Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Noctis brushes past as he slips out of Ignis’ office, his face shuttered off, shoulders bunched up towards his ears and Nyx can almost taste the sourness of his mood on his tongue.

Impossible to tell, under the circumstances, if the way Noctis’ body briefly presses against his own on the way past is intentional or not. Nyx grips onto the door frame and forces himself not to watch Noctis walk away, instead focuses on Ignis propped behind his desk, gloved knuckle kneading his eye.

“All good?” Nyx asks.

Ignis exhales slowly through his nose, it does nothing to actually calm him down, Nyx thinks he knows Ignis well enough to be able to tell by now. It’s been years since mistrust slowly gave way to stilted camaraderie and eventual friendship.

“I’ve had to upset him again,” Ignis says, carefully putting his glasses back into place.

“You’re doing your best,” Nyx says.

Ignis snorts, not amused, but frustrated.

“You’re keeping him safe,” Nyx amends, not that his first statement wasn’t true, but this is what matters more to the two of them. Platitudes on their effort are not what they need from each other.

Ignis nods, a short aborted thing, then shuffles some papers across his desk as though to start working on them but does nothing but blink down at the pages.

“He wants to move back to his apartment,” Nyx guesses.

It’s been a while since Noctis said it aloud. Asked constantly for the first couple weeks after they made him come back to the Citadel after an errant threat proved more complicated that first thought. He stopped mentioning it after a while, Nyx stupidly thought he might have gotten over it, that there was enough at the Citadel to keep him entertained.

Enough to stop him having any real privacy either.

“It’s not possible,” Ignis says but he drums his fingers against the desk top and Nyx understands without it being said it is possible. It’s just not practical.

“It’s what—twelve people twenty four hours a day to keep the building safe, not to count a personal guard for every time he goes outside,” Nyx muses, pretending this is the first time he’s thought about it. “All the will in the world it would be almost impossible to keep a guard like that secret, so it would quickly become obvious to anyone paying attention where he lives so we’d have to basically double the guard to extend the secure area and at that point he needs someone inside the apartment which means you and Gladio are up to twelve hour days every day because Noctis isn’t going to let anyone else into his space like that.”

Ignis almost looks impressed.

“Eight hour days,” Ignis corrects. Nyx waits for his explanation. “You’d take the third shift, of course.” Ignis clears his throat. “You are his favourite after all.”

Nyx allows himself a smile, glad for it when Ignis’ own expression softens in response.

“Thirty or so people,” Nyx goes on. “When we’re already spread so thin it’s hard to keep him safe in the safest building in Lucis.”

“Exactly,” Ignis agrees. “So, I must upset him, over and over again, until he must think I relish doing so.”

“You know he doesn’t,” Nyx says. “Not when it matters, not when it comes down to it.”

Ignis exhales again and this time he looks more settled when it’s over. Feels better enough to arch one eyebrow in Nyx’s direction and ask, “Don’t suppose I can talk you into an assassination?”

“Sinking to their level?” Nyx teases back.

“Perhaps.”

Nyx drags his hand over his mouth and shutters the thoughts away before he can really consider it.

“Out of practice I’m afraid,” Nyx says.

Ignis shrugs, casual as anything.

“Noctis is supposed to be downstairs with Gladio,” Ignis says—Nyx knows this is a dismissal, though one he doesn’t mind. “Be a dear and check he made it.”

“And maybe let him beat the shit out of me while I’m down there?”

“We need every advantage we can get right now,” Ignis mutters.

Nyx offers him a sarcastic salute as he backs out of the room.

Probably best if Nyx doesn’t actually step onto a training mat with Noctis, but he’ll only be hurting himself when he hangs around to watch him take his frustration out on Gladio in his stead.

— — —

Noctis’ car is too nice and too everything to sit idle as much as it does. Noctis doesn’t even care about it that much, simply likes owning a sleek, fast car in the way that all young men surely do but the owning of it must be soured by the fact he’s never actually allowed to drive it anywhere.

Noctis slumps in the backseat, tapping away on his phone, turned sideways so it must be a game of some sort but he’s got the sound all the way down so Nyx has no chance of working out if it’s a new one or not. Nyx drums his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the all clear to leave the underground parking garage.

Nyx’s job is to take Noctis home—back to the Citadel—to seal him away again after a tiny foray into freedom but he wants to give him something. It’s irrational and illogical, Nyx shouldn’t care, he should just be protecting Noctis’ body from harm, that’s what he’s paid to do, but what good is all that effort if Noctis is just crumbling apart on the inside.

“Hey,” Nyx says softly. Noctis’ eyes fly up at once, meeting Nyx’s in the rear view. In the dim lighting the blue of them is all icy—Nyx suppresses a shiver and pretends that’s why. “You wanna drive back?”

Noctis sits up, eyes a little wide. Nyx looks away, has to, in order to avoid saying something they’ll both regret.

“You’d let me?” Noctis asks, voice barely audible.

Nyx shrugs, “Pretty sure I remember you getting your licence.”

Noctis goes silent, even his breathing seems to vanish, Nyx has to look at him through the mirror again, just to be sure he’s safe. Their eyes catch and they burn—slowly, Noctis’ cheeks go a little pink and something in Nyx’s chest and lower tightens in response.

Noctis drops back into his seat, eyes briefly flicking away.

“It’s alright,” Noctis says. “I don’t want it enough for how much trouble you’ll be in.”

Nyx doesn’t question him, always makes a point to take Noctis at his word when so many other people don’t bother to do so. Instead, he swipes into his phone, attached to the dashboard for easy access, and starts composing a message to Ignis.

“You want a milkshake?”

Noctis perks up again.

“Really?”

“Really,” Nyx confirms.

“Will you buy me nuggets too?” Noctis asks.

Nyx fakes a sigh, biting back a smile as Ignis’ response comes though—affirmation and irritation both—and starts the engine.

“Yeah, sure,” Nyx says. “I’ll buy the Prince of fucking Lucis some cheap nuggets and a boring ass vanilla milkshake.”

Noctis laughs bright and soft, tossing his phone to one side as Nyx moves the car into motion. His gaze fixes on the edge of Nyx’s jaw, intent and focused, like the reflection isn’t enough any more, like this tiny real thing is more meaningful than a reflection could ever be.

“I’ll trade you for it,” Noctis offers, voice a little rough.

Nyx clenches both hands on the steering wheel and lies through his teeth.

“You don’t have anything I want.”

It doesn’t hurt when Noctis’ eyes dart away from him then, when all the eagerness of his posture drops away like a string being cut, but it’s something close. Noctis won’t look at him after that, turns the volume up on his phone like he’s trying to be annoying—it’s the same game as always—and when he lets his fingers linger against Nyx’s twenty minutes later when he’s handing over his meagre treat, it feels like a punishment.

— — —

Nyx has hunkered down in worse places—and with worse people.

Noctis isn’t handling it as well, he never handles lock downs well in reality, he’s just usually better at pretending not to give a shit. There’s just been too many of them recently, one after another, the Citadel, the crown, the Caelums under too great a threat to risk leaving them in place even with a veritable army on hand to keep them safe.

“Stop,” Nyx demands when Noctis makes his seventh pass in front of the sofa in the last ten minutes.

Often, stubbornness has Noctis fighting against instructions, even when they’re for his own benefit but today he stops in his tracks, drawing his hands into tight fists where they’re hanging by his thighs.

“Try to relax,” Nyx suggests. He doesn’t need to meet Noctis’ eye to feel the intensity of his glare.

“There’s nothing to do,” Noctis says.

He’s not wrong. Sometimes they can hide him away somewhere with a computer and an internet connection, or at least an offline console, but the little apartment they’re hiding away in today has nothing. Only a short hiding spell, they think, but better to be safe than sorry. Nyx feels bad for him, that game he plays is really the only social interaction Noctis gets outside of the people paid to throw their bodies between his and whatever harm might be heading his way. They might not even let Noctis have that amount of free social interaction—anonymous, online and without ever showing his face—if Ignis hadn’t dug up the details of the one person he seems properly attached to and double checked he was exactly what and who he claimed to be.

At one point or another Nyx became willing to lay his life on the line for Noctis with or without that pay check—he has no idea when it happened. But he is mostly aware why.

“At least sit down,” Nyx says. “You’re driving yourself crazy.”

“I’m driving you crazy,” Noctis snaps. Nyx does not rise to the bait, just waits him out and is rewarded and punished for his efforts when Noctis tosses himself down onto the sofa at Nyx’s side.

He sits so close the warmth of his body rushes over Nyx through the layers of black he’s wearing. Unnecessarily close, there’s a whole half a sofa open on Noctis’ other side. Nyx doesn’t bother pushing him away. He knows he should, but he doesn’t.

Noctis pulls his phone from his pocket, but seems to remember it’s basically useless before even powering it on, tossing it away from him with enough force it slides all the way across the low coffee table and clatter to the floor.

“Noct,” Nyx says softly, wanting to fix it, to take the boredom away, to root down to the very cause of everything and get rid of the reason why they’re even here.

Nyx ran away from one war, swore he’d never do anything to put himself even close to another one and yet here he is in the service of a king, targeted by the very same people that tore Nyx’s whole life apart. At least this King is worth being loyal to, it’s his life and livelihood he keeps at risk, rather than letting his people take the brunt of the violence.

“Noctis,” Nyx says again, a little more urgently. Because it’s Noctis that really suffers in all this. Isolated and lonely yet somehow still a public spectacle.

“Don’t worry about it,” Noctis says, tilting his head back against the back of the sofa.

Nyx makes the grave mistake of really looking at him. The curtains are closed and even in the unflattering yellow light of the lamp he has to be the prettiest thing Nyx has ever seen. He’s soft here, all the hard edges of a straightened spine and shoulders eternally braced for impact gone from him the minute the public eye has turned away.

Noctis is soft, but he’s not weak—Nyx would never dare think it, let alone say it. He’s tough, tougher than he ought to be after everything he’s been through but he’s not naturally built for this. Noctis should be allowed to go to college and study game design or ancient Solheim history or something. Interesting but not scary—he shouldn’t have to live like this for even a minute, let alone his whole life.

“Staring,” Noctis mumbles, cracking one eye open to stare right back.

“Doing my job,” Nyx rebuffs. Six months ago he might have blushed, but he almost longs for this now, there’s no time or space to be embarrassed.

“Uh huh,” Noctis mutters. His eyes flutter shut again and then he’s stretching, arching his back in a calculated move that accentuates every phenomenal thing about him.

Nyx should look away, but he doesn’t.

Noctis is pretty and Nyx wants and wants and wants. It’s a painful thing, constantly denied, but it cannot be any other way, no matter how much anyone wants it to be different.

A little noise in the back of Noctis’ throat has Nyx clenching his jaw so tightly it aches, too easy to imagine that pressed against Nyx’s skin, brought forth by the pressure of his hands or mouth and not the self-inflicted stretch of his spine.

