Work Text:
“How was your day, son?” Regis asks at the dinner table, and Noctis huffs and doesn’t look up from his phone.
“It was fine,” he says, swiping a finger lazily across the screen.
Regis takes another bite and lets the silence sit heavy for a second. Noctis doesn’t pick up the slack, so he tries again. “What did you learn at school today?”
“Nothing,” his son says, and Regis sighs.
“Make any friends?” he asks rather hopelessly, and this time Noctis doesn’t even bother answering.
“What do you even do on that thing all day?” Regis asks despairingly.
“Talk to people,” Noctis says absently, moving the phone to one hand and taking up his fork one-handed. His eyes don’t leave the screen and yet, Regis can’t help but notice, he doesn’t spear a single carrot.
“Talk to who?” Noctis doesn’t know anyone to even talk to, except Ignis and Gladiolus, and he spends all day talking to them anyway.
And yet his son won’t talk to him, even though he doesn’t get near as much time as he would like. “Phones away at the dinner table,” he declares, and Noctis finally looks up.
His glare is pure venom, but it’s the first time Regis has seen his eyes in three days so he stands firm. “I mean it. No phones at the table. Put it away, Noct.”
Noctis glares at him a moment longer, but he does, eventually put the phone down. He sets it facedown on the table, which is definitely not away, but it’s something, so Regis doesn’t push.
“That’s better,” Regis says and tries smiling at his son. “So, how was school today?”
Noct groans, then stands, slamming both hands on the table. “Can I be excused,” he says instead of asks, and has grabbed his phone and is halfway out the door before Regis can even open his mouth.
This is awful, the king reflects. He can broker peace between warring countries and hammer out trade agreements with bitter rivals, but he can’t get through a civil conversation with his son. Why are teenagers so difficult?
He sits back in his chair, sighing, and stands. Teenagers may be inscrutable, but the new economic development plan is even worse. He can at least try reading over it again before Clarus gets back to go over it with him.
He’s staring at the numbers when his study door opens. “Clarus, thank goodness. Come explain this proposal to me. Where are we getting these numbers from? What’s an incentivized opportunity zone and why do we need them?”
Clarus glances over the papers Regis is waving and grins. “I dunno; ask Scientia tomorrow. You know he’s going to insist on explaining it three times anyway, and then you can pretend you knew all along.”
That’s true. “Fine then,” he capitulates with bad grace. “Then you can explain teenagers to me.”
This time Clarus laughs. “A truer mystery you never posed, my friend. I barely understand Gladio and he’s exactly like I was at that age.”
“What’s with the phone?” Regis laments. “He says he’s talking to people but he never actually talks on it. Isn’t that what phones are for?”
Clarus shrugs. “Gladio plays that game with him sometimes, you know. Maybe it’s that?”
Regis hums, staring at nothing in particular. “Clarus,” he says.
“No.”
“What? I didn’t even—”
“You didn’t need to,” Clarus says. “I’ve known you all your life, and I know that face, and the answer is absolutely not .”
“I want a phone,” Regis says anyway. “Why don’t I have a cell phone?”
“You’ve never needed one. You’ve always had me,” Clarus tries to explain but Regis ignores him.
“I need a phone,” he says determinedly. “Noct spends all day on that thing. Maybe if I text him, he’ll actually hold a conversation with me.”
“This is a bad idea,” Clarus says, but he’s already giving up, Regis can tell. “What kind do you want, then?”
Regis considers. He’s good at the Kingly Consideration face, and he uses it most often for this specific purpose, which is hiding the fact that he knows nothing about the decision he’s supposed to be making.
He’s very good at solutions, though, and that skill stands him in good stead now. He remembers Noct ignoring him soundly at the dinner table and he says, “You know what model phone Noctis has?”
Clarus tilts his head. “I can find out.”
“Do that. I want whatever he has, only newer and better.”
Clarus’ sigh is heartfelt and heavy but Regis ignores him. This is a good plan, no matter what his spoilsport Shield thinks.
He still thinks that, right up until Clarus actually hands him his new phone. It’s in a sleek matte case with the royal crest on the back, and he has a sudden irrational and insidious fear that he will touch it and it will shatter.
He takes it delicately and Clarus rolls his eyes. “Most of the Kingsglaive has the older model,” he says, “and none of them have managed to break it yet.”
