
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11505801.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Final_Fantasy_XV
  Relationship:
      Noctis_Lucis_Caelum/Ardyn_Izunia, Prompto_Argentum/Noctis_Lucis_Caelum
  Character:
      Noctis_Lucis_Caelum, Ardyn_Izunia, Prompto_Argentum, Nyx_Ulric, Regis
      Lucis_Caelum_CXIII, Carbuncle_(Final_Fantasy_XV)
  Additional Tags:
      Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Physical_Abuse, Torture, Psychological
      Torture, Trauma, Isolation, Collars, Leashes, Breathplay, Emotional
      Manipulation, Monsters
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-17 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 10897
****** Unmerciful ******
by nickofhearts
Summary
     After two thousand years, Ardyn's done playing games with the
     Astrals. He takes Noctis for his own.
     [Please note the warnings/tags!]
Notes
     Please everyone gaze upon this wondrous_gorgeous_beauteous_heavenly
     piece_of_art painted by the loveliest dreamingcicadas as companion to
     this fic!!! ♥ ♥ ♥
***** it's the wrong kind of place / to be thinking of you *****
I.
"You're free to leave, Noctis," Ardyn says, "if you find my hospitality
lacking. I do not keep you prisoner."
Noctis tugs at the collar around his throat, knowing it's untrue.
Ardyn might not stop him from leaving, but he'll murder anyone Noct runs to for
help. Noct had run, the first night, dashing through the streets of Insomnia
and yelling for guards, but then he'd heard terrible screaming, and the scene
that'd met him when he'd stopped and turned around was worse than the most
horrific nightmare Noct has ever dreamed.
The guards weren't only dead, but Ardyn was eating them, a slavering beast made
of brutal darkness.
Ardyn's claws had crushed a man's skull between them, and Noct felt despair
like a yawning abyss opening up before him. How was anyone to fight that?
"Please," he'd begged, stumbling closer step by faltering step. "Please stop,"
hiccuping sobs. Noct curled his hands in the shadows that were like a mane
wreathing Ardyn's terrifying monster face, trembling as he felt tears slide
down his own. "Don't hurt them anymore."
"That is entirely up to you, my dear," Ardyn answered him.
His face had been human when he'd drawn Noct in for a kiss, but Noct knew now
what lay beneath the façade, the awful roiling darkness that hungered for human
flesh, endless and insatiable.
-
"I'm done playing games," Ardyn had said, looking at Noct like a mouse he'd
caught between his claws, but then what the fuck were they doing now?
Ardyn hums merrily to himself, chopping carrots for—whatever he's making,
looking more complicated than any of the dishes even Ignis had ever prepared,
and waves the knife at Noct, making him flinch, but—"pass the celery, Noctis,
good boy," chopping it up and adding it to the pot as well.
Noct hovers by Ardyn's side, though the man makes his skin crawl. It's not like
he has much of a choice; the leash doesn't go that far.
He gives Ardyn whatever he asks for and fidgets with the cuffs of the shirt
that's too long on him. It's not his shirt, Ardyn's ruined all his clothes
already. Noct eyes the soup suspiciously, but it smells unexpectedly good, even
with all the vegetables. Ardyn holds out a spoonful for him to taste, and Noct
reluctantly blows on it before sipping at the broth. He ignores the way Ardyn's
gaze sharpens on him.
"It's good," Noct says in startled surprise.
Ardyn sighs like Noct is the monster here. "My dear Noct, instant noodles do
not constitute a full meal." He waves the ladle expressively. "Why, it's hardly
any better than chewing on a slab of cardboard."
Noct bristles, about to protest, when Ardyn drops a soft kiss on his nose like
that's something they do.
"What the f—" Noct catches himself. He bites his lip and shrinks in on himself,
shuffling a few steps away, as far as the leash will let him. Ardyn's moods
shift like the wind, and Noct doesn't want to disturb whatever peace has him
cooking a lavish dinner instead of—of—Noct's hands curl in the edge of the
shirt that hangs too loosely on him, and he meekly accepts the gesture the next
time Ardyn swans past, turning into the kiss pressed at the corner of his
mouth.
-
Ardyn pours them each a glass of red wine; it looks like blood, and Noct's
stomach churns.
"I'm not drinking age yet," he says, pushing it aside.
"You're not of an age for a great many things," Ardyn remarks, eyes dark and
shadowed. Noct's grip on his fork tightens, but Ardyn doesn't follow that
statement up with any proof of action. "Do try the bourguignon, Noct. I
prepared it specially for you."
-
Noct didn't taste anything off about the bour-whatever, but he's slightly
tipsy, giggling as Ardyn leads him into the living room. There's an old record-
player the likes of which Noct has never seen except in textbooks crooning out
a waltz, because of course there is.
Noct trips, stumbling on unsteady feet, but Ardyn catches him neatly in his
arms. Noct sighs wearily instead of trying to struggle away.
"Perhaps you are young for the wine, Noctis," Ardyn murmurs against his hair.
Noct sways with the music, letting Ardyn move him around the room. It's nice,
in a strange way; it might have been what he'd been doing if Ardyn hadn't,
whatever this is, with him. Ignis had been making noises about dance lessons
for weeks.
Noct's almost disappointed when it's over.
"How unexpected," Ardyn's saying, putting the record away as Noct leans against
him, nuzzling his face against the fabric of Ardyn's thick coat. It's soft,
like a cloud. "I shall teach you the steps when you've more a mind to learn
them, hmm?"
He tips Noct's face up for a kiss, and Noct melts into it, though he should
hate it. He's so tired, and Ardyn doesn't care, anyways, how Noct feels about
him.
-
Noct shivers, though he isn't cold.
Ardyn touches him as if he's a prized possession, hands moving greedily over
every inch of Noct's skin like it belongs to him, it's his right. In some ways,
Noct's relieved that Ardyn doesn't think of him as a person. It means maybe one
day, Ardyn will set him aside somewhere and forget him.
-
Noct clenches his hands on the bedsheets, trying not to like it. That's the
worst thing of all—that Ardyn makes it feel good. Noct curls into himself,
thinking of how awful Ardyn is, how he doesn't want this, but Ardyn's long
fingers fit perfectly over his hips, dragging him back on each thrust, Ardyn's
cock pressing into him just right, and Noct can't help himself.
He moans, then bites down on his tongue, stifling the sound.
"Poor Noct," Ardyn chuckles. He slides two fingers against the back of Noct's
neck, pulling the collar tight. "Allow me to provide my assistance."
Noct gasps, but can't get any air. He writhes, caught between Ardyn's fingers
and his cock, too much sensation and nothing to save him from any of it. He
pushes at Ardyn's arms, desperately, trying to get away, but it's like trying
to fight the waves, drowning him.
The more Noct tries to pull air into his lungs, the more he's made aware of how
he can't. The collar is so tight around his throat that it's all he knows.
Ardyn's saying something, but Noct can't hear him over the roaring in his ears.
