Noctis didnât know what he had expected.
  Had he really expected anything more than this sort of reaction? Perhaps in another time, when his own mind wasnât riddled with feelings of guilt and confusion, Noctis might have been able to distinguish the urgency in Promptoâs voice as something not necessarily aimed towards him or his actions. His guilt clouding his judgement, the prince allowed his friend (ex friend?) the distance he desired, not budging from his place in the room. Promptoâs chair had seemed to garner some attention from the nearby students, but their reunion seemed to be only entertainment for those who had nothing better to do at the moment: as if these sorts of reunions were something that happened often in the strange academy.Â
  âWait, I ââ Noctis cut himself off abruptly. He, what (exactly)? He wondered what he could possibly say to patch the rift heâd found between himself and the blond. What should he say to his best friend, whom he hurt so badly? What would a king say to his right hand, after betraying his trust? Noctis didnât know if there were words to express what he wanted to say, but he knew where he could start, at the very least.
  âIâm sorry.â His voice came off a little more blunt that heâd meant to, face hardening at the realization things had changed. Noctis drew a deep breath before continuing, ââŠfor what happened. AndâŠâ
  Lifting his gaze, Noctis eyed his long time friend with a solemn expression now. He raised his right hand, the Ring of the Lucii gleaming for a moment with the crystallized light illuminating the room, as he brushed his hand back. It was a nervous habit heâd picked up a long time ago, fingers drfiting to rub at his neck briefly before he sighed and continued on with what he wanted to say. Prompto was valid for feeling the way Noctis assumed he did, for backing away from the person who quite literally, pushed him off a moving train. Regardless of outside involvement, it had been his hand that betrayed Prompto⊠therefore, it would be his responsibility.Â
  âIâm glad youâre here. Safe â hopefully. Shit, IâŠâ Noctis closed his eyes for a brief moment before smiling sadly, a single lift at the corner of his mouth reserved only for those whom he was close with. He was glad to know Prompto was alright. Despite how much he never wanted to let himself think it, a part of him had wondered if heâd killed his best friend, if Shiva had been wrong, as unlikely as it was. Deciding that if this was the way things were meant to be, Noctis was okay with the simple fact that Prompto was alive and relatively well. He could live with his friend hating him, as long as he was okay.
  âIâm just glad to see youâre okay. Iâm⊠sorry for hurting you, Prompto. Iâll leave you alone then, if thatâs⊠what you want.â
prompto doesnât know what to feel about this.
itâs kind of a cheap and dirty tactic to play with his feelings again, and prompto recalls how heâd laid himself bare when he saw whome he thought was noctis, how he cried and begged for forgiveness and how he was so, so sorry for lying about everything all this time---only to find out that none of those were real: the noctis he saw, his uncontrollable rage at every single person who he thought would hurt his best friend, the threat that felt like it was going to swallow him whole.
those are all lies, but the feelings of shame and guilt that came with those are not. they cling to prompto like the stain on his wrist that he can never get rid of. the shame and guilt and his want to do anything for his best friend---all those real, genuine feelings of his were toyed with, and when he finally snapped out of it, it felt like heâd been spat at.
prompto canât be held accountable for being scared.
prompto feels eyes on them, the clattering of his chair managing to catch the attention of some students, and prompto swallows again and looks down, shame tugging at his gut. he should leave; he canât think straight right now. he just needs to be alone and away from him---
his head snaps up at the two words. iâm sorry, and promptoâs breath hitches. theyâre just two words, but somehow it manages to drive a small crack on the wall he suddenly put up. with every word the other said, the more the wall tears down and the clearer prompto thinks, his fear slowly fading. the realisation sinks in so, painfully slowly, and prompto sees more of the quirks he sees from his best friend, recognises his speech patterns, and that sad, sad smile and shit. shit.
heâs here; prompto knows what heâs sorry for, even though noct doesnât say what it is, and prompto has long known that he doesnât have to forgive noct for anything, because thereâs nothing noct has to ask forgiveness for. noct says that heâll leave prompto alone if thatâs what he wants and no---prompto doesnât want noct to leave. prompto is impulsive, and it stays true until now as he leaps the distance he created between them and grabs noctâs arm.
â no! no, â he rasps out, his hands trembling. he feels warmth where he holds noct, and it's so real that he may as well cry again, and this time thereâs nothing that would prey on his absolute weakness. â iâm sorry. i just---i thought--- â a shuddering exhale, and prompto dares himself to look at noctis. real. â ...youâre really here. â
