ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛᴏ (messofhangups) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-10-18 09:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, noctis lucis caelum, prompto argentum |
WHO: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Prompto Argentum
WHAT: Very Serious Conversations™
WHEN: October 14; after this conversation
WHERE: Their apartment
RATING/WARNINGS: Frank discussions of death, some language, the usual
STATUS: Log; Complete!
The logical thing would have been to wait until he got home. To let Noctis explain the situation and deal with it together. To do nothing more than just buy the game he'd settled on and the chocobo plush (with an extra one for Vanille since she seemed to like them almost as much as him) and head back. But Prompto wasn't always the most logical. Which was how he ended up googling Final Fantasy XV on a bench outside the game store - some sort of misplaced idea that he should know what he’s getting into, some stupid move borne out of his own fear and anxiousness - and reading the first wiki that popped up. And rereading it. And a third, fourth and fifth time just for good measure as though that might change the words on the page. As though it might make it say anything but Noctis sacrificing himself to rid the world of the Scourge and the daemons. It was so much, too much and Prompto found it suddenly very hard to even breathe as the words blurred together on his phone. And he was vaguely aware of what was happening, that he was probably having a full out panic attack - but he felt powerless to use that awareness to make it stop. His hand clenched around the phone, breath ragged and short. The blurriness extended past his screen and to the rest of his vision, spots of black that flickered in and out as his brain scrambled to deal with the idea that Noctis dies. He changed things came the rational part of his brain. The message in the earlier texts. And Prompto forced himself to cling to that, to force himself into trying to even out his breathing and stop his body from shaking. He changed things was repeated over and over in his mind. Enough times to pull the world back into a bit more focus, for that vague I’m going to pass out feeling to go away. Enough that he could stand up and make the walk back to their building. He honestly wasn’t sure if it was better or worse, the fact it took barely fifteen minutes to walk from anywhere to anywhere else in Tumbleweed. It at once felt all too soon and not soon enough that he let himself into their apartment, fingers curled tight around the bag from the store. He’s not even sure what he wants to say, how to even start this very big and very serious conversation. The earlier panic started to creep back in as he kicked his shoes off at the door and saw Noctis as he walked into the living room, so maybe it wasn’t the most eloquent of starters, but it was all he had right then. “You died,” two words but so very weighted with the sheer panic the idea of it had brought up. With the devastation the idea of losing Noctis and losing him only days after he’d finally gotten him back had brought up. “Fuck,” he muttered and pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes roughly. “Noct…” And really, the earlier thought that it had been marrying Luna he’d lost Noctis to suddenly felt like best case scenario. At least Noct would still be there. "I didn't," the words were out of Noctis' mouth before he even fully stood from the couch, and he leaned heavily against it, his hand tightening on the arm of furniture in a fierce grip. He'd been waiting for Prompto to come home, but this — seeing him already gutted, reduced to hopelessness before he'd even explained — made a strength surge up in Noctis like he'd only known a few times. All inspired by Prompto. Always, always inspired by him. "I didn't die. I was told I had to. But I had time to think about it — in Knowhere — and I realized it was a fucking lie." Noctis inhaled sharply, trying to stay focused and calm. Prompto looked wrecked. He needed to be the levelheaded one between them if they were going to have this conversation, one that Noctis had hoped would never be necessary. Noctis was naive. He eased himself into a sitting position, perched atop the arm of the couch. It helped with the flare of pain that felt like fire along his side, if nothing else. "I was in that crystal for ten years," he said, the words completely detached from him. As if this were someone else's story he was telling. That it had nothing to do with him. "Bahamut came once to tell me I had to sacrifice myself to end the Starscourge. That's when I showed up in Knowhere. Thinking it was my destiny to kick the bucket. But I remembered what Ardyn said — about how the Gods rejected him after he tried to help. What the fuck, you know? Fishy." Noctis wasn't looking at