He feels Ardyn's teeth against his ear, Ardyn's fingers around his cock, Ardyn
letting go of the collar and breath rushes into him so suddenly that Noct
screams without sound, like the world is filling in with colour when all he's
known is darkness.
He comes, or he thinks he does, somewhere amidst the jumble.
"Mnrghh—" Noct mumbles, finally aware enough of himself again to distinguish
the silk bedsheets, sticking to his cheek. He feels achey and sore all over,
bruised to the bone, though Ardyn hasn't so much as darkened his skin with a
fingerprint.
"There you are, Noctis," Ardyn greets him with a smile. He touches the tips of
his fingers to Noct's spine, making him shiver.
Noct is nothing but an empty doll, and Ardyn pulls on his strings.
 
II.
Noct whines, struggling, but it's futile. The ropes around his wrists and
ankles keep him from moving, and the blindfold keeps him from seeing what's
coming next.
"Please," he wants to beg, though that only ever makes Ardyn worse, and he
can't, anyways, through the gag.
The first lash of the whip is the worst, coming down hard on his back. The
second and third are no less painful, but at least he's expecting them, shaking
in his bonds as he counts the blows silently and waits for them to be over.
It's a long time, and Noct has lost count by the end of it.
His back must be a mess of red welts, blood dripping slowly down the broken
skin, but he doesn't even feel it. He doesn't feel anything but a dreamy kind
of numbness that makes everything seem far away, out of reach.
Ardyn undoes the ropes holding his limbs immobile, tugging him upright, and
Noct screams.
Everything filters back in multiplied a hundredfold—pain on his back, the skin
torn to shreds; pain at his wrists and ankles, rubbed raw and bleeding from his
struggles; pain in the rest of his body, from holding the unnatural position.
Noct claws at Ardyn, in desperate agony, but Ardyn only hushes him softly.
"There, now," he murmurs in a sweet tone, and Noct feels the cool relief of a
healing spell wash over him, soothing him into boneless laxness.
Ardyn is kind, after all.
That's before he learns that after healing comes more pain.
-
Noct types, 'I'm fine,' on the phone to his friends, over and over like a
mantra, even if it's untrue. Ardyn hadn't bothered to take it from him, but why
would he? He wants Noct to run screaming to them for help, so he can murder
them all in cold blood, and tell Noct it's all his fault.
'Sorry Prompto, I just needed to get away for awhile.' 'I need some time to
myself,' he texts Ignis. 'It's all a bit much, isn't it? The burden of the
crown and all that. How's dad these days?' He doesn't know what to say to his
father, hadn't even spoken to him for weeks before—everything. So he doesn't.
It's his father that writes to him: 'I heard from Ignis that you needed some
time away. I understand, son. Let me know when you're ready to come home.'
'Of course,' Noctis replies, and then smashes the phone to pieces.
He wants to, so badly that it hurts, like a lump in his throat that he's unable
to swallow past, but he can't. He can't be responsible for all their blood on
his hands.
Noctis huddles in the closet with his arms around his knees, not because he's
hiding—there's no point to that—but he'd just...like not to exist for awhile.
-
Ardyn pushes him down on the bed, fucking him in hard thrusts as Noct breathes
slowly and waits, tense all over. It hurts, but not as much as it's going to
when Ardyn changes, dragging claws down Noct's back and his cock grows ridges
that push into him one after each other, each section thicker than the last,
going on forever.
Noct shakes just thinking of it, fingers gripping hard on the sheets.
"Are you not enjoying yourself, Noctis?" Ardyn's voice is amused, never a good
sign. "Far be it for me to be a mannerless host." He wraps his hand around
Noct's cock, stroking him roughly.
It's enough to get Noct hard with the added sensation of Ardyn's still-human
cock sliding into him; might even have been good if Noct didn't know what comes
next, unfailingly and always.
"Please," Noct begs, tears in his eyes. He tries to twist away, only to end up
tugged more fully onto Ardyn's cock, whimpering as it makes him tremble with
pleasure. "Please don't," but that only makes Ardyn laugh.
"Oh, Noct," Ardyn murmurs, brushing strands of hair out of Noct's face. "You
are a delight."
Ardyn waits until Noct's just about to come, tensing in unfulfilled pleasure,
and then the hand on Noct's hip holding him against Ardyn has become a claw,
the one still curled over his cock now with sharp edges, and a tail winds
itself up to wrap itself lovingly around Noct's neck as Ardyn growls low in his
throat, fucking Noct with ruthless abandon.
Noct screams and screams and screams.
-
He stares into the mirror with dull eyes. There's a scar that cuts down the
right side of his face, another going over the bridge of his nose. He remembers
being vain about his looks, but that feels like so long ago. He doesn't want
Ardyn to find him pretty.
They're nothing compared to the multitude of scars on his back, anyway. The
lines and lines of lashmarks, skin alternately puckered and raised where
Ardyn's claws had dug into him, raggedly uneven. But the worst one of all is
the place where Ardyn had bitten into him, a wound hot to the touch even now,
pulsing darkness that strains against the surface of his skin.
Noct closes his eyes, leaning against the mirror. He's too tired to even cry.
-
He's so shocked when someone other than Ardyn comes through the door that he
doesn't even react. It's not until Cor's tugging him gently off the bed, making
Noct stumble as he gets him to his feet, that Noct realizes this isn't just a
dream.
"Your highness," Cor is saying, pulling one of Ardyn's spare shirts over his
shoulders—
"You have to leave," Noct tells him in a panic, shoving Cor's hands away. His
voice is rough and raspy with misuse, and Noct flinches at the look on Cor's
face, but that doesn't stop him trying to push Cor out the door.
"You have to go, Cor, please." He's almost in tears with the thought of Ardyn
finding them here.
"Shit," a new voice asks, stepping into the room. "It wasn't a false alarm this
time? Has the kid been in Insomnia from the beginning?"
Noct's shaking, unable to control himself. There's too many people, and more of
them come through the door, dressed in the familiar Kingsglaive uniform that
makes Noct's heart ache with longing. They're checking the perimeter, securing
the defenses, but he knows it won't do anything against Ardyn.
He sags against Cor, feeling hopelessness wash over him.
That's when Ardyn himself is suddenly standing in the doorway, so quiet and
unassuming that not even the Kingsglaive have noticed him yet. It's like a
moment frozen in time, bustling noise around him and Ardyn calmly observing
from the doorway, but then—"Hey!" someone calls out, and everyone is abruptly
up in arms, all angled at Ardyn.
Ardyn merely smiles, cold with unconcern. "Noct," he orders, holding his hands
out.
This is his one and only chance, Noct knows. He tears himself away from Cor,
running to Ardyn like there's nowhere he'd rather be. He clutches Ardyn's hands
and clings to the fabric of his coat, trembling. "Please don't hurt them,
pleasepleaseplease."
