Feb 10, 2022
say psyche right now and tell us you didn't buy an nft
I have 1400 dollars in my checking account so no, I did not and will not be interacting with NFTs/Crypto.
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say psyche right now and tell us you didn't buy an nft
I have 1400 dollars in my checking account so no, I did not and will not be interacting with NFTs/Crypto.
HFSP by @cranksy
Hoping for Some Permanence
Word Count: 6187
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Prompto/Noctis
Warnings: canonical minor character death (mention only)
Other Tags: Modern AU, Angst, Fluff, Dad!Cor, Slow Burn
Summary: A gift for @destatree that is quickly spiraling out of control :p
After weeks of begging, Gladio finally relents and offers Noctis the name of his preferred tattoo parlor. He doesn't think to mention just how attractive the young artist is, nor the fact that they both share a connection to his father.
[Read on Ao3]
Noct's first thought on opening the parlor door is that, above anything else, this is a mistake. He's making an absolutely huge mistake here, with the bells giving a little tingle on the inside handle and his eyes taking a moment or two longer than expected to adjust from bright summer sun to a relatively dim interior. The walls are all plastered with framed sheets of designs, the windows likewise coated with posters for some upcoming event or another. He almost stumbles into one of the low-set couches, all arranged in a comfortable horseshoe, surrounding a table that's piled high with over-stuffed binders and the occasional magazine he's not sure he'd be comfortable flipping through in public.
His first inclination is to text Gladio, something along the lines of 'you could have warned me', though he sweeps that idea from his mind just as quickly as he can. It had been like pulling teeth to get a recommendation from Gladio in the first place, and if Noct's first response is to complain about the place being dark, or having a strange and vaguely hospital-like smell to it, he knows he's never going to live it down. Hell, he's pretty sure that regardless of the outcome here, there won't be any living it down in general. If he chickens out and changes his mind, he's definitely never going to hear the end of it. And, well, if he doesn't do any of that and shows up at the gym with the magnificent, colorful sleeve of his dreams... he's pretty sure Gladio will have something to say about that, too. Probably with one of those heavy, 'playful' socks to the arm and a little chuckle.
Noctis can't help but think that, if he really wants to flee, he still has a perfect opportunity here. The counter he's peering over sits in the back corner, beside a hallway that opens to a couple more little doors. There's definitely an ominous sort of buzzing echoing down from the furthest room, the sound of music droning along over it, and then a call of 'be right with you' that Noct immediately identifies as too damn cheerful for someone who is undoubtedly inflicting bodily pain at the moment. Yeah, he can definitely get out of here now and nobody would ever know. Instead, he's looking through the glass case that comprises one half of the counter, peering at tiered displays of jewelry. The pieces shine within the lit cabinet, perfect little bits of silver and gold with heavy jewels or intricate charms, in shapes that leave Noctis wondering exactly where half of them are meant to be worn. He's absolutely and undeniably out of his depth here.
This whole experience so far, and really it hasn't been all that long at all, is turning out to be a real test of his nerves. He realizes, some minutes after that drowned-out assurance that his presence has been noted, the buzzing has stopped and the music has gone down. By this point, he's taken to pacing the room, perusing the wall's colorful designs, feeling much more as though he's in a museum than a shop. He lets himself get lost in splashes of color, in designs that seem equally to represent trend, tradition, and little flairs of unique design. He barely notices when the two men who were clearly responsible for the buzzing- and being buzzed upon- make their way out. There's a bit of chatter behind the counter, some exchange of money, none of which Noctis pays much attention to. There's still a lingering thought in his mind, that he can offer a little apology and dart out the door and it will only be briefly uncomfortable, something he can bounce back from and happily forget within a week or two.
He doesn't bolt, though. He offers a shaky sort of smile to the man who brushes past him to leave. He tries not to stare too intently at the careful covering of tape and plastic and paper against his bicep. Noctis goes either unnoticed or utterly ignored, though he can't say he's terribly upset for that. He turns his attention right back to the framed display he was perusing, stays quiet until he's finally spoken to, by the man behind the counter.
"Hey, sorry about that," the voice is light and chipper, a bit more cheerful than Noctis may have expected, based all on the aesthetic of the shop itself. Probably an unfair assessment. Really, there are a whole list of judgments going through his mind, none of which are fair, none of which are terribly congruous when he's in here with the intention of getting a tattoo himself. Still, he's surprised by what he sees when he turns his attention to the guy behind the counter, "you thinkin' of getting something done?"
The worker is young, maybe even a little bit younger than Noctis. He's all messy blond hair and messy freckles that accent his face a little bit too perfectly, all dusted over his cheeks and his forehead. Whatever Noctis had in mind when it came to an artist, this guy doesn't quite fit the bill. He's slender and, hell, he's cute with those big blue eyes and round cheeks and a smile that's utterly infectious. His ears are well-adorned with neat little holes at the lobes, stretched just enough to loop barbells through, and rings that travel all the way up the curves. There's a neat little silver ring in one nostril, though otherwise he appears fairly unadorned. Maybe Noctis had in mind someone big and burly, covered in ink and jingling with metal. He definitely didn't expect someone quite so... well, cute is the prime word coming to mind.
"Thinking of it," he says with an agreeable nod. He's pretty sure there must be some hesitation in his voice, because the words earn him a muted little laugh, a smile that's somehow wider, somehow catches him even more squarely in the chest. Yeah, he definitely should have run. He definitely should be texting Gladio with a, 'what the hell, dude'- though that idea does pop into his mind, gives him almost a start, "I, uhm. Gladio sent me..." more hesitation in his voice, which is met with a momentary look of confusion from the stupid, cute little blond, then a widening of those eyes and an 'oh' sort of sound and that unbelievable grin again.
"Big guy? Seriously?" he laughs, and Noctis feels a horrible flutter in his stomach. There's a horrible feeling building up there in the pit of it, some creeping inclination that there was a very pointed reason Gladio didn't warn him about any of this; a very specific intent behind recommending this particular shop in the first place. The guy surveys Noct for a moment longer, then that look of realization crosses his face again and he laughs once more, "right! I think he said he was sending someone my way. No offense, but you're not really what I woulda expected."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Noctis shoots the words back, follows them with a laugh. He's pretty sure he knows exactly what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't, after all, look much like the kind of guy who would be keeping someone like Gladio any sort of company. He even feels a little rush of guilt over the retort, because the poor guy looks mortified for a moment, before Noct moves to laughter. His attention by this point has been properly broken from the sample pieces, so Noct makes his way back to the counter. Maybe he's a little bit eager to get a better look at the artist, though he definitely justifies it all in his mind as a simple desire not to raise his voice across the shop- small as it is- for an entire conversation.
"I dunno, have you seen him? I'm surprised that guy ever leaves the gym. I guess I just expected another big, scary beef-man. This is, like, a pleasant surprise," he laughs again and Noctis, god damn it, can't help but smile right in return. On closer inspection, the guy is a bit more than cute. Words along the lines of 'fucking gorgeous' cross his mind, make his heart trip over itself. This is bad. This, Noctis realizes with a little start, is probably exactly what Gladio intended in sending him here, "Oh. I'm Prompto, by the way," he extends a hand across the counter. Noct wants to hesitate, he wants to back off already, but he goes to grasp it instead. An awkward moment follows, something that's just a little bit sparks but mostly Noctis forgetting how the hell to introduce himself and Prompto apparently forgetting the 'shake' part of a handshake.
"Noctis. Everyone calls me Noct," he gives a half-hearted pump at Prompto's hand and, both of them a little bit pink in the cheeks, eyes apparently opposing magnets, look as staunchly away from each other as they can without actually physically turning in opposite directions. He takes a moment to draw in a deep breath, to remind himself what he's actually here for, and that what he's actually here for is not to stumble over his words because some guy happens to be cute.
"Alright then, Noct. What were you wantin' to get done?" If Prompto was thrown by the brief awkwardness of their introduction, he doesn't let it throw him. And, damn it all again, it's just another little thing that Noct is finding horribly endearing. This is trouble. Gladio must have known that this would be trouble. That this was going to be a nightmare and a half for him. Noctis suddenly feels it crashing over him, the realization that there's so little chance this wasn't Gladio's idea of playing matchmaker. He's spent more and more of their time together lately trying to urge Noct back to his feet, to get himself back out there, brush of the dirt and actually live a little, all of that bullshit. It usually makes Noct bristle. It makes Noct want to bristle now, but that smile and those eyes and that dusting of freckles, they all make it so damn hard.
"A tattoo," Prompto doesn't need to laugh at that statement for Noctis to realize that, of course, that much was a given. He even groans at himself, shakes his head, but he doesn't immediately elaborate. That's at least part of the problem here, probably a good deal of the reason that Gladio was so damn hesitant to give him a shop suggestion. Noctis knows he wants something. He's been absolutely in awe of Gladio's work for a long time, really. When it comes to an actual design, though, he's at a loss. When Gladio finally conceded, offered him up the address, the name of the shop, he suggested he spend some time leafing through portfolios and looking at the walls. 'It doesn't have to be custom' he explained, 'but it better be something you really like'. Thanks, Gladio. Wise words. Nothing Noct could have worked out on his own.
"I guess that's a starting point. Kinda," Prompto isn't entirely inclined to spare Noct's feelings it seems, though his tone remains bright and bordering on outright bubbly. He's giving him a thoughtful look, something that stretches into silence, makes Noct shift a little from foot to foot. He's about to say 'never mind' and finally book it, just promise he'll come back when he's thought about it a bit more, when those little bells jingle on the door again. Prompto's eyes shoot immediately away from Noct and he himself turns his head over his shoulder to observe the newcomer.
"Oh! Hey, pops!" Prompto goes for a warm greeting, one that absolutely startles Noctis, really. Looking over the guy who walked in, he can't really work out the relation between the two. They don't particularly resemble each other. This man is stockier, harsher in the face, not unpleasant to look at but intimidating as all hell. And, somehow, Noctis feels when in the possible presence of the stupidly gorgeous guy's father, that he's doing something terribly untoward. It's all in his head, and he's even aware of that fact on some level, but he's shifting a bit more notably now and a wash of anxiety is running cold over his body, turning him in on himself in ways that are barely perceptible.
"Everything go alright on the one-thirty?" the man slides behind the counter beside Prompto, reaches to click through on the computer there. His expression never changes from that slightly hardened stare, focused now on a screen beyond Noct's range of vision. He's gone quiet, doing little more than listening, than observing. He tries to remind himself what he's actually in the shop for in the first place, to steady his breathing and clear his mind in what should probably be a blessing of a delay.
"Just a touch-up, no big deal. Tipped me well enough," Prompto is beaming here, absolutely exuding a pride that isn't conveyed by his words. The older man's gaze breaks with the screen and, to Noct's absolute surprise, he offers a brief hint of a smile and claps a hand on Prompto's shoulder. There's a momentary emotion rising in Noct's chest, burning up to his throat. Jealousy, maybe? A little bit of wistful regret? Something along those lines, in any case. Maybe a bit of nostalgia for a relationship he never shared with his own father, despite his best attempts.
"Good work. He's not the easiest client, you must have done well," the man's gaze finally lands on Noct after the reassurance, ponders him for a moment, "friend of yours?" he extends a hand to Noctis as well, and this time Noct manages to remember what he's meant to do with it, even if his whole body is buzzing with a strange sort of nerve. He's decided by now that he doesn't belong here, that this was all a mistake. After all, this man who clearly knows exactly what he's talking about has immediately pegged Noctis as a friend rather than a client.
"Hope so. This is Noct. Gladio sent him over, but he's totally in over his head. Now that you're here, we're gonna head to lunch," Prompto's confidence is almost alarming to Noctis, but he flashes that grin again and he knows there won't be any denying it. He's maybe even more lost than when he walked in at this point, but he doesn't exactly intend to deny Prompto's plan. There's a strange little jolt of happiness that comes with that reply, that 'hopefully', and Noctis accepts right away that, well, he's hoping that, too.
"Noct, huh?" The man gives him a long look, this one a bit more searching, something that makes Noctis want to squirm even more than he already has been. There's a certain look in his eyes, a certain narrowing of them that feels a whole lot like there's something behind them. Something close to...what? Recognition? Impossible, he tells himself. He would absolutely remember knowing this man, all harsh lines and wiry muscles and unexpected fondness behind it all. Still, there's something in the stare that catches him, knocks him on his ass so-to-speak. Something Noctis will have to work out, he decides, if this whole 'hopefully friends' things comes to fruition.
"Yessir," Noct is surprised by his own response, by the almost instinctive respect the guy seems to command. Maybe there are little bits of his father's influence still lingering, even after all this time. Maybe there's something catching in the back of his mind, distant and impossible, just beyond his grasping. He doesn't know how to reach for it, how to identify it, and he doesn't know quite how to cast it aside either, as anything more than over-thinking a critical look.
"And you're Gladio's friend," he reiterates that point and his tone seems careful. Noctis nods eagerly to it though, and he feels a sort of pleasure, relief maybe, to be able to offer some affirmative response there, "good people, the Amicitias. I knew Clarus well. Real shame."
Those words, that particular point, really does just about knock Noctis straight on his ass. There's a sudden twisting in his gut and he's sure it plays across his face. Is that where the familiarity came from? Was he at the funeral? Does he blame Noctis for what happened there? Does he blame his father? A million questions run through his mind, all at once and all without answer. He opens his mouth, but Prompto must have noticed the sudden tension because he steps to the other side of the counter, slings an arm around Noct's shoulder, levels a look at the man that Noctis has decided at this point he really doesn't want to be around another moment.
"Okay, dad. Enough of the awkward. We'll be back later," his voice is still cheerful, but there's something in there that is almost pleading, as if he's absolutely begging his father not to say anything else, not to dig more at whatever hole he's worked into Noct, "maybe try not to scare anyone off while I'm gone?" the words seem enough to soften the man's face, draw out a curt nod. His eyes are still on Noctis, even when Prompto drags shifts to grasp his arm instead, all but drag him from the shop. Noct is absolutely positive he can still feel the gaze on the back of his neck when the door sounds their exit and they step into a day bright enough to positively blind.
