Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Imperial Controlled Piztala, M.E. 743

The open-air market is a stinking, foul place. All the scents, noise, and confusion frighten Ignis as he's dragged along, forced to comply by the heavy collar biting into his small neck and the shackles around his slender wrists. Ahead, the Trader growls when an older domestic breed leporidae stumbles and drags several others down.

"On your feet, you damned animals." The man shouts.

Ignis' ears flatten to his head as fear tightens his belly. He's far enough down the line that he doesn't trip and fall, but the others are so much bigger than him, and he's afraid. The Trader is enormous, and Ignis' arms and face still ache with the memory of the man's fist.

"Shh, it's all right, Little One," A voice from behind says just loud enough for Ignis to hear.

One of Ignis' ears pricks up, and he turns to look over his shoulder. An old woman, a domestic breed feline Hybrid with a notch in her left ear, smiles kindly down at him. Ignis immediately thinks of home and how he should've listened to Granny about staying inside the walls of The Estate, but now it's too late. Tears well up in his eyes as his tail flicks nervously.

The chain hooked to the collar around his neck pulls, and the Trader yanks at the line. This time, Ignis nearly falls. He's the smallest and youngest of the captives, but several others ensure he doesn't tumble to the ground.

"You better move, or you'll get my fist again," The Trader growls as he stalks closer to Ignis.

Shrinking in fear, Ignis yelps and does as commanded. The line moves, and the Trader leads them through the market.

Ignis' belly roils with fear, the same fear he scents on the air from the countless other Hybrids—No property , his mind corrects— Crowded into the small space. Risking a glance to the side, he sees several rows of cages that house older Hybrids and then even more that contain other children. They look at him with big, round eyes that are sunken with fear. It's almost enough that Ignis panics again, his belly filling with dread. But the woman behind him gets close enough that she brushes her hand against his shoulder and rumbles out a soft, soothing sound that reminds Ignis of his Gran again. When she squeezes at the back of his neck, it feels nice.

Sniffling, Ignis wipes his eyes and winces when the welt on his face stings.

Eventually, the Trader brings them to a platform with several posts along its length. Going down the line, he unhooks each Hybrid from the lead and to the posts via a thick chain. Ignis flinches and flattens his ears fearfully when the man gets to him.

The Trader laughs.

"You better behave, you little shit. If I can't make a decent price from you here, I know a workhouse that'll take you off my hands for cheap."

Ignis doesn't understand what the man means or his sneering, amused look, but it's enough that he shrinks away in terror. He thinks of home, and how the grownups would often whisper about such things, about those unlucky enough to be caught, and whines.

The Trader laughs again, and so the day goes on.

A handful of the others on the line get sold relatively quickly, dragged off to whatever fate has in store for them. Ignis watches them go, trembling with dread. Several humans stop to cluck over him thoughtfully, yanking his ears to check them with no regard for their sensitivity, and one or two even dig into his mouth to check his teeth. Ignis shrinks away from each touch, his chest roiling with unease. Still, the humans don't register his nervousness and don't care.

At the end of the day, Ignis remains unsold and wonders if the Trader will make good on the threat of selling him cheaply. Clearly, the Trader is unbothered by slow sales as he drags the line back to the storage cages and leaves for the evening. But even with the terrible man gone, Ignis can't relax. He can't stop his fearful mind from buzzing with anxiety.

Settling down in the prickly straw strewn across the bottom of the cage, he shrinks into himself. But the older woman smiles kindly at him and coaxes him close. Some others in the cage eye him warily, but Ignis supposes that's because they are Domestics. Ignis is not, but the old woman doesn't seem to mind. Scooting close, Ignis hesitates only briefly before tucking in against her soft body. Her scent and nearness soothe some of his fear, as does the gentle way she sifts her fingers through his hair.

"I won't say it will all be all right because I don't know if it will…But I can help you if you let me," She says kindly.

Ignis doesn't understand what she means, but he trusts her. Her gentle hands ghost up over his pointed feline ears and touch the tufty bits at the top. She rolls the soft fur between her fingers before returning to the base of his ears to find the short, fluffy whiskers hidden there. They mostly match the color of Ignis' sandy, ash-blonde hair, but in time, they will grow longer and become the same, snowy white as his ears, then develop their spots.

"You'll have an easier time if they think you're one of us. You'll be safer if the humans don't realize what you are." The old woman says softly.

Oh. Right.

Ignis isn't old enough yet for his adult coloring. Apart from the little tufts and his developing whiskers, he looks remarkably similar to a Domestic. Swallowing heavily, he blinks up at the woman.

"…What do we do?" He asks, his voice gravelly from disuse.

He hasn't spoken since the Trader caught him days ago, although he hadn't really been speaking. He had been yowling, hissing, and fighting until the Trader beat him to a bloody pulp.

The woman frowns, then, reaching into the hay, she searches until she finds a flat stone. Satisfied, she scrapes it against the rocky floor beneath. After a while, she examines the stone, which now has a sharp edge to cut. Ignis' ears twitch backward as he sees it, unsure of what the woman means to do. The woman carefully takes one of Ignis's ears and saws off the dark tuft on the end. The fur falls away in a little bundle, getting lost in the hay.

Ignis whines immediately, his eyes welling up. The woman doesn't understand; she clearly can't because she's not... She's not like him. He almost shrinks away when she goes for the other one, but she soothes him with a soft, rumbling purr.

"It's for the best, Little One," She says gently.

When she gets to Ignis' whiskers, he nearly shoves her away the second she touches them.

" No ," he pleads tearfully.

She saws his whiskers off.

In the wild, Coeurl whiskers are valued for their magical properties. On a demi-human, they denote a creature of rarity. Ignis knows he's special but doesn't know what it means in a place like this. The older woman must. Otherwise, she wouldn't be helping him like this. Ignis still cries, though. Big, wet tears run down his face as he scrubs it carefully, mindful not to press the bruise there. He wants to go home and go back to Gran, but it's impossible. She's gone now, and Ignis regrets ever disobeying her to begin with.

"I want to go home," He whimpers, turning to press against the woman.

Shushing him, she holds him close and pets his ears gently.

**

The following afternoon, the woman gets sold to a young couple looking for a Domestic to do housework. Ignis cries as he watches her go but gets smacked in the mouth for sniveling when the Trader catches him. Then, near the end of the evening, just when the Trader is about to cart them back to the pens for the night, a man steps onto the platform to peruse the line of remaining Hybrids.

Ignis is tired of standing. His small legs ache and cramp from being there all day, and his belly twists with hunger. He tries not to sniffle, cry, or even make a sound as this new person inspects a canine Domestic down the line. However, the tears spill over when this new human stops to look down at Ignis.

The man is tall, well-dressed, and clearly has money. Ignis can smell the expensive cologne he wears, and as he inspects Ignis' mouth and teeth, the man hums thoughtfully. Then the man's big hands drop onto Ignis' head, making him flinch. There's something cursory about the exploration. However, when he finds the hacked-off ends of Ignis' whiskers, the man huffs out an amused snort. Dread fills Ignis' chest as the man pinches the ends of his ears and undoubtedly notes the rough place where his tufts were cut. Then, the man steps away.

"640 for the little cat," He pronounces.

The Trader comes close, snorting in disdain. "He's young, malleable. He's worth at least 680."

The man shakes his head with a scoff. "Hardly. He's damaged. You clearly hit the creature. I'll need to ensure there is no lasting harm."

The Trader snorts in disgust and scowls at Ignis like it's his fault. Then he shrugs. "Fine. But you get the miserable creature seen to on your own coin."

The man nods, clearly satisfied. Ignis' ears flatten, anxiety boiling in his guts as he looks between the two men. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he understands he's being sold. That he's a belonging now. It doesn't quite register as the Trader unhooks the lead from the post and hands it to the man. He also gives the man a bundle of papers and that's that.

"Come," The man demands, pulling on the lead.

Ignis' legs don't want to work until he feels the pressure around his neck as the collar pulls. He moves without really thinking, afraid of being hit again. The man leads him away from the platform and takes Ignis out of the market. Once they are on a quieter street away from the stink and the fear, Ignis lets out a small breath. The clean air makes him feel better, but only nominally, because he has to hurry to keep up with the well-dressed human.

They walk for a long while, twisting through the bright, airy streets until they reach a large, stately building. It doesn't seem like a house, but then again, Ignis has no idea what houses are even like here in this unknown city. Until he'd snuck off the grounds of the Estate he and Gran lived at, he'd never been much of anywhere except Pagla. And, even then, his experience of the city was very limited.

The door of the house opens, and as they pass through, Ignis spots a tall Hybrid dressed in livery. The man's lupine scent immediately has Ignis' ears flattening to his head. But the wolf doesn't even deign to notice the small, scruffy child that just came through the door. Instead, he bows to the man who bought Ignis.  

"Master," The Hybrid intones.

"Aconitus," The Master greets as he nods his approval.

He doesn't stop to talk to the wolf-hybrid, Aconitus, and hurries Ignis along. The rooms they pass are stately, well-appointed, and grand but meant to entertain large groups of people, so Ignis swiftly realizes this isn't a townhouse where The Master lives. Passing one such room, Ignis glimpses several rows of chairs arranged around a dais. He doesn't understand entirely, but he shivers nonetheless because he has a good idea of what sort of place this is.

The man, The Master , brings Ignis to the back of the house and out through a kitchen bustling with humans and other Hybrids. Some are Domestics, but they are less common breeds. Feeling the lead pull around his neck, Ignis hurries to keep up with his tired legs as the Master brings him into a tidy courtyard and takes him to a smaller building on the opposite side. When they step inside, it's clear this place is where he keeps his Hybrids because the place is a cacophony of smells.

A pair of vulpine women with ears as ginger as their hair look up from a small table in the front sitting room as The Master enters, and then their eyes slide in Ignis' direction. Like the man at the door, they are dressed in tidy, matching uniforms that speak to the Master's wealth. The more petite of the two women curls her lip in open disdain.

"See to the boy," The Master commands. "I want him washed and cleaned. Do something about that hideous bruise on his face and try to make his hair presentable. Someone butchered his ears, I'll have to wait until they grow back out."

The more petite woman cocks her head to the side, her orange ears flicking. "Shall I put him in your colors, Sir?"

The man chuckles, shaking his head. "No, he's an investment. Though I dare say I am tempted to keep him."

Ignis' stomach sinks. The Master intends to sell him. His fear spills out like water in a bucket full of holes, undoubtedly souring his scent. The larger of the two women wrinkles her nose, and her tail twitches in agitation. The Master doesn't make more conversation after that. He hands the lead of Ignis' collar to the woman who spoke, then exits the little house. As soon as he does, Ignis' collar is yanked roughly as both women stand.

"Come on, little beastie," The smaller woman commands as she pulls Ignis along.

Her companion rolls her eyes. "Treat him gently, or Master will have your head."

They lead Ignis through the house. It's large, and the ground floor is a living space. He can smell the others who undoubtedly reside there but sees no one else as the women lead Ignis down a hallway in the back. They enter a large, tiled room with various grooming supplies, including several large tubs. It's clearly a communal bathing room, which is a fact that makes Ignis uncomfortable. Frowning, he wonders how long he'll be here as the women nudge him inside and immediately start pulling at his clothes.

They are dirty, filthy, and torn in places, but they are still his . Ignis whines as the two women bully the tattered garments off him and chuck them aside. After, they remove the heavy collar and toss that aside as well. Tears well up in Ignis' eyes because he wishes he was home for Gran to scold him about getting so dirty and ruining his nice things.

The shorter of the two women pushes Ignis toward one of the large free-standing tubs and hauls him up under the armpits to dump him in like he's an unruly kit.

"You better behave," One of them warns. "If you don't, Master will sell you to a workhouse where they won't care that you're only a little thing. They'll work you to the bone."

Blinking in confusion, Ignis peers up at her with wide eyes. Her threat sends a shiver of fear down his spine. He's heard stories of Hybrids who get sold for a pittance. They end up in horrible conditions.

The other woman laughs. "Sheltered little thing, isn't he? Where do you think they scooped him up?"

Pagla , Ignis tells himself as he sniffles. He's from Pagla, and he lives— Lived with his Gran at the Nox Flueret summer estate where they were protected and free . Well, as much as a Hybrid could be in this part of Eos.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" The smaller woman comments as she scrubs roughly at his arms. "He's property now. And if Master has his way, he'll get a pretty gil for the runt."

**

Several weeks pass, as far as Ignis can tell. He stays in the house with other Hybrids, and while they don't treat him unkindly, they don't go out of their way to be hospitable or welcoming. He's treated like an expensive piece of furniture, there but not.

The two fox women, Lisian and Mirabils, watch his every move and care for him the way one might care for a houseplant. They feed him, water him, slather salve on his face, and rub oils into the tips of his ears and the remains of his whiskers to make them grow.

One day, while he's sitting in his little room staring out the window at the garden below and longing to smell the flowers, the door opens, and the wolf hybrid from the main house comes in. Ignis' ears immediately flatten with fear, but he doesn't dare move.

"Boy," Aconitus says, his voice a resonating growl.

Ignis sits up slowly, at attention, and trembles while waiting to see what will happen.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" Aconitus asks.

Ignis nods, not daring to speak. It's the wrong move because the wolf-hybrid growls low in the back of his throat.

"Yes, Sir. I understand," Ignis replies quietly.

Aconitus nods, but his severe expression doesn't change. He steps into the room and, with little ceremony, takes Ignis by the chin to examine the top of his head. Ignis doesn't fight it, though he hates being touched by strangers. Large palms eclipse almost half of Ignis' face as he holds carefully still and tries not to whine with fear. After a moment, Aconitus digs into Ignis' hair, feeling out the length of each whisker and pinching the tips of his ears. Then, he makes a satisfied rumbling sound and steps back.

"Can you read and do figures?" He demands.

Ignis nods. Gran taught him to do both. He doesn't say he likes to read or enjoys looking at maps and learning history because he's sure the wolf wouldn't care.

"How old are you?" Aconitus asks.

"Almost 10, Sir," Ignis replies obediently.

Aconitus makes a face, but Ignis can't tell what that suggests. Then, the wolf-hybrid leaves abruptly, shutting and locking the door behind him with a loud click. Ignis shrinks into himself, anxious and uncertain about how the exchange will impact the course of his stay here. But when he reaches up to feel his ears, a stab of fear catches him in the gut when he realizes that his tufts have grown enough to be noticeable. His whiskers have as well. Shrinking, he scoots across the bed and tucks himself into the corner of the wall. He forgets all about the flowers out in the garden and how pretty they are. Hours later, when Lisian comes to bring him dinner, she smirks at him.

"Won't be long now, Kitten," She teases meanspiritedly.

Ignis' belly clenches. He hates her.

The following day, Aconitus comes to collect him. He's silent as he ushers Ignis across the yard and back into the main house. Once there, he brings Ignis through the ornate rooms and into a servant's passage. It's dark and close, and as Ignis' eyes adjust, he spots two female strigiformes with feathery tufts on their heads, giggling excitedly. They look up as Ignis and his escort approach, and their attention immediately falls on him.

Ignis expects them to be awful like Lisian and Mirabils, but they're not. They coo and chitter at him as they lead him into a small, stately room and play with his hair and ears like they can't keep their hands to themselves. Realizing they are twins, Ignis has difficulty telling them apart as they bustle around the room, gathering various grooming supplies. He's never seen strigiformes before and finds it curious that they look remarkably human save for the downy-soft row of feathers that run down their bare arms and their strange, over-large eyes that seem to reflect the light.

They rush about, combing his hair and ears, taking great pains with some product to make his tufts appear longer and stand up straighter, then do the same for his short whiskers. Then, while one washes his face, the other combs out his tail carefully and applies softly scented oils to make the white fur glossy. Once they're finished, they chitter happily and pull him out of his clothes to change him into something more suitable.

That something suitable happens to be a simple, flowy, one-piece garment that leaves his arms bare. The color, dark and rich, is strange, though perhaps not. Black is the color of wealth in some parts of the world, and the dark tone enhances the snowy color of Ignis' tail.

When the twins are finished, they clip a simple, narrow leather collar around his neck. Two matching cuffs go around his wrists, joined together by a deceptively delicate chain. Stepping back, they smile at each other.

"There," One says, satisfied. "Make sure you're a good boy. There are many powerful, wealthy benefactors looking for new companions here tonight. You'll make a lovely pet for a child your age. If you behave, maybe someone will want to take you home."

It's supposed to be a reassurance, but all Ignis can think of is the stink of the market and the fear on the faces of the Domestics as they were sold off to an unknown fate. He thinks of how kind all the humans at the Nox Flueret estate were and wonders how to tell which humans are the good ones. Ignis' ears flatten, and he swallows heavily.

"… But..How do I know if they will be kind or not?" He asks, surprising himself.

The twins trade looks and then laugh as though Ignis made some grand, hilarious joke. It doesn't go unnoticed that they don't answer the question. They merely escort him to another door where one knocks on the smooth wooden surface. Anxiously awaiting to see what will happen, Ignis swallows heavily as his heart hammers in his chest. A beat passes, then another. Then, a liveried Exotic opens the door. Ignis isn't sure what breed he is, but it doesn't much matter. The Exotic reaches out, his fingers curling tight around the scruff of Ignis' neck, and pulls him through the door.

The effect is immediate. Ignis' tense muscles go lax, and he whines in submission. A strange, floaty calm fills his body as the servant brings him through the main rooms, and Ignis barely notices all the human and hybrid servants bustling about. The Exotic hauls Ignis into a large, open room with a number of gilded enclosures circled around the perimeter. Inside each cage, Ignis spots other Hybrids who are dressed and groomed similarly to him. Other than remarking on their presence, Ignis doesn't pay them much attention. His thoughts are too muddled and fuzzy to form anything coherent.

The servant brings him to an empty enclosure. It's large enough to sit or stand comfortably, and there's a soft, velvety pillow to sit on. A pedestal with a wide ring for display is at the front of the enclosure, just in front of the gilded, barred door. Ignis feels a mild stab of worry as he notices it, but it drifts away quickly. Docile and floating in some muzzy, uncaring space, Ignis waits while the servant opens the enclosure. Then, he fusses with something, and Ignis feels the pinch of some device on the back of his neck when the man releases him.

"Get inside," The servant orders.

Murring out a soft, obedient sound, Ignis does what he's told and sits placidly on the cushion. He feels so floaty and unbothered that he forgets about being afraid. Even when the servant closes the enclosure and locks it. Even when people start wandering through the room and pausing to look in at him like he's an animal. Ignis watches them all with a detached interest, noting their expensive clothes and scents through his lowered eyelids. His ears occasionally twitch as they reach their fingers inside to coo or get his attention, but otherwise, he's silent and obedient, drifting in some strange place of calm, no thanks to the pinching pressure on his neck.

A while later, he's unsure when, the enclosure opens, and the same servant bundles him out and clips him to the pedestal. Ignis sways dreamily, feeling hands on his ears, hands inspecting his tail, and hands squeezing his mouth open to examine his teeth. It should bother him, but it doesn't. He's still floating when a pair of very gentle, calloused palms cup his head and feel out his skull as if looking for any hurts or injuries. Swaying where he stands, Ignis rumbles out a happy purr because this person is as gentle as Gran.

"What have you given the boy?" A voice asks. It sounds soft and kind, with a strange accent Ignis can't account for.

"Nothing, Sir. He's merely been clipped. It keeps his breed docile and calm," An attendant replies.

Clipped? Ignis rumbles, feeling too sleepy to be curious.

The man makes a soft, annoyed sound. His big, gentle hands slide around the back of Ingis' neck, touching the thing that pinches him. The pressure eases after a moment, and slowly, Ignis feels much less floaty and warm. Swaying, he purrs softly, searching out the comfort of the gentle hands that had been touching him. The man makes a quiet, unreadable sound and tips Ignis' face up.

"Ah. There you are, Little One," The man says warmly.

Ignis murmurs softly in assent, peering up at the kind, gentle stranger. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, but Ignis' senses slowly come online. The man is tall, with dark hair swept back off his forehead. Wispy strands of silver color his temples, and there's a neatly kept beard and mustache on his face. His clothes are elegant and modern, cut simply in a rich, deep black with silver accents. The only jewelry he wears is a tie clip fashioned into a skull.

Ignis blinks up at him. The man's expression is soft and sympathetic. He looks…He looks like he's a nice person. Ignis' eyes well up suddenly but don't quite spill over. He doesn't…He doesn't want to be bad, though, or cry because he aches for the kind man to take him away from this awful place.

"Do you have a name?" The man asks, his voice low and soothing.

His expression doesn't change, but there's a soft little catch in his breathing as he notes the tears rolling down Ignis' cheeks. He wipes them away gently.

Swallowing tightly, Ignis nods. "Yes, Sir," He murmurs. "Ignis."

The man draws in a long, even breath. Then he turns to someone behind him. "Scientia, take care of the particulars," He instructs.

Ignis isn't sure what's happening, only that the kind man pats Ignis gently on the head and then steps away. Ignis' stomach sinks, panicking. Taking a step forward, Ignis whines loudly, but the chain catches on the pedestal, yanking at his wrists and throat. It's a stark reminder but only serves to agitate him. Whining louder this time, feeling the edge of fear and panic rising within, he struggles. However, the attendant steps forward immediately, his hand a vice on the back of Ignis' neck.

A shudder goes through Ignis' small body, and immediately, he sinks and settles, despite how the memory of fear burns in the back of his mind. The clip goes back into place firmer this time, but Ignis doesn't care. He's trying to find the kind man in the crowd of people. He's gone, though, disappeared somewhere amongst all the suits and glittering gowns. It takes much longer for the forced calm to fill Ignis' belly, and by then, he realizes someone else is hovering nearby. Ignis' hindbrain latches on to the scent of the kind man clinging to this other person's clothes, so he sways forward with a whine.

Scientia, Ignis' foggy brain recalls. The Kind man called him Scientia.

Scientia is talking to the attendant, but Ignis doesn't understand the meaning or shape of the words. Only that it's like the market again, but…Less vulgar. The attendant takes payment discreetly by credit card, then hands a thick folio to Scientia, who tucks it away in the folds of his finely tailored coat. Ignis knows what it means, but it doesn't quite stick in his brain.

"I'll have a car collect him directly," Scientia instructs the attendant.

The attendant nods as he detaches the chain from the pedestal. He pulls it taut, forcing Ignis to stand up straight and follow. "What details should be included on the creature's tracking chip?"

Scientia's nose twitches. "Name and age shall suffice," The man says dispassionately.

"You wish to keep the name it came with?" The attendant questions, jotting something down.

Scientia glances briefly in Ignis' direction, his gaze softening. Ignis blinks up at him helplessly, swaying listlessly as heat and fuzziness rob him of deeper thought. Scientia nods.

The attendant hums quietly as he writes something down. "Very good, Sir. And the owner?"

"Regis Lucis Caelum," Scientia replies simply.

Chapter Text

The clip stays in place through the car ride to wherever Scientia is taking him. Ignis gazes out the window of the large, black vehicle, dazed but comforted by the scent of the Kind Man that lingers on the seats. Outside, the narrow brick buildings whip by, illuminated by street lights in the evening twilight, but Ignis' thoughts are fixed on his new owner.

Regis Lucis Caelum.

His name is Regis Lucis Caelum.

Ignis sleepily wonders what type of person he is. He did not come back to the car with Scientia, and Ignis had not seen him as they left the big house so he thinks Mister Lucis Caelum must still be at The Master's. Wondering if his new owner is purchasing more Hybrids, Ignis resists the urge to touch the back of his head. The base of his skull itches a little, pained and sore from where the attendant injected the chip detailing Ignis' new ownership details. A part of him squirms in defiance thinking of it, but the snug pressure of the clip negates much of his stronger emotions. Ignis wants it off.

Eventually, the car pulls up to an unobtrusive townhouse. It doesn't look special from the outside, and as Ignis blinks up at it, he wonders if this is where Mister Regis Lucis Caelum lives. He suspects not, but the thought flitters away as soon as Ignis thinks it. He waits until Scientia gets out of the car, then follows sedate and obedient when he leads Ignis inside.

There are no servants to open the door, though Ignis catches the vague scent of other hybrids. It's an old scent, however. Swaying near the door, Ignis looks around with soft, unfocused eyes and murmurs quietly when Scientia squeezes his shoulder and leads him into…The Kitchen. There's a woman inside with short, ashy hair and simple, smart black clothes who looks up as they come in and tilts her head to the side in curiosity. She's human, as far as Ignis can tell.

"Monica, would you get the boy a bite to eat? I daresay he's famished." Scientia says.

This Monica woman raises a brow and then nods as Scientia leads Ignis to the table and gestures for him to sit. After that, Scientia drifts away, bustling about with a kettle and some water, and then, after a few moments, he sets a steaming cup in front of Ignis. A rich waft of chocolate rises from the cup, making Ignis' chest tighten. A soft, rumbling purr rises into his throat. As he tentatively picks up the cup for a sip, Scientia reaches behind Ignis' head to gently detach the clip.

Almost at once, the soft, floaty feelings drift away. By the time Ignis is done with the cup of cocoa, he feels more clear-headed, but he's tired and unfocused. Gran used to pet him there when he wasn't feeling well, and as the wool falls away, he burns with upset at having his own biology used that way against him. His ears flick in agitation despite the flood of endorphins in his body. Being reduced to instinct and instinct alone sends a confused mix of feelings into his chest as he frowns at the table.

Scientia is quiet. He says nothing as he scrolls on his phone and occasionally taps something out. After a few moments, Monica sets a plate on the table. Ignis' stomach rumbles with hunger as his nose fills with the scent of mildly spiced chicken and rice. It's simple food, undoubtedly reheated from leftovers, but Ignis' mouth floods with saliva. Nervously, he glances up, wondering if it's truly okay to eat.

Monica smiles kindly, but Ignis doesn't find a fork or knife when he looks around. Ears flattening, he wonders what the right choice is. The Trader had tossed scraps, expecting the hybrids to eat like animals. The Master had provided simple cutlery to Ignis, likely for safety's sake. Ignis has no idea what these people expect or how they view him, really.

“…Might…Might I have cutlery, please?" He tries, nervous he's wrong to ask.

Scientia glances up, a brow raising. Then he nods to Monica, who comes back moments later with a fork and knife. Ignis mumbles a thanks and sits up in his chair. He's wary as he eats, aware of eyes tracking his movements. Gran taught him proper table manners, so he takes his time and carefully cuts and chews each morsel thoroughly despite how his stomach caves in on itself. When finished, he sets the cutlery down neatly and sits back in his chair.

"You have been trained in table manners?" Scientia asks, curious.

The question might be rude for someone less brisk, but Ignis gets the impression Scientia is a man who doesn't have the luxury of time enough to mince words. Still, Ignis doesn't quite know what he means.

"I…I was taught them, yes," Ignis replies quietly.

Scientia hums out a soft sound of consideration. "Taught. I see. And what else have you been… Taught ?"

Ignis' ears flick back, betraying his unease. The question seems like a trick, as if he wants to know purely to punish Ignis. His gaze flicks between Scientia and Monica. Scientia's attention returns to his phone, and he appears to be typing something while Monica clears away his plate and washes the dishes up. Their posture is relaxed and unthreatening, but Ignis is unsure.

"To…Be polite even if it is undeserved," Ignis says finally. "Not to draw attention to myself. To listen to my elders."

Scientia's eyes flick up, and he nods absently. His mouth quirks into a wry smile. "Good qualities for a well-behaved young man to have."

Young man.

Ingis' tail fwishes.

Scientia puts down his phone abruptly, then stands, taking Ignis' cup with him. "Would you like more cocoa, Ignis?"

He does, but Ignis feels like this is a game, and he's not sure how to win. He shakes his head. "No, thank you, Sir."

Scientia hums absently, passing the cup to Monica, who puts it in the sink and washes it. The two share a look, and once Monica is finished with the cup, she comes close to Ignis and smiles down at him.

"Would you like to get washed up? Perhaps read for a little while? There are some books in the sitting room, and I'm sure there's one out there that's age-appropriate." Monica says.

Ignis' ears perk up a bit. He was expecting to be put in an empty room like he was at the Master's house. He wonders if… "…Is there a garden here?" He asks tentatively.

Monica's smile widens. "Yes, but I'm afraid we won't be staying long, and it's too dark to see it now."

Oh. Ignis hadn't realized they wouldn't be staying here long.

Disappointment pulls Ignis' face into a small frown, but he catches himself before the expression takes over. The other Hybrids at The Master's hadn't liked it when they could tell what Ignis was feeling.

"I see," He replies quietly. He…Supposes it would be nice to have a book to read. He thinks of home and Gran and how they'd been reading Gulliver's Travels. "…Can I look to see what books there are?" He asks carefully, warily, afraid it's the wrong thing to say.

Monica's face lights up, her expression kind and open. "Of course, Ignis. Do you like reading?"

He nods. He does quite a lot. The caretaker at the Estate often let Ignis borrow books from the library so long as he was careful with them and put them back when he was finished. It wouldn't hurt anything, the old caretaker always assured. The Nox Fluerets didn't mind if the servants and Hybrids used the library for their own leisure as long as there were no official guests in the home.

Of course, Ignis doesn't say this.

"I…I was reading Gulliver's Travels before I—" He says, then trails off. His belly tightens.

Monica's expression softens. "Would you like to continue reading it? If it isn't on the shelf, we can get a copy for you once we're back in Insomnia."

Ignis blinks. They're going to get him a copy? Ears perking up hopefully, he looks between Monica and Scientia, wondering if it's a trap. Their expressions don't change, so after a moment, he nods shyly.

"Yes, I would like that very much," He replies, tempering his excitement.

Monica nods, then reaches out to brush a stray lock of Ignis' hair from his face. Her touch is gentle, friendly even. "Good. Why don't we go check out what's on the shelf, then?" She suggests as she stands and gestures for Ignis to follow.

Flicking his eyes in Scientia's direction, Ignis is relieved when the man nods to give his assent. Standing up, Ignis follows Monica out of the kitchen and through the house to a lovely big sitting room with several big bookshelves along the wall. There aren't as many books as the library at the Estate, but there are more books than Gran's house. Excited, Ignis' tail swishes happily. He steps forward, eager to look, but stops abruptly and peers at Monica.

"Go ahead, Ignis. It's all right," She encourages.

This doesn't feel like a trick or a test, but Ignis is still slow approaching the nearest shelf. Wary even. There's a step stool, so he climbs on it, mindful not to trip, and examines the books. There is quite a large variety of titles, subjects, and genres to pick from, but Ignis takes his time and delights in the crisp, leather-bound volumes and the smell of the bindings. It's comforting and familiar. Chirping happily, he pulls down a book called Stars of Lucis and sits on the stool to examine it.

It's a lovely, delicately bound astronomy volume, similar to one Ignis has seen on the shelves of the Estate in Pagla. It's not quite the same, but it's close enough that it warms Ignis' chest as he reads over the precise text. When he glances up, he notes that Monica hovers at the door, speaking quietly to Scientia. Ignis tries not to listen because it's rude, but one ear still flicks in their direction, picking up the gist of the conversation. Travel plans, apparently.

He turns his attention back to the book, flipping to the next page to trace his fingers over the carefully rendered diagram of a constellation, then reads over the facts and names of each star it contains. Ignis is happily reading the book when the front door opens, and several voices come booming down the hall.

"Damnit, Reg. We talked about this, and you knew it would cause more problems than we need right now," a loud voice growls. "You can't just pick up every stray off the street just because they've got big, sad eyes."

Ignis startles, dropping the book. Scrambling to pick it up, he sinks to the floor to get it when the Kind Man, Regis, and another man step into the sitting room. The other man is… He's…

Ignis' ears immediately flatten, and a low, terrified whimper bubbles up in his throat.

Predator.

He keeps low to the floor, staring wide-eyed up at the big man. The big man with a lashing, spiked tail, and massive, jagged horns protruding from his head. Instinct has Ignis wanting to flee, to run as fast as he can and hide. He shivers as the man's eyes meet his, and in that moment, Ignis nearly wets himself from fear.

Regis' face wrinkles in concern and confusion, then he turns to the big man and pushes him toward the door.

" Clarus ," He warns.

The big man, Clarus, frowns. Then his nose wrinkles. His scent doesn't change, but it's clear that he knows how afraid Ignis is. When he rumbles out a low growl of frustration, Ignis' whole body spasms, and then he does wet himself. His eyes well up with horrified tears, and then the man abruptly leaves the room. Ignis can't move. Stuck to the spot, he trembles as the scent of the big man lingers. He can't even think beyond the fear, and when Regis steps further into the room, Ignis feels his tail lash and poof up as a hiss rolls up from his chest.

"Your Majesty," Scientia says, his voice soft and low. "Perhaps… Shall I fetch Cor?"

Regis' eyes soften, then he nods and steps out, bringing Scientia and Monica with him. A few minutes later, a new face pops into the room. It's another man, but he's much younger, his expression impassive but not unkind. He makes a soft, chuffing sound that might be a greeting, then steps inside the door and bends down to squat on his haunches.

"Hey, kid," He says.

His rounded ears flick, similar to how Ignis' do, despite the difference in breed, and his long, sandy brown tail sweeps out beside him, the tufted end resting on the floor. His scent is similar and unassuming enough to ease some of Ignis' fear. Still, he bares his teeth when the other Hybrid scoots closer.

"I'm just gonna sit, okay? I'm Cor," The younger man says, introducing himself.

He's dressed differently than the others here, his clothes sensible and sturdy. Like he's military. The beret on his head slouches off to one side, with strategic openings to allow his ears to poke through. Most notably, he does not wear a collar.

Ignis doesn't know if he trusts Cor, but something about the slow, rumbling sound he makes as he breathes quietly gradually eases the knot of terror in Ignis' belly. His shoulders, hunched up by the side of his head lower, and Ignis feels his ears twitch just a little after a few minutes. Across the room, Cor offers a vague smile.

"Hey, there you go," He praises, his voice a soft, gruff rumble. "Is it okay if I come closer?"

Ignis swallows tightly. Then, slowly, he nods.

Cor approaches gradually and carefully. He stops an arms-length away and squats back down. When he reaches out, he kneads his fingers into the back of Ignis' neck but doesn't pull or squeeze. He merely soothes the spot gently until Ignis feels himself relax. He still trembles with fear, but it doesn't shake him to his core.

"Sorry about Clarus," Cor says finally. "He won't hurt you, I promise."

Ignis makes a soft, distressed sound, unable to articulate his thoughts. Cor clucks his tongue and presses with a bit more pressure into the place at the back of Ignis' neck.

"I was a few years older than you when I met him," He says. "Scared the shit out of me too."

Ignis' nose wrinkles because Cor's language is rude. "…What is..?" He finally asks, wanting to know.

"Clarus? A behemoth. He really won't hurt you, I swear, Kid. He's got a pup of his own, just like you. I wager the two of you are the same age or thereabouts," Cor replies.

Ignis lets out a slow breath and feels himself relax into the soothing touch of Cor's fingers. It's gentle despite the callouses, and after a moment, he realizes something important and embarrassing. Mortified and suddenly frightened again, he tugs at the front of the flowy clothing he has on, disgusted by the stink and wetness that clings to his skin.

"I…" He whines.

Cor's eyebrows lift. His rounded leonine ears twitch, then he makes a soft sound of understanding. "You're okay, Kid. I'll show you where the bath is so you can get cleaned up. I'll find you some real clothes to wear, okay?"

Ignis is surprised. He expected Cor to be mad. The Trader was angry after he hit Ignis so hard that he fainted and vomited all over himself so he doesn't understand why Cor isn't mad. Perhaps because Cor is not in charge. Regis is the owner, not Cor. Which means if Cor tells Regis…

"I'll clean it up," Ignis says in a rush, suddenly panicking. "It was a mistake. Please don't send me back. I'm sorry."

This time, Cor squeezes his neck. Not hard, not enough to make things strange and floaty, but enough to calm Ignis' racing pulse.

"It's okay," Cor tells him, his voice firm but not unkind. There's a rumbling command to his tone that feels soothing. "No one is sending you back anywhere, okay? You're safe now."

Ignis goes still. Somehow…He trusts Cor is telling the truth, but his eyes still well up as he turns toward the wet spot on the carpet. "I need to clean it up, it's messy." He whines.

"It's fine, Kid," Cor reiterates.

Then, before Ignis can say anything further, Cor stands up and brings Ignis, too, by the scruff of the neck. It doesn't hurt, but it reminds Ignis of what Gran used to do when he was really little and fussing over something. Ignis almost tries to wriggle away, but all the fight goes out of him when Cor lets him go and scritches the base of his ears gently. When Cor leads him out of the sitting room, Ignis goes quietly until they reach the hall, and he catches the lingering scent of the big man, Clarus.

"Wait!" Ignis yelps fearfully.

Cor waits, his long, tufted tail swaying calmly. After a moment, he pats Ignis' ears again. "It's all right, Kid. I know you don't have any reason to trust us, but I swear you're safe here. No one will hurt you."

Ignis' ears twitch. Then, after a moment, he keeps following Cor. Together, they go up the stairs, and when they step through the first door, it's a bedroom. Monica is there and looks up from the large bed, which she's turning the covers down on as they come in.

"Hello, Ignis," She greets, smiling.

Ignis regards her shyly but nods politely.

"I thought you might like a bath, so I got one ready for you. Do you need help washing up?" She asks.

Ignis doesn't. He knows how to bathe and groom himself. What he finds confusing is that Monica offers him the choice of taking care of himself. It's a luxury he hasn't had in weeks, and the memory of being poked and prodded by Lisian and Mirabils makes his nose turn up. Wanting to do it himself, he shakes his head no.

Monica doesn't get angry. She doesn't scold, threaten, or grab him by the scruff and drag him to the bathtub. Her smile remains placid as she gestures to a door on the opposite side of the room.

"I left a towel out. Take as much time as you like," She says kindly. "I'm afraid we don't have any proper clothing for you at the moment, but we'll find you something to wear to bed for tonight, okay?"

Clean, new clothes?

It almost feels too good to be true. Ignis was expecting to go without until he cleaned up what he has on now and waited for it to dry. The Master had ensured he was properly dressed and clean for the several weeks Ignis was there, but the garments had clearly been worn by someone else before. Shuffling on his feet, unsure of what to say, Ignis nods. Then, after a beat, he warily crosses the room and goes into the bathroom.

A puff of moist, warm air brushes over his face, and his nose fills with the scent of something soft and floral. When he inches closer to the large tub and peers into it, it's filled with a thick layer of frothy bubbles. Tail lashing, Ignis' eyes well up with tears because he's so overwhelmed. Quickly, he strips off his soiled things, bunches them up in a neat pile, and then climbs into the sweet-smelling bath.

The heat is soothing and lovely. Much nicer than the scalding water that Lisian and Mirabils scrubbed him raw in. Sinking down into it, Ignis' ears twitch happily. He half expects Monica or Cor to come in to ensure he's washing up. After a long while, when they don't, Ignis feels himself relax, and the tension goes out of his body. He stays like that for a while, then locates a washcloth and carefully and methodically cleans himself.

It feels… Nice. To do this on his own and to take his time. Back home, Ignis loved taking long baths with bubbles up to his chin. Gran would always tut and smile when he came out looking like a wrinkled prune, but then she would coax him over to the fireplace where he could sit close to her while she carefully groomed his hair, ears, and tail. Thinking of her soft, warm hands and how she would sing quietly, Ignis' chest squeezes. He's so very homesick and aches to go be with Gran again. He wonders if maybe…Maybe he can go home.

Before getting snatched up, he didn't technically belong to anyone, even if the Nox Fluerets protected him. Maybe if Ignis tells Regis where he belongs, he can go back home to Gran. The thought makes Ignis' stomach clench with fear. Everyone has been friendly so far… But Regis still owns two other Hybrids. Exotics , like Ignis. Maybe he won't let Ignis go home.

Making a soft, unhappy sound, the pleasure Ignis felt about bathing leaves him. He finishes up, then fumbles for the drain in the tub's bottom as he climbs out. As the soapy water swirls away, he finds several large, fluffy towels laid out and uses them to dry himself. After he's finished, he wraps himself up in a clean one and contemplates the soiled garment on the floor. He isn't sure what to do with it, but just leaving it there makes his belly twist with anxiety. Finally, after a moment, Ignis picks it up by the end that isn't soiled and drops it into the tub. Then, after dithering a moment, he finds some soap and washes it the best he can.

As he's laying it out to dry across the tub, he feels a presence behind him and smells Cor. Turning, Ignis discovers he's being watched and that Cor's face is wrinkled up in a scowling frown. Ignis immediately thinks he's done something wrong, and his ears flatten.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I just wanted to clean it up." He explains, his shoulders hunching.

Cor's tail flicks in irritation, and Ignis is sure he's about to be scolded, hit, or worse. Cor merely sighs and holds out a thick, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of undershorts with a drawstring.

"You're okay, Kid. Put this stuff on. It's too big, but it'll do for tonight." Cor instructs.

Warily, Ignis approaches to take the garments. He doesn't move until Cor sighs, backs out of the room, and closes the door. The clothes are, in fact, far too large. The shirt hangs well past Ignis' knees, and he has to cuff the sleeves with several rolls to keep his hands free. Thankfully, the shorts have an opening for his tail, and after pulling the string tight, they don't slip off. They must belong to Cor, Ignis reasons as he delicately sniffs one sleeve. It's clean, but the scent that clings to it is definitely Cor's. After Ignis finishes, he opens the bathroom door and peers out warily.

Cor is still there, looking out a window into the night beyond. His ears flick when he hears the door, but he doesn't turn in Ignis' direction.

"Grab a comb," Cor instructs. "I'll brush you out."

Ignis…Was going to do that himself. When he was at The Masters, the others did it, but they were rough, and it hurt. Still, something about how Cor says it makes Ignis think it's a request rather than a command, which eases some of the lingering unease. Doing as he's asked, Ignis brings a comb out into the bedroom, and once he does, Cor moves to sit on a chair, and then he beckons Ignis closer.

For a moment, Ignis hesitates. Something sharp and painful squeezes his chest because he suddenly misses Gran again. Cor isn't like Gran at all, but something about the mild look on his face feels similar. Ignis goes to him and hands off the comb, and then Cor starts combing out his hair and ears.

He's brisk but gentle, taking his time to make sure all the knots are out. And when he's finished, he gently guides Ignis to turn around so he can get Ignis' tail. It's…Nice. Nice in a way Lisian and Mirabils were never concerned about. Nice in the same way that it felt when Gran groomed him. Cor is methodical and gentle. And, by the time he's finished, Ignis is purring happily and listing sleepily where he stands. He almost tips over when Cor turns him around again to pet his head, and big, calloused hands work a mildly scented oil into the fur of Ignis' ears. After a while, Cor's fingers find the stubby bits of the hacked-up whiskers, and he makes a soft, rumbling sound of discontent.

"Did someone cut these?" Cor asks, his hands sweeping back up to pinch the small tufts at the points of Ignis' ears. "You're 9, right? Even though you're small, these should be longer for a cub your age."

Ignis stiffens, thinking of the market, how awful it smelled, and how afraid he'd been. He thinks of the older Domestic woman and how she insisted on cutting them.

“…There…There was this woman at the market before I was at the house with The Master," He says carefully. "She was a Domestic. She said it would be better if the humans didn't know what I was."

Cor hums thoughtfully, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "She was probably right," He agrees as he gently pinches the base of Ignis' ears to rub the spots soothingly. "Where did you come from? You're too well cared for to be wild."

Ignis' chest tightens. This...This is his chance. If he explains, if he tells Cor, maybe Cor will help him go home to Gran.

"Pagla," He says in a rush. His eyes well up with tears. "I want to go home. Please? I'll be good. I'll never leave the Estate again. The Trader stole me when I went outside looking for a dog I saw. I just—I want to go home. I want to see my Granny," Ignis pleads.

Cor's eyes widen just a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Cursing, he drops his palm to the back of Ignis' neck and pulls him close to hug him.

"Shit, Kid," Cor rumbles.

Ignis whines. He doesn't know Cor well, but the hug feels nice because no one but the woman at the market has given him one since he was stolen away all those weeks ago. Shuddering, he melts into Cor's big, warm body. The hand on the back of his neck presses into the soft spot there, soothing away Ignis' fear as he cries. However, after a few moments, the door creaks open. Ignis' ears twitch toward the sound. He can tell by scent and the particular cadence of breathing that it's Monica again. Ignis doesn't see the look on Cor's face but feels it when he tenses suddenly.

"Change of plans, I'm afraid," Monica says, her voice tight. "We're leaving as soon as the ship is ready."

Cor doesn't let go of Ignis. Instead, he pats the back of his head and holds Ignis close. "What happened?" Cor asks, the sound resonating deep in his chest.

Monica is silent for a long stretch, then she sighs. "They've taken Tenebrae. Fenestala has fallen.”

Ignis's whole body jolts with fear, electric and sudden. He doesn't understand who They are, but he knows what Monica means when she says Fenestala has fallen. Wriggling away from Cor, he looks up, his eyes wide.

"What happened to everyone?" He demands, fear clutching his chest.

Monica's expression betrays her surprise. Shooting a glance in Cor's direction, her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

"He's from Pagla," Cor explains.

Monica frowns, her face crumbling with sympathy. "I'm not sure," She says, hedging as she shoots a look in Cor's direction.

Ignis knows she's lying and knows there's something she isn't saying. But..He has to know if Gran and the others are okay. Because if the Nox Fluerets are not okay, that means...

"I'm not sure what will happen to the humans or the Hybrids, Ignis. Queen Sylva is… Gone ." Monica says gently. "You'll be safe with us, though. But we have to leave. It isn't safe here for any of us."

That isn't the question he asked, but her answer has a sudden realization coming to Ignis. He…He can't go back. If Queen Sylva is… Dead , and Tenebrae has truly fallen, it isn't safe for Ignis to go back home to Gran. And, for all he knows, the others, Gran included, are dead too. Fresh tears well up in his eyes, and he scrubs them furiously as he whimpers.

"Six damn it all," Cor says abruptly, standing up.

He bends to heave Ignis up into his arms. Ignis almost fights it, his tail lashing angrily as a snarl builds in his throat. But Cor is gentle as he squeezes Ignis tight and exits the room.

"Go find him a coat or something, Monica," Cor instructs. "We need to get back to the ship. Where are Clarus and His Majesty?"

Monica follows, keeping pace as Cor heads down the stairs. Ignis hears it but can't concentrate on anything other than the hitching, horrible ache in his chest as he shivers and cries against Cor's shoulder.

"In the other car and headed to the port already," Monica replies. "Scientia is collecting the rest of our things. As soon as he's ready, we'll go meet them."

Cor makes a soft, irritated sound as he shifts Ignis from one hip to the other. Ignis is far too big to be carried, but he likes the closeness and how Cor pets the back of his neck like Gran used to. Sniffling, he burrows closer. He can't seem to stop crying now that he's started, but Cor or Monica don't get angry or yell at him. In fact, after Monica drapes a long coat over his shoulders, she rubs her hand up his back.

By the time Scientia comes through the front door to tell them that the car is ready, Ignis has cried himself to exhaustion, burrowed against Cor's neck. His smell is nice, comforting even. The deep rumbling sound Cor makes is not quite a purr, but it's close enough that Ignis feels safe for the first time in weeks. When they go out to the car, Ignis clings tight, not wanting to let go.

"'S okay, Kid. You're fine," Cor assures as he sits and carefully rearranges Ignis in his lap.

It can't be comfortable, but Cor doesn't make Ignis sit by himself or let go. He pets his hands through Ignis' hair, comforting and soft. Drifting sleepily, Ignis closes his eyes as the car pulls away from the townhouse and drives off down the street.

"What happened to Pagla?" Cor asks after a while.

It's clear he thinks Ignis is asleep because he wouldn't have asked otherwise. Staying still, Ignis listens as Monica lets out a soft, tremulous sigh.

"Under occupation, mostly razed to the ground like Fenestala. The remaining nobles are under arrest, and their property seized. Reports say that most of the Hybrids were... Dispatched or taken into Imperial custody if they were deemed fit," Monica replies quietly.

Cor clicks his tongue in disgust. "And the Queen's holdings?"

Monica is quiet for a long moment, then releases a soft sigh. "Burned to the ground with no survivors."

Ignis tries not to move, but he thinks Cor feels how every muscle in his body tightens. He bites his lip hard enough that it hurts and bleeds because…Because if what Monica is saying is true, then Ignis is all alone in this world now.

He knows what dispatched means. And something deep inside tells him that Gran, the caretaker, and all the others are gone now.

Ignis pinches his eyes shut hard and doesn't move. Not even when Cor pulls him closer and hugs him tightly.

Chapter Text

Ignis has never been on a boat before, though he used to watch them sailing around the harbor from the western wall of the Nox Flueret estate back in Pagla. Sometimes, he watched them with Gran and sometimes with the older children or house staff while they ate lunch. Occasionally, on warm summer evenings, he would even go down to the beach with the entire household, and they would have picnics together while watching the boats in the far-off harbor.

This boat, or ship , more accurately, is rather large. And, once Ignis and Cor are on deck, the rocking and swaying makes his stomach sick. Wrinkling his nose, Ignis burrows his face into Cor's neck and feels the eyes of the crew watching him as they pass. They don't look like the sailors Ignis has ever seen in the harbor in Pagla. He'd been there once or twice with the House Steward, a man called Geoffrey, to help run errands.

The crew on this ship are all dressed in black and look very serious indeed. Finding it curious that some are dressed in simple black trousers and button-up shirts while others are dressed in long dark coats with silver buttons and braiding up the front, Ignis wonders what the difference is.

They stand at silent attention as Cor walks by, but Ignis can tell they are looking at him. It must be strange, he reasons, for a Hybrid child to be on the ship with them. Ignis can only imagine what they must think of him in his oversized clothing and bare feet. Cor ignores the odd looks that the crew sends in their direction and takes Ignis through a narrow doorway at the far end of the upper deck.

The narrow corridor, filled with exposed pipes and valves, is crowded and close inside. However, Cor swiftly goes through another small doorway, and they emerge into a carpeted hall with wooden paneling along the wall. It feels less claustrophobic here, though as Cor continues on his way, Ignis catches the scent of the scary person. Clarus . Pressing his face into Cor's neck, Ignis whines softly.

"Shh, you're okay," Cor assures, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

His calloused hand comes up to pat through Ignis' hair as they continue down to a door at the end of the hall. Opening it up with one hand, Cor sets Ignis on his feet and bends down so they're eye to eye.

"I know it's not much, but I want you to try and get some rest, okay?" Cor says firmly.

Ignis nods as he looks around the small, simple room. There's a set of narrow bunk beds, a tiny folding desk, and a stool bolted to the floor, and that's about it.

"Okay," Ignis says as he turns back to the older Hybrid.

"It should only be a couple hours until we reach Galdin, but I don't want you wandering, okay, Kid? It's dangerous for children, and you need to get some sleep." Cor adds as he angles Ignis with a stern look.

Again, Ignis nods. He'll stay in the room. Mostly because he doesn't like how the boat feels rocking about, but also because he's afraid of Clarus and doesn't want to meet him in the narrow hall.

"If you have to use the toilet, it's the door directly across from this room. Scientia is on his way with some real clothes, so you can change into those when he gets here." Cor goes on, then shoots Ignis an expectant look.

"I understand," Ignis replies obediently.

Cor's mouth pulls into a mild frown, and his brows knit. After a moment, his rounded ears flick, and then he heaves out a soft sigh. Reaching out, he cups Ignis' cheek and pats him there gently.

"I know you were listening in the car," He begins, gruff but gentle. "I'm sorry we can't take you home, Kid. It's not safe anywhere in Tenebrae anymore. Especially not for you."

Ignis swallows tightly and looks away to stare down at his feet. Gran's face swims into focus in his mind's eye, as do the faces of the others. The caretaker, the cook in the kitchen, the gardener, and the two giggling housemaids that always snuck him tea cakes when Cook wasn't watching. He thinks of the humans and the other Hybrids who lived at the estate, then wonders if they escaped.

You escaped.

Ignis whines, the sound playing more toward a snarl. When Cor drags him into a brief, squeezing hug, Ignis spills over and wipes at his eyes roughly.

"I escaped ," He repeats stubbornly, his mouth trembling as he sniffles.

One of Cor's eyebrows lifts. Then he sighs heavily, and the corner of his mouth curls in a wry half-smile. "Yeah, I guess you did," He concedes. He gives Ignis one more friendly pat, then hauls himself upright. "Don't go wandering, okay? I'll come check on you soon."

Ignis doesn't want Cor to go but nods anyway. He's feeling tired again, and the pain in his stomach is getting uncomfortable. He watches as Cor heads out, and once he's gone, Ignis hops up on the bed and huddles up in the corner under the coat he's still wearing. The pillow isn't very big or comfortable, but it's still nicer than the one at The Master's. Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on resting.

The rest of the journey is utterly miserable. Ignis sleeps for a while, then wakes up to the awful rocking and chugging of the boat as it travels through open water. Ignis whines miserably, then scrambles across the hall a few moments later because he feels so sick. He vomits twice before crawling back to his room but turns right back around several minutes later to go throw up in the small toilet again. Someone must hear him by the fifth time he vomits because several sets of feet come down the hall a few moments later.

It isn't Cor who helps him this time. It's Regis , Ignis' new owner, who scrapes the hair away from his forehead with cool hands. Ignis whimpers quietly, but a line of acid streams up his throat, and he bends to heave into the toilet bowl.

"There you go," Regis soothes. "Better out than in, as they say."

Ignis groans, and when he's finished being sick, he flops backward, resting his head against the wall. Or rather, he tries to, but Regis tsks and coaxes Ignis away.

"Probably not the best place for a rest, Little One. Can you stand?"

Ignis shakes his head. Every time the boat rocks, his stomach jolts and heaves. His legs feel like jelly.

Sighing, Regis rubs his hand down Ignis' back, then pulls Ignis up off the floor with a grunt. They don't return to the small room but go down the hall to much larger quarters with proper furniture instead. Ignis catches Clarus' scent and realizes he must be nearby but is too miserable to do more than flatten his ears fearfully. Finally, Regis props Ignis up on a plush settee and seems to pluck a water bottle from thin air with a flash of crystalline blue.

"Here, drink this. Slowly, if you please," Regis instructs.

Ignis obeys, sipping the water one mouthful at a time. He doesn't drink much because his muscles cramp up as soon as it hits his stomach. Regis' kind face wrinkles up, and then he reaches out and presses his big hands to Ignis' face. It….It tickles. Confused, Ignis wrinkles his brows as the touch heats, and Regis' hands glow a faint, shimmery blue. The pain in Ignis' stomach abruptly stops, and he feels so much better. Slumping into the settee cushions, he releases a slow, relieved breath.

"Better?" Regis asks.

Nodding, Ignis takes another careful sip of the water. This time, it doesn't hurt as much. The smile on Regis' face is kind. But, when he fluffs the pillows up and directs Ignis to lie down, Ignis doesn't know what to do. Cor said to stay in the little room, and this is not the little room. Then again, Regis is Ignis' owner now…

"I…I can go back now, I feel better," Ignis replies, unsure. He doesn't want to make Regis mad.

Regis' smile softens into something sad and distant. He cups the side of Ignis' face with his big hand and shakes his head. "No need for that now, My Boy. Close your eyes and get some rest."

Stubbornly, Ignis wants to argue. But his eyes feel heavy, and it feels nice to be pet and touched softly. It reminds him of Gran again, but he tries not to think of her because he doesn't want to cry or fuss in front of Regis. So he nods and lets his eyes slip shut after curling more comfortably on the settee.

The next time Ignis wakes up, it's only briefly in the back of a car. His ears twitch as voices wash over his head, but he ignores them and drifts sleepily, snuggled up against someone warm who runs their fingers soothingly through his hair.

Regis , Ignis' sleepy brain fills in. Cor is close by, as is Clarus, but Ignis is too tired to be frightened.

"We'll sort it out between the three of us," Regis says, his voice quiet. "I'll not abandon the boy."

Toward the front of the car, Clarus snorts quietly. His voice is a deep grumble. "You know the Council will have a field day with this if they find out, Reg. Never mind if this leaks to the press. This won't look good, and you know it."

Ignis feels Regis' body tense, but the soft hands in his hair don't stop their idle petting. He snuggles closer, drifting again as he purrs. The adults are quiet for a long stretch and after a while, Regis sighs.

"… He's just a child, Clarus. A child. When I think that if not for a quirk of nature, it might've been Noct in that vile place—When I think it might've been your Son if not for his name and family legacy….What was I supposed to do?" Regis demands quietly. "You know what they would've done to him, what kind of life he would have had. You know what they do to those of his ilk. I couldn't stand for it."

Clarus makes a quiet, irritated noise. It's silent for a while, then he finally speaks up. "He'll not have it easy with us, either."

The hand in Ignis' hair stills. Regis lets out a slow breath. "I know," He admits quietly, mournfully. "But…He will be cared for. Kept safe and will have at least some choice in the direction of his life. He will not be an object ."

Clarus breathes out loudly, the sound like thunder in his chest, deep and resonant. "I hope you know what you're doing, Reg. For his sake."

After that, sleep drags at Ignis, pulling him under. He doesn't wake again until the car door opens, and someone scoops him up. It smells like Cor, so he nuzzles closer sleepily, only to drift off again the second he's tucked into a warm, soft bed.

And that's how Ignis' first night in Insomnia goes.

**

Insomnia, Ignis learns, is a much bigger city than anything he could've imagined. It's modern and fast-paced in ways that Pagla was not. He stays with Scientia, who Ignis learns is called Astutus Scientia. During the first week, he is examined by several Hybrid specialists to have his health checked. There's also a flurry of appointments he must attend, such as getting his identification sorted out, registering to the national Hybrid database, and updating his chip.

Apart from some lingering damage to his face, where the Trader apparently broke his cheekbone, Ignis's health is in perfect working order, even if he is small for his age. The specialist assures Astutus that a healthy diet and some time will change that and that it's typical for Coeurls to shoot up during puberty. And, while Ignis doesn't particularly like going to the specialists, none of them actually touch Ignis without asking or telling him what they are doing first. He doesn't like the inoculations, either, but they are required for all children, whether Hybrid or human.

When they return to Astutus' home, a venerable brick house on the city's outskirts, Astutus sends him to the kitchen with instructions to ask the cook, a man named David, for some early dessert.

Ignis likes it here. He likes it very much.

He has his own room with a window and can wander most of the house as he likes. There are a few off-limits places, such as Astutus' office, personal rooms, and the work shed outside, but other than that, Ignis has free rein. Astutus lets Ignis read in the library, sit out on the patio in the yard to watch the birds, and even wander the respectable garden on his own. Not only that, the staff are nice to Ignis. They smile at him kindly and answer his questions when he plucks up the courage to ask.

One afternoon, several weeks after arriving, he's enjoying the sunshine in the solar, curled up in a tufted armchair reading when his ears prick toward the door. He hears a familiar voice drifting through the house, speaking to the houseman, Olivier, and looks up. Moments later, Cor steps into the solar, and their eyes meet.

Ignis' tail fhwips because something about the scrunched-up look on Cor's face says he isn't there for a visit. Ears flattening, Ignis sets his book down and frowns at the older Hybrid.

"Hey, Kid," Cor greets, coming nearer. When he's close enough, he bends down and nods toward the book on Ignis' lap. "Whatcha reading?"

It's nothing very exciting, honestly. But Ignis was curious about his new home, so he found a book detailing the history of Lucis. Holding it up, he shows Cor the cover.

"Just this," He replies nervously. His belly twists in an anxious knot because he knows this isn't a social visit.

The corner of Cor's mouth tilts in a vague smile, and then he sighs as he reaches out to sift his hands through Ignis' hair. When he stands up, he's frowning again and seems to waffle over what he wants to say.

"I'm here to bring you to the Citadel," He explains finally, grimacing. "Someone spilled the beans about you, and the Council wants to decide what to do with you. His Majesty demanded they at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to be there for it."

Ignis blinks. He doesn't quite understand what Cor is saying, but something about it tickles a memory of the half-recalled conversation from the car all those weeks ago. He isn't sure who Cor means by His Majesty but knows Cor is speaking of the King. He knows Lucis has a king because he's been reading about it in his book. He also knows that his owner, Regis, somehow has something to do with all this.

In broad terms, Ignis understands what the Citadel is. Astutus works there, presumably for Regis, and the two have high positions. Ignis knows this to be true because Regis would not have been able to purchase him otherwise. He also knows that the Citadel is where the seat of Lucian government sits and that the Council is there too. And while he isn't sure what the Council does precisely, he's heard it spoken of enough that he knows they hold power and that Cor, Regis, and even Clarus dislike them.

"Will Mister Scientia be there?" Ignis asks, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"Yeah, he'll be there," Cor replies, setting Ignis' book aside and coaxing him to his feet. "We have to go now, though. Do you want a coat or something?"

Ignis shakes his head. He isn't cold, and the sun is lovely today. It was quite nice when he was out in the garden earlier, even if the breeze was somewhat cool. Following Cor, they make their way through the house, and when they get to the door, Olivier hands Ignis a pair of shoes. Sliding them on, Ignis sits and carefully does up the laces. He doesn't want to damage them because they are nice shoes—Probably the nicest he's ever had. When Ignis stands up, he nods at Olivier.

"Thank you," He says politely.

Olivier smiles, then shoots a pensive look in Cor's direction. "Shall I expect him back for dinner?"

There's more to the question than meets the eye, but Ignis isn't sure what.

Wrinkling his nose, Cor opens the door. "If His Majesty has anything to do with it, yes."

Then, together, he and Cor walk to the car. There's no driver this time, which is curious. Ignis wonders who's driving until Cor bundles him into the back seat and then slides into the front.

"You're allowed to drive?" Ignis asks, genuinely surprised. Back in Pagla, only human servants could drive.

Cor's eyes flick up in the rearview, his expression unreadable. Then he merely shakes his head. "Yeah, Kid. I'm allowed to drive. Things are different for us here in Insomnia."

Oh.

Ignis' tail fhwips as he thinks, wondering about the Council and why they get to decide what to do with him. Perhaps they are the ones who make and enforce the laws and get to decide what Owners can do with their property. With their pets . Wrinkling his nose, Ignis buckles in and stares out the window as Cor pulls out of the long driveway and turns onto the main road.

"…Not so different," He replies quietly.

Up front, Cor huffs out a soft, wry laugh. "You got me there."

Ignis sinks into his seat, frowning as he watches the scenery outside the window. Gradually, the suburbs give way to the city, and soon enough, they're traveling through the crowded streets and the tall, narrow buildings of the thriving metropolis. There are so many people that Ignis finds it hard to concentrate. He's curious, of course, but it's overwhelming. What really sticks out are the countless Hybrids moving amongst the humans as if…As if they belong . Some of them are with humans, but they don't have leashes or collars. They almost seem like they are equals or something close to it.

Ignis noticed it before but wasn't feeling brave enough to ask Astutus why. Cor is a different story, though.

"None of those Domestics have collars," He observes quietly, his eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror to see how Cor might react.

Cor's ears twitch. His eyes briefly flick to his left, where a mixed group of human and Hybrid pedestrians cross the road. He glances up in the rearview to meet Ignis' gaze.

"They're Crown Citizens. Legally sponsored and registered," Cor replies. "Were you collared in Pagla?"

Ignis shakes his head. He wasn't, but he wasn't a citizen either. He was just… Kept . Like the others. Like Gran. Not like pets, but… Not citizens either. Biting his lip, Ignis wonders where Cor falls in all of this. He doesn't wear a collar either, and he's allowed to drive and be on his own, but..

"Are you a Crown Citizen?" Ignis asks, genuinely curious.

The rumbling, irritated sound that follows is unexpected. "No. But not for lack of trying," Cor replies with a whuffty snort. "Legally, I belong to His Majesty. Same as you. We're Exotics, Kid. The peerage was willing to give up their claim on the Domestic trade, but everyone knows the real money is elsewhere. And with the Council getting payouts, it's unlikely it'll change soon."

Blinking, Ignis takes a moment to process. His Majesty, the King, owns Cor. He also owns Ignis. So Regis Lucis Caelum is the King. The realization sinks like a stone in his belly until:

"If we belong to His Majesty, why can't he make us Crown Citizens? He's the King," Ignis points out, confused and perhaps a little agitated.

Cor, ready for that one, frowns. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. If it did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ignis' tail lashes in agitation. He doesn't quite understand but doesn't know the right questions to ask. Looking out the window again, he watches the city go by as Cor eases off the brakes and continues on. After a while, the shopping centers and tall buildings give way to offices. Eventually, the modern flavor of the architecture falls away to older-style buildings. They pass a great hulking beast of a building with a large banner splashed across the side that advertises some sort of exhibit, so Ignis cranes up to see. When they pass, he sits back in his seat and wrinkles his nose.

"Why does the Council get to decide about me?" He asks, wondering.

Again, Cor makes an irritated noise. "You want me to be straight with you, Kid?"

Ignis nods. He wants the truth because not knowing what to expect makes his belly twist in anxious knots. He doesn't understand why this group of people can dictate to a King what to do. Furthermore, he doesn't understand why they can tell a King what to do with a Hybrid he legally owns.

"It looks bad for His Majesty to own a kid. It was bad enough when he took me on, but things were different. Public opinion was different," Cor explains, not mincing words. "Normally, the Council wouldn't give a shit about any of that, but it calls into question the morality of owning Exotics, and the Council doesn't want any media attention on that front. They want to keep that industry alive and well."

Some of it makes sense. Ignis doesn't understand why owning a child Hybrid would be considered any different, but he doesn't ask. There's something about how Cor says it that makes Ignis nervous and reminds him of being at the market with the Trader, leering at customers to come look at him. It feels… Uncomfortable .

"The Council won't make him send me away, will they?" Ignis asks, suddenly afraid.

Cor shakes his head immediately. "No, nothing like that. They aren't happy, though. His Majesty won't let them send you away, I promise," Here, Cor pauses, and his face twists into a scowl. His voice is a low, irritated growl when he speaks next. "Worst case, they'll insist you be kept in The Menagerie to be given a 'Traditional Education' as befits a Royal Pet."

Ears flattening, Ignis shrinks in his seat. He doesn't like the sound of that, and judging by how Cor bristles, it's a bad thing.

"What's The… Menagerie ?" He asks nervously.

"A hold-over from decades ago. Hybrids owned by The Crown and other nobility were kept there and taught how to be good, obedient belongings. It was still active when his Majesty was a Prince, but he's regulated the hell out of it in hopes of strangling it out of existence," Cor explains through his bared teeth. "It'd be better if he burned it to the fucking ground."

Ignis whines, reacting to Cor's anger and the fearful twist in his belly. He's sorry he asked, but almost immediately, Cor responds by making a soft, soothing sound.

"Ah, Sorry," He apologizes, keeping his voice low. "It's a bit of a sore spot. I'm not mad at you, Kid."

Oh okay.

Still: "Sorry," Ignis mumbles.

Cor clicks his tongue. He's quiet after that, his reflection pensive as they drive. Finally, they turn up a long, empty street where the buildings are close together and come up to a guard post at the front of an underground entrance. When they arrive, a human in a long black coat with silver buttons up the front stops them. It's the same sort of coat that some crew on the ship wore.

"Oh. Leonis," The guard greets. He looks in through the backseat and frowns when he spots Ignis. "He needs to go through the other entrance to be scanned. You know that."

Cor's ears twitch in annoyance. Rolling down the back window on the side Ignis is on, he gives the man a flat look. "Scan him here."

The man looks like he might argue. His face gets red and angry, and then he grabs a scanner off the desk in the guard booth and stalks around to the side of the car. He's not very gentle as he tilts in through the window and manhandles Ignis into leaning forward to scan the chip at the base of his neck. Alarmed, Ignis goes lax and still when a rough hand closes around his shoulder.

" Easy ," Cor growls low in his throat, speaking to the man.

The man relents as if following an order. He's not as rough, but his brisk movements aren't gentle either. When finished, he steps away, returns to the guard booth, and activates the blockade arm. He says nothing as he waves them through, but he's scowling. Cor rumbles angrily as he drives down into the tunnel after rolling up the windows.

"Are you okay?" Cor asks once the guard is out of sight.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Ignis nods. The man didn't hurt him, not really. "I'm okay," He confirms.

Cor's ears flick in annoyance like he doesn't quite believe that. He says nothing as he navigates the car through a vast, underground parking area until he finds a spot next to several sleek, expensive vehicles. Unbuckling, Ignis waits until he's given permission to exit the car, then falls into step beside Cor as they move through the parking area to an elevator that requires a code to enter. Once inside, Ignis crowds close to Cor, disliking the swooping feeling in his belly.

He isn't sure he should say anything, but he's curious again and wants to know. "Why do the Council want to see me?"

The gruff sound Cor makes isn't very comforting, but he reaches out to squeeze his fingers into the back of Ignis' neck. "They don't, not really. His Majesty insisted on you being here. Mostly to assert his authority that they can't proceed with anything without his approval. I think he wants to make a point, but I know he wasn't happy about dragging you into this."

Ignis tries to understand, but he doesn't, really. However, he trusts Cor and Regis— His Majesty, to keep him safe. They haven't lied or tried to hurt or send him away, so Ignis trusts they will keep doing the same, even if his belly knots with anxious fear. Leaning closer to Cor, Ignis looks up and finds the older Hybrid watching him with his brows furrowed in consideration.

"...What do I do?" Ignis asks, voice soft and small.

