Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prompto kept up his smile the whole car journey back from Noctis’ apartment as if that alone would halt even the possibility that everything in his life was falling apart. The prince, mostly playing Kings Knight next to him in the backseat, didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong, barely looking up from the game as the car slowly moved through the streets of Insomnia.

Well, he rarely did.

Ignis shot him an unreadable look in the rear-view mirror at one point, an eyebrow raising suspiciously as he wordlessly studied the blond – he’d zoned out completely, smile plastered vaguely on his face and missed whatever comment the advisor had made, and “oh yeah, totally, Iggy,” apparently hadn’t been the right response.

Oh well.

He did a good enough job of looking cheerful, chirpily calling out his thanks for the lift as he got out of the backseat, jogging lightly up the steps to his apartment complex without looking back over his shoulder. It was best not to look, really; the thought of watching the car drive off without him made him want to cry. For some reason.

In fact, Prompto kept his smile up all the way down his corridor to the door of his apartment – stupid, really, seeing as the car had long since pulled away, taking Ignis and Noctis’ prying eyes with it. It was only when he finally stepped inside, falling back against the door as it clicked shut behind him, that he let it slide off his face.

He was doing his best to lie to all of his friends. There was no point in lying to himself.

Prompto stared into the dark corridor ahead of him, angrily wishing away the tears that were beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes.

He was exhausted.

Rubbing them away before they had the chance to fall, Prompto heaved himself off the back of the door, dumping his jacket unceremoniously on the radiator as he went past, and walked blearily into the kitchen.

He flicked the lights. Nothing.

Of course.

He set his camera down on the table, on top of a few unopened letters that said things like ‘URGENT’ and ‘FINAL NOTICE’ in angry printed stamps on the front – one of which likely contained the explanation for the lack of electricity he’d come home to two days prior – and got a glass out of the cupboard, holding it under a dribbling tap.

His teeth clinked on the glass as he drank.

He felt a slight pang of hunger, but he knew without looking that there was no food in either the cupboards or the fridge – or indeed any power to keep the latter one cool; the smell of warm, separating milk that he greeted him just a few days ago was still firmly planted in his mind. Besides, it wasn’t like he was really hungry as he’d finally relaxed around Ignis enough to accept meals; slowly, guiltily, at first, but now he ate there every night.

If anyone had thought anything funny about it, they hadn’t said.

He drank the remaining water, walked down the corridor past firmly shut doors, and into his room at the end, flopping down onto his bed. He flicked idly through the photos of the day – Noctis holding a hand in front of his smile at lunchtime, trying to push the camera away as he ate his food; Noctis passed out on the sofa in his apartment, Ignis in the background making dinner; Noctis smiling at the camera, somewhat bemusedly, chin resting on his palms, elbows on his maths homework.

Prompto smiled softly. Then the happiness started to feel a bit like sadness, which always led to loneliness, so he forced it off his face.

His phone buzzed while he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom and he felt his heart skip slightly, checking to see who’d texted.

INSOMNIA TODAY: Guest List for Spring Gala REVEALED – will YOUR fav celeb make the cut?

Yeah, never mind.

Wasting his phone battery late into the evenings was a luxury of the past, one Prompto couldn’t afford now without a way to charge up his phone before form time in the morning, so he set it down again and switched it to aeroplane mode, officially sealing him off from the rest of the world.

And that was it, really.

He had never felt so much like a side character in Noctis’ life. Living and breathing the glory and glamour of royal life alongside his best friend, basking in the warmth and comfort and friendship that came with it – but strictly between the time the bell rang for school in the morning, and the time that Ignis dropped him around again at night.

When he’d finally outstayed his welcome, and Ignis rolled up outside his empty apartment, Prompto’s second life began.

His secret, shitty second life. Nothing happened in this one. Noctis’ life carried on into the evening – all through the night, really, as he often had new stories to tell during form time at school – but Prompto wasn’t that kind of character.

He enjoyed what he got, and then it ended.

Life’s authors hadn’t bothered to write him anything in the in-between.

*

The electricity was the biggest problem, really.

It had cut off just a few days prior, which Prompto had only discovered upon returning home, stumbling into a pitch-black apartment, with a dead phone and no way to charge it - no way to reach his parents save a trip to a pay phone and a wasted bunch of Gil. He wasn't sure why he'd expected them to pick up. 

He’d shuffled around in the dark, digging out a torch from some old camping trip he’d gone on with his father – one of his favourite memories – and had spent the evening like that, readying himself for bed and school the next morning as if he was lost in the wilderness.

He hadn’t slept well, either, spending half the night worrying about why the lights wouldn’t turn on, and the other half convinced he would sleep in and miss school the next morning. Maybe he could get Ignis to sign his detention slip? In the end, he had spent most of the night waking up, tense, and tiptoeing into the kitchen to check the time on the wall clock in there.

The next night, when there was still no light and no answers, he’d lifted the clock off the wall and set it down in his room, but he never quite got used to the ticking.

It was a constant reminder that no one wanted him around, adding up every second that he spent alone in the silent flat.

He tried to pretend that showering in torchlight before school was something adventurous. That making it through the morning without breakfast was brave and cool.  He pretended he was a spy in his head, moving through school undercover as he studied – shudder –  normal kids.

Not that Noctis was a good example of that.

“What?” the prince was saying to him now, sitting in the shade of a tree on the school grounds. He was holding some kind of shrimp out towards him on some chopsticks; Ignis was going through an exploratory bento box phase. “You don’t wanna try it?”

Prompto dragged himself back. “Nah, man,” he laughed. “I can’t take your food from you!” He looked down at the meal deal that he picked up on the way to school. It was a bit small, and a bit squashed, but tasty enough.

“Nonsense,” Noctis shrugged, gesturing encouragingly with the chopsticks, the fancy shrimp wiggling slightly in front of Prompto’s face. “Specs is trying too hard, anyway. Hey,” his face brightened. “Wanna get Mcdonald's?”

Unbelievable, Prompto laughed to himself. “You got some deluxe shrimp bento box and you wanna get fries? That’s like, commoner food .”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Just take the shrimp,” he said. Prompto did, practically moaning as he tasted it. Gods, Ignis was a genius. “Anyway, commoner food is my favourite.”

Prompto flashed him a smile. “I know. The more processed the better, right?”

Noctis grinned. “You know me so well.”

When he offered Prompto the rest of his bento box – he’d barely touched anything save for the chicken strips and plain, fluffy white rice – he only felt slightly guilty at scoffing it down. You couldn’t really steal from a prince, anyway, right? It wasn’t like Noctis was going hungry; he hadn’t even wanted the thing.

Noctis raised an eyebrow at the rate his food was disappearing and Prompto flushed slightly, forcing himself to slow down.

“Hungry, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Prompto laughed.

Prompto was on his way to Noctis’ apartment that evening when his phone rang. He was walking alone, the prince having been picked up during the school day for some important meeting or another, but he didn't mind, enjoying the opportunity to listen to his music and excited by the prospect of imminent company and food.

He frowned at the disturbance, his ringtone cutting through the song he’d been enjoying. The only person who usually called him was Ignis when the prince himself wasn’t picking up his mobile and the advisor was trying to get hold of him. Ignis and Noctis were both at the apartment, though – the prince had told him to come hungry, as the older man was making stir fry.

His frown only deepened when he saw the contact. Mum <3.  He picked up.

“Hi?”

“Ah, Prompto. Is now a good time?” his mother’s voice, brisk and efficient.

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m –”

“Good. How’s school going?”

Prompto exhaled through his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s going okay. We get our report cards soon, but Iggy has been helping me get some of my grades up.”

“That sounds nice. Is Iggy a girl in your class?”

Prompto felt a pang of frustration. They’d been over this. “No, mum, he’s –”

“No over there is fine,” his mother said briskly. “Just on my desk, I’ll get around to them in a minute.” She turned her attention back to Prompto. “Well, she sounds like a lovely girl, Prompto. I’m glad you’re making friends.”

“Right.”

“No, no, just right there is fine. Thank you. I’ll deal with it in a minute. No, really, I’m busy. I’m trying to have a conversation with my son.”

Are you?  Prompto thought bitterly.

“Are you still there?” his mother asked. “Hello?”

“I’m here,” he said, flatly.

“Good. I just wanted to let you know that the war with Niflheim is causing quite a shock and a strain on the world’s resources. We’ve been documenting the flood of refugee children into Lucis. Everyone’s quite overwhelmed, really.”

Prompto was nonplussed. No contact for weeks, and then a brief phone call about the horrors of war?

“Well, your father and I are deeply concerned, of course. You of all people know how important it is that these refugees are handled with appropriate care and concern. So, when our bosses asked us to give up some extra time to cover the story, well, we could hardly say no, could we?”

Right. The confusion was slowly dissipating, replaced by something else.

“So you’re not coming home,” he said flatly.

“No,” she replied. “Not for a while, dear.”

“How long?”

“Oh, don’t think like that. It’s not about the time it’s about the potential impact –”

“How long, mum?”

A pause. “A good six months, darling. Perhaps longer.”

Prompto stopped in his tracks, barely noticing when a man jolted him hard in the shoulder, angrily muttering something as he stepped around him. Six … months?

“Prompto? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “I’m here.”

“Well, that’s the big news. Isn’t it exciting? Of course, we’re terribly sorry that we’ll miss your graduation from school.”

Gods. Graduation was months away.

“But we know you share our excitement at the positive impact your father and I are making out here!”

Prompto swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “Right. Yeah.”

“Is everything okay in Insomnia, dear? You’re still getting your allowance, right?”

“Yeah,” Prompto forced himself to think through his daze. “Oh wait – mum – there’s um. There’s no electricity.”

“Really?” his mother sounded surprised. “Ah, I must have forgotten a payment. Call Andy, I’m sure he’ll sort you out. I’ll check the paperwork when I get the time.”

Prompto didn’t know what to say.

“What was that? I think you’re breaking up, dear. Anyway, it’s been lovely to stop and have a catch-up, but I really ought to get back to work. You know what these people are like, there’s always something else that’s more important.”

He would have laughed at the irony if anything felt funny.

“Well, I love you lots dear,” she said. “Take care.” A shuffle and a beep, and then the line went dead.

Prompto stared at the phone.

He shook his head, pushing away the disbelief, anger and – was that jealousy? Was he really jealous of some unfortunate, desperate refugee kids for getting the attention of his parents more than he did?

Fucking pathetic, he thought angrily, hot tears forming as he walked on towards Noctis’ apartment. He would deal with everything later.

“What was that about?” Noctis looked up from the console, the controller temporarily forgotten in his hand as he frowned up at his best friend.

“Sorry?” Prompto dragged himself back into the room, and looked back at him, taking in the irritation and concern that laced his features.

“You totally bombed that level,” the prince frowned. “What’s the matter with you?”

Prompto flashed what he hoped was a convincing grin. “Sorry, man.” He offered up a dramatic salute. “Won’t happen again, Your Highness.” He winked.

Noctis apparently decided to let it go, as he rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. You’ve been pardoned for your crimes.”

“Thanks,” Prompto nudged him, smiling as he received a nudge back. He sat back against the sofa – and jumped a mile high when his phone rang again in his back pocket. He shot an apologetic glance at his friend as he scrambled to answer his beeping mobile.

“Hey mum,” he frowned. Two calls in one day?

“Prompto. Can’t talk for long –”

No surprise there.

“—Just wanted to let you know I just had a quick look at my banking app. It looks like the money’s all going out just fine so I’m not sure why you think you haven’t got electricity, but you should probably check with one of the porters or someone and find out what’s going on.”

It took a second for Prompto to realise what was being asked of him.

“Oh right,” he said blankly. “Yeah, no, I can do that.”

“Lovely,” his mother sighed. “You’re so strong, Prompto, so independent.”

“Thanks.”

“Alright, dear. Talk to you later.”

“Uhh, bye then.” She didn’t hear. The line had already clicked off.

“Everything okay?” Noctis was eyeing him carefully.

“Oh yeah,” Prompto forced a smile. Wait, not the right approach. He rolled his eyes, instead. Parents were always getting in the way, right? “Just my parents, ya know? Nagging me a bit.”

“Yeah, trust me,” Noctis raised an eyebrow. “I know a thing or two about that.”

Prompto laughed, genuinely this time.

“Sounded serious, though,” Noctis continued, looking a little guilty. “If you’re needed at home tonight, I understand.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I can stay for dinner.” Prompto tried not to think of the empty house waiting for him, just as it did every night.  Please let me stay for dinner, he silently begged.

The prince looked unconvinced. “If you’re sure,” he shrugged. “But I bet your parents miss having you around.”

Ha, Prompto thought. If only you knew.

“You do kinda live here,” Noctis laughed. “Not – not that it’s a problem!” he said, hastily, utterly misreading the discomfort on Prompto’s face. “Stay as long as you want, man.”

“Thanks,” Prompto sighed and flopped back onto the sofa next to his friend. The issue with his parents, he decided, could wait; he pushed it to the back of his mind and picked up the other controller.

“Ready?” Noctis asked.

“You bet.”

The music from the console resumed, and Prompto did his best to immerse himself. The colourful graphics of the game seemed glaringly excessive, however, the chirpy music grating at his nerves. He was relieved when Ignis called them over for dinner and Noctis turned it all off.

“So, report cards are coming out soon,” Ignis announced as they ate.

Noctis groaned. “Specs …”

“I’m expecting some improvement from you, Noctis. I hope you’ve been working on your Lucian literature as Ms Darum asked you to last term.” Prompto laughed as the prince shrank down in his seat. Lucian literature was far from his favourite subject and everyone – including Ms Darum – knew it. “And you, Prompto,” Ignis shifted his gaze to the blond. “You’ve been working really hard, I’m very impressed. Let’s hope it shows in the grades.” He was smiling encouragingly.

“Yeah,” Prompto grimaced. “Hope so.”

“Hey leave Prom alone,” Noctis grumbled. “It’s bad enough you’re parenting me, I’m sure he doesn’t want all this, too.”

Ignis raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Apologies, Prompto. I’m sure your own parents are troubling you enough.”

Oh, they sure are. “Oh, no, it’s okay,” he said instead, rushing to reassure the advisor. He liked the way he took a parental interest in his schoolwork: enjoyed feeling like someone cared about how he was doing, even if it was just his grades. “I don’t mind, really. You, uhh, you have good advice. It’s. Uhh. It’s fine.” Ignis' other eyebrow joined the first.

“Suck up,” Noctis mumbled into his food, not looking up from where he was separating his vegetables out of his bowl of stir fry.

“That’s quite enough,” Ignis reprimanded him, but he was still watching Prompto, and the young man felt a weird intensity behind his soft gaze.

“The stir fry’s amazing, Iggy,” he grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

It apparently worked, as Ignis broke into a genuine smile. “Thank you, Prompto. There are second helpings in the kitchen, should you wish to have more.”

“Wow, are you even trying to suck up this hard?” Noctis teased him. “Or does it just come naturally?”

“Whatever,” Prompto rolled his eyes. “I just know good food when I taste it.” He sat straight in his chair and adopted a mocking, posh accent. “Some of us have actual food palettes, don’t you know.”

Even Ignis chuckled at that.

Prompto tried to hold on to that feeling – of hot stir fry lining his stomach, Ignis’ laugh ringing in his ears – as the Regalia pulled up outside his apartment once more.

He looked out of the window and up at the dreary, grey building and suppressed a shudder.

“Everything okay, Prompto?” Ignis asked, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

Oh right. He was staring at his own apartment like an idiot. He blushed and flashed Ignis a smile as he gathered his bags together. “Oh yeah! Totally cool. Just enjoying these plush leather seats, baby!”

It was a horrible excuse, and something in the quirk of Ignis’ eyebrows told Prompto that he hadn’t got away with it.

Thank the gods for Noctis, huh, who broke the tension without even looking up from his phone. “Weirdo.”

The three men laughed. “Yeah, whatever,” Prompto smiled as he opened the door and clambered out. “See ya tomorrow, Noct. Thanks, Iggy.”

He shut the door and watched the car drive off, taking Prompto’s life with it.

He trudged slowly up the stairs, and entered the cold, dark apartment, stepping over an old, bristled mat set just inside the entry.

WELCOME.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Text

It may have been spring, but a lingering, stinging cold spell had settled in around Insomnia and changed the weather for the worse. The flowers that had slowly been blossoming in parks and on street corners looked to be regretting it, clinging on to petals in the biting cold winds that hammered against windows and slipped under doors.

Prompto was huddled inside several sweaters as he looked out of his kitchen window at some potted plants his mother had set down on the balcony during her last trip a few long months ago.

“There we go,” she’d hummed happily. “Nice and homely.”

Prompto had smiled, watching from the sofa, his father’s arm thrown across his shoulder as if it meant nothing – as if the man had no idea that every point of contact was burning brightly as his son committed the feeling to memory, locking it away in a corner of his mind. Prompto had hoped that the investment in the apartment’s appearance was a sign that his mother would be around more often, that his father’s interested questions and warm embrace were an indication that he wanted to stay with his son. How wrong he’d been, he thought bitterly, as he watched the flowers lean heavily and miserably under the pressure of the wind and rain.

The apartment was freezing. When Prompto’s alarm went off the next morning, he could barely face dragging himself out from under the pile of duvets – collected from his parents’ room and the guest room – that he’d buried himself under the night before. He’d finally given in, wooden doors creaking with disuse as he padded into the rooms quietly, unable to shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong, both fearing and craving his parents catching him out.

He sat up, stretched, and sighed deeply, watching with a distant, aching sadness as his breath curled up in the air in front of his face, a brief mist that quickly dissipated into the room.

Flipping his phone off aeroplane mode, he waited for a second for the notifications to come in. There were three.

One, a text from Noctis about the next instalment of a comic they’d been following.

The second, a notification about a flash sale on a marketplace app.

The third: [[email protected]: REPORT CARDS RELEASED. Dear Student, You may now access the online portal …]

Well, this was it. The moment of truth.

He logged into the portal, the usual nervousness creeping into his gut as he opened the document, eyes scanning down the page.

A, A, B, A, C – ouch – A, …

The grades were good; really good, actually. The C in Accordan was a little harsh, but he didn’t really mind. His core subjects were all doing well, and his elective in photography …

A*.

He grinned, switching apps to fire off a couple of texts. The first to Noctis –

[guess who got an a* in photography hehehe]

And the second to Ignis -

[hey iggy got my grades. theyre looking good!!! thanks for the help would have died without you :0]

Within seconds, he had a reply.

[Glad to hear it, Prompto. Please give yourself the credit you deserve.]

Prompto rolled his eyes, but he felt a warmth in his chest that was completely at odds with the temperature of the apartment.

Stepping, shivering, out of the shower ten minutes later, and that warmth had completely dissipated. He thought glumly that if this kept up – both the weather and the lack of electricity – then it might be time to start showering at school. Sure, it would look weird, but if he got there really early no one would even know he was doing it. It had been a while since he’d been so concerned with how everyone saw him. As long as Noctis himself never found out, Prompto could handle a few odd looks or comments.

He shivered as he wrung out his hair with a cold, damp towel and readied himself for school. Another text, this time from Noctis, told him that the prince had scraped mostly Bs, with an A in a couple of the sciences. It was impressive, given the absolute disregard the young man showed for his education, coasting by on intelligence alone. Gods knew what he’d get if he actually applied himself, Prompto had grumbled to himself on more than one occasion as he sweated over his textbooks, Ignis patiently explaining things over his shoulder.

His stomach rumbled loudly as he left the apartment for school. He ignored it; it was a long time until lunch.

-

“Hey, Prom,” Noctis called out as the blond walked in through the gates, a smile on his face. Prompto felt his own lips quirk up, mirroring the emotion despite not yet knowing the cause.

“Hey.”

“So how did they take it?” Noctis looked encouraging, even excited. Prompto wracked his brain to try and figure out the cause, sure he should know it.

“Take what?” he asked dumbly, instead.

“Your report card, dumbass,” the prince was rolling his eyes. Another pause. “Your parents?”

Oh. Prompto kicked himself, wincing as he saw concern begin to creep onto his friend’s face. “Oh yeah,” he said, cringing at the flatness he heard in his own voice. He tried for a smile. “Yeah, they were happy with it. Super proud.” He won a small smile in return, and looked away, thinking about how he ought to let his parents know about his grades. Maybe over text? They probably wouldn’t pick up the phone. Maybe they didn’t really care, either way. His grades were good, but nothing to write home about.

“You sure you’re okay?” piercing blue eyes dragged him back and studied him, looking for cracks in the lie.

Oh shit. Did he not look happy enough? “Haha, I’m always okay, dumbass.” He laughed, a little too brightly, as Noctis rolled his eyes and started walking into school. Prompto forced himself to calm down, turning to follow his friend – but not before catching Ignis’ own steady gaze, green eyes watching him from where he’d stood a little behind the prince’s shoulder, and he found himself faltering.

“See ya, Igs,” he called out as he went to catch up with the prince. Ignis said nothing, just nodded politely. Is that … good?

“I’ve been thinking,” Noctis said as Prompto caught up with him, shoulders brushing as they walked in through the school gates. Prompto put Ignis out of his mind.

“Oh no.” he deadpanned. “Don’t overdo it, Your Highness.”

“There’s a new arcade opening up this week,” he said, ignoring the insult. “Thought we could check it out if you’re down?”

“Hell yeah!” Prompto grinned at his friend. “Where is it?”

“Down by the docks, actually. Kinda near yours,” the prince said. “We could always go there after if you’re sick of being at mine.”

“Oh, uhh, no that’s cool,” Prompto said. “As if I could ever get sick of Iggy’s cooking… are you crazy?”

Noctis looked at him and for a moment Prompto was sure his friend could hear his heart pounding in his chest, but the prince only rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you get used to it.”

“No way. I could never,” Prompto insisted, loyally.

“Whatever you say,” Noctis said, as the two young men arrived in their form room. Noctis and Prompto sat at adjacent desks next to the window near the back. Whenever he was alone, Prompto liked to stare out across the school campus and pretend he was in one of his favourite anime.

His stomach rumbled.

Tragic backstory, he told himself valiantly. He could make it until lunch.

As it turned out, the arcade would have to wait.

Noctis groaned loudly as the pair saw Gladio waiting for them outside the school gates at the end of the day.

Oh right, Prompto realised belatedly, training day.

It had been a few months since he’d been invited to join the prince and his Shield in their training sessions and what had started as a few impromptu weekend stints had turned into a formal affair, twice a week, after school.

“How you doing, Blondie?” Gladio grinned with a slap on Prompto’s shoulder. The blond looked up at the behemoth of a man and offered him a slightly nervous smile. Granted, he was slightly less terrified of him than he had been upon their first meeting, but even after all these weeks, the man was intimidating –not to mention huge – and he hadn’t quite worked out how to act around him.

“I’m, uhh, I’m good,” he smiled.

“Good,” his gaze drifted over to Prompto’s right. “Princess,” Gladio nodded, acknowledging the prince who was sulking at his elbow.

“Gladio.” It was stiff, irritated and depressed all at once. Prompto admired that about Noctis – his apparently innate ability to portray every negative emotion at once was astounding.

“Well, someone’s happy to see me, huh,” Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Hope you brought your best efforts, today. I’m not going easy on you two.”

Prompto swallowed but cracked a smile. “Would never ask you to, big guy.”

The Shield snorted at the nickname. “Alright, kid. That’s the spirit.”

The session was brutal.

Gladio had them running laps across the hall, navigating obstacles, and pulling themselves up ropes with their ankles pressed together, relying on screaming biceps and aching shoulders alone as they reached the high ceilings. It was the kind of thing that would have sent Prompto into cardiac arrest just a few months before. He was proud just to survive it, really.

“I’d love to see you do this,” Noctis had mumbled at one point, puffing alongside Prompto as the two scrambled over a series of wooden platforms, barely hiding his rage as Gladio stood smugly on the sidelines, barking out orders.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Prompto had said back, between gasps. “You know he wouldn’t break a sweat.”

“Nice work, kid,” Gladio said at the end, giving Prompto another appreciative pat on the back. “Hit the showers while Noctis and I work on his warp strikes.”

The blond didn’t need to be told twice, turning tail, and legging it for the showers, Noctis groaning loudly as he was left behind.

The locker room was pretty communal, as it was for use by all the Glaives, not just Noctis and his friends. Intimidatingly buff men were in and out of there all day, and Prompto tended to keep his eyes glued firmly to the floor, focusing his mind on anything but what these men must think of his pathetic, scrawny body.

It was kind of funny that he saw himself as both scrawny and fat – remnants of old insecurities mixing with his new ones. Fun.

He peeled off his sweaty clothes, grabbed his towel, and shuffled into one of the shower stalls, locking it behind him and resting his head on the door. His limbs were aching, legs trembling slightly from the intensity of the session.

He hit the water on and leant his head back, enjoying the heat as it washed over him, and steam filled up the stall. His muscles were already aching – a bad sign for the days ahead – but with the water set as high as he could take it, he found temporary relief.

“Hey,” a low grumble as someone walked into the changing room. Prompto’s heart leapt, and he turned off the water, only to force himself to relax when he realised the voice was addressing someone else. “Did you see that Niff kid the prince has been training with?”

Oh.

Prompto’s hand was frozen on the shower handle.

The second man chuckled, deep and cruel. “Yeah man, guess they let anyone in nowadays.”

“Imagine the arrogance of that kid. Wasting an Amicitia's time like that.”

“Yeah. Not to mention the prince’s. It’s so obvious he’s just sucking up to him for his status, it’s embarrassing to watch. Fucking Niffs are all the same. Not a good one among them.”

The first man laughed at that. “Funny how they’re so pale and yet –”

“– they go so red in the face?”

“Yeah,” they were wheezing with laughter. “Two seconds into their jog and the kid looked like a Red Giant.”

“Pffff, scrawniest Red Giant I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.”

The laughter slowly receded as the men walked out of the changing room, leaving Prompto, still frozen in place, to blink back his tears.

Don’t think about it, he told himself. He turned the water on again to rinse the suds out of his hair, trying to ignore the way the shakiness had returned to his muscles. As soon as he was clean, he shut off the water and ran over to his bench without looking up, pulling his dry clothes onto wet skin.

He looked to either side as he stepped out into the corridor, finding small relief in the fact it was empty. He jogged down towards the exit, ears burning in a way that had nothing to do with the hot water – or the exercise.

When he got to the door of the training hall, where Gladio was likely still coaching Noctis through his warping – where he would have joined them on any other day, to lounge around with them and play Kings Knight while they waited for Ignis to pick them up – he kept going until he reached the walls of the citadel, at which point his jog turned into a flat run.

By the time he reached his apartment, he could almost pretend it was the cold air that had brought tears to his eyes.

He’d been stupid to think he was good enough for the prince, he thought with a sob as he sank to his kitchen floor. He was stupid to think he was good enough for any of them.

Once the tears started falling, he found himself completely unable to stop them, waves of tears falling down his face with each new failing he thought of, mentally apologising for everything he’d let them down on until he felt like he was apologising for his very existence.

I’m sorry, Prompto thought desperately. I’m sorry.

He was sorry that he was dragging down the reputation of the first real friend he’d ever made, just by knowing him. He was sorry that he’d let Gladio down by running off after the session. He was sorry that he couldn’t be a son that his parents wanted to be around.

Eventually, his tears ran out and he lay on the floor, empty and full – both sad and comforted – the beginnings of a headache forming behind his puffy eyes that he had no intention of doing anything about.

After a while, his hunger won over his self-pity, and he felt a pang of regret at having left before he could wind up back at Noctis’ for dinner. The thought of Ignis, kindness in his startling green eyes, and a fresh, homemade meal held out in gloved fingers, threatened to bring on the tears again, so he mentally shoved the man aside, focusing on picking himself off the floor and getting ready to head out.

He checked his phone for the time, ignoring the notifications that popped up – a series of texts and calls from his best friend.

[Hey, you still here?? Looking for you.]

[Prom??]

[Can’t find you. Gladio wants to head off.]

[Hey pick up. We’re leaving.]

[Prom????]

It was well into the evening – a good time as any for dinner, Prompto thought, as he guiltily tucked his phone back into his pocket without responding to any of Noctis’ messages. He felt his phone buzz again from where it sat against his leg, but he ignored it. He’d been stupid to think that someone like him was good enough for Noctis and his friends. The last thing he needed was for the prince to see him now, red-eyed, hungry, and alone.

He thought of Noctis: of his warm, stylish apartment, his constant companionship, his endless stream of meals cooked just for him by someone who loved and cared. There was no way that Prompto could ever let him see this. He’d probably find him disgusting, or pathetic, or disgustingly pathetic – even if the prince still wanted him around, there would be chasms between their two lives that neither boy would be able to surmount, he was sure of it.

They would drift apart, inevitably, and Prompto would be alone, watching Noctis’ back as the prince walked out of his life.

The cold weather spell wasn’t letting up any time soon, so he took the old, thick jacket his father had left behind on the coat hooks before he stepped out, turning the collar up against the chill as he made his way down to the corner shop, walking straight to the fridges at the back to pick up a microwave meal before he paused.

No electricity … no microwave. Shit.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him and for a moment he thought he might break down and cry all over again, right in the middle of the shop. When did everything get so unbearably complicated?

Get it together.

He shook himself off and left the shop without buying anything, heading instead for a chippy around the corner. It wouldn’t be anything nutritious, but at least chips didn’t need a microwave. Did it really matter if he went back to his old ways? Had the weight loss and healthy eating really made him any more worth the attention of his royal best friend?

He was the same loser kid he’d always been, just dressed up in a smaller body.

He was so lost in this self-loathing, holding his hot bag of chips in cold fingers as he made his way home, that he didn’t recognise the car that had stopped for him at the crossing until it was too late.

“Prompto?” the crisp voice of Ignis Scientia, sharpened by incredulity. He guiltily met the advisor’s gaze through the lowered window of the sleek black car.

“Uh, hey, Iggy,” he offered. His voice sounded pathetic even to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised eyes taking in the boy’s appearance – the mussed hair, the ratty coat, the red eyes – and lingering on the obvious bag of takeaway chips he was holding. He sighed. “Get in the car, Prompto.” It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t try and resist, just walked over and let Ignis reach across to open the passenger door for him.

Nice one, Prompto. How are you gonna explain this?

“Prompto,” Ignis began.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

Ignis sighed, but didn’t say anything else, and they drove in silence. It was clear where they were headed.

“Wait,” Prompto said as the car pulled up outside Noctis’ sleek apartment block. He wiggled out of the large, musty coat before balling it up and stuffing it on the back seat. He could feel Ignis watching as he did, but if the advisor was thinking anything in particular, he apparently didn’t deem it worth sharing.

“Prom!” Noctis called as the two men entered the apartment. Relief and concern warred across sharp features. He took his friend by the shoulders, scanning his face. “You alright?”

“Me?” Prompto teased, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze. “I’m always alright. What’s wrong with you?”

“Uh huh,” Noctis frowned, letting him go. “So, what happened?”

Prompto rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Uhh, honestly, I just felt really tired. Wanted a nap before I came over here and then, well, I slept through all your calls.”

It was weak, horrendously so, but Noctis took it, finally relaxing and rolling his eyes. “Idiot. I thought I was the sleepy one around here.”

“Yeah. We’re at maximum capacity for lazy brats,” Gladio grumbled. He smiled at Prompto. “Glad you’re alright, kid.”

Prompto couldn’t meet the steady green gaze of the royal advisor, who was watching, wordlessly, as the conversation played out – so he focused on Noctis and Gladio instead, offering them weak smiles and a string of self-deprecating jokes.

“Dumbass,” Noctis laughed. “Now come on, you need some dinner.”

As it happened, the other three had already eaten – the prince and shield ravenous after their training session – so it was just Prompto who needed food.

He followed Ignis into the kitchen.

“It’s okay,” Prompto reassured him, holding up the bag of chips. They were still faintly warm in their paper packaging.

Ignis sniffed disdainfully. “That hardly counts as sustenance, Prompto. Unless weight gain is the goal here?” he raised an eyebrow. Prompto had the sense of mind enough to see it was at least meant to be funny, so he forced out a laugh.

Still, he felt a hot, ugly kind of shame, stood in the kitchen next to Ignis Scientia, clutching a sweaty bag of greasy chips. He felt a weird sense of relief when the advisor took the bag off him and threw it in the bin.

“Thanks, Iggy,” he said as the man placed a steaming bowl of noodles in front of him. He sat down at the table, surprised when the advisor sat down next to him. The two men didn’t really hang out without Noctis around. “Good day?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. Prompto looked up from his bowl to find the advisor already looking at him. Suddenly, he felt incredibly awkward eating in front of him, so he dropped his gaze to his bowl of noodles. They tasted incredible, so he focused on that instead. “Yourself?”

“Oh. Uhh, yeah,” he swallowed hard around his mouthful. Looking back up at Ignis, he tried for an exaggerated eye roll. “Gladio was tryna kill us in that training session though.”

Ignis smiled. “I’m sure he was.”

Another silence settled over them, so Prompto went back to his noodles, silently praying he wouldn’t get any on his chin and further disgrace himself in front of Noctis’ friends.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ignis was still watching him.

“Who, me?” Prompto laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Igs. I’m cool as a cucumber.”

Who even says that?

Ignis didn’t look convinced by it either, but he relented, thankfully, and stood up from the table. “I know our focus is on Noctis,” he said as he stood, “but we’re here for you, too, Prompto, should you ever wish to confide in us.”

Right.

Prompto couldn’t think of a good reply, but thankfully he didn’t have to; busying himself with his noodles, he heard Ignis pad out of the kitchen, leaving him to finish his dinner alone.

-

It was late by the time Ignis slid up to Prompto and suggested he take him back home.

He knew he should appreciate the time he’d been allowed, as it was already much later than usual. He’d realised at one point when he checked a notification on his phone and saw the time, but he’d kept quiet, enjoying each stolen minute with bated breath.

They were sat on the sofa, Noctis leaning against him, and playing an overly competitive and drunk game of Mario Kart. Ignis was sat a little away from them, studying a small bundle of documents, and sniffing at the underage drinking that Gladio was enabling – although not really with any weight behind it.

Everyone knew that if Ignis really wanted to stop the drinking, he could easily have done so.

Prompto was glad he hadn’t. The warmth in his stomach from the beers he’d been necking, the heat at his side of his best friend’s body pressed against his, the rumbling laughter from Gladio … he couldn’t help but be lulled into a warm, sleepy, happiness.

Until Ignis pulled him right back out of it.

“I would rather like to retire for the evening,” he announced, taking in the scene of drunken debauchery in front of him – or at least drunken video gaming – with exasperated eyes. “So, unless Prompto has finally decided to just move in completely, I would like to return him to his parents.”

The happy, cosy heat that he’d been enjoying not moments before quickly turned clammy.

I’m overstaying my welcome, he realised with a thud. I’ve been caught.

It was true that it was late. But it wasn’t just this one occasion; he was at the apartment every night after school. Not only that but, despite his original protests, he’d begun accepting dinner every time.

Looking around the room, he could see where he’d flung various possessions – a roll of film left on its side on the coffee table, a few school books scattered on the corner of the dining table, a freshly-ironed school shirt hanging on the door for him. If he went into Noctis’ room, he’d see his comics dumped on the bed, a Chocobo plushie he’d won at an arcade, some of his t-shirts poking through the laundry pile.

It was too much.

He’d got greedy, and the others had been too polite to stop him.

“Uhh, sorry, Iggy,” he said, extracting himself from Noctis and the sofa. The alcohol had made his cheeks a little pink and his steps a little wobbly. “I’ll go get my shoes,” he mumbled, shuffling out of the room.

Eyes trained to the floor, he completely missed the looks exchanged between the other three.

“… unless Prompto has finally decided to just move in…”

He’d outstayed his welcome, and gods knew he wasn’t wanted anywhere else.

“Prompto?” a voice behind him made him jump. Ignis.

“Oh, sorry man,” he went for a laugh. “I zoned out for a second.”

Ignis frowned. “That’s quite alright. I was just asking if you would need feeding tomorrow. I’m making a trip to the shops in the morning and would like to know how much I should purchase.”

Gods. He’d crossed the line here so long ago, he wasn’t sure if he could even see it.

“Oh. No, it’s cool, Igs. I’ll probably spend the weekend with my parents.”

“Alright then,” Ignis smiled graciously. “Now let’s get you back to them. It’s rather late. Would you like to message them to let them know you are on your way?”

“Yeah, ok,” Prompto said. He opened his phone, typed something random into his notes app, made a noise of satisfaction, and beamed at Ignis. “All done.”

The advisor nodded at him, and together they left the apartment, heading down to the ground floor.

The ride home was quiet.

Prompto wracked his brain for something to say, but everything he came up with felt either plasticky and forced – which the advisor would no doubt see through – or so desperately pathetic even he could never bring himself to say it.

“Oh hey, Iggy, do you mind if I actually do stay forever at Noctis’? Would go back to mine, only thing is I have no food, or electricity actually, or parents that want me hahaha.”

Yeah. Not happening.

Ignis didn’t say anything either, just tapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel as he looked dead ahead out of the windscreen. He cleared his throat at one point, and Prompto sat up to listen, but the man never spoke.

It was weirdly awkward – enough so that when they pulled up outside the apartment block, Prompto practically ran out of the car, throwing a hurried, “Thanks, Iggy!” over his shoulder as he shut the passenger door behind him, eager to get away from the stilted atmosphere that had settled in the car.

Maybe Ignis was slowly disliking him again. It was no secret that he hadn’t been the advisor’s favourite when he first came into their lives, and this stilted, silent atmosphere was reminiscent of the first couple of times the two men had met. Prompto missed the Ignis that asked him about his day, coached him through his homework, and always had something level and optimistic to say to counter his own tendency for drama.

Still. It would make sense. He’d had months of training and he was still the weakest member of the group, by far. He wasn’t smart like Ignis or strong like Gladio – and he certainly wasn’t a fucking magical prince.

He was just Prompto.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

Chapter Text

The apartment was predictably cold and dark when Prompto let himself in.

He felt a sticky sense of guilt realising that it had been nearly a week and he was yet to work up the nerve to call the porter and ask about the electricity – a sense which was quickly replaced by one of anger at being left to do this himself. It was increasingly clear that his parents didn’t care if he got it sorted or not.

They didn’t care if he had lights. Or heat. Or electricity.

He wondered if they’d care if he died here.

What the hell? He shook himself off. Yikes, Prom. Chill out.

He performed his usual, quiet routine – checking the locks, setting an alarm before switching his phone onto aeroplane mode, burrowing under the three duvets dumped on his bed – and waited to fall asleep.

There was a soft scratching at the glass door that led to the balcony, and Prompto could hear the tapping even from his room down the hall. He listened quietly until the sound twisted in his tired mind into something threatening, maybe even dangerous.

He sighed, heaving himself out of bed to go check it out. His toes curled on the cold wooden floor, and he shivered as he pulled the top duvet off his bed and around his shoulders.

He jokingly wondered if this was how he wanted to meet his doom, investigating paranormal activity wrapped in a duvet, thus cementing his ghost outfit forever. He couldn’t die in a duvet; he was determined not to be as pathetic in death as he felt he was in life.

The tapping on the window turned into a sharp bang.

Dad’s coat, he thought determinedly. I’ll wear dad’s coat.

He dumped the duvet back on the bed and crept out of his room, padding down the hallway towards the front door, where the coat hooks were, where his dad’s coat –

Wasn’t.

No.

This couldn’t be right.

Prompto felt panic rise in his chest that had nothing to do with the tapping on the window, promptly forgotten in favour of a new source of stress. He could number the items in the apartment that really felt connected to his parents on one hand. He could not have lost his father’s old coat.

There was a stain on the right-hand sleeve where Prompto had spilt hot chocolate on it once, leaning against his dad while they fed the ducks together in the park, the boy still too young to reach the floor from where he sat on the bench, kicking his legs happily in the air. There was bobbling in the inner fleece from where it had moved against his father’s body in many hours of wear. It still smelled faintly of him if you scrunched it all up and breathed deep.

Prompto ran into the kitchen, flipping the dead light switch out of habit, and scanned the dark room for a jacket-shaped lump on any of the furniture. Another tap on the window pane made him jump, but when he looked over at the balcony it was just one of the white plastic chairs that had been knocked over in the wind, pressed up against the glass and rocking slightly with each fresh gust.

He didn’t have the capacity to laugh at himself over his earlier fears, however, as panic was rushing hotly into his face, ringing in his ears, and forcing him to focus on his new problem. He cast his mind back to where he might have left the coat. He had it that evening, wore it to go and get the chips, then Ignis found him, then …

The car! The car.

Okay. He knew where it was.

He took a deep, steadying breath, exhaling with a small, derisive laugh. Only he would get so upset about some old jacket. Ignis would take good care of it, anyway. He had probably found it already, straightened it out and put it on a hanger or something –

Or washed it.

Prompto desperately wanted to see the funny side, wanted to agree with the part of his mind that told him it was ridiculous to be getting so concerned over one, smelly old jacket. But the bigger, louder part of his brain was imagining the advisor sniffing the crumpled coat from where he found it in the backseat and deciding to give it a well-meaning wash, resolving to have it nice and clean for Prompto when he came to pick it up, all traces of his father firmly removed.

Surely, he wouldn’t?

It was the fate his clothes usually met in the advisor’s presence, however; Ignis was frequently returning clean, neatly folded sweaters that Prompto hadn’t even realised he’d left behind until they were handed back to him. There was no particular reason why he wouldn’t apply the same treatment to the coat.

Prompto heaved another shaky sigh before returning to his room, sitting on the bed, and checking his phone, legs bouncing anxiously as he saw the time: 12:47 am.

He couldn’t call Ignis in the middle of the night. Right?

He stared at the phone screen as if willpower alone could turn back time, turn it into an acceptable hour of the night to phone the advisor – if there was such a thing – but his phone stared back at him, resolutely displaying 12:47. In the end, the phone won the standoff. 12:48.

Prompto flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and told himself he was being ridiculous. The best thing he could do for himself now was to go to sleep and ask Ignis about the coat in the morning. He tried to focus on that, but unbidden, the image of the advisor washing the ratty coat kept running through his mind and he could think about nothing else.

It was 1:03 by the time the stress of the coat being washed clean of the traces of his father won out over the stress of waking Ignis up in the middle of the night. His leg bounced uncontrollably as the dial tones played out jarringly loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Ignis picked up on the second ring.

“Prompto?” a familiar voice turned husky with sleep. He sounded more vulnerable – younger, maybe – than he’d ever done before, and the whole phone call suddenly felt much more intimate than Prompto was ready for. The advisor cleared his throat, chasing away some of the grogginess and sounding just slightly more like the man Prompto knew as he asked, “has something happened?”

“Uhh, hey,” Prompto said. Like an idiot. “I’m, uhh, I’m sorry to wake you,” he stammered. “I just, uhh – sorry, this was really pointless, actually. Sorry.”

A pause. “That it may be. However, it will be significantly more pointless if you don’t say what it is you called about,” Ignis sighed, not unkindly.

“You’re right,” Prompto huffed out an awkward laugh. “Yeah. I just thought – well, I – did I leave my coat in the car?”

“Your coat?” surprise mingled with the tiredness in Ignis’ voice. “If you didn’t pick it up when I dropped you off at yours earlier then, yes, I would assume it is still in the car.”

Of course, it was. Why had Prompto thought anything else? His ears burned with embarrassment that he was glad Ignis wasn’t around to see. “Oh okay. Cool. Uhh, thanks, Iggy.”

Ignis hummed. “Of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?” For some reason, he didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic.

“Uhh, no, I’m okay. Sorry I woke you.”

“That’s quite alright. Well, if that’s it –”

“Wait. Um.” A pause. “Don’t wash it. Please.”

“Alright.” If Ignis had further questions, he was either too polite or too exhausted to ask them. “Enjoy your weekend, Prompto.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Another tired hum.

“Night, Iggy.”

“Goodnight Prompto. Sleep well.”

To his surprise, he kind of did – once the mingling embarrassment of his late-night call had worn off, the sweaty tension gave way to a soft, cosy warmth instead. He might have completely humiliated himself in front of one of the most impressive men he’d ever met – a man he had forced awake in the early hours of the morning – but at least his coat was accounted for. Ignis had it, and it would be waiting for him when he returned, still smelling of his father – if he scrunched it up and breathed deeply.

It was an unfamiliar feeling of being looked after that eventually lulled Prompto to sleep. Whether that feeling stemmed from the thought of his father and the coat, or the thought of Ignis, a possibility he didn’t want to analyse, he couldn’t tell. Finally falling asleep, he found he wasn’t inclined to sift the strands and work it out, instead just enjoying the sensation, and letting it ease him out of consciousness and into meaningless dreams.

-

When Prompto awoke, the apartment was uncharacteristically bright, silently swirling dust illuminated by the beams of light coming in through the cracks in his curtains.

He squinted and checked his phone – it was past midday.

That explains the sunshine, he thought as he dragged himself out of bed.

It was unusual for the apartment to get this much light – or at least for him to be around when it happened; most of the windows faced away from the morning sun, and Prompto didn’t often return until long after the sun had set in the evenings.

It made everything seem a little softer, a little kinder.

He flipped his phone off aeroplane mode as he trudged into the kitchen, eyes lingering on the plastic chair leant up against the window. The notifications came in while he was fixing himself a glass of water – vaguely hungover from the beers he'd had the previous night – and he checked them tiredly.

A few of the usual marketplace adverts, a couple of headlines from Insomnian newspapers, and a text. He was surprised to see it was from Ignis.

[Safe and sound.]

Prompto frowned, but he was only confused for a moment. Clicking on the message, he saw that it was sent alongside a photograph: his father's coat, neatly presented on a hanger, hung over the back of a door. He smiled.

[thanks iggy. sorry i called last night. was having a bit of a moment.]

It was an enormous understatement, he knew, but it was the most he was willing to give, his determination to remain private refusing to give in to his anxious impulse to overexplain.

[Not a problem, Prompto. It happens to the best of us.]

An aggressive rumble from his stomach told him it was time to go and buy some food, so he got dressed quickly and headed out to the corner shop, shivering slightly in his thinner jacket. The weather was forecast to let up soon, but in the meantime, Insomnian news programs had been dramatically dubbing it ‘the second winter’. It was the coldest March on record. He smiled ruefully as he realised he couldn’t imagine living a life in which something had to be dramatized like that to keep things interesting.

Finally … my villain origin story, he thought to himself with a dry smile as he arrived at the corner shop.

He was pretending to spend the weekend with his family, so he needed to stock up on enough food to last until Monday. He grabbed everything that looked good – a large bag of crisps, some bread rolls and filling, and a multipack of chocolate bars. In a bid to keep his healthy lifestyle from crumbling completely, he picked up a boxed salad and a small bag of pink apples, balancing it all in his arms as he queued for the checkout.

This would do for lunches. When he craved Ignis’ hot meals in the evenings, he could always order a takeaway. The regular allowance that came in from his parents enabled that, at least.

Prompto let his gaze wander, falling on a newspaper stand that stood next to the checkout queue. It was full of the usual drama, most of the front page taken up understandably by the war with Niflheim. A small column at the side –

HOPE FOR THE FUTURE? THE CHILDREN FLEEING THE EMPIRE’S GRASP.

His eyes dropped to the line just beneath it, and his mouth went dry.

by Julia Argentum.

Now at the front of the queue, he tried to keep his expression level and his voice even as he placed the items down in a pile on the counter and reached over to grab a copy of the paper, placing it on top. “Uhh, this too, thanks.”

His mind was racing the whole way home, imagining his mother writing the article, choosing each word with a level of care and attention to detail she had never extended to him. It was always the same when he read her articles: this sense of closeness in every word mingling with the unshakeable feeling that he was a stranger, accessing his mother in the same way that everyone else did, through the lens of a newspaper article.

He dumped the bag of food unceremoniously on the table, shoes and jacket still on as he sat down, the newspaper laid out in front of him.

It is no secret that the war with Niflheim has led to significant distrust among Lucians towards the inhabitants of the Empire. Recent events, dubbed ‘hate crimes’ among activists on social media, have laid bare the serious anti-Niflheim sentiment that extends even to those who live among us as Lucian citizens. But can we set our prejudices aside long enough to listen to the plight of the Empire’s children, some not even school-aged, who are pouring out of its territories in the hopes of a better life? Children who so desperately need our attention and care …

He barely breathed the whole way through the article. Or through the second read. Or the third.

It told him everything and nothing.

His mother was fine. She was safe, and well, and very invested in her work. She was busy, too busy for him, that was for sure. The war was ongoing. There were children who needed her attention. These children were exciting, tragic, desperate – they were news now, full of fresh potential that he knew had faded in him long ago. He had stopped being interesting when he had stopped being tragic. The best he could be now was quiet.

Eventually, he stopped searching for his mother in the words she had written and set the paper down on the table, where they had a sort of stand-off while he ate his food. Once finished, he tore the front page off, dumping the rest of the paper in the recycling box, and taking the offending article with him into his room, opening his desk drawer and dropping it onto the pile.

He wasn’t sure why he kept them. He’d frequently thought about throwing them out – he habitually fantasised about setting them on fire – but he never acted on it. The one time he’d accidentally spilt water on them, he’d cancelled his plans with Noctis to carefully unpeel them and let them air dry in the bathroom.

It was kind of pathetic.

Oh well, he thought. I can add it to the list.

With lunch out of the way, Prompto thought about ways to entertain himself. On more than one occasion, he reached for his phone, ready to give up the lie and submit to the horror of being caught out in exchange for a weekend spent with Noctis.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

By the time the sun was setting, he was bored out of his mind and his phone battery was running dangerously low. He hadn’t thought about that – how to spend a whole weekend without power – so he decided he’d take his homework to a café the next day.

Cafés are warm, too, he thought. Bonus.

His phone pinged several times as he lay on his bed, staring up mindlessly at the ceiling in the increasingly fading light, throwing a small cactuar figurine above his head and catching it. The sun had set about half an hour before, and the room was lit dimly by twilight. It was getting increasingly difficult not to drop the cactuar on his face.

He sat up and checked the messages – a series of texts from Noctis.

He unlocked his phone and smiled. A rare selfie, it showed Noctis and Gladio grinning at the camera, Ignis looking on exasperatedly in the background, creasing around his eyes giving away the beginnings of a smile.

[sucks without you. i’m having to make conversation with gladio … save me pls]

[also say hi to mr and mrs argentum from me]

[hope they release you soon]

[miss you]

[… not much though]

Prompto snorted a laugh. He texted back.

[dont lie. you miss me so much]

[i’ll tell them you said hi]

He lay back down on the bed and picked up the cactuar again, but the sun had firmly disappeared, along with all of its residual light. He set the figurine back down on his bedside table and wandered into the kitchen.

The dusty, homely warmth of the apartment that he’d enjoyed in the early afternoon was nowhere to be found. With the encroaching darkness came a sudden, engulfing sense of loss. He wandered around the kitchen in the gloom, picking up trinkets and ornaments, squinting at photos set on the shelves and the coffee table.

They all showed a much younger Prompto.

The most recent photograph of him showed him at around thirteen, the beginnings of the excess weight showing around his face and stomach, where his school shirt was pulling a little tighter around him.

Puppy fat, his mother had called it, although it was becoming increasingly apparent to all three of them that it was more than that. There were no photos of him since – fat, teenaged Prompto sat alone on the cabinet, set apart from the collections of younger, smiling photos that were dotted around the rest of the room.

Of course, Prompto had his own collection of photographs of himself. An extensive one that documented each pound lost, each inch worked off, each little victory that he won against his body.

He had other collections of photos, too. Nicer ones. Ones focused on plants or cool buildings. A long study he did on the changing seasons and their effect on one tree-lined street not far from his neighbourhood. An increasingly extensive collection of photographs of Noctis, growing every day.

But that collection – kept in an unassuming greyish blue folder at the bottom of the drawer – was the one he looked at most, each time he got too hungry, or ate too much, or felt he’d been a little bit too relaxed with Ignis’ deserts.

It kept him in check.

He tore his eyes off the photo of himself at thirteen, shoving away the painful desire to reach out through the glass and give that boy a hug. To care for him, lurching on the edge of adolescence, in a way that that boy's mother and father were about to stop doing.

It didn’t matter that his parents didn’t have any recent photographs of him, he told himself. It didn't matter that they weren't interested in his life.

He would do it all himself. He was doing it all himself.

Everyone else be damned.

Chapter Text

Sunday went by in a dull haze, punctuated only by a trip to a coffee shop to charge up his phone and complete some homework in an environment that didn’t make his fingers too cold to type and his heart too empty to focus.

Prompto stayed within his neighbourhood, irrationally afraid of bumping into either Noctis or his retainers, and lingered long after his homework was done, dreading the return to his apartment.

The previous evening had been worse than he’d expected.

Every other night, he’d thought the contrast between Noctis’ apartment and his own had made it all so much worse than it would be if he just resided at his place permanently. Last night had proved him wrong.

By the time he’d ordered food, his phone was on just 6% so he’d put it away and then done … nothing.

He felt like he was wasting away, decaying in the empty apartment. He kept thinking about those stories where people complained about funny smells and found their neighbours weeks later, decomposing into the floorboards.

He’d cried more than once, picked up the phone to call Noctis or Ignis or his parents – anyone – more times than he cared to admit. In the end, he’d just shuffled into bed, lying there, drifting in and out of consciousness until sometime in the night when sleep pulled him under completely.

He was dreading the evening’s repeat.

It was a shocking, jarring relief to see Noctis at the school gates the next morning.

“Hey,” Prompto called out as he saw his friend, standing next to Ignis and brooding spectacularly.

Noctis looked up. “Hey yourself,” he grinned. “How was your weekend?”

“Eh,” Prompto sighed. “Long.”

“Tell me about it,” Noctis rolled his eyes. “I missed you.”

“Aww, cute,” he winked. “I missed you too, baby.” He hadn’t thought it possible, but the prince rolled his eyes even harder. Prompto turned to the man who stood by his side. “Morning Iggy.”

“Good morning, Prompto.” There was nothing in his voice or expression to suggest that anything had happened between the two of them over the weekend: no frown, no extra smile, no mention – thankfully – of the coat and subsequent phone call. The only thing that betrayed any difference was the way Ignis’ gaze lingered, fixed steadily onto him as if he was trying to work something out.

Prompto flushed and looked away. “Come on, Noct, we’re gonna be late. I don’t know about you, but I’m not feeling like detention any time soon.”

“They can’t do that,” Noctis protested indignantly, but he followed Prompto in through the gates. “I’d arrest them or something.”

Prompto snorted. “You’re the prince, dumbass, not the police.”

“Fine,” Noctis tried again. “Royal decree.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Says you.”

The morning went by slowly. He didn’t have many lessons with Noctis on a Monday, and he missed him aggressively, the twenty minutes they spent together at the start of the day only serving to exacerbate his subsequent absence.

He wished lunch would last forever.

They were sat in their usual spot, Noctis unpacking yet another bento box – Ignis was nothing if not a perfectionist, and he wouldn’t let up until he had got it just right – while they sat under the tree.

“Try it,” Noctis held out something on a pair of chopsticks. Beef, this time. Prompto grinned and opened his mouth, letting his friend deliver it directly.

“Mm, ‘s’good,” he said around his mouthful.

“Yep,” Noctis agreed. “Still wish I had McDonalds though.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “Just ask him to make it.”

“Specs? Make McDonalds? Ha,” Noctis shook his head. “He’d never do it justice. You know he’d put secret vegetables in the patty or something.”

Prompto laughed. “Yeah maybe. If anyone would try and make a healthy McDonalds it would be Iggy.”

“What about you? Get anything nice?” the prince arched an eyebrow as he looked at the meal deal in Prompto’s lap. Piercing blue eyes lit up excitedly. “Aw thanks, Prom,” he teased, grabbing the chocolate bar the blond had brought from the multipack he’d picked up on Saturday. “So thoughtful.”

“Hey,” he cried, leaning over to grab it back. The prince darted out of the way, leaning right back onto his elbows. “Give it back!” Prompto was laughing as he lunged, landing aggressively on his friend as he strained to retrieve the stolen chocolate.

They were both in fits of childish giggles as Noctis passed it between his hands, Prompto flailing as he tried to grab it. He eventually did, fingers closing victoriously around the wrapper, and they both relaxed, still laughing, on the ground.

“Yeah whatever,” Noctis grumbled, trying to hide his smile. “Now get up. You’re smothering me.”

Prompto was suddenly acutely aware of the way his body weight was resting entirely on his friend. He flushed, cringing, as he pulled himself up and off him. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You love me really,” Noctis was groaning as he brushed grass off his crisp white shirt and clean blazer. Ignis would have had a fit, Prompto thought, if he wasn’t already entirely used to Noctis’ shenanigans.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Prompto laughed. The chocolate bar rested uncomfortably in his hand. “Anyway, I don’t really want this.”

“After all that?” Noctis was looking at him incredulously.

“Yeah, man,” Prompto kept up the smile. “I ate like five of them at home.”

Noctis snorted. “Of course you did.” He took the chocolate bar. “Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

-

The end of the day came quickly enough, and it was another training day. It had been on Prompto’s mind all afternoon, earning him a sharp telling-off when he zoned out anxiously in one of his lessons. He kept replaying that moment in the showers last week, kept trying to picture the men who’d been in the room. It could be any of the Glaives – he’d never seen their faces.

Maybe it was all of them. Maybe those two had just finally said what everyone was thinking.

The idea made his face burn, and his stomach turn uncomfortably. He tried to push it all away as he greeted Gladio, adamant that he wouldn’t give in to further distractions, or cause any problems for the group.

“Hey, big guy,” he called out as he approached.

“Hey, Blondie,” Gladio replied. Prompto grinned at the nickname, hands ruffling self-consciously through his messy blond hair. He’d always been unsure of it, as one of the most obvious markers of his nationality, but the way Gladio called attention to it made it feel like something to be proud of. It definitely wasn’t the worst thing about where he had come from, he thought. He picked at his wristband absent-mindedly. “Up for a challenge?” Gladio asked the two young men.

“I would say ‘no’ if I thought you would listen,” Noctis said, resigning himself to his fate.

“That’s the spirit.”

As they approached the citadel, Prompto found himself getting increasingly jumpy. Nearing the gym, he couldn’t stop his stomach from flipping every time they walked past a Glaive.

Stay cool, he told himself sternly. And stop acting like a weirdo.

“You coming in or what?” Noctis pulled him out of his thoughts. The prince stood just ahead, in the doorway of the changing room, holding the door out for Prompto to walk in behind him.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Prompto mumbled, stepping inside with his gaze locked firmly to the floor. His ears were already burning, a flush rising high on his face. There were a couple of people in the room, he could see from the calves and feet that were in his eye-line as he walked past. Noctis dumped his kit on a bench near the back, so he followed suit. By the time they were both dressed for training, he was itching to leave, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“If you need a piss, just go,” the prince said, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he replied, switching to an anxious sort of wiggle. “I’m just nervous. What if this is the time Gladio actually kills us?”

Noctis snorted. “Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get CPR from him. There’re more than a few people that would jump at the chance.”

“Nah,” he sighed dramatically. “If anyone’s getting Gladio’s kiss of life, it’s definitely you, your royal princeliness. I’m pretty sure they just let the commoners drop dead on the floor.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “Let’s go test that theory, huh.”

Prompto smiled at him, but as soon as the prince went ahead, walking calmly back through the changing room, he dropped his gaze to the floor, following his friend out without an upwards glance.

Once inside the training hall, he was greeted by Gladio’s barking commands. “Two laps, both of you, stat.”

He set off on the jog, relieved to be doing something, and relaxed into a steady pace. Noctis ran beside him, already complaining.

They were half a lap in, turning the inside corner to run back towards where Gladio was waiting when Prompto saw them. Two men, up on the viewing balcony that overlooked the hall, laughing as they stood leant over the low wall.

They could have just been chatting. They could have been telling one another jokes. From this distance, Prompto couldn’t even tell who they were – not that that would help him, anyway – but the effect was instant and uncontrollable. He flushed an even brighter red than he knew he was already turning and tripped on his own feet.

He went sprawling, instantly.

“Come on, twinkle toes,” Gladio yelled out from the other side of the hall. “Get up.”

“You okay?” Noctis asked. Prompto looked up, blinking back hot, embarrassing tears, to see his friend waiting for him, jogging backwards on the spot. He sniffed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet with an awkward thumbs-up. They set off again, Prompto’s face now burning an impossible shade of magenta.

“… looked like a Red Giant …”

He’d made it so much worse. It didn’t matter now who those Glaives were up on the balcony; after that display, everyone would think Prompto wasn’t worth the time it took to train him.

“Come on, Blondie, let’s try not to fall this time,” Gladio called out as they ran past, onto the second lap.

“Thanks, big guy,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Noctis puffed out a laugh at that. They made it through the second lap without Prompto making too much of a fool of himself; he stayed upright, at least, and that was enough.

“Nice work, guys,” Gladio appraised them as they came to a stop next to him. Prompto looked over at Noctis. The prince was flushed, a soft pink hue colouring his delicate features.

How does he make that look good?

There was no time to think about it, as Gladio immediately launched into the day’s instructions. “Most of the equipment has been booked out today,” he said, arms folded across his chest in a way that showcased his unnecessarily large biceps. “But we can definitely work around it. I want you to use your own body weight – and each other’s – for these exercises.”

What?

Gladio grinned sadistically at their confused stares. “Think of it as survival training. You never know when you’ll have to save one another during a battle. You need to know that you can carry your team on your back – and right now I mean that literally.”

“Right,” Noctis drawled, unimpressed. “Because that’s both likely and imminent. When am I gonna have to save Prompto?”

“Pfft,” Prompto laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “When would I save you is the bigger question. You have all that magic shit.”

“Enough,” Gladio cut in. “In this room, I do the thinking, and the speaking, and the leading. And the relaxing. I also ask all the questions. You two,” he pointed at them aggressively, “do the sweating and the crying. No talking back.” He was met with a murderous glare and a nervous grimace, from Noctis and Prompto respectively. “That’s better. Now, these exercises should give you practice on rescue scenarios. So, when your partner is hauling you, try to keep your body relaxed. It’ll make it harder for them.”

Right. Because keeping his muscles relaxed while other people touched him was one of Prompto’s top skills. Totally.

“Noct, you go first as rescuer. Prom,” he grinned at the blond. “No offence, but you look like the damsel type. You start as the body.”

Great. Prompto’s eyes flicked up towards the balcony. The two men were still there.

“Relax, Blondie,” Gladio was saying, exasperated, a few minutes later. Prompto was lying on his front on a floor mat, doing his best impression of a helpless loser. It shouldn’t have been difficult, and yet here he was. He was pretty sure he was leaving sweat marks on the mat. “Okay, try that again, Noct,” the shield said, standing up.

The prince nodded. He approached Prompto, crouching over his head and hooking deceptively wiry arms underneath Prompto’s own. The younger man exhaled and forced himself to relax as Noctis heaved him upwards. His knees lifted off the floor, toes just grazing the mat. He fought the urge to help Noctis manage his body weight – to tense up or push up off the floor slightly. He desperately wanted to crack a joke.

“Right,” Gladio said to the prince, watching closely. “Now lift his arm.”

Noctis grunted, giving Prompto’s body another heave before reaching for his arms, hanging loosely at his sides. “He’s fucking heavy,” Noctis groaned, as he moved Prompto’s arms behind his head. Prompto flushed violently, instinctively tensing up.

“Prompto,” Gladio snapped. “Relax.”

“Sorry!” he squeaked, taking another deep breath and allowing the prince to move his body around. Every instinct screamed at him to run away; nothing could be worse than subjecting Noctis to this exercise, making the prince touch his pasty, floppy body.

Somehow, he stayed pliant as Noctis dropped down to a crouch, manoeuvred him over his shoulders, and hoisted him up, jolting into an unsteady upright stance, with another grunt of effort. Prompto was held firmly across the top of his back, looking down at the floor, suspended in a position that was doing nothing to help his violently red face. He stared resolutely at the mat. Noctis had a hole in the back of one of his socks.

“Grab that arm,” Gladio warned. “That’ll keep him steady.”

“Got it,” Noctis muttered. Prompto felt him grab his wrist and secure it with the hand that was already gripping his legs. “Gods, Prom, this is hard.”

“Sorry,” Prompto mumbled into his back.

“No chit-chat,” Gladio barked. “One lap, Princess. Fast as you can. Try not to knock the kid too much. Remember, he’s unconscious, potentially wounded, and you don’t want to worsen the injuries.”

Noctis grunted as he set off.

Prompto made a list in his head of the most preferable ways to die. 

“Nice work,” the shield was grinning as they returned, Noctis panting as he lowered Prompto back down onto the mat. “You did better than I was expecting, Princess. And you, Prom, you made a good body.” Prompto was barely listening, the horror of the moment only sharpening now that it was over. “Alright then, Blondie,” Gladio said, back to business, “let’s see you do it now.”

Prompto swallowed.

Noctis smirked, lying down on the mat. “Good luck.”

He approached his friend, crouching down over his head and looping his arms beneath Noctis’ underarms. He pulled, straining against his friend’s dead weight. Noctis made an incredible dead body.

Years of refusing to get out of bed, Prompto thought cynically as he kept a slightly sweaty grip on the prince.

“That’s it,” Gladio said, encouragingly. “A bit higher.”

He exhaled hard as he heaved Noctis up so the boy’s knees were off the floor, pulling his arms up over his head. Prompto’s own arms were already shaking. He crouched down slowly, pulling Noctis further over his shoulders. He inhaled and grunted as he shifted Noctis across his back, settling him right –

“Shit!” he cried, as he moved the prince’s weight too far forwards, and the pair went tumbling.

