(I'm so sorry OP, I'm a really slow writer and I have a bunch written for this but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to finish before the meme maxes out, but I'm trying for you! Here's some more to tide you over!) ________________
It's been a hard day hunting – well, day and night have become relative terms – and Prompto feels drained and miserable, as he limps into Lestallum. It seems no matter how many daemons he and other hunters kill, their numbers never diminish. It feels like there's more, if anything. Prompto forces his mind not to go dwell too much on it, on what he learnt years ago in Gralea, not to consider how new numbers are ever added to their swarm.
His ankle aches from a fall Prompto took earlier, a stupid mistake, he'd misjudged how close a bussemand was, tripped over his own feet in an effort to get some range. There's a constant ache there now, but Prompto doesn't want to waste a potion. He'll bind it up when he gets a room, try to rest on it until he has to move out again. But before that, he has something he has to do first.
He makes his way through the eternally crowded streets of Lestallum, the last, true, safe place it seems. There are other outposts still scattered across the country, hunters headquarters still active, but Lestallum is the biggest city, and the safest place, and it's full of refugee's from all over. People try to make do, they have to, but it's a far cry from the Lestallum Prompto remembers first rolling into, that hot, sunny day, with his three friend's at his side.
He finds Dave, over by the weapons store. Prompto squares his shoulders, but years of experience still doesn't stop the burning feeling in the back of his throat at what he has to do.
“Oh, hey there, kid,” Dave greets, spying Prompto coming his way. His eyes fall to Prompto's leg, before settling back on his face. “You alright?”
Prompto waves a hand, brushing his pain aside. “Yeah, it's nothing,” he says easily. He feels his heart start to pound, as one hand digs through his pockets, before his fingers curl around a cool chain. “Sorry,” he says simply, as he drops the tag into Dave's hand. It's a horribly common occurrence, these days.
Dave looks at the tag, releases a heavy sigh. “I sure am sorry, too. Thanks for bringing this to me, though.” He's gruff and to the point, as always, but there's sincerity in his voice. “Your friend's been looking for you,” he adds, to Prompto's surprise. “Been in town a couple days, hoping you'd pass through.”
“Oh, thanks for letting me know.”
They nod in farewell at each other, and Prompto walks away, teeth grit as he tries to ignore the throbbing in his ankle; he needs to sit down.
He knows who Dave means, when he mentioned a friend; it can only be Ignis. They'd split up a couple of weeks ago, a couple of areas had needed help clearing out daemons, and they'd known they could help more people if they split up. Prompto's relieved to know Ignis is okay, and made it back to Lestallum already. He digs his phone out and dials Ignis' number. Their conversation is short and to the point, but Prompto can't help the feeling of comfort he still manages to get simply from hearing Ignis' voice again. He's at the apartment they both make use of when they're in the city, and Prompto makes his way there, albiet a little slower than usual.
When Ignis opens the door to Prompto's knock, the sight of his friend's face sends a shock of warmth through Prompto, a weight drops from him that he wasn't aware was on him.
“Prompto,” Ignis says, and it's almost a question, because Ignis can't see that it's him, though he assumes it must be Prompto.
“Hey.” He steps into the apartment, Ignis closing the door behind them both, and immediately makes a beeline for the nearest chair; his ankle is almost unbearable, now.
“It's good to hear from you,” Ignis says, making his way over towards the small kitchen, presumably to start making Prompto something to drink.
“You too,” Prompto answers, before pulling his boot off, a pained grunt escaping him.
“Prompto?” Ignis' head moves to look in Prompto's general direction. “What's wrong?”
Can't hide anything from Ignis, Prompto reminds himself. “O-oh, nothing,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Just hurt my ankle earlier. I'll be fine after I rest for a bit.”
Coffee making abandoned, Ignis moves towards the bed, where his bag rests, and when he moves back towards Prompto it's with a familiar bottle of a curative in hand. “Ig, it's okay,” Prompto starts to say, but Ignis finds Prompto's hand after a few searching taps against his arm, and presses the bottle into it.
