Noctis freezes at that condition, looking down at where Ignis had so gently slipped from him. Not so long ago, he thinks, Ignis would have welcomed it, twined his fingers with his like it's the most natural thing in the world to do. Not so long ago, Ignis loved him with a smoldering, overwhelming intensity that Noctis returned right back -- the both of them so fiercely, so wholly in love that it should be terrifying.
He supposes it would probably terrify this Ignis (his Ignis, still, even if he doesn't remember) now.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to go after his hand, his warmth lingering under his palm. Things are different now, no matter how much Noctis hates it, no matter how sorely he misses him. He has to give him space, not suffocate him with his love, his desperate desire to make up for lost time. They've lost so much, Ignis more than Noctis, and it's his turn to take care of him. For Ignis, Noctis would do damn near about anything.
But to choose not to pursue him? He can't. He can't make this promise. He would chase him to the ends of the world, he would come after him every single time because for all the adage about loving something and letting them go; practice is significantly harder than trite platitudes. ]
I promise that you'll have the freedom to leave if you need to, at any point. [ Noctis' fingers curl into a loose fist. He could lie to him, tell him what he needs to hear; but Noctis has never lied to Ignis, and lying to him would break something between them, and there already is so little left. ] But I can't promise more than that. Ask me for anything else, and I'll give it to you.
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Noctis freezes at that condition, looking down at where Ignis had so gently slipped from him. Not so long ago, he thinks, Ignis would have welcomed it, twined his fingers with his like it's the most natural thing in the world to do. Not so long ago, Ignis loved him with a smoldering, overwhelming intensity that Noctis returned right back -- the both of them so fiercely, so wholly in love that it should be terrifying.
He supposes it would probably terrify this Ignis (his Ignis, still, even if he doesn't remember) now.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to go after his hand, his warmth lingering under his palm. Things are different now, no matter how much Noctis hates it, no matter how sorely he misses him. He has to give him space, not suffocate him with his love, his desperate desire to make up for lost time. They've lost so much, Ignis more than Noctis, and it's his turn to take care of him. For Ignis, Noctis would do damn near about anything.
But to choose not to pursue him? He can't. He can't make this promise. He would chase him to the ends of the world, he would come after him every single time because for all the adage about loving something and letting them go; practice is significantly harder than trite platitudes. ]
I promise that you'll have the freedom to leave if you need to, at any point. [ Noctis' fingers curl into a loose fist. He could lie to him, tell him what he needs to hear; but Noctis has never lied to Ignis, and lying to him would break something between them, and there already is so little left. ] But I can't promise more than that. Ask me for anything else, and I'll give it to you.