Archive of Our Own ^beta

001. - 16th Birthday -

The notification stares Noctis right in the face, repeatedly blinking red numbers at him, a reminder from his phone that he's been procrastinating again while he reclines on his apartment sofa.

October 25th.

Dread sinks in when he realizes that's only a day away, and he hasn't yet figured out what to get Prompto for his birthday. If it had been anyone else, he'd have just let Ignis take care of it like he usually does, not really prone to really buying presents for others as it's never been his obligation to do so, mostly because he'd never had any money of his own to spend on anyone. Taking money from the royal bank accounts to buy things for other people without proper approval would count as 'frivolous spending,' and he'd just get a lecture about that from Ignis who carefully monitors how he spends his weekly stipends and doesn't give him much room to purchase anything that isn't food, clothes, or school necessities. Which doesn't necessarily stop Noctis from buying video games or blowing said weekly stipend at the arcade, if he's honest with himself. That constantly earns him stricter limitations on his bank card and an earful of nagging, but it's been well worth it so far. It's not like his father ever has much to say about it so long as Noctis isn't buying anything particularly scandalous. He can't imagine he'd protest if he said he was buying something for a friend, but a part of him also feels like that would just be too simple of a solution -blow an exorbitant amount of royal money on something Prompto would like and have Ignis wrap it up in a nice bow for him. Except, he knows Prompto isn't a luxurious guy -he knows what part of town he lives in, has seen him jog to school every morning instead of drive there, knows he's got thrift store accessories and buys all his food at a corner store grocery mart instead of having them expertly prepared by a teenage chef.

If Noctis just showed up with a new game console or an expensive watch for him, it'd feel meaningless, and Noctis doesn't particularly like the idea of buying him something with his father's money and pretending like he put some thought and effort into it. He's also never had a friend who hadn't been in some way obligated to put up with him, well aware his relationship with Prompto is a hell of a lot different than the one he has with either Ignis or Gladio. In fact, it's the first time anyone has ever approached him without much concern for his title or his status.

The reactions the other students have towards him are usually awe-struck curiosity, jealousy, or something close to outright worship, none of which he ever feels like he's earned or deserves. But Prompto smiles at him like they'd been friends for a lifetime already, messes up his hair, punches him gently in the arm, constantly makes him laugh until his stomach hurts. It's not a feeling he wants to lose anytime soon, the tiniest bit of normalcy he gets from him that always threatens to slither between his fingers and fade away. Some mornings, he thinks he might just wake up, go to school, and suddenly find the seat in front of him empty even though it's irrational to think that, but there are so many other losses he's had to cope with since he was a child.

The fear grips him constantly, knowing the future is an uncertainty waiting to slam into him like a truck, and it's all just a matter of when -how long before his father passes away? How long before he has to assume the throne? How many rainy afternoon days will he have left to spend in the arcade trying to pummel Prompto's character into the ground as their shoulders brush against one another? For any other teen, an afternoon like that would probably mean nothing at all, but Noctis clings to those moments like he's climbing along a rope that threatens to unravel before he's reached the top of it. That's why he has to try to do at least something a little special for Prompto even if he can't figure out what yet.

They've only known each other for a few months, and while they have a ton of things in common, everything he can think to get him feels insignificant somehow. He knows what video games he's been eying, what cameras he likes, what his favorite color and animals are, that he loves spicy food and has a crush on the girl who works part-time at the smoothie place next to the arcade. However, Noctis has already resolved not to any use royal funds, so that means video games and a camera are out of the question. As much as he'd like to give Prompto a dog, it seems like it'd be a hassle to give Prompto something he has to take care of and sink time and money into. And where would he even hide the dog until the 25th? His place has a strict no-pets rule. He guesses he could try and convince the smoothie girl to go out with Prompto, but …that would be awkward. Plus, he's pretty sure all of Prompto's cringe-worthy attempts at small talk with her from the past have already completely destroyed what chances he has with her. That leaves him with basically no options.

Wait-! He could make something. Except, he hasn't exactly crafted anything since he was in elementary school and had to glue popsicle sticks together to build a model of the Citadel. He also remembers how many hours Ignis had spent carefully snipping his hair afterwards after having glued half the popsicle sticks to himself instead of each other. Probably not the best of ideas, especially after it had taken him a year to grow all that hair back.

Who said it had to be an art project, though? He could make Prompto something to eat. That doesn't exactly cost much if he keeps the ingredients simple and remembers which is the proper sponge to clean with if he burns through his cookware again. At least, Prompto would know it's not something Ignis made or that he sent anyone else to get for him once he takes a look at it, and given the guy's home-life, he doesn't think Prompto's ever had anyone actually give him something as mundane as a cake for his birthday. Of course, this also means figuring out how to bake a cake, but he can probably do it from memory. He's seen Ignis do it enough times and has a pretty good idea what ingredients he'd need and how to put it all together. Now, it's just a matter of a quick trip to the corner store and trying to figure out what flavor Prompto might like.

His fingers settle on a box of vanilla bean cake which the text assures him is somehow more exotic than regular vanilla, a fact that makes it extra appealing for reasons he can't exactly explain to himself. He just rolls along with the idea and throws in some "funfetti" frosting to at least make it look more festive. Dessert decorating has never been a particular skill of his, and who's going to argue against sprinkles?

Once he's returned to his apartment, he sets forth on the arduous task of baking, and what at first seems like easy enough directions proves to be misleading when Ignis finds him in the kitchen an hour and a half later, covered in powder and trying to cut around the burnt edges of the "cake" he had made. By then, the smoke detector is left hanging piteously from the ceiling with the batteries torn out in a fit of panic and rage, and the kitchen looks like it had been hit by a tidal wave of cake mix. If Noctis weren't so frustrated with himself, he'd actually manage to be amused at Ignis' attempts to reign in his own irritation as he walks around, trying to assess the damage.

"Should I be grateful that you at least managed to condense the mess in one area of the apartment this time?"

Arms crossed and lips drawn tightly downwards, he's the very image of fervent disapproval, but Noctis is too busy to answer him, still trying to cut around the edges of the cake to make it look decent -except the more he tries to even it out, the smaller the cake gets until it gets closer and closer to just being a cupcake. Maybe he should go with that and pretend it's intentional?

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Ignis presses.

His own eyebrows cinch inwards as he concentrates, thinking he might just have it looking okay this time around, only shaving just a small sliver off before stepping back to look at it. That's when he finally answers Ignis-

"Making a cake."

"Yes, I can see. But why?"

He busies himself with the "funfetti" frosting, opening it so he can slather it on the carcass of a cake and try to class it up a little, but the whole task is just an excuse to avoid looking Ignis in the eye as he speaks because it's kind of embarrassing to admit he went through all this effort for a friend at school.

"Prompto's birthday."

He spies Ignis nodding once before his own hand is gently grabbed in his grip, preventing him from putting on any more frosting at all. He's just about to question Ignis when he sees the older teen grab a toothpick from one of the drawers and slide it through the center of the cake.

"So you plan on giving him the gift of food poisoning?" he remarks as the tooth pick comes out with bits of liquidated cake mix still clinging to it.

A quiet groan falls loose from his lips before his face breaks into a scowl, already eager to chuck everything into the trash. "How can the center be raw if it was burnt on the outside?"

Luckily, Ignis is already discarding the cake for him before calmly checking the oven and turning one of the knobs on it.

"It's funny how that happens when you don't bake at the right temperature. Four hundred and seventy-five degrees is a bit much, isn't it? And how many times do I need to remind you not to leave the oven on?"

He can already feel the incoming lecture about fire safety, but he cuts Ignis off quickly before he can start, "Save it. I'm not in the mood."

The idea of starting all of this over again is probably the least appealing thing in the universe to him right now, especially when he'd actually been pretty excited about it before, if only because he had a feeling it would have been a nice surprise for Prompto. Maybe, it had all just been a bad idea right from the onset. What was he thinking? He really should have settled on buying him a video game and not overthinking his present so much. Knowing him, Prompto would have just been okay with whatever he had chosen to give him, even if he didn't give him anything at all, but it's because he's that selfless of a person, Noctis does sort of want to make the effort just to make it a little obvious to him that their friendship is important to him. That he is important to him.

This shouldn't even bother him that much. Most guys don't think this extensively about what to buy each other for their birthdays. He's already sensing his own self-consciousness creep up on him as he starts chucking everything else into the trash, feeling the most gratified when the "funfetti" sinks into the bin, though the sheer ferocity with which he moves does give Ignis' pause as his eyebrow raises questioningly in his direction. He knows he probably should give him some sort of explanation, but he's not in the mood for that either, not exactly expecting him to really understand. Knowing Ignis, he'd offer to either make the cake in his place or run out and buy something for him to give to Prompto, but neither solution is particularly satisfying. It isn't even a matter of pride. It's more that he wants to do something entirely on his own for once for someone else. Having spent his whole life having his hand-held, being unable to take three steps without bodyguards by his side- it's because of things like that that he feels so distant from his peers at school, why he can't even fully relate to Prompto like he wants to.

But he doesn't always want it to be that way, and he's felt it for sometime -that indisputable longing rippling through him to be a normal kid with normal struggles, normal worries. Only think about school, only worry about where he'll go to college or where he'll work after. Not have his entire destiny chiseled into stone. He still feels like his teenage years are slipping by faster than he can grab a hold of them, the thought of waking up an old man tomorrow filling him with inescapable nightmares about all the time he didn't get to spend living.

When the last of the ingredients goes into the garbage, a whole carton of eggs, he sees Ignis giving him a 'you could have saved at least those' expression, but he doesn't acknowledge it. Showing up empty-handed tomorrow is a fate he'll have to accept at this point, or maybe he'll just think of something spontaneous along the way. All he knows right now is that he's beyond tired, and he doesn't want to think about cake or birthdays anymore.

His back hits the couch too hard as he flops down on it, ignoring the distant sounds of Ignis cleaning up as both his own arms land over his face. The weight of them is oppressive where they linger over his nose and mouth, his own breath tickling the surface of his wrists while his brain tries to forge through with an idea. It isn't until he's sitting in class the next morning that he accepts he has absolutely no good ones. Nothing even remotely special. All he can do is let his eyes swing towards the window, watching time move with the sun's position. He barely even notices when Prompto sinks down in front of him, only snapping his attention back to his immediate surroundings when Prompto turns around and pokes him between the eyes.

"You still with us? Or did you return to your home planet in there?"

The question makes him falter for a moment, mouthing the end of it absentmindedly before mentally shaking himself out of his stupor.

"Sorry, didn't sleep much last night."

His reply manages to draw a surprised look from Prompto.

"Man, you must really be coming down with something. Never thought I'd see the day you didn't get enough sleep."

The finger on his forehead is now a warm palm curving along his skin to feel his temperature as Prompto leans in too close like he can read his health chart through his eyes. The touch makes him fidget uncomfortably for a bit as he swipes away Prompto's hand before his skin can get too used to the warmth.

"Stop that. I'm fine."

"If you say so."

Prompto starts to turn back around to prepare for their first class, but Noctis' body reacts before his mind can catch up, gripping his shoulder to keep his attention on himself for just a bit longer. His fingers move around the bones there, pushing in slightly with his nails while his tongue weighs heavily in his mouth, curving around several words, none of which sound right to him at all. Too dumb, too simple, too sentimental, too …unlike himself. He throws them around longer in his mind, ignoring the fact that Prompto is now left staring at him expectantly.

After a moment, Noctis finally settles on, "Your birthday …it's your birthday today, right?"

