#touch time

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The first time Prompto met him, it felt like someone had punched him square in the throat before slamming him to the ground. 

Seeing stars, he could barely breathe after having his heart jump all the way into his throat.  His mind clouded, he could hardly focus focus on anything other than the hand gripping his in a 100% normal, completely and totally average handshake.

Okay well maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but it’s the only description that Prompto can think of to describe the first time he properly met Gladiolus Amicitia.  Maybe because he knew that if Gladio wanted to, he could do exactly that. 

But he wouldn’t. Gladio was too kind. Too protective of his friends and those he cared about to ever lay a hand on a friend of his friend.  

Prompto wanted desperately to be one of those friends.  To be someone that those hands would fight to protect.

But he was just the weird new kid.  

Or not even the weird ‘new’ kid because he had been here all along. He’d gone to school with the Prince Noctis and his two older friends since he began elementary school, but they had never noticed him. Or maybe they did, and back in those days he had been the weird new kid and they just determined it was better not to get mixed up with him.  But, it was more likely that they were just much more focused on their studies and their prince, than the commoner boy who admired their friendship from afar.  At that time, Prompto was barely learning how to navigate life and make some friends for himself.

Which was a venture that would unfortunately prove to be futile until a string of dumb luck led him to becoming friends with the young prince himself.  Prompto knew that he wouldn’t be able to recreate the circumstances that resulted in their bond in a million years, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t dare, because the more he questioned himself, the more he would feel as if he did not belong,  and he so desperately wanted even a single friend, that he was willing to embarrass himself in front of the prince and his guard in order to do so. 

His desperation is what led him to this point.  An informal meetup, instigated by Noctis after months of trying to convince Prompto that his other friends were chill guys.  Prompto still remembers it. The fear, the nerves that built up in his chest at the thought of meeting Noctis’s friends after it had just been the two of them for so long. 

Prompto just hadn’t been sure what to think.  The older boys presented themselves as so poised. Refined.  Befitting of men who had been chosen to stand beside a prince. Even if Noctis had assured him that his friends would accept him with open arms, Prompto couldn’t help but worry. 

Ignis was polite, tall, and a bit curt with Prompto at the time, concerned as he was that the prince had found himself in the company of a potentially undesirable person.  The cool, cold demeanour Ignis tried to portray quickly wore off though, and Prompto learned how much of a dork the prince’s advisor could be. He was someone Prompto knew he could rely on in a tough spot, and Ignis constantly reminded him how happy he was that Noctis had found such a good friend among all the riff raff at school.

And Gladio.

Oh Gladio.

Prompto knew he was in trouble the moment Gladio gave Prompto’s hand a firm shake, strong enough to communicate Gladio’s confidence and warmth, and smiled down at him in welcome.  Immediately friendly, immediately kind, his general demeanor radiating acceptance, and Prompto’s knees felt weak.

Straightening his back to respond in kind with a smile and a declaration of friendship, Prompto couldn’t help but revel in the thick fingers, calloused by years of training with swords and shields.  So much more real than the games of cops and robbers that Prompto had played in the school yard years ago with anyone who would give him the time of day.  

But behind the strength of his hands was a gentleness.

Behind the intensity of his gaze was a warmth that burned through to Prompto’s core, and he couldn’t help but fall.

He was weak.    

He knew he held on to Gladio’s hand longer than he should have, but Gladio simply laughed it off, joking about how Prompto was clearly just in shock of meeting someone so tall, dark, and handsome.  Prompto had flushed, covering his face with his hands as Gladio swung an arm around his shoulder, declaring “I like this guy!”

I like this guy.

Prompto knew that all he wanted was to get closer to this young man.

This man that made his heart flutter like a chocobo’s wings.   

Prompto just didn’t know how.  He had never had many friends, and could barely make it through a conversation with Noctis without questioning that he had done or said something wrong. How was he supposed to navigate the waters of his developing crush when his heart felt full enough to overflow every time Gladio even glanced over at him and smiled when the four of them were hanging out?

He found himself drawn to him, like a piece of metal to a magnet. Gladio’s personality constantly called out to him, dragging him in, pulling him deeper, until he was completely suffocating on his need, his desire to be noticed by Gladio.  To be pulled into those big, strong arms, and squeezed until his laughter turned to wheezes and his feet lifted off the ground as Gladio pulled him closer and closer and closer until they were basically one person.

But that was weird right? He shouldn’t, or should at least try not to think those kinds of things about one of his newest friends. He...didn’t even know that much about Gladio as a person, and was determined to remedy that as soon as he could so that he could justify the feelings that consumed his entire mind whenever he was close.

And justify he did. 

He loved everything about him.

His smile. His laugh. The way he argued with Ignis over the utility and function of cup noodle as the ultimate minute meal.

He loved his hair when it was short. He loved it when Gladio started growing it out in the back.

He loved getting to be close enough to him to see the progression of Gladio’s back tattoo as he had it filled in over the weeks.  

Prompto couldn’t help himself. 

He was never inappropriate.

Never obvious.

At least he tried so hard not to be, as he knew he wasn’t ready to address the feelings swirling about in his head just as much as Gladio wouldn’t be ready to accept them.

But he couldn’t help it as he slid onto the couch next to him, squeezing into the spot that was much too small for him, just to feel Gladio’s leg press up against his own.

He couldn’t help giving a playful punch to the older man’s shoulder as he passed him in the halls of their school, and then later the citadel or crownsguard training halls.

A friendly high five, a clap on the shoulder.  Nudging Gladio with his hip to make a point.  

Anything. 

Anything to make him feel closer. 

To let him feel his skin and imagine what it would be like if Gladio felt the same as him.

Sometimes he lingered.

An arm over the shoulder that lasted too long.

A hair ruffle that lasted just long enough for Prompto to appreciate the texture of the strands.

Each touch, and effort to communicate something.  The words he couldn’t say out loud for fear of being reprimanded. 

Rejected.  

Turned away from the group, to return to being alone. Again.

It was something he couldn’t bear to think about. Something he couldn’t allow to happen.

So even as his heart ached.

Even as he tried so desperately to communicate his feelings.  

His only option was to hope, pray to the Six that maybe a small portion of his feelings would be able to leech out of his fingertips, leaving little bits of his love on the other’s skin,  his hair...his heart…

But what could he do with all these words he couldn’t say?

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