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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[ Prompto knows what he's doing even as he tries to deny it, breath catching in a soft hitch when his eyes close to savor the way Noct kisses him. Sweet and gentle, like he used to before a long day of traveling or sometimes when they were both too tired to do more than hold each other and sleep. It's a thousand conflicting feelings, eating him up from the inside, and even if Noct thinks he's going to carry all of this, it still doesn't erase Prompto's own feelings about it. He's just going to have to shove them down deep, some place where no one is ever going to be able to find it, and he sniffs once, pushing back the way his entire body wants to break away so he can go somewhere and cry about how much he loves Noct. Stupid Noct who'd done this to him, and he'd let it because he'd wanted it so badly. So, really, it's just himself he has to blame, stretching into that space to rest against him. ]

Yeah... [ The admission causes the tension in his chest to sag, and he's curling his arms around him even tighter, squeezing himself close. ] Right here?

[ There's a sharp thrill at the idea, but he's also hesitant because... well, this is supposed to be an untouchable place, one where important meetings are held and history is made, and who is he to think that he has any right to any of that? He's no one, and knowing Noct by extension still doesn't make him anything, even if he's always been desperate for the kind of attention that Noct is giving him now. Yet, he eases himself into the other's embrace a bit more naturally, turning his head to press a kiss to Noct's cheek and simply breathe him in. How long has it been? He really can't remember.

He swallows around the pressure in his throat, sucking in a breath as if it will give him the courage to speak. ] You're all I want, so...

[ And there it is, his heart out and beating to death. This is the kind of love that comes with a price, but he'd been too stupid to see that in the beginning. It's going to ruin them both, if it hasn't already, but Prompto can't bring himself to overthink it, sliding a hand down to gently pull at Noct's clothes in an attempt to figure them out. They're not simple like his t-shirts and shorts, not something he can tackle without actively looking at, and for the first time since he's stepped into this room, he realizes there are way too many buttons separating them. Still, somehow he manages to get his hands on warm skin, sucking in a shuddering breath he feels all the way to the pit of his stomach, and he kisses him hard, desperately, fumblingly. Like the actions themselves will say everything he's thinking, that Noct will just know and it won't make a difference, in the end. ]

[ He wants to reach between them, to guide Prompto's fingers to all the shiny buttons that do up his jacket, to have his hand find the studded clip at his shoulder holding the cape in place, to let it all fall to the floor like his responsibilities do, trampled on and stepped away from like they're nothing. He's never learned anything but a kind of discontented reverence for all things proper: for putting the land and the people above his own happiness, for following the path that's been laid out in front of him. With Prompto, it's different--because with Prompto, it feels like there's another road, a way through the tall grass and foreboding trees, a path that's not clearly paved or even stomped out in front of him but one that's solely his and no one else's. He's never really been taught to value love--he's never really had the thought of valuing himself. Those sorts of feelings have come bitterly, a blasé selfishness that feels valid when it's about the man in front of him who fumbles his way beneath all of the decoration and finds the warm, pale skin underneath with his eager fingers.

Because that's Prompto's way of things--he's always been able to see beneath Noctis' masks, to find the real person standing behind the royal persona. He's always been the one person who's known everything about him, from his irrational fears to his nerdy hobbies to the way he sounds when he comes.

And truthfully, Noctis doesn't really give a damn about anything but Prompto, in this moment. Prompto, who deserves so much more than he can give him--who kisses him with such desperation that Noctis can practically feel his teeth in it, the way their mouths mash and Noctis' hands go for the front of Prompto's black clothes, parting anything he can with nimble, determined fingers and finding the hem of his shirt to sink underneath it.

He takes a step back, and then another--the stairs to the throne are there, pinching at the back of his boots; he takes one up, nimbly, and then the next, and his hands pull at Prompto encouragingly, keeping them locked in a kiss that may turn deadly if Noctis so much as misses one of those steps going backwards, but knows he won't, that he can't--and that he's not going to let Prompto even catch his breath, his lips parting at the side to suck in air and then lock in again, kissing him like he's the only thing that's ever been worth his attention.]

[ If he closes his eyes, where they are doesn't matter. None of it matters, even when his heart slams sharply against his ribs and demands attention, even when he stumbles a little trying to keep up with Noct as they move up those steps to a throne that's nowhere near as regal as the one in Insomnia had been. Nothing can get in the way of this, of them, and it's a thin hope to cling to as they move, fingers clutching and pulling and digging into clothes and skin in some effort to force the thought to sink into his brain that this is real. That it's not a dream, that if he opens his eyes Noct is still going to be right in front of him and gorgeous as always, and his breath falters when he nearly misses a step, careening into Noct and grabbing onto his shoulders when they find the landing.

