It isn’t that Noct has no skills. He can read passably in Latin. He knows more about science fiction as a genre than most English professors know about Hemingway. He has a fondness for math and can probably still take anyone in fencing, and his talent towards self-destruction is an art that he has spent nearly ten years perfecting. The problem is, none of these skills are what one would call marketable.
Which is why he’s here, in the Eos Bar on 88th street, spending the last of his cash before he has to dash what remains of his pride in the morning.
“This is it, Prompto,” he says. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Dude, you aren’t dying,” says Prompto, his best friend of five years and the only bulwark against Noct’s nonexistent sense of self preservation. “You’re just talking to him.”
“Yes,” Noct says, meaningly. “To my dad. Who wants me, and I quote, to Get this Queer nonsense out of your system before your marriage to Lunafreya. Who! May I add!” He smacks his hand on the table, making their glasses jump. “Is the biggest. Fucking. Lesbian. In Insomnia.”
“You told me that,” Prompto says. “Look, if it’s that bad, dude, just ask Cindy for your job back.”
“Not likely,” says Noct. “You remember what I did to her grandpa’s car.” There’s a moment of silence as they both consider this, and Prompto nods. “No, tomorrow, I’m going to crawl back into the loving arms of Regis Lucis Caelum the five hundredth and sixty third and say, You know that whole bisexuality thing? Just a phase! Welcome me home, Dad, I’m dead inside!”
“You are such a dramatic shit, man.” Prompto lifts his glass to Noct’s and cheers him. “You need to escape, text me, okay? I’m not gonna let my best friend ruin his life just because he’s broke.”
“I’m not broke, Prom. I’m beyond broke. I’ve walked through the land of Broke and come out the other side into the city of Oh God, I’m Fucked, and let me tell you, it’s a fucking adventure.”
Noct downs his beer and winces.
“Come on, bro.” Prompto drags him to his feet. “Let’s dance. You never know, maybe it’s your lucky day, and some hot dude has a thing for scrawny, emo rich kids.”
“Not a rich kid,” Noct protests, but he follows Prompto anyway. The dance floor is a mess, full of young straight women from yet another bridal party, and Noct and Prompto hang out at the fringes and try not to let the other one know how bored they are.
That’s when Noct sees him.
“Shit,” he says. “Prompto, it Ardyn.”
“Oh, fuck.” Prompto looks up, sees the auburn-haired spectre of bad hookups past making a beeline towards them, and does the only thing that a well-meaning best friend can think of: He shoves Noct bodily into the crowd beside him.
Noct stumbles over his heavy boots and grabs onto the nearest arm for balance. He’s swung round to face what looks like a veritable mountain of muscle and blue-grey tattoos, and looks up into amber eyes that widen in good-natured surprise.
“Noct?” The voice he hears from the left of the crowd drips with smug amusement. “Is that you?”
“What do you mean?” Prompto’s voice is too high. “I don’t see him! He isn’t here!”
Noct looks up at the man he’s still holding by the arms, and over at the flash of grey and green cloth that is definitely Ardyn pushing through the crowd, and wonders how long he’d have to wait in jail for starting a fight in one of Insomnia’s most prestigious gay bars.
“Hey.” The man he’s clinging to smiles wryly. “Need to get out?”
“I can manage,” Noct says, through gritted teeth. The man raises his eyebrows, and the next thing he knows, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tattooed is guiding him through the thick of the bachelorette party, an arm round his waist.
“Sorry,” he says, when they break into empty space on the other side of the floor. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Noct says. “Just really bad decisions coming back to haunt me.”
“I know how that goes.” The man grins, and gestures to the bar. “I’m Gladio. Want to grab a drink? On me.”
Noct hesitates. Oh, what the hell. There are worse ways to spend a last night of freedom.
FILL 1/? Re: Gladio/Noctis sugardaddy/sugarbaby
Which is why he’s here, in the Eos Bar on 88th street, spending the last of his cash before he has to dash what remains of his pride in the morning.
“This is it, Prompto,” he says. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Dude, you aren’t dying,” says Prompto, his best friend of five years and the only bulwark against Noct’s nonexistent sense of self preservation. “You’re just talking to him.”
“Yes,” Noct says, meaningly. “To my dad. Who wants me, and I quote, to Get this Queer nonsense out of your system before your marriage to Lunafreya. Who! May I add!” He smacks his hand on the table, making their glasses jump. “Is the biggest. Fucking. Lesbian. In Insomnia.”
“You told me that,” Prompto says. “Look, if it’s that bad, dude, just ask Cindy for your job back.”
“Not likely,” says Noct. “You remember what I did to her grandpa’s car.” There’s a moment of silence as they both consider this, and Prompto nods. “No, tomorrow, I’m going to crawl back into the loving arms of Regis Lucis Caelum the five hundredth and sixty third and say, You know that whole bisexuality thing? Just a phase! Welcome me home, Dad, I’m dead inside!”
“You are such a dramatic shit, man.” Prompto lifts his glass to Noct’s and cheers him. “You need to escape, text me, okay? I’m not gonna let my best friend ruin his life just because he’s broke.”
“I’m not broke, Prom. I’m beyond broke. I’ve walked through the land of Broke and come out the other side into the city of Oh God, I’m Fucked, and let me tell you, it’s a fucking adventure.”
Noct downs his beer and winces.
“Come on, bro.” Prompto drags him to his feet. “Let’s dance. You never know, maybe it’s your lucky day, and some hot dude has a thing for scrawny, emo rich kids.”
“Not a rich kid,” Noct protests, but he follows Prompto anyway. The dance floor is a mess, full of young straight women from yet another bridal party, and Noct and Prompto hang out at the fringes and try not to let the other one know how bored they are.
That’s when Noct sees him.
“Shit,” he says. “Prompto, it Ardyn.”
“Oh, fuck.” Prompto looks up, sees the auburn-haired spectre of bad hookups past making a beeline towards them, and does the only thing that a well-meaning best friend can think of: He shoves Noct bodily into the crowd beside him.
Noct stumbles over his heavy boots and grabs onto the nearest arm for balance. He’s swung round to face what looks like a veritable mountain of muscle and blue-grey tattoos, and looks up into amber eyes that widen in good-natured surprise.
“Noct?” The voice he hears from the left of the crowd drips with smug amusement. “Is that you?”
“What do you mean?” Prompto’s voice is too high. “I don’t see him! He isn’t here!”
Noct looks up at the man he’s still holding by the arms, and over at the flash of grey and green cloth that is definitely Ardyn pushing through the crowd, and wonders how long he’d have to wait in jail for starting a fight in one of Insomnia’s most prestigious gay bars.
“Hey.” The man he’s clinging to smiles wryly. “Need to get out?”
“I can manage,” Noct says, through gritted teeth. The man raises his eyebrows, and the next thing he knows, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tattooed is guiding him through the thick of the bachelorette party, an arm round his waist.
“Sorry,” he says, when they break into empty space on the other side of the floor. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Noct says. “Just really bad decisions coming back to haunt me.”
“I know how that goes.” The man grins, and gestures to the bar. “I’m Gladio. Want to grab a drink? On me.”
Noct hesitates. Oh, what the hell. There are worse ways to spend a last night of freedom.