“And that’s why we have the floor mat,” Gladio was practically cackling as the two young men picked themselves up, Noctis looking slightly put out. “Try again, Prom.”

Prompto nodded quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Noctis lay down again on the mat. He steeled himself and tried again, but he fumbled and accidentally dropped Noctis back onto his knees. “Ow,” the prince complained. “Watch it.”

“Try again, Blondie.”

Prompto blinked hard, looping his arms under the prince’s, and pulling him up. He carefully moved Noctis’ arm over the back of his head before crouching down to heave him over his shoulders. It wasn’t just his arms that were shaking now; his legs wobbled as he pushed himself up into a standing position, Noctis finally slung over his back.

“Take his arm,” Gladio said. Prompto looked at him as if to say ‘really?’, but the shield wasn’t looking at his face. His amber eyes were fixed on his obviously trembling legs. “There we go.”

Prompto drew Noctis’ arm across his body until it was in the grasp of the hand holding his legs. He’d done it. Thank the gods. Now he just had to figure out how he was going to run a lap of the hall without collapsing.

“Alright, you can set him down again,” Gladio said, the exercise clearly over. “Well done, Prom. Good work.”

Right. Never mind, then.

He set Noctis down, the dark-haired boy smiling up at him as if the whole exercise hadn’t been seriously moderated for Prompto’s failings. “Nice work, Prom.”

He couldn’t meet his eyes as he thanked him, fidgeting with his wristband, instead, turning it one way then the other just above his clenched fist.

“You okay, Blondie?” Gladio was watching him, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Prompto rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at the shield. He turned to the prince. “Sorry about your knees, man,” he winced.

“You should be,” Noctis pouted. A glint in his eyes betrayed the fact he wasn’t serious, Prompto knew, but the rest of his brain wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t meet either of their eyes.

“I, uhh –” Prompto needed an excuse to leave and he needed it yesterday. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Here,” Gladio was reaching behind him for one of the water bottles he always brought to their sessions. Prompto knew he always brought them, too – there was no need to leave except for the bathroom, really – but in the time it took for the shield to pick one up, he had already made it to the door out of the training hall. He heard the shield call out as the door swung shut behind him, but he didn’t turn around, just set off – running – down the corridor.

He needed air.

He needed to be outside in the sun, somewhere he could breathe, somewhere away from Noctis, and Gladio, and –

“Oof.”

Prompto’s chest collided with something solid. Someone solid.

“Sorry,” Prompto said hurriedly, dropping to his knees to pick up the loose sheets of paper he’d sent spiralling out across the floor. “Sorry, I –”

“Prompto.”

Prompto paused and looked up, the sheets of paper still in his grasp. Oh. “Uhh, hey, Iggy,” he winced, standing up. He held out the papers awkwardly. “Here. Sorry I made you drop them. And ran into you. I wasn’t, uhh, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Yes,” Ignis adjusted his glasses on his face with one, elegant hand. “I noticed.” He graciously accepted the papers, aligning them carefully, before he looked back up at Prompto and raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright, Prompto?”

He gave an awkward laugh. Who was he, to waste the time of Ignis Scientia with his stupid problems? “I’m good. Yeah. Fine, really. I just, I just, umm –” his mind went blank. “I was getting some water,” he said, flatly – stupidly – hating how small his voice sounded.

Ignis’ eyebrows didn’t move. Neither did the man himself, blocking the corridor. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?” he asked, taking a step towards him.

Prompto flinched back before he even realised that he was doing it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, forcing out a laugh. It came out high and scratchy. “Just –”

“Prompto!” a deep voice called behind him, and he spun around to see Gladio jogging down the corridor, water bottle in hand. He slowed down, taking in the sight of the two men in front of him, and stopped just beside the blond. “Ignis,” he greeted. “Everything ok?” His eyes moved between Prompto and Ignis and something passed between him and the latter man that Prompto didn’t understand.

“Yeah, all good,” the blond went for another awkward laugh. “Sorry I ran out on you, buddy.”

“Not a problem,” Gladio said, amber eyes fixed back on Prompto. “You up for some more?”

His chest tightened like someone had fixed it with a vice. His eyebrows moved, unbidden, up his forehead; he schooled them back down and smiled shakily. “Sure, I –”

“Actually, Prompto just agreed to help me with something,” Ignis said, swiftly. Prompto turned to stare. The advisor’s face was unreadable. “Apologies.”

Gladio frowned, evidently as taken aback as Prompto was, before he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He patted Prompto on the shoulder. “Catch ya later, kid.”

“Yeah, see ya,” he offered a shaky grin. “Don’t go too easy on Noct!”

Gladio turned back from where he was jogging away again down the hall. “You know it,” he winked.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” Ignis asked once Prompto turned back to him. “I can wait for you out here.”

“Oh. Sure.” Prompto nodded, shifting awkwardly without making a move towards the changing room. He wasn’t sure he could face it alone.

Just get it together, he thought. Ignis needs you for something. You can’t let him down.

“On second thoughts,” the advisor said. “I’ve heard those showers are quite subpar. I’ll show you the ones I always use. They’re a rather well-kept secret, however, so I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us.” He was smiling at Prompto with a look that was almost conspiratorial – maybe even mischievous – and it was the final straw. Prompto stared back, blankly, his brain having utterly quit. He followed the advisor into the changing room wordlessly, as the older man quickly identified and picked up his sports kit, turning around to face Prompto with an expectant smile. “Shall we?”

Still carrying Prompto’s bag, the advisor set off down the corridor, heading for where the young man knew the exit was, before he turned left, pushing open a door that the blond had never noticed. It opened to the bottom of a staircase, which Ignis was already walking up by the time Prompto went through. He followed the advisor up the stairs, down a corridor, around a corner, and down a distinctly quieter corridor to the end. There were two doors: a male and a female bathroom.

Ignis shouldered open the door of the male bathroom and looked over his shoulder at Prompto, who was standing dumbly behind him.

Why was Ignis doing this?

“Here we are,” Ignis set down the sports kit on one of the benches and gestured at the rest of the room.

It was a small changing room, just a couple of benches, a row of coat hooks on one wall, and two sinks next to two stalls: a shower, and a toilet cubicle. The fixtures on the sink were a softly shining brass, the mirrors backlit with an orangey glow, and a small collection of laundered white towels sat on the side of the basin instead of the scratchy blue paper downstairs.

It was nice.

“It used to be Regis’ personal room,” Ignis admitted. “But he doesn’t come here anymore … so I may have appropriated it for my own use.”

Prompto gaped. “This is Regis’ changing room?” he squeaked.

Ignis smirked. “Well. Hardly. I rather think of it as mine, now.”

Prompto’s mouth moved wordlessly. He finally got it to cooperate. “What if he –” his poor brain was using up its last scraps of energy on working out if he was at risk of execution for bathroom-related acts of treason. “What if –”

“Prompto,” Ignis spoke with the same surety he always did. “It’s fine. Although,” he was still smirking, green eyes twinkling in the light. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it in front of our King. Or our prince, for that matter.”

Prompto finally closed his mouth. He nodded. He walked around the small room, ending up in front of the mirror, staring at his own confused reflection. In the soft, glowing light he looked a lot … gentler, maybe. The warm orange glow danced along his skin, smoothing out the areas where he swore he could see fat, the areas where he knew he saw the scrawny shadow of bone. He looked almost … nice.

He caught Ignis’ watchful gaze in the mirror and flushed, turning around to face him. “Thanks. For, uhh, for showing me this.”

Ignis smiled. “You’re welcome. Now about that shower …” Oh, right. He was probably stinking up the fancy bathroom. “There’s shampoo and conditioner fixed to the wall, along with a body wash, so you can use the products in there. Towels are in the cupboard under the sink.”

“Thanks,” Prompto said. He felt the need to say something else, but he couldn’t think of anything better. Besides, he couldn’t help but feel like there would be a catch. A trick. He waited for the punchline, for the penny to drop, but Ignis simply picked up his papers, dusted himself off and made for the door. He turned back briefly to say he would wait outside, and then he was gone.

Prompto was alone.

He walked into one of the cubicles and turned on the water. Then he crept to the door he’d come in through, hovering to make sure Ignis really wasn’t about to come back in, before he peeled off his sweaty clothes and walked, as if in a dream, into the shower stall.

It was the longest shower he’d had in weeks.

Twenty minutes must have come and gone before a rap on the door of the changing room had him gasping and shutting off the water. “Yeah?” he called out, voice echoing slightly in the empty room.

“I was just checking that you’re alright,” came Ignis’ reply. “No need to rush.”

The advisor may have been telling the truth, but there was every chance he was just being polite, so Prompto rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. He shivered in the cool air as he realised he should have picked up a towel before getting in.

The towels were every bit as white and plush as one would have expected of the literal king’s private changing room – oh my gods, I’m totally gonna get shot – and they were a far cry from the thin, perpetually damp one that hung on the cold bathroom heater in his apartment.

Still, he was making Ignis wait, so he dried and dressed quickly, pulling on the spare set of clothes he always packed in his kit. They weren’t as soft as the towel had been, but the trackies and hoodie were still nice, swamping his frame and warming his damp skin.

“Ah, there you are,” Ignis remarked as he finally shuffled out of the bathroom. “An enjoyable shower, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Prompto grinned. “It was pretty good.” And it was. He felt more human than he had done in weeks.

“So what is it that you needed me for?” Prompto asked, picking at the fluff on his trackies as they sat together in the car. It had been weighing slightly on his mind that Ignis might need him for something important.

“I wanted to make a start on Noct’s dinner,” was all he said. “You can chop the vegetables.”

Prompto was utterly bewildered. Since when did Ignis need help in the kitchen? Oh well. Prompto was beyond trying to work out the motivations of Noctis’ advisor. “You got it. Veggie-chopper, it is.”

Ignis smiled. “Good.”

Prompto looked out of the window as they set off in the direction of Noctis’ apartment. Maybe he’d wake up soon in his crappy old apartment with nothing but the hazy memory of a really weird dream, but right now he couldn’t convince himself to care. Sat back in the leather seat, enveloped in the warmth of the car, and with Ignis’ calming presence – and classical FM – to keep him company, it was all he could do just to stay awake.

Chapter Text

“Prompto,” a soft voice and a hand on his knee gently stirred the blond from his sleep.

“Hmm,” he mumbled in response, waking up slowly – then waking up much faster when he realised just where he’d fallen asleep and just whose voice had pulled him out of it. “Oh, shit. Sorry, Igs.”

Ignis smiled, his hand retreating from his knee. For one brief, delirious moment, Prompto fought the urge to pull it back. “That’s quite alright,” the advisor said, blissfully unaware of where Prompto’s stupid mind had gone. “We’re here.”

The young man nodded and hastily sorted himself out, collecting his possessions and climbing out of the passenger side. Following Ignis into the elevator, he caught sight of his reflection and winced. His damp hair had dried all stuck up at weird angles, and his eyes were bloodshot and tired. Unable to fix the latter, he at least attempted to fix the former, running his hands self-consciously through his messy blond strands.

“There’s no salvaging that, I’m afraid,” Ignis said, the trace of a smile creasing his eyes. Heat rushed to Prompto’s face.

“You might be right,” he muttered, still trying to fix his unruly locks. The door of the elevator opened, and Ignis gestured for him to step out. Giving himself one last tragic look in the mirror, Prompto abandoned his attempts and walked out into the corridor, letting Ignis lead the way into Noctis’ apartment.

“Gods, I missed this,” Prompto sighed, looking around at the familiar scene. His chest ached with the familiarity of it: the warmth of the fully functioning heating, the soft lighting and soft sofa and soft carpet. “Feels like I haven’t been here in ages,” he moaned, kicking off his shoes to walk over to the window, delighting in the way his feet sank through the thick carpet.

“Long weekend?” Ignis asked, casually.

“You have no idea,” he groaned. He tore his eyes away from the incredible views of the Insomnian skyline and caught Ignis’ expression. He faltered. “I mean,” he shrugged. “It was fine. Nice to see my parents. Just,” he flopped back onto one of the enormous sofas, “it’s hard not to miss all this!”

“I’m sure,” Ignis said, a purse of his lips the only indicator that Prompto might not have saved that as well as he’d hoped. He sighed. “Prompto –”

“Veggies!” he jumped up. “On it!”

He ducked past the advisor and into the kitchen, ignoring the way the man’s gaze bore into the back of his head, and busied himself with digging out a chopping board and a knife.

“Perhaps not that one,” Ignis clicked his tongue, walking over and removing the large knife from Prompto’s grasp. He opened a drawer and picked out a considerably smaller one. “This may be better suited to the task.”

“Okie dokie,” he rocked onto his toes, watching Ignis busy around the kitchen, bringing out the various ingredients and kitchenware required for the day’s dinner.

“If you don’t mind,” Ignis said, holding out two bags of vegetables. “Small cubes, please. You can place them in this pot when they’re done.”

“Sure thing!” Prompto smiled, glad for the opportunity to make himself useful. Maybe he could do this more often, earn his keep – or try to, at least.

It was awkward at first, the blond serially checking that he was cutting ‘good enough cubes’, but it wasn’t long before the two settled into a quiet rhythm. Before long, the task became second nature, and Prompto switched off, letting his hands do the work while his mind wandered back to the mess of a training session and the embarrassing disappointment he’d been to his friends.

“How was training?” Ignis asked abruptly into the silence, snapping Prompto out of it. Pain blossomed in his left hand, and he swore before sticking his finger into his mouth, immediately tasting iron on his tongue.

“Sorry,” Prompto said. Uselessly. “Um.”

The advisor moved swiftly, setting down his equipment and moving to Prompto’s side, taking his hand in his own and lifting his finger up to assess the damage. Crimson beads were forming quickly, running into one another and down the inside of his fingers. “Come,” Ignis ushered the blond towards the kitchen sink, turning on the water. “Run it here a moment.”

Prompto stood with his finger under the water, feeling his cheeks heat up to match the stinging warmth in his hand. He’d have been better off just letting the advisor get on with it. Let everyone do what they’re good at - and let Prompto just stay out of the way.

It worked with his parents.

“How is it looking?” Ignis’ voice at his shoulder. Prompto removed his hand from under the stream and studied his finger. A red bead surfaced, but it was small and didn’t grow.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he said, wincing apologetically. “Um. Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem, Prompto,” Ignis replied. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

Prompto snorted before he could stop himself. “Even you?” he raised an eyebrow mockingly.

Ignis matched the blond’s sarcastic expression with one of his own. “Even me.”

Prompto rolled his eyes humorously, masking the shame bubbling up low in his chest. Ignis might be telling the truth but somehow, he still doubted it. People like Ignis made small mistakes. The kind that came from being too efficient, or too caring, or hypervigilant. They made the sort of mistakes that all worked out well in the end, that everyone brushed off and told him to stop worrying about.

People like Ignis didn’t fuck up when they were chopping vegetables. They didn’t trip up in training sessions. Or force everyone else to fix problems they’d created themselves. People like Ignis didn’t grow into someone too fat to be carried, too awkward to be wanted, too weird to be loved.

“Prompto?” Ignis asked, and the blond snapped his head up. “Are you alright?”

Prompto stared at him for a second, the truth – no – on the tip of his tongue, the words begging to be spoken, before he remembered himself. Before he remembered who he was talking to. The kind of concerns that Ignis had the time to deal with. The kind of people.

(The prince.)

Not now, Prom, he told himself, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as he did. He could get tragically upset in the solitude of his own flat – gods knew he wasn’t short on alone time – but he’d be damned if he ruined an evening with Ignis with his own self-pitying feelings.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Prompto looked up at Ignis, hoping his smile reached his eyes. “Probably a good thing I didn’t have that big knife in the end,” he admitted, forcing out a laugh.

“Indeed.” Ignis wasn’t smiling.

“So,” Prompto worried his lower lip between his teeth. “You were saying something?”

A frown creased the ridge of the advisor’s brow as his green eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said. “I was just wondering how your training session went.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, voice deliberately casual. “Yeah, it was fine. Why?”

Ignis’s frown deepened. He tilted his head to the side. “You were running out of it earlier. Running away from it, some might say. At quite a speed.”

Right. He looked away. “Well, ya know, I was pretty fucking thirsty.”

“Prompto –”

“I’m sorry,” he studied his fingertip like the small cut was the most fascinating discovery on Eos, looking anywhere but those inquisitive eyes. This is bad. “I won’t do it again, I just –”

“Prompto –”

Prompto snapped his head up to look at the advisor and took in the warring concern and frustration that were playing out on his face. He went to speak – to apologise again, to swear he would take his training more seriously, that he wouldn’t keep fucking everything up, if they could just give him time – when the sound of boots in the hallway caught both of their attention.

“Heyyy,” came the rumbling call of Gladio as he strolled into the kitchen. “How’s the dinner coming along? I’m starved.”

“Me too,” Noctis said as he entered the kitchen behind him. “Hey Specs, hey Prom.”

For a second, the two men just stared blankly at their new arrivals. Ignis recovered first. “Welcome back,” he said, a slight catch in his voice.

“Hi,” Prompto said, similarly fighting to keep his voice level. “How was training?”

“Fine,” the prince shrugged, oblivious. “No thanks to you, though.” He was frowning, but his tone was playful. “How could you just abandon me like that?”

“Sorry, man,” Prompto grinned, slipping back into his usual mannerisms as the weird tension with Ignis was replaced by easy familiarity in his conversation with Noctis. He always knew where he stood with the prince. “Don’t blame me - Ignis just stole me away,” he laughed, hands raised in mock surrender.

Noctis’ pout shifted to the advisor.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” Ignis deadpanned. “Please pardon me my sins.”

Noctis pretended to deliberate it. “Fine. Spare me the veggies and I’ll pretend it never happened.”

Gladio snorted and ruffled the prince’s hair. “Not how it works, Princess.”

“Quite.”

With the arrival of Gladio and Noctis, the conversation moved naturally – blissfully – away from Ignis’ prying questions, and Prompto relaxed.

By the time they sat down for dinner, his heart was no longer pounding. By the time the meal was over, he was satisfied he’d dodged the bullet. And by the time Ignis quietly announced it was time to take him home, Prompto’s lies about why he’d run off came out so easily, he almost believed them himself.

“Have you got everything?” Ignis asked, frowning slightly at the way Prompto was kicking his feet into his shoes without undoing the laces.

“Yep,” Prompto straightened up.

Ignis nodded, brisk and efficient. There was no trace of the tenderness Ignis had shown him at the training hall, but nor was there the anger and disappointment that Prompto was sure had been coming in their previous conversation. The man was impossible to read.

The ride home was similarly quiet. Too anxious to start up a conversation lest it end up back where they left off, Prompto distracted himself by looking out of the window, watching the neighbourhoods gradually transform as they drove closer to his own. For all he could tell, Ignis seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, and so neither man spoke.

“Here,” Ignis said, switching off the engine once they had pulled up outside Prompto’s apartment block. The younger man turned to him and frowned before he realised the advisor was just reaching around to pick something up from the backseat. “Just as you asked.” It was his father’s jacket, he realised belatedly. Prompto was surprised to find Ignis’ green eyes twinkling with mirth. “Freshly unwashed.”

“Oh.”

Whether it was the sight of the jacket itself, or the kind look on Ignis’ face as the man held it out to him, Prompto felt prickly heat forming behind his eyes, so he laughed awkwardly and studied the coat intently as he took it from him, resisting the urge to check it still smelled right. You can do that inside, you freak. You’ve looked weird enough today.

“Thanks, Iggy,” he grinned, hugging it close. His smile wavered as he remembered their phone call. He looked up apologetically. “Sorry,” he muttered, “for waking you up over a stupid old coat.”

Ignis’ eyes were kind, but his face remained otherwise impassive. Noctis was right; the man had a killer poker face. “It’s not a problem,” he said, face softening into a small smile. “I, for one, enjoy the occasional unexpected phone call. One of life’s many simple pleasures.”

He was definitely just trying to be nice, so Prompto didn’t linger long, thanking him again before grabbing all of his possessions and hurrying out of the car. At the last minute before reaching his front door, he thought maybe his hastiness was coming off as rude, so he turned around to wave Ignis off.

The car had already gone.

Chapter Text

The next week went by slowly. There were none of the lows of the previous few days, but there were no real highs either, so the days blurred into one dreary, indistinguishable haze.

Prompto tried to fix the electricity, on a day when he was feeling particularly independent, only to be kindly told by the caretaker that there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. The wiring was functional, and no one else had called in with any issues; he’d simply been switched off by the suppliers, likely for being behind on scheduled payments.

“Are you sure everything’s okay, son?” the caretaker had asked, face written with concerns that he couldn’t quite mask, concerns Prompto knew he had to alleviate. He had no choice but to make up some reassuring excuse, and then leave as soon as possible. He walked the whole way back with an extra bounce in his step, feeling the caretaker’s eyes boring into his back, whether they really were or not.

He decided to call his mother again and explain the situation. “You’ve reached the voicemail of –" Never mind. His father’s number produced the same result. Maybe they had new phones? He left them a couple of texts about the payments – he had nothing to lose by trying – and watched as the blue bubbles bounced up instantly. Delivered.

He bit back whatever emotion had started rising at that, anxious to cut it off before it could consume him and focused on other things. Things he could control.

He would manage. Life without electricity – weirdly enough – was becoming something that Prompto was increasingly used to. Or at least something he had got quite good at navigating. It was no longer the adventure he’d tried to frame it in the beginning, but it had got a little easier as he got more practised with his workarounds. Which foods to buy, where to do his laundry, which cafes let him stay for hours on cold afternoons.

As the weeks stretched by into a month, the days finally got longer, and the apartment blissfully warmed up along with it. Prompto could no longer see his breath forming soft clouds on those early mornings before school, and no longer had to fumble around in the dark in the hours at the beginning and end of the day. He kept a large supply of batteries now, anyway, which he used to power a torch and a couple of lamps, lighting up the apartment late into the nights until his eyes were finally heavy enough that he knew he wouldn’t have to lie there long before he fell asleep.

Noctis had teased him for bringing a power bank in to charge at school – “What do you need that for – the zombie apocalypse?” – but Prompto had just laughed. It gave him three full charges, and Noctis hadn’t said anything since.

He couldn’t outsource all of his laundry onto the royal advisor, as much as the man was prone to rescuing and ironing the occasional school shirt, so Prompto was also slowly making friends with the lady who ran the laundrette around the corner – and her grumpy cat, Petra, who was confined to the area behind the counter, where she couldn’t scratch and bite. Prompto enjoyed chatting with Anja, although he’d never admit just how much he relied on her kind words and maternal affection, but he loved Petra the most. It was slow going, and he won himself a couple of scratches for the effort, but it was all worth it when she accepted a treat from him. The last time he went in, she leapt over the counter, running out into the shop to rub against his ankles – to the joint incredulity and chagrin of Anja, who quickly shepherded her back and away. Prompto didn’t mind.

He’d smiled until his face hurt.

The lies were becoming easier, too. Ignis’ initial scepticism seemed to have faded, and Noctis – as good a friend as he was – had never been particularly observant in the first place. Gladio’s comments on their scrawny bodies were mostly directed at Noctis, these days – his voice was a little softer with Prompto, maybe – but nothing else had changed.

He was getting away with everything.

And it fucking sucked.

Sure, he was bending over backwards to keep up the act. He lied about evenings spent with his parents, about why he was always down to eat at Noctis’s, about why they couldn’t go back to his apartment this time but maybe next time would be okay. He pretended to text his parents on those nights when it looked like he’d be home late, adding to an ever-increasing list of nonsense sentences typed into his notes app. He told Ignis stories about his dad getting on his case over his grades…

And then he went home alone, leaving behind the warmth and hum of Noctis’ apartment to sit on his bed and scroll until the small hours, wasting away his phone battery like he was wasting away his youth.

He would rather die than admit what was happening, but even as he fought so hard to hide it, every day that no one noticed felt like a dagger inched in just a little further under his ribcage.

He was exhausted.

“Earth to Prompto?” Noctis’ bored face came into focus. He was waving a pencil in front of Prompto’s face, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, blazer hung over the back of his chair. They were in the library at the end of the school day – a rare excursion but a necessary one, as Ignis was caught in a meeting and Gladio was too lazy, sorry, busy to pick them up. With exams around the corner, both boys had to admit that a library session made sense.

Prompto blinked. “Sorry, I’m back.”

“Jeez,” Noctis said. “I thought you’d finally gone brain dead.”

Prompto snorted. “This homework isn’t that bad.” He glanced down at the essay he was working on.

“Says you,” the prince moaned, running a hand through his hair. “Failing a political history module is humiliating when you’re the prince. Ignis is gonna kill me,” he sighed dramatically. “Well. If the teacher doesn’t get there first.”

Prompto laughed, shaking his head. “You could stop scrawling your essay in pencil, for a start. Don’t you have like, a million fountain pens or something?”

Noctis scowled as he twirled the pencil between his fingers. “Ignis took them off me. Something about how I shouldn’t chew the ends off royal heirlooms.”

Surely not. Prompto stared, his incredulity not preventing a grin from spreading across his face. “How are you the heir to the throne?”

Noctis shrugged, returning his grin. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

Prompto snorted.

“They actually approached him at a careers fair. He was too polite to say no,” a distinct voice came from behind them. They both spun around in their seats.

“Ignis!” Prompto beamed. Then he frowned. “Wait. How did you get into the school?”

One well-groomed eyebrow slid up his face. “I’m not really someone people say no to.” Right. He was kind of getting that impression. “Apologies for the delay,” the advisor clapped his hands together. “I was stuck in some gods-awful meeting.”

“That bad, huh,” Noctis said, looking uncharacteristically sympathetic. Well, if even Ignis was complaining…

“Any royal secrets for us?” Prompto winked.

Ignis scoffed. “Hardly.” He straightened himself up. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Are we in a rush?” Prompto asked, jumping out of his seat to pack up his bag.

“Not exactly. But I, for one, wasn’t planning on spending my evening sat around in a school library,” Ignis remarked.

“Really? Would’ve thought you loved school libraries,” Noctis smirked as he packed up his belongings. “They seem like your kind of place.”

“Perhaps they would have been,” Ignis remarked dryly, “if my father had ever deigned to send me to a school.”

Prompto spluttered at that, looking between the two men before him as they once again managed to remind him how permanently out of his depth he was. He followed the advisor out of the school and into the car, parked just outside the gates. Ignoring conventional parking restrictions seemed to be yet another perk of being royalty, Prompto thought as he climbed into the back seat alongside Noctis.

“I took the liberty of bringing you some snacks,” Ignis said, reaching around to the backseat and handing them a reusable shopping bag. “As an apology for making you wait.”

“Aww thanks, Specs,” Noctis said, grinning as he rummaged around inside it and produced a bottle of coke and a bag of crisps. “You should be late more often.”

Ignis gave a wry smile. “Perhaps not,” he shifted his gaze off Noctis. “Prompto, I can’t vouch for the taste, but yours is the drink in the Chocobo can. Some kind of lemon soda, I think.”

“Really?” Prompto reached for the bag and pulled out the can. It wasn’t hard to find, being bright yellow and printed to look as if the can itself was one very cylindrical Chocobo. Below the beak was some blocky black text that read ‘Kwehmonade’ – a cringely bad product name – surrounded by some cute lemon icons, supposedly indicating the flavouring.

He looked up from the can in his hand to stare at Ignis instead, trying to find the right words around the lump that had lodged in his throat.

“I take it you like it?” Ignis asked. Prompto nodded hard, earning himself a small snort from Noctis.

“Well, I hope it’s to your tastes. If it’s awful, I have a spare coke up here on the passenger seat.”

“No!” Prompto cried defensively. “I’m sure it’ll taste amazing.” He clicked open the yellow pull tab and took a sip. It tasted even worse than it looked.

“It's incredible,” he beamed. Honestly, it could have tasted like shit warmed over and he knew he would have loved it for the fact that someone picked it out for him – for the fact that Ignis Scientia saw the stupid, bright yellow can with the Chocobo face sitting on a shelf in a supermarket and thought about him.

He ducked his gaze in case he started choking up again. Gods, Prom, he laughed dryly at himself. Get over it.

“Hey,” a nudge from Noctis brought Prompto’s gaze back up, eyebrows raised somewhat defensively. A slender finger landed on the other side of the can. “They even got the butt right. Looks just like your hair.”

“Shut up,” Prompto flushed as he shoved his friend to the joint sound of laughter coming from all three of them. “You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe I would be,” Noctis raised an eyebrow. “.. If I was a Chocobo. You’re rocking it better than they do.”

Prompto rolled his eyes and sat back in the car seat, sipping from the can with both hands wrapped reverently around it as if the Astrals themselves might show up and try and take it from him.

Ignis insisted on the boys continuing their study session when they arrived back at the apartment – much to the irritation of Noctis, who threatened to call the school and ask for some kind of royal exemption – so when Gladio arrived it was to the sight of Noctis and Prompto sweating over their textbooks while Ignis hovered by the stove. The smell of spices floated across the kitchen.

Prompto looked up as he arrived and grinned. “Hey, big guy.”

“Hey yourself,” he replied. He frowned. “Did you guys not work in the library today?”

“Yeah, we did,” Prompto sighed. “Iggy just, well –”

“He’s torturing us,” Noctis glared at his paper.

Gladio snorted, clapping the prince on the shoulder. “I’m sure Specs just wants you to do well in your exams, Princess.”

“I don’t care,” Noctis muttered, shrugging off the touch. “These exams are gonna kill me.”

It was April, and they were just shy of the holidays that would grant them a month off – four weeks of ‘study leave’ as Ignis was calling it – before they came back and sat their finals in early June. Then graduation, Prompto thought. The end.

“How’s your revision going, Prompto?” a voice at his shoulder almost made him jump. Ignis was leaning over him, studying the notes he’d been scrawling out across the page.

“Um, okay, I think,” he said, trying to look at his notes with a fresh pair of eyes – and hoping they looked intelligent.

“Well, you’re welcome to study here whenever you’d like, even over the holidays,” Ignis said, with a smile that was equal parts encouraging and stern. Prompto wasn’t even sure it was an offer so much as a command.

“Back off, Specs,” Noctis interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Stop acting like his parents.”

“It’s okay,” Prompto jumped in. “Mama Ignis is just looking out for me!”

Three things happened at once: Noctis cackled, Gladio snorted, and Ignis’ hand pulled back – shocked – from Prompto’s shoulder. The blond turned in his chair to smile at him sheepishly. Pink was colouring the poor man’s cheeks.

“Mama Ignis,” the advisor said hoarsely.

“Eh, the kid’s right,” Gladio had joined Noctis, laughing heartily. “It suits you, Specs.”

“Mama Ignis…” Noctis echoed, eyes sparkling when they met with Prompto’s. ”It’s perfect.”

Prompto felt his chest swell with pride as he looked around the room at his friends. This. This was what he was good at.

“Yes, well,” Ignis cleared his throat. “I stand by what I said. Regular revision is necessary if the pair of you want to achieve good grades.”

The atmosphere settled back down at the sombre reminder of Ignis’ words, but the heat still warmed Prompto’s chest and glowed in his cheeks as he turned back to his notes. He would do well in the exams.

He had to. For Ignis.

Chapter Text

They were nearing the end of the penultimate week of term when Noctis sidled up to Prompto at the school gates and warned him about what was coming.

“It’s okay,” Noctis muttered reassuringly, taking in the blond’s shocked expression. “I’ve done it before.”

Prompto studied him, bewildered. “But –”

“I know,” the prince cut in. “It sucks. And it’s kinda weird. But if I can do it, and I hate being touched, you’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” Prompto stepped back, suddenly even more unsure of himself. “You don’t like being touched?”

Noctis sneered, grabbing Prompto’s arm and pulling him back towards him. “I don’t mind you, dummy. I’d have said something by now, don’t you think?”

Prompto worried his bottom lip between his teeth, mind dragging him back to Noctis’ original announcement. “Still,” he said, “I’m not sure any of this is really necessary.”

“You can say that again,” Noctis snorted. “That’s kinda my reaction to everything the Crown comes up with, but they’re suckers for traditions. Even weird ones.”

Prompto scrunched up his nose. He couldn’t really argue with that.

“If it makes it better, we can always ask Ignis to do it,” Noctis shrugged. “Probably less weird than some stranger from the palace.”

Prompto frowned as he mulled it over. Ignis would probably be gentle…

“I know it’s a lot,” Noctis sighed. “But everyone has to get fitted for dress clothes at some point. And they don’t need all your measurements. Iggy’s not gonna ask you to whip out your d—”

“Okay, okay!” Prompto shoved a hand over Noctis’ smirking mouth. “I get it.”

Noctis was still laughing when the blond removed his palm.

Prompto set his mouth determinedly. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Noctis clapped him on the back. “And think of it this way, you get fitted for dress clothes once, and then you can come to as many fancy events as you like!”

Noctis might loathe formal events; Prompto, on the other hand, had held a nervous fascination with them from the get-go. He was itching to photograph those elaborate halls…

“Fine. But I want Iggy to do the measurements,” he said decisively.

“Done,” Noctis said, with a lazy wave of his hand. “Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

The rest of the school day passed by without much to report on, and Prompto was glad when the end of the day came around.

“Ready for training tonight?” Noctis bumped shoulders with him as they walked out of school together.

“You bet,” Prompto shot back, relieved to find that he meant it. It had been over a month since those two awful sessions and – as much as he’d sworn it would never happen – he’d finally found himself enjoying the workouts like he’d done back in the beginning.

That one he’d run out of, feeling like the comic relief character for the prince, had become more of a distant memory, made all the hazier by the fact he hadn’t returned to Regis’s shower room, not having the guts to go without Ignis; he’d almost convinced himself that the entire affair had been a really weird dream.

“Hey kids,” Gladio grinned as they walked up to the car. “All pumped and ready to go?”

“Yep!” Prompto replied eagerly, earning himself an affectionate hair ruffle.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

It was a cardio day – much to Noctis’ absolute horror, but Prompto didn’t mind. He was pretty good at running, not to mention very well-practised. It had been a long time since he first started out, lungs screaming with every step, a thick, sticky sensation rising in the back of his throat, and it had become second nature to put his headphones on and head out. He could even enjoy it, sometimes - especially with the right music.

They didn’t have music today, just the sound of Gladio shouting at them as they lapped the track in the light rain, coupled with the sound of the two young men panting as they kept a steady pace. The rain was soft and cooling on Prompto’s face, and settled in his hair, forming droplets that clumped together every now and then and ran down his back.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Gladio roared from the other end of the track. Prompto stifled a laugh as Noctis produced a biting string of swear words. Gladio continued. “My sister can run faster than that!”

“Don’t be such a misogynist!” Prompto yelled back. Noctis was heaving in laboured breaths beside him, unable to yell something even if he wanted to.

Two laps later – and a narrowly dodged slap from Gladio as Prompto ran past – and they were finally allowed to stop. Noctis doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

“None of that,” Gladio said, walking over to stand behind the prince and pulling his hands up, placing them on the back of his head. “That’ll open up your airways better.”

“I’ll open up your airways,” Noctis muttered between gasps.

“That would be more threatening if you could actually breathe,” Prompto laughed, shaking his hair out and sending droplets flying.

“Watch it,” Noctis glowered. “I’ll come for you next.”

“Don’t hate on him,” Gladio reprimanded him. “The boy’s in good shape.” Prompto glowed with the praise as the shield turned to smile at him. “I hear you’re getting your first set of dress clothes, huh?”

“Yep,” Prompto rocked onto his toes.

“You’ve been invited to that gala then?” Gladio asked. Prompto nodded nervously. The Spring Gala was hosted by the palace every year, for the nation’s most celebrated noble citizens – and their teenage best friends, it seemed. Gladio smirked at Prompto’s nervous expression, but he was kind when he said, “It’s not that bad. Just stick with us and you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks.”

“As long as you look the part,” Gladio shrugged.

“Not sure I’m gonna suit those dress clothes,” Prompto confessed. “I’ve seen Noctis’s and, well –”

“Hey,” Noctis frowned. “What are you tryna say about my outfits?”

Gladio chuckled. “I know. It does feel excessive but that’s Insomnian royalty for you.”

“Just try not to spill anything on them, hmm?” an accented voice came from behind them. Prompto turned to see Ignis standing at the edge of the running track, a large black umbrella poised over his head. “They’re made for your precise measurements,” the advisor continued, one eyebrow raised. “So do be careful with them.”

“I will!” Prompto insisted. He did have a clumsy side, but he was sure he could manage it.

“And try not to change your measurements too much either,” Gladio teased. “You’ll cost the palace a fortune if you need new togs every time you have dessert.”

Oh.

He hadn’t even considered –

“Now, now,” Ignis reprimanded the shield. “He’s a growing young man –"

He was?

For a horrible second, Prompto felt like a child again, tripping and falling on top of the prince in some alleyway around the back of the school. He pinched his forearms without thinking, touching his fingertips together on either side of his wrist.

“—and he’s bound to keep getting taller, I’m sure.”

Dumbass. You’re growing up. Not out.

“Not to mention, I’m getting stronger every day,” Prompto grinned weakly. “Gonna have muscles like you soon, big guy.”

Noctis snorted from behind him. “Sure. As soon as I do, yeah?”

Prompto’s smile was a little more genuine this time. His hands dropped to his sides.

When he looked up at Ignis, he could have sworn he caught the end of some funny expression, but the man’s face smoothed over before he could place it, and he turned to walk back towards the side entrance of the gym closest to the track. “You three can stay here in the rain if you’d like,” he called out as he walked off, “but I’m heading somewhere dryer.”

“Right with ya, Specs,” Gladio said, jogging to catch up before ducking under the umbrella alongside him. It was almost comical, to see such a large man sharing an umbrella with another – admittedly more slender – six-foot-something giant.

“Guess we’re walking in the rain then,” Noctis scowled as the two young men were left behind.

“Looks it,” Prompto groaned, picking up their water bottles from the grass and trudging in after the others.

-

When Prompto awoke the next morning, it was to the sight of several text messages that had come in through the night. Two, from Noctis, had arrived in the small hours –

[1:38 a.m. hey man you good for measurements tomorrow? sorry not much of a heads up. iggy asked me to ask you earlier but i forgot lmao]

[1:42 a.m. taking that as a yes. i’ll text specs]

And one from Ignis, which had arrived earlier that morning –

[6:30 a.m. Good morning, Prompto. Noctis had advised me that today would be a good day for you to get your measurements taken. Assuming he was telling the truth, I’ll pick you up from school at the end of the day.]

Prompto blinked.

He fired back a quick text to Noctis –

[7:46 a.m. bro why have you done this to me…]

[7:46 a.m. you suck]

He read Ignis’s message over once more and then put his phone back down on his bedside table, resolving to reply when he was more awake.

He trudged into the kitchen, helping himself to a cereal bar from the cupboard – his current favourite easy breakfast – and ate it by the window to the balcony, looking out sleepily across the view that he had, drinking in the way the morning light reflected off the windows of neighbouring buildings and found its way into his kitchen, making hazy patterns across the floor and illuminating the dust that swirled in his kitchen.

Hmm. Maybe he should be dusting more often.

One quick, cold shower later and he was pulling on his school uniform, for the final time that week. And for one of the final times ever, really; it was the Friday before the last week of term, and when he came back it would only be to sit his exams. Then, well…

Then I’ll be out in the real world, I guess. Trying to earn money.

Maybe Noctis would give him a job. “Royal Best Friend” or something.

Prompto didn’t dwell on it, brushing his teeth, kicking on his shoes, and heading out the door. The weather had finally given in, and the sky was a brilliant blue, the air crisp without being too cold, and he was glad he hadn’t bothered to bring a coat.

He looked for Noctis at the school gates, frowning when the image of his dark-haired, sulking friend didn’t immediately greet his eyes. He scanned around for Ignis’s car, too, frowning further when he realised it wasn’t there. Noctis wasn’t there. None of them were.

Someone bumped into his shoulder as they walked past, and he apologised, stepping out of the way, and tearing his eyes away from the spot where Ignis usually parked.

He sent Noctis a quick text – [hey bro, where are you???] – and walked into school. Alone.

The prince didn’t appear during form time, so Prompto sat on his own, flipping through his camera roll while he let his power bank charge, then looking absently out of the window when the teacher arrived and he had to put everything away.

The prince didn’t appear throughout the morning, either, and he would know, as the two shared most of their lessons together on a Friday, and nor had he appeared by lunch. Sitting down by their tree with his meal deal sandwich, Prompto finally found a moment to check his phone.

[11:40 a.m. hey, sorry prom. got meetings and shit today, so i won’t be in school :(( ]

Oh, right.

It stung slightly that he hadn’t been told, but Prompto tried to understand. Noctis was the prince, after all. He had much greater concerns than letting his school friend know if he’d be around to learn calculus with him that day.

Still, it hurt, having his friendship put into perspective like that. To realise that Noctis’ world was so, so much bigger than the moments that were shared between him and Prompto.

He looked back at his phone and realised he’d never replied to Ignis.

“I’ll pick you up from school at the end of the day…”

Well, that comment suddenly made a lot more sense. Ignis would also have known that Noctis wasn’t going to be in school that day.

It was only Prompto who was left in the dark.

[1:06 p.m. hey iggy, yeah today is fine!! see you by the gates??]

[1:07 p.m. Excellent.]

Ignis’s efficiency was slightly overwhelming, Prompto thought with a small smile, and he put his phone away to enjoy the rest of his quiet lunch. The afternoon passed by in a similar vein.

When Prompto scanned the area outside the school gates for Ignis’s car for the second time that day, it didn’t take long. Not only had the advisor parked right outside them, but he had the window rolled down and was waving Prompto over from the driver’s seat.

Prompto gave a small, shy wave back – conscious of the rest of the school also spilling out from the gates around him – and walked around to the passenger side.

“Prompto,” Ignis greeted him, as he climbed into the car.

“Hey, Iggy.”

“How was school?”

“Good,” Prompto said, reaching around to clip his seatbelt on and accidentally making eye contact with a fellow student who was standing across the street. Gods, he hoped this didn’t look weird, to get into Noctis’s car without him. “Quiet.”

“I can imagine,” Ignis said, as he turned the car around. “You and Noctis usually do everything together.”

Prompto just hummed at that, not quite willing to get into how he felt about Noctis’s absence. Ignis didn’t push further, just sat back in the seat, and clicked on the radio. They pulled away from the school and set off. With a small glance at Ignis, Prompto lowered his window partly – then, with an approving nod from the man, he lowered it all the way, so he sat like that, nestled back into his seat, warm wind ruffling his hair, music wafting out from the radio.

It was nice.

They weren’t driving for long, as they pulled up outside the citadel gates, before being waved in by a member of the Crownsguard. The sleek, black car drove in through the gates and down to the enormous basement car park where they met Ignis after gym sessions. It was odd to be in the citadel on a day when they didn’t have training; reasons for Prompto to be within the walls were relatively few and far between.

“I would have done this all at Noctis’s,” Ignis said, perhaps sensing his unease. “But there’s no way that that young man owns a measuring tape, and I didn’t have time to pick one up.”

“Busy day?” Prompto asked, casually.

“Indeed,” Ignis nodded. “We have some Galahdian diplomats over at the moment, so it’s been quite relentless for all of us.”

Galahdians …?

“Wait. Doesn’t that mean –”

“Unfortunately not,” Ignis sighed. “Or fortunately, I guess. The whole visit is just for show; for Galahd to demonstrate alleged political autonomy outside of Niflheim, and for Lucis to show an acceptance of those who may join us. Not that they will. It’s rather pointless, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Prompto said. None of it made a lot of sense to him.

“It’s an enormous amount of work for us all – Regis, especially, but Noctis has been preparing for this for weeks. Gladio and I have been on duty all day, too, of course, and Gladio still is. I believe he’s up with Noctis in a meeting until –” he checked his watch – “six o’clock. It’s supposedly a discussion of future relations and trade deals between the two nations, but it won’t produce any real results with Galahd remaining under the Empire’s control. The whole day is simply an opportunity to demonstrate civility.”

“… With the Empire?”

“With old allies. I know it doesn’t make much sense, Prompto – believe me, most diplomatic engagements of this sort don’t. What it really is is everyone sizing one another up over very expensive food and beverages.”

Prompto nodded. That, at least, made a little more sense. “Sounds stressful.”

“It certainly is. Noctis couldn’t sleep last night, he was so stressed,” Ignis said, concern lacing his voice as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

Noctis couldn’t …

Oh. The texts in the middle of the night.

Prompto felt even smaller – and like a stupid, selfish child. He wasn’t sure if he was more mad at himself – for worrying about all of his dumb little problems, wishing his friends would sit up and notice while Noctis was trying to prepare for a day of international significance – or if he was more mad at Noctis, for doing all of this without telling him.

They were meant to be best friends.

“Um. Are you sure this is a good day for you -?” Prompto shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He wanted to run. To scream. To make himself into a better friend. One that wouldn’t keep getting in the way, bumbling into all of their lives and stepping on all of their problems.

Ignis paused, frowning, before he realised what Prompto meant. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m free now for the next hour and a half. Plenty of time for this, I believe.”

The advisor had a free hour and a half, and he was having to waste it on a teenager who didn’t want his measurements taken.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto gushed, “I could have got someone else to do it. I didn’t realise how busy you are!”

“Nonsense,” Ignis said with a smile. “Now come on, let’s go get you measured.”

The two men left the car and headed for the elevators, Ignis leading the way with Prompto following, entering the warren that was the citadel like a particularly ungraceful Alice, tumbling down further and further into the rabbit hole.

Somewhere in the building, King Regis was giving a speech. His best friend was sat up at a high table, dressed in finery Prompto couldn’t even comprehend, missing geography and maths classes to discuss the future of Eos with foreign diplomats. Gladio, funny, irreverent Gladio, was standing to attention behind him, mind cleared of everything that wasn’t the safety of the prince, this striking young man who represented the future of Insomnia and of Lucis – and perhaps, it was rumoured, of the world.

And into the rabbit hole Prompto tumbled, falling further and further from everything he knew, reminded at every turn that there was nothing he recognised or understood, nowhere that he belonged.

He would just keep falling. And, maybe, one day, he would land. He prayed – when he did – that he would land on his feet.

DELETED SCENE:

Place: Noctis' apartment.

Time: late.

Set at the end of chapter 1.

“Did Prompto seem a little … off to you, Gladio?” Ignis asked quietly as he wiped down the kitchen surfaces, cleaning up the apartment’s kitchen before he would retire to bed.

The prince was already asleep, having shuffled off to his room before the advisor even returned from dropping off Prompto; only Gladio and himself were awake now, the former waiting for him to finish up so they could leave together.

It wouldn’t be too long before Ignis was back the next morning, he thought with a tired sigh. It really was never-ending.

“Off how?” Gladio asked, twisting on the sofa to frown at the advisor.

“I’m not sure. Different somehow. Quieter.”

“Well, I didn’t notice,” Gladio slapped his thighs and stood up, having noticed the other man was finally done cleaning up the kitchen. Ignis's propensity for thoroughness was quite grating after midnight. “You sure you’re not just stressing yourself out over nothing? Wouldn’t be the first time."

Ignis sighed. Maybe Gladio was right; he was certainly good at spotting problems early, even when such problems didn’t actually exist. It was part of what made him such an efficient advisor, but it was frequently his downfall, too. “Still,” he protested. “I’m going to keep an eye on him."

Gladio chuckled. “You do that anyway.”

The advisor huffed as he picked up his coat and the pair headed for the door. “We both do, Gladio,” he said. “It’s written into the job description.”

Chapter Text

Ignis led Prompto to an area of the citadel that the latter didn’t recognise – a maze of staircases and corridors had taken them to a small room with a couple of low, pinkish-red sofas, a coffee table with a smattering of newspapers and magazines, and a lady at a desk who had offered them coffee.

Ignis had accepted.

They were sat down on one of the sofas, Ignis leaning back into the arm of it, coffee in hand, while Prompto fidgeted, flicking through the magazines.

He quickly established that there was nothing of interest in any of them so he gave up trying and looked around the room instead.

There were several doors that led off from the room that they were in - a waiting room, Prompto had intelligently deduced – and a handful of women had come and gone briskly between them, holding notebooks, measuring tapes, armfuls of fabric and pins.

It would have all felt remarkably pedestrian were it not for the nature of the cloth – most of it was the deep black of Insomnian royalty and the Crownsguard, and every now and then one of the women was holding the halter of a gun, or a mock-up of an enormous sword, ready for the uniforms to be made to accommodate. More than once, an item had been embroidered with what looked like real gold.

The women offered the occasional smile as they dashed past, but for the most part, each was so engaged in their own tasks that Prompto felt almost rude, to be sat around doing nothing while these women hurried around them. Ignis continued to sit at ease, evidently unfazed.

Eventually, a woman they hadn’t seen yet stepped out of one of the doors and smiled, calling out to them. “Ignis!”

“Rosa,” he greeted her graciously, rising from the sofa. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.”

“Not at all,” she said, gaze sliding off Ignis to look at his companion. “You must be Prompto?”

“Hi,” Prompto said, standing awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”

“And yourself,” she said. “The room’s all yours, Ignis. Apologies for the wait.”

“It’s really not a problem,” Ignis said, graciously. “And thank you for lending us the room at such short notice.” She smiled, bowing her head in acknowledgement before turning to talk to the woman at the desk. Ignis turned to Prompto. “Ready?”

Prompto nodded and followed him through the door into a small room behind it. There was a tall mirror, a three-legged stool, and a table – not dissimilar to the coffee table outside – with a few coils of measuring tape, a pencil, and a notepad placed neatly on top.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the hustle and bustle of the waiting room went with it.

“I can start with your height,” Ignis offered, “that way you need only remove your shoes.”

“Right,” Prompto said, suddenly nervous. He kicked them off and looked up at the other man, who was flipping through to a blank page in the notebook. Every page was a chart, he realised, with descriptions, instructions, and gaps for the measurer to fill in the numbers.

It really is a whole formal process, he thought, feeling equal parts glad and guilty that it was Ignis who stood before him, and not a stranger.

Ignis studied the chart and nodded to himself, before setting the notebook down, picking up the pencil, and taking two steps towards him; Prompto stepped back instantly, reflexively even, before he realised that he was supposed to, to let the advisor measure his height.

“That’s it,” Ignis said encouragingly as Prompto shuffled back on purpose this time, setting his back against the wall. He kept his shoulders down, back straight, his eyes facing dead ahead. “There we go,” the advisor uttered under his breath.

Prompto kept staring straight ahead. With the advisor coming closer, he was left studying the collar of his shirt as he leaned over to scratch a small line in pencil on the wall behind the younger man’s head. Prompto didn’t know much about cologne, but he knew enough to know that the slight scent that drifted off Ignis was expensive. Put-together. Nice.

“Look up a little higher, I think,” Ignis murmured, hand ghosting Prompto’s chin as he encouraged him to shift his head up.

Prompto shivered. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Ignis muttered. Somehow, the room was stuffy enough that Prompto felt sweat on the palms of his hands – and yet cold enough that he was seconds away from developing goosebumps. How he would explain that, he had no idea.

Thankfully, the advisor was done and took a step back. “There’s your height,” he said, at a refreshingly normal volume, “If you hold the tape to the ground, I’ll read the measurement.”

“Got it,” Prompto took the end of the tape and ducked to the floor, pressing it flat against the skirting board.

“172,” Ignis noted, jotting it down on the pad. Prompto stood. “Alright. We need shoulders, chest, and arms next.”

Prompto nodded.

“That’ll involve removing your shirt, if you don’t mind,” Ignis stated.

“Oh right, can do,” Prompto said, using the moment that Ignis had his back to him, noting down the measurements, to shrug off his blazer and wiggle out of his shirt, placing them on the stool behind him. He caught sight of his reflection as he did so – his scrawny arms, the fat on his stomach, the rolls that formed when he bent over to place the clothes down. He cringed and folded his arms across his chest.

Ignis put down the notepad, picked up the tape and turned back towards him. Prompto watched as the advisor’s eyes flickered across his chest. He studied the older man carefully for any signs of disgust, but Ignis’s face remained neutral. He was a good actor, Prompto told himself; the second option, that Prompto’s body wasn’t repulsive, was one he couldn’t even bring himself to entertain.

“Hands by your sides, please, Prompto.” Ignis held one end of the tape on Prompto’s right shoulder and pulled it across his front to the edge of his left. The advisor’s hands were cold. “Apologies,” he muttered, apparently sensing Prompto’s discomfort.

“It’s okay!” he replied, as chirpily as he could muster. “I’m sorry I’ve made you do this.”

Even as he said it, he didn’t know what he was apologising for. Everything. All of it.

“It’s really not a problem,” Ignis reiterated, as he wrapped the tape around Prompto’s chest, nudging the young man to raise his arms slightly. Next, he set the tape at his shoulder and pulled it down to his wrist, manoeuvring the young man again to set his arm straight. He set down the tape and noted all three sizes. “Waist next.”

Prompto swallowed. He’d seen Ignis train. He knew that beneath the formal shirts and preppy ties was a solid set of abs to rival those of Gladio – abs that Prompto didn’t have himself, his own stomach covered in an embarrassing layer of fat, patterned with awful stretch marks.

He said none of this to Ignis, however, just cringed as the advisor knelt down in front of him and sank his cold fingers into Prompto’s fat stomach. Prompto blinked and studied the clock on the wall. He just needed to get this over with.

“Are you eating enough, Prompto?” Ignis said quietly, casually.

“What?” Prompto asked, thrown off. He had expected Ignis to say something about his stomach. But this wasn’t it.

“It’s important to get enough nutrients,” the man said, looking up to meet Prompto’s eyes, “even, or perhaps especially, when life gets busy or stressful.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Prompto felt like a child. “I eat enough.”

Ignis just hummed.

“Half the stuff I eat is what you make, anyway. You know I’m eating right!” Prompto went for a laugh, trying not to shift and upset Ignis’s measurements.

When the advisor lifted his head to look at him a second time, however, he was frowning. “That only makes up a small percentage of your intake. You should be eating well at home, too.”

“Oh, yeah, I do,” he said. “Three square meals.”

Ignis just hummed again, noting down the measurements and moving on. “I need a hip measurement now,” he said. “I can measure over the trousers if that’s more comfortable for you. They’re quite thin.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Ignis’s hands moved to wrap the tape around his hips, drawing the ends to meet together in front of him. He set down the tape to note the measurement. “Your inseam is next. You may find it more comfortable to hold the tape yourself.” Prompto nodded and took the end that was offered to him. “You want to hold it right up at the top of the inside of your thigh. I’ll measure down at your ankle.”

“Right,” Prompto said, blushing slightly as he did as he was directed.

“A little higher,” Ignis said.

“Got it,” he replied, slightly pained.

“32 inches,” Ignis said, approvingly. “You’ve got quite long legs.”

“Oh yeah,” Prompto laughed, relaxing a bit as Ignis put away the tape and stood up. “I’m built like an anime character or something.”

Ignis laughed. “You are quite slender.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Prompto said, rolling his eyes.

Ignis frowned. “I’m not.”

“Yeah well,” Prompto hadn’t planned the end of that sentence. It fizzled out and hung in the air between them. Ignis simply studied him, offering no way out.

“So, uhh,” Prompto rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Are there any other measurements that you need?”

For some reason, Ignis looked almost torn. “Your weight,” he said, in the end.

“Oh.”

“There’s a scale outside,” he said. “I’ll bring it in.”

“Oh.”

Ignis left, and Prompto used the moment to inhale deeply, running his hands through his hair. He’d been half holding his breath since the moment they arrived.

“Here we are,” Ignis said, a few moments later, scale in hand. He set it down on the floor.

Prompto just stared at it.

It stared back.

Get over it, he scolded himself, stepping up onto the metal plate. Even through his socks, he could feel that it was cold.

“Alright,” Ignis said, as angled himself to read the result.

Prompto didn’t look. He clasped his hands together in front of him, fidgeting with his thumbs as he tilted his head back and studied the ceiling instead.

He probably looked stupid, praying to the gods of body dysmorphia. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t tell me, he chanted in his head. There were small patterns in the ceiling that he hadn’t noticed before. They swam around as he stared at them.

“Done,” Ignis said. Prompto met his eyes, expecting humour. Derision. Disgust.

Pity?

It was fleeting - but undeniable.

“Done?” Prompto echoed.

Ignis nodded. He made a final note on the paper, but it was angled in a way that Prompto couldn’t see it. It probably wasn’t deliberate.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll get dressed then.” He stepped off the scales as if they had been burning him, not cold, and picked up his discarded shirt.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, again. “Are you quite sure you’re eating enough?”

Prompto didn’t turn around.

He didn’t want to face those eyes – couldn’t take the misplaced care and concern he knew he would find there. Concern for some kid who couldn’t stop fucking things up, who knew he wasn’t enough, who was going to get better, earn his place, prove his worth. “I’m sure! I eat all the time. I get through breakfast bars and sandwiches like no one’s business. And I’m pretty sure the guys at the chippy all know me by name, now.”

He turned, expecting a smile, maybe an eye roll –

Oh no. Ignis was beginning to frown again. “What about cooked meals?” the advisor asked lightly. “Do your parents cook for you much?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah,” Prompto distracted himself again by pulling his shirt over his shoulders. He studied the buttons as he did them up. “They cook for me. My mum makes pasta and stuff. My dad does, um. Chicken.”

“Chicken,” Ignis echoed.

“Mmhmm. He cooks chicken all the time when he’s around,” he said, then saw Ignis’ expression begin to shift again, and not in a way that he wanted. “Which he is all the time. Loads. I’m actually spending the weekend with them. So, uh. I won’t be around.”

Ignis’s face was completely impassive. “Understood.” There was a moment where Prompto thought he might say more, but he just looked around the room and clapped his hands together. “Well, we’re all done here, I believe, I just need your shoe size.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto nodded. He wasn’t sure if he’d gotten away with everything or not. He had a feeling, maybe, that he hadn’t. “I’m, uhh, I’m an eight.”

“Great,” Ignis smiled then, and it confused him even more. Did this mean he … had? At any rate, the moment had passed. “You’re all done, then. Would you like me to drop you back home?” Ignis checked his watch. “I have more than enough time.”

“Oh, uhh, no, it’s okay,” Prompto thought about Ignis’ free hour and a half, and how much of it he’d already eaten up. He thought about fresh air, about getting away from this tiny room, escaping Ignis’ weird knack for picking up on all of his feelings. “It’s a nice day, I don’t mind the walk.”

“If you’re sure,” Ignis replied. No, Prompto wasn’t imagining it; there was something in that man’s expression that he wasn’t quite hiding – something that Prompto didn’t know how to interpret.

“Noctis is still in meetings, right?” he asked.

“I’m sure he is,” Ignis sighed. “They’ll run on until quite late, I believe.”

“So the one that ends at six?”

Ignis looked puzzled for a second. “Oh, right. No, that’s not the last one. Far from it, unfortunately.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll get going, then.” He grabbed his bag and blazer and headed for the door.

“And Prompto?”

He stopped at the door and faced him expectantly. “Hmm?”

“Take care of yourself,” Ignis said, holding his gaze. He didn’t sound like he was just talking about the walk home.

“Um. Thanks. Will do.” Prompto smiled awkwardly. “See ya.”

He clicked the door shut, smiled at the lady at the desk, and set off down the corridors. He walked so fast that he was almost at a jog, pacing down each corridor, praying he wouldn’t bump into anyone while doing his best to remember the way they’d come in.

It was only outside that he felt, finally, like he could breathe. He leant back against the wall and just let his chest rise and fall, let the ground re-form beneath his feet.

It was barely enough.  

Chapter Text

Although it was born out of awkwardness, and a crushing sense that he was making himself into yet another problem that Ignis felt obliged to deal with, the walk home was, in fact, pleasant. The sun hung low in the sky, golden light spilling across the city streets that he navigated on his way back to his apartment.

The neighbourhoods shifted and transformed around him, and he passed through pockets of tall, drab blocks with kids kicking balls around outside them, and walled, gated houses with CCTV cameras, sleek cars, and small stone fountains that spurted out clear, glistening water. The air became heavier with moisture as he got closer to the docks, weaving his way around the stalls of a fish market, the stallholders packing up their wares in the early evening light. He walked straight past his apartment and carried on down to the harbour itself, sitting down on the high stone wall above the docks and drinking in the fading light.

His head was a mess. A blur of responsibilities, pressures, and concerns. And what had that all been with Ignis? Why did it make his chest heave to think about? Why couldn’t he tell what that man was ever thinking?

And that was only half of it. His mind was whirling was a whole mass of guilt at not noticing how much his friends were trying, how much they were up against in their own, complex inner lives – lives that Prompto constantly found himself on the outside of.

He thought about Noctis. About what the boy was doing right now, as Prompto kicked his legs out over the docks: who he was talking to, what he was up to inside that gilded cage. He tried not to think about how little Noctis told him about that side of his life, how much he pushed him out of it, and left him on the outside of whatever he was dealing with.

How he didn’t do the same to Ignis and Gladio.

That was the worst part. Everyone else had known what was coming for ages – had been preparing for weeks, it sounded – and the first Prompto had known about it was finding himself alone at the school gates, when he was expecting to find his friends.

He tried not to feel abandoned.

(Again.)

He thought about Ignis. His hands ghosting across his body, those eyes making him far more exposed, and on a far deeper level, than removing his clothes ever could. Ignis seemed to detect things on a spiritual level, and then never communicate what he'd found. It was dizzying.

Everything was easier with Noctis.

Usually.

Nothing felt easy right now.

He dropped his chin onto his hands, watching the last burning rays ripple on the water and sparkle on the boats.

After a while, the sun dipped properly below the horizon, and the temperature dropped, so Prompto picked himself up from where he sat on the docks and headed for his apartment. He let himself in quietly, stepping into the silence of the dark corridor and walking into the kitchen. He opened the cupboards: an empty packet of cereal bars, and a lone can of coke zero.

He picked up the coke, cracked it open, and took it into his room, digging out his power bank to charge up his phone, and flipping on one of the lamps.

He sat on the floor, back against his bed, and drank the coke.

He stood up, crossed his room, studied some recent prints he’d dumped there of himself and Noctis, thought about Noctis, walked back to the bed, sat down again.

He opened the window, then the room got too cold, so he closed it.

He lay on the bed.

He nearly cried, then thought that was stupid, so he got up and walked around his room again.

He lay on the bed.

He cried.

A few hours later, the sound of a door slamming somewhere else in the apartment block woke him up. He checked his phone and saw it was around eleven, so he got up to go find dinner. Thankfully – or not, he wasn’t sure – he didn’t bump into Ignis this time – he didn’t bump into anyone – so he got his chips and headed back home.

He didn’t have any texts from Noctis, so he wasn’t sure if the prince was done with all those meetings yet, but he decided not to call either way.

It wasn’t as if Noctis didn’t know where to find him – Prompto was exactly where he’d been left, so the prince could reach out if he wanted.

If he cared.

When Prompto awoke in the morning, the first thing he did was check his phone. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry when he saw that there was nothing.

Okay, then. He got up slowly, allowing his sleepiness to linger as he resolved to have a lazy morning. At the very least, he was so far from the mood to have a cold shower that that alone stopped him from getting dressed. The fact that Noctis was ignoring him was the icing on the cake.

It was true, that Prompto made most of the plans that the two did together.

Noctis was always more than happy to go along with them – he met most of Prompto’s ideas with infectious enthusiasm – but he rarely came up with things for them to do himself. Prompto was the one who had the plans, who reached out, who texted first.

With every passing hour, however, Prompto’s acceptance of that turned to sorrow, which morphed into ugly rage and hurt. He stared at his phone, the blank notifications screen staring belligerently back, and felt hot, angry tears well up behind his eyes.

Was this all it was? Prompto constantly reaching out, making a friendship that Noctis didn’t really care about?

Just some guy at school, he thought, some teenaged comic relief to distract him from his real problems.

He thought of Ignis and Gladio, probably hanging out with the prince right now at that stupid fucking apartment and felt like he could break something. Noctis needed those two.

No one needed him.

One pyjama day turned into two, and by Monday morning Prompto was numb. His phone hadn’t buzzed with anything other than news stories and marketplaces sales all weekend – evidently, Noctis didn’t care if they were friends at all – and, as he got ready for school, he felt dread settle in his stomach at the thought of arriving at the gates.

What would Noctis even say?

Would he walk past him as if he didn’t exist?

Were they just … not friends?

He got himself ready for school, throwing together his sports kit just in case training with Gladio was still on that night – although how it could possibly be, he wasn’t sure – and headed out. More than once on the walk he stopped and swallowed hard, thinking he might be sick.

He saw the car immediately.

It was like a big black stain in his vision, the only thing he could think about as he walked up to the school gates. It wasn’t long before he saw Noctis, too, lingering outside them. Prompto wondered if the prince would notice if he tried to sneak past. He swallowed, staring at the pavement as he got closer –

“Prompto!” The blond looked up to see the prince waving him over, a grin on his face. “Hey, man,” Noctis called as he walked over.

“Hey,” Prompto said flatly, watching him carefully.

“How was your weekend?” the prince asked, still upbeat.

“Um. Fine.”

“Specs said you were away with your parents again,” Noctis said, sighing exaggeratedly. “I missed you, man. I had so many ideas for shit we could do, but apparently,” he threw a dramatic glare over his shoulder at Ignis, “I had to respect that you were busy.”

Oh.

Oh.

