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The first time their eyes meet, it’s an ordinary day in the class room. There isn’t anything special about the way their eyes find each other and their gazes lock for a half-second too long. The drone of the teacher’s voice starts up again, and they turn their attention back to their notes.
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The second time is very similar, and they share a dozen glances and a dozen accidental stares over the years. However, after Tiny, and Luna’s letter, the next one is much, much different. The humiliation he feels when Noctis struggles to pull him up is only lessened by the kindness he sees in the prince’s eyes.
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“This isn’t the first time,” Noctis says, but he’s grinning.
Prompto feels like he might implode from happiness.
He’d finally introduced himself to the prince, finally gotten a friend, finally fullfilled his promise to Luna.
The grins they share as they lock eyes with each other are a sign of many more to come, Prompto thinks.
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Noctis grins down at Prompto, kicking aside the wooden training sword.
Prompto lets his head hit the ground with a groan.
“I thought you said you’d go easy on me.”
Noct just snorts.
“If I went any easier, Iris would be able to take me down with her eyes closed.”
Prompto just grumbles in response.
Gladio ambles over from the far side of the training grounds, taking in the sight of Prompto sprawled on the ground and Noct leaning on his sword beside him. He laughs, and the blonde tries to ignore the blush he’s sure is visible on his face.
“Laugh it up, Noct,” he manages, before pulling himself to his feet. Noct gleefully complies.
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“I thought you had plans with your parents, Prom.”
He lets his arms fall to his sides and tries to go for normal, tries to go for cheerful.
It comes out slightly strangled and out of breath.
“They’re out of town.”
“Didn’t they leave two months ago?”
Prompto just stares at the floor. It’s his birthday, not that he cares about that. But apparently Noct does. Enough to drop by, being the royal prince not being a deterrent in the least.
“You know, we could hit up the arcade. Saw a new Kings Quest game in there.”
Prompto lets the chuckle rise out of him as he smiles at Noct.
“Why not,” he manages as their eyes meet. “I can’t wait.”
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Prompto lets his lips curl into a faint smile as he brushes Noct’s bangs out of the way. The sheets rustle, but Noct is dead to the world, completely out cold. Prompto presses a kiss to the side of Noct’s head. Noct stirs at the touch. He opens his eyes, and there’s a moment where it’s just deep black purple looking into blue.
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Noct’s on his couch, Iggy is blowing up his phone, and Gladio is about to break down the citadel doors.
It’s all fine.
Absolutely fine.
He’d been studying, hoping to impress Iggy with an A, for once, on his tests. Noct has showed up. Rain-soaked and dropping, like the drama queen he is.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Prompto gets the feeling it won’t be the last.
He’d sucked in all the panic and worry. He maneuvers Noct onto the couch, gets him a towel to dry his hair. Sits down, and waits.
Noct doesn’t start talking, just curls in on himself further.
So Prompto starts talking.
He talks about the weather, the test, Gladio, Iggy; he talks about everyone and everything he can think of.
“And you know, I’ve been thinking, this new camera model—“
“The nightmare came back.”
Noct’s voice is soft, almost a whisper.
Prompto knows better than to ask about the twisted dreams. Instead he rests his chin on his hands and says “Wanna play a round of the new game I got?”
Noct’s eyes bore into his, before he looks away and manages a small smile.
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Prompto is full of forgiveness. He takes and takes and takes and takes pain and gives back kindness in return.
It isn’t something people tend to notice.
Prompto hides his pain and turns his smile to the world.
Noct wonders when Prompto came to him for help last.
He can’t recall.
Prom’s always been that way; hiding his pain so no one else knows it even exists.
Noct reaches to run his fingers through the golden hair on his lap. The idiot (his idiot) had finally worn himself out. After the silent shaking and tears subsided, Noct has pulled his head down to his lap and tiled him to sleep. Blue eyes had met black ones, and Prom had finally caved.
Noct promises to be there next time under his breath.
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Prompto loves the feeling of a gun in his hand. Loves the kick, the smooth metal, the way it glows when it comes out of the arminger.
Cor’s impressed by his gunmanship, at least, if not his (lack of) physical prowess.
“Time to prove yourself, Argentum,” Cor rumbles.
Prompto looks at the targets, burns them into his mind.
He fires.
For several seconds there is nothing in the air but the sound of bullets.
He lets himself relax.
Cor lets out a surprised huff. “All bullseyes, huh.”
Prom lets a smile play about his lips, but quickly lets it fall when Noct walks onto the firing range. In front of the targets.
