Chapter Text
Ignis' first warning comes at noon.
He's standing in the corridor beyond the Minor Council room, fiddling with his keys while he waits for the meeting to let out. At eighteen, he's still waiting on his final security clearance to be approved, which means that he only has a few more months of standing at the door like an abandoned clerk before he can represent Noctis' seat at Council. Most days, he can handle the tedium well enough. Today, Ignis feels jittery, off-kilter, as though the world has tilted on its axis and left bits of his unoccupied mind rattling about. His neck itches something fierce, and sweat creeps down his skin with the tickle of an insect.
Then Noctis' alpha speaks.
"Hey."
Ignis has heard him speak before. It isn't uncommon for alphas and omegas to talk, of course, in their own way, but Ignis knows that none of them would be so bold as to speak to a beta unprompted. He glances sidelong at the alpha sitting against the wall by the door, the chain at his collar hooked to the rail for members of the Council's personal pets, and raises an eyebrow in disapproval.
Usually, this is enough to make an alpha back down. This one doesn't. He stares at Ignis with a level, unwavering gaze, and brushes back his long hair.
"Might wanna go home," he says. His voice is low, soft as a whisper. "Ride it out."
"Excuse me?" Ignis can't hold back an amused smile. Bless him, but Noct's alpha must be addled. It's only to be expected; Guard alphas aren't known for their intelligence, to say the least, and Noct hasn't seen fit to have this one fixed yet, since he hopes to have him bred one day. Perhaps it's only that time of year, and the poor thing can't think through the haze descending on his mind.
Ignis offers him a sympathetic look, and the alpha shrugs. It's an obvious slight, and Ignis makes a note to speak to Noctis about proper obedience training. Noct is, as always, dangerously lackadaisical with the keeping of his alpha.
The door opens at last, and Ignis straightens to attention as Noct slumps through, holding a stack of folders in both arms. Ignis takes half of them, and Noct flashes him a weary grin.
"Four hours of traffic laws, Iggy," he says. He unhooks the chain from the rail, and his alpha stands. "If I have to do that again, I think I'm gonna die."
"Buck up, Noct," Ignis says, slapping him squarely on the back. "Only, oh, sixty more years of these meetings to go, and then you can retire."
Noct huffs and nudges Ignis with a shoulder, and the two of them take off down the hall, the alpha following silently at their heels.
Ignis' second warning comes after lunch, when Noct sits up and presses the back of his hand to Ignis' forehead.
"You look like shit, Specs," he says, and Ignis rolls his eyes. "No, really. You looked kinda pink before, but you're burning up. You wanna go home?"
"Noct." Ignis bats Noct's hand away. "I'm perfectly fine."
He isn't. His stomach is twisting, and the scent of their lunch has long turned sour, taking up all of his awareness as he tries to focus solely on breathing. But he's been through worse, he knows, having battled through a terrible case of the flu last year during the festival season. He can handle this. He can push through.
Noct's alpha, sitting on the ground at his beta's side, looks right into Ignis' eyes. Ignis looks away.
"Go home," Noct says. "The day's half over, anyways."
Ignis could make an excuse, but now that Noct has given him a way out, all he feels is a deep, resounding exhaustion. He slumps in his chair, unbuttoning the top of his collar, and Noct raises his hands towards him as though revealing him to the Court.
"What'd I say?" He sits back and cracks open a soda. "Get some rest, Specs. I can take care of myself today."
Ignis barely makes it to his apartment. He has to stop to kneel over the public toilets in a convenience store nearby, clutching his aching abdomen and panting for breath. Nothing comes, thankfully, but it takes all his willpower to remain upright. When he does make it home, he collapses in the foyer, knees folding under him as his joints ache and his head throbs.
It's not unlike growing pains, Ignis thinks, as he drags himself to the bathroom. An entire decade's worth of growth spurts packed into one miserable afternoon. He sheds his clothes and climbs into the shower, where he lays on his side and lets the cold water run over his heated skin.
His third warning comes close to midnight, when Ignis wakes from feverish dreams to find that he has, to his mortification, wet the bed. He rolls off the sheets with a groan and bundles them up, but when he gives the mattress a cursory sniff, an alarm raises in his mind. It isn't right. He sniffs again, and looks down at the sheets. Then he staggers to the light switch and turns it on, staring blankly at the clear, damp spot in his bedding.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, he reaches behind himself to brush his damp skin.
"Oh," he says.
Slowly, he gets to his knees on the carpet. He sits gingerly, still aching and sore, and stares at his cell phone on the bedside table as his life as he knows it unravels around him.