Chapter Text
As social creatures, chocobos take great care in defending their flocks from potential threats. Large predators such as behemoths, coeurl, zu, and packs of voreteeth will easily pick off a lone chocobo if given the chance. With such dangers in mind, chocobos tend to find safety in numbers and will spend time taking turns between foraging and keeping watch. With keen eyesight, they can spot slight movements from great distances, and their loud alarm call warns the flock of danger. Reaching speeds of up to 40 miles an hour, wild chocobos can easily flee much slower, heavy-bodied predators.
In the event that a predator does sneak up on the flock, chocobos will work relentlessly to save each other. Parents will protect their chicks with great vigor. When faced with a fight, a chocobo can use its heavy beak to bite or smash into predators. Similarly, their incredibly muscular legs can deliver a kick with over 2500 lbs of force behind it. This force can be lethal to most predators, including coeurl and voreteeth.
Documented cases of true altruism have been observed in chocobos, with unrelated birds defending their flockmates and comforting wounded chocobos post-battle. This intense social bond made them invaluable to humans in early settlements, with the defensive mounts readily protecting their riders from harm and providing safe passage through the wilds.
“All right,” Nyx starts, punctuating it with the toss of a straw bale from the loft. “Who’s coming to the bonfire tonight?”
Prompto huffs as he picks up the bale and stacks it with one already on the ground. At this point, he’s almost vibrating. Tossing bales down is one of their last tasks for the day and he has maybe another thirty minutes of work before he has to frantically clean up and run around setting up the bonfire.
Because Ignis is coming now, too. And for some reason that… matters? Prompto isn't sure why. Wiz has always been big on first impressions, but it'll be dark and nothing will be around except the fire pit and whatever snacks they throw together. But it matters– it must, since his chest hasn't stopped squeezing since this morning.
“Well, Iggy’s coming with Noct now–” he calls up to where Nyx has disappeared back into the loft.
There’s a pause from Nyx. And then.
“Iggy?”
“Oh, uh— well the guy who owns the bakery we deliver eggs to is actually one of Noct’s friends. His name’s Ignis. I invited him this morning when I was there.”
“I know what his name is,” Nyx answers with a raised eyebrow when he peeks through the loft. He tosses another bale down. “Didn’t know you’d given him a nickname already.”
“I guess I’m just used to hearing Noct call him that,” Prompto answers.
He pauses as he grabs the strings of the bale and rifles through the little catalog in his brain of all the times he’s heard Noctis talk about Ignis, and all the different names he’s used for him. There’s got to be an Iggy in there, right? Ignis, definitely– Specs, even. But, Iggy is in there somewhere. He’s pretty sure…
“...Anyways, bummer that Cor didn’t tell you I’ve gotta bail tonight, but at least you’ll have some good company,” Nyx says, tossing the last bale down.
Prompto is halfway through picking it up when Nyx’s words register and he drops the bale, staring up at him with disbelief.
“What!? Why?! Dude!”
Nyx drops from the ladder and shrugs. "Had a plumbing problem come up. Lib's friend is gonna come take a look tonight and see if he can get it fixed before we open up tomorrow."
And that’s… fair, Prompto guesses. Losing business to a busted pipe isn’t really something Nyx’s bar can afford right now, given it’s so new. It’s only been up and running for a couple of years, and though it’s steadily gaining traction and regulars on its reputation for good food and drinks, money’s still tight.
Prompto sighs. “Can’t believe you’re ditching me.”
“Don’t whine; you’ll be fine,” Nyx says. He picks the bale up from where Prompto dropped it and stacks it with the others against the barn wall for tomorrow morning. “You’ve got Noct and… Iggy. ”
There’s a smirk in Nyx’s voice (and on his face), but Prompto ignores it. No need to think about what he’s implying– Prompto certainly doesn’t think about it. Ever. Even if that thought has tickled the back of his brain in the dead of night before. He’s definitely never let it breach the surface.
And today— tonight— is definitely not the night for that.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Nyx interrupts, expertly slipping in between Prompto and his thoughts. “I’ll bring leftovers from the bar for lunch on Sunday.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah, I promise. And as a bonus, I’ll finish this shit up on my own so you can go start getting ready for your thing.”
Some of the anxiety tightening Prompto’s chest lessens. With some extra time, he can make sure he gets everything done and he’ll have a few more minutes to shower and decompress, too.
