[ He'd known this wasn't something Noctis could forgive him for. This was hardly anything he could get away with, for the crushing sense of loss or how it'd crippled him afterwards, left him with a phantom ache like there'd been something cut out of his side, and he could only mourn its absence. It wasn't a loss of agency; it wasn't that he hadn't believed in anything, but that he'd believed too much in his own fallibility. That there wasn't a way for it to function, when Noctis belonged to more than himself and Ignis, he'd seen himself loftier than the world, but far, far below decency. At the core of it all, it was a matter of rising to the occasion, or succumbing to it, and at a standstill, he'd chosen escape, and he has no well-meaning defense to justify the year he's spent apart from him. ]
I caused you so much trouble. I'm sorry, Noct. I know. I left you alone for far too long.
[ And Noctis cries a lot when he's alone, emotional to his own detriment. The maids used to take on matronly airs around him when he was a child, motherless and forlorn. His face would take up a certain dimming resignation when his father couldn't join him in the courtyard for soccer, kicking the ball between his feet. As his advisor, Ignis was well-aware Noct used to cower underneath the sheets during a lightning storm, and that sickness pulled the same from him, fever in his lungs and tears in his eyes. It wasn't always unhappyā€” sometimes he laughed to the point of tears, diaphanous and sweet, but most of it was frustration, leaving him absently tilting his head away. He must've cried in the room that used to be Ignis's after he'd left, sobbing and quiet.
Sadness was beneath the prince, but his eyes are angry and bruising with tears when he looks up, prideful, and Ignis doesn't pull away from the kiss, coercing Noct's mouth into another, then another. Again, until the tear streaks have wept into the space between their mouth, and coerced, he nudges up to press his mouth over each damp eyelid. ]
I love you.
[ Ignis takes up one of Noctis's fists as they've loosened, his fingers caressing his knuckles to open and expose the heart of his palm, face-up. Then he hangs his head low, temple against Noctis's shoulder, kissing at his fingers and the creases between, penitent. Never has he apologized like this, his soul distilled into lavishing attention on Noct, trying vainly to cure him of his grief. But then, he's never had to leave his purpose behind and grow accustomed to loss, so there's no use in hiding his grief. ]
[ Noctis could only stare when his lips press against the heart of his palm, branding it with an apology that impels forgiveness, stealing his breath and his anger -- contrition is a terrible thing, it smothers anger and silences hurt, and Noctis thinks of all the moments Ignis had been by his side; all the times he had been more companion than guide, brother than assistant. His company had been absolute, a time-tested truth to all the times his father had broken appointments and missed important dates, a genuine, treasured constant in the vicissitudes of royalty. His absence then had knocked his world off-kilter, taken away the sturdiest pillar of his life, and Noctis understands now the sheer worth of the man who stands before him, lips pressed against his hand in his single-minded desire to ameliorate grief, his temple resting against his shoulder.
Intimate, once again, for wholly different reasons this time.
His fingers curl and gently urges his face up to meet his. Enough crying -- he's shed enough tears; how embarrassing it must be for others to witness it, the ones he cannot help but shed in secret, the weight of his own emotions overwhelming, begging curation, discipline. He had been lonely all his life, lonelier still with Ignis on the other side of the world and too far from his reach, and with the tender coercion of Ignis' earlier kisses still burning on his lips, he shakes his head in silence and kisses him again, lips parted and inviting him in. More than his own pain, he senses Ignis' as well, a raw and wounded thing that needs mending, and the man is wont to rend himself to shreds in self-flagellation if Noctis lets him.
He doesn't know what to do next, only to hold him, his other hand coming to curl around the back of his neck, cradling him close. ]
I'm sorry I hurt you. [ He'd said callous, cruel things, and in the wake of his rage Noctis understands this. I hope no one else falls in love with you, he'd said once before, intended to cut -- and so many things now, one after another. Ignis takes them in some sort of penitence, and he feels guilt curled low in the pit of his stomach. ] How do we fix this? How do we fix us?
