[ He knows the answer before the question is fully out of his mouth, hanging heavy in the air. It's his defiance that compels it, instinctively moving to prolong what they have. He doesn't like the look on Ignis' face, when he's too damn calm for words and none of it reflects the roiling conflict Noctis struggles to keep under control.
That Ignis told Regis without informing Noctis is another thing, too. Hedging on his answer in favor of prodding Ignis for more, he frowns. ]
You never told me you went to him.
[ He says, reserving judgement on the entire thing. He's not upset about it, not yet -- but if Ignis had kept quiet about it longer, would they have more time together before needing to have this conversation? He has the impression Regis' words to him wouldn't have differed much with Ignis', and he wonders what kind of an outcome he anticipated once the king has been informed. ]
What did you think he would have said, when you decided to tell him?
It does. I don't really see what a hypothetical has to do with anything when clearly you're already aware.
[ That comes out ugly, contorted with all that would have him smile, except for the part where he clearly failed because frustration's shown itself in him, self-destruction baring itself. He's acquainted with the face of suspicionā€” it'd taken a while to curry Gladio's good favor in the beginning, to prove himself as more than a sniveling child to the maids when he ran haphazardly about the Citadel, searching for whatever cabinet Noctis had holed himself up in when his father couldn't show up to read him a bedtime story. For a while, it'd been an uphill climb, only this time it involved Noctā€” no use in prolonging anything when it'd only to serve to further ruin the prince's reputation.
Let it be known that anything resembling disdain out of Noctis doesn't faze him, especially like thisā€” when the outcome's easy and the solution is easier. When push comes to shove, he'll choose Noctis's well-being to the last. He isn't particularly all that noble for it; it's kind of despairing, actually, the way exasperation leaks into his voice, like he'd been wracked with it. ]
What did he tell you? That it would be in your best interests to give this arrangement up? Or ordering you to it? Surely he was empathetic.
[ To his son. Oh, it sounds bitter, but it needed to be said: you can't expect to take this burden on all by yourself. Better this than to wait for the anvil to come down, until Noctis was forcibly wrested from his side. He cares more for Noctis, evidently, than attempting to capitalize on however many days they could've spent in blind incognizance, like attempting to wring blood from a stone. ]
I wouldn't hide it and wait for him to seek me out, after word came around. I wasn't aware that our relationship needed permission from you to personally disclose.
How about a heads up? Don't you at the very least owe that?
[ Noctis says sharply, eyes narrowing. He might be new at the whole relationship thing, but a "by the way, I'm telling your dad I'm boning you" should be warranted, shouldn't it?
There is something off about Ignis now, something colder than hasn't been there before, as if he's shutting himself off from him pre-emptively. Which, of course, makes Noctis instinctively defensive. Ignis knew, he thinks. He knew when his dad summoned him to the Citadel and said nothing, and Noctis is unable to help a flare of anger, but he takes a deep breath, temper rattling in his ribs.
No. No, this is not going to help. Noctis might be given over to selfishness on the occasion, but in this moment it won't do to start a fight. He breathes out, running a hand through his hair. Let's start again. ]
He said someone of your calibre would make a lucky person very happy someday. It's just not supposed to be me.
[ That's it. That's the gist of the talk, and it hurts to repeat it right here in this kitchen, when he's doing something he's done a hundred times before and Noctis had come to see it as one of the constants in his life. How painful it would be to see it gone.
Finally, his words oddly small, he sums it up at he stares at the floor. ]
[ Each word's emphatic, shackling him down, so there's a needā€” the sort that wraps itself invasively around his ankles, dragging at his equilibriumā€” to remain insufferably calm. Complacency can't be put back into his body if he carves it out of himself now, and Noct's bowed, mulish. The heavy implication his father's posed hasn't occurred to him yet, possiblyā€” or it has, and he's just building up to emotional disembowelment, lacking control otherwise. It's precognition that comes on like blindness, unable to make out left from right or up from down in the dark, overwhelming until the eyes adjust, fear reigned in.
The joints in Ignis's hands are stiff at his side, unmoving. Noct's carrying a realization that should knock his head clean off his shoulders, and he's only absentminded with how long it's taken, how futile it's been, prolonging the inevitable. Better just to say it proper, or throw him out of the apartment early, pathetically assembling a meal that'll likely go unfinished. ]
I see. Alright.