It's the laugh startled out of him that feels strange, a soft echo across the room, and yet, he doesn't ease his hold on whatever his hands have clutched, nose nuzzling against the smooth curve of Noct's cheek as he searches for something to say. Because he can't just leave it quiet, let that silence soak through them the way it has for over a week. He wants to tell Noct everything, about missing him and hating how much pressure's been thrown on him – more than he'd ever wanted since all he'd wanted from this was to stand at Noct's side, not be some royal errand boy – and how much he wishes he could take that from him too. Doing this every day can't be easy, and he'd been so afraid that he would have looked at Noct and seen nothing of his friend looking back at him. ]

Isn't it gonna be weird if we do it right here? [ Even if all he can think about is pushing Noct down onto the throne and crawling between his thighs. ] Not sure I'll be able to ever stand in here with a straight face ever again. [ Natural words, fingers finally beginning to undo some of the buttons and hating how difficult it is to get them to cooperate. Maybe it's the exhaustion talking, though he ignores it in favor of soaking up all that warmth from Noct's close proximity. ] Knowing I – [ ... well, he was going to try for dirty talk, but it doesn't feel quite the same when he wants to tell him so many other things. He does want to talk about this, about them and what they are—if they're anything now. His feelings haven't changed, but their lives have. They can't take that back, can't fix it even though Noct had promised him he'd do something. He sucks in a breath and doesn't say anything until he's got his coat unbuttoned, chewing at his tongue to keep himself from crying over something so stupid as this. He should be happy Noct is even giving him the time of day; maybe that's what all of this has boiled down to, for them. ] I just want...

[ Prompto can't explain, can't get the words out past the pain building in his chest. So, all he does is lean forward and curl his arms around him, press his face against that spot between neck and shoulder where he's so warm, so familiar. He clings to him without any real sense of knowing what he's doing, not that he ever has most of the time, and when he breathes, it's a soft shudder, lips resting against his pulse and counting the drum of Noct's heartbeat like it's his only lifeline in this world. ]

[ He goes along with it until they can't, wants to encourage it until he doesn't, until Prompto draws back from the kiss and he has the chance to see the feelings that stick to his face and then fall, like a series of cards shuffled in rapid succession. For one brief, heart-stricken moment, it looks like he's going to cry, and Noctis feels the burden of that fall onto him the same way his name feels like a leaden weight. It's heavy and it's his fault, it's impossible to think otherwise. He's reached in and taken a heart that shouldn't have ever been his--and still he clutches at it, like he's the one responsible for its beating, like there's nothing else that could be more important than cradling it close.

A breath escapes him, and it's like it wants to be a laugh but doesn't know how--rueful and quiet, he snakes his arms around Prompto until his hands meet at his back; still pressed beneath his shirt, they can feel the distinct dips and stretches of muscle when he curves and clings into him. Even like this, Noctis feels like he's a world away--that the minute height difference between the stair where he stands and the stair where Prompto stands means everything, and it bothers him enough that he finds himself going down again, crowding him in until they can stand eye to eye.

Even then, Prompto's lips press against his neck, his face hidden into his shoulder, and Noctis just holds him because there's nothing else he can think of that could be more comforting. He doesn't know how to say that he's sorry, he doesn't know how to make Prompto undo all those thoughts, doesn't know how to protect him except like this. Except with his arms tight around him, cradling him in like he'll fight anything the world throws at them so long as Prompto stays safe. ]

Tell me what you want. [ He coaxes, softly but surely, as his nose brushes the shell of Prompto's ear and he gets the scent of his shampoo, and it sends a shiver of calm down through him. ] I'll give you anything.

[ It's selfish to want anything after everything he's been given, the opportunities he's had and the life that's become his despite his background and where he comes from. It's selfish to demand Noct give him more when he knows he's stretched too thin over all these proceedings and trying to coordinate stuff that's far beyond anything Prompto would ever think about on a good day. It's selfish to continue to hold onto him, to sink into the way he embraces him and his breath rush over his ear like all those countless nights they've had until then, and it's so utterly selfish of him to even think about telling Noct exactly what he wants because he couldn't have it. He can't have him, no matter what either of them do, and it's like torture, every moment they have together branding him some secret that no one else should ever know about. ]

I can't, [ he whispers, afraid to look at him and know that he's ruined this moment too. The first moment they've had together in so long, and he's tearing it to pieces because he feels so insecure about everything. ] Not because I don't want to. I— you're not mine, and I want that. I want you, Noct. I keep trying to tell myself that this is how it has to be, you know? That you have to do this stuff, and that I'm just supposed to... I support you always. But is this how it's gonna be all the time now? I don't even feel like – [ Where is this coming from? Why is he saying this? Everything inside of him is screaming for him to shut up, but it just comes tumbling out of his mouth with no filter, his heart squeezing harder and harder until it almost pains him to stand there. ] I miss you so much that sometimes I think I shouldn't. Maybe it'd be easier. Maybe I could just stop this, and you wouldn't have to feel bad about it. Maybe if we hadn't done any of this, it wouldn't hurt all the time. But...

I can't. I can't, even if it kills me.

