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LET'S PLAY {open post}
[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]
[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]
[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]
[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]
no subject
Noctis' feet slam against the ground and Ignis shifts his own weight to adjust, taking the weight of him in the hand to hand attack, feinting low and trying to shove his shoulder into Noct's stomach to get him on the ground.
This shouldn't be so easy, he thinks, frowning. Noctis should be fighting him - if he wants to actually win, he needs to fight so this lack of effort and the soft words are at odds with what he's been preparing for this whole time. Worse, is when Ignis dares to listen despite what Ardyn told him to do. Come back to me. As if he'd ever--
I told you he would try, Ardyn whispers and Ignis strikes out again, daggers ripped from where they vanish from but instead of a wash of purple magic, it's blue. He might not be able to see it, but he feels the difference, the way the magic licks at his fingers, familiar and warm rather than the red-hot heat and anger of Ardyn's own. It doesn't matter.
It should, maybe. Ignis grits his teeth and slices out in a wide arc. Ardyn is the one who saved him, Ardyn is the one who pulled him from the crumpled heap at the bottom of a cliff, but before? He'd never questioned it, never thought to try and examine what happened before and Ardyn, the one time that he was asked, had brushed it aside.
It doesn't matter. Fight him. It's loud enough even Noctis might hear it, Ignis flinching at the strength behind the order. ]
no subject
He's seeing it more clearly now, the depths of which the poison went, and his head snaps up when he hears it now, that guttural issued command that seems to surge through invisible strings that keep his lover tethered to Ardyn.
No. ] No. [ He breathes, because he can see it now, the glimpse of Ignis, a shimmer of the man he loves, the man he had been before all this had come crashing down, and Noctis' heart tightens so very painfully in his chest. Oh, my love, what have they done to you? ]
I won't fight you, Iggy. [ Noctis' words are thick, rough, but firm as he moves towards him, barely ducking that reckless arc. His words, becoming just a touch more plaintive, more desperate and urgent as he holds his hands up. He knows Ignis can't quite see it, but he can sense it, can't he? Noctis doesn't want to fight him. ]
I love you. And you -- you loved me, too. Please! Please, you have to remember. You have to fight back. Ardyn, he stole your life, he stole who you were -- this is not what you are. You know it, don't you? You know whose magic flows better in your veins!
[ Do it. Draw from Noctis again. ] Fight back, Iggy! Come back to me, please. Come home.
no subject
That's the part that fucks with him the most. Ardyn had warned him that it would be a fight, that it may very well steal his life, but he'd be sacrificing it for the greater good. To bring dawn back to the world, and isn't that what every good soldier wants? To see things bettered by their sacrifices? He'd agreed and they had gone to work.
It was different, fighting this man as opposed to fighting the other two. They tried the same things, of course, trying to appeal to his better nature, trying to tell him that they were friends, but they'd actually fought back. Gladiolus, the brutish man the other side used, had nearly cleaved him in half at one point until Ardyn had healed him. Prompto had fired until his gun was empty and only later had Ignis discovered the neat, aching hole in his thigh later on. This one, though. This one takes the hits and keeps talking, and for a moment Ignis is so fucking furious he wants to make it stop in whatever way he can. He can't be twisted around like this, can't be turned into something he's not. He won't be swayed from his path.
It's one thing for an enemy to shout fury across the field but it's something else entirely to fight a man who doesn't want to fight, whose voice goes soft and aching, who says I love you, like it's the only thing that matters in the world. Ignis dispels his daggers and stalks forward, tracking him by voice and then twists, pulls at the weight of his weapons again and it's so, so familiar that it aches. There's a moment of something, of clarity, of memory.
( you must protect him when he cannot protect himself. you'll have access to the armory; gladiolus will keep training you in its weapons and you need to fight him, kill him, Ignis, kill him-- )
The memory goes sour in a heartbeat, but it's enough that Ignis is left standing, trembling with his daggers in hand again, head aching fiercely. He dispels them once more and then pulls, the flicker of blue magic lighting up his hands, warm and familiar and right in a way that nothing has been for ten years. It burns through the blackness surrounding him, white-hot and unyielding, and for a moment, Ingis resurfaces, panting. Noct's-- Noct's dead, or asleep, trapped in the crystal, isn't he? He's not there.
