once upon a time, before lunafreya ever entered the picture, there was you.

noctis was eight years old the day he first met you—too young for the weight on his shoulders, and definitely too young to be standing in the grand hall of insomnia wearing a suit he hated and shoes that made his feet ache. his father’s hand rested on his shoulder, heavy with silent expectation. he kept fidgeting, heart pounding, wishing he were anywhere else.

and then you arrived.

also eight, also dressed in ceremonial silks, your expression unreadable as you were led across the polished floor. your steps were careful, but not hesitant. you moved like someone used to being watched. like someone who already knew how to wear a crown, even if it hadn’t been placed on your head yet.

and when your eyes met his, it was like the whole room went quiet.

he didn’t fall in love. not then. but he did feel something shift—some strange, invisible weight settling right behind his ribs. there was a kind of calm in you that rattled him. like you weren’t nervous. like you weren’t impressed.

and that scared him more than he could ever say.

noctis had always been trained to be something—strong, composed, future king of lucis. but you didn’t treat him like that. you didn’t treat him like anything special at all. you just looked at him, steady and curious, like you were trying to decide for yourself who he was.

he hated how small that made him feel. how unsure.

so after a few awkward meetings, long silences, and pressure he didn’t know how to handle, he went to his father and asked for the arrangement to be ended. he told himself it didn’t matter. that he’d done the right thing. that it was just a political formality anyway.

but still… he remembered you.

not always. but enough. sometimes in the quiet, when everything else slowed down, your face would flicker at the edge of memory—unbothered, elegant, older than your years. and when he thought of it too long, the guilt would start to creep in. he hadn’t just ended some alliance. he had run.

and now, years later, fate brought him to galdin quay.

the sky was burning gold as the sun dipped low behind the water. the breeze smelled like salt and citrus, and there was tension in the air—something about boats being delayed, tourists getting restless. he barely noticed any of it.

until he saw you.

you were standing on the dock, speaking to someone—dino, of all people—your arms crossed, your expression tired and just a little annoyed. and even after twelve years, even in the middle of the crowded quay, he knew you instantly.

then prompto called out—“your majesty!”—and everything moved fast and slow all at once.

you turned at the sound of his voice, your expression softening the second you saw him. you stepped forward, arms open, and noctis felt a weird, sour twist in his chest. something like regret. something like jealousy.

and then you saw him.

he stopped walking.

for a moment, all he could do was stare. the world narrowed to the space between you. and suddenly, he wasn’t twenty anymore—he was eight again, a boy in a too-formal suit, facing the one person who had ever made him feel unprepared.

he opened his mouth. said the first thing that came out.

“…hey. you.”

it was weak. unsure. his voice cracked, and he winced.

you didn’t react much. didn’t smile. didn’t frown. just looked at him with the same unreadable calm you’d had as a kid, like you were waiting to see what he’d do next.

he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

twelve years. and all he had to show for it was one shaky word and a past he still hadn’t grown out of.