burstmodes | for reeler.

for reeler.

[ He hasn't seen Noct in almost two days.

Of course it's going to be busy—preparing for a wedding that spans the world must be exhausting. And Prompto does what's asked of him because... because that had been the whole point of this trip. This was the reason they'd come to Altissia, and despite the hardships, despite what had happened to Insomnia and all the mishaps along the way, they'd arrived in one piece with their future king ready to marry the Oracle. It's a conflicting one he doesn't know how to handle, especially after having finally met Lady Lunafreya and felt her sweet touch on the top of his hand, on his cheek when she'd thanked him for seeing Noctis safely to Altissia. That same feeling of guilt explodes through his chest shortly after, and he knows he's a fraud. He'd betrayed her trust by loving Noct in a way he shouldn't have, and worse, still, is that he can't force it to go away. Noct is his whole world. But how is he supposed to explain that to his fiance?

After that, everything had blurred together, and it's like some slow-motion movie with hyperfocused edges. He hangs out with Ignis as he goes over the catering, and he runs errands for Gladio when he has something for him to do. He tries to stay busy, to keep his mind off a truth that continues to loom closer and closer until, suddenly, it's upon them.

He catches a glimpse of Noct when they exchange their vows, eyes meeting from where they stand, but he looks away before it can linger.

He's so distraught that he forgets to take any pictures.

And the reception is overwhelming loud. Music plays, chatter rising up as guests dine and dance and compliment the happy couple, and conveniently, he slips away to wander the grounds because he needs air or else he'll suffocate. His walk somehow ends with him sitting alone on a balcony overlooking the canals of Altissia with a half empty champagne bottle. Prompto has his camera in his lap, flipping through the pics there and swallowing the heartache that blooms in his chest. They're the usual fare: several of the guys, some mid-battle, a couple landscapes. Then, there's the not so usual fare: selfies of shared kisses, soft skin in the dark of some motel. He doesn't know when he starts deleting them, but he's crying by the end of it, tempted to chuck the entire camera into the water and wash his hands of it.

Yet, that does nothing for the memories, wiping at his face and deciding to return to the celebration when he gets a text from Ignis asking him where he's at.

A toast. Right.

Prompto feels sick sitting there and listening to everyone give their congratulations, little speeches that carve pieces of his heart from his chest, and when Gladio nudges him into standing, his stomach drops to his feet. The glass he holds in his hand is heavy, tongue thick in his mouth, but... but he can do this. He can fake it. So, he plasters on a lukewarm smile and says, To Noct and Lady Lunafreya – So happy for you both. Love you, ah, guys. And he drinks his glass so fast he almost throws up right there, giving one last glance in Noct's direction before muttering something to Gladio about running to the bathroom. He pukes enough to burn his throat, the acrid taste weirdly bitter but welcome, and he's rinsing his mouth out when he hears the door opening. He figures it's someone else, keeping his head low and disliking his reflection in the mirror—eyes rimmed red, his tie loose and the first button undone. Even his hair is floppier than usual, but it really doesn't matter, raking his fingers through it before turning to go.

Except... except Noct is standing right there, and he feels the flush of the champagne rising fast in his face. Shit. ]

Uh, hey – [ Yeah, that's convincing. ]

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[ It's funny how easy it is to lose sight of things--how easy it is to melt into a world of imagination, one where things go according to feeling and desire, not obligation and responsibility. Maybe in the back of his mind, in the places he hid from even his best friend, he'd thought that they'd never really make it to Altissia. Perhaps he'd imagined that they would get there and things would be ruined--that the wedding would be called off, that they'd find some other way for him to be king. A complicated feeling, because wouldn't that mean something would have to happen to the oracle? The heart of his youth ached at the thought. No matter how he felt now, she had always been meant for him, had always helped him, and been kind to him; she'd been one of the only bright lights in a life full of darkness.

But it's not fair. It's not fair to her, when he's standing next to her and she's beaming at him in her pristine white dress, a dress that would surely be on display for the next hundred years, marveled over by commoners and royalty alike. It's not fair to her that his heart sinks when he says the words that Ignis helped him write, painstakingly memorized and drawn out with emotion that is learned, rather than felt. It's not fair to himself, when the smile he fits across his features feels sewn on, like a mask that's stapled to his skin, tugging at it uncomfortably along the edges.

It's not fair to Prompto, who stares at him from across the room like Noctis took his heart of glass and shattered it across the marble dance floor.

Was there ever another choice? Maybe Noctis should have listened, when Gladio warned him not to fall for someone who would so readily and easily do whatever he asked. Maybe he should have heard Ignis' gentle scolding for what it was, every time he caught them together or wondered where they had wandered off to for so long. Maybe he should have been more responsible--maybe that first kiss should have never happened. Maybe he should have never given in to all those feelings: the warmth when Prompto laid in his arms in the early hours of the morning, the way his entire body longed for his touch when they kissed.

