freshprints | IC Inbox

You're not wrong. That cup was so sweet I thought my teeth would rot.

If you can't figure it out for yourself, then I'm not going to do it for you. 😉

i'll have u know
that i have all my teeth thx

you can check
when we kiss

Careful. I'm always thorough when I investigate.

guess i should give you a bit of a riddle to solve first, huh? make it worth it?

[It's already worth it that you're cheering up, she almost types, but that would throw off the rhythm of their banter, and that's not something she's willing to sacrifice right now.]

In other words, you're "sweetening the pot"? It seems as though you can't get enough of sweet things.

Let's have the riddle.

guess that's why i can't get enough of you~

how about the riddle of the argentum apartment?

[WELP. Walked right into that one.]

You're incorrigible.

Are you daring me to get past an apartment's security? Or just to locate it to begin with?

no, i'm prompto...
hehe 😊

i don't doubt you could get past security easily but
locating it without many hints would be a feat
right? there's a lot of different buildings

🤭🤭🤭

That sounds like an entertaining challenge. All right. Make it interesting.

ok
you have to find it by midnight tonight
if you do i'll kiss you when you get here

and if you don't
then i get to put ur hair
in the pigtail braids

When you put it like that, it sounds as though you win either way.

Do I need to bring my own brush?

i've got a brush

what do you want then?
if you win
since apparently a kiss isn't enough~

It's not competitive if you don't stand to lose something in return.

...

Do you own a sweatshirt? The kind with a hood.

woah
you wanna wear my clothes~?

( he is...absolutely grinning like an idiot at this. )

i don't have a sweatshirt yet
but i have a long-sleeved shirt
that i wear to bed sometimes
if you want that

...Every time I go in a store, the sales clerks are unhelpful.

I've just been making do with what I have for the moment.

[Is she dodging the question? MAYBE.]

tell you what
since it's my loss
you can go thru what i have
and pick out something you like
fair?

not like i'm gonna lose, but

Hmmm. I suppose we'll see, won't we?

But that seems fair. Braids if I lose, a loan if I win. And a kiss for showing up at all.

may the best genius win~ ✌️

[The funny thing is, she almost loses.

She doesn't lose, mind you, but it comes close. After all, it's not as though Prompto really gave her a lot to go on in terms of tracking him down, but she also isn't the Ultimate Detective for nothing. For example, she knows where he bought their midnight coffee, and so it stands to reason that the shop would fall somewhere between his apartment and the park where they met. It also stands to reason that he probably accepted the state-sanctioned housing the same as she did, which narrows it down to a reasonable area to scour.

What she could do is go break into — or, ahem, visit — the government office and see if they would just provide her with his address outright, but that would be cheating. So would be tracking him by the GPS in his device.

...In other words, if it gets to be 11:45 PM and she hasn't got him yet, then it's any solution goes, but she'd still at least like to work it out on her own merits.

It's 11:13 PM when she finds herself standing in the corridor outside a particular door, a carry-out cup of coffee in one hand and a bakery bag in the other, and rings the bell with her elbow while she idles with bated breath. The doorman had recognized the picture of Prompto that she'd shown him when she'd arrived, and the building directory had made quick work of the task of confirming it.

It's late. Late enough that there was a chance she wouldn't make it. But then, she wouldn't be Kyoko Kirigiri if she hadn't been able to work it out in the end.]

( there's really not enough to do in this apartment--and it's funny, really, that even amidst all the excitement of their journey, all of the wonder about seeing the sights on the road and all the different creatures and cities and food, even, there had been moments where he'd wanted to go back home. there had been times he'd wanted for a nice place to live in, a place to maybe start using film photography, learn how to develop, or maybe even how to cook something more than the menial little tasks that ignis gave him sometimes when he needed an extra set of hands. there's only so much a person can do when they're constantly on the road: and there's a comfort in having a place to call home. he'd always just thought of his friends as home. that's the safe place. not a physical room to store all his belongings.

