nascere | LET'S PLAY {open post}

LET'S PLAY {open post}

[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]

[ He's not so stupid as to think he can avoid being detected for forever. Moving constantly is out of the question; he's unable to do it without being able to see and relying on the kindness of others isn't quite what he wants to do. No, he settles at an outpost in a border city and keeps to himself. There aren't many men with scars like his, and a blind man performing hunts isn't exactly something that is normal, but it isn't as if he can hold a normal job, either.

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.

I didn't break anything, technically. And you're still within the confines of my kingdom.

[ 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. ]

I wasn't aware being royalty meant you were entitled to let yourself into the homes of your subjects.

[ 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. ]

[ He sees the peace offering for what it is, accepts it and hopes it does some good for Ignis, too. It's awkward and strained with too much left unspoken, too much left behind but not forgotten. He notices the hesitation, wonders if perhaps the chair he's sitting in is Ignis' favorite, if he's taking kindly to the disruption.

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.

Edited 2017-12-27 05:34 (UTC)

[ Noctis' promise earlier comes to the front of his mind, the words meaning so much that they'd stuck with him. I know you can't see me right now, but you will. Ignis, you will.

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.

[ They were everything to each other.

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.

[ He needs to make sure that Noctis fully understands what he's getting into. I remember enough to want you but not enough to know if it's worthwhile to want me. He couldn't say it out loud, unwilling to bare that much to someone but the thought made his stomach flip.

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.

[ Ah, so that's what it's about.

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.

[ Truth be told, he doesn't like this tiny apartment and its uncomfortable bed. It isn't as if he lived in the cradle of comfort in his time with Ardyn, but every so often he gets flickers, memories of a time in the Citadel, of waking in a ridiculously plush bed in an enormous room. He remembers bits of his schedule - waking, preparing breakfast, going to wake Noctis.

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.

And ten years is a long time to spend away from the people you love.

[ 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?

Says the man who spent ten years trapped in a crystal.

[ 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.

[ And to know that you won't chase me if I do.

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.

[ It's a condition he assumes Noctis will utterly refuse, which is fine. It's expected, and he'll plan around it, he'll make certain that if he does have to leave for any reason, he'll hide his trail so thoroughly Noctis won't find him until he intends it. He may not have hidden himself particularly well but that was partially due to circumstances; he needed money and stability and there weren't a lot of options for someone like him who could only remember things in bits and patches. His body remembered killing; that was easy.

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.

Edited 2017-12-28 05:18 (UTC)

[ But I know you, he wants to say. And I've loved you before I even knew what love is.

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?

I've gotten this far just fine.

[ 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. ]

[ Noctis doesn't budge from the doorway, giving him the space that he needs, not interfering because he knows Ignis has this under control. He's always been a proud man, his Ignis, and even in this iteration that streak hasn't changed. There's so much of the old him still inside, enough that Noctis misses him so sorely -- and he notes the newspaper clippings but can't quite be close enough to make it out.

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?

[ Ignis doesn't ask for help and Noctis doesn't offer. He packs up the entirety of his life into one borderline duffel bag and the minimal technology he scrimped and saved to obtain in another. The car ride back is quiet, an awkward silence he imagines that the real Noctis and him wouldn't have shared. Don't you have someone to drive you around, he wants to ask, but realizes a moment later that it was likely him. If the reports he'd read and listened to were accurate, then it was Ignis who took on most of the driving. So, no. He didn't have someone to.

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.

Uh -- thanks. [ Of all the things Noctis expects Ignis to say, hearing 'You're handsome' isn't actually on the list, and for a few moments he's caught off guard. He recovers quickly enough, never forgetting the flash of profound, deep disappointment he thought he'd seen in his eyes earlier. What was it about, is it even safe to ask? Ignis keeps his secrets locked deep these days, even though he'd been slowly, slowly starting to open up at a little.

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? ]

[ It's a stupid thing to say the first time you can see someone, but it's the only thing he can think of outside of the crushing disappointment and realization that it didn't work. It's just more proof that maybe, probably, he'll never be back to the man that Noctis had loved so fiercely. Worse: despite being certain that he'll never be that man again, he still finds it remarkably, infuriatingly easy to love Noctis. Noctis, who quite clearly shares those feelings, judging by the way he's willing to bend over backwards to accommodate literally anything Ignis wants.

He endures the poking and prodding from doctors and soon enough, it's...just the two of them in there and Ignis feels woefully inadequate once more. It's not a pleasant feeling, for all that it's becoming familiar. Slowly, he rises up from the bed, tucking the ridiculous hospital gown around himself so he doesn't scandalize the king or anyone who comes in here and heads for the windows. The curtains are pushed open bit by bit until the light floods into the room and Ignis is swallowed by it. He squints against the fierceness of it, like it'd never gone out in the first place and then presses his forehead against the cool window, breathing. You looked devastated, Noctis says and Ignis can hear him come closer. He allows himself an extra second of regret and then turns, not realizing that the flood of light would make Noctis practically glow. Handsome is an inadequate word when he's haloed in the light he brought back to the world. ]

It worked; I can see you. I had only hoped -- foolishly, I suppose, that I would just...remember.

[ In this light, Ignis is stunningly gorgeous. The light catches in his hair, sets off his eyes, and Noctis forgets to breathe. You'd think he'd be used to this by now, considering that he's not the half that only just recently regained his eyesight. But every time he sets eyes on him seems like the first time; he even looks good in that flimsy hospital gown, which really is saying something when they're deeply unflattering on just about everyone in existence, himself included.

