#you have Got! to find Balance! in personal accountability & blame and bad management/teachers!

[backseatloversz]

gripping sides of the sink. there is a certain level of personal responsibility youve gotta take in adulthoodindependencelife but if your teacher didnt teach you well or if your manager didnt manage well that ultimately falls back on them. if you fail at something because you were not taught properly how to do it, that falls back on the people whos job it was to teach you how to do it. okay? okay

[juniebjoneswrites]

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Steps From The Past (4)

Just one chapter from ya boi’s big debut!

T/W: brief gross teacher

/the past/

It’s been three weeks since Eli’s death, a week ago they declared him a missing person. I haven't spoken in five days, haven't left my bed in three. I watch the sun rise and set, rise and set like a melody that if maybe I can get it just right, I won't have to hear it anymore. I won't have to hear anything, not my sister crying in the room across the hall or my parents arguing in hushed tones in the dead of night. I won't have to hear my ragged breaths or the stomach pains from not eating. But I do hear. In the mornings when the birds wake I try to find comfort in their tunes and the warmth of the sun but I'm so frozen over that it can't penetrate my ozone. I like to think I have gravity as if the dust is being pulled down, settling over my body, and sinking into my skin. I imagine it trying to absorb my energies and become whole again but I tell it if that were possible then I wouldn't be lying here. At night I don't hear anything for long periods. Time is broken up by sirens and stray animals foraging in trash cans. I try to listen for whispers that come from just out of reach in case he wants to speak to me or to let me explain. But I know that if he didn't want to listen in life then he's definitely not going to in death.

It's the middle of the day and my mom brings me another sandwich I will not eat. My sister's room is loud and heavy with her music. She sets the plate on my night stand and picks up the old one. My eyes are closed but I can feel her staring at me as she makes her way to the door. I let out a breath as I think she's left, but she puts the plate on my dresser and crawls into bed. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close and tight. She smells of lavender and honey and I feel her warmth trying to seep into my bones. I want to cry and scream and make her hurt because I can't make anyone else hurt. I need somewhere to direct it but there's no one to blame but myself.

I watch myself thrash, yell, and cry. The snot from my nose is uncontrollable. I am inconsolable. I watch as I lash out at her, she feels my pain but she doesn't run away like I want. I want her to be afraid, to leave me, but she pulls me in hard. I push back harder. I want someone to hurt. If the anger can't escape what will be left of me in the end? Will the heat melt my ice? Boil me over and spill my secrets?

But I am frozen. My anger and pain are locked away under my cold skin and a sunken face. Moving would give way to screams and emotions that I don't deserve. So I let my mother hold me and do the only thing she thinks she can. I let her warmth radiate as it tries to thaw me. When the tears come silently, still with enough coldness to become snow, I slowly bury us alive. The thing with moms is that even as I bury us here I know she won't flinch.

On day eight I find myself in the kitchen standing in front of the stove. The blueing hues from the window tells me the sun will soon rise. I shuffle around maybe aimlessly, maybe not. I'm not sure. I don't realize my hands have a plan until I'm sitting at the table with them wrapping around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The smell is dark and sweet, making my mouth water. I take a sip and let it scald my mouth and warm my belly. More shuffling comes from behind me.

"Josie?" I croak, slightly startled by my voice.

"Mmm," She sits at the table across from me and stares at the mug. I can see her thinking it over before she grabs her own. I watch her pour the boiling water and mix it with chocolate powder. When we were younger we tried to eat the packets with a spoon and ended up choking.

I want to talk to her. Or do I just want to hear her voice? I don't know. Either way she doesn't speak and neither do I. She pulls my chair away from the table and climbs on my lap. I wrap my arm around my sister's waist and press my face into her side, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She slides her arm around my shoulder, resting her head on mine. I sip my drink. She sips hers.

"We should shower today," She softly says after a long while. We do smell.