He manages to make it sound so casual and aloof that he can fool himself into thinking he's successfully hiding how much he'd been agonizing over the thought yesterday. That's one mental pat on the back for him, and he watches Prompto's reaction curiously, eying the way his mouth splits into a small sincere grin as he absently reaches up to toy with some of his the blond strands hovering in front of his face.

"It's because of the class roster, right? You really remembered…"

It's entrancing the way Prompto's thin fingers continue to slide around his own hair, pulling at the ends while his eyes flicker around, shuttered behind an expression that Noctis can't make out well. Maybe it's simple shock because Prompto had never really mentioned it verbally at all to him, and he is right, Noctis had gleaned it off the class roster and stuck it on his phone to remember.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Especially after Prompto had remembered his. He recalls he had even gotten him a new phone cover -the limited edition Casanova Coeurl themed one.

"Figured you got other things on your mind being the prince and all."

Prompto's eyes move downwards, the blue shade of them hooded beneath his eyelids as both his arms move to cross before him so he can rest his chin on them. It makes Noctis wonder if anyone else at all had remember Prompto's birthday or had bothered to say anything about it. He knows the guy doesn't have a lot of friends outside of himself, that the two of them mostly stick to one another in and out of class, but he also figured that there had to be more people in his life. Who had bothered wishing him a happy birthday all these years that had passed before they wound up in each other's orbit?

The thought weighs heavenly in his mind as he tries to distract himself from that niggling realization. "Yeah, well you're one of those things. On my mind."

The words unfold so bluntly and fast from his mouth that he hardly believes he said them, but the reaction on Prompto's face proves otherwise as the other teen ducks his head and grins, teeth flashing in between his lips. There's a playful nudge of his closed fist to Noctis' shoulder before Prompto leans in too close once more, and his nostrils are suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of Prompto everywhere all around him.

"Hey, does that mean you're going to let me drive your fancy car for my birthday?"

Noctis' reply is a soft snort. Of all the things to ask for…

"Yeah, try asking Ignis that. I'm not even allowed to drive it."

Even though he'd just gotten his license rather recently, Ignis still has a strict policy of being its only driver until he 'proves himself to be responsible.' That means he usually got stuck driving a practice vehicle from twenty years ago that Noctis swears is one hefty speed bump away from dying completely. There is no way he's publicly driving around the city in that thing. On the other hand, it's a good way to get the press to leave him alone

"Aw, come on! Just one loop around the block!"

"Does he look like the type of guy that would even leave a set of keys with me?"

That seems to make Prompto's entire countenance deflate, a quiet groan of disappointment fleeing his mouth before the teacher yells at them to stop chatting and pay attention. Noctis has to hold back his laughter when Prompto jumps slightly in his chair at the sound of his voice, his head whipping around in abject embarrassment.

"S-sorry, sir!"

It's a welcomed interruption as Noctis continues to mull over any last minute birthday ideas, thinking he already messed this one up big time. At least, he acknowledged he remembered, and Prompto would probably be content with that much alone but he himself isn't. There has to be at least something more he can do for him that doesn't involve his car or public property being destroyed. His fingers tap absently against his notebook, the possibilities flitting through his mind before he eventually settles on something casual, too unremarkable for him to really feel personally satisfied about it -a simple invite to dinner at Prompto's favorite curry place, all on him.

The place is nothing extravagant at all, the strong scent wafting from the dank neighborhood it's tucked in before they even reach the entrance. It's the type of smell that will cling unrelentingly to his hair and clothes for days, but it does feel well worth it when Prompto's face lights up at all the different menu possibilities once Noctis had stipulated that he "go crazy" tonight. Apparently, the other teen takes that to mean ordering five different kinds of curries to be shared between them, each with varying levels of spiciness. The worst of the bunch leaves Prompto a weeping mess, sucking down glass after glass of water while Noctis refuses the spoonful of it the blond happens to hover in front of his lips.

"Come on, just one bite!" he baits, continuously pushing the end of the spoon to his mouth.

"Do I look that eager to die?"

"But if you do it, you can call yourself curry-ageous!"

Ah yes, that pun had been one the menu had used to describe this particular recipe blend. 'Only the most curry-ageous can survive a single bite!' Like Noctis would ever let himself be goaded into a lifetime of stomach pain and reflux from this.

"No thanks."

"It's my birthday, got to play along with the birthday boy's wishes."

Noctis rolls his eyes at that. "And which birthday boy made up that rule?"

"Me. Just now."

The spoon won't leave the vicinity of his lips, and Prompto's eyes bore into him with enough scrutiny to make him try and shrink back towards the seat. That sort of unwavering determination is the kind he doesn't see him adequately fending off but not for lack of trying.

"Come ooonnnn," Prompto continues to urge, voice breaking into the tiniest bit of a whine at the end.

"Fine, fine," he finally concedes with a sigh, already regretting it as the spoon starts to push between his lips. 

The smell of strong spices curls beneath his nose, the sting of them laden so thickly in the scent alone that his own eyes start to water. His gaze flicks back up to Prompto's, meeting him head-on and trying to willingly accept the challenge, though he can almost feel his nerves vibrating beneath his skin with burgeoning alarm as he parts his mouth. The spoon sinks in all too slowly and timidly, pressing up into the roof of his mouth as his cheeks hollow slowly to suck every bit of curry off the metal surface, an act he instantly regrets as a full force of heat fuses into every inch of surface area above, beneath, and around his tongue.

How uncool would it be to break down crying in public? He can just see the headlines now -'the Prince of Lucis has a public meltdown'. He'd already seen the sniffling mess Prompto had turned into before, but even so, that hadn't prepared him for the complete onslaught of fire and brimstone scorching the inside of his mouth as he forces himself to swallow. Not even a second later leaves him reaching for the first glass of water he sees, uncaring if it's his or Prompto's as he starts chugging it down at an alarming rate. Stray drops run rivulets down his chin and neck, but he pays it no mind, doing his best to soothe the burning sensation, and he's sure some of those running drops are also tears.

Somewhere amidst all the ambient noise is the sound of freshly peeled laughter, Prompto's whole body curled forward while struggling to stay watching him. If he weren't so invested in trying to hydrate himself, he might be tempted to shove the rest of the spoon in Prompto's mouth instead. As it is, Noctis doesn't stop gulping down water until the glass is nearly empty, and his shirt is soaked when he comes up gasping for air.

"I am never… listening… to you… again," he wheezes, before brushing his own lips clean with his forearm, but that only seems to encourage Prompto's laughter.

"You should see how red your face is!"

Both of Prompto's index fingers tap against his cheeks at the same time a moment later before the rest of his palms slowly cup them, and Noctis is unwittingly pulled across the table, leaving the sharp edge of it digging into his stomach. He has just enough time to register what's going on but not enough time to completely back out of it as the shutter-click sound of Prompto's phone goes off, capturing the two of them -Prompto smiling from ear to ear and his own face looking as flushed as a giant tomato with the added element of huge globs of tears dancing on his cheeks.

"You can't be serious!" Noctis remarks, already trying to lunge for the phone, but Prompto tugs it out of the way and hides it behind his back.

"Nuh-uh, this is going to be my new wallpaper."

The ensuing battle as he lunges across the table to try and get the phone manages to turn everyone else's heads their way, and the manager ends up politely asking them to leave because he can't simply throw the prince of Lucis out like he probably wants to. Noctis has enough sense to feel guilty about it anyway and leaves a sizable tip from the royal crown before kicking Prompto in the calf.

"I'm not letting you post that anywhere."

"But you look amazing!"

Why doesn't he ever get any pictures of him actually looking good for once? At least, Prompto looks like he's having fun in that shot. He can't remember the last time he'd seen Prompto laugh this much or this earnestly. Even though he's far less reserved than himself, Noctis can never shake the feeling that there's a lot going inside his head that his words and actions don't necessarily reflect. What he's seeing from him instead are fragments of the real Prompto just like he can't ever bring himself to speak his mind to him even when he knows Prompto won't judge him for anything he says. It's putting words to all the abstract feelings floating around his head that's the problem then living with the reality of his voice sounding them out loud while trying hard not to cringe at himself -at how weak and lost he must sound sometimes.

Right now, he's having a hard time trying to describe to himself the way his pulse feels like it's crackling with untapped electricity, the edges of each current singing into the surface of his veins until he wants to scratch at his own arms, but he knows it's not nervous tension this time. When Prompto's eyes find his -when his whole body leans into his side, arm strewn around his neck, warm and sticky with sweat- it's definitely a new and different sensation boring right through him recklessly. And he pretends not to notice when that arm tightens around him, cinching him in even tighter to Prompto's body as the warm air of his breath climbs along his ear, leaving Noctis' throat to close up at the sound of the other teen inhaling him openly.

"What are you doing?" he croaks out, his spine rigid like a metal pole while Prompto hovers there, always too close, always deep into the space he's clinging to as it dissipates quickly between them.

"Okay, this is going to sound weird, but-" Prompto pauses for what Noctis assumes is dramatic effect, and one of his fingers pushes deep into the side of his cheek, "I swear you smell like cake. Is it just me?"

…Oh. His mind reels awkwardly even while his heart dances along the inside of his rib cage, and he can't stop his head from bending forward sheepishly, having thought the shower he'd taken last night would have erased the scent entirely. If not that then the strong odor of curry. Prompto must be some kind of bloodhound if he can still pick up the smell of cake off of him.

"Must be your imagination."

"Yeah, but now I really want some. Don't suppose that manservant of yours can whip something up at this hour?"

He would if he asked him, but Noctis is in no mood to bother him right now, especially after last night's catastrophe. He imagines Ignis is going to be banning any cake-baking in the apartment for a while.

"How about I just buy you a smoothie on the way back?"

That seems to mollify Prompto enough, his face lightning up with an unabashed eagerness so quickly that his whole stomach flops around at the sight of his expression and the way Prompto nearly hugs him to himself without thinking. If only he could convince himself that this is a normal way to feel around his friend and that whatever is starting to emerge inside his chest isn't something that honestly terrifies him. It'd be easier to smile, lean in, throw away his self-consciousness for a moment and ride out every impulse that threatens to overwhelm him without knowing where it will take him.

But he doesn't. He never does. The fear is always too overpowering, leading him further away from Prompto's side so he can give himself some room to breathe and think again as he widens the distance between them. If Prompto notices at all, he doesn't show it on his face, his voice chattering away as he walks next to him -something about school or the smoothie shop girl. It sounds indiscernible beneath the way blood swims in his ears as his mind whirls around in place without any sign of stopping, and he wishes he could shut it off for a few seconds. Yet, it only quiets down enough to hear Prompto's quiet thank you at the end of the night.

"You know, I never got to really celebrate my birthday with someone. 'least not like this, so it means a lot to me, Noct."

Noctis can't stop the earnest little smile that breaks out in his face at those words as he lowers his head a bit, unable to meet Prompto's gaze when his stomach starts lurching again. It's such a simple sentiment to get worked up over that the embarrassment floods through him fast, making him wish he had something more to say at the moment that doesn't sound weird to his own ears.

"Yeah, just try not to kill me next year," he says instead, his voice seeming small and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

He does all he can to try and ease the rampant tension coursing through his own body, acting nonchalant about the whole thing and throwing in a quick, parting tap of his wrist against Prompto's. It's amazing how far he can go in sweeping things under the proverbial rug when it's convenient for him, but he already knows the simple truth that's been percolating for a while between his thoughts -between thoughts of his school, thoughts of his father, thoughts of fear, loss, and sorrow- as he watches Prompto walk away from him.

