[ The moment his father sent a missive requesting his immediate presence at the Citadel is the moment that Noctis knows nothing good will come out of it. Good news are delivered in the standard time, which leaves only the restrictively personal and devastatingly terrible, and it's with a knot in his throat that Noctis makes straight for where he is asked to meet him, fearing for Regis' health. He has only just recovered from a cold, and is still not in the pink of health, the last thing Noctis needs is for Regis to develop complications.
He discovers that it's nothing of the sort twenty seconds into the meeting. The king's constitution looks much improved, but that's the extent of the young prince's relief when his father looks sympathetic and grim, both. He brings up the last person Noctis expects this meeting to be about, and Noctis learns that apparently he has not been as subtle about his thing with Ignis as he thought he'd been. That there have been whispers in the court, and these whispers, as well as reports in the affirmative, have reached the king's ears. Regis is not angry, but the sadness in his eyes is obvious, as is the firm measured tone he uses when he reminds him of his duty, that love is not something meant for royalty, who have a duty to their people, to the many others who risk their lives for them day after day.
Noctis is quiet at first, a cold dread twisting in his stomach, and he protests when he ought, riled and upset at the unfairness of it all, how even kings and princes are cogs in the grander machinations of royalty. There is a price to pay for such prestige and privilege, and Noctis cannot help but imagine a gilded cage. Regis might have done everything he can to ensure that his son lives out a normal life, but sooner or later the toll comes due, and the fantasy ends. His life is not his own -- his life belongs to his people just as they belong to him. Noctis resists, pushes back, rebellious and disbelieving, only to be cut short by Regis.
And after that comes a bitter understanding of his place, of the fact that he will have to make arrangements to procure a suitable candidate, a young woman to provide an heir and to ensure that the line of Lucis kings continues unbroken. Noctis' love for Ignis has no place here, and it's with churning, unhappy thoughts that he returns to his own apartment in the heart of the sky, where Ignis is bound to be. They're supposed to watch a movie together, and they were going to have the entire apartment to themselves. It's a thought that would have filled Noctis with anticipation and pleasure, but today, it only brings him the barest comfort.
So people already know about him and Ignis, people who had been talking behind his back (not a novel thing, really, you get used to it), and as he parses through everything Regis has so calmly related to him, Noctis finds that he has to swallow the lump in his throat. Nobody gets everything that they want -- not even royalty, and Ignis, the one thing Noctis has wanted all his life, Ignis does not have a place by his side as a lover.
He bites his lip when he unlocks the door and enters, contemplates escaping into the arcades for awhile; but he has a date with Ignis he'd been looking forward to; it's just unfortunate that his father's directives have come down at such a terrible time. He loves Regis, he really does. He just doesn't love the sacrifices he has to make, his love for Ignis chief among them.
Padding into the apartment, he sighs and heads towards the kitchenette where Ignis is busy with something. It's so wonderfully, painfully domestic, Ignis with his sleeves rolled up, looking as elegantly casual as he's ever seen him, and no less gorgeous. ] Iggy. Can we talk?
[ Realistically, keeping up appearances could only go on for so long. It's not hard to draw conclusions given how much time he's spent in Noctis's apartment (and company) as of late, how he's not careful enough to keep just enough distance when their hands brush or his shoulder is angled just shy of Noct's at the farmer's market, or in the checkout line, or maintaining a careful vigil around the batting cage with Prompto or Gladio in tow and jotting down the averages while the rest of their merry band strike out or hit home runs, respectively. Word gets around, and Ignis's natural first course of action is making headway for the Citadel to break the news to Noct's father.
It's been a few days since then, and he's entirely calm and composed, like dating the heir apparent is the most benign thing in the world. (In some respects, it is; there's no challenge to overcome when he's known him all of his life, familiar in a context entirely divorced from duty and obligation.) Currently, he's distracted with cleaning and filleting the halibut in the sink. Shaving off the skin and carving it into sections is thoughtless work; paring off fins and scales, sashaying cuts through the ribs in long, slicing strokes. The pan's searing the meat, and he's whittling away at the paunchy cheek of one fish head when the sound of jangling keys alerts him.
Noct's footsteps carry a particular cadence, an informality hard-pressed to be extracted; just like Ignis, he's a creature of habit, padding with the same casual irreverence he dons all too well. ]
Welcome back.
[ Ignis's posture remains neat and uniform, only betraying a hint of tension in the sudden lapse of the cut, knife dragging a little too heavily on the cutting board, the sound dissonant. But then he's set the blade aside, turning the heat on the stove to a low, low flame, moving to rinse his hands off the scales. ]
Of course. You needn't ask. [ The build-up is the portent of something awful, when Noctis rarely prompts him like this, strange and resigned, but Ignis is as unflappable as ever, no hesitance bruising at his throat when he speaks up. For all that he's wound up right now, braced and cautious, he's never been particularly indecisive. ] What seems to be the issue?
