in the depths of winter (there was in me an invincible summer)

Every year, a week before the Winter Solstice, the Citadel holds a festival in the open space behind its gates. It’s for the nobility—a market with stalls that sell mulled wine and fruit punch and fried pastries, a small stage where the choir sings songs of old that celebrate the Six and Lucis and the magic that has been granted to them. It’s staffed with people that have been vetted by the Crownsguard and work under the watchful eye of the Glaives. It’s all very festive and nice and boring.

It’s where Noctis is supposed to go to celebrate, Gladio and Ignis like shadows on his heels, and, if his schedule allows it, his dad by his side, smiling politely for the ever-present cameras.

On the other side of Insomnia, in the less secure district where Prompto lives, there is a different Winter Solstice market. One that isn’t so watered down by the court’s traditions, one that has been shaped by the people that come to Insomnia from all over—or so Prompto says. Noctis has listened to him for minutes upon minutes while he mused about the Galahdian food or the Sylleblossom liquor from Tenebrae that he’s legally not yet old enough to drink.

It’s where Noctis wants to go. He wants to see the people and taste something that isn’t strictly Lucian for a change, and hear traditional Accordo songs that celebrate gods long forgotten. And Prompto, because he’s Prompto, just says, “Then let’s go,” when Noct mentions it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

They spend almost an hour in Noct’s apartment that day after school, drinking tea spiked up with cheap rum and going through Noct’s closet and laughing while coming up with the most ludicrous outfits to hide in plain sight. And when the sun begins to set for the longest night of the year, they make their way from Noct’s uptown condo towards the other side of the city, where the buildings and greyer and their paint a little more cracked.

“Even if someone looks at your face there’s no way they’re gonna think, oh, that’s the Prince.” Prompto is snickering while they walk down the street towards the Solstice market, bundled up in their winter jackets and hats. “You look like an old fisherman in that hat, dude.”

“I am an old fisherman,” Noctis says and tries to elbow Prompto in the ribs. Prompto just dances out of his reach, wearing two layers of clothing less than Noct and considerably more agile for it.

“You smell like one, too,” Prompto says back, and skips away with a little, bright laugh when Noct makes a grab for him.

“Do I really, though?” Noct asks when they’re done laughing, sniffing the sleeve of his jacket. “I did go fishing in this just last week…”

Prompto just shrugs. “Nah. Besides, they’re selling some live fish out there, if you start to stink like a carp we’ll just go and stand nearby. No one will suspect a thing.”

Noct snorts, but before he can come up with a witty reply the wind picks up. Both he and Prompto burrow further into their scarves and shudder against the chill that creeps into their skin despite all the clothes they’re wearing. “How are you not freezing?” Noctis mutters under his breath, glaring at Prompto from the corner of his eyes. “These clothes aren’t even made to be worn in winter.”

Prompto, who’s wearing nothing but a tanktop, a worn-thin hoodie, and a parka that he’s been wearing since October, just shrugs. “Guess you could say… the cold never bothered—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Noct snaps at him, but he’s grinning into his scarf. “You’re such an incorrigible nerd.”

Prompto bumps their shoulders. “Funny coming from you, Prince of fishing.”

“That’s King of fishing to you,” Noct replies, bumping right back into Prompto.

It’s easy to pretend in this weather that the flush spreading through his cheeks is from the cold and not from just being around Prompto, from sharing casual touches and inside jokes and soft laughter that makes Noct feel tingly all over. He peeks at Prompto from under his hat as they walk, content to just look as Prompto hums something unrecognizable with a slight bounce in his step.

It’s not the first time that Noct envies Prompto his upbeat nature. He couldn’t walk with a bounce in this cold even if he wanted to (and he doesn’t want to). He can barely walk without a limp. His feelings, nor the fluttering in his stomach, nor the rush of blood into his face can quite change the fact that the cold slowly seeps through his clothes and settles right in his joints and makes them ache and creek as if he truly was an old man, rather than a school-boy not even old enough to drink the hot cider he’s so looking forward to.

He hopes the hot drinks help with the pain, or this little adventure is going to end way sooner than Noct would like.