Cor blows out a soft breath, cursing as his expression crumbles into a grimace. "Just answer any questions they ask. Be polite. Don't talk back even if you want to. Can you do that, Kid?"

Ignis nods. "I can," He assures.

Cor's fingers press into his neck, gentle and comforting. Then the elevator dings, and he shunts Ignis out into a bland, industrial-looking hallway. There are many doors, each with a numerical designation and plastic slots on the outside filled with papers. Cor leads him to the end of this hall, around a corner, and into a second hallway with another elevator at the end. Instead of going through the elevator, they head into a stairwell along the side of it and head up a flight where two more doors await on either side of the stairs. Cor stops long enough to key a code into one door and swipe a badge that's in his pocket, then steps out, bringing Ignis along, too.

It's another corridor, but this one is done in stonework, and the elevator at the far end has intricate scrollwork inlaid around the doors. It feels like an older part of the massive building, and Ignis feels nervous as Cor coaxes him into the elevator. It's all open, made of thick glass or something like it. As it lurches upward and picks up speed, Ignis jolts and grabs onto Cor. His tail fluffs out reactively, but Ignis forgets his fear as the elevator shoots through the enclosed shaft and into a clear glass tunnel.

Outside, the city expands around them until the people in the street far below are ants, and the whole of Insomnia splays out in a sprawling, metropolitan landscape. Ignis can see for miles and miles, all the way back to a massive, glowing wall far in the distance on the far reaches of the city.

" Oh ," Ignis breathes, turning to look.

He only catches a glimpse before the elevator disappears back into the wall of the building. A few moments later, it comes to a halt with a shuddering ding. Cor steps out, and Ignis hurries to follow, but his heart is thundering in his chest. Insomnia is so big . He follows Cor down a wide corridor with polished floors and ornate woodwork. The windows along one side look out into the city below, and Ignis marvels as they walk past. He wants to ask Cor about the large green swathe of land laid out like a grid that he spots in the distance but doesn't get the chance because they stop abruptly before a set of large, elaborately decorated doors.

Heaving out a grumbly sigh, Cor glances down at Ignis and gives his ears a brief pat. "Do your best, okay, Kiddo?"

Ignis nods, his ears turning backward as Cor reaches out to knock on the door.

"Enter," A voice calls from within.

It sounds a bit like Regis, but more . The King calls them in, and as Ignis enters the room behind Cor, he realizes His Majesty is not like Regis at all. They look the same, but the expression on His Majesty's face is distant and impassive. However, when The King glances in Ignis' direction, there's a hint of kindness, which allays some of the fear roiling around in Ignis' belly.

"Your Majesty," Cor intones solemnly, bowing deeply before he steps inside.

Ignis is unsure if he should do the same, so he copies Cor regardless. And, as he follows Cor up past a long table to the head where King Regis sits, Ignis feels the eyes of at least a dozen people watching him. Some whisper as he passes, shocked by his presence. He keeps his eyes locked on Cor's back, though his ears twitch. When they reach the head of the table, Cor steps somewhat behind The King and nudges Ignis up to stand next to the large chair.

For a moment, the expression on The King's face changes, and he's simply Regis again, offering Ignis a brief smile. However, it lasts only a moment, and then he turns back to those seated around the table.

"Now, we were discussing what to do with the boy," The King says, his voice gone flat. "Please, remind me, Lord Vulgo. What was it you were saying when we called our recess?"

Down the length of the table, a portly, red-faced man sputters and stands. Ignis tries not to seem like he's watching, tries to be obedient, and follows Cor's directions. He also remembers what Gran said about not calling attention to himself, but he wants to know what this man has to say.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this is highly irregular. Discussion regarding property—Ahem— Regarding Hybrids is best left to those responsible for them." Lord Vulgo says.

"I am responsible for Ignis. I took responsibility for his care while in Pitzala," King Regis replies, his eyes narrowing. "I wish the boy to be present while you and the other men and women in this room decide whether he's worthy of personage. Please. Do. Go. On ."

Lord Vulgo sputters nervously, clearly flustered by the request. His face grows redder and redder until a woman further down the table stands up.

"It is not a matter of personage, Your Grace," She cuts in. "None of us wish to see the boy … harmed. But the fact remains that he is an Exotic. Not only that, it's clear his breed is a rare and dangerous one. He needs to be properly… Maintained ."

Here, a second woman stands up, tossing a baleful look at her colleague. "Dangerous or not, there is also the matter of public opinion, Sire. The press will not take kindly to you keeping a child as a personal… Companion . Better to find another place for him. Why not put him in the care of The Menagerie until a proper foster is found?"

Ignis' skin prickles when the woman mentions The Menagerie. Cor said it was bad and should be burned to the ground. Panic rises in his chest. However, before Ignis can give himself over to it, a smaller door near the back of the room opens and closes with a soft click. Looking up, Ignis spots Astutus coming through as he hastens to King Regis' side to whisper something in his ear. Again, there's a flash of the man Ignis met several weeks ago, but it's gone in an instant as Regis takes the folio that Astutus hands over and waves him away.

"The press will do no such thing," The King replies as he slides the folio across the table and invites the nearest Council members to look. "A suitable foster has already been found, and under his care, Ignis will receive the care and education as befits a Retainer to a Prince of the Blood until Prince Noctis can legally take over his maintenance. Should Ignis agree to it, of course. "

The room erupts into chaos and outrage. Too many voices call out over one another, making Ignis shrink away. When he backs up a step, he bumps into Cor, who places a soothing hand on his shoulder, but his look is grim.

"Your Majesty, we must object," The red-faced Lord Vulgo blusters over the chaos. "It is one thing to select a pet—A Personal Companion for the Prince. Putting it on the Prince's retinue is another thing entirely."

It.   

Ignis' tail fhwips as his face fills with heat.

"Are you calling into question my judgment, Lord Vulgo?" The King asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Need I remind you that my Retinue consists of several Hybrids whose loyalty is absolute?'

Lord Vulgo blanches, his face draining of color as he hurries to shake his head. "No, Sire, never. It's just that—"

"Ignis was chosen at my behest for Noctis," The King says, sitting forward in his chair. "It is my intent to provide for his care and upbringing and that he receives the best education available in service to his future King as a formal member of Noctis' retinue. I will not bend on the matter or tolerate him being reduced to an object. But, because you are so keen on it, I invite you to handle the public outcry when they find out you took away a little boy's personage."

A number of the men and women at the table flush red, muttering angrily like a nest of wasps. The King is also angry, his lip curling with disdain as he glowers down the length of the table.

Lord Vulgo, defeated, sits heavily in his chair, the sour stink of his sweat filling the room. "Apologies, Sire. It was not my intent to suggest— Of course, your judgment is sound. The Prince deserves the best. I was merely suggesting that it might be too early to determine if your acquisition is of sound breeding and intellect. We have no idea how it- he will take to educational pursuits."

This time, it's Cor's tail that lashes. What Lord Vulgo says makes Ignis' face burn with humiliation. He is not livestock, nor is he stupid. Biting his lip, he tells himself not to make a scene and not to say anything because saying things is what will get him in trouble.

"Perhaps speaking to the boy and not over him will help you make that determination," The King returns, his tone flat and giving away nothing of his thoughts.

Lord Vulgo sputters. However, it is the woman from before who speaks up finally.

"Boy," She says firmly as if Ignis is a thing to be called to heel. "Do you speak?"

Ignis' ears twitch, his nostrils flaring as shame licks up his face. "Yes, Madam," He replies. "Was there something in particular you wished me to say?"

He doesn't mean for it to come across as rude, but he thinks it does because the woman's face pinches up in a scowl. Perhaps she's just surprised he didn't growl or snarl like an animal.

"Where did you come from? How did you come to be in your present circumstances?" She demands.

Ignis doesn't want to lie…But he feels uncomfortable. Thinking of Pagla, of home, and the others makes the ache in his chest hurt more. He thinks…He thinks it would be okay to tell some of the truth but not all of it. If that's wrong, then Cor or The King will correct him.

"I came from Pagla," He replies, staring down at his feet.

The table is silent for several beats, and then a few of the Council members whisper amongst themselves. Ignis picks up what they say about the Imperial invasion and how Ignis must have been seized in the aftermath and then somehow rescued. Cor does not correct them, and neither does The King.

"He has not disclosed which noble house he came from, but he has clearly had a genteel upbringing. The boy has shown himself to be clever, observant, and thirsty for knowledge. He can read and write better than most his age," Astutus says now. "As one of His Royal Majesty's advisors, I can personally attest to the boy's soundness of mind."

"But what of his temperament?" A new Council member asks. "His breed is known for their aggression, and any latent magical abilities he may or may not possess will need to be subdued either mechanically or chemically. He will have to be managed and trained correctly to achieve that. The law dictates all Hybrids in the service of The Crown must complete rigorous training before being put to use."

Maintained. Subdued. Managed. Put to use.

Ignis' ears flatten to his skull entirely as fear twists his belly. Cor, perhaps smelling it, growls low in the back of his throat. Regis hears the sound, though the others do not, and shifts to angle a brief look in Cor's direction.

"Cor, would you take Ignis to the Antechamber?" Regis instructs gently.

Cor drags a slow breath in through his open mouth. There's a beat of silence, and then he bows his head. "As you command."

The hand on Ignis' shoulder tightens, directing him away from the table. Not wishing to appear rude or of ill temperament, Ignis dips his head politely. Regis' mouth quirks up, betraying a hint of a smile for just an instant before The King's mask slides back into place. Ignis doesn't want to go; he wants to see what will happen and how these people will decide his fate, but Cor urges him away, turning him toward the smaller doors at the back of the hall. They go through, and the doors shut, muffling the sound of conversation.

And that's the end of that.

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 748

Ignis fidgets nervously as he stares up at the large stone building ahead. There are a number of smaller buildings clustered into the ground of the Citadel, and this one looks remarkably similar to the others. It's built in an older style, and the architecture gives away its age. Set in the back corner of a private courtyard on the northern side of the grounds, it would be entirely unremarkable if Ignis didn't know what it was. There are two floors, as far as he can tell, and the lower floor has a bank of windows along the front half of the building.

There's been an attempt to make the place more welcoming. A long row of planter boxes run along the side of the building, but the plants aren't interesting at all. It's all green, with not a flower in sight. And, when Ignis gets a whiff of them on the wind, he sneezes. Wiggling his nose, he frowns as he realizes that the plants are all species that are toxic to dogs and cats. And yes, canines and felines are the most common type of Hybrid, even amongst Exotics, but having them outside a place like this makes no sense. While some Hybrids are sensitive to the same things as their animal counterparts, it rarely applies.

Cor, noting where Ignis is looking, whuffs out a grumbling noise. "Yeah, they aren't too smart."

Ignis rubs his nose. It's all itchy because of the pollen, and he worries he'll be in a room with open windows. Peering past the plants, he eyes the windows, glad that none of them look like they're open. Nervously, he peers up at Cor. He's not sure what to expect once they go inside, but just being here has Cor's lip curling up in distaste and his long tail whipping angrily.

"…Do I really have to go in?" Ignis asks sullenly.

It's been a point of contention between His Majesty and the Council for several years, and now that Ignis is old enough to submit himself for his so-called lessons, there's no getting out of it. No matter how often the matter had come up in chambers, they would not bend. The only concession the Council had made was that Ignis would only have to participate in the course curriculum that focused solely on social graces, etiquette, deportment, and useful household management skills. Things that, in upper-class society, a Valet or Butler might attend to. Regardless, it doesn't make Ignis feel any better now that he's here and expected to adhere to the Council's directives.

"Sorry, Kid," Cor replies after a beat. "I know it's bullshit, but my hands are tied."

There's genuine unhappiness in his voice, and he seems even less keen about going inside than Ignis. Together, they stand there gazing across the manicured courtyard at the building, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, Cor blows out a long sigh and reaches out to knead his fingers into the back of Ignis' neck in a calming gesture. A beat passes, and then, with a grunt, Cor urges Ignis forward.

"C'mon," Cor rumbles.

Together, they head toward the building, and as they get closer, Ignis lifts his head toward the ornate wooden doors on the front of the building, where he spots a wrought-iron sign blazoned with The Menagerie. Above it is a curiously blank space where he can just make out a faint outline where the stonework is discolored. The outline vaguely resembles the shape of the Lucian coat of arms, but he can't be sure. A sudden anxiety churns in Ignis' belly, making him shuffle to a halt. Cor, sensing it and likely scenting the tang of it on the air, stops short and turns to bend down to level with Ignis.

"I won't sugarcoat it, Kid. This isn't going to be fun," Cor says, his voice soft and rumbly. "These assholes will do everything in their power to convince you that you're an animal, an object with no thoughts or feelings of your own, and that your only purpose is to serve your Master. You can't let that happen, okay? But you can't let them see you don't believe the bullshit either."

Ignis swallows tightly. He thinks he understands, so he nods. Cor's face wrinkles up in a frown, and then he gently reaches out to pet Ignis' ears.

"You're a good kid, polite and well-mannered. Just keep your nose down and do your best to follow directions while you're here. Sometimes, it won't be easy, and sometimes, you'll probably want to scream and shout at them all, but you keep it locked tight until your lessons are done, okay? You can't let them see that any of the shit they do bothers you because they'll use it against you." Cor goes on.

Ignis' tail swishes, lashing apprehensively. He's even more nervous now, but thankfully, Cor will be with him today. A week or so ago, Astutus had let Ignis know that he'd have a chaperone for the time being while attending his lessons. It's a comfort, but Ignis' ears still flick backward and flatten as Cor stands up with a grunt and nudges him up the wide steps at the front of the building. The double doors at the top loom like twin monoliths, and as they get closer, Ignis notes a series of posts on either side of the stairs with thick metal rings in them. He knows what those posts are for, and just seeing them tells him everything he needs to know about this place.

Cor's tail twists in an agitated, tight arc, and his hand tightens on Ignis' shoulder. When they reach the doors, Cor pushes one open and leads Ignis inside. Keeping close, Ignis has no idea what to expect, leaving his belly to quiver with apprehension and nerves. When they pass two hulking men stationed near the entrance, Ignis nearly trips as he struggles to keep as near to Cor as possible. The men are dressed plainly in black trousers and sturdy matching utility coats and glare as they walk by, but the most unnerving thing about them is the batons and restraint tools clips to their belts. Hauling in a sharp breath, Ignis' whole body goes rigid, and he feels his tail starting to poof up. Suddenly, he's nine years old again, quaking with terror as he's hauled through the stinking Piztalan Hybrid market.

That is until Cor chuffs softly and pushes his big hand up into Ignis' hair to pet his ears soothingly. He leads Ignis into an open, warmly lit lobby and away from the men.

"Enforcers," Cor explains once they are out of earshot. "They make sure we behave . Just make sure you follow directions, and you shouldn't have any problems."

Ignis swallows tightly.

He tells himself he's safe with Cor in Insomnia, then looks around. Spotting several more Enforcers stationed around the perimeter of the sunny lobby, he frowns. The lobby is actually quite nice, and were Ignis not aware of what this place is, it might have been a good place to sit and read. It's all done in sleek, glossy wood and polished granite floors that reflect the light. Several big, leafy plants are scattered around the bright interior, and padded, cozy benches line the wall. However, apart from himself and Cor, no other Hybrids are present. When they approach a large round desk in the middle of the room, the woman who glances up from behind it glowers at them like they don't belong there.

Scowling right back, Cor clears his throat and raises his eyebrows in challenge. The woman, clearly taken aback, glances off to the side where an Enforcer stands. The man shuffles closer, glaring at Cor.

"State your business, Hybrid," The Enforcer grunts.

" Marshal Leonis ," Cor corrects with a rumbling, menacing growl.

There's no way that the woman or the Enforcer didn't already know that. Cor is dressed in the King's colors and has skull-shaped pips on the collar of his casual, black blazer to denote his rank. Only The King's personal guard and retinue may wear skulls, something that Ignis swiftly learned several years ago. Technically speaking, Cor outranks both humans, which they clearly dislike. The Enforcer, scoffing, rolls his eyes.

"State your business, Marshal Leonis ," He sneers.

Cor narrows his eyes, staring the man down. However, instead of following the Enforcer's command, Cor merely reaches into his coat and pulls out a narrow folio, which he drops on the desk in front of the woman. Some of the papers scatter out, making the secretary curl her lip. She gathers them up in a huff and opens the folio to read through the documents. After a moment, she flicks her eyes up and narrows in on Ignis.

"Is this the creature?" She demands sharply

Ignis immediately goes still. He starts to shuffle backward, but Cor sets a hand on his shoulder and keeps him in place.

"The boy's name is Ignis," Cor replies firmly. "I'll be his Chaperone for the time being. Who is he reporting to?"

There's a brief silence as the secretary taps something out on her laptop, then she reaches into the desk and sets an object on the counter. It takes Ignis a moment to realize it's a plain, black collar. Wide, leather, and embossed with the Lucian coat of arms, it sits on the desk as a stark reminder of Ignis' place in the world. Balking, Ignis looks up at Cor. He hasn't had to wear a collar since he came to Lucis several years ago, and the thought of doing so now makes Ignis' chest squeeze in revolt.

" Well ?" The woman prompts viciously.

Cor clicks his tongue, his nose wrinkling in distaste. His expression is stormy as he grabs the awful thing, but he's gentle as he fastens the collar around Ignis' neck. It's immediately uncomfortable. The leather is rough against his skin, and a protruding round piece at the back pushes into his neck like a clip might. Ignis loathes it but doesn't fuss or fight Cor despite wanting to tear the awful thing off.

Once it's on, the secretary huffs out a breath. "The… Boy is assigned to Instructor Dissonus," She says sharply. "He will be expected to wear a collar at all times while on premises. If he does not, he will be corrected appropriately."

Then, turning to the Enforcer, the secretary nods.

The Enforcer doesn't wait; he merely starts off toward the back of the room, where Ignis spots a wide hallway. Cor, snorting derisively, starts off as well and steers Ignis in the right direction. It's hard to focus on what's happening, though, because the collar is so uncomfortable. Despite it being a smidge loose, the leather bites and rubs against his skin. Ignis aches to tug and pull on it or just take it off, but he keeps his hands to himself. He's too afraid that the Enforcer might notice and correct him. Whatever that means. The way the secretary had said it, he knows it can't be pleasant. Finally, they reach the end of the wide hallway, and the Enforcer approaches a door with a gold placard that reads R.E.Dissonus . He taps on the door smartly, then waits a beat or two.

Inside, a voice calls out. "Enter!"

Knowing there's no avoiding it now, Ignis follows the Enforcer into the room, with Cor bringing up the rear. The classroom is reasonably large, with a bank of windows on one side. Toward the back is a large, open area draped with a handful of tufted rugs and several shelves housing curious implements that Ignis can't identify. The middle of the room is ringed with desks where roughly a half-dozen Hybrids sit on uncomfortable-looking chairs in silent, stiff-backed obedience.

When Ignis turns his gaze toward the front of the room, he notes a raised dais where a woman in a smart, worsted wool suit stands. Behind her, several Enforcers line the wall. However, it isn't the woman or the Enforcers that leave Ignis sweating under his tidy shirt and slacks. It's the posts on the dais fitted with heavy, metal rings. And, more alarmingly, the rings fitted into the floor.

The woman, who must be Instructor Dissonus, comes forward and frowns at Cor and then at Ignis. Something in her face registers disgust, but Ignis can't pay attention to anything other than the long, narrow switch she holds in her hands.

"Yes?" Instructor Dissonus questions curtly.

"Your new student," The Enforcer who brought them there replies as he nods toward Ignis.

Instructor Dissonus' frown deepens. She glances at Cor and all but sneers. "You may return to your Master or Mistress and assure them I have their property well in hand." She tells him.

Cor's expression remains impassive, though his tail flicks. "I'll be sure to report to His Majesty the King after Ignis finishes with his lessons for the day. In the meantime, you may carry on with your lecture. I'll sit in the back."

Instructor Dissonus blinks, her face coloring as if she's startled by being spoken to in such a manner. Ignis wants to shrink back a step, but he doesn't dare move.

"Pardon?" She demands.

"Which part did you not understand?" Cor counters, raising his eyebrows.

The color on Instructor Dissonus' face deepens, and her expression screws up in a scowl. She looks angry. "What is your name, Hybrid?" She demands sharply.

"Cor Leonis. You may address me as Marshal," Cor replies evenly.

Ignis is a clever boy. And, even if he doesn't understand all the nuances behind it, he understands that Cor is establishing a hierarchy for how he expects to be treated by these people. In doing so, it also sets the expectation for how they can treat Ignis.

"This is my classroom, Marshal," Instructor Dissonus shoots back, flustered and clearly furious. "My word is law, and I do not take orders from your kind ."

Cor merely stares the woman down, his face a mask of impassivity. "I'll be sure to relay that information to His Majesty. Instructor ."

The statement sends Instructor Dissonus into a tizzy. Her muddy brown eyes widen, and she sputters in shock. The hand holding the switch raises as if to strike, and instinctively, Ignis shrinks away in fear. However, Cor steps forward, his eyes narrowing as if in challenge. The Enforcers nearby also step forward as if to intervene, their hands moving to their belts to grab for their batons. The tension between the adults is palpable, and Ignis feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

A beat goes by, then Instructor Dissonus huffs out a breath, and her entire demeanor changes. She plasters a wide, saccharine smile onto her face, and her posture relaxes as she gestures to an empty desk on the floor.

"Perhaps we ought to carry on with today's lesson," She says, abruptly changing tack. "If you'll be so kind, Marshal?"

Cor's eyes narrow, and his long tail lashes. But he nods and directs Ignis to step down off the dais. Together, they head to the empty desk, where Cor gestures for Ignis to sit, then he peels off and heads to the back of the room. It feels dangerous with Cor being so far away. Ignis almost turns to look backward but decides it's probably better not to. Instead, he ignores the shiver of unease in his belly and sits up straight and still in his chair.

Sliding his eyes to the side, he realizes that not only is he the youngest Hybrid in the room, but that he's the only male student. Feeling like this makes him a target, Ignis tries to quiet the voice in his head that tells him he's in danger. Taking a breath, he examines the young woman beside him. She's very striking, with pale skin and an entwined pair of twisting horns that jut from her forehead. Two equine ears poke from the voluminous raven curls on her head, and one twitches in Ignis' direction as he watches her covertly.

He copies her posture and lowers his head obediently, then fusses about where to put his hands. He's still deciding whether to put them on the table or rest them in his lap when Instructor Dissonus approaches and thwaps her switch on the desk. The sharp, loud sound makes Ignis jump and yelp softly in alarm. At the back of the room, he hears a subtle growl, but Ignis is too focused on Dissonus to look and see what Cor is doing. As Ignis shoots his head up, he clocks the subtle curl of disgust on his new teacher's face.

"What is your name?" She asks, her tone sickeningly sweet and patronizing as though Ignis is little more than a simpleton.

"Ignis Scientia, Madam," He replies immediately.

Instructor Dissonus raises a brow, her gaze sliding from Ignis to the back of the room where Cor is and then back again. "Scientia?" She questions.

Ignis nods. "I am in the care of Lord Astutus Scientia until such time that His Majesty decides what to do with me." He explains politely.

Here in Insomnia, it isn't uncommon for a Hybrid, particularly Domestics coming in as refugees, to take the surname of their Sponsor if they are applying for citizenship. Not all do, and some opt to come up with their own surnames, but it does make processing the paperwork for identification and citizenship easier. Exotics, however, tend to be registered with their Master's surname, but Ignis' situation is unique even among Exotics.

Instructor Dissonus' smile widens, but it isn't genuine. That much is obvious. Reaching out, she pats Ignis on the head and coos like he's a darling but slow-witted animal.

"My, such a well-spoken creature. No doubt you cost a pretty penny," She says. "Let's do our best to make sure His Majesty's investment pays off, hm? We want good, obedient boys and girls in this classroom."

Something about how she says it feels like a threat despite the sickly sweet tone of her voice. Ignis, realizing she doesn't want an answer, merely nods and averts his gaze like the other Hybrids. Instructor Dissonus makes him anxious, but thankfully, Cor is lingering nearby, and that eases some of his worries. Ensuring his posture is correct, Ignis folds his hands in his lap and wonders what the rest of the afternoon will hold.

**

Over the next several weeks, Ignis " learns " a number of things. For instance, he learns that he is to be seen and not heard, that a good Exotic never speaks without being spoken to first, and that his Mistress or Master's will is absolute. Ignis learns how to walk in a pleasing manner, how to bow and speak softly, and how to sit for hours in a chair that makes his spine hurt. He also learns that Instructor Dissonus absolutely loathes Cor and ignores him entirely during Ignis' "lessons."

It's horrendously dull, and the patronizing tone that Dissonus uses grates on Ignis' nerves. She speaks that way to all the Hybrids, of course, but is especially saccharine and condescending to Ignis in particular. He tries his best to ignore it because that's what Cor advised, but he still finds it tedious. It's bearable, but only just. Even if he hates the sound of Dissonus' voice. The practical parts of the lessons are all things that Ignis already knows and excels at. He can read and write, do figures, and keep books no thanks to David and Olivier. Astutus doesn't have a valet, but Olivier has taken it upon himself to teach Ignis those tasks as well.

The problem comes three months down the line when Cor's phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket one morning.

Dissonus is in the midst of explaining something to do with how to care for daily household chores when it happens, and she glowers at the back of the room as Cor gets up to slip out. Ignis doesn't dare look up, but his ears track the movement and twitch as the door clicks shut. The lecture continues, and after a few moments, Cor slips back inside. However, instead of returning to his seat, he approaches Ignis and crouches down beside him.

"Hey, I've got to go take care of something. Monica will come get you as soon as your lessons are done. If she's not here on time, wait in the reception hall, okay?" Cor says quietly, a scowl on his face.

Ignis swallows tightly. He's immediately anxious but nods despite himself. If Cor is being called to deal with an issue, it has to be important.

"It's okay," Ignis whispers. "I understand."

Cor frowns, his brow wrinkling. He's clearly unhappy about having to leave, but he still stands and ruffles Ignis' hair as he stalks past. He shoots a glowering look at Instructor Dissonus on his way out, and once he's gone, Ignis feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. He tells himself he's okay and that he'll be fine. The worst thing he's experienced in the several months he's been in attendance is being mind-numbingly bored.

After Cor slips out, Instructor Dissonus carries on as usual. As she speaks, she paces slowly around the room, her heels tap-tapping on the stone floor. Ignis struggles to pay attention, but it's hard to focus now that Cor is gone. Also, his spine aches from sitting straight in such a hard chair for so long. He tries to shift discreetly, but no amount of fidgeting helps, and his belly jerks with surprise when Dissonus abruptly stops in front of his desk.

"Where has your Chaperone gone?" She demands.

Ignis swallows tightly. He doesn't dare look up because that's not what obedient Hybrids do. "He was summoned to take care of a pressing matter, Madam," He replies, voice soft and his diction precise and clear.

Dissonus hums in consideration, and then she keeps walking. Ignis knows better than to think that's the end of it, and as the morning progresses, he becomes increasingly more anxious. Instructor Dissonus hovers near his table, calling on him more often than not. He does his best to keep up with her demands, but it's clear she's taking advantage of the fact that Cor isn't there.

There's only an hour left of the lesson when the click of heels draws near again, and Ignis feels a sharp, stinging swat on his back. His spine jolts ramrod straight, and he yelps in alarm as he spins to look up at Instructor Dissonus with wide eyes.

"You'll sit up straight, Ignis. If you cannot, you'll stand in front of the room for the remainder of the lecture," she says sharply.

Ignis can't remember if he was slouching or not, but he doesn't think he was. Regardless, he straightens his spine and sits up as straight as he can despite his back screaming from such unforgiving posture. Blessedly, Dissonus leaves him be after that. The lesson continues, and after an hour or so, Dissonus finally ends for the day. As soon as she's out the door, Ignis stands and stretches his aching muscles and groans in relief as the pull works out some of the aches. Suddenly glad he's cooking with Monica this afternoon back at the Scientia Estate, he wonders if she'll let him take ten or so minutes to walk around the garden beforehand.

Gathering up his things, he glances around to find that most of the other Exotics have already filed out. There's an Enforcer in the corner of the room scowling at him, so he hurries to slip out the door and into the hall. Doing so on his own is nerve-wracking, especially when he notes that the others are clustered together meekly waiting to be escorted to the next block in their schedule. He feels a stab of worry, wondering what it must be like to live here, and he's thankful he never has to find out.

Ignis very briefly catches the eye of the young Spiracorn woman, then turns and scampers off toward the reception hall to find Monica as Cor instructed. When he gets to the desk, he undoes the collar to return it to the receptionist, but she sneers at him.

"You keep that on until your Chaperone comes to get you. If you can't follow directions, an Enforcer will deal with you." She says.

Ignis' ears flick backward. Face heating, he scampers away to wait somewhere he's not in the way. Finding a corner toward the back of the lobby, he sits on a bench and tries to make himself as small as possible. There are more humans than usual in the lobby today, and as he curiously wonders why that is, a man in a suit catches his eye and gives Ignis a sharp look. Glancing away abruptly, he stares at the floor and stews in discontent. He's coming to realize that the way the humans treat him here is reliant upon Cor's presence, and Ignis doesn't like it. His tail flicks in agitation as he waits.

Somehow, it's not surprising when the heavy sound of approaching feet echoes across the polished marble floor. Looking up, Ignis realizes an Enforcer is coming right his way. He hasn't done anything or broken any rules as far as he knows, but he still shrinks away with fear. Glancing around frantically, he hopes to spot Monica. However, when Ignis realizes she hasn't arrived yet, he scrambles upright.

The man with the suit is glowering at Ignis as he speaks to the receptionist and points in his direction. Realizing he must have complained, Ignis frowns. Heat boils in his belly, and he's surprised when he realizes just how angry he is with the man. Ignis hadn't been doing anything! He'd just been sitting on a bench! Jaw clenching, Ignis fights to keep himself from snarling. However, before he can do much more than huff out a breath, the Enforcer catches up and reaches out to snatch Ignis by the back of the collar.

"You don't belong here, Hybrid," The Enforcer grunts.

The immediate instinct is to fight . Ignis' whole body tenses up like he's ready to, but then he remembers what Cor said. Ignis loosens his muscles and limbs, forcing himself to relax as the Enforcer drags him across the room. The stiff leather still bites into his neck, choking him and demanding Ignis keep up with the Enforcer's long stride.

"I was told to wait here by my Chaperone," Ignis gasps helplessly.

Predictably, he's ignored, and as the collar digs deeper into his neck, Ignis panics. And, when he panics, instinct kicks in. Flailing, he yelps and reaches up to grab at the collar so he doesn't choke. When that doesn't work, he tries to wriggle away, gasping and panting like a wild thing. The Enforcer struggles until finally he growls and catches Ignis by the scruff and pinches tight enough to have tears stinging Ignis' eyes.

The pressure also sends a sudden, confusing rush of hormones flooding through Ignis' body, and he slumps despite the pain and panic. The fight goes out of him almost immediately, and he whimpers as he feels himself dragged across the room. An unfocused haziness settles in, and Ignis almost misses it when a familiar voice calls his name.

He whines in relief when he catches Monica's scent. He doesn't hear the conversation between her and the Enforcer, but the tight pinching sensation goes away, and moments later, he feels soft hands unlatching the collar to take it off. The gentle hands lead him outside, and once Ignis gets a gulp of fresh air, he starts to come back to himself. He feels Monica's hands in his hair and rubbing gently into the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry," He says at length as he scrubs at his wet face. "I was just trying to follow Cor's directions, and the Enforcer said I couldn't be there. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"It's okay, Dear. You did nothing wrong," Monica soothes gently.

She leads him away from The Menagerie and into the main building. However, instead of bringing Ignis out to the garage to take him back to the Scientia Estate, Monica leads him out into the public gardens and finds them a seat in a semi-secluded spot. There's a cafe nearby, and after Ignis settles, Monica smiles at him.

"I'm going to get us a cup of tea and a snack. I'll be right back," She tells him kindly.

Nodding, Ignis sits quietly. Pulling in a long, calming breath, he wipes at his face gingerly, then reaches back to push his fingers into his neck. It hurts, and he suspects there will be a bruise there later. Ignis wrinkles his nose as anger boils up in his belly. His jaw clenches as he tries to work out what happened. Thinking back on it, he wonders if the man in the suit had taken issue with Ignis' presence. Lip curling, he scowls.

Thankfully, out here, no one really remarks his presence. Several other Hybrids are nearby, happily chatting over drinks and snacks from the garden cafe. They are all Domestics, of course, but they don't bother him or even look in his direction. Ignis' belly squirms with jealousy, wishing he could be as at ease as they are. He's still scowling when Monica returns with a tray and sits it on the table.

Ignis' nose instantly picks up the scent of citrusy sweetness and the floral scent of tea. His ears perk up with curiosity as he sits forward to look as Monica sets out two plates. Each has a slice of fluffy lemon chiffon cake dolloped with a dainty swirl of thick, sweet whipped cream. Monica also sets a paper to-go cup full of steaming tea in front of Ignis. Begrudgingly, his sourness melts away.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to The Menagerie sooner," Monica apologizes. "What happened today shouldn't have. I'll make arrangements for you not to be bothered should someone not be there to collect you again."

Letting out a soft breath, Ignis carefully sips his drink so he doesn't spill it. It's a floral blend with faint traces of orange, rosehip, and just a bit of sweetness. It's nice, but not nearly as nice as the cake, which is Ignis' favorite. He sighs softly when he takes a bite. The delicate texture and crumb practically melt in his mouth with a burst of lemon and just the right amount of sweetness. His ears twitch in delight as he takes another careful bite. The cake helps a little, but Ignis is still angry about what happened.

"There was a man in a suit who took issue with my being in the reception hall," Ignis replies finally. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was just following Cor's directions. He told me to wait for you there."

Monica smiles sympathetically as she takes a bite of her own slice of cake. "I believe you, Ignis," She says gently.

It still doesn't sit well. Perhaps, Ignis reasons, because it's been quite some time since he's encountered such open disdain. It's been five years since he came to live in Insomnia, and during that time, he's been relatively sheltered within the Scientia Estate. The staff there are endlessly kind to him, and even on the odd occasion he's brought to the Citadel, he's largely ignored. Better to be a part of the background than openly scorned, Ignis thinks wryly as he takes another bite of the cake.

It really is good. He likes the balance of flavors. Thinking ahead to his lessons with Monica later, Ignis has a sudden idea.

"…Do you know how to make this cake?" He asks, perhaps a little bashfully.

The question has Monica's eyebrows lifting. Then, she smiles conspiratorially. "No, but I could get the recipe from the head Pâtissier if you like it. Would you like to learn how to bake?"

Ignis thinks about it. He wouldn't say he has a passion for baking, but...he really likes this chiffon cake, and it might be interesting to learn more about it. More than that, perhaps if he did learn…

"Back in Pagla— The cook there. She made special tarts that two kitchen girls would always bring me," Ignis replies thoughtfully. He rarely talks about Pagla these days because he knows nothing is left of the people or his home there. "Maybe... if I learned how to bake, I could figure out how to make it."

Across the table, Monica smiles. "That sounds like a lovely idea. How about you give me a few days, and then we'll start baking the next time we meet? Today, let's just stick to what was already planned."

Fair enough, Ignis decides. Nodding, he offers Monica a shy smile and returns to his tea and cake. He doesn't feel quite back to normal, but it's a start. And he's excited because he has some ideas for things he might like to try with the chiffon cake to make the recipe his own. Putting the dreadful business from The Menagerie out of his mind, he hopes it was just a one-off event and that things will be fine if he just remembers to keep his wits about him.

However, as time passes, Ignis learns that Cor was absolutely right about everything he said that might happen. It only gets worse from there, and Ignis learns to remain passive and obedient through every strike, degrading remark, and moment he's made to feel like little more than a dumb beast.

Somehow, he endures it.

Somehow .

Chapter Text

Insomnia M.E. 752

Slouched against the large stone pylons outside the front gates of his high school, Noct waits for Prompto to arrive. Technically speaking, he's supposed to go right in when he arrives. However, Gladio came with him today and hovers nearby, texting some girl. The car and the driver idle further down the sidewalk, waiting for Gladio to hop back in so he can go to the Citadel for his training and study sessions.

Noct never understood why his Shield prefers private tutors over going to school, but maybe it's because Gladio doesn't live in the Citadel the way Noct does. He can go back and forth between the lofty, grand rooms and the open, airy Amicitia estate at his leisure, unlike Noct, whose whole life until that point has taken place in the imposing, glittering monolith of the Citadel. Well, his entire life up until now . He'll be moving out in another week or two because Noct convinced his Dad to let him get an apartment in the city. Honestly, Noct's damned excited about it and almost can't believe Dad said yes. Sure, Gladio will be around more often than not, but it's the closest thing to freedom Noct will likely ever have.

"Hey, Princess, where's Blondie?" Gladio demands gruffly.

Noct rolls his eyes, shrugging. Several of his classmates rush by on their way in, and one or two shoot nervous glances in Gladio's direction. Noct gets it, really. Gladio is big and broad and built like a brick shithouse. The lashing, clubbed tail, and massive black horns on his head probably don't help. Noct has no idea what his classmates think of Gladio, only that according to Prompto, Gladio's scent markers scream predator.

And, speaking of Prom.

"Oy, Noct!"

Glancing up, Noct smiles as Prompto comes darting up the sidewalk. His school uniform, as usual, is untidy, and his hair is as fluffy as his ears today, which means he woke up too late to style it. Hilariously, as Prompto darts up, he skids to a sudden halt, and his large, sandy-white vulpine ears flick backward. Seconds later, Prompto spots Gladio and lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"Hey, sorry, I was running late this morning," Prompto says in a rush as he struggles to catch his breath.

Rolling his eyes, Noct grins and reaches out to tidy up Prompto's blazer and tie. "You're going to get a demerit if you show up to homeroom like that, dumbass."

Prompto flushes, but he offers Noct a winning, toothy smile. He really is a hot mess, so Noct attempts to help him tidy up. Once he finishes, he tries to pat Prompto's hair reasonably flat, but it doesn't want to stay put. Giving up as a lost cause, Noct shoves Prom toward the gate.

"Come on, we're going to be late," Noct chides.

However, half a step forward, Prom pauses and offers Gladio a little wave. "See you later, Big Guy!"

Gladio looks up, one of his brows raised, but he offers Prompto a little smile. The two aren't super close yet, but it makes Noct happy that Gladio is attempting to be less intimidating around his friend. Prom isn't exactly the most confident guy, and it saves Noct from having to assure him that, no , Gladio will not eat him or chase him off for the smallest infraction. Gladio would be just as intimidating even if he wasn't a Hybrid, so Noct gets it, he does, but it gets a little exhausting translating Gladio's grunts and resting bitch faces.

"Come on," Noct says as he slides his arm through Prompto's and drags him along.

Together, they stumble through the front gates and up the steps that lead inside. Once there, Noct feels a little less smothered by the particulars of his strange life and feels some of the tension go out of his shoulders. Wandering down the entrance hall, Noct detaches from Prom because it's awkward bumping along against his clumsy best friend.

"Did you put on new feet this morning?" Noct teases.

Prompto blinks in confusion, then abruptly, his face colors. Laughing nervously, his long ears flatten and droop. "Oh, haha- Sorry. I was just— Sorry."

Crap. Prompto is clearly embarrassed, which means he's got something on his mind, making all the brain weasels louder than usual. He only gets this flustered when he's overthinking literally everything. Noct frowns as he catches Prom by the arm and tugs him down the hall to their lockers. A few of their classmates give them strange looks, but it's nothing Noct isn't used to. If they're not staring because he's the Prince, they're staring because he's the Prince, and he's hanging out with a commoner. A Hybrid commoner.

"What's up?" Noct asks once they're sheltered against their lockers.

Prompto's blonde eyebrows raise, then he flushes a deeper shade of red. His fluffy tail wriggles in nervous anticipation, expressive as always. Something about the look on his face makes Noct's insides squirm with concern. For a second, it looks like Prom might keep whatever is on his mind to himself, but then he blows out a heavy sigh, and his shoulders slump in defeat.

"Nothing, really. I just… There's a big demonstration today. Some guys in my science class were being dicks about it yesterday. Well, being dicks about me, in particular since I'm friends with you," Prom explains with a mild frown.

A demonstration? Noct blinks. Sure, he doesn't keep up too much on this sort of thing, and if there was any danger to his person, he wouldn't have been allowed to come to school today. Still, he's curious.

"What sort of demonstration?" He asks. Then, more importantly: "Do I need to exile them? Coz I totally will."

Noct isn't expecting the bewildered scoff from his best friend or the blank look.

"…Are you serious right now?" Prompto shoots back.

Heat fills Noct's face, making his ears burn. "So, no exile, then?" He tries.

When Prompto merely scowls, Noct mentally doubles back to the demonstration. Was it something he ought to have known about? He can't remember. He's got a secretary who is supposed to keep him informed of stuff like this, but Noct typically ignores the guy. He's annoying and always talks down to Noct like he's an unruly child. Then again, the guy is Council-appointed, and Noct's view of the Council is scathing at best.

"Can I get a hint, at least?" He tries sheepishly.

"Dude. Your Dad is holding a press conference today," Prompto replies, his face wrinkling into a frown. "The news has been reporting that he'll be talking about a few things, but mostly Hybrid laws and stuff about Exotics."

Oh. Damnit.

No wonder Prompto is keyed up. Feeling like a super shitty friend and an even shittier Prince for not even realizing what is going on, Noct slumps and ignores the guilt that squirms in his belly like ants. Then again, he rarely watches the news because it makes him too anxious, especially when they start picking apart his every little flaw or his Dad's.

"He won't let anyone pass anything to the detriment of Hybrids, Prom. Whatever happens, it'll be okay. I promise." Noct assures gently.

It's not something he should advertise loudly as someone who has direct insight into the King's private opinions. But neither Noct nor his Father have ever been quiet about how they view the oppressive, antiquated laws. Noct just doesn't have permission to voice his opinions in the way he wants. It all has to go through his PR person first.

However, despite the assurance, Prompto's scowl deepens. "It's not that, Noct. I know King Regis is on our side. Just—Not everyone is, you know? I..I kinda wanted to go to the demonstration. To support the cause and make my voice heard. Until all Hybrids are citizens by the law, we have to keep fighting, you know?"

Noct swallows tightly, feeling a confusing mix of things. He understands where Prom is coming from and understands the desire to stand up and do something. However, Noct doesn't have the luxury of speaking out without direct repercussions. Feeling a sudden stab of envy, he wrinkles his nose. But… He's proud of Prom for wanting to do the right thing.

"So, what? You're going to cut class and go?" Noct asks.

Prom blinks, stunned. Noct wonders if the thought hadn't occurred to him until now. It's a dangerous suggestion because Noct knows Prompto has never once cut class in his life. Not deliberately, anyhow, and not without an excuse from his adoptive parents. There's a real possibility that Prompto could get in serious trouble with both his parents and with school. However, an idea is taking shape in Noct's brain.

"Yeah," Prom decides suddenly, voice filling with determination. "Yeah, I think I am."

Noct's belly clenches because as soon as Prom says it, he wants to go, too. He knows he can't, he knows it, but — "I'm going too."

Prompto's eyes widen immediately. "What? No , you're not!" He hisses as he suddenly drags Noct closer. "If something happens to you, Gladio will flip the hell out, and I'll get hanged for treason or something."

Noct has already decided and knows he won't back down. "Gladio won't find out. We'll be back before school lets out. I'll leave my phone in my locker so the location pings here and wear a disguise. I have stuff in my Armiger."

Prompto, visibly distressed, opens his mouth to say something, but Noct cuts him off. "No, listen. I'll be in charge of this mess someday, but you're right. Until all Hybrids are citizens, Domestics and Exotics, then we have to keep fighting. You know I'm not allowed to say anything officially, but if I'm not even allowed to have an opinion, what's the fucking point?"

Noct knows it's a risk, but it's a risk he's willing to take. It's up to him to stand up for people like Prompto, and even if it's just in this way for now, it's the right thing to do. Turning away from Prompto, Noct opens his locker and stuffs his phone inside. Then, he secures the lock and steps away.

"Come on, let's go," He says as he grabs Prompto's arm.

Squawking loudly, Prompto flails as he's dragged down the hall. After a few steps, he finds his feet and nervously looks around. When they get to the door of the building, Noct shucks his blazer and tie and disappears them into the Armiger. Then he holds out his hands expectantly, and when Prompto balks, he rolls his eyes and wrestles Prom free of his. He also disappears his own satchel before pulling out two nondescript dark hoodies. He hands one to Prompto, immediately pulls the other on, and flips up the hood.

"Ready?" Noct asks.

Prompto looks like he might argue, but then he merely offers Noct a shy smile and pulls on the second hoodie. Together, they dart out through the doors, through the courtyard, and out onto the street. It feels a little dangerous, but there's a certain kind of thrill to it. Like the first time Noct managed to warp-strike a target a few dozen feet off the ground. Belly filling with nervous squiggles the further they get from the school, Noct ignores them and hustles down the sidewalk.

Finally, they turn around a corner, and Noct follows Prom across the street as they head for a subway station. A few people toss them odd looks, which makes Noct a little nervous—He's never really been anywhere other than school without at least one guard or Gladio tailing him. So, he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie to hide the burst of magic as he pulls a fitted fabric mask from the Armiger and then puts it on his face.

"Hey, good call," Prom says, nodding toward the mask.

Humming, Noct nods. "Yeah, probably a good idea."

Together, they dart down into the subway station, but Noct pauses at the bottom of the stairs near the ticket machine. Embarrassingly, he has no idea how to fucking use it. Prompto stops halfway to the turnstile and turns around to blink in confusion. Then he laughs and retraces his steps. Heading over to the ticket machine, he waves Noct over.

"You got your debit card on you?" Prom asks smugly.

Flushing with embarrassment, Noct digs out his wallet and fishes out his bank card. Rather than explain the process, Prom pushes the card into the machine and presses some buttons. Moments later, a paper card spits out of the machine, and he hands it to Noct.

"You go first when we go through in case there's a problem," Prom says, voice lilting playfully. "Just put the card in the reader like the arrow shows, and it pops out at the top. The bar will lift when you take it out."

Noct's ears are burning as he nods. Tucking away his bank card and wallet, he stuffs it in his pocket and then heads to the turnstile. Thankfully, there isn't an issue going through, and moments later, both he and Prom are on the other side. Prompto chuckles as he slings an arm around Noct's shoulders and drags him through the station to the correct platform. The subway system is a complete mystery to Noct. In fact, this is the first time he's been in it, but he trusts Prompto to get them where they need to be.

When they finally get to the correct platform, Prompto drags Noct off to the far end, away from the worst of the morning crowd. It's still early enough that people are still on their way to work, and they're all clustered near the doors of the tube-shaped safety glass barriers. Noct is wondering when the next train will arrive when Prompto points up to a digital sign hanging from the ceiling.

"We'll be getting on 434 Inbound to City Center," Prom explains.

Reading over the arrival times, Noct nods. They still have a few minutes before their train arrives, so he relaxes. Slightly. He's still nervous about being here without Gladio, but the risk is worth it. Besides, Noct isn't entirely defenseless. He's been training to fight since he was ten and knows what to do if he ever finds himself in a hostile situation without his Shield.

"You sure you wanna do this? We still have time to go back," Prompto says, his voice soft.

Nodding, Noct glances aside. The station is full of all sorts of people, human and Hybrid alike. He owes it to them to stand up for them. Even if it's just in this small way.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Noct replies, meaning it.

He does. Truly. So, he bumps into Prompto companionably and turns to smile at him reassuringly. Prompto smiles back, then loops their arms together. They settle into silence as they wait for the train, and as they do, Noct watches the people on the platform. Nearby, a young mother and her two children wait for the train. They're all feline Hybrids, and the kids are squabbling with one another while their mother tries to shush them. Smiling as the smaller of the two sticks out her tongue at her sibling, Noct turns his attention to a group of people in business suits.

They all have that harried office staff look about them, and they're no doubt anxiously awaiting the train to get to work. Of the group, there are several Hybrids, though Noct has no idea what breed they are. One has rounded ears poking out of her brown hair that reminds Noct of a bear, and another is clearly canine.  

They're all just normal people. Strangers Noct doesn't know and likely never will. And someday , he will be responsible for all of them. It will be up to him to keep all these people safe.

It makes his chest clench with dread, and his head swims dizzily.

Thankfully, a whoosh of air comes through the tunnel, signaling the train's arrival. It distracts Noct from the rapidly growing chasm of panic opening in his chest. Focusing on the train as it shrieks to a halt and chugs down the line, Noct looks expectantly toward Prompto and offers him a wan smile.

"This is us. Stay close, okay? It's not too busy, but the closer we get to City Center, the more crowded it'll be," Prom says as he smiles back reassuringly.

Nodding, Noct swallows down the urge to reach out and take Prom's hand so they don't get separated. He knows it's silly, and he's not a little kid, but he's still nervous. Prompto, observant as ever, senses Noct's apprehension. He reaches out and snatches Noct's hand up with his own in a familial, brotherly gesture.

"There, now you won't get lost. C'mon!" Prom announces cheerfully as he tugs Noct into the train.

Together, they find a spot halfway down the car and sit beside each other. A few other people enter their car, but it's largely empty. Noct's glad, honestly. He feels enough out of his depth as it is and startles a little when the doors shut and the train lurches forward. Heat fills his face because, yeah, he's totally that loser that's never been on the damned subway before. Thankfully, Prompto doesn't say anything, even if he does offer Noct a toothy, knowing grin.

Noct scowls as his ears get hot, too. "Shut up. It's not my fault I haven't been on the subway before."

"I didn't say anything," Prompto counters innocently. However, the look on his face says it all.

Noct is about to open his mouth to give his best friend hell, but a man in a suit wanders past and sits across from them. Opting to stay silent, he simply glowers at Prompto from over the fabric mask, making it clear what he thinks of the teasing. After that, they lapse into silence, and Noct merely watches the people on the train surreptitiously. It fills up quickly, and nearly all the seats are full after several stops. Squishing closer to Prompto, Noct wonders how far out they are when the train stops to let in a large crowd.

Prompto's ears twitch and perk up as the group crams itself into the train. Most of them are Hybrids, and many have signs in their hands. It's clear that they're going to the demonstration, but Noct doesn't think too much about that as they cram in close. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, he leans back in his seat even as Prom leans forward to read the signs several of the Hybrids carry.

The energy on the train shifts at once, and despite being uneasy, Noct can feel the palpable buzz of excitement. The demonstrators are proud and defiant. They wear it like a badge of honor, as if daring the humans on the train to say something. One of them, a tall young woman with pointed canine ears and a sleek black tail, meets Noct's gaze head-on as if gunning for a fight. Another girl, one with rounded mouse-like ears, leans in close and whispers something to her friend, and then both of them slide their eyes in Prompto's direction and look away.

It leaves Noct uneasy and guilty for reasons he can't explain. Frowning, he turns aside and stares down at his lap as the train lurches and zooms off. Prompto, sensing the uneasiness, is quiet, too, but he leans in and bumps into Noct's shoulder companionably.

"We'll be getting off in two stops," Prompto says just loud enough to be heard over the rattle and whoosh of the train.

"Oh, thank Six," Noct replies, relieved.

Between the crowd, his innate unease of being in tight spaces, and all the noise, Noct is getting slightly overwhelmed. Glancing to the side, he takes in the sympathetic crinkle in the corner of Prom's eyes and the teasing but soft smile.

"Public transit not your thing?" Prom questions as the train stops to let in more passengers.

The tide of people jostles closer, effectively trapping Noct and Prom in their seats. It's a wall of bodies from one end of the train car to another. Stress ratcheting up several notches, Noct draws in a sharp breath as the girl who'd been glaring at them gets close enough that her boots nudge against Noct's polished oxfords. He tries scooting away unobtrusively because he's panicking a little from the feeling of being trapped, but the girl catches the motion.

"You got a problem, human ?" The girl demands.

Fuck.

Noct is stupid for coming. Stupid for not bringing his phone, and stupid for not insisting on taking a cab or something. A crowded train full of strangers might as well be a minefield. Sure, Noct is used to being around people, but not like this. Not without Cor or Gladio there to mitigate any harm or threats. There's a reason Noct isn't supposed to be out like this without one of them. The gnarled scar on his back is a testament to that.

"I--" He begins and falters spectacularly.  

Prompto, thank Six, barks out a nervous laugh. "No, no problem! We just cut class to come to the demonstration, and his old man will flip if he finds out, so we're a little on edge."

Noct has to hand it to Prom. It's the truth, but also… Not . "Sorry," Noct apologizes. "It's just kind of crowded."

The canine girl relaxes a little, her eyes narrowing speculatively. She gives them both a once over, then nods toward Prompto. "You two go to the same school?" She questions.

They aren't wearing any identifying pieces of their uniforms, but it's obvious by their pressed trousers and shoes they go to a private academy. Suddenly glad he had the foresight to insist on wearing hoodies over their button-downs, Noct nods at the same time Prompto does.

"Yup!" Prom says cheerfully. "There's a lot of other Hybrid students there too."

"It one of those Hybrid Initiative schools?" The girl asks, raising her brow.

"Yeah, but it's cool. All the classes and clubs are super inclusive, and we've got Hybrid teachers, too." Prompto tells the girl excitedly. "It's not just for show, yanno?"

Which isn't always the case, especially with some of the older, more established institutions. Not all of them welcomed the funding and improvements brought by being part of the Hybrid Initiative, a program meant to provide refugees like Prompto with scholarships and the opportunity to learn.

In fact, there are still a handful that don't allow Hybrids to enroll at all. Noct knows because his primary and secondary school had been chosen very deliberately. And though Noct hates being a pawn, he has to admit that his Dad's careful plotting, as far as Noct's schooling goes, is a masterclass in silent diplomacy.

If a forward-thinking academy that prides itself on being open to all, Hybrids included, is good enough for the King's son, it's good enough for other Insomnian elites. After all, who doesn't want their child to be the Prince's classmate?

"The faculty take bullying and discrimination seriously," Noct adds, finally finding his voice.

The canine girl raises her eyebrows and stares down at Noct as though judging him. Then she shrugs, and her posture softens. Feeling like he's passed some kind of test, Noct relaxes a bit. A moment later, the girl's friend leans forward to talk to Prom.

"If you and your boyfriend want to buddy up with us, you can," She chirps excitedly. "Do you guys have signs or whatever?"

Prom immediately flushes red. Noct's face, also hidden under his mask, gets hot as well. Sure, they're holding hands, but that doesn't mean they're— Ugh. Whatever. However, rather than cause a scene or correct the girl, Noct shoots a look in Prom's direction.

"Oh, we're not —" Prom says, laughing easily despite how red he is. "Just buds. This guy just gets anxious in big crowds. He wanted to come with me to support the cause, but if you have an extra sign, that would be hella cool!"

The mouse girl gets all red, and then she laughs as well. "Oh jeeze, sorry. I just assumed since you guys were holding hands. My bad."

Prom flashes her his trademark goofy grin as he shrugs. "Naw, it's cool. No worries. That would be awesome if you don't mind us tagging along with your group. Safety in numbers, right?"

Mouse girl nods. She's kind of cute, Noct supposes, if that's what you were into. Prom may or may not think so as well because he's all smiley, and his ears do that floppy thing they do when he's talking to someone he likes. Puffing out a little sigh, Noct rolls his eyes, but he's smiling under his mask. He's about to nudge Prom in the ribs when the train slows down, which means they are approaching City Center.

"Oh hey, that's us!" Prompto says suddenly as he twists to look out the window.

Oh thank the Gods.

Turning to look out the window as well, Noct watches as the train emerges from the black tunnel and screeches to a jarring halt. The blur of people and colors whipping by is almost enough to make Noct dizzy, but he's glad they're finally here. By the time the train finally stops, he's champing at the bit to get out, but it still takes a while for the car to clear enough to leave their seats.

Thankfully, Prom takes the lead on that because Noct isn't sure he has the wherewithal to fight through the crowd. Slowly, shuffling along, they finally make it out of the car and step onto the platform, where Noct immediately and once again regrets not insisting they take a cab. Still, they're here now, and that's all that matters.

Dragging in a deep breath, he turns toward Prompto expectantly. "Now what?"

Grinning, Prompto laughs. "Now we head up top."

Chapter Text

The platform is, of course, packed, making Prompto's plan difficult to execute right off the bat.

There is a mob of demonstrators, people fighting through the crowd to get up onto the street, and people just waiting to get on the trains. All the noise, bodies, and limited space make Noct's head spin. Luckily, Prompto quickly tugs him away from the crush and down the platform to a less crowded, quieter spot. Noct can't even imagine what he must look like, but it's bad enough that even with a mask on, Prompto's face crinkles with worry.

"You sure you want to go?" Prom asks.

Noct blinks. He takes in the soft, expectant look on Prompto's face and the understanding smile. Something in his chest squeezes because Prompto is looking after his well-being when it should be the other way around. Noct should be the one making sure Prompto's okay. After all, the demonstration is about things that directly impact Hybrids. Anyway, it's too late for all that now. There's no way in hell Noct is riding the train back on his own or letting Prompto do this solo.

Suddenly emotional, Noct lunges forward and wraps his arms around his best friend. "Thanks for letting me tag along."

Surprised, Prompto squeaks. Then, hesitantly, he hugs Noct back. They rarely do this sort of thing in public, after all. "Uhm, thanks?"

Noct lingers a moment, then he takes a step back. He's smiling under his mask, but Prompto can't see, so he reaches out and winds their arms together.

"If we get separated, we should have a place to meet." He decides.

"Well, we're pretty close to the Citadel," Prompto replies thoughtfully. "Very worst case, we go there and meet up. If it's really bad, we find a police officer or someone who can get you to safety. In the best case, if we just get separated, we can meet at this coffee shop down the street. I'll point it out."

A squiggle of unease fills Noct's belly. He doesn't think anything bad will happen, but it's best to have a plan just in case, seeing as he left his phone at school. If something does happen, he's pretty much on his own. Regardless, Noct is certain about doing this. He's sure about standing up with Prompto and supporting him and the countless hundreds of other Hybrids that call Insomnia home.

"Okay. But don't let go of my hand, okay?" Noct replies anxiously as he grapples on.

Prompto smiles, which makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. "Never. If you get lost because of me, Gladio will literally, actually kill me. Today, his job is mine."

Noct's chest expands in a way that has everything to do with how much he adores his best friend. Flushing with embarrassment because of feelings , he glances aside.

"Even if randos think you're my boyfriend?" He questions.

Prompto's face wrinkles up as though he's grossed out, and he sticks out his tongue. "No offense, but ew."

Despite himself, Noct barks out a laugh. "Hey!" He says as he jabs his free hand into Prom's ribs. "Why ew? I'm totally hot."

Prompto, laughing merrily, tugs Noct away from their little corner and over to where several groups of demonstrators have gathered. "No offense, but you're not really my type, Buddy," He says.

Rolling his eyes, Noct smiles under his mask. They've talked about this before, a little. Well, enough that he knows that Prompto likes who he likes, and gender specifics don't really come into play. Noct also isn't offended in the least that he's not Prompto's type.

"I'm still totally hot," Noct teases as they wander over to the group of demonstrators and the two girls from the train.

Mouse girl grins as they sidle up and hands Prompto a sign attached to a dowel that he can hold one-handed. In bold letters, it proclaims FREE EXOTICS NOW.

"Here, we brought extras to share around," She says brightly. "We're just waiting on a few more, then we'll head up to the Royal Mile. Do you guys have a meeting spot if you get split up?"

Prompto nods emphatically as he looks down at the sign. Noct looks at it, too, and feels his stomach churn. Exotic ownership is a hot-button issue, one that his Dad has been tirelessly fighting with the Council over for years.

"Is the King expected to talk about Exotics today?" Noct asks, wondering if the girls know. It feels shitty asking them, but he's curious.

Mouse girl shrugs, but her friend, the angry one, scoffs. "Unlikely. He acts like he's doing what he can, but he profits just as much as the highborn families from the trade. That Exotic that is supposedly going to be on the Prince's retinue? It's a crock of shit. The Aristocracy would never allow it."

Noct's face gets hot, and he bristles defensively because the implication is absolutely disgusting. Dad despises the trade and has been working to dismantle it for years. However, before Noct can say anything, Prom squeezes his hand and cuts him off.

"That's just stuff that the anti-monarchists are saying to sow discord," Prompto counters bravely. "There's, like, seven articles being introduced over the next few weeks to strangle the sale of Exotics. If it weren't for King Regis, none of us would be standing here and having this conversation to begin with, seeing as he's the one who championed Citizenship for Domestics,"

"Yeah, but--" The angry girl cuts in.

Prompto's face hardens. "No," He blurts hotly. "If it weren't for King Regis, I'd be in Gralea either starving, being beaten to death, or who knows what. And what about The Amicitias? They've been members of the Royal Household for centuries."

The canine girl curls her lip, clearly getting heated as well. "Even a King wants to spoil his favorite pets," She growls. "And I won't roll over and be a good girl just because the King did one good thing. What about the rest of us? Is it fair when some of us get to be Citizens and others don't?"

Flushing bright red, Prompto's ears flick back, and his lip curls in a silent snarl. Scowling, he thrusts out his arm and lets go of Noct just long enough to slide the wide wristband he wears up his arm to show the girls the barcode inked into his skin. Tangible proof that he'd been an object once upon a time and was only here now because of an authorized Lucian strike of an illegal Gralean breeding facility.

"You can think what you want to think, but the fact that I'm standing here now showing this to you is all the proof I need that King Regis is on our side," Prompto snaps, a bit of a bite to his normally easy-going timbre.

The two girls shut up, their faces turning bright red. Several of their friends overhear the heated conversation and cluster nearer with wide eyes. It makes Noct uncomfortable, mainly because they're so close, but also because he knows Prompto gets super uncomfortable and self-conscious about it. Reaching out, he gently covers Prom's wrist with his fingers.

"Hey, it's okay," Noct says quietly, earnestly . "You don't owe them that."

He wants to add that Prompto doesn't need to come to his defense either, but it would give too much away. It's appreciated, though, and helps Noct find his own voice.

"I know I don't really have any weight in this conversation because I'm not a Hybrid, but I think what my friend is trying to say is that there's probably more going on behind the scenes than anyone knows," Noct says quietly, braver now with Prom at his side. "Sure, His Majesty is the head of the government, but he can't just decide something big out of the blue and make it happen. There are checks and balances. He still needs the approval of his Councilors to push through any major changes. That's why making our voices heard on important matters is key. If we back the King and the King backs us, they'll have to give in, eventually."

The two girls and their friends are silent, but Noct doesn't care. He's said his piece. Sure, he understands why they are angry, but it still feels like a personal attack, even if they don't know who he is. Noct's always been bad at keeping his poker face regarding criticism, and he doesn't think he'll ever get used to strangers picking him apart. Still, he knows this isn't really about him, even if it feels like it.

Thankfully, that's where the conversation ends.

"Huh, looks like someone paid attention in class." The canine girl scoffs.

Prompto, taking that as an in to smooth things over, shrugs. "When the system sucks, we gotta use it to our advantage to figure out how to make it un-suck."

The two girls look at each other, then shrug and turn back to their group. Noct is glad they're letting it go, but he understands why they're angry. He's also really glad he came here today because it puts things into perspective. Frowning thoughtfully, he falls into silence to order his thoughts and process the conversation. He knows he can't exactly tell his Dad about any of this unless he wants to get in trouble, but thinks he might anyhow. It feels too important not to share the experience.

Noct is still stewing over it when Prom squeezes his hand and tugs him toward the escalator leading out of the station.

"You okay?" Prompto asks, pitching his voice low. "We can do our own thing once we get up top."

Noct, surfacing from his thoughts, shrugs. "Yeah, just thinking."

"Oh, is that the smoke I saw coming out of your ears?" Prom teases.

Noct huffs out a soft laugh and jostles playfully into his friend as they step onto the escalator. At the top, there's a queue to get through the turnstiles, and it takes a moment before they get out and spill out onto the street. And sure, Noct's been on the Royal Mile before, but it's different on foot.

The long stretch of road is laid out on a grid the size of several blocks, with massive, rectangular lawns stretching between two wide streets leading up to the Citadel. Noct's only ever seen it from the back of a car, and it's never been this crowded. As he gazes up the street, he can see the spires of the Citadel far in the distance. And, when he looks more closely, he realizes that at least three of the five open park greens are teeming with a crowd larger than anything Noct has ever seen.

Sure, he's appeared with Dad in the open courtyard on the top of the Citadel steps, and there's usually a pretty big crowd, but that's all regulated because it's on Citadel grounds. If there's any overspill, it's usually just the one lawn at the front of the grid closest to the Citadel. It's nothing like this.

"Holy shit," Prompto breathes, just as overwhelmed.

Holy shit, indeed.

Gawking and suddenly unsure of himself, Noct gets jostled by someone behind and nearly trips into Prompto. Looking up, he realizes they've lost the group from the Subway, making him more anxious about this whole debacle. Regardless, Noct squeezes Prompto's hand, and together, they make their way through the crowd to head up the street.

"Where's that coffee shop?" Noct asks as they cross the street with a large group of people heading toward the demonstration.

Prom points up ahead on the opposite side of the road. "It's on the corner up there, see? With the red awning."

Looking across, Noct spots the red awning among the crowded multi-story buildings. He notes the name of the street and the name of the cafe and commits it to memory. His belly squiggles apprehensively, but he swallows it down. Everything will be fine, and then they'll be back to school before Gladio comes to pick Noct up. No problem.

Together, he and Prompto hustle down the sidewalk, and as they get closer and closer to the absolute wall of people, a sound like a roar fills Noct's ears. It's hard to pick out any discernable meaning, but as it swells and carries over the sounds of the city, he realizes he's hearing the crowd. Hundreds and thousands of voices chanting together as one.

A frisson of electricity seems to prickle up Noct's spine, making his throat close up and tears sting his eyes. Overwhelmed by its power, something hot and piercing galvanizes him from within. It's hard to put words to it, but…But for the first time he can remember, he's… Proud . Of himself for coming here today and for the chance to stand with his people. Which is a strange enough concept on its own. Noct doesn't feel like a prince most days. Most days, he just feels like an oddity for people to gawk at. Here and now? He feels like…Like he's actually doing something worthwhile.

Feeling a rush of excitement as the energy of the crowd washes over him, he squeezes Prompto's hand and breaks away from the cluster of people they're trapped in to weave through the crowd to get closer.

"Come on!" He calls.

Prompto squawks in alarm but grins. Together, they dart through the nearest park gate into the grassy green and race through the clusters of people trying to get closer to the main demonstration. The nearer they get, the more police presence Noct notices. They're posted outside the greens and in the cross streets to help manage the crowd and keep the peace. He also spots more Glaives the nearer they get to the Citadel, which isn't unusual.

Honestly, Noct suspects that the streets directly around the Citadel are likely blocked off and well-guarded. With this crowd, the gates are also probably locked tight. If something does happen, Noct will have to be smart and head to one of the smaller side gates instead. With that in mind, he opts to keep to the fringes of the gathering crowd rather than get any closer to the main body of the demonstration. They're still close enough to hear the roar of it but far enough back that they still have plenty of room to move if the need arises.

"I know you probably want to be closer, but—" Noct begins.

"No, it's cool, you're totally right. If something happens, we need to be able to get out quick," Prom replies as he looks around.

Predictably, after a moment, Prompto hands Noct the sign and pulls his camera out of his school bag. It's the nice one he's been saving months for, so it's not surprising he wants to use it. Smiling, Noct shakes his head fondly.

"Is it okay if I just run up closer and take a few shots real quick?" Prompto asks, clearly torn between staying with Noct and getting the perfect photo.

Noct looks around, taking in the clusters of people nearby and the overall vibe. They're close enough to the exit gate, and there are enough police nearby to help manage things if they escalate.

"Sure, just… Don't be gone too long," He replies.

Prompto grins toothy and wide, then darts up closer to the action. Noct watches him go, his uneasiness warring with the excitement of being here. Turning toward the crowd, he lets the roar fill his ears and picks out several chants as they pound across the lawn. It's a lot, and it's overwhelming, but it's… Really cool . Noct knows he's totally going to tell his Dad about it later and knows he'll probably get in trouble, but he doesn't care.

This is important.

Scanning the crowd for a pair of familiar, long, sandy-colored ears, Noct quickly spots Prompto talking to a cluster of people. He's too far away to hear what they're saying, but Prompto is grinning and laughing, and his fluffy tail is wagging, which says that the conversation must be positive. After a moment, Prom darts away and rejoins Noct, though not without snapping some shots on his way back.

"The address isn't happening for a little while, but we're too far back to see it from here anyway," Prompto explains as he sidles up close. "I'll play it on my phone so we can listen."

"Don't these buildings have loudspeakers that automatically play it?" Noct asks curiously.

Prompto, who is scrolling through his camera, shrugs. "Yeah, but I dunno if we're close enough. Also, it's pretty loud."

It is pretty loud. And it only gets louder as more people filter in. But there's a current of excitement, a palpable energy. And, as the crowd swells, Noct gets swept up in that feeling. When a nearby cluster of people pick up a chant from further up the block, Noct waits for a beat or two, then surprises himself by joining in. He's uncertain at first, but then he calls out loud and sure, his voice getting lost in the din. Prompto is surprised, too, but he grins widely as he joins in until they're both shouting at the top of their lungs. Together, they wave their sign around wildly and get lost in the moment.

