Archive of Our Own

The midday sun over Galdin Quay beats down on Prompto's freckled skin like a laser ray—the scent of salt, sunscreen, and frying shallots is penetrating the air of the restaurant as people walk around the deck, fully submerged in their conversations.

"You're off?" Coctura asks as Prompto walks towards the counter.

With a look to his left, Prompto offers a polite smile before nodding, "Yeah, I'm taking the boat. It's not occupied, is it?"

She blows a raspberry, looking towards the docks. "I'm not entirely sure. There's always the tiny skiff you keep avoiding in case someone's taken the good one. "

Prompto sighs. "Well. If there's nothing else."

He has grown up around the sea. The blueness of it brings him comfort, even when the nights seem lonely, and the world seems bleak. He's happy that his parents—despite being away constantly, either on vacation or working—have amassed a considerable net worth, which allowed them to buy a house almost directly on the shoreline.

It's a little up the hill, but close enough that, should a tsunami hit, the house would come with it into the city. But Prompto also knows that he has to fend for himself most days—the money his parents send is enough for whatever necessities he needs, but if he wishes to indulge, they have made it clear that he has to find a way to earn gil on his own.

And thus, the part-time job that he—well, semi-enjoys.

His eyes stop over the figure of a boy in his year: messy hair, stormy blue eyes, and an infectious smile, standing with a few people on the beach. He always hangs out here after classes—well, at least that's what Prompto assumes because he's always around when Prompto is.

They've spoken a few times before, but nothing that would be substantial enough for Prompto to deem them friends. With another sigh, he throws one last look over his shoulder towards the boy—unbelievably, their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and Prompto's heart stutters against his ribcage before he frantically looks away.

After saying goodbye to Coctura, Prompto walks towards the piers where the good boat should be. It's better he gets this show on the road and catches some fish for tonight's esteemed guests.

Prompto hitches himself up onto the edge of the motorized skiff—the fancy boat was fucking taken—his tights sticking slightly to the sun-warmed surface of it. He adjusts the straps of his heavy diving vest, checking the pressure gauge on his oxygen tank with practiced, slightly nervous taps of his fingers.

He's got three tanks left and four hours before Coctura needs the fish for the dinner rush prep. It's easy; he's got this—he's done this a million times before, and he's probably going to do it a million times more.

Diving for azure drakes hasn't been what he thought he'd do as a part-time job—he'd like it far more if he managed to land a photography-related gig—but these became a delicacy in these parts of Lucis. The fish flock to the Quay, but they're invasive, aggressive, and packed with venomous spines that can ruin a guy's week if he's careless enough.

But Mother of Pearl became known for them, and so Coctura pays a small fortune to anyone who's brave—or stupid, for that matter—enough to bring back a fresh, local catch. And Prompto, saving up for a new camera, is stupid enough for it.

Plucking his puncture-resistant gloves from the deck, he quickly slides them on, flexing his fingers. Next comes the thick-handled dive knife, strapped securely into the sheath wrapped around his right calf.

Finally, he spits into the mask, rinses it over the side, and slips it over his face, biting down on the rubber regulator. With a backward roll, he falls into the sea. The chaos of the surface world—the blazing sun, the rumble of the skiff's idling engine—instantly dissolves as Prompto's ears fully submerge in the water.

Under the surface, the light filters through the water in shifting curtains of silver and blue—Prompto kicks his fins, guiding himself down towards a jagged ridge of coral where the azure drakes love to hide, keeping his spear-pole ready.

It doesn't take him long to spot one that hovers with an arrogant grace near a cluster of sea anemones. Prompto moves with meticulous care, but then again, he knows it's not necessary. These fish think they're fully protected due to their spikes, and are totally ignorant of other types of dangers.

Gotcha, Prompto thinks. He lines up the spear-pole—the tines catch the fish easily through the head, bringing him the first catch of the day. It's good because it's a big specimen, which means that Prompto's going to get paid more.

He deposits the fish into his catch bag slung over his shoulder, before his eyes continue scanning the reef.

He spends the next forty-five minutes tracking down the fish, his movements fluent, coming easily to him. Despite his fear of water during the first half of his life, it's now become a place that soothes his nerves and brings him comfort.

Maybe that's why he doesn't exactly understand why suddenly all of the fish disappear—that's never happened before. The shift in water becomes even more apparent when a chilly current washes over him, making his hair stand up under his wetsuit. He freezes as his hand hovers over his catch bag.

