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001.
The crowd swells around Noctis, an inescapable entity that expands and swallows him deeper inside, leaving him aimless and adrift among the sea of nameless faces, people he'll likely never see again. His cap sits pulled low over his brow, obscuring most of his face in a shadow as his hands are buried deep in the pockets of his sweater while he follows Prompto's ever elusive back. A few shoulders crash into his, make his whole body pivot awkwardly to accommodate the invasion, but his gaze remains on his friend's blond hair, using it as a beacon to guide him through until they reach an oasis inside the mall.
Since it's the weekend before Valentine's, most of Insomnia has flocked there in search of gifts, and the mall itself has transformed into an abyss of red and white balloons, festive arches, fake flowers, and the slow lull of some ancient love songs forever on rotate through the mall's speaker. It's easy to fall into a daze in there, inhaling some new perfume that's been liberally spritzed into the air with each breath, feeling the sting of cheap chemicals and their too-powerful aromas ferment inside of his lungs, practically causing his alveoli to burst from the sensation. He wheezes out his third cough for the day before Prompto finally reaches back towards him, his slim fingers forming a ring around his wrist to tug him the west of the way through as though he were pulling him loose from a violent riptide.
Noctis might as well be emerging from the crowd gasping for how oppressive it felt barely being able to take two steps in any direction at a time, but they've reached the end where the smell of freshly baked cookies overrides all else, the signature chocolate chips of some local artisanal confection shop. There's already a giant line winding away from the from of the store, promising little to no access unless Noctis is forced to use his status to get in, but he doesn't want that kind of recognition nor commotion around him.
It's easier to fade inside the mall, become a nameless face himself, escape the invasive questions -who is he seeing right now? anyone famous? does he know so-and-so? Better to remain far where those questions won't reach him, and he knows outside of his prince's regalia and his school uniform, he's practically impossible to recognize. With his hair constantly worn over his eyes and his muted colors, there's not a whole lot about him that sticks out, an advantage he clings to whenever he gets dragged out on Prompto's excursions.
Today's mission is to scout some girl Prompto likes who happens to work at the artisinal bake shop, though what Prompto calls 'scouting' is what many others would refer to as 'stalking,' something he is all to content to hold over his friend's head as revenge for being roped into playing his wing-man. If he weren't so fond of him, he wouldn't have let himself be talked into this, especially since it's far earlier than his normal waking hours on the weekend, and he's barely sentient at the moment to the point where his eyes are dazedly floating from mall decoration to mall decoration.
In the window of a store nearby sits a giant plush bear clinging to a heart-shaped box with the words 'Be Mine' etched in neat calligraphy. Something about those words sticks like fresh gum to his cranial nerves, constantly tangling its way into everything as though they were something evocative and not just a generic Valentine's message. Yet his mind falls for the trap, spiraling in place with the increasing echo of 'Be Mine' like he should be paying attention when he's distinctly struggling not to. Those words are a superficial sentiment. Asking someone to be a possession, demanding it in that imperative tone -something about those two words just grinds against his raw synapses until he's forced to look away, trying to refocus his attention on Prompto who's already worming his way to the back of the line without end.
Noctis can barely contain his groan as he finally takes in the true extent of its length, one infinitely coiling snake that seems to eat its own tail because the end seems disparately close to where it begins as if to falsely lure shoppers into thinking it will be a quick in-and-out venture.
"Come on, Noct!" Prompto calls out as if to drive another nail into his coffin, and Noctis wants to do anything but spend his Saturday morning standing in line.
"Can't you just follow her on your lunch break or something? We're going to be standing here for hours."
All so he can get a glimpse of her, flub up some kind of opening line, and be barely acknowledged by her in favor of doing her job -the job she's being paid for. The job that only requires her to only moderately pay attention to desperate customers.
"It's not that bad," Prompto retorts, his face a mask of endless enthusiasm against overwhelming odds, "Besides, you'll get your work out for the day so the big guy doesn't have to hassle you."
"Doubt he'd let me off the hook just because I stood in line for a few hours."
If anything, Gladio would claim he was being lazy and make him run twice the laps he usually does. There's no end to his shield's fervent brand of sadism as a trainer.
Never one to give up, Prompto's hands land on his shoulder as he leans in too close.
"I'll buy you a double-chocolate milkshake after, all the works. What do you say?"
The leg cramps promise to be unforgiving, but at the same time... milkshake. They are really good, and Noctis wouldn't mind taking home a box of chocolate chip cookies himself.
"I guess," is his lackluster reply, his eyes now shifting towards the store, looking at his only solace for the morning. A long row of customers are already clumped around the self-made chocolate stations, mostly teenage girls who came in parties of four or five and are preparing batches for their crushes.
Every year, he always gets enough to feed a small village somewhere, all for being the prince as though the sentiment would buy his classmates any favor from him. Most of them are from girls who've never spoken to him once, who only gawk at him from far away, trade gossip, long for the slightest whisper of attention from him as though it would somehow upturn their lives. Too many expectations, and Noctis hates being the one to disappoint them with the cold and sterile thank you letters he has to write every year, all for the sake of princely propriety. He wonders if they ever compared notes with other another, realized he writes the same thing to all of them in spite of all their personalized confessions.
The guilt gnaws on him for weeks after, a rabid, cloying beast of self-consciousness that makes it difficult to concentrate, always wondering if he should just pretend to like one of them, pretend to date, pretend to be normal. Blend in, fit in, disappear some more, but he knows that won't happen. The media will be all over them, snapping pictures. His date will want to be seen, hold his hand, smile, make a splash. It's never about just being no one, never about what he wants.
The line finally starts to move as he's sunk waist-deep into his own thoughts, his hand already pressing into his neck like his fingernails want to tear into the edge of his skin, and all the traded stares around him make him hope he's not being recognized. The bear still mocks him with it's bold announcement of 'Be Mine,' forcing him to pull his cap down lower and grab his phone, siphon all his dread into gacha games for a while.
As predicted, it takes nearly a full hour to reach the inside of the shop, and by then, some of the girls from earlier have already retreated to other shops, leaving a few stations clear. Without missing a beat, Prompto tugs him straight to the first one he spies where an attendant awaits them, the girl they came here to 'scout.'
"Which chocolate should we do?" Prompto asks him, already rummaging through the different canisters of cocoa powder, though he can tell his friend is subtly flicking his gaze up to see if the girl is watching them -she's not. Her attention is too busy being consumed by her wrestling with the glue of a press-on nail that's about to fall off.
Noctis responds with an unenthused look before muttering, "Surprise me."
"You know if I do, I'll pick your least favorite, and you'll spend the whole afternoon pouting at me again."
A finger pokes his cheek to drive the point home, and admittedly, Noctis is terribly picky about his sweets. Rather than be condemned to eating coconut infused-chocolate again, he actually bothers scanning the labels on each canister before one seems to stand out over the rest.
Ebony.
'A rare, bitter chocolate with a hint of dark espresso flavor, so strong it's guaranteed to make every last hair on your body curl...,' so it says. The kind of thing Noctis would immediately throw out without even trying. Too bitter for him, grimacing as he holds up the canister like it's poison. He's always hated dark chocolate, so he doesn't know why his fingers even gravitated there, lingering over the branding while his mind prods him hard.
You know why.
Of course, he knows why. A single name threaded across every synapse, a pulse that ripples hard from its core with a flurry of intrusive and overpowering currents that he wishes he could just simultaneously shut off. Everywhere at once. Stop the thought that blooms out without forgiveness, but it's there, it's present, and it's there. It never wants to leave, thinking of the chocolate that he'd like, place on the tip of his tongue, chew around, and swallow.
It's almost unnerving the seemingly innocuous way he invades his mind and even more expected how Noctis puts a lid on the thought before it even claws its way out. Seal it up. Go back to ignoring it as he pushes the canister away almost distastefully.