Come back to me, please. Come home. ]
Noct?
no subject
He closes the distance between them recklessly when he hears his name, so soft and so wounded that his heart breaks all over again. He throws his arms around him and pulls him into an embrace, tight. ]
It's me. Really me. [ He says quietly, heatedly. Come home. He doesn't care if Ignis stabs him from this angle -- he doesn't care; he's getting through to him, and he squeezes tight, voice cracking despite himself. ] I know you can't see me right now, but you will. Ignis, you will. Remember that night in Duscae, when you and I went to see the stars? Do you remember when I took your hand? I messed up telling you I loved you.
[ But you knew. You looked at me like you knew it anyway. ]
1/2
Do you remember Noctis asks, and Ignis tries, Six, he tries, but the moment slips away each time he tries to reach for it, muddied and fuzzy around the edges.
It's deafening, so strong and fierce that Ignis can't hold back the choked noise at it, his head aching as Ardyn surges back and swallows all of it up in a rush. He'd almost failed -- almost been tricked by the false king. Snarling, Ignis gropes for his daggers again and strikes up, tries to sink them into the soft flesh of Noctis' belly while he's this close and fails, shuddering, jerking to the side at the last minute.
A shame. Some things are just done better by yourself, I suppose.
He's failed; Ardyn's displeasure radiates through him, a physical thing, so sharp that it makes his teeth ache and he makes a terrible, pained noise through clenched teeth, holding his head. The daggers fall, the sound of them hitting the ground suddenly deafening and then -- nothing. Ignis is aware one moment: the next, collapsed on the ground. ]
2/2
It takes ages to get his legs under himself, to rise up and grope for his daggers, panting with the effort. Through all of it, the sound never stops, steady and unsettling for some reason. Everything is still dark, but after a few moments of steadying himself, something feels...different. There are windows in the massive room, floor to wall windows but it never mattered until this very moment, when he turns, the blackness in front of him shifting to a dull, dark gray and then bleeding brighter bit by bit. He staggers his way over to them and presses a hand there, holding his other hand in front of his eyes to test it, but there's nothing else it could be. It's the sun, filling the room slowly but steadily, brought back, warming the glass under his hand. It's so jarring he doesn't know what to do at first.
Ardyn's...gone. He can tell, somehow, whatever connection binding them together severed into ragged edges. Slowly, he makes his way to the massive stairs on either side of the throne they'd fought in front of and climbs toward the source of the dripping, groping a hand out. It meets cold metal first, sliding over and then hits what he realizes is a shoulder. It's too slender to be Ardyn and when his hand travels further into the center of his chest, he presses against cold metal again, realizing. It's not a shock to come to the conclusion that Ardyn had lied; without his presence in his mind, will overwhelming Ignis' own, the truth is laid bare. He'd nearly killed the true king, the chosen king, and it's that man in front of him right now. Delicately, he feels around the source of the injury, fingers slick with blood - the source of the dripping, he realizes. The armiger is still active; Ignis pulls a potion from it and crushes it, then another, another, until the dripping stops and only then does he curl his hand around the sword in Noctis' chest and heave. It takes two attempts, buried so deeply into the throne, but when it releases it's with a slick, wet noise and a scream of metal on metal before it drops, vanishing.
He can't see the damage, but he can certainly feel it. Noctis' chest is soaked with blood and his pulse is thready under the cool line of his throat. Operating on instinct, he pulls from the armiger again and crushes the remaining potions until he can press against Noctis' chest and feels scabbing rather than raw edges. It'll have to be enough.
It takes too long to get down the stairs and longer still to get down to the bottom floor of the Citadel while holding Noctis like so much dead weight, but he knows he's found them when he hears strangled shouts of Noctis' name, feels the rising sun on his face.
Prompto and Gladiolus want to bring him in too, but he gives them a choice: they can try to save their king or they can argue. It's not much of a choice at all, but they agree to it just as he knew they would.
