Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was going to be the best shot of his life, especially if, as he was beginning to fear, he died within the next few minutes.

But no, no, he wasn't going to die, probably. The odds were in his favor. He’d taken off his shoes and socks for a better grip, had the sleeves of his hoodie tucked up into themselves so they wouldn't snag. He was prepared, he was solid, he was—-

Crap, crap, he was falling!

With a squeal that he would deny to his dying day, even if only to himself, Prompto frantically windmilled his arms until a wrist smacked against a tree branch and he twisted enough to close abraded fingers around it, halting what would have been a very fast, very fatal descent to the hard concrete of the picnic area some forty feet below. He hung frozen and wheezing from one of the most intense adrenaline rushes of his fifteen years yet.

Once his heart wasn't trying to crawl up his throat to his brain in order to smack it into providing self preservation instincts, Prompto resumed edging further down the limb. The wood swayed beneath him as though it enjoyed toying with the lives of dumb, photography obsessed teenagers but rarely got the opportunity and was thus making up for lost time.

So close. The object of this entire ill conceived endeavor was just there, just another few feet away. Over the tripping thud of his heart he could just barely hear shouting at the base of the cliff but it didn't quite register.

This city lookout wasn't very popular. The little cliff tended to ooze mudslides during the rainy season. The trail leading up to it also had a tendency to wash away and so very little effort was made to keep it a manageable climb. The largest, most stubborn tree on the cliff, that had resisted mudslides and lightning strikes out of what was probably sheer stubborn spite, listed drunkenly over the edge, only half its roots cementing it in place. No one had ever been dumb enough to climb it before.

But! But, the entire nasty environment combined into the perfect nesting place of a mated pair of sheer white, glowingly beautiful hawks. And in said nest rested three gloriously ugly chicks, not more than a few days old and watching Prompto’s advance with interest.

Ah, it was perfect! Almost the whole city, just now starting to sparkle with lights as the evening advances, served as a backdrop. The hawk parents were lazily circle some distance away, unaware of the voyeur intruding so rudely into their home.

It was perfect. It was fate and the accumulation of the good karma he’d collected by helping old ladies with groceries, sparing insects and not telling his third grade tutor the warts on her chin looked remarkably like toads from a lower angle. There was no way he could pass this up.

Then, in a moment that tasted like nirvana, he was there, the camera up, the little chicks thoughtfully facing him, the parents wheeling, the city glowing, the last shreds of clouds a brilliant amalgamation of orange and pink against twilight dark sky. He pressed the button as a sharp shout from below startled him just enough to lose his grip, something pinging against his ankle and making him jerk just enough for his toes twitch.

As he fell, heaving his camera desperately towards a bush, he could only hope the picture was worth dying for after all.

As Ignis and Noct battled it out by the picnic tables Gladio had been happily surveying the territory and staying safely out of it. As far as he was concerned bodyguards did not need to be involved in the education of the body they were guarding, unless said education involved teaching it not to die like a dumb-ass. Homework was not his realm and he refused to budge, even when Ignis nailed him with a viciously cold side eyed glare.

That didn't mean he had to stay in position to receive more of the same, though. That was just strategy.

Ambling to the edge of the outlook, hands in pockets and lips pursed on a whistle, Gladio idly turned his back to the view. It was pretty and all, but threats wouldn't come from there. Instead he kept half an eye on the trail and with the other scanned the dirt cliff-face, with its weed like protruding plants and unpleasantly puke colored moss.

But even though he was looking, he hadn't expected to actually find anything. This was about as out of the way a place a person could go while still in the city limits and no one had known they were coming here. Hell, they hadn't known they were coming here until Noctis left the car in a huff and starting walking.

Which meant the nasty little fucker spying on them must have been following them the entire time, a realization that constricted Gladio’s stomach into a tiny, cold nugget of dread. Thank gods, he thought through the suddenly swamping wave of rage, thank gods that sparkling up there was a camera and not a gun.

“Filthy paparazzi piece of shit!” He snarled, launching across the lookout and scooping a rock from the ground as he went.

“What?” Noctis stuttered as Ignis smoothly shoved the prince behind him, following Gladio’s line of sight just long enough to take in the situation before settling his gaze back on the trailhead, smoothly watching for more threats while Gladio dealt with the present one. A needle-sharp and discreet dagger fell from his sleeve. Yeah, there was the reason Gladio respected the shit out of the guy, annoyances and all.

“Hey, fuck head!” Winding up as he shouted, Gladio enjoyed the satisfaction that came from seeing the startled twitch, a flash of pale skin through the branches before letting the rock fly. “Get the fuck down here!”

Honestly, he hadn't expected the projectile to connect. It was a bad angle, his aim wasn't the best and the odds against it were pretty bad. And he definitely hadn't wanted the the demand to be answered so… literally.

With a barely audible yelp that peeper jerked, wobbled and fell.

Gladio watched in horrified fascination as the body plummeted, somehow managing to hurl the camera during the split second before impact at Ignis and Noctis, who ducked. Then there was the sickening sound of impact, a reverberating thud and a wet crack as one jean clad leg slammed into the picnic table.

Then, silence.

“Holy shit,” Noctis muttered breathlessly.

“Call an ambulance,” Ignis said grimly and walked smoothly to the utterly still, sprawled body. Blood was beginning to fan out from beneath a head of blond hair, following the cracks in the concrete like lines on a map.

“Holy shit,” Noctis repeated, far more shrilly. “Holy shit, Gladio you killed him! You killed him with a rock! Holy shit!”

“Call. An ambulance,” Ignis gritted out. His gloves were discarded on the ground, fingers pressing into a limp, bony wrist.

“R-right. Shit. Sorry.” Noctis fumbled with his phone, eyes flickering wildly from it to the body.

The body.

Feeling weirdly floaty, Gladio walked closer, dropping into a squat beside Ignis. He’d never noticed how loud the rush of blood in his head could be. Weird, how there was so much blood zooming through there and not really noticing.

“Gladiolus, I need you to go down and guide the paramedics back up.”

He didn't look like a paparazzi, Gladio thought, but he sure looked dead. Gray pale, limp as a stunned fish, chest still beneath a faded red hoodie with a quartet of peeling chocobo iron on patches.

Funny. He never thought the first time he killed someone would be an accident.

“Gladiolus!”

