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Prompto blearily blinked his eyes open and wished he hadn’t. Everything hurt. The room smelled like antiseptic with faint traces of urine, which clearly spelled out “hospital”. He was lying belly-down with his wings drooping flat on either side of him over a metal railing that was consistent with “hospital bed”. A brief movement of his leg told him that his ankle was shackled to it. Not great, but better than the full-on jail cell he’d feared he’d wake in.
Where was Noct?
Prompto raised his head as much as he could. There was a Crownsguard sitting nearby on a chair, watching him silently.
When he went to speak, Prompto found that his mouth was dry as a desert. He coughed and tried to wet his lips, which were coated with some kind of grease. “Where’s Noct - Prince Noctis?” he managed to wheeze out. The Crownsguard, a woman in her 40s with reddish hair, who he did not recognise, looked surprised but did not reply.
“Please,” Prompto tried to say, but couldn’t, his voice cutting off into a gasp.
The Crownsguard’s demeanour didn’t change, but after a moment she said, “Look around you. If His Highness were dead, you’d be in a cell. He’s alive.”
Prompto’s forehead fell back onto his pillow as he grew dizzy with the relief that overwhelmed him.
Thank all the Six, and every messenger too. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Although he didn’t notice the Crownsguard get up to summon anyone, a few moments later a nurse entered the room. She checked on the IV he hadn’t previously noticed going into the back of his hand, then helped him drink some water through a straw.
“What’s your pain level?” she asked him.
“Seven,” Prompto said helplessly. He didn’t know if they would actually bother giving him pain medications. But the nurse produced a medical-grade potion and poured the contents into his IV bag. It was far weaker than the battlefield stuff, but oh, it was a glorious relief.
“Thank you,” said Prompto, and the nurse actually smiled at him.
As the pain subsided, he realised that he was he was starving. The Crownsguard, of course, couldn’t help him. But the nurse did, feeding him soup and apple sauce through the straw. He was fairly certain that his stomach could tolerate solid food, but they probably didn’t want to give him anything he could choke on. They’d be hard pressed to roll him over quickly with his wings splayed out like two dead weights on either side of him.
After that, Prompto closed his eyes and tried not to worry about Noctis, or about what was to become of himself. Fortunately, a doctor soon arrived, professional in their clean white coat with an enamel lapel pin of a unicorn. They introduced themselves as Dr. Pergamon.
“You didn’t do yourself any favours,” they started in a congenial tone, pulling up a chair to sit where Prompto could see them. “You’ve overworked or strained just about every muscle in your body, you were seriously dehydrated, and you had chapped all of your exposed skin, probably from wind shear. You had minor frostbite in your fingers and toes as well.”
While all of that was combining to suck hard in the moment, Prompto actually didn’t care what he’d done to himself. He felt more sorry for whoever had had to patch him up when they’d hauled his sorry feathered ass into this hospital. He would’ve gladly given an entire wing for Noctis if need be. Or both wings, really.
“I guess I’ll live?” Prompto asked lightly.
“You’re stable and shouldn’t require much intervention beyond pain killers and ointment for now,” Dr. Pergamon said. “However… I’m afraid you will likely need physical therapy, but we’ve never had a patient with wings before. Do you have access to any medical materials? An anatomical chart? Anything?”
“There’s a guide to emergency winged medicine in my house. It’s hidden in the wall behind the poster of Wiz’s Fantastic Chocobo Circus in my room. But I don’t know if the Kingsglaive raided my house after I left. If they haven’t, it’s not safe to go there. My parents -” Prompto cut off, unsure if he should be saying the more accurate “handlers” instead.
“They did raid it, and they got one of your handlers. Not sure which one,” the Crownsguard put in. “Don’t know if they got the book. I can find out.”
“Oh,” Prompto said, surprised at her forthrightness. He couldn’t help but ask, “Did they find the dossier in Noct - Prince Noctis’s apartment?”
It had been hidden behind the armoire in Noct’s guest room, which was functionally more of a storage room. Prompto’s exposé on Niflheim’s espionage in Lucis, list of active spies, the draft of his confession letter to Noctis… all of it was there. Prompto couldn’t remember what draft of the letter it was, and prayed it wasn’t #12…
“They found it,” the Crownsguard confirmed with a nod. Prompto swallowed.
“Okay,” he said. What was to become of him? Most likely scenario: they would probably have him deported to Accordo, since he had made them promise not to kill him or send him back to Niflheim right before he’d revealed his wings and offered to save Noctis’s life. Of course, they could always go back on their word. That promise surely wasn’t legally binding.
And Noctis… did he hate Prompto now? Would he want him dead for all his lies? Prompto wanted to press his face into the pillow and try not to feel so damned helpless, but he had to pay attention to Dr. Pergamon.
“Alright,” they were saying to the Crownsguard. “I’m aware that his criminal status is pending, but as a physician who swore an oath to help all patients I must ask you to please seek out that book as soon as you can. It will help us to ascertain the extent of the damage to his back and wing muscles, which will be vital to his treatment.”
