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It had been years—over a decade, even—but Ignis still remembered exactly what the Citadel looked like.
Rubble crunched under his glaive boots, uneven and rocky, as he slowly circled what used to be the throne room. He could hear birds flying past him in the sky that Prompto told him was clear and blue, could feel the wind’s gentle breeze from the collapsed wall, the sun’s warmth against his skin. He was still getting used to all of it; the light had returned only a week ago.
And in exchange, it took Noctis.
It was the excuse he always gave himself when he longed to be in the throne room once more, despite the world of workload they had, rebuilding the city. Prompto and Gladio didn’t say much of his daily absences—they often had the same urge.
The pain was still fresh in all their hearts; and despite him having known, he knew still needed proper closure. That void, that reasoning was always tugging him here. And he knew this was illogical, irrational to believe, but he felt that that need would be answered if he kept returning.
Yet whatever it was, whatever he was hoping for, it wasn’t going to be today. There was nothing changed from the last time he was here; he could feel it in the settled air.
Ignis slowly descended the steps to the throne, taking care to not stumble over loose rubble. His steps echoed as he crossed the marble clearing to the entrance plaza, the world wholly silent.
But—he paused, frozen in the doorway. His ears prickled at a low sound in the distance, coming from the throne.
He turned, taking a single step forward, and there the sound was again. Clearer, louder, he could now pinpoint what it was: a human cry.
Ignis ascended the first flight of stairs with haste, heels of his boots loud against the steps as he counted each one up, listening intently to find exactly where it was coming from. It was when he was five up the second curved set when he realised—the throne. The cries were coming from the throne.
He was taking shallow breaths as he neared it, the thing he still couldn’t bear to touch after he and his friends pulled out the sword of his chest, his dried blood, his barely cooled body—
There was another cry, and it completely stopped his train of thought.
It was a child. There was a child, griping and whining and on the throne.
Ignis knelt down on one knee, hands trembling as he pulled a glove off, setting the other one on the armrest of the throne to steady himself. He reached out, slow and hesitant, and his fingertips met cloth. Cotton, warm, wrapped around a lump. He sucked a breath in, knuckles scraping against dried blood that still covered the throne, carefully taking the bundle in his hands.
He settled the child in his arms, holding it close to his chest. It was tiny, so small; it couldn’t have been older than a few weeks. His mind flurried in thoughts of how and why and what he would do next—he certainly couldn’t raise a child with his condition, and he didn’t wish to burden Prompto with caring for two.
But the child simply breathed, tightly nestled against his uniform. Now that it was in his arms it seemed calmed; the cries were gone and it’s breathing levelled, slowly falling asleep.
Ignis cleared his throat, easing up from his knelt position. He couldn’t leave the child here. But what could he do, with resources as low as they are now? He hated the uncertainty he had; it was unlike him.
Two little hands circled around his thumb, cold fingers gripping his skin tight. He could feel its pulse concentrating through them, slow and relaxed—and it made him think of Noctis, of that day when they first met. After a minute of silence, contemplating…he decided to descend the steps once again, child held close to his chest.
And his mind was settled on a single thought.
Perhaps this was exactly what he was waiting for.
He could tell the sun was setting by the time he got back by the evident lack of warmth in the air. The child was in a sleep against his chest, nary a sound coming from it the entire trip home with a truckful of glaives.
Ignis walked up the steps of Cape Caem opened the door slow, trying not to squeak it to awake the child. He could sense Prompto was home by the low hum of electricity coursing through the walls, by the tell-tale whirl of a distant fan in a distant room. With a few heavy steps of his shoes to lessen tracking dust into their vestibule, he stepped inside.
There was a door closed somewhere, and then there was Prompto’s footsteps, closer, closer. “Iggy,” he called from a hall above, voice with an echoey lustre. “Hey, you’re back early,” he neared him, wooden floor sounding out as he stepped down the stairs. “Is everything—?”
He caught eyes of the bundle in Ignis’s arms, and everything was answered. The child didn’t flinch at any of Prompto’s words, fortunately, still snugly wrapped in the blanket and pressed against Ignis’s overcoat.
Prompto neared and pressed his fingertips on Ignis’s forearms. “Is this…a child?” he whispered to him, combing through the blanket. “Where’d you find him?”
“Resting at the Citadel, crying aloud until I took him into my arms.” He let Prompto take him, glad to be unbuttoning his glaive coat, but…midway he sensed Prompto suck in his breath, frozen after untucking the blanket from the infant’s face. “Something wrong?”
Prompto was so silent. If Ignis hadn’t known he was there, he would’ve missed his presence completely. “He…,” he shook his head, cleared his throat. “He looks like him.” The words were clearer now, like he had looked up to Ignis to say it. “Like…Noctis.”
It was the first time he’d heard someone speak his name aloud since the dawn. It formed a lump in Ignis’s throat, just as he expected it would.
He didn’t speak. And Prompto moved to press his hand on his now bare forearm again, gripping with a certain conviction. “Do you think…”
The warmth of his fingers, the imprint of his ring, and the loose fraying of his sweater sleeve against Ignis’s skin was barely enough to bring him back down to Eos. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Truthfully. “I don’t know.”
Prompto only gave a slight hum in answer, taking his hand back. “I wasn’t expecting to be a parent until after we got married, y’know,” he said, and then there was more of a blanket rustling—presumably to get a closer look at the child, tucking those thin strands of hair Ignis now knew to be black behind his ear. “But I guess we’re both kinda used to life giving us unexpected things now.”
Acceptance. He knew Prompto would take him in. But even though, he could still hear the unspoken fear he had in his words. They were both unprepared for such a daunting task, and coupled with rebuilding Insomnia from the ground up for Noctis…what were they going to do?
“Aw, hey,” Prompto said to the child, tone high and cooing. “Good evening to you, too, hmm? Have you had anything to eat yet? Let me and Iggy fix you up something baby-friendly...”
Ignis listened to his voice fade, headed to the kitchen. And perhaps for the first time in a week, he allowed himself a smile. Perhaps it would be alright.
He pinned up his overcoat and followed them into their tiny home at Cape Caem.
The first few weeks were the hardest.
Sleep was now a privilege, and Ignis had to learn the hard way that babies couldn’t eat gourmet dishes. They had to get Gladio to come over that very first night to show their asses how to care for an infant properly. Thankfully, he didn’t question their sudden decision to raise a child, bringing all manner of baby things with him from Lestallum: gallons of milk, a crib, countless toys saved from Iris and Talcott’s younger days, and other important things that completely slipped Prompto and Ignis’s minds.
Prompto now held him in the way Gladio had taught him, his hand gently supporting the baby’s neck as he fed him for maybe the fifth time tonight. They had dragged the crib into their bedroom to be able check on him during the night, and not at no expense. Both he and Ignis were light sleepers and every tiny noise awoke them; tending to their child often came to whoever happened to pushed himself up from bed first.
The bottle was nudged, and Prompto pulled it away, setting the warm milk on the dresser. “Alright,” Prompto whispered to him as he set him down on his back, smoothing his cheek. “You be good now.”
He stumbled back into bed with a heavy heave of his breath, curling around his pillow. But Ignis’s hand rested upon a small slip of skin at his hip, rubbing. A wordless question.
