Archive of Our Own

Eight months into knowing Noct, Prompto was invited to the Citadel for the first time.

To be more precise, eight months into knowing Noct, Ignis took him aside and suggested that Prompto undergo a series of, quote, “relatively unobtrusive background checks”, which would be a requirement if he were to be invited to the Citadel in the future.

“I suspect Noct will request your presence at the Glacian’s Vigil gala next month,” Ignis explained dryly, “but, by the time he thinks to ask, it will be far too late to get you the necessary security clearance. I thought to get ahead of the issue and spare myself the whining.”

Still a little intimidated by Ignis—and more than a little apprehensive at the mention of “background checks”, plural—Prompto had laughed nervously and said, “Uh, yeah, sure, of course!” without much thought.

Judging by Ignis’ approving nod, his utter lack of consideration somehow came off as confident rather than empty-headed. “Excellent. I’ll inform you once you’ve been cleared.”

Right. Okay. Ignis thought he would probably pass the background checks. Plural. So he hadn’t been only suggesting them as part of his scheme to oust this annoying pleb he didn’t like from Noct’s social circle by exposing his secret life of crime (which was so secret that Prompto himself was unaware of it).

Or, if that was what he was doing, he was a good actor.

After agonizing over the conversation in the back of his head for about an hour, Noct’s blatant cheating in Moogle Party 8 finally managed to get his mind off of the whole thing. It promptly fled his memory and did not return.

Three days later, Prompto returned from his morning jog to find Cor the Actual Immortal standing impatiently on his parents’ porch.

It took a solid ten seconds of utter terror for Prompto to process the sight of Cor the Immortal (?!) darkening his door. In that time, Cor the Immortal (?!?!) had uncrossed his arms for just long enough to ring Prompto’s doorbell, then bang on the door loud enough to wake the neighbors. The realization that Cor the Immortal (!!!!!!) had been at his door awaiting entry for an unknown amount of time finally unfroze Prompto’s sneakers from the ground.

His feet carried him up to his own doorstep in a haze of panic. “Um!” he squeaked as he approached despite having zero idea of what to say next. Even if he’d composed a full speech, it wouldn’t have mattered; Cor the Immortal turned to face him, expression stony, and Prompto forgot every single word to ever exist. Maybe permanently.

“Prompto Argentum,” the Immortal said with no particular inflection.

Prompto eeped.

“My apologies for the early visit. I hoped I’d catch you before school,” he continued, and it occurred to Prompto that, hey, wait, he should be waiting on an explanation for Cor the Immortal’s presence, shouldn’t he? This was Prompto’s home. He didn’t have to feel wrong-footed; Cor was the one who ought to be explaining himself.

But then Cor said, “We’ll speak inside,” and Prompto practically tripped over himself in his haste to unlock the door.

He’d half been expecting Cor to push past him as soon as the door was open—his aura was so imposing, it conjured up images of him marching inexorably ahead—but the Marshal instead followed a few polite steps behind as Prompto spilled into the entryway. “Um… I can… tea?” Prompto tried, fumbling for everything Ignis had ever taught him about Citadel-worthy manners.

“No need.” Cor quietly closed the door behind him, his eyes flicking over every dusty inch of the sitting room. “This won’t take long.”

Right. Yeah. Telling Prompto that he was no longer permitted to associate with the Crown would only take a second. Confiscating his phone so that he could bother Noct and Ignis and Gladio no further would be even quicker. And, given that this was Cor the Immortal, unsheathing his sword and cutting Prompto in half hotdog-style for the heinous crime of sending the Prince too many baby chocobo gifs would be the swiftest act of all—

“Breathe, Argentum.”

Prompto obediently sucked in a breath, then tried not to wither beneath the Marshal’s exasperated gaze. “Uh, sorry.”

Cor shook his head. “You’re fine. I’m just here to tell you that your background checks have all cleared.” The words “background checks” (still plural) yet again made Prompto flinch, and Cor’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “That’s a good thing.”

“I—I know,” Prompto defended himself. I just don’t like being reminded that they happened in the first place.

Instead of shooting Prompto one of those “But did you really know?” looks that Ignis was so fond of, Cor just continued, “You will now be granted a higher level of security clearance, which means you’ll have access to a broader range of areas and events within the Citadel. Scientia says you’ll be attending the Vigil gala this year?”

Was that a trick question? A complaint? Was he trying to suss out whether Prompto was just using Noct for access to fancy parties? Was Prompto supposed to take it as a tacit denial of his worthiness to be there? Or a thinly-veiled threat to his person if he dared show his face? ‘Cause, uh, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking it that way.

“…If Noct invites me,” he managed after a moment.

That got him a considering hum, which got him nowhere with his mounting panic. “This new level of clearance marks you as someone legally affiliated with the Crown.” That capital C seemed to echo through the house. “Assuming that you continue associating with His Highness and attending exclusive Citadel events, moving forward, you’ll unavoidably be exposed to highly sensitive information.”

‘Oh, gods. I’m about to be taken out because I could potentially know too much in the future. And I didn’t even get to learn too much first.’

Cor sighed. “Please stop looking at me like that.” Yet, when Prompto’s eyes plummeted like lead to the floor, Cor just sighed again, even harder this time. “Kid. You’re not in trouble. I’m just trying to help you.”

Even with Cor the Immortal standing in his home, the teacher’s pet part of Prompto couldn’t help but relax a little at the words “not in trouble”. Steadying himself with what he hoped was a subtle few seconds of slow breathing, he glanced back up at the Marshal through his bangs. “…Help me how? Uh, sir?”

“As I said, legally speaking, you have undeniable ties to the Crown now. It isn’t likely, but it’s possible that you may be targeted due to this association.” Cor reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, which was so unexpected that Prompto didn’t even have any anxiety spirals to go down about it. “That means your safety is no longer solely your own concern, but an issue of Crown security as well. Unlike most people in such a position, however, you have no security detail nor self-defense training.”