“It’s okay,” Noctis says, as his body relaxes out of the stretch. “I like it when you look.”

Permission is dangerous, Nyx falters in his resolve in the exact moment Noctis takes advantage of it. Impossibly his shifts even closer, the firm length of his thigh right alongside Nyx’s leg, tilting his head to the side so they’re staring at each other without guise.

Nyx wants to reach out and touch him. Wants to skate his palm along Noctis’ ribs, to set his palm against Noctis’ throat in a way that lets him feel the rabbit fast beat of his pulse against his finger tips. Nyx wants to push Noctis back against the sofa, make a home between his thighs, he wants the rough of his beard to turn his pretty throat pink, wants his voice and his breath stutter out of him, wants to taste the vibrancy of Noctis’ pleasure against his tongue and feel the delicacy of their fingers gently interlocked together.

Nyx stares instead. He sees the resolve lock into place in Noctis’ eyes and will never not regret that this is the only time he ever reaches out to touch him.

Noctis’ kiss glances against the corner of Nyx’s mouth, barely catches his lip at all, his fingers curl against Nyx’s shoulder. Nyx presses his palm to Noctis’ chest, as gently as he can but as forcefully as he needs to cut off Noctis’ clumsy attempt to swing over into his lap. Nyx wants differently, wants to hold him close, even if just chastely, wants to give Noctis something, if not everything that he wants but he can’t.

“Noctis.”

“Why not?” Noctis breathes, his voice catching on the edge of a whine. His breath is unsteady, Nyx can feel the uneven hitch of it beneath his palm. It doesn’t make it any easier, knowing Noctis wants just the same way he does—it’s infinitely worse.

If Noctis didn’t want him back Nyx might eventually be able to move on. It would be a different kind of pain, but there would be finality at least. This is unending torture, the one thing Nyx wants willing to be his but unable to be taken.

“You know why,” Nyx tells him. They’ve had this conversation before. Over and over again. It doesn’t matter what either of them want, not about this.

Nyx cannot be rough with Noctis, which he knows, which he takes advantage of when he pushes forward a little more, his mouth soft and dry and Nyx’s cheek, the edge of his jaw. The tip of Noctis’ nose is a little colder than Nyx expects it to be and he uses that to ground himself, to keep himself from giving into the chaste contact he craves so deeply.

Carefully, Nyx moves his hand from Noctis’ chest to his waist, giving himself just the briefest moment to memorise the shape of him, then gently urges his body further away. Noctis capitulates at once, all but scrambling away to the other end of the sofa, the rejection seeming to hit him all at once. He’s pink cheeked, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and glaring at his phone, like it’s at fault for being so far away.

Nyx gives himself three seconds to collect himself and pushes to his feet.

“I’ll find us something to eat,” Nyx offers. He’s not hungry, doubts Noctis is either, but the prince just rolls onto his side to block him out completely.

Before leaving the room Nyx takes the spare blanket from the armchair and drapes it over Noctis’ body, as though fixing the problem will somehow erase the feel of it from his memory.

— —

Noctis sulks the rest of their stay in the safe house, mood not improved when Nyx wakes him from a fitful, mid morning nap to let him know they’re allowed to head back. Nyx doesn’t sleep at all which means he’s too tired to stifle the flutter of jealousy in his chest as he watches the easy way Noctis relinquishes himself into Gladio’s care, neatly tucking himself away under the weight of his arm as he’s lead away into the depths of the Citadel.

Nyx doesn’t even have time for a shower before Ignis’ summons pings his phone, he turns back only halfway to his quarters, taking the stairs back down because the idea of being confined to an elevator so soon after their isolation in the safe house makes his skin crawl.

Nyx feels battered by the past few days, but Ignis is the one of them showing that wear and tear all of a sudden.

The gash above his eye is short but deep, closed with stitches and shiny with some kind of treatment. Nyx is familiar enough with injuries to know it will scar and with Ignis enough to know he’ll dislike the change to his appearance more than he’ll ever admit.

“Six,” Nyx blurts before he can stop himself. “What happened?”

“I’m quite fine,” Ignis says. “It looks worse than it is, I promise.”

“Uh huh,” Nyx mutters. “You sure about that?”

“Gladio already feels bad enough and I haven’t had to deal with Noctis yet,” Ignis says. “If you cannot at least pretend this is nothing I will simply have to ask you to leave the room.”

Nyx raises both hands in supplication, then uses one to mime zipping his mouth closed.

“Thank you,” Ignis sighs.

“What happened though?” Nyx asks.

“Later,” Ignis says urgently. “We can’t be overheard.”

Nyx swallows down his curiosity like it’s the most bitter of pills, nodding his begrudging consent to be left in the dark. Ignis’ eyes flick away then, and Nyx follows his gaze instinctively, turns his head to find a vase set dead centre on the meeting table. The flowers are bright, yellows and oranges, half in full bloom and the others almost there, just waiting to take their turn. When Nyx turns back to Ignis he’s still looking at the flowers and misses the open curiosity he shows, his own expression softened, but somehow unceasingly sombre.

“Who did your stitches?” Nyx wonders. Ignis is fussy, and Nyx is fairly sure he won’t have prioritised a hospital visit in the wake of everything.

“I did,” Ignis says. “Obviously.”

Nyx almost feels like smiling. “Obviously.”

“How was Noctis?”

“Bored,” Nyx answers, honest, but too fast, his urge to smile evaporating. Ignis snaps his gaze back to him, suspicion narrowing his eyes. Nyx tries to save himself by clarifying, “He wasn’t allowed to play games.”

Ignis hmms, looking at Nyx with such intent he feels compelled to straighten his shoulders a little.

“Ignis—” Nyx starts at the same time Ignis says, “You know…”

They both startle at the commotion in the doorway, Nyx shuffling back to give the King and his entourage enough space to step easily inside, bowing his head lightly in deference as Ignis stands up so he can adequately offer the same.

“None of that boys,” King Regis tells them, waving a lethargic hand to get them both settled into seats. “You’ve had much rougher weekends than me.”

Clarus looks a little worse for wear, fatigue creeping in at the edges of his stature, though King Regis appears unharmed so Nyx knows he’ll think the missing sleep is worth it. Nyx doesn’t know which safe house they sequestered in, suspects there are a few he isn’t entirely aware of because that kind of secrecy is how they actually keep them safe.

The debrief is exactly that, only takes a handful of minutes to establish that everyone made it out mostly unharmed and that the threat was neutralised but the source remains a problem. Will keep being a problem unless Niflheim comes under new leadership or vanishes off of Eos entirely. Aldercapt has been one thousand years old for Nyx’s whole life so he’s starting to think the latter is somehow more likely.

“You’ll take tomorrow to rest, Ignis,” King Regis says as the room falls silent.

“I’m quite alright,” Ignis tries to argue.

“You’re always alright,” Clarus says. “Noctis is safe. You can take tomorrow for leisure.”

“Yes sir,” Ignis says. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“We’ll get you relieved from duties as well,” Clarus offers Nyx.

He doesn’t so much have duties anymore is the thing. He works with Ignis and Gladio to manage Noctis’ safety, occasionally helping out with general patrols and security issues around the Citadel when the other two have the prince handled. Nyx doesn’t know the last time he took one of his days off, usually finds some way to keep busy and occupied whenever he’s not actively sleeping because he doesn’t really know what to do with himself otherwise.

“I just need a good night’s sleep,” Nyx says. “Then I’ll be ready to go.”

Clarus’ phone chirps in his pocket and there’s something reassuring about the way he squints at the screen, unfamiliar or uncomfortable with parsing messages through text, just the way he did when Nyx arrived several years ago.

“A good day’s sleep,” Ignis suggests.

“Maybe right through until tomorrow,” Nyx attempts to laugh. King Regis almost smiles but nothing can truly erase the lines of worry from his face.

“They’re here,” Clarus says and judging from Ignis’ expression he’s as out of the loop as Nyx.

Regis pushes himself to his feet with obvious effort, Clarus pushing his cane into his hand before he can reach for it himself. This time Nyx and Ignis obey the King’s instructions to stay seated, but any attempts to offer him proper deference are ruined when Noctis trips into the room with Gladio on his heel.

Nyx cannot help but look, to take in the damp ends of his hair, the oversized hoodie that does nothing to hide the exhausted slump to his shoulders. Like father, son, or something.

Noctis looks at everyone but him, eyes quickly flitting around the room so quickly it’s probably not obvious to anyone but Nyx that he’s being ignored. He takes a second step into the room before everything seems to catch up to him and he ignores being reunited with his father to whirl on Ignis.

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Noctis demands.

“Noct,” Gladio sighs.

“Language,” King Regis intones.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Ignis tries.

“Like fuck it isn’t,” Noctis argues. He rocks up onto his toes then back onto his heels, bristling with enough energy Nyx braces himself for the likelihood he’s about to take off running. Sitting was a bad idea, he let himself relax too much, it’ll be too difficult to muster the energy needed to catch up with him.

“Noctis,” King Regis says, tone veering into the edge of scolding. Briefly, Noctis’ hands curl into little fists before he hides them away in the pocket of his hoodie.

“I’m fine,” Ignis says gently. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Noctis says miserably. He rounds on his father. “And you?”

“And me,” Regis reassures. “You should be asleep.”

Noctis shrugs. “I slept plenty,” he lies. “Nothing else to do.”

King Regis looks to Nyx for confirmation and it feels like a betrayal either way, so he shoots for the middle ground and offers the same little shrug Noctis just gave. There was nothing better to do, but Noctis did not sleep plenty, mostly owing to his refusal to move to the bedroom, even while giving Nyx the cold shoulder.

“Eat with me then,” Regis suggests, his cane making a very obvious noise against the ground as he starts walking. “Before we both turn in.”

Noctis nods and Nyx watches him watch his father take his first few steps towards the door. Realising, perhaps, how slow moving his father is today Noctis flips his attention to Ignis with such intense focus Ignis barely suppresses a flinch. He leans right over the table and Nyx’s gut lurches at the way it puts him on display. Exposes the curve of his thighs and the narrow dip of his waist where the fabric of his hoodie pools around him. Too soon for Nyx to see him like this, to consider Noctis this way when it’s barely been a full day since the weight of Noctis was pressed against his side, the softness of his mouth too close a temptation.

As King Regis moves behind him, he sets a hand on Nyx’s shoulder, giving him a little squeeze.

“Thank you for taking care of my son,” he says.

Guilt swirls in amongst Nyx’s attraction so quickly it makes him a little nauseous.

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” Nyx says and perhaps there’s too much something in his voice because King Regis squeezes his shoulder and Noctis cuts his interrogation of Ignis off halfway through a word to turn and fix those storm coloured eyes right on him. Nyx coughs awkwardly to clear his throat.