Prompto turned around to face him, tucking his chin onto his shoulder, tickling his skin with his goatee. “He’s doing fine,” he said. “I think we’re great parents.”
Even in the near dark, he could see Ignis’s small smile as he wrapped an arm around Prompto’s waist, pulling him closer. “It’s only been over a month. Too early to judge.”
“What if the constant crying at night is him trying to communicate that we’re the best parents ever?”
“I doubt it.”
Even with the tiny speck of experience shared between them, Prompto was pretty proud. It had been a month and he was still alive, for one. Although they couldn’t take all the credit—the daily trips into the Crown City often meant they had to leave him behind with whoever was free, often Cid or Cindy or Talcott. Turns out Cid was good with kids, no doubt having raised Cindy by himself, often sharing parenting hints or two with them that helped more than greatly.
And with constantly having their hands full with this child, that impulse to crawl back to the Citadel was gone, both for Prompto and Ignis and maybe Gladio, too. It was replaced with an urge to come back to the Cape early, wondering how he was doing; in Gladio’s case, to make more unexpected visits.
Regalius, they had named him, after a week of caring for him. In a manner pertaining to a king. It only seemed fitting considering where he was found. But as the days went on, they referred to him by his middle name instead: Noctis.
It wasn’t on purpose. Yet everyone who knew him often slipped up about it. His usual quiet, sleepy temperament didn’t help, and especially those flashes of familiar blue eyes whenever he smiled or laughed. His black hair growing in only cemented it further, until not referring him by Noctis didn’t feel right.
Prompto and Ignis knew they both thought the same thing about him, but had never brought it up since that first day. Perhaps there was a piece of the Noct they had known’s own soul in him, sent by the Astrals to keep a tiny piece of the Lucis Caelums in this world. Perhaps it was him, given another chance at life without the fate and burden his bloodline had given him—
Those thoughts and the silence in the room were permeated by a sharp cry.
“Your turn now,” Prompto laughed, clapping Ignis on the shoulder.
Seven months in, little Noctis never stopped tugging on everyone’s hearts.
Prompto and Ignis were both in their bedroom when he was crawling, turning, spinning on the rug. Prompto was knelt beside him, arms wide open as he beckoned him into a hug. It took him several tries but eventually Noct crawled into them, smiling as he got picked up, laughing as Prompto nuzzled his nose on his.
“When you’re older we’ll bring you to Insomnia,” Prompto told him, blowing raspberries on his stomach. “And you’ll get to see all the progress your dads have made in the city!”
Ignis was laid on the couch, visor off and eyes closed, a small smile on his lips as he listened to Prompto chatter. It had been a heavy day of work and they had arrived home just as the sun set; they needed to recharge for tomorrow, and there was nothing that eased him more than listening to people he loved more than anything.
It was slow, slower than everyone else’s, his progress for falling for little Noctis. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t see the striking resemblance in their looks that everyone who laid eyes on him commented on, perhaps because the pain of losing him, the person he lived for, still tugged freshly in his heart. But there were moments…moments where little Noct would wrap his tiny fingers around Ignis’s gloved ones, poke at his scarred eye in curiosity, or refuse to sleep in anywhere but his arms.
It was also fulfilling, in a sense, to have someone tangible to rebuild the nation for, to have someone to pass it onto when the time came.
“Today we finished patching up the massive hole in the Citadel,” Prompto told little Noctis, poking his cheeks. “All we have to do now is clean up the interior, and then we can focus on the outer court.” He poked with every single word, making Noct laugh and laugh again.
“Quite a lot of progress for seven months, wouldn’t you say, Noct?” Ignis lowered a hand off the sofa, feeling Prompto’s shoulder to Noct’s hair, ruffling the strands. “I hope you’re proud of us.”
He and Prompto both knew their words were not only for the Noctis here, but also for the Noctis who left. In a strange way, caring for him together had soothed the gaping pain they had in both of their souls quicker than they thought it would’ve.
Time that might’ve been spent mourning were instead replaced with spending time with little Noctis instead, reading to him and holding him and watching him figure out the world at his own pace, blue eyes full of wonder. As the months went, the indifference and fear they both had felt at the start had fizzled away, replaced fully by duty and love.
In addition, Ignis believed his relationship with Prompto only strengthened, bonding over a new part of their lives that only they had the experience of. He had already known he was going to spend the rest of his life with Prompto, but having a child, raising a family…they were inseparable in a greater sense.
“You know you’re so loved, right?” Prompto asked little Noctis, spooning him in his lap as he lifted him and sat down next to Ignis, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Your dads love you more than anything. C’mon, Ignis,” he nudged his fiancé. “Tell him.”
“It’s true,” Ignis took tiny Noct’s tiny palm in his hand, giving a gentle smooth. “I love you both deeply.”
All the attention only made Noctis giggle, biting his fists as he smiled with his not-full-yet set of teeth. He squeezed Ignis’s finger with a wet hand, tugging on Prompto’s cotton shirt with another, and decided to tug their hearts even more with two simple syllables: “Dada.”
Ignis immediately sat up.
“What was that, Noct?” Prompto asked him, voice clear and hopeful. This was his first word, first true word that wasn’t incoherent babbles or crying, right about the age Gladio had told them he’d start. But there was the thing about having two fathers, and something Ignis expected would happen—they didn’t know who that dada was directed to.
“Dada,” Noctis repeated, smiling, completely oblivious to the contest between his dads that was now brewing with this simple word.
“Which of us, Noctis?” Ignis scooted over, leaning close to him, pointing to himself and Prompto. “Which?”
Noctis simply gurgled another laugh.
“He’s pointing at me,” Prompto lied to him, flicking Ignis’s shoulder. “I’m the better dad.”
Ignis ignored him, lifting up Noct into his arms and on his lap instead. “Come now, Noctis.” He tapped his nose. “That was for me, correct?”
But little Noctis didn’t say anything more, soon squirming in Ignis’s arms to be set down on the ground. He did, begrudgingly, hearing him scrabble away.
He could feel Prompto next to him, holding back a laugh. “Looks like it wasn’t—”
Ignis raised a finger up. “Not another word.”
Prompto pinched his forearm in retaliation. Acting quick, he knocked away Ignis’s hands trying to push him off and onto the floor, grabbing a fistful of his sweater vest to steady himself, hysterical. “Just admit you’re jealous he loves me more than you!”
Ignis pouted—full on pouted, puffing his lips. “You can’t prove that.”
They hadn’t noticed that Noctis had returned, the hand of a moogle doll Iris had made him gripped tightly in his little fist.
“What’s that, Noct?” Prompto ruffled his hair, booped his nose. “Something for which Dada?”
But Noctis didn’t look at both of them, fully focused on trying bite the thread off one of the moogle’s button eyes. “Dada,” he mumbled to it, drool dripping onto its face.
Ignis and Prompto only listened to him until the other couldn’t hold in the laughs anymore.
“Come now, Noctis,” Ignis pleaded. “We didn’t have these imported from Lestallum just for you to push them away.”
It was a slightly foggy early morning, and Prompto watched the warm sunlight shine through their big circular windows. He watched it shine onto Ignis’s still messy and wet hair and little Noct seated in a high chair, refusing a spoonful of mashed beans like his life wholly depended on it.
If the big Noctis was looking on from wherever he was, Prompto knew he would be proud.
