Noctis doesn’t remember becoming friends with the chocobo-butt hair hyperactivity that is Prompto Argentum, but one afternoon as the final school bell rings and Noctis peels his daydreams from the desk just in time to witness Prompto crashing into the classroom like a puppy skidding on four left feet, he realises that he has made a friend nevertheless. By now, the other students know to allow plenty of space for Prompto to flounder into the room, and Prompto laughs self-consciously as he weaves between the desks before plonking himself into the chair nearest Noctis.
“Dude, you slept through last period again, didn’t you?” Prompto says, pointing to the dried dribble of saliva that Noctis hasn't yet managed to wipe from his cheek. “We gotta get some caffeine in you or something. Have you tried that coffee shop down on Fourth Avenue? Ahh man, it’s to die for.”
“The coffee or the barista?” Noctis teases, shoving his unopened books back into his bag. He can already hear Ignis sighing about wasting his education from across the city, but Noctis doesn’t care right now.
Prompto squawks, following him out of the classroom. “Hey, I said nothing about a barista!”
“Right,” Noctis drawls, pretending not to see Prompto’s freckles disappear beneath the rising scarlet of his face. Ignis will already be waiting by the schoolyard with the car, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take a detour before heading back to Noctis’ apartment. “You wanna hit it up?”
“What - no - you know me.” Prompto laughs, shoving Noctis playfully. “Awkward idiot who can’t flirt to save his life right here.”
“I meant the shop, but sure, got anything else to tell me about this non-existent barista?”
Prompto’s fish-out-of-water expression never fails to entertain. “Nooooooct.”
Noctis laughs. “You said it, not me.”
“I hate you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“I know,” Noctis says before shoving Prompto into the car.
If Ignis overhead Prompto’s woeful accusations, then he says nothing about it as the teenagers scramble into the back. They exchange their usual pleasantries, Prompto bumbling in Ignis’ presence as always. Considering Prompto doesn’t have a single qualm against bursting into the classroom as though he’s about to break out into song, his shyness is a paradox that Noctis is yet to understand. Noctis is by no means an extraverted individual himself, but he does not present himself as one. On the other hand, Prompto seems both seamlessly anxious and outgoing, even around people like Ignis, who he has conversed with many times.
Noctis likes him though. Prompto is refreshing in his world of royal duties and expectations. Ignis and Gladio seem to appreciate his company as well, once they persuaded Noctis to introduce them properly, at any least. Poor Prompto had looked like a mouse in a trap when Noctis had gathered everybody in his apartment, and that was before Gladio yanked him into a headlock to make friends the only way he knows how - physically, with a lot of hugging and laughing and roughhousing on the living room floor. Despite Gladio being Gladio, Ignis is the one who seems to intimidate Prompto more. Noctis can understand this completely - Gladio may be physically daunting and a little coarse around the edges, but he is a shield in form and name. Ignis is the one to watch out for, the merciless precision of the lance through and through.
Noctis has lucked out with his Weapons - with his friends. He doesn’t have the words to explain how much they mean to him, but he hopes they understand. Prompto, too, has wiggled himself into Noctis’ life with such ease that Noctis looks back on the time without him and feels an absence. It reminds him of that awkward period before partnering with Ignis, before meeting and training with Nyx, and though Noctis can hardly remember a time when Gladio wasn’t at his side, it is like then, too, when Noctis hadn’t even known what he was missing.
The problem is - Noctis doesn’t know if Prompto’s a Weapon, and that makes all the difference.
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Gladio assures, lifting a shopping bag out of the boot of the car and dumping it into Noctis’ arms. “Help me with this lot, would ya? Only Bahamut knows how Iggy needs all this stuff. And if Prompto says no, then that’s that. No harm done.”
“What if he says yes?”
Gladio shoves another bag towards Noctis. “Depends, dunnit? Why d’you want him to?”
“You know why,” Noctis grumbles, accepting his fate as a trolley as Gladio continues to unload the car.
“Surprise me,” the Shield deadpans, a carton of eggs crunching precariously in his grasp.
“No.”
“All right then, so you don’t need me and Iggy to persuade the council - and the King, of course - to allow you to partner with an untrained civilian Weapon with a somewhat questionable background who you’ve known for not even a year.”
Noctis’ mouth opens - and then shuts. “Look -”
Gladio slams the boot shut, dastardly smug with himself.
