WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

30. noctis two

Wayward Children

blue like winter (bleucommelhiver)

Summary:

ch5.
The soft exhale of his name makes his heart beat double-time. He wants, he wants, but he knows he cannot.

You're four and despite the undercurrents of war, life in Galahd is perfect, but perfection is such a tenuous thing. Eight is when you lose your family only to gain another: a King for a father and a Prince for a brother, a fairy tale only at its surface. Fifteen is when you join the Kingsglaive, tired of being a passenger to your own life. By eighteen, you're on the frontlines fighting the war you lost your parents to, but you've never felt more at peace.

You're twenty now and despite the undercurrents of war, life in Insomnia is perfect.

But perfection is such a tenuous thing.

Chapter 1: Kin

Notes:

Unsatisfied with the story and ending of XV, I wanted to weave the stories of the game, Kingsglaive, and Brotherhood together into one with you (the reader) as an outsider, rediscovering your role in Noctis' life throughout his journey. This will not be a retelling of the events of the game, rather, it will be a story on how Noctis and co. attempt to rewrite their destiny.

The initial focus of this story will concentrate on your relationship with Nyx. As the story progresses it will develop into a slow, slow burn with Noctis with something else thrown in.

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

Chapter Text

O'er warred lands, under brimstone sky, bloodless Kin to the Chosen is begot.

Vestal amongst daemons, blessed of face, this vitiated heart the Gods have sought.

For only when darkness reigns, shall light cometh and Peace be wrought.

Long live the King, and his Glaive sublime, for her Sacrifice will not cometo naught.

— Lost ArticlesofNadir,15:3

M. E. 756, days before the fall of Insomnia…

You take a deep breath before pushing open the opulent doors to the throne room. The grand hall is empty except for the king seated upon his throne and Titus Drautos, commander of the Kingsglaive, on the dais below. Your captain barely turns to acknowledge your entrance as you bow low and address them from the foot of the throne.

King Regis waves a tired hand. "At ease. You know very well there is no need for such formality."

Your brow furrows questioningly, but you obey your king, relaxing your stance. Still, habits ingrained from years in service are hard to shake, so you keep your arms latched respectfully behind your back.

"Walk with me," he commands, rising, a signal to the end of their discussion.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The king throws you an amused look as he descends the many steps of his throne, his cloak fluttering past Captain Drautos with disregard. Whatever they were discussing must not have ended in your captain's favor for despite how well he usually schools his face in blank indifference, a look of irritation passes his face

"We will continue this later, Drautos."

You are almost certain Captain Drautos is about to object when he seems to remember his station and fixes his expression, nodding in assent. Even after all these years under his command, it still disarms you to catch the fleeting looks of wrath that flit across his face when he forgets himself in the king's presence. You've always brushed those instances off as part of your captain's charmingly choleric disposition, but it alarms you how frequently you've come to see them as of late.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Captain Drautos replies with a shallow bow.

King Regis strides out of the throne room, moving more lithely than one would expect of a man who is aided by the use of a cane. You jog to catch up, following him into the corridor that leads to the balconies overlooking the central courtyard. He is silent as you pass the saluting guards and only begins to speak once he is certain that you would not be overheard.

"I need you to accompany Noctis on his journey to Lady Lunafreya."

"No," you reply without a moment's pause.

The king looks at you sharply, bristling at your curt response but does not lessen the pace he has set out. Both of you continue in silence until you abruptly stop to the metallic peals of swords reverberating in staccato from the shaded courtyard below. Instinctually, your grip around the dagger strapped at your waist tightens

"My place is here with you, with the rest of the Kingsglaive. My duty is to serve and protect, for hearth and home."

He stops to turn and study you. For the first time, you notice he seems a haggard man, decades older than he actually is. Worry lines mar his temples and his parlor is so pallid you can see the striae of ashen blue capillaries curling around his temples like death's cold hands.

"Yes, your duty is to serve. Do not make me command you as your king."

You bite your lip at the reprimand. It has been a long time since King Regis has used that tone with you.

"I want to stay here with you," you push.

I don't want to lose you too.

"I know," he sighs as he continues towards the balcony. You hesitate to follow, but it's obvious he has no intentions of waiting for you. "Please. Indulge me."

"Why? He already has Gladiolus and Ignis. Noctis will be in capable ha—" Your mouth clamps shut as you round the corner and realize it's Gladiolus himself and Noctis, sparring down below.

You watch intently as the sweat-sheened prince matches his Shield blow for blow, blinking through attacks with ease. His grace comes as a surprise to you. Growing up Noctis was gangly and awkward, posture suffering from childhood injuries and limbs far too long for his slender frame. He's grown though, lean muscle from hours of Gladious' rigorous training covering every wiry inch of his bare chest.

The sinew of his back strains under the weight of his weapon, but Noctis is nimble like a dancer when he whips the sword around, nearly catching Galdiolus off guard. Gone are the days where he could easily knock the sword out of the Prince's grip.

As you watch the scene before you, you straighten your back more resolved than ever. "If he can keep up with Gladiolus, he doesn't need me," you say softly, as you try to decipher the true motives of the aging king before you. "He never has."

King Regis' grip tightens around the marble parapet, leaning slightly over the balcony. "He needs you more than I need do. If— when I fall…"

You recoil at the statement but he continues on.

"Noctis will be the one to save us all. My son, he carries a burden greater than mine. His path is not an easy one."

"But why—"

"I did not want you to choose the life of a Glaive. I acquiesced because I love you, but these powers I have bestowed, I can take away just as easily."

Looking down at your hands, you feel the weight of his words wash over you and feel smaller than you've ever had. This power is the only connection you have left to your parents; mere commoners that lived on the outskirts of Lucis' vast territories, commoners who had wanted to raise their child behind the safety of the Wall. And so they joined the Kingsglaive for that very privilege. Little did they know, they would lose their lives shortly after in the attack on Tenebrae.

"Please, don't. I want to honor my parents' memory. It's all I have left," you mumble.

King Regis' expression softens and he places a hand on your shoulder, "You know that is untrue. You'll always have a place by my side and Noctis' as well, though distant you have grown, but now, I need you to stand by him. This power—" His hands glow blue as he places them over yours. The tendrils of magic intertwine your fingers and you feel its coolness seep through your skin, prickling as it climbs higher and higher through your arm. "—connects us both. If something goes awry during signing with Niflheim, you will be the first to know. I trust you will know what to do when the time comes."

"I can serve you better in Insomnia. Captain Drautos would be better suited for this."

"It pains me to see my two children grow so estranged that you would refuse me of this. There was a time when you were inseparable."

Averting his gaze, you focus on observing the sparring men. You watch as Noctis warps in front of Gladiolus and knocks his Greatsword away, whooping jubilantly as he manages to knock the lumbering man on to his back. However, Gladiolus is quick to rise and closes the distance between them, ensnaring Noctis in a chokehold as he proudly musses the prince's sweat-matted hair. The sounds of their laughter ring throughout and you can't help but smile bitterly.

Yes, there was a time when you were inseparable, when the prince's smile and laughter came freely in your presence too. Perhaps you reminisced through rose-tinted lenses, but sometimes you found yourself yearning for the days when the both of you ran carelessly like barbarians about the Citadel, dodging disgruntled servants and shrieking nannies, hand in hand, giggling as you both tumbled into the King's study. Regis would frown and chastise, but not before gathering the both of you in his arms and swinging his beloved children around wildly until all three collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Fingers tightening around his, it hits you again just how much you've grown to love this man who's been a better father than you could have ever hoped for in these past twelve years.

"Let this old man be selfish for once. I am doing this for my son as much as I am doing this for you, Daughter."

The tenderness in his voice is overwhelming and you feel as contrite as a spoiled child denied their favorite toy. How could you refuse the man who's taken you in as his own? The man who embraced the crying eight-year-old girl and brought her into his family instead of letting her fend for herself in one of the many overrun orphanages of Insomnia's slums.

"Ok, papa," you mumble softly into your surrogate father's chest as he brings his arms around you.

He rests his chin atop your head and murmurs, "I only ask that this remains between us, for I hope what I fear may never come to pass and that my actions today are just those of an overly protective father."

A feeling of warmth engulfs you whole. You want to savor it, tuck the memory deep in your heart because you can't shake the feeling that this might be the last time you see him.

…so you cling on tighter, just a little while longer.

King Regis warily enters the sterile room that houses the burden of his line and the salvation of his people. Immediately the hairs on his nape prickle to attention. Despite the years as its primary wielder, as its sole channel, the thick thrum of magic that emanates from the Crystal still makes his body tremble ebrious with power.

"It is futile to send her away," the voice within the Crystal booms.

"I doomed her when I selfishly took her in to fulfill the prophecy of yours — a sacrifice of a bloodless kin in the stead of the anointed King to bring forth the Light. I condemned an innocent for my own son's safety, and now I have condemned the rest of Lucis for Insomnia's sanctuary. No, I refuse to be further complicit in her doom. As unintended as it may be, I've come to love her as my own."

"Regardless, young King, you know what must will come to pass. You delay only the inevitable."

Regis turns away from the eerily lucent Crystal, his hands tightly clenched upon his cane to lessen the strain on his crippled leg. The magic clings to his skin like morning dew on web. His head throbs with the pounding of war drums. The crown has never felt heavier.

"Come what may, I will not knowingly put her in harm's way. Even if all this can accomplish is to delay the inevitable, I will still gladly commit it."

He no longer stands proud and defiant as he once did. His back is slouched and his shoulders are slumped, a look of perpetual weariness permanent on his visage. Pausing at the entrance of the vault, he looks once more upon the accursed Crystal that's taken everything from him — his father, mother, wife, and now, children.

"There is no other way?" he asks in a final appeal.

"What is ordained must come to pass," Bahamut repeats, voice steely cold, "You saw the alternative —the Oracle slain at the hand of your son and the world plunged into eternal darkness."

"Yes…Of course."

Chapter 2: Glaive

Chapter Text

You have one new message. To play the message press one. To delete the—

First message: May 14th, 10:08 AM.

Hi sweetie…it's me, Carys.

Sorry to call again, but I still haven't been able to get a hold of him. It's been…what? Twelve years since he left and he still can't spare his mom a phone call…I hope he's reading my letters at least…

It was good to see you. I…I hope you'll make a trip out to Galahd with the king again. I've missed you…

I've missed him too.

For goodness sakes, tell Nyx there's nothing to forgive, I don't know how many times I have to say it before that boy will listen. Just…tell him I love him and please, thank him for all money he's been sending back. It's been a godsend…been keeping our grain store stocked…lets us to buy the little we can to defend ourselves too…but…I just want to hear his voice again.

Anyway, give this old lady a call back when you can.

I love you both.

End of message.

M. E. 756, 12th of May, eve of departure…

Alright. You suck in a deep breath steeling yourself for what's bound to be an unpleasant phone call. Please let it go to voicemail, please let it go to voicema—

The dial tone doesn't even sound once before it's replaced with a perplexed, "Hello?"

Dammit.