"I haven't cared,"

"Me either,"

"You do smell pretty bad," I say. I might be grinning. She lifts her head up and makes a pained sound. I finish my hot chocolate. We don't take a shower, just walk to her bed and fall asleep until the sun sets again.

I finally take my mom's advice to run but I don't initially start this first time out of the house. I take labored step after labored step and push my legs forward like a puppet. I'm groggy and hazy and the world won't slow down. It's kept going at the same pace it always has. It didn't take time to mourn or review it's checks and balances to see if it made the right choice. It just kept going and now we have to find our way back in like jumping on a train at full speed. I don't check my footing or where I'm placing my hands as I Jump, I go blindly.

Being in the everyday motions feels like hitting the train car at full speed. My palms are sweaty and my breath comes like a punch to the gut. I find things to latch on to. I sit on the bench at the library we use to go to and pretend we're all there people watching. "That woman over there looks like she tells the birds her life as she feeds them," Mia once said, I can hear us laugh but I can hear Elijah laugh the loudest. When I see my reflection in the library's windows, it's just me. I walk away.

I find myself at the skate park where Josie taught me to skateboard. I wiped out, taking most of the blow to my knees. I think there's still a rock in there somewhere. In high school I watched Isaac ask Allie to be his girlfriend before Isaac realized he actually liked Jonah. We joked that Allie must have been a bad girlfriend. When Mia was 13 she told me that a neighborhood guy tried to feel her up behind the drop in ramp without asking. Elijah overheard and the next day we saw him with busted knuckles; when we asked him about it he just winked and shrugged. Mia blushed.

I walk by the elementary school we grew up in, only a mile or so from the high school we graduated from years ago. I wonder if our names are still under the desk in math, room 104. There was a scandal there about a teacher seducing a student and allegedly trying with others. No one found out who the girl was, they kept the information closed. But I can't see the science building without remembering how Allie never went back for Mr. Samuel's lessons after he asked to see her after class, she wouldn't tell me why. It wasn't until my sister broke down his classroom door after school that I realized. She saw his hand on my thigh and kicked the chair from under him. She pushed his chest down, "You'll get what you deserve." And he did.

The ice cream shop across town was walking distance from where my father worked and he would give us money on Fridays to get some, so long as we brought him back one after. That's where, in 10th grade, Jonah and Isaac found a dog with three legs wandering around eating from the garbage. They managed to entice it with ice cream and take it back to Isaac's. He had a dog already but his parents took him in anyway. They named him Berry after the strawberry flavor they captured him with.

Once at a roller rink Jonah fell and Josie accidentally ran over his finger. She stumbled to a stop and crawled back to him, screaming. He was laughing so hard from her reaction, and probably the shock, that he hadn't cared about the blood coming from his fingers. I sped us to the hospital while Elijah called his dad. By the time we got there the shock had worn off, leaving him with the pain. We called him hook for the rest of the year on account of how the bandages made his hand look. He just smiled as Isaac held his other one.

Once Sam told me I should be nicer because no one would want me. Sam is three years older than Elijah. Josie is two years older than me. Sam and Josie used to spend a lot of time together in her room listening to music really loudly. I knew what they were doing but I was still angry that she didn't ever want me to hangout with them together. So when Sam came over I went to see Elijah. Two can play that game, I thought. And two, they played.

Elijah kissed me one afternoon on winter break after we played outside for hours. My whole body was freezing but his lips were soft, albeit cold. As he took my hand and brought me back inside I thought of Mia and her secret glances his way. Blushing when he'd sit next to her, how she always seemed to have just what he needed, when he needed it. I couldn't look at her the next time I saw her but Elijah acted like nothing happened so eventually I let myself think nothing did. That following summer he took her to the movies and she told me that when they went back to his house they had sex. I smiled and told her that as long as she wanted to, then I was happy for her. On the drive home I thought of his bed.

