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"Alright. Ready to not get your ass kicked today?"
Prompto grins wide, eyes bright as he bounces on the balls of his feet in anticipation. "You bet! Bring it, big guy!"
Cor shakes his head, looking back down at the training dummy he was in the middle of configuring when their voices drew his attention. They've been training every day for the past two weeks, readying Prompto to accompany His Highness to Altissia in two months as part of his official royal retinue, as per His Highness' request.
Thanks to a lost bet with His Majesty—he doesn't know what possessed him to make it in the first place, he's long since learned not to bet with Regis—Cor has spent the last three weeks training the latest batch of new recruits, something that's not typically his job. By some manner of coincidence or the king's goading him into the bet for this purpose, Gladio and Prompto's session takes place right before his, leaving him to set up in the training hall while they practice, and inevitably watching the two of them.
Gladio has been teaching the boy the basics on combat, with a particular focus this past week on how to dodge—with so little time, everyone responsible for his training has agreed that it's more important he learn to defend himself and Noctis, than to attempt to get him skilled at offensive fighting. Prompto isn't the worst at dodging that Cor has seen, especially given the fast-paced crash course he's being put through, but he isn't the best either. He isn't clumsy or unskilled—rather, he lets his nerves get in the way.
It won't serve him well out in the field, and privately Cor is worried. Next week he's slotted to begin teaching the boy how to shoot a gun, as he'd shown the most proficiency with them in the weapons test, and he hopes Prompto shows more promise in that. If he can't reasonably convince people he's capable of protecting himself and Noctis, he won't be allowed to accompany His Highness, and Cor doesn't want to deal with the bratty sulking from the prince as a result if that becomes the case.
And, truthfully, he doesn't want to see anything happen to the boy. He's not worried about Noctis—Ignis and Gladio are both highly skilled Crownsguard, and more than capable of protecting their prince. But their priority will always be him, and if Prompto is in a situation where they have to put Noctis first, he wants the boy to be confident and skilled enough to survive it.
Setting the now fully configured dummy beside him in the grass—he's outside today, as the Kingsglaive had reserved the hall for an all day drill, likely the same reason the boys are here as well—he glances over to Prompto as he grabs a new dummy. They're going through their usual warm-up routine, stretching to loosen their muscles and get them ready for all the work they'll be doing the next hour. Prompto is eager and relaxed, going through the familiar motions with ease. It's clear he's used to such a routine, and Cor remembers him mentioning during his initial assessment that he went running four miles a day, six days a week.
He'd ran as a one-year old, too. Everywhere he'd went around the small apartment, it was always a run, toddling as fast as his little legs would allow him then. It had made Cor wonder what he'd went through, that he'd felt the need to constantly run. He hadn't yet been told Prompto's story, when the child had been dumped on him by Regis.
"One of our spies rescued him from a facility in Niflheim," His Majesty had said, looking apologetic as he'd held out the squirming baby. "We'll hand him to social services to be put into foster care as soon as we can, but we need to make it safe first. I don't trust him with anyone other than you and Clarus, and Clarus would get too many questions. You're single and live alone. Take some sick days. I'll say I ordered you to."
He'd wanted to say no, but he'd never said no to a serious request from his king before, and Regis had looked so worried. Whatever had caused their spy to break cover and flee with the child, Cor knew it had to be bad. And a few days later, when he'd learned Niflheim had intended to experiment on the child, to somehow use him in an army they were building, and that he'd been branded with a barcode of all things—well, he was glad he hadn't said no, to say the least.
"Okay, we're gonna start with practicing the same dodges you've been doing the past two days, and then if I feel you're ready, we'll move on to some different dodging," Gladio says, his voice pulling Cor from his thoughts.
"Different dodging?" Prompto asks. He sounds apprehensive, as if he's considering backing out and forgetting this whole thing, and while Cor is pretty sure he won't, he also wouldn't blame the kid if he did. He's getting a lot thrown at him, figuratively and literally, and though Cor knows Ignis made clear to him early on what being friends with the prince would entail, there's no way Prompto could have anticipated anything like this ever happening. No one had. A peace treaty offering from Niflheim is unprecedented, and though Regis has been cagey about it, Cor is certain he's not alone in viewing the upcoming treaty with suspicion.
Gladio shrugs, assuming a fighting stance. "Yeah, kid. We've been doing some basic stuff, dodging punches thrown in your general direction, but you're gonna need to learn to dodge fists coming at your face or other targeted body parts. And feet, and weapons. It's all well and good to be able to throw a punch, but it's useless if you're not in a position that you can."