[ Even if there's no solution and things don't change, he won't break it off or tell Noct he can't be his friend anymore. Because he's sure that would cause some irreparable rift between them, worse than the night Noct had gotten married, worse than anything that's ever happened to them, and Prompto sniffs quietly, throat tight but still free from tears despite the soft burn in his eyes. It means he's handing Noct everything to do with as he pleases, and if all they're going to have are scarce minutes to be together, he'd just learn to take it and be happy about it. ]

[ They're not supposed to, and certainly not meant to, and Noctis knows that, deep down, knows that Prompto's just telling him what he'd asked for, just putting into words the things that he's known without even having to ask, but--they're sharp words, ones laced with honed edges and swift blades, the kind that lance holes in his heart, and the blood drains out of it just like the blood seems to drain out of his face, feeling hollow and cold. It's the kind of thing that determination can't fix, the kind of thing that being stubborn won't change, that no matter what he does or how he changes things or who he talks to or what he accomplishes: he'll never be able to give Prompto what he truly, honestly wants, unless he gives up the throne.

And as much as he wishes he could, and as much as he thinks he could throw it all away if it meant only he would be unhappy--he knows that it's not possible, that it's not something that he can even entertain as an option. He would wound too many people, rip lives apart, tear kingdoms into pieces. And he knows that Prompto knows this too.

But against everything, he wants to so badly he can practically taste it.]

Do you want to hear what she said?

[ He says the words slowly, carefully--Prompto sniffles and Noctis bends, slightly, enough that he can catch Prompto's face in his hands, bring it up to eye level, watch his expression. If he cries--if he cries, it'll break his heart, but he wants to know, wants to see the emotions flick across his face rather than guess from where they smother into his sleeve. His thumbs pass over the soft skin of Prompto's cheeks and he can't imagine that world--the one where they could just stop or hadn't done any of this, the one that would have made it easier for Prompto to be here, and for Noctis to be married, and for that connection to pull them apart.

He can't think of a reality where he wouldn't want to touch this skin, run his hands over it, cover it with his lips and watch it turn pink with excitement, where he wouldn't fall for the sweet curve of his smile or the beauty of his passion. It must be some sick twist of fate that has him here, in love with his best friend, hurting him beyond reason.]

I spoke to her.

[ The question is jagged when he hears it, startling him out of the haze that seems to have settled over him, and of course Noct would lead with that now. Not when he'd come here to see him, not over a text where it could have been easier to hide from the truth of it and the way it seems to start crushing his heart into his feet. If he'd been smart, he would have just held his tongue and leaned into Noct's embrace, would have given himself over to the desire that's been aching and aching like a never-healed wound, but Prompto is not smart. He's not anything, not in the way others could be for Noct and certainly not in the way Lunafreya must be, and he tries not to struggle with that fact even as he swallows the lump in his throat and finds himself drawn to look at his best friend's face.

He can't read anything there—yet. If Prompto knew what he was searching for, he'd have given it to him long ago. But he'd never had the sort of confidence that allowed for that, especially when he knew that Noct was meant for much greater and better things than some fling, and the anxiety that crawls up into his chest nearly chokes him when there's nothing to see but the solemn draw of Noct's eyes and his mouth. Things he'd gotten lost in countless times before, tangled together in the dark no matter where they were sleeping that night, and it's that sense of closeness that he misses, that he mourns when there's nothing else to think about except the deep throb where Noct had once rested at his side. It's the love he feels for him that keeps Prompto still, that keeps him from stumbling his way back down the steps and making some excuse to get away. It's that very sense of devotion that doesn't have him turning his gaze to the side to hide how much it scares him to know the truth.

Perhaps she had known, and maybe, just maybe, that would make it easier to swallow. Or maybe she would give them a chance to be together despite the vows they'd given each other. Maybe she sees something neither of them don't, and their relationship isn't ever going to go beyond this: rushed and fumbling meetings weeks apart until there's no reason to try anymore.

It chokes him up to the point he can't bring himself to speak, and so, rather than say anything at all, he nods. The movement is sharp and almost jerky, torn between telling him no and leaving it at that or accepting this fate as it comes. At least Prompto would know that Noct could be happy with someone who deserves him more than he ever did, and it's a dark thought that creeps up over it all, how he'd taken Noct from someone so wonderful and lovely as the Oracle like he was his to keep. He's blaming himself before Noct even says anything, and regardless of how open his expression must be, he has to close his eyes to guard the tears brimming at the edge. They slip from the corners anyhow, unbidden, and he's already thinking the worst because that's always how these things go. It's just what he's come to expect, which means he'll have to make up for it somehow. He'll have to make this right, but he doesn't know how when he feels himself falling apart all over again. ]

[ But will it even matter? Prompto's head gives the smallest, tiniest jerk of a nod, and Noctis knows that he must be battling with it--with a truth that's unknown and unfamiliar to him, something that could soothe his heart or rip it apart. But even so, will it matter? Will he still want Noctis when he knows that there's nothing he can do to end the marriage? Will he still want him after all of this pain, after having to watch him stand at an altar with someone else and say words that came like cotton from his tongue, dry and without feeling, after having to watch him kiss someone else? Will he still even love him?

It's one of his tiniest, darkest little fears, the one that's always waiting at the very back of his mind for moments like this, when it's easy to infiltrate and break through, to pinch just the very edge of thoughts and send them spiraling. What if Prompto simply falls out of love with him?

