Summary: Set after Noctis’ and Ignis’ argument in Episode 4 of Brotherhood, Noctis learns to lean on his closest friend in his time of need.
Pairing: Prompto/Noctis, pre-relationship
Word Count: ~2800
So...I’m finally posting a fic I wrote. Last time I watched Brotherhood, I had wished Noct’s mental health was addressed more, so I made it happen! Trigger warning: a panic attack is described. I hope you enjoy!
>>i kno its late, but do u wanna come over?
Noctis stares hard at the cursor blinking at his screen, thumb hovering over the “send” button. Ignis has just left, and Noctis himself has screamed so hard he doesn’t think he can scream anymore, but there’s still a persistent ache in his chest, a need to not be alone. He can’t call Ignis, obviously, and he can’t call Gladio, so that leaves…
Noctis has been careful to leave Prompto out of this part of his life. It means so much to him that when he is with Prompto, he doesn’t have to worry about any of this. He doesn’t have to think about sustaining the wall, or complicated political reports, he can just be a normal teenager. But right now, he finds himself craving comfort in a way that he hasn’t since he was younger, when he was first injured. That doesn’t make the reaching out any easier.
He hits send before he can think any better of it and throws his phone across the couch. Immediately, it buzzes, and Noctis scrambles to look at the message.
>sure thing dude. Need me to bring anything?
In spite of everything, Noctis feels his heart lift slightly.
>>uh, junk food maybe?
>>but if you don’t have any uh
>>just bring you.
Oh shit, he really sent that. He triple texted. But Prompto’s reply is just as quick.
>omw, the metro should get me there in 20. you feelin okay?
Well that’s...a question. The obvious answer would be “no” but Noctis falters before replying with that. He doesn’t want Prompto to think of him any differently, to see him as the prince. But he also, somehow, really wants to talk about this with someone he knows will just listen. Then, he thinks, that’s not fair to push onto Prompto. He can’t burden Prompto with all of this. Prompto has a life free of these kinds of worries, and Noctis cares about him too much not to keep it that way. Still...they have been getting closer lately. Noctis has never had a best friend before, but he suspects that best friends talk about these things. Are Ignis and Gladio best friends? Do they talk?
Just then, Noctis hears a knock at his door, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks down to see 5 more texts from Prompto that he missed while he was spacing out, and he rushes over to open the door. There stands his friend, with the promised junk food, and an overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
“Did ya fall asleep on me?” he tries to joke as he steps inside, but then he glances at Noctis again. It’s a look Noctis has never seen before, one that Noct doesn’t quite know how to parse. He then realizes what a slob he must look like--still in his school uniform at this late hour, unwashed hair sticking out every which way, clothing rumpled in weird places--and makes to say something about it, but Prompto very gently places a hand on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding. He sets the junk food down and looks at Noct dead-on.
“Hey...are you okay?” he asks, and Noct’s reflexes tell him to say that he’s fine, to downplay everything he is feeling, and to ignore it and make a joke to avoid having this conversation. But he looks at Prompto, at his soft features, his loose hair, the freckles that dot his face, and his swirling purple eyes, and it suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. The look in his eyes is so gentle, and he just wants to help Noctis, and all of it is a bit too much and--
Wait.
He actually can’t breathe.
All he can think about is that conversation with Ignis, replaying in his head, and his fear of telling Prompto what’s really going on, what he will really have to face someday, because if he does he will lose him and he can’t lose Prompto, this precious boy who is so kind, and he can’t lose his father, and--
When did the floor get so close?
Somehow, he is kneeling on the ground, and Prompto is right there with him. He’s saying something but the words sound fuzzy, like there’s a high-pitched whine blocking everything out. Both of Prompto’s hands are on his shoulders--the only sensation he can really register--and he focuses all of his energy into understanding what Prompto is saying. It’s really hard because all he feels is the blood rushing through him, like he just ran a marathon, and breathing is even harder and takes up so much of his effort right now. He feels dizzy, like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“...--ear me?” Noct manages to make out. Prompto’s probably asking if Noctis can hear him. He nods, slightly.
“Good, that’s really good, buddy,” Prompto soothes him, his voice getting clearer with each word, but Noctis still feels as though he...can’t move from this strange position he’s found himself in. He thinks, vaguely, that if it weren’t for Prompto’s hands on his shoulders, he might actually die. He wants to tell him this, to say thank you, to do anything, but it all catches in his throat. Why can’t he move?
“Just breathe with me, okay? Can you do that?” Prompto is asking him. Was Noctis not breathing? He nods again. Prompto begins counting out the breaths, and Noctis does his best to follow along, each deep breath easing his muscles, and slowing his heart down. He hadn’t realized how fast it was beating. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, breathing slowly, in and out, until Noct’s body releases him from the grip he was in.