A shadow passes over him, large and alarmingly fast—too fast for Prompto to get a glimpse. His heart speeds up because there's only one thing that it could be. Galdin Quay reef has sharks, sure, but they usually ignore divers unless there's blood in the water.

And Prompto isn't bleeding anywhere.

He spins around in the water, his fins kicking up a small cloud of sand, his spear-pole held out defensively in case there is something dangerous there waiting for him.

As the water clears, Prompto wishes he could rub his eyes behind the masks as his jaw drops so wide he almost loses his grip on his regulator. Floating a mere ten feet away is a creature that defies every law of biology Prompto has ever memorized.

From the waist up, it's a young man—broad-shouldered, pale-skinned, with messy dark hair that floats around his head like a halo of midnight silk, but from the hips down, where legs should be, there is a massive, powerful tail that matches his hair almost perfectly in color. It's long, almost snake-like, winding and twisting as it keeps the mer floating upwards.

It's almost too beautiful to look away— Prompto notices it's covered in shimmering iridescent scales that shift from deep indigo to the darkness of a deep-ocean trench, ending in a translucent, flowing fin that ripples lazily in the current.

Prompto's brain doesn't understand what he's looking at, especially when his own eyes meet a pair of striking, glowing blue.

For a moment there, Prompto thinks the person—fish? Mermaid? Merman?—looks exactly like a person he's stared at for a bit too long every time they cross paths, but that couldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible.

Whatever he's looking at is impossible. No way.

Prompto grips his spear-pole tighter, his chest heaving as he takes a sharp, panicked breath through his regulator. Even underwater, Prompto sees the resemblance, sees the eyes he's often looked away from in panic when they met briefly, either in class or at the beach.

It's definitely Noctis; it has to be—it has to be the quiet, fiercely guarded guy who sits in the row in front of him in his advanced marine biology lecture at Insomnia University. He always wears oversized hoodies, drinks canned coffee like it's water—no, Prompto doesn't stalk him, okay?!—and has an entourage of two terrifyingly competent friends who look like they could snap Prompto like a twig.

Noctis Caelum has always been a bit of a mystery for everyone around him who didn't know him well. He seems to get along with everyone despite the aloof attitude he projects every time he opens his mouth, but he's got a reputation that doesn't fit his (very handsome) face—a grump, but at the same time, the one most people crush on, because his visage turns heads when he's walking past.

Prompto once had a life mission to be his friend, but even after losing all of the weight and gaining some confidence, he didn't find it in himself to actually step up to him and ask him to hang out. They've spoken a few times before, but they were hushed exchanges or a random 'hey, can I borrow your pen?'—conversations that would in no way, shape, or form make them anything remotely close to friends.

And Prompto supposes that it's alright.

No, wait, it's not alright. Prompto has spent the last two semesters harboring a massive, frankly pathetic, entirely unrequited crush—just like the rest of the school—on him from exactly three seats and one row away.

And now, he's looking at Noctis, just floating there with a godsdamned tail where two legs should be, and he has absolutely no idea what to think.

Prompto lets out a frantic explosion of bubbles, his arms flailing slightly as he tries to pack paddle. I've got nitrogen narcosis—that's it. My tank is contaminated, I'm hallucinating, and I'm going to die out here with my last thoughts being about the hot guy from my class as a literal fish. Fuck.

Noctis doesn't attack; in fact, he doesn't look menacing at all. If anything, he looks almost annoyed, his brow furrowed in a grumpy pout. He tilts his head, pointing a webbed hand back towards the deep blue beyond the coral reef, making a sharp, jerking motion with his arm.

When Prompto just stares at him like a stunned idiot, Noctis rolls his eyes. To Prompto's sheer terror, he hates how familiar he is with that gesture. Maybe, just maybe, he should focus in class instead of looking at Noctis all the time? What a brilliant thought.

The merman swims closer, his movements so fast and effortless it makes Prompto's head swim. He stops just out of arm's reach, points directly at the heavy diving knife strapped to Prompto's leg, and then points at the open waters again. He mimics a cutting motion with his fingers, his eyes now wide and urgent.

Prompto blinks before looking down at his knife and back at Noctis.

It finally dawns on him that Noctis is asking for his help.

Noctis reaches out, his webbed fingers gently, tentatively brushing against the sleeve of Prompto's wetsuit. Prompto tries not to flinch when he feels Noctis tug on him.

Swallowing his absolute bewilderment, Prompto nods. He's going to deal with whatever the hell is happening later; right now, he needs to help. If a merman revealed himself to someone, it has to truly be an emergency.