[ His longing predates his grief, so maybe it'd always turn out this way, trying to outrun the sort of yearning that could only be loosely defined, that defied explanation and belief. None of it's tactful or rehearsed when his heart's doing its damnedest to clamber right out of his chest and falling just short of brutalizing itself against his own ribs. Grief's a point of complication that won't subside, mirrored in Noctisā€” this snapshot of a boy with his hair in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve, saddened beyond repair. The frown's touching more than Noct's mouth, lunging in his fingers where he fits them over his cheekbone, and Ignis blinks again, the palm on his face scraping over his jaw and the shuddering locked therein in comparative benevolence.
Outrage might've absolved him; if Noctis lunged out with a vicious slew of anger on display, outrage for his own sake, he might've been able to disentangle, given the prince to sort out his arrival and each confession on the ground at his feet. But all his life, all he's known is Noct, so it shouldn't be all that shocking that the same is true in reverse, when he beats down at resignation instead of wallowing in its shape, pressing their mouths together. Missing him so much that he couldn't tamp down the sob.
When he comes away from it, speaking soft and savagely gutted, Ignis is bleakā€” eyes crazed and miserable with some nameless ache. It's never the wound that debilitates, but the pain that comes with it, so caustic to render him insensible, and there's no longer that blockade in his throat and stopping up his heart, a ripcord pulled and the rest of him spilling out, unhinged. ]
Nothing was worth losing you. [ And that's when his voice breaks into some corrosive, disjointed mess, rushing out in a flood. ] You tried to fight, and I drove you away. I convinced myself that was your choice, instead of mine, if only to let you go. I'd convinced myself that you were better off for it.
[ There's no fix-it solution, just the gaping wounds he's left, how raw and bruised and fragile Noctis is in his arms. There's no dignity to it, either, but he's past grace and subterfuge, arms pulled around him like the currents of a swirling tide. ]
Noctis. We can only do what we can and keep moving forward.
[ Keep pushing onward, like the past is already some distant star; the apology's a heavy and implicit thing, clawing up his throat even when the weight grows unbearable, and he's either tearing up in earnest or dying trying to find a solution for that agony bottled up in Noctis for so long. ]
The blame rests solely on me. I never considered your feelings, nor a future without you.
[ Keep pushing onward, because that's all they can bear to do right now -- that's the only thing that matters. Noctis needs time, he needs it to mend, and perhaps so does Ignis, who sounds so wrecked and destroyed that he cannot help but squeeze him tighter, as if he'd slip away if he lets go. He's never seen him like this, given over to bleakness, to grief, the hard set of his jaw and his eyes; when had he become like this, ever since Noctis has told him about his dad knowing? No, even before that, when reality had set in and Ignis had chosen to drive him away, carving out a piece of himself in the exchange.
Ignis had excised a part of himself along with Noctis, and the prince hadn't realized -- only having seen it as cruelty, the height of indifference and callousness, all other words from his mouth mere lip service in the absence of affection. It's nearly destroyed them, and there they are, bleeding and struggling to hold on, and there is no one free of blame.
Nothing was worth losing you, and Noctis feels his heart ache along with him, because there is nothing about this that's easy, when they're both hurting and Ignis understands this too late, his confessions spilling out one after another, and Noctis listens to all of it and loves him anyway, because there's nothing else to do but that.
They do what they can, and he is silent for a moment before he raises his head from where he'd pressed his cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart the way he always had a lifetime ago, in his arms and languidly resting in quiet nights, never knowing that a day like this would come. Remaining tears, burning through the fabric of his shirt as he closes his eyes, and even in his apologies they find little reprieve.
But maybe this is enough. Maybe this is all they need to be able to move forward, and his hand comes to splay over his back in a bid to comfort Ignis, to swallow whole the sob his chamberlain couldn't hold back. They're both a mess, and Noctis abandons logic for emotion, and he grimaces against his chest, his heart -- once freely given over to him. ]
Don't do that again. Once is -- once is enough. For me, and for you. [ He's reaching up to cup his cheek despite himself, studying his face, how it seems to be chiseled from marble for all the severity his gaze now holds, as if h's divorced himself from his emotions for far too long and is only just beginning to come back around to them again. ] I don't think what's left of you can survive it.
