"If you should ever leave me," he sang, "well, life would go on, believe me..."

Ignis needed to buy new sheet music. He’d recently found The Galdin Guys for Guitar: Intermediate on sale, but now he had the blasted songs in rotation in his head. 

"The world could show nothing to me, so what good would living do me?" He continued to sing, checking the box next to “in-ear monitors” on his list. Perhaps it was a waste of paper, but Ignis enjoyed the satisfaction of marking tasks as completed. Some of the tasks weren’t even technically in his job description. But as a band manager, he prided himself on every last cog in the machine that was Regalia’s gig at Hammerhead Bar being well-oiled and secure. The sounds, the lights, the instruments, the musicians–

He jolted. Leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed was Noctis, lead singer and guitarist for Regalia.

Ignis fought to keep his expression neutral. "How long have you been standing there?"

Noctis rubbed a hand on the back of his head. "You sing good."

Such earnestness made him forget any irritation he could have mustered. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I... Thank you."

The way his blue eyes peered up at him from beneath his black fringe was distracting. Ignis turned back to the monitors.

“I’m almost done here,” he announced, “then we can start tonight’s soundcheck.”

Noctis made a ‘hm’ of acknowledgement, then noted, "Song's kinda depressing." 

“How so?”

He shrugged. "I mean, if I died, I'd want someone I loved to be happy without me."

Ignis smiled. "A noble wish."

"Wanting someone you love to be happy? Is that noble, or just... normal?"

It was either Noctis’s sincerity or shy smile that made his heart flutter in his chest. 

"I suppose you're right. I'll endeavor to sing happier songs should you eavesdrop on me again." If the dry tone didn't convey his double-meaning, Ignis hoped the look he sent him did the task.

Noctis just smirked. "Yeah, you should."

It was funny. Noctis, offstage, was friendly enough. But he was reserved and quiet, his voice never leaving his mouth as freely it did when he belted into a crowd. He was also sluggish and stiff in comparison to the way he almost warped across a stage. He’d go from jumping in time with Prompto's drumming to playfully competing with Gladio's bass strumming. The energy he brought to the stage was palpable, electrifying the audience into bouncing around with him.

What was most invigorating to Ignis, however, were the quieter moments when Noctis would stand in one place. When he'd pause his guitar playing to grab the microphone with one hand, the fingers of his other hand sliding down the stand. He'd meet Ignis's eyes under dark lashes.

Perhaps it was easier to meet the eye of an acquaintance rather than the strangers in the crowd, and the lyrics were all prewritten and sung time and time again. But Ignis couldn't help but feel like it was as if Noctis was pausing to sing the words just to him. To share that moment from opposite ends of the room and beside each other all at once.

"With the voice of a siren but the arms of a sailor
You guide my ship away from the shore that we would moor at
My heart is an anchor dragging me into the depths of what I can't say..."

All the instruments were loaded back into their cases, and the uncomfortable makeup and bootwear were removed. As usual, everyone was exhausted, but they managed to remain awake for their post-show ritual at the Hammerhead Bar. Cid, owner of the place for decades, let them sample a few drinks after business hours as long as they cleaned up the place when they were done.

Ignis let the performers decompress with a couple rounds before he stood up and cleared his throat.

“I have some exciting news to share,” he announced.

“Almonds are related to peaches?” 

Ignis learned long ago that simply ignoring Prompto had miraculous results for his own patience. "I have it on good authority that a scout from Astral Records is attending Friday night's concert. Now, I needn't tell you what this would do for Regalia, but I will. While our funds might allow us to coast for the foreseeable future–especially should our social media campaign prove fruitful in adding sales and streaming figures–it's hardly a sustainable model. Astral has access to everything we need: money, reputable PR, better recording equipment..."

"... and more money?" Prompto finished.

"Precisely. They’re also the ones behind the success of several of Insomnia’s rising stars.”

“YRP, Avalanche, The Black Mages,” Gladio provided. “All made it big with Astral Records.”

“So, our ticket into the big time?” Prompto asked, excited.

“That would be ‘hard work,’” Ignis countered.

“And luck,” Noctis added cheekily.

