Prompto and Noctis are laying beside one another in the tent. Ignis was sleeping behind Noctis, and Gladio was at their feet. The tent was filled with the sound of their breathing and Gladio's snores.
Noctis feels a bit of movement beside him in the middle of the night that shakes him from his sleep. He opens his eyes slightly and realizes it's Prompto. He's whimpering, and mumbling a bit in his sleep. He almost sounded like he was in distress. Noctis sat up, and put a hand on Prompto's shoulder.
Pss... hey... Prompto... hey. Wake up.
Prompto jolts out of sleep in a bit of a panic. He was panting as if he had been running from something. He makes eye contact with Noctis.
Without a word, he leaps at Noctis, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He hit Noctis with such force, it knocked him on his back. Ignis moved a bit, readjusting himself. He didn't wake up miraculously.
Noct... hah... hah... you're here...
yeah, where else would I be?
Prompto nuzzled Noctis' chest.
I... I had a nightmare... I was... I was running in darkness... and I couldn't find you... I couldn't find anyone. It was awful. It felt so real... thank you for saving me from that place. I couldn't get out.
Noctis furrowed his brows as he placed a hand on Prompto's back. He began to rub it to comfort him.
It was just a nightmare. You're ok. That's the 3rd one this week. Something on your mind?
Prompto grew silent.
He took in a deep breath.
.... Noct.... you... you wouldn't understand.
What makes you think that I won't understand? Try me.
Prompto lifted his head from The prince's chest, and looked him in the eyes.
I ... don't know where I would be... if it weren't for you, Iggy, and Gladio. I feel.... I feel like I would be ... drifting. Lost in darkness. You... you have no idea how much... you mean to me... Noct.
Noctis' eyes softened as he hears the blonde's words. He lifted his hand to meet Prompto's cheek.
I think... I have a pretty good idea. I bet... it's as much as you mean to me.
Don't ever worry about being lost... or alone. As long as I'm breathing, I'll make sure that you never feel that way. Promise.
Prompto parted his lips a bit, feeling the warmth of Noctis' hand on his cheek. His heart was racing.
He couldn't believe his ears.
you... you mean it?
Noctis chuckled softly
Yeah. Now get some sleep.
Prompto smiled so hard that it hurt his cheeks. He couldn't contain himself. He leaned down, quickly, and pressed his lips to Noct's.
Noctis was shocked, his eyes wide
Their lips parted...
Wh... what... why'd you...
His face was flushed
Prompto laid back down and fell back to sleep. Not a word.
Noctis laid there, staring at the roof of the tent. He could still feel the lingering feeling of Prompto's lips on his. His mind was buzzing.
When a Ravenclaw makes their way to the great hall for breakfast, they take the long way there so they can talk to some of their favorite portraits. Sometimes they get knowledge passed on through generations of portraits all over the school. Sometimes they hear the portraits talking about the past, sometimes distant, sometimes more recent. And most of the portraits like to talk about troublemakers that they always saw out of bed after hours and insisted on people calling them The Marauders. Whenever a Ravenclaw asks what The Marauders real names are, the portraits just smile sadly and say words that most certainly aren’t names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
Jensen opens his eyes and immediately closes them again. His head is pounding, it’s too bright in the hotel room, his entire body aches.
After a couple minutes of stretching and groaning and adjusting his eyes to the sunlight, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and ends up with a piece of notebook paper in his hand instead. In terrible handwriting, there are a few random words on the paper like “breakfast,” “crepe options,” and “hamburger meat with onions.” He bunches the paper up and tosses it aside before grabbing his phone and lying back down against the bed.
For some reason his email app is open, and a drafted email is waiting to be sent. It’s addressed to Jim Michaels, with the subject line “Get fuckd.”
In the body of the email is written, “I think I want to quit the show and open a food truck. I have a lot of great ideas for a food truck, and I’m writing up a menu right—”
Jensen deletes the drafted email and scrambles through his sent messages to make sure he didn’t actually email anyone. Thankfully, he didn’t.
He checks his text messages next and finds that the only person he texted yesterday was his wife. Thank fucking god.
I’m wearing the underwear you bought me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The pair I said I’d never wear in a million years!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m wearing it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jensen’s eyes widen and his face heats up as he stares at his phone, the words blurring together. He tears the covers away from his lap and looks down at himself. The only thing he’s wearing is a pair of peach-colored boxer briefs that are too big on him.