“You’re the best,” Prompto says, already shuffling towards the exit before Nyx can take his word back.
“Yeah, yeah. Go clean up.”
Prompto calls goodbye and does just that; he grabs his things from the barn, kisses Sunshine goodnight, and then heads to the house.
Cleaning up the mess from work, getting food ready, and tossing fresh firewood into the bonfire pit is the easy part. Prompto's used to it, he knows the routine, and there's not too much second-guessing about the best way to lay logs that he's about to light on fire.
But getting dressed? Cleaning up? He spends a solid half an hour after showering just cycling between staring into his closet, laying on his bed staring at his phone and flipping through social media apps contemplating before getting back up and deciding that his taste in fashion sucks.
He's never worried this much about what to wear in front of Noct. And it doesn't really matter, because it's cold enough that whatever he picks, he'll have to throw a jacket over it anyways. But it kind of matters when Ignis has only ever seen him fresh off of morning barn chores, mostly covered in mud and straw and sometimes debatably-worse and purposefully-ambiguous substances.
So a red flannel (the clean flannel, without any stains on it) and ripped black jeans is probably a safe bet, even if it's boring and kind of predictable for a farm kid, and he'll be putting a jacket that still smells like a barn on top of it anyways. But it's better than what Ignis usually sees him in. And he's actually had half a second to style his hair.
And—
he tells himself one more time—
it really doesn't matter.
It shouldn’t matter. Because Ignis is just a guy coming over with Noctis, his best friend. And Noctis has seen him in absolutely nothing at all (whoops.)
So jeans and a flannel are totally fine.
“Prompto—” Wiz’s voice calls out from downstairs just as Prompto finishes buttoning up his shirt. “Noct’s here.”
Prompto glances out his window to the front, where Noctis’ car is on the gravel driveway leading up to the house, and perks up.
“Coming!”
Down the stairs, a quick thank you to Wiz, and out the front door; Prompto hurries to greet his friends at the porch with a big smile on his face.
“Noct!” Prompto yells with a level of enthusiasm that probably isn't warranted, but it's been a solid month since they've found time to hang out together in person (video game nights are always on the table, but it’s different ) and he doesn't want Noctis to have any other ideas about how happy he is to finally get to spend time together. And besides— Noct totally needs a bit of a break from all the classwork.
“Hey, man,“ Noctis smiles as he climbs out of the car.
It's a nice car— nicer than Prompto's old pick up, of course. Sleek black, leather interior. The works. And not covered mud at any given moment, given it mostly sees city streets and the same set of backroads out to the Post and that's it. Noctis doesn't even like driving it that much, Prompto's noticed. When they go places together in Insomnia, they tend to take the trains that crisscross the city. It's easier, he thinks, than dealing with commuter traffic and city streets. And Prompto can't disagree with that. But it does make him raise an eyebrow when Ignis steps out of the passenger's side, given Noctis tries to ride passenger whenever possible.
“Prompto,” Ignis greets with a nod as he steps next to Noctis behind the car. “Thank you for having us.”
It’s the first time Prompto’s seen Ignis outside of the context of Work. He's no longer wearing his regular chef's coat, which is the only thing Prompto's ever seen him wear, and the difference is both startling and exactly what Prompto would expect.
The outfit isn't exactly fancy, but compared to Prompto's, it's a couple steps above. And something tells him that Ignis made an effort to find something that wasn't so fancy he'd regret getting bonfire smoke embedded in the fibers. The thick knit sweater Ignis is wearing looks perfectly cozy for an early spring night, with the green bringing out the colors in his eyes—
And that's probably nothing Prompto should be noticing or thinking about. So he interrupts that thought process immediately.
“Iggy! You made it!”
“I did. Noct was kind enough to let me ride with him.”
“Thought about making him walk after the pun he made when I picked him up, but he offered me cinnamon rolls so I was nice and let him stay,” Noctis adds from where he’s crouched down, giving Pryna her customary welcome scratches.
“Oh man,” Prompto chuckles. “So kind of him.”
“Indeed.” Ignis looks around then. There's not too much to see where Noctis has pulled up on the drive beyond the house towards the bonfire pit, but the sun has mostly set, leaving shadows on the house and surrounding trees in the light of the already-burning fire and glow of sunset.
“It's lovely out here,” Ignis comments, gaze trailing over the property and stopping on the half-dusky sky above the trees.