"Oh." Even from quite a few feet away, Cor can see how suddenly nervous Prompto looks, all the muscles in his back tensing as he hunches his shoulders. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet again, but this time it's quick and jittery, and he's rapidly clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides.
It pains Cor to see it, though he'll never admit it to anyone, least of all Prompto. Not like he can go comfort the boy. When Regis had left the kid with him, he'd thought there was no chance of him getting attached. A wife and children had never been on his radar—he's always preferred the single life, even when Regis and Clarus teased him about it. But work has always come first for him, and other people don't neatly fit into that.
So when Prompto was dropped in his lap, he'd figured he'd do his duty in taking care of the kid for a week, based on his limited experience in helping out with baby Noctis from time to time, and then send him on his way to social services and never think about him again. He'd had no reason to get attached. The kid was a stranger, and he'd always been awkward around small children.
And yet, somehow, Prompto had wormed his way into Cor's heart. Even before he'd learned the full truth of his rescue. The boy was just so affectionate, and needy, but not in a bad way. He'd constantly wanted to be picked up and held, and hugged, and cuddled. And with him being raised in a facility with frequently rotating caretakers, it was easy to understand why he wanted so much attention, but what Cor still doesn't understand is how easily that had gotten to him.
He'd missed Prompto once the boy was gone. Had missed seeing him run around the apartment touching everything curiously, and holding his arms out saying "Uh!" when he wanted to be held, and hearing him shriek with laughter when Cor got bold enough to tickle him. He'd been such a happy toddler, unlike the fussy Noctis, and it had felt nice to have some life in the apartment for once. Even when he'd wake crying and frightened in the middle of the night, Cor hadn't minded—he'd simply held him, rocking him and soothing him as best as he could until Prompto calmed and went back to sleep. The absence of that had made his apartment feel so empty.
It's the reason he's kept tabs on the boy over the years, despite telling himself he wouldn't. But he couldn't let it go. He'd simply needed to know from time to time that Prompto was okay. He'd never expected the boy to befriend Prince Noctis of all people, even knowing they'd wound up in the same private school. It's made it easier to keep an eye on him, especially when he's had to shuttle the two boys here and there for special events and act as extra security for Noctis, but it's also made the weird protective fondness he's felt for Prompto grow even more.
He cringes at the idea of referring to those feelings as parental, but he's not stupid enough to deny the truth to himself. Prompto has a dad, though, if somewhat of an absent one from what he's seen, and he may not feel like he needs another. And he's unaware of Cor's involvement in his adoption as a baby. He won't remember that week in Cor's care. He can't scare the kid by acting all protective—all parental—out of nowhere.
So he keeps his mouth shut, and hopes that somehow Prompto will find his confidence by the end of his training, at least enough to keep himself alive when he accompanies Noctis to Altissia, if anything does happen to go sideways.
He watches the boys out of the corners of his eyes as he continues to configure the electronic dummies, utterly bored by the tedium of it. It's been over a good twenty years since he's last had to train new recruits—since shortly before His Highness was born—and he doesn't miss it at all. But Julian is on a forcible vacation for the foreseeable future after having a public breakdown, and his usual backup has been out for three months recovering from surgery. And with everything going on with the treaty, there's been no one else. Another reason Cor suspects that Regis put him up to that bet, because the king knows he wouldn't have agreed on his own. All the whispering and quiet awe at being taught by "the Immortal" grates on his nerves.
Prompto and Gladio practice for about twenty minutes, and Cor is pleased to see that Prompto is improving despite his nerves—it's just slowly. Too slowly, unfortunately, with the little time they have, but rushing him even more than they already are isn't going to help. He's holding up well under all the current pressure, and Cor doesn't want to find his breaking point.
"Alright, good," Gladio says after a particularly well-timed dodge. "Think you're gettin' the hang of it. We should move on, you're ready to learn some new things."
"So soon?" Prompto asks with a nervous laugh. He tries to cover it with a cough, but Gladio raises his eyebrows.
"You changin' your mind about this? You don't have to do this, you know. Just 'cause Noct is the prince doesn't mean he can always get his way. He can't force you into accompanying him if you'd rather not."
"No!" The vehemence in Prompto's voice surprises even Cor, and he lowers the last dummy to his lap to watch the exchange for a minute. "Noct is my best friend, and I promised him I was gonna go with him. I want to go. I mean, he's getting married!"
"Prompto—" Gladio starts, but Prompto's not finished, and keeps on going right over him.
"And he's not a commoner like me, this is gonna be for life, and I can't just not be there, ya know? Come on, big guy, you know him well enough to know he's not as cool with this as he's pretending. What kind of best friend would I be if I don't even make an effort to go and support him? Noct isn't forcing me into this, and I'm not backing out of it."
