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Summary
A hand reaches between the bars, and Noctis is too slow to move away before he’s grabbed by the chin, forcing him to look up into golden-amber eyes. The thumb traces Noctis’ jaw in a mock caress, the ruffles of the man’s sleeves brushing his cheek.
“Well done,” the Chancellor murmurs, turning Noctis’ face back and forth as if inspecting an exotic pet.