The Crownsguard inclined her head. “As long as he’s allowed to be in this hospital, we’ll do our best to help within limited parameters. After the Council reaches a decision, you’ll either have our full co-operation or he won’t be your problem anymore.”
Although looking somewhat frustrated, Dr. Pergamon thanked the Crownsguard regardless.
“Is there anything else you want to bring to my attention?” the doctor asked Prompto, who shook his head. “Alright,” said Dr. Pergamon. “Don’t try to move about just yet. I’ll see you tomorrow, or as soon as we get that book.” They turned and headed towards the door. Then, they paused and looked back at the Crownsguard.
“I don’t suppose I have the clearance to know this, but… was it really quilux poison?”
“Yeah,” Prompto said, before the Crownsguard could stop him. He couldn’t help himself, what with the doctor treating him like a person and all.
“You do not have the clearance to know that,” the Crownsguard said, glaring at Prompto.
“Know what?” Dr. Pergamon said. Then they shook their head. “That stuff is no joke.” They left, leaving Prompto alone with the Crownsguard once more.
⁂
Prompto’s descent into defection from the Empire had begun, slowly but surely, on the day he’d met Noctis. It was that simple. All the propaganda in the world couldn’t hold up against Noctis’s honest, innocent expressions of kindness and friendship. How Prompto could have come from the same flesh as a man who couldn’t be touched by things like honest expressions of kindness and friendship, he would never know. That was the sort of thing that kept him up at night.
But what didn’t keep him up at night was his decision, starting roughly a year after he’d arrived in Lucis and begun his Normal Teenage High School Experience TM, to start dumbing down his reports. To protect his new best friend. Dumbing down turned to lying by omission, which soon turned to outright fabrication. Prompto had gleefully kept up the bullshit for years, all while trying to plan a way to explain everything to Noctis in a way that wouldn’t break his heart and get Prompto beheaded for treason. Did they still behead people for treason these days? Probably not, but he also didn’t want to make King Regis so mad that he brought it back just for him.
Prompto’s dossier wasn’t complete, but it had all the major elements it needed, the really big ones being copies of all the written reports he’d ever given to his handlers and a list of all the agents and suspected agents that Prompto knew of in Lucis. The latter item he’d finished just a month prior. Not a moment too fucking soon. The reason he was in his current predicament was because Niflheim had gotten tired of Prompto’s apparent stupidity and had decided to just take the prince out with quilux poison.
Quilux poison was a nasty substance which caused all the muscles in the body to slowly lock up until the victim died in agony. It took 48 hours to do this. By the time Noctis had been diagnosed, 12 of his 48 hours were up and he was already sweating solely from the pain of it. The only way to cure quilux poison was to make an anti-venom from quilux quills. The quilux lived on high mountains in Niflheim. That was why this specific poison had been chosen for Noctis: because the Lucians didn’t have the technology or the winged anatomy to get to Niflheim and get the quills within 48 hours, much less 36.
What they did have on their side, although they didn’t know it, was one feathered turncoat who would sacrifice his wings, life, and dignity for his best friend (who just happened to be their prince) gladly, without question, and without regret. They also had a rumoured quilux sighting in Accordo.
And so, naturally, Prompto had extracted that no-murder-allowed promise from a room full of people after the doctors had delivered the diagnosis to King Regis, then dramatically took off the micro-tesseract device he wore on his back to hide his wings, and bared his white and gold feathers for everyone to see.
“I’ll go,” he’d said. “You’ve got nothing to lose. If I don’t go, he dies. If I fail, he dies. If I’m lying and I’m just running away, he dies. But if I go and I succeed, then he lives. So give me a map and let me get my guns, and I’ll go.”
Prompto had flown non-stop to the mountains of Accordo, hunted that damn quilux, and shot it D-E-A-D. After carefully plucking as many quills as he could fit in his rucksack (lined, so the sharp tips wouldn’t prick his back and poison him while he was in flight), Prompto had then made the non-stop journey back to Lucis. Rather than making a graceful landing in front of the Citadel, he had face-planted onto the net they’d set out to catch him, blood dripping from his lips and nose. The rucksack had been ripped from his back. He’d thought he heard someone say, “Prompto Argentum, you are under ar-”
But that was all they’d been able to get out before he had fainted.
And now he was in this hospital, body aching and ankle cuffed to a bed...
⁂
One week later
The Council was composed mainly of older people, but there were a few younger faces among them, notably King Regis and Clarus Amicitia in the middle tier, and Noctis and a dark-skinned young woman who Prompto recognised as the Minister of Energy from Lestallum at the younger end. Gladio and Ignis were there too, but they were standing behind Noctis against the wall rather than seated at the table. There were several other bodyguards and advisers standing behind their respective ministers, so the room was pretty crowded.