Awareness snapped back into place with a hard knock. Literally. Ignis had knocked him flat with a single jabbing elbow. And from his higher position Ignis glared down at him with eyes just a little too wide, lips a little too pale and slightly unsteady. And Gladio realized that Ignis, for all his proficiency and unruffled persona, was as much a teenager as the rest of them, and he was panicking.

“Right.” It was a relief to sink back into training. Check Noctis, sweep the site and follow orders.

Ignis nodded jerkily and went back to searching for a pulse. Noctise stood well away, back turned and shoulders shaking in what was definitely not laughter. Gladio could only hope the prince wasn't going into shock. It felt wrong to tell himself the kid had seen and experienced worse.

In the end things progressed with little fanfare. He led the paramedics up, the body was braced and loaded on a stretcher and taken away. Gladio whisked Noctis back to the palace while Ignis remained at the scene to deal with the authorities.

And Gladio very deliberately did not think.

This was not how Ignis expected or wished to spend the evening. Following his charge on a dramatic protest march into the depths of a forgotten city nature preserve had been tiresome. Arguing with Noctis against what in anyone else would be the very reasonable desire to treat school with the same blasé attitude as his peers even more so, with Ignis silently wishing such a thing were possible all while adamantly telling the boy it could never be that simple.

It had been a bad day, a worse evening and Ignis had genuinely thought it would not get any worse. Fate had proved to be in a particularly vicious mood, however, and now he was left to clean up what still might prove to be a fatal catastrophe.

Cor Leonis, for once in the city and available, had arrived with a few Crownsguard to secure and investigate the scene.

Technically, Ignis was free to leave and most of him wanted nothing more than to return to Noctis and sooth what was no doubt a spectacularly awful episode from the PTSD Noctis vehemently denied having. The situation here was in far more capable hands of his own. There was nothing he could do here but every time he began to walk away the image of the boys pale face returned, framed by an ever expanding halo of blood.

Oh gods. It had been a child, likely younger than Noctis. Ignis had no doubt he wasn't a spy of any kind. He had been too young, but also, how could he have arrived after them? There had been no time for him to climb the extremely difficult tree, let alone the cliff it sat on. It would have taken at least half an hour and they had only been there ten minutes at most.

It had all been an awful, dreadful coincidence.

“We found shoes, socks, a book bag,” a Crownsguard shouted from above. “No wallet or ID, but by the books he’s a high school student.”

“Great,” Cor muttered from beside Ignis, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Another guard trotted over, proffering a large, worn camera. “It was in the bushes and somehow managed to come out unscathed.”

“He threw it,” Ignis murmured. That detail was very clear, if only because any sane person would have been too occupied with screaming and desperately trying to protect themselves than with tossing a relatively cheap model of camera to safety.

Cor snatched the device and competently scrolled through, face becoming more sour by the second before he heaved a sigh. “Damn. I hate to say it, but unfortunately there are no pictures of the Prince. He wasn't being spied on.”

“Let me see.”

Ignis startled at the audacity of his own demand, but did not retract it. Cor dropped the camera into his hand with a bemusedly lifted brow.

Ignis had not idea what he expected to find. For once, his mind was failing to provide a list of hundreds of various scenarios, was not formulating plans of action. In fact, it was strangely still with only a consuming sense of bewilderment that would not abate.

The last picture, dated fifty-seven minutes ago, was… exquisite. Beautiful and as tangibly moving as a hand on a bared heart.

He could only desperate hope the person who had created it lived to see it.

Prompto couldn't pinpoint when he woke up or even if he had at all. His eyes were blurry, but that wasn't unusual. He had crap vision and made sure to take good care of his contacts. They were expensive and convenient and less likely to be sabotaged by bored classmates. So waking to blurriness was as normal as it could get in the life of Prompto Argentum.

Everything else though…

There was a weird background sound, muffled like a fish rhythmically tooting a horn underwater. And the light was all wrong, extremely white but soft. Almost as soft as the thing he was lying on. Also, he was on his belly, which was utterly unique. His usual sleeping position was sprawled and often involved waking up on the floor.

But, despite being utterly unfamiliar, he wasn't worried, horn playing fish notwithstanding. Everything felt nice and fluffy. The thing he was lying on was fluffy, the light was fluffy, his entire body was as light and insubstantial as cotton candy.

He sighed.

“I heard him!” Came a voice. It was as muffled and blubbery as all the other sounds, but it was definitely a voice. “I think he’s awake.”

“Don’t crowd him,” came another voice, much softer and barely audible.

“But look, his toes are twitching.”

“Twitching or not there is no call to crowd him. How would you feel waking up to a stranger looming over you?”

“Like that hasn't happened before.”

Prompto did not understand. Confusion popped his bubble of fluffy contentment like a pin and he floundered onto his side with a rising feeling of dread.

“Oh, wait—“ The second voice said.

It was certainly white. Blinking slowly did nothing to bring the world into focus. Someone was hovering over him, a dark brown and beige blur of person shaped pieces. A hand settled on his shoulder and felt wrong, too cool and smooth and featureless.

And then he remembered falling.

It was surprisingly easy to accept being dead, Prompto decided. He just hoped those weirdo’s on the overlook didn't delete everything in his camera and pawn it. With luck they would mail it home and someday his parents would decided to print out his pictures. Maybe someone would write a news story and show the picture he died for. He hoped it turned out nice and wasn't an embarrassing, out of focus mess.

“Its alright,” the person shape said in a low, hypnotically soothing voice. This close the muffling water sounds were less. The alien hand lightly guided him into a better position, angling him to see more of the shape.

The eyes in the center of the beige and brown head shape were large, oblong and glowing.

Maybe it was a god? No, Prompto was absolutely certain a god wouldn't bother to turn up for his death. On a scale of one to nobody, Prompto was comfortably situated as that little patch of dirt in the corner of the garden that was too awkward to plant in, relatively inoffensive and easily overlooked, neither adding nor detracting from the landscape.

It must be a gatekeeper of some sort, he decided and wished he had given religion a bit more attention. Hopefully he wouldn't offend anyone on the way to whatever afterlife dirt patch people got.

“Hello,” he said. Or attempted to say. It came out thick and clumsy and all but unintelligible. How embarrassing.

“How are you feeling?”