[ Crushed to his chest, Noct's breath is cloying and uneven, hot on his chest with each shaky exhale, holding itself aloft. It's born out of a thousand altercations and Ignis has a thousand more in wait as he holds him thereā€” fever-warm with the contagion that's trying to climb out of his skin, the desperation trying to cast him off and come unwound, or wound him.
Noct cries into his shirt for a while, and Ignis's backbone digs against the table when he digs to support him, suppressing the worst of the tears that wreak havoc on him. First comes the trembling, then the unkindness of Noctis's hand reaching up for scrutiny, and he stays there, paralyzed, stung by his words and then the inexactness of the pain glimmering its way across. His eyelashes flicker for all they've clumped together, wet, and Ignis shakes his head, the movement near-imperceptible. ]
What's left of me is with you.
[ What's left of him is rattled and beyond any repairing, but that's how it is to be alive: the winsomeness of hurt and how it proves he's still standing even when Noct doesn't see the despicableness in him yet. He might never see it when he's like this, past the verge of tears, snared with pain.
And that's all, as his hand folds over the one trapping his cheek, folding in over the shudders cascading down the thin set of his fingers, sitting in his knuckles. ]
I don't wish to cause you anymore grief.
[ Outside, the raucousness comes backā€” a dog barking on the street, the sound of people loudly conversing on a balcony a few floors downā€” and he doesn't so much as pull away from Noctis as he turns to guide him, walking through a room that's so-little changed from his memory, from the furniture to the immaculate state of it, proof that Noct's gone on living without him, that he's entirely capable the way Ignis couldn't be in his absence. Sinking onto the couch, he affords Noctis the choice: to sit beside him or stand a ways away, remain close or keep his distance, when he trains his gaze on him, eyes red behind his glasses. ]
What have you been up to, as of late? I confess I haven't had much of a life outside of work, but I'm sure you must haveā€” questions, for me.
[ The long line of lovers, the minor scandals of politicians and their miserable affairs, how cruel he'd become in Noctis's absence (how much he's changed for the worse). ]
[ What's left of me is with you, and Ignis sounds like Noctis himself is the one that's cut out his heart and forcibly taken it with him even if he knew none of it. The hurt and pain is clear as day, and he feels his own chest ache with a familiar despair. It doesn't really mean anything, what he says next; that he didn't wish to cause him anymore grief, isn't it an iteration of what's been said before when he left?
Ignis, cold and callous, who had loved him so deeply and had left him so suddenly, and now he's back again and Noctis can't quite find it in himself to cast him aside. He can't, even in his most grievous of wounds it helps, just a little, to know that Ignis is hurting right along with him. There is no ready solution to this matter, and when the older man extricates himself gently, guiding him to the couch, Noctis takes the chance to sit beside him. He wipes his eyes carelessly with the back of his hand, his gaze catching on the red-rimmed ones behind Ignis' glasses.
So he's not immune too, after all -- no, isn't what this entire visit is all about? He takes a deep breath, uncertain of where to start, and too tired to stay angry with the one person he's loved so deeply for so long that his absence had taken away a precious part of him. So he mulls over what Ignis offers, and decides to ask, after all. He folds himself almost gracefully beside him on the couch, not quite looking at him, but not leaning away. He can't remember what he's been up to; for most part, he just didn't care. Work, school, training, and time with Prompto, and that had pretty much been it. Would Ignis be sad, knowing that? He doesn't know. Does Ignis know Noctis slept with Prompto, during a few desperate, lonely nights when he needed someone? How does he even mention that? ]
[ In an ideal world, he's never left Noctis. In a better one still, he's working with the assumption that he's never met him, never had the chance or opportunity to induce agony with the precision of taking a scalpel to his heart. Ignis might as well have mutilated him; Noct's hollowed-out now, crying in earnest, because they don't live in a world that's convenient or fair or excuses away an ounce of Ignis's blame in the matter.
