Month 3

The doctor had warned Prompto (and Ignis) to be wary of what she called false resurgences: days when Prompto felt as if his illness had receded and he had all the strength and energy to be expected of someone his age.

Prompto knew that, so he examined his motivations clearly. Ignis was working at the dining table, filling a notebook with his meticulously-lettered memoirs. He'd let Gladio read Prompto some of what he'd written the last time Gladio had come to visit, and Prompto'd been blown away. Ignis remembered everything, as vividly as if it'd been just yesterday, and his narrative was full of humor and insight. Doubly impressive considering he had to plan every sentence out in his head before committing it to paper, and couldn't easily go back to make corrections. So: Ignis was busy, off in his happy place, and Prompto didn't want to disturb him.

Except he really needed to piss. The bathroom was right over there – his bathroom, in his house, just a few steps away from the sofa where he was settled. He didn't feel like there was any false resurgence. He felt like shit: exhausted, aching, woozy from the medicine, et cetera et cetera. But he also felt like there was no reason he couldn't get up, go piss, and come back without making Ignis have to do battle with the wheelchair – or worse, fetch the urinal flask from the bedroom.

He managed three steps before Ignis was at his side, one arm going around his waist to take his weight as he tersely demanded to know what the hell Prompto was doing.

"Toilet," Prompto said, just as shortly. Walking and talking was more multitasking than he was usually up for.

He could feel Ignis' resistance to the idea, but after another dogged step Ignis said, "Fine," and braced his other hand against Prompto's shoulder.

The door was right there, one step away, when Prompto was hit by vertigo so strong his vision went white and spotty and he nearly threw up from the dizziness. He was aware of gravity's weight pushing down, but the next thing he was conscious of was of lying on the ground. Or rather, lying on top of Ignis, who was breathing in a terribly well-regulated way and running his fingers through Prompto's hair.

"Are you alright?" Ignis asked, his voice strained but far more mild than Prompto deserved. "Are you injured?"

Prompto licked his lips, concentrating on getting enough air to be able to speak without coughing. He hated coughing. The effort gave him time to take inventory. He could wiggle his fingers and toes and didn't feel sharp pains anywhere. They'd both heard multiple lectures about the dangers of falls in the home, but Prompto was fine. Bruised, maybe, but everything bruised these days. He'd pissed himself when he'd passed out, which was humiliating as well as cold, but he hoped Ignis thought that was a fair trade for not cracking a hip.

"Okay," Prompto said. His voice sounded weird. "Sorry."

"We both knew better." Ignis' fingers strayed down to stroke Prompto's cheek, and he leaned into the caress. Ignis was warm and his touch was familiar and comforting. The last time Prompto'd collapsed on top of him like this had been after sex, far too many years ago.

"You know I love you, right?" Probably no less romantic scenario existed, but Prompto let his words stumble on. "I should have... done a lot of things different. Fixed things with you. Top of the list." Back then, how they'd both felt about Noct had seemed an insurmountable obstacle; now, Prompto didn't see it at all. There should have been enough love to go around for everyone.

"Shh." Ignis shifted minutely, and put his thumb over Prompto's lips. "Of course I know." He took a breath, and Prompto's head on his chest rose and fell. "And I love you. Please don't entertain regrets on my behalf. I'm simply glad to be here now." He sounded both sincere and profoundly embarrassed; Prompto tried to raise his head to see, but Ignis held him down with a light touch to his neck. "I'm afraid I must ruin the moment, however. I'm going to shift you onto the floor – do not attempt to sit up – and go fetch clothes and a blanket while you call Gen to arrange an emergency visit."

"Don'wanna," Prompto slurred into the warmth of Ignis' shirt.

"Yes, well," Ignis said ruthlessly, and carried out his plan without any consideration of Prompto's desire to avoid consequences.

Prompto made the call as soon as the phone was pressed into his hand – like ripping off a band-aid, better to get it over with quickly. As soon as he was done, he let himself blank out for a bit, vaguely aware of a blanket and clean pajamas, and then Ignis bringing his pillow and a warm drink with a straw and settling on the floor next to him to mess with his hair some more. Even in the place where he was dreaming, Prompto found it comforting.

Gen and a burly nurse arrived with an unwelcome draft of cold wind from the front door, their steps shaking the floorboards. Prompto was checked over head to toe for injuries, pronounced just fine, and tossed back into bed (not really: Gen was a professional, but he did give Prompto a very disappointed look). Prompto was sinking back into his doze when he heard Gen say Dude sharply, and Ignis answer It's nothing.

When Prompto was woken for dinner and medication, he found Ignis looking defensive, with his right forearm in a cast.

"I broke your arm?" Prompto blurted out in horror. "I suck as a boyfriend."

Ignis tried to hold in his laughter, but it escaped, first as an undignified snort and then as a raging torrent.

Prompto tried to get him to explain, but every time he asked, "What?" Ignis started wheezing again. Finally, he just pulled him over to sit on the bed next to him – "So you don't fall over again, you idiot" – and had Gen bring him a warm wet cloth.

When Ignis was done with his inexplicable hysterics and started rubbing at his eyes, Prompto batted his hand away and had him put his visor on the side table. Tears, even from laughter, irritated his eyes, and the last thing they needed was Ignis getting another eye infection on top of Prompto breaking his arm.