“Hush, and take your medicine,” Ignis chides, gently, “like a good boy.”
Prompto lets out a startled laugh; he hasn't felt like a boy in a long time, but with the way Ignis tells him that, a little of that feeling comes back to him, of being young and looked out for.
Prompto huffs, though there's a smile on his face all the same. “Dunno who you're calling 'boy',” he mumbles, as he breaks the bottle. He feels the familiar coolness of the restorative flow through him, and the painful ache at his ankle subsides. He let's out a soft sigh of relief, he hadn't realised how bad the pain actually was, until it was gone.
When Prompto looks over at him, Ignis has a fond smile on his face, and he reaches out, ruffles his hand through Prompto's hair; it's an act that reminds him quite suddenly of Noctis. “Only the child who thinks it wise to ignore an injury,” Ignis answers. His hand moves, holds it out towards Prompto, and Prompto grips it into his own, allows Ignis to help him out of the chair. “Now, go lay down and get some rest.”
It seems impossible for Ignis to stop himself from trying to take care of people, and usually, Prompto tries to make sure Ignis takes care of himself first these days, but he's so tired now that he's no longer in pain, and laying down sounds so good to him right now. “Just for a bit,” he agrees, as he drops himself onto the bed. He doesn't want to fall asleep yet, though, he has a lot to tell Ignis, and he's sure Ignis has just as much to tell him. Those two weeks apart suddenly feel like they were much, much longer to Prompto.
Prompto isn't aware the he fell asleep until he wakes up. He's lost all sense of time, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he guesses that some time has passed. The lights have been switched off, although the light from signs and streetlamps outside seep in through the curtains. Prompto's still in his clothes, though, but when he glances over, he sees Ignis lying on the other side of the bed, changed into his own sleepwear. He thinks at least a couple of hours must have passed by now.
He reaches out to check his phone for the time, then realise it's not there, and spies it over on the side table, plugged in and charging. It strikes Prompto, all over again, just how amazing Ignis is, how well he's learnt to adjust to his injury, how much he can still do. He'd almost think that Ignis wasn't blind sometimes, but for the constant reminder of the scars across his face, and those taps as he's searching for something.
Prompto turns onto his side, finds himself just looking at Ignis for a moment. His usual shaded glasses are off, and even in the darkness Prompto can see the scars on his face. His heart tightens at the sight. Ignis' hair is flat against his forehead, he's had a shower, Prompto thinks, and without even thinking, he reaches out towards him, brushes some of the hair from Ignis' face. He's not sure why he does it.
Ignis shuffles, then surprises Prompto by reaching out, one hand groping across the bed until he captures Prompto's hand. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice sleepy but concerned.
Prompto catches himself nodding, then flushes with shame. “I'm fine, I just woke up,” he says. “I don't think we've been asleep for long.”
Ignis hums quietly in response, settles back down.
“Hold on,” Prompto says, and uncurls his fingers from Ignis' with a touch of regret. He speaks quickly, so Ignis doesn't get the wrong idea. “I just wanna get changed quick. Kingsguard uniform isn't very comfy.”
He thinks he sees some unreadable expression on Ignis' face relax, and a soft breath of laughter escapes him. “At least you aren't wearing the boots.”
Prompto pretends to sound outraged, as he digs through his bag for his pajamas. “Wear boots in bed?” He hears that laugh from Ignis again, and that sound makes his heart feel lighter. He makes quick work of his clothes, and they fall with a rustle to pool on the floor, as he slips into a loose t-shirt and pants.
He hears Ignis tsk from behind him. “I hope that's not the sound of you leaving your clothes rumpled across the floor?”
Prompto turns his head, glances back at Ignis, and finds himself grinning. For a moment, this feels like better days, the easy teasing, less weight upon their shoulders, and their hearts. “Just so you know,” he says, because there are reasons why he can't quite forget these aren't better days, “I'm grinning at you right now.”