It's only the difference of a year. Twelve months, and they've irreparably changed, for better and for worse. Ignis can't move when Noctis curls on the other side of the upholstery; the distance is mere inches, but it might as well be miles again, like he's in Altissia again, courting anyone who bore even a passing resemblance to the crown prince of Lucis. They're balanced on the precipice of cruelty, and by necessity, Ignis can choose one cruelty to offset another. ]
Would knowing the answer bring you any measure of relief?
[ He's a wretched man. By the same token, Ignis wouldn't question coming back to Noctis and Prompto splayed out on the foyer in various states of undress, after this; he doesn't have the right for anger after the facades, the duplicity, the misunderstanding. Another man would've broken down to explain the stupid, ugly truth of it, explain how he'd fled under the guise of Noct's best interests, explain how the engagement ring has burnt a hole into his mind, explain how he can't sleep anymore, knowing he'd wounded him irreparably. ]
Do you understand the kind of person I am now?
[ Even so. Even so. Does he want him to beg and grovel at his feet, a coward through and through? Does he want him to leave? ]
I've hidden things from you, even before. Were you aware of that? I never told you.
[ Feigning ignorance to the issue in the months preceding their break-up, even, displacing the rumors circulating through the court and taking foolish lengths to cover his tracks until he'd slipped, until news of their relationship reached even the king's ears. ]
[ His blood runs cold, racing back to the old days, the happier days. What could there possibly be that he lied to him about, that he never loved him at all? But no, that doesn't sound right. That's not true, is it? He stiffens, confused and wary, because his heart has been broken and he's still not entire sure where the pieces are.
And here he is, telling him that he's lied to him for a long time, casting aspersions on himself -- Ignis has always tended towards self-flagellating, ever chasing towards a perfect incarnation of himself that is never to be. Noctis finds himself understanding, to a point.
But this? This makes him tense even as he looks back at him, trying to grasp for straws. Has he ever loved him? Has he lied? ]
[ He's so far gone into this fear that pulling himself out of this rut might no longer be an option. Under the sway of chaos and spontaneity and the death of all that he's cherished, he's cut Noctis loose from him. Put to the test, Ignis can master showy words and courtesy and magnanimity, but there's no controlling fear as it goes errant. A distance that grows ever wider between them.
Ignis makes a soft noise at the back of his throatā€” a hum that's halfway to his own detriment, considering how strangled he sounds. All the scalded burns of Noctis's distrust flare up as he struggles to piece together the contradiction. His Majesty's in full form, even today, of all days. He's wonderful. It's unfair, trying to salvage something already sinking, but what else is there to do? Ignis is hard-pressed to do more than talk around the subject, but can't bear contention forced down upon his lungs and killing his resolve. ]
I always did like your eyes. I was impossibly fond of them.
[ As if he could come out and admit to love after first witnessed the phenomenon of them shining in the face of a boy who'd grow up to become king. ]
I should have told you so more often, back then.
[ If only he'd spoken more and more of his lasting fondness for his prince's heart, but he's been thoughtless and vain, selfish up to now, butchering a proper conversation for this messy avalanche of words. Noctis sits rigid in the expectation of the anvil to fall, and Ignis turns away at last, retreating to stand. ]
... No more lies. [ A truce, far too late to undo the damage. The shake of Ignis's head is near-imperceptible. ] It's best that we part ways for today. I'll be back to come collect the report tomorrow, if you'll allow it.
[ Or else it'll be Gladio's burden, fallen to his shoulders by necessity. He hasn't inquired the king of his substitute under his year-long tenure in Altissia, but nothing's been done to halt Noct's decline. ]
Then, if you'll pardon me.
[ And Ignis is turning aside already, heading for the entryway. Another minute left to his own devices and he'll be out, away from the precipice he's been walking, poised between something nameless and something terrifying. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I caused you so much trouble. I'm sorry, Noct. I know. I left you alone for far too long.