Sounds were coming in clearer and Prompto could make out other voices whispering somewhere. He was a little disappointed; the whispers weren't ghostly at all, just as sibilant and unpleasant as the kids in class that always talked behind him.

“That was quite a fall,” observed the gatekeeper. Prompto managed a vague sound of agreement. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

Prompto gave the question some thought, swallowing and smacking his lips enough to wake up his mouth.

“Fluffy,” he decided.

Someone laughed.

“Ah. Thats to be expected.”

“Am I—am I a cloud?” Prompto wondered suddenly. He’d never considered what it would be like to be a cloud, but so far didn't like it. You’d think clouds would have a better view.

“I’m afraid not,” the gatekeeper told him over the sound of more incredulous laughter.

“Oh. Good.”

The vague blur of the gatekeeper shuffled, twisted, was joined by another. Prompto carefully forced his gummy eyes into a squint.

It was a bear. He was almost completely certain that was a bear. Why was there a bear waiting for him in the afterlife? No one had ever said anything about bears in the afterlife. Prompto squinted harder.

“What?” He whispered shakily as the bear stared at him, dark and focused, teeth gleaming.

“Yo,” said the bear, with a wave of a massive paw.

As tears welled and silently spilled over Prompto had the thought that at least it was washing away the gumminess. At least the bear wouldn't eat his soul while he was afflicted with sleep boogers.

“Shit,” said the bear.

“D-don’t eat my soul!” Prompto cringed into the fluffy surface that had so confounded him a short time ago. It certainly didn't matter now in the face of those teeth and eyes and dark hair.

“Uh… no?”

Prompto cried harder and was unashamed. If the gods wanted him to handle death with dignity they should have told him about the bear.

“Wait, shit, I meant no, there will be no soul eating. Ah, hell, Iggy? Help?”

“I said not to crowd him,” the gatekeeper replied frostily and that long, steady hand settled on Prompto’s shoulder. “There now, its alright. You’re quite safe.”

“But the beeear!” Prompto wailed snottily, pawing clumsily at the gatekeepers hand.

“Bear?” Repeated that voice in the background, sounding as amused as it did confused.

“Don’t—don’t let it eat my soul,” Prompto implored. “They didn't say that would happen! Its not f-fair.”

“There will be no soul eating.” The gatekeeper sounded as stern and self assured as a priest. Prompto flicked an uncertain glance at the bear, which was hovering down by his legs.

“Do you promise?”

“I solemnly swear no bear or other form of wildlife will consume your soul.”

Someone was wheezing and gasping shrilly.

With a great and oddly painful sigh, Prompto slumped into the fluffiness. That sounded like an oath from a really good video game, definitely of the variety to be relied on. “Okay.”

“Shouldn't someone be pointing out I’m not a bear?” The bear demanded unhappily, gesturing widely. From this angle and with the gatekeepers promise bolstering his courage, Prompto decided the bear didn't seem quite so threatening and looked it up and down.

“Well, you're sure not an angel,” he pointed out severely.

“Oh, oh, oh no.” The disembodied voice was wheezing so badly the words were shrill and try though he might Prompto could not figure out where it was coming from. Maybe it was another dead person like him. “This is— this is killing me! This is too good!”

“Yeah yeah. Yuck it up, princess. Not like anyone nearly died or anything.”

“Gladiolus!” The gatekeeper said sharply.

“No no, its fine. Nothing is going to ruin this. Honestly the best hospital visit ever.”

It was starting to dawn on Prompto that perhaps, however unlikely it seemed, he might not be dead after all. Surely dead people and gatekeepers of the afterlife were not sent to hospitals. But if he was somehow alive that just made everything more confusing. And no one let bears in hospitals! And bears weren't supposed to talk! The confusion almost made him cry again.

Then another figure joined the others. This one was black from top to bottom, with only a moon pale oval of a face breaking the unrelenting darkness. It shoved between the other two, noticeably smaller but somehow even more unsettling.

“Hey. I’m Noct. Sorry about the broken everything, by the way, but this has been the funniest thing in ages, so thanks for that.”

Prompto blinked and shuffled in place, sparking a cascade of hollow pain. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re really out of it.”

“I’m starting to think so too.” It was nice to confide that in someone. Even if that someone was a foreboding black scarecrow.

He frowned a little. It took some effort to make his face work that way, but it seemed important to properly show how bewildered he was. “So am I not dead yet?”

“Nope.”

Prompto took a moment to digest this fact, poking his fingers together while he thought it through. “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” The bear huffed.

“But its easier.”

And alright, that sounded a little too whiney. No one likes whiny babies. Plucking at what he suddenly realized was a blanket, Prompto ducked his head. Reality was oozing back into place and he did not like it at all.

There was a long, awkward moment of silence before someone coughed delicately.

“It seems we have gotten off track.” Prompto peeked up at the gatekeeper (who probably was not a gatekeeper). “Can you answer a few questions?”

“No math ones,” Prompto said and then wondered why that sounded stupid. The black scarecrow snickered. The gatekeeper nodded reasonably.

“Of course not. Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Not fluffy anymore. Jus’ gross.” After a moments consideration he sighed and added “Sad.”

“Understandable. You are coming out of heavy anesthesia and are adjusting to a lower dosage of pain medication.”

Well that certainly explained a few things. “Oh.”

“Is your name Prompto Argentum?”

“Yeah.” Before he lost his nerve he gripped the blanket and blurted, “Who are you?”

The gatekeeper shifted slightly. “My apologies, I should have introduced myself. I am Ignis. The bear is Gladiolus—“

“Hey!”

“—and… Noct has already introduced himself.”

Prompto exhaled explosively. Knowing names was good, even if he couldn't put them to faces. Though that wasn't good now that he thought about it. His vision wasn't usually this bad. Still…

“Nice to meet you! I’m Prompto.”

Chapter Text

It takes a bit of finagling and outright forgery, but Prompto manages to hobble to freedom the next day.

He had planned his escape carefully, because there was nothing else to do. He ambushed the night shift nurse fifteen minutes before the end of the shift, already dressed in the clothes that had been washed and foolishly left folded in his room. It was pretty easy to get the discharge papers from one exhausted nurses assistant to ‘take to his parents over there’, before scrawling the familiar signatures and handing it over to yet another and equally dead on their feet nurse.

Still, public transportation wasn't fun at the best of times and Prompto learned it was even worse after being magically healed from the brink of brain-death.

