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It’s the not so quiet chirp of his phone that wakes Noctis up. He groans, rolling over to fumble by the side table to grab it, and manages to knock it onto the floor.
He very seriously considers leaving it there and returning to his blissful nap, but royal duty and all that, so he pulls himself out of bed and grumbles the entire way to the phone.
It’s his dad. Texts from his dad aren’t overly rare, but they’re very much in typical dad style, either too formal or with an absurd number of ellipses. They’re also usually the bearer of less than optimal news.
Sure enough, it’s one of those texts. The ones that include won’t be able to make it to dinner tonight, we’ll reschedule, I love you, the usual fanfare that signals yet another cancellation for their ever exceedingly rare father-son time.
It’s the third one that’s been cancelled this month. It frees up Noct’s schedule, but that doesn’t bring much comfort. The drawn out sigh he gives doesn’t help either.
He knows his dad loves him, he does. And he knows that as king his father has to do right by his people. He’s got no issue with that, no jealousy. It’s the path that his family line has to walk, and he’s made his peace with that, he thinks.
It’s just, getting put into a box as the Prince of Lucis and having His Majesty hoisted up on a throne so far away from him, it’s hard sometimes. They don’t get to talk much outside of council meetings anymore, and it’s been a while since they’ve been able to be just father and son.
He misses his dad.
But it won’t do any good to make a fuss. It’s not like his father can just up and walk away from his duties, and to add more pressure on him, when he’s already…
Noct won’t do that. There’s not enough time left as it is.
So he texts back ‘no problem, talk soon’, flicks his phone onto the edge of the bed, and sinks face first into his pillows.
~~~~~
“I thought you were busy tonight?”
Noctis bites his lower lip, hesitates before he speaks again. “Freed up. So, what do you say?”
“Of course, dude. I can never pass up an opportunity to kick your ass at Galaga.”
“You’re on. Meet you there at 6.”
“You got it!” Prompto’s chipper voice is almost enough to cut through the melancholy that’s wrapped around Noctis. He hopes that a night out with games and his goofy best friend will ease the ache in his chest.
Against his better judgment, he looks again at the message his father sent him. The ache gets stronger, and he shakes his head, tossing his phone down with a huff and turning away to get ready for the night.
He does wind up enjoying himself. Prompto’s a ray of sunshine, so damn cheerful it’s hard not to be caught up on it. He thinks Prom may be laying it on a little thicker than usual, probably in response to Noct’s own glum aura. It still helps, and they find themselves laughing into a booth past midnight at a twenty-four hour diner.
They grab food that’s far too unhealthy, and toss jokes across the table. Prompto manages to blow the wrapper off the straw straight into Noct’s face, and gets a fry thrown at him for his trouble. They talk about all the little things, and it’s easy.
It ends, eventually, as all good things do. They’ve been allowed far more leniency for a late night out, with summer break offering them a reprieve, but as it nears one in the morning, Noct finally gets a few texts from Ignis, and they call it a night.
He gets home and falls into bed, surrounded by warmth, phone left on the table.
~~~~~
An emergency council meeting was called for this morning. I’m so sorry Noctis, I won’t be able to meet you. We’ll pencil in another time soon.
Noctis grips his phone hard, knuckles whitening around the casing. He fights the childlike urge to throw it. He’s up, dressed, ready to go, Ignis fussing over him as they get ready to head to the citadel so he can meet his father for breakfast. An even rarer occurrence given that Noctis avoids mornings like a petulant owl.
Ignis comes in from the kitchen, calling out again for him. “Highness, are you nearly ready? We should—” he pauses at the obvious tension radiating from his charge.
“Noct?”
Noctis ducks his head down. He doesn’t want Ignis to see how red his face has become. He tries to slide back into the usual mask, the one he’s worked on for years, that covers up all the less than picture perfect parts of him.
It doesn’t work. It never works with Ignis, never has.
“Am I to glean that this morning’s plans have been changed?” It’s not really a question. Ignis keeps his tone soft, testing the waters.
Noct tries to sound nonchalant, and fails. “Yup. We don’t need to go to the Citadel. You can go get the rest of your morning back.” He clenches his fists, holds his jaw tight to keep the frustration in.
He just wants Ignis to go, go off and enjoy himself so that Noct can stay here and sulk without dragging anyone else down. He doesn’t quite think he can hold up any kind of illusion over how he feels.
But Ignis was a friend long before he became an advisor, and even though the lines between them can get a little confusing now, this part is easy.
“Well then,” he says, “This offers an opportunity for us. They’ve just opened a new place in the Narshe district, it’s said to have pancakes that will satisfy even your sweet tooth.”
