Chapter Text
When the quiet kid with the camera ran straight up to him, clapped him on the shoulder, and instantly became his best friend, Noct had a hard time connecting those two versions of Prompto.
‘Cause the Prompto he knows is sheer bravado. He’ll jump into any crazy situation in a heartbeat. He’s just down for whatever, always. He’s fun, and funny, and talkative, and outgoing, and the life of the party.
Except: there is no party.
There’s not really anyone.
It took Noct way too long to notice that Prompto’s parents are more than just busy at work. They’re straight-up barely ever home.
There was a time where he actually thought they might not exist — that they were basically imaginary friends Prompto sprinkled into conversations to prevent child services from intervening — but then Prompto’s mom dropped him off at school one day on her way back out of town. She waved goodbye out the window, and Prompto seemed happy in a way Noct had never seen before.
But in any case, they’re not around, which means Prompto generally lives in an empty house.
Which, okay, so does Noct. But Prompto doesn’t have a second house (palace) full of people way too invested in his wellbeing.
It turns out that what Prompto’s got is: Noct.
And when Noct puts this together (which takes him far too long because, despite the scatterbrain persona, Prompto knows how to fix a leaky faucet and schedule dentist appointments and replace a blown fuse and hop on a bus to anywhere in Insomnia and a million other things that are maybe kinda magic) . . . that’s when he realizes he’s got to bridge the gap. Especially because graduation is coming up fast.
To this point, he’s kept Prompto as his school friend. Sometimes that spills into the arcade, or a diner, or his apartment. But he’s never brought Prompto into the Prince Noctis life as far as he could help it.
Part of that’s because he can feel the anxiety radiating off Prompto whenever Ignis shows up unexpectedly during a study or gaming session at Noct’s place. Or that one time Gladio decided to be a dick at the arcade. Or when Noct had tepidly floated the idea of Prompto meeting his dad.
Mostly, though, it’s because he’s selfish.
He likes having Prompto solidly in this part of his life. He likes having a friend who’s not also on the royal payroll. Most of all, he likes that Prompto can’t see how thoroughly and completely he fails to meet any of the expectations set out for him in that other life.
Prompto just sees Noct: straight-A student, above-average gamer, below-average ping-pong player, and (apparently) adequate friend.
But it’s also clear that Prompto needs people, and Noct . . . he’s got some good people.
(But only one friend, just friend, and again — there’s that selfishness, because he’d like to not instantly lose Prompto after graduation, which is what will happen if he goes with his signature strategy of Doing Nothing Until It’s Too Late.)
So he talks to Ignis.
And Ignis, predictably — which is both the best thing and the worst thing about Ignis, really, his total consistency — makes a list.
It’s six items long (he’s sure Ignis has gone to great lengths to condense it) and he hates every single word on it. But if it’s the only way to keep Prompto in his life — if Prompto even wants to be there after he realizes the bullshit hoops he’s gonna have to jump through — he’ll bite the bullet.
Noct first brings it up talking about university.
At a school like theirs, it’s all anyone can talk about — except neither Prompto nor Noct have brought it up. Not through the second-year slog of applications, even as everyone around them dedicates a large chunk of time to whining. Not through the wave of acceptances and rejections coming through as their final year hurtles them all towards The Future, which Prompto pictures as a sort of faceless Grim Reaper type waiting at the bottom of a steep cliff.
In the end, it’s Noct who asks him first, apropos of nothing while they’re walking to Prompto’s bus stop from the arcade: “You got plans for uni?”
“Nah,” Prompto says.
Noct doesn’t say anything, just waits.
He forces himself to smile. “You can go to school for photography, but it’s not like you need a degree. Figure I’ll take on more hours at the job, save up, freelance a bit. Build up a sweet portfolio, y’know?”
Noct’s looking straight ahead as he nods, makes a little noise that might be a “yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else. It’s the first time they’ve talked about The Future, and dread is wrapping cold, clammy fingers around Prompto’s stomach, telling him the jig is up. Time to face the facts. It’s been fun, keep in touch, see ya on TV sometime.
But for now, he’s here. They’re here. So he elbows Noct. “Sooo, where do princes go for higher education?”
Noct startles, like that wasn’t the inevitable question he’d ask right back, and looks at Prompto like it’s the first time he’s seen him that day. “They don’t.”
“What, really?”
“Well, you know, the lifespan of kings these days doesn’t leave a lot of extra time for training your replacement.” He’s not trying to hide cloud of depression hovering over those words, for once.
So, for once, Prompto opts out of making light. He instead bumps Noct with a shoulder. “Sucks.”
“Yeah,” Noct breathes out. “I mean . . . Dad was 23.”
King at 23.
Prompto first feels keenly terrible for Noct, and then a little bit bad for himself.
But it’s not really relevant to him, is it? Because by that age — or a little later, he hopes for Noct’s sake, because didn’t King Mors have a bigger Wall sucking away his life force? — it will have been years since Prompto and Noct were friends. You know, back in high school. So he can just feel bad for Noct, there.
