You Will Live Ch. 2: Wonder | Ferdibert FE3H Fanfiction

Word count: 2920 (6 to 24 minutes) | Rating: T | Note: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers | Main Characters: Ferdinand, Hubert, and former Black Eagle students

Read the previous chapter.

The Kingdom and Alliance troops were celebrating their victory over the Empire. The somber work of collecting bodies and identifying them was likely left to Shamir and her agents while lackeys for the Church of Seiros searched for Rhea. Meanwhile, Hubert stood shackled in the great hall of the capital’s castle under the guard of Caspar and Ferdinand, waiting for anyone in power to remember he existed.

Until then, he removed himself from his grief. He could sense it behind the dam built up in his mind, bleak and roiling and vast. But Hubert would suffer endless torture before he gave the combined enemy armies the satisfaction of seeing him broken down in the castle where Her Majesty made her last stand. It was injury enough that several of the Black Eagles who turned on Lady Edelgard had witnessed the break in his armor.

To preoccupy him instead, Hubert had Her Majesty’s agenda to consider. The final step in her vision for Fódlan: to defeat Those Who Slither in the Dark once and for all. He would require substantially powerful allies to achieve that goal, though there were not many in the wake of such an extensive war. In fact, the only forces of that caliber were also his captors.

He examined the metal cuffs around his wrists, a thick chain dangling between them. Too short to be used for effective strangulation, and a sure sign that their distrust of him would be his greatest obstacle in joining with them against the final threat they weren’t even aware of.

But the fact that Ferdinand and Caspar were assigned to watch over him rather than someone impartial or even openly hostile suggested there was someone in a position of political clout who looked on him with compassion.

Whoever it was, they outranked Ferdinand as a general in the enemy forces, a fact that reduced the possibilities greatly. Perhaps subconsciously, Hubert’s gaze drifted to the very man beside him. Ferdinand stood watchful and resolute, but there was a tension in his posture that betrayed his mental state: he was thinking tirelessly on a matter that vexed him.

You and I both. A shame neither of us have someone to turn to.

Once, they may have turned to each other.

Hubert looked back to the cuffs with an especially foul grimace. His line of reasoning led him to believe his sympathizer was one of few people with enough power: Seteth, Byleth, Claude, or Dimitri. Seteth was a ridiculous prospect, considering that the Death Knight kidnapped Flayn on behalf of Those Who Slither in the Dark. That act guaranteed he would never view Hubert with any honest compassion.

Well-informed rumors had it that Byleth did believe the Flame Emperor about their lack of involvement in Remire Village and by indirect extension, the death of Jeralt, but that still only left her in neutral territory at best. Claude likely held moral quandaries with their methods combined with a healthy skepticism of Hubert that contributed to the restraints. But that perspective would certainly not have any role in allowing his former classmates who just saved his life to stand as his guards.

Lastly, there was Dimitri. Chivalrous Dimitri, who had become rather shrewd over his five years in exile, but remained a long-time friend of Edelgard’s in his sentiments (if nothing further). He had been forgotten in name alone as she treasured the dagger that he gifted to her and all it represented.

Dimitri’s meeting with her to discuss their options aside from warfare felt as removed as Hubert’s report to Her Majesty earlier that morning, but it did serve as confirmation that His Highness was the source of the perceived kindness extended to Hubert. If there was anyone he would speak to about the Agarthans, it had to be King Dimitri in order to improve his odds of successful negotiation. But in truth, His Highness’ most probable intentions in allowing Ferdinand and Caspar to guard their previous classmate was simply to provide some measure of comfort in an especially trying time.

Yet all three of them stood in a weighty silence. Even Caspar’s brow wrinkled with worry as he restlessly shifted weight from one leg to the other, crossing and uncrossing his arms without reason. It was almost as if thinking generated even more energy that forced Caspar to channel it into any motion whatsoever.

Hubert knew they were not responsible for Her Majesty’s death. She accepted that her chosen path could claim her life and made her peace with that before even first appearing as the Flame Emperor. In war, there were no murderers. If anyone was to blame, it would be the fool who swore to protect her with his life and failed.