Noctis raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Iggy, you don’t have to. Go home, enjoy your day, really.”
“Nonsense. There’s been far too much effort spent to rouse you out of bed, we should make the most of it.”
“Iggy…”
He whirls around, allowing Noct a brief reprieve. “Come along, then. Even royalty has to wait in line there if we tarry too long.”
Noctis pushes down the lump in his throat. He relies on Ignis too much, he knows that. Beyond the scheduling, cleaning, and planning, Ignis prepares him for the things to come while keeping him present for all the things that are now. Picking him up when he wants to just lay down. He doesn’t deserve him.
But Iggy’s got his arm out, waving a hand along, glancing back with nothing but warm fondness on his features. And he knows best, of course, so Noctis makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Well if you’re gonna make a big deal of it, I suppose we should go.”
“You are too kind, your Highness,” Ignis shoots back, dry as ever.
Ignis has always been able to coax a smile out of him when it’s needed. They walk out of his apartment together, shoulder to shoulder, and Noctis lets himself be led to something lighter.
~~~~~
The next one happens when Noctis is already in the Citadel. He has a sparring session with Gladio scheduled, followed up by some magic training with his dad. He has a decent handle on his armory and warping, but struggles with potions and healing, so his father offered to work through it with him.
Except, apparently not, as the latest message would confirm. War council’s meeting again to go over new strategies. Yet another last minute decision that yanks Noctis’ father right out of his reach.
Another ‘no problem’ text, another toss of his phone a bit too hard onto the table. He swallows down that sinking feeling, again, and turns to head over to training.
They’ve ramped up the exercises a few more notches, removing most of the armor so Noctis has more incentive to dodge. Noctis can tell right from the start that he’s going to finish with an array of bruises even though his Shield pulls back when he can tell Noct isn’t going to make the proper move.
After the third time Gladio’s wooden sword knocks him on his ass, Noctis slams his palms down hard on the floor and lets out a frustrated shout.
“Easy, Princess,” Gladio says as he reaches out a hand. “If you could learn how to zig instead of zag we wouldn’t keep winding up here.”
“Shut up,” Noctis bites back. He ignores the offered hand and gets to his feet himself, grabbing his own sword and settling into his stance once more.
He’s ready to go again, but Gladio won’t set up across from him. Instead, he looks out at him with something close to concern. “What’s going on with you? Haven’t seen you this cranky in a while.”
“I’m fine, let’s go again.”
Gladio shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not worth going through drills if your head’s only half in it. I need you here, fully. So what’s going on?”
Noct shakes his head, clenching his sword even tighter between his hands. “I’m good, come on.”
“Noct—”
“Come on!” Noctis shouts. “Gotta get better at this somehow, right? So shut up and let’s go again.”
That does it for Gladio, who in the blink of an eye swings his sword and knocks Noctis’ clean out of his hands and across the room. “No. We’re not doing this if you’re going to be a brat about it. Go and sit down.”
Noctis growls through his teeth, but moves to the bench. He slouches on it, head down, refusing to look at Gladio as he approaches.
“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about what’s actually bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” Noctis tries to say without bite or hurt in his words.
To his credit, Gladio doesn’t push. For all their bickering and the bumpy start they had, he’s gotten surprisingly good at figuring out Noctis’ moods. He takes up a seat next to him.
“You’re a bad liar, you know. I’m not gonna make you talk, but you have to learn how to check this stuff at the door.” He gives him a look, solemn and stern. “You don’t get to fight without a level head. That’s how you get hurt, and in the real world that’s how you get killed.”
“Just shut up, Gladio, I know,” Noctis says. He’s getting dangerously close to ‘ticked off Gladio’ territory, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Too much energy goes into restraining himself from his dad these days.
Thankfully, Gladio doesn’t run with it. “Well, if you can’t focus on this, let’s try something else. Got a new thing for us to work on.”
He gets up, grabs one of the dummies from the edge of the room and hauls it into the center. “Grab your sword, stand about ten feet away from it.”
Noctis groans, but gets to his feet. He takes up position next to the dummy, and is surprised when Gladio sidles up right next to him, wooden greatsword in hand. He sets his hand on Noct’s shoulder and angles him slightly.
“What are we doing?”
Gladio smiles. “You gotta know how to fight and defend yourself, sure. But, if we get caught up in something, odds are we’ll be together, since I can’t let your royal behind out of my sight. So, you need to learn how to fight with someone.”
“Okay…” Gladio’s been kicking his ass at sparring for years. They have a decent read on each other at this point, but as opponents, not comrades.