"I knew you wouldn't go for that one," Prompto says out loud.
'You don't know me as well as you think,' Noctis wants to retort, but he traps those words on his tongue. Swallows them down. No point in making this weird.
His hands grab the regular cocoa powder, plain, non-invasive. It's safer, the type of chocolate usually everyone likes. Not that he plans on giving it to anyone; he doesn't even know if he'll bother eating it himself, having never made chocolate before.
"A fine choice," the girl tells him, her first time acknowledging their existence, and her expression feels as generic as the 'Be Mine' bear with the heart on the window. A warmer expression would be reserved for her friends, people she cares about. Prompto probably shouldn't get his hopes up, but he won't tell him that in public.
"First, we're going to pour the cocoa powder into our mixing bowls. Make sure your hands are clean before touching it!"
She's peppy for anything taking place before noon. Noctis has to stop himself from cringing, but his hands are clean. Generally. He doesn't bother to check before dumping cocoa powder with the measuring cup. Prompto is far more precise, tongue poking at the side of his mouth, trying to impress the girl with his baking skills.
"Wow, you're really a natural," she says to Prompto, words that draw out a sheepish look from his friend.
"Had lots of practice, you know."
And Prompto's crooked elbow lands on his shoulder so his friend can lean heavily him on a pose that would seem cool and casual were it anyone else but Prompto. As it is, the balance tips his own weight to one side, and Noctis' wooden spoon ends up flinging some of the powder onto the table. He fixes his friend an annoyed look before trying to clean it up fast.
"Uh, sorry," Prompto tells her quickly and doesn't even bother apologizing to the one he was using as a convenient surface just now.
His friend is going to owe him so much for this, though he thinks watching him flap about cluelessly in front of her is payment enough. Maybe if he just acted like his normal self, he wouldn't strike out so often with girls, but he always clams up or says something awkward to scare them away, hardly befitting of the easy way Prompto acts around him, his disarming approach that never fails to unravel all the tension in Noctis' body, makes it easier to smile, relax, breathe out all the air trapped inside of him. Girls would be drawn to that sort of thing.
The lesson continues as expected with Prompto spilling and dropping sugar and powder everywhere while Noctis sneaks licks of the chocolate batter when it's all mixed and sweetened just right, a flavor so rich that it lingers on his tongue. The molds provided are all heart-shaped with little designs and messages on them. On one he sees the indents of the words 'Be Mine' again, the mocking two syllables that make him wonder if there's anyone who would ever say those words with complete sincerity. Would it be out of desperation or out of rancor? How would he himself react if he heard those words?
Probably nonchalantly given how prevalent and easily tossed around that phrase is around this holiday. The meaning grows more insignificant with each new exposure, but a mold is a mold. They hang around while they wait for the chocolate to cool and solidify -catch a bite to eat, watch a movie, exchange conversation in front of the fountain as Prompto regales him with tidbits about how the girl at the chocolate shop was 'totally into him.' Probably not for the reasons Prompto is hoping, but Noctis doesn't refute the possibility outright. Rather, he watches the way his friend's expression changes, the raw excitation flowing its way across his features, and wonders if he could ever talk about someone with that much uninhibited enthusiasm. If he'd ever feel as strongly or let himself feel as strongly. If he'd be able to submerge himself in that feeling instead of toeing the surface of it then scrambling back out of fear.
The unknown, the possibility of rejection- he's not cautious by any means, but he doesn't how to address something as untamed as yearning. How to name it, how to approach it, how to collide blindly with it. He wishes he could ask Prompto, put a voice to the words that twist this way and that in his mind, but his tongue is heavy and his reply is always an idle nod -like Prompto would forever want to contend with that kind of lukewarm response.
'I'm sorry I can't tell you more.'
When they return to the shop, the crowds have grown again, the afternoon swell that seems to be spilling out in all directions. They can barely make their way inside, but the girl -Ayra, he learns- holds their chocolate in two tin canisters emblazoned with hot pink and red hearts. It's far too abrasive for what's inside, a flagrant announcement that these are specifically Valentine's candy and nothing to be eaten on the couch in his pajamas like he plans to. He does manage a small 'thanks' to her anyway, taking the canister and immediately looking for a bag to stuff it into, something more discreet. Unfortunately, the candy shop appears to be bereft of anything that isn't thematic, so his fate is already chipped into stone for the evening.
"Please come back again!" she tells them, obviously trying to dismiss them out of the store in the politest way possible.
Prompto looks like he's debating whether or not he gets the hint, but his smile is no less lovestruck as he waves to her. "Oh, don't worry, we'll be back. Probably tomorrow or the day after. Don't forget our faces."
Her smile now looks a strained as she continues to wave, and Noctis decides to spare her from any more of Prompto's flirtation as he drags his friend away. The sun is already a crown on the distant skyscrapers, and Noctis is still self-consciously eyeing his own tin container of candies. The large pink bow around it is a bold declaration of purpose, one he doesn't want to fulfill as he pushes the tin into the crook of his elbow and tries to cover it up.
"Planning on giving it to someone special?" Prompto asks once they're far enough to hear themselves think once more.
"If I did, I wouldn't tell you," Noctis teases, eyes shutting briefly as the corners of his lips twitch in feigned amusement, his behavior nothing more than a betrayal of the knotted tension at the pit of his stomach.
Better to trade barbs, lose themselves in the afternoon. Noctis has already endured enough for one day.
002.
Loose papers drape over his desk like a tablecloth, strewn about with haphazard scratches and tears, tiny vents of frustration. Lines and lines of words decorate the surface, words that could be an essay if they tied into one another at all, but Noctis is simply trying to get all the thoughts and ideas onto paper until the tip of his pencil breaks for the hundredth time, pressed in too hard as the paper surrenders to the intrusion, leaving an unsightly hole in the middle of another sheet.
Noctis eyes it with open offense then crumples the paper up and tosses it away where it lands neatly inside a cooking pot. More crumpled balls lie dormant at his feet, a veritable lake of them starting to pool around his stool as the words before him blur. Exhaustion, it must be. There's still a week until his assignment is due, but a model student he is. A model student he must be. The media isn't going to tolerate an idiot prince -or so says Ignis, his firm voice bouncing around between thoughts of the great Altissian financial collapse some two hundred years ago. What effects does that have on them today? Probably none. It's still one of the richest cities in the land with little occupation from the Niflheim Empire.
He wants to scribble 'what does it matter?' again and again on his paper but instead sees an 'Ig' drawn on his paper. An 'Ig' that has no business existing in a sentence about global inflation. An 'Ig' that's plainly mocking him as much as the hole his pencil drilled into it not just a few seconds ago.
The eraser barely removes the thickly grafted letters, leaving behind faded remnants that remind him that his focus is fickle, meandering. Always looking to settle somewhere far than the present. Perhaps, in the past, chasing fireflies in the garden outside his room. Perhaps, in the future, a cape hanging heavily over his shoulders as his father gifts him his prized sword. Perhaps, in a room in Tenebrae with Luna's gentle laughter and even gentler fingers around his hand. Or in front of his father's tomb, praying words that he whispers in a shaking voice.
Fortunately, the door opening is a hook on his wandering mind, reeling him back in fast as he glances seemingly unfettered in its direction. Ignis lets himself in with a soft announcement as though it's even needed at this point. He's the closest thing Noctis has to a roommate, and Noctis is not exactly upset at the excuse to neglect his assignment for a bit longer.
His eyes skim over the bag in his chamberlain's hand, moving over the stalks of leeks poking out to the left of a loaf of bread, already both dreading and feeling elated by the promise of that visual.
"Need help?" he asks, more to escape his spot and venture into the kitchen than out of sincere generosity.
