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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
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. ]