“Just one more,” Ignis was saying. “One more.”
Prompto snapped a picture from behind Ignis, capturing Noct’s disgusted grimace, head turned away from the spoonful of doom.
It was nearly a year since Noctis’s death, and nearly a year since they first picked up little Noctis off that throne. Despite the first month after the light came back where the pain was too fresh, Prompto tried to capture all these moments and milestones as he grew. He had planned for an album for every year, hoping to be able to shelve them when they fixed up Insomnia and moved back in.
He clicked and clicked, making sure the soft morning lighting was hitting his son and fiancé’s faces just right.
Noctis pushed a hand out at Ignis when he tried again, nearly tipping over the spoon. “No beaaans!” he whined.
The way he stressed out that word—Prompto blinked back to that day in Hammerhead, listening to Takka’s requests over a decade ago.
It seemed Ignis had felt the same thing, too. “Noct,” he said as he pulled the spoon away, in the tone he usually reserved for the older Noctis when caught doing something undivine.
“Ig-gy,” little Noct replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Even without a full year on him, he seemed to know nothing irritated his fathers more than calling them anything than dada.
Prompto captured this moment too, and the moment right after, when Noctis managed to spill the bowlful of beans all over Ignis’s freshly ironed Kingsglaive uniform.
If it weren’t him, the anniversary of the day that Noctis died would’ve cut deep into each of them. But instead they spent this day celebrating him—both their Noctis and the Noctis gone—inviting the entire Amicitia family retinue and everyone they had met on their journey over to the Cape.
The house was livelier than it ever had been, hearing people chatter, pinning golden decorations onto the walls, posing for pictures as Prompto went around to capture this day for their little boy.
Aranea had him now, seated near a circular window overlooking the bright shining sea. She held him on her hip, after thankfully removing all her spiky armour at two worried dads’ insistence, muttering “Dear Little Prince,” over and over and over to Noct’s delight.
Iris was here too, with her brother, arranging a vase of sylleblossoms she had collected on missions in Tenebrae onto the dining table as Gladio set placemats and utensils down. Prompto barely recognised her when she showed up on the steps, her brown hair now long and braided tightly, her muscled arms covered in the wings of an eagle.
Ignis was in the kitchen alongside Monica and Dustin, overworking the stove. They had been in there for hours, now setting aside several dishes they’d prepared for today, warm steam wafting from all the plates.
Prompto took pictures of everything—he had to make up for the month he missed, right? He snapped at Ignis, still wearing the same apron he’d had as a teen; at Aranea, lifting little Noctis high in the air; at Iris and Gladio, trying to out-flex the other.
He was taking pictures of the bright summer day outside on top of the lighthouse when the elevator dinged, and out stepped his two friends. The wind blew Gladio’s dark hair wild as he rested onto the metal railings, blew Ignis’s thin cotton shirt around his waist as he took Prompto’s hand in his. They stood there, words and years and moments and memories between them, all needed to not be spoken.
They took a picture together, a sizeable gap between Prompto and Gladio’s shoulders. As the elevator descended, the old metal creaking and groaning, Gladio said what they all needed to hear: “I think he’d be proud of us.”
Thank the gods the salty winds were strong enough to blow the tears from his eyes.
The sun was nearing the horizon when the door rung again, and Prompto swung it wide open to find Cor. The white in his hair, the lines in his eyes—they were much more evident now, his eventful lifetime catching up to him. He was still in his Kingsglaive uniform, hands behind his back, thin lips taut as he nodded in greeting.
It was dark when everyone was seated around the dining table, clapping in unison and singing to dear Noctis. “Happy birthday to you!” everyone bellowed as Cor held him in his arms, showing him his chocolate birthday cake adorned with a large, fiery 1.
Cor leaned to blow out the fire for him, mildly missing Noctis’s outstretched fist trying to grab the flame. “Don’t,” he warned him, tapping his chubby cheek lightly. “Fire’s dangerous for someone as little as you.”
But he reached out again through the smoke coming from the extinguished candle, aiming for the glass vase full of fresh sylleblossoms in the middle of the table. “Lulu,” he whined at it. “Lu-na.”
The moments after were perhaps the quietest a birthday party had ever been. There it was again—the question of who he really was.
They spent his second birthday in Lestallum with Aunt Iris and Uncle Gladio showing him the sights and sounds and everything else that Lucis had to offer.
Ignis held him secure with two arms, standing in front of the late afternoon sun on the town’s balcony lookout as he posed for perhaps the twelfth hundred photo Prompto was taking today.
“Iggy,” whined Prompto, unhappy behind his camera. “Your visor lens keeps catching the sun.”
Ignis freed an arm, still holding Noctis securely with the other, and pushed it up to his forehead. “Pray tell, dear Prompto, how am I supposed to know such things?”
Prompto waved away his fiancé’s dumb quip with a snort. “Just take it off. I like you better without it anyway.”
Even though Ignis shook his head at him, he slipped his glasses off, folding them on his belt before adjusting his grip on Noctis. “You say that with every article of clothing I have, Prompto.”
Gods, did he really say that while multiple bottles of milk were strapped to his belt? Prompto stuck his tongue out in fake disgust. “Don’t say things like that in front of Noct-Noct.”
“Noct-Noct?” Noctis perked up at his name.
Ignis laughed—full on laughed, the sun shining on his scarred skin. He was beautiful, and Prompto made sure to capture every frame, every picture of his family in that perfect, warm lighting.
There were a thousand more pictures that dinner with Iris and Gladio, holding Noctis between them as he blew his two candles out. Tons of the five of them together, tripod set up as he held Noctis in his lap, watching him tear the wrapping off a new carbuncle plushie Iris made for him.
It nearly felt like the old days.
Their home on Cape Caem had served them well throughout the years, but it was time to say goodbye.
Stable power had been rerouted back in Insomnia and all the roads were fully cleared. Glaives, citizens, people who were displaced those ten years—they were all moving back into the city, aiding the greater clearing up progress immensely. Lestallum often sent trucks overflowing with rebars and concrete past Hammerhead, now starting on the project to fully rebuild the civilian district.
One of the projects that was now fully completed was the Citadel and its outer court.
Gladio had moved back into the Amicitia manor a month ago, his retinue following his lead. Ignis and Prompto had visited along with little Noctis in tow, watching him bounce on the newly cleaned sofas, rolling around on the massive rugs.
The decision to move back to the Crown City was mainly for him, insuring he would grow up surrounded by people, loved and cared for. But exactly where to had stalled their decision. Ignis only had a small one-room apartment and Prompto’s childhood home was currently too isolated. The Citadel’s quarters was the next probable choice, but…it was still the building where they had last seen their best friend, where he had taken his last breath.
There also was Noct’s old apartment and Ignis’s parents’ place, yet none of them felt right. There was too much history in each building, and they had already seen a Noctis lost over such a thing.
Gladio, sick of hearing them going back and forth, offered them a spot in his compound until they figured it out. There was no other choice but acceptance, seeing how ecstatic Noctis was at the idea of living with his aunt and uncle.
They were on their way now, having borrowed Talcott’s truck for all their stuff. Prompto was driving and Ignis was next to him, obviously intensely listening to sense if he was looking at the road or not. Prompto, though, he had learned his lesson when he’d broken the Regalia nearly thirteen years ago. And he definitely didn’t want to give his fiancé more material to tease him with.