“Better?” Prompto asks, simply, and Noctis finally has it in him to look at him.
“S’good,” Noct replies. “Thanks.”
He tries to get himself off the ground, but of course his bad leg is acting up. Yet another thing he hasn’t told Prompto.
“Whoa there, let me help,” Prompto is saying, hoisting himself up and reaching a hand down to Noct. Noct takes it, gratefully, and leans into the touch more than he’d like to admit to get himself standing again.
“I’m sorry. I have no idea what just happened,” is what flies out of Noct’s mouth before he has the chance to stop it.
“Has it happened before?” Prompto asks earnestly, and Noct shakes his head no. At least...not that he could remember. Maybe now and then, but he usually just slept it off, now that he thinks about it.
“I...think that was a panic attack, dude,” Prompto says slowly, carefully, guiding Noct to sit back on the couch with him. “Have you been worrying about something?”
Was that what that was? All of the worry he’s tried to lock away...consuming him? Noctis shrugs noncommittally.
“If you have...I’m here if you need,” Prompto says, softly. “But I won’t make you talk if you don’t wanna.”
Noctis realizes his friend is giving him a way out. And if nothing else, he knows that Prompto will be true to his word. If he says he doesn’t want to talk, Prompto will not push him, and will at least pretend to forget about the incident.
But…
Noctis can’t shake the feeling that not talking is exactly what got him here. He’s only 16, and he’s pretty sure most people his age don’t just break down like that. Yes, Prompto is offering him a way out...but he is also offering him comfort and help. On his own terms. Not because Noctis is a prince in need of protecting, but because he’s his friend. Maybe, if he’s careful…
“...it’s a lot of things, to be honest,” Noctis finally breathes out, when he remembers how to make his mouth say words again. “...prince stuff. I don’t wanna…” he mumbles, turning away.
But Prompto has reached out to place a hand on his shoulder again.
“Doesn’t matter to me if it’s prince stuff. It’s definitely bothering you,” he begins, softly, slowly, giving Noct time to process every word. Now that Noctis thinks about it, Prompto has always spoken to him like this: gently, slowly, even when he is angry. But this voice? It’s soft, and low, almost as if to remind Noctis he is safe here.
“Right but I….you….you’re separate from all that. I like it that way,” Noctis tries to explain. “You remind me I’m someone beyond that…I…” he continues, but it fades away. Prompto’s arm has slid around his shoulders, tugging Noctis in to lean against him, and Noctis doesn’t have it in him to fight it. Hell, he doesn’t want to.
Prompto laughs just a little bit when he sees how Noctis has curled into his side on the couch, and slides his hand up to card through his hair. It feels...nice, comforting, but something else too. Almost...electric, like little sparks are dancing across his nerves when Prompto’s fingers brush across his scalp, gently pulling the knots in his hair free. Noctis has been feeling this more and more recently, and he doesn’t really know what to call it. Maybe it’s just that he’s so starved of physical contact aside from getting his ass kicked in training. He sighs into the contact, and he can hear Prompto’s voice vibrating under his ear.
“Yeah, you’re my best dude, you know that. I definitely think of you as Noct first,” he turns, slightly, attempting to make eye contact with Noct, who keeps his face turned away, “but you also happen to be Prince Noctis. It’s a part of you, and you don’t have to shut me out of it. I want to help you with whatever I can, whether it’s a really difficult boss fight on a video game….or prince stuff,” he finishes, smiling to himself.
At this, Noctis does bring his head up from Prompto’s shoulder so he can look him in the eye. Prompto smiles at him softly, his indigo-purple eyes drawing Noctis closer in a way he can’t quite describe. He wants to say something, anything, to tell Prompto how amazing and wonderful and patient he is. Instead...he slumps forward, on instinct, burying his face in the crook of Prompto’s neck, wrapping his arms around him in an embrace. One that Prompto eagerly returns, after a moment of shock. Noctis can’t even remember the last time he was hugged, let alone the last time he initiated a hug, but it feels...natural and good. Prompto traces the fingers of one hand up Noctis’ neck and tangles them in his hair once more, his other hand softly rubbing his back.
Noctis feels so comforted that he doesn’t ever want to leave, doesn’t want to think about saying anything to spoil the moment. But he trusts Prompto more than anything and, the longer they are here, pressed close together, the more he feels the urge to talk about it. Prompto’s a good friend, he’ll listen. Noctis breathes in his familiar and warm scent one more time...and takes the plunge.
“My dad is dying, Prompto,” he mumbles quietly, giving sound to the thought that has most been plaguing his mind ever since his father started needing to use his cane. “It’s the Wall. It keeps us safe, and it’s killing him,” he manages, before he falters. Putting it into words almost has Noctis panicking again, but he hears Prompto gasp a little bit before wrapping his arms around him tighter, pulling him even closer.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “No wonder you’ve been so sad.”