“Good,” Regis says, then coughs and straightens his shoulders. “Right, okay.”
He hits the only button and the screen lights up. He watches it until it turns back off, and Clarus coughs lightly and says, “Do you want—”
“No,” Regis says, lifting his chin and pushing the button again. “I’ve got it.” And he does, he finds; the screen says to swipe up, so he does.
The icons are all labelled, and he finds some kind soul—probably Clarus—has set up his work email and loaded in the phone numbers of most of the palace residents. It’s not that different from a computer, really, and he’s familiar enough with those.
The text message app is easy to find and he taps on his son’s name and carefully types, Have fun at school today!
The answer is a prompt new phone who dis, and Regis squints at it before holding the phone out to Clarus.
His friend just sighs at him. “The Prince doesn’t have your contact information saved, so it just pops up as a phone number for him. He’s asking who you are.”
Regis frowns, then types out, Isn’t is a security violation to answer strange numbers? You should not do that.
oHmYgOd DAAAAAAD comes back, followed by BLOCKED, and Regis stares at the screen.
“This is not helping me understand my son,” he says, and Clarus very kindly does not say that he told Regis so.
Regis sighs and puts his new phone in his pocket and promptly forgets it in favor of doing his actual job. He sits through his morning meetings and doesn’t think a thing about it until Scientia is, in fact, explaining incentivized opportunity zones.
He’s fine with the math portion but he’s still baffled where they think they’re getting the incentive funding from. The numbers don’t match with the rates in the proposal and he’s scribbling on a sheet of paper, wishing he had a calculator for the half-percentages, and then remembers.
He pulls out his phone, swipes to the app screen and promptly finds the calculator. It’s not as robust as the actual calculator he keeps on his desk, but it’s here and convenient and gives him the answers he needs.
The numbers still aren’t lining up, though, so he jots down a note and sits back to listen to Scientia wrap up his second explanation and start on a third. Then he pushes the button again to check the time.
Phones are handy. Clock, calculator, and the internet, all in one handy place. And when they break for lunch, Scientia announces he’s sent the report on similar programs in other countries to their emails, and Regis can open it right then and try to figure out the money issue while he’s still got it fresh in his mind.
He’s still reading the report when Clarus finds him, and he accepts the sandwich Clarus offers absently. The numbers for Wutai are very different, but they seem to work.
He switches over to the calculator and goes through some numbers, switching back to the report to check, and then ends up bringing up the internet because that term, he’s pretty sure from context, but he’s not as good at Wutain as he used to be—
“I give up,” he says, looking up from his phone. He’s got a bit of crust left in one hand and Clarus jumps, putting his own phone down.
“What?”
“These numbers aren’t working for me,” he says firmly, and he opens his email and starts typing to Scientia. “They don’t match. I need to go over this with Scientia and—and Argonius? Yes, he’s in charge of this project, let me copy him on this.”
Clarus is remarkably quiet while he finishes the email and when Regis puts it down, he looks over at his Shield.
Clarus is looking back and the expression on his face is one Regis hasn’t seen in a while. “What?” he asks.
“Heh.” Clarus shakes his head. “I always forget how incredibly smart and adaptable you are. You’ve really taken to that phone, haven’t you?”
“It’s handy,” Regis says defensively. “I needed a calculator, and you’re the one who put my email on here—”
“It’s a good thing. I’m just impressed at how fast you’re picking it up.”
“It’s not that much different than my computer, really,” he deflects.
“Just remember what you wanted it for,” Clarus says, and his expression is solemn.
Regis just blinks at him.
“It wasn’t so you could work more, was it?”
Oh, no, it was to—right. He checks the time, then pulls up the texting app, taps his son’s name, and types, with far more confidence than before, Hope you had a good day! See you at dinner!
The little Read checkmark pops up, and a typing bubble appears, but then it stops and nothing comes through. Regis stares at it and sighs.
Clarus takes pity on him again because he is a true friend. He takes the phone away, glances down, and then switches windows and does some typing.
When he hands it back, Regis is looking at a website with a picture of his son’s left boot in the corner and a long list of badly typed sentences. “What’s this?” he asks cautiously.
“Welcome, my friend, to social media.”
