#corleonisweek

He may seem like a serious man, but King Regis would most likely make every excuse known to Eos just to be able to spend time away from the duties of the Crown.

He better not have brought those wine from Altissia, Cor grumbled as he ascended the stairs up to his room, the hallway uncommonly bright despite being designed with the Insomnian taste in mind.  

Cor stood in front of his door, ears pricked for any kind of sound from within, even on the wait for the faintest of whispers. None. The sound of the knob twisting welcomed his return.

Immediately, a candle sparked into life in the middle of the room and illuminated the various pots and plates of food teasing his eyes in the dim light. He then heard the shuffling of feet and all of a sudden, a flash, right in front of his eyes.

‘Happy birthday, Cor!’

Familiar faces surrounded him now. As expected, King Regis was there and so was Clarus. But he could have sworn he’d heard someone else too...

‘And here’s your first photo being thirty!’ 

Bright eyes stared at him as a photo of him looking the same as ever was handed to him. 

‘I’d say he looks more like a heartbreaker now than a heart throb, isn’t he?’ Veritas, his partner, or V as he calls her, stood laughing to her heart’s content. The only consolation Cor had was that she had to tiptoe just to hug him.

‘Yeah, a real shame for it’s wasted on Mr. Poker Face over here. Smile a little, would you?’ Clarus nudged the stoic looking soldier, a birthday card in hand. The young soldier’s arms left his comrade’s lithe frame and took the card in curiosity.

On the card, a scraggly note was scribbled in red ink. It said he must be proud to have reached thirty with an already mature mind, unlike some that he knew. Cid Sophiar was not one to sugar coat things. But on the bottom it says, ‘Grab a beer with your old pal, would ya?’

Cor smiled secretly as he tucked the card inside his pocket.

“Well, I’m not thirty just yet. I’ve got about midnight until I --”

‘Oh loosen up, would you? Weskham sends his regards,’ V said, holding up a bottle of Altissian wine. 

She shook it as she teased, ‘He knows you all too well, doesn’t he, Cor?’

He won’t get drunk, not this time. 

King Regis reached out for a box from the mantle and handed it to him.

‘The guards wanted to give this to you. I think they would want you to eat it tonight. ‘

Cor picked the box and peaked inside. Carefully as he opened it, it was quite the opposite when he closed the lid shut. His ears turned red.

‘What’s that look for?’ King Regis asked, reaching for the box himself. Cor spun around and placed it on the counter.

I can’t believe they made King Regis hand this to me! I’m going to make them run around the whole damn Citadel thirty times! 

Cor grumbled as he felt the heat spread from his cheeks up to his ears and neck.

‘Heavens! Let me see what’s made you so red!’

’NO!’

Clarus joined in on the fuss, his arms holding the young soldier in place as the king of Lucis forgot his place and snatched the box away from the birthday man’s hands.

The box ceremoniously passes on to V without the men realizing it. In her curiosity, her delicate fingers lifted the lid up, only to have laughter ringing out in squeals from her lips.

‘Dirty Thirty indeed!’

The men turned their heads around and scrambled for the item in question.

‘DON’T YOU DARE OPEN THAT BOX! OR ELSE I’LL’

‘Oh, did you hear that Regis? The lion’s roar has finally graced us with its presence!’

‘Just a peek now, Cor! Veritas, if you please…’

‘Let’s leave it to your imagination, your majesty.’

‘Quite sure he knows more than I know when it comes to such things —‘ Cor roared indignantly as he snatched the box away, hiding it inside his refrigerator.

’Now don’t you start on that one!’ King Regis’ turn to blush was a surprise, and they all laughed so hard they forgot about the lascivious present.

The night was spent eating home-cooked meals with lots of lightweight wine and comforting tea.

After a while, V came back from the kitchen, holding the cake in her hands. On top of the cake however, were thirty candles flickering brightly in the room.

‘I’ve always wanted to do this!’ she chuckled as she set it in front of Cor.

‘What? Baking me a cake or putting candles on it just because you can’t for your own age?’ 

V scoffed as she placed it on the table top. Between her and Cor, she was actually and literally, an immortal, not just a namesake.

‘The latter one, cheeky. Why would I want to bake a care just for you? But I’ll let that slide, since it’s your birthday. Don’t expect the same treatment tomorrow.’

‘Good. Because you’re starting to shock me. You, bake a cake? Just admit it, you want to cook for me.’

‘Oh just shut it and blow your damn candles.’