Prompto's hand is still around Noct's forearm, spreading a few strides of distance between them and the shop before he releases. There's a strange inclination on Noct's end to reach for Prompto again, but he brushes it off, glances over instead. He thinks he should probably thank him for the quick escape, but he's not really given the chance before Prompto is groaning and shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, that was totally weird. My dad's alright, but he's, like, the king of making things super awkward. Figured you could use some rescuing there," even through the tone, Noctis can tell that Prompto really is apologetic more than teasing. Noct, well, he can appreciate that. He's been known to err on the side of humor when things get a bit too deep himself, though maybe without the need to apologize for any of his father's behavior. Things tended to go the opposite way in that realm for him, "you don't actually hafta come with me," he adds, and Noctis feels just a little pang of sadness at the words, just a small emotion and just for a moment, "I mean, I'd like it if you did. But I was just trying to save ya there. If you let him dive into the war stories, he'll be at it all night."
Noctis nods. He doesn't respond at all at first. War stories. Gladio's dad. He still feels a hell of a lot like he's had the wind knocked out of him, something he definitely doesn't want to point out to Prompto. And there's the other bit that he isn't keen to share, where he's working through his memories, trying to pick out a name to put to that face, because there's no denying at this point that his own father must have known the guy.
"Lunch sounds good. We're becoming friends here, right? Can't abandon you now," he manages to laugh with the words and it seems to brighten Prompto a bit further. An arm slings around Noct's shoulder again. His instinct, in any other situation he thinks, would be to shrug it off. Here, though, he almost leans into it. Here, he mimics the gesture, gives a little nudge of the fist to the back of Prompto's opposite arm, "telling your dad I'm in over my head as an introduction isn't the best way to start, though. You do realize that, right?" Prompto stiffens briefly and he laughs, gives Noct a little shove away. It's all easy, a bit too natural maybe, but they're already feeling a hell of a lot like friends.
"You came into his parlor only knowing you want 'a tattoo'. I'm just callin' it like I see it," calling it right at that, Noctis thinks, though he's beginning to believe it goes a little bit deeper than ink and skin. He doesn't bother to say that, doesn't bother to say anything at all, though he works up a mock-wounded groan. There's something here, something easy and natural and almost magnetic and he takes the little jab in stride in a way he's sure he wouldn't be able to with anyone else. Not that he has a whole lot of 'anyone elses' to joke around with. Another point that doesn't need to come into play just yet.
"Guess you've got me there," he eventually groans. They're walking, toward the end of the block, and Noctis thinks that maybe it's not entirely an aimless stroll. Lunch does sound appealing, and Prompto's leading the way as though he has a destination in mind. A good thing, too, because Noct doesn't know the neighborhood. It's not terribly far from home, and it's not a bad place, he decides. All artsy little storefronts, studios and cafes and oddly specific specialty stores. He thinks about asking how a place that only sells lampshades stays in business, but instead he simply drinks it all in, tries to note landmarks for later.
They're walking in silence again for another block or two. Prompto must notice how out-of-his-element Noctis is, because he's not saying too much and he's certainly not speeding up their travels when Noct slows down to glance into a window or check the title of one store or another. It's a comfortable silence, maybe unexpectedly so. Noct is pretty sure there's no neighborhood quite like this that he's spent any amount of time in and he feels a little bit guilty that he's never made it over here before. It really is only a stone's throw from home and just about every place looks appealing.
"I'm guessing you're not from around here," Prompto observes finally. Noctis laughs just a little bit at the easy call. The sad part, of course, is that he very much is from around here, in a large sense. He can see the rise of his apartment complex not too far in the distance. Easily walkable from where they stand. Hell, he walked here in the first place, though mostly with his eyes glued to the phone's GPS and his palms sweating while he tried to work out whether or not this was all a monumental mistake. He's decided, at least, that it wasn't a complete mistake. Prompto seems nice, friendly, definitely too damn cute for his own good, but someone that Noctis wants to know. Someone he's unexpectedly glad to have met.
"I live closer to the Citadel. Kinda shocked I never made it over here before," Prompto seems shocked by this admission too, though he has the good grace only to smile and shrug. There's a certain difference, Noctis is too damn aware, between people who spend a lot of time near the Citadel and people who spend a lot of time literally anywhere else. It's a sort of uncomfortable thing, all to do with money and class and the sort of shit that Noctis doesn't care too much about. The sort of shit that he's been made aware he only doesn't care too much about because he has enough standing in both areas not to need to. That's all the sort of conversation he's trying very hard not to have here though, so he smiles a shy little number and tilts his head toward Prompto, "guess you're gonna hafta lead the way. I'm already totally lost," not entirely true, but the thought seems to make Prompto brighten again.
"Tour guide Prompto is on the job," he absolutely grins that heart-melting and toothy expression that grabs Noct's attention far more than it has any right to. There are a lot of thoughts going through his mind right now, and they're all making him pretty damn uncomfortable. All making him question exactly what the hell Gladio had in mind when he referred him to that shop. Noctis doesn't get a chance to dwell too much on it though, because Prompto's chattering away easily now and he finds that he doesn't want to miss a beat of it, "this neighborhood is pretty cool. All artsy and stuff. Totally a million places to check out. I like it a lot. You know Maagho?" he's rattling off a bit and it takes a moment for Noctis to catch up, blink through a bit of memory that strikes him again, harsh and right in the center of his chest.
"Kinda. Haven't been there since I was a kid," he replies. He does have some memories of the place, mostly at meetings that a child has no place at, trying to remember which fork to pick up for which bit of food he didn't have any interest in putting in his mouth. There was a lot of being quiet, back-straight, eyes forward. He doesn't have terribly fond memories of it, now that he considers it, not beyond the fact that they were rare times he was able to spend with his father. That, in its own way, makes them good memories and precious ones, though he doesn't get into any of that. He's gone quiet again, in fact, and he knows that Prompto must be noticing it.
"Oh. Damn, well..." he hesitates just a moment, something that makes Noctis wish he had picked some better words. Impossibly though, Prompto brightens again, seems so perfectly able to shrug it all off, "bet it sucked as a kid. Everything's super cool and fancy, but when you're little I bet it's all just really boring and gross," he laughs and Noctis laughs as well. He's pretty much hit it on the head there, Noctis thinks, and he almost says it, though Prompto goes on before he has much of a chance to, "anyway, it's totally a perfect fancy date spot now. All the expensive wine and tasty pasta. Totally romantic."
"So that's where you're taking me?" Noctis feels his cheeks go bright with the words and he forces out a little laugh. It wasn't exactly the smoothest of moves he could have made and he runs through everything that has been said between the two of them up to this point, rolling through any signs he may or may not have seen. May or may not have missed. Prompto is quiet again, which Noct decides isn't a great sign. His heart is thumping uncomfortably and his palms have gone all sweaty again. He opens his mouth to try and sneak in a little 'just kidding', but again he's not given the opportunity.
"For a first date? No way, dude. I don't know how much money you think tattoo artists make," he laughs heartily and he glances at Noct. Noct is pretty sure Prompto's cheeks, all round and freckles and perfect in their way, have lit up a bit too. Maybe it was a step too far, but it doesn't seem like Prompto's taken offense. He's not entirely shot the idea down, right? "That's, like, third date at least. That's, 'I'm getting you drunk on wine that cost my whole day's pay and taking you back home' date. And I'll have you know, I'm not that easy," another laugh and he knocks a shoulder against Noctis's, offers up that same unbelievable smile.
"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm not getting anywhere tonight. So where are we going then?" Noctis decides the best route at this point, after the little missteps and with his whole body going all tense and uncertain and close to trembling, is to play along. Prompto is taking it all in stride, after all, and that has to be a good sign. Noctis has to believe it's a good sign. He doesn't have a goddamn clue, if he's being honest. He tries to think back to the last time he's actually flirted with someone, to the last time he's actually even wanted to, but all he sees is a blank. His head hurts a little bit with the effort and he casts the whole thought aside. He's definitely not doing himself any favors, but he's not quite scared Prompto off, so he's taking it as a net win.
"There's a decent little sandwich place. Just another block. They're huge and messy and totally delicious. You'll love it. I say this as someone who has known you for a grand total of like fifteen minutes and clearly has a good idea of what you will or will not love," he's getting chattier now, laughing a little bit too much, smiling a little bit too wide. Is he nervous? Noctis offers a smile and another little chuckle. He can't quite work it out. He can't quite figure any of this out, really. Prompto is too straightforward for Noct to really comprehend, a whole load of an oxymoron right there. But he's staying at his side and he's giving all those laughs and smiles and speaking a bit more than he probably should and if he's nervous, well, so is Noct. Maybe it's all turning out the best it probably can.
"Huge, messy, and delicious is my middle name," Noctis agrees, and then he groans almost immediately afterward when Prompto breaks into absolutely genuine laughter. Noct likes to think he usually has a decent filter, but he's pretty sure he couldn't have gone for a more overt, borderline tasteless bit of flirtation had he tried. And he definitely hadn't tried. He's pretty sure he's in the deep red when it comes to coolness points right now. Luckily, Prompto's laughter is infectious and he's giggling at himself all the same.
"Look, I know I'm pretty irresistible, but you can save the real charm for hour two of us knowing each other," another joke and another jab at Noct's arm. It's enough to calm the air between them, Noct thinks. At very least, it's enough to make him feel a little bit less like a hopeless, bumbling idiot, and that's a start. He shakes his head, he groans, and he keeps following Prompto as he leads the way up toward the end of the block, toward the promised little hole-in-the-wall.
Noct doesn't know immediately what to make of the place. It smells absolutely amazing when they head in the door, even if the decor doesn't quite reflect that. It's definitely not the sort of place that he might have imagined taking a date, but he's still not entirely certain whether this qualifies as a date or they were simply joking around to begin with. It's all overwhelming, if he's honest. They're lucky enough to have missed the lunch rush, which is almost a shame, because the big board up behind the counter has Noct's mind swimming. And maybe there's a little bit of frowning as he counts through just how many of the options are chock full of things that sound very much like vegetables.
"A lot to take in, right?" Noct is almost startled by Prompto speaking, but he nods and he gives the most hopeless expression he can muster up. It's enough to make Prompto laugh and shake his head, give Noctis another nudge, "alright, alright. I'll pick for you. Just trust me, alright? I mean, we're approaching the half-hour mark in our relationship here, I think I've got this under control," and he winks. He fucking winks. If Noctis wasn't in trouble before, he absoltuely is now, because his heart does those strange little flips in his chest and his stomach goes into a bit of a freefall and he's pretty sure that he's staring at Prompto at this point, forgetting immediately to respond at all.
"That's a lot of trust to put in one person, you know. Really going out on a limb here. If I see anything vegetable-adjacent, just know that this date is officially over."
"So it is a date! Score! Alright, alright, go sit down, I'll handle this," Noctis nearly choked on his words there, but Prompto is...hell, he's excited. And it's infectious, the same way that smile was, the same way his whole damn personality seems to be. So Noctis smiles and he nods and he finds a table for two that appears to be at least relatively clean, after he's spent a minute or two going over it with the stack of napkins he grabs.
Noctis feels like sitting here for a moment, in the relative silence of the little sandwich shop, is enough time to take a deep breath, to try to actually assess the situation. He takes a moment to fire a quick text off to Gladio, demanding to know whether this was all a setup. He makes sure to sound as serious as possible, to give off the impression of being properly offended by the idea. In reality, he's sneaking glances at Prompto even now, watching him chatter away with the absolutely exhausted-looking teen behind the counter. There's a quick move of ducking his head and making the table appear incredibly interesting when he notices Prompto glancing over his shoulder. He's pretty sure he's been caught, and that idea, impossibly, makes him smile.
He's in trouble here, that thought keeps running back into his mind. Prompto is... he's too nice. He's sweet and he's adorable, a bundle of carefree energy and boundless enthusiasm. He's the exact opposite of Noctis. There's no way in hell this is going to work out, Noctis is certain of that part. And that's without even delving into the state Noctis has found his life in. The right thing to do, he realizes with an absolutely painful jolt, is to call this all off. He should thank Prompto for the lunch but tell him that, really, this is all a terrible idea nd he's very sorry, but he needs to go. Then... then what? He can lock himself in his room for another week or two, he can ignore whatever response Gladio eventually texts him. He can pretend that he's definitely fine, that he's not going on two years past a dead father and a broken engagement and hasn't come to terms with either. That's definitely what he should do. This is all Gladio's fault, anyway. He knew damn well, Noctis made it so damn clear that he wasn't in a place to deal with anything like this.
That's not what he does, though. Yet again, he doesn't bolt for the door as he's so inclined to. An image crosses his mind of Prompto looking all crestfallen, feeling the sting of rejection, and he realizes that there's no way in hell he can do that. Instead, he sits patiently and when Prompto finally returns to the table with a tray stacked in sandwiches and fries and shakes, he offers up the best smile he can muster.
"No veggies, as ordered. Guess that means you can't dump me yet, huh?" Prompto's smile is just as bright and it's enough that Noctis can't dwell too much on his uncertainty, on his internal turn toward anguish. He can't do a whole lot other than mirror the expression and go to unwrap his food, inspect and appraise Prompto's choices for him. He's gone with some sort of meat-filled sub, something that lies strangely between burger and hero and has plenty of cheese and a questionable sort of sauce that Noct feels the need to test on a fingertip before he opts to actually take a bite of the sandwich. He considers the tangy flavor, blinks, then nods, that same stupid smile on his lips.
"Guess not. I'm expecting this to be one hell of a date, though. I don't really do dates. Gonna have to really wow me," that much is the honest-to-god truth. And that much, Noctis can tell, Prompto is taking as a challenge.