---

The hot drinks don’t help. By the time Prompto brings over their third Cleignan punch the ache has spread from Noct’s bad knee all the way to the curve of his spine. He’s standing by the side of the market, away from the groups of people happily chattering away and drunkenly singing along to the band playing songs that aren’t even in Lucian. Silently debating himself, he desperately tries to figure out what to do—tough it out, despite the pain, despite knowing that it will sap the life out of him for days if he lets it get bad enough? Or just suck it up and tell Prompto and ruin their night?

“Dude?” Prompto says to Noct’s left, coming out of nowhere, and Noct looks up sharply.

A little too sharply, and a little too fast. He feels his back twinge, the cold finally biting into him and sinking its teeth in his flesh to stay. He staggers a bit, his bad knee going momentarily weak, and hisses in pain before he can stop himself.

It hurts enough that he doesn’t notice Prompto dropping their drinks to the ground in his haste to catch him by the elbow. “Dude,” he says again, right into Noct’s ear. So close his breath ruffles Noct’s hair and tickles his cheek, smelling like fruity wine and cinnamon. “Buddy, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Noct shakes his head and very slowly and carefully straightens his back. His muscles scream in protest, fighting him every step, and Noct groans. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Yeah, and I’m the Glacian herself,” Prompto says. His voice is light, but in that forced way he gets when he’s nervous and doesn’t want Noct to know. “Are you feeling sick? The drink we had earlier should have been fine, I had a sip before I gave it to you—”

“It’s my back,” Noct cuts in, irritated. “It hurts ’cause it’s so cold, that’s all.”

Prompto is quiet for a while, before he moves into Noct’s line of sight.

Noct can feel him let go of his arm, his other hand moving from his shoulder and trailing down his back—something Noct hasn’t even noticed until it ended. He breathes out hard through his nose. He can’t have nice things, apparently. He can’t even go out with his best friend and drink until they’re pleasantly buzzed like all the other kids seem to do, or even just enjoy this awkward half-hug from him. Damn his back, and damn his knee twice over.

“Looks like it hurts a lot,” Prompto says. “You wanna go home?” Honestly, Noct’s not sure if he could walk all the way back to his apartment now. It must show on his face, too, because Prompto adds, hastily, “Or do you want me to call Iggy?”

“No,” Noct says. “He has the night off.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Prompto asks, “He gets those?”

“Exactly. I don’t want to—let’s just—not call Ignis.”

When Noct looks up, Prompto is watching him with wide eyes and a slightly stunned expression. “Okay,” he says. “Gladio?”

“He doesn’t drive.”

“Right. It’s not like the Citadel employs people to drive you around or anything—”

“Prompto.” Prompto clamps his mouth shut with an audible click, eyes flickering to the side, and shuffles on his feet. Noct sighs. “I just want to enjoy the market with my best friend,” he says quietly, bitterly. He feels like a child, wanting things he can’t possibly have and worse, admitting it. He’s usually so much better at hiding it these days.

Prompto looks up at him, his face soft and sad. “I know,” he says, all of his rambling, wild energy drained from his tone. “Me too. But you’re in pain, so… I’m gonna buy us something nice and warm and—we’ll go to my place? It’s not far.”

Noct shrugs, then winces when the movement pulls on his back, the muscles all locked up from the cold. “Yeah, okay,” he says in the end, resigned, because what else can he possibly do?

Prompto disappears for a few minutes to obtain their drinks after making thoroughly sure Noct’s okay to wait, and when he comes back he’s carrying two steaming paper cups. “Here,” he says and presses one into Noct’s gloved hand. Noct folds his fingers around it and breathes in the tangy-sweet scent of the wine and—something spicy? “There’s chili in it,” Prompto says with a grin at Noct’s questioning look. “That’s bound to warm you up. You okay to go?”

Noct’s not sure. His cheeks are red, partly from the biting cold, but mostly out of embarrassment; humiliation, really. Prompto’s not supposed to see him like this—he wants to just be Noct to Prompto, just a boy that’s fun to hang around. Not a sickly, spoiled prince. “Yeah,” he says in the end. “Let’s go.”

