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burstmodes) wrote2019-09-02 10:10 pm
burstmodes) wrote2019-09-02 10:10 pm
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. ]
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]