“Just doing my job,” Nyx amends. For some reason, Ignis rolls his eyes, Noctis flicks his hood up to cover his hair at the same moment he turns away again.

Nyx stands the moment King Regis releases him, lets him get a respectful distance ahead of him planning to follow him out of the room now his duties are done with for the day. He doesn’t really know when or where he’s expected back at work again, but he’ll make it no matter what.

“Ah—those are lovely Ignis,” King Regis says idly, gesturing at the filled vase as he passes.

Noctis’ voice dries up, Ignis smiles.

“Yes sir,” Ignis agrees.

“Is that what you did first?” Noctis asks.

“We owed the shop money,” Ignis says. King Regis chuckles softly.

“The shop,” Gladio echoes. “Right.”

Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose, looking a little embarrassed. Nyx feels horribly out of the loop but Ignis ignores his questioning glance.

“Dinner, Noct,” King Regis reminds him, finally making his way out of the open door when Noctis waves him off.

“Tonight—” Nyx starts.

“Tomorrow,” Gladio says. “Noct is covered until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll be there,” Nyx confirms. They’ve probably shoved Noctis into training first thing, which automatically provides a whole team of people just about worthy enough to keep him from harm. It means Noctis will be extra miserable by the time Nyx takes over but Nyx has never minded Noctis’ foul mood—his pretense that nothing is bothering him when it so clearly bothers him much more.

“I’ll text you,” Ignis says.

Nyx offers the room a salute, thinking he’s got an easy path to the door—Noctis ignoring him isn’t nice for him, but it’s safer—only the moment he’s in the doorway he freezes at the sound of his name.

“Nyx.”

It’s all Noctis says but Nyx freezes like someone’s tugged on a lead he didn’t know he wore. He turns to Noctis, can’t help himself, finds him staring at Nyx, expression bland and indecipherable. He’s all too aware of the others looking at him, at how this easy capitulation, the way he waits, eager and bordering on desperate for something more from Noctis, must say so much to the two people that know Noctis—and maybe Nyx at this point—best in the world.

More of him doesn’t give a shit than does, it’s a terrifying but heady revelation.

Noctis stares for so long Nyx sees Gladio shift in his periphery, but does not tear his own gaze away. He tracks Noctis’ tongue as it sweeps across his bottom lip, wishing he could chase it with the pad of his thumb or maybe his own tongue.

“See you tomorrow,” Noctis says simply.

“Tomorrow,” Nyx agrees.

It’s been a long time since Nyx ran from anything in his life, and it is only that ingrained habit which has him walking from the room at a normal pace.

— —

[I.S. 13:31]

N’s suite at 2pm.

[Nyx 13:32]

I’ll head over now

[I.S. 13:32]

See if you can get him to sleep will you.

He’s usually better at it than this.

[Nyx 13:35]

Because I have such a good track record getting him to do anything

[I.S. 13:36]

I think he would do anything for you if you just asked for it.

[Nyx 13:36]

???

[I.S. 13:37]

You are not actually this stupid.

I refuse to believe it.

[Nyx 13:38]

Rude. I think?

Noctis is already in his suite when Nyx let’s himself inside, he only doesn’t immediately bolt the door behind him because Gladio is there in the kitchenette, draining a coffee mug. He looks beyond tired, skin unusually pallid. Nyx wonders if he’s slept at all, or if Noctis being handled until right now was entirely under his own steam. It’s not unlike Gladio, to hover after an incident like this, especially if he’s not the one to take Noctis into isolation, hypervigilance to soothe his need to know Noctis is entirely safe at all times, to make up for what he perceives as a failure on his part.

Nyx wonders if Gladio would hate him, at least a little, if he knew what he dreamt of last night.

“You can go away now,” Noctis calls without looking over.

Nyx can only see the back of his head, the top of it really, with how low he’s sunk onto his couch. He’s got his console booted up, controller grasped in both hands. Nyx does not recognise the game menu he’s navigating through.

“I’m in my room,” Noctis goes on, voice a false little sing-song. “I’m on my sofa and a big strong man has just turned up to keep me safe.”

Objectively, Noctis is just stating facts when he describes Nyx as big and strong, he’s worked pretty hard throughout his life to ensure those things are true, it doesn’t change the fact that hearing him say it pleases Nyx in ways he shouldn’t allow himself.

“You’re good?” Gladio grumbles—it takes Nyx a minute to realise Gladio is talking to him.

“I’ve slept,” Nyx says, trying to bait Gladio out.

Gladio shrugs. “Those are my only plans for the rest of the day.”

“And tomorrow,” Noctis calls.

Gladio tries to argue back but Noctis cranks the volume up so high Nyx almost flinches away from it, pretty sure everyone on this floor is probably wincing because of it. Giving in, Gladio sets his coffee cup down into the sink, giving Nyx a bracing slap on the shoulder as he moves towards the door. It’s less reassurance and more warning, he suspects, choosing not to worry about the fact Gladio doesn’t even try to say goodbye to Noctis before he leaves.

It’s unfair to accuse Noctis of tantrums given the circumstances, but he has certainly learned that he can usually get people to do what he wants by being as obnoxiously abrasive as possible. Most people just don’t notice that he’s attempting a kindness each time. Forcing Gladio to rest now, picking such a fight with Ignis that King Regis stepped in to give Ignis half a week’s leave.

Nyx has never been on the receiving end of such a kindness—perhaps Noctis knows he would simply stand there, eardrums bleeding and heart in pieces rather than let himself be taken away from Noctis’ side.

He’s not sure how Noctis can hear the door closing over the noise of his game, but the moment Gladio is gone he turns it down to an acceptable volume and then down further a few notches to the music fades immediately into background noise, easily ignored and looked over.

Nyx pads over, used to Noctis ignoring him until he’s the one to take the first step, leans against the back of the sofa, elbows braced against the solid back. He doesn’t look at Noctis, not now he’s this close, but he tilts his head a little so he swallows up another inch of the space between them.

Nyx watches quietly for a moment, back aching a little from angle of the stretch and wondering if he needs to be worried this is a sign of getting old.

“What’s this?” Nyx asks. Noctis finishes futzing with the menu, answering Nyx’s question with a demonstration as he’s dropped behind the wheel of a hyper-realistic car at the start of a street race. Not normally Noctis’ thing and he makes a low inquisitive noise to press for more of an explanation which falls on deaf ears.

“Fun?” Nyx says, prodding for a response. Noctis usually talks to him when he reaches out, even if Nyx doesn’t always like what he has to say. Noctis shrugs and Nyx straightens back up so he can look at the prince from a safer distance but there isn’t enough in his expression to give anything away. Noctis is so good at this, shuttering himself away.

“It’s offline,” Noctis says after a long moment. Nyx stays quiet, but lets himself frown, knowing Noctis can’t see, that he won’t turn to see. “Ignis says…”

Nyx doesn’t learn what Ignis thinks, though he can guess, because it’s then that Noctis’ face breaks a little, he doesn’t fall apart, Nyx can’t bear to think what it would take for that to happen but it creases a little lets some of his simmering fear express itself in the curve of his eyebrows a wash of sadness so undeniable in his gaze, Nyx feels all his own buried emotions rush up to try and meet them.

Unfathomably easy to push his fingers into Noctis’ hair, to cup his palm over the base of his skull, the back of his neck so his fingers can feel the phantom of his pulse beating against his skin. Noctis doesn’t startle, doesn’t pull away or scowl, he lets his eyes flutter closed, sinking more of his weight back into Nyx’s hold, completely uncaring of the way his car careens off the route on screen.

Nobody touches Noctis, Nyx knows this, has buried this fact deep into his own behaviour. Gladio tosses an arm over his shoulder sometimes and there’s the rougher contact of training but there must be so little else. Nothing intimate, nothing comforting. Nyx can’t fix it—he could—he won’t allow himself that simple joy and pleasure but here, for this single moment, he can offer Noctis this brief reprieve from a loneliness he must carry with him everywhere.

“You can come sit down, you know,” Noctis says without opening his eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”

There’s not enough inflection in his words for Nyx to work out fully what he means. If Noctis is forgiving him for turning him down at the safe house or if he’s admitting that he is mad at someone else, vastly outweighing his current displeasure with Nyx’s morals.

“Hungry?” Nyx asks. Noctis shrugs again. Nyx thinks he’d ceases all speaking outside little gestures with his shoulders if he could get away with it.

Nyx gives his neck a little squeeze, rubs his thumb against the smooth skin behind Noctis’ ear.

“What do you want?” Nyx tries. Nyx is an alright cook, fed his sister for years before he didn’t get to any more, feeds himself whenever the canteen is unappealing and Ignis is not an option. Fit enough to feed himself, probably not fit enough for a prince—but he wants to provide for him in this different way too.

After a brief pause Noctis cracks one eye open and there is just enough heat in his gaze Nyx forces himself to pull away, to specify, “For dinner.”

Noctis doesn’t look too put out by Nyx putting the distance back between them, a new, different kind of wonder smoothing his expression.

“You’ll cook for me?” Noctis asks.

Ignis said that Noctis would do anything Nyx asked of him, but he’s gotten his facts mixed up.

“Anything you want.”

— — —

There’s no reason for Nyx to be feeling so unsettled, not really. Today was a fine day all told—no emergencies, nothing pressing. Nyx got to attend to the stuff he’s been putting off, too busy putting out constant fires.

He rolled out of bed at a reasonable time—still early but with no alarm—went for an easy jog outside and at no point had his day interrupted by someone needing something from him. He had time to check in with some of the newer recruits, the ones that he technically manages.

Nyx should be calm, he should be relaxed, he should even realistically be approaching something close to happy.

There’s an itch under his skin, a concern he thinks he can place but can’t shake.

As it always does, it leads back to Noctis.

Nyx barely saw him today. The prince was well taken care of today, even without Nyx’s interference. A chamber meeting with his father and Ignis first thing, a brief television appearance just after lunch, conducted from the comfort and safety of the empty suite they reserve for such things. Nyx saw him only once, as he was heading down to the canteen for dinner, in one of the smaller training rooms, wailing on a battered punching bag under Cor’s encouragement, elegant hands wrapped securely in bandages and tape.

Nyx didn’t stop to watch, didn’t let himself act so foolishly, but the image of Noctis has rooted into his brain and borrowed under his skin in a way he can’t fully comprehend. Nyx wishes he was with him for it, would brace against the bag so there was more resistance to his punches, might even give in and let Noctis grapple with him, if he thought he could handle the temptation.

The image of Noctis lingers all through dinner, distracting him so badly Libertus flicks him on the ear twice in order to bring him back to the conversation. It goes with Nyx all the way back to his room too, until he’s stomping towards his bathroom for a second shower, just for some way to take his mind off it.

The water pressure in his Citadel room is better than any shitty apartment he’s ever rented and nowadays Nyx allows himself the small luxury of letting the water heat up properly before stepping under the spray, the small waste of water no longer a major concern.