Which was still weird to think about. Almost dying. He carefully withdrew the blue folder holding his medical file from the backpack braced between his feet. He knew what its said but reading it is morbidly fascinating.

A cracked skull, shattered scapula, dislocated hip and three breaks in his leg. Said leg was still in a detachable brace since, no matter how much magic people could throw at it, broken bones were broken bones and it took a while for that to get fixed. Technically he shouldn't be moving his arms either since the same applied to his shoulder blades, but no way was he staying another night in the hospital. The treatment costs had been mysteriously waived, thank the gods, but he wasn't risking staying a full four days.

His eyes nearly rolled sloppily out of his head as the bus wheezed to a jarring halt at his stop. Swallowing back a nasty wave of nausea, Prompto waved at the driver as he gingerly descended the steps, hoping friendliness would make up for his geriatric speed.

As the bus hissed and rolled away, Prompto took a moment to catch his breath while looking up the hill he was now required to climb.

Six blocks. All uphill. Shit.

Perhaps he should have thought this through.

But Prompto Argentum was not a quitter by nature or profession! And it was just an incline, not a mountainous cliff face. Cradling his backpack in his arms (because no way was it going over his back. Just…. no) he embarked. No problem.

Hah.

Forty minutes later he was finally unlocking his front door with shaking hands. He had wound up puking on the way, which his slowly knitting together body did not handle well. It felt as though he’d been cracked open, innards scrambled and set on fire and then sewn shut.

His backpack hit the entryway tiles with an awful thud and he could only spare a tired thought as to the safety of its contents. Even the camera was less than a priority in the face of the blazing, all consuming feeling of SICK that crawled through every cell of his body.

Next morning was a study in agony. Every millimeter and follicle and pore of his body was pulsing with a hot, sticky sort of hurt. Prompto lay in a stupor, staring at the ceiling as he slowly came to terms with both the agony and the realization that no, he would not be going to school any time soon.

But lying in bed wasn't going to make him feel better. First and for most, he smelled like teenage boy and hospital, not a good combination. Secondly he was gut wrenchingly, nausea inducingly ravenous. His stomach was telling him in no uncertain terms to feed it or it would feed itself with itself. Not the kind of horror story he was interested in experiencing. And it would be a lousy epitaph; Teen Dies of Self Cannibalizing Organs.

So he rolled ever so carefully out of bed and stood gingerly. It was weird having to manually position himself upright and work to stay there. As he swayed in place and blinked at the muted light from closed blinds, he wished desperately for his mom.

The wish didn't come through but thinking of her reminded him of something that was almost as good. With a profound sense of hope he hobbled into his parents en suite and looked carefully through the drawers until he found a half empty little bottle. He could have cried with relief if he didn't feel as dehydrated as a sponge chucked into a desert.

The pain killers were almost five years old but expiration dates on meds was more of a suggestion than a strict guideline, right? He appraised the label thoughtfully, thinking of the prescription still sitting on the hospitals pharmacy shelves. But the risk of insurance not covering it in full was too high, so no new happy pills for Prompto.

He took the recommended dose and washed it down with a palm full of water from the faucet. It left a bitter taste on his tongue and combined with his morning breath had him tottering as quickly as possible to his bathroom and toothbrush, scrubbing way longer than usual. Prompto wasn't keen on the process of dental hygiene, usually. Hated having anything non-food related in his mouth.

However Prompto was a practical person. Bad dental hygiene equaled dentist. Dentist equaled hell.

So. Clean teeth.

He showered, learning quickly that lifting his arms above his head was a Bad Idea, which left his hair dripping and unshampooed and guaranteed to frizz. He comforted himself with the fact no one would see it today.

By the time he’d heated a can of soup and toasted the last three slices of bread the pain had receded enough to leave him capable of higher thought, so he pulled out his phone and sent off a few messages as he ate.

Apologizing to the old ladies he did household chores and yard work for took a while. How so many of them were more proficient at texting than him was a mystery and also pretty badass. Techy grandmas were cool, especially if he let his imagination run wild and invented all sorts of wild stories about a hacking network or shady inter web dealings. Actually, he wouldn’t put it passed Miss Ludis. She scared the pants off him.

Calling in to take off a few days from school was nerve-wracking but unfortunately necessary. His voice was in that cracking stage that made impersonating his dad risky so he tried his best to emulate his mom.

Lastly there was a quick perusal of the immigrant forums. His favorite one was the Down & Out Deals, a blog by a niff who kept a weather eye out for deals on groceries. They were usually too far from Prompto’s district but sometimes he struck gold. Like the soup he’d just eaten. It had been sixty percent off and therefor he now had seventeen cans in the pantry providing a sweet sense of security. The fact it tasted a little too much like bland baby food was irrelevant.

By the time he was done he was too tired to bother washing his dishes and settled for filling the pot with water, his bowel and spoon and leaving it.

Crawling back in bed, Prompto settled in to hibernate.

Two days later the pain had settled into an ache and Prompto was ready to once again embrace life. Unfortunately life included school. But there was nothing to do but buck up, buckle up and be brave.

So he limped into school with the brace on his leg and backpack slung over the least sore shoulder. His haired look like it had been lovingly styled by cattle but he’d managed to actually shampoo it so it counted as a win. Probably.

Merging with the jostling sea of teenagers in the hall was familiar, if horribly uncomfortable. He was as slow as geriatric turtle and received more than a few sharp elbows as people shoved past. Making barely on time to his first class, Prompto realized that though he had made it to school in body his spirit was already drifting away so taking his usual obsessively comprehensive notes wasn't going to be a thing that would happen today.

He drifted through class, lunch, a nice sit out during PE and another class before perking up ever so slightly at one of his favorite classes. Home economics.

That wasn't to say Prompto was good at the class. He scraped by through effort alone and was decent enough to be solidly average. Though he was the best at budgeting in his class, proverbial gold star and everything. Which didn't make up for burning half of everything and occasionally mistaking sugar and salt.

But his own non proficiency paled in comparison to Insomnia’s favorite son and heir apparent’s staggering ineptitude. Prompto had honestly never seen anyone worse at absolutely everything home ec entailed and watching Noctis soullessly struggle through scrambling eggs was an infinite source of joy that Prompto cherished.