Everyone present seemed sober and distant, but Prompto had eyes only for Noctis. His best friend was wearing a dark suit with a purple silk tie, held by a mother-of-pearl tie pin. His impenetrable expression was making Prompto nervous, although at least it wasn’t outright hostility.
Prompto had had to be wheeled into the room in an extra large wheelchair, and was now sitting at the far end of the table with his wings bound shut behind him so that his own muscles didn’t have to strain to keep them folded. Given their size, however, they were clearly visible behind him and the tips of his feathers were barely a foot from brushing the ground.
Because of the wings, he hadn’t even been able to dress for the occasion, as his wing-friendly clothing was all casual. Prompto felt small. The only thing that kept his head held high was the conviction that he’d done the right thing, that he’d always done his best to do the right thing. He just hoped he could show it to Noctis before it was too late.
“Please state your name,” said the Council scribe.
“Prompto Argentum.”
“And your occupation?”
“Student at Insomnia Institute for Visual Arts.”
“Don’t you mean spy?” said some old greybeard, who was in fact the esteemed Minister of Agriculture and Dux of Cleigne.
Looking the Minister of Agriculture dead in the eyes, Prompto said, “No, ser. I defected. I’m no good as a double agent since I made my alliance to the Lucian crown clear in a very public way. So I would say ex-spy, if it needs to be noted. Ser.”
Although Prompto had expected to be tested, this was the most blatant and obvious testing imaginable. His answer had been overkill, which might have offended some delicate sensibilities. But the only people here whose opinions really mattered were Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio. They were his audience, not the Minister of anything.
“And what prompted you to defect from Niflheim?” the Minister of Labour asked calmly.
“I wanted to save Prince Noctis’s life, ser.”
“And why would a spy from Niflheim want to save the life of the crown prince of Lucis?” said another greybeard, sitting beside the first - the Minister of Commerce and Dux of Duscae.
“Because Prince Noctis is my best friend,” Prompto said, the strength of his conviction ringing throughout the room.
Many an eyebrow raised. Prompto thought he saw the tiniest of smiles grace Noctis’s lips, but before he could be certain, it was gone.
“That’s your only reason?” asked the Vidame of the Vesperpool, still calmly but with a trace of scepticism in her voice.
“Yes, ser.”
Now Prompto noticed the corners of King Regis’s eyes turned up. There was a bit of uncertain shuffling at the table. The Minister of Energy said, with a lilt of humour in her voice, “And can you tell us why your friendship with Prince Noctis means so much to you that you’d risk your life for it?”
Oh sweet, someone’s on my side, Prompto thought, knowing she hadn’t pointed out the risk to himself by accident. He took a deep breath. “It’s like I said in my confession letter. ‘When all the people around you want to use you, and one guy doesn’t want anything from you but to be your friend, that becomes the most important relationship in your life. None of the propaganda in the world can hold up in the face of real love.’”
It was a risk to label what he shared with Noctis as “love”. He didn’t want to have to explain the intricacies of platonic love to them, and this would rapidly become awkward if they had confession letter draft #12.
In a desert, Noctis is the water. In a tundra, he is the fire. In the night, he is the stars.
“Love?” the Minister of Agriculture said.
“He is my best friend,” Prompto simply repeated.
This was the beginning of a long barrage of questions about all the stuff he’d put in his confession dossier. He knew they were testing him again, but since everything he had said was true it was easy to pass. All the while, Noctis kept a neutral expression. A few council members seemed to encourage him, while a few others seemed set in their dislike of him. That wasn’t particularly surprising. Prompto just hoped their opinions would balance out to be neutral towards him in the end.
“I believe we have heard enough to come to a decision,” King Regis announced at last. A Crownsguard wheeled Prompto out into the hallway, and the Council room doors closed behind him.
⁂
They took Prompto to a formal sitting room with a sofa he wished he could flop over, even though it was one of those hard-backed antique ones that was probably stuffed with garula hair. Unfortunately, he had to stay in the wheelchair. He had recovered to the point where he mostly had control over all his limbs, but he got stiff very easily and he didn’t know how fast he’d have to get back into the chair if he got out of it. A servant arrived to offer him sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a cup of tea. Fuck yeah, no more soup and apple sauce.
…If only Prompto wasn’t so anxious he only managed one half of a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich.
Since he couldn’t flop, he wished he could pace. He rocked the wheelchair back and forth, tapped his foot, and hummed. The Crownsguard seemed to be getting annoyed, but it wasn’t her best friendship and also life on the line, it was Prompto’s. For once, he didn’t even bother feeling guilty about taking up so much space. It was inevitable under the circumstances.
Finally, finally, finally someone came to tell him he could go back to the Council room. He suspected that they had already discussed what was to become of him prior to this day, maybe even more than once, or a few hours wouldn’t have been enough for them to come to a final decision.
It was with beating heart and clammy hands that Prompto was wheeled into the Council room once more. Although he tried to hide his nerves, he had to clench his fist against his leg.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, will now announce the Council’s findings,” King Regis said gravely.
