[ It's no secret that Ignis handled being ill very poorly. Once, when he'd been ill, it'd taken Regis himself pulling him aside and gently explaining that his job was to protect, to be there for Noctis and he couldn't do that job as well as he normally did if he were ill. Ignis was never certain if it was the shame of having Regis talk to him like that, gentle and fatherly and concerned, or the realization that he was right, but either way, he'd accepted it.
He'd never been particularly sickly, either; health was something he was blessed with, and the one time something serious happened, Noctis defied all the odds, the Gods themselves and healed him. It makes being ill now all the more insulting. On some level, it's sweet that Noct has gone through all this trouble to ensure that he's unable to work while he's ill. On another, it's infuriating and all he wants to do is something useful, something other than lying in bed, feverish and disgusting, staring at books until the words swim.
Day one is fine - not fun, but passable. Day two, the fever spikes and he alternates between chills and being overwhelmingly hot, unable to find a balance. Day three, he's bedridden save for the bathroom and the walk he makes himself take around the King's room, mostly to prove that he can. Day three, Noctis comes back having gotten over the sickness nearly a week ago and Ignis gives him a bleary look through the mess of his sweat-damp fringe and sits up to greet him. He eats the soup he's given and blessedly doesn't puke, even managing a cool bath, despite sagging off of Noctis when he's unable to wobble there himself.
Thankfully, it's an early night for both of them. He asks Noctis if he's eaten (forgetting they'd eaten together a mere hour ago) and takes the medication he's given, sleepily protesting them cuddling but not strong enough to do anything about it. In the end, sleep wins out quickly and Ignis rests, curled on his side, a hand resting on top of Noct's chest.
When he wakes, he has no idea what hour it is, but instead of the grating of the floor holding the Crystal, it's softer. He aches, just like he's escaped a battle but this time: he can see. ]
Noct--
[ It's a sleep-fuzzy slur, the vowel rounded awkwardly in his mouth with exhaustion and he gropes around, trying to figure out where Noct is, where any of them are. A moment later, he realizes: Noct's lying still next to him, pale in the light of the moon bleeding through the window. There, the proof is right there. Noctis dead, the moonlight illuminating the bloodied sheets underneath him, pale and still, hair mussed.
There's no stopping the distressed, horrible noise that's dragged out of him, more animal than human at that point. ]
Noctis, Noct-- no, I stopped-- it was me, I-
[ They were supposed to take me, he can't articulate. Fumbling, he reaches for the ring but it's not on his fingers and when he goes for Noct's it's not there, either. ]
SICK + nightmares
He'd never been particularly sickly, either; health was something he was blessed with, and the one time something serious happened, Noctis defied all the odds, the Gods themselves and healed him. It makes being ill now all the more insulting. On some level, it's sweet that Noct has gone through all this trouble to ensure that he's unable to work while he's ill. On another, it's infuriating and all he wants to do is something useful, something other than lying in bed, feverish and disgusting, staring at books until the words swim.
Day one is fine - not fun, but passable. Day two, the fever spikes and he alternates between chills and being overwhelmingly hot, unable to find a balance. Day three, he's bedridden save for the bathroom and the walk he makes himself take around the King's room, mostly to prove that he can. Day three, Noctis comes back having gotten over the sickness nearly a week ago and Ignis gives him a bleary look through the mess of his sweat-damp fringe and sits up to greet him. He eats the soup he's given and blessedly doesn't puke, even managing a cool bath, despite sagging off of Noctis when he's unable to wobble there himself.
Thankfully, it's an early night for both of them. He asks Noctis if he's eaten (forgetting they'd eaten together a mere hour ago) and takes the medication he's given, sleepily protesting them cuddling but not strong enough to do anything about it. In the end, sleep wins out quickly and Ignis rests, curled on his side, a hand resting on top of Noct's chest.
When he wakes, he has no idea what hour it is, but instead of the grating of the floor holding the Crystal, it's softer. He aches, just like he's escaped a battle but this time: he can see. ]
Noct--
[ It's a sleep-fuzzy slur, the vowel rounded awkwardly in his mouth with exhaustion and he gropes around, trying to figure out where Noct is, where any of them are. A moment later, he realizes: Noct's lying still next to him, pale in the light of the moon bleeding through the window. There, the proof is right there. Noctis dead, the moonlight illuminating the bloodied sheets underneath him, pale and still, hair mussed.
There's no stopping the distressed, horrible noise that's dragged out of him, more animal than human at that point. ]
Noctis, Noct-- no, I stopped-- it was me, I-
[ They were supposed to take me, he can't articulate. Fumbling, he reaches for the ring but it's not on his fingers and when he goes for Noct's it's not there, either. ]