nascere | LET'S PLAY {open post}

LET'S PLAY {open post}

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

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?

[ No, it's never said no before, which lends credence to Gladio's occasional assertions that Ignis spoils the prince (now king) to no discernible end. But it's still a relief all the same when he isn't rejected outright, and he tries not to stare too hard at the flashes of blue. That one is new, he notes; Ignis never used to favor blue, but then things change, and he decides not to draw attention to it. ]

You look nice.

[ He is gorgeous in fitted clothes, and his gaze lingers until he forces himself to look away. Ignis seems anxious, just a touch, fidgeting, and Noctis pauses. Honestly, he hadn't thought that far ahead -- he'd assumed Ignis would politely decline, but now that it's up in the air, he has to think quickly. ]

Nothing much. I was just thinking of paying a visit to an some place incognito. Turns out it's still standing.

[ He smiles crookedly. The diner's still running, an old-school place selling traditional donburi that Ignis had discovered. It's the farthest thing to bring royalty to, but Ignis brought him there anyway, this tiny little cozy place where no one knew where they were, and Noctis had loved the food, the ambience, the friendliness of the young owner who'd just inherited the place from his father, and had taken so much pride in the age-old recipe passed down through the ages. The meat was rich, tender, and the rice with a singular fragrance that he finds himself craving.

More importantly, Noctis had leaned forward, kissed him here for the first time, tasted the last vestiges of sweet sauce from his lips. They had walked back to his penthouse after that, and Noctis had held his hand; he had never been happier.

He doesn't tell him that. ] Are you in the mood for sliced beef rice?

[ Ignis was never very fidgety, but that was mostly because he'd always been very careful with how he presented himself. People didn't take you as seriously when you were younger and if you had nervous habits or tics, they were even less likely to give you time of day or their ear. He'd paired down each and every single bad habit until he was just as pristine in his mannerisms as he was in his presentation.

Now, however, he doesn't have those years of experience under his belt, or the memory behind them. He adjusts his collar again, bangs sweeping into his eyes and that's frustrating too. Maybe it would be easier to do his hair when he could see what he was looking at; he'd tried a few times to recreate whatever it was that he did before and had a rough approximation of it, but it'd taken ages. With the work Noctis did to fix his eyes, he hasn't done his hair up at all; it falls in his eyes, obnoxious, but long enough to tuck some behind his ear. ]

Did I like that before?

[ Do you still like the same foods you used to when you were a different person? Ignis wants to take it back as soon as he asks, not sure if it was a favorite meal or something else but it's too late. He moves for the door and catches sight of himself in front of the mirror, jarred. ]

Thank y- oh.

[ It hadn't really...occurred to him to look at what kind of person he was. His memories of himself were shattered and jagged, like looking into a mirror that was broken into a thousand pieces. He could remember bits, like that he had green eyes, sandy-blonde hair, but that didn't mean much. Now, he takes full stock of himself and adjusts his buttons again, smoothing everything down. The scarring is bad but not utterly horrendous; he touches his fingers to it cautiously and understands why he wore those larger glasses. There's another scar on his lip, but otherwise, he supposes he's attractive enough.

There's another pair of glasses outside the ones he used to wear and after a beat of hesitation, he takes them; they're likely prescription, as opposed to the others which were probably to hide the scarring. When he puts these on, though, he frowns, looking around the room. ]

There's barely a difference.

Edited 2017-12-29 05:06 (UTC)

[ Did he like that before, he asks, and it feels like a trap. What does he say that won't seem like an expectation? Tastes change, people can change, and Noctis is the last to want him to conform to what he's been before. This Ignis is different in little ways, and sometimes conversations feel like an emotional landmine, even though Noctis wouldn't trade that for anything in the world, because the alternative is no Ignis at all. ]

I think so. [ He finally says, a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth. ] You were the one who brought me there.