It continues like this for a while, with various chants rolling across the green like a wave as the different groups of individuals join in and then drop out. From somewhere, Noct hears the thump of drums and laughs when a nearby group starts bouncing and dancing along to the pounding rhythm. Caught up in the moment, he starts jumping and bouncing as he shouts along to the chanting calls.

Prompto, cheesing around just as enthusiastically, snaps a couple pictures with his camera but then puts it away and opts to use his phone instead to capture a video of the massive, roaring crowd. Then, switching to the forward-facing camera, he holds his phone out so they're both in the frame.

"Anything you wanna say?" Prompto asks excitedly.

Noct rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Not that it's immediately apparent because there's a mask on his face. "Ho-ho, hey-hey, Hyrbid rights are here to stay!" Noct calls out, shouting along with the crowd.

Prompto grins into the camera as he slouches against Noct. "You heard it first, folks!" He tells his non-existent audience.

However, their grins slide off their faces when Prompto's phone buzzes with an incoming text because it's Gladio . Noct's stomach immediately clenches with dread.

" Fuck ," Prompto manages to say about two seconds before the phone screen flashes with an incoming call.

Instead of letting Prompto get blasted into next year by his angry Shield, Noct does the right thing and takes the phone to pick up. He doesn't even get a hello because Gladio is growling into his ear as soon as the call connects.

"You two had better be together, Blondie, or there's going to be some serious hell to pay."

Noct doesn't blame Gladio for being upset, but he doesn't get to talk to Prompto that way.

"Where else would I be?" Noct demands sharply, talking loudly to be heard over the roar of the masses. "And it wasn't his fault, so if you're pissed, be pissed at me."

Gladio pulls in a sharp, stunned breath on the other end of the line, but Noct knows it's not because of what he said. He talks to Gladio like this all the damned time. The noise of the crowd has to be coming through over the phone, and with all the chanting and cheering, it's obvious where Noct is. He feels a pang of guilt because he's genuinely sorry for whatever panic Gladio must be feeling, but Noct isn't sorry he came here today. He just isn't.  

“Noctis Lucis Caeulum. Where. The. Fuck . Are. You?" Gladio growls, low and dangerous.

Noct bristles, angry at being treated like a naughty child. He only just catches himself before he can launch into a tirade because if he freaks out, he'll just be playing into the stereotype of being the spoiled brat. He knows he's caught, so there's nothing he can do about that. Noct will take his punishment with grace and dignity. However, Gladio coming here to collect him poses a risk. Gladio is well-known and, apart from his sister and Father, a rarity in Insomnia. Anyone who sees them together will know exactly who Noct is. More than that, it'll put them both in a difficult position: Gladio with Clarus and Cor, and Noct with his Dad and, more importantly, the Council.

"I'll meet you at Gate C, East wall," Noct replies finally.

Of course, that's dependent on whether he can get through the blockade, but—

"No. You're going to find the nearest Glaive, and you are going to stay there until I find you." Gladio says hotly. "Then you and I are going straight to the Citadel so you can explain to your Dad what the fuck you're doing while you're supposed to be at fucking school."

Noct can't help it. His temper flares before he can stop it. "Dad's a little busy right now. I'll have to tell him when he's finished addressing the nation about shit that doesn't apply to you and never will because of your privilege."

It's a low blow, and Noct knows it. He feels instantly shitty and even more shitty as he clicks the end call in the middle of Gladio winding up to give him absolute hell. Whatever . Scowling, he glances over at the wide-eyed Prompto and hands him back his phone.

"If you wanna stay, it's cool," Noct says, defeated.

Prompto shakes his head. "No, I'll go with you."

Noct doesn't say that it's unlikely Prompto will be allowed through the blockade, but he'll take Prom as far as that, so he doesn't worry. Nodding, Noct grabs Prompto's hand and pulls him toward the gate near the edge of the green. There are several police officers there, but Noct bypasses them completely and heads further up the street.

Of course, the closer they get to the Citadel, the more snarled the tangle of people becomes. A block out and the tangle becomes a wall, with the street blocked off entirely by traffic pylons and a wall of police. It forces Noct to cut across and fight the crush of bodies to get to the other side. Finally, they break through, and Noct notes that one of the side-streets is completely impassible, no thanks to several large tactical vehicles. There's also a Glaive unit.

Noct almost bypasses them completely until he notes that almost all of them are Hybrids and surmises they must be the new Galahdian recruits. They all have beaded braids in their hair and have the same thickly furred lupine ears. It's a deliberate choice on Noct's part when he opts to approach them instead of going to find some human Glaives. However, as Noct steps forward, Prompto pulls on his arm. Glancing backward, Noct notes that Prom's ears are flipped back and flat to his skull, and he's looking a little nervous.

"Let me go first?" Prompto says bravely. "In case you have to make a run for it or something."

Noct's chest swells with affection and gratitude. Shaking his head, he pulls Prompto along. "Dude, you're still a civilian. It's my job to protect you right now. Try that again when you're actually on my detail, nerd." He says affectionately.

Besides, without Noct being front and center, the Glaives will probably tell them both to shove off. Getting closer, Noct identifies the squad captain easily by the pips on his collar and approaches him with much more confidence than he feels. The Captain is a fairly tall man with gray ears that have a notch taken out of one side. Interestingly, he's also got several silver piercings poking out of his fur, which is something Noct's only seen on the Galahdian hybrids. His hair, a dark brown, is slicked back in short spikey bits and shaved along the side. As Noct and Prompto approach, the Captain's eyebrows lift. Then he nudges at his friend, a stocky fellow wolf with similar coloring.

"You kids lost?" The Captain asks. His fatigues have a patch that says ULRIC across the front.

The name is vaguely familiar to Noct, so he doesn't feel as awkward about this whole situation. Sighing, he gets close enough that he's not advertising to the entire damned squad that he's a runaway Prince and lowers his head. Then, hesitantly, he takes off his mask and glances up.

"No, not lost. Just…Not supposed to be here," Noct replies haltingly. "I was told to report to the nearest Glaive detachment and stay put."

Ulric gawks. He looks at Noct, the sign in Noct's hands, and then at Prompto. Then, shockingly, he barks out a laugh. His buddy, Ostium , according to his name patch, frowns, then takes a good look at Noct and shoves Ulric in the ribs. Seconds later, Ostium dips his head in deference.

"Highness," Ostium intones. "Sorry about Ulric here he's—"

"It's fine," Noct hurries to say, his face flushing hot. "You don't— Don't worry about protocol or whatever. It's probably better that this stays on the down low anyhow. I'm not supposed to be here."

Ulric finally stops laughing, and his grin is wide and toothy. Stepping forward, he points to the sign. "Were you at the demonstration?"

Flustered, Noct nods. "Of course I was. Where else do you think we came from?" He replies, a little testy.

Ulric trades a look with Ostium, and then he slings an arm around Noct's shoulder. "All right, all right, no need to get upset, Highness. You and your friend can sit in the humvee until Amicitia arrives to collect you."

Noct bristles a little, disliking being touched by a stranger. Putting his mask back on, he shrugs away from Ulric and trots along after him with Prompto in tow.

"Sure, fine. But make sure you're calling the right one," Noct replies, sullen. "He's pissed enough, I don't need his dad on my case too."

The comment pulls another chuckle from Ulric as he opens the door to the tactical vehicle. Sliding in, Noct pulls Prompto up, too, then immediately slouches in the seat. He can feel the eyes of the other Glaives on him and can only imagine what they must be thinking. But there's something about the lilting grin on Ulric's face that says that Noct just passed some sort of test. It eases the knot of anxiety in his gut just a little because Noct knows that once Gladio gets here, there's going to be hell to pay. However, it's all worth it when he looks at Prompto, who grins at the sign on Noct's lap like it's worth all the gold in the world.

**

Predictably, when Gladio arrives a while later, he rips into Noct like nothing else. Noct takes his dressing down silently with his head bowed, like a good little soldier in front of Ulric, Ostium, and the other Glaives. Noct gets why Gladio is pissed, so he doesn't argue until all the snarling makes Prompto whine with distress. After that, Gladio reels it back in long enough to get Prompto sorted and on his way, then hauls Noct bodily to the car he came to collect Noct in like an unruly pup.

Once inside, Gladio rips into him again with more heat.

What if something had happened? What if Prompto had gotten caught in the middle and been hurt? What if innocent bystanders had gotten hurt? What if, Gods forbid, someone had mortally wounded him?  

Noct bows his head. He gets it, honestly. But he doesn't regret his decisions. Not even when Gladio essentially puts him under house arrest in his rooms at the Citadel until Dad can be informed of the matter. Noct kind of dreads the conversation, and without his phone, there isn't much to do except wait.

It isn't until hours later that Noct gets summoned to the King's quarters. Admittedly, he's nervous, especially when he creeps in and finds Dad's face is carefully blank. He gets scolded soundly for being careless, for endangering Prompto, and for putting Citizens at risk. Dad also scolds him for potentially putting Gladio in a position of being responsible for any harm that might've come to him while flouting the rules.

Admittedly, Noct hadn't thought of how Gladio might feel if something had happened, but he resolves to apologize. Thinking that's it, Noct is surprised when Dad's expression softens, and then he asks how the demonstration was.

They have a late dinner of cheeseburgers and milkshakes, which is totally against the rules, considering how often the Royal physicians scold Dad about eating properly. It tastes great, though, and while they eat, Noct excitedly recounts every little detail about what happened and how awesome it was.

In fact, they stay up so late talking about it that Noct starts to fall asleep at the table.

"Why don't you stay here tonight," Dad insists.

Noct really thinks he ought to at least go back to his own rooms, but something about curling up on Dad's big bed the way he used to when he was little is appealing. Yawning, he nods, and after putting on something more comfortable, he drifts off to the familiar feel of fingers in his hair.

And, sure , the following morning, Noct gets 'grounded' and has to apologize formally to Gladio and Cor, but it isn't so bad. Not when Cor smiles fondly and pats Noct on the head before soundly kicking his ass and ending their practice a whole ten minutes early. And not when, afterward, Gladio wrestles Noct into a begrudging hug and tells him not to fucking run off again like that without bringing him along.

More important, though, is the grin on Prompto's face when they have to sit in detention every day for a week after school as punishment for cutting class.

Yeah. Totally worth it.  

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 755

Ignis' ears twitch in irritation as he waits to go through the security checkpoint to go into the Citadel proper. Having to wait here like this is ludicrous, considering he's been through once already this morning, checked by the same guard who always rolls his eyes and waves Ignis through like he's an annoyance. Ignis suspects the guard will be just as annoyed now as he was several hours ago, but there's nothing to be done about that. Ahead, the guard waves through two Domestics, aids who work in the back offices, judging by their plain, crisp suits and over-burdened satchels.

One, a Leporidae with long snow-white ears, glances backward nervously, no doubt made uneasy by Ignis' presence. He nods politely when their eyes meet, but she still looks away quickly, hustling through the checkpoint as she tugs her colleague along.

It used to bother Ignis how the Domestics around the Citadel reacted to him, especially after wading through the perils of puberty. He knows his height and scent intimidate certain breeds, but now he largely ignores the wary looks his presence encourages. In truth, it still bothers Ignis from time to time; however, he's perfected a mask that keeps the world from knowing that. It's a mask he metaphorically slides into place as he steps up to the checkpoint and casually ignores the frosty scowl the guard sends his way.

"Back again, Scientia?" The guard demands, annoyed.

"Just so," Ignis replies tartly as he steps through the metal detector and bends his neck to submit to being scanned.

The hand-held device beeps and the guard waves him through. Pointless, really, since Ignis has been on Citadel grounds all day today. Moving within the Citadel should not be such a rigorous affair, but the Council, in their infinite wisdom, had decided Ignis could not be trusted to go from point A to point B without a record of his comings and goings.

It's utter bollocks, but it's better than having to sit around waiting for an escort, Ignis supposes.

Tail lashing, he hurries through the checkpoint and into the wide service corridor that connects the back offices to the Citadel grounds. The two women from before linger near the bank of elevators, so Ignis bypasses them, heading for the stairwell instead. The thought of being in an elevator surrounded by the scent of their unease doesn't appeal to him at all, and he's in no mood to pretend he's anything but annoyed.

Besides, after spending the entire morning playing at being the obedient, docile Exotic, his legs itch to move. Dissonus was in rare form today, and he'd spent most of her pointless, droning lecture about maintaining soft, submissive elocution kneeling on the hard floor in the back of the classroom. She had taken issue with him today for reasons unknown and had decided his place was on the floor like an animal. Snorting, Ignis rolls his eyes. The older he gets, the more heinous Dissonus becomes.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he relishes in the burn along his calves, and as he hustles up the last few floors, he debates adding a circuit or two of this to his usual endurance training. When he gets to the correct floor, he pauses to smooth down his clothes and ensures everything is tidy. An orderly appearance is paramount, especially considering the prevailing opinion by the Council that he's half-feral. With the crisp lines of this button-up and waistcoat in order, he steps out onto the sixth floor of the back offices.

It's rather busy in this particular admin wing, and he garners several looks as he traverses the hall. It's a nervous gesture, perhaps, but Ignis fusses with the hem of his waistcoat as he hurries along to Astutus' office. Thankfully, none of the Glaives stop him, and the few he spots are Hybrids. Galahdians, primarily, who are used to seeing him out and about.  

And, when Ignis glances down the hall, he spots a familiar Glaive lingering near the door to Astutus' office. Ignis wouldn't say that he and the Glaive are friends , considering Ignis' unique position, but the word is a close approximation of their relationship. As Ignis gets closer, the Glaive's ears prick up, and he bucks procedure to turn and wave.

"Yo, what's up, Scientia?" The Glaive, Geminus,   greets.

Like many of the Galahdians, Geminus is a Domestic Lupine hybrid. Tall, broad, and several years older than Ignis, he has an easy smile and likes to talk. His twin sister, Gemin a, is the quieter of the two, although clearly not on rotation for this section of the Citadel. Usually, the two are joined at the hip.

"Geminus," Ignis greets, his ears twitching as he slows. "I'm afraid I don't have much time to chat today. I'm on a tight schedule."

The Glaive shrugs easily, and his gaze slides up Ignis' body in a way that leaves heat filling Ignis' face.

"Just wanted to say hello," Geminus replies easily, his grin wolfish. "Nice shirt, by the way. Did your Princeling pick it out?"

He's teasing, of course, the way he always does when he flirts. Ignis takes it in stride because while, yes , the attention is flattering, it isn't something he indulges in. It's not something he's allowed to indulge in, handsome though Geminus might be. Ignis hasn't shared with anyone, but he's known for several years now that his tastes veer more toward the masculine, and Geminus ticks several boxes with regard to what Ignis likes in a man.

"My Princeling has not reached the age of majority yet and, therefore, has no input into my care or manner of dress," He replies wryly, shooting the Glaive a flat look.

Geminus' smile widens until it's all teeth, then he laughs. Ignis isn't offended in the slightest; in fact, he smiles as well, amused. It isn't the first time Geminus has made light of Ignis' situation, pointing out the peculiarities instead of shying away from it. It's refreshing, and often, his sentiments echo Ignis', though Ignis could never admit to it out loud.

"Thank Six for that," Geminus replies, winking as his eyes rake down Ignis' long body again.

Rolling his eyes, Ignis ignores the heat creeping up his neck. Again, he appreciates the compliment, even if he does not have the freedom to act upon it should he want to.

"Yes, well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose," He says, recalling the most recent photos of the Prince captured by the paparazzi.

The Prince, out with his Shield, the intimidating Gladiolus Amicitia, had also been with a blonde Hybrid with sandy, pointed ears. The three were caught coming out of an arcade, presumably downtown. The Prince and his friend looked like unkempt hooligans with ratty, studded jeans, baggy, torn-up graphic tees layered over with long-sleeved plaid and oversized sunglasses.

Ignis turns up his nose at the very thought. Such appalling fashion sense is an affront to everything he stands for.

Geminus, seeing the look on his face, chuckles. "Not all of us peasants can afford your tastes. Though I will say, you're looking good as always."

Ignis sighs as though he's oh-so put upon, but his mouth still tips up in amusement. "You'd do well to watch your tongue, Glaive. I belong to the Crown." He says wryly, teasing.

One of Geminus' sandy brows lifts, and then he barks out a loud laugh. After a moment, his gray ears hopefully flick forward as his long, fluffy tail swishes, giving away his excitement.

"Hey, so if I throw out an invite, what're the chances of you finally agreeing?" Geminus asks. "Ulric and the others will be back from their mission tonight, and we're going out to grab food at this place downtown. Your Prince probably won't mind, 'especially since you haven't met the kid yet. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Ah.

And that is the limit of what Ignis' freedoms allow him. As much as he would enjoy going out and meeting others, it simply isn't done. Not unless Prince Noctis allows it or Council approves. Unfortunately, The Prince will not take formal ownership of Ignis until his 21st birthday in two years' time. Until then, Ignis must follow a stringent set of guidelines regarding his behavior and what he is and isn't allowed to do.

"Unfortunately, I must politely decline," He says, undoubtedly giving away the true crux of the matter by placing a stiff barrier of propriety between them. "I do sincerely regret not being able to join you, though I appreciate the invitation."

Geminus is clever enough to realize what's going on, and for a moment, his warm, brown eyes narrow while his ears twitch backward. Then, he blows out a lofty sigh and shrugs.

"No biggie," Geminus says lightly. A little too lightly. "Maybe once you get all your shots and high marks in pretty kitty school, they'll let you come out and play with the rest of us strays."

Ignis lets out a slow breath as the corner of his mouth twitches up in an acerbic smile. "Doubtful," He replies, arching a brow. "My breeding is far too high class for a mutt like you," He teases.

Geminus huffs out a laugh, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He knows better than most the delicate line Ignis must balance and perhaps loathes it just as much as Ignis himself does.

"Give my regards to your compatriots, and send my regrets," Ignis says as he slides past and continues down the hall.

No use lingering, not when eyes watch his every move to ensure he toes the line. Ahead, a few doors down, is Astutus' office, and once he's there, Ignis taps smartly on the door before slipping through. The smaller outer room is empty, absent of the aids that typically reside at the two desks. Ignis weaves between them and heads for the larger door in the back. When he peers in through the tiny crack, he finds Astutus' attention split between his laptop and a document on the desk. He looks up as Ignis comes in and smiles warmly.

"Ah, there you are. I was just thinking I needed to send a search party," Astutus greets.

Ignis can't help but roll his eyes as he comes in and helps himself to a chair. "Nearly," He confirms, his tail fwhipping in agitation. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Astutus doesn't scold Ignis for being an open book. He rarely does these days when it's just the two of them.

"I take it your lessons today were not to your liking?" Astutus surmises as he sits back in his chair.

No. No, they were not.

"Does Sir require anything of me? How might I please, Sir, today? Does Sir desire something to eat or drink?" Ignis trills kittenishly, forcing his timbre into something soft and delicate. Submissive.

Astutus clicks his tongue, disgusted. "Perhaps now that Prince Noctis is older, we can re-negotiate how many hours the Council requires you to be at The Menagerie. You've more than proven yourself able to cater to their demands. It baffles me that the requirements have not been met yet."

Ignis starts to scowl but catches himself before his face can settle into it. He curls up his lip instead as he turns to look out the window on the far side of Astutus' office. He can just make out a flash of cloudless blue sky, crammed as they are between the spires of the Citadel. Longing suddenly to be out in the city, away from the circumstances of his life, he sighs. When he turns back to Astutus, he finds a fond, albeit sad, smile on the older man's face.

"It will be better once The Prince can legally take over your guardianship and the Council has less influence. His Highness is a kind, clever boy who will not treat you ill. His father has raised him well, and they share the same opinions on the treatment of Hybrids." Astutus assures.

Perhaps Ignis reasons. But perhaps not.

He has not been allowed to meet the Prince, and what he's heard of the young man's general demeanor is mixed. He seemed happy enough in the photos taken at the arcade. Still, in every official appearance that Ignis catches on the news or in print, The Prince is sullen and scowling, and the cameras can never quite catch his whole face. He's always obscured or tilted so that he's largely unseen. He's an elusive unknown that Ignis can't get a read on.  

Countless times in this very room, Ignis has overheard conversations between Astutus, Cor, and even Clarus Amicitia regarding the Prince's behavior. Anything in the papers must be taken with a grain of salt, of course, but Ignis hasn't had the opportunity to decide for himself what he makes of the Prince and likely won't until after the Prince comes of age.

"And what of my training with his Shield? When will that begin?" Ignis asks, drawing the conversation toward more pressing matters. "I wish to be prepared to take on more conventional duties when the time comes."

Here, Astutus frowns, and Ignis feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He's been looking forward to getting on with the training for his official duties for years and resents every roadblock the Council has thrown in his direction. Never publically, though, never that.

"The matter is still being discussed," Astutus replies wryly. "I am hoping to push things on that front, but it may be quite some time, I'm afraid."

Ignis' clip curls up disdainfully. Of course , it will take some time. "Better that I fail spectacularly to prove their point than make something of myself."

Blowing out a breath, Astutus flashes Ignis a look that says while he understands the sentiment, it is something better left unsaid. Ignis' tail lashes as his ears twitch in annoyance. It is a boon that His Majesty has been supplementing Ignis' so-called education with more practical learning. Monica is undoubtedly skilled in her blade craft and the best Ignis has had the pleasure of working with. She's wasted no effort teaching Ignis to be just as precise and deadly. Cor has also been a brilliant teacher, but if Ignis is to fit seamlessly into the Prince's Retinue, he needs to train with the Prince's Shield.

"I expect it won't be long now. His Highness will be of age in two years, and they can't reasonably put it off much longer." Astutus replies gently.

Ignis catches himself before he releases a disbelieving scoff. There is much that the Council does that isn't reasonable. The tide is turning, though. Public opinion rails against the Exotics trade, and anti-trade sentiments have gained more traction over the last few years. He's grateful, of course, for the opportunity to serve Prince Noctis, but there's no guarantee it will even work out. Not if Ignis doesn't get to meet with the Prince or his Shield and figure out if he matches their dynamic.

"Perhaps," Ignis concedes, then after a moment, checks the time on his watch.

Tch. It is nearly time for his appointment upstairs.

"Forgive me, but I must submit myself for examination in the medical wing shortly," He announces primly as he stands up.

Astutus, glancing up, sighs. His expression softens, and then he reaches into his desk and produces a pair of scissors and a manilla envelope.

"You may wish to trim those yourself," He says, nodding toward Ignis' head. "They made a hack job of it the last time, as I recall."

Confusion wrinkles Ignis' brow for the space of a second, then he understands almost at once. His whiskers. Astutus is right, of course, as much as it pains Ignis to butcher himself in this way. Better he do it himself than risk looking strange and unkempt. Nose wrinkling, he swallows down the anger lodged in his throat as he takes the scissors and envelope, then makes his way into the small, private washroom at the back of the office. Shutting the door behind him, he steps up to the sink and gazes at his reflection in the mirror.

His whiskers, pale and lengthier than they ought to be, are just long enough to peak up from his neatly combed hair. Were they allowed to grow more than an inch or so, they'd be beautifully long and spotted by now and undoubtedly several feet long by Ignis' accounting. Scowling, he lifts the scissors to sheer them off as is required. The Council doesn't care a fig for the cultural significance of cutting a Coeurl's whiskers. They only want to control him and view them as a threat for the magic they may or may not possess. Allegedly, a Coeurl cannot produce any sort of elemental magic without their whiskers.

Ignis has never tried to do it himself and wouldn't know where to start, but he knows it's not a gift all Coeurls possess. Regardless, he must do as he's told for safety's sake.

It doesn't take long to finish up. Ensuring both whiskers are even, Ignis fusses with how his hair falls. The style is bland, and he much prefers to keep it swept up off his forehead but doesn't want the fuss of having to fix it after his appointment. After he's finished, he tucks the silky, clipped whiskers into the envelope.

Perhaps it's silly to save them, but even in the wild, non-Hybrid Coeurls are killed for their whiskers. Ignis doubts he has any magical abilities, but the whiskers are his, and no matter their paltry length, he won't let anyone else have them.

Giving himself one last look in the mirror, Ignis nods at his reflection and then exits the washroom. He slides the scissors and envelope across the table to where Astutus sits, pouring over his work.

"I'll put these in your room when I get home," Astutus says, not looking up from his laptop.

Ignis hums thoughtfully as he fusses anxiously with the fall of his hair. He doesn't want to go to the medical wing to submit himself for examination but knows he must. Astutus, aware of his waffling, sighs.

" Ignis ," He chides.

Clicking his tongue, Ignis scowls properly. Apprehension churns in his stomach because despite how many times he's done this, how many times he is compelled to do this, he still loathes it entirely with every fiber of his being.

"Yes, I'm going," He replies tartly.

Astutus is not without compassion, though. The look on his face is soft and decidedly sympathetic. Ignis wants to be angry with him for allowing this but knows it'll do no good. Besides, there's nothing either of them can do about it as it's a condition set by the Council.

"I can see if Cor has some time to train with you later this evening. Is that to your liking?" Astutus asks kindly.

Letting out a slow breath, Ignis feels his ears flick backward gratefully. "Yes. Please ."

Astutus nods as he turns back to his work. Knowing he's dismissed, Ignis turns and heads back into the hall. Geminus is still there, staring off into nothing as he carries out his duty. Ignis is tempted to go back, to speak with him again, and agree to meet up with the other Galahdian Glaives, consequences be damned. He wonders what it would be like if he gave in to Geminus' playful, flirtatious advances and tumbled into bed with him.

It's tempting.

Ignis still turns and heads in the opposite direction, quashing the impulse ruthlessly. It would be madness to give the Council a reason to oppress him further. Astutus is right. Better to bide his time until The Prince can legally take accountability and then indulge in the freedoms that his position presents. Ignis isn't stupid, though. He knows better than to get his hopes up because His Highness' intent for Ignis is not guaranteed.

Better not to give him a reason to turn Ignis out on his ear.

Ignoring those he passes in the hall, Ignis turns the corner and heads up a broad flight of stairs at the far end. The Citadel is an endless maze, but he knows this particular path well enough. Heading for yet another bank of elevators, he slips inside just before the door slides shut and settles in against the back wall while it travels up. Several other Hybrids enter and exit as Ignis waits, and once he gets to floor eleven, he alights and steps into a wide hallway with a polished stone floor.

It's generally quiet in this section of the Citadel, though Ignis does spot several Glaive on guard duty who give him cursory looks as he walks past. Bypassing the first set of doors, inscribed with the names of doctors who focus on human medicine, he heads further down the hall to the office for Hybrid medicine. Slipping inside the waiting room, he notes several Domestics are waiting to be seen and heads for the check-in desk. The receptionist, an unfamiliar breed of Ursa, looks up as Ignis approaches.

"Name, please?" She asks.

"Ignis," He replies evenly. "Under the care of Astutus Scientia,"

The woman taps away at her screen and glances up with a truly impressive poker face. Ignis knows what his file says and knows it is unusual for someone like him to be allowed outside the bounds of their Owner's home or The Menagerie on his own.

"As a… Ward of the Crown, you are entitled to a Chaperone. Do you require one?" The receptionist asks.

Ignis shakes his head. The last time he'd had a Chaperone, he was fourteen and nearly died of embarrassment when the Doctor started asking about the particulars of his body parts and their functions in front of Cor. It had been, in a word, wretched . Even Cor had been mortified by how invasive the questions were.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary," He tells the receptionist.

She looks away, typing something on her computer, then gestures to the seating area without looking back up. "You'll be called back when the Doctor is ready."

Ignis goes to sit, opting to steer clear of the others in the room. Two are clearly clerical aids of some variety. Another might be a security guard in one of the public areas or even on janitorial staff judging by his uniform. None of them pay Ignis too much mind, though he watches their ears flick when an unfamiliar human nurse comes out and calls his name several moments later. Steeling himself and quieting the simmering unhappiness in the pit of his belly, Ignis follows the nurse back through to an exam room.

The nurse has him slide off his shoes to take his height and weight, then runs through checking Ignis' vitals. When the nurse is finished, he instructs Ignis to change into an examination gown and lay back on the table. Frustratingly, the nurse does not leave the room for this and waits impatiently for Ignis to do as he's told.  

"A little privacy would be greatly appreciated," Ignis says waspishly.

"Feel free to turn around," The nurse replies, voice clipped.

Ignis bristles in annoyance. His tail lashes as he turns to retain some modicum of decency and strategically undresses behind the relative safety of the gown. When he's finished, he neatly folds his clothes and sets them aside. Thankfully, the examination table has a cut out so his tail doesn't get crushed as he gingerly lies back and folds his hands over his stomach. Glowering up at the ceiling silently, Ignis waits obediently to be addressed.

The nurse, meanwhile, turns away to input data into the workstation. For a brief moment, all that can be heard is the steady tap-tapping of the man's fingers on the computer's keyboard, and then abruptly, he stands and leaves. Ignis rolls his eyes. It isn't surprising the nurse treated him as little more than furniture that can speak. He's rarely ever had a positive experience here and suspects the Domestics aren't treated the way he so often is.

Finally, Doctor Gravor bustles in after a few minutes, chart in hand. Ignis doesn't like him, never has, but will begrudgingly admit that, unlike his predecessor, Gravor at least has the decency of addressing Ignis by name. Even if it is technically the one he was given when Astutus took over as his temporary guardian.

"Scientia," Gravor greets as he sits at the workstation to review Ignis' vitals. He's silent for a long moment, then he hums and approaches the exam table. "Your height and weight are on par for your breed. Let's check the rest of you."

It's all the warning Ignis gets before Doctor Gravor starts palpitating Ignis' abdomen and prodding at him like he's little more than an expensive car in need of maintenance. Through the thin fabric of the gown, Ignis can feel how cold Gravor's hands are, and it makes him uncomfortable, though not nearly as uncomfortable as when the edge of the gown is lifted with little warning or permission.

"No issues down here?" Gravor hums thoughtfully. "No odd secretions or smells or any of that? No swollen anal glands or worms?"

"No," Ignis replies through gritted teeth.

He's not an animal, for fuck's sake. His biology isn't that different from that of a human, meaning Ignis doesn't have anal glands. And he most certainly doesn't have worms . Gravor knows this. Or at least, he should.

Offended, Ignis bites his cheek and stares up at the ceiling. He disconnects himself from the moment as the Doctor carries on with the examination. Gravor pokes and prods, ensuring everything is in working order with cold hands. Ignis answers each question with bland interest, even when they are invasive and of a personal, private nature.

Does Ignis get a balanced diet?

How often does he empty his bladder and evacuate his bowels?

Does he experience the urge to scent mark or become territorial?

Does he get enough exercise?

Does he get enough mental stimulation to keep his moods even?

Ignis replies obediently because it is expected, while his mind is entirely elsewhere. When Gravor finally finishes, he motions for Ignis to sit up so he can pull at Ignis' ears and make sure nothing is out of the ordinary, then peers inside them with an otoscope. After finishing with all that, he strips his gloves for a new pair, then digs around in Ignis' mouth— Checking his tonsils and tongue, then Ignis' teeth. He pays extra attention to the sharp, pointed canines at the front and pinches them with two fingers as if testing that they are fixed firmly into Ignis' skull.

"You may wish to consider filing these down," Gravor says as he withdraws.

He's said it before and will probably say it again, but it's the one thing that Ignis can get away with not correcting, unlike his whiskers.

"I'll take that under advisement," Ignis replies, affect flat, the same as he always does.

The Doctor turns aside, returning to the workstation, and Ignis knows he's dismissed. Sitting up, he starts dressing strategically because, as always, he isn't afforded the privacy and dignity he deserves. It chafes to the point of humiliation, so much so that his ears rotate out and back as he jams his feet into his socks and shoes, then does up the buttons on his shirt. He dislikes having to rush through the process of dressing almost as much as he dislikes doing so in front of someone else. He's just finishing the adjustments to the collar of his shirt when Gravor looks up.

"One last thing, Scientia. I need to know how many sexual partners you've had," He says with the same blandness as someone discussing the weather.

Ignis just barely suppresses the urge to snarl at the man. His face still fills with heat, however. He bows his head, more to keep his face hidden than out of any actual act of submission.

"Until my guardianship transfers and His Royal Highness decides what he wishes to do with me, the luxury of such acts is not permissible, as well you know." He replies as evenly as he can muster.

Gravor hums as he nods and turns back to the computer at the workstation to type something out. Considering himself dismissed, Ignis tidies his clothing one last time, then steps out of the exam room. Fury and absolute disgust boil in his chest. Still, he's careful to smile politely to the receptionist as he leaves and keeps the mask of placid composure on his face until he's well away from anyone else. It isn't until he's in a cloistered stairwell that Ignis stops and turns to press his forehead into the cool stone wall.

Humiliation rages in his belly, making Ignis want to lash out and hit something. He's tempted to smash his fist into the wall, but a stairwell door opening a floor below jolts him from the blackness of his temper. Swallowing it down feels like eating glass as he steps away from the wall and continues down the stairs.

When a man in a suit passes by, Ignis nods politely in greeting and goes to find Cor.

Chapter Text

Several months later, Ignis finds himself dancing away from the end of the bokuto Cor wields. In his own hands, the weight and balance of his training daggers are similar enough to what he uses working with Monica back at the Scientia estate, which makes the transition from training there to training here at the Citadel easier. Of course, the Council doesn't know Ignis has been training at the Scientia estate for years now or that he's been using live steel, for that matter. As far as they are concerned, Ignis has only been getting combat training for a few weeks now, and he's passably decent.

Of course, Ignis is more than just decent. It's a fact best kept from the esteemed Lords and Ladies as they would undoubtedly have much to say to their King on the matter.

"Good!" Cor calls as he darts forward with all the speed and strength of a viper.

The praise is hard won, but Ignis doesn't rest on his laurels. He needs to find an opening, which will be more difficult with such short-range weaponry. Dodging a blow by lifting his arm to catch Cor's blade in the crosspieces of his daggers, Ignis attempts to parry but comes up short. He has to spin away quickly to avoid taking what would be a killing blow in any other circumstance.

They go on like that for a while, Ignis losing himself in the ebb and flow of it, calculating where and when to strike with deadly accuracy despite being just a hairsbreadth behind. He lands a few hits, much to Cor's amusement, only to dance backward in the next volley because Cor won't let himself fall into the same trap twice. By the time they pause for a break, Ignis is sweating rivulets down the back of the gray, Glaive-issue sleeveless top he's got on.

"That was good, Kid," Cor compliments as he hauls some water down. "You got some nice hits in, too."

Ignis hums, pleased by his performance. He doesn't quite preen, but his tail twists and waves, giving away how he feels on the matter. Cor, absolutely noting it, offers Ignis a fond half-smile.

"I did do rather well," Ignis concedes, smiling himself. "But I'd really enjoy the opportunity to test myself against the Prince's Shield."

"You and me both, Kid. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't have to split my time between the two of you and my other duties," Cor replies gruffly. "Hopefully, those idiots in chambers will get their heads out of their asses soon."

Unable to help himself, Ignis scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Not bloody likely," He says between gulps of water.

One of Cor's ears twitches as his mouth curls up in a wry smile. He finishes his water silently and doesn't bother scolding Ignis for speaking his mind the way Astutus might. Ignis has always appreciated that about Cor, though. He knows what it's like to be in Ignis' position because he's been there himself.

"Still," Ignis says after a while. "It feels remarkably like they are setting me up for failure."

"Then don't fail," Cor replies simply, in his gruff way.

Despite himself, Ignis shoots Cor an unimpressed look, then huffs out a soft laugh. As if it were really that simple. Drinking the rest of his water, Ignis wonders if maybe it is. Wondering what Gladiolus Amicitia is like and if he shares the same temperament as his father, Ignis' ears flick thoughtfully, making the dark tufts on the end swish. After a moment, his curiosity gets the better of him.

"What is he like?" Ignis asks.

Glancing up, one of Cor's brows lifts. "Gladio? Stubborn as an ox with a chip on his shoulder the size of the damned city."

Ah. Well. Something in common then, Ignis thinks wryly.

"He's a good kid, though, like you. He'll make a fine Shield once he figures out how to get his head out of his ass," Cor goes on. "Nothing a little growing up won't fix."

Coming from Cor, that's as close to a glowing review as anyone is likely to get. Ignis is tempted to ask after the Prince, but the question dies on his tongue when Cor's phone chimes with an incoming call. Knowing very few have his number, it isn't shocking when Cor pulls out his ear receiver, clips it in place, and greets the caller simply.

"Clarus."

Ignis' ears twitch as he politely turns aside and steps away to give Cor some privacy. He can still hear, of course, but he pretends not to for the sake of propriety. When Cor rings off with a sigh, Ignis suspects their training session is over despite having over an hour left. Which puts Ignis in a delicate position.

"I can run up and see if Astutus' secretary will call a ride for me," He tells Cor, knowing he doesn't have the clearance or permission to be in the training hall alone.

Nor is Ignis allowed to be outside the bounds of the Citadel without a Chaperone. At least, not until his Guardianship shifts and he gets permission directly from Prince Noctis himself. Usually, Cor brings Ignis back to the Scientia estate after their training sessions, though it seems he will have to wait until Olivier can send someone to collect him today. Wrinkling his nose, Ignis frowns because the thought is less than appealing.

Cor clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "No, I'll bring you once I deal with this," He says. "No use pretending you didn't hear."

Ignis' ears flick backward sheepishly. He had, of course, heard. Even for a Hybrid, his ears have always been particularly sensitive.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to pry," Ignis offers, his gaze flicking to the side.

Cor doesn't seem annoyed by the admission, though he does frown as he heads for the large, double doors at the far end of the room. Ignis knows it isn't because of him, but he still feels a bit like he's a child being chastised as he hurries to keep up. Realistically, Cor's sudden change of mood is due to the nonsense going on up in Chambers high above, but Ignis still feels the brunt of it.

According to Clarus, Prince Noctis is causing trouble, and the Council is melting down over a young man named Prompto Argentum. A civilian , and a commoner to boot, that His Highness wants on his Retinue. It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, as far as Ignis is concerned.

"Not your fault," Cor replies gruffly as they head through the hall toward the bank of elevators that will take them up to the Council chambers.

Ignis frowns as they walk. He still hasn't decided what he thinks of The Prince, but he feels a pang of empathy for the young man. He understands the frustration of wanting just a small measure of autonomy, only to have a room full of strangers put it to a vote and decide if the matter is deserving of thought. In that way, Ignis supposes he and Prince Noctis are similar. And, for a moment, Ignis wonders if maybe his Royal Highness is just as lonely as he is.

It's a sobering thought.

"I don't expect the distinguished Ladies and Gentlemen will be all too happy to see you. Or me, for that matter," Ignis replies after a while, tone leaning toward sarcasm. "I think I shall remain elsewhere until you are finished lest my presence offend them as well."

Cor's mouth tilts up in a small grin as he whuffs out a soft sound of amusement. "Probably for the best," He agrees.

The rest of the ride is silent, if a little pensive. However, when the elevator shoots up into the thick, glass tube section on its way up, Ignis' eyes catch on the glittering sprawl of Insomnia, and he feels something in his chest lurch. The twinkling froth is almost like a spray of stars in the mid-November evening. Ignis admires it but, with a pang of sudden longing, wishes he were out in it instead of watching it from afar. Moments later, the elevator zips back into solid wall, and he turns aside. No use being melancholy over things that won't happen, he reasons.

The view never ceases to steal Ignis' breath, so when the elevator stops with a chiming ding, he heads for the small rooftop seating area at the far end of the hall rather than linger outside the chamber room.

"I'll be outside when you're finished," Ignis says lightly. "Don't have too much fun."

Cor rolls his eyes as a hint of a crooked smile curls up one corner of his mouth. Then he sighs, straightens his shoulders, and stalks into the Council chambers as though going to war.

Ignis does not envy him the task. He can only imagine the mood the Council will be in, particularly if His Highness is in rare form and railing against them.

Leaving Cor to it, Ignis pads down the hall and slips outside onto the small, enclosed balcony. The chilly, early winter air is like a slap in the face after the warmth of the training hall. It feels nice despite how it sends a riot of goosebumps up his bare arms. Dragging in a long breath, he revels in the bracing wind as it whips through his hair and rustles the long tufts on the ends of his ears. It's freeing, honestly, being so high up, so he passes the tables and chairs and heads for the thick, plexiglass safety barrier to gaze out into the night below.

This far up, Ignis can barely make out the noise of the traffic. Watching the pin-points of lights from the far-distant vehicles weaving in and out of the city streets with seemingly no order is fascinating. Ignis wonders what the people in those cars are doing and what sort of lives they lead.

He wonders if they feel the crushing weight of their circumstances like he does.

Sighing, Ignis turns his gaze toward the horizon, where the distant, ambient glow of the Old Wall lingers like a pale aurora. Wondering suddenly what Geminus and his companions are up to and if they're out beyond the Wall hunting daemons, he imagines what it might be like to be one of them for a brief moment before turning away from the city entirely with a huff.

There's no use dwelling on what could have been. Not when Ignis doesn't have the luxury of deciding the course of his own life. Wrinkling his nose, he takes a step toward a nearby chair to sit when his ears twitch toward the nearby sound of feet scuffing against stone. Confused, he turns in a circuit to look and see if anyone is there.

There's no one immediately present, and Ignis didn't see anyone when he first stepped out, which is a little odd. When he hears the noise again, he zeroes in on the source and spots a pair of feet sticking out past the curve of a hidden alcove in the corner of the balcony. It's barely big enough for an adult to tuck into, but Ignis knows the spot well. He used to hide there when he was younger and smaller and could fold into the space to remain hidden from anyone in the hallway wandering past the door. Curious, he takes a step closer.

"Hello?" He calls softly.

The feet, clad in clunky black boots with red soles, slide inward, disappearing behind a protrusion in the stone face of the building. Ignis thinks maybe he ought to leave whoever is hiding to their own devices, but something compels him to get closer. As he does, the wind shifts, and he catches the scent of a lone human. It's oddly familiar somehow, and as Ignis contemplates, he also catches the faint, unmistakable scent of some breed of fox.

Ignis' nose twitches, his tail flicking with interest. He spots a figure sitting huddled against the wall when he peers around the corner, who jolts in surprise when they realize someone else is looming over them.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," Ignis hurries to say. "I merely wished to ensure you were all right."

That isn't entirely the truth, but it's more polite than admitting that the stranger's intriguing aroma drew him in. The stranger shrinks in on themselves, hiding their face in the bulky hood of their coat and in the scarf around their neck.

"I'm fine," The stranger replies, their voice soft, raspy, and decidedly masculine.

When the mysterious stranger shrinks further into himself, the hood of his jacket swallows him up, making him look very young indeed. He can't be much more than 18 or 19, Ignis surmises. Likely the son of a high-ranking official or some such person, given his being here of all places. Ignis knows he ought to leave the strange young man alone and not get involved, but something about the beaten-down slope of his back and shoulders compels Ignis to stay — To bend down on his haunches to truly ensure that the young man is, in fact, all right.

"Are…Are you quite sure? If you require assistance, I can fetch someone," Ignis says kindly.

The young man scoots into the wall, almost as if shrinking away. However, several things happen simultaneously when he looks up, nose and mouth hidden beneath his scarf. First, the most dazzling pair of pale, slate-blue eyes Ignis has ever seen strike him absolutely dumb. Second, the young man sucks in a sharp, startled breath as his eyes flick up, focusing on Ignis' ears to stare at them in surprise. The action jolts Ignis from his stupor, reminding him who and what he is.

Smoothing his expression into something approaching polite and blank, Ignis leans away to stand up. "Apologies, I'll leave you to it."

However, the young man surprises Ignis by reaching out to catch him by the wrist, or at least he starts to before shrinking away. "No, sorry — I that was rude of me to stare." He says in a rush. In the yellow sodium lights, the apples of his cheeks, barely visible over his scarf, flush a deep scarlet. "I was…Just surprised, I guess. I wasn't expecting to run into someone like you up here. Wait— That sounds bad. I didn't mean it like that ."

Someone

Perhaps the distinction wouldn't register to some, but to Ignis, it settles like a flame of hope in his chest. His surprise must show because the young man's dark brows knit. Ignis is fairly certain a grimace of embarrassment lurks just beneath the soft fibers of the scarf concealing the lower half of his face. Ignis feels himself grow warm as he struggles to school his features into something appropriate.

"Ah — yes. Well. I am a rarity in that regard," Ignis concedes awkwardly.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable at best. Falling back on his training in social niceties, Ignis is seconds away from dismissing himself when the young man nods at him curiously.

"So. Uhm, you're a Glaive?" He asks.

Confusion has Ignis' tail fwhipping, and the young man's eyes follow the movement ever so subtly, as if afraid to be open about his curiosity. When Ignis looks down at himself, he realizes he's still in his training gear. He understands how the mistake would be made but isn't sure how to explain.

"Ah.." He begins, unsure how to proceed. "Not precisely, no."

The young man's dark eyebrows lift, clearly curious. "…In training, then?"

"You could say that," Ignis replies before thinking it through. It isn't technically a lie, but it isn't the truth either.

By rights, Ignis shouldn't even be having this conversation. While he's not barred from interacting with people, he knows being alone and unsupervised with a stranger is inappropriate. Even more inappropriate is Ignis' fascination with the young man and how his stomach flutters with nervous butterflies when those gorgeous blue eyes steal another glance at Ignis' ears, clearly transfixed.

"You may touch them if you like," He rumbles softly, shocking even himself with the offer.

The young man is also taken aback because his thick, coal-dark lashes flutter prettily as he blinks in confusion.

"I— What ?" The young man says quickly, visibly flustered. "No. It's — Sorry, I know I'm being rude. Sorry."

Heat fills Ignis' face. Despite himself, he's entirely charmed by the stranger and smiles at him warmly. "You're not being rude," Ignis assures him. Then, before he can stop himself, his mouth runs away with itself again. "I don't mind. I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

This…This is very much against the rules.

And it's also against Ignis' better judgment. But there's a little thrill to it, in how his chest lurches with excitement as the young man hesitantly sits forward, then reaches out a tentative hand. His fingers barely skim along the side of Ignis' left ear, running up the delicate caudal border in a feather-light touch.

" Oh ," The young man breathes. His lovely blue eyes widen just a little as he grows bolder and feels out the texture of the dense, fluffy fur at the base. "It's so... Soft ."

It's different from being touched by Cor or even occasionally Astutus or His Majesty. The young man is shy and sweetly uncertain, as though he's afraid to hurt Ignis. He's polite as he leans closer, his bare wrist extending from his puffy, dark coat sleeve. It's close enough that Ignis gets a noseful of the young man's lovely scent. Without thinking, he turns toward the hovering wrist and presses his nose to it to inhale deeply. The satisfied sound that rumbles up from his chest is low, deep, and shockingly intimate.

Almost at once, the young man jerks his hand away, shrinking into the wall.

"Sorry!" The young man yelps, entirely rattled.

Ignis' face flushes with heat, his belly squirming with embarrassment as he realizes how… Base and grossly inappropriate it was to do such a thing. Contrary to popular belief, he's not an animal. Scenting someone like a tomcat in rut is beyond reproach.

"No, allow me to apologize. The fault is entirely mine," Ignis replies quickly, shame-faced and feeling off-kilter. "I should…I should take my leave," He says, despite making no move to do so.

The young man shrinks into his scarf. From how his nose seems to move under the dense weave, he might be chewing his lip furiously. He looks…So achingly alone that something in Ignis' chest squeezes with sympathy. He knows the feeling, knows what it's like to be trapped in misery so profound that nothing can span the vastness of it.

"What's your name?" Ignis asks before he can stop himself.

It'll do him no good to know it, but somehow, Ignis just can't tolerate the idea of not knowing. When the young man looks up, there's a peculiar frown on the visible half of his face that scrunches up his nose and brows. Ignis can't quite parse the meaning, but the stranger seems… Confused .

"Light," the young man says hesitantly, his voice soft and tentative.

Light . It's an interesting name. Apt, too, considering how the pale yellow illumination in the seating area catches on the striking blue of Light's eyes, making them almost seem to glow from within. Caught in their magnificence, Ignis finds himself entranced by the color and the searching, aching something within that makes Ignis' breath catch in his throat.

"You have very lovely eyes, Light," Ignis murmurs, soft and wondering, utterly taken in.

It's not what he intends to say, not by a long shot. As soon as Ignis says it, he realizes the mistake. Face flushing, Ignis' tail lashes as he glances aside.

"Apologies," He say quickly, utterly appalled by his behavior. Ignis is not one to just… Blurt things so directly or be so forward. "I'm… I'm not sure what's come over me."

The young man — Light makes a soft, amused sound. The apples of his cheeks are pink, but something about the crinkle near the corners of his splendid eyes says he might be smiling under his bunched-up scarf.

"...I don't mind," Light replies, his voice quiet and perhaps amused.

Ignis feels his throat squeeze in on itself, heat flaring down into his chest. Flustered, his ears twitch again and draw Light's attention. Light must be smiling now because the corners of his eyes crinkle up more, and he chuckles so very softly. Suddenly aching to see his face, Ignis almost says as much, but a soft tap from the door around the corner has him glancing away with a start.

" Bollocks ," Ignis hisses.

It's likely Cor, which means it's time to go. Light, having heard the sound as well, shrinks away, possibly not wanting to be discovered.

"I have to go," Ignis says, standing. However, something lurches in his chest when he peers down and finds Light huddling into himself forlornly. "It…It was lovely to meet you, Light. Perhaps we'll cross paths again?"

It comes out sounding more hopeful than Ignis intends. Given his delicate situation, he knows it's unlikely, but he hopes that it isn't the case.

"Oh," Light replies, hesitant. "Yeah...Maybe. It was nice to meet you, too?"

The last bit is poised as a question, and Ignis realizes Light is asking his name. He doesn't know what possesses him, only that suddenly, he can't stand the idea of being himself. Of being the property of someone he's never met.

"Geminus," Ignis says in a rush, the lie sitting awkwardly on his tongue.

Light huddles into his coat, looking adorably flustered as he slouches into his scarf. "Geminus," He repeats. "See you later, I guess."

Ignis nods, dumbfounded. He dithers a moment until another tap has his ears flicking toward the door. Nodding briefly, Ignis hurries away before Cor steps outside and blows his cover by calling out his actual name. He knows he's flushed and agitated as he steps back inside, earning him a curious look from the older man.

"All right, Kid?" Cor asks a sandy brow lifting.

"Yes, of course," Ignis replies hastily as he makes his way down the hall toward the elevators without waiting, which only has both Cor's brows lifting.

Cor says nothing, but Ignis can absolutely feel his eyes burning into the back of his skull. Ignis is skilled in misdirection, keeping up appearances, and spinning half-truths when needed. It all falls apart with Cor, though, who can see through everything. Better to keep his mouth shut then because Cor also doesn't tend to pry.

Waiting awkwardly by the elevators, Ignis dithers until Cor catches up to step inside, then punches the button for the correct floor. His stomach churns with a strange mix of anxious excitement and nerves. Ignis can't seem to focus on anything other than the image of Light's brilliant, fantastically blue eyes.

"You sure you're okay?" Cor presses gruffly.

Ignis' ears flatten instinctively. Bollocks. "Quite," He replies, hoping that's the end of the matter.

Rumbling out a soft sound, Cor leans back against the elevator wall, where his tail lashes lazily. The silence isn't exactly awkward, but Ignis still rushes to fill it.

"Did the matter with the Prince get resolved?" He asks, knowing Cor may or may not answer.

"More or less," Cor replies at length, clearly recognizing the distraction for what it is. "Council decided to give Argentum a chance once I had my say. Guess before I arrived, His Highness exploded at them and threatened to cause a scene and drag His Majesty into it if they didn't capitulate. Either way, it still ends in more work for me."

Ignis wrinkles up his nose. On the surface, the scenario seems fairly cut and dry. Knowing just how terrible most of the members of the Council are, he can sympathize with wanting to rail against them. Six knows Ignis has longed to give them a piece of his mind for ages. It muddies his perception of the Prince, though, leaving Ignis unsure if he sympathizes or disdains him for such explosive, unseemly behavior.

"Ah, I see," Ignis replies, feeling subtly guilty for adding more to Cor's plate by sheer virtue of being his responsibility.

The silence drags on a moment, and then Cor shrugs. "You can thank Noct for having a hissy fit, though. Got those old bastards to approve solo use of the training hall for you because there's not enough time in the day for me to train you, Gladio, and Argentum separately. I tried pushing joint sessions for the three of you, but they wouldn't budge. Not until your Guardianship passes over to the Prince."

Ignis' ears perk up, twitching forward with interest and surprise. It's a step in the right direction and a freedom he didn't expect so soon. It's not approval to start with the Prince's Shield but Ignis will take it.

"That... Is unexpected but welcome news," Ignis replies, pleased. "I expect training with the other Glaives and Crownsguard is still off the table?"

Cor shoots Ignis a wry look that's easy to parse, no thanks to the scowling knit in his heavy brows. Despite himself, Ignis cracks a smile and grins.

"Ah yes," Ignis says, rolling his eyes, his tone flat. "I must keep on guard to protect my virtue against the Galahdian curs."

Whuffing out a snort, Cor rolls his eyes, silent as the elevator stops and opens onto the lower floors where the private locker rooms are. "Go get your stuff, Kid," He says gruffly. "And just be glad Bedding Ceremonies were banned before your time."

Cor means it as a ribbing jape, but there's an underlying note of disgust hidden behind the words. Ignis doesn't ask, knowing all about the loathsome affair, no thanks to his 'formal education.' Ignis also knows that the only reason these so-called ceremonies were banned was His Majesty's outcry on the matter.

Ignis' mouth curls up in disgust as he heads for the locker room to change and gather his things. He is glad he doesn't live in such times. He was much younger than Cor when His Majesty rescued him after all, and the thought of what could have been makes Ignis sick. Still, he wonders what expectations Prince Noctis will have of him once Ignis is formally in his care. Unbidden, Ignis' thoughts turn to the strange encounter on the balcony, and for one aching moment, Ignis wishes he were free to do as he pleased.

Sighing, he shakes his head. Best to forget and put it out of mind.

Despite that, he knows he'll not soon forget such beautiful, hauntingly blue eyes.

Chapter Text

Lost in thought, Ignis stares mindlessly ahead of him, gazing off into a middling distance as Instructor Dissonus prattles on about…Something entirely boring. It's one of Ignis' Menagerie mornings, and he loathes every moment. He's become adept, however, at sending his mind elsewhere while absorbing what's happening around him. He does this all with a bland, vacant expression that makes him appear like a good, docile Exotic wishing to please his betters.

Bland, though his expression may be, Ignis can't stop thinking about Light and those stunning pale blue eyes.

He knows it's a fool's errand to even entertain the idea of a friendship with the mysterious young man. Regardless, his insides tingle with something sharp and electric as his mind keeps drifting to the possibility. Something about the mysterious young man calls to Ignis in a way he's never experienced before. A way that leaves Ignis feeling like his skin is too tight, and like he can't quite breathe deep enough.

He'll have to address the matter of the deliberate obfuscation, of course, but Ignis suspects if he frames it delicately....

Ugh no .

If he did that, he'd have to tell Light that until Prince Noctis decides otherwise, his personage doesn't exist. In the same vein, there's no guarantee that Ignis will even be allowed to keep his personal connections once he legally belongs to His Highness. That, more than anything, sticks in Ignis' craw like a fishbone, making him scowl as he contemplates the matter.

"Ignis!" Instructor Dissonus says sharply.

There's a loud thwap as she slams her switch on the table where Ignis is sitting, which startles him from his far-off thoughts. He doesn't do anything as crass as react. Still, he slides his gaze upright a smidge too balefully, glowering up at Dissonus with far more heat than an obedient animal ought to. He doesn't mean to, and the error is immediately clear. Cursing internally, Ignis forces his expression into something docile and harmless and corrects his posture until it's straight and perfect.

He's usually far more controlled than this.

The damage is already done, though. Dissonus, taken aback, scowls sharply as her brows lift in outrage. Harrumphing sourly, her face fills with color, making her the same ghastly shade of red as her blouse. Ignis knows he's in for it now, and were he still a child, he suspects she'd grab him by the ear and drag him to one of the confinement rooms to be corrected via her horrid switch.

Judging by the look on her face, he'll not get off easily by merely kneeling on the floor for the rest of the lesson.

Ignis is proven correct when her fingers shoot out to grab him under the collar as she yanks him to his feet. The thick leather bites into his throat, but he forces himself to relax and take it. Of course, Ignis knows all it would take is one swift lunge to put Dissonus in her place. He towers over her these days and knows how to defend himself. However, the Enforcers in the room would be on him in an instant. It's a fight he knows he can easily win, but Ignis won't endanger his independence.

His placement with Prince Noctis depends on his continued obedience. Dissonus reports directly to the Council, and a word from her would make his life far more difficult. It's madness to throw away everything just because of this. Ignis just has to bide his time and fucking bear it like always.

However, something inside him snaps and snarls, wanting to fight back.

Ignis allows Dissonus to yank him to the front of the room. The other Exotics dare not look up as she does, and he doesn't blame them even if it chafes him that they're not outraged by this treatment. Then, Ignis reminds himself that they are not as lucky as he is. They are the property of the aristocratic families clinging to the last vestiges, of a dying way of life.

These Exotics are not like Ignis at all. They are just as much a product of what this world has made of them as Ignis is. He can't blame them for not wanting to be involved because he doubts he would do anything differently if the positions were reversed.

"Insolence will not be tolerated!" Dissonus snaps as she pulls Ignis up onto the dais.

Sucking in a long, steadying breath, Ignis prepares himself for what he knows is coming next. Sure enough, Dissonus yanks Ignis to the floor by the collar, where his knees slam into the rough, hard surface. Pain shoots up his legs, but there's no time to assess any damage. Not when an Enforcer steps up, manhandles Ignis' arms behind his back, and fastens them with a sturdy pair of leather cuffs. There's a moment of panic when the Enforcer clips a lead to the collar around Ignis' neck and feeds the end through the metal loop on the floor.  

Ignis' ears twitch backward in alarm as the lead is pulled taut with a sudden, sharp tug that yanks him face-first into the floor. Thankfully, he's able to twist his body so that his shoulder takes the brunt of the impact, but it still hurts . A soft, startled grunt works its way free, but that's it. Ignis refuses to give Dissonus the satisfaction of seeing him rattled or in pain. More infuriating is the position he's been forced into.

With his chest pressed into the ground and his rump in the air, Ignis looks like an animal in heat presenting itself. His face flames with indignant fury, but he swallows it down despite how it rankles and cuts. He doesn't dare speak because he knows if he opens his mouth, he'll make it worse for himself. He takes a breath instead, forcing himself to relax by degrees as he averts his eyes. His blood still boils, his rage and hatred of this vile woman burning him from the inside out until it seems to crackle like energy all around him.

"Now then, shall we move on?" Dissonus asks sweetly after a while.

There's a soft murmur from the other exotics. Ignis knows without looking that they're all staring down at their tables, perfect and submissive, too afraid to step out of line lest they find themselves in the same predicament as Ignis. Again, he doesn't blame them, but he burns with the inequity of it all. He's not a damned object or an animal. And neither are the others.

The one-sided conversation carries on without any input from Ignis. Not that his thoughts or the thoughts of the others were welcome to begin with. Breathing carefully, he ignores the discontent that swirls and clenches in his belly. Of course, when he tries to retreat into his mind to make the time pass quicker, Dissonus quickly catches on and nips that in the bud by swatting sharply at his back and thighs each time she passes by.

It's humiliating, to say the least, but Ignis endures it despite the uncomfortable position and the ache in his shoulder. It's a long afternoon and it isn't surprising that he's kept there for the duration. Finally, after several hours of droning, Dissonus ends her lesson. However, instead of leaving, her clicking heels come to a halt very near Ignis' face, with the toe mere inches from his nose. The end of her switch digs beneath his chin, forcing him to look up. The position cranks his neck to the side painfully, but Ignis still does his level best to keep his expression placid and his gaze soft and unfocused.

"There now, isn't that better?" Dissonus coos. "This is precisely where a good animal belongs. No more of those nasty looks or we'll have to see about correcting it more permanently."

Fury boils in Ignis' belly. He wants to lash out and snarl and put this woman in her damned place. Instead, he pulls in a calming breath and nods obediently.

"Yes, Madam." He replies, soft and submissive.

Dissonus walks away, leaving Ignis where he is. The rest of the Exotics file out as silently as wraiths. However, when the lights in the room go out and the door shuts with a resounding click, Ignis realizes he's been left. Gritting his teeth, Ignis struggles to twist his head to get a better look. The room is entirely empty, as far as he can tell, which he knew. Still, there had been a part of him, small and optimistic, that had hoped he was mistaken.

Panic fills Ignis' chest, making his tail lash in agitation. It's harder to get a grip on the shivering anxiety in his belly because he's trapped , and what if no one notices?  

It's poppycock, of course. But it's hard to convince himself of it.  

Someone will notice. Eventually . Ignis is supposed to meet with Cor in an hour, and before that, he's expected to be at Astutus' office to review his schedule for the following week.

Forcing his muscles to relax, Ignis hauls in a deep breath and starts mentally analyzing the situation. Dissonus won't be back; that much is clear. Her pride won't allow it, and she won't send an Enforcer to set him free. Accounting for the time it would take Ignis to get to the offices from here, it will be at least 20 minutes before Astutus realizes something is amiss and sends someone for him. Groaning in misery, Ignis focuses on something else so he doesn't get carried off by the panic simmering just under his skin.

It's difficult. Every breath jostles the collar around his neck, making it feel tighter and tighter. Ignis knows he can breathe just fine, but something about being trapped here like this convinces his brain he can't . After a few moments, he feels lightheaded and dizzy.

" Gods ," He laments, pinching his eyes shut.

His instincts war with his rational mind, and compounded by the strange-floaty feeling, Ignis' brain screams he's dying. He's not, he knows he isn't, but it feels like it. He's not even sure how much time passes, only that he's so focused on breathing and not panicking that he misses the sound of the door opening and the low curse that follows. Ignis doesn't even register the clank of the lead coming free or being helped upright. He doesn't realize he's being hugged close until he drags in a shuddering breath and gets a noseful of Cor's familiar scent.

Someone whimpers in relief. Belatedly, Ignis realizes he's the one who made the sound. Hauling in a long, shuddering breath, he wants to melt against Cor. Ignis doesn't get the chance because he gets hauled to his feet instead and prompted to move.

"C'mon, Kid. Let's get you out of here," Cor growls.

The Marshal is livid, his anger apparent in the tightness of his jaw and the furious rumbling sound he makes low in his chest as he guides Ignis out of the room. There are Enforcers in the hall, watching them with narrow, sneering glares as they pass. Ignis see's them, but he feels too floaty to bristle at the fact they knew he was in that damned room all along. One dares to smirk, but Cor rounds on him with a snarl. Thankfully, they make it outside without further incident. And, once they are well away from The Menagerie, tucked safely in a hidden alcove in the Citadel's shadow, Ignis crumbles.

Slouching against the building, his hands go to his neck, where he tears the damned Menagerie collar off and flings it aside, panting. He's shivering all over, overcome by the ordeal. As much as Ignis tries not to fall into the trap of his fear, he suddenly feels like he's a child again, enduring Dissonus' cruelty. This wasn't the first time she'd restrained him that way, not the first by a long shot. This time, he was lucky it was in a classroom, not a pitch-black, cramped confinement cell. Shuddering, Ignis vividly recalls an incident from childhood where she left him for hours. He'd screamed and battered the walls until he couldn't breathe and palms ran red with blood.  

"Apologies, I don't think I am in a place to train today," He tells Cor suddenly. His stomach lurches in revulsion.

Cor grunts out a soft curse. His big, calloused palm slotting in between Ignis' shoulder blades is familiar and comforting. "No shit, Kid. C'mon, I'll drive you home."

Nodding, Ignis hauls in a long breath and follows Cor into the Citadel proper through a private entrance. It's not strictly in following with the rules, considering Ignis' status, but the guard on the door is a Hybrid who doesn't question the sharp look from someone who is technically his commanding officer.

When they reach the garage, Ignis feels less floaty, but he's suddenly exhausted. His ears, still flattened to his head, perk up as he slides into the passenger side of Cor's car and slumps into the seat. He starts to tell himself that it's his own fault for getting into this mess in the first place, but then something in the back of his mind snarls at him. It's not his fault, he tells himself firmly as anger roils in his belly. He hadn't done anything wrong. The injustice burns like acid beneath his skin, making his lip turn up in a silent snarl.

Meanwhile, Cor is a silent, brooding storm as he starts the car and shifts into gear. His movements are uncharacteristically jerky as he jams the car into drive and pulls out of the garage. He doesn't speak until they're pulling off the service road that runs along the outer wall of the Citadel grounds and onto the main street.

"What happened?"

There's no accusation, just a rumble of command that Ignis feels compelled to answer. "I looked at Dissonus in a way she found disagreeable."

This time, Cor does growl, and Ignis' ears flatten out of some deeply ingrained habit of self-preservation. Cor immediately keys in on it and softens his expression as he reaches out with one hand to cup the back of Ignis' neck like he's done so many times before. The contact is soothing, especially when Cor's fingers knead into the tense muscle. Gradually, by increments, Ignis relaxes. He feels better but is still unsettled by the whole affair. After a while, he sighs and reaches up to work his fingers into the bridge of his nose. He's got a headache forming at his temples and knows it will most likely blossom into a migraine if he's not careful.

"Been a while since she got that pissy with you," Cor observes.

Drawing away, Cor puts both hands back on the steering wheel to turn a corner and keeps them there. Outside, the city gradually falls away to the outskirts of the outer districts where the Insomnian elite keep their homes. Ignis knows a question when he hears one but is too unsettled to answer it as such. Instead, he hums softly, distractedly, and gazes out the car window. Telling Cor about Light would be a bad idea. Not because he would begrudge Ignis for having a friend but because it would cause unnecessary complications. Ignis isn't so stupid as to mistake his fascination for Light as merely wishing to have a friend. He feels drawn to the soft-spoken young man in a way that is unacceptable, considering his position.

Six. What a mess.

Ignis can't let his personal feelings impede his goals. At least, not until he achieves them. Once his place in the Prince's entourage is solidified, Ignis will be free to pursue other endeavors. Other people . Maybe. For now, he just needs to keep his head down and power through the next few years.

***

That the incident with Dissonus gets back to His Majesty is not surprising.

The next time Ignis presents himself for his ' lessons ,' Monica is there waiting to join him. It's...Humiliating, to say the least, because Ignis is far too old to need someone to stand between him and Dissonus. The other Exotics don't acknowledge Monica's presence as they file in and take their seats, nor do the Enforcers. However, when Dissonus blows into the room like a cyclone, she spots Monica seated primly along the back wall almost immediately and turns up her nose. Undoubtedly alerted to the presence of one of the King's personal assistants, Dissonus ignores Monica entirely and begins the lesson.

Today the tone is saccharine and sweet, as if the students in class are little more than feeble-minded creatures. It's patronizing and leaves the pit of Ignis' stomach boiling with rage, but at least it keeps the evil woman's darker impulses in check.

"Now, who can demonstrate the proper way to greet a guest in your Master or Mistresses home?" Dissonus asks, her voice pitched up.

Ignis half expects she'll call on him, but she sets her sights on another unfortunate instead. A slight, pretty male with silvery patches of scales on his warm, brown skin and flashing, silver eyes. Ignis feels badly for not knowing his name, but doesn't bother to watch as the Wyvern Hybrid gets up and demonstrates what Dissonus asked.

Instead, Ignis' attention and ears catch on the soft sound of Monica working on her laptop at the back of the room. Having her here is by no means sustainable. Not when she has her own duties to attend. However, if her being here spares him from even some retaliation on Dissonus' part, he selfishly supposes it's worth the inconvenience.

The hours still creep by slowly, and Ignis is still careful to be nothing more than the soft-spoken and obedient creature he's required to be. Luckily the day passes with no incident. Finally, the tortuous lesson concludes, and Dissonus blusters out of the room much like she entered: Quick, angry, and seething with rage.

Good riddance, Ignis thinks as he obediently waits for her to leave with his head down. Of course, proper protocol dictates that all non-hybrids must leave the room first, so he and the other Exotics also wait for Monica to leave.

Ignis' ears flick backward as he hears the shuffle of paperwork being tidied away and the telltale snap of a laptop closing. Finally wandering to the front of the room, Monica pauses at Ignis' table to wait for him.

"Shall we?" She asks lightly.

Despite Ignis' ire at having to be babysat, he's suddenly grateful that Monica is there. Eschewing protocol, he offers her a wan smile, then gestures politely for her to go first. Together, they head for the door and out into the hall. Further down, he spots Dissonus hurriedly speaking to a man in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit. Ignis notes her red face, and when she abruptly glances up, their eyes lock for the span of a moment. Then, her face curls into a sneer as she gestures toward him. Quickly glancing aside, Ignis makes a soft, annoyed sound. Monica, ever the observant one, releases a soft sigh.

"My, it seems my presence has caused quite a stir," She remarks quietly.

Ignis' ears flick in her direction, but he keeps up his appearance of being submissive and docile as they head through the hall and toward the entrance lobby. "Oh?"

Monica hums quietly, and once they get closer to Dissonus, she stops abruptly, presumably to greet them. Ignis, stopping as well, keeps his eyes on the toes of his wingtip brogues. It's humiliating, to say the least, but even with Monica's presence, Ignis knows he's not entirely safe, not with Dissonus. She's a harpy of a woman, and her personal vendetta against Ignis makes her dangerous.