“Ah,” Ignis says, and in the hazy streetlamps that shine through the curtains, Prompto thinks he can see a smile on Ignis' face. “I was right then.”
Prompto at least picks his clothes up, places them on a chair, before climbing back into the bed. “Yep.” He settles back down against the pillows, finds sleep pulling at him again now that he's more comfortable. A thought crosses Prompto's mind. “Iggy?” He says, before he considers how weird and stupid he'll sound, and he wishes he can take it back.
“Hmm?”
“N-nothing,” Prompto says, hoping Ignis will let him have this. “Nevermind. Go back to sleep.”
“Prompto,” he says, in that tone that Prompto vividly recalls hearing years ago, the tone that brooked no argument. In the past, it would be used on himself and Noctis a lot, trying to get the truth of a situation from one or the other of them. It's always worked on Prompto, even now, even when he should be much less susceptible to that tone of voice than he was as a teenager. “What is it?”
Ignis' eye is open, aimed in Prompto's direction, but he knows that Ignis can't actually see him. Even so, Prompto finds it hard to lie when Ignis looks at him like that. He just doesn't want to make things weird.
He pulls in a shaky breath. “I just...I wondered...” he pulls in another breath, reminds himself how long they've known each other; Ignis won't laugh. “Will you hold me?” The words came out in a fast rush of barely heard words. But Ignis hears them.
Prompto feels a little foolish, a little vulnerable, but it's been such a long time, and he misses the sensation. He thinks he'll like it even more, if it's Ignis.
He hears Ignis pull in a soft breath, only to release it a moment later. Then he feels Ignis shuffle closer, and Prompto's heart is thudding, a little heavier, a little faster, inside his chest, as an arm winds around him, tugs him in close. Prompto relaxes immediately, lets himself settle against Ignis, one arm thrown over Ignis' waist in return. He feels fingers in his hair, a light comfort, and hears Ignis speak, his words a soft breath against Prompto's forehead.
“Of course, Prompto.”
It's a simple comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, to have Ignis hold him with so much care.
Fill 2/?: Prompto/Noct & Gladio/Ignis becomes Prompto/Ignis during the Long Dark
________________
It's been a hard day hunting – well, day and night have become relative terms – and Prompto feels drained and miserable, as he limps into Lestallum. It seems no matter how many daemons he and other hunters kill, their numbers never diminish. It feels like there's more, if anything. Prompto forces his mind not to go dwell too much on it, on what he learnt years ago in Gralea, not to consider how new numbers are ever added to their swarm.
His ankle aches from a fall Prompto took earlier, a stupid mistake, he'd misjudged how close a bussemand was, tripped over his own feet in an effort to get some range. There's a constant ache there now, but Prompto doesn't want to waste a potion. He'll bind it up when he gets a room, try to rest on it until he has to move out again. But before that, he has something he has to do first.
He makes his way through the eternally crowded streets of Lestallum, the last, true, safe place it seems. There are other outposts still scattered across the country, hunters headquarters still active, but Lestallum is the biggest city, and the safest place, and it's full of refugee's from all over. People try to make do, they have to, but it's a far cry from the Lestallum Prompto remembers first rolling into, that hot, sunny day, with his three friend's at his side.
He finds Dave, over by the weapons store. Prompto squares his shoulders, but years of experience still doesn't stop the burning feeling in the back of his throat at what he has to do.
“Oh, hey there, kid,” Dave greets, spying Prompto coming his way. His eyes fall to Prompto's leg, before settling back on his face. “You alright?”
Prompto waves a hand, brushing his pain aside. “Yeah, it's nothing,” he says easily. He feels his heart start to pound, as one hand digs through his pockets, before his fingers curl around a cool chain. “Sorry,” he says simply, as he drops the tag into Dave's hand. It's a horribly common occurrence, these days.
Dave looks at the tag, releases a heavy sigh. “I sure am sorry, too. Thanks for bringing this to me, though.” He's gruff and to the point, as always, but there's sincerity in his voice. “Your friend's been looking for you,” he adds, to Prompto's surprise. “Been in town a couple days, hoping you'd pass through.”
