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Ignis’s fingers closed around the last remaining object in the box. It wasn’t a picture or a letter. It was a ring.
It was smaller than the band currently on his ring finger, having belonged to his other half. The outer layer was imperfect with scratches and dirt was deep in the crevices that couldn’t be rubbed off, from Prompto having insisted on wearing it everywhere—even in battle. The inner band was spotless and smooth; always having been pressed against Prompto’s skin, never removing it from his person.
They were coloured gold, Prompto had told him. Like wedding rings. He bought them two years into the darkness, at a time Ignis couldn’t do anything but doubt himself and his abilities. As Prompto slipped it onto his finger during a small gathering with everyone they befriended on their journey, he held him close, whispering that he would always be there for him through anything. And through all his doubts, through the seven years when he would stumble in combat or burn himself on oil as he learnt everything again, Prompto kept his promise.
He was always there for him, and Ignis tried his best to do the same.
It was heavily raining the day a hunter knocked on his door. He and Prompto had a small place underground for themselves, given to Noctis’s companions if they ever needed to stay in Lestallum. Gladio didn’t need it, saying he had a place already with his girlfriend, and soon it became Ignis and Prompto’s escape.
Over the years, they had made it their home. At their first expedition into Insomnia, Prompto found Ignis’s old apartment building still intact; he returned home with all of his blankets and pillows, albeit dusty. Over the years he brought every working appliance to their new home for Ignis, and even found one of the oldest pictures of them together, when Ignis was teaching him to drive.
Ignis learnt how to cook again within these walls. It was here when he started to grasp the basics of echolocation, here when Prompto found him first walking without the help of his cane. Here where he felt the doubt creep into his skin, here where Prompto held him close and told him that only he had the power to become better than who he once was. It was here they exchanged their vows, here when Prompto bid him farewell yesterday leaving to battle a daemon only weak to ammunition.
“Come in,” Ignis said, flipping the frying pan he held in a very specific way to cook the meat pie he was making more thoroughly. He didn’t know when Prompto would be back, but made two servings every meal anyway, just in case. If he didn’t, it was easy finding someone who needed it in the now overpopulated town.
The young hunter let herself in, closing the door quietly, numbing out the sounds of the rain. By her movements, Ignis knew she was one of the people who often accompanied Prompto to his hunts, sometimes with both of them together into Insomnia. Sometimes she even had dinner with them. Both Ignis and Prompto happily called her a family friend.
“Feel free to make yourself at home,” said Ignis, not turning from the fryer. He heard the hunter hesitate, but she slowly pulled a chair out and sat herself at the dining table. “Is he going to be delayed again?” Ignis asked after a minute. He was near done and switched off the stove, swivelling the pan, letting the remaining heat toast the edges of Meldacio meat pie the way Prompto loved.
“I—” she started, but the words were caught in her throat. She was silent once again, watching him set the food on plates, and then on the table. “Mr Scientia….”
“If he will, you’re more than welcome to take his serving.” Ignis seated himself too, across her, giving a soft smile in her direction—which seemed to agitate her.
She pushed the chair back, the creaking loud; turning to the door again. But she stopped when she grabbed the handle, shoulders bowing in defeat.
“Is something wrong?”
Ignis could hear the hand she had on the doorknob shaking. “I can’t do this,” she said softly, perhaps only for herself to hear; but inhaled heavily, trying again. “It’s—it’s about Mr Argentum….”
Ignis didn’t dare move. “Did he get injured on the field? Do I need to attend to him?”
“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I mean—no, you don’t need to attend to him. It’s—” and then she gave up again, letting out a heaved groan. “I can’t do this,” she repeated, stepping to the table again, and dropping something metal in front of Ignis.
He picked it up, the cold metal a sting on his skin, and he knew what it was immediately, having felt the same steel on his finger for seven years. His body froze.
“On the field—he didn’t have a hunter’s tag. I—I was told to take this.” The hunter made her way to the exit again, grabbing the handle; opening it this time. The thundering sound and aura of heavy rain rushed into the room, draining the warmth Ignis had always known from it. “I’m sorry.” Then the rainfall was dull, an echo of tragedy.
Ignis couldn’t move for what felt like eternity in a single moment. He clutched the cold band tightly in his fist, too tight the metal nearly cut into his palm.
He did not cry when Noct disappeared into the crystal, because he always knew that he would come back. He didn’t mind losing his sight—he took the choice fully knowing what would happen, and embraced it. It was the only way.
But this—he didn’t have a vision of this. Nothing had prepared him for losing someone so abruptly. Noct’s life and death was written in fate; Ignis spent his own life preparing for the battle, and nine years knowing that he would only see him for a day before never again. But Prompto; he didn’t even consider the fact that dying on the field was a possibility. They—the four of them were meant to—
The tears came fast, from both of his eyes, his scarring stinging from the salt in them. The dining table rocked from the abrupt movement as he pushed himself up, leaving what was meant to be a warm meal—a meal they should’ve had together—alone, nearly knocked onto the floor. But he didn't think of it; he couldn’t think of it right now. He ran to the door, pulling it open and shutting it with intense force that made the walls shake, dust and cracks forming in the concrete.
The rain was heavier than before, deafening, drowning the town and Ignis’s thoughts. He held Prompto’s ring in his hand tight as he looked up to the sky with his eyes closed, the rain like bullets plastering his face, mingling with his tears. The pain felt like he was experiencing losing his sight again, his scars stinging like they were being freshly scorched into his skin—but it was no comparison for what his heart felt like, sat in his chest. It had shattered and all the pieces were trying to fall out of his throat, but they wouldn’t. It was unbearable.
But Ignis couldn’t bring himself to scream; nothing could. He fell to his knees, defeated, and kept the pain within him.
And he stayed there for gods couldn’t tell how long, letting the rain beat him numb until he couldn’t feel anything.