"I should be fine."
Ignis looks wearier than usual, sweat-damped brow making his hair stick unapologetic into his eyes, nearly obscuring his vision. If Noctis were the nagging sort, he'd tell him to just cut his fringe already, but he's guilty of the same. Mostly to obscure his expression behind its only curtain, and perhaps, Ignis wants that same security.
The bag is set down invitingly before him, his fingers already extending to touch the loaf before Ignis swiftly intercepts him.
"That's for you to eat with your dinner, though I see you've already been spoiling your appetite."
Ignis gestures to the tin with the hearts emblazoned around it, the only evidence of its purpose after Noctis threw out the obscenely large bow. Even without it, there's still something seemingly insidious about the candy's presence, like staring at a potion of witch's brew and not knowing if it would poison you or heal you. The color isn't doing it any favors as it stands out starkly against Noctis' other belongings, all muted shades that would barely invite a second glance. If it weren't for the fact that it would arouse too much suspicion, Noctis would quickly move the tin off the table, but he lets Ignis draw his own conclusions instead and sets about at least trying to tidy up some of the papers on the floor.
"A gift from another one of your admirers?" Ignis asks too casually.
"I made it."
Again, he lets Ignis draw his own conclusions and flicks his eyes upwards just to watch as Ignis' expression transforms ever so subtly, one eyebrow twitching until its lost beneath his fringe, his curious fingers already moving to inspect the tin. To his surprise, Ignis fiddles with the top until it opens and leaves him free to sniff its contents as though he's the one now expecting there to be poison inside.
"It doesn't smell lethal, so forgive me for having my doubts you made it."
His eyes roll at the expected comment, and Noctis doesn't know why he says what he does next, the words just spilling out from between his teeth before he can bite any of them back.
"You can have some if you want."
A dying man's last words because Ignis doesn't hesitate as though he has no idea what the simple act would do to him. His teeth are too white when they sink into the chocolate heart, fingers too pale as well, and his grip is far too dignified and demure for chocolates Noctis threw together in a shop because his best friend was busy trying to impress a girl.
Yet Ignis' bite is nowhere near as cautious as he would have thought, something almost primitive in the way his teeth penetrate the chocolate. It's the bite of a carnivore, ravenous and unforgiving, clamping around the confection like he needs it to survive. Or maybe it's just Noctis' imagination currently unbound, twisted by a delirious brand of wishful thinking.
"It's edible," Ignis remarks, both eyes narrowed in on the candy currently held between his fingertips.
The heart is only half in-tact now, the words 'Mine' etched in such a bold and declaratory manner as though he's being punched in the face with the single syllable over and over. Mine is too possessive of a way to think of someone, like a child laying claim to a part of an imaginary mountain. It's unforgiving and tactless, yet Ignis carelessly clutches onto those four letters, swilling in his mouth the chocolate that Noctis made. Chocolate he touched with his own unwashed fingers. Chocolate filled with more dirt, fallen lashes maybe, the taste of his own breath on them as he rifled through the tin earlier, pawing through chocolate after chocolate while looking for the right one.
And Ignis hadn't even thought twice about which one he'd put in his mouth, probably hadn't even read the words at all nor debated their impact the same way Noctis is now as he struggles not to feel absolutely cornered by Mine.
Mine isn't a word you drop out of casual sentiment. Mine isn't frivolous. It's a foundation-shattering word, the kind of word a person would buckle beneath if they heard it spoken sincerely, the kind of word he'd like to laugh at.
And right now, it holds no meaning at all, just a decoration on chocolate that Ignis eventually swallows down, making it disappear completely, never to be worried over. He then shuffles over to where Noctis is sitting, the heat of his body thoroughly invading the space around him along with the faint scent of kitchen spices, something sharp and unyielding like cinnamon cloves. Noctis inadvertently inhales it into the bottom of the lungs, feeling them expand too wide as though the scent could drown him enough to collapse all the tissues around it.
It's all he can focus on as the words blur in front of him, the pencil scratches transforming to a bunch indiscriminate ants that scurry around the white backdrop until Ignis unhelpfully opens his mouth-
"You misspelled 'commodities,' and some of these bilateral trade agreements you referenced are incorrect."
Un. Helpful.
Noctis' teeth press together in his mouth as he struggles to stay close-lipped and starts erasing until the marks from his pencil ends up smeared everywhere. He'll probably have to copy it all over again to avoid giving in an unsightly-looking essay, but he can't bring himself to worry about that now. The word 'Mine' should be scribbled where his name is and where each other letter is etched. Mine. Mine.
The most callous and reckless request just like everything else invasive about Ignis.
"Only once," he finally supplies as a means of self-defense, a dying man's last resort when he knows he's already lost. He wants to chuck this paper across the room and make Ignis fetch it -make Ignis and his scent move far away from him so he can think again.
He doesn't, but he does take the canister of chocolates with him to the couch, starts pushing one then two in his mouth. Better he eat them than anyone else. These aren't chocolates he made with anyone in particular in mind, and he doesn't want Ignis to claim that title just as haphazardly as the way he had bitten into the chocolate. None of his usual decor or skittishness. Maybe they are getting too comfortable around one another? Maybe Noctis should ask for his set of keys back.
Maybe Noctis should grow up and stop dancing around the truth, but today isn't that day. Tomorrow isn't looking optimistic either.
"You finish it if you think you can do better."
A final nail in the coffin of that evening, one that brings with it Ignis' usual chiding.
"Even if I had any inclination of helping you cheat, your teachers would recognize the ruse rather quickly. By now, they should have a good grasp on the prince's manner of writing."
Writing that will be dissected for years to come. Every king had left edicts, treaties, documents, drafted and signed by themselves. Speeches, diaries, manuscripts. Everything he's ever written will end up preserved and studied, but sure, can't let all that pressure weigh down on him while he does his mundane school assignments.
Best not to let that thought sink him too far down, the ceiling now taking its turn to swirl and blur above him as he tries to silence his head for just a moment. Breathe. Exhale. Stop thinking, stop drowning, just do what needs to be done. That's the only thought that guides him through these days.
003.
Luna sends him a cactuar sticker with a heart in its spiny hands. The message on the heart simply reads, 'I miss you.' Gentle words. A quiet sentiment Noctis can echo back as he slides his fingers over it, tracing along the fuzzy texture, and finds comfort in how uncomplicated of a gesture it is. How uncomplicated Luna and everything about her is.
She always writes to him sincerely, doesn't hide behind false endearments or dodges around what she wants to say the way he always does. It's what makes replying to her sometimes feel like a chore because he doesn't want to take something uncomplicated and make it complicated. He wants to say honestly and simply that she makes him feel better. That when he reads what she writes, he feels as though there is some solid ground to catch him, it's a warm embrace waiting for him after a long journey.
But all he writes instead is that he made some chocolates with Prompto the other day. He doesn't say he made them for her, he doesn't say he made them for anyone. Only slaps on a selfie Prompto took with both of them holding their tins and calls it a day. She must want to know what the chocolates taste like -will probably ask him next time that she save some for her -find a way to send them that far. Maybe on White Day?
That would be normal, wouldn't it? Could Umbra even carry chocolates that far without damaging them? He tries to figure out the semantics as though he'd even carry it out, but he knows he won't. Too bold of a gesture, and the chocolates will probably be all gone by then.
The notebook is closed with some degree of finality and set aside while Noctis fingers the pile of pre-emptive Valentine's Day candies the girls in class have already started to flood him with. Every year, they arrive earlier and earlier as though there's some kind of unspoken competition about who gets to be first -as though that girl will stick out more than the others. Noctis hadn't even been around to see them delivered; had only found the candies already piled on his desk, jammed into his shoe cubbie, or slipped into his bag while he'd been aware. His classmates had invaded every piece of him they could find, and he was now stuck writing thank you letters out of princely obligation -all penned and signed by him. If he repeats too many generic messages, then Ignis lectures him about being too charmless and impersonal, but what can he say to the empty gesture?
