[ 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 throatβ 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. ]
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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 throatβ 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. ]