He’d completely forgotten … a moment of panic, sensing Ignis’s suspicions… “I’m actually spending the weekend with them. So, uh. I won’t be around.” “Understood.”

“I ended up hanging out with these two all weekend,” Noctis carried on. “They might look cool, but I swear Specs and Gladio are the biggest losers on Eos.” There was a pause. “Hey, are you okay?” Noctis was giving him a funny look, apparently just taking in Prompto’s stiff body language and blunt responses.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” he grimaced. It was supposed to be a smile.

Noctis frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Prompto rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah, nothing. I was miles away, sorry.”

Noctis snorted, but his eyes were still slightly careful when he said, “You can’t be this tired already. That’s my job.”

Prompto laughed. “Sorry. The weekend was just a lot.”

“Well,” Noctis threw an arm around him. “It’s over now. Come on, let’s get to class.”

Prompto let himself be steered in through the school gates, sparing one glance over his shoulder only to accidentally make brief contact with piercing, green eyes.

They were frowning.

-

Prompto tried to act how he normally did as they sat down at their desks in the form room. He nodded at the memes Noctis showed him, charged up his power bank, smiled at appropriate moments, and returned sarcastic jibes.

It was an empty performance. Every time he looked at Noctis, his eyes just saw the prince. He tried to see his best friend, to notice the quirks and habits of his favourite person on Eos, but all he saw was a stranger, the heir to the Lucian throne. Someone he couldn’t relate to.

It was weird, to see the prince through the eyes of everyone else.

“Have I got something on my face?” Noctis asked, frowning.

“Sorry,” Prompto said, turning away. “I zoned out.”

“Yeah,” Noctis’ eyes were narrow, “you’ve been doing that a lot.”

Neither of them turned it into a joke, so they just sat there in a weird, sticky silence.

Prompto wasn’t in the mood to break it. It probably wasn’t fair, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He felt snubbed, and it hurt. How could he claim to be best friends with this person, who skipped days off school for royal meetings and didn’t bother to drop him a text? How could Noctis just leave him out of his life like that, even when their other friends got let in?

They’re already in, dumbass. You’re not being excluded; you were just never in in the first place.

To be honest, that felt even worse.

Every reasonable excuse he could come up with shrivelled under his mental interrogation until there was only one answer left: Noctis didn’t really care about him, and he didn’t expect Prompto to care enough for that fact to hurt.

So he would pretend that it didn’t.

What was one more little lie? He was already holding up so many. Lies about his parents, mostly. Lies about how he spent his weekends, about why he ate Noctis’s every night – well, that was a half-lie at best; Ignis was an incredible cook – lies about the bags under his eyes and how they’d got there.

He made it through class, distracting himself by actually doing his work, and survived lunch with the prince through carefully balanced small talk and excuses about being tired. That in itself was true. But why he was exhausted – his soul-crushing weekend wondering if Noctis had ever cared about Prompto like Prompto cared about him – was better off unmentioned. Prompto made it through the afternoon, too, and the two young men survived their training with Gladio – although Prompto had a feeling he might’ve offended the man with his short answers and gloomy mood: “There’s only room for one sulking princess around here…”. Whatever. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

Ignis had also shot him funny looks in the rear-view mirror, as he drove them back in the car, and tried to draw him aside before he left to pick up some groceries for dinner. Prompto just ignored him. His focus was eaten up on pushing his feelings aside, on doing his best to act at least passably normal.

Well, it had been. Until now.

“Wow, you sucked at that,” Noctis said, materialising at his shoulder. He was revising at Noctis’s apartment again – he always was, really – reading the feedback he’d got on one of his essays. It wasn’t good.

“Cheers,” he muttered, glaring at the red scrawled handwriting in the margins as if he could change it through resentment alone.

“I reckon even I did better on that one,” Noctis snorted, one eyebrow raised.

“Right.” Teasing between them was a regular occurrence, he tried to remind himself. The prince didn’t mean it.

“And I have never stayed awake for a whole one of her classes.”

“Thank you,” Prompto bit out, hoping the prince would take the fucking hint and shut up.

What he didn’t hope was that the prince would pick up the first sheet of the essay, flip it over to see the mark and give a low whistle. “Jesus, Prom. What went wrong?”

The inflection on that one might have been softer. It might have even been kind. To Prompto, though, it was nothing but sneering. He snapped.

“I get it!” Prompto shouted, standing before he realised he’d even moved. “Stop rubbing it in!” Noctis looked shocked, eyebrows shooting up his face. Prompto didn’t care. “I know I’m not as good as you, Your Royal Highness –“ he spat those last words – “but maybe if my parents spent thousands of Gil on a couple of babysitters I’d be doing alright, too!”

“Woah, the fuck?” Noctis’s chair scraped loudly across the floor as the prince stood up. Gone was the pity; he was frowning, hurt and anger roiling across his face. “Say that again.”

Prompto knew he should stop. Calm down. Apologize. “We can’t all be Noctis Lucis fucking Caelum,” he bit out instead. “Some of have to actually try sometimes.”

“What the fuck?” Noctis looked furious. “I try all the fucking time, you know that. The gods haven’t exactly made my life easy, you know –”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Prompto sneered. “The prince has had a hard life. Why don’t we get Ignis and Gladio to kiss it better for you?”

“What’s that meant to –?”

“They’re the only ones you need, right?” he spat. “If you’re not on some royal payroll, you can just fuck off out of Noctis’s life, right?”

“What’s wrong with you?” the prince was staring.

“Me?” Prompto scoffed. “Me?  What’s the fuck is wrong with you –“ Prompto’s voice, once loud and sneering, suddenly cracked – “that you can just dump me when you like, like I’m some fucking rent-a-commoner package?”

“What the hell is that meant to mean?”

“You’re my best friend,” he shouted, voice raw with hurt, “but apparently, I’m just ‘some guy’, right?”

“Are you insane?” Noctis shouted back. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Prompto stared back at him, shaking his head in disbelief. Noctis didn’t even notice. “You don’t notice anything, do you?”

“I’ve noticed you, acting like a fucking idiot,” Noctis bit back.

Prompto made a noise of frustration, running his hands through his hair.

“What’s wrong with you?” The prince demanded, once more. His bright blue eyes were searching Prompto’s face furiously, looking for any hints that would explain his erratic behaviour.

Prompto blinked back tears; the fight in him was fast fading, and the furious, wounded look that his best friend was giving him was only making it worse, lodging like a dagger under his ribs. “You don’t tell me anything,” he said. Bitterly. Pathetically.

Noctis studied him hard. “What?”

“You don’t tell me anything.”

The prince looked bewildered. No longer furious, perhaps, but still a good deal pissed off. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Prompto deflated. He could barely meet his best friend’s eyes. “Ignis said you had a big meeting,” he muttered. “A really important one, that you’d been stressed about for weeks, and I didn’t know.” He looked up from where his hands were curled into fists and pressed into the table, fleetingly looking up at the prince. Anger had faded into incredulity. Prompto muttered even quieter. “I was the only one who didn’t know.”

Incredulity, finally, faded into understanding. “Oh.” A long pause; Prompto went back to studying the table. Noctis inhaled deeply and sighed. “You could have fucking led in with that, you know.” Prompto looked up to see resentment playing across his best friend’s face. “Instead of yelling at me like a fucking weirdo.”

Prompto nodded, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Another long pause. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You don’t have to –”

“No, really,” the prince cut him off. He looked miserable. “You’re right, I didn’t tell you.” Now it was Prompto’s turn to study his friend’s face – it wasn’t particularly expressive, either, especially not with any kind of emotion Prompto recognised. Regret, maybe? “I didn’t want to tell you,” The prince admitted. “I kept you in the dark on purpose.”

That stung. “Why?”

“I guess –” Noctis looked around, anywhere but his friend’s face – “I didn’t want you to think of me differently. You know, as the prince.”

Prompto was incredulous. “You didn’t want me to think of you … as the prince?”

Noctis scowled. “Don’t laugh. I just – you’re the only one on Eos who treats me like a normal person. I thought,” The prince had the sense to look apologetic. “I thought as long as I just pretended none of the prince stuff was happening, then that wouldn’t change.”

“Noctis –”

“But I’m sorry,” the prince said, all fast and stilted like he didn’t have much practice in apologising. “I didn’t think about how that would look. To you.”

Slowly, Prompto felt the tight knot of pain in his chest begin to unfurl and disappear. He blinked. They were still standing on either side of the table. “Do you wanna –“ he gestured at the sofas – “sit down, maybe?”

Noctis looked tired. “Sure.”

“I guess I just thought that you didn’t care,” Prompto said, once they were sat on the sofas, each looking awkwardly away from one another. For his part, Prompto was studying a paperweight that he’d picked up from the coffee table and was rolling in his hands. “I thought you didn’t tell me because it didn’t even register. I didn’t even register.”

Noctis nodded guiltily. “I guess that makes sense. You do register, by the way,” he added.

“Good.”

“Properly. And I mean it. I’ll, uhh. I’ll tell you next time,” he continued. “Ahead of time.”

“Thanks,” Prompto smiled at his friend. It was awkward, but he got one back. “And, Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’m going to the Spring Gala, right?”

“… Right?”

“And I eat dinner every night prepared by a royal advisor…”

“Okay…?”

“And I get personal training with you from a member of the Crownsguard, future shield-of-the-king?”

The prince realised where he was going with this. “…Yeah,” he begrudgingly admitted.

“Do you think, maybe,” Prompto teased, “I’ve realised that you’re the prince?”

If Noctis had rolled his eyes any harder, they might have gotten stuck in the back of his head. “Shut up. You know what I mean. And besides,” he gave Prompto a wary side-eye, “I didn’t really expect that from you.”

Prompto bit his lip and looked down at the floor. “Yeah,” he said, “sorry.”

“Does it affect you that much?” Noctis asked.

Prompto studied his face incredulously. He was sincere. “Um, yeah,” he said. “I always find myself wondering how the hell I ended up hanging out with you guys. You’re all so – you know – impressive.”

“So are –”

“No, Noct, I’m not,” he cut him off. “Not like that. I’m not anything really. You three have this other life together and – I mean, it’s fine!” he raised his hands defensively, sensing that Noctis was about to interrupt, “You’re meant to. But it kinda affirms what I’ve been thinking all along.”

Noctis waited for him to finish.

“That I’m not really one of you,” he admitted, finally, with a small shrug.

“Prompto –”

“It’s cool! It’s fine,” Prompto smiled awkwardly, “it just hurts.”

Noctis frowned. “Doesn’t sound fine then.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. A minute passed by uncomfortably.

“You’re right,” Noctis sighed. “We do have another life. Without you.”

Prompto nodded, staring into his lap.

“We sit in the same meetings, we handle the same pressures, we have the same expectations weighing on us, more or less,” Noctis shrugged. “It’s a lot to bond over.” He frowned. “But it doesn’t mean everything else doesn’t count. What you see every night, when the four of us hang out – that’s the real us. With you. It’s not –” the prince raked his hand through his hair, trying to find the words. “It’s not that you’re an extra when we're all hanging out after school,” he said, “it’s more like… like you’re missing when we’re not.”

Prompto looked up at that.

“Not just for me,” Noctis said, blunt and awkward and loving and dumb. “Specs and Gladio, too. We all think like that. I mean, sure, we spend more time together, maybe. But whenever we’re free to,” the prince looked at him intensely, “we spend it with you.”

“Oh,” he said. He wasn’t sure he could say anything else.

“Did you not realise?” Noctis’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Prompto shrugged. “I guess I kinda did.” That was why it hurt so much, he thought, to suddenly think that I’d been wrong.

“Good.” Another beat of silence.

“Thank you,” Prompto said, eventually, breaking it.

Noctis smiled, traces of awkwardness dancing across his features. He was fighting through it admirably. “You’re welcome. Now come on,” he said, “let’s go play King’s Knight or something.”

Ah, yes. The cure-all for every Noctis problem. Well. Either that or sleep.

It wasn’t a bad idea, however, as the room felt weirdly heavy with all the emotions they didn’t usually air out. Maybe King’s Knight would help clear it up. They reached for their phones, starting up the loading screens as they got comfortable on the sofa. Prompto ended up leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, phone held up in front of his face, Noctis’ mess of dark hair visible behind it.

And that was how Ignis found them, half an hour later, when he let himself in to start cooking dinner.

Chapter Text

“I was thinking,” Gladio hummed as the four of them sat around on the couches in Noctis’s apartment one evening later that week.

“Dangerous,” Ignis remarked dryly, not looking up from the recipe he was annotating.

“Funny.” Gladio shifted to lean forward onto his elbows. “Seriously, though. We should get dinner out on Friday. Celebrate the boys’ last proper week at school.”

Prompto smiled lazily. It was late; they’d been working on their revision for hours, then enjoyed a long and animated video game session. The drama of the weekend, and his argument with Noctis, felt distant and unconcerning - and it was now all he could do to stay awake, nestled back into the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate that Ignis had handed him earlier. “Sounds nice. You deserve it, Noct.”

“You too, Blondie,” Gladio said. “You’ve both been working way too hard.” Ignis cleared his throat as if to disagree, but Gladio waved him off. “Come on, Specs, let the poor boys relax.”

Ignis turned to the prince. “Noctis?”

Noctis nodded and set down his empty mug on the coffee table. “Yeah, I’m with Gladio on this one. Let’s do it.”

“Then it’s decided,” Ignis said. “Dinner for four on Friday. Shall I book somewhere?”

“Sure,” Noctis shrugged. “What does everyone feel like?”

It took Prompto a moment to realise that everyone was looking at him. “Wai- what?”

“Us three get dinners after meetings all the time,” Gladio said, off-handedly. Oh right. It seemed everyone knew about his little blowout with Noctis. “Where do you wanna go, Prom?”

Prompto looked to Noctis for support, hoping he wasn’t stepping on his best friend’s toes. It was their celebration meal, after all. Noctis simply met his searching gaze with a slightly blank, encouraging smile.

“Umm,” Prompto frowned as he thought about it. Somewhere with good food, obviously. Also somewhere that wouldn’t be too expensive. Duh. But that wouldn’t look like he was trying to make it cheap. “We could get … burgers?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Gladio snickered.

“Oh. Um… An answer?”

Gladio snorted.

“Burgers sound great,” Noctis interjected, saving his friend from further humiliation. Prompto shot him a grateful look before sticking his tongue out at the shield. Gladio pulled a face right back.

“How mature,” Ignis deadpanned, closing the recipe book to open up a small pocket diary. “Well, I’m sure I can think of somewhere,” he hummed, jotting something down and snapping the diary shut. “Consider it done.”

“Great,” Gladio said, sitting back again with a self-satisfied smile.

“I’ll book for around eight o’clock,” Ignis continued. “Prompto, we can pick you up from yours on the way.”

“Okay!” he beamed. “I can’t wait!”

-

The thought of a night out with his three-favourite people on Eos – and one of his all-time favourite foods – sustained Prompto through the final few days of the spring term. The tide of comments from teachers about revision, assessment, and marking criteria, he let wash over him, untouchable as he was by the promise of something better. There was only one problem, he realised as he stood before his mirror just twenty minutes before Ignis was meant to be picking him up.

He had no idea what to wear.

On the one hand, these were his friends. They saw him all the time and never said anything about what he was wearing.

Two counterpoints: one, he was normally in uniform or a sports kit, which were decided for him, and two  - the more important point – his friends were nobility. Aristocracy. Hell, one of them was the prince.

Counter-counterpoint: he had seen Noctis in jeans one time. But that hardly counted; they were deep black and ironed and looked like they cost about a year’s groceries. At least.

Counter-counter-counter (?) point: They were only going out for burgers, which didn’t usually come with a black-tie dress code – to the best of his knowledge. Maybe Ignis knew some fancy burger place where you weren’t allowed to wear anything less than a three-piece suit. Gods, maybe Ignis ate burgers with a knife and fork.

In fact, now he thought about it …

Somewhere in the swirling mass of points and counterpoints, it occurred to Prompto that perhaps he was having so much of an issue precisely because he was thinking about it all so much. Yeah. He was definitely overdoing it.

In the end, he settled on jeans – black ones, like Noctis’s. They were pretty smart, too, having been a gift from his mother that were given to him one size too small – either because she didn’t spend enough time around him to know his size or because she was suggesting he lose weight, he hadn’t been sure – so he didn’t wear them much. They fit well enough, though, and they were untouched enough to look passably smart.

He dressed it up a little by picking out a button-down shirt, but then slightly ruined the whole look by kicking on his trainers. Oh well.

He was halfway through spending way too much time fixing up his hair when his phone started buzzing. He looked at who was calling: Ignis.

“Hey,” he said, smiling already.

“Hello yourself,” Ignis replied. “We’re outside.”

“Coming!” Prompto hung up, spared himself one last once-over in the mirror, and raced down the corridor, thundering down the stairs out to the black car that was waiting outside.

“Well, look at you,” Gladio said, with a low whistle. “Somebody did their hair all nice today.”

“Shut up,” Prompto blushed, hands reaching up towards it self-consciously. They were stilled mid-air by someone else’s.

“Don’t do that,” Ignis said softly, lifting his hands from where he’d briefly stopped Prompto’s. “It would be a shame to ruin all of your hard work.”

Ignis sounded sincere, but with Gladio still giggling in the backseat, Prompto couldn’t quite tell if he was being bullied or not, so he snorted and sat back, distracting himself by doing up the seat belt.

“Hungry?” Noctis asked from the back seat. Prompto turned to face him and immediately felt validated by his wardrobe choices. It was funny to see the prince in clothes that weren’t school uniform, a sports kit or trackies – or his other uniform of the fanciest clothes that money can buy - but he brushed up quite nicely, in a casual sort of way, in a button-down shirt and jeans.

“Starving,” he replied. Prompto twisted around in his seat even further to look at Gladio and found himself grinning, a little sardonically, perhaps, at what he found. For all of his talk, even Gladio had deigned to make an effort, covering up his abs with a smart shirt. “Wow,” he whistled. “Someone got all dressed up today.”

“Watch yourself, you little shit,” Gladio sneered. Prompto made a face before sitting back around to face out the front of the car, looking out eagerly to try and guess where they were going.  

“Happy?” Ignis asked idly from beside him.

Prompto nodded, “You bet.”

The burger place was everything Prompto had expected from Ignis – minus the black-tie dress code, of course.

They were greeted by a smiling young woman at the door and shown to a booth towards the edge of the restaurant. Ignis moved in beside Noctis, and Gladio gestured for Prompto to slide in on the other side.

They chatted idly while they looked at the menu. When the waitress returned, Prompto ordered something that looked nice, while making sure it wasn’t among the more expensive items available. They also ordered the first of what would become several rounds of beers.

“So,” Gladio said sometime later around a mouthful of chips, “what’s your holiday plans, Blondie?”

“Umm,” Prompto stalled. Holiday plans? He had the Spring Gala, of course, but other than that … Wasn’t it enough to just … exist at home while being on the school holiday? “I don’t really have any,” he admitted.

“Not going away with your family or anything?” Gladio asked, still wolfing down fries. There was a small, sharp movement under the table which looked suspiciously like Ignis delivering a kick.

“Umm, no,” he shrugged. “I’m just gonna be revising mostly.”

“A smart plan,” Ignis said, smoothly. “Noctis would do well to follow your example.”

There was a small pause in which the prince glared at his advisor, which didn’t quite come across as intimidating as intended, with his cheeks puffed up around a mouthful of burger.

Prompto realised it was his turn to ask a question. “Are you guys doing anything?”

Gladio and Noctis both nodded. “Well, I’m going away for a bit with my dad,” Noctis said, having swallowed the mouthful. “We don’t get to do it much, but it should be nice. We’re taking a boat out and going fishing.”

Prompto smiled, genuinely. It was indeed rare for Noctis to spend quality time with his father, and Prompto also knew how much the boy seemed, albeit inexplicably, to love fishing. “Sounds good!”

“I’m going away with Iris,” Gladio added. “About a week or two.”

“Aw say hi from me!” Prompto grinned. He hadn’t met Iris many times, but he liked her well enough.

“Will do,” Gladio nodded. “Iggy’s staying around, though. No rest for the wicked, huh.”

“Aww,” Prompto turned to the advisor. “Won’t you get lonely?”

“Hardly,” Ignis scoffed. “I could do with some peace and quiet for once.”

“That’s true,” Prompto mumbled, feeling his cheeks starting to pinken with the alcohol. “I’m not really one for alone time, though.”

Gladio laughed heartily. “Ha, we all know that Prompto! You wouldn’t survive a week!”

Prompto snorted, joining in on the other’s laughter, hoping no one noticed that he couldn’t meet their eyes.

“Not sure Prompto even goes to the bathroom on his own,” Noctis sniggered.

“Would you know much about that?” Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Joint little trips to the bathroom with Blondie, here?”

Noctis’ face, already flushed from the alcohol, reddened furiously. “That’s not what I meant!”

Ignis sniffed haughtily as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Please control yourself, Gladio. We’re out in public, after all.”

“Oh my gosh,” Prompto grinned. “Could we start a scandal?”

“Easier than you might think,” Ignis said, raising an eyebrow.

“Huh,” Prompto considered it. “Gods, I never get used to it.”

“Don’t,” Noctis muttered.

“Sorry. But it never gets less crazy, hanging out with you guys,” Prompto confessed.

“Well, you could always stop, if you’re sick of it,” Gladio joked. “Iggy and I have taken some godsforsaken oaths, but you, Prom – you’re free to dump him if you want.”

“I could never!” Prompto said, defiantly.

“My gratitude is overflowing,” Noctis deadpanned, but there was a spark in his eyes that gave him away.

“I’m sure Noctis needs a fishing partner,” Ignis said dryly.

“On second thoughts…” Prompto laughed.

“You love watching me fish!” Noctis protested. Prompto giggled at the pure indignance written across his best friend’s face.

“As a last resort, maybe,” he grinned.

“Come on, Blondie, what’s worse than watching His Highness fish all afternoon?” Gladio laughed.

“Well,” he put his hands up in a ‘you got me there’ gesture. “It beats my other plans of spending the holidays hanging out on my own in an empty apartment.”

He knew as soon as he said it that he’d fucked up.

No. Shit. No.

His mouth moved again, silently, as if he could suck up the words he’d just said, could remove them from where they were lingering uncomfortably among the four friends. “I mean –”

“Are your parents not around?” Noctis asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Prompto watched with horror as the prince’s mental cogs started turning, piecing together an image that shone brighter than the lies he kept painting in front of them.

There was no way to recover this.

His secret was out.

He waited for his friends to recoil in disgust. After all, what kind of loser couldn’t even get his own parents to want to stay in his life?

“Not exactly,” he began.

“You know, you can always stay over at ours,” Gladio offered. “Well, Noct’s, I guess.”

As much as he wanted to accept it, to allow himself to relax into the feeling of being cared for by his friends, his overwhelming guilt and shame crushed any soft feelings before they had the chance to blossom. “It’s okay, really,” he insisted. I’m used to it by now, he was going to say next.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ignis interjected. “We can put you up for a few days if they’re on a business trip. There’s no need to have you living in that apartment on your own.”

A… what?

Noctis hummed in agreement. “We’ve got the space.”

Wait. There was a way out of this. Did they think…?

“It’s the holidays, Prompto!” Gladio exclaimed. “We’re not gonna make you hang out by yourself.”

Prompto felt warmth begin to blossom in his chest despite himself.

“So,” Ignis said, brisk and business-like once more. “How long are they away for?”

Thank the gods, Prompto had been right. There was a way out of this. He just had to play it carefully: strike a balance between winning himself as much time at Noctis’s as possible, without giving away the truth of his situation at home.

“Two weeks,” he said, lightly.

He looked up at his friends and felt his stomach clench at their shocked expressions. “Two weeks?” Ignis echoed. “That’s quite some business trip.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s some annual conference or something.”

“You should have said,” Gladio said, somewhere between anger and concern.

“When do they leave?” Noctis asked.

“Um,” Prompto shifted uncomfortably. “Tomorrow.”

“Well,” Ignis said briskly. “It’s a good thing that Noctis isn’t going away until after the Spring Gala.”

Prompto smiled weakly. “Yeah, sure is.”

Thankfully, the conversation drifted back after that, circling around the topic of the upcoming Spring Gala, and then moving on to discussions of Noctis’ trip with his father: where they were going, which boat they were taking, which types of fish Noctis hoped he would catch. It didn’t stop Prompto’s heart from pounding, didn’t calm the way his hands were shaking as he clenched them under the table, but it did distract everyone else, and that had to count for something.

A little while later, when dinner was cleared away and desserts had been and gone, he was still playing the conversation over in his mind, checking it over and over for the hints he’d dropped, the damning statements he’d only just held back haunting him and demanding to be acknowledged.

He seemed to have gotten away with it. As long as he remained vigilant, he was sure he’d be fine.

“Do you want me to have a word with your parents?” Ignis murmured quietly, sidling up to him as the four left the restaurant a little while later.

“What?” Prompto asked, only just keeping his voice quiet.

Ignis was frowning. “I don’t like the idea of them leaving you for so long. You might not feel it, but you are still only young.”

“I’m fine,” Prompto smiled. “Really. It’s just for two weeks.”

Ignis hummed and pursed his lips, but he didn’t say anything more, stepping back from Prompto as the four walked back to the car.

-

In the end, Ignis didn’t try and talk to his parents when he pulled up outside Prompto’s apartment block. As the designated driver, he was completely sober; the contrast between the ever-composed advisor and the two drunk, sleeping men in the backseat would have made Prompto laugh on any other day.

It was only when he was in the solitude of his own apartment, which Ignis had thankfully not tried to enter, that he allowed himself to properly relax, stepping out onto the balcony and drawing in deep, steadying breaths of cold, night air.

Despite himself, a small smile curled up the corner of his mouth.

Two weeks at Noctis’s…

Of course, he’d have to be careful not to slip up. Every waking minute would be one in which he’d guard his home life and the information he let them in on. Maybe he should write out his lie and study it like an exam module. Or would that be worse? No, that would be worse.

Either way, as he stood on the balcony and watched his breath curl up into the night, he had a feeling that his life was finally going to get better.

At least for the next two weeks.

Chapter Text

Ignis picked him up bright and early the next day, but Prompto was already ready and waiting outside, his life for the next two weeks packed up inside a case, a backpack, and a camera bag. He wasn’t particularly one for early mornings, except when his weather app promised him a brilliant sunrise ripe for being photographed – nor was he one for being on time – but he was over-eager enough that it had happened accidentally.

It was 7 a.m. precisely when Ignis’s sleek black car pulled up outside the apartment block. Prompto waved him over enthusiastically.

“Good morning, Prompto,” Ignis said jovially, stepping out of the car to help the young man with his suitcase. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Mmhmm!” was Prompto’s only reply, as he dumped his backpack and camera bag on the backseat and climbed into the front passenger side.

“May I ask what has inspired this?” he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat beside him.

Prompto looked at the advisor like he’d grown a third head. For such an intelligent man he could apparently be remarkably thick. “Um, two weeks of hanging out with Noctis? Getting endless free Iggy meals? Playing Kings Knight with my best friend until the sun comes up?”

Not to mention literal electricity… central heating… food that didn’t come wrapped up in single-serving packets. Long, steamy showers… A games console, plugged into the mains…

The list was endless. Just thinking about it removed Prompto’s ability to sit still, and he fidgeted excitedly in the front seat.

Ignis chuckled. “Well, I only hope we live up to your expectations.”

Prompto grinned and nodded, looking out of the window, and watching with eager anticipation as the neighbourhoods transformed, until he was staring up at the apartment block of his best friend. They parked up and went in.

“Gods, I’ll never get used to this,” Prompto moaned once they were inside, kicking off his shoes and walking over to the window, unwittingly giving Ignis a distinct sense of déjà vu.

The early morning sunshine danced and sparkled on the windows of nearby skyscrapers; Noctis’ neighbourhood was full of sleek towers of glass that glittered on sunny days and cast long rays through their floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a balcony – like Prompto’s but built in a style that looked distinctly less like you could accidentally fall off of it – and he wasted no time at all clicking open the door to step outside, taking in the morning breeze that ruffled his hair from so high up. Even the air tasted better here.

“Would you like breakfast, Prompto?” Ignis called from inside the kitchen.

“Yes, please!” he replied, barely glancing away from the skyline. He snapped a couple of shots, giving one last wistful glance at the Insomnian skyline before he stepped back inside, closing the door behind him.

The apartment was quiet; the sound of Ignis rummaging around in the kitchen was all that broke the silence.

“What would you like to eat?” Ignis asked politely. Prompto thought about it for a second. Ignis continued, “What do you normally have? I’m sure I can make it.”

Prompto usually ate cereal bars – or just survived until lunch – but he didn’t need Ignis to know that. “Cereal, usually,” he said, instead. It was only half a lie, right? “But I like pancakes…?” he added, hopefully.

Ignis sighed exasperatedly but there was a crease in the corners of his eyes. “Of course you do.”

The advisor may have been disparaging about his breakfast choices, but he was apparently in the mood to indulge him if the eggs, flour, and milk that he was retrieving from the cupboards and fridge were anything to go by. “Toppings?”

Wow. “Um. I like fruit. Or Nutella? Or, um, wait no. Bacon?”

Ignis paused, waiting for him to continue. When ‘bacon’ seemed to be his final answer, he nodded. “With syrup, I assume?”

“Gods, yes, please. Do you have maple?”

“Consider it done.”

Prompto grinned, thanking the man profusely before he flopped down onto the sofa. Quiet settled over the pair once again, and it was unlikely to be interrupted; Gladio wasn’t around, and it would be several hours before there was even a chance that the prince would appear, black hair a crows’ nest around his head, blue eyes squinting grumpily in the morning light.

Lying there in the soothing quiet, Prompto found himself growing sleepy despite himself, the early start catching up now the adrenaline was wearing off. His eyelids grew heavy as he lay back on the sofa and scrolled mindlessly through his phone, so he had to blink a few times when Ignis appeared above him.

“Breakfast,” the man announced.

Prompto sat up and went to the table, where Ignis had set up a place, complete with a mug of coffee and a glass of orange juice. “Wow, Iggy, it’s perfect.”

Ignis only smiled. “I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

Prompto looked down at his plate, taking in the neat stack of pancakes, rashers of bacon balanced on top, drenched in maple syrup. It looked almost too good to be real.

“You’d better eat that before it gets cold,” Ignis said, mildly. He had that twinkle in his eye that suggested he was about to say something stupid. “A meal like that is best-enjoyed bacon hot.”

Prompto groaned. “That was terrible.”

“Unlike the food, I hope."

The food was, of course, the opposite of terrible. In no time at all, Prompto was scraping the last of it around his plate, scooping up the excess maple syrup in one final, glorious mouthful. It was incredible.

It had also been good enough that Prompto hadn’t really attempted to make conversation, which Ignis had apparently been fine with, scrolling through a news page on his phone and sipping a steaming mug of Ebony. The two had certainly grown closer over the previous few months, and Prompto didn’t feel quite so awkward in the man’s presence as he had done at the beginning. Nevertheless, there was something about him that left Prompto feeling perpetually unsure, and he found himself self-consciously digging around in his mind for something to talk to Ignis Scientia about. Something cool, something insightful, something –

“You really like cooking, huh,” Prompto said, instead. He winced internally, looking up when Ignis huffed a small laugh and scrabbled to make a more intelligent point, face flushing with embarrassment. “I mean –”

“No, you’re right,” Ignis said. “I certainly do.”

Prompto smiled. “It’s a nice hobby to have,” he replied, nodding as if it would accentuate his point, make it more profound. “And it’s one that everyone around you likes, too. Ya know. Not like beginner’s violin, or something,” he said, pulling a face. Never mind being profound, huh. He wondered why he even tried.

Ignis didn’t seem to think he was stupid, however, as he was nodding in agreement. “To be honest, that’s a significant motivating factor.” Prompto waited for him to elaborate. “Cooking is, in many ways, an expression of love. It’s a way of caring for the people close to you.”

Prompto swallowed. “Oh.”

“Sometimes,” Ignis looked at him like he was sharing a secret, “cooking speaks for you when the words don’t. I can’t always tell people that I am here for them, or force them to divulge their secrets, but I can say ‘You are here, and you are fed’. Sometimes, in this line of work, that has to be enough.”

Prompto thought of Noctis, and he thought he understood. “Even if you’ve put vegetables in there?”

Ignis looked at Prompto over his glasses. “Especially if I’ve put vegetables in there. People don’t always know what’s good for them, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to provide it.”

“You really like caring for people,” Prompto said, neglected yet again by the gods of intelligent conversation.

Ignis’ gaze softened. “I do.”

“Does it ever get too much?” he asked, building up a brick wall behind his eyes so he could insist that this question was just casual. “Do you ever, well, do you ever get sick of people asking you for help?”

“Not any people that I care about,” Ignis said, holding Prompto’s gaze.

“Oh,” Prompto said again, spearing a scrap of bacon that had escaped him earlier, and sliding it around the maple syrup, just for something to do. He put it in his mouth. It was barely bigger than a pea.

“Prompto,” Ignis said. “I won’t push it. You’ve set some rather clear boundaries, I would say, and I am doing my best to respect them. But I would also like to tell you that if that should ever change, I will be here, ready to discuss whatever it is with you.”

Prompto almost choked. It may have been the size of a pea, but he felt the burned scrap of bacon go down his throat like the tip of a dagger.

“You’ve set some rather clear boundaries…”

Had he?

Was he pushing Ignis away without even realising it?

“I will be here…”

That was an invitation to speak if Prompto had ever heard one. He felt his heart nearly exploding out of his chest in its desperation to spill all of his secrets. He could picture it now; he would start small, divulging one particular detail, and then it would all come out. He’d run like a fountain of secrets, pouring himself out across the kitchen table, breaking himself down into a million pieces that Ignis would have no idea how to put back together.

No.

Those pieces were better off hidden. Prompto couldn’t stand the worst parts of himself through his own eyes. He didn’t think he could survive someone else hating them, too.

He swallowed down the bacon, the pounding of his heart, the faucet of his secrets, and shook his head. “I understand. But I’m fine, really.”

His face remained the same, but Prompto couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just disappointed the man who sat across from him.

Oh well. It’s better than the alternative.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, instead. He put on a show of smiling, and tiredly rubbing his eyes. “I’m kinda tired, after that early start. Mind if I go dump my stuff in my room?”

Ignis looked at him for a long, hard second before nodding. “I’ve set up the guest room for you. You know where it is.”

“Thanks!” Prompto said, hopping down from the table. “And thanks again for the food. It was the best breakfast of my life, for sure.”

Ignis actually smiled at that. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Mm, not as glad as I was to taste it,” Prompto insisted.

Ignis rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. Now go, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” he got up and retrieved his bags and suitcase from where he’d left them in the hall, dragging them into the guest room and dumping them down by the bed.

It was a nice room – airy, despite the fact it was small, with a large window and a queen size bed. The décor was sparse, and with him only being a guest there for a fortnight, he had a feeling it would remain so. It was nice enough, mostly greys and blues, with blank, light grey walls. It was a far cry from his room at home, covered as it was in polaroids and printouts, ticket scraps, game posters, and Chocobo memorabilia.

Still, as he sank back onto the bed, it already felt like home.

-

When Prompto woke up a few hours later, the first thing he noticed was the way his jeans were digging into him uncomfortably. The second thing he noticed was a pair of bright blue eyes, smirking at him from beneath a fringe of jet-black hair.

“Wow,” Noctis said, standing in the doorway, “you actually made it.”

“Good morning yourself,” Prompto said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and sitting up. He’d slept exactly as he’d first collapsed – on his back, in his clothes, feet dangling near the edge of the bed.

“Afternoon, actually,” Noctis corrected him. “Just about.”

“Huh.”

“Specs is making lunch,” the prince continued. “He said to wake you up.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto said, mind still foggy with sleep. “Thanks.”

“I’ll give you a minute to sort yourself out,” the prince said, turning to leave again, fingers curled over the door handle. “And Prom?”, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. His face broke into a grin. “It’s good to have you here.”

“Thanks,” Prompto grinned back as the door clicked shut. He quickly moved to unzip his suitcase and pull out his washbag – he’d unpack later, but right now he needed to clean up a bit. He ran a comb through his hair, sprayed some deodorant under his shirt, and grabbed his toothbrush and paste to take it to the bathroom next door.

He emerged from the bathroom two minutes later and walked, weirdly nervous all of a sudden, into the kitchen.

“You’re awake,” an accented voice remarked.

“Yep,” Prompto smiled warily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ignis reassured him. He looked over to the prince who was sitting at the table, “Besides, Noctis here only just woke up.”

Prompto walked over to his friend. “Hey.”

Noctis smiled easily as he looked up, “Hey yourself.”

Despite the awkwardness at breakfast, the conversation at lunch flowed easily between the three friends. Eventually, they landed on the topic of exams, which prompted Ignis to clear everything up and turn the dining table into a revision station, but the afternoon went by quickly enough.

After a while, Noctis set down his pencil and stretched his arms above his head. “I reckon that’s enough,” he said, glancing towards Ignis to see if the man would stop him. The advisor made no such move. “Well,” he turned to Prompto, “let the fun begin, huh?”

Prompto grinned, slamming his notebook shut without a second glance. “Ready to get absolutely destroyed at Kings Knight?”

Noctis snorted. “I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself.”

They ended up there for a while after that, sat on one of the couches, leant back against either armrest, hiding their tactics from one another – and occasionally delivering a kick when someone was perceived to have ‘crossed the line’. Ignis hovered nearby, periodically bringing snacks of fruit – which only Prompto ate – or pastries, which they both devoured as if their most recent meals had been but a long-forgotten dream.

Shortly before dinner, Gladio arrived, and the three ended up having a rematch of their drunken Mario Kart game that they’d enjoyed a few months prior. It never ended, really. Each time someone won, the other two would cry that he’d cheated, they’d plan to re-hash it out, and the cycle continued. Occasionally, Ignis would join in, too. He’d ask questions as if he didn’t understand, play Princess Peach with the worst possible kart, and then sit forward with a blazing look in his eyes and obliterate them all entirely.

“How about a film tonight?” Ignis asked as the four of them enjoyed their dinner.

Prompto looked up and nodded eagerly. It was like a tap had been turned on somewhere, and now he was drinking up every look, every gesture and touch, every moment spent in the company of his friends. He didn’t want to ever go back.

“What do you wanna watch?” Gladio asked.

“Anything!” he said happily, slurping up his noodles.

“Really, Prompto,” Ignis said, handing him a napkin. “At least pretend to be civilized.” Prompto grinned, ducking his head as he took the napkin from him and wiped at his chin.

“What about The Scion?” Noctis asked.

“Noctis, you can’t just name an entire franchise,” Ignis said, exasperated.

“No, no, he means the new one. With that actor. From the vampire movie,” Gladio said.

Ignis met him with a blank look.

“You know,” Gladio continued, waving his hands around like it would make Ignis understand. “That pouty actor. Sparkles. He was in that other movie, too. With the magic school kids. Still,” he turned to Noctis and Prompto, abandoning his attempt to bring Ignis up to speed with contemporary media. “Isn’t that new movie like three hours long?”

“Umm yah,” Prompto said. “But “that pouty actor” looks fit the entire time. Let’s do it.”

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Alright, then. The Scion it is.”

They got to work, Ignis and Prompto clearing up the kitchen together while Noctis and Gladio moved to the sofas and set up the film.

“Can we make snack trays?” Prompto asked. Ignis’ snack trays were legendary.

“I’m sure we can,” Ignis smiled.

They set them up together, placing two trays on the kitchen counter and loading them up with bowls of popcorn, pretzels, and chocolates.

“Chocolate milkshakes or soft drinks?” Ignis asked.

Prompto pretended to deliberate. “Um… Both?”

Ignis scoffed, but he was already retrieving the chocolate powder from the cupboard when he instructed Prompto to get the coke cans from the fridge. They set them up side by side. Four coke cans and four milkshakes on one tray, which Ignis would carry, and bowls laden full of snacks on the other, for Prompto to bring.

Gladio whistled when the two men walked in. “Well, would ya look at that.”

Noctis grinned at Prompto, gesturing to the sofa beside him. “Dibs next to Prompto.”

The blond pouted dramatically. “Man, you only want me for my snacks.”

“Well, it’s not for your good looks, I’ll tell you that.”

“Bastard,” Prompto muttered, but he was fighting a smile as he took his place beside him.

To their credit, Noctis and Gladio had also done a good job. The main light was off, the room lit by lamps and the large, glowing TV screen, and there were blankets strewn across the sofas. Even the coffee table had been cleared to make room for the trays, which Ignis carefully lowered his down onto.

Prompto allowed his friend to drape a blanket over his shoulders while he kept the tray steady. Then, once Noctis had claimed the bowl of popcorn and Ignis had relieved him of the others and set them down on the table, Prompto pulled the blanket around himself properly and nestled back into the couch.

“Everyone ready?” Gladio asked, hand on the remote.

To the sounds of agreement uttered around mouthfuls of food, Gladio pressed play. The movie night began in earnest.

--BONUS SCENE!! (I am trying so hard to just write one POV but sometimes the urge just *strikes*)--

***

It was quiet, Noctis and Prompto having gone to their respective bedrooms, and Ignis was clearing up the final remnants of their movie night, wiping down the kitchen surfaces while Gladio scrolled through his phone on the sofa.

It was the latter who broke the silence. “You’re not very subtle, ya know.”

Ignis didn’t so much as glance up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh.” A pause. “I’m just saying. You can’t spoil him forever.”

“Who, Noctis?”

“Funny. The blond one.”

Ignis set down the cloth. “I know,” he sighed. “I just – “

“Chocolate milk AND coke?” Gladio turned to face him, one eyebrow raised.

Ignis looked sheepish. “You noticed.”

Gladio snorted. “Not even Noctis gets that kind of treatment.”

“He just seems happier here,” Ignis murmured. “I want to keep it that way.”

“I know you do,” Gladio shook his head. “But stop worrying so much. The kid’s fine.”

Ignis frowned, looking at the clean kitchen without really seeing it. “Well. I do hope you’re right.”

Chapter Text

It’s almost funny, how time works completely differently depending on your surroundings.

One hour in the early days, on an evening when his phone had died, felt easily like several; one evening alone stretched and extended until it had surely been a year; Prompto had spent a whole other lifetime haunting his own empty corridors.

Yet, somehow, a week at Noctis’ had flown by in a blink.

The movie night had been the first of a few, and Prompto had settled into something of a routine – what was probably akin to Noctis’ everyday one, he thought with a jealous twist in his stomach. He woke up to the scents of Ignis cooking breakfast wafting out of the kitchen and into the spare room, and his stomach growled in anticipation every morning as he kicked on his slippers. He’d duck into the bathroom to swill some toothpaste around his mouth – gods knew he didn’t need the mortification of having morning breath in front of Ignis – and run a hand through his hair to get it to quieten down. Then he’d yawn and stretch as he walked into the kitchen, perfectly timed to be as nonchalant and sleepy as possible, as if he’d done none of his previous steps. What do you mean he was putting in effort? This was just how he woke up…

Ignis would look up and smile as he walked in, handing him a plate piled high with good food, and they’d sit together while he enjoyed it, Ignis’ hands wrapped around a mug of Ebony while Prompto devoured his morning feast.

They’d spend far longer than necessary having breakfast together, even taking coffees out onto the balcony one morning when the weather was bright, Ignis chuckling as Prompto accidentally let his own go cold, distracted by taking photographs of the morning light. Prompto could make anything look good through the lens, but it didn’t hurt that Noctis lived in a beautiful neighbourhood.

After breakfast, Prompto would get his books out and sit at the dining table, slogging through his notes with occasional commentary from Ignis – but mostly the advisor left him alone, busy as he was with his own tasks. Around late morning, Noctis would deign to grace them with his presence, and Ignis would get on with cooking lunch. The two younger men spent the afternoons revising, the early evenings walking around the town, wasting time and money together in Insomnia’s arcades, and the nights crashing in front of the TV, determinedly making space in their stomachs for snacks after a delicious, homemade dinner.

Within this haze – this incredible, heavenly dream that his life had turned into – Prompto finally allowed himself to forget about everything else. His parents faded into background noise, humming quietly in the back of his mind, and he forgot about the upcoming Spring Gala completely.

Until one evening, when Ignis came in to make dinner holding several bags. Large bags.

“What’s in the bags, Specs?” Noctis asked, the only indication that he’d briefly looked up from scrolling on his phone. Prompto, also, had glanced up with only the faintest interest before returning to his feed.

“Prompto’s clothing for the gala,” Ignis supplied. That caught their interest. “Fresh from the citadel.” The advisor turned to Prompto, chuckling at the deer-in-headlights vibe the blond knew he was giving off. “Would you care to try it all on?”

“Uhh,” he muttered, intelligently, in response. “Sure. Guess this is really happening, huh.”

“Go on, Prom,” Noctis said, sitting up and looking between Ignis and Prompto with interest. It must be nice, Prompto realised belatedly, to finally have someone his own age having to go through all the ridiculous customs of the Lucian elite. “Let’s see them.”

“Fine,” he scoffed. He walked over to Ignis, took the bags that the advisor offered out to him, and just stood there, waiting. Ignis raised an eyebrow. “Right,” Prompto muttered. “Guess I’ll go try them on, then,” he said, shuffling out of the room towards his own.

“Good luck,” a snigger, almost too quiet to hear, from the prince.

So supportive, he thought as he shouldered his bedroom door open and placed the bags down on his bed.

There were a lot of them. A couple were garment bags – tall ones, with coat hangers at the top, emblazoned with the image of a needle and thread, looping through the Lucian crown on the front, accompanied by the words Royal Dressmakers: Purveyors of Fine Cloth since M.E. 360. Unzipping these bags revealed a crisp, white shirt in one, an embellished black jacket in another, and some well-ironed black trousers in the third, with tiny pinstripes running down the legs.

There was a shoe box, containing a pair of highly polished shoes that he could see his hazy, confused reflection in, while a final box opened to reveal a handful of accessories. A small, navy box opened up to reveal a pair of neatly folded socks, embroidered with his initials in gold lettering.

Prompto sucked in a breath as he lifted them out of the box, turning them over in his hands and watching as the embroidery caught the light, shimmering as it moved.

He shook his head in disbelief, turning back to the bag, and removing the remaining items.

There was a tie and a pair of suspenders – those he could name. Then there was a square of cloth, the same colour as his tie – the same burgundy colour as his favourite tank top, he realised, and he wondered if it was deliberate. At this point …

He lifted up the square of fabric, unfolding it out to see if it contained any clues. Nope. Just a cloth. Maybe a handkerchief? He folded it up again and set it down.

He opened up another navy box to reveal a set of, um. Honestly? He wasn’t sure. There were six small bits of metal in there, two elaborately decorated with the royal coat of arms, and the other four plain. Two small links of chain also lay in the box, too tiny to be for anything useful. Puzzled, he opened the final box. A … shirt collar? He turned back to the original garment bag with the white shirt. It had a sort of collar on it, maybe. Did he need two?

Ugh, he thought running a slightly damp palm through his hair, why was this so hard?

He stared at everything where it was laid out on his bed – it spread across the whole thing, with items drooping slightly over the edge. Was this all for one person?

Stick with what you know, dumbass, he thought as he shucked off his trousers and pulled on the pinstriped black ones. They were stiff, which made putting his socks on a bit of a challenge – there was probably an order to this that he was getting wrong – but he managed. He stood up and looked down at them, turning this way and that. Ignis had done a good job measuring, he thought; they fit his proportions exactly.

He put the shirt on, too, choosing to ignore the second collar, and pulled on the jacket. Hmm. Everything else had fit perfectly but, turning around in front of the mirror, the jacket looked decisively weird.

Whatever.

He struggled to manoeuvre himself into the shoes – again, bad ordering – and looked at the remaining accessories. He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket, did up the tie, and grabbed the bits of metal, holding them uselessly in his hand. He looked in the mirror and grimaced. He looked like a kid playing dress-up.

“Everything okay in there?” Ignis called out, and even through the door, he could tell the man was trying to hide a smile.

“Yeah, come on, Prom,” Noctis called, and Prompto could hear the boy’s shit-eating grin.

“Coming,” he muttered, grabbing the extra white collar in his other hand before opening the bedroom door and walking out into the hall.

Noctis whistled, leaning around the doorway that led to the kitchen and grinning wolfishly. “You know what, you did better than I was expecting.”

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” Ignis said, not unkindly, from where he was standing in the hallway, arms folded appraisingly as he took in Prompto’s slightly dishevelled appearance. How Prompto had achieved that, standing before them in the fanciest clothes money could buy, was a mystery only the Astrals could understand. It was surely a skill, to wear a brand new, royally commissioned suit and look like you slept in it the previous night. “Come in, then.”

Prompto shuffled into the kitchen and stood where Ignis gestured, in the centre of the room. Noctis plopped himself down on one of the sofas, keen to watch the scene unfold.

“Jacket off,” Ignis said. “We’ll have to start with the basics, it seems. Where’s –” he broke off, confused.

“These?” Prompto held up his hand, full of the random bits of metal and the weird, stiff collar.

“Those,” Ignis said blankly as Noctis sniggered behind him.

“I wasn’t sure what, umm – “

“That’s quite alright,” Ignis said, smoothly helping him out of the jacket and placing it on the back of one of the dining room chairs. He turned back to Prompto and frowned. Noctis was barely holding in his laughter. “Were you, perchance, dressing yourself in a rush?”

“Wha –” Prompto looked down and instantly flushed. His shirt buttons were out of sync. “Oh.” He stammered, “I swear I normally don’t do that. I wear shirts all the time, you know, it just, well, I guess it was nerves?”

Noctis finally stopped trying to hold back, tearing up as he laughed. “Nice one, Prom.”

“It’s quite alright, Prompto,” Ignis said, but he was clearly affected by Noctis’ laughter as the corners of his mouth kept quirking up. The embarrassment didn’t help; Prompto’s fingers felt thick and fumbling as he undid and redid all the buttons. “That’s better.”

“You’ve not attached your cufflinks, either,” Ignis noted.

“My what?”

Noctis snorted.

“Now, now,” Ignis admonished him. “That’s quite enough, Your Highness.” The use of Noctis’ title was deliberate and effective; the prince stopped tittering at his friend and looked suitably sheepish. “Cufflinks, Prompto. They keep the shirt sleeves from flapping about.”

“Can’t they just use buttons for that?” Prompto muttered, embarrassed.

“My thoughts exactly,” Ignis said kindly, taking a few of the metal pieces from the small pile on the table. He fixed them so the embellished pieces sat on the outside of the sleeve, while two of the plainer studs secured it from the other side, the small piece of chain joining them up delicately.

“Ah. I hate to ruin your handiwork, Prompto, but I will need you to remove your tie,” the advisor said apologetically.

“That’s okay!” Prompto said, frankly relieved to have something he could do himself.

Ignis took the stiff collar from where he’d placed it on the dining table. “Now this,” he held it up, “is your collar. You attach it,” he turned back to the table and picked up the remaining two of the metal pieces, “with these. Collar studs.”

“Oh.”

“They’re quite fiddly,” Ignis said, coming close, “I’ll do it for you if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, sure,” Prompto wasn’t sure he could get much pinker. “That’s fine.” Ignis’ touch was gentle as he placed the collar around his throat, pulling it closed just above his breastbone. Prompto’s face was far too hot, and his palms too sweaty; he found his eyes flitting uncomfortably around the room as he tried to distract himself from those soft, gloved fingers that danced along his throat.

His eyes landed, instead, on Noctis, who was watching with amused interest. His eyes travelled lazily across Prompto’s flushing face and his eyebrows quirked up. His grin turned from wolfish to practically sadistic. “It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it, Specs?” he asked, eyes on Prompto.

“Is it?” Ignis asked absently. He was oblivious to the face that the blond pulled at Noctis over his shoulder as he fixed the collar in place with the studs, one at the back, and one in the centre at the front. “There we go.”

“Thanks,” Prompto muttered.

“Now for the suspenders,” Ignis said, admiring his handiwork on Prompto’s collar.

Oh, shit. “On it!” Prompto squeaked, running back to his bedroom to pick up the suspenders that he’d left, forgotten, on the bed. “Ok, I’m back,” he said, handing over the suspenders to Ignis. Noctis just shook his head.

“These are quite simple,” Ignis said. “They clip at the back here –” he walked behind him and attached the clasp to the centre of his waistband – “and come over the front to attach here and here,” he said, sliding them carefully over Prompto’s shoulders and attaching them at the front.

“Looking good, Prom,” Noctis smiled encouragingly, apparently deciding to give being a malicious piece of shit a rest.

Ignis hummed in agreement.

“Thanks,” Prompto muttered, face still warm.

“Alright,” Ignis said. “Let’s put your tie back on and then we can move on to your jacket.”

“I don’t think I did that one quite right,” Prompto confessed, thinking of the way it hung weirdly off his frame.

“No shit,” Noctis snorted.

Back to being a malicious piece of shit, huh.

“It’s quite alright,” Ignis said, coming close once again – gods, Prompto just couldn’t catch a break today – to loop the tie around the back of his neck. His green eyes were calm and focused as he methodically worked on the tie. Prompto looked away.

“The jacket is quite complex to someone unfamiliar with it,” Ignis admitted, helping Prompto ease his arms into the sleeves. “It attaches here, you see,” he said, gesturing at a small button and strap he’d missed earlier, “and then you can fix the front part like so –” another smooth movement – “and it all comes together.” He took a step back and studied his work, frowning slightly. “We’re missing something.”

“Oh!” Prompto grinned. “You mean the hanky? I put it here –” He pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket and held it up. A pause. A beat of silence. And then howling laughter from Noctis, and a failed attempt from Ignis to keep a straight face.

“Right,” the advisor said, the only words he could get out around the twitching of his mouth.

“Wh-what?” Prompto stammered, blushing furiously. He looked to Noctis for support – a misguided decision, certainly, as he was met with nothing but cackling from Noctis, who was apparently only further entertained by the baffled indignance on his best friend’s face.

Ignis cleared his throat and composed himself. “Apologies, Prompto.” He took the handkerchief-that-was-probably-something-else. “It’s a pocket square, not a handkerchief.” Prompto looked at him blankly. “It’s, ah, for decoration. You place it in your jacket pocket, here,” he said.

“Oh,” Prompto looked down, heat still burning in his cheeks. “You could have just said that,” he muttered, sulkily.

Ignis exhaled. “You’re right, Prompto. Apologies,” he said. Prompto continued to glower at the floor. He was both parts high on the attention and sulking about the nature of it. It was a confusing mix. “Here,” Ignis slid the cloth into the chest pocket of Prompto’s jacket and carefully adjusted it. “You’re all done, now.” He slid a gloved finger beneath Prompto’s chin, guiding his face up, frowning slightly in concentration. “One final step –” he muttered, sweeping Prompto’s flyaway hair from his forehead – “and done.”

Prompto finally met his eyes, searching for what the advisor saw in his assessment of the completed outfit – only to find Ignis’ own eyes staring, slightly startled, back. Prompto stood like that for a second – frozen despite the heat still coursing through his body, pulse beating wildly in his ears – before the advisor cleared his throat and stepped back.

“Not bad for a commoner,” Noctis teased, blissfully unaware of the weird, tense moment that had just passed between two of his best friends. His dark eyebrows raised as he took in the outfit in its final form. “You look incredible.”

“Indeed, he does,” Ignis agreed, and was that – was that the advisor blushing?

“Who would have thought, huh,” Noctis grinned, walking over. Prompto poked his tongue out, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a rush of warmth from his friends’ approval. “Go check it out,” Noctis said. “You should see it.”

Prompto nodded and left the kitchen for his room, polished shoes clicking on the tiled floor of the hallway. He ducked into his room, looked at his reflection in the mirror on the wall, and –

Stared.

Just stared.

A handsome, slender young man, dressed to the nines in Lucian finery, blond hair swept neatly out of his face, stared back. Prompto tilted his head to the side; the other boy did, too.

“What do you think, Prom?” Noctis asked, poking his head around the door.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. “I look – I mean, I look good.”

Noctis snorted. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“It’s weird, though,” Prompto continued, turning this way and that.

“Good weird?”

“Sure,” Prompto nodded, slightly unsure. “Good weird.”

“Well, come back out when you’re ready,” Noctis said. “Specs said you’ll probably need help getting out of it all again.”

Prompto nodded, giving the startled blond boy in the mirror one last wistful glance before he ducked out of the room to follow his friend.

When he stumbled, tiredly, back into his room that night to go to bed, he lingered by the mirror. A scrawny, scruffy boy in boxers, a hoodie and a pair of bright yellow slippers stared back. He looked kind, comfortable, familiar.

But when he arched his back the way the jacket had made him stand earlier, when he swept his unruly locks firmly out of his face, the ghost of that boy – the one he’d seen before – shimmered, almost imperceptibly, into view.

He stared, turning this way and that as he kept up the illusion. The boy mirrored every action – his twin, a stranger, a reflection that Prompto had scrutinised a million times but that appeared now before him in a way that he could barely understand.

He simply stared.

The boy, naturally, stared right back.

Chapter Text

“Aw, man, I can’t believe I missed that,” Gladio huffed the next evening as Noctis recounted Prompto’s outfit shenanigans.

“You’ll see him in it all in what - four days?” Noctis shrugged, oblivious to the way his words had just made Prompto’s stomach drop.

Four days?

His holiday at Noctis’ was really flying by; the Spring Gala was something of a finale to the whole affair, as he’d depart the day after, when the prince went away to go fishing with his father, and Prompto returned to see his parents – supposedly back in Insomnia after a two-week business trip.

(Prompto was dreading going home. He was also trying not to think about it.)

“It is fast approaching,” Ignis agreed. “I hope you’re all ready for it. I want everyone’s best faces forward. Noctis –” he turned to the prince, eyes narrowing – “that means no rolling your eyes when people are talking to you –”

“But that was –”

“I don’t care,” Ignis said, in a tone of voice that instantly shut him up. “I will not have it happen again.”

“Got it,” Noctis scowled.

“Good,” Ignis smiled, something steely still glinting in his eyes. He could be remarkably scary when he wanted to be, Prompto thought, glad he’d never been on the receiving end of such aggressive inflection. “And Gladio –”

Prompto held back a laugh when Gladio coughed and sat up a little straighter; the blond clearly wasn’t the only one keen to stay on Ignis’ good side.

“Your shirt stays on.”

“Woah,” Gladio began indignantly, “that –”

“I don’t care if it was at an after-party,” Ignis sniffed. “It made its way onto your moogle image search results, and it was a nightmare to get it all removed. It will not happen again.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio huffed. He was only half-joking.

“Prompto –”

“Yes!” he squeaked.

Ignis looked at him for a second, before smiling. “Remember to have fun.”

“Oh, right!” he said, exhaling with relief. Noctis rolled his eyes, still sulking.

“My final point –” Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose – “is please refrain from excessive drinking. I know there’ll be plenty of opportunities for it, and you are of course encouraged to relax after the dinner is over, but if I see any of you stumbling around on the dance floor –"

“The what now?” Prompto interrupted, looking around the room to see if anyone was laughing – to make sure this was just another joke that he wasn’t yet in on. The boys looked serious. If anything, they looked surprised at Prompto’s interjection.

“The dance floor, Prom,” Noctis repeated Ignis’ words.

“Dance floor,” Prompto echoed. “What?”

Gladio’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Blondie here doesn’t know how to dance, is that it?”

“It would certainly seem so.”

“Did you not realise?” Noctis asked.

Everyone was speaking at once. Prompto just stared at them in disbelief. “Like, formal dancing?” he squeaked out eventually, “or like, Shakira?”

“Oh man,” Gladio snorted, “I might have missed Prom playing dress-up, but at least I’m here for this.”

“Shut up,” Prompto glared at him. They’d been talking about the Spring Gala for months, and no one had ever bothered to say there’d be formal dancing. “Why didn’t anyone warn me?”

“It’s the Spring Gala,” Ignis said, faintly. “It’s an incredibly well-publicised, annual event.”

“It’s literally a ball,” Noctis said bluntly.

“Oh I’m sorry, Cinderella,” Prompto snorted.

Noctis scrunched up his nose in response.

“What am I meant to do?” Prompto asked. “How am I going to learn how to dance in four days?”

A beat passed – a brief moment shared between Ignis, Gladio and Noctis – before they all turned to face him. Noctis spoke. “We’ll teach you.”

Prompto gulped. “Right.”

The layout of Noctis’ apartment meant it was mostly made up of a sort of open-plan living area – bigger than Prompto’s whole floor plan – that felt pretty spacious even at the worst of times. With the dining table tucked against the wall and one of the sofas moved out of the way, it was positively cavernous.

“There we are,” Ignis said, adjusting the volume of the hi-fi system so they could hear slow, instrumental music coming out of it.

“A waltz,” Prompto realised. He might not be a classical music buff, but he knew enough to feel the rhythmic, three-beat timing and infer what that meant.

“Precisely,” Ignis looked faintly proud.

“See. I know some stuff,” he muttered.

“Nothing useful,” Gladio teased.

“Alright then,” Ignis clapped his hands, silencing the bickering going on between Prompto and Gladio. “Prompto, if you get into position, we can teach you the steps.” He held his arms out in a funny way, face expectant – but expecting what, Prompto had no idea. “Well?”

“Uhh. Position?”

Realisation dawned on Ignis at the same time as Gladio and Noctis started giggling behind him.

“Not gonna happen,” Gladio laughed, patting Ignis affectionately on the shoulder. “Take it right back to basics.”

“Right.” He sighed and nodded. “Let’s show them how it’s done, then, Gladio. Noctis and Prompto, you two can partner up and emulate.”

Prompto nodded and glanced awkwardly at his friend – making eye contact at precisely the same time that Noctis glanced awkwardly at him. They both looked away pretty quickly. “Um, okay. Coolio.”

“One of you leads, and the other partner follows,” Ignis said. “This is typically decided by age; the younger following the older. In the military and court, rank takes precedence. However, if you are approached by someone you are unfamiliar with, it is the person who asked for the dance who will lead it. Given that, Prompto, you should always find yourself in the ‘following’ position.”

Prompto nodded. It was already a lot.

“Noctis, you are proficient enough in your leading position, I hope?” it was framed as a question, but there was something of a parental threat buried in Ignis’ inflection.

“Yes,” Noctis said, still avoiding Prompto’s eye contact. “I know it.”

“Wow, Cinderella’s done her homework,” Prompto smirked.

Noctis flushed furiously. “Shut up.”

“And I thought being the prince was all about diplomacy and battle,” he sighed. “Didn’t realise you were such a lover-boy, Your Highness.”

“Try not to tease him too much, Prompto,” Ignis sighed.

“Yeah,” Gladio snorted. “At least he already knows how to dance.”

That humbled Prompto slightly, so he decided not to do the pirouette and mock swoon he’d just been about to throw himself into.

“Alright,” Ignis said. “Take your position, please. Just copy what Gladio and I do.” He opened his arms into the funny shape he’d done before but this time, like magic, Gladio slotted in exactly right. Their hands were clasped together to one side, Gladio’s other hand resting on Ignis’ shoulder, while Ignis’ rested in the small of his back.

Prompto had seen a lot of ‘manly affection’ in his time integrating into Noctis’ friendship group – had slowly gotten used to the barrage of pats, headlocks, and shoulder bumps that he found himself on the receiving end of, drawing him out of his shell until he was just as likely to initiate as he was to receive. No one flinched when they came home to find Noctis and Prompto sat, resting on each other, on the sofa together. And Prompto had seen Gladio deliver all manner of headlocks and mock assaults that invariably put his victim on the ground beneath him.

This, however, was not familiar territory. Ignis and Gladio, holding one another by the waist? Yep – this definitely took the cake.

“Right then,” Prompto said, suddenly as pink as Noctis.

The prince held his arms out, the same way that Ignis had done, and Prompto did his best to copy the way the shield had slotted into place. He clasped Noctis’ hand – probably no damper than his own – and rested his other hand on the side of the prince’s arm. He nearly flinched when he felt a warm, gentle touch on the small of his back as Noctis pulled him slightly closer.

“Well, this is affectionate,” he muttered. Noctis didn’t reply.

“Ah, you’re nearly there,” Ignis said, materialising next to them. “Mind if I?” He lifted Prompto’s hand from Noctis’ arm and placed it on his shoulder instead. Prompto could feel the tension in the muscles beneath his best friend’s shirt. “Noctis, do try to relax,” Ignis said, shifting the prince’s position too so his feet were slightly more evenly spaced. “That’s it.”

“Well isn’t this a pretty picture,” Gladio chuckled.

“Jealous, big guy?” Prompto winked over Noctis’ shoulder.

“Ask me again when you know how to dance,” Gladio raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

The two older men resumed their dancing position to demonstrate some simple steps. The music was slow, lilting, and calm; they glided around the living room as if they had skates on, not shoes.

“Looks easy enough,” Prompto muttered. Noctis huffed a quiet laugh.

The prince was right to be sceptical; the next twenty minutes were full of the two boys stepping on one another’s toes, going to move in different directions, and missing the beats of the music. It was infinitely harder than it had looked.

After another ten minutes of gentle coaching by Ignis, and less-gentle coaching by Gladio, the boys were still getting nowhere.

“This clearly isn’t working,” Ignis sighed as they pulled apart once more, quietly wiping sweaty palms on their trousers while they cringed over their constant mistakes.

“It’s hard, trying to lead it,” Noctis complained. “All the steps go in the opposite direction.”

Ignis deliberated. “Alright. Perhaps we’re trying to achieve too much at once.” He clicked his teeth impatiently at Noctis, who was glowering impressively. “Alright then, Noct, you can show Prompto how the ‘following’ part is done, and Gladio can lead him through it.”