“And Ignis’s management capabilities.” Luna smiled, ever sincere. Ignis often wondered how they had managed to enlist such a polite woman into their rabble.

He pushed up his glasses, embarrassed. “So long as you do your jobs, I can do mine. Be at your best on Friday. No late nights playing video games–” 

Prompto laughed nervously.

“–no hanging like a bosted couch–”

Gladio met his pointed gaze without a hint of remorse. 

“–and please be awake by noon.”

Noctis’s shoulders sank.

“Uhh,” Prompto spoke up. “What’s this about a hanging couch?”

“He means don’t get hungover,” Lunafreya translated.

Perhaps he was projecting his own excitement, but there was a steady buzz of anticipation at the next rehearsal. Prompto had brought his embroidery kit with him and set up shop at the couch in the corner creating patches of their logo. Noctis sat next to him, guitar in his lap, scrawling away at a piece of paper in the one part of the coffee table not covered in crafting equipment. Gladio had to literally drag the table away when it was time to start playing.

“So, new song first?” The bassist prodded.

“Yeah.” Noctis fiddled with the tuning pegs of his guitar. “It’s still a work in progress, so, you know… Tell me if it sucks?”

“Will do!” Prompto chirped, playfully slapping Noctis on the back on his way to the drums.

Gladio chuckled. “You know I’ll tell you how it is.”

“The piano sounded lovely when I tried it last night,” Luna said, “but I had a few ideas.”

Noctis nodded. “Go for it.”

Another new song? Ignis raised his brows. At the rate Noctis was composing them, they’d have a new setlist every month.

As usual, Prompto counted them down into the song. Luna was the first to play, her fingers flying up and down the keyboard at an impressive speed. Then, the drum, bass, and guitar kicked in, and Ignis basked in the joy of hearing a fresh track from Regalia.

“Night fell, and so did I
Disgraced before your eyes
Under the blacklight
My blitheness was a blight”

It was amazing how quickly they learned a song. Ignis was getting quicker about memorizing chords on the guitar, but he still preferred to have sheet music in front of him while playing. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text.

Regis Caelum. CEO of a successful tech company and Noctis’s father. He was the one who’d given Regalia the funds to hire a band manager. They’d been planning on managing themselves before his donation.

Ignis looked up at the rehearsal room’s stage. Noctis was facing the rest of the band, blue eyes alight with excitement as they jammed. Aside from their introduction when Ignis was first hired, Noctis had never mentioned his father. He was never given any guidelines for this possibility.

A typing notification came up, then disappeared. Ignis wondered if he made a mistake. Would Noctis want his father in attendance? Should he inform him of this conversation? If Noctis saw his father in the crowd on Friday and had an adverse reaction…

In hindsight, Ignis was glad he didn't have to see it happen. But he heard it: the loud thumps and clatter of a man and guitar landing on the floor, Noctis's voice yanked out of him in a sharp cry.  And the sight of Noctis on the floor, scrunched up in pain, when he turned around seconds too late…

“Noct!” Prompto nearly tripped over his drum set in his haste to get to his friend’s side.

Gladio held out an arm to stop him at the edge of the stage. “Don’t move him yet. What hurts, Noct?”

The lead singer sucked his breath through his teeth. “My leg.”

“Do you think you can stand on it?”

Ignis hovered anxiously a few feet away, unable to see the specifics of what was happening from behind the huddle of bodies. He gripped the phone like a stress ball.

For a minute, it seemed as though Gladio was going to pick Noctis off the floor. Then there was a sharp cry, and Ignis had to restrain himself from rushing over to tear everyone else away.

“That’s a no,” Gladio deadpanned. “Gonna have to call an ambulance.”

“Don’t!”

Ignis’s finger hovered over the Call button. Noct’s voice was never so forceful off stage. 

“What, you wanna crawl to the hospital?” Gladio asked, volume rising with his exasperation.

“No hospitals!”

“Noct…” Prompto faltered. 

“Don’t call an ambulance!”

Lunafreya crouched by his side. “You need medical attention,” she said, gentle but firm. “Please, Noctis.”

It was easy to resist Gladio’s tough-love approach, but it was a challenge for anyone to defy Lunafreya’s gentle care. Noctis didn’t protest for a long moment.