There's silence for a moment, and then Gladio nods, reaching a hand out to clap Prompto's shoulder, squeezing it briefly. "Alright," he says, firm approval in his tone. "You're not backing out. You want to do this. Show me, then. Start approaching this training with some confidence. I know you can do this, you've got the skills, but make me believe that you believe you can do this. Nerves are normal, we all have 'em, even me, but you gotta learn to hide them. The last thing you want is an enemy sensing your fear and using it against you."
"Right. Makes sense." Prompto nods back, straightening up. "Okay then, let's do this!"
Gladio laughs, dropping his hand and stepping away as he assumes an offensive stance. "That's the spirit. Okay. So this is what you're gonna want to do."
Raising the dummy again, Cor tunes out the explanation as he resumes his programming, relieved it's the last one. He's glad to see Prompto take to Gladio's words so well, instead of becoming an even bigger bundle of nerves. If Gladio weren't already Noct's Shield, he'd be a good candidate for an instructor. Cor has never seen someone get motivated so fast. Their already existing dynamic likely plays into it, but even then Gladio had still found a way to word things to get right at the heart of the problem without making Prompto feel terrible. Cor will have to remember that next week when he begins training the boy, in case he needs to make a similar speech.
Though, given Prompto's impromptu little speech, he suspects it won't be as much of a problem as he'd first thought. The boy's got nerves, but he also has a lot more determination than Cor had realised. When Prompto had first come to him, he'd been a happy, outgoing toddler. He hadn't been neglected at the Niflheim facility, even if he hadn't been given much genuine love or affection. He'd been curious about his new world in Cor's apartment, and all the things in it, exploring them eagerly with no hint of fear or unease.
But over the years, he'd watched from afar as that friendly toddler grew into a shy, quiet little boy who didn't make friends and was afraid to speak up. He didn't stalk the child, he'd never physically sought Prompto out, so he doesn't know what caused that, but he'd seen him most days when picking up Noctis from primary school, before that became someone else's duty. He'd always looked so unhappy and alone, standing there waiting on parents that frequently seemed to be late, and when Cor would inquire of a mutual friend that knew the Argentums, they would confirm the boy's insecure and loner nature.
What changed, Cor doesn't know, because to hear everyone tell it, Prompto was the one to approach Noctis and befriend him rather than the other way around. It doesn't mesh with everything Cor had seen and heard of the boy prior to that friendship. But the first time he'd had to pick the two of them up and 'officially' met Prompto, he'd witnessed it himself—an outgoing, friendly teenage boy who was easily excited and once again curious about the world around him and eager to explore it. The same way he'd been as a toddler.
Only, it wasn't quite the same, because Cor could pick up on the hints of insecurity that still lurked within him, just beneath the surface and occasionally breaking free through the self-deprecating remarks Prompto would make, or the extra reassurance he would seek in the form of a question. If Cor never has to hear "Are you sure this is okay, Noct? For me?" again, it'll still be too soon.
"Alright, let's give it a shot," Gladio says. "Remember, if you forget what you're supposed to do, move out of the way however you can. I'll be pulling my punches, but I'd still rather not hit you. And in a real battle, not moving at all is usually the worst thing to do."
"Right. 'Cause not moving means getting hit," Prompto says. He's hiding it better now, but he's still nervous, Cor notes as he nears them with a dummy in hand to start setting up close by. Still bouncing on the balls of his feet, still talking a little too rapidly. But if Gladio keeps building him up the way he had earlier, the kid'll be fine.
At least he hopes.
"Exactly," Gladio agrees, and then swings.
Cor had expected it, but it's clear Prompto hadn't—his eyes widen for a split second, and he dodges the completely wrong way, stumbling to the side as his balance falters. Then, to Cor's complete surprise, he brings his own fist out, swinging it wildly in Gladio's direction without looking.
Gladio is prepared, and dodges it easily, but unfortunately it throws Prompto even more off balance—he'd put real force behind the punch, and was clearly expecting to hit something, but when he doesn't there's nowhere for that force to go, and the momentum combined with unsteady footing has him falling face-first towards the ground.
He manages to break the fall with his hands and knees, landing heavily on them both, his momentum causing him to scrape forward against the ground a little, but he doesn't cry out or make any noise other than an initial pained grunt. As cold as it may seem to others, the lack of reaction is good—showing pain is showing vulnerability, and that's not something that can be afforded in battle.