Even so, standing beside two people he once considered friends, Hubert was completely without anything to say. He did not hate them or long to return to their time bickering in hallways or at the training grounds. Hubert felt nothing, in fact. He reached into the dark well of insidious disdain in his heart and came up empty. He would have settled for what they had previously referred to as his persistent nagging, but still, there was nothing.

In their absence, her voice rang clear with another final order for him as if the communication spell remained in an echo:

All I need from you now is to know that although I will fall here today, you will live your own life.

How? Hubert could not even muster a word to two people who knew him—well enough, he supposed. Better than most andamong the few who could claim to be anything of a friend to Hubert. The iron against his wrists faintly warmed from contact with his skin and grounded him in a manner that nothing else in the din of the great hall could.

Their new allies seemed to view them as invisible for standing beside Hubert. Every soldier and servant in the great hall moved past the three men as efficiently and indifferently as ants around a pebble. Supplies and the wounded had to be ferried into the castle before nightfall, beginning its repurposing into their fortress.

“So.”

Of course Caspar would yield first; it was in his nature to being completely unable to read the atmosphere. Pale blue eyes peered at him from the edge of his vision, his overthinking expression still very much the same despite having grown otherwise. Count Bergliez was a fearsome warrior that must be intimidating to be compared to, but Caspar was well on his way to standing on equal footing.

“I’m glad you made it, you know.”

“That would make one of us.” Hubert’s typical clipped delivery, dripping with venom, was apparently instinctive even as it came across somewhat hollow. He was not alone in noticing it lacked credibility, since Caspar appeared more concerned than offended. The conflicted, sorrowful gaze that had lingered on Petra and Shamir in his academy days now directed itself at Hubert. It made his skin crawl, forcing him to worry his fingers against his own palms in the hopes of ridding himself of the first sensation. To even consider Caspar might feel compelled to look after Hubert filled him with disgust at being so pitied.

Ferdinand’s sympathetic sigh failed to be a suitable diversion. His stern, tender look with those damned amber eyes threatened to crack the dam Hubert constructed. He must hold the despair back until he was alone, where no one could gain more emotional blackmail against him. Never mind that they had enough to go on already and never used it, not once; Hubert had to keep his guard up. That was a critical aspect of his sworn duty. “Hubert, you—”

“If you truly felt as much, would I be restrained?”

Whatever sentence he intended to say, it would end poorly for Hubert. Few could get under his skin and make him say more than he meant to like Ferdinand von Aegir. Better that he interrupted him and preserve what remained of his dignity.

“Hey,” Caspar stepped in, the ideal diversion where Ferdinand fell short. “If anybody saw you just standing around, they’d probably just attack you even with us here. You’re in no shape for that.”

Hubert chuckled, low and dark, and discovered he hit that familiar tone precisely. What else was there to say to that?

“The restraints will not be forever, Hubert.” Ferdinand appeared to have taken the hint or perhaps reconsidered his first remark to return to at another time. The latter was the far more probable of the two scenarios. He did try to look at Hubert directly, searching for—who knew what? But Hubert levelled his cold stare at a point somewhere beyond him as the noble continued. “I promise that we will sort this out properly once our forces are settled and the wounded have been treated.”

…And that pierced him as well as any blade. However quietly, Hubert’s next breath wavered. Easily dismissed as residual pain from the injury and that was the excuse Hubert chose to believe for himself as well. To complete the next task he assigned to himself in the name of Her Majesty, Hubert would need to deceive his own mind for as long as he was able.

Do not give me your promises and look at me with devotion, Ferdinand. I cannot bear it.

“Yes, I remember the fickle nature of your promises.” Still, Hubert could not draw on the full strength of his cutting words—he merely sounded exhausted to his own ears—but even a dull edge to his voice could land some damage and keep Ferdinand at a manageable distance. “They are easily broken when it serves you to do so.”

