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. ]

[ He's typed and deleted the message at least four different times--more than that, but he's only counting what he's done today, where his thumb has tapped and closed, tapped and closed the box like he's uncertain if it's even welcome. He hasn't seen Prompto for something close to a week; it's hard to remember how many days have passed when he's spent most of them toiling away in the throne room, a place in Insomnia that he's come to painfully despise. Ignis has been there, helping him, guiding him, scolding him--and the one time he'd started to ask about Prompto, he'd given him a Look that had shut him up about it the rest of the day.

He's not an idiot. He knows there's much work to be done, plans to be made, reparations and reconstructions and a whole laundry list of things that make it hard for him to sleep at night. Lunafreya has been a gentle but persistent help at his side, though he imagines that even she is in need of a good rest; she has a habit now of closing her eyes and smiling, pressing her fingertips at the bridge of her nose. It's something he would find a bit charming, if he weren't so--distracted.

But he feels like he's pulling at the last threads of his sanity like this. He needs to see him. Needs to know that he's okay. Needs to--tell him things, things that he doesn't know if he'll want to hear or not. So he settles somewhat uncomfortably in his seat, takes in a breath, and steels himself to be potentially ignored. It makes him feel particularly hot and uncomfortable in this stupidly kingly get-up--why can't he just wear shorts and a t-shirt all day? ]

Hey. Think you could meet me?

[ Prompto counts the days like fallen leaves, at least until they give him something to do that has him going back to Cleigne. It's almost a welcome distraction, staring at the Altissian waters until he's pulled into a conversation about what it is they're going to do and how long it would take them to get to Lestallum. And for the first time since the wedding, he doesn't obsessively think of Noct. It's really impossible to escape it though, hearing his name and listening to people as they talk about the Lucian king, and sometimes, it hurts to have to pretend that they're just friends, that nothing else had conspired between them over that lengthy trip they'd taken to bring him somewhere safe. Yet, that, too, he soon begins to ignore, and the rest of the time he's abroad flies by in a flash.

He's currently face down in the softest bed he's ever laid on when his phone vibrates, having gotten back just early that morning. But he's been too wired to sleep, feels the ache of his limbs and the soft sunburn he'd gotten across the bridge of his nose riding the boat back into the city proper, and his eyes are bleary as he skims the messages having collected there. A couple from Ignis – report in, blah blah blah – and some from Gladio telling him about a handful of other things that he should see him for after he's rested. There are even some from people he'd friended in Lestallum, teasing and joking like they're old friends, but the one that causes his heart to sink like a stone into his stomach is the singular text from Noct that he's almost too afraid to read.

A soft sigh leaves him when he finally does, fingers immediately searching for some of the automatic responses he'd edited for stuff like this. ]

sure
tell me where and i'll be there

[ Which takes some time because he makes sure to shower and fix his hair, dressing dark casual since it's easier to try to blend in as the crowsguard no matter where he goes. But he's apprehensive about it the whole time, giving an affirmative when Noct relays the meeting place and going nonetheless. He still misses him, aches for him, and he knows that, at the very least, seeing him will lift his spirits a little. Prompto just wishes he wasn't so damn tired doing it, putting on his best smile when he eventually sees him and offering the slightest wave in greeting. ]

[ The best--and the worst--place for them to meet is where Noctis waits for him now: in the throne room, because with business finished for the day it's the quietest place that he can think of, and a place where no one will particularly go looking for him; he's usually the first person out of the wide double doors, taking in the fresh air like it's limited. Today, he's made some excuse to linger, leaving those doors open as if beckoning Prompto through them, though every sound in the hallway makes him jump and peer and sink back with disappointment. He ends up sulking--and stubbornly he would refuse to call it sulking--in the uncomfortable seat at the head of the room, thumbing through pictures on his phone, when there's a sudden presence at the far end of the floor, and there he is: dressed in slim blacks, smiling, a small, tiny wave that Noctis feels is far too reluctant.