When I got back I wanted to talk to my sister but as usual, Sam was there so her door was shut. I banged and banged until finally she opened it. "What?" She asked annoyed and out of breath. I guess she could see my youthful confusion and anger, I was 16 and she was 18. I knew what they were doing but I didn't know what I was doing. She sighed and opened the door wider, Sam looked annoyed. I shot him a dirty look and he stood up defensively. She was my sister.

"What's your problem?" He asked. My sister raised her eyebrows at him.

"You're my problem," I sneered.

"I was just sitting here,"

"Yeah well now you're not, so you can leave," I threw him his sweater. He laughs, "You know what?" he snatches his shoes, "No one's going to want you if you're going to be such a bitch all the time," With that my sister smacked him across the back of the head and pushed him from her room. He whirled around, "Why do you think Eli didn't choose you?"

"Because he was too busy hiding from you!" I screamed at him, slamming her door in his face.

I leaped face down on her bed and screamed into the pillow. Asking what happened, she crawled on the bed and rested her body on mine. "He slept with Mia," I told her through pillows and tears. But I didn't tell her that on that winter day on break, I did also.

(1) / (2) / (3) / 4 / (5) / (6)

[puddingcatbeans]

title: fall asleep with me (i’ll be here when you wake up) pairing: promptis (mostly platonic but can be read as developing) summary: being the unwilling heir to a crumbling throne would make anyone tired. sleeping is noctis' favourite past time, and prompto? his favourite escape. or, five times noctis falls asleep on prompto, and one time prompto falls asleep on noct.

this was supposed to be self-indulgent fluff but it turned into a 4k mess of headcanons and character/relationship study, so yeah >ao3 link<

i.

“Remind me why we’re skipping class,” Prompto says, laying his head on the table, “to hang out at the library?”

“Because it’s quiet,” Noctis answers. He taps Prompto’s head with a pencil. “Or it’s supposed to be.”

“Boo. You’re the one that dragged me here.”

Noctis rolls his eyes. He goes back to his notebook, and Prompto goes back to staring listlessly out the window.

There are textbooks open on the table in front of them, but neither of them are trying especially hard to study. The librarian let them hide out here, on account of Noctis wanting to catch up on his missed homework—and also Noctis being, well, the Prince—even though they should be suffering in some science class. Prompto isn’t really sure which. That fact alone means he should probably study harder. He can already hear Ignis’ voice going, Bad influence on the Prince, neglecting your education for trivial pursuits. But it’s not like Prompto’s a hopeless student; in fact, his grades are actually pretty level with Noctis’, and he doesn’t even have Ignis’ private tutoring (private torture, as Noctis insists) half the time. Prompto just prefers to chill, sometimes. Like all teenagers do.

Including Noctis. Who is currently sketching something across his notes, head bent and tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Prompto rolls his head until his cheek is pressed against the cool surface of the table. “Whatcha drawin’?” he asks.

“You,” Noctis answers without looking up.

Prompto has to admit he walked right into that one. As it is, he sighs, lifts his head up so he can cover his face with his hands. Not like there’s much point, since Noctis knows he’s blushing. Prompto has never hated his pale skin more.

It’s quiet between them for the next few minutes. Late afternoon sunlight casts their shadows long against the carpet floor, stretching until they touch the bookshelves. The librarian has disappeared from his station at the front desk, and the only sounds to be heard are the faint rustling of leaves from the open windows and the soft scritching of Noctis’ pencil on paper. It’s as if they were the only two left in all of Eos.

“Here.”

Prompto looks up to find Noctis’ notebook shoved in his face. He grabs it before it can smack him across the face, and peers down at the page. It is a drawing of him, but Prompto thinks Noctis took way too much liberty. There’s a rough sketch of a boy leaning his head against the table, face turned one way, sunlight catching his peaceful, sleepy expression. The tufts sticking up at the top of his head and the smattering of freckles across his nose are the only indication that it’s Prompto, otherwise, the drawing is of someone much more pretty and regal-looking than him.

“Those aren’t my cheekbones,” he says, and receives a shove on the shoulder.