Prompto anymore. He stared at the floor because it was safer, and because he was shaking, and that wouldn't do. "There's Gentiana, too. Why would she tell me that Umbra could travel back in time? Why BOTHER?" Noctis knew, distantly, that he was starting to get worked up. This was about the time Gladio usually stepped in, or Ignis, to divert his attention and diffuse the situation before he did something impulsive or stupid. But they weren't here now. "I woke up in a body I didn't recognize and saw what happened to everything. The demons. The darkness. What's the point of dying to save a word that's ALREADY FUCKING DEAD?" This was bad. Noctis knew it was bad. But he'd been bottling it up for so long that tears stung, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight to stave off the feeling of utter hopelessness and terror. He inhaled sharply, shakily, and exhaled again, trying to keep himself controlled. It sort of helped. "So I went back. Umbra took me. I made sure Jared, Iris, and Talcott were with us, and we all met up in Hammerhead. Weskham got Luna and Ravus out of Altissia. That's when we started planning. Took us weeks to get everything straight, but we went back even further — we saved Ardyn, and kicked Bahamut's ass, that piece of shit — and I didn't have to die. What a joke. What a big, fucking joke." Noctis covered his face and made a noise he didn't recognize, and he shook, and shook, and hated himself for being so weak. So much for being levelheaded. Prompto watched Noctis as he talked, the shift and changes in the other’s body as the story came out. The eerily detached tone at certain parts, the way Noctis’ body shook and trembled and how his eyes remained on the ground. How that detached tone shifted into an anger he rarely saw, a bitterness that really only mirrored his own. Because Noctis was right. What was the fucking point. What was there even to save. Bits and pieces of a world long gone and Prompto hadn’t even made it to the halfway mark of the endless night. How much more would be gone by the time the crystal had released Noct. His mind was a conflicted mess - emotions that tugged him in enough directions to make his head spin. Anger at the universe, the gods and astrals and some stupid plan that had been made up with no regard for the people who would actually have to live it. Worse was the anger at Noct as the fact he’d known about this back on Knowhere and hadn’t said anything sank in. But both eclipsed by the pain of seeing Noct break down before his eyes. At the shake in his body and that noise that didn’t sound like anything other than broken. Before he even could think it through he moved, closed the space between them and stopped right in front of where Noct sat on the arm of the couch. The positioning allotted him just enough of a height advantage that he could tug Noctis in against his chest and let his forehead fall to rest on the top of Noct’s head. Prompto knows that touch is - hard - for Noct, knows it’s still one of those things they’re working on. But he can’t help but barrel right into this one, as though needing it to prove to himself that Noctis was there and real and decidedly not dead. “Bahamut’s a fucking asshole,” he said softly, the bitterness more than evident in his tone. Noctis leaned into Prompto immediately with all his weight and continued to tremble, hating himself for it. "Why aren't you angry with me?" He bit the words between his teeth, furious and bitter and all of it was directed at himself. "Dammit, Prompto, I kept this from you. I wasn't honest. You had to find out at a fucking GameStop." This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Noctis had braced himself for scorn, for a reprimand, for something other than Prompto's immediate and swift forgiveness. It made him feel sick. He was taking advantage. He couldn't keep relying on his boyfriend to absolve him of all his sins — it wasn't fair to him, to Prompto who never did anything wrong, who was the best of them, who was a goddamn saint. "No," he said, bringing his hands up to push Prompto away — however gently, holding him at arm's length. Noctis' eyes were so, so bright, a fierceness he reserved for defending and protecting his friends. Even if it meant from himself. "You have to be angry at me. You have to stay angry. Okay? I hid this from you. I hid a lot of things from you. There's still ... there's still more. I didn't — fuck —" Noctis dropped his hands so that he could cover his face again, breathing hard. "I'm king now." He lifted a hand to run through Noctis’ hair lightly as he buried his face in hands before letting it fall back to his side. “Yeah I know - I mean - I figured as much. With your Dad and everything…” he shrugged a little. “So you’re a king, that’s not really -” another shrug. “I mean that was always going to happen, Noct. That’s not exactly a surprise.” He