"Lucky for you, I'm just about the best date ever. Just ask all my exes," he actually waits for Noct's groan at the utterly horrible joke before he presses on, "alright. You'd better brace yourself, 'cause I'm brignin' my A-game. You're gonna be, like, head-over-heels by the time we're done."
"You wanna make a wager there?" Noctis laughs again, he really can't help himself. The doubt is still present, still thick and heavy and plaguing him as much as it ever has, but Prompto is a strange sort of irresistible.
"Of course. If I win, I get another date. Pretty sure that's how this works."
"Sounds pretty standard," Noctis agrees, that smile still there, "and if you lose?"
"Then I guess you get to take me on the next date instead."
Noctis can hardly believe himself, but he extends a hand to shake on the deal.
Hoping For Some Permanence | Chapter 5
Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4
Pairing: Prompto/Noctis
Warnings: past minor character death, mental illness, anxiety, depression; please see additional tags on Ao3 for more specific potential triggers!
Summary: Prompto is the junior artist at Lion Heart, his father’s revered tattoo studio. Noctis needs to work through his past, but he’d be much happier painting over it.
(read on Ao3)
There are two distinct possibilities in Noctis’s mind. He’s reeling here, trying to work through them without giving the distinct impression of someone silently working through something quite so potentially devastating. He’s clutching that damn grab bar for dear life. He feels distinctly cold, and he’s well aware that the color has likely drained entirely from his face. He can’t look over at Prompto, that much is certain. Maybe it would give him an answer, if he could just glance at him, gauge his expression, read into what the hell he’s thinking.
The first possibility is the one that Noctis wants so desperately to cling to. It’s the one he wants to be the truth. He wants Prompto’s words to be an accident, a mistake born of entirely understandable ignorance. He wants Prompto to have been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to ease some of Noct’s fears with that bit of levity. He would, after all, have no reason to know the truth. He would have no reason whatsoever to play such a cruel card against him knowingly at that. They’re on a date, after all. They’re trying to have a good time, trying to get to know each other. There have been conversations through the week that started at all that, and they went well. There have been butterflies when Noctis thinks about him. Those are all, he hopes, checks in this particular column.
The other option is a hell of a lot less innocent or acceptable. It’s something that makes all of those hours preparing for the date, stressing over it, weaving in and out of panic null and void. This option has to do with Prompto finding out more than he’s implied. It has to do with talking to Gladio or maybe even his father- a guy who seems aware enough of Noctis, even if that familiarity didn’t spark in his own mind. It goes into a bit of digging, an exploration of a past that Noctis has very specifically not discussed with Prompto just yet. It will come soon, it will have to, but he’s made a stark point of keeping it all to himself.
There’s a second facet however, to that latter possibility, and it’s one that’s a hell of a lot more nefarious. That Prompto would have learned about Noct’s past and then immediately made a joke of it, made a point to reduce Noct to guilt-ridden misery. The mere idea of it sends cold prickles at the back of Noct’s neck and a harsh, empty feeling in the pit of his belly. Prompto wouldn’t do that, would he? Nobody would do that. He would have never wound up in this situation, clinging to handles and trying to remember all of those grounding techniques all so he can act like a normal, functional human being on a date with someone he really thinks he likes. He couldn’t have been so wrong about Prompto. It’s impossible. The only thing more impossible, he has to think, is Noctis actually emerging from his guilt and his regret to admit that he’s jumping to conclusions lacking any actual reason behind them.
Noctis knows that he needs to say something, but as for what he should say? There’s always the option of actually being honest, of pointing out exactly why he’s gone so tense, so silent, why there’s nothing between them now but tension and the low drone of the radio. He doesn’t want to be honest, though. If Prompto doesn’t know the truth, if he doesn’t have to know just yet, isn’t that for the best? He can drum up some good will, make it harder to hate him in the end. It’s not so much that he wants to be dishonest, not even that he wants to hide this all from Prompto. He just wants a little time. He needs a little time, a little safety net. A little bit of anything that will keep Prompto from turning tail when everything goes sticky.
Sitting here in silence, Noctis realizes, is not the way to drum up that good will. It’s not the way to begin a second date that is, in all honesty, a lot closer to a first proper one than anything else. When Noctis finally can bring himself to turn his attention, to look back at Prompto, the poor guy really does look like he’s horribly close to having some sort of breakdown, internally or otherwise. He’s all bright cheeks and hands that grip the wheel too hard and attention set so specifically to the road that Noct isn’t sure whether he knows he’s being watched or not. There’s a pang here, a little bit of guilt, because he doesn’t think that the second option was the correct one. He doesn’t think Prompto is trying anything other than to have a good time with him, and here he is, overreacting to silly words, closing himself off before there’s ever a chance to open up. He draws in a breath and there’s a bit of an internal scramble, an attempt to come up with any sort of words to explain it all away.
“I’m totally starving,” Noctis settles on words that have no real importance at all. They’re words he can say though, words that are totally true at that. His stomach is doing flips and eating away at itself, none too quietly. Ignis had been hassling him all morning, reminding him that he doesn’t want to be going out on a first date dinner and scarfing down everything in sight. Noct forced himself to appreciate the advice, but he couldn’t force himself to do more than nibble half-heartedly at the food his brother served him. It had smelled amazing, of course. Ignis is a damn genius when it comes to cooking, and it’s his damn job to be, after all. Nerves, however, had turned his whole body into a bit of a hostile environment when it comes to things like eating or resting, or generally doing anything that wasn’t pacing and panicking.
Prompto doesn’t relax in response to the words, which is no real surprise, but he does glance over and Noct is able to catch his eyes and offer up a smile that is tiny and apologetic. Prompto attempts to return it, the effort is clear, even if the end result is somewhat questionable. Can Noctis really blame him though? Prompto seems even more nervous than he’s feeling, somehow, and there was that awkward moment that almost certainly was born simply from Noct’s own hang-ups. It’s still a relief, though, to see his grip on the wheel loosen just a hair, see him shift in the seat to a position that borders on comfort.
“Yeah, me too. I haven’t really eaten all day,” Prompto even manages to speak, and his voice is only a little bit shaky, slightly stilted. Noctis is happy about that. He’s happy that he’s speaking at all, that things haven’t managed to, for lack of better term, crash and burn quite so quickly. And maybe he’s even a little bit happy that they’re both so clearly on edge, that all of his worrying, all of his panic over how this night would go, isn’t one-sided. It’s not fair to feel that way, Noct’s aware of that point somewhere in the back of his mind, and maybe his own nervous energy and Prompto’s are feeding off of each other. But there’s a strange sort of camaraderie here, with both of them tense and uncomfortable, standing on a shared ledge of very possible imminent breakdown.
Silence sets between them again, though this time Noctis likes to think it’s not quite so uncomfortable. His mind is so prone to going back over the past, to examining what happened to him before Prompto, those long months of isolation and their point of origin. He’s absolutely drawn to wondering, what could have gone differently, what he could have changed. Where he would have been if he had managed to do so. It’s a difficult set of ideas, because all awkwardness aside, Noctis likes this. He likes being with Prompto, in the aging car that has a back seat all stuffed with piles of junk and a radio that only seems to play on one side. He likes the idea of going to dinner with him, getting to know him, spending more time together than this one evening a week after they’d first met. He likes staying up a little bit too late, phone lighting his face where he’s tucked beneath covers, waiting for one more response. He likes Prompto and he could have never gotten to that point if anything in his damn life had gone as planned.
The drive stretches on, though Noctis is vaguely aware that it can’t possibly be that long. Insomnia isn’t a small city, but it has a whole lot of city jammed into not a whole lot of space. The roads twist and turn and there’s always a fair bit of back tracking down one-way streets over and over to get where you intend, but all considered, he had no difficulty hopping the train and making it to Prompto’s shop within the space of an hour. Which means the actual drive proper is maybe a quarter of that, barring any particularly brutal traffic. He’s surprised, really, when Prompto speaks up again.
“Hey, so, I don’t want you to be all let down by where we’re going,” he has that edge in his voice, that uncertainty that is becoming well-known to Noct. It makes him frown this time though, feel less kinship and more concern, “you’re probably used to really fancy stuff, huh? I don’t really know anywhere like that,” the whole concept makes Noctis shift to better watch Prompto. His grip even loosens from the grab handle at the roof, though he immediately grips instead at one on the door.
“Why would you think that?” Noctis is compelled to ask because, quite honestly, he can’t wrap his mind around it. Their first ‘date’ was to a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop. And it was a damn good date, with damn good food. Exactly the sort of thing that Noctis can get behind, where they don’t really mess around with anything green or leafy or remotely healthy. The idea of some fancy, expensive place with too many forks and a special guy who’s job is just to tell you what cheese to order? Noct’s pretty sure he’s had a whole lifetime’s worth of suffering through that particular hell.
Prompto doesn’t respond right away and Noct has the distinct impression that he’s uncomfortable again. It’s difficult here, probably a lot more difficult than it needs to be, everything else being equal. He could have taken another route with his words, he realizes. He could have brushed it all aside, pointed out that as far as he’s concerned, the junkier the fare the better. Then again, would that have come off wrong, too? He’s frowning, more to himself than anything, but Prompto glances at him and he must notice because he actually winces, as if Noctis didn’t feel bad enough already.
“I mean, you’re like, rich, right?” Prompto laughs at his own words and shakes his head, “a totally different world than some guy doing tattoos, anyway. I’m pretty sure the fake-fancy chain place isn’t exactly the height of class or whatever,” and while his laughter is a little bit nervous, it manages to make Noctis feel just a bit better. Hell, he laughs too.
“I dunno about that. Never said I was classy. I’d rather go somewhere you want to, anyway. Did Gladio not mention that I’m a total shut-in at this point?” When it comes down to it, little slivers of truth like that one are a lot easier than Noctis would have imagined. It’s not hard to talk to Prompto, not as a rule. Sure, he’s struggling here, but Noctis is starting to come to the conclusion that it’s the fact they haven’t seen each other for a week, that his mind has built up this enormous obligation for the night to be perfect, only to be shot down immediately. He was the one, after all, who told Prompto it would be a good time no matter what, wasn’t he? So why the hell can’t he apply that same thought to himself?
“Gladio didn’t mention anything, dude. And I totally tried. He basically just laughed in my face. In my phone. In my phone-face,” there is an absolutely astounding sense of relief here, with Prompto very much sounding suddenly like himself again. Or, at the very least, sounding like the self Noctis has in mind. He has to remind himself, here and there, that they don’t really know each other. It’s hard for him to keep track of the fact that they only met a week ago, only spoke through texts, only have those very simple impressions to work on. He finds himself laughing a little bit as Prompto goes animated though, as he seems to burst into life.
“That sounds like Gladio. You could’ve just asked me if there was something you were wondering, y’know,” Noctis really is smiling with these words, light and genuine and feeling more at ease than he has since, well, their last date ended. Maybe taking his own advice is a decent idea. Maybe he can have a good time, if he’ll just let himself. And, yeah, maybe learning that Gladio didn’t betray any enormously important points about Noctis and his past or his admittedly difficult personality is a relief all on its own. Noct wants to think, however, that it’s just the act of actually talking, remembering why he’s here, that’s making all the difference.
“Well, yeah, but that’d be totally weird.”
“And secretly asking my friends isn’t?”
“Look, I never said I was any good at this whole ‘going on dates with cute boys I’m supposed to be poking with needles’ thing,” there’s a certain way that Prompto’s voice rises, just a little bit, when he’s becoming flustered. Noctis thinks it’s about the most endearing damn thing he’s ever witnessed and it’s growing harder and harder with each louder, higher-pitched word not to burst into a little fit of laughter.
“You think I’m cute!” Noctis can’t quite help pressing in just a bit of a tease there, letting his voice go into a bit of a teasing melody. It’s absolutely ridiculous, entirely childish, and it has them both laughing a little bit, even if Prompto is still sputtering a little bit. Really, the brief compliment makes Noct’s heart flutter a little bit, might even bring some of the color back to his face. It’s definitely easier to make fun of Prompto for it than to admit any of that, though.
“Obviously I think you’re cute. I wouldn’t have forced you to go on another date with me if I didn’t,” there’s a bit of a pout forming at Prompto’s lips, something that’s definitely all show, part of the game being played between them now. That part is endearing too. Every damn thing about Prompto is turning out to be that way. Noctis thinks, just briefly, that he’s gotten himself in way over his damn head here.
“I wouldn’t really call it forcing. I wanted to come. ‘Cause, y’know, you’re pretty cute yourself,” Noctis feels himself go a little bit warm with the admission, enough so in fact that he moves to fiddle with the window. Then realizes very quickly that he’s only fiddling with the locks and finds the crank somewhere below. Perhaps not his finest moment, but Prompto is laughing about it and that’s enough to keep him smiling.
“At least we got that much settled,” there really is an air of relief to Prompto’s tone and Noctis wonders, just for a moment, if he should go on. Should he be extolling more of the virtues he’s come to the conclusion match up with Prompto, from the admittedly limited contact they’ve been sharing? There’s a bit of an instinct to do just that, if he’s being honest. Because Prompto is pretty damn cute, and he’s pretty funny too. He’s pretty easy to talk to, when Noctis can allow himself to admit anyone ever would be easy to talk to. And he’s nice to be around, even when things got off to such a shaky start, even when Noctis found himself spending a fair few minutes trapped in his own mind and his own memories.
“Right, well, we’re almost there,” Prompto’s voice is picking up nerves again, but at least he’s making attempts at a smile. Noctis watches intently, watches the way his fingers shift between drumming and clutching at the steering wheel, then back again. Watches how his free leg bounces in place while they’re slowing, making those final turns and that attempt to locate parking. At this rate, Noctis can relax a little bit. There’s no great fear that everything will, quite literally, turn immediately sideways from some freak incident beyond their control. There’s not much fear, either, that he’ll get trapped back in his memories of just such an incident, or that either of them will manage- for the moment, at least- to say something particularly damning.
