#psychedossier

    Noctis ran his hand under the hem of Prompto’s shirt, pressing him back against the wall of lockers behind them. This kiss was deeper than previous ( and in an ideal world, they would be in Noct’s dorm, or Prompto’s even ), and while Noctis was a bit out of his depth with it, he was certainly not opposed to the experience. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt Prompto’s hands slide over his chest, around his back, scratching at his shoulder blades- he groaned in the back of his throat. Wow, that felt--

    “N-Noct-”

            Even better, Astrals- his breath on his ear, the huskiness to his voice--

    He didn’t even hear the door open, but he definitely heard the whoop, the barked laughter. “Whoa, Cae, put a sock on the door or something-!”

    The text message itself didn’t really interest Noct;  he wouldn’t say anything, but he was having a hard time keeping up with the conversation anyway. But Prompto looked amused. He looked down at his screen, seeing the flicker of white text with [  ❥Prom ]. He opened it and looked at it for a moment. Jumbled, the words weren’t cohesive. He blinked in frustration, willing the words to align themselves--

    He did all that work for another damn pun. Noctis turned up a glower, half pouting, and Prompto threw his head back in a laugh. He loved that laugh. It warmed his heart, filled his tight chest with something other than the nagging worry, fear- what if I don’t get him back, what if we never can, what if this is it, can we do it, will it be the same--

    And it was in Prompto’s eyes- the faith, the strength Noctis needed to adopt, to leech from the one that was taking so much hardship in stride. Because as much as Noctis missed his voice... he still had his laugh, right? He still had...

    And maybe it was in Noctis’s eyes- the distant concern, distraction, something more inscrutable; Prompto’s face fell, a worry crossing his face that Noctis was getting far too familiar with to be satisfied. He wasn’t made of tissue- he’d be okay... eventually. He just...

    Prompto laid a hand on his cheek as if he would ask if he were okay, eyes turning down to his phone-- maybe to ask just that. He could just sign it- Noctis at least knew that much. And how to answer it. He needed to practice anyway. But more than that, he didn’t want that message. He didn’t want to be coddled or treated like porcelain in the wake of an accident that had taken far more from him than Noctis. So instead, he set to a distraction.

    With an impish smirk, Noctis threw his arms around Prompto, pulling him into a hug and dragging him down on the bed. His right shoulder screamed in protest. He didn’t care. He knew Prompto would never know how cute his little giggle was, the way that he sounded like he was a little kazoo with a broken valve, the way his pitch spiked when he was surprised. And he twisted, pushing Prompto down onto the bed. He loomed over him with the same grin, chuckling under his breath. 

    Well, Prompto sure looked winded, confused, but still amused no less. Distraction: check. He’d take what he could get. He took the pressure off his right arm by leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to the soft patch of skin right under his jaw. His pulse was right under his lips ( he’s here, he’s still here, no matter what this is here, they’re not going back to before, just... it’s just different, and different doesn’t have to be bad, because they’re still together, he’s still here- ) He could hear his breathing, the spike of a quiet but sudden inhale. And thaaaat was another good distraction. Good for him, good for Prompto-- anything he could keep his mind on. Focus on Prompto. Focus on this. Focus on the way Prompto half laughed through his nose as Noctis peppered another kiss there, as he moved up to his jaw, his cheek, nuzzling there softly. 

     There was so much he wanted to say. There was so much going on, so much he needed to convey. Words wouldn’t reach, though. And signing was frustrating, laborious. But he could kiss him. He could keep kissing him. Because he was still here, too He wouldn’t be going anywhere. He pressed a kiss to Prompto’s lips now, firm, almost desperate, and he was pleased to feel reciprocation in it. For a moment, he pulled back, dizzy ( was it oxygen deprivation or concussion, figured it’s a damn fifty-fifty at this point- ), pressing his forehead to Prompto’s as he rubbed his thumb over his cheek. This... this closeness. It felt like...

    “I’m... I’m sorry, Prom.”