And that’s all. Nothing about how Noctis will need to be stronger to fill his father’s shoes, nothing about how he isn’t fit to be a king, nothing about how he can’t be upset, just acknowledging that it sucks. Something breaks within Noctis, but he really, really doesn’t want to cry in front of Prompto. It’s a strange mix of emotions. He pushes away slightly, so Prompto doesn’t have to deal with it, and finds himself locking eyes with Prompto again, Prompto’s strong arms preventing him from getting too far. And if he’s a good friend, he deserves to know the last bit of truth that Noctis has been keeping from him. Maybe he can get out of all of this now, while he has a chance.
“I feel like I should tell you one more thing,” Noctis says, almost a whisper.
“Sure, Noct,” Prompto replies immediately. “Lay it on me.”
“I don’t think you’ll like this one,” Noctis smiles slightly, in spite of it. What a ridiculous mess of emotions he is right now. “When...when Dad dies. Probably soon,” he tries, waving his hands around erratically against the tide of emotion he feels--just one of many behaviors his father and the Citadel have tried to train out of him. He takes a deep breath and continues, “someone will have to keep the Wall up. That someone will have to be me--” he tries to explain, but his voice breaks on the last word, and he presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, as if that will stop the tears, but to no avail. He did not want this to happen, Prompto is going to think he’s so weak, and a mess, and--
“It’s okay to be upset about it,” Prompto says, gently grabbing Noctis’ wrists to pull them away from his face. Noctis peeks at his dear friend--his kind, wonderful, patient friend--and is met with the gentlest look he thinks he’s ever seen from anyone. He thinks maybe Prompto is crying too, but then he’s completely overwhelmed because Prompto is gently brushing his tears away with his thumb.
“It’s a lot to take in, but I’m glad you told me,” he soothes. Noctis feels his face heating up, but he doesn’t push Prompto away at all. He leans closer, craving more of that contact. “It helps me to know everything,” he says with a soft smile.
“I’m sorry,” Noctis apologizes on instinct, before he gets too caught up, before he’s unable to pull away. “Don’t mean to be a bummer,” he tries to joke, but Prompto isn’t having it.
“Hey, this is serious. Your feelings are important to me,” he reminds, his tone only slightly harsh to show his seriousness. His tone then softens, “and you’re being very brave.”
“I don’t feel brave,” Noctis replies, before he can stop himself. “I’m afraid.”
“Oh, Noct,” Prompto sighs, pulling him back into their earlier embrace, rubbing his back with one hand. “Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means you’re afraid and you do it anyway. My mom told me that a long time ago…” he trails off somewhat wistfully.
His mom? Noctis thinks to himself. He almost wants to ask more, but he knows Prompto’s parents are a very sore subject, and he leaves it for another day. For now, he soaks in the comfort, trying not to feel embarrassed at the tears that flow now and then.
Noctis isn’t sure how long it is before he stops crying, but he feels his back and legs start to ache from the strange, huddled position he’s found himself in, and he pushes back sheepishly.
“Sorry about all that,” he apologizes. “Probably not what you signed up for…”
“What I “signed up for” was to be your friend,” Prompto responds, stern, but not unkind, as he stretches out his own arms. “That means good stuff and bad, you know.”
Does it? Noctis has always felt that he has had to live up to the image of the ideal prince, even with Ignis and Gladio. But Prompto...well, Prompto just saw him at his lowest, and the look in his eyes tells Noctis there’s no place he’d rather be. That look makes his heart jump in his throat, slightly, yet another thing he’s been trying to ignore.
“I...thank you,” Noct mumbles, waving his hands around again, this time because he’s overwhelmed that Prompto still wants to be his friend. Prompto, for his part, smiles knowingly at the motion. That’s another conversation they’ll have to have, Noct supposes, but he’s all drained right now.
Sensing this, Prompto hoists himself off the couch.
“Well, I brought over this junk food for a reason. Why don’t we get more comfortable and order a pizza?” he asks, gesturing to the fact that Noct is still in his school uniform. “We don’t have to think about any of this for a little while, if you don’t want to. Play video games, just vibe...”
Noct smiles. How does Prompto know exactly what he needs?
Y'all ever think about how not once, but T W I C E during the ending, Noct is all prepared to do what needs to be done but he turns around because Prompto calls out to him?
This came from a vague late-night idea of "what if they escaped from Zegnautus after they found Prompto and Noct has conflicting feelings about Prom doing his job because they just were reunited--" or something like that.
It was also an excuse to draw Prom's fantastic arms.
