Chapter Text
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“I know! That’s what I said!”
“Well, he is currently asleep.”
“Ha. You’re rubbing off on him, Noct.”
“Funny.”
“I really would rather he just rested –”
“Come on, Prom is fine. And he deserves to see this –”
“He’s right. Prom would definitely rather we woke him up.”
“Thank you. I’m going in.”
Noctis didn’t need to take another step, however; Prompto creaked open his bedroom door to peer blearily at his three friends that were in fervent discussion right behind it. “Wha—”
He didn’t make it to the end of the sentence before Noctis was grinning, thrusting something into his arms. “Check this out.”
Another quick, confused glance at his friends, and Prompto dropped his gaze to the object he was holding. A book. It was large, glossy, and new.
The Spring Gala: Annual Photobook. Official Release No. 195.
Prompto squinted. There was a photo on the front page. In fact, the whole cover of the hardback book he was holding was one photo, with the above text simply printed onto it, in the background of the main subject matter.
It was an artsy shot, taken from the sidelines of the ballroom, showing a young man in a smart black suit, jacket spinning out with the momentum of his dancing, a grin on his face that was evidently directed at his partner, who – like the rest of the crowd – was simply a blur. An accompaniment of colour and light. Prompto couldn’t tell who the dance partner was, but he could identify the young man within a heartbeat.
A skipping, leaping heartbeat.
Him.
“What the –”
He turned the book over in his hand to read the back. The photograph extended across the spine and onto the back cover, too, but it just showed the continuing blur of the rest of the room and was primarily taken up by a description box.
The ultimate guidebook to this year’s event. Over two hundred officially released photographs, complete with interviews from organisers, designers, notable attendees, and insider commentators. Gain an insight into the makings of the event of the year – and those who attended! Photographs are available to order using indexed codes.
Prompto stared. Then he flipped the book back over to study the front again. Yep. It was definitely him. He looked up incredulously, wide eyes meeting Ignis’s. “That’s – that’s me?!”
“I do believe so, yes.”
“But what? Why am I -?”
“Guess someone really liked the shot,” Gladio grinned.
“But I’m –”
“It is pretty cool,” Noctis agreed, eyes sparkling.
“I don’t understand –” Prompto couldn’t stop staring back down at the book, at the young man dancing across the front of it.
“It’s a stunning photograph,” Ignis commented, moving in to get a better look over Prompto’s shoulder. “You should be happy with it.”
“Oh yeah,” Prompto laughed in disbelief. “I think ‘happy’ comes after ‘believing this is actually happening’.”
“And somewhere before having a crisis over it?” Gladio teased.
“Oh no, Big Guy,” Prompto shook his head. “That one has already started.”
They laughed as Prompto held up the book next to his face. “Seriously, that’s me?”
“With a bit less bedhead, maybe,” Gladio chuckled.
Prompto didn’t even have the presence of mind to run a hand correctively through it. He just stared, dumbfounded, at the image before him.
“Don’t you want to see the rest of it?” Noctis asked eagerly.
“The rest of –” Oh. It was an entire book, after all.
“Come on,” Ignis said. “Let’s see it all properly. I’ll put on a pot of tea.”
Prompto followed him into the kitchen, almost tripping over him in his eagerness to put the book down on the dinner table, Gladio and Noctis crowding around him with similar enthusiasm. He flipped the book open to a gorgeous shot of the ballroom, empty and waiting for visitors, a sense of expectant excitement tangible through the thick, glossy pages. He breathed in; it was incredible.
“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis muttered. “Cool room, we get it. I want to see us.”
“Come on, dude,” Prompto scoffed. “We didn’t all get to grow up in this place.” Still, he secretly agreed; he was going to explode if he didn’t see the shots, like, right now.
They didn’t have to skip far through it before they found one: of Noctis, primarily, on the red carpet outside, Ignis set a little further back behind him. There was a blonde head exiting the car behind them that Prompto identified as himself. Gladio was nowhere to be seen.
“Bullshit.” The shield flipped to the next page. “That’s more like it.”