As they swim, the water grows deeper, colder, and darker—they descend along the edge of the continental shelf, and Prompto keeps a close eye on his depth gauge, but his attention is repeatedly stolen by the breathtaking grace of Noctis. The merman glides through the water like he was carved from it, his long tail cutting through the currents with effortless power. Every few seconds, Noctis glances back over his shoulder to ensure Prompto is keeping up, those bioluminescent blue eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light.

Soon, Prompto sees the problem.

Tangled in a massive, discarded ghost net near the base of a rocky outcrop is a sea turtle. It's a huge loggerhead, its shell easily four feet across. The heavy, green nylon netting is wrapped tightly around its front flippers and neck, pinning it to the rocks. The poor creature seems exhausted, its movements sluggish as it feebly tries to break free—clearly running out of air.

Noctis swims straight to it, hovering over the turtle and smoothing a hand over its large shell in a soothing gesture. The turtle seems to calm down slightly at his touch, although its huge eyes are still wide with panic.

Prompto watches as Noctis points at the netting and back to the knife. He doesn't hesitate, reaching down as he unsheathes his it. The absurdity of the situation fades, replaced by the instinctual desire to save the animal. He positions himself near the turtle's front flipper, carefully sliding the sharp edge of the blade beneath the thick nylon ropes.

He saws through the first strand, letting it snap apart. Noctis moves closer, using his hands to hold the rest of the net taut so Prompto can do his job better and faster. Working together, they form a strange, silent team. Prompto slices through the constricting lines near the head, being careful not to nick the turtle's skin, while Noctis uses his incredible strength to rip away the loosened sections of the net.

At one point, Prompto's hand brushes against Noctis' fingers—his skin is cool, cooler than a human's, but it's smooth and supple, soft despite the claws tipping his fingers. Prompto catches his breath, nearly choking on his regulator as he forces himself to focus.

Turtle first, whatever the fuck this is later.

With one final slice, the last major knot gives way, and the loggerhead realizes it's free. It gives a powerful, clumsy kick of its flippers, breaking away from the rock. It hovers for a second, as if orienting itself, before it begins a slow, triumphant ascent towards the surface.

Prompto watches it go, a swell of relief rushing through his chest.

When he turns back, Noctis is watching him. The merman is floating horizontally in water, his long tail undulating slowly to keep him level. His expression is softer now, the grumpy tension that Prompto is used to melting away like snow in the spring. A small, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips, revealing a glimpse of slightly pointed canine teeth.

It's a look Prompto has seen on Noctis before, but never this close, and he realizes that it's breathtaking. He swims a small circle around Prompto, his tail wrapping itself around Prompto's leg—to which Prompto slightly panics—but Noctis only smiles at him, pointing upwards, towards the distant, shimmering surface where the silhouette of Prompto's (Coctura's) skiff sways in the waves.

Checking his pressure gauge, Prompto nods—he's running low on air anyway.

Noctis doesn't leave him; he swims alongside Prompto as they both begin their slow ascent, keeping pace with the diver's mandatory safety stop. They hang there in the open blue for a few minutes, suspended in silence.

Tilting his head, Noctis studies Prompto's mask, scanning Prompto's blond hair floating wildly in the water. He reaches out, his fingertips hovering just an inch away from Prompto's cheek, before drawing back as if unsure.

Prompto's heart is hammering so hard he thinks Noctis must be able to hear it through the water.

Finally, they break free. Prompto spits out his regulator, ripping off his mask and gasps in the warm, salty air. He blinks against the sudden, harsh glare of the afternoon sun and coughs slightly. Grabbing the side of the skiff, he hoists himself up just enough to rest his elbows on the side.

Noctis breaks the surface, too, right after him, his dark hair instantly flattening against his forehead and framing his face in wet spikes. He grips the edge of the boat right next to Prompto, his chest heaving as he takes deep, human breaths. The gills on his neck are closed tight now, nearly invisible against the pale skin.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of them says anything. But the silence gets unbearable, and Prompto turns to him with his eyes wide open. "You—" he squeaks, a crack in his voice so obvious it seems as if he's going through a second puberty. "You're Noctis. From… From Thursday morning ecology. With Cid."

Noctis blinks at him, looking half-surprised that Prompto knows who he is. "Yeah. And you're Prompto. You sit next to the guy who breathes too loudly."

Yeah, that guy annoys Prompto, too. But the guy always comes in after Prompto's already taken a seat, and he'd feel absolutely terrible if he moved because of that.

But that's beside the point!