'This isn't even my favorite flavor.'
Yeah, that would go over well.
Instead, he writes that he's pleased he or she was kind and generous enough to give him chocolates. He appreciates the gesture and hopes they have a good holiday. No promises, nothing to lead them on. He tries to put in as much finality to it as he can until his hand starts to cramp.
Ignis arrives at his scheduled hour that evening, his messenger bag set down by the door before he rushes over to inspect his stack as usual.
"I give you points for good calligraphy, but-"
"I know, I know," Noctis cuts him off, "too repetitive, too generic."
Ignis' mouth twitches at the ends in a way that sets birds loose on his stomach, feeling the tips of their wings brush his insides until he wants to writhe on his seat just to make the sensation stop.
"I was going to say you misspelled 'commodities' again."
Not the response he expected, and Noctis is quick to yank the invitation in question straight out of Ignis' fingers before balking at the sentence.
'Thank you for your comodities...'
Had he really been that distracted when writing? Now, he's left shuffling through card after card, making sure he didn't include 'Ig' or any of the proceeding letters after it. Thankfully, he'd managed to avoid outlining his other thought process anywhere for Ignis to scrutinize, but even the possibility alone leaves his heart a shuddering mess between his lungs.
'Luna, I am a coward,' he should have written for all the denial he's haplessly embracing now. What would she even write back? Encourage him? Be upset? She's too selfless for the latter, which makes Noctis all the more guilty for feeling like this. Yearning to do something irresponsible with his life -with Ignis' life, too. Destroy years of brotherhood and friendship because of an impulsive brand of curiosity that exists inside of him. One he wants to purge. One he doesn't give voice to now as he dutifully fixes the card and hands it back to Ignis.
He watches Ignis as he starts to peel stamps and paste them on the envelopes all with the royal seal as if it to somehow make them appear all the more official. Noctis would rather have something more discreet, let the letters disappear in a mail pile with the others, so no one ends up clamoring to read them. It sticks out just like the gaudy hearts on the Valentine's Day tin. Just like the equally gaudy heart-shaped box sliding out of Ignis' bag.
Noctis' impulsive brand of curiosity. Ignis' bag left partially open as though he'd wanted them be found.
It's the worst mix, and Noctis can't help but feel a second wave of guilt pass through him as he waits until Ignis leaves the room so he can take a glance at who it's from.
"Heard these were your favorites," the message reads, "Don't eat them all in one go! -Rei."
Probably some girl who attends the same classes. Or a cashier at the gourmet supermarket he always visits. Or the girl at the fruit stand who smiled too much at him the other day. The possibilities are endless, and Noctis wonders if Ignis would tell him if he were seeing someone or if he'd file it under inconsequential as far as the two of them and their relationship is concerned. Prince and chamberlain. Nothing more probably. Nothing less either.
Could Noctis even go so far as to call them friends? They certainly felt closer as children when their age didn't have such a wide breadth of maturity between them, but Ignis reached puberty first, shot up nearly a foot taller than him, started learning and evolving faster than Noctis could ever keep up with. Even now, he still feels like a child in front of him, still the young boy who first took his hand all those years ago, eyes too wide and head too vacant.
Of course, he'd get chocolates from a Rei, of course he'd laugh with her, take her out, relax -no need to tell her to keep her elbows off the table or dot her i's properly. Someone he could stand on equal footing. A friend, a confidante, everything Noctis could and would never be.
This must be what the finality of his own cards feel like. A door slamming shut in a hopeful face, though he isn't sure if he ever had any 'hope' to begin with. Too wasteful of a thought to entertain. He doesn't even know why he's disappointed except the heart says 'Be Mine' across the front as though Ignis was too busy being hers to be anyone else's. And Noctis owns no one, belongs to no one. There are many who would take him and walk arm-in-arm, lavish in all the fame and attention.
But he wants... just. Someone who's going to nag him about misspelled words, tiny details he overlooks, who slips an extra cupcake in his lunch for his best friend, who's been making the same dessert over and over for ten years just because it made him happy once.
'I'm sorry, Luna, you deserve so much better than me.'
His hand moves over the heart shape, lingering there just long enough so the impression of it can stick to the forefront of his mind before he moves his hand away. The rest of his body recoils all the same, retreating to his couch as though he never moved. Ignis emerges from the bathroom seconds later, drying his hands on a towel before Noctis feels the weight of his gaze upon him. It's almost too suffocating how it bears down over his hunched over body, threatening to crack his composure.
"Since you finished the entire stack, how about I reward you with burgers for dinner?"
Noctis pretends to be offended rather than excited, wrestling down his earlier emotions to the pit of his mind as his eyes flick upwards to meet Ignis'.
"Am I a dog now?"
There's that lip twitch again, the one that twists his stomach into one giant knot inside his body.
"Does that mean you pass?"
Never.
But if he says that word out loud, it would sound too desperate at the moment, so he shakes his head in one quick motion. He'll take whatever he can get from him at this point. He can't call him his, he can't be called his. He'll take a burger, instead.
004.
Fingers too small, too thin and frail, wrap around an oversized heart, the edges of the lace tickling skin as Noctis hovers outside the door to their private library. Ignis usually studies in there for hours, his hunched over body hidden behind a wall of books with only his hair peaking out from the summit. His dad always chastises him about disturbing him, but he's seven years-old, still new to the world, brimming in one spot with too much excitement after hearing tales about Valentine's Day.
The first fell from his father's lips, a quiet memory about the first time he received a gift from Noctis' mother. She had made him a chocolate bar with a chocobo mold and mounted it on a stick to eat like a lollipop. His father had to eat it privately rather than risk being teased by Clarus about it, but he kept the wooden stick after with the words of endearment carved onto them. Noctis had never known his mother to be the sweet and gentle woman his father had described. In his mind, she was the distant visage trapped behind picture frames, her eyes the same bright color as his, long-lashed and demure. He had her face according to just about everyone in the palace but none of her mannerisms.
But he wanted to connect with her somehow, maybe try and weave his own tale between hers, do something unexpected for someone he'd grown fond of, but he was forbidden from touching the stove. His only other choice was to pester one of the nursemaids who looks after him to take him to the candy shop where his eyes fell on the brightest box of candy he could find. Diagonal lines of pink and purple stretched across a red heart while lace trimming decorated the edge of the box. Inside were sweet Altissian-made imported chocolates, created from a cacao bean that grew in the northern most tip of Accordo. He'd heard of them spoken like a legend, the exotic journey for them to reach the shores of Insomnia, and now they sit in Noctis' tight-fisted grip.
No, it isn't home-made nor does he know what endearing declaration to write on it except for the words 'For Ignis' scrawled in his best impression of his father's royal calligraphy. His name had been added to the bottom, squished beneath the ornate text pre-written on the box.
'Be mine,' it says, red letters glinting with a manufactured sheen that he traces over absently, but he hardly thinks Ignis needs to be told that.
He's already one of theirs, one of his own. Insomnian, brother, family, friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Noctis clutches the heart to chest as he checks up on Ignis once more, makes certain he's focused on his task. Distracted and industrious. He nods to himself after and tip-toes in the most furtive manner he can muster towards Ignis' bag, and that's when he pushes the heart box inside, making sure it's pressed in deep so Ignis won't discover it right away. Better to let him be surprised, finding it amidst all his jumbled up effects -perhaps later when Noctis is out of sight, so Ignis can smile secretly to himself the way he does when no one is looking and take a bite, then gorge himself the way his father said he did on every chocolate his mother ever made for him. He had told him that even though he didn't like how they tasted, he wanted his mother to know how grateful he was.