Noctis was in the back, his oversized moogle plushie wrapped in his black-clad arms, his cheek pressed against the car door in deep sleep. Fortunately for his fathers he turned out to be a heavy sleeper, allowing many a late night conversation throughout the years.
“Kinda crazy how much progress we’ve all done on the city,” Prompto said, thankfully with his eyes still on the road. “It really seems like nothing happened.” With every visit it felt more and more like their Insomnia. There were tiny hints left of the devastation, of course, but in the coming years they would be patched up. They’d see to it themselves.
Ignis smirked. His visor was long forgone; his closed, scarred eye crinkled up with his smile. “Considering it settled down enough, now?”
“Heh.” Even with the years, the age lines on his old, hardened face, Ignis seemed to always make him blush with things unexpected. “You’re still up for marrying me, then?”
He could tell he was holding back the urge to pinch his thigh. “Of course I am,” Ignis said. “Wouldn’t you like it to be official?”
Prompto bit his lip. He had thought about it often, despite already considering the three of them an inseparable team, even with all their faults and the shared lack of knowledge on what real parents were. He and Ignis had stuck through the stumbles, and he believed little Noctis was living a good life. Better than the lonely childhoods they’ve both been through.
But to be able call Ignis his husband, to be able to maybe take his last name or maybe give him his, to promise him officially to be with him for the rest of his days…he had to blink the tears away from his eyes. He leaned over, overwhelmed with the impulse to kiss his fiancé deep on the lips—
But Ignis pinched his forearm. “Eyes on the road, Prompto.”
For an almost four year old, moving to a new place only meant one thing: there was a new adventure to be had.
Unfortunately, today’s adventure had to happen at eleven in the evening.
Prompto and Ignis held each of Noctis’s mittened hands, their son swinging about between them both. He could see the glittering night lights of the Citadel court from outside the bedroom window every single day, and tonight he refused to soundly sleep snuggled up to his parents, not letting them get a wink of rest until he’d explored every nook and cranny.
Sometimes Prompto couldn’t understand children. But this one was his son, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make him happy tonight.
Cold wind blew, tousling Noctis in his tiny black coat. It only made him yell in delight.
They circled the big turnabout outside the building thrice, hoping it would quench his curiosity; but Noctis only slipped his hands away from his parents, running through foliage near the edge of the building and soon out of sight.
Ignis listened to the leaves rustle far away. “Where’d he go, Prompto?”
Prompto yawned, wiping stray tears of tiredness off his cheeks. Why couldn’t he just be in bed right now? “I’m way too old for this,” he said, grabbing Ignis’s hand and pulling him through the bushes.
It led to a small expanse of open grass, stone pathways lit up into a small hedge maze. No Noctis in sight.
Ignis could hear the unnerving late night silence stretch out. “Did you lose him?”
“Uh.” He tugged him over the pathways, steps loud in the night, leading him into the maze. Most of the hedges were only waist height, thankfully—and it didn’t take him long to see a black mop of hair blown dishevelled by the winds trotting down a path. “Come on,” he said to Ignis, speeding up to a light jog. “Noct!”
Noctis looked back, smiled at his parents, and hid behind the bushes.
“Damn it, Noct.”
He wasn’t there when they reached that spot, having jumped over bushes and stumbled over hedges. Any sleepiness Prompto felt was shaken away as he ran, combing through leaves and everything in reach. Dread was pooling in his stomach, and for the first time he entertained the idea of losing him.
Ignis slipped his gloved hand out from Prompto’s tightening grip. “I can manage,” he said, tone unreadable. Perhaps was thinking the same thing. “You go and get him.”
Prompto brushed twigs and branches away from his face, entering the deeper part of the maze, hedges growing to be heads taller than him, the night sky now obscured. “Noctis!” No answer. Scrambling, frantic, he moved on quick.
Gods. He never used to understand the way parents would act if their child went out of sight for a couple of seconds, yelling through crowded subway stations and shopping halls; Prompto understood now, being an actual father himself. He muttered a silent apology as he brushed another branch out of his way.
Five minutes later he had to pause, heaving the breath into his lungs with haste. He seemed to be going in circles, every part of this stupid maze looking the same. Ignis not being by his side was taking a toll on him, too; it seemed so lonely, so silent, jarring after the years he spent as everything but.
Prompto looked up to the night sky, the moon full and wide. He knew it held no answers to his questions, but he hoped—and then, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a small slip of white marble peeking out from behind a hedge. A statue, maybe? If he were a three year old, he’d bet he’d be attracted to it.
Refastening his coat over his shoulders, he started a walk again with newfound hope, wishing for the best.
It took him a minute to find the right path there. When the white statue filled his view—along with someone else—he nearly collapsed in relief.
There was Ignis, head whipping around as he heard Prompto’s footsteps. “Prompto!” He circled the statue’s base, waving a hand in the air. “Here.” And in his other hand held Noctis’s—Prompto felt the breath rush in too quick in his lungs.
“Noctis!” He ran and knelt, knees sliding in the grass, wrapping his muscled arms tightly around his son. “Don’t run away like that, you hear?” he said, breathless, taking hold of his shoulders. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“Sorry,” Noctis mumbled, twiddling with his fingers, not meeting his eyes. There weren’t any scratches or bruises on him—he was okay, and that was all that mattered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Prompto gave him another hug, gentler, heart rate returning to a normal pace. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” he shook his head to show his seriousness. “Dad—” he turned back to Ignis, “—said it was…reck…less.”
“Mhm.” Prompto sunk into the plush grass, crossing his legs. He needed the rest, now that there was no more adrenaline rushing through him. Noctis promptly climbed into it, resting his head on his father’s chest, happy for the reassuring strokes Prompto was combing through his hair.
Ignis crouched onto a knee, reaching out to touch Prompto’s shoulder to steady himself. “What had taken your attention, Noct-Noct? Why’d you run away?”
“I wanted to see—that thing,” Noctis pointed to the side, to the great white marble Prompto completely forgotten about while rushing to his son. “The…sta…tue?”
Prompto turned and saw it clearly for the first time. It was a grand, marble statue, lit up with spotlights and surrounded by wreaths of sylleblossoms, perfectly framing the subjects within—Noctis, the old Noctis, and Lunafreya.
They were standing side-by-side, their hands held and joined between them, wedding rings gleaming in the moonlight. Luna’s wedding dress flowed around them both, the marble looking like actual fabric; Noctis’s suit was engraved with great detail, every thread in his sash reflected.
But—their faces was what took Prompto’s breath away. Even though he had only seen the older Noctis for one night, he was recreated perfectly, the shape of his eyes and the way his hair flowed; no doubt from the countless copies of pictures he had submitted for this. And Luna…Prompto had never gotten to truly meet her, only seen her face in photographs and spirit. But it felt like she was here, she was real, gentle smile gracing him in person.
“Statue,” Ignis corrected their son. He knelt down completely, sitting on his heels as he joined his family. “They finished it early, it seems.”
For the first time in a full minute, Prompto broke his stare from it. Looking back to Noctis, their Noctis with his matching blue eyes and shy smile, only resurfaced the question unanswered since almost four years ago.