Ardyn runs deceptively gently fingers through his hair. "I do so love it when
you beg, Noct," which is a lie, a filthy lie—
He hears more weapons drawn all around them, Kingsglaive kukri and Crownsguard
swords, but it's not enough; Noct has seen Ardyn slice through metal like it's
paper, no effort at all. He huddles against Ardyn, terrified for them.
"Your highness," someone calls out. "Step aside."
Noct can't, he's all that stands between them and certain death, depending
entirely on Ardyn's whim and fancy. "Please," Noct tries again, shivering with
so much fear.
Ardyn tugs him up on his tiptoes, murmuring into his mouth.
Noctis can't make out the words but he sinks into it, whining low in his
throat. Ardyn tastes good, a random thought amidst the sea of spiraling panic,
and Noct clings onto it as he clings to Ardyn's coat, praying that Ardyn's in a
good mood, amused enough that no one has to die.
-
A memory floats to the surface: Ardyn holding his hands tenderly, stroking over
Noct's fingers. He plays with one, teasing at the sensitive underside with a
nail, and then he closes his hand around it and—snap.
Before Noct can even scream, he's moved onto the next, and the next.
When he's done, Ardyn whispers a spell of healing over them, laughing at the
tears trailing hotly down Noct's cheeks. He brushes them away, and then he
begins anew.
-
The next part is a haze of people screaming, weapons blurring by. Noct feels
one graze his cheek, painful and irritating, and he growls, baring his teeth—
Noct's pretty blue eyes slide suddenly into gold, the scelera around it dark as
ink, spilling over the rest of his face. He's so hungry, and before him lies a
feast. His hands twist into claws, sharper than knives; his tail uncurls,
snapping up to slice someone's throat open, smash into another's ribs, crushing
them.
Ardyn is laughing, and it's a lovely sound, backdrop to the screaming mewling
humans and Noct crunching their bones between his teeth, lapping up the rich
red blood.
He crouches down on all fours, nosing at one that's still breathing in wet
gasps, the rest of its companions dead or fleeing; Noct had watched them
stagger down the street in jerky flashes, wondering if he should chase, but
Ardyn had shaken his head—let them go.
"Noc...tis," the man gasps out, reaching out to drag bloody fingertips down his
cheek, but Noct pays it no mind. He's only interested in digging his claws in
and eating.
That is his name, but he answers only to Ardyn.
-
Noct wakes up to Ardyn wiping a wet towel over his face. It's drenched in red.
His hands clench on the bedsheets and he doesn't ask. Not remembering is better
than knowing how many people Ardyn's killed because of him. It's not his fault,
Noct tries to believe; Ardyn enjoys killing, but Ardyn hasn't broken his
promise yet.
He hasn't killed anyone that didn't come looking for Noct.
 
III.
It hurts, more than anything Noct has ever felt before—or ever will again—Noct
would say, if he didn't know Ardyn well enough by now to know that he'll have
some new way to hurt Noctis worse tomorrow. It's like a burning under his skin,
crawling into him. He throws up darkness, but there's more, always more.
Noct screams until his throat is raw with it, tearing at his skin as if he can
get it out of him, but it's no use.
-
When he wakes up again, he's hungry, starving like he hasn't eaten for a week.
Has he been asleep that long? It's an insignificant concern when Noctis smells
food, delicious and tantalizing, perhaps only a room away.
He follows the scent of it, pushing the door open to the sound of soft wet
sobs. He remembers with a sneer when he'd made sounds like that.
Noct tears into the food, the flesh soft and giving against his teeth.
He eats and eats and eats, and it's not until he's done, licking the bones
clean, that Noct realizes what it is, exactly, he's been eating.
He looks at his hands, red with blood, tastes it in his mouth and every
crevasse of his teeth. He wants to throw up, but he's still so full, satiated
and content, rumbling a purr as he wants to gnaw the last remaining shreds of
gristle from the bones and he has to stop himself, remembering—it's wrong to
eat people.
-
Ardyn laughs, dragging Noct to him with the leash attached to the collar locked
around his throat. "How was it, Noctis? I hear the first meal of flesh is like
none other—a taste you shall never forget, nor shall you desire to consume
anything besides."
Noct growls at him, and then he remembers people don't growl, snapping his
mouth closed so abruptly he bites his tongue.
Ardyn's thumb brushes gently over his lip where the blood's smeared—a mockery
—there is no kindness in Ardyn at all. Noct snaps his teeth at Ardyn's fingers,
but Ardyn grabs his jaw instead, forcing Noct's teeth apart for Ardyn to drag
fingers over his tongue.
"I have lived in darkness for ages," Ardyn tells him, smiling. "You haven't
even begun."
He yanks Noctis up by the hair, pulling him into Ardyn's lap so Ardyn can set
his teeth against Noct's throat, making the daemon inside him rumble with
pleasure while Noct bites his lip against it, refusing to surrender himself.
-
Noct stalks the halls of Ardyn's residence, keeping close to the ground. He
thinks they're still in Lucis; the air is warm with the spring weather, but he
can't be certain where. He doesn't doubt, either, Ardyn's promise to murder
anyone Noct seeks for assistance.
He shudders, thinking of the guards lying bloody and broken in the Citadel, one
of them reaching out for Noctis, telling him—"run."
Noctis had stood frozen.
"Well?" Ardyn has asked. "Will you run, Noctis?"
Even then, Noct had already known it was futile. He'd closed his eyes on a
whimper as Ardyn reached a claw out, drawing bloody lines down his cheek. His
breath caught in his throat as Ardyn had licked it away.
The memory now brings him hunger.
-
Noct whines, simultaneously trying to curl closer and struggling to get away
from Ardyn. It wouldn't be so terrible if it didn't feel so good, like all he
wants is for Ardyn to sink his cock into him, claw bloody grooves into his
back, marking him Ardyn's possession.
-
He's so hungry, but he can't—he won't.
Ardyn holds out bloody fingertips to him, teasing, but Noctis turns his head
away. Just because they're already dead doesn't mean it's okay for Noct to eat
them.
They're still human, and so is Noctis.
He's not a monster.
 
IV.
He's so hungry he can't think of anything else.
The bleeding lines on his arms this time are from his own hands, clawing at the
skin. He wants to eat, but he knows he shouldn't. Noct sinks his teeth into the
flesh of his thigh, groaning at the taste of it. He bites into his arms, over
and over again, but it doesn't help.
It's not what he needs.
-
He can hear screaming from the next room over, the delicate sound of a heart
beating too fast in fear. He can have what he wants, if he just gets up and
opens the door.
No, Noct thinks. No.
He's not a monster like Ardyn, he won't be one.
People aren't food, no matter how good they smell, almost like he can taste the
blood he hears dripping slowly to the floor.
Noct opens his mouth on a gasp, trying to throw up, but he can't. The darkness
is a part of him now, in his flesh and bones. The edges of the wounds on his
arms and legs are black, the veins around them also black, ugly and horrific.
It's in his blood, and he can't get it out.