He thinks he likes Prompto.

002. - 17th Birthday -

Noctis has to wonder if every year, Prompto really is going to try and kill him with his birthday celebrations. Admittedly, this one is his entire fault, having earned car key privileges from Ignis by acing his latest math exam. That had bought him a free weekend pass to the Audi, though he hadn't at any point mentioned that he wouldn't be the one driving it, something he knows Ignis would disapprove of and something he is sincerely starting to regret as Prompto decides to take the next turn at a break-neck speed, causing the tires to screech in agony against the asphalt.

"How long ago did you say you got your license?!" Noctis asks as he clutches the bottom of his seat, knuckles turning white while he holds on for dear life.

"A month ago. Why do you ask?"

Because his lunch is going to end up on the dashboard if Prompto continues to drive as he is. This really had been poorly thought out, but after last year's sort-of failure of a present, he figured he'd make things up this birthday by giving Prompto exactly what he wanted. Now, if only his stomach would stop lurching around violently long enough for him to at least appreciate the fact that Prompto's enjoying himself.

With the wind blowing his hair everywhere and his face smoothed out in a carefree expression, he looks almost childlike next to him, untouched by any of the world's distant horrors. It's also the way the sun makes his eyes look clearer, the extra dusting of freckles spread across his cheeks, the way his lips pull back around his teeth when he grins, and Noctis grafts it all to his memory quickly, not one to really indulge in Prompto's pastime of documenting everything tangibly. It's more simpler to keep it all in his head, private and locked away up there for only his own eyes, though he wonders what Prompto would think if he knew he had such a prominent role in his mind lately. He hadn't so much as said anything over the past few months about his own evolving thoughts towards him, having resorted to trying to choke them down instead when they're not busy stabbing him between the eyes. The last thing he wants to do is mess up the least complicated of all his friendships, take away the one thing that's been keeping him sane when everything else has been threatening to unravel him little by little -the late night training sessions with Gladio, his father's severe expression every time they talk, Ignis' constant reminder that the throne will be his to command from one day.

The only time he ever feels unburdened and feather-light is when he's around Prompto, though he wonders if he himself isn't a burden for Prompto. Is he happy being around him? Does he intimidate him? Does he make him feel tense and like he can't be himself completely because of his status? Or maybe Noctis is the only one who has trouble being his most honest self in front of him because he'd have spoken up about his attraction if he were -except he doesn't know what Prompto's reaction would be. He's never been a particularly predictable guy, always saying whatever pops into his head and moving on impulse instead of out of careful discernment. At the same time, Noctis likes to think that if he spoke to him frankly about anything, Prompto would understand and wouldn't hate him for it.

Then why is he still so afraid? Maybe because he just doesn't want to hear an apology come out of Prompto's mouth like it'd be wrong for him not to feel the same. He definitely doesn't expect him to. He's played his awkward wingman enough times to know he's the polar opposite of Prompto's type, and the thought of ruining their comfortable dynamic doesn't sit well with him at all. Things just work as they are, and ultimately, he's the one who has to accept the reality that he's constantly trying to hide himself away from.

His thoughts are jerked back to the present as Prompto cuts another corner like they're taking part in a car chase, and Noctis' whole body slams towards the car door temple banging too noisily against the window.

"Ah, sorry, Noct! Too fast, huh?"

"No, that was just perfect. Do it again a few times…"

See how long it takes to give him brain damage while he's at it. Okay, he shouldn't be that snappy at him, but his head is starting to throb from the impact, enough to make him want to rip the wheel out of Prompto's hands and drive them back to his place then admit to Ignis that he was completely right on the whole responsibility thing. The only thing that stops him from doing as much is the fact that Prompto is willingly slowing down and pulling over so he can inspect the damage. His hand moves gently across Noctis' face, fingers brushing around his eye before moving his hair out of it, and Noctis wants to do something reckless like lean into the touch for a bit, desperate to retain the whisper of pleasure that seeps through him from the simple caress.

He's an utterly weak person sometimes, and he despises himself for it, that thought alone encouraging him to pull back quickly and knock Prompto's hand out of the way like he doesn't want to cradle it closer to himself instead.  

"It's fine. I'm not bleeding."

Can they take a break, though? Maybe step outside the car for a bit so his stomach can settle down in one spot?

His silent prayers are answered when Prompto turns the car off completely and climbs out of the car to stretch out. It's a quiet strip of road close to Insomnia's outer city-limits, elevated high enough that they can see far beyond the shield to the land all around them. When bathed by all the orange and blood-red hues from the sinking sun, it looks absolutely breath-taking, and Noctis can't help follow Prompto as they both stare outwards to watch the distorted light. It's not the first time Noctis has wondered if he'd ever get to see what lies beyond the city limits, having only vague memories of traveling to Tenebrae and back, though he'd been asleep for most of the journey. He hadn't really seen much, and his memories tended to be scattered -some more vivid than the others. He remembers clearly the warmth with which Luna smiled at him when they saw each other for the first time yet he can't remember what she said. It's funny how memories work like that sometimes.

The heat starts to press more tightly into his skin as his gaze careens to the side, trying to gauge what Prompto might be thinking, too -maybe the same. Maybe he's just thinking about the burgers they ate earlier. It's hard to tell with him, though his eyes look clearer in the light as though his irises have become completely transparent like glass, and his freckles seem to crawl further and further outward from his nose to cover more of his face than he had thought they did before. There's something about his profile, a subtle austerity that is easy to miss under Prompto's constant grins and easy-going demeanor. When he's calm, when his features relax, he can almost look like someone else entirely, and it's not the first time Noctis has considered him to be distracting -for good reasons this time. Maybe bad if Noctis really considers how hard it is to tear his eyes away and not fall into the hypnotic trance weaving violently through his common sense.

The moment quickly comes to a grinding halt when Prompto twists his head to stare at him, his expression difficult to gauge for a moment before his smile slides back in place like a second skin.

"You might give a guy the wrong idea if you look at him like that," Prompto suddenly jokes, and the gentle lilt of laughter after makes him feel uneasy, his own throat thickening with something unspoken that swells there until it starts to hurt.

For once, he doesn't have anything to say in response -no denial, no joking retort in return, no accompanying laughter. Maybe that in itself is telling as his gaze skirts the ground instead, tracing over the asphalt like he can open up a hole there for him to crawl into by staring at it alone. It'd be a safe haven from the uncomfortable feeling starting to hang in between them, but Prompto, being the kind of guy he is, doesn't press him any further, maybe already sensing the weird tension in the air. It's a small reprieve, giving him room to breathe a little as he struggles to remember how to speak again. When he does, it's quiet, a barely delivered line breathed out in a single exhalation.

"It's breath-taking."

He motions to the sun, seeing it dip slowly beneath the horizon line, though the way he says it makes it more than a little obvious that he means something else entirely. If Prompto can read between the lines -whether or not he wants to- is something Noctis can't pick up, but he's not sure what he's even looking for at the moment when he keeps avoiding meeting his eyes. The lingering, painful silence is only broken again when Prompto agrees.

"Yeah, never seen it from this angle before. Guess it looks bigger the further from the city you get."

"Maybe one day we'll get to see it from the other side of the world."

A small wish, one which he doesn't know will come true or not, but he does want to see what's out there one day. He doesn't know how or when with Niflheim extending their iron grip on the land all around them, but there have to be more scenes like this out there.

Breath-taking.

His own words echo back to him in his mind, and he smiles a little as his fingers reach out blindly towards the warm light before him until Prompto lightly touches his shoulder.

"Come on, let me get a photo with you. Got to commemorate this birthday, too."

Would this be tradition from now on? The obligatory birthday selfie? At least, he doesn't mind it so much this time -mostly because his mouth doesn't taste like molten lava rocks from the world's spiciest curry. He complies as he turns towards Prompto's phone with him, leaning into his side as naturally as he can manage while letting their heads brush together as they cram themselves into a single frame.

"Don't make me look dumb this time," Noctis tells him and tries not to tense as Prompto's arm moves around his waist, fingers pressing into his hip and making him suck in too much air at once. It leaves him light-headed as the flash finally goes off, overwhelmed beyond comprehension. The feeling worsens when Prompto's touch lingers, dancing hapless on his hip bone, and his thoughts start to skitter recklessly away from him until Prompto draws him back to his senses with a wave of his phone in his face. There's an image of the two of them, but the flash had been left on, over-exposing the image to a comical degree. Noctis can't help the nervous laugh that tumbles out of him. 

"We look like ghosts."

"Aw man, I can't believe forgot to put it on auto! Take another with me, Noct!"

Before he can answer, he's being squished closer into Prompto's side, the loose grip around him turning iron-tight as he feels Prompto's body push into him. The growing scent of sweat and melted hair products wafts from him, but it's not unpleasant, he decides, as he leans in a little closer himself and starts to wind his arm around Prompto's shoulders in return. It feels like the closest thing they've come to a real embrace, strange, unnerving, and exciting all at once, but he can't think beyond wanting to stand like this a little longer in this sweet repose with the sun still a heavy blanket on their backs.

If the day could crawl by slowly like this, he wouldn't have any complaints except eventually he'd want to eat or lie down. For now, however, it's fine to bask in this a bit longer until Prompto moves away to look at their latest photo.

"Totally look human this time. Come see!"

He holds the camera up in his face, and indeed, they have normal skin color this time. That doesn't account for the fact that his eyes are only open a sliver and Prompto looks like he just smelled rotten eggs. All in all, it's a crappy picture, but it has its charm, he guesses.

"Could be worse," he finally remarks, distracted enough by the photo that he doesn't notice he's already missing the phantom warmth of Prompto's arm around his waist.

The absence only hits him later that night, tangled between being awake and dragged into sleep where he's drowned by sweaty sheets in the unbearable night's heat as something overpowering rolls through his body. He hates that feeling once again that there is an unrelenting itch stretched beneath the surface of his skin, and he's plucking and scratching feverishly at the surface, constantly wanting relief. Hovering on the edge of it leaves him restless, a little too desperate and urgent before he clicks through his phone, moving over the different photos Prompto sent to him throughout the day.

Absently, his fingers stop on the two of them, thumb moving across the surface of the screen where Prompto's face rests and trying to decipher where the line is drawn between friendship and everything else. Could he ever just remain Prompto's friend, having grown quite comfortable and complacent in the position already? Anything else would be too messy and complicated, but maybe that in itself is the appeal. He's always had trouble mildly and obediently doing what he's been told, unconsciously rejecting the title thrust upon him in birth and yearning for a normalcy that's constantly out of reach. Prompto is that kind of forbidden lifestyle embodied, luring him into it in a manner that feels inescapable. If he were to surrender completely to his curiosity, what would happen to the two of them?

Of course, the reality is that he doesn't want to risk losing their friendship, still naively hoping those feelings will be quelled over time. But if there were some way he could live differently -maybe in another lifetime- he'd let himself indulge just once to see what it'd be like to touch hands, to kiss, to say he likes the way it feels when he's with him -he likes himself when he's with him.

What would Prompto even think?

Pondering it deep into the night makes his mind swim across a valley of indiscriminate dreams, lost in an uncharted terrain of yearning and confusion. He's not aware how hard he's left clutching the phone until he sees the indents on his skin in the morning, and all his apps have become disarrayed and moved out of place, scrambled amidst the unrestrained tossing of his body as he had tried to scrabble across his dreamscape for answers to questions he has no business asking.