“Oh, thanks for letting me know.”
They nod in farewell at each other, and Prompto walks away, teeth grit as he tries to ignore the throbbing in his ankle; he needs to sit down.
He knows who Dave means, when he mentioned a friend; it can only be Ignis. They'd split up a couple of weeks ago, a couple of areas had needed help clearing out daemons, and they'd known they could help more people if they split up. Prompto's relieved to know Ignis is okay, and made it back to Lestallum already. He digs his phone out and dials Ignis' number. Their conversation is short and to the point, but Prompto can't help the feeling of comfort he still manages to get simply from hearing Ignis' voice again. He's at the apartment they both make use of when they're in the city, and Prompto makes his way there, albiet a little slower than usual.
When Ignis opens the door to Prompto's knock, the sight of his friend's face sends a shock of warmth through Prompto, a weight drops from him that he wasn't aware was on him.
“Prompto,” Ignis says, and it's almost a question, because Ignis can't see that it's him, though he assumes it must be Prompto.
“Hey.” He steps into the apartment, Ignis closing the door behind them both, and immediately makes a beeline for the nearest chair; his ankle is almost unbearable, now.
“It's good to hear from you,” Ignis says, making his way over towards the small kitchen, presumably to start making Prompto something to drink.
“You too,” Prompto answers, before pulling his boot off, a pained grunt escaping him.
“Prompto?” Ignis' head moves to look in Prompto's general direction. “What's wrong?”
Can't hide anything from Ignis, Prompto reminds himself. “O-oh, nothing,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Just hurt my ankle earlier. I'll be fine after I rest for a bit.”
Coffee making abandoned, Ignis moves towards the bed, where his bag rests, and when he moves back towards Prompto it's with a familiar bottle of a curative in hand. “Ig, it's okay,” Prompto starts to say, but Ignis finds Prompto's hand after a few searching taps against his arm, and presses the bottle into it.
“Hush, and take your medicine,” Ignis chides, gently, “like a good boy.”
Prompto lets out a startled laugh; he hasn't felt like a boy in a long time, but with the way Ignis tells him that, a little of that feeling comes back to him, of being young and looked out for.
Prompto huffs, though there's a smile on his face all the same. “Dunno who you're calling 'boy',” he mumbles, as he breaks the bottle. He feels the familiar coolness of the restorative flow through him, and the painful ache at his ankle subsides. He let's out a soft sigh of relief, he hadn't realised how bad the pain actually was, until it was gone.
When Prompto looks over at him, Ignis has a fond smile on his face, and he reaches out, ruffles his hand through Prompto's hair; it's an act that reminds him quite suddenly of Noctis. “Only the child who thinks it wise to ignore an injury,” Ignis answers. His hand moves, holds it out towards Prompto, and Prompto grips it into his own, allows Ignis to help him out of the chair. “Now, go lay down and get some rest.”
It seems impossible for Ignis to stop himself from trying to take care of people, and usually, Prompto tries to make sure Ignis takes care of himself first these days, but he's so tired now that he's no longer in pain, and laying down sounds so good to him right now. “Just for a bit,” he agrees, as he drops himself onto the bed. He doesn't want to fall asleep yet, though, he has a lot to tell Ignis, and he's sure Ignis has just as much to tell him. Those two weeks apart suddenly feel like they were much, much longer to Prompto.
Prompto isn't aware the he fell asleep until he wakes up. He's lost all sense of time, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he guesses that some time has passed. The lights have been switched off, although the light from signs and streetlamps outside seep in through the curtains. Prompto's still in his clothes, though, but when he glances over, he sees Ignis lying on the other side of the bed, changed into his own sleepwear. He thinks at least a couple of hours must have passed by now.