Noct doesn't look at his hands, because he's afraid he'll see claws. He doesn't
look at his face.
-
Noct tucks his knees to his chin, breathing slowly. He can control this, he can
choose not to eat. He counts the seconds, not thinking of the live prey in the
room next door. He's stronger than the monster that wants to wear his skin.
-
Noct's claws mark deep lines on the bathroom floor, cracking the tile. He's not
supposed to eat, but he can't remember why.
There was a reason for it, some part of him still screaming that it's better to
starve to death than take what's just waiting for him on the other side of the
door. He can smell the blood like it's right in front of him; knows it'll be
the best thing he's ever tasted in his life, after waiting so long.
It's because...people are...good?
People are...vicious and horrible; Noct remembers the cut of a blade on his
cheek, the stupid mewling things screaming as they fall before him, screaming
his name, like they know him.
People are food.
Noct gets up, and he rips open the door.
 
V.
"You are a pretty thing," Ardyn coos at him. He holds out a hand, and Noct
nuzzles his face into it, smelling the blood on Ardyn's fingers. It's a good
smell, rich and appetizing, even when Noct isn't very hungry. "I have to say,
Noctis," Ardyn's voice rumbles, deep with tones Noct's human ears had never
picked up. "You've surprised even me. "
Ardyn scritches under his chin, where the plates of armour intersect,
protecting him where he's most vulnerable.
Noct purrs, tilting his head in a question. He likes the way Ardyn pets him,
the way Ardyn says his name, the way the darkness seething under Ardyn's skin
calls to him, because they're of a kind. Noct leans into the caresses, wholly
content.
-
Noct had staggered into the room snarling, his teeth misshapen in his mouth, a
mess of hunger and beastly instincts. He hadn't thought of anything but eating,
closing his jaw on the flesh of the whimpering little human, awkward as it was
with the way his teeth were still half-human, jagged monster edges catching on
bone and sinew.
When he was done, blood smeared all over his face, Noct tore at his human skin,
revealing the daemon's plated armour beneath.
It itched, and Noct turned his back to Ardyn, whining at him for help.
"Oh, my," Ardyn had murmured, though he'd stepped close quickly enough,
reaching out to pull the rest of the skin off, the human bits and pieces that
Noct had use for no longer. He stroked long fingers over the quills of Noct's
spine, making them shiver with pleasure.
Noct stretched out to let Ardyn pet him, yowling when it seemed the
transformation wasn't yet complete.
His claws dug deep grooves into the ground as hot pain flared down his back,
and Noct roared his displeasure. He couldn't reach, but Ardyn's clever fingers
found where Noct's wings wanted to break through, a mess of wet membranous
tissue.
Ardyn carefully tugged them straight, arranging them neatly to dry while Noct
panted with exertion, curled up in Ardyn's lap.
His tail waved in the air, curling and uncurling as Noct familiarized himself
with the feeling of having another limb—one more tactile and prehensile than
even his fingers and toes. He dragged it over Ardyn's arm, curious, and Ardyn
laughed indulgently instead of protesting the thin fabric of his shirt being
sliced cleanly open. Noct rubbed the flat edge of his segmented tail against
Ardyn's skin, chirping an apology.
"And to think," Ardyn told him with an covetous smile, running his knuckles
down Noct's spines again. "I'd thought you were going to be pathetic."
-
They go hunting, and Noct is so much quicker on his feet like this than he was
before, taking to the air when prowling on land becomes tiresome. It's almost
pitiful the way the humans don't even bother to look up, smashed to the ground
by the force of Noct landing on them, tearing strips off hungrily with his
teeth.
"Very good," Ardyn commends him, and Noctis preens, fluttering his wings out as
he pushes his nose against Ardyn's fingers, begging for scritches.
He winds himself around Ardyn's legs, rubbing his scent all over Ardyn's
clothes before he slinks away again, stalking down his next prey. The shadows
are his friends, and Noct moves through them more swiftly than he ever had
warping from place to place. He has no need for swords now, when his teeth and
claws are sharper and stronger than any metal alloy made by men.
-
"I have a most particular hunt for you," Ardyn tells him one day while Noct is
curled up gnawing on a thigh bone, grinding his teeth against it.
Noct perks up curiously, nosing against Ardyn's fingers when they're offered to
him.
"You've hunted them before, Noctis, do you remember?" Ardyn takes out a scrap
of fabric and holds it out to him—Noct growling immediately in response,
hackles rising.
Those were the prey he'd let go.
Ardyn pets his horns comfortingly, scritching at the very base of them so
nicely. Noct is a puddle of contentedness, purring as Ardyn explains. "It
wasn't time, Noctis." His smile widens suddenly, showing off his own teeth. "It
is now."
Noct gets to his feet, stretching his muscles out as he readies himself. He
makes a questioning noise at Ardyn.
"It's the anniversary of your 'disappearance', Noctis. They're all gathered in
the central square for a speech from your father."
Noct hears the words, but they lack the kind of meaning they had before. He's
only interested in the gluttony of a meal Ardyn is proposing, if all the humans
are bunched together stupidly in some small area.
Ardyn laughs when Noct nips him on the fingers in excitement.
In answer, he tips his hat in a sweeping gesture. "Why don't you go and—" Ardyn
grins, letting the darkness that writhes under his skin seep through, painting
his face a sinister shade—"accept their welcome?"
Noct purrs, his whole body shaking with anticipation for the hunt. Ardyn's been
corralling him inside for the last few days, and now he knows why.
He's been making sure Noct's hungry, for the feast.
-
Noct cackles wildly, howling as he surges from the shadows.
The prey scatters, but end up trampling each other in their mad rush to flee
from the wide sweeps of his claws, tearing them open. Pathetic little mice.
Noct plucks one up from the ground, a cub by the size of it, and he bites into
its throat, tasting the sweet hot blood that gushes forth.
He slips back into the shadows when one of the fighters—the warriors of the
pack—comes running at him.
Itsy bitsy mousies, Noct sings to himself, and then he breathes out fire, black
with corruption, watching the mousie's skin crackle and burn, turning to ash.
He laughs, gutteral and horrid, his voice echoing darkness. Noct cuts them down
with claws and teeth and tail, and yet there are still more, and endless amount
of prey that comes forward to offer itself for his consumption.
Noct gleefully accepts.
-
"Noctis!" someone calls, voice ringing out loudly even admist all the screaming
terrror of the prey. It sounds familiar, a wisp of a memory tugging at his
thoughts, but Noct pushes it back. Memories don't feed his hunger.
He dodges around the warriors that are circling, circling, trying to trap him.
Their blades strike against his armour with a grating sound, but they're only
metal. Noct crushes them with his claws.
"Noctis," they keep shouting at him, and it makes him angry.
They're nothing but prey, who are they to call his name? He snarls, sinking his
teeth deep into the throat of the nearest one, tearing it out as he moves back,
licking blood off his face. That's all they're good for—to feed him.