His boots touch the floor, from where his legs had been crossed, and he immediately jumps down the steps, making his strides long and measured as he closes the distance between them. To anyone else, it'll look like he's welcoming home a treasured member of the Crownsguard--which makes this meeting innocuous enough, as he stretches out an arm to catch one of Prompto's hands and bodily pull him into the empty room. With the other hand, he gives a faint flick of his fingers, and the way the doors thunder into place behind them makes the silence that follows particularly potent, even when Noctis' eyes are glazing over Prompto's face to try to take in every detail.

He wants to kiss him, right then and there, but he isn't sure that he has the permission to, anymore. It's not the same as before, when he'd touch and pull and kiss whenever he wanted; somehow, without being particularly defined, their relationship had still been clearer than it is now. Now, he realizes that he's squeezing Prompto's hand, and lets it go with a faint, sheepish sort of smile. A hug would be okay, wouldn't it? He searches Prompto's eyes for the answer. ]

I missed you. [ He says, soft and quiet. And then, with the faintest air of teasing--] Did you miss me?

[ For whatever reason, the door slamming shut behind him causes something to jump under his skin, heart rattling in his chest at the touch. It's like the first time they'd slowly started to explore this thing between them, the newness of it rolling in waves and preoccupying his thoughts so much that he'd gotten yelled at constantly by Gladio for being so distracted. But there's something else too, something that feels far away and out of place, the knowledge that Noct isn't just his friend settling heavy over his heart for the very first time. This is probably going to be the way it is for the rest of forever—meetings once a week, no texts or late night conversations laying side-by-side. More than the intimacy, he misses his best friend, and Prompto doesn't hesitate to nod his answer.

What a strange question. Of course he's missed him. ]

Bet I missed you more. [ It's a soft joke, though one he believes might have more traction in truth. Because the first few days of that long week had been Prompto sending him little random updates, just small things, and then, it had slowly trickled to nothing without much response. Some part of him knows Noct is busy because being king can't be easy, but he'd hoped... He sighs inwardly and gives Noct a brighter smile. ] So... what are we doing? Planning your great escape, or something a lot more dangerous?

[ Pretending is difficult, but it's not as hard as wishing Noct would have held onto his hands or curled his arms around him or pressed their mouths together. They haven't talked about anything since the wedding, and the longer it goes unspoken, the weirder it is to try bringing it up. It's still a dull pain in his chest, though not nearly as intense, and this time, he's not drunk enough to blurt out something inappropriate in a place that feels too much like he hasn't the right to be there. He's grateful for that, gently rubbing at the itch across his nose where his skin had burned as he glances around the room for something to do. ]

[ He can't think of the last time anything felt awkward between them--probably some point in high school, when he'd been younger and stupider, a feat that's surprising given how he's acting now. But when Prompto rubs at the reddened skin across his nose - and Noctis wonders how it got there - he realizes that the weight of everything unspoken is hanging between them, so thick and bloated that the longer it goes without saying, the more it stretches them apart. He'd wanted to be polite, wanted to be the royal that he's supposed to be, all delicate manners and cordial words, but this is Prompto standing here, and the most that Prompto has ever expected of him is to be his best friend. He hadn't asked for more--and neither had Noctis. They'd just fallen into it like it'd been the next natural step.

The words seem to light a match in him, a flame that starts out curious, at first, and then builds, until Noctis is reaching for Prompto's hand again, closing his fingers around his wrist. It's the stupidest idea he's had in a long time--and it feels so refreshing that way, like they're young and on the road again, like there aren't obligations or expectations, just them, just now, just forever. He knows they'll have to talk, but--does it have to be first? He's sure of himself when his feet move them backward, and Prompto is pulled along like a balloon on a string, kept at arm's length the more they inch back towards the steps to the throne. ]