When Hubert became close to someone, he memorized the finer details about them. And so, when he grew closer to Ferdinand, he took great care to remember every important fact. His favorite tea. The name of his first beloved Aegir hound. The time of day he preferred to go on a leisurely ride on horseback. Which flowers he preferred over others. And of course, what every single expression written all over his face indicated for his state of mind. Because while Ferdinand did ever try to present a strong front, he had his vulnerabilities like anyone else.

He flinched back, a curled strand of hair falling forward with the motion, but the flicker of hurt feelings dissipated almost instantly into flaring, prideful indignance that turned those amber eyes into a fiery bronze. “I swore to serve the ideals that Edelgard said she would uphold, and when that was no longer the case—”

Too soon, the realization that he was bickering with Hubert while their Emperor lay cold in another room dawned on Ferdinand and like that, the fire was out. His shoulders dropped and he sighed once again.

And Hubert laughed, wordlessly urging him to finish the counterargument he had prepared.

“Are you pretending that holding back is another noble display of mercy?” That was closer to the right inflection, but still not quite. Hubert sneered down at Ferdinand regardless. Let this be like old times when he could provoke them with just a few short words, let Ferdinand hurt him in return, and it would make this so much easier to endure—or so he imagined. “First, you preserve my life so that I might have the privilege of living with Her Majesty’s death, and now you hope to conceal your obvious disdain for everything she stood for? I suppose it serves me right for expecting better of you, Ferdinand.”

“I understand you well, Hubert.” He kept calm, more certain now than when he first appeared on the battlefield. Hubert’s sneer fell to a heatless scowl that held more from habit than any true disdain. “And because I do, I will forgive what you have just said since I know you are only trying to keep me from coming to your aid now that you need it most. You never were one to accept support with any manner of ease, as you prefer to be in the role of providing rather than being cared for.”

Hubert scoffed and pried his attention away from the absurdity going on beside him. Naturally, Ferdinand continued undaunted while Caspar pretended badly with a half-stifled smirk not to notice Hubert’s discomfort. He, of course, could not know the reason as well Ferdinand claimed to.

‘When I see you at the monastery, studying with the others… It makes me wonder what kind of life you might’ve had without me.’

It was Edelgard’s idle thought, not his own, and from their first year at Garreg Mach. Hubert might pretend he had no notion as to why that memory came to him now, unbidden and fraught with conflicted sentiments, but he knew better than that. Attempting to deceive himself had been a fool’s errand. He was without her now and there were two former Black Eagle students with him at present. This was the foundation of the life she saw for Hubert that made her wonder what could have been.

“Truly, you ought to know better by now.” Ferdinand’s playful wit bled into his false chastising. “An exceptionally harsh critic once confirmed that my relentless optimism is my greatest attribute. Where others may become discouraged and abandon their path, I never yield. Ferdinand von Aegir is, indeed, unmatched in that particular quality.”

Assured pride practically radiated off Ferdinand as surely and powerfully as summer sunlight, all with him grinning and drawing himself up. Always so sure of his success on the grounds that he would never quit… But there was no time to form a response to Ferdinand quoting Hubert to himself, not when Catherine stormed over to their group and stopped short in front of Hubert. “Enough is enough. Where is Lady Rhea.”

He squared his shoulders, piercing her with an aloof smile. “I wondered when you would overcome your pride and seek my help.” Strategically, Hubert should seize this opportunity to prove that he can be trusted not to slight them, at least, and lead her to Rhea without delay. But while grief could be withheld, spite was another matter entirely. “She is here. Perhaps you simply aren’t looking hard enough. Would you like a hint?”

“You—” She scowled, closing the distance with a fist in his collar, yanking him down and pulling a sharp breath from him in the same motion. He endured worse pain than that in his initial resilience training as Her Majesty’s vassal. That reaction should be the last she saw from him.

“Enough,” Ferdinand implored, a firm hand on Catherine’s arm as the true warning that this was not a request but an order. “We are above resorting to aggression to have our way, Catherine.”