“I’ll drive,” Ignis offered. “No ambulance necessary.”

Gladio sighed. “We’d need to get him to the car.”

“Then we’ll carry him.” He strode over to the group. Noct’s eyes, glistening with tears, avoided Ignis’s. But Ignis’s gaze traveled down to his leg, and he was grateful to see no blood or bones protruding from the performer’s pants.

Despite thriving in a career with people’s eyes on him all the time, Ignis knew that Noctis loathed pity, so he stopped staring and crouched down to offer his shoulder. “Here. Put your arm around my shoulders.”

They were able to get him into the backseat of Ignis’s Audii. Gladio made sure Noctis’s leg was resting on the backseat before he folded himself into the front seat, much too large to be comfortable. 

The three of them hobbled through the hospital’s automatic doors, and Noctis was deposited in the nearest available waiting room chair before Gladio immediately went for the reception desk. Ignis had a split second of being rather miffed–he’d been planning on being the one explaining the injury to the hospital as the band manager. 

Instead, Ignis sat stiffly beside Noctis, unsure of what to do. The singer looked as though sitting down had done little to cure his dizziness. His fingers were trembling against his black jeans. Impulsively, Ignis wanted to reach out and take one of them in his own, but he’d never been in such a situation before and didn’t want to breach etiquette. Especially since he and Noctis were technically coworkers of a sort, and he wasn’t sure how the other man would respond.

Then Noctis let out the smallest sob, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and Ignis’s right hand covered his left before either of them were aware it had moved. Flustered both by the contact and by hearing Noctis in such distress, Ignis didn’t look to see his companion’s reaction. Instead, he pretended to read the news headline scrolling across the TV on the far side of the waiting room.

Then their fingers entwined, and Ignis risked a gentle squeeze.

Gladio didn’t comment on it when he walked over. He confirmed that Noctis was checked in, then spent the next half hour alternating between hovering anxiously in front of them and pacing the room like a caged behemoth. 

Looking back, it could have been much worse, but by the time Noctis had received a room, ice pack, X-ray, and strong dose of painkillers, it felt like they’d been there for weeks. A nurse promised someone would return with the results ‘soon’ before leaving herself.

“Based on how things are going, the doc won’t be here for a while,” Gladio grumbled. “Anyone want snacks?”

Noctis’s face was a pale green under the fluorescent lights. “Not hungry.”

“No, thank you,” Ignis said. 

“I’ll get some water.” But the larger man lingered at his friend’s bedside. "You sounded like when we were first trying out screamo as a genre."

For the first time since the accident, Noctis smiled. "Probably sounded better today."

"Definitely." It was their usual banter, but Gladio lacked the usual bite. His hand didn't quite smack Noctis on the shoulder. “You better rest up. I’m not gonna let you slack off from practice.”

The singer’s face fell as he watched Gladio leave the room. 

"Sorry," Noctis said quietly.

Ignis furrowed his brow. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"The guy," Noctis protested, "from the label. Friday."

Oh. Ignis had forgotten about that, to be honest. "There will be other opportunities."

"Right." But he sighed after a moment, pale hands gripping the sheet beneath him. "They said I should stay in bed for the next few days, but... Maybe after..."

He sounded so dejected that Ignis couldn't help but finish for him, "You could sit down, on stage. Many musicians do."

"Not really in our genre," Noctis muttered.

“I was led to believe rock stars were trendsetters.”

“I guess.” It sounded wrong to hear a voice capable of such energy fall so sullen.

"Is there anything I could do to help?" Ignis's fingers itched to do something. 

Noctis’s mouth twisted beneath his furrowed brows, but no words came out. 

“Do you need more painkillers? Should I get the nurse?”

"I’m fine.” But he looked at Ignis and softened, as if he could sense how much Ignis needed to be useful. “Well…”

“Yes?”

“Could... Could you sing something?"

"I... What?"

"Just... anything."

His ears burned at the thought. He sat down in the chair by the corner, racking his brain for a song to sing. "... Ooh, I want to take you on a chocobo. We'll ride there fast and then we'll take it slow. That's where we want to go... Way down in Accordo."

