Prompto sat nude on the grass a few feet away from the bank of the river. Gladiolus dunked a green washcloth in the water. Then, he ran it over the blond's cheek. The latter inhaled sharply and closed his eyes as the wet water chilled his warm body. Noctis had decided that Prompto could not return to Insomnia without first being cleaned. Gladiolus volunteered. He hadn't slept since the gunman fell ill, but Prompto was still weak from the plagues attack, and he wanted to take care of his beloved.

"It's cold," Prompto whined.

"It's river water. It's the best we can do unless you want to wait for us to warm it up by the fire," Gladiolus calmly explained.

Prompto shook his head. "No, I've... I've been enough trouble today. Never mind. Cold water's probably better anyway."

"You're not trouble, Prompto. Don't ever think that."

He ran the cloth over his chin and around his ears, then the back of his head. Gladiolus allowed himself to be lost in the beauty of Prompto's body and not in the events of the last day. Better to ponder the gorgeous shape of his neck than how weak he looked earlier. By now Gladiolus had grown immune to the horrors his scars brought.

A smile appeared on the dying man's face. "Thanks."

Gladiolus rang out the cloth before splashing it wet with more water and returning to bathing Prompto. Next came his chest. He tried to find the allure in this too, but all he could think about was how thin the precious man was. He desired so badly to hold Prompto in his arms and cure him of his ailment, but such a thing was impossible. Not even Noctis, invincible Noctis, could cure Prompto.

Prompto must have caught him staring. "Gladio, about me being dying, I didn't mean to get you involved. I had hoped I could, well, hide it until-"

"Save your energy." Gladiolus moved lower to his waist. The touch was surprisingly chaste, more affectionate than sexual. "Focus on getting better right now. We'll talk about this later."

Because if they did right now, Gladiolus had no doubts that he would succumb to tears, and Prompto needed him to be strong right now.

"Thank you," Prompto said.

After the bath was finished Gladiolus retrieved a fresh set of clothes from Noctis, which Prompto then put on. They drove back to town in the prince's car, and for once, it was Gladiolus who fell asleep on Prompto's shoulder.


In a way, the trip outside of the town seemed like a dream. Few things changed. Ignis had attempted to question him, but when he was meet with misdirection after misdirection, he understood that the situation was not for him to know. He didn't act hurt and instead told Gladiolus that he was always here if he was needed, which the swordsman was grateful for. No one else knew anything about the fugitive sick with the plague, so they continued on like nothing had changed when Prompto Argentum could die at any moment.

Noctis was called off to play the warrior-prince. That caused more of a change than Prompto's illness did. Though Noctis had yet to return from with so much as a scratch on him, Gladiolus's heart still wept for his beloved friend. He treasured every bit of information he received from the news and Ignis about the war.

All disillusion he had about Prompto's condition came crushing down when he saw him again. The ill man was under a tree in the courtyard twirling a flower between his fingers. He was paler and thinner than Gladiolus remembered. Even his breaths were shallower.

Prompto looked up when Gladiolus approached. "Gladio!" His beloved was happy to see him, as always.

Gladiolus sat down beside him. Immediately Prompto leaned against him and his hand was wrapped around the larger man's waist.

"How long do you have?" He couldn't wait to ask the question when it weighed down on him so heavily. Was it days, months, or if he was lucky, years? Gladiolus hadn't heard of someone lasting years with the plague, but Prompto could be special. Prince Noctis looked after him, and Noctis leaked life.

"I'm not sure." Prompto let go of Gladiolus and put his hand in his own lap. "I should have died months ago, but I'm lucky. Being around Noctis has helped a lot. I don't think I have much longer though. I'm weak, Gladio." He spoke with more shame than sadness. "Everything hurts. Getting out of bed everyday is struggle."

Gladiolus pulled the blond closer to him, and the latter rested his head on the former's shoulder.

"You don't sound upset." Which was what Gladiolus had the hardest time understanding.

"Well, I've known about it for awhile. At first, I actually didn't mind." Now sadness crept into his voice. It was not the future that bothered him but the past. "My family is dead. I can't return home. I'm not allowed to leave this courtyard. Noctis is great, but that's no life worth living. I welcomed death. At least then I could be with my family again in the next life." He paused before he continued speaking. "Then you came along. I had something to look forward to again."

"Love..." The word was not used for the emotion but as a name for the man he adored.

"Life is cruel like that." Prompto smiled at the irony of wanting to die, getting his wish, then finding something to live for. "Hey, do you think we'll go to the same place when we die?"

Prompto believed in Bahamut, who guided souls to a new body when they died. Gladiolus believed in Etro, who guided souls to a paradise when they died. Ignis believed in something obscure that originated in another country, and he wasn't sure what Noctis believed. Gladiolus never gave the religious differences in the world much thought. His beliefs came from his family. The rest of the world was too far away for him to care.

If Prompto's beliefs were right, they would be reborn on different sides of the world because Prompto would have paid proper respects to Bahamut when he was alive. If Gladiolus's beliefs were right, Prompto would go through the Gate to heaven slower and live on a different side of paradise due to their different lifestyles. Regardless, Gladiolus wouldn't entertain any thought that had them ending up somewhere differently when they died.