“Say that’s an enemy, monster or MT or whatever,” Gladio says, sword pointed at the dummy. He gets into his own stance, mirroring Noctis. “We get behind it, together, and we have a chance to deal one hell of a hit. So bring your sword up, and let’s plan out a strike.”
They start to work through some moves, finding the best way to use their strengths to their advantage. Striking together, one after another, swapping weapons to get the best fit. At one point, Gladio uses his bulk to fling Noctis into the ‘enemy’, which winds up with a busted training dummy and the two of them laughing despite their crash to the ground.
It’s a very different type of sparring session, and it manages to get Noct out of his head for a bit. It’s nice, working together instead of on his own. He figures it’s a necessary part of his training, since Gladio’s his Shield after all, sworn to stay by his side. But as the afternoon descends into more laughter and less fighting, he thinks Gladio hit the mark he was aiming for and is all the more grateful for it.
~~~~~
King and Prince find themselves in the same room only a few days later, going through a trade meeting. Noctis finds them overwhelmingly boring and trusts Ignis to take the relevant notes, but he still tries to hold himself properly, to meet the standards his role has set for him.
He nods along for most of it, pitching in where he can so the councilors don’t think he’s a complete idiot. Every time he speaks, he can see his father smile out of the corner of his eye. It usually brings him warmth, to see that pride from his dad.
Now, it just stings. Noctis the Prince getting more attention than Noctis the son.
It’s a sour, childish thought, and he tries to push it out of his mind.
They get through the rest of the meeting and the Council members all rise and start to file out. Noctis moves to join them, but his father calls out instead.
“Noctis? May I have a word?”
Puzzled, Noct heads back to the table, drumming his fingers on the back of one of the chairs. The remainder of the Council heads out, and Ignis spares Noctis a quick nod before making his own exit.
Regis looks more relaxed now than he did throughout the entirety of the meeting, no longer having to stand on ceremony as the king. He smiles at his son. “I was hoping we could have dinner tonight, just you and I. I believe it’s been far too long since we’ve dined together properly.”
His tone is so sincere, so kind, it makes Noct’s heart hurt.
“After all,” Regis continues, “we ought to make the time where we can. And I do enjoy hearing about your summer antics.”
We ought to make the time where we can. ‘We’.
All those messages come back to his mind. All the cancellations from Regis, the empty apologies. The broken promises to reschedule. The waiting, hoping, longing.
Noctis has made time. He always makes time.
“Noct?”
Noctis squares his shoulders and looks out, just over Regis’ shoulder, not meeting his eyes. “I have plans tonight,” he says. “Sorry.” It’s a lie, of course. A rare thing for him to do with his father.
“Ah.” Regis doesn’t drop his smile. He doesn’t even look disappointed, still just radiating love for his son. “Of course, not a problem. Am I to guess that you and Prompto will be up to no good this evening?”
“Something like that,” Noctis replies, tone flat. “Another time, perhaps.” The words from all of his texts echo in his brain, mocking him.
Something cracks in Regis’ expression, just for a moment. Like he recalls the messages as well. It doesn’t matter. Noctis won’t call them out, he’ll just let this be another piece of their relationship to file away, buried under all those lost expectations. He’s tired, sick of trying to reach across the gap and being met with nothing but air.
“Very well. Enjoy your night, my son.” With that, Noctis is dismissed.
To his credit, he makes it all the way back to his Citadel room before he starts to cry.
~~~~~
Noctis manages to avoid his father for another few weeks, save those usual meetings. He places himself on seats where he doesn’t have to look his dad in the eye. He knows he’s sulking, but can’t quite seem to stop himself.
A few times, when the meetings ended, Regis got this look, hand reaching out slightly, like he wanted to pull Noctis aside. He never followed through though, just let his son walk away. Noctis doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.
He should be over it. There’s no question that his dad loves him, so it’s fine. He’s not a child anymore, he shouldn’t need his dad’s attention the way he wants it.
And yet, he still needs it. Still finds himself longing to just sit with his dad, to chat about nothing important. To groan at all those stupid dad jokes and trade off on increasingly cringy puns. To swap tips on fishing, because Regis may have more years of experience but Noctis definitely has more skill.
Gods, he misses him. He wonders, if he just ran into his father’s study, just made himself present, if it would fix all this misery Noctis feels.
Doesn’t matter right now anyway. Ignis has decided to bury Noct in a mountain of princely events this weekend. He’ll be spending it at the Citadel, not even the luxury of getting to sleep in his own apartment. Ignis has packed away Gods knows what for the events, heavy bags that he refuses to let Noctis look into.
