Disclaimer: I don't own FFXV.

Warning: Noctis/Prompto.

Note: Enjoy.

Summary: "Hate is misunderstood passion."

Chapter One

He hated Noctis.

For the longest, Prompto hated him. As Niflheim's prince, Prompto couldn't stand him – hoped he'd cease to exist, just hoped he'd disappear. He didn't mind – wishing ill upon someone, not at all.

In the distance, Prompto saw him. Without hesitation, Prompto stiffened and tensed – wine glass cracking, from his tight clutch. It fragmented soon enough – glass shards shattering everywhere, fluttering like snow.

However, Prompto stood there. After all, Prompto was barefoot – encircled by glass shards, with clenched hands. His adversary came forward – plucking him up, while watching him cry. He looked away – hiding his freckled face, which was glowing and glistening crimson.

"Are you okay, Your Imperial Highness?" Noctis asked, setting gently Prompto down. "Were you harmed?"

"No, I'm fine," Prompto assured, putting distance between them. "Why have you come here, though? Last time I checked, I finished paying any and all war reparations."

"I'm not here for court business, Your Imperial Highness."

"Why are you here, then?"

"I'm having a ball. And, I hope you come, Your Imperial Highness."

"Is that so? Well, I'll think about it."

"In that case, Your Imperial Highness, I shall leave."

XOXO

He didn't understand.

He would never understand, though.

As he left, Noctis halted midway. He heard disturbing noises – angry screaming and sobbing, just before leaving. It wasn't anything new, the temper tantrums. It always happened, but whenever he came over.

And so, Noctis didn't linger anymore. He sat down – sighing and shaking his head, in his limo. He leaned back – loosening his tie, as his eyes closed. He wanted a nap – needed a nap, to collect himself.

After all, Noctis felt exhausted. He was worn out – mentally and physically, especially emotionally. He handled a lot – interviews and meetings and speeches and school, exceedingly depleting and draining.

"What's his problem, Iggy?" Noctis asked, dark eyebrows furrowing together. "I haven't done wrong, not to him. Why does he hate me, then?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I wish I knew why," Ignis apologized, pouring himself champagne. "But, I'm afraid I don't. It doesn't matter, though. I have a feeling you won't be seeing him at the ball tomorrow night."

"It matters to me. I've never met someone so disgusted with me before."

"I don't like seeing you this way, Your Highness."

"Whatever. Just wake me up, when we reach home."

"Certainly, Your Highness."

XOXO

He thrashed the room.

He threw things, without a care.

After all, Prompto couldn't control himself. He was angry – seething and smoldering, just absolutely furious. He broke windows – fracturing and fragmenting them, with candelabras. He shattered statues – watching them crumble, into tiny pieces. He knocked down bookshelves – reaching for more, until he became embraced.

Without hesitation, Prompto collapsed. He clutched Aranea – tightly hugging her, as she sighed softly. He sobbed loudly – wetting her shoulder, who didn't mind. He then let everything out – spoke his heart, the truth haunting him. He opened up – revealed his true nature, that he's ugly.

Of course, Prompto always knew. He just wouldn't accept it, not before. He lived in denial, for so long. It was easier – thinking that he's beautiful, when he's far from beautiful. It was clear enough – quite evident enough already, whenever he felt ugly.

"I hate him!" Prompto cried, his chin trembling. "I hate him so, so much!"

"It's okay," Aranea consoled, stroking his hair. "It's actually normal. We have a complicated relationship with them. They defeated us, humiliated us."

"I don't hate Lucis, just their prince. I loathe his very existence."

"What do you mean?"

"He's the perfect prince. He's everything I ought to be, but I can never."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a beloved hero, savior of Eos. And I'm a monster, the prince of an empire fallen from grace."

"Your people love you."

"I couldn't save them. He did that for me, took that from me."

"You were a prisoner."

"I'm not some damsel in distress! I didn't need his help!"

"Prompto …"

"Never!"

XOXO

He was home.

He was thinking, of Niflheim's peculiar prince.

However, Noctis gave up. He'll never understand, the other prince. He wanted to, but just couldn't. It was impossible, not attainable. A problematic part of the treaty – giving Niflheim solitude and solace, for war reparations and peace.

Of course, Noctis didn't appreciate the treaty. It wasn't drafted enough – poorly and pitiful written, in a hurry. It needed work – a lot of work, to utilize the treaty more. It had loopholes – loopholes Niflheim might manipulate, as to their advantage.

Even so, Noctis wanted another treaty. It'll foil Niflheim's plans – thwart their trickery, their troubling evasiveness. He'll keep them obedient – prevent further conflicts, prevent future wars. He'd done so before, so he can again.

"What's wrong, Noctis?" Regis said, with a frown. "You seem distracted. Did something happen?"

"I'm disliked by Niflheim's prince," Noctis sighed, shaking his head. "When I visited today, I upset him. Though, I don't know what I did wrong."

"Don't worry, Noctis. It's just a matter of time. I'm sure the two of you will be friends soon enough."

"I doubt that. When I was leaving, I heard him sobbing and screaming."

"Whatever do you mean, son?"

"He was throwing things, just completely destroying things. It always happens, but whenever I visit him. I've never met someone so disgusted by me."

"What are you talking about, son? I don't believe he's disgusted by you. I believe he admires you."

"That's hard for me to believe."

"Trust me, son. He admires you, looks up to you. He just doesn't know it."

"You weren't there. You didn't experience his hysteria."

"He's a troubled boy, son. He's been a prisoner for most of his life. He will act out in strange ways. He doesn't know how to properly convey his emotions yet.

"You want me to help him, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. He will be an emperor soon. He needs guidance."

"Why must I help him?"

"It is as I said. In his own way, His Imperial Highness admires you."

A/N: What do you think? Leave me your thoughts.