Quicker than Prompto could begin to worry about that ominous sentence, Cor flicked a business card out from his wallet and held it aloft. ‘Cor Leonis, Lord Marshal of the Crownsguard’ was printed on it in professional serif font, alongside two phone numbers labeled ‘Office’ and ‘Business’, though Prompto had no idea what the difference could possibly be between those two.

It turned out not to matter. A moment after he’d pulled it out, Cor flipped the business card around to reveal a third number written on the back in permanent marker—and, for some incomprehensible reason, rather than writing something like ‘Emergencies Only’ or ‘Seriously, if you text me something trivial, your life is forfeit’, he’d simply labeled the number as ‘Cor’.

“Memorize this number,” he said sternly while Prompto was still trying to process those three letters. “You will be able to reach me here at any hour of the day. Call immediately if you have any reason to believe you’re being threatened. Particularly if anyone asks you any suspicious questions about His Highness or the Citadel. Do you understand?”

Prompto was still kind of stuck on the fact that this conversation was happening at all, so he didn’t reply. All he could do was gape at Cor, mouth hanging open like an idiot. This had to be a joke. There was no chance in hell that the Marshal of the Crownsguard was actually making Prompto’s safety his own problem. Friend of Noct’s or not, Prompto was just some kid. Surely the Immortal couldn’t actually be this concerned about whether somebody roughed him up or not.

But Cor’s expression was dead serious, even as he very slowly raised an eyebrow beneath Prompto’s scrutiny.

“…Do you understand, Argentum?”

Prompto snapped out of his reverie at last. “Y-yes, sir!” he squeaked, barely quashing the sudden, inane urge to salute. “I, uh—I got it!”

With an approving nod, Cor tucked his wallet back into his pocket—and, to Prompto’s silent dismay, he toed off his shoes and stepped further into his house rather than backing out. A few long strides carried him directly past Prompto, through the sitting room, and into the kitchen; Prompto could only watch, dumbfounded, as Cor plucked an eye-searing chocobo magnet from the fridge.

“Memorize it,” he repeated as he used the magnet to affix his business card in a place of honor just above the landline. “I don’t want you unable to contact me in an emergency because your phone is dead.”

“Uh,” Prompto stammered. “Y-yes, sir. You got it, sir.”

“I’m not your C.O., kid. You don’t have to call me that.”

Prompto winced. “Sorry, sir.” He winced harder.

At least Cor was willing to overlook that one—or maybe he’d just grown weary of constantly correcting him. Whatever the case, he stepped back from Prompto’s fridge and nodded at him curtly. “That’s all.” Without further fanfare, he walked right past Prompto again and stepped back into the entryway. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll show myself out.”

Prompto was fairly certain that none of his mangled sentences or stumbling steps today fell under the umbrella of “hospitality”, but Cor was back in his shoes and out the door before he could compose himself enough to say so.

It wasn’t until nearly a year later that Prompto had any reason to use the number he’d dutifully memorized.

Unknown Number (7:38 PM): prompto argentum

The text was innocuous on its face. Prompto had turned his phone off for his shift and hadn’t thought to turn it back on before jogging home, so he didn’t see it until a little after nine, when he stood in the entryway scraping his shoes on the mat. It contained his name, in all lowercase, and nothing else. A follow-up text from about three minutes later appended a ‘?’, turning it from an awkward greeting into an awkward question.

Being friends with Noct meant that many people, most of whom Prompto would never meet, had access to his name and number in case of prince-related emergencies. Not to mention, y’know, he had classmates and coworkers, and sometimes they actually interacted with him of their own free will.

Still, when people like Ignis and Gladio and Dana from AP Physics had texted him for the first time, they’d at least bothered to introduce themselves.

So, with a furrowed brow—but without hesitation—Prompto clicked on the notification and tapped out a casual ‘yep that’s me! :) whats up?’ in response.

When a reply didn’t come immediately, he set his phone aside and stooped to untie his shoes. He’d gotten them and his socks both off before his phone buzzed with a new message. Wobbling back upright, he tapped on the notification as he strode towards the kitchen for a glass of water, balling his nasty socks up in his other hand.

It took him a moment to realize what exactly he was looking at. When it sunk in, he stopped in his tracks, his stomach doing a funny little swoop.

The unknown number had sent him a photo. A photo of himself, on his morning jog. Taken from maybe fifteen feet away. Kind of blurry. As if they’d been—jogging behind him. Following. Keeping their distance. Snapping a secret pic from behind.

Or, well—maybe it wasn’t supposed to be secret, per se, but Prompto certainly hadn’t known anyone was—was—

Stupidly, he twisted to look over his shoulder, as if the one who had taken the photo would still be standing behind him, phone raised, for him to catch red-handed.

By the time he’d turned back around, a second message had come in. Yet again, it was merely a—

Unknown Number (9:07 PM): ?

What—what did that mean? A question mark? That. That was so obviously a photo of him. And someone had taken it, on purpose, and sent it to his number. Which he had just admitted was his number. So it wasn’t like they weren’t sure whether they had the right blonde idiot.

What was the question mark even supposed to mean? “Oh, hey, stranger I saw this morning but didn’t bother speaking to. I decided to send you a photo of yourself twelve hours later with no context. Wyd?”

The fistful of socks fell carelessly from Prompto’s hand and bounced away into the kitchen as he fumbled to type out a reply, mashing the send button before auto correct could catch his typo.

You (9:08 PM): who is thsi

He stared at the screen as he waited for a reply—preferably a full name, address, and Ignis-level PR-perfect apology for having scared him. That was about the only thing that would make him feel less weird about that picture.

Instead, the unknown number sent him another picture. It appeared a quarter at a time, from top to bottom, as his old phone chugged to download it.

