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Part 2 of Broad Grins, Shaking Fingers
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Published:
2017-09-13
Completed:
2019-08-01
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123,193
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33/33
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Salad Days

Chapter 3: Break the Ice

Summary:

Previously, on Salad Days...
Noctis invited Prompto over to his apartment for the first time, where he met Ignis. And proceeded to cry over his cooking. It was all very endearing.

Notes:

this chapter practically wrote itself! thanks again to my beautiful beta, TheRegalHarvester!

also, an I Fucked Up Announcement: longtime friends will remember that I had originally wrote prompto as 5'10" and "normal" when he meets noct. imagine my surprise (and impish delight) when I found out he's actually 5'8". this doesn't change much of the story, except for the fact that he hasn't quite hit "normal" yet - he's right above it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Prompto isn’t having a good day.

Currently, he’s walking home - alone - because Noctis had been whisked into Ignis’s car for some Official Royal Business right when school ended, leaving Prompto to fend for himself. And suddenly, the twenty-minute trip seemed like it would take hours. It isn’t like he particularly minds the loneliness, really… it’s just been a while since he’s last been subject to it.

He sighs. It’s only appropriate that this trek feels gloomy - it matches the mood of the rest of his day quite accurately.

School had been terrible, in the few snatches of time where he wasn’t around Noctis. In his fifth period, those guys intimidated him again, regardless of him deliberately showing up right before class began.

With a shudder, he remembers pushing past the group - not fast enough. He remembers feeling a hand snake out to grab the back of his shirt, choking him briefly with the strength at which he was pulled. Unbelievably, no one sitting around the trio seemed to notice, too wrapped up in their own idle conversations to pay any mind to their surroundings.

He remembers being pulled down to eye level with the red-haired one. He remembers bad breath, and another somber warning: “You really do need to stop riding His Highness’ coattails, kid. It’s starting to piss some of us off.”

And he remembers shaking in his seat for the rest of the period.

To make matters worse: after bolting up as soon as the bell rang, he ended up knocking into someone in the hallway in his haste. He had mumbled an apology, looked up, and discovered that he’d crossed paths with none other than Derrick.

Fucking. Derrick. Of all people.

Who had been looking at him with a mixture of concern, surprise, and hopefulness.

But Prompto has just stumbled away as if he’d been burned with a brand, quickly turning and diving back into the throngs of people going towards their respective destinations. The eye contact they’d made had seared into his brain, though, twisting his stomach into knots and reminding him, for the second time that day, that he is a vulnerable target.

Prompto sighs and pulls a hand through his hair as he accelerates his pace, thighs screaming with the effort. Running for an hour every morning had plunged him into a perpetual state of soreness, and it was all he could do to not groan out loud every time he stepped, sat down, got up - put any pressure on his legs at all, really. He just wants to get home and into bed as fast as possible.

Out of nowhere, an unfamiliar series of chimes interrupts his reverie. Perplexed, Prompto glances at his phone screen, failing to recognize both his own ringtone and the number calling him. Nevertheless, swipes a finger across the screen and answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Prompto,” a static, accented voice greets.

“Oh, hi, Iggy!”

“I’ve just dropped Noctis off at his afternoon meeting.”

“That’s… good?”

“And I’ve some important matters we need to discuss. Is now a good time for you?”

Prompto feels his nerves alight with sudden anxiety. “Um. Yeah? I guess.”

“Excellent. I will pick you up, then. Where are you located?”

He squints at the nearest signpost, bile rising up in his throat. “Carnation and Village Drive.”

“Be there soon,” Ignis promises, and then promptly hangs up.

This was just the icing on the shit cake, wasn’t it? On top of everything that had already happened that day, Prompto now feels like he can’t breathe because Ignis had sounded so cryptically ominous, like he knows something.

He scratches at his wrist, skin cold with fear.