Something a little dangerous. [ He admits, but there's that glint of amusement in his eyes, a look that tries to reassure Prompto that it's nothing he'll get in trouble for, unless he pushes Noctis away when he takes one sudden step forward and their knees knock together, and both of his hands go up to take either side of Prompto's face and kiss him, the kind that demands as much as it gives, the kind that ends with Noctis' tongue trying to part the seam of Prompto's lips and his fingers inching forward into blonde, tousled hair. ]

[ Having all these expectations is weird for him, which is why Prompto tries not to have any. Ever. It keeps things on an even-kilter, and he doesn't have to be disappointed if something falls through, since it almost always does. But the second Noct pulls him, his heart is suddenly in his throat, and it's like they're somewhere else all over again, not in the throne room in Altissia but recklessly stupid in the backseat of the Regalia. Something swells inside of him and explodes, lips parting almost automatically beneath the weight of Noct's kiss, and his hands squeeze at his back, body sagging forward with a sigh of relief that feels more than a week overdue. He isn't sure how long it's going to last or how long Noct will really want him around, but in that moment, it doesn't matter. He'd do anything for him, always would, and if Noct asked for his heart, he'd just hand it over without any fuss.

A hum, and he sighs around his tongue, riding out the familiarity of it until he has to breathe. And even then, he isn't sure this is real or some dream where he'll wake up alone in his bed with his pulse racing and his thoughts scattered to the wind. He'd missed this, of course he'd missed this, but beyond that, he'd missed him to the point he could feel it in every part of his body. ]

Noct – [ It starts and stops, a hot whisper against his mouth, and sure, he knows they should probably talk about this. They should talk about everything, especially when Prompto's feeling particularly brave right now and thinking he could stand up for the things he wants, but the lure of Noct's touch is almost too much for him to handle, reeled in by expert hands and sinking fast under the knowledge of it all. ] What if someone sees us? I don't... [ He flounders, unsure. This isn't the kind of thing that royalty really does, is it? That's only in movies, which they'd laughed about as teenagers because affairs just seemed so ridiculous to them at such a young age, but the reality of it seems to hang over them both, a guilt that gnaws at the back of his mind. ] I missed you so much.

[ Because what else is there to say? What else can he say? He clings to him and nudges their noses together, palms spreading flat along Noct's back to embrace him the way he used to. ]

No. [ It's the smallest breath of the word, playful, pressed into Prompto's warm mouth.]

No, no... [ He knows what follows that sound of his name, he knows that there are questions that wait behind that sound of his name, or perhaps an insistence to talk it out or be a good person, all things that Noctis knows are important, and yet so far from the truth of the moment that he sees them as separate from the both of them, concepts to be considered but not applied. Let him take the blame for this--whatever blame is to be had. Let him shoulder the burden of guilt, the fear of being caught, the worry of redemption, because he's the one that's pulling Prompto into it; he's the one coaxing him closer and closer still, until Noctis can feel the breath in Prompto's chest and the way he spreads his hands out along his back the way he'd always done when Noctis had gotten him going.]

Who cares if someone sees us? [ Because truthfully, those doors won't open for anyone without his permission.] I missed you.

[ Those words simply do not suffice: they're too soft and small, like they can't possibly encompass the feeling of lying awake in a bed that's too big, wishing for Prompto to be there at his elbow, to talk about all the stupid modifications of their latest video game obsession or to muse about the stars while they cuddle. They can't possibly express the way that everything reminds him of Prompto, that every moment is one that he wishes they could share; they can't seem to show how much his heart aches remembering the way that Prompto looked in the mornings, the groggy kisses they'd shared.

Their noses nudge together and Noctis appreciates the chance for breath, but more than that, he wants to appreciate how plush Prompto's lips are beneath his--his teeth rake across his lower lip, reeling in temptation for long enough to ask, because he's not stupid, because he's not going to just take when there's a layer of Prompto's voice that seems to speak to some tiny sliver of hesitation--]

I want you. [ Softly, boldly, honestly.] Can I?

[ 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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