“That would be great,” Noctis admits, knees wobbling at the expression. He’s so goddamn weak to Gladio’s smile; part of him just wants to keep his gorgeous bodyguard in a glass box and stare at him forever, as weird as that sounds; appreciate his stupid laugh and his stupid face and love him from afar. Noctis bites back a curse. Words are dumb and feelings are dumber. He wonders if Prompto would even want to bond with a Meister like him.
“Come on dipshit,” Gladio says, nudging the Prince towards the apartment complex. “I ain’t got all day.”
That is news to Noctis, who is under the belief that his Shield does nothing but spend all day, every day fulfilling his duties to the Prince. “You’re not staying for dinner?”
“Nah,” Gladio replies. “Iggy’s in though. I’ve got a date tonight.”
Sheer dumb luck saves Noctis from tripping over the stairs. “You - what? Why?”
“What sort of question is that? ‘Cause she’s cute, obviously. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna skip my duties or anything.”
“You’d never do that,” Noctis blurts, and Gladio says, huh, as though he hadn’t expected Noctis to say that. Noctis can’t imagine why he would think that, which leads him to wonder if he is reading Gladio wrong. However, by the time he thinks to say anything about it, they have delivered the groceries to Ignis and Gladio has ducked out of the apartment again, and the door clicking shut behind him has an awful finality in Noctis’ mind.
“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”
“No,” Noctis says, but that isn’t true. In fact, there are a couple of things bothering him, and at least Ignis can help him with one: “D’you think Prompto’s a Weapon?”
“There is no way of knowing for certain unless you ask,” Ignis replies, shifting through the shopping for the perishables and the frozen items. “But I imagine that’s what Gladio informed you.”
“Pretty much,” Noctis says, flopping onto the sofa so that Ignis can’t see how much he’s hopelessly pining.
“It is sound advice,” Ignis agrees.
Noctis kicks a cushion onto the carpet. “He’s on a date,” he hears himself grumbling.
There is a moment of silence in the kitchen during which the only sound is Noctis’ mind yelling ABORT ABORT! before Ignis shuts the fridge. His reply is careful and yet still a knife in Noctis’ gut: “I fail to see the connection, unless Prompto is also on a date that you don’t approve of?”
“No! And I never - I never said I didn’t approve. It’s not my business anyway. Gladio can do what he likes. Why did he even tell me?”
Noctis stares at the cushion he kicked away in the hopes that it will magic itself back onto the sofa and smother him. Slowly, Ignis resumes putting the shopping away.
“Gladio is both your Shield and one of your Daemon Weapons and thus cannot, in fact, do what he likes. However, he has taken precautions and assured me that he will be contactable at any -”
“I don’t care if I can’t contact him or not - that’s not - ugh - forget it.” Noctis throws himself from the sofa and scoops up his bag, neither stalking nor warping into his bedroom, but moving with such hazardous haste that he could be described as something in between. He doesn’t move from his bed for an hour, praying that the duvet will achieve sentience and either comfort or strangle him until forgetting Ignis’ soft call of concern as Noctis slammed his bedroom door. Ignis doesn’t bother him for a long while, probably busy with his cooking, which means Noctis fumes in silence until there is a tentative knock at his door.
He ignores it - and the second knock, and the third.
“Err, Noct, buddy?” comes a muffled call, and Noctis has shot across the room before Prompto has finished adding: “You in there? Ignis called and - whoa! Hi, okay - hey!”
Noctis drags him inside the bedroom and kicks the door shut again. “I didn’t take Ignis to be such a gossip,” he mutters, feeling a little guilty about the manhandling when Prompto rubs his wrist.
“Eh? About what?” Prompto asks, face creasing in concern. “Dude, you okay?”
“What’s he told you?”
“Err - I think we’re having curry for dinner?” Prompto attempts, flustering at Noctis’ flat look. “I dunno! Is this a bad time? I can leave. He just invited me over for dinner, that’s all, and honestly I’d have to be stupid to turn down his cooking -”
“Oh,” Noctis says, an involuntary sound. Guess Ignis hadn’t ratted him out, and he feels stupid for thinking so badly of his friends. Prompto can’t lie to save his life, so why had Noctis thought he was anything but truthful? “Was that it?”
“Um, yeah? But if something’s wrong then - you wanna talk about it? I can’t promise to give you any advice or anything - or like, good advice, at least, since I never know what I’m talking about, right. Or we can just play video games or something, if you’d rather! I don’t mind. I’m down for anything.”