It was only halfway loaded when Prompto dropped his phone to the ground with a clatter.

That was—

That was his house.

That was a photo of his house, taken from the street just outside.

Someone was outside—someone knew his name and his number and knew that he was looking at his phone and knew that he was in his house and they were outside—

Prompto whirled around. In his head, he’d so vividly imagined someone kicking the door in, barging into his home, wide eyes fixed on him, that he could swear for a second he actually saw movement. Heart leaping into his throat, he staggered back into the kitchen, reaching out unsteadily to brace himself against the fridge, waiting for his suddenly blurry vision to clear enough that he could see—

His front door, still closed, still locked, still not kicked in.

Slowly, his eyes flicked over to Cor’s business card, drawn to the highlighter-yellow of the chocobo magnet which he’d never quite had the guts to unstick from his fridge once Cor the Immortal had put it there. Seeing the number wasn’t necessary, since he had in fact memorized it, but it did abruptly remind him that he ought to be calling right about now.

After another moment of stunned silence, he lurched into action, stooping low to scoop up his fallen phone. The sight of his own house, now fully buffered—the picture clearly taken from the sidewalk just outside, from just outside his house, not twenty feet away—made him freeze again for a moment. With newly trembling fingers, he minimized the text and fumbled his way to the contact he’d saved as ‘The Marshal EMERGENCIES ONLY’ (just to make sure future-Prompto didn’t get any funny ideas).

The phone only rang for maybe two seconds before the call went through.

“Leonis speaking.”

Prompto’s mouth popped open, but he suddenly could muster no words. All he seemed capable of doing was panting raggedly into the receiver, hand trembling, eyes fixed on the door. Still not kicked in. Yet. Prompto’s own shadow, cast against it from the kitchen lights, was tricking his brain into thinking someone must be standing just on the other side of it, filling Prompto’s silhouette. Foot poised.

Cor spoke again, tone suddenly urgent. “Argentum? Is that you?”

“Someone’s outside,” Prompto breathed.

On the other end of the line, something made a thump; Cor’s voice came in tandem. “Where are you.”

Somehow, Prompto struggled even to answer that. The thump had made him flinch, even as quiet as it had been through the phone, and now he found he couldn’t quite unclench his jaw. “Home,” he managed after a moment of grasping for words. “I—I just got—I was at work—but I didn’t see—”

“Who is outside,” Cor interrupted.

“I—I—” Prompto’s mouth gaped. “I don’t know.”

“Are they trying to get in?”

“No,” Prompto said; then, as images of the door flying open and a figure storming in flashed through his panicked brain— “I—I don’t know. I—there’s—a text—”

“What text?”

“I—there’s a—I don’t know from who, it just—”

“What does the text say, Argentum.”

“It’s—nothing. It’s a picture.”

“A picture of your house?” Cor somehow managed to intuit, despite the inanity of Prompto’s babbling. Then, without waiting for confirmation— “Are you near any windows?”

That question caught him off-guard, despite being a blindingly obvious thing to ask in hindsight. His eyes tore away from the door at last, darting instead to the windows just behind the couch, their curtains spread wide. The rest of his block was spread out behind them, dark and quiet, swathes of shadowed grass shattered by the stark black silhouettes of trees. “Um—I—”

“Move out of sight of the windows.”

Woodenly, Prompto staggered back further into the kitchen until his back hit the counter with a painful bang. That set his breathing off on a frenzy again, and his phone wobbled away from his ear as his arm flagged, shuddering all the way down to rest against the counter. Crumbs from the sandwich he’d assembled here this morning pressed into his skin like tiny shards of glass.

Distantly, he realized that Cor’s voice was still humming out from the speaker of his phone, tinny and faint, and Prompto found the strength to yank it back up to his ear. “S—” he started, and then realized he had no breath to speak with. His gasp seemed far too loud, even with his pulse pounding in his ears like it was. “S—sorry—what?”

For a moment, Cor didn’t respond. “Argentum, sit down on the floor, slowly,” he said eventually, and his voice was even sharper than before. “I am on my way. Sit down and do not move.”

Sit down? But—there was someone outside. There was someone outside, peering in through the windows, maybe standing just on the other side of the door, waiting—he couldn’t—

“Argentum, did you hear me?”

Mutely, Prompto stared into the sitting room. Cor had told him to move out of sight—now he’d been ordered to sit down, as well—but, standing within the kitchen where he was, he could still see about half of the window closest to the front door. Someone standing just outside of that window would be able to see him, too.

He could have simply shuffled to the side, letting the wall block him from view, and then sat down, as Cor had instructed—were it not for the fact that he was pinned in place, hand glued to the edge of the counter where he’d gripped it for stability, unable to look away from the tiny glimpse he could see of the outside world.

Anyone could look in. Anyone could see. Anyone could be hiding behind those bushes over there, lurking behind that car parked at the curb, standing obscured in the shadows somewhere with their camera out and their eyes fixed on—

“Argentum?”

“I need to close the curtains,” Prompto said numbly.

“No.”

Cor’s voice left no room for argument, but Prompto’s jaw trembled its way open anyway. “I.” His arm was drifting down again, unable to hold the suddenly massive weight of his phone aloft any longer. “I need.”

“Argentum,” Cor barked, loudly enough that Prompto flinched, even though the phone was sinking further and further from his ear. “Stay where you are. Do not approach the windows.”

“They can see. They can all see me.” His own words sounded alien and incomprehensible; the slurred ramblings of some other Prompto standing somewhere else in this room. “I need to. I have to close the.”

“Prompto, don’t—!”

He hung up.

Instantly, the screen lit back up with an incoming call, the Justice Monsters V theme scraping shrilly out from his phone’s shitty speakers. The Marshal EMERGENCIES ONLY, the screen taunted him, as if he could’ve forgotten who he’d just hung up on and why that was an awful idea.