And Prompto, being his usual, casually awesome self, just nods and curls his arm around Noct’s back, his hand soft and careful not to jar him, steering them through the crowd towards his house. Noct feels his entire face light up, and he squeezes his hands around the cup and brings it closer to his nose to hopefully hide the blush behind the steam. Prompto makes sure no one bumps into them, and he makes sure they never go faster than Noct’s bum leg can handle, and Noct’s so damn grateful it nearly chokes him up.

They manoeuvre away from all the market stalls and groups of drunk people. In his princely pride, Noct tries to keep his face blank and devoid of any signs of discomfort, but his knee yells and screams with every step, and the more he tries not to limp, the worse his back aches. It’s a never-ending circle of misery at this point, and judging by the frequent glances Prompto keeps giving him, he’s not too successful at hiding it, either.

Noct sighs and gives up. With a quick glance around the thankfully empty street, he slumps into his usual slouch and lets himself limp.

“How you holding up?” Prompto asks. He so obviously tries to go for a casual tone, but he’s not as good an actor as he thinks he is, and Noct can hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice, clear as a bell.

“Just perfect,” he mumbles under his breath. Prompto’s hand is still around his back, resting near his hip, and Noct is so painfully aware of it that he doesn’t trust his voice to speak without sounding strangled.

Prompto hums next to him. “I could give you a piggyback ride,” he offers.

“Sorry, but that would definitely kill my back,” Noct says, letting out a breathy chuckle.

Prompto laughs. “It would kill your back?” he says, and Noct pushes at him with his elbow, the closest he gets to playful shove. Prompto laughs again, but he doesn’t let go—instead he reaffirms his grip on Noct’s side. “Seriously, though. It’s not far. A few minutes at max, I promise.”

Noct is getting exhausted. Pain and limping are, among other things, huge saps of energy. And besides—Prompto is so generous with his affection that Noct doesn’t think he would think anything of it if Noctis climbed into his arms and buried his face in his neck. Which he might or might not want to do. Still, all he allows himself, tired and in pain, is to lean into Prompto with an exhale, slumping against his side like a rag doll. “I hope you’re right, ’cause I’ve got no idea where we are.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything about their new walking arrangement, but when Noct looks at his face, he’s tinged pink under all those freckles, too. It’s probably from the cold. Or the mulled wine they keep sipping on as they go.

Noct looks down at his cup, now almost empty and definitely too cold, and back up at Prompto. “Did you really test the drink for me?” he asks, voice low and quiet.

“Huh?” Prompto turns to him, and the flush in his face deepens. “Oh, well, yeah, I guess. I mean, better safe than sorry, right? It’s bad enough I dragged you out here without Gladio or Iggy or anything, so…” He trails off, laughing a bit nervously.

“Dude,” Noct says and shakes his head, grinning at Prompto. “You know, being a cupbearer is a great honor, reserved for only the most trustworthy servants of the Crown.”

“It has a name?” Prompto looks at him funny. “You actually have those?”

They’re a country at war—of course they protect themselves, Noct and Regis, as well as the highest-ranking members of the Council. “There’s a reason Specs cooks for me all the time,” Noct adds eventually.

They don’t speak for the rest of walk, not even when Noct, maybe a bit more drunk than is advised, puts his arm around Prompto’s back in return. If there’s any Glaives tailing them in the dark… Well, at least they’ll have something to gossip about. Noct really couldn’t care less.

Prompto didn’t lie about his home being close, though, and Noct’s almost sorry when Prompto untangles himself from him to unlock the front door. “Your parents not home?” he asks.

Prompto turns at him and quirks up one eyebrow, and that’s answer enough. He struggles a bit with the old door, jiggling the key in its hole a few times before the lock clicks and the door opens with a slight creak. “Welcome to Casa Argentum, Highness,” Prompto says and swings the door open before he reaches for Noct’s elbow and gently tugs him inside.

“You have my humble gratitude, good sir,” Noct replies and exhales at the warmth that envelopes him once the door is closed behind them. Prompto toes out of his shoes quickly, barely bothering with the laces, and before Noct can do or even say anything, Prompto moves on to unlacing his boots.