Still, Cor's first urge is to rush over to him and check him out for any injuries, and it's a surprisingly hard instinct to suppress. Regis would never stop laughing if he knew. He's been teasing Cor about being Prompto's second dad for years. Cor's never let on how much he really wishes that could be true, even if there's still some discomfort in the idea.
"Shit! Prompto, you okay?" Gladio drops to his own knees beside Prompto, reaching his hand out to help the boy sit back on his haunches. "You weren't supposed to come at me like that."
"I know." Prompto looks miserable, eyes downcast and shoulders drooping as he wipes the palms of his hands against his shirt, trying to knock the dirt and grass off. He winces, and then studies them for a moment, grimacing. Cor's in the wrong position to see, but with a fall like that, they're probably scratched pretty good. The ground out here is rocky and unforgiving.
"Hey. It's cool. It's not a bad thing that your first instinct is to fight. We can work with that later, turn it into something you can use. You injured?"
Prompto shrugs, and looks up at Gladio, trying for a smile. It's small, but genuine. Cor is glad to see it—he must not be too badly hurt. "Just my hands, I think. Didn't even rip my pants any. It's only a few scratches. I'm good to keep going."
"You sure? No shame in taking a break."
"Nah, I'm okay, big guy. Can't take a break in the middle of a battle, right? Let's try again!"
Getting to his feet, Gladio nods, offering his arm to help Prompto up. "Good attitude."
Satisfied that the boy is okay, Cor turns and goes back over to his pile of configured dummies, grabbing two more to set up. He hates using them, but he can't offer the personalised sort of training that Gladio is giving Prompto. There are too many recruits and only one of him.
And they're not a bad method. They're the best electronic training dummies money can buy, built to withstand the strongest of idiot recruits and highly programmable for a number of situations, but today he'll be using them for reaction time training. Something that Prompto could probably use, if only there were more time.
When he's done lugging the two dummies over and setting them up alongside the first, he glances at the boy again, wanting to ascertain once more that he really is fine after such a hard fall. He's in the middle of trying to dodge a punch to the face again, an exaggerated, slow one so that Gladio can pace him through the proper movements.
He looks okay, and Cor is about to move away for more dummies, but then Gladio turns, not looking at him as Prompto steps back, and his face screws up in an unmistakable expression of pain. It's brief, flashing across his face for only a second, but the absent way Prompto stretches his hand towards his right knee before pulling back as Gladio looks at him again has Cor positive he didn't imagine it. The kid is hurt, and for whatever reason, he's hiding it.
It's dumb, and Cor is tempted to call him out on it right now and drop a lecture he won't forget on him, but for reasons he's reluctant to examine, he hesitates. He'd never let a recruit get away with it—your team or partner can't have your back as effectively if they don't know you're injured, nor can they help you, among a myriad of other issues—but Prompto technically isn't a recruit, and he's seen how hard the boy has tried to fit in amongst Noct's two other friends over the years. He struggles with being a commoner amongst a group of royalty, and Cor doesn't want to make that worse for him.
So he keeps his mouth shut for the last twenty minutes of their training, and winces with sympathy every time Prompto stumbles or missteps due to the pain. He covers it with his usual self-deprecating jokes, all smiles and laughter every time he screws up, acting like it's no big deal, and Gladio seems to buy it, not suspecting that the boy is hiding anything.
He does call it early, by only a few minutes, and they go through their cool down stretches and then say their goodbyes before parting ways. Prompto only takes a few steps before pulling out his phone to start typing a text, and Cor waits until Gladio is halfway across the field before he calls out to the boy. "Argentum. Come here a minute."
Prompto glances up from his phone, blinking, eyes darting about nervously for a few seconds before settling on Cor. "Me?"
Cor looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "You see any other Argentums around here?"
"Haa, right," Prompto says with a little laugh. "Uh, sorry. You needed something, sir?"
"Cor is fine," he says, shaking his head as Prompto walks over. If they're going to be training together soon, he wants the kid to be comfortable around him—he's still a little awed by the 'Immortal' moniker, even after five years, and Cor would prefer to be well past that. "You got anywhere you need to be next?"
"Um. No, sir. Cor. Sir. Nowhere to be! Not for the next hour, anyway, it's my free hour to grab food 'cause nutrition's important and then I'm supposed to be training again, not with Gladio this time but—"
"Alright, Argentum, I get it. You're free for the next hour, that's all I need. Care to accompany me? I could use your help with something." He doesn't need help with anything, but he doesn't have a first aid kit out here, and if he brings it up now, Prompto is likely to brush it off and leave and not properly take care of whatever injuries he has. And he'd still like to lecture the boy on the foolishness of hiding those injuries.