And, to be entirely honest, he can already pick up the scents of the restaurant as they’re searching for a spot. Even if it’s not ‘classy’, it’s exactly what Noctis can go for. A sort of pseudo-upscale environment, probably designed for families and young couples short on cash and eager to indulge. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the name as a chain, maybe from a mailer or a commercial, and really, he’s wondering yet again why Prompto thought it was essential to worry quite so much. Noctis has a feeling, the way Prompto presented at his door, that this particular question will come to his mind more than on just this occasion.
There’s a moment when the car is parked, where they both remain seated. A look passes between them, something of hesitation and excitement, all smiles and nerves, butterflies practically taking flight between them. Noctis thinks, or wants to think in any case, that Prompto isn’t feeling so different than he is right now. He hasn’t been on a proper date, not anything beyond that little impromptu lunch a week before, in longer than he likes to remember. Hell, when he considers it now, it occurs to him that his damn engagement might have been the last time. There’s a brief tightening of his stomach there, when he considers how he’ll admit that bit to Prompto. He recalls advice from Ignis though, admits that he’s getting ahead of himself, and gives a little nod of reassurance before he steps from the car.
It really is a nice evening. The last bits of sunlight are still clinging to the edges of the city, streetlights just beginning to snap to life. It’s cool, but it’s comfortable. Just a light breeze, enough to make his long sleeves more blessing than curse for the first time in some months. The whole night gives the distinct impression of fall looming close, and really, Noctis is happy enough for that. He’s happy to be beyond his birthday, beyond the sweating summer months, beyond the moments that made him consider that damn tattoo that got him into this utterly perfect mess. The cold, the actual and proper icy nights, will set in soon. It will all be painful, achy chills in no time, and Noctis wishing for the summer again right along with it. Just now, though, the night is perfect. He’s smiling when he comes back to Prompto’s side, weaves their arms and works their hands together.
Noctis allows himself to believe he’s pretty damn smooth with this move, the way Prompto’s cheeks light up, clear even in the quickly draining light. He likes the way Prompto looks when he’s blushing like that, the deep pink that overcomes him, interrupted in spots by that little dusting of freckles. Noct has found himself, whether he’ll admit it or not, imagining getting his lips on those speckled cheeks, chasing little lines and connecting the dots. Yeah, definitely not admitting that just now, when they’re only walking in for their meal.
“Have I mentioned I’m totally starving? ‘Cause I’m totally starving,” Noctis presses their shoulders together a little where they stand, waiting for the light to turn on the crosswalk. There’s a bit of subdued neon lighting marking out their destination and, again, that scent. All full of garlic and bread and, well, Noct’s never really had a nose for all the rest. Ignis would probably be able to write a damn review on the aroma alone. All Noct really knows is that it smells good and it has his stomach making agreeable sounds, ones quite thankfully drowned by traffic, passersby, and Prompto’s little burst of laughter.
“Guess it’s a good thing for the date then, huh? I’m gonna warn you though, if you decide to eat your weight in lobster, I’m gonna hafta ask you to buy the ice cream after,” Prompto is laughing even through that joke, and Noctis finds himself chuckling a little bit too as the light flashes to walk and they make their way across the street, still hand-in-hand. Nothing that either of them have to say is terribly funny, but Noct’s mood is lifted considerably just by being around Prompto. It’s absolutely startling, if he’s being honest. He tries to remember his first date with Luna, so many years ago. They were just kids, and the whole relationship was something that was more expected than it was decided. Did he ever feel that distinct fluttering between his ribs for her? Was everything she said terribly amusing? He decides very sharply not to think about that.
“So you’re taking me for ice cream, too? Pretty much a dream date right here,” Noctis is very close to an outright grin- a true rarity for him- when they make it to the door and Prompto holds it open for him. He thinks that, all of the nerves aside, they really will have a good time here. The place isn’t terribly fancy, which is exactly what Noctis would have hoped for if the choice was his own. And the prospect of sharing some dessert afterward too is an absolutely appealing one. Hell, he’s even impressed, spirits a little bit lifted, when Prompto tells the front counter that he’s made a reservation. Noct is pretty sure that, a place like this, it’s entirely unnecessary, but there’s something in the gesture, the planning ahead that touches him.
Prompto doesn’t respond directly to the comment about dream dates, but Noctis thinks that he seems to be just a little bit more confident in his walk, in the grip around Noct’s hand when they’re making their way to the table. A small exchange of laughter comes when Prompto makes a point of pulling out Noct’s chair for him, not nearly far enough, but with Noctis making a point of trying to wedge himself in all the same. There’s something about being with Prompto, Noct decides, that makes him feel a hell of a lot younger. Or, maybe, it makes him feel like a twenty year old guy should be feeling in the first place.
“You gonna get some fancy wine? I mean, probably none of it’s actually fancy, but I can’t pronounce any of the names, so close enough,” Prompto grins over his menu at Noctis and it really does absolutely melt his heart. Enough so that he almost slips, almost agrees to it. Ignis’s voice, all full of concern and lectures about ‘making wise decisions’ and ‘not taking undue risks’ sounds in the back of his head though and he simply shakes a slow negative. In all honesty, Noct is perfectly happy simply enjoying Prompto’s company here, without any thought for what buzz will pair well.
“I don’t really drink any more,” Noctis opts for a bit of honesty there, and Prompto’s face goes serious in response just for a moment. Perhaps serious isn’t exactly what it does, but there’s definitely a hint of concern behind those big eyes, maybe just a hint of curiosity, “I get sick as a dog. Wine doesn’t taste good even when it is fancy anyway,” he opts for the joke, yet again, and it seems to do the trick, Prompto smiling before he buries his head in the menu again.
“Totally. I mean, who wants to guzzle down a bunch of rotten grapes, anyway. I’m so into the fancy lemonade they’ve got, though. They put strawberries in it, it’s basically drinking candy. Oh, and they have this deep fried appetizer trio…” Noctis finds himself smiling again, maybe in spite of himself. Prompto, it turns out, has a tendency to ramble on when he’s found a subject good for doing so. Apparently, this particular restaurant is one of them, a point that makes Noctis feel just a little bit guilty that Prompto had been so full of hesitation to bring him here. It seems, the place is one of Prompto’s favorites, and he has comments on just about every menu item. It’s a good thing, too, because he can warn Noctis as to what would show up at their table all covered in greens or not entirely dead.
He decides, in the end, on a nice sounding bit of steak that Prompto assures him is totally amazing and one of those lemonades that was so greatly raved about. The drink, at the very least, comes out quickly and lives mostly to its hype. It’s almost sickly sweet, but the way that Prompto bubbles up even further at that, the great relish he takes in the first long sip, is enough to give it an absolutely favorable flavor to Noct’s tongue.
“So, you really like this place. I take it you’re here a lot?” Noctis has to remember, after giving their orders and sitting a few moments of comfortable silence with their drinks, that the whole point of having a date is to talk. He wants to talk, too, which is a bit of a new situation on him. More accurately, it’s a feeling almost like waking up. More pleasant than waking up, but certainly with a similar sense of stepping from a haze. There is a certain sense, something that’s been clouding Noct’s mind for a long time, something like he’s walking through an endless fog. There was a lot of talk about tunnels and the lights at the end of them, but he wasn’t really buying any of that. Now? Maybe there’s something to it all.
“Huh? Oh, not really. I mean, it’s not really the kinda place you go alone, and it’s not really as fun dragging my dad along or something,” Prompto laughs at the apparent image he’s drummed up of that and Noctis smiles too. Truth be told, Noctis is still somewhat terrified of Prompto’s dad, the one who clearly seems to know him. More likely, the one who knew his dad, and that’s a can of worms that Noctis really wishes he’d never have to open again. Unhealthy as it may be, there’s a hell of a lot that Noct has learned to bottle up, learned not to think too hard about. His father and their relationship have been chief among those things. His father’s death, well, that’s still a process.
“So this is where you take all the cute boys?” Noctis returns to his teasing, something infinitely easier than thinking about Prompto’s father. Though, now that push has come to shove, Noct isn’t entirely sure he wants to think about Prompto taking other people here. It’s not a good thing to be feeling, he thinks, on a second date. Particularly not when their first date was little more than sharing lunch. Still, he likes Prompto. He likes him a lot more than he’s liked anyone in a long time. He might like him more than he’s liked anyone ever. It’s really damn tricky to work out how you’re supposed to feel about any of this, and Noct’s never been great at feelings in the first place.
“Oh, totally. I mean, you’re pretty lucky. I usually have a line a mile long, just praying I’ll bring them here,” Prompto’s voice is absolutely dripping with sarcasm, but he’s still smiling and Noctis manages to laugh it off. It’s a relief, as much as anything, to be reassured that there’s some sense of this being a special occasion. They’re probably both a little bit overdressed for this place, all pressed slacks and dress shirts, Prompto with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open a button or two beyond what is probably acceptable for anything properly formal.
“I’m gonna need some names. Gotta figure out who I’ll be fighting off,” Noctis manages what he thinks is a fair bit of charm in his words and his smile. Prompto responds positively enough, all small huffs of laughter and warmed cheeks. Noctis hasn’t been out with anyone, hasn’t so much as considered flirting with anyone, in what feels like a whole damn lifetime. He’s not sure he was ever any good at it before. Truth be told, he never had to be any good at it before. Maybe the only reason it’s working now is because Prompto hasn’t been doing a lot of dating, either. Maybe it’s just that Prompto’s decided he likes Noct, based on what little information he has to work with. Whatever it is, Noctis is happy to be winning those smiles and those pink cheeks.
“Pretty sure you’re safe on that front,” Prompto replies after another long draw from his drink, something to cool his face and, to Noct’s way of thinking, gather his thoughts. It’s another one of those stupid, endearing things that Noctis really can’t get enough of. Prompto keeps surprising him with more of them, as it happens. When their meals arrive, Noctis notices that he has a very specific way of poking at his food. It’s...peculiar, if Noct is being honest. A lot more playing than eating, for someone who was earlier claiming to be just as hungry as he was. He says there’s a perfect trick, however, to getting exactly the perfect mouthful of this exact pasta dish. He’s happy to show, and then to pass a bite over to Noctis as proof. He has to say, Prompto might be on to something there.
The meal itself is, as Prompto promised, pretty damn delicious. Noctis really is impressed by it all, for a place that Prompto was so concerned about lacking in class, it sure did deliver in being far too delicious to be fair. He’s finished every last scrap, in fact, while Prompto has plenty set away in a nice little take-home container and they’re left waiting on the check. Through all of the frantic scarfing- Noctis really was pretty damn hungry, after all- they might have missed out on more of that essential first date conversation. Prompto talked a little bit about his work, something that Noctis is finding endlessly fascinating, a world pretty starkly in contrast to his own. And they were able to gush back and forth in turn about a game they were both eagerly waiting to release. Noct isn’t sure that any of the conversation had proper substance, but he enjoyed it all the same, enjoyed watching Prompto light up whenever he stumbled onto a favored topic especially.
“So, about that ice cream,” Noctis smiles with the little nudge he gives, one foot into Prompto’s beneath the table. He’s absolutely thrilled, not that he’s about to admit to any of that, to feel Prompto press right back into him, a little higher at his ankle, in return. It’s hard not to break into a proper grin at it, or worse, into laughter, but he manages, if only by the skin of his teeth.
“Dude, really? Where do you pack all that food away?” Prompto laughs though and he adds on almost immediately, “I’ve already got it all planned out, so don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare tease you with dessert and not deliver,” he’s shoving his card back into his wallet and, with these words, stands. Noctis swears he catches a hint of a wink, something that really does make him go all red and flustered himself, but Prompto is laughing again and holding a hand out to Noctis and Noct isn’t about to decline.
As it turns out, Prompto does have everything planned to this end. He walks them, hand-in-hand again, down a block or two, turns off onto a street Noctis might not have noticed if he wasn’t being dragged toward it, and ends them off at a little stand that would be just as easy to miss. It’s a tiny bit of a building, with an unassuming front and a couple benches facing the street. And it really is, Noctis realizes, a perfect night for all of this. A little sign he notices when they make their orders warns customers that the next weekend will be their final of the season. By the looks of things, they probably could have closed already without a person noticing. The night isn’t cold by any normal standards, but set against the summer heat of the past few weeks, it stands out as bordering on chilly. School, too, has likely started again at this point, though Noctis hasn’t paid much attention to that in what really does feel like a lifetime. It all aligns perfectly, though, to leave the two of them sat alone on one of those benches, licking at their cones and knocking their feet together from time to time.
“This place is pretty great. I don’t know anywhere like this,” Noctis feels almost obligated to point the fact out. When it comes down to it, he really has made himself into something of a shut-in. Leaving the apartment isn’t as impossible now as it was right after the worst of his downward spiral, the hardest of his rock bottom, but the recovery has been slow and finding sweet little places to pass a bit of time? Well, not exactly at the height of Noct’s priorities as of late. If anything, he feels just a hint of shame, being all too aware that when it’s his turn to make the date, he won’t know what the hell to do. There’s a little rush with that thought too, though, the thought that he absolutely does want to make another date.
“Dude, you’re way too easy to impress. There’s loads of other places I can take you, y’know. I mean, not right now ‘cause it’s getting late, but normally…” Prompto lets his voice trail off, and there’s just a little tinge of sadness there. Noctis feels it too. He wonders if Prompto had other plans for after this, ones where they went out to hit bars or clubs, the sort of things that Noctis absolutely would not be able to tolerate now- the sorts of things he could barely tolerate before the accident.
“So, you already have a plan for the next date. Make it earlier next time, so I can actually spend some time with you,” Noctis offers him a grin that he thinks is one of his best ones and he presses their shoulders together again. It’s not so much of an impactful nudge this time, though, as it is a desire to be close, to be touching. Their hands weave together again, a bit of instinct, as if they both thought of it at once. Noct has already nearly demolished his ice cream, just about wordlessly at that. He feels like he’s been wasting a lot of opportunities to speak, and like he might be wasting one just now, even with the little flirt, with the question.