It was a photograph of the three of them, Noctis and Prompto pulled in either side of Gladio’s chest, all smiling for the camera. Well. Noctis and Gladio were smiling, at least, the former with a cool sort of distance, the second with definite sex appeal. Prompto, however, was beaming, eyes wild, cheeks flushed, grin wide and toothy.
“Charming,” Ignis said, leaning over to see. Prompto turned around to look at him, ready to make some self-deprecating quip. He stalled, however, as he took in the fond, gentle smile that lingered on his face as he looked down at the photo. As he looked down at Prompto. His quip had gone, leaving nothing in its wake.
“Hmm. Like a puppy,” Gladio smirked.
“Shut up,” Prompto whined. There was no way that he was charming. He was cute, maybe, at a stretch.
“Hey, look at this one!” Noctis had flipped the book on several pages to another shot of the four of them, this time as they entered the room, descending the high stairs into the whirling ballroom below. “We look like a boy band.”
“Dude, I’ve been thinking that all along,” Prompto grinned, studying the shot. They really did – Prompto’s frown, which was really the result of him concentrating so damn much, looked almost moody instead of petrified, while the others were in various casual poses that suggested they did this kind of thing all the time.
Which, of course, they did.
They flipped the pages past the shots of everyone mingling, the photos of the awaiting dining room, the ones of the guests beginning to take their seats. There was an impressive photograph of the king addressing the room, in which Prompto could make out his own elbow, and another in which Ignis was leaning in to say something to him.
“Trading secrets, huh?” Gladio asked.
“Something like that.”
He’d actually been trying to help Prompto to understand the cutlery, not that either of them was going to confess that.
Finally, the dancing.
There had to have been at least a hundred photos, capturing the hundreds of guests in all of their finery as they glided and spun across the room. There were a good handful of those dedicated to their little group: Noctis, in particular, was the centre of many. But no one could deny –
“Prom, you’re coming up a lot in this.”
It was true. While none of them were as singularly focused on him as they were on the front page, there were photos of Prompto dancing with each of his friends – even a shot of him and Nyx, laughing as they went – and he looked dizzyingly happy in every single one, beaming as he spun around the room.
One of Prompto and Noctis, faces rosy with alcohol and exertion, mid-stomp in one of the folk dances made them all laugh.
“Cute,” Prompto grinned.
Finally, they reached the end. It was of the four of them, arms slung around one another, hair tousled, faces lightly flushed. They’d clocked the camera, but only just – the shot wasn’t posy, but casual; Gladio looked almost like he was about to say something. Prompto’s eyes lingered long on the way that Ignis’ arm was draped across his shoulders, the way that Noctis was leaning into him, the way that his own happiness had been captured, calmly but obviously, by the photographer.
“Like it?” Ignis asked.
“Are you kidding?” Prompto gasped. “I love it.”
They spent the next hour or so sitting around having breakfast, chatting about their favourite photos, and noting down the indexed codes of the ones which they wanted to order.
“As many as you want,” Ignis had said gently when Prompto began to ask.
Prompto sure hoped he’d meant it – the list was long and still going.
“Prompto, is that even your leg?”
“Yep,” he defended it staunchly. “I recognise my shoes.”
Gladio met his eyes with similar determination, eyebrows raised. Neither moved. “Fine,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Specs, write this one down, too.”
Eventually, they were done.
“Wow,” Prompto sighed, leaning back into the chair. “We’re, like, practically famous.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Noctis deadpanned. “I’ve always wondered what that would feel like.”
“…”
“…”
“Shut the fuck up, dude.”
“It’s pretty cool you’re on the front page,” Gladio admitted.
“Thank you,” Prompto said, glaring at Noctis as if to say, ‘see?’. “
Noctis shrugged. “Someone had to do it. I’m just glad you took my spot, dude. They’re always trying to get me on the front of that thing.”
“Gods,” Prompto bit his lower lip, shaking his head. “You are so fucking annoying.” He turned to the others. “Seriously, though. This is so cool.”
Ignis smiled that same, fond, smile as he looked over.
“Sure is,” Gladio said. “So. We gonna celebrate or what?”
‘Celebrating’ got off to a slightly dull start. Ignis insisted on processing the order as soon as possible, and then someone called the apartment to let them know that the King had seen the publication.