Prompto lets out a high-pitched, breathless laugh that sounds dangerously close to a wheeze, "Oh, my gods. I'm not crazy—you're—you—you have—you're a fish."

"A merman, actually," Noctis corrects mildly, his voice surprisingly deep and smooth, carrying the same lazy cadence he uses in class when he actually bothers participating. He shifts his weight, his massive tail breaking the surface behind him with a wet slap of water, sending a spray of droplets over Prompto's face. "Fish is kind of insulting, honestly."

"Right, right, sorry! Merman. Holy crap," Prompto mutters, gripping the boat so tightly his knuckles turn white. "A merman, in my class. Taking notes? Well, sleeping mostly. You sleep a lot. But how—what? What is happening right now?"

Noctis chuckles, a low rumbling sound that sends shivers down Prompto's spine. "I like the shore; I live there mostly anyway."

"But you're a merman." Prompto still hasn't gotten over that fact. Maybe he never will. "Why the hell are you taking college classes on marine biology? That feels like it could be cultural appropriation or something."

Snorting, Noctis shakes his head. "Eh, I mean. I don't know all of the intricacies of how the sea works, you know? Besides, gotta learn about land and sea if I ever wish to rule over the latter."

Prompto blinks at him, not knowing what to say to that. But as he opens his mouth, Noctis gives him a blinding smile that completely derails his train of thought.

"Thanks, by the way. For the turtle. I couldn't get through those nets with just my claws. Human trash is a pain in the ass."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, uh, no problem, anytime!" Prompto exclaims, his heart still doing extra high somersaults in his chest. He's so close to his crush, but his crush is a merman. And a prince? Do mer have the same hierarchy as the surface world? What is happening? "Glad we got her out. I hate ghost nets; I try to clean them up if I see them."

"You're a good diver," Noctis says softly, shifting closer until his shoulder is brushing against Prompto's arm. The proximity is dangerous, and so, so dizzying. Up close, Prompto can see the faint shimmering scales trailing up Noctis' collarbones, dusting his skin like crushed diamonds. "And you're a lot louder than in class."

"I'm nervous!" Prompto tries ignoring the dark tail as it slowly slithers closer to him, first touching his leg before it tightly wraps itself around it. "I've, uh, been talking to a mythical creature who also happens to be the guy I've been—uh…" He cuts himself off, biting his tongue before he can confess to his pathetic, year-long pining.

Noctis' tail slithers around his waist, pulling him closer to his body as he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, full of sudden, intense curiosity. "The guy you've been what?"

Prompto gulps, "Nothing! Nothing. Just… the guy from class." Man, what a save. Someone should give him the medal for the number one worst liar in the world. He knows his face is hot enough that the saltwater could steam off it.

Studying him for a beat, Noctis doesn't look angry, but instead looks intrigued—he pulls him even closer, his hands gripping the boat's edge on either side of Prompto's body, effectively trapping him. The lazy, sleepy student is entirely gone, replaced by a creature of undeniable, predatory look.

"You look at me a lot," Noctis says, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "In class, I mean. It's hard not to notice."

Prompto feels like dying. He has no idea what to feel—scared? Aroused? Happy? Absolutely embarrassed? Yeah, yeah, that's the one. "I—I do? I mean, no, no, I don't. I just—ah, the board is right in front of you, near you, uh, I look at the board."

"The board is to my left," Noctis points out, a smug, devastating smirk spreading across his face. He pulls himself higher out of the water as his tail squeezes Prompto's waist even more possessively. He's so close now that Prompto can smell the clean scent of the ocean, mingled with something so uniquely him. "You stare, Prompto, but it's fine. I don't mind."

Prompto is entirely frozen, his brain fully melted. "You don't?"

"No," Noctis whispers as he tilts his head up, his gaze dropping down to Prompto's lips and then back to his eyes. The water laps gently around them—there's a tense silence as if Noctis is testing the waters, his eyes asking a question that Prompto is too terrified to answer out loud.

But before anything else happens, Noctis decides that he wants Prompto's thoughts to come true. Because he closes the distance in a split second, pulling himself a little higher still, and reaches out with his hand to cup the back of Prompto's neck and presses his lips against Prompto's.

His eyes fly wide open because Noctis Caelum is kissing him. Him. As in Prompto Argentum, nobody worthy of noting. The most desired boy in their damn university is there, having him pinned against a damn skiff, pressing their lips together in a manner that feels almost too good to be true.