003. - 18th Birthday -

The sweltering heat is unbearable as the sun beats down on Noctis' face, wondering when the routine torture is going to end. Gladio's been in charge of their training the past few weeks while the Marshal's been taking care of business outside of the city, the details of which he hadn't shared. All Noctis knows is that it had been a special request from his father, but he's not dwelling on it. There's always a lot of movement around him the few times he visits the Citadel, whispered words exchanged between council members and the eyes of the Kingsglaive constantly watching his every move like they're sizing up. It's a reminder of why he doesn't go there often, why he spends most of his days with his head bowed and a hood or a cap on, trying to blend in as he meanders through the back streets of Insomnia. He'd been hoping for a nice afternoon excursion with Prompto to get crepes but hadn't made it much further than his bed before he'd been all but physically dragged to the training grounds. These sessions are getting more and more frequent lately as though everyone has been moving with a strange sort of urgency, though Noctis pretends not to notice, biting his tongue to keep from asking because he's always afraid of what the answer will be.

'There's not much time left...'

There's never enough time left, but he's been trying more and more each day to push himself past his own limits even when his bones scream in agony and when his mind whirls with a thick malaise that comes with the overwhelming pressure. It's difficult to contend with, but he finds comfort buried where his breath is pulled loose from his throat as he runs, the burning sensation of his lungs so distracting that he relishes the time away from his own thoughts. Prompto briskly jogs right next to him while he himself ends up being the first one sounding like he might keel over any second as his steps fall further out of sync from his. Maybe it was that extra slice of pizza he had the night before or the fact that he hadn't run farther than a few yards in close to a month. How much had he been slacking off?

Prompto's hand tapping his arm quickly pulls his attention sideways as the blond smiles at him and gives him a victory sign with his fingers.

"Bet this would be more fun if we made a game out of it. Come on, I'll race you back to the training grounds!"

Before Noctis can even agree, Prompto launches himself forward as fast as he can, accelerating while Noctis' own knees scream bloody murder as he tries to catch up. It's all in vain, seeing the distance widen between them, watching Prompto's slim figure disappear into a small distorted blur up ahead until he's out of sight. He doesn't know how far apart after Prompto he arrives at the 'finish line', only hearing himself wheeze with the sensation of his own breakfast nudging at the back of his throat. Sheer will power alone keeps him from covering his own shoes in vomit as he braces his palms on his thighs and hunches over.

"Not...fair... you cheated," he manages to pant out, though Prompto doesn't look anywhere close to winded as he presses a cold bottle of water to Noctis' forehead to try and cool him down.

While he's grateful for the pity, he's also a little annoyed at himself a being easily outmatched. Then again, Prompto jogs a couple of miles each day -has done so since as far back as Noctis remembers. It's obvious where his stamina comes from, and really, if he'd been doing the same himself, he wouldn't have lost this badly.

"Hey, don't die on my birthday!!"

He's honestly trying not to, though only Gladio would be cruel enough to schedule this much intense training on Prompto's birthday, which is probably to get Prompto back for pranking him the other day by offering a can of soda he had surreptitiously shaken. The result had sprayed Gladio completely in the face and left him enraged and slightly homicidal. Noctis just doesn't see why he also has to share in the punishment, though he had been accomplice by virtue of having known what Prompto had done and having kept his mouth shut anyway. Admittedly, he also wanted to see Gladio get sprayed in the face, but he's severely regretting that decision now as he tries not to vomit out his spleen.

Prompto's hand gradually moves to his back, rubbing it soothingly, the heat seeping through his soaked shirt in a gesture that makes him feel more tense than comforted. He wonders if there will ever be a day where Prompto touching him doesn't make his bones want to jump right out of his skin from the sheer contact. It's that unyielding sensitivity to Prompto that can be mentally exhausting sometimes because he doesn't know what he'd do were he to let his guard slip around him. In all likeliness, it'd probably be something he'd regret more than upsetting Gladio, which makes him quick to move away as he steals the water bottle just so he can gulp down its contents. Whatever doesn't end up down his throat ends up in his hair and face, desperate to cool off beneath the record high heat.

The gentle laugh next to him startles him before Prompto's fingers end up sliding through his hair, and again, his whole body feels like it's clenching inwards with one single, pronounced heart beat that lodges all his breath into his throat as Prompto plays with his wet hair. His eyes can barely see what he's doing under his plastered down fringe, but Prompto is quick to create what he claims is a 'work of art' before leaning back to snap a photo of him with his phone.

"What did you do now?" Noctis asks, exasperation tinged into his tone while he attempts to lean over to take a look.

Luckily, the phone is shoved in his face a second later, showing off the image of him with two make-shift cat ears.

"...cute," he grumbles a little sarcastically, already undoing Prompto's work with one hand, smoothing it down before Ignis and Gladio catch up to them and add a few more witty remarks of their own.

"Aw, come on, you've been sour-faced all morning. Thought this would cheer you up."

It's ...an attempt all right. Just not a very good one, but he gives Prompto mental points for trying. Being woken up this early and made to run would make just about most of the human population cranky, so he also admires Prompto for maintaining his spirit and not letting it be broken beneath the harsh heel of Gladio's wrath. On the other hand, he's ready to go home and crawl back in bed until the next day, but escape is futile at this point.

"Not slacking off already, are you?"

The voice startles the both of them at the same time, their bodies nearly giving a jump before Gladio appears right behind them. Speak of the devil… he's starting to wonder if he has some kind of sixth sense for knowing every second that's not spent working out when they should be.

"My back's already killing me. Can't we sit down?"

Noctis is aware that almost sounds like whining, but he can't help himself, mostly worried that he'd end up sick to his stomach in front of his friends. Hasn't he suffered enough?

"Not until you've completed your entire regimen. You're already starting to lose muscle mass on those noodle arms of yours."

Gladio flicks one of his biceps in demonstration, though he's mostly exaggerating. His muscles looked just fine to him last he checked. Sure, he's not a brick wall on legs like Gladio, but they get the job done.

"How about mine?" Prompto interjects, flexing his arm and pulling his sleeve back to show off his own.

That draws a hearty laugh from Gladio who slaps Prompto's back hard enough to make the smaller man stumble forward. Gladio's face then smooths out a few seconds later, blinking in confusion before saying, "Oh, you were serious about that?"

It's clear that Prompto took some offense to that answer as he winds his palm around his own bicep, lower lip sticking out minutely.

"They're not that small."

"Want to put them to the test then?" Gladio challenges, and Noctis already has a sinking feeling about this.

His own eyes scream 'What did you do?' at Prompto as he awaits their death sentence.

"How about a push-up contest? Winner's got to make the loser dinner tonight. We'll do it in teams so Noct doesn't feel left out."

Before Noctis has time to re-negotiate these terms, Prompto's already grinning with all the reckless glee of someone who is in denial of how badly they're going to lose in a few minutes from now.

"You're on! I may look small, but I bet I can keep up with you, big guy."

A sigh is hefted out from between Noctis' lips faster than he can stop it as his own hands fall to his hips, "Am I allowed to switch teams?"

"No way. Ignis is on mine."

Gladio waves the man in question over from where he had been peacefully arranging the water bottles on the table just a few second ago. Noctis almost envies how nonplussed he looks about the situation. That's the expression of a man who knows he's going to win even if he does just one single push-up.

"Whichever team does the most combined push-ups in one minute wins," Gladio continues, rattling the rules off like they're no big deal.

Gladio alone can probably do close to one hundred in a single minute. Prompto can maybe do five. Ten if he's thinking optimistically. That means Noctis will have to compensate for a lot all for the sake of getting Ignis to make them those sweet teriyaki burgers he made him a few weeks ago. It'd be worth it if he can keep up, and he nudges the back of Prompto's hand with his own to get his attention.

"Think of the burgers," he tells him cryptically, knowing that Prompto will easily discern his meaning without having to think twice.

"Eyes on the prize," he agrees, getting fired up next to him.

That's good. Maybe they can actually pull this off. Really, he should have more faith in the two of them. They're not that bad together.

They've got this.

Ignis pulls out his cell phone, setting it down within reach as he starts to assume his spot on the ground, "I suppose I have no say in this, either. I've programmed an alarm to go off after one minute."

The four of them line up properly next to one another, ensconced by the sudden competitive tension in the air before Ignis signals them to start. Noctis' own body moves as frenzied as possible, fixated on the reward in sight while he picks himself from the ground. He can see Prompto in his peripheral already having trouble on his fifth one, teeth clenched together and voice a strained grunt. On the far end, Gladio is showing off with one-handed push-ups while looking completely relaxed and at ease like he's lounging about reading the newspaper instead of exercising. It's hard to tell who annoys him more at this point, though he tries to at least encourage Prompto a bit before the two of them end up having to haphazardly slap together a meal for the other two.

"Come on! You can't be done already! He'll never let you live it down if you lose!"

"My arms are dying!" Prompto wheezes, hugging the floor piteously before trying to attempt another one. "It's not fair. Gladio's inhuman. Why did I think we could beat him?"

"On my 34th already," Gladio calls out, and Noctis grits his teeth and tries to force himself to go faster for both their sake.

It's agonizing, but so is losing the chance to taste that savory teriyaki sauce again. 'Do it for the meat' he keeps chanting to himself, but in the end, when the timer goes off, he already knows he's lost.

"Final count," Gladio announces, not even looking winded, "is 82."

"Fifty one here," Noctis mutters, though his arms feel ready to fall off.

His eyes shift over to Ignis who is rubbing his own arms before answering, "Fifty. Congratulations, Noct, you managed to beat at least one of us."

Still not enough, and he doesn't even want to know Prompto's number because he might just cry a little. That doesn't stop the other two from turning their head towards Prompto curiously.

"Ugh ...like 24. And a half!"

Gladio snorts softly at the answer, already standing up and cracking his joints noisily as he stretches out. "'And a half' he says. You're lucky I was going easy on you guys, too." 

"That half is very important," Prompto defends, "either way, the joke's on you guys. You're the ones who will have to choke down our cooking now."

Prompto does have a point. Between the two of them, 'edible' is an abstract concept, but it's not like he wouldn't try to make something good, at least. A deal is a deal even if he had no part in orchestrating this.

Ignis joins Gladio on his feet next, adjusting his glasses before using a towel to properly wipe his face. "We should be fine as long as Noct doesn't try his hand at baking again."

"Noct bakes?" Prompto interrupts quickly before Noct can even think to get a word in.

His stomach starts to fold in on itself several times at the awakening dread, wishing he had the energy to launch his palm at Ignis's mouth right now. No one needs to hear this, but Ignis continues on unaware.

"I'm surprised he didn't mention to you the failed birthday cake experiment for Prompto from two years ago that almost left his apartment burnt down."

"It was one time," Noctis mutters, and the discomfort building down the center of his body increases his nausea as he hunches over with each pained exhalation. His own eyes won't meet Prompto's at all, though he can feel the other teen stirring enthusiastically, making him wonder why all that pent up energy hadn't lead him to finish more push-ups a few seconds ago when they could have used it.

"Wait, wait! Noct made me a cake?"

"That's almost ...cute coming from you, Noct," Gladio adds, always waiting on the sidelines to throw salt on his open wounds.

"Can we just drop it?" he pleads, well aware the words will fall on deaf ears.

"Nope, now I want to hear more about this cake."

While Ignis has more or less eased up, Gladio keeps trudging forward with a curious Prompto now leaning over him in far too much interest. This is really the worst. He'd been hoping to bury that memory deeply -not because he messed up the cake entirely, though that's part of it. It's more of the fact that he'd earnestly wanted to do something special for Prompto and had just given up out of frustration then left it unmentioned this whole while. The more he thought about it after, the more strange it seemed. How many guys go around baking for each other? Aside from Ignis, that is, but that's because it's Ignis.