In the new world that Noctis has brought about, Ignis drifts. His memories are still uneven, ragged tatters, surfacing mostly in dreams that he can't recall when he wakes up the next morning. He takes a job hunting since it's something he's good at, killing pests and saving money that way. A woman at the coffee shop he frequents tells him that the prince survived, somehow. That he's ascended the throne and things will finally get back to normal. Ignis smiles thinly and takes his coffee out the door, back to the tiny, sparse apartment he's been living in. There are notebooks scattered along the table there, filled with the bits and pieces he scrawls from what he remembers. He can't reread them, of course, but he needs to do something to get it out of his head and he isn't going to record it on his phone; that feels too strange. Life settles into an odd sort of rhythm, hunting, avoiding large crowds and people who may know him, keeping to himself. ]
no subject
What Noctis doesn't expect is to wake to Gladio and Prompto's worried faces hovering over his, tucked into a wide warm bed in one of the undamaged parts of the Citadel. He remembers Ignis, how Ardyn had taken him out of the game before it ends, and Noctis, enraged and out for blood, and gone at him with all that he had. And he had won, even though it felt nothing like a victory and like everything had been taken from him -- but at least Gladio and Prompto are safe. He carried Ignis and laid him down in a safe spot, out of the way of whatever may come next, and prepared himself to die.
It's only through death that he can defeat the scourge, and the last thing he sees when his father drives the last sword through his chest is his father -- and Ignis.
And then he's here, back where the sun is rising at last, daybreak falling over all the world, and Noctis spends his first waking moments staring at the light that suffuses everything else, with Gladio and Prompto, his heart aching for the one person who's not here to share it with them, even though Noctis knows he's the reason why he's still alive. Prompto and Gladio tell him everything with shadows in their eyes, regret and grief mixed with anger -- after all, Ignis is dear to them, too, and they had been forced to make a whole host of difficult choices that Noctis wishes he could alleviate. They did the best they could. He tells them that, he's just not sure that they believe it.
But he does, and together they begin to rebuild the Citadel, Insomnia, and Lucis. Word had flown as quickly as the breaking dawn, the Chosen King had fulfilled the age-old prophecy and banished the darkness, scrubbing the scourge from the world. And surely but steadily, his people returned to what was left of their homes. The faithful, the loyal, the ones who only seek to have their lives back -- Noctis owes them all, and he had plunged himself to their service. To be king is to serve, and for the few months after that he had pulled teams and teams together to rebuild, putting forth an immense effort to do what they can to heal, to recover and bring back what they've lost.
Noctis restores running water and power first, and Cor, Gladio, Prompto, and all that's left of the Kingsglaive do the rest, tireless and unrelenting. It's a massive undertaking, but people are resilient, resourceful, and Noctis doesn't forget Ignis at all. He thinks of him in the spaces that he's allowed time to breathe, he thinks of him when he ascends as king and sees the space where his love ought to be, standing there proudly with him. He endures dreamless sleep however he can grab them, tirelessly searching for Ignis. He catches news of him one day, of a handsome blind young man, exceptionally skilled and mysterious -- and he sets out to find him.
He leaves the rest to Cor and the rest, because Ignis matters more than so much else, and when he finally locates the apartment he lets himself in. It's quiet and sparse, and looks barely lived in. It's a little messier than the Ignis of old would have preferred it, but things change. He looks through the notes left on the dining table, fingers tracing over the familiar writing and feeling the full weight of his longing, the emptiness in his chest at Ignis' absence. He saved him, he knows this -- he ought to have been dead, but Ignis had perhaps found a piece of himself after all. In these scattered notes he sees glimpses of Ignis, of the life he now leads, quiet and unobtrusive, and more than anything he misses him, yearning to have him back by his side.
After all, had they not fought for this day, had Ignis not sacrificed more than any of them?
It's this hope that he still clings to, when the sun begins to go down for the day, and Noctis chooses to wait. He's not sure what time Ignis will be back, if he'll even return at all, but he will not let Ignis slip through his fingers after finally having a real, solid shot at getting him back. And so when he hears the key turn in the lock, Noctis stiffens and forgets to breathe. Is it him after all, has he perhaps gotten the wrong person?
But he sees it, the unmistakable lines of him, tall and lean and elegant and impossibly gorgeous even when worn down and tired, and Noctis swallows hard. ]
Ignis.