[ And Noctis cries a lot when he's alone, emotional to his own detriment. The maids used to take on matronly airs around him when he was a child, motherless and forlorn. His face would take up a certain dimming resignation when his father couldn't join him in the courtyard for soccer, kicking the ball between his feet. As his advisor, Ignis was well-aware Noct used to cower underneath the sheets during a lightning storm, and that sickness pulled the same from him, fever in his lungs and tears in his eyes. It wasn't always unhappyā€” sometimes he laughed to the point of tears, diaphanous and sweet, but most of it was frustration, leaving him absently tilting his head away. He must've cried in the room that used to be Ignis's after he'd left, sobbing and quiet.
Sadness was beneath the prince, but his eyes are angry and bruising with tears when he looks up, prideful, and Ignis doesn't pull away from the kiss, coercing Noct's mouth into another, then another. Again, until the tear streaks have wept into the space between their mouth, and coerced, he nudges up to press his mouth over each damp eyelid. ]
I love you.
[ Ignis takes up one of Noctis's fists as they've loosened, his fingers caressing his knuckles to open and expose the heart of his palm, face-up. Then he hangs his head low, temple against Noctis's shoulder, kissing at his fingers and the creases between, penitent. Never has he apologized like this, his soul distilled into lavishing attention on Noct, trying vainly to cure him of his grief. But then, he's never had to leave his purpose behind and grow accustomed to loss, so there's no use in hiding his grief. ]
I'm sorry. I could only love you.
no subject
Intimate, once again, for wholly different reasons this time.
His fingers curl and gently urges his face up to meet his. Enough crying -- he's shed enough tears; how embarrassing it must be for others to witness it, the ones he cannot help but shed in secret, the weight of his own emotions overwhelming, begging curation, discipline. He had been lonely all his life, lonelier still with Ignis on the other side of the world and too far from his reach, and with the tender coercion of Ignis' earlier kisses still burning on his lips, he shakes his head in silence and kisses him again, lips parted and inviting him in. More than his own pain, he senses Ignis' as well, a raw and wounded thing that needs mending, and the man is wont to rend himself to shreds in self-flagellation if Noctis lets him.
He doesn't know what to do next, only to hold him, his other hand coming to curl around the back of his neck, cradling him close. ]
I'm sorry I hurt you. [ He'd said callous, cruel things, and in the wake of his rage Noctis understands this. I hope no one else falls in love with you, he'd said once before, intended to cut -- and so many things now, one after another. Ignis takes them in some sort of penitence, and he feels guilt curled low in the pit of his stomach. ] How do we fix this? How do we fix us?
no subject
Outrage might've absolved him; if Noctis lunged out with a vicious slew of anger on display, outrage for his own sake, he might've been able to disentangle, given the prince to sort out his arrival and each confession on the ground at his feet. But all his life, all he's known is Noct, so it shouldn't be all that shocking that the same is true in reverse, when he beats down at resignation instead of wallowing in its shape, pressing their mouths together. Missing him so much that he couldn't tamp down the sob.
When he comes away from it, speaking soft and savagely gutted, Ignis is bleakā€” eyes crazed and miserable with some nameless ache. It's never the wound that debilitates, but the pain that comes with it, so caustic to render him insensible, and there's no longer that blockade in his throat and stopping up his heart, a ripcord pulled and the rest of him spilling out, unhinged. ]
Nothing was worth losing you. [ And that's when his voice breaks into some corrosive, disjointed mess, rushing out in a flood. ] You tried to fight, and I drove you away. I convinced myself that was your choice, instead of mine, if only to let you go. I'd convinced myself that you were better off for it.
[ There's no fix-it solution, just the gaping wounds he's left, how raw and bruised and fragile Noctis is in his arms. There's no dignity to it, either, but he's past grace and subterfuge, arms pulled around him like the currents of a swirling tide. ]
Noctis. We can only do what we can and keep moving forward.