"Noctis, my son," the man from before says, and then swords made of light
surround him.
Noct dodges back, but they move with him, caging him in a cirlce of light that
burns him. Noct screams, falling to his knees. The light hurts, blistering his
wings. The armour on his right arm cracks, revealing soft human skin beneath.
He's not human, not like the pathetic little mousies.
Noct growls, slashing at the light. His claws break, but that doesn't stop him.
He claws at it with his hands, screaming out his rage.
He gets to his feet, coughing black blood. He grasps the swords of light in his
hands, even though it burns him, and he wrenches them apart. With the remainder
of his strength, he staggers foward, snarling. He's so close to ripping out the
throat of the one that calls itself his father, but one of the other annoyances
lands on his back while he's distracted, sending him crashing to the floor.
Noct coughs wetly, but he has no reserves left. He slips into darkness, and the
very last thought on his mind is—Ardyn.
***** leave me out with the waste / this is not what i do *****
Chapter Notes
     me: what should i wriiiite
     dreamingcicadas: some h/c!
     me: okay!!! *some time later* ...wait what's the 'c' stand for?
I.
You wake up, and there are bars instead of doors or windows, inscribed with
wards that burn you at a touch. You hiss, curling back into the shadows.
-
The humans come by to gawk at you, as if they've never seen a daemon before.
You growl at them in turn, showing them your teeth. You've murdered a countless
amount of their number, and you can't wait for them to be your next meal.
You scrape your claws over the bars, making them spark and flame. The metal
holds, for now.
They think you don't remember, but you do. You remember what it was like to be
human and weak, how Ardyn used to slice bleeding lines into your back, the
flesh of your thighs, over your arms, while you screamed.
You remember being human hurts.
"Noctis," the man that comes by every day—the one who'd weilded the swords of
light—says, pleading with you.
You have other memories of him, floating through your mind like faded
photographs. Here, sitting with him at dinner, your legs so short they dangle
in the air. The soup is green as grass, and tastes just as appetizing. Here,
the man exiting a car whose shape is as distinctive as the silver adornment in
his hair. He'd meant something to your other self, but those feelings are out
of your reach.
You snarl, baring long sharp teeth at him.
-
You're hungry, but the food they bring you isn't fit for eating. It tastes of
fire and other impurities that obscure the meat. It's not fresh, and you throw
it up in great hacking coughs that bear the evidence of previous
meals—undigested bones and bits of hair that'd gotten twisted together.
"You're my son," the man says to you, his voice thick with emotion.
You know better than anyone that things don't become true just because you say
them. Hadn't you begged Ardyn for mercy, day upon day?
-
Your visitor the next night is a younger man wearing the uniform of the human's
fighters, the ones who'd tried to stop you in the square. Your bloodlust rises
at the sight of it, itching to sink your claws in, tear the flesh from his
bones.
"Remember me, Noctis?"
He undoes the buttons at his neck and shows you the ugly scar against his
throat—a scar made by your claws.
"You told me to leave," he says, mouth twisting. His scent turns acrid and
bitter. Regret, or guilt? "I remember how scared you were," he goes on,
ignoring the low growl that starts in your throat. You don't like those
memories. "Cor—the only other survivor of that debacle—thinks it was all an
act, that Ardyn had already broken you, but I don't." He fits his hand through
the bars, holding it out to you. "I think you really did want us to leave,
Noctis."
You sniff at his fingers, the rich blood scent just beneath his skin, and you
snap your teeth, a moment too slow as he snatches his hand back, so quickly
that he overbalances and falls.
"Mousie," you snarl at him.
He looks surprised, and then he starts laughing, though his scent hasn't
changed from that bitter guilty tone. "The name's Nyx, actually."
He stands, brushing off his uniform. Before he leaves, he gives you one last
look, filled with compassion. "I believe in you, kiddo. I think you're stronger
than any of them give you credit for. I've got more rounds than hours in the
day, but I'll come see you when I can." He throws a wave over his shoulder.
Your only answer is a rumbling growl, but it doesn't seem to bother him.
-
You dream, sometimes, of Ardyn. They're not always good dreams, but then, Ardyn
hadn't always been kind.
He hadn't loved you until you'd shed your human skin like the useless shell it
was, peeling it away to reveal the monster waiting beneath. He'd called you
beautiful, then, touched you with such care as he'd never shown before. He
traced his fingers over every segment of your fragile new wings, tender as the
sweetest lover while he unraveled them to dry.
How could you want to ever be human again?
-
"I'm sorry, Noctis," the man who calls himself your father says. He comes every
day to talk to you, though you never offer a response. "It's my fault, I
couldn't protect you from that monster."
You remain silent and unmoving in the furthest corner of the cell, away from
his light.
Today, he pushes a small box through the bars. "They're from your old
apartment. I thought you might like them."
He waits, but you don't move to look. You have no interest in human things.
"Please, Noctis," he begs of you. "Just...try?" His hands shake where he grips
the bars, the inscriptions beneath his fingers glowing softly with his magic.
You hiss and curl futher back, pulling your wings around yourself. They ache in
memory of how that magic had burned them, though they've healed since.
You wait until he leaves, and then your tail whips out to tug the box to you.
It's not interest, it's that you have nothing else to do, locked up in this
cage. You have no doubt that you'll get out one day—whether because the human
magics will finally break, or because you'll have saved up enough strength to
make it break, but until then, you sift a claw through the strange items, not
quite remembering what they're for.
At the very bottom of the box, is a small wood carving.
"Carby," you whisper, and the memory that comes this time is so bright with
colour you can almost feel the wind on your face.
-
It's a dream and it's not a dream in that particular way that happens when
Carbuncle visits you. You land in a verdant landscape, a lake on one side and a
forest on the other, and you're ten years old again, chasing a fluffy little
fox creature that keeps just ahead of you, chirping merrily as you scramble to
keep up.
You finally make a flying leap and catch it in your arms.
"Where were you, then?" you ask it.
Its words appear on the cell phone you pull out of a pocket. I couldn't reach
you, Noct. I'm sorry. It nuzzles its soft nose against your face.
"Do I have to wake up?" you ask, cuddling Carbuncle closer to your chest. "It's
so nice here."
Your dad misses you, comes the message.
"I make him sad," you tell the small furry creature that Regis had promised
would watch over you, protect you when he couldn't. Neither of them had kept
their promises. "I make them all sad, I can smell it." The sky grows dark with
thunderclouds, and then rain washes down in a drenching torrent.
It's still nicer than being awake, and you clutch Carbuncle as tight as you
can, trying to stay.
-
When you wake again, it's to Regis watching over you as he reads aloud from a
children's storybook. You recognize the cover as one of the ones in the
playroom in your dreams, where Carbuncle had been the giant-sized monster
that'd chased you around while you'd been a toy car.
"...dad?"
Regis stops immediately, his eyes shining with tears as he looks at you.
"Noct—?"