so now, sure, in this city, he has just that: a single person's apartment, some loft thing that already came with furniture and silverware and everything he could need. he has space, finally, space for himself or for his hobbies, and what does he end up doing? taking up as little of it as possible. he sleeps in the bed, and spends an inordinate amount of time on the balcony looking at the sky, but he doesn't quite have that feeling of home yet. it still feels temporary. and what, he can't play his favorite mobile games here, so what's a guy to do? well: he has some books, and he has people to chat with, and he widdles down the time with that and going through his pictures and tidying up--the horror--but his eyes always go back to the clock.

is she gonna win? or lose? he's prepared to give her hints if she asks, but she doesn't. she takes up nearly the whole amount of time without even a word, and it's nearing midnight, and he thinks maybe he should call her up and tell her where to go. he thinks that, but the doorbell rings and his heart jumps into his throat--he peeks to look out the peep hole, but it's her, unmistakable as ever. and so-- )

How the hell did you do that? ( he says, warm and happy and almost on the verge of laughter, as he draws open the door. he's wearing a pair of black sweatpants, straight leg, and a grey t-shirt that's a few sizes too big on him, the front of it tucked vaguely into the band of his pants. immediately, before he can even hesitate, he leans in, takes her by her elbows, and pecks her a sweet kiss on the cheek; that's not her winning kiss, no, but it's a bonus, and when he draws back he sees her hands are full. ) Come in and tell me all about it, I gotta know how you managed.

( he's also immediately offering, as he leans into the door to hold it open for her-- ) Want me to take that for you?

Oh —

[Dammit, here she is all ready to be cool and slick and brilliant and competent, and one offhand kiss to the cheek later, she's a flustered disaster all over again. So much for being smug! She can't even do anything along the lines of retaliation, not with one hand occupied by the coffee cup and the other keeping track of the bakery bag.

But the good thing is, at least she's gradually getting used to the idea that this sort of casual interest and easy affection is just part of being around Prompto, and that means she in turn is slowly warming up to it herself. It doesn't startle her anymore, which is progress; it also doesn't leave her frantically questioning his motives, which is equally beneficial. She knows why he did it — he did it because that's just who he is and how he acts. That just leaves the usual bashfulness that follows his romanticism, and she's...not entirely sure that's even something she wants to surrender to acclimation, anyway. She sort of likes the fluster, in an odd way.]

The coffee is for you. [Now, here, a flicker of the smugness returns, in the form of a faint gleam in her eyes.] I drank part of it by mistake, but it's the way you like it.

[The bakery bag, when she hands it over, is a little weightier, and more decadent. Tucked away inside a plastic box are a half-dozen profiteroles, glazed with chocolate and chosen probably for the sheer visual aesthetic, courtesy of someone who hasn't had reason or ability to treat herself to French pastries in a very long time.]

Is...it all right, if I stay awhile? Elaborating might take some time, and I know it's late.

Ah? ( the coffee is for him? and she--oh, he has to laugh at that one, a little too loud for the doorway at nearly midnight, and he immediately tempers it down. ) That must have been tough for you, drinking something that's basically hot milk...

( but it makes him happy, and honestly, she even looks happy: pleased with herself, at least, and he thinks that he wouldn't mind losing about a thousand times over if it made her happy like this. so he takes the coffee with one hand, brings it up towards his nose like he wants to confirm that he can smell the creamer more than the roast; the bag he takes with a hand that says he doesn't expect it to be as heavy as it is, but they'll get to that once she's inside and he's opened it up.

with the door open, pressed to his back, he gives a short nod, encouraging her inside with another one of those smiles, giddy and sheepish and just pleased in a way that he's not sure he'd really be able to explain. he wouldn't say he knows kyoko that well, and yet--and yet, there's just something about her that makes him always so damn happy to see her. )

You can stay as long as you want. Can even stay the night, if you sleep.

