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It wasn’t Ignis’ job to sew buttons, just like it wasn’t his job to clean and cook and otherwise run the household like a stay-at-home husband who also happened to have a very demanding full-time job. Or perhaps it was, because it was written in his contract that he had to afford Prince Noctis such care and assistance as may be necessary, which Ignis thought pretty damn vague, not that he’d ever say it out loud. And anyway, even if royal buttons were part of his job, he was pretty sure it meant directing the garment to a suitable tailor as opposed to doing the job himself.
And yet, sending clothes to the tailor would take time, they might well decide the jacket was too ratty for the crown prince to wear even if they did sew the buttons back on (not that he’d blame them), and Noct would kick up a fuss because it was his favourite jacket and they didn’t make it in that style any more. And Ignis would have to track it down to where it was at the tailors, persuade the tailors that it honestly was that important that he needed it back right this minute even if it was kind of ratty and no, the prince couldn’t just get a new one, and no he wasn’t that young – eighteen! an adult! – and just because he had a baby face didn’t mean they didn’t have to take him seriously – and really, it was just easier to sew buttons himself.
It didn’t mean he couldn’t feel particularly aggravated about it, though, from where he was sitting on Noct’s sofa, squinting because his eyes were tired enough to go gritty, and Noct’s apartment lights could do things like dim or switch colour on command but weren’t actually any good to do detail work like sew by. How did Noct keep losing so many buttons anyway? What was that boy doing?
His watch beeped to tell him it was midnight. Ignis screwed his eyes shut, which helped a little, but only until he opened them again. He still had to send some emails (he really hoped no one would be looking at the time stamp) and also finish that essay his modern law tutor had set him. He needed to be up early enough to make Noct lunch for school tomorrow, because he’d taken to skipping lunches if they weren’t homemade. And if he skipped lunch he was even less likely to do his homework, because he’d be off to the arcade or the nearest fast food place or dessert cafe or something after school, and Ignis would be the one to get the late homework lecture again even when he never got to go to the arcade or anywhere, and it really wasn’t fair–
Noct probably wasn’t doing it to be difficult, Ignis told himself, as he managed to stab himself in the fingertip with his needle. He really probably wasn’t. It just felt like it. A lot.
And besides, it wasn’t, Ignis supposed, that he actually wanted to go to the arcade. It was irritatingly loud and busy in there and fine, it was a little interesting to look over things and have a go or two at the games, but only for ten or twenty minutes. How Noct and Prompto could spend hours in there was beyond him. And eating out was passable but the food was never really good enough to make the crowds and hassle worthwhile.
It was also true that sewing buttons was tedious but soothing, in its own way. A small job that nonetheless Noct relied on him to perform. Easy for Noct to mess up and easy for him to excel at – and there was nothing Ignis liked more than excelling.
Nothing except perhaps the moments like when Noct remembered the buttons hadn’t magically sewn themselves, or dinner was particularly good, or he realised that it wasn’t by accident his timetable gave him a free afternoon on the day that new game he’d been excited about was released. His understatement didn’t mean lack of appreciation (or not always, anyway). He wrapped his gratitude with an air of embarrassment, an attempted offhandedness that was – well. Charming. Sweet? Not that Ignis would ever admit that out loud.
And yet – it was still midnight, he was still tired and aching, and charming only did so much before the weight of the emails and essay and early start tomorrow started to pile on, and all the rest of his work, and all the times Noct hadn’t recognised the effort he’d put forward in the first place, let alone appreciated it.
Sometimes it was hard to tell the resentment (because he was self-aware enough to know it was resentment) from simply being tired, or annoyed with any one of the multiple other annoying aspects of his work. Sometimes it felt like the resentment didn’t matter in the slightest; sometimes it was overwhelming. Well, Ignis thought, it was hardly like he didn’t already know he was a mess. In all things he tried to be neat and clean and efficient, then Noct came and bulldozed it all down in seconds.
A shuffling noise behind him. Speak of the devil, Ignis thought, then reminded himself distantly that he really shouldn’t say that one because it sounded pretty damn stupid coming from someone his age. Noct and everyone else already mocked him enough as it was.
‘Still here?’ Noct sounded a little sleepy. He was in his pyjamas, damp from the shower. He had his phone in one hand, and was tapping away at it. The motions gave away the fact that he was gaming.
‘Just another minute to finish this, then I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘Mmm.’
Noct wandered to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of juice. He left the dirty glass on the counter and wandered back to peer over Ignis’ shoulder.
‘Shouldn’t you be done by now?’
Ignis stiffened. He opened his mouth then closed it again. Resentment flaring, trying to tamp it down. Noct was a sixteen year old boy. He didn’t mean to be ungrateful; he just wanted his flat to himself for the night. That was normal. Natural. And it was true that Ignis was taking way too long with these damned buttons.
‘Oh,’ Noct said. ‘Hey, you’ve got something on your back. Hold on.’
Something on his back? Was this meant to be the beginning of some prank? Ignis didn’t move as Noct went back to the kitchen and ran the tap. He was tired. He was tired and he just wanted to curl up and sleep, but instead he had to deal with whatever Noct was up to, and sew buttons, and write that stupid essay and those stupid emails and then get up in a few hours to do it all over again–
A pressure on his back, right in the middle, then the uncomfortable feeling of cold, damp fabric. Ignis froze as Noct wiped at his shirt, soft and gentle motions. ‘I don’t even know what that is. Maybe when you were cooking? Who knows. Gross.’
Noct was wiping with his right hand; his left hand fell on Ignis’ shoulder, hot and dry through the fabric of his shirt. ‘Good thing you wear black. Think it’s gone,’ he said, but carried on rubbing anyway.
It occurred to Ignis, very suddenly, that it wasn’t a prank or anything except Noct cleaning something from the back of his shirt. His face went hot with embarrassment, shame and something else – a tightness in his throat. He wanted at once to sink against Noct’s touch and get up, walk away, and put some space between himself and the cause of his thoughtlessness, his stupidity. He stayed where he was. Noct lifted his right hand but kept his left where it was; the weight of it seemed to pull at something in Ignis’ chest, unravelling it and spooling the threads around his lungs and heart, tangling them around his ribs. It was not uncomfortable. It was something that had been happening for a long time, now.
‘Thank you, Noct.’
‘Oh. Uh, it’s fine. I mean, you’re the one sewing up my jacket.’ Noct let go of his shoulder and stepped back.
There was a pause. Ignis looked down, fumbled with the button as he finished tying it off, and snipped away the extra thread. Noct was still standing behind him and Ignis put down the needle onto the coffee table. He stared forwards, at the blank TV screen.
‘Are you all right?’ Noct said, before Ignis could manage the same question. ‘It’s pretty late.’
Ignis turned his head a couple of inches to glance at him. There was something about his face – the cautious vulnerability in the set of his mouth. His hair flopped down into his eyes as if trying to hide the softness to them. He didn’t offer much, but only because he knew Ignis didn’t need much.
Noct’s eyes flicked down to his lips, and it took Ignis a second to realise he was smiling, for no apparent reason. He tried but couldn’t stop. He must be very tired.
‘Heh.’ Noct smiled in return, hesitant. ‘You never smile. You look so weird right now.’
‘If it disturbs you that much I shall endeavour to do it more often.’
‘Nah, that’ll ruin it. Save it for special occasions.’
They paused, still staring at each other, before Noct skirted around the sofa and flopped down besides Ignis. ‘It’s late,’ he said. He looked at his phone, turning it in his hands, the screen blank. ‘Stay over.’
‘Ah,’ Ignis said. ‘I–’ His heart was beating in his chest, oddly hard. His face was still flushed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some more work to do. I… I should be going.’
Noct’s phone stilled in his hands. ‘You can do it here. The computer in the study has access to the intranet, if you need it.’
He didn’t need it, actually. He had his own laptop with him. But still – it was a bad idea. Somehow. He just couldn’t quite think of how, yet.
‘I won’t bother you,’ Noct said. ‘Promise.’
‘If you’re not bothering me I might as well be in my own flat.’
‘Ha.’
It was like there were a bubble between them, or possibly around them, and any unexpected motion or loud noise would pop it. It was a thrill, not entirely pleasant. A tension so thick in the air it was hard to breathe through. Ignis looked at Noct, just out of the corner of his eye, and caught Noct looking back at him. They were both waiting for something – an expectation of change.
Ignis could still feel Noct’s hand on his shoulder, even though it was long gone. His heart was still pounding, tangled in the threads of the thing Noct had undone.
Even if he left now he’d still see him tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Forever, he supposed, in the practical way forever meant to single lifetimes. It was a lot of work. A lot of buttons.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘All right.’