But the Marshal didn’t understand. He couldn’t see Prompto’s windows—the three massive holes in his already-spotty defenses, their curtains pulled aside so that anyone, anyone could walk up and just look in. They’d have a view of the entire sitting room, plus some of the kitchen and hallway—they’d be able to see Prompto’s running shoes, discarded by the mouth of the entryway, and his homework, still spread across the coffee table where he’d neglected to complete it before work—confirming, without a doubt, that he was inside, even if they couldn’t see him—

Like this, he was too vulnerable. Too exposed. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t safe. Anyone could see.

Prompto shoved his ringing phone into his pocket and staggered out into the sitting room.

Mistake. Instantly, Prompto could feel the eyes digging into him; could practically see the shady figures crawling up to the windows, noses pressed to the glass, as he emerged from the relative safety of the kitchen. Gritting his teeth, Prompto forced himself to round the coffee table, reaching out for the first curtain with a minutely trembling hand.

As he began to pull it shut, his phone went quiet in his pocket—but only for a moment before it began ringing again. Prompto twitched at the familiar jingle, then looked frantically out the window, feeling like a horror movie protagonist whose phone had gone off just when he thought he’d escaped the monster’s notice.

There was no one out there.

No one he could see, at least.

There could easily be someone just out of sight—

Prompto’s hand wavered as he jerked the curtain as far across the windows as it would go. One down. Only two left.

He shuffled hastily over to the central curtain on wobbly knees, spreading it out in either direction with both hands. Once it had extended across its full width, every part of Prompto’s brain wanted to freeze there for a moment, fully hidden, and not risk stepping out from his cover to finish the job.

But it wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe. Someone was outside and they’d sent him a picture and they knew his name and anyone could just look in—

With a deep breath that shook audibly on its way in, he darted out from behind the central curtain and grabbed for the last one. As he took a fistful of the fabric, his eyes flickered nervously back over to the sliver of window remaining uncovered.

There—in the neighbor’s lawn—just for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw—

Prompto yanked the curtain shut so quickly that the curtain rod made an unhappy squeal.

As soon as the windows were fully blocked, he dropped to the ground like he’d simply run out of batteries, hands and knees hitting the carpet with a thud that echoed through his whole body. There. He’d done it. He—he was safe now. No one could see. He was safe behind opaque fabric and oak doors and drywall and—

But anyone could’ve seen him while he was standing at those windows, and now whoever was outside knew for a fact that he was home, that he was in here, that they could just break in and then they would be able to look at him all they wanted—

Once, Prompto used to have the same nightmare almost every single night—standing naked and cold in the middle of a room full of faceless, towering figures, their accusatory fingers and piercing gazes fixed on him from every angle.

He hadn’t had that dream in years. But it always made him feel exactly like this.

Prompto’s back pressed to the wall, the newly-drawn curtains brushing the top of his head. He could see with his own two eyes that he was alone in the room; this was just his sitting room, the same as it had always been, and there was no one here to stare at him—

The Justice Monsters V theme played one final time, then went quiet for good.

—unless someone had already gotten in; unless there was someone crouched in the shadow beside the couch; unless there was someone standing behind his parents’ fancy TV; unless someone was under the armchair or around the corner or even hidden behind the curtains—even if he couldn’t see them, they were still there, and they were still looking, and that photo had been from right outside, from right there, and he was even closer to the spot it must’ve been taken from now than he had been when it was sent, but he couldn’t get away, couldn’t move, could hardly see anything but gray spots as his chest heaved and he clawed for breath and rocked on the carpet until his back hit the wall—

Bang, bang, bang.

The door rattled in its hinges; the windows shook in their panes; Prompto quivered where he sat, mouth open around a frightened yelp which dwindled to a gasp without any breath to sustain it.

“Argentum!”

Bang, bang, bang.

Prompto wrapped his arms around his head and yanked his knees up to his chest, heart slamming against his ribcage, eyes squeezing shut without his permission. All his limbs were shaking so hard that they knocked into each other as he tried to curl into a defensive ball, rattling like a sack of loose bones.

“Answer me! Argentum! Prompto!”

Bangbangbangbang.

Any moment now, those vicious knocks would turn to the shattering of wood as the door caved in, and then the footsteps would storm into the sitting room, and Prompto couldn’t even run, couldn’t hide, certainly couldn’t fight, could do nothing but gasp frantically for breath as his whole body tried to shake itself apart—

The slightly muffled theme of Justice Monsters V buzzed out from his jeans.

With his hands shaking so hard, Prompto barely managed to get the phone out of his pocket and onto the ground. It took three frantic swipes at the screen before he managed to answer it. “Cor,” he said immediately, more a whimper than a word, “there’s someone—”

“It’s me,” Cor’s voice snapped back at him, though Prompto could barely comprehend it. “Open the door.”

It was—him? It couldn’t have been long enough—he’d said fifteen minutes—how long had?—but—

“Prompto!”

Finally, he managed to open his mouth again, and, with his last shred of coherence, rasp—

“S’unlocked.”

A pause. Then, with little more than a quiet jingle, the doorknob turned and his front door swung open.

For a split second, Cor’s voice came from both the phone beneath his hand and the doorway on his opposite side—a dissonant chorus of “Fucking hell, kid—” before the call ended and Cor darted out of the walkway, slamming the door shut behind him. “Stay there,” he snapped at Prompto with nary a passing glance, and then he vanished into the hallway.

In the distance, as his heart at last began to slow in his ears, Prompto could hear doors banging open; heavy footsteps striding through the house. For a brief, irrational moment, thinking back to the last time Cor had been here, Prompto wondered if he was looking for the tea Prompto had promised him.

Then his breath caught in his chest.

Cor thought the stalker might already be inside.

Oh, gods, oh, gods, they were already in here, they’d been in here with him all along, watching from behind, camera out, staring, and he hadn’t known, he hadn’t looked, he couldn’t even fucking do one thing right he was stuck in this house and they’d never leave and not even Cor could—

“Argentum, breathe!”

