[ Distantly he wonders if this other him, this earlier Ignis ever felt so damnably insignificant. Lacking. He can't imagine it was easy losing his vision, but from what he'd gleaned from the others he hadn't let that stop him. He learned how to fight, learned how to listen and adapt because he wanted to be useful.
( Not so different from you now, Prompto had pointed out cheerfully, only for his smile to freeze in place and then fade like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say that, if pointing out Ignis' failings was okay. )
Prompto was right about it, at the very least. The parts and pieces that made up Ignis, the older Ignis, were still echoed in him. He could tell in the way that he still preferred the same clothing, the same food, still drank Ebony like a man parched in the desert. He still spoke the same, with the same inflections and tone as the videos that Prompto had taken. Despite everything, he was still markedly similar to the old Ignis.
Most frustratingly, though: he still loved Noctis. Differently than he had back then, probably, but it was so damnably easy to love him, especially when he was talking Ignis through all of this, soft and sweet and considerate, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ignis wants to think badly of it -- wants to lash out and tell Noctis that he doesn't have the right to touch him like they're familiar, but those little flares of impotent anger are easy enough to swallow down into nothingness. Instead, he presses fingertips to the window and looks out over the city. ]
It does't look that different.
[ His finger drags over where the school Noctis had gone to for years is, and then traces a path to the penthouse where he'd lived, not knowing why either point is familiar, just knowing that those buildings are something he should remember. ]
Gladiolus said that it was lucky I lost my sight when I did. That at least I'd be able to remember everything as it was before the ten years where you were gone.
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( Not so different from you now, Prompto had pointed out cheerfully, only for his smile to freeze in place and then fade like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say that, if pointing out Ignis' failings was okay. )
Prompto was right about it, at the very least. The parts and pieces that made up Ignis, the older Ignis, were still echoed in him. He could tell in the way that he still preferred the same clothing, the same food, still drank Ebony like a man parched in the desert. He still spoke the same, with the same inflections and tone as the videos that Prompto had taken. Despite everything, he was still markedly similar to the old Ignis.
Most frustratingly, though: he still loved Noctis. Differently than he had back then, probably, but it was so damnably easy to love him, especially when he was talking Ignis through all of this, soft and sweet and considerate, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ignis wants to think badly of it -- wants to lash out and tell Noctis that he doesn't have the right to touch him like they're familiar, but those little flares of impotent anger are easy enough to swallow down into nothingness. Instead, he presses fingertips to the window and looks out over the city. ]
It does't look that different.
[ His finger drags over where the school Noctis had gone to for years is, and then traces a path to the penthouse where he'd lived, not knowing why either point is familiar, just knowing that those buildings are something he should remember. ]
Gladiolus said that it was lucky I lost my sight when I did. That at least I'd be able to remember everything as it was before the ten years where you were gone.