[ Would he take it well? Would he decline it? Noctis finds that he doesn't have good a read on Ignis as he used to; but that's to be expected. They're still recalibrating, finding their footing with each other. He observes how Ignis takes himself in quietly, wonders if this is the first time he's truly taken a look at himself. Glasses, now; and those glasses send a bittersweet pang through his heart.

His Ignis, he thinks, and he misses him more than ever. ]

You probably won't need them anymore. [ He murmurs, because the crystal probably fixed his eyesight. Another small, fundamental charge, another departure from the way Ignis used to be. Maybe that's not a bad thing, maybe that's just what they need. ]

[ He thinks so. There's no way to know for sure but maybe he'll eat it and remember. At the very least it isn't as if there are a ton of foods he's discovered he doesn't like. For the most part, Ignis seemed to be a fairly non-picky eater, which is convenient now. Knowing that he brought Noctis there makes him hesitate. Brought him there after school, when he was ferrying Noctis around as his Chamberlain? Or brought him there later, when they were seeing each other and needed a break from being the Prince and his keeper, instead wanting to be lovers on a date?

It doesn't matter, not really. Nothing changes if it went either way; they still need to eat and Ignis still doesn't know how to say no to him, doesn't want to say no to him. ]

No, I know. They barely change my vision. [ It's odd to put them on and realize that they barely do anything to distort the world, though. He'd worn them...what, just to fix eye sight that wasn't nearly bad enough to justify it? He lifts and lowers the glasses a few more times in disbelief at his former self and then sighs, folding the glasses back. The newer ones are slid into a pocket instead, since he figures it's a little ridiculous to wear sunglasses inside when he can see. ]

Do we need to alert your entourage to warn them the King intends to go sight seeing?

No.

[ Noctis says quickly, a hand on the doorhandle. The last thing he wants is to make a big deal out of this. Noctis is tired of royal traditions and etiquette, which somehow hadn't managed to die -- but he supposes that traditions like these help people feel better, are as much a coping mechanism as it is anything else, and he doesn't have the heart to take it away from them.

But it does make him feel like a bird in a cage sometimes, gilded and worth more than he really is, which is just ridiculous. ] It's getting to be a pain.

[ He confides, shaking his head. ] All that bowing and 'Your Majestys', I'm starting to think that my first name ought to be 'Your'.

[ A silly little joke, but Noctis is getting tired of the constant tension, the melancholy that lingers in the background. He can put aside his own selfish needs and tend to Ignis' first, to make sure he's all right before anything else. After all, it's been a long, long time since he was last 20, a bratty, sheltered prince. Still, more than a little pleased that Ignis is clearly amenable to come with him, he adds. ] Ready to go?

[ It's the King asking him to go out on an excursion without telling anyone. Logically, that's...not how this should go. Either he'd be the one to tell someone or they'd tell someone on their way out to escort them, right? He has a feeling this isn't something normal they do, but then, he has no idea.

Judging by the way Noctis doesn't want to involve anyone, he thinks it's a fair bet that this isn't allowed. He's not part of the Crownsguard though, is he. Not technically.

Ignis hesitates a moment more and then blows out a breath, agreeing wordlessly. A few fingers through his bangs to straighten them from where they've gotten mussed already and then he follows Noctis out. Escaping the palace is laughably easy; he's not certain if it's because Noctis knows how best to avoid all of the safeguards meant to house him and keep him safe or if it's because security is laughably lax as they rest from the fight with the Empire. He'd double security in certain areas they pass and notes them, along with any other weak spots as they make their way out.

As it turns out, the restaurant is somewhere he'd like. He drinks in the sight of the city around them, slowing at certain shops when colors catch his eye, or in one shop where there's a cat lounging in the sunlight. It makes him hesitate for reasons he doesn't quite get, but they make their way to the restaurant and are seated, handed menus. He looks it over idly, not quite sure if everything sounds good because he's somehow familiar and doesn't recall or just hungry. ]

I'll -- whatever you get, I will.