“So come back to my place and hang out,” Prompto blurts the words quickly, and Noctis can’t ignore the fact that there’s tension in the hand around his. That frantic, anxious energy that Prompto was absolutely radiating at the start of their date has returned, full-force. And Noctis is left with a decision here. He doesn’t think it’s a hard one, really. He’s enjoyed the time out with Prompto, and he wants to keep enjoying time out with Prompto. He’s pretty sure they’re outside of the window of axe murderer potential and, well, he did tell Ignis he would just throw him a text if he was going to be late. Which means somewhere, in the back of his mind, Noctis was imagining- maybe even hoping- they would be late, “I mean, if you want. We could, like, watch a movie or play something or-”
“-Prompto. Calm down,” Noct makes sure his voice is even, maybe just bordering on playful. He finishes off the last little crumbles of cone, wipes his hands ever-so-elegantly on a pant leg, and turns in the bench to face Prompto. There’s an awkward moment where he’s swallowing down remnants, making a face absurd enough to draw a nervous laugh from Prompto, which Noct decides immediately makes it worthwhile, “that sounds really good. Finish up and we’ll go back to yours. Just don’t have a heart attack on me or something, okay?”
Prompto’s expression lightens immediately, brightens in fact to a full smile and he nods, making a little bit quicker work of his dessert at this point. There’s a voice in the back of Noct’s head asking what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. He decides very specifically to ignore it.
Hoping for Some Permanence | Chapter Three
Word Count: 5850/17800
Pairing: Noctis/Prompto
Chapter: 3/?
Warnings: past minor character death, mental illness, anxiety, depression; please see additional tags on Ao3 for more specific potential triggers!
Read on Ao3
“That was...quick,” there’s barely a moment for Noctis to gather his bearings on entering the apartment before Ignis is turning on the sofa, twisting over the back to take a look at him. He’s still, in fact, shooting off a message to his new friend when the words hit. He finishes, ignores the comment for a moment or two so he can press the send button, before he makes his way over to sit himself down right alongside. It’s uncomfortable, but everything is a bit uncomfortable for Noctis any more.
He knows it’s going to be an Issue. Everything has been an Issue with Ignis lately. In all honesty, everything has been an Issue with Ignis for a long while now. Months of hard-fought recovery, good behavior, and slowly improving outlook haven’t eased the man’s caution. It’s frustrating, annoying even, but it’s impossible for Noctis to properly blame him. He was there, after all, through the worst of it. He’s the one responsible for Noctis being here to be annoyed at all. That doesn’t stop the groaning though, nor the rolling of eyes.
“Just a consult,” Noctis endeavors to put a certain amount of disinterest in his tone. There are a lot of things he shares with Ignis. They’ve grown up together. They’re brothers in all but blood. Noctis is inclined to trust him, implicitly and entirely. However, that doesn’t mean he ever looks forward to Ignis’s opinion on matters. Particularly not when those matters are cute boys asking him on dates- some of the first contact he’s had with strangers in months. He doesn’t know how to bring that topic up. He doesn’t know, further, if he should .
“I see. He’ll be able to work with it?” Ignis has made his opinions clear enough on the topic. He’s said things about living with one’s own truth and accepting the past and all sorts of bullshit that, really, Noctis could do well enough without. He hasn’t taken a hard line against the thought of a tattoo though, not so much as he has shown that damned concern about reasoning and rationale and things that Noctis never meant to think about but was thus compelled to. Ignis has too good a head on his shoulders for Noct’s taste at times, and he knows that this is going to be just one of those times. Still, he recalls the therapy sessions, he remembers words of guidance that he really has been endeavoring to heed, and he shrugs out some honesty.
“Dunno, really. Didn’t show him. Said he can work with scars, but it’s hard. He wants to get to know me better, design something around it,” Noctis is still working with that casual tone, though he knows damn well that Ignis can see right through it. Nothing gets past that man. It’s totally unfair. Noct is about a thousand percent convinced that Ignis has some sort of detective-style superpower, something that lets him sniff out bullshit from a mile away, and especially when it’s Noct’s bullshit. He has a certain sort, after all. Noctis isn’t going to lie to him, but he’s going to skirt around the truth and he’s going to try and avoid it, all but begging Ignis to dig a little deeper, to work out the root of whatever he’s saying. Something about deflection rings in the back of his head. He tries to let that particular point slide.
“Are those two points related?” Ignis is mirroring that air of only mild interest, but his eyes are burning into Noct- he can absolutely feel the gaze on him. He’s already catching on, of course. Maybe it was the stupid smile that was still glued to his face when he came into the apartment. Maybe it’s something in the way he’s holding himself, or that he’s glanced at his phone waiting for it to sound off a little chime at least twice since he sat himself down. Noct tries to work out what hints Ignis picks up on from time to time, maybe in an effort to mask himself better next time. Mostly in an effort to understand how the hell the guy’s mind works- a point that a dozen years still hasn’t clarified. Both intentions still elude him.
“...Yeah? If he knows me, he can design something that fits,” Noct knows exactly how defensive his tone is though, he knows that Ignis has gone straight to the truth here, that there’s no real hiding the facts from him. Noct isn’t entirely convinced that he wants to hide anything from Ignis. There’s been a lot of hiding for a long time between the two of them. Well, at least on Noct’s end. He doesn’t think that Ignis is quite so guilty, save certain sordid details regarding the parts of Ignis’s life that have always remained mystery, privacy-closely guarded. So he endures the not-quite-convinced sound Ignis makes and he lets silence fall between them.
This is a different silence than the ones he’d felt with Prompto, on that date. Things are generally comfortable with Ignis, or at least they were at one point. Now, Noctis is more inclined to think that every look Ignis gives him means a little bit more. He’s convinced, at any given moment, that there’s a bit of judgment behind those eyes, right along with all the concern and questioning. And, sure, there’s still that brotherly affection that he needs, that he’s depended on for such a long time, longer even than he’s been the rock-bottom-wreck he would label himself as now. It doesn’t feel like the primary feeling any more though, feels almost like an obligated afterthought. It makes Noct’s stomach sink. It makes him shift, try to shift his mind right with his body, into something logical. His self-doubt eats at him, more than it ever had before, and that’s really saying something.
“He took me to lunch,” Noctis breaks that silence- the one that his own brain is turning to awkward discomfort- with words spoken a little bit too quick and too low, words that sound a hell of a lot like a confession. There’s a beat between the words and Noctis glancing, taking in Ignis’s inquisitive stare, before he elaborates, “and he asked me on a date. This weekend,” more silence. Noctis wonders if he should’ve said anything at all, but there’s a strange and inexplicable smile playing up his lips with that admission, something he can’t wipe away and can’t explain. His face feels a little bit too warm and his stomach a little bit twisted up. It’s not, on the whole, an unpleasant feeling.
“You sound pleased,” Ignis says, and Noctis almost crumples in on himself, really. He’s making a conscious attempt to not sound anything at all, but of course Ignis can see through that. He’s only had the majority of a lifetime to pick up on the subtle cues, the little hints. Noctis has to wonder, though, why he’s so concerned with Ignis thinking he’s pleased in the first place, because he really and truly is . He’s pleased that the cute, bubbly blond dragged him off to lunch and rambled on to him here and there, that he took it upon himself to shift it into a date, to flirt, to draw Noct impossibly from his carefully crafted shell. He’s horribly pleased by it all. That’s the problem, he decides, that being so pleased is really, really scary.
“I guess I am,” he admits it though, and he even allows a hint of smile. What good is there in hiding it, he asks himself, what good especially in hiding it from Ignis? Hiding it from his brother, who he trusts, who he relies upon far more than he knows he should. Well, there’s another point in the ‘why not’ column, another one he tries to ignore, “he’s… nice. And cool. I mean, he does tattoos, that’s a pretty cool job. And he’s funny. He makes me laugh,” he becomes aware suddenly of the fact that he’s rambling, the fact that he sounds like a lovesick damn schoolgirl going on and on about his new crush. He glances at his phone again, still quietly waiting for it to light up and sound off and give him some indication that maybe Prompto is feeling the same thing.
Ignis is smiling, a tight-lipped little twitch of his lips that tugs away some of Noct’s anxiety. It’s not the anticipated response, but it’s an absolutely welcome one. Noctis, well, he has no idea how he’s supposed to be feeling right now. There are little butterflies in his stomach, bouts of excitement that he really and truly thought, for quite some time now, he was no longer capable of feeling. His insides are twisting and his eyes are magnetized to his phone, awaiting some response, awaiting some reassurance he didn’t just dream this whole thing up. And, yeah, he’s still smiling himself. Smiling like an idiot at this point, a little pink in the cheeks and shifting on the sofa and ignoring Ignis’s gaze on him.
“Refreshing to hear from you,” Ignis says, and he says it in a tone that is utterly genuine, something that Noct thinks really does mean he’s pleased with what little he’s been told. He doesn’t know why he wants so badly for Ignis to approve, with such little information, for such a simple and barely-committal arrangement. It’s always been like that, though. Ignis is, for all intents and purposes, by all means that matter, his big brother. The guy that he half-wishes he could model himself after, even if it’s a standard he knows damn well he won’t live up to. His approval means the world, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you smile so much since before the accident.”
A silence falls again, and this one is tense, uncomfortable in the most pure form of the word. They do their best, really, not to talk about the accident, the feelings associated with it. The guilt that both of them shoulder is heavy, impossibly heavy, and the recovery has been far from smooth. Almost a year out and they both carry their own scars. The difference being that Ignis doesn’t wear his on his sleeve. He doesn’t wear anything on his sleeve, in all reality, so it’s only fair. Still, Noct’s right hand moves on instinct, toys over the opposite sleeve, tugs down until he can grip the edges of soft fabric in a fist.
“I guess. I dunno,” Noct knows he’s shutting down, just that brief mention enough to drop the butterflies from his stomach and replace them with stones, enough to turn his blood a little cool and his expression much cooler. He knows that Ignis will feel bad about it, and he does wish he could hold up the excited demeanor, but it feels impossible just now, the way his mind is drifting back, the way his vision seems to go all tinted with red, “just thought it might be nice. Make a friend or whatever,” he lets his voice trail off. He feels a little foolish now, that pretty bubble that had formed in his chest so easily burst. It’s not Ignis’s fault, not really. He was only trying to be positive. It’s all on Noctis, who is afraid his mind will never stay glued together again, not when that bit of past is mentioned, not when he has to think about what he’s done and what he hasn’t, what’s been holding him to this couch almost exclusively for months.
“Where do you plan to go? For your date,” Ignis pushes right through that silence, casts it aside as easily as anything. Noctis is envious of that, of the ability to simply keep moving forward. He’s never been particularly skilled on that front, though he wants to think that this- the tattoo he intended and the date he got instead- might be a step in the right direction. He tries to pay attention to Ignis, to what he’s saying more than what is blowing off in his own mind. It’s not easy to ignore, the potential for a breakdown is high- it always is- but Noctis manages to shrug and turn his face to thought.
“Dunno. He didn’t say. Just that he wanted to take me out again,” Noctis frowns though. It’s been a long time since he’s been on a date. He doesn’t think he remembers quite how it works. Hell, with Luna it had all been so simple, they had barely gone through that ‘dating’ stage. They had grown up together, grown close, and then very specifically grown staunchly apart. He thinks about her for a moment, with a tightness in his stomach. There’s an urge to call her, maybe send a text, ask what she thinks. Their break-up wasn’t a pleasant one, but nothing at that point in Noct’s life was pleasant. He doesn’t think there’s animosity, but he can’t quite stop himself from feeling uneasy, feeling a surge of guilt that his first reaction to being asked on a date is going to his former fiance for advice on it.
“Well, I’m sure-”
“-Iggy. I need your help,” Noctis is surprised by the blurted admission and he feels his face grow warm from it. Ignis is surprised too, that much is clear. He lifts an eyebrow, turns his head slightly to face Noctis more fully. They’re subtle bits of surprise, but Ignis is always subtle, in every damn thing he does, every expression and every movement. It’s another little bit of personality, a point of demeanor that Noct wishes so desperately he could emulate. He brushes those thoughts aside though and he offers up a look that he knows is nothing short of pathetic. He realizes, quite quickly, that he’s desperate though. And he realizes, just as immediately, that this is the one person he trusts enough to face with it. He can’t talk to Luna- they’ve barely spoken since the breakup, and it’s absolutely not her place, whether he still considers her a close confidant or not. And Gladio? Well, Gladio is the one who got him in this position in the first place. It’s not that he suspects indiscretion so much as he suspects a sort of smug response, maybe a bit of teasing, something that Noctis isn’t sure he’s able to sort through just now.
“Of course,” Ignis barely misses a beat with his response. Noct is, as he so often tends to be with Ignis, incredibly grateful for it. Ignis understands him, as much as anyone can. More than that, he’s a goddamn genius when it comes to this sort of stuff. He’s always on with the dumb romantic gestures, the fancy dates and perfectly groomed looks to wear on them. He’s all suave and confident and he’s good at it, and really, Noctis is the exact opposite on every front. He wonders if there’s really any saving the situation for himself. Whatever Ignis tells him, whatever he does, Noct has the horrible feeling he’s only going to fall flat on his face. Still, the idea of some guidelines, some advice, something to keep in the back of his mind through it all, is a comforting one. Hell, just having Ignis on his side, aware and supportive does him a world of good. There’s a thought in the back of his mind, something his therapist has mentioned about accepting help, about not needing to go at everything alone. He even makes a mental note to bring this up next time he goes in. He envisions some sort of pride in her eyes, some sort of approval of exactly the sort she tells him he doesn’t need so desperately to seek. Baby steps.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Iggy. I don’t even know why I said yes. I’m totally freaking out. I don’t even know what we’re gonna do, and I’m totally freaking out,” the words pour right out, stream over each other, make Noct want to wince. They’re honest words though, sentiments that make Ignis’s expression go all soft while he listens, while he spends a moment considering.