The tears that come, silent, from the corners of Prompto's eyes--Noctis catches them without even having to move; they drip onto the pads of his thumbs, where they circle Prompto's cheeks in soft, arching curves. ]

She already knew. She knew, and she... [ Noctis finds that his eyes go over Prompto's shoulder, across the wide expanse of the throne room, up to stare at one of the carved moldings at the ceiling corner as he scoffs slightly over the words. ] ...scolded me, for not saying something sooner.

[ Is it lying, if he doesn't say the rest? Is it lying if he doesn't tell Prompto how she'd said she'd been in love with him, would continue to love him still? Yet even she had admitted they'd never really been meant to fit this way--she hadn't thought it would actually happen. He goes quiet, his jaw locked, uncertain.]

... She gave me her blessing. I don't know what that means to you, but it... She gave me her blessing. I can't...

[ A stiff jerk of his head, and his gaze falls instead to that small, insignificant space between their bodies. ]

We have an image to keep. I still have to be...a King.

But if you... [ ...still want me...]

[ So he's never going to be able to look Lunafreya in the eye again without thinking about everything he's just said.

It's probably not the one thing that should jump out at him over everything else, but it does, drawing back out of Noct's grasp so he can rub at his face and look at him again. But even as he does, he has no idea what any of that really means. They could be together but only when it wouldn't interfere with his duties or potentially cause a scandal? He'd still have to endure weeks of not being able to see him, even to talk or hang out, and that's probably the hardest part about accepting all of this, knowing he'll come second or third or fourth to everything else. Yet, he knew. He knew this would be the outcome, even if he hadn't wanted to admit to himself, and he wants to be grateful for it, for Lunafreya being so open about it and not saying they couldn't see each other anymore. For having a chance.

But there has to be more, right? This can't just be all there is and all they're destined to be. Prompto, who's put more faith in Noct than anything in his entire life, wants to believe there might be something else for them aside from this, but it's hard when he doesn't even know what he should think anymore. ]

What's it mean to you, Noct? [ When he finally speaks, his voice is surprisingly calm despite the way his heart is still thudding so heavily in his chest. ] Is that what you want?

[ Because things are never going to be the same as they had been on the road. They're not going to have those late nights together where it was always a toss up between talking until they fell asleep or being intimate, even if it just meant twining their fingers together, and they were clearly never going to have the same kind of casual friendship they'd had before this, texting each other at all hours of the day or having sleepovers or doing anything normal. Because Noct is king, and that will always come before everything. He knows that and doesn't begrudge it at all, but it still feels like he's getting answers from a mask and not the person he loves. ]

You just say it, and I'm with you. I'm always with you. [ His mouth is running away with him again, and he sniffs in an attempt to calm the ache in his chest. ] But you have to want it just as much as me. 'Cause what's the point if you don't?

[ Out of all the possible outcomes, out of all the ways that Prompto might react to everything that Noctis did--and didn't--say, this is not the one he's expecting. It's not even one he's thought of, one where Prompto would shrug off his touch and speak to him in a voice that feels so calm and level, like he's talking about what they might have for lunch or the sort of pictures he's taken that day. It catches him off guard and off balance, enough that his lips part with a breath of surprise and he finds, despite all the ways he's planned on saying these words in his head--it all goes blank, wiped away like a window with condensation.

And he finds, ridiculously, that he's angry. Angry that Prompto could even think that this is something he doesn't want as badly, like he hasn't been just as wounded, like he hasn't spent nights lying awake, decidedly alone in a bed that feels much too big for him, turning over the heavy silver ring on his finger and wondering why something that's supposed to be made so light feels as heavy as the damn Lucii ring on his other hand. Like Prompto thinks it's just been Noctis squeezing the life out of his heart while holding his own far out of reach.

It's that, which tempers the anger. It's that, which makes that flash of frustration simmer down in his gaze, makes his jaw unlock from where it had set, ready to rear up and yell. His shoulders tense and then loosen, and he grabs for one of Prompto's hands, closing his fingers around the wrist and pulling it up until it's between them. ]

You think I don't want it as much as you? Do you really think I wouldn't want you? That I would just fall out of love with you because I became the stupid King?

[ He shakes Prompto's hand a little--but his hold isn't so rough that he wouldn't just let him go, if there were resistance, just that he needs something to cling to, to rattle as much as his chest does.]

I would have put a ring on your hand if I could have, you know. I wanted to. I would have. I wanted to.

[ He realizes it's the worst thing to say, the stupidest, heart-baring thing he could ever say--his lips press together in frustration at himself, and he drops Prompto's hand. He feels embarrassed, like he's saying things no one would ever want to hear; his eyes drop down, and his hand ends up on his hip, and he looks so much like he did all those other times they'd squabbled over something ridiculous, like all he wants to do is kick a rock with his boots and go find solace by some lake big enough to fish in. But he continues, because for whatever reason, he can't stop, can't seem to make his lips snap together and keep it all inside.]

And I still want you. I want you to come stay here. I want you to be here, in my bed, with me, whatever, I just want you here. Because I can't stand to only see you once a month when your duties bring you back here. Because I don't want you far away from me. And I don't want to have to miss you all the time. I just want you to stay, and be mine, and I know that's not fair.

