anywho," he began. "If Ignis really doesn't wanna be seen with us, he could always edge out a few hundred gil to get us stuff from now on. Not that I'm saying he has to, buuuut I sure won't complain about free gifts."
Despite its fatuous implications, Ignis appeared to brighten at that. "That's not a bad idea, actually," he conceded. "Yes—we'll gather up some money and go shopping this week; a worthwhile investment."
Noct threw his feet over the armrest of his chair. "Boy oh boy. Nothing makes me scream 'I gotta buy this!' more than orange soda that's 5 gil a can." Noct was only half-joking. Orange soda was the drink of the gods, man. "As much as I appreciate the idea, Igs, where are we gonna find clothes in Duscae?
"I meant when we arrived at Lestallum." Ignis rose from the couch and stretched. "We might as well get some gil before it gets dark." Yes, might as well make their current clothes more nasty, tattered, and poorly-fitting than they already were before burning them in hellfire where they belonged. "By the way, I'll be picking out the outfits this time."
"Whatever you say, Igs," Gladio disregarded him lazily. "Hopefully they'll have some nice gloves for you to buy. I recommend the ones with the spikes."
"Thanks mom," Noct replied to Ignis sarcastically. "but I'm old enough to pick out my own clothes now. By the way, before we all started talking shit about each other, Gladio and I brought lunch. Could we eat before we go, please?"
When Ignis reached the kitchen counter, he took the meat, buns, cheese, chips, and condiments out of the bag. Something was obviously missing here.
"Noct," he huffed. "Where is the lettuce? The tomatoes?"
"Do you know who I am, Ignis?" the prince gawked.
And so the boys had simple turkey sandwiches for lunch that afternoon.
"Prom," Ignis hissed. He and said blonde sat back on the couch as they ate. Prompto looked up from his meal.
"I lied," Ignis continued in a whisper, and Prom noticed the small smile tugging at his lips. "I actually...kind of do like your haircut."
So, he wanted to make amends. "Aww, Igs." Prom threw one arm around the man's shoulders while he held his sandwich in the other. "I still don't like yours. Eat up, now—wait, Igs, where are you going? Yo, come back! I was just joking—"