[ Keep pushing onward, like the past is already some distant star; the apology's a heavy and implicit thing, clawing up his throat even when the weight grows unbearable, and he's either tearing up in earnest or dying trying to find a solution for that agony bottled up in Noctis for so long. ]
The blame rests solely on me. I never considered your feelings, nor a future without you.
no subject
Ignis had excised a part of himself along with Noctis, and the prince hadn't realized -- only having seen it as cruelty, the height of indifference and callousness, all other words from his mouth mere lip service in the absence of affection. It's nearly destroyed them, and there they are, bleeding and struggling to hold on, and there is no one free of blame.
Nothing was worth losing you, and Noctis feels his heart ache along with him, because there is nothing about this that's easy, when they're both hurting and Ignis understands this too late, his confessions spilling out one after another, and Noctis listens to all of it and loves him anyway, because there's nothing else to do but that.
They do what they can, and he is silent for a moment before he raises his head from where he'd pressed his cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart the way he always had a lifetime ago, in his arms and languidly resting in quiet nights, never knowing that a day like this would come. Remaining tears, burning through the fabric of his shirt as he closes his eyes, and even in his apologies they find little reprieve.
But maybe this is enough. Maybe this is all they need to be able to move forward, and his hand comes to splay over his back in a bid to comfort Ignis, to swallow whole the sob his chamberlain couldn't hold back. They're both a mess, and Noctis abandons logic for emotion, and he grimaces against his chest, his heart -- once freely given over to him. ]
Don't do that again. Once is -- once is enough. For me, and for you. [ He's reaching up to cup his cheek despite himself, studying his face, how it seems to be chiseled from marble for all the severity his gaze now holds, as if h's divorced himself from his emotions for far too long and is only just beginning to come back around to them again. ] I don't think what's left of you can survive it.
no subject
Noct cries into his shirt for a while, and Ignis's backbone digs against the table when he digs to support him, suppressing the worst of the tears that wreak havoc on him. First comes the trembling, then the unkindness of Noctis's hand reaching up for scrutiny, and he stays there, paralyzed, stung by his words and then the inexactness of the pain glimmering its way across. His eyelashes flicker for all they've clumped together, wet, and Ignis shakes his head, the movement near-imperceptible. ]
What's left of me is with you.
[ What's left of him is rattled and beyond any repairing, but that's how it is to be alive: the winsomeness of hurt and how it proves he's still standing even when Noct doesn't see the despicableness in him yet. He might never see it when he's like this, past the verge of tears, snared with pain.
And that's all, as his hand folds over the one trapping his cheek, folding in over the shudders cascading down the thin set of his fingers, sitting in his knuckles. ]
I don't wish to cause you anymore grief.
[ Outside, the raucousness comes backā€” a dog barking on the street, the sound of people loudly conversing on a balcony a few floors downā€” and he doesn't so much as pull away from Noctis as he turns to guide him, walking through a room that's so-little changed from his memory, from the furniture to the immaculate state of it, proof that Noct's gone on living without him, that he's entirely capable the way Ignis couldn't be in his absence. Sinking onto the couch, he affords Noctis the choice: to sit beside him or stand a ways away, remain close or keep his distance, when he trains his gaze on him, eyes red behind his glasses. ]
What have you been up to, as of late? I confess I haven't had much of a life outside of work, but I'm sure you must haveā€” questions, for me.
[ The long line of lovers, the minor scandals of politicians and their miserable affairs, how cruel he'd become in Noctis's absence (how much he's changed for the worse). ]
no subject
Ignis, cold and callous, who had loved him so deeply and had left him so suddenly, and now he's back again and Noctis can't quite find it in himself to cast him aside. He can't, even in his most grievous of wounds it helps, just a little, to know that Ignis is hurting right along with him. There is no ready solution to this matter, and when the older man extricates himself gently, guiding him to the couch, Noctis takes the chance to sit beside him. He wipes his eyes carelessly with the back of his hand, his gaze catching on the red-rimmed ones behind Ignis' glasses.