Noctis made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan of pain. "Do you listen to any other bands?"

"Well, one other.” He recalled the song they’d been practicing at rehearsal. “Veiled in a dark shroud, won’t say it out loud. In my wildest eulogy you say that you’re proud… Bit rich of you to callmy songs depressing, don’t you think?”"

Noctis smushed his face into his pillow, but Ignis could still make out the frown lines on half his face. 

He must have been in considerable pain, and Ignis said whatever came to mind in an attempt to distract him. “What does it mean? Who is the speaker referring to? Is it a lover or a parent?"

The silence that followed made it sound as though Noctis was just as clueless. But Ignis knew that Noctis was the one who wrote all of Regalia’s songs, both the music and the lyrics.

His hands clenched the blanket. It took a long moment for him to respond, but Ignis waited.

“Maybe… You should go home."

Ignis’s stomach dropped.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” Noctis added. “And Gladio can help me get home.”

He stared. “I… I drove you both here.”

“Right…”

“Even if I hadn’t,” Ignis reasoned, ignoring the pang resonating in his chest, “I’m loath to leave you on your own in such a state. Even if you find my presence uncomfortable, please allow me to stay and drive you home.”

Noctis gave no indication that he’d heard him. He sunk into the sheets of the hospital bed as much as one with a propped-up broken leg could. It took him a moment to unbury himself when the doctor finally arrived.

Aside from the doctor, no one said much to anyone else the rest of the visit. Ignis took some notes on the doctor’s instructions, then spent the drive to Noctis’s and Prompto’s shared apartment rearranging the color-coded blocks of his calendar in his mind’s eye. Gladio was texting furiously. Noctis reclined in the back, but winced, like it took effort to rest.

Prompto met them at the parking lot. Gladio got out of the car to help Noctis stand upright with his crutches from the hospital, and handed the prescription bag to Prompto to carry. Noctis was hobbling away with barely a nod of acknowledgement the minute he could. 

Ignis wondered if one of them should stay at the apartment for added support. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Prompto to take care of his friend, but such an ending felt anticlimactic, in a way. Noctis has a bad fall, breaks a leg, and is sent home? Their hospital stay was so long, but maybe it was too short. And the way Noctis behaved at the hospital–

“I’ll text you later,” Prompto promised them before rushing to Noct’s side.

Seemingly satisfied enough with the arrangement, Gladio ducked back into the frontseat. Even after he buckled himself in, Ignis didn’t start the car.

“Are you sure we should leave him?” Ignis asked.

“It’d be bad to hover,” Gladio said. “For a guy in a band, Noct doesn’t like being the center of attention like this.”

He frowned. “What he needs is support.”

“Which he’s getting. The both of them can handle themselves. Give him space.”

Ignis turned the motor on. Their drive to the rehearsal space was just as silent as their drive to the hospital, but the absence of Noct in the backseat was loud. They parked in the same spot Ignis was in hours before.

“Kid’s gonna be going through a lot in the next few days.” Gladio didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt immediately after the car stopped. “Go easy on him a little.”

Ignis recalled learning how to speak Gralean as a child. He’d asked for an orange in what he thought was perfect diction, but his tutor had to raise his voice to convince him that he’d been asking where the orange was located. The frustration boiling his blood felt something like it had during that lesson.

“I’ve no intention of pushing him further,” Ignis said. “If we don’t perform on Friday, so be it.”

Gladio made a noncommittal noise. He released the seatbelt and opened the door. “Thanks for driving.”

Rehearsal ended the minute Noctis had fallen. Luna and Prompto had cleaned up most of the rehearsal space by themselves, with the former waiting behind so she could make sure they got any personal belongings left behind. Ignis was placing his messenger bag in the backseat when he saw an unfamiliar object on the upholstery. It was a black phone with the logo for Assassin’s Creed on the cover.

Noctis’s phone. Ignis’s stomach sank. It must have slipped out of his pocket somewhere along the way. He would have to return it to its rightful owner.

Aside from driving Noctis home from the hospital that day, Ignis had stopped by their apartment once to help carry Prompto’s homemade merch to the show, so he knew that they lived at number 415. Gathering his breath and his courage, he knocked on the door.