He takes a step closer, thinking of Ignis' old apartment, remembering how he'd noticed that the man had lived cleanly in one half of it, as if expecting another to come in and fill the other half. The mind forgets, he supposes, but the heart remembers. Gladio tells him that too much hope is dangerous, that it would damage the both of them before they even have time to heal, but Noctis holds on to it anyway. It's his own little secret. ]

It's going to take some time. What Ardyn did to you -- [ He cannot help the anger, twisting sharp and hot in his gut. What Ardyn did to him cannot be healed by the crystal, no matter how much it's entreated. For that, Noctis would gladly kill Ardyn a hundred, thousand more times. He reaches out now, puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ] -- will take awhile, but one day. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, or month, or year. One day you'll remember, not for my sake, but your own.

[ And it will not change what he feels for Ignis, the love he offers to him freely, to be taken of his own accord and not by Noctis' intentions. Even if Ignis never loves him again, Noctis is content to continue on in silence. He smiles, just a little, head tilted in the direction of streaming daylight, unable to help a sense of happiness. A promise fulfilled, beloved. He's brought the light back to you. ]

It's the first time you've seen the light proper in years, isn't it? I think that's cause for celebration.

[ 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.

[ Is it a trick of illusion, when Ignis traces his finger over Noctis' school, or the line right down where it now rests over the penthouse? Does he remember this, where they once inhabited relatively mundane lives -- Noctis a lonely student save for Ignis and Prompto, the only two who saw him for who he really was, who loved him anyway.

He draws his hand back, looking at him more than the city, so rapidly rebuilding, working to go back to normal. The trains, he thinks, should be up and running today. But what matters is that Ignis remembers what it was before, how things were in their home, the track from school to home. ]

You always came to pick me up when I needed you, no matter how packed your schedule was. You'd bring pastries too, all the time. [ He doesn't continue after that, realising how much he's missed that one little pleasure, how it has been so much a part of him. Ignis, doing everything he could to replicate that one pastry Noctis had tried before in Tenebrae. He never quite got it right, but his creations had all been delicious, and Noctis took to them with great aplomb all the same.

Now, even the world's best chefs are struggling to replicate Ignis for their king's palate. It's not the same. ]

Was Gladio right?

[ There's something important about those areas, but he doesn't know what, or why. The sun makes his eyes ache, staring out at a city of glass and shiny metal, but it's a good sort of pain. It's similar to when he pushed himself too hard training, or fighting, but knew he was successful. He could work through this. After so long in the dark he's not willing to look away; it's harder to look at Noctis, anyway, with as brightly as he burns in the sun. ]

I could never get the filling or the dough right.

[ It's a barely there murmur, his words fogging up the glass in front of him as he watches the city below. It's ragged, of course - ten years means that there are parts still under construction that will likely be for years. But he never had to see how it looked when everything went well and truly to shit. He was saved that sight, somehow. The others all had to live with it, seeing the ghost towns that the lack of a sun wrought. ]

I don't know. I might not even remember it if I had seen how bad things got.

[ Being melancholy isn't helping either of them, though. Ignis turns and looks at him again, drinking in the sight of his king, stopping at the electric blue of his eyes. Just like looking into the sun. Too long and it hurts. He smiles thinly, and steps away. ]

As much fun as it is having a conversation in what's effectively a slip, I would like to get changed into something a little more-- covering, if possible.

I liked it, all the same.

[ He never got to tell Ignis that, and he hopes it's not too late. How he had sometimes taken Ignis for granted, believed that those days would last forever -- that Ignis would be by his side, loyal and faithful, loving and more devoted than Noctis deserves. It's bittersweet, how he never told Ignis how much he loved him with all his heart; that one time didn't seem adequate, and now he can't say it without it being a noose around this man's neck.

So he keeps it to himself, and looks out at the recovering city, remembering how bad it was when they returned. So much of it gone, crumbled, but within the ashes hope still thrives, and now, months on, it looks one hell of a lot better. They still have a long way to go, but progress is progress.

He nods, heading back towards the door to give him the privacy he needs, although really, he definitely doesn't mind the slip and all. He pauses then, just a little reluctant to leave. ]

Sure. Would you -- like to have lunch with me? You can say no.

Mm.

[ It's as noncommittal of an answer as he can manage. He hadn't meant to mention it anyway, but then he had and it wasn't as if he could just take it back. He feels ridiculous, truthfully, having this conversation like this, but blessedly Noctis starts to move toward the door.

Was he terribly private, back then? Did he care about changing in front of the others? Was he modest? It's weird to think about and not really know for sure, but Ignis makes his way to where his clothes are neatly set out for him and frowns a little at the color choices. They're good, he supposes; Cor did a good job taking him out to obtain replacements, but the flashes of blue are unexpected. He hasn't worn this before; hopefully it looks decent on him. He isn't certain, but he'd put money on a guess that he was at least a little vain.

He changes in the bathroom, already dreading waving off the doctors who will try to get him to linger in there and do an ungodly number of tests; he's fine. Noctis fixed his eyes and while his memory isn't fixed, he could feasibly use this time to leave. The thought is tempting, if it weren't an impossibility. Ignis finishes the buttons and smooths his fingers down the front of his shirt, easing out wrinkles that aren't even there.

When he comes back out, boots laced tightly up to his knees, he's wearing something similar to his older outfits, but there's a peek of blue at his cuffs, at the skull motif threaded through the collar. Ignis' fingers pluck at it a little anxiously and he debates the merits of just running instead of agreeing, but his body remembers what his mind doesn't and it's never said no to Noctis before. ]

Where were you thinking?

LET'S PLAY {open post}

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*an entire cheesecake not one jfc self

SMOOCHES U

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