Wait. Prompto was dancing with Gladio, now? He risked a glance up at the man’s face, up past his endless, stupid wall of muscle, to find the shield already smirking down at him. “Don’t look so scared, kid. I’ll be gentle,” he teased.

“Great,” he muttered. “This is just great.”

If Prompto had thought that Ignis and Gladio looked like a great pair, it was nothing compared to the way Ignis and Noctis fit together, the advisor’s hand resting delicately in the small of the prince’s back, which was arched slightly as he reached up to rest his hand on Ignis’ shoulder. For a moment, they were frozen, like figurines on a mantlepiece – gods, Prompto wished he had his camera – and then they began to move. Noctis’ once-stilted, awkward movements turned fluid as he relaxed into a role that he’d clearly danced a thousand times.

“Wow,” Prompto murmured, watching with jealous awe as the two moved around the room.

This, possibly more than anything else, reminded him of the worlds between himself and his best friend; as Ignis and Noctis danced around the room, with a grace that could only be earned through years of patient practice, a whole new part of Noctis’ life as the Prince of Lucis was made visible before his staring eyes.

“Good, aren’t they?” Gladio murmured back. Prompto just nodded.

“Our turn, then?” Gladio patted him on the back, pulling him away.

“Right.” He slotted himself into Gladio’s waiting arms, trying not to notice how massive the shield’s palm was as he rested his hand in it. His own looked ridiculously pale next to Gladio’s tanned skin. He reached up to place his other hand on the shield’s shoulder and felt the man place a firm hand on his back, expecting it this time as he was pulled a little closer.

It felt completely different.

Where Noctis was awkward, careful, and unsure, Gladio was decisive, firm, constant. All of a sudden, Prompto didn’t need to worry about where he was dancing to next; Gladio simply moved him there, and he let himself follow. The pressure in the small of his back was hot and firm, and – coupled with the encouraging words that Gladio whispered to him as they moved – allowed him to finally start to enjoy it.

“There we go,” Gladio breathed.

If Prompto had seen himself doing this just weeks ago, he would have died on the spot. Even today, with months of building up a friendship, and a whole week living in fairly close proximity to the man, he had to force it out of his mind that this was Gladiolus Amicitia lest he step on his own feet and completely sabotage the dance.

Gladio didn’t give him much time to think about it, though, guiding him this way and that, adding twists and steps and changes of direction that brought life to what Prompto had previously thought of as an incredibly dull form of dancing.

He was out of breath when the song ended, and Gladio let him go. “Not bad, kid,” the older man smiled.

“Not bad yourself,” he grinned back.

“Nice work,” Noctis said as the blond walked over to him, accepting the glass of water he held out.

“Thanks,” he gasped between gulps. It had looked both mentally and physically effortless; it had turned out to be neither. “You and Specs looked good, by the way.”

“Jealous?” Noctis smirked.

“You wish,” he jerked his head back towards Gladio. “We make a good team.”

“Well that’s certainly a good thing,” Ignis remarked beside them. “Noctis and I customarily dance together at these events, so it works well for the two of you to pair off.”

“Things will start switching around later in the night,” Noctis told Prompto, “but it’s good to go in knowing your dance partner for the beginning of it.”

“Okay, cool,” he nodded.

“Prompto’s a lucky kid,” Gladio said, puffing his chest out. “I’m in high demand.”

Prompto snorted. “Well, I can’t promise that I’ll be any good, but at least I’ve got the basics!”

The prospect of dancing in front of a hall full of Lucian aristocrats was still by all means a terrifying one. But as the evening wore on, and they went over the steps again and again, he felt confident that he would at least be okay. Perhaps he spoke too soon.

“Shit, sorry –” he cried, tripping over Gladio’s foot, and heading, embarrassingly, straight for the floor.

Gladio moved like lightning. One second, his hand was lightly resting on the small of his back, the other loosely holding Prompto’s own; the next second he was leaning right over him, supporting his whole weight on his forearm, gripping the other hand to stop Prompto from falling too far.

“We’re levelling up,” he grinned, as he held Prompto there for a fraction of a beat before rising up again to resume the box step they’d been working through.

“Impressive,” Ignis deadpanned from somewhere to their right. “I didn’t realise you’d be dipping him.”

“I think I sort of dipped myself,” Prompto muttered, flushing scarlet.

“See?” Gladio chuckled quietly as they kept dancing around the room. “Even if you fuck it up, you won’t make a fool of yourself.”

“You won’t let me,” Prompto laughed.

“Nope,” Gladio grinned. “It’ll make me look like a fool, too. And that doesn’t work well with getting all the ladies.”

“All the ladies,” Prompto echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Gods forbid you leave any for the rest of us.”

Gladio simply huffed a laugh in response, and the pair danced on.

By the time they took a second break, Prompto was confident he could get through the dances without making a fool of himself - if nothing else, Gladio would make sure of that.

He was still catching his breath –lying like a dead man over the back of the sofa, head on the seat with his legs over the headrest, arms flopped dramatically on either side – when Gladio walked over to the hi-fi system and changed the music. Something lively, with a solid beat, and some weird, wailing instrument blasted out through the speakers.

“Oh, please, Gladio,” Ignis sighed, pinching his nose in exasperation.

The music was weird. Wild. It made Prompto want to get up and move around. Dance, or run around, or maybe fight. “What is – “

“Bagpipes,” Noctis grinned.

“The music of the Lucian Outlands,” Gladio declared. “In other words, the shit they get the band playing once everyone’s drunk as fuck and all the oldies have gone to bed.”

“Is this really necessary?” Ignis asked.

“Oh, come on,” Gladio rolled his eyes. “We just taught Prompto your fancy crap. He’ll no longer disgrace himself in front of the king –” Prompto swallowed at the reminder that that had been a possibility – “now let him prove himself in front of all the people who actually matter.”

Prompto snorted at the implication. He quickly silenced himself when he saw Ignis’ haughty expression. The advisor raised an eyebrow as he looked between Noctis and Gladio. The two looked back at him in earnest. Prompto’s eyes flitted in between them, trying to work out who would win, when: “Fine.”

Gladio whooped, turning up the music and turning to Prompto with something of a sadistic glint in his eyes. “Now for the real stuff.”

It was a completely different style of dancing; led by the percussion, bagpipes and fiddle, the music had the three of them whirling around the living room, in fairly simple steps that built up on one another, going faster and faster. Prompto turned this way and that, linking arms with Noctis, then Gladio, and eventually even dragging Ignis in for one of the better-known songs.

It was almost comical, watching the advisor dance with such abandon having just been instructed by him in ballroom dancing, but he was no less skilled at this as he was at anything – he knew all the steps by heart, and it was Prompto who kept stepping on his feet, not the other way around.

At some point, Gladio got some beers out of the fridge – “it’s all part of the culture,” he’d assured him – and the room had become a lilting, whirling experience of lights, grins, and music.

And so, the evening passed. Every time Prompto got tired, and collapsed onto the sofa, Noctis or Gladio would appear above him, hand outstretched, grin plastered over their face, and drag him back into it. He’d run to the dining table, down a mouthful of cold, refreshing beer, and launch into the next dance.

Song after song after song.

It was brilliant.

“I think that’s quite enough,” Ignis said from behind him, holding Prompto’s shoulders from where he’d just prevented the young man from sliding straight into the living room cabinet.

“No fair,” Prompto slurred slightly. “Wanna keep dancing.”

Noctis made a sound of agreement. “Yeah,” he said. “Let us dance, Specs.” His point didn’t quite convince the advisor, however; Noctis was nodding emphatically to a point just to the left of where Ignis actually stood.

“Not a chance,” Ignis said.

“What?” The prince was indignant. Also, squinting. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fucked,” Ignis remarked, sending Prompto into a fit of giggles.

“He’s not fucked,” Gladio argued. “They’re both a bit tipsy, maybe.”

“Really, Gladio, you could have exercised a little more responsibility here. They’re seventeen.”

“Mm’eighteen,” Noctis mumbled.

“He’s eighteen,” Gladio said, pointing at Noctis as if to say ‘good point well made’. “Prom, you’re eighteen, too, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he hiccupped loudly. When had that started? “I had my birthday ages ago.”

“Even so,” Ignis said briskly, still not letting go of Prompto’s shoulders. It was nice, he thought stupidly. Besides, he’d probably fall if the advisor didn’t keep him upright, so it was also necessary. “They’re still in school. And they’re completely drunk.”

“I wouldn’t go that – oh shit –” The end of that sentence was neither heard nor indeed would it have been true; Gladio grabbed the prince’s shoulders and pushed his head down into the nearest bin. He was not one second too early. “Better out than in,” Gladio murmured soothingly, rubbing the prince’s back. He looked guiltily at Ignis. “Alright, maybe they’ve had a bit too much.”

Ignis only sniffed in response. A bad move, Prompto figured, seeing as Noctis had just puked.

“Alright kids, you heard the man,” Gladio clapped his hands together. “Bedtime.”

“Don’t wanna,” Prompto hiccupped again, and frowned. When had he even got the hiccups?

“Come on, Princess,” Gladio said, steering Noctis out of the bin and towards his bedroom. “You’ve got Prom?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I’ve got Prompto,” Ignis affirmed.

“Why d’ya always call me that?” Prompto whined as Ignis walked him towards his bedroom. The apartment was swaying slightly underfoot but, thankfully, he didn’t feel sick. Just distant. Fuzzy. Happy.

“Your name?” Ignis asked.

“Prompto,” he nodded. “You never say ‘Prom’.”

“Oh,” Ignis said. He sounded genuinely surprised. “I hadn’t realised you wanted me to.”

Prompto shrugged. It came out more of a lurch, and Ignis’ grip tightened temporarily while he regained his balance. “Don’t mind. Just noticed.”

“Well,” the advisor said, “whatever you’d prefer is perfectly fine with me.” Prompto just shrugged again. It had felt important a moment ago, but now it didn’t. “I trust you can brush your teeth without assistance?”

“Yup,” he said. And he did. When he came out of the bathroom, freshened up and ready for bed, Ignis was waiting outside the door. It was nice – caring in a way that Prompto wasn’t used to – and he felt a lump form in the back of his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had been around to put him to bed, but Ignis waiting for him now made him feel all of about five years old. His eyes prickled with tears, and he stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around Ignis’ chest. “Missed you,” he mumbled into his shirt.

The advisor stiffened in surprise, before petting him affectionately – if a little bemusedly – on the top of his head. “Time for bed?” he asked, gently. Prompto nodded, sniffled, and pulled away. He followed Ignis into the spare bedroom. “Here you are,” Ignis said, gesturing to the bed. He’d fluffed up the pillow and peeled back the duvet; Prompto shucked off his trousers and climbed in, tears prickling once again at the corners of his eyes. Gods. Being drunk was so emotional.

“Drink this, please,” Ignis said, holding out a glass of water. Prompto accepted, holding the glass carefully as he drank. “It’ll help you in the morning, I’m sure,” the advisor said, looking somewhat regretful.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Prompto said, lying down and pulling the duvet up to his chin. “Thanks f’r everything.”

“You’re very welcome,” Ignis smiled. “Now, goodnight, Prompto.”

“Wait –” he called out. “Wait.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Mm. I just –” he thought of his dad, of Ignis, waiting by the door, of Ignis tucking him to bed, of his empty apartment – “I know I haven’t been telling you everything, and –”

“Shh,” Ignis said. “Not now, Prompto.”

“But –”

“No,” the advisor shook his head. “I won’t take advantage of your situation. You can tell me when you’re ready, not because you’re drunk.”

“Oh.”

Ignis placed a hand on Prompto’s forehead, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. Prompto hummed, relaxing into the touch, sleep already trying to pull him under.

“Goodnight, Prompto,” Ignis said softly.

Prompto might have mumbled a reply, he might have not. All he knew, as Ignis left the room and clicked the door shut behind him, was that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There were a million words he wanted to tell his friends, and ‘goodnight’ didn’t scratch the surface.

Soon, he thought sleepily. I’ll tell them soon…

When he slept, Prompto was Alice again, still falling down that rabbit hole. He dreamt of music – of loud music and dancing, footsteps and grins, objects that glimmered and sparkled as they went past. And down, further, he tumbled, dreaming of whirling patterns of colours and light. Amber, for Gladio. Blue, for Noct. And green. He dreamt of bright green eyes, at the centre of everything, ready to catch him as he fell.  

He might just keep falling. Maybe even forever. But if he ever did land – if solid ground ever formed again beneath his feet – he hoped that he was right. That those eyes would see him. And they’d catch him.

Just in time.

Chapter Text

They looked like a boy band.

Well. They looked like a boy band would look if they were typically made up of incredibly well-dressed aristocrats.

Prompto was back in his newly-acquired finery, having got himself into it with considerably less difficulty than last time – although not without some help. He was standing in the doorway of Noctis’ kitchen, gaping slightly at the image of the three young men who waited for him inside, champagne flutes already in hand.

“There you are,” Noctis grinned, holding one out for him.

“Thanks,” he took the champagne and sipped it, pulling a slight face at the taste.

Ignis chuckled. “Not to your liking?”

“No!” Prompto cried. “I mean, yes! Um. What I mean is. It’s fine.”

“It costs a few thousand Gil a bottle,” Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Should hope it’s a bit more than ‘fine’.”

Prompto baulked, looking down at his glass.

“Don’t tease him like that,” Ignis sighed, shaking his head. He turned to Prompto. “He’s exaggerating.” A pause. “Slightly.”

“Right.”

Ignis smiled. He really did look stunning. Prompto had not thought the man could have got much smarter than he usually was, but oh how wrong he’d been. Ignis was dressed in the same exquisite finery as Prompto, all greys and blacks, with accents of deep purple.

Noctis, of course, was in rich black, from the tip of his inky, dark hair all the way down to the soles of his boots.

Gladio looked positively formidable, a wall of muscle in the uniform of the Shield. “Like what you see?” he winked.

Prompto rolled his eyes. “I could ask the same thing,” he replied, gesturing down to his own finery. “Now you finally get to see it.”

“Suits you,” Gladio admitted. “You’re looking good, Blondie.”

Even Prompto had to admit he didn’t hate it; as much as he had been a slower dresser than the others, still getting to grips with all of the outfit’s various components, he was also the last one ready because he’d spent a full minute just stood in front of his mirror. Staring, like last time, as that aristocratic blond boy shimmered back into view, all angles and elegance, a stranger with his face.

They were starting to get to know one another.

“Want to get a photo?” Noctis asked, at his side. Prompto blinked at him in surprise. “Well, you know. It’s the first royal event all four of us are going to.”

Prompto’s face melted into a grin. The four of us. “Sure.”

They balanced Prompto’s camera on the living room cabinet, Prompto arranging his three friends properly before setting the timer and running in to join them. He tacked himself onto the end of the group and threw his arm around Gladio, smiling for the camera. The four held their position as the red light beeped a countdown, before relaxing when they heard the shutter click.

“We ought to take another,” Ignis noted. “Just in case.”

Prompto hummed in agreement, setting up the camera a second time. He started the timer, darting back to his previous place next to Gladio when the prince grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle. He had just enough time to grin at the camera, friends’ arms snaking across his shoulders, then – Click.

“Perfect,” Ignis said. Prompto felt a twinge of loss as they pulled their arms back off again, leaving residual traces of warmth behind. “Now, let’s hurry this along a little.”

Gladio looked out the window of the apartment down to the ground level. “Car’s here,” he announced. “Come on, Princess,” he winked, “your carriage awaits.”

If anything, ‘carriage’ was an understatement.

An honest-to-gods stretch limousine, with more champagne in the backseat – Prompto had a feeling he’d be swimming in the stuff by the end of the night – waited for them outside Noctis’ apartment block.

“Isn’t this a bit overkill?” Prompto asked, shifting in his stiff leather seat. The formalwear wasn’t the comfiest of clothing to sit down in, and something was digging into his back where he lent against the seat.

“Nah, it’s good for the cameras,” Gladio winked. “Got to make a good first appearance when you’ve got the Prince of Lucis on board.”

The prince in question was scowling slightly, hands curled into fists atop his lap. Prompto watched as Ignis leant towards him and murmured something in his ear, noticing the way the prince relaxed slightly, uncurling his hands. He felt a pang of sympathy for him; public events really weren’t Noctis’ thing.

If Prompto had known what was coming, he might have been more nervous, too.

He followed Gladio out of the car to a veritable lightning storm of camera flashes, cries for attention from journalists and cameramen and – someone pinch him now – a red carpet leading from the car all the way up to the entrance of the palace proper.

“Amicitia!” someone cried, and Gladio held a hand up appreciatively at the crowd. Camera lights flashed. Prompto stared as Noctis climbed out of the backseat, to a rising clamour of shouts and flashes, Ignis ducking out of the car just behind him. The prince gave a tight wave to the crowd. From where he stood, swimming in attention and noise, Prompto could see the strain in Noctis’ movements, could read the steadying hand Ignis had placed at the dip of the young man’s spine. But to the cameras, here he was: the brooding, secretive prince, smiling happily for the crowd.

“Hey,” Noctis muttered, bumping shoulders with him.

“Hey yourself,” Prompto replied.

“Smile, boys,” Gladio grinned, patting them on the back. He directed them by the shoulders, so they faced the cameras.

“Your Highness!” “Here!” “Perfect!”

It was dizzying. Prompto grinned through it, doing his best impression of the celebrities that peppered his news feeds. Just smile, and walk, and smile, and –

“Nice work, Prom,” Gladio muttered, as the four of them finally left the crowd behind and stepped in through the doors.

“What the fuck was that?” was all he could say in response.

“Publicity,” Ignis remarked dryly. “The appeasement of the masses.”

“Oh, come on,” Gladio scoffed. “You know you love it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Noctis muttered. He sounded as strained as he’d looked.

“Now come along,” Ignis said, “we’re hardly done yet.”

The next step turned out to be a formal entrance into the ballroom, in which the others were addressed by their formal titles – Noctis’ went on for fucking ever – and Prompto, finally, was announced as ‘Friend to the Prince’.

It had a nice ring to it.

The aristocracy was honestly more intimidating than the cameras, and Prompto’s face burned as he entered the room to the eager eyes of Lucis’ most wealthy and influential people. He felt like bait, being slowly lowered into a shark tank. Entering the crowd, he hung to Gladio’s side as if they were actually going into battle, trying to draw strength from the mere presence of the shield. Gladio – thank the gods – didn’t say anything about it.

“You made it,” a deep, kind voice beside them, addressing Noctis and pulling him into a warm embrace. Prompto turned to look, saw the deep black hair buried briefly in the crook of Noctis’ neck, and then the man stood upright again and –

And –

“You must be Prompto.”

“Um. Hi!” Prompto squeaked. “Uhh, yes. And you must be the King. Um. Your Majesty. Sir!”

The King quirked an eyebrow, humour dancing in his eyes. “Indeed, I must be.”

Oh my gods, kill me now.

He thankfully didn’t dwell on embarrassing him. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Prompto. Noct talks about you all the time.”

Prompto’s brain was moments from short-circuiting completely. The prince talks about him … to the King? He tried to gather himself. “It’s nice to meet you too, Your Majesty.”

Better. Just do it more like that.

“Oh, please,” the king smiled. “You’re a friend to my son. Regis is fine.”

Prompto simply stared.

“Thanks, dad,” Noctis muttered. “You’ve broken his brain.”

The King chuckled. “I should hope not.” He smiled once more at Prompto. “Please do enjoy yourself.” He lowered his voice theatrically. “Don’t mind the nobility. Their bark is worse than their bite,” he winked.

Then he straightened, greeted Ignis and Gladio, and moved on, distracted by a quiet announcement from a member of his personal guard, to which he frowned, nodded, and walked off into the crowd. His cane clicked smartly along the tiled floor as he went.

“So,” Noctis said. “That’s my dad.”

“Your dad,” Prompto echoed. His brain was nowhere to be found. “Yup.”

“Noctis, if you don’t mind,” Ignis said sternly, holding out an arm. “I believe we have rounds to make.”

Noctis shot Prompto a look that was both pissed off and apologetic. “I hate this part,” he scowled. “See ya later, Prom.”

Prompto barely had time to utter a responding ‘see ya’ when the advisor had steered him away, into the waiting crowd. He turned to Gladio. “What’s that about?”

“Royal duties,” Gladio grimaced. “Noctis has to greet all the guests, make an appearance, small talk and all that.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, it’s not his favourite thing in the world,” Gladio admitted. “Still, at least we don’t have to do that shit, huh?” Prompto nodded, grateful. “Come on, let’s go get drinks.”

They wandered over to a table lining the side of the room; glasses of every conceivable shape and size were lined up, polished to a shine, alongside bottles of the finest-looking wines and champagnes that Prompto had ever seen. He accepted the glass that Gladio held out to him, and they stood there on the sidelines, just enjoying their drinks.

Prompto’s eyes flickered across the crowd, taking in the guests in all their finery. It was a sea of stunning dresses intermingled with the finest suits, peppered in with the military uniforms of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive. Some of the men wore older uniforms, the kind that Prompto had only seen in photographs, with lines of colourful badges decorating their chests, contrasting against greying hair.

“Wait – “ Prompto gaped. “Is that –”

Somewhere in the crowd, he’d spotted a tall, slender woman in a designer dress, black hair framing sharp features. He’d seen that face a million times, on billboards and in magazines.

Gladio followed Prompto’s eye line and smirked. “Oh yeah, there’s a couple of celebrities here, too.” He laughed. “What, did you think it was just a load of old military farts?”

Prompto swallowed, shaking his head. He knew the Spring Gala extended invitations to some of Insomnia’s rich and famous – especially those involved in philanthropy and the like – but there was a difference between knowing that and seeing a supermodel in the flesh.

He stared after her, up on his toes, peering through the throng.

“Gladio,” a friendly voice at their side. Prompto dropped back onto his heels and turned to see a dark-haired man in Kingsglaive uniform.

“Nyx,” Gladio greeted him casually, earning himself a raised eyebrow. He stalled. “Uhh. Sir.”

“I’m kidding,” Nyx laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.” His gaze slid over to Prompto, who was half-hiding at Gladio’s side. “And you must be …?”

“Prompto,” he said, realising it was a question. “Prompto Argentum.”

“Prompto,” Nyx repeated slowly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Noctis’ school friend,” Gladio said, answering the unspoken question.

Understanding dawned on his face. “Ahh, I get it. Sorry Prompto,” he winked. “Didn’t realise His Highness had any.”

Prompto joined in as they laughed, picking uncomfortably at the hem of his jacket.

“You don’t mind if I steal Gladio for a minute, do you?” Nyx asked. He was barely looking at Prompto, clearly expecting this to go his way.

Yes! Yes, I do! Don’t leave me! Prompto wanted to say, but he just nodded and squeaked out “Sure!”.

“Thanks, kid,” Nyx said, throwing an arm around the young shield’s shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”

Gladio had a moment to turn back, smiling apologetically – “Don’t worry, Prom, I’ll be right back” – and then he was gone. Prompto was alone.

He looked around the room, then elected to study his champagne flute instead – now empty – as he lingered by the drinks table.

He suddenly felt so exposed.

All these people know you shouldn’t be here, a voice muttered in the back of his mind. They can tell you don’t belong.

A thousand eyes seemed to linger on the top of his head as he looked down to study the drips on the rim of his glass. He was acutely aware of his shirt collar, tight around his throat, and the stiff, restricting effect of layers of heavy cloth weighing him down.

This was no good.

He was panicking.

“Is the champagne any good?” a well-enunciated sentence from a stranger he hadn’t noticed approach.

“Sorry?” Prompto looked up, hoping his eyes didn’t look too wild. He took a quiet, calming breath.

“The champagne,” the noble gestured at the empty flute Prompto was turning around in his clammy hands.

“Oh right,” Prompto said. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“More of a lemonade man myself,” the stranger mused, reaching past him to pick up a glass, nonetheless. Prompto found that hard to believe. “Maecius,” he said, suddenly, holding out an arm for Prompto to shake his hand. “Vincent Cassian Maecius, at your service.”

“Um. Prompto,” he said, shaking it. “Prompto Argentum.”

“Argentum,” the man studied his face. “Funny. I don’t recognise the name.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. I’m –”

“Of course, I wouldn’t claim to know everyone,” he laughed, high and tinkling. “That would be simply absurd.” He turned to him with interest. “Tell me, Prompto, what’s your heritage? You have rather … striking features.”

Prompto didn’t need to be looking at him to know that his eyes were resting on his bright blonde hair. My heritage, he thought. The mental image of a baby, wrapped up in old blankets, smuggled out of an empire. “Um. I’m adopted,” he said dumbly.

“Ah, forgive my intrusion. I’m terribly sorry,” the man said, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Well, if you’d like to show me to your stall, I’m sure I can make a donation.”

“My –” Prompto’s mind was running wildly. “Sorry?” Did the man think …? It was true, there had been a couple of stalls near the front that were fundraising for a recently opened medical centre and other Crown-sponsored charities. But did this man think …?

“Your stall?” the man prompted him. “I am a rather generous man, myself, especially when it comes to the poor and needy,” he lingered on those last words, eyes boring into Prompto’s.

Prompto’s face flushed furiously. “I, umm, I don’t have a stall. Sorry.”

“Oh, goodness me!” the noble – Maecius – tittered. “Are you on the guest list? Gosh, that’s rather embarrassing for me, isn’t it?” Somehow, he didn’t look it. “Do forgive me, young man, I simply didn’t realise the Crown was in the habit of inviting your kind to events such as this.”

Prompto’s mouth ran dry.

“Such a modern age,” the noble continued, raising his eyebrows. “They really are such progressives, aren’t they? Well,” he looked Prompto up and down. “Enjoy your night, Prompto Argentum.”

Prompto only stared as the man lifted his glass at him as if to say ‘cheers’, his mocking eyes lingering on Prompto’s obvious embarrassment before he turned away. And walked straight into the man behind him.

“Oh, goodness me,” Maecius said, making a show of protecting his champagne flute. Drink successfully saved; he looked properly at the newcomer. His mood evaporated instantly. “Your Highness,” he said, stiffly. “My apologies.”

“Maecius.” The prince’s voice was flat, quiet, and positively dripping with disdain. Prompto peered around Maecius’ shoulder to see Noctis, staring down the noble like he was a piece of dirt he’d just found on the underside of his pristine leather shoes. He looked every bit the haughty, uncaring prince that the media loved to write about, so much so that even Prompto’s overwhelming relief was tinged with unease. The prince said nothing else, just studied the noble in front of him until he bowed and scurried away, stilted apologies tumbling out of his mouth.

“Damn,” Prompto breathed.

Noctis scowled at the receding form of Maecius as he disappeared off into the crowd. He turned to Prompto. “You okay?”

“That was fucking scary,” Prompto said, shaking his head.

Noctis scoffed. “Don’t be scared of him. He’s just some lowlife, getting off on the power trip.”

“Not him!” Prompto laughed. “You were fucking scary, dude!”

Noctis blinked.

“Seriously,” Prompto continued. “I mean. That guy was kinda scary, too –” his heart was still hammering in his chest, face still flushed with residual embarrassment – “but you were way scarier.”

Noctis shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. The self-assured haughty prince was nowhere to be seen; the familiar image of his awkward best friend greeted Prompto’s eyes instead. “Practice, I guess.”

Unbidden, the chasm opened up between the two best friends again; of course, Noctis was practised, this was his world. He moved with ease around this room that had Prompto’s head reeling and heart pounding. Noctis belonged here.

“Hey,” Noctis frowned. “You okay?”

He swallowed. “Um, yeah. Fine. He just threw me off a bit.”

Noctis’ frown deepened. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yup.” Prompto looked for something else to talk about. He looked around. “Where’s Iggy?”

Noctis grimaced. “Still going. I’m actually meant to be with him but,” he gestured vaguely around them, “it looked like I was needed more here.”

You’re getting in the way, was what Prompto heard instead. You’ve been here less than an hour and we already regret inviting you.

“Oh. Um.” He rubbed the back of his neck – well, the bit he could get to above his stiff collar. “Sorry.”

Noctis looked unperturbed. “It’s not a problem. Honestly, if anything, it’s a bit of a relief,” he admitted. “I hate small talk.” Now it was Noctis’ turn to look confused as he looked around them. “Where’s Gladio?”

Prompto looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Um. He went off with some guy in a Kingsglaive uniform. Uhh. Nick?”

Noctis looked at him quizzically.

“Maybe Nicks?”

“Nyx,” Noctis nodded. “Makes sense.”

Prompto was just about to ask who this ‘Nyx’ guy was when movement just past Noctis’ shoulder caught his eye. “Oh shit. Incoming.”

Noctis didn’t even have the time it would have taken to glance behind him before a gloved hand clamped down on his shoulder. “If only you put as much effort into meeting dignitaries as you do in finding excuses to talk to Prompto.”

The prince looked glum. “Hi, Specs.”

Ignis looked at Prompto. “Apologies, Prompto, but I’m sure you understand. This young man is needed elsewhere.”

“I wasn’t just running off,” Noctis brushed him away irritably. “Prompto needed my help.”

“Oh?” Ignis raised an eyebrow.

“He was getting harassed by some noble,” Noctis said. “Said some crap things about his nationality.”

Ah, Prompto thought. So, you heard.

Noctis frowned at him. “He did, right?”

Prompto shrugged awkwardly. “It’s okay! I think he more hated me for being poor, to be honest.” Neither of the other men laughed.

“Which one?” Ignis asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

“Maecius,” Noctis said, also turning to look.

“What about Maecius?” Gladio’s voice rang out as he walked over.

“Ah, there you are,” Ignis remarked. “Maecius made some inappropriate remarks regarding Prompto’s right to be here, I believe.”

Gladio turned to Prompto to see if it was true.

“Um, yeah,” he admitted. “He did. But it’s nothing! I’m good now.”

“Like hell, it is,” Gladio growled. “I’ve always thought that guy was a bastard.”

“Language, please,” Ignis said, but he didn’t look mad. Or, at least, not at Gladio.

“Guys, it’s fine! Really,” Prompto shifted. “Let’s forget about it. I’d rather just enjoy the night!”

They considered him for a moment before Noctis shrugged. “Fine. But if he comes over again, you have every right to punch him in the face.”

“Or perhaps just get the attention of myself or Gladio,” Ignis said.

“Yup,” Gladio agreed. “So I can punch him instead.” His words had the desired effect; Prompto snorted and felt some of the tension slide off his shoulders. “Now come on, kid,” Gladio patted him on the back. “I bet you haven’t even tried the food yet.”

The four parted ways, Noctis and Ignis returning to do the rounds, while Gladio guided Prompto to another table, laden with all kinds of tiny foods. They hung out there for a while, chatting and snacking, and Prompto was almost guiltily full by the time a small bell chimed and it was announced that the guests should go through for dinner.

“Go through where?” Prompto asked around a mouthful of pastry. ‘Goffooway?’ was much closer to the sound that came out.

“Really gross, Prom,” Gladio laughed, swiping at some pastry dust that Prompto had accidentally sprayed onto his jacket. Prompto reddened, swallowing what was left of the mouthful.

“Sorry,” he tried again. “Go through where?”

“The dining room,” Gladio said. “You didn’t think this was all there was, did you?”

Prompto rolled his eyes, gesturing around them at the cavernous ballroom, with its gold-plaited furnishings, high arch ceilings, and intricately decorated walls. “Gods forbid.”

Gladio chuckled. “Come on, let’s go find the others.”

If Prompto had realised that there was a separate dining room – if he’d realised that they would be ‘dining’ at all – and he’d taken it upon himself to stress about it beforehand, he probably would have pictured himself at the back of some large room, surrounded by unfamiliar members of the lesser nobility, craning over everyone’s heads to catch a glimpse of Noctis’ dark hair as he sat at some high table with his father.

In many ways, that vision would have been correct. There was indeed a high table, with a place for Noctis not too far from the king, at the head of a room filled with other, longer tables where the guests took their seats. But what Prompto would not have got right – if he had tried to picture this – was where his own seat would be.

At the front.

Next to Noctis.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” Prompto muttered, standing behind his seat. He would have sat down – he nearly did, deep in the shock of being shown to his place – were it not for an almost imperceptible gesture from Ignis that made him pause. Everyone in the room was finding their places, standing behind their seats as if they were waiting for something.

“No such thing,” Ignis murmured back.

Prompto turned to look at him incredulously, but something in the tension in Ignis’ neck, the way he was looking straight forward with his head held high, made him pause. He imitated, instead, standing to attention behind his chair.

His eyes landed on the tables laid out before them, the rows and rows of nobles who were looking up in the direction of his own.

He blinked, looking at the ceiling instead.

Maybe that looks weird? He dropped his eyes again, and they landed on the place card by his wine glass.

Prompto Argentum, in swirling calligraphy. Friend to the Prince.

It turned out they had been waiting for something. Someone, actually. The King.

He entered the room, taking his place at the centre of the high table. He looked around the room, offered a brief nod and smile to his assembled guests, and took his seat. The sound of scraping chairs and murmured conversation ensued as everyone else followed suit.

Prompto – dazed – sat down, too.

“Enjoying yourself, Prom?” Noctis asked, a glint in his eye at the shocked expression on his best friend’s face.

“Are you crazy?” Prompto asked. “Wait. Am I dreaming? Noct, I think I’m dreaming. Wait, pinch me.”

“Mmm, I can practically see the headlines,” Noctis nodded, seriously. “’Bully Prince Noctis attacks school friend at Spring Gala, in full view of hundreds of guests.’”

Prompto stared. “No, that’s it. I’m definitely dreaming.”

There were so many rules.

A lady walked down their table – everything happened at their table first – offering wine, which Prompto accepted. So far, so good. Then others followed suit, placing down tiny plates in each place, laden with some kind of delicacy. Prompto had never seen anything like it in his life.

The rule here, like with the chairs, seemed to be to wait. Eventually, Noctis picked up his fork, so Prompto went to copy. And looked down. Who needs this many forks?

“The far left,” Ignis murmured. Prompto blinked, looking down again, moving his hand to hover over the smallest fork, which sat to the left of all the others. “That’s the one.”

“Thanks,” he breathed back.

“Everything okay?” Noctis asked, oblivious.

For some reason, Prompto faltered. He wasn’t sure what was dumber – to not know how to use all this cutlery, or to feel so embarrassed by it in front of his friend.

“All good!” he chirped.

Noctis smiled, turning back to his food.

And so it went. Each course came, accompanied by another set of rules, and Prompto navigated it as best he could. Or Ignis did. He sat there, letting Prompto chat away, Noctis on his left, Ignis on his right, the three eating and laughing and making conversation, and then – when the next plate arrived – made a show of lingering over a fork before he picked it up, giving Prompto the time to seamlessly follow suit.

Prompto even started to doubt that the man was doing it on purpose, were it not for the way his gaze slid to Prompto’s in a moment where Noctis was turned the other way.

Thanks, Prompto’s eyes said.

You’re welcome, Ignis’s eyes said back.

The final course came and went, and before long everyone was standing again to watch the King exit the room. Prompto didn’t need to ask what was coming next, as he filed out behind Noctis. He already knew.

“There you are, twinkle toes!” Gladio laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “How was the food?”

Prompto made a show of holding his stomach. “So. Fucking. Good.”

Gladio chuckled. “Hope you’re not too full for dancing,” he winked.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he turned to face – “Noct?”

“Over there,” Gladio jerked his head. Prompto followed his gaze. “Customary for the king and queen to do the first dance, to welcome in the year. What with, uhh”, he cleared his throat. “Noct and Specs will do it instead.”

Prompto tried not to think of the implications of that particular sentence. He wasn’t even sure why he was bothered.

Ignis and Noctis were no less graceful than they had been the first time Prompto saw them dance. They looked smaller, in a way, dancing around a space so much bigger than the apartment, but still just as regal, beautiful, effortlessly in control.

The song ended, and Gladio took his elbow before he had the chance to protest, guiding him through the crowd to the edge of the dancefloor. Prompto swallowed, before stepping out onto the polished wooden floor, leaving the crowd behind.

His heart was hammering in his chest.

“If I may?” Gladio asked, hand outstretched before him. Prompto swallowed. Concentrate. He tried to find comfort in Gladio’s presence, casting his mind back to those words spoken as they practised. I won’t let you make a fool of yourself. Petrified blue eyes met golden ones, and he took Gladio’s hand. The next song began, they took their position, and then that was it.

They were dancing.

With the music rising and falling in the background, and the whirling of the candelabras, lights and strangers’ faces all softened by wine and champagne, the only thing Prompto could reliably focus on was Gladio.

He guided him through it, just as he had done those few nights before, all firm hands and confident steps. Within a minute, Prompto was grinning, tension falling away, heading into the next steps even before Gladio went to move him there, letting his body and mind fill up with the music.

“You’re doing it, Blondie,” Gladio laughed – and he was.

They danced a few more songs, the floor gradually filling up as more and more people joined in, before Prompto had had enough. He pulled away, panting slightly. “Water.”

They were hanging out on some chairs at the side of the ballroom, too tipsy and lazy to get back into dancing yet when someone approached them.

“Nyx,” Gladio greeted him.

“Gladio,” he said. “Prompto.”

“Uh, hey,” Prompto said, sitting up a little in surprise as Nyx took the seat next to him.

“Heard what happened with Maecius,” he said after a moment.

Oh. Prompto dropped his gaze, chewing the inside of his cheek. That got around fast.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Nyx said, cringing slightly. “It’s not gone public. Not really.” Prompto looked up. “What I meant to say is,” Nyx sighed, “you’re not the only one. He does it to all of us. Or tries to, at least.” He looked at Prompto. “Galahadian,” he said, answering his unspoken question.

“Oh,” Prompto said. He hadn’t realised that Nyx wasn’t Lucian. Studying his face now, though, he could kind of see it. “Thanks.”

Nyx smiled. “You’re welcome. Just wanted you to know.”

Prompto nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

Another pause. “He’s such an asshole, right?”

Prompto snorted. “Yep. And he sounds stupid. He was all like –” he put on an accent – “’oh I’m so sorry to have stepped on you, tiny little bug boy. How disgusting for my shiny leather shoes.’”

Nyx chuckled. “Sounds about right. He tried it on with me a couple times, too, before I scared him off.”

Prompto tried not to think about how unscary his own behaviour had been. “Yeah. I was about to, I swear!”

“Noctis just beat you to it?”

“Something like that.”

“I swear I’m gonna punch him,” Gladio said.

“Who, Noct?” Nyx raised an eyebrow. All three of them laughed. “Well,” Nyx slapped his knees, standing up. “Imma get back to it.” He turned to Prompto. “Unless you want to join me?”

Prompto stalled. “What?”

“Go dance,” Gladio said, clapping him on the back. “I’ve got a problem I need to fix.”

“What is it?” Nyx asked.

“This.” Gladio waved his empty glass. “I’m practically sober.”

Dancing with Nyx was fun, if a little funny – neither of them had had the practice of most of the men and women in the room – and they cringed and laughed as they went through the moves. Like Gladio, Nyx was firm and decisive in all that he did. However, unlike Gladio, he wasn’t quite smooth enough to compensate for Prompto’s own mistakes.

“Watch it,” he laughed, as Prompto miss-stepped and teetered back.

“You watch it,” he grumbled, righting himself.

“Ten Gil says you step on an aristocrat.”

They got by unscathed, however, and Prompto was a flushed, giggling mess by the time they parted, Prompto heading back to the chairs to collapse again beside Gladio. He gratefully accepted the drink that a passing waiter offered out on a tray.

“Fun?” Gladio asked.

“Very,” he gasped as he drank.

A little while later, Noctis appeared, stopping to say hi and also knock back a glass of water, face flushed and smiling as they swapped stories of the night.

It wasn’t long, however, before an older lady surfaced by his elbow and asked him to dance. It was comically obvious how much he wanted to say no, but he was courteous as he accepted, turning back to mouth ‘help me’ at his friends as he got dragged off into the crowd. Prompto and Gladio just sat back and laughed. The prince was in high demand.

“Prompto?” Ignis’ voice made Prompto turn around. He’d been about to go outside and get some air, Gladio having returned – again – to the drinks table. He was a little too warm, a little too tired, a little too drunk, wanting nothing more than to breathe in the night air on the terrace outside.

Or he had been. Until now.

“Ignis,” he said. Dumbly.

A pause. “Are you going somewhere?”

“What?” Prompto frowned. “Oh. No. Just, uhh. No.”

Ignis studied him for a moment. “Well. In that case?”

He held out his arm and Prompto took it, letting him guide him back into the crowd. They walked over to the dance floor. For one, terrifying, second, Prompto thought that Ignis Scientia was about to ask him to dance. He didn’t, however. The pair stood among the crowd, watching as the other dancers took their places.

Honestly, it was nice to watch. He stood there, happily, letting his shoulder bump into Ignis’, earning himself a small bump in return.

The song ended, and a voice in a microphone announced the final dance of the night. Prompto turned to Ignis in surprise. “Really?”

“Well,” Ignis pursed his lips. “The last of the good type.” Prompto laughed, drawing a smile out of Ignis. “Prompto,” he held out his arm, bowing his head slightly, “may I have this dance?”

Prompto swallowed.

By now, Prompto had danced with three different people. He was something of a veteran. There was Noctis, all limbs and awkwardness and care; Gladio, confident steps and rumbling laughter; Nyx, different again, just as fun but with less of the grace.

Dancing with Ignis, however, was something new entirely.

Fluid. Possibly the only way to describe it; Ignis moved as if his feet had never touched solid ground. He was just firm enough to hold onto, but he moved like a river after rainfall. Quick and effortless. Prompto let himself get carried by the current.

“You’ve improved,” Ignis murmured.

“Oh, you know,” he teased, “I’ve danced around.”

Ignis only scoffed, an almost imperceptible blush dusting high cheekbones.

The song ended, and the two men left the dance floor, looking to reunite with their friends.

They found Gladio, naturally, enjoying a beer at the drinks table, chatting with a man from the Crownsguard that Prompto didn’t recognise. They then rescued a very grateful Noctis from a conversation about marine biodiversity and environmental law. “I only wanted to talk about fishing …” he muttered, as they dragged him away.

The folk band struck up their instruments, and the remaining crowd – by far the majority, really, though admittedly with fewer of the older folk – descended onto the ballroom floor.

Hours later, when Prompto was falling asleep in the back of a sleek, black car, feet aching, tie undone, jacket thrown across his shoulders, he would have sworn they only played a few songs.

Sure, he remembered dancing with Noctis. Then Gladio. Ignis. Briefly, again, he’d danced with Nyx, flying around the room to the sound of the fiddle and drums. He remembered the drinking, and the laughter, and a drunk conversation with Noctis when they finally went out to catch some air. He remembered the way that whiskey tasted when it hit the back of his throat, and the smile of a girl he’d chatted to while he was lost, trying to find a bathroom.

But he couldn’t fathom that it had taken hours, that the late spring sun was already beginning to rise by the time they bundled out of the palace and into the car.

Like his two weeks at Noctis’, it was a wonderful, magical blur. And – just like those two weeks – he couldn’t believe how quickly it had come to pass.

He tried to stay awake, as the car rumbled through Insomnia’s empty streets, taking him back to Noctis’ one last time.

He didn’t want to miss a second.

Chapter Text

It felt almost like an insult when Ignis dropped Prompto off at his apartment the next day.

Sure, he knew that it wasn’t – that it was nothing of the sort, really – but he couldn’t change the way it stung as Ignis put down his suitcase on the pavement, bid him a good day, and got back into the vehicle, driving off without him.

I should still be in there, he thought, watching the car turn the corner at the end of his road, case untouched on the pavement beside him. But he wasn’t, so he sighed, heaved it up, and trudged inside.

The first thing he noticed, shouldering open his front door, was the smell.

It wasn’t anything putrid. To any other person, it probably wasn’t anything bad. But to Prompto, it made tears threaten to spring almost instantly, prickling at the corner of his eyes as if the air itself was stinging him.

It smelled like home.

He dropped his case, numb. It hit the floor with a thud.

Barely aware of it, Prompto nudged the door shut behind him, listening to the click as it sealed him in.

He wandered through the apartment like a visitor from another age, eyes landing blankly on each item, lingering on each surface. He wandered in and out of every room, even his parents’ – bed, made, untouched, dust on every surface – working his way down the hall.

He moved almost like he was looking for something.

(He’d never find it here.)

Slowly, he crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and thumbing through the photos on his phone. In the dusty quiet of his apartment, the selfies he’d taken the previous night already felt like relics from another point in time.

Ignis had kept back Prompto’s gala outfit when the young man was packing up to go back home, citing a bespoke cleaning service, and a large cupboard at Noctis’ which was specifically for storing such things. Prompto had let him, of course, but he felt a pang now, looking at the beaming blond boy, dressed to the nines in exquisite garments, who featured in every photo.

The two were strangers once more; that boy was locked away in a cupboard across the city.

A cursory scan of his kitchen cupboards revealed nothing but dust bunnies, so he kicked his trainers back on and headed out. Picking up what he needed at the corner shop and ducking into a café on the way home for a hot drink and club sandwich – two weeks of barely touching his allowance had worked out pretty nicely – and Prompto headed for the docks instead of going home.

It was early evening, and the sun was dancing lazily over the water. Honestly, he’d wanted to stay later at Noctis’ – had tried to wrangle an extra couple of hours by helping the prince pack for his fishing trip – but eventually Ignis had caught on and put his foot down, citing Noctis’ need for an early night. He’d earned eye rolls from both younger men, but he wasn’t wrong; Noctis would spend the next week waking early, so he needed all the help he could get.

It was going to be a long two weeks, Prompto figured, sipping his drink. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and he wrapped both hands around the cup, enjoying the warmth that permeated through to his fingertips. When he finally ran out of excuses – and heat – Prompto dusted himself off and walked home.

There were a few things he hadn’t quite anticipated.

First was the rude awakening of his cold shower the next morning. He endured it, shivering under the flow, trying not to notice the freckle patterns of mould that were emerging on the tiles.

Second was just how much he’d got used to Ignis’s cooked breakfasts in the mornings, and how little the cereal bars really did for him. How did I use to get through until lunch? He’d done the maths; his allowance could do him one meal out a day – providing it was on the cheaper side – so breakfast and lunch had to be the kind of thing he could keep in his cupboards. He could survive on bread rolls and crisps, right? People survived on worse.

Thirdly, was the power. Not only for his phone and laptop but also for wifi. He circumvented this by taking himself down to coffee shops to do his work. A little less money for dinner, perhaps, but it meant he didn’t eat up into his data plan within minutes of starting his work. He spent the next few days surviving, mooching on free wifi and power outlets, doing his best to concentrate amid the buzz and chatter of the cafes, and alternating where he went so no one got too fed up. Six hours in a café on one single coffee was cheeky for anyone. A dishevelled kid from Niflheim? He wasn’t trying to cause a scene.

Fourthly - finally - and worst by far, was the loneliness. Well. There were no workarounds for that one. He just had to get by.

To be fair to Prompto, it was a week before he cracked.

Stomach empty, his tiny savings spent on laundry – he’d fucking forgotten about laundry, like an idiot – and he was on his way home when a kid fell off her bike. He watched, cold, hungry, a little numb, as the girl’s mother rushed forward, scooping her up to her chest, running hands through her hair before she even got the chance to cry. The mother spared a cursory glance his way – frowned when she saw him staring – and he snapped out of it, moving along.

That evening, he picked up the phone.

He went to call his parents – craving the familiarity of their voices, sure that they just hadn’t realised what was going on – before he stalled, remembering the last time he had tried to get a hold of them. The way the phone had rung on and on, the way his chest had ached with the rise – and fall – of his tentative optimism. He couldn’t face waiting while it rang.

I’ll text them first.

He nodded decisively and opened up his phone, thumb sliding across to the messaging app. He opened it up, scrolled down past Noctis and Ignis and Gladio, and – there. He opened the chat to his mother, spared a cursory glance over his last text sent, and went to type a new one, when –

When –

Surely -

No.

One, small word, lurking under his most recent text.

One word that changed everything.

Read.

Prompto blinked. He read it again. He read back through the text that went above it, checking over what he’d told her. No electricity … fridge turned off … missed payments … cold. It was all there. There could be no mistaking it. Hands shaking now, Prompto closed the chat, swiping over to his father’s, where he’d copied and pasted the same message. He knew it was coming, but he still couldn’t believe it when his eyes landed on what they were looking for.

Read.

They knew.

They know, he thought, gasping for breath now, feeling the air constricting in his lungs. They know, they know, they know, and they don’t care, they don’t –

He barely even felt it when his knees hit the floor.

He didn’t do much after that.

The apartment had shrunk down to a coffin, and Prompto’s body was doing its best to play dead. Even once his lungs had relaxed enough for him to breathe again, his limbs wouldn’t come back to life. He didn’t get up. And who would even care if he did?

Not my parents.

So he just lay there on his side, staring at his hand that was laid out on the wooden floor ahead of him, and watched his fingers blur in and out of his vision with his tears. Even his mind was doing its best to shut down – he felt almost like he was watching himself, the vision of a stupid, unlovable boy, lying on the ground, sinking down into the floorboards.

Maybe this was what it felt like to die.

He barely even felt it as the boards dug into his side, and his joints ached and stiffened. Each time he thought about getting up, he thought about those texts. About his parents. About that word. Read.

He wondered if they were upset. If some part of them felt guilty. If there was a fraction of their hearts that he still held like he used to, when his hands were so much smaller, and their love spilled right over and out of them.

His hands were empty now, stretched out, cold, on the wooden floor in front of him. He studied them. They looked pale, skinny, eerily corpselike.

He shut his eyes.

When Prompto awoke, the kitchen was dark. He gave his hands an experimental twitch and, upon finding out that they worked, heaved his aching body off the floor and blinked, blearily, trying to readjust. He made himself a glass of water and walked slowly to his bedroom, letting himself in quietly, and peeling back his bed covers, sliding into the coolness of his untouched sheets.

He thought, unbidden, about the people that he loved: his parents, Noctis, Ignis, Gladio. What all of them were doing right now. He tried to picture it, to remind himself that each one of them still existed at this moment – were likely asleep in various beds across the country – but he couldn’t convince his mind that he was a part of that. He felt wispy, empty, like a spirit that had already crossed the divide into an afterlife.

He thought, bitterly, that that might not be so bad.

Some primal part of his mind had decided he was already dying, and the other part just ... didn't care.

Despite his mind’s private convictions, Prompto was still very much in the world when he woke up the next morning. Some shred of self-preservation encouraged him to drag himself down to a café, where he forced himself through his revision and ate a small, hot meal. He saved all of his energy on the smile offered to the barista, and to solving equations and memorizing facts: bits of the school curriculum which had felt trivial before, but never as much as they did now.

After his work was done, and the café shut its doors, however, Prompto’s mind shut off, too. Energy spent, he dragged himself back to his apartment and fell into bed, drifting between awake and asleep until just hours before sunrise, when he was finally pulled right under.

A few days into this routine, Prompto awoke to a handful of texts from Noctis – some comments on the fishing, a couple of selfies, and a shot of Noctis holding up a fish on a line, grinning and pointing at it with his free hand. Prompto felt his face twist into a smile despite himself.

[nice fish, loser]

[how’s the holiday??]

Noctis replied almost instantly:

[so good]

[sorry I haven’t texted much. not much service out here]

[how’s home??]

[do you miss me]

Prompto felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them away, typing back:

[eh, not much]

[i’m just soooo busy]

Noctis sent another photo in response – a selfie of him, clearly lying in bed, squinting at the light of the camera flash. He was holding up a middle finger.

Prompto laughed.

[good morning to you too]

He couldn’t send a selfie back – he knew he was in no state to be photographed – so he took a photo of his Chocobo plushie instead, his fingers peeking into the corner of the shot to throw up a peace sign.

Noctis’ reply was brief: [cute].

Prompto waited for a second, but nothing else came, so he put his phone down and got out of bed. His stomach cramped horribly. Breakfast.

He knew without checking that the cupboard was empty. He also knew that he badly needed a shower, but the pain in his stomach was surprisingly insistent, so he decided that he’d handle breakfast first. He ran a hand through greasy blond hair and pulled on a baggy hoodie after a quick spray of deodorant, kicking his feet into his trainers to head out.

It was still relatively early; the streets were quiet as he moved through them, navigating his neighbourhood to the market, led by his aching, empty stomach. He needed food yesterday.

He reached the market stalls within minutes and was about to join the small queue at one selling bacon butties when a familiar image caught his eye. An image that didn’t make sense. Not here – not in his neighbourhood.

It was the image of a well-dressed young man with brushed-back brown hair, glasses perched on the end of his nose, hand hovering elegantly over a selection of spices, deep in discussion with the vendor.

Ignis.

Prompto almost clapped his hand over his mouth, reaching to smother a noise of surprise before it could even begin, and ducked away behind a stall. Heart pounding, he peered around it, forcing himself to process the scene.

Yep. That was definitely Ignis.

He looked as put-together as ever, jacket turned up against the morning chill, a couple of small bags in his left hand, weighed down with fresh ingredients. A few strands of hair falling across his forehead was the only indication that he wasn’t currently working.

Prompto tugged at his hoodie uncomfortably and ran a sweaty palm through his hair.

For a moment, Ignis stilled, hand faltering where it was gesturing to a particular spice, head lifting in surprise. Prompto ducked down, watching with bated breath as green eyes lingered on a spot just above him, blissfully unable to see where he stood. The man’s brow creased, before he shook his head – an almost imperceptible gesture – and resumed his purchase.

Prompto released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.

He tugged his hood up over his blond hair – no less identifying despite the fact he hadn’t styled it – and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning tail and leaving the market, appetite temporarily quashed by adrenaline. He stopped by a corner shop on the way home, his hood still pulled up over his head as he picked up some cereal bars and a carton of juice.

It was only when he was home that he felt calm enough to want to eat them. He faced his cold shower right after.

Somehow, Prompto survived the second week. It was funny; he’d only been away from Noctis’ apartment for the length of time that he’d been there in the first place, but the two felt barely comparable. The Spring Gala felt like a fever dream.

It was the day before Prompto’s first exam when he realised that he ought to try and shake himself off. He was going to be seeing Noctis tomorrow, after all. The start of his final term at school.

He endured his cold shower that morning with a brave face, washing the grease out of his hair and brushing his teeth with vigour. He knew he was scrawnier – two weeks of barely eating were bound to do that to a person – but that was unavoidable, now. He had to focus on what he could control. His empty cupboards fit into that category, and he needed to make sure he ate before his exam the next day, so he dried his hair as best he could, then put on his shoes, and headed out.

It was like déjà vu. Prompto, standing in the queue for the corner shop, arms full of snacks and crisps and energy drinks, eyes landing on the newspaper rack. Except, this time, it wasn’t a tiny name staring at him from a thick column of tightly packed text. This time, it was a headline, emblazoned across the front, demanding his attention – and that of everyone else.

GODS SAVE THE KIDS? THE HIDDEN VICTIMS OF THE EMPIRE’S REGIME.

FULL STORY BY JULIA ARGENTUM.

Accompanied by smaller text: PHOTOGRAPHS COPYRIGHT MR. A. ARGENTUM.

Prompto stared.

He pretended, for one second, that he wasn’t going to buy it. That he would walk on by, not even caring about what they’d written, or who they even were. But he knew he was lying. It was on the counter, wedged next to his groceries before he even realised that he’d put it there as if the paper itself had a mind of its own – a wicked determination to be read.

Prompto’s voice felt thick and awkward as he greeted the man behind the counter. He gestured at the paper, clearing his throat.

“Um. This too, please.”

It cost the last of his weekly allowance.

Chapter Text

As we approach the 400-year anniversary of the war with Niflheim, it is easy for those of us sheltered behind the Wall to fall into a state of acceptance. For the thousands of children fleeing the Empire, however, held up in migrant camps in borderlands all over Eos, they have no choice but to directly confront the consequences of the war every single day. It is high time the Lucian government stepped up to help these young people, pouring out of enemy-occupied territories every day in search of a better, safer life.

Observing the main camp in Lucis, hundreds of miles from the city of Insomnia, one could be forgiven for mistaking it as intended for punishment. The camp, supposedly a haven for these innocent children fleeing the horrors of their brief pasts, is instead a breeding ground for disease and despair.

The poor children, the lucky cramped with their mothers, the unlucky orphaned and alone, are housed in large, dirty tents. The entire camp shares just one source of water. Shockingly, they have no electricity; the scarce food supply is pre-packaged and cold, and they huddle around battery-powered lamps long after the sun has gone down.

Medical equipment is also scarce, and the entire operation relies on overworked volunteers, who are courageously filling the gaps left by the government’s hopeless response.

The children who have enough energy to express their feelings let me know of their anger, sadness, and despair. Most are silent. Their eyes speak of horrors unknown, and yet they witness fresh ones every day, with no one to help them through it. Through the inaction of our government, these children, whose physical needs are barely met, are also made victims of horrific emotional neglect, left to fend for themselves in a brutal world.

Where are the adults? Where are the doctors and mental health workers who the government promised to send? Who will care for these lonely, innocent children, guilty of nothing but the crime of their births?

Niflheim is not their only threat. Neither is illness nor pathogens. Every passing minute spent in such conditions increases their chances of developing significant mental and social problems, which can follow them well into their adult lives.

One young boy, clinging to the leg of his exhausted mother, reminded me suddenly, painfully of my own son. Saved from a horrifying infancy, orphaned by the Empire, our baby boy, barely two years old, had already been exposed to violence, loss, and instability the likes of which we could scarcely imagine.

The hope and joy of our son’s initial arrival were dampened by his obvious fear, withdrawal, and haunting nightmares. Even as he grew, his development was slow. He suffered from night terrors and screaming fits. He was a late talker, watching the world go by with wide, terrified eyes. His passage into boyhood was no easier to witness, as he remained haunted by his past. Bedwetting was a common occurrence, and he struggled to form meaningful relationships with his peers - even into adolescence, which was marked by struggles with weight gain and a hesitancy to express himself.

The effects of war-related trauma on developing children’s minds are complex and can be long-lasting. My son is a testament to that. However, these children are not lost causes, and they do not deserve their current fate: abandoned, alone, left to fend for themselves.

As the war with Niflheim approaches this grim anniversary and shows no signs of abating, it is up to us as caring, noble citizens of a wonderful nation to support these desperate children. Immediate intervention, in the form of housing, food, medical supplies and emotional support will save these fragile souls.

The children in these camps deserve better. They deserve a safe and nurturing environment where they can heal and grow. They deserve a life free from suffering and fear. And we deserve a government that will respect our voices – listen to us cry for help on behalf of those who cannot – and do what they must. We cannot leave this up to the gods, dedicating prayers from inside our city walls. These children deserve action. They deserve it now.

-

Noctis blinked.

He picked up the paper, sat down properly, and read it again.

It was the photo that had grabbed his attention: a small, crying blond boy, uncannily similar to Prompto, in a refugee camp at the borders.

He’d paused, hovering over the dining table to peer down at it, from where someone had set it out for his father.

Then he’d seen the name of the journalist. It was just a coincidence, he thought, reading the article anyway out of casual interest.

But something … my own son … orphaned in the Empire … had caught his attention.

That was surely another coincidence.

… struggles with weight gain … hesitancy to express himself …

He cast his mind back, to that first, innocent meeting behind the back of the school. To the awkward, chubby kid who held out his camera instead of his hand.

He’d read it twice now, taking what he knew about his best friend and seeing if it fit into the gaps.

He wasn’t sure why he did it – if he wanted to pore over it again in the privacy of his room, or if he was inexplicably scared of his father’s reaction, doing what he could to protect his friend, but instead of setting the paper down again, he picked it up, folded it, and stuffed it away in the pocket of his hoodie. Then he started on his breakfast.

He looked up when the double doors opened at the end of the room.

“Good morning, son,” Regis smiled, slowly walking over to the table to take his seat.

“Morning, Dad.”

Regis sat down and frowned. “You haven’t seen my morning paper, have you?”

Noctis shrugged. “Nope.”

They ate quietly, tired from their fishing trip, Noctis painfully aware that it had taken more out of his father than he was letting on. They discussed the trip, the upcoming exams, the time that Ignis would arrive to take Noctis back to his apartment ahead of term starting the next day.

When they were done eating, Noctis pushed back his seat with his legs, hands in front of his torso to hide the bulge of the paper in his pocket. He slunk out of the dining room without another word.

Back in his room, he unfurled the paper again, studying the face of the child who took up most of the front page. The tear marks tracked down dirty cheeks. The grime streaked into bright blond hair.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was stupid.

He knew that Prompto was adopted, sure; he didn’t talk about it much, but he’d referenced it a few times. Still. An adopted kid with bright blond hair and a past he didn’t talk about. How many of those were around?

(And a prince, with a life everyone else could only dream of who’d never even thought about asking about that of his friend.)

Maybe he could ask Ignis. Ignis would probably –

“Is everything alright, Noct?”

Noctis stood up fast, sliding the paper behind him with a quick move of his sleeve. “Oh. Hey. Um, yeah.” He looked around, patting the desk randomly. He picked up a desk toy – a small figurine Prompto had gifted him after a fair – and ran into through his hands, trying to look interested.

Ignis watched the performance, impassive. “I see. Enjoying a bit of light reading?”

Busted. “Mmm,” Noctis hummed. “Nothing interesting.”

The advisor studied him for a second. “Perhaps you could return it to your father, then. I believe he, at least, could find something of interest in his morning paper.”

“Right.”

“And then I shall see you outside?” It wasn’t a question. Noctis nodded anyway and watched as Ignis turned to leave.

“Wait –”

Surely Ignis would have some answers. He knew everything about everything – he’d know something at least about Prompto and his past.

“Yes?”

Noctis paused. It didn’t feel right, suddenly, to talk about Prompto like that behind his back. If Noctis was wrong about the whole thing, then he’d be making an awkward situation about nothing. And if he was right …

Prom’s probably feeling talked-about enough.

Assuming it was about him.

Which it might not be.

“Have you read it?”

Something unreadable flickered across the advisor’s face. “Yes.”

“Okay.” A long pause. “I’ll see you downstairs, then.”

“Alright then,” Ignis said. “I’ll start the car. And Noct?” Noctis lifted his head. “Please don’t forget to return the paper to your father. I’d like to think we raised the crown prince to be somewhat above petty theft.”

Noctis rolled his eyes, but he picked up the offending item anyway and set off down the corridor back to the dining room. “Cheers, Specs,” he grumbled to himself as he went, “Good morning to you too.”

Hours later, left to his own devices in the comfort of his apartment, Noctis got out his phone. His mind had burned with unspoken questions all day – questions he was determined to take to Prompto himself. He opened up his messaging app and paused, fingers hovering over the chat. He frowned.

Hey man, this is gonna sound really weird, but there’s this newspaper article about refugee kids that I think mentions you because it’s by a woman who I think is your mother…

Nope. Noctis selected the text and erased it. Not only did it sound fucking stupid, but what kind of friend didn’t know the name of their best friend’s mother? He pushed the guilt away and tried again.

Hey man, I just wanted to check that you’re okay. Not that you wouldn’t be, but –

Nope. No way. He held down the backspace.

Hey Prompto,

Nope.

Good aftern-

Who was he kidding? He stared at his phone. Get a grip. It’s Prompto for gods’ sakes. He swallowed, steeled himself, and tapped out a text. Keep it simple. Not weird. Normal.

“Hey.”

-

Prompto wasn’t sure the rest of the world existed anymore; everything had shrunk down to the article laid out on his desk.

He’d read it. He’d read it again. Then he’d read it through the smudges and blurs of his tears hitting the pages. He already knew the worst parts by heart.

What was the point?

What was the point in hiding the car crash that was going on behind the scenes if your own mother was going to print it all over the front page of national news?

What was the fucking point?

It was mid-afternoon when the first text came in.

A boy from his class, Ray, who he’d known sort of distantly for years, sent him a message that read: [hey, saw the paper this morning. is it to do with you?] which was followed up with [only because your mums called julia, right]. And a final text, a few minutes later: [sorry if it is, man. didn’t know you’d had it so rough]

It made sense; his friendship with Ray had been something of a project that his mother had taken on when he was just a few years into school. She’d invited him over for playdates, and they’d sat in his room while their mothers chatted in the kitchen. Ray might not know him that well – they hadn’t spoken at all in years – but he knew Prompto well enough to recognise his mother’s name, at least.

It didn’t take long for more texts to come in after that.

He could only stare, watching texts trickle in from people he never spoke to, then from numbers he didn’t even have saved in his phone. All these grasping hands, prying eyes: these attempts to be the person who knew the most. To be the one to bring the shredded ruin of his private life out under the spotlight.

He ignored them all.

One, from Noctis, appeared later that afternoon. He just said “Hey” and nothing else. It didn’t matter – he didn’t need to. That text alone, lingering awkwardly between them, told Prompto everything he needed to know.

Even Noctis had found it.

Their friendship was ruined.

That night, abandoning his hopes of sleeping early, Prompto got back out of bed and opened up his laptop. He went to the news page. He clicked on the first result.

He wasn’t sure why he did it – maybe to check it truly was out there, maybe to make sure the online version wasn’t somehow longer and worse. None of that mattered, however, when his eyes landed on something else.

121 comments.

Most of them were supportive. Most of them weren’t even about him – the article was really about struggling refugee children. Not you, he reminded himself bitterly. You’re the one making it all about yourself.

Some of the comments were decidedly about him, though. And not all of them were nice.