It's probably weird to see your name pop up on Noctis' cell, but with how strained your relationship has become, you're surprised, and maybe a little annoyed, that he even answered. Perhaps he thought it had to be urgent if you of all people had bothered to call. After all, the last time you did, though months ago, was because father had collapsed from overexertion, the strain of maintaining the Wall during the weeklong raid on the Western Territories too much for his aging body to handle, or so you had overheard the doctors telling Clarus.

But what did they know? They were men of science and father's ailment was one of magic. You weren't blind nor naive to the changes in your own father, though you may try to act to the contrary. At only fifty, King Regis looked much too world worn and weary. Kings of Lucis didn't often have the luxury of a long lifespan, but his magic was surely sapping his lifeforce at a faster rate than normal.

"Hi Noctis," you say, voice smaller than you intended.

"Hey." He replies, clipped. Even through the phone, his reluctance is palpable. "What's up?"

"I, um, father thought it'd be a shame if neither one of us could make it to your big day, so…," you try to casually pass off, as if joining his last hurrah as a bachelor with his all-male-dream-team wouldn't be a major bummer for him and you both.

"Oh," is his sole reply.

The lack of reaction doesn't come as a surprise, but Noctis' apathy stings nonetheless. More than anything, it hurts that he doesn't seem to care about anything regarding you anymore; too troublesome to expend the energy of emotions on. Annoyance, even anger would be more welcome than this cold indifference.

In effort to fill the stifling silence, you begin to babble.

"I, uh, never got a chance to congratulate you, so, congrats. On the wedding. With Lun— er, Lady Lunafreya," the words tumble out ineloquently before you can stop yourself. "She's beautiful and kind. You're lucky. I mean, she's lucky to have you too, but, uh, it could be worse right? All things considered, the Nifs could've chosen a Behemoth for your fiancée," you joke.

Once upon a time, Noctis would've laughed, lame as it was. Once upon a time he cherished the propensity for silly jokes you shared with Prompto, even in the foulest of moods he would've exhaled softly unable to fully contain his amusement at the silliness of it all, but now all you received was his silent judgment. Embarrassed, you cover your face in shame.

You try once more for a response. "Do you…need help with preparations?"

"…we've got everything covered."

"Oh, alright then."

More silence.

"We're leaving tomorrow, 8 AM. Drop by when you're ready."

The phone disconnects before you can reply.

You stare at your blank screen before sighing.

Well, this is going to be a helluva fun trip…

On the other end of the line, Noctis is staring at his phone. Your name glows tauntingly on the screen.

He closes his eyes for a pained second before tapping the thumbnail next to your name to enlarge the image; it's the last photo he has of the two of you together. Prompto had taken it one winter break during high school, back when you were joined at the hips, back when you did things like go ice skating at Central Station during the holidays.

In the photo, you're sitting on his lap with your arms around his neck, cheeks rosy pink from the biting cold, head thrown back in laughter. He's smiling in the photo too, a bemused quirk of the lips that conveyed only a fraction of the warmth that bubbled from deep within his chest, the only giveaway was the faint blush upon his pale cheeks. Even now, he can picture it clearly, the surprise on your face as you lost your balance, the moment of panic he felt before he pulled you close — or was it you that pulled him close? — and then the subsequent overwhelming feeling of relief turned content in your embrace.

And it was especially because of that feeling, that complicated feeling that made him lay awake late at night, that Noctis had acted cross afterwards deleting the series of candid photos Prompto had managed to capture despite loud protestations of "C'mon dude, for prosperity!" and whines of "Aw, man." He deleted them all, but not before furtively sending himself the photos. Noctis couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but the way you had looked in his arms somehow felt too intimate to exist even in the confinement of his best friend's phone.

Lucky, huh? Is that what she really thinks?

Noctis stares at the photo for a moment longer before clicking his phone off and throwing it aside in frustration.

Dammit.

"Glaives, partner up — mages and melee combatants — you'll be sparring today. Last mission, we lost good men and women when the daemons flanked our ranks. There will not be a repeat of that. My job is to train soldiers, not send them back to their families in body bags. You aren't Nif MTs so don't fucking fight like one. Make it count. Make your lives count.

"Mages, your focus is tactical retreat and enemy demobilization. The rest of you, frontal assault and shielding. Understood?"

A resounding, "Yes, sir!" echoes through the briefing room before you are dismissed to partner up.

"Great. This is going to be a blast," you groan while unhooking the ornamental mage's cloak from your uniform for mobility's sake. With the way your week's been going, you were going to need every advantage you could get. At best, you were average at close combat, and depending on whom you partnered with, you were most likely going to end up bruised and aching.

"A little rough and tumble never hurt anyone," Libertus jests, tapping your leg with one of his crutches.

"Speak for yourself, you get to sit this one out," you pout before motioning towards his injured leg, "Feeling better though?"

Before he could respond, Crowe cuts in, "Even if he was, it's not like the jerk's going to admit it if he can play hooky."

"Oi! I'm standing right here, you know?"

Ignoring him, Crowe spots Pelna over the top of Libertus' head and shouts, "Hey Pelna! Partners?"

"No fair," you grumble, scanning the room for a suitably lax partner that won't leave you sore the day before your intended departure. But as luck would have it, Nyx has his eyes on you, smiling like the cat that ate the canary as he closed in on you.

"Oh, no," you say as you throw your hands up in surrender, backing away.

"Oh, yes," he responds with an alarmingly wide smirk.

"Nope. No thank you. Hard pass."

"Pass? You should be honored a hero like me is willing to take you under his wing," Nyx jests with a bemused grin. "Besides, I think you could use a little extra practice."

You snort unladylike, "I might need the extra practice, but only a masochist would submit themselves to the brand of torture you call training."

"A little pain's not so bad."

Your eyes go comically wide. "S'cuse me?"

"C'mon, don't knock what you haven't tried. Gotta live a little."

"Maybe you should since you're the one with the repressed fetishes."

"Well, why don't we find out?" he intones suggestively with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Really, I'd rather not. Besides," you tease, "after twelve years of abuse from you, I think I'm pretty much set for life."

Without a doubt, you know that you won't stand a chance engaging Nyx in close combat. His physicality and prowess are unrivaled in the Kingsglaive. Watching him fight was like following the brushstroke of a calligrapher flit across a page: his body is the brush and the heavens his canvas. There is a certain artistry in his movements, he employs his whole form, twisting in midair, channeling the momentum into the deadly slash of his blades.

It's almost beautiful, watching the flash of cerulean and vermillion glimmers as he soars through the air — almost being the operative word because it's not quite as beautiful when you're on the receiving end of his aerial onslaughts.

In the time that the two of you have spent bickering, everyone's paired off and trickling out to the training grounds. You glance around at the now empty room before sighing and throwing Nyx an exasperated glare.

Smirking, he motions to the door, "Guess it's just you and me, Princess."

You scowl at the pet name he's given you from way back in Galahd. As an only child to working parents, you had spent most of your days under the care of Carys Ulric, mother to the rowdy duo that was Selena and Nyx. You called her Auntie, but sometimes you wondered if she was more of a mother to you than your own mom. Not that you blamed mom, her and dad worked hard to put food on the table and clothes on your back, it was just lonely sometimes.

And Selena, well, Selena was the older sister you never had, old enough so that you looked up to her, but not so far apart in age to forego the many games of make-believe you'd both waste the days on. You remember those games fondly; the wild stories you both dreamt up from the newspaper clippings of the royal families of Lucis and Tenebrae that Auntie Ulric had a habit of leaving around the house.

While you both had agreed that Ravus Nox Fleuret was the epitome of princely charm, there could only be one princess to a prince. The obvious solution, obvious only to the imagination of children, was to change the game to Princes, Princesses, and Knights since you both agreed that the ever dour Prince Noctis looked all too sullen in his permanent garb of drab black to be a suitable fairytale prince. Embarrassingly, as a child of five that secretly (or as secretly as a child of five could muster) idolized Selena's seemingly cooler older brother, you excitedly accepted the idea, christening him your knight in shining armor, Sir Nyx Ulric.

Of course, to this day Nyx still hasn't let you live it down.

A little teasing wouldn't be so bad if it didn't dredge up memories that made your heart ache. Mom, dad, Selena, they all used to call you their little princess. Now that they're gone, the title is a dull but persistent reminder of what you had a lifetime ago. The irony's not lost on you that now that you were technically a princess, you abhorred the title.

But as much as Nyx loves to tease you, you know there's no malice in his words. He calls you princess out of habit, a habit formed from bygone days, from boisterous days in the Ulric household where war was but a distant concept.

Begrudgingly, you poke him in the chest, "Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Of course," he replies amused, as if you should know better than to think he'd ever cancel on you. "It's a date."

"Yeah, yeah," you brush off the comment. You're used to it by now. Nyx can be infuriatingly flirtatious in the most inappropriate situations. You're half convinced that the rumors are true and the real reason for Nyx's perpetual station at the West Wall is because dear Captain Drautos has been the recipient of one too many cheeky remarks. "Well, go easy on me if you want me to make it."

"I'll be gentle." There's that twinkle in his eye that makes your stomach somersault. You hate it so much. "Wouldn't let you miss it for the world."

You roll your eyes as you walk towards the training grounds. Just as you're about to enter the open arena, you childishly stick your tongue out and yank one of his kukris from its holster, throwing it towards the opposite end of the yard without warning.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding m—," is the last thing you hear as you let the pull of the king's magic wash over you, your body disassembling down to their atoms and yanking you towards your anchor. It feels almost like falling, but in zero gravity. Even after all these years, warping still makes you nauseous.

Nyx, however, makes warping look easy, as if he was born to it. You learned the hard way that warping, for most people, is an entirely unpleasant experience when you hurled your breakfast after your first attempt. The tingle that runs through your body as your atoms separate is faint enough that it doesn't bother most, it's the stop-and-go jerk of rapidly relocating that most people can't stomach.

When you first joined the Kingsglaive at fifteen, you were abysmal at it. After watching you fail and flail pathetically onto the safety nets for an entire week, Nyx had taken pity on you and shared his secret for warping.

"You need to let go and give in to it. Don't try to control it. Let it guide you." At your deadpan expression he guffawed. "Look Princess, it's like trying to swim up the Galahd River, the more you push against it the more likely you'll get caught into the undertow. Remember the magic's not ours, but on loan from the King." He scratches his cheek sheepishly, "Just, uh, go with the flow."

Wise words to live by from Nyx Ulric: go with the flow.

You're pretty sure you've never rolled your eyes harder in your life until that day, but as stubborn as you were, Nyx was more so.

He simply rolled his eyes back at you and placed his kukri firmly in your grasp with an exasperated, "Here, I'll show you," before wrapping one arm firmly around your waist.

"Ready?" was your only warning before he threw his other kukri high into the air, higher than you've ever dared. Your whole body tensed, preparing for the worst.

"Don't panic. I've got you."

With that you were both flying through the sky, faster and higher than you've ever had before. Whenever his fingers grasped the dagger mid-flight, he quickly tossed it higher and higher with each flick of his wrist. Despite your initial apprehension, you began to exult in the feeling of spiraling through the air with Nyx's arms tight around you. His braids whipped against your cheeks as your hair loosened wildly with the wind. It felt like freedom and home combined, like swinging off the mossy vines of Galahd Canyon and into the crystal clear rapids below on halcyon summer days.

