It takes Prompto three years to ask. In his defense, the world sort of ends in the meantime, so different things take priority. But one Wednesday Prompto leans against the kitchen counter in their crappy apartment in Lestallum and blurts it out.
"Absolutely not," Ignis says, voice flat and shoulders straight, and Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and imagines a thousand ways his request might hurt. He bites his tongue.
"I fail to see why," Ignis continues, the way he's good at sounding reasonable when he's just being mean to himself. "I understand the appeal of a good freakshow, but I'd hope…"
"No," Prompto says, horrified. "Shit, Iggy, no, never!"
Ignis stares past him, silent, and so Prompto clenches his fists and gives up his best-kept secret.
"Everything is so ugly right now," he says. "The entire world. I want to take photos of something really beautiful. For me, it's mostly you."
He tries not to squirm. Ignis will let him down gently, but he'd like to go away to lick his wounds now, thank you very much.
"All right," Ignis says, instead. "Now?"
He is kind enough not to laugh when Prompto trips over his own feet in haste.