[ That emotionally-charged outburst (so small and squashed in Noctis's throat) fails to elicit much of a reaction, in the end. He's known a little while longer than him, and it's enough to turn to wipe his hands dry on a handtowel, leaving the butchered remains of the fish lying on the chopping board, his own feelings a little gutted out, drying the same way. Beggars can't be choosers, so maybe that's it. One choice isn't so hard to accept when afforded no other option, or at least none he'll entertain. And then he's reaching past the counter for a folder, plain and nondescript. ]
Whenever you're ready, you can take a look overā€” [ Preparation came first and foremost, as usual, but swiveling his head to regard him, Ignis can't pacify his guilt. The burden of responsibility's on his shouldersā€” just like the ring he's got in his pocket, and it's burning holes into him, rendering him temporarily incapable of continuing on, until he blusters through it. The frown in his mouth is only mitigated by the look on Noct's face, killing off the rest of his doubt in one fell swoop as he hands him the portfolio. ] ā€”this, for potential candidates who've met your father's prerequisites. Seeing one of them today would be on rather short notice, but I'm sure we can arrange something promptly when and should the need arise.
[ Isn't that presumptuous? Keeping a list of all of Noct's potential dates on paper, organized by compatibility, personal sentiments flung into the garbage with the rest of the fish bones. Stilling Noctis dead in his tracks is as good a reason as any to retain a sense of normalcy. He's changed since then, over the course of a few days. He doesn't need to lose Noct to be mortally wounded by his absence anymore. There's such a thing as languishing separately from him, apart but not, whole but not. Ignis couldn't leave him as he was, so perhaps it'd always come down to cold, impassive logic to deal the killing blow. ]
Are we still on for today?
[ It bears asking when he looks at him, less than an arm's width apart, but carefully guarding that distance like the last bastion keeping his sanity intact. ]
[ There are two ways to take this. One is anger: blistering, damaging, scorching through newly-discovered revelations that Ignis had known about this all along, and had apparently been using this time to profile and arrange dates with women Noctis does not have the slightest inclination to meet. That, he thinks, is a whole new level of messed up, and Noctis cannot help the incredulity as he stares at the proffered portfolio like it's two seconds away from rearing up and sinking its fangs into him.
The other, the other is to make peace. He's aware that time is running out for them. He has always known this, even if he had thought himself exception to the rules; his father had regularly eschewed royal protocol for him after all, so why not the man that he loves, why not let him have Ignis, let him have a chance at happiness? He knows it's naivete that's wholly unbecoming of a ruler-to-be; happiness is irrelevant when it comes to duty, but Noctis is nothing if not stubborn, clinging to all the tender, intimate moments that Ignis has given him in the past many, many months.
Ignis is not the only one gutted, insides torn out and hung to dry. Noctis is watching him, studying him, stifling his own growing frustration at his unwavering dispassion, placidly neutral in the face of dreaded inevitability. He has to end it but he can't, won't. Ignis is the only thing that has been worthwhile for the longest time now -- he's the only person who sees him as he is and loves him for it anyway, who challenges him to be better, and even if they have their differences Noctis finds that he loves him deeply, deeply all the same.
Now, it seems, he has to give him up. He can't, not like this, and not today, when they have a date planned right here in their apartment. Dinner and a movie, simple, really -- but then again, Noctis had never been high maintenance the way other members of royalty were. A quiet evening with dinner, then curled up with the man that he loves, what's not to like?
So he chooses peace. He chooses to see if he can't circumvent his father's words, if he can't find another way around it -- find that comfortable cusp between duty and happiness. Surely he can figure something out, right? Surely, with Ignis, they can find a way forward that doesn't necessitate severing this relationship.
So he chooses to completely disregard the folder Ignis has with him, stepping past it to wrap his arms around the older, taller man's waist from behind, burying his face in the wing of his shoulder. ]
Yes, we're still on for today. [ Because who knows how many todays they have left? The killing blow can be deflected; need not be now, not when Noctis is not ready for it -- he will never be ready for it, not where Ignis is concerned, which is its own kind of madness. ] I have no use for anything in that folder. I'll find a way out of this, Iggy.
Forehead to shoulder, the heat's emanating with the same contrariety of refusal (ignorance), and Ignis bites his tongue, his other hand gripping at the counter, the folder deposed to rest plainly at his side, scalding its omen from each point of contact. Twenty-seven women are listed on there, but hundreds more that he's perused, searching for nobility of high class and dignity that Noctis wouldn't find disagreeable as he tried to find the best way to phase their relationship to something largely defunct. ]
Alright. I've no complaints.
[ It's not unlike blundering through propriety as it doesn't exist, made fictive and illusory by the perceptible way Noct's breath fumes against the collar of his shirt, exhalations run scribbly and malevolent. The truth that's eluded him for so long has returned at last to the fold. There never was a chance for any of this to grow into anything substantial. Hurt lures a blankness out of him as he schools his voice to composure, then dedicates himself to turning around and depositing a kiss to Noctis's forehead, like it's already the beginning of the end. In some ways, it is. ]
Will you wait by the couch? I'll join you soon. This won't take much longer.