You remember you had laughed until tears formed at the corner of your eyes, a little bit out of anxiety, but mostly from the sheer exuberance of soaring through the heavens as you clung tightly to Nyx. You laughed and laughed until he decided to unceremoniously drop you at the zenith of his warp.

Too livid to panic, you had impulsively thrown the kukri you clutched in your hands at him and accomplished your first successful warp that ended with a swing at Nyx's smug mug. Luckily for Nyx, you misjudged the distance and your fist only grazed his jaw. Unluckily for you, it had resulted in an unbearably arrogant and smug Nyx for the subsequent two months.

You're determined not to give him that satisfaction again. And if that meant playing a little dirty, then so be it.

Despite your head start, you know Nyx isn't far behind. The burning sparks of his magic grazes your skin more and more with each subsequent warp. It'll only be a matter of time before he's able to predict your trajectory so you decide to switch tactics and abruptly stop warping, letting gravity accelerate your descent from midair.

Being the seasoned fighter that he is, Nyx catches on quickly and the distinct cackle of his magic next to your ear alerts you to his proximity. You erect a precautionary shield, grinning when you hear him collide into your barrier with a grunt. Feinting backward, you unsheathe your dagger just in time to stop his blade inches from your chest.

"Not bad, Princess."

The words barely finished leaving his mouth before you find yourself dodging a crudely aimed fireball.

"You call this being gentle?!"

The only response you get is a slight upward twitch of his lips that forms into a unctuous leer as he watches you warp further away. The predatory glint in his eyes makes them shine sapphire and then platinum. Adrenaline rushes through you as you realize it's the same visage you've seen countless times before on a coeurl that's about to strike.

Nyx is enjoying the pursuit far more than he should; your brief escape only served to fuel him.

A sharp gust cuts through your hair. You feel his kukri whiz past your cheek, close enough that it draws a thin line of blood.

Shit.

Too slow to react, you find yourself abruptly slammed out of the sky and into the ground by Nyx's hard chest. The two of you tumble in the dirt, struggling for dominance. Finding an opening, you roll out and cast a hurried blizzard spell, blinking a few cautionary steps back to avoid your sloppy magic. Powder white explodes around Nyx, obscuring his vision and slowing his movements enough for you to throw a roiling thunder spell through your open palm.

The shock of electricity coursing through his body dazes Nyx temporarily. Taking advantage of his stupor, you wrench his remaining kukri from his grasp and toss it far to the side. Even stunned, it takes the full force of your weight to tackle him to the ground, but you're not new at this and you make quick work of it, experienced with just how quickly Nyx recovers. Straddling his waist, you grasp his gelid arms with both hands and pin them above his head, far from the reach of the throwing knives you know he keeps as backup strapped to his waist.

If you were in a more benevolent mood, you'd feel guilty at how frigid his skin feels against yours, but adrenaline is rushing and you're still miffed that he didn't hold back as promised. Pushing forward, you press your whole weight down to keep his arms secured.

"I win," you declare triumphantly.

Nyx responds with a raised brow and mouths, 'Oh yeah?' before effortlessly breaking from your grasp and flipping you over without so much a grunt. His legs now straddle the space just outside your thighs, caging your body with his as he holds your wrists together above your head singlehandedly. His skin is abnormally warm, too warm for someone who's just been hit with a blizzard spell. You notice he's smoking through his uniform and realize then, that he had focused his magic internally to thaw out his limbs.

When did Nyx become so adept at manipulating fire?

He leans down to gloat, "Actually, looks like I win."

You glare at him indignantly as the beginning of another thunder spell forms at your fingertips. Nyx feels the faint current, the hairs on the back of his neck bristles up, betraying your ploy to him.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

"Or else what?"

"Or else…" he grins roguishly as he tickles your waist with his free hand.

You begin to laugh uncontrollably as his fingers dance up and down your side.

"S-stop!" you manage to gasp out between shallow breaths as you thrash against the confines of his body.

Tears brim your eyes as the unbearable sensation intensifies. Your efforts to escape become increasingly desperate. Bucking beneath the warmth of his thighs, you begin to beg.

"A-ah...Nyx! Please."

Unexpectedly, because if there's anything you've learned from knowing Nyx all these years it's that he's likes to win, that made him stop, but all thoughts of escape flee your mind when his pewter eyes lock with yours.

It's the desperation in your voice that paused his movements and wiped the smirk from his face. The veiled look in place of it is one you can't decipher. Nyx leans in until you can feel the prickle of his facial hair against your cheek and the sweep of his braids on your neck. You're dimly aware that he smells of salt and ash, like freshly burnt firewood, different from his usual cedar musk. Your chest is heaving and you can't tell if it's from exertion or exhilaration.

His voice is so low and rough in your ear that you can feel that harshness of his words when he challenges you, "And what if I don't?"

You wrack your brain for a witty retort, but while his fingers are no longer tickling, the warm press of his palm against your ribs, low enough as not to be improprietous but high enough under the swell of your breast, steals all coherent thought from your mind. You can feel the unnatural heat of his body radiating through the thick leather of your uniforms and it makes you lightheaded. Just from the way his breath tickles your neck, you can tell his lips are mere centimeters from grazing your skin. The thought of his soft lips dragged slowly down your neck, of open mouthed kisses mixed with small nips as he teases you in the way you know he'd be adept at, sends a palpable shiver through you and it is only tightening of his fingers on your wrists that snaps you out of your increasingly obscene imagination.

Mortified at your train of thought, you renew your efforts to escape, this time using your free limbs to unbalance him. Arching your back, you slide your legs out from under his and latch one around his thigh and the other around his waist. Putting weight into your legs, you attempt to twist him off to the side, but a loud hoot from Crowe interrupts your concentration leaving you paused mid-action, legs tangled suggestively around him.

"Get a room you two!"

Frantically, you disentangle from each other as it hits the both of you the nature of the position you were in seconds ago. Gods, you had your legs wrapped around him like it was nothing while he held you down vulnerable and exposed. How did you not thinkbefore you acted?

Nyx is sitting a few feet away from you, his arm resting on a propped leg, and trying hard to avoid your gaze. You push yourself up onto your elbows and sneak a glance at him as he responds to an oddly glib Crowe. You're surprised to see he looks as flushed and breathless as you felt.

"C'mon Crowe, it was just some friendly sparring."

"I can do with some friendly sparring too," Tredd all but jeers. "Twenty-four-seven, anytime you're feeling an itch to 'spar,' babe, I'm your man."

Crowe chortles as she offers you a hand to help you up. "Down boy. We all know no one leaves a spar sessh' with you satisfied."

"Yeah," you say, thinking thoughtfully. "The last time we sparred you barely lasted a minute."

"Don't sully the Furia name like that!" he exclaims, scrambling to explain your statement. "First of all, not that kind of sparring. Secondly, you caught me by surprise—"

"Tredd, caught with his pants down. What a surprise. Let's be real, you're better off stuck with Nyx, if he's even got any moves left."

The tension falls from Nyx's eyes as he plops onto his back and stares into the dusking sky, cocksure grin back in place.

"Don't worry. Plenty more where that came from."

Chapter 3: Intoxicate

Notes:

For update notes, aesthetic boards, and headcanons for this story, check out .com.

Chapter Text

Les-Sines
Insomnia Times Critic's Pick | | Galahdan, Tapas | $$$$ | West Gate District

The taste of Galahd is something one will never forget in their lifetime. Unlike Insomnia, blessed with vast fields of farmland, Galahd is comprised of mountainous archipelagos where arable land is a scarce resource. Galahdans must forage and hunt during warmer months in preparation for their harsh winters. As a result, Galahdans have developed unique methods of preserving meats and vegetables native only to their region. Meats of Anak are spiced with a blend of aegir root, schier murmeric, and hulldagh nutmet before they are smoked and aged, Galahdan peppers are preserved in a blend of white graeis vinegar and blue anise, giving the peppers a distinct cornflower hue. The complexity and variety of their dishes makes it hard to find an authentic eatery in Insomnia, but Les-Sines…

M. E. 756, 12th of May, eve of departure…

Shitshitshitshit.

After sitting in Insomnia's notorious rush hour traffic for the better part of the last forty-five minutes, you finally decide to ditch your driver and make the rest of the trip on foot. You weave your way through the bustling crowd, jogging as fast as you can in three-inch high stilettos. The dress is tight around your legs, but thankfully the slit along the back allows enough mobility for the impromptu jog.

Honestly, why did this place enforce a formal dress code? Stuffy and pretentious was the furthest thing from your mind when you thought of Galahdan cuisine, but the recently opened eatery had made waves in the papers and it's been so long since you had something Galahdan and good. With each throbbing footfall you start lamenting your choice in the restaurant, but the reasoning becomes clear when you spot Nyx leaning against the wall adjacent to the entrance, dressed in a slim cut navy suit, jacket in hand and collar unbuttoned. To say he looks slightly uncomfortable in his outfit is an understatement with the way his hand keeps tugging at his collar every few seconds, almost like a nervous young teen waiting for his prom date.

Nyx Ulric, Hero of the Kingsglaive, Slayer of Daemons and veteran of only the most untenable battles, reduced to looking like an anxious boy. Right. That's why. Pushing his buttons was a opportunity you'd never been able to pass up on.

He's fidgeting with his cellphone when he looks up to see you struggling over. His apprehensive countenance fades at the sight of you and he pushes off from the wall to meet you halfway.

With all the solemnity he could muster, Nyx bows in jest. "You're late, Your Highness."

"Well, I'm worth the wait." You throw back his oft repeated and oft improper phrase with roll of your eyes. It takes you a moment to catch your breath as you hunch over, resting your hands on your thighs for support. "Also, I told you not to call me that." You glare at him through your lashes, cheeks red with effort and hair blown in disarray.

"Why not?" He knows why not, but it's more fun to annoy especially when the result is the endearingly indignant look on your face. "It is what you are," he presses, in for a foot, in for a mile.

"You and I know full well I am just a lowly commoner from Galahd, like you."

"You wound me, Princess," he teases, clutching his chest in mock outrage.

You scowl at him before remembering why you've invited him to dinner and immediately begin to sulk.

"You can be a real jerk sometimes," you grouse as you push past him, making your way towards the restaurant.

Nyx sprints ahead to hold the door open for you. He throws you a shit-eating grin and winks saucily, "I can be your prince charming if you ask nicely."

"Ew. Don't— don't be absurd."

Despite your words, you feel your cheeks flare up. You know better than to let Nyx's beguiling remarks affect you, but when he turned on the charm, even you were not a hundred percent immune.

There's no doubt that thirty-something-year-old Nyx Ulric is a handsome man. His Galahdan tattoos are distinct, but even with those markings, you've seen your fair share of Lucian noblewomen salaciously propositioning him as if it was a privilege for him that they've taken interest.