The only issue is that he can't leave the training dummies out here unsupervised and potentially at risk of theft, but a quick text to Gladio should take care of that problem. He has nowhere specific to be at this time either, and even if he gripes about it, he won't go against Cor's direct orders.
Prompto doesn't question what he needs help with. He simply nods agreeably, and falls into step slightly behind Cor as he begins heading towards the palace. Cor slows his own steps, to bring him side-by-side with the boy. Prompto tries to slow his steps again, clearly feeling like he doesn't belong next to him, but Cor matches his pace until the kid gives up.
He debates where exactly to go once he's in the palace—normally he'd head for the training hall, as the locker room stays equipped with plenty of first aid supplies, but the Kingsglaive still have it reserved, and their presence will be viewed as an unwelcome interruption, however brief. Not to mention probably unnerve Prompto too much to stick around. The hospital wing will likely similarly unnerve him, and there's little privacy there besides.
In the end he decides to bring the boy to his office, and hopes that won't scare him off. They've never really had much one-on-one interaction beyond Noctis running ahead to something and leaving the two of them alone for a minute before running back in excitement and tugging Prompto along.
"Is it okay to leave those things behind?" Prompto asks suddenly, jerking his thumb back towards the dummies and yanking Cor from his thoughts.
"Ah. I meant to text Gladio about them. Thank you, Argentum."
"Uh. Yeah. Sure. No problem, si—Cor." His face reddens, and he puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it, and Cor kindly chooses to focus on his phone.
"Um. So. You're training me next week, right?"
Message sent, he puts his phone away, glancing to the side at Prompto. "Correct. Weapons training. I'll be teaching you to use a gun, as you seemed the most comfortable with that during your assessment."
"Yeah." Prompto lets out a nervous laugh. "I kinda sucked with all the swords and stuff, huh? Noct loves 'em, but I don't like fighting that close. Not that I've ever fought before, or anything! But I've watched Noct train, and—an' it seems like so much could go wrong, ya know?"
"It can," he agrees. "However, there's plenty that could go wrong with fighting from a distance, as well. It's something I intend to go over with you during your training. And depending on how quickly you pick up using a gun, I may teach you some basics about small swords or daggers, just for you to have as backup. It's never good to rely on a single weapon."
"Is—Do you think—Am I really gonna have to kill someone?" Prompto blurts out.
Cor halts, looking at him with no small amount of sympathy. He hasn't given this any consideration yet, but he's not surprised the boy has been struggling with that idea—he hasn't been raised up in such a mindset the way Noctis or Gladio or even Ignis have. And from what he's seen, Prompto is such a kindhearted soul that even killing the spiders he doesn't like upsets him. The thought of deliberately taking a life, especially a human one, must be weighing heavily on him.
"Ideally, no. If all goes according to plan, you'll simply accompany His Highness to Galdin Quay in the Regalia and then board the ferry to Altissia, where you'll meet up with Lady Lunafreya and carry on with the planned wedding," Cor tells him, keeping his voice solemn and steady. "But there's always a risk for things to go wrong, and in that case you'll need to be capable of defending both yourself and Prince Noctis, whichever the situation calls for. And if that means taking a life, whether it be human or beast or daemon, you must do it. There's no room for faltering or second-guessing—that can get you or His Highness killed."
Prompto swallows, a mix of fear and determination in his eyes. "I won't let Noct get killed. I swear it, sir."
"Good. See that you don't. And you're to come back alive as well. That's an order, Argentum."
The boy falls silent at that, and Cor is content to let him keep it, walking without conversation until they reach the palace. Prompto shows his ID to the guards, as they don't yet recognise him, and then follows him through the winding corridors to his office. He shuts the door mostly behind him, but doesn't latch it—he doesn't want the boy to feel shut in or trapped.
"Take a seat," he says, nodding to the chair behind his desk, and Prompto does hesitantly, easing himself down, clearly favouring his right knee. He swivels the chair around and watches as Cor begins to rummage in one of the tall cabinets behind the desk.
It takes a couple minutes, as it's been several months since he's last needed it, but eventually he emerges triumphant, first aid kit in hand, and turns to face Prompto. The boy eyes the kit, face going red again. "I—I'm not—I don't need—" but shuts his mouth at the look Cor gives him. "It's not that bad," he mutters.
"Maybe not," Cor agrees, "but it's a mistake to hide it." The boy frowns, and he can see the protest already forming, so he goes on before Prompto can voice it. "If you do get into a battle, you'll need to be working in tandem with the other three. If they ask you to do something that you're not capable of due to an injury, and you attempt it anyways and fail, you put all four of your lives at risk.