“I don’t have to.” She released his collar and shook off Ferdinand’s hand, stepping back. How unusual for a Knight of Seiros to pass down the chance to beat the defenseless… Her immediate aversion to using more force could have been due to Caspar’s presence, given how he so admired her. “Taunt us however you like, you sick bastard. Lady Rhea is alive, and we will find her.”

Ah. Another blow directly to the dam. To her, Hubert betrayed nothing of the sort. “I suppose with enough hours wasted, you will eventually have no choice but to succeed.” He trailed off into an exasperated sigh. “Truth be told, Rhea may not have that kind of time. Very well, I will show you the way.”

That had her attention and that of a few nearby soldiers for the Church as well. Traffic in the great hall had slowed marginally, but they were far from alone.

“You stay here. Tell me where I can find her.”

Hubert chuckled again, this time feeling it in his ribs more than he ought to. Evidently, Catherine didn’t need to beat him—merely shoving him would be enough to aggravate his recently healed wounds. “This isn’t a matter of turning in the correct direction at a conveniently placed statue. You are asking for a spoken guide to winding, secret passageways meant to mislead any who enter.”

“Caspar and I will accompany you, Catherine,” Ferdinand offered, moving his hand to rest on Hubert’s upper arm as if to guide him. Hubert glanced to his hand, then to Ferdinand, but he was fully a general at the moment and spared not even a glance to the prisoner. “Hubert will pose no threat.”

Ah, that was Hubert’s order. An easy one to follow considering he had to if he was to convince the victors of his reliability as an ally so soon after his defeat.

“Of course. I have no reason left to fight.” The tension returned at that remark more than Catherine’s mild display of force, and Hubert let it stand. Those who despised Hubert most, like the wielder of Thunderbrand, had to hear the literal words from his mouth that he would not harm them. One step further, he would help them. “More pressingly, I have valuable intel to secure the future of Fódlan. But first, we must attend to Rhea.”

Her scowl softened to hopeful skepticism, a narrowed glare that suggested she was turning over his phrase in her mind. Catherine was as intelligent as she was capable—she would eventually piece together that he was leveraging a treaty of sorts. ”…Fine.” She nodded down to the other end of the great hall where the main passage to the undercroft waited. “Let’s go.”


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A Note to Treasure: Promnis FFXV Fanfiction

Word count: 2900 (7 to 22 minutes) | Rating: G | Note: Prompto x Ignis (Promnis) | Characters: Prompto, ignis, Noctis, and Gladio


The haven campsite had to be tidied before they could finish packing to leave, and naturally, the task fell to Ignis with Prompto as his aid. Gladio and Noctis were off to bring the car a bit closer from the shoulder where it was originally parked, which was just as likely to be an excuse for them to spend time on the rowdier activities they found enjoyable. Gladio would keep him in check and safe, if nothing else.

Ignis did not have to worry, but part of him always would.

To Prompto’s credit, the jumpy blonde was eager to help and followed directions well, provided they were not too complex to remember. He managed organizing the outdoor supplies easily on his own. It was no small feat, either—Ignis wouldn’t entrust his camping kitchen tools to just anyone.

The task of cleaning up after Noctis inside the tent was another matter entirely. Yesterday’s clothes sat unfolded in a heap, and Ignis spotted a tear in the sleeve of his jacket as he gathered them up. He sighed, shaking his head to the benefit of no one but himself. Gladio would lecture him for coddling, but Noct would surely forget to mend the sleeve for months if left to his own devices. Ignis would take care of it with the laundry.

As he stood to put the clothing with the rest of the dirty laundry, a poorly folded sheet of paper fell out, writing on display. Even as it fell, Ignis knew the handwriting was not Noctis’, but Prompto’s. Closer examination while he picked it up revealed that the message was incomplete—but the typical saccharine prose made its purpose all too apparent. Just as Ignis expected of a love letter from Prompto.

