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It was a quiet sound at first: a stuttering, shaky breath that he almost missed over the deep rumbling of Gladio’s snores. Prompto’s hands paused their fiddling, the bright light of his phone screen suddenly cutting to black as he sat up in the ensuing silence. The darkness pressed in on his vision as he listened, his stomach flipping in funny ways as his imagination ran away with him. A wild beast maybe, or a sneak attack from the Imperials? Should he wake Gladio and Ignis, try to rouse Noct—check it out for himself? His heart pounded at the thought, but the night remained still. He let out a short sigh of relief and laid back down.
The second time he heard it, Prompto was scrambling to his feet within seconds. It was louder this time, more like a gasp than anything else, so sharp and distinct that there was no way he was just imagining things. His trembling hands fumbled in the darkness for his gun—what exactly was he doing here again, playing bodyguard with people so far out of his league they could probably tear him apart in seconds if they wanted to? His mouth was just forming the words—wake up—when he heard it a third time.
There was no mistaking the groan and desperate rustling coming from within the tent. It was almost instinctual, the way a bolt of fear raced down his spine when he realized that he recognized the sound. He’d heard it before, after rough battles and long days and dozens of injuries: the sound of Noctis hurting.
Gently, Prompto set down his gun and shuffled the short distance over to where Noctis was sleeping. Noctis was sleeping on his side, his back facing Prompto and the rest of the tent. Prompto sat cross-legged next to the sleeping prince and leaned in close.
“Noct?” He whispered.
For a moment nothing happened, but then Noctis’s body jerked and a gasp escaped his lips, his limbs thrashing weakly to fight off some invisible threat that Prompto couldn’t see. Sounds tumbled from Noctis’s mouth, unintelligible pleading, and it took a moment but then Prompto realized that Noctis was afraid.
Prompto pulled away at that thought, stunned as if struck by lightning. Noctis was many things: he was royalty, and powerful, and dedicated; he was lazy, and sleepy, and irritable; he was kind, and understanding, and beautiful. To Prompto, he was a soft, glowing light, which cut through the darkest of nights—the deepest of fears. Because Prompto was always afraid. He wasn’t strong, he wasn’t smart, and he certainly never felt brave, not when they crawled through dark, underground caves and fought monsters dozens of times their size and slept out in the open, exposed wilderness every night. Prompto had always been afraid. And he realized, as he sat there in stunned silence, that Noctis had been afraid too.
He almost wanted to laugh at the thought. He felt ridiculous, almost euphoric—of course Noctis had been afraid. Who wouldn’t have? And still he wanted Prompto around. Him, of all people. All those years of running, of chasing, of doubting and hoping, and now he’s just realizing that he’s had a place by his side all along.
He’s not sure what leads him to do it. Maybe it’s the warm, bubbling feeling of belonging. Maybe it’s the strange, peaceful, powerful feeling that surges within him when he looks down at Noctis’s sleeping face. Maybe it’s the telltale groan of another unwelcome nightmare, or the indignant, desperate protectiveness that overcomes him, or the unshakable desire to claim the spot he’s just beginning to understand is his. When Prompto reaches out and takes hold of Noctis’s hand, when he entwines their fingers and leans in close to brush the stray hairs out of Noctis’s eyes, he thinks that maybe it’s simply because it’s right.
He stays that way for a while. He stays by Noctis’s side as long as it takes for his breathing to even out and for his body to relax back into deep, peaceful sleep. Even after, he stays and holds onto Noctis’s hand in the hopes that somehow he can drive any other nightmares away and give his prince the same strength he’s given Prompto countless times before. Its only when the rising sun begins to illuminate the side of the tent does Prompto stand from his vigil, stiff and sore but smiling nonetheless, and sneak back to his own sleeping bag. Gladio will be up for his early morning training regimen soon—a fact Prompto has learned from many a previous sleepless night—and Ignis will probably scold him if he’s too tired to get up for breakfast. Not that he regrets his decision to stay up all night, but he’d rather be spared the attention.
He still fails to get up for breakfast on time, of course. And Ignis scolds him as he tiredly shovels food into his mouth, as Prompto figured he would. But when Noctis emerges from the tent, stretching like a lazy house cat, Prompto can’t quite focus on anything else.
“Good morning,” Ignis greets Noctis and hands him breakfast.
“Thanks,” Noctis replies and takes a seat next to Prompto.
Ignis quirks one eyebrows as he glances Noctis up and down. “You seem rather spry this morning,” Ignis comments, “Slept well?”
Noctis nods. “Actually, yeah, I did.”
If Prompto hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed the way Noctis held up one of his hands and stared at it, frowning as if deep in thought. He couldn’t help but watch though, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight. There’s a strange sensation swelling in his chest when he looks at Noctis—almost like pride, he thinks, but softer, warmer. He decides he likes the feeling, and smiles.
Noctis, who takes quick notice of Prompto’s wide grin, asks, “How about you, Prom?”
“He most certainly did not,” Ignis chides before Prompto can collect himself enough to reply.
He huffs, “I did too!”
Ignis clearly doesn’t believe him, but the light jingle of Noctis’s laugh is good enough for him. Maybe this is what Noctis was getting at after all.