“So?” Noctis asked rudely.
“So,” Ignis sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I’m sure he’s interested in discussing it with you. It is quite exciting.”
A little more waiting, and then a decision was made to visit him that afternoon. Ignis spent the next hour cajoling them all into wearing something appropriate; Noctis and Gladio spent most of that hour trying to find loopholes, while Prompto spent it getting dressed. And undressed. And dressed again.
“Chill, dude,” Noctis said, eventually. “It’s just my dad.”
“Your dad … the king? We talking about the same dad?”
Noctis rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve never met him before. What did you wear last time?” Prompto gave him a blank, flat look until the prince remembered. “Oh, right. Yeah, not that.”
Eventually, they were pulling up outside the citadel, Prompto shifting from foot to foot as they got out of the car – and then shifting from foot to foot again as they waited outside one of the king’s chambers.
“Noct,” the king greeted him warmly, pulling his son into an embrace.
“Dad,” Noctis replied, hugging back.
“Ignis, Gladio, Prompto,” the king smiled at each of them in turn.
He remembered my name?
Thankfully, Prompto barely even had the time to mumble a ‘Your Highness’ before the conversation moved on to the coverage and the photographs. Prompto kept quiet, fidgeting with his chinos as the discussion flowed around him.
The King barely looked his way, falling into casual chatter with Gladio and Ignis in a way that betrayed their years of living and working in close quarters. Not that the young men weren’t deferent, but there was a familiarity there that Prompto could never imagine developing himself. It was only when they were standing up to leave that the King’s eyes landed truly, piercingly, on him.
“Prompto,” he said. “A word, if you don’t mind?”
The others instantly looked at him, and then almost as instantly looked away, rising, and filing quietly out of the room. The door closed silently behind them. Prompto toed the carpet.
“You’ve done wonders for my son,” the King smiled warmly.
I… what?
He must have said that last part without realising; Regis chuckled lightly. “You really have. You’re a good friend to him, I can tell.”
Prompto just nodded, not trusting himself to say something sensible.
“I hear you’ve moved into his apartment now?”
Oh, shit. “Um, yeah. Yes, Your Highness. Sorry. I don’t have to stay long, really, I –” He silenced himself when Regis waved his hand.
“It’s really not a problem, Prompto,” he said. Prompto tried to feel reassured. “If anything, I’m sure it’ll be good for him. Perhaps if he sees you living independently and picking up after yourself, it’ll inspire him to do the same.”
Prompto didn’t have the heart to tell him that ‘living independently’ was more what he’d moved away from. He didn’t feel particularly independent now, friends available at the drop of a hat, fed and looked after by Ignis.
The King smiled, mostly to himself.
“What I really wanted to do was to give you my support. Ignis, naturally, has been filling me in on the situation as it has been developing.” He noticed some of the horror in Prompto’s face. “I assure you, it’s not common knowledge,” he said, “and we all intend to keep it that way.” Prompto nodded. “I hope that the Crown can continue to support you in the ways that we are currently doing,” his tone shifted, becoming more serious. “But Prompto, I also wanted to assure you that, should you seek legal action against your parents, you will have our full support.”
Prompto gaped.
“We cannot become directly involved, of course,” he sighed as if that fact troubled him. “But I want you to know that you are free to take up any case against them that you require. You will not be seen as trouble for it.”
Some minute, barely aware part of Prompto’s brain made him close his mouth. And then open it again. “Um. Thank you, sir.”
The King smiled again. “You’re welcome.” He sat back a little in his chair. “It was nice to see you again, Prompto.”
He nodded. “You, too. Sir. Your Highness. Um, have a nice day.”
The King chuckled. “And you.”
Prompto practically walked into the others when he got to the end of the corridor, lost in a labyrinth of his own.
“What was that about?” Noctis asked. He looked weirdly nervous.
Prompto shrugged. “Just stuff.”
“Stuff,” Gladio echoed.
Prompto shook himself off. “Top secret stuff,” he winked. “I’d tell you, of course, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Prompto rolled his eyes, not bothering with a comeback; he was only half paying attention, mind still occupied by Regis’s words.