At first, it helps, steam filling the shower and billowing out into the bathroom, the heat of everything beating away at the lingering ache of his muscles. But when Nyx starts to soap himself up his mind wanders, remembering Noctis’ fingers against his shoulder instead of his own and the weight and press of his body as he trusts Nyx to keep him safe. Shamefully, Nyx manages to swallow down the trickle of his arousal until he remembers the soft brush of Noctis’ fingers over his own from just a few days ago.

Nyx glares down at his cock, frustrated twice over because he’s gotten aroused in the first place and because he’s let it go so long without taking care of it. Nyx is pretty practiced at not letting his mind wander to Noctis when he does, either by his own hand or otherwise, but it gets harder every single time.

Mostly Nyx has been not recently, because that’s an easier task than keeping his thoughts where he needs them, but if the brush of fingers—the memory of it in fact—is enough to get him going things are more dire than he knew.

The tiles are cold when Nyx braces his forearm against them, his cock warm against his palm. He hisses at the first bit of friction, sensitive from a longer than normal abstinence. Nyx thinks back to prior hook-ups, thinks of the last woman he felt enticed to see more than once and finds remembering the plushness of her mouth and thighs puts him off more than anything.

Recklessly, he lets himself remember the last guy he followed home, who hadn’t not looked like Noctis, but had been so bubbly it was easy to remember the facts when they got down to it. The encounter was fine, gave Nyx what he needed—and that guy too, Nyx assumes, he tried his best—but the satisfaction didn’t linger, didn’t last beyond the next time he set his eyes on Noctis’ disgruntled face.

With dark hair on his mind it’s too easy to conjure blue-grey eyes and a beautiful frown.

Nyx knows he could get rid of that frown, at least for a little while, maybe better than anyone else.

He imagines Noctis’ fingers around him, Nyx’s own hand atop his, showing Noctis how he likes to be touched, thinks about how pitifully fast it would get him off, how he’d need to kiss all the inquisitive and encouraging noises right out of Noctis’ mouth to keep them quiet enough to avoid getting caught.

Noctis has a bigger shower, has that big bath tub where they’d still be forced to squeeze tight together, easier probably if Nyx dragged Noctis right up onto his lap and—

Nyx presses his palm against the tile and shoves himself away a little, biting down roughly on his tongue to shut off the pleasure building in his gut.

Disgust and disappointment at himself helps curb his arrival and dousing himself in cold water does the rest. Nyx scrubs himself down quickly and then steps out of the shower, scrubbing himself down with enough force the towel irritates his skin.

Nyx knows better, he’s furious with himself.

Noctis deserves better than this. If Nyx isn’t actually going to touch him, to be with him, then he doesn’t get to fantasise about any of it either.

Too early for bed, but Nyx thinks it best to banish himself there anyway, tugging on sweats and a t-shirt so roughly the seams almost give way. He slams the main light off with the flat of his hand, all but slapping the wall, the sound half masking the rapid, urgent tapping on the door to his suite.

He flicks the lights back on and rushes over, annoyance at the interruption evaporating into genuine fear when he cracks open the door and Noctis is waiting on him. Nyx pulls the door wider, is already reaching for Noctis before he bothers to scan the hallway for threats or explanations.

Noctis moves easily, putting up no resistance when Nyx drags him close, trying to manoeuvre him safely behind Nyx’s body. Noctis’ hand wraps over his forearm and for once Nyx lets him reach out and take hold without retribution.

The hallway seems empty, but Nyx leans out to look further down just in case. Clawing back his instincts he closes the door softly, aware that slamming it shut, while satisfying, will just alert people to something being off.

Seeing Noctis so soon after his shower is almost too much, but Nyx takes one look at his face, at the open expression of despair on his face and it snuffs out the last of anything lingering in his gut.

“What’s wrong?” Nyx asks quickly.

Noctis shakes his head, Nyx can hear him swallow.

“How did you get out? Where are your guards?”

A little of Noctis’ expression cracks, gives way to amusement.

“Please,” Noctis drawls. “Those guys are dumb. I hope no one ever tries to assassinate me when they’re at my door.”

Nyx goes cold.

“What?”

“Easy to sneak past,” Noctis explains. He shrugs, fingers flexing against Nyx’s forearm. “They don’t give a shit about me.”

“Are you safe?” Nyx checks. “What’s wrong?”

This is the most important thing, the thing Nyx is most worried about. Those guards will have to be reassigned at best and dismissed at worse. Noctis got out of his room and made it to the very visible main entrance to Nyx’s room two floors over. Noctis shouldn’t be able to open any of the secure passages out of his room and even if he can, none of them lead directly to Nyx’s front door.

“I’m…” Noctis starts. He chews on his bottom lip, turning it pink. “It sounds stupid now.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nyx says. Not if it’s you.

“I’m bored,” Noctis admits.

“Bored,” Nyx echoes. Maybe a little stupid, but also—

“I’m dying,” Noctis blurts. “I feel like I’m dying. In this place.”

Sometimes it looks like he’s dying in this place. Nyx doesn’t want it to be true, but the longer they keep him here, bereft of all freedom, the more he diminishes in personality. Sometimes Nyx even thinks he’s getting physically smaller, maybe it’s true, fussier with food as one of the only things he can control, more willing to put effort in during training simply to give himself something to do.

“Noct,” Nyx breathes.

Nyx moves his arm, not to brush Noctis off, but he misinterprets and snaps his hands away like Nyx’s skin suddenly burns him, clenching and flexing his fingers.

Noctis has nice hands, soft and clean. Nyx knows that he gets manicures sometimes, that Noctis even kind of enjoys them. He used to paint his nails black, at least sometimes, and Nyx isn’t sure what made him stop, or for them to stop letting him. Doesn’t know what difference it makes to anyone else if Noctis has just one little safe area of self expression.

“This was stupid,” Noctis mutters. “I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

Nyx catches him across the chest when he makes a break for the door, not wanting to hurt him but absolutely unable to let him leave.

“What are you asking for?” Nyx asks him.

“Anything,” Noctis says, his eyes flick towards the dark windows. “I just—need to do something. Anything. To remember that the world exists out there.”

It’s too risky. There’s a reason they’re keeping Noctis trapped here and it’s not because they like it.

Nyx misses him, really, the man Noctis was a year ago. Misses the sass and the slightly bad attitude. Misses his laughter and his teasing. All of it drifted away without them noticing—or at least not quickly enough, not under circumstances they could change.

“You shouldn’t,” Nyx says.

Noctis’ shoulders slump.

“It’s not safe,” Nyx argues—with himself mostly. What little fight Noctis entered the room with has already drifted away.

“You’d keep me safe,” Noctis says.

Nyx would. Happily die before he let anything befall Noctis, would take a bullet to avoid him stubbing his toe.

Will risk his entire career to get him a little fresh air.

“You don’t leave my sight,” Nyx says.

Noctis perks up, breaks himself out of Nyx’s hold so he can twist around and check the honesty of Nyx’s words against his face.

“I won’t,” Noctis promises. “Are you—do you mean it?”

“Stay here,” Nyx says, pointing at his sofa. “Right there. If I come back in real clothes in two minutes and your ass is not right there I’m marching you back to your room and waking Ignis up.”

Noctis gasps, a breathless happy noise and rushes to the sofa so fast he goes clumsy in his movements, almost tripping over his own feet. Noctis points at him, pleased when Noctis folds his hands in his lap, barely able to suppress his grin.

Nyx will need to tell Ignis, partly so they can sort out those guards, but also to reiterate the severity of Noctis’ mental state. He is not usually rebellious like this and Nyx’s only silver lining of the situation is that he bothered to come to Nyx at all—that he clearly wanted to—when he is apparently capable of sneaking out of the Citadel under his own steam.

But telling Ignis can wait until morning. This time it really might be better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Not wanting to leave Noctis alone for any longer than necessary, Nyx really does change back out into street clothes in two minutes, pausing to grab the smallest leather jacket and two plain caps, on his way back into the living area. Had Noctis snuck out by himself he very well might have frozen to death.

Noctis is waiting where Nyx left him, one of his knees bouncing, unable to contain all of his energy inside his body for once.

“You do not leave my sight,” Nyx reiterates.

Noctis nods, perking up and Nyx takes advantage of the move to slip the cap onto his head. He means to just leave it there, put it on to make a point and leave Noctis to sort it out, but his fingers find their way to the loose strands before he can stop himself, smoothing some down behind his ear and where they’re long enough to almost grow down over Noctis’ collar.

Noctis looks a little pink—but pleased—when Nyx finally steps back to slide a hat onto himself too. Black for Noctis, dark grey for himself.

“Up,” Nyx demands. Noctis is unbothered by his terseness which Nyx is glad for, too nervous to try and make himself pleasant. So much could go wrong in the next hour or two, but Nyx is going to go through with it anyway.

Noctis holds his arms out for the jacket before Nyx can even ask, tugging the soft leather around him with startling efficiency. It’s too big for him really, but not unmanageable, the jacket almost too small for Nyx nowadays, and Nyx watches him uncurl his hoodie where it’s curled up at his shoulders, fluffing the fabric a little.

Adorably, Noctis’ hands are half covered by the sleeves and though it’s the cutest thing Nyx has ever seen he still reaches for them one at a time, rolling back the fabric so Noctis has full, unimpeded use of his fingers. Better safe than sorry. Noctis can hold his own in a fight if he has to—Gladio, Ignis and Nyx have made sure of it—but not if he goes into it with a silly handicap like this.

“Do I have to teach you how to sneak past the guards?” Noctis asks, voice wavering just a little.

“No,” Nyx tells him. “Not tonight. Tomorrow though.”

“You’re going to make it impossible for me to do it again.”

“Mhm,” Nyx confirms vaguely. Though he suspects Noctis will just find another way if he tries. “Was it easy?”

“With those guards? Yeah,” Noctis says easily.

“So if there had been different guards—better guards—you wouldn’t have come?”

“I would have kept my ass in my room,” Noctis confirms bitterly. Nyx isn’t sure how he feels about that, doesn’t know if he wishes they’d known about their inadequacies in advance or not.

“We’re going out through the staff passages,” Nyx explains. “All the way down to the parking garage.”

“Are you driving me somewhere?” Noctis asks.

Nyx shakes his head. Having a car might be safer, in some ways, but he doesn’t think he can sneak one away without alerting anyone. And even though their cars are plain, there’s still enough common knowledge about the Crown’s preferred models that everyone always seems to know its them anyway.

“I’ll take you for a walk,” Nyx says. “And then we’ll come back.” He carefully doesn’t use the word home, not sure where on eos Noctis considers that anymore.

“Okay,” Noctis breathes. “Thank you.”

Nyx has to pull himself away before he does something stupid like kiss Noctis full on the mouth.