Parts were scratched out, even unreadable in some cases, but the ones he could read brought a fond smile to Ignis’ face. He did have a way of making any action endearing. Such as having Noctis, of all people, review a love note for any areas of improvement. Ignis’ devotion to Noctis had no limits, but he could be honest about the prince—he was not the kind of individual you would turn to for advice in matters of the heart.

And to think that Ignis suspected Prompto’s motives when he first entered Noctis’ life as the habitually nervous friend from school. Now, Ignis would trust him with that very life.

“Prompto,” he called to his friend, who paused in folding up the camping chairs to wipe some sweat from his forehead onto his wristband.

“Sup?” If he realized he held the note as well as the clothes yet, he was incredibly calm about the matter.

Ignis strode over to him and held the note out. “You ought to be more careful with your correspondence.”

“Huh?”

His gaze fell on the note, and he flushed a soft pink. “O-oh, right. That’s, I was just—uh—sorry.” Prompto leaned over to get the paper, one foot firmly planted as he did, and crumpled the paper slightly in his rush to get it into his pocket.

“Do be cautious,” Ignis advised, almost saddened to see such affectionate words handled so indelicately. As if Prompto were ashamed. He had always struggled with self-confidence, but it was precisely that uncertainty that was his undoing in many cases. Not that he had much room to talk. Ignis was well aware that his feelings on Prompto were becoming deeper than mere friendship, but he had told not a soul. “The sentiment was rather sweet, and I’m sure the intended recipient would like to treasure the note.”

“What? You… you really think so?”

“I do indeed.” Ignis had said too much, perhaps. To pass that misstep off as a joke, he added in some light teasing so common among the four of them. ”If you can muster the strength to send it, of course.”

Based on the surprised, almost touched, wide-eyed expression from Prompto, Ignis nearly turned over his shoulder to see what might’ve caught his photographer’s interest. The sheepish smile that followed stopped him at the realization that something he himself had said led to Prompto’s response.

“Aw, shucks, Iggy. Just hearing that gives me courage.” Never one to be still for long, Prompto scuffed at the dirt with his boot and nodded to Ignis.

That appeared to have lifted the blonde’s spirits over his recent embarrassment. Perhaps he truly would send the note off and perhaps this time, he hadn’t set his sights on someone unattainable—such as Cindy, who focused on her work above all other matters. Ignis swore his taste in crushes was deliberately constructed at times. For Prompto’s sake, he hoped that was not the case with his most recent crush. It would be pleasant if he were to enter into a contented relationship, or so Ignis told himself as a vice gradually closed in on his heart.

He smiled, turning his attention to adding the clothes his hands to the dirty laundry already packed away for cleaning during their next hotel stay. “And who is the lucky lady?”

“Oh, uh. It’s not anyone like that, I mean,” he trailed into an awkward laugh, busying himself similarly with gathering the remaining camping supplies, “I dunno if I’d say lucky, dude.”

That lack of confidence returned swiftly, Ignis noted. Ah, it was likely that the object of his affections was out of his reach, then. Still, it could not hurt to encourage him to put himself out there more often. He could not succeed if he did not make the attempt, after all. And they would all be there to support him in their own ways should she turn him down. “I believe that would be up to her discretion. You ought to give her the chance to decide, Prompto.”

The hypocrisy of the statement was not lost on him. While Noctis was often too immersed in his own conflicted emotions to perceive the feelings of others, he had been giving hints to Ignis regarding Prompto over the past few weeks (though his sentiments on Prompto became more romantic in nature several months prior). It was only the occasional idle comment or hypothetical question on the gunman’s attractiveness or charming qualities, but the message was clear to Ignis, if no one else. And yet he had decided it was best not to act on his feelings for Prompto given their shared service to Noctis.

And in a way, Ignis had still gotten the note first. His petty side was appeased with that notion.

“Yeah?” There was a choked, wavering quality to his normally chipper voice that suggested he had not taken this reassurance to heart. “Guess you’re right. You always are!”

Prompto was consistent, at least: always ready to avoid a subject he did not wish to discuss by offering praise and a ready smile, however uncertain.