At that time, two years ago, he was hoping just to tell Prompto something simple -he's important to him. Their bond, their friendship, everything that exists between and beyond it. But he choked. He's held it in so many times after that, and it still makes him uneasy whenever he does feel like he might say something to him. The words always remain dancing on his tongue before he swallows them down completely and lets them burn within his stomach acid.

His immediate instinct is always to run away, so he shakes his head before pushing himself to his feet.

"I'm done training today."

Gladio only lets him off the hook because he's starving -as are the rest of them-, which leaves him and Prompto to go fetch ingredients. The request of the evening is simply home-made noodles, a request so simple even the two of them would have to earnestly try to screw up, though Prompto is making his best effort as he struggles to chop up carrots in even increments. At least, no one specified that it had to be pretty. Just edible. Edible is something they can mange.

His own hands are busy stirring the broth and trying not to add too much salt to it, though it's tempting if only to get Gladio and Ignis back for earlier, but it'd probably be better for everyone if he didn't make the two of them sick.

The quiet shuffling in the kitchen almost proves to be relaxing before Prompto lets out a loud yelp and sticks his fingers in his mouth.

"Don't do that," Noctis instantly warns him, Ignis' words already playing through his head as he abandons the stew and pulls Prompto's fingers out for him, "there's bacteria and stuff in your mouth."

Not exactly Ignis' words but close enough.

"How fast were you chopping anyway?"

"I was just trying to do it like the chefs on TV. But my hand slipped. How bad is it? I'm scared to look."

Noctis carefully examines the wound before sighing out loud, the sound more comically exaggerated than his usual sighs.

"I hate to be the one to have to tell you this," he pauses for dramatic effect, "but you're probably going to die."

Prompto's foot kicks his calf playfully as he glares without any real fury before he pulls his hand free. "I'm getting a second opinion," he retorts before starting to poke through the cabinets around them, "at least, get me a band-aid or something."

Fortunately, Ignis put the first-aid kit in the kitchen for obvious reasons, so it's easy to procure a bandage fast after motioning to Prompto to wash his finger beneath the tap. There's barely any blood coming out thankfully, the cut not deep enough to warrant stitches. At least, that proves to the other two that they can make a meal without sending someone to the hospital.

He's careful to wrap the tiny bandage around his cut while Prompto pokes at the little marlboro designs.

"Aw, these are cute."

"Had the same one box since I was a kid."

Most of the wounds he's incurred in the past had been too big for the tiny band-aids, though he hadn't told Prompto about them in much detail. There's a lot he hadn't really told him, unsure if it's even worth it for him to know. Some of it just feels inconsequential, like it wouldn't really change the relationship between them. Other things might just change it too much, and the more they stand here in the quiet calm of his kitchen, the more he feels like he really doesn't want anything at all to change.

Once the band-aid is smoothed out and secured across his skin, Noctis fingers linger, rubbing lightly over the spotted texture distractedly. Unconsciously, his head gravitates downwards, staring at his thumb where it applies light pressure around Prompto's finger and feeling the heat from the rest of his palm crawl against his own hand. The weight of it is nice in a way he can't describe to himself, the raw contact igniting his nerve endings and leaving them buzzing pleasantly in place, and he feels likes he's swallowing around a dry sponge in his throat when his eyes find Prompto's clearer ones staring back at him. He doesn't expect them to be so still and trained on him, hypnotic in the way they plunge into him like there is something unspoken being transferred through their minds. He wants to ask him what it is, but these moments are always fast and fleeting, the knock on the door signaling the end of it as Noctis all but jerks back. There's no reason to really feel guilty about anything, but he wears the weight of guilt on his shoulders anyway as he answers the door.

Gladio stands on the other side, lifting a plastic bag full of what Ignis had dubbed 'Plan B' in case the noodles are burnt.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Noctis mutters when he steps aside to let them in. Prompto's still hovering in the kitchen, staring down at his finger in uncharacteristic silence before his whole demeanor seems to shift in an instant. It's as if a spell had just worn off, and he's bounding towards the plastic bags, sifting through them and pulling out all sorts of food, though Noctis tries not to grimace when he gets to the 'funfetti' frosting.

His gaze meets sharply with Ignis' who just shrugs in response, though it's obvious that there was a cake-related conspiracy in the works.

"Figured you wouldn't mind a second chance," Gladio chimes in with a wink.

Well, if they're going to be that way about it, Noctis has no problem trying to shut them up for good by focusing as much energy as he can to preparing the promised meal. He may not have Ignis' knack for timing and temperatures, but he figures if he tastes it enough along the way, he'll know if he's starting to mess up. He also remembers this time that the proper baking temperature is nothing akin to flambeing the hell out of the cake mix, so that actually turns out pretty decent. In fact, the whole meal ends up just slightly within the realm of what might actually be considered appetizing.

Afterwards when the other two have finally taken their leave, Prompto remains stationary by the entrance, weight shifting from one leg to another as he hesitates in leaving. Half the dishes had been washed and left out to dry before Noctis had given up on cleaning, though he had refused to let Ignis do it all for him this time. He had figured he should take some responsibility for the mess he made, though he sincerely regrets that choice when his arms start to protest the grievous amount of labor he's put them through in a single day. Between all the stirring and he push-ups, he's ready to call it quits and pass out for a lifetime on the couch. The only thing stopping him is the way Prompto fidgets as his fingers roll and unroll the hem of his own shirt a few times.

"Something wrong?" Noctis finally asks, throwing his rag into the sink before joining him at the door.

Prompto's eyes still refuse to find his, instead sliding across the ground before his body suddenly moves, and it takes Noctis a few eternity-long seconds to realize what's going on. Both Prompto's arms squeeze tight around him, the grip solid and pronounced as the heat that teased him from before now deeply fuses into the very center of his bones. He can feel his heart jump to attention, the staccato beat of it loud to his own ears, leaving the rest of the noise around him to be an indiscriminate fuzz as he becomes too hyper-focused on his friend in front of him.

"Thanks... really, thanks," Prompto whispers into his ear, his mouth tickling him with warm air creeping along his flesh as his own body remains a solid, immovable column of flesh.

His mind screams at him to return the gesture, but something in the computation gets screwed up along the way because all he can think to do is freeze up and mutter a quiet, "It's nothing," as each second by only makes his heart rate climb higher and his head swim deeper in the haze of too many thoughts, too many things he's thinking he should say instead, but his tongue has never felt heavier.

When Prompto finally pulls away, the sudden emptiness feels palpable, unnerving almost, and he wants to chase after the heat like a rabid dog, only his limbs are still locked where he's had them futilely hanging this whole time. The urgency to speak is there, the words trickling out like they're about to spill forth, but Prompto's showing him his back, moving in a way that offers him such a sweet escape from the entire situation. In the end, Noctis chooses cowardice again, watching him leave while his whole body thrums with a desperate plea for fulfillment.

That night, Noctis hesitates, a picture clutched in his hand as he flips through the pages of the book both he and Luna share to write notes on. The last two pages from himself also had pictures with him and Prompto, mostly hanging around town shopping, his usual vague descriptions scrawled across the bottom. Three consecutive pages about him would definitely be too much, he decides, embarrassment seizing him before he can add a photo from earlier, wondering if Luna, at some point, started to read what he wasn't writing.

Instead, he leaves a plain message that it was Prompto's birthday and that they trained, but even then, the less he writes, the more he feels like she'll read into it. There's no way to really escape it at this point, and he ends up setting the book aside to tip his head back and stare up at the ceiling.

Would it be any easier if she was in front of him, so maybe he wouldn't have to pick apart his own thoughts for her? He doesn't even know what she'd say. He's not as adept as her at reading between the lines, but he'll just have to wait for her response next time, hoping maybe she has a better idea of what's going on with him that even he himself can't decipher properly.

004. - 19th Birthday -

Sweat dribbles between Noctis' brows as he springs backwards, trying to bear with the unfiltered heat hitting the Citadel's training grounds while he struggles to keep light on his footing as he dodges each punch Prompto throws his way. It's already almost time for lunch, his stomach screaming in agony from its empty state, and Ignis' cooking is so close he can imagine himself smelling it already. However, he'd promised Prompto he'd help him work on his hand-to-hand combat for a bit. He figured he probably asked to spar with him over Gladio for the least amount of pain involved, though he tries not to go too easy on him. He does actually want to help him improve, but he unfortunately doesn't have the best discipline when it comes to teaching others and has already accidentally jabbed Prompto and been jabbed by him enough times that they had wound up with matching cheek bruises.

This time, he's more focused on dodging and moving away from Prompto's sluggish punches as the sun beats down on them mercilessly, and he can't stop himself from thinking about a large order of fries and a juicy salmon burger, something that keeps pulling apart his ability to concentrate. It's why he accidentally steps in when he shouldn't, colliding with Prompto's body like a drunken asteroid pelting the ground at top speed and barely managing to keep the two of them upright after. Only his grappling and sheer force of will stop him from falling on Prompto with the full brunt of his weight, and his hands hold Prompto up by the waist to keep him from losing balance, too.

"Sorry," he breathes out, exhaustion starting to catch up with him, "got a little distracted."

"Thinking about lunch, right?"

Noctis smiles, pleased to note they're riding the same wavelength right now.

"You know it."

He watches Prompto step back and right himself before wiping some sweat and grime from his cheek.

"Okay, one more match then break for lunch."

Those words make Noctis blink in surprise as it's the first time he's ever heard Prompto ask for training over food. He must be taking things more seriously than he thought, though he'd known for a while that he had every intention of joining the Crownsguard in spite of being a commoner. It's why he's been pushing himself so hard these past few weeks, hoping to earn the respect of the Marshal and other members of his own father's personal guard, though Noctis himself hadn't really thought Prompto would enjoy a career in the military. With his free-willed attitude and his careless smile, having to fight for the crown would just destroy all of that in an instant. He'd probably be happier doing something more easy-going with his life like being a full-time photographer.

Pushing the matter aside for now, Noctis slowly rises to his feet and brushes his forearm across his own forehead to wipe away the sweat that had gathered there.

"Fine, one more," he finally agrees.

"Don't hold back on me at all, Noct."

Impossible. If he went all out, he's sure he'd accidentally kill him. The difference between their abilities had long ago started to grow more pronounced as he learned to harness the power of his own bloodline, but that hasn't once stopped Prompto in trying to stand on the same level. It's admirable, but the reasons for his determination still elude him, knowing he's not the type of person who would go this far just for money, fame, or to impress girls.

He mulls it over carefully as he signals Prompto to come at him again trying to focus his efforts on a solid defense. His hands rise almost hypnotically, watching Prompto like he's moving in slow motion as he blocks his punches with his arms, absorbing the impact with his muscles. Even every feint is caught by him, easily parrying and pushing him back until it starts to feel like they're dancing, but Prompto does manage to grab his wrist and twist his arm out of the way so he can throw a punch with the other arm. Moving a step ahead of him, Noctis catches the punch in his palm and uses his full body weight to push him back before returning his own arms in front of himself for defense.

"Got to be quicker than that," he tells Prompto who, in spite of looking way more winded, shakes himself off and grins.

"Just getting started. Do I get a prize if I manage to sneak in a punch?"

Well, it is his birthday. He might as well be generous here -which isn't to say he'll necessarily let Prompto win. Just that he'll dangle a little carrot in front of Prompto to see if it'll make him fight better.

