001. promtpo/ardy!noct

[heavyweighsthe]

( It had been too easy. Really. To find the crack in the Crowned Prince's little ragtag band of travelers. Not the older two. No. Theirs was duty first, emotion second. No. It was the younger one. Prompto. The one where all the lines run so blurred. Not entirely duty, not entirely friends. Something more, something useful in its intensity. Of all people, Prompto. And oh how convenient that was. Noctis, the Chosen King, and his greatest weakness was a boy born in the Empire itself. There was a certain irony to it that Ardyn found endlessly amusing. Maybe that's why he goes the extra mile. Maybe that's why it's not enough to simply take the young blonde, keep him hidden while dear Noctis searches so valiantly for his friend. No. Ardyn wanted more. The form of Noctis is flawless, could fool even the wayward Prince's father - were the man still alive of course. And he walks, like Noctis would, into the room where Prompto is strung up. A walk that turns into a run as "Noctis" sees his lost friend. Hands pressing into Prompto's face, lifting it up, relief and all that came with it on "Noctis'" face. After all, what was the point of dashing hopes if you didn't skyrocket them first. ) Prompto? Prompto, are you okay?

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[inlay]

[for a moment, prompto can't remember what happened after being pushed off the train.

it all comes flooding back quickly enough. the anger on noct's face. the cold. the empire. the touch of metal bonds feel harsh against his skin. when he tries to move his body, he can't.

it's only when he opens his eyes and sees noct's face staring back at him that everything sinks in, and he feels relief flooding through his body, pumping through his veins.]

Noct...

[he should say something else. something casual. yeah, i'm okay. or i'm fine, all stoic, like gladio might.

he can't.]

Noct... you... you don't hate me?

[heavyweighsthe]

( It's remarkable really, Ardyn thinks. The way Prompto's face immediately changes at the sight of Noctis. The spark of relief in his eyes. Like a dog when their owner finally comes home for the day. And then the question. Immediate seeking of approval - you don't hate me.

Ardyn can't help but think that it's all just leftover coding. A body hard wired from the get go to serve. Removed from the inevitable, but it's still there. The desire to serve and please, to put blind loyalty above all else.

But instead of the Empire. It's the Prince.

Curious.

Noctis’ face doesn't betray this though. No, not at all. His face softens. His hands still cupping Prompto's face. Idiot boys, Ardyn thinks as he speaks. )

No, Prompto I couldn't - Prompto I love you.

( And the truth is Ardyn doesn't know if these particular words were ever uttered between them before. He knows enough that it's not a stretch. He knows enough to know it will break either way, when it’s thrown back in Prompto's face. Remind the Empire’s own prodigal son that in the end that there is only one place he really belongs. )