Noctis follows behind him, curiosity palpable, as Nyx leads him over to the bare expanse of wall beside his entertainment centre. It’s a little tricky to get the false panel loose, but Nyx has practised it over and over, so he gets it free on the second try. The empty recess behind is only about half a foot deep, enough space for a defunct security pad and for Nyx to keep a spare set of daggers secured to the wall.

Noctis inhales a little sharply when Nyx grabs one, tucking it safely into his boot and covering it over with his jeans so nobody can spot it. Mostly, Nyx doesn’t need a weapon to win a fight, but with Noctis at his side he wants every advantage available to him.

Nyx’s second door isn’t actually locked but he’s still not certain it won’t trigger some kind of alarm—silent or otherwise—when he pushes it open. There are excuses he can make to cover it up, rush Noctis straight up to his room and have the prince say he called Nyx to come to a suspected disturbance. Opening this door will not be the specific reason Nyx gets fired tonight.

Nothing immediately happens, no blaring alarm, no alert on Nyx’s phone. Wordlessly he makes his way down the passage—narrow, but not uncomfortably so—blinking every time one of the low lights sputters to life at their approach, aware of Noctis close on his heels. The passages are used more than most people probably suspect, even with half the citadel staff blind to their existence. Ignis often uses the one between his suite and his office when he has a busy day because it’s faster and he can make it between the two without having more problems added to his place. Likewise the front door to the King’s suite hasn’t opened for anyone but maids in the past few years. They’re lucky to make it all the way downstairs without running into anyone, and luckier still that these doors on the bottom levels don’t ping major security alerts, just open with a standard key Nyx has had on his key-chain since he first promoted up to Noctis’ guard.

There are a few people milling about in the underground parking garage but no one pays them any mind, too busy with their own cars, eager to get home at the late hour. Noctis tugs his collar up anyway, and with the majority of his face obscured he really can pass for just a random guy.

Noctis is panting a little when they make it out onto the street, quickening his stride to fall into place beside Nyx rather than half behind him. Nyx allows himself to slow a little then, to relax after a successful escape. Neither of them say anything until they’ve turned two corners taking them away from the Citadel.

Nyx doesn’t jump when Noctis’ fingers brush the back of his hand, but it’s a close thing.

“You should hold my hand,” Noctis says—he does not ask. “We’ll just look like a normal couple out on a walk.”

Nyx keeps walking, watching Noctis’ expression as they move. He looks hopeful, but not much else. The best-worst part is that he’s not wrong. With Noctis, unless the threat is violent and imminent, hiding in plain sight has always worked best for them.

Nyx flexes his fingers, suddenly childishly worried his palms might be sweaty. Noctis must be watching him closely because the movement seems to be all the permission he needs, making him reach out and press their palms together before Nyx can do it himself.

“See,” Noctis says, stepping closer so the warmth of his body floods Nyx’s side, trapping their linked hands between their thighs. He should have known that given an inch Noctis might try to take a mile, did know really, and wanted to give it to him anyway. “Now we look like we’re on a date.”

A date. Nyx’s thoughts are as wistful as Noctis’ tone.

Nyx wishes. He wants.

A date.

“There’s a night market,” Nyx says. Noctis turns the full weight of his gaze onto Nyx’s face, trusting Nyx to lead him safely. “Near where I used to live—the Galahdian quarter. Have you ever been?”

They call it a quarter, but it’s nowhere near that much of the city, just a neat little section on one side of the river. Calling it as much causes so much more drama than it’s worth, the uprooted Galahdians making up such a tiny percentage of Insomnia’s population no one should be able to take any issue with them. And yet.

Noctis snorts. “When would I have?” He leans even closer, temple against Nyx’s shoulder and not one part of Nyx wants to push him away. “Will you take me?”

The request is so small, words meek and uncertain even though Nyx has all but offered to take him already by suggesting its existence.

Nyx squeezes Noctis’ hand, a little overwhelmed when Noctis strokes his thumb over Nyx’s forefinger in response.

“We need to cross the first bridge over the river,” Nyx says by way of an answer. They call it a river for want of a better word, but it’s really little more than a stream, swelling with rainfall, just a funny little offshoot of a nearby shallow lake.

Lucis is different to Galahd in many ways, but at least the capital is inundated by water in a way that buffets against the lingering feeling that none of them quite belong here.

Nyx relaxes the further away they get from the Citadel. Not just because it means they’re less likely to get caught but because so much of the recent threat has been centred there. It still makes sense to keep Noctis there, centralised and protected, any loose thread is always a dangerous thing, but he and his father are relentlessly being attacked in the place everyone keeps promising is safe.

Neither of them have been hurt, thank the Gods, but if the toll it’s taking on Nyx is anything to go by he’s half surprised the two of them are still standing.

It’s a pleasant walk, back to where Nyx made his second ever home, quiet but not deserted. Noctis never flinches at the sight of other people walking, and the way he leans a little closer into Nyx to avoid them when they cross paths could be down to almost anything at all.

Noctis perks up when they get closer, chatter reaching them first, then low music playing from one of the open fronted stalls. The market is further in, but even on the outskirts Galahdians keep things going late into the evening. Community binds them together, even far away from home, voices yelling in good nature down from apartment blocks to a news-stand only just closing up for the day. The two of them dodge round a trade happening right into the street, a crate of something bottled clinking as it’s swapped out for several bundles of something leafy and green.

They look out for each other, at the heart of it all, it’s the only reason so many of them made it here alive.

Noctis sniffs the air appreciatively.

“You hungry?” Nyx asks. “Didn’t you eat?”

“Napped instead,” Noctis explains, as though that is a reasonable exchange to make.

Nyx sighs, expressing more annoyance than he really feels, dragging Noctis further into the quarter. Noctis sees right through him, laughing beautifully into the evening air.

Nyx takes Noctis straight to his favourite stall, to where he got dinner every night for three months when he clocked off his shift at the nightclub oddly tucked in by the old museum. There’s a wait to order, always has been and likely always will, but Nyx doesn’t mind, content to watch Noctis look around, more bright than he’s seemed in months.

Nyx never gave the vendor his name, but he still perks up a little when he takes in who’s in front of him, greeting Nyx with an easy, “Been a while.”

It’s been a year at this point. To begin with Nyx made a point to head back at least once a week, put his Citadel money back into his own people, but it got harder and harder to find the time as he got busier, as he got more invested in the thing he was being asked to protect.

Nyx squeezes Noctis’ hand again and he hmms happily, pulling his eyes from the menu to grin at Nyx.

“Order for me?” Noctis asks.

“They don’t have nuggets,” Nyx teases and Noctis rolls his eyes. They do have a sweet milk tea he’ll like though.

While Nyx orders, Noctis smartly turns himself half away from the vendor, curling himself close to Nyx’s body. Nyx can sense him staring out over his shoulder take in everything happening around them, even going up onto his tiptoes to get a better, unimpeded view.

“Better make one of them less spicy if you can bear it,” Nyx says as the man flips the skewers over on the grill for the first time. “He’s got a baby mouth.”

“Hey!” Noctis cries, startled out of his people watching. He starts to turn around, probably to defend himself, but Nyx gently catches his jaw, firmly turning him back so he’s tucked in against Nyx’s chest. Partly because the less Noctis runs his mouth the less likely it is he’ll be recognised, but also because if he’s successful and his portion is doused in the spiciest glaze on offer he’ll stubbornly eat it and be miserable for hours.

Noctis gives up the fight immediately, seemingly content in the quasi little hug they end up in, pressed chest to chest, though with Noctis slightly off to one side. The only bad part of it is the awkward angle it leaves their hands and when Nyx untangles their fingers to get some relief Noctis freezes, uncertain, against Nyx’s body.

Pulling away was never Nyx’s intention, not this time, so he tries to soothe Noctis by sliding his now free hand around his waist, hooking his arm around Noctis’ body to press his palm flat against the small of his back. Noctis relaxes against immediately, sinking into Nyx with a sigh he probably thinks is undetectable.

It’ll hurt tomorrow, to give this up again, but Nyx can take it. If doing this makes Noctis feel better, even for a little while, Nyx can take the pain that will nip on the heels of it’s departure.

Nyx wants to drag off Noctis’ hat and brush back his hair, to kiss the crown of his head and apologise for everything. He doesn’t, won’t even allow himself to kiss him through the hat, just briefly tucks his jaw against it, hoping Noctis can read the pressure as Nyx intends it. Noctis grips the front of his jacket in response, fingers twisted tight like he can’t stand the idea of letting go.

The vendor drizzles his signature sauce over one of the skewers, a vibrant, warning red though Nyx knows it’s the little green flecks which are really dangerous. He taps a second bottle, one Nyx knows is mostly honey and soy sauce, gesturing at Noctis and Nyx nods to give him the go ahead. They step off to one side once they have food, though don’t claim one of the small tables. Nyx puts his back to the wall and ticks Noctis close to his side, ignoring his own food as he waits to see Noctis’ verdict on his own.

The prince likes it, judging from the way his eyes go a little wide and he tugs all the meat from the skewer with a ruthless efficiency that, a little disturbingly, has that feeling stirring in Nyx’s gut again. He takes a bite of his own food, letting the chilli linger and burn against his tongue for longer than normal to distract himself. Noctis finishes way before him, licking an errant fragment of sauce from the corner of his mouth and eyes Nyx’s food with wary curiosity.

It’s odd to see him genuinely hungry, so Nyx holds the skewer closer to his mouth.

“Just a little—you’ll hate it,” Nyx warns.

Noctis’ eye-roll seems a little forced, if Nyx was forced to make a guess. Carefully, he wraps his fingers over Nyx’s wrist to hold him steady as he leans in to steal a bite of food. It’s the tiniest nibble but Nyx sees the regret settle into Noctis’ expression the moment the sauce touches his lip. Stubbornly he takes off a sliver of meat, chewing and swallowing quickly.

“Fuck,” Noctis whines. Nyx laughs—not really at him, but maybe a little. Noctis is under too much duress to do much other than scrub the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Drink,” Nyx reminds him. “It’ll help.”

Despite the drink sitting in his other hand this whole time Noctis seemed to have forgotten all about it, taking a hearty swallow of the tea which is more milk than anything else. He takes a second gulp right after, then slows down, making a soft considerate noise as he swallows a third sip.

“You like it?” Nyx asks, polishing off his skewer as Noctis nods eagerly. When he’s done, and he’s tossed their combined trash into the nearby can, Noctis offers the tea out to him.

It’s not Nyx’s favourite, by a long shot, but he takes a sip anyway, side-eyeing the way Noctis stares as he swallows, even though he’s a hypocrite for judging him for it. Nyx pushes the drink back into Noctis’ hand and jerks his head towards the rest of the market.

“Wanna see more?” Nyx asks.