Today was pancake day, take three. The teacher seemed to have learned her lesson and opened the windows in preparation for the inevitable smoke while her aides directed the setup of hotplates. Prompto lost sight of Noctis’s ink black personage in the flurry of activity.

Prompto was paired with a short freshman with pretty pink nail polish and an exhausted thousand yard stare into the abyss of student life. Prompto couldn't relate, considering he liked school, but he did compliment her nails which earned him a brief smile.

As the teacher wrote the simple recipe on the board and the aides liberated a spoon from a kid who was miming inappropriate acts with it, the freshman girl made a huff of sound as though gutpunched. Prompto curiously followed her line of sight to find the the crown prince standing directly behind him and all but levitated from the tsunami of adrenaline his presence inspired.

“Six on sticks!” He squeaked breathlessly as the girl added a much more intelligible “Your Highness.”

“Hi,” Crown Prince Noctis said distractedly, smiling at her. “Do you mind switching partners with me?”

“No! Uh, no problem. I’ll just…” She floundered for a moment before thrusting a spoon at Prompto and marching smartly away as soon as he took it. He looked after her with a strange feeling of betrayal.

Swallowing thickly, Prompto smiled and looked at Noctis, who was already in the process of sloppily knotting an apron around his hips.

“Pancakes again?” Prompto said inanely and immediately wanted to hurl himself from the nearest window. “I mean, most of us have got it down by now and those that don’t are probably hopeless cases anyway.” Fuck. Prompto suddenly remembered that Noctis was the one who’s cakes had gone up in actual flames. Twice. “Not that pancakes are important. Waffles are way better, dude. Like, even the gods would be down to eat waffles over pancakes.”

Thankfully his capacity to experience horror at his own vomiting of words shriveled and died in self defense before spontaneous combustion occurred.

Noctis, who had cocked his head and stared blankly through the entire painful experience, now cracked a slightly lopsided, close mouth smile that probably did not herald an order of the immediate execution of one Prompto Argentum. “Right.”

“I mean,” Prompto continued, mouth and body betraying him as he began measuring what he sincerely hoped was flour, “waffles can be crunchy or soft, savory or sweet. They even come with their own little syrup cups! Pancakes are just solid batter discs, you know?”

“I see you feel strongly about this,” Noctis said softly. He frowned at the measuring spoons held in one hand and the baking powder in the other, eyes flicking intermittently at Prompto.

“You have no idea.” Prompto was tentatively sure he wasn't going to be mocked or scoffed at and relaxed infinitesimally. And he actually did have strong options regarding the superiority of waffles. “I tried making some at home once. Got distracted and when I came back it was charcoal. I swear there were actual embers.”

Noctis snorted so hard the egg he was attempting to gently rap against the edge of the bowl shattered completely, sending a spray of mucusy carnage across the table. They both looked silently at the dripping remains in his palm before meeting each others gaze.

“Guess I’ll do that eggs?”

Noctis managed to look both sheepish and utterly disgusted as he shoved the carton across the table. “Be my guest.”

And just like that Prompto was grinning for real.

By the time the first pancake was sizzling away in a ring of lightly burned butter they had settled into a comfortable routine in which Noctis used the cloth to wipe a continuous circle over the same spot while keeping an eye out for teachers and Prompto did everything else.

“So what was wrong with your other table?” Prompto asked cheerily, flipping the pancake with a satisfying splat.

“I wanted to talk to you actually.”

“Oh yeah? What about?” Prompto asked casually while whimpering internally.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Someone could have KOed him with a feather. “Why? I mean, I’m great, thanks for asking, but why?”

Noctis frowns at him. “You were hurt. You missed school.”

Forget KOed. A feather would outright kill him. As far as he could tell not a single person had noticed his absence, much less cared. Prompto swallowed an uncomfortable lump of unknown origin and ducked his head.

“Oh. I mean, I’m good. Wasn't anything big.”

“What?”

“I mean, I fell out of a tree.” Prompto snickered and used the spatula to scoot the pancake around the griddle before finally taking it off. “It was the dumbest thing! You should have seen it, dude, apparently I just,” raising the ladle full of batter high Prompto poured it out, “splat! Man down!”

Snickering as he tried to scrape the splattered batter into a proper circle and only smeared it into a further mess, Prompto looked up with an expectant grin.

“Woah, are you okay?”

Noctis was pretty pale to begin with but he was white now, lips looking bleached. Prompto looked around for a teacher, nearly had a hand up to flag her down when Noctis sucked in a breath.

“Thats not funny.” His voice was as tight as his face.

Prompto could feel all the blood draining from his head in response. He wondered what he’d said, what he could say to fix it. “I’m sorry. Y-you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m dumb, that was dumb.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so—“ Prompto shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked. “Uh, I mean, right.”

Noctis prodded an eggshell. When he spoke it was with the same quiet tone as usual and Prompto almost hurled from relief. “Shouldn’t you still be at the hospital? Or at home?”

“Nah. I begged to get out early and staying home is boring. Besides, it wasn't really serious. They used magic on me, which is incredibly cool! But also super effective, so I’m fit.”

“Thats good,” Noctis finally looked up and it was with a smirk as he jerked a thumb to the side. “By the way. Fire.”

“Ahh!”

Ignis did not comment when Noctis hurled his book bag into the backseat with enough force to rock the vehicle. Did not say a word as the prince buckled himself in with a savagery completely out of place for such a mundane task, and did not push when he turned looked pointedly out the window with tightly pressed lips.

But as he pulled smoothly into traffic Ignis carefully reviewed the plans set in place for dealing with anything that impacted Noctis so negatively. Some of them involved a surreptitious application of violence.

“How was you're day?” Ignis asked when they were halfway back to the apartment.

“Why did you lie to Prompto?” Was the rabidly angry reply.

For a bare second Ignis was at a loss and then,

“I did not. It was not my decision, but I understand and support it regardless.”

“He thinks it was his fault!” Noct snapped. A few years ago he would have kicked the back of the seat in his frustration; thankfully, such outbursts were so rare as to be nonexistent now.

“Which is unfortunate but necessary. If the story were to leak it would reflect badly on everyone involved. We do not need anything untoward now, not in this political climate.”

“And a cover up is so much better.” Noct’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and seething resentment. “How honorable.”

Ignis’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Did you speak to him today?”

Noct’s silence was answer enough and Ignis sucked a careful breath through his nose, seeking calm as his mind raced through contingency plans.