[ This is what he hates: how explosive their feelings are after having kept them bottled up for so long. He'd thought it might have been the end of them on Noct's wedding night, locked away inside that bathroom and fighting for something that didn't feel like there was ever any real hope of having, but everything now – the touch, the look on Noct's face, the words – pierces through him like a shot, cutting and sliding and wedging itself so deep that he couldn't possibly find a way to retrieve it. Maybe it's what causes him to choke, pulling his hand back once Noct lets it go and holding it to his chest like the very thought of it burns him, and in some ways, it does. It's branding him as something worse than all of his worst fears, something terrible because he'd done this irreparable thing to his best friend, and they're both breaking apart at the seams because of it. How could they love each other and deal with the knowledge of such a secret at the same time? How would that not ruin them, in the end?

And for the longest time, he doesn't say anything, the tears he'd struggled with before nonstop now, and it would have been a lot easier to stumble back down those steps and run for the door. He could make it there, he thinks, before Noct caught up with him. Maybe. He's fast but not so fast he could outrun him if he decided to warp, and Prompto isn't sure if that's what keeps his feet planted so steadily on the step or if it's because his heart is dragging him down and causing his legs to feel numb. ]

It's – [ That word, too, he chokes on, and he isn't sure what to believe anymore. His heart tells him to stay, but logic is telling him to give it up. They're never going to be happy, not like this; but when has Prompto ever listened to that sort of reasoning? ] It's not fair. None of this is fair. I knew it wasn't when the only thing I'd ever wanted was to be your friend, and you just — It's stupid how much I loved you, even back then. I thought I could be happy with that, you know? We were okay, and you were... you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Noct. And all of this – it's like a dream I'm still waiting to wake up from.

[ Because why wouldn't he? Why would he ever think that he deserved all of this without having done anything for it? There's a small part of him that feels like it's going to cave, and he's going to have a panic attack right there on the steps of the throne, like he couldn't possibly comprehend that Noct would still want him after being so afraid to just face what he felt and take control of it. He could have reached out to him so many times before this, could have done something. He has enough sway to do that, to ask for an audience with the king or to turn down assignments that would take him far away from the city, and yet, he'd been too afraid to do any of that, too scared to think that Noct hadn't wanted anything despite having told him how he felt.

Prompto curls his fingers into fists, squeezing until it hurts, and then, trying to swallow all of that, he forces himself to take that step, to grab onto him and hold on because there's no way he'd let him go after all that. ]

You never had to give me anything. You don't have to give me a ring or–or whatever else you think I might want because you're King. I don't want any of that. I just want... I want you. [ Noct, his best friend, the one person he loves above all others. ] Without all those dumb titles, without the formalities. But I'm scared too, okay? I've never wanted anything so bad, but I know I'm just gonna mess it up. I know it's not gonna be easy, and I don't... I couldn't stand it if you thought you made a mistake being with me. Even if we can't tell anyone and it's a secret — [ He feels like he's going to get sick, but he can't stop, reaching out to curl his fingers in that too-heavy coat as he tries to press his face into his shoulder in the least awkward way possible. ]

I wanna be yours more than anything.

[ It feels so simple, in a way. He's gone too far now. He's said too much. He's finally tipped Prompto over the edge--he's finally pushed him so hard that he won't come back again, and as Noctis stands there, willing his gaze up to see the way the tears stream down Prompto's cheeks, pooling and dripping down the sharp edge of his jaw, he wonders if this is how it will be now, where he won't be allowed to reach for him and take him up in his arms and hold him, squeeze him until it's hard to breathe. He wonders if he'll always have to stand at a distance, keep them far apart, watch without being able to do anything at all. He wonders if there will be a day that Prompto doesn't think about him and wince, if maybe there will be a day he doesn't even think about him at all.

The only thing I ever wanted was to be your friend--that hits him hard, rough enough that his eyes squint shut for a moment and he doesn't know what it is about himself, whether it's the embarrassment or the frustration or the sheer pain of it all, but his eyes burn, and he tries to take a breath but it tastes rough, like broken glass. Jagged, the air runs down his throat, but it doesn't feel like it makes it into his lungs at all--they just rise and fall with stale, deflated air.

Is it his fault? He's done this somehow, without even knowing--he's tricked Prompto into this, made this tangle of emotion between them that neither can escape from. And does it make him awful, does it make him a terrible person that he's glad for it? He's glad they can't break apart, that there's no possibility to find a way out of it anymore. They're stuck. They're stuck like this, where one pulls and the other comes--where even the smallest amount of space between them is agony.

And when Prompto reaches for him, fists up his stupid jacket and presses his face into his shoulder, his arms want to lift but don't, at first, hesitating, before he realizes it's stupid, he's stupid--and he locks them around Prompto's waist, tight and unforgiving, impossible to escape from.]

Then you're mine. [ He says softly, and his head bows in near Prompto's and there's that soft scent of shampoo again--his hair must be newly washed, it keeps coming in tantalizingly frequent waves.] You're mine. And I'm yours. And nothing is going to mess that up. Not me, or you, or anything. I won't let it.