Noct, who swings his briefcase down in front of him and fiddles with the handle. “I. Uh.”
Prompto swallows, but it’s dry and kind of hurts. Here it comes: the easy let-down. Better to beat Noct to the punch, especially since it looks like he’s gonna give himself an ulcer. “It’s cool, dude, I’m sure you’ll be busy.”
Noct stares at him again, with that unexpected focus, and something in his demeanor shifts, as if he’s smoothly sliding into a different personality. His face is entirely blank, which is probably how he manages to make eye contact and say something direct at the same time. “I was going to ask if you could come by the Citadel on Sunday so you can get upgraded security clearance.”
This is surprising, and because Prompto doesn’t have a complete second persona built by years of diplomatic training and royal etiquette tutors, he says: “Wuh?”
“I mean,” Noct says, eyes sliding away and shoulders hunching back over. “It’ll be easier to see you after school ends, if you can come by the Citadel sometimes.”
The bus chooses that moment to roll up, so Prompto stammers out a “Yeah, ‘course, text me when and where,” with a hand thrown up in a wave as he steps up to get on.
He swipes his transit card, grabs a dangling gray hand-hold the moment before the bus lurches into movement, and allows his face to crack into a grin.
The when and where of getting his very own shiny new security keycard turn out to to be a Sunday morning, much earlier than he would have thought it possible for Noct to be up and walking, and the Citadel lobby — the public one, which is actually at the back of the building.
He’s waited here for Noct just once before. It was kind of a hassle, because Noct isn’t allowed to be down in the lobby. Never mind that it’s the ground floor of his dad’s house; it’s open to visitors, it’s hard to protect, and it’s somewhere the shadowy threat of Bad Guys could appear, so Noct can’t just come by without an armed guard. (At least, that’s what Prompto has gathered from Noct’s mumbled explanations.)
When one of the elevators chimes to reveal a freshly ironed Ignis in slacks and a dress shirt and bleary-eyed Noct in a black sweatshirt and jeans, Ignis beckons him into the elevator, then immediately scans his card and presses a button.
As the elevator goes up, Ignis explains more than Noct had bothered to. With the new clearance, he’ll be able to do more than awkwardly hang out in the lobby. If he had a car, he could even theoretically park in the parking garage; he’ll get a sticker for his non-existent vehicle.
But the important part is that he’ll be able to take the elevator up to the 12th floor reception.
The 12th floor is important because Noct (or Ignis) can come down to get him and bring him up to the residential levels or down to the training hall. He won’t have to fill out the official visitor form or wait for a temporary badge to be printed, like he did this morning.
Their destination is an unassuming office with nondescript gray carpeting and a relative lack of fancy oil paintings compared to the rest of the Citadel. There’s a short line, and Prompto has to fill out a form (to go along with the mountain of paperwork Ignis has already filled out and brought along, which probably contains every detail of his life except, he hopes, that one — but he’s here, so it must not) and get his photo taken.
The good people of the Citadel Clerk’s office are clearly not accustomed to having royalty waiting in line.
The woman at the counter glances up, clearly already bored despite the fact that this office opened a scant five minutes ago. Then she does a double-take and shoots to her feet to bow so quickly that she knocks her rolling office chair to the ground behind her.
Noct sighs.
“Your Highness! What can I do for you today?” she asks, despite the fact that Noct is hanging back several feet with his hands in his pockets and it’s Prompto and Ignis at the counter.
“Hi,” Noct says, gesturing to Ignis with a vague motion.
Ignis slides the completed forms across the counter. “We’re here for a security keycard.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Scientia,” the clerk says, relaxing slightly. “I’ll get these entered and then Mr.” — she checks the form — “Argentum can have his photo taken.”
When she heads to the back, Noct sighs again, like this is the biggest chore of his life.
Prompto rolls his eyes. “Would it kill you to smile, buddy?”
“Yes,” Noct says, very seriously, and you know what? Prompto thinks he might be right, because that really is how miserable he looks.
But once they’re out of the office, and Prompto’s got his freshly printed card in hand and raises it aloft in victory, Noct loosens up a bit.
“Careful with that,” Ignis says, swatting at the hand waving the card in the air. “If you lose it, it needs to be reported immediately — even if you’re not sure it’s truly lost, it is better safe than sorry. Though I would keep it on your person at all times in a secure spot.”
“Chill out, Specs,” Noct mutters.
“I’ll keep it safe and sound,” Prompto promises, tucking it straight into his wallet to prove the point. “So, now that I’m here, you gonna give me the grand tour?”
“It’s a big building,” Noct points out, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Whaddaya wanna see?”
“The top, obviously.” He thinks for a moment. “Followed by embarrassing photos of you as a child.”
Noct rolls his eyes. “Okay, let’s go to the top.”
“And theeeeen?”
“And then I’m kicking you to the curb.”