From the way Noctis’ eyes widen he must have been expecting Nyx to say it’s time to head home. It is, really, but Nyx feels safe here, knows these people are less likely to recognise Noctis and more likely to keep their mouths shut if they do than most of the population. It seems a shame to stop this so soon, to shove Noctis back into a cage and spoil Noctis’ fun when it’s only just started.

“Yes,” Noctis confirms, though his expression already gave him away.

Nyx nudges him to turn, slinging his arm around Noctis’ shoulder to keep him close and warm and safe as they meander through more of the stalls. After a short while, Noctis passes the drink from one hand to the other, so he can reach up and easily thread his fingers through Nyx’s where they’re hanging over his chest.

It feels almost too easy. As easy as breathing and walking, easier maybe in some ways. Nyx lets himself hold Noctis closer against his side; just for tonight.

As they walk by the bar in the middle of the market, Noctis eyes it with open curiosity and Nyx tugs him in the other direction so he can’t get any silly ideas, ignoring the way his pout makes him want to give in immediately.

Nyx stays by his side, lets Noctis look through knick-knacks and food stalls. Listens to him talk without interrupting, encouraging him when he goes quiet, embarrassed perhaps to be saying so much. When Noctis lingers at a stand packed with homemade jewellery, Nyx lets him take his time, taking the empty cup from him so he has both hands free to pick through the beaded bracelets he seems so enamoured with.

Nyx is too busy watching Noctis’ face to see what he chooses, not until he’s showing the store owner the five bracelets he’s favoured and asking how much they cost. Nyx’s hand is instinctively halfway to his pocket before Noctis has his own wallet free. He pulls out a small bundle of notes, at least one too thick and hands them over, stowing his wallet back away before she’s even finished counting them.

“Wait—”

“Thank you,” Noctis says, a little too loudly. “Appreciate it.”

Nyx latches onto the way she stares at Noctis then, focusing more intently on his face than she had been before. As the hint of recognition brightens her eyes, Nyx twists their positioning slightly, trying to make it look like he’s just angling for more affection from his boyfriend, and less like he’s trying to tuck him away out of view.

“He’s spoiled,” Nyx tells her with an exaggerated eye roll. Her focus breaks and she laughs, offering them both a happy wave as they move away.

When they’re properly out of view Nyx leans close to mutter straight into Noctis’ ear.

“She doesn’t need your charity, you know.”

“No, she needs to learn to price her goods what they’re worth,” Noctis drawls. “Economics and Ethics, remember?” He points at his face, referencing the degree he had to finish up alone from the safety of the Citadel last year when things first started going to shit.

For a long time the degree was a source of bitterness, not what Noctis really wanted to do and not the way he wanted to get it, so Nyx latches on to any mention of it now where Noctis is able to do so in good spirits.

“Mmm—I might remember you complaining about it, once or twice.”

“A day,” Noctis says flatly. “For four years.”

It was important to Noctis at the time that he finish his degree, even though he deeply disliked it, so they bent as many rules as they could to let it done. Thinking about it, his degree is one of the last real indulgences they were able to give Noctis and it wasn’t even something he really wanted.

For a moment, Nyx doesn’t notice what Noctis is doing, thinks he’s just playing with Nyx’s fingers as they walk because he can, but then he feels the slight chill of the glass beads sliding over his knuckles and looks down to see Noctis finish sliding one of the bracelets into place at Nyx’s wrist.

It’s all silver-grey and dark blue, subtle and beautiful.

That Noctis seemingly chose this one specially for him, cracks something wide open in Nyx’s chest.

“Thank you,” Nyx says softly. Noctis just hums softly, running his thumb across the beads.

Nyx glances at the other bracelets in Noctis’ hand, sees green and brown, black and purple, thinks it’s pretty obvious where three of the others are going—assuming Noctis even bought one with himself in mind at all—but sadly cannot think of a fifth person Noctis would appreciate in this way.

Surely not his father, nor Cor. Perhaps a small gift for Iris, now she seems to have finally gotten her errant crush under control?

Nyx pulls Noctis even closer into his side, pressing his chin to the top of the head in place of the forehead kiss he really wants to give.

“Why does everything smell so good?” Noctis asks, thumb finally drifting away from his gift, fingers linking gently through Nyx’s once more.

“Because Galahdian food is the best,” Nyx says simply. A little surprised, he asks, “You’re hungry?”

“I could eat more,” Noctis says, which is not the same thing, but Nyx will jump at the chance anyway.

“I know just the thing,” Nyx promises.

The food takes a little while to prepare again, and Nyx half gives into Noctis’ curiosity, getting him a little virgin cocktail from the bar while they’re waiting. Despite it being midweek a few people have taken to dancing in the open space in front of the bar and Noctis finds them a couple stools right on the outskirts of it, angling his body so he can watch everyone play while he digs into his flatbread.

It’s the first time since Noctis grabbed his hand where they’ve stopped touching all evening and Nyx is almost glad for the reprieve, if only so he knows to prepare himself for how he’ll feel in the morning when he’ll be facing a reality where he cannot allow himself the indulgence at all.

Nyx feels guilty for how much he stares, until Noctis’ I like it when you look echoes in his mind. He takes in the way Noctis watches everyone, occasionally so distracted from his food he seems almost startled when he remembers it’s there. He sinks deeper into a hunch every second they sit there, straightening up every so often and rolling a shoulder with a little frown. Nyx wonders when he first learnt to diminish himself this way, and at what point he realised it was something worth correcting. Nyx focuses on his pride in the latter so he won’t fixate on the former and drive himself crazy.

Only when Noctis is licking an errant streak of sour cream off his thumb does he even acknowledge Nyx’s staring problem at all. He raises an eyebrow in challenge and Nyx does not flinch or look away. Noctis told him he likes it when Nyx looks so he will.

Noctis breaks first, cheeks turning pink as he hastily takes another bite of his food, eyes fixated on that instead for a moment.

“Full,” Noctis says simply, thrusting the last third of the wrap towards Nyx.

He trades it for the drink and gets to work eating the rest, both because it’s delicious and because Nyx hates wasting food. For once Nyx indulges himself, lets himself take in the shape Noctis’ mouth makes when he sets the straw between his lips and the precise movement of his throat when he swallows.

Noctis finishes his drink as Nyx is bundling up the wrapping and Nyx’s reaction is knee-jerk and on the edge of panic when he grabs hold of Noctis’ arm to stop him from jumping down off his stool.

“What are you doing?” Nyx hisses.

“Taking this back,” Noctis says slowly, showing Nyx the empty glass. “And throwing that away.” He points at the trash in Nyx’s hand.

“I told you—”

“Not to leave your sight,” Noctis finishes. “Which I won’t, assuming you’re willing to turn your head.”

Nyx bites back his initial retort. “But—”

“You know it’ll look weirder if you don’t let me leave your side for even a second,” Noctis says softly. It’s a little hard to hear him over the music. “It’ll be more noticeable if I can’t even go that far without you.”

The bar is within throwing distance, the trash can even closer. Even so, Nyx isn’t happy about it.

Nyx jerks his head in the direction of the bar, giving Noctis the silent go ahead. The smile he receives in response steals all the breath from Nyx’s lungs.

Nyx does indeed turn his head to keep Noctis in his sight, watches as he heads over to the trash can first, tossing in the trash from their latest meal and also a napkin from his pocket Nyx didn’t notice him tuck away earlier. No one really pays him much mind, as Noctis predicted, not until he shuffles past a table on his return to the bar and two of the men’s eyes flick up, catching on Noctis’ figure in a way Nyx understands but hates it on principle.

Noctis does not notice, only briefly chatting with the bartender, waving away what must be an offer of another drink before turning on his heel and heading back towards where Nyx is waiting for him.

For a wild moment Nyx thinks one of the guys is going to grab Noctis on his way back past but he only raises his hand to wrap his knuckles against the table. Noctis’ eyes flicker to the sound, but he doesn’t seem to notice the guy is after his attention specifically.

The whistle he notices though, or maybe it’s whatever the guys spits out of his foul mouth that makes Noctis twist to shoot him the most disgusted frown to ever mar such a pretty face. One of the two men laughs, but the other looks pissed at the dismissal, glaring after Noctis’ retreating form.

“Gross,” Noctis mutters when he’s close enough. He very much intends to reclaim is stool but Nyx catches his fingers through his belt loops to stop him instead, parting his thighs a little wider so he can pull Noctis into the cradle of them.

Noctis doesn’t startle exactly, but his surprise is obvious, only deepening when Nyx keeps pulling him in closer—hip to hip, chest to chest.

Nyx makes eye contact with the guy that whistled, knowing that the exchange might be taken as a challenge, a little worried that the claiming might only entice the guy further. But Nyx couldn’t just let it go. Noctis isn’t theirs for the claiming, he hates their eyes on him, the very idea that they might ever put hands on him.

Someday, Noctis might ask someone else to do it. Might grow bored of Nyx’s refusal and seek out attention and affection from someone fully able to give it to him.

“A wolf whistle isn’t going to kill me, Nyx,” Noctis whispers in his ear. No—but it feels like it might kill Nyx to sit through it again.

A little shakily Noctis’ arms come up to drape over Nyx’s shoulders and Nyx quirks an eyebrow at the guy who just won’t stop staring. He says something to his friend who, to his credit, seems to be doing his best to defuse his attention.

Nyx flattens the hand already gripping Noctis, aware that it makes him all but palm the curve of his ass. Noctis shudders slightly and Nyx brings his other hand up in support, cupping Noctis’ waist under his jacket, skin only separated by one layer of cotton.

With a small shudder, Noctis relaxes into him, tucking his face into Nyx’s shoulder and letting him support the full weight of his body.

The guy finally looks away after tossing one last rude hand gesture Nyx’s way. Nyx doesn’t relax his hold just yet, not that Noctis seems to mind. In fact, Noctis takes a moment to indulge himself, bring and hand to Nyx’s nape and twisting his fingers into Nyx’s hair.

“All better?” Noctis asks, voice muffled against Nyx’s shoulder.

Nyx answers by petting up his spine and loosening his grip on his hip, giving Noctis the space to move away. He does, but only a single inch, enough that he can look up at Nyx through long, dark eyelashes. Having him this close is a dream and nightmare rolled into one. Nyx needs it to end immediately, to wipe the feeling of it from his memory; he needs it to never end.

Noctis' eyes flicker to Nyx’s mouth and he half turns his head away, clearing his throat.

“Question.”

Noctis frowns, pulling away another few inches.

“Shoot,” he sighs.

“Why did you come to my front door,” Nyx asks. “I would have come to you if you asked, you know that.”

“If you open one of the passages to my room it triggers a major alarm,” Noctis explains. Almost too fast.

“Right,” Nyx says. It’s true, but it doesn’t explain why he didn’t just beckon Nyx to him.

Noctis inhales and exhales to the weariest sigh to have ever graced Eos.

