[ He can't even articulate it right now, breath hitching in his throat as he tries to think about it and figure out how to give it words. You were dead, Ardyn killed you and I had to watch; it'd get jumbled in his mouth and not come out right, when normally he has no issues talking to Noct.
It's the illness, he supposes, or maybe the panic that lingers at the edge of his awareness, threatening to spike up and swallow him down again if he dips too far into that train of thought. Slowly, he focuses on doing what he can which is at this point, adjusting himself so that he's not quite huddling in Noctis' arms. Instead, he stretches his legs back out and pushes their feet together, sliding an arm around his waist. His cheek is pillowed on one of Noct's shoulders, leaning into each soft touch, shuddering.
Now that it's faded back and he's more aware, he's hyper aware of how pathetic he feels, despite knowing that it's reasonable, given everything that's happened.
Orders, orders are easy. Ignis moves on instinct, obeying before he even thinks about it. His fingers hook under the shirt and he shrugs it off, hair mussed, sticking up in a rather impressive imitation of Prompto's once it's removed. Rather than try and fold it like normal, he lets it slip out of his fingers, slithering over the edge of the bed. It's soaked in a cold sweat and he's sure it smells; he ought to get in the shower, or a bath, but he has no idea what time it is. ]
no subject
[ He can't even articulate it right now, breath hitching in his throat as he tries to think about it and figure out how to give it words. You were dead, Ardyn killed you and I had to watch; it'd get jumbled in his mouth and not come out right, when normally he has no issues talking to Noct.
It's the illness, he supposes, or maybe the panic that lingers at the edge of his awareness, threatening to spike up and swallow him down again if he dips too far into that train of thought. Slowly, he focuses on doing what he can which is at this point, adjusting himself so that he's not quite huddling in Noctis' arms. Instead, he stretches his legs back out and pushes their feet together, sliding an arm around his waist. His cheek is pillowed on one of Noct's shoulders, leaning into each soft touch, shuddering.
Now that it's faded back and he's more aware, he's hyper aware of how pathetic he feels, despite knowing that it's reasonable, given everything that's happened.
Orders, orders are easy. Ignis moves on instinct, obeying before he even thinks about it. His fingers hook under the shirt and he shrugs it off, hair mussed, sticking up in a rather impressive imitation of Prompto's once it's removed. Rather than try and fold it like normal, he lets it slip out of his fingers, slithering over the edge of the bed. It's soaked in a cold sweat and he's sure it smells; he ought to get in the shower, or a bath, but he has no idea what time it is. ]
I'm rather tired of being ill.