shifted his weight and let out a slow breath. “And I am, Noct. Angry at you.” It was hard to say really, he’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever admitted to that. Though in all fairness his anger to Noctis before was only ever in the vague fuck you dude you beat the crap out of me on Mario Kart again and not… this. Prompto pressed his lips together and raked a hand through his hair as he swallowed hard. “And it sucks, I don’t like being angry at you, I don’t like that you kept this from me. Fuck, Noct… what if you didn’t remember? When you got out of the crystal - what if you thought of this plan to go back in time and change your fate and you didn’t remember. I could have -” it was really kind of a moot point because Noctis had remembered. But the idea of it, that he could have stopped Noct from dying and been unable to because he hadn’t even known in the first place… it made him feel sick. “I get it, Noct, I do okay?” he started and moved to sit down on the couch next to him. “You thought you were… I don’t know, protecting me from the pain of knowing all of this or whatever. But I don’t want to be protected, Noct. I love you and I want to know this stuff even if -” he paused and swallowed hard. “Even if the truth hurts.. okay?” Noctis was quiet for a long time. Or, at least, it felt like a long time. He was relieved that Prompto stood firm on his anger — strange as that was to admit. Sometimes (all of the time, really) Noctis wondered what he was even doing, trying to be someone's boyfriend who he didn't deserve at all. It'd been one thing when they were just friends, even best friends, but now ... now it went deeper. And the closer they got, the more Noctis was coming to terms with the fact that he could fight and fight and fight to be a better person, and he still wouldn't be good enough. Story of his life, though, really. When had he ever been good enough for anything? He couldn't even die properly. "I didn't go back for me," he said, feeling cold and detached again. This would probably upset Prompto even more. But he had to know what a shit his boyfriend was, and he'd asked. Explicitly. So here was Noctis, being totally honest. "The plan was to change Insomnia's fate. Change Ardyn's. I still thought I had to ..." Noctis stopped. Shook his head. He remained perched on the arm of the chair, and the distance between them felt like a huge, gaping hole in his heart. "That's why I saw the Doctor guy here. He said he could tell if I still needed to do that — to protect everyone. I don't, apparently. Alternate timeline stuff. It's finally over." There were other words stuck in his throat. Explanations about his random dark moods that came and went sometimes, how he'd wake up feeling tired, so tired, as if he hadn't spent the whole night sleeping. Noctis thought it would be easy now, knowing he had permission to live. It wasn't. Prompto was keenly aware that there was a bit of hypocrisy to what he had asked of Noctis. To expect the truth when he himself hadn't really been giving it either. And he knew then that he would. Soon. Just maybe not at that exact moment as the emotional weight of what they were already discussing was already hard to handle. He's quiet as Noctis gathered his thoughts before speaking, not wanting to rush this. The words, when they finally did come took a good few minutes for Prompto to process. It's finally over… except Prompto knew it was never that easy. Knew that the trauma could follow you like a ghost long after something had been declared over. They were both proof of that. “You went through time, went through changing everything, all the while still thinking you'd still have to die -" it was a question that wasn't really a question. More sorting out what Noctis had said as the weight of it settled over him. How hard that must have been to carry that around. To spend weeks - months - formulating and acting on a plan knowing he wouldn't see the end result. To go through all of that just to ensure a better future for his people, one he wouldn't even see. Prompto had always thought that Noctis carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but this was to a painful extreme. “Noct - I - I can't even imagine how hard that must have been,” how hard any of it had been. Ten years isolated and alone in limbo, knowing that death was imminent. “Everything you did to protect your people, to give them a better future all while knowing what it would cost you in the end? That's -" he paused before just blurting out the first thing that came to mind, cheesy as it was. “Your Dad would be proud of you. I'm proud of you.” Noctis never knew what to do with praise. He'd been raised with duties and expectations, a responsibility to his people that would always come before anything else — even his own life. Praise for his fishing skills? Okay. Praise for doing what he was