( that's a tease, as he closes the door once she's inside, shifts the contents of his hands around so that he can lock it. better safe than sorry. )

You wanna sit on the couch? ( hopefully, because he's going to head to the coffee table to set the coffee and the bakery bag down, and start to work it open. )

That's an accurate assessment, I think. Sweetened hot milk with a dash of coffee in it.

[...Okay, so it's not actually that bad but hey, a little light teasing never hurt anyone. Particularly not when the prospect of making that joke was half the reason she took the time to stop for coffee to begin with.

Regardless, once her hands are free, she takes the invitation to trot inside and automatically surveys the layout of the room. It looks a fair amount like her own apartment, she muses as she catalogues windows and exits and hiding places purely out of habit. It's cozy, too, even if the atmosphere feels rather a lot like hers — not really lived-in so much as just inhabited, a shell of a room housing a generic resident. Transient. Impermanent.]

...I might take you up on that. Staying, I mean.

[Mostly, she's calling his bluff and playing among with the teasing, but...one place to sleep isn't all that different from another. She has no significant attachment to her own room. And at least here there's someone else, someone alive.]

No one's expecting me anywhere else, so...

[She offers, by way of explanation, as she moves to the couch and sits.]

( oh. she--might actually stay. it's not like he thought she would refuse; if anything, he figured she might just gently skate around the edges of reasons why it would be better if she didn't. for one, no matter what they may now know about each other, a few things that feel distinctly personal he thinks maybe, they might have traded some coveted secrets, he still might not be sure enough for her to trust him; for another, the apartment only has one bed, not that he won't offer to sleep on the sofa if necessary. hell, he'd sleep on the balcony if he had to, just to make her comfortable, but--that's a hurdle he'll jump, or fall over, once they get to it.

she takes a seat on the sofa and he kneels, instead, by the coffee table, careful so that he can work the bakery bag open and then, with both hands, lift the lid on the plastic box inside. the pastries look incredible, drizzled with chocolate and puffed up with cream, and he knows he's definitely going to have to resist eating too many. either that or he's really going to have to take gladiolus up on his offer for sunrise runs... ugh. )

So you'll stay, and eat dessert, and go into a sugar coma with me in bed, gotcha. ( he's smiling, though, easy as it is, and rather than dive into the dessert himself, he--well, he thinks that maybe she would be more comfortable eating properly, so he gets up, pads to the kitchen, stretches for a small white plate and then returns back only so that he can pick up, with his fingers, one of the cream puffs and set it neatly down for her before he passes the plate over.

he's a heathen, and so he'll eat out of the box, himself. )

Anyway, super detective, how'd you find me? ( he sits cross-legged on the floor so as to be closer to the table--but he's licking his fingers free of the chocolate as he watches her, like she steals his attention more than the promise of the sweet and delicious things inches away. )

In your bed, on the couch, on the floor...I'm not particular about where I fall into my sugar comas.

[This cream puff is going directly into her face. Never mind that it's messy, or that she's still not taking off her gloves, or that the pastry is too big to consume in one bite so she winds up having to try to sink her teeth into just part of it, which makes the cream bulge and the chocolate smudge and remnants streak around her mouth just from trying to make sure it doesn't explode all over his upholstery.

In short, the ultimate cream puff experience. What would be the point if it weren't as messy as it is delicious.

But it gets a soft laugh out of her, too — amusement at her own self-inflicted folly — and she starts trying to catch the smears of chocolate and cream off her face with her tongue because like hell she's going to waste a single bit of her treat by wiping it away on a napkin.]

It wasn't difficult, just complicated. I found the bakery you went to before you met me at the gardens, worked the hunch that you would have visited it on your way there, and retraced to narrow down which area you probably lived in. Then I showed your picture to locals until one of them recognized you. You go on regular runs, so a few people remembered seeing you, and based on the times of day they remember spotting you, I traced back to a few building possibilities, and interviewed the staff of each one until I found you.

[She shrugs a little, looking pleased with herself and smug even despite the chocolate smudge on her cheek.]

Like I said. Not hard, just time-consuming.

IC Inbox | noctiumrp

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