“Because I don’t care,” Noctis says. “Who sees us, if people know.”

Nyx flounders for something to say. Us. Noctis says it as though he thinks they’re inevitable, as though Nyx isn’t fighting himself at every second to not let them become an us.

“You might be ashamed of your feelings, but I’m not,” Noctis spits.

When he goes to pull away Nyx catches him gently by both arms, halting his progress before he can step out of reach.

“I’m not ashamed of you—Noct, that’s not…That isn’t why we can’t—”

“Stop,” Noctis blurts and Nyx feels the anguish that crosses Noctis’ brow like a physical blow to the gut. “Shut up, just don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Noctis shakes his head, steps back into Nyx again, bracing his clenched fists against Nyx’s chest.

“We’ll ruin it,” Noctis says sadly.

“Sorry,” Nyx whispers again. “Did you have fun?”

Noctis’ face softens with a smile.

“Thank you,” Noctis says. Nyx can’t say you’re welcome because it’s not enough to express what he really means.

This time, he trusts Noctis not to try for a real kiss, knows that the boundary has been set for the day and Noctis will honour it, really only tries to close the gap when Nyx’s control wavers enough to make space for him.

Noctis kisses his cheek, cradling Nyx’s jaw like he’s something precious and whispers a second thank you right against his skin.

— — —

Nyx doesn’t exactly like running errands, but when he finds himself technically surplus to requirements he tags along with Ignis rather than torturing himself by hanging around to watch Noctis train.

Mostly things are fine with Noctis since their…outing. Fine for Noctis at least, who seems to have found peace saying what he did and now really only behaves when his father or Cor is in the room. There’s something sweet in that, Nyx knows, considering Noctis is under the impression those are the only two people with the power to outright fire Nyx from his position.

Nyx knows that, technically, there is a third option. Hence his devotion to getting himself back into Ignis’ realm of good favour.

Most of his rage is manufactured, Nyx knows, put on just for show, to prove a point. Gladio thanked him for the improvement of Noctis’ mood—Ignis has delivered him a packed lunch every day since.

For the most part Nyx is in hell. A beautiful, delicious hell where the boy of his dreams makes it obvious he’s available every time they’re in a room together and Nyx has to be the one to step away and remember their relationship should only be a professional one. That ship set sail a couple years ago, but Nyx needs to pretend at least sometimes, or he’ll quit himself and run away into the woods with Noctis.

He’s pretty sure he could keep them both safe and healthy.

“I just have one last thing I need to do,” Ignis tells him. He gestures to a florist across the street and Nyx follows obediently, swapping the shopping bags from one hand to the other in order to find some relief from where the handles are cutting into his palm.

Half a dozen paces away from the door Ignis stops and Nyx narrowly avoids running into his back, taking a step back when Ignis turns to face him.

“You’ll wait outside,” Ignis says.

“O-kay,” Nyx agrees, understanding this was very much not a request. Intrigued, he peers over Ignis’ shoulder to try and spot anything interesting about the flower shop. “Why—what are you doing?”

“Yes, because of the two of us, I’m the one that’s going to be breaking rules, hm?”

Nyx blinks. “Is it all out of your system now?”

Ignis makes a show of thinking about it, even bringing one gloved hand up to pinch his chin.

“I think I have one more in me, actually.”

“Great,” Nyx sighs. “Perfect.” He looks along the street, trying to find some way to distract himself and is pleased to find a drug store three units up. “That’s fine actually, I wanted to get something for…” he trails off.

“Noctis?”

Nyx does not deny it, but blanches a little when Ignis follows his search, finds the drug store and raises his eyebrows in either surprise or concern. Maybe both—Nyx cannot be sure.

“It’s probably not what you’re thinking,” Nyx says. “I’m not—we’re not…” Nyx is hyper aware that he is making things worse for himself.

Ignis is very much trying not to smile. That Nyx is sure of.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Nyx promises.

Nyx really does consider just waiting here, but having already embarrassed himself it seems silly to not just grab what he’s been thinking about since the idea occurred to him. Nyx doesn’t really have much experience and when he asked Crowe about it—utterly stupid move in hindsight—she outright laughed in his face about it. In the end Pelna saved him, gave him the brand name his cousin allegedly prefers along with her insistence it’s the best available without breaking the bank. Nyx uses that brand as a beacon, slipping in and out of the cosmetics aisle with his prize in under a minute.

Nyx shoves the little bottle into one of his pockets and dutifully heads back to stand guard in front of the florist door. Curiosity burns through him, desperate to know what business Ignis could possibly have in there today. There’s no upcoming party—thank the Six—there’s no holiday on the horizon. Nyx cannot fathom what employment Ignis can provide.

Nyx tries to distract himself from Ignis by watching other people going about their lives on the street. There’s a harried looking grandmother attempting to corral a sobbing toddler, brightly coloured candy spilled across the ground at her feet, a few paces away a man is yelling at someone down the phone, the noise of which is probably not helping the toddler calm down. A little further up the road a couple has, just barely, pushed themselves into a small recess so they can kiss with some semblance of privacy. It’s genuinely a little off putting, the way they devour each other, but Nyx feels something like jealousy unfurl in his chest regardless.

It’ll never be like that for him, not if he goes after who he really wants. Even in the best of circumstances they could never have each other this publicly. Nyx wouldn’t even want it, but knowing he can’t fills him with unusual bitterness.

Turning away, he lets his curiosity get the better of him as a way to self soothe. Sneaking closer to the door he peers in through the wide, clean windows and finds Ignis easily, standing at the counter, chatting to a blonde as he gestures to an assortment of blooms set out across the counter. Ignis is oddly engaged with the conversation, touching a bloom just after the blonde gestures to it, nodding along with whatever he’s saying.

Nyx remembers a vase on a conference room table, how greatly Ignis values his privacy, puts two and two together and immediately feels a little bad for snooping.

Ignis seemingly makes some kind of decision because the florist suddenly picks up and discards half the flowers, bundling the ones left into a little makeshift bouquet for Ignis’ approval. Something happens then, the way Ignis hesitates or the open way the florist is looking at him, but it makes Nyx pull back, aware he’s already watched too long.

Both the yelling man and the upset child have moved on while he’s been distracted and without all the noise it’s much easier to fix his eyes on the other end of the street from the couple and pretend they don’t exist.

The door opens with a very obvious squeak, preventing Ignis from attempting to sneak up on Nyx like he usually does. Unexpectedly Ignis is holding a small bouquet, pink and purple blooms quite unlike the white ones he was deliberating over a few minutes ago which means the two things are not related.

“What did you need?” Nyx asks outright.

“Arrangements for a few guest rooms,” Ignis answers easily. So easily that it’s really a wonder he didn’t just tell Nyx this in the first place.

“Guest rooms?” Nyx blurts. “What guest rooms, we’re not due any guests?” Why wasn’t Nyx told, last time they welcomed guests into the Citadel they tried to—

Ignis snaps his fingers twice, loudly and rudely enough to cut off the spiral of Nyx’s thoughts.

“From Tenebrae,” Ignis stresses. “Guests from Tenebrae. And not for some time. Ravus isn’t sure he wants to come with all the—turmoil.”

“Okay,” Nyx breathes. “Okay, makes sense.”

Kind of makes sense anyway. Makes sense and then it doesn’t, the longer Nyx lets himself linger on the peculiars.

“So—the visit is so far away I didn’t need to know,” Nyx summarises, arching one eyebrow. “But you needed to make sure the florist was locked down?”

Ignis’ expression shutters, his hand on the bouquet flexes and crinkles the paper wrapping.

“Yes,” Ignis grits out.

Nyx makes a show of leaning forward, making pretend this is the first time he’s gotten a good look at the blond.

“He’s cute,” Nyx offers, testing the waters.

He expects Ignis to shut him out or cuss him out, to needle at Nyx in order to divert the attention. Nyx is almost flabbergasted when Ignis brings the bouquet up under his nose so he can inhale the sweet scent of the blooms and is properly so when Ignis lowers it again and admits:

“I know.”

Nyx recognises the yearning laid deep in those two words immediately. Like for like, two birds of a feather.

Nyx has never felt more connected to Ignis than in this one moment.

— — —

There isn’t exactly a commotion in the hallway, there just seems to be a lot of people, all of whom seem to be going to great lengths to avoid saying anything. There’s nothing particularly wrong, but it sets Nyx on edge enough he feels compelled to investigate.

Probably because Libertus and Crowe are at the scene of the crime which either means everything’s going to be fine or something is about to explode. And it’s often impossible to predict which one.

“What’s going on?” Nyx asks.

The two men he does not know the name of exchange glances. After a sharp elbow to the ribs from his companion, one of them offers, “Waiting for the sparring room.”

Nyx nods—reasonable and understandable. He turns to Crowe and she tilts her head.

“Guarding the training room,” Crowe reveals. Then pointedly tacks on, “Sir.”

Nyx pushes forward, surprised. Noctis has no training on the schedule for today and when Gladio asked him this morning if he wanted to go for a run or something to break up his otherwise empty day Noctis had quite plainly told Gladio to fuck right off into the sun.

“Really?” Nyx checks, satisfied when Libertus nods. “Is something wrong?”

“Bored,” Crowe says. “Lonely.”

Nyx glares at her.

“Does he know he’s making you wait?” Nyx asks the other two. They share another look.

“With all due respect, sir,” he responds. Crowe hides her laugh in a cough so badly she has to be doing it on purpose. “But I’m not going to be the one to ask the prince of lucis to get out of a room. In the Citadel. Which he probably technically owns.”

Nyx appreciates the sentiment, but Noctis will be more upset to have taken up space not actually set aside for him over being interrupted in whatever he was doing. It annoys and surprises Nyx every time when no one seems to know Noctis in this way—how they seemingly always expect the worst of him.

“I’ll sort it,” Nyx assures them, slipping into the room despite their protests.

Whatever Noctis was doing seems to be mostly over now, the prince half prone on the floor, stretching out by lowering his body towards the floor between parted legs. He looks fantastic, obviously, though Nyx can tell he’s not even pushing the stretch towards his comfortable limits. With his headphones on Noctis didn’t notice his entrance, so Nyx creeps over as quietly as he can, getting close enough to gently nudge Noctis’ thigh with his foot.

Noctis yells, startled, snapping off his headphones and launching them across the room. He realises quickly that it’s Nyx, fear giving way to embarrassment and annoyance.

“Fuck you,” Noctis spits.

Nyx nudges him with his foot again.

“Łazy.”

Noctis glares harder. “You don’t even know what I’ve been doing.”

“I know you can do better than this,” Nyx says again. Noctis slaps gently at his ankle before he can nudge him again.

“I think I know that better than you do,” Noctis says.

“Nah—difference is, I never underestimate you.”