Startled, Prompto turned his gaze to Noctis. Impenetrable as ever, dammit. What did it all mean?
Noctis began to read from a paper stamped with the letterhead of the Crown.
“The penalty for treason and espionage is death.”
Prompto breathed out hard through his nose.
“However, Lucian law includes a provision of asylum for foreign agents who sincerely and wholeheartedly defect to the Crown.”
Prompto knew this. However, that law didn’t apply to him, because it had a time limit. The defection had to come within a year of entering Lucis. He’d been there for five.
Yet Noctis continued in his most formal register, “The pre-prepared dossier you provided upon defecting and the contents of your interview with this Council strongly suggest that your defection was sincere and wholehearted. However, as your activities in Lucis involved a personal relationship with the Crown, it was left to Us to decide whether the personal injury We suffered due to your dishonesty should weigh against you.”
Prompto’s gaze flicked to King Regis, who had always been courteous towards him, and his heart clenched. If only he’d defected sooner. If only he could take it all back…
“We unanimously agreed that Our personal relationship with you should not be taken into account.”
Did that mean that King Regis and Noctis weren’t angry enough with Prompto to personally want vengeance on him? Gods, Prompto hoped that was what that meant.
“Therefore, in light of your service to Lucis through the saving of my life from quilux venom, we have decided to penalise you solely for the lateness of your defection. You will be protected by the legal provision which protects foreign agents from accusations and charges of treason, but you must serve a sentence in accordance with the four years you failed to defect after the appropriate date.”
It took all of Prompto’s willpower not to let his jaw just gape open like an idiot. They weren’t going to charge him with treason? Like, at all? Not even a little bit?
With his head spinning, he had to concentrate hard to comprehend what Noctis said next:
“Firstly, you will be required to write sincere apology letters to the Crown, the Council, and the people of Lucis. Secondly, we have sentenced you to a year in jail, which is to be suspended indefinitely due to your physical condition. Finally, in order to prove your commitment to Lucis and its people, you will be required to perform community service for at least one year. This must be completed no less than two years from the date of sentencing. The government will approve or deny any community service associations or projects you wish to take part in. This is a full reckoning of the sentence passed upon you today by the Council and Crown of Lucis. Do you have any questions?”
For a moment, Prompto just sat there stupidly, although at least his mouth was closed. He looked from Noctis to each of the other members of the Council. Gladio was the only one who was showing any emotion - he was smirking at the bewildered expression that presumably was plastered across Prompto’s face.
Finally, words came out. “I - I - thank you. Thank you for the chance to prove my loyalty. No questions. You won’t regret it.”
“Then I declare this hearing complete. The Council is dismissed,” said King Regis. Noctis handed the paper he had been reading from to the Council’s scribe.
People got up and began to file out of the room. Some of them, including the Minister of Energy, came over and shook his hand. Even King Regis gave him a kindly nod. Soon, the only people in the room with Prompto were Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio.
The silence seemed to become loud. The three of them were just looking at him, and Prompto’s brain felt like it was turning to mush as he tried to process everything at once. But he knew what he had to say.
“I’m sorry, Noct,” Prompto blurted out. “I’m so fucking sorry that I -”
“Risked your life to save mine?” Noctis interrupted him.
“Yes - no - I - what?” Prompto stuttered. Gladio laughed, and Noctis and Ignis’s formal attitudes seemed to melt away. A small smile graced Noctis’s lips.
“Aren’t you mad at me?!” Prompto said, still completely bewildered.
“Nah.”
“What?!” Was Noctis teasing him? How was Noctis in the mood for teasing right now?
“I was pissed until I read your confession letter. Then I realised that you didn’t betray me. You betrayed my enemy for me. Can’t be mad about that.”
“We all feel that way,” Ignis put in.
Noctis’s eyes were warm. Prompto swallowed, trying to blink away the tears that had suddenly sprung to his.
“Oh…” he said. “Yeah. I did do that.” He took a deep breath, and lifted his head. “And I’d do it again. Any time you want.”
“We get it, you’ll kill anyone who looks at him funny,” Gladio said, and Prompto had to laugh.
“Hey…” he said to Noctis, trying not to sound pathetic. “Can you come here?”
Noctis smiled, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle up into beautiful little crescents. “Yeah.”
Noctis Lucis Caelum, crown prince of Lucis, got down on his knees before the wheelchair of one Prompto Argentum, winged spawn of Verstael Besithia and ex-spy for the Niflheim government. He put his arms around Prompto, and hugged him.
A moment later, Prompto felt a hand on his arm and a hand ruffling his hair. Ignis and Gladio, joining the group hug as best they could. Noctis let him cling as much as he wanted, and Prompto’s throat swelled with emotion once more. He’d thought he might never get to hug his friends again.
“Alright, come on,” Noctis said when Prompto finally let go of him. “I need to get out of this suit.”
Gladio took the handles of Prompto’s wheelchair and the four of them set off through the halls of the Citadel.
