A/N: Because I said a thing, and when I say a thing, I really do try to stand by the thing I said. So since today is the last of my days off, and this chapter still wasn't finished in the way I'd intended it to be, I made an executive decision. This was supposed to be a fly-by one shot. A very, very lengthy fly-by one shot. Then it was a prologue and two halves. Then a prologue and three thirds. But I started in the middle and avoided writing the beginning and had to scrap some stuff I had written two months ago and the more I write it, the more the whole story kind of gets away from me. So I'm back to being a lame, short chaptered, one scene (occasionally two) an update author! Huzzah! :D
Stick to what you know, right?
Also, I really, really enjoy reading a lot of the story tags on AO3. I think the one that inspired me yesterday was "this might be total trash, but it's MY trash". So that's how I aspire to feel for what's left of writing out this story (and then the next one. And then the next one after that. Maybe.). Which going by the scenes I already have written out or summarized, should be like...seven-ish chapters after this.
In any case, I note too much. Thanks for reading! :)
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He's nervous. Nail bitingly, foot tappingly, can't stop moving or fidgeting or wanting to rid himself of this morning's meager breakfast in the absolute worst kind of way type nervous. It had been easy enough to forget what this day was meant to be when he'd been out making deliveries and checking in at the Hunters station and telling himself that he had plenty of time to work out a game plan in his head. But now his work is complete, and Prompto is left slumped over the bar at Takka's as he wracks his brain for the words for his rapidly approaching encounter. His poor thumbnail never stood a chance. He's already bitten it down to the quick. Now all that's left for him to gnaw on is the skin once hidden underneath.
What am I doing? The blond thinks to himself desperately.
Nothing, squeaks out the equally panicked side of himself that has always had the pleasure of holding him back. Absolutely nothing. You don't have to do anything! You shouldn't do anything! There's no reason to do anything at all!
The words are tempting as ever, but Prompto isn't sure he can really make himself believe them anymore. There have been too many close calls over the years, too many families he's had to visit with the tattered, metal remains of their loved ones dangling from his fingertips, too many names he's kept stowed away in his own personal luggage bag because there had been no one for him to return them to, and while he may not have known any of them personally, they had still been his brothers and sisters in arms. They'd given their lives trying to keep the people of Lucis safe. Someone needed to remember and honor their sacrifices.
It's a thought that has haunted him off and on since he'd officially joined the Hunters, but it's been especially prominent over the last three months. There aren't many jobs that HQ assigns and requires. For the most part, hunters can join any posted assignment they want at any post they're willing to travel to—it's how Prompto has managed to keep near Hammerhead for so long. But every year, they're required to spend a three month rotation manning the small pit stops dotting the expansive wasteland between the residential outposts.
Prompto thinks these assignments are the most nerve-wracking of all, which is probably why it's a requirement for everyone to take part in them. These outposts are tiny, little more than a lodge for the hunters assigned to protect it and a fueling station for those passing through from town to town. Because Lucis is so huge, and so much of it is unoccupied, and the livable towns are located so far apart—even more so than they used to be since the Darkness had taken over so completely. The stops are ill supplied and have no hope of surviving a daemon attack if one were to occur, but they're crucial all the same, so they do their absolute damndest to make certain nothing goes awry to incite one.
It's not really all that different than guarding the major outposts, in the end, but something about the smaller scale, the isolation, and the lack of much in the way of distraction makes everything seem a hundred times more frightening and bleak. Being out there so long puts him on edge at the best of times, but this time around the feeling is worse somehow. He's not sure what happened to spur it on, but it's hit him pretty hard all of the sudden that one day "Prompto Argentum" could very well be that name carried around in some stranger's duffle because there had been no one around to take it.
Prompto doesn't really know where his dog tags would end up if something happened to him. He doesn't have a family out here. Well, anywhere, really. He guesses there's always Ignis and Gladio—Dave knows they'd been part of a team back in the day—but he hasn't seen Gladio since he and Iris had stopped by to drop Talcott off in Hammerhead about two years ago, and he hasn't seen or heard from Ignis since he'd traipsed off to Hunter HQ. He thinks that might be almost as sad as winding up traveling with a stranger, honestly. Two friends he hasn't seen or spoken to in so long that the blond wonders if he's really even still allowed to call them his friends.
He does kind of know what he'd prefer to happen with them, as selfish as it feels, but as much as Prompto really doesn't want anyone to be sad or heartbroken on his behalf, it would be nice to know that he'd belonged somewhere enough to receive a proper send off when his luck finally does run out. And sure. Someone was bound to point his future deliverer in her direction, eventually, and he doesn't doubt that she'd take them if they were offered, but he kind of wants it to be the obvious first stop. Which brings him back to his current dilemma.
He's been trying to date Cindy for years, and he still can't tell if she's actually that oblivious to his feelings or just letting him down easy by pretending not to notice. He'd say it had to be the latter for sure, but he's also been best friends with the Crown Prince of Lucis, so he knows from experience that that level of obliviousness isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. But for better or worse, he's decided that today is the day he's going to man up and find out for sure. And this moment has become the exact moment it occurs to Prompto that he's twenty-five and hasn't asked out a girl since high school.