“They sure as hell aren’t mine,” Noctis responds. He’s put his pencil down and pushed the textbooks aside, creating a clean, empty space on the table where he sits. Movements languid like a cat, he folds up his jacket (black, as in royalty, never to be mistaken for anyone else’s) and lays his head on the table, much like Prompto did before. Noctis closes his eyes.

“I still think you should have signed up for some arts classes, Noct.”

“Nah... Too many rules.”

“Shame,” Prompto says, and he means it. Noctis is surprisingly good at drawing. He only does it when he’s bored and alone, and only recently, when he’s bored and alone with Prompto. He says it helps calm his mind when he can’t escape to go fishing. Sometimes the city just gets too much, too loud for him. Prompto understands. He’s only honoured that Noctis deems him good enough to intrude on his little pockets of quiet.

When Noctis doesn’t answer for quite some time, Prompto glances over to find his friend asleep. He’s still amazed at how quickly and easily the other boy can fall asleep. The first few times he caught Noctis in the act, he was worried. Isn’t this sort of extraordinary skill unsafe for a Prince? But he soon realized Noctis only does it when he’s able to let his guard down. Which then led to weeks of freaking out because Noctis! feels safe! around him!

Noctis’ face is half-covered by his elbow. His bangs drift up and down when he breathes out, all soft and steady. He looks a lot more approachable when he’s asleep. A part of Prompto, deep deep down inside of him, is glad that he’s one of the few rare ones able to witness this side of Noctis. He doesn’t want to have to share the wonderful person that is his best friend, which doesn’t make sense because Noct—Noctis is the fucking Crown Prince, the heir to the throne.

Prompto is only a boy, a boy who’s spent far too many years clawing his way out of loneliness. Who can blame him?

Slowly, hand shaking slightly, Prompto reaches out. He touches Noctis’ head, and when the other doesn’t stir, he gently, gently runs his fingers through soft black hair. Noctis remains asleep, but almost seems to lean into the touch. A smile unfurls on Prompto’s face. Petting Noctis’ hair with one hand, he reaches out with the other and pulls a textbook towards him.

(In the end, they are scolded by Ignis for missing an important lecture and forced to sit through a tutoring session with him, but Prompto can’t complain. Ignis teaches much better than their teachers, anyway, and Prompto would never say no to being able to spend more time with Noctis.)

ii.

Prompto isn’t sure what to expect when he makes it to the train station that was in Noctis’ barely coherent text at 1:32 in the morning. Summer is in the air, but it has rained a lot lately, so Prompto pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders as he hurries inside.

“Noct! What’s up, br—Whoa.”

His best friend is leaning against the wall of the near-empty station, knees pulled up and head resting on them. He has on one of his sweaters, the hood pulled over his head, and if Prompto didn’t know better (and if Noctis isn’t wearing, as always, the royal black), he’d think this sad lump in the corner of the station is just some lost hooligan wasted on a Friday night.

“Noct?” Prompto crouches down next to his friend. “Are you okay?”

Hazy blue eyes squints up at him. Noctis smells like fine wine and expensive perfume. He probably came straight from the Citadel. Prompto has half a mind to wonder how Noctis managed to leave without his entire security detail following him. “Prom,” Noctis says. “Wh... Why are you here?”

“Dude, you’re the one that texted me.”

“Nnnn? I did? ...Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem. But, uh, what are you doing here? I thought you said there was some important royal party thing you can’t miss.”

Noctis’ face scrunches up, and his head lolls against his knees again. “Party was stupid. Nobles are stupid. Royalty is stupid.”

Fighting the urge to laugh as Noctis continues to list things that are stupid—which, apparently, is everything, tonight—Prompto taps Noctis’ arm for his attention again. “Hey, Noct. I get that the party wasn’t fun but do you maybe wanna get out of here? The train station at this time of night isn’t exactly... safe.”

“I’m not going back there,” Noctis says immediately.