Noctis was off for an early morning run with Gladio in an uncharacteristic moment of initiative—before 11:00 am and something for his health, no less. Ignis had no pressing tasks to address in the next hour or so, since they had decided to have breakfast at the Crow’s Nest. A bit of a personal slight to Ignis’ cooking that he had the courtesy to keep to himself, since he knew that was not their intention (or it had best not be). Instead, he had settled down with a book of poetry he’d meant to catch up on for some time now to keep his mind preoccupied.

“Oh, uh, hey, Ignis.” Prompto trotted over and slipped one hand into his pocket, the other giving a restless wave. A lopsided smile suggested this was not a simple greeting but leading up to another matter. Ignis closed his poetry book and stood from his chair in anticipation of what required his assistance.

“Good morning, Prompto. Did you sleep well?”

“Nothing much.” Prompto answered with a shrug, the realization sinking in and drawing a nervous laugh from him. “I mean good. Wait, no, I meant yes.”

Ignis only chuckled, adjusting his glasses out of habit. “Glad to hear.”

“Um. Here.” From his pocket came a note in a cream-colored envelope, neatly labelled in Prompto’s handwriting and a small smile drawn in the corner where it ought to be stamped. His thumb lightly creased it at the center where he held it a bit too tightly. “For you.”

“From?” The question left his mouth without as much thought as he would have normally given it, especially considering he knew the answer already. On the outside, he imagined he looked fairly level-headed, but that was not so in his mind. The very notion that Prompto had gone to the lengths of drafting a love note for him had interfered with his every mental faculty. Now his request that Noctis reviewed it made far more sense, since his taciturn nature made it easy work to conceal the matter from Ignis until Prompto was prepared. Beyond that connection, Ignis’ typically keen attentiveness felt incredibly dulled in the realization that this was indeed a note from Prompto for himself.

If not for the new blush spread across Prompto’s freckled face, Ignis may have rationalized it was just a fond note between friends. But there it was—the fresh rush of warmth to a familiar face, a blossoming red simply begging to be chased a tender touch (or a kiss, if he felt emboldened by such a truly adorable response).

“Ah. I see.” He took the envelope, turning it over to see a small, somewhat misshapen heart at the center where one was meant to open it.

A message in itself: I’m letting you into my heart with this note.

“Hey, I’m just gonna,” he trailed off, thumbing over his shoulder to nowhere in particular.

“I would rather you remain here.”

“Huh?” Crystalline blue eyes locked on his, wide and surprised. Yet trustful, ever so trustful. Ignis’ heart swelled with it. As much as his anxiousness drove him to bounce his foot in place since he could not retreat, likely to disappear for as long as he could get away with, Prompto remained. Because Ignis wanted him to. “Oh. Um. Okay.” His hands found their home back in the pockets, and he stared out over the woods beyond their haven as Ignis began to read.

Ignis,

I don’t know how to say it the way I want it to be, so here it is: I really, really like you. A lot. You’re a solid 11 and I’m more of a rounded-up 4, but what you said got me thinking you deserve to choose for yourself if I get to call you boyfriend.

I just love spending time with you, you know? You always give it everything you’ve got, and you never get tired of all that giving. So, I wanna try hard and be there for you too. I may not be much, but you’ll get my all every day. I promise.

The only approximation of a signature was a cartoon-ish drawing of a blushing chocobo at the bottom. In the end, the second draft of the note had very select elements in common with the first (but markedly fewer apologies). Ignis returned the note to its envelope carefully, tucking the message into his chest pocket and felt a brightness in his heart beneath. He did not believe in lucky charms, but if ever there was one, he was certain it belonged to him now.

“Prompto,” he said levelly. It would do no good to answer his nervousness with more of the same, after all.

“That’s me,” he answered weakly and faced Ignis once more.