Should you seek legal action against your parents …
It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it.
Well, he hadn’t.
But it wasn’t like he hadn’t considered it after Ignis had brought it up. Carefully, gently, with a calm determination that betrayed his expertise as a royal advisor, the man had broached the topic a couple of weeks back.
“It’s illegal, Prompto, the way that they’ve treated you,” Ignis had stressed.
“Illegal?”
Ignis had nodded. “In no uncertain terms.”
It had taken everything he had to stop himself from just stalking off. I mean, to take legal action? They were his parents. It was closure enough, he’d argued, to be living with his best friend; to be supported by the best people he’d ever met; to be at the edge of a future that would be amazing with or without them.
“I understand,” Ignis had said, sorrow in his eyes that all the professionalism in the world couldn’t quite obscure. “I won’t try and push you into it.”
And Prompto had nodded, somewhat defensively, and it had never been brought up again.
It wasn’t that he still thought they were coming back. It had been over a month since he’d moved out of that apartment, and he’d still not heard a thing – no confirmation that they were even alive, save for the articles that kept cropping up in newspapers. They were busy; too busy for him.
But to take them to court? To tell the world that they weren’t good enough parents to him, to declare that they were so bad at it it was illegal… how on Eos could he ever do that? They’d not been that bad. They loved him. They had loved him. They … maybe they would again.
Not if I take them to court.
“Earth to Prompto?”
He shot his head up, noticing distantly that they were outside the citadel already, and broke into an awkward smile. “Sorry, man. I was miles away.”
Noctis studied him for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “You can say that again. You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. So –” he looked around at the others – “what’s the plan?”
“Shooting range,” Gladio grinned. “Then dinner. You down?”
“Oh,” Prompto shrugged. “I mean, yeah, sure! Can’t promise I’ll be any good at it, though.” He thought about the years of training the other three had been through. Prompto had never even seen a gun – not really – so there was every chance he was going to screw this up.
“Eh. You’ll catch up.”
They got back into the car and headed to the range, Gladio and Noctis chatting away about the guns they wanted to try out, the records they wanted to beat. Once again, Prompto found himself in the passenger seat, a view full of the road ahead through the windscreen, Ignis bringing the conversation around to something more manageable every time Prompto got far too lost to keep up.
“Ready?” he asked as they walked up.
“Hell no,” Prompto laughed.
“It’s not as difficult as it sounds,” Ignis reassured him.
“Unless you’re Noctis,” Gladio smirked. “Took him years to get even passably good.”
The prince rolled his eyes. “You think I’m passably good? That’s so generous.”
“Well, you’re gonna be better than me,” Prompto grumbled, following them into the building.
The others went first. Prompto sat on the bench, ridiculous headphones stuck over his ears and watched as his friends annihilated the targets. True, Noctis took a few shots to warm up, but his paper still came back riddled with holes. He was good. Up next, Gladio also proved his worth, gloating over a couple of shots he’d got close to the centre of the target, but he quieted down after Ignis stepped up and beat both of them by a couple of marks.
“You’re up, Prom,” Gladio called over to him. “Good luck.”
Prompto waited with sweating palms as he waited for the range officer to give him the okay, doing his best to make the gun feel normal in his hands. It was heavier than he’d expected. What if it slipped straight out of his hands?
Regis would probably be mad if he shot Noctis. Fuck that, everyone would be mad if he shot Noctis.
Don’t shoot Noctis.
Finally, the range officer gave him a nod, and he did his best to level the gun in his hands. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the target, felt the weight of the gun beneath his hands, let it guide him through the shot…
He jumped when he pulled the trigger, all the expectation in the world still not making him ready for the sound and strength of the shot and recoil. ‘Holy shit’ he mouthed over his shoulder at the guys who were watching behind. They also looked surprised – maybe Prompto had been closer to dropping the gun than he’d realised.
“Eyes forward!” the officer barked.
Oops. Prompto spun back to face the range, trying not to feel like an idiot. He lined up the shot again and did his best to relax, tension bleeding out from his mind to be focused completely on his muscles, the way the handgun felt beneath his palms, the view of the target through his dominant eye. When he fired the second shot, it didn’t make him jump.