Maybe he shouldn't be here, pushing open the bathroom door to find out where Prompto's disappeared to after his toast. Lunafreya had looked at him in worry--she knows, said a panicked voice, but Noctis couldn't deal with that.

He doesn't know what he's doing when his fingers twist the lock into place behind him, sealing them both inside the room.

Prompto's eyes are red; Noctis' gaze jumps down his frame and then back up again. The tie around his own neck feels suffocating, and he reaches up to wrench it a little loose. ]

I can't do this. [ Comes blurting out of his mouth, like he's so sick he can't stop it. ]

I can't.

[ For the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to say to him. There had never been any awkward moments between them after they'd met, wondering how something so innocent had spiraled so out of control so quickly, and even the silence between them had always been soothing in its own way. Prompto never had to worry about whether or not Noct wanted anything to do with him, if their friendship was just some strained thing that would fade in time because he was nothing and Noct was the crowned prince of Lucis. Even if his own securities sometimes tried to swallow him up, it had never gotten this severe or this messed up; yet, the complexity of his own feelings are eating their way through him now, barely able to focus on Noct and the idea of why he was standing right there in front of him.

The lock twists shut, and an anchor takes hold in his stomach, causing that rolling sensation to double. If he throws up again, maybe Noct would leave him alone and they wouldn't have to talk about it.

... but it's not that easy. Maybe it would have been at one time, but it's not now, not when he craves to take Lunafreya's spot and stand their next to Noct with their hands linked as they profess their relationship to the entire world. It's never going to be like that because, at the end of the day, he's still nothing, and Noct's duty as king is much more important than how his heart wrenches in his chest like he's being stabbed by those short, unacceptable words that tumble out of Noct's mouth. I can't do this, he says, and yeah, Prompto can already tell from the burn in the corner of his eyes that he's going to cry again. Why couldn't they have just not done any of this? ]

I don't really think all that stuff you said is something you can take back now. [ His own voice sounds foreign to him, the words like ash in his mouth, and he fidgets, eyes focused on anything but Noct. If he looks him in the eye, it's all over, and he's helpless to do anything except shrug. ] It's okay, Noct, really.

[ But it's not. It's not. He's a liar, the worst kind of friend, and his teeth worry at his lip, digging in hard enough to hurt. That slight burst of pain is probably one of the only grounding moments he's had since they'd gotten to Altissia, and when he exhales on a shakey sigh, he can taste the salt of tears that he quickly tries to wipe away. ]

[ The easiest emotion to reach for, at first, is anger.

His lips press together and a sharp breath comes in through his nose, and if he hadn't been sure that it would call attention to perhaps the only quiet place the two of them could truly find here, he would put his fist into the wall. Gladio, at least, might be proud--now you're a man, he would say, clapping him on the back. But his hands curl up into fists and go nowhere; his arms tremble beneath the weight of his stupid fancy jacket.

Is this the way it will be, from now on? Prompto will look to the side when he speaks, he'll wear that smile that looks like watercolors, easy to smear and wipe away. His words will feel as weak as tissue paper, so thin that even a well-timed breath could snap a hole through them. Noctis hates it because he knows it's what he deserves, now--he knows that he's the reason for it, that everything is because of what he did and what he couldn't do.

He wants to yell, but he doesn't. He wants to scream, demand to be heard, dump all of his excuses and explanations and beg for understanding but--he doesn't.

Because tears roll down Prompto's cheeks and suddenly there is no anger, there's no frustration, there's no rage. His heart sinks and bursts like a balloon that's been blown too big, stretched too far to hold on any longer. His feet pivot forward and he knows it would be easier if he just accepted all the lies and turned right around to leave. But he can't.

I can't do this.

His hands reach for Prompto's arms, first, palms skimming down them like he's done so many times before; it's like they're in the back of the Regalia again, and Noctis is pulling at him to hold his hand, or they're tucked into a sleeping bag together and Noctis wants to bring them palm to palm to reassure that he's there. He takes both of Prompto's hands and he threads their fingers together, and he won't let him pull away, and he won't let him avoid it. ]

They weren't my words. [ He says, softly. Desperately. ] And even if they were... They weren't made for her.

[ And he feels guilty because she didn't do anything wrong. Because he likes her. Because he could have loved her, once.]

It's not okay. Not like this. Not like this.

[ What could they do?

It's an ache that's plagued him from the start, and he should have known better than to listen to the devil on his shoulder when they'd kissed the very first time. They could have brushed it off as an accident, something that happens between friends sometimes, but it had only escalated, moving from innocent touches to more desperate ones that devolved into sex and the sweet aftermath of it. He thinks about all of those pictures he'd deleted just an hour ago and hates the bitter feeling of guilt that rises up in the back of his throat, sucking in a watery breath that's tainted with tears. Stupid, so stupid. Of course he would cry over something like this rather than be happy for his best friend for getting married.

