[ Any other time, he might tell him to wait. That he can't possibly know what he's going to want one, ten, fifteen years from now. Will eighty year old Ignis want the same things as he does now? He can't imagine that he will, given how much his tastes have changed over the years. There's no way of ever knowing exactly where he's going to end up or where Noctis will, but that's life.

Despite all of that, though, it isn't as if it truly matters. The world could be ending and his answer will always be the same. He may like different foods or different clothing, or a thousand other things that will change over the years, but one thing is constant and that's Noctis. ]

I was yours the moment I saw you in the throne room, Noct. I've been yours since before I could remember what it even meant to belong to someone like that.

[ He doesn't need to bring out the ring, but his fingers touch against it under his shirt like it's a worrystone, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing. ]

I love you a frankly terrifying amount, Noct. That's not liable to change ever, nor are the lengths I'm willing to go for it, for better or worse.