It's the middle of the following week, and Prompto's trying very hard not to hyperventilate. It's the best chance he's ever going to get. Iggy and Gladio are on their way back to Wiz's Chocobo post by now to renew their lease on the birds, and here are he and Noct, at the haven manning the camping gear.
You got this, Prompto tells himself. You'll be fine.
His phone buzzes, and a picture pops up. It's Carbuncle's face in close-up, from the shot he took with the little creature posed against a background of blurred shrubbery.
The text reads: Go go you can do it
Prompto bites at his lip. "You'd better be right about this," he mutters.
The phone buzzes again: I'm always right :)
So Prompto takes a deep breath. He runs his hand through his hair, checking to make sure everything's in place. He chews a stick of gum, from a pack purchased at Cauthess for this very purpose. Then he spits it out into the paper wrapper, folds it up, and sticks it in the trash bag Iggy always insists they haul around.
He clears his throat. He practices an easy smile.
"You can do this," Prompto tells himself, uncertainly.
"Do what?"
Prompto yelps – jumps – turns so fast he almost falls over. It's Noct, of course, one eyebrow raised in an expression that's amused and fond both at once.
"I, uh," says Prompto, words fleeing him in his moment of need. "You, uh. That is."
Noct snorts a laugh. "What the hell, Prom? I haven't seen you this worked up since you had to give that monologue on stage back in high school."
Prompto takes a deep gulp of air. He steps forward, slow and deliberate. He sets his hands on Noct's shoulders, ignoring the surprise creeping into his best friend's face and trying not to think about whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Then he leans up and kisses Noct, square on the mouth.
It's not a storybook kiss, slow and romantic. It's simple and closed-mouth, because Prompto has absolutely zero clue what he's doing.
When he pulls back, Noct's looking at him, kind of dazed. For a moment, neither of them say anything. Prompto keeps staring, waiting for – something. Some kind of response. His stomach's all twisted up in knots, the butterflies attempting a sudden, violent retreat in the face of such a hostile environment.
This is a mistake. He's going to puke, or pass out, or – or something even more embarrassing. Possibly spontaneously combust, because his face has reached the approximate temperature of the sun.
"You know what," Prompto manages, voice reedy and thin. "Forget – forget that happened. Okay? I'm gonna just –"
He's not sure what he's going to do. Swim to the bottom of a lake and start a colony there, maybe, so that the outside world never has to see his awkward attempt at romance again. He's just starting to turn away when Noct sets a hand on his shoulder.
Prompto turns back, half-dreading the expression he'll find, and Noct pulls him in for another kiss, with so much enthusiasm that their teeth clink together. It's a clumsy and stilted; Noct's not any more experienced than he is.
But when they finally pull apart, Prompto feels like he's soaring somewhere high above the ground, turning cartwheels up in the air with the birdbeasts.
===
Prompto dreams of the ocean, vast and lovely, the surface of the water as smooth as glass. It stretches away into the distance, dawn a promise of warmth on the horizon.
The whimsical silhouette of Angelgard is a hazy shape where the sea meets the sky. Nearer at hand, a gull floats on the waves, fat and content in the early light.
Noct's standing on the dock, the soft whir of his reel a pleasant background noise against the lapping of water. Prompto sits beside him, close enough to touch; his feet are bare, and he kicks them in the chill of the waves. He can taste the ocean air in his lungs, the salt spray on his lips.
It's a pleasant dream, soft and idle. It's nothing more complicated than a series of moments, precious unhurried time spent with someone he cares for.
When Prompto wakes, it's in the hours immediately before dawn; he can tell, because the light filtering in through the fabric of the tent is grey and wan. He's curled on his side in his sleeping bag, and he finds that during the night, he's shifted closer to Noct.
Noct's face is a pale oval bare inches from his own, long lashes brushing against the skin of his cheek. Looking at him like this, peaceful and still, Prompto is struck with a surge of affection, so fierce and sudden that he feels it might drown him.
Prompto closes his eyes. He smiles, so hard his cheeks ache, and reaches out to take Noct's hand in his own.
Instead, he finds something warm and plush, like the fur of a kitten's belly. Prompto blinks his eyes open again, still only half-awake. He's not entirely surprised to see that Carbuncle is there, curled up in the space between them. Prompto's fingers search out a silky ear, and he scritches delicately at its base.
Carbuncle's eyes slit closed. The fluffy white head nuzzles into his palm.
Prompto leaves his hand there, and he uses the other one to twine his fingers in with Noct's.