"Sure, anything you want."

Prompto's eyes fly open wide when he agrees, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline while he makes a sound like he's thinking it over.

"How about…," he stretches the word out, still thinking out loud and letting the suspense build.

Whether or not Noctis will regret agreeing has yet to be seen, but given Prompto's past requests from him, he thinks he can handle buying him dinner again or letting him take his Audi for another spin.

"How about your super rare Bahamut card from the Justice Monsters trading card game?"

Noctis instantly pales at the thought of giving that up.

"Anything but that."

"Oh, come on!" Prompto whines, both his hands moving for his shoulders to give him a shake, "I've had my eye on that thing since we were first-years. You barely even let me touch it."

"No way, I'm not parting with that. That's a classic. It's got that trimming all the rare cards have. I haven't even taken it out of the plastic."

Even ten trips in his Audi would have been more preferable to giving that up, unwilling to let himself get swayed by Prompto's overt disappointment.

"Fine, fine. Then just buy me dinner later, I guess."

It's not like he thinks Prompto would win anyway, but he also doesn't want to risk it with how on-edge Prompto's been all morning. Not to mention, the lack of food is making him feel more than a little woozy, but he remains steadfast and tense, goading Prompto again to come at him. This time, Prompto's a lot quicker than before, a lot more savage when his fists fly towards him as he puts his whole body-weight into it. Maybe turning down his request had lit a fire in him? Whatever it is, Noctis has to fight this time to keep his balance as he raises his arms to block and push back each of Prompto's blows.

One punch does manage to sneak through, but Noctis jerks back with just enough time to avoid the impact on his jaw. However, he doesn't expect for Prompto to grab his shirt with his other hand and pull, bringing him forward just as his forearm meets his throat too fast. The sudden slam against his trachea leaves him sputtering and coughing as Prompto's fingers loosen and release him from his grip. That had been a little too sudden and unexpected for him to dodge, and while he's proud of him, he also wishes he could breathe properly at the moment.

"Sorry, Noct, I didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

A hand slaps his back, trying to get him to cough up his own spit, and Noctis absently thinks about the curry incident not too long. Come to think of it, a good chunk of his coughing fits in recent memory can be attributed back to reckless things Prompto did to almost kill him.

"'m okay," he croaks out, the words barely audible beneath the hacking motion in his throat, though he does relax a little when Prompto's fingers move along his neck, lightly stroking the same place he'd hit.

It's a nice feeling, rough fingertips drawing over the ridges of his tracheal bones, tracing along them in a gentle up and downward caress. Noctis can feel a prickling sensation erupt from the back of his neck as though all the little hairs there are standing in attention as the soothing motion covers his skin in an extra thick layer of heat. The coughs nearly die out completely seconds later, but he's almost mentally willing Prompto not to stop, leaning forward into the touch as his eyes fall close like he's being reeled in by an invisible fishing line. It's hard to escape the lure this time, wondering if he'd just been caught too vulnerable in both the case in which Prompto had hit him before and the case right now where he can't stop himself from seeking out his touch blindly.

He only becomes aware of what he's doing when Prompto yanks his hand away like he's been burned and suddenly puts an ample amount of distance between them.

"Shit, shit," he curses, running a hand through his own sweat-covered hair, and Noctis watches him turn away and aimlessly walk in a half circle like he's trying to decide whether he should plant his feet somewhere or run away. "Don't look at me with that face again," he continues, and he sounds almost breathless and confused, his fingers climbing up to twirl some of the sweaty hair from his fringe with manic anxiousness.

"What face?" Noctis questions dumbfounded, his own body seized by a sudden resurgence of tension like he's bracing himself to get punched again. It definitely feels that way when his muscles clench inwards, hyper alert and ready to be released all at once.

"The... the one you made just now," Prompto explains as he gestures towards his head before walking another circle in place then covering his own face with both his hands. He follows this with an earnest and pained groan, "That one where you look like you just want me to kiss you. I mean, what if I do it one day, then there's no turning back, you know?"

…Kiss… The word moves unbidden through his mind, unaware when he repeats it out loud seconds later, trying to put all the pieces in place, but the puzzle is broken, and frayed everywhere. Nothing ever slots in cleanly anymore. And the one relationship of his that had always remained the most stable in the past years now feels like a tower built with glass cinder blocks. Any stray and poorly thrown stone can easily shatter it.

"You want to...?" Noctis starts to ask but leaves the sentence unfinished, suddenly unable to say the rest without feeling flustered. His stomach is already caving in from both nervousness and hunger, and he can feel the network of nerve endings beneath his skin practically vibrating everywhere all at once. The sensation is almost as unbearable as the feeling of air trying to crawl out of his cough-torn throat at the moment.

"Sometimes," Prompto admits, and Noctis can tell he's playing it off casually because it's what he'd do in this situation -try to pretend the urge doesn't encapsulate him as strongly as it does. "I mean, you've got a nice face, nice body... er. You're pretty for a guy is what I'm saying, and-and you look cute when you're shy or embarrassed about something. When I first met you, I thought, 'hey, he'd be the perfect girlfriend if he was a girl.' Then, after a while, even you being a guy stopped mattering. So uh... there's that."

His whole body is shutting down on him, Prompto's words striking his mind sharply like power lines being abruptly snipped somewhere inside of him. He's being shocked down the center by each one of them and struggling to say something in return when his tongue only wants to lie limply in his mouth. By now, Prompto's ceased ambling around in circles and has edged towards him to wave a hand in front of his eyes, trying to snap him out of the endless stupor he can't seem to get out of.

"Uh... you okay?" he asks worriedly.

"Don't know," is his honest response because all the blood in his body has gathered somewhere below his waist and the world has started to grow blurry around the edges. He owes it to him to give a proper answer, but his mind isn't adept at coming up with split-second decisions, not in the sharp way Ignis can dole them out. No, he's just standing stuck in the middle of the road while a truck barrels towards him at top speed, waiting to get hit, and that kind of passiveness is his biggest fault, he realizes.

The reason they weren't friends sooner... the reason Prompto and him are only talking about this today... he can never get it together long enough to actually speak his mind because he can't even figure out what he wants or even needs. It's a self-inflicted frustration because he hates feeling sometimes like he's the only one who doesn't have it together, like he's floundering in the open air without any kind of safety net to catch him.

It's also why, this time, he chooses the first idiotic impulse that seizes him, immediately grabbing onto it like a life line as he leans forward to smash his mouth against Prompto's, his lips only colliding with his own half-way. Off-center like the rest of him feels. And the moment he does it, he realizes it's a big mistake that he willingly ignites himself with as he moves his hand, cradling Prompto's cheek to turn him towards him so he can kiss him more completely. Might as well seal his fate now if he's going to do this, and it's not that he thinks Prompto will be disgusted by it. He said as much as before that he's into him. What terrifies him the most is that he won't be able to take it back ever again. From this day forward, something's fundamentally been changed about their cozy friendship, and it honestly scares him at the moment as he tastes the warmth of Prompto's mouth with his own and tries to soften the pressure of his lips enough that he can glide them over Prompto's again and again until he finds he urgently needs to breathe.

Warm air escapes his lips too fast, his head still spinning as he pulls away, and his fingers have dropped down to Prompto's shoulders to twist in the fabric of his tank top until his knuckles are painted white with tension. He should probably say something, maybe offer a confession in return, but he still can't shake the words that stay lodged in his throat as he watches Prompto fidget and look unsteady himself. The world does seem to stop spinning in that one lingering, pregnant second where their eyes find each other, both wide and full of a confusing mixture of fear and excitement.

But it's always Prompto who breaks the silence first- "Aw, screw it."

Noctis isn't given much time to really analyze the response before the ground comes crashing into his back fast. His sense of equilibrium scatters all over the place, everything tilted to the most mind-altering degree, and the sight before him is swallowed in Prompto's face, the endless sea of freckles, the way his eyes for once look dark with his pupils blown out, the hot press of his mouth against his own. When he tries to inhale, Prompto's tongue unfurls inside him, moving through his teeth to push right against his own tongue, carelessly stroking and swirling around in the same reckless manner that he's always embodied. It's infectious the way he moves, the utter lack of self-consciousness with which his hands grip his hair and his whole body presses down against him, and Noctis grips on like he'll slip off the surface of Eos if he doesn't, fingers moving beneath Prompto's sweat covered tank top just so that he can dig his nails between the ridges of his spine. They unconsciously push in too hard as he arches off the ground to be willingly engulfed in all his body heat.

He's unaware of how much time starts to drift by, only aware when the clouds move to cover the sun, blanketing the two of them in shadows, and his eyes sink shut as his tongue pushes right back against Prompto's to chase after his lead, his whole body reacting to the simple contact as wild sparks crackle along his stomach and spread down across his thighs. Unleashed like this, they dance too tightly across his nerve endings, making him arch his body and push his hips even closer to where Prompto's bear down on him, trying to fit messily against one another as they kiss. Wherever Prompto's fingers caress, his body starts to unconsciously chase, moving sharply and divorced of anything else but savage impulse, dying for more contact like it's the only time he'll ever get to indulge this much.

That desperation must be infectious because both Prompto's hands shift to grip his hair, grabbing handfuls of it between his fists to pull his head back at a painful angle, and he feels his too-wet lips draw down the side of his neck, plucking the skin with his teeth and peppering small kisses in between until his own breath is left hitching, teeth clenching soon after just to stop the sounds that want to crawl out of his throat. The strain on his muscles aches, but he ignores it in favor of the whisper of hot air tickling over his throat and the next kiss dropped down at the base of where he's struggling to swallow.

His other hand has joined the first one in clinging to Prompto's back, both buried under the fabric of his shirt to touch raw sweat-ridden skin and scratch along the bones until he starts to worry he might be hurting him from the pressure of simply holding on. That's what makes him finally pull them away, floundering with where else to put them, what part of him to touch, palming his cheeks then moving down his shoulders and clumsily over his biceps to squeeze around the lean muscles there.

"Where do you want them-?" he asks quietly, his voice sounding too hoarse and pathetic to his own ears, and Prompto yanks himself back enough to stare down at him, though his expression is dripping with bewilderment.

"Want what…?"

Does he really have to elaborate any further? Prompto should know well enough by now he has no experience in this type of thing, and he's fairly certain Prompto is at the same level. At least, he thinks so… surely, he would have said something to him if he had a girlfriend at any point. Prompto's not the kind of guy who even has a brain to mouth filter.

"My hands," he continues, moving them lower to stroke over Prompto's elbows, though he wonders if he shouldn't have asked that to begin with when Prompto's eyes threaten to pop out of his head and his whole body stays motionless over him.

Probably for the best because Gladio's voice suddenly interrupts from just a few feet away- "What are you two idiots doing?", which is a few feet too close, and Prompto jumps back faster than he's ever seen him move and pulls his tank top down low over the front of his pants. The agonized chocobo walk he does as he scrambles further away would have made him laugh if Noctis himself hadn't been busy sitting up and tucking his knees in close to hide his own embarrassing state.

Worst timing ever. He doesn't even have an explanation or a lie ready, settling instead for ducking his head down and hoping the ground chooses that moment to part and swallow him in to spare him from whatever judgmental stare Gladio's probably throwing the two of them at the moment.

"We were just-!" Prompto starts, but Gladio cuts him off, raising one hand to shut him up instantly.

"Nope, if you value your life, you won't give me any specifics. You can finish doing that after training."