Prompto lets out a brief laugh. “Yeah, dude, I don’t think they’ll let me in there either. And you’re certainly in no shape to be going anywhere on your own. Hold on, let me call Ignis—”

“Ugh, not Specs!”

“Sorry, buddy, but I’ve only recently been accepted into his good graces, I’m not about to screw that up.”

Noctis groans and begins to tip over on one side before Prompto reaches out and rights him. As expected, Ignis answers with a franticness that causes Prompto to pull his phone away from his ear briefly. In the end, they decide on meeting up at Noctis’ apartment since it was closer and less of a hassle than returning to the Citadel. Prompto pockets the phone after reassuring Ignis that he will call him as soon as they arrive.

“Come on, Noct,” he says, nudging his friend. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

It takes some maneuvering and awkward balancing and more than a couple elbows against his ribs, but eventually Prompto manages to heave Noctis onto his back and stand up without both of them doing a spectacular faceplant. He starts to walk them out of the station.

“The heck,” Noctis says, arms tightening around Prompto’s neck, “you’re strong.”

“Thanks, dude. I do work out, you know.”

“Nnn, but you—you’ve got—” Here Noctis untangles one of his arms and flops it in the general direction of Prompto’s biceps. “—got muscles for days, Prom.”

Prompto presses his lips together. He’s never seen Noctis this drunk before. A part of him wishes he had a free hand to record this. For reasons. “Thanks, Noct. At least someone appreciates these guns.”

“I... love your guns,” Noctis mumbles. His movements are slow, and he presses his face into the back of Prompto’s neck. He’s heavier than he looks, but not by much. Most of it is muscle mass, which is unsurprising considering the amount of training the boy devotes his time to. But Prompto’s regimen has also changed since becoming friends with Noctis, and by extension, Gladiolus, so he walks through the quiet streets with Noctis on his back no problem.

They’re crossing the street when Noctis huffs a little, breath warm against Prompto’s skin. “Prom,” he says.

Prompto waits a bit, but when no further words come, he turns his head slightly. “Noct? What’s up, buddy?”

“Prom,” Noctis murmurs again, and he shifts a bit, until his cheek is squished on Prompto’s shoulder. He repeats Prompto’s name, this time softer and more slurred.

Hefting his best friend’s weight up his back, Prompto hums a random tune under his breath. Noctis’ breathing begins to slow, evening out until the steady lull of his chest against Prompto’s back calms the adrenaline that had pumped through Prompto since he received that text. He puts one foot in front of the other, and carries his best friend home.

(Noctis is stupidly hungover the next morning, but when Prompto comes over bearing his favourite greasy foods, he pulls Prompto into the seat next to him and presses their legs against each other, and Prompto hears his silent Thanks, Prom. Prompto presses back, wordlessly replying, Always, Noct.)

iii.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Noctis says as they enter the Argentum residence.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Prompto says quickly, “the house is empty.”

He catches the curious glance Noctis sends his way and Prompto sighs to himself. Noctis won’t say anything, because he’s nice that way, always respecting people’s boundaries despite people rarely extending the same courtesy towards him. But Prompto feels a bit guilty for always shying away about his private life and, well, life in general, when Noctis has given him so much. There just really isn’t anything Prompto can offer that ever feels good enough for what Noctis has brought into his life. Besides, it wasn’t like it was anything Noctis didn’t already know, as Prompto’s pretty sure Ignis had ordered a background check on him as soon as he made contact with the prince.

“My guardians,” Prompto says, leading Noctis into the living area, “they, uh. They work a lot, so they’re away most of the time. So I get the house to myself! It’s kind of like you and your apartment, though this place is no way as swanky as your apartment...” He catches himself and hurries to wave his arms, feeling the familiar weird tightness and heated panic rising in his chest. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything—because I’m not! I’m, I mean, I know I’m very lucky to have a roof over my head and everything, and this place isn’t that bad, I mean, it’s pretty spacious and I get my own room and everything, it’s just. It’s...”

