Noct tells himself he doesn't know exactly why he's decided to come in to the Lore, one of Insomnia's less established dives, at nine PM on a Thursday, but if he were being honest, he'd say that part of it is the flyer tacked up on the soap-streaked window.
The Chocobro, it says. Nihilism! Optimism! Sick! Riffs! There's a lightning bolt running through the middle of it. On one side is a man riding on a chocobo with a ridiculous hat, swinging a rope in his hand. On the other side is a grainy photo of a young man who looks a lot like... well...
Like Prompto.
Which can't be right, because Prompto doesn't even know how to sing. If he does, he'd tell Noct, right?
But Noct walks in anyways, and weaves his way through the crowd in front of the stage, and watches the staff set up a microphone and some speakers.
Then nine o clock rolls around, and Prompto walks onto the stage with a beat-up guitar and a shit-eating grin.
"Hey, guys," he says, into the mic. Noct tries to duck behind a couple of taller men near the back. "I'm Prompto. The Chocobro. Man of the hour--You know the drill. Anyways, this is a song, I guess."
He hops on the balls of his feet, strikes out a chord, and the music that erupts in the small bar is nothing like Noct has heard before.
The lyrics are dark, and terrible, but ultimately triumphant. They are about rushing into things too fast and tasting despair in your teeth and surviving anyway, and Prompto's voice is loud and raucous and it looks as though he's laughing as he sings. The grin he presses to the microphone has an edge to it. His eyes are bright and his left hand slides down the neck of his guitar, and he throws his head back in a victorious benediction.
Noct stands still in the middle of the crowd, and watches the way Prompto's fingers tighten on the strings.
----------
He doesn't tell Prompto that he was there that night, but he keeps an eye out for flyers and checks Prompto's website for updates. He buys what songs he has available, and listens to them in the bath, at the gym, in bed. He has to stop himself from humming them when they hang out, and every time he looks at Prompto he remembers that wild-eyed, desperate, brilliant man on the stage.
When he buys an acoustic guitar, he realizes he might be going too far with this. He learns to tune it, plunks out some basic chords, and abandons it with a bit of regret.
Prompto sees it three weeks later, when they're playing video games in Noct's apartment.
"Oh, hey," he says. "That's an Ifrit S-20? What I'd give to get my hands on one of those."
"You play?" Noct says, too casually. Prompto gives him a look, and he's pretty sure the heat on his face has brought up the temperature in the room at least ten degrees.
"Dude." Prompto's smile is wicked. "I might get caught up when I play, but it's kind of hard not to notice when the crown prince is at one of my shows. I saw you at the Lore, man."
"Oh," Noct says, eloquently. "Oh no, Prom, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"No big," Prompto says. "You're not easy to miss." He swipes his fingers over the fringe of Noct's hair, and raises his eyebrows. "So? Can I touch? Please?"
"Yeah," Noct breathes, and then realizes Prompto means the guitar. "I mean yes. Sure. Whatever."
Prompto chuckles--he has to know what he's doing to Noct right now--and picks his way over to the guitar. He sits back down across from Noct and fiddles with it, adjusting the tuning by ear.
"Wanna hear something new?" he asks. Noct tries not to look too eager, and fails. "Alright. I haven't figured out the bridge completely, so don't laugh if I fuck it up, dude."
His fingers drift over the strings, and for a minute, it sounds like there are two guitars in the room, harmonizing with each other. Then Prompto starts to sing, and his voice is nothing like the loud, cheerful half-shout from the stage of the Lore. It's slow, and full, and beautiful. Not that his other songs aren't, Noct thinks, but there's something different here.
This song is about letting go, and how sometimes you let things drop from your hands too soon. It's about the singer deciding to be selfish, and learning that a little selfishness isn't so bad when he's looking into the electric blue eyes of the man he loves, the boy who rocks black but would look better wearing the light of the sun on his skin. It's about--
It's about Noctis.
Noct stares at Prompto as though the floor has fallen through beneath them, and climbs up onto his hands and knees. He leans over the guitar before Prompto can even finish the second verse, and Prompto falters and parts his lips as Noct kisses him, feather-light.
His hands go still on the guitar. It makes an awkward clunking noise as Prompto deepens the kiss, and when Noct finally pulls away, Prompto looks dazed and pleased and confused all at once.