Someone exclaimed behind him, and the urge to apologise for whatever it was, was beaten only by the urge not to get told off by the officer again. He did his best to focus, channelling his energy into the next shots, until finally he was done, and the paper glided down the range to settle within his reach.
With shaking hands, he set down the gun and unclipped it.
“Holy shit, Prom,” Noctis materialised at his shoulder, making him jump. “You never told me you could shoot?”
On the bench behind them, Ignis and Gladio were studying him weirdly, not even trying to hide the surprise in their eyes.
“Anyone else think Prom just turned hot? No? Just me?”
“Dude that was insane!” Noctis pressed, ignoring Gladio entirely.
It was true he’d done well. Really well, he realised, now he could compare his paper with the others’. “Huh.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say? No insider tips on how you did it?” Noctis asked reproachfully.
“Umm…” Prompto wracked his brain. “I mean. My main thought was, uhh, ‘don’t shoot Noct’.”
“I swear to the gods…”
“Well, Prompto, it’s safe to say you won this one,” Ignis said, amused.
“Great.” He had no idea how this had happened. “Uhh, what did I win?”
“Bragging rights,” Gladio said – fast.
Ignis raised an eyebrow at him. “The winner,” he said slowly, “as we have always played, is the king of the night.”
Prompto grinned.
“Which includes,” Noctis added, “pick of where we go for dinner.”
“Hell yeah! Pizza it is!”
“That was decisive,” Ignis remarked.
Everyone was smiling at him. “What? Everyone loves pizza.”
“We sure do,” Gladio agreed. And that was that. They all climbed into the car, yet again, and headed for the nearest pizza place. They piled into a booth, got the attention of one of the waitresses, and ordered their food.
“Seriously, Prom,” Noctis said, leaning right over his pizza to let it drip onto his plate. “How did you learn to shoot like that?”
“I didn’t,” he shrugged. “What?” he glared defensively at the three sets of raised eyebrows. “I’m serious. I just sorta … concentrated.”
“You just sorta concentrated,” Gladio repeated. “Damn, I wish I’d have thought of that.”
“No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “I thought you guys were gonna leave me in the dust.”
“Well, we certainly didn’t,” Ignis remarked.
“Just think of what you could do with a bit of training,” Gladio added, nodding excitedly.
“Training?” Now they really were insane. “What would I even train for?”
“Crownsguard,” the shield shrugged.
Like, shrugged.
“M’serious,” he added, noticing the way Prompto’s eyes were practically popping out of his head. “We could use someone with your talent.”
Prompto laughed, shaking his head. This was just another joke. He looked around at the others to join in on their laughter, certain they’d be in on it. He was met with nothing but interest. “You’ve all lost it,” he muttered, tearing off another slice of pizza.
“Well, just think on it,” Gladio said, raising his hands in surrender. “Intakes are running all throughout the year. You’re not in a rush.”
For a moment, Prompto imagined joining. Heading to the citadel, with a bunch of other fresh-faced school grads, all in their uniform for their first day of training. He shook his head. Insane…
His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking off his train of thought. Then it buzzed again. And again. Someone was calling him, he realised belatedly as he wiggled the phone out of his trouser pocket.
His pizza lodged somewhere deep in his chest.
Mum <3.
His eyes shot up to meet those of his friends. The room was shrinking, lilting around him.
“What do I –” he gasped.
“You don’t have to take it,” Ignis said steadily.
He looked down at his phone, vibrating aggressively in his hand. He looked back up at the faces of his friends – the concern colouring Noctis’ features, the anger that laced those of Gladio.
“Fuck it.”
He nearly tripped over his own feet as he clambered out of the booth, narrowly avoiding the waitress as he ran past the kitchen doors. The cold evening air hit his face like a breath of fresh air, the gravel crunching under his feet as he took a few paces away from the restaurant.
He took a deep breath – like a drowning man who was finally going under – and pressed ‘accept’.
“Hi mum.”
“Oh, Prompto!” she said warmly. “How nice to hear your voice.”