Social media is odd, Regis concludes, scrolling further down the twitter page of @noct_out. It’s all vague enough that it’s probably not a security risk, yet it’s far more than his son tells him directly.
He ends up tapping off onto the people his son is talking to, and he recognizes Gladiolus and Ignis pretty easily. This qu1cks1lv3r is entirely unfamiliar, but also the most commonly mentioned, and Regis takes the time to scroll through that account as well. It’s mostly good pictures and bad jokes.
The website, at some point, asks if he wants to follow the accounts on the app, and he’s not entirely clear on it but he hits yes anyway and ends up having to set up his own account.
He promptly follows everyone his son ever interacted with and keeps scrolling.
That turns into eventually branching off onto other pages. Most of his political counterparts have this twitter thing and apparently he does too; it’s @KingLucius_Official and it’s very dry and bland. It’s mostly announcements, generic political pleasantries, and some vague yet tasteful pictures of the palace gardens.
He follows that too. And then he discovers emojis, and that keeps him enthralled all the way ‘til dinner.
He makes sure to leave his phone in his study during dinner. It’s important to follow your own rules, after all.
Halfway through an entirely silent meal, he finally asks, “How was your day?”
“Boring,” his son says, staring at his plate and idly poking a fork at it. When Regis waits, he looks up and then sighs with his whole body. “It was fine. Nothing happened.”
According to Noctis’ twitter, they had two tests in school today, he ditched Gladio to go play at the arcade with qu1cks1lv3r, and he saw “th cuuuutest kitten srsly lookit it”.
It was an extremely cute kitten, but that’s beside the point. The point is, his son doesn’t want to talk to him. “Oh,” he says, and pokes at his own plate. “Okay.”
They sit in silence for a while longer, neither eating, and then Regis says, “Well, today, I--” and Noctis sighs, a loud, endless noise that seems to actually oppress the atmosphere.
“That’s great, dad,” he says, pushing back from the table. “I’m gonna go do my homework. Night.”
Regis watches him go with a heavy heart. He’s not hungry anymore either.
He leaves the food on the table and goes to get his phone so he can search “how to teenagers”.
The results are less than helpful. There’s one page, though, called How to Speak Teenager that turns out to be about current slang and memes. It’s pretty helpful, given he’s seen some of those appearing on the twitter feeds already, and it links him to site all about memes. He bookmarks it immediately.
The first meme he looks up is new phone who dis.
He never really meant to get into any of the social media stuff for himself, not really. It’s just, he overheard a maid telling a really dumb joke and it was funny enough that he wants to tell Noctis, but then he remembers.
It bothers him a bit, honestly, which is weird. Before, he’d have laughed quietly and walked on, maybe tried to tell Noctis later, but his son is not very communicative these days, not with him.
He is communicative online, though, so Regis thinks what the hell and digs out his phone. It’s not like anyone follows his twitter anyway, so he hits post, puts his phone away and forgets about it.
Noct doesn’t bother showing up to dinner that night, and Regis eats quietly, alone, and heads back to his study as soon as he’s done. Clarus is supposed to meet him tonight and go over those numbers again.
He checks his phone when he gets back, hoping Noctis sent him something, anything, but he didn’t. He texts Everything okay? and opens Twitter to check his son’s feed.
He has to sort through his own notifications first, though, because apparently qu1cks1lv3r retweeted his joke and it actually got a bit of attention. Regis frowns though, because qu1cks1lv3r hadn’t followed him back until now, so why had his son’s friend even seen it?
He hopes this friend is just naturally suspicious about anyone who follows Noctis. Regis hopes at least one of Noctis’ friends is wary about social media. He looks over qu1cks1lv3r’s profile again and he hopes that really hard.
Whoever this is, they seem like a very good friend to Noctis, and he’s a bit upset that he can’t put a real name or face to them. Has his son ever mentioned anyone other than Ignis or Gladio…? Well, Iris, but this isn’t her.
It isn’t, right? He goes to Gladio’s feed and scrolls til he finds an @deadlyflowgergirl and he nods and follows her too. Her most recent tweet is a video of her in one of the Kingsguard training rooms practicing a high flip, and he likes it--it’s very impressive--and then he flips back over to the mystery friend.
He scrolls down a few pictures and finds an amazing one of a sunrise, framed between a bridge’s supports, and he retweets that. Just, you know, to show he noticed. That’s how social media is done, right? He’s pretty sure it is. And if he’s wrong, well, it’s not like anyone knows who sleepless_crown really is anyway.