Noctis’ brain short-circuits. He must go absolutely fucking scarlet, eyes so wide it’s a wonder they don’t fall straight out. “Prompto—” he stutters out, strangled, but Prompto works fast, and when he tugs at his boot Noct can’t do anything but obediently lift his leg for Prompto to pull his boot off.

There’s steam coming out of Noct’s ears, he’s sure, half from embarrassment (he should be able to take off his own damn boots, thank you very much), half from… well, Prompto, down on one knee before him, technically undressing him.

Soon enough, Prompto’s done with his other boot as well, chucking it away and springing to his feet. Noct can’t take his eyes off him at all, and when their eyes meet, Prompto winks at him. Noct opens and closes his mouth, still standing stunned in the dim hallway, when Prompto breezes past him into the house, turning on lights and, by the sound of it, putting the kettle on.

Noct is slow to get out of the rest of his clothes. With every layer off, Prompto’s hallway seems decidedly less warm. Prompto is still puttering about somewhere further in. Noct can hear him humming, boldly and surprisingly in tune. He thinks, a bit startled, that they’re both drunk off the few cups of mulled wine they had.

He walks slowly and stiffly to Prompto’s living room to find Prompto fluffing up some pillows on his old couch. He turns when he hears Noct walk in. “Oh, hey,” he says, as if he didn’t know Noct was there.

“It’s cold in here,” Noct says.

Prompto ruffles the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you told me not to say it, but…” He grins, sheepish. “The cold really doesn’t bother me.”

Noct shoots him a wry look as he limps to the couch. He lowers himself down, and the thing creaks and groans under his weight as he slumps into the cushions, closing his eyes. His knee is throbbing, and his spine aches in the dull, insistent kind of way he’s so familiar with. Any unexpected movement would rip and tear at his muscles.

He feels something heavy and warm flutter down on top of him, and when he looks he sees that Prompto threw a quilt over him. “Get comfortable,” he tells him, and then he’s out of the room again.

Noct does, with a long, drawn out sigh. The quilt is warm, and obviously well-used—it smells vaguely flowery but there’s something dusty, a smell Noct came to associate with Prompto’s house, the smell of the well-worn and well-loved. He doesn’t mind it, surprisingly—in the Citadel everything is always spotless clean before it makes contact with the royal family, and Noct’s apartment still smells all new and clinical, or simply like Ignis’ cooking.

This is comfortable. Homely. It reminds him of Prompto. If he didn’t hurt so much, Noct would probably fall asleep within seconds. He must doze anyway, because the next thing he knows is that Prompto is back, leaning down to peer at Noct’s face.

“No sleeping yet, Prince of naps. I got you something,” Prompto says, smiling wide, and holds out—a hot water bottle.

Noctis blinks owlishly at the item being offered to him, then up at Prompto. “My hero,” he says, and makes a grabby motion for it, pouting when Prompto holds it out of his reach.

He snorts at Noct’s attempts to get at his gift. “Ever at your… service,” he says, seemingly struggling for the word for a moment. “Scoot over, I’m sitting down.”

Noct carefully shuffles closer to the armrest of the couch, rolling onto his stomach, and sighs when Prompto puts the hot water bottle on his back, just where it hurts.

“There?” Prompto asks. He very, very carefully lifts Noct’s legs before he settles down, and just as carefully puts them back down and over his lap. “Dude,” he drawls out, pinching Noct’s big toe, and Noct can just picture him scrunching up his nose. “Your feet sti—”

Noct kicks at Prompto with his good leg. “Shut up,” he mutters. “No one said you had to do that.”

Prompto laughs. “Sorry I wanted to sit. In my own house.”

Noct just hums, eyes closed and face smushed into the throw pillows. The hot bottle spreads warmth through his hurting back in solid waves, and Prompto is a heavy, familiar weight next to him. He rests his hand over the back of Noct’s shit knee, and that alone is enough to send contented tremors through Noct’s entire faulty, achy body. He’s warm and comfortable and the pain is getting less and less severe by the minute, and—

The last thing on Noct’s mind before sleep claims him is that maybe he should let Specs know where he is.