Noct is already dreading the stiff suits and antiquated trinkets he’ll have to wear. Ignis shuffles him outside to the car, and they spend the ride in silence, as Noctis lets his thoughts turn over and over in his head.
He lets Ignis escort him to one of the entrance halls. In his moroseness, he fails to pay attention to what’s waiting for them until he’s right in front of it. It’s quite the sight.
His father, royal raiment nowhere in sight, dressed in slacks and a…hoodie?
Noct’s jaw hits the floor as Ignis chuckles. “Your Majesty,” he says, gracing Regis with a nod. “The supplies for the weekend are being transferred into the Regalia, which will be ready for you shortly. Noctis, this is where I take my leave. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself, and try not to cause too much trouble.” He whispers the last part, a hint of a smile that promises mischief on his face.
“Ah yes, one more thing.” Ignis reaches into his own satchel and pulls out a small book, handing it over to Noctis. Fish of the Crown City and Beyond: An Angler’s Guide.
With a bow, he heads out, leaving a stunned Noctis to stand awkwardly in front of his father.
Noctis draws his fingers over the spine of the book, and shifts his weight from foot to foot. He looks at his father, gaping not very unlike one of the fish on the cover.
Regis smiles at him. “I hope you don’t mind the deception. It would seem Ignis can’t help a little ribbing, and he was most helpful in rearranging both of our schedules to allow for this.”
“Um…this?”
Regis nods towards the book in Noctis’ hands. “There are quite a few watering holes toward the outskirts of Insomnia, and I’ve not been to them in ages. I thought we might go to them, you can show me those new lures of yours in action.”
“New…lures?” Noct’s mouth and brain aren’t quite keeping up with things, it would appear.
“I was told you had picked up a few new ones.” Regis is still smiling, but there’s a bit of doubt behind his eyes.
“Dad, I, um.”
“Always so articulate, Noct,” his dad says, a quirk to his lips.
Noctis tries to cobble the right words together. He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “It’s just, um, aren’t you busy? Don’t you—you haven’t been free to do anything lately, and a whole weekend is a lot.”
“I managed to find a workaround for a few days. I thought this weekend would be better suited for some proper time together.” At Noctis’ hesitance, doubt drifts across Regis’ face. “Would you like to join me? You’re under no obligation to do so.”
Well that’s just not fair. How on earth does he say no to that? Never mind that he doesn’t even want to say no, even with all the frustration he’s built up lately. “I do, I just…you’ve been busy, and I don’t want to take up your time when you need it for everything else.” he mumbles, staring down at his shoes.
His dad sighs, smile slipping off. He looks so much older when he does that. “I know these past few months have been exceedingly difficult, and I’m afraid one of the bigger impacts has been to our time together. I’m sorry for that. It isn’t fair to you.”
Ah, shit. Noctis tries to backpedal, not wanting him to be a source of stress or obligation for his father. He’s tried so hard not to do that. “Dad, it’s fine. There are more important things, I get it.”
“No.” Regis says so quickly and firmly it surprises him. “It’s no excuse. You are my son, and you will always be the most important thing to me. And I am sorry that I have failed lately in making that clear to you.”
“It’s okay, it’s—”
“Please let me make it up to you,” Regis says, voice wistful. “At least in part, where I can.”
And there it is. It’s not fair, how much his dad loves him.
Because that’s really all it takes, chipping away piece by piece, all the resentment, the hurt, the aggravation, all soothed by the love his father gives. Not fixed, not gone away, but eased. And it’s far easier to fall back into the calming embrace of his dad than to hold himself apart, to sit enveloped in anger and bitterness.
Noctis takes a breath and pushes back all the extra noise. He looks up at his dad and smiles, and it’s so easy. “Okay. You got it, let’s do it.”
Regis smiles back, the age lines etched into his face turning to something lighter. “We’d best be off then, before anyone realizes we’re gone and comes looking. Of course, if you’d rather stay for Council meetings, we could always—”
“Nope, definitely not.” Noct smirks as he sidles up next to his father, holding out his arm. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I could outrun the councilors to the car.”
“And leave your dear father behind?” Regis says, a smirk on his own face. It’s clear who Noctis inherited it from.
“A necessary sacrifice for the good of fishing, dad,” Noctis says with all the poise of a proper Prince.
Regis huffs out a laugh and wraps his arm around Noctis’. “You wouldn’t get all that far. You can’t drive, Noct.”
“As far as you know.”
They walk out side by side, making their way to the car and leaving King and Prince behind, just for the moment. It’s enough, stealing what time they can.