“Um… where are we going?” Prompto said. If there was anyone who he didn’t mind having steer him to some random location it was his friends, but he did kinda want to be prepared.
“Just my room,” Noctis said, referring to the mini suite reserved for him at the Citadel, which he stayed at sometimes instead of his apartment. “I have to stay there right now ‘cause I’m under medical supervision.”
“Medical supervision? I thought you were cured,” Prompto said, looking up at Noct. He seemed to be walking fine. Just his usual slight limp. And he didn’t look tired or pale, despite the lengthy hearing.
“I’m fine,” Noctis said reassuringly. “They’re just being cautious. My muscles randomly lock up sometimes, so they want to be right there to stab me with some more antivenom if it doesn’t go away on its own.”
“You brought back enough quills to cure three of him, so they’ve been very enthusiastic about dolling them out,” Ignis said as they got into an elevator. Noctis pressed the ‘up’ button and swiped his ID to go to a maximum security clearance floor.
“Anyway,” Noctis said, “You’re not allowed to go back to your house because it’s a crime scene, so you’re staying with me. I mean, if you want to.”
“What? Yeah, of course I want to. But really?” Prompto said.
“Stop asking dumb questions,” Gladio said, flicking the back of Prompto’s head with one hand.
“Ow.”
“Must you put him right back into the hospital so soon, Gladio?” Ignis deadpanned. Noctis and Gladio chuckled, and Prompto’s spirits started to soar.
The elevator dinged, and they disembarked on the residential floor of the Citadel. By the time they had made their way down the hall to Noctis’s room, Prompto had enough emotional pep in his achey little body that he wanted to get out of the chair and bounce around like he always did. Tragically, he knew better than to try. When they went inside, he saw that the couch that was normally in the centre of the room had been pushed out of the way, and there was a surprisingly wide bed against the far wall, presumably for him. There was also a little tower of cardboard boxes, the size used for moving house.
“What are those?” Prompto said, examining the boxes for any clue as to their contents.
“It’s your stuff,” Noctis explained. “Non-suspicious items like clothes that they took out of your apartment and said you could have right away.”
“You’ll never get your laptop or phone back, I’m afraid. We are attempting to liberate your photography equipment, however,” Ignis said as Gladio wheeled Prompto over to the small space between the bed and the doorway to Noctis’s room and parked him there, facing the TV.
“My cameras?” Prompto said in dismay. But although he loved those cameras, the more important thing was the stockpile of photos he’d taken with them. Having his life and Noctis and his friends back was all that really mattered. But since he had all of those things, then was it okay for him to worry about this minor concern?
“Um… did they give any of my shoes back?” Prompto said, trying to be casual.
“What did you hide in them?” Gladio said instantly.
“Foot stink, probably,” Prompto snorted, even as his heart skipped a beat. There was absolutely a micro SD filled with all his photos hidden inside his Doc Martens.
Noctis opened the top cardboard box and looked inside. “Yeah, your running shoes are in here and so’s a pair of Converse.”
“You can just tell us. We won’t tell,” Gladio pressed.
“What you don’t know about won’t get you into trouble,” Prompto retorted, knowing he was tipping his hand but no longer willing to outright lie to his friends.
“We did just save you from being declared an enemy of the state,” Ignis commented in a seemingly neutral tone.
“And I just killed an animal that throws its deadly poisonous spines twenty feet in all directions with just me, my wings, and a gun, all to save Noct’s life,” Prompto retorted. “You can’t blackmail me.”
“Oh come on, it’s obviously his photos,” Noctis said, emerging from the second box with Prompto’s Doc Martens.
Thank Shiva.
Heart feeling lighter, Prompto grinned. “Cut it out you guys, I used to be the bestest junior spy in all of Zegnautus Keep, can’t you give me a break? My evil reputation is ruined enough as it is.”
“Just admit it,” Gladio said, smirking.
“Never!”
They were still staring at each other playfully when Prompto suddenly realised just how tired and hungry he was.
“I feel faint,” he said dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. “Anyone got any chicken nuggets?”
Ignis checked the time on his watch. “Good heavens.”
After that, they called down to the kitchens for some dinner. Prompto started to sag, his brief adrenaline high wearing off. Eventually, Ignis and Gladio took their leave, and Prompto flopped on his stomach on the bed. He really wanted to undo the binding holding his wings in place, but it was awkward for him to do it on his own. Instead, he just closed his eyes. The darkness grew deeper as Noctis turned off the lights.
The soft sounds of the TV filled the room as Noctis turned it on at a low volume, the way Prompto liked it. For a moment, it felt like any other sleepover in the living room of Noctis’s apartment. Then, Prompto felt the bed dip on one side as Noctis sat down on it.
“Hey, do you want me to take this thing off of you?” Noctis said, giving a gentle tug at the wing binding so Prompto would know what he was talking about without having to open his eyes.
“Yeah,” Prompto said in a pitiful voice. Noctis chuckled.