---

Noct and Prompto are walking through the empty streets of Insomnia, dark and quiet all around. It’s much like their walk home just a while ago, but there’s something… off. Something ominous in the air, and in the shadows all around them.

Noct is aware of his surroundings in a very dream-like way, the pain in his back and leg just a foggy echo, Prompto’s presence quiet and subdued, the cold still there but farless biting. Yet, despite this, the skin at the back of his neck prickles more and more with each step.

They walk like this for a long time, in the shadows and quiet, side by side, and Noct’s bad feelings grow and grow and grow until they’re all he can concentrate on; until the darkness swallows him up and he’s wandering alone. Prompto’s not by Noct’s side anymore, and when Noct turns he’s nowhere in sight.

But in the shadows, just barely visible—a flash of red eyes, and pale blue skin, purple snake-like scales glimmering in the dim light of the fire, and Noct knows this creature, he knows this creature—

The Marilith lunges for him with a sharp, enraged cry, all six swords poised to kill. The logical part of Noct’s brain tells him to summon a weapon, to defend himself (and the lucid part of him that sounds suspiciously like Prompto says, Come on, Noct, it’s just a dream, wake up,), but—there’s nothing. Nothing Noct can do to stop this, he’s eight and terrified and down on the ground unable to move. There’s fire and so much blood—

“Noct—”

The Marilith strikes down.

---

Noct comes to with a gasp. He’s tense and panting, expecting pain, but none comes. His back and knee ache, but there are no blades digging into his skin, and he’s warm, face smushed into something soft and comfortable.

“Noct,” Prompto says from somewhere behind him, “you awake?”

Right. A dream. Just… just a dream. A nightmare.

Noct breathes out and lets himself relax into the cushions. There’s no Marilith, no danger, no pain… No death. Not anymore, not like—that.

“Noct,” Prompto says again, drawing the word out slowly.

Noct realizes, just then, that there’s a hand on top of his head, and Prompto ruffles his hair. He makes a swat in the general direction of the offending limb. Prompto snorts and the hand retreats. “I’m awake,” Noct mumbles, and heaves out a sigh.

The hot water bottle on his back is not so hot anymore, and Noct knocks it off as he turns onto his back. He blinks blearily at the ceiling before glancing at Prompto.

Prompto’s watching him, frowning. “You okay?” he asks.

Noct hums, and throws his arm over his eyes. “Sleepy,” he says. He’s shaken, the dream still thick at the back of his mind, but he knows it will pass. It’s not unusual for him to dream about the attack when his back hurts like this, and the alcohol probably didn’t help. He does wish Prompto didn’t have had to see any of it, but…

Noct peeks from under his elbow. The TV is on, the volume turned down to a background noise, some dumb quiz on the screen. It smells nice here, like citrus fruits and cinnamon, and when Noct looks around there’s a candle burning on the coffee table in front of the couch, giving everything a dim, yellow glow.

Noct didn’t even notice that before, he was so knocked out. Nor did he notice the Solstice decorations strewn around the room, the tinsel on the windows and the wreath of evergreens strung on the far wall, next to the television. He looks at Prompto, imagining him decorating his often empty apartment, and feels the fondness for him tug at something in his chest like a physical thing.

Prompto is still watching him, looking worried. “You wanna sleep some more?”

“No,” Noct says instantly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, still on the tail of a nightmare like that.

Prompto is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks he sounds uncertain. “You… wanna talk about it? The dream?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Prompto twiddles his thumbs in his lap—on top of Noct’s knees, actually—for a short while, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the TV. “You know you can talk to me, though.”

“I know,” Noct says. “Just—drop it. It was just a nightmare.”

“About—what happened? When you were a kid?” Noct gives Prompto a sour look, mostly because he’s bitter about being so readable. Prompto holds out his hands. “Right. Dropping it right now.”

Noct sighs, and plops his head down onto the throw pillows, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just—it happens when my back’s acting up,” he says eventually. “Guess my head just—remembers it, or something.”