Honestly, you think they're a bit too strategically placed — one on the corner of his left eye, drawing attention to the paleness of his storm-grey eyes that crinkle whenever he smiled, another at the height of his cheekbones, accentuating his stupidly strong and infuriating jawline, and one more that begins right behind his ear, lining the side of his neck until it disappears distractingly into the collar of his shirt — for it to be a coincidence.

You know there's meaning behind his markings, but since he refuses to divulge the details, you're left with no choice but to draw the worst possible (and possibly stupidest) conclusions. You also loathe to admit how you've spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over them — the faint tattoos evident only from up close that adorn the shell of his ears, the sloping lines across the broad plane of his back, the intricate lines that hug his arm and leg visible only to those close enough to see him outside of uniform. But what bothers you the most is how you've thought of the two on his fingers — one running suggestively down his left middle finger and the other along his right index — and wondered (definitely only while drunk and out of your mind) about Nyx Ulric's neatly trimmed fingers.

No doubt about it, Nyx turned heads wherever he went, in uniform and out. Of course, the rigorous training of Glaives doesn't help matters. His outfit tonight only highlights that — slim cut wool trousers that strain at his toned thighs and a crisp white dress shirt, top three buttons undone, with the sleeves rolled up so that one could observe the taut muscles of his forearms flex at the slightest movement. His matching navy-blue suit jacket is hooked on the crook of his finger, slung casually over his shoulder. In another lifetime, he could've been a model.

But, between the ten years' age difference and the fact that he used to babysit you (a fact he never lets you forget), it's hard to take his flirtation seriously.

"Awww," he ribs. "Don't be like that. It's been too long since we've spent quality time together. And no, training and missions don't count." He motions for the maître d'. "You look good by the way."

Your blush deepens as you smooth out your dress to tamp the jitters you've recently developed upon receiving the slightest compliment from him. However, another part of you basks in the compliment. Perhaps the painstaking amount of time you spent on your appearance tonight was not for naught. After all, you picked this dress with him in mind. It's an elegant halter dress held up by a golden circlet that rests at your clavicle. The thick black silk drapes over your chest modestly but swoops low in back, resting at the juncture of your waist. Conservative enough for big brother Nyx not to complain, or so you hope.

When you bend over to check if you've ruined your stilettos from the short jog over, Nyx clears his throat loudly. Finding everything in order, you straighten up to study him, breaking into a sly smirk. You eye him blatantly up and down, slow enough so that he knows it's intentional. The Tredd-over, or so Crowe had dubbed it, is the look Tredd gives his prey before they're unwittingly ensnared.

"Not too shabby yourself. If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to impress a hot date."

Internally, you hoot in glee as a faint tinge of pink dusts his cheeks.

Two can play this game, jerk.

However, not one to be easily flustered nor out done, Nyx's lips crook in a mischievous smile that never bodes well for you. As he moves to invade your space, the heat of his breath falls upon your neck, making goose pimples rise upon your arms. He's so close you can almost feel the ghost of his lips brush against the shell of your ear at his next words.

"Maybe I am."

The rough timber of his voice reverberates through your chest, making you suddenly feel naked. You bring your hands up to rub your arms, hoping to alleviate and hide the effect his sudden proximity has on you. If he knew, if he somehow found out, he'd never let you live it down. It's wrong to feel this way about him, about the man who is practically your brother in everything but blood and name, but it's hard not to, not when he teases you like this.

You're shaken out of your daze by the maître d's impatient clearing of his throat.

"Sir," he states primly.

Nyx steps back and turns his head around so quickly you're almost afraid he'd get whiplash.

"Sir, your tie and jacket." He motions at Nyx's lax state of dress.

"Right," Nyx replies as he runs his hand through his hair sheepishly.

He begins to straighten out his outfit, smoothing his sleeves down and buttoning his shirt with nimble fingers. You can't help but admire the smooth motion in which he throws his jacket on. It's frustrating that someone can make the simple act of putting on clothing seductive. And it's only a little disturbing that you find yourself thinking that.

Pulling his tie out from his pocket, Nyx's brow furrows as he tries to decide how to go about tying it without a mirror. You snicker but hold out your hand in an offer to help.

"Gimme that," you murmur.

You loop the silk around his collar and tug to pull him close, except he stiffens from the unexpected gesture causing you to lose your balance and collide into his broad chest. Instinctively, he grabs your hips to help you regain footing. You feel his breath tickle your ear as he inhales deeply.

She's so close.

"Careful," he breathes out, voice tight and grip even tighter.

I can't.

You make the mistake of looking up and your heart skips a beat. His expression is nebulous, conflicted, but it's his gaze that has you reeling. Nyx is watching you intently through hooded lids, eyes not their usual twinkling, sterling blue, but darkened almost as if in warning. One wrong step and…

I shouldn't.

His breath mingles with yours with each exhale. Dimly, you note he tastes of bitter honeyed ale. Swallowing hard, you lick your lips out of nervousness. If you'd just lift your chin, you'd be able to bridge the gap…

One taste, just one–

His grip on your hips tightens to the point of painful, jarring you from the dangerous train of thought. Nervously, you squeak out, "My mistake!" taking half a step back to provide some much needed distance.

Nyx drops his hands as if burned. His eyes lose their tumultuous appetence and confusingly, you find yourself disappointed. Wanting to put the awkward moment behind, you methodically finish tying the Windsor knot, patting him lightly on the chest before backing away another four steps, creating a valley of distance.

"There you go. All done!" you chirp in a falsely cheery voice.

"Thanks," he replies voice strained, looking away.

What the fuck just happened?

Nyx follows distractedly as you are led to your table. What the fuck just happened? Did we— did I almost kiss her? He tries to shake the thought of you from his mind, but the sway of your hips is too distracting.

Really, you shouldn't be allowed to wear a dress like that. Sure, by now Nyx is well versed with the curves and dips of your body; the skintight Glaives uniform really doesn't leave much to the imagination. But still, he can't help but be acutely aware of how he can count the hollows of your spine down the bare expanse of your back and how he can see the silk slide across your ass with each step you take. Because if he can, it means all other eyes in the restaurant can as well.

King or not, Nyx thinks they need to have a little chat about appropriate attire. He knows King Regis dotes on you, but why he lets you wear what you do is beyond Nyx. Like that ballgown you wore at the last gala! Fine. All said and done, it wasn't particularly scandalous with its conservative neckline and long sleeves… Except the whole dress was a concoction of black lace on translucent chiffon, making it appear as if you were only wearing bits of lace along the contour of your bodice and skirt. Even without being revealing, it was provocative, teasing at what laid beneath its intricate patterns.

Guard duty that night had been a truly unique form of torture. Sure, Wall duty was mind numbingly dull and Drautos' perverse idea of justified degradation, but he'd take the Crownsguard sweethearts over smarmy councilmen and nobles any day. It was hard to act professionally when he couldn't help but follow your form flitting across the ballroom only to realize his weren't the only eyes fixated on you. Interestingly enough, the Prince himself was amongst those sneaking sidelong glances that evening. Nyx couldn't blame him; you had looked so pretty with your hair tied in an elegant knot, teardrop sapphires twinkling at your ears, and adorned in nothing besides that deceptively coy lace dress.

When you had come to ask for a dance, whining about the tedium of dancing and feigning interest in boring noblemen, it took more self-restraint than Nyx thought possible to turn you down with a lame, 'Sorry, I'm on guard duty tonight, Princess,' even though that's never stopped him before. It was embarrassing, but Nyx just didn't trust himself around you, not looking like that.

Dancing with you as a child in frilly modest gowns was one thing. Dancing with you as a woman, even at a respectable distance, was a hurdle Nyx wasn't ready to cross. He's already come to terms some years ago that you've transformed from the endearing little girl who would cling to him for comfort to a much too attractive young woman, but that didn't mean he wanted to change the relationship he had with you. Not when he cherished the free smiles and laughter you reserved for him, Crowe, and Libertus — for family. You were family and he could never betray the relationship or trust you have to pursue anything further. And that was that, despite everything else that seemed to scream the contrary.

As you take your seats, Nyx glares at the couple sitting at the table to your left until the man making unsubtle glances in your direction turns away awkwardly.

Yeah, he really needed to speak with King Regis.

Soon.

Despite the rocky start to your evening, dinner was more or less perfect. A little too perfect. Suspiciously so. Not once did Nyx make a saucy or smartass comment despite the two bottles of Galahdan wine you shared; drunken in haste as a desperate attempt to calm your nerves. He was the perfect gentleman, easy to smile, easy to laugh, but something was decidedly off. He was too polite, distant almost.

You sneak a glance at your companion. He's walking beside you with hands tucked in his pockets, pensively observing the skyline and its shimmering lights across the river. You're itching to tell him the reason why you've invited him out tonight. In fact, you spent the majority of dinner trying to figure out how to broach the topic, but the right moment never came up. Now was a good a time as ever, you suppose…

"What are you thinking about?"

Nyx turns with a start, as if he forgot you were there. "I was, uh," he hesitates but holds your gaze, "I was thinking of how beautiful you look tonight."

You feel blood rush hotly to your cheeks and thank the Gods that the evening sun was low enough to mask your embarrassment. He's never told you, you were beautiful before. Cute? Plenty of times, usually followed by a patronizing muss of your hair. Pretty? Sure, as in, 'You look pretty in your ball gown,' or 'Your new haircut is very pretty on you,' but never ever has Nyx Ulric called you beautiful.

Despite the gentle smile on his face, despite the sincerity in the low husk of his voice, you find yourself skeptical, especially with how different he's been acting since the start of dinner. Was he messing with you?

You respond the only way you know how, snarky and flippant. "Say that to all the ladies, do you?"

"No. Just you," he replies earnestly, eyes twinkling.

"You're drunk."

"Maybe…" the corners of his lips twitch up into a sly smirk as he finishes his sentence, "Off of you."

You let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding as his face falls into its usual roughish grin. Grinning back, you jest, "OK, Nyx, now I know you're toying with me. It's not nice to play with a girl's heart like that."

Just like that, the atmosphere tenses once more. You and your stupid mouth.

"I—" he starts, "Wait."

His fingers close tightly around your wrist, tugging you towards him. The moonlight catches strangely in his eyes, and in that moment you think there's hurt and want turbulent in them, but it's gone with a blink. As the dizzying heat returns to your cheeks, you could do nothing but gape dumbly at him. He's so close and his fingers feel like fire around your wrist. You want to blame the way your heart skips a beat on the alcohol you shared, but the way it speeds up as he leans in has you unbelieving of your own lie.

"I, uh…you looked like you could use my jacket," he finally says as he shrugs off his suit jacket to drape gently over your shoulders. "There. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

"Thanks." You pull the jacket close around you, savoring the warmth of his body heat. It smells like him, the fragrance of damp cedar and earthy moss after a rainy day. It— he smells of home and the thought makes you quiver.

Mistaking the reason behind your reaction Nyx asks, "You still cold?" running his hands along your arms in an effort to warm you up.

It does nothing but make you shudder again, lightheaded; a quiet sort of exhilaration that settles over you like fog. You attempt to step backward to mollify your heart but wobble unsteadily into his chest instead. A huff of frustration escapes your lips. Seems like all you can manage to do today is fall into his arms.