Maybe that makes him the worst kind of person, wishing he could leave his body rather than feel the pressure of Noct's fingers between his own like some sort of lifeline. His words, too, are something he doesn't want to hear, and not because he wants them so desperately to be true. He can't deal with the reality that nothing is ever going to be the same even though he'd been prepared for that when they'd left Insomnia. He can't be happy for something he envies, and it's a dark thought in the corner of his mind, staring down at their hands and wondering why Noct is torturing him like this. ]

Then what? [ His voice sounds even rougher, a weird pressure in his throat that keeps building in an attempt to suffocate him. ] I was serious – you can't take that back. Everybody knows. They watched the whole thing. I —

[ He's going to be sick again. He just knows it. There are no excuses now, nothing that will save this moment or help them stay together, and Prompto isn't sure he's ready to be Noct's dirty little secret. It doesn't occur to him that someone should talk to Lunafreya about this, that she might be understanding or maybe even knew; she's the Oracle, after all, but he's too distraught over the way his heart clenches when he looks at Noct's face to even think right. Because it's worst case scenario or nothing, and Prompto doesn't realize how tightly he's holding onto Noct's hands until he feels his ring cutting into his finger. ]

I shouldn't... you shouldn't be in here. Somebody's gonna come looking for you.

[ But everything in him is screaming for Noct to stay, to not leave him. He's already had enough heartache for a lifetime, and all he wants are those moments back on the trip there, cuddled together in the back of the car or in a sleeping bag or under the stiff covers of a cheap motel. He wants to be there, not here and utterly sick to his stomach. ]

[ Some part of him had stupidly, selfishly, hoped that Prompto would understand. He'd hoped that without saying anything about it, Prompto would just know: that he wouldn't spend the entire ceremony staring down at his place setting, his eyes glassy and red. He'd thought that somehow they'd work it out--that the wedding would mean as little to Prompto as it did to him, that his feelings wouldn't go away just because of the weight of the ring on his finger. And that had been childish, and self-centered, the kind of thoughts that he'd thought he had outgrown by now. He should have said something, but the plans had swallowed every inch of his life. He should have had a plan, but he had been afraid to say anything at all.

It's like saying it out loud gives it life. He'd never been good at expressing himself in words--Prompto had always just known, from the soft, desperate way they'd kissed to the tender way that Noctis would drag his fingers over Prompto's face in the dark just to know that he was there. He'd never asked for more than Noctis had wanted to give. That had been selfish, too.

Their hands squeeze together in a way that Noctis knows means that Prompto doesn't want to let go, either. His fingers nearly ache from the way they cling to each other, as if they're in the middle of a storm and the only thing grounding them is the other. His throat feels dry and he thinks that of all the times he's seen Prompto cry, this has to be the worst of them. The one that literally breaks his heart. ]

I don't care if they come looking for me or not. I'm not leaving. I won't go. [ And that's selfish too. He's too stubborn. Even if he knows he should be the good guy and walk away--that he should spare Prompto these feelings--he can't move anywhere but forward, crowding into Prompto's personal space like he's done a thousand times before. And their hands break apart but it's only because Noctis reaches for his hips and then his waist and he's dragging him in against him because he doesn't want to see Prompto walk away. He doesn't want to know how that feels. ]

Don't make me go. Please.

[ It's unfair, he thinks, that even now, he's willing to give Noct whatever he wants. He would never deny him anything, not when it's something he needs too, but for a brief second, he almost thinks about ducking under his arms and escaping all of this to save himself. Prompto's never been particularly good at any of that though, turning his gaze to the familiar lines of Noct's stupidly handsome face and aching for some sort of end to this. Maybe they could ignore it, forget any of this had ever happened, but... he knows that's a childish hope, one that he would never be able to see through. How he feels about Noct, how he will always feel, is something he can't just erase so easily, squeezing out a shuddering breath the moment he feels his hands at his sides to reel him in, and the last bit of resistance waging a war in his chest breaks apart, arms sliding around him so that his fingers fist into the material of his jacket instead.

Such a small comfort shouldn't hurt so much, shouldn't feel like a knife slowly digging into his heart, but it does. It chips away at everything he so desperately tries to hide about himself, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to stop himself from crying again. Breathing is impossible too, but he tries. He tries so hard, and yet — ]

I'm sorry. [ It's shoved out of him so hard that he has to grip even tighter to Noct for stability. ] I thought I was gonna be okay with this because – because I knew that's why we were coming here. But I just... [ How does he say it and not look like a fool? How does he say it and not feel like a fraud in the middle of something he would have never been part of if it hadn't been for Lunafreya? Slowly, the words find a way, trickling out of him in a whisper so quiet he isn't even sure Noct can hear him. ] I love you, okay? I wish it had been me.

