[ 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. ]
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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.
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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. ]