He heard a muffled shout that could have been, “It’s open!” He turned the knob and the door swung open easily. Ignis frowned; this was terribly unsafe. Anyone could have walked right in.

But Noctis was injured, and he’d already overstepped earlier, so Ignis swallowed the lecture and closed the door behind him. He slipped out of his shoes before searching the tight hallway for the right room.

The apartment was as small as a two-bedroom could feasibly be, made even smaller with the clutter and knickknacks of two adult men who enjoyed collecting video game merchandise. His eyes didn’t have to sweep the living room for long before they found their grimacing target, pale against the dark leather couch with a cast-clad foot propped up on the opposite armrest. His crutches were just out of reach against an armchair perpendicular to the couch. He appeared to have been using a blanket before it fell abandoned to the floor. Ignis had the nagging feeling that Noctis might have been too tired or sore to reach for it.

“Noct.” 

The man flinched at his reproachful tone. Good.

“Where’s Prompto?” He couldn’t imagine his roommate leaving him alone like this.

“At the store.”

“You’re alone?”

“I’m fine.”

Ignis sighed. “Have you taken medicine?”

“Left it on the counter.”

“Why didn’t you call someone?”

"I think I left my phone at rehearsal."

Oh. Right. Ignis held up the phone he'd been intending to return to Noctis, then made sure it was in easy reach of the man confined to the couch.

"You shouldn't be left alone like this."

Noctis shrugged. “Prompto’ll be back eventually.”

Ignis had the self-discipline not to strangle him. He spotted a pill bottle on the counter separating the kitchen and living room, and grabbed a water bottle before bringing both items to Noctis.

“Thanks.” 

He watched as Noctis swallowed a pill and a sip of water, and it was a small relief in the midst of his inner turmoil. 

“What are you doing here?” Noctis asked. It didn’t sound accusatory, at least. Maybe he wasn’t angry at him. Maybe he was just in pain.

“You left your phone in the back of my car.” Ignis fished it from his pocket and set it on the coffee table. “Also… I would like to apologize. I fear I may have overstepped at the hospital. The truth is, it’s getting harder to see us as coworkers, or manager and musician. It might be bold of me to suggest this, but I’ve begun to consider us as more than that. Perhaps as friends.”

He glanced over at Noctis, who seemed unable to look at him, either. The way his shoulders were hunched reminded Ignis that he was in pain, and that this may have been an inopportune time to broach the subject.

Yet Noctis didn’t let the conversation wither. “The lyrics… They’re about me.”

It was more than anything he was obligated to share, and Ignis scrambled to put together the beginnings of another apology in his head. But Noct kept talking.

“When I was a kid, my parents and I got into a car crash. Dad’s knee got messed up. I had to relearn how to walk. Mom…” Noctis stared down at his clenched fists. “Mom didn’t make it. I remember he didn’t even tell me for a while. I was complaining about my legs, about how much I wanted to go home, and he… He said nothing.”

Ignis sat on the armchair, leaning forward.

Noctis kept talking. “He was always busy before then, but one day he didn’t show up to physical therapy. Then he stopped showing up to dinner. Even back then I knew he had a lot going on, but I couldn’t help but think… It should have been me. Mom should have been there instead. Maybe then he’d…”

He laughed. “Gods, what am I saying?”

“Do you still feel this way?”

“It’s not like I wanna die .” And Ignis’s concern must have been more evident than he realized for Noctis to sound so defensive. “I’m not… suicidal. It’s just, I want to be worth being around.”

Ignis thought of the man who’d hired him. The man who paid a higher starting salary than he’d expected to get at the start of his career. Who shook his hand and told him, “Please take care of my son.” The man who seemed interested in buying tickets for Friday’s concert. It was a couple interactions against a lifetime of history. From his own relationship with his parents, Ignis knew it was more complicated than he could understand.

So, he focused on what he knew for sure.

“To be honest, I’m not sure why I chose this profession,” Ignis admitted. “But the first time I heard you sing, I knew I’d made the right choice. The energy you bring to the room you’re in… There’s a magic to it.”

Noctis looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and Ignis met them with conviction. “I can’t speak for your father, but you have a gift, Noct. And not all of us are brave enough to pursue our passions the way you have.”