[ He wishes he'd been standing their next to Noct, had said those words back to him and placed that ring on his finger. He wishes they could live happily ever after without the consequences of the world around them, without Noct's title and duties getting in the way of what they both might have wanted. That was probably the selfish thing, hoping Noct would throw away the crown for someone like him, but they'd never talked about it. They'd never said anything, no matter how much time they'd had together, and now that it's over, he's struggling to find his place in all of this, thinking that he should just go and return to his life of nothing with no friends and just himself for company.

His head finds its way to Noct's shoulder, his eyes burning and his mouth dry. ] I'm sorry...

[ Prompto's hands feel so small, the way they curl around him, fisting up the material of a jacket that's too expensive, too fancy for Noctis to ever wear again. He doesn't think he'll ever look at it: it'll sit somewhere, in the back of a closet in a room he won't want to go in, the shoulders of it soaked in his own nervous sweat and the salty shadow of Prompto's tears. His arms fit around Prompto like they always have, hooked around his middle, palms splayed across his back like if he just touches as much as he can, nothing can ever go wrong again. Prompto can't leave if he just holds him in close, if he just keeps him safe in his arms, if he just knows the right things to say.

And his stomach sinks because he knows that he's not good at this: that he's never been good at this, that his emotions have always come out in explosions he hasn't meant to have, or truths he hasn't meant to reveal. He's never been able to craft beautiful things with his tongue and he's never really let Prompto know how much he means to him, and that's the most cowardly thing he's ever done. Especially when Prompto's words come out of him like he doesn't want to say them either, when his head hits Noctis' shoulder and Noctis cradles him against him like he might crumble, might fall apart otherwise.]

I wish it had been you. [ He echoes back, and his teeth draw over his lip like the pinch of pain might give him more confidence. Prompto is like an unlocked room where he can walk and run and move things around; he himself is like a closed window, where everything can be seen from a distance but never touched.]

I don't want you to be sorry. I'm not. [ Maybe he should be, but--]

I'm not sorry for being in love with you. [ This close, he can smell where Prompto's shampoo lingers in his tousled hair, the way the tears mix with what's left of his cologne. He presses his face in close, his nose brushing near Prompto's ear, then his lips.]

[ And the words are so small, like he's revealing a secret he hadn't ever wanted to--] I hate that I've hurt you like this.

[ He hates those words out of Noct's mouth more than anything he's ever heard, maybe even more than I do. It doesn't sound right, no matter how hard his heart starts beating at the way Noct says he's in love with him. Too little, too late. Because what is that supposed to mean now? They can't do anything about it, and they can never be together, just some pining affection that will span across all the years they still have to live. He might have been able to live with it if Noct hadn't found him like this and said those things. He might have been able to forget what it felt like to cuddle him and kiss him and the look of pleasure on his face just after, but he's not strong enough to rewrite that part of his heart. And even the touch of his nose at his ear and the ghosting of his lips causes him to shake, his hands grasping for leverage in his jacket. ]

What do you want me to say? [ It's a first for him, being at a complete loss for words. He might not be a wordsmith, but there's always something he's willing to talk about to fill the silence, to keep things at an even-kilter like it's his job. This... this is worse, somehow. ] You're married, and I'm – it doesn't matter, I guess.

[ Because he'd known, from the very beginning, that Noct would have never chosen him. Even if they wanted to be together, there are too many factors against them and too much that stands in the way of all those possibilities, sucking in a sharp breath as he tries to push through the pain and deliver a better excuse. The metaphorical cat's out of the metaphorical bag though; he'd told Noct he loved him, and Noct had said it back. He'd given him a small inkling of hope in a world already crushed to dust, and he thinks, more than anything that's ever happened to him, that such a thing is far, far crueler than having just left him alone. ]

I can't... [ His voice is unsteady, so utterly close to Noct that he can practically taste his mouth and the hint of toasting champagne on his breath. ] I dunno. I don't know what to do. Tell me what I'm supposed to do.

[ Make this stop hurting so he can move on and try to forget the best thing that's ever happened to him. ]

[ He's an idiot for thinking that it might change something, as if the words would come out of his mouth and Prompto would be happy to hear them, that they might be a comfort to him somehow; in reality, Noctis thinks, they must feel cruel, as if he's purposefully hurting him, spouting things that must mean nothing in the face of what he's done. It makes him feel like he's wrong, for holding Prompto as tight as his arms can take--for finding solace in the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin, the sound of his voice. For the first time in a long time, he feels that notion sinking into the pit of his stomach, acid and unpleasant. Is this why everyone told him to stay away from him? Because they knew how much he'd hurt Prompto without even trying?

Maybe that's what it means, for Noctis to love someone. Maybe there's nothing but pain for whoever gets stuck with him; maybe there's nothing but trouble. At first he'd thought of his life as expendable, dull, another prince from a long line of princes who'd never been able to do much of anything. And then he'd met Prompto. And then they'd gone on the trip.