"Ah, Director," Monica greets, pitching her voice toward the man. "Just the man I wished to see."

So this is Director Barcala, then. Filing the information away, Ignis flicks his eyes up briefly to get a quick look at the man. He's no different from any other bloated, smarmy aristocrat. His balding pate and red skin are immediately off-putting, as are his bulbous, dark eyes. Ignis despises him immediately but keeps the thought to himself. It's the first time he's seen the man in person, and he wonders if whatever conversation happened behind the scenes with His Majesty has anything to do with why the director is here today.

He's in charge of ensuring The Menagerie runs smoothly and that the Insomnian Elites have their property molded into perfect, duteous servants trained in a myriad of different skills depending on the use their masters have assigned to them. It's utterly disgusting, and Ignis must push aside the intrusive thought to see how this sorry excuse for a man would look wriggling on the end of a polearm. He's not surprised when the man ignores him completely and talks over his head like Ignis is not there.

"Ah, Miss Elshett. I see His Majesty has sent you to oversee the education of the Prince's Coeurl," Barcala says brightly. "If you wish to see how it is progressing, I can show you the data in my office."

It.

Ignis does his level best to let the word roll down his back and remain passive. Dissonus is observing him, that much he can tell. Better not to give her the satisfaction of letting her see him agitated. Instead, Ignis keeps his breathing slow and even and keeps his eyes on his shoes. Monica, to her credit, doesn't react either. At least, not as far as Ignis can tell. He cannot see her face, but her demeanor does not change. In fact, Ignis can hear the practiced, effortless poise in her tone when she replies.

"That will not be necessary, Director. I merely wished to let you know that I will be chaperoning Ignis until His Highness takes on his Guardianship," Monica says. "It is in the interest of all parties that His Majesty's investment in Ignis pays dividends, and any damage to the young man, be they emotional or physical, will not be tolerated."

Dissonus scoffs at that, and the sound is like nails on a chalkboard. Ignis almost flinches but tells himself he is much older and larger now. She cannot hurt him as she did when he was a child. Not anymore.

"Surely there are better-suited Exotics to meet the Prince's needs," Dissonus replies. "Ignis is prone to flights of fancy. I can assure you that any discipline he receives is well deserved despite anything he might have said to the contrary. There's no need to get his Royal Majesty involved in all of this."

Monica's polite poise doesn't falter in the slightest. In fact, she chuckles softly. "His Majesty selected Ignis specifically to be Prince Noctis' companion. Far be it from me or anyone else to question King Regis' decisions regarding his own child. Such a thing would be grossly presumptuous, don't you agree?"

Ignis flicks his gaze up just briefly enough to see Dissonus' face color. The saggy, sallow flesh fills with two spots of red as she sputters. Watching her squirm like a worm on a hook is entirely enjoyable, delighting Ignis more than it probably should. However, Monica is not quite done.

"In fact… I took the liberty of reviewing Ignis' achievements and the data in his file while I was sitting in on your… Instruction ," She tells Dissonus lightly. "It appears as if he's completed the required programmatic expectations as dictated by the Council, which begs the question why it has not been reported to The Crown."

Ignis' belly clenches and a rush of heat sweeps through him. He's unable to hide the way his ears twitch in surprise or the sudden tension in his shoulders. He's… Done ? For how long? Of course, the thought had occurred to him that he'd been kept much longer than most Exotics, but Ignis assumed it was because he only attended a few times a week. Glancing up, he notes a sudden sour stench from the wide-eyed Barcala.

“Ah, yes, well—” He stammers. "That does not take other factors into account."

"Such as?" Monica counters like a killing blow.

Barcala's face deepens to a horrific shade of red. He's clearly searching for some excuse, and when he comes up empty, Monica merely smiles patiently.

"I trust you'll have his papers drawn up before we leave. I wish to present them along with all of Ignis' data to His Majesty after leaving here today."

Ignis' heart hammers in his chest, and for a moment, he feels just as dizzy and strange as Director Barcala and Dissonus look. When neither of them moves to comply with Monica's directive, she merely clears her throat politely.

"If you'll be so kind, Director."

Blustering and falling all over himself, Barcala nods. "Yes, of course. If you'll wait right here."

Then he turns to hurry away, presumably back to his office. Ignis knows it's a formality. All the paperwork is digitized, but for it not to have been sent through to the appropriate persons is a gross oversight. At best, it's just a processing error. At worst? At worst, there will be an internal investigation. And judging by the look on Dissonus' face, she knows exactly where any digging will lead. Scowling, she nods curtly at Monica and storms off.

Ignis, who is fairly vibrating where he stands, doesn't trust himself to say anything. Not when there are too many Enforcers and Menagerie staff present.

"I shouldn't think it will take that long," Monica says, something decidedly mischievous lacing her tone.

Nodding politely, Ignis remains silent. Sure enough, after several moments, Director Barcala comes puffing down the hall with a folio in his hands. There is a distinct sheen of sweat on his brow, and his suit looks quite rumpled as if he had been in a hurry to get back. The sour smell of his anxiety smacks into Ignis like a wall, and he screws up his nose as the Director hands the folio over to Monica.

"I think you'll find everything is in order," Barcala wheezes.

Monica doesn't bother looking over the folio. She simply tucks it neatly into her satchel and nods. "That will be up to His Majesty to decide."

Amusingly, The Director makes a soft, distressed sound, but he covers it up with a cough and a watery smile. Rather than reply, he turns his attention to Ignis and starts to reach out to pat Ignis on the head like he were little more than a well-trained beast but thinks better on it at the last second.

"I'll leave you to it then, Miss Elshett," The Director says.

Then, he turns and blusters off quickly, leaving Ignis in a state of…Confusion? Relief? Terror? He lets out a slow breath, wondering if this means what he thinks it does.

"Why don't we get out of here and find a cup of tea?" Monica suggests, her voice soft and warm.

Dumbfounded, Ignis nods. Together, they head through the lobby toward the wide, ancient wood double doors. When they arrive, a pair of Enforcers step aside to let them pass. As they do, Ignis shuffles to an abrupt halt as a soft, damned near hysterical laugh bubbles up from the depths of his chest. It feels strange and liberating all at once as he lifts his head, squares his shoulders, and looks the Enforcer straight in the eye as he removes the collar and drops it on the floor.

The Enforcer, a large brute of a man, snarls in retaliation against such flagrant disrespect. However, Monica narrows her eyes, and her peaceful demeanor shifts in an instant.

"I'd think twice about what you're about to do," She warns sharply.

There's a tense but silent exchange between them, and then the Enforcer backs off. Ignis, realizing it's time to go, follows Monica out the door and away. Crossing the grounds, every step Ignis takes away from that horrid place leaves him feeling lighter and lighter until they are in the shadow of the Citadel. Very near, in fact, to the place where he'd had his panic several days prior. It's fitting, really, because when Ignis gets close enough to the smooth stone surface of the building, he stops to shoot a hand out to catch himself lest he double over from all the swirling thoughts in his head making him feel faint.

"…Is it— Do I really not have to go back?" He asks, his voice soft and surprisingly thick.

Monica is, as always, understanding. Coming close, she reaches out, sets her hand on Ignis' shoulder, and gives him a reassuring pat.

"I should have been more diligent. I apologize, Ignis. Had I the foresight to check into this sooner, you would've been spared months of that nonsense," Monica says apologetically.

Months ?

Gods.

It nearly makes him sick. Whatever his face is doing is enough for Monica to gently sigh and usher him along.

"Let's go see about that tea, Dear," Her voice is soft, the same as it's always been when Ignis is upset.

He's suddenly so overwhelmingly grateful for Monica's presence in his life that it nearly has him spilling over with tears. Manfully swallowing the lump in his throat, he nods appreciatively. A nice, calming cup of tea will do wonders, and then he can ask the questions that are burning inside his head like a brand. Somehow , he makes it up to Monica's office without embarrassing himself. She leads him up to some hidden private entrance so that he doesn't have to submit to being scanned which he is grateful for. They arrive a few minutes later, stepping into the office Monica shares with a man called Dustin, whom Ignis has only met a handful of times.

Thankfully, Dustin appears to be out at the moment, which Ignis is grateful for as Monica gestures for him to sit on the compact settee on one side of the room. He doesn't think he has the werewithal to face someone unfamiliar in his current state. Making himself as comfortable as he can, Ignis watches as Monica sets her satchel aside and heads for the little kitchenette in the back of the room to make some tea. Ignis is still trying to process what happened at The Menagerie when Monica returns with a steaming, porcelain teacup balanced on a delicate saucer. When Ignis raises a brow, Monica smiles and sits beside him with her own cup.

"We aren't heathens, Ignis. Tea belongs in a porcelain cup, despite what the cafe downstairs would have you believe," She teases.

It pulls a mild laugh from Ignis because as often as they've shared a cup of tea between them, it's almost always at the garden cafe down below from paper to-go cups. It's also not the first time Monica has lamented the lack of proper dishware. Smiling fondly, he takes a careful sip of his tea and sighs as the warmth floods his belly.

It's a lovely, light jasmine blend with hints of vanilla that fills his nose and soothes him just as much as the taste. Taking a moment to bask in the simple pleasure of a lovely cup of tea, Ignis centers himself and tries to order his thoughts. Finally, after a long moment, he sets the delicate cup on the saucer and politely holds it down near his lap.

"Was it deliberate?" He questions.

Monica, setting her own cup down, frowns thoughtfully. "It seems so. But I'll need to do some digging before I can say one way or another."

Ignis' lip curls in a scowl. He figured as much, but there is a more important question. "I won't be sent back, will I?"

Shaking her head, Monica leans foward and rubs her palm soothingly up Ignis' arm. "No, not without getting pushback from His Majesty," She says, her voice firm but gentle. "You've completed all the requirements asked of you. The Council can devise other obstacles, but you will not be required to attend more of those so-called lessons."

Ignis lets out a long sigh of relief. It shakes out of his chest like a wheeze until it overcomes him. Setting his cup on the nearby coffee table, he bends forward, overwrought, and hides his face behind his hands. Somehow, he expected to feel…Different. Vindicated? Relieved? Instead, all he feels is like a lost child, unsure and terrified that it's all a lie and that come next week, he'll be forced to present himself to that horrible, horrible woman Dissonus.

Monica's hand slides across his back, soft and soothing. Ignis lets out a shuddering breath, then he drops his arms into his lap and stares out across the room, unsure how he feels. After a beat, he retrieves his cup of tea and drinks it carefully because he doesn't want to be rude, or make this any more ackward than it already is. His conditioning won't allow it. Seeing that the conversation is over, Monica returns to her own cup, and they finish in relative silence.

"I should probably go prepare for my training session with Cor," Ignis says finally.

Honestly, he's not sure if he's in the right headspace to train today. However, Ignis has a sinking feeling that Cor won't let him off so easily given all that's happened. He suspects that Cor will have him doing drills until it forces Ignis out of his head and into his body to concentrate on something other than his emotions.

Monica still hums in assent and then stands with her characteristic fluid grace. Taking both sets of dishware to the kitchenette in the back of the room, she simply sets them on the counter then returns to Ignis.

"I'll have more details for you when we meet later in the week for our session," She says kindly.

Strictly speaking, keeping an Exotic apprised of the details of their own life is unnecessary or required. However, even when he was a child, Monica has always been transparent with Ignis on that account. He appreciates it immensely. Standing, Ignis straightens his slacks, brushes his shirt and blazer flat, then nods politely.

"That would be…Most appreciated," He replies. Then, before he can stop himself, Ignis breaks protocol and squeezes Monica's hand.

"Thank you," He says earnestly, his throat tight.

Monica's placid expression twists into a rueful smile. She surprises Ignis by tugging him into a warm, squeezing hug. When Ignis was younger, he fit neatly against her petite frame. However, these days, he towers over Monica enough that her head fits into the space against his shoulder. It's odd to think it was the opposite just a few short years ago.

"You are most welcome, Ignis. I only wish I'd caught it sooner to spare you even a moment of it," Monica says kindly.

"Don't trouble yourself over it," Ignis replies as they part. "All that matters is that it is over now."

The look on Monica's face says it will trouble her. Regardless, she smiles at Ignis and then fondly reaches up to ruffle his hair and ears. She's the closest thing Ignis has ever had to a motherly figure since he left Pagla, so the tactile gesture is greatly appreciated even if it leaves his eyes stinging with tears. Despite the sudden swell of emotion, he sighs out a rumbling sound that is very close to a purr.

"You've always been such a sweet boy," Monica says fondly, seemingly out of the blue. Her smile is kind but perhaps a little sad. "I wish things could have been different for you. That we could've made the world better before you were asked to endure it."

Ignis wishes it, too, but there's no point in imagining something that didn't happen. Better to make the best of what is.

"The sentiment is enough," He assures with a rueful smile. "I know you've all done your best, and that's more than I could've ever hoped for. Thank you again for everything you've done for me."

Monica nods, the look on her face equal parts melancholy and exhasperation. Ignis knows she has much more important matters to attend to, but he's grateful for her intervention today. Without it, who knows how long it might've taken for the error with The Menagerie to come to light. Inclining his head politely, Ignis turns and leaves the room.

He has his own duties to attend, but one thing comes to mind as he starts his journey down to the training hall. Now that he no longer has to attend The Menagerie, his schedule has opened up significantly.

It means he has more time to focus on other things. He wonders, perhaps, if this means Cor or His Majesty can finally push the issue of training with Prince Noctis' Shield. Resolved to speak to Cor about it, Ignis hurries along.

And, if he selfishly hopes that this means he might have time to maybe run into Light again, he keeps that between himself and the Astrals.

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 756

Noct scowls, slumped in the back of the car. The constricting, tailored suit and the tie looped around his neck like a noose have him wanting to squirm and rip the damned thing off. He's itchy in his skin, unnerved by what just happened, and bristling with upset. It's only Gladio's looming bulk beside him that keeps Noct's hands from ripping the buttons on his suit right off.

Prince Noctis! What is your stance on Exotic ownership? Rumors say you've been keeping yours at the Menagerie like a pet and that you plan to treat them as property not as a member of your Retinue. Is that true?

It's the third time this week he's had to deal with this bullshit, and every time someone brings it up, he wants to say exactly what he thinks on the matter. He wants to let loose every seething, scathing opinion he's not supposed to have and tell them how disgusted he is by the implication that he'd ever treat another person as an... Object .

" Gods ," He growls, his lip curling as he finally gives in and yanks his tie loose.

Public appearances are the worst. They were bad enough when he was a kid and were limited to functions in the Citadel. Now that Noct is older, he's free-game for the press, and they've gotten intolerable. They'll likely only get more intolerable the closer he gets to his 21st birthday, and today was no exception. Noct grimaces as the car pulls away from the curb of the Royal Lucian Hospital where he'd been making an appearance on the children's ward and recalls the invasive questions posed by the reporters and shock jockeys as they left.

"You're going to have to give a statement eventually, Noct," Gladio says, his deep voice a soothing rumble despite the chastising tone. "An actual statement about your Exotic. Sneaking off on unauthorized trips to lectures and rallies and ignoring your responsibility isn't going to cut it."

Noctis curls his lip as he slumps in his seat. At the front of the car, the driver keeps his eyes on the road. The man is paid to be unobtrusive and invisible , but he's still there , and Noct can't talk about any of this in the presence of a stranger. Flicking his gaze to the side, he takes in Gladio's profile as he watches the buildings fly by outside the window. His dark hair is swept back off his forehead, and his large charcoal black horns follow the same stately arch and gleam with the oils Gladio uses to care for them. A couple of the kids at the hospital asked if anything ever got stuck on them, and Noct smiles faintly as he recalls it.

"I don't see why they have to be so gross about it," Noct replies, a little less sullen. "They don't hound me about Prom," Except that one time they thought he and Prom were dating . Ew. "Or you, for that matter."

Gladio's gaze flicks away from the downtown streets and ahead to the front of the car, where the driver is silent and focused on his task. His mouth pulls into a mild frown, and then he leans forward to raise the privacy partition by pressing a button. Once it's closed, and it's just the two of them, Gladio settles back in his seat and angles a pensive look in Noct's direction.

"It's not the same, and you know it," Gladio replies. "Prom and I are Citizens. This… Companion of yours is not. The press wants to provoke you into a reaction, you know that."

Noct's chest tightens. He's not stupid.

He knows what the press is saying and what public opinion is. He's known for years, no thanks to constant criticism. The closer he gets to the age of majority, the nastier it gets. His social media is flooded with horrible comments on a daily basis, cutting him down and making him out to be a monster. Never mind that Noct finds the thought of owning someone utterly repulsive, no matter the circumstances, and does all he can by attending pro-Hybrid events and posting about reform as much as he's allowed.

Noct doubts it'll ever be enough. Not when his detractors just claim it's all performative.

"If I tell them what I really think and where they can shove their fucking questions, it'll be a six-damned mess," Noct replies, mouth curling into a scowl.

Gladio snorts at that, his smile wry as he rolls his eyes. "Never stopped you from running your mouth before. Besides, you're not a kid anymore, which means you're free game."

Despite himself, Noct grins. Leaning over, he affectionately shoves into the broad bulk of Gladio's arm. "I mean, yeah. But not in front of the press. Only with those jackasses on the Council."

"Funny, you were running your mouth pretty good at His Majesty the other day," Gladio counters, an eyebrow raised.

Flushing hot, Noct wrinkles up his nose, then childishly sticks out his tongue. "Fuck off. That was a private conversation."

Not taking the bait, Gladio shifts to peer over at Noct with a distinctly unimpressed look.

"So private that you were shouting loud enough that the whole Citadel could hear," Gladio points out, tone flat. "Sure, tell me another good one, Charmless."

Noct clicks his tongue as the heat in his face creeps down his neck. It's not his fault Gladio has freakishly good hearing, no thanks to his biology. Besides, it really had started as a somewhat polite conversation. Until Dad brought up Noct's impending Guardianship and how he had a responsibility to care for and protect the interests of the Hybrid in question because they had no legal rights of their own.

Feeling a stab of guilt for not even knowing the Hybrid's name, he frowns as he thinks of the dossier he was given years ago, now stuffed somewhere in the back of his closet. Maybe. He hasn't seen the file in years and has no idea where it actually is.

Whenever Dad tries to update him on the Hybrid, Noct shuts it down because he still can't get over the fact that, technically and legally , he'll own another person. And yeah, Noct knows that this Hybrid's training and education have been in practical areas like combat, clerical work, and household administration, but that's not the issue.

"It's just... It's messed up, Gladio. I know I have a responsibility to take over Guardianship of him, but it feels so gross," Noct says, wrinkling his nose. "Whenever I'm in chambers, and they bring it up, my skin crawls. I hate having to play into the system in order to change it and get rid of it."

Gladio rumbles out a long sigh, his handsome face wrinkling into a scowl. He turns as if he's about to hug Noct but thinks better about it at the last moment. Instead, he reaches out with a big hand and softly drops it to the back of Noct's head.

"I know," Gladio replies. "But you won't change anything by sticking your head in the sand either. No one's expecting you to treat your charge like he's property, and honestly, I'd kick your ass if you did. But you do need to provide for his care and give him your protection so he can have his own life outside of the fucking Menagerie, even if you don't intend to have him join your Retinue."

Noct sighs. Gladio is right, of course, but it's still something that he'd rather not think about. He still has two years before his 21st birthday, so he has plenty of time to ignore it. So long as the damned press stops hounding him about it, that is. He's brushed off the worst of their questions over the last year by saying he has no comments, but they're growing increasingly… persistent .

It's vile. And, of course, every time Noct rebuffs them, it gets splashed all across social media like proof of his tacit acceptance that he's profiting from a horrific system of oppression.

"Yeah, I know ," Noct replies, testy, as he shrugs away from Gladio to huddle against the opposite window.

He thinks of the very few social engagements he's attended outside his official duties hosted by private members of the peerage and the wealthy elite, and his stomach churns. He's witnessed first-hand how Exotics are treated by their so-called Masters. Like beautiful playthings. Simpering, docile, and entirely submissive. The only thing that turns Noct's stomach more than owning someone is owning someone conditioned to behave that way despite their own wants or needs.

Sighing, he stares out the window, silent as he chews his lip and broods. Outside, the downtown buildings transition into the outer Citadel holdings, and before long, they're dodging down a side street to approach from the back gate. The guard at the gatehouse waves them through without checking their credentials, and the driver takes the car down into the underground parking garage. Honestly, Noct wishes he'd told the driver to head back to his apartment instead, but he's got a lunch meeting with Dad. That is unless something comes up.

Finally, the car stops. Hauling in a breath, Noct doesn't wait for the driver to open the door but hops out before Gladio can get a word in edge-wise and heads for the elevators leading up into the Citadel. Gladio catches up quickly enough, his face equal parts amused and fondly exasperated as his long, spiked tail sways behind him fluidly.

"You're not planning on yelling at your Father again today, are you?" Gladio questions as he presses the button for the correct floor then leans back to fold his arms over the massive barrel of his chest. "If you are, I'd rather know ahead of time so I don't get an earful from mine later."

Noct narrows his eyes and sticks out his tongue childishly instead of answering.

"Watch it, Princess. Gonna grab that and give it a yank if you keep it up," Gladio warns mildly, his deep purple tail lashing.

Rolling his eyes, Noct cracks a small smile and comes close enough to lean into the warm, comforting bulk of Gladio's body. "Yeah, whatever. But no, I'm not planning on it."

Humming, Gladio goes silent. But he unfolds his arms to wrap one around Noct's shoulder in a brotherly hug and draws him closer, perhaps sensing that Noct feels unmoored. However, halfway up to their floor, Gladio's phone chirps several times in succession so he leans away. Noct isn't texting him, and Prompto is at his other job, so it can't be him. Iris is at school, so it's unlikely to be her, which means it is probably a work thing. A creeping feeling of dread comes over Noct as he watches Gladio pull out his phone and grimace.

"Dad says His Majesty got caught up with an urgent matter," Gladio says gently as he scrolls through the messages. When he glances to the side, his expression is sympathetic. "Sorry, Noct."

It's not surprising. Noct's time with his Dad is limited as it is, and of all The King's engagements, the most expendable is his time with his son. Frowning, Noct puts aside the disappointment thrumming in his chest and leans forward to press the button for the floor the Royal Apartments are on. He knows Gladio has training scheduled with Cor this afternoon and won't be available to bring him home until later.

"Whatever," Noct grunts, frowning. "I'll just hang out in my rooms until you're done with Cor."

He doesn't really want to hang out in his rooms. He kind of hates them, actually, and refuses to stay in the Citadel unless absolutely necessary these days. It feels too empty here, too lonesome .

"You could come down with me if you wanted, you know," Gladio suggests, one of his dark brows lifting expectantly as he says it. "It wouldn't hurt you to get more training in. Or, you know, meet some of the Glaives and Crownsguard since they'll be under your command someday."

Noct frowns thoughtfully, feeling his ears heating with the suggestion. Unbidden, his thoughts pivot sharply, bringing him the image of the Not-Quite Glaive from the rooftop patio. It's been weeks and weeks, since Prom's birthday, actually, since Noct crossed paths with him, with Geminus. His fingertips still recall the feel of pristine, soft, white fur and equally soft ash-blonde hair, though. And, of course, once Noct's mind travels down that path, he conjures up the mysterious Glaive's handsome, aristocratic features and his intent, searching glass-green eyes.

"…Maybe," Noct hedges, wishing he could hide his face.

He could go down there and maybe see if he could figure out if Geminus was around somewhere. But..If he did , Geminus would figure out who Noct is and find out that Noct lied about his name. Well. Sort of lied. He'd just…Translated his name into modern Lucian. Still… Noct would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. But it's not something he really wishes to examine too closely. Just the thought of Geminus brings up all sorts of confusing feelings that he doesn't have the emotional stamina to deal with.

"Got a weird look on your face, Princess," Gladio teases, his voice a low, amused rumble.

"I do not," Noct growls as he shoves at his Shield.

Then, before Gladio can shove back, Noct slips away. Conveniently, that's when the elevator door pings open on their floor. Heading down the hall, they pass several Crownsguard who straighten to attention as he and Gladio pass. Noct tries not to pay attention to them but still looks to make sure that none of them are Geminus. He's relieved, honestly, when all he spots are Galahdians. Relieved and maybe a little disappointed. When they reach the door of Noct's quarters, he pauses and heaves out a long sigh.

"I might come down later, but don't wait for me. If I get bored, I'll probably get the driver to bring me back to my place." Noct says.

One of Gladio's brows raises as if he wants to press the matter of Noct's sudden weirdness. Instead, he reaches out to muss the carefully styled locks of Noct's dark hair in an entirely affectionate and fraternal way.

"Thought you were gonna wait for me?" Gladio asks.

Noct rolls his eyes. Sure, he feels more comfortable with someone else around, especially at his own apartment, but it's not like he can't take care of himself.

"I'll be fine," He says. "I'll probably just play video games or something till Prom gets off work. He's coming over later so we can play that new RPG he bought."

Gladio hums thoughtfully, his warm, honey-gold eyes narrowing a fraction in speculation. It looks like he might say something for a second, but then he merely curls his broad palm around Noct's cheek with a caring, familial gesture and nods.

"Call or text if you need anything, dumbass," Gladio says affectionately as he turns to head up the hall to his own private quarters.

"Yeah, yeah," Noct mutters with an embarrassed huff despite how his chest fills with warmth. "Don't get all soppy."

Watching Gladio go, Noct deflates a little. He feels a pang of guilt for not spilling the beans about his strange encounter on the roof, but honestly, Noct is still a little perplexed over it himself. He's unsure how he feels about the whole thing, and he really doesn't need to get an earful from Gladio. Noct wasn't supposed to be on the roof that night, and he's sure Gladio will scold him again for the umpteenth time about what he said to the Council.

Besides, he reasons. It's not like anything happened. It's not like Noct has been thinking about the encounter for weeks now or imagining the soft, silky feel of Geminus' incredibly charming ears and the tufted black fur at the ends.

Flushing, Noct retreats into his quarters and shuts the door behind him. Heading through the sitting room to the bedroom in the back, he wriggles out of the confining press of his suit as he goes, then lays it out for the housekeeper to have it laundered and sent back to his apartment. He's got a duplicate wardrobe here for when he's around and quickly changes into something more comfortable. Opting for a soft, long-sleeved shirt and a simple dark pair of jeans, he doesn't even pretend he's going to do anything other than flop into bed. Unsure of what to do with himself now, he rolls onto his side and starts scrolling on his phone.

Bad idea.

The news alerts are, of course, all about his trip to the hospital to visit the children's ward. However, instead of focusing on the new upgrades or why he was actually there, the articles focus on Noct's impending Guardianship. Scowling, he tabs over to his email to see what approved messages his PR team sent for him to post about the visit. After Noct updates his official social media accounts, he goes back to the news ticker to grimace as he reads.

Noct hates that his business is so public . Especially this. He gets why they are angry and thinks he would be too if he were in the shoes of a normal Citizen. Especially if he were a Hybrid. He's used to the press cutting down everything from the clothes he chooses to wear to his aloof, avoidant public persona. But Noct's skin isn't nearly as thick as he lets on. Especially when he scrolls through some of the comments on the article only to find a bunch of nameless strangers saying horribly shitty and patently false things about him. Scowling, he closes his phone and tosses it down on the bed.

"Fuck this shit," He growls, pinching his eyes shut.

Noct doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he does just the same.

**

Jolting awake sometime later, Noct has the abrupt sensation that someone else is in the room. It takes everything within him to keep his eyes closed and not reach into the Armiger for a weapon. However, a sleek, small blade still hovers at the edge of his awareness, waiting to be pulled into existence. Listening carefully, he hears the gentle swish of someone moving around, then the sound of someone near the chair where he left his suit. Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, he sits up slowly and spots one of the Citadel staff gathering up his things.

The woman startles as he stirs, then she hastily bows. "Apologies, Your Highness, I d-didn't mean to d-disturb you," She stutters.

Yet another reason Noct prefers his own apartment to his quarters here at the Citadel. The poor woman is wide-eyed and pale like she's expecting him to chop off her hand for such a grievous transgression as doing what she's paid to. Her fluffy, canine ears are flattened to her head in fear, and Noct can tell she's just waiting to be yelled at. Thinking she must be new because the Staff is generally more unobtrusive, Noct's face settles into a bland, polite mask of neutrality.

"It's fine," He assures her kindly. "You didn't bother me."

She did. But Noct won't say as much. It's not her fault, and she's just doing her job.

The woman bows again, deeper this time, and remains there with Noct's suit and shoes in hand. Suddenly, it becomes clear that she's expecting to be scolded or reprimanded harshly, and probably has been in the past. No doubt she's also been treated less than human just because of a quirk of her biology. Noct's chest suddenly burns with anger, hating that the world has done that to this woman and others like her. His mouth twitches as if to scowl, but he reins it in.

"Really, it's okay," Noct says gently, as graciously as he can muster. "I appreciate you coming to get that for me. Thank you."

The woman's eyes widen, betraying her inexperience with her position. Yeah, she really must be new, Noct decides. She glances aside, trying to make herself small and submissive. Noct has no idea what to do with all that, so he falls back on his own experience when dealing with the Staff.

"If you wouldn't mind just sending that to be laundered, I'd appreciate it. They'll know what to do," He tells the woman, offering her a practiced smile and then a nod. "Thank you."

The dismissal is polite but clear. The woman scrambles upright, only to bow clumsily again and retreat abruptly. Noct hears her leave and slumps with relief once she's gone. Six. What a mess. An unkind voice in the back of his head tells him this is exactly what he wants to avoid dealing with once he turns 21, but he immediately banishes the thought. It isn't the woman's fault that she's become what the world made of her. He just hopes she knows that it doesn't define her.

Sighing, he scrubs his eyes. He's exhausted and still wants to sleep, but he knows if he naps longer, it'll ruin his already tumultuous sleep schedule. Looking at his phone, he grimaces because he's got a dozen texts from Gladio. When Noct glances at the time, he realizes it's been hours since Gladio finished training. Quickly scrolling through the messages, Noct rolls his eyes.

Yo. Where are you?

Noct. Answer your phone, or I'm enabling location services.

Fine, don't say I didn't warn you.

Huh. Looks like you're still where I left you. You fall asleep?

Yeah, you def fell asleep.

Text me when you wake up. I'm gonna go hang out in the barracks with some of the guys.

Jerk. More like hang out with that mage Gladio's been talking to. Noct can't remember her name, but according to Gladio, she's got legs and eyes or hair or something. He doesn't pay attention much when Gladio starts talking about women. Still, Noct's mouth quirks in a fond smile. He taps out a quick reply, suddenly feeling like a smartass.

Text.

The read receipt doesn't go through immediately, but Noct figured it wouldn't. He suspects Gladio is busy trying to get into his mage friend's pants or something. Which, ew, gross . Wondering suddenly if Gladio knows Geminus as well, Noct bites his lip. It's not like he can just ask , though. It'll be suspicious if he does, and Gladio will grill him incessantly, wanting to know why he's asking after some random Glaive. Besides, Noct can't really say what it is about the mysterious Hybrid that piques his interest. Sure, it was nice being just some random person and not the Crown Prince with rules, protocol, and complications to deal with, but Noct isn't stupid enough to think it's just about that.

Wrinkling his nose, he flushes with a confusing mix of embarrassment and excitement. He's...Had crushes before. Well. Possibly . Stuff like this usually just doesn't cross his radar. Of course, he's undeniably fond of Luna and loves her to bits, but it's Luna . Everyone loves her. When they were kids, he'd cried for days after leaving Tenebrae because he wanted to be with her so badly. When he was a teenager, he'd gone through an awkward phase where he thought he was in love with her but then realized his feelings were more similar to how he felt about Prompto.

This feels... Different somehow.

Thankfully, Noct isn't going to do anything stupid to complicate things further. Things like getting out of bed and going down to the training wing to see if he can catch a glimpse of a certain tall, not-quite Glaive, who also happens to be stupidly handsome. Okay, yeah, so maybe Noct does have a crush on Geminus. Unsure what to do with that information, he tells himself he's just going to go find Gladio as he hops out of bed, but it's a huge lie. Pulling a pair of sneakers and a nondescript hoodie out of his closet, he pulls them on. Then he grabs his phone and heads out.

Despite having slept for several hours, the same guards are in the hall as Noct slinks by. They nod as he passes, then once he's in the elevator, he keys in the correct floor and pulls a fitted cloth mask from the Armiger to put on. Wandering around the private wings is one thing, but the lower floors are rife with various Staff and other Crown employees. Noct doesn't want to be bothered, but a larger part of the obfuscation stems from not wanting to be recognized by Geminus should they cross paths.

It…It was nice just being seen as a normal person for once, and Noct doesn't want to be treated like some lofty, far-off symbol of an ideal he's not sure he can live up to.

Not that Noct is likely to run into the Hybrid. The normal business day is over, so unless a private training is taking place, it's unlikely that Geminus will just be hanging around. More likely, he's in the barracks with the others. Well, maybe. Sure, most of the Hybrid Guard and Glaives live on premises, but some only stay in the barracks while on the duty roster and then go back to their own homes after their rotation is finished for the week.

Slumping against the elevator wall, Noct frowns. He knows he's getting awful worked up about this. Perhaps, he thinks, it'd be better to skip the ordeal entirely and call a driver to take him home instead. But then his thoughts drift to the startling green of Geminus' eyes and how soft his fur felt under Noct's fingers. Flushing hot, Noct makes up his mind.

When the elevator dings, he steps out before he can talk himself out of it and creeps through the largely empty hallway down in the training wing as silent as a wraith. This is just recon, after all, and there's no reason to stick around and make himself known if his target isn't around. Peeking into the first cavernous room, he finds it empty. So are the second and third. The fourth reveals a janitor sweeping at the far end, which leaves only three more. Noct tells himself not to be disappointed because he knew this was a long shot, but the feeling still settles like lead in his stomach.

Opting not to bother with the last few rooms, he turns on his heel and pulls out his phone to text Gladio but pauses when he hears several concussive thuds. He's familiar enough with the sound to recognize it for what it is; The sound of training weapons striking a target. Curious, Noct turns and swears he sees the flash of something that might be Umbra disappearing into room six. Following, he creeps down the hall to peer around the corner of the slightly ajar door. Forgetting all about Umbra, Noct's eyes widen over his mask as his belly tightens with nervous excitement.

It's Geminus. And he's… Amazing .

As Noct watches, Geminus darts forward with two blunt practice daggers in hand, weaving expertly and gracefully through a series of targets all set out in a grid. He's fast and light on his feet, striking each target he passes with deadly precision. When he gets to the last, Geminus flings one dagger out, and the blunt blade lands with a precise thump embedded in the target where a person's head would be. Then Geminus comes to a halt, his chest heaving and his long, sleek, speckled tail flicking in satisfaction. A pleased smirk catches the corner of Geminus' mouth, then he pulls the dagger out of the target and starts back toward the end of the hall to do it again.

Noct's chest feels tight, and his body is hot all over.

Across the hall, Geminus shakes out his long, gorgeously built arms to release the tension, then settles into a predatorial crouch. His expression shifts from satisfaction to razor-sharp focus in an instant. Coiled and ready to strike, he's set to go. Noct's belly twists and heat settles low in his gut because Geminus' casual competence is probably the hottest thing Noct has ever seen. Eager to see him go again, Noct sucks in a sharp breath. The sound must alert Geminus, because one of his snowy white, speckled ears suddenly quirks to the side, making the tufted end flick, and his posture abruptly changes. Straightening out, Geminus turns toward the door, one of his perfect eyebrows lifted. There's a flash of confusion on his face, then his rigid posture relaxes.

There's no denying he's spotted Noct by the door, and for a moment, Noct debates scampering away. He feels shivery and warm all over and knows his face is red as a tomato. Six, this was a bad idea. Waffling in indecision, he makes up his mind abruptly and comes out from behind the door guiltily.

"Sorry," He calls, mortified by the timid catch in his voice. This is what Noct wanted to happen, dammit. He wanted to see Geminus, so he doesn't understand why he's so flustered all of a sudden. "I.. Uhm, didn't mean to interrupt."

Geminus tilts his head to the side, his ears twitching. Noct bites his lip, entranced by the movement, glad that half his face is covered by the mask. It's probably rude to think so, but Noct kind of adores how expressive Geminus' ears are. He's always loved cats. And yes, he knows Geminus is a person, but Noct's heart still clenches with a strange sort of cute aggression whenever the long dark tufts on the ends of Geminus' ears wiggle. Six. Noct needs to not do this.

Geminus' mouth curls into a little smile, and he comes closer, practice weapons in hand. "It's quite all right," He assures, his voice smooth and crisp. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting to see you down here."

"Yeah, same," Noct admits. His heart thumps loudly in his chest because, holy shit, Geminus remembered Noct. Then, because Geminus is looking at him expectantly, Noct takes another step into the hall and gestures to the daggers in his hands. "You're… You're, like, really good," He says, perhaps a little breathless.

Interestingly, Geminus' nose wrinkles, and a flush spreads across his handsome, aristocratic features. His long tail swishes, slow and sinuous, in a way that says he's pleased by the compliment.

"Thank you for saying so," Geminus replies politely, inclining his head. "I'm afraid I still have quite a way to go before getting my skills to where I want them to be, though."

Noct, recognizing court manners when he hears them, lifts his brows curiously. Suddenly aching to unravel the mystery of his new acquaintance, he nearly suggests they go a round or two before he realizes it would give him away entirely. Maybe not his combat skills alone, especially if Noct purposefully botched it, but definitely the use of royal magic. Even without casting, Noct is just a little too fast and too adept to pass himself off as someone of merely adequate skill.

"You were still badass," Noct replies, wondering what other skills Geminus possesses.

He clearly has a privileged background. Everything from his crisp, cultured accent to how he carries himself says he comes from a certain social class. These days, it isn't uncommon for Hybrids to marry into non-hybrid families. Still, the practice hasn't quite managed to reach the upper echelons of Insomnian society yet, and judging by Geminus' accent, he's clearly either a transplant or first-generation Lucian.

"Badass, hm?" Geminus counters, a small, pleased smile tilting the corner of his full mouth. Something mischievous glints in his glass-green eyes as he raises a brow. "I'll be sure to send your regards to my tutors." He says playfully, his voice low, practically a purr.

Fuck .

Noct's stomach flutters, and he's suddenly glad he's wearing a mask because his face feels so fucking hot. The lilting, teasing quality of Geminus' voice and the deep, rumbling timbre do funny things to his insides. Funny things that make Noct do something stupid.

"Can I give you my number?" He blurts, awkward and loud. Flushing, Noct curses himself for sounding so… Desperate . "Fuck, sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I just— If you wanted? I uhm…We could text or whatever."

Geminus' eyes widen a fraction in surprise. Then, his expression smooths out into practiced neutrality, even if there is a little flicker of remorse.

"I would like that, however…" Geminus replies slowly, as though testing the decision. "I'm afraid I don't have a phone at the moment. My apologies."

Disappointment churns in Noct's belly. It's odd that Geminus doesn't have a phone, but it's not completely out of the ordinary. If he recently came to the city, he might be struggling to get settled. Noct knows from what Gladio has said of some of the new Glaives that it can take a while to get everything in order. Regardless, Noct gets a sudden idea. Making a show of searching his pockets, he sneakily pulls a pen and scrap of paper from the Armiger while he's got his hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie and pulls them out triumphantly as if they were there all along. He knows he's not supposed to give his number out to strangers, but he still jots it down and thrusts out his hand before he can lose his nerve.

"Uhm…Here," He says, face burning. "In case you want to call or whatever when you get a phone..Or before. There's a bank of land-lines in the Glaive barracks, right?"

Geminus hesitates, then reaches out and takes the paper, which he carefully tucks into the pocket of his loose pants. Something about the soft, wondering look on Geminus' face catches Noct off guard enough that he feels his stomach lurch as his pulse ramps up. The thundering only worsens when Geminus' full mouth curves into a handsome smile. Six, Noct is so screwed.

"I shall endeavor to make use of this when time allows for it," Geminus intones much more seriously than the situation warrants. He also politely inclines his head, which is another nod toward his undoubtedly genteel upbringing.

Flustered, Noct nods. He knows he shouldn't stick around, that he should probably go find Gladio, but something about the other man captures his attention so fully that he can't seem to make himself go. Not when Noct aches to know more about him. He stands there silent and awkward for a long moment before ultimately finding his voice.

"So, uhm, how long have you been training to do all that?" He asks, perhaps a little shyly.

One of Geminus' ears twitches, and Noct has to bury the sudden flare of cute aggression lest he do something idiotic like beg to pet those soft, tufty ears.

"Since I was twelve, almost ten years now," Geminus replies mildly, a hint of amusement on his face.

Huh. So he's been at it almost as long as Noct has. Again, there's a little niggling urge to demand a sparring match, but Noct swallows it. Perhaps Geminus senses it because his smile widens.

"Would you like to test yourself against me and see if we're a good match?"

There's something so inviting about how he says it and the phrasing sends Noct for a tailspin. His belly clenches with something like arousal, but he pushes it aside sharply. It's just a friendly invitation, nothing more. Noct still feels himself responding. The itch to prove himself is sharp and immediate.

"I really can't today," Noct says finally, perhaps a little breathless. "I came to find my friend so he could give me a ride home."

One of Geminus' brows lifts, the look on his face equal parts curious and polite.

"My friend works here in the Citadel," Noct explains quickly. "For…For my Dad, actually." It's not technically a lie, but it isn't the whole truth, either. While strictly speaking, civilians aren't allowed in this part of the Citadel, it's plausible that as an employee or son of a high-ranking official, someone like Light might be down here. "This girl he's interested in is a Glaive. I stopped by earlier to see my Dad and my friend told me he'd bring me home after."

Again, this is not, strictly speaking, a lie. Noct still feels a little guilty, stretching the truth.

"Perhaps another time, then," Geminus replies warmly, meaning it.

Noct's heart hammers in his chest. Because, yeah, he'd like that. "Cool," He breathes, smiling wide beneath his mask. He knows Geminus can't see but suspects it shows in how his eyes crinkle up. "I'll bet you'll pass the Glaive exam with flying colors. They'll be lucky to have you," He adds.

Geminus blinks, then, astoundingly, his face colors. "Yes, well, let's not put the cart before the Chocobo." He says wryly.

Noct's about to do something else stupid when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows almost at once that it's Gladio and knows he's got to get out of there before his cover gets blown, but it's so hard to tear himself away. His phone buzzes again several more times in quick succession, so he grimaces.

"I think my ride is ready to go," He says mournfully.

Geminus smiles sympathetically and inclines his head. The genteel, courtly manner has Noct's heart hammering in his chest because it's so charming. Fuck.

"Until next time, then," Geminus replies.

Nodding hastily and probably looking like a damned idiot, Noct gives him a little wave and heads out. However, when he turns, Geminus gives him a smile and waves back. It's distracting enough that Noct plows right into the fucking door like an absolute moron. The thud is excruciatingly loud, but Noct doesn't dare turn around to see what Geminus is doing. Instead, he pushes down the sudden swell of mortification and rushes away, berating himself all the while for being an idiot with absolutely no chill whatsoever.  

Noct's face is still red when he texts Gladio to say he's waiting at the garage entrance.

Gods, what an absolute mess.

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 756

The paper with Light's number scrawled on it burns a hole in Ignis' pocket in every sense of the word. He tries keeping it in the journal hidden in his room, but finds that doing so makes him anxious that someone might see it. The notion is preposterous, of course, because Astutus has always given Ignis his privacy and would never rifle through his things. Regardless, he can't shake the feeling someone might find it. Opting to tuck the slip safely into the folds of the little notebook he keeps, it stays on Ignis' person at all times.

There's something undoubtedly exciting about having a way to contact Light, and Ignis fools himself into believing that he can do so whenever he pleases. Of course, he hasn't actually called Light yet, but he knows it's just a matter of time before he gives in to the impulse. He just has to be smart about it. Both from a logistical standpoint and in managing his own expectations. There's no denying that Ignis feels a strong pull toward Light, which is unlike anything he's ever experienced. Regardless, Ignis knows he's setting himself up for inevitable heartache if he pursues this.

A soft, pessimistic voice in the back of his head also reminds him that he isn't free to do as he likes and that this is a waste of time. Nevertheless, the lonely part of Ignis still aches to see how it might unfold despite knowing how impossible it is. Recalling the fetching shade of pink on Light's face when they spoke to one another in the training hall and the warm, expectant look in those gorgeous blue eyes, Ignis' stomach clenches with anxious, excited butterflies.

It's quite a predicament, though, there's no denying that. Wrinkling his nose, he sighs and attempts to rein himself in. He's not a love-lorn maiden, for Bahamut's sake, and brooding over the matter isn't going to do him any favors. Turning his gaze from the bowl of pastry dough he's making, Ignis peers out the kitchen window.

Outside the Scientia estate, the afternoon has blossomed into a lovely late March day. Sunshine filters through the window, illuminating Ignis' face as he works, and he can't help but bask just a little as the heat warms his ears. Inner turmoil aside, it's been a quiet, peaceful day. David has been working on menus in his office on the other end of the kitchen, and Olivier is likely upstairs in the solar reading the paper. Ignis, left to his own devices for once, is....Ruining the dough for his pastry shell, apparently. Realizing the consistency is wrong by feel alone, he glances into the bowl and realizes he's overworked it.

"Six damn it all," He growls in frustration.

There's absolutely no salvaging the lumpy mess, so he takes the bowl to the rubbish bin and tips the contents in with a scowl. Serves him right for getting distracted. And, when Ignis contemplates starting over, he opts to give up. The fruit he'd asked Olivier to purchase will keep until tomorrow, when he has his head on straight. Besides, in all the years he's been fussing with the recipe, he still hasn't managed to get it quite right. A few more days won't change much in the scheme of things.

"Everything all right, Ignis?" David calls, peeking his head out of his office.

"Yes, quite," Ignis sighs. "I over-mixed my pastry dough."

David nods sympathetically. "That will happen when you're woolgathering. Were you working on your mystery tart again?"

Ignis nods and offers David a brief smile. "Yes, but I think I'll pack it in for today and try again tomorrow," He decides as he cleans the mess.

David hums softly, and Ignis hears his chair rolling across the floor as the other man inevitably returns to his work. Left to tidy up in peace, Ignis swiftly washes up the dishes and wipes down the counters. After he's finished, he wrinkles his nose and casts his gaze around the spotless kitchen. With nothing to do now and nothing on his schedule until much later in the afternoon, Ignis is at a loss for how to occupy his time.

It's been like this since his time at The Menagerie ended. He doesn't miss that damned, loathesome place for an instant, but having a gaping hole in his timetable is strange. Ignis is so used to adhering to a strict, regimented daily agenda that it's odd not to have anything on it. Of course, Ignis suspects that as time goes on, that will change, and he ought to use his freedom to indulge in his own hobbies and pursuits for the time being, but it leaves him anxious. Like he ought to be doing something useful instead of using the time for his own leisure.

He almost feels guilty as he decides to head up to the library to read. Passing by David's office, Ignis gives him a wave. However, as he passes by, David calls out to him.

"The market had a good deal on fish, and I got some beautiful salmon. How does that sound for supper?"

Ignis' ears twitch forward in delight. He rather enjoys fish and knows David is exceptionally skilled with seafood dishes.

"Perfection," He replies. His swaying tail gives away his eagerness.

Laughing, David shoos him away, and Ignis wanders out of the kitchen and heads up to the main floor of the Scientia estate. The house isn't over-large compared to some of the other stately homes nearby, but it's clear that it has a heritage. Astutus comes from a long line of forebears that served the royal line, and while he doesn't have any children of his own, he has a number of nieces and nephews who live in Accordo. Ignis has never met any of them, but knows they have very little interest in carrying on the family tradition.

Passing a portrait featuring a much younger Astutus and his extended family, Ignis makes his way through the dining room, crosses through the main hall, and into a smaller corridor. At the end, the library door beckons him, so he hurries and slips within, then shuts the door behind him. The comforting smell of books and the warmth of the sun greet him, so Ignis hauls in a long, steadying breath as he makes his way over to the window seat on the far wall.

The library is reasonably sized, but the sheer volume of the collection makes the room feel close and comfy. Ignis has always liked it here, and as he settles on the plush, tufted cushion in the window, he finds the book he'd been reading earlier buried beneath a throw blanket. However, instead of picking up where he left off, Ignis settles with his head against the window and peers out into the yard as he soaks up the sun.

Outside, all the little plants and trees, coaxed to waking by the spring warmth, rustle in the gentle breeze. In a week or two, he suspects things will start to blossom and bud, and someone will be out to tend the grounds. Perhaps, Ignis decides, he'll go make a start on his garden next week, but the thought leaves him feeling melancholy. Prince Noctis will be of age in a little over a year and a half, and what will become of Ignis' garden then? What will become of the life he has built for himself? Will he be expected to just give it all up?

Realistically, Ignis knows the answer is yes.

Scowling, he folds his long legs up onto the cushion and listens to the sound of birds outside. A group of excited finches hop across the lawn near a bird feeder, and two get in a tussle, bringing a faint smile to Ignis' lips. It's soothing to watch them, just as it's always been, but the longer Ignis sits, the more discontent he becomes. It stews in his belly until he impulsively sits up, pulls his small notebook out of his chest pocket, and retrieves the slip of paper Light gave him.

His rational mind screams at him as he crosses the room to the desk against the wall on one side, picks up the cordless landline phone, and dials the number before he can stop himself. The phone is made for human ears, of course, so there is no adaptive receiver which forces Ignis to put it in speaker mode. It's fine, he reasons, as he turns the volume down. The only staff members in the house today are David and Olivier, and they're nowhere near the library.

However, as soon as the call connects and starts ringing, Ignis realizes how foolish this is. He's not generally one to make decisions rashly, and the sudden rebellious fire in his belly gutters out almost at once. What if Light doesn't pick up and tries calling back later when Ignis isn't around? What if Light asks for 'Geminus' and describes what Ignis looks like, and his cover gets blown? What if Light picks up, and he's every bit as lovely as Ignis wants him to be?

As the phone continues to ring, Ignis berates himself for being so damned idiotic. He doesn't panic, but now he has to leave a message to negate some of the damage his uncharacteristic impulsivity might cause. Before he can spiral entirely into worst-case-scenario mode, the ringing stops, and Ignis catches the soft sound of someone breathing.

"…Hello?" Light asks, perhaps a little nervously.

Ignis blows out a long breath of his own, his face hot. In for a penny, in for a crown, as they say. "Ah—Erm, Hello." He greets rather doltishly.

There's a soft squeak on the other end of the line, then some shuffling. Ignis thinks he hears footsteps, followed by a door closing. Wondering if he called at an inconvenient time, he's about to apologize when Light speaks up.

"Sorry, hey- I just— I had to go in the other room. Hi, uhm.. Hi ," Light replies in a hurry. "I wasn't sure who was calling at first. The number came through as restricted."

"Oh, apologies," Ignis says quickly as his stomach clenches with nerves. "I'm calling from…From my Sponsor's home."

He feels bad about stretching the truth, but it's… Technically not a lie. Astutus serves the same function to Ignis as a Sponsor would if he were a Domestic.

"Oh, cool," Light replies. "Are you there often?"

Bollocks. Ignis doesn't want to lie again, but he can't have Light calling here asking after him.

"Not usually," He decides on. It's a diplomatic response. "I spend a lot of my time at The Citadel. But I…I had a moment, so I thought I might give you a ring while I had the privacy to do so."

There's a soft huff through the phone line, almost as if Light is laughing. A moment later, he chuckles outright.

" Give me a ring , huh?" Light teases. "Do you always speak so formally?"

Unexpectedly, Ignis flushes. It isn't the first time someone has poked fun at his manner of speech. The real Geminus does so regularly. However, instead of rolling his eyes or blowing the comment off, he finds the playful jab fills his chest with a sweet, simmering heat. And, flusters him entirely.

"Ah— Apologies. Force of habit, I'm afraid," He replies, well, formally .

Light chuckles again, and the sound is soft and musical. It burrows into Ignis' chest, making his heart thrum wildly.

"You don't have to apologize," Light says, amused. "But I'm totally going to tease you about it and call you Mister Posh."

Despite himself, Ignis smiles and lets out a laugh of his own. "Well, if you insist," He replies, his voice low and teasing. "I can't say that's the worst thing I've ever been called."

There's an awkward pause. Realizing that the throwaway remark didn't land quite right, he searches for something to say to move the conversation along. Light, quick to pick up the slack, interjects.

"So…uhm, what do you like to do when you're not kicking ass and looking cool as hell?" Light asks in a rush to change the subject.

A simmering, pleased heat fills Ignis' chest. He doesn't do anything as crass as preen , but it's a close thing.

"Well, kicking ass and looking cool as hell is very time-consuming," He teases. "But when I have a spare moment, I enjoy reading and cooking."

"Wow. See? Posh ," Light replies playfully. "I bet you have a stamp collection or something."

Ignis chuckles. He can't help it. Talking to Light feels so… Easy . Like they're old friends rather than new acquaintances. Crossing the library, phone in hand, he sits on the window seat and twists to peer out the window as he talks.

"Tie clips," He replies in all seriousness. He's playing, of course, but Light doesn't know that. "I have a rather lovely collection of vintage Altissian tie clips."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and Ignis can almost imagine the bemused look on Light's face. It has him grinning with delight.

"Oh, That's cool. Are they special or just, uh, ones you liked?" Light asks politely, the way someone versed in social etiquette might.

It's so unexpectedly amusing that Ignis bursts out laughing in an entirely undignified way. The amusement is contagious, it seems, because Light chuckles as well, albeit shyly.

"You were kidding, weren't you?" Light asks, sounding somewhat flustered.

Humming, Ignis makes a soft, affirmative sound. "I was, but it was very sweet of you to ask about my supposed collection."

Another soft, musical chuckle filters through the phone receiver, and Ignis' insides feel full of butterflies swarming to get out. He knows he's in trouble and that he's entirely charmed, but he can't quite find it within him to care. Not when he's enjoying the conversation so thoroughly.

It carries on from there, and he and Light chat for some time about easy things. Ignis discovers that Light enjoys reading comics and spends much of his free time with a friend he went to high school with and a friend who works for his father. Beyond that, Light's schedule is filled with university coursework and other duties that befit a young man from a high-status family.

Light doesn't come out and say his family is privileged or that it's one of the venerable old houses of the Insomnian ruling class, but Ignis suspects as much. It's the only thing that makes sense, given where they met.

Finally, after a while of chit-chatting, Light blows out a soft sigh. "I should probably let you go. I have to go get some homework done anyhow," he says.

Ignis, realizing they've been talking for well over an hour, decides it's best to wrap things up. "Hopefully, it's nothing too dull," He quips.

On the other end of the line, Light chuckles but then huffs out a put-upon grunt. "I mean, it's not too bad. I really like the class. I just hate writing essays. I've been trying to write this one for a few days now."

Humming empathetically, Ignis still feels a mild sting of jealousy. His formal education has largely been through private tutors or online courses with the approval of the Council. Attending classes in person on subjects of his own choosing feels like a luxury he'll never have. Regardless, he's thankful for His Majesty's vehemence in allowing Ignis a proper education beyond that of The Menagerie.

"Have you written an outline?" Ignis suggests. "It also helps to choose a topic you're interested in if that's a choice."

Light snorts in wry amusement. "You sound like my friend. He's in the same class and finished his days ago. He keeps bugging me about getting mine done."

"Perhaps you ought to listen to your friend, then," Ignis teases. He's curious and, more selfishly, wants to keep the conversation going. "What are you writing about? Maybe I can help."

Sighing softly, there's a soft shuffle as Light switches his phone from one ear to another. "I mean, I know what I want to write about. I'm just having a hard time putting it into words, I guess? It's for my political science class and has an emphasis on Hybrid legislation and law. I'm writing about the impact of King Regis' reign on the advancement of Hybrid rights and how introducing the Articles of Amelioration a few years ago was an important step in expanding protections for Exotics and making it more difficult for Lucian Citizens to own them."

Ignis blinks, entirely surprised. He can tell by the tone of Light's voice that he's passionate about the topic. Thinking back to several years ago, Ignis recalls the day in question when the Articles were formalized. A massive demonstration along the Royal Mile had snarled traffic for hours as thousands of citizens flooded the green. Ignis had watched from the upper floor of the Citadel after escaping Dissonus' clutches, discontent, and longing to be amongst them. He'd caught His Majesty's speech afterward, riding back to the Scientia estate much later that evening. The gist of which is that while some changes applied to him directly as an Exotic, his unique position meant a majority of it did not.

Ignis had been bitter and discontent at the time. Now, he understands His Majesty had done his best and that several steps forward were better than none. Ignis is still surprised that someone like Light, who clearly comes from money and position, decided to go down this route with his education.

"There was a big rally that day if I recall correctly. I believe his Royal Majesty also announced there would be a review of which breeds were considered Exotic as far as Lucian law was concerned," Ignis replies mildly.

"Yeah, exactly!" Light replies quickly, clearly enthusiastic. "That rally was unreal. I cut class with my friend, who's a Domestic, and we went. I learned a lot that day," Here, Light pauses, his tone going soft and perhaps a bit bashful. "My friend…He said something to me that day that really stuck with me. Until all Hybrids are citizens, we have to keep fighting. So…I want to do what I can to help."

Ignis' eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. He's surprised, to say the least. Surprised and taken off Guard by how his chest lurches with something that feels suspiciously like… Hope . Ignis doesn't have the luxury of moving around the world outside the grounds of The Citadel or beyond the Scientia Estate, so his perception of average human Lucians is limited to what he sees on the news or in the paper. He's not entirely ignorant, but all his experiences come through a filter. He wonders if things aren't as bad off as the Council makes him feel. The more people like Light speak up, the more likely the esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Council will bend and capitulate. In theory, anyhow.

"I can tell you feel strongly about it," Ignis says at last, unsure how to respond.

"I do," Light replies firmly, a hint of steely resolve in his voice. "It isn't right to own someone, Hybrid or not. I want to…I want to do what I can to stop it."

Ignis swallows tightly. He feels suddenly overcome, and the feeling burns in his chest, bright and scalding. Something about the solemn, effortlessly commanding quality of Light's voice reminds him of His Majesty and fills Ignis with a fierce, albeit curious, sense of pride.

"I'm sure you'll be an invaluable ally," Ignis replies earnestly, surprised by the catch in his voice.

Light, perhaps realizing the conversation has taken a serious turn, chuckles in a nervous, self-deprecating way. "Maybe," He says, hedging. Then, abruptly, he sighs. "I should really go. Putting it off isn't going to get it done."

Humming softly in agreement, Ignis says his goodbyes, and they work out a time to speak again soon. Ignis feels bad about lying, but he's in too deep now to expose himself and the truth of his situation. He also lies to himself when he says he merely wishes to make a friend of Light and that it will go no further than that. Ignis knows he's in trouble but can't find it within him to care. Not when he can hear the smile in Light's voice as they make their plans.

The phone calls happen regularly for the next several weeks. They are a bright spot Ignis can't help but look forward to, despite the subterfuge of sneaking around to make them. He and Light discuss everything from their likes and dislikes to their daily frustrations. Ignis learns Light dislikes vegetables ( heinous ), enjoys a particular greasy pizza place near the mall where his friend works (Ignis has never been to either the mall or to a pizza place, so he has no input), and suffers severe headaches and chronic fatigue because of an old injury, (Some sort of serious car accident when he was a child) which sometimes forces him to stop and rest for long periods of time.

Ignis also learns that Light is close to his father, despite not living together, and that he feels a lot of pressure to take up the mantle of family tradition. Light still hasn't said exactly what his father does for work or what noble house he comes from, but it's clear that Light finds his family's legacy a heavy burden to bear. Ignis doesn't ask about it because he feels it's rude. He also suspects Light feels much the same about their conversations as Ignis does. It's an escape from the pressures and roles they've been chivvied into.

In turn, Ignis discloses he's quite fond of curling up in the sun to read, he's skilled in using pole arms but prefers the daggers (They have rather more flare ), that he's particularly fond of lemon chiffon cake, and that consuming instant coffee should equate to treason in his mind. The last statement has Light sniggering adorably.

"Guess you don't drink that canned stuff from the vending machines in the Citadel, then?" Light teases.

Ignis sniffs haughtily. "Ebony is not the same as instant coffee. The process used to keep the beans from going bitter is state-of-the-art, I'll have you know. The flavor profile is complex and satisfying, which is more than I can say for the swill that is instant coffee."

On the other end of the line, Light laughs. It fills Ignis' chest and belly with warmth, so he smiles and gazes out the library window. The weather has taken a turn for the better, and the budding flowers have started to bloom. Thinking about his own garden, and how he's yet to make a start on it, the same discontent that Ignis felt a few weeks ago wells up inside.

"Have you ever been in the West Gardens at the Citadel?" He asks suddenly, feeling impulsive again. "They're quite lovely this time of year."

Light's laughter peters off, and there's a slight hitch in his breathing. "Yeah, a few times."

Ignis knows it's a risk and shouldn't suggest it, but his mind is already racing with plans to strategically slip away after his solo training session and perhaps meet Light there. Technically speaking, the luxury of wandering the public areas of The Citadel isn't something he's permitted, but Ignis can get away with visiting the gardens as long as he follows the rules. He's been doing so for years now, no thanks to Monica's intervention on the matter.

"I'm super busy with classes this week," Light says apologetically, effectively quashing the plan.

Disappointment wells up in Ignis' chest. "Ah, I see. No need to fret over it, then."

The silence that follows is awkward at best. On the other end of the line, Light shuffles around as if fidgeting, then lets out a slow breath.

"Hey, so… I was wondering. I have this old phone, and I thought… If you didn't have one, you could have it?" Light says, though the statement plays more like a question.

Ignis' ears twitch, agitation warring with excitement at the prospect of communicating with Light as he pleases and as often as he pleases. But whatever Ignis' feelings are on the matter, one significant roadblock stands in the way.

"Ah. I'm afraid it would be a wasted effort," he frowns, hedging. Scrambling for something to say that won't give away the true nature of his predicament, Ignis…Stretches the truth. "My funds are rather limited at the moment, so unfortunately, a phone plan isn't a top priority. I can't in good conscience burden my Sponsor, either. Not after everything he's done to assist me."

Never mind that it's forbidden. At least, it is unless Prince Noctis allows it. Ignis burns with sudden discontent. He can't let Light hear or sense that, so he quickly goes on.

"I do so enjoy our chats. Please don't think it an excuse not to speak with you more often," He says, perhaps more earnestly than intended.

Light is audibly flustered, his soft laugh retiring and shy. "I don't think that. I just.. I wanted to help you out. And…Maybe talk to you more. So the offer wasn't entirely selfless."

"It is appreciated nonetheless," Ignis returns fondly.

Again, Light is audibly flustered. He makes a soft, discomfited sound, then blows out a long sigh. "Well, if you change your mind, just tell me or whatever."

"Of course," Ignis hums, pleased. However, a beat later, he looks at his watch and realizes it's nearly time for his training with Monica. "For now, I'm afraid I must say goodbye. Duty calls."

"Is it two already?" Light counters in surprise. There's a shuffle, then he curses softly. "Yeah, I have to go too. I have class soon. Kick ass, okay?"

Chuckling, Ignis smiles. "Of course. Enjoy your class. Talk to you again soon."  

There's a pause, as though Light might say something more, then he laughs shyly instead.

"Okay, bye," Light says.

However, instead of hanging up first, Ignis waits until he hears a click and the dial tone before hanging up properly. Feeling equally giddy and bereft, Ignis sighs heavily and hauls himself up to his feet to return the cordless phone to the cradle. He really does have to go get ready to meet with Monica, but it takes him a minute to compose himself enough to slip out of the library to head for his room. Halfway to the staircase, his ears flick toward the sound of Olivier coming in through the front door with the mail. There's nothing unusual about that, but the subtle cough is from the older man is. Turning, Ignis glances over his shoulder.

"Ignis, My Boy, I heard voices coming from the library. Were you talking to someone?" Olivier asks. There's something odd about the tone of his voice.

Ignis just barely catches himself before his tail can lash reactively. His skin prickles with a cold wash of dread, but the look he schools his face into is mild enough. He's perfected his mask of indifference but swears the Olivier can still see right through it.

"An audiobook," Ignis explains stiffly.

Olivier lifts a brow, and his weathered face registers understanding. Then, he smiles and nods. "Of course, my mistake. Perhaps turn the volume down next time?"

Ignis nods. Every hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he's sure that it's only by sheer force of will alone that his tail doesn't puff up in agitated alarm. He offers Olivier a tight smile, then heads up to his room. Once there, he shuts the door quietly and slumps against the wall with a shuddering breath.

" Bollocks ," Ignis growls.

Cursing himself for being so careless, he scrubs a hand down his face. He knows Olivier will keep this discreet so long as Ignis is more careful. He's always been protective of Ignis and unerringly doting and kind, but Ignis can't knowingly put Olivier in a position to get reprimanded. Again, cursing himself for not being more careful, he resolves to make a new plan.

He could call Light from the private telephone booths near the Glaive barracks. They're close enough to the training hall that it could be a plausible stretch for Ignis to be there, barring no one of importance discovers him. However, if he were to get caught...

Ignis growls again as he paces around his room unhappily. The thought of not speaking to Light again for quite some time is entirely unacceptable. Resolved to devise a new plan, Ignis gets ready to meet with Monica.

***

The following Monday, Ignis is impatient and on edge all morning.

Astutus is already at the Citadel, and Ignis' scheduled solo training time isn't until later in the afternoon, but he's plotted a timetable in his head down to the minute to give himself a forty-five minute window to chat with Light. Assuming everything goes according to plan, that is.

By the time his projected departure rolls around, Ignis is anxious and tetchy. Hurrying down the stairs from his room, gym bag in hand, Ignis finds his shoes and swiftly puts them on. Then, he calls for the car to come around. He's hanging up when Olivier wanders in from the front parlor and raises a brow.

"Off so soon? It's only just past two," He observes, looking at his watch.

Ignis is prepared for this, but the lie weighs heavily on his chest. "I had some scheduling things to discuss with Astutus before my practice time."

Olivier doesn't question it at all. He merely smiles, nods, and pats Ignis on the shoulder on his way past. "Busy busy, you're always rushing about these days," He says fondly.

Ignis swallows tightly and nods. Guilt eels around in his stomach, and he's worried Olivier might notice, so he plasters on a neutral expression.

"I'll be back at my usual time," He assures, more for his own sake.

Humming, Olivier nods and waves as he continues on his way. Swallowing tightly, Ignis steps outside to wait for the driver to pull up and slides into the backseat stiffly. He hadn't anticipated that the subterfuge would be so difficult to maintain. He feels awful lying and sneaking around behind Olivier's back, but it's a necessary evil. Glancing out the window, he sits quietly and broods all the way to the Citadel.

It doesn't take long to arrive, even in midday traffic, and the driver drops him near one of the staff entrances. The security checkpoint is nominally busy for this time of day, and those in line have the look of harried office staff on their way back from lunch. Ignis almost wishes he were with Monica or Cor, so he could bypass the crowd, but it moves quickly enough despite his impatience. Finally, he passes through the metal detector, and the Guard on duty speaks up.

"Name?" She asks, clipped and to the point.

"Ignis Scientia," Ignis replies blandly.

The Guard keys his name into her handheld device, and to her credit, she says nothing as she reaches for the chip scanner in her belt. He's a rarity, of course, and more often than not garners odd looks from the human guards. Ignis is silent as he bends forward, allowing her to reach up and scan his chip. However, he frowns when the machine in her hands makes a low, trilling noise. The scanners have never done that before, which makes Ignis uneasy. Wondering if there's a time-lock for when he can and can't be on-premises, he keeps his expression bland despite how his stomach lurches with apprehension.

"Is there a problem?" He questions mildly.

The Guard wrinkles her nose as she messes with the scanner, then tries again, only to get the same result. After a moment, she looks at her handheld device and frowns.

"Wait here," She instructs curtly.

Ignis does as he's told despite the simmering anxiety. When the woman returns with a second guard in tow, he realizes he's made a tactical error. Cursing himself for being so stupid, he eyes the two as they approach.

"Follow me," The second Guard instructs.

He's a large man, built like most of the Enforcers at the Menagerie. Something about his tone catapults Ignis right back to that horrid place, so despite his outrage, he does as he's told. The Guard leads him off to the side of the checkpoint and into a small gatehouse, where he directs Ignis toward the holding cell. Immediately indignant, fury boils in Ignis' belly.

"Is there a reason I'm being detained?" He demands sharply.

"You'll have to take it up with your Master," The Guard replies, his tone clipped.

Ignis nearly snarls, but catches himself just in time. It's utter bollocks and the first time he's ever been held like this. He can't even begin to imagine what the issue is, and the Guard isn't supplying any illumination on the matter. Lip curling, Ignis scowls at him.

"If you'll call Marshal Leonis, I'm sure we can sort this out immediately without any of this fuss," He tells the Guard.

The man merely raises an eyebrow. "Sit," He orders.

Righteous fury burns down the line of Ignis' throat, and he feels a crackling something buzzing just under his skin. He's not a Six-damned animal. He doesn't know what possesses him to do it, but he takes a step forward and feels his shoulders pull down as he squares up as if to fight. Then, he remembers himself and who he is. What he is. With a disdainful huff, he does as directed, though he seethes with discontent as the man shuts the holding cell door and disappears.

After that, Ignis waits .

And waits.