Prompto read every single one, scrolling with shaking fingers, curled up in his desk chair, lit by nothing but the sickening glow of the screen. He felt slightly numb, detached, reading all these comments that he couldn’t quite believe were about him.

At least, he thought he was numb.

[i’m sorry your son put you through that. can’t even imagine your pain.]

Prompto just stared.

He only knew he was crying again when the screen blurred over.

-

Prompto was stony-faced and exhausted as he walked up to school the next day. He glared at the pavement as he arrived; he planned on boring holes into the ground until he was right the way into the exam hall but something, some indescribable reflex, made him glance up as he approached the gates.

He made eye contact with Noctis immediately.

The prince looked worried, awkward – and undeniably hopeful. “Prompto!” he called out.

Prompto just turned away. He slid his eyes off his friend as if he could even hope to deny that he’d noticed him – but not before they caught, briefly, with Ignis’, who was frowning at him from where he stood beside the prince.

Great. Ignis probably knew, too.

He told himself it was fine. He wouldn’t see them anymore which meant, really, it didn’t matter what they thought of him. They were probably glad he was cutting them off, anyway. Saved them from having to do it themselves.

He decided against going to his form room – they didn’t have to register, anyway, as finals students only had to come in for the exams themselves – so he went over his notes in an empty classroom, waiting up until the very last minute to go down to the hall so Noctis – or anyone else for that matter – would have the chance to talk.

He held his flash cards in shaking hands, reciting words over and over with no semblance of meaning behind them. The short trill of a bell made him flinch and shoot his head up. 9 o’ clock. First period, usually, but today that meant –

The exam. Shit.

Prompto shoved his cards back into his backpack and sprinted down the corridors, pushing a couple of first years to the side as he went. He pulled out his clear plastic pencil case, dumped his backpack on the pile outside the hall, and jogged up the steps.

“Ah. Argentum, I assume?” a voice said, coldly. A short, dark-haired female teacher that Prompto didn’t recognise – a sub, probably – stood by the door with a clipboard, taking in his sweaty face, untucked shirt, and late appearance with notable disdain. “You’re late.”

“Um.” Prompto’s face, already flushed from running down the corridors, blossomed into a furious red. “Sorry.”

“’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. Perhaps you’re used to doing things a little differently, but tardiness isn’t a quality particularly celebrated here.”

Prompto’s brow creased in confusion. Used to what?

 “It won’t happen again,” he muttered.

“I should hope not. You’ll wait at your desk at the end of the exam, please.”

Prompto nodded, ducking through the door with his eyes glued to the floor. Rows and rows of students peered up at him from where they were hunched over their papers.

Shame mixed with adrenaline as Prompto opened up the paper and started working on the questions. They burned together in his chest, so he couldn’t tell which of them it was that had his hands trembling and his ears burning as he worked.

“Pens down, please.”

With a shaky exhale, Prompto set his pen down, holding up his paper to be retrieved without a glance up. He continued to stare into his desk as students moved around him, the stifling silence breaking out into excited chatter as his classmates discussed their answers.

“Prom?” A pair of uniform trousers came into view. Prompto just gripped his pen and continued to stare down at his desk, blinking hard.

“Ah, Argentum, you waited.” Another voice, smooth and cold. “Apologies, Your Highness. Prompto and I need to have a little word.”

“Um. Okay,” Noctis said. The prince’s legs lingered in Prompto’s peripheral vision, before retreating completely.

“Eye contact,” the teacher said, once he’d gone. “Another behaviour we hold in high regard here in Lucis.”

Here in …? Oh.

Prompto forced himself to look up.

“Better. Prompto, I know that exam season is tough. And you probably have lots of questions about what to do with your life afterwards. But any pathway is going to require a base adherence to practicality. Punctuality. Respect.”

She perched on the edge of his desk, leaning in in a farce of gentle compassion.

“Structured academia may have been a difficult environment for you. I understand that, and I know it’s not for everyone. But even in the trades, boys like you need to learn how to conduct themselves in the proper way.”

Prompto’s face burned with shame.

“Understand?”

He nodded. “Yeah – yes. Sorry. It, um. It won’t happen again.”

“I sincerely hope so,” she said, shuffling her clipboard. “You won’t find me so forgiving should something like this happen again. Now,” she stood up, primly dusting herself off, “off you go.”

Prompto blinked. He could barely leave the hall fast enough, words ringing around his head as he looked for his backpack in the pile outside.

Someone bumped into his back, and he stumbled forward, almost face-planting in a pile of bags and satchels. “Sorry,” he said, reflexively.

“So. Did the fame save you from detention?”

Prompto straightened. “Sorry?”

“Apology accepted,” the boy said with a smirk. Draxus. They’d been in the same year for all of high school. Prompto didn’t really know him, though, more knew of him - and none of it was nice. “You didn’t answer the question though.”

“Um.” Prompto’s hands clenched and unclenched, itching to just find his bag and take off.

“Although,” Draxus smiled slowly. “What fame am I even talking about? See, I thought pimping yourself out to Noctis was attention-seeking enough but no,” he sneered, “someone had to get mummy to write about him in the papers.”

Prompto’s hands clenched again, shaking, and hot and angry.

“Tell me, Prompto, do you still wet the bed?”

“Shut up, Draxus.”

“Sorry, I should be nicer to you, huh?” his voice dripped with mocking sympathy. “Now that the prince has abandoned you.” Prompto’s face twisted into bitter disbelief. That was what people thought had happened? Draxus grinned, misreading his disbelief as pure, gullible horror. “Made you walk into school all alone.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Prompto snarled. “Now let me go.”

“Without this?” Draxus held up his hand, Prompto’s bag swinging from his fist.

“Leave him alone, Draxus,” Noctis’ voice, cold and commanding, had both of them spinning around.

Draxus scoffed. “Guess your boyfriend does care, after all, Prommy,” he sneered.

“Draxus,” Noctis warned. The young man scoffed and dumped the bag on the floor. Prompto lunged for it immediately.

“You okay?”

Prompto stood up fast, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for that,” he spat. “I really needed saving.”

“Prompto –”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Prom, really –”

“Leave me alone.”

“Wait –"

Prompto spun to face him. “Just fuck off, alright?”

Noctis faltered, open-mouthed. When Prompto stormed off ahead, he didn’t try and stop him.

The next day, Prompto showed up late on purpose. Well, late enough that the school gates were quiet and abandoned as he arrived. He was determined not to miss the start of the exam itself.

“Morning, Prompto.” Prompto’s heart sank as he neared the exam hall. “Beautiful day,” Draxus grinned.

“Go away,” he muttered.

“So rude. I’m only trying to be a friend, you know.” He held back a snigger. “You look like you could use one.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are you sure the prince hasn’t dumped you?” Prompto’s hands clenched into fists. “Abandoned you now your filthy past is common knowledge?”

Just breathe.

“You fuckin’ Nif –”

Prompto saw red. His fists were wound into the collar of Draxus’s shirt before he even knew it, the other boy’s back thumping into the wall behind them. “Shut the fuck up –”

Hands grabbed the back of his own shirt, trying to pull him off, but he held tight, shaking, and yelling until the fabric finally slipped between his fingers and he was pulled away.

“Cool it, man,” someone muttered.

“What is the meaning of this?” The crowd parted for a pair of heels that clacked along the ground. Heels that belonged to a substitute teacher. A substitute teacher who was looking at Prompto like he was dirt that had got stuck beneath them. “Argentum.” She said his name like it tasted like mud.

The hands on his shirt released him; Prompto stumbled forwards slightly. “It’s not –” he took in the shocked eyes fixed on him, the space that had opened up around him, the spectacle he’d caused. Somewhere in the crowd he saw the back of Noctis’ head, turned deliberately away. His throat closed up.

“Come with me, please,” she sighed, irritated. “Quickly.”

“Prompto? Is this true?” Prompto’s form teacher turned to him in disbelief. “You were fighting in the corridors?”

Prompto picked at the cushion of his seat. He was in her office, sitting in a small chair placed across from the desk. The substitute teacher stood beside him, arms folded, having just regaled her with the entire affair.

“Prompto?” she prompted him, softly. He nodded. She sighed. “Alright,” she said, eventually. “You know the rules, Prompto. That’s a Saturday.” Prompto’s heart sank. “And here –” she held up a slip of paper – “I need this signed by your parents. Bring it with you at the weekend.”

Prompto’s head shot up. “Isn’t the detention enough?”

She frowned. “It’s all part of the process, Prompto.”

“Do you, um. Do you have to tell them? Can’t I just – can’t I just do the detention anyway?”

She looked at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Prompto. I know they’ll be disappointed. Frankly, I don’t understand, either. This is so unlike you.”

The substitute teacher coughed.

“I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, miserably.

“I’m sure,” his form teacher said, not unkindly. “Now, good luck with that exam. Try and move past this, alright?”

Prompto nodded, scooping up his bag, and following the substitute out of the door. She spent the whole walk telling him his teacher had been far too lenient; he did his best to just let it all wash over him.

He was walking out of the exam bleary-eyed and exhausted when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Prompto, please.”

He turned, eyes landing on Noctis, not really seeing him – not sure how he’d been spaced out enough not to notice him approach. “Not now,” he muttered, walking ahead again.

“Not now?” Noctis jogged to catch up and walked alongside him. “Then when?” He sped up as Prompto did. “Please,” he said again, as they neared the school gates. “I’m worried about you.” They had finally reached them. “We’re all worried about you.”

Prompto looked up. Ignis’ car was parked just across the road from the school – that was normal enough. What wasn’t so normal was the appearance of the man himself, standing up outside of it, watching him arrive. And, more so than that, the figure of Gladio, arms folded, standing beside him.

He turned to Noctis, betrayed.

“Please,” Noctis echoed. “You ran off yesterday,” he trailed off helplessly.

Prompto looked back at the others. He looked, again, at Noctis. And then he did the thing he did best – the thing that shut up the voice in his head, made his chest scream out louder than his mind.

The thing that had saved him before.

He ran.

-

Ignis watched with keen eyes as Noctis and Prompto approached the school gates, sucking in a quiet breath when he saw the latter. Somehow, Prompto looked even worse than Noctis had described.

His uniform was a mess – shirt half-untucked, hanging off his frame. He’d lost weight, evidently; Ignis made a quick mental note of his favourite meals to help him put it back on. His hair was similarly a mess, sticking up at the back as if someone had had their hands in it. But worst of all was how he carried himself.

Tense, awkward, turned in on himself. Gripping his backpack like a lifeline.

And then he took off.

“Fuck,” Ignis heard Gladio mutter beside him.

Ignis pursed his lips. “Gladio, I trust you know how to order a taxi.”

Gladio frowned. “Sure. Why?”

Ignis opened the door of the driver’s seat. “I’d start calling now, if I were you.” He turned the key in the ignition; the car came to life.

“What are you --?”

Enough was enough.

“I’m going after him.”

Chapter Text

By the time Prompto arrived home, his chest was heaving, his throat raw and metallic.

He buzzed himself into his building, slammed his apartment door shut behind him, and collapsed on the floor of the hallway, swallowing hard around the bile in the back of his throat.

A sob tore its way from his chest.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid –

A knock at his door threw him off. Prompto scrambled to his feet, shaking hands held defensively in front of him. “Who’s there?”

The quiet sound of someone clearing their throat. “Ignis.”

For a second, Prompto was utterly bewildered. Then he remembered that he’d given the advisor the code to his building – “For emergency use, only,” Ignis had assured him.

Oh, he thought, detached. This counts, huh.

“Prompto,” Ignis’ voice again, muffled by the wooden door. “Will you let me in, please?”

“Not a good time,” he choked out.

He heard Ignis sigh. “Don’t you think this has dragged on long enough?”

“But –”

“Wouldn’t you rather hear what we have to say?”

It was a fair question. Prompto made a quiet, strangled noise of frustration as he tried to answer it. “You don’t understand,” he said, eventually.

“Really?” From the sound of his voice, Ignis had been expecting him to say that. “You think Noctis can’t imagine how it feels to have the press release private information without consent?”

Oh.

If he hadn’t felt stupid before, he did now. “It’s not the same,” he protested weakly.

“Perhaps,” Ignis said, “you should give us a chance to help you. You might find us more supportive than you’ve maybe decided we would be.”

“Ignis …”

“Come on, Prompto,” he said. “I do believe it’s time.”

“Okay,” he said blankly. He felt distant again, watching his body as it walked to the door and unlocked it. He heard the click.

“Thank you,” Ignis said, softly, entering the hallway.

Prompto nodded distractedly. Ignis was in his apartment. His polished shoes took their place next to Prompto’s; they looked jarring and wrong on his ratty, old carpet.

The collision of Prompto’s two worlds.

The collapse of a barrier he’d fought so hard to maintain.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked. Prompto shook his head, unable to speak around the nausea that had just spiked in his chest. Ignis simply waited, calmly, until he could speak again.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No need.” Ignis took in the sight of the small corridor; Prompto winced as he couldn’t help but compare it to the wide, airy entryway at Noctis’. “Is it you and your parents that live here?”

Prompto nodded. It was sort of true.

“Are they in?”

He shook his head. “They’re, um. They’re at work.” Again – not technically a lie.

“Right.”

It was unnerving, to see Ignis in his apartment. Well, to see anyone in there would have been weird by this point, with its status in his mind and life as a place of abandonment, but there was something about Ignis that was particularly uncanny. Prompto followed him into the kitchen, hovering uncomfortably.

Even now, he was always one step behind.

A buzz made Prompto flinch. Ignis slid his phone out of his pocket, read the message, and returned it without responding.

“Do you need to get that?” Prompto asked hoarsely.

“It’s just Noctis,” Ignis said. “He can wait.” Prompto frowned. “So,” Ignis said mildly, still wandering around his living room, “I suppose we should discuss the article.”

Trust Ignis to get straight to the point.

“Right.”

“I’m assuming, based on your reaction,” he continued, “that the young man described in it is you.” Prompto nodded, biting his lip. “And that your mother perhaps didn’t run it by you before sending it to print?”

Uhh. Prompto hadn’t even considered that as an option. “No,” he said. “Um, she didn’t.”

Ignis’ eyes narrowed as he turned away from the photo he’d been looking at on the sideboard. (Prompto, eight years old, dressed up as a chocobo for Halloween). “Did you not see any form of a draft?”

Prompto snorted before he could stop himself. Ignis’ frown deepened further. “Um,” he tried to recover it. “Um, no, I didn’t. Uhh. She tends to keep her work life kinda, um. Private. I guess.”

“I see.” A pause. “Your parents are both journalists, right?”

He hummed affirmatively. “Well,” he frowned, “my dad does photos.”

Ignis’ eyes lingered briefly on Prompto’s camera, lying on the kitchen table. “Right.” He turned back to Prompto. “Have you tried to tell them how the article made you feel?”

Prompto’s mouth ran dry. Not because of the question – although gods knew he had no idea how to answer it – but because of where Ignis stood, having wandered into the kitchen, one hand resting on the door to the fridge. He pulled it open but turned to Prompto with a frown as his question lingered, unanswered, in the air.

“Prompto?”

Prompto shook his head, staring straight past Ignis’ face and into the fridge behind him. The empty fridge. The empty, dark fridge.

“Oh, yeah,” he tried for a joke, ignoring the way his voice cracked. “I’ve told them off, alright!” Ignis didn’t take the bait. He followed Prompto’s wide-eyed stare. “Wait!” he cried. “Um –”

It was too late.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, slowly. “Is there a reason why your fridge is empty?”

Prompto’s eyes flickered around the room, searching for an excuse. Eventually, they landed on Ignis’ face. “I—“ he started.

Maybe he could still save this – it was broken? Or, or, or –

“Prompto,” Ignis’ eyes were narrow. “What’s going on?”

Fuck. He couldn’t even try to answer. Hit with another wave of adrenaline, his shoulders heaved, and he clapped a hand over his face.

Ignis was by his side in a second, supporting him as he stumbled down the corridor into the bathroom, and rubbing his back as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. “There we go,” he murmured, stroking circles across his shoulder blades. “You’re okay.”

Prompto grimaced as he heaved again, retching into the bowl until he had nothing to show for it.

Ignis just stayed, soothing him gently, muttering enough reassurance and kind words that puking his guts up in front of one of the coolest people on Eos was almost an enjoyable experience. His stomach heaved violently. Almost.

Prompto shakily lifted his head. “Sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologise.” There was a tension in Ignis’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t apologise for this,” he echoed, quiet and pained.

After a minute, Prompto sat back on the tiles, head tipped back against the wall.

“Would you like some water?” Ignis asked.

“Please,” he croaked.

He listened faintly to the sounds of Ignis rummaging around in the kitchen, the hum of the tap as it ran – ever cold – water into a glass. There were a couple more bangs of cupboard doors – Ignis discovering the extent of his supplies, no doubt – but there was no point in trying to stop him.

There was nothing that Prompto could say now to pretend that everything was okay.

His stomach heaved again, but with nothing left to bring up he just shivered, pathetically on the tiles.

“Here.” Ignis had returned, holding a glass of water out to him. Prompto took it gratefully and drank. “Better?”

Prompto nodded, exhausted.

“Good,” he said. “Well, let’s not sit here in the dark, hmm?”

“No! It’s okay –”

Ignis flipped the light switch. Then he flipped it back. Prompto studied the floor. Ignis tried another light – the one out in the hallway this time – and it produced the same, dull result. “Prompto –”

“Don’t –” Prompto’s voice cracked. It was barely a whisper. “Just don’t.”

“How long have they been gone, Prompto?” It was barely a question, at all; Ignis sounded utterly defeated.

Prompto shrugged, shivering hard.

“Prompto?” Ignis’ tone left no room for argument.

He mumbled the answer. Ignis just waited as Prompto cleared his throat and tried again. “Four months.”

“Four –” Ignis stopped abruptly. His voice was level, professional almost, when he asked his next question. “And how long have you been without electricity?”

Prompto bit his lip and ducked his head. “Um. Three of them.”

For a second, Ignis just stared. He blinked, fighting the words as they embedded in his brain. “Three months,” he echoed back. Something furious made itself known across his face.

“Sorry,” Prompto mumbled.

Ignis’ stare moved back to Prompto, where it turned incredulous. “What on Eos could you be apologising for, Prompto?”

He shrugged, uncomfortably. “Nearly chunning on you?”

Ignis barked a laugh. His expression softened. “Well. Let’s run you a bath, then.”

He moved to turn the taps on, but Prompto stopped him with a hand to his wrist and a quiet, “There’s no point, Iggy. It’ll be cold.”

Another flicker of emotion, quashed as quickly as it came. Ignis nodded. He ran a flannel under the tap, handed it to Prompto, dripping and cold, and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He ducked outside; Prompto washed his face and brushed his teeth in silence. Then he shuffled into the kitchen, retrieving a blanket from the sofa to wrap around his shoulders. He felt anxious, twisted, and shaky, but vomiting – or maybe the cold flannel, or the glass of water, or maybe just Ignis – had relieved some of the tension.

Ignis just watched, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly.

Ignis softened. “Hey. Are you feeling more able to talk?” Prompto nodded. “Good. Well. I’m sure you understand that you can’t stay here,” he began.

Prompto’s eyes widened.

“If I have your permission to contact the others –”

“Wait!” Prompto cried. “Wait, please.” The room felt slightly unsteady again, swaying beneath his feet. “Look, um. Please. Please don’t tell Noctis.”

“Noctis?”

“I mean. I can’t – And he’s. Well. He’s … Noct, and, like, the prince, and I just –”

Ignis cut him off. “Prompto.” He exhaled. “Noctis, more than anything, is your friend, but –” he raised his voice over Prompto’s interruptions – “but I am sure that we can address this later.”

Prompto let out a shaky breath. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Ignis hummed his acknowledgement. “Prompto,” he said quietly. “You do realise that you can’t stay here, don’t you?”

Prompto shrugged. For some reason, looking around at his apartment, the thought of leaving it behind made his chest ache. It was awful, sure. But it was home.

“I know it’s hard,” Ignis continued, as if he had any idea. “But, at least for now, you need somewhere safe to stay.”

“I’m safe!” he protested. Sure, he was often upset. Hungry. Devastatingly alone. But he wasn’t – he wasn’t unsafe. Was he?

Ignis looked like he didn’t quite know what to say. “You have no electricity,” he settled for, weakly. “And no food.”

“I have cereal bars! And – and batteries! And –” Prompto listened to himself prattle off the different ways he’d been surviving. He didn’t even know why he was defending it. Why he was trying to pretend it had all been okay.

He didn’t know why – faced, finally with a chance to escape – he was too afraid to take it.

“Prompto,” Ignis said softly. “Do you know when they’re coming back?” Prompto stalled, mid-ramble. His mouth moved wordlessly as he tried to think of a reply. Ignis looked pained. “Can you promise, at least until they return, to let us help you?”

It was the tenderness that did it.

Something in the arch of Ignis’ eyebrow; in the concern – and hope – that was written across his face; in the softness of his words.

“Just until they come back?” Prompto asked hoarsely.

“Just until they come back.”

“… Okay.”

“Okay,” Ignis nodded, exhaling. “May I call Gladio? We can leave Noctis out for now, but if we’re to find somewhere to take you, I’m afraid I’ll need some assistance.”

Prompto worried his lip between his teeth. It wasn’t ideal but, “Okay.”

“Alright.” Ignis retrieved his phone from his pocket. Prompto winced as he saw all the missed calls, but Ignis seemed calm enough as he selected one of Gladio’s and his phone began to call him back.

“Ignis,” Prompto heard Gladio’s greeting, muffled through the phone.

“Gladio,” Ignis said. “Apologies for the delay in getting back to you.” Prompto didn’t hear the reply. “Yes, he’s alright. Well,” he looked over at Prompto. “He’ll be okay.” Another garbled response. “I’m sure. Look, Gladio, might you come over? I can send the address.” “No, sorry. Just you.” “It’s complicated.” “I understand.” “Thank you.” He hung up and looked at Prompto. For a moment, he looked exhausted.

“Sor–”

“Don’t even try,” Ignis cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Come here, Prompto.”

Prompto walked over, uncertain. Ignis opened his arms, and Prompto slotted – stiffly – into place. A hand wrapped around him, while the other found his hair. A tense moment, bated breath, before Prompto finally relaxed into it, letting himself be held, letting the tension roll off his shoulders and pool around his feet on the kitchen floor, face pressed into Ignis’ chest like he couldn’t breathe without him.

“Astrals, Prompto,” Ignis muttered into his hair. “When did someone last hold you like this?”

It wasn’t a question that required an answer – and a good thing, too, because Prompto didn’t trust himself to speak. He gave a half-hearted shrug, instead, careful not to move too much and make Ignis pull away. The awkwardness would come – he already knew he was making it weird – but he couldn’t bring himself to care just yet.

That was Future Prompto’s problem.

All too soon, the buzzer rang for the intercom, and they broke out of their embrace. “I’ll get it,” Ignis muttered, moving to buzz Gladio in. Prompto made no move to follow him, lingering uncomfortably in the kitchen. For the second time that day, the carefully manufactured wall that divided his Noct-life from his, well, other one was crumbling apart.

He heard low grumbling in the corridor as Ignis greeted Gladio. Snatches of conversation – “I don’t understand –” and – “parents –” but they were brief and unclear.

“There he is,” Gladio said, taking in the probably quite tragic image of Prompto, still wrapped in the blanket, lingering by the sofas. “Come here, Blondie.”

Prompto had no time to freak out; Gladio’s impressive wingspan had him pulled close in an instant. He was pressed into his (thankfully clothed) chest before the man took him by the shoulders and held him back to study his face. He whistled low. “You look like shit.”

Prompto snorted. “Thanks, dude.”

Gladio didn’t laugh, eyes really seeing him now, brow furrowed with uncharacteristic concern. “What’s up, Prompto?”

“Perhaps we ought to sit down,” Ignis said.

“Right.”

The three sat down on the sofas, Prompto with his legs tucked up beneath him.

“As I briefly mentioned,” Ignis began, “Prompto’s parents aren’t around.”

Gladio frowned. “Right?”

“They haven’t been.” He cleared his throat. “For a while.”

Gladio looked between the two young men, trying to work out what was being said. “How long is a while?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Well –”

“Four months,” Prompto muttered. There was no point in hiding it.

Gladio stared at him. “Four months?” He whipped around to Ignis. “You’re kidding, right?”

“We’re quite serious, I’m afraid,” Ignis said, voice pained.

“And you’ve told us this now because?” he turned back to Prompto.

Prompto stammered. “I, uhh, I –”

“He didn’t mean to,” Ignis sighed. “I found out by accident when I came over because –” There was something unsettling about watching Ignis struggle to find the right words. “Well, Prompto was ill and, well, he was in the bathroom and, you see, Prompto, well –"

Even Gladio struggled to watch Ignis falter so desperately. He turned to Prompto. “There’s more to this story, huh.”

“I have no electricity,” Prompto mumbled into his lap. “I, um. Got cut off. Three months ago,” he said, answering the question as it formed across Gladio’s face.

“Fuck,” Gladio spat, shaking his head. “Three months?”

Prompto nodded.

“And they haven’t contacted?”

He shook his head.

Something murderous flickered across Gladio’s face. “What kinda parents…” he growled.

“We really out to try and reach them,” Ignis said, pragmatically. “Make them aware of the truth of Prompto’s situation here.”

Prompto coughed lightly. “They know,” he muttered.

“Sorry?” Both men turned to him, confused.

Prompto swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “About the electricity. They know,” he said, a little louder. “They, um – I told them.” His voice cracked into a sob.

Something broke inside the two men at that moment. They stared, stricken, as Prompto fell apart.

“You told them,” Ignis echoed. He turned to Gladio, appalled.

“Iggy,” Gladio warned softly. He reached over to Prompto, who was doing his best to calm down, and pulled him back, holding the young man so he was crying into his chest. “There we go,” he murmured. “Let it out.”

Eventually, Prompto’s heaving sobs turned into hiccups, and the large hand running soothing circles on his back slowed down. “Sorry,” he sniffled in Gladio’s shirt.

“For what?” Gladio retorted. “I don’t ever wanna hear that outta your mouth. You understand?” Prompto nodded, fighting the urge to apologise for apologising. “Alright.” Gladio turned to Ignis. “So, game plan?”

“Well, obviously the priority is to get Prompto somewhere safe,” Ignis started.

There it was again: Ignis’ ridiculous concern over ‘safety’. Surely Gladio would tell Ignis how dumb he was being.

Gladio made a noise of agreement. “Definitely. He can’t stay here.”

Well. Maybe they were both dumb.

“There are several short-term placements I’m sure we could set him up with in the citadel,” Ignis continued. “I could certainly make room for him in my apartment if necessary.” Prompto heard Ignis pause. “There is, of course, one obvious solution.”

“The prince,” Gladio said.

Prompto shifted uncomfortably.

“Right,” Ignis agreed. “However, Prompto has indicated that, right now, at least, it might not be to his liking.”

Gladio scoffed. “Why not?”

“I’m not sure,” Ignis confessed. “It seems that he is hesitant to let Noctis know of his, um, living situation.”

Prompto felt Gladio shift in surprise. “Really?” He nudged Prompto on the back. “What’s this about, Prom?”

“He’s, uhh, you know. The prince,” he mumbled into Gladio’s chest, gesturing helplessly: summing up all of his inadequacies in one weak flail of his arms.

“And you’re, ya know, an idiot,” Gladio said, shaking his head. “This is Noctis we’re talking about. You think he’d judge you?”

He’d be an idiot not to.

Prompto sat up properly, shifting away from Gladio. “You don’t understand,” he insisted. “Noctis is royalty.”

“You noticed,” Ignis said dryly.

Prompto made a noise of frustration. “I’m serious. If he finds out, then,” he felt heat prickle in the tips of his ears, “then …”

“Then what?”

Prompto shrugged, helpless. “It’ll be different.”

“Give him more credit than that, Blondie.”

“He’s like us. We just want the best for you.”

Prompto looked between them. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

The pair were taken aback. Gladio spoke first. “What do you mean?”

“My parents don’t even want me around,” Prompto muttered, fidgeting with the blanket. “What kind of loser can’t get his own parents to like him?” He looked up. “I don’t want to Noctis to know that about me.” He gestured around his stale, abandoned apartment. “Besides,” he shrugged, trying to look casual. “If we weren’t from different worlds before, huh.”

Gladio looked furious. “Prompto, if you ever try and blame yourself for this shit again, I swear to the gods …” He sighed, slightly aggressively so. “This isn’t your fault, Prompto. There’s no such thing as having to be ‘cool enough’ for your parents to like you. You just have shit parents. And Prompto?” he waited until Prompto was looking at him directly. “None of this was ever your fault.”

“Gladio’s right,” Ignis said, weakly. “Please don’t think you’re unlovable, Prompto.”

“Yeah,” Gladio growled. “We’ll love you enough to cancel those two fuckers out completely.”

Prompto huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, man.”

Gladio shook his head, exasperated. “And as for that ‘different worlds’ crap… do you think Noctis would rather you were some kind of aristocrat? Swanning around talking about pocket watches and politics?”

Prompto tried to imagine it. He scrunched up his nose. “Maybe not.”

“At the very least,” Ignis said, quietly, “Noctis very much wants to be let in.”

Prompto felt a pang of guilt thinking about how he’d treated Noctis the last few days: the yelling, the obscenities, the avoidance. And now the three of them were sat in his apartment, leaving the other boy across the city all alone.

Gods knew Prompto had been there.

“You’re right,” he admitted, eventually. He wouldn’t hide any longer.

“That’s settled then,” Gladio said decisively. “We’re moving you into Noct’s.”

They got to work instantly, shifting into their roles like clockwork. Gladio called Noctis, to let him know that they would be on their way, while Ignis set about tidying and securing the apartment.

Prompto had his own tasks to do. He tried to focus on that, and not the fact that he was leaving – really leaving – to live with his best friend. Ignis had promised him that he could return here as soon as his parents did and he always kept his word, but still. It all felt so permanent.

“We can come back for the rest of it tomorrow,” Ignis said gently, beside him.

Prompto nodded, blearily.

He’d packed up a suitcase – the same one he’d brought over to Noctis’s those weeks ago ready for the Spring Gala, that day he’d bounced down the stairs to embrace his new life – with clothes and toiletries. He had his camera. His backpack with his laptop and notes for his exams. Exams he’d practically forgotten about.

He looked around his room. At the posters and photographs tacked over the paint colour that he’d picked out when he was six. At the chocobo memorabilia that littered every available surface, filling his room with pockets of yellow. The scuffs on the walls. His bedding. His endless photos of Noctis. Gladio. Ignis.

“You’ve decorated it very nicely,” Ignis said softly.

Prompto nodded. Then he peeled off his favourite poster – four chocobo chicks, lined up in a row, all fluffy heads and wide eyes and cute, scrawny legs – and rolled it up carefully in his hands.

“Okay.” He looked at Ignis. “Let’s go.”

The pair walked down the hallway to where Gladio was waiting with the suitcase and camera bag. It brought a lump to his throat, to see his little bag, all packed up and ready to go.

Shoes on, Ignis and Gladio were ready and waiting – but something made Prompto pause. He reached for a jacket, hanging up on the pegs. It was soft, and old, and smelled just like his father if you scrunched it all up and breathed deep. He zipped it right up to his nose.

“Ready?”

No.

Never.

I’ve been wanting this forever.

Don’t make me leave.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

“Prompto?! Is he okay?”

They’d barely made it through the door of Noctis’ apartment when the young man came skidding out of into the corridor, socks on polished wood, eyes wide with worry.

“Hey,” Prompto said, awkwardly, “oof –”

The sound was forced out of him as Noctis’ body collided with his own, pulling him into an embrace. For the third time that day, Prompto just let himself be held, let Noctis shove his face into the crook of his neck, let himself just exist there, warmed by the prince’s rare display of fierce affection.

“Hey,” he said, again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry.”

Noctis pulled away. He nodded, eyebrows pinched, eyes shiny. “Me too.”

“What are you apologising for?” Prompto laughed weakly. “I was an asshole.”

Noctis shrugged. “I didn’t mean to push you away.” His eyes landed on the suitcase behind him. He turned to Ignis and Gladio, distracted. “Wait, what’s going on? Is Prompto staying the night?”

Ignis hummed affirmatively. “Perhaps a little more than a night, if that’s alright with you.”

If anything, Noctis looked even more concerned. “What do you mean?”

“We thought Prompto might be able to move into the guest room. Just for a little while.”

Noctis stared between the three men. Prompto couldn’t meet his eyes. “How long is a little while?” he asked.

“Well,” Ignis began, “that is dependent on numerous factors, including Prompto’s own feelings on the topic –”

“He’s here to stay,” Gladio said, clapping Noctis on the shoulder as he walked past. “You might as well get used to it.”

The prince turned to his advisor, more questions written all over his face.

“We’re collecting the rest of his possessions tomorrow,” Ignis confirmed.

Noctis’ eyes flickered between all three of them. They landed on Prompto. “Are you okay?”

Prompto shrugged. “Are you okay, man? I’m the one stealing your spare room.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and it didn’t land. “Shut up,” Noctis scoffed. His face softened, a little begrudgingly. “It’s not the spare room, anyway. It’s your bedroom now.”

Prompto couldn’t quite reply to that.

“Now,” Ignis said, switching once again into the role of the advisor, “have you eaten dinner, Noctis?” The prince shook his head. His face was still the portrait of a million unanswered questions but – thankfully – he voiced none of them. “Well, neither have we. Let’s get on with it.”

And that was how Prompto found himself sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a hot drink that Ignis had made him, watching as his three best friends made dinner and set the table and chatted away. He wasn’t allowed to join in with the former, Ignis insisting that he just sit there and relax, while something in his chest stopped him from joining in the latter.

If the others noticed that he was silent, they said nothing of it – just let him exist in the middle of it all.

“Dinner’s ready,” Ignis announced. Prompto hopped off the stool and took his place at the table. The semblance of his trip three weeks ago was palpable, and he ached with the familiarity of it all.

But everything is different now.

Prompto shoved the thought away and dug into his meal.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten like this. It had been three weeks since he’d left Noctis’ apartment – three weeks of one, small meal a day, supplemented by cereal bars and crisps and dry bread rolls. He’d grown used to being hungry, numb to the way his t-shirts dropped slightly over his shoulders, the way his belt notched in one tighter around the waist. There was more food on his plate than he’d eaten in two full days – and all of it looked incredible.

It was gone before he knew it.

“Tasty?” Gladio asked.

Prompto nodded, smiling. He looked around at the others, forks suspended over their meals, plates still half full of food. His smile faltered.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Ignis said warmly. Still, Prompto didn’t miss the glance he exchanged with Gladio, the confusion on Noctis’ face. His face flushed furiously as he set his fork down.

When the others had finished their meals, and the plates had been cleared away, Ignis came back out to the table with golden pastries that he placed in front of each person.

“Noctis, you’ll have to tell me how they are,” he said.

Noctis hummed in acknowledgement. Prompto didn’t really get why Ignis had bothered asking – they looked incredible. He took a bite, and was about to compliment Ignis on his exceptional baking skills, when his stomach cramped horribly. He sucked in a breath, instead, and grabbed his stomach.

“Prompto?” Ignis looked concerned.

“Mmm,” he said, pained. “I’m fine, just –” he stopped as his stomach cramped again.

“What’s going on?” Noctis asked, panicked.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ignis said, standing up to walk over to their side of the table. “Prompto?”

Prompto nodded. “Just … got cramps.”

“Get him to the bathroom,” Gladio muttered. “Now, I reckon.”

Prompto shook his head. “No, I’m –” His stomach chose that moment to heave slightly up into his chest.

“Right.” Ignis guided him down the corridor.

“Iggy,” Prompto mumbled, tears in his eyes. “I don’t wanna be sick again.”

“I know, darling, I know.”

But it was destined to happen, and they both knew it; afterwards, Ignis excused himself to retrieve the young man’s glass of water from the table. Prompto let his head drop onto his hands, staring at the bathroom tiles until they made his eyes hurt. He tried not to listen to the conversation outside.

“—to tell me what’s going on?”

That was Noctis. Angry Noctis.

“—don’t really know –”

Ignis.

“—tell Noctis the truth … refeeding … isn’t it?”

“—leap to conclusions – “

“—the fuck –”

They were all talking at once.

“Noct –”

“Why won't anyone tell me what the fuck is happening?”

Prompto heard that, loud and clear. It was followed, shortly, by a door slamming somewhere in the apartment. Noctis’ bedroom. He let his forehead fall forwards onto the edge of the bathtub.

A minute later, Ignis returned, a glass of water in hand. “Feeling any better?”

Prompto shrugged, sitting up. “A bit. Is Noctis okay?”

Ignis sighed. “He’ll be alright. He’s just worried about you.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Sorry I threw up the food you made,” Prompto mumbled. “Didn’t mean to.”

“One of these days, we are going to get you to stop apologising.” Ignis sighed again, holding out the glass of water. Prompto took it and drank. “Although, on this particular occasion, I would like to apologize to you.” Prompto looked up. “I should have realised that eating so much rich food at once might have upset your stomach.”

He looked down again. “It’s fine.”

Ignis dismissed him. “Prompto, can I ask what your diet has been like?”

No?

“I won’t judge you; you have my word. It’s just to help me understand how I can help you.”

He wanted to fight. Wanted to brush the man off and try to force everyone to pretend that everything was fine. But his face was so sincere, and he really didn’t want to throw up again …

So he told him. His ritual of going down to cafes, his supplementary diet from the shelves of corner shops and market stalls, held up by his pocket money that still came in from his parents. Ignis listened to it all.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked at the end of it. He had that weird, pitying expression he’d looked at Prompto with all those weeks ago in the citadel. It didn't feel like a good thing.

“It’s usually fine,” Prompto urged. “I always get fed here, so it wasn’t really a problem.” Ignis looked like he wanted to disagree, but he held back. “I just thought … I didn’t realise that three weeks would be such a long time.”

Ignis shook his head in disbelief, but he didn’t push it any further.

When he went to run Prompto a bath this time, the water was hot, steamy, and comforting. He left Prompto to it, and the young man felt every muscle relax as he sank into the tub. When he finally got out – every last bubble popped, the misty heat cooled down to a dwindling warmth – it was to thick, fluffed-up towels that waited for him on the heater. He wrapped himself in them and cracked open the door. A pair of his pyjamas, folded neatly, sat outside.

“Feeling better?” Gladio asked as Prompto returned to the kitchen. He was sat at the table across from Ignis, deep in discussion, but his body language was relaxed and easy as he turned around in his chair to wave Prompto in.

“Yeah, thanks,” he nodded.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Ignis said. “I took the liberty of finding you a pair of pyjamas.”

“Yeah, that’s cool. Um. Thank you.”

Ignis smiled. “The rest of your belongings are in your bedroom. I’ve unpacked most items from your suitcase, but I’ve just placed them on the bed so you can pick where you would like things to go yourself.”

“Thanks, Iggy!” he exclaimed. It was a little absentmindedly, though; his brain had latched onto the words ‘your bedroom’ and was refusing to let them go. He beamed gratefully at Ignis, earning himself a short scoff from Gladio, and walked back out to see it all for himself.

“Oh. Hey.” Noctis was in the hallway.

He looked tense and uncomfortable, eyes scanning over Prompto like it would help him understand.

“Hey.” Prompto bit his lip.

“Are you alright now?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Prompto laughed awkwardly. Noctis offered an uneasy smile in return. The resulting silence made Prompto cringe. “Um. Wanna see my room?”

It was stupid, and they both knew it. Noctis had seen the guest room a thousand times, and Prompto hadn’t even unpacked most of his stuff yet. But the prince didn’t mock him, just agreed, and followed him in.

It looked very much the same as it did last time; light grey walls, all greys and blues with a large window to let in the light. His case was on the floor by the bed, the contents of it in folded piles spread around the room. Prompto took a seat, sinking into the mattress, and invited Noctis to do the same. He busied himself instantly with sorting out the piles of his clothes, eager for something to do with his hands.

“Hope you don’t mind me coming to live with you,” he said eventually.

“Ha. You know we’ve always wanted to do this,” Noctis smiled. It was hopeful, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah. True.” They’d spent many evenings here throughout high school jokingly coming up with plans to convince Prompto’s parents to let him move in. He just never thought –

“Prompto –”

“Yeah?”

“Um. I know it’s not my place. You can tell me later. Or never, I guess. But –”

“It’s okay.” It was only fair. “You want to know why I’m here?”

Noctis looked relieved that he didn’t have to word it himself. He nodded.

“My, uhh,” Prompto looked up briefly, studying the ceiling instead of his best friend’s face. “My parents aren’t really around these days.” Noctis was frowning. “They, um. They haven’t been for a while.”

“Did the others know?”

“No. No way. They, um. Ignis found out earlier. Told Gladio. And then they moved me here.” He went for a joke. “They move fast, those two.”

Noctis’ smile finally reached his eyes. “Yeah. They’re a bit much sometimes.”

“Yup.” Prompto thought back to the two of them on the sofa in his apartment, fretting about his safety. He thought about his parents, leaving him to fend for himself from the other side of the country. “It’s nice though,” he said quietly.

Noctis hummed even quieter in agreement.

“I thought it was all about the article,” Noctis said, after a moment. “I had no idea…”

“Yeah,” Prompto hummed. “That’s what Ignis thought, too. I mean, it kinda was. It was why I was … ya know.”

“Being a jerk,” Noctis supplied.

“Right. And I’m really sorry.”

Noctis waved him away as if to say ‘apology accepted’. Also ‘get to the point.’

“Well. That’s how it started. But then it’s hard to hide that you live alone, I guess.” He shook his head, smiling. “Definitely not when Ignis fucking Scientia is digging around your apartment.”

Noctis snorted. “I can only imagine.” He frowned. “Have they been gone for long then? Your parents?”

Prompto sighed. “Um, yeah. A few months.”

“A few what?”

“Four, actually.”

“Wait, Prompto what the fuck?” The mattress raised as Noctis stood up and spun to face him. Prompto wasn’t even sure the young man knew he’d done it. “That means …” the prince trailed off, doing some mental maths. “Gods, Prom, that was ages ago. And you’ve been alone that whole time?”

“Well,” Prompto rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I lived with you for a bit. That was, um. That was nice.”

Noctis just stared at him. Anger flickered across his face. Prompto couldn’t tell how much of it was directed at him.

“Sorry.”

Noctis ignored him.

“You were here, in my apartment, with every opportunity to have us help you and you just … didn’t say anything?”

Prompto felt guilt begin to pool in his chest, wrapping around his airways.

“It was easier during term,” he offered. “I was here all the time, and Ignis made me dinner every day, and –”

“And then we all left you for two weeks?” Noctis spat out. “And you, what, starved?”

Prompto didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Fucking hell, Prompto.”

“I –”

“You’re an idiot.” Noctis didn’t bother hiding the anger from his voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” He cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “You fucking don’t, Prompto. However stupid you think you are; I promise you, it’s worse.”

“… Thanks.”

Noctis stared, exasperated. Looming over the bed, tension pulling at his shoulders, hands raised mid-gesture, anger etched into every feature … and then it went. “Thanks?” he echoed. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Prompto scrunched up his nose. “And sorry?”

“Fuck’s sake.”

They were stuck. Nothing Prompto could say would fix his friend’s feelings; nothing Noctis could say would turn back time and save him. So they just stared at it each other, hoping the other would break them free.

“You’re such an idiot.” The best Noctis could come up with, accompanied by a sigh as he dropped back down beside Prompto on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks.”

This time, Noctis laughed. He threw an arm across Prompto’s front as he flopped back, bringing Prompto down with him. They collapsed onto the mattress, lying side by side, feet dropped over the edge. Noctis looked up at the ceiling. “You’re welcome.” A long pause. “You know that if you need anything, you’re allowed to say it, right?

“I know,” Prompto mumbled.

“No, you don’t.” Noctis glared at him across the mattress. “Forget 'allowed'. You have to say it.”

Prompto laughed. “Royal decree?”

“Royal fucking decree, bro.” He went back to studying the ceiling.

They lay like that, just listening to each other breathing. Prompto’s eyelids were growing heavy, his limbs weighing down into the mattress, when Noctis turned his head towards him. “Hey, Prom,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You hungry?”

Prompto thought about dinner. How briefly he’d had the opportunity to enjoy it. “A bit.”

Noctis jumped out of bed, his sleepiness having dissipated completely. “Knew it.”

He grabbed Prompto by the wrist and dragged him into the kitchen, kicking the door open. Prompto winced as it banged loudly on the wall behind it; at the expressions of Ignis and Gladio as they looked up in surprise, questions forming on their lips.

“Prom’s hungry,” Noctis announced.

The corner of Ignis’ mouth twisted slightly into a smile. “Understood, Your Highness.”

He set to work immediately.

Prompto’s second dinner was smaller, lighter and – thankfully – stayed down. He tried not to feel unnerved by Noctis’s stare as he watched him eat it. “You good, dude?”

Noctis just scoffed.

The gods had smiled on Prompto when he picked his subjects; while Noctis was set to head into school the next day for his third exam in as many days, Prompto would be free. Well, free to revise. He still had plenty of exams coming up.

Ignis poked his head around the door as Prompto was getting ready for bed, clothes finally packed away into the drawers and wardrobe. “Are you going to be alright tonight?” he asked.

Prompto smiled. His phone was down to charge by his bed. His stomach was full of food. He was cleaner than he’d felt in weeks. And Ignis was silhouetted by the lamp that was glowing softly in the hallway. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Alright. I’ll be in tomorrow nice and early to take Noctis to school. There’s no need to get up. I can wake you when I return.” He raised an eyebrow. “I believe sleep will do you a world of good.”

Prompto had a feeling that Ignis might be right, especially if the weight of his eyelids was anything to go by. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“Goodnight, Prompto.”

“Night.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him. Prompto fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Gladio couldn’t sleep.

He rolled over with a grunt, hitting the top of his alarm clock to light up the screen. 3:02 am. 

“Ah, fuck it.”

He pushed back the covers and crossed the room, grabbing some shorts and a top as he went. His kit, slung over the back of his dump-everything-on-it chair, was all packed up as it usually was, so he grabbed that, too. There was no point in trying to sleep; tonight clearly just wasn’t that kind of night. He creaked open his bedroom door and padded out onto the landing.

Sneaking out of the Amicitia household was something of an art form, but it was one that Gladio had spent many years perfecting. The floorboards didn’t so much as whisper their complaints as he tiptoed over them; the stairs dutifully kept his secrets; the bannisters were quiet when he held himself up on them to skip over steps that were sure to rat him out.

He stopped for a second in the kitchen, quietly opening the cupboard for a sports drink and a bag of crisps, and closing it with just as much care —

“Going somewhere?”

“Fucking hell,” Gladio bit out as the cupboard door closed to reveal someone standing behind it. Of course. He might be able to sneak out under the nose of the King’s Shield, but there was one person that  nothing  could get past. “Hello, Iris.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “An evening stroll?”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “Something like that.”

“I thought you were past your days of whoring yourself out around Insomnia,” she said with a wry smile. Gladio didn’t laugh. “Oh,” she said, finally taking in the sports kit. “Not that kind of night?” He didn’t know what to say. Not that it mattered; Iris had been able to read him like a book since they were barely in school. “Want to talk about it?” She asked, genuinely this time.

He shook his head. “Nah.”

She sighed. “One of those, huh. Well, don’t let me stop you. Your punching bags await.”

Gladio managed a grin as he ruffled her hair. “Cheers.”

“Don’t mention it,” she whispered back as he left.

The night air was cold, the streets of Insomnia lit up by a full moon. Tugging his kit tight across his body, Gladio set off at a jog.

In many ways, Gladio was fifteen again, buckling under the pressure of becoming the Prince’s Shield, burdened with expectations that the prince himself seemed not to care about. He’d carved out a place for himself in these quiet city streets, claiming the route between the Amicitia household and the citadel, making the city his own in the early hours of the morning. 

It was an old routine, but a familiar one; he was at the citadel before he’d even realised he was close, slowing down to a walk as he greeted the guards.

“Gladio,” one of them greeted him warmly. “How’s it going, man?”

“Hey,” he nodded back. 

“Tough night?”

He huffed out a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“The time?” The guard raised an eyebrow.

“You got me there,” he grinned.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “There must be something in the air tonight. You’re not the only one to show up.”

“Really?” Gladio asked only to be polite; he knew exactly who else would be daft enough to seek peace within the citadel walls. There was only one other who’d grown up like he had, never the chance to be a child, who sought refuge in places other people would run from.

He got buzzed through the gates, and set off at a jog again, navigating the citadel until he found just where he wanted to be. The gym.

Just being in there made him feel like he could already breathe a bit better: could calm down the racing thoughts and raging heart that had kept him up in the first place. Thoughts of failure, anger, regret. And at the centre of them all, again and again:  Prompto .

He could see him now in his mind’s eye, curling in on himself in his own apartment as Gladio and Ignis picked his world apart before him. Could see his scrawny wrists as he set down his fork, eyes wide with fear as Ignis guided him away from the dinner table. His stupid blond head dropping down into his chest time and time again when he’d fall asleep at movie nights or during conversations on the sofa after dinner.

How fucking exhausted he’d been, all the time,  right in front of them .

And they’d done  nothing .

It was a relief when he landed the first punch.

The bag swung gently in front of him, slow and easy and infuriatingly fine. He thought of Prompto’s parents, those smug motherfuckers holed up in some hotel somewhere, leaving Prompto abandoned, just a fucking teenager, on the other side of the country. The second punch landed harder.

He’d kill them. If they ever had the fucking nerve to show their faces back in Insomnia, if they ever tried to hurt Prompto like they’d done before, he’d kill them with his bare fucking fists, he felt sure of it. The third punch made it swing.

He thought of his holiday with Iris, laughing, soaking up the sun by the coast, enjoying the rare time off that he was awarded as the shield. He thought of what Prompto was doing at that time, holed up in the dark, starving of food and human contact. Because that was the worst of it, right? Not just that he’d had no electricity, no food, no hot water or lights… but that he’d gone through it all alone, abandoned by everyone he should be able to turn to. His mother. His father.  Them .

The next punch hurt, reverberating right up his forearm. Good. He shoved away the pain, shifted his feet and rolled back his shoulders.

The next one landed even harder.

Eventually, he had to stop. Even all wrapped up, his knuckles were a hot, aching mess, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down into his eyes. He rubbed it away with his forearm and drank the sports drink, panting as he crushed the bottle and tossed it back into his bag. He stood there for a minute more, watching as the punching bag stopped slowly stopped swinging before he slung his kit back over his shoulders and headed for the showers.

Clean and dry, his excursion had finally done its job; Gladio felt the beginnings of exhaustion tugging at him as he trudged back out of the changing rooms and away from the gym. Still, it wasn’t bedtime yet. There was one more thing that he needed to do.

He wasn’t hard to find.

Ten minutes of walking down corridors - knowing precisely where he intended to end up - and Gladio reached a small office, lit up despite the hour. He pushed the door open slowly and took in the sight of the young man inside, head resting on his hands, fingers buried in his hair, glasses perched haphazardly on the end of his nose.

“Hey.”

Ignis looked up with a start. He took in the sight of Gladio, the sports back over his shoulder, the hair still damp from the shower. “Oh. It’s you.”

Gladio smiled sadly. “You too, huh?”

“Seems so.”

Gladio came closer, perching on the edge of the desk to study the papers spread out in front of the advisor. CHILD PROTECTION PROCEEDINGS: ABUSE AND NEGLECT OF LEGAL DEPENDENTS. OBLIGATIONS OF THE STATE TOWARDS ADOPTED YOUTHS AND OTHER DEPENDENTS. REMOVING CHILDREN FROM UNSAFE CONDITIONS: RIGHTS OF THE PARENTS. The list went on - papers spread so widely across the desk that there was barely any wood visible beneath them.

“Oh, Iggy…”

“Don’t,” he said flatly. “I’m going to get them for something. I don’t care if you think it’s a bad idea.” He looked up at Gladio as if daring the man to oppose him - or perhaps just expecting him to.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “I never said it was a bad idea.” He paused. “It’s all up to Prompto, though, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I know that,” Ignis snapped. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll see that this is the way to do it, to make them pay for what they put him through, for how they just  abandoned  him.”

Gladio winced as Ignis’s voice cracked. “I know, Igs.” He rested his hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “We’ll give it a go.”

“Don’t ‘I know, Igs’, me,” Ignis said haughtily. “I’m going to make this right.”

Gladio respectfully stepped back, hand free to run through his hair as he formulated his response. “Ignis,” he tried. “We can do this. Maybe we - maybe we should,” he spoke over Ignis’ attempts at interrupting him, “But this won’t turn back time, okay? This won’t —“ he gestured uselessly — “this won’t fix everything.”

Ignis exhaled shakily. “I know. I just —“ He broke off. “I can’t help but feel like we failed him.”

Trust me, I know the feeling.

“We haven’t failed him,” Gladio said confidently - far more confidently than he felt. “We’re here for him now, huh? That counts for something.”

Ignis looked up at him. “What if it’s not enough?” He muttered.

“It has to be.” Gladio set his jaw firm. “We‘ll make it enough.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ignis said after a moment. “It just keeps playing over and over in my mind. Every moment that I should have realised, every time the answers were right in front of my eyes and I just didn’t see —“ He raked a hand through his hair. “I knew something was wrong, Gladio. I knew it. And I just didn’t —“

“You had no way of knowing it was  this ,” Gladio argued.

“But I should have asked. I should have tried harder, I should have —“

“Ignis,” Gladio slid off the table, turning Ignis’ chair around until the man was facing him properly. He steeled himself against the look on Ignis’ face, the devastation that he found there. He knew he should feel honoured that the man trusted him with his lowest every time, but it didn’t make it any easier to see - this insecure, shattered version of Ignis that he never showed the rest of the world.

“Hey,” he said, again, softer. “You’ll drive yourself crazy like this.” Ignis looked like he wanted to object. Gladio wasn’t about to let him. “I mean it,” he insisted. “All these ‘what ifs’ are going to do nothing but hurt you. And that won’t help anyone. Prompto needs us more than ever right now, and he needs us to be strong.”

Ignis nodded. His eyes were shiny and unsure.

“Come here,” Gladio sighed, pulling him into his chest.

He just held him as his shoulders shook. If Ignis was crying, neither of them was going to mention it.

“Thank you,” Ignis said after, all stiff and awkward.

“Hey,” Gladio chuckled. “None of that.” He stood up, giving Ignis room to compose himself again. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

Ignis huffed a quiet laugh. “It is pretty late.”

It was - the clock on the wall declared it to be sometime after 5 am, and now he was looking, Gladio could see the pale blue tell of the beginnings of sunrise creeping over the skyline out the window. “I’m not sure ‘late’ is the right word anymore,” he muttered. “Pretty sure it’s just really fuckin’ early.”

“You might be right,” Ignis said with a sigh, pushing his chair back with his legs as he stood.

“I’m always right,” he said, earning himself a sarcastic snort. “Now,” he nodded to the door. “Let’s go home.”

There was one more routine that the two of them fell into that night. A remnant of the times when Ignis was studying for his own exams - educational and vocational ones happening all at once - and not a soul in the world could drag him away from his work. None save for Gladio, sometime in the early hours of the morning, who would show up with fries and the promise of a warm bed that wasn’t one of the soulless, empty rooms the citadel reserved for late-night workers. And Ignis - red-eyed, eighteen and exhausted - would follow him quietly out of the endless hallways and down past the guards. He’d get on the back of Gladio’s moped, the only time he ever boarded the professed ‘death trap’, and allow himself to be whisked away to the Amicitia’s home. Gladio would take the couch, giving up his bedroom until the hours of the late morning, when Ignis would emerge like a zombie, searching the kitchen for caffeine like it was the only thing that kept him alive.

Gladio’s chest tightened thinking about it, as he saw the echoes of that exhaustion embedded into Ignis’ face right now, the advisor following him numbly down the halls like he had done all those years before. He’d never tell him - Ignis would never want to hear it - but Noctis wasn’t the only one Gladio had sworn to himself he would protect.

He didn’t have his moped tonight, and they were past those awkward teenaged years where they refused to share a bed, so there were several differences that marked it out from before. Still, it was remarkably familiar as they trudged through the streets of Insomnia together, Ignis quiet and exhausted, and let themselves into his home.

They got ready for bed quietly, Gladio throwing Ignis an old pyjama set to sleep in while he ducked into the bathroom. Gladio waited for Ignis to get settled before he hit the lights and settled down to sleep. They might not have solved everything - they might not have achieved anything except the very start of putting things right - but they’d make it work. They could promise Prompto that, at least.

“Hey, Gladio,” Ignis muttered, finally falling asleep. 

“Hmm?”

“I would have gone to sleep eventually.“

“Hmm,” he agreed sarcastically. “Face down in your desk.”

Ignis mumbled a laugh into his pillowcase.

“Go to sleep.”

Ignis muttered something else into his pillow. It sounded a bit like ‘you first’. Not that it mattered. Ignis’s breathing evened out within moments, exhaustion finally winning out over all else. Gladio yawned and dumped his phone on the floor by the bed, shifting around on the mattress until he was comfortable.

Ignis was already out of it. Gladio wasn’t too far behind.

Chapter Text

When Prompto woke up the next morning, the apartment was quiet. 

A sleepy glance at the clock on his bedside showed that he’d slept through most of the morning - he’d thought that Ignis was going to wake him up earlier in the day than that, but apparently, he’d really meant it when he said he wanted Prompto to sleep.

With bare feet on the wooden floor, he padded out of the bedroom and down the corridor.

“Iggy?” he called, pushing the door open. 

The kitchen was airy and bright. The sides were swept down neatly, a small pile of letters arranged neatly on the dining table, cushions plumped on all the sofas. One of the windows was propped open, the curtains swaying lightly in the breeze, ruffling the magazines on the coffee table. It was cute, homely.

And completely quiet.

“Iggy?” he called again, frowning. “Hello?”

Noctis’s bedroom was a little less tidy than the living area but similarly abandoned. Well, that made sense enough. Noctis was in school sitting an exam. Still, for Ignis not to have returned yet …

Prompto’s palms started to sweat, and he felt an uncomfortable prickling running up and down his spine. “Iggy?” He called out, louder. “Gladio? Guys?”

He was wide awake now.

He gave one last cursory glance around Noctis’ bedroom - as if Ignis might materialise out of thin air - and walked back into the corridor, tiptoeing around the silent flat. The sound of a key in the lock made him flinch hard. He spun around to see the door handle turn, and Ignis walk through the door, carrying a few small bags of shopping. 

He halted in his tracks when he saw Prompto. “Ah, you’re up,” he said, warmly. “Sorry, you were sleeping so deeply when I left. I didn’t think you’d be up for a little while yet.”

Prompto just nodded. 

“I’ve picked up some ingredients for breakfast if you’re feeling hungry?”

Another nod. He was starving.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked, finally taking in the body language that Prompto was not doing well at hiding.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough with morning disuse. “Yeah, I just, um. Well, I don’t know.”

“Bad dream?”

Something like that.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Scary stuff.” He mimed a half-arsed shudder. “Yikes.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t put out of your mind,” Ignis smiled reassuringly, heading for the kitchen. “I picked up some pancake mix.”

Warmth finally blossomed in Prompto’s chest as he followed Ignis into the kitchen. “You did?”

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Prompto was content enough to just focus on his pancakes, but even digging in as enthusiastically as he was, he couldn’t help but notice that Ignis was more subdued than usual, staring into space over his mug of Ebony. “Tired?” He asked, watching as the man stared, blankly, into the middle distance.

“Mmm?” Ignis focused on Prompto. “Oh, right. Yes, a little.” He sipped his Ebony. “I had a slightly short night, that’s all.”

Prompto frowned. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he said. “An admin task that overran, I’m afraid. It happens fairly often.”

Prompto pulled a face. “Sounds rough.”

Ignis hummed noncommittally. “All part of the job.”

Breakfast had long since come and gone, Prompto sat at the dining table hunched over a textbook when Gladio arrived at the apartment. “Good morning,” he called out, nudging the door shut behind him. 

“I do believe it’s the afternoon,” Ignis remarked.

Gladio stopped to check his watch. “Huh. Only just.” He turned to Prompto. “How ya doing, Blondie?”

Prompto sighed dramatically, gesturing to the papers laid out in front of him. “I’m dying, Gladio. These exams are gonna kill me.”

Gladio chuckled, ruffling a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Specs can help you later.” He straightened up. “It’ll have to wait though. Right now, we have a job to do,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“We do?” Prompto squinted up at him.

“Sure thing. We’re gonna go and get the rest of your stuff.”

Oh, right. Prompto nodded, trying to look far braver than he felt.

“If it’s alright with you, Prompto,” Ignis said, eyeing him softly. “We thought it best to just get you settled.”

“Makes sense.” He steeled his nerves. “As good an excuse to stop revising as any, huh?”

Gladio grinned. “I knew there was something I liked about you, kid.”

So that was how Prompto found himself, ten minutes later, in the middle front seat of a small van that Gladio had parked outside the house. “Is this yours?” he asked, clicking in the seatbelt.

“Nah,” he smirked. “Borrowed it from a lady friend who’s visiting town.”

Prompto was impressed. “Oh, right. Are we going to meet her?”

“Ha. Not today kid. She’s a busy woman, so I’m just dropping this back when we’re done and posting the key.” He smiled encouragingly. “You’ll meet her someday, I’m sure. You’re gonna love her,” he waggled his eyebrows.

Prompto scoffed, flushing bright red. “Sure.”

“Sometime today, please, Gladio,” Ignis said curtly.

“Sure thing, Specs,” Gladio said, rolling his eyes hard - but he started the car, anyway, and set off in the direction of the docks.

The apartment building looked just how it did every other day; just how it had done only the day before when Prompto had run there after school. It was wrong that it looked so normal when his life had become so startlingly different. The boys gave him space as he walked up, buzzed them in and led them to his apartment door. It opened with an ominous click, and the three shuffled inside.

It was silent.

The others continued to hang behind him as Prompto walked into the kitchen, breathing in the stale air, letting his eyes linger on every surface. It was a hot, summer’s day outside; with the sun beating down through the locked windows, it felt uncomfortably stuffy and warm. Prompto heaved a heavy sigh, filling his lungs with stale air.

“Everything alright?” Ignis asked.

Prompto just waved him off, walking past him to go down the corridor to his room. It already looked depleted, his core possessions having been removed and packed up the day before. There were small blobs of blu tac on the wall where his poster had been.

“Right.” Now he was here, he had no idea where to start. “Do you guys have, um, bags?” The thought of packing everything up into bin bags made him want to cry.

“Shit,” Gladio muttered softly. “Sorry, Prom.”

“It’s fine,” he bit out. “It’s fine.” He spun on his heels and left for the kitchen, deliberately ignoring the glance the other two shared over his head. When he came back with a roll of bin bags, no one could look him quite in the eye. 

“How should we do this, then?” Ignis asked. “Is there a way we can break it all down?”

“Yeah,” Prompto nodded, thinking it over. “Um, there’s my clothes.” He looked to Ignis, who nodded.

“I’ll do those.”

“Thanks. And, um. My dark room. It’s in that cupboard, there,” he said, gesturing. “I’d, um. I’ll handle those myself. The photos are all kinda delicate.” He looked around, not meeting their encouraging eyes. “That leaves. Well. The rest, I guess?”

Gladio nodded, drawing himself up. “I’m on it.”

“You can pack up my soft toys kinda randomly. They’re all on the bed. The figurines and shit will probably be okay, too. But, uhh,” he paused. “I mean, some of them are kinda breakable, and I’ve had them for ages —“

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“… Okay.” He exhaled. He trusted Gladio with his life ; he could trust him with some possessions. “Let’s do it, then.”

They made weirdly light work of it, packing Prompto’s entire life up into plastic bags. Before long, Ignis - ever efficient - had finished tidying up the clothes, and pragmatically moved on to sorting through the piles of school work in his desk, putting them away into some file boxes he’d found so they didn’t need to go into bags. Still, it felt like hours had gone by when Prompto was drawn away from the painstaking effort of unpinning and sorting each developed photo and slotting them into envelopes by a small ‘oh’ from the bedroom.

Stomach dropping, Prompto remembered the newspaper articles all too late. “Wait —“ he called, running out from the cupboard, knocking it shut with his foot and skidding into the room. “It’s um —“

Ignis was sat on the floor, amidst piles of school papers and old notebooks, with a small collection of papers in his lap. A collection of newspaper articles, some old and wrinkled, two freshly placed in there, several clearly suffering from water damage.

“Are these your mother’s?” Ignis murmured, studying them.

“That’s not —“ Prompto whispered hoarsely. “I mean —“

Ignis looked up, eyes widening at Prompto’s expression. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Prompto, I didn’t mean to —“

“Don’t —“

“Prompto —“

“Just don’t , okay?” Prompto eyes flickered wildly around the rest of the piles. He felt sick.

“What’s going on?” Gladio, this time, ambling over from where he’d been packing up the contents of Prompto’s bedside table.

It was bad enough that Ignis had just plumbed the fucking depths of his own pathetic behaviour; the idea that Gladio was about to share in the discovery was the final straw. 

“Get out.” Prompto spun to face him, hardening himself against the look of hurt surprise on Gladio’s face. He turned to face Ignis again. “You too. Out.”

How could he have ever let them in here?

“Prompto, really —“

“I’m serious,” he glared.

“Hey, come on kid —“

“Prompto —“

What else might they find?

“Did I say it like a question?” Prompto hated the way his voice tremored. “Get out of my bedroom. Now.”