Again…Prompto glanced back to his friends in marble, at their gazes that seemed to be right towards him. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be answered—perhaps it didn’t even need to be. They loved their son for who he was, for the own person he was now growing up to become, and he didn’t deserve to be saddled with a fate expected of him. The older Noctis had given himself for that freedom.
“Do you know?” Little Noctis settled back onto Ignis’s lap, wrapping his tiny mittened hands around his father’s shoulders. “Who are they?”
“Noctis Lucis Caelum and Lunafreya Nox Fleuret,” Ignis said to him, nodding to motion at each one, remembering their places from the blueprints. “They were two very good friends of your dads and Uncle Gladio.”
Noctis looked back to it again. “Where did they go?”
He was a bit too young to deal with death… “They’re away,” Prompto answered with, ruffling his hair. “They’re with the sun.”
Noctis apparently accepted this answer, but scrunched his face up, confused over something else. “But…he’s not Noct.” He patted his chest. “I’m Noct.”
He made the both of them laugh with this, and he whipped his head back and forth between both, not understanding why.
Prompto lightly tapped his nose. “We named you after him, Noct-Noct,” he said. “You look a lot like him, y’know.”
Noctis pouted again, tiny face crumpling in anger, mind going to one thing. “I’m not old!”
They laughed again, holding him close between them, glad that everything was okay.
It was past midnight when they arrived back home, trailing back through the hedge maze and past the Citadel gates, crawling back to a warm, comforting bed. Prompto shut his eyes as soon as he hit the pillow, tiredness from the stress of losing his son overcoming him; Ignis was the same, the entire day taking a toll.
But…Noctis. He laid between them both, a smile wide on his features, all bouncy and excited. The adventure, it seemed, only furthered his quest for more questions. “When are you getting mar-ried?” he asked, shaking both of their shoulders. “Like them?”
Prompto was too tired to even brush his hand away. “Noct-Noct, go to sleep.”
It didn’t do anything to deter him. “Can we have those flowers too? Can they come? Can Aunt Nea come too?” He shook the blankets in delight. “I want clothes like big Uncle Noct. And a haircut! And I want my own ring—!”
“Noctis.” Prompto pried an eye half-open, just in time to watch him start jumping up and down on the bed. He groaned, rubbing his old, tired eyes. “Iggy. Go control your son.”
“Can’t hear you,” Ignis mumbled, almost asleep and tugging his blanket close to his face.
“C’mon!” Jumping onto Prompto, Noctis pulled at his cheeks, trying to get him up. “Marry,” he whined. “Now.”
“Fine, fine,” Prompto sighed, reluctantly agreeing just to shush him. “I promise. Tomorrow. Just go to sleep. Okay?”
“Yes!” He yelled—and then saw Prompto put his finger over his lips. He copied the motion, voice dropping volumes. “Okay,” he whispered. “Sleep for tomorrow.”
Thankfully the hyperness wore out on him great, and he was asleep like a light five minutes later, snuggled into Ignis’s chest. Prompto however, now fully woken after being so tightly tugged at, found himself in Noct’s situation, unable to sleep. He only stared at the ceiling as he listened to both of them breathe.
Noctis had a point, he soon found himself thinking. There was no point to putting it off anymore, now that they were back in Insomnia and society and order were now rebuilding themselves. In fact, a wedding would do good for everyone—the hope for the future and love it would stand for, proving that the war was over, that Insomnia was again a safe place.
He turned and saw Ignis—Ignis with the scar that never healed over his eye, eyes closed as his chest rose and fell softly. He never wore his visor anymore if he weren’t helping rebuilding efforts or taking hunting requests for markets finding their footing, a testament to his change for domestic life.
Their first engagement was in the complete dark, surrounded by a ruinous, lifeless world full of daemons, after a battle that was nearly disastrous for both of them. “Marry me,” Ignis had said, his quick heartbeat in his words, holding his hands with a deathly grip. “I worry one day that I may not have the chance to ask.”
Prompto had said yes, the same worries etched in his soul. But there wasn’t any spare time, any spare resources, and deaths every week never gave them a perfect time. In the end, they waited, just the hope that they will one day holding them through every hunt.
And now, a decade later…
He fell asleep at that thought, arms around both the people he loved. When the morning sun had rose and he blinked awake, he found them in the kitchen, Noctis having forgotten all about that promise and suddenly more interested in Ignis’s cooking instead.
They both had nothing planned for this Sunday, so they brought little Noctis hand in hand to the park near the Citadel to spend the time.
It was less foreboding with the sun shining, less foreboding when they avoided the massive maze and stayed on the open field near the street, taking shade under hundreds of trees.
Prompto laid on their picnic blanket, camera in hand, looking through the hundreds of pictures he had taken of his family today. Noctis laid on his chest, intently watching each picture flash on the screen, laughing at the warped selfies Prompto had took or the too close photos of the bump on Ignis’s nose.
He was nearly five years old now, preschool age, height suddenly reaching their waists. Prompto and Ignis took the time to teach him themselves, their new careers as councilmen under Cor’s rule allowing them to spend much more time home. They soon had moved out of Gladio’s compound and into a newly built manor only a block away, given to them for services.
And it was a week after then, when Prompto held a mug between his hands late after midnight, that it struck that they were more family than they ever were.
When the older Noctis departed to give them a dawn for the future, they swore marriage off, wanting to honour his wishes and settle everything down before focusing on themselves. Recently, though, since that first night in the Citadel gardens, it kept floating to the front of his mind. Taking his thoughts when they were meant to be on something else. Ignis’s words on that night in the truck being revisited, again and again.
It didn’t help that jewellers and their trucks parked so closely to grocery and convenience stores and Prompto got a glimpse of matching gold wedding bands every single day. It also definitely didn’t help he already had a pair he was attached to, wondering how it would look like on Ignis’s finger.
Flipping through the pictures, at the ones Aunt Iris took of the three of them close together, the thoughts of being a true family resurfaced. And this time was different—he was determined to do something about it.
Because if not now, on a perfect day with the sun shining bright, the world full of life—when?
“Hey,” Prompto set his camera down and turned to Noctis, ruffling a hand through his now longer black hair. “Can I ask you a question, Noct?”
“Uh-huh.” Noct tilted his head, resting his chin on his chest. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
He lifted up a finger. “But be sure not to tell your other dad, okay?”
“A secret?” blinked Noctis.
“Mhm.” Prompto let the wind blow first, closing his eyes as the leaves above rustled together in a song. “As secretive as a secret should be.” He smoothed the back of Noctis’s hair, taking a deep breath for himself before he said the words out loud and cemented everything out in the open. “I…sorta…want to ask your dad to marry me. For real this time.”
Noctis near jumped from excitement, gripping Prompto’s arm and waving it around in glee. “You’re gonna have a wedding?! Like big Uncle Noct and Aunt Luna?”
So he never forgot. “Hell yeah,” Prompto smiled, bittersweetly. “And you’re gonna be a big part of it.”
Almost five years in, he still didn’t understand kids—Noct was running around in circles, cartwheels and tumbles and jumping in delight. “It took you long enough!” he yelled, jumping back onto the picnic blanket. And then he sat up, revelation anew. “Can I throw the flowers?”
But a moment later there was the sound of footsteps through grass, birds flying away; Prompto saw Ignis with a big paper bag hugged tightly to his button-up.