Maybe he is his mother's son after all, a though that pulses through him like a singular and powerful heartbeat before he edges away, thinks of hiding behind the corner to see Ignis' reaction, but he knows he'd grow too bored of the task. His toys beckon to him more, so he abandons the box and goes to sleep still wondering how many chocolates Ignis will stuff into this mouth. If he'll write anything back, if he'd offer to share. The questions dance through his head in a mind-numbing carousel until he falls asleep.
In the morning, Ignis appears as scheduled, flanked by the maids who help rouse Noctis everyday, get him into the baths, dry his hair, lay out his clothes. If Ignis found the chocolates, he doesn't say anything at all, his expression as pinched as usual. His daily tutoring drags on afterward, a suit-covered scholar drilling him on basic geography while Noctis' eyes wander to the clock then out the door where Ignis is always too far away -where he may as well be an ocean's length from him. He wants to ask about the chocolates, the question prodding stubbornly at his mind even as he tries to spell complicated capitals out. His 's' is always backwards, making him wonder if he messed up Ignis' name on the package. Did Ignis laugh at him? Did he like it? Did he think it was stupid? It probably was.
He bites his tongue to keep from mentioning it when it's just the two of them, locked between book stacks, a few heavy tomes shared between them. Noctis struggles to sound out the words while Ignis' tongue rolls around them fluidly as though he'd been born speaking every language that ever existed. It's fascinating to the point where Noctis finds himself transfixed by his effortless mouth, following the curve of his lips with a repeated drag of his eyes until Ignis finally chides him.
"Noct, are you even listening at all?"
Even though his expression twists with guilt, he nods, almost stubborn in his lie.
"I doubt it," he says dryly before closing the tome with a decisive sound. "You're old enough not to need this many breaks."
Words that start to dig into him, a heavy shard of glass that is screwed into the center of chest. He can feel it every time he breathes.
The unspoken accusation is there: 'When will you grow up? When will you start being more like your father?'
But he's his mother's son, too. A romantic, soft-eyed woman, her smile never disingenuous in pictures. His father told him she'd tease him just as hard as his friends, and it was that playful banter that buried him in her arms, unable to imagine a life where she wasn't twisting her fingers in his hair or sneaking kisses behind his ear.
Noctis thinks back to Ignis' mouth, and the feeling of them on the most ticklish part of his neck, a fluttering breeze of a touch that would make his stomach clench instead of his heart. But that's not the Ignis glaring at him, tense, white hands holding the old tome, jaw line starting to set as he pulls ahead of him in years. Only two years between them, but there may as well be an eternity.
Did he even like the chocolates? Did he even care?
Pins prick at the back of his eyes, and he swallows around a rock wedged in his throat before shaking his head fast. "I don't need a break."
Adults can read for hours without breaks, eyes glued to an endless compendium. His father would always be fascinated and driven -so would Ignis for that matter. He doesn't want to be the outlier, so he sits knee to knee next to Ignis and forces himself to stare at the words as though they mean something to him. So many times he wants to ask what their definition is, but every time his own lips separate, he retreats before the words come out. Ignis would tell him he should know them already -they only studied them a few days ago. Why is nothing sticking? Why isn't he learning as fast? He's going to be king one day, he needs to know everything.
But all Noctis really wants to know is if Ignis liked his gift.
The days pass on too fast, no gratitude spoken, no sign of the heart anywhere in Ignis' room. Noctis tries to forget he even gave it to him, like it would have even changed a thing. He isn't even sure what he wanted to change between them, as though their roles hadn't already been branded since birth. He the king. Ignis his right hand. Nothing more, nothing less.
That truth is hammered between his eyes, splitting his skull in two until he can't see, taste, hear anything else. When he looks at Ignis, it's with idle eyes, never trying to memorize the angle at which his eyebrows draw together or count how much his lashes kiss one another when he blinks. Suddenly, all of that feels inconsequential because he's his father's son.
005.
The school bell drones unbearably in the background as students shuffle by him, a few brushing against his desk purposely, jarring him out of his repose so they can incite him to look towards them. His cheek ends up hovering a few centimeters from the cradle his palm had formed, head inclined towards the window instead, already desperate for this day to end.
Enough boxes sit stacked up before him that he can barely see the back of Prompto's head, and there are few more wedged inside the desk's personal compartment, making it difficult to reach any of his pens or notebooks. A few more gift boxes are spilled around the foot of the his chair with names on scrawled on them that he barely recognizes. Probably girls he'd spoken to one or twice if at all.
Prompto's hands are already scavenging through the pile, looking for anything interesting. One of the more ornately packaged boxes ends up in his grasp, shaken furiously next to his ear while his friend tries to gauge what's inside.
"I'm betting it's something like chocolate ganache inside. Definitely feels like it's worth more than my whole wardrobe."
His own lips quirk at the edges, unsure if he wants to hold Prompto to that bet. It's not unlike his classmates to try and match one another in extravagance. Nothing is too fancy for the Prince of Lucis, after all. He remembers one year he'd been given what looked like actual pieces of gold baked into the chocolate, a treat too decadent for his palate. He ended up feeding it to Gladio who spent the next morning doubled over in front of the toilet.
On the plus side, training was cancelled for that day, so Noctis hadn't exactly complained about the gift. There was another time he received some kind of rose chocolate which he had given to Iris instead -a bad idea. That had sent the wrong kind of message to a very impressionable pre-teen, and Noctis had instantly regretted it.
"I think this one has sea salt caramel. Probably the classy kind they sell over at Galdin Quay."
Probably. On any other day, he wouldn't mind the giant mountain of sweets waiting for him, but it's hard to gaze past the false messages etched everywhere on card fronts, wrapping papers, even in the chocolate itself.
'I heart you'
'Crazy 4 u'
'Soul mate'
Nothing anyone would actually say out loud, just the usual pretense that he stubbornly blocks out of his mind. Better ignored than addressed. He doesn't want to wind his way through how much this holiday really gnaws at him, the wretched teeth that gorge out whole pieces of brain matter until he can't think of anything else but the boxes leaking out of his bag. The one glaring red heart from a girl he'll never be introduced to, a non-entity that exists solely outside of his universe but may very well be the center of Ignis'. They'll go out tonight, hold hands, bump shoulders while Noctis will write fifty more non-generic thank you letters.
He tells himself again and again that it doesn't bother him, but the repetition itself unravels his lie. Should he be expecting any differently? The order of events plays itself out like a haunted film reel that he can't bring himself to look away from. Her name, her slanted writing. The juxtaposition of the text so neatly typed on the wrapping paper and an endless sea of hearts all asking to own Ignis, as though he belonged to no one else.
If only the school day could wipe the thought clean, but he sees the smattering of decorations all over. Red streamers in the hall, hearts stuck to cubbie holes or pinned to bags. Girls walk in front of him with pink ribbons in their hair, and their nails a painted as though a blush had broken out on top of the the dead skin cells.
One of the streamers hits him in the eye with its mocking tail, and he flings it aside carelessly when he crosses the hallway as though he's taking part in a funeral march. In his head, the bells of mourning ring, and he's wondering with a naive and equally careless thought if Ignis would ever make this girl chocolate. What flavor would he fix her? Did she like something unremarkably plain and sweet like himself or was she chasing after Ignis' palate, lusting for something layered and complex. Nutmeg pressed into dark chocolate pressed into mint pressed into who knows what else? Ignis would experiment on her tongue, dip the chocolate inside to see what she likes not unlike the way he does when he coaxes Noctis to try his new recipes.
Except completely unlike it. Slow, careful, steady, pushing his fingers into her mouth, a sensual crawl of the wet surface between finger pads, and Noctis practically slams the school's main door open, forcefully canceling the thought with the sound of his fist hitting the wood. If anyone notices, they don't comment, and he can feel Prompto's eyes on his back, probably worried or confused.