[ It's time for him to come home. ]
no subject
In a way, it's just a countdown until one of them finds him. He remembers enough to know that they'll try; there's memories that he hasn't been able to latch onto but knows are there. Moments where he'll take a drink of Ebony and remember the wind on his face, or telling Prompto to keep his eyes on the road. Moments where it's all the more clear Ardyn was a liar and a manipulator, not worthy of the air he used to speak his lies. Moments where he's fighting and for a moment, it feels as if others should be there and he feels lacking, like he's missing something huge and important while alone. The memories coalesce into something sturdy enough for him to realize that Noctis spoke the truth, that they were all a team, back in the years before and that meant Ignis had spent ten long years trying to kill the very people he'd loved.
It's an impossible pill to swallow. He distracts himself when he's not hunting, listening to audio books on politics, on a thousand subjects that he knew intimately and now feels like he's relearning. He cooks, nothing fancy but remembers testing new recipes out, remembers the warmth of a campfire and loud laughter as they sat around it.
He waits.
Eventually, the day comes. He lets himself into the apartment and stills in an instant, knowing someone's there. That flicker of something, of magic, of connection flares bright inside his chest and for a moment everything is in reach - his mind knows Noctis, knows the feel of that magic and he aches for it, almost. The ring he'd worn had burned scars into his body and while he didn't remember how he got them, he remembered enough to ache for the loss of the power, the connection to the king-to-be.
Nonchalant, or as close as he can come to it with his chest tight, stomach twisting into knots, Ignis walks into his kitchen and slides his jacket off. ]
Breaking and entering. Not terribly regal behavior.
no subject
[ Noctis points out, quite unfazed as his gaze follows every movement the other man makes. He's been starved of him for too long; the sight of Ignis one for terribly sore eyes. His movements are almost as smooth as when he could see -- still so innately graceful and efficient, and he doesn't move from where he's seated, not sure if Ignis would bolt if he so much as made an unwelcome move.
He looks him over, taking in the scars in the evening light, bittersweet heartache echoing in his heart. Oh, he's missed him so. His next words are gentler, even as he's acutely aware that he's coming closer. He's acutely aware of him, the warmth that barely reaches Noctis, the warmth he's missed for so many months. Ignis is irreplaceable, the memory of him haunts them all even in their most busy days, and his fingers curl, just a little.
What does he say now? He's prepared a whole host of things, but when faced with the actual man himself, finds himself tongue-tied. Where does he start? ]
Thank you for saving me.
[ This, let's start with this. ]
no subject
[ He's being snippy and he knows it, but there's a part of him that is unsettled with Noctis being in his apartment, in finding him so easily. Being found (if they were looking for him) was an eventuality, of course, but he also had always sort of regarded it as something later.
To be found so quickly either meant that he'd been even worse than he thought at maintaining a low profile and word got back, or, Noctis had actively spent a great period of time looking for him. The latter was scarier than the former. The latter was another reminder that they had something, back then. Enough that Ardyn used him against Noctis and that Noctis would break into a potential stranger's house to confirm this.
Noct's in the chair he hangs his jacket on, and for a moment he pauses. He's never hung it on the other chair before, never needed to count that number of steps to make sure he didn't run into anything. Irrationally, he's angry at Noctis for the disruption, the sudden uncertainty. That's swallowed down a moment later and he uses his hand to guide him to the other chair, settling his jacket down delicately with minimal struggling. ]
You're welcome. I'm sorry for trying to kill you.
[ That...seems inadequate, but it's reflexive. It's a peace offering, maybe. ]
no subject
Perhaps not, even if he doesn't let on; but it's between this and leaving Ignis on his own, and Noctis will have none of it. Ignis has been such a fundamental part of his life, the one thing that keeps him moored, the one person who Noctis always looks towards because that's how they've come to fit together, as friends, brothers, partners and lovers. How can he let him go like this?
He doesn't respond to the snippy retort, but he does nod lightly even if Ignis can't quite perceive it. ]
I'm sorry I failed you.
[ Since they're in the mood for apologies, and Noctis has always detested beating around the bush. ] You've protected me all your life, and when the time came for me to finally get to protect you, I wasn't there.
[ He's quiet for a moment, his next words almost inaudible, words he had thought to himself over and over ever since he returned. ] You would've been fully within your rights to kill me.
no subject
For him to have said that, and meant it -- they were something to each other. Who else would so upset over the idea of him coming out of whatever haze Ardyn put him in and not being able to see? Maybe advancements in magitek eyes will suddenly spring forward and he'll be able to see Noctis and that will resolve everything simply. The memories he was missing would slot into place one by one and they could work through this together.