He doesn’t know why he should be afraid of the neatly marked tattoo there, but he’s always been taught to fear it. Prompto knows he comes from somewhere that isn’t Lucis, and that his tattoo - his brand - would notify anyone of that fact. And though he doesn’t know specifics, he does know it wouldn’t end well. His parents may not have taught him much, but that point they’d always made abundantly clear.

He hopes Ignis doesn’t somehow know about it. He really hopes he isn't suddenly in some deep, bureaucratic trouble because of it.

Wait - was that his heartbeat he could suddenly hear pounding in his ears?

Damnit! Get a grip! He sounded casual - so he probably doesn’t know! Stop overreacting!

But even if he doesn’t, Prompto’s still stressing about having to be one-on-one with the Very Important and Esteemed Advisor to the Crown Prince, especially after that mortifying display last week: the one where he’d cried over his food.

He couldn’t have helped it, though. The dish had been expertly crafted in a way Prompto had never encountered before. He’d had no idea food could taste so good, could elicit such a poignant rush of dopamine. He's exclusively used to bland, store-made, processed foods (when he allows himself any at all).

And while he’d been marveling how delicious it was, the sobering knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to finish it had brought the tears unbidden.

After all, he’d only had 500 calories left for the day. A large piece of chickatrice is typically 270, combined with the rich sauce and generous amount of cheese and the breaded skin and the sheer amount of oil Ignis must have used? He wasn’t in the business of taking chances. He’d eaten half, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

At least Ignis had seemed satisfied with his emotional display, despite only being partially correct about its origin. 

Prompto mulls over this as he loiters on the sidewalk, shifting from foot to foot and trying to will his blush away at the memory. He barely feels the heat starting to disappear from his face when Ignis silently rolls up in the sleekest Mercedes-Benz he's ever laid eyes on. The windows are tinted to a nearly black shade, so Prompto only sees his own sordid reflection when he tries to peer in.

Now or never. His hand grips for the stainless steel handle, and he soon finds himself sitting in the nicest car he’s ever been in the vicinity of. Vaguely, he worries he'll stain the cherry-colored leather with his low class status, somehow.

“Hi, Ignis,” he says, attempting to sound confident, but it comes out as more of a squeak.

“Prompto,” Ignis greets, poised as ever as he guides the car back into the road. “Happy you could make it.”

“S-Sure,” Prompto stutters. “What exactly did I - uh - make it to, again?”

“A discussion that is merely a formality. I’ll elaborate once we reach the destination,” Ignis responds, combing through the radio and landing on an inoffensive, background-type of song.

“Oh… okay,” Prompto sighs, accepting that the butterflies in his stomach would continue to root for the indefinite future. “Um… I like your car.”

“Thank you. If you need to adjust your seat, there are a series of buttons you can manipulate on the door.”

Prompto glances to his right, spying a set of three buttons in the shape of a car seat. Experimentally, he presses his finger against the bottom-most one, and the seat inches forward, purring electronically.

“Woah!” he gasps, surprise painting his features. “That’s so cool!”

He catches Ignis smiling in his peripheral, and his nerves are quelled slightly. Whatever is about to happen, he’s sure it can’t be that menacing - not if he’s allowed to mess around with Ignis’s luxury vehicle.

So Prompto continues to fiddle with the buttons, pleased with the distraction, until his seat ends up in a twisted contortion of being both high off the car’s ground and laid almost entirely flat.

“Yep, I’ve found the perfect setting,” he announces, staring directly at the open sunroof and out into the cloudy sky above.

“The perfect setting for receiving a ticket,” Ignis chides, but amusement trickles into his voice anyway.

A moment later Prompto is sitting upright up again, in a much more normal - albeit relaxed - position. “How fast can this baby go, anyway?”

“230 miles per hour,” Ignis states, matter-of-fact and completely oblivious to Prompto’s gaping. “But it will never go past 65, not while I’m driving.”

Party pooper, Prompto thinks, but grins anyway. “Wow. This car is an actual beast, you know.”