"Furthermore, pushing yourself to work through an injury when you don't have to is reckless and stupid. Not only will you be distracted in battle from the pain, often it will worsen the injury, and make it that much harder to heal later. And if it worsens to the point where you're unable to fight, you not only leave the others a man down, but you become a liability yourself."
"I didn't think of it like that," Prompto admits, his voice small as he looks down at his lap.
Doing his best to gentle his voice, Cor crouches down in front of him, reaching for the right leg of his pants to begin carefully rolling it up. "I know. I didn't expect you to. You're new to this. You haven't been raised with a regiment of training for the majority of your life. You've never had all this drilled into you the way your friends have. But that's why I'm telling you now, so that you do know, and can act accordingly in the future."
"I just... I didn't wanna make a big deal of it. It didn't seem like a big deal. I mean, I think maybe it was bleeding, but I've had worse. Way worse. And no one's ever really—"
He pauses and glances up as Prompto cuts himself off abruptly, clamping his mouth shut. He waits, but the kid doesn't go on, so he finishes rolling up the leg, pulling it above his knee and inspecting the injury. It was bleeding, a pretty nasty scrape covered in blood that's now dried and crusted. "No one's ever really noticed?" he asks, guessing at the rest of the sentence.
Prompto swallows, loudly enough to make Cor glance up at him again, and he's surprised to find tears rimming the kid's eyes, ones that he does his best to blink back once he realises Cor is looking. "Cared before," he says softly, clenching his fists in his lap as he drops his eyes.
Well. Cor can't say he's ever really felt his heart breaking before, but the tug he feels at those two words can't be anything else. With all the worrying he's done over him lately, he's pretty sure this kid is gonna be the death of him one day, and he wonders if this is what being a parent feels like. It's on the tip of his tongue to say I care, but that would be weird for both of them.
"Your friends care," he says instead, as he pops open the first aid kit and starts pulling out the supplies he'll need. "I know none of them would be happy to see you hurt." He expects some sort of response to that, but Prompto says nothing, continuing to squeeze his hands tightly, and then realisation hits. "Ah. That's the problem."
"I don't want them to worry about me. They shouldn't have to. There's so much other stuff to worry about, and I know Noct's scared about everything that's changing, and Gladio and Iggy are doin' so much already with training me and I shouldn't even be going on this trip with them 'cause I'm just a commoner and I'm not worth—"
"Breathe, Prompto," Cor says firmly, interrupting the increasingly panicked spiel that's devolving into yet more painful self-deprecation. He doesn't know who took away this child's sense of self-worth, whether it was his absent parents or kids at school or someone else entirely, but he'd like to find them and make them feel as small and unloved and worthless as Prompto clearly feels about himself.
To his surprise the kid does breathe, steady, deliberate breaths that tell Cor it's not his first time through a panic attack. He has no idea what to do with the feeling, but he finds himself aching to hold the boy in a tight hug the same way he'd done for a frightened toddler in the middle of the night.
"Sorry," Prompto eventually offers, when he's calm again. "Um. That hasn't happened in a couple years."
"It's quite alright," Cor tells him, relieved to have something to focus on other than his growing parental streak that leaves him out of his depth and floundering. "I've had a panic attack or two myself in my lifetime. I know how they can be."
"You?" Prompto squeaks, and then flushes. "Sorry sir, I mean, Cor! Sir. Cor. Erm. It's just, you seem too, um—"
"Inhuman?" he asks dryly, well used to hearing such things.
"No!" The ferocity of the response startles him, and he stops in the middle of tearing open an antiseptic wipe, looking up at the boy with a stunned expression that's unlike him. "No. You're human. I know—I hear people say stuff about it, that you can't possibly be, but, but that's stupid! You're as human as me, or Noct, or, or anybody else! Screw what other people say!"
Well. This kid just continues to surprise him. "I didn't realise you felt so strongly about me," he says, careful to keep his voice neutral. He finishes tearing open the wipe, pulling it out and bringing it to Prompto's knee. He does his best to be gentle, but the boy still flinches at the first touch of it to the wound. "Sorry," he murmurs.
"'S'fine. Just stings. Knew it would." He stays quiet as Cor continues to clean the wound, working to get all the blood off, and any other dirt or debris that may have wormed its way in. He doesn't speak back up until after Cor's applied an antibiotic ointment and gauze pad, and has started winding a roll of gauze around his knee. "I know what you did."
Cor frowns, glancing up at him with raised eyebrows. Prompto's gazing steadily back at him, an uncharacteristic solemn look on his face. "Pardon?" He has no idea what the boy is on about.