He reaches out to check his phone for the time, then realise it's not there, and spies it over on the side table, plugged in and charging. It strikes Prompto, all over again, just how amazing Ignis is, how well he's learnt to adjust to his injury, how much he can still do. He'd almost think that Ignis wasn't blind sometimes, but for the constant reminder of the scars across his face, and those taps as he's searching for something.
Prompto turns onto his side, finds himself just looking at Ignis for a moment. His usual shaded glasses are off, and even in the darkness Prompto can see the scars on his face. His heart tightens at the sight. Ignis' hair is flat against his forehead, he's had a shower, Prompto thinks, and without even thinking, he reaches out towards him, brushes some of the hair from Ignis' face. He's not sure why he does it.
Ignis shuffles, then surprises Prompto by reaching out, one hand groping across the bed until he captures Prompto's hand. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice sleepy but concerned.
Prompto catches himself nodding, then flushes with shame. “I'm fine, I just woke up,” he says. “I don't think we've been asleep for long.”
Ignis hums quietly in response, settles back down.
“Hold on,” Prompto says, and uncurls his fingers from Ignis' with a touch of regret. He speaks quickly, so Ignis doesn't get the wrong idea. “I just wanna get changed quick. Kingsguard uniform isn't very comfy.”
He thinks he sees some unreadable expression on Ignis' face relax, and a soft breath of laughter escapes him. “At least you aren't wearing the boots.”
Prompto pretends to sound outraged, as he digs through his bag for his pajamas. “Wear boots in bed?” He hears that laugh from Ignis again, and that sound makes his heart feel lighter. He makes quick work of his clothes, and they fall with a rustle to pool on the floor, as he slips into a loose t-shirt and pants.
He hears Ignis tsk from behind him. “I hope that's not the sound of you leaving your clothes rumpled across the floor?”
Prompto turns his head, glances back at Ignis, and finds himself grinning. For a moment, this feels like better days, the easy teasing, less weight upon their shoulders, and their hearts. “Just so you know,” he says, because there are reasons why he can't quite forget these aren't better days, “I'm grinning at you right now.”
“Ah,” Ignis says, and in the hazy streetlamps that shine through the curtains, Prompto thinks he can see a smile on Ignis' face. “I was right then.”
Prompto at least picks his clothes up, places them on a chair, before climbing back into the bed. “Yep.” He settles back down against the pillows, finds sleep pulling at him again now that he's more comfortable. A thought crosses Prompto's mind. “Iggy?” He says, before he considers how weird and stupid he'll sound, and he wishes he can take it back.
“Hmm?”
“N-nothing,” Prompto says, hoping Ignis will let him have this. “Nevermind. Go back to sleep.”
“Prompto,” he says, in that tone that Prompto vividly recalls hearing years ago, the tone that brooked no argument. In the past, it would be used on himself and Noctis a lot, trying to get the truth of a situation from one or the other of them. It's always worked on Prompto, even now, even when he should be much less susceptible to that tone of voice than he was as a teenager. “What is it?”
Ignis' eye is open, aimed in Prompto's direction, but he knows that Ignis can't actually see him. Even so, Prompto finds it hard to lie when Ignis looks at him like that. He just doesn't want to make things weird.
He pulls in a shaky breath. “I just...I wondered...” he pulls in another breath, reminds himself how long they've known each other; Ignis won't laugh. “Will you hold me?” The words came out in a fast rush of barely heard words. But Ignis hears them.
Prompto feels a little foolish, a little vulnerable, but it's been such a long time, and he misses the sensation. He thinks he'll like it even more, if it's Ignis.
He hears Ignis pull in a soft breath, only to release it a moment later. Then he feels Ignis shuffle closer, and Prompto's heart is thudding, a little heavier, a little faster, inside his chest, as an arm winds around him, tugs him in close. Prompto relaxes immediately, lets himself settle against Ignis, one arm thrown over Ignis' waist in return. He feels fingers in his hair, a light comfort, and hears Ignis speak, his words a soft breath against Prompto's forehead.
“Of course, Prompto.”
It's a simple comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, to have Ignis hold him with so much care.