Someone was there, was right there, kneeling in front of him, a dark blot on his gray vision, and Prompto tried to run, but his back was already against the wall, and his limbs were twisted together into a knot, and two hands were already coming to rest on his shoulders, and all he could do was shake and shake and shake and

Fingers wrapped around his hand and pried it off of his own arm, and Prompto tried to whine but didn’t have the air, and then his hand was being jerked out of his safe little ball and his palm was pressed to something flat, and a voice said, “Breathe,” and—

Prompto sucked in a snatch of air through what felt like a tiny tube, then coughed it right back out.

“Good,” the voice said anyway—Cor’s voice, Prompto realized with a start—and the thing under his hand rose. “Again.”

He managed another breath. This, too, left him all at once. Something was constricting his chest, keeping him from pulling in more than a scant half a breath at once without choking. But Cor said, “Again,” and Prompto’s hand shifted as something expanded beneath his palm—something warm and not actually flat, he realized—that was—Cor’s chest?—

Demonstrating—?

Prompto tried another breath. Kind of managed it.

It felt strange, but being able to feel Cor’s own breaths as his chest rose and fell—helped. Bit by bit, the tiny straw he was breathing through began to widen as he forced himself to match Cor’s rhythm. Though he couldn’t stop trembling for even a moment, his vision began to stabilize, gray blotches slowly clearing away as he got more and more oxygen.

“Easy,” Cor said, and maybe Prompto was just seeing everything through panic-tinted glasses, but even the Marshal sounded rattled. “Easy, kid. Shh. You’re alright. In and out, just like that.”

Now that he’d gotten on a roll, continuing to breathe felt much easier. Not as easy as he logically knew it ought to be—it was supposed to be effortless; he knew that—but the iron giant sitting on his chest seemed to have bubbled away into miasma at the sight of Cor the Immortal. Every shuddering inhale filled his lungs to capacity, even if he had to force himself to hold it instead of pushing it right back out.

Cor didn’t speak again until Prompto’s breathing was exactly on pace with his.

“Stay calm when I say this,” he said, which was a great start, “but, as soon as you can, I need you to stand up. I’ll help. Just take my hand once you think your legs can hold you.”

Prompto kept breathing along with Cor’s pace for another—he didn’t know how long. Another several breaths. As many as it took for him to stop feeling like he was about to swoon. As many as it took to clear some of the panic-induced fog from Prompto’s brain. Then he braced himself to stand—though, much to his dismay, his hand was still shaking pretty damn hard when he slipped it off Cor’s sternum and rested it in Cor’s hand instead.

Seeming not to notice this, Cor stood slowly, levering Prompto to his feet alongside him. Once they were upright, he tentatively let go, paused to make sure Prompto wasn’t about to collapse without help—he didn’t, despite how much he was still trembling—then turned to pull back the curtain.

Whatever he saw out there, he nodded his head firmly and let the curtain fall shut again. “Now.” Turning back around, he leveled Prompto with the sort of look that made his men fall in line. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I,” Prompto began, and then he twisted to stare down at his phone, which still sat on the carpet where he’d fallen.

Without needing to be told, Cor knelt to retrieve it for him; Prompto hastily accepted it with unsteady fingers, unlocked it and navigated back to the messages in question with some difficulty, and then thrust it back into Cor’s hands.

With a sharp look, Cor scrolled up through the messages, and Prompto was too relieved to have another set of eyes on them to care about how stupid he looked for identifying himself when asked like a kid with no concept of stranger danger.

“There’s just—my name, and then—that picture is me on my morning jog, must be, and then, the one of my house—I—I don’t know when they took—”

“Two weeks ago,” Cor said.

Prompto—stalled for a moment. Blinked up at Cor. “Wh… what?”

Cor twisted Prompto’s phone around to show him the screen. When he held his finger down on the photo of Prompto’s house, then tapped ‘More info’ in the little menu that popped up, the original file name of the photo appeared at the top of the screen. A long, inscrutable string of numbers. Cor jabbed a finger at the very end of the string, which, Prompto knew from experience, indicated the date and time that the photo had been taken.

The photo had been taken two weeks ago. In the middle of the day. When Prompto had been at school.

“Huh?” he said weakly.

Instead of answering any of the dozens of frantic, unvoiced questions whirling around in Prompto’s head, Cor exited the house picture and scrolled back up to the picture of Prompto on his run. This one, too, he held his finger against to look at the file name. But, even before the menu had popped up, Prompto realized, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he was wearing a swamp-green t-shirt in the photo.

“It’s even older.” Cor glanced over at him, and Prompto shook his head helplessly, eyes fixed on the version of him in the picture. “That’s—that shirt. My Li’l Malbuddy shirt. It’s—I spilled coffee all over it. Weeks ago. This… this is an old picture.”

Sure enough—when Cor tapped on the ‘More info’ option, the file name informed them that this photo was from no less than six entire weeks ago. Not from this very morning, as Prompto had assumed.

“Neither is recent, then,” Cor muttered to himself as Prompto’s thoughts skidded through his head in circles. “And they weren’t taken on the same day. It’s possible you were never followed, then.”

Never, in his sixteen years of living with nigh-debilitating social anxiety, had Prompto felt such an intense rush of mortification.

Six weeks ago. Six weeks. And the other picture, two weeks—not just a different day, a different month. And the proof of that had just been right there for him to view, if he’d thought to check instead of throwing a screaming fit like a toddler and phoning the Marshal of the entire fucking Crownsguard to hyperventilate into the receiver about how someone was outside his house.

He’d dragged Cor the Immortal across half the city for absolutely no reason.

And now he would have to stand here and let Cor the Immortal tell him exactly how he felt about stupid moron idiots who dragged him across half the city for absolutely no reason.