The kiss is cool and salty, but beneath it, Noctis' lips are incredibly soft and warm. It's hesitant at first, a gentle, testing pressure, as if Noctis is giving Prompto a chance to pull away, freaking out or to scramble back—even the hold on his waist lessens—to the safety of the boat.

But Prompto doesn't move. The sheer shock of it paralyzes him for a fraction of a second, before a wave of pure, unadulterated longing crashes through him. He's dreamed about this—literally dreamed about this—for months, even if his dream usually involved a coffee shop and a pair of normal human legs.

With a soft, muffled sound against Noctis' mouth, Prompto closes his eyes and kisses back. He leans into it, his hands automatically rising to grip Noctis' bare, wet shoulders. Noctis lets out a low, satisfied noise, his grip on the back of Prompto's neck tightening, fingers tangling in the damp, blond spikes of his hair. The kiss deepens, turning sweeter, yet somehow more urgent, a dizzying blur of sun, salt, and the intoxicating reality of Noctis' mouth against Prompto's. He loses all track of time, completely forgetting about the azure drakes, the restaurant, and the fact that he's being held hostage by a merman's tail.

When Noctis finally pulls back, it's slow—his lips linger against Prompto's for a final, gentle friction before he retreats. Prompto opens his eyes, thoroughly dazed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Noctis is looking at him, a soft flush decorating his cheeks, his eyes bright and entirely focused on Prompto. He lets out a quiet breath, a genuinely happy smile transforming his face.

"Hm, yeah, this is much better," Noctis says, his voice full of gentle warmth. Prompto has no idea what he's talking about, and can only stare with his hands still resting against the smooth skin of Noctis' shoulder. His heart is beating a frantic, joyous rhythm against his chest, but that's okay. Because he just kissed his year-long crush, and yeah, maybe he's dying. Maybe an azure drake got him.

Prompto blinks when Noctis cups his face.

"I'll see you on Thursday?" he asks softly, almost as if he's too afraid to ruin the moment.

Prompto finally finds his voice, "Yeah, yeah, Thursday. I'll see you there?"

Realizing that the moment Noctis disappears beneath the surface, Prompto misses the way his tail was holding him steady.

The air conditioning in Room 206 of the Insomnia University Science Center is perpetually broken, always sounding like it's dying with its low vibrating note that does absolutely nothing to help the humid heat rolling in from the coast.

It's Thursday morning—Prompto's favorite and least favorite day, for entirely overlapping reasons.

He sits at his usual spot, the rows from the back, deliberately choosing a spot that gives him a clear view of the projection screen while simultaneously allowing his eyes to wander exactly three seats to the right and one row down.

Prompto clicks his multi-colored pen. He cycles through the colors mechanically—not really paying attention to the diagram of the different water ecosystems Professor Sophiar is going on about and presenting to the class. His notebook is open, but instead of the detailed drawings of deep-sea isopods, the margins are littered with frantic, jagged doodles of stylized waves and chaotic question marks.

It's been exactly five days since the incident at Galdin Quay. Five days of Prompto lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had suffered a textbook case of severe nitrogen narcosis despite knowing he didn't push himself too hard.

I kissed a merman. His forehead comes down with a soft, pathetic thud against his open notebook. I kissed a merman who looks exactly like the hot, brooding guy in my advanced marine biology class.

"Mr. Argentum," Cid's voice barks from the front of the amphitheater, cutting through the low murmur of forty other sleepy students. "Unless you're planning on absorbing the anatomy of a brittle star through osmosis, I suggest you lift your head before you bruise your skull."

Damn you, old man.

A few people chuckle, and Prompto's head snaps up, his face instantly turning crimson. "Right, right, sorry, professor!"

Thankfully, Cid moves on with whatever he was talking about before Prompto's headbanging against the desk interrupted him. Prompto sinks as low as his spine physically allows him, wishing he had a hoodie on so he could hide from the world under the hood.

Allowing himself to sneak a peek towards the row in front of him, Prompto realizes with a heavy heart that the situation hasn't changed in the last ten minutes—the seat that Noctis normally occupies is still empty. He's not here yet, which isn't exactly unusual—Noctis treats the class start time as a vague suggestion at best—but today, the absence feels gaping.

Prompto's stomach twists into a complicated knot of relief and profound disappointment. A part of him is terrified of what would happen when Noctis walked through the door. Would he look like a normal human? Would he look at Prompto with those piercing blue eyes and give him that slow, devastating smirk? Or would he completely ignore him, proving that the entire thing had been a vivid, heat-stroke-induced hallucination?