[ It doesn't help that Noctis is in turn more than willing, easily brushing their hands together, straying closer than a prince should to his chamberlain, smudging the lines in his youthful recklessness -- he is, after all, one not quite accustomed to obfuscation when he's happy, and with Ignis, he's very, very happy. With the appropriate disguises they could pretend to be a normal couple out and about, and perhaps Noctis had been too careless, too intoxicated with Ignis and enamored with the warmth of his touch, the smooth cadence of his voice, just a little ragged when Noctis does the things that he likes, kisses him a particular way. Even when Noctis offered Ignis a fat, plump strawberry that day at the farmer's market, secure in his anonymity, and how the rest of that day went, heavy with love and desire, affection twined with everything they did together after that.
Noctis looks to Ignis first even when they're out with Gladio and Prompto, sidles closer to him than he does the others even if he evidently cares for them all, but perhaps he should have understood that good things never last. Perhaps he should have marked the countdown to when such little things will catch in the wind, whispered into the highest of echelons. Dad had not seemed surprised when he'd broken the news to him -- only sad.
He doesn't immediately respond, already having come up with his own ways of reading Ignis. It's true that Ignis has an impressive self-control, always in command of all faculties and keenly aware of what happens around him, schooling his own reactions with a discipline that puts him head and shoulders above the rest in the Citadel. Ignis is the finest choice, handsome and charming and learned and entirely capable -- and he would make a man or woman happy one day.
It's just, Dad said gently. Not Noctis.
He swallows, leaning against the side of the doorway and looks down at his feet, aware of the tension, however minute, that sets in the elegant line of Ignis' shoulders. The man cuts up fish with a grace so polished he would put some top-ranked chefs to shame, and when Ignis briskly prompts, he shifts at the dread that coils in the pit of his stomach. ]
Dad knows. About us. I don't know who told him, but --
[ This is no time to exhibit indifferenceā€” not today, of all days. Ignis has always been adaptable, given the nature of his position at Noctis's side, the necessity of being a man capable of handling conflicts of interests, although the one currently plaguing him resembles more of a noose to wrap his throat with than a simple dispute. Noctis sounds so quiet that it's almost shameful, given the very nature of what transpired a few days ago and what he's been carrying since then.
But he's not new to obligation tightening its chokehold onto him, quietly persevering until Noctis cuts himself off, to which Ignis picks up the slack. He's seen the prince's uncertainty, but for his sake, he'll pretend otherwise. ]
I did. There was little reason to keep your father in the dark, given the rumors that started to circulate around the Citadel. It would be best for him to hear it from one of us.
[ All those years ago, Regis entrusted him with Noctisā€” pledged him to the singular purpose of keeping his son safe, pledging his life for his own. Ignis offers up a quip from time to time, handles Noctis's laundry and so very often plays chauffeur and chef interchangeably, but first and foremost he is his chamberlain, and held to those standards. Duplicity now would be in extremely poor taste, so Ignis wastes no time beating around the bush, though his expression has taken an obfuscated look as tension invades. But when has that ever stopped him from posturing, really? Even maddened, even heartbroken, even near-despotic with the sort of desperation that has him waiting for the totality of the truth to hit home. ]
[ 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}
there is a price for everything.
He discovers that it's nothing of the sort twenty seconds into the meeting. The king's constitution looks much improved, but that's the extent of the young prince's relief when his father looks sympathetic and grim, both. He brings up the last person Noctis expects this meeting to be about, and Noctis learns that apparently he has not been as subtle about his thing with Ignis as he thought he'd been. That there have been whispers in the court, and these whispers, as well as reports in the affirmative, have reached the king's ears. Regis is not angry, but the sadness in his eyes is obvious, as is the firm measured tone he uses when he reminds him of his duty, that love is not something meant for royalty, who have a duty to their people, to the many others who risk their lives for them day after day.
Noctis is quiet at first, a cold dread twisting in his stomach, and he protests when he ought, riled and upset at the unfairness of it all, how even kings and princes are cogs in the grander machinations of royalty. There is a price to pay for such prestige and privilege, and Noctis cannot help but imagine a gilded cage. Regis might have done everything he can to ensure that his son lives out a normal life, but sooner or later the toll comes due, and the fantasy ends. His life is not his own -- his life belongs to his people just as they belong to him. Noctis resists, pushes back, rebellious and disbelieving, only to be cut short by Regis.