supposed to? Not so much. His father had died for the future of their people. Luna and Ravus had died for that, too. And Jared, and the entire Kingsglaive, and Ignis, who lost his sight, and Prompto, who endured torture Noctis could only imagine, and he had imagined it. The difference was that his sacrifice had always been predetermined, carefully laid out in front of him and planned to the last detail, with or without a God providing an exact end date. No one else should be paying that price but him, and yet, they had. That was the greatest injustice. That was what Noctis couldn't stomach. "Yeah, it was ... hard. I guess." Understatement of the century. Noctis felt deeply uncomfortable with this conversation the further and further it edged into emotional territory. "But that's my job. I'm supposed to be the one to fight for Lucis. If I didn't do it, I'd make a pretty shit king, you know?" He picked at a loose thread on his jacket and stopped a second later, realizing it would upset Ignis. Even if Ignis wasn't here. Old habits died hard. "Other people gave up a lot more when they didn't have to," Noctis continued, though his voice was softer. He glanced at Prompto, concern in his eyes, though he didn't specify any one person in particular. They both knew who he was talking about. "I had to make it right for them." “Just because you're supposed to something doesn't mean you have to,” Prompto pointed out. He reached for Noctis’ hand that had been fiddling with the thread and laced their fingers together. “There's some people who would have been a shit king, who would have tried to find a way to save themselves at the expense of others.” He gave Noctis’ hand a squeeze before be let go. Prompto stood and turned back to face Noctis again. He stepped in close, one foot on the floor beside the couch and his other knee moved to rest on the couch cushion beside Noct. He threaded his fingers gently through Noctis’ hair before he rested his forehead against Noct’s. “And it sounds like you were making it right,” a small pause as a soft smile passed across his face. “You are making it right,” he assured Noctis. "You're supposed to be mad at me," Noctis pointed out, his voice a low, soft rumble. He was helpless to resist, though. Every day, it was getting easier and easier to be touched by Prompto. His boyfriend was so patient, his movements slow and deliberate, something Noctis could anticipate and prepare himself for before his whole body seized up with panic. And right now he felt nothing but relief, all the tension beginning to unravel with each warm puff of breath they shared between them. If anything, Noctis felt a low buzz of anticipation just underneath, and he slowly, carefully raised his hands to rest on either side of Prompto's hips. He stopped and waited to see how that would be received, his heart in his throat. Maybe he should say something. Apologize again. But the moment felt ... new. Like he'd crossed a boundary, edged into unknown territory with no idea how to navigate through it. But he was curious, and a bit nervous, and very much interested. "Prom?" Noctis said, quietly. He wasn't sure what he was asking. It didn't seem to matter. "I'm multitasking,” he pointed out with a soft tone of amusement to the words. His anger at Noctis though was something different than being mad. It felt hard to pinpoint. There and present but something he knew would fade. It was something that didn't seem so big when compared to the sheer love he felt for Noctis. So it was easy, to just let it simmer a little in the back of his mind and do this instead. Especially when Noctis sounded like that. That low rumble that did wonders to push the anger back even more. Prompto’s fingers deftly carded through Noct’s hair again and he shifted in closer at the feel of hands on his hips. “Noct…” he replied, just as softly. And he pulled back just enough so he could look at Noctis, his fingers still threaded in silky strands. He could feel his heart as it hammered in his chest, a current of anticipation and want running across his skin and idly he wondered when the last time was that he'd felt this suddenly worked up over so little. Never, his mind supplied. He sucked his lower lip between teeth for the briefest of moments before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Noctis’. Multitasking. Noctis snorted, but any protest he might have made died immediately when those fingers dragged across his scalp. It had an immediate effect, sending small shivers up his spine until he couldn't think about anything but this — being present, relishing every reaction from Prompto as if it were the most precious thing in any universe. What a way to get motivated. When Prompto drew back a little, he gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, a tiny smirk curving his mouth. "Hi," he said in response, cheeky, his voice still lower