Ignis looked almost painfully like he wanted to object, but he didn’t, standing instead, dusting off his trousers and following Gladio out of the door. Prompto just watched, fists clenched uselessly by his side, daring them to leave the door open so he could slam it in their faces. He felt a stupid pang of frustration when the advisor clicked it respectfully shut behind him.

He almost fell to his knees, dropping down to scoop up the article clippings, studying them with shaking hands. They’d been shuffled out of order; he painstakingly put them back (date order, newest at the top) and set them down on the floor.

He could hear the low rumble of voices coming from the corridor. They were probably talking about him.

Fuck them.

With shaking hands - from anger or adrenaline, he didn’t know or care - Prompto sorted the rest of the papers in his desk drawers. It didn’t take long; Ignis had gone through almost everything, as he had already discovered. There was one saving grace - a small greyish, bluish folder, dog-eared and worn from years of use, containing a certain, um, collection of photographs was lurking, unseen, in the bottom drawer. 

Prompto hugged it to his chest before stuffing it away, wedging it inside his camera bag where he was sure that no one would find it.

It was only when it was done, and he was lying on the floor staring aggressively up at the ceiling, that there came a small, quiet knock on the door.

“Yeah?” He called out.

“Brought you snacks,” Gladio said, shouldering open the door. “You can do this all on your own, if you want, but I figured it would make you pretty hungry.”

Prompto lifted his head long enough to look at the food - donuts, in the same packaging that they came in at the market. He dropped his head back down again. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Gladio sat down next to him and got out a donut for himself. “Hmm,” he groaned. “These are good.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Prompto rolled his eyes as he sat up. 

“Is it working?”

He shrugged, accepting a donut. “Maybe.”

“Ignis didn’t mean anything, ya know,” Gladio said after a minute.

Prompto scowled at his donut. “I know.”

“Maybe you could —“

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

A pause. “Fine. We don’t have to. But let us help you pack up?”

He considered it. It would be faster with Ignis and Gladio to help. And, really, what could any of them find that was worse than what they already had?

Don’t answer that.  A small, blue-grey folder popped into his mind. He pushed it away. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, kid. It was gonna be a tough day.”

Prompto knew he didn’t deserve how nice Gladio was being to him. Nor how kind Ignis was, when he came back into the room and got to work without a single complaint about being yelled out - just kept up idle chatter  as he helped Prompto pack up the rest of it his stuff. He didn’t deserve any of it really. The new apartment, the constant forgiveness, the acceptance he kept being met with by these stupid, perfect people.

It didn’t stop him from wanting it, though.

And it wouldn’t stop him from keeping on that path to becoming someone who did. No matter what.

Prompto’s dark room was the last thing to be completely packed up. He let Gladio and Ignis help, the three of them pressed back-to-back in the tiny cupboard as they unpinned and put away his photos, cleared out his trays of development fluid, unhooked the red lamp he’d hung up in there that was plugged into the wall outside.

By the time he was done, it was just another cupboard.

He took in the empty room with slightly sad eyes, taking comfort in the hand that Gladio clapped on his shoulder as he stood there. “You’ve done well, kid,” he muttered.

He hadn’t but that didn’t matter. He’d done it. And right now that was enough.

“Do you think I’ll ever move back here?” He asked, forcing the wobble out of his voice.

Ignis studied him. “You might,” he said, kindly. 

Prompto nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“We’ll help you move it all back when you do,” Gladio said.

Prompto smiled at him, leaning back into the touch. “Thanks, Big Guy. I’m gonna need the hand, I reckon.”

The three lingered there for a moment more, before Ignis broke the silence. “Well, I, for one feel as if lunch might be in order. Shall we go?”

Something hitched in Prompto’s throat. He swallowed hard, choking down the panic that threatened to burst out and make a scene.

“Sure.”

He tried not to look back as they left. 

Prompto didn’t bother unpacking when he got back to Noctis’s. Or theirs. Or whatever it was these days. Nobody pushed him too, either. He just shoved the bin bags away in the corner of the bedroom and got out his books instead. 

He wasn’t sure why.

His parents wouldn’t be back another month, even if they did stay on schedule - something which never happened, always another job, another opportunity, another bawling kid that they could rush in and save - so it would be worth decorating the room. His room. Whatever.

When Noctis came home from school, Prompto was settled at the dining room table, working through his revision notes ahead of the exam tomorrow. He didn’t ask about the piles of bin bags taking up the guest room, just dropped down next to him to go through his own notes.

“Good day?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Prompto mumbled, crossing out a line of working. “You?”

Noctis shrugged. “Yeah, fine.” They went back to work.

“So,” Noctis asked, a few minutes later. “Ready for tomorrow?”

Prompto set down his pen this time, groaning. “No way. This one’s gonna kill me.”

“Same,” he muttered darkly. 

“That’s if Draxus doesn’t get me first,” Prompto grimaced, dropping his face into his palms. “At least I can kinda prevent the exam from going wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

Prompto pulled a face. “Wow, you have such little faith in me?”

“Shut up,” Noctis groaned. I mean bullshit on the rest of your day going wrong.”

“Mmm,” Prompto hummed noncommittally. “Pretty sure everyone in that school hates me.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” 

“Gee, thanks, dude. One down, five hundred to go.”

“Come on, Prom,” Noctis rolled his eyes. “You’ll have me there, how bad can it be?”

“Yep. Pretty bad.”

“I swear to the gods, Prom. Do you want me to cheer you up or not?”

Prompto laughed. “No, okay, keep trying. I’m enjoying it.”

Noctis rolled his eyes again. “Whatever. I just mean, I won’t let anyone mess with you.”

“… Romantic.”

“I swear to the gods, dude…” Noctis muttered, going back to his notes. “I’m done trying to help you. And I’m totally eating your exam waffles tomorrow.”

“My exam what now?”

“Exam waffles,” Noctis smirked. “Ignis tradition. Fuels the brain, or something.”

“Fuck off,” Prompto whispered. “You’ve been having waffles before every exam and not telling me ?”

Noctis raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was having - cereal bars?” Prompto gawped, and Noctis immediately looked sheepish. “Wait, sorry, —”

“You asshole!” Prompto laughed incredulously, swatting Noctis across the face with his paper. Noctis ducked, cackling - until he was hit squarely across the face by Prompto’s second blow.

“Oh, it’s on .” Noctis sprinted for the sofas. Too late, Prompto realised he shouldn’t be chasing after him but instead looking for cover: something he realised only as a hefty, well-plumped sofa pillow barrelled into his chest with all the force of a small car. 

“Fu—“ he didn’t even finish the word, arms windmilling to keep him on his feet before a second blow to the face broke it off. He landed hard, more grateful than ever for the insanely plush rug that he fell into. “Bastard,” he muttered to Noctis’ cackling, grabbing a pillow and charging with a raging war cry.

Noctis went down in an instant. An incredibly satisfying instant, Prompto noted, gloating down at the prince’s dishevelled form. He threw his pillow to the side, hands on his hips. “And that, young man,   is called karm-aaah!” Two hands grabbed his ankles, and Prompto was flat-backed on the floor.

“You were saying?” the prince asked, haughty smirk not really working on account of how hard he was panting.

“You never fight fair,” Prompto whined, glaring at the ceiling.

“And you never win.”

Prompto scoffed. He was similarly out of breath, content to lay there for a moment. Neither of them got up.

The sound of the key in the door a minute later, and then the voice of Ignis Scientia as he walked through the living room. “A new revision technique?” he asked, airily.

“Something like that,” Noctis said, similarly aloof.

“Hmm. I’m more of a believer in traditional methods,” Ignis remarked, organising himself in the kitchen. “If you both would be so kind as to indulge me.” At this, he gestured to the table, where their notes had been abandoned.

The boys lay there for a moment longer, sharing a look of despair.

“Ugh, why’d you always have to ruin the fun, Specs,” Noctis grumbled, getting to his feet.

“You‘ll thank me for it tomorrow, I’m sure.”

Prompto sighed, dragging himself to his feet to follow Noctis. 

They worked a little longer, until Ignis finally let them stop for dinner, and got ready for bed shortly after. Ignis was a stickler for the proper exam routine, some of which was fun, like breakfast waffles, and some of it which was not, like going to bed when it was barely dark out. It was an elaborate contraption of carrot versus stick, perfected over years of Ignis being lumped with the sorry task of getting Noctis through his education.

And now I’m a part of it.

He didn’t know what he thought about that, so he thought about something else. Puzzles, equations and proofs. Differentiation. Something about triangles that he always got wrong. It was far easier than thinking about his place in Noctis’ apartment, the mountain of polyethylene beside his bed, the space he’d left behind, emptier than ever, on the other side of town. The bare walls. The empty shelves. The creaking of the apartment that no one was around to hear. The cold moonlight shining in through windows he’d had hadn’t bothered to close the curtains on— 

He inhaled a shuddery breath and rolled over in his bed, plastic bag mountain firmly behind him.

He willed himself to go to sleep.

Chapter Text

Lesson one: school was easier with a friend.

They’d walked through the corridors together - Draxus not making an appearance at all - chatting and laughing, Prompto’s arm thrown across Noctis’ shoulders like the good old times. They queued up for the exam together, right on time, walking straight past the substitute teacher, and waited for each other outside the hall when it was all over. They shared a large packed lunch made by Ignis and then wasted the afternoon pretending to study in the library, flicking each other with scraps of paper and doodling in their notebooks.

“Ignis makes us study more than enough anyway,” Noctis concluded, leaning over to draw a terrible, scratchy chocobo in Prompto’s notebook.

“Yup,” Prompto sighed, head on his desk, pen twirling in his fingers.

Lesson two: thinking was easier on a full stomach.

Noctis had not stayed true to his threat that he would eat Prompto’s waffles, so the young man had enjoyed them to the full. He tucked in with enthusiasm, blathering compliments to Ignis Noctis mimed gagging behind his back. Maths would never be his favourite, and he definitely still screwed up that thing with the triangles, but it was easier when his attention wasn’t also on his empty stomach, thoughts of food muddying everything else.

And lesson three: life was easier with people in it.

To wake up to Ignis clattering away in the kitchen, to get ready for school jostling Noctis out of the mirror as they both fixed their ties, to recite nonsense maths acronyms with him in the backseat of the car as they crawled towards school. To sit with his friends now, exam over, having dinner.

“So. T’m’rows Fr’day,” Gladio grumbled around a mouthful of food. “Th’n th’week’nd.”

“I will not even pretend to have understood that,” Ignis said derisively.

Gladio rolled his eyes hard. He swallowed. “Tomorrow’s Friday,” he said, glaring daggers at Ignis. “So it’s nearly the weekend.”

“Oh?” Ignis said politely. “Is that so?”

Noctis sniggered into his dinner.

“I can see your carrots under your knife, Noctis.” The sniggering stopped. “Your point, Gladio?”

The man shrugged. “Just thought we should do something. Prompto and the Princess don’t have exams until next week, right?” He looked around for confirmation. “Exactly. So, what do we wanna do with the time?”

“Arcade,” Noctis said instantly.

“What about camping?” Gladio argued.

“Revision.”

“What?! Specs, come on, no way.”

“Any ideas, Prom?” Gladio asked encouragingly.

“Um,” Prompto mumbled quietly. “Actually, I have detention.”

“Sorry, Prompto?” Ignis asked, confused.

“I have detention,” he said a little louder.

Cutlery dropped. 

“You?” Gladio asked incredulously. 

“Since when?” Noctis demanded.

“Since, um.” Prompto studied his knees. “Earlier this week.”

“What happened?” Ignis demanded.

“Uhh,” Prompto shifted in his seat. “I was in a fight.”

“A fight?” Gladio repeated, looking nothing short of impressed.

“Well,” Prompto rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Less of a fight, maybe, and more me shoving this guy into a wall.”

Gladio whistled low. “Would not have expected that from you,” he grinned. And was promptly kicked by Ignis.

“A fight?” Ignis echoed, soundly far less impressed than Gladio had.

“Oh. With Draxus, right?” Noctis asked, piecing it together. “And that substitute teacher.”

“You fought a sub?” Gladio’s eyes were wide and adoring.

“No, idiot,” Noctis slapped his shoulder. “The sub caught him. She was out to get you, dude,” he said, turning to Prompto.

Prompto just nodded. He couldn’t tell how this conversation was going so he was doing his best not to be a part of it.

“Might you share what caused you to -“ Ignis coughed politely - “‘shove this guy into a wall’?”

“Umm.” He tried to find a way to say it. “I, um. He got under my skin, I guess. I really was doing my best to control it!” he insisted, “but then he called me a Niff and —”

Noctis and Gladio were on their feet in an instant. “He what?”

“Yeah, um.” He shrugged. “I dunno, guys. I mean, it sucked, sure, but, um. I did shove him. Into a wall. And scream at him. So, uhh. Detention.”

“No, no, you’re not brushing this off,” Noctis glared. “He what? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“To you?” Prompto shot back but with no real anger behind it.

“Well, no, it didn’t have to be me,” Noctis begrudgingly accepted. “But someone! That teacher?”

“The one you just said was out to get me?” 

Noctis sighed in frustration.

“I’m pretty sure she thought it was my background that had me fighting in the first place,” Prompto said bitterly.

“Meaning?” Gladio this time, looking similarly enraged.

“Could everyone please sit down?” Ignis asked curtly. Gladio and Noctis looked around belatedly, resuming their seats with slightly sheepish expressions. “Prompto. That was quite an allegation to make against a teacher. Could you explain?”

Prompto’s eyes flickered across his friends; three different shades of anger stared back.

“Prompto?” Ignis prompted him, the edge gone from his voice.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t prove himself to another set of people; couldn’t go through the effort of trying to make them see his world as he did. “It’s nothing,” he shook his head. “We just didn’t get on, I guess.”

“Promp—“

“Anyway,” he rolled his eyes. “We should still make plans. Detention doesn’t go on forever, even though it’ll totally feel like it.”

Noctis rolled his eyes. “It’ll fly by, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically.

Gladio and Ignis looked like they wanted to keep talking - Ignis’s face looked a certain shade of crestfallen that made Prompto’s chest twist into knots - but they let it go. “I still think we should do something outdoors,” Gladio grumbled. “I’m not spending a whole weekend in an arcade.”

“You don’t have to,” Noctis shrugged. “You can go do some training sessions or something.”

“Great. You just described my work day.”

“Mmhmm. I don’t like the idea of my staff slacking off.”

Prompto snorted as Gladio smacked Noctis in the back of the head. 

“Brat.”

As it turned out, Ignis won. To the surprise of absolutely none of them. Friday was spent studying hard, Noctis and Prompto gearing up for the second - and, thank the gods, final - week of exams. They had assessments every day; on more than one occasion, they had second ones in the afternoon, and Prompto had an eight-hour art exam one day that would take him into the early evening. (Thankfully, there wasn’t much revision for that.)

Finally, as the sun began to dip in the sky, and Prompto was sure he’d be cross-eyed for life, Ignis wandered over to the table to tell them that they could stop studying. Noctis groaned, heaving himself off the chair, and collapsed face-down into the sofa. “That sucked,” was his barely-audible comment on the situation.

Prompto couldn’t agree more. The only consolation was the fact that he was, at least, feeling prepared for the exams. More prepared than he’d ever felt before, to be honest, guided by Ignis’ careful instruction - and gruelling timetable. He followed Noctis up from the table and over to the living area, willing his brain to stop ticking over dates and strategies and historic treaty agreements. He didn’t even make it to the sofa, dropping down into the rug instead, feeling the fluffy fibres tickle his nose as he face-planted into the ground.

“Jesus, Iggy,” Gladio laughed as he entered the room. “You’re killing ‘em.”

“They’ll be fine,” Ignis said drily. “They’re a little dramatic, is all.”

“Mama Gladio, save us from Mama Ignis, pleeeeeease,” Prompto wailed, rolling onto his back to look pleadingly up in his direction.

“My point, I believe, has been proved,” Ignis deadpanned.

“I’ll save ya,” Gladio grinned. “‘Mama Gladio’ isn’t happening, though.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m more of the ‘daddy’ type.”

Noctis made a retching noise into the sofa. “NEVER say that again, I swear to the gods.”

“Oh, really? Your mum says it every night.”

Prompto gawped. “You can’t make ‘your mum’ jokes to someone who - um, to, you know —“

“Someone whose mum is dead?” Noctis raised an eyebrow.

“Noctis!” Prompto hissed.

“Bro, it’s my mum.” Noctis rolled his eyes, hard. “Anyway,” he held Prompto’s eyes in a moment of seriousness. “It’s worse when people treat you different for stuff, you know?”

Prompto shrugged. He kind of understood.

“Besides, it’s not like the joke is about my actual mother.”

“That’s what you think,” Gladio smirked.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Noctis turned incredulously. “You are such a creep.”

Gladio winked, sauntering off into the kitchen proper to harass Ignis instead.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ignis said, batting his hand away from where it was hovering over the tray he’d just removed from the oven. “You can eat when everyone else does.”

“Not even a little bit?” Gladio asked, inching his hand back towards the tray.

“None.” Ignis swatted him with a tea towel. “If you’re that desperate to get involved in my kitchen you can start the washing up.”

“Hell no.”

Ignis sighed as Gladio headed back towards the sofas.

”Excited for detention, baby boy?” Gladio asked, picking his third victim.

“Thrilled,” Prompto said, picking up a pillow to shove it into his face.

“Aww, none of that. You’re the bad boy of Insomnia High School. Shoving people into walls, punching substitute teachers…”

“I did not punch a sub, Gladio.”

“Ahh, but you wish you did.”

Prompto smiled a bit at that.

“Ha! Gotcha!” Gladio pointed, triumphant. “We’ll make a rebel of you yet.”

Prompto groaned, shoving his face back into the pillow to hide the grin spreading across his face.

“Can’t we get Prompto out of it, anyway?” Noctis asked, sitting up. “We’ve already established the detention is bullshit.”

Gladio considered it. “Huh. Could we go that, Iggy?”

Ignis sighed, shaking his head. “While I agree that the circumstances around the detention were unfair,” he spoke over the clamouring protests of Noctis and Gladio, “it remains true that Prompto shoved a young man into a brick wall.”

“Come on Igs, this is bullshit.”

“Language please, Gladio.”

“What? We swear all the time!”

“I was objecting to the nickname,” Ignis said stiffly. “‘Specs’ I have long since grown accustomed to, and ‘Iggy’ I find myself not to mind,” he confessed. “‘Igs’, however, sounds rather unpleasant.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Gladio grinned wolfishly. “Igs,” he added.

Ignis scoffed. He caught eyes with Prompto and looked away awkwardly. “Besides, I’m not completely heartless,” he continued, gathering himself. “I’m sure we can think of something nice to do with Prompto after his detention is over.”

All eyes turned to Prompto.

“Oh.” Prompto shifted. “Uhh, I don’t mind, guys! What do you want to do?”

“Well, there must be something,” Ignis said encouragingly. “What do you do in your spare time?”

“Um. I mean, I take photos,” he shrugged. Everyone already knew that one. “And I hang out with you guys …” None of this sounded like enough. “Oh!” he brightened. “I like galleries! They’re free so I could always go whenever I wanted. I mean, I had to have an adult with me. Sometimes,” he giggled, sharing the secret, “I’d go up to adults in the queue and get them to pretend to be my parents and sneak me in that way —“

No one else was laughing.

On the contrary, all three looked a little like they wanted to cry.

“Sorry, guys,” Prompto laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forgot my stories are all so tragic.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis said crisply. “They’re your stories. We want to hear them, even if they, uhh, well.” He cleared his throat. “Even if they’re a little atypical in nature.”

“Atypical in nature,” Prompto murmured, thinking it over. “Huh.”

“So, you like galleries?” Noctis ventured. “Sounds fun?”

“You are so bad at faking enthusiasm,” Gladio muttered.

“Come on, man. Surely it’s cute that I’m trying,” the prince muttered back.

Prompto snorted. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“Well, I’ll look into it,” Ignis announced. “We’ll pick you up at the end of detention. What’s that - lunchtime?”

“Just after,” Prompto pulled a face. “They release me at two.”

“Splendid!” Ignis clasped his hands together, to the confused expressions of his friends. “I came up with a new bento box recipe I’ve been meaning to try. You can be my guinea pig.”

Prompto smiled hopefully. “Thanks, Igs, I’d love that.”

Ignis smiled warmly back. “Good. You’re so very welcome.”

“Oh, so it’s alright when —“

“Shut up, Gladio.”

Later that night, Prompto was getting ready for bed, humming to himself as he packed his bag up for school the next day. He had to wear his uniform, which sucked, but Ignis had laid it all out for him already, shirt freshly ironed and bright white. “For good impressions,” he’d muttered softly as he set it down.

Prompto could hear him now, padding about in the corridor, getting ready to leave for the night. He rummaged in his bag for a piece of paper, steeled his nerves, and pulled open the door.

“Hey, Iggy,” he whispered.

Ignis looked up. “Prompto,” he said warmly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, rocking onto his toes. “Yeah. All cool.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Oh. Yeah. Um,” he shrugged. “I have to, um, get my detention slip signed. By my parents. Which is maybe a little impossible right now.”

Ignis’ features softened sympathetically.

“Do you, um. Do you think I should tell the school that they’re away? I feel like they won’t believe me and I don’t want to make a big thing of it anyway, because who knows when they’ll be back and—“ He swallowed, forcing out the question he’d really meant to ask. “Do you think, and this is kinda dumb, but um. Do you think maybe you could sign it? Is that allowed?”

Ignis stared a moment too long before nodding. “Of course. In fact,” his smile shifted, turned wicked. “I can do you one better.” He held out his arm for the piece of paper, which Prompto handed over, bemused.

“Um, thanks.”

“No problem at all.”

Prompto went to brush his teeth; when he returned, the detention slip was folded neatly atop his bag for school. Ignis was by the door, hand on the latch, ready to leave. “Hey,” he called out to him. “Or, um. Bye.”

Ignis eyes creased in a smile. “Goodnight, Prompto.”

“Yeah. Goodnight. And thank you. For the detention thingy.”

Ignis smiled conspiratorially. It was almost unnerving. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see ya, Iggy. Night.”

The door shut softly behind him. Prompto watched it for a moment, swaying up onto his toes and back down, before he shook his head and went to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a weird day.

Chapter Text

“And this is?” Prompto’s teacher frowned, turning his detention slip over in her hands, before she looked up at his face, holding it out for him to look at it himself.

Ignis fucking Scientia.

The slip was a small, roughly square piece of paper, with a few rows of text accompanied by dotted lines. One, for the teacher to write the offending action that had landed the student in detention in the first place. One, for the initial of that same teacher. And one, for the initial of the parent or guardian who approved of their child’s punishment.

Prompto’s paper, with ‘fighting in the corridors’ and the illegible signature of his admittedly rather kind homeroom teacher, was taken up almost entirely by a stamp that had been emblazoned on the front of it. A golden stamp. An enormous golden stamp, complete with complex geometric swirls, feathers, and a skull at the centre of it all.

“The Seal of the Realm,” Prompto said hoarsely, trying to keep his own surprise out of his voice.

“The Seal of the Realm,” she echoed, numbly. “Yes, I can see that. I suppose the real question is why the Seal of the Realm is currently stamped onto your detention slip.”

“Will you accept it?”

She sighed, barking out a laugh. “I think I have to accept it, Prompto, I’m purely intrigued as to how the kingdom became personally involved in your detention when the involvement of your parents would have been more than enough.”

Prompto’s mind was racing. He wanted to march out to Ignis this second and demand to know what the fuck the man had been thinking, but at the same time he wanted to laugh so hard his abs were hurting just holding it in.

“Prompto?”

“Ah, you know,” he said blithely. “Anything’s better than disappointing the parents, right?”

She stared at him like she wasn’t quite sure he was real.

“So, what am I doing today?” Prompto asked, rocking up onto his toes, a smile still decorating his face.

She gestured loosely over to the cabinets. “You’re sorting the files,” she said faintly.

“Thanks!”

Somehow, he contained himself for the next five hours, swallowing a grin every time he thought about that stupid paper. He opened his Bento Box and nearly lost it all over again, finding a small post-it note with ‘royally approved luncheon’ scribbled in Ignis’s sharp, neat handwriting, complete with a tiny, scratchy imitation of the seal.

When 2pm finally rolled around, and he ran out to the waiting car, Prompto could finally let his grin flood his face. He swung open the rear door, slid in next to Noctis, and buckled his seatbelt.

“Well, that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen anyone come out of detention before,” Gladio remarked.

Ignis peered around at him from the driver’s to say, “It all went well, I assume?” - right as Prompto finally let go, blurting out:

“What the fuck, Iggy?” The laughter he’d kept under wraps all day exploded out in full force, egged on further by the bemused face of the royal advisor. “I just - I mean —“ he shook his head, grinning — “what were you thinking, dude?”

“Hmm?”

Ignis looked calm, aloof – deliberately so.

“You should have seen her face, man! She was all like - like - like —“ Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he tried to recount the tale.

Gladio turned to Ignis, intrigue tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What did you do?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh.” Gladio turned to Prompto, who was still laughing in the backseat, taking in deep, shuddery breaths just to laugh them away again when Noctis poked him to try and make him talk. “Well, Blondie here isn’t gonna tell us any time soon, so I reckon you should start talking.”

Ignis’ hands tightened on the steering wheel; face tinged slightly with embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Like hell it is.” Gladio was grinning now; Ignis was cornered.

“What is even happening right now,” Noctis muttered.

Eventually, Prompto calmed himself enough to breathe. “Sorry. I’m back. Ignis, um —“ 

Gladio turned around, interested.

“For my detention, um, I needed - I needed - ha —“

He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Noo, come on Prom, you were doing so well,” Gladio moaned. “For your detention …?”

“Sorry,” Prompto took a breath. “I needed this slip signed, right? By my parents. Which, um, obviously wasn’t going to happen.” Prompto grinned. “So I, um, ahah —“

“You signed his detention slip?” Gladio turned to smirk at a now very pink-tinged Ignis. 

“No!” Prompto cried. “That’s what I thought, right? But I get it out, and hand it over to the teacher, and he’s stamped - ha - sorry - he’s stamped it with the Seal of the fucking Realm.”

Gladio’s grin turned malicious. He rounded on Ignis. “You didn’t.”

Ignis made no move to confirm nor deny it, but his ears were burning red as he kept his eyes on the traffic.

“He did! I had to hand it over to her and everything. She was all like ‘what is this, Prompto?’ And I was like, ‘um. Looks like the seal of the realm to me.” All three of them - Noctis, Gladio and Prompto - were laughing now.

“Well? What did she say?” Noctis grinned.

“Um. I mean, she accepted it. But she did ask why I’d got the kingdom involved in my detention…”

Gladio shook his head. “And you said?”

Prompto shrugged, feeding off the attention. “Anything to keep it from the parents, right?”

Noctis and Gladio howled with laughter, as Prompto collapsed back into his giggling fit. 

“You told her you would rather the king knew than your mother?”

Prompto grinned. “Pretty much, right?”

“I can’t believe you,” Gladio shook his head, smiling. “And you!” he turned back to Ignis, “enabling all of this in the first place!”

“Well, that wasn’t quite how I intended Prompto to explain it,” he said, pained.

“So you admit that you stamped his detention slip with the seal of the godsdamn realm?”

“I may have done something of the sort, yes.”

Gladio turned around in his seat to share a look with Noctis. He shook his head. “You’re losing it, Iggy. What were you thinking?”

“Well, I knew that Prompto needed a signature,” Ignis reasoned - as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “And whilst my own may have sufficed, I wanted to be sure,” he continued. “Besides, the detention itself was unnecessary and a little dramatic. I was merely matching like energy with like.”

“Sure you were,” Gladio teased. “Gotta make sure the big bad teachers don’t mess with little Prompto ever again.”

Ignis rolled his eyes, ears burning deeper than ever. “Are you quite finished, Gladio?”

“Oh, no,” he grinned. “I’m gonna be talking about this one for a long time.”

In the backseat, Noctis turned to Prompto with mischievous eyes. “Did she let you keep it?”

“I don’t remember,” he frowned, digging into his pockets. “Oh!” he said brightly, unfolding it. “Here it is!”

Fresh peals of laughter as the offending slip got passed around the inhabitants of the car.

“Oh, put that away,” Ignis sighed, well aware that no one would listen to him.

“You’d better keep that, huh,” Gladio winked. “You can pin it up in your room.”

Prompto paused, looking down at the slip, the dazzling golden stamp catching the sun as it came through the car windows. “Yeah,” he said with a shy smile. “I think I will.”

More sniggering laughs from Noctis and Gladio, mostly directed at the pained sigh Ignis let out at that comment, but eventually, it all died down. Prompto tucked his detention slip safely into his pocket and sat back, content to watch the city pass by as they headed for the art gallery.

The gallery was well-chosen. Less fine art, or bizarre modern installations: it was wall-to-wall of stunning photographs, tiny rooms that projected brilliant video, and a camera obscura that you could stand in, watching the passers-by outside getting projected upside down onto the wall behind.

Even Noctis was impressed.

If this was what came out of getting detention, Prompto figured, it was well worth it. He stared at each exhibit like he could drink it straight into his brain, turning to his friends when he noticed something cool and enjoying their enthusiasm as they let him explain.

Noctis made himself at home in the various video rooms, sitting in the dark and immersing himself in the clips with an intensity he would later deny.

Ignis walked around slowly, carefully, reading each placard and biography, watching each exhibit from beginning to end. Any other day, his meticulous attention to detail would have slowed everyone else down; Prompto, however, was taking just as long, admittedly in a far less organised way.

No method, just madness.

He ran around for hours, photographing the photos with such infectious enthusiasm that even Gladio barely took the piss out of him for it, just pointed out new things that he might not have seen yet and watched him run off again. That in itself seemed entertainig enough for the shield, although he still paid attention enough to the exhibits to keep up with the conversation, as Prompto and Ignis discussed in depth what they thought of each photographer.

By the time closing time rolled around, Prompto’s phone said he’d walked 11 000 steps, the prince’s treasury had been more than dipped into in the gift shop, and the gallery employees were pulling down all the shutters, watching with tired eyes as the four finally left.

Prompto had a dizzy smile spread across his face as they headed back to the car, still deep in a conversation with Ignis about the various techniques that had caught Prompto’s eye – some that he was already planning to emulate in his own work. He followed Ignis right up to the car, pausing only as they stopped outside the passenger side.

“Oh, sorry,” Prompto said, ducking behind him to get into the back. 

“Come on,” Ignis ignored him, popping open the passenger door. “In you get.”

As soon as Prompto was settled, Ignis closed the door behind him, walking around the car to get in at the driver’s side. A moment later, Noctis slid into the back seat behind the driver while Gladio, who was setting the large gift shop bags down in the boot, got in on the other side a moment after that.

“Sorry, Gladio,” Prompto cringed, twisting around in his seat. “I think I stole your spot.”

Gladio gave a knowing smile, brushing him off.

“Now,” Ignis said, reversing out of the parking space. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

When they got home, when normal life was bound to come creeping back in, nothing changed. They talked about the exhibit right through dinner, the three guys asking Prompto what he thought of various parts of it, complimenting him on the photos that he’d taken himself. They watched a film together, Ignis putting together snack trays laden with everyone’s favourite foods.

On Saturday, Gladio showed up early morning - as he’d promised he would the night before - to take Prompto out on one of his runs. Prompto had only been half-expecting him to show up, but he came a few minutes early, waiting by the door as he brushed his teeth, and then chatted away to him as they tracked Insomnia’s streets.

When Sunday afternoon came around, and Ignis had finished coaching them through their work, Noctis insisted on breaking out one of Prompto’s favourite games, and they played it well into the evening.

The second wave of exams came around with an unrelenting force: a brutal regime of endless testing and evening panic that threatened to sweep the boys clean off their feet, leaving them scrabbling to stay up on the surface. Ignis, as intense as he was in making them revise, began to encourage regular breaks - breaks which occasionally involved himself and Prompto walking around a nearby park, the latter firing off photos while the advisor just walked along peacefully beside him. 

(They tried to drag Noctis out on these walks. The prince said something along the lines of ‘no’, and that was the end of that.)

At first, Prompto thought all of this interest and enthusiasm came from sadness. Pity. Concern.

When it didn’t let up, he thought maybe things would go back to normal once the exams were over; that everyone would back off a bit once they’d seen him through them alright.

But when the exams came and went, and the conversations shifted more towards life after education, it didn’t make sense that Gladio still took him out on runs, that Ignis still wanted to see all of his photographs, that Noctis never said no to hanging out. It didn’t make sense when Gladio and Ignis came to his graduation; took enough photos of him and Noctis in their gowns to fill up their own portfolios; cheered louder than anyone as Prompto crossed the stage.

It didn’t make sense that life didn’t go back the way it was, he thought, when he pinned the photos of the day up on his wall, alongside his detention slip and the tickets to the photography gallery. Or when he finally unpacked the plastic bags in the corner of his room, and nobody mentioned it, but nobody stopped him either, just lightly complimented his decorating when it was all done.

Or maybe, a strange little voice said in the back of Prompto’s mind, maybe this was normal. Maybe this was just what life was like.

He could barely bring himself to wish for it.

It was a few days after graduation when Prompto awoke to the sound of drilling coming from outside his room. He grunted, squinting his eyes against the morning light creeping through the curtains, and rolled over to check the time. 8:02 am.

Who the hell…?

Heaving himself up, Prompto trudged out of bed to go and investigate, eyes still crusted with sleep, hair mussed up in every direction.

“Gladio,” he said flatly, rubbing his eyes. “Hey.”

Gladio looked over in surprise and chuckled. “Mornin’, sleepy head. Sorry about the noise.”

“You should be,” Prompto moaned. “It’s 8 am. Couldn’t this wait?”

“Thought you’d want it done as soon as possible,” Gladio shrugged, looking distinctly happy with himself.

“You thought I’d want —” Prompto scanned tired eyes over Gladio’s work — “coat pegs to be drilled into the wall?”

“Yup,” he grinned. “Come here.”

Prompto squinted in confusion, but he followed the man anyway, letting him lead the way to the coat cupboard. The empty coat cupboard.

“Where did the coats go?”

“They’re going on the pegs.”

“So what’s …?”

“Here,” Gladio reached past him into the cupboard, fingers scrabbling for something near the door frame. He found it, and clicked something, and … and a red bulb that Prompto hadn’t noticed turned on, shining dimly in the tiny, dark cupboard. The tiny dark room. As well as the bulb hanging from the low ceiling, the pegs and shoe racks had been taken down, and there were fresh planks leaning against the wall that were clearly intended to be shelves when it was all finished. “I’m not done yet, but it won’t take long.” Prompto looked up, searching Gladio’s face. “It’s all yours, Blondie,” Gladio answered.

He nodded, throat tight. “Thank you,” he said, pulling him into a hug.

“Just like the one you had at home, right?”

Prompto nodded into his chest, blinking back tears. “It’s just like it,” he said hoarsely.

“Good.” He looked satisfied. “You want to help with the final stages? I can put the shelves up exactly how you want them if you just let me know.”

He nodded again. It was about the only thing he could do.

“Course,” Gladio joked, “I got Iggy’s approval already.”

He laughed. “And Noct’s?”

“Ha,” Gladio scoffed. “Noct has never put his coat away in his life. He won’t even notice.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Hmm. Nice morning hair, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Prompto muttered, running his hands through it self-consciously.

“You going back to bed?”

“Nah,” he sighed. “I’m pretty awake now.”

“Well, Specs is in the kitchen if you wanna say hi,” Gladio said, turning back to the wall where he was drilling in the pegs. “Noct won’t be up for hours, even with this,” he waved the drill around.

“Lucky him,” Prompto scrunched up his nose.

Gladio pulled a face in response, which Prompto laughed at as he walked off, going to see how Ignis was doing instead. He paused right before he got to the door, fingers on the handle, and turned to glance back at Gladio, who looked deep in concentration as he lined up the pencil dots for the next peg. He watched him for a moment, a small smile hovering on his face, before pushing open the door and entering the kitchen.

“Ah, Prompto, you’re awake,” Ignis called from inside. “Although, I suppose, how could you not be?”

“Morning Iggy,” he smiled. “Yeah, only the dead could sleep through that, dude.”

“Or Noct,” Ignis added with a raised eyebrow.

“Or Noct.”

“So. Did you get those graduation photos printed out?”

“Sure did. You wanna see them?”

“I’d love to.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Prompto’s day began in earnest.

If this was normal, he sure could get used to it.

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.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Prompto!” Julia Argentum said warmly. “How nice to hear your voice.”

“Hey. Um, you too.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, looking back at the pizza place he’d just escaped from. He could see some of the patrons through the windows, but he had walked a little further away and – crucially – was well out of sight and earshot of his friends, who were tucked away in a booth deep inside.

“So how are you, darling? Are you keeping well?”

“Oh.” A million images flashed through his mind of how the last few months of his life had looked. Did they count as … ‘keeping well’? “Uh, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good,” she said smoothly. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

Prompto nodded, distracted, eager for his mother to reach her point.

“Well, your father and I doing very well, too. We’ve been incredibly busy, of course. You might have seen a couple of our articles in the paper, actually, if you read that sort of thing. I know young people prefer their phones these days…”

Yeah, I might have seen them.

“So –" he looked around the empty car park as if the vacant lots might be listening in – “why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

“Does a mother need a reason to call her son?” she teased. “I thought we should catch up. I know it’s been a while – your father and I are terribly sorry about that – so this felt a little overdue.”

“Did it?” He couldn’t quite mask the sarcasm from his voice, biting it back far too late.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve tried to keep us involved too much, is it? You can imagine my surprise when my boss dropped off the Gala photobook on my desk this morning and I looked down to see my own son on the cover of it.”

Prompto could see his mother’s face like he’d only last seen it yesterday: the arched eyebrows, the pursed lips, the look of perpetual condescension and disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “I would have said but –”

“Oh, it’s alright love, you’re not in trouble,” she waved him off. “You’ve always been rather private, haven’t you?”

“Um, yeah I guess,” he let his hand drop by his side.

“Well, it’s a lovely photo, darling. We ought to get it ordered so we can put it up in the house. Or perhaps one of you and your pals, hmm?”

“Oh, yeah, okay.”

“Gosh, you don’t say much, do you?”

Prompto grasped for a topic – some kind of neutral ground, a good conversation starter.

“So, how are you, then?” she pressed on. “How’s school going?”

His train of thought collided into a pillar.

… School?

“I’ve graduated, Mum.”

“Oh, goodness me. Is it the summer holidays already?” she laughed. A moment passed. “You know, it’s so funny; I suppose I knew, factually, that Noctis was your age, but I still hadn’t put it together that him starting school would make you classmates. Have you been friends for long?”

Yeah, Mum, the exams went well, thanks. The ceremony was lovely.

“A while,” he shrugged. “We got closer this year, I guess.”

“And those two others – Ignis Scientia and Gladiolus Amicitia, I believe?”

“…Yeah,” he said when it was clear she was waiting for a reply.

“Impressive. Well, you kept them pretty quiet, didn’t you? You look rather good friends with those young men and yet you’ve never so much as mentioned them to me.”

“I mean, I’ve said before, I think. But, um, I haven’t known Gladio and Iggy that long, so maybe they haven’t come up much.”

“’Gladio and Iggy’!” she exclaimed. “Oh, goodness me. You really are close with them, aren’t you?”

“Um, yeah,” he whispered. He felt like he was handing her something – a puppy, or a baby bird – and watching it wriggle in her manicured grasp. “How’s dad?” he asked, strangled.

“Mmm, fine,” she said dismissively. “Busy, of course.”

“Is he around to say hi?”

“Ah, not tonight, love. He’s in the final stages of a portfolio at the moment, so time’s pretty tight for him. I’ve told him that I’m calling, though, and he sends his regards.”

“… Right.”

“So, are you still doing your photography?”

“Yep.” Now this was a good topic. “I’ve been putting together my own portfolio, actually. Architectural studies, some portraits and stuff. Mostly candids. Oh! I actually went to this museum the other day, Mum, and they had all these works by famous photographers.” He thought about the expansive collections, running around the exhibits with his friends, the idea of having his own work feature there one day …

“That sounds lovely, darling. Does Noctis do photography, too?”

“Um, no,” he frowned. “He does, um, fishing and stuff. I take photos of him, though. He’s a pretty patient model.”

“He’s into fishing? You know, your father has done a bit of fishing here and there. Perhaps the three of you should go on a little trip.”

“Me and … dad and Noct?”

“A boys’ trip!” she said brightly. “It must be difficult, being the prince. We’re quite modest people, but I’m sure we could put together something that even someone like ‘Noct’ would enjoy.”

The baby bird wriggled harder, feathers catching on fingernails.

“Yeah,” he conceded. “Okay.”

“Excellent,” she said smoothly. “Gosh, I miss you so much, my love.”

You do? He blinked fast. “I miss you too, Mum.”

“You really ought to come and stay, you know.”

Prompto’s heart swelled tentatively. “Yeah?”

“Of course! What are the boys doing these days?”

“Oh, well, Iggy and Gladio are pretty busy; they always are. But Noct and I are on holiday. We’re going to look for jobs in the Autumn. Well, I am,” he flushed. Noctis already had a job.

“Oh, lovely, so he’s on holiday?”

“Yup.”

“Well, we’d love to have you come and stay,” she gushed. “If it’s not an inconvenience, of course. We’d hate to get in the way of any important schedules or meetings or anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” he smiled. “It’s the summer holiday, Mum.”

“Well, I can’t promise we have that much space,” she confessed. “Nor is it particularly grand out here. Your father and I make do with what we have.”

Prompto frowned. When had he ever cared about grandeur? “It’s really fine, Mum. I just want to see you. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

“Oh, darling,” she chuckled. “You’re such a wonderful friend, aren’t you.”

“Well, I’m more of a son, I think,” he scrunched up his nose.

She laughed like he’d told a joke. “Of course, you are, Prom-plum. We wouldn’t have any other.”

“So, um,” he frowned, “when is a good time for you? I know you’re busy; I can wait.”

“Oh, no we’re flexible,” she insisted. “Whenever is best, really. We can pick you up from the airport.”

“Oh, right.” He had a couple of plans with Noctis lined up… he surely wouldn’t mind if he moved them around for this, would he? “Um, this week?”

“Goodness, that is soon!”

He cringed instantly. Fuck. Shit. “It’s okay. I can do, uhh, another week or something.”

“No, no, if you’re sure. We’ll pick you up from the airport on Friday.”

Three days.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Wow.”

His mother made a sound like she was thinking. “You know, your father and I won’t stay here forever,” she said. “We miss the old neighbourhood.”

He scrunched up his nose. “You do?” His mother had never loved it there; neither of them had, always so desperate to get away.

“Oh, yes. What was the name of that restaurant we used to go to? Frankies?”

Prompto could think of one restaurant she might mean; they had been maybe twice before on someone’s birthday. “Freddies?”

“That’s the one. And tell me, do the upstairs neighbours still hang their washing out of the window? We were always laughing at loose items as they sailed past our window.”

“Um, yeah, they do,” he smiled hesitantly.

“Gosh, they really are weird, that lot, aren’t they?”

“Mmhmm.”

There was some noise in the background; a voice – his father’s? – speaking away from the phone. “Yes, yes, of course,” his mother said, slightly muffled. “Well, I really ought to dash, darling,” she said, voice crisp once more. “I’m positively starving. Still, isn’t this exciting! I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, dazed. “See you on Friday, Mum.”

“Your father and I can’t wait.”

The line clicked off. Prompto inhaled. Exhaled.

Three days.

He tucked his phone back into his pocket, spared one last glance around the cool, empty car park, and braced himself to return to the bustle of the restaurant.

-

The vibe was weird.

Well, it had been weird since his phone had first gone off while they were out for dinner the previous night, a moment of tension seizing the room, freezing the four young men where they sat. And it was weird when Prompto came back to them, wary eyes tracking his return to the table, each of them trying to draw out how he was feeling.

“Um, it was my mum,” he’d said awkwardly, stupidly, to three men who knew it was his mum. “She wants me to come and stay.”

They’d looked surprised. Gladio, who looked just about ready to fight, suddenly didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Noctis, eyes wide and wary, had had a million questions. And Ignis, who’d looked hardly surprised at all, kept quietly polite.

None of them had said outright that they didn’t think it was a good idea. None of them had even suggested that he might be better off not going. But Prompto wasn’t stupid. He could tell.

A knock at his bedroom door brought him back to reality. “Yeah?” he called.

He lifted his head from the pillow (not that he’d been sleeping – it was the afternoon, and he was only in his bedroom to hide from the vibes) to see Ignis poke his head around the door. “Might you join us for a board game?” he asked.

“Maybe in a bit,” he said, dropping his head back down to stare up at the ceiling. He could tell without a glance that Ignis hadn’t left yet. “Yes?” he asked.

Ignis huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You remind me so much of Noctis sometimes,” he admitted.

“So, I’m acting like a brat.” Ignis made no move to confirm nor deny it, but the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. Prompto sighed, sitting up on the bed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Ignis put his hands up in surrender. “Please. It’s nice to see you so settled, not trying to hide how you feel.”

Well, that was awkward. Definitely awkward for Prompto. Probably awkward for Ignis, too, but then again, the man made a career out of hiding his emotions, so it was pretty hard to tell. “Thanks, dude,” he muttered.

“So, will you be joining us?”

He shrugged, looking past Ignis into the corridor. It was quiet, but Noctis and Gladio were just inside the living room, chatting and laughing. They’d go quiet if you walked in. “I’m hiding,” he said, flopping back down, turning away from Ignis to bury his face in his pillow.

“From...?”

“The vibes,” he moaned.

“Ah, yes, ‘the vibes’.”

Prompto snorted. It sounded ridiculous coming from Ignis. “I’m hiding from Gladio and Noctis. And you, but you’re kinda ruining it.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“… No, you’re not.”

“Guilty,” Ignis confessed. “Have you decided what to do about your mother, then?”

“Yeah,” Prompto nodded. “I’m going to go.”

Not so much as a muscle twitch; Ignis was a true professional. “Very well,” he said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Well, you can stop making the vibes so weird.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “I believe you’re doing that yourself. You’ve been hiding from us since the phone call.”

He’s got you there, Prompto.

“Yeah well,” he looked away. “It’s complicated.”

Ignis’s face softened. “I know.”

“Everyone’s expecting me not to go,” he said, glumly. “But I mean – she’s my mum, you know? And she wants to see me, and she sent me money yesterday for the plane ticket – a lot of money, actually – and that’s got to mean something and – “

“Prompto,” Ignis perched on the edge of his bed. “Nobody is expecting anything of you. We’re not… we’re so far from angry with you. They are your parents, and we understand that you want to try and make this work.”

There was definitely a ‘but’ coming. Prompto waited for it, but it didn’t come. “But?” he prompted.

The advisor sighed. “Nobody wants to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

“Well, I won’t,” he huffed.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he dipped his head in acknowledgement, “But, we’ll be there if you do,” he said evenly.

“Well, thank you very much, Iggy, but I’ll be fine.”

Ignis nodded, smiling sadly. “I know you will.”

He left a little after that. Prompto stayed in his room, listening as the laughter drifted in from next door, trying to work out how he’d managed to isolate himself even while he was living right here. Maybe… maybe he was just like this.

Shut up.

Hiding in his room, a stranger wherever he went…

Nope. Nopedy nope.

He checked his banking app again. The money – as it had been last time – was still there. He dug out his laptop, bought the flights – he’d been sent about twice as much as he needed for them – and killed time making a packing list. Eventually, the laughter swapped out for the tempting scents of Ignis’s cooking. Prompto still didn’t move.

The sounds changed once again into the clattering of cutlery as it was set down on the table. Maybe they were just going to … eat without him?

A knock at his door made him jump.

“Prom,” Gladio’s head peered around the door. “Dinner’s ready. You hungry?”

“Yep,” he nodded. He felt a wave of relief upon seeing that the table was set with four places – followed quickly by shame that he’d thought anything less of his best friends. Gods, he was bad at this.

“Hey,” Noctis nodded, sitting down to eat.

“Hey.”

Dinner was quiet – those damn vibes – and Prompto couldn’t quite work out what to do with himself, letting the conversation flow lightly around him as much as he actually engaged with it.

He headed for his room again once it was over; “I’ve got to pack,” he apologised when Noctis asked. He didn’t really – he wasn’t leaving for two days, and everyone knew it – but the prince just nodded, frowning, and let it drop.

The rest of the evening passed slowly. Ignis was bound to come in again, he thought, to drag him out of his bedroom or try once again to foster some kind of emotional maturity in him. Ha. Good luck with that.

It was late when someone tapped softly on his door. Knew it.

“Yeah?” he called.

“Hey.”

Prompto looked up in surprise as Noctis walked into his room. “Noct.” It was almost a question.

“I’m not disturbing you, right?”

“Nah, I’m, uhh, I’ve finished packing,” he gestured to his suitcase, all zipped up and ready to go.

“How organised,” Noctis nodded, eyebrows raised.

“I’m trying something new.”

“Clearly,” he joked. He faltered. “I just wanted to say hi. The apartment has been kinda quiet today, you know? I’ve got used to having you around all the time,” Noctis said.

“All that noise and nuisance, huh?”

He smiled. “Something like that.”

“Are the others around?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “They left a while ago.” Prompto checked his phone in surprise; it was much later than he’d realised, a whole evening gone by on his laptop without him really realising.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he winced. “I’ve been in here for hours, haven’t I?”

Noctis nodded. “Try a whole day?”

A pause. “Yep.”

“Are you, um, I mean. Are you okay?” Noctis scratched the side of his neck awkwardly. “Can I do anything?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Prompto laughed. “Really, man. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Noctis laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this.”

“You’re not,” Prompto said weakly.

“Yes, I am,” Noctis insisted, foot down. “Look. I’ll stop trying to make you talk about your feelings, just –” he sighed – “get your pyjamas. I’ll microwave some popcorn. Let’s watch a movie in my room.”

“Okay,” he said, surprised. “Um. Sure! Okay. Be right there, dude.”

Noctis nodded, looking like he wanted to say more, before he turned on his heels and left, clicking the door shut behind him. And that was how Prompto found himself, a few minutes later, outside Noctis’ bedroom door, pyjamas on, hovering weirdly as he waited for his friend to invite him in.

“Hey,” Noctis said, opening the door. He had also changed into pyjamas, Prompto noted with some surprise. They were all black, he noted with considerably less. “Welcome to movie night.”

It was odd, being in Noctis’ bedroom. It shouldn’t really be odd – it wasn’t like he’d never been in here before – but it happened far less now that he lived here. They spent most of their time in the living room, with their rooms to retreat to only really when they wanted alone time.

Noctis’s room was big. Well, ‘big’ was an understatement. (As was ‘room’; the prince had a whole sort of suite). There was a walk-in wardrobe – wasted on a man with the clothing variety of Noctis, even if he did insist that all of his black t-shirts were slightly different – and an ensuite bathroom on the other side of his bedroom. He had a sprawling king-size bed, a desk, a TV on a chest of drawers, and a balcony overlooking the same view that the kitchen did; glistening skyscrapers, the sun shining over the city, the hazy evening mist that wound its way through the streets.

“Woah, dude,” Prompto stopped short. Something about his room looked very different. Then it hit him. “You’ve tidied up.”

“Yeah, well,” Noctis teased. “I’m trying something new.”

“It won’t last,” Prompto quirked an eyebrow.

To his credit, Noctis didn’t even try to deny it.

“So. You’re really doing it, huh?”

“Huh?” Prompto jerked at Noctis’ words, rubbing his eyes as he shifted on top of the bedspread. The movie was over, and they’d been scrolling tiredly on their phones.

“Going to see your parents,” Noctis prompted.

“Oh, yeah. I know. I’m an idiot, right?”

“No. Well, maybe,” he conceded. “But you’re brave, too.”

“Thanks.” Prompto sat up and winced; there was popcorn in his hair. He pulled it out, popped it into his mouth, and turned to his best friend, who was still scrolling. “Hey, Noct?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever get kinda scared?”

“Of?”

Prompto shrugged. “Your dad.” Noctis stiffened. Stupid stupid stupid, Prompto thought. Nobody got scared of their parents. Noctis was totally going to laugh at him.

Noctis set down his phone, studying Prompto’s face for a second. “All the time,” he admitted, eventually.

Oh. “Really?”

“More when I was younger,” Noctis said, grunting slightly as he sat up. “I spent far more time then with nannies than I did with him, so we didn’t know each other all that well. And I think the sight of me always reminded him of, well –” he shrugged. “But even now, Dad kinda makes me nervous sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Noctis gave a small smile. “I mean, he’s kinda hard to say no to. And he’s hard to get hold of. Sometimes, it feels like… like I only have so many minutes with him, right? I mean, real minutes where I actually have his attention, so I have to make them perfect. I have to be perfect in them.” He exhaled a laugh. “And I never am.”

Oh.

“You feel the same, huh?” Noctis asked, catching Prompto’s expression. He quickly schooled it into something more appropriate.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, very much knowing. “It’s like being on a TV show or something, where you have like one minute to impress the judges and the prize is like … another minute where you can try and impress the judges.”

Noctis barked out a laugh. “A product pitch of a son,” he said dryly.

They looked at each other for a moment.

“I’m never really afraid, though,” Noctis carried on.

“No?” Prompto faltered.

“Well, okay, no. I am. A lot. But not… I mean…” It was Noctis’ turn to flounder. “It’s different to yours. I’m scared of the ‘me’ part of my and Dad’s relationship just as much as anything else. Whether or not I’m a good enough son. Whether I’ve put enough into our relationship.”

Prompto nodded, recognising himself in all of that.

“No, seriously,” Noctis insisted. “I’m scared about being enough, not about … about existing to him. Well, kinda, but – I guess, that was more when I was younger and angstier and – “ he broke off, raking a hand through his hair and looking at Prompto like he could just plead his way into being understood.

“It’s different.” Prompto said it in a kind of deadpan, not really seeing how it was different at all.

“Look. I’m not scared of anything physical, Prom, and I never have been. I’m not worried about Dad calling me mean stuff, or cutting off my food supply, or belittling me for all of my life choices. I’m worried about the extras, the add-ons, not the basis of the entire relationship.”

Prompto snorted. “The add-ons?”

“Shut up, I’m doing my best here.”

“I know,” Prompto teased. “It’s really working.”

Noctis scoffed at that, shoving Prompto away, but they both laughed. The silence that they fell into then was the easiest it had felt all night – warmer somehow, in a way that Prompto couldn’t describe. Eventually, after drifting off once again on top of Noctis’ bed, Prompto found the energy to shuffle off back across the hall and collapse into his own. Noctis himself was already asleep – sprawled gracelessly across the top of the duvet, so Prompto was careful not to disturb him as he went.

He paused for a moment just inside his bedroom door, before clicking it softly behind him, letting silence fall once again throughout Noctis's – throughout their – apartment.

Tomorrow was a big day; Prompto needed all the sleep he could get.

Chapter Text

Today was a day to take the stairs, to bound down them two at a time to reach the ground floor of Noctis’ apartment building, to burst out into the glorious sunlight. Every fibre of Prompto’s being was singing out for him to just run. His enormous suitcase had other ideas, however; he took the lift instead, bouncing on the balls of his feet as it grumbled slowly downwards. Not even Ignis’s careful side eye could put a damper on his mood.

“What?” he teased. “I’m not going to break the elevator just by bouncing.”

The advisor corrected himself, straightening up to watch the numbers on the screen tick slowly down. “I know.”

They exited the elevator, Prompto dragging his unwieldy suitcase out behind him. It hit him on the ankles as he tugged it along, but he waved away Ignis’ hand as he stepped in to assist him. “I’ve got this,” he said.

It was good practice, anyhow. What if this led to his parents moving back? He’d need to move all of his belongings back into his apartment again. Of course, Gladio had agreed to help him with that when he’d cornered him this morning, but Prompto was determined to be useful himself on moving day, to work alongside his dad carrying the heaviest boxes.

“Of course,” Ignis said, allowing himself a small smile and clicking open the boot of the car for Prompto to heave the case in. He rode up front of course - it was second nature now - and watched Insomnia zip by out of the window as they headed for the airport.

Prompto had been right. It was a beautiful day. As if the world knows what’s happening today, he thought to himself. And it wants in on the fun.

Getting out of the car at the airport, Prompto was hit all over again with feverish excitement. He yanked the case out of the boot – narrowly avoiding his toes – and slung his camera bag across his body, and his backpack onto his back.

“Don’t forget this,” Ignis said, holding up a travel pillow.

“Sort me out, Iggy,” Prompto grinned, tilting his head.

The advisor scoffed as he leaned forward and wrapped the travel pillow around Prompto’s neck. “Are you quite sure you’ve packed enough?” he asked dryly, taking in the appearance of the young man before him, laden as he was with bags and possessions. He couldn’t have looked more like a holidaymaker if he was trying.

“Well, I thought about checking in two bags…” Prompto said thoughtfully.

Ignis snorted lightly. “Right.”

“Do you think I need anything else?” Prompto asked. He’d made a list, and run through it a million times, but he couldn’t help but feel like he would miss something. Like he’d show up at his parents’ house only to find he’d left something behind that they’d only naturally be expecting. Let’s see. Toothbrush, check. Camera, check. “Oh!” he cried.

Ignis turned to him, eyebrows raised in question.

“Presents!” he gushed. “I should get them presents, shouldn’t I?”

Ignis studied him for a fraction of a second before slowly nodding his head. “If you would like,” he said.

“Mmm,” Prompto nodded.

“I’ll come in with you, then,” Ignis said, locking the car. “Let’s see what they have.”

What they had were a million options, from chocolates to perfumes, from stuffed toys to hard liquor. Prompto floundered for a while, picking up various items to gauge Ignis’ reaction before he settled on wine. “That’s safe, right?” he muttered. Ignis agreed. And then he paid for it. Hey ho. Royalty perks.

“Gods know more bags were what you needed,” Ignis sighed as Prompto exited the shop with a plastic bag weighed down with a large bottle of red wine.

“I’ll manage,” Prompto winked.

An announcement over the speakers interrupted them. Flight IN239 now checking in. Repeat, all passengers for flight IN239, please head to the check-in desk…

Right. This was it.

Prompto set his jaw and rolled back his shoulders – as much as he could given how they were weighed down – as Ignis commented that now was the time to say goodbye.

“Remember,” the advisor was saying, “I’ll be on the other end of the phone if you need me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Prompto smiled, already scanning for the right check-in desk. “I hear ya.”

“Alright. Take care.”

On his own now, Prompto headed for the desk, smiling at the young woman who sat behind it. He smiled at the middle-aged man who was working his lane at the security checks, too, and practically beamed at the two employees at the gate as they ushered him onto the plane.

Taking off now, he texted his parents. See you soon!

Can’t wait, darling, came the reply. He switched his phone to airplane mode.

It was a sunny day at the borders, too, although several hours had been lost to the flight. The evening was warm, a breeze ruffling through Prompto’s hair as he stepped off the plane.

About half an hour later, reunited once again with his bags, Prompto stepped out of the airport, past the bustling taxi rank and headed for the pick-up area. He dug out his phone, balancing his bags in one hand as he did so, and pressed ‘call’ on Mum <3. She picked up instantly.

“Prompto, darling!” she called.

“Hey, mum,” he smiled. “I’m here!”

“Lovely,” she said warmly down the phone. “Did you both have a good flight?”

“Both?”

Something was untwisting in Prompto’s mind, a knot he’d not even noticed unfurling despite his best attempts to block it out …

“You and the prince,” she laughed like he was being stupid.

Like he was a complete fucking idiot.

Because –

Because –

He was.

“The prince,” he echoed.

“Yes, darling, ‘Noct’, I believe you like to call him,” she said.

“Um –” his heart was hammering in his chest – “Mum. Um. I –” he looked around as if he could just magically apparate the fucking prince of Insomnia beside him and put an end to this nightmare before it could even begin. He swallowed. “I don’t have the prince.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s, it’s, um. It’s j-just me, mum.”

He could hear his pulse, hot, in his ears.

“What do you mean? Did the prince not want to come? You should have said, darling, we could have rescheduled –”

“I never asked him,” he said, quietly. “It’s just me.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Mum?”

A small scuffling noise came through the phone. “Hold on, darling,” his mother’s voice said distantly. “Sorry…”

Prompto looked wide-eyed around the pick-up area, watching other people come and go, smiles on their faces as they reunited with friends and family, the exhaustion melting off the shoulders of harried travellers as they finally sank into their cars, had loved ones take their bags from them. He suddenly felt very in the way. He did his best to shuffle his bags back, balancing the camera bag on his hip, shunting the case with his left hand, as he retreated towards an exterior wall of the airport.

“Mum?” he tried again.

“Mm, yes darling, one moment.” When she spoke again, the sound was clearer. “Sorry about that, love, I just got a message in from my boss.”

“Oh right,” Prompto said. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, darling. Well. Sort of.” She faded out again, and Prompto could hear the click of her nails tapping on her phone screen. Her voice swam back in. “Look, Prompto darling, I know this is terribly last minute, but something urgent has just been sent over by work.”

“Sorry?”

“Just give me…” she trailed off again, tapping once more. “Yes, I’m so sorry, Prompto. I think we’re going to have to reschedule.”

“… Reschedule?”

“Mmm, yes, love.”

“You want me to … not come?”

“If that’s alright with you, Prompto, dear. That would be for the best, I think.” A pause. “I’m so sorry. You know I wouldn’t do this unless it was urgent.”

“But, I’m … Mum, I’m at the airport! I – I bought the ticket, I packed –” his voice cracked.

“Please don’t make this any more stressful for me, Prompto.”

“But – I can work around your schedule, mum, you don’t need to be with me all the time. And I don’t take up much space, I can – I can cook meals –”

“No, Prompto, I really don’t have the time for this.”

“I bought the tickets, mum.”

“With money I sent you,” she said sharply. “Don’t act so ungrateful.”

“I’m not,” he protested weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“After all your father and I do for you, and you want to argue on the finer points of money for a plane ticket… as if we don’t provide the very apartment that you live in.”

“Um, actually,” Prompto hesitated. He steeled himself. “I don’t live there right now.”

“What?” He had her attention now. “Can I ask why?”

“Umm. You know the electricity problem?”

“That I asked you to fix?”

“Um, yeah. Well, I tried. I went to the caretaker and told him all about it, and he had some guys do a check and it all came back fine. And, actually, uhh. Actually, the flat was just behind on payments,” he said quickly.

“Really, Prompto, money again?”

“No –”

“I had thought your friendship with the prince would be good for you, but apparently not, hmm? Well, I’m sorry that we can’t provide the level of funding that your friends enjoy,” she said, “but your father and I do our best, you know.”

“No, mum, that’s not it, I swear –”

“I can’t believe how much you’ve changed.”

“I haven’t really, mum. I, just. It was hard! I had no heating, and no electricity, and I spent all of my allowance just on finding enough to eat, and even then, I had to skip some meals –”

His mother snorted.

“Sorry?”

“You had to skip some meals, hmm?”

“… Yes?” Prompto couldn’t see where the trap was.

“Would it kill you to learn to look on the bright side a little, instead of complaining about everything that your father and I do for you? Those Spring Gala photos looked gorgeous, did they not? You couldn’t have done that on your old diet now, could you, little Prom-plum?”

Prompto stung like he’d been slapped. His mouth moved to answer her, but nothing came out.

“Yes, dear?” It took him a moment to realise that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Are you alright, Julia?” Prompto sucked in a breath at the sound of his father’s voice. He hadn’t heard it in months. And he’d not heard it sound warm like that, had not heard it care like that in, well, in years.

“Mmm,” his mother said. “I’m fine.”

“Is it those damned editors again?”

“What?” she asked. “Oh, no. It’s just Prompto.”

“Prompto?” he sounded surprised. “What does he want?”

“Money, apparently.”

Prompto made a strangled cry.

“Don’t we give that kid enough?”

“I know, dear.”

“Is he still coming to stay?”

“No, he’s not.”

His father apparently had no more questions. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll let you handle it. Call for me if those editors get back to you, alright?”

“Of course, dear.” Prompto heard as his father left the room, the muffled sound of a door closing reaching him down the phone. “Prompto?” his mother called, voice crisp and clear again. “Are you there, love?” A pause. “Prompto? Hello?” An irritated sigh. The line clicked off.

Prompto sank to the floor, hands shaking as they gripped his phone. He stayed that way for a while.

He should call someone. Noctis, maybe. Ignis. He relaxed his grip just enough to bring the phone up and unlock it, fingers hovering nervously over his contacts – until he thought about what it was that he would actually say.

Hey, Ignis, so it turns out you were right. All of you were, actually. They don’t actually want to see me today because they don’t actually want to see me probably ever anymore and can you pick me up? No, not from Insomnia, because I got on the plane like a fucking idiot. Can you pick me up from the other side of the whole entire godsdamn country? Yeah, cool, thanks.

“Fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He looked up to see a family climbing into a four-by-four, the mother shooting a concerned glance over her shoulder at him before she opened the passenger door and disappeared. I need to get out of here.

All of a sudden, the baggage he’d brought felt like sickeningly embarrassing.

There was no point in hanging around the pick-up area – gods knew nobody was coming for him – so Prompto tightened up his backpack straps, looped his camera bag over the handle of his suitcase, and pulled it along behind him.

Departures.                             Collection.

            Buses, trams, and taxis.                      Private hire.

Words and signage swam around in him as he made his way back into arrivals, where hundreds of people stood around waiting for travellers to show up. Most were wearing suits and holding placards with names drawn on in marker pen, professional drivers waiting for their next clients to step off the plane, but around the edges were clusters of families, like there were outside, who were craning their necks to see around the crowd.