And after that comes a bitter understanding of his place, of the fact that he will have to make arrangements to procure a suitable candidate, a young woman to provide an heir and to ensure that the line of Lucis kings continues unbroken. Noctis' love for Ignis has no place here, and it's with churning, unhappy thoughts that he returns to his own apartment in the heart of the sky, where Ignis is bound to be. They're supposed to watch a movie together, and they were going to have the entire apartment to themselves. It's a thought that would have filled Noctis with anticipation and pleasure, but today, it only brings him the barest comfort.
So people already know about him and Ignis, people who had been talking behind his back (not a novel thing, really, you get used to it), and as he parses through everything Regis has so calmly related to him, Noctis finds that he has to swallow the lump in his throat. Nobody gets everything that they want -- not even royalty, and Ignis, the one thing Noctis has wanted all his life, Ignis does not have a place by his side as a lover.
He bites his lip when he unlocks the door and enters, contemplates escaping into the arcades for awhile; but he has a date with Ignis he'd been looking forward to; it's just unfortunate that his father's directives have come down at such a terrible time. He loves Regis, he really does. He just doesn't love the sacrifices he has to make, his love for Ignis chief among them.
Padding into the apartment, he sighs and heads towards the kitchenette where Ignis is busy with something. It's so wonderfully, painfully domestic, Ignis with his sleeves rolled up, looking as elegantly casual as he's ever seen him, and no less gorgeous. ] Iggy. Can we talk?
no subject
It's been a few days since then, and he's entirely calm and composed, like dating the heir apparent is the most benign thing in the world. (In some respects, it is; there's no challenge to overcome when he's known him all of his life, familiar in a context entirely divorced from duty and obligation.) Currently, he's distracted with cleaning and filleting the halibut in the sink. Shaving off the skin and carving it into sections is thoughtless work; paring off fins and scales, sashaying cuts through the ribs in long, slicing strokes. The pan's searing the meat, and he's whittling away at the paunchy cheek of one fish head when the sound of jangling keys alerts him.
Noct's footsteps carry a particular cadence, an informality hard-pressed to be extracted; just like Ignis, he's a creature of habit, padding with the same casual irreverence he dons all too well. ]
Welcome back.
[ Ignis's posture remains neat and uniform, only betraying a hint of tension in the sudden lapse of the cut, knife dragging a little too heavily on the cutting board, the sound dissonant. But then he's set the blade aside, turning the heat on the stove to a low, low flame, moving to rinse his hands off the scales. ]
Of course. You needn't ask. [ The build-up is the portent of something awful, when Noctis rarely prompts him like this, strange and resigned, but Ignis is as unflappable as ever, no hesitance bruising at his throat when he speaks up. For all that he's wound up right now, braced and cautious, he's never been particularly indecisive. ] What seems to be the issue?
no subject
Noctis looks to Ignis first even when they're out with Gladio and Prompto, sidles closer to him than he does the others even if he evidently cares for them all, but perhaps he should have understood that good things never last. Perhaps he should have marked the countdown to when such little things will catch in the wind, whispered into the highest of echelons. Dad had not seemed surprised when he'd broken the news to him -- only sad.
He doesn't immediately respond, already having come up with his own ways of reading Ignis. It's true that Ignis has an impressive self-control, always in command of all faculties and keenly aware of what happens around him, schooling his own reactions with a discipline that puts him head and shoulders above the rest in the Citadel. Ignis is the finest choice, handsome and charming and learned and entirely capable -- and he would make a man or woman happy one day.
It's just, Dad said gently. Not Noctis.
He swallows, leaning against the side of the doorway and looks down at his feet, aware of the tension, however minute, that sets in the elegant line of Ignis' shoulders. The man cuts up fish with a grace so polished he would put some top-ranked chefs to shame, and when Ignis briskly prompts, he shifts at the dread that coils in the pit of his stomach. ]
Dad knows. About us. I don't know who told him, but --
no subject
But he's not new to obligation tightening its chokehold onto him, quietly persevering until Noctis cuts himself off, to which Ignis picks up the slack. He's seen the prince's uncertainty, but for his sake, he'll pretend otherwise. ]
I did. There was little reason to keep your father in the dark, given the rumors that started to circulate around the Citadel. It would be best for him to hear it from one of us.
[ All those years ago, Regis entrusted him with Noctisā€” pledged him to the singular purpose of keeping his son safe, pledging his life for his own. Ignis offers up a quip from time to time, handles Noctis's laundry and so very often plays chauffeur and chef interchangeably, but first and foremost he is his chamberlain, and held to those standards. Duplicity now would be in extremely poor taste, so Ignis wastes no time beating around the bush, though his expression has taken an obfuscated look as tension invades. But when has that ever stopped him from posturing, really? Even maddened, even heartbroken, even near-despotic with the sort of desperation that has him waiting for the totality of the truth to hit home. ]
What did he tell you?
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. ]