[ For a moment, he isn't sure Noct is even going to do anything, and that would have been his own fault. Wouldn't it? He'd created this strange tension between them, the awkwardness that feels deeper than bone, and as much as he wants to keep pressing, there's only so much either of them can take before Prompto decides to run or Noct locks up tight. But the ease of his arms around him and the way they suction them together is more than he could have ever asked for, immediately sagging into the contact. For the first time, this feels like them and not some stranger standing under the gaze of the king, and he clings to it desperately, nearly missing what Noct says because his face is buried against him and his heart is in his ears.

You're mine. And I'm yours.

It's surreal, punching a hole through him and slowly stitching it up simultaneously as he stands there, and it's the strangest things his brain focuses on, hating the rough fabric of this jacket and missing the softness of Noct's shirts Ignis would always wash. He misses the feel of Noct next to him when they slept, the press of his fingers against his hand and the softness of his breathing when Prompto hadn't been able to sleep. He misses him, and his fingers loosen, tilting back to look at him for only a second before his hands are sliding over his shoulders and up to cup his face. His thumbs touch at his cheekbones, ignoring the way a callous scrapes down his cheek as his fingertips find the grooves behind Noct's ears, and it's so ridiculously childish, the way he pulls him forward like that so he can kiss him.

Their lips graze, and it settles something wild bouncing around inside him, his breath a gentle puff as their noses bump and... He doesn't know where this courage is coming from, if he's riding the high of knowing that Noct still wants him just as much as he wants Noct, that they could try to be together despite all these impossible circumstances or if he's just finally accepted the fact he's a little crazy for wanting this, palms pressing against the side of Noct's face as his fingers flatten and push into that dark as night hair. ]

Nothing, [ he agrees, under his breath with their mouth barely inches apart. Prompto's eyes dart to the side and back, briefly closing before they're back on him. ] I wanna see you more. I just – I miss us, you know? I miss you. [ He exhales, stuck on a laugh that sounds more like he's choking. ] Nobody gets me the way you do.

[ It's the tilt that makes his eyes open, the way that Prompto seems to lean back from him, like he's testing how hard Noctis' arms wind around him or how strong he is, how capable; he won't say it out loud, but it's almost romantic, the way that Prompto's spine curves away from him and if Noctis just leaned forward a little, he could dip down against him, kiss his lips and find them molded into the shape of some silly love story--the kind where the guy and the girl come together after a long time and he sweeps her off her feet and they share this deep, spine-curling kiss that makes everything okay in the world.

That's not their story--not even close. Here, it's the way the soft, heartbroken guy looks at the one who's ruined his life and studies him, wondering if there are any bits or pieces of the person he's fallen in love with still waiting for him behind the icy facade of a king that's much too young for the burden of responsibility. Here, it's the way the person who's broken vows and hearts and rules looks back at the guy he loves more than anything else in the world, but is too stubborn to say it out loud, too scared that it might be taken back, returned or traded in for something better.

Noctis' eyes go round, curious, as Prompto looks at him, and his lips part, and he wants to say something--there's a sudden fear that he's said the wrong thing, and he thinks desperately how to make up for it--but it's just that Prompto's hands are curving around his ears and his hair and it's like the kiss softens everything in him, makes all of his tension and fear rush down through his body, leaves his bones a mess of melted pudding. Because--will it be okay, like this? Has he done the right thing, finally, after so many mistakes?

It feels like a homecoming, the way that Prompto's fingers push through his hair and Noctis sighs, but it's the kind of soft, pleasurable thing that escapes his lips when they're lying alone in bed after making love and everything in him feels malleable and warm, and he's agreeing before he can stop himself, in a voice that's low and eager.]

I miss you, too. I want you - here, with me, close to me. I don't want you to keep going out and staying away and not being close. [ His arms loosen, but it's only so that he can press his palms to Prompto's waist, curl his fingers into his back, and he sighs again, but this time it's meant to be almost playful.] It gets really boring being the King, you know.

[ Idly, stupidly maybe, he wonders how long this is going to last.

Prompto isn't sure what kind of future they honestly have together, even if it's something he wants now and something Noct is willing to fight for. There are too many questions, a dark blank that fills in the usual light he sees every time he looks at him, and it's terrifying to not have an inkling of an idea of what to expect. When he'd been younger, there had always been that drive to push himself towards this goal or that, to do something that would get him somewhere else—hopefully for the better. And when he'd become Noct's friend, all of that had slowly bled into an aura of color and promise; this was his best friend, his only friend really, and they were going to be stuck together forever, no matter how it happened. Yet, after that first kiss and the dangers of physical intimacy, it had all started to blur itself into something unrecognizable, a strobing effect that offered countless different outcomes he couldn't possibly decide on.

This one... He isn't sure what's going to come of it, if it's some hopeless romanticism that will inevitably die because a king and a nobody could never really be together or if they'll just never have the time to be together. Besides, Noct has responsibilities that Prompto wouldn't ever be able to touch or help with. Still, despite all of that, it slips away in the way they touch, lingering in that small space between them as long as he can until the need to laugh finally crawls its way out of his throat. There's the slightest shake of his head, and he presses his face against his shoulder, this time just to smother the sound that leaves him. ]

I think you might have to fight Iggy on that one. But I guess if the King needs me... [ It's strangely nice to be able to tease like this, finally free of some of that pressure that had been crushing his chest, and Prompto's head lulls to the side, admiring the angle of Noct's jaw from this close. ] Is it okay if – Can I stay? Even if it's just for a little while?