And waits some more.

Two hours pass before the gatehouse door opens, and Cor stalks inside. His expression is thunderous as he stomps over to the holding cell to input the code and let Ignis out. Unsure if he ought to say something or not, Ignis merely gets up, and together they leave. It's clear they are heading toward the training hall, but from the stiff, angry clip of Cor's gait and the irritated lashing of his tail, Ignis is loath to say anything. He suddenly feels like a child again, and that he's done something wrong by merely existing.

" Somehow , your credentials got flagged in the registry, and your chip was showing as out of date," Cor growls finally.

"It's not, though," Ignis replies immediately, then sees the crux of the matter. Lip curling, he makes a soft, irritated sound. "A targeted inconvenience, then." He surmises.

Humming, Cor heads for a coded side-entrance and keys his code in. Once inside, he carries on, but instead of heading back off to whatever duties he was attending before coming to the rescue, he slows his stride and falls in beside Ignis.

"Monica is going to look into it. She's compiling a case and thinks this was Menagerie mischief," Cor explains.

Of course. Somehow, Ignis isn't surprised. As far as he knows, Monica is still looking into the other matter with The Menagerie regarding his being kept longer than necessary. Frowning, his ears flick backward in annoyance.

"I guess it's a good thing I came early today, then," He replies sourly.

Cor hums softly, and after a few paces, he angles Ignis a look of concern. He clearly mistakes the dejected, rotten mood and assumes being detained is the cause. In reality, Ignis is angry that his plan to speak to Light was spectacularly foiled.

"Let's go a few rounds and get you out of your head," Cor says as he leans close to pat Ignis on the shoulder. "I have some new drills I want you to work through.

Ignis slumps. He could say no, but then Cor would question it, and there's no way he'll make it through a proper interrogation. So, Ignis nods, and together they make their way to the training hall, where the plan to use the phones in the barracks falls entirely by the wayside.

***

The following week, Ignis has no luck either, thanks to scheduling.

He has a number of appointments, including with several new tutors that His Majesty brought on to fill the gaps in Ignis' week. It leaves him precious little time to sneak off to the phones near the barracks when he happens to be in the vicinity. When he's not busy with that or training, he's meeting with Monica to work on the case she's building against Dissonus and The Menagerie at large.

In fact, a month passes before Ignis gets the opportunity to sneak off to make another attempt. He's nearly at his wits' end, and has been in a foul mood for weeks now, fretting over what Light must think. Waiting until he's sure he won't get caught by anyone who matters, Ignis executes some spectacularly sloppy drills then ditches his solo training session halfway through.

The hallway is quiet as he slinks out and heads for the far end, and when he gets to the coded doors that lead off toward the barracks, he keys in the code he's not supposed to have and slips through. The closer he gets, the more nervous he becomes, and when he turns the corner, his stomach sinks with bitter disappointment. The hallway outside the barracks where the phone rooms are is fairly busy, even at this hour.

A handful of Glaives, both human and Hybrid, loiter around the doors of the phone rooms, either chatting or, more likely, waiting for their turn to make calls. Ignis doesn't want the attention or to invite questions, so he starts to back down the hall despite how his stomach roils and seethes with frustration. As he does, someone notes his presence and waves.

It's Gemina. Ignis has only spoken to her a handful of times, but he doesn't wish to be impolite, even if he feels terrible, especially now that she's spotted him. Breaking away from the cluster of Glaives, she trots down the hall to meet Ignis and smiles at him politely.

"Hey, Scientia," She greets.

Gemina is more soft-spoken than her brother but no less imposing. She's tall and slender with a lithe build that belies her strength. Like her brother, she has sandy hair and mottled gray ears that match her swishing tail. Like most of the Galahdians, she's got a number of studs and hoops decorating her ears, though most notably, there's a notch taken out of the left one. Today, she's in casual fatigues: a pair of sensible black trousers and a matching fitted tee shirt with her surname, Pollux, embroidered on one sleeve.

Nodding politely, Ignis offers her a tight smile in greeting despite not wishing to talk. "Hello," He greets, his tone rather flat.

Gemina's smile falters at once, but she's no less friendly. "Bad day?" She asks sympathetically.

There is no delicate explanation for his feelings or the scowl he can't quite keep from his face. Sighing, he wrinkles his nose, knowing his expression says it all. For a moment, Gemina looks like she might invite Ignis to join her and the others, but she doesn't. She understands the delicate nature of Ignis' situation much better than her brother does.

"If you're looking for Geminus, I can go grab him. He's been looking for you all week, actually," Gemina tells him kindly.

Ignis wasn't looking for Geminus, but it's as good an excuse as any for his presence. Forcing himself to smile, "There's no need," He assures. "I don't wish to bother either of you. I should return to the training room before someone notices I'm not where I should be."

Gemina's ears twist apart as a soft, understanding sigh gusts out between her pursed lips. "Okay, if you say so," She concedes. "See you later, Scientia."

Nodding, Ignis twists on his heel and heads back the way he came. He burns with acute discontent and wonders if he was too rash to abandon the library after Olivier caught him. Six only knows what Light must think after all these weeks of silence, and somehow, that hurts more than not getting to speak with him. Growling, Ignis stalks back to where he belongs and paces like an angry, caged thing. He is an angry, caged thing. He needs to devise a new plan soon because this is utterly intolerable.

Perhaps if he waits until the house is asleep? No, that would be far too late to disturb Light.

Tail lashing, Ignis curses as he plots. He almost misses the creak of the door when it opens, but his sensitive ears immediately pick up on the cadence of Geminus' labored breathing and twist in that direction. Damnit . In retrospect, he should've suspected that Gemina would alert her brother to his presence. Turning, he frowns at the Glaive.

"You really didn't need to come find me," Ignis scolds, irritated with himself for allowing the situation to get so out of control.

Geminus rolls his eyes as he trots into the room. He maintains a polite distance, but something about the look on his face tells Ignis there's something he isn't saying. It's expectant and peeved, which is new. Things have always been easy between Ignis and Geminus, so the look immediately puts Ignis on alert.

"You're right, I didn't," Geminus says as he trots closer. "But there's something I'm curious about, and you're the only one I can ask, Scientia."

Confused, Ignis cocks his head to the side, tracking the movement. The closer Geminus gets, the clearer the wrinkle of his brow and the tightness around his mouth become. Tail lashing, Ignis waits for Geminus to go on.

"I know we aren't really friends or anything, but— Well, what the fuck?" Geminus asks, confused and clearly miffed.

Ignis, who has absolutely no idea what's happening, rumbles out a soft, disgruntled sound. The blank look on his face only has Geminus huffing out a growling sigh.

"Who's the kid?" Geminus demands.

Kid?

Ignis blinks, at a loss.

Annoyed, Geminus goes on. "Pale? Blue eyes? Couldn't see his face because he was wearing a mask—"

" Fuck ," Ignis cuts in, suddenly understanding.

"Oh, so you do know him," Geminus replies with a scowl. Stepping forward, he leans into Ignis' space with a glower and jabs at his chest.

"Spill it, Scientia," Geminus growls. "What the hell is going on, and why is some random kid asking for you but using my name?"

Chapter Text

Ignis has no good excuse, and the truth is… Uncomfortable . He owes Geminus that much, but laying himself bare for someone who is more or less a stranger makes Ignis' skin crawl. Unfortunately, there is really no other choice. Not if he wants to maintain any sort of friendship with the other man. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he makes a soft, irritated sound and glowers in Geminus' direction. It's not his fault, though, as much as Ignis hates being to blame.

And, yes, Ignis is angry, but it's with himself. He's furious for having such a visceral, telling reaction, and that things have gotten so far out of hand. He's usually better composed than this, but the thought of having caused such a Godsdamned mess is distressing and cracks his carefully constructed mask.

" Ah ," Ignis says finally as he grimaces.

Geminus' frown deepens, but there's something almost sympathetic about the look in his eyes. It's…Intolerable, actually.

"He…Mistook me for a Glaive," Ignis begins, hedging. "I didn't exactly plan to give him your name, but he didn't realize I was an Exotic and it just...Slipped out."

Understanding flashes across Geminus' face, and he huffs out a grumbly, soft sigh. "Okay. I get it. But it's still kind of fucked, you know that, right?"

Ignis lets out a slow breath. Frankly, he's surprised Geminus isn't more upset given the circumstances. He's right, of course, but it's still a hard pill to swallow. Regardless, relief floods into Ignis' belly as he hurries to apologize.

"Yes, of course. I did not mean for things to carry on as they have," Ignis replies quickly to hide his distress. "I know it was wrong of me to give him your name, but in the moment, Six-knows-what came over me. I assure you it wasn't done with any ill intent."

Geminus' handsome face screws up in a frown, however it's halfway between sympathy, dissapointment and... something else. Unable to parse the meaning, Ignis feels his ears turn out and down as unease tightens his chest. For all the times he's spoken to Geminus in passing, Ignis realizes he doesn't know the Glaive beyond the friendly facade. Perhaps, he realizes, that is the crux of it right there.

"I deeply apologize for causing you trouble," Ignis says, entirely sorry for the whole debacle.  

Geminus merely blows out a long breath, and the pursed frown on his face tilts up into a facsimile of his usual grin. "I won't say it's okay, because it's still really messed up, but I get why you did it and I forgive you."

Some of the tightness Ignis had been holding in the tense line of his shoulders eases. As much as they are still strangers, the thought of being on Geminus' bad side is distressing. Ignis wouldn't say the two of them are friends in the strictest sense of the word, but the potential is there, and he hopes it's something he can pursue once he has the freedom to do so.

"I appreciate your understanding on the matter," Ignis replies, measured and formal. It's a coping mechanism. He can't help it.

The comment has Geminus blowing out a put-upon sigh and rolling his eyes. This time, when he smiles, it's all teeth as his fluffy tail wags to betray his amusement.

"There you go with that fancy talk again, making the rest of us mutts look bad. Pretty kitty school must be going well."

Ignis's chest loosens in relief. Apart from Light, Geminus is the closest thing Ignis has to a friend his age, and it's not something he's willing to take for granted. Smiling faintly, he lets out a slow, steadying breath.

"Yes, well, there is no accounting for breeding," He quips wryly as he falls back on their usual repartee. "I'll have you know I've passed all my lessons and examinations with flying colors. No more Pretty Kitty school for me."

"Woah, really?" Geminus counters almost immediately.

Humming, Ignis nods.

Stepping forward suddenly, Geminus leans forward as though he's about to sling an arm over Ignis' shoulder, but then thinks better of it in the last moment. Instead, he merely offers Ignis an excited thumbs-up. A beat passes, perhaps two, then the grin slides off Geminus' face and his expression settles into something more grave.

"I've heard rumors about that place. I'm glad you're out of there now, Scientia." Geminus says somberly. "Places like that… I'm glad His Majesty is working to get rid of it once and for all."

Ignis offers Geminus a genuine, albeit small, smile. He doesn't really wish to hash out the details of his time under Dissonus' thumb, and is glad that Geminus understands not to ask. They're remarkably similar in a way, Ignis muses. While he doesn't know the entire story, Ignis knows that Geminus and his sister are refugees from an outer territory in Galahd that fell relatively quickly to Imperial forces. He also knows they escaped the Hybrid markets and made it to Lucis as teenagers.

From there, they'd made a life in Insomnia and had eventually enlisted. And, were this thirty-odd years ago, they would've been barred from doing so. They, like Ignis, have much to thank King Regis for. Regardless, Ignis still feels uncomfortable with the turn the conversation is taking, so he coughs politely and steers it away.

"Indeed," He agrees succinctly. Then, more to the point: "Will you tell me what happened with 'the kid' as you so eloquently put it?"

Geminus takes the hint, but still rumbles out a huffy sound that speaks more to fond exasperation than irritation. "I was down here running through some solo drills the other night, and your little friend came looking for you. He was all squirrelly and nervous, asking if I knew a trainee called ' Geminus '. I thought he mistook the name, so I asked him to tell me what this trainee looked like."

It's easy to fill in what happened next, and Ignis' overactive, anxiety-riddled brain pictures the scene in startling, guilt-inducing detail, prompting his gut to churn with discomfort. He can't even begin to imagine what Light must be thinking, and as he frets over it, Ignis feels his expression souring. Whatever the look on his face, it must be pretty bad, because Geminus gives up all pretense of polite distance and reaches out to pat Ignis on the shoulder consolingly.

"Don't worry, I didn't spill the beans. But you're gonna have to tell him who you are eventually, you know that right?" Geminus asks.

Ignis sighs as his posture slumps inelegantly. "Yes. I realize that."

Humming softly, Geminus gives Ignis a friendly squeeze, then steps back politely. The consideration says much about what kind of man Geminus is, and how conscientious he is of Ignis' boundaries.

"Anyhow," Geminus goes on. "He asked if I saw you to tell you he's been looking for you. Said he'd be around the Citadel most of this week, or to just call him."

Ignis nods, his thoughts racing. On the one hand, he itches to be off to see if he can't suss out if Light is still around and where. Clearly, he isn't hanging around down here. Otherwise, Ignis would've seen him. Given their conversations, he suspects he knows where Light might be, and as long as Ignis is careful, being there shouldn't be an issue. However, there's still the matter of Geminus, and when Ignis glances up, he notes that the Glaive is watching him rather closely.

The look on his expressive, ruggedly handsome face is odd, though. Almost wistful. Confused, Ignis' thoughts leap backward, re-examining their conversation. Then, recalling the playful, almost flirtatious banter that's made up the majority of their interactions and how often Ignis shot down Geminus' requests to get to know one another better, the pieces swiftly click into place. Ignis isn't stupid; he knows Geminus harbors an attraction, but that's all he mistakenly thought it was.

Feeling suddenly guilty, Ignis opens his mouth to say something— Anything — But Geminus cuts him off.

"You should go find your friend, Scientia. Be more careful, though, okay? It's not like you to be so sloppy," Geminus teases. His demeanor is playful, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern, and perhaps, longing.

Ignis' ears twitch. He can't decide whether to address the Catoblepas in the room or not. Ultimately, he opts to leave it, if only to preserve Geminus' feelings.

"I'll take that under advisement," Ignis replies finally. "Again, I am truly sorry for causing such…Distress."

Geminus' eyes flash with something melancholy. After a moment, he huffs out a soft chuckle. " Yeah, yeah. You're lucky I like you, Scientia."

Ignis nods. He understands what Geminus is saying without saying and feels a pang of regret. A small part of him wonders how things might've gone between them if he'd been free to choose, or indulge, but deep down Ignis already knows the answer. Ignis likes Geminus. He's undoubtedly handsome with his boyish, rough-and-tumble good looks, and it would've been fun. However, Ignis suspects it would've fizzled out quickly.  

"Indeed," He counters at length, unsure how to reply.

Rolling his eyes, Geminus shakes his head. He smiles in a way that suggests it's no skin off his nose that he was just rejected again. Then, with a wave, he jogs off to rejoin the other Glaives in the barracks. Watching him go, Ignis feels a confusing mix of things. Mostly awful, and largely like a hypocrite. He never intended to hurt anyone, but he's done it all the same. Stewing, he heads for the locker room to change out of his training gear and into something more presentable.

Ignis is still stewing after he's finished dressing.

Fussing with his hair, he growls when it won't sit right. His whiskers are nearly too long again, and poke out oddly, but the thought of trimming them up again makes Ignis sick to his stomach. Wrinkling his nose, he uses some water to tame everything into tousled submission, then fusses with the hem of the fitted, casual henley he's wearing. He can't decide if he should tuck it into his jeans or not, and spends agonizingly long trapped in a cycle of messing with it. In the end, he growls and tucks the damned thing in, because leaving the hem out feels messy and untidy.

Ignis knows he's letting his nerves get the better of him, so he ruthlessly crams the feeling into the depths of his consciousness, grabs his things, and heads out. The urge to compulsively fix his clothes follows him all the way to the elevator, so Ignis curls his fingers into the straps of his gym bag instead lest they itch to nitpick over his clothes again. When the elevator stops, he steps out and uses the network of hallways and stairs to cross over into the public spaces of the Citadel.

Strictly speaking, he's not really supposed to be out and about unsupervised. But Monica had worked some magic some years ago and gotten him access to the West Gardens. It was all strictly under the radar, of course, so as long as Ignis follows the rules and doesn't draw attention to himself, it's fine. Slipping out through the public entrance via one of the cafes, he pulls in a steadying breath. The sun shines down on all the lush, green things, and a soft, warm breeze fills Ignis' nose with the sweetness of all the plants and flowers.

The garden isn't overly busy at this time of day, but there are still a number of people exploring, as well as plenty of Citadel staff on their breaks. The manicured, tidy pathways have limited traffic on them, and were Ignis not on a mission, he might enjoy a leisurely stroll and a cup of coffee. The rich, dark scent wafting on the breeze is tempting as always, but Ignis has a quarry to catch, so he ignores it.

That is, if Light is even here .

Passing by the cafe, Ignis steps out on one of the gravel pathways and recalls Light's propensity for introversion and anxiety with large crowds. Opting to search the quieter sections of the garden first, Ignis heads to all his favourite haunts. He doesn't spot Light by any of the secluded fountains or shaded alcoves drizzled with wisteria blooms. Nor does Ignis catch sight of him near any of the koi ponds or picnic areas. Pausing where two paths connect, Ignis stops with a frown and casts about helplessly.

"Damnit," He growls, unsure what to do.

The unexpected and sudden crunch of gravel behind him is startling, and as Ignis turns instinctively toward the sound, he catches the scent of sylleblossoms on the wind. More curious than that is the fluffy black and white dog on the pathway ahead. The only animals allowed in the gardens are service animals, and the dog, as far as Ignis can tell, is not wearing a specialized collar or harness to indicate it's doing a job.

"Hello, where did you come from?" Ignis asks, befuddled but intrigued.

The dog cocks it's head to the side, and seems to look up at him as though equally fascinated. Something about the creature tickles some half-remembered something at the back of Ignis' brain, bringing with it the memory of the briny Paglan air and the cry of gulls overhead. He feels his ears twitch forward intently, the long tufts on top swooshing with the quick, decisive movement. Almost seeming to track the action, the dog tilts its head further to the side. Then, it lets out a sudden, jarring bark and turns to trot away quickly.

Ignis jogs off after the creature before he realizes what he's doing. He catches sight of it for a brief moment before the path curves, then the dog seemingly disappears. Confident that the animal is just up ahead, Ignis rounds the curve and stops abruptly when the path terminates into a large, round courtyard he's never explored.

Several benches line the shaded perimeter, and in the center is a large, round planter with a series of terraced levels, bursting with fragrant, lovely sylleblossoms. Ignis doesn't see the dog, which is more than a little curious considering there's really nowhere else it could be. Circling around the planter, he's surprised when he catches sight of a lone figure sitting on a bench with his legs tucked up under his body.

Despite the ball cap, mask, and light-weight jacket, Ignis immediately knows it's Light. As the wind shifts, he catches the young man's unmistakable scent, which brings a rumble of satisfaction up from the depths of Ignis' chest. A shiver of something like prescience rolls up his spine, arresting all movement. As Ignis stands there stupidly, all he can do is stare like an absolute, dumbstruck idiot.

Light, blissfully unaware he's being watched, reads something in the book or journal he's got propped open on one knee. A soft little chuckle fills the air as he flips the page to the next, and the sound is like a bolt straight to the chest. Ignis is sure he makes some inelegant, doltish sound because Light suddenly looks up as if startled and squints across the courtyard and the scant few meters that separate them.

Something in Ignis' chest lurches into his throat. He crosses the remaining distance before he can stop himself and comes to an abrupt, ungainly halt.

"Hello," Ignis greets, voice suddenly rough. "I've been looking for you all over."

Light's eyes are as beautiful as ever. The dappled sunlight paints them in shades of shadow and brightness, making them flash in pale hues the color of a stormy, windswept sea. Forgetting himself, Ignis is so flustered that he nearly misses how guarded Light's hunched posture is. It's entirely intolerable, so Ignis resolves to fix it as he sits carefully on the other end of the bench and folds his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting nervously.

"I am deeply sorry for not reaching out sooner. It's not that I didn't wish to, there were just... Complications that prevented me from doing so. I do hope you can forgive the silence. It wasn't intentional, I swear it." Ignis explains, picking his words precisely. "My colleague notified me that you had been asking after me. I just received word of it today."

Light lets out a slow breath, making the fitted fabric mask puff. The bubble of tense unease pops, and he rolls his eyes in amusement.

" Posh ," Light accuses.

Despite himself, Ignis flushes red. Then, he smiles as a self-deprecating chuckle rumbles up nervously from his chest. "Yes, well, it's entirely warranted in this case," He counters.

Closing the book in his lap, Light sets it aside, then twists to face Ignis. It's hard to tell what his expression is doing because of the mask, but there's something searching and intent in his blue eyes that leaves Ignis aching to see the rest of his face. He doesn't press it because of what Light mentioned about his health issues. Instead, Ignis offers a warm, entirely hopeful smile.

"It's okay," Light says finally. "I'm…Glad you found me. I was starting to think— Well, it's fine now, anyway. How have you been?"

Relief floods into Ignis' chest and, before he can stop himself, he blows out a long breath. "Better now that I have the chance to clear the air and speak to you. I've quite missed our chats," He admits in a rush. "It really wasn't my intent to leave it so long, but every time I thought I had an opportunity, it was snatched away."

"That sounds frustrating," Light replies, oddly subdued.

Ignis doesn't like it. He has to make amends in whatever way he can. Reaching out impulsively, he puts a hand down atop Light's and squeezes it. Light doesn't flinch away from the contact, but he startles a little, as if unused to being touched so casually by someone who is basically a stranger.

"Please don't think I was intentionally avoiding you," Ignis says, his voice low and urgent. "I've been quite beside myself at the thought of causing you distress."

Ignis' sensitive ears catch the soft, sharp inhale even beneath the mask. Then, Light glances aside, clearly flustered.

"Jeeze. So formal, you're making me feel like I'm in a period novel or something," Light replies, soft and embarrassed. "I believe you. I wasn't mad or anything, just — It's okay. I promise. I just…I missed talking to you, I guess. I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore, and it sucked."

Ignis squeezes Light's hand more firmly. His chest clenches uneasily because he hates that he caused Light such upset. There's not much to be done about it now, other than to assure him that wasn't the intent.

"Apologies," He replies, flushing himself. "I tend to…When upset, I rely heavily on overly formal conduct and etiquette as a defense mechanism."

One of Light's eyebrows raises, then he softens. He twists his hand, then tangles their fingers together to give Ignis a squeeze. "Hey, it's okay. Why don't we start over?"

Swallowing tightly, Ignis nods. Then, drawing in a calming breath, he forces himself to relax. After a moment, he's able to center himself. There's a nervous, fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach, but he finds it's easier to ignore now.  

"Light," He greets. "I'm so glad to see you today. I've really missed chatting with you. Have you been well?"

It's not as formal, but Ignis has trouble entirely shucking his conditioning. Especially when he's so worked up. It's a start, though. And as Light chuckles softly, he finds himself smiling.

"That's better, but we'll have to work on it," Light decides, amused. "I've been pretty good. I got an A on my essay, by the way. I wanted to tell you a few weeks ago, but now is fine."

Ignis' smile widens. He's thrilled to hear it, and now that the mood is shifting, he finds it easier to fall into their usual pattern. Ignis recounts some of the woes with his schedule over the last few weeks, leaving out several key details, and Light talks about his classes and how he will have to study for final exams soon. Ignis offers to help with revisions, but Light waves it off, saying he's fine with them but hates doing it because it takes so long. By contrast, Ignis thoroughly enjoys it and shares his system of color-coding his notes, thinking it might be helpful. It only prompts a sour scoff from Light, who shakes his head.

"I should've known you were a nerd who actually likes studying," Light grumbles. "Maybe you should come take my finals for me."

"I'd love to, but alas, I've much more important things to be getting on with," Ignis replies loftily.

He's teasing, of course, and smiles as he gets a playful shove for his troubles.

"Jerk," Light says. "What're you studying anyhow?"

Here, Ignis' smile falters. He doesn't want to lie, but he can't give too much away, either. And, once he goes down that road of thought, he recalls the conversation he had with Geminus. It pops the bubble of happiness, but he tries not to let it show.

"This and that," Ignis replies with a vague shrug. "At the moment? Mostly Lucian history and law. I've also been reading an interesting book written by an art historian detailing the myths of the Cosmogony as portrayed by the artist Peniculus."

Light wrinkles his nose, the movement crinkling up his mask. "…Do you actually find it interesting?"

Chuckling quietly, Ignis turns aside to gaze out at the sylleblossoms nearby. "I don't dislike it. My Sponsor thought it would behoove me to have a solid, well-rounded education. Truthfully, I've been interested in Lucian history since I came here. And I have a particular fondness for the works of the old masters. I'd like to get to the Royal Gallery someday."

Light is silent for a moment, perhaps pondering. After a moment, he clears his throat shyly as if bracing himself.

"Where were you from? Before you came here?" Light asks tentatively.

The question isn't unexpected. In truth, Ignis is surprised it hasn't come up before now. And while it would be safer to keep it to himself, he finds he can't stand the idea of misdirection when it comes to this. Not when half-remembered visions of his youth swim into focus, leaving him aching and yearning for the things he's lost. For the people he's lost. Perhaps...Perhaps it won't ache as much if he shares some of it.

"Tenebrae, the city of Pagla, more specifically," He replies quietly. "I escaped when it fell to the Imperials."

Light sucks in a sharp breath, then Ignis feels a gentle touch on his shoulder. Light's hand is warm, comforting even. It tickles just close enough to his neck that he can almost feel fingers in his hair.

"Jeeze. I'm sorry. That must've— I can't even imagine," Light starts, disconcerted. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Ignis shrugs as he turns to offer Light a melancholy smile. "It's fine. I wouldn't have said if I didn't wish to tell you. No harm done."

Light shrinks in on himself and draws away. Seemingly unsure, he lapses into brooding silence. Ignis, uncertain how to proceed, is silent as well. He should tell Light what he came here to say and get back to where he's supposed to be before he gets himself into trouble, but can't find the gumption to do it. He's still waffling over how to broach the subject when Light pulls a phone from his coat pocket.

"So…I know you said you didn't have the money for a plan or anything, but.." Light starts, suddenly nervous. "Well..I added this old phone of mine to my plan and brought it for you. You don't have to worry about paying me back or anything. When you get your own, we can just figure something out."

Ignis' stomach clenches. Blinking, he feels a confusing mix of dread, elation, and… something else he can't quite parse. A wash of heat flows through him, and he's sure his tail is doing something ridiculous. It poofs and lashes, then seems to vibrate. Fighting the urge to grab the damned thing and sit on it, he hesitates, unsure what to do. Olivier catching him having a private conversation with an unknown person is one thing. If Ignis got caught with an unauthorized phone in his possession, it would be another thing entirely. And, depending on who caught him…

"Oh," He replies like an absolute buffoon.

Light immediately ducks his head. The apples of his cheeks are the most fetching shade of pink. "Sorry, I should've asked before I did it. It's cool if you don't want it. I just wanted to do something useful. To help you. And…I couldn't stand the idea of us not talking."

When Light glances up again, his luminous blue eyes are soft, and his extraordinary vulnerability leaves Ignis utterly speechless. His heart lurches in his chest, and suddenly overcome, he holds out his hand to take the gift. He knows he shouldn't. He knows this is dangerous and a risk to everything, but the thought of not accepting, of disappointing Light, is unconscionable.

Ignis knows immediately that it's the right choice. He also knows, without a doubt, that he's in far over his head because all thoughts of revealing his true identity fly out the window when Light's eyes spark with profound happiness. Ignis feels his ears twitch forward intently, and before he realizes it, a soft, rumbling sound fills his chest. He doesn't even recognize the sound for what it is until Light's eyes widen, just a fraction, and the flush on his pale face deepens to an alluring shade of red.

“…Are you…?” Light asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

It's been a long while since the last time Ignis legitimately purred . Embarrassed, he tucks the phone into his bag and turns aside primly. Clearing his throat effectively quashes the sound.

"Am I what ?" Ignis asks tartly.

Light is silent for several beats. Then a soft snort fills the courtyard. Moments later, Light chortles into his palm like he's seconds away from outright giggling . It's intolerably adorable. Ignis' embarrassment flies away like leaves on the wind as he ducks his head and smiles into his hand. He can't quite make himself purr; the sound is always involuntary, but he chuckles softly. After a moment, Light's amusement peters off, and he turns to peer up through the fringe of his dark lashes. He looks so entirely lovely that Ignis almost blurts as much.

"Sorry if I embarrassed you," Light says, tone playful.

Ignis shakes his head as his pulse thrums loudly in his ears. "Nonsense. It's just…Been a while since it's happened."

Light hums thoughtfully. He's silent for a beat, then he turns to gaze off toward the sylleblossoms as he speaks. "We have a family friend, he's a Hybrid too. After… my Mom died when I was little, he would sometimes stay with me when Dad couldn't be home," He begins haltingly, perhaps even shyly. "He didn't make quite the same sound...But, sometimes when I was upset or having nightmares, he'd hug me and make a sound like that. It always made me feel better."

The knowledge that Light had lost his mother is new to Ignis, but it explains a lot. His chest squeezes with sympathy as the image of a small boy seeking comfort flashes through his mind. It's so like his own childhood experience after he came to Insomnia, that it strikes a deep chord within. Those first few months in the city are a blur, but the warmth and comfort of Cor holding Ignis close and safe is seared into his memory like a brand. As is the deep, rumbling sound of Cor's soothing chuff. Throat tightening unexpectedly, Ignis swallows awkwardly around the lump forming there.

It's safer, perhaps, to speak of other things. Things that are buried so far down that they feel like they belong to someone else. It used to bother Ignis that he couldn't remember Gran's face, any of their faces, but he's resigned to it now.

"My Grandmother probably used to do the same when I was a child. I don't remember if my parents did or not— I have no recollection or knowledge of them. But.. It's a fairly common way to soothe young ones amongst feline breeds," He replies at length.

"Oh," Light replies thoughtfully. A beat passes, then he goes on tentatively. "…Did your Grandmother come here with you?"

Smiling ruefully, Ignis shakes his head. "No, it was just me," He replies softly. "As far as I know, I'm the only one from my household who survived."

Of course, Ignis had learned years later that Lady Lunafreya and her brother Lord Ravus had made it out of Fenestala relatively unscathed. So few of the staff at the manor had. Pagla had not been so lucky. He'd tried looking into it once when he was seventeen and hadn't gotten very far with it before opting to leave the past buried where it belonged.

Here in the present, Light sucks in a sharp breath. His stunning blue eyes are wide as he peers up at Ignis with a horrified look. "Shit… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Ignis frowns. He's unsure why he's so affected by the earnest sympathy in Light's eyes. Swallowing tightly, he shakes his head as if to clear any half-remembered ghosts lingering there.

"You didn't know," He says gently. "Besides, as I said before, had I not wished to tell you, I wouldn't have answered."

Light's dark brows knit. Ignis can't parse the look with half the information, and longs to see what the rest of Light's face might be doing. He doesn't ask, though, because it would be rude. Instead, Ignis reaches out to take Light's hand again, giving it a careful, comforting squeeze.

"Truly, I am not offended in the least," Ignis assures, his voice a soft rumble.

The apples of Light's fair cheeks color again as he glances aside shyly. It's so unintentionally alluring that Ignis feels himself sway forward, intent and utterly besotted. When Light's eyes flick up coyly, Ignis feels his chest fill with warmth. The silence between them is a heavy, expectant thing, a spell that Ignis aches to remain locked in for a lifetime. However, the moment breaks abruptly when an alert chime comes from the pocket of Light's jacket. Startling, he breaks away with a soft, annoyed sound to reach for his phone.

"That's probably my ride," Light observes sourly as he pulls the device out to have a look.

Sure enough, something about how the line of Light's shoulders tenses tells Ignis that their brief interlude is over. Sighing explosively, Light glances up from his phone as the bridge of his nose scrunches up.

"Yeah, I gotta go," Light grunts. He digs into his pocket again, then pulls out several devices and a cord to hand to Ignis. "There's the charging cable and wall plug for the phone I gave you. I also snagged an adaptive receiver, which I hope works for you. I… I wasn't really sure, but it looks like it just clips on. It charges with the same cable as the phone. It just connects via Bluetooth."

Ignis nods. He's never had a cell phone of his own, but he's familiar enough that he can figure it out. As for the receiver, it looks remarkably similar to the sort that Cor uses, which will slide right on the base of his ear to make things more convenient.

"It should be fine," Ignis assures as he tucks the items in his bag. "I'm not sure what the rest of my day will hold, but perhaps I can text later."

Light seems to smile beneath his mask. His eyes shine in a way that says as much. "Yeah. I'd like that. I'm usually up pretty late because my sleep schedule is so messed up, so don't worry about bothering me. If I'm up, I'll answer."

Nodding, Ignis smiles. "I'll keep that in mind."

Then, despite knowing he should go as well, and knowing Light needs to go find his ride, Ignis sits there not moving. Light doesn't move either, but remains for a beat or two until another text comes through. Growling in frustration, he ducks his head bashfully, unfolds his shapely legs, and hops up. He grabs the leather-bound book on the bench beside him as he goes and tucks it into his coat.

"Okay, I'm going now. Talk to you later," Light says.

He lingers a moment, though, seemingly waffling in indecision. Then he turns awkwardly and heads off. As he passes, a light breeze picks up, bringing a fresh waft of the nearby sylleblossoms. Ignis pulls in a long breath, delighting in the familiar scent.  

He recalls that Queen Sylva used to keep some in the gardens at the estate in Pagla. And, when Ignis thinks a little harder on it, he remembers it was because Lady Lunafreya loved the flower so much. Or at least, that's what he recalls a faceless man with a kind voice saying. The gardener, perhaps?

Brushing it off with a soft sigh, he looks at his watch. It's much later than anticipated, and if he doesn't check in with Astutus soon, someone will send a search party. Ears flicking in annoyance, Ignis stands up and starts inside.

He'll devise a plan to explain to Light who he really is soon enough. Ignis just needs…Some time to figure it out. Resolving to fix the problem by the end of the week, Ignis plots as he heads for Astutus' office.

Chapter Text

As spring blossoms into early summer, Ignis' schedule gets significantly busier, and the conversation with Geminus falls by the wayside. He doesn't mean to put it off, but every time he tries to bring it up with Light and confess to the truth, the words stick in his throat, and his chest squeezes so tightly in on itself that Ignis begins to panic.

So, he pretends the problem doesn't exist. It's something that requires delicate handling, so he lies to himself under the guise of needing more time to come up with a plan. A gentle way to come clean that hopefully will spare the budding relationship with Light. But, the old adage of out of sight, out of mind holds true, and as Ignis' busy schedule starts to dominate all his free time, all his tentative, half-cocked plans fly out the window.

The guilty part of him knows it's an excuse. But each conversation with Light cracks open the throbbing, persistent ache of loneliness buried deep in Ignis' chest and soothes it like a balm. He has never really had a friend like this before and has never felt such... tenderness for someone. Never felt such a breathless rush of longing and excitement at the mere thought of another person.

And yes, Ignis has been damned distracted all morning thinking of Light, but his current tutor is entirely unlike Dissonus. She doesn't scold or bark or mete out any physical punishment for simply daring to have ideas and opinions in his head. Instead, she merely smiles and tuts at Ignis playfully from where she sits across from him in the study.  

"I think we will call it quits for today. Your mind is clearly elsewhere," Lady Benignus says kindly.

Glancing up from his notes, Ignis' ears flick up. Realizing he's been caught, his face heats a little, but he still bows his head in apology out of deeply ingrained habit.

"Apologies," He replies softly by rote.

Lady Benignus simply waves it off with a smile on her gentle, lined face and shakes her head. "No need to apologize. I was young once, and I have seven sons. I know a young man who's got other things to be getting on with when I see one."

The flush on Ignis' face deepens, and for a moment, he feels his belly flutter with anxious, embarrassed guilt. Feeling like he's been outmaneuvered by the cunning, kindly Spy Mistress, he drops his guard just enough to wrinkle his nose and give her a calculated, sour look to distract her from asking after his wandering mind. It's something he never would've dared with Dissonus, but Benignus merely laughs.

"Good!" She praises as she stands up to gather her things. "And were I not as sharp as you, I might've fallen for it. We must utilize all available resources, including playing into what is expected of us."

The compliment has Ignis' tail flicking with satisfaction, independent of the anxiety he feels for being caught woolgathering. He enjoys his lessons with Benignus immensely, and this is just one of the many reasons why. She's patient and kind but wields her praise carefully and is lavish when it's deserved. Learning strategy and the subtle art of calculated and sometimes furtive maneuvering is fun . He supposes because it appeals to some deep-seated instinct to hunt and feels like playing chess, where the pieces are people, and the moves are a nuanced encouraging word here or a well-timed frown there. Ignis likes the idea of outsmarting his prey, whether with words or a blade.

Lady Benignus is undoubtedly skilled, and Ignis knows there's much he can learn from her. He also rather suspects that His Majesty is steering him into a very particular role for Prince Noctis. Something more subtle but equally as dangerous as the Prince's Shield.

"I did have some gardening I wanted to get done.." He starts as he closes his notebook and stands to properly escort Lady Benignus to the door.

He doesn't miss the knowing smile on the Spy Mistress' face or the way her green eyes twinkle with merriment. Ignis smiles as well as he takes her things and offers his arm. Together, they make their way out of the study and through the winding halls of the Scientia estate to the main entrance. Once there, he takes a step backward and inclines his head politely.

"Thank you for the lesson today, Mistress," He says genteelly.

Lady Benignus smiles up at Ignis, reaches out, and pats him on the arm. After, she takes her satchel and slings it over her shoulder. "Enjoy that gardening," She replies archly.

Ignis feels his face heat as he nods and shows her to the door. Once she's gone, Ignis lets out a soft, relieved sigh. As much as he enjoys Lady Benignus' lessons and her company, he knows she's as sharp as a well-honed blade wrapped in the guise of a soft, kindly old woman. Everything about her is inviting and disarming, and that's how she lures in her prey.

It's incredible, really.

Shaking his head, Ignis smiles as he turns away from the door and contemplates what to do next. The more immediate urge is to reach out to Light and see what he's up to. Peeking around to see if Olivier is about, he heads down the hall and back into the study. Quickly pulling out his phone, he checks to see if there are any new messages and smiles fondly when he rereads the greeting Light sent that morning.

Hope you slept well. Have a good day.

Checking the time and noting it's only just past eleven, Ignis realizes that Light is most likely still in his morning class. Regardless, he types out a message and sends it, knowing that it'll be seen eventually.

Just finished with one of my tutors, as a matter of fact. Try not to fall asleep in your class.

You were up rather late last night, My Dear. 😉

That done, Ignis wonders what to do with himself for the next few hours. His training session at the Citadel isn't until four, so he has some time. He could tend to his garden, but he watered his plants earlier, and the weeding was done yesterday. Ignis wrinkles his nose thoughtfully until an idea begins to take shape. Heading suddenly toward the kitchen, he hops lightly down the steps, passing David's office as he goes.

David is absent, having gone into town to do some special shopping outside of the usual delivery, so the kitchen is quiet and devoid of the usual humming or music. Left to his own devices, Ignis checks the big walk-in refrigerator, and his tail flicks with satisfaction as he finds all the things he needs. For the filling of what he has in mind, he picks a very tempting quart of sweet, mellow blackberries and some deeply purple gooseberries. Both are native to Pagla, so he's got high hopes that this time, he'll get his mystery tart correct.

Taking his acquisitions to the kitchen counter, he gets started, and in no time at all, he's whipped up a perfect batch of tarts. While they bake, Ignis sits at the kitchen table, making notes on the changes and amendments he's done, and knowing he's more or less alone in the house, he pulls out his phone to check his messages. His chest lurches with excitement when he realizes he has several from Light that he missed.

It's your fault I was up so late. Also, class was fine. I stayed awake and everything.

What else is on your schedule today? Anything good? Still wanna talk tonight?

A soft, fond smile blossoms across Ignis' mouth. He can hear Light clearly in his mind and imagines the sulky, slightly petulant, but entirely fond timbre of his voice. Ignis pauses a moment to think, then grins wide as he replies.

Well, if you stayed awake that certainly warrants a little treat. Gold star for you. ⭐⭐

And yes, I'd absolutely love to chat again tonight if you're available.

Chat bubbles immediately appear on the bottom of the text screen, but after a moment, they disappear, come back, and then disappear again. Light might not be in a position to message back immediately, which leaves Ignis on tenterhooks as he waits anxiously for the next message to come through. Several minutes pass, and then Ignis' phone buzzes.

Sorry, I was trying to get to my next class and didn't want to run into a wall or something. 😝

Smiling, Ignis taps out a reply.

Best concentrate on walking then. No need to injure yourself on my account. Text me when you're out of class. 😉

Ignis waits a moment, then another. When no response comes through, he tempers the fluttery anticipation in his belly and tucks his phone back into his pocket. Then, he gets up to clean his cooking mess to distract himself. It doesn't take long to wash up all the dishes, though he lets several of them soak in the sink as he pulls his tarts from the oven and sets them out to cool. As he leans against the counter, he gazes out the window into the yard and feels his chest pull with a vague sense of longing.

He knows he's happier these days and that Light is the cause of it, unexpected as their meeting and subsequent friendship is. He can't bear to think what will happen when he's inevitably forced to give Light up, so Ignis shuts it away and refuses to think about it. He does up the last of the mixing bowls in an almost meditative state and sets them in the strainer to dry. Then, he turns toward the cooling tarts.

He's fairly sure he's gotten the flavor profile of the crust correct this time around, but he'll have to wait until they cool entirely to find out. While he does, he digs through the walk-in until he finds the stash of Ebony that David likes to hide there for him and cracks into it while he scrolls the news on his phone.

It's a bit of a risk to do it so publicly in the kitchen. But he really is the only one around for the moment, so it's safe enough. The news is what Ignis expects it to be. Unsurprisingly, there's an uptick in articles about the Prince's twentieth birthday in August. Ignis steers clear of those because he knows they will likely feature some mention of him. Rolling his eyes, his ears twitch as he scrolls through the rest of the news. Most of it concerns the upcoming Founder's Day celebrations. This time of year is always horrendously busy for Citadel staff and those in its orbit, so there are no surprises there. As His Majesty's primary secretary, even Astutus has been caught up in the constant stream of functions and events.

Eyes catching on an article detailing the degrading relations between Gralea and Lucis, Ignis scoffs. It's old news as far as he's concerned, but then, the press or general public aren't privy to the things that he is. Ignis very much doubts it'll come to all-out war, but the threat is there. It's concerning, to say the least, and as he reads the article, his face pulls into a frown.

The niggling, anxious feeling that squeezes his chest is sudden and unexpected. When the half-remembered scent of filth, stinking, unwashed bodies, and wet straw fills his nose, he closes out the article entirely and gives himself a stern shake. He's not in the Hybrid markets; he's safe in Insomnia, where something like that will never happen.

King Regis would never allow it.

Ignis is still unnerved by having such a visceral response to the news article, though. It's been literal years since something like that has happened. Standing abruptly, he tucks the phone back in his pocket and heads for the counter to check his tarts. He needs something to concentrate on that is grounded in reality. Shaking out his limbs and tail helps a little, but his fingers are jittery, and he nearly upends an entire sifter full of powdered sugar while he's finishing off the tarts.

Near accident aside, when Ignis is finished, he has a row of picture-perfect pastries all lined up on a serving plate. The golden, flaky crust is baked to perfection, and they look fit for the Royal table.

Looking at the time, Ignis realizes that Light is still in class, but he still feels out of sorts enough that he snaps a photo and hits send before he can talk himself out of it. Surprisingly, a reply comes through less than a moment later.

Oh damn, those look delicious. Did you make them ?? 😋😋

It's a little selfish to keep the conversation going, given that Light is supposed to be paying attention to his lessons, but Ignis can't quite find it in himself to not reply.

Indeed. They're an experiment, but if you want some, I'll save them for the next time we can meet.

You ought to be paying attention and not texting me, though.

This time, a reply takes a few moments, which isn't unexpected.

Shh. I am paying attention. We're having a study session since finals are coming up.

As much as I totally want one, they probably won't keep. I'm super busy the next couple weeks.

Save me Speccy.   😭😭😭😵

Despite the pang of disappointment, a flutter of sweetness fills Ignis' chest. The nickname is a new development that leaves him curiously….. Giddy . He's never had a nickname before. Well, Cor calls him Kid , but that doesn't really count because he also refers to Gladiolus Amicitia the same way. Then again, Cor also has a habit of calling Gladiolus Bullheaded Pup , so maybe there's a special inflection reserved for Ignis alone. Shaking his head fondly, he quickly types out a reply and hits send.

Speccy?

A little spot of enlightenment as to where you came up with that would be most appreciated.

He's teasing, of course, because he suspects he knows precisely where the nickname comes from. And, perhaps because he's thinking of it, Ignis' spotted tail curls sinuously in the air behind him, swishing of its own accord. He isn't expecting a reply to come through so suddenly, but when a photo of a silver, spotted Mau appears on the screen, he lifts a brow and chuckles. Ignis is not a cat, and he's most certainly not a Mau Hybrid, but the coloring is close. Ignis' fur is snow white, but it is speckled with silvery gray and black in a similar enough manner to the cat in the photo. The comparison might be offensive coming from anyone other than Light, but Ignis takes it at face value. It isn't meant unkindly. Unable to help himself, Ignis falls back on his wry sense of humor.

Ah, a photo of my long-lost cousin. I wasn't aware you knew one another. 😉

Light takes a few moments, but Ignis can see the chat bubbles flashing at the bottom, almost as if Light is waffling over what to say. However, before the message comes through, a sudden sound from the back door startles Ignis. Hastily tucking the phone away, his heart leaps into his throat as Ignis shoves his hands in the sink to clean it out as if he was working all along and not doing anything suspicious or forbidden at all. Moments later, David comes in, carting several over-laden grocery bags. Ignis glances up, feigning that everything is fine and dandy despite how his ears attempt to flick downward guiltily. It takes conscious effort to keep them turned forward.

"Ah, Ignis, lucky meeting you here. Would you mind helping get this sorted away, my boy?" David asks jovially.

Ignis, already moving to help, nods. His heart is still thrumming in his chest, and were it not for years of training, he undoubtedly would be a nervous wreck. He's always found it challenging to maintain a lie around those who have known him since he was a child, and David is no different.

"Yes, of course," He says abruptly.

Hurrying to grab the bags before David drops them, Ignis sets them on the counter and then starts to unpack. Judging by the ingredients, David must be accounting for the limited meals due to Astutus' busy schedule and absence. Feeling a pang of longing for the fun events he's undoubtedly missing this week due to the Founder's Day celebrations, Ignis smiles fondly when he notices all the ingredients are for dishes he enjoys. It's not a consideration David had to make, which leaves Ignis feeling just a bit guilty for breaking the rules so overtly and selfishly.

"Thought I might make some of your favorites since your schedule will be sparse over the next few weeks," David says brightly, unaware of the internal struggle taking place. "I've got things to whip up a lemon chiffon cake as well. Perhaps we can make it together?"

Ignis' throat tightens as he nods. "I'd like that," he says earnestly.

David offers a kindly smile, and together, they go back to their tasks. Ignis unloads the bags, and David organizes them into trays to send into the big walk-in. It doesn't take long, and the busy work takes Ignis' mind off his guilty conscience.

"Let's not bother with the dining room if I'm the only one here," Ignis decides after they finish. "I'll eat down here in the kitchen with you and Olivier."

Having expected as much, David nods. It isn't unusual for Ignis to eat with the two when Astutus is out of the house, which is more often than not these days, especially going into the busy season. When Ignis was a child, he rarely spent meals alone. Someone always ate with him, even if that meant abandoning the large formal dining room. Truthfully, Ignis prefers meals down in the kitchen, where it's cozy and informal, but Astutus has always stubbornly insisted that as a member of the household, Ignis observes protocol when they're both in the house.

"Of course," David agrees with a smile. Then, spotting the tarts cooling on the counter, his smile widens. "Any luck this time?"

Ignis' ears flick as he glances over toward the tarts. "I'm cautiously optimistic," He replies. "I'll give one a try to test it out in a few minutes."

David chuckles as he folds the paper bags neatly to stack them in the recycling. "I'm sure they're delicious even if they aren't quite right. Next time I'm out, I'll drop by the bookshop uptown and see if they have any Tenebraen cookbooks."

Ignis hums thoughtfully, distracted by the near-silent vibration in his pocket. It's unlikely that any shops on this side of the Cygillan Sea contain the recipe for his mystery dessert, but the gesture still warms him.

"That would be lovely. Thank you, David," He replies earnestly.

David hums softly, and then he regards Ignis a bit curiously. Something about the little tilt of his full mouth and the crinkles near the corners of his eyes makes Ignis squirm, but he reins it in as David merely shakes his head in fond bemusement.

"You seem different lately," David observes kindly. "More settled, and I daresay, happier."

Ignis doesn't panic. But a jolt of something sharp and electric rills down his spine and settles in his belly. He fights the sudden and intense urge to fidget and schools his face into some semblance of mild curiosity. His tail tries to swish in agitation, but Ignis compels it to stay still out of sheer force of will.

"I suspect it's because I am no longer beholden to the whims of my instructors at The Menagerie," He replies evenly. He hopes evenly. "My current lessons are much more to my liking."

One of David's eyebrows lifts speculatively as if he doesn't quite agree. Then he reaches out to pat Ignis on the shoulder. "Yes, that must be it." He says mildly.

Ignis might be reading into things, but David's tone sounds suspicious. Choosing to brush it off, Ignis steps away from the counter to find some containers for his tarts. However, he can't quite stop himself from snatching one to give it a tentative nibble. The pastry, as expected, is perfectly flaky on the outside and beautifully cooked. The taste of the berries explodes on his tongue as he gets to the filling, creating a perfect balance of sweetness to the buttery, savory crust. It's absolutely divine, but…

"Hmm," Ignis says thoughtfully as he takes another bite.

David chuckles softly. "Not quite right, I take it?"

No. But it's damned close. "It's…Getting there, I think." Ignis decides.

He'll have to make some tweaks for the next batch, which will be for Light. Taking out his little notebook, Ignis jots a few things down as he polishes off the rest of the tart. Opting to save some for here, he decides to box the rest up to send to Monica for review. He'll do that later, though. For now, he grabs a plate and another tart and decides to go read for a bit.

He has several treatises to get through and some other assigned reading from both Lady Benignus and some of his other tutors that he might as well make a start on. And, once he's safely tucked away in the library, Ignis teases Light just a little by sending a photo of the half-eaten dessert.  

**

A few days later, Ignis is blessedly alone in the house while Astutus is at the Citadel, and Olivier and David are off doing...Whatever it is, they do together when they have some time off. They are scheduled to be back in about an hour, giving Ignis plenty of time to chat with Light, which is precisely what he's doing as he folds and puts away his laundry.

"How's your studying coming? Not too difficult, I hope?" Ignis asks as he neatly hangs a shirt.

"Uuuugh," Light complains miserably. "It's still weeks out till finals, and I'm already over it."

Tutting sympathetically, Ignis keeps half his attention on what he's doing and half on recalling what Light has said about his classes. Ignis suspects that it will be the electives that give Light the most trouble because he's admitted to struggling with the subjects in the past.

"Do you have digital copies of your notes? If you send them to me, I'll review them and make you a study guide," He says as he tips out the rest of his laundry basket on his bed and starts on the pile of socks and undergarments.

Light blows out a long, relieved breath. "Really? Gods, you're the literal best , Specs. I owe you big time."

Warmth fills Ignis, pulling a pleased, albeit brief, rumbling purr from deep in his chest. Light absolutely catches the sound, and he laughs bashfully on the other end of the line, soft and melodic. It's silent for a brief moment, and there's some shuffling in the background, presumably as Light rifles through his school things.

"Hey, so I dunno what you've got planned tonight, but...My friend and I are going to the carnival on the Royal Mile a little later," Light begins, an odd hitch to his voice. "You could...Come with us if you like?"

The question catches Ignis off guard. He wants to go, of course he does, but it's impossible.

"As much as I would love to, I'm afraid I have other commitments," He replies with a frown. He can't quite keep the disappointment from his voice, which Light immediately picks up on.

"Hey, it's fine if you can't. No big deal." Light replies. "Maybe another time?"

Ignis feels his lip curl back in a silent snarl. Regardless, he puffs out a quiet sigh and then hums out a soft sound of agreement. It's clear that Light is also disappointed, but he masks it well enough by succumbing to a sudden, mighty yawn.

"I think I might go take a nap before my friends pick me up. I've been kind of tired lately," Light says. "I think it's the weather. When it starts getting hot, I get more headaches."

Concern squeezes Ignis' chest. Already, he's running through every remedy for headaches he can recall and plotting a step-by-step list of instructions when Light sniggers into the phone.

"I can practically hear you spiraling, relax. I'm fine." He teases.

Realizing he's been caught fretting like a mother hen, Ignis chuckles in embarrassment. "It seems you know me quite well," He observes wryly.

"Mmhm," Light agrees, blithe and clearly smiling. The sound of it is plain in his voice. "I already took my meds, so you're not allowed to worry. Gonna go drink some water and lay down for a while, though. I'll text you later, okay?"

Humming, Ignis tries to distract himself from the silly little way his heart flutters in his chest. It doesn't quite work, much to his dismay, so he gives into the feeling and blushes furiously as he folds a pair of underpants.

"Very well. Have fun with your friends, and be safe," Ignis replies. "If you're not too tired when you get home, I'll be available if you want to chat."

"Kay," Light replies, already sounding as if he's falling asleep.

Smiling fondly, Ignis says his goodbyes and then hangs up to finish his laundry. Once it's all set and put away, he sits on his bed at a loss. He's caught up on all his reading and assignments with his tutors, and there's little else to do, no thanks to the festival taking place uptown. Were Ignis anyone else, he'd likely be getting ready to go as well.

Unfortunately, Ignis isn't anyone else. Legally, he's not even his own person. Scowling, he lays out and stares up at the ceiling as he churns with sudden acute discontent. The end of his tail fhwips with agitation the longer he stares at the ceiling, and after a moment, he growls and rolls over onto his side.

He resents being caged like this. Astutus, Olivier, David, and even Cor, Monica, and His Majesty have never been unkind or left him wanting for anything. But it's still a cage. As Ignis stews, a very small part of him burns with jealousy and resentment that Light is allowed to make his own choices over something as simple as deciding to go out. It's unfair, and he pushes the feeling aside as quickly as it came, but bitterness still roils in his stomach.

He wonders how much smaller his cage will get once Prince Noctis' twenty-first birthday rolls around.

Pinching his eyes shut, Ignis carefully breathes through the burst of discontent that makes his skin feel too tight for his body. It's been harder and harder to stuff it all down lately and pretend he's a good, obedient Hybrid. He isn't sure if it's because of Light and the shift he's brought to Ignis' life or because there is only a little over a year and a half until everything changes irrevocably. Either way, Ignis feels like he's teetering on the brink of something. He's too far forward to go back and too far back to do anything but go forward.

Hauling in a deep breath, he listens to the sound of the birds chirping outside his bedroom window until he hears the familiar sound of Olivier calling from down the hall. Pulled from the fugue of paralyzing anxiety, Ignis sits up, tidies himself, and goes to see what is needed of him.

Hours later, a near-silent buzz vibrating in his hand jolts Ignis awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he'd been waiting for Light to either call or text and had drifted off with the phone in his hand. Sitting up abruptly, he fumbles for the earpiece and clips it in place, and squints through the dark, only to be blinded by the phone screen lighting up like the damned sun.

"A moment, I'm a little discombobulated," He greets.

There's a huff of a laugh on the other end of the line from Light, who is clearly amused. "Kay."

Rubbing his gritty eyes, Ignis frowns as he realizes he fell asleep with his contacts in. Hopping up out of bed, he takes the phone with him to the ensuite bathroom to take them out, then he creeps to the bedroom door to ensure it's locked. At this hour, it's unlikely anyone is awake, but Ignis still takes the precaution. Astutus' rooms are nowhere near his, and Olivier and David's quarters are housed in the old servant's wing on the opposite side of the house.

Feeling safe enough, Ignis crawls back into bed and twists onto his side to conceal the earpiece lest someone burst in. Then he tucks the phone strategically against his bicep so it's there but hidden. Finally settled, he lets out a breath that is more like a yawn and feels his whole body, ears, tail, cropped whiskers, and all, quiver with the motion. Finally, he's ready, so he tunes in to the soft sound of Light's even breathing.

"Mmkay, I'm here," Ignis announces, voice quiet.

Light, yawning reactively, makes a soft, tired sound, and then he laughs. "You sure?"

Ignis snorts wryly, which prompts another quiet laugh from Light. There's some shuffling, then quiet, followed by a second yawn. It's clear that Light is absolutely exhausted. While Ignis appreciates the call, he's torn between shooing Light off to bed or being selfish and keeping him on the phone.

"You sound tired, Dearest. Perhaps we ought to put a pin in this until you get some sleep," Ignis scolds gently.

"No, no, It's okay," Light insists. "I...I really wanted to talk to you. It's okay if you want to go to bed, though. I know it's pretty late. I just got back."

Humming, Ignis yawns as he looks at his watch again to confirm the time. It's half past midnight and quite late even for them. Still, the soft, breathy quality of Light's voice and the subtle rasp of exhaustion are too alluring to just give up. Not when Ignis has been going stir-crazy all evening waiting for Light to get home so they could talk.

"It's okay," He assures. "How was the carnival? Did you have fun?"

Light doesn't seem quite convinced, but then he relents to whatever internal struggle he's having and settles in, as evidenced by the shuffling on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, it was really neat. I've never been before. Usually, I'm too busy or not feeling great or whatever," Light replies. "Did you like the photos I sent you?"

Ignis smiles as he recalls the cadre of snapshots Light had sent through the evening. "The one with all the lanterns and the one with the Ferris wheel were shutterly amazing." He teases.

Light snorts, his laughter soft and musical. The sound warms Ignis from the inside out and widens his smile. Something about being curled up in bed, speaking in low, hushed voices, feels more intimate than it ought to be. It sends tendrils of sweet, honeyed loveliness into Ignis' chest as he listens intently to the way that Light's laughter finally peters out and becomes the quiet cadence of even, raspy breathing.  

"...Maybe next year, we could go together?" Light asks finally, perhaps even a touch shy. "I think you'd really like it. We could try out all the food together. Or just walk around or whatever."

Ignis' smile falters, and his brows furrow as a shiver of melancholy catches him. He ignores the ache of longing in his chest and the little voice that tells him that next year, around this time, he'll be making ready to present himself to Prince Noctis. He can't imagine having to give Light up, so Ignis doesn't think about it. He shuts his brain off and hums out a soft, rumbling sound of pleasure.

"If chance and fate allow it, I would be most happy to accompany you," He vows more solemnly than the moment probably warrants.

Light clearly doesn't catch the oddness of Ignis' tone because he huffs out a soft laugh. "Wow, so posh, Specs."

Specs .

Ignis' tail twists happily. Curling up more comfortably in bed, he pulls the blankets up to his chin.

"Tell me more about the carnival? What was your favorite part? " Ignis asks softly. He wants to experience it vicariously, and more selfishly, he adores the way Light sounds when he's excited or talking about something he likes. "I enjoy hearing about your experiences."

A soft, adorably flustered sound filters through the phone. Then Light tells Ignis about his evening. The drowsy, measured cadence is soothing, and after a while, Ignis finds himself drifting sleepily. He doesn't even realize he's purring into the receiver until Light chuckles softly.

" Cute ," Light murmurs, half asleep. "I like it when you purr."

In any other circumstance, Ignis would be embarrassed. He is, perhaps, a little, but the heat that fills his belly is worth it. Humming softly, the sound vibrates a little louder in his chest. It's an indulgent undertone to his speech as he replies tiredly.

"Oh hush , you," He says warmly, entirely smitten. "You're falling asleep. You ought to go to bed."

"I'm in bed, though," Light replies, voice thick.

Ignis rumbles out a soft sound. It catches in his throat as he breathes, giving his purr a raspier quality. On the other end of the line, Light sucks in a sharp breath, then he almost seems to groan. The sound is low and shockingly stimulating. And despite being half-asleep, sudden heat pools low in Ignis' belly. The pang of arousal is so sharp and immediate that Ignis nearly groans himself. Light's breathing is suddenly heavier and quicker, and a simmering tension blossoms between them in the silence.

"…I wish you were here," Light whispers suddenly, sounding more alert than he has for the last half hour.

"I am ," Ignis replies immediately, his voice raspy and low.

Light makes a sleepy, confused noise. "No, I mean—"

"I know what you meant," Ignis replies gently as the boiling heat in his belly flames hotter.

There are… Things he wants to say. Things that get stuck in his throat because they are better left unspoken. Ignis still aches to say them because he's never felt like this. And perhaps Light, feeling the same, makes a soft, needy sound that burns a line of fire right down into Ignis' abdomen. Were Ignis anyone else, he'd be wherever Light was in an instant. As it is, his imagination runs away from him, and he pictures very clearly knocking on Light's door to find him asleep and adorably disheveled but so very eager.

Ignis would…Press him against the wall, or the door, or something and gently take him apart kiss by kiss until Light was soft, pliant, and keen for more. Then they'd tumble into bed together and remain there for hours, trading kisses, caresses, and maybe… More .

Ignis knows he shouldn't entertain the thought because it cannot happen, but his traitorous heart yearns for it nonetheless. When Light blows out another quiet sigh, there's something sharp and hot about it. Something that suggests his thoughts have taken the same turn.

“…Do… you ever…?” Light begins, soft and tentative. There's a sudden catch to his breathing that gives him away more than words ever could.

Ignis' ears flick forward, intent and focused on a quarry he cannot see.

" Yes ," He interrupts, the word a low rumble.

Light makes a soft, flustered sound. "I didn't even finish what I was about to say."

Ignis blushes with embarrassment because perhaps he read the situation wrong. Perhaps he just crossed a line in not-so-subtly admitting to his attraction. The heated lassitude of the moment leaves him suddenly, and Ignis feels his belly clench with nerves.

"Ah— Apologies," He begins.

Light, however, cuts him off. "It's… It's okay. I think…Maybe we were thinking the same thing?"

Ignis' heart clenches because Light sounds so small yet so hopeful. "Why don't you ask me again?" He invites gently.

A simmering, shivery feeling fills Ignis' belly as he waits. His chest feels tight and jittery, and his lungs don't seem to want to work correctly. The ache beneath the cage of his ribs is unexpected but not surprising because he longs to crawl through the phone to be at Light's side. In another world, perhaps, they'd be curled up together, nose to nose, with their knees tangled together, having this discussion. In another world, Ignis wonders if the fates would've been kinder.

"…Do you ever…Want me?" Light asks tentatively.

"Yes," Ignis answers truthfully. Immediately . They're too far in this to pretend otherwise. "In every sense of the word."

On the other end of the line, Light makes a quiet, surprised sound. He's silent for a few beats, but his breathing gets noticeably more rough.

"Oh…I see," Light replies, his voice playing at a lower octave.

Despite himself and the riot of nerves wreaking havoc in his belly, Ignis chuckles softly. "Was my answer not to your liking?" He teases.

Light makes the most adorable, perturbed sound. It's somewhere between a snort and a squeak. "Don't be an ass."

Lips curling into a smile, Ignis huffs out a soft, amused breath. "Never, Darling."

He wishes he were there to see what sort of expression is on Light's face, but knows it's impossible. Then again, what they're sharing right now is impossible, too. Ignis ignores the niggling voice in the back of his head, urging him to stop this before it's too late. Realistically, it's been too late from the get-go. Not when the stunning blue of Light's storm-cloud eyes captured Ignis so completely. He wants this. He wants Light . Ignis wants it so much that his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.

"I meant what I said," He declares, quiet and serious.

It's a dangerous confession. And, perhaps feeling the gravity of the moment, there's silence on the other end of the line for several beats.

" Oh ," Light breathes.

The sound is much more alluring than it ought to be. Ignis' skin prickles all over. A moment passes, and his stomach clenches as Light rolls around. The rustling is jarringly loud in Ignis' ear. When everything finally settles, the breathing on the other end of the phone line is much quicker.

"I…I want you too," Light admits as soft as a sigh.

Goosebumps prickle Ignis' skin, and when he shivers, he feels the fur on his ears and tail stand on end. The soft, rumbling purr is reflexive and oh-so-pleased. When Light whimpers, there's no mistaking the simmering arousal growing between them. The sound goes straight to Ignis' prick, prompting it to twitch and plump with keen interest.

Visions of feasting on a wealth of soft, pale skin fill his head, and suddenly, Ignis aches to peel Light out his clothes to drag kisses down his chest, along the insides of his thighs, and anywhere Ignis can get his mouth on. Especially if it means hearing that delicious sound again.

Ignis thinks he should be more embarrassed for being so aroused by something so simple as a noise , but it sets his insides afire. Rolling onto his back, he holds the phone near his mouth with one hand and rests the other on his chest as he kicks off the blankets.

"If…I was there with you right now," Ignis starts tentatively. His fingers curl, clawing into the loose fabric of his sleep shirt. "Would…You want me to…Touch you?"

Light groans outright, the sound soft and beguiling. "You… Can't just say stuff like that," He whines.

Again, there's some shuffling, and Ignis deduces that Light has rolled over again. Wondering if he's on his back or stomach, Ignis' imagination runs away with him. In his mind's eye, he pictures Light on his belly, his hips rolling sinuously against the mattress as he ruts lazily into the sheets or even a pillow. Ignis' arousal throbs sympathetically, but he doesn't touch himself.

"…What do you want me to say, Darling?" He murmurs quietly.

"Nngh," Light grunts, halfway between frustration and obvious arousal. "I—I don't know. Just— Gods, your voice is so—"

"Tell me how you feel right now," Ignis cuts in gently.

His whole body is quaking, and he isn't sure how he's keeping so calm, only that something about the hot, wild sound of Light's breathing and the helpless whimper that comes through the line, sharp and scalding, provokes a sense of calm in Ignis despite how his pulse thrums between his legs.

" Hot ," Light complains. "Frustrated. I want—" Here, Light sucks in a sharp breath, but the groan that follows is muffled as if he's pressing his face into the pillow to hide his embarrassment. "I'm sorry. This— I'm not used to this sort of thing."

"If you're uncomfortable, you need only say so," Ignis assures. Things are getting rather heated, and he's not sure how things even escalated so quickly. "In truth…This is new territory for me as well."

"I'm not uncomfortable," Light says, perhaps too quickly. Realizing he sounds a little defensive, he lets out a soft sigh. "I mean, I am, but not because of the conversation. Well , not like that. I like the conversation. I'm just... Really worked up. "

Ah.

Heat floods Ignis' belly. He feels his own arousal pressing insistently against the fabric of his pajamas, so he props one leg up and lets his thighs fall open. The rasp of his breathing is loud, as is the rumbling resonance in his chest. He abandons all pretext that this isn't going to happen and pushes his free hand down the curve of his abdomen to palm the front of his pajama pants. His prick jerks beneath his palm, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Light must know what he's doing because he makes a soft, needy sound that hits Ignis right in the chest.

"…Are you?" Light asks softly.

" Worked up ?" Ignis rumbles teasingly. "Rather more than that, I should think."

A soft, shy chuckle filters through the phone line, prompting Ignis to laugh quietly as well. It breaks some enough of the tension that after a moment, Ignis' sensitive ears catch the soft sound of slow, rhythmic rustling. The mental image is enough to pull a low, pleased groan from the depths of his chest, which, in turn, has Light whimpering softly.

"Fuck, that's— You sound so— Nnn ," Light whispers quietly.

The breathy quality of Light's voice and the way he says it sends a bolt of yearning down into Ignis' belly. Gods, he aches to be pressed skin to skin. Shoving his pajama pants down so they bunch lewdly around his thighs, Ignis takes himself in hand and pumps himself with slow, tight strokes. The friction is a little much, so after a moment, he shuffles, looking for something to aid the process, and finds a bottle of lotion. The implication of having it so near his bedside makes him flush, but it's worth it when Light's breath catches suddenly as he groans. Ignis, unable to help himself or stop the absolute filth flashing in his brain, rumbles out a deeply pleased sound as he strokes himself more tightly.

"Don't be shy," He urges, emboldened and unsure if Light can hear the obscene, wet sound of his fist around himself. "I…want to hear you."

" Fuck ," Light whimpers.

The rustling becomes more frenetic, and after a moment, the sound quality changes just enough to be noticeable. Light must've put the phone on speaker mode because his soft, panting breaths sound further away. He's quiet but vocal as he ruts into his mattress. The soft, needy sounds that follow spark little pinpricks of heat as Ignis listens raptly and throbs painfully into the tight, slick channel of his own fist.

"Talk to me?" Light begs suddenly as if embarrassed by the request. "P-please?"

The low, growling sound that tumbles out following the needy, desperate request is completely beyond Ignis' control.

"Of course, whatever you wish," Ignis replies solemnly, like it's a duty he'll take to his grave. He tightens his hold on the slick, hard length of himself and groans deeply. He's unsure where his confidence is coming from, only that something seems to take over. "You sound breathtaking like this. You have no idea how much I want to be with you right now. How much I want to see you."

Light whimpers like he's biting his lip, and then his sounds become somewhat muffled, perhaps because he's pressing his face into his pillows. Distantly, Ignis hears a slick, positively filthy sound that takes a moment for his addled brain to parse. Understanding flashes through him in an instant, and he pumps himself faster as he realizes that Light must be rutting wildly into his own hand.