Ignis chuckles. “Only the best for the Crownsguard, or so they say.”

“Makes sense,” Prompto agrees. “What else can it do?”

“A great deal,” Ignis answers. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to tell you all about it at some other point. We’re here.”

Prompto glances up and focuses on their surroundings for the first time as Ignis skillfully backs into a parking spot. They’re in front of a coffee shop of some sort - a subdued one, if the sparse amount of cars is any indication. With a start, he realizes that Ignis probably chose it specifically for its unknown quality.

Suddenly, Prompto feels nervous again.

But he has no time to dwell on it, because Ignis is calmly getting out and turning to head for the shop. Prompto scrambles to catch up, belatedly spotting a manila folder in Ignis’s gloved hand.

A manila folder that’s stamped with the royal crest, ink faded yet commanding.

Don’t have a panic attack. Don’t have a panic attack, Prompto repeats to himself as he follows Ignis to a secluded booth in the far corner of the store. Despite his efforts, the world swims anyway, and he’s struggling to stay upright. Calm down! Breathe!

He’s hardly aware a waitress is present until Ignis has to repeat his name to get his attention. When had he even sat down?

“Prompto? What would you like?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Uh, a small black coffee, please.”

“Sure thing,” the waitress responds, chipper. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Ignis settles back, levels a look at Prompto. “Interesting choice. I haven’t encountered many fans of ‘unedited’ coffee, so to speak.”

Well, it’s 0 calories. “I just like the taste,” Prompto grins, though he know he looks frazzled.

Ignis studies him for a moment. “Prompto, I know I’m the Prince’s advisor,” he begins. “And this meeting probably appears to be very intimidating. But there is nothing to be nervous about, I can assure you.”

Prompto takes a deep breath, the first one he’s managed since the phone call. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just new to this royal... stuff,” he explains lamely, waving his hands as if that somehow elaborates his point.

“I understand,” Ignis assures. “However, if you are to be friends with Noctis, certain procedures need to take place. His well-being is exceedingly important.”

“Of course,” Prompto agrees, because he’s right. They can’t just let any old plebe buddy up with the Prince unsupervised.

Nevertheless one that isn’t even from their country.

Fuck.

The waitress comes back with their orders: an iced Ebony for Ignis, and a hot black coffee for Prompto. He immediately wraps his hands around the heated cardboard, hoping the warmth would help settle his apprehension. It doesn’t work.

“No use delaying the inevitable. Let's get to it,” Ignis begins, thumbing open the folder. “The Citadel has run a background check on you.”

Prompto’s heart plummets.

He wonders how much information is in there. He wonders if this means that Ignis knows more about his tattoo than he does, now. He wonders if deportation is imminent. Damnit, he had to go make friends with the Crown Prince, didn’t he? Where’s his sense of self-preservation?

His mother would be disappointed in him. For some reason, that thought is enough to send him spiraling.

The roaring in his ears grows so overpowering he almost misses Ignis saying, “We didn’t find anything especially noteworthy, which is a good sign.”

Wait - what?

“Your file is quite insubstantial, in fact. Kudos to you, for being such an upstanding citizen,” Ignis praises. “Nevertheless, we must go through it. I hope you’re prepared to answer any questions?”

Prompto gulps, but nods eagerly. He’s much less worried now that he knows there’s nothing ‘noteworthy’ in it, though he irrationally fears Immigration barging through the doors and slamming him into a cell at any second.

“Let’s start at the beginning. You were adopted from a Lucian orphanage at six months old, correct?”

“Um, yeah,” Prompto says. “I don’t really remember that, though.”

“Naturally,” Ignis agrees, and Prompto feels dumb. “Your adoptive parents are quite esteemed,” he continues. “One is an ambassador for Accordo and the other is a businesswoman in Altissia.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“So it would make sense that they’d have enough money to support you - even remotely, perhaps? Considering their locations?”

Prompto’s stomach twists. Why does this feel like an interrogation?