Especially not Noctis, who apparently skipped dinner to play video games back at his own apartment if his most recent tweet is any indication. Regis sighs and texts good night to his son, then goes back to work.
He doesn’t expect to see Noctis in the morning and isn’t disappointed. He checks twitter anyway, and qu1cks1lv3r has posted a happy good morning message. Noctis has posted uuuuuugh.
That’s his son, ever the statesman.
He still texts Noctis a good morning message, just because. Even if Noctis isn’t responding, he’s still seeing that Regis is interested in his life, right? That’s gotta count for something.
It’s amazing how quickly checking his phone becomes habit. He’s starting to understand and follow entire threads without having to look up memes every other sentence, and his son’s twitter feed gives him hope that just because his son is upset with him doesn’t mean his son is upset with his life.
He keeps up with his official twitter, too, and whoever’s running it is good, if bland. That’s fine, though; it seems most of the official twitter accounts are bland. It has a lot of followers but not that much interaction.
On Lady Lunafreya’s birthday, his official account—and he really has to find out who runs that—tweets a rather impersonal happy birthday to @LadyLunafreya_Official. Noctis, meanwhile, has tweeted @sylleblossoming a more personal message, and Regis can tell his son put in the effort because everything is correctly spelled and capitalized. The thread is a cute exchange of teenage awkwardness and Regis smiles, thinking how nice it would be if the country could see this side of their aloof prince.
Hmm, now there’s a thought. He sets his phone down and folds his hands in front of him, thinking. It’s doable, he thinks, and then he picks up his phone and texts Clarus, Who runs my official twitter account?
While he’s waiting on that, he checks the feeds again to see Noct has posted @qu1cks1lv3r ur birthday is cmng up too rite??? wht do u want?
qu1cks1lv3r, in a typical example, has said back I’m good, bro, your friendship is enough for me! followed by a long string of complex emojis that seem to be telling a story of a chocobo, a present, and then a rather excessive amount of hearts, glitter, and sparkles.
Right. Regis makes his decision, then is stymied for a moment until he googles how to ‘slide into someone’s dms’ and then he sends qu1cks1lv3r a message. Hello! You’re Noctis’ friend, right?
Clarus has texted back, finally, with, This is a bad idea, and Regis huffs.
You don’t even know why I’m asking, he types back, and the typing bubble pops up immediately.
It’s an official twitter. It’s for official purposes. Whatever you’re plotting, remember that literally everyone in the world can see that account and you can’t delete anything from the internet.
“Spoilsport,” Regis says out loud, but he’s smiling just a bit as he waits, and finally Clarus starts typing again.
It’s one of the secretaries. Lauris Rhyndeon. Should I send her to your office?
No, no , Regis replies quickly. No need to disrupt her schedule just for a question. Thank you!
This is a bad idea, Clarus texts back, and Regis replies, Noted, thank you.
Sometime during the exchange he’d gotten a twitter message and he taps the notification. Who wants to know? qu1cks1lv3r has asked, and there’s no emojis at all.
Thank goodness someone cares about the crown prince’s security online. This might just work after all. His father , he replies dryly. I’d like to set up a meeting with you sometime soon to discuss my son’s tweeting habits. Can you come to the palace this afternoon?
There’s a long stretch of silence, so Regis presses the home button. Clarus hasn’t responded, Noctis hasn’t posted anything new, and his work email taunts him.
No, this is the reason he got a phone, to learn more about his son. He opens the apps and finds that one game, the one Noctis and his friends are always going on about, and he starts that up.
The music is bright and cheery and so are the colors. It’s a silly premise but it’s simple to play and the level up ding is extremely rewarding. He goes through a few rounds until the message notification pops up and he checks it immediately.
If you really are Noct’s father , it reads, you know where he’ll be this afternoon and when.
Ah, a sensible precaution, and handily avoiding the question of whether he actually is Noctis’ friend or not. Regis smiles and nods to himself. Yes, this will do nicely indeed.
And if it all works out, well. Noctis didn’t seem overly taken with his own birthday present last month. Maybe this will make up for it.
Meanwhile, he has a secretary to interrogate.