“Dad!” Noctis stood, meeting Ignis halfway. He squeezed his hand, not trying at all to hide the wide smile from his face for what was coming next.
“Here you go,” the paper bag crinkled as he set it on picnic mat, and he exhaled as he joined Prompto’s side. He passed a bottle of water to Prompto and then pulled out a sheet—stickers. “And, Noctis,” Ignis handed it to him, “Talcott said to consider it a week early birthday gift.”
It was all sylleblossoms—blue, white, red, in varying sizes. Noctis gasped; and he suddenly he threw his arms around Ignis, nearly making him fall to the ground. “Thank you!”
He laughed, wrapping his arms around him in return. “Don’t thank me,” he pinched his cheek. “Remember to be sure to thank him next time you see him, alright?”
“I promise,” he nodded. Then it was forgotten, now that both of his dads were here—he looked between Prompto and Ignis, eyes wide and hopeful, sticker sheet of sylleblossoms held tight to his chest. “Are you gonna get ma—”
“Shh,” Prompto caught him right on time, pressing his finger on his lips. “A secret, remember?”
“Ah,” he copied his motion. “Shh.”
Ignis smiled at both of them, catching onto their transparent attempt. “What’s all this about?”
Prompto took a moment to take it all in—this last moment, before he would change their lives forever. At his soft, scarred lips, the shadow of the leaves above and the sunlight shining through them, falling on his face that didn’t seem he was a day past thirty. At his closed eye, framed by skin that never fully healed.
He reached out to Ignis’s cheek, caressing that skin with his thumb. He threaded his fingers through his hair to the back of his head, bringing him close to brush his lips with his.
“Hmm?” Ignis asked once they parted, bemused by the sudden affection. The smile had never left his lips. “Softening, are you?”
“It’s what you do to me,” Prompto whispered, and he went in for another kiss, longer, deeper this time—
“Dad, ew!” Noctis clapped his hands repeatedly between them, breaking them apart. “C’mon, just ask him!”
Ignis softly chuckled—gods, Prompto fell in love with him even more. “Ask me what, Noct?”
Noctis shook Prompto’s shoulder, trying to pull him back and forth with all his might, and Prompto knew that there was no better place for this, no better time. He had to, now, even if he didn’t prepare anything at all. “Alright.” He took a shuddery breath, staring at his hands. “Ignis, may I…”
An idea came to play—Prompto gripped onto the worn silver band he had on his ring finger, slipping it off. And he took Ignis’s hand in his, held tight. “I think we’re settled down enough,” Prompto said, words breathless. “Would you…like to be a real family?”
The edges of Ignis’s lips only heightened, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Are you asking for my hand in marriage?”
“Yeah.” Prompto squeezed his hand, unable to keep the smile from his words. “I want—to marry you.”
Ignis squeezed back. “You know my answer,” he said. Were those—tears from his eyes? He wiped them away with his free hand, and rested them on their joined fingers, squeezing once again. “After all, it was I was the one who asked you first.”
“Yeah, well, you were too late this time!” laughed Prompto. Of course Ignis would bring that up in a moment like this. “C’mon, give me your hand. Let me make this official.”
His ring was too small for Ignis’s ring finger. They had to settle with slipping it onto his smallest finger instead, faces flushed and holding in their giggles like they were two younger lovers. “Recycling, I see,” Ignis teased him, getting a playful elbow in the side as a reply. “What?”
Prompto pinched his forearm in retaliation, nudging him with his head. But Ignis soon forgave their small quarrel, tugging his arm around his shoulders and bringing him close, planting a kiss on his brow.
“I love you,” Ignis said, exhilarated, whispering it against his skin. Words only for him. “More than anything.”
It was now his turn to be nearly brought to tears. “I love you, too—”
But they weren’t young lovers anymore, they weren’t hidden in bushes and isolated from the world. They had years, moments, memories between them—and most importantly, a son.
Noctis crashed into their arms, knocking them back into the picnic blanket. He held the camera securely in his grip like Prompto had thought him to. “I got it all on film!” He yelled, waving it excitedly around. “We’re gonna have a wedding!”
They laughed again and hugged him, completely grateful for his presence—Prompto especially, breathing in his scent as he tucked his nose into his black hair. If it weren’t for him and his nonexistent ability to keep secrets, would he ever have found another perfect time to propose?
But that was not a worry anymore; they were getting married. They would officially become a family.
It had been ten years since Ignis first asked him to marry him, in that hopeless, desolate darkness. And now, finally, it was no longer an empty promise, an empty reason to try to last another day. There was the future full of light in front of them, countless coming years they’d spend by each others’ sides, moments they needed to write, memories they needed to live.
There was the future right between them, begging to be throwing the flower petals on their wedding day, saying that this was the best early birthday gift ever.
“Regalius Noctis Argentum,” Ignis was saying, pronouncing the syllables loud and clear. He was seated in a chair parked at a vanity at Gladio’s manor, folding silvery iridescent invitation cards and stuffing them in envelopes. “Or Regalius Noctis Scientia…what do you say, Noct-Noct?”
“I say Argentum is better,” Prompto replied from across the room. He was writing names from a list of people they’ve compiled together over the last few weeks. They had both agreed to keep it a small, personal affair—close friends and family only. “I mean, like,” stressed Prompto, waving a hand around. “Imagine you introducing yourself as Ignis Argentum, my husband. That’s a damn powerful name right there.”
“One could say the same about Prompto Scientia,” Ignis huffed. But in truth—both ideas of taking his future husband’s name or him taking his managed to always flush his cheeks. “In the end,” he settled, “Noct-Noct has the final decision.”
Noct was between them both, laid on his chest on the carpet, picking out flowers from several types Aunt Iris brought to him early this morning. Even with his fixation with sylleblossoms, it didn’t feel right taking such a staple of Noct and Luna’s for their own. Fortunately, little Noctis was interested in all types of flowers, his mind now stuck between two.
“What do you think, Noct?” Prompto slid his chair back, the legs creaking as he got up to his feet.
He even didn’t look up. “I want Aunt Nea there or else.”
Ignis could hear Prompto shuffle the remaining invitations into his arms, crossing the room. “She was one of the first ones we told, remember?” he asked as he circled past him.
“Ugh.” Noct rolled onto his back on the plush carpet, groaning. “I don’t know!”
Having to choose between sunflowers and hydrangeas seemed to be the end of the world for him. He had been mulling over it all through the morning, pouting at the blooms, holding each stem in his hand and never letting go. Everything they said to him since then seemed to not connect.
Prompto set the last stack of invitations onto Ignis’s desk, patting his hands clean. “What else after this, Iggy?”
“We already have the venue secured for three weeks from now, music sorted, equipment rented.” He pushed one in an envelope with a methodical grace, pulling the last few into his fingers. “There’s sealing and sending these out, flower orders, finding a photographer, our wedding tuxedos, rings, food—I can handle that—”
“Um, nope, you’re not,” Prompto squeezed his shoulder. “It’s your wedding day, Iggy. Relax for a bit.”
He had a point—but it didn’t feel right serving someone else’s food on a day they were celebrating themselves and their friends. It was just another expense. He still had managed on each of Noctis’s past five birthdays, had managed years ago when balanced it with a busy lifestyle. “I’m aware, however—”
“If you’re doing the dishes then I’m doing the wedding photography,” Prompto set his foot down. “No buts or howevers.”