Prompto can't contain the warmth that blossoms in his chest at that, something a bit like pride filling the gaps between his ribs. Of course it's lovely out here— it's the Post. Home to anybody who needs it to be a home, and kind of perfect, if he does say so himself. Especially at sunset with the light filtering through the trees and the bustle of the day put to bed.
“It's the best! I'd give you a tour,” Prompto says. “But it's gettin' a little late. And I think Noct might get bored.”
“I heard that—”
“Well, we can't have that. Perhaps some other time?”
“Yeah, definitely!”
Noctis stands up from Pryna with a grunt, more for dramatic effect than any real effort, punctuating the end of Prompto's attempts at conversation.
“Are we gonna eat s'mores? Or are you guys really happy to just stand around by the car all night?”
Prompto straightens up and swings himself towards the firepit, jerking his head as he goes. “C'mon, c'mon— we've got some snacks and stuff, too!”
Ignis and Noctis follow him from the drive around to the side of the house, where the fire is crackling and dancing on the remnants of the brush pile. Wiz got it started half an hour ago, going strong and steady on thick branches now that the shrubs he and Nyx ripped out a couple weeks ago have sizzled away. Beside the pit, the permanent wooden table nestled under an old pine is set up with a few bowls of snacks and a cooler with drinks. In place of a Family Dinner, it’s not much, but Prompto isn’t complaining.
Especially not when the cinnamon rolls Ignis handed him earlier that morning are placed just off to the side, furthest from the fire where the heat won’t get them.
“Noct says you do this often?” Ignis asks as he settles himself on a stump. He looks around the small clearing, not particularly at any one thing, but simply surveying. Prompto notices the way he tilts his head to the side, seemingly craning his neck to catch details in the dying light and fire flicker.
“Yeah, every Wednesday, pretty much. We just do the handful of us from the Post and usually it's just dinner in the kitchen, but sometimes we do bigger fires and invite some more people.”
“Sounds lovely,” Ignis comments, refixing his attention to Prompto. “Do you work very closely with them?”
Prompto nods. “I do! I mean, I definitely get some time to myself out here, but it's nice to know we've got each others' backs and stuff, y'know?”
“I can't say I'm familiar,” Ignis says.
“What d'you— wait, do you manage the shop alone?”
“I do.”
“Dude, that's crazy?! When do you sleep?”
“He doesn't. I sleep enough for both of us,” Noct answers from where he's tapping at his phone absently next to Prompto, who recognizes the King's Knight screen just from the color pattern alone.
“He's not wrong,” Ignis concedes with a sigh. “The shop is closed Mondays and Tuesdays, so I have those days to catch up on personal errands, but otherwise I run the kitchen, front counter, and business side of things alone. The days are long but it means I have absolute say-so when it comes to decisions.”
“That's— woah, Iggy. That's some serious dedication,” Prompto says, glancing again at Noctis to make sure he isn't growing bored with the conversation. Prompto invited both of them, of course, and the last thing he wants to do is make Noctis feel like he's being ignored, even if Prompto has a million more questions for Ignis as he gets to know him for the first time outside of their ten-minute chats on Wednesdays.
“Has he always been like this?” Prompto asks, dragging Noctis into the conversation in an attempt to make sure everyone feels included.
“Pretty much forever, yeah,” Noctis answers, looking up again from King's Knight. “Doesn't know how to chill.”
“I know how to relax,” Ignis protests, almost with the smallest pout to his voice. “I just prefer to stay busy. And running a business gives me plenty to do.”
“Can’t you stay busy with like... hobbies or something?” Prompto laughs.
“Baking was a hobby, once upon a time.”
“Yeah, I was a taste-tester,” Noct adds. “Loooots of trials.”
“What a long-suffering existence you’ve had, constantly being gifted baked goods.”
Prompto smiles, sitting back to watch his best friend banter with his… customer. It’s nice to see them both in their element; everything he knows about Ignis is inside the little shop bathed in Wednesday morning sunlight. And of course Noctis is his best friend, but he’s always had just as much trouble finding a place in the world as Prompto has, even if he never really talks about it, so it’s nice to see him just be without Prompto’s interference.
“How’ve I never met Iggy before now?” Prompto asks.
Noctis puts his phone away this time and looks up at Ignis, then at Prompto, and shrugs. “Bad timing, I think? He’s been crazy busy with the bakery since he opened it.”
“And before that, I studied at a culinary school in Tenebrae for two years.”