Prompto couldn’t breathe.

He gritted his teeth and pushed his bags back outside, past the taxi rank again, past the collection point, and all the way to the edge of the building, where there was a small green space tucked around the corner, complete with a single wooden bench and a rotting cigarette bin. It was blissfully abandoned.

Being on the borders, the airport wasn’t a bustling, central one; as the night approached, and the temperature dropped, it started emptying out. Families came and went, taxi drivers picked up their passengers and drove off into the night, and nobody noticed the blond kid in the smoking area, sobbing his eyes out. Nobody noticed when he stopped, either. It made no difference to them.

Eventually, Prompto stood up. Or he would have done, had the movement not knocked something heavy, something that clinked, against the ground. Oh. Well, there was a thought.

The wine bottle opened easily, with a crisp ‘tchh’ as the seal broke. It wasn’t corked, which Prompto hadn’t cared about before, but he was glad about now, lifting the bottle to his lips to take a sip, and tipping his head back as it warmed him, like a touch trickling down into his chest.

Gods, he was pathetic.

He drank again, lips wobbling against his sobs, eyes screwed shut. The temperature was still falling, and the night sky blackened over, but Prompto didn’t mind. He was warm, and the wine was nice, had been pretty expensive, not that Ignis had minded and –

Ignis.

The image of the man swam hazily into his mind. Ignis would know what to do right now. Ignis would, would –

No. Not now, he wouldn’t. Ignis wouldn’t want anything to do with him now, abandoned by his parents, getting drunk alone in the smoking area of an airport. He was on his feet before he knew it, stumbling away from the bench. Nobody would want him now, not his friends, not his parents, not …

‘You couldn’t have done that on your old diet, could you, little Prom-plum?’

And here he was, drinking his body weight in empty calories, messing everything up –

A crash made him jump. It took him a second to realise he’d caused it, in the smashed wine bottle that had been thrown against the wall, its contents spraying out onto the bricks, the concrete floor, the white shirt he’d put on to impress his parents.

His parents … who didn’t love him anymore …

He was barely aware of himself doing it as he unlocked his phone, felt like he was watching his body from the outside as he hovered over his contacts, found Ignis, and pressed ‘call’. It rang for barely a second.

“Hello?”

Prompto swallowed.

“Prompto? Are you alright?”

In his defence, he really tried. He opened his mouth, he licked his lips, he made all the right shapes – but all that came out was a strangled sort of whimper, a noise he was barely sure Ignis could have heard over the phone.

“Oh, Prompto,” Ignis said. “I’m on my way.”

Prompto sobbed.

Some other things were said during the conversation, but Prompto could barely pay attention to them. His world had shrunk down and imploded, leaving one drunken black hole in the centre of it – and him in the centre of it all, unable to see life on the outside anymore.

It wasn’t until a pair of Crownsguard officers arrived that he thought maybe he should have paid more attention.

“Prompto Argentum?” one of them said cautiously.

He squinted up, nodding. He’d sat down on the bench again, he realised belatedly.

“Astrals, kid,” muttered the other guard, picking his way over. “Let’s get you out of here, huh?”

The first guard nodded to the second one, who heaved Prompto’s bags onto his back and started rolling the suitcase. “Come on, Prompto,” she said gently, offering out a hand. He took it.

He let her guide him back into the airport, ducking his head to study the floor as they walked back into arrivals. Not that it mattered; the place was practically abandoned. Combats boots squeaking on the linoleum floor, they made their way across the hall and, after inputting a code, through a heavy, unmarked door in the far corner. The linoleum switched out for carpet, and the casual, ratty furnishings of the rest of the airport turned into similarly sparse, but formal counterparts. Military, Prompto’s drunk mind supplied him.

“Here you are, Prompto,” the first guard said, letting go of his hand to gesture around the room. There were several black chairs and low tables in the room. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a hot drink? Your fingers are freezing.”

Prompto considered this. He felt fine, far from cold, but the thought of a steaming cup of tea made him ache slightly. He nodded.

“Alright, then,” she smiled, nodding at the second guard, who set off towards the kitchenette in the corner. The low whistling sound of a kettle filled the quiet room. A few minutes later, he was handed a mug, clumsy fingers fumbling it as they slid around the cup.

“Careful, Prompto,” the guard said gently as he let go, placing one hand beneath the mug to stabilise it while Prompto steadied himself. “There you go.”

The tea was hot, and the chair was comfortable, and the blanket that someone draped over his shoulders, mug prised gently from his hands, was soft and warm. The room lilted and spun as his eyes drifted shut but, pressing his back further into the chair, Prompto fell asleep.

There was a low rumbling sound that was slowly getting louder. He came to slowly, rubbing his eyes and squinting against the light of the waiting room, which was getting brighter and brighter, louder, and louder.

“What…?” he mumbled.

“Your ride is here, I believe,” a female voice said beside him.

The lights in the room weren’t actually getting any stronger. The waiting room was simply illuminated by an extraordinarily bright light outside, that of a jet, which had come to a stop on the runway visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, and which someone was now exiting, quickly taking the steps that had descended from the plane.

“Where is he?” a familiar voice called. How did he get here so quickly? “Prompto,” he cried, eyes locking with the young man in the corner. Or they would have locked; Prompto couldn’t quite focus his right. He went to stand up anyway, pushing the blanket off his shoulders, cool air hitting his damp shirt.

“Astrals,” Ignis gasped, running forward. “Is he okay?”

“It’s jus' wine,” Prompto mumbled. Strong hands pulled him into a warm chest; he pressed his face into it further as conversation flowed, unintelligible, above his head. The blanket was repositioned over his shoulders, another hand – gloved, this time – was placed in his own, and he followed it aboard the jet.

Someone – Ignis – pushed him gently down into the seat, pulled the blanket over his shoulders, clicked a seatbelt in at his waist.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, trying to make Ignis understand.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ignis said, pushing his hair off his forehead. “You never have.”

That wasn’t right, and Prompto frowned, ready to say so, but the words didn’t quite make it. He shut his eyes, instead – he’d tell Ignis in a moment just how he was wrong – but as soon as he’d done so, the world went quiet, and faded out once more.

---

Even the softness of his bed couldn’t completely erase the pounding headache that Prompto was suffering. He sat up to reach for the water bottle he often kept on his bedside table.

Wait.

This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t a room he had ever been in before.

He swung his legs out of bed, ignoring the pulse that was sent through his temples and stood up. The room was spacious, airy, sparsely decorated – but decorated enough that it clearly wasn’t a hotel room. Someone’s shirt was hung up over the back of the wardrobe, someone’s cufflinks and knick-knacks decorated the dresser. Movement caught his eye, and Prompto spun to face it, only to be met with the image of himself, frazzled and obviously hungover, in a tall mirror on the wall. He was wearing someone else’s t-shirt. (His boxers, thankfully, were his own).

He pushed open the door quietly, bare feet pattering on the wooden flooring outside.

“In here, Prompto,” a familiar voice called. He followed it into a kitchen. “Good morning,” Ignis said warmly, looking up from where he was sitting at a small kitchen table. “How are you feeling?”

Prompto frowned. “Where am I?”

“Oh!” Ignis looked mildly surprised. “You’re in my apartment.”

Prompto didn’t say much as Ignis made him breakfast, only muttering a grateful ‘thank you’ when the man handed him a glass of water and some painkillers. He chugged it in one go, ignoring how the liquid churned his empty stomach.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said, eventually. The words had been sticking in his throat for a while.

Ignis looked up, unsurprised. “I know you are,” he said gently, “but there’s really no need.”

“Did you –” Prompto looked away – “commission a private flight just to pick me up from the borders?”

“Yes,” Ignis said. “I did.”

“But you’re not mad?”

“No,” Ignis said. “I’m not.”

A brief silence. “You were right about my parents.”

“I know,” Ignis nodded. “Although I wish that I wasn’t.”

“Me too.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Prompto scoffed. “What is there to say?” he asked. “I went to see them; they didn’t want to see me. I packed up everything I needed and then some to go and stay with my parents, and they left me, possessions and all, at the airport because I didn’t have – I didn’t have –” he broke off.

Ignis set down his spatula, and stood behind him, thumbs sinking lightly into his shoulders. “It’s alright, Prompto,” he murmured.

“I didn’t have Noctis,” Prompto choked out.

“Noctis?” he asked, confused.

He nodded. “They thought I was –” he sobbed – “they thought I was bringing Noct with me. That’s why they wanted, umm, that’s why they wanted to see me.” The end of his sentence was lost to crying but, by the way that Ignis’ hands tightened on his shoulders, the advisor knew what he meant.

“Oh, Prompto,” he said, sitting beside him and pulling him into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Prompto wailed pathetically into his shirt, not caring that he was getting it damp and splotchy with tears. “And I said it was just me, and my mum – she – she said she was busy,” he cried. “That a meeting came up and – and –” he hiccupped – “and she would see me another time.”

“Oh, Prompto.”

“And she said I was ungrateful and then my dad –“ he sobbed again – “my dad didn’t care about me, and he thought I was editors, and she called me –” his shoulders wracked with another sob – “she called me ‘just Prompto’.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Ignis murmured, hands rubbing over his back. “Let it all out.”

“And mum said –” he sniffled, pulling back a little to look at Ignis with wide, teary eyes – “mum said that my friendship with Noctis has ruined me because now I only care about money.”

Ignis’ lips pursed; his eyebrows pulled down into a frown. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “I know.”

“Gods,” he said. “Your mother sounds like an idiot.”

Prompto snorted a wet laugh. “She is.”

“And you,” Ignis said, lifting his face with a finger below the chin, “you’re nothing like her, Prompto. Nothing at all.”

Prompto blinked back earnestly, willing his eyes not to tear up again. He nodded fast.

“I’m sorry it all went so badly,” Ignis said, dropping his chin. “I’m glad you called for help.”

“Not without getting wasted first,” Prompto said harshly.

“Well, that part was less than ideal,” Ignis admitted. “But you do make a very affectionate drunk.”

“I what?!” Prompto pulled back to glare at Ignis, checking his face for signs of a lie. There were none.

“It was sweet,” was all Ignis said, before he was back to business, rising from the table to continue cooking their breakfast. A few minutes later, he set a plate down in front of Prompto; he’d made pancakes with bacon and maple syrup, heaped with strawberries and blueberries on the side. It looked delicious. Prompto’s stomach twisted with guilt.

“How are you feeling now, then?” Ignis asked.

“Shit,” Prompto said.

Ignis raised an eyebrow, inviting him to carry on in a more eloquent fashion.

“Unwanted,” Prompto said, spearing a berry. He lifted his head as if to say, ‘There, look, I used a better word’. “And completely stupid,” he muttered, “for thinking that this was ever going to end differently.”

“Gladio said you asked him for help moving back,” Ignis said lightly.

“Yep,” Prompto bit out. “I did.” He pushed a piece of bacon around the plate, watching it slide through the sticky, glistening syrup. “Because that was ever going to happen.”

“It’s okay that you were optimistic, Prompto,” Ignis said.

“Delusional, you mean.” He looked up. “They don’t want me, Ignis,” he said. “They haven’t wanted me in a long time, and I…” He looked down again. “I knew that.” Ignis moved like he was about to speak. “And I don’t think that is ever going to change,” he said. “Not anymore.” He cut up part of his pancake into small pieces and pushed them around the syrup alongside the bacon, ‘Prom-plum’ still ringing in his ears. “Not ever again.”

“That’s a big thing to say, Prompto,” Ignis said carefully.

“It’s the truth,” Prompto said, daring him to argue back. Willing him to argue back.

He didn’t.

“What happens next?” he asked.

If Ignis did know what he was asking about, he was doing a brilliant job of acting dumb. “How do you mean?”

“If they never love me again,” Prompto said. “If they never want me again. And they,” the word ‘neglect’ tasted sour on his tongue. It was heavy and dramatic and fit him all wrong. “And they’re not around like they should be,” he said instead. “What happens next?”

“Well, you can stay with Noctis for as long as you want,” Ignis said carefully.

Prompto could see the man studying him, could see the delicate balance being weighed up and considered behind those brilliant eyes.

Tell me, his own eyes screamed back. Tell me it’s okay.

Tell me I can want this.

“You can, of course, make a quiet exit from their lives and seek closure in building up your own one without them,” he continued.

Tell me I’m allowed.

“Or, if you would like,” he said.

Please.

Tell me I can have this.

“You can pursue legal action against them.”

Chapter Text

It was late, but Gladio wasn’t sleeping. Not even his book – a brilliant romance, one of his favourites – could capture his full attention, and his eyes kept drifting instead towards his phone, waiting for a call.

Finally.

“Ignis.”

“Gladio,” Ignis said. Gladio could hear the way that he relaxed, almost infinitesimally, through the phone. “I’ve got him.”

“Thank the gods.” He felt his own relief wash over him like a cool wave. “Is he okay?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know,” Ignis said.

Tension crept back in. “What’s going on?” he growled. “Do you need me out there?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Ignis said. “He’s safe. Just. He, uhh,” another pause, “he’s very drunk.”

“Drunk?” Gladio asked, taken aback.

“Of his own volition,” Ignis added. “I’m not worried that anyone else was involved. The Crownsguard that I sent to look for him found him still at the airport.”

“His parents never even picked him up?”

“Appears not,” Ignis said. “I’m angry, too, but we don’t know where to direct it until we know what occurred.”

Gladio had a pretend good idea about where to direct his anger. “Have you got anything out of him yet?”

“No,” Ignis sighed. “Nothing that makes sense. Look, perhaps you should stay at Noctis’ tonight. I’ll take Prompto to mine. We can talk when he sobers up in the morning.”

“Alright.” A pause. “What do I tell Noct?”

“The truth,” Ignis said tiredly. “Just tell him the truth.”

---

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” Noctis growled for the thousandth time.

“It’s not gonna be a good look in the papers,” Gladio said, hands folded behind his head as he reclined on the sofa.

Noctis rounded on him. “How are you so calm?”

I’m not, he thought. Just better at hiding it.

“You’d better calm down too,” he said instead with a shrug. “Prom’ll be here soon.”

“How can I possibly be –” The sound of a key turning in the lock cut him off. “Shit.”

Gladio rose to his feet and made it down the hallway to the front door. Noctis beat him to it; Prompto was visible only as a mess of blond hair in the prince’s arms. “Let the poor kid breathe,” he sighed, yanking Noctis back. Gods, he’s such a brat. To his surprise, Prompto came with him, face buried into the prince’s shoulder, hands working tightly into the fabric of his t-shirt. Oh. Gladio let go.

“Ignis,” he greeted his best friend over their heads.

“Gladio,” he said, smiling through tired eyes. He looked exhausted.

“Alright, kids,” Gladio said, tugging the pair apart a little more gently this time. “Let’s move this inside.”

Prompto looked so small and lost, drowning in what looked like one of Ignis’ sweaters – not that many people knew the man even owned any – and it took all of Gladio’s self-restraint not to tell everyone to fuck off and send the kid straight to bed. He had this weird urge to hold him, too, run his hands through that ridiculous blond hairdo, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Here we are,” Ignis said, setting down some pastries in the centre of the table. Noctis reached for them instantly, but he plated the first one and handed it straight to Prompto, plating the second for himself.

Huh. Gladio wasn’t the only one experiencing weird feelings right now.

“How are you feeling, Prom?” he asked.

“Meh, I’ll be alright.”

Even now, he was still trying to put on a brave face.

“What happened?” Noctis asked.

Prompto shrugged. “I mean, you can guess half of it. I showed up, and –“ he ducked his head – “and you guys were right. I should never have gone.”

“Hey, now,” Gladio said. “No one here thinks you were wrong to give it a go. We were just worried about you getting hurt, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” Prompto snorted. “Got hurt.”

We can see that.

“They never even picked me up,” he continued. “They, um. My mum…” He looked embarrassed, eyes flicking towards Noctis before darting away. “She thought I was bringing Noct with me.”

“What?” Noctis looked appalled.

“Well, she only reached out after the gala photos, right?” They all nodded. “Well, I guess she just got interested again when she saw who my friends were. And when I thought she’d invited me to come stay, she’d, uhh –”

“She was using you,” Noctis paled. “To get to me.”

Prompto nodded, blinking hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Noctis was incredulous. “Why the fuck –”

“What Noctis is trying to say,” Ignis said smoothly, with a pointed glance at the prince, “is that you have nothing to be sorry for.”

Noctis looked desolate. “I can’t believe it. I should never have –"

“Never have what?” Gladio asked, jumping in before anyone could start spiralling further. “Never have invited Prompto on one of the best nights of our lives? Or never have let your best friend who has free will plan to go and see his own mother? Come on, now, let’s not start this.”

“Gladio’s right,” Ignis said, earning himself a grateful glance. “This is no one’s fault but the Argentums’. Not yours, Noctis, and certainly not Prompto’s.”

Prompto smiled weakly at the advisor. “Thanks.” Ignis nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, well, anyway,” Prompto continued, “once they found out it was just me, they didn’t care anymore. My mum said she had a work thing come up and my dad…” He faltered. “Well, my dad didn’t really want to know me.”

Ignis placed a hand atop Prompto’s.

“I told my mum about the apartment, and she accused me of making everything about money,” he told the table. “Said that my friendship with you guys had changed me, and she couldn’t believe it.”

“Bullshit,” Gladio growled before he could stop himself.

Prompto gave him a slight smile. “I know,” he said. “Turns out there’s been a lot of bullshit going on. And I just –” he shrugged – “I didn’t wanna see it.”

“Nobody blames you for that,” Ignis said gently.

“I still feel like an idiot,” he shrugged.

“You are an idiot,” Noctis declared. “But you’re our idiot.”

“Yeah?” Prompto laughed.

“Yeah. And nobody messes with our idiot unless they wanna face us.”

“Right,” Gladio agreed, matching Noctis’ look of determination with one of his own. Even Ignis looked ready for a fight.

“Thanks, guys,” Prompto smiled.

“Speaking of having to face us,” Gladio said, itching for a fight. “What’s the plan?” He knew Prompto would never want to see it through with legal action, but he would be damned if they let his parents get away with it completely unscathed. Maybe he could charter his own private flight, go pay those fuckers a little visit…

“Well…” Ignis started, looking to Prompto.

“We’re going to take them to court.”

Gladio’s train of thought ground to a halt.

Holy fuck, he thought. He looked to Ignis. You’ve actually done it.

“Don’t credit me,” Ignis said, reading his mind. “Prompto decided this himself.”

And Gladio believed it. The kid looked scared beyond belief, but there was a glint in his eyes, a set in his shoulders that told him Prompto meant business. “Fair play, kid. Fair play.”

---

“So,” Gladio said, sidling up to Ignis as the others headed out of the room. They were off to the arcade – Noctis’s idea – and although he still didn’t want to let Blondie out of his sight, Gladio had to admit it was a good one. Get Prompto’s head somewhere else, remind him of the things he likes, the people who like him… Which left Ignis and Gladio behind, clearing the table. “The plan is underway, huh?”

Ignis gave a small smile. “The plan is underway.”

“Have you got the word to Regis yet?”

“I passed on a message this morning,” he cleared his throat. “The King has asked me to contact him as soon as possible.”

“He’s moving fast, huh.”

“I’ve been informed this is a top priority case.”

“Huh.” Gladio knew that everyone wanted to see those motherfuckers get their comeuppance, but still…

“We’ve celebrated Prompto’s eighteenth birthday already,” Ignis said quietly, practically a whisper, “but there’s enough missing information surrounding his birth that he remains a legal dependent right through his eighteenth year, to account for the unknown birth date.”

“What?”

“So if we get these charges in before Prompto turns nineteen…”

Oh. “… You can get them for child abuse.”

Ignis nodded. “Current, not just historic.”

“You’d researched this all already, hadn’t you?”

“Months ago. His Majesty was informed at the time.”

Huh. “Does Prompto know yet?”

“No,” Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want to overwhelm him with all of the information at once. I’m not sure he even knows about his fabricated birth date.”

“Ah.”

“And if he accepts the information and decides to press charges before he reaches legal majority, formally renouncing his adoptive parents would make him, officially, a ward of the state again.”

“Would they put him in foster care?”

“They’d give him the option,” Ignis nodded. “We could fight it, of course – prove that we can house him here – and I’m certain we would win. Regis has assured me that we’ll have the best legal representatives on the case,” even Ignis couldn’t hold back a smug smile at that, “but it’ll still be a bit of a shock to Prompto.”

“Hey, give the kid some credit,” Gladio said, placing a hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “Blondie’s got grit, that’s for sure.”

“You’re right,” Ignis sighed. “I wish he didn’t have to be so strong.”

“Me too,” Gladio said, picking up the last of the plates from the table. It was Prompto’s – the pastry that Noctis had given him sat untouched in the centre. “He wasn’t hungry?”

Ignis paused, turning around to look at him. “Oh,” he frowned. “I guess not.”

---

The phone call with Regis had gone well, apparently; there were social workers coming the very next day. There would be two visits: one to discuss it all with Prompto himself, which would be held at Noctis’ apartment, and the other, to gain an understanding of the neglect that he’d suffered, which would be conducted at Prompto’s old apartment across town.

The conversation between Ignis and Prompto regarding the intricacies of the legality of it all had been conducted in private, behind the closed door of Prompto’s bedroom, and although the kid had left the room looking a little peaky, he was taking it as well as anyone could expect.

He really was strong, that one.

He was hanging out at Ignis’ elbow that evening, watching the other man cook dinner, looking two seconds from tugging on the advisor’s sleeve as he did so. “Come on, kid,” Gladio called. “Help me set the table, huh?”

Prompto flinched slightly – he really had been miles away – but then he broke off into a smile. “Sure.”

“How was the arcade?”

“Fun,” he said. “I beat Noctis at that new racing game.”

“Barely!” the prince called from the sofa. He was lying down on his front, elbows deep into the cushions so he could play Kings Knight. His legs were crossed above him, and he was swinging them slightly, shoes still on.

“You are such a brat,” Gladio groaned, tackling the protesting prince to pull off his shoes, chuck them in the corner, and pull the young man to his feet. “Come on, Princess, help Prompto with the table.”

“What if I don’t want to,” the prince scowled.

“It’s okay! I’ve got this, guys, you can, uhh, you can both sit down,” Prompto said quickly.

Noctis flinched. Then he marched over, skidding slightly in his socks, to take the plates off of a bewildered Prompto. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I love setting the table.”

“Okayyy,” Prompto said, slowly raising an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, dude.”

If the plates got banged down on the table slightly aggressively, no one commented on it. Nor did they comment when Noctis insisted on doing everything – filling the glasses, setting the cutlery, and placing the salt and pepper down in the centre. When Prompto tried to help, the prince pulled back the young man’s chair, pushed him firmly down into it by the shoulders, and tucked him in.

“Wha—” Prompto spluttered.

Gladio hid his laughter in a cough.

“Alright,” Ignis cut in. “Dinner is ready. If you don’t mind?”

Gladio and Noctis walked over to get their plates.

“I think I’m stuck,” Prompto said forlornly.

“I’ll get you yours,” Gladio chuckled. “Mmm,” he sighed, leaning over to pick up two plates. “Smells amazing, Iggy.”

“You don’t,” the advisor sniffed. “Did you train today?”

Gladio froze as he placed down Prompto’s meal, caught out. “Might’ve.”

“Hmph,” Ignis said. “I might have had a shower afterwards, in your position.”

Prompto and Noctis said nothing, just sniggered to each other over their dinners. Noctis was eating his with enthusiasm – minus every single vegetable, of course – while Prompto settled for pushing his food around on his fork, lifting tiny mouthfuls every now and again.

He’d been doing that since he came back.

“Are you not hungry, Prompto?” Gladio asked casually. Ignis shot the man something that looked like a glare, or at least a warning, but the shield ignored it. “What’s going on, man?”

“I’m not sure now is really the time –” Ignis started. Noctis looked a little like he wanted to disappear.

“It’s fine,” Prompto laughed awkwardly. “I just had some snacks earlier.”

It was obviously a lie, and Gladio very much wanted to say so, but there was something in the way that both Ignis and Noctis had these weird, pained expressions on their faces that made him pause.

Alright then. Seemed everyone had their secrets.

“So, we have some rather important guests arriving tomorrow,” Ignis said, diverting the conversation. “I would like to see this room sparkling clean before you all retire for bed tonight.”

“Are the social workers coming tomorrow?” Noctis asked, surreptitiously sliding a piece of broccoli beneath his knife.

Ignis nodded, lifting the prince’s knife, and confiscating it. “You two,” he said, looking at Noctis and Gladio, “can find something to occupy yourselves with elsewhere tomorrow. If I might suggest a training session?”

“Sure,” Gladio said, chuckling at the prince’s groan. Prompto said nothing, just sat there, cutting his food up into little pieces and pushing them around his plate. “You nervous, Prom?” he asked lightly.

The young man started slightly. He was zoning out a lot, Gladio had noticed.

“Um, a bit,” he said.

“Well, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” Ignis said warmly. “Everyone is on your side, Prompto. We just want to help you in the best way we can.”

Prompto nodded. He was still shifting his food around uncomfortably on his plate.

What’s going on with him?

“I can’t eat,” he blurted out suddenly.

“You can’t eat?” Ignis asked carefully.

Prompto looked up at the advisor – completely sincere – before bursting into tears.

“Woah, hey now,” Gladio murmured, rising to get him some tissues. He looked over at Noctis; the poor kid looked as shocked as Gladio felt.

“What’s wrong, Prompto?” Ignis asked.

Everything, Prompto’s face said. “I can’t eat,” he sobbed, “and I’m starving.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No,” Prompto shook his head. “Well – no, not really –” he accepted the tissue that Gladio offered him – “I mean, kinda.”

“What’s going on, Prompto?” Ignis asked, insistent.

“Come on, Specs,” Gladio said, getting between the two of them. “Give the poor guy some space.”

“Thanks,” Prompto hiccupped, scrubbing at his face. “Sorry.” Gladio waved the apology away. “I, um –” his face flushed a dark, uncomfortable red. “I was a fat kid.”

Gladio was nonplussed. He turned to Noctis to corroborate. The prince looked uncertain but unsurprised; Prompto was telling the truth. “That’s okay,” he said. “We don’t care.”

“My parents did,” he sniffled.

Anger started rising in Gladio’s chest. He bit it back down.

“They always brought it up,” he said. “Put pressure on me to lose weight and stuff. My mum –” his face wobbled – “my mum started calling me ‘Prom-plum’ because she said I was plump.” Gladio was stricken. “She said, uhh. She always said stuff about it. And on the phone yesterday – when I said that I couldn’t afford all my meals in that apartment –"

No, Gladio tensed. She didn’t.

“She said –” he broke off, choking on another sob – “she said that maybe I should look on the bright side because at least I looked skinny for the gala photos.” Prompto was heaving now, and the sight of it made Gladio’s heart break.

A crack made him start; it was Noctis, gripping the novelty cactuar tumbler that he’d convinced Ignis to buy in the supermarket. It was split down the middle. Ignis hadn’t even noticed. He was staring at Prompto, looking close to throwing up.

“I’m so sorry Prompto,” Ignis said, pulling the young man close. “I’m so sorry she said that.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Prompto gave a breathy, tearful sigh, a stupid, soft smile breaking through his tears. “It was kinda helpful, to be honest.” The three of them stared at him. He shrugged. “It made me finally understand that she really didn’t care about me. And now I can move on.”

“You’re made of something else, kid,” Gladio said, joining the embrace from the other side. Prompto leaned into him heavily. A glance across the table showed Noctis, face weirdly open and readable, on the edge of some kind of existential crisis. “Come here, you,” he told him. “Join this hug.”

The prince snapped out of it and rose from his chair. Gladio grabbed his arm and pulled him right in, so Prompto was huddled in the middle of them, just a tuft of blond hair in the centre of a four-way hug. And it was looking down at that little tuft, that Gladio choked up, struck by the sudden realisation that Noctis wasn’t the only kid he would kill and die for. That he’d protect until the end.

“Come on then, Prompto,” Ignis said when the hug broke apart. “Let’s make you something you want to eat.”

Gladio watched as Prompto took a step away from Ignis to peer up at his face, checking it for signs of mockery. Satisfied there were none, the young man gave a short nod. “Thanks, Iggy.”

They walked back to the kitchen, close enough that their shoulders bumped, and Gladio was left with Noctis – and the startling sensation that Blondie wasn’t such an open book as he’d thought.

---

“Gladio,” the advisor looked slightly harried as he rushed over to greet him. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he said. “I’m here to take Noctis out for training.”

The prince in question poked his head out of his bedroom door, blinking tiredly and pouting his retainers. “Don’t wanna.”

Ignis chose to ignore him. “Yes, about that. I’ve been looking into the case,” he began.

“Riiight,” Gladio interrupted. “So you slept when, exactly?”

Ignis elected to ignore that, too. “We might need you here, actually,” he continued. “I’ll explain as we go, but the long and short of it is that it would be good for you to join the meeting today.”

A small victory sound met Gladio’s ears; by the time he’d turned to scoff at the culprit, the young man had already disappeared, and Gladio heard the distinct, soft sound of a duvet being pulled into place.

“That brat,” he muttered. “Where’s Prompto?”

“Getting ready,” Ignis said. “I’ve cleared the dining table so we can sit there, but the living room would also be suitable, should they wish to keep the whole affair a little more casual.”

Overthinking as usual, huh.

“I’m sure they’re used to holding meetings like this all over the place,” Gladio said. Ignis nodded, fingers twitching anxiously at his side.

“Come on,” Gladio sighed. “Let’s find Prompto.”

He wasn’t, of course, hard to find; the apartment was reasonably small, and there was only one room where Prompto would be holed up getting ready. He was stood in front of his bedroom mirror, tugging a collared shirt away from his neck, face drawn and pale with nerves.

“Hey, kid,” Gladio said, nudging open the door. “Nice shirt.”

“Is it too much?” Prompto asked, eyes flicking between the two of them.

Ignis’ face softened. “Not at all,” he said, stepping forward, “although you might be a little more comfortable like this.” Prompto raised his chin, cheeks flushed, eyes on the ceiling, as Ignis leant forward to graciously undo his top button. “Better?” he asked quietly.

“Better,” Prompto mumbled softly.

“Right,” Gladio cleared his throat. “Social services time.”

---

“Prompto, I assume?” a kind, soft-faced woman in a sweater asked, extending her hand for the young man to shake.

“Oh, hi, yeah,” he said, shaking it briefly. Gladio shared the boy’s surprise; the woman, in her late twenties, perhaps, had all the fearsome ‘social services’ energy of a golden retriever.

“Laura,” she said, by way of introduction. “Well, Laurelia, actually, but my friends call me Laura,” she said, shooting Prompto a little wink. “And you would be?” her gaze hovered a little less warmly on Ignis and Gladio as they introduced themselves. “Are you sure you want them with you, love?”

Prompto nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” she said, smiling again. “Let’s sit somewhere comfortable, hmm?” She followed Ignis through to the living room, stepping close by Gladio as she went past. She smelt faintly of pumpkin spice. Taking their seats on the sofa, Laura sat right beside Prompto with a small grin, before dropping her backpack to the floor and taking out a laptop and large stack of files. “Oh, don’t be intimidated by this,” she said, waving her hand. “I just want to know about you.”

And so, they talked.

Today’s meeting, she explained, was for her and Prompto to get acquainted, and for her to get a picture of Prompto’s life the past few months – and years – so she could work out how to help. She listened patiently as Prompto began; slowly, at first, but then faster, details and experiences that Ignis and Gladio had never heard candidly trickling out of him, oblivious to the tension in their fingers, their faces, their hearts. When they were done, and Laura had procured a vegan brownie and a packet of tissues, Prompto looked lighter, somehow, laughing that post-cry laugh as Laura made benign little jokes to distract him.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you for sharing all of that, Prompto. Now.” She gestured to her pile of paperwork. “Let’s discuss the case.”

They all sat up.

“There are strong grounds to take your parents to court for child abuse,” she said. The words were harsh, but the delivery was reassuring. “You certainly have a case, so don’t worry about that.” Prompto nodded. “I understand that you have backing, as well, from the King’s court?”

Prompto looked slightly bewildered. She turned to Ignis, instead, who nodded. “It’s a little more unofficial than that,” he nodded. “But effectively, yes. Our legal team and fees will be covered by His Highness’s endorsement.”

If this was an unusual arrangement, Laura didn’t let it show, nodding as if it was the most normal thing in the world and jotting a couple of notes down in front of her. “Lovely jubbly,” she said. Gladio raised an eyebrow.

“Now, Prompto,” she said. “You have two options here.” She smiled patiently as she waited for an acknowledgement. “The first, if you wish, is to take your parents to court yourself. The Argentums versus Prompto. You won’t be alone, though. You will have all the backing and expertise of Regis’ lawyers, and we will also fully support you throughout the process. We’ll walk you through the legal processes, and we can even do a mock court event if you’d like, so you can practice understanding the jargon and delivering your statement.”

Prompto nodded. He looked a little pale.

“Alternatively – and this may be the nicer option – you can rescind this case to the state. By this method, you wouldn’t be required to go to court and would deliver your statement at the local station. The case itself would be the Argentums versus the state, and so the state’s representatives would be the one to argue it in court, using your statement as evidence,” she explained. “We would provide you with full protections against your parents, Prompto,” she said, softer this time, “so you don’t need to confront them yourself. We know that can be extremely distressing, and this process would shield you from that.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “The only thing with this method is that, in order for you to be in a position where the state can represent you, you would have to have the state as your legal guardian. Your adoption –” her face twisted with pity, a soft grimace to match everyone else’s – “would be formally dissolved.”

Prompto inhaled. “So, I’d be – ” his hands were fidgeting in his lap – “like, officially, at least, I’d be like –”

“An orphan,” she said, nodding. “In legal terms, yes.”

Prompto inhaled again, like there wasn’t enough air in the room to fill his lungs. He exhaled slowly. “Fine.”

“Fine?” she asked, taken aback. “You can think on this, Prompto, we don’t need a decision right –”

“It’s fine,” he said again. “Let’s be real, I’ve been an orphan for a while.”

Laura – oh wonderful Laura, with her nerves of steel and a completely unalterable temperament – tipped her head back and laughed. “You tell them, Prompto,” she said, winking. “You tell them.” Prompto looked uncertain for a second, but then laughed along with her, hand rubbing the back of his neck, tension sliding off his shoulders for the second time that meeting. “I like you, Prompto,” she announced. “You’re going to do just fine.”

There would be a second meeting, she informed them, in which she and another social worker would conduct a review of his previous living situation. There was no need for Prompto to come if he didn’t want to. (He didn’t, just handed her the key.) And then they could begin.

The first stage would be the annulment of the adoption on the grounds of abuse and neglect, which would render Prompto a ward of the state. The second involved Prompto’s statement at the police station, while the third involved the actual court proceedings, which Prompto would be shielded from entirely.

“You two, not so much,” Laura said quietly as the three of them stood by the apartment’s front door. “As adult witnesses – and particularly in positions of authority – you will almost certainly be required in court.”

Gladio nodded; this was why Ignis had wanted him in the meeting in the first place.

“I know the whole process can be pretty daunting,” she began. “But –”

“We’ll do it,” Gladio said. “Don’t worry about us.”

“Mm,” Ignis chimed in wryly. “I believe we’ve handled worse.”

Gladio could see the way Laura took a mental step back as if remembering who she was dealing with. “You’re right,” she admitted with a smile. “Well, I look forward to working with you on this, then.”

“Likewise,” Ignis said, graciously.

“And just off the record?” she asked, one foot in the door.

“Mm?”

She looked between them. “You’re doing a good job with him,” she said. “Really good. Keep it up.” With that, she shut the door.

“Huh,” Gladio said to the corridor as if there wasn’t a warm glow in his chest from the praise. (There wasn’t.) “We know.”

Ignis snorted.

“What was that about?” Prompto asked, poking his head from out of the bathroom.

“Nothing,” Gladio said, at the same time as Ignis.

Prompto narrowed his eyes playfully. “Riiiight.”

~~ BONUS SCENE TIME ~~

Location: Ignis’s apartment.

Time: the middle of the night. shortly after landing in Insomnia. Prompto is drunk and, according to Ignis, “affectionate”.

“They hate me,” Prompto pouted for the millionth time. “They haaate me, Iggy.”

Ignis sighed. “Nobody hates you, Prompto.”

“Yes, they do,” he moaned, allowing Ignis to help him wiggle out of his t-shirt. He paused and stared up at Ignis. “You don’t, right?”

“No, I don’t hate you at all,” Ignis said, patting him on the head before turning away to rummage for a clean t-shirt in his drawers. Prompto was wearing a ratty little wristband, too, but seeing as he’d never seen the young man without it, he knew better than to take it off now. “I could never hate you,” he said, returning to push Prompto’s arms through the sleeves.

“Promise?” Prompto asked, muffled from inside the t-shirt.

Ignis chuckled despite himself. “I promise.”

“Mmm,” Prompto said, apparently satisfied. “I could never hate you either.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup,” he grinned lazily. “You’re like, my favourite person.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “What about the prince?”

“The prince is – “ he hiccupped – “overrated.”

“Ah,” Ignis said conspiratorially, “I hadn’t realised.”

“Mmhmm.” Prompto frowned up again at Ignis as the man slowly pushed him down onto his back on the bed. “You’re sure you’ll still like me in the morning?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Ignis said.

Prompto sat up. Lie down, complained a small, unprofessional voice in the back of the advisor’s mind – a voice that quickly shut up as Prompto extended a wobbly pinky finger and demanded that he promise ‘properly’.

Ignis looped his pinky finger with Prompto’s. “I promise, truly and properly, that I will still like you in the morning.” He lowered Prompto back again, smiling as the young man finally relaxed. “And the morning after,” he said, rising and exiting the room. The door clicked softly behind him.

“And every morning after that,” he told the wood. It said nothing in response.

Chapter Text

“Well, call me Oliver Twist–” Prompto said as he kicked off his shoes and entered the living room of Noctis’s apartment – “‘cos I am officially an orphan.”

Gladio choked on his drink. “Welcome back,” he said, coughing slightly behind his hand.

“Please sir,” Prompto grinned, dropping to his knees beside the bag of crisps Gladio had open on the coffee table. “Can I have some more?”

Gladio snorted, shaking his head in utter disbelief, but he angled the bag so Prompto could stick his hand in. “Is this normal?” he asked Ignis, who had walked in behind him. The man said nothing, just tiredly raised his eyebrows.

Prompto just pulled a face, grabbing another couple of crisps and turning to say hi to Noctis. “Noct –” he began. He fell short. “Dude,” he said flatly. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Noctis blinked innocently up at his friend. “Arts and crafts.” He was holding a pair of scissors and sitting on the carpet amidst a pile of newspaper clippings, with glue sticks and craft paper scattered across the floor.

“Arts and crafts,” Prompto echoed. His eyes landed on a piece of paper in the middle of the mountain – a simple piece of white card, letters stuck to the page spelling out the beginning of a particularly threatening sentence. “Wait –” his eyes grew wide – “are you sending my parents hate mail?”

“He’s what?” Gladio asked, dropping his book to crane his neck over at Noctis’s craft puddle on the carpet.

“He is surely not,” Ignis said sharply, shooting Gladio a you-were-meant-to-be-supervising-him face as he walked over to investigate.

“What?” Noctis pouted. “You said it wouldn’t be appropriate for the prince to get involved –” he glared up at Ignis, daring him to disagree – “but this way, they won’t even know it’s me.”

Ignis sucked his teeth. “This is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What does that even say?” Gladio said, tilting his head further. “‘I hope you fuck-ing dee?’”

Noctis scowled. “What? No. It says, ‘I hope you fucking die’.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t,” Gladio said.

“Yeah, no, it doesn’t,” Prompto said, picking it up. “I’m pretty sure that’s an extra ‘e’.”

“And what’s with the gap between ‘fuck’ and ‘ing’?”

“Maybe he ran out of space,” Prompto supplied helpfully. “And ran out of ‘I’s.”

Gladio snorted. “Are you fucking dyslexic?” He turned to Ignis. “Is the prince fucking dyslexic?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gladio,” Noctis scowled.

“I think we’re getting distracted from the real issue here,” Ignis said, eyebrow arched.

“Are we? Because if the prince can’t read –”

“Gladio.” Gladio shut up. Ignis turned back to Noctis. “You will not be sending Prompto’s parents anything, Noctis. My word is final.”

Prompto looked between his best friend and the advisor, a grin slowly splitting his face. “Cheer up, Noct,” he said, flopping down onto the carpet beside him. He gently prized the scissors from his confused grip and selected a magazine page with a particularly glossy feel to it, getting to work on cutting it up. “I know how to spell.”

“Prompto –” Ignis began, pained.

“Let the boy do what he wants,” Gladio chuckled, returning to his book. “I thought that therapist said it was healthy for him to express his emotions.”

He was right. Social services had assigned him a counsellor, whom he’d started seeing a few weeks ago. It was weird, and he wasn’t particularly easy to talk to, but Prompto was learning – and occasionally reporting back home over dinner.

“I hardly believe that this is what he meant,” Ignis said haughtily.

“Well, he didn’t say it wasn’t,” Prompto chirped, cutting out the letter ‘i’. “Pass me the glue, Noct.”

It wasn’t like they were going to send it; he didn’t even know where his parents were, right now, only that they weren’t in Insomnia. They hadn’t reached out, even with the advance warnings that Prompto’s adoption was to be officially severed. He’d been expecting at least something – some fuss or complaint, or maybe even a stress-inducing attempt to prevent it entirely – but they’d said absolutely nothing. He’d become an orphan, a ward of the state, without so much as a whisper.

“Done,” he said viciously, holding it up. “Let’s stick it on the fridge.”

Prompto admired their handiwork a little while later, as he went to the fridge to get snacks for their movie night. It felt good, that he was angry – that he was publicly angry – and nobody was telling him not to be.

“You alright, Prom?”

He jumped a bit, despite himself, and turned to face Noctis. “Yeah, man,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Just getting snacks.”

“I know,” Noctis said lightly, following his gaze. “Nice artwork.”

“Noct…”

Noctis’ eyes flickered over to him, nervous. His media-ready poker face had never been any good around his friends – certainly not friends who wanted to talk about their feelings. “Yeah?”

“I really… sometimes I think, I really wouldn’t mind that. You know. If they did.”

Noctis looked very much like he was trying not to panic. “Uhh, really?” he asked.

“No!” Prompto back-tracked, guiltily. Fuck. “No, I mean, not really, man I was just –”

“Hey,” Noctis said, shrugging. “It’s okay.”

Prompto stopped. “You think?” he said, eventually.

“I mean,” Noctis shrugged again. “It’s a bit fucked up,” he admitted. “But, uhh. I don’t know. I get it.”

“… Yeah?”

“Dude, I would do it myself and you know it.”

Prompto snorted. “Wow, they’d better watch out, huh.”

Noctis grinned uncertainly. “They sure had.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said. “I didn’t mean to be weird –”

“No.” Noctis frowned. “It’s not weird. You’re just… mad, you know?”

Prompto resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows at the understatement. Be encouraging, he told himself. Noctis is trying.

“And I mean it,” Noctis continued, persevering. “You’re definitely not the only one around here who’s thought about it.”

“Ha. I’m really not, am I?”

“Not by a long shot,” Noctis grinned. “I think Gladio is actually going to get a punch in.”

“Man, I would pay to see that,” Prompto grinned back. “Actually, can you pay him to do it?”

“Dude, don’t be an idiot. Gladio would do that shit for free. I’m pretty sure he would pay me just to let him.”

They both laughed at that – the image of Gladio landing a punch on Prompto’s father, the horror on Ignis’ face, the self-righteous disbelief on Prompto’s mother’s – and were still chuckling as they grabbed the snacks and headed back towards the sofas, Gladio and Ignis ready to go.

“Something funny?” Gladio asked. At the sight of him, Prompto started giggling all over again.

“Not really,” he said.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Noctis said behind a smirk.

“Cocky bastard,” Gladio muttered.

When the film was over, Ignis sent them straight to bed. Noctis, he sent because he could, and he never let the prince forget it, but Prompto in particular needed sleep ahead of his police statement. With his adoption finally over, he was going down to the station first thing in the morning.

The atmosphere of the apartment was unnecessarily chirpy the next morning. Breakfast was waffles, although he didn’t eat much, passing his plate over to Noctis, who tiredly hoovered them up. Mornings still weren’t his style, but it was touching that he’d faced it anyway, to see Prompto off for his statement.

“What about this one?” the prince asked, holding up a collared black shirt on a coat hanger.

Prompto studied it, head to the side. “It looks a bit stuffy. Too many buttons.”

“Too many buttons,” he nodded solemnly. “Then what about –” he rummaged between the coat hangers, pulling out a simple black polo shirt. His face was hopeful.

“Yep,” Prompto said, rocking onto his toes and back. “That’ll do it.”

Noctis smiled – barely concealing his relief – before he tugged the shirt off the hanger and chucked it over. “All yours, dude.”

“Thanks.” He wriggled out of the t-shirt he’d put on that morning and tugged the polo over his head. It fit well, smart without being constricting tight – and smelled reassuringly like Noctis. “Good?”

Noctis nodded. “Good.”

Ignis was waiting for them by the door, and together they piled into the elevator and then into Ignis’s car. Prompto took his usual seat in the front, legs jumping with nerves as they drove to the station.

“You’ll do fine,” Ignis said, dusting some imaginary specks off Prompto’s shoulders once they had climbed out of the car.

Prompto sucked in a gasp of cool, morning air. It was August; the end of the summer was already approaching – and he still had no idea what he was going to do with his life once the seasons truly turned.

One day at a time, he heard his therapist say in his head. He nodded. He could do this.

He turned to Ignis and Noctis. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” Noctis said.

“We’ll be right here,” Ignis said, opening the door to the police station for Prompto to step through.

He was really doing this: giving a statement against his parents. Well. Not that they were his parents anymore, not legally, at least. The aftermath of the second social worker visit, in which they investigated his old apartment – was it a crime scene? Prompto didn’t know, didn’t want to know – had triggered an official intervention by the state, which had taken Prompto back into its custody.

As mortifying as it was to be orphaned, not to mention being told he was technically still a fucking child, it was better than the alternative. It was also funny, at first, to think that he was giving his statement outside of court as a matter of ‘protection’, but it got considerably less funny when he imagined the alternative, facing them down himself in the courts.

Yikes.

“Prompto?” Ignis prompted him, nudging him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, shaking himself off and walking in. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Mr. Argentum?” a voice said as he entered the building. It was starkly lit and harshly textured, with strip lighting, tiles, and metal cabinets. Prompto hated it instantly, shrinking under the lights.

“Yes,” Ignis said swiftly when he realised Prompto wasn’t going to speak for himself. The policeman looked over Ignis coolly, before landing on Prompto with a questioning eyebrow.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“We need to see some ID,” was all he said. “Right this way, please.”

Prompto followed Ignis over to the desk, Noctis following behind him. His palms felt sticky, sweat pooling in his underarms, and he suddenly felt awful for asking to borrow one of Noctis’ shirts. He was going to hand it back sweaty and disgusting and Noctis was going to hate him.

ID checked over; the officer nodded briskly. “We’ll take the statement in one of the rooms over here,” he said, gesturing behind himself with a sharp jerk of his thumb. Prompto nodded, swallowing thickly. He had a folded piece of paper in his pocket; his statement, carefully written with the help of Ignis and several of Lucis’ finest lawyers. He moved to follow the officer and heard Ignis and Noctis move behind him before the man turned and frowned. “Sorry,” he said. “Victim only at this point.”

Prompto barely realised what he had said, mind hanging and twisting on the word ‘victim’, fighting the label as it branded into him – was that what he was here? was that who he’d become? – that he barely noticed as Noctis stepped in front of him, glaring up at the police officer, forcing the man to finally look at just who Prompto had brought with him.

“Umm, of course, Your Highness,” the officer coughed uncomfortably. “That’s just a recommendation. If you would like to accompany, uhh, Prompto here, that’s no problem.”

Noctis smiled, sickly sweet. “Thank you.” He turned to Ignis and muttered a quick, “We’ll see you outside right after,” before placing a hand in the small of Prompto’s back and guiding him – dumbfounded – down the corridor after the policeman. Prompto just had time to shoot a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, catching the steady, encouraging gaze of the advisor, before the statement room enveloped him in its sterile grasp, and the door closed behind him, sealing shut.

“I stand here today as a young man, on the edge of adulthood, burdened by the weight of a childhood that I should never have had to bear. I was adopted as a baby, rescued from the Empire of Niflheim, by a pair of journalists whom the world believed were performing a miraculous act of charity. I’m here today to tell you that I was a prop, a showpiece, discarded once their generosity was no longer in the limelight, and made to suffer through years of neglect and abandonment…”

The rest of the world blurred over, as Prompto’s became nothing but the piece of paper, glaring in the strip lights, trembling in his shaking hands – and the words written on it, which made their way, stilted, uncomfortable, catching, into the world. He was ready to collapse by the time it was over, when the officer gave him a small smile, a mutter of ‘good work’, and a nod; when Noctis’ arm snaked around his shoulders, gripping him tight, and they made their way back into the sun.

“Well done, love,” Ignis said, pulling him into his chest, hands finding their way across his shoulder blades, the back of his head. “Well done.”

---

“There he is,” Gladio called warmly from the sofa as Prompto entered the apartment, Ignis and Noctis walking in behind him. “The man of the hour, huh?”

Prompto nodded. He was exhausted.

“C’mere, you,” he said, pulling him in for a hug. “Good work, kid. That took a lot of bravery.”

Prompto didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel particularly brave; just sad, and empty, and a bit hungry now all the adrenaline was wearing off. He could sleep for about a week.

“You should’ve seen him,” Noctis said, uncharacteristically fierce. “He did great.”

“You went in with him, huh?”

At this, Prompto snorted. “They tried to stop him.”

Gladio chuckled; Prompto felt it against his face. “I bet they did.” He put his hands on Prompto’s shoulders and held him back a little, studying his face: the peaky complexion, the bags, the sadness. “Come on,” he said, nudging him into the living room. “Let’s watch something.”

The world moved around Prompto, temporarily asking nothing from him but his existence. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, a tray of snacks and chocolate milkshakes appeared at the coffee table in front of him, his friends slotted in easily around him on the sofa, blinds lowered against the sun, TV turned on and flicked onto one of his favourite shows.

“Snacks and milkshakes, huh,” Gladio muttered at one point as he tucked Prompto in at his side and handed him a milkshake, straw dropped into the centre. “The rules just go out the window for Blondie, don’t they?”

“It’s not like that,” Ignis said, smoothing the blanket over Prompto’s shoulders before taking a seat at the other end. It was just for show, though; they all knew it was like that – and it always would be.

“Hey,” Noctis said, dropping down beside him and offering a bowl of popcorn. “Feeling any better?”

“Comfier,” Prompto smiled tiredly. “Much comfier.”

It was probably a good thing that they picked a show Prompto had seen a million times. He fell asleep halfway through the second episode, head lolling backwards onto the pillow Noctis shoved behind him when he first noticed him going, hands grasping loosely on the empty milkshake glass. They let him sleep all afternoon, Gladio reading quietly on the other sofa; Ignis moving his tasks to complete at the desk in Noctis’ bedroom; Noctis taking the opportunity to nap himself, satisfied in the knowledge that nobody would try and stop him.

When Prompto finally awoke, curled up under the blanket, hair all stuck up on one side, it was to the smell of dinner being prepared and the sounds of someone very quietly setting the table. “Morning,” he mumbled sleepily.

Ignis looked up and chuckled. “Good evening.”

“I fell asleep,” he said, dumbly.

“You did,” Ignis smiled. “I daresay you needed it.” Prompto agreed. “Why don’t you wash up for dinner, and I’ll wake Noctis.”

“He’s asleep, too?”

“He’s a relentless opportunist,” Gladio muttered from the other sofa. He rose, grumbling, to his feet. “I’ll get him up.”

By the time Prompto returned to the kitchen, he was feeling much more awake. Noctis was also awake, although, from the way he was stumbling around like a zombie, scowling at the water jug as he filled it from the tap, he clearly wished that he wasn’t. “Mornin’,” Prompto sang, nudging him.

“Fuck off,” Noctis muttered.

“Someone’s perked up,” Gladio said, sliding past to reach for the salt and pepper from the side. “And it ain’t Noctis.”

“I don’t need perking up,” Noctis mumbled angrily. “I’m fine.”

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” Gladio smirked. “If you say so.”

Noctis scoffed irritably. Water jug finally full, he hit the tap off and dumped the jug down on the table hard enough that it splashed.

“Noctis, please,” Ignis said.

He had the sense to look sheepish. Prompto handed him a kitchen towel, which he took gratefully and mopped up. “Cheers.”

Conversation at dinner circled the morning’s activities and – with Prompto temporarily off the cards for some light bullying – Noctis bore the brunt.

“No way,” Prompto grinned, disagreeing with Gladio on the name for Noctis’ shooting style. “Noctis doesn’t shoot like he’s scared of touching the gun, it just lands like he’s scared of hitting the target.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Noctis muttered. He was wondering why it was that he’d bothered waking up. (Answer: Gladio. The man was a fucking sadist).

Prompto snickered. “Is that the way you speak to a child?” he said, full of mock offence. “Wait until the press hears about this.”

Noctis’ poor brain was working at about a mile an hour. “A child?” Oh. The penny dropped. “Shut up,” he said. “You don’t count as a child.”

“Umm,” Prompto said, matter-of-fact. “The courts say I do.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow and shook his head, listening to the entire conversation like a tired parent. “Prompto, might you pass me the water jug?” he interrupted.

Prompto sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Oh, the woes of child labour,” he lamented, making a huge show of effort as he reached over to hand him the water. “Gladio, can you believe it?”

“You keep this up and we’ll give you a bedtime and make you sit on the naughty step.”

“Can we spank him instead?” Noctis muttered darkly.

“Nuh-uh,” Prompto said, unafraid. “No can do, I’m afraid.”

“And why’s that?”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he grinned. “I’m a ward of the state. Only the government gets to tell me what to do,” he said proudly.

“Dude,” Noctis said, exasperated. “The government tells everyone what to do.”

“Not the same,” Prompto insisted. “And unless the government of Lucis itself tells me to sit on the naughty step –” he stopped as the three men around the table shared a contemplative glance and remembered just who he was talking to. “No –” he backtracked – “wait, no, come on –”

“Too late,” Noctis said, kicking his chair back with a grin.

“We live in an apartment!” Prompto cried. “We don’t even have stairs!” Gladio and Noctis didn’t relent. “Mama Ignis,” Prompto called in a last-minute appeal. “Help me, Mama Ignis!”

“I thought you were parentless,” Ignis said coolly, taking a drink.

Prompto shot him a look of total betrayal as he was finally manhandled out of the room, Gladio and Noctis frogmarching him to the front door and dumping him on the floor beside the coat rack.

“Go on then,” Gladio said with a malicious grin. “Count to twenty and then you can come back in.”

“Fuck you,” Prompto said, face red with utter humiliation.

“Thirty,” Noctis said. Prompto shut up.

“Good boy,” Gladio grinned, patting him on the head.

Noctis glanced between them, snickering, before returning to the kitchen, Gladio following behind him. At the door, he did a dramatic ‘I’ve got my eyes on you’ point between his eyes and Prompto’s, before closing it behind him, shutting Prompto alone in the corridor.

“Oh, man,” Prompto muttered, falling onto his back with his hands over his eyes. “What the fuck…”

He didn’t know if he should count or not, but decided on balance that it was less effort if he did. After thirty, he let himself back in.

“The child returns,” Gladio grinned.

“Did you have a nice time?” Ignis asked innocently.

“You all fucking suck.”

The three spoke at once, “Language!”

---

The fun couldn’t last forever, of course. As August meandered on, and the court day grew closer, Prompto found himself increasingly restless, leaving the apartment for hours at a time to wander through Insomnia with his camera. He never told anyone where he went, just quietly returned some hours later to develop his photographs in his dark room, hanging out in the cool darkness far longer than was necessary before blinking out into the corridor.

The boys gave him space.

He went back to his old neighbourhood more often than not, swinging his legs out over the dock and watching the light shimmer and dance on the water. Before long, his dark room – and subsequently his pin board – were covered in shots showing the streets he’d grown up on, the apartment buildings he’d walked past a thousand times as a child. He even went back to Anja’s laundrette. Not with any laundry, Ignis took care of all of that these days, but just to say hello. Anja had been surprised to see him, full of questions about where he’d been and how life was treating him, but her grumpy little cat had rubbed herself instantly against his shins as if not a day had gone by. He took a photograph of her for his wall.

He went to his own apartment building the most. Never a step through the door, he just stood outside on the street, head tilted up, watching the darkened windows of his old home. They never lit up. Wherever Prompto’s parents were – and he’d been subtly informed that they’d returned to Insomnia ahead of the impeding trial – they weren’t in the apartment.

“Hey! Kid!”

Prompto started, turning around to find the source of the yell. An older man with slightly greying hair was jogging slowly towards him.

“Andy,” Prompto greeted him once the caretaker had come close enough to be identifiable. “Uhh, hey, how are you?”

“Hello,” Andy said, kindly. “I keep seeing you come by, but I never catch you in time.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto shifted awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Just wanted to say,” he paused, catching his breath. “I heard about your parents. I’m sorry. I had no idea it was all going on.” He stopped himself just shy of saying something like ‘I wish you had told me’. Prompto was grateful for that. “Look, uhh. I just wanted to tell you. Your parents won’t be coming back here.”

“Sorry?”

“I mean –” He pushed on. “The apartment’s being repossessed. I don’t know the time frame,” he said apologetically, “but I know it’s going to happen. Heard it on the grapevine and all that. Some council people came to look around it just last week.”

“Oh, right.”

“Is there anything you needed to get? I’m sure I could get you in there if –”

“No, it’s fine,” Prompto said, waving his keys in his hand with a small smile. “Besides, I took all of my stuff out when I left. But thank you,” he added. For everything, he left unsaid.

“Oh, sure kid,” Andy smiled reassuringly. “You just let me know if you ever need anything. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Prompto smiled genuinely. “Thanks.”

Prompto’s chest was warm as he watched the man jog off again, taking the edge of the stabbing pain of Andy’s news. Repossessed. That was that, really. They would never go back.

He looked up again at the dark windows of his old apartment and thought, in one aching moment, that the windows had looked no lighter when he lived there, huddled up on his own in the darkness. He shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the wind, shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away.

“Promptooooo,” Noctis called as he walked through the door. “Come play Kings Knight with us?”

“Coming,” Prompto called back, summoning the most of his energy to put a smile on his face and walk in. Noctis was lounged across one of the sofas, Gladio sat on the other, and Prompto took his place on the latter one, scrunched up in the corner against the armrest.

“Good day?” Gladio asked idly.

It was only dressed up as a casual question, however; the first day of his parents’ trial was now just a day away, and Prompto – although he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the only one – was sick with nerves.

“Yeah, good,” he said, not looking up from Kings Knight. He was losing, having just joined mid-game, but he was determined to catch up.

“Good,” Gladio said. Prompto could feel him studying him even as he kept his own eyes on his screen. Prompto waited. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve thought about it, but we won’t be able to run tomorrow,” Gladio said casually.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” he smiled. Somehow, Gladio still hadn’t gotten bored of taking Prompto out on his runs, just steadily encouraged him as his stats got better, and he became increasingly capable of gasping out replies to the steady chatter that the shield kept up.

“We’ll pick it up next week. Or go after,” Gladio said with a deliberate shrug. “You know.”

“Right.”

The sound of the front door unlocking made them all turn, watching Ignis shoulder open the door, several bags in tow. “Ah, Prompto,” he stopped. “You’ve returned.”

“Hi.”

“How was your walk?”

“Nice.”

A pause. “Good.” He turned to Gladio. “For tomorrow,” he said, holding up the bags. “Now,” he said, swiftly moving on, “who’s ready for dinner?”

The answer, it seemed, was no one. Dinner was an almost silent affair, in which not even Noctis scooping all of his vegetables under the salmon skin could provoke Ignis into commenting. He wasn’t the only one picking at his food, either; Gladio was the only one really making a dent, and even then, half of his plate was untouched.

“Well, this is ridiculous,” Ignis announced. Prompto quietly agreed. The royal advisor cleared his throat. “Let’s go to the arcade,” he said. Three sets of eyes moved to stare at him. “What?” he asked, puffing up indignantly. “I know how to have fun.”

“Have you even been to the arcade before?” Gladio asked.

“Plenty of times,” Ignis said stiffly, “…to pick Noctis up.”

“I think it’s a nice idea,” Prompto said. “Noct?”

Noctis quickly rearranged his face. “Oh, yeah. Great idea, Specs. Let’s go.”

Their food lay abandoned. Ignis didn’t even make them tidy it up, just cajoled everyone into sweaters and hoodies against the evening chill and shepherded them all out of the front door. There was an infectious buzz around the four of them, which started as confusion and was slowly morphing into something far giddier and hilarious, and Prompto was grinning as he followed his friends out of the elevator and into the street.

“Well, Noctis,” Ignis said, turning to the young man with a flourish. “You spend the most time at the arcade. Lead the way.” And Noctis – with a quick, bemused glance behind at Gladio and Prompto – did.

Prompto fell into step beside Gladio, or rather, Gladio fell deliberately into step beside him. “How are you feeling, kid?”

Prompto shrugged, looking up, away from Gladio. It was a clear night; with the sun setting over the city, the brightest stars were just visible through the blue. “Like shit,” he told them. “Better now, though,” he added, with a quick glance at Gladio.

“Yeah,” Gladio nodded thoughtfully. “Nice being outside.”

“Mmm. Are you nervous?” Prompto asked, after a moment.

“Shitting bricks,” Gladio said, in a tone so serious that Prompto eyed him suspiciously. “No, really,” he laughed. “I’ve handled a lot of shit before with this job, but still. Scary stuff, huh?”

“You’re telling me.”

Gladio laughed again. “You’re a brave kid, Prom.”

“I never feel it,” he muttered.

“Well, I can’t make you see it,” Gladio said, clapping a hand on Prompto’s shoulder with a sigh, “but we all see it in you.” Prompto didn’t know what to say to that. Gladio, thankfully, didn’t seem to expect a reply.

“Here you are,” Ignis said, as they gathered around him just inside the arcade, like kids waiting for their pocket money. Prompto grinned as Ignis dumped a handful of loose change in his open palm, jiggling it a bit in his hand before he dropped it into his pocket.

“Thanks, Igs.”

“Don’t spend it all at once,” Ignis said, knowing full well that he would.

“Oh, we will!” Noctis called, grabbing Prompto’s wrist and dragging him in. “Come on, Prom, we need a rematch on that driving game.”

“What, you don’t wanna play the shooter?” Prompto teased.

“I’m just warming up,” Noctis said airily. “You’ll see.”

Noctis won the driving game, to Prompto’s horror. “Remind me to never let Prompto behind the wheel,” was Ignis’ main comment, watching over their shoulders.

“Uncalled for!” Prompto said, turning to look at him indignantly. Ignis said nothing else, just jabbed a quick finger towards the screen as Prompto, embarrassed, turned back just in time to see his little yellow car careen straight into the barriers. “Right,” he muttered.

The shooter, of course, saw Noctis tank miserably. Prompto annihilated him – then Gladio, who’d been certain of his win, and then Ignis, who had actually nearly achieved it.

“Are you sure you weren’t a sharpshooter in a past life?” Gladio asked incredulously as Prompto’s latest score put him at the top of the leaderboard.

“Who knows,” Prompto grinned, pocketing his tokens. “Maybe you guys just suck.”

At one point, Gladio pressed a warm, plastic cup of beer into his hands. With a quick glance at Ignis, who was clearly disapproving, he took a sip. It felt like a bad idea, to drink the night before his parents’ trial, but then again it wasn’t like he would be in court. Besides, one beer wouldn’t get him drunk, he reasoned. And as the hours went on, the tokens racked up, and the ugly carpet blurred a little beneath his feet, he found he didn’t care, anyway.

“Come on,” Noctis said, grabbing his wrist again, face slightly flushed from the alcohol, “let’s play the driving game again.”

“Ha,” Prompto wriggled out of his grasp. “You’re just sick of losing.” He looked around the arcade for something else to play. “Ohmygods,” he said. “Wait.” All three friends turned to look at him as he grabbed Noctis’ arm and weaved through the arcade towards the opposite corner. “Ta-daa!”

Gladio barked a laugh. “Now this I wanna see.”

Ignis’ mouth twisted in a smile. “Likewise.”

“No fucking way,” Noctis moaned. “Not happening. Nope.”

It was too late; Prompto was already pushing coins into the slots, hitting ‘two-player’ on the screens, and lining up his feet on the dance squares. “Come on, Noct,” he grinned.

Noctis tipped his plastic tumbler right back, wiping the remnants on the back of his hand, and stepped up, glaring darkly at the chirpy dancing girl on the screen like she was his personal nemesis. “Fuck you,” he muttered at Prompto. “And fuck you, too,” he said with a little more venom at Ignis and Gladio, who were chuckling from the sidelines.

“Come on Princess,” Gladio called as the music started up and the colourful arrows rained down, “give us a twirl.”

Prompto was concentrating far too hard on hitting all the right squares, bobbing his head, swaying with the music as he danced to fully catch the gesture that Noctis threw at the shield, but he got the gist of it and laughed. “Come on, Noct!” he cried. “Concentrate!”