Noctis doesn't feel like clarifying, eager to escape, waiting on the curb as the day winds down. Every chocolate he'd been gift had been stuffed into paper bags that Prompto helps him carry because the future king can't be seen being so callous about his gifts. No, he must treasure them, receive them with poise and grace, thank the giver and always be an elegant host. But he wants to chuck them in the trash and be wasteful and irresponsible. Anything to avoid the dirty looks the other guys in school are giving him. How many of their girlfriends and crushes had sent him chocolates? And Noctis had little to nothing to earn them other than being born into the right bloodline.
Ignis arrives at the precise hour, helps take in all the gifts and chocolate, treating them as though the bags were filled with glass. He makes sure not to crush or crowd them in while Noctis plunks down his own handfuls onto the chair and nudges them into a scrunched up pile in the corner. If there's tension pulling at his features, Ignis doesn't comment on it.
Instead, he remarks, "Certainly more than last year. I believe you've outdone your personal best."
Spoken like it's some kind of accomplishment. Spoken like Noctis should be honored.
"Oh yeah? How many did you get?"
He almost wishes he didn't say that because he doesn't want to know the answer. He doubts it's more than him, and he pretends there is a competitive edge to his voice. However, anything more than zero is too many.
"An adequate amount, one that requires no boasting."
A dry answer and a very Ignis-answer. It could mean anything from two to two hundred, but Noctis lets the matter die fast as he fingers one of the stray ribbons.
"Are you staying for dinner tonight?" Noctis asks instead, though there's an edge of hope laced in those words that he's trying to conceal. It shouldn't matter he has to keep drilling into his mind, wishing the words would stick, but he's starting to think he's a glutton for disappointment.
"Apologies, Noct, I have another engagement to attend to."
Again, that could mean anything. A date, some business in the Citadel, training. Maybe Noctis can tell himself that Ignis will spend the night with Gladio going over meeting notes or working out together, but Gladio always has a date on Valentine's.
He knows he's fooling himself at this point, and his fingers tighten around the ribbon, growing knuckle white while his eyes find the different buildings crowding them until he's finally home. He doesn't bother moving the chocolates any further, favoring retreating into his apartment over engaging in the mystery of what's beneath all the flamboyant wrapping paper. A pillow ends up crushed to his own face, holding it in place and imagining himself sinking deeper into some phantom embrace. If he could just sleep the rest of the evening away, he won't have to think about it, he thinks, as though the nightmares that loom won't offer worse possibilities.
It's childish to get this worked up over something he has little control over. Ignis has always grown too fast for him, matured until he'd ended up being a mental decade older, and Noctis is feebly struggling to catch up and navigate through complicated emotions. His body needs something his mind won't reciprocate. He feels it in the sweat drawn between his fingers and the way his breaths pick up sometimes at night when he twists on his side and clenches his thighs together. There's the same image, the same face, the same mouth wrapped around his name or something a lot vaguer. Something he's desperate to hear, but the mundane thoughts intrude as Ignis follows him inside, reminds him to get started on a new stack of thank you letters after his homework.
A bag is left sitting on the kitchenette for later, and his heart does a reckless move where it starts to pound as he approaches it, only waiting until after Ignis leaves to peek inside. It's a loud, thunderous beat that echoes through the hollow insides of his body until Noctis peels away the cloth, unsure what he'd been expecting.
Inside sits a styrofoam box with dinner inside. Something bought, not cooked.
Because Ignis had another engagement, and he couldn't be bothered.
It's a thought like that that makes his stomach twist hard to one side, a crushing blow of defeat that sets in and knocks him off his feet. For once, he'd like to be pleasantly surprised, but all events unfold as planned. Another Valentine's Day like any other, and Noctis hates himself for expecting any differently.
006.
Noctis can breathe again the day after, waking up free of the usual tension even though there's still a stack of Valentine's thank you letters he has left to write. He sets the thought aside that he might get to them later, deciding not to worry about it now. The day is awash in new possibilities, all which beckon to him far more than any pressing duty at hand, and he's actually quick to dress for school for once. By the time Ignis arrives, he's outside his building, a half-burnt piece of toast being gnawed at liberally while his eyes try to focus on his chamberlain's face. Something about Ignis' enigmatic expression ties his stomach back into knots as the questions all come slamming back into his head -who was he with last night? Did they go out to eat? Did he cook for them instead?
It's not jealousy, the reassurance he beats into his head until it sticks, refusing to give life to those emotions by speaking them out loud. Rather, he swallows them to the pit of his stomach, lets the acidic juices there dissolve them because he doesn't want to know the answer. It's better to let the thoughts live in his head for a bit longer as they drive to school.
The early morning fog has barely finished lifting, leaving a greying haze that hugs the car on all sides. If only the fog could seep into the car and create a thicker barrier between him and Ignis that nothing can pierce, anything to abate the sudden rise of discomfort that clings stubbornly to the silence of their drive. It isn't until they near the last stop before reaching his high school that Ignis finally asks him if he finished the letters because of course, he would.
"I'll finish them later," Noctis replies, his words wrapped around a groan before he inclines his head to one side, tries to slouch enough so his form doesn't appear on the rear-view mirror.
"Did you at least get any pleasant surprises?"
A question more biting than intended. It lashes at Noctis with enough venom to make him purse his lips too tight, unsure how to really reply. The answer is easy enough, yet a part of him wants Ignis to know... to know what? That he'd been expecting the impossible? That he hadn't managed his hopes well enough. That he wanted something more meaningful than a relative stranger's declaration that they're 'soul mates.'
"Just the usual."
It's all he can manage as his mouth turns white from the pressure, and his eyes start to follow the greying clouds outside. He can tell they've reached school when the volume outside rises a few decibels, the endless stream of gossip that moves through the glass around him. Some of the too-loud whispers are about the prince arriving and the many musings on whether or not he'd return the gifts for White Day. To whom and how many?
The stares follow him more invasive than any words, and he spares a reckless glance to Ignis as though he could somehow spare him of this fate. The older boy just gives him a single, restrained wave in parting before driving off, letting the dust fumes speak well enough for him.
The rest of the day seems to fly by in the same haze from that morning, buried in thematic lessons of great historical lovers. The first, the Mystic, and how he courted his queen, an account that's been romanticized to death. It's hard to believe the two of them could have ever shared a bloodline, feeling wholly removed from that level of ostentation and pageantry. He can't even bring himself to write three simple words to Luna: 'I miss you.' He can't even bring himself to ask Ignis if he's ever on his mind in an informal capacity. If Noctis ever appears in his thoughts unbidden, if he'd ever spare him a glance if they weren't bound by duty. For once he'd like to know if Ignis only tolerates him because he has to or if he ever thinks of him as more than what he should.
Each possibility feels more outlandish than the next, a directionless gale that leads him further from the truth until he has to force himself to stop. Better to shift his focus back on his studies, bury his mind in the constant white noise from his lesson and not let it penetrate any deeper. He can only breathe out freely once more when he's released from school, dragged at the arm to the arcade by an eager and chattering Prompto. He always manages to diffuse all the smothering tension around him, make him deflate fast under his skin until he's pressing his own fingers into the joystick and watching the carnage that unfolds on screen.
His character punches in a way he knows he can but never will -unrestrained and yet full of passion. There's anger there in the way those muscles move, draining his opponent of pixellated blood until he's the victor. Prompto whistles between his teeth next to him, unabashedly impressed.
"Didn't even let me get one punch in. Something bugging you?"
A lot. Too much. His lips part as though he'd actually give Prompto a straight answer for once, but he quickly thinks better of it and shakes his head.