He hasn’t been down to the secretary pool since...oh, it’s been ages, hasn’t it? Last major holiday, when he handed out bonuses personally, probably. Still, he knows the names of the people who have worked for him, at least the ones who have stuck around, and he smiles winningly at Diana.
“Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Lauris. Social media question,” he explains, waving his phone around, and Diana’s eyebrows fly up.
“Social media?” she asks. It’s politely blank, and he nods gravely at her.
“I’ve found the Tweeter,” he announces, mangling the name on purpose.
“Ah, the Tweeter,” Diana says. Her poker face is remarkable. “Yes, let me just get Lauris for you.” She types some things, clicks a bit, then looks back up at him. “You’re a brave man, to wade into social media.”
“Yes,” he says, lifting his chin just a bit. “That’s me. I’m a pretty cool guy who doesn’t afraid of anything.”
The noise she makes is startled and undignified and the grin he gives her is too. She shakes her head. “The Tweeter, huh?” she says, and then her face goes professional again as a young woman steps towards them.
“Lauris,” she says, “his majesty has some questions about the Twitter account for you.”
Lauris is young and obviously worried, so Regis gentles his smile. “I just have a few questions about how it works and such,” he reassures her. “You’ve been doing a splendid job.”
“Oh? Oh! Okay!” she says, squaring her shoulders and nodding at him. “Yes, of course. What can I do for you, your majesty?”
“Right, so--oh, wait. Diana? Can you pull me Ms. Rhyndeon’s job contract? I need if for reference. Thanks! Okay, so, first question! How much time does each account take up? Who else do we run official Twitters for? Is this your main interest, or was it pushed on you? And also, what’s the password?”
Lauris turns out to be a most accommodating young lady, and rather creative once she relaxed. Of course, she didn’t do that until he explained his idea, but then she was very helpful. Regis hangs around her office and bugs her about memes and retweets until his phone alarm goes off, reminding him that Noctis ought to be leaving school about now.
Regis thanks her, picks up the paperwork he requested from Diana, and steps out the door. Clarus is waiting for him, leaning on the wall across the way, and he raises his eyebrows when he sees Regis’ folder. “Going somewhere?”
“Thought I’d go see my son,” Regis says cheerily. “What say we take the old Regalia for a spin?”
Clarus sighs, loud and dramatic, but there’s a smile hiding on his face as he pushes away from the wall. “Sure,” he says, “but I’m driving.”
“What, you don’t trust my driving skills?” They make their way down to the garage as they bicker about who’s done the most total damage behind the wheel.
It’s a nice enough day that when they pull out of the garage--Clarus driving--Regis hits the roof retraction. Clarus shoots him a sideways glance but Regis ignores him and looks pointedly out the windshield. He’s getting older, but he’s not so old that he has to prioritize safety over comfort.
“This is an unnecessary risk,” Clarus says, but it’s gentle.
“I can go sit in the back,” Regis says, and Clarus clearly remembers that road trip they took way back when, when Regis was young and wild and feeling both immortal and burdened, and had a horrible habit of popping out of the seat to sit on the trunk of the car.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Clarus immediately declares, and Regis snorts and watches his city pass by.
Noctis’ place isn’t too far from the palace, really. It’s closer to his school but still within the fortified governmental district. The place is nice, Regis recalls; modern with low lines and enough windows that Gladiolus threw a fit about it.
But it makes Noctis happy, to have a place where he can be himself instead of the Crown Prince. He’s a teenage boy and he wants his space, so it’s the least Regis could do for him. And if they own the entire building and most of it is used as a secondary Crownsguard barracks, well, that’s for him to know.
“What’s this about, then?” Clarus asks as they pull into the basement parking lot and Regis closes the roof and hops out with a smile.
“I’m giving my son a belated birthday present,” he says, checking the folder once again.
“Yeah, cause the last one went so well,” Clarus mutters, but he’s far enough back that Regis can pretend not to hear him.
The elevator responds to Regis’ fingerprint and whisks them directly up to the penthouse. The door slide open onto loud music, a video game soundtrack, and a young man’s voice whining “ Nooooooct! That’s not fair!”
Regis stops in place, hands tightening over the folder. It’s been--it’s been a long time since he heard Noctis laugh. It’s been a long time since he heard anything but apathy in his son’s voice, but it’s light now, with happiness as he teases his friend, who’s got to be qu1cks1lv3r.