Prompto was out of breath and panting – graciously accepting the drink that Gladio held out for him – when the song came to a stop. They’d scraped through to the next level, no thanks to Noctis, who’d nearly failed the entire song.

“I need someone else up here,” Prompto grinned, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair, “Noct is gonna get us out.”

Noctis couldn’t escape the dance floor fast enough, jumping down from the platform to sulk, hovering at Ignis’ elbow. Gladio stepped up. “Let’s do it, kid,” he grinned.

Prompto raised an eyebrow. “Sure you can handle it, old man?”

“Ooh, you don’t know who you’re talking to,” he smirked, making a show of stretching and warming up. And, it turned out, Prompto really didn’t. Gladio had rhythm. Not only that, Gladio had moves. He didn’t just make the squares in time, with ‘Great job!’ and ‘Perfect!’ flashing up on the screen; he made it look easy while he did so, throwing in these ridiculous extra quirks and winks that had Prompto cackling with laughter, barely catching his own steps in time.

“Holy shit,” Prompto gasped, tapping through the final chorus. The thud thud of their feet matched the thudding of the music, and the rhythm pumping in Prompto’s chest, fast and hard. The song finished with a flourish. ‘Dance Champions!’ flashed up on screen. “I need a break,” he gasped, reaching for the cup that Noctis held out for him.

“Huh, who’s the old man now?” Gladio grinned. He’d barely broken a sweat.

“How are you not dying right now?” Prompto demanded between gulps of his drink. “I’m sitting the next one out.”

“Well, someone has to dance with me,” Gladio said, palms spread. “Noctis?”

“Fat chance,” the prince muttered. Everyone’s gaze slid to Ignis.

“If I must,” he said, with a long-suffering sigh. He slid out of his jacket, folding it neatly over the bar of the dance machine, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Gladio whistled low.

“Specs is getting serious,” Noctis said.

“Well, if I’m going to do this,” he said, sharply, “I may as well do it properly.” There was a spark of humour in his eyes, though, and when the song started up, he was just as enthusiastic – if not quite as freewheeling and fluid – as Gladio and Prompto had ever been. As with everything, he was meticulous.

“He’s playing this like chess or something,” Noctis grumbled quietly to Prompto. “Trying to predict the next moves.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’?” Prompto shot back. Polished Chelsea boots hit the squares just as they lit up, Ignis’s gaze one of fixed determination, completely at odds with the upbeat synthesized pop music blasting out of tinny speakers. Prompto grinned, snapping shots on his camera; beside him, Noctis had his phone out, recording the whole thing.

“Come on, Specs, loosen up,” Gladio called, wiggling his hips in a way that Noctis muttered he never wanted to see again.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ignis puffed, barely hiding a smile.

“This is loose,” Prompto laughed. “As loose as Iggy gets, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” Ignis said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Chat later,” Gladio barked. “Dance now.”

“Ooh, you’ve been saved Iggy,” Prompto teased. “I bet you’re haAA—” he cried out as Gladio reached over to grab his wrist and pull him onto the platform. “Wait,” he cried, giggling, “we’re gonna ruin the score!”

“Can’t have you chatting all that shit and not back it up,” Gladio grinned, still keeping half an eye on the screen.

“Agreed,” Ignis chimed. “Come on, then.”

They got back to dancing, Prompto doing his best to stomp on the central pieces of Gladio and Ignis’ squares, all three of them laughing and falling about and tripping over one another. They were hopeless; the anime girls on the screen had never looked more upset as ‘Awful’ flashed up one after another. “Wait, stop –” Prompto said, shoving Gladio’s side with a cackle – “you keep stepping on my fucking feet.”

“Get out of the way then, squirt.”

“Oh, this is gold,” Noctis said from the sidelines. Prompto looked over to flip off Noctis’ phone camera, nearly whacking Ignis as he did so.

“Watch it!” Ignis cried indignantly. “That was nearly my face.”

“Yeah, Prompto,” Noctis snickered, “a little coordination might be nice.”

That settled it. Three pairs of hands hauled Noctis up onto the platform for one final, rowdy chorus. Prompto ended up on Gladio’s half of the stage, the man a heavy presence behind him, the two of them stomping in unison and actually managing to score. Noctis ended up standing in front of Ignis, whereupon they displayed none of the grace and decorum that pair could command in a ballroom. Ignis – ever patient – was just shy of physically moving Noctis to where he needed to be, berating him through gritted teeth, while the prince’s two left feet found Ignis’ shoes just as often as the dance floor.

“You guys sucked,” Prompto gasped, hands on his knees, as the song ended. FAIL: GAME OVER blinked on the screen, not that any of them cared. “Like, really sucked,” he laughed.

“I think it’s clear who the winners are here,” Gladio grinned, patting Prompto on the back.

“Hell yeah.”

“I hardly think that was a fair fight,” Ignis sniffed. “I was lumped with Noctis.”

“Wow,” Noctis rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Specs.”

“Don’t worry guys,” Prompto chirped. “There’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to challenge us in the future.”

“Yup,” Gladio agreed, “but we’ll defend our title as reigning champions, won’t we, Prom?”

“You bet.”

At the token counter on the way out, they pooled their winnings with Prompto’s, who promptly spent the whole lot on a set of chocobo shot glasses. “Look!” he said, “I can have this one –” he pointed at the fluffiest, biggest-eyed chocobo of the set – “these two can be for you two –” he gestured at Ignis and Gladio – “and Noctis, you can have this fluffy black one with the grumpy face.”

“Cheers,” Noctis grumbled, but he looked happy enough when the glass was pressed into his hand.

The walk home was much more energetic than the one there; Prompto was far from drunk, but buzzed nonetheless, with a simmering under his skin and a quality to the evening that he wasn’t sure just how much to chalk up to the alcohol.

“Can’t believe we won the dance game,” Prompto said, shoulders bumping into Gladio.

“I mean,” Gladio laughed, “did you see the competition?”

“Hmm, yeah,” he grinned. “Iggy was all like ‘oh no, Noctis, don’t step on my fancy wancy leather boots’ and Noctis was like ‘ahh, Iggy, I have never danced before in my life’.”

“Oh, shut up,” Noctis said, turning around to flip Prompto off as he walked. “I know how to dance.”

“Yeah, ballroom,” Prompto scoffed. “Arcade dancing is the dance of the people. None of that fancy crap you do up in –”

“Bitch, you did that fancy crap and you loved it,” Noctis interrupted.

“Eh,” Prompto said. “It was so-so.”

“‘So-so’?” Noctis demanded. “Fine, you’re not invited to the next one.”

“There’s another one?”

"There’s a gala every year, Prompto, surely you know that,” Ignis said.

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Idiot,” Noctis laughed.

“So, does this mean you guys are still gonna be friends with me in a year?”

“Dude?”

“What?!”

Prompto!”

“… Is that a yes?”

“This guy is an idiot.” Gladio shook his head. “I have a feeling we’ve adopted him, though.”

“Like a weird pet.”

“Thank you for that, Noctis,” Ignis said.

“Do you think we can return him?”

“What?! Why would you want to do that? I’m, like, a pedigree.”

“Dude,” Noctis laughed. “You’re a rescue at best.”

“You asshole!”

“Oh, I think it’s far too late for that, anyway.”

“Yup.” They all laughed.

“I think you’re right, Specs. We’re keeping Prompto forever.”

Chapter Text

When Prompto woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of people moving around in the apartment. It was early; the flat should have been silent, thick with sleep, but instead, he could hear the distinct sounds of quick, clipped conversation, doors opening and closing. Oh. He remembered everything in a rush, and his stomach dropped. Still in his pyjamas, he got up quickly and slunk out into the corridor.

“Ah, Prompto, you’re up,” Ignis greeted him as he walked into the kitchen. The man was dressed impeccably, even by Ignis’s standards. His tailored suit had not so much as a crease, and his hair was slicked back from his face, shoes polished to a high shine.

“Specs have you seen my – oh, hi Prompto,” Gladio said, walking in behind him.

Wow. Gladio was also well-dressed, in a suit that should have been completely at odds with the rest of his character, but somehow, of course, the man pulled it off.

“You two look smart,” he said, as Ignis wordlessly passed Gladio his cufflinks and the man started doing them up. Prompto leant against the mirror on the wall, watching Gladio peer into it as he fixed his reflection. He felt like a child watching his parents go out for dinner.

“Thanks, kid,” Gladio said, unwittingly adding to the feeling as he ruffled his hair. “We’re bringing out the best ones.”

“How are you feeling?” Prompto asked.

“We should be asking you that,” Ignis said smoothly, peering into the mirror beside Gladio to dust off some imaginary speck of dust. His gaze pulled away to meet Prompto’s.

He shrugged. “Fine.” Ignis waited. “Okay, horrible.”

“That’s normal,” Gladio said with conviction.

Is it? Prompto thought, frowning. Is any of this normal? It certainly didn’t feel it. There wasn’t much online under ‘how to act while your parents get dragged through the family courts and it’s all totally your fault in the first place’.

“What are you going to do today?” Ignis asked, satisfied with his own appearance, and moving on to correcting Gladio’s, fixing his crooked tie. He met Prompto’s gaze in the glass.

“Not sure.”

“Alright,” Ignis said gently. “Well, stay away from the news stations. You can watch television, of course, but stick to something a little lighter. We’ll tell you everything as soon as we return home.”

Prompto nodded. Despite their best efforts, some of the story had leaked to the press; there was very little interest so far, but – with nobody knowing quite how today was going to go – the current advice for Prompto was just to lie low and stay away from it all.

“Okay.”

“Oh, shit, Specs,” Gladio interrupted, “where’s my, uhh –” he patted his pockets – “where’s my bit?”

“I printed you a spare copy,” Ignis said. “We’ll practice in the car.”

“Okay,” Gladio said, shooting Prompto a wink. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuck this up for you.”

Prompto smiled. It came out like a grimace.

“Now come on,” Ignis said, “we don’t want to be late.”

“I know, I know,” Gladio said, tugging his shirt cuffs down to straighten them out. “Alright. Let’s go.” He looked over at Prompto. “C’mere, kid,” he said, pulling him into a quick hug, “we won’t let you down, alright?”

Ignis nodded. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Prompto trailed down the corridor after them, stood by the front door to receive quick hugs as they filed out, and watched, wordlessly, as they walked into the elevator, offering up a quick, sad wave as the doors slid shut.

The apartment was silent. Prompto walked into the kitchen to get breakfast, but the time – barely six in the morning – meant he was far from hungry. His own room felt stuffy and unwelcoming: empty, even though the only one who’d abandoned it was himself, not twenty minutes earlier, so he walked to Noctis’ instead, tapping lightly on the door.

The prince, predictably, was fast asleep. Prompto let himself in, anyway, closing the door softly behind him and padding over to the bed. There was a small, black lump in the centre of the pillows, the distinct pattern of Noctis sprawled out beneath the duvet.

“Move over, fucknugget,” Prompto mumbled, nudging the prince out of the way as he climbed in beside him.

“Mmm?” Noctis murmured, shifting over anyway. His brow was furrowed, but he didn’t even open his eyes, just squinted blindly over his shoulder in Prompto’s general direction. “What did you just call me?”

“Nothing,” Prompto said.

He felt, rather than saw, the prince rolling back towards him, arm throwing itself across his body, trapping him under Noctis’ insane, sleepy warmth.

“Oh, hey,” he whispered.

“Shh,” the prince mumbled. “Sleep.”

Prompto didn’t think that that was how Noctis’s magic worked – he was at least eighty per cent sure that it wasn’t – but somehow, the words wiggled into his brain like a command, wrapping around him like his best friend’s arm and pulling him under. The world faded out; against all odds, he fell asleep.

*

When Prompto awoke he was disoriented. Also, not alone. There was a fuzzy ball of black hair across the pillows from him, a crow’s nest of, well, crow-coloured strands. Prompto was no longer curled up on one side, lying flat across his back, with Noctis’ arm still flung across him. He lay there for several moments, debating the best course of action to extract himself.

It's Noct, he figured. He could probably invite a whole brass band in here and the prince still wouldn’t wake up.

“No,” the prince mumbled as soon as Prompto tried to wriggle out. “More sleep.”

There was less magic in his words this time – or maybe it was just midday and Prompto was starving. Either way, he remained very much awake despite the prince’s words. “It’s lunchtime, idiot.”

“Not hungry.”

“Well, I am.”

Noctis rolled over to squint at him tiredly. Despite the time, the room was still pretty dark, although Noctis seemed offended by the light, nonetheless. “Biscuits,” he said, eventually.

“What?”

“Biscuits,” he mumbled again. “There’s a packet. On the floor.”

“You want biscuits?”

“Not for me,” Noctis frowned, closing his eyes. “You. Hungry.”

Oh right. Prompto laughed in disbelief, leaning right over the edge of the mattress to rummage around for the packet of biscuits on the floor. Finding it, he righted himself, sitting up a bit to eat. Noctis wriggled a little closer, like some demon heat-seeker, so Prompto angled himself to avoid dropping crumbs on his face. “Can I eat all of them?” he whispered. He was kinda hungry.

“Yup.” Noctis glared up with one eye. “Then sleep again.”

So, this is what you’re like when the others don’t get you up. “You’re a fucking gremlin.”

Noctis, apparently, didn’t care. The soft sound of him breathing filled the room once more. Prompto finished the biscuits, brushing crumbs sheepishly off of Noctis, drank the water on his bedside table, and flopped back down, greeted instantly by a tired murmur from the prince and an arm flung back over him. He didn’t try to fight it.

*

Something had woken Prompto up, he thought hazily. Some noise, or… Oh. He heard the front door click shut. Someone was home. Hmm. He went to roll over again but there was a heavy weight on his chest. He could probably fight it. Whatever. He drifted off again.

“Where the hell are they?” asked a rumbling voice. The sound of another door opening, closer this time, and Prompto drifted awake once more, slowly lifting an arm to rub the sleep out of his eyes and squint down at the foot of the bed, where two figures stood, arms folded, looking down.

“Oh, hey,” Prompto said, voice rough with sleep. He tried to sit up and quickly realised that he couldn’t; at least half of him was wedged firmly beneath the dead weight of the prince, who hadn’t stirred one bit.

“Oh,” Gladio mimicked just as casually. “Hey.”

“Um,” Prompto wriggled a bit harder to try and dislodge himself, “good day?” There was something hanging in his fringe, he realised, wincing when he picked it off and discovered it was a piece of biscuit. “We, um, we just slept a lot, to be honest.”

“I can’t believe it,” Ignis said, shaking his head. “I thought Noctis would take better care of you than this.”

“Ha,” Prompto laughed softly. “He did fine. I guess we needed the sleep.”

Ignis didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. “I suppose you would like to hear how today went,” he said. Prompto nodded uncertainly. “Well, why don’t you get up and meet us in the kitchen? Bring Noctis with you.”

Prompto nodded again. “Oh, wait,” he said as they turned to leave. “I don’t think I actually can. I did try to get him up earlier, at lunchtime, but he’s pretty –” he floundered for the right word – “immovable.”

Ignis grimaced. “I’ll make you some lunch,” he said, eyeing the empty biscuit packet. “We’ll have dinner a little later to accommodate. Gladio, if you’d do the honours?”

“On it,” Gladio said, stepping forward. The air was freezing as Gladio wrenched off the duvet; Prompto got up and darted for his sweater, tugging it over his head, sparks in his eyes after lying down all day.

“Nnngh,” Noctis moaned, rolling over to stick his face in his pillow.

“How the fuck are you tired?” Gladio said, grabbing the prince by the back of his pyjama top and shaking him. “You’ve slept all day.”

“Get’orf,” Noctis mumbled, grasping for the back of his t-shirt to try and pry Gladio’s hands away. “Too early.”

Prompto laughed. “Dude, it’s almost the evening.”

“I –” Noctis paused, turning to Prompto. “What are you doing here?” Prompto raised an eyebrow as Noctis slowly came to. “Oh, right. Oh, shit. Court day.”

Prompto raised both of his eyebrows. ‘Yep’, they said.

“Honestly,” Gladio scoffed, letting go of the prince now he’d dragged the young man to his feet. “You’re a nightmare. Poor Prompto here is starving.”

Noctis winced, eyes lingering on the empty biscuit packet. “Sorry.”

They trooped out into the kitchen, Noctis glancing guiltily at Prompto as they were greeted by the sight of thick-cut sandwiches and Prompto’s stomach audibly rumbled.

“Eat,” Gladio said, passing him a plate.

“So,” Prompto began, eyes flitting between Ignis and Gladio, “how did it go?”

“It didn’t reach a conclusion today,” Ignis said carefully. Prompto nodded; he’d been warned that this was a possibility. “But it’s going as well as could be expected.”

“So, my parents actually appeared?” Prompto asked.

“They did,” Ignis nodded. Prompto swallowed down his anger; they’d said nothing to him this whole process, they felt far enough away from him that he’d begun to wonder if they even existed – these wispy figments of imagination and memory – but there they’d been, showing up in front of tens of people when they’d never shown up for him.

“Great,” he said bitterly. He could barely look at Ignis, couldn’t stomach the rage and jealousy that came with knowing the advisor had spent the day in the same room as his mum and dad. He had a million questions about them, but the only thing that came out was, “Did they look fucking miserable?”

“They sure did,” Gladio said grimly.

Good, Prompto thought. It had to be good. The alternative was… well, he didn’t want to think about it. “Are you going back tomorrow, then?”

Ignis nodded. “Likely the day after, too. We’re not the only ones with good lawyers.”

“Huh,” Prompto said. “Glad they’ve found something worth spending their money on.” Nobody could meet his eyes.

The next day, when Prompto had waved off Ignis and Gladio out the door again, he didn’t go back to bed. Not even weird Nocty-magic could make him sleep, and the idea of lying there with his ugly thoughts made his stomach turn. He got dressed for the gym instead, lacing up his running shoes to jog over to the gym.

The citadel was buzzing, as usual, but the gym was quiet enough. Prompto shouldered open the door, waved at the supervisor on duty, and set himself up to stretch on one of the mats. Between Ignis’ careful meal planning and Gladio’s custom training plan – aided along by awkward conversations with his therapist – Prompto was slowly putting weight back on, building up a physique that was stronger and healthier. He’d never be a Gladio, and he’d probably never feel completely comfortable in his skin, but he was happy enough as he limbered up on the mat, admiring the tone of his arms as he reached his hands around the soles of his feet.

His workout was difficult, following a plan on his phone that Gladio had tapped out into his notes app, and he was sweaty and exhausted by the end, with just the right endorphins to dull down his anxiety. Leaving the gym around an hour later, with a flush right up to his forehead, Prompto slung his kit over his shoulder and went to hit the showers. He paused outside the changing room.

I reckon I deserve a treat, he thought, spinning on his toes and heading off in the direction of the stairs. He’d become half-convinced that the small shower room up there had been nothing but a dream – convinced enough that it was with some surprise that he located it and found it just how he’d remembered. Warm, luxurious, abandoned.

He turned the water onto full power, dropped his kit by the benches, and stripped off, taking nothing but his towel into the stall. He sighed with relief as the water pummelled his aching shoulders and back, smiled as he tipped his head right back and felt the sweat wash out of his hair. He took far longer in the shower than was necessary, humming a song he’d been working out to, lathering himself in the fancy products that were obviously intended for someone else. When he was done, he wrapped himself up in the thickest, fluffiest towel and – still singing – unlocked the door and stepped out.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, shit.

There was another bag beside Prompto’s. He stopped in his tracks, staring at it, song dying in his throat.

“Good workout?” someone asked. Prompto spun, eyes wide with horror, to see the King himself standing in front of the sink, patches of shaving foam just above his beard, razor suspended in front of his face as he waited for Prompto to reply.

“I – oh my gods – Your Highness – I’m so sorry –" Prompto scrabbled to fix his towel tighter around his waist, eyes darting over to his kit as if he could just grab it and run. “I didn’t mean –"

“It’s fine,” Regis said, waving his hand.

Prompto stopped talking, mouth still gulping like a fish. He grabbed his hoodie and yanked it over his shoulders, still wet. “I didn’t think anyone came up here,” he croaked out, eventually.

“Well, you’d be mostly right,” Regis smiled. “But it is a rather nice bathroom, don’t you think?” Wordlessly, Prompto nodded. “I’m glad someone’s using it, at least. Someone besides Ignis, of course.”

Prompto’s mouth fell open. “Uhh –”

Regis chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here, Prompto.”

“… You are?”

The King nodded, returning to his shave. “I’ve been meaning to check in on you. The trial is going on as we speak, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said. “I mean, yes. It is.”

Regis finished cleaning up his beard before reaching for a flannel to wash his face. He turned to Prompto properly. “How is it going?”

“I’m not sure,” Prompto confessed, “but Ignis and Gladio have been in court the last two days.”

Regis nodded slowly. “I’m sure it’ll work out in our favour, hmm?”

Our?

Regis smiled. “Do let me know how it goes when it’s over.” Prompto nodded, although he had no idea just how he would do that. “Well, I’m all finished here,” he said, gesturing at his shave, “but please, there’s no rush. This bathroom was designed to be enjoyed, after all.”

“Right. Thank you, uhh, yes sir.”

Regis chuckled again, shaking his head, before he retrieved his cane from where it leant against the basin and picked up his possessions from the bench. “Good day, Prompto,” he said, standing in the doorway. “And good luck.”

Prompto stood frozen in shock, ears burning, as the door closed. His eyes flickered around the room – the water on the floor, the gym kit strewn across the bench, the fact he was in a godsforsaken towel and –

Fuck, he groaned with fresh horror. I was singing.

When Ignis and Gladio returned from the second day of the trial, they found Prompto in bed again – not sleeping, this time, but sprawled out dramatically, emo music blasting from his speakers, doing everything he could to try and drown out the cringing horror that was replaying in his mind.

“Um,” Ignis said delicately, poking his head around the door and wincing slightly, turning down the music. “Are you feeling alright, Prompto?”

“Nooo,” Prompto moaned. “I can never go back to the citadel.”

“The citadel?” Ignis said, face a picture of pure surprise. “This –” he gestured vaguely – “isn’t about your parents?”

“I can’t even talk about it, dude,” Prompto moaned, shoving the plushie over his face. “I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“Ooh, what’s Prompto done?” Gladio asked, materializing in his room.

“I’m sure there’ll be time for us to find out later,” Ignis said, “but for now, Prompto, I think we might have bigger news.”

Prompto lowered the plushie enough to meet Ignis’ eyes and gathered up the mental energy to address what was, admittedly, the bigger problem in his life right now. Probably.

“Right,” he said blearily.

“You’ve not seen it yet?” Gladio asked. Prompto shook his head. He’d barely checked his phone all afternoon.

“Alright then,” Ignis said. “Shall we move this to the kitchen?”

“Just tell me,” he said, twisting the plushie around in his hands. “Is it over?”

“The jury reached a verdict,” Ignis said. Prompto’s heart caught in his chest. “Guilty.”

“Guilty?” he echoed, eyes flickering across their faces.

“Guilty,” Gladio nodded. “Unanimous vote,” he confirmed.

The world faded out, the morning’s embarrassment nothing but a joke now. Distantly, he could hear Ignis was still talking. “Tomorrow,” he was saying, “there’ll be a hearing with a judge to confirm sentencing.” He barely took it in, though, with nothing but ‘guilty’ chanting over and over in his head, as if the world was chanting it at him. A million people, all pointing the finger and snarling in his face. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

“And then it’ll all be over,” Gladio was saying. Prompto tried to come back to reality, to picture it. But he had no idea what ‘it’ looked like. And where would they be? And what would happen to them? What had he done?

“Prompto, breathe,” Ignis said, rubbing a hand along his knee. “You’re okay.”

“I know,” he gasped. “I just –” He didn’t know how to explain it.

“It’s not your fault, kid,” Gladio said. “None of this is your fault.”

But it is, he thought. It is. It is.

“Gladio’s right,” Ignis said. Prompto tried to believe it, the words falling through his fingers even as he tried to hold on. “You’ve done nothing wrong. The jury decided this of their own accord, and we all happen to believe that they were right to do so.”

“What if I’ve sent them to prison?” he asked, voice cracking. “What if I’ve ruined their lives?”

Chapter Text

The next day, it was not just Ignis and Gladio who were awake as the sun rose; all four of them got up and dressed sombrely, fixing cufflinks and ties and leather shoes. Prompto felt numb, going through the motions of getting ready as if he were playing a game, dressing an avatar that he controlled from the outside. He watched his hands fumble as he buttoned up his shirt.

More than once, Ignis pulled him to the side. “Are you sure you want to come today?” he asked, brow pinched with concern. “Nobody would have anything bad to say about you if you stayed behind.”

Prompto’s stomach clenched, and he thought longingly of his bed and his pyjamas, a day burrowed away from the rest of the world, Noctis’s arm thrown across his chest… but no. He was determined. He’d started this thing, he’d dreamed about this day for longer than he’d ever admit, and he was going to see it through. If nothing else, he needed to see this just to convince himself it was real. That they were real.

He dreamed of them last night – his parents; he’d chased them down the streets of Insomnia, never letting their backs out of his sight, woken up just as they were about to turn around and face him, chest heaving, face streaked with tears, hand reaching out across the pillow. He had to see them.

“It’s fine, Iggy,” he muttered, pushing away the man’s concerns, ignoring the sideways glances that Gladio and Noctis were throwing him as he tugged on his shoes and stalked out to the car.

It was a grey day, the tips of skyscrapers melting seamlessly into grey skies; the world was shrinking down around them, watching their black car glide through the streets.

Journalists were waiting outside the courthouse. Mostly for local papers, but one or two big names stood out, recognizable not just for bands wrapped around their microphones but also for the sheer size of their camera equipment. Ignis cursed softly as he pulled the car into the parking bay.

Prompto swallowed nervously as he stepped out of the car, briefly glancing over at the cameras before the boys surrounded him without a word, Ignis holding up a file in front of his face, his other arm pulling him close, leading him up the steps. It was distantly funny that this was all being done for him, and not the prince; he wasn’t too stupid to realise just how they were so practised at hiding from the cameras. It only made it weirder, though, this feeling that Prompto – temporarily, at least – was someone important. Someone worth trying to protect.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked once they were inside. His gloved palm had found Prompto’s, gave it a quick squeeze for reassurance.

Prompto nodded. “Yeah.” He faced all three of them, pushing past their scepticism.

“Prom—,” Noctis started.

“I’m fine. Really. It’s fine.”

“Alright then,” Gladio said, shouldering open the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

The room was large, much larger than Prompto had envisioned. Many of the rows were already full. Ignis, thankfully, led them not to the front, but to a vacant row about halfway down the room. Gladio sat down first, sliding down the row to make space, before Ignis followed, daintily picking his way behind him. Prompto just stood there – staring – before he realised that people were staring back. At the prince, more than anything, who had gone rigid beside him, but there were enough interested glances thrown his way that he knew it wouldn’t be long before people pieced together who he was.

“You sure you’re okay?” Noctis murmured quietly.

Prompto nodded. “Yeah, sorry.” He followed Ignis onto the bench, Noctis sliding in just after, sitting down with all the stiff, icy movements of a prince on display.

They sat for about ten minutes before a clerk announced the arrival of the judge, and the room stood. Prompto watched as she took her seat, a formidable woman with piercing grey eyes that looked like they could stare right into your soul and pick apart everything you’d ever done. Prompto shuddered, gladder than ever that he’d not been subjected to the court proceedings. Fleetingly, he felt pity for his parents.

“We are gathered today for the sentencing hearing of the case of the State v. Julia and Artemus Argentum, who have been found guilty of child neglect following two days of court proceedings,” she said. “I understand that the defendants are here. Please bring them to the courtroom.”

Prompto’s mouth opened with a silent gasp. It was hard to reconcile the people who walked into the courtroom with his parents. They looked tired, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, and they hung their heads low. Dressed in issued uniform, and escorted in by correctional officers, they looked less like his mum and dad and more like … well, criminals.

He didn’t realise he was standing, eyes wild and staring, until he saw his mother gasp as she met his gaze. “Prompto,” her mouth moved. She might have said it out loud, or she might not; he was too far away to hear.

Prompto was frozen. He was a deer in headlights. Although that wasn’t right, was it? His mother was the deer now, and Prompto was the one behind the wheel, turning their whole family into a car wreck.

Noctis tugged his sleeve, and he sat down hard, dropping like a stone onto the wooden bench. “Sorry,” the prince muttered. Prompto didn’t reply.

“Julia and Artemus Argentum, you may be seated,” the judge said, acting courteously as if that moment had never happened – although, with the way that that icy gaze lingered for a second on Prompto, he was under no such illusion. “We are here today to determine the appropriate sentences for the crimes of which you have been found guilty,” she continued. “I would like to remind everyone present to maintain decorum.” Prompto cringed. The judge looked to the prosecutor. “We will now hear from the prosecution.”

Prompto recognised the man who stood up to present as one of the lawyers who’d helped him write his statement. He listened numbly to the recommendations of a prison sentence and rehabilitative therapy, picking at his suit trousers. He didn’t look up, either, when his parent’s lawyers argued against that, advocating for family therapy and a small fine, or when Laura took to the stand – the appointed child welfare specialist – to make her case as a witness.

It was only when the judge delivered her sentence – two years of incarceration, a hefty fine, and a ban from future adoptions or foster care – that he finally looked up. His eyes met instantly with his father’s, whose haughty gaze was doing its best to bear down on him. Prompto blinked, fighting to keep eye contact.

You did this, his face said. Look at this mess that you made.

He shook his head, minutely, panicked. No.

Yes, his father’s gaze said. This is all your fault.

Prompto’s breath hitched in his throat. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, strangled. He was stupid. He was losing everything. He’d never have a family again.

Cool fingers bumped into Prompto’s and he flinched, eyes darting down to his lap, where Ignis’ hand was sliding, subtly, into his own. On his other side, Noctis’ hand was lingering awkwardly, before it settled on his knee, giving it a quick squeeze.

“You’re okay,” the prince whispered, barely audible.

“I’m losing them,” he whispered back.

Noctis snorted lightly. “They’re losing you. We’ve got you now.”

Prompto blinked, startled. His panic, biting up in the back of his throat, was temporarily thrown.

“Yeah,” Noctis murmured, nodding towards the others, who were watching him carefully. Kindly. “See?”

And he was right. Prompto did have a family; he had Noctis, and Ignis, and Gladio. Who were always there, who always cared, who never made him feel like he wasn’t good enough for their love – who were nothing like his parents. His parents who were still staring him down, haughty, and unimpressed – always fucking unimpressed, like Prompto would never be enough for them.

And today was the day that he finally stopped trying.

“Fuck them,” he whispered.

“That’s the spirit,” Gladio murmured back.

Prompto’s anger rushed up to meet him as if it had been waiting all along for permission to exist. He met the gaze of his mother and father, still glaring at him, and stared right back at them, lifting his chin.

“This hearing is adjourned,” the judge was saying. “May justice be served, and may the child find healing and happiness in the days and years to come.”

His parents rose to leave, and Prompto sat straight and tall, meeting both their eyes as they walked out. Guilt and grief churned tightly in his chest, could burn him up at any moment, but their fire didn’t burn so bright as his anger. He clung to it desperately, ignoring everything else; it was only when they’d left the room, and Ignis quietly handed him a packet of tissues, that he realised his cheeks were streaked with tears.

They all stood again as the judge rose to leave, and Prompto knew he didn’t imagine it when her gaze lingered for a second on his, dropping her head in the tiniest impression of a nod, those intelligent eyes boring into his. Her lips quirked as he hesitantly nodded back.

“We have now adjourned,” the court clerk told the rest of the room. “Please leave quietly and courteously.”

A breath escaped Prompto’s chest that was almost a sob.

“Well done, darling,” Ignis said quietly.

“Yeah, good going, kid,” Gladio smiled as Noctis squeezed his arm encouragingly. “Now, should we get out of here?”

“Please,” Noctis groaned.

They were definitely attracting stares from the rest of the room – if it wasn’t Gladio’s hulking figure, the incredibly recognisable Ignis Scientia, or the literal fucking Prince of Lucis, it was probably Prompto; his shock of Niflheim-blond hair stuck out like a sore thumb, his cheeks streaked with tears like a poster-boy for someone being orphaned in court.

“I am so obviously the kid, aren’t I,” Prompto muttered as he gathered his belongings.

“Yup,” Gladio chuckled.

“Ohh, well done, Prompto,” Ignis said again, pulling him in for a hug.

“Thanks,” he smiled sadly.

“You did well, Prom,” Noctis said, wiggling out of the row and joining in on his other side.

“Guys,” Prompto moaned, sniffling, “they’re all gonna know it’s me.”

“It’s already obvious,” Gladio said, arms wrapping right around the group, wedging Prompto in tight. “Now bring it in.”

They stood like that, not so much four different people as they were one unit, locked together, holding onto each other like life rafts in this ocean of a room. Prompto sniffled, eyes shut, face pressed into whose shoulder he didn’t know, didn’t care.

Eventually, they broke away. “Here,” Ignis said, handing him the tissues again. “Take a minute to compose yourself. I’ve a feeling it’ll be mayhem out there.”

‘Mayhem’ was right. They left the courtroom to a much larger media storm than they had entered; several reporters even called out to Prompto by his name, which made his stomach drop and attracted the murderous glare of Ignis, who was mentally resolving to find out just how his anonymity had been leaked so badly.

They rushed Prompto to the car, Gladio opening the side door and pushing his head down into the backseat after someone yelled ‘Prompto Argentum! Over here!” with such urgency that he paused.

“Don’t stop,” he muttered. “They’re like vultures.”

He slammed the door shut as soon as Prompto was in, jumping into the passenger seat just as Noctis threw himself in on the other side of the car and Ignis started the engine. At that moment, safe in the sudden quiet of the car, the sheer drama of it all seemed incredibly funny; Prompto giggled, shocking himself with the sound, until they were all laughing, setting each other off, high on the adrenaline.

“Gods,” Ignis muttered, reversing out of the space. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

*

They didn’t go straight home. Ignis, master strategist and emotional caretaker, had accurately deduced a need for a distraction instead, and so drove them through winding Insomnian streets until they ended up in a small car park near the main food district.

“Uhh, why are we here?” Gladio asked.

“Are we helping you run cooking errands?” Noctis narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No!” Ignis said defensively. “Well,” he adjusted his glasses. “Partly, I suppose. I do need several herbs from around here, but –” he cut off Noctis’ scoff with a raised eyebrow – “I thought, generally, we could enjoy the market together.”

“‘Enjoy the market’?” Noctis echoed.

“It’s not just food,” Ignis rolled his eyes most ungraciously. “There are other stalls and merchandise. Some of a rather… kitschy nature.” A dawning look of realisation on Noctis’ face as all eyes swivelled to Prompto, their known lover of kitschy, useless – but undeniably cute – bits of tack.

“Oh,” Noctis said.

“Sounds perfect, Iggy,” Gladio said, unbuckling. “Let’s check it out.”

Prompto quietly followed them out of the car. After the tinted windows – and all the crying, maybe – the sunshine, peeking cautiously through the grey, prickled at his eyes and he squinted, blinking tiredly.

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” Gladio said. Noctis spun defensively before he realised that the nickname, usually slung aggressively in his direction, was in fact referring to Prompto.

“Sorry, I stole your nickname,” Prompto joked weakly.

“You can keep it,” Noctis dismissed him, poking his tongue out at Gladio. “I’ve never liked it, anyway.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Gladio smirked. “There’s enough nicknames to go around.” Noctis huffed and stalked off, walking ahead with Ignis. “How are you feeling, Prom?” Gladio asked, turning back to the blond.

“Fine, I guess,” he shrugged, trying not to sniffle.

“Uh-huh,” Gladio said. They walked together in silence, approaching the market. More than a few people had turned to give them odd glances – they were still in their suits, after all – but Prompto had bigger things on his mind.

“Gladio –” he began, cautiously.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they’re mad at me?”

“Who?” Gladio frowned, confused. “Noct and Iggy?”

“What? No,” Prompto said. His eyes widened. “Wait, are Noct and Iggy mad at me?”

“What? No, no they’re not. Sorry.”

“You sure?” Prompto looked at him suspiciously.

“Yes, I’m sure, you dumbass,” Gladio shook his head, exasperated. “No one’s mad at you.”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s right.” A pause. “I’m pretty sure they hate me now.”

“Your parents?” he asked gently. Prompto nodded. Gladio sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, kid –” he began.

“It’s okay,” Prompto said hurriedly. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Gladio paused. “I wasn’t going to,” he said, not unkindly. “I mean it. I won’t sugarcoat it, kid. They’re in prison, now, and I’m pretty sure they blame you for them having got there.”

Prompto inhaled. It’s fine, he told himself. I know this.

“But, Prom?”

“Yeah?”

“You shouldn’t worry about the hate of people like that.” Prompto’s brow pinched in confusion. “I mean, you don’t have to be liked by everyone. You can’t be liked by everyone, it’s not possible, and you’ll run yourself into the ground trying to make it work.”

“Yeah, I know,” Prompto shrugged.

“No, you don’t,” Gladio huffed. “Not really. It’s okay, it’ll come with time. You’re young, and you’re kind and you’re eager to please.” Prompto scoffed. “No, you are,” Gladio insisted. “But you don’t have to please people like your parents.”

“You think?”

“I know. Pick your battles, kid. And pick them carefully.”

“Can I, uhh…” Prompto studied his trainers; it was far easier than Gladio’s open, earnest face. “Can I pick you guys?”

Gladio’s face softened. “Of course. We’ve already picked you right back.”

Prompto smiled, genuinely. “Thanks, Big Guy.”

Gladio huffed a laugh. “You’re welcome, Tiny Guy.”

“Hey,” Prompto shoved him. “That is not staying.”

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Come training, then.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “Oh my gods, can I un-pick you already? You’re so annoying.”

“What’s Gladio being annoying about?” Noctis called over his shoulder. “And can I be the first to say I’m not surprised?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” Gladio said, jogging to catch up and shove Noctis forward. The prince, however, dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a fruit stand, and Gladio went pitching forward, catching himself at the last possible second. “Oh you bastard, that’s it –”

“Come and fucking get me.”

“Animals,” Ignis said, raising an eyebrow disdainfully and stepping back, letting Prompto catch up. “Come, Prompto, I’m sure you know how to appreciate a market.”

“I’m sure I do, Iggy,” Prompto grinned, accepting the man’s arm. They walked past rows and rows of spices, herbs, fruit stands, fresh vegetables, baked goods and steaming crockpots full of soup, kept warm above gas cookers. Prompto helped Ignis with his bags – until they got so large that Gladio stepped in, instead.

“Tired of fighting?” Ignis sniffed haughtily.

“Uh-huh, do you want help with these or not?”

“Hey, Prom!” Noctis called. “Come look at these!”

Prompto excused himself from Ignis and Gladio’s bickering to follow Noctis over to a stand of … “Patches?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Noctis nodded. “You can sew them onto bags and stuff.”

“Huh,” Prompto said, letting his fingers slide over the rows of small fabric squares. There were band names that he recognised, anime characters, popular video game emblems, cute flowers and plant designs.

“Ooh, what about this?” Noctis said, holding up an adorable patch with a chocobo on it.

“Aww,” Prompto said, taking it off him and running his thumb over the patch. It was cute, but it was missing a certain… “Aha! What about this?” he asked, brandishing a large rectangular patch.

“What does that even say?” Noctis squinted. He read it slowly. “‘It’s a beautiful day now watch some bastard fuck it up’.” He raised an eyebrow at Prompto.  “What does that even mean?”

Prompto shrugged, grinning. “Means exactly what it says it means.”

“What have you found over here, then?” Ignis asked interestedly. “Some nice patches?”

“Yup,” Noctis said. “Well, I found some nice patches. Prompto’s found … well, it’s a patch, that’s for sure.”

“Let’s see it, then,” Ignis said, adjusting his glasses. He read it aloud the same way that Noctis had, the expletives making them all laugh with Ignis’ posh inflection. “I can’t say I quite understand it, Prompto.”

“That’s fine,” he shrugged. “I get it.”

“Good,” Ignis said, smiling. “Then let’s buy it for you.”

They hung around the stall for another twenty minutes, browsing and laughing over various designs. One – a set of vampire fangs that Noctis held up in front of his face, pretending to be Dracula – also made it into Prompto’s collection; in fact, by the time they walked away, he’d made himself an incredibly popular customer.

“Where are you even going to put all of these?” Gladio asked.

Prompto just shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

“Honestly,” Ignis sighed, shaking his head.

“Aren’t you glad I’m having fun?” Prompto asked, blinking up with wide eyes and pressing his hands together, plastic shopping bag swinging between them. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted for the poor little orphan?”

“Poor little shit, more like,” Gladio muttered, laughing, but Ignis was completely unfazed.

“Yes,” he smiled. “It is.”

Prompto blushed and looked away, going back through his bag of goodies. “So, uhh. Do we need anything else?” he asked.

“No,” Ignis said, eyes twinkling. “It’s as you said; the orphan is happy, so mission accomplished.” He ignored Gladio and Noctis’ cackles; Prompto’s indignant stare. “Shall we go home?”

“Sure,” Prompto grumbled, affecting Ignis’ accent. “We shall.”

That night, in the relative quiet of the apartment, something like peace fell across the four friends. Prompto sat on the floor of the living room, messing around on his phone, head tipped back into Gladio’s lap, who was reading a book. Across from him, Noctis was napping on the opposite sofa, barely out of his suit jacket, legs resting on top of the advisor, who had headphones in, eyes lightly closed, head tilted back a little as he listened to music. For once, the advisor was unconcerned by the mess – the takeout cartons on the dining table, suit jackets discarded on the arms of the sofas, empty coke cans on the coffee table.

Prompto barely wanted to breathe too loud and end the fragile moment but… well. “What do we do now?” he asked quietly.

“Go to bed?” Gladio joked.

“You know what I mean.”

“We do what we’ve always done,” Ignis said, removing his headphones. On his lap, Noctis opened his eyes, watching quietly. “Take life one day at a time.”

Prompto nodded. “And that’s okay?”

Ignis smiled. “It’s always been okay.”

“I guess that’s alright then,” Prompto said softly. “One day at a time.”

“We’ll do it together, kid,” Gladio said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Mmm,” Prompto said, warmed by the thought. “Together,” he mumbled. It sounded nice. Forever, his mind added. He giggled at the rhyme, sleep-drunk and woozy. Together forever.

That wouldn’t be so bad.

Falling asleep that night on Noctis’ king-size bed – the first of many nights the boys would spend collapsing in such close quarters, whether they knew it yet or not – Prompto smiled softly to himself, burrowing deeper into the bed sheets. Ignis was sleeping quietly beside him, Noctis a fluffy lump on his other side, Gladio curled up around him, his back to the door.

In the morning, they’d wake up far later than usual, shuffle tiredly into the kitchen to share breakfast with each other, wearing whatever of Noctis’ and Prompto’s clothes the two older ones could get themselves into, and they’d spend the day like that, laughing and chatting and enjoying this sweet reprieve. ‘Disgraced journalists jailed over child abuse: shocking case of neglectful adoption by prominent human rights journalists Julia and Artemus Argentum’ the paper would read in the morning, which Ignis would swipe off the welcome mat before anyone had the chance to see it. Not that much could bring Prompto’s mood down, anyway. A whole future stretched out ahead of him with no more isolation, no more late nights in abandoned apartments, no more living and crying and starving in silence.

It’s finally over, he thought, sleepily, tucking in beside Ignis.

Or, more accurately, It can finally begin.

Chapter Text

“A road trip?”

Ignis nodded. “A road trip.”

“Dad wants me to go on a… a road trip?”

Prompto could hear the frown in Noctis’ voice even without looking up from the prospectus of the Insomnian Royal College of the Arts. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet in a sort of nest of pamphlets, all touting the incredible benefits of various arts and photography colleges across Insomnia and the wider area. (It wasn’t too smart to go looking beyond that, Ignis had said; nobody ever spoke about it directly, but the war was casting an ever-longer shadow across the country and its citizens).

He looked up to check and – yep, there was the prince’s sceptical expression, brow pinched in equal parts suspicion and disbelief. “My father – the King – of – of –" Noctis fumbled for his words.

“Lucis?” Gladio offered.

Noctis shot him down with a glare. “Of ever-failing health and a constant concern over his ‘wayward son’” – Prompto winced; that sounded like a quote from a painful conversation – “would like his aforementioned son to ditch it all and go backpacking with some buddies?”

“Well,” Ignis said, evenly, “I would hope that your handling of the armiger would negate the need for any backpacks.”

Noctis stared in disbelief.

Prompto watched between the two of them, weighing up his words. “I’m with Noctis, here,” he said, setting down the prospectus and leaning back on his hands. Three sets of eyes looked his way. “What does the King even mean, 'road trip'?”

“Well,” Ignis said. “It’s a composite term made up of the words ‘road’ and ‘trip’.”

“Iggy–"

“Definition:” Ignis continued, radiating self-satisfaction, “a long journey, typically done for recreational purposes, undertaken in an automobile.”

Gladio sniggered.

“Wow,” Prompto sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “And you used to be so nice to me, Igs.”

Before Ignis could do any further than inhale to make his retort, Gladio intervened. “You’re right, both of you,” he said to Noctis and Prompto. “This wouldn’t be a holiday.”

“So, what would it be?” Noctis asked, suspiciously.

“Partly a holiday,” Ignis said sharply, looking at Gladio. He turned to Noctis, almost apologetically. “But we would rather conveniently end up in Altissia.”

A moment.

“Oh,” Prompto blurted. “To marry Lunafreya already?”

Noctis’ scowl deepened at Ignis’s quiet confirmation. It wasn’t that Noctis didn’t like Luna – far from it, it was obvious to them all that the prince would readily both kill and die to protect her, that he was drawn to her – as he’d always been – at a depth that even Noctis himself couldn’t quite comprehend. You could call it love – Regis frequently did – and if it wasn’t, it certainly was a close imitation. No, Luna had never been the problem. The problem was, well, “And that’ll be it.”

The problem was what came after.

“A trial period of actual independence” Noctis continued bitterly, “before I never experience it again.” Even Gladio didn’t mock the prince for his melodrama. Not when everything he was saying rang true.

“Well,” Ignis said, after a pause. “You will, of course, retain a high level of power and influence after the marriage.”

Prompto studied them. Ignis, his earnest expression, his insistence that if only he said this aloud enough, it would ring true. His gaze moved to Noctis, his best friend, and he wondered not for the first time if the young man in front of him would live past thirty. He swallowed, ducking his gaze to the carpet.

“Yeah, let’s fucking hope so,” Noctis said bitterly.

“Come on,” Gladio said, gently. “We’ll make it one hell of a road trip beforehand, huh?”

“I get to fish,” Noctis announced, glancing between his two retainers like he was checking he was right.

“You get to fish,” Ignis nodded.

“As much as I want.” Clearly, neither Ignis nor Gladio wanted the prince to spend the whole trip fishing. However, they also really didn’t want to contradict him, not on the back of that, at least. The prince’s expression morphed and settled into something childish and smug, satisfied with his manipulation. “Good. I’ll pack spare tackles if you want to join in.”

Prompto laughed. “Wow, sounds like one really fun trip, guys. Hope you enjoy it.” He shook his head; the drama had passed, and he went back to his prospectuses.

Briefly. The weight of three stares wasn’t easy to dismiss. “Wh-what?”

“When are you ever going to get it through your head,” Ignis said, shaking his own slightly, “that everything we do, we do with you.”

Prompto didn’t compute. Until he did. “Wait, you mean – the road trip – with me?” Prompto gaped. “But I’m – well, you three are all–” he mimed muscles and authority – “and I’m, ya know –"

“Useless?”

“Cheers, Gladio. But yeah,” he nodded earnestly. “I’m useless.”

“Firstly,” Ignis said sharply, “let’s not call Prompto useless, thank you. Prompto you are wonderful, kind, funny and entirely useful in both physical and emotional capacities.”

Eyebrows raised.

“What I meant is –"

“Prompto’s physically useful, is he?” Gladio asked, innocently.

“Oh, he is?” Noctis asked, conversationally. “I hadn't realised.”

“Practically useful,” Ignis corrected himself. “You know,” he looked around fruitlessly for support. “He’s practical. He helps. In the kitchen.”

Gladio snorted.

“Look, the point is, Prompto, you are so far from useless, and you’re not getting left behind. Assuming you’re happy to join us, that is.”

Prompto nodded, still slightly awestruck. “On a sick road trip, holidaying around with my three besties in the world? Count me in.”

“And besides,” Gladio said. “About that uselessness. Not that it exists,” he said, quickly, cutting off Ignis’ noise of protestation, “but if it did, it’s not something we were going to let you set off with, anyway.” Prompto looked at him blankly. “We’re going to train you up,” Gladio said. “Finally. Crownsguard.”

If anything, Prompto looked even blanker.

“Great,” Noctis muttered. “You broke him.”

Gladio rolled his eyes.

“Dude, that was my best friend. Do you know how hard it’s gonna be to find a new one?”

“Most people find making friends pretty easy, Princess,” Gladio retorted. “Sorry you’re having such a hard time with it.”

“Prompto?” Ignis prompted him, ignoring the others.

Prompto’s gaze slid over to Ignis, eyes wide. “Crownsguard?” he squeaked, eventually. “Me?”

Ignis tilted his head in a small shrug. “If you would like it, that is.”

“But, I –” he gestured vaguely around himself at the prospectuses that littered the floor.

His therapy had petered out to an even once-a-week, and living a steady, calm life in Noctis’ apartment was finally making him fidget. He’d spent months by now watching the others live their complicated lives; mornings spent sitting by the window with a big mug of tea held in two careful hands, watching quietly as his friends ran in and out for meetings, appraisals, conferences; evenings spent listening to the stories of three young men whose lives were getting evermore serious. He and Noctis had grown a little taller. Noctis was broadening, too, as if his skinny shoulders had finally realised the weight of the world was sinking down upon them.

After a while, Prompto found he could peel his eyes away from his past and embrace the present. The others had helped. And once he’d mastered that, he began to think – slowly, carefully – about his future.

Of course, he’d considered the Crownsguard. Gladio had never let him forget about it, not since the shield had first seen Prompto fire a gun, really, but going from something akin to the resident rescue dog to joining the army had seemed a little drastic. Far safer, he’d thought, to start small, start normal: college. Photography. Arts. And when Ignis had noticed his pent-up energy, and gently pushed him towards his laptop, Prompto had gone online and ordered the pamphlets. It was a steady change, a good one, one his therapist approved of. He didn’t even want to know what his therapist would think of this.

“You don’t have to come with us,” Ignis said swiftly. Carefully. “Photography school is still an option, if you would like it.”

“Or you can go to college after the trip,” Gladio suggested. “There’s no rush. But we can’t let you join without at least basic self-defence.”

Prompto let it all sink in. “I want in on the road trip,” he said slowly. He was certain of that, at least. “I want to come with you.” His gaze flittered over to Noctis; the prince shot him a grateful smile.

“Excellent,” Ignis said. “We’ll start to make arrangements, then.”

Prompto exhaled shakily through his cheeks. “Yep. Cool. Arrangements.”

“You’ll do fine,” Gladio said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “As soon as the others see what you can do with a gun, they’re gonna love you.”

“And they’re gonna love you before that anyway,” Noctis said. “Because you’re so chirpy and cute.”

“And it doesn’t matter even if they don’t love you,” Ignis countered evenly. “Because we all love you more than enough.”

“Yikes, guys, I get it,” Prompto muttered, flushing brilliant red. “I get enough of this crap in my therapy sessions.” Ignis smiled fondly as Prompto got up from the carpet, collecting up his prospectuses just for something to do, something to look at that wasn’t any of their faces. “Right. Well. I’m gonna, uhh. Gonna drop these off in my room. Seeing as I don’t need them right now.”

“Okay,” Gladio said. “Have fun.”

“What?” Prompto asked, glancing up and back down impossibly quickly. “Oh, right. Thanks. Will do!”

“We’ll miss you!” Noctis called after him.

“Come back soon!” Gladio cried.

“We love you, Prompto!” Ignis sang.

The door closed behind him to the sound of three people laughing. They didn’t need to see Prompto’s face to know he was smiling.

“Prompto!” A warm, familiar face, belonging to a middle-aged woman with arms half-full of cloth and fabric, greeted him as he walked in through the door, Ignis in tow.

“Hi,” he smiled nervously. “I’m back.”

“So, I see,” she smiled. “Old clothes not fitting you anymore?”

“Nope,” Gladio grinned, ducking in behind them. “Our boy’s filled out.”

“Shut up,” Prompto muttered self-consciously. It was true, however; a few months of Crownsguard training hadn’t given him an anime-style transformation montage but it had stopped his formal jacket from pulling across his shoulders when Ignis had got him to try it on last night - and made the trousers conspicuously tight.

“Yup,” Noctis had said flatly, glancing up from King’s Knight to ponder Prompto’s ass. “That can’t be appropriate.”

“I guess not,” Ignis had agreed, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth. “Well, no mind. We’ll just get you some new measurements done.”

“Oh, me too,” Gladio had said, closing the freezer with two big tubs of protein ice cream tucked under his chin.

“Again?” Ignis had turned despairingly. “You’ll run the Crown’s purse into the ground with your exercise regime.”

Gladio had only shrugged. “Respect the bulk.”

“Would you like Ignis to take your measurements, again?” Rosa asked, dragging Prompto back to the present.

“Oh, um. Yep. Please.”

“No problem.” Her gaze slid to Gladio. “Back, I see,” she said, sounding displeased – but looking proud, nonetheless. She sighed. “Well then, Gladio, come with me.”

“Shall we?” Ignis asked.

“Hmm?” Prompto turned to him. “Oh, right. Yep, let’s go.”

Maybe it was just the familiarity. With fittings, with royalty, with Ignis. Yeah, that was probably it: why he stood a little taller when the advisor came over with the tape, why he didn’t avert his gaze from the mirror when he shucked off his shirt, why he didn’t flinch when Ignis took all of his measurements.

He glanced up as the advisor re-entered the room, scale in hand.

“If you don’t mind,” Ignis said, gently, setting it down on the floor. Prompto stepped onto the plate. Ignis made quick work of noting down the number. “Perfect,” was all he said. “You’re all done.” He held Prompto’s gaze as he stepped off the plate. Perhaps he was expecting him to glance down, to check, but for some reason – for whatever reason – Prompto wasn’t even curious.

Prompto was relieved when he padded into the kitchen to find the balcony door open, Ignis leaning against the wall, gaze stuck to the dark Insomnian skyline, skyscrapers dotting the night sky with blinking red lights. He didn’t really want to be alone.

“Oh, Prompto,” Ignis said, turning in surprise as Prompto stepped outside. “Can’t sleep?”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Ignis nodded absently, ruminating. If the man was the type to smoke, now would have been an excellent time for him to have a cigarette in hand, Prompto thought. His fingers were practically itching for his camera. “Neither,” Ignis muttered, eventually. “I should have gone home a while ago, but …” he trailed off. “Anyway. What’s on your mind?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know if I can say it.”

Ignis eyed him. “So, you know what it is that you would like to say.”

Prompto sucked in a breath. Exhaled. Inhaled. “Do you think we’ll ever come back here?” It fell out of his mouth.

Ignis didn’t look surprised at the question – which made something tug painfully at Prompto’s chest. “I’m … not sure,” he admitted. “Not like this, I doubt.”

Prompto nodded, swallowing down the thick lump in his throat at the thought. He blinked hard. “I’ve liked it. A lot.”

Ignis broke out of his reverie. “Oh, Prompto,” he said, noticing the tears that were starting to trickle down his face. He pulled the young man close. “Oh, Prompto.”

“I just… can’t believe I’m leaving here,” Prompto said, choked. “I’ve never really left the city.”

“No?” Ignis sounded surprised.

“Well,” he shrugged, sniffling. “There was that failed trip to see my parents, I guess. And, you know, how I even got to Insomnia in the first place…”

Silence as they both considered the tiny, helpless infant, smuggled out of an empire.

“I keep thinking about home,” Prompto confessed, voice thick. “Sometimes I think I’ll never see that apartment again, and it makes me feel like I’m running out of air.”

Ignis was quiet as he considered it. “I’m not saying you won’t ever see it again,” he said cautiously, “but perhaps you should visit, you know? As a sort of goodbye-for-now.”

Prompto scrunched up his nose. It made his eyes leak; he scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “I’m not sure.” Ignis waited for him to continue. “I heard it was getting re-possessed by the council. And that was months ago. Someone’s probably moved in by now.”

“Well,” Ignis said evenly. “You don’t have to go inside it to say goodbye. And you can take your key anyway, just in case.”

Prompto considered it. Pictured the hallway, thick with dust, as he let himself in. The creaking of floorboards, the ghosts of his past selves still trapped inside. He shuddered. “Maybe not.”

“Alright, then,” Ignis said, pulling him close again with a hand across his shoulder. “Maybe not.”

A short rap on the door pulled Prompto from his fitful sleep.

“Come on, Prompto, we don’t want to be late,” Ignis called, rapping on his bedroom door. Prompto groaned, muscles aching as he pushed back his duvet and got, blearily, to his feet. Passing the Crownsguard training had really taken it out of him.

“Coming,” he shouted back, voice gritty with sleep.

“There he is,” Gladio said as he emerged from the bathroom – showered but still grumpy with sleep, wrapped in a dressing gown – toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “Morning, soldier.”

Prompto choked on his toothbrush. He ducked back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. “‘Soldier’?” he echoed. “You really had to hit me with that first thing in the morning?”

“Uh huh,” Gladio grinned. “And only just in time, too. Cutting it a bit fine, weren’t you?”

“Not as fine as he is currently cutting getting ready,” Ignis said as he marched past. He was, of course, already dressed in his fatigues for the official send-off from the palace that they were all getting ready for. Now Prompto noticed it, so was Gladio. Down the hall, he could see Noctis brushing his bed hair through his open bedroom door. Also dressed.

“Shit,” he said. “I’ve gotta get ready.”

“Prompto,” Ignis called from somewhere in the apartment. “Why isn’t your uniform here?”

“Uhh,” Prompto panicked, looking to Gladio for support. Gladio echoed back his panic. “I was making alterations!”

Gladio’s eyes widened just as Ignis called back, “You were what?”

“Well,” Prompto said. “Uhh. Gotta get dressed, I guess.” He slammed his bedroom door shut. Outside, he could hear Gladio and Ignis bickering.

“Did he say ‘alterations’?” Ignis was asking. The lack of a reply, Prompto assumed, was Gladio shrugging.

Prompto got himself into his uniform; it was much simpler than the finery he’d worn for the Spring Gala, though no less impressive. Prompto checked himself out in the mirror, finger-gunned his reflection, and cracked open the door.

“Uh, hi,” he said. “Ready.”

Ignis, Gladio and Noctis all turned to look at him. You could have heard a pin drop in Niflheim.

“Prompto…” Ignis said faintly. “What…”

If Gladio had been a photographer, and had a camera on him in that second, he would have photographed the look on the advisor’s face. He would have photographed it, framed it, and hung it on his wall. Revisited it on a bad day to cheer him up. To remind himself that even Ignis Scientia, master of his own emotions, influencer of everyone else’s, had his limits. And Prompto fucking Argentum was weirdly good at finding them.

“Uhh, do you like?” Prompto asked, faltering. He’d made a few changes, he’d be the first to admit. The sleeves had had to go, for one; the sleeveless style gave him room to keep growing, as it was his shoulders that had stopped his last outfit from fitting, and what if it happened again? Plus, it left room for a really cool bandana around his bicep that made him look kinda rugged. See? Practicality and style.

“Wait,” Noctis said. “Are those the patches we bought at the market?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Prompto beamed. “I finally found somewhere to put them!”

“You know what,” Gladio said, swallowing down a shit-eating grin at Ignis’ tangible horror. “I think it looks really badass, Blondie.”

“You do?” Prompto’s beam was dazzling now, eclipsed only by the realisation that Ignis was yet to speak. “Uhh, Iggy?”

“Mmm?” Ignis asked, filing away the mental calculations on just how many thousands of Gil Prompto had ripped off his jacket in the form of the luxury fabric of his sleeves.

“Have I done something wrong?” Prompto bit his lip, anxiously. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t meant to, I just thought –”

“I love it,” Ignis smiled. “It’s very you, Prompto, and that’s all we could ever ask for.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto said, flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Well, uh. I have a couple of patches that wouldn’t fit anywhere if you want one for yours.”

Gladio’s cough was a very poorly disguised cackle.

“I think I’ll leave the accessorizing to you,” Ignis said graciously. “Other than my gloves, I like to keep my aesthetics, uhh, clean.”

“Sure thing!” Prompto smiled. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will,” Ignis said faintly. He looked like a man in a daze. “Now, shall we go?”

They piled into the car, filling it with the smell of brand-new leather boots and tangible anticipation. When they exited the car and pulled up outside the palace, Prompto had another pinch-me moment. Half the kingdom of Lucis had showed up to see their prince off on his coming-of-age trip, and Prompto waved nervously as they walked past the crowds.

“Holy shit,” was the only thing that left his lips – almost silently, possibly not silently enough – as the four men filed into the throne room and waited for the King’s blessing. No sooner had the King – it was impossible to think of him as Regis, not here, not like this, not with his own son stiffly addressing him as “Your Majesty” – blessed the party, that Noctis spun on his heels and Prompto found himself jogging along behind, the heat of the His Majesty’s gaze burning the backs of their necks. Compared to that, being back in front of the crowds felt almost relaxing.

“Hanging in there?” Gladio muttered, sidling up to him.

“Barely,” he said, gasping when he saw the King following after them.

I ask not that you guide my wayward son, merely that you remain at his side.

Yep. Right. Wayward son, big mission, high stakes.

Truth be told, Prompto was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate. His mind was wandering, at the worst possible time, to his empty apartment across town. The goodbye he was never going to get.

Once you set forth, you cannot turn back.

Yeah. That was the hard part. Prompto could feel himself choking up, uniform pressing against his throat.

“Prompto?” Ignis murmured. They were on the palace steps; the finest car he’d ever seen had just been gifted to Noctis and everyone barely cared; Prompto couldn’t make a scene here, not now.

“I just can’t believe –” His throat closed off. He was leaving it all behind. Forever, maybe.

“Prompto. Prompto,” Ignis said insistently, hand closing around his wrist. “Go say goodbye. It’s okay. We’ll cover for you here.”

“Really?”

“Really. We’ll meet you there.”

Walk tall, my son.

Prompto ran.

He ran down the steps, he ran out of the gates, he ran past the barriers and the police and through the crowds. He ran until the bustling chaos had given way to passing curiosity and then, finally, to silence. The smell of salt water filled the air; the streets turned almost impossibly familiar. He could close his eyes now, and his feet would still find home. He kept them open. Eventually, he rounded the corner onto his street, and his steps faltered and slowed. One foot in front of the other. He walked up the steps before he could lose the nerve.

Buzzing himself into the building – a quick wash of relief that the code was still the same – and making his way to the stairs, he was hit with something parallel to nostalgia, the air thick with the smell, the taste, the sense of home. A home that had never loved him back. He let his fingers glide along the steel bannister as he made his way up to his floor, his fingertips grazing along the wall as he left the staircase and walked down to the end of the corridor.

He stared at his old front door.

He didn’t need to try the lock to see that it wasn’t going to work; the old, bronzed keyhole had been replaced by something newer, shinier, silver. His fingers curled tightly around the key in his pocket, the metal ugly and warm in the palm of his hand. Useless. He’d missed it. His old home had been repossessed, just as the caretaker had warned him. He stumbled towards the door and let his head fall forwards against it, let it thud against the dead wood that kept him from his past.

And jumped back.

It took a second for his disoriented mind to realise that the scream that came from inside the apartment was not one of fear. It was a shriek of laughter – and, hearing it again, it was clearly that of a child. No, wait. Children. Prompto stepped back, eyes wide. The children laughed again, and this time were accompanied by the low rumbling laughter of a man, the crooning of a woman.

Parents.

Prompto stumbled as he stepped back, and he looked down to see the cause; a tricycle, leaning against the wall, waiting to be righted and peddled down the corridor by an excited young child. He blinked hard.

Somewhere inside the apartment, Prompto could still feel the ghost of his childhood self. He felt tethered by an invisible string that wrapped around his chest and connected him to a small boy, lost inside a lonely prison that he would do anything to deny even existed. He closed his eyes against the tightness in his chest, wished that the sounds of laughter would ease the ache.

He could almost see the children on the other side of the door – those lucky children, who would never see the apartment the way that Prompto had – laughing, running down the corridors, bursting into all the bedrooms. When they reached his, would they find him? Would they find the ghost of the boy who still had his grip on Prompto’s arm, tiny fingernails digging in and begging him to never let go? Would they take that boy’s hand, draw him out of his bedroom, teach him how to play and learn and belong? To love – and be loved back?

Prompto let his hand splay across the door, reaching for him. He hurt with the need to find that boy, to hold him by the shoulders, to tell him that everything would be okay.

But that boy wasn’t there anymore.

He was standing on the other side of the door, fingers spread across the wood, tears streaking down his face. The apartment was changed, and the boy was, too.

A car pulled up on the street outside.

Two quick beeps of a very expensive horn.

“Prompto!”

He wiped his face and turned away. He jogged down the stairs. “I’m coming!”

He settled into the passenger seat.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Prompto?” A quiet, careful, accented voice.

He shook his head. He hadn’t, really. He’d left what he’d been looking for on the palace steps when he ran, and he was glad to have it back.