“One point at a time,” Ignis finally says. His voice is smooth and slow and there’s a relaxing quality there. He’s good in times of crisis, even if this is a comparatively small one, all things considered. He has a way of grounding Noct that is absolutely essential in a case like this, “take a breath. Think. We’ll go through it, one by one,” he keeps that tone, keeps that certainty that feels like a safety net while Noct’s sitting on his tightrope. Noctis follows the instructions. He takes a deep breath, counts, allows it to drift out slow and measured. It helps, just a little, to clear his mind. He inhales again, makes an attempt to focus, “tell me. What’s the absolute worst outcome here?”
Noctis considers this. He knows the tactic well, and in another situation it might be enough to make him hiss and protest. It fits the situation though and he thinks about it all, going through one point after another in his head. There are a million things rolling through his mind all at once, a million points of conversation that make the future feel like a minefield. How much does he tell Prompto, how much does he keep to himself? Is he lying, if he keeps hiding the scar, if he keeps avoiding the whole point of his visit to the parlor in the first place? Is it unfair, not to tell him all of the details of his past, about the girl he thought he was in love with, who he thought he was going to marry, about the accident, about the deaths, about everything that followed?
“He might want me to pick him up,” Noctis begins with a simple point, one that he knows they can breeze through. One that he can accept as trivial, at best. One that still touches on the insecurities he keeps tightly bundled at the center of his chest and the forefront of his mind.
“And if you tell him you don’t drive? What is his reaction?” Ignis keeps his tone even, but he presses here. He’s making Noctis think clearly, rationally, a point that he’s never entirely inclined toward. He’s good at worst-case scenarios like this, running through them in his head, picking out every part of the scene where he becomes the loser, the incompetent kid who can’t care for himself, who can’t handle even the most basic day-to-day tasks. He’s even better at convincing himself that any of these unrealistic scenarios are likely to pass.
“I...guess he probably wouldn’t care. I walked to the shop, and we walked together to lunch,” Noctis allows himself to admit this much and Ignis nods. There’s a part of him, buried deep, that knows just how absurd his anxiety can be. Saying it out loud, it offers up some perspective, as uncomfortable as that all is. He wouldn’t do this on his own, can’t do this on his own, but he has Ignis there to catch him and point him in the right direction and that’s precisely what he needs.
“Good. No need to worry over transportation. Plenty of couples on the underground, you know. Or, perhaps he drives,” Ignis offers more consolation here, even if it’s not framed as such. In turn, Noctis takes another deep breath and he nods, feels a small wash of relief. His heart is still working an uncomfortable gallop, making him shift and squirm, but the pace is going even and some of the tension eases behind his neck and between his shoulders, “what’s next? You’ve made it through the transport, you’re off to dinner we’ll say.”
“I can’t talk to him. I don’t know what to say. I just… sit and stare like some freak. We eat in total silence and he’s, like, ready to bolt the moment the check comes,” this is another easy one, still not touching the full issues at hand. It is more to the heart of the matter, though. Noctis doesn’t know how to go on a date, he doesn’t know how to make conversation with a relative stranger. He definitely doesn’t know how to properly flirt, even if he thinks he might have had a go at it with Prompto earlier. There are too many words that could take on the wrong meaning, too many memories waiting to leap at him, cut him down at the first opportunity.
“You spoke to him today, didn’t you? Shared a meal?” Ignis coaxes out some rationality here, too. It’s true, of course. They had their little lunch ‘date’- the one Noctis wasn’t sure Prompto seriously meant as one- and it didn’t go badly. They fell quiet here and there, shared looks that were shy and uncertain, but an atmosphere that was pleasant, comfortable even. There’s no denying that it went well, not when he got a second date out if it, a whole week in between to stress over such.
“Yeah. It was alright,” he’s downplaying, and Ignis lifts an eyebrow again, as if to silently point it out. Noct groans and his fingers move, tangle at the back of his hair, a sort of nervous gesture, a sort of excuse to create some sort of movement, to focus his energy somewhere other than his nerves, “it was good. We talked, and when we didn’t, it wasn’t bad. We… get on pretty well, I guess.”
“I’d say, if he’s asked you out again,” Ignis is kind with these words, ones that invite a hint of levity. Noctis manages a smile to them, still uneasy, but genuine all the same. Again, Ignis has a point. Their lunch went well enough that Prompto was clearly interested in seeing Noct again, and there’s not really a whole lot of denying that it comes down to more than a potential client. That’s the point, though, that has sharp edges and the ability to stick. That’s where Noct’s breath catches in his chest and Ignis narrows his eyes, “so what is it really, Noct? What has you so concerned?”
He doesn’t want to go through this. Noctis very much regrets asking for the help in the first place at this point. He doesn’t want to tell Ignis the truth- a truth that he’s sure he’s well-fucking-aware of. He doesn’t want to admit all of the shame, uncertainty, regret that he’s swimming through, the way that it’s so immediately present. The way that it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed between where they sit right now and where a rug is placed over a stain that hasn’t quite faded. Covering it all up, that’s the way to go about it, right?
“There’s two ways it can go, right? Either, it goes really badly and I feel like shit and that’s the end of it, or it goes not-badly and…” his voice trails, Noctis lifts his arm in a strange sort of self-gesture.
“And?” Ignis is pushing him to go on, to work through that point that hovers so heavy and almost palpable between them. He all but presses Noct’s face into the truth there, into the reality of the situation, into what he’s trying so desperately to avoid. He’s not being being cruel, as much as it feels like the opposite. He’s not even being unkind. This is, after all, the point that has Noct’s heart pounding and palms sweating even while he still keeps glancing at his phone, hoping for Prompto’s name to pop onto the screen.
“And I have to tell him I’m a worthless sack of shit who killed two people, then failed to finish himself off,” Noctis closes his eyes because they’re burning, his whole face suddenly hot and tingling and scrunched up. He’s pretty sure Ignis flinches at the words- they’re not pretty ones, not easy ones to say. Not words that Ignis thinks Noct should be saying, nor ones that Noctis wants to admit. They’re the truth though, and he can’t get past that fact. He can’t get past the fact that, sooner or later, that point comes out and Prompto doesn’t look at him with those pretty and wide starry eyes. Hell, that point comes out and Prompto probably doesn’t ever look at him again.
“Your phrasing could probably use some work,” Noctis wants to be mad about the response, but he can’t be. Ignis’s hand closes on his shoulder, draws him in, and Noctis doesn’t fight it. He lets his knees curl up, lets his body go small and lean into Ignis’s and as much as he fights them off, a few tears slip, through a bit of cold laughter. Ignis is serious and stern, but he’s not without humor, albeit of a dark sort. And he’s not without a good sense of when Noct needs that.
“Probably shouldn’t lead with that, huh?” he manages a half- joke of his own, through heavy sniffing, through thick sobs building and congesting in his chest and at the back of his throat. It’s so easy, so precarious now. There are those shifts, the impossible highs and the inescapable lows, and he’s gone from the prior directly into the latter with impressive speed. He tosses his phone aside, lets it hit the coffee table with a dull thud, gathers his arms up to hug his knees closer to his chest. He’s pitying himself, he’s carrying perhaps more blame than he necessarily deserves. And worse than that, he’s making Ignis relive it all again, too. He really is horribly, unforgivably selfish, he thinks. He really did do a disservice by surviving.
“Something to save for the third date, perhaps,” Ignis lets his voice go low. His arm shifts and he gets an embrace wrapped around Noct’s shoulders fully. Noct, in turn, leans into his chest, lets his face hide against expensive silk and comforting warmth. It’s all so damn difficult, so impossibly hard, and he wants with a gripping, tearing sort of ferocity, for just the opposite. Just once, he wants to scream, can’t something be simple ? He doesn’t scream though, doesn’t say anything at all. He tries the deep breaths again, tries to match the rise and fall of Ignis’s chest against his cheek. Tries to think of something, anything, to clear his mind.
“You’re making progress, Noct. It takes time, you know that,” Ignis goes on, and he still has that steady tone, all reassurance, all understanding. Of course he does. He wouldn’t be Ignis without it. Again, a rush of gratitude grips at Noct’s galloping heart, washes through him and has him press just a little bit closer. He doesn’t deserve to have Ignis on his side, not after everything he’s put him through. But here they are, Ignis guiding him through yet again. He owes him so much, not least of which, an apology or three. He doesn’t offer that up though, not here and now, when he’s still so dependent, when he’s still so certain it would only be brushed aside. There’s a certain amount of shame that comes with crumbling this way, and Noct knows he’ll be wrestling with it later. For now, though, it’s what he needs. It’s what he so fucking desperately needs.
“I really like him. I want him to keep liking me,” there’s a sort of burrowing sensation in Noct’s belly, just below his ribs and right in the center. It makes him want to be sick, literally and physically, to dart to the bathroom and empty out that pleasant shared lunch. It makes him want to crawl into bed and sob, until there’s nothing left. It’s too much honesty, too much vulnerability. He’s pressed so close to Ignis, leaning on him just about as hard as he ever has, and he hates it. He hates being so pathetic, so weak. He hates being himself, in bits and spurts, despite all of this so-called progress.
“If your past is enough to make him stop liking you, that’s his own loss,” Ignis is firm again, bordering on fierce. He’s being protective here, and it’s a bit that Noct would otherwise rebel against, if he didn’t need it so goddamn badly just now. He hates how much he needs it, right along with every other thing he’s internally critiquing, internally despising. Ignis can probably guess that much too, he can probably feel it radiating from him.
“Not much of one,” Noct knows he’s spiraling, and he’s not trying to hide it. He feels Ignis’s fingers grip a little bit more firmly into his shoulder. He regrets the words, even if he believes them. He wants to feel happy again, he wants to climb back up to that high point he’d found with Prompto’s help so shortly before, but it feels like an endless pit, perfectly smooth walls, nowhere to catch his fingers or hold his feet, and the rope Ignis is sending down, his fingers just can’t stretch high enough to get a good grip.
“Let him make that decision. He sees something there, or he wouldn’t have asked you out,” Ignis pauses, seems to consider again, “and if you’re not comfortable telling him everything right away, then don’t. It’s a second date, Noctis. You’ll have fun if you let yourself. Let this guy make his own decisions. Be yourself, you’ll be fine,” they’re such cliche words, overly sentimental ones, but somehow the way that Ignis says them helps Noctis relax just a little bit. They stay there, just that way, sitting pressed together with Ignis squeezing around his shoulders and offering up long, even breaths for Noct to model his own after. He waits patiently for the worst of it to pass, for Noctis to fall to exhaustion rather than panic. He really does know him too damn well. And, well, Noct really is exhausted.
He tries to remember the last time he spent so much time away from the apartment, away from the safety he’s built himself here. His mind goes a little blank. He walked down to the complex gym a day or two ago, met up with Gladio there. Just for a little bit, mostly just to talk, and still well within the bounds of perceived safety. The jaunt to the parlor, the lunch, the phone that he’s pretty sure went off, but that he can’t bring himself to check, those are all new to him. Or, rather, they’re strange remnants, from a time when he didn’t feel so guilty about having a life that he actually allowed himself to live one.
“Thanks Iggy,” he forces himself to murmur the words. His eyes still burn, still lie wet around the edges and with tears streaked half-dry across his cheeks. The panic is still edging, ebbing, threatening to roll through him in inescapable aftershocks. He untangles himself from Ignis, forces his way to his feet after another measured breath. He needs a break, he needs to recover, that’s all.
“Where are you going?” Ignis’s voice is a little bit sharp, it’s tinged with worry. Noctis can’t blame him, yet again. He pauses and he tenses, he wants to snap something back, but he stops himself. It’s not Ignis’s fault. He has to keep remembering that. He’s the one who put himself in this situation. He’s the one who gave reason for such concern. He leans down to grab up his phone, shoves it in his pocket.
“I’m gonna lie down for a little bit. Come get me for dinner?” he sees Ignis’s lips shift open and he adds, quick and without too much annoyance, “I’ll leave the door open. I’ll be okay. Just need to sleep it off,” he manages something close to a smile. It wins him a nod from Ignis, and he’s sure there’s a little look of guilt there. He didn’t necessarily mean to evoke it, but there was still an edge to his words, that little hint of anger that he can’t quite do away with. He’s tired of being babysat, of having Ignis linger at his side, watch over him every damn waking moment. However, he’s still not entirely even, his moods still haphazard and unpredictable, and the truth is simple. He still probably needs the babysitting. Still probably needs the extra bits of concern, even if he wants to think they’re overwrought.
“Really. Thanks,” he manages as he heads to his room, his head ducked low, sincerity in his voice. Ignis tells him to sleep well, promises he’ll wake him for supper, and Noctis slides his way into darkness. It’s all blackout curtains and a mess of clothes in his room, something that Ignis only fails to lecture him on because there are so many more pressing lectures to give. Noct tosses his phone to the mattress and he makes quick enough work of undressing. His pants kick off without too much effort. He tugs the jumper over his head, tosses it into a pile vaguely designated in his mind as ‘not too rank’. There’s a moment where he hesitates at the edge of the bed. He looks himself over, and more pointedly, he looks to the scar.
It’s a thick line, still raised and dark, an angry memory. It stretches, base of his palm connected midway to his elbow. There’s a sort of dotted outline, if he looks close enough. Remnants of hasty stitching, of that haphazard scramble to keep his life from entirely leaking out. It’s all shame, in layers and layers, coming at him from every angle. He turns his arm, hides it from his own view, throws himself into the bed. There’s no hiding it from Prompto, not forever, and there won’t be much hiding what it is. Will he be expected to explain? Will he have a decent explanation?
He thinks, maybe, he’s not ready yet. Maybe the time is wrong. Maybe he should call the whole thing off, apologize, make up some excuse, chalk it up as a learning experience. He could block the number, simply stop replying. It would hurt, for a little while, but it’s not so hard to avoid someone when you never leave your apartment. It’s not so hard to avoid someone you’ve only met once, only on a whim. Not when you know where they work, not when one of your closest friends probably knows where they live.