If memory serves correctly, that had actually gone over pretty well. They'd been together the entirety of their last two years of school even, but she'd planned to go to college immediately after graduation while Prompto had been all about taking a few years off to save up his own money while he tried to figure out what exactly he wanted to do with himself. So they'd called it quits from there. But he doesn't think that things work the same at twenty-five as they do at seventeen. Prompto's aware that being five years younger probably puts him at a serious disadvantage as it is. The last thing he wants is to make that gap appear even wider by fumbling his way through an "I like you like you" speech.
There was kind of that thing with Iris if he wants to get technical, but that hadn't really been dating. That had been him trying to cheer her up after he and the guys had shared the news of Noct's disappearance. She had been the one to kiss him first, however conveniently she seemed to have forgotten that little tidbit when she'd refused to be in the same space as Prompto for days afterward. The problem there was that Prompto had always had a bit of a crush on Iris, so it had actually meant something to him. Iris, however, had been embarrassed about the whole thing and hadn't wanted to hurt him by telling him it was a mistake. Neither of them had exactly been in a proper frame of mind that night, and he's just as guilty about letting things go too far—he'd known how she felt about Noct—but it doesn't stop him from feeling bitter about it. He still hadn't been able to really look at her two years ago.
So that whole experience proves entirely unhelpful when it comes to his current woes. But so does the fact that for the last couple of years he seems to have developed an arrangement with one of the lady hunters who sometimes ends up in the same hunting party as him. Prompto's not even really sure how that came to be. He kind of remembers locking eyes with her across the camp one night. She'd smirked at him, raised a finger to the sky, laughed when he'd just stared back in confusion, and then bought him a drink. She's forward and flirty and fun and a hell of a fighter, though. If they weren't both in love with other people, he thinks they'd actually be pretty good together.
But they are.
So that leaves Prompto slumped over the bar at Takka's trying to figure out how it is that he's slept with three girls over the years but still has no idea how he's supposed to confront and confess his feelings to Cindy.
"You'll start bleedin' if you keep it up," says a voice from behind the counter.
"Hm?" Prompto lifts his eyes to the restaurant's dark skinned proprietor. He manages to stop biting at his mutilated thumb, but his heel is still working on drilling a hole into the tiled floor beneath his stool.
"Special day today?" Takka asks, taking in the sight of the stressed out blond with something like amusement. It makes Prompto's foot freeze for the barest fraction of a second before it continues its previous hammering rhythm.
"Well," Prompto replies, his eyes narrowing at the older man's knowing smile. "I made it back from another rotation alive. I always feel like that's pretty special."
Takka grunts, unconvinced. "Dinner for two?"
"It's lunch."
He crosses his arms, brow quirked.
"Dude, I always do lunch for two when I come back. Why would this time be any different?"
Because even if Takka is right, and this time is different, and maybe he hasn't really gone out of his way to hide the way he feels about Cindy, it doesn't mean that Prompto wants to broadcast to the entire town that he plans to finally do something about it. Not that it won't be pretty obvious afterwards. In an hour or so he'll either be stoked beyond all measure or utterly crushed. And given that he thinks there's a really good chance of it being the latter, he's not feeling overly eager to find out which it'll be. But he has to. He promised himself. Given the chance, he thinks he's perfectly capable of pining over Cindy his entire life, and the only way he can possibly maybe pick himself up and move on is by hearing her say that it's never going to happen.
"You tell me," Takka says, undeterred. "I ain't ever seen you slumped over my bar lookin' like you might be headin' out to your own execution before. I can only reckon it has somethin' to do with this particular lunch for two."
At first Prompto is surprised, but then the surprise is replaced with suspicion as he rests his chin in his hand. "You know, Takka, I never really took you for the observant type."
If the restaurant manager is offended by the comment, he doesn't show it. He does, however, lean to rest his elbow on the counter across from the blond. "Good thing for me you don't exactly hold your cards close to the chest," he says. "We've been takin' bets in the kitchen on when you'd finally talk ta Cid's girl."
"You do what?!"
And just like that, Prompto's nervous habits grind to a halt. He's sitting ramrod straight on his barstool, now, foot no longer restless, as he grips the edge of the counter. He's trying to decide if he feels more embarrassed or offended by this new bout of information. Takka just shrugs his shoulders without so much as even a hint of apology. So Prompto huffs at the man and rakes an irritated hand through his hair, wincing once he remembers that he'd actually gone through the effort to fix it up this morning. Fantastic.
The dismay must show on his face because Takka says, "Relax, son. It'll be fine."
"Will it?"
The older man studies him for a minute while the blond gently pats his hair in an effort to gauge just how badly he'd maimed it. "Sounds like you've done made up your mind on how it's gonna go."