Whatever complicated shapes his face was making, Cor frowned at them. “The pictures being old does not mean that we won’t take the threat seriously,” he tried to reassure him, as if Prompto was upset that he might get written off. “We’ll be considering this an active threat until this individual is apprehended. If anything, the photo being taken much earlier could be indicative of premeditation.”

Oh.

How—how had Prompto not thought of that? Whoever had taken those photos, whatever they’d meant by it, this was definitive proof that it wasn’t a one-off. They’d probably been following him, stalking him, since at least a month before they’d snapped a pic of his house—which meant this had been going on for months without him noticing—

“I don’t say that to scare you,” Cor added hastily. “I meant—shit, sit down, sit down—”

Only thanks to Cor’s hands clamping firmly on his shoulders did Prompto stay upright. Prompto tried to make his knees resolidify, well aware that he already looked pathetic enough, but Cor dragged him a few feet to the left and eased him down onto the couch instead, settling him against the backrest like a conscientious child positioning a doll.

“Breathe, Argentum,” he reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time. Somehow, Prompto’s hand had ended up back on his chest, Cor’s fingers loose around his quivering wrist. “No matter who this person is, or what their intentions were—whether they followed you deliberately, or took these photos on a whim, or however else they were obtained—we’re not going to let anything happen to you. You have my word on that. Just breathe.”

Following Cor’s instructions felt a little easier every time, Prompto thought dully as he inhaled and exhaled in time with Cor’s example. Each pull of air loosened the knot of dread in his chest, even though his stomach was still churning with the horror of how badly he’d handled this whole situation. Right—just because he was a worthless piece of shit didn’t mean Cor was going to stop caring that someone associated with the Crown was being intimidated. At this point, continuing to panic was just foolish. Especially given that he’d already been informed that these pictures weren’t even recent.

“There you go,” Cor said as Prompto’s pulse began to slow beneath his fingers, and a rush of humiliation crashed over Prompto at the affected calm of his voice. “Back with me?”

If his face kept cycling back and forth between sheet white and beet red like this, it was going to do permanent damage to his circulation. “Yes, sir,” he squeaked, still shaking, now with shame as much as fear. “I… I’m… yeah.”

With a hum, Cor released Prompto’s hand, letting it drop down to lay limp in his lap. “I’m going to launch a full investigation into this matter, but that can wait. For now, just stay calm and keep breathing.”

“Yes, sir,” Prompto repeated miserably.

“Cor.”

“Sorry. Cor.” To make up for the lapse, he sucked in an exaggerated breath.

“Good man.” Apparently, Cor thought so little of him now that he took that pathetic display at face value. “I’ll need to speak to your parents, as well,” he added, sounding a bit disgruntled, as if the fact that this house didn’t belong to solely Prompto hadn’t occurred to him until just this moment. “Where are they now?”

Of course Prompto couldn’t make it through this conversation without his other least favorite topic being brought up. “At work,” he mumbled to his shoes.

Most people tended to assume that he meant they simply had late shifts. But, maybe because he’d seen firsthand that they couldn’t be found here in the morning, either, Cor frowned and clarified, “You’re home alone tonight?”

It wasn’t really a question. More of a confirmation of what Cor must already know. Unfortunate, really, because that meant Prompto probably couldn’t fall back on his usual lie—They’ll be home soon, haha, I need to enjoy the house to myself while I can—and, in his current state, he wouldn’t be convincing anyone with his other usual lie—I’ll be fine on my own. Nothing said “I will not, in fact, be fine on my own,” quite like having two consecutive legs-going-out-from-under-you-caliber panic attacks.

Clearly, Cor concurred. He glanced around the empty house with a furrowed brow and considering eyes. “Will you get any sleep here on your own?”

Either this, too, wasn’t really a question, or else Prompto’s answer was blatantly evident on his face. Either way, Cor’s lips pressed together into a thin, straight line, and he offered Prompto a hand up without waiting for a response.

“Come on. Let’s pack a bag and get you somewhere more secure.”

Maybe he should’ve tried to put his foot down, to insist that he’d wasted enough of this man’s time tonight, but the relief which flooded Prompto’s body was too strong for him to resist. He accepted Cor’s hand and let himself be heaved to his feet.

Somehow still restraining the urge to dress him down, Cor herded him over to his room in silence, then stood sentry in the hall while Prompto stepped in. With Cor the Immortal lingering just outside his bedroom—and a sudden awareness that Cor the Immortal had probably caught a glimpse of said bedroom, in all its messy, colorful, video-game-paraphernalia-filled glory—Prompto rushed through the motions of stuffing a few days’ worth of clothes into the first bag he could find.

It wasn’t exactly easy. Prompto was so goddamn pathetic, he was still trembling too much to get the zipper open on the first try. No amount of careful breathing seemed to be enough to make it abate.

Breathing techniques couldn’t cure cowardice, it seemed.

As soon as he shuffled back out, eyes glued to his feet, Cor’s hand came to rest between his shaking shoulders and he was ushered firmly towards the front door. “I’ve called ahead already,” Cor said, “so you won’t be showing up unannounced.”

Called ahead? To—a hotel, must be? If Cor had called ahead, did that mean Prompto didn’t have to pay? Well—it didn’t matter, either way. If the bill was his to foot, he’d have his parents pay. They may not always have the loosest pockets, but they’d never expect him to sleep here tonight. Not after—all of this.

Lacking the energy to ask any questions or put up any resistance, Prompto let Cor lead him out of his own house like a child.

As they stepped out, he finally got another look at the block through calmer eyes. There were certainly no suspicious, hooded figures staring at him from afar—but two cars were loitering at the curb, each surrounded by uniformed Crownsguard, who were muttering quietly to each other.

At the sight of them, what was left of Prompto’s stomach dropped down to his shoes. He should’ve known better, but a part of him had been clinging to hope that Cor was the only person he’d disturbed with this—farce.