"For me. When I was little."
At those words, he stills, his heart suddenly racing. How in Bahamut's blazing balls does the kid know that? It's not common knowledge, and not something he ever wanted Prompto to know—he doesn't want the boy to feel awkward around him, or obligated to act in a certain manner towards him. "What is it you think you know?"
"You took care of me. For a week when I was one, before my parents adopted me. My mom told me a few years ago, when I mentioned you once." The calm facade dissolves, replaced by a sudden nervousness. "She—she wasn't wrong, was she?"
Cor shakes his head, finishing with the last of the gauze and securing it with a piece of tape. "She wasn't wrong. I did take care of you." He can only surmise the social worker who'd taken the boy into foster care must have told the Argentums about him. He'd had to meet with her that once, to hand Prompto over.
If that's what happened, he's not happy with it, but there's nothing he can do to change it. He's still trying to get over the shock of Prompto knowing, anyway, but the kid doesn't seem mad about it. He's not yelling at Cor for never telling him, or demanding to know why Cor didn't just keep him, which has always been two of his biggest fears over Prompto finding out.
"Anyone who can take care of a baby they don't even know for a whole week has to be human in my book," Prompto says, offering him a small smile.
"I suppose so," he agrees, rolling the boy's pants leg back down before he begins putting all the unused supplies back in the kit, and gathering the trash to be thrown away in the can beside his desk. His heart is finally starting to slow its frantic pounding as his brain begins to accept that Prompto has known for years, and is okay with it. "Did you... have any questions about that week?"
Prompto starts to shake his head, but then stops, and blurts out, "Why did you have to take care of me? What happened that I had to be adopted? My parents always say they don't know."
"I'm afraid I don't know either," Cor lies, and then nearly winces at how dejected the boy gets at those words. "His Majesty brought you to me and said you'd been rescued from a dangerous situation," he says, offering a partial truth. It feels safe enough—there's no chance of Prompto ever talking to Regis for the full story. "He asked me to look after you for a few days until other arrangements could be sorted out. I agreed. I never learned anything beyond that."
"His—The king did?" Prompto is squeaking again, his cheeks as red as a tomato, and Cor tries to stop finding it endearing. He doesn't know how to be any kind of father figure, and he's content with his life as it is. He shouldn't want something to come of this unexpected conversation. "Wow, that's—Wow."
"Indeed."
Prompto laughs, and then gives him a grin. "You sounded like Ignis just now."
"Where do you think he learned it from?"
The grin widens as Cor takes a seat in his other chair, rolling it around the desk to be on the same side as the boy. Now that his injury is all patched up, he half-expects the boy to get up and take his leave, but Prompto seems happy to sit there, swivelling back and forth in the chair occasionally. It's... nice. It reminds him of the rare moments he would be relatively still as a toddler, sitting in his lap while Cor read the paper or watched television, instead of zooming around the apartment.
"Cor?"
"Yes?"
"What I was gonna say before. About the panic attacks. Um. Just. You seemed too—too cool to have them, that's all. You're so... um, put together, ya know? Like, I'm a mess, so of course I have them, but you're not a mess, so..."
Cor smiles at him. A genuine one, and he can't remember the last time he's done that. It feels strange, but also right. "I appreciate the compliment. But I was young once too, you realise. Despite any rumours you may have heard, there was a time when I was also 'a mess,' as you said."
"Oh." Prompto blinks at him. "You think I...?"
"You're only twenty, kid. You've still got plenty of time to figure this life thing out. You won't always feel like a mess."
"I hope you're right..."
"Trust me," Cor assures him.
Prompto nods, falling silent again, still swivelling. Cor pulls out his phone, discreetly checking the time. His training session with the new recruits started five minutes ago. He's not worried, though—Gladio can handle it until he's ready to get there.
"My parents," Prompto says suddenly.
"What about them?"
"They weren't around much when I was growing up—and it's okay!" he adds quickly, though his tone makes it clear that it's not okay. Cor can feel a scowl forming, but he tries to keep it off his face. He doesn't want the boy to change his mind about whatever he's trying to say.
"They had to work to afford to take care of me and stuff, I get it," Prompto goes on. "They still love me, even if they can't always be there. It's just, sometimes—sometimes I wished—I wished maybe I had other parents. That were home before dark every day. That could take care of me. Help me with homework, and make me dinner, and tuck me into bed at night, and—and patch up my injuries when I got hurt."
He doesn't understand, at first, why exactly Prompto is telling him this. He appreciates that the kid feels comfortable around him already to be this open, to be able to admit to wishing for better parents that had cared for him—and then it hits him. Oh. Oh.