[ Not that he knows what Noct's schedule is like or what might happen in the span of even an hour. That's not his job, and it's not like they could just go out somewhere, even if Noct's more than capable of handling himself and Prompto could fill the role of Crownsguard. It's different because they have to keep this thing between them a secret, can't make it look like a date or anything else, and though they'd always been friends, though he's sure there are countless stories out there filled with gossip, it's different now that Noct's married and has a reputation to uphold. It's what makes asking so intimidating; yet, he finds that now isn't the time to be scared, not of that. It wouldn't be the same as exploring Altissia, but at least they'd have some kind of privacy inside these walls. ]

[ It's the laughter that gets him, like the sound of it bleeds down through his shoulder where Prompto tries to muffle it and instead, it soaks in, covering his heart in something that feels precariously safe and warm. Suddenly their balance is back, suddenly the ease of their relationship and all the teasing, all the small smiles and secret moments seem to flood back like they're allowed to, now; they fill that small space between them, enough that Noctis smiles when Prompto asks and it's like there's never been any kind of pain between them, not for that one, shining moment.

He's been wondering about it for awhile, whether it's appropriate or not, whether Prompto would think of it as some kind of insult or not. It's not as though the castle doesn't have countless rooms that aren't being used, places where the Crownsguard should be able to reliably stay, and Ignis already has his room tucked somewhere in the mess of them all that Noctis still struggles to find, even on a day when the all the corridors don't seem like snaking mazes meant to confuse him. It's not something that feels out of place for him, or something that might speak to ulterior motives, even if he does have them--from a royal standpoint, it only makes sense, like it's what Prompto is owed for having risked his life so many times to successfully bring him to where he is now.

He should thank him someday, for that. He doesn't feel like he has.

His fingers climb Prompto's back thoughtfully, like he's still debating whether he can say it--the smile slips off his face, but it's slower, more considerate, and he tilts his head back to try to get a good look at him. He needs to know what's written across his face when he says it, needs to know if he's ruined things, or how to fix them again. He doesn't want Prompto to slip out of his arms and walk away, not when they've reached some kind of precarious equilibrium that needs only the smallest bump to send them both apart.]

I want you to. If you can. I wanted to have a room made up for you here, but...

[ The words escape him, or maybe he's never figured out how to finish them.]

We could stay there. Together.

[ For the first time since Noct's wedding night, he doesn't know why he'd worried about it. There really hadn't been any point, had there? Noct had done what he'd promised, even if that promise comes with a lot of stipulations that he still doesn't understand – would Lunafreya accept this? would she accept him after asking him so long ago to watch out for Noct and be his friend? had she known the whole time this is what would happen? – and he doesn't want to try to understand; more than any of that, he feels like he can finally breathe for the first time in weeks. The weight off his chest is surreal, really, and he looks back at Noct with nothing short of the love he feels, head ducked just enough that his gaze is the only thing that lingers as he speaks.

And he's certain that if Noct didn't have his hands on him right then, he would have probably floated away. ]

D'you really think that's a good idea? [ Which sort of sounds like he's refusing, and he doesn't think that's the case. The thought of sharing anything with Noct makes his pulse race. ] I mean, no offense, but wouldn't it look bad if you were staying with me? People talk...

[ Because he's not immune to the rumors or the things some of the other Crownsguard whisper when he stops in to report to Ignis. Even the newly reconstructed Kingsglaive gossip, and if he has to hear it all one more time, he's sure to go crazy. But what would it be like to be the center of those things, to hear his name in the corridors or in passing and be under the scrutiny of literally everyone because they share a space that isn't meant for them or because they spend too much time together outside of what might be considered normal for a king and his best friend. It's a stress he isn't sure he could deal with, but how is that fair for Noct? He's dealing with too much already, and he should want to stand at his side and shoulder what he can because that's all he'd ever wanted in the beginning. It had altered, of course, wanting so much more than he could vocalize, and Prompto curls his fingers into the thick material of that jacket, shaking his head at his own question. ]

Maybe I shouldn't care so much about that, [ he muses quietly, lifting his head with a particularly stubborn jut of his chin. ] I wanna stay with you. [ There's a pause, voice soft. ] I wanna be with you, Noct.

[ He's not surprised, and doesn't think he could be--after all, he knows that Prompto isn't the kind of person who can really be immune to gossip, the sort of soft, gentle heart that can only take so much pointed prodding before it gives and punctures. He knows that rumors can be nasty; he knows that he's heard plenty of them since he's been here, about his devotion to the Oracle and about his grounds to be King, about his lack of guidance, about his poor demeanor. Words are knives that Noctis tries to turn into swords--words are pieces of glass that Prompto would have to pick out from his heart, one by painstakingly one.

He doesn't want to be the person that puts such a burden on him; his eyes fall, but he's studying the small, slight space between them, measuring his breath like he can try to put a good spin on it. He wants to be convincing enough that Prompto doesn't decide to say no--because he's not sure what he'll do if they have to stay apart like this. He's not sure how he can get through everything if Prompto is always miles away from him. He doesn't think he can do it. So how can he convince him?