“Did he approach you?”

Noctis finally looked at him, a brief flicker of his gaze in the rearview mirror. “No. I did.”

Perhaps Ignis shouldn't be surprised. What had happened to Prompto Argentum was horrible and unfair, and Noctis had always been more empathic than he appeared. But he also never initiated contact. Even as a child he had been reserved, awkward in social situations and saved only by comprehensive lessons in etiquette.

“And what did he say?”

“That he fell out of a tree!” Noctis sat upright, stiff with indignation and Ignis raised a brow.

“That is what happened.”

“Technically! But he acts like it was no big deal, like he didn't even almost die. He’s not stupid, he knows h-how close it was.”

Ignis smoothly ignored that faint quaver and steered the conversation slightly sideways. “I’m surprised he was at school today. Surely a week off would be permissible, even advisable under the circumstances.”

“He said he was bored.”

Ah. Ignis wished he could be surprised but the boy climbed to dangerous heights for a photo op. Staying abed seemed quite against character.

“And did he appeared well?”

Noct was quiet, frowning out the window. Most of the anger seemed to have burned away, the remnants condensed into a tight knot at his core, ready to be unearthed and obsessed over when convenient.

He shrugged. “I guess.”

Ignis parked the car neatly in the underground garage beneath the apartment complex and watched through the mirror as Noct gathered his bag and discarded tie. He didn't want to say what needed to be said, but duty would always win over preference.

“Noctis.” He waited until the prince unhappily met his eyes. “It would be inadvisable to speak to him again.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Prompto had always thought Noctis was cool. Kind of stiff and awkward, but cool nonetheless. He’d seen the guy playing King’s Knight, seen him go gooey over a cat behind the gym, knew he was uncomfortable with his peers but didn't use his position to shove them to a comfortable distance.

He had kind of (a lot) been hoping their pancake burning experience would prove bonding. That maybe they’d come to a point where they could say hi in passing and maybe pair together again.

Really, he should have known better. He was the weird, ex- fat kid who’s origins were obvious through his coloring. He’d probably talked too much and been too obviously stupid during home ec and Noctis had just been being nice, not actually interested.

But that was okay! It just meant nothing had changed, which was good, because change was generally something bad.

The next week of school was a little bleaker but Prompto ignored that. He was good at ignoring things like silence and disappointment. But he couldn't help noticing that Noctis looked a little stiffer than usual, a bit worn down.

So when during his usual lunchtime jog around the school Prompto came across the prince shoveling food out of a lunchbox and into a bush he only hesitated for a heartbeat before bounding over.

“Hey! Watcha doing?”

Noctis stiffened slightly but didn't jump, though Prmpto knew he’d surprised him. If only because he surprised most people; even as a fatty he’d been light on his feet.

“Nothing.”

Prompto peered into the bush and watched as a piece of fried carrot that was snagged on a branch wavered, dropped and vanished into the shadows. Prompto frowned.

“Dude.”

“What.” The word was as flat and as conversationally inspiring as roadkill.

“Dude. Don’t just dump it. Man, it even still smells good!”

Noctis lifted his chin with a probably unintentional haughtiness. “I don’t like vegetables.”

“Thats cool, but dumping them in bushes is a little, I don’t know, dumb?”

Oh shit, Prompto thought as soon as the words left his mouth and Noctis snapped his head around to stare at him. Shit bits. He’d just called the Crown Prince dumb, which was probably a lower tier act of treason and now he was going to be killed or sent to prison and bring disgrace upon his family.

“Uhhh, I mean, you could just buy something without vegetables? Or put them in the trash, so they don’t get all moldy and gain sentience and eventually start a revolution to overthrow human kind or something.” Damn it. “That was dumb. Uh, I just meant the trash would be better?”

Noctis had slowly curled inward, shoulders hunched and a hand pressed over his face. The lacquered box in his other hand quivered.

“I’m sorry! I just don’t have a brain to mouth filter, someone forgot to activate it, I guess. Don’t mind me, I’ll just go and drown myself or something.”

“No, no!” Noctis groped aimlessly at the air and with his hand down Prompto could seen the huge, lopsided grin and tear wet eyes. “Stay.”

Prompto dropped to the ground more out of relief than intent and beamed. “Sure!”

Noctis rocked the box between his palms, face composed but still softer than Prompto was used to seeing. Noctis suddenly lifted the box. “Potato?”

“Thanks, yeah.”

Prompto plucked a cube from the tiny pile left in one of the little compartments and popped it in his mouth, only to nearly choke on the sound he made at the taste. “Six sakes, you actually throw this away? Willingly? Give me that!”

It was only after he had helped himself to the last few pieces that Prompto realized he’s snatched the box from the princes hands. He’d stolen the lunch of royalty. Maybe he did deserve to die. Evolution had clearly failed him.

“I am so sorry,” Prompto said tonelessly, offering the box with a shamefaced attempt at a smile.

“No, feel free,” Noctis, Crown freaking Prince of freaking Lucis, said with a warm airiness of tone and an absolutely shit eating kind of glint in his dark eyes.

Well, the guy could be as mocking as he wanted; Prompto was going to promptly take the opportunity to eat actual, real, grown in the good sweet dirt of Eos vegetables.

Scooting on his butt to sit beside the prince, Prompto devoted the attention due to perfectly cooked food to the roasted veggies. It was important to pay respect like that.

“So. If you don’t like vegetables, does that mean fruit is cool or are you full out carnivore?”

Noctis squinted sidelong at Prompto, who didn't notice. He was involved with a carrot; it was a serious relationship.

“Some fruits’re okay, I guess.”

“Yeah. I don’t really like fruit that much. Plums and apples and bananas are nice. Wait, arent bananas actually a berry?” Briefly distracted trying to identify the green sticks set next to the last remnants of some kind of meat sauce, Prompto decided they were probably asparagus. Apparently they weren't fairytale foods after all. Weird.

“You doing okay? Uh, with your… fall. And all that.”

Prompto beamed. “Totally! Even back to running again. Observe my svelte physique.”

“Twiggy, more like.”

With gasp Prompto slammed his palm a little too enthusiastically against his chest, nearly wincing. But he was committed, so “How dare you! I am the model of lean masculinity! I’m such a model I could actually model.”