“That sounds awful,” Prompto says, and Noct snorts wryly.

“I guess,” he says. Maybe he’ll tell Prompto one day, but right now he feels raw with it, the flare of the Marilith’s eyes still at the back of his mind. Noct stretches his back carefully, testing how far he can push himself, and groans. “I should texts Specs to tell him where I am.”

“Guess what,” Prompto says, preening a little, “I already did.”

Noct thinks, You’re perfect, and clears his throat before his traitorous mouth can voice it out loud. “Yeah?” he croaks out instead. “Thanks. He say anything?”

“He offered to come pick you up. I told him no and to enjoy his night off. He’ll send someone over in the morning.”

Noct hums, and glances at the television. “What are you watching?” he asks, and Prompto launches into an explanation, including a reenactment with wild hand-waving. It’s all very dramatic and in a very typical Prompto fashion, and Noct can’t quite keep the grin off his face, watching Prompto become so animated. He’s certain that it’s mostly for his benefit, to help him take his mind off the dreams and the pain. He smiles helplessly, looking at Prompto rather than at the TV show he so vigorously describes, and he thinks, You’re so great, over and over and over.

“—and that’s how she ended up on the thirteenth question with no lifelines,” Prompto finishes his retelling and settles down again, resting his hands on Noct’s knees in his lap. “She doesn’t win, though. She’s gonna muck up the next question and fall all the way to 320,000 Crowns. Shame.” Noct quirks up an eyebrow at him, and Prompto shrugs. “It’s a rerun.”

“I can’t believe you watch this,” Noct says.

“I gotta get my wisdom somewhere, dude,” Prompto says, feigning offense.

They watch the TV for a moment, content and warm. Noct tries to follow the program, but mostly he watches Prompto watching the show instead. The contestant does fuck up the next question, and even though he knew it was coming, Prompto still bites at his thumb with nerves. It shouldn’t be as adorable as Noct thinks it is, he’s pretty sure. Prompto’s hair is weirdly flat against the crown of his head, the result of wearing a beanie for so long, and curling at the tips probably from the humidity outside. He would flip if he knew about it, but Noct just thinks he looks cute. His fingers twitch in his lap with how much he wants to touch him.

Noct is so, so fucked.

He clears his throat and says, “I brought you something from the Citadel,” just so that he has something to talk about and doesn’t blurt out, Hey, have I ever told you how fucking pretty you are? on accident.

Prompto turns to him, eyes wide and jaw slack. “What?” he hisses. “Noctis! We said no presents!”

“Calm down,” Noct tells him. “I didn’t buy it or anything.” He reaches into the Armiger, the space carved in the fabric of reality to house the weapons of his Ancestors, and pulls out his present for Prompto—a bag of chocolates, in gold foil and black wrapping, with elegant font reading Happy Solstice on the front of each piece. He pulls his legs back and drops the bag into Prompto’s lap. “Shit, that thing weighs a ton.”

It does. It’s a big bag that Noct may or may not have taken from one of the storerooms at the Citadel the last time he was there, and Prompto stares down at it as if it’s full of gold rather than chocolate. “Oh gods,” he says, and looks at Noct with desperation. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I literally grabbed it on my way out today, Prompto, it doesn’t—”

“That’s not the point,” Prompto snaps and tears into the bag, picking up one of the chocolates. He squints at it. “Is it good chocolate?”

“I guess so.”

Prompto reaches over and slaps Noct’s bicep with the back of his hand. “Jerk,” he says, pouting. “You should have told me you were getting me a present. Now I look like an ass who didn’t get you anything. Well, I guess I didn’t, so…”

“It’s not even a present,” Noct says. “I basically stole it—”

“I mean, what am I even supposed to get you?” Prompto says, ignoring Noct’s argument. His voice pitches higher than usual as he works himself up to a panic.

Noct holds out his hands. “Prompto—”

“You’re the Prince and I’m broke, there’s literally nothing—”

“Just gimme the chocolates back if it bothers you so much—”

“No,” Prompto snaps, and clutches the bag to his chest like a treasure. Some of the chocolates spill out back onto his lap. “Refusing a gift is rude.”