Now his breath catches when the words escape between them and he thinks for a split second that maybe Prompto wants to push him away--and he's never had that fear before, never even considered that such a thing could ever happen.

The distance he puts between their bodies is for Prompto's own good, he tells himself. His arms go loose and his eyes go to the ground and it feels like his heart is still tucked into the front of Prompto's jacket--like the more space he has between them, the more the muscles stretch and strain and threaten to be ripped out entirely.]

You should love someone else. [ It's easy to say it if he pretends it's not him saying it--it's not his tongue, not his mouth, just something that the crowned royal Noctis Lucis Caelum has borrowed to speak.] You should be happy, and get far away from me.

[ Ah... he'd messed up again. Even before Noct says those things to him, he can feel it in his chest, in the distance that's slowly separating them, and Prompto hates – he hates this. He hates that something so simple and supposedly predestined had ruined everything between them, that they would never be the same again, and more than losing love, it's about losing the most important friend he's ever had his entire life, about feeling his heart crumbling in his chest because how could he live without it? And Noct's words cut straight through him, like he'd taken a blade and run him through, and he staggers, feeling that sick sensation rising up in his stomach and chest and throat. He isn't strong enough to fight this, not when he's still a little drunk, and that dark part of himself says to just give up.

So, that's what he does.

He tips his head forward, some awkwardly placed bow that he'd never, in his entire life given Noct, and he takes a stumbling step forward, maneuvering around him and knocking into his shoulder as he tries to get out. He can't be here. He doesn't have any right, and he grabs for the door, pulling hard enough to cause the vibration of it to run up his arms when it doesn't budge. Right. Noct had locked them in, and he fumbles with it, yanking and gasping around a curse because his fingers are too numb to twist the lock open, which eventually just leaves him standing with his forehead resting against it and his entire body heaving for breath. Shit. He couldn't even do this right, and Prompto can taste the tears, turning to wipe his nose against his sleeve as searches for something to say. ]

I... [ He presses harder to the door, teeth grit and shoulders so tense he thinks he's going to snap. ] Is that what you really want?

[ Would either of them truly be happy just ending it all like that? ]

[ It's a wall that he'd never expected to be there, because he'd never thought of it as anything but a casualty of birth, something flimsy and small and completely incapable of making any lasting effects. He might have royal blood, but it doesn't make a difference. Prompto might be a commoner, but it doesn't make a difference. He'd never seen it like that because he'd been too blind to know, too stupid to realize it could come to this--the moment where Prompto would duck his head and shoulders down in some clumsy semblance of a bow that makes Noctis feel like they're worlds apart from each other, like there's a whole ocean that stretches into that tiny space between them. It's the weight of his crown coming down, crashing into wood and tile and making this rift, this chasm that Noctis knows he won't be able to jump.

So when Prompto moves past him and fumbles for the door, Noctis is almost too stunned to move. He shifts like he's unaware of his own feet moving, of the way Prompto knocks into his shoulder and he pedals out of the way a moment too late. The lock twists and makes a straining sort of sound, like metal going the wrong way, and Noctis doesn't even wince, doesn't think anything past he's finally gotten sick of me, he's finally seen me for the useless Prince that I am.

But Prompto doesn't leave--it doesn't seem like he can, with the lock still engaged, with his forehead against the door and his body straining like there's not enough breath for him to even make it outside. Noctis hates the way he stands there, hates the way that he can see the light making the track of Prompto's tears clear and apparent. ]

This has never been about me. [ The words taste like they come from somewhere foreign, somewhere he doesn't know. ] I want you to be happy. You can't be happy with me.

[ He struggles to find something to say, like it might make a difference and change all of this to something better, but in the end, for the longest time, he just stays silent. And that's always the problem with him, isn't it? He isn't strong or brave or even the smartest of them, tagging along and hoping to somehow find his place, and for a while, maybe he had. There had been so much between them on those long days on the road, the tenderness and the heartache soothed away by intertwined fingers. The love he still felt, even if Noct kicked him down over and over and told him he was worthless — it just wouldn't go away. It's not something he can forget, and Prompto can't tell if it's because he's still a little tipsy that causes him to grit his teeth and turn to look at him or if it's because he'd finally lost his mind. ]

I – [ His fist clenches, the ache in his fingers immediate as he takes a step forward and then thinks better of it. He'd never been mad at Noct in his life, but now... he felt furious. ] You're not allowed to tell me that. [ A shudder runs through him, and yet, he keeps his eyes focused on Noct like there's nothing else worth looking at. ] I've been told... It's been all my life, Noct, and there's no way in hell you have the right to say something like that to me. You can't make that decision for me. [ His breathing is heavy, and he feels like he's going to get sick again, cutting the distance between them until they're nearly standing the same way they had been—much too close. ] I was happy, you know. With you. Even before all this. And I guess it was stupid to think that things might've changed because of the way I felt, but I still... I can't give you up.

