"I didn't know who else to talk to, so I came to you…"
prompto and ardyn (though not necessarily promdyn, you can if you want kdjfsdf) i'm just!!!! thinking about the potential there to actually talk about things especially after...everything.........
@paintedscales I really loved this idea, and I hope you like my take on it! I’ve often wondered myself how they’d even begin to unpack what happened between them. I didn’t dive too deep since I’m running on fumes x.x but I hope you enjoy!
It was another night of insomnia, of endless dreams of the past, and Prompto had had enough of lying in bed waiting for a sleep that never came.
The cold wind that brushed his hair as he ventured into the city was a relief. Midnight walks through the capital never got old, even with the changes since Noctis had taken the mantle of king. Prompto could still see the highlights of the old world peeking through the cracks in the dark: streetlights flashing in time with footsteps and passing cars, night markets tucked in alleys selling wares no one dared show in daylight. Little things like that grounded him, reminded him he should’ve been grateful—grateful to have survived, to have lived through it all, but his steps faltered.
Prompto stared down at his boots, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to bruise. A sigh escaped. How could he be grateful for the future when he was shackled to a past he never chose? The gods had been gone for four years, yet he realized an inconvenient truth: he still had his demons.
“Damn it…”
Maybe that was what drove him to the district outside the citadel—to give fate a little push. What better way to face one’s demons than to stare into the eyes of a man who had once been one?
Prompto swallowed hard as he reached Ardyn’s door. The place was tucked away from the world, quiet and unassuming, yet close enough to keep watch over the kingdom’s affairs.
He clenched a fist.
It was more than Ardyn deserved. Still, if Noct could bury the hatchet—and if the Adagium himself had managed peace with Gladio of all people—surely he could do the same. Or maybe he’d end up like Ignis, who still wouldn’t touch Ardyn with a ten-foot pole. Even the former's loyalty to Noct had strained under the weight of such compassion.
Before Prompto could retreat, the decision was made for him: the door cracked open. A pair of blue eyes glinted in the dark, then the door swung wider. Ardyn stepped out, hair even more disheveled than usual, as though dragged from a rare nap.
“I thought that was you.”
“Y-yeah.” Even after all this time, Prompto couldn’t get used to it—seeing him without daemonic eyes, not those ember-yellow orbs that had haunted him. “Is this…a bad time?”
“Do I look like I get much company these days?” Ardyn’s tone was dry, his gesture loose, though the eye roll he gave made Prompto flinch. He sighed, softened, and stepped aside. “Make yourself at home.”
Inside, Prompto’s gaze darted around the clutter: some corners messy, some strangely neat, others beyond description. It reminded him of Noct’s old apartment, back when Ignis had to pick up after him or else he’d drown in his own possessions.
“Guess it runs in the family…” he muttered.
“Beg pardon?”
“I mean—uh, how are you settling in? Been a couple of months now, right?” He corrected himself quickly, sinking onto the sofa Ardyn motioned to.
“I’m still figuring myself out.” Ardyn arched a brow. “I didn’t peg you as a man for small talk. Not at this hour, anyway.”
“Guess you see right through me.” Prompto hunched forward, shoulders caving in as his eyes drifted to the stars outside the window. “I…wanted to talk—about a lot, actually. We haven’t spoken since Noct’s coronation, and…I can’t sleep. I can’t rest, not when I keep seeing Verstael, and you, and everything back in Niflheim. I’m so lost. I want to move on, keep being the happy-go-lucky guy, keep everyone’s spirits up, but I can’t. Not when your shadow is always there, waiting for me the moment I try to breathe in peace. I tried talking to the guys about it, but...they wouldn't understand. I didn't know who else to talk to, so I came to you."
Ardyn stayed silent, eyes fixed on him, replaying his words before he finally spoke. “You think confronting me will give you closure. That it’ll silence the nightmares.”
Prompto lifted his head, nodding faintly. His hope faltered at Ardyn’s tired chuckle.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not the answer you’re looking for.”
Prompto exhaled through his nose. “Can you give that to me in English, please?”
A slight huff escaped Ardyn. “I can’t fix what’s wrong with you. Being one of the many hands that violated you as well, I doubt we’ll ever reach an impasse, much less a friendship—even with your knack for empathy I've seen you use on Noct and the common folk." His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Prompto’s face. “Even now, as I said Noct, your eyes flared with anger. This—” he gestured between them “—is never going to be healthy.”
“Then why let me in?” Prompto asked, voice tight, jaw clenching. “Why play at hospitality just to spit it back in my face?”
“Because, dear boy, we’re two men who have been hurt and have hurt each other. There’s an intimacy in that which few will ever understand, and while I can’t help you—and I doubt you’d take away any of my ills of the mind—there’s something mending in the simple minitstry of presence. Wouldn't you say?"
Something stirred in Prompto at that: not peace, but a quiet contentment, the faint glow of recognition. He looked up from his hands as Ardyn cleared his throat.
“The night remains young.” Ardyn drew a steady breath and met his gaze. “So. Where would you like to begin our little side quest?”
Prompto blinked, caught off guard. He’d half expected to be thrown out. Maybe Ardyn was right—this wouldn’t fix anything, but he had to start somewhere. If he didn’t evolve, he couldn’t stand in the light with the others.
“I…want to talk about Verstael first,” he said, steadying his voice. “Verstael, the clones, all of it.”
Ardyn’s sigh was long, shoulders sinking as he rose. He waved irritably when Prompto moved to follow. “Stay put. I’ll make us drinks.”
“Coffee?”
“No. Something stronger. We’re going to need it, talking about that man, gods be damned…I hope you like white wine, it's all I have left.”
Prompto couldn’t help it—he laughed.
Leaning back into the couch, the sound of glasses clinking faintly from the kitchen, Prompto's stomach twisted, but beneath it was something steadier. Maybe it was resolve, perhaps it wasn't. Maybe this wouldn't amount to anything, but Prompto knew he wasn't here for easy answers. He was here because he was tired of running from ghosts. If it meant sitting in the lion's den to carve some semblance of peace, then so be it.