“You called me a jerk,” Noct reminds him. “That’s not rude?”

“Not when you are a jerk,” Prompto replies. He looks down at the chocolates he’s clutching in his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he says, so sincere Noct’s heart skips a beat in his chest. “I’ll go out and get you something later, I promise. Even though I don’t know what yet.”

Prompto, who keeps the heat on low to save money, worrying about getting Noctis—Noctis, the prince, who’s lived most of his life in a literal palace—a present in exchange for some stolen chocolates is a bit too much for Noct to handle. He groans, and pinches the bridge of his nose, and says, “Oh, for gods’ sake.”

Before he can think better of it, Noct lurches forward, tilts his head just so, and kisses his best friend on the lips.

Bad, bad, terrible idea, his back yells at him, twinging with phantom pain, but Noct just flat out doesn’t care. Prompto is warm and soft against him, mouth slightly open, and he tastes vaguely of mulled wine—not the best second-hand taste in the world, but Noct doesn’t care about that either. He closes his eyes.

In hindsight, Noct will remember it as a particularly shitty kiss. Noct is still a bit drunk, and neither of them know what they’re doing. Prompto doesn’t even know what is happening. They’re just kind of there, lips pressed together.

Right now? Noct thinks it’s really fucking great.

Prompto moans against Noct’s lips, and the vibration sends a shiver down Noct’s spine. Then it occurs to him that Prompto might be actually trying to say something. Noct pulls back and opens his eyes.

Prompto is staring at him, as red as an overripe tomato.

Blinking, Noct realizes that he just kissed his best friend, and… sure, Noct’s been pining for a while, and this has probably been brewing in him for just as long, and Prompto was so close and so cute and so kind to him the whole time—but to Prompto this must all come out of the blue. Noct’s cheek feel hot, hotter and hotter by the second, as the embarrassment starts to settle in now that they’ve parted. His back hurts.

“There,” Noct says, voice strained and tight as he tries to sound casual and justify the unsolicited kiss. “That’s your gift to me.”

Prompto blinks at him, takes a shuddering breath, and buries his face in his palm. “Oh, gods,” he moans into his palms, and peeks at Noct between his fingers. “Noct, that’s—this is just you giving me another gift!”

Noct’s poor intoxicated, overheated brain screeches to a halt. “What?” he says, feeling faint.

“This totally doesn’t count,” he snaps, and points a shaky finger at Noct. “It’s not a gift from me if I liked it!”

“You did?” Noct says in almost a whisper.

Prompto nods, still red. He clears his throat. “I—yeah.”

Noctis blinks at him. “You… wanna do it again?”

Prompto nods again, head bobbing up and down rapidly. “Yeah—”

And so they do. It’s clumsier now, the both of them leaning forward into it, noses bumping as they both tilt their heads wrong, but it’s also better for it, warmer and livelier, and it’s everything Noctis imagined kissing Prompto would be like and then some.

They are inexperienced, though, and out of breath sooner than Noct would like. He leans back first, and Prompto follows the motion until he’s leaning over Noct, his messy fringe falling into his eyes. “Is this for real?” Prompto asks, looking stunned. “Is this—a thing now?”

Noct smiles at him sheepishly, and reaches out to brush the hair out of Prompto’s face. He’s been wanting to do that for a while, but he never realized how much until now. “If you want it to be,” he says. “Happy Solstice?”

Prompto laughs like he can’t keep it in, helpless and surprised. He’s still wide-eyed and red-cheeked, and he drops his forehead against Noct’s shoulder. “Noct,” he says, and Noct’s name has never sounded better. “Happy Solstice.”

Noct’s back still hurts, and his knee is curled underneath him in an awkward, uncomfortable way, but all the biting cold and the pain, all of it is worth it in this moment. Noct presses his nose into the soft hair at the top of Prompto’s head, and he thinks, You’re so great, for the thousandth time this evening alone.

“I still owe you for the chocolates,” Prompto whispers into Noct’s shoulder, and Noct laughs and lets himself fall back into the cushions, pulling Prompto along.