He's pressed right up against the bars and looks like he wants to embrace you,
but that would be unwise, and both of you know it.
You uncurl your claw, and in the center of your palm is the small wooden
carving of Carbuncle.
"Is that—" Regis asks.
"It's mine," you hiss, backing up again. The dream's faded from your memory,
though there's still the sense of familiarity, the certain longing you have to
be close to this man.
You stare at him intently, and he watches you back, so much hope in his eyes.
 
II.
The next day your father doesn't come alone. He's got a whole group of the
uniformed fighters with him. "I'm sorry, Noctis," he says, and then he casts
the light that burns you, making you scream. You claw at it against your skin,
though it cracks your claws; you hiss and you bite at any that dare come near.
They drag you to a bright shining thing, brighter even than your father's
magic. The light of it sears you to the bone, shattering your armour to dust.
You're screaming, a great howling sound that cracks the panes of glass in the
room.
For awhile, there is nothing but pain and blinding whiteness, and then you hear
Ardyn's voice, as if it's very far away.
"Don't die, Noct. That would be so very boring."
You snap awake with a gasp.
"I'm sorry, Noctis? I'm sorry, but it was the only way," a gentle voice pleads
for your clemency.
You're being held in someone's arms, and you feel so weak. You can't even lift
your head. You drag in a shaky breath, then another; when you cough, blood
splatters on the floor.
It's red, like it hasn't been for a long long time.
You hold your hand up and stare at it in fear. Your skin is soft and pink and
human, and you close your eyes again, waiting to be hurt.
-
You dream of Carbuncle again, except the lake has become lava, molten and
bubbling with terrible promise. You stand on the shore, but it cracks the
ground beneath your feet. You're screaming.
"I'm not human—"
It lets you catch it this time, a silvery puffball in the grip of your claws.
It chirps at you, touching its cold wet nose to your cheek, where the skin is
rough and black-veined with corruption.
You bury your face against its soft fur. You're crying. "I'm not, I'm not—"
You can be whatever you want to be, come the words on the screen.
You fumble the phone out of your claws, and it melts into the lava with a hiss.
You set Carbuncle on the ground, and stare into the lava's roiling depths. You
remember Ardyn kissing the bloody lines he'd scored into your skin, how you'd
thought nothing would ever hurt more.
You were wrong, of course; you'd been so very naive.
You jump—
-
You wake up. The fever from before has broken, and your hands—human and fragile
they may be—no longer shake. Someone is laying a cool wet towel on your
forehead, keeping your vigil, and you look up to meet the eyes of your father,
the king.
Your reflection within them is that of a human boy, useless and weak. You have
no claws and no armour to defend yourself.
"Noctis?"
You draw back, curling into the blankets. They're scant protection, but at
least they hide your humanness from sight.
His hand reaches for the collar at your throat, and you hiss, though the sound
comes out strangely with your vocal chords now. There's no sibilant echo, no
undertone of threat. It's a pathetic little mewl.
"You wouldn't let us take that off, even when—" Regis' expression is pained.
"You're free of him, Noctis."
You shift further back, as far as you can, pressed against the wall. You hold
your hand against the collar, covering it protectively. Ardyn had given you a
choice: you can wear the collar, or you can not. One comes with pain, and the
other comes with unbearable pain. You'd let him put it on you, buckling it
closed against your skin so you felt it every time you swallowed. It wasn't too
tight, not until he was fucking you, sliding his fingers beneath the leather.
The sound of your screaming was cut off into silence.
"Not...allowed," you snarl. You're already human, you won't suffer any more
punishment than you have to.
Regis' expression is something you can't decipher, too many emotions mixed into
it, and you can't even smell what he's feeling now.
-
Nyx comes a few days later to gawk at you like you're some wild animal that's
been taught to do tricks. You might have been allowed out of the cage, but
you're no less trapped. "Shit, kid, you look—different."
You might look different, but you feel the same.
You can't hear his heart beating, or smell the blood under his skin, but you
know it's there, and you know its taste.
You're hungry, but your stomach churns.
"Go...away..." you tell him. Your hands clench on the bedsheets. You want to
eat, but you can't. Your teeth are no longer the right shape, your body no
longer fit to ingest the kinds of things you want to put into it. Having the
meal before you when you can't partake is a special kind of torture.
Unlike the last time you'd asked him to leave you somewhere, he goes.
The door swings shut again, and you close your eyes, letting the tension melt
out of your bones. Sleep is the only escape you have.
-
"Have you missed me, Noctis?"
Ardyn drags you up against him, though you try to twist away. Fighting him is
allowed, as long as you don't leave the premises. You don't know where he goes
during the days, and you don't care.
"No, let go—"
He does, and you fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, overbalanced by your
struggling. You don't get up. You don't want whatever's about to happen next.
He smiles, stepping around you like you're nothing but an upturned lamp,
something beneath his notice. That's better than having his attention, and you
curl up tighter, like you can just disappear if you try hard enough.
He's humming a familiar tune as he restocks the fridge, sets a few boxes on the
counter. You don't want to know what's in them, but you'll probably find out.
He grabs the leash off the hook in the front hall and makes himself comfortable
on the couch. "Come here, Noct." He pats his leg, and you reluctantly go to
him. Disobeying a direct order comes with consequences, and your fingers still
ache from the last time, though the bones have healed. He clips the lead to
your collar and settles you in his lap, stroking over your spine as if to
soothe you. It's nice, deceptively so. You relax into it despite yourself.
He flicks the television on and you go stiff as a board when your father steps
into view. He's talking about your disappearance, offering a reward to anyone
who can provide any information.
You don't mean to start crying, but then you can't stop, your whole body
wracked with sobs that won't leave you no matter how you try. Trying to stop
only makes it worse, like boarding up the windows to stop the flood, only then
the whole house gets washed away.
"Poor Noct," Ardyn says into your ear, yanking you up cruelly by the hair. "Do
you miss them? You can go home, you know."
You shake your head. You won't, you won't.
Ardyn laughs. He shoves you down on the table, dragging the oversized shirt off
your shoulders, then the boxers that barely hang on your hips. You squirm at
his fingers pushing into you, but that's only small discomfort compared to what
you know comes next. You're still crying, but then you're usually crying by
this point anyways.
It wouldn't be so bad if Ardyn only wanted to fuck you, even with the monster
breathing underneath his skin. You think you'd get numb to it eventually.
But Ardyn's always got some new way to hurt you, some pain you'd never
considered before. It's a horrible guessing game of what awful torture the next
day will bring.
You close your eyes and wish you could be anywhere else. If you ever believed
in the Astrals, you don't now. Weren't you supposed to be the chosen one? You
wish you were dead, but you know Ardyn will never be that merciful. You wait
for it to be over, the only thing you can do. It always takes longer than you
think it will, the pain worse than anything you ever knew you could live
through. You used to try not to scream, but then you realized it makes no
difference to Ardyn. He just wants to see you hurt. You can't run away, you
can't disappear.