And yet there was nothing weak about him. Prompto rarely spoke about his life or experiences, but it was clear in how he carried himself that every accomplishment he achieved was a battle hard won—and yet scarcely rewarded. To Prompto, he was never quite enough, and insecurity tinged under every interaction. Yet he persevered. Never once did his worries, so clear and tangible in his mind, ever stop him from rising to the occasion time and again. It weighed heavily on Ignis to see him shortchanged by his own hand so often when all praise, no matter how nonchalant, moved him so completely. The result was an endless temptation to offer praise too often to go unremarked.

To run a hand gently through his soft, styled blonde hair—rather rare in the Crown City and always a welcome sight because of who it had to be—as unspoken congratulations on a job well done. To take it one step further and kiss him whenever the opportunity arose, because few deserved love like Prompto Argentum and yet, he would never ask for it. One some level, perhaps he did not believe he should or could. Like any grievous misconception, Ignis wanted nothing more than to correct it.

“Kinda killing me here, dude.”

“Ah, I apologize. I was taking a moment to appreciate how far you have come.” He stepped closer to Prompto, hoping against reason that Gladio and Noctis had taken a long route. “Your feelings are returned, of course. I only hope you realize what this means for you.”

“Huh? Me?” A smile overtook Prompto’s expression regardless, nervousness dissolving into a palpable level of excitement that simply radiated off him. The anxiety would return, as it was wont to, but this time, Ignis would be there to chase it away again. It only took the thought to brighten Ignis’ smile in return.

“Indeed. I am not known for doing anything halfway, and my courtship of you will be no different.”

“C-courtship?” His voice broke, a darling squeak to it that Ignis fancied as a hopeful one.

“Of course. And with this love note finally delivered, I must catch up to your romantic gesture, in fact.” He reached for Prompto’s hand at his side, the bare skin of his thumb brushing over the open expanse of skin on the back of his hand. Fingers loosely intertwined as Ignis leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

Soft, warm, and lightly scarred in some places where he may have bitten it anxiously in his younger days—every inch entirely his own, perfectly Prompto’s. By extension, the sensation of them was special, something to be treasured. Ignis dared not close his eyes and miss the opportunity to thoroughly examine his reaction to their first kiss. While Ignis was inarguably a practical individual, he was just as devoted as a romantic. And this memory was one he would want to endure for an eternity.

Prompto held still, the pink still high on his cheeks but the signature freckles of his face visible all the same. His eyes nearly fluttered shut, fine lashes over a deeper blue in his eyes cast by Ignis’ shadow. “Best be prepared.”

Noctis whistled, making Prompto jump at the interruption. Ignis was graced with his grin alongside Gladio’s when he did turn his attention to them.

“About damn time,” Gladio commented, sharing a knowing look with Noctis.

“I dunno. I might miss them dancing around each other.”

“Noct!” Prompto whined, finding his voice at what amounted to harmless teasing. Unfortunately for Noctis, he was not the only one with a quip at the ready. Ignis smirked before delivering his response as an added effect.

“Hm. On the subject of romance, Noct, how fares Lady Lunafreya? You seemed to be in particularly good spirits after her most recent message.”

“…Not fair, Specs.” It was his turn to blush, however faintly, and Noctis avoided the subject by pulling a water bottle from their stores and having a drink.

“Ha! Good one.” Prompto chimed in, patting Ignis on the back and flashing a bright grin. Interesting, how these little gestures took on new meaning on account of a single sheet of paper in his pocket.

“He got you there.” Gladio joined in the teasing of Noctis now with a gentle shove that nearly spilled water from the bottle down the front of his shirt.

“Whatever. Let’s pack up the car before we miss breakfast at the Crow’s Nest.” His previous plan having failed, Noctis set his sights on diverting them with the promise of food. Predictably, that was a successful strategy.

Before that was set into motion, Prompto rushed to get another kiss in, this one to Ignis’ cheek. Though the kiss was light as a breeze and over almost as soon as Ignis had noticed it was happening, it lingered as if an electric spell had recently dissipated in the shape of his lips on his skin. He would have to thank Noctis for being so careless with the first note when he reminded him once again to place his dirty laundry in the correct basket of his own accord.


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