“He skipped class for two days to come home for my under-grad graduation and almost got expelled,” Noctis adds with an amused smirk. “But he made me cupcakes.”
“Oh—”
Prompto swallows awkwardly. He remembers those cupcakes. He tried them over at Noctis’ a day later, seeking some sort of comfort and familiarity after one of the absolute worst nights of his life. He’d pushed most of it to the very back of his brain shortly after in an effort to move away from it all and keep up the facade, but he remembers that they were really good cupcakes. Apple cinnamon with caramel.
One look at Noctis tells him that he remembers, too. And Ignis, thankfully, is clueless about it all. So Prompto changes the subject.
“No invite for Gladio, huh?”
“Nah,” Noctis shakes his head. “Iris graduated last semester and now they’re on a like, three week camping trip out to Cleigne before she starts her new job.”
“I didn’t realize she’d graduated already! I swear she was just starting school last month. That’s great she’s got a job though; where’s she working?”
“I believe Gladio mentioned she’s been hired for an apprenticeship with a specialty contractor. It should be an excellent opportunity for her.”
Prompto perks up, eager to poke at the holes in what he knows about Ignis, his interests, his social life, his– everything. Especially if it means getting the conversation away from anything that could make it seem like he’s not as he’s supposed to be.
“You know Gladio, too?”
Ignis nods. “I’ve known him through Noctis for years. He drags me along for a drink occasionally, though the bars aren't typically my preferred scene.”
“They get along great,” Noctis snorts. “Never fight or anything.”
“What's your usual scene then, Iggy?” Prompto asks as Ignis rolls his eyes in Noctis' general direction.
For a minute, Ignis pauses, the question catching him off guard.
“When he's not working?” Noctis asks.
“When I'm not working, ” Ignis says, parroting Noctis, “I enjoy the movies or cooking a nice dinner. I did enjoy cafes, before I was regularly spending each morning in the bakery.”
“Sometimes I can get him to play King's Knight with me.”
“Okay, circling back to that later– What kinda movies?”
Ignis smiles and it's soft. Prompto feels it settle featherlight against his rib cage and blows it away with the next breath as Ignis answers.
“A supportive plot and world building draw my attention quickly. I should try to sound more complicated in my tastes, but quite honestly, if the cinematography is there, you can convince me to watch nearly anything.”
“Specs likes it when the movie is smart and pretty.”
Makes sense, Prompto thinks. Like drawn to like. The thought jams itself in the forefront of his brain, harder to shake away than the previous feeling, though when he opens his mouth without thinking, what comes out is–
“Speaking of cinnamon-topography…? You guys wanna warm up some of those cinnamon rolls to eat? I wanna try them so bad.”
“Dessert before dinner?” Ignis asks, almost scandalized. “I should have expected you and Noct would have similar habits.”
“Uh yeah,” Prompto laughs. “This is a bonfire way out in the sticks, not dinner with a King. You’re lucky we’re even eating something as gourmet as your cinnamon rolls and not just like, burnt marshmallows.”
That earns a chuckle from Ignis, which is a sound that pops and crackles alongside Prompto's heart like the bonfire beside them and feels just as warm. It's nice to have a new friend, Prompto tells himself, very, very firmly. It's so nice to have a new friend and absolutely nothing more. Certainly not a crush, Prompto knows. Having a crush on Ignis would be insane.
Right?
And it's not that liking Ignis is something bad— Prompto's very sure that more than a few people have crushes on Ignis because really: look at him. There are all the people that fall in love for a half a second when picking up a cake for their friend's birthday or their sister's wedding and all the people who encounter him day by day, existing in a way Prompto hasn't yet been graced with the blessing of witnessing. People probably fall in love with him while they see him shopping for groceries, picking through cartons of strawberries to find just the right one (because Ignis does do that, Prompto's sure of it). Or they question themselves as he picks up a coffee order down the street, and those people get the privilege of calling out his name to search for him among a crowd— because again: look at him.
It's not a problem of liking Ignis. It’s the very real and messy problem of the fact that Prompto is the one who likes him. And Prompto isn't in the position where he should like anyone, let alone someone with his shit together the way Ignis has his wrapped up all in neat packages with little bows and logos for the shop that he owns and runs perfectly all by himself.
Gods— fuck.
Nope. Absolutely not.
It's a silly little crush and nothing more; Prompto will douse it with the bonfire tonight and only see Ignis once every two weeks to drop two crates of chocobo eggs in the refrigerator at his perfect bakery in the city. And that will be that.