“U-Uh, yes. But they’re home a lot!” He lies, desperately trying to assure Ignis that his life is normal. “They do a lot of work in Insomnia, so they go back and forth pretty often.”

Ignis purses his lips, like he doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t press the matter. “And you don’t know your biological parents?”

“No. I don't. There’s… no record of them.” The reminder picks painfully at Prompto’s past, unearths a time in his life when he’d been obsessed with finding them - only to be devastatingly unsuccessful.

Ignis nods somberly. “Not even the Crown can answer that question for you, unfortunately,” he confirms, and Prompto is grateful for it. At least his secret is safe, for now. For all intents and purposes, he's a Lucian.

“Your grades are impeccable, as is your conduct record,” Ignis resumes abruptly, eyes scanning the documents in front of him. “Noctis might want to learn a thing or two from you,” he adds, throwing Prompto a conspiratorial wink.

The clammy feeling at the back of his neck dies down, considering Ignis had worked through the most suspicious parts of his history without incident. Maybe this’ll really be okay. He sips at his coffee, tries not to cringe at the bitter flavor he’s never totally gotten used to.

But then: “As far as your medical records go, you appear to have no physical limitations in the form of disease or allergy. But I’m required to ask - are there any mental issues that we need to be aware of? Do not be afraid to say yes. We know these things tend to go under-reported, and the Citadel only seeks to take care of Noctis’s friends.”

Prompto instantly breaks into a cold sweat again, a small part of his mind realizing that his emotions have flip-flopped way too many times in the past half-hour to be healthy. But he doesn’t believe that ‘take care of’ bullshit for one moment - he knows it’s a trick, designed to keep toxic individuals from troubling the Prince. It has to be.

“Nope, none at all,” he vows, and for once his voice is eerily calm.

It might be pure selfishness, but he wants to stick around Noctis. His mental illnesses can’t be that burdening if Noct never finds out about them, right? The resolution grants him tranquility, gives him direction in this nerve-wracking conversation.

“Feel free to come to me if that situation changes,” Ignis says. “Your well-being is assured when you are around royalty. Take advantage of it.”

“Okay,” Prompto smiles. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“Now, I apologize, but I need to ask this. Prompto, do you seek to use Noctis for his wealth, position, or power?” Ignis suddenly looks very, very serious. “If so, I encourage you to back out now, as the repercussions escalate the more he gets hurt by your actions.”

What?

“What?”

Ignis merely looks at him.

“Um. No. No, I’m not using him. Does he think I’m using him…?” Prompto struggles to bring memories to the surface, scrabbling to recall points in which he might’ve accidentally misled his friend. His heart rate quickens, along with his breathing. “I’m not! I - don’t tell me he hates me and doesn’t trust me now, oh my gods, did I really give him that impression? I - I didn’t mean to, r-really, I just want to be his friend, I think he’s cool for who he is and, shit, I-”

“Prompto,” Ignis intercedes. “He has no suspicions. Again, this is only a formality.”

“Oh,” Prompto says, but his skin is flushed and dewy, and he knows he looks faint. “Oh. Well, that’s good. Because I don’t have intentions like that. I swear!”

“I believe you, for the time being,” Ignis reassures. “Though it will take time to completely earn my trust. I need to get a complete sense of who you are.”

“Y-Yeah. I guess that’s fair,” Prompto agrees dimly, swaying.

Ignis frowns. “Prompto, are you alright?”

“Um. I, uh, yeah, sorry,” he responds, shaking his head to try and will the panic away. “Sorry, I. Just got freaked out, I thought he hated me for a sec, and, um. Y-Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ignis orders, standing up to go sit next to him. “Here, breathe with me.”

Damnit. Right after he asks about mental problems, too.

The panic he’d been trying to suppress instantly hits full force. He’s shaking openly now, nearly violent with the distress he’s feeling. His chest feels awfully heavy, like there’s a thousand pound weight crushing him to the ground.