If that didn't happen, then he was stuck hoping his own mind could unlock all the memories he had of Noctis. Given the generally unsteady state of his memory, he didn't have the highest of hopes for this option; whatever Ardyn had done to him wouldn't so easily be fixed. It also meant he was hesitant to give Noctis any hope that his Noctis was ever going to be entirely back. ]
I don't know if I remember enough of your Ignis to say this with any surety, but I don't feel it's a stretch to say he would never want you to think you deserve that, for something you weren't responsible for.
[ He's going to have to find out what Noctis is willing to deal with sooner or later, may as well be now. ]
I don't remember enough of you to be him. Before you get your hopes up.
no subject
At least, Ignis still is, right now. Which is why what he says pierces his heart. It's true, all things considered, that Ardyn has succeeded in taking away what Noctis treasures the most. He had brought back the sun but lost Ignis in the process, and in his most honest moments he wonders if it's worth it. Ignis is here, right in front of him, and there is nothing that hurts more than the fact that he's now a stranger.
They're both strangers to each other now, and the thought of it is difficult to bear.
Your Ignis, he says, like this one doesn't want to be his anymore -- and Noctis can't blame him -- and there is no worse feeling in the world than missing someone when they're right there. Ignis' words, while kind, is cold comfort, a whisper of a shadow of Ignis, the man Noctis would do absolutely anything to have back. He doesn't belabour the point: Noctis' sins are his own to bear. ]
Yeah. [ He says softly. ] I got that. [ And how he wishes things hadn't turned out that way. How he wishes things could fall together neatly; but that wouldn't be life, would it? Nothing worth having comes easy, and Ignis is worth all the heartache in the world. ]
But I want to help. Let me make things right. There are doctors, treatments. You can take your pick of the top physicians in Lucis. And if you still... if you want to find your own way after that, I won't stop you.
no subject
Part of the reason he was so worried about Noctis ever coming looking for him is how did he answer to how much he recalled? The truth, obviously, he didn't think he was the kind of man who would be dishonest. He was, apparently, the kind of man who would make it difficult to have to deliver the message, to avoid ever finding out if he was wanted in return.
It was one thing to remember flickers, impulses, desires; it was something else entirely for it to be reciprocated when he was this...inefficient. He was supposed to protect Noctis; he could remember enough to feel certain in that. He'd failed in that job miserably. If Ardyn hadn't taken him out when he did, he's not entirely sure he would have stopped himself. If he was that weak, then he could be a risk to Noctis until he was fully back to himself. ]
This isn't a matter of making things right, Noctis. [ This wasn't Noct's fault, by any means. Ardyn was the one who had orchestrated everything. Secondary to that, he was the one who was too weak to resist whatever had twisted him up so much that he'd turned against them. The fault stopped there. ] You are the least to blame in all of this nightmare.
no subject
Noctis straightens when it finally falls into place; Ignis has never needed to spell things out for him to be able to read between the lines. He might take a little while, but eventually he gets there, and Noctis realizes that the problem spans a lot deeper than what he'd initially imagined. There's guilt, there's a whole sea of pain that Ignis quietly, gracefully endures all on his own.
And it's the fact that he's all on his own that makes it all difficult to bear. Ignis has friends, he has people who love him no matter what happened, and Noctis swallows hard. ]
So are you.
[ He says after a moment. Gladio and Prompto had not blamed him once for how this entire thing went down -- they knew, as much as Noctis does, that he's also another victim in this, bent to Ardyn's will, corrupted against his own will to serve the great evil. ] None of it was your fault either -- he took you, and he forced you to serve him; none of what you were made to do under his influence is on you. You can't take that on yourself.
[ The mastermind behind all the misery; the blame lies squarely on Ardyn, and he leans towards him, closer. Ignis is wanted, Ignis is loved; and by none more than Noctis, who is willing to go to the ends of the earth for him. ] And it's time for you to step out of this nightmare, too. With me, with Gladio and Prompto, they both miss you, too -- Iggy, come home.
no subject
There are a thousand little moments that never made full sense until he put them together and realized that everything he had before revolved around Noctis, around protecting him. That was a defining trait in his life, in his actions.