"Harder," Ignis commands, shocking himself with the low, growling quality of his voice.

Light mewls in a positively vulgar way, and the wet slapping sound becomes more frantic. Ignis groans, losing himself in the moment. The building pleasure makes his toes curl. He nearly forgets himself and Light's request and struggles to maintain the conversation, but it becomes increasingly nonsensical as everything threatens to boil over.

"That's it, Darling," He encourages, "You're doing so well. You're close now, aren't you? Don't hold back."

Light whines in affirmative but hardly gets more than that out before he sucks in a sharp, scalding breath.

"Oh, fuck —" He cries softly.

Ignis is nearly there as well, and the needy, whimpering sound Light makes is all it takes to tip the scale. Ignis pumps his fist frantically as the first spurts of spend dribble out, then a wash of pleasure and heat roils up his spine and takes him. Grunting in a rather bestial manner, the wet slap is loud and positively filthy. Dribbles of wet spurt from the slick, fluttering slit on the crown of his prick, making a mess of his quivering belly and fist. Closing his eyes, Ignis rocks up into the feeling and shivers violently as Light's helpless, breathy groans filter through the receiver.

Afterward, the blood thumping through Ignis' ears is so loud that it takes a while for the thundering rush to recede. When it finally does, all he can hear is the sound of Light panting into the phone as he tries to catch his breath.

An odd, floaty nothing comes over Ignis. He doesn't know what to think or how to feel, only that a heaviness claims his body, leaving him sleepy and utterly sated as he lies there shivering with the aftershock. His ears flutter with spasms of receding pleasure, and all the muscles in his abdomen pull tight.

" Six ," He breathes, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Light, finally catching his breath, snorts in amusement, albeit shyly. A moment passes, and it sounds as if he flops over onto his back. Then he blows out a soft, pleased sigh.

"…Uhm, that was—" Light starts bashfully.

"Mmm," Ignis rumbles in agreement. He's purring again, loud and unapologetic. He aches to have Light there with him so they can curl up and bask in the aftermath of their intimacy, but this will have to do. "It was…Rather unexpected, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It was but…But it was good?" Light asks as he presumably sits up to tidy himself.

Ignis, too lazy to do the same, flails an arm out for the box of tissues on his nightstand to clean up with. After he's finished, he pulls his pajama pants back up and rolls onto his side. Closing his eyes, he imagines he's lying tucked up in bed with Light and allows himself to drift peacefully as he listens to Light settle. It's silent for a long stretch, and then Light yawns rather loudly. The sweet, sleepy sound that follows is positively adorable.

"You ought to get some sleep now," Ignis scolds gently. "Can't have you drifting off in your classes tomorrow afternoon."

In the silence that follows, Ignis can practically hear Light rolling his eyes.

"Okay, Mom ," Light teases.

"Mums the word," Ignis shoots back, lacking his usual punny flare. He's too tired and caught up in the blissful heat of the moment. "Really. You need your rest, Light. I want you to do well with your classes. I won't have you failing your finals because of me."

On the other end of the line, Light is suddenly quiet. Ignis thinks maybe he's already drifted off, which wouldn't be the first time. However, after a long moment, he hears a soft, sudden intake of breath.

"Hey, so, Geminus , I—" Light breathes. His voice sounds odd. "There's something… There's something I should probably say."

It's like a bucket of cold water rushing down Ignis' spine for two reasons. One, because Ignis realizes his feelings have run away with him, and two, he isn't Geminus.

He's Ignis Scientia, property of The Crown. And he isn't free to have Light the way he wants. So, he takes the coward's way out because if Light admits he has feelings for Ignis, it will be impossible to go back. Or give Light up.

"Shh," Ignis rumbles, soft and soothing, feeling like an absolute coward. "It'll keep till the morning, Dear Heart,"

On the other end of the line, Light sucks in a breath and makes a soft, disquieted noise that leaves Ignis yearning to crawl through the phone to gather him up and keep him close.

"I—Yeah, okay," Light agrees.

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 756

"Dude, you've been glued to your phone all morning. You got a secret girlfriend or something?" Prompto teases as he flops down across from Noct with a coffee in hand.

It's a beautiful day out today. The sun is shining, and broken beams of sunlight stream through the windows in a quieter section of the cafeteria at his University. Noct is supposed to be studying for his last couple finals, but got distracted texting with Geminus. To be fair, he had originally texted asking about something vaguely related to school (Something he already knew the answer to, but whatever), and then the conversation had devolved into Noct complaining about his exams, which had then become Geminus teasing Noct about being tired and grumpy.

They haven't really talked about what happened a few weeks ago, and every time Noct recalls it, he's hit with a double dose of guilt and arousal. Guilt because he still hasn't told Geminus who he is (He tried, he really fucking tried) and arousal because…Well. Yeeeeah.

Staring down at his phone, Noct flushes and quickly presses the button on the side to hide the screen. Geminus' last text, far more suggestive than he likely intended, sears itself into Noct's brain like a brand, making him recall wriggling against his bedsheets and getting off while listening to Geminus' rumbling voice in his ear.

Oh, you poor, little Darling. Should I come and make it better?

How the hell is Noct supposed to respond to that without imploding? Flustered and blushing furiously, he angles Prompto with a scowl and kicks at him under the table.

"Shut up," He grumps as he pointedly looks down at his notes.

Prompto squawks in alarm, but then he sniggers as he goes back to his own studying. That being said, he does have a point. Noct has been super distracted. It's not really his fault, though. It's a rare morning when Geminus has some time to text, and Noct's just been taking advantage of it. Sure, they usually chat for an hour or so in the evenings pretty regularly, but Noct has been so busy lately that he's fallen asleep more often than not the second his head hits the pillow.

It's his own fault, of course. No one had really expected him to take on full-time credit hours when he enrolled for classes at Insominia University. It's been a scramble to get everything done between this and his other duties, but it's important. And, as he told Dad, it's relevant to the type of King Noct wants to be. He knows it'll be tough to manage everything for a while, but he's determined, and some of Geminus' organizational tactics have really helped out. Thankfully, once he's done with this exam, he'll have some time off to recuperate before the accelerated summer semester begins.

And, speaking of Geminus…

Noct's phone buzzes. Glancing up, he immediately reaches for it without thinking but stops when Prompto shoots him a curious, knowing look. Noct wrinkles up his nose and feels heat creep up his neck. One of Prompto's long ears pops up comically, along with a single, tawny brow. Noct knows he's about to spill the beans because he's been keeping Geminus a secret for, like, ever , and Prompto always chips away at his resolve like nothing else. Sighing explosively, Noct gives in and snatches his phone to check to see what Geminus said.

Good luck with your exam.

You'll have to let me know how it goes later if you're available to chat. 😺

Noct's chest lurches with excitement. He nearly smiles but reins it in at the last moment to tap out a reply.

Assuming I don't fall asleep early, just give me a call at our usual time.

He hits send, then puts his phone down on the table. When he looks up, he realizes that he is, in fact, grinning like an idiot. Also, now both of Prompto's ears are standing up, and his expression has gone from teasing to soft and surprised.

" Dude ," Prompto accuses. The weight and meaning behind the statement are achingly clear.

Noct's entire face flames, and he rolls his eyes as he slumps forward over his notes to hide. "Ugh, I know ." He laments.

His stomach churns with a confusing mix of things. Nerves because he knows he's in waaaay too deep, and now Prompto knows too, and…Maybe he's relieved? It's been months since the first time he and Geminus first met and started talking. Frankly, he's surprised he managed to keep it from Prompto this long. Not that he'd really intended to keep it a secret. Struggling suddenly with what to say, Noct grimaces and presses his face into the table. Thankfully, there's no one around to notice him. There are a few Glaives in plainclothes lingering at a table nearby just in case, but none of the other students give a shit that the Prince is there or being weird. They're far too busy freaking out over their finals.

Taking a breath, Noct sits up and pins Prompto with a helpless look. "Here, come closer. I'm not trying to advertise."

Prompto, instead of leaning over the table, gets up and scoots in beside Noct, then bows closer so that their heads nearly touch. There's something sympathetic and protective about his guileless, blue-violet eyes that make Noct want to throw out his arms and hug Prompto tight. Instead, he wrinkles up his nose and struggles with where to begin.

"Okay, so like, you know, last fall when I was having a fit with the Council a week or so after your birthday about you being on my Retinue?" He starts.

Prompto nods, clearly unsure where this is going and what it has to do with Noct's mystery text partner. Noct hauls in a long breath and goes on.

"So I got kind of pissed and stormed off. There's this little outside balcony place up in that corridor, so I was hiding out there, and this Glaive, well almost a Glaive, came out and-"

"Wait, you have the hots for a Glaive ?" Prompto cuts in, excited and just a bit too loudly.

Hissing, Noct clamps a hand over his darling idiot of a best-friend's mouth and shoots him a furious look. "Shh, not too loud, asshole!"

Prompto flushes, and his expressive ears droop. "Sorry," he whispers. "What happened next?"

Letting out a soft breath, Noct scoots closer to buy a little time. He's not sure why he's so nervous because it's just Prom, for fuck's sake. They've shared more embarrassing things with one another. Except this is different, and Noct knows it. Sure, they've talked about this sort of stuff before, but it's usually Prompto sighing and pining over his latest crush. Noct…Usually isn't the one in this position. Honestly, he's not even sure he's ever actually admitted to Prom that he even prefers men. Mostly because it always seemed irrelevant to consider. Especially now that he's getting older. Someday soon, he'll be expected to marry and further the line of Lucis Caelum.

"We were talking and, like…I dunno. We kept talking and… That's how it's going?" Noct replies evasively.

Prompto rolls his eyes, but he's smiling regardless. "C'mon, I need more deets than just that. Is she cute? What's she like?"

"… He ," Noct corrects timidly.

He feels suddenly hot all over like this is a big deal . But Prompto doesn't even miss a beat.

"Oh, sorry, my bad," Prompto replies, like it's no big deal. "What's he like?"

Noct lets out a slow breath. The anxiety rattling around in his chest eases, and the tension he wasn't even aware of drains out of his body. Offering up a reserved smile, he turns away for a second, overwhelmed by just how damned much he loves his best friend. His throat closes up a little, but Noct isn't about to let himself fucking cry over something so silly. And not in public. After a moment, he masters himself and shrugs.

"I dunno… He's just… Easy to talk to, I guess?" Noct says, unsure of himself. "He's… Different and has this really wry sense of humor, but he's super clever and smart. And he's cool as hell. I saw him training once, and it was— Wow . Yeah."

Prompto's ears flick forward as he listens intently, and his smile widens as Noct goes on. Feeling shy but emboldened by the response, Noct ducks his head sheepishly and feels himself smiling as his chest lurches with a light, slippery feeling.

"I...Like how easy it is to talk to him. Like...There's not any expectation of who I'm supposed to be," Noct says. He chooses not to reveal the spicy conversation from the other day because that would just complicate matters. "We haven't really…Discussed what we even are. So I'm not sure if this is even really a thing ."

"But it could be," Prompto finishes kindly. "I see the look on your face, buddy. You really like him, huh?"

Wrinkling his nose, Noct's face heats. Then he nods as his mouth curls into a grin. "Yeah, I do."

The smile on Prompto's face stretches until it's all teeth, then he barks out a gleeful sound and reaches over to wrangle Noct into a hug. It's awkward, and Prompto musses up Noct's hair pretty spectacularly, but he allows it because Noct feels…Really good. Like, really, really good. He doesn't think of the complications of his life or that this fledgling something with Geminus probably won't go anywhere. He's just happy to enjoy it at the moment. Shoving at Prom, he laughs.

"Ew, get off of me. You're being gross," Noct complains without meaning it.

Laughing, Prompto reels away. Though not far enough that his whisper isn't heard. "So you gonna tell me what this mysterious Glaive of yours looks like, or do I have to guess?"

Noct debates for a second. He has to keep some secrets, after all. But he trusts Prompto, and it's very unlikely that he and Geminus will ever cross paths. Prompto's training has been either exclusively with Cor or Gladio.

"Uhm.." Noct begins. He's not sure what to say that won't be…embarrassing. "Tall?"

Prompto rolls his eyes and jabs Noct in the ribs. "Wow. So descriptive."

"Okay, okay," Noct concedes, laughing around the butterflies that suddenly fill his stomach. "He...Uhm. He's really good-looking? His eyes are green, and he's got this voice . Uhm… He's a Hybrid. Some type of feline. I haven't asked or anything, but his ears are so fucking soft."

It's this more than the fact that Noct confessed to being attracted to a man that has Prom's eyes widening with surprise. He gawps a little before reining it in and blinking at Noct.

" Wow ," Is all Prompto says.

It's a scandal waiting to happen, and Noct knows it. If the papers found out that he was dating a man, it would be bad enough. But a Hybrid on top of that? Every rag in Insomnia would have a fucking field day, and Noct's business would be on every newsstand to be picked apart by the public as if they had a right to it. To him . Just the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, especially when he considers the fact he hasn't confessed to Geminus he's the fucking Prince. Wrinkling his nose, Noct frowns as guilt rears its ugly head.

"He…Uhm. Hedoesn'tknowwhoIam ," He says in a sudden, breathless rush.

Blinking, Prompto cocks his head to the side in confusion. "..What?"

Noct's throat tightens. “…He…He doesn't know who I am."

It takes a moment, but the cogs in Prompto's brain turn, and then he lets out a soft, strangled curse.

" Noct ," He starts, confusion warring with sympathy.

"I know, I know, " Noct replies, flustered and suddenly emotional. "That day on the balcony, I was hiding in my coat and scarf because I was upset about the stupid Council and didn't want to be seen, and it was cold, but then he didn't know who I was and…And it was nice, you know? I was just…Some guy having a shitty day, and he was so — I liked how he treated me without having to be Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum."

Prompto's face crumples into a look of understanding as all the pieces fall into place. He takes a moment to think, then he blows out a long breath.

"So…Who does he think you are?" Prompto questions sympathetically.

"I mean, I haven't lied about anything," Noct shoots back, defensive. "Everything I've told him is basically true, just… Not the way he probably thinks it is. I've been really careful. I told him my Dad works at the Citadel and that my name is Light."

Prompto makes a face that suggests he understands but doesn't quite approve of it. Noct gets it, he does, and he knows he'll eventually have to come clean with Geminus, but…He isn't quite sure how. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when it's been months already.

" Light , huh?" Prompto asks gently.

Noct slumps in his seat. The airy lightness from a few moments ago is gone, leaving him feeling wretched. Glancing helplessly in Prompto's direction, his face pulls into a miserable frown. It drags a huge sigh from Prom, who frowns as well. Then, Noct finds himself being dragged into a hug. Relieved, he melts into it and tucks his head against the bony curve of Prompto's shoulder. It's probably not the best place for it, all things considered, so after a moment, Noct leans away and gets flicked on the end of his nose for his troubles.

"Oww, what was that for?" Noct grumps.

Prompto shrugs. The smile is back on his face, and his expression radiates his usual upbeat optimism.

"For you being a dumbass. But it's cool. We can figure it out together, and I'll even help because I'm so damned nice," Prompto says. "But you absolutely can't leave it too much longer. Especially if you're planning to get serious about him."

Nodding, Noct lets out a slow breath. He's not sure if he's planning on getting serious or not. He just knows that he really likes Geminus.

"Yeah, I know," He agrees. "I really like him, and he likes me, but…But I don't even know how it would even work. I have a responsibility , you know?"

It takes a moment for the implication to sink in, and then Prompto's brows knit in a scowl. They've never really discussed any of this, but Noct has always known his life would veer in that direction. The Council will likely chivvy him into an alliance or arranged marriage sooner rather than later. Frankly, he's lucky it hasn't happened yet, but he suspects he's got Dad to thank for that.

"Dude, that sucks. Would they really just make you marry some rando?" Prompto demands, scowling.

Sighing, Noct shrugs. "I have no idea. But I kind of need someone with the correct parts if I'm going to further the royal line with little royal babies."

"Even if you're like, yanno ? Are you yanno ?" Prompto presses, voice quiet, clearly not wanting to speak too loudly or be too obvious.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Noct shoots a blank look in Prom's direction. "I dunno. But I don't think it'll matter much to anyone but me and Dad. Besides, have you ever heard of a gay Lucis Caelum?"

Prompto wrinkles his nose into a scowl and huffs out a growly sound of discontent. He's clearly displeased on Noct's behalf, but it's honestly not worth getting upset about. Noct has always known that his life would eventually turn this way, which is why he'd never bothered with dating or any of that to begin with. Honestly, he just figured he'd end up married to Luna or something because she's really the only girl he's ever been close with. Now? Now it settles like a stone in his belly, making him just as discontent as Prompto.

"Not saying this thing with your Glaive is that serious, but if you ever did get serious with someone, I bet your Dad would be on your side," Prompto points out gently.

Noct blows out a sigh. As much as he wants to believe it isn't serious, he knows it's pretty damned close. Prompto is probably right, but there's still a small niggling voice in the back of his head that speaks to the contrary. He knows Dad will always be on his side when it comes to personal affairs that aren't detrimental to his person. However, as King …

"Eh. It's…I think it's more complicated than that. But..It doesn't really matter right now. Things aren't that serious," Noct replies a little wistfully. "I've never really dated anyone, so it's best not to get too carried away."

Nodding sympathetically, Prompto gives Noct one last squeeze before returning to his side of the table and pulling out his books to spread out so he can get to work. Reluctantly going back to his own studies, Noct tries to focus but just can't seem to lock in. After a while, he sighs and shoves his notes aside.

"Gladio doesn't know about any of this yet," He grunts.

Prompto glances up. Then he sighs. "So now I'm complicit?"

Noct shoots his best friend a helpless, pleading look, hoping to sway him over.

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut. But after finals, you and I are coming up with a plan for you to come clean to Gladio and your Glaive." Prompto replies.

Noct's chest lurches with gratitude. Prompto is literally the best, and he doesn't know what he'd do without him. Especially when Noct's phone suddenly buzzes, and Prompto rolls his eyes.

"Put that thing on silent so we can help each other study."

Nodding, Noct smiles as he does as he's told. After he checks the new message from Geminus that is.

***

A few days later, Noct wakes to the sound of his phone chirping out a calendar alarm. Grunting, he rolls over and ignores it. It's finally almost the weekend, and he wants to sleep in now that his finals are over. Unfortunately, it's not quite Saturday yet, and he has Duties to attend. Which means it's very likely that Gladio is already here somewhere, being a nuisance. Sure enough, there's a loud knock on his bedroom door mere moments later.

"Oy, get up. You have shit today," Gladio calls.

Noct growls and buries his head in his pillows. He supposes he should be lucky it's Gladio and not the awful secretary assigned to him. Noct's been through five since he was fifteen, and this new one is just as terrible. He likes to go into Noct's schedule and switch things around without letting anyone know, which has, on more than one occasion, left Noct in the lurch, looking like he's incompetent or lazy. He's brought the issue up several times with The Council now, but they don't seem to care. Or rather, they don't want to claim the fault for hiring someone who can't do their fucking job.

As a result, Noct has a whiteboard full of sticky notes and messy corrections in his closet that he can barely keep up with. Of course, Dad says he only has to deal with council-appointed staff for another year, but those conversations always end in an argument. Noct doesn't want to think of his Guardianship until he absolutely has to.

"Fuck off, I don't have shit to do till this afternoon," He calls back sourly.

Regardless, he sits up and stumbles out of bed to go take a piss and face down his Shield. Proof of life is kind of essential because Noct knows full well that if he doesn't get out of bed within fifteen minutes of Gladio's wake-up calls, he'll end up on the floor in a heap, no thanks to literally being shoved out of bed. Stumbling out into the living room, he flops face-first onto the couch with a grunt and listens while Gladio makes coffee in the kitchen. He drifts lazily until a throw pillow thwaps his head roughly.

"Caffeine and clean clothes. Now," Gladio directs, gruff but kind.

Noct grumbles and pops an eye open to glower miserably. "How fucked is my schedule?" He asks.

"Not too fucked," Gladio replies as he sits on the opposite end of the couch. He's dressed casually today, but in a stylish way that shows off his build which is a good sign. It means no official bullshit has been added to the docket. "One of Lord Scientia's interns un-fucked it after that idiot Hebes made a mess of it."

Relief floods Noct's belly. He supposes he should send a thank-you to both the intern and Lord Scientia, but it's a later problem.

"Hebes was the last one with the red hair," He corrects instead. "It's Nescuis now. He's the one with the weird nose?"

"Oh, you're right. They're all equally bad, honestly," Gladio replies thoughtfully. He takes a sip of his coffee, then nudges at Noct's head affectionately. "Luckily, you won't have to deal with any of those dumbasses too much longer. Dad says your Ward is trained in all that kind of stuff."

Noct's insides churn. He's not going down this road with Gladio right now and doesn't want to talk about it at all, so he grunts and heaves himself upright.

"Gonna go get ready," He says as he flees.

Gladio absolutely knows this is a tactical retreat, but he opts to let it slide. He does shoot an unimpressed look in Noct's direction but says nothing. Grateful for the reprieve and not having to discuss literally owning someone, Noct scampers back to his room to change into something passing acceptable. He'll fix his hair before they actually have to leave, as it's all crazy from drying wet. Then, he grabs his phone and slumps back down the hall as he makes for the kitchen.

Once he gets there, he pours himself a cup of coffee and feels his insides flip when he notes that Gladio dug into the bag of fresh beans Noct had purchased after getting read the riot act from Geminus after admitting he usually just used instant. Gladio even ground up the beans and everything. Something that Noct hadn't quite figured out how to do yet. Pouring himself a cup, Noct takes a careful sniff, then opts to dump his customary amount of sugar and cream in and brings it to the counter to sit and scroll his phone while he wakes up.

The first sip is...Really fucking good. Okay, so Geminus was right. Taking another sip, Noct feels little tendrils of heat pool into his chest and belly, and then he sighs happily.

"This coffee is good," He comments. "Show me how to make it before you leave."

Gladio hums, absorbed in his own phone. Then, looking up, he twists on the couch to angle Noct with an unimpressed look. "You're the one who bought it. Shouldn't you know how to make it?"

Noct rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue petulantly instead of answering. It earns him a snort from Gladio, who instantly turns around and goes back to whatever he was doing. Probably reading smutty fiction, Noct thinks as he wrinkles his nose.

Navigating to his messages, he's a little disappointed there isn't anything from Geminus yet. So he snaps a stealthy picture of his cup of coffee and sends it, hoping to get a response. A few minutes later, as he's checking his Kings Night dailies, a message comes through.

You dare profane the beans with cream and sugar? How utterly blasphemous.

Noct smiles as he takes another sip and contemplates how he wants to reply. His brain isn't quite firing on all cylinders, honestly, which is what the caffeine is for.

Gonna need it to get through it all. I'm stupid busy today. 😭

It's really good , by the way. I'm glad you recommended it. How do I grind it?

My friend made it while I was passed out, and he's being a dick.

A response comes through a few moments later as Noct is contemplating what he wants to eat.

Poor Darling. Make sure you take some time for yourself when you can.

You'll run yourself ragged otherwise.

Send me a photo of what your grinder looks like, and I'll see what I can do with it.

Warmth fills Noct's face, making his stomach flutter with butterflies. It's...Really nice how attentive Geminus is, even just via text. Hopping off the barstool he's sitting on, Noct stealthily moves around the kitchen under the pretext of getting a bowl of cereal. He does, but he also locates the coffee grinder and takes a stealthy photo of it. Once he's done, he takes his cereal back to the counter and gets comfortable again. While he's eating, he scrolls through his shared calendar app, notes the corrections that Lord Scientia's intern made, (The app says the edits were made by someone called I.S.) and tries to mentally compare it to his whiteboard setup. Of course, when Geminus' reply comes through, Noct immediately switches over to his messenger app.

It'll be easier to explain when we chat later tonight. If you're available, of course.

Noct doesn't even have to think about that one.

Sounds good, Specs. You could literally read me an instruction manual, and I'd be totally down. 😉

I'll keep that in mind, Darling. Do you have any manuals in mind? A boring textbook, perhaps?

Giddiness fills Noct's chest. He's sure he's probably grinning like a damned idiot. He nearly laughs into his mug of coffee but tamps it down at the last possible second because he's not really keen on having that conversation with Gladio either. Sending a string of shrugging emojis followed by a winky face as a reply, he goes back to his breakfast and eats in relative quiet. After a while, he gets another incoming message, which is a series of white and pink flowers in an immaculately kept garden.

I know you have a busy day ahead. Hopefully, these cheer you up.

The message is, of course, nice, but the photos of the flowers make his insides squirm. It's kind of cute that Geminus is so fond of gardening, and while Noct has no idea what kind of flowers they are, he has to admit they're pretty. Honestly, the only flower Noct really knows at first glance are sylleblossoms, but that's only because Luna likes them so much.

Saving the picture, he does a quick moogle image search and discovers they are a type of daffodil. Wondering if Geminus is in the gardens at the Citadel, he has a sudden itch to ride over early and find out. They haven't actually seen each other since that particular phone call, and Noct wonders if it will change the dynamic or if he's just being weird about it. But with Gladio hovering and his day already planned out to the minute, he abandons the idea.

I've never seen those before. Are you at the Citadel?

My sponsor has graciously allowed me to make use of his yard for my own pursuits. Thought I might share while I drink my own coffee.

This particular type is a pink champagne daffodil.  

Smiling, Noct glances up surreptitiously to make sure Gladio isn't paying attention, then texts Geminus back.

They're pretty. I don't know too much about flowers, honestly. 🤷

A friend of mine really likes sylleblossoms, so I know that one!

I used to visit her a lot when I was little at their summer home, and we'd play in her mom's garden.

They smell really nice.

What Noct really wants to do is see if Geminus wants to meet up somewhere, but It's kind of impossible, even if his schedule today wasn't awful. If Gladio weren't here, it might be a little easier, but Noct doubts it. Sure, he's allowed to be out without a security detail, but being out with an unknown person, even if they are training to be a Glaive, is out of the question. Not without a background check, Gladio tailing them, and a shovel-talk from Cor, which would basically give Noct's secret away.

He still hasn't come up with a plan for that, even with Prom's help, which isn't super great, honestly.

Noct feels bad about it, but every time he tries to come up with a plan, his chest squeezes with anxious worry. What if Geminus doesn't want to get involved with Noct? What if he likes Light better? Ugh, it's a mess. When Noct's phone lights up, he forgets all about his anxiety because there's a photo of a patch of small, sad-looking sylleblossoms attached to the message. They're the Lucian variety, which tends to be more purple than blue, but he still smiles regardless.

Next time I'm in the Citadel gardens, I'll take a photo of the ones they have there.

These are rather unfortunate. The rose bush beside them drinks up all the sun.

Noct almost replies with something stupid, like a photo of his own dumb smiling face. Instead, he sends back a series of grinning emojis. Then, as an afterthought, he adds some actual text.

Lucian sylleblossoms are a bit fussier than Tenebraen ones, I guess.

Maybe try those in your garden instead?

There's a long pause. Long enough that Noct thinks maybe Geminus got tied up with something, but after several minutes pass, his phone lights up again. The message has his ears heating because it's really sweet, but at the same time, he absolutely hears the low timbre of Geminus' voice in his head, smacking with rumbling, wry amusement.

My, who knew you were such a budding botanist?

Thank you for planting that seed of knowledge. I'll be sure to let it flower, My Dearest.

Noct takes a minute, reading the text over several times before he can form a response that isn't just a bunch of key smashes. It's the My Dearest that throws him off, making him feel like a stupid high school kid with a crush on his teacher or something. Guuh. Grinning doltishly, he starts to text back when Gladio calls out.

"Oy, Dumbass. What's with the face?"

Almost immediately, Noct gets hot all over. He closes out of the text screen so quickly that he nearly fumbles and drops his phone in his bowl of undoubtedly soggy cereal. Yelping, he grabs it before it can land with a splat, then whips his head up to scowl at his stupid Shield.

"Fuck off. It's none of your business," Noct snaps petulantly.

Gladio's head looms over the back of the couch, and for a moment, he looks entirely unimpressed. Then he blows out a sigh and rolls his eyes.

"You know what, I don't want to know," Gladio replies and turns away. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

For a second, Noct feels his belly squirm with guilt. Because he is doing something stupid, but he can't quite confess to Gladio. Not yet. Not when he knows he'll get a ration of crap from about not telling the whole truth about who he is. Still, the confession is there, on the tip of his tongue.

"Do you know where I can get seeds for Tenebraen sylleblossoms?" He asks instead.

A beat passes, then there's a shuffling sound, and Gladio turns to peer back over the top of the couch again, but he's got a funny look on his face. The gleaming coal-black of his horns only make him look more imposing despite the amusing tilt of his head. It's a look that says he's suspicious of the question but wants Noct to reveal everything on his own.

"Why would I know something like that?" Gladio demands gruffly. He's silent for a moment, and then his dark brows narrow suspiciously. "Don't you have a certain Princess or whatever you can ask? You know, one who really likes sylleblossoms? One who has a whole damned garden of them and happens to be from Tenebrae?"

Noct absolutely knows what Gladio is trying to imply and catches himself before he rolls his eyes because Luna is the perfect suggestion for something like this. Instead of giving Gladio the satisfaction of getting whatever reaction he's looking for or accidentally playing into whatever inaccurate assumptions he's having, Noct merely sticks out his tongue. Then, he slides off the stool he's sitting on and dumps out his bowl of soggy cereal.

"You know, I think you're right," He replies, dripping sarcasm as he puts the bowl in the sink. "I think I'll go give her a call now."

Noct isn't actually going to call Luna, but the satisfied, smirking look on Gladio's face is worth the misdirection. Grabbing his phone, he stalks off toward his room and shuts the door behind him. Then, he happily flops down in bed and rolls up in the blankets. If Noct plays his cards right, he can sneak in at least an hour of napping before Gladio gets suspicious. And, once he's comfy, he closes his eyes, intent on doing just that. However, the idea of reaching out to Luna picks at his brain until he gives in and taps out a message. It isn't their preferred method of communication, but sometimes waiting for Umbra to appear isn't fast enough.

Hey, hope you're having a nice day. How's things?

Taking into account the time difference between here and Altissia, where Luna has been living these past years, it's somewhere around mid-afternoon. She's still technically a Princess and takes the role seriously, even if it's her prick of an older brother to whom the responsibility of the fallen kingdom of Tenebrae falls. Luna's role lies squarely in her work as The Oracle.

She'd tried explaining it to him once when they were children, but he didn't quite understand. Noct still doesn't really understand, only that the people of Eos view her as a symbol of hope. A conduit between mortals and the Astrals. A magical bridge or something like that. It's cool, he guesses. He just worries about her sometimes. Her role as Oracle only keeps her safe to a certain extent. With Niflheim intent on wreaking havoc, it's only a matter of time before they get tired of playing cat and mouse and come for her again. Or everyone else, for that matter.

Before Noct can delve too deeply into fretting about that, his phone buzzes with an incoming call. It's Luna, of course, and even if he doesn't really want to talk, he picks up anyhow.

"Noct," She greets.

"Hey, Lu," He replies. "Sorry, I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"Of course not," Luna assures. "I have some time. What are you up to?"

Noct rolls over onto his side with a thoughtful hum. Now that he's talking to Luna, the whole tale about Geminus threatens to spill out. He's not sure he wants to go down that road, but it's Luna.

"Not much. I'm just hiding from Gladio because he's being a jerk. I've got stuff later, but I kind of just want to take a nap." He answers honestly. "It's all boring stuff mostly, but I got clearence for those volunteer places I told you about. I'm starting with them next week."   

Chuckling softly, Luna hums out a soft, sympathetic sound. "Is he really being a jerk, or is he just making you follow through with your duties?"

Oops. Caught.

"Ugh. Not you, too," Noct laments. "To be fair, I did get up early today."

Luna hums again, and then they lapse into a comfortable silence. It's not unusual, and as Noct ponders how he wants to proceed, he listens as Luna does whatever it is she's doing in the background. Finally, Noct huffs out a sigh and gets to the point.

"Hey, so uh...I was just wondering. Maybe you could send Umbra with some sylleblossoms seeds? I...Err. Wanted them. For something." He tells her.

Luna absolutely clocks the odd quality of Noct's voice, but she doesn't say anything. Her silence is telling enough and has Noct's face heating because it's so damned frustrating how she just knows things.

"Okay, they're for someone. It's... Ugh. He...He likes gardening, but the ones he tried didn't do so well. I thought he might have better luck with the ones you grow." He replies.

Noct's insides wriggle with nerves as the silence stretches between them. In a fit of intense embarrassment, he hides his head under the blankets because it feels safer that way. Finally, Luna chuckles softly.

"I can practically hear you squirming from here," She teases. "I'll send some as soon as I can. Will you tell me about your new friend in the meantime?"

Letting out a slow breath, warmth settles in Noct's chest. "Yeah, sure. Only if you tell me what you've been up to, though. We haven't actually talked in forever."

So they talk. Noct tells Luna about Geminus but casually leaves out the bit about not revealing he's the Prince. Then, in turn, Luna details the events of the last few days until they circle back around to Noct's day and upcoming commitments.

"I dunno which one of Lord Scientia's interns fixed my schedule today, but I could seriously kiss them," Noct says, fighting through a sleepy yawn. "They somehow managed to switch things around so I'm not running from one end of Eos to the other and back again. And I have time between things."

Luna hums softly, amused. "A good assistant is invaluable," She agrees. "Perhaps you can ask Lord Scientia to borrow them until you find one you like?"

Scoffing, Noct rolls his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. "And give up Nescuis? No way." He returns, voice dripping with sarcasm. Of course, he knows he's likely to be scolded for that, albeit gently, so he goes on before Luna gets the chance. "Atleast for today I can thank I.S. for my sanity."

"You wouldn't want to lose that," Luna agrees, clearly teasing. "You'll need it for next week."

Humming in agreement, Noct yawns again. This time, his eyes slip shut and he feels sleep tugging at him. He stubbornly wants to tell Luna about the Hybrid outreach agencies he'll be volunteering at over the summer, but before he knows it he's drifting off. When he jolts awake an hour later to Gladio's voice calling his name, somehow it's not surprising.

And, when Noct sits up and spots the notebook he shares with Luna on the nightstand, he's not surprised by that, either. Reaching for it, Noct's insides warm when he spots a small packet labled Sylleblossom Seeds in Luna's neat, flowing script. Smiling, he carefully tucks the seeds away, then heads off to find Gladio before someone takes it upon themselves to dump him out of bed.

Chapter Text

Noct's finals for the spring semester go well, but he barely has time to recoup before he's thrown into the thick of it again. His summer classes are more demanding than anticipated, and as he gets closer and closer to his twentieth birthday, it gets harder to juggle schoolwork, his duties, and his social calendar.

Historically, his summers have always been the busiest. There are celebrations, festivals, and galas to attend that are harder to wiggle out of now that he's older. But he also doesn't want to give up on his passion projects. The things he actually wants to do. It's exhausting, and he regrets not asking Dad if he can scale back on the stupid stuff, but his stubborn nature wins out. He won't give the Council any more fodder for their ill opinion of him.

Besides, it's all worth it.

He feels like he's making a real impact by working with Hybrid-focused outreach programs and quietly supporting various charity events behind the scenes. It's nice because, even though they know who he is, it's all kept quiet. And the staff in charge treat him like any other volunteer. Noct still stays masked up, though, because the last thing he needs is to get hounded by the press or place undue stress on the agencies. Not only that, he doesn't want a firestorm of paparazzi or headlines claiming he's being 'performative'.

The good thing is that Prom has gotten through enough of his training to come along. Provided there's another Glaive around, if it's a day, Gladio has his own duties to attend. It's a little nerve-wracking, honestly, because Noct is worried that one day it'll be Geminus. Thankfully, it never is. Lately, it's been one of the Galahdian Glaive, a woman who Noct thinks is called Pollux. Noct also vaguely recalls she has a twin brother, and wonders if he's a Glaive as well.

Glancing up from his work, he flicks his gaze across the hot, humid gymnasium in the old community center where he and Prompto are sitting. He doesn't see the Glaive, but he suspects she's around somewhere helping out. Breathing out softly, he turns back to the files he's organizing and color-coding. Hot as he is, Noct is much happier doing this than being at some stuffy function with a bunch of Lucian Aristocrats throwing themselves at him. His nose wrinkles as he remembers he'll be stuck dodging them later that night and wonders how many of their daughters he'll have to avoid.

"How many green folders do you have left?" He asks Prompto sourly as he clips together a fat fold of papers.

"What case number is that?" Prom asks, not looking up. He's in the middle of skimming his own pile of papers with his nose wrinkled in thought.

Noct, glancing toward the upper right of the topmost page in his hands, frowns. Prompto is right. This case doesn't belong in a green folder, which would send it up the line in order of precedence. It belongs in the orange pile to be sent for review. Skimming the information, he learns that this file belongs to a young man who already has a Sponsor but still needs to sort out his paperwork for Citizenship. Noct's chest clenches with empathy when he realizes that the young man is separated from his family and has no idea where they are. Poor kid. He's only sixteen.

"You're right, it's orange," Noct replies. "He's here all alone, though. I'm gonna flag this for research, so maybe they can help find his family if they're already here."

Glancing up, Prompto's ears droop. His face faults because he knows that sometimes cases like this don't end well. Noct tries not to think too closely about it as he carefully tucks the stack of papers into an orange folder and marks it with a bright yellow tab to indicate it needs further review. Wishing the young man well and hoping he finds his family, Noct sets the folder into the growing pile of orange folders and returns to work.

They go on like this for a while, sorting, organizing, and going through the box of files in front of them until Noct's phone chimes. Knowing it's his alarm, he huffs out a grunt and finishes the last few stacks in his pile before gathering up all the folders on the table to pack them back into an empty box.

"Guess that's it for today," He grumps.

Across the table, Prompto offers Noct a sympathetic smile. "I can go over to your apartment later if you want," He suggests.

Noct shakes his head, frowning. The rest of his day is booked solid by shit that doesn't matter. He'd tried so hard to wiggle out of the stupid dinner tonight, but it's one of the events he'd agreed to attend to get out of some of the others, so he had time for his charities and volunteer work. If it were just up to Dad, it wouldn't have been a problem at all. Unfortunately, the Council had insisted.

Lip curling, Noct stands up. "No, it's fine. I know you have training early tomorrow. I probably won't be back at my place till after midnight if I'm lucky."

Grabbing the box of files off the table, he starts toward the back of the gym where the offices are, but stops to watch a group of kids rolling and tumbling around on the floor. A few belong to some of the volunteers, while the rest likely belong to parents seeking assistance here. It's a good mix of human and Hybrid children, and they're playing a game of chase that involves lots of tackling and roughing around. The ringleader, a tall girl with pigtails and curly red hair, scoops up one of the littles and wheels him around as he squeals and waggles his little brown tail excitedly.

Noct knows he ought to go back to his place so he can at least take a nap before he has to get up and ready to meet Dad, but he sets down the box instead and grins at Prom. The two share a look, and then together, they head over to join in. The girl recognizes Prompto immediately and smiles at him.

"You wanna play with us?" She questions as the others cluster around warily.

"Dude, of course, we wanna play with you," Prompto replies.

He doesn't wait to see how the girl will react. He just twists around with a playful growl and starts after the group, making them scatter as he chases them. Noct, laughing behind his mask, calls out.

"If you tickle him, he'll go down easy!"

The kids, finding this hilarious, test the theory, and what results is an amusing game of tickle-tag. Noct runs around for a while, dodging Prompto and egging the children on. After a while, he notices a sullen little boy hiding against the wall with his spotted, fawn-like ears turned back. He keeps watching the group as if he wants to join in but doesn't quite know how. Giving Prompto a little wave, Noct nods toward the kid, and Prompto gives a thumbs up to indicate the message is received. Trotting over to the wall, Noct huffs out a breath and sits down close to the kid, who peers at him warily.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" Noct asks quietly.

The kid shrugs. So Noct leans backward with a dramatic huff and pretends like he's trying to catch his breath. After a moment, he turns to glance in the kid's direction.

"Phew, your friends really wore me out. You've probably got the right idea sitting over here." Noct says, playing up his exhaustion.

After a moment, the kid wrinkles his nose. "They're not my friends," He grumps.

Noct arches a brow. Taking this as an in, he scoots closer to the kiddo. "Really?"

The kid is quiet, and for a moment, the two of them merely watch the other kids rolling around on the floor, trying to tickle Prompto, who is squawking rather theatrically. It's pretty loud and chaotic, honestly, so Noct is glad he tapped out.

"It is getting kind of noisy over there. I'm glad I took a break," Noct says, wondering if that's the problem.

When the kid wrinkles his nose, Noct smiles faintly because bingo . Called it. They sit like that for a while until the kid glances shyly in his direction.

"…I don't like games like that," He says.

Noct nods, then, because he's not overly worried about it, takes off his mask and stuffs it in his pocket. He's hot after running around, and it feels like the right thing to do somehow. The kid doesn't react, so it's safe to assume he doesn't really know who Noct is. Either that, or he doesn't care.

"They can be overwhelming sometimes," Noct agrees. "But it's okay to take breaks. What kinds of games do you like to play?"

The kid thinks for a second, then he shrugs. "I dunno. I like drawing."

Humming thoughtfully, Noct isn't surprised. Wondering if there's any drawing stuff available, he decides that next week, when he comes, he'll donate a bunch of games and art supplies. There's usually a whole passel of kids hanging around anyway, and it wouldn't hurt to have more things for them to do while their parents are busy volunteering or getting help from the staff.

"That's cool," He replies kindly, offering the kid a smile. Then he points to Prompto, who is sprawled out on the gym floor panting. "My friend likes to draw and take pictures and stuff. Maybe once he's done being a big dummy, he can show you?"

The kid blinks, then he cracks a shy smile and nods. Charmed by the response, Noct's insides warm. Together, he and the kid watch the others quietly, and then the kid surprises Noct entirely.

"Uhm… You're the Prince, right?" He asks.

Noct blinks, wondering if he should've left his mask on. But the kid doesn't seem awestruck or any more nervous than he'd been a few minutes ago. Nodding, he angles his head in the boy's direction. The kid is gnawing his lip thoughtfully and pointedly looking at the floor.

"Yup," He affirms. Then, because Noct is curious: "How'd you figure that one out?"

The kid blinks, then shrugs and points to Prompto. He's sitting quietly with the group of kids now, showing them something on his phone.

"Your friend called you Noct, like the Prince. I heard him," The kid replies. Then, perhaps realizing it might be rude to just call the Prince his name, he turns and blinks up at Noct. "…Is it okay I call you that?"

Smiling, Noct nods. He really ought to put his mask back on before any of the adults notice and start getting all weird, but he doesn't.

"Yeah, sure, I don't mind," He replies. "All my friends call me Noct, so you can too. What's your name?"

The kid bites his lip, suddenly shy. "Max," He replies finally.

Max. So likely from outside the wall somewhere, or possibly even further. Most people living inside the wall typically use old Lucian naming conventions, even if they aren't nobility. Noct doesn't bring it up. There's no telling what this kid has been through to get here. Instead, he merely smiles and leans in to nudge against Max's shoulder

"Nice to meet you, Max," Noct greets.

Max flushes a little, but he smiles shyly. Noct can practically hear the cogs in this kid's head whirring, but doesn't push it. He knows Max is chewing something over, and eventually, the kid spits it out.

"How…How come you're here and not doing Prince stuff?" Max asks.

Noct expects the question and chuckles as he watches the other kids crawling all over Prompto. One of them, an energetic little kiddo with rumpled orange tabby ears, is practically on Prompto's head and has part of his ear in her mouth.

"This is Prince stuff," Noct replies with a mild shrug as he pins Max with a kind look. "What's more important than helping people get what they need to live safe, happy lives?"

Max's eyebrows wrinkle a moment as he ponders. Noct lets him process the statement, and then, slowly, the kid nods. He seems like he has more questions, but he doesn't get to ask because Prompto breaks away from his little fan club and trots over to flop down beside Noct. The rest of the group follows, making for a scramble as everyone piles in. Noct, sensing Max's discomfort, scoots closer protectively. As Prom settles, he shoots a curious look in Noct's direction, clearly having noted he's not wearing the mask anymore, but Noct merely shrugs it off.

"It's fine," He says quietly.

Prompto, nodding, grunts rather theatrically as the tiny girl who'd been chewing on his ear plops down in his lap as if she's claimed him. Once everyone is settled, it becomes clear several of the kids know who Noct is, and they trade looks with one another. He's been volunteering here for almost two months now, so it must be weird for them to realize that the strange guy with the mask is His Royal Highness, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. He uses it to his advantage.

"Hey, so, what would make things more fun around here for kids?" Noct asks. "Like what games, activities, and stuff?"

The oldest girl, the one with pigtails, looks at her friends, then back at Noct. "…Are you and Mr. Prompto going to bring some toys for us to play with?"

Mr. Prompto? Noct nearly sniggers but quashes the impulse. Instead, he nods in all seriousness.

"Maybe not just toys, but things to do while your parents are busy. Sometimes, new kids come, and they might be too shy or scared to make friends right away. If there are more things to do, it might help them feel less shy or scared," Noct explains.

The older kids look at one another, and then, all at once, the group starts shouting out ideas. There's a lot happening all at once, and it's hard to keep up with, so Noct shows off just a little and pulls a notebook and pen from the Armiger, much to the shock and awe of the kids huddled around him. Even Max's eyes widen at the trick. Noct smiles as he writes down all the suggestions. It's pretty simple stuff. Coloring books, crayons, markers, bubbles, jump rope, and some balls to play with. Things that will be easy enough to collect and bring. When he's finished with the list, Noct sets aside the notebook and pen.

"Cool," He says, smiling. "I'll see what I can do about all this. Thanks for the help, everyone."

The kids, clearly eager to see more magic, huddle close and eyeball the notebook hopefully. However, it's Max who finally speaks up.

"…How did you make that just appear?" He asks shyly.

Noct turns, smiling down at the kid. "It's part of the Royal Magic," He explains. "It's like…Having a gigantic invisible pocket I can put stuff in."

The kids, clearly wanting to see more, crowd in close. Noct, knowing what they want, picks up his notebook and pen and disappears them with a crack of crystalline blue. The pigtail girl and two little hybrid boys gasp, and the little one in Prom's lap giggles. Amused, Noct shoots a look at Prompto, who takes the hint immediately.

"I can do it too, see!" Prompto announces as he pulls out a half-empty bottle of water.

Somehow, this is more exciting than Noct doing it because the kids gasp and cheer. Prompto, clearly delighting in the reaction, pulls some other random stuff from their Armiger until there is quite a pile on the gym floor. There's a hat, a pair of gloves, a bottle of sunscreen, several candy bars, as well as more interesting things like a handful of old-school uniform buttons, a paper fan, some arcade tickets, and some little action figures Prompto used for a photography project once. After a while, Max's curiosity gets the better of him. Leaning forward on his hands and knees, the kid's ears twitch, and Noct catches his little fluffy fawn tail wiggling excitedly as he examines the items.

"Can anyone do royal magic?" Max asks as he turns to peer up at Noct with big, hopeful eyes.

Noct swallows tightly, sharing a look with Prompto. Something passes between the two of them, then Prompto smiles widely and reaches out to ruffle Max's hair.

"Well, not everyone , not unless you pass Glaive or Crownsguard training," Prompto replies.

"But everyone is welcome to apply. Humans and Hybrids." Noct adds, clarifying. "Once someone becomes a Glaive or Crownsguard, they're taught how to use it."

Max sits back on his haunches, pondering. However, the pig-tailed girl hops up suddenly. "Let's play royal magic." She decides.

Some of the other kids hop up, too, wanting to play with her. Before Noct can get a word in edge-wise, they're off running across the gym. Several of the other kids follow, and Noct thinks he might join in, but he spots Pollux making her way across the gym. That probably means the driver is here, and Noct really ought to go. Quickly disappearing the stuff back into the Armiger, he turns to give Max a fond look.

"I gotta go, but maybe if you're around next week, we can draw together or something," He tells the kid.

Max nods, but he's clearly distracted by the Glaive. She's dressed in plain clothes, but Max is a smart kid and probably at least realizes she's with Noct. Max takes in her gray lupine ears, studded with piercings, and sandy hair that's braided near her temples, then he frowns thoughtfully. Pollux, meanwhile, stops short as she notes Noct isn't wearing a mask anymore and raises a brow.

"I take it my ride is here?" Noct asks.

Pollux nods silently, knowing better not to ask. Her gaze drifts towards Max, however, and her expressive tail swishes curiously. Following her gaze, Noct notes that Max's little ears are quivering, perhaps from some ingrained sense of prey instinct. After a moment, he scoots closer to Noct, but he doesn't seem scared. More like intent.

"…Does she have royal magic too?" Max asks quietly.

Pollux clearly hears the question. The tip of one ear flicks backward, but she doesn't respond to the question, possibly because she's not sure of the proper protocol in this situation. Noct takes it upon himself to answer.

"Sure does. I think she's a specialist too, which means she can use elemental magic and not just support magic to make her faster and stronger." Noct replies. "That means she can make lightning or big gusts of wind."

Max's eyes get really big. Noct can only imagine what must be going through the kid's head and doesn't really understand the gravity of the situation until Max says something soft and quiet in what he suspects is a dialect of Galahdian. Pollux smiles and replies just as quietly, albeit slower. Noct isn't sure what the conversation entails, only that after a moment, Max hops up and throws his arms around her. She bends down to hug him back, then, after a moment, she leans away and wipes the tears from his cheeks.

"I'll talk to your mom and dad, okay? There's a bunch of us that meet once a week near here, and everyone is welcome," Pollux tells Max kindly.

Nodding, Max smiles up at her. Then he shyly smiles at Noct before turning to join the other kids. Noct watches him for a minute, as a strange lurching tightness fills his chest. Then, after mastering the sting in his nose and not crying, damnit, he hauls himself to his feet and reaches out to pull Prompto up as well. After dusting off his jeans, he reaches into his pocket and puts his mask back on. No need to cause any more of a fuss.

"We'll meet you at the car," Noct tells Pollux, giving her the chance to do what she needs to do before they leave.

She offers Noct a smile and briefly inclines her head. Then Noct wanders over to the table he and Prom had been working at to grab the stuff that needs to go back to the office before they leave. Prompto is suspiciously quiet as they finish up and make their way out to the car. It's a plain, nondescript SUV that doesn't look out of place in this mostly middle-income neighborhood. The community center is old but well-maintained; several bright banners are displayed along the side, and a handful of volunteers work in the fenced-in garden out front. Thinking suddenly of Geminus, Noct pulls out his phone to snap a picture of the flowers and then slides into the back of the SUV.

"Dude, you're kind of the coolest," Prom says quietly as he slides in beside.

Humming distractedly, Noct raises a brow. "Huh?" He asks, confused.

Prom's smile widens, and he shakes his head. But then he crowds in close and muckles onto Noct's arm affectionately. "Nuthin," Prom replies.

Noct rolls his eyes. Prompto is being weird, but that's fine. Warmth still fills Noct's chest because he feels like he actually did something worthwhile today. It makes up for the fact that he'll be trapped at a horrible dinner later on this evening. And, as he sends the photo of the garden, where the volunteers are caring for nasty veggies, Noct wonders how Geminus' day is going. He doesn't get a response right away, so he figures Geminus must be busy with the long list of things he had on his schedule for today. Prompto, absolutely noting what Noct is doing, smiles.

"You texting who I think you're texting?" He asks softly enough that the driver doesn't hear, his eyebrows waggling.

Noct feels his face heat, and he rolls his eyes, but he smiles nonetheless. "Yeah. And before you ask, I still haven't enacted our little plan yet. I want to do it in person, and our schedules just haven't lined up."

Whatever else Noct is about to say about Geminus gets silenced when Pollux slides into the front seat of the SUV. Like Prompto, she has to flatten her ears back so they don't scrape on the ceiling of the car. Twisting, she turns in her seat and inclines her head

"Ready to go, Highness?" She asks.

Noct hums politely and nods. He wants to ask about Max, but finds that he's suddenly feeling a little reserved in the presence of strangers. Still, he pushes past his discomfort.

"Uhm, that kid...He was Galahdian?" He asks.

Pollux nods. "His family got placed in a district a few neighborhoods over, according to his parents. It's mostly humans and native-born Hybrids there. He's been having a hard time adjusting."

Noct chews that information over. He can understand why Max might feel like the odd one out. Still, he's curious. "You mentioned something about some sort of meeting?"

Pollux smiles faintly. "There's a community center in Little Galahd where the locals get together for a potluck dinner and socializing. It gives us a sense of community. The elders love it, especially when our Glaives come down from the Citadel— It can get a bit rowdy when we do. Especially if Ulric is in the city."

Honestly, that sounds… Really fun. Much better than the stuffy shit he's going to. Noct wants to say as much, but he holds it in because he can't just invite himself. Still, his chest lurches because it feels like a better use of his time. Better than a stupid dinner with boring people who suck.

"Ulric came back from a mission earlier in the week, didn't he?" Prom asks, suddenly excited. Practically vibrating , actually. "I heard some Glaives talking about it the other day."

Pollux nods. "He is. So I'm sure it'll be rowdy tonight." There's a pause, and then she tips her head to the side in consideration. "You two are welcome to come if you like."

Noct knows he shouldn't. Not without approval and not with the stupid dinner he's supposed to attend tonight. Still…The dinner isn't until later, and if he times it just right, he could potentially do both. Besides, if he's going to be in a room full of Glaives, he'll have more than ample protection should the need arise. However, a sudden thought comes to him. What if Geminus is there? Noct chews his lip in consideration until he remembers that Geminus is busy with training tonight, then he's going to his Sponsor's.

"Eh. I don't know…I don't want to make you responsible when you're not on the clock in case something happens," He replies, hedging.

Noct wants to go. He's curious. About the Galahdians and how things are among the Hybrid refugees outside of the small pockets he has witnessed. Gladio is always harping that he should get to know the Glaives, but he can't risk blowing his cover. Of course, Prompto damned near reads Noct's mind and senses the problem immediately.

"I mean, being in a room full of Glaives is probably the safest place in the city apart from the Citadel, but Noct would have to be incognito," Prompto says as his nose wrinkles in concern. "Like, obviously, you'd know who he was, and probably Ulric and his crew since we've met them before, but for everyone else, it would have to be on the down low."

"Well, with His Majesty's outing tonight, he's got his personal guard and most of the higher-ranking Glaives on duty tonight," Pollux replies thoughtfully. "Ulric's detachment is exempt because they just got back, so it's unlikely you'll be recognized as long as you take your usual precautions, Highness."

In other words, apart from Ulric's crew, most of the Glaives in attendance will be those who are typically on duty for the public-facing wings of the Citadel and likely won't know exactly who Noct is. It's… Doable . Besides, it's not like he plans to stay for very long. He'll just go see what it's about, stay for a bit, and take off before the stupid dinner he has to go to. If he has his driver wait nearby and keeps his suit in the car so he doesn't have to go back home, it shouldn't be a problem. Mind made up, Noct flashes Pollux a smile.

"Okay, cool. So…Uhm, what time does it start, and what's the address?"

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 756

The concussive sound of the polearm in his hands striking a target with deadly accuracy is pleasing to Ignis' ears. Spinning gracefully after hitting it in the chest and belly, he vaults lightly up into the air by whirling his long legs out, and hurls the weapon like a javelin. It sticks, of course , much to his own satisfaction. The acrobatics aren't strictly necessary, but Ignis enjoys putting a little of his own flair to things. That, and he likes the idea that Light will think it's badass and fully intends to show him at some point. Pleased, Ignis' mouth curls into a delighted grin as he stalks over to remove the weapon from the target.

He almost wants to retrieve his phone from the locker room to snap a picture, but it feels too dangerous. Sure, Cor is off with his Majesty, dealing with the dinner party that is happening tonight, but there are eyes and cameras everywhere. Interestingly, Light will also be at a gathering with his father this evening, and Ignis wonders if it'll be the same one. It might well be, and the thought that Light moves in the same social circles as Prince Noctis is…Strange to say the least. He can't imagine the two would get along, though that could just be Ignis' bias coming into play. His opinion of His Royal Highness is ambivalent at best.

Ignis isn't stupid enough to believe the most recent articles citing Prince Noctis' absence in the public arena as privileged laziness are true. Regardless, Ignis can't help but feel His Highness ought to be taking a more active interest in, well, everything . But to say he's not doing anything isn't fair. Ignis has been in the Prince's schedule a number of times over the past few weeks, correcting the mistakes the incompetent secretary keeps making. And yes, there are large mystery blocks labeled with odd abbreviations, but it isn't Ignis' job to question it.

Heading back to the other end of the room, Ignis shakes the tension from his limbs. He'll have plenty of time to fret over the Prince's schedule in years to come. Instead, he focuses on the targets ahead and readies himself to restart the drill.

There are ten targets set out on a grid, each fitted with a sensor set to flash green or red—Friendlies and enemies—at random, to make things more interesting. It'll take a moment for them to reset, but Ignis finds he likes the thrill of knowing last second which ones to aim for.

Narrowing his eyes, he shoots forward, fast and deadly like a bolt of lightning. Sure enough, he only gets a few strides before the lights flick, changing the pattern. Ignis quickly dodges to the left of the nearest target, striking the red one behind it. Once he strikes, the targets change again, forcing him to think quickly and redirect at the last moment. It's fast-paced and thrilling, and as he whirls around, tail whipping behind him as he downs the final target, there's a sharp, teasing whistle from the door.

"Hot shit, Scientia!"

Panting, Ignis whips around to find Geminus grinning near the door. Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head but is amused by the praise. He and Geminus haven't crossed paths since their conversation, and Ignis still hasn't set the record straight with Light, which is... A concern. His ears twist apart briefly as he wrinkles his nose in thought. He's not sure how to broach the subject without ruining the easy atmosphere, so he makes the tactical decision to leave it unless Geminus brings it up.

"Pity I'm not authorized to challenge you to a match," Ignis quips.

Wandering closer on the pretext of getting something to drink, Ignis eyes Geminus with a measure of wariness. But the Glaive is in good enough spirits, if the wagging tail is anything to go by. Tch, wolves . Nothing more than overgrown dogs.

"Oh, you'd totally kick my ass, and I'd probably say thank you, Sir," Geminus replies mischievously.

Ignis rolls his eyes but smiles, nevertheless. Then snatches his water bottle up off the floor and hauls some of it back. Feeling much better, he gives Geminus a once-over. He's got on his full Glaive kit sans armor, which means he's either just come from duty, or is about to go on duty somewhere in the Citadel, as most of the higher-ranking Glaive will be on the King's detail tonight.

"So good of you to know your place," Ignis quips wryly.

Geminus barks out a sudden, pleased laugh. "You could cut someone with that humor, you know that, right?"

It pulls a mild laugh from Ignis as he finishes the rest of the water in his bottle and bends to sit on a nearby bench for a break. Geminus doesn't sit, but invites himself closer only to nudge at the toe of Ignis' sneakers with the cap of his shiny, black, and silver boots.

"So, hey, haven't seen you in a while. I was worried about you. Everything cool?" Geminus asks, his expression earnest.

Ah. Bollocks, Ignis should've expected the question, but it still makes his insides squirm with shame. When he glances up, he notes the expectant but open look on Geminus' face and the endearing way one of his ears flops over. Ignis doesn't want to lie because he doesn't want to ravage their already tentative friendship, but he feels guilty.

"Just busy, that's all," Ignis replies truthfully. "I appreciate the concern. I don't…Have many friends, as I'm sure you're aware."

One of Geminus' sandy brows lifts, and his tail betrays him by waggling excitedly. The smirking grin in the corner of his mouth is as charming as it is infuriating.

" Friends , huh?" Geminus counters. "Guess that means you've finally fallen for my unique charms."

Huffing out a soft snort, Ignis shoots a wry look upward. "I wouldn't go that far," He returns with a contrary smile. Then, to draw the conversation away from the matter he doesn't wish to discuss, Ignis employs a distraction tactic.

"Are you just getting off duty or going on?"

"Off," Geminus confirms. "Waiting for Mina to message me, we're meeting up with Ulric and them tonight. I'd ask if you wanna tag along, but I know you'll just shoot me down like always."

Ignis lets out a slow breath. He's not…Prone to being open with people. Least of all those he doesn't know well, but…He feels as though Geminus deserves more than just the cold shoulder.

"Wanting something, and being allowed to engage in that something are two different matters entirely," He explains. "And, unfortunately, I don't get much say in the matter despite my feelings."

"Yeah, I get that," Geminus counters as his expressive face wrinkles up into a frown. "It's still bullshit, though."

Humming, Ignis nods. "Indeed," He agrees.

Geminus looks like he has more to say on the matter, but his phone chirps from somewhere within the pockets of his uniform. Pulling it out, he hastily reads through the series of texts that come through, and as he does, he begins to pout rather dramatically. The poutier he gets, the more his ears droop until they're all but flattened to his head.

"Damnit, they already started without me, and Granny M made spicy skewers and her famous rice," Geminus whines. "Ulric will totally eat it all by the time I get there. He'll probably drink all the Batu eqir, too ."

The strange word means nothing to Ignis, though he supposes it's some kind of spirit or wine. The rest sounds…interesting. Curiosity piqued, he suddenly realizes he knows very little about Geminus or his culture.

" Batu eqir ?" He tries, careful to replicate the sounds. It comes out somewhat clumsy.

Blinking, Geminus stares blankly. After a moment, he laughs and helps himself to the bench beside Ignis and holds out his phone to show Ignis a photo of a rather large jug of suspiciously purple liquid sitting on a table.

"It's liquor made of berries and sugarcane native to Galahd. It's traditionally distilled with water from this spring back home because of the mineral content. But according to Granny M, this tastes like the real thing," Geminus explains. "I was too young to have had it back in Galahd, so I couldn't say for sure if it's close or not."

"Sounds delightful," Ignis replies, wondering what it might taste like. "And what of these skewers?"

Geminus grins and pulls back his phone long enough to scroll over to another photo before holding it back out for Ignis to see. The photo in question features a long table laden with a veritable feast of dishes. Some of it's familiar, if only because David likes to change things up when he cooks for Ignis, Olivier, and himself. Ignis spots what he suspects are several different varieties of curry, heaping plates of flatbread, and various rice and vegetable dishes. There are also a number of meat options, and they all look mouth-wateringly delicious.

"Did your Granny M cook all this?" Ignis asks, amazed and more than a little curious.

Laughing, Geminus shakes his head. "Naw, it's like a potluck sort of thing. Once a week, a bunch of us down in Little Galahd get together at this community center. Anyone can come. It's an open event."

Humming, Ignis squints at the photo, wondering if he can get David to try his hand at some new recipes. Or, in the very least, acquire the ingredients so that Ignis can try them himself. Helping himself to the phone screen, he zooms in on a particular meat and rice dish, wondering what spices are in it. However, as he pinches his fingertips inward and the photo adjusts itself to the correct size, he notices a person in the background of the picture.

It's only a glimpse, a shoulder and part of a profile, but Ignis recognizes the slope of the person's shoulder, and the piecy bits of dark hair sticking out from under the hat. More importantly, he spots the partially visible mask. A shivery feeling of dread shoots down into his stomach, and he hastily and rudely flicks through the photo roll, hoping to confirm or deny his fears. Geminus, sensing the sudden shift, frowns.

"You okay, Scientia?"

No. Ignis is not okay. Because when he flips to another photo, it's clear that, against all odds, Light is at this gathering. As soon as Ignis confirms it, he does something he hasn't done in a long time. He loses all sense of reason and panics .

"Where is this meeting? I need you to take me there. Now." He says in an agonized rush.

Taken aback, Geminus pulls his hand backward and squints at his phone, unsure of what's going on. "Hang on a sec, just— Take a breath and tell me what's happening, okay?"

Ignis bolts upright, galvanized by the feeling of dread in his stomach. Everything, everything is on the verge of falling apart. If someone mentions Geminus, the real Geminus, it will all be ruined. Ignis doesn't bother putting his things away and takes half a dozen steps toward the locker room before abruptly stopping and turning back. He frantically retraces his steps again, then jolts to a jerky halt at a loss for what to do.

"Geminus, please ," He all but begs, hating the desperate catch in his voice.

Geminus is clearly caught off guard because his entire face wrinkles up in worry as he hops upright to meet Ignis halfway. He only hesitates a second before reaching out to clasp Ignis by the forearm. That's when Ignis realizes he's trembling. It doesn't even occur to him that Geminus shouldn't be touching him or that he shouldn't be allowing it because it's against the rules.

"Hey, you're okay, just take a breath," Geminus says, slow and even.

Ignis can't he— " He's there!" He exclaims. "If he finds out I've been lying to him this whole time, I—"

Confusion flits across Geminus' face, followed by a flash of understanding, disappointment, and… anger . "Wait, you mean you haven't come clean to your friend yet?"

Shame heats Ignis' face. His silence is telling enough. As his desperation.

"Godsdamnit, Scientia," Geminus growls.

There's no excuse and no changing the facts of the predicament Ignis put himself in. The only thing Ignis knows is that he has to do something before someone else takes away the opportunity for him to come clean to Light himself.

" Geminus ," Ignis pleads.

"Are you even allowed to leave the Citadel?" Geminus counters hotly.

No. He's not. But he can't bear the idea of causing Light pain, of hurting him. Everything within rebels against it, and Ignis can't stand the thought of revealing such a thing over the phone. The selfish part of him feels like there will be a much better chance of Light understanding if Ignis confesses face-to-face. In other words, it's an acceptable risk.

"Geminus, please. I have— I have to make this right before someone takes away the opportunity. I know I should've done it already, and I apologize for putting you in this position, but—" Ignis starts, his voice tight and strained.

A low growl of frustration cuts him off, the sound rumbles up deep from Geminus' throat and has all the bite of a snarling wolf behind it. Geminus' lip is curled back, his sharp canines just visible, and the look in his eyes seethes with irritation. For a moment he looks like he might tell Ignis to piss right off, and would be well within his rights.

"After you figure your shit out, you owe me," Geminus grunts instead, clearly at war with himself. "Come on. Quick, before we get caught."

Stunned, Ignis nods as relief floods his chest in a palpable rush. Following Geminus, he keeps his head down as they move through the barracks and down into the lower reaches of the Citadel, where the staff parking garage is. Every step feels like he's rushing into a minefield. The further they get from the training hall, the more Ignis fears that a pack of Enforcers will show up and haul him away to the bowels of the Menagerie.

Thankfully, they reach the garage without incident, and when they arrive, Ignis wrongly assumes Geminus has a car. He's not expecting a sleek, zippy-looking motorcycle and balks almost immediately as a shiver of unease catches him. Ears flicking backward, he eyes the deathtrap of a bike warily. Moments later, when a door opens somewhere in the garage, Ignis quickly reaches for the padded hood that Geminus pulls out of the back compartment.

"Tuck your ears down so they point forward and snap that under your chin," Geminus instructs as he puts the other one on.

Watching, Ignis does what he's told. The feeling of having his ears pushed flat is uncomfortable, but not unmanageable. After he snaps the padded hood, Geminus hands him a helmet that Ignis assumes must be either a spare or belong to Gemina. Pulling it on, Ignis adjusts the strap and stands there rather stupidly as he watches Geminus slide smoothly onto the seat of the bike.

"You'll have to hang on. If you fall off my ass is grass," Geminus says as the ill-gotten machine roars to life.

Ignis hesitates. He still has time to stop this madness before there are real consequences. He knows he's being selfish, knows that he's putting more than just his own future at risk. But this is the only option Ignis has. Mind made up, he surges forward clumsily and wraps his arms around Geminus' middle. This is the closest they've ever been, and it feels awkward and strange, but Ignis swallows down the feeling and wills his resolve to be like steel. But, when the bike rolls forward smoothly, the motion is jarring enough that Ignis jolts forward and muckles on more tightly.

To his credit, Geminus says nothing about the clumsy gaffe. He merely steers the bike to the garage entrance. When they get close, Ignis ducks his head away and keeps his tail hidden down the length of his leg to avoid any speculation from the guard in the gatehouse. Even though the visor on the helmet hides his face, he doesn't want any of his most identifying features to be caught on camera. The chances of being recognized are high, after all. That is, if his chip doesn't automatically alert once they clear the gate.

Heart thrumming wildly in his chest, the few seconds it takes for the guard to wave them through feel like agony. Ignis is convinced the woman can see through the dark plastic of the visor and knows who he is. His fingers clench reflexively into the rich black fabric of Geminus' coat, then blessedly, the boom gate opens and the guard waves them through.

Mere moments later, they're out and travelling down the narrow service road that runs along the side of the Citadel, much to Ignis' relief. As soon as they turn onto the main road and pass the blockade, Geminus hits the gas, zipping in and out of the evening traffic on his way to Little Galahd.

The feeling of the bike threading expertly through the evening traffic has Ignis' stomach lurching. He's too nervous to do much more than maintain the death-grip he has on the solid weight of Geminus' body. Ignis keeps expecting sirens to come blaring after them, or to be stopped and hauled back to the Citadel, kicking and screaming. He swears he hears Dissonus' voice tittering in the back of his mind, telling him he's a disobedient animal that needs to be put down, but knows it's all in his head. No one comes, there is no one tailing after them, and no unexpected blockades in the street to stop them.