Distantly, he hears Ignis voice in the periphery of his mind: Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Hold. You’re doing well, Prompto. Now breathe out. One, two...

After an excruciating few minutes, Prompto’s shoulders finally stop trembling and he’s steady enough to speak. “S-Sorry. This doesn’t usually happen, at all, I promise. It’s just, all of this… stuff … it’s so-”

“The Crown carries a heavy weight,” Ignis supplies. “It affects anyone who chooses to associate with it. Were I not born into this lifestyle, I would’ve had the same reaction. It’s quite natural to be overwhelmed.”

Prompto nods, weak.

“You can imagine how that weight burdens Noct,” Ignis continues. “Which is why I’m glad he has you. He needs a presence like yours.”

Yes. Yes, Prompto thinks, relieved to have a goal to focus on, his anxious haze dissipating. I have to help Noct. I have to be happy and available and skinny for him. I have to prove my worth. I will prove my worth.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Prompto says, shifting uncomfortably as the panic finally subsides. “I guess I just need time to get used to this. Just like you need time to get used to me, eh?”

Ignis actually laughs at that, though it’s short and mostly breath. “I suppose so.”

He pats Prompto on the shoulder before moving back to the other side of the booth, and Prompto just barely manages to suppress his flinch.

Seems his aversion to touch is getting worse, too. Great.

He sips at his coffee.

“Why don’t we move onto something lighter?” Ignis suggests, packing away the evil manila folder. “What did you do at school today?”

Soon Prompto is launching into an abridged version of his day, brightly exaggerating all the fun moments he had in class with Noctis beside him. And if he spends too long elaborating on the dog they saw at lunchtime, Ignis doesn’t comment on it.

Eventually, Ignis is sharing his own daily activities, explaining the various roles he fulfills as advisor and what he accomplishes while Noct is ‘attempting an education’. Prompto’s both amazed and sympathetic for his busy schedule, and he wonders how Ignis ever manages to keep himself so composed in spite of the stress.

The idle conversation helps calm down Prompto considerably, for which he’s grateful. Learning more about the green-eyed advisor is just an added bonus. He wonders if the two might even become friends in the future.

Forty-five minutes into their conversation, Ignis has to excuse himself, as he has a meeting to attend at the Citadel.

“This was pleasant,” he says. “I only have good impressions of you so far, so don’t be worried. Just keep it up, and try not to plot against Noct,” he jokes dryly - a quality that Prompto is discovering to be his trademark.

Prompto stands with him, and throws his empty cup into the trash. “Thanks, Iggy! I’ll try,” he quips back, thankful for the lightened mood.

Ignis nods, smiling slightly. The pair make it outside, and hesitate in front of the shop. “Well, Prompto. Shall I drop you off at your apartment?”

He considers. “Nah, it’s okay, my place isn’t far from here. And after that coffee I’ve got an urge to move, yanno?”

“Very well. Be careful.”

“I will!”

“Goodbye.”

“‘Bye!”

Ignis waves and ducks into his vehicle, and Prompto turns to begin walking, a relieved skip in his step.

Because, all things considered, their meeting went a lot better than Prompto had initially expected. Sure, he did have a panic attack, but at this point he’s accepted that Ignis just magically brings out his most embarrassing moments somehow. At least he’s understanding and non-judgemental about it.

He’s about two blocks into his walk when his phone pings in his pocket.

NOCTIS [4:53 PM]: please don’t tell me Ignis talked to you

PROMPTO [4:53 PM]: i would, but that would be lying. and lying is wrong, noct.

NOCTIS [4:54 PM]: uggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

NOCTIS [4:54 PM]: I told him not to! I’m sorry :/

PROMPTO [4:55 PM]: hey it’s fine!! wasn’t all that bad :p

NOCTIS [4:55 PM]: did he scare you?