"Woah, easy there. Had a little too much to drink, Princess?"

Nyx pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear and lets his hand rest at the juncture of where your ear and neck meets. You look up into his clouded grey eyes and notice his cheeks are slightly pink and his lips slightly parted as his thumb ghosts your nape. The anticipation of waiting for something to happen crashes over you like a wave of adrenaline. What is it? Nyx, tell me. What are you—

The shrill ring of his cellphone jerks both of you from the moment. Hesitantly, he drops his hand to reach for his phone.

"It's the captain. I gotta take this," he apologizes.

You shrug and turn away to lean onto the railing, conflicted about the impromptu phone call.

"Yeah, this is Ulric. Sir?" Nyx snorts, "…now? I'm a little preoccupied, sir. If you're looking for a glorified chauffeur, Libertus is free. He owes me one anyway," Nyx winces as he holds his phone further from his ear, "…yeah, yeah, understood. Goodnight, sir."

"Drautos isn't really just going to let you off like that, is he?"

"Oh, he was a real sweetheart about it. Pretty sure I'll hear all about it tomorrow, but I'm not about to cut our night short to drive the Prince around. Like I said, it's been a while since we've had some time together. Besides, you still haven't told me why you invited me out on this fancy 'date' of yours," he says as he loops his arm around your waist for a half-hearted hug before pulling you up to continue the walk home.

"Hey! You should appreciate my efforts."

"They're fully appreciated," he says with a slow smile, "But, that was quite a place you picked out."

"Only the best for the best, right?"

Nyx throws his head back in laughter, the sound of it deep and rumbling. You smile as the two of you fall into your usual banter.

"Since it's a special occasion, I wanted to bring you somewhere nice."

"Special occasion?" His brow crinkles in confusion. He's positive he hasn't forgotten anything important, he's made sure of it after the fuss you made that one time he forgot to pick up the balloons for Crowe's surprise party.

"Your birthday, you idiot."

"Princess, unless I've hit my head harder than I thought, I'm pretty sure my birthday's not for a few weeks at least."

"I know. I just don't know if I'll be around to celebrate with you, so I wanted to do it ahead of time."

"Planning on going somewhere?"

"Yup."

"Alright, you've got my full attention. Where are you running off to?"

"Well, you see...I met this guy," you start off slowly, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from grinning as you watch Nyx blanch. "He's a great guy but doesn't think much of the city life. We're thinking about getting hitched and moving somewhere calmer, maybe Lestallum?"

"And why haven't I had the pleasure of meeting this 'great' guy?"

"You always scare them off."

Nyx scoffs at that. "If they can't handle a friendly chat with family, they're not worth your time. No way I'm letting you to get hitched without meeting this ass first. Does the King know? Who the hell does this guy think he is?"

"You? Let me? Ok, pops," you try to grumble, but the laughter bubbling within you is almost too much to contain.

"I'm serious."

Finally, you burst out laughing at his indignant face, "I'm just joking."

"You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Gotta make sure your body's still in prime working condition."

"Don't worry. Got no complaints from the ladies."

You push him away and make a disgusted face, "TMI Nyx."

He rolls his eyes at you. "You know between Glaive duty and Drautos on my ass all the time, I barely have any time to myself."

"Uh huh, you don't have to justify yourself to me," you grin, nudging his shoulder with your own. "If you'd stop doing stupid shit to land yourself with the coveted duty of guarding our mighty Wall, you'd have some free time."

He waves his hand carelessly at your comment. "Now where'd the fun be in that?"

"Well, I guess it works out anyways. Better you're preoccupied. Don't want you getting into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"Wait. You weren't serious, were you?"

"Sort of. Father is sending me to Altissa for Noctis' wedding. I'm supposed to keep this quiet, I don't even know how long this whole thing will take, so I wanted to at least say goodbye to you. Pass them on to the gang when the time is right will ya?" You loop your arm through his and cheerily say, "Yeah, so you should enjoy your time with me while you still can."

Nyx's eyes twinkle brightly as he says, "Isn't that what I always do?" before gathering you up in his arms bridal style and jogging towards the apartment complex.

You kick your legs out in an attempt to get down. "Hey! Put me down! I can walk!"

"Like a slowpoke. I'd rather get back sooner than later so I can get out of this stuffy suit."

"Who said you were coming over?"

"Who said I was? I was going to run home after I drop you off but…if this is an invite…"

"Ugh. You're unbelievable."

"You love it."

"Some times," you groan as you finally relent to being carried because OK, maybe your heels were hurting just a little bit and your body was still just a little sore from the sparring session earlier this afternoon.

For the remainder of the walk, or rather, for the remainder of Nyx's jog the air was filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. The sounds of your giggles mingled with his infectious chortles had pedestrians turning to stare, but neither one of you cared enough to stop, propriety be damned for the night.

"What an adorable couple," a woman says wistfully to her husband as she leans into his arm under the starlit night.

"Ah, to be young again," he sighs smiling back at her.

When you finally arrive, you're out of breath from laughter and Nyx from a combination of that and carrying you.

As he sets you down panting, you jest, "Too much for you to handle, old man?"

"Naw, this isn't even what I call weight training."

You giggle at his lame joke as you approach the entrance of your condominium — the very same one that Noctis lives in. In fact, you're neighbors, across-the-hall-neighbors to be exact. Adoptive father or not, Regis was protective and his one condition for the both of you moving out was for you guys to move out to the same place. At least he hadn't asked you two to be roommates. Grimacing at the unpleasant thought of sharing living quarters with Noctis, you stop at the lobby's door.

"Well…this is me."

"Yeah…"

"You wanna come up—"
"You wanna hang out—"

The both of you burst out laughing and simultaneously reply:

"Sure."
"I'd love to."

You enter your building, excitedly arguing about which movie would be the best one to watch tonight. As you approach the elevators, however, you see the one person you had desperately hoped to avoid until tomorrow. Even from the back, it's undeniable who that dark-haired man, clad in full black regalia, waiting impatiently for the elevator is.

In your panic to turn, you stumble and latch onto Nyx's arm for support.

Tenebrous eyes meet yours through silken strands of midnight black hair.

Too late to turn back now.

"Hi, Noctis…"

Chapter 4: Paradise

Notes:

Rating has been increased to uh...reflect the content of this chapter.

Chapter Text

"Tensions mount as refugees have taken to occupying the Citadel Square in protest of the upcoming armistice with Niflheim. The cessation of hostilities come under the terms of Lucis' forfeiture of its surrounding territories, displacing millions of citizens. Whether or not this transition will be a peaceful one remains to be seen…In other news, the announcement of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret's pending nuptials has citizens wondering…"

— LN24 News,May 14th, 756

M. E. 756, 12th of May, eve of departure…

Noctis was having an extremely bad day. Bad, in fact, was a severe understatement. Finding out about his sudden engagement to Luna was a shock to be sure, but he hasn't quite figured out exactly how he was supposed to feel about it.

On the one hand, he loved Luna. Through the years she's become a dear friend, someone he could talk to, look up to, a confidant. And although their method of communication was slow, and perhaps dated — many years ago in Tenebrae Luna had convinced him that a notebook would be a nice keepsake of sorts and Noctis never cared enough to oppose — they made it work.

On the other…well, Noctis wasn't quite sure he loved Luna the way he remembered dad loving mom. Regardless, Noctis had come to terms long ago, that as next in line to the throne that one day he'd marry and that it would be most likely a marriage born of political machinations and not love. All things considered, it could be much worse. They would learn to love each other like mom and dad did.

No, what weighed deeply on Noctis' mind was the sudden news that you were coming along and the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about you — the girl who was supposed to be his 'sister.' The sister with whom words used to flow so freely suddenly dripped to a stagnant stop. The sister whom he hasn't had a proper conversation with since fifteen — not, that he didn't want to talk to you.

No. It's just…Noctis just didn't know how to anymore.

Whenever he saw you, his insides would twist so tightly into a knot of confusion and regret that the words on his tongue would disperse like smoke before they could be expelled. And the times when he managed to say something, you'd look at him with this pained expression that made his insides twist just as unpleasantly. Eventually, Noctis found it easier to avoid you altogether. It was never supposed to be a permanent solution, but somehow you had both fallen into a cycle of avoidance that cumulated to the strange relationship (or, rather, non-relationship) you have today.

That, compounded by the fact that although he had plans to speak with his own dad today, he had canceled at the last minute. Hell, his own dad couldn't even be the one to tell him about his engagement, it was Ignis who had come with the news. A quiet, "Congratulations," and the dossier — containing the marriage license, old Lucian ceremonial customs and a couple of briefings on the socio-political circumstances of Niflheim-occupied-Tenebrae — handled in one breath.

To top it off, his own dad didn't even trust him to go home by himself and ordered one of his Glaives to chauffeur him. Something about the situation being delicate and precautions needing to be taken…or so the Glaive had said.

All Noctis wanted to do was go home, play some King's Knight or whatever before Ignis dropped by to nag him into packing. He really didn't want to deal with anyone else tonight, but the Gods must've really had it in for him today, because the moment Noctis enters the elevator and turns to face the control panel, his eyes widen in surprise as they meet the one person he especially hoped to avoid.

What's she doing with him, dressed like that?

Just my luck, you ruminate as you try your best to shuffle unobtrusively into the suddenly much too small elevator. Brushing past Noctis, you hear a sharp intake of breath as his lips draw into a taut line. He stares for a second before deciding to greet you, albeit monotonously.

"Evening," you mumble back, eyes downcast, finding great interest in elevator's carpeted floor.

"Good evening, Your Highness," Nyx intones, not bothering to hide his amusement at the stilted atmosphere.

The three of you stand silently in the unmoving elevator, each seemingly more reluctant than the other to push the button lest an awkward collision from simultaneous attempts occurred. Eventually, Nyx's impatience wins out and he reaches across to press the button for your floor. The glare that Noctis shoots the man who evidently has been to your place enough times to know what floor you live on has you edging uneasily towards the opposite corner of the elevator.

As the steel doors close your stomach sinks. What should be barely a minute-long ride starts to feel like an eternity. No one speaks as the elevator makes its slow ascent. You pray to the Gods that the silence continues, but the usually pensive prince unexpectedly tries to engage you in conversation.

"You look nice."

The words are indicative of a compliment, but somehow they sound sharp and accusatory coming from Noctis.

"Thanks." You force a smile and look up, only to catch him examining the obviously-masculine-and-obviously-not-yours-suit-jacket you're ensconced in with such scrutiny that you self-consciously shrug it off, only to pause at the way his eyes narrow when they fall upon your bare shoulders. Feeling immensely exposed you fidget with the jacket in your hands and back towards the cold metal wall in an effort to obstruct his view of your back.

"Special occasion?" he inquires in feigned disinterest as if he wasn't trying to parse your outfit a mere moment ago.

"Yes."
"Hot date actu—"

"What? No!" Blanching, you turn to glare at Nyx. 'What the hell are you doing?' you attempt to convey with your eyes, but judging from his impish smile he was more than aware.

"We were just celebrating a special occasion, Your Highness," he says coyly, lips upturned in an enigmatic smile.