It would have been easier were Noctis cruel, or unkind. He could have said no, then, could have told him to leave, could have been strong enough to resist. But he's not cruel or unkind. He's talking soft and gentle, making sure that Ignis knows that it isn't his fault, more faith than he deserves. Noctis comes closer and Ignis barely holds back the shiver; he can smell him and it's familiar. Everything in Ignis is screaming to reach out to him, to go. ]
Ten years is a long time to fight against people you cared for, Noctis.
no subject
[ Guilt is an insidious thing, Noctis knows that better than anyone else, and it chafes to see Ignis almost swallowed up by it. Ignis, who needs them, who has spent so many months out here on his own. Noctis doesn't doubt his capabilities, but no man is an island, and he can only imagine the monsters that haunt his dreams at night. Monsters that Noctis itches to quell, to vanquish if only for his sake.
He reaches out to him, gently, lightly, resting a hand on his as his heart flutters in his chest, hopeful and wanting. Ignis is skittish, he notes, and he doesn't want him to flee further away from him -- but Noctis cannot let him go. He can't; it feels too much like carving out half of his soul, a violent and bloody thing. He will try, if that's what Ignis wants. Above all else, it's about what Ignis wants -- he's spent too long with his will taken away from him, the last thing Noctis wants to do is impose his own for him. ]
I made you a promise, do you remember? That you'll see again. [ That I love you, that I'll bring you home. ] Will you allow me this chance to fulfill my promise?
no subject
[ It's not a retort, but it is an acknowledgement of what Noctis has been through. Ardyn told him that he was the one trapped in the crystal, that the Gods themselves had willed it until he could bring back the dawn by destroying the one who was responsible for all of this. It makes sense, in an awful way. Ardyn couldn't twist him into something wrong without wiping his memories and twisting the truth into something familiar. Maybe the memory wipes didn't take as well as he wanted, given what he's recalling bit by bit.
Maybe he's not as weak as he fears. That has to indicate some level of strength, regardless of the cause.
Noctis' hand settles on top of his a moment later, jarring him from his own thoughts. He wants to pull away, wants to tell him that he doesn't remember enough to merit touches like that, ones that are soft and familiar and affectionate in a way that he knows he once probably loved. He's not going to stay here, though. There's something tying them together; instinct, or residual memories, whatever it is he can't imagine telling Noctis to leave and forgetting about him. It's as unconscionable as hurting him right now is. ]
I want the freedom to leave if I need to. At any point.
[ He needs the ability to run away. He needs an escape route, something that he can run to (justification for if he needs to run away from) if it all goes to shit like he's half-certain it will. Gently, his hand slides out from under Noctis'. ]
And to know that you won't chase me if I do.
no subject
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.
no subject
If he needs to run, he'll make sure some of the focus of his time are connections and various assets he can use to vanish for as long as he needs. The king of Lucis can't just be running off after a blind--- what, former employee? No matter how much he cared about him. The country would notice and Ignis knew enough about himself to know that that was unacceptable. ]
Anything else is too much to give someone you barely know.
[ It's said evenly, but he understands that it's cruel, after a fashion. Noctis is soft. He hadn't realized it before, but despite the stature, the power, the command that suffuses his voice sometimes, he's not a king crafted by darkness and desperation, or hunger for power. His edges are soft in all the ways that Ardyn's were knives and spikes. Silently, Ignis moves to the living room to start tidying the table; he owns a handful of things here and most of them are clothing. His tone gentles as if realizing that chastising isn't the correct way to handle this. He needs to do something with his hands, so he starts putting the notebooks into his pack for the clothes to layer over. Now, he knows why whoever Ignis Scientia was before was so protective of Noctis. Was it as hard to say no to Noctis then, as it is for him now? ]
Be careful of your bleeding heart, Your Highness.
no subject
But that's not appropriate to say, and it'll probably make him run for the hills, and Noctis only makes a soft noise at the gentle censure, so much like Ignis that it hurts his heart to hear. He will come back one day, he thinks. One day, he will remember everything, and Noctis will be there when he does. And even if he doesn't, Noctis will love him anyway.
He follows him with his gaze when Ignis moves around his apartment, rising after a few moments with intent to help. Not that he thinks him incapable, but that it seems like something that'll keep him distracted from his thoughts. ]
Can you believe that it only gets that way around you?