Fine. He was right. “At your insistence,” he reluctantly agreed.
He felt Prompto’s fingers pinch his cheeks—he shook him away. “I’ll take on a few extra hunts for the costs that you’re so obviously worried about,” he said, exaggerating his tone. “Let your hair down a bit, yeah? You’re gonna have a really wealthy husband in a few weeks.”
There was a smile on Ignis’s face he couldn’t will away when he flicked at his fiancé in retaliation.
Days later at seven in the morning when Ignis was at the stove, young Noctis ran down the stairs, both flower stems in his grip as he yelled loud enough to echo through the house: “I’ve decided!”
Prompto was at the dining table, flipping down the newspaper he was reading to see his son. “Decide what, buddy?”
“Flowers,” Noctis said, setting both of them on the table. He was still in his pyjamas. “I want both!”
“Whoa,” Prompto folded away the paper, leaning up to see the flowers that were still blooming, green and lively—Noctis had put them and every other one he got in vases, caring for them all. “Would it work, though? They don’t blend in the same.”
“Yes,” Noct stressed, placing the hydrangeas right under the sunflower bloom. “With leaves and ferns it’ll look amazing!”
“Trust him,” Ignis inputted, fryer sizzling as he flipped an egg. “He’s the expert on flowers in this household.”
Prompto took a moment to look at it, to envision it. He was right. “It’s perfect,” he agreed, ruffling a smiling Noct’s hair. “I’ll make the call when I head out today. Do you want to come, Noct-Noct?”
“Hell yeah!” He pumped his fists into the air, running up the stairs to change. Prompto ignored Ignis’s arched brow at him and his influence, his son’s smile and laughter wearing onto him. And he got up, pressed a kiss on the back of Ignis’s neck, tickling the sensitive part of his waist and made him laugh, too.
“Last day as my fiancé,” Prompto said to him as Ignis slipped under the covers of their bed, late at night after the last day of cramming over the plans one last time. He wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss onto his scarred eye, the skin tickling under his lips.
Ignis returned the gesture, holding him close, kissing his tired eyes. The past few weeks they’ve been so affectionate with each other—much to Noct’s disgust. There was always a hand on each others’ waists, skin to kiss, a feature to praise…they were finally catching up on the years they spent scared and disillusioned for the future, years they’ve missed since that day Ignis decided he had nothing more to lose, and confessed to him on the train to Gralea.
Ignis laughed as he snaked a hand under his shirt and up his back, his calloused fingertips tickling his skin. “You—always make it seem like we’re about to split,” he managed to breathe out between his laughter.
Prompto didn’t let out, sinking his nose into his bare shoulder. “Can’t wait to introduce you as Ignis Argentum, my ex-husband.”
“Ah,” Ignis said, managing to push him off, catching his breath. “You’ve decided, then?”
“It’s only right.” Prompto squeezed his hand, throwing an arm—thankfully not on assault mode anymore—over his shirt. Bringing him closer. “I mean, I did ask you.”
“Are we forgetting what happened ten years ago?”
“You lost your chance,” he pinched his cheek. And Ignis felt him take a deep breath, right before nestling his head in his chest. Silence. Strands of his hair tangled in Ignis’s fingers as he brushed them through it, cradling him close, letting this moment be remembered forever. “I love you,” Prompto whispered to him. “More than anything.”
Here was the thousandth kiss of the day, planted on his forehead. “I love you, too.”
Their alarm rung at five, and the rest of the morning was a quick blur. Even though Ignis couldn’t see, their friends insisted on tradition, separating the couple as soon as they arrived.
“Stop stressing,” were the last words Prompto said to him before he was whipped away by Gladio, tuxedo in tow. “It’s gonna go great.”
And yet, sat in the middle of his living room that Iris had turned into a makeshift parlour, intricately styling his brown hair, there was still a twitch in his brow.
“I should’ve insisted on catering,” he was saying, trying to stay still, as she brushed his hair back with a comb that seemed to dig into his skull. “We put in the orders so late—what if there wasn’t enough time—”
“Aww, don’t worry.” Iris sprayed setting spray, dusting stray strands from his shoulders, whirling around the room for the next objective—make-up. “There isn’t time for that. Just think of what you’ll mean to each other after this is all done.”
She was right. The extravagance of this event didn’t matter in the end. It was the marriage—it was them. Ignis closed his eyes, focusing on her words as she brushed power onto his cheeks.
There wasn’t much time to let them sink in, though—it was all allotted for the long drive out. Iris shut the door to their manor, tin-foiled breakfast in tow, taking his hand and guiding him to her car.
To say Ignis didn’t feel wasn’t any hesitance would be a lie. He was well acquainted with another Amicitia’s driving, and was the reason why he wasn’t allowed anymore. “Should I be worried?”
“You do know I turned thirty this year, right?”
She was a better driver than her brother, fortunately, not seeing potholes and cracked concrete as a beckoning challenge. They drove from the city centre and past the Insomnian gates that never closed anymore, trailing into dusty Leide roads. There was a stop by Hammerhead to pick up Cindy and Cid, and both of them still the same people Ignis remembered them as, under the years and the age lines on their faces.
Then again, Iris drove, chatter and catching up between them four making the hour feel like a few minutes. It didn’t even register when she pulled up to Cape Caem, parking the car and opening his door.
Prompto hadn’t arrived yet, she told him as they ascended the stone steps up to the house they both used to live in. Her retainers were, though, and as they swung open the creaky door to the house he was engulfed with a welcoming smell of baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, a mixture of meats—catering.
Iris nudged him with an elbow. “Told you.”
Fine—she was right. Prompto was right. He shouldn’t spend this day worrying anymore; it was his wedding day for the gods’ sakes. There wouldn’t be another chance to make this happen again.
By the time that fact started sinking in, they had ushered him off to his sectioned room with a promise Monica and Dustin would attend to the finishing touches. Iris shut the door, and this hectic day suddenly felt too silent.
But he wasn’t alone. “Here he is,” Aranea’s voice sounded from across the room. With a small plastic clang she set something down—a comb—and then a chair creaked.
Two chairs, actually.
“Dad!” Noctis crossed the room in seconds, crashing into him with the force of the sun. He wrapped his arms around his waist with no care for either of their suits, burying his face in his stomach.
Ignis knelt to hug him even closer, the familial presence washing a great calm over him. He was careful not to ruffle his hair, making due with patting his shoulders instead. “I’m sure you look wonderful in your suit,” Ignis booped his nose, lips curling up in a smile. “Is that a hint of cologne?”
“Yeah!” Noctis raised his arms and twirled. “Aunt Nea gave me some!”
“He begged me for it.” She pinched his cheek. “C’mon,” and she tugged on both of their arms, heels clicking as she pulled them with her gloved hands to the back of the room. “I can’t have you both looking like thrown candy wrappers on your big day.”
It wasn’t soon after until another car—Gladio’s—pulled up to the drive. They were the last to arrive; Ignis could sense the commotion and the chatter near the lighthouse. After a peek out a massive circle window Noctis let out a squeal, running straight from Aranea’s grip and out the door, half of his hair still sticking up.