Noctis snorted and flopped back on his elbows, looking with half lidded eyes at the patchy, scuttling clouds overhead. “Sure, whatever you say.”

They fell into relative silence, the only sounds Prompto’s occasional whimpers of ecstasy and an unfortunate period of choking when he experimentally attempted to slurp an asparagus stick like a noodle.

A few minutes before the bell Prompto cleared his throat and waited until Noctis slowly peeled his eyes open. Not that he could meet them for low and devoted himself to fiddling with the lunchbox instead.

“Uh, by the way I’m, um… that is thanks for-for checking on me. I mean, during Home Ec. Not that you needed to!” The box really was very pretty. All black lacquer and the royal emblem. Shiny. “Just, thanks.”

Just as Noctis opened his mouth to say something the bell chimed and Prompto gratefully shot to his feet and ran responsibly to class. Because that was the responsible student thing to do. Not because he was so red in the face he was afraid it was going to pop like an overfull balloon.

Nope. Not at all.

After that they just kept running into each other, mostly during lunch. Usually Prompto would find the guy in the same spot behind the storage building, napping or noodling on his phone. The first couple times Prompto just waved and grinned and hustled the hell away while hopefully not making his retreat obvious.

But fate was clearly in play because Noctis began waving in the hallways, nodding while passing him in class, even grunting a good morning when stumbling across each other while beating the bell.

And slowly those passing acknowledgements turned into words turned into conversation turned into, well, this.

“You rat bastard,” Prompto said admiringly as Noctis beat him to a treasure chest during a co-opt run through of a first tier dungeon.

“Seize the opportunity, seize victory,” Noctis intoned solemnly while Prompto ineffectually shot his character in the back. Damn team game dynamics!

“Seize my heart and crush it, more like. C’mon, at least share.”

“It was mostly just coins and a spell book. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Prompto said with a prim sniff, “given your history of dirty rotten lying betrayal.”

They were sitting propped back to back so Prompto felt it immediately when Noctis stiffened. Just a little.

Just enough.

Prompto didn't know what he said to turn their usual sniping into something that made Noct uncomfortable but he was more than willing to do whatever it took to fix what his stupid shoe chewing mouth had broken.

He wriggled his shoulder blades between Nocts. “Hey, was it something I said? Whatever it was I’m sorry.”

“Nothings wro—-“

Prompto braced his feet and pushed back with all his strength, flattening Noctis over his own bent knees. “Sooo sorry! I slipped.”

An elbow shot into the side of his head from an unlikely angle and Prompto keeled to the side, clutching it more for the sake of drama than out of natural hurt. “Ow.”

“So sorry,” Noctis said blandly, straightening his blazer and smiling like a self satisfied cat. “I slipped.”

“So I know that reception is hella spotty—“ Prompto began as casually as possible.

“More like nonexistent.” His mother sounded as weary of that fact as she was of lack of internet in general.

“But when I called that landline last week I still couldn't reach you?”

His voice rose at the end, turning what was technically a statement into a question. Thankfully his mother had given up on getting him to speak properly ages ago.

“An MT dropship hit the village power plant. There was no electricity for weeks.”

Prompto’s heart performed a backflip into his throat and he clutched his phone a little tighter. “Are you okay? Were you safe?”

“Honey,” she said with the faintest hint of exasperation, “isn’t the answer to that pretty obvious?”

When Prompto didn't reply she sighed and said in a gentler, wry tone “We were fine. Our worksite is miles outside the village. Hence the need for landlines.”

“Haha, right. Just, its hard not to worry, ya know?”

“There really is no reason to. Your dad and I know how to handle ourselves. Hold on for a minute, honey.” There was the thumping static of a hand covering the speaker, a few inaudible words and Prompto waited patiently until she came back.

“So what did you call for in the first place? Trouble at school?” There was the click click tap of a keyboard and Prompto could imagine her perfectly, phone trapped between ear and shoulder, multitasking as smoothly as always.

“No no, schools great! I uh, I even made a friend?”

“Another one?”

Prompto laughed, tugging a hank of hair in front of his eyes and squinting at it cross eyed. “Yeah. I’m just irresistible.” He bit his lip, listening to the unabated, steady tapping. “He’s a really great guy. You’d really like him.”

“Thats great, Prompto. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short; our drivers finally turned up. So was there anything you needed?”

Prompto winced. This was probably going to get ugly and boy did he not want to have to resort to this. “Um. Well, you see, that grocery delivery service you hired? Yeah. Its not really. You know. Delivering?” Silence. Prompto swallowed and continued gamely. “So, I was wondering if you could start putting a little more into the household account? Just a little! I can totally do my own grocery shopping!”

The tapping had stopped. For just a few seconds Prompto wondered if the connection had been lost.

“Prompto, that service has very good reviews. I’m sure they are doing just fine. Have you missed some of the deliveries?”

Heck no. “No. No I always make sure to keep an eye out. And, yeah, they are sort of delivering. But only once a month, not four times, so what they bring winds up going bad really quick and when I call its always an automated thing and—“

“If they're delivering then I don’t see the problem. Just make sure you put everything away so it doesn't spoil and you’ll be fine.”

“But, see, the freezer is kind of on the fritz right now—“

“Then call the landlord.”

“But he hates me!”

“Prompto.” His mother sighed heavily and now he could clearly imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes shut, working to block a coming migraine. “Mr Sonious is a perfectly nice man who simply doesn't have patience for teenagers.” By her tone Prompto was pretty sure she was reaching that point as well. “Ask him nicely, be polite.”

“I have been mom. For months! Couldn't I just shop for myself? I’ll be good about it, promise.”

“I wish I could but you know what happened those first few years after we started going away more. You're doing so well now and we don’t want you to backslide. Alright?”

Yeah. Prompto knew. When the business trips starting lasting for multiple months and calls starting getting shorter with longer periods between them, he’d gotten a bit munch happy. And buying pre made stuff was easier, and he tended to go for sugar when he was lonely and… yeah. Maybe she had a point. Its not like they saw how seriously he was taking his weight now.

And maybe he could just mow a few more lawns, go a little further when bargain hunting. Wasn't that big a deal after all. Really.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry mom.”

“Its alright. I have to go now.”

“Okay.” He clenched the phone tighter, pressed the electric hot casing against his ear. “Love you.”

“You too honey.”

“Say hi to dad for me?”