[ He asks wryly. Not entirely true, because he understands the necessity of justice tampered by mercy, but true enough. Moving towards him, he looks down at the items he's packing. ]
Can I help?
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[ It comes out quickly, like he's irritated with Noctis. He takes the bag into his bedroom, but it's not because he's irritated at all.
In his room, his clothes are in a neat stack; he picks and chooses from a handful of items and irons them all in the morning. It's a process that's self-soothing at this point. If Noctis looks, he'll see him kneeling tucking that clothing into one side, and into the other: a newspaper clipping. It ends up tucked neatly away into the pages of one of the notebooks. Ignis smooths it down to make sure there's no wrinkles and settles that notebook on top of the mix of shirts and pants.
It's not just the fact that he's settled into the room like he's ready to need to pack and leave in a heartbeat, though that's part of it. It's that everything is settled into the room by halves, like he's expecting someone else to be there, living in his space. He'd noticed it once but it hadn't been worth the effort to try and move everything about; it was tidier this way. When he speaks again, it's with a little disbelief, zipping his bag up. ]
I don't believe that for a second. You're soft. Somehow.
[ Awed, maybe. The last few years of Noctis' awareness haven't been easy from what he could glean from the research he'd done on the four of them. Events like this would have broken a lesser man, but a nagging little voice inside Ingis said that Noctis was no lesser anything. ]
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He doesn't argue with him, but he refrains from reaching out to him, or to take his bags from him -- he imagines Ignis will consider it a slight. The thing is, Ignis agreed to come home with him, back to the Citadel (would he be proud of him, he wonders), and maybe one day they'll find a way to restore his sight. He already has a few ideas, all of them involving the use of the crystal, but he has to run through it with the medical team first.
The drive back to the Citadel is silent. Noctis is at the wheel, a smoother driver than he's previously been (it's been awhile, after all), and he thinks that Ignis would probably say something or other to that effect. At least, the other him would have, and he tries not to think about that, either. This Ignis is here, no less loved even if it takes all of Noctis' self-control to blurt out everything that they were to each other to him. No, he has to discover that for himself, or he'll be overwhelmed. Or worse, he'll run away.
The reunion is a quiet but bittersweet affair -- Noctis knows Gladio and Prompto are both happy and reiieved to see him back; but even they know that the man that returns isn't the man that they remember. This Ignis is older, lonelier, still fighting to recover; but the point is this: he's home. All else can come later.
Noctis is as good as his word. He introduces Ignis to the medical team specially commissioned to treat his current condition, and shows him back to his quarters, specially restored, a lot of its furnishings personally tended to by Noctis, who wanted it to be as close as what it originally was. It's awkward, at first; loaded and tense, but as the weeks pass, things get better.
Noctis learns to keep his distance, to be close enough on hand to pick up on what Ignis needs, but distant enough not to smother him. He keeps his own feelings to himself, forces his own emotions into a box -- it's not what Ignis needs right now. What he needs is to take care of himself, to get better and get used to his home again. Things aren't perfect, but they aren't a mess, which... which helps.
One day, however, Prompto rushes over to him, red-faced and urgent, tells him just what he's seen. Newspaper clippings, a collection of them, all of the day Noctis had been coronated as the Chosen King, the Lightbringer, and a whole host of other names Noctis personally doesn't care for. Ignis, Noctis learns from Prompto, has been reading up voraciously on Noctis, and the knowledge of this makes his breath catch in his throat. What does he do with this, now that he knows that Ignis is scrabbling to rediscover what he was? Prompto seems to think that this is some groundbreaking moment that'll send Ignis pitching into his arms (perhaps he and Gladio have gotten tired of them skirting around each other for the past few months), and the young king is rooted on the spot, silently reeling.
Noctis does nothing about this, in the end. He would loathe to violate Ignis' privacy that way. A week later, the medical team has a breakthrough -- the Crystal's powers, if carefully applied, can restore his eyesight. They brief the king in detail, and Noctis immediately agrees to it. What's left is for Ignis to consent. There are risks, of course; there's always a chance that things won't go well, but eventually the operation is underway. It goes better than even the most optimistic projections, and today, today is the moment of truth.