His heart gives an odd flutter, one he's not accustomed to. He half thinks that maybe he's merely reading into what Prompto is saying, hearing something that he wants to be true, but when he looks at the boy, he knows he's not. Prompto's red all over again, his head down, studying his lap intently, fingers on one hand picking nervously at the nails on the other, and he's stopped swivelling. Cor knows from all the times driving him and Noctis around that he only goes that still when he's deeply embarrassed or afraid.
He doesn't know how to handle this. It seems that Prompto is asking him, albeit in a roundabout way, if he can consider Cor a father of sorts. And though he's spent many years denying it, he's longed for that ever since he handed off a young Prompto to the social service worker. He likes his single life, and he's never felt the need for a wife and kids. But Prompto—for nineteen years, he's felt the need to have Prompto in his life.
And now it seems he's being given the chance to have just that, and he's terrified of screwing it up.
"You said before," he starts slowly, feeling his way around the words, trying to somehow find the right thing to say, "that when you've been hurt in the past, no one's cared."
Prompto nods, still not daring to look at him.
"I care," Cor tells him, stubbornly ignoring how awkward he feels. It's worth it, though, when the boy finally looks up, cautiously meeting his gaze, hope dawning on his face. "If you ever need an injury patched up in the future, you are more than welcome to come to me. I'll always be available to help you."
"Yeah? That—I'd like that," Prompto admits.
"And if you have worries that you are unwilling to burden His Highness with, I'm willing to listen. At any time. I can even give you my number, if you'd like," he offers, hoping that he isn't going too far.
That gets him a tiny, tentative smile. "That would be nice." Prompto pulls out his phone, turning on the lock screen, and then his eyes widen as he catches sight of the time. "Oh no! Your lesson! You're late! Because of me, because I got hurt, I kept you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"
"Prompto," Cor says firmly, using his voice to get the kid to calm down. "I'm well aware of the time. I stayed because I wanted to. I have my priorities in the order I want them to be."
Prompto squeaks again, a wordless noise this time.
"Here." He holds out his hand for the phone, and Prompto hands it over to him. Quickly he finds the contacts and then inputs his number. He hesitates for a second over the name—the foolish, sentimental part of him that's been overwhelmed by the morning's recollections and conversations has him wanting to put 'Dad' there, but he's sure they'd never be able to look at each other again if he did—before simply putting 'Cor,' and then hands the phone back.
"Thanks. Um. I'll text you in a bit so you can have my number. Do you text? Is that okay?"
"Yes, I text. One has to, in order to keep up with His Majesty," Cor says. "You may text me, it's fine. Now, as much as I don't want to, I believe I have a lesson to get to, and you would do well to get some lunch before your next lesson."
Shoving his phone back in his pocket, Prompto stands, careful of his injured knee. "Yeah. I am hungry. And there's a new food truck around the corner from the Citadel that just opened up last week, it has the most amazing meat and vegetable skewers, they put some kinda sauce on them that tastes incredible, you should try them sometime—"
"Prompto." He waits until the boy falls silent, looking at him. "They sound good. Perhaps I can come with you next week to try some, after our weapons training."
"Yeah? Yeah! Okay! I'll tell you the best one to get, you'll love them, just wait! Um, but I guess you gotta go now, huh?"
"I do." He wishes he didn't, truly. He's missed nineteen years, and he wants to stay and make up for it. But there will be time. The future stretches ahead of them, bright and eager.
"Okay. Um." Prompto smiles at him, fleeting but less hesitant this time. "Thanks. For, you know, helping me, and—everything."
Cor returns the smile. He figures he might as well get used to it—he suspects he's going to be doing it a lot from now on. "You're welcome. Go eat, Prompto."
"Yeah!" Prompto heads to the door, still mindful of his knee, and pulls it open, pausing halfway through it and turning back towards Cor. "Just so we're clear, you did just agree to be like a second dad to me, right?"
"Prompto." He can feel his face burning, mortification rushing over him. He didn't think the kid was going to have the balls to say it. Especially when he can't bring himself to. "Yes. Now go on, before I change my mind."
"'K!" Prompto starts to leave again, but Cor knows him well enough, and waits. It doesn't take long, only two steps down the hall before he falters again. "Cor?"
"I won't change my mind, kid. Promise."
"Good. Bye, Dad!"
"Argentum!" His face is burning hotter now, and he can hear Prompto's laughter echoing all the way down the hall, fading as he gets further away, but really, he doesn't mind. It's confusing and awkward and a little embarrassing, but it's also nice.
Dad. He could get used to that.