“It’s just not home.” Noctis’ soft voice fills the stifling stillness of the house when Prompto falls silent. His eyes roam over the unused furniture, the faint layer of dust on the cabinets, the emptiness of a room that is meant to entertain the most activity of a house. “It’s like... you live here, but it’s not really your place, is it, Prom?”

Prompto nods. He fiddles with the wristband on his right wrist. “I’ve been thinking, you know, when I graduate, if I save up enough, I could get my own apartment? And it’ll be small, probably, but it’ll be—it’ll be mine, you know? So I could. I could make it a home. And if you want, I mean, I know it won’t be much, but if you want, you could come over and visit...?”

Noctis is studying him in that quiet way of his, eyes half-hidden behind his long bangs, but Prompto can’t tell what he’s thinking so he just keeps talking.

“—but you’ll probably be busy with, you know, being—being royalty and all that, you probably won’t want—I mean, won’t have time. To. To bother with me, but that’s fine, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Prom,” Noctis interrupts. “I’d love to come visit your future apartment, on one condition.”

Prompto stares back, trying to remember how to breathe properly again.

The corners of Noctis’ mouth tilt up. “You have to promise to let me nap at your place with no complaints. Even if Specs is blowing up your phone.”

A slow smile settles on Prompto’s face. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, smiling back. “Do you want to show me your room? You weren’t lying about that limited edition giant chocobo plush, were you?”

“How could I lie about that?!”

They spend the next hour or so going through the organized mess that is Prompto’s room. Prompto insists Noctis sit on the bed, and his friend doesn’t protest as much as he would have. Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noctis’ face loosens fractionally with relief when he lifts the pressure from his knees. He doesn’t comment on it, instead reaching over for his camera and proceeding to show his friend every single photo. Noctis makes a few quips here and there, but for the most part remains quiet, nodding along to Prompto’s babbling commentary. When his yawns begin to escape, though, Prompto asks if maybe he wants to return to his apartment.

“No,” Noctis says instantly. He sinks back against the wall. “Um. I may have... stormed off on Ignis this morning.”

Prompto gasps. “You had a fight? Wait, does this mean I’m hiding a fugitive in my house?”

Noctis shoves him half-heartedly. “I told him I was headed to your place after school.”

“Aw. Well, you know you can stay here as long as you want.”

By the time Prompto comes back into his room after relieving his itchy eyes of his contacts, Noctis is curled up on his bed, chocobo-themed comforter wrapped around him, sound asleep. He must have been really tired.

Prompto sits on the edge of the bed, a small smile on his lips as he watches his friend breathe in, breathe out. There’s a slight knot in his brow, and his fingers clench together periodically as if aching, but Noctis doesn’t stir when Prompto reaches over to tuck the blanket over his shoulders.

He should probably text Ignis that Noctis probably won’t be making it back to the apartment tonight. He has half a mind to do that, and to grab an extra blanket so he can camp out on the couch for the night, except his room has never felt more inviting, and his bed has never felt more comfortable. Prompto yawns, and lies down next to his best friend.

“Goodnight, Noct,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side. He shuffles close enough to feel the warmth of the other boy, and closes his eyes.

(He’s startled awake the next morning to Gladio practically breaking down the door and a frazzled Ignis behind him, but seeing the colour return to Noctis’ face and the dark smudges under Noctis’ eyes fade just the slightest bit was worth it. It always is.)

iv.

The sky is an overwhelming shade of blue, barely a wisp of cloud in sight. A lazy breeze flows through the air, rustling the trees and ruffling their hair on its way. Prompto sighs contentedly, putting down his camera.

“Man, if I’d known the Citadel gardens was this pretty, I’d have bugged you into showing me around sooner.”

Noctis glances over from his sketchbook. “I did invite you over to the Citadel many times,” he reminds Prompto. “But you refused.”