Because Ignis deserves better than someone who was literally raised in a barn.
Prompto shows up at Noctis’ door at 10:32pm, wet and shaking like a sad, stray dog. Outside it’s pouring freezing cold, spring rain and Prompto is vaguely thankful for it despite the chill because at least he can pretend the shaking is from the cold and absolutely nothing else. Even if everything else has kind of gone to shit.
The nearest parking spot to Noctis’ apartment— without the pre-approval of a parking spot in his gated, covered garage— was still a block away, and Prompto braved the rain and had the miraculous luck of slipping into the lobby behind another tenant… just to show up and hesitate at the doorway.
He hasn’t texted, hasn’t called, and well-past ten at night is kind of Late. Too late. Noctis is almost definitely asleep and there’s absolutely no reason in the world that Prompto should be knocking on his apartment door to be let in. Even vaguely bloody and sort of terrible reasons, because waking someone up in the dead of night to fix his problems is just about the shittest thing a friend can do to their best friend, right?
Prompto glares down at the door in front of him, debating knocking at all, debating what makes him worth bothering Noctis, wasting his time, when he can just go home and crawl into bed to ignore everything until the morning, when he dredges up excuses for Nyx and Cor and Wiz and—
— finds himself rapping on the door before he can even fully process it.
By one miracle or another— or maybe Prompto’s continued shit luck (he can’t really tell)— Noctis opens the door.
Prompto struggles with the immediate and tangled ball of emotions that surges in his chest, something like guilt, shame, and relief all knotted up into one thick lump that seems to choke him.
“Prompto?” Noctis breathes, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Prompto on his doorstep, a little bit bloody and half-drowned. “Are you— what happened?”
His eyes scan over Prompto’s entire figure. Rightfully deserved. It’s kind of a trainwreck.
“H-hey,” Prompto manages with a very shaky, unstable smile. No way is he going to bring a bad attitude to Noct with the rest of this mess. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”
“No,” Noctis answers him immediately, almost hurried as he steps aside to gesture for Prompto to come in. “I was working on a paper. Just— C’mon. Come in.”
Noctis moves back inside and Prompto follows to the couch, where he watches as his friend clears away some of his books and papers to make space. He doesn’t seem to be lying, given the way all his school materials are scattered around the coffee table, but it doesn’t mean Prompto’s not interrupting, either.
“You hungry? Thirsty?” Noctis asks, probably because it’s the easiest thing to do.
“No... No, I’m good,” Prompto answers quietly, trying to get the shaking in his hands under control. “Thanks though…”
Sitting on the couch is not his idea of a comfortable time right now, all nerves and condensed energy, but Noctis hovers by it, uncertain and probably uncomfortable with the mess Prompto has dropped on his doorstep. So Prompto sits down and is met with Noctis wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. It doesn’t make him feel any warmer, but he thanks Noctis again anyways, even as guilt chews at his stomach. He's absolutely going to get gross rain water and blood on Noctis’ nice blanket.
At least it’s black, he thinks lamely.
“Sorry I didn’t text beforehand,” he says aloud this time. “My phone’s uh…”
Shattered, really. Smashed to pieces against the floor.
“—Off…”
“Don’t worry about it man, it’s fine,” Noctis insists.
He disappears down the hall for a second, leaving Prompto to sit in the quiet of the living room while he listens to Noctis shuffling around elsewhere. Even thoroughly buried in the blanket, Prompto is still having trouble warming up and sitting still, fidgeting repeatedly as he tries to get comfortable. He knows this couch. He’s crashed on Noctis’ couch tons of times before and it is a comfortable couch— when Prompto doesn’t feel like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin. But right now, all he can really manage is to make a bigger damp patch on the cushions. Awesome.
When Noctis comes back, it’s with a bundle of supplies. An ice pack, a first aid kit, a few washcloths and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He sets them all down and sits on the coffee table across from Prompto.
“Here… Think I got everything. Uhm… Can I— y’know…?”
“I can get it,” Prompto offers, holding out a hand to Noctis for the first aid kit. Noctis seems to hesitate, passing over the ice pack instead.
“Please?” Noctis murmurs, unwilling to let the kit in his hands go. “Let me help? I can see better.”