“Hang on,” he said. A few moments later, Prompto felt the binding loosen. Noctis undid it slowly, so that Prompto’s wings eased apart. Finally they settled down on either side of him, not fully splayed out but resting gently on the covers.
Noctis laughed, and Prompto’s eyes popped open. Narrowing his eyes, he turned his head so he could see Noctis’s face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your feathers are a mess.”
“So fix them, you ass.”
Uncertainty crossed Noctis’s face, and for a moment Prompto thought - what if he thinks my wings are weird? What if they’re unnatural to him?
Then, Noctis said, “Um… how?”
Prompto breathed out. Deciding he’d already had enough heart attacks today and didn’t need to have any more, he turned his face back into his pillow. “Just straighten them. Gently. Don’t go yanking on them.”
He waited, trying not to read too much into Noctis’s silence. The TV provided a soothing backdrop of random words to focus on, so Prompto tried to just let them slip in and out of his ears. Big gulp slushie for 99 cents… see the new Meteor Water Park outside Lestallum… fast passes available…
Then, he felt the gentlest and most hesitant touch caress the feathers at the top of one wing.
Abort. Abort. Why the hell hadn’t Prompto anticipated the consequences of letting Noctis touch his wings for the first time? He’d wanted it, which was why he’d jokingly pushed Noctis into it, but he hadn’t really thought fully about how it would be so -
Well, nobody had ever really touched his wings like that before. So… tenderly? Was that the word?
I am absolutely screwed.
“It’s so soft,” Noctis said wonderingly, continuing to gently set Prompto’s feathers to rights.
“It’s a wing,” Prompto half-laughed.
There must have been something off in his voice, because Noctis asked, “Is this okay?” His voice was soft in his uncertainty.
“Yeah,” Prompto said, glad his breathlessness was muffled by the pillow. “You’re fine, Noct.” He hesitated, and then, in a quiet voice,
“I like it.”
“Oh.”
Prompto breathed out deeply through his nose. Noctis was using both hands now, running them through Prompto’s feathers and stopping to fix problems he found along the way.
“They’re full of - is this salt?,” Noctis observed without judgement.
“That’s what happens when you fly too low over an ocean on the way back from Accordo and don’t take a bath after,” Prompto said. He risked a peek up at Noctis, who was looking at Prompto’s wings with deep concentration.
“Should I clean them?”
Prompto hesitated, feeling that asking that of Noctis would be too much. “Only if you want to,” he finally said.
“Okay. Get off this blanket, though. I dunno how salty it is in there. Lie on the sheet instead. It’s easier to wash.”
Prompto chuckled at Noctis bossing him around, but easily rolled onto one side so Noctis could tug the blanket out from under him, then to the other so it could be removed from the bed entirely.
“Do you have, like, a brush or something?” Noctis said, already going over to Prompto’s cardboard boxes. “Never mind. Found it.”
He brandished Prompto’s wing brush, which was large and had extremely soft bristles. Prompto gave a sigh and stretched out his wings as much as he comfortably could. Noctis returned to the bed, then started brushing from the top of one wing to the feather-tips below. Prompto was glad that Noctis seemed to have instinctively gathered that feathers were meant to be brushed in only one direction. Every so often, Noctis would pause to remove a larger bit of grit with his fingers, or straighten one of Prompto’s many crooked feathers. The bright colours of the TV played over his face, making him look like a stained glass window come to life, or perhaps a neon angel.
For his part, Prompto was just melting. Exhaustion gripped him and he sank into Noctis’s warm and gentle hands. It was bliss, but it was overwhelming. If he didn’t think about it and just let the experience wash over him, he would be okay.
Maybe it was the intense relaxation he was feeling. Maybe it was just that Prompto was a damn motormouth who would lose the quiet game faster than any kindergartener. Maybe it was that this was the last thing on his mind that was bothering him, and he needed to get rid of it before he could truly let go. But something possessed him to open his eyes and finally ask, “Hey, um, Noct… what version of the confession letter was in that dossier when you found it?”
Noctis paused.
Oh, shit, Prompto thought, anticipating what that pause meant.
“There were two copies in there. One was eleven, and one was twelve.”
“Did the Council see —”
“No,” Noctis interrupted calmly. “I took twelve.”
“Oh,” Prompto said miserably. “You read it.”
“Yeah,” Noctis said, and he actually smiled. “Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”
“What?” Prompto exclaimed. He almost sat up, but Noctis pushed him down with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You do? No way. So does this mean —”
Noctis’s expression faltered, and Prompto closed his mouth. Maybe Noctis couldn’t go out with him for political reasons or something, and Prompto was just making this awkward.
“We can’t go out,” Noctis confirmed. He seemed genuinely regretful, so Prompto groaned theatrically.
“Why not?”