‘Language, if you please.’

Cor leaned in and blew the candles begrudgingly, with V making him repeat the whole process just because she didn’t get the shot, the scent of smoke lingering in the air.

The night didn’t end as early as they thought it would and their little gathering lasted until dawn. 

For once, Cor was relieved. He spent his first day of being thirty in the presence of his friends, greeting the dawn with a smile on his face. Nothing to haunt me now, he thought as he felt the wind caress his cheek while he stared in the breaking day, his window ajar, just like his heart. 

As he turned to look at his friends who were supposedly asleep, there was a click. 

‘Officially thirty now, Cor,’ V said, handing him a photo of him. 

‘I got a photo of you with no lines on your forehead. You can thank me later.’

Indeed, he looked calm, happy, even. 

Smiling, he tucked the photo inside his breast pocket, joining V as they tried to rouse Clarus from his rather humiliating sleeping position and to try and wake the king up -- it’ll take them years to wake him up so they better start now.

It didn’t explain the other strange things about the morning: like how instead of gathered around for breakfast, the others were scattered in disparate activity.  Or how Prompto was avoiding him.  Again.  Or as well as any of them could avoid one another without leaving the confines of the camp.  It was in the way he refused to meet his look-- turning another direction or ducking to the side, busying himself with nothing.

But here was Ariel, bringing him a steaming mug and a smile, pressing the metal and ceramic into his hands before leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, “Good morning.  Hungry?”

“Mm,” He agreed into the lip of the mug, welcoming the bitter taste and warmth of coffee only barely sweetened.  It wasn’t burnt, so she must have made it.  Prompto didn’t drink it, and Nyx claimed to like it long over the coals.  Before the young woman could continue on, he caught her wrist, and her dark eyes returned to his face, “What’s wrong with Prompto?”

Cor watched confusion flicker over her expression before she gave the blond an inquisitive look herself, “Nothing…?  What’s wrong with Prompto?”

“He’s avoiding me.”

“Really?” She frowned, lips pursing slightly, “Do you want me to ask him about it?”

“... No.” And Cor sipped again, releasing his companion, deciding he could ask himself.

“Hey Prompto.”

The blond nearly jolted out of his boots and turned to stare wide-eyed, “Y-y-y-yess-sir?”

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing’s wrong!” Was the reply with the most unconvincing delivery possible, secrecy and guilt flashing through every line in his face and body.

“Nothing besides how we’re suddenly out of fire-starters and potions,” snarked Nyx as he came back from where he’d been rummaging through their supplies, “Seemed somebody shorted the two we had out…”

“That wasn’t--”

“--Oh no?  You’re the only one who uses them for stuff other than lighting fires for cooking, kid.”  Ulric had mastered the technique of delivering an effective guilt-trip with an incredibly cheerful tone.  The blond’s mouth worked uselessly while his face went from bleached bone to bright red.

“So now I gotta go get another one.  And an endless match like I said in the first place…” The Galahdian went on, just as cheerfully.

Furrowing his brow, thinking of their very light wallet, Cor countered, “... Do we really need replacements?  We have magic.” “Yeah most of the time we have magic.” Nyx shrugged, “If we’re all together, and Ariel and I are good to go.  If that checklist isn’t filled out, are we just gonna stay in the dark and eat cold food?  Come on…”

It was a strange morning when Nyx was thinking further ahead than he was… Cor shrugged, “You going now?”

“Yeah.  You coming?”

“... Sure.  Let me eat first.”

“I’ll get you a plate, old man.”

They were just crossing under the stone arches leading to Lestallum when Nyx looked at him, bemused, “Okay, what are you doing?”

Frowning back at him, Cor answered, “What.”

“You keep messing with your pockets.  Are you looking for something or just fondling yourself?”

“Funny.” Sighing, the Marshal withdrew his hands after verifying once again that he did have all his personal effects on his person and hadn’t misplaced one “... I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve forgotten something is all.”

“Really?  Like what?” The amusement on Nyx’s scarred face split into a full grin.

It was strange, suspicious almost, so Cor slowed his pace and spoke with more consideration, “... I don’t know.”

The Kingsglaive hadn’t slowed, and was continuing on ahead, casual and confident as ever, “Must be your age catching up with you.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Cor stopped, “... My age.”

“It happens to the best of us, Marshal.  No reason to be dramatic about it.”