If there was some way to hit Nyx without Noctis noticing, you would've done it.

"Right," the Prince answers curtly, crossing his arms over his chest.

21, 22, 23, 24, 25—

"And you, Your Highness?"

Shut up, Nyx. 26, 27, 28—

"The usual," Noctis grunts noncommittally.

"Ah, of course. The usual," Nyx repeats knowingly despite knowing nothing.

Shut uppppp. 32, 33, 34, 35— Ew, is that gum on the carpet? 36, 37, 38—

You had expected Nyx's tongue in cheek comment to effectively kill all possible conversation, but to your dismay, Noctis tries once more to pursue small talk.

"Are you ready? Packed?"

"Ah…not yet."

"Don't be late."

"Don't worry, I won't keep her up late, Your Highness," Nyx answers mirthfully for you, as he pulls you close, throwing a pointed look at the Prince. Naturally, your eyes follow his…to find Noctis staring back with a look akin to irritation that simultaneously frustrated and vexed you.

Noctis' mouth opens again as if to retort but the elevator reaches its destination with a loud ding and the prince walks out without a backward glance.

The moment you're in the sanctuary of your apartment, you let out a sigh of relief along with an exasperated, "Really, Nyx?" before throwing his jacket at him, hitting him square in the chest. You kick your heels off without bothering to put them away, making your way to the kitchen.

Well familiar with the layout of your place, Nyx hangs back, taking his time to hang up his jacket and put away both your shoes.

From the kitchen, you hear Nyx's laughter resonate through the apartment as he calls out, "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Didn't realize the Prince would have such a stick up his ass, especially considering…"

"Considering?"

"All I'm saying is a man could do a lot worse than the Princess of Tenebrae."

Tamping down the unexpected jolt of jealousy that shoots through you, you reply evenly, "I see."

Nyx must've sensed the shift in your mood because the next words out of his mouth are enough to make you want to burst out in laughter or hit him, maybe a little bit of both. "Nothing compared to the Princess of Lucis I hear. Though rumors on the street is that she's no lady, if you know what I mean. Luckily for me, that's more my speed."

You let out a soft snort as you rummage through the fridge. "Sure thing, Romeo."

"Oi!" Nyx shouts from the living room, "You must be getting me confused with the Prince's Shield. I'm a one woman man."

"Uh huh, and I'm Bahamut's divine Messenger." Finding what you're looking for, you set the items on the countertop, nudging the fridge door close with your hips. "Anyways, Noctis isn't usually like that. I— he just doesn't really like me. This trip is going to be the worst. Almost wish you were coming with."

"Don't tempt me, Princess." You can hear him rifling through the credenza for the right movie. "I might actually hound Drautos until he gives in. Also, what's not to like? Probably just didn't know what hit him when he saw how good you look tonight."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Nyx."

Finding what you're looking for, you set the items on the countertop and pull out two plates and two champagne flutes. You hear a distant, "Got me here didn't it?" as Nyx pads to the far side of the living room to slide open the balcony door.

"Would you just— ugh, just, shut up and come over here," you say exasperatedly as you remove the dessert from its box.

"You didn't," Nyx says from behind you, startling you. Sometimes you forget how nimble he is, so coeurl-like in his movements that he barely makes a sound when he moves. His hands are warm upon your hips as he peeks over your shoulder. "Is that a birthday cake? For me?"

You beam proudly as you hold out the cake you spent all of yesterday toiling over. 'Happy Birthday Nyx' loops gently across in strawberry-red and a single lonely candle flickers atop the white cream. Turning slightly to look over your shoulder, you're elated to see that Nyx's face is screwed in an adorable combination of surprise and boyish jubilation. That look upon him is a rare sight and you think to yourself that all the trouble preparing for tonight was worth it if you got to see him smile like this.

Happiness bubbles from deep within your chest and for a brief moment the urge to tell him you love him, something he needs to hear far more often, almost takes over, but Nyx interrupts with a breathless, "Wow. I…you're the best," and all you can do is beam back in response.

"I know. Now make a wish."

Hands still upon your hips, he leans over your shoulder, his braids tickling the skin of your neck as he blows out the candle with a single huff.

"Ah! I wanted a photo of you and my hard work."

"Alright, alright," he says, taking out his cellphone and pulling you so close your entire backside is flush against him. "Hold still."

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel his warmth permeating through the cotton of his shirt and the wool of his trousers. For a guilty moment, the thought of how wonderful the hard planes of his body feels against you flits through your mind.

"Hold up the cake," he mutters before pressing a kiss tenderly against your temple. The snap of the camera goes off before you can react. Certain that you'd retaliate, Nyx pulls away quickly, chuckling loudly, wolfish grin plastered on his face. "Another one for the collection. Think I just found the new background for my lock screen."

"No."

From past experience, you know Nyx only deems you worthy of gracing his lock screen only if it happens to be an exceedingly embarrassing photograph. Setting the cake down, you lunge for the phone, but he holds it high above you, just out of reach. Nyx fidgets with it for a few seconds before handing it to you proudly.

Already boasting the current time and date on his screen, the photograph glows tauntingly back at you. In it, you're holding the cake with a stupefied expression of wide-eyed surprise, mouth slightly parted with a charmingly innocent Nyx pressing a kiss to your temple.

Aghast, you demand he changes it, but Nyx simply waves your hand away with a, "But look how prettily you're blushing," and proceeds to text you the photo so you could have 'matching backgrounds.'

"As if," you scoff, pulling two flutes and plates from the cabinet. You like your current background of Crowe and Libertus making faces next to Nyx's passed out form just fine, thank you very much. It's no secret that Nyx has been trying to get you to change that photo for months now, but he's going to have to try harder.

Nyx lets out a disgruntled, "Fine," as he brings the bottle of champagne to the living room, expertly popping it open and filling up the flutes.

You fall into a companionable silence, settling next to each other on the couch to enjoy the dessert and drink as the movie begins. Turning to ask what movie he chose, you notice a smear of white cream at the corner of his mouth.

Giggling, you point to your lips. "You got some here."

Nyx's tongue peeks out, trying to get the offending cream, but misses.

"Here, let me." Emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system, you swipe your finger along the corner of his mouth and without thinking, place the same digit in your mouth to lick off the cream.

Nyx's face flashes from pained to mischievous, before you could blink. His eyes are a deep cobalt, gleaming with intent as he runs his index across the top of his slice, smearing the words into the cream, before sticking the offending finger in his mouth, slowly sucking it clean. You flush hotly as you watch entranced, the line of his tattoo peeking from his lips as his finger slowly slides out.

"Good cake," he husks, eyes challenging.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, embarrassed by the sudden heat that blossoms from your chest and settles into a deep ache in between your thighs. Overcome by the sudden urge to press your lips against his, to taste the strawberry and cream upon his tongue, you rise, guilt-ridden and ashamed.

Plans to watch the movie completely forgotten, you hurriedly mutter, "I forgot, I gotta finish packing first. Gonna shower real quick too," and rush out of the living room.

Nyx swallows hard when he sees you walk out of the bathroom, toweling off your wet hair. It's not like he hasn't seen you without makeup before, but the contrast between now and earlier is stark. Your lips are no longer painted crimson and your eyes, dark and sultry before, are now clear and bright. As elegant as you looked before he much prefers you like this, naked faced with a sort of vulnerability that makes him want to envelop you in his arms and keep you tucked away from the rest of the world.

But as his eyes wander lower, his whole body tenses. You're dressed modestly, cotton pajamas covering the curve and dips of your body, but the delicate peaks of your nipples peek through the much too sheer material that's dampened by the heat of your shower.

And it's— it's driving him a little crazy.

Nyx clenches his jaw as you sit down next to him, eyes trained on the television in failed concentration.

"Sorry I took so long. Do you want to shower next?"

"Are you asking me to stay the night?" Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicker down again.

"I–I mean it's getting late…and we both have early mornings tomorrow…"

Normally he'd revel at the blush across your cheeks and how nervous you sound, but he's far too distracted by—

"My bed's big enough for the both of us anyways."

Nyx almost chokes at that. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I don't see what the big deal is, we've shared a bed before." You almost sound offended that he's considering otherwise.

"Yeah," he grinds out, "when you were a kid. You shouldn't go around inviting men into your bed."

You roll your eyes at him. "First of all, I don't. Secondly, you're not any man. It's just you. It'll be fine."

Nyx isn't sure why, but the blasé way you said, 'it's just you,' stings. His brow furrows as a deep scowl settles on his face.

Misconstruing his expression, you say, "Aw, you don't have to think so hard about it. You can even make breakfast tomorrow."

At that, he snorts. "Breakfast, huh? So that was the angle you were playing at, Princess."

"So? What do you say?"

With the thoughts that's filled his head lately, he knows it's a bad idea to spend the night in the same bed, but he's a weak, weak man and the allure of being near you, the thought of maybe holding you in his arms, is too hard to resist.

"Fine. I'll stay the night and make breakfast for your Highness," he says with a flourish of his hand.

"Good, it's settled then."

Triumphant, you nudge him towards the edge of his seat so that you can sit behind him and untangle his braids like you have many times before. Nyx opens his mouth to complain, but his eyes flutter shut as you run your fingers through his hair, fingernails skimming the skin behind his ears. You work deftly through his hair, the knots and tangle of beads and string as familiar to you as the back of your hand.

Ornaments in hand, you lean over to place them on the table, but your chest accidentally presses against his back as you lose balance. Nyx almost groans aloud when you do and maybe he's crazy, but he swears he hears your breath hitch at the contact too.

Suddenly, it's all too much.

He can't.

He needs to leave, needs to breathe before he does something he regrets, his impulsiveness a chronic weakness.

Rising quickly, Nyx speaks with his back turned, hiding the evidence of his arousal. "Yeah, about that shower. I, uh, towels are still in the cabinets above the toilet, right?"

Nyx doesn't wait for your confirmation before striding off.

Nyx doesn't need to look to know how hard he is, the tightness of his pants more than indicative of the effect you had on him. Quickly divesting himself of his shirt, he lets out a low groan as he pulls the zipper of his trousers down, releasing the pressure that had been building from the moment he first saw you tonight. Naked, he steps into the shower and turns the knobs, sighing as the hot water falls on his aching muscles.

If he's being honest, he's been thinking about this the whole day, unable to get the image of you trapped beneath him out of his mind. He had thought about it as he hurriedly undressed in the locker room. He had thought about it as he showered and the last of the Glaives left. And he had really wanted to, but it was wrong, and it was the image of you that kept playing in his head, so he didn't.

How could he?

But now, faced with the prospect of sharing a bed with you, it seemed more prudent to release any pent-up want than to accidentally harden under your innocent touch.

Nyx palms the thick weight of his cock, pausing a moment before he succumbs to his hunger, giving it a firm squeeze. He relishes at how quickly the shiny bead of precum forms, so potent is his need to assuage the ache deep in his belly after seeing, feeling your breasts brush against him despite the layers of fabric. Fingers teasing the ridge of his head, Nyx slowly slides them up, and then down, until his cock is well coated with his desire for you.