[ As it turns out, Noctis happens to know just what he likes -- he remembers his order from a lifetime ago, a beef bowl with a side of salad (much to Noctis' distaste for the latter), and he orders the same for them both the second time around. He tries not to think about the few times they have paid visits to this place, essentially unchanged.

The young owner comes out to chat with them, friendly as he had been, and Noctis effortlessly keeps up his end of that particular conversation. If the owner's sensed that Ignis is different -- or having an off day, he doesn't mention it. After all, they did use to be quite friendly.

All throughout the trip here, however, Noctis has paid special attention to when he slows down, registering his interest at certain shops, especially the one with the cat, and he wonders if he remembers how fond he is of these shops -- he's picked up on it by the third shop he'd slowed down at, and makes a note to ask if he wants to go in on their way home. ]

What about dessert? They've got excellent cheesecake. [ Noctis is terribly fond of it, up until one day Ignis decided to make it because the man's always had a complicated relationship with the food Noctis likes that weren't made by him, and Noctis had switched to Ignis' creations ever since. ]

[ Unsurprisingly, the food is delicious. He's tasted good food before, of course. He can follow orders and instructions exceptionally well and all cooking and baking are made of are a list of orders, performed one by one. This, however, tastes even better than normal. Perhaps it's because everything feels good right now, being able to see things like the glint of his cufflinks, the decorative lines on the plates they're eating off of. He notes the colors of the salad, the deep greens, purple veins, the color and life of all of it.

When he looks back at Noctis, he's endlessly grateful he can school his face to hide his emotions because he's relatively certain that he'd have raw awe written across it. It's one thing to know that he's the king, and that Ignis had served him faithfully for years despite other options, offers, most likely. It's another to see the proof of him written in the city around them, in the lettuce they're eating, fresh as you like, in the way the city comes alive around them.

A car horn honks. The air conditioning unit above them creaks and groans with its age; it hasn't been replaced, from the looks of it, but despite ten years it still seems to function. All of the shops, all of the buildings, all of the people living normal, boring, mundane lives again and none of them know that their savior is sitting in a tiny shop with room for eight people, maybe, talking about cheesecake.

What would they have done if Noctis weren't a good man? It's not a pleasant thought to consider. Noctis isn't, though; he's good through and through, smiles quickly and easily and asks Ignis, a man he barely knows, if he wants dessert. It's absurd.

( This is why he loved you with everything he was. ) ]

I'm not certain I could finish an entire one but I could take a taste yours if you intend on getting it.

[ It doesn't matter to him either way; the accolades are tiring, and in Noctis' mind all he did was to honor the sacrifices of all who had fallen for his sake. He loves too much too deeply to abandon the world to darkness, and most especially the ones who had walked beside him, Gladio and Prompto and Ignis, who put their faith in him. He cannot fail them; that's all there is to it.

To see his people happy, to serve them as they pledge their loyalty to him -- that's everything that he needs to do. They've suffered enough in ten years of darkness, of daemons that have overrun everything, where fear had been the order of the day. There is now hope and a future, aid from the coffers that Regis had so shrewdly hidden away from the Empire flowing into the everyday citizenry.

Noctis walks among them, unknown and all the happier for it -- gives him a better, more unpolished look into their lives, ensures that he knows exactly what to fix up when he returns to the Citadel. He does the best he can, he does as Ignis had taught, so long ago. It feels good, spending lunch with him here, the bliss and contentment of the blessedly mundane, and Noctis can't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be. They'd fought for a chance for this, a shot at normalcy, and Noctis will never take this for granted again.

So he smiles at the man opposite him like he's the only one that matters (which is true, he is), loving him with every ounce of his being. He orders cheesecake and it's quickly delivered to their table, two forks thoughtfully provided. He carves out some for himself, takes a bite of the deliciously decadent dessert, and decides that Ignis' tastes just slightly better. ]

Mm. Try it. [ Years ago, Noctis would have fed him from his fork. Today, he restrains himself from it. ]

LET'S PLAY {open post}

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*an entire cheesecake not one jfc self

SMOOCHES U

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