It starts with an assassination attempt.

Not of him; nobody would want to kill him. He's just Prompto, best friend and consummate liar. Not even really a crown citizen. He's nobody.

But Noctis is somebody, so it's him that the man with the knife and the crazed eyes is running for.

It happens so fast that Prompto barely has time to register the hard glint of sunlight off steel and the sound of pounding footsteps on the pavement before the man is tackled to the ground by one of the royal guards. Just like that, it's over before it's even really begun. The would-be murderer is not even in cuffs yet when Noctis is whisked away into a palace car that's all tinted windows and reinforced glass. Prompto's shoved in roughly as an afterthought but he doesn't mind because he's pretty sure that left to his own devices, he'd still be standing on the sidewalk staring like an idiot.

Noctis doesn't seem bothered, because it's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last time. Being royalty, Prompto has come to realize, seems to come with more downsides than perks. He's freaked out, but he doesn't want to spoil the mood so he cracks a lame joke and Noctis smiles and the whole incident is put behind them.

Except that it's not.

That night Prompto can't sleep. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he finally gives up and, with his eyes locked on the ceiling, lets the 'what ifs' consume him.

What if the guards are too slow?
What if next time they have a gun?
What if there's no car nearby?
What if next time it's just me?

The thoughts fill his head until he thinks it might burst and he shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubs until bright spots fill his vision. He's never felt so inadequate, and given his friendship with Noctis, that's saying a lot. Noctis would never say anything, but Prompto knows in his heart that he could try his entire life, and still not be worthy of the prince's friendship. He fingers the barcode on his wrist and feels a fierce surge of protectiveness well up in his chest for his first real friend.

After that, his mind is firmly made up and he drifts to sleep, hand clenched tight around his wrist and a slight smile on his face.


"You want to learn how to fight?"

It's the next day and Noctis and Prompto are sitting at a worn, brown folding table eating lunch. The school cafeteria is as loud as ever, though there is a calm pocket just around them, where the other students speak too quietly and walk too quickly around the crown prince.

Prompto holds up a French fry and looks without really seeing it. "Yeah. I want to be able to defend myself." The 'and you' he only adds in his mind.

"Hey man, if that's what you want, more power to ya." Noctis shrugs and takes another bite of his burger. He chews thoughtfully and gazes at Prompto across the table. "You know," he says, swallowing, "you could ask my trainer to teach you."

Prompto shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The thought of him being trained by the same person as the crown prince of Lucis is almost laughable, really. "Sure." He waves a casual hand in the air to undercut the strain in his voice.

"No, I'm serious!" Noctis is leaning across the table now, eyes intent on Prompto. "Go tonight, it's his day off. I'll even put in a good word for you."

Prompto chuckles weakly and forces a smile and a thank you, but he definitely feels better once the subject switches to the term papers that are due in a few weeks. He almost hopes that Noctis will forget, but after the bell rings and they're separating to go to different classes, a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled address and a name is shoved into his hands.


Prompto gulps and it takes all his effort not to turn on his heel and immediately walk back home. The house is huge and stately and the slight twinge of dread he had started to feel on the long walk from his not great, but affordable neighborhood to one of the districts ringing the royal palace quickly morphs into full-on panic. He had expected it, really, because anyone trusted with training the prince has to a member of the royal court, but expecting something and seeing it with your own eyes are two very different things.

But he's here for a reason, so he takes one last glance at the paper in his hand and makes sure he's got the right address before crumpling it up and dropping it into his pocket. He takes a deep breath and tries to appear more confident than he feels as he pushes open the wrought-iron gate and marches up the steps to elaborate, wooden double doors.

He only has to knock once before one of the doors swings open and a girl only a little younger than he is greets him. She's pretty, with short brown hair and an open smile, and Prompto figures he might have a crush on her if he were into that sort of thing. Her name is Iris, she tells him and she seems nice so he digs the piece of paper back out of his pocket and shows her the name written on it and explains why he's here, where he so clearly does not belong.

Iris smiles again, in that earnest way that makes Prompto duck his head and blush, and nods and then bounds off to parts unknown in the house. Still standing on the doorstep, he can hear her call, "Gladdy! Someone's here for you! A friend of Noct's!"

Prompto winces a little bit at the nickname. Noctis had been telling him for the better part of the last year to call him Noct, but Prompto hasn't been able to bring himself to do it. It's a stupid hang up; one that he wishes he could just get over, but the name feels too casual, too intimate on his tongue.

The man that comes to the door is huge and Prompto can't help but stare. His broad shoulders fill the open frame and the muscles in his arms bulge when he crosses them across his chest. Prompto very pointedly tries to keep his gaze away and not linger on how the thin fabric of his black tank top clings to his abdomen.

Prompto's heart skips a beat when he realizes that he recognizes the man. It's one of Noctis' many bodyguards. Prompto's seen him quite a few times with Noctis, always a step behind and to the left of the prince, a quiet but intimidating presence. He hadn't realize the man was his trainer as well.

"You're Gladiolus?" The question hangs in the air between them.

The man stares him down and Prompto wants to cringe, but he came here with a purpose and this is important, so he sucks it up and does his best to meet it with his own level gaze. "I am," he finally answers, his voice a deep, rich baritone that sends a rush of heat right through Prompto's stomach. "What do you want?"

"I- I'm looking for a trainer. Noctis suggested I come to you."

Another stare and this time Prompto swears he can feel contempt rolling off Gladiolus in waves. He knows the big man has looked at him, all five foot eight scrawny inches of him, and has found him wanting. He presses on anyway.

"I want to learn how to fight."

Gladiolus snorts in amusement and leans one massive shoulder against the doorframe. "And I told Noctis, I don't have time to take on a student right now." He reaches out and wraps a huge hand around one of Promto's biceps. "Hiding any muscle under that school uniform?" he asks derisively.

Prompto feels his face flush, heat rising up to color his freckles darker, either from embarrassment or from the sudden warmth of the hand wrapped around his arm. He's not sure which, but he shrugs his arm out from under the larger man's grip and frowns.

"I'm a runner?" He offers, knowing it isn't what he's asking.

"Then I suggest that you run from any fights. Like I said, I don't have the time." Gladiolus starts to turn away and before Prompto can stop himself, he reaches out and clamps a hand onto the tattooed forearm.

"Please?" He tells himself he won't beg, but the last time something felt this important to him he spent years losing weight before he could even work up the nerve to talk to Noctis. "Please," he repeats in a level voice. "I need to do this. For Noctis."

Maybe it's the prince's name that does it or maybe something in his eyes is more sincere this time, but Gladiolus turns back towards him and purses his lips. The man takes a deep breath. "Fine."

Elated, Prompto snatches his hand back from Gladiolus' arm like he's laid it on a hot stove. He starts to say thank you, but Gladiolus interrupts him.

"I don't do this for free, you know."

Prompto's enthusiasm dies down a little.

"How much?"

Gladiolus says a number and Prompto's eyes go wide while he does a bit of mental math. He thinks he can just manage it as long as there are no emergencies, and he maybe eats a little more ramen than usual. He forces a smile and agrees.

"Tomorrow then, at seven."

And just like that, Prompto is staring at the wooden door as it shuts in his face. Part of him is a little proud of himself, and part of him is slightly nervous, and part of him is trying not to imagine what Gladiolus looks like with his shirt off. It's more than enough to occupy his thoughts for the long walk home.