Prompto shakes his head quickly, regretting it when it just seems to make him dizzy. He flexes his hand again, almost expectantly, and reaches for the kit on his own. He can manage it, just like he’s managed to lace himself back up and get over it. Nobody wants him pouting, after all.
And it’s not lost on him how lucky he is to have Noctis here and so willing to help him. Not a single question asked. Damage control first, he thinks. The questions might come later, even if Noctis isn’t the kind of friend that tries to pry into deep feelings and worries. It’s why they’ve ended up such close friends. Those conversations seem to come more naturally, when they’re both ready to dump their issues from their chest.
But for now…
“C’mon, dude,” Prompto smiles. He forces a little more energy into his voice and tries not to wince at the way the skin on the bridge of his nose pulls. “I got it– promise. Just tell me, uh... How’s that paper going?”
With a quiet sigh, Noctis hands the kit over. Prompto takes it, setting it on his lap more heavily than he intends.
“Badly,” Noctis grumbles, eyeing Prompto again. “Not due ‘til Friday at least, so I guess I’ve got some time.”
“Lookit you,” he teases, huffing a shaky laugh as he goes through the motions. “Working on your homework before the last minute? But it looks like half your word count is blank spaces.”
Prompto gestures loosely to the laptop next to him, screen bright with an empty word document and the cursor at the bottom. He had been asleep, likely dozed off on the keyboard. Prompto interrupted his homework and a nap.
The bottle of rubbing alcohol still sits next to Noctis on the coffee table and Prompto reaches for it. His fingers close around it, try to grasp, and fail. He tries again, picking the bottle up only for it to go tumbling to the floor as the tremors in his hands seem to get worse.
Hissing under his breath, Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and clasps his hands together as if it will stop them from trembling. His heart thumps against his chest, threatening to hammer its way into his throat.
“Fuck— sorry—”
Wordlessly, Noctis bends and scoops the bottle up quietly, setting it by his hip again on the coffee table.
“It’s okay, Prompto,” he murmurs. Something about the tone of his voice reminds Prompto of the way he talks to the stray cats in the alley behind his apartment. “Just— let me. Please.”
He gestures to the kit again, waiting.
Prompto takes a breath and wrings his hands together tighter. The trembling has reached its way up to his shoulders, even as he braces his elbows against his knees and presses, digging into his thighs despite the bruises already there.
Stop shaking. Just fucking stop shaking– get a grip, idiot–
“Sorry— sorry— just— g-gimme a second—”
“Hey. Hey.” Noctis leans forward, catching both of Prompto’s hands loosely with his own. “Deep breaths man. It’s okay. You’re good, just take your time.”
Despite Noctis’ reassurances, Prompto feels himself slipping further. Less happy and upbeat, far more panicked, his thoughts beginning to spiral. Which was probably exactly what Noctis wanted to deal with, roused from sleep and late at night in his apartment.
Great friend, Prompto.
How many more times was he going to have to show up at Noctis’, shaking and panicking, or sneak home in the middle of the night to avoid questions from Nyx and stares from Cor in the morning? Or would he just have to go along with it– all of it, any of it– to avoid bothering anyone else with the consequences of his own actions?
“I’m so in over my head,” Prompto chokes out finally, the shake now in his voice.
He pulls his hands from Noctis’ grip to slide them up into his hair, holding his head tight as if it will stop the room from spinning or keep the lightheadedness from taking over as his breathing picks up.
“Holy shit I have no fucking clue what I’m doing— ”
Even with no context, Noctis soothes him.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs again, placing his hands at Prompto’s knees. “We’ll figure it out. Just... breathe. C’mon, deep breaths.”
Fuck if he knows how to take a deep breath. Thinking about it now, panic creeping up, Prompto isn’t sure if he’s ever taken a deep breath in his whole entire life. Does he even know how to breathe? Does he know how to take a deep breath?
Gods. Fuck— how has he let it get so bad? How has he been stupid enough to let it get so bad?
Anger wells in his stomach, flaring hot with how disappointed he is in himself for letting it get so severe. As it does, his eyes begin to sting, threatening him with yet another thing to be ashamed of, and Prompto grits his teeth together.
Crying in front of Noctis? Really?
Prompto pushes his hands down on his face again, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands as if that would stop him from crying. Like he’s some stupid kid, throwing a fit over not getting his way.
“I don’t know how to make it right—” he admits past another hurried breath. His throat tightens, threatening to choke him off again. “I–I don’t even know what he wants.”