The fondness was evident in Ignis’s expression; he let him go with a happy sigh. “Family life has definitely changed you, Specs,” Aranea noted, tucking a hydrangea in his breast pocket. “I still remember you whining about showers seventeen times in that dungeon.”
“It’s simply his charm,” he said, gone soft. “Both he and Prompto have such an effect on me.”
Aranea snorted, shaking her head, her dangly earrings chiming with the movement. “Save that mush for the altar.”
Time rushed once again as the tenth hour soon neared. There was a flurry of people weaving in and out of the room at a pace so fast Ignis couldn’t identify them quick enough. Flowers were brought in, a bouquet pressed into his hands, last minute touches for everyone and himself. Photography crammed several hundred photos in five minutes, the click-click-clicking and the flashes of light ringing in his head.
But then there was silence again when everyone took their places in the ceremony, leaving Ignis and his thoughts alone. He stood by the old door with his fingers threaded together, listening for any sign of what was going on outside. There was rarely anything that could unnerve him, having gone through hell and back for his friends; but this, even with Prompto’s answer fully guaranteed, was enough to make his heart beat rapidly in his throat.
He was not used to things unfolding the way he wished. Perhaps it was that; the fact that this would be a happy ending for everyone.
There was a creak on the wooden stairs—heavy, even, weighted. Gladio. He pushed open the flaky door with a shoulder, greeting Ignis with a tight squeeze on his arm. “Feeling nervous?”
Ignis covered it up with a shaky smile. “I’ve been waiting half my life for this.”
But the history spent around each other meant he couldn’t fool him. “It’s okay,” Gladio pat his back, amusement in his words. “He said the exact same thing.”
Down the stairs and out the door, they waited by the porch. The overhead sun was warming his skin as Cor spoke aloud for them at the altar, his words clear over the salty winds blowing free. With his request, the music started to play. He could hear the shuffling of everyone as they stood, and the loud, collective gasps soon after as the groom—well, the first groom—turned the corner and ascended the uphill carpeted aisle.
Ignis didn’t need to look at him to know he was the most stunning person there.
Gladio left him after, serving as the best man for both of them, his footsteps gathering hollers and cheers. As practiced, their little Noctis was next, and Ignis could practically sense the glee he felt as he threw petals in the wind, showering the aisle and their guests with sunflowers and hydrangeas until his basket was cleared to the two rings at the bottom.
And then it was his turn. Cor announced his presence, and on cue, he stepped down the porch.
Ignis rose up the hill of Cape Caem, hydrangeas and sunflowers in hand, to foot of the lighthouse. He could hear Noct’s shushed cheer, everyone’s breathing, the winds whirling fast—but he focused on one thing, his overwhelming feelings drowning out everything else. He could pick up the way Prompto’s breath seized in his throat even halfway down the aisle, feel his eyes water up at the sight of him, love overcoming everything else. For both of them.
A tear slid down Ignis’s scarred cheek. He let it fall, free.
He took Prompto’s hand tightly and listened to Gladio’s speech for the both of them, honouring the lives theirs had touched the people who brought them together. There was an moment for Noctis and Lunafreya, a dedication to the people lost, words for the future of not only them, but Insomnia; there were words for their Noctis and his future, a promise to him from his parents would see to it to be the best they could make it so.
Ignis couldn’t help but lift his hand to feel Prompto’s face when it came to their vows, fingertips aching from missing those lines set into his warm, worn skin. He traced his fingers over the stubble on his chin, over the weariness the world had given him under his eyes, over his smiling lips Ignis had memorised the shape of years ago.
“I do,” Prompto said, promised, and Ignis could feel the emotion carried in his voice as his throat hummed with the words.
And Cor turned to him, asking acceptance, sacrifice, everything in between. To tell the truth: he already promised all this in whispers on a creaky train ride to Cartanica, nearly half his life ago. “I do,” Ignis vowed to once again, slipping on each other that pair of golden rings Prompto fell in love with as he did him. A perfect, snug fit.
That final kiss as fiancés and first kiss as husbands could only be described as bittersweet, tasting like a journey starting and ending, weaving their history and their future together. The second kiss, however, was all smiles and laughs amid the cheers of their friends, crashing their lips onto each other too quick and too fast.
It was funny now, looking back to that day one week after the dawn. How those months of insecurities had lead them onto a better path, had lead them here. Where would they be now if it weren’t for him? As wedding bells rang and flower petals flew, they pulled their son into a hug, his cheeks strained from smiling too hard receiving the third, fourth, fifth kisses.
It was a day for him, too.
They had their pictures taken during cake cutting, taken at their first dance as husbands, taken as Ignis threw the bouquet. (Aranea got it, not by choice; the winds nearly blew it into the sea and she didn’t wish to see Noctis to cry over his handiwork lost.) But Prompto’s favourite part was when the commotion had settled and there wasn’t anyone else to greet, allowing him to drop the formalities, focusing on what was most important to him: his family.
The sun was setting and the sea winds had soothed by the time they settled on their picnic blanket on top of the lighthouse. Noctis was there, laid exhausted between his parents, resting his head on Prompto’s lap. Their suit jackets were gone and their hair was down, appearances not needed here.
“Hey, Husband,” Prompto clicked the shutter, capturing this moment just for themselves. “Any thoughts on being a married man yet? Regretting it?” He giggled as he took a shot of Ignis’s bewildered expression—perfect.
“Actually, Husband,” he quipped back with a smirk rising, “I’m enjoying it so far. Perhaps I’ll enjoy even more when we’ll get back home and consu—”
Prompto hit his thigh with a heavy slap, but couldn’t hold the laugh. “Don’t say that in front of Noctis!”
He forgave him quick, though, leaning in for the thousandth kiss of the day right as the last sliver of sun disappeared under the horizon of the Cygillan Ocean. The sky was dark and full of stars when they returned to the elevator, Prompto carrying little Noctis in his arms as they descended the steps of Cape Caem to head out to Insomnia once again.
Gladio had stayed behind with the insistence of driving them back, and a reluctant Ignis agreed; the worries were unwarranted, however, and the hour drive home was spent with chatter between the three of them, Noctis asleep. Like the old days—but not without an obvious silence where someone should’ve been.
When they returned to Insomnia, Ignis made him drive right past the manor and towards the Citadel gardens, ending this journey where it all began. And there, next to that grand marble statue of Noctis and Luna, they took pictures that should’ve been taken fifteen years ago.
“Wait,” little Noct said as they started their walk back home, slipping his hands from his fathers’ grasps. He ran back to the statue again, him in his dark suit a stark contrast against the white marble, seeming so small and engulfed within. Then—he gripped onto the base, pushing himself up as he climbed onto it.
Prompto moved to pull him away—but Ignis pressed a finger on his arm before he could, sensing something coming. “Let him be,” he whispered.
So he did. And he watched as Noctis pulled a crumpled blue hydrangea from his pocket, pressing it into the other Noctis’s hand. Watched as he pressed a sunflower onto Luna’s hair, too, jumping off the statue’s base afterwards, not a word to either of his parents on why he did it.
They went home hand in hand, exhaustion from the ceremony soon piling over. They woke up to the dawn of the first day as an official family hours later, noting nothing truly changed from the years before as Prompto walked down the steps for breakfast.
It wasn’t like the title truly mattered to any of them, anyway.