Living with Noctis in a tiny shared dorm meant late-night ramen, stealing each other’s hoodies, and unspoken tension so thick it could choke a room.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your shared room, needle glinting under the harsh dorm light, while Noctis sat in front of you—knees bent, hoodie pulled over his head, black sweatpants riding low on his hips. Calm. Still. Too still.

“You don’t have to do this,” you muttered, hands trembling just slightly as you disinfected the area on his nose.

“I trust you,” he said simply, voice quiet but sure.

You didn’t look at him, because when you did, your heart did the dumbest gymnastics. His face was too close, his skin too smooth, and you could feel the heat coming off him. Every time your fingers brushed his cheek, he didn’t flinch. He leaned into it.

You swallowed. “It’s gonna sting.”

“I can take it.”

Of course he could. He was composed. Calm. So different from you—sitting there, trying not to hyperventilate because he was watching you with those eyes, all patient and unreadable.

When you finally pierced through the skin, he barely reacted. Just exhaled slow and deep, his breath brushing your wrist.

“…Done,” you whispered, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands still cupping his face.

He looked up, silver-blue eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips, then back again. “That wasn’t so bad,” he murmured. “You’re good at this.”

“Yeah?” you said, trying to sound casual. You weren’t casual. You were a puddle of feelings.

Noctis didn’t move away.

“Wanna do the other side?” he asked, voice low and teasing—barely.

You blinked. “...You want another piercing?”

“No,” he said softly. “I just wanna keep sitting this close to you.”