[ And his fingers curl into Noct's jacket, holding and squeezing and desperate for a glimpse of the real Noct under all that royal bravado he's hated since the beginning. ]

Please don't ask me to do that. [ Because he honestly believes it'd kill him. ]

[ Prompto's words spit at him like the little crackles of flame that spit off a campfire, bursting heat and discomfort into his face. He's never seen him so angry, never seen him use that kind of tone with him, never seen the way he's looking at him now, like Noctis has taken everything away from him and given him nothing in return. It surprises him enough that he's suddenly silent--enough that he nearly flinches when Prompto comes closer to him and his gaze feels so piercing that Noctis has to look away because he's afraid of what Prompto will find in his own. He steels himself, his shoulders squaring, forcing a stubborn confidence over himself that is as hollow as an empty eggshell.

Prompto's fingers curl into his jacket; his gaze is drawn there, and before he can stop himself he's lifting up a hand, his own fingertips wandering softly over the ridges and valleys of Prompto's knuckles. It's something he's done a thousand times: a way to pass the time in the Regalia, a small comfort when laying together under the stars. To be able to feel him and know that he's there, know that he's alive and he's safe and--all these things that Noctis is afraid he'll never know again, not in the way he wants to. He can feel his breath speeding up, anxious and afraid--his throat feels thick, tight enough that he can't make the words he's supposed to say come out.]

I've always been afraid. [ It comes croaking out of him, as his fingertips wander and crawl to the back of Prompto's hand, to his slender wrist.] I know that I can't fight destiny, I know that I can't just undo where I come from or what I'm supposed to be.

But I tried. I wanted to. I've daydreamed a thousand times about all the lives we could have and what we could do and how we could just run away... [ He can't look at Prompto; he's ashamed of himself. ]

...but I can't do that. To my family, to everyone in this world counting on me, I can't do that. I thought if it was only me, only I had to be unhappy...

[ His head shakes, briefly, and it crawls out of him in a voice that's so soft and so quiet he doesn't even know if he really said it at all--] I thought you wouldn't want me, if you knew I had to do this. I thought you'd leave.

[ He nearly melts at the touch, soft and familiar, but he can't allow himself to fall for it. Prompto reaches for the discomfort instead, forces it to fuel him so he can stand toe-to-toe with Noct and not think he's committing some of the worst treason known to Eos by defying his king. But when had that ever really mattered to him? It hadn't, and he doesn't want it to come between them the way Noct had nearly shoved it down his throat, swallowing around the lump there in an effort to focus. There's still so much he wants to say to him, but he can't seem to form the words despite the way he tries. So, all he can do is stand there and clutch at him, cling like it's the only lifeline he has in this never-ending ocean of doubt and insecurity. ]

I would never ask you to give up all that, Noct, because I – [ He's not worth it. He never will be, and nothing could change the way Prompto thinks so little of himself. Still... ] I've known all that since high school. Maybe before, I dunno. But...

[ His teeth catch on his bottom lip, and Prompto feels lost. He has no idea what Noct wants from him or why he's even saying those things. If it's destiny he's so worried about, there's no way they could fight it; it'd be like swimming against the current and hoping to reach the opposite side without getting swept away in it. If it's about expectation and responsibility — he shakes his head, desperate for something to ease the pressure building once more in his chest and stop the way his eyes continue to burn. He's already cried enough, but if this is how it's going to be, he doubts he'll ever stop mourning this loss, blinking away the tears to gaze at Noct as though it would give him every answer he's ever sought.

Maybe what's required of him is being the bigger person, the stronger one. It's not in him, but Noct has done so much for him already, even if he isn't aware of it. And it's time to repay that in kind. ]

I'm still with you. [ His voice is choked, inching closer until their noses brush and he can feel the fan of Noct's breath against his lips. For the last time, he savors it. ] I'd follow you anywhere and never think twice about it, and I know it's probably poor taste to ask you this on your wedding day but – [ That same queasy heartache flares in his gut, and with his free hand, he reaches up to gently cup the side of Noct's face. ] Just don't forget me, okay? I can live with anything but that.

[ Because everything's going to change after they leave this room, and none of it for the better. In time, he thinks, they'll both get over it. In time, Noct would be happy with Luna and Prompto... well, he'd have all his memories. It just had to be good enough. ]

[ He's too childish to look up at Prompto, too afraid to see what his words have written across his face. Perhaps it would be easier that way: if he could look up and see hatred, or anger, or anything negative that would help make the distance between them solid, palpable, impossible to cross. It's worse this way, when his heart aches for another touch, another feeling, anything, just anything warm from Prompto, as if he's the only thing to keep him from going cold all the way to his bones. His eyes stay focused on the way his own fingertips look so marred, like they cover Prompto's smooth skin in the worst way.