The truth is that he can't, not really. There are prices to pay for such an arrangement, prices that Noctis would be happy to sign away in his own blood if possible, but he knows he can't and won't be the only person affected by this. He can try to limit it as much as possible, but--but it's frustrating, the fact that he can't protect Prompto from anything like this, that he's forced to put him in this position. It's certainly not something that Gladiolus would agree with--and even Ignis might have his concerns.

But Prompto's words sound hopeful, almost stubborn, and Noctis glances up again when fingers curl into his jacket, as though the touch draws him to meet his gaze. He knows that brave face, knows that behind it there are uncertainties, maybe fears. But Prompto isn't the kind to run away from a fight--and that's part of the reason why he loves him so much, even if he doesn't say it. ]

Do you want to see it first? [ His lips curl into the faintest smile, but there's genuine amusement there, in it.] The room. Before you make any decisions.

[ It's an offering in the wake of so much turmoil, and really, what other choice is there but to accept it? He could try to make his own ultimatums, how they should be careful – because in their time apart, he's grown painfully aware of how unsubtle he really is – and try not to draw too much attention to themselves. But this isn't Insomnia. The King isn't here to shield his son from the public eye in a way that had made him oddly invisible despite his status. They can't go wandering around together or visit the places in Altissia that he thinks Noct might like—even if they're his spots, perfect lighting and a chance to get a photo op. They can't find some crowded place for an impromptu date or hold hands or even kiss unless it's behind a closed door, and that... it has to be the price they pay for wanting something they shouldn't have had in the first place.

But he takes it a little easier with Noct beside him, easing his grip so he can finally take a step back and allow himself a chance to breathe. Prompto knows that look, barely catching it with just a glance, and it's so impossibly hard not to roll his eyes that he simply ends up shaking his head instead. Then nodding, because he doesn't want him to think he's refusing the offer. ]

Can't be any worse than some of the places we stayed getting here, right? [ His own smile holds only an ounce of the insecurity that bubbles like a well beneath the surface, taking a step down before thinking better of it and reaching for Noct's hand. ] Lead the way, Your Highness.

[ It's an obvious tease since those words out of his mouth sound like garbled glass on a good day, and even from the very beginning, he'd never been able to associate them with Noct. Maybe it's because he had seemed much too real, a person that was only untouchable in the face of his status and the birth he had no choice in. Maybe it's because he's stupid and foolish and might have been in love with the idea of befriending someone like Noct too. He never thought there would ever come a day like this, where they're together but not. Where he's married and Prompto is just tagging along for the ride the same way he had when they'd first left Insomnia.

He chews on his lower lip as they cross the open space of the throne room, and though he's not entirely familiar with the layout like he probably should be, there's one thing he wants to say about it. It just sort of filters out of him in a weird way, fingers squeezing into Noct's unconsciously. Breaking the ice is what he does best, and he thinks there's chunks of it he needs to chip away at. ]

You know... this place could totally use some color. Definitely no party, huh?

[ It sounds as strange coming out of Prompto's mouth as it does in Noctis' ears, foreign and uncomfortable, and part of him wants to demand that it be a caveat of this whole agreement, whatever it is, that he's not allowed to use those words unless absolutely necessary--but even that seems like a reach. It's not like it's something he expects of any of the others, and certainly not of Prompto, and yet--there are things now that he hadn't had to worry about before, foreign ideas like being 'proper' and 'respected' and things he thought would come more naturally out of just being a good person.

There's a sense of relief when Prompto's hand finds his and it feels like the old times again, like they're mapping their way across unfamiliar terrain in the dark and there's no one watching but the creatures that lurk amidst the greenery, like they're alone to their own thoughts. Whatever they're doing now is equally peculiar--he doesn't know what might happen, doesn't know how anyone else might see it. He knows he should care more, that he should be concerned of what he might look like to others, but he just--he can't find the desire to. The warmth of Prompto's hand in his is enough to tell him it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, so long as they're together.

He scoffs a breath, shaking his head a little even as they work their way across the long, polished floor. He feels suddenly uncomfortable, wishing to be out of these royal frills and into something loose and convenient, because his shoes make those swift, clicking sorts of sounds when he walks and he feels like he's somehow heads taller than Prompto, like he must be looming over him in all of this strange, dark fabric. The doors open easily with a clumsy flick of his fingers, this time, like he's more uncertain of himself now that he's got Prompto in his grasp. Like he'll walk out, and then walk away. ]

Should I hire you to redecorate? [ Honestly, he'd love something more to look at than the solemn walls and muted colors of stone and sculpture while he's half-listening to people drone on about what he should be doing. ] You can paint everything.

[ The hallways are gratefully quiet--quieter than he'd expected, but then most of the business for the day is done, isn't it? He gives Prompto's hand a reassuring squeeze, and immediately drags him down a sharp corridor going left, praying that this time, of all times, he won't be getting lost. ]

Or maybe hang your pictures... [ He muses this softly, eyes narrowed as he tries to decide whether the next turn is supposed to be another left, or a right. ]

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