“Of course. Be good okay? Talk to you soon.”

“Bye,” Prompto whispered at the dial tone.

Eventually he put the phone on the side table and curled under the blankets, staring blearily at the window. The sun was setting, casting everything in a nice orange gold light. Probably good for a photo op, actually. But Prompto felt pretty tired so maybe tomorrow.

Yeah. Maybe.

Noctis had never had a friend before. At least, not in the traditional sense.

There was Luna, of course, but she was so far away and with so much being planned for them it was hard to be as close as they wanted. And Ignis and Gladio were great but they were older and had certain expectations of Noctis and themselves that made goofing off a bit of a pipe dream.

As for all the others who had cycled in and out of his life, they had been put together for the sake of alliances and ambition and just general proximity. The children of dignitaries and some staff, the nobility.

So he didn't quite know how to interact in a friend-like fashion with Prompto. Thankfully, Prompto seemed to know what he was doing.

“Hah! Take that, electric butt!” Prompto cackled as he landed a solid hit on Noctis’s character.

Noctis snorted. “Its not electricity, its magical threads.”

Prompto blew a wet, rude sounding noise and finished him off with a melee attack, crowing in victory. “It doesn't look like threads. They should have rendered it properly. Anyway, thats what you get for playing a ninja.”

“Shut up.”

“Cutlasses are way better than, what was it? Ribbons? So dainty.”

“Ninja wire, you doofus.” Noctis knocked his head back, thumping solidly against Prompto’s skull and smirking at the familiar yelp.

“Dude! Thats assault. I feel assaulted.”

Noctis snickered. “Who’s dainty now?”

Prompto just whined and slumped back, letting Noctis take all his weight.

That was another friend thing he was getting accustomed to. Prompto was all casual sprawls, knocking shoulders, high fives and fist bumps. It was all inelegant and impromptu. No carefully timed hugs or handshakes, just proximity without thought.

Noctis had decided he liked it.

The playful roughhousing with absolutely no training value whatsoever was also pretty sweet.

“Anyway,” Prompto said after a moment, in his high pitched, totally not anxious, about to ask a question he considers too personal tone. “You’ve seemed a little more, hmm…”

Noctis, whose half life had been lived with only a passing acquaintance to privacy, snorted. “Just ask, dude.”

“You’ve seemed a little more tragic gothic hero than usual,” Prompto declared with his usual fumbling flair for words.

“Prom.”

“I’m just sayin’! So everythings cool?”

Noctis groaned and now it was Prompto’s turn to take his weight.

“Yeah. Just, boring politics stuff. Been sitting in on more council meetings, had to actually give my opinion for all the attention anyone gives it. Had a ‘casual get together’ with all the boring officials.” He grinned, secure in the knowledge Prompto couldn't see it and offered sweetly, “I could tell you about if you like.”

“Ew. No. Suffer alone like the martyr you are and leave me out of it.”

“Aren’t you even a little interested in the nitty gritty details of state?”

And Noctis didn’t mean to, never meant to, but once the words were out of his mouth his attention sharpened and his mind was waiting to dissect whatever answer Prompto gave.

He didn't mean to. Didn't want to. But he couldn't not do it.

“Noooooo!” Prompto whined. “Doooon’t!”

“Why not?” Noctis asked lightly and waited.

“Because its boring. And frustrating.”

Noctis frowned. That was an interesting addition. “How so?”

“Well its not like I want to know about things neither of us can change. Its bad enough you stress out over it all the time.”

“I do not.”

Prompto snorted so hard he almost choked. “Yeah right. ‘Old Councilor Sun-Don’t-Shine wants to add more addendum's to the royal Whosey-Whatsit’. ‘General Stick-Up-The-bleep keeps hinting about another medal’. Yadda yadda and so on for infinity.”

“Did you just censor yourself?”

“Well, there is a child present.” Prompto’s pointed nudge was extremely unsubtle.

Noctis frowned at the sky. “So does it bother you? Me talking about it?”

Prompto abruptly lurched to his knees, scuttling around to face him with hands waving wildly. “No, no, not at all! You can tell me all about if you want, and a lot of your stories are pretty funny anyway. Its just,” he bit his lip, scratched his nape, looked confused as he groped for words. “Its just frustrating to know you’re frustrated. You know?”

Well. Noctis couldn't say he did now but he was weirdly happy. Ignis and Gladio always went on about patience and duty, respectively. His father would smile sympathetically and give him tips on how to handle it. No one had ever simply agreed that it sucked, with no tacked on caveats or advice.

“It is sometimes frustrating.” And now that he was thinking about, Noctis had never commiserated with Prompto about anything other than homework or a loss during gaming. The prospect of doing so was kind of exciting. “What about you?”

“What?” Prompto said blankly, head tilting and face scrunching in his Confused face. It was one of Noctis’s personal favorites.

“Whats frustrating you?”

Prompto remained confused. “Nothing? I don’t think?”

“Well thats not news—“

“Hey!”

“—but everyone gets ticked off by something. I get ticked off by useless double-talk. You get ticked off by…?”

Prompto appeared to give this a great deal of thought and then nodded decisively. “Pigeons.”

“What?”

At least Prompto was never predictable.

“Pigeons. I hate them.” He winced a little. “Or, you know, dislike with the intensity of how you feel towards vegetables.”

“So hate.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “Annnnyyyway. I don’t like em’. They've dive bombed my photos millions of times and, more important, one once pooped on my french fries.”

Noctis laughed helplesssly while Prompto stared into the distance with an offended scowl, apparently too wrapped up in the memory to care about his friend possibly wetting his pants.

“What? Really?”

“Really really. True story. And I’d only eaten one, too! I’m telling you pigeons are assholes and way smarter than people think. They’re, whats the word? Malicious.”

“Malicious,” Noctis repeated breathlessly. “Ah Prom. You're a dork.”

Prompto sniffed and straightened his shirt, bracelets catching on a button. “At least I’m a dork in the know. Don’t say I didn't warn you when the feathery bastards finally attack.”

“Since they're clearly targeting you I’ll just trip you and run on alone.”

“Dude!” Prompto squawked and threw a pitiful handful of grass. “Thats for zombies! And don’t think I wouldn't take you down with me!”

They bell rang and as they jogged back to class bickering, Noctis decided that prior experience or no, having an ordinary friendship was amazing.