“Anybody home?”
Prompto asked this as he stepped out of his bedroom, only to find the living room vacant. He had been feeling under the weather lately, what he had thought food poisoning ailed him disguised as its vicious true form: the flu, hence why he took several days off from his part-time job and mock Crownsguard training to recuperate.
His friends stopped by today to check up on him and handed him a bag of over-the-counter remedies. They stayed for a while since Prompto lived alone. Noctis brought over a game, Gladiolus had him force down some homemade and disgustingly-made concoction that allegedly fought off illnesses, and Ignis offered helping out with some of the household chores. But the blond could only join in the fun for so long before his body told him to get some sleep.
“They would tell me if they needed to go, wouldn’t they?” The blond asked himself as he scratched his head, perplexed. But it was because of their visit that Prompto had a decent one-hour nap without feeling worse than he did before for once.
The house was warm, toasty, and something delicious made Prompto’s stomach rumble.
Ignis had prepared a pot of stew specifically made for him. Thank the Six for Prompto probably was out of food at that point and would’ve ordered a pizza, Galahdian take-out, or something. He remembered to swallow the medicine before meals.
After finishing off the second bowl of the stew, Prompto munched over a couple saltine crackers as he searched the living room. He left his cell phone there, but there were no sign of a note for their sudden disappearance; the game console was still hot as if its users had left in a hurry.
“Geez, big guy, I️ have a coat rack for a reason,” Prompto grumbled, picking up a leather jacket off the arm of the couch.
Shoving the rest of the crackers in his mouth and folding the jacket, the blond speculated over something. The prince’s Shield always got on Prompto’s case about his health. How the tables had turned. He could call Gladiolus now and give him hell about forgetting his jacket.
Maybe. But guilt crept its ugly rear end in Prompto’s thoughts, even though he hardly ever got sick, the thought of Gladiolus catching the flu wasn’t pretty.
Dusting the crumbs off his hands, the blond sat on the couch, phone in hand about to call when something stopped him. He didn’t know if his sinuses were still fucked up or what, but Gladiolus’ jacket smelled nice.
Well, for someone who frequently dined at cheap ramen dives and reeked like a behemoth during Lucis’ freak heatwaves after exercising, anyway. He could be delusional, but nothing could justify for what he was going to do next.
Prompto took the collar of the jacket and inhaled deeply. Yup, smelled like Gladio, he confirmed before taking in another whiff, annnnd... still smelled like Gladio.
Another.
For all their mutual ribbing, Prompto would take back his words that Gladiolus smelled like a wild beast, just not to his face anytime soon.
There was a hint of soup broth and sweat, but smelled like a normal leather jacket that Gladiolus would own. Smelled of beer, a musky and illustrious brand of cologne, and soap.
And Prompto, for some reason, couldn’t get enough of it. It’s weird, he kept telling himself as he laid down on his side, closing his eyes.
But maybe the scent is making him a little drunk.
“Well, well.”
Prompto opened his eyes to find Ignis looking down at him. When their eyes met, the advisor had a knowing smile on his face.
“Uh...” Prompto was at a loss for words and it didn’t help that his voice was breaking under scrutiny. Stupid flu. “This isn’t what—”
“What it looks like? I️ think it is.”
Prompto saw that he was still cradling the jacket in his arms and sought to get rid of the evidence. If that consisted of just flinging it to the other end of the couch, that was.
Ignis cocked his head as if confused by Prompto’s flustered demeanor. “I️ came to retrieve Gladio’s jacket, but I️ think I️’ll leave the task up to you, Prompto.”
“W-what? Wait, no!” Prompto made for a speedy crawl to the end of the couch, only for Ignis’ chuckling backside to slip through his fingers. “Come back here and take the stupid jacket!”