When he drifts off again, just moments later, the world of dreams swings its dream wide open.
Re: Fill: 6/6 Prompto meets Carbuncle - Prompto/Noctis or Gen
You got this, Prompto tells himself. You'll be fine.
His phone buzzes, and a picture pops up. It's Carbuncle's face in close-up, from the shot he took with the little creature posed against a background of blurred shrubbery.
The text reads: Go go you can do it
Prompto bites at his lip. "You'd better be right about this," he mutters.
The phone buzzes again: I'm always right :)
So Prompto takes a deep breath. He runs his hand through his hair, checking to make sure everything's in place. He chews a stick of gum, from a pack purchased at Cauthess for this very purpose. Then he spits it out into the paper wrapper, folds it up, and sticks it in the trash bag Iggy always insists they haul around.
He clears his throat. He practices an easy smile.
"You can do this," Prompto tells himself, uncertainly.
"Do what?"
Prompto yelps – jumps – turns so fast he almost falls over. It's Noct, of course, one eyebrow raised in an expression that's amused and fond both at once.
"I, uh," says Prompto, words fleeing him in his moment of need. "You, uh. That is."
Noct snorts a laugh. "What the hell, Prom? I haven't seen you this worked up since you had to give that monologue on stage back in high school."
Prompto takes a deep gulp of air. He steps forward, slow and deliberate. He sets his hands on Noct's shoulders, ignoring the surprise creeping into his best friend's face and trying not to think about whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Then he leans up and kisses Noct, square on the mouth.
It's not a storybook kiss, slow and romantic. It's simple and closed-mouth, because Prompto has absolutely zero clue what he's doing.
When he pulls back, Noct's looking at him, kind of dazed.
For a moment, neither of them say anything. Prompto keeps staring, waiting for – something. Some kind of response. His stomach's all twisted up in knots, the butterflies attempting a sudden, violent retreat in the face of such a hostile environment.
This is a mistake. He's going to puke, or pass out, or – or something even more embarrassing. Possibly spontaneously combust, because his face has reached the approximate temperature of the sun.
"You know what," Prompto manages, voice reedy and thin. "Forget – forget that happened. Okay? I'm gonna just –"
He's not sure what he's going to do. Swim to the bottom of a lake and start a colony there, maybe, so that the outside world never has to see his awkward attempt at romance again. He's just starting to turn away when Noct sets a hand on his shoulder.
Prompto turns back, half-dreading the expression he'll find, and Noct pulls him in for another kiss, with so much enthusiasm that their teeth clink together. It's a clumsy and stilted; Noct's not any more experienced than he is.
But when they finally pull apart, Prompto feels like he's soaring somewhere high above the ground, turning cartwheels up in the air with the birdbeasts.
===
Prompto dreams of the ocean, vast and lovely, the surface of the water as smooth as glass. It stretches away into the distance, dawn a promise of warmth on the horizon.
The whimsical silhouette of Angelgard is a hazy shape where the sea meets the sky. Nearer at hand, a gull floats on the waves, fat and content in the early light.
Noct's standing on the dock, the soft whir of his reel a pleasant background noise against the lapping of water. Prompto sits beside him, close enough to touch; his feet are bare, and he kicks them in the chill of the waves. He can taste the ocean air in his lungs, the salt spray on his lips.
It's a pleasant dream, soft and idle. It's nothing more complicated than a series of moments, precious unhurried time spent with someone he cares for.
When Prompto wakes, it's in the hours immediately before dawn; he can tell, because the light filtering in through the fabric of the tent is grey and wan. He's curled on his side in his sleeping bag, and he finds that during the night, he's shifted closer to Noct.
Noct's face is a pale oval bare inches from his own, long lashes brushing against the skin of his cheek.
Looking at him like this, peaceful and still, Prompto is struck with a surge of affection, so fierce and sudden that he feels it might drown him.
Prompto closes his eyes. He smiles, so hard his cheeks ache, and reaches out to take Noct's hand in his own.
Instead, he finds something warm and plush, like the fur of a kitten's belly. Prompto blinks his eyes open again, still only half-awake. He's not entirely surprised to see that Carbuncle is there, curled up in the space between them. Prompto's fingers search out a silky ear, and he scritches delicately at its base.
Carbuncle's eyes slit closed. The fluffy white head nuzzles into his palm.
Prompto leaves his hand there, and he uses the other one to twine his fingers in with Noct's.
When he drifts off again, just moments later, the world of dreams swings its dream wide open.