Prompto bites his lip at that, nearly hitting a signpost in his inattention. He doesn’t want to incriminate Ignis, but he can’t exactly lie, either, and -

NOCTIS [4:57 PM]: it’s fine, you don’t have to answer that. just. nothing is as serious as he’s trying to make it seem, okay?

PROMPTO [4:57 PM]: i dunno, noct, it sounded pretty serious to me. i mean, royalty is important right??

NOCTIS [4:58 PM]: :/

NOCTIS [4:58 PM]: yeah, but once you get used to it you realize no one takes it as seriously as Iggy. not even Iggy takes it as seriously as Iggy. like, it’s a lot more casual in real life, y’know?

PROMPTO [4:58 PM]: thank the gods, lmao

NOCTIS [4:59 PM]: hahah. so yeah. please don’t uh... treat me differently, or anything.

PROMPTO [4:59 PM]: noct, all the lectures in the world wouldn’t stop me from treating you like the goober you are

NOCTIS [5:00 PM]: good. :))

NOCTIS [5:00 PM]: hey, do you wanna hang? it’s gonna be golden hour or whatever rn right? you can take those rooftop shots!

PROMPTO [5:00 PM]: hell yeah!!

NOCTIS [5:01 PM]: meet at mine?

PROMPTO [5:01 PM]: okay! i’m already out walking so On my way!

NOCTIS [5:02 PM]: prompto, you can’t keep relying on autocorrect like this. that isn’t even close to grammatically correct.

PROMPTO [5:02 PM]: >:)

 

 

 

When Prompto sees Noctis, standing calm and contemplating on his rooftop, setting sun behind him, things don't seem so bad anymore.

“Hey!”

Noctis turns around, catches sight of him, and grins. “Prompto!”

And everything that had seemed so crooked and off-balance in Prompto's world suddenly straightens back into place.

“How were your meetings?” He asks, smiling, overjoyed to simply be around his friend again.

“Boring. How was yours?”

“It was…” He scratches at his chin, trying to find the perfect word.

“I know what you mean,” Noctis interjects, waving the question off. “So. How do you want me?”

Prompto’s never felt himself blush so fast. “I… uh… What? I-”

“For the pictures.”

Duh! Obviously for the pictures! You idiot!

“O-Oh. Right. Uh, stand against the ledge there, with your back against it,” he instructs, fumbling his camera out of his backpack and desperately wishing his face would cool off.

“What did you thi-”

“Nothing!” Prompto hurries to interrupt. “Yep, right there is good. Thanks for helping, buddy.”

He angles himself so that Noctis appears to be standing directly in front of the sun, which casts a halo of light around his hair. He takes a couple of experimental shots, tweaking the settings after viewing them and eventually landing on the perfect mix.

“Okay. Close your eyes, and smile a little. Just a little,” Prompto commands.

Noctis does. And - he looks like a literal angel with the sun framing his head like that, and Prompto’s breath gets taken away, because holy shit he’s ethereal. He angles his camera and takes a few shots, adjusting positions slightly between each one.

It only takes around five minutes, because Noctis is an obedient model - probably a product of thousands of photo ops he’s been put through in his past. Prompto takes around twenty RAWs, knowing that only a couple of them will come out really good.

“Done!” Prompto announces, and Noctis opens his eyes again. “Wanna take a couple more for fun? You can do whatever you want.”

“I should do my ultimate pose for you,” he responds, excitement in his voice.

“Ultimate pose?” Prompto grins. “Let’s see it!”

And then Noct is splaying his hand in front of his face in the dorkiest way possible, and Prompto is laughing uncontrollably, and every negative weighing on his shoulders melts like ice in the sun.

 

 

Notes:

c'mon iggy, stop freaking our sunshine out >:( says me, who wrote it. hehe

this is what the car seat buttons look like, for the curious!

slightly sad news - I'm starting college again this week, so I may not have as much time as usual to write. honestly, it'll depend on how good I am at time management, so we'll see. haha.

your feedback spurs me on, so let me know what you all thought!! <3
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