“Who?” Noctis’ question comes muffled through the roaring in Prompto’s ears.
Get a grip get a grip get a grip get a grip.
Prompto presses his heels into his closed eyes hard enough that it hurts. He draws a shaky breath, desperate to compose himself enough that he can at least answer Noctis. He at least deserves to understand why Prompto has stumbled into his apartment as a crumbling mess.
“Y-you uh— y’know how… Ardyn and I have been like, seeing each other?” Prompto asks, all but gulping in a breath to make the sentence come out properly. He hopes Noctis will be able to draw enough lines from there. He’s a smart guy. He’ll probably be able to do it. Prompto doesn’t think he can manage to explain the whole situation right now. Not quite yet. Not the tangled little web of complicated feelings and guilt he’s oven and wrapped himself in.
He lessens the pressure on his eyes, wiping a hand over the gash on his nose and flinching. Noctis stares blankly for a moment and Prompto thinks, briefly, that he’s going to have to explain more. But then Noctis’ expression shifts, gentle tone disappearing as his eyes get darker.
“...I’ll kill him,” he hisses immediately. He shoots to his feet. Prompto flinches again. “I swear to— my dad’ll get him locked up, Prom. That’s not— I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Nope, wait!” Prompto shakes his head, hand shooting out to grab at Noctis’ wrist. His grip was extremely tight for how shaky he felt, grabbing onto Noctis like a lifeline. Now that Prompto has him, Noctis’ warm arm under his freezing cold fingers, he feels like letting go would cause him to shatter.
“Noct. No. No, okay? Just sit back down. Please.” Prompto swallows. “Please.”
“Prompto, it doesn’t— that’s not okay!” Noctis doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t sit back down again either. “He did this? He hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Prompto says, hurried in his panic to get Noctis just to sit back down and listen. If he tries something and it backfires, all it would manage is to make Ardyn angry with him. “Just let it go. I have to figure it out.”
Noctis sinks back down, catching both of Prompto’s hands this time. “What do you have to figure out? Prompto he hurt you. You can’t— that can’t happen again.”
Prompto swallows, Noctis’ grip on his hands both comforting and restricting. Noctis is trying. He is. But coming to his apartment was a mistake. All he’s managed to do is upset both of them and he hasn’t even managed to patch himself up yet.
“Maybe uh... Maybe I should just go, okay? I didn’t mean to bug you. Forget I said anything and I’ll just figure it out. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Noctis sucks in a breath, followed by silence.
“That’s— no, Prompto. You’re not bugging me,” he sighs. Slowly, carefully, he reaches to tug the med kit into his own lap. “Let’s just get you cleaned up, okay?”
With Noctis settled again, even just on the surface, Prompto starts trying to get a grip on his own emotions. Anxiety still surges in his veins and threatens to pick up his breathing all over again, but he forces himself to remain steady.
Deep breaths.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice tired. “Okay. Thanks, Noct…”
Prompto does his best to go over the mental list of where he needs to be patched up. The gash in his nose, though he hasn’t quite looked at it, is clearly open and bleeding– or had been bleeding, at one point. He isn’t quite sure anymore. There are a couple scrapes on his elbows and forearm. And mostly bruises after that. Hopefully not too much of a burden for Noctis to help him through.
Noctis refocuses on the kit in his hands, digging out wipe and saturating a few of them in antiseptic before carefully dabbing at Prompto’s nose. Prompto grits his teeth through the touch and fights not to flinch, but once the initial sting settles, he’s able to relax slightly, body slumping with exhaustion. He’s still shaking, the tremble not quite gone from his fingers, but it’s less violent.
“Does anyone else know…?” Noctis murmurs after a moment.
“Nyx kinda does,” Prompto admits quietly. “I haven’t told him, but he’s stupid observant.”
“I’m sorry,” Noctis mumbles, apparently taking his turn to apologize (again). He busies himself with another wipe so he doesn’t have to meet Prompto’s eyes. “I’m sorry for not, y’know… catching on.”
“It’s— I mean, I’ve been trying to hide it, y’know? So it’s not your fault.” Prompto laughs, a little helpless. “Working with chocobos? Working with Charlie? Makes a great cover up, by the way.”
That’s been his go-to for the little bruises and scrapes. Easy excuses when working around multi-hundred pound birds day in and out. Nobody really questions it if he embellishes the story enough. And he’s great at telling work stories. He has plenty of them that will make just about any injury believable. At least at first. At least for the little things that he can explain away to others and to himself.