Prompto makes a face. It wasn’t like he was avoiding the Citadel. Okay, maybe he was, a little bit—but only because he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of Noctis’ friendship! Plus, the idea of him, Prompto, a no-name commoner, stepping into the heart and capital of Insomnia, where the King lives, where Prince Noctis is more than just a title and source of gossip as guards and servants bow when he walks past... It’s an understatement if Prompto said it was daunting.

“I’m surprised they let me in so easily,” he says out loud.

“Well, you are my friend. And there are a bunch of Crownsguard hanging around in case you do try anything funny.”

“Ah, that’s why the back of my neck’s been feeling itchy,” Prompto exclaims, and he smiles when that manages to startle a laugh out of Noctis. His friend has been more sullen than usual lately. Prompto doesn’t want to pry, because it’s really not his place and besides, he’s more than happy to be the one Noctis turns to when he wants to escape. Being the prince isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Prompto at least understands that.

Noctis flips his sketchbook shut and places it on the grass beside him. Leaning back on his hands, he squints through the thick branches of the tree they’re sitting under. “Hey, Prom, you wanna stay for dinner?”

“Like, here? In the castle?”

“Yeah.” Noctis hesitates. He doesn’t meet Prompto’s eyes, but his gaze is doing that sliding sideways thing which means he’s mustering up the courage for something he wants, but doesn’t want to force. “My... father, he’s been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Your—?” Prompto chokes. “Your father, as in, the King?”

“I don’t recall being adopted by anyone else.”

“B-but, I? Are you—are you sure?”

Noctis finally looks at him. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do! I just... It’s just a bit nerve-wracking, is all.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Noctis agrees, and his posture relaxes a little. He nudges at Prompto. “Hey, let me nap for a bit.”

Prompto blinks. “Alright? I mean, I’m not going anywh—!” He cuts himself off as Noctis promptly flops over onto his lap, eyes closing and expression clearing without a care. “Uh, Noct?”

“Shh, let me borrow your legs for a bit.”

Prompto watches with wide eyes as Noctis drifts off into sleep. Absently, his fingers find their way into Noctis’ black hair. Noctis lets out a small sigh, but only shifts to lie more comfortably on Prompto’s thigh. Prompto smiles. He’s used to staying still and keeping quiet for long stretches of time. It’s a habit that comes with befriending Noctis, he supposes. But Prompto doesn’t mind it at all.

(Later, when the sky starts to turn purple and orange at the edges, Gladio will come sit next to Prompto, while Ignis wanders his way over to Noctis’ other side. They wait for their prince to wake, soft breeze kissing their skin, and Prompto has never wanted to stay in a moment more.)

v.

“No fair, you cheater!”

“You can’t accuse me of cheating, that’s treason!”

“Then bring me to trial, you filthy cheating bastard!”

Prompto squawks indignantly as Noctis reaches over and shoves his controller out of his hands, again. He gives up, and proceeds to tackling Noctis onto his couch.

He’s glad Ignis isn’t here, because this is probably one of those ‘misconduct’ things he talks about. But it’s the weekend, and Prompto’s hanging out with his best friend, and nothing’s going to bring him down.

“Oomph, Prompto, you’re heavy.”

“Am not!” Prompto protests, but he eases his weight off Noctis anyway. He stares down at his stomach, frowning slightly. He’s pretty certain he hasn’t been gaining weight recently. It’s not the red-hot panic he would have felt years ago, when he was still trying to fundamentally change who he was just to be worthy of approaching the Prince of Lucis. Noctis himself has chided him countless times for that line of thinking, but old habits die hard, Prompto supposes.

“Prom?”

He looks up to find Noctis’ concerned gaze on him. Prompto waves it off. “Just thinking about how hurt I am that you’d sabotage me in a kart-racing game starring two plumbers and their assorted friends.”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Prompto, rolling his eyes.

