downrightfierce | 007. prompto/noctis; and i dare you to forget

those marks you left across my neck

Prompto can remember vividly the first time he saw Noctis. A face between a sea of faces when the Prince had suddenly been enrolled in their school. More beautiful than anyone their age had any right to be and the first time Prompto can vividly remember even thinking that about another person. But more than that he remembers looking at Noct and thinking oh. That there was something almost familiar, like the loneliness he himself felt was mirroring back in the other boys’ face. He remembers aching, longing, in those years between his failed first attempt at an introduction and the day he succeeded. But he hadn’t been ready and he knew it. More than just the weight it had been some inherent knowledge that if he was to befriend Noctis he had to be more. Appear happier, lighter, more outgoing. So that was what he became.

So maybe it had seemed instantaneous. The sudden presence he was, the fierceness of his loyalty from the get go. But it wasn’t. It had been years in the making despite not saying a word.

Prompto remembers the moment he knew. When it hit him in crystal clarity that he liked Noct. That all those little flares of warmth at the smallest touch, tingles down his spine and the way his thoughts would drift were the sign of something more. It hadn’t been anything big, just another day like every other day. But Noct turned in his desk, titled his head just so and in the afternoon light that came in from the window it was enough to make Prompto’s heart pound and he knew. He liked Noct. Liked liked.

And really once he’d let that in it was alarmingly quick how fast love crept up.

The shitty thing about being seventeen and in love with your best friend who happened to be a fucking prince was — well, that you were seventeen and in love with your best friend who happened to be a fucking prince. And one day you’ll sit in history class and see your future mapped out for you in black and white, a very helpful diagram of all the ways you don’t belong. Generations of Lucian Kings and their Queens. A honest to gods flow chart spelling out the hopelessness of your misplaced feelings. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t known before then, he had. But it was somehow different in that moment, seeing it laid out just so. Tracing lines with your finger to get to the most important person in your life and feel the history behind him. The path that never strayed from a predefined course, that never veered to and the prince fell in love with his best friend and they lived happily ever after.. He remembers that day too. So vividly it might as well have been yesterday.

The gut punch feeling of knowing even if there was any hope in hell that Noct might feel the same way too, Noct could never be his. Not like that.

That was the moment Prompto knew he couldn’t complicate it. No matter how much he wanted or longed, no matter how often his thoughts strayed to knowing what it would be like to kiss Noct, to feel his skin under fingers, to be with him… he couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything about it. They had no future, not in any romantic sense. And Noct needed a friend more than he needed an ex.

Which had done Prompto well up until all of twelve hours ago give or take.

He’s wide awake. Staring up at the ceiling and the feeling of Noct’s body — naked because they had fucking done things the night before — still entangled with his is… hard. And perfect. So perfect that it actually hurts and Prompto honestly isn’t sure if he would have been better off not knowing. But he does know. He knows how Noct kisses, he knows how Noct feels under his hands, he knows how he sounds when he comes and it’s this giant swirl of perfect wrongness running through him.

I’m getting hitched -

The words keep pushing forward, reminding Prompto in no uncertain terms that he fucked up. That years of keeping his feelings and wants in check was now down the drain. He untangles himself as gently as he can from Noct, trying not to look too long at him. Legs swing over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the ground and he just sits there, fingers curling into the edge of the mattress as he lets out a shaky breath. What the hell were they supposed to do now.