Noctis’ mouth drops open, but no retort comes. Nervously, Noctis fiddles with the bracelets on his wrist. Two of them still, the black one Nyx immediately knew was for him, but after a couple days Noctis started wearing the purple one too. He won’t ask, wants to give Noctis this one private thing for himself, so he doesn’t know if the gift was rebuffed, or if Noctis just hasn’t had the opportunity to hand it over yet. Or maybe it’s not a gift at all, and Noctis always intended to keep both for himself.

“Fuck you,” Noctis says again, with none of the heat of before. He sniffs. “If you want me to do it properly, you’ll have to help me.”

Stupid to be goaded and reckless to kneel down so close to Noctis’ back but Nyx does both anyway.

Noctis makes no move at all, so Nyx gives in and does it for him. He grips Noctis just above the knee, forgoing a more intimate touch to his inner thigh and drags his legs further apart, stopping just before the depth of stretch he knows make Noctis wince. It’s beautifully far really, Noctis’ flexibility is a thing not smartly dwelt on.

“Try again,” Nyx instructs, immediately looking to the ceiling rather than watch Noctis lower his chest to the mat. Without looking Nyx knows he goes all the way down this time, knows from the way his breath comes a little heavier and the soft groan that catches in his throat after a few seconds.

“Good,” Nyx praises, waiting for Noctis’ irritated huff before looking at him again.

“What are you doing here?” Noctis asks, carefully pulling his legs in front of him, flexing a knee a few times.

“That bothering you?” Nyx checks.

Noctis shrugs. “Rained yesterday. Now answer my question, since I asked first.”

“Had a meeting with Cor,” Nyx tells him. “And then there was something…unusual in the hallway.”

Noctis’ eyes light up at the possibility of gossip, Nyx really hates to disappoint him.

“Some people waiting for the room, too stubborn to come in and ask the totally normal guy using it to get out because it’s their turn,” Nyx says, keeping his tone light, words gentle.

“They told me it was free,” Noctis says. “I asked. I wouldn’t have—you know I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Nyx assures.

Noctis scrambles to his feet and Nyx jumps up quickly so he can offer his hand. Good idea at first, but when Noctis is on his feet he doesn’t let go of Nyx’s hands and Nyx isn’t really in the mood to push him away enough to really try.

“Nyx,” Noctis says.

“Noct.”

Noctis presses close, and their evening out did nothing to desensitise Nyx to the feel of him. Different this time anyway, because there’s just thin workout gear keeping him from Noctis’ body instead of bulky layers. His workout must not have been all that strenuous, Noctis still smells clean, just the barest hint of sweat curling the hair at his temples, the smallest flush of red blotching the pale skin of his throat, dotting across his cheeks.

Nyx is just arrogant enough to wonder if that flush is actually for him.

Noctis glances at his mouth, eyelashes fluttering a little as he meets Nyx’s gaze again.

Nyx knows what he wants, knows what he must once again deny him.

“Please,”Noctis breathes.

“You know we can’t.”

“No I don’t know,” Noctis snaps—lying—casting Nyx’s hands away. “Tell me why.”

Nyx doesn’t want to say it again, doesn’t want to keep reminding Noctis in case the message actually sinks in. Nyx is being selfish, he knows this, wanting Noctis to want him.

“It’s…immoral.”

The word seems to cause Noctis physical harm.

“Immoral,” Noctis repeats. “I’m twenty-four.”

“It’s not about your age,” Nyx says. It would certainly be easier if there were fewer years between their ages, but on the scale of Nyx’s concerns this barely ranks. “It’s—”

“Who I am.”

“No,” Nyx insists. Even though it is and it isn’t. Noctis’ rank is part of the problem, but not how Noctis probably suspects. Nyx is the problem. Coveted a position close to him and then let himself fall in love anyway.

“Why does it matter?”

“What?”

“These reasons you have in your head,” Noctis explains. “Whatever they have. Why do they matter at all if we both want it anyway.”

“It’s not that simple,” Nyx argues.

“Yes it is,” Noctis insists. “It’s your job isn’t it? You’re prioritising my safety over my happiness. Over yours. Well I don’t give a shit—I literally don’t care, not if—”

“I care,” Nyx seethes.

Noctis rolls his eyes and for the first time in a long time, Nyx is genuinely angry at him.

“I care that people keep trying to kill you, Noct,” Nyx tells him. Noctis’ expression freezes, every muscle in his body locking up. They don’t normally acknowledge it. They know it’s there, know it's the reason they have to go into lock-down every other month, why Noctis spent as many nights in a safe-house as he did the Citadel during February. They know it, but they never say it.

Saying it makes it too real.

“I can’t be distracted, Noct. That means losing you. Anytime I let this fuck me up the guilt eats me alive. I will not lose you because I’m selfish. I will not let everyone else lose you because of me. They’ll use this against us, if they find out, you realise that don't you?”

Noctis swallows, his eyes a little glassy.

“So, that’s why,” Nyx finishes. “That’s why, that’s why it fucking matters, okay?”

“Okay,” Noctis whispers, his breathing is a little heavy, even though he’s not then one who just shouted for no reason. “I’m sorry.”

Nyx shakes his head and Noctis’ hands come up to cup his jaw, trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says again, but Nyx is already not angry with him.

When Noctis steps into a hug, Nyx holds him back immediately, one arm around his waist the other crossing over his back. He tugs Noctis close, folds himself over a little so he can hide briefly in Noctis’ shoulder, letting him pet through his hair, blunt nails like heaven against his scalp.

“We could keep it secret,” Noctis offers quietly.

“Noct,” Nyx warns.

“No one would need to know,” Noctis pushes on. “We could be safe.”

Nyx can’t let himself dwell on that, cannot give himself the possibility to consider it might be true.

Noctis pulls away first, an unusual circumstance that puts Noctis on his guard.

“I’ll wait, you know,” Noctis says. Nyx doesn’t know if it’s a promise or a threat, he doesn’t know which one is worse. “For you—I’ll wait.”

Nyx doesn’t know how to respond, actually isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to form words again with this new thing nestling against his soul. When he finally manages to speak, the words he manages are not the ones he would have preferred, certainly not the ones Noctis deserves.

“They’re waiting on the room.”

Noctis doesn’t flinch at his words and, for once, accepts the dismissal for what it is.

— — —

Four whole weeks with no reason to put the Citadel into lockdown or hide Noctis away in a safehouse and the security team comes together to allow Noctis enough freedom to reward him with a trip to the mall.

At first Noctis scoffs at the offer, he is not a pre-teen after all, but thirty minutes after the announcement he has his shoes on and is trying to hurry them all out of the door. Predictably, Ignis abandons them to run errands, promising to be back in the hour and trusting Nyx and Gladio are enough to keep him safe in Lucis’ cleanest mall early on a Tuesday afternoon.

Also predictably, there’s really only one place Noctis wants to go.

“Unlimited wealth and he’s digging through the bargain bin,” Gladio teases.

Noctis flips him off without halting his search and Gladio holds his hand up in surrender, light catching on the more vibrant beads of his bracelet. Gladio gestures with a thumb over his shoulder, a silent I’ll be over there and Nyx nods, shuffling closer to Noctis reflexively.

“Looking for something particular?” Nyx asks softly.

Sometimes he is, other times he’s flicking through for an unknown hidden gem.

“Kind of,” Noctis hedges. “This guy that I game with. Online.”

“This guy,” Nyx says warily, utterly disturbed by the spike of jealousy it causes. “The one Ignis checked up on.”

“The one whose privacy he invaded,” Noctis corrects. Nyx sighs. “Him, yeah. He was telling me about this game he played as a kid, but he can’t remember what it’s called.”

“Very useful,” Nyx says flatly. Noctis looks like he wants to flip Nyx off too, but refrains.

“It gets even better,” Noctis drawls, eyes tracking over the back of the case in his hand before unceremoniously dropping it onto the top of the pile.

“He’s not even sure it was ever released in Lucis,” Noctis admits.

“Then how did he play it?” Nyx asks. Noctis blinks at him. “I mean—where is he from.”

“Not here,” Noctis says evasively.

“You think I’ll give a shit about that? Me?”

Noctis looks mollified, but still refuses to give a straight answer.

“Not Tenebrae,” Nyx says. Which means he doesn’t talk like Lunafreya. “And I don’t think Galahd.”

“He’s from Niflheim?” Nyx asks. “Ignis lets you frequently talk to someone from Niflheim.”

“I thought you wouldn’t give a shit about that,” Noctis seethes.

“Sorry, you’re right, I’m just surprised.”

Noctis flashes him a dark look, traipsing off to another shelf, knowing correctly that Nyx will follow. He flips over the case of the newest release, going silent while he reads.

“He lives in Insomnia,” Noctis says suddenly. “Or so Ignis says his IP address says.”

“Huh.”

“I was excited when I found out,” Noctis admits. His eyes are still fixed on the game case, even though he must have long finished ready. “I thought, maybe. But then stuff happened. And kept happening. So.”

Noctis shrugs, as he’s prone to do and Nyx wants to lay a heavy arm around him to keep him from doing it. They’ve been careful with each other since Nyx’s confession, more tender but less touchy feeling, Noctis allowing the rebuilding of old barriers without much fuss. Nyx doesn’t actually like it any more than he does, but he’s not sure how else to survive on a day to day basis.

“One day,” Nyx says.

Noctis finally looks at him. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Nyx promises. “As soon as we can make it happen.”

Noctis turns back to the game, flipping it over just to stare at the cover art instead. Nyx isn’t even sure what it’s supposed to be.

“I’m too complicated to be friends with,” Noctis blurts.

“That’s not true,” Nyx argues.

Noctis doesn’t glare at him, but it’s a close thing.

“You of all people know that is is,” Noctis insists.

Nyx shakes his head, unwilling and unable to get into it properly here. He also cannot give into his desire to hold Noctis here, so just briefly lets his hand rest on the nape of his neck, offering a grounding squeeze.

“Better hurry up and pick something or Gladio will never let you come back,” Nyx warns.

“Gladio says I have unlimited money,” Noctis muses. “So maybe I’ll just buy one of everything.”

Noctis would never even consider such a thing, but it’s a nice reprieve to pretend for a while.

—

“What is that?”

“A fern.”

Noctis and Gladio exchange a look, Nyx isn’t half as surprised as they seem to be, was pretty sure he knew the real source of Ignis’ errands the moment he left them unsupervised in the mall.

“What’s it for?” Gladio asks each word coloured with laughter.

“My office,” Ignis says calmly. “They’re—low maintenance.”

Gladio fails to hide his snigger.

“You know,” Noctis starts and Nyx watches Ignis brace for the impact of his words, just the same as Nyx. “You should stop being so lame and do something about it.”

For some reason Noctis glances at Nyx then and his entire being stutters to a halt. His expression freezes before crumpling and not one of them finds something to say or ask before Noctis is barrelling forward.

“Or not,” Noctis forces a laugh. “What do I know?”