Ink Shrouded Stars 6
The Other five parts, I got lazy
The apartment is oddly quiet, even at the early hour. Regis is used to the sound of a television or radio, sometimes the tinny theme from a mobile game. Noctis tends to fall asleep in the middle of things, so when he doesn’t hear a sound it concerns him for moment.
A small snore and some shuffling reassure him however, all is right, and he occupies himself brewing coffee and pulling out ingredients for omelets. He hasn’t cook much in a long time, but he’s sure he can manage a spot of breakfast just the same. It wouldn’t do for the eggs to get cold though, so he sits down with his cup, patient.
He’s sure his advisors are going to be highly displeased that he’s left, but he’ll be damned if he can’t spend a few hours with his son.
Noctis’ bedroom door opens and he turns with a smile to greet Noctis, only to fall quiet when he realizes it’s Prompto. Only in boxers, blonde hair messy and eyes closed as he feels his way into the kitchen, yawning widely.
Regis takes in the tattoos that mark Prompto’s body, appreciating the beauty of them and simultaneously using them to distract himself from the need to fist pump. He knew they would get around to it, but it’s gratifying to know he’s won his bet with Gladio and Ignis, who both swore it would take them far longer to stop dancing around physical intimacies.
Prompto lifts the coffee pot, prepared to fill it with water for a new brew and Regis watches his eyes slowly crack open, awareness slamming into him when he sees a warm, full pot in his hands. The pot slams down and Prompto whirls, because Ignis always makes tea and never coffee and who else would it possibly be? The gun manifests itself so quickly that Regis is impressed.
Prompto goes from defensive, ready to fight to protect himself and Noctis, to pale as a sheet and horrified, gun clattering to the ground and vanishing in his surprise.
He claps a hand over his mouth and gestures frantically with his free hand but Regis just laughs.
“It’s alright Prompto. I didn’t mean to frighten you and I’m glad you think so quickly on your feet.”
Prompto lowers his hands, cheeks burning, “Don’t tell Noct?”
Regis merely winks at him and sips his coffee, pushing himself to his feet and making a slight face, the pull of the wall is taxing today. He turns on the stovetop and smiles at Prompto, who is pouring himself some coffee and looking sheepish.
“Good to see the two of you enjoyed yourselves. I’m assuming you bottomed, do you take tomatoes in your omelets?”
It’s highly amusing to watch Prompto turn the same color as the aforementioned fruit. “Uh..y-yeah. Tomatoes. Uh...no offense? It’s kinda weird to talk about that stuff with you?”
Regis shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes a little and the motion is so incredibly Noctis that Prompto just stares at him, finally clicking his boyfriend and the King together fully. It doesn’t make the question less awkward though and he sits down with his own mug, stirring in a bit of creamer.
Regis just works on the omelet and changes the subject, like he didn’t ask a super awkward question two second before.
“You’ve quite a number of tattoos-”
Prompto bites his lip, he knows that he does. He wasn’t sure if Regis was alright with them, even though Noctis has his share. Is the King going to admonish him for them? For making so many commitments while he’s still young? He worries his thumbnail, staring at the man’s shoulders and trying to think of something to preempt the judgement he’s certain to receive.
“I’d imagine it took a great deal of time for the larger ones on your hips and thighs?”
Prompto nods, fingering the rim of his brown mug and swallowing, “Yes...it probably seems like a waste of time but I-I needed them.”
Regis considers him, the curve of his shoulders, like he’s trying to protect himself from something, and sighs. He flips the omelet, sets down the spatula, and unbuttons the crisp black shirt he wears.
Prompto’s eyes are huge and he starts to stutter a question when Regis turns, allowing the shirt to slide off his arms as he reveals his back.
Stretching from shoulder to hip is a beautiful flower, Prompto’s not sure of the name but it’s familiar. Vibrant purple, yellow, and maroon flowers bloom along to swirling green that suggests leaves and stems and the shape, almost a trumpet but curving delicately back, is gentle.
There are small black handprints on either side of the flowers and curving words on his opposite shoulder.
“Gra Anois go Deo”
It’s beautiful and Prompto marvels at it, forgetting his uncertainty as he straightens up in his seat.
“Wow. How long did that take?”
Regis shrugs his shirt back on and smiles, checking the food.
“The Columbine’s were first, they took ten or so hours, but Noctis’ mother loved them. Noct’s handprints and the words came after she died...it’s gaelic for ‘love, now and forever.’”
Prompto feels his heart clench a little, especially at the sadness in Regis’ eyes, despite his soft smile. The King dishes up his food and Prompto accepts it with a grateful smile.
“Thanks! It looks really good and Noct couldn’t cook if...well if anything….His mom, when’s uh..when’s the anniversary?”
Regis clears his throat a little, “Talk to Noctis about it, let him tell you...and you’re right, he tried to make toast for me once, had to replace the wallpaper. What of yours, any special stories?”
Prompto realizes he’s asking about the tattoos he has and he just shrugs a bit, “I guess? Mostly designs I thought looked neat that reminded me what my strengths were, the fox and the skull remind me that life is short but full of beautiful things to be seen. The wolf and the guns...uh..that’s my loyalty and protectiveness to my friends, I guess? The words were to remind me of things…”
He trails off when he watches Regis pause to actually read the text and he shifts, wishing he’d grabbed a shirt when he got up.
The King is quiet so Prompto begins to eat, but is stopped by the light touch of Regis’ forefinger over the code print on his wrist, still uncovered after the night before.
“And this?”
Prompto lowers the fork, his throat growing tight as he looks down, drawing himself in again, making himself small and trying to think of a way to explain that won’t make Regis hate him. He squeezes his eyes shut, but figures he owes the man the truth.
“It’s not a tattoo...not like the others…”
Silence answers him and he doesn’t dare look at Noct’s dad. He just takes a breath and tries to push through the explanation.
“I’m...I was born...please don’t hate me. I was born in Niflheim, I don’t remember much, I got out when I was really small and whoever brought me here, left me pretty fast. I lived in an orphanage until I was thirteen, then I started working for under the table pay and managed to scrape together enough from that and some of the stuff you’ve got going to help youth in the city to live. There’s a house in my name, whoever brought me must’ve done it. I...I was supposed to be one of their soldiers. An MT, I’ve got...I’ve got…”
He can’t bring himself to say daemon blood, but it’s alright, he’s sure Regis understands.
Regis doesn’t reply and Prompto tries so hard to hold back the tears he can feel gathering, the egg tastes like ash on his tongue.
“I’m Sor-”
He’s cut off by warm arms, to broad to be Noctis’, wrapping around him and he opens his eyes to find the fine thread of Regis’ shirt swimming before his eyes. He takes a moment and then he’s clenching the King’s shirt in his hands, crying onto Noctis’ dads shoulder with viscious shuddering gasps and Regis holds him tight.
“I’m assuming Noctis knows?” Prompto nods, sniffling.
“Then I have nothing to say on the matter, other than to offer you a very sincere apology for all that you’ve been through. You’re a wonderful young man Prompto.”
Prompto tries for a smile and a little laugh, “Well, see if you still think that when Ignis see’s what I’ve done to your shirt.”
There’s streaks from his tears and black marks from the left over eyeliner, but Regis just grins at him and very intentionally dips his finger in some leftover egg and smears it across the shirt.
“This one’s uncomfortable anyways. I’ve been trying to ruin it for ages. Ignis’ll get the marks out and deem it no longer worthy. He’ll give it to a charity shop and it’ll be someone else’s terribly uncomfortable problem.”
Prompto laughs loudly at that and then, “Wait? You donate your clothes? There’s some pleb like me running around in your old underwear?”