[ His hesitation's evaporated. Ignis is back to his usual demeanor, even as he carefully extracts himself from Noctis's embrace, busying himself with the stove. ]
George missed you terribly. You should go greet her before she refuses to eat out of her food bowl.
[ Because she's selfish the way Ignis is, pining for attention of the one she loves most to the point of brittle self-destruction. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He knows the answer before the question is fully out of his mouth, hanging heavy in the air. It's his defiance that compels it, instinctively moving to prolong what they have. He doesn't like the look on Ignis' face, when he's too damn calm for words and none of it reflects the roiling conflict Noctis struggles to keep under control.
That Ignis told Regis without informing Noctis is another thing, too. Hedging on his answer in favor of prodding Ignis for more, he frowns. ]
You never told me you went to him.
[ He says, reserving judgement on the entire thing. He's not upset about it, not yet -- but if Ignis had kept quiet about it longer, would they have more time together before needing to have this conversation? He has the impression Regis' words to him wouldn't have differed much with Ignis', and he wonders what kind of an outcome he anticipated once the king has been informed. ]
What did you think he would have said, when you decided to tell him?
no subject
[ That comes out ugly, contorted with all that would have him smile, except for the part where he clearly failed because frustration's shown itself in him, self-destruction baring itself. He's acquainted with the face of suspicionā€” it'd taken a while to curry Gladio's good favor in the beginning, to prove himself as more than a sniveling child to the maids when he ran haphazardly about the Citadel, searching for whatever cabinet Noctis had holed himself up in when his father couldn't show up to read him a bedtime story. For a while, it'd been an uphill climb, only this time it involved Noctā€” no use in prolonging anything when it'd only to serve to further ruin the prince's reputation.
Let it be known that anything resembling disdain out of Noctis doesn't faze him, especially like thisā€” when the outcome's easy and the solution is easier. When push comes to shove, he'll choose Noctis's well-being to the last. He isn't particularly all that noble for it; it's kind of despairing, actually, the way exasperation leaks into his voice, like he'd been wracked with it. ]
What did he tell you? That it would be in your best interests to give this arrangement up? Or ordering you to it? Surely he was empathetic.
[ To his son. Oh, it sounds bitter, but it needed to be said: you can't expect to take this burden on all by yourself. Better this than to wait for the anvil to come down, until Noctis was forcibly wrested from his side. He cares more for Noctis, evidently, than attempting to capitalize on however many days they could've spent in blind incognizance, like attempting to wring blood from a stone. ]
I wouldn't hide it and wait for him to seek me out, after word came around. I wasn't aware that our relationship needed permission from you to personally disclose.
no subject
[ Noctis says sharply, eyes narrowing. He might be new at the whole relationship thing, but a "by the way, I'm telling your dad I'm boning you" should be warranted, shouldn't it?
There is something off about Ignis now, something colder than hasn't been there before, as if he's shutting himself off from him pre-emptively. Which, of course, makes Noctis instinctively defensive. Ignis knew, he thinks. He knew when his dad summoned him to the Citadel and said nothing, and Noctis is unable to help a flare of anger, but he takes a deep breath, temper rattling in his ribs.
No. No, this is not going to help. Noctis might be given over to selfishness on the occasion, but in this moment it won't do to start a fight. He breathes out, running a hand through his hair. Let's start again. ]
He said someone of your calibre would make a lucky person very happy someday. It's just not supposed to be me.
[ That's it. That's the gist of the talk, and it hurts to repeat it right here in this kitchen, when he's doing something he's done a hundred times before and Noctis had come to see it as one of the constants in his life. How painful it would be to see it gone.
Finally, his words oddly small, he sums it up at he stares at the floor. ]
He says I can't have you.
no subject
The joints in Ignis's hands are stiff at his side, unmoving. Noct's carrying a realization that should knock his head clean off his shoulders, and he's only absentminded with how long it's taken, how futile it's been, prolonging the inevitable. Better just to say it proper, or throw him out of the apartment early, pathetically assembling a meal that'll likely go unfinished. ]
I see. Alright.