Of course he says that. Gladio's ever the hard-ass, but Noctis isn't in the mood to grumble or argue, willing his own body to calm down quickly while he watches the older man walk away from the two of them and back indoors. His heart is still frantically pounding across his rib bones, threatening to crack through them with sheer pressure, and when Prompto comes over to help him up, he still can't bring himself to look him in the face.

"Sorry your birthday was messed up again."

Prompto's soft laugh breaks him out of his own shock, and his eyes both rise beneath his fringe to catch his friend looking …happy.

"You kidding me? Best. Birthday. Ever."

And before Noctis can realize what's going on, his waist is seized in Prompto's grip as he lifts his camera to capture the two of them side-by-side, faces squished together -Noctis looking wide-eyed and Prompto grinning from ear to ear.

Seconds later, Prompto lowers the camera to stare at him, teeth digging briefly into his lower lip before leaning over to ask, "Think Gladio will kill us if we ditch the rest of training to make out?"

Noctis hides his own surprise at hearing that question so bluntly asked by pretending to actually think about that for a second.

"Wouldn't chance it. Unless you want to end up tagging that picture under 'Worst. Birthday. Ever.'"

Those words inspire a fresh wave of chuckles from Prompto as he squeezes his arm tighter around his waist, and Noctis rides out the elation this time, letting it erupt right through him as he leans his weight towards Prompto's body instead of following his first instinct to shy away. Something really has changed between them, but he can't yet decide if it's for better or worse.

005. - 20th Birthday -

Fifteen minutes till midnight. Fifteen minutes till he misses Prompto's birthday entirely, and Noctis can feel his lungs burning, mouth parted to force out air as he sprints up the steps to Prompto's small apartment, aiming to reach it before time runs out. Every minor and major inconvenience that he could have incurred today had unsurprisingly joined forces to keep him busy, and now, he's barely making it to Prompto's place in time, gift clutched tightly in his hand like money, hard-earned or not, could ever buy an apology.

It's the first time in a long time he hadn't spent Prompto's birthday with him, and the guilt weighs heavily in the center of his chest like he's swallowed down a giant slab of stone. It's left sitting there, painfully settled even as Noctis finally reaches Prompto's door, knocking on it quietly. Hopefully, he's there. If not, this whole trip would have been a waste.

Fortunately, the door swings open a moment later, and Prompto stands on the opposite side, rubbing his eyes and blinking at him blearily while already clothed in his sleep sweats.

"Noct?" he murmurs quietly as though he's trying to parse through whether or not he's still dreaming.

He looks far younger than his twenty years suggest like that, and there's an apology fleeing his own lips fast, well aware how awful it is to be woken up. In fact, it's probably Noctis' least favorite feeling in the world, so he's instantly sympathetic as he steps inside.

"I didn't know if you'd be up or not. I was going to text, but…"

He had to see him in person at least just once today. That's all his mind had settled on as he clutches the gift in his hands tightly, debating how to present it to him. He'd scrounged up all the remaining funds he'd made taking on part-time jobs here and there just to buy it for him.

What he settles on is thrusting it awkwardly into his hands while Prompto is obviously still in a state of confusion.

"Happy birthday," Noctis tells him in a rush of syllables all stumbling over the other to get out of his mouth.

Ever since the visit of the Niflheim empire and the announcement of the engagement, he hadn't really had much time for anything but preparations -extra training, clothes fittings, briefings on customs, both Insomnia's and those of other lands. Ignis has had to bear the brunt of his complaints for the most part, but Prompto had also been going through his own series of rigorous training now that they'd all be leaving the capital together for the first time ever.

Noctis is more nervous than excited if he's honest with himself, unsure what he'd even say when he sees Luna again after so many years. Then there is the fact that he and Prompto had broken up so abruptly after the official announcement, though it had been a mutual decision, one he remembers he hates to have made each morning he wakes up alone in his bed and each night he doesn't get a text just telling him goodnight. It's probably the first time he's put the needs of his people over his own -perhaps a sign of maturity-, but if the treaty means an end to the war, then he had to make the sacrifice. Not that it makes it any easier to live with himself or to go back to being just friends, especially when Prompto still smiles at him in that shameless way he always has. It makes Noctis recall a conversation they had not too long ago right here in this apartment when they were still together. He'd been patching up one of Prompto's split knuckles after a particularly harsh punch he landed on a dummy during training, and he'd asked him why he was pushing himself so hard, a curiosity that had been gnawing at him for so long already.

Prompto had simply looked at him and, with no trace of humor or uncertainty, had said, "I want to protect you."

That's it. All this time, everything had been for him -never glory, fame, women, money, nothing else but him. He hates to think that he might one day be the cause of his or any of his friend's deaths, so it's his own responsibility to get stronger too, and never put himself in a position where he'll need the protection. But even he knows that that would be an impossible reality. Eventually, his father will grow old. Eventually, he'll age too, faster than all his friends around him.

They're just a few of many harsh truths to confront, and they've been hitting him all at once lately. That he'll never have a life of his own again. That he'll never be able to indulge himself. That every decision he'll have to make will be for the good of the kingdom.

Is he prepared to make that sacrifice? He's been asking himself that so much that he feels like he's bore the words into the surface of his skull. He already feels like he's sacrificed enough by giving up on his first shot at a relationship, and Luna probably deserves way better than him. Both she and Prompto do really.

"Hey, come on," Prompto says quietly, pulling him out of his thoughts as he finally takes the poorly wrapped present from his hands before pushing a hand through his hair in a soothing gesture, "don't make that face, Noct."

Without thinking, Noctis leans right into his fingers and his head cranes close enough that his forehead touches Prompto's cool one. It's a small reprieve he allows himself, enjoying it like a spoiled child as his eyes slip shut. 'I miss you' he wants to say, but the words never make it further than being an idle thought in his head.

Instead, he tells him, "Open it."

Prompto moves away enough to inspect the gift, turning it over curiously in his hands. "I can tell you're the one who wrapped it and not Ignis."

His finger follows along the giant piece of tape that circles the entire box where Noctis had clearly given up on the wrap job. Okay, so it's obvious he's never really wrapped a lot of presents before. Does he have to fixate on that?

"Just open it," he repeats, feeling sheepish.

"Got to give you points for at least trying," his friend remarks before his hands finally start pulling apart the wrapping paper and dismantling the excess surplus of tape wound around everywhere imaginable, a construction project that eventually involves a pocket knife and far too much force before the gift is finally freed of its entrapment. Afterwards, Prompto proudly holds up a box with a new camera inside that he eagerly cradles like it's a newborn.

"How did you know exactly which one I wanted?!"

"All the times you stopped to gape at it while we were at the mall and you said 'I want one' was a pretty big clue."

An embarrassed laugh falls free from Prompto's mouth as he rubs the back of his head. It's more endearingly cute than Noctis wants to admit to himself, especially when Prompto's wearing his vintage t-shirt from a  local chocobo ranch that he happened to buy at the flea market on the outskirts of Insomnia. The whole sight is something he tries quickly to etch into his memories while resisting the urge to kiss him until it hurts because the urge is stabbing through him too harshly right now, and he's only fighting it off because he knows he wouldn't be able to stop. He'd get too easily swallowed up by the moment, too eager to self-indulge when he knows he won't be able to later. It's hard to miss someone who is standing open and free right in front of him, but he does.

Clutching the camera, Prompto makes a move like he wants to hug him but grinds himself to a stop and punches his shoulder awkwardly instead.

"Thanks, Noct. I'll have it all ready to take pics while on our trip. You know, and the wedding. Got to make sure I get a few good ones of you in your tux. Heard the crown's paying a fortune for it."

The excitement doesn't quite reach Prompto's eyes as he talks, and his own stomach starts to sink fast towards the bottom of his feet where he feels like he's stepping all over himself while trying to have a single emotion that isn't dread and despair at the moment.

"Yeah," is all he can manage around the building ache in throat that forms when he wants to cry, but his eyes feel too dry at the moment to even produce a single tear, "why not give it a test drive?"

It's distracting the way Prompto's hands move over the camera, the way his fingers dance over the buttons, extending and rescinding the lens before playing around with all the settings and filters. He really does look like an oversized kid with a brand new toy, and his first few test shots are of furniture and knick-knacks around the apartment before he can finally get the lighting and exposure decent enough. 

He then moves the camera up to Noctis' face and moves to take a picture, but his finger never clicks the button. Instead, his hands lower slowly as he stares at Noctis before shaking his head.

"What?" Noctis asks, instantly feeling self-conscious as Prompto stares at him and digs his own teeth into his bottom lip uncertainly.

"It's just…," Prompto starts before shifting in place awkwardly and staring down at the camera trapped between his fingers.

But he doesn't have to finish. Noctis feels he already knows what it is he wants to say for once without having to have it spelled out for him -knows it because he feels exactly the same way, and time hasn't made those feelings any less easier to contend with.

Without saying anything, he plucks the camera from Prompto's hand and suddenly grips the front of his shirt to yank the other man closer. The flash goes off at the same time his lips find Prompto's beneath the blinding light, letting the camera capture the image of them kissing for Prompto to keep in his files if he wants. It's his own way of saying that no matter what happens, no matter what they go through, no matter where their paths lead them from here on forth, he'll never really be 'over' him. He doesn't think he could ever truly put aside all that happened between them in a year like that.

The kiss ends too soon before he can really taste Prompto's lips and enjoy the warm contact, leaving his own skin tingling with the lack of fulfillment as he steps away. The image on the camera shows the two of them, but he pushes it towards Prompto's face before he can really glance at it, knowing his chest would only clench tighter if he were to see it because every other picture of them he's seen is already getting too old in his own phone. With them, his memories will fade, and time will draw them further from each year they'd spent together. He hopes Prompto will at least stick by him until he's an old man, but at the same time, he wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

The silence hangs between them a little longer while Prompto stares at the screen, and his eyes look down half-closed as he squeezes his fingers around the camera. He can see the tips of them turning white from the pressure before Prompt whispers, "Thanks, Noct."

It's all he really needed to hear, yet he feels empty still, like there is so much left unsaid between the two, their time too abruptly cut short. Maybe he should get used to that feeling from here on out, but the selfish part of him doesn't want to, not when Prompto's standing in front of him and looking like he's the one who wants to be kissed again and again. It's hard to say goodnight, his legs weighed down heavily by the future as he trudges towards the door.

"I'll let you go back to sleep," he says, but he wants to be invited to stay the night, to be pulled in and dragged clumsily to Prompto's bed, to feel his slim fingers pull on his hair then slide down his back and cradle his shoulder blades against his palms. He wants to be driven to the brink again and again, to lose his breath on top, below, next to him, anywhere he can.

Yet he never hears those words, and Prompto only nods, his lips stretching in a clearly feigned smile as he waves to him.

"'Night. I'll call ya tomorrow, so we can hang out."

…So that's it, huh?

His feet shuffle as his heart sinks deep into the pit of his stomach, the sensation making him nauseous as he walks out, and the night sky has never felt darker and more oppressive on top of him. Maybe time will really lighten the feeling riding on his shoulders, or maybe it'll become so heavy he won't be able to move and his spine will snap from the pressure. Who really knows? The further he gets from his place, the more he realizes he should have asked Prompto to send him that picture, but it's for the best this way, repeating that phrase in his mind until his brain starts to feel raw and tired.