Swallowing thickly, he slumped a little more and quietly followed Cor to his own car, which was idling in the driveway with the driver’s side door hanging open. As Cor held the passenger door open for him, the two most intimidating Crownsguard from the curb began to walk towards them; Prompto practically flung himself into the seat before anyone could speak to or look at him.

Unfortunately for him, when Cor swung the door shut behind him, he realized that the window was rolled down. So he just sat there, still as stone, cold sweat accumulating on his brow, as Cor and the two Crownsguard spoke quietly a few feet away. He could’ve eavesdropped to the whole conversation if he wasn’t expending all his energy trying not to be noticed.

“I’ll have more information for you by tomorrow morning,” Cor at last said in a voice which signaled that the conversation was over. “For now, I need to deal with Argentum.”

“The kid’s not staying?” one of the guards asked.

“His parents are out of town,” Cor responded, and the other two nodded along, seemingly accepting this as a complete answer. “I’m taking him somewhere more secure for now. We’ll only need a two-man watch tonight.”

Oh. Prompto hadn’t really thought this whole… thing would warrant his house being guarded, even if he was sleeping there alone. The fact that, even in his absence, two people were staying to keep an eye on the place, was—kind of surreal. Surely these guys had more important things to do.

But the Crownsguard who’d approached Cor first glanced down at him and quirked a smile. “Don’t worry, kid,” she said, making Prompto jump at the unexpected direct address. “We’ll keep an eye on the place for you.”

All he could think to do in response was nod meekly. Cor must have not yet told them that this whole incident was mostly born of Prompto’s hysteria. Though, how they could possibly look at him, quivering like a leaf despite having Cor Leonis at his beck and call, and not realize that he was just some pathetic idiot, was beyond him.

The Crownsguard both saluted at Cor and then vanished back over to their respective vehicles; Cor, meanwhile, finally got into the driver’s seat. “Seatbelt,” he said without looking, and Prompto scrambled to comply, cursing himself for having forgotten something so basic. Ignis would have a conniption if he were here.

Then again, Ignis would have more important lectures to prioritize over the one on road safety. Such as a treatise on the proper handling of the personal phone number of one of the busiest and most important men in the kingdom. Or perhaps an extended rant on the subject of checking the facts before you jumped to insane conclusions and started spreading misinformation. Maybe he’d even have something to say about how someone who was friends with the Crown Prince shouldn’t be fainting in fear just because some wannabe paparazzo sent him a grand total of five texts—

“Argentum,” Cor said grimly, and Prompto jerked in his seat. Instinctively, his head snapped towards the door, as if the Marshal couldn’t see Prompto as long as Prompto couldn’t see him. Cor just sighed. “Prompto. I need you to look at me.”

Already, the conversation ahead felt insurmountable, and it hadn’t even begun yet. But this was his fault, his fuck-up, so Prompto swallowed thickly, blinked until his eyes felt a little dryer, and then twisted around to face the music.

“If something like this happens again,” Cor began, and Prompto was already lost.

If something like this happened again, then surely the guards who’d been summoned from their posts wouldn’t be so keen to wave the incident off with a smile. Surely Cor wouldn’t be driving him away from this empty house, wouldn’t be talking about an investigation. Surely, next time, his idiocy would be met with the contempt it warranted.

“Keep looking at me.” Prompto’s head, which had unconsciously begun to sink into a bow, snapped back up. “And, while you’re at it, I’m gonna need you to listen to me instead of guessing what I’m about to say.”

Was he really that transparent? Stupid question—of course he was. Prompto nodded miserably and tried his best to appear attentive. Then he caught himself and tried to actually be attentive, not just look it.

Cor’s eyes were serious, but the hint of anger he’d imagined was simply absent. Or else Prompto was just not smart enough to pick up on it. But—he was opening his mouth again, and Prompto was supposed to be listening, not guessing.

“If this happens again, here’s what you’re going to do,” he began again, and Prompto snapped to attention.

Thank the gods; a clear picture of what he’d done wrong, other than general stupidity. He listened intently, still braced for a lecture, but willing to take whatever insults may come, so long as they came packaged with direct instructions.

“You’ll call my number. Explain the situation to the best of your knowledge. Stay inside, ready to hide or flee if either becomes necessary. Wait for me, or another Crownsguard if I am unavailable, to get here. Exactly as you’ve done today.”

Prompto blinked. Blinked again. Exactly—as he’d done today? Today had been a disaster. “But I—”

The look on Cor’s face stopped his words dead in his throat.

“What you’re not going to do, under any circumstances,” Cor continued, his voice only now turning stern, “is think to yourself, ‘Last time, I misjudged the exact threat level, and that was embarrassing, so I’ll wait until something worse happens.’ My job is to prevent something worse from happening. I cannot do my job if you wait to call until you really do have a hostile right outside your door.”

That. That all. Made sense. But. “I wasted your time.”

Cor scowled. “No, Argentum. You made me aware of a threat, exactly as you perceived it. Which enabled me to do. My. Job.” Peeling a hand off the steering wheel, he dropped it onto Prompto’s shoulder instead. This time, instead of holding him upright, the weight of it seemed to drag Prompto back down into reality. “Don’t disregard a threat to your safety just because you’re worried about becoming the boy who cried behemoth.”

Something was lodged in Prompto’s throat. When he went to reply, he couldn’t make a noise. All he could manage, after a long moment of trying and failing to blink back wetness from his eyes, was an uncertain nod.

Cor’s face softened. He gave Prompto’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Keep breathing,” he said one last time.

Then, though he looked loath to let go, he withdrew his hand, put it back on the wheel, and finally reversed down Prompto’s driveway and out into the road.

Wrong-footed, Prompto could only turn back around to the window, trying to wrestle back the tears before they could fall. Eventually, he managed to mostly swallow them, though his face still felt red and tender. And his shoulders, despite his best efforts, were still rattling against the seat like he was a tuning fork.