But he unlocks his phone and he looks at the screen and there are messages waiting for him now. A sweet little confirmation of their date, ‘you bet your ass’ for something good. And a brightly lit photo of Prompto in his studio, holding up what Noct has to describe as the most intimidating needle he’s ever seen in his life, with a caption of ‘next time’. Something shifts inside him again, uneasy and uncertain, but he clicks the screen off without a response and he hides a smile when he buries his face into the pillows and tugs the blankets up over his head.
Hoping for Some Permanence | Chapter Two
Word Count: 5700/11950
Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Noctis/Prompto
Warnings: canonical minor character death (mention only), anxiety descriptions/mentions
Other Tags: Modern AU, Angst, Fluff, Dad!Cor, Slow Burn
(Chapter One Here)
[Read on Ao3]
It's all a bit of luck, really.
Prompto thinks a good deal of his life is all a bit of luck, when it comes down to it. There are key and pivotal points where things could have gone wrong, where he could have wound up on a path that is anything but the pleasant, relatively simple one he's on now. He lives a life of near-misses, maybe a bit too often, but he has a way of coming out on top and he decides, while he's waiting for the food he's ordered himself and his unexpected date, that he's definitely coming out on top here.
He doesn't think too hard on any of the details, because he's a little bit worried by them if he's being honest. His dad grilled right into Noctis the moment he got a good look at him, left Prompto to do a fair turn of rescuing there. Then the luck came in, and they wound up here, which is all well and good but he's still got some questions. He's still got a lot of questions, really, and he's working through most of them internally right now, guessing at which he can ask right away, which he might have to tiptoe around a bit more. He ignores them all for those first few moments, when he balances a tray back to the seat Noctis has picked out and offers up the meal. He focuses on sunshine and brightness and all of the traits he's been told make him a bit of a magnetic force.
Maybe it's not all luck. He works hard at mustering up that persona. There's a fair bit of anxiety beneath it. There are those days where he can't bring himself to the shop, where he can't bring himself out of his room at all, for fear of a million different things. When he's on, he's on, and it'll drain him to the core, but it's him in the end. Prompto is making that choice, after all, to be the person he's presenting as. He's making that choice to smile, to ignore the tricky parts of his brain that like to send him spiraling a bit more often than he'd care to admit. And luck would have it- another good turn of it- that he's absolutely on the ball today, with the somewhat quiet, apparently shy, utterly gorgeous friend-of-Gladio's stumbled in on him.
"It's good, right?" more sunshine, after he's taken a few bites of his own sandwich, washed it back with a draw from a fancy- and admittedly overpriced- bottle of soda. He cocks his head, makes sure his eyes are appropriately wide, his expression encouraging and open. He's going for the charm, for certain 'cuteness' factor. He's trying, exceptionally carefully, to present as entirely carefree. He has to think it's working because he wins a little smile from his companion and a nod through a full mouth.
Prompto lets the silence sit between them while they work on their respective meals. He's waiting for it to grow awkward, to edge toward discomfort, but it doesn't quite get there. His head is churning over it, counting moments, a whole inner dialogue spouting silently, anticipating responses once he does work himself up to speak, ranking topics and questions and potential answers. He does all this while he chews, while he glances around the restaurant, while he looks at Noctis. He counts the seconds he holds his gaze there, looks away on the fifth heartbeat, returns attention to his food or to one of the posters that decorate the little hole-in-the wall. And he keeps his smile firmly in place, not too bright, as to imply some sort of desperation, or worse, questionable sincerity. A lot of things are shooting through Prompto's mind at any given moment, too many things really, and it all does take so much effort.
It's definitely worth the effort, of course. He's sitting in his favorite sandwich joint with a guy he's needing to make a very conscious effort to try and pry his eyes from, and they're hitting it off, from what Prompto can see. He'd absolutely notice if it weren't the case, too, he's sure of it. He takes every detail into consideration in situations like this. He watches body language and he listens to the tone in a simple statement. He gave Noctis an out, too, before dragging him out to lunch. Yeah, there's the usual, instinctive self-doubt under the layers of careful observation, but Prompto thinks he's doing pretty damn well here, thank-you-very-much. Well enough, in any case, that he feels like he can strike up conversation again. Unexpectedly comfortable as the silence might be, words are what win you second dates, and Prompto isn't ashamed to admit to himself that he's absolutely thinking about a second date already.
"So, how long you known the big guy for?" Prompto wonders briefly if it's the right question to ask, now that their tray is starting to hit the half-emptied point. Noctis glances up from his sandwich and their eyes catch, something that makes Prompto's heart stumble in his chest, makes his muscles go a little bit tense. There's something in those eyes, he swears it, something that catches him and pulls him in and makes it so damn hard to look anywhere else. There's hesitation too, though, and of course he wonders immediately if he's made the wrong move.
"Pretty much forever," the answer is short and simple and Prompto nods, though he definitely feels that he's taken the wrong path now. There isn't any follow-up at first and Noctis is quick enough to grab for some fries, keep his mouth busy with something other than speech. Prompto knows that his facade nearly falters here, but he lets his smile grow a little bit more instead, taps a little rhythm against the table to keep the silence from falling once more.
"Gonna hafta give him hell for not introducing us sooner then," he thinks it's a pretty smooth recovery, even if there's nothing to outwardly recover from. His mind is always filling in the blanks though, always reacting to situations as if they were a bit more dire than they may actually be. He definitely notices a twitch upward to Noctis's lips. A good sign, even if Noctis doesn't do much more than nod, make an affirmative noise. Even if that initial sign is good, though, it's enough silence to make Prompto begin to wonder, begin to question the situation.
It's always a hard balance for Prompto to find- exactly how much of the talking he should be doing. He has a tendency to start up and a difficulty in realizing when to stop, in pinpointing exactly when interest has been lost and he's descended into rambling. He doesn't think it's the situation here, not just yet, but he's keenly aware of the possibility and he makes another mental note- one on a stack of hundreds- to take care there. He needs, he decides very firmly, not to fuck this up. Easier said (or thought) than done, of course.
"Alright. I think it's only fair to ask, as the guy who conned you into getting lunch instead of a tattoo," Prompto pauses for a stretch of grin, a glimpse of reaction- positive again, with the way Noctis's eyes meet his- before posing his question, "you really have no idea at all what you want?" There might be a little bit more to that question, lying beneath the surface, but it's all incidental if so. Prompto's mostly amused, if anything. He might be digging, just subtly, to get a better understanding of the guy's personality. He's scanned him for any other pieces, but Noctis went with long sleeves despite the day's heat, dark jeans to match. Beside that fact, he looked nervous as hell when he was examining the flash, and he'd needed a recommendation to get to the shop anyway. Which makes him the type of guy who dives right in, doesn't it? The sort that knows what he wants, in a broad sense, maybe misses out on the details here and there. More likely, Prompto is putting far too much weight on a whim.
Prompto is surprised when, after a beat or two, Noctis lets out a little chuckle. Not a proper laugh, but a sound of amusement. He thinks it could be a sign that he's on the right track, but Prompto is starting to get muddled here, starting to lose the plot just a touch. Even with all his practice, with all his obsession over it, he's not always the best judge, not always great at reading people. He's finding pretty quickly that he's especially not great at reading Noctis, which is just another little thrill of anxiety to leave his pulse fluttering and his palms sweating both too much for him to justify.
"Is that weird? Don't people get tattoos they totally regret later all the time?" Noctis's tone is a little bit flat, bordering on disinterest. His eyes are caught on Prompto's again though and he clearly waits for a response. Yeah, Prompto is lost here, he has to admit it now. It's wreaking havoc on his nerves, even if it's a little bit enticing too. Definitely getting a nice, mysterious vibe here, that little bit of intrigue that makes Prompto want to know more, to dig a little bit deeper.
"Well, yeah. They usually think it's a really good idea at the time, though. Like, 'oh, wow, the logo from the King's Knight tie-in movie is pretty sweet'. Not, 'in like ten years, I'm gonna finally admit to myself that movie sucked and now I hafta explain this dumb thing to every dude I sleep with'. You don't go in expecting to regret it."
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," Noctis smiles with the little jab and it makes Prompto laugh, shake his head, try to ignore the warmth in his cheeks. He considers spouting off on some tangent about just turning eighteen and having questionable judgment and the intricacies of regret. Instead, he quirks up an eyebrow and shrugs.
"Bet you'd like to know," he goes the flirtatious route instead, still aiming a bit of a jab right along with it. It's Noctis's turn to blush now and Prompto takes a fair amount of pride in being able to pull the reaction from him. His mind continues to spin, to swirl with any number of ways this could all go wrong, but luck is definitely with him today, he's sure of it. Things are turning out right. There's definitely a distinctly dad-like voice in the back of his head telling him to stop thinking so damn much.
"Kinda seems like I already do. You should probably be thanking me. Explaining later sounds like a real mood-killer," they share a laugh this time, and Prompto starts to feel just a touch more at ease. Noctis isn't any easier to read here. He feels like he's wavering back and forth, like there are two absolutely distinct parts to him, totally at odds, weighing each other out and fighting for dominance. It's nothing less than bizarre, a little bit bewildering, but it's not more than Prompto can handle. He's not gonna let it be more than he can handle.
"Now you're just trying to get me all flustered so you don't hafta answer the question. I'm totally on to you."
"Damn. Thought I'd gotten away with it for sure," Prompto is pleased by the way Noctis smiles through his reply. There's a beat of silence- three or four, to be a little bit more realistic- before he says anything else. Another one of those brief and comfortable quiets that makes it feel a lot less like they'd just met and a lot more like they're old friends. Prompto tries to work out the source of that silence. He decides that Noctis is coming up with some grand, clever answer to it all, that there will be a new joke and that he will need to be ready with another counter of his own. It doesn't turn out to be the case, though.
"Alright. I know I want something, and I know where. Just figured I'd work out the details there. You have all sorts of stuff on the walls, and you're the expert anyway," there's another pause in Noctis's words and Prompto can pick that one out easily enough as hesitation. His expression changes, too. The smile fades, and Prompto has to wonder if something landed wrong, if there was a mistake in his words somewhere, "I need a scar covered up. You can do that, right?"
The silence hits again, but this time it's a little bit less comfortable. Prompto can feel his smile slip away from him, just for a moment. There are more questions pressing behind his lips than he knows what to do with, ones he has to swallow back in order to formulate the right response. He looks Noct over again, and he considers the long sleeves, the long pants, tries to mentally pinpoint where the scar is, what needs so badly to be covered. He wants to ask, wants desperately to, but there was that change in tone, that obvious shift in demeanor and he can't quite bring himself to do it.
"Kinda. Maybe. I'd hafta see it. Working on scars is tricky. Ink takes differently, it can be hard to predict. And it's not really possible to make the scar go away, just by coloring over it. Doing it right is kinda like camouflage," Prompto is well-aware that he's at risk here of rambling, of following a tangent too far and losing track of what's at hand. And what's at hand is Noctis looking distinctly uncomfortable, maybe a little bit crestfallen. So Prompto makes a point of brightening himself up, just a little, focusing more on what positives he can pick out, "anyway, that actually means it's kinda a good thing you don't have a specific design in mind. We'll come up with something custom that works around it."
Noctis nods, but he's fallen entirely into that quiet now. Prompto doesn't push him over it this time, doesn't try to fill the space. It looks a hell of a lot like Noctis is thinking things over. There's a strange squeeze in the center of Prompto's chest while he watches the subtle changes in his face, while he wonders exactly what it is going through Noctis's mind. Scars are difficult. Those words are loud and clear and even more dad-voiced in his mind. His father is good with them, he has experience, he's probably a better choice for this work. Prompto is skilled, he's been taught and trained well, but he's young and he knows how easy these things are to screw up. Uncertainty is starting to sink in, heavy and painful claws giving that squeeze around his heart now.
"You can do that, though? Design something?" When Noctis finally speaks his tone has lifted just a touch. He sounds close to eager, and Prompto tries to feed into that energy. He gets a smile on his face that's properly genuine, or at least as close as can be hoped for with the way his mind is churning and his heart is strangely aching. He nods eagerly, before he manages to get the words out. He's confident in this much, at least, that if Noctis wants him to do this, he'll work it out. He'll talk to his dad, he'll study up, do whatever he needs to.
"Definitely. It'll be fun," he pauses though and he does make an admission, one that he thinks might hurt his prospects but one that he thinks is only fair to make, crucial even, "I've never done it before. With a scar, I mean. I can definitely design you something, but if you want someone else to do it-"
"-No," Noctis interrupts him and it's absolutely startling, makes Prompto's eyes go wide in a way that's more natural than purposefully inviting, "I mean, I've never had this done, so I won't know if you got it wrong anyway, right? Works out perfectly," this time when he smiles, it really is something else. It's not wide, or even overtly happy. There's a sort of trust there though, or at least Prompto puts that value to the expression, and it fills him with an unexpected bit of motivation. He's lacking in confidence, but he can bury that part. He's determined now, absolutely committed by that damn smile to get this right.
"Yeah, perfect," Prompto says, an agreement after a moment's pause. He considers his words only for a moment this time, dives directly in, "y'know, I should probably get to know you better, in that case. Can't really come up with my masterpiece when we've only known each other for an hour," he's inclined to brace himself, but Noctis's smile changes to an entirely pleasant one with the words.
"I’m pretty sure we can arrange that. Since you’re taking me on a second date and all,” there’s a little thrill there, something that Prompto doesn’t anticipate but something that he leans into, lets his smile break genuine and wide at. There’s definitely some luck on his side today, no two ways about it. After all, he’s pretty sure he’s made a mistake or two hundred in the brief conversations they’ve shared and still, a second date. Another confirmation that this strange attempt was a first one, “don’t hafta look so surprised. We had a wager, right? The sandwich was awesome,” and Noctis laughs, something fuller and genuine, smooth and refreshing and turning Prompto’s insides on themselves.