And apparently, that’s worked just fine, until now.
“I’m your best friend,” Noctis insists. “I should’ve paid more attention. So… Sorry. I owe you that much at least.”
“It’s fine, Noct. Forreal.” Prompto forces another smile, even if the shaking in his hands is annoying enough that he wedges them between his knees. “...Thanks for patching me up.”
“I’d say any time, but…” Noctis hesitates. “Not again, right?”
“Y-yeah. But uh, I should probably get outta your hair for now.”
“What? No way.” Noctis shakes his head. “You’re gonna stay here tonight. It’s way too late to try and get all the way back to the farm.”
“You sure?” Prompto asks, fidgeting with the sleeve of his soaking wet hoodie. The idea of just getting to crash on Noctis’ couch and not deal with driving all the way back home to the farm does sound nice… “I gotta use your phone to at least text Wiz, then.”
“Yeah– whatever you need. I mean it,” Noctis says. He gestures to his phone where it’s been tossed on the coffee table. “Passcode’s 2-7-3-4. You cool with sharing my bed? Otherwise I’ll grab stuff for the couch.”
“Uh—”
Prompto blinks down at Noctis’ phone, tentatively picking it up and typing in the passcode. The messages app is already open with the last text sent to Ignis – Prompto vaguely recognizes the name from Noctis talking about his other friends. The last thing Prompto wants to do is be nosy, so he quickly opens up a new message, typing in Wiz’s number, and sends off a quick text reassuring him he’s okay. No big deal. Just the bad weather.
With that done, all that’s left is to quickly change his own name in Noctis’ phone to The Coolest Guy I Know, even if he was very much not feeling cool at the moment, and then turn off the phone and toss it back onto the couch.
“Bed’s fine,” Prompto answers finally with an absent nod. He and Noctis have slept in the bed together before plenty of times, neither having any qualms about it past Noctis’ habit to hog the covers but… “I don’t wanna get my gross wet clothes all over your sheets, though.”
“D’you wanna grab a quick shower?” Noctis turns, looking back to Prompto from where he’s already started off down the hallway to his room. “You can borrow some sleep clothes either way, but it’ll warm you up.”
A shower sounds kind of nice. Even with all the time he’s spent under a blanket on Noctis’ couch, he still feels like he’s freezing cold, ice settled like a pit in his stomach. So he nods, glad for the chance to wash off some of the grime and gunk and general feeling of Ardyn.
They shuffle through the apartment together, grabbing a new pair of sweatpants and a shirt before Prompto moves himself into the bathroom and turns on the shower to get as hot as he can stand it. Clothes stripped off, he steps in the shower and begins soaking himself in an attempt to warm up and calm down.
By the time he’s done, his skin feels thoroughly blistered over with hot water and he’s no longer cold to his core. A minor success that he tries to focus on rather than how many extra, newly formed bruises he’s counted while scrubbing himself off. The shower has mostly done the trick though, and there’s very little lingering evidence of– well– most of it, left on him.
Other than the bruises and the gash across his nose. Prompto stares at it in the mirror for a bit, vaguely wondering if it needs a stitch or two and how badly it will scar, before he gives up those thoughts and grabs the spare clothes to redress.
Sweatpants and a stupid joke shirt. They fit him perfectly and he feels oddly at home in them: a comfort he hadn’t known he wanted from his best friend’s apartment until he looks himself over and feels somewhat relaxed for the first time all night. Prompto savors it for a moment before he treks back to Noctis’ room.
“Hey,” he greets quietly, Noctis already on his half of the bed. “Thanks for these. This is a cool shirt, by the way. Big Fish Energy? Is that what I have when I show up at your place looking like I crawled out of a lake?”
“Something like that,” Noctis teases gently. “C’mon. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll figure out more in the morning…”
They’ll figure it out. Prompto tells himself that as he nods, slips into the bed, and lays down to blink at Noctis’ ceiling. They’ll figure out how he’s supposed to untangle himself from this half-relationship he’s gotten himself into. It’s not going to be easy, to pull apart longing and the tiny but very-powerful feeling of belonging that drew him in in the first place, and put them to the side so he can stare down the stark reality of it all. Exhaustion and anxiety war with each other between his head and his chest, but Noctis is warm and very still beside him in the bed, so Prompto focuses on that and lets himself drift into uneasy sleep.