“Make every shot,” Cor says. “But don’t hit his royal highness over there.”
Noct, to his credit, doesn’t look nervous. But Prompto can read the slight slouch in his posture.
He takes a deep breath.
Looks Noct right in the eye.
Fires again.
After he’s done he shuts his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again.
All the targets are hit, and Noct is unharmed.
Cor actually pats him on the back. He’s invited to join the Crownsguard that day.
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Somewhere along the line, Insomnia falls.
King Regis is dead, and Noct find solace in Prompto’s gaze.
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The car rides are long, but they smile at each other and pass the time.
It’s been long enough that the wound that is Regis’s death and the fall of his kingdom can be soothed by a certain blue-eyed stare.
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The campfire is warm, and their hands are warmer still, holding each other. Prompto loves these soft moments, the in-betweens without MTs and Ardyn and worrying about supplies. Their foreheads touch, noses ghosting against each other. Their eyes are wide open.
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They fight.
They fight daemons, Ardyn, and each other.
After taking out yet another dropship, Prompto cleans out his gun as he watches Noctis attempt to set up a tent.
They’re all still on edge.
They still find each other through sideways glances and secret steady looks.
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Noct pushes him off the train—-
He’s falling—-
And on the way down he just stares into Noctis’s beautiful eyes.
He just feels empty. Filled with nothing but confusion and panic and a deep seated question of why why why—
In the moment before he hits the ground he thinks that it is something he would like to see before his death.
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He doesn’t get another good look at Noct until the contraption holding him up had been opened and he falls onto his knees.
After Verstael, Ardyn, and Aranea, this is certainly a moment to remember.
He lifts his head up, and asks.
“Were you worried about me?”
Noct’s gaze bores into his own.
“Of course I was.”
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The bunk bed is all metal and hard edges, but Noct is soft in worry.
He apologizes, and Prompto and Noct are themselves again, two parts of a whole. Leaning on the metal as Noct declares that he’ll make them united, he thinks they might make it.
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With Iggy’s sight gone, Prompto can’t help but feel that this is one injustice too many. Ignis is hunched over the campfire, and Prom and Noct share a glance over his back. Another injustice, Prompto thinks, and wonders what the next loss will be.
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The next loss turns out to be Noctis.
Prompto can’t look into his eyes, and for once it’s not because he’s too shy.
It’s because Noct is gone.
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And then Noct is back, after a decade.
Gladio shoves him around a bit, but all Prompto wants to do is cry. Still, he helps Iggy navigate. He gently bumps Noctis, and for a split second he can see the warmth that burns inside his eyes.
This will be enough, Prompto thinks. Enough.
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“Ever at your side,” he manages, quietly enough that it’s almost covered by the sound of the pouring rain. His blond hair is soaked in the rain, plastered to his face. He tries to keep his expression calm as he looks at Noctis, holding him in place with the force of his gaze.
Noctis breathes in, and out, kneeling on the ground.
Ardyn keeps the gun cocked and pointed at Prompto’s head.
“It’s been a pleasure, Prompto,” Ardyn drawls, smirking. “Any last requests?”
He doesn’t say anything back, just clenches his hands tighter.
Noctis just stares.
Ignis and Gladio are staring as well, a couple feet behind him.
Ardyn moves to position himself to aim the gun, and Noctis scrambles to his feet, threats spilling out of his mouth.
“I swear to the Six, Ardyn, you move and you won’t be able to—.” He stops abruptly, as the chancellor’s smirk grows.
Prompto can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest.
Can feel the not-quite-right warmth of Ardyn’s breath on the back of his neck.
Can feel the wet ground the rain the digging point of his own gun about to pierce the skin on his back——
It’s a tidal wave of feeling.
Noct anchors him to the shore with his eyes.
Prompto decides he needs to do something now.
Later, he’ll look back at this moment and wonder how exactly he managed to slip out of Ardyn’s grip.
He knows he calls a weapon out of the arminger, but he doesn’t remember how he fought or how he escaped, just that he now has a scar from a bullet right above his right hip where it had grazed him. He knows they defeated Ardyn that night. His last memory of that night is looking into onyx eyes as they realized that they had won.
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The Citadel is a work in progress—half broken and half intact—that Prompto finally calls home. Noct brushes a hand through his hair as they lounge on he balcony. He can hear the movements of Ignis and Gladio inside.
They’ve made it. It only took a decade, scars, and more emotional trauma than anyone should have ever had to deal with, Prompto thinks, chuckling wryly.
Noct meets his eyes, and Prompto leans in for a kiss.