"Maybe you're just slacking off too much lately."
A casual tease to pivot the conversation fast, his fingers never leaving the buttons before him. Predictably, Prompto reacts by puffing his cheeks out slightly and narrowing his eyes, ever determined to prove him wrong.
"I'll show you who's slacking off on who."
Those words are delivered with a fervent promise that Noctis can't help but feel amused by as they enter the next round. Shoulder to shoulder, they spend the rest of the afternoon grinding out matches and trying to turn over each other's scores until the top spots are emblazoned with their names, which might as well account for most of the machines in this place. They've only been coming here nearly every week since they met.
It isn't until his thumbs are sore and blistered that he finally returns home, still trying to avoid dealing with the giant stack of thank you letters that beckon for his attention. There's a light on in the kitchenette as he steps into his apartment which means Ignis must be around. He can also tell the older boy had tidied up around the place, most likely the source of an impending lecture that Noctis isn't in the mood to listen to.
Instead, he looks for the tin of chocolates he'd been eating from all week, hoping to polish the last few pieces off. Again, probably the source of another impending lecture about not spoiling his appetite before dinner as though the burger and the milkshake he had in the arcade hadn't done that already. That amount of vigorous button pressing requires a certain level of fuel to keep going.
The chocolate tin sits precariously on the kitchen island, begging for his attention before Noctis tears off the lid to see how many chocolates remaining inside. Only two? Seems a little low for him. He honestly can't recall eating that many. Sure, he pecked at a few here and there while working on his homework, but he could swear there were more than that left yesterday.
Could Ignis have helped himself to more? In all the years he'd known his friend, he'd never once seen him really snack on anything during his idle hours. He's always maintained a strict diet and ate a specific set of courses each day. Nothing in between. The thought of him helping himself to some badly made chocolate Noctis scrambled together in a mall seems almost laughable, but it's not as though there are a whole lot of other choices. It was either him, Ignis, or some rodents with very specific tastes.
His heart already starts to pound away like it's true, running away with that kind of distant reality where Ignis could have just genuinely liked it the chocolates to the point of wanting to enjoy it when no one was around, much like a child dipping its hand into a forbidden cookie jar, though Noctis had always been that child rather than Ignis. So why upset their roles now? Why break his routine without warning? Or maybe Ignis had always been like this too, and Noctis had just never noticed because there hadn't been anything meaningful enough for Ignis to pilfer from him.
It still doesn't at all seem like him, leaving Noctis a touch intrigued -maybe even elated. A reckless feeling. He doesn't even know what he's hoping to get out of this or whether or not he even wants to mention it, swallowing the beginnings of words down his throat before pushing the tin away.
When Ignis finally emerges from the bathroom, Noctis is already seated on the counter and pretending to have been writing thank you letters dutifully for the past few hours, which they both know is a lie, yet Ignis says nothing to shatter the illusion. He swiftly moves into the kitchen instead to dry his hands, his expression as neutral and guarded as the rest of him. Noctis wants to check and see if he's studying the tin of chocolate, try and catch him in the act, but even doing so would be an admission that he's been obsessing over the treats since the day he'd looked over at Ignis' favorite ingredient on the prep table and briefly entertained the thought of making him something.
As though he hadn't already failed to get a reaction out of Ignis once.
He's still not even sure what his overall endgame is or if he even has one. It feels as though he's rather sloppily barreling into this situation without much thought or careful planning only to satisfy whatever brazen curiosity is holding him captive at the moment. If he takes a step too far, he may regret it again because Ignis had already decided years ago where they stand with one another and what sort of roles they'd play.
Yet the infantile part of him wants to eradicate those barriers if even for a moment, stray too close to his mouth, watch Ignis' eyes turns black because of him, fuel something torrid inside his entrails the way his own reacts when his body's synapses are too awake everywhere at once because of Ignis. Right now, he feels more hunter than man, fingers moving unfettered to the tin, making sure the action is obvious enough, that the sound resonates when he pops the lid open. He wants it to be shattered glass to Ignis as he takes a chocolate out, making a soft noise like he's noticed something is 'off.'
"Could've sworn there was more in here earlier."
He wants to look at Ignis, but he doesn't want to look as well -in case he miscalculated. He's never been good at tactics, but curiosity continues to control him and suddenly his eyes find Ignis', locking in on them as though he's already predicted every one of his next moves. In response, the other man's mouth curls gradually before he responds-
"Are you certain you didn't just eat more than you imagined you did?"
There's a teasing pull at those words as though they're squaring off against one another like he and Prompto had earlier, only Noctis is certain he has the upper hand. Is mostly certain. Okay, a little bit certain...
"Pretty sure. I know how many I made, and I don't sleep-eat."
That would require leaving the warm confines of his bed, so that possibility is nixed right away.
Ignis' expression doesn't retreat at all as they continue to hold each other's gaze before Noctis casually takes one of the last two chocolates and plunks it into his mouth.
"But I know it wasn't you since you'd never lie about it."
It's a gamble he takes as he mumbles the words while he chews, uncaring about indulging the bad habit even if Ignis used to scoff at him all the time for talking with his mouth full. Fortunately, the gamble seems to work as Ignis' expression grows slightly pinched before he nudges his glasses further along his nose, a move he uses to slightly hide behind his hand.
"I may have indulged a bit. How often do I get to taste his royal highness's cooking?"
Noctis wouldn't go as far as to describe making the chocolates as anything remotely close to cooking, but he has no mind to protest when blood is filling his ears fast. His whole body is engulfed by a dull yet punctuated throb that makes it hard to focus because he hadn't been certain their conversation would get this far. It definitely feels too late to back pedal and pretend that he hadn't been acutely interested in the implications behind Ignis' actions.
When he opens his mouth the next, the thoughtless words come tumbling off his tongue too fast for him to swallow them down again.
"Are you admitting they were good then?"
A pause that seems to last an eternity stretches between them with Noctis' eyes flickering everywhere but at Ignis, and Ignis idly drumming his fingers on his own arm. He'd never seen him do that before just as he'd never seen him sneak in treats before. Today is a day for a lot of firsts.
"Certainly a grade above the last time you gave me chocolates," Ignis finally responds, his tone effortless and without any weight to it in spite of all the veiled connotations that come with that reply.
Noctis isn't even sure which part of that statement to unravel first. The thought that Ignis did actually find his box of chocolates from years ago? Or perhaps the insinuation that the chocolates Noctis had made now were baked with any sort of recipient in mind? It hadn't even been Ignis' favorite flavor, yet there his friend went, somehow easily dissecting him.
"It wasn't- …give me a break. I made those for myself."
He can't even convince himself those words are true, stumbling over them fast before he grips the back of his neck and lets his eyes sweep the floor. His body still feels trapped in an uncomfortable swelter beneath his clothes, the heat ever-crawling along the branches of his veins until it pools liquid-like along the pit of his stomach.
"I see. Then I will see fit to replace the ones I'd eaten."
It's no comfort at all to him, especially when Ignis won't buy into the lie, and Noctis feels himself writhing under his skin with every desperation to rip his way free of the surface tissue and crawl from where his body stands now. Anything to avoid the way Ignis must be looking at him and the teasing tone that he also isn't used to hearing from him.
A hand lands on his shoulder as if to jar him out of the flurry of thoughts threatening to devour him, and Noctis jumps a little then immediately feels stupid about reacting that way.
"Oh, you better," Noctis intones, almost petulant in his tone as though he's somehow in on the joke that Ignis is weaving -if it even is a joke. He can't tell when his friend's expression returns to its neutral mask, eyes steady as though there's nothing about their interaction that's upending both their worlds. Maybe only Noctis is the one flipped down on his face while Ignis had been steadily pulling apart every thread that has kept him fastened together all these years. If Ignis is at all aware of what he's doing, he absolutely won't show it, and Noctis hates the sudden breadth of vulnerability that's leaking out of his own self even when he pretends to have some kind of upper hand.