Satisfied that his hour of hard work hasn't been completely wrecked, Prompto lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. He tries to sound cheerful when he responds, but mostly, his voice just takes on that slight, high pitched edge of hysteria. "Oh, you know. Expect the worst, and hope for the best, am I right? Gotta prepare myself. Just in case I screw everything up."
"It'll be fine," Takka repeats, but instead of reassuring him, it just makes Prompto scoff.
"I still don't even know what to say to her. And don't tell me it's going to be fine again, or you're gonna have to find yourself a new delivery boy. "
"Just tell her how you feel." He pauses and offers the younger man a teasing smile. "Maybe not exactly how you feel, though. Tone it down a bit. So's not to scare her off."
It probably shouldn't, but that actually makes Prompto laugh. "That simple, huh?"
"That simple." Takka nods. "'Sides, even if she don't feel the same, she wouldn't throw away y'all's friendship for that. You mean a lot to her. Even if it ain't quite in the way you want to."
"Yeah..." With that, Prompto heaves a long sigh. He stares down at the bar in front of him, and while five minutes ago he'd had no desire to share what he'd been planning, Takka has always been honest and kind and helpful, and now that the whole thing is out there anyways, he's curious. So he lifts his eyes to meet those of the man who had offered him a place to stay back when he had first moseyed his way to Hammerhead four years ago. "What do you think, Takka? You've known her for practically ever."
Takka stands to shake the creases from his apron. The way he's regarding Prompto lets him know that he's definitely going to get an honest, thought out answer, but the length of time it's taking the man to speak up tells him that he probably isn't going to be completely satisfied with it. He seems to have decided on his words when he flattens the apron back down against his front, because he nods his head.
"People 'round these parts've been tryin'a set up Cindy since she was a teenager. Couldn't understand why a girl so young and pretty was more interested in learnin' her grandpa's trade insteada settlin' down and startin' a family. She gave a couple of them fellas a chance. But they'd get intimidated or jealous or frustrated with how much time she put into her work. None of 'em stuck around even half as long as you've already done. I ain't sure how open she is to startin' somethin' up with anyone again. But if anyone's like to bring her around to the idea, my money's on you."
As far as reassurances go, it isn't the best. But it's something to cling to, at the very least.
"Well, thank the Six for that," Prompto tries to joke. "When I finally talked her into hiring help at the garage, I didn't know she was going to find every tall, handsome stud this rickety old town had to offer."
Takka's lips twist upwards into a smirk. "They are pretty tall."
Prompto groans and lets his forehead fall to the counter with a thunk. "Don't remind me," his muffled voice anguishes. Then there's the rustling of plastic next to his head, and he moves so that his cheek is smashed against the bar instead. He only just catches sight of one pink, billowy sleeve disappearing behind Takka's form. "Thanks, Quina," he calls out, but the cook doesn't respond. Probably the only reason she'd even left the kitchen was to make sure her boss wasn't rigging their bet.
Speaking of.
He warily drags his eyes to the bag of food, feeling that heavy weight of dread nest itself in the pit of his stomach, and he swallows. "So...like are you actually going to win your money if I do this today? Because, for you? I would totally be willing to put it off for later."
But Takka knows exactly how to shoo him away, and at the first sign of the man's hand moving toward his hair, Prompto rolls himself off the barstool. "Go on. Get outta here before I throw you out myself."
Prompto doesn't doubt that he'd do it, too, so he snatches the bag and makes to leave. "Yeah, yeah. No time like the five minutes from now it's gonna take me to get there." He stops just shy of the door, and when his free hand twitches, he's careful to make sure he only rubs it over the nape of his neck this time.
"Hey, Prompto." The blond looks over to the bar. He realizes what Takka is going to tell him the second before he does it, so he lets his own exasperated voice join the other man's when he lets loose another, "It'll be fine."
"Yeah. I got it." And with that, Prompto backs out of the doorway, but not before shooting Takka a grin and saying, "You're fired, by the way. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Takka's deep chuckling doesn't fade from his ears until Prompto has descended the trio of steps at the diner's entrance and the door has swung itself closed behind him. Knowing that if he stops moving now, he's like to never start back up, he takes a sharp step in the garage's direction and keeps on stepping from there. He can do this part. He always does this part. It doesn't exactly stop the nerves and the self-doubt and the twisting of his gut at the thought of what would come after this part, but whatever. Five minutes, or ten minutes, or even thirty minutes from now Prompto can figure out the rest.
Besides, Takka's right. It'll be fine.
Even if it's not.
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A/N: Haha. Mosey...
And dagnabbit, Takka! You were never supposed to be so involved! Tease him! Send him on his way! But now I feel like I need to explore this relationship more. Kinda like with Talcott. *sigh*
Also, I should probably say that despite fairly recently released info stating otherwise, I always imagined that Iris was three years younger than Noct and Prompto. Not five. Back when I still hated Cindy with a vengeance, I really did try to ship him with Iris. But he always ended up heartbroken...so I decided to make it a thing here, too.