"You didn't let me finish," he says, and Noct bursts into laughter and kisses him again, and again, and again.
FILL 1/1 Re: Promptis- PROMPTO SINGING AND PLAYING ACOUSTIC TO NOCT
The Chocobro, it says. Nihilism! Optimism! Sick! Riffs! There's a lightning bolt running through the middle of it. On one side is a man riding on a chocobo with a ridiculous hat, swinging a rope in his hand. On the other side is a grainy photo of a young man who looks a lot like... well...
Like Prompto.
Which can't be right, because Prompto doesn't even know how to sing. If he does, he'd tell Noct, right?
But Noct walks in anyways, and weaves his way through the crowd in front of the stage, and watches the staff set up a microphone and some speakers.
Then nine o clock rolls around, and Prompto walks onto the stage with a beat-up guitar and a shit-eating grin.
"Hey, guys," he says, into the mic. Noct tries to duck behind a couple of taller men near the back. "I'm Prompto. The Chocobro. Man of the hour--You know the drill. Anyways, this is a song, I guess."
He hops on the balls of his feet, strikes out a chord, and the music that erupts in the small bar is nothing like Noct has heard before.
The lyrics are dark, and terrible, but ultimately triumphant. They are about rushing into things too fast and tasting despair in your teeth and surviving anyway, and Prompto's voice is loud and raucous and it looks as though he's laughing as he sings. The grin he presses to the microphone has an edge to it. His eyes are bright and his left hand slides down the neck of his guitar, and he throws his head back in a victorious benediction.
Noct stands still in the middle of the crowd, and watches the way Prompto's fingers tighten on the strings.
----------
He doesn't tell Prompto that he was there that night, but he keeps an eye out for flyers and checks Prompto's website for updates. He buys what songs he has available, and listens to them in the bath, at the gym, in bed. He has to stop himself from humming them when they hang out, and every time he looks at Prompto he remembers that wild-eyed, desperate, brilliant man on the stage.
When he buys an acoustic guitar, he realizes he might be going too far with this. He learns to tune it, plunks out some basic chords, and abandons it with a bit of regret.
Prompto sees it three weeks later, when they're playing video games in Noct's apartment.
"Oh, hey," he says. "That's an Ifrit S-20? What I'd give to get my hands on one of those."
"You play?" Noct says, too casually. Prompto gives him a look, and he's pretty sure the heat on his face has brought up the temperature in the room at least ten degrees.
"Dude." Prompto's smile is wicked. "I might get caught up when I play, but it's kind of hard not to notice when the crown prince is at one of my shows. I saw you at the Lore, man."
"Oh," Noct says, eloquently. "Oh no, Prom, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"No big," Prompto says. "You're not easy to miss." He swipes his fingers over the fringe of Noct's hair, and raises his eyebrows. "So? Can I touch? Please?"
"Yeah," Noct breathes, and then realizes Prompto means the guitar. "I mean yes. Sure. Whatever."
Prompto chuckles--he has to know what he's doing to Noct right now--and picks his way over to the guitar. He sits back down across from Noct and fiddles with it, adjusting the tuning by ear.
"Wanna hear something new?" he asks. Noct tries not to look too eager, and fails. "Alright. I haven't figured out the bridge completely, so don't laugh if I fuck it up, dude."
His fingers drift over the strings, and for a minute, it sounds like there are two guitars in the room, harmonizing with each other. Then Prompto starts to sing, and his voice is nothing like the loud, cheerful half-shout from the stage of the Lore. It's slow, and full, and beautiful. Not that his other songs aren't, Noct thinks, but there's something different here.
This song is about letting go, and how sometimes you let things drop from your hands too soon. It's about the singer deciding to be selfish, and learning that a little selfishness isn't so bad when he's looking into the electric blue eyes of the man he loves, the boy who rocks black but would look better wearing the light of the sun on his skin. It's about--
It's about Noctis.
Noct stares at Prompto as though the floor has fallen through beneath them, and climbs up onto his hands and knees. He leans over the guitar before Prompto can even finish the second verse, and Prompto falters and parts his lips as Noct kisses him, feather-light.
His hands go still on the guitar. It makes an awkward clunking noise as Prompto deepens the kiss, and when Noct finally pulls away, Prompto looks dazed and pleased and confused all at once.
"You didn't let me finish," he says, and Noct bursts into laughter and kisses him again, and again, and again.