[ That emotionally-charged outburst (so small and squashed in Noctis's throat) fails to elicit much of a reaction, in the end. He's known a little while longer than him, and it's enough to turn to wipe his hands dry on a handtowel, leaving the butchered remains of the fish lying on the chopping board, his own feelings a little gutted out, drying the same way. Beggars can't be choosers, so maybe that's it. One choice isn't so hard to accept when afforded no other option, or at least none he'll entertain. And then he's reaching past the counter for a folder, plain and nondescript. ]
Whenever you're ready, you can take a look overā€” [ Preparation came first and foremost, as usual, but swiveling his head to regard him, Ignis can't pacify his guilt. The burden of responsibility's on his shouldersā€” just like the ring he's got in his pocket, and it's burning holes into him, rendering him temporarily incapable of continuing on, until he blusters through it. The frown in his mouth is only mitigated by the look on Noct's face, killing off the rest of his doubt in one fell swoop as he hands him the portfolio. ] ā€”this, for potential candidates who've met your father's prerequisites. Seeing one of them today would be on rather short notice, but I'm sure we can arrange something promptly when and should the need arise.
[ Isn't that presumptuous? Keeping a list of all of Noct's potential dates on paper, organized by compatibility, personal sentiments flung into the garbage with the rest of the fish bones. Stilling Noctis dead in his tracks is as good a reason as any to retain a sense of normalcy. He's changed since then, over the course of a few days. He doesn't need to lose Noct to be mortally wounded by his absence anymore. There's such a thing as languishing separately from him, apart but not, whole but not. Ignis couldn't leave him as he was, so perhaps it'd always come down to cold, impassive logic to deal the killing blow. ]
Are we still on for today?
[ It bears asking when he looks at him, less than an arm's width apart, but carefully guarding that distance like the last bastion keeping his sanity intact. ]
no subject
The other, the other is to make peace. He's aware that time is running out for them. He has always known this, even if he had thought himself exception to the rules; his father had regularly eschewed royal protocol for him after all, so why not the man that he loves, why not let him have Ignis, let him have a chance at happiness? He knows it's naivete that's wholly unbecoming of a ruler-to-be; happiness is irrelevant when it comes to duty, but Noctis is nothing if not stubborn, clinging to all the tender, intimate moments that Ignis has given him in the past many, many months.
Ignis is not the only one gutted, insides torn out and hung to dry. Noctis is watching him, studying him, stifling his own growing frustration at his unwavering dispassion, placidly neutral in the face of dreaded inevitability. He has to end it but he can't, won't. Ignis is the only thing that has been worthwhile for the longest time now -- he's the only person who sees him as he is and loves him for it anyway, who challenges him to be better, and even if they have their differences Noctis finds that he loves him deeply, deeply all the same.
Now, it seems, he has to give him up. He can't, not like this, and not today, when they have a date planned right here in their apartment. Dinner and a movie, simple, really -- but then again, Noctis had never been high maintenance the way other members of royalty were. A quiet evening with dinner, then curled up with the man that he loves, what's not to like?
So he chooses peace. He chooses to see if he can't circumvent his father's words, if he can't find another way around it -- find that comfortable cusp between duty and happiness. Surely he can figure something out, right? Surely, with Ignis, they can find a way forward that doesn't necessitate severing this relationship.
So he chooses to completely disregard the folder Ignis has with him, stepping past it to wrap his arms around the older, taller man's waist from behind, burying his face in the wing of his shoulder. ]
Yes, we're still on for today. [ Because who knows how many todays they have left? The killing blow can be deflected; need not be now, not when Noctis is not ready for it -- he will never be ready for it, not where Ignis is concerned, which is its own kind of madness. ] I have no use for anything in that folder. I'll find a way out of this, Iggy.
no subject
Forehead to shoulder, the heat's emanating with the same contrariety of refusal (ignorance), and Ignis bites his tongue, his other hand gripping at the counter, the folder deposed to rest plainly at his side, scalding its omen from each point of contact. Twenty-seven women are listed on there, but hundreds more that he's perused, searching for nobility of high class and dignity that Noctis wouldn't find disagreeable as he tried to find the best way to phase their relationship to something largely defunct. ]
Alright. I've no complaints.
[ It's not unlike blundering through propriety as it doesn't exist, made fictive and illusory by the perceptible way Noct's breath fumes against the collar of his shirt, exhalations run scribbly and malevolent. The truth that's eluded him for so long has returned at last to the fold. There never was a chance for any of this to grow into anything substantial. Hurt lures a blankness out of him as he schools his voice to composure, then dedicates himself to turning around and depositing a kiss to Noctis's forehead, like it's already the beginning of the end. In some ways, it is. ]
Will you wait by the couch? I'll join you soon. This won't take much longer.
[ His hesitation's evaporated. Ignis is back to his usual demeanor, even as he carefully extracts himself from Noctis's embrace, busying himself with the stove. ]
George missed you terribly. You should go greet her before she refuses to eat out of her food bowl.
[ Because she's selfish the way Ignis is, pining for attention of the one she loves most to the point of brittle self-destruction. ]