“... So that’s what was going on…”

Now Nyx turned and looked at him, back to the quirking eyebrow and lazy smirk, “Oh?”

Cor didn’t answer, he was too busy remembering how he’d strangely been the last one out of the tent, and how the others hadn’t been eating together but doing separate tasks around the camp.  How Ariel had come immediately to monopolize his attention.  How Prompto had been acting so strange and evasive.  Nyx’s sudden accusations…

“Ulric,” He snarled, pinning the younger man with a glare, “you’re in on this.”

“In on what?”

“The three of you are planning something for today.  For my birthday.” Irritation throbbed through his guts, “... This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Some of us don’t agree.” Nyx shrugged.

“We don’t have resources or time to waste on celebrating a middle-aged has-been getting one year older.  You know I don’t want a fuss made over me.  At all.”

The amusement left Nyx’s face and he folded his arms, “Okay, I could agree with your sentiment until you called yourself a ‘has-been’.  If you’re a has-been, what does that make me?  Your self-depreciation has no place in this conversation, Cor.”

“What are they planning?”

“Nothing expensive.”

Irritation threatened to flare into anger, something cold etching along his bones.  Cor swallowed it back. “... I don’t want to waste time and energy with this.”

“Can I ask why?”

It was a reasonable request.  More reasonable than Cor was feeling, but he sighed slowly and pinched between his eyes, “Bad memories.  Birthdays were never a good time growing up.  Then… Re--His Majesty found out about it, and tried to make… kind gestures.  A crown prince’s kindness looked a lot like pity back then.  He and the others learned to… tone it down… over the years.  Now they’re gone, and I’m growing older without them.”

He wasn’t sure if Nyx would get it.  What he’d learned of Galahdian culture had reinforced their clannish, survival-focused customs-- birthday celebrations were private affairs within close social circles.  Nyx might be left wondering if he and the others were somehow outside Cor’s closest social circles.  But that wasn’t the case at all. It was just… the tradition.  Regis had re-framed the birthday tradition for Cor from what his childhood had made, and now that Regis and Clarus were gone, and Weskham and Cid far away… He just didn’t have the wherewithal to try and establish a new tradition without them.  It just didn’t matter that much to him...

Nyx was looking at him, then he shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides, “Okay, sure.  I can get behind that.” “Thank you.” “It wasn’t ever me you needed to convince.” Nyx’s smile was apologetic, “Come on, we still have shit to buy.”

Shit…

Altissians had altogether much different and dramatic views on the cultural significance of birthdays and the commemoration of them.

“Please don’t.” Was all he said when he saw the camp.  It wasn’t, he admitted, as bad as Cor had dreaded.  No balloons or streamers.  No crowd of people.  Only Cid and Cindy, a small round cake, and a few small gifts wrapped in scrap paper and string.

And his two other companions who were thinking themselves very clever-- though he thought Ariel looked a bit distressed, as if keenly aware that unwritten rules from her childhood demanded that if she really cared, she’d have arranged for so much more.

Prompto was happily preparing to snap photos.

“Happy birthday!” They all cried.

“Thank you.” He was suddenly glad that Nyx had insisted on a bottle of whiskey-- which Ariel was coming over to take from him, along with the other supplies he and the Galahdian had carried.

“--I know.” She interjected before he could tell her, “You’re mad at me.  That’s fine.  It’s just a little cake and a few small gifts and your friends and then some shots of whiskey, okay?”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“Are ya still on about all that, kid?” Cid groused at him, a scowl on his face but a grin hidden in the creases of his eyes, “When are you gonna grow outta bein’ such a brat?”

“Maybe after you do, you old coot.”

It was, after all, a nice little respite from the usual routine of their days of hard travel broken up by frantic battle, and when they settled down around the campfire with shots of whiskey, Cor could quietly admit to himself that it hadn’t been a waste of a day after all.  The cake, now gone, had been tasty and enjoyable-- especially the satisfaction of smashing the remainder of a slice into the side of Nyx’s head so that frosting was still in bits of his hair and probably in his ear after the Kingsglaive had thought himself quick, clever, and ballsy enough to bump Cor’s forkful into his nose.  Prompto had graciously taken a slew of shots despite his laughter.

If either Hammerhead mechanic thought anything of how casually the four of them leaned and lounged on each other, they didn’t voice it.  Cor figured they knew-- Cid most certainly understood what he was looking at, even if he didn’t understand how it had happened.  Cid knew what kind of trust was needed to be able to casually touch Cor.