Regis stands there in the doorway, watching the two boys on the sofa pick at each other and yell as they play some game. It looks vaguely familiar; he’s probably seen screengrabs on twitter or something, but all his focus is on his son. Noct is laughing, slouching and using one leg to kick at his friend’s leg. Noct is smiling. Noct is happy.
He stands there, caught in the spell of it, until the level ends and the blond kid throws the controller down on the couch. “Loser gets the drinks,” Noct reminds him, slouching somehow lower. It’s remarkable how teenagers seem to not have spines, Regis thinks, but then the blond kid stands, turns, and freezes.
“Uh, Noct?” he says, and Noctis flops upwards, leans his head upside down over the couch, and sighs.
“Dad?” he says, and his friend squeaks.
Right, Regis has a job to do. “Son,” he greets, stepping forward into the room proper. “Who’s your friend?”
Noct scowls at him but drags himself upright. “Dad, this is Prompto. Prompto Argentum, this is Regis Lucius Caelum CXIII, King of Lucis, Wielder of the Crystal and Blessed Under the Light, blah blah blah.”
“Prompto Argentum, hm?” Regis holds out his hand to shake. “Makes sense. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”
“I--you--” Prompto says, and his hands are twitching like they want to be flailing. Then he takes a deep breath, gathers himself, and takes Regis’ hand. “It’s an honor, your majesty.”
“Dad, you can’t just spring a visit on us like this,” Noct says, but Regis edges past him and takes a seat on the chair, catty-corner to the couch.
“Prompto knew I was coming,” he says mildly, watching the byplay.
“You did?” Noctis hisses at his friend, who does flail this time, just in a quiet, subdued kind of way.
“I didn’t think it was actually your dad!” he hisses back.
“I’d like to offer you a job,” Regis cuts in, and they both shut up and look at him.
“What?” Noctis is the first one to find his voice.
“You can’t--” Prompto says, and Noct elbows him.
They both settle down and Regis nods. “Social media,” he says, “is extremely important these days. It’s also extremely intricate and time consuming. It’s not generally a luxury royalty has.”
“But--” Noctis starts, and Regis just talks right over him.
“Most heads of state have official accounts. I’m sure you’ve seen them.” He’s focused on Prompto, who cautiously nods. “They’re bland and soulless, but they’re important. It all works together with public relations and with international politics. And it’s an important way to relate to the people, as well, because it’s a direct channel. Social media is, in this day and age, a very dangerous tool. It can, in fact, be a weapon.”
Prompto is sitting up straight now, and Noct is leaning in as well. “I’m lucky,” Regis says. “I have a dedicated staff, and they saw the need and set everything up for me. I have my own dedicated social media manager now, and I make sure she’s happy and kept in the loop. But I think perhaps my son is even luckier.
“Prompto Argentum,” he says formally. “You’ve been doing that job for my son, haven’t you?”
Prompto swallows, then he opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I, uh,” he says. “No?”
“No?” Regis raises his eyebrows. “When Noct retweeted that off-color joke last month, he deleted it within an hour. Why did he do that?”
Prompto’s mouth is open and he says nothing, so Noctis jumps in. “Prom texted me and told me to,” he says, and he’s looking at his friend now too.
“And when some stranger followed you both on a brand new account, what did you do?”
“I, uh,” Prompto says, then something clicks in his eyes and he says, “I check all the accounts that follow Noct, and I watch anyone who follows him and Ignis and Gladio.”
“And when a stranger messaged you wanting details about the Prince, what did you do?”
“I thought it was a trap,” Prompto says, and his chin comes up. His fists are clenched in his lap and he says, “There was a possibility someone was after Noct, and I--couldn’t allow that. I never do.”
Regis nods and steals a sideways glance at his son, who’s looking at his friend in a new light. “Yes,” Regis says. “Social media is dangerous, and Noct needs someone willing to help him say what he’s supposed to say when he’s supposed to say it. He needs to know what not to say, and he needs someone willing to watch for any danger, from a single stalker to an assassination attempt.”
“But Prom already does that,” Noctis says. His eyes flick to Regis, then down to the folder that he’s holding, and his face softens. “Ah.”
“Yes, he does,” Regis says. “Prompto, you’re protecting and helping my son. The least I can do is make it easy on you.”