But his chin moves, and their noses touch. He doesn't resist it because it's what he's wanted all along, what he's wanted to remember since that first night so long ago when they were both young and stupid and didn't know that kissing all night would stir up all these feelings, make them impossible to break apart. It's like a panic that spreads through him, and he knows without asking that this is a way of saying goodbye--of trying to separate those feelings with a knife of words, a resolve that neither of them truly have and Noctis knows it. Prompto's breath is soft and sweet against his lips and it--he can't take it, can't let it go.]

Maybe I can't live with it. [ He says, and the hand that's touching Prompto's folds down, fingers grasping his wrist, thumb to the steady splutter of his pulse beneath the skin. ]

Maybe I have to tell her that I'm yours. [ His feet turn, moving them forward, back, he isn't sure where it is exactly until Prompto's back flattens against the locked door and Noctis flattens in against him, feeling the way that they fit together so perfectly even when they're in these stupid clothes that neither of them enjoy wearing. And he knows that he's probably going to get hit, or even worse, pushed away--but Prompto's lips have to be covered by his, his hips have to fit under his palms, their bodies have to melt together, and Noctis kisses him like he's not sure he knows how to stop. ]

[ It's like the spark of hope beneath his skin ignites and catches flame, pulse racing with those words, and Prompto should shove him away. He shouldn't let this happen for a countless number of reasons – mostly because Noct is married now and that Lunafreya is such a nice and wonderful lady – but the equally selfish part of himself isn't even thinking about that when his back collides with the door and there's a mouth on his so hot that it drags a strained sound of desperation out of him.

He needs this, he realizes, and even if he tastes a little like stale champagne and probably puke, his arms loop around Noct's neck to drag him in even closer. It's only been days, but it feels so much longer than that, lips parting to ease them into something deeper, something that takes his breath and leaves him wanting so much more. His fingers find purchase in dark hair, gripping at the strands to hold him in place, worried that Noct is going to suddenly come to his senses and not want anything to do with him. He can pretend it's the last time the same way he'd thought that motel just before the last leg of their trip to Altissia had been, wound around each other and leaving lazy kisses on every inch of skin, and Prompto's tears make the air between them sticky and hot, a weird combo when every other part of him is desperate to have Noct see him and no one else.

It comes to an end eventually, because he needs to breathe and because his heart can't take the ache that's settled deep within it. Because the words that croak out of him feel finite and fragile all at once. ] I want you. [ Not just here or in this moment but for always, until they grow tired of each other and there's no point to hold on anymore. Until he dies. ] I never stopped, and I don't think I can. [ It's such an impossible thing already anyway, their own destinies intertwined in a way that Prompto can't seem to differentiate between, but he can't point that out, not when Noct must still believe he has another path to take—the one designated for him since birth. And it hurts when he takes another kiss, sniffling into the contact but easing the pressure into a light touch of lips.

He should feel guilty. He should feel a lot of different things right now, but all he can muster the energy to feel is tired, unsure he'll be able to pull himself away now that they've come together like this. ]

[ Prompto kisses him back like they're in some ratty motel on some forgotten stretch of the highway, where their biggest worries are whether or not Gladio will hear it when the headboard rattles against the wall or whether they have enough time for just one more kiss, one more quick fling before showering. His arms go tight around his neck like he's not willing to let Noctis go, like they have all the time in the world to make decisions and live a life that neither of them want to see slip out of their fingers. And maybe the kiss tastes a little like champagne, the bitter gulp of it that Noctis had taken to try to steady his nerves, and maybe their skin sticks together when Prompto's tears smear down his cheeks and inch into the kiss, peeking at the corner of his mouth. But it doesn't matter because they're together--because they're so wrapped up around each other that nothing else could even matter, nothing else even begins to.

His breath feels shallow, when their lips break apart and he nearly leans in again, like he can't quite fight the delusion that they're truly alone--and Prompto's words don't help that, since they climb in and make a home in his heart and then the pit of his stomach. But the next kiss is different, small and quiet and with a sound that makes him feel like he's shattering, from head to toe. He doesn't know how he'll ever be able to make up for this hurt. He doesn't know if he should even try.

The grand gesture of ripping the door open, declaring to the whole party of wedding guests and the cameras and then the world that he's not able to take the Oracle as his wife--the thought is both delicious and devastating. He can't do that. He can't do that to the world, he can't do that to Lunafreya, or anyone else who's supported him this far. But-- ]

I'll talk to her. [ It's an option that holds a sliver of hope. Because she's a good person, and they've known each other for so long. ] Okay? I'll talk to her and I'll figure it out.

[ One of his hands lifts so that he can cradle Prompto's face in his palm, can use his thumb to rub away the tear tracks, dab at the moisture and circle it away. It's hushed and embarrassed but it's there, when their foreheads press together and his breath sighs out--] I love you.