006. - 20.5th Birthday because the half is very important -

The rain has never felt more intrusive, leaving his bangs plastered to his forehead as he pushes his aching feet through the mud, unsure how far the two of them have walked so far, only that one wrong step would leave them skidding down the steep hillside. Every single inch of his body has already been hurting for far too long, unable to remember a time when he wasn't covered in constant pain. His nice warm bed in Insomnia had long ago become a distant dream, replaced with the grass or whatever corner of the world they could find some sleep in. Sometimes, if he's lucky, Noctis would be able to spend his nights in the Regalia, curled up in the back seat reliving childhood memories, but that's been the only luxury he's known in a long while. If only he could be there right now, instead of being pelted by the rain as he and Prompto struggle to find a rare ingredient to sell to some world-famous chef that only Ignis had heard of who happened to be offering a huge payment in exchange.

Hunger and desperation for more funds had lead him and Prompto to agreeing to do the job while Gladio and Ignis had stayed back to oversee more tune ups to the Regalia, so they get to lounge around in the heated comfort of a nice caravan while the two of them risk breaking their necks for a blue-tinted mushroom that tastes "beyond divine". Allegedly. Noctis had never eaten it before, so he has no way of telling how much truth there is to that statement, but he figures they might as well pick a few extra for Ignis and see what the big deal is. That is, assuming, they even find it to begin with. As it is, they can barely make it up along the rocky pathway as more mud sluices down the surface, covering their boots completely.

"Can't go any further, Noct. I'm dying here!" Prompto breathes out behind him, and he feels his hands grab him from behind as the blond struggles to stay on his feet.

Unfortunately, Noctis finds it too difficult to support both their weights and move across the slippery terrain at the same time, leading them both to fall backwards and slide down a few feet. The impact hurts all the more when his body collides painfully into Prompto's, who is basically a pile of flesh-covered jagged bones, and Noctis is already hissing out an apology as he tries to scramble off of him and avoid crushing him with his own weight. To make matters worse, the rain starts beating down on them harder, making visibility near impossible. If Ignis were here, he'd be telling them to abandon the search for now and seek shelter, but Noctis is pretty relentless at times and also desperate to get this over with. Not to mention there is nowhere else for him to really take shelter at the moment, so his only recourse is to try and climb back up the steep hill again.

"Eh?? You're really going again?" Prompto asks, and his voice is trembling, teeth chattering noisily while the cold threatens to seep all the way to his bones. He's freezing, too, but he ignores it for now, trying not to hug himself like he wants to as he plants his feet through the mud once more.

A few steps is as far as he makes it before another single misstep sends him careening downwards and landing awkwardly on his knees. A rock tears violently through his flesh, the cloth of his pants shredded up against the surface of it up as blood starts to flow from the wound. It looks more gruesome than it feels, and Noctis is sure it's more of a superficial injury than anything he needs to worry about.

Prompto's hand grabs his wrist as he starts to stand up once more, and he feels it tug him back with as much force as Prompto can muster in his smaller frame. "Don't keep walking like that. Bacteria and stuff, remember? Let me patch it up for you at least. May not be as good as Ignis, but I learned a little first aid back in training."

His expression is tinged with so much concern that Noctis swallows down the urge to protest instantly. He's tired and overdue for a rest anyway, so he allows Prompto to lead him to a nearby tree where he can rest his back against while his friend works on pushing up his pant leg and folding it over his knee.

"I don't have any bandaids," he points out, "so we'll have to get creative."

Noctis' eyes look around for anything that could work, coming up short quickly. They're in the middle of a forest and not exactly overflowing with amenities. The two of them had expected this to be a short and quick trip and hadn't really packed much more than few provisions. It'd be a waste to use a potion on a wound this small, so he doesn't touch their limited stock at all. It looks like Prompto has the same idea as he ignores the little pack they have with them to instead pluck at the piece of cloth tied around his upper arm. It had been a fashion statement and served no real utilitarian use, so he has no problem sacrificing it for the cause, it seems. Noctis isn't in the mood to really argue over it, instead watching quietly while Prompto ties it around the wound to soak up some of the blood.

"What's the prognosis?" Noctis asks him quietly, his voice almost lost beneath the rain, but Prompto is leaning in close enough to hear him.

"I think you'll live. Just got to stay off it for a bit."

He pats the side of his knee before offering him a smile, and it's sobering how sweet he looks right now -how hard he's pushing himself past his own fear and anxiousness just to remain by his side. Here they both are, soaked and ready to be eaten by whatever decides to cross their path or gunned down by Niflheim's army, and he's more worried about a tiny gash on his knee than whether or not the two of them will even make it back to the car in one piece.

It really has been a strange day, but Noctis is far too mentally exhausted to fight back against the urge not to stare at him with undisguised fondness. It's been getting harder and harder to remain focused on anything he should focus on really, especially with everything that's happened since they had first set-out of Insomnia. So much he hadn't even begun to process yet, and it terrifies him not knowing where they're headed. Their destination had been his own wedding once upon a time and now all they can do is hope to still be alive at the end of the day to go on fighting the next day. It honestly sucks, and the anguish constantly coils in the center of his chest every time he sleeps, still wishing this would all be a bad nightmare -still hoping he'll wake up once more in Insomnia with his father smiling at him as he sees him off on the long trip.

The only thing keeping him from falling apart all together is the fact that he has the other three with him, side-by-side, soaking in the same fears and anxieties together. He knows he couldn't do this alone, and he's grateful even if he's bad at saying it everyday. Right now, he's never wanted to hug or hold Prompto more just to feel the weight of his body against him, and it's hard to convince himself to resist when Prompto's looking at him like he wants the same thing.

"I'm tired," is all he manages to get out instead, his head drifting back to hit the bark of the tree as he closes his eyes.

Rain continues to strike his face angrily and weigh his clothes down heavily against his skin while he resists the urge to cry or scream his throat raw in frustration like he wants to. He's done enough of that already, and for once, he just wants to lie there and let it all hit him, though he's only dimly aware when Prompto sinks next to him. Their shoulders touch, and he can feel a warm hand crawling into his, trying to be non-invasive even as his thin fingers curl between his and squeeze.

"This sucks," Prompto groans out loud after a while, "I'm cold, wet, hungry, sleepy. Why'd they have to send us to grab those mushrooms? You even remember what they look like?"

"Blue tops," Noctis murmurs, still not opening his eyes, but he's attentive to the way Prompto's hand clenches and unclenches around his, counting the times in his head to stay sane.

"Yeah… probably not worth that much," Prompto continues, seemingly unfazed by the elements in spite of having complained about them just now, "The money'd be nice, though. Think of what we can buy. Two big juicy steaks for each of us and a side of garlic potatoes or-or-! Maybe that good pumpkin curry we tried once. Remember that, Noct?"

Of course, he does. It's one of the few they had that day that didn't threaten to burn a hole in his mouth. He'd also remembered tasting it on Prompto's breath a few times after and could never find it unpleasant when he licked all sorts of exotic flavors off his tongue. Maybe anyone else would be grossed out by it, but it just reminds him how human the two of them are.

"And that passion fruit smoothie from the other place down the street or the noodles with the breaded tofu… ugh, I could think about food forever."

"Me too," Noctis agrees, his stomach starting to stir to life the more his mind crawls back to the past and all the best meals he'd eaten.

They hadn't really had much of anything to eat since the night before, a fact becoming all the more apparent by the second, but he can't bring himself to move to look for food. Not when it's more tempting to fall asleep right there, but Prompto's voice is keeping him afloat and stopping him from passing right out like he wants to.

"Hey, stay with me," his friend whispers, the sound hovering too warm and close to his ear when he speaks, "I don't want to be alone."

'I don't want to be alone, either,' his mind answers back, but the words don't make it much further than that. If they did, would anything change at all? It's times like this that make him miss their former closeness, but in many ways, they've also gotten a lot closer to one another since then. It's different, more intense, than the physical relationship they'd carried on before, like they've reached a new level of trust and companionship that would never have been possible had he stayed back in Insomnia. He can feel Prompto -all three of them really- starting to become a part of him, connected in a way he could never even begin to describe to himself. It must be what it means to be king and to willingly transfer his powers to subjects of his choosing.

He's been cycling parts of himself through them for a while, moving like a single unnamed entity, and that indescribable bond has been making them stronger by the day. However, they'll only be as strong as he himself is, which is why he can't keep letting himself falter like this.

His hand squeezes Prompto's in return this time as he turns to face him, searching for something to push him forward once more -to renew his hope-, eyes peeling open fully after what has felt like an eternity of having them closed. Prompto's own clear blue eyes face back at him, watching him with an intensity he recognizes. Not love, lust, friendship, or even attraction. Maybe all four at the same time or something else entirely. He just knows he's seen it there before time after time, and he's been afraid rather often that Prompto would never look at him like that again. Even after all he'd put him through, he still feels unbearably selfish about wanting to keep Prompto's attention on him.

Today, he just wants to drown in that gaze completely, let it swallow him down in one fell swoop as he slowly and unceremoniously closes the gap still lingering between them to let his cold mouth touch Prompto's and to feel each small tremor as it racks through him. So much deflates out of him at the moment where he sinks against Prompto -sinks into the kiss-, letting his friend cradle the back of his head and pull him closer, and whatever else needs to be said is spelled out bluntly in the way their mouths fit together, the way their tongues touch and tease one another after so long. Each broad stroke leaves his insides twisting, the tension spreading across his stomach and thighs until he feels the unyielding need to be even closer. That alone propels his body to move with sudden swiftness, leg swinging across Prompto's thighs until he's sitting over him, and Prompto's fingers on his neck become claws in seconds, holding him from escape where their kiss easily transforms from tentative to desperate. He feels teeth pulling flesh, plucking at his bottom lip until the pain resonates sharply through the rest of his mouth, and can't tell after if he's left breathing hard from the cold or the stimulation but doesn't care as he scrapes his own teeth down Prompto's chin to sink into the edge of his jaw just as his own hands bury themselves into the fabric of his shirt, twisting around it with almost enough force to tear.

Both of their bodies keep shivering non-stop against one another, trying to find heat in the tight compress of their chest and hips, desperate for friction to burn enough stimulation through them to stop thinking about the cold and rain, but it feels next to impossible when each rain drop starts to smack into the back of his too thin jacket and shirt like icicles being shot right through him. In the end, it ends up being Prompto who pulls back first to look up at him, panting heavily against his mouth as a shaky hand brushes along the length of his cheek.

"I'd be soooo into this if I wasn't freezing to death, don't get me wrong," Prompto admits, and his thin hand slides down to cup the back of his neck again, fingers twining around the little hairs there in that simple little way that both tickles him and sends a rush of heat spreading low across his spine, "promise I'll finish things when we're not about to die."

A promise he knows Prompto will keep because when has he ever given up on an opportunity to touch him, but at least, that's one more excuse to make it through here alive. The hope he needed. That and Ignis' cooking waiting back at Coernix station for them. 

If there's any lingering disappointment, Noctis can hardly feel it around the tight numbness hugging all of his limbs, and he manages a small smile after a moment.

"You take first watch then."

Prompto's answering laugh tickles his ear. "Okay, but I'm pushing you off if my thighs start to go numb."

With the cold hugging him on all sides, he lets his head drop down to Prompto's shoulder in the meantime, heavily leaning against him until the sound of the rain alone starts to lure him into a space between sleep and wakefulness. He wants to apologize to Prompto for having to bear his weight for the time being, wants to apologize in general for being the reason he has to suffer outside in the cold, but the silence is more comforting than anything else. He lets it cover the two of them like a thick blanket as they wait together for the rain to let up. It's been a long day already, and he still feels like it's just the beginning of worse days to come, and all he can do is cling to his fraying sanity caught everywhere between where their bodies touch.

- The End -