"I can't believe you let me confess my love right after I broke you," Prompto said. He ignored Ignis' grimace as he pushed the paralyzed left eyelid up to make sure gunk wasn't accumulating there. The first time he'd done this, Ignis had been so tense he'd been shaking, and Prompto terrified of hurting him (even though he'd known most of the nerves had been burned dead, it still looked fucking painful). Over the years he'd gotten comfortable being up close and personal with Ignis' damaged eyes; that familiarity was almost a point of pride. He doubted Gladio knew how careful Ignis had to be, to preserve even the scraps of light he could still perceive.

"I assumed it was merely a sprain," Ignis said. He was still half-smirking, like he couldn't stop seeing the humor in the situation. "Both you and I have had far worse injuries. It didn't seem worth mentioning."

"I'll sprain your ass," Prompto threatened, and pulled Ignis down. He kissed both his eyebrows and his nose with loud affection. Ignis retaliated with a very sweet kiss that lingered on Prompto's lips even after Ignis went to go get ready for bed. Just like lovers, or something, Prompto thought, and forced down the wistfulness that threatened to drown him.

Gen was staying over, and he'd moved the cot Ignis used out to the living room where he could hear if Prompto called him during the night. Which meant Ignis was bunking down with Prompto, but he still hesitated in the doorway on returning, as if not wanting to presume.

Like Prompto would ever send him out to sleep on the sofa. "Bed's plenty big enough," Prompto pointed out. "Plus there's less of me to get in the way, now."

Ignis shut the door behind him. "I remember the last time we shared a bed. There were noise complaints."

"I'm the quiet one," Prompto reminded him. "You're the screamer."

"Hardly my fault," Ignis said primly. He navigated the bedrails smoothly and slid under the covers with the air of someone who'd won a discussion.

Reaching to the side, Prompto found Ignis' hand to stroke, or at least his fingers where they stuck out from the cast. For a moment, black frustration swept over him: how dare the universe return Ignis' love with pain, his eyes for Noct and now this. It wasn't fair. But then Ignis said, "That feels nice," sleep-mumbling but pleased, and the painful twisting of Prompto's heart eased.

"Tell you a secret... I don't really want to die," Prompto said, very quietly, in case Ignis was already asleep.

He got a sigh in answer, and then his hand was caught in a barely-there grip, just fingertips and thumb and Ignis' stubborn will. "I wish you wouldn't myself. But – imagine what you'll say when you see Noct again. He'll love seeing you. And you'll finally meet Lady Lunafreya. In the Beyond you won't be sick any more."

"I won't be able to see you," Prompto said, and his voice came out too thin and breathless.

Ignis leaned over and adjusted Prompto's pillows, and as he pulled back his hand trailed over Prompto's hair before he resettled. Probably he knew how comforting that felt. "When I pass over, I hope to be able to see you."

"That'll be cool," Prompto said, imagining it. He had trouble remembering Ignis' eyes before Altissia, even though he had pictures to jog his memory. He supposed Ignis' recall of what he looked like was even more capricious, some kind of idealized blend of yellow hair and freckles, snub nose and resting bitch face. "Take your time, though." There were so many things he wanted for Ignis – to have a home and a lover, to live a long life full of laughter, maybe even have kids or a cat or a dog. But he was cautious, now, after Gladio's veiled warning. He didn't want Ignis to feel compelled to do anything just for the sake of Prompto's last wishes. "I can't figure out if I want you to miss me or not."

The words hit the air uncomfortably, coming out all wrong if he judged by Ignis' silence, like he was hurt or offended.

"I mean – I want you to think about me, of course I do." Prompto tried to convey that by rubbing his thumb over the backs of Ignis' fingers, soothing him like a cat. "I want you to be like, Prompto would've laughed at that or taken a picture of this or really liked this meal. Except I don't want to think about you being sad. You don't deserve sadness."

"I can't decide whether to sell this bed or not," Ignis said, turning his face towards Prompto. His right eye reflected the glow from the night-light, almost as if he were staring at Prompto, but he suspected this was an accident and not Ignis trying to maintain the appearance of vision.

"It's a nice bed," Prompto said, after a moment. "Comfy."

"I'd hate to sleep here by myself." Ignis' shoulder rose and fell in a weary shrug. "But I suppose there'd be comfort in the sense of your presence. Your smell will linger, and I might wake and reach for you before remembering." He blinked, slow like a sigh. "Of course, if you die in this bed, I'll probably have to burn it."

Prompto snorted. Trust Ignis to say something like that. "I'll try and be considerate about where I kick the bucket. Would you burn the bathtub?"

"I'd give it my level best." His jaw tightened, as if he were holding back a yawn. "Go to sleep."

"Love you," Prompto said, the way people did in TV shows. The words weren't hard to say after all, and he drifted off to sleep wondering why he'd never known that until now.

*

The next few days Prompto drifted from revelation to revelation but found he didn't have the energy to care anymore. He probably wouldn't walk again; he might not get out of bed again. When Gladio turned up to take over from Gen, now that Ignis was incapacitated, Prompto told him to go ahead and sell off all his camera equipment.

"I can't even lift a camera at this point," Prompto pointed out. "And you can burn the pictures."

"I want your photos," Ignis said sharply from the next room. "All of them."

"All except one," Prompto corrected. When Ignis didn't reply he felt like a terrible person. "I know," he muttered to Gladio, whose expression was sorrow mixed with reprimand.

"I'll help you sort them," Gladio told him, and Prompto shrugged in agreement. He didn't think Gladio realized just how many there were. Boxes and boxes of printed-out pictures, and even more digital data. His life's work, he supposed. It seemed like such a small thing now. "You should let us tell people, now. They'd want to say goodbye. And," he lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Ignis is starting to go stir crazy."

"Sure," Prompto said, closing his eyes to make Gladio go away. "Plan me a kickass pre-wake."