Today, they turn up the lights after a few days of getting Ignis to adjust to dim settings. Today, Ignis meets Noctis again for the very first time.
Noctis is nervous when he finally steps past the curtain, older than he had been and clean-shaven, decked in full regalia because he hadn't had a chance to change out of it. Ignis' eyes are so green, so clear, even if the scars are still there, but the only thing on his mind is how he'd react -- if he would be disappointed, if Ignis had built an image of Noctis in his mind and the man that he is now, right now, does Noctis fall short? ]
Hey. [ He says at last. Monarch he might be, but apparently he's still inept at eloquent greetings. ] Does it... hurt anywhere?
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Of course.
They settle him in a room that's decorated, furnished. He likes it well enough at first and then Gladiolus comes in and touches over one of the spines of his books, pushing it open with a crooked smile. Wow, Noct really went all out, huh? Even where you would've put it. They both realize at the same time what a mistake that is, Gladiolus because he's comparing them and Ignis, because now he wants to go through ever single Astral damned book and figure out if he's put anything in them. If they're the books from before, he has a feeling he did.
You should go, Ignis says stiffly and thanks whoever is listening that guilt apparently still works on the man; he murmurs his apology and makes an exit. A relief. As it turns out, there are things pressed in the pages. Flowers, notes, he thinks, what feels like two movie stubs. He should have known; he keeps every article about important, victorious dates in Noctis' life in the notebooks where he writes about his chaotic dreams. It's a habit left over from when he was himself. The problem is there's no context for any of this. The flowers are tucked back in their spots, but the assortment of bits of paper he finds are placed into a box and tucked under his bed.
Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he runs over them with his fingers, trying to identify by edges and torn bits, trying to figure out where they came from. It's especially useful on nights where he has therapy, or is being forced to have doctors pick and poke at him. It's for the greater good, but he hates the fussing. Noctis, shockingly, doesn't fuss. He lingers, quiet and sad and concerned at points. He comes to Ignis with questions and treats him like he's a real person and not like he's a ghost walking around in the shell of a real one.
When the offer comes, it's not unexpected, but it is jarring. He asks for a day to consider and then everything moves ridiculously fast. When it's finished and Ignis watches the man who is clearly Noctis step out from behind the curtain, there's a moment of awful, crushing disappointment. He'd been warned - hell, he'd been in therapy specifically for this, told that it was unlikely it'd work. The loss of hope is a crushing thing all the same. Not recognizing Noctis is a secondary one nipping at its heels. ]
Blessedly, no. Whatever was done took to me with minimal issue.
[ Even the ache of his hip was gone, where he'd been slammed into a brick wall during a battle and now it constantly felt as if it was going to slip out of joint. Noctis fixed all of it. ]
You're-- handsome. [ It slips out, soft and sort of shocked. He knew that he'd have good taste, of course, and he's heard the prince now king described as handsome, or a thousand other adjectives. It's one thing to have an idea (dark hair, scruff, blue eyes, that's not helpful at all) and something else entirely to see him and realize that his inadequate memories wouldn't have come even close to summoning a version of him to think about. He's terribly handsome and looks just as soft as Ignis expected. Soft, like he's full of affection and worry and nervousness, like he's not the leader of a fucking country. It's absurd. (He's flustered, too. ] It worked, as far as I'm able to tell.
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Or, at least, he isn't hostile; not that Noctis could blame him if he did -- between the medical team, the therapists, Noctis wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly snaps. He stays by his side, silent but within reach if and when Ignis needs him, he contemplates how their roles have reversed, and how much he doesn't care that kings shouldn't be this open and vulnerable in the face of their ex-Chamberlains.
The medical team have seen fit to excuse themselves once the standard checks are done, Noctis patiently waiting for them to take their leave. This seems like it will lead to a private, private conversation not for people who have no business with their personal talks. ]
That's good. [ Good, because Ignis can now see, and Noctis feels a weight lift from his shoulders, a tension he never knew had always been there. Ignis is getting better, and soon the rest will fall into place, slowly but surely. Squaring his shoulders now that the team have left the both of them to their devices, he shifts a little closer. ] Are you okay? You looked... devastated, for a moment there.
[ Or is it just a trick of the light? ]
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*an entire cheesecake not one jfc self
SMOOCHES U
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