Gods, he shouldn't. He really shouldn't, but his mind drift unabashedly back to the sparring session from earlier today, your hands restrained above your head as you bucked underneath him.

"A-ah…Nyx! Please," you had begged, breathless.

But now you aren't begging him to stop. Instead, your breasts are flushed and heaving as you struggle against his hold for more friction. You want it, you want him and Nyx loves the utter look of desperation on your face, the dust of pink across your cheeks, the redness of your kiss swollen lips, but mostly, the poignant need that shines urgently in your dilated pupils.

Eyes closed tightly, Nyx strokes faster. Your legs are wrapped around him now, naked core grinding desperately along his shaft as you beg him to slide deep into your heat. He can almost feel it, the throbbing cock that he's been so arduously pumping disappearing into you instead of his fist.

Nyx, please…

His breath quickens into erratic pants as his hips thrust in rhythm to the piston of his fist.

A-ah…

With practiced motions, he pushes himself closer, closer, closer to the precipice until…

I-I'm…

"Fuck."

Nyx clamps down on the back of his hand, silencing the moan of your name as he cums hard into his fist, stroking roughly as thick milky strands of his orgasm shoot jerkily from the swollen tip of his reddened cock. Resting his forehead against the cold tile of the shower, Nyx slowly milks the last of it. You're so tight, the way you clench around him, greedy for every drop. A deep groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as the tightening of his abdomen signaled a second, smaller release, leaking more essence onto his slickened fingers as his oversensitive cock finally twitches in satiated release.

"Nyx?" Your concerned voice from outside the bathroom door jolts him from the heady haze of his orgasm, guilt reigning him quickly back to reality like a douse of ice water. "You forgot to bring in clothes. I'm leaving your old tee and sweats outside the bathroom, OK?"

He lets out a hoarse, "Thanks," body relaxing only when he's sure enough time's passed and you're gone.

Looking down at his still hard member, he slouches against the wall.

Gods. What am I doing?

By the time Nyx is done with his shower, the clock on your nightstand is already flashing 1:56 AM in bright red.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," he says quietly when he sees you still awake, lying on your bed with a book open. Nyx stands sheepishly at the doorway unsure of what to do.

"Yeah, I know, but I wanted to talk to you first." Placing the book down, you pat the empty space next to you. "I'd never hear the end of it from Crowe if I didn't make you pinky swear to be on your best behavior when I'm gone.

Apprehension falls off his shoulder at your mockingly stern expression. "Am I already in trouble, Princess?" Nyx jests as he pads over, settling under the covers just out of arms reach.

You turn onto your side so you're face to face. Grinning, you scoot closer until your knees touch.

"That depends on how you define trouble. I got another call from Aunt Carys…I thought you said you'd call her, like, last month."

"Aunt Carys? Ma would have a fit if she heard you call her that. You know she thinks of you as her own."

"That's not the point, Nyx. Call her back. Or at least reply to her letters."

"Fine," he grumbles.

"Hey, you know she's proud of you, right?"

"I know, it's just— If I had— I had a choice and I— I shouldn't have listened to Selena."

You put your hand on his cheek, tethering him back to the present. "Stop it."

Nyx sighs, turning into the warmth of your hand. "I just miss her. Miss them both."

"I know. I do too."

"I miss you too."

"I'm right here, silly."

"Yeah, but between your royal events and my missions, it feels like it's been a while."

"Yeah," you say quietly. "It does."

"And now you're leaving."

"I am, so," you straighten up and look him sternly in the eye, "promise me you won't go doing anything heroically stupid while I'm gone? I know you Nyx Ulric, and I know you can't get this through your thick skull sometimes, but you can't save everyone and I don't want you to save everyone. I just want you in one whole functional piece."

"I don't know…It's going to be hard for a hero not to hero. You'd still love me crippled and useless, right?" His comment earns him a hard smack on the shoulder. "Ow, alright, alright. I won't run off to be needlessly heroic, as much as it'll pain me."

"I'm serious."

"I know. I won't."

You stare at him blankly, not fully convinced.

"Princess, I promise you. I'll even do you one better. When this whole shit show with the Nifs is over, when the Prince is hitched and the treaty signed, we'll go back to Galahd. We'll visit Ma, see the old spots, maybe that bar Libs and I sold, if it's still there. And if you're really lucky, I might even bring you to that place we all used sneak off to count stars. Remember that valley that was always covered in those in red flowers for miles and miles on end?"

You hum in appreciation as your eyes droop close.

"Not a soul in sight. Stars that shone like diamonds in a sea of black, not like these specks we get here in Insomnia. Maybe Libs and Crowe can come along too. Just like old times."

Behind the darkness of your lids, you can picture the crimson waves of caedisblossom dancing with the wind, its perfume of honeyed dew ever present as you watched the stars shoot across the indigo-navy sky.

Opening your eyes, you peer into his. "I'd like that a lot, Nyx. You promise?"

"I promise," he repeats solemnly, pulling you into his arms.

Appeased by his answer, you close your eyes once more, the warm heat and the woodsy smell of his body lulling you to sleep.

"Good," you whisper.

"You planned on having me stay over this whole time didn't you?"

You answer sleepily, "Mmm, maybe," nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck like a housecat seeking the gentle warmth of sunshine.

"I missed this."

"Me too. I love you...twerp," you hear Nyx rumble in the distance.

There's a light caress across your knuckles and a soft press of his lips against your forehead as you let sleep claim you, feeling more content than you've had in years.

"Love you too…"

Chapter 5: Beginnings

Notes:

Apologies for the long hiatus. I have no real excuse. Writing has just become increasingly difficult with my increasing work commitments. But thank you all for sticking by me and sticking with this story. Every one of your comments has been a great motivator for when I was feeling stuck!

I wish I could promise and guarantee quicker updates but I hate missing deadlines. Just know that writing this story gives me so much joy and I am so excited for the story I have laid out. That said, I'm aiming for a February update for chapter 6 and that chapter 7 has been fully written and waiting for a long time.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"The peninsulas of Galahd have long been a meteorological mystery. Although latitudinally close to the Lucian crown city of Insomnia, the islands experience exceedingly hot and humid summers, reminiscent of jungles located in the southern tropics of Eos, and exceptionally frigid winters, similar to the frost-cursed lands of Gralea. Legends of yore recorded by Galahdan priests dictate that the islands were borne of the interdit affair between the Infernian and the Galacian. Created by the Pyreburner, before the Great War of Old, as a sanctuary hidden from the watchful eye of the Draconian. While there is contention among scholars on whether or not these legends hold true..."

— Anthropological Study of Lucius and Its Territories, 3rd Edition

M. E. 756, 12th of May, eve of departure…

When Nyx wakes, it is to the dull pink rays of the barely risen sun peeking through your curtains. It takes him a moment to realize where he is, to realize why he's woken to a clean white ceiling instead of the poster of home that's begun to yellow and curl at the edges. The seizing of his heart subsides as memories of last night come flooding back. He begins to reach for your hand, a habit of comfort from worse nights when his sleep is punctuated by the sharp whiz of bullets and the deflagration of missiles, but he stops when he realizes just how early it must be. Through the cracks he sees the sky is a dull purple, the kunzite sun still on horizon's cusp.

Eyes squeezed shut, he exhales a shaky breath and turns to face you. You're still curled in sleep, softly snoring with hair strewn across your face. The sight makes something in his chest rattle loose and against his better judgment, he shifts onto his side, his nose mere centimeters away from yours, to stare at the planes of your face, the gentle sloping of your nose, the curve of your lips, as if trying his damnedest to memorize the shape of you.

As gently as he can, he brushes the stray hairs from your face, tucking them neatly behind your ear. The way your brow furrows as you lean in, ever so slightly, chasing the warmth of his palm makes him smile and it's moments like this, watching you sleep, where it's easy to forget who you are — what you really are.

Princess.

Every fiber of his being yearns to stay like this, hand against your cheek while you sleep, a barrier between you and the transient peace of the world.

Nyx thinks he would do anything for you.

The soft exhale of his name makes his heart beat double-time and the thought crystallizes into resolve.

No. He knows he would. Anything.

Everything.

And he wants, and he wants, but he knows he cannot.

So he pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his palms, breathing in deep and exhaling slowly to anchor himself back to reality. Another stolen look, he can't help it. Your hair's wild against the pillow and your mouth's slightly open, but to him, you're the very image of Siren herself, and Nyx feels it again, the tightening in his chest. He knows then, knew it before from the way he always gravitated towards you, like the moon at the mercy of Titan, but he truly knows it now, that whether he likes it or not, he is royally fucked.

He loves you.

He loves you in a way he shouldn't.

It's not a question anymore.

Without another look, he leaves the warmth of happiness he knows he has no right to.

A smile falls over your lips as you wake to the sound of pans clattering followed by the click-click-click of the burner and the crackling-pop of aromatics sautéed in oil. As the fragrance of Galahdan brewed coffee mixes with the distinct aroma of schier murmeric sizzling in garlic oil wafts through your open doors, you stretch on your bed, happy as a fat cat that Nyx really did wake ahead of you to make breakfast, despite the jest of your comment the night before.

Padding quietly to the kitchen, you pause by the archway to admire him, still shirtless and hair bed-mussed slaving away at your stove, the sinew of his back rippling with each stir and flip of the pan. Perhaps it's the way the sunlight falls upon his face or the familiar scent of spices from home, but you can't help but think how nice it would be if this could be your mornings, always. The mere thought of this kind of future makes your stomach somersault and not for the first time, you long to go back home, to return to the simple comforts of Galahd, to leave the pageantry and isolation that comes in hand with the Lucian monarchy.

And it's in instances like this that you wonder if what you feel for Nyx is something more...something more than the familial love and affection you've always held for him. Why else would your heart stutter at his smiles or your words falter when he stands just a little too close? How else could you explain the warmth that tears through you with the feeling of belonging, of coming home, whenever you are with him? Or the ache of a void when he's gone?

Would it be so bad to ask? To ask if the smile he reserves for you extends beyond something platonic? To ask if the small touches of intimacy — a brush of fingers to tuck stray hairs behind your ear, a nudge of shoulders when you're walking side by side, a press of lips upon your forehead in greeting — did they mean something? After all, the worst that could happen is he'll chuckle and flick your nose affectionately as he tells you, like he has many times before, he loves you like a little sister.

If this was the future you could wake to, what's a little risk?

As you open your mouth to call out his name, Nyx turns to shoot you a grin so dazzling it has you rooted on the spot. Words stuck in your throat, you blush at the image of him, Adonis personified with untamed hair framing storm blue eyes that shine with the softness of morning light.

"About time you woke up, sleeping beauty," he says with a chuckle, walking over to plant a kiss atop your head.

He is breathtaking. Eyes crinkled in laughter, hair undone. The words you desperately wanted to say, the very ones that whirled in your mind moments before jumbles into nothingness. Instead, you let out a shrill laugh that sounds fake even to you.

"Is that shakshuka I smell? Gods, I haven't had that in years."

Unaware of your sudden awkwardness, Nyx puffs his chest out a bit and says, "Wanted to make your favorite before you headed off."