“But--”
“That’s not to say this will be easy,” he warns, because this is for Noctis, it’s all for Noctis, and if his friend is going to break under the pressure, he needs to know now. “And this is a long-term commitment. We’ll read you in on a basic security clearance, once you pass the background check, and in a few years, we’ll revisit it. My hope is that when Noct takes my place, he’ll have all the support he needs. If you’re not willing or able to make that promise, we need to know now.”
“I--” Prompto says, entirely overwhelmed, and Regis takes pity on him.
“Here,” he says, holding out the folder. “This is the basic contract for a social media position at the palace. It’s got all the NDAs and official forms, as well as the application for a background check. Take your time and look it over, and if you have any questions, I daresay Ignis or Noct can answer them.”
“Okay,” Prompto says in a small voice, taking the folder. “I--okay. I’m just gonna--” and he grabs his bag from the side of the couch, clutches the folder like it’s a lifeline, and bolts.
Regis watches him go, then keeps his eyes on the empty doorway. He waits, counting breaths.
“Dad,” Noct says, and his voice cracks, just a bit. “Dad, did you know--”
“I knew,” he says, because he checked every post on that feed, even the old ones about scrimping and saving to buy an old used camera, and the way all the pictures were empty of people. He saw the number of photos that, no matter how artistically taken, couldn’t disguise the quality of the food. He saw the hesitation when his son wanted to go to the arcade, or the insecurity when Iris tweeted at Noct about training.
It’s hard being friends with a Prince; Clarus has told him often enough, but it’s awful to be friends with a boy who happens to be a prince when you’re not a part of that world. It was Cid who taught him that.
“Why would you do that for a kid you’ve never met?” Noct demands.
“I didn’t,” Regis says, meeting his eyes. “I did it for you.” Noct stares back at him, and Regis smiles, soft and sad. “I know I put a lot on your shoulders,” he says, “but I also want to give you the support you need to handle that pressure. And friends, true friends? Friends you can trust implicitly? They’re rare, Noct. If you have a chance to have one,” and Regis sighs, thinks of an empty garage and an old prized hammer, “if you have that chance, Noct, you fight for it and you don’t let them go.”
Noctis nods, quiet, and Regis smiles and waits. His son is quiet but thoughtful, and he eventually nods. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, and he means it.
Regis bites back on his first response and says instead, “You’re welcome, son.” The moment stretches, and before it can become awkward, Regis clears his throat and gestures to the tv. “What game is this?”
“It’s, uh,” Noct says, obviously thrown for a second. “It’s a competitive first person shooter. One team tries to protect the payload and the other tries to destroy it.”
Regis squints at the screen then harrumphs. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he says, then fishes out his phone, “but I bet I can take you in King’s Knight.”
“What, ” Noctis says, and scrambles for his phone. “No you can’t. I’m level seventy, you can’t--”
“Watch me,” he says, grinning, and there’s no way his level twelve character can even scratch Noctis’ but he doesn’t care. That’s not at all the point.
And Noct does trounce him. Regis puts up a decent fight for his level, and then he sits and listens as Noct lectures him about how his play style is totally unsuited for the build he’s got and what equipment he should be farming for and how. He’s surprised to find he understands about half the lecture, but Noctis is animated, pacing and talking with his hands, and that’s worth any amount of losses in a mobile game.
“Ah, well,” he says when Noctis grinds to a stop, breathing just a bit harder. “I’ll do that and try again next time.” He smiles at his son, standing and holding out his hand. “It was good to see you, son. I’ve got to get back. Let me know what Prompto decides.”
Noctis stares at him for a second, and his eyes dart between Regis’ hand and his face. Then he takes a quick double step forward, ducks under Regis’ outstretched hand, and catches him around the middle.
“Thanks, Dad,” he says to Regis’ shirt. “I love you.”
“Oh,” Regis says, and he wraps his son up in a hug. “I love you too, my boy. And I’m proud of you. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“Yeah,” Noct says, and then he pulls away, turning his back and heading towards the couch. Regis watches him go and doesn’t say a thing about shining eyes.
“Oh,” he does say, when he’s halfway out the door. “By the way, are you free on Saturday? I thought we might do lunch.”
Noct looks up at him, pausing, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do Saturday.”