Twenty minutes into the lecture, the doors in the back of the room open. Prompto's posture immediately stiffens—he doesn't dare turn his head, because that'd be far too obvious, but he shifts his gaze using the maximum limit of his peripheral vision.

Noctis walks in—he looks entirely, fully, absolutely human. He's wearing a baggy black t-shirt that hangs loosely off his broad shoulders and dark cargo pants. His hair is the usual magnificent, gravity-defying disaster, looking exactly as it always does when he strolls into the class with a black backpack slung over one shoulder.

He looks tired. He looks grumpy. He looks perfect.

Prompto holds his breath, waiting for Noctis to slide into his usual seat and immediately pass out for the next forty minutes. It's what always happens; it's a routine that Prompto's never seen Noctis break.

But instead of fulfilling Prompto's expectations, Noctis doesn't even look towards his row. His eyes sweep the room, scanning rows of students before they lock directly onto Prompto. Even from twenty feet away, Prompto can see the sudden focus in those blue ocean eyes—the sleepy aura around Noctis vanishes instantly and is subtly replaced with that terrifying, effortless grace Prompto had witnessed in the deep water, masked poorly beneath a human stride.

Noctis walks down the carpeted stairs of the isle without taking his eyes off Prompto.

His heart begins to thump violently against his ribs. Oh my gods, he's looking at me. He's coming this way. Is he going to sit near me? Is he going to ask for a pencil again? What do I say? 'Hey, nice tail'? No, shut up, don't say that—

Noctis reaches Prompto's row, and without a hint of hesitation, he steps past the two students sitting at the end of the aisle, ignoring the startled grunts as they hitch their knees to let him by.

When he reaches Prompto's seat, he doesn't say a word—Prompto looks up, his mouth slightly open with a greeting dying in his throat, "Oh, hey, Noc—"

Noctis drops his heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud, echoing thud that draws the attention of everyone within the three-row radius. Before Prompto can even register the sound, Noctis steps into the narrow space between Prompto's seat and the one next to him, leans down, and places one hand firmly on the back of Prompto's backrest.

His other hand comes up, long elegant fingers tangling into the nape of Prompto's neck. Without hesitation, Noctis bends forward and kisses him.

And it isn't a subtle kiss—it's not a quick, secret peck on the cheek or a brushed greeting. It's a deep, deliberate, thoroughly possessive pressing of lips that commands absolute attention. Noctis' mouth is warm, tasting freshly of sweet, canned espresso from the vending machine downstairs—that Prompto has never seen him buy, obviously—mingled with a distinct smell of the ocean air.

Prompto's entire universe collapses in a single moment. His brain completely liquefies, leaving his skull empty of thoughts, logic, or basic human survival instincts. His eyes are wide open, staring blankly at the dark fringe of Noctis' eyelashes just millimeters from his face.

The entire lecture hall goes dead, utterly silent. The low ambient noise of the broken air conditioner suddenly sounds like a jet engine.

Noctis tilts his head, deepening the pressure for one more agonizing, but oh-so intoxicating second, his thumb brushing gently against the sensitive skin just below Prompto's ear. He lets out a soft, pleased hum against Prompto's lips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Looking down at Prompto, his expression is perfectly calm, with a tiny satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Morning," Noctis says, his voice back to the normal sleepy rumble, entirely unaffected by the fact that forty people (plus the professor) are currently staring at him with their jaws dragging on the floor. Because Noctis Caelum has rejected every single person that's ever dared to ask him out, and now he's so publicly kissing a random kid that barely speaks in class.

Prompto could die, actually. Right about now. He sits frozen with his arms locked at his sides and his fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. His mouth is slightly open, his lips still burning from the contact.

"I—you… what…" Prompto squeaks.

Noctis doesn't seem to find his reaction strange at all. He casually slides into the empty seat next to Prompto—thankfully, the loud-breathing dude is absent—before reaching for his backpack with his foot and dragging it closer, completely ignoring the absolute, stunned paralysis of the blond boy beside him.

At the front of the room, Professor Sophiar, who stopped mid-sentence again, sighs. His weathered face is twisted into an expression of profound, deeply annoyed bewilderment. "Caelum, while I appreciate the… enthusiasm you bring to the classroom environment, this is a lecture on marine biology, not a soap opera. Take your seat."

"I am in my seat," Noctis shrugs, not even looking up as he unzips his bag, pulling out a crumpled notebook and a pen. They don't really have assigned seating, so really, it's fine that Noctis sits there. It's just that every student kind of decided on where they want to sit at the beginning of the semester, and nobody really changed it since.