He watched dully as Cor navigated out of his neighborhood, the familiar scenery gliding by. It all seemed so much less sinister now; the shadows were more than hiding spots for creeps, and the quiet streets were serene, not eerie.

“…Feel so stupid,” he finally admitted in a tiny voice.

Cor sighed. “Argentum, nothing you did tonight was stupid.” His hands clenched a little on the wheel. “…Other than drawing the curtains. And leaving the door unlocked. I’ll need you to not do either of those things next time.”

Prompto coughed up something a little too shaky to be a laugh. Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he saw Cor’s shoulders relax minutely.

“Neither of those things are anything to be ashamed about, anyway. Plenty of people get fixated on one small detail when they find themselves in a stressful situation. It’s a well-known phenomenon. I’ve seen men with years of training run back into a burning building because they left the faucet running, or spend thirty seconds tying their shoes when they’re fleeing a bloodthirsty daemon.”

“Wouldn’t leaving the faucet running be good if there’s a house fire?”

“Not the point, Argentum.”

“Right.” Impossibly, Prompto felt his lips twitch up at the ends. “Sorry.”

Cor heaved a sigh, but Prompto felt like he’d witnessed enough Cor Sighs at this point to know that this one was for show. “What I’m trying to say is… you did good, kid.” His voice wasn’t soft; it was no-nonsense. Matter-of-fact. It brooked no argument. “You did just what you should’ve done. Don’t let anyone, even yourself, tell you otherwise. Understand?”

They drove beneath an overpass, and, for a brief moment, Prompto had the privacy of darkness to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said softly as they emerged back into the lit street. “Thanks, Cor.”

“No problem, kid.”

With that, they lapsed into an almost comfortable silence. The unfamiliar scenery slid by outside the car; Prompto let his head loll back against the seat, not paying much attention to his surroundings. Now that the fear and shame had finally drained from him, he felt… hollowed out. Exhausted.

Only when the car began to slow to a halt did he blink himself out of his doze. Right—Cor had called ahead to a hotel, hadn’t he? Sitting back upright, Prompto reached for his bag and his seatbelt at the same time, idly glancing out the window to get his first look at the place he’d be sleeping tonight.

He froze at the familiar sight of Noct’s apartment complex—and the unfamiliar sight of Gladio and Ignis standing in front of it, Gladio with his arms crossed and Ignis with a rapidly-tapping foot.

“This… isn’t a hotel?” Prompto said stupidly.

At that, Cor frowned. “No,” he agreed slowly—then, putting together Prompto’s assumptions in real time, he went from confused to exasperated in a heartbeat. “Kid, I said ‘somewhere secure’. I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Even as he spoke, Ignis had spotted their car and was now striding purposefully towards the curb, an intent look in his eyes. “Besides,” Cor muttered while Prompto was busy staring out the window, “even in a different building, I doubt you’d be getting any sleep on your own.”

Prompto didn’t get a chance to respond to that before Ignis wrenched the car door open, making Prompto jolt with a highly embarrassing little yelp. Leaning halfway into the car, Ignis raked critical eyes up and down Prompto’s cowering form, as if searching for imperfection.

Or, Prompto corrected himself gently, searching for injury, because Ignis’s shoulders became marginally less tightrope-tense once he’d completed his inspection and found none.

“Good evening,” he said after a moment, but the familiar formal words were undercut by a softness that Prompto had only ever heard Ignis direct towards Noct before. “I hear you’ve had quite the eventful evening. Holding up well, I hope?”

“Uh.” Stunned for a moment by the sudden arrival of a friendly face, Prompto could only stare up at him. Only when concern flashed across Ignis’s face did he remember himself and paste on a smile. “About… as well as I could be, I guess?”

Ignis huffed. “What more could I ask of you?” With that, he stooped to guide Prompto out of the car. Like Cor, if he noticed the minute tremors still running through his body, he made no indication that he had.

“I’m surprised His Highness didn’t insist on coming down,” Cor said (slash accused) from the driver’s seat, raising an eyebrow at Gladio as Ignis ushered Prompto onto the sidewalk.

“Yeah, we didn’t tell him,” Gladio responded shamelessly. “Didn’t want him freaking out, so we just said Prompto was coming over and that we’d explain when he got here. We figure he’ll be calmer if he can see Blondie’s okay with his own eyes.”

Cor grunted inscrutably, but otherwise made no reply, which somehow didn’t seem to activate Gladio’s fight or flight response the way it activated Prompto’s. Gladio just moved to Prompto’s other side and pried the overnight bag from his hands without so much as a ‘need help with that?’.

“I can carry it,” Prompto muttered, a bit peevishly, and Gladio just grinned at him.

“You’ll need both arms free to fend off Prince Worrywart. He could definitely tell that something was up, so you better get ready for the interrogation of a lifetime.”

Somehow, Prompto had no trouble imagining that—and, somehow, the idea of explaining the whole sordid affair to these three, who probably had trained in how to deal with these sorts of situations since they were old enough to walk, made the weight on his chest feel lighter, not heavier. “Fair enough,” he said—and then he glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with Cor.

The Marshal was watching Gladio and Ignis escort him up with an expression Prompto couldn’t read. When their eyes met, he just nodded—no smile, no words, no nothing—yet it bolstered Prompto’s strength like a thunderous rallying cry.

“Come along, Prompto,” Ignis said, and Prompto found he was no longer tense enough to flinch even when Ignis’s hand pressed unexpectedly against his back. “We mustn’t keep His Highness in the dark for much longer, or he’ll pout all night.”

Despite himself, Prompto smiled. “Can’t have that,” he croaked, knocking his shoulder playfully into Ignis’s as he turned back around. “He’ll need to reserve all his pouting for when I beat his ass in King’s Knight.”