than usual, like he had ideas. Feeling a little bold all of a sudden, Noctis shifted off the arm and onto the couch to sit properly, then tightened his grip on Prompto and gave a tug. He didn't know much about this kind of thing. In fact, he knew next to nothing — but there was something instinctive about wanting your boyfriend to straddle your lap, right? Maybe. He was going with it right now, because that conversation had left him feeling raw and needy and vulnerable in a way he usually didn't. It was scary. This ... this wasn't scary. The change in position brought them much closer together, which was really nice, and Noctis might have actually groaned against Prompto's mouth. Feeling that weight was grounding in a way he never could have anticipated. It also made him chew Prompto's lower lip between his teeth, gently. It was a good instinct, and Prompto is more than pliable to the tug as he shifted his weight forward and more onto his knee digging into the sofa cushion. He kept one hand behind Noct’s neck and let the other move to fist at the material of his shirt between them. There was still a lot to process and deal with, and the weight of the conversation still lingered but it was so easy to just get lost in this instead. Because Noct was solid and real and very much alive under his hands and Prompto hadn't realized how much he needed to feel that until now. So maybe he got a bit ahead of himself. A small moan as he felt Noct’s teeth against his lip, and Prompto shifted forward again with a very distinct roll of his hips against Noctis’ as he deepened the kiss. They'd done similar things before. It was impossible not to get a little handsy when you made out with someone as often as they did. But this felt distinctly different, and at least for Noctis, tinged with an edge of desperation. He'd been so tangled up in his own anxieties and lingering depression that this hadn't been possible earlier. They'd always stopped short of going too far. But now, oh, he wanted. "I love you," he said, gasping it the moment they broke the kiss to breathe. Noctis' eyes were shining as he gazed up at Prompto, though he didn't notice the unshed tears. There was too much happening. Too much he couldn't put into words beyond this one thing, this one feeling that seemed to engulf him the more time they spent together. Noctis leaned up to press his lips against Prompto's neck, gentle, just little presses of his mouth up along that pulse point. "I love you," he repeated, dragging an arm around his boyfriend to pull him in closer. To encourage him to move like that again. Noctis might not have noticed, but Prompto did. And he shifted his hand to gently run his thumb under Noct’s eyes, across the darker skin that spoke of an exhaustion no amount of sleep could seem to cure. Even still, Noctis was as achingly beautiful as Prompto remembered. And while he's used to the undercurrent of want that had been there for nearly as long as he'd even known what wanting was, it was so much more right then. That same sort of desperate edge to it that Noctis felt. “I love you, too,” he breathed out as goosebumps started to rise along his skin at the feel of Noct’s mouth on his neck. “So much,” and really Prompto knew there weren't even words to describe it. How Noct was everything, how nothing even felt right when they were apart. He took the hint for what it was and gave a pointed roll of his hips, grinding down more of his weight into Noctis’ lap. His forehead dropped to Noct’s shoulder as he repeated the move, nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “Noct…” he got out, his voice low, “we should - uhm - bed?” If only because one of them was likely to fall off the arm of the couch knowing them. Noctis cursed. Pretty colorfully. He wanted nothing more than to pick Prompto up and carry him to their bedroom, an image his mind so helpfully supplied in the heat of the moment. But he couldn't. He literally couldn't, and that helped to clear his mind quite a bit. Noctis dropped his head against his boyfriend's shoulder and groaned softly, half-aroused, half-annoyed with himself. For the first time, he actually regretted warping into certain death. Did this mean the Emperor of Niflheim was cockblocking him from beyond the grave? "Yeaaaaah. That's ... probably not gonna happen," he murmured, burying his face into Prompto's neck. He was less humiliated than he would've been when he first arrived in this world, mostly because this was Prompto. Noctis knew he wasn't being judged. But it was still vaguely embarrassing that a) he couldn't jump to his feet and walk wherever he wanted or b) the pain would probably stop them halfway through anyway. Dammit. Noctis cleared his throat, feeling distinctly awkward. "You can, um. Be mad at me again." Prompto shook his head and pressed his lips to where they could easily reach on the side of Noctis’ neck. “Nope,” he insisted. He wasn't - couldn't - be mad at Noctis for something like this. He did, however, shift off of his boyfriend’s lap and moved back to sit on the couch properly. He tugged on Noct’s hand to gently pull him along. Swapping their earlier positions but sans being precariously perched on the arm of the couch. He decidedly did not give Noctis much of a chance to fall further into his own doubt and awkwardness before he titled his head up to drag his lips across the side of Noctis’ neck. “This okay?” he asked, lips moving against skin as he did. He had a hand low on Noct’s hip on his uninjured side and his fingers sneaked under the hem of the tshirt to brush gently over bare skin. Noctis was so surprised by the role reversal that he went willingly, eyes a little wide. He was used to plowing ahead of everyone else, more often than not even leaving people behind, that actually having to slow down and be directed by someone else was ... very new. A little weird. But not entirely unpleasant? His movements were a little stiff as he settled onto Prompto's lap, though, mindful of his weight despite the fact that they were almost the same size. "It's — nnnng. Good," he answered, tilting his head back in offering. The touch to his side, though — to bare skin — sent a shock of arousal through him so strong he had to grab Prompto's hand a minute to stop him. Noctis inhaled sharply, then exhaled, forcing air into his lungs, then repeated the same thing again before he finally let go. "Okay," he said, and Noctis leaned his forehead against Prompto's, still a little overwhelmed, but ready to continue. "It's ... it's not pretty," he warned, in case his boyfriend did actually intend to take his shirt off. To soothe his nerves, Noctis reached up to card his fingers through Prompto's hair, the motion calming and pleasant. His boyfriend had seen the scar on his back already — and it was huge, but kind of cool, a fearsome thing that resembled lightning. The scar on his left side was ugly, a dark, angry red that had cut right through him to the other side. Not exactly a turn-on. He stilled his hand under the touch and waited for Noctis to let go, definitely not wanting to force past a comfort zone. He tilted his head up a little to watch too, waiting for the go ahead. He smirked a little at Noct’s words and shrugged. “Well, you did get stabbed,” he pointed out lightly. Another little smirk as his hand started to move again. Over skin and the ragged edges of the old scar before his palm splayed flat against Noctis’ back. He didn't make a move to take off the shirt, figured he'd let that one be Noct’s call. “Besides, the rest of you is pretty enough already,” which was to say he couldn't care less about some giant scar, no matter where it was. “I love you, Noct -" he started as he began to trail little kisses down the line of Noctis’ jaw and down his neck again. “I love you because you're smart and funny, because you make me feel like I can be so much more than what I am, because we can talk forever about nothing, because you're my best friend…” he titled his head back up again and smiled softly at Noctis. “And yeah, the fact I find you ridiculously hot helps, but it's not everything. Not even close. So some scar isn't going to change any of that, okay?” And he definitely meant more that just the physical scar from the attack and meant everything that came along with it. Noctis released a ragged breath when Prompto's fingers grazed the old scar on his back. It was such a light touch, but so achingly tender that it made him feel more vulnerable than he'd felt in a long time. Prompto was right -- his scars went far deeper than surface level, and Noctis didn't like talking about it, or even thinking about it for that matter. This was made easier when he could hide it under his clothes, but then Prompto was touching him, kissing him, and he felt shaky and raw, like this was the most intimate thing they could possibly be doing right now. "Prom —" Noctis' voice was hoarse, catching before he could even finish the word. Feeling the evidence of his boyfriend's love and acceptance had been one thing, but hearing it completely overwhelmed him. "Okay," Noctis responded, feeling winded and totally taken apart after Prompto's little speech. "I — okay. Yeah. Me too. For you." It wasn't the most elegant thing he'd ever said, but this conversation had dug deep and pinched a nerve. His scars weren't just representative of everything he'd fought, but also everything he'd lost. They were failures, too, marks of when he'd been reduced to his weakest point and almost hadn't survived. That Prompto could look at them and still love him was ... He laughed, a little watery, and leaned in for another kiss. They could work this out. They could do anything if they still had each other, and like hell Noctis was going to ever let him go. |