“King’s Knight?” Noctis suggests, knowing that Prompto will ramble forever if nobody stops him.
Prompto beams. “Sure! I hope you’re ready to get thrashed.”
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timeasmymeasure
[FILL] Re: Any pairing or gen, the bros are Noct's weapons (4/?)
Date: 2017-02-16 04:35 pm (UTC)“Dude, you slept through last period again, didn’t you?” Prompto says, pointing to the dried dribble of saliva that Noctis hasn't yet managed to wipe from his cheek. “We gotta get some caffeine in you or something. Have you tried that coffee shop down on Fourth Avenue? Ahh man, it’s to die for.”
“The coffee or the barista?” Noctis teases, shoving his unopened books back into his bag. He can already hear Ignis sighing about wasting his education from across the city, but Noctis doesn’t care right now.
Prompto squawks, following him out of the classroom. “Hey, I said nothing about a barista!”
“Right,” Noctis drawls, pretending not to see Prompto’s freckles disappear beneath the rising scarlet of his face. Ignis will already be waiting by the schoolyard with the car, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take a detour before heading back to Noctis’ apartment. “You wanna hit it up?”
“What - no - you know me.” Prompto laughs, shoving Noctis playfully. “Awkward idiot who can’t flirt to save his life right here.”
“I meant the shop, but sure, got anything else to tell me about this non-existent barista?”
Prompto’s fish-out-of-water expression never fails to entertain. “Nooooooct.”
Noctis laughs. “You said it, not me.”
“I hate you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“I know,” Noctis says before shoving Prompto into the car.
If Ignis overhead Prompto’s woeful accusations, then he says nothing about it as the teenagers scramble into the back. They exchange their usual pleasantries, Prompto bumbling in Ignis’ presence as always. Considering Prompto doesn’t have a single qualm against bursting into the classroom as though he’s about to break out into song, his shyness is a paradox that Noctis is yet to understand. Noctis is by no means an extraverted individual himself, but he does not present himself as one. On the other hand, Prompto seems both seamlessly anxious and outgoing, even around people like Ignis, who he has conversed with many times.
Noctis likes him though. Prompto is refreshing in his world of royal duties and expectations. Ignis and Gladio seem to appreciate his company as well, once they persuaded Noctis to introduce them properly, at any least. Poor Prompto had looked like a mouse in a trap when Noctis had gathered everybody in his apartment, and that was before Gladio yanked him into a headlock to make friends the only way he knows how - physically, with a lot of hugging and laughing and roughhousing on the living room floor. Despite Gladio being Gladio, Ignis is the one who seems to intimidate Prompto more. Noctis can understand this completely - Gladio may be physically daunting and a little coarse around the edges, but he is a shield in form and name. Ignis is the one to watch out for, the merciless precision of the lance through and through.
Noctis has lucked out with his Weapons - with his friends. He doesn’t have the words to explain how much they mean to him, but he hopes they understand. Prompto, too, has wiggled himself into Noctis’ life with such ease that Noctis looks back on the time without him and feels an absence. It reminds him of that awkward period before partnering with Ignis, before meeting and training with Nyx, and though Noctis can hardly remember a time when Gladio wasn’t at his side, it is like then, too, when Noctis hadn’t even known what he was missing.
The problem is - Noctis doesn’t know if Prompto’s a Weapon, and that makes all the difference.
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Gladio assures, lifting a shopping bag out of the boot of the car and dumping it into Noctis’ arms. “Help me with this lot, would ya? Only Bahamut knows how Iggy needs all this stuff. And if Prompto says no, then that’s that. No harm done.”
“What if he says yes?”
Gladio shoves another bag towards Noctis. “Depends, dunnit? Why d’you want him to?”
“You know why,” Noctis grumbles, accepting his fate as a trolley as Gladio continues to unload the car.
“Surprise me,” the Shield deadpans, a carton of eggs crunching precariously in his grasp.
“No.”
“All right then, so you don’t need me and Iggy to persuade the council - and the King, of course - to allow you to partner with an untrained civilian Weapon with a somewhat questionable background who you’ve known for not even a year.”
Noctis’ mouth opens - and then shuts. “Look -”
Gladio slams the boot shut, dastardly smug with himself.
“That would be great,” Noctis admits, knees wobbling at the expression. He’s so goddamn weak to Gladio’s smile; part of him just wants to keep his gorgeous bodyguard in a glass box and stare at him forever, as weird as that sounds; appreciate his stupid laugh and his stupid face and love him from afar.