It seems anticlimactic after years of fearfully dreading what might happen if he disobeyed the rules. Because, despite the humming edge of anxiety, and how Ignis' guts roil, everything is so... Normal . It's almost jarring. Unnerved, Ignis watches as the buildings fly by and the high-end boutiques and office buildings give way to more residential areas. It feels like it takes forever, but finally, Geminus rolls to a stop in a crowded, low-income neighborhood.

Cautiously leaning upright, Ignis looks around to get his bearings. It takes a moment to coerce his jelly legs to move, but he eventually slides off the bike in a way that is more ungainly than graceful. As soon as he's up, Ignis pulls the helmet and padded hood off to shake out his ears. He can feel his heartbeat thumping inside them, and as he looks around, he sucks in a jittery breath. This neighborhood is clearly a far cry from the outer suburbs where the Scientia estate is located. Everything is grubby and worn down, the street narrow and cracked with a line of older-model cars parked along one side and stacked trash barrels on the other.

At a loss, Ignis has no idea what to do now. He doesn't have a plan, and he's not even sure where he's supposed to be going. The only thing he's sure of is that he needs to find Light now . The tall, cramped buildings could be offices or apartments for all he knows. Taking a step forward, he spots a sign written in both Lucian and Galahdian that reads "Welcome" and decides it must be the place. Half a second later, Ignis suddenly realizes that he can't just go inside.

Gemina will know who he is, and perhaps some of the others as well. They've seen him around enough to know that he's the Prince's ward. More than that, Geminus can't go in either for obvious reasons. Reaching for his pocket with the intent to call Light and ask him to come out, Ignis jolts in panic when he realizes he's left his phone back in his gym bag at the Citadel.

"Bollocks," He curses vehemently. Turning to Geminus, Ignis' face contorts into a frustrated scowl. "Neither of us can go in and get him, and I have no way to contact him. Can you ask your sister to send him out? His name is Light."

Geminus' ears twist back in irritation, and he shoots Ignis a withering look as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Instead of texting his sister, he calls her instead and trots off a few steps to wait for the call to connect. While Ignis waits, he paces up the sidewalk and scrambles to slot together some semblance of a Godsdamned plan.

He doesn't go far, no thanks to being acutely uncomfortable in these surroundings and hyperaware of everything that could go wrong. A little voice in the back of his brain tries to convince him that there are eyes in every window, and that they know who and what he is. The voice also tells him that every single one of those invisible, non-existent people are calling the switchboard at the Citadel right now to inform someone that one of the Crown's belongings has run away. It's an irrational fear, of course, but it still gnaws at Ignis like a beast with a bone.

As he paces, a vehicle pulls down the street. Tangentially aware of it, Ignis glances up briefly as he runs through several scripts of what he will say to Light. The vehicle, a plain, nondescript black SUV, draws Ignis' attention. For the area, the vehicle is relatively high-end. It slows as it comes down the street, as if looking for parking, but ultimately keeps going. At least, it does at first until it screeches to a sudden, resounding halt. The smell of hot rubber fills Ignis' nose as his head jerks up, and almost immediately, his ears flick backward. Seconds later, the driver-side door whips open and Cor Leonis flings himself out of the SUV.

The wave of horror that washes over Ignis is so sudden and intense that it leaves him hot and cold all over. His heart lurches up into his throat as Cor blazes across the street with absolute hell in his eyes. Panicking outright, Ignis throws up his hands in alarm and backpeddles as his tail poofs and curls rigidly.

"I can explain!" He yelps, fearful in a way he hasn't been for years .

Ignis has no idea how Cor got here so fast, and nearly trips over a garbage can as he tries to put some distance between himself and the thunderous storm that is Marshal Leonis. Somewhere down the sidewalk, Ignis registers a surprised curse from Geminus and scuffling boots. But before Ignis can turn and see what in the hells is going on, Cor grabs him by the collar and yanks him forward.

Cor has never been rough with him. Not even during training. The only time Ignis has ever seen him this angry was with Dissonus. The shift is jarring and immediately catapults Ignis into his younger self. Suddenly, he's a child, rooted in place by terror. He doesn't fight; he doesn't even think to try, his mind just goes blank and floaty. His body knows the score, however, and immediately becomes loose and pliant as he braces for the inevitable blow to land. Geminus only makes it worse by growling and coming to Ignis' defense.

"Marshal, stop! "

"Stand down, Glaive!" Cor snarls.

Ignis curls in on himself, his rational mind warring with the scared little boy inside. He feels himself being dragged somewhere, but can't quite make the input fit to discern where . When the movement abruptly stops, he realizes he's hyperventilating and on the verge of a passing out.

"Gods fucking damnit, Ignis ," Cor growls, loosening his hold.

Ignis' legs refuse to hold him up, so he stumbles gracelessly and nearly tumbles to the ground. Surprisingly, two sets of hands grab hold of him, keeping him upright, but it doesn't really help. Ignis feels like he's floating outside of himself, despite the increasing tightness in his chest that keeps him trapped in his own body. He feels like everything is squeezing tighter and tighter, trying to press his soul from his body like he's a balloon about to burst. Ignis knows he isn't thinking clearly, but can't get a hold of himself enough to calm the rattling wheeze of his lungs.

The only thing that really sticks is that he's in a right fucking mess. Cor wouldn't be here otherwise. There must be an alert on the chip, Ignis realizes as his insides clench like he's about to vomit. He suspected that might be the case, but in the heat of the moment, it had gone by the wayside. The only thing he can do now is beg for forgiveness.

"I can explain, I promise. I can explain," Ignis tries, hating the shrill sound of his own voice.

"I don't have time for this right now," Cor snaps angrily. "I'd expect this kind of stunt from someone else, but from you? What in the hell were you thinking? You can't be here right now!"

Ignis swallows tightly, mortified by the hot, heavy lump in his throat and how his eyes sting. His words stick in his throat, which is just as well because Cor suddenly turns toward Geminus with a snarl.

"Get him out of here, now, Glaive," Cor barks. Then, to Ignis: "If you don't go straight home, I will know, Ignis, and I will check. Olivier will be expecting you. Is.That.Clear ?"

Swallowing tightly, Ignis nods several times in quick succession, all jerky and uncoordinated. "Yes, Sir,"

Cor sucks in a long breath, and the brimstone recedes. He glowers at Geminus imperiously, waiting for a reply. Geminus, for his part, is red-faced and outraged on Ignis' behalf and looks like he might lash out at any moment. There is mutinous fire in his eyes as he salutes stiffly, then he reaches out and guides Ignis away.

The ground feels strange and uneven under Ignis' feet, like he's walking on the deck of a ship or like his legs don't quite belong to his body. His fingers are clumsy and don't want to work when he picks up the padded hood to put it back on, so he fumbles the snap several times before getting it right. Putting the helmet on is an equal struggle, but he refuses to ask for help, and Geminus doesn't offer it.  

Besides, Geminus is far too busy seething and shooting daggers in Cor's direction. His handsome face is contorted into a silent snarl, and he doesn't look away until Ignis climbs up onto the bike. Snorting derisively, Geminus climbs on as well and says nothing when Ignis opts to hold onto the seat instead.

It takes a while for everything to come back online after they pull away from the curb, but even then, things feel fuzzy and indistinct. It makes no sense how Cor got to them so fast, considering he was supposed to be at Caelum Via for the dinner party. Even if Cor had left immediately after Ignis' chip alerted, it should've taken him much longer to arrive. Long enough that Ignis should have had more than enough time to speak to Light.

Six.

What about Light?

And what about Ignis?

Unable to suppress the horrified twist in his guts, he realizes that Cor will have to report this incident to His Majesty. What happens after that is anyone's guess. At worst, Ignis will be brought before the Council, stripped of his privileges, deemed unfit for His Highness, and sent to The Menagerie to be re-educated. The thought alone nearly has him hurling himself from the back of the motorcycle to vomit in the nearest gutter.

Ignis doesn't. Mostly because Geminus turns onto the main thoroughfare through this part of town, and Ignis is forced to hold tightly lest he tumble off into traffic. For a split second, he entertains the dark thought that it might be better that way. It would be a poor way to repay His Majesty, though, so Ignis banishes the idea to the back of his brain. He's still agonizing over it as they pull up to a red light, and the bike slows to a halt.

"Are you okay?" Geminus asks, finally breaking the silence as he twists to look over his shoulder.

Ignis shakes his head. He's not. He's the furthest thing from okay.

"You'll need directions to where you're going," He says, avoiding the subject entirely. "It's fourteen-hundred Quercus Avenue."

Geminus' lungs expand in a long breath. While they are stopped, he inputs the address into the navigation panel on his bike with precise, controlled movements that give away his dissatisfaction. When the light turns green, they speed off, and Ignis can't help but wonder if this is the end of his short-lived freedom.

***

Ignis doesn't sleep well for the next few days, and by the third morning, he's so nervous and exhausted that he makes himself sick.

Cor has not been by to discuss the incident, and in addition, Ignis' phone is still at the Citadel in his gym bag, stuffed in a locker. His next training session isn't for several days, but he doesn't dare leave the Scientia Estate for any reason. He has no reason to leave. More than that, the stress of waiting for Cor to come address matters has him sick to the point that he vomits repeatedly as the day wears on.

Curled up in bed, Ignis groans and hides his face against the pillows in abject misery. He knows he's made a grave error, that he's put his future at stake, but has also potentially ruined things with Light. That is enough to squeeze Ignis' chest in on itself until he can't bloody well breathe. It also has him dashing for the ensuite bathroom toilet to throw up what little is in his stomach.

When Olivier discovers him shivering and miserable in bed hours later, the older man tuts in concern and mistakenly attributes the symptoms to stomach flu. It makes Ignis want to cry, honestly, because both David and Olivier dote on him as if he deserves their kindness. They bring him tea, broth, and whatever medicines they think he might need. Ignis doesn't have the heart to tell them what the real problem is, and remains silent and somber as they bustle about making him more comfortable. The only saving grace is that Astutus is busy at the Citadel; therefore, Cor is too.

But it only lasts so long.

Astutus knocks on his door the following night to check on him.

Ignis knows he's a sight, and fully expects a lecture about the unauthorized excursion. Or, to be told he's being summoned to stand before the esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Council. Instead, Astutus simply brings Ignis a hot cup of ginger chamomile tea, along with a fresh mug of broth.

"Is there anything you need, Dear Boy?" Astutus asks kindly.

Shaking his head silently, Ignis glances aside shamefully. He can't seem to find his voice to reply and hates how his nose stings with tears as Astutus gently brushes Ignis' sweaty hair from his forehead. Thankfully, that's where the conversation ends. Astutus is concerned, but he knows better than to prod. And, after he leaves and the bedroom door shuts, Ignis hears the hushed whispers in the hall.  

"I don't think it's the flu," David insists quietly. "We ought to call the doctor and have him come down."

"You know how Ignis feels about that man. Let's give it a few days before we go that far," Olivier replies.

Ignis scowls and rolls over to hide his face in the pillows. He appreciates the concern, but he doesn't deserve it. Closing his eyes, he resolves to get himself together in the morning and—

—Wakes the following afternoon to the sound of someone tapping out messages on a mobile phone. Grunting, Ignis squints his eyes against the light streaming in through the open curtains and buries his head. He knows almost at once it's Cor. The familiar scent gives the older man away. Dread blazes a line of fire up his throat, and for one horrifying moment, Ignis thinks he might be sick again. He breathes through it carefully and ignores how uncomfortable he feels about being seen in such a state. The fact that Ignis is unkempt and not appropriately dressed is more anxiety-inducing than he's willing to say, but his visitor is a clever man.

"Get up and go take a shower. We'll talk after you're squared away, Kid," Cor says gruffly.

He gets up and leaves the room, leaving Ignis with no choice but to comply. After spending the last few days sick with worry, he decides it's best just to get up and face whatever punishment is coming his way. He can't stomach putting it off any longer. Sitting up, he climbs out of bed like an old man, ponderous and slow. The shower is brisk and efficient, perfunctory at best. Ignis scrubs himself clean on autopilot and then washes the limp, greasy strands of his hair. Once he's out, he doesn't bother too much with it, other than to towel both it and his ears dry.

Afterward, Ignis dresses in comfortable, clean clothes suitable for meeting with company, and stands amidst the untidy wreckage of his room at a loss. He knows he ought to go down and find Cor, but somehow the idea of leaving things as is grates on his nerves. Hastily stripping the bed, he tosses the dirty linens in the hamper, then remakes everything with painstaking precision. When the duvet doesn't want to lie flat, no matter how many times he smoothes it down, Ignis hisses and yanks his hands away from the bed because he knows this will go on for hours if he doesn't put a stop to it.

Hauling in a long breath, he makes an attempt to center himself, then twists on his heel and stalks off to go find Cor and face up to the consequences of his ill-planned actions. The house is oddly quiet, and as Ignis creeps down the main stairs, he's surprised that Olivier isn't around. Thinking perhaps he's down in the kitchen with David, Ignis pauses near the door of the solar where Cor is undoubtedly waiting, to summon up some resolve. Then, he squares his shoulders and steps inside.

He's not prepared to see his gym bag on the small table, and his heart immediately clenches in his chest. If the bag is there, it means it's very likely that Cor found the phone tucked away in the hidden pocket as well. It's password-protected and fingerprint-locked, of course, but that means nothing. Ears flattening, Ignis hovers near the doorway, where his culpability is written across his face for all to see.

Cor is silent where he stands. Irritation wrinkles the corner of his scowling mouth. However, as Ignis takes in the expression, he realizes that Cor is more disappointed than angry. Hauling in a long breath, Ignis forces his spine straight and steps inside the room. After shutting the door, he bows his head and stands at attention as he waits for the inevitable blow to land.

"Whatever that was a few nights ago will not happen again, Ignis," Cor says firmly.

Swallowing tightly, Ignis nods. "I understand, Sir."

"I'm not going to ask what was going on, or who that Glaive is to you, but it's not something that can happen. Not for now, at least," Cor goes on briskly. "What you do in your free time after Noctis is of age is your own business, but until then, you will tow the line for your own sake."

Again, Ignis nods. His insides seethe with fire, and his chest aches with hurt. For the first time that he can remember, he's furious with Cor. Furious for being sent away before he could fix things with Light, and furious that Cor is enforcing this absolute bullshit when he knows better than anyone how it feels to be in Ignis' place. As Ignis fumes and rages, the air suddenly seems to crackle, and a scent like the ozone before a storm wafts through the room.

"I shall endeavor to be obedient and correct in all things from now on, Sir , as is my place as property of The Crown," He replies sharply.

It's both the wrong and the right thing to say. Heat flashes in Cor's eyes, and his face colors. Abruptly, he grimaces like he's in pain, and Ignis regrets his words immediately. His anger, a tangible thing, gutters out like a flame in the wind and takes the odd scent with it.

"Cor, I—" Ignis begins, suddenly heartsick.

"No, you're right. I deserved that one," Cor snorts bitterly. Then, he puffs out a sigh that is small and defeated. Closing the distance, he bullies Ignis into a hug and presses calloused fingers into the back of his neck. "You deserve better than all this, and I know I've been hard on you. I've only ever wanted to spare you the shit I went through. Guess in doing so, I forgot you were going to grow up, eventually. They don't train soldiers for shit like this."

Ignis stiffens. He and Cor are nearly the same height these days, and if he wanted, he could likely throw the older man off. He doesn't, though, as much as he wants to fight and snarl. The past few days of being sick with anxiety are catching up with Ignis, making him emotional and unbalanced. Knowing his interlude with Light is over, he twists, trying to get away so he can flee back to his room to lick his wounds in private. Cor refuses to let go.

"Release me," Ignis demands, surly and on the verge of either lashing out or falling apart.

"Be still ," Cor rumbles, firm but gentle.

" No ."

Ignis has never said it to anyone. At least, not in response to a direct command. He's always been polite and accommodating. Obedient in all things, no matter how much it angers him. As soon as he says it, something builds in the pit of his stomach that claws and drags. It's hot and sharp and tears up his throat like a wildcat's shriek. He tries to swallow it down, but it pushes and pushes until, with a raw, guttural sound, it tears free. Spasming, he fights blindly, struggling to break free. But Cor doesn't let go. In fact, he holds Ignis closer as his fingers knead gently into the back of Ignis' neck.

It's too much to bear, especially in the face of Cor's kindness and understanding. Ignis wants to hate him, but can't.

Crumbling, he presses his face into Cor's chest and breaks apart. He's spent so much of his life being told what to do, how to behave, what is permissible and not saying a damned thing when treated like he's less than human. As if he doesn't have thoughts, feelings, or desires of his own. Now, having to give up the only thing he's truly ever selfishly wanted for himself, he howls out his grief. Distantly, he registers the sound of the door opening and Olivier's voice. Ignis doesn't hear what is said. Everything is sharpened down to the narrow point where it's all he can do to just breathe.

It rocks through Ignis like a storm, violent and relentless. But like all storms, it blows itself out. When it does, Ignis comes back to himself, slowly and by degrees.

First, he realizes how badly he's trembling, and how he can't quite stop the terrible jerking motion in his chest as he breathes. His face is a mess, soaked and running with tears and snot. Disgusted and horrified, he peels away, and this time, Cor lets him go.

Ignis immediately twists away to hide his face, shamed by the outburst. He hides behind his hands and struggles to compose himself with each ragged breath. It takes embarrassingly long to remember there's a handkerchief in his pocket, but his tremulous fingers have a hard time cooperating as he reaches for it. It's intolerable. Clenching his jaw, Ignis tidies himself, and when he's finished, he takes a slow, deliberate breath. Then, he pushes his shoulders back and straightens up, perfect and poised. Ignis doesn't actually look at Cor, but instead focuses on a distant spot on the wall as he forces himself into orderly compliance.

"Apologies, Marshal. I don't know what came over me," He says, voice hoarse but tone practiced and bland. Everything inside screams and rails against the injustice of this, but Ignis ignores it ruthlessly. "You need not worry about any further indiscretions on my part. It will not happen ever again."

Cor makes a soft, pained sound. Ignis doesn't try to divine the meaning of it, doesn't look, or do anything that is anything less than perfect. He's as still as a statue as he waits for a response. Finally, Cor blows out a grumbling curse.

" Ignis ," Cor says in a tone that demands attention.

Slowly, Ignis lifts his head, but keeps his expression blank. He notes that Cor's eyes are red, and there's a pronounced scowl on his face. Silently, waiting, Ignis stares at the buttons on Cor's coat, unable to meet his eyes.

"There will be no official fallout from whatever happened the other day. I have not informed His Majesty, and the alert and tracking data were scrubbed from your chip. That's the only pass you get," Cor— No— Marshal Leonis says. "Is that understood?"

Ignis nods stiffly. "Yes, Sir."

The boon is unexpected, but Ignis suspects that's only because this is the first and only time he's ever acted out in any way. Wondering what happened to his phone, his stomach clenches with unease as Cor digs into his coat pocket and pulls the device out. Setting it on the table, he grunts out a soft sigh.

"I didn't go through that, and I'm not going to ask questions. But it will go back to wherever you got it by the end of the week. If it doesn't, it's out of my control and you'll reap your own consequences," Cor says firmly. "I suggest you weigh your choices carefully and decide if whatever is going on with you is worth the risk of what the Council will do to you if you are found unsuitable for His Highness."

Pulling in a long, shuddering breath, Ignis nods stiffly to acknowledge the statement was heard. After, he stands there rigidly at attention, expecting another blow to land. When it doesn't, and Cor merely gusts out a growling sigh, Ignis flinches reactively. Whatever else Cor has on his mind goes unsaid. Instead, the older man merely shifts awkwardly and stalks toward the door.

"You have training tomorrow at one o'clock. Check in with me when you arrive at the Citadel," Cor says gruffly.

Then, he's gone.

Ignis stares at the open door for a long while, unable to move, think, or even come up with any course of action to salvage this. He's exhausted all over again, and his stomach feels like it's full of lead despite being empty. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he forces his legs to move. Snatching up the gym bag and the phone, he slips out of the solar and creeps silently through the halls.

In the foyer, he hears Cor speaking quietly with Olivier. Ignis listens a moment, catching something about a panic attack, then reroutes to head up to his room via the narrow servant's stairs at the back of the house instead. He doesn't have the emotional stamina to deal with any of that, so he feels it's best to just avoid it entirely.

Slipping into his room, Ignis shuts the door and locks it behind him because he doesn't want to be bothered or spoken to for the foreseeable future. Not until he can get his head on straight and manage his emotions. He sits for a while, on the edge of the bed, and stares off into nothing. A part of him tenses up when he realizes he's wrinkled up the duvet again, but that's just the anxiety talking.

Outside, the sound of birdsong filters in through the open window, and the breeze rustles the curtains in a way that might be soothing if Ignis weren't so unsettled. He listens for a while, in a daze, then sighs as he gets up to grab the charging cable for his phone.

It feels like it takes a lifetime before the damned thing has enough juice to power on. When it does, Ignis is not surprised to find that he has several missed calls from Light. His pulse ramps up, but instead of actually listening to the voice messages, he steels himself and opens the messenger app instead. He's fully expecting a barrage of angry texts demanding to know why he lied. Instead, he finds a flurry of increasingly worried messages.

Ugh, the dinner I told you about was awful.

But I went to this cool thing beforehand, which I really wasn't supposed to go to.

And then I got in an argument with my Dad over it. It's fine now, but I have to make it up to him. 😩 😩 😩

Are you able to talk?

Hm, guess you're asleep. Talk to you tomorrow.

Morning, Speccy-Specs. How'd you sleep?

Guess you're busy today. Text when you can! 🫶

Specs? Everything all right?

Sorry for calling you a million times. Just message me when you can, okay?

Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?

Ignis grimaces. The last message is time-stamped and dated from the previous evening. Taking a moment to compose himself, Ignis debates on what to say. He decides that sticking more or less to the truth is the best approach.

You've done absolutely nothing wrong, Darling.

I've just been down with a stomach bug for the past few days.

I'm sorry to have worried you.

I am on the mend now, thankfully.

Given the time of day, Ignis doesn't expect a reply right away. However, the read receipt shows up almost immediately, as do chat bubbles.

Specs! I'm glad you're feeling better. I was so worried about you.

Are you okay? Sorry for calling so much. Do you need anything?

Ignis hauls in a long breath, and as he does, his eyes start to sting. He aches to fall into the comfort of silly conversations and easy banter, but as he stares down at the phone in his hands, he knows what he has to do. What he's being forced to do. It doesn't make it any easier, though. Not by a long shot. Setting his feelings aside like a good, obedient belonging, he types out a reply.

I'm feeling much better now.

Are you available to meet in the gardens tomorrow?

Chapter Text

Somehow, Ignis gets to the courtyard with the sylleblossoms before Light does. It doesn't settle his nerves, nor does it make this any easier, but it gives him a tenuous sense of control over the situation. Obnoxiously, the day is as bright and sunny as ever, just bordering on being too hot to be comfortable. It feels like it should be a miserable day to match how utterly wretched Ignis feels. Scowling, he stares off into the flowers and mentally calculates how long he has before he's out of compliance with Cor's directive to be in the parking garage on time.

Thirty minutes.

Ignis has precisely thirty minutes to get this over and done with. Like it's a chore to tick off his to-do list. Like it's something he can easily separate himself from, to spare himself the emotional fallout. His scowl deepens, and anxious discontent buzzes under his skin, making his tail and ears twitch and his hands want to fidget. A horrible churning feeling fills his stomach, leaving him lightheaded, so he stiffly sits on the bench that's become his and Light's and waits.  

The sun is hot and scorching as it beats down on the courtyard, so it only takes a few moments before Ignis is sweltering under all the crisp layers of his prim, tidy clothing. He can already feel his shirt and waistcoat sticking uncomfortably, and the collar of the starched shirt around his throat might as well be a noose. Digging his fingers into the edge of the bench until the nailbeds ache, Ignis grits his teeth.

Finally, after what feels like a decade, his ears twitch toward the sound of sneakers crunching on gravel. Moments later, Light jogs out into the courtyard and dodges around the sylleblossom planters. He's masked as usual and wearing a ball cap over his tousled dark hair, but has made concessions for the oppressive heat by wearing a pair of long dark cargo shorts and a white t-shirt with a silver detail across the chest. There's also a paper bag slung over his arm that crinkles loudly as Light thumps to an abrupt halt. All the huffing and puffing make it clear that he ran to get there.  

"Sorry!" Light exclaims as he approaches and flops down on the bench, panting. "I tried to get here earlier, but I got caught up in something."

Ignis' stomach churns as he forces a smile. "It's quite all right, I assure you."

The greeting sounds odd, forced , even to his own ears. He winces at the delivery and wishes he'd been more conscientious. Light absolutely clocks the strangeness, because his brows knit as his gaze flicks in Ignis' direction. His blue eyes scan from top to bottom, undoubtedly taking in the stiff line of Ignis' shoulders, tense, tight jaw, and the irritated flick of his tail. Then, Light scoots closer and reaches out tentatively for Ignis' hand as if to comfort him.

Conditioning and instinct are hard to buck, and before Ignis even realizes, he snatches his hand away. The look of hurt that flashes through those gorgeous blue eyes is absolutely unbearable, so he hastily fumbles for an excuse.

"Apologies. I'm still a little under the weather. I don't wish to expose you to any germs. I couldn't bear it if I made you ill," Ignis lies. It tastes like ash on his tongue.

Light scoots away sheepishly, stung as if he'd just been scolded. His shoulders turn inward instinctively in the very picture of misery, and when his eyes slide in Ignis' direction, intent and searching, something about the look cuts to the core. It flays Ignis apart, making his chest clench with the sudden realization that he's not sure if he has the strength to do this.

"There's something I need to say—" Ignis blurts, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat.

"I brought you something," Light says at the same time.

It's awkward. The misstep jangles between them like discordant notes that set Ignis' teeth on edge. When he considers how easy all their interactions have been thus far, it feels so very wrong. However, before Ignis can attempt to smooth things over, Light thrusts the bag he's holding into Ignis' arms.

"Uhm, I know you like cooking and stuff, and you were making those tarts a while ago? I wanted to cheer you up since you weren't feeling great, so I got a recipe from a friend of mine. She's originally from Tenebrae," Light explains haltingly. "I don't know how to bake or anything, but I did my best. That's why I was late."

A wash of color heats Ignis' face, and he feels a lump form in his throat. He doesn't dare look in the bag, or even acknowledge the gift, because he knows if he does, he'll crumble apart. Knowing what he has to do, he feels like a complete ass. It's best, he reasons, not to draw it out any longer, so he rips the proverbial bandage off and forces himself to pull the phone Light gave him and all its accoutrements from his pocket. Setting it all out on the bench between them like a declaration, he loses his nerve and glances aside guiltily.  

"I…Appreciate the gesture. It was quite thoughtful of you," Ignis begins, somehow managing to keep his voice even. He nods toward the phone. "Regretfully, I must return that to you. I— I think perhaps it would be best if we went our separate ways for the time being. I have a prior commitment, and it…Does not allow for… Distractions, no matter what my feelings might be."

The sudden sharp intake of breath from Light could be a blade for how deeply it cuts. When the silence stretches too long, Ignis glances up and wishes he hadn't. He wishes the kings of old would come and strike him down if it meant never having to see the crushing hurt and confusion in Light's devastated blue eyes. Reactively, Ignis reaches out for Light's hand, only to startle when it's snatched away. Light's shoulders tremble as he turns aside abruptly.

"This is not a decision I've come to easily, nor one I wish. I assure you. Perhaps…Perhaps in a year or so, when things are more settled—" Ignis begins, desperate to do something, anything , to soften the blow.

"Is that all this was? A distraction ?" Light cuts in, sharp and hurt.

The pressure in Ignis' chest builds. He deserves it for causing such distress. But there is a fine line he must walk between the truth and too much of it.

"No, never ," He assures, low and heartsick. "You…You are the loveliest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I don't…I never wanted to hurt you. I swear it. I care for you deeply. There are things outside my control, though. And until it is settled, I'm not at liberty to—"

"Just stop ," Light interrupts, his voice shrill. "It's— Whatever. Fine. I get it."

Standing up suddenly, Light snatches up the phone and all the accessories and shoves them in the pockets of his shorts with quick, jerky movements. Ignis only catches a glimpse of Light's face, but he's horrified to discover that tears clump those pretty, dark lashes together wetly. It sends a painful zing of electricity right to his chest, and he nearly confesses everything right then and there. But, before Ignis gets a chance, Light turns on his heel to stalk off.

Galvanized into action, Ignis bolts upright and follows after. "Light! Wait!"

He catches up in a matter of a few short strides and rattles to an ungainly halt. Before Ignis can stop himself, he reaches out to curl his fingers around Light's wrist. Light doesn't immediately shrug away, which is a good sign, but the stiff, unforgiving line of his shoulders trembles with repressed emotion.

"Were it up to me, things would continue as they have been, I swear it," Ignis hurries to say, his voice rough. "I…I have adored our chats and getting to know you, and I swear this isn't a reflection of the feelings I have for you. I swear . But my hands are tied, and if you give me a moment to explain, I will."

Light's whole body shivers violently. He doesn't pull away, but there's a shift in the atmosphere. It's like the moments before a storm when the wind picks up and the threat of rain wafts in the air, heavy and portentous. Something in Light hardens, and his soft, quiet sweetness solidifies into something distant and icy.

"Let go," Light commands, his timbre strange.

"Light, please , just let me explain," Ignis counters, unnerved.

"You'll let go of me. Now ."

It's not a request. Something about the cold, lofty way Light says it reflects authority hidden behind a thin veneer of courtly manners. Startled, Ignis lets go immediately and remembers himself. His own conditioning kicks in, and he hastily takes a step backward as he bows his head.

"Yes, of course. Apologies." He replies robotically, shaken to the core.

Light is so still and tense, it aches to look at him. He doesn't turn, doesn't move even a millimeter. He's put on a mask of haughty indifference that changes him entirely. For the first time in the whole of their acquaintance, Light is suddenly a scornful, high-born lordling.

"There's no need to explain. I won't trouble you further. Please accept my apologies for distracting you from your… Commitments ." Light says icily.

It stings more than Ignis imagined it would. He says nothing, as the silence stretches long. He's too stunned to do much more than watch as everything crumbles apart. After a few beats, Light propels himself forward, his legs carrying him swiftly down the bend in the path before he disappears entirely. Ignis' ears catch a whoosh of air followed by an odd crackling sound like crystalline bottles rattling together, but it falls away quickly, leaving only the distant sounds of crunching gravel, birdsong, and the low hum of far-off voices.  

When Ignis remembers to breathe, he gasps for it. Like he has to remember how, because nothing wants to work properly. His heart pounds in his chest, and his lungs ache . The sun still shines overhead, and a burst of laughter from elsewhere in the garden carries on the wind to where he stands frozen in place. The world goes on as it always does, and when Ignis' watch buzzes to indicate his time is up, it pulls a sharp, bitter laugh from his chest.

"Gods," He groans quietly.

Everything hurts.

Ignis stuffs it down ruthlessly. He doesn't deserve to feel anything after all the damage he's caused. Torn, he steps in the direction of the path to depart, only to remember the bag on the bench. It feels wrong to leave it behind, so he backtracks. Only, instead of grabbing the bag and going, Ignis sits heavily and inspects the contents.

Inside is a plastic container, which he carefully pulls out. Popping off the lid reveals a half dozen misshapen, imperfect pastries. The golden coloration of the crust is uneven, and the powdered sugar on top has melted due to condensation, but something about the clumsy attempt is utterly endearing. Plucking one of the pastries out of the container, Ignis gives it a delicate sniff. Then, he takes a bite.

Tears spring to his eyes before he can stop them. Suddenly, he's a child again, sitting in a warm kitchen filled with the delicious scent of sugar and butter filling the air, while someone soft and plump who smells like home cuddles him close and hums a soft song in his ear.

Ignis hauls in a shuddering breath and continues eating. The crust is overworked, a little too crumbly, and the filling is slightly too sugary, but it's not bad for a first attempt. Faults aside, it's nearly a perfect match to the flavor Ignis has been chasing all these years. A flavor he'd become increasingly convinced he'd made up, like what little he remembered from his childhood in Pagla.

Savoring each bite, despite the tears running down his face, Ignis pulls a second pastry from the container when he finishes the first. By the time he finishes, he's too overcome to carry on, so he carefully snaps the lid of the container shut and places it in the paper bag. Then, Ignis covers his face in his hands and weeps quietly amongst the sylleblossoms.

***

The rest of the summer passes in an odd fugue.

Ignis attends his lessons and focuses on his learning and training with an almost robotic, single-minded determination. He changes his schedule (With approval, of course) so that he's at the Citadel for his combat training early in the day, knowing full well that it'll prevent any chance encounters.

Early mornings aren't an issue; Ignis is used to them. It's his own stubborn sense of masochistic guilt that has him going over drills at five o'clock in the morning. He also adds a secondary cardio and workout routine besides his other lessons, which means by the end of the day, Ignis is falling into bed exhausted and passing out within seconds.

Cor says nothing, but the grim look on his face whenever they cross paths is telling. As are the soft looks that Lady B offers Ignis as he struggles to focus on their lessons. It's irritating. He doesn't want sympathy. He wants to feel wretched because that's what he deserves.

Realistically, it's a train wreck waiting to happen. But Ignis doesn't know how to cope any other way. He doesn't know how to go back to the way his world was before he saw a particular, stunning shade of blue, or heard the soft, shy sound of Light's breathless laughter.

It's misery. And as August 30th passes and Prince Noctis turns 20, Ignis realizes the only way to outrun his heartache is to smother it into submission.

However, the grueling schedule is just unrealistic. Ignis knows that if he continues like this, he'll burn out eventually. Honestly, he almost relishes the idea, because he absolutely deserves it as far as he's concerned. And, as the summer winds down and the air takes on a crisp, cool bite, Ignis knows he's close to his breaking point.

His capacity for patience wears down one day at a time, until one afternoon, while he's coming down the main staircase with a stack of books in his arms, he nearly snarls when he hears Olivier calling out to him.

"Ignis, dear boy, is that you?"

Rolling his eyes, Ignis bites his tongue as he pauses at the bottom of the stairs. His ears twitch in Olivier's direction as the older man comes in through the back hallway and steps into the foyer.

"Who else but me?" Ignis counters with a mild, aggravated sigh.

He knows he's tetchy and over-tired, and knows Olivier doesn't deserve the sass, but Ignis has work to do for one of his tutors, and it won't get done standing here. As he waits, Ignis becomes annoyed with how slow Olivier is moving, and has the uncharitable thought that Astutus ought to hire younger staff to manage the house. As soon as it crosses his mind, Ignis scolds himself for being such an ass because the mess Ignis is in isn't Olivier's fault. He feels worse when he takes in the worried frown etched into the deep lines of the older houseman's face.

"Would you mind terribly letting the delivery driver in? David is caught in traffic and needs talking down," Olivier explains in fond exasperation as he comes into the foyer with a cellphone pressed to his ear.

Ignis' ears catch the sound of David on the other end of the line. He's having a full-blown meltdown over the gridlocked traffic he's stuck in that will throw off his entire meal prep schedule for the week. It's not the first time David's had a meltdown over weekly menus, and Ignis has walked in on more than a few in his time. David has never been quite this shrill, though. The sound has Ignis' ears twisting apart in a wince, though more from the hassle of being waylaid from his own carefully laid plans.

"Yes, of course," Ignis replies. "Is the driver here now?"

Olivier, who is speaking softly to David, telling him to calm down and take a breath, sighs in exasperation and nods at Ignis. "Down at the kitchen door— No dear, not you  I was speaking to Ign— Yes , dear. Of course— Ignis, please make sure all the items are in the boxes before the driver leaves."

Ignis nods as he leaves Olivier to deal with...Whatever else is going on with David. Dropping his books on the dining room table as he passes, he heads down through the servants' corridor and thumps lightly down the stairs into the underbelly of the estate and into the kitchen. It's spotless and pristine as always, and as he makes his way through the back hall, past David's empty office, and toward the back door, he frowns. He's never heard Olivier address David so….. Intimately .

It suddenly changes his perception of the two, especially when he realizes they both wear rings on their left fingers. Somehow, it had never occurred to Ignis that they might be married to one another. Rocked by the revelation, he's distracted as he unlocks the back door via keypad and opens it to greet the delivery driver.

He's not expecting Geminus of all people to be standing outside, nervously shuffling from foot to foot.

Ignis startles. Stopping in his tracks with a jolt, and fighting the instinct to slam the damned door shut, his eyes catch the Glaive's, and they stare at each other. It would be comical if Geminus didn't look so…Haggard. Tired and worn in the way Ignis feels most days now. There are anxious lines of worry etched into the Glaive's forehead, and his mouth pulls into a frown. He's dressed casually in dark jeans, a jacket, and a t-shirt which shows off his toned, lanky warrior's build. It's odd considering Ignis has never seen Geminus in anything other than a uniform or PT gear. When Geminus spots Ignis, his expression crumbles in relief, and he lets out a long breath.

"Oh, thank Six, you're actually here today!" Geminus exclaims.

Ignis, still stunned, has no idea what to think of all this except— "Where's the delivery driver?" He asks rather doltishly.

Blinking, one of Geminus' ears twists out to the side, then he barks out a mild laugh. "It's me. Well, sorta. I'll explain, I promise, but— Gods. Are you okay, Scientia? I've been trying to find out for weeks now. Months . I haven't seen you around at all. I thought they sent you back to The Menagerie."

The shocked confusion remains, leaving Ignis to gape inelegantly. He doesn't know what to do, or what to say, only that standing in the doorway isn't helpful. Realizing that there's more going on than meets the eye, and unsure if David and Olivier had something to do with it, he reaches out and snags Geminus by the coat sleeve to yank him inside.

"Inside. Now," He hisses.

Geminus yelps, jarred by the sudden jostling movement. But he complies, and once they are inside and away from the watchful eye of the camera on the back door, Ignis rounds on the startled Glaive with a fury born of his fraying capacity for irregularities.

"Explain what this is all about," Ignis demands. "You can't be here."

Geminus' expression melts into a little scowl, and there's a hot flush on his face. Rolling his eyes, he deliberately takes a second to straighten out his clothes, all the while shooting Ignis a look that is equal parts critical and annoyed.

It should make Ignis guilty, and he is a little, but the feeling is buried beneath a numb, achy emptiness that makes it hard to reach. Geminus sees through it in an instant and gives Ignis more grace than is probably deserved.

"Your cook and his husband helped me out. As long as Marshal Leonis doesn't find out, we're good," Geminus replies waspishly. "I'm not here to get you in trouble, I promise. I just had to know if you were okay."

Ignis' thoughts spin as he processes what Geminus is saying. He's unsure how he feels about falling into the trap that David and Olivier have set up. More than that, he's a little rocked by the revelation that they are, in fact, married to one another. Until now, he'd honestly never thought much about it, or even noticed. His brows knit, and his ears flatten, tangible proof of his baffled confusion. Then Ignis lets out a long, stunned breath.

"I see," He says at length, uncertain how to process all this. He softens, though, no longer as wary as he was when he'd first spotted Geminus. "Apologies for being—"

"A complete asshole?" Geminus suggests. Then, he shakes his head. "No, it's cool. I get it. Are you going to listen to me now?"

Nodding sheepishly, Ignis steps aside, inviting Geminus in. There's no danger of being caught by Astutus, and with Olivier and David pulling the strings, it's clear that they won't notify anyone of this unauthorized visit. He's a little embarrassed about being outmaneuvered, but then, Ignis hasn't exactly been at his best these last few weeks.

Leading Geminus over to a small table pushed against a window toward the back of the room, he offers the Glaive a seat. Once they're both settled, Geminus folds his elbows over the table and flops forward with a gusty sigh.

"Even though you were a prick, I've been kind of worried sick since that big blowout at the community center," Geminus admits. "The day after, Marshal Leonis pulled me from drills and basically read me the riot act. He said he didn't want to know what was between us, but told me if I cared about you at all, to stay away until the Prince takes over your Guardianship."

Ignis grimaces, his face screwing up into a frown as he struggles to stay as impassive as possible, which is difficult considering his capacity for resilience is so low. He deserves the scathing review of his behavior, of course. He knows he's not been easy or a good friend, especially with Geminus.

"Leonis was fucking scary, all quiet and shit," Geminus goes on. "I tried to tell him it wasn't what he thought, but just told me to keep my mouth shut about it because if the Council found out, they might send you to The Menagerie for good."

"Yes, well, he's not wrong about The Council," Ignis replies sourly while ignoring the unease prickling under his skin. He's not sure how he feels about Cor misinterpreting his relationship with Geminus because it feels like an invasion of privacy. "They keep me on a remarkably tight leash. But that doesn't explain how you got here."

Geminus' nose wrinkles. Then, seemingly before he can stop himself, he reaches out to grab Ignis' hand and gives it a squeeze.  

"Hey, don't worry about it. I haven't said anything at all about what happened, not even to Mina," He says. "I didn't even get a chance to ask her to send your boy out that night because Ulric and Ostium stole her damned phone and were yacking my ear off."

It's a mild consolation, but not really a concern at this point. And, when Geminus lets go of his hand, Ignis primly slides both into his lap so that the indiscretion cannot happen again. Geminus absolutely notes the move, and his expressive ears twitch downward, flopping a little. Ignis suspects that if he really were a wolf, Geminus would be whuffing and snuffling in grumpy distress.

"Okay, okay," Geminus concedes with a lofty sigh. "So, at first, I was just keeping an eye out for you around the Citadel. But you weren't training at your usual time anymore. So I asked around to see who was using the gym and when, and someone mentioned seeing a feline hybrid in the mornings. I tried to catch you a couple times, but it didn't work out," He explains. "Then a cousin of a friend mentioned needing some part-time people for his delivery business. I didn't really think too much about it at first till he said he usually made deliveries out this way, and the clients tip really well."

"So you thought you'd moonlight as a delivery driver?" Ignis counters, already putting the pieces together.

Here, Geminus barks out a soft, sheepish laugh. "I mean, yeah, I guess? It wasn't quite like that. But I was kind of desperate. I had to make sure you were okay, plus with the extra cash I've been making on the side, I've been able to upgrade my bike. That's what friends are for, right?"

Friends .

Sucking in a sharp breath, Ignis feels a heavy lump form in the back of his throat as his ears twist backward and droop. Geminus absolutely catches the motion and whuffs out a soft, sympathetic sound.

"Are we though? I've…not treated you with the respect you deserve," Ignis says guiltily as he grimaces.

"No, you haven't," Geminus affirms in all seriousness. "But I like you, and I'm willing to give you another chance. Besides, things have been shitty for you, not that it's an excuse, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt if you're willing to do the work."

"You're right. Things have not been ideal, but it's not an excuse for treating you poorly," Ignis agrees as misery wells up in his stomach.

"No shit," Geminus counters. "I expect you feel bad enough about it as is. You look like you haven't slept in months."

Ignis doesn't comment; instead, he inhales deeply and releases some of the tension in his limbs. He's still acutely uncomfortable, but a part of him is glad that Geminus is here. A larger part is grateful that, despite everything, Geminus is willing to give him a second chance. It's too difficult to put this into words, however, so Ignis merely shoots Geminus a grateful, earnest look.

"How did you come to be here?" He asks instead, redirecting the conversation.

Geminus knows what Ignis is trying to do, but doesn't comment. Instead, he goes on. "I got in contact with my buddy's cousin and asked about getting on the delivery rotation part-time. I mean, it's been good for my wallet, so no complaints," He says. "Finally scored this route a few weeks ago. Your cook, David, is pretty sharp. Clocked that I was looking around every time I came by, but I probably wasn't being too subtle, honestly. Then he…Gave me some cookies, and we talked, and the whole thing kind of spilled out? Well, not the whole whole thing. Just the part that I hadn't seen you in a few months, and I was worried."

"I see," Ignis replies, stunned.

He honestly has no idea how to process the fact that David and Olivier played him so expertly. Then again, as Ignis thinks back over the last month or so, he knows he's been an absolute jackass. The two have been unerringly transparent with their concern, and Ignis has done nothing but brush their worries aside with sharp words.

"Don't be too mad at them. They're just worried about you. I think they're under the impression you and I were sneaking around talking to each other or something? I told them we're just friends, but I don't think they believed me." Geminus goes on.

That's when all the pieces click into place. Recalling getting caught using the phone by Olivier months ago, Ignis' face fills with heat, and he grunts out a soft, distressed noise. It's his own fault for creating this mess, but honestly, with how things have played out, he can't say he's truly upset with David and Olivier poking their noses into his business. They meant well, even if they are incorrect about the nature of his relationship with Geminus.

Regardless, Ignis still sighs and slumps in his chair. "I'm…Not angry," He decides. "Just.. uncomfortable with my private matters being the topic of discussion. Even if they mean well. My life has never really been my own, so what little is truly mine, I tend to guard rather selfishly."

"No offense, Scientia, but that's what got you in this mess to begin with," Geminus replies as he angles a meaningful look across the table. "You're entitled to your privacy, and you don't owe anyone your whole life story, but being more open with the people who care about you can go a long way, yanno?"

Geminus is…Not wrong. But it still stings. Ignis deserves the rebuke as much as he doesn't deserve the chance Geminus is giving him. Resolved to do better this time, Ignis flounders just a little. Things had always been so easy with Light. They had clicked effortlessly and easily, even when he wasn't trying. Things with Geminus require a different sort of effort. Well, at least Ignis thinks they do until he realizes he's overthinking it entirely.

"Can…We start over?" Ignis asks suddenly, finding he means it.

Surprise flits across Geminus' face, then he cracks a wide, toothy grin. "Yeah, sure."

Ignis sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. A smaller, more subdued smile finds his own face as he reaches across the table with one hand extended.

"Hello, I'm Ignis Scientia. I can be a miserable tosser at times, but if you can stand it, I'd like to be friends," He greets.

Geminus' expression softens into something equal parts fond but exasperated. Reaching out, he slides his calloused fingers into Ignis' and gives them a friendly squeeze before withdrawing.

"I mean, I was gonna say you were a prickly, stuck-up asshole, but you've got some good qualities too. I've seen 'em, so I know they're there. Just gotta work on letting people actually see 'em," Geminus says lightly, clearly teasing. Then, more seriously, he adds: "All jokes aside, I get why you did what you did. I know you got dealt a shitty hand. It doesn't make it okay, but I get it."

Ignis wrinkles his nose. While he appreciates the sentiment of what Geminus is saying, it's a bit crass. Ignis still rolls his eyes and shoots an unimpressed look across the table as he falls into their usual, familiar routine. It pulls a bark of a laugh from Geminus, and a grin that's all pointy teeth. Relieved, Ignis' smile widens. It's nice to fall back into the easy banter he's familiar with. Comforting, even, after months of feeling like everything is beyond his control. Across the table, Geminus' expression softens, and he kicks his feet out playfully.

"I swear I'm not trying to flirt with you or anything, but it looks good when you do that, Scientia," Geminus says.

Humming, Ignis glances aside coyly as his ears flick in mild embarrassment. Despite that, the compliment thaws a bit of the ice Ignis has been carrying around for the last month or so, and he smiles. He feels…Lighter. A little less like he's drowning in the ache of his failure with Light. It's still there, pressing and pressing until there are moments where Ignis can't breathe or think beyond the hurt of it, but at the moment, it isn't so bad.

"Truthfully…I haven't had much reason to lately," Ignis replies with a soft sigh. Then, to mitigate the questions he knows are coming, he goes on before Geminus can ask. "I…had to break things off with…My friend. It was…An untenable situation. I had hoped to explain everything, but I didn't get the chance. It ended badly."

"Damn," Geminus replies earnestly. "I'm sorry."

Ignis feels the pull of hurt dragging at him, but he ignores it and blows out a long sigh. There's nothing much he can say that will make it any better, because it's not better. It's painful and so damned unfair. Bitterness wells up in his chest, and he snorts rather angrily as he fights against the prickle of tears along his nose.

"I'm sorry too," He snorts. "Perhaps once Prince Noctis decides what he intends to utilize me for, I'll have the opportunity to correct things with Light. If I'm given leave to pursue my own relationships."

Geminus' lip curls in a scowl. "That's absolute bullshit, you know that, right? You're not fucking property. They don't get to decide if you care for someone or not."

Ignis knows . He also knows he has little say in the matter, as much as it makes his skin prickle and sing with a strange electricity that he's come to associate with his own anger. He clicks his tongue, his face folding into a grimacing frown.

"Except according to the law, that's exactly what I am. Property. I'm a possession. In case you've forgotten," Ignis returns with more heat than he intends.

It comes out as an angry hiss that startles Geminus enough that his brows lift and his ears twist backward. He recovers quickly enough and puffs out a nervous little laugh as he holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Okay, okay. Put your claws away. I'm not the enemy here," Geminus says, his voice low and soothing.

Ignis sucks in a breath. Then he mentally counts back from ten and convinces his tense muscles to soften. Gradually, his shoulders and spine relax, as does his clenched jaw. It takes longer for the fluffed-up fur at the base of his tail to flatten, but it does all the same. After a moment, Ignis huffs irritably and pins Geminus with a sharp look.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but there's no point in getting upset about it on my behalf. It is, as you say, bullshit, but there's nothing to be done about it," Ignis says bitterly.

Interestingly, Geminus offers up a hint of a crooked smile, which is not the reaction that Ignis had been anticipating. When Ignis' frown deepens, Geminus chuckles quietly.

" What ?" The demand is sharp on Ignis' tongue.

"Nuthin," Geminus returns, his smile widening. "Just never seen you genuinely angry before. You should let yourself be imperfect every now and again. It suits you."

Ignis rolls his eyes, but he feels his face heating regardless. He doesn't like what Geminus is implying, but has to admit there is some merit in the suggestion.

"If I let myself get annoyed with every little inconvenience, or slight against my person, there would be far fewer members of Council seated in Chambers every week," Ignis replies darkly.

Here, Geminus' grin becomes almost feral, and something biting flashes in his eyes. Something restless and wild that calls to the same feeling buried deep in the chasm of Ignis' chest. It's something that says the Geminus would find it entirely fitting to put the esteemed Lord and Ladies of the Council in their place with tooth and claw.

"Would that really be a bad thing?" Geminus suggests with a shrug.

It's dangerous to think such a thing, let alone say it out loud. But something crackles within Ignis and breaks free, leaving him feeling more understood in that moment than he has in years. Even so, he clicks his tongue and kicks at Geminus' feet underneath the table.

"Enough. You know well enough what they do to those who entertain such notions," He scolds gently.

It's not quite treason, but it's close enough.

Thankfully, Geminus merely shrugs and flops forward to lean over the table. He kicks back at Ignis' feet playfully, then turns to look toward the door with a little sigh.

"I suppose I should probably get the boxes I'm supposed to deliver out of the truck. Wanna watch me be all buff and manly while I do?" Geminus teases.

Ignis rolls his eyes. He doesn't, but he's glad of the company. More than that, he's happy he's worked things out with Geminus.

"Yes, that is precisely how I wish to spend my time," He replies, his affect flat despite the amused curl in the corner of his mouth. "How ever did you know that I was longing for such a thing?"

Geminus laughs. It's bright and boisterous, and for a moment, Ignis wishes things were different. That he'd fallen for the undeniably handsome Glaive instead, and that his life was his own to dictate. Regrettably, it isn't, and more than that, Ignis knows that for as much as he likes Geminus, it's only in friendship. Honestly, it might've been easier if Ignis felt more for him. Or, perhaps not.

There really is no telling how things might've turned out.

Heaving himself off the chair, Ignis straightens his clothes and then gestures toward the door. "Don't let me keep you."

Taking the hint, Geminus rolls his eyes and hops up. Halfway to the door, he pauses in consideration.

"Hey, so...If I see your boy again. I could talk to him or something? Maybe help you get back in his good graces?" He suggests.

Ignis' insides clench reactively. As much as he wants to say yes, he knows it's better to just...Let it go. So he shakes his head.

"It's probably best to just leave it," Ignis replies. "There's still another year before His Highness is old enough to take over my Guardianship, and as I said, there's no guarantee he'll allow me to pursue my own interests."

It's clearly not the answer Geminus wants to hear, but he nods despite the frown on his face. "Okay," he agrees. Then, he turns toward the back door and nudges it open. "Guess I ought to get back to work then."

Ignis, nodding as well, goes to help even though it isn't his job. Mostly because he feels strange and fidgety, but also because he can't bear the idea of being alone in that moment.

And, Geminus is a friend after all.

Chapter Text

A few weeks later, on one particularly awful early November morning, Ignis crawls out of bed before the sun comes up to find the weather outside is horrendous. The wind whips around the Scientia Estate, howling like a caged beast, and sheets of frigid rain pelt the window. Ignis doesn't want to go into the Citadel for his daily drill and exercise regime, but knows without it, he'll toss and turn all night. Having bi-weekly delivery meet-ups with Geminus is nice, but not a cure-all.

So.

Ignis forces himself out of bed, dresses, and has the driver bring him in.

Outside the car windows, the city is a wash of blurred light in the icy rain. Ignis shivers as he's dropped off in the parking garage, and has to convince his legs to move because he feels so heavy and exhausted. He stops long enough to get an Ebony from a vending machine in the hallway, then makes his way to his usual training room. However, as he slips inside, he finds the place is already occupied. Confused, he frowns as he watches a wiry young man jogging the perimeter of the room.

He's some sort of vulpine breed, with pale, sand colored ears that match his blonde hair. They seem almost comically large, given how slight and weedy the young man is. A Fennec then? The coloring of the young man's tail and ears makes it seem very likely.

The blonde doesn't notice Ignis at first; he's got adaptive headphones clipped at the base of his ears, and the music is so loud that even Ignis can hear it. It's some horrid electronic shrieking with a thumping bass line that can hardly be classified as music. Wondering if he's a new recruit, Ignis watches him round the far end of the room, then start down the long, back wall. His stride is perfectly even, his posture and form telling Ignis that the young man is a practiced runner. Begrudingly impressed, Ignis watches as he rounds the corner.

However, as soon as the fox spots Ignis by the door, his feet seem to forget themselves, and he nearly goes sprawling across the floor. One of his earbuds flies off in the chaos and spins across the floor wildly.

"Oh damn, you scared the crap out of me!" The young man exclaims nervously as he jolts forward to collect his things.

Ignis doesn't really want to talk, but he also doesn't want to go about his own routine with a stranger present. He's not supposed to be talking to strangers anyhow.

"Apologies," Ignis replies, still hovering by the door.

Unsure of what to do, he supposes he could just stick to an alternate cardio and make use of one of the many staircases in the building. It would be easy enough to get it done and come back before the work day started for most of the Citadel employees. Unfortunately, it's against the rules. Ignis is not allowed to be anywhere other than the assigned locations, and he's been nothing but exacting and maliciously compliant the past few months. Curling his lip, Ignis turns to head back to the parking garage.

"No, hey wait, you don't gotta go. Room's big enough for two." The Fennec calls out as he jogs over. "Sorry, I'm not usually in here right now, but it's pissing buckets today, and I wanted to get a run in. I'm almost done. I promise."

Ignis lifts a brow as the young man comes closer. It isn't until he's a few steps away that Ignis notes the freckles spattered across the young man's face and bare arms. Something about him tickles something in the back of Ignis' mind, but he can't quite place it. When the Fox thrusts out a hand, Ignis balks.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Prompto!" He says brightly.

Ignis lifts a brow. The name might be familiar, but he can't quite place it. He bucks protocol despite his misgivings and shakes Prompto's hand. As he does, his eyes catch on the barcode inked onto the back of the young man's wrist. He's a refugee, then, likely from an illegal breeding facility. The numbers are distinctly Niflheimr, which makes Ignis' assumption likely. But it's rude to stare, so he shifts his gaze upward and takes in the nervous but eager tilt of Prompto's head and how those long, sandy ears seem to mirror the expression.

"Ignis," He greets briskly. Perhaps more briskly than he intended. "The weather certainly explains why I haven't seen you here before today."

Prompto laughs. He sounds uneasy, and Ignis can't tell if it's just because he's intimidated or if there's another reason. Giving him an appraising look, Ignis wonders where he works. There's a Citadel-issue badge clipped to the pocket of his joggers that keeps bouncing as he shifts from foot to foot, so he clearly has permission to be here, but there's little chance he's a Glaive. More likely, then, he's simply making use of the indoor facilities because of the terrible weather before his shift elsewhere in the Citadel. It's not uncommon, but Glaives and Crownsguard get precedence.

"So, uh….Come here often?" Prompto asks.

Ignis puffs out a snort before he can stop himself. "To this room specifically or..?"

The Fox's pale, freckled face colors the exact moment his ears droop. Stung and embarrassed, he laughs a little nervously and scratches at the back of his head.

"Yeah, I guess that was a dumb question, huh? You probably wouldn't be here if you didn't work here."

Ignis clicks his tongue as a small measure of guilt unfurls in his chest. He knows he's being an ass, and the Fox— Prompto — Doesn't deserve it. "Ah—Apologies. I'm afraid I'm not used to having full conversations before I'm properly caffeinated. Despite being here at this hour, I'm not exactly what one would call a morning person. Please forgive my rudeness."

Prompto's eyes widen, then he flashes a bright, boyish, if flustered grin. "Oh, dude. It's totally fine. My best friend is, like, the King of grumpy mornings. This is nothing. I promise."

Humming softly, Ignis nods. Regardless, he feels bad about being an ass. "Still," He says as he inclines his head apologetically. "Please, finish your run."

The Fennec's grin widens a little, then he nods enthusiastically. "Sure, okay. I swear I really won't be long. Been running for almost an hour and a half already!"

An hour and a half ? Gods.

Both of Ignis' eyebrows lift as he re-examines his appraisal of the young man. Prompto is all kinetic motion, bouncing from foot to foot, seemingly boundless in his energy. Ignis has a reasonably wide reserve of stamina, but even he has his limits. Impressed, he offers Prompto a mild smile.

"How surprising. I'll be sure not to challenge you to any races if we cross paths again," Ignis praises.

Prompto is clearly someone who blushes easily, because his freckled face colors, and then he barks out a skittish laugh. "Oh, jeeze, I dunno about that. I'm not much of a sprinter, honestly." He says as he twists on his feet, eager to keep going. "I'm almost done, though, then I'll be out of your hair."

He turns to go, but nearly trips again. When he straightens out, he snorts and takes off around the perimeter of the room. Ignis watches him a moment, then retreats to the row of benches to set his things down and get situated. Once he is, he moves into the central part of the room to work through his stretches. Under normal circumstances, a stranger being present would bother him. But Prompto, true to his word, focuses on what he's doing and leaves Ignis alone. Besides, there are cameras everywhere. If there's any issue about his behavior, the powers that be can always reference the video feed.

It takes about 30 minutes for Ignis to work through his calisthenics and move on to some of his more complex maneuvers. He's just finishing a set of freestanding hand-stand pushups when he hears a low whistle from the other side of the room. Not breaking his concentration for an instant, Ignis' ears twitch in that direction as he counts out the last two, then swings a leg forward to land on his feet nimbly. Straightening up and shaking his arms out, he turns toward the sound and discovers Prompto is sitting on the floor nearby with a water bottle in hand.

"Dude, that was so cool! I could never do something like that," Prompto praises enthusiastically.

Ignis raises a brow; the compliment warms him, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile. "Practice makes perfect, as they say. It's easy enough to learn if one puts in the effort."

Across the room, Prompto barks out a little laugh. "Yeah, right, I'm such a klutz I'd totally fall on my face."

Despite himself, Ignis' smile widens. "That's what walls are made for. Even I'm not perfect enough to master something that difficult right off the bat."

Prompto's eyebrows lift, then he sniggers in delight. Pulling himself up to his feet, he grabs his things and jogs closer as he slings a backpack over his shoulders. He balks as he comes within arm's reach and perhaps tries to talk himself out of whatever he's going to say. Finally, he plucks up the courage.

"Hey, so, thanks for letting me finish up," Prompto says earnestly. "With the weather getting colder, I might be here more often in the mornings, but I swear I won't bother you if you're here too."

It's…Not ideal. But Ignis has no right to tell Prompto he can't be here. In fact, the expectation is that Ignis be the one to cede the room. It's his own fault for changing his training times, and while Ignis sees no harm in it, he knows it's not his decision to make. So. He'll just push back his time by a half-hour to make up for the difference, and hopefully that will be that.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Ignis says politely.

Prompto blinks, then he flashes a toothy, lopsided grin, and just the dark golden brown tip of his fluffy tail waggles. For a moment, it looks like he might say something, but a faint buzzing chirp from Prompto's pocket interrupts the thought. Fumbling hastily, he drags the device out, then his freckled face colors.

"Oh shit, I gotta go," Prompto squawks, clearly flustered by the message. "It was super nice talking to you, though! Maybe I'll see you again sometime!"

Nodding, Ignis watches as Prompto turns and all but scurries for the locker room. How he can even force his legs to move after jogging for damned near two hours is beyond Ignis. After the locker room door bangs shut, Ignis sighs and turns to start his own cardio regimen.

In the quiet, he's a little envious that he doesn't have his own music to listen to. Even hideous shrieking electronic nonsense would be better than listening to the sound of his own breathing. Ignis jogs at a steady, even pace for a while, his thoughts focused on the particulars of the rest of his day. Eventually, his mind wanders and circles back to the Fennec.

Even if they'd only spoken a handful of words, Prompto seems like a charming, endearing person, despite being a little awkward. Unfortunately for Ignis, the past few months have taught him a crucial, if bitter, lesson about befriending others. He won't make the mistake of trying to cultivate any deep or meaningful relationships until he's been given the approval to do so again.

The thought makes his insides burn sharply, like his guts are filled with glass, so he squashes it ruthlessly to focus on his run by pushing himself harder. The physical ache in his legs and lungs is almost enough to distract Ignis from the buzzing electric something that vibrates beneath his skin.

Almost .

Over the next few weeks, Ignis and Prompto run into one another a handful of times. The conversations are always brief but polite, and Prompto doesn't seem deterred at all by Ignis' stand-offishness. He takes it in stride and doesn't push for anything more than what Ignis is able to give. In fact, there are some mornings that the Fox merely smiles and waves as he jogs around the room, and no words are exchanged at all.

It's pleasant, if a bit lonely, and gradually, Ignis settles into something approaching okay. The failure with Light is still sharp and stinging, but Ignis finds that the more he can bury it under his duties, the less likely it is to hurt. Perhaps, in time, it'll even be something he can think on without wanting to hurl himself and every damned member of the Council out the nearest window.

However, by the time November starts to dwindle away to make way for December, the weather takes a turn for the worse and threatens to ravage the tentative truce Ignis has with his feelings. Bitterly cold winds whip up from offshore, turning the rain into a sleety, snowy mess typical of the season as it balances on the cusp of winter.

Getting out of bed when it's so damned dark becomes a struggle, especially when Ignis knows that by 4 p.m. the sun will be gone again. One particularly awful Tuesday morning, the struggle feels impossible to overcome. The weather is a factor, of course, but the larger problem is that Ignis is exhausted. He's also in a foul mood and now knows more about import and export fees and goods classifications than he'd ever hoped to learn in his lifetime, no thanks to Prince Noctis' idiot secretary.  

The idiot's notes, and that's using the term generously , had been about as concise as a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. But the report is now annotated correctly and in such a way that it will be easy for His Highness to use at the meeting scheduled later that afternoon. It's doubtful it's even something that the Prince is interested in because even Ignis had been bored to tears. More likely, it is something saddled on the Prince, much like the idiot secretary, courtesy of The Council, as some sort of test.

Thankfully, Ignis has a full year before he's required to attend such meetings, but it's only a small mercy. Complicated feelings aside, he cannot abide the thought that the Council might succeed in making Prince Noctis look like a fool.

The impulse isn't exactly noble or drawn from any sort of loyalty, more that Ignis' pride won't allow them to win. He just hopes that Prince Noctis takes advantage of the talking points provided. Ignis' work is nothing if not thorough, and his counter-arguments are as sharp and pointed as his blade.

Leaving several physical copies of the annotated report on the table in the entry hall for Astutus, Ignis slogs his way to the kitchen to make some tea to bring along in a thermos, then grabs his things and heads out. He immediately regrets stepping outside the house at all, because a blast of sleety, frigid rain blasts his face and forces Ignis to flip the hood of his coat up. The cold isn't the problem; it's the nasty, icy wet that has his nose curling as he jogs over to where the car and driver are waiting.

Sliding quickly into the back seat, he shivers as a blast of wind slams into the vehicle and sends a spray of freezing rain pinging off the windows and roof. For a moment, Ignis reconsiders going into the Citadel because he's in such a foul mood. But then he slumps back in his seat and buckles in. The weather is supposed to let up in a few hours, anyhow, just in time to snarl things up for the morning commute, and in the very least, it'll give him time to doze in the backseat on his way back.

Still, as he peers out the window, Ignis feels like he ought to have just stayed in bed.  

Thankfully, with the weather being what it is, the commute isn't awful. The streets are wet and slick, but there are already Public Works crews sanding and cleaning up to ensure Insomnia can get about her day. Ignis stews in silence as he waits, and when the driver drops him, he makes his usual stop at the vending machine for not one, but two cans of Ebony, before heading to his practice room.

Ignis isn't surprised at all when he spots Prompto sitting on the floor inside. On days like today, he's usually either finishing his cool-down laps or doing stretches by the time Ignis arrives. What is surprising is that instead of stretching, Prompto is staring down at his phone and crying .

Almost immediately, Ignis' belly clenches. He still doesn't know Prompto that well, and he's acutely uncomfortable with the tears, but he's not without compassion. The beaten down slope of Prompto's shoulders and the sad droop of those long, sandy ears is enough to have Ingis' chest squeezing with sympathy and something protective. Suddenly, his own foul mood falls by the wayside, and Ignis doesn't even think as he drops his gym bag by the benches, then trots across the room.

"…Prompto? Are you hurt?" He calls.

Prompto startles badly, his sandy ears jerking up as if on a string. His deep, violet blue eyes widen, but it's clear from his red, raw face that he's been crying for a while. He hastily scrubs his eyes as Ignis approaches, then clambers up to his feet jerkily.

"No, no, I'm fine, I— Yeah, I'm fine," Prompto assures quickly while he continues to scrub at his face. "I just watched a sad video, that's all. I'm great!"

It's a terrible lie. Prompto clearly has no talent for dissemination, mostly because he seems the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Or at least, mask them well enough with smiles when he's not been caught red-handed. Ignis doesn't believe him for an instant and wrinkles his nose. He's not sure why he cares so much about a stranger, only that leaving Prompto to it feels wrong.

"I have a spare Ebony this morning if you want it. You look like you could use it," Ignis offers as he nods to a nearby bench at the far end of the room. "Why don't we go have a seat over there?"

Prompto blinks, and for a moment, his expression crumbles. Then he nods in defeat, and together they head across the room to sit. Once they do, Prompto immediately starts fidgeting as if he's physically incapable of holding still. Recognizing the nervous, anxious gesture for what it is, Ignis considers a moment, then retrieves the thermos full of warm herbal tea he brought instead and pushes it into Prompto's hands.

Confusion immediately colors the blonde's face, and his red-rimmed eyes blink up at Ignis at a loss.

"Caffeine might not be the best option considering the circumstances," Ignis explains kindly. "It's herbal tea."

Prompto blinks, and his eyes well up again. Regardless, he barks out a soft, nervous laugh. "I mean, fair. Honestly, right now it's a fifty-fifty chance of either making it worse or putting me right to sleep. Caffeine does weird things to my system."

Prompto fidgets some more, but his fingers instantly go to the subtle raised pattern on the surface of the thermos. Clearly soothed by the texture, Prompto takes a deep breath, then screws open the lid and takes a careful sip. It's not anything special, a spiced herbal blend with cinnamon, apple, and hints of ginger. Something to chase away the wintery chill. Ignis prefers it without sugar and just a splash of honey, so he doubts it's to Prompto's taste. However, he surprises Ignis by sighing happily.

"Oh wow, that's so nice. It tastes like cozy autumn in a cup."

Ignis flushes with pleasure despite himself. He's happy to have made a difference. "I'm glad you enjoy it. You're welcome to the rest."

Prompto sniffles, but the look he shoots Ignis is grateful. He takes another careful sip and lapses into silence for several long moments until he sets the thermos down to rest on his thigh.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for you to walk into all the waterworks," Prompto apologizes. "I'm just…Having a bad morning, I guess."

Ignis doesn't want to pry. Honestly, he shouldn't even be speaking to Prompto, but it feels cruel not to, rules be damned. Still, Ignis keeps a respectable distance and debates his options.

"I have two ears in working order, should you wish to share," Ignis says carefully after a beat.

Prompto's eyes widen a fraction. Like he can't quite believe anyone would care, or bother. It's a jarring contrast to the times Ignis has seen him before, because he's always been so bright and upbeat. Perhaps, Ignis reasons, it's because they are strangers and Prompto already feels so vulnerable.

"Only if you wish to," Ignis repeats kindly. "You can also tell me to piss off."

The comment pulls a little snort of a giggle from Prompto and an appreciative, if watery smile. After a moment, the smile fades into a wrinkled frown, and Prompto takes another sip of the tea before he speaks again.

"I just…Well, it's kind of dumb. I know I'm an adult and all that shit, but…I have something really important coming up that I'm super proud of because it was really hard and I stuck it out to the end. I'm like...The most proud of myself I've ever been in my whole life," Prompto explains quietly. "I wanted my parents to be here for it, and they promised they would be, but now they can't make it."