“Now you understand why it’s the go-to. That’s how I get ya,” it’s easier to joke, with the way Noctis’s mood has changed again. It’s all still tumultuous, spinning Prompto’s whole damn consciousness in circles. There’s a certain reliance upon instincts here that he’s never gotten the hang of, where all of his faux-confidence slips away and he has to actually rely on and even believe in himself. It’s a strange feeling, an unfamiliar and terrifying and invigorating one all at once.
“Here. Let me see your phone,” Noctis extends a hand across the table and makes a bit of a grabbing motion. Prompto’s face goes blank for just a moment, but he digs through his pocket and punches in his password with a surprisingly shaky hand. Then he watches, tries to lift himself a little, while Noctis thumbs through, makes a grinning point of hiding the screen from Prompto. There’s a pause, a tone that sounds from Noct’s pocket, and the phone slid back across the table, screen down, obscured. Prompto’s first instinct is to look, to see exactly what unspoken message was left there, but he shoves it into his pocket instead. He’s more interested, after all, in the Noctis sitting in front of him rather than behind the screen. For now, at least.
“Hope you’re not expecting a night of risque photos. I’m not into giving spoilers,” the teasing, the flirting, it’s coming a little bit easier even if Prompto’s pulse is pounding in his ears and there’s a particular warmth pressed in his pocket, attached to the idea of Noct’s fingers on the phone and Noct’s fingers on his thigh instead. He reminds himself not to think o that, not just yet. First date, and all. Still, Noctis is undeniably attractive, certainly aware of it, enticing to an absolute fault and it’s hard for Prompto not to let his mind wander just a little bit.
“Already crushing all my hopes and dreams, thanks a lot,” Prompto thinks, to be fair, that the fact that Noctis is moving to stand now is crushing a lot of his own hopes and dreams. He can’t, of course, spend an entire day out with him. He has responsibilities back at the shop, plans that can’t so easily be brushed aside. Still, he manages one of his more magnificent pouts.
“Hey, wait a second,” he knows he sounds just a bit too desperate here. He wants to think it won’t come across that way, but Prompto isn’t one for fooling himself in any positive terms. His mind is reeling while Noctis stares at him, expectant. He hasn’t come up with an excuse, but a thought strikes him and he blurts it immediately, “you came all the way to the shop and you don’t even have anything to show for it. Why don’t you let me, I dunno, pierce something,” he’s scrambling for something and it’s obvious enough. Noctis’s eyes widen a touch and a surprised sort of laughter passes his lips.
“I usually save punching holes in my body for at least the third date, y’know,” Prompto laughs at his response, though there is a sort of crestfallen feeling coupled with it. It must show through, because Noctis pauses a moment, seems to think about it, “besides, I’m kinda a boring guy. Don’t think I’d be any good with the flashy stuff in my face.”
“Doesn’t have to be in your face,” Prompto hears himself counter at once and he laughs quickly, turns his head away to obscure a certain flush that spread over freckled cheeks. He’s definitely not going to admit to picturing a defined plane of chest, adorned with some nice little rings. Absolutely not going to entertain anything lower, even if the thoughts are bubbling fresh and bright in his head, “I mean, I could just do your ear. Lots of guys go for that,” he follows up, only halfway in an effort to clear that pink tone from his face, to turn his offer a bit more innocent.
“I’ll think about it,” Noctis moves, closes a bit of the space between himself and Prompto with a quick step around the table. Prompto swears that just the proximity makes hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, makes his pulse double and his skin go all warm. Never mind when Noctis puts a hand on his arm, a gentle gesture, but a bit of contact that he can’t ignore, something of warmth and promise and a million thoughts in Prompto’s mind applying more meanings than necessary, more implications than truly exist, “in the meantime, you think about where you’re taking me this weekend. And I’ll think about how bored I am waiting desperately for your text.”
He flashes a smile. It’s that wide, open, toothy one that makes Prompto’s stomach do a flip, leaves him absolutely wordless while he nods, while he watches Noctis take his leave after a brief squeeze at Prompto’s bicep. They share a final glance when he reaches the door and he disappears, Prompto the sole victim to his whirlwind. And a whirlwind, really and truly, is what Prompto thinks Noctis is. He’s definitely swept through him, left a proper little disaster in his wake. Prompto, in fact, is left standing slack-jawed and bordering on helpless, blank stare at the door, a few moments too long after Noctis has disappeared beyond it.
His senses still haven’t entirely calmed when he makes his way through that same door, beginning a slow walk back up those few blocks to the shop. His mind is a million places at once, though that much is far from unusual for him. Prompto is pretty damn accustomed to over thinking, getting lost in his thoughts, losing the pacing and missing a beat and stumbling- both metaphorically and, a little bit too often, literally- on his face for all the effort. The walk back to the shop is all ducked head and hands shoved deep into his pockets while he tries to work through what, exactly, just happened. It’s a strange smile that keeps tugging at his lips, too, a warmth in the middle of his chest that just keeps spreading, tingling through him, lifting his spirits more than they have any right to be.
A jolt runs through him, now within eyeshot of Lion Heart’s storefront, when his phone buzzes against a pocketed fist, gives off a barely-audible but telltale ‘kweh’ of a text notification. The jolt reminds him of the work Noctis was doing with his phone, the cheeky expression when he slid it back against the table. Prompto fumbles in his hurry to fish the device from his pocket and take a look. His breath catches, the notification lit on his screen displaying a new message from ‘Noct’ with a fair number of heart-shaped emojis on either side. Another bit of fumbling, nearly dropping the whole damn thing, when he punches in his lock code to read the message proper.
The first message, the one that was intended to save the contact and was sent from Prompto’s own phone, is a string of emojis- three eggplants in a row, a peach, splashing water. It’s enough to make Prompto lose himself in laughter, pause and lean against the brick entryway rather than make his way directly into the shop. The second text makes him smile as well, as the laughter finally quiets. A simple reminder that he is now awarded a date, and he’d better make it a good one. Prompto taps a, ‘bet your ass it will be’ in response before he shoves the phone back into his pocket and shoulders his way back into the shop.
He enters to relative silence. No hum of tattoo gun in the back, no sound at all, really, other than the low house music they run on. Prompto knows he’s smiling a little bit too wide, a little too easily. He’s waiting for Cor to say something from behind the counter, really, when he plops himself down on one of the torn-up leather chairs forming a waiting area nearby. It takes a moment for Prompto to recognize the look on his father’s face, for his own expression to fall and a bit of worry to grip at him.
Cor doesn’t yell, not really. Maybe here and there, when Prompto fucks up big time, but even then it’s usually not an actual fight. There’s still an instinct, though, something that Prompto thinks must have been bred into him, maybe learned in his infancy before he had a father who made a point not to yell or fight unless it was really and properly deserved. It’s an instinct to run, or to cower away. It’s an instinct to be afraid, anxious, flighty, anything that will save him a difficult situation. Probably a character flaw, he knows, and an entirely undeserved one. Still, his shoulders sink and Prompto is making himself small in that seat.
“Keeping busy without me, huh?” Prompto tries for a little bit of light-hearted greeting, but he knows it fails. He knows that his voice is just a little bit shaky. Cor’s expression softens a touch and he leans against the counter, even offers something close to a smile. There are a lot of things that Cor will push him on. He expects dedication and commitment and hard work. He demands respect. He doesn’t, however, challenge that inexplicable sort of fear that Prompto is inclined to at the first sign of trouble. He doesn’t question that deep-seated need to please, or the terror of disappointment, and maybe that’s why there aren’t real fights, there isn’t real yelling. Somehow, it still doesn’t manage to calm Prompto’s nerves. Never really has.
“As always. How was lunch?” Even if he’s being pleasant, there’s a certain tone to his voice. Prompto doesn’t know how to take it, because he knows that tone well and it’s not the one he expected. It isn’t a disappointment over some vital chore Prompto’s mistakenly neglected. It isn’t frustration from one of the occasional customer complaints that might have been avoided with a little bit of reasoning. It’s the Dad Voice. No, it’s not just the Dad Voice. It’s the Concerned Dad Voice. Prompto almost groans. He’s bracing himself for a different sort of impact now.
“Good,” Prompto is careful with his response. His eyes and his voice and his whole damn demeanor is suspicious. He knows what’s coming. Rather, he knows the gist of what’s coming. What’s actually coming, from what angle, and why, those are still mysteries. He’s mentally leafing through their past few interactions, trying to pinpoint exactly what life lesson he’s in for today, but nothing is coming to mind. It’s disconcerting. It’s a little bit terrifying. Prompto shifts in the chair, leans heavily against the rest and works his thumbnail against well-worn leather. A nice, simple distraction. An easy nervous habit.
“And your friend?” That’s what it’s about? Prompto frowns here, and his expression is definitely turning to confusion. He’s skipped out to lunch with friends before. Hell, he’s skipped out to lunch with potential boyfriends more than once. And more than lunch, at that. Cor tends to make a point of keeping his nose out of that particular part of Prompto’s life, beyond the occasional word of advice before a date or box of condoms left conspicuously behind the counter. He doesn’t ask about who Prompto’s going out with. Really, Prompto doesn’t think he cares. Prompto is grown, after all, a man in his twenties. His dad doesn’t really need to concern himself with his casual dates.
“He’s nice. We had a good time. What’s with you?” his voice is a little bit sharp, which is very likely the exact wrong tactic here. Cor doesn’t pounce on it, doesn’t even scold him though. Instead, he sighs, and he steps from behind the counter. Prompto realizes, watching his father make a slight limp to sit on the couch opposite him, that he wishes this was more scolding. Whatever conversation is coming, he’s pretty damn sure he doesn’t want to have it.
“Prompto,” there’s that tone again, that fatherly concern. It’s written all over him, just the way Prompto is wearing his own anxiety. There’s a pause after the sound of his name, pregnant and halting and as uncomfortable as everything else, “listen. I trust your judgment, you know that. And I support you, no matter what,” oh, this really is a concerned dad talk. Prompto is absolutely squirming in his seat. There’s a sound between a whine and a groan and there’s a nod, a mumbled sort of ‘yessir’ while he waits for Cor to continue.
“You’re a grown man. I’m not going to tell you what to do,” exactly the sort of words, Prompto thinks, that someone says before they tell you what to do, “but I want you to be careful with him. I’m not talking about the normal sort of careful,” Prompto is definitely frowning now, and he thinks back again. He plays the conversation between Noct and his father in his mind, and his stomach begins to go tight, his skin a little bit hot and cold. There was recognition there, on some level. Prompto shifts again, tries to avoid the uncomfortable sensation if his heart suddenly thumping wild against his ribs.
“It was just lunch, dad. Gladio sent him in. It’s no big deal…”
“I saw you looking at him,” Cor counters the dismissal at once. Prompto, in times like these, really wishes he was in possession of some sort of mask. He’s too prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve. It works out for him, when luck is on his side, but it seems like luck went off somewhere in the vague direction of the Citadel some minutes earlier, “what has Gladio told you?”
“Nothing. I mean, he mentioned maybe sending me a client, but that’s it. What… I don’t get this. What’s going on? You know him, right? Just say whatever it is you wanna say, ‘cause I really don’t know what you’re getting at,” he’s irritable now, though mostly out of concern, that familiar anxiety. And a horrible feeling of excitement, anticipation, happiness turning to dust in front of him so easily.
“I know about him. I knew his father,” Knew. There’s something in that word that makes Prompto’s brows furrow, makes his breath catch a little. There’s something in all of this that makes him so damn uneasy, makes him wish the conversation was over, “listen. I’m not suggesting you avoid him, but I want you to be careful, Prompto. If you like him, that’s fine. I just want you to be careful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“I’m not gonna get hurt, dad,” there’s a pause before Prompto makes this assurance and another before he speaks again. He’s almost inclined to push the issue, to ask for more details. There was a hint in there, about Gladio, almost an unspoken encouragement for Prompto to take initiative on that route. He’s considering that, more than he’s considering pressing his father for whatever information he seems privy to. His thumbnail cuts across the leather, scores little lines in it, “I’ll be careful. Promise. Might be helpful if I knew what to be careful about, though.”
“Maybe nothing. It’s...just a feeling I have. Maybe I’m wrong. I just want you to keep your guard up. I know you, Prompto, and I know how quick you like to dive in. I’m just saying, you should take your time with this one. That’s all,” Prompto wants to say that he’s relieved by the way Cor says the words, the finality to the statement. The warning, however, is vague and it’s menacing. It’s just enough information to make him wonder, little enough to make his mind go a million different directions, to make him obsessively recount that first date, search for signs, question every damn word they shared.
“Okay,” Prompto shifts again, abandons his work at half-carving shapes into the arm of the chair, pushes himself up to his feet, “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up, alright?” he nods toward the hall before he starts in that direction, waits for Cor’s silent nod before he turns away. It’s a relief when he makes it into his studio room, gets the door shut behind him, sits himself on the little rolling stool. He propels himself with both heels, so he can plant his back against the wall. The lights are harsh in here and there is still plenty to clean after his pre-lunch client. It was a touch irresponsible to leave everything in this state, he knows.
That doesn’t stop him from fishing his phone out again, though, to shoot a message at Gladio before he sets to work:
‘Call me. ASAP.’
Human Frontier Science Program (HFSP) Postdoctoral Fellowships
Human Frontier Science Program (HFSP) Postdoctoral Fellowships
Human Frontier Science Program (HFSP)invites applications for HFSP Postdoctoral Fellowships. The aim is to support proposals for frontier, potentially transformative research in the life sciences. Applications for high-risk projects are particularly encouraged. The projects need to be interdisciplinary in nature and should also challenge existing paradigms by using novel approaches and techniques.
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"Happiness Hormone" Dopamine Controls Immune Defence
“Happiness Hormone” Dopamine Controls Immune Defence
When a foreign substance invades our body, the body produces antibodiesthat recognise and fight the intruder. In specialised regions of the lymph nodes, so-called germinal centres, these antibodies are optimised with respect to the most specific immune response against pathogens, and the most suitable antibodies are selected. An international group of researchersthat includes Michael…
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