Yet his own acceptance of Ignis' offer seems to settle things well enough because it's back to thank you letters after that and listening to his favorite shows in the background, letting them play out over the symphony of booming heart beats in his chest. It's too loud that there's no way Ignis can't hear it from across the room, and he's left shooting glances at Ignis, wishing he had the same effect on him -wishing he could pull, pluck, dismantle Ignis as he did him, make him lose focus then become his only focus.
'Be Mine' is the troublesome command that erupts between his temples, the etched engraving that now brands the back of his eyelids even when Noctis finds sleep at last in the late afternoon. He sent those words. To Ignis. When he'd been too young to even know what they meant, and now, he still is left waiting for a reply to a command he never should have given. It's not his place, prince or not. Ignis belongs to no one, least of all him.
007.
Morning slams into him like a wayward freight ship, his whole body paralyzed for a moment while he wades through the fog river in his mind. A fresh scent rolls in from the kitchen, a siren's song that has him moving as though spellbound. It's something rich and sweet, unbearably enticing as he tries to stumble even further into lucidity until he's in enough control of himself to move out of his room. The fact that anyone is even here at this hour must mean it's the weekend already, which is almost enough to make him crawl back under the covers, but hunger has become a more dominant need at the moment.
He's still hazy-eyed by the time he follows the scent into the kitchen, his gaze landing on the giant stack of ingredients on the table, everything from confectioner's sugar to a bowl of fresh raspberries and cocoa beans, all of which look far too high-grade for his own palate. Ignis must be really feeling guilty about having eaten his chocolates, which almost makes Noctis feel guilty in turn for having teased him about the matter. He'd only been blindly searching for a reaction out of him and was obviously not annoyed. Far from it. If anything, it still makes his chest flare up when he remembers Ignis' curious and cautious expression the first time he'd tasted them. There was something endearingly vulnerable about the look, but never let it be said that Ignis approaches anything half-assed.
The man in question busies himself swirling a veritable vat of boiling hot chocolate with all the care of someone who'd honed this craft a long time ago while Noctis remembers how much of a mess he made on his hands and fingers even completing that simple task. On the upside, he at least got to lick his fingers clean, a temptation he's wanting to give into now as he leans over to peek even closer at the bowl's contents.
"All that for me?" he murmurs, his hand already reaching in for a taste before it's gently nudged away.
"Wait until I finish. I am a man of my word."
Noctis is far from being a creature of patience, so he only waits until Ignis turns away to steal a quick taste, swiping his finger across the top of the bowl then dipping it into his mouth.
"Gladio should really work with you on your stealth skills," Ignis comments dryly, still keeping his back turned.
"Same goes to you," Noctis fires back before reaching to give his tin with the one last chocolate in it a shake as if to remind Ignis who caught who first.
That shuts Ignis up well enough as he busies himself with his recipe, making sure the raspberries are finely pureed before heating them up and adding sugar until they have a thick, sirupy consistency. There's a measured precision to his movements in the kitchen, something akin to a choreographed dance as he avoids spilling anything on the counter. Noctis can't remove his eyes from Ignis' long and nimble fingers, wondering rather abruptly if he's ever learned to play piano. He thinks he could stare at the strange blush on his fingertips for hours before his mind catches up to the rest of him and quickly points out that he's staring and that it's fairly obvious what he's staring at.
Still, it remains impossible to tear his eyes away, and he has to forcibly move his body from the chair and retreat to the bathroom to wash his face, wash away whatever thoughts almost crept in just now, drown it out in the frost water of the faucet before he sets himself on auto-pilot through the rest of his morning ritual. Anything is better than remaining captive by something as innocuous as the shape and movement of Ignis' hands, the memory of which becomes a thick layer of heat lain across his spine, forever expanding to envelop him while he remains at its mercy. He wants to touch those fingers, press the tips of them to his own, simply languish in the ticklish sensation of texture against texture. It's such a raw, unprecedented need that he feels he has to exorcise out of himself, press his forehead to the mirror and close his eyes just to breathe, let it all go before his body becomes too unwound again.
The chocolates aren't finished until well into the afternoon when Ignis pulls the chilled end product from the fridge, a whole pan of tiny spheres with a frosted chocolate outer layer and a rich raspberry ganache in the center. Noctis can't help from staring again, this time in sheer disbelief that Ignis was that hell-bent on making him chocolate. He isn't even sure what to say at first as he crosses the threshold of his living room, his eyes drifting down to the chocolate before landing on Ignis' face again.
"This should be more than enough compensation."
Beyond more than enough, though there's still that nagging wonder if Ignis had done the same for his date a few nights ago -if he ever would have made this effort for him if not provoked. If Noctis is going to spend his life wanting Ignis' attention or if this is something he'll eventually get over. He wants it to stop yet he doesn't want it to either, high off the elation he gets during moments like these, being dragged out of his comfort zone as Ignis is too.
"Don't know. The ones I made were pretty amazing."
An obvious lie. They were mediocre at best, and evidence of that stares him in the face as Ignis holds up a chocolate for him to try. And it's a chaotic impulse that possesses him when he doesn't bother plucking it away with his own fingers first -when his mouth leans in without thinking, when his teeth push into the outer layer, when his tongue laves the first hint of ganache, and he has to trap down the moan that wants to ripple out because it tastes too good, and he suddenly hates Ignis as much as he likes him because how is he ever going to recover from this? There's no way to repair the distance between them, having shattered it all in one simple moment, savoring it while it lasts before he pulls away.
Then reality entombs him in spot, a sudden suffocating charge of regret and embarrassment that makes him move away as if burned because that was beyond idiotic of him. He's already smacking himself internally as he brushes the back of his hand over his own mouth and mumbles out a garbled 'sorry' between chews.
Ignis looks equally shocked, his eyebrows hovering over the top rim of his glasses before he shakes his head almost too quickly.
"No need. Rather, I'm glad you liked it that much... I felt I needed to return the favor from several years ago as well." Ignis pauses as though he's actually recalling the memory right there before him then shakes his head, his expression growing fond. "I didn't know how to react then. I'd never received a Valentine's gift before, and you had written the 's' in my name backwards on the card. It was very much... you."
Of course it is. He is his mother's son, fumbling around with gestures of endearment, trying even now to convey some kind of desire that his mouth won't ever translate into words. He hasn't even sorted out what kind of desire it is. Friendship, fraternity, anything more, anything less. He wishes he knew, but so long as Ignis can look at him again and again the way he does now, he's content to live with what they do have.
"At least now you're flooded with admirers from university, so loads to choose from and all..." he begins, already trying to detract from their present awkwardness and hoping that Ignis will retreat fast, but his friend doesn't.
"I suppose, but I'll never forget my first."
A punctuated statement that cuts through him like a sword, the implication being that Ignis has no intentions of retreating at all. If there is someone retreating here, it's definitely Noctis. A quick smile, eyes averted, the prince snags another chocolate and widens the distance between them, pretends video games are a greater priority at the moment because he doesn't know what he wants to say yet or if he's ever going to say it. It may be safer not to rupture what they have, but it does leave a curdling ache as he realizes maybe Ignis's feelings are closer to his than he initially believed.
A dangerous possibility especially when he sneaks a glance towards him and finds Ignis stealing the last chocolate for himself, the taste of Noctis' creation in his mouth just as Noctis can taste the remnants of Ignis' chocolate in his, and the intimacy of it isn't lost on him at all. It compounds messily onto his confusion as he fights with himself, fights with every fleeting thought, craves and retreats until the game's sound drowns out his thoughts. Maybe one day he'll figure out what he wants to say to him.