It was there, in the heart of his eyes and the edges of his lips, that Ignis could sense where the lyrics came from. They held each other’s gaze for several strong heartbeats before the musician ducked his head and tugged on his bangs. "Well… What's your passion? Your band making it big?"

It would have been easy to say yes, to move on with little fuss. But Noctis had been raw in his own honesty about something he'd clearly never wanted Ignis to know. The least Ignis could do was be honest in return. "I'm not sure I have one, to be honest with you."

"Well, what did you want to be when you grew up? You know, as a kid?"

Ignis hummed in thought. "I was the lead singer of SeeD for Halloween, age six or seven. Cut a little guitar out of cardboard.”

But that was a fleeting fancy, the last time he let himself admit what he wanted to anyone, especially his parents. "I was a bit of a wunderkind," Ignis admitted. "Top of my class, even after I skipped a grade. The adults in my life kept throwing words around like 'doctor,' 'lawyer,' 'politician.'" He chuckled at the last suggestion. As if he had the patience to work in politics.

"Always said I could do anything. Anything I ever wanted to. But that's the problem," Ignis said. "If you can do anything, what do you choose to do?"

"Manage a mediocre band?" Noctis offered.

"Come, now," Ignis chided, "I'd say you're at least above average."

"I'll take it. But you like music, right?" The way he looked at him, soft and fond, felt like he already knew all the answers.

"Yes, I do.” The band manager smiled. “Suppose that's how I ended up in my current career."

"But not making the music?"

Ignis scoffs. "Heavens, no."

But Noctis was serious. "But I’ve seen those sheet music books you carry, and your voice–gods, your voice. I'd kill for that voice."

"You, lead singer of Regalia?" Surely he was just being polite at this point.

"Yeah, sure, 'above-average' band, but you... Have you heard yourself?"

Ignis's cheeks warmed. "Well, I... I could never be on a stage. Especially not after my failed endeavor as a junior high violinist." He didn’t bother expanding upon the incident, but he remembered it well: walking across the large expanse of stage, the lights of the auditorium highlighting expectant faces, then his stomach lurching… 

"So, don't play violin,” Noctis said simply. “Or do. Don't let junior high mistakes keep you from making adult mistakes, or whatever."

"Sound advice." And it was, though it was easier said than done. 

"You should take my place for the gig on Friday.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You know our songs,” Noctis reasoned. “You can sing. You can play. Why not?”

Out of the thirty-or-so reasons that immediately sprang to mind, Ignis couldn’t decide which one to bring up first. 

“We’re gonna need to be at our best on Friday,” Noctis continued, “and if I feel anything like I do right now, I won’t be.”

“But I…” Ignis floundered. He couldn’t believe this was a conversation he was even having. “I’m your manager, Noct. I’m not a performer. I haven’t rehearsed. I haven’t been on a stage in years.”

“We’ve got a week,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.”

What could have possibly given the man such an idea about Ignis’s capabilities? He changed his approach. “Shouldn’t the others get a say?”

“Hang on.” Noctis’s fingers furiously swiped at his phone screen. “Pretty sure they’re gonna say yes.”

Ignis was pretty sure they weren’t. While Noctis may have gained an unreasonable idea about Ignis’s voice through eavesdropping, he’s never demonstrated his ability to sing and play guitar to anyone else on purpose. But it only took a minute for Noctis to thrust his phone into view.

“See? No problem.”

He sounded so sure that even Ignis found himself believing it. It was the same lighthearted confidence that Ignis felt as a young boy, bouncing on his bed with his cardboard guitar, performing to a small devoted crowd of stuffed animals. 

“Besides, all those reasons and you haven’t said you don’t want to.”

Blast him, Ignis thought. Blast him for making him consider such an impossibility even for a moment.

“Just give it a shot at rehearsal tomorrow,” Noctis suggested, “and if you decide you don’t want to, no harm done.”

Ignis had always been enamored by the energy Noctis emitted onstage, but even offstage, he realized it was hard not to share his enthusiasm when he smiled like that.