Nyx smirks at your surprise, looking annoyingly, and perhaps a little endearingly, proud of himself. Your face must have changed into one of delight because the smirk melts away into a grin so wide you find yourself smiling back with equal vigor. It takes all of you to stop from putting your hands around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him, and blurting out, 'I love you.' It would ruin the moment; it would ruin everything — you're sure of it.

Instead, you take a seat on the barstool. Fork and knife in hand, you cheekily jest, "Well, what are you waiting for? I'm starving!"

Next time. I'll ask him next time.

Breakfast is delicious. In all the years you've known him, Nyx's cooking has never failed to impress when it came to two things: breakfast and grilled meat. He claims it's because between the demanding hours Ma Ulric had to work after Pa passed and Selena's unfortunate propensity to burn even soup, he had to learn the basic necessities to avoid starvation in the Ulric household, but you know better.

Even as a teen, Nyx had been gifted with fire and spice. You remember fondly the way he would hang around the kitchen sneaking you pieces of honeyed fig on toast, long before mealtime, as he helped knead the dough for naan. Given the luxury, you're sure that the little bar he and Libertus had so oft spoken fondly of would have been a hit, even here in Insomnia.

Moka pot down to the dredges and plates clean of the tiniest of crumbs, you offer to do the dishes while he showered as show of thanks.

Elbows deep in suds, your mind wanders off from the monotony of cleaning that the sudden scratch of unshaved stubble against your cheek causes you to squeak out in surprise.

"That was a quick shower."

"Mmm," he hums absentmindedly. Nyx rests his chin on your shoulder, hands spayed on marble counter around you. He seems more than content to watch you work instead of heading off to the 9AM briefing you know Captain Drautos had scheduled.

Dishes done, Nyx doesn't make any indication to move so you ask a bit hesitantly, "Don't you need to get going?"

He sighs. "Yeah, you're right. I need to head back and change before the briefing."

You turn around to face him, but you inhale sharply when you realize just how close his face is now that you're backed against the counter caged in by his larger form. His eyes twinkle at your response.

Eager to appear unaffected, you divert your gaze to his wrinkled shirt. "I've told you a million times before, just leave some spare clothing here."

"That an invitation?"

"What? No! It's just…that way if you stay over next time, we can report in together without you needing to make a detour home. Speaking of which, Drautos' is going to be on your ass again if you're late…" you trail off distracted by the smell of your soap mixed with his distinct musk.

It shakes you how much you want to lean in a little closer to savor it so you slip out from under his arms and run to the hallway closet to fetch his suit jacket instead. Reluctantly he follows you and takes the proffered jacket. He hovers at the entrance of your apartment as if hesitant to leave. Oblivious to the way he lingers, you proficiently unlock the door for him and step aside.

He takes a few steps out before turning around.

"You'll be gone for a while?"

You nod.

Nyx walks towards you and places a hand on your doorframe, before shifting his weight onto his forearm and leaning in close. "Kiss for good luck?"

You quirk an eyebrow at his absurd request. The corners of his lips are curled into an unabashed smirk and he's waggling his eyebrows goofily at you. Laughter bursts from your lips. Deciding to indulge him just this once, you lean in to peck him on the cheek, except at the last second he turns just enough to capture your lips with his.

Your heart skips a beat.

He's so soft.

Nyx is devastatingly gentle, his usual cocksure confidence replaced by a rare sort of apprehension. His lips move chastely against yours, but even then, a shock of longing and desire shoots through your being. Your eyes flutter close as you revel in the sensations, the heat that pools at the bottom of your belly quickly becoming a fervid ache.

Bringing his hand to cup your face, he brushes his fingers along your neck, hitting the sensitive spot behind your ear. You can't help but lean into his touch as he deepens the kiss, tongue running along the seam of your lips until you give entrance. Involuntarily, you moan into his mouth.

Ashamed of how provocative you sound, you lurch back, pushing him away.

Was that you just now? Did you just moan into his mouth? Actually, wait.

Did you just kiss Nyx Ulric?

Did he just kiss you?

Confusion makes your mind race at a mile a minute, but none of your thoughts are coherent and you find you can't form any words.

He seems just as surprised as you about what had just happened, but the flash of hurt that crosses his face as he watches you retreat is unmistakable.

"Sorry. I mean— I'm not sorry for the kiss, I'm sorry that— fuck." Nyx runs his hand over his face frustration. He feels as if he's talking himself into a hole. It's especially hard to concentrate when you're standing before him chest heaving and lips kiss-swollen.

All he wants to do is to grab your face and fucking kiss you again; this time longer, harder, deeper until he incites that delightful sound again and again and again. It sounded better than anything he ever could have imagined.

Get. A. Hold. Of. Yourself. Ulric.

"Look, Princess, uh…let's, uh, talk when you get back."

You don't trust yourself to speak, so you nod distractedly. Nyx throws another rueful look as he moves to leave, regret written plainly on his face. Instinctively, you grab the back of his shirt, a childhood habit you haven't learned to stop.

"Nyx. I'm not— umm…I want to— I–I…" You desperately want to tell him, but what if it's too much? Too soon? Faltering, you settle with a half hopeful, half terrified, "I'll see you soon?"

Perhaps it is the unspoken longing in your voice that stops him in his tracks, but he turns and smiles widely, beaming so hard his dimples show. The only thought that runs through your head, as the contagion of his smile has you beaming back with equal force, is how beautiful he is when he looks at you like that and how you want him to look at you like this always — now, tomorrow, forever.

Nyx disentangles your hand from his shirt and brings it to his lips, brushing them softly against your knuckles.

"I'll be waiting, Princess, for as long as it takes. So, come back to me soon."

With that, he turns to leave and you're left standing in the hallway staring at his retreating back with a silly smile on your face. Your fingers reach up to touch your still tingling lips. Although you haven't even begun your journey to Altissa, you can't wait to be back. You're not sure what this thing with Nyx is or where it could lead, but for once, you're exhilarated at the uncertainties the future holds.

As you replay the kiss in your mind, your heart soars but plummets just as quickly when you hear Prompto's muffled yell from the apartment across the hall.

"Noct!"

The smile falls from your lips as you jerk up.

"Dude, why're you still standing there? I thought you were gonna see if she's ready."

Over to your right, Noctis is indeed standing in his doorway still as a statue, eyes fixated intensely on you. Beneath the curtain of his raven locks, his frigid eyes shine keenly, a sharp contrast through the feather softness of his bangs. He holds your gaze when you meet his, face expressionless except for the small furrow of his brow. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel a wave of nausea wash away your previous euphoria.

How long as he been standing there?

"Good morning, Noctis," you manage weakly.

His eyes narrow. Breaking eye contact, he swiftly walks past you and lets the door bang shut behind him.

"You're late," he bites out before rounding the corner.

You glance at your watch.

8:08 AM

Shit.

Noctis is quivering in anger, and the fact that he is only serves to aggravate him more. He can hear the blood roiling in his veins and the dull throb of the beginning of a migraine in his temples. He needs to punch something, needs to release this frustration before he does, says something terrible.

The last time he had felt like this, Ignis suffered the brunt of his rancor. He had lashed out as if it was Ignis' fault that he was powerless in the face of his father's ailing health. Ignis had been so hurt then. He didn't say it, but Noctis could see it plainly. His advisor turned frequent caretaker, has always been an open book: all decorum and bad puns until he is far too quiet that he doesn't even look like he's breathing.

This though…this felt like betrayal. Logically speaking, Noctis knows he's being stupid. What's there to betray? You're not his, he doesn't own you, doesn't dictate who you can or cannot see. But still.

He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. He saw the way Nyx had his hands on you last night, so inappropriately familiar with the way he rested his palm on the curve of your hips and so disparagingly possessive with the way he pulled you close to him. But all the same, it's you and it's Nyx and he's always assumed…

Sure, he's caught the Glaive staring forlornly at you on more than one occasion, but he had brushed it aside; you've become so stunningly beautiful that even he's found his gaze unwittingly drawn to you at inopportune moments. Gods, he was such a fool. How could he not have seen it? How— why does it even matter?

Noctis unclenches his fists. He made his decision long ago and he needs to stick with it. He has Luna and you, you're his sister he thinks with acerbic distaste. You're—

"The burden of royalty must be a hell of a thing, your Highness."

The sound of the Glaive's voice startles Noctis from his thoughts. In his rumination, he didn't realize he was standing dumbly outside the entrance of his condominium, and the knowledge that the source of his ire startled him from them only serves to deepen the frown already set upon his face.

"Ulric," he acknowledges curtly with a nod.

"Quite a scowl you've got going on when you're about set off on a trip of a lifetime to meet your lovely fiancée. Must be nice to have her join your entourage—"

"Not like I asked her to."

"Petulance's not a good look on you, Highness," Nyx snorts. "You're not as subtle as you think; I've seen the way you watch her." When Noctis doesn't reply, Nyx sighs. "I know I have no right to ask this, but from one man to another — take care of her, please. She's apprehensive with everything going on with the Nifs, and if anything were to happen to her…" he trails off, jaw tightening in tacit sorrow.

Noctis looks away from the Glaive. It's obvious even to him just how much he loves you and it's something Noctis neither wants nor needs to see.

"Despite what you think, I do care for her."

"I know you do," Nyx answers with curious solemnity. "That's the problem. Just— just keep her safe. And here," he holds out a beaded trinket for the prince to take, "She'd never take this willingly from me, but it's a little something from back home. Hopefully, it'll give her some comfort on the road. Pass it on for me, will you, Highness?"

Noctis takes the trinket and turns it hesitantly in his hands. It is timeworn and brittle, almost as if it may break apart in his hands if he held too tightly.

"Got it."

"Thank you and have a safe journey…your Highness," Nyx adds with a slight bow.

Shows of fealty have always made Noctis feel a little awkward, so the young Prince mumbles a quiet "Yeah," at the Glaive's retreating back.

"Are you quite sure you're alright back there?"

"Wedged between Lucis' all mighty Shield and the Prince himself? She's definitely the luckiest girl in all of Eos!"

"Lucky? More like stuck between a rock and a hard place. Noctis isn't so bad, but Gladiolus is just huge."

"You're not the first to tell me that."

"Man, c'mon."

Prompto catches your eye in the rearview mirror and gives you a reassuring thumbs up. The gunslinger had somehow noticed how unnaturally quiet you've been since the start of the journey and made it his mission to change that.

Unfortunately, the ever-perceptive Ignis catches the exchange and reprimands him with a stern, "Eyes on the road."

Giggling, you slide back into your seat, slightly uncomfortably wedged between an all too warm Gladiolus and a rigidly frigid Noctis who seems like he's trying his best to give you enough space or not touch you; you weren't quite sure which with the way you'd catch him staring at you through the rear-view mirror.

Ignoring the cheerful back and forth between the four close friends, you stare up at the cloudless sky, soaking in the all too warm rays of outer Insomnia. Despite the rocky start, you find your lips curling into a smile.

It'll be quick. Straight to Galdin Quay. Catch the boat to Altissa. Spend a day or so there for the impromptu wedding ceremony. And then back to Insomnia.

…to Nyx.