Cid stares at him for three long seconds, clearly deciding that he isn't paid enough to deal with whatever the hell just happened. He lets out a heavy grunt and turns back to the projector. "As I was saying, the migratory patterns—"

The rest of the class slowly, but very reluctantly, turns back towards the front, though a dozen heads keep snapping back over their shoulders to stare at Prompto with expressions ranging from intense jealousy to absolute shock.

Prompto, meanwhile, has still not moved a single muscle. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, staring blankly at the slide, and a picture of a shark, but his brain hasn't yet calmed down and collected itself in a way that would make sense.

He kissed me. In class. In front of everyone. Why did he do that? Is this a joke? Is it a dare? Oh my gods, did he find out I've been staring at him for two semesters and decided to publicly humiliate me? No, he didn't look mean; he looked—he looked like he was greeting his boyfriend. But we aren't dating! We've had ONE conversation about a turtle!

A soft rustle of paper pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Noctis has slid a torn piece of the notebook paper across the table. Written on it in messy handwriting is a single line:

You look like you're about to faint. Breathe.

Prompto slowly turns his head. Noctis is already slouching down in his chair, his chin resting against his chest, his eyes half-closed as he watches the professor explain something that he probably already knows by heart. He looks completely at peace, as if he hasn't just shattered Prompto's entire reality into a million damn pieces.

Snatching his pen, Prompto shakily exhales as his hand trembles so hard he almost drops it. He flips to a clean page, pressing down hard and writes back.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT???!?!?!?!

He pushes the paper back over—Noctis looks down at it, blinks sleepily, and then picks up his pen. He writes something short, sliding it back with a casual flick of his fingers.

A kiss?

Prompto grips his hair with both hands, letting out a tiny, muffled whine that draws a look from the girl sitting in a row ahead of them. He grabs the pen again, scrawling furiously with the metal tip, tearing slightly into the paper.

I KNOW IT WAS A KISS! WHY DID YOU DO IT IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS??? WE'RE NOT EVEN DATING??

He shoves the note across the desk again, his heart pounding so loud he's half-convinced Noctis can hear it. Noctis sits up slightly, his brow furrowing as he reads the message. It seems he gets stuck on the words 'WE'RE NOT EVEN DATING??' for a moment too long before turning his head to look directly at Prompto. The indifferent mask drops away, replaced by a look of genuine confusion.

Picking up a pen, he writes a longer response—his movements are slower this time when he pushes the piece of paper back.

What do you mean we aren't dating? We've been dating since Saturday.

Prompto stares at the words. He reads them once, he reads them twice, he reads them a third time, waiting for the ink to magically rearrange itself into a sentence that makes sense in the human language.

Well, Saturday—Saturday was the day at Galdin Quay, the day they saved the turtle, and the day they kissed for the first time. It's not like Prompto forgot. Well, he thought it might have been a hallucination, but it's not something you forget!

Oh, Prompto thinks, a cold realization washing over him. Oh, no. Oh, sweet Shiva.

He grabs the pen, his words practically running together in panic.

Noctis. We kissed ONCE. In the ocean. That doesn't mean we're dating. Is this some sort of mer thing?!??!

Noctis reads the note, and this time, his entire posture changes. He sits up straight, his shoulders squaring, his lips tightening into a hard line. He looks at Prompto, his eyes flashing with a sudden and intense seriousness that makes Prompto want to scramble under his desk.

He doesn't write back this time, but leans across the small space between them, his voice a low whisper that barely carries past Prompto's shoulder. "What do you mean we're not dating?" he demands. "You kissed me back."

"I know I did," Prompto whispers back frantically, his hands gesturing wildly, "But that was just—just a kiss! People kiss all the time without being a couple; it's definitely a thing. It's called a—a fling or a mistake, or just testing things out!"

Noctis' eyes narrow, a dangerous glint appearing in the blue depths. "A mistake?"

Prompto curses under his breath. "No, not a mistake! I didn't mean it like that." He's almost panicking, his face burning hotter for it. "I liked it. I really, really liked it, okay? But I don't know, in the human world, we usually ask someone out, right? You go on dates, you talk, you ask about being boyfriends… You don't just, uh, lock it in with one kiss?"

Noctis stares at him, his expression a mix of sheer disbelief and growing annoyance. "That's stupid."

"It's not stupid, it's how it works!"