“Great,” Regis says. “See you then!” and then he’s out the door and in the elevator before he can do anything to ruin this moment.
The doors close behind him and he exhales, hands shaking as they come up to brace against the wall. “That was terrifying,” he says in a small voice. “I’m so glad I didn’t mess it up.”
“You did good,” Clarus says. “That was--you did good.”
“Being a parent is scarier than being a king,” Regis says, breathing out.
“Yeah,” Clarus agrees. “But it’s also a lot more rewarding.”
Regis sets a hand against his chest, where his son hugged him, and can’t help but agree.
Saturday morning starts early for Regis. He makes his way out to the northern tower before the sun is properly up and warps himself to the very top.
It takes ten minutes and twice as many tries before he finds the best way to get half his face and the sunrise over the city into frame, and then he takes another dozen before he gets one that’s not awful.
Good morning Insomnia! he types. Guess who stole the password to the twitter account? #twittertakeover #hacked, and he attaches the photo and posts it to @KingLucis_Official.
He spends the morning taking pictures of actual palace life and posting them. He catches Clarus lunging for him as he warps backwards and the picture is just a bit blurry at the ends where the warp trail frames the shot but the expression on Clarus’ face is very clear and extremely unflattering. He posts that with the caption regis no REGIS YES.
Noctis shows up a bit past noon, scowling and half asleep. Gladio has to basically haul him from the car and Regis gets a shot of Noctis being dragged limply away across the lawn. My sweet son, he captions it, then adds an obnoxious amount of heart emojis to it.
Ignis is kinder to Noctis than Gladio was and has a cup of coffee waiting for the Prince in the dining room. Regis snaps that too. It’s a rather good picture if he does say so himself, and he adds, I like my coffee like my soul -- so full of cream and sugar that it could be mistaken for candy.
It takes Noctis a while to wake up and Regis gets one more good shot of him slouching in his chair, yawning. He spends the rest of lunch--well, breakfast, apparently--scrolling through search results to find a picture of a small black kitten curled up in a chair and yawning too. He posts them both together and types it’s the same picture twice lol.
Finally Noctis seems to perk up, and Regis puts his phone away and watches his son blink slowly back to awareness.
Noctis’ phone must be vibrating non-stop because he pulls it out of his pocket, then glances at Regis and lays it facedown on the table. Regis beams at him.
“Okay,” Noctis says, sitting back. “This is getting kinda creepy.”
Regis laughs. “What, a father can’t enjoy a nice meal with his son?”
Noctis squints at him, and Regis can’t help it--his eyes drift to Noctis’ phone where it’s buzzing so hard it nearly falls off the table. Noctis snatches it up and unlocks it.
Regis leans his chin on his hands and waits.
It takes a second or two and Regis can track how much he knows by how pale his face gets, and then he jerks upright and hisses “ Daaaaaad!”
“Yes, son?” Regis asks, fingering the butter knife he’s palmed. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough for a quick warp out of the room.
“Dad, no!”
“If you don’t want me taking unflattering pictures, you could always try posing with me,” Regis offers, and Noctis flushes a splotchy red and stands up. “Social media is important,” Regis says, backing off. “It’s time the people got to see that the royal family are just people too, you know?”
Noct scowls at him, still standing, and Regis offers his phone. “You want to take the next few?”
Apparently Noctis does; he grabs the phone and opens the camera, pointing it towards Regis. Regis lets him and proceeds to mug wildly for the camera, pulling faces and throwing the peace sign.
It may not make for good pictures, but it does wonders for Noct’s mood. He goes from sullen to suppressing laughter, and finally, when Regis waggles his eyebrows, he gives up and laughs.
“Okay, okay,” he says, and scrolls through the photos, tapping and probably posting one of the pictures. Regis doesn’t try for the phone, though, just waits, and he’s rewarded when Noctis looks up at him and smiles. “What next?”
Time seems to fly that afternoon as they tear through the palace, causing havoc and taking pictures of it all. Regis abuses his warping powers but Noct is right behind him.
The last picture to go up on the official King of Lucis twitter account that day is a selfie, snapped midair, of the Royal Family of Lucis. The city is spread out below and behind them, painted by sunset, and they’re wearing the exact same smile, and the caption is Like father like son. Love ya, fam! King Regis out~