[ He doesn't know what to say. So, in the end, he doesn't say anything at all. It's too much to hope for, too much to lean on and wish will come true because it's such a fragile thing to hold onto. The only response he can offer is an awkward nod of his head at that – I'll talk to her like it'll solve all of their problems, like it'll give them a solution they both want – and cling to him, his fingers aching and his knees beginning to crack under the weight of his own body. It's probably because he's a little drunk and Noct's confession explodes through him, those words heated and real and nothing he deserves but everything he could have ever wanted. Prompto swallows, the dry feeling in his throat making it difficult to speak, and the words are almost raspy, turning into the touch of Noct's hand and craving every second of it. ]

I know. [ Was that even loud enough to be heard? ] I know, Noct. I love you too.

[ And he means it. He means it so much that he's shaking with it, still so unsure how their tentative friendship had escalated into something like this, how he could be standing here with him on the eve of his wedding to someone else while they're locked away in a bathroom kissing each other. But he can't question it, not when he knows it'll just make him crazy, and he leans into Noct like he's everything, pressing his fingers into his hair and tilting his head so he can kiss him again. So he knows this is real, that he hadn't gotten drunk enough to pass out somewhere and dream about it. There's another apology on the tip of his tongue, but everything feels like it's winding down, the ache a bit more manageable when they kiss this time.

He sighs and sniffs and feels incredibly gross for a number of reasons, but none of that has to do with how warm Noct is against him. ]

We should – [ Words are so hard now. ] Maybe we should get back. They're gonna wonder where you went off too. [ Because Noct is important here, not him. The only ones who might have noticed his absence would be Ignis and Gladio, and even then, they hadn't tracked him down after all this time to find him, so... ]

[ His nose twitches, but it's only a faint, playful sort of movement, and the fact that he can even make the face at all is surprising to him--maybe it's just out of habit, seeing the way that Prompto sighs and sniffs and he lifts both of his own hands up so that he can try to help him, to piece a bit of his unruly blonde hair out of the way, to dab at his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn't care what happens to it--he doesn't care if Prompto wanted to blow his nose on it, it means so little to him, and he knows that no matter how much he wants them to stay there, far removed and out of reach of everyone else, they can't keep themselves locked in the bathroom forever.

Prompto is right--people will wonder where he's been, where he's gone, and he doesn't want to cause any trouble, not when every bit of his existence feels like trouble now. Reluctantly, his hands drop, and he finds himself straightening out the rest of Prompto's outfit instead: he steadies his tie, fixes the seam of his shirt. His glance goes over him once, cursory, before he spares what could possibly be the smallest smile he's ever given--and that says a lot. With the fumbling earlier, maybe he doesn't trust that Prompto can do it, so--he reaches, above his shoulder, turning the lock on the door and the one within himself, the one necessary to endure slipping on his royal mask again.]

You should go out first. [ Softly, and as much as he wants to reach and pull Prompto against him and kiss him again--he can't, he won't, and he takes a few steps back, enough to clear some space for him. He needs to wash his hands, splash his face, get a grip. ]

And take it easy, on the champagne.

[ It doesn't feel so suffocating when Noct pulls away from him this time, that spark of hope burning harder and brighter as those small touches fall on him, and in the end, when Prompto sees that smile, he knows. This won't be all there is, not if he just believes in it hard enough and has faith Noct does what he says while he does whatever he needs to do too. There's still going to be so much they'll have to fight for, feeling it in his bones and not really sure he's ready for it. But it's not like he's ever been ready for anything, taking this whole trip into account with the added bonus of being in love with his best friend, and he sighs, letting his fingers graze Noct's wrist one last time before they part for good. Before it's another few days until they see each other again.

Prompto gives him a shy shrug, his expression sheepish. ]

Never really thought it tasted that good anyway. [ He'd just been so heartbroken that it hadn't had much flavor, and on top of that, he regrets having deleted some of those photos. He'll never be able to get them back, but at least there's still the chance for this. And he takes a scrambling step forward, needing one last reminder as his mouth grazes Noct's cheek so he's close enough to whisper, ] Text me when you can.

[ Because it's probably all they're going to have for a while, not entirely certain Iggy isn't going to have him running all over the place or maybe Gladio will step up his training until he's too tired to think about anything else. Whatever it is, Prompto, for once, welcomes it. It'll keep his dumb brain from thinking about things he shouldn't, and he bites at the inside of his cheek, offering Noct the smallest smile before he slowly turns and ducks out of the bathroom. His gait is still a bit unsteady, not used to struggling with all that emotion and the overlying knowledge that he's kind of drunk, and he reaches up to loosen his tie so it's crooked again ( sorry, Noct ) before making his way back to his seat.

He ignores the look he gets from the other two, soft questioning he doesn't feel like answering, and when he's certain it doesn't matter what he does, Prompto rests his cheek on the fine cloth of the table and squeezes his eyes shut. What a night. ]

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