“’Cause the Council will think I had ulterior motives for fighting so hard to get you pardoned, and they might try to reconsider the sentence without me,” Noctis explained. That made sense. If there was one thing Prompto did not want, it was for his nice, light, community service and apology letter sentence to be overturned. So that sucked. But it wasn’t Noctis’s fault, so maybe, in the future…
“Buuuut,” Noctis continued. “We can do all the shit we normally do, and also make out in secret. If you wanna.”
Prompto sucked in a surprised breath. Then he blinked. And laughed.
“You’re on,” he said, lightly punching Noctis’s leg. “And maybe in a few months, or years…?”
“Yeah, we can go out.” Noctis grinned. “Thanks to Queen Crepera I can be as gay as I want, so don’t worry about that.”
He was referring to one of his ancestors, The Rogue, a woman who famously had taken a female lover and then gone to the trouble of making laws about succession in the royal family when the royal couple couldn’t conceive on their own. That meant gay was okay in Lucis, even if you were literal royalty.
But didn’t thinking about that mean that Noctis was thinking about a future future with Prompto? Like a get-married-and-have-kids future?
Pushing that startling thought aside for the moment, Prompto just smiled up at Noctis, knowing his expression was probably mushy and embarrassing. It was so nice to be able to do that openly now, at least when they were alone.
“Tragically, making out is off the menu until I get more physical therapy, but the second they say I’m kinda cured, you should watch out.” Prompto gave Noctis a cheesy wink.
Noctis laughed, but then said, “Are you really okay with it having to be like this?”
Prompto snorted. “Of course I am, dude. I just want to be with you and I don’t care about anything else. And come on. It’s not like this secret-keeping shit is new. At least now I can put my evil spy powers to good use.”
“Council-certified not evil,” Noctis retorted.
“Hey,” Prompto said, grinning evilly. “I think we should see how long it takes Ignis and Gladio to figure out we’re together. And if it takes more than a month, you can start leaving really obvious hickies on me and I’ll start wearing turtlenecks.”
Noctis laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Prompto cajoled him.
After that, they lapsed into silence again as Noctis took up the brush again and moved onto Prompto’s other wing.
“You’re really good at this,” Prompto murmured, his eyelids growing heavy.
“Don’t fall asleep. I have to change the sheets,” Noctis said. He did this, while Prompto dozed on the couch, letting commercials for lasagne and coca-cola wash over him. After Noctis put clean sheets back on the bed, Prompto crawled in and almost instantly fell asleep. The last thing he remembered was Noctis beside him, stroking his feathers with tender amazement. That was how Prompto felt, too. Tender and amazed.
⁂
The next morning, Prompto woke up to a warm presence nestled under one of his wings, pressed up against his side. He felt soft breaths ruffling his feathers, and smiled. Noctis must have fallen asleep there accidentally. Maybe it had been the kind of accident that one hopes will happen and one sort of nudges along. Either way, he didn’t mind.
He did mind a moment later when he stretched a bit. It seemed that sleeping with a large lump under one of his wings hadn’t been the best idea for someone who had to warm up his muscles every morning before he could use them like a real human again.
Prompto let out an involuntary groan. It was quiet, but it made Noctis stir. That was even worse.
“Ow! Crap! Cut that out!”
Prompto’s pained tone of voice must have roused Noctis faster than usual, because moments later Noctis said, “Prompto? What’s wrong?”
“You fell asleep under my wing and it’s hurty. Can you scoot out from under it very, very slowly?”
There was a moment of silence, and then -
“Sorry about that,” Noctis said.
“Nah, it’s - well, normally I wouldn’t mind. It’s just the whole ‘wings got fucked up from flying to Accordo’ thing. I’ll be your feather blanket all you want when they’re recovered.”
“You’re nice and toasty,” Noctis commented, which made Prompto giggle. Then, Noctis ever-so-slowly shuffled his way to the tip of Prompto’s wing. To slip out from under it he had to ninja-roll off the bed and onto the floor. Prompto laughed at the sight of him, with his hair sticking up in all directions and a tiny, loose feather peeking out on one side.
“Now who needs brushing?” he teased.
Before Noctis could fire back a sleepy retort, there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” said Noctis, raising his voice so whoever was outside could hear. He yawned widely, looking unsurprised at the intrusion.
Two nurses entered, one bearing down on Noctis and one bearing down on Prompto, holding what looked like photocopied pages from the Niflheim military guide to emergency winged medicine. Noctis followed his nurse into his bedroom, while Prompto’s introduced herself and said that while he was at the Citadel, she would be taking care of him. She was there to walk him through some morning stretches, which they had already explained at the hospital, but okay. Prompto guessed he was a higher priority now that he was Noctis’s guest and also not guilty of treason.
After the stretches, the nurses departed and a servant came in with breakfast.
“This is why I have an apartment. It’s a circus around here,” Noctis grumbled. Prompto suspected he was grumpy because he had wanted to go back to sleep after rolling out of Prompto’s bed.