Ignis can't relate. Not entirely. He never knew his parents, and while there have been times he's missed them, it's more the idea of them than any tangible memory of them. He used to miss his Gran horribly, and occasionally he still does. But it isn't quite the same experience as Prompto's. Still, Ignis can understand the disappointment.

"I'm sorry, you must be quite hurt," He replies. "Perhaps it is just a scheduling conflict?"

Prompto scoffs, the sound surprisingly angry and bitter. " No . They just—" He pauses abruptly as a scowl settles over his face. "They just do this. A lot. I know it's stupid to be upset about it because I should be used to it by now.. I just thought this time it would be different."

The statement paints a clear picture to Ignis of what Prompto's family dynamic must be like, and Ignis is surprised to find he's angry on the young man's behalf. His frown deepens as he recalls what little he knows about Prompto, and everything comes together with startling clarity. The bright upbeat smile, the near constant buzz of kinetic, almost nervous energy just beneath the surface. It paints a very singular portrait of someone who aches for approval but remains kind-hearted despite being lonely.

"You're not stupid for being upset. No one deserves to be treated like that by their family," Ignis says, despite how out of depth he feels with the conversation.

Huffing out a soft, irritated noise, Prompto takes another sip of tea just for something to do. "My friends said the same thing. They haven't really said it outright, but I know they think I should cut my losses and cut my parents out entirely. But it's not that easy."

Ignis has no idea what to say. He rather suspects there's very little he can say to make the situation any better, so he opts to remain quiet. The silence is heavy, and perhaps a little uncomfortable, but it feels right. Prompto sits quietly, thinking and drinking the tea, then when it's finished, he screws the cap back on and sets the thermos on the bench between them. He's not crying anymore, and his face isn't as red, but there's still a tightness around his eyes and mouth. Regardless, he still offers Ignis a small smile.

"Thanks for the tea. And for listening. I know it must be pretty weird for me to just dump on you like that because we're practically strangers." Prompto says. "I'll bring you an Ebony or something next time to make it up to you."

A pang of something soft and warm fills Ignis' chest. He doesn't ignore it, but he doesn't acknowledge it either.

"For what it's worth, you shouldn't let the fact that your parents won't make it to your important event detract from the pride you feel in the accomplishment. I'm sure you worked hard to get to this point." Ignis encourages.

Prompto's expression softens, and his ears twitch downward suddenly. For a second, he looks like he might cry again, but he merely wipes his eyes and offers up a watery smile. "Yeah, you're totally right. I worked really hard, damnit. Like, really, really hard. I know it probably doesn't matter to them, but I'm still proud of myself."

"That's the spirit," Ignis enthuses. "Now don't you have running to do?"

Prompto blinks. Then, he laughs, bright and soft, and perhaps a little shy. "Dude, I totally already finished. Like ages and ages before you even got here."

Not surprising at all. Ignis finds himself smiling. Prompto's discipline is really quite extraordinary, and it deserves to be praised.

"Tch, making the rest of us look bad. Perhaps I need to start taking pointers from you. You make it look so easy," He says, meaning every word.

The praise brings a bright flush to Prompto's face. However, before he can reply, both he and Prompto's ears flick toward the door as footsteps approach. Turning in that direction, Ignis catches the faintest scent of wolf before Nyx Ulric, of all people, steps into the training room. Ignis has never spoken to or even seen the famed Glaive in the flesh, but he's familiar enough to know him on sight. Geminus speaks of him often enough for Ignis to have an idea what the man is like, but the scowl on his face is unexpected.

Prompto's reaction is unexpected, too, because he squawks in alarm and the flush on his face deepens to a truly spectacular shade of red.

I told you I was fine!" Prompto calls shrilly. He's clearly talking to Ulric.

The Glaive, for his part, shrugs as his gaze flits in Ignis' direction. The scowl is still there, but it's sharper now, and assessing. Ignis, knowing he's being sized up, keeps his own expression neutral, if a bit unimpressed, as Ulric strides into the room.

"Friend of yours?" Ignis asks Prompto.

Prompto, who is clearly flustered, hops up to his feet and dithers a moment before trotting over to meet Ulric. There's something jerky in the way Prompto stops, as though he wants to get closer to the Glaive but is keeping the impulse in check. The two seem caught in a strange gravity that leaves Ignis acutely uncomfortable. Especially when Ulric frowns in his direction.

"This guy bothering you, Argentum?" Ulric questions. His tone is even, but there's a tightness to it. Something protective and proprietary. Territorial .

Tch. Wolves .

"I have better manners than that, thank you very much," Ignis sniffs haughtily. His tail and ears flick with annoyance as he stands, and he levels Ulric with an icy look.

Prompto, sensing the sudden shift and tension, chuckles nervously. He reaches out and curls his hand around Ulric's forearm. "Chill. It's fine," he assures. "Ignis is cool. He trains in the mornings, and sometimes he's coming in when I'm finishing up. He's not bothering me."

Ulric's eyes narrow, as if trying to discern any hidden motives on Ignis' part. It doesn't rattle Ignis so much as annoy him, because there's an edge to it that feels sharp and accusatory. It throws up one hell of a red flag, and even though Ignis doesn't know Prompto very well, he's suddenly concerned for the young man. He's not sure what type of relationship he has with Ulric, and knows it's not any of his business, but Ignis doesn't like the way he's being stared down.

"Prompto, you're more than welcome to stay here if you'd like, even if you are finished for the day," Ignis says carefully. "We've established that I'm not bothering you, but if he is—"

" Excuse me?" Ulric cuts in, his voice low and dangerous despite the cocky lilt. "What are you implying?"

He takes a step closer, and as he does, Ignis feels his tail fluff up and his ears twist backward. He doesn't give ground. Instead, he squares up instinctively. Ulric might have access to Royal Magic, but Ignis is reasonably sure that he's more than a match for the famed Glaive. However, before the situation can escalate further, Prompto gets between the two of them and throws up his hands.

"Okay, stop. We are not doing this fucking dumbass machismo cats and dogs bullshit right now," He says, clearly annoyed. Scowling at Ulric, Prompto shoves at him gently. "You. Cut it out. Ignis is fine. He's not bothering or bullying me. He was talking to me because I was upset, and he's a decent person." Then, turning to Ignis, Prompto frowns at him as well. "Thanks for the tea and listening to me vent, and for the misplaced concern. I appreciate it, but you're misunderstanding the situation. Ulric is—He's a friend of mine."

Ignis narrows his eyes as he assesses what's before him. Nothing about Prompto's posture, bearing, or attitude suggests he's anything other than flustered by what's happening. And, when Ignis considers what Prompto said about bullying, and the reaction from Ulric, he surmises that the Glaive has come to Prompto's defense in the past. Curling his lip, Ignis deliberately relaxes his posture and takes a step back, even if it galls him to give ground. It feels too much like a surrender. Resolving to grill Geminus later for more information, Ignis inclines his head politely.

"Apologies, Prompto. Wolves can be rather thick-headed. Sometimes matching their energy is the only thing that gets through to them," He says waspishly. "I merely wished to ensure that you were safe with him."

Ulric takes the dig silently and doesn't rise to the bait. In fact, he looks begrudgingly impressed despite the scowl on his face. His posture softens slowly, and his hackles, both proverbial and not, go down.

"Better to be thick-headed than a prick," He says with a shrug. "What'd you say your name was again?"

"I didn't ," Ignis returns coolly and leaves it at that.

The silence stretches long and awkward after that. That is, until Prompto huffs out a loud breath and slides his arm in under Ulric's to drag him away. "Okay, I am so done with this. We're out of here. Thanks again for the tea, Ignis!"

The two head for the door, Prompto dragging Ulric the whole way. There's some hushed conversation going on between the two of them, but it's far too soft for Ignis to pick up over the loud scuffling squeak of Prompto's sneakers. He's sure the noise is on purpose, and Ignis only catches a furious growl from Ulric as he allows himself to be manhandled out the door. Once they are gone, Ignis frowns thoughtfully and sits back down on the bench.

He doesn't want to train anymore, but he ought to get to it. He decides to drink an Ebony first and pulls a can out while he ponders what just happened. Clearly, Prompto and Ulric know one another, which changes his perception of the young man. It's strange, though, that a Glaive of such renown and a mere employee of the crown would be so close. As Ignis sips his coffee, he tries to recall if Prompto has ever mentioned what department he's in. That's when something crosses his mind. Something important.

Ulric had called Prompto by the name Argentum.

The name tickles something in the back of his brain. A distant conversation with Cor from just over a year ago now. Argentum .

The name of Prince Noctis' civilian friend.

The friend His Highness wanted on his retinue. Also a Fox. Prompto Argentum. Ignis' stomach lurches because he feels like an absolute idiot for not recognizing who Prompto was sooner. For not realizing the day he'd introduced himself, really. Because how many Promptos are there who have Citadel clearance? The feeling compounds with a sudden spike of anxious dread.

Not because Ignis knows it isn't permitted, but because Prompto is lovely, and it rocks his perception about what sort of person Prince Noctis is. After witnessing how Prompto stood his ground and called both Ignis and Ulric out, he can't imagine Prompto choosing to be friends with someone with such drastically different values than his own.

Ignis takes a slow sip of his Ebony as he digests all this information. He's not sure what to make of it, only that after a moment, something else comes to him. Cor just finished running a group of prospective Crownsguards through their exams, and only four of the twenty passed. The induction and swearing-in ceremony is next week, and the Prince is required to be there. Ignis knows because he's seen His Highness' schedule.

That must be the big accomplishment Prompto had been talking about. And if so…Ignis is rather impressed.

It's only been a little over a year since the Council approved Prompto for His Highness' retinue. A time span that seems impossible, considering most candidates train for years before even attempting the written and practical exams.

Suddenly, Ignis finds himself in agreement with Noctis Lucis Caelum of all people, and it sits heavily on his chest.

Prompto's parents are horrid for choosing to miss out on their son's achievement. Not only that, perhaps His Highness is not so different from Ignis after all.

Chapter Text

Insomnia, M.E. 756

"Noct."

"Noct."

"Noct."

Ignoring the sound of his own name being called, Noct growls and pinches his eyes shut harder because everything fucking sucks. Also, Gladio is a massive dick.

Of course, he can't actually tell Gladio that he's a massive dick because Noct is currently flopped face-first over the table in one of the conference rooms on the 30th floor of the Citadel and choking on the tie that might as well be a noose around his neck. There's a humid imprint of his face on the polished mahogany, which is kind of gross, but he can't find it in himself to care. Or to sit up. Not even with Gladio breathing down his neck and scowling at him. A beat passes, then Gladio nudges at the chair Noct's in with the toe of his boot, and it spins away from the table a good few inches.

"Get up, you're fine," Gladio orders.

Noct isn't fine, but he gets up anyway. Sort of. He rolls his head to the side and glowers up at his stupid Shield. A headache throbs at his temples, and he knows it's because he hasn't had enough to drink, but there's also a persistent, nagging ache in his chest that sits there like a godsdamned boulder. A really big one. Noct refuses to acknowledge it, or how he's been sitting with the weight of that boulder for months now, and hauls his spine upright.

"I'm done. No more meetings," He grumps sulkily.

Gladio huffs out a deep, dismissive sound and sets his hands on his hips. The motion pulls the crisp lines of his uniform taut over the barrel of his chest, making him look even more imposing.

"Tough, you still need to wait out the time slot in case Lord Intempestiva actually shows up," Gladio replies with frustrating calmness. "Just be thankful Lord Scientia's Intern fixed your shit for you."

The snarl that bubbles up in Noct's throat is way more vicious than the situation warrants. Snapping at Gladio, Noct flails up to his feet and stalks toward the door at the far end of the room. He's over the stupid, pointless meetings and the stupid, pointless tasks that keep getting added to his workload.

First, it was the bullshit with the trade goods, then it was some infrastructure nonsense that is usually the purview of the junior councilors. And now, with the fall semester ending, Noct is feeling the pinch thanks to Nescius and his stupid, stupid penchant for weaponized incompetence. Half the time it's just a hassle, but the other half? Noct ends up looking like a complete jackass.

He should just fire Nescius and request Lord Scientia's Intern take over full-time, honestly. The mysterious I.S. has single-handedly saved Noct's ass on more occasions than he can count, and the scathing notes they've been leaving in the margins of the reports compiled by Nescius are actually pretty hilarious. At least I.S. agrees that Noct's current secretary is a fucking dumbass and this is all bullshit. At least I.S. is on Noct's side, unlike someone.

"Noct!" Gladio calls angrily.

"No," Noct responds just as hotly as an unexpected lump forms in his throat.

Now that he's moving, he can't stop because he knows if he does, he'll do something mortifying like fucking cry. He hates that he's so on edge today, been so on edge for weeks and weeks now, months, actually, and no one has fucking noticed that he's fucking crumbling apart little by little.

Prom gets a pass because he's been too busy with school exams, his training, and passing his Crownsguard exams. He's got enough on his plate without having to worry about Noct, too.

Gladio, on the other hand?

Gladio is a pushy asshole. Who, of course, catches up in a matter of a few short strides and effectively blocks the path out of the room. Instinct and outrage rise like an electric charge in Noct's belly. He can feel his magic crackling to life under his skin, but just as he's about to let it make his material form fluid and incorporeal to phase through Gladio like mist, a hand catches him by the forearm.

“Hey,” Gladio intones. The gruff rumble is gentle and soft. "Easy. You're okay."

Noct doesn't feel okay. He feels utterly worthless and like everything is going to shit. He feels like someone ripped out his heart and stomped it to fucking bits. Every time he thinks of Geminus, he wants to either cry or throw himself off a godsdamned building so he doesn't have to feel this way anymore. Face screwing up in a scowl, he turns away from Gladio and his stupidly soft, warm amber eyes and swallows tightly.

"I'm not waiting," Noct says stubbornly, hating how his voice trembles. It makes him sound like a spoiled brat having a tantrum. "Intempestiva wouldn't dare be this late if he were meeting with Dad. He's deliberately trying to slight me because he can get away with it."

"Yeah, okay. Fair enough," Gladio concedes softly. "I'll take you home, but once we get there, you're going to tell me what's going on."

Noct almost, almost tells Gladio to fuck right off. But something inside him crumbles with relief. Swaying forward, he rests his forehead against the warm, solid weight of Gladio's chest. He nods, not trusting himself to speak, and wilts even more when he feels a big, broad hand cup the back of his head in a soothing, brotherly gesture. Sure, they don't always get along, but Gladio is damned good at his job, especially when that means shielding Noct from himself and his self-destructive habits.

"Okay," Noct agrees finally.

Then, reluctantly, he steps away from the comfort Gladio is offering, and they head out into the hall together. As they reach the elevators at the far end, Noct presses the button for the garage because heading to his Royal quarters to change into street clothes feels like too much work. Noct wants to get the hell out of here before he does something embarrassing. Or, accidentally runs into someone he doesn't want to see.

Gladio's SUV is parked in its usual spot, and Noct waits long enough for the procedural safety checks to be completed, then hops into the front. He buckles, then immediately slumps against the door in sullen silence. Gladio shoots him a look, but keeps his word and stays quiet.

The radio plays at a low volume, just barely audible under the echoing hum of the engine. It's some terrible bubblegum pop, which means Iris probably got a ride to school this morning, but then again, maybe not. Noct knows for a fact that his Shield knows every word and dance move to Love Love Cake by Crush!PinkCactuars.

Spacing out entirely, Noct stares out the window as they pull out of the garage and hit the streets. Outside, the city crawls by, no thanks to the late afternoon traffic. As he spaces out, the radio shifts to a set of commercials, then, annoyingly, to some news headlines.

It's the weather. It's going to be cold and gross, with a potential storm system moving in later in the week. Noct wrinkles his nose because he knows that Gladio'll be over to pick him up bright and early that day, regardless of what the sky is doing.

When the news eventually shifts to the upcoming end-of-year celebrations and to Dad's holiday address, Noct almost switches the radio off. However, a small part of him wants to see what the public is saying, so...He reaches over and turns the radio up.

"Sources say that when Government resumes following the holiday break, His Majesty will try to push through several key referendums that could strike a serious blow to the Exotics trade, according to the Hybrid Liberation League. Several experts on Lucian Hybrid Law, including Lord Mulinus Pertinax, claim this is an over-reach of Royal power—"

Noct scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I bet he owns Exotics, huh?"

"If you're going to listen, then listen," Gladio chides as he reaches over to turn the volume up.

"—say that the timing is ill-considered due in part to the controversy surrounding His Royal Highness' Guardianship, and the fact that His Royal Majesty also legally maintains ownership over several Exotics himself—"

"Wait, what?" Noct cuts in. Several Exotics? "Are they talking about your Dad?"

"No— Shut up, I'm listening," Gladio grunts.

"—Rallies in support of expanded rights are projected to take place through the summer leading up to His Royal Highness' birthday in August."

Noct feels his belly churn, then sink right into the floor. He reaches forward on impulse and jabs the power button, effectively cutting off the rest of the news cast. It's too much on top of all the other shit he's dealing with, so he scowls and looks out the window. Still, he chews his lip as he wonders what he can do about any of it.

"Work on the problem you have in front of you right now," Gladio says, as if he's got a direct line to Noct's brain. "You're in too much of a snit to worry about the rest of it right now."

Ugh.

"Dad doesn't own several Exotics," Noct snorts angrily. He's not in a snit. "I mean, legally, I guess Cor, but—"

"Drautos too," Gladio cuts in as he pulls up to a stoplight, then takes a right turn. "He's a Midgardsormr. No one ever talks about it, though. Honestly, most people tend to forget."

Blinking, Noct lifts a brow. He's only ever met Drautos a handful of times, and as far as he can recall, he doesn't remember ever seeing anything that would indicate that Drautos is a Hybrid, least of all a Midgardsormr. Then again, he's only met a handful of serpent Hybrids, and he can only recollect one having visible serpentine features. Regardless, he had no idea that Drautos wasn't technically a Citizen.

"This is bullshit," Noct replies in a huff.

"Then do something about it," Gladio shoots back. Not mean, not accusing. Just matter of fact.

Huffing, Noct turns back toward the window and scowls. Outside, the evening rush is well underway, so it takes a good thirty minutes before Gladio finally pulls into the garage under their apartment building. Noct shlumps out as soon as the car is in park, and broods over what he can do as he heads for the elevator. Once they're both inside, Gladio nudges close and slings an arm over Noct's shoulder.

"You wanna order out for dinner?"

Deciding to allow the closeness, Noct slumps against the bulk of Gladio's body and shrugs. "Not really hungry. You can order something if you want, though."

Gladio hums, and the sound vibrates through his chest, all warm and resonant. His clubbed tail whaps against Noct's leg in a gesture that is equal parts fond and annoyed. When he dips down, the polished, regal horn on the left side bumps into the top of Noct's head in a way that makes Gladio seem like he's little more than an overgrown goat. Smiling despite himself, Noct wriggles away with a playful shove.

"I'll get you something in case you get hungry later," Gladio announces, his voice gruff but kind.

Typical. But even as Noct rolls his eyes, his belly warms with affection. Together, they head down the hall once the elevator gets to their floor. When they reach the door, Gladio takes the lead and steps inside first. He does a quick sweep of the foyer, then heads inside to do a sweep of the premises while Noct waits in the entry hall. It's overkill considering all the safety protocols in place, but whatever. It's part of Gladio's job, which he takes seriously, so Noct leaves him to it. Eventually, he wanders back and takes off his boots.

"All clear. Go get changed and cleaned up, then we can talk, okay?"

Rolling his eyes, Noct nods. He's not fragile, and he doesn't need to be treated with kid gloves. But…A small part of him realizes this is Gladio's way of showing he cares. He can totally be a raging dick sometimes, but this is coming from a place of concern.

So…Noct saves the scowl and heads off down the hall to take a quick shower and put on less constricting clothes. Annoyingly, being clean and fresh goes a long way to settle his emotions. By the time he stomps back out into the living room, he's more annoyed that Gladio was right about getting cleaned up. Noct takes revenge by flopping onto the couch beside his Shield, who has since changed into jeans and a tee, and hides against his stupid, big shoulder.

"I hate you," Noct grumps sullenly.

"No, you don't," Gladio counters with a snort. "Now spill. This about your not-so-secret girlfriend? Do I need to beat the shit out of you for being a dumbass? I swear to everything that his holy, if you did something stupid and upset Lady Lunafreya, I will personally let her brother kick the shit out of you and watch from the sidelines."

Noct's whole body stiffens. Immediately indignant, he reels upright and glowers. He shoves Gladio for good measure, but he might as well be trying to move a godsdamned building. He knows Prompto didn't spill the beans, so Gladio must've figured it out on his own and clearly just assumed Noct was upset about Luna. And frankly? Fine. Okay. Fair. But Noct can't believe Gladio would just let that asshole Ravus beat him up, even hypothetically.

"Are you serious right now?" He demands, offended. "Why did you just assume I was the one who fucked up?"

"Because it's you, Charmless," Gladio counters as he shoots a knowing look in Noct's direction. "But go ahead, I wanna hear your side."

Nose wrinkling as his lip curls in a frustrated snarl, Noct flops away on the other side of the couch, where he kicks at Gladio's thigh petulantly. There's not enough force for it to actually hurt, but a big hand catches him by the foot, and with a sharp yank, Noct almost tilts off the couch. He yelps as he goes over, but doesn't actually fall because someone arrests the momentum and gives him a sharp look. Stupid. But he takes the hint, and once he settles again, Noct keeps all his arms and legs to himself.

"I didn't fuck up. At least I don't think I did. I dunno," He says finally, unsure of both himself and how he wants to proceed.

Thinking back to that day in the park, Noct's chest tightens. It's been a few months now, and every time he tries to figure out what happened and where it all went wrong, he can't quite get past the deep ache of sadness and longing. There's also an angry, indignant part of him that tells him that if it really mattered to Geminus, he would've fought harder to make it work. It…Sucks. Noct knows he shouldn't still be this upset over someone he wasn't even really in a relationship with, but...Well, Geminus is, no, was, the first person he's ever felt so strongly about.

"I was….Kind of talking to someone?" Noct begins as he struggles to articulate his thoughts.  

"No shit, I knew that," Gladio replies, shooting a significant look in Noct's direction. "You're not subtle, dumbass. Figured you'd tell me, eventually."

Guilt squirms in Noct's belly, so he ducks his head sheepishly. He wants to apologize, but something about Gladio's open, sympathetic expression says he's not angry about it. Just concerned.

"Yeah. I mean, I probably would've but….It doesn't really matter anymore. It's over now," Noct explains. He tries for casual, but it comes out bitter and hurt enough that even he hears it. Huddling into himself, he scowls. "I didn't mess it up. So don't give me shit about it."

Surprisingly, Gladio doesn't. He scoots across the couch and wrangles a mostly willing Noct into a hug. Gladio smells a little, probably because he didn't have time to shower between his training and the meetings they had all afternoon, but it isn't bad overall. When Noct eventually leans away, he stares at the carpet because he knows he has to come clean about the rest of it.

"…Uhm. He didn't know who I was. Whenever we met, I was wearing a mask, and I was going to tell him, but he broke it off before I got the chance," Noct says in an anxious rush. He's suddenly nervous because Gladio had just assumed Noct had been talking to a girl. "We met at the Citadel every time because he worked there. He had authorization to use the training hall, so don't give me shit about talking to someone who didn't have security clearance or putting myself at risk."

Gladio is silent, and it feels awkward enough that Noct is practically squirming where he sits. When he realizes the silence has a purpose, and that Gladio is waiting to see if Noct will say more, he heaves out a sigh and glowers across the couch.

"That's all I'm saying about it," Noct huffs. "And before you ask, no, I'm not telling you his name so you can beat him up or whatever it is you're thinking. Just leave it, okay?"

The last thing Noct wants is for Gladio to get all self-righteous and go have a chat with Geminus. It's better, he reasons, to just leave it, as much as it sucks. Never mind that Noct is still panicking about basically admitting to Gladio that he's…Not really all that straight. To Gladio's credit, he merely shrugs after pinning Noct with a serious, if not searching look.

"You sure you don't want me to go have a few words with him?" Gladio asks gently.

The concern is…Nice. Regardless, Noct shakes his head. "No. It's…Well, it's not okay, but I have to respect his wishes."

Humming, Gladio reaches out and plants his hand on Noct's hair to ruffle it affectionately. When he leans away, he pulls out his phone and starts typing something on it.

"I'm gonna order some food. I'll hang out, and we can watch movies or play a game or something. I'll tell Prom to get his ass over here after he's done his training," Gladio declares. He looks up after a moment and pins Noct with a look that's all business. "You'll get a pass today for being a little shit, and not telling me what's going on with you, but tomorrow you're back on schedule, got it?"

Grumbling, Noct shrugs away. "Yeah, yeah. Don't tell Prom what I told you, though. I haven't yet, so I'll do it when he gets here."

Nodding, Gladio goes back to his phone. Now that Noct has calmed down and is more or less all right, he's hungry. Leaning in, he peers down at the phone screen to see that he's browsing pizza places, and wrinkles his nose.

"Order from Lupus Galahdus," He says. "Prom likes the spicy beef kabobs and green curry. I want yellow curry with chicken. No carrots or anything, but potatoes are fine. Make sure you get rice with it. Oh, and get some of that pistachio cake. And uhm, the little fried dough ball things with the coconut sauce? If you want to drink, they'd probably send some batu eqir, but you'd have to show them your ID when the delivery guy gets here."

Gladio blinks, his eyebrows raising like Noct has two heads. Dumbass. Feeling his face flush with heat, Noct grabs Gladio's phone to navigate to the website to put the order in himself. When he's finished, he hands the phone back and rolls his eyes at the odd look on Gladio's face.

"What? " Noct demands, embarrassed.

Blinking, Gladio shakes his head. "Nothin'. Just didn't know you liked Galahdian food. This guy of yours have anything to do with that?"

It's super obvious what question Gladio is asking, so Noct merely shoots him a flat look and shakes his head. "No. He wasn't Galahdian," He replies evenly, with more authority than he feels. Then, because it feels icky pulling rank like that, he merely shrugs. "A lot of the people I work with doing my outreach stuff are refugees from Galahd."

"So you suddenly developed a taste for Galahdian food?" Gladio questions, clearly not quite believing the excuse.

Shaking his head, Noct rolls his eyes. "No, not suddenly. Remember that stupid dinner I was late for? The one where Dad sent Cor to come get me?" When Gladio nods, Noct goes on. "We went to this potluck thing hosted by one of the communities Prom and I have been helping. We met a lot of cool people, and there was a ton of food. One of the Glaives, his Grandmother owns Lupus Galahdus."

Gladio doesn't seem quite convinced, but Noct isn't falling for the bait.

Not entirely.

"Dude, it's just good. Also, Prom has been super obsessed lately and he's chill with the Hybrid Glaives. You know he doesn't have very many friends in the Guard, and they've been dicks to him all week," Noct says. "Plus, his parents ditched coming home for his ceremony next week."

Gladio hums thoughtfully as he ponders. Turning to his phone, he scrolls through the menu and adds a few more items, then pulls out his wallet to pay. Once he's finished, he tosses his wallet on the coffee table and leans back on the couch. There's something about the upward tilt of one of his dark brows that says he's thinking something over pretty intently, so Noct huffs out a sigh and flops back against Gladio's chest.

"Hug me," He demands petulantly.

Gladio does. But he also jams his big, stupid fingers into Noct's ribs. "Prom hangs out with the Glaives a lot?"

Noct, scowling, frowns and settles. "I dunno, I just know that he's usually with them instead of the other Crownsguard if there's downtime. Just ask him when he gets here."

There's a look on Gladio's face that Noct doesn't really like. It's all suspicious and curious, as if he's trying to puzzle something out. There isn't anything to puzzle out, at least not that Noct's aware of. Except now Noct is suddenly suspicious, and he tries to recall all the conversations he's had with Prompto over the last few weeks. Shamefully, Noct doesn't really remember much of the details because he's been too wrapped up in his own misery. The only thing he knows for sure is that Prompto is happier now that he has some friends amongst the Glaives. There's a lot of resentment amongst the human Crownsguard because of the perception that Prom was just handed a place on Noct's retinue.

It's not true at all, and Prompto's test scores reflect that. He worked his ass off, and it shows. However, being a Hybrid and commoner to boot was never going to endear Prompto to a bunch of spoiled aristocrats whose parents envisioned buying positions of prominence for them. Noct's lip curls just thinking about it.

Screw that.

With a start, Noct realizes that if and when his Exotic ward joins them, his entourage will be entirely Hybrids. Huh. It certainly sends a message, at any rate. A message that he's sure the Council will dislike. No wonder jerks like Lord Mulinus Pertinax are fighting so hard to keep Hybrids from positions of perceived power.

"Just leave him alone about it," Noct warns Gladio as he squashes the thought. "If Prom wants us to know, he'll tell us eventually. I don't think he wants to make things worse by getting us involved. The rest of the Guard already thinks he got in because I threw a tantrum."

Humming, Gladio agrees. "I mean, you did throw a tantrum, but not the way they think you did. You're right, though."

Noct rolls his eyes. Despite the dig, he settles more comfortably against Gladio as a massive yawn works its way up from the very depths of his being. It brings a sudden wave of sleepiness with it, which has Noct snuggling closer because Gladio is warm and mostly comfortable. Of course, his pillow isn't really pleased with the idea, and after giving Noct one last squeeze, Gladio shoves him gently toward the other end of the couch.

"Nap on that side. I'll have to get the food when it gets here, and I'm not dealing with you being a dick if I wake you up." Gladio says, his voice gruff but affectionate.

Fair enough, Noct reasons. As much as he enjoys having a warm body for a pillow, he's suddenly exhausted. So he sits up and drags the throw blanket off the back of the couch, then makes himself comfy. Once he's all settled, Noct closes his eyes and immediately drifts off to sleep.

He doesn't dream, or if he does, he doesn't remember. When Noct blinks his eyes open some indeterminate amount of time later, it's to the clink of plates and Prompto's voice filtering in from the kitchen.

"Okay, but it's really not a big deal," Prompto says, his tone more than just a little agitated.

Sitting up, Noct blearily scrubs his eyes and flops forward with his chin on the back of the couch. Behind him, in the kitchen, Gladio and Prompto are pulling food containers from several paper bags and setting everything out for dinner. It smells good enough that Noct's stomach rumbles, but it's not the food that has Noct's attention; it's the rigid set of Prompto's jaw and the frown on his face.

"I'm just saying, if those shits are giving you a hard time, you need to let us know," Gladio counters. "I'm on your side, and I don't want you getting hurt because of a bunch of jealous assholes. It's only going to get worse now that you're officially on Noct's payroll."

Uhh. Okay.

The conversation sounds serious. Serious enough that Gladio's using his Work Voice on Prompto. And, serious enough that Prompto's clearly upset. His face is all red, and his ears are twisted back angrily. Noct knows it won't devolve into a verbal fight because Prom usually gets too flustered. Still, it's clear that he's seconds away from shutting down entirely.

Concerned, but not wanting to make things worse, Noct shlumps off the couch and slogs into the kitchen. He immediately latches onto Prompto's back like a little leech and hooks his chin on his best friend's bony, freckled shoulder.

"Wasgoin' on?" He questions blearily.

"Nothing," Prompto replies, scowling.

His eyes are fixed intently on the counter, but not really focused on anything, and it's very obvious that he's trying not to look at anyone else. A classic Prompto sign that he's upset. Noct shoots a brief, scowling look in Gladio's direction, then muckles on tighter.

"If Gladio is giving you a hard time about being friends with the Galahdians, just tell him to fuck off," Noct says casually, a yawn splitting the statement.

It has both Prompto and Gladio snorting almost immediately. Prompto because he's begrudgingly amused, and Gladio because he's not.

"He's not giving me a hard time about the Glaives, he's giving me a hard time about not telling you guys about the dicks I have to train with," Prompto clarifies.

Noct wrinkles his nose. Then, because he's the coolest, bestest friend ever, he leans up on his tiptoes and blows a raspberry against Prompto's cheek. Predictably, it pulls a disgusted squeal from Prompto, who shoves Noct away with a laugh and thus breaks the tension.

"Ew gross, I don't know where your mouth has been," Prompto exclaims.

Shrugging elusively, Noct twists and leans against the counter between them. He understands that Gladio is just being protective, but he also realizes that getting involved will make things much worse for Prompto. Gladio's name protects him from a lot of casual bigotry. Never mind his sheer size and scariness. No one fucks with Gladio. Prompto, on the other hand, doesn't have that luxury. Regardless, he shouldn't have to bow and scrape just because a bunch of assholes are jealous.

"As far as I'm concerned, they can fuck right off," Noct says simply. "Prom earned his place fair and square. It's not his fault that he's better."

"Yeah, but that doesn't fix the problem, Noct," Gladio counters with a scowl. "It'll only escalate if something isn't done about it."

"But it's my problem," Prompto counters. He's not loud or angry, but he is insistent. When he looks up at Gladio, there's a defiant little spark in his eyes. "I appreciate the concern, I do, but I'll handle it, okay? I don't need anyone else stirring the pot."

"Okay, but what is actually going on?" Noct asks, wondering what precipitated the conversation to begin with. "Was someone actually being a dick again? Or was it just general dickish vibes?"

"Someone is always being a dick," Prom replies sullenly, hedging.

Rolling his eyes, Noct eyes Prompto expectantly.

"Okay, fine. You know, the other Crownsguard basically hate me. They've been worse since I made it through exams, and I made the mistake of telling some of the guys about it, and now they've been snapping at anyone who so much as looks at me funny," Prompto explains. "The other day I was having a shitty day, and Nyx blew in with a hair across his ass and started being all growly. He and the guy who trains while I run got into it, which was stupid."

"Wait, since when are you on a first-name basis with Ulric?" Noct demands, feeling like a bomb suddenly went off.

Prompto blinks, then the flush on his face deepens, and he becomes visibly flustered. "Oh come off it, you know I have other friends, Noct."

Gladio is a bit less rocked by the revelation than Noct is, and attempts to reel the conversation back in before it gets any more off topic.

"Prompto, there's a difference between someone being a dick and them outright harassing you, and if that's happening, you need to let someone know."

"Don't you start too," Prompto cuts in with a scowl. "First of all, I know. And second of all, I can fight my own battles. It'll only make it worse if everyone is always coming to my rescue. I can figure it out."

"Look, I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying that handling it doesn't mean you have to sit around and take it. Nobody doubts you can take care of the problem. You just have people who are worried about you," Gladio counters.

Noct knows Gladio's not trying to be an ass, but he can't help but feel angry on Prompto's behalf. Then again, it's been this way for as long as they've been friends. Someone always gets jealous and takes issue with a commoner Hybrid having such command over the Prince's attention. He also knows there's fuckall he can do about it without it coming across as heavy-headed or an over-reach of power. In a word, Noct's hands are tied.

"I get you want to handle it, Prom, but Gladio has a point," Noct says. "It's not okay for them to behave that way."

Prompto, sighing, nods. "Yeah. I know."

A prickly sort of heaviness settles over the room, and for a moment, Noct forgets his own troubles. That is, until Prompto huffs out a loud breath and grabs a plate from the counter.

"Come on, let's eat. Then you can have your turn to spill your guts, Noct. Gladio said we were having an intervention or something."

A spike of annoyance fills Noct's belly, making it clench with irritation. He slides his gaze toward Gladio, who merely shrugs and starts filling up a plate of his own. Noct, resigned, grabs a plate too and starts loading up.

"I'll keep my guts in my body, thanks," He says dourly as he snatches a few spicy kabobs and a heaping helping of rice and some curry. "But long story short, things with Ge— With you know who have been off for a while now."

Here, Prompto abruptly stills with a jolt and whips his head in Noct's direction. Unable to stand the look that's undoubtedly on his best friend's face, Noct keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the boxes of steaming, fragrant food in front of him and ignores the ache of longing in the pit of his stomach as well as the itchy tears that sting his eyes.

"Shit, Noct, I'm—" Prompto starts.

"Yeah, yeah. Food now, ice cream and crying and all that bullshit later." Noct says thickly. "It's not okay, but your stuff is more important right now."

Prompto, sensing it's better to leave it for now, grabs another spicy kabob. But instead of putting it on his own plate, he puts it on Noct's.

"Okay, but we're not watching Spirited Away. That's my post-breakup movie. You can pick your own." Prompto says.

Noct doesn't even have it within him to argue. It wasn't really a breakup in the strictest sense, because he and Geminus were never really together. But emotionally? Yeah. Yeah, okay, it's a breakup. Huffing out a sigh, he nods. But… There's a tiny part of him that's glad that it's all out in the open now. Glad and happy that Gladio and Prompto are literally the best.

Moving out into the living room, they all take their places huddled around the coffee table. Noct and Prom sit on the floor, but Gladio is too damned big to fit, so he's on the couch. Then, they all dig in. The rice is fluffy and delicious and is damned good with the curry. It's just spicy enough to give it some zing, but not enough to make Noct's nose tickle. Scarfing down a few bites like an absolute heathen, Noct hums happily. Then he snatches a chunk of flatbread off Gladio's plate to try.

"Oy, get your own," Gladio warns.

Noct ignores him and stuffs his face with more bread. "Shit, that's fucking good."

"Yeah, it is," Prompto agrees. He takes a few bites of his own food, then abruptly pauses. "Oh! Lib and Nyx say there's gonna be another potluck next month. It's Solstice eve, though, early in the evening. Mostly for families who don't have anyplace else to go."

"What time?" Noct asks automatically.

"Noct, you know you're busy that day," Gladio cuts in, eyeing him over a kabob.

He's right, and sure it's important, but…

"All the official stuff isn't until the next day," Noct argues. "I can go help out at the community center and be back in time for dinner with Dad. He won't mind."

Hell, maybe if Noct plays his cards right, he can even convince Dad to come too. It'd take a massive amount of logistics, but it'd be cool to do something good for other people and have Dad be there too. Something hopeful sparks in his chest at the thought, because yeah….Spending time with Dad and doing something worthwhile together? Sharing the work he finds so important?

The idea helps shake off some of the sadness that has been weighing on his chest.

"I'll talk to Dad about it and see what he says," Noct assures with more excitement than he's felt in months as he digs back into his curry. He knows better than to get his hopes up…But it could work.

Lapsing into silence, Noct focuses on his food. Prompto and Gladio do the same. It's not a heavy silence, more like an expectant one, and as the feeding frenzy winds down, Noct puffs out a sigh and flops backward to stare up at the ceiling. His belly is full, probably too full, but he's totally thinking about the fried dough balls in the kitchen. He's also thinking about Geminus, and how much it still fucking hurts.

"He said...He said I was a distraction," Noct admits quietly.

The other two are quiet for a beat, but there's a clink of cutlery as someone, presumably Prompto, sets his fork down.

"Seriously?"

Yup. Prompto.

Noct grunts and rolls onto his side. It's easier to have this conversation when he isn't actually looking at anyone.

"Yeah, pretty much," He replies. "Well.. I think he said something about having obligations or whatever, and he couldn't be distracted, but that was pretty much the gist of it."

"I mean, you have obligations too," Prompto counters hotly. "It's kind of a bullshit excuse if you ask me."

"I agree," Gladio says. "Everyone has their own shit they're carrying around. And if he didn't think he was able to commit to anything, he shouldn't have been carrying on like he could to begin with."

Noct grunts. Of the three, Gladio has the most experience with relationships, so in theory, he knows what he's talking about. Then again, Noct doesn't even know if Gladio is with someone at the moment. If he is, it's very hush-hush. Still, Noct trusts his judgment on this. Expectation weighs just as heavily on him as it does Noct.

"I mean, to be fair, I don't think either of us intended it to get so... Involved," Noct replies carefully, feeling a little defensive. "It's still bullshit though."

From somewhere nearby, there's some shuffling. Seconds later, Prom flops over Noct's hip and leans across his body. It doesn't hurt, but Noct still grunts like it does despite enjoying the feeling of being squished back into his body.

"It's super bullshit," Prompto commiserates. "You should, like, banish him or whatever,"

Rolling his eyes, Noct gives Prom a little shove. "Don't think that's gonna help, honestly."

"Your Dad could always banish him?" The suggestion is cheeky and playful, but there's a hint of sharpness to Prom's voice.

He's teasing, of course, and yeah, Noct smiles, but he's still too hurt for all this. Maybe once he's done vacillating between numb, achey acceptance and sadness, he'll be able to laugh and joke over potentially banishing someone who broke his damned heart. For now? Now he just wants to be miserable while his friends try to cheer him up.

"Eh," He grunts, hedging.

"If he didn't have the balls to keep at it when things were getting tough for him, it's probably better off this way," Gladio cuts in. "If he couldn't handle it now, he probably wouldn't have been able to handle it when you told him who you were. Relationships are hard enough as it is, and there's a lot of bullshit that comes with dating within the aristocracy. Trust me, I know."

Gladio is right. But it doesn't make the situation feel any better. Grunting, Noct huddles into himself, and the motion tilts Prompto off to one side. He's kind of done talking about it, and, sensing that, Prom wriggles away. Wondering where he's going, Noct is about to flop onto his back when he hears the TV power on, followed by the chime for his favorite streaming service.

"Let's watch that newish animated one with the cat," He mumbles as he sits up and crawls over to the couch.

Noct doesn't even think twice about snuggling up against Gladio and sprawling out. Gladio merely shoots him a fond, if exasperated, look and settles in.

"You're going to cry your eyes out. I watched it with Iris when it first came out," Gladio warns.

Shrugging, Noct sticks out his tongue. He could use a good cry over something that isn't real. Something where the stakes have much less sway over his actual life.

"Isn't that the point of breakup movies?" He grunts.

Prompto, scrambling off the floor heads for the kitchen. Noct is confused for all of two seconds, but then spots the box of dough balls and cake in his hands. He sets them on the coffee table, then gets comfy pressed up against Noct's other side. Contented by being the the middle, Noct gets comfy as well. 

He still feels like shit, but somehow it's better all squished up between Gladio and Prompto. 

Plus, there's cake. 

Even if the movie does make Noct cry. 

Chapter Text

The end of the year creeps up so quickly that Noct almost gets whiplash.

Finals come and go, but he doesn't even have room to breathe because everyone is trying to force important matters of state through in between all the end-of-year functions. Unfortunately, that means Noct gets saddled with more and more items from the Small Council that aren't really worth his time. But he doesn't complain, no matter how much he itches to, because he's still holding out hope that by sharing the workload, he'll be able to go to the Solstice Potluck with his Father.

It's still fucking annoying, though. In taking on more with his official workload, Noct has to relegate things that are more important to him to the back burner. There are several events he helped organize through the outreach programs that he has to miss, which blows. But they still happen, which is the important thing. Besides, Prom goes, as his schedule allows, and reports back with pictures and updates.

The official excuse is that Light is feeling under the weather due to chronic illness and can't make it.

It still sucks he can't go, but it's not exactly a lie. Noct is mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. He knows eventually his body will demand he make up for putting it through the ringer now, but he's just got to get through the run-up to Solstice first. Once he does, he'll be free for a few weeks before official business resumes. Then he can crash and sleep for a few hundred hours.

In the meantime, Noct is frantically going over the notes that I.S. left for him in the margins of yet another trade report and picks at the lunch he was supposed to be eating with his Father up in the Royal Quarters. He's got Gladio instead, who's on the other side of the table, scrolling on his phone between bites of pasta.

"You need to eat some of that," Gladio instructs.

Grunting, Noct looks up from the report with a glower. Then, he purposefully stabs one solitary piece of cavatappi and puts it in his mouth. Immediately regretting it, he wrinkles his nose because the sauce tastes too green for his liking.

"It's got spinach all in it," He grunts.

"Yeah, so?" Gladio counters as he shovels another helping into his fat gob like an absolute monster.

Noct huffs and stabs a piece of chicken. Using the side of the plate, he scrapes off the sauce and eats it. It's nominally better, and he supposes it's okay enough to tolerate. The spices on the chicken cover most of the nasty spinach taste. Admittedly, Noct knows if Dad were here, he'd probably just deal with it and eat the gross pasta. Then again, maybe not. Spinach is the devil's vegetable. So are carrots, onions, tomatoes, peppers— Yeah.

Honestly, Noct is just tired and so done. He takes another bite of chicken, then wrinkles his nose in disgust and shoves the plate aside. He had some of the bread, which is good enough in his opinion.

"Picky," Gladio scoffs.

Regardless, he grabs Noct's plate and heaps the pasta onto his, which is absolutely fine.

"Dick," Noct counters, sticking out his tongue.

Gladio snorts; he's not insulted in the least and rumbles out a low growl as he tucks back into his lunch. Noct wrinkles his nose, and for a moment, he wishes he could just snorf down any damned thing and not be bothered by things like how it actually tastes. There's a bowl of salad on the table, but Noct won't touch that with a ten-foot pole, so he grabs for the plate of bread and nibbles on a roll while he reads.

It's fucking boring, but at least the information is organized in a way that makes it easy to absorb. Additionally, the comments made by I.S. are both helpful and amusing. Whole chunks of the report are crossed out and corrected. What really gets Noct is that he can almost hear the sarcasm when his eyes skim down Nescius' work and finds it's been ripped apart by the mysterious I.S. When Noct's eyes flit over an entire paragraph that's been struck through with red pen, he snorts with laughter when he spots the following written in the margin in tidy, exacting script.

Really???

Please reconsider this man's position, Highness. A preschooler could formulate a better paragraph than this absolute drivel. The corrections are in the annotated copy.

"What's so funny?" Gladio asks as he glances up from his phone.

"Nothing," Noct replies, amused and also a little impressed. Not everyone would have the balls to leave such a pointed comment for the Prince of all people to read. "Lord Scientia's Intern is funny, that's all. They think Nescius is an idiot, too."

"Nescius is an idiot," Gladio points out wryly. "Lord Scientia's Intern has been mopping up his mess for months now. Maybe you should just see if you can get them on your staff until things are settled with your Guardianship."

An anxious, fuzzy feeling blossoms in Noct's chest as his muscles tense. Over the last few weeks, the media has been particularly aggressive about that, providing yet another source of stress for him to contend with. The clock is ticking down, and as much as Noct absolutely does not want to think about it, he knows he can't avoid it much longer. He told himself weeks ago that he'd try to find the file His Dad gave him literal years ago, but he still hasn't bothered to. Noct feels guilty about it, because his soon-to-be-Ward deserves better than that, but...

"Maybe," Noct hedges sourly.

Flipping the report shut, Noct decides he's had enough for now. His brain is mush, and he's absorbed as much as he's able. Besides, if he forgets, he can always just refer back to the annotated report I.S. compiled. Tossing the half-eaten roll he's been nibbling on across the table and onto Gladio's plate, Noct stands up, folder in hand.

"I'm gonna go lie down in my quarters till the meeting starts," He announces.

Gladio is immediately suspicious, which is to be expected. "Don't you need to finish going over the notes?"

"Memory card is full," Noct replies with a shrug.

But, just to make Gladio happy, he waves the report at his Shield before heading out. He hears a scoff from behind him as he steps out into the main sitting room, but ignores it as he swiftly crosses the polished marble floor and reaches the main door.

Two humans stand guard on either side, and they dip briefly in a courtly bow as Noct steps out. He doesn't recognize either of them, but suspects they are most likely from Aristocratic families. Regardless, Noct still feels uneasy. Nodding politely, he hurries down the hall toward his own quarters.

However, when he gets there, he pauses thoughtfully.

Gladio did have a point about Lord Scientia's Intern. And, the more Noct thinks about it, the more something itches under his skin to at least meet them and thank them for unfucking his life for the last few months. Dithering, Noct wonders if he should just email Lord Scientia, because the thought of thanking the Intern in person suddenly makes him a little uneasy. He doesn't want it to be a big deal as it so often is when The Prince makes an appearance.

But...Maybe it won't be a big deal.

If I.S. has the balls to leave snarky comments in the notes knowing full well that Noct will read them, then it'll probably be fine. So, with his mind made up, Noct squares his shoulders and heads for the elevator at the far end of the hall. Of course, the second he actually gets inside and finds it occupied by more Crownsguard, Noct nearly scoots right back out.

He's uncomfortably aware of their presence. Partially because he wonders if either of them is part of the group giving Prompto a hard time, but also because he knows they are scrutinizing his every move. Pressing the button for one of the lower floors, he does his best to ignore them, but Noct's shirt starts to itch, and it feels like he's suddenly leaking buckets of sweat. It takes everything within him to keep his expression blank and distant and his hands down at his side so he doesn't fidget.

Thankfully, the ride is quick, and he all but bolts out of the enclosed space and decides he's had enough of the public hallways. Dodging into the nearest coded entry for one of the many service corridors that run through the Citadel like a warren of tunnels in an anthill, Noct continues on his way.

He knows them fairly well, having explored them quite extensively as a child. Cor had always harped on him to memorize at least four ways out in case of emergency, but Noct had always used them to escape Gladio or sneak out onto the roof. As he rounds a corner and heads for the Admin wing, he thinks it would've been fun to have an actual friend to explore with as a child.

Would've been less damned lonely, that's for sure.

Noct pushes the wistful thought aside and pops out of the corridor into one of the secure hallways where most of his Dad's personal Admin Staff work. Down on the left, Lord Scientia's office door is open, meaning he's probably there. Or, in the very least, one of his staff might be.

Still, Noct approaches cautiously, unsure why he's so nervous. When he gets to the door, two voices float out, both female, chatting about after-work plans. He doesn't want to interrupt and almost turns around to leave. But damn it, Noct came all this way, so…He straightens up and knocks on the door frame as he steps inside.

"Uhm, excuse me," He starts.

The two women look up from their desks, and both wear a look of surprise. One of them is a human with a neat, short blonde bob, while the other is a Hybrid woman with small, brown, triangular-shaped ears that have ridges inside them and spear-shaped tragi. The Hybrid woman also appears to have a device clipped into her ears, possibly to muffle sound. By the look on both their faces, they recognize Noct immediately, but it's the human woman who recovers first and offers up a polite smile.

"Your Highness, what a pleasant surprise! What can we do for you?" She asks brightly.

Noct takes a breath and smiles back, albeit more reserved. Stepping into the office properly, he pulls his shoulders back so he doesn't look like a slob and nods toward the door at the back of the room.

"I… was hoping to speak to Lord Scientia? If he's in, I mean. If not, that's fine. He can just reach out at his earliest convenience," Noct replies politely.

The two women trade a look that Noct can't quite parse, but then the blonde stands up quickly and heads for the inner door.

"I'll let him know you're here, one moment," She assures.

Nodding, Noct waits. The blonde heads for the door and taps on it, and while she does, the Hybrid woman pointedly tries not to look in Noct's direction. It's fine. He's used to it. But he still has to tell himself not to fidget while he waits. In the back of the room, the inner door opens, and Lord Scientia's voice filters out of the office.

"Is he? How…Unexpected. Yes, one moment. I'll be right out — No, it's fine."

The woman steps out, once again trading a pointed look with her colleague before her gaze slides in his direction. "Councilor Scientia will be with you in a moment."

Noct smiles awkwardly. Something is up, and he wonders if maybe one of them is the mysterious I.S., as unlikely as it may be. Surely one of them would've said something by now if they were. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Noct stares at an invisible point on the nearby wall while he waits. Finally, Lord Scientia appears, but interestingly, he shuts the inner office door behind him and gestures to the hallway.

"Why don't we step out for some privacy, Your Highness?" Lord Scientia suggests politely.

Okay. Weird.

Regardless, Noct nods and steps out into the empty hallway. No one is around, and his business isn't sensitive or personal, but he still wrinkles his nose in confusion. Lord Scientia absolutely catches it as he nudges the door shut. The older man's expression softens as he offers Noct an apologetic smile.

"You'll have to excuse the location, My Prince. Needs must, I'm afraid," Lord Scientia says.

Noct is still confused, but he shrugs. "Oh.. No problem. It's fine. I just came to uhm— Well. Your Intern? The one who has been doing all the admin work for me lately... I just hoped you could thank them for me."

Lord Scientia's heavy brows wrinkle in confusion. But his eyes are quick and assessing. He spies the folders in Noct's hands, then his expression melts into amused understanding.

"Ah, I see," Lord Scientia replies. "I'd heard through a close source that your current secretary leaves…A bit to be desired."

The snort is automatic, though Noct does catch himself before he rolls his eyes. As soon as he realizes how he's behaving, an embarrassed flush heats his face. Thankfully, Lord Scientia is too polite and knows Noct well enough not to scold him.

"Sorry, yeah. That's pretty accurate," Noct begins with a soft sigh. There's a beat of silence as he works up the courage to ask what he came here for, then he takes the plunge. "So, uhm. I was...I was wondering. Your Intern is really good, and uh... Would it be possible to maybe…Have them work for me for a bit? Officially? If you can spare them, that is. Just until everything is settled in…August."

The flash of confusion that flits across Lord Scientia's face is unexpected, but then his expression smooths out into something kind and fond. Admittedly, Noct doesn't know his Father's secretary too well, even if Lord Scientia has known Noct since he was born. He's nice, though. Noct has always thought so. More importantly, he's someone who can be trusted.

"Ah…Well, that might present a problem, Highness," Lord Scientia replies carefully. Diplomatically. "My Intern, as you call him, has been working for you at your Father's behest without the Council being apprised of the matter. It would present quite the…Pickle, if it were to become common knowledge."

"I see," Noct says, confused.

He doesn't understand but can appreciate that if those Council dicks are being kept in the dark, there must be a good reason.

"Though, I suppose it's a good thing you're pleased with his work. That'll make things easier come August," Lord Scientia goes on kindly. "The transition will go much smoother with Ignis already managing your schedule and workload. Of course, it won't be official until you take over his Guardianship—"

"Wait, what?" Noct blurts before he can stop himself.

I.S. has been saving Noct's ass for months, and now it turns out they— He— Is Noct's Ward?

What. The. Hell.

Feeling suddenly queasy, Noct's whole body shivers with heat. He feels betrayed, and like his Father should've fucking mentioned this sooner. Then again, if Noct had read the damned file he got years ago, he probably would've noticed who I.S. was from the start. Possibly. Or, maybe not. Noct has only ever seen initials in his shared cloud calendar and doubts he would've ever made the connection.

"Apologies, Highness. I thought you were aware," Lord Scientia says carefully.

Pulling in a sharp breath, Noct forces himself to calm down. Getting pissy with Dad's secretary, who is only doing his job, isn't going to help anything. However, something comes to Noct lightning quick.

"He's in your office right now, isn't he?" Noct asks—well, demands. It comes across as petulant and furious, which is not what he wants at all. Tempering himself, he tries again. "I'd like to speak to him. Please."

Lord Scientia's expression is frustratingly neutral, though there is a small measure of sympathy that crinkles the corners of his eyes. But there's also something steely and protective.

"I must apologize again, Your Highness. I can't allow it. Not because I do not wish to, but because it isn't permitted," Lord Scientia replies, polite but firm.

Isn't permitted? It sounds like bullshit to Noct. His knee-jerk reaction is to pull rank and say as much, but he tamps it down.

"Isn't permitted by whom? I know he has clearance," He counters finally, careful to keep his tone civil. Well. Mostly. "I'm not here to cause trouble, but if he and I are expected to work together, we should get to know each other and see if it's going to work. If His Majesty okayed him to do my admin, what's the problem?"

Something softens in Lord Scientia's posture, but he doesn't give in to Noct's temper. The only concession he makes is sliding to the right half a step to block the path to the office door.

"I'm glad to hear you are interested in getting to know your Ward. Regardless, until you're of age, the Council has stipulated that there will be no fraternization," Lord Scientia says with a measured calm. "I know you mean well, Highness, and were it up to your Father, I'm sure he would allow it. However, the consequences for any indiscretions would fall back on Ignis, and he would be the one punished for it."

It hits like a shard of ice. But it also ignites something fierce in Noct's chest because it isn't right or fair. "Even if I were the one to press it?" He questions hotly, wanting to clarify. "What would they do to him?"

Lord Scientia nods, albeit hesitantly. "At best, they would send him to be corrected at The Menagerie. At worst, they would insist he is ill-suited to being on your Retinue and keep him confined."

"Confined? For how long?" Noct demands, utterly horrified. He has no idea what corrected means, but given what Gladio's said about what goes on at The Menagerie, he can't imagine that it's good.

"Indefinitely, I would imagine," Lord Scientia replies calmly. "Rare and potentially dangerous breeds of Hybrids that are not suited to service must be kept in check, usually with a cocktail of pharmaceuticals and a stern hand. At least, that is the law in Lucis. In other nations, they are merely...Disposed of."

The shard of ice grows and grows until it galvanizes into something so cold it burns. Noct feels it shivering over his skin until it fills his throat and threatens to choke him. He knows his magic is blazing just below the surface; he can feel it whispering through the ends of his hair until it stands on end. Somewhere deep inside, he can feel Gladio's presence reaching for him, but more importantly, he feels Dad's magic stir.

"I have to go," Noct says abruptly, knowing everything is about to go to hell. "Tell your Intern thank you from me for all his hard work."

He doesn't stick around to see how Lord Scientia reacts. Turning, Noct strides down the hall like a storm cloud, his anger seething inside of him like a living, breathing beast. No surprise, moments later, his phone chimes first with a flurry of messages from Gladio, then it buzzes and chirps with an incoming call. Noct expects it to be his Shield, but is surprised when it's Dad.

"I'm fine," Noct snaps instead of saying hello.

"Noct, where are you—"

"I said I'm fine," He snarls and immediately regrets it.

On the line, Dad pulls in a sharp breath. Noct ducks into the service corridor instead of taking the public elevator, and once the door clangs shut, he only takes several steps before tearing into his Father.

"Why didn't you tell me that the Intern doing my scheduling was my Ward— Oh, I'm sorry— My fucking property?" He demands as disgust roils in his belly. "And when were you going to tell me that if something goes wrong, or I decide I don't want to keep him around, it'll be his fault and he'll be sent to a fucking prison for the rest of his life and drugged out of his mind?"

It feels like lancing a wound that has been festering with pus for years. And, now that Noct is going, he can't stop because of all the hurt and terrible everything that has been building up for the past few months boils over to breaking.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?" He shouts, horrified but unable to stop it. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with any of this?! I don't want it, and I don't want to be the only thing keeping a whole damned person from being treated like they're no better than a rabid animal that needs to be put down!"

Dad doesn't reply. In fact, he's silent other than the soft rasp of his even breathing. It's infuriating, so Noct growls into the phone and jabs the end call button. It takes everything within him not to hurl the damned thing down the fucking hall, so instead he turns and slams the heel of his palm into the wall. It hurts and sends a zing of pain down his arm, but he deserves it for being so terrible to Dad and for being so fucking selfish about his own feelings and for not doing more to stop any of the terrible, horrible things that have clearly been done to his Ward or any of the others like him.

Noct slams the wall several times before the pain surpasses the rush of adrenaline, and it hurts enough that tears sting his eyes. He feels his knuckles trickle with blood, but the only thing that stops Noct from slamming his fist into the wall again is his phone ringing. He answers right away, but instead of speaking, he just stubbornly tries not to cry into the receiver.

His Father is silent, apart from the soft sound of his breathing, and listens quietly as Noct struggles to get a hold of himself. Finally, once the hiccupy jerking in Noct's lungs stops, and he's not running tears and snot, he grunts softly.

"Noctis, come up to my quarters." His Father coaxes gently.

"No," Noct shoots back stubbornly. "I have a stupid meeting soon."

"Then at least tell me what happened," Dad replies, his voice soft.

"No," Noct repeats, his voice high and panicky. Everything hurts.

There's a soft exhale on the other end of the line, but Noct can still hear how worried his Father is. It cracks something open in Noct's chest that spills out so swiftly and suddenly that he whines and slumps against the wall, then slides to the floor.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore," He breathes. "I hate it."

On the phone, his Father makes a soft, soothing sound. It reminds Noct of when he was little and plagued with nightmares, which immediately brings a fresh spill of tears to his eyes. It's not just the stupid thing with Lord Scientia, or the noose of his 21st birthday getting tighter around his neck. It's the stress of all the bullshit he has to deal with. More importantly, it's the thing with Geminus and how Noct never got a chance to explore how he felt, much less acknowledge it.

"Noctis," Dad says gently. As if he knows there's more going on than meets the eye. He always knows.

Noct growls angrily, but he knows he's about to spill the whole sorry tale.

"I…I went to ask Lord Scientia if I could borrow the Intern who's been fixing my schedule and doing my notes." He says, deflecting. "He told me that the Intern was my Ward and that he'd be punished if I fucked up and…I got angry because it's not fucking right."

Dad doesn't reply right away. He doesn't even launch into a lecture. Instead, he just listens quietly because somehow he knows that Noct isn't quite done processing, and is giving him more time to think. It's helpful, even if Noct is a sniffling, pathetic mess. It takes a moment for him to calm down enough to work through his thoughts enough to voice them.

"I hate this." He says haltingly. "I don't want to be part of it, and I don't even get to decide."

But did Noct's Ward ever get to decide either? It's highly probable that the mysterious I.S.— Wait, what was his name again?— is just as angry as Noct is, but doesn't even have the liberty to think it, much less say it out loud. The very thought has Noct's insides squirming with revulsion.

"Dad," He groans helplessly.

"I'm coming. Just stay where you are."

Noct doesn't want to be seen like this, least of all by his Father. He makes a soft, dismissive sound and scrubs at his face. His lungs are nearly working again, even if they ache.

"No, it's fine. I'm okay now," Noct lies.

But he can already hear muffled footsteps in the background, as well as both Gladio and Cor's voices. Gods. How mortifying. Knowing them, they probably accessed the location services on Noct's phone the second his magic surged. Tucking his knees up to his chest, Noct slumps forward with a sigh and puts the phone on speaker mode.

"Tell Gladio to go away. I don't want to see him right now. Not like this."

Dad hums softly, clearly troubled. The non-response is a little infuriating, but suggests he's not in a position to speak freely, so Noct goes on, feeling fury stir again in his belly and knowing full well his Father can't reply or defend himself.

"You didn't tell me it was him," He accuses. "And you never said what they'd do to him if it didn't work out. You never said they'd lock him up."

But even as Noct says it, he realizes there's so much he doesn't know. Not only about his Ward, but about what sort of lives Exotics live compared to Domestics. There's so much that has been kept from him. Well, no. That isn't exactly right. He's kept his head in the sand for so long, but Noct could've easily done the work and found out for himself. Gladio's been telling him for years about the shit that happens at The Menagerie and to Exotics. It's Noct's own selfishness that landed him here.

On the phone, Dad lets out a long breath. "I'll be there in a moment, then we can discuss it in person."

Noct snorts. He doesn't want to discuss it in person; he doesn't want to discuss it at all. But he's done hiding from it. So he waits, stewing in silence, until eventually he hears footsteps coming down the narrow corridor. He doesn't bother saying goodbye and simply ends the call. Sure enough, after a moment, he spots his Father. Dad's face is wrinkled in worry, but relief washes over his expression as he comes striding down the corridor at a clipped, limping pace.

His suit is impeccable as ever, though he's not wearing his full mantle, meaning he likely came from an informal meeting. He wastes no time and sinks ponderously down to his knees and reaches out immediately. Noct almost ignores the comfort of the hug being offered, but then he sighs, unfolds himself, and bends forward into his Father's arms.

As old as he gets, he doesn't think he'll ever outgrow this, especially when Dad cups the back of his head and hums out a soothing, soft sound. Crumbling, Noct presses his face into the curve of his Father's neck and lets out a long, tremulous breath. He immediately wants to wriggle away, but his Father holds tight, and they stay like that long enough for the last vestiges of Noct's pent-up emotions to work themselves out. Finally, he feels steady enough to lean away, but Dad cups his face with his big, calloused hands and swipes away the dampness on Noct's cheeks.

"You didn't tell me what they'd do to him," Noct repeats, his voice small.

It lands like the barbed tip of a blade. Dad doesn't flinch, but the softness in his eyes gives him away.

"No, I didn't. I didn't wish to burden you when you were already struggling with so much," Dad replies gently.

Noct feels the shard of ice in his belly freezing him again and turning his blood to magic. He's furious. Not with his Father, not really, but—

"What does it matter how much I struggle? Being a shitty Prince and having trouble with my duties is nothing. Not when I think about how, if I fuck up, he'll pay for it with what little freedom he has." Noct replies hotly as furious tears well up in the corners of his eyes. "It's not right. No one should be treated like that. I should've known. I should've been better."

Dad's expression crumbles, and Noct has no idea what his Father is thinking. Perhaps he's blaming himself, or maybe he's trying to reconcile his role as a father with his duty as King. Either way, Noct has had enough of it. He snorts loudly and shrugs away to scowl down the hallway. He doesn't see Cor and Gladio, but he knows they must be nearby. Nothing is ever private within the Citadel walls.

"I'm done doing stupid Small Council bullshit after the end of the year. I want to help with the real stuff," Noct says as something settles hot and determined in the bottom of his belly. "I want to do something important. To stop what's happening to Exotics."

Frowning, Dad puffs out a soft sigh. Noct doesn't like the look because he knows that a whole shit-ton of walls are about to be thrown up. He stops his Father before he gets the chance.

"Your Majesty," Noct says, urgent and serious because it feels right. The title feels like it matches the gravity of Noct's feelings. "The Lucis I want to build is not a place where only some of her people are Citizens. I know what's happening now is not the Lucis you've been working to build, either. I don't…I don't think it can happen unless you let me help."

Conviction makes his belly quiver and tighten, and when he glances up and meets his Father's gaze, his eyes prickle again because he's never seen the soft, stricken look on Dad's face before.  

"Please. Let me help." Noct all but begs.

The hand on Noct's cheek pats him there gently. Then, Dad smiles. Gentle, proud, and loving. Noct's throat tightens with emotion, and he rolls his eyes even as he tries to shrug away.

"Stop," He pleads, overcome and flustered.

Dad's smile merely widens, and his eyes twinkle with something that Noct can't quite define. Then, he leans in and kisses Noct on the forehead.

"You and I will meet after the New Year and see what we can do. Is that fair?"

Insides squirming, Noct fights the urge to say something flippant. He doesn't because this feels too important. It feels like something is shifting and changing. Evolving. It feels like the first time he stepped into the back office of a dingy little community center and actually did something worthwhile. Like the time he and Prom went to the demonstration in high school.

"Yes, Sir," He intones seriously.

It's silent for a moment, then Dad sits back on his heels with a soft, pained sigh and pushes himself upright with some minor difficulty. His leg must be bothering him, Noct surmises as he quickly stands up as well and scrubs his face. That stupid meeting is soon, and Noct has absolutely no desire to attend.

He feels too wrung out and like utter shit. Never mind the fact that this is the first time he's actually seen his Father for more than a few minutes in over a week. Sighing, Noct brushes a hand down the front of his clothes and sighs. However, his Father holds out an arm and coaxes Noct in for a hug.

"Why don't I make some arrangements, and the two of us can have that lunch we missed?" Dad suggests kindly.

Noct wrinkles his nose, remembering the sauce on the pasta upstairs. "…I mean, I had some bread earlier." He replies, waffling.

Dad rolls his eyes and snorts in a way that is eerily similar to what Noct imagines he himself sounds and looks like when he does the same thing. When Dad shoots a sideways look in his direction, it pulls a guilty huff from Noct.

"The sauce on the pasta had spinach!" Noct grunts, as if that explains it all.

Together, they head down the service corridor, and after several paces, Dad steps away. But his hand hovers on the place between Noct's shoulder blades, warm and soothing.

"You need to eat something more than just bread, Son." Dad scolds. "I'll call for sandwiches or something. Then you can tell me what else is going on with you."

Noct misses a step and immediately feels his face heat. He almost dismisses it out of hand, but when he glances in his Father's direction, something about the look on his face tells Noct that he's not going to get away with just blaming school or what just happened.

"Dad.." He begins, hedging.

"If you don't want to say, it's fine. But you've been so sullen for months now." Dad points out gently. "I didn't want to push you, but I have been worried. You can tell me anything, Noct, you know that, right?"

Guilt squirms in Noct's guts, as well as a sudden anxious fear. Suddenly, the conversation he'd had with Prompto ages ago comes to the forefront of his mind. The one where Prom suggested telling his Father about…Not really being interested in girls. Shuffling to a halt, Noct peers down the corridor. He still doesn't see Gladio or Cor, but that doesn't mean they aren't nearby. He doesn't want them to be part of this, and doesn't really want to say anything, but he feels a prickly, static sort of panic squeezing his lungs and knows he's about to ruin everything.

"I…" He begins. Noct doesn't even realize he's shaking like a leaf until Dad pulls him into a hug.

Noct melts. He's so scared of losing this, but he knows he can't go back to how things were before. Not now. Not when it's on the tip of his tongue and ready to spill out.

"I think…I think I'm not— I was talking to someone over the summer. I…I really liked him. Him, Dad. I really liked him," Noct admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dad doesn't react, not beyond giving Noct a gentle squeeze. They stay there a long while until Noct finally squirms away. He can't quite meet his Father's eyes because he's too afraid of what he might see there. But as the silence drags on, Noct finally glances up and finds that Dad is smiling, albeit a little sadly. He doesn't look…disappointed, though. Just melancholy. Like he missed something important and blamed himself.

"Perhaps some ice cream with lunch, then?" Dad suggests.

Noct blinks. That's not…What he was anticipating. In fact, it's so unexpected that he blinks in confusion, then barks out a watery, dumbfounded laugh. But the shivery anxiety melts away, and he's so relieved that tears sting his eyes.

"…Sure, Dad. Why not?"