They browse through the character select again, but neither of their concentration is really there. Prompto’s barely seen Noctis at all this week, nor the last couple of weeks, either. There’s been rumours of higher tensions between Lucis and Niflheim, and even Prompto can see the King’s deteriorating health from keeping the Wall steady. He wants more than anything to be there for Noctis, but he’s not sure how to do that when he can barely keep it together watching the news, when his right wrist burns as he listens to the radio talk of airships and gathering troops throughout the kingdom. So Prompto threw himself into Crownsguard training, hoping that at least he can be useful to Noctis in some way. At least he can say he’d give his life for his best friend, and swear it on the Crystal’s powers to prove it.

Noctis sighs, tossing his controller onto the table. “I’m tired.”

“Do you wanna put on a movie instead, or...?”

Instead of answering, Noctis turns his head and looks at Prompto. The bags under his eyes are prominent, but his expression is much more relaxed than it had been when he opened the door for Prompto earlier. Without warning, he reaches out and slides Prompto’s glasses off his nose. “Prom. Lie down.”

“Um, okay?” Prompto allows himself to be pushed down onto the couch. He watches curiously as Noctis climbs on top of him, and shuffles the pillows until they’re both lying down along the length of the couch. Prompto blinks when Noctis lays his head on his chest.

“Noct? You want to take a nap?”

His only reply is a gentle hum. Noctis’ eyes are closed, his legs entangled with Prompto’s, his fingers hooked onto the side of Prompto’s shirt. Having his best friend’s weight on him isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s been a while since they’ve been pressed together like this. He’s missed it. Without thinking too hard about it, Prompto runs a hand down Noctis’ spine, up and down slowly until he can feel some of the tenseness fade from his best friend’s body. The cheerful game tune is still playing in the background, but lying here underneath Noctis, warm and comfortable, Prompto feels his eyelids grow heavy. He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Noctis’ breathing.

(He stirs awake slightly, hours later, to Ignis’ blurry form above them in the darkened apartment, and a blanket being tucked over them. There’s a hand ruffling his hair lightly, a soft whisper of, “Go back to sleep,” and then Prompto is sinking back into the void of his dreams, arms wrapped snugly around his best friend.)

et i.

They’re in the Regalia, Ignis at the wheel and speeding them down an open freeway, with miles and miles of empty road stretching behind them and miles and miles to go in front of them. The top is down, and Noctis lifts his face to the wind whipping past them. He listens to the mild conversation Ignis is engaging with Gladio in the front seat and the quiet guitar strings trailing from the speakers. Things are slower here, outside the Wall, but Noctis thinks he likes it.

A weight drops onto his shoulder, and he glances over to find blond hair tickling his cheek. Prompto’s fallen asleep. A rare sight, and he’ll probably be sad later when he wakes because of missed photo opportunities, but Noctis knows his friend’s been having trouble sleeping lately. They all have, but that’s to be expected, given the gravity of their task.

Carefully so as not to jostle the head on his shoulder, Noctis extricates the camera from Prompto’s loose hands. Glancing back up, he takes in the sight of Prompto’s sleeping face. His mouth is open slightly, nose twitching occasionally, but for some reason, he looks more mature when he’s asleep. More... weary. Noctis has half a mind to lift a finger and trace along the freckles scattered across Prompto’s face.

He catches the eye of Luna, sitting on Prompto’s other side. She’s watching them quietly, something soft in her eyes, and when she notices him staring back, the small smile teasing on her lips grows into a full-blown grin. She winks at him. Noctis can feel a blush staining his cheeks, but he doesn’t know why.

“Here,” she whispers, holding out a hand. She takes the camera from Noctis, and smiles at him again. “Go on,” she says, “we’re still a long way from our destination.”

He nods, and settles back against his seat. Prompto’s fully leaning against him now. Noctis doesn’t mind. He rests his cheek on top of his best friend’s head, and joins him in sleep.

(They wake too suddenly, too forcefully, but by now they’re used to it, jumping straight into battle with glowing blue and ready bullets. They don’t dream anymore, only nightmares, but maybe that’s what growing up and leaving home means. But when Noctis closes his eyes, he knows his best friend and his faithful companions are right there by his side—and he’s no longer afraid to wake.)