After they ate, Prompto arranged himself comfortably on the bed with one of those big pillows that was like a portable armchair back, and sat and watched some anime. It was a simple pleasure he feared he’d never be able to truly enjoy again, if all the joy had been sucked out of his life by Noctis’s death or by having to suddenly move away. Noctis left the rooms for a time, then came back with a shoe-box which he put on the bed next to Prompto.
“I got you something,” he said.
Pausing the TV, Prompto looked up. “What?” he said, looking at the box. “For me?”
Noctis nodded, so Prompto took it and opened the lid. Inside he found several pieces of silver metal which were clearly designed with the Lucian Crown in mind - all skulls, wings, swords, and rosettes. The larger shapes of these pieces reminded him of the wing caps that some members of the Niflheim military wore as part of their armour.
“What are they?” Prompto asked.
“It’s wing jewellery,” Noctis said, looking proud of himself. “It’s since you can’t hide your wings right now.” True, Prompto couldn’t use his normal technology on them while they were healing. “I figured that if you had some stuff that represents the Crown, then people won’t look at you and go ‘Oh shit, an evil Niflheim guy with wings,’ they’ll think, ‘Hey, that Niflheim guy is actually cool,’ and then they won’t be dicks to you or call the cops.”
Noctis looked extremely pleased with himself. For his part, Prompto was touched.
“Wow, Noct, that’s really nice of you,” he said. “How’d you design them, though? They don’t look… like the stuff I’m used to. But I’m sure they’re great!”
Still preening a little, Noctis said, “That wing medicine guide you gave us had a section about not getting hit in the first place, and it had some basic designs for wing armour. I took those pages to the Citadel’s armourer and told him to go nuts with the symbolism, and this is what he came up with on short notice.”
Prompto chuckled, since the armourer really had gone nuts with the symbolism. “Well, let’s see if they fit,” he said. “Give me a hand?”
“Sure.” Noctis lifted one of the largest pieces from the box and Prompto stretched out his wing to allow Noctis to fit it over the crest. It had little combs on the underside to anchor it to his feathers securely. Prompto flexed his wing.
“Not perfect, but pretty comfortable. The shape is just slightly weird. But it looks awesome. Thanks Noct. You da best!”
Noctis put the matching wing crest cuff on the other wing. Then he stood back to admire how they looked.
“Yeah, I see what you mean about the shape. But they look pretty good. Although they really should be gold, to match your feathers and hair. And your freckles.”
Prompto felt himself blushing a little. He always did when Noctis said something nice about his freckles.
“So what’s the rest of this?” he said, shaking the box lightly so the contents would rattle.
Noctis looked down at it. “Oh, that’s just some stuff the armourer made up that he wanted you to try. We weren’t sure if any of it would work. After you try it all on I’ll tell him what you like best and he’ll remake it with more accurate measurements.”
“Really?” Prompto said in surprise before he could stop himself. “I mean - dude. Okay. Real talk. I expected you to be at least a little mad at me for being from Niflheim, but you’re out here taking care of me and getting me custom Lucis-themed wing jewellery. Um… why?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Noctis tilted his head. “I just want other people to see you how I see you.”
“Which is?” Prompto said shyly.
Noctis gave a small smile. “A Lucian citizen, for starters.”
“Oh…” Prompto said, feeling his heart melt once more.
“You’ve more than earned your place among us. You are the first winged Lucian. Nobody is gonna be judging you for your wings when I’m around.”
Prompto had no words to express how grateful he was for the staggering faith that Noctis was placing in him. He simply shook his head. “What did I do to deserve you, Noct?”
“Saved my life?”
Prompto cracked a smile. “Oh, yeah, that. Fair.”
Reaching into the box, he withdrew another piece of Noctis’s armourer’s makeshift wing jewellery. They went through every piece in the box, noting how each one sat amongst Prompto’s feathers. The entire time, Prompto marvelled at how his situation had changed. A week ago, he’d feared he’d soon be homeless, friendless, and nationless, an exile. Now he was assured of a home, friends, and a country where he would be accepted and respected. The proof of all three of those things was currently sitting on the crests of his wings.
Finally, the future was clear: Prompto would always be by Noctis’s side.
⁂
“I know I gave you some shit yesterday, but your wings really are beautiful,” Noctis said, tilting his head and giving Prompto a warm smile which had his stomach doing flips.
“Flatterer,” Prompto said. Before he could lose his nerve, he had grabbed Noctis by the collar and hauled him towards him, then kissed Noctis’s mouth.
It was just a brief brush of lips, but it did absolutely nothing to stop those pesky stomach flips. In fact, it seemed to have made them worse. Who would’ve guessed that would happen.
“Prompto!” Noctis said in surprise. He seemed to be flushing slightly, which Prompto was proud of. “Hey, none of that until you’re better,” Noctis said, smoothing down the front of his jacket.
Prompto gave a slightly hysterical giggle. “Oh, come on.”
“You made that rule yourself!”
“Why the hell did I do that?”
“I dunno. Common sense, probably.”
Noctis laughed and Prompto did too, heart so light he didn’t need his wings to fly.
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