He nodded. "I'm sure we will, Prompto." Because what divine being would be cruel enough to label either of them unfit for the other?

Prompto was relieved. "That's good." Prompto must have noticed the slumped shoulders and tears threatening to form in Gladiolus's eyes, because he then said, "If you want to cry, you can."

Gladiolus wept. Prompto held him, and feeling just how weak Prompto was made the man weep harder.


One night they made love.

They moved into it with an unsaid worry hanging in the air. If they didn't do it tonight, could they wait until tomorrow? Would Prompto be snatched away before they could feel one another?

It happened on a warm night. Deep kissing led to Prompto nervously reaching under Gladiolus's shirt to feel his torso with the latter whispering words of encouragement and praise. Then the shirt was removed, and the rest of his clothing following suit. Prompto was nervous about being disrobed. After all, his body was claimed by death. The plague had destroyed with figure he once had. Eventually though he too became nude, and Gladiolus swore that he was gorgeous despite his scars and skin clinging to his ribs.

They made love in the same room that Prompto spent most of his time in. They brought each other pleasure. Worries melted away as their breathing rose. Lips on neck, fingers affectionately teasing, tongue being bitten to silence screams that might alert others to their activity. Those were all the had the capability to think about. Gladiolus came with a grunt; Prompto came shortly after with a high pitch whine. Later the blond would claim he felt like he held stars that night.

Gladiolus ignored his voice of reason and fell asleep next to Prompto. It would become the first of many nights he spent in bed with his lover instead of at home.

As Prompto wrapped the swordsman's arm around him, Gladiolus felt like half of his heart no longer belonged to himself.


As was inevitable, Prompto fell ill again.

This time he had the privilege of vomiting in his own room. It provided more resources than being out in the wilderness, but it was still no hospital. Like before, the illness struck suddenly. One moment Gladiolus was making a crown out of flowers, and the next Prompto was running inside so his puke would have a lesser chance of getting others sick. Gladiolus followed after him, shouting his name in concern.

Then his temperature climbed. Red bumps appeared on his face. Gladiolus called Noctis, and the prince crossed the city in a matter of minutes by foot and magic. He was out of breath by the time he arrived. Prompto laid in bed with a rag over his head. Gladiolus sat right beside him.

"Noct..." Prompto weakly whined.

Gladiolus placed a kiss to the top of Prompto's head.

By now, they had settled into a rhythm when it came to caring for Prompto. They spoke little to each other. The television was turned so Prompto's whines and coughs wouldn't be the only sound in the room. Gladiolus himself almost wanted to vomit from the smell of the room, but Noctis insisted they keep the windows closed and the door shut. If someone else fell ill and died, Noctis wouldn't be able to live with himself. Gladiolus had long ago stopped caring for his own safety. Prompto would alternate between laying his head in his lap and sitting up with his weight leaning against Gladiolus, and the swordsman did not shy away from his touch.

Noctis got a call a few hours after arriving. Seeing the contact information pop up on his phone, he grimaced.

"Who is it?" Gladiolus asked.

"Fucking père..." Prompto complained before shifting slightly to find a better angle to lay his head on Gladiolus's shoulder at.

Noctis quickly flashed Gladiolus his phone screen and then answered. The word Father had been displayed.

"What is it?" Gladiolus wiped Prompto's face with a cool cloth. Noctis rubbed his temple. "Father, I can't, not right now. Give me a few days," the prince pleaded, voice desperate. There was yelling from the other side of the phone. "Please. I'll do whatever you want afterwards, legal or not. Just please, give me a few days."

Noctis Lucis Caelum, user of the last crystal and one man army, was reduced to begging to his father because a friend's life was at jeopardy. His expression only darkened, so Gladiolus assumed his plead failed to move the king's grave heart. Of course, the king's stubbornness was not out of coldness. War had snatched away almost all compassion he had. Losing the crystal hurt too.

"No, don't call Ignis," Noctis continued. "I'll... I'll be there in a moment." He ended the call, and then turned to face the others. "I've got to go. The war is entering the final stretch, and my father will send Ignis if I don't go."

Gladiolus knew Ignis would be happy to take Noctis's place, but he also knew the prince wouldn't risk one of his closest friends getting hurt.

He nodded, showing he understood and approved. "Go. I'll take care of Prompto."

The blond was too lost to his fever to be fully aware of what was happening, but he did whimper when his name was spoken.

"Thank you. I'll try to be back as soon as I can."

With that, Noctis left, and Prompto became Gladiolus's responsibility.

As the hours went on, Gladiolus feared for Prompto's life. The fugitive began to scream in pain. Pus oozed from his face. Gladiolus wished so badly he could at least give Prompto something for the pain, but he could neither leave to get something nor ask someone to bring him drugs or alcohol to help. All he could do was hold him close, whisper words of love, and copy what care Noctis had been giving him.

Late into the night, a few hours before the sun rose, Prompto stopped screaming. His fever broke. He managed to eat a small amount of food and take in some water. Gladiolus could have wept out of joy. The blond fell asleep after taking a few sips of water, and Gladiolus saw no reason not to do the same. The attack was over, and if Prompto started to hurt, the sounds of his complaints would be enough to wake him up.

Gladiolus slept until morning and awoke next to a corpse.