Noctis almost growls, "I know. But it's inefficient," he says as he leans back in his chair, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. He looks offended, his mouth pulling into a pout that looks ridiculous (and so, so cute) on him. "In the ocean, it's simple. You test the waters, you kiss someone, if they don't want you, they swim away or bite you. If they kiss you back, it measn they accept you. It means you belong to each other. You chose me, I chose you. That's it."

Prompto's brain short-circuits again. You chose me, I chose you

The words echo, but they bring warmth to his chest, because they sound so terrifyingly nice. And Prompto wants to believe it because Noctis doesn't look like he's playing a joke or trying to be weird. He genuinely, honestly thought they were together because Prompto hadn't pushed him into the ocean on Saturday.

"So—" Prompto swallows hard. "When you kissed me just now—"

"I was greeting my boyfriend," Noctis says, his voice dropping into a stubborn grunt. He looks away, staring directly at Cid's presentation slide, though his ears are distinctly pink. "I haven't seen you in five days; I thought that's what you do. You find your partner, and you remind everyone else that they're taken so no one else gets any ideas."

Prompto covers his face with his hands, a breathless laugh escaping his lips. It's absurd; it's entirely and completely insane. He has spent months pining after this guy, agonizing over every single interaction, convinced that he was fully invisible. And now, the guy is sitting next to him, grumpy and blushing, because he thought a single kiss meant they were bound for life.

"Noctis," Prompto says softly, dropping his hands.

Noctis doesn't look at him, still staring fixedly at the front of the room, his jaw tight enough that Prompto wonders how his teeth don't hurt. "What."

"I'm sorry," Prompto says, his voice trying to be as gentle as possible. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to make you think I was—I don't know. Rejecting you or something. I really didn't know it worked that way for you."

Noctis shifts slightly, his eyes cutting back to Prompto, still a bit wary but listening at least. "So… you don't want to be with me?"

"What?! No! I mean, yes! I mean—I do!" Prompto sighs at his inability to form complete sentences all of a sudden. He catches himself being a little too loud and lowers his voice back to the volume only meant for the two of them. "I wanted to go out with you since the first day of the first semester, Noctis."

Noctis blinks, the hard tension in his shoulders suddenly melting away. "You did?"

"Yeah," Prompto confesses with his heart in his throat and his face completely on fire. But they're already dating, right? What's there to be embarrassed about? "But I'm still a human. So could we—can we try it the human way, too? Just a little bit?"

Studying him, Noctis lets his eyes scan Prompto's face. "Okay. And what would you like that to look like?"

"Well," Prompto mumbles as he rubs the back of his neck, "Usually, it'd start with a date. We could get food, maybe coffee? And let's talk, learn about each other, like—what's your favorite food that isn't raw fish? Or what do you do when you're not sleeping in class?"

"And then?"

"And then, if the date goes well, we do it again. And we hold hands, and yeah, kiss. But maybe not in the middle of the lecture. I think I'd prefer that."

Noctis lets out a soft chuckle, a sound that makes the butterflies in Prompto's stomach erupt into a full-scale riot. He leans back down, resting his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand as he looks at Prompto. "Okay. Let's do that."

Prompto lets out a breath of air, "Yeah? Really?"

"Yeah, but on one condition," Noctis says, his eyes glinting with mischief. He reaches across the gap between them, his smooth fingers gliding over the wooden surface until his hand finds Prompto's. He laces their fingers firmly together, his grip strong and warm, anchoring them together.

Prompto looks down at their joined hands. "What's the condition?" he whispers.

Noctis squeezes his hand, his thumb tracing a low, deliberate circle over the back of Prompto's knuckles. "We're still dating," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You can call it whatever you want, and we can go to as many coffee shops as you need to feel normal. But the kiss still counts, Prompto. You're mine."

Prompto stares at Noctis, taking in the soft and proud curve of his lips—the absolute certainty in his eyes, with the heavy warmth of his hand holding Noctis', is telling him that the boy in front of him is completely serious.

"Okay," Prompto smiles as he squeezes Noctis' hand back. "The kiss counts. We're dating."

Noctis lets out a satisfied sigh, slouching back down into his seat until his shoulder is resting lightly against Prompto's. He closes his eyes, his breathing slowing down as he prepares to take his standard Thursday morning nap—his fingers still tightly intertwined with Prompto's beneath the edge of the desk.

Prompto turns back to the front of the classroom, picking up his multi-colored pen with his free hand. He clicks it once—to red—and carefully draws a small, perfect heart next to the messy sketch of the sea turtle in the margin of his notebook.

For the first time all semester, he doesn't mind the broken air conditioner at all.