You beg him to stop, though it does nothing.
-
"I never stopped looking, never stopped hoping," Regis tells you. He's so happy
to have you 'home' again, like all the pieces will fit back together if only he
gives it time, gives you time. You don't have the heart to tell him it never
will, that whole portions are missing—you don't have a heart anymore. Had it
been a dream, or did Ardyn really cut it out of your chest and swallow it down
piece by piece, each bite of his teeth a new agony? It'd felt real, and that's
the same thing.
What has hope ever gotten anyone? Only more pain.
 
III.
Your next visitor is a fluffy-haired blond boy that wrings nervously at the
edge of his t-shirt with his hands as he comes towards you. You're slowly
relearning how to tell emotions again, what meaning each frivolous action the
humans like to make has. There's a blocky object hanging what must be
uncomfortably from his neck, bumping against his chest—a camera, memory tells
you, though it doesn't tell you what it's for.
"N-Noct? Do you remember me? Your dad said you probably wouldn't, so um, I
brought some—"
You make a low growling sound that is almost almost like the kind of sounds you
used to make with a proper throat.
He stumbles back, falling all over himself, and lands with a hard thud on the
floor. You laugh at the sight, not because it's funny, but because he should
fear you. The humans may have taken your claws, but you're still a monster.
"Prompto," the memory comes to you.
He looks up at you, startled, but he's smiling. His smiles had been like
sunshine, you remember, warm between your ribs—they'd made you happy, and you
growl louder, until he runs out the door.
You don't need happiness.
You need Ardyn.
-
He doesn't come again, but Regis brings the—camera—with him when he comes to
see you.
He sits by your side, though you growl at him.
"Noct," he says, stern.
You turn your back to him, clenching your fists in the sheets. If you had
claws, you could make them go away; you could rend the flesh from their bones
and fill the gnawing ache in your chest that hollows you out like a glass
waiting to be shattered.
He sighs, though he doesn't push the matter.
"Look through the photos, Noctis, please." He touches you on the shoulder,
pulling back quickly when it only makes you flinch. "Prompto used to be your
best friend," he says before he leaves, like that should mean anything to you.
You turn the camera over in your hands after he's gone, poking at the buttons
on it disinterestedly.
You almost drop it on the floor when the flat side suddenly flickers bright
with—pictures? You push at the buttons, and they change, screen after screen of
the blond boy and someone else, dark-haired and brooding, looking like they're
trying to escape the frame half the time and making stupid faces at it the
other half.
It takes you a long time to realize—the other boy is you.
It takes you longer to realize the wetness on your face is because you're
crying.
-
You're dreaming again, though it's not the usual Carbuncle dream. You know
you're dreaming because you feel settled in your skin, not like it's stretched
too tightly over something it shouldn't be able to contain. You're wandering
through long hallways, but all the rooms are empty.
"What am I looking for?" you ask Carbuncle, following at your heels.
Something you've lost, Carbuncle answers.
You continue down the corridor with a huff. That's unhelpful—you've lost so
much that you no long have the ability to measure all the things you're
missing. You know you're dreaming because you're aware enough to think such
thoughts.
The next room you come to isn't empty. It's a memory.
You're in a classroom chatting with that boy—Prompto, and you're both laughing.
He makes wild gestures in the air that look nonsensical to you now, but it must
have meant something to you then, because you laugh harder, until you're
holding your stomach like you can't breathe.
Your hand is clenched on the doorway, and it's not a claw.
"What am I missing," you snarl at Carbuncle. You feel it hovering at the very
edge of your consciousness, something just out of your grasp.
The phone chimes in your pocket and you pull it out with your other hand.
You're shaking, and you can't make yourself stop. You hold it up to your face,
but your eyes are still squeezed shut. You're afraid, because once you know,
you won't be able to take it back. You're standing at the edge of a deep dark
abyss, and one wrong move will send you tumbling into the depths. You force
yourself to look.
Friendship.
You snap awake with a gasp.
-
You wait until the next time the uniformed humans that'd smelled of blood and
death—just because you can no longer smell it doesn't mean it's not
there—brings you food, like you're some pet to be kept, and you rush them,
running out the door. They're yelling your name, but that has no meaning to
you.
You're running barefoot through the hallways, dashing through throngs of people
and making them scatter. It's freeing, like something you used to do or thought
of doing.
You can't fade into the shadows anymore, but these halls are familiar to you,
and you know with a strange kind of instinct where all the best hiding places
are. You hold your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh while the little mice
scurry past, steel in their hands as they search for you.
You creep up quietly on one that's looking in the other direction, and you send
him crashing to the floor as you drop down on him from where you'd been perched
in the rafters.
The uniform fits loosely on you, but it's enough to hide all your most
remarkable features: the bare skin of your human arms and legs, marked by
scars. Your face, once you tug the hood down, most especially your eyes, which
are still the gold and black of your true self, sleeping under the sheep's
skin.
You mimic the gait of the other humans, moving with purpose through the halls,
searching for you.
-
The city streets are less familiar than the hallways of the—Citadel? home, a
small voice wants to say, but you push it aside. Home is Ardyn and slow
drugging kisses that'd tasted of blood and darkness, the woodsmoke smell of
Ardyn's skin and the darkness brimming beneath. Your steps move you forward as
if you know where you're going, though it's not a conscious thought.
-
You push through the doors of the—apartment building? This is how mousies
outside of the Citadel live, you remember. In little cubbyholes stacked one on
top of each other. You're looking for a specific little mousie's home, and the
indistinct memory of wandering long hallways looking through room after room
flits momentarily through your mind.
You rap on the door like you're acting out the part in a play.
It swings open to the blond mousie from before with a piece of bread hanging
out of its mouth, attention still half-on a screen that flashes with noise and
pictures inside. "Yeah? What's—" the bread drops from between its teeth at the
sight of you, frozen like it can't quite decide whether it should be running
for its life.
"Pro...mpto."
You push your fingertips at his chest, where the camera had been hanging.
"Pictures."
He nods, slowly and then more quickly as he steps back to let you into his
home, stupid little mousie. You could make a meal of him, and no one would
know. Lucky for him, you haven't been able to keep any meat down since the
burning light had stripped you of your daemon skin. "Did—did you look through
the pictures, Noct? Do you remember me?" His face is shining with a smile
again, and it frustrates you.
"No," you growl, shoving past him.
You drop into a crouch, moving slowly through the room. You remember things
like faded photographs flashing by—sitting on the couch with something in your
hands, yelling and pushing at each other, though it'd been fun, the same thrill
as you get now stalking after one of their number, crunching through bone with
your teeth, the reward of a good hunt.
"You want to—play a videogame?" Prompto asks hesitantly.
He's standing to one side, watching you nose at the couch cushions, though not
far enough to escape your reach if you decided you wanted a meal after all.
"Video...game," you test out the shapes of the words in your mouth.