So he's not immune too, after all -- no, isn't what this entire visit is all about? He takes a deep breath, uncertain of where to start, and too tired to stay angry with the one person he's loved so deeply for so long that his absence had taken away a precious part of him. So he mulls over what Ignis offers, and decides to ask, after all. He folds himself almost gracefully beside him on the couch, not quite looking at him, but not leaning away. He can't remember what he's been up to; for most part, he just didn't care. Work, school, training, and time with Prompto, and that had pretty much been it. Would Ignis be sad, knowing that? He doesn't know. Does Ignis know Noctis slept with Prompto, during a few desperate, lonely nights when he needed someone? How does he even mention that? ]
Where did you... find them? Your -- partners.
no subject
It's only the difference of a year. Twelve months, and they've irreparably changed, for better and for worse. Ignis can't move when Noctis curls on the other side of the upholstery; the distance is mere inches, but it might as well be miles again, like he's in Altissia again, courting anyone who bore even a passing resemblance to the crown prince of Lucis. They're balanced on the precipice of cruelty, and by necessity, Ignis can choose one cruelty to offset another. ]
Would knowing the answer bring you any measure of relief?
[ He's a wretched man. By the same token, Ignis wouldn't question coming back to Noctis and Prompto splayed out on the foyer in various states of undress, after this; he doesn't have the right for anger after the facades, the duplicity, the misunderstanding. Another man would've broken down to explain the stupid, ugly truth of it, explain how he'd fled under the guise of Noct's best interests, explain how the engagement ring has burnt a hole into his mind, explain how he can't sleep anymore, knowing he'd wounded him irreparably. ]
Do you understand the kind of person I am now?
[ Even so. Even so. Does he want him to beg and grovel at his feet, a coward through and through? Does he want him to leave? ]
I've hidden things from you, even before. Were you aware of that? I never told you.
[ Feigning ignorance to the issue in the months preceding their break-up, even, displacing the rumors circulating through the court and taking foolish lengths to cover his tracks until he'd slipped, until news of their relationship reached even the king's ears. ]
I've lied to you for a long time.
no subject
[ His blood runs cold, racing back to the old days, the happier days. What could there possibly be that he lied to him about, that he never loved him at all? But no, that doesn't sound right. That's not true, is it? He stiffens, confused and wary, because his heart has been broken and he's still not entire sure where the pieces are.
And here he is, telling him that he's lied to him for a long time, casting aspersions on himself -- Ignis has always tended towards self-flagellating, ever chasing towards a perfect incarnation of himself that is never to be. Noctis finds himself understanding, to a point.
But this? This makes him tense even as he looks back at him, trying to grasp for straws. Has he ever loved him? Has he lied? ]
No more lies, Ignis.
[ How much more will it hurt, this time? ]
no subject
Ignis makes a soft noise at the back of his throatā€” a hum that's halfway to his own detriment, considering how strangled he sounds. All the scalded burns of Noctis's distrust flare up as he struggles to piece together the contradiction. His Majesty's in full form, even today, of all days. He's wonderful. It's unfair, trying to salvage something already sinking, but what else is there to do? Ignis is hard-pressed to do more than talk around the subject, but can't bear contention forced down upon his lungs and killing his resolve. ]
I always did like your eyes. I was impossibly fond of them.
[ As if he could come out and admit to love after first witnessed the phenomenon of them shining in the face of a boy who'd grow up to become king. ]
I should have told you so more often, back then.
[ If only he'd spoken more and more of his lasting fondness for his prince's heart, but he's been thoughtless and vain, selfish up to now, butchering a proper conversation for this messy avalanche of words. Noctis sits rigid in the expectation of the anvil to fall, and Ignis turns away at last, retreating to stand. ]
... No more lies. [ A truce, far too late to undo the damage. The shake of Ignis's head is near-imperceptible. ] It's best that we part ways for today. I'll be back to come collect the report tomorrow, if you'll allow it.
[ Or else it'll be Gladio's burden, fallen to his shoulders by necessity. He hasn't inquired the king of his substitute under his year-long tenure in Altissia, but nothing's been done to halt Noct's decline. ]
Then, if you'll pardon me.
[ And Ignis is turning aside already, heading for the entryway. Another minute left to his own devices and he'll be out, away from the precipice he's been walking, poised between something nameless and something terrifying. ]