Noctis bites back a curse. Words are dumb and feelings are dumber. He wonders if Prompto would even want to bond with a Meister like him.
“Come on dipshit,” Gladio says, nudging the Prince towards the apartment complex. “I ain’t got all day.”
That is news to Noctis, who is under the belief that his Shield does nothing but spend all day, every day fulfilling his duties to the Prince. “You’re not staying for dinner?”
“Nah,” Gladio replies. “Iggy’s in though. I’ve got a date tonight.”
Sheer dumb luck saves Noctis from tripping over the stairs. “You - what? Why?”
“What sort of question is that? ‘Cause she’s cute, obviously. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna skip my duties or anything.”
“You’d never do that,” Noctis blurts, and Gladio says, huh, as though he hadn’t expected Noctis to say that. Noctis can’t imagine why he would think that, which leads him to wonder if he is reading Gladio wrong. However, by the time he thinks to say anything about it, they have delivered the groceries to Ignis and Gladio has ducked out of the apartment again, and the door clicking shut behind him has an awful finality in Noctis’ mind.
“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”
“No,” Noctis says, but that isn’t true. In fact, there are a couple of things bothering him, and at least Ignis can help him with one: “D’you think Prompto’s a Weapon?”
“There is no way of knowing for certain unless you ask,” Ignis replies, shifting through the shopping for the perishables and the frozen items. “But I imagine that’s what Gladio informed you.”
“Pretty much,” Noctis says, flopping onto the sofa so that Ignis can’t see how much he’s hopelessly pining.
“It is sound advice,” Ignis agrees.
Noctis kicks a cushion onto the carpet. “He’s on a date,” he hears himself grumbling.
There is a moment of silence in the kitchen during which the only sound is Noctis’ mind yelling ABORT ABORT! before Ignis shuts the fridge. His reply is careful and yet still a knife in Noctis’ gut: “I fail to see the connection, unless Prompto is also on a date that you don’t approve of?”
“No! And I never - I never said I didn’t approve. It’s not my business anyway. Gladio can do what he likes. Why did he even tell me?”
Noctis stares at the cushion he kicked away in the hopes that it will magic itself back onto the sofa and smother him. Slowly, Ignis resumes putting the shopping away.
“Gladio is both your Shield and one of your Daemon Weapons and thus cannot, in fact, do what he likes. However, he has taken precautions and assured me that he will be contactable at any -”
“I don’t care if I can’t contact him or not - that’s not - ugh - forget it.” Noctis throws himself from the sofa and scoops up his bag, neither stalking nor warping into his bedroom, but moving with such hazardous haste that he could be described as something in between. He doesn’t move from his bed for an hour, praying that the duvet will achieve sentience and either comfort or strangle him until forgetting Ignis’ soft call of concern as Noctis slammed his bedroom door. Ignis doesn’t bother him for a long while, probably busy with his cooking, which means Noctis fumes in silence until there is a tentative knock at his door.
He ignores it - and the second knock, and the third.
“Err, Noct, buddy?” comes a muffled call, and Noctis has shot across the room before Prompto has finished adding: “You in there? Ignis called and - whoa! Hi, okay - hey!”
Noctis drags him inside the bedroom and kicks the door shut again. “I didn’t take Ignis to be such a gossip,” he mutters, feeling a little guilty about the manhandling when Prompto rubs his wrist.
“Eh? About what?” Prompto asks, face creasing in concern. “Dude, you okay?”
“What’s he told you?”
“Err - I think we’re having curry for dinner?” Prompto attempts, flustering at Noctis’ flat look. “I dunno! Is this a bad time? I can leave. He just invited me over for dinner, that’s all, and honestly I’d have to be stupid to turn down his cooking -”
“Oh,” Noctis says, an involuntary sound. Guess Ignis hadn’t ratted him out, and he feels stupid for thinking so badly of his friends. Prompto can’t lie to save his life, so why had Noctis thought he was anything but truthful? “Was that it?”
“Um, yeah? But if something’s wrong then - you wanna talk about it? I can’t promise to give you any advice or anything - or like, good advice, at least, since I never know what I’m talking about, right. Or we can just play video games or something, if you’d rather! I don’t mind. I’m down for anything.”
“King’s Knight?” Noctis suggests, knowing that Prompto will ramble forever if nobody stops him.
Prompto beams. “Sure! I hope you’re ready to get thrashed.”
“By you?” Noctis laughs. “Please.”
-xv-