There's something tugging at you, something—Carbuncle had called it friendship,
but that lacks any sort of meaning. You feel it like an itch in your fingers,
anxiousness drawing your skin tight against your bones. You drag Prompto down
on the couch with you, his limbs flailing and his heart beating too-quickly
where your hand is pressed against his chest.
"N-noct?"
You remember closeness, a want—
You press your mouth to his, tasting the soft skin. You'd wanted this, once
upon a time. You push him away again when he gasps, trying to taste you in
return, and send him sprawling on the floor.
You tug the hood over your face again, scrunch yourself up on the couch.
Your fingers flex open and closed, but you don't have claws. You don't have
your wings, or your armour, or your teeth. You don't have anything. You ignore
him calling your name. You just want to sleep.
-
"I-is this okay?" Prompto had asked, tucking his fingers against yours. His
cheeks are pink with a blush, and you think of brushing kisses over them.
"It's fine," you say, squeezing his fingers with your own.
He hums the chocobo song as you wander down the streets in no particular
direction, taking vaguely the long way back home.
"Wanna—uh—come over?" Prompto's face is even redder than before, his fingers
twitching nervously where you're holding his hand. It's cute, different from
anyone else that's ever tried to get to know you. He's so happy to be around
you that it makes you happier to be around yourself.
You laugh, nudging him on the shoulder. "Nah, I got a hot date with Iggy. We're
gonna stay up all night...studying ancient Lucian history."
Prompto laughs in return, shoving you back. "Fair, fair. How can I compete with
Iggy's dashing intellect? Does he make you scream out proper declensions in old
Solheim as he drives you mad with ecstasy?"
"Eugh, Prom!"
You untangle your hands to try and grab him in a headlock and mess up his
perfect locks, but he runs away cackling like a hyena.
You hadn't made it home that night.
You hadn't even made it two streets after you'd parted ways with Prompto before
you'd turned a corner and walked straight into Ardyn, who'd grabbed your arm to
keep you from falling, and had never let go.
"Do you know, Noctis—" the backs of his knuckles caressing your cheek with
something you only knew later was ownership—"what the prophecy says of your
fate?"
-
You wake up to darkness and a soft weight laid over you. A...blanket? It's
decorated with bright yellow creatures that scamper across its surface in
improbable poses, but something about the sight tugs at the corners of your
mouth. It smells of the mousie, but you don't mind.
You draw it tighter around yourself, nuzzling your face into the softness, and
fall back to sleep.
-
The next time you blink your eyes open, it's light again. You yawn, stretching
yourself out, and shake the tightness from your muscles. You're—surprised? To
still be in the mousie's home. To not have been dragged back to the Citadel
with its white walls and the light that burns you.
"Stupid mousie," you mutter under your breath.
There's a bowl of something sitting on the table that smells of earthiness,
spices that tickle at your nose. You pick it up with a curious chirp, wondering
that it's still warm, though it must have been sitting there for some time. You
touch your fingers to the black plate that'd been underneath it and snatch them
back again, hissing. It's hot.
The...soup? is warm and filling. You can't distinguish any individual tastes,
everything melded together in the stewing, but the end result is rich and
pleasing, even to you.
You drink it down hungrily, glaring at the bottom of the bowl when it's empty.
You set it back on the table and get up, wondering where the little mousie's
hidden himself.
-
There are photos everywhere, adorning the walls and tables of the...apartment,
haphazardly placed. Some of them are dusty, making you sneeze, some of them
with fingerprint smears all over the frames. They're all of the mousie—and you.
Friendship, Carbuncle had said.
You slide the word between your teeth, but you still don't know what it means.
You make your way deeper into the mousie's dwelling, pushing open doors.
There's a...bathroom, a study, an empty bedroom. The furthest one must be the
mousie's, with a surfeit of garish stickers decorating the door, a cacophony of
colour. You sniff with distaste.
It opens at a touch, and you find the mousie curled in his own blankets,
sleeping peacefully.
Sleeping with a predator in its home, like it's not even aware of the danger.
The thought makes you angry, and yesterday you would have stormed in to throw
it out of its bed, make it fear you, but your stomach is full with soup, your
limbs still heavy with sleep. You...pause, at the threshold. Is this some kind
of human sensibility, you wonder.
You creep in slowly, crouch down at the side of the bed to watch him sleep.
Prompto.
You lick at your fingers and reach out to smooth the hair from his face.
He wakes some time later with a low mumble, a smile on his face when he sees
you. "Hey, Noct," his voice thick and scratchy with sleep.
"Prompto."
He reaches out to touch the scar on your face, so careful, projecting his
movements, that you don't flinch back. "I didn't tell anyone you're here," he
promises. "You can stay as long as you want." He lays his fingers over yours,
perched on the edge of the bed, and you think of the dream, walking down small
side-streets and laughing. "I've missed you, Noct," he blurts out, the
heaviness in his voice now from emotion, Prompto choking back a sob—"gods, I've
missed you so much."
His other hand goes to his face, wiping at his eyes.
You turn your own hand over, so his fingers are resting against your palm. You
close your hand over his like in the dream.
"Friend," you say, and watch as his face lights up.
 
IV.
It's Nyx that finds you, breaking down the door while you're sat on the floor
with Prompto, trying to figure out video games. Pressing buttons on the device
in your hands makes things happen on-screen, though not consistently, without
any sort of reason. You're so focused on getting your character to kick
Prompto's character in the head that you don't even notice the commotion until
Prompto's hit pause on the screen to look behind him.
"Uh," Nyx says.
The mousies with him seem equally confused, stood there with dumb little
expressions on their faces.
"Hey, Nyx!" Prompto calls out. "You're paying for my door!"
Nyx's face contorts, like it can't decide how to feel about the entire
situation.
You start laughing, and then you can't stop, cackling madly at the sad little
mousies standing squished against one another in the yawning doorway, at
Prompto's indignant ire over his broken door, at Nyx's face, stuck between
several expressions in clear indecision.
"Noct?" Prompto shoves at your shoulder, and you shove him back, wrestling with
him on the floor as Prompto yells—"It's not that funny, Noct!"
It is, it's the funniest thing in all the world.
You set your teeth against his neck, gnawing gently, and then Prompto's
laughing too, giggling at the ticklish sensation.
-
You reluctantly head back to the Citadel with Nyx, grumbling the whole way
about busy little mousies, Prompto following sheepishly in tow. "Sorry, your
uh, majesty," he mumbles at Regis, who trades him a pained smile.
"No," Regis tells him, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "You put
Noctis first, and I'm grateful for that. There aren't many who would in recent
times."
"Noct's my friend," Prompto says, slanting a gaze at you, like he needs your
confirmation.
"Friends," you nod.
You shy away when Regis tries to hold you. Humans have too many complicated
emotions, and you can only work through one at a time. You hide behind Prompto,
the only one of them who hasn't hurt you.
You touch your fingertips to his, and Prompto's hand curls around yours
automatically.
Friend, you think, is perhaps the same as pack.
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