Ignis spent all night practicing the sheet music Noctis lent him. Secretly, he’d already been trying to learn it by sight and ear on his own, so it wasn’t much of a learning curve. His ears burned when, as he walked into the rehearsal space with his own guitar slung over his shoulder, Gladio and Luna gawped.

He’d offered to drive Noctis to rehearsal, but Prompto had already filled the position of chauffeur. They pulled up ten minutes after rehearsal was supposed to begin, and took about half that time to get from the car to the rehearsal room.

“Sorry we’re late!” Prompto called. “Good ol’ Insomnian traffic.”

Noctis wheeled himself in a few feet behind, one leg rest of the rickety black chair holding his boot-clad foot straight ahead.

“Dad’s making me use his spare,” Noctis muttered. Ignis, realizing he’d been staring, quickly busied himself with cleaning his glasses. 

“If you don’t want to do this…”

“I do.” He did, in theory. Displaying his skill level in front of other more experienced musicians, then in front of a crowd, in front of an agent from Astral Records–

He felt a hand on his arm, warm and solid. 

“Then you’ve got this,” Noctis encouraged. “Break a leg.”

He hoped his frown looked sufficiently scathing for that one.

Noctis rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He did. And Noctis’s encouragement did spur him on, giving him the strength to sling the guitar strap over his shoulder and stand at the ready while Prompto counted them down.

Ignis tried to channel his jitters into strumming the right chords alongside Lunafreya’s piano, but he was sure his voice trembled when he sang, “Hold nothing back ‘cause you’re castle-bound. Stoke your wrath, stand your ground. Go reclaim your crown…”

The words came from his voice, but as Ignis’s eyes met Noctis’s delighted grin, he remembered that these were Noct’s words. 

“You’ve renewed your vow. You are stronger now. There’s no ‘if’ or ‘how’  or weight that can hold you down.”

It was impossible to stand still when Regalia played one of their songs. Ignis hardly pranced around the stage like Noctis did when he played, but he found himself bouncing on the soles of his feet to the music.

The last chord of the song faded, but it left a rush of adrenaline in its wake.

“It’ll work,” Gladio admitted, “if he loosens up.”

“It’ll work.” Noctis smiled up at him, cheeks pink, and despite his frazzled nerves, Ignis couldn’t help smiling back.

Rehearsals flew by. Noctis insisted on attending each one despite Gladio’s and Ignis’s protests, but to his credit, he spent most of them reclined in the rehearsal room’s dingy couch with his feet up. Sometimes, he even managed to sleep despite a live rock band performing in the same room. 

Ignis wanted to say it didn’t help his nerves. But after every wrong note or forgotten lyric, Noctis would smile at him, and he found he could keep going.

After practice, Noctis would call Ignis over, and he’d be subjected to a gushing mixture of praise and suggestions.

“The way you sing ‘Invidia’ just, like, changed the whole song for me. In a good way!” he’d stammer, cheeks flushed. “You know, the way you kinda got louder at the bridge–if you did that at the chorus, it’d be awesome. Oh, and what if you tried…”

Ignis came to learn that Noctis never framed criticism in a negative way. He’d point out things that Ignis had done wrong, but in a way that made it sound like Ignis had made a creative choice and not that he’d fumbled a chord or cue. No matter what he said, Noctis sounded excited just to be talking about it, rambling more than Ignis had ever heard the man in the months they knew each other. It made Ignis’s heart flutter a little just recalling their conversations later at home, poring over sheet music and playing until his fingertips begged him to stop.

As the days passed, Ignis fumbled less often. He certainly didn’t match the energy and charm that was Regalia’s usual frontrunner, but he took a small satisfaction in the way he became able to play to a small audience and occasionally look them in the eye. The audience was mostly Noctis, Gladio’s younger sister Iris, and Monica, the owner of the rehearsal space, but the latter had difficulty hiding her grimace whenever he messed up. He was proud when their last day was entirely grimace-free.

After their last rehearsal before Friday, Prompto raised his water bottle in a toast. “To Ignis!” 

“Cheers!” Lunafreya and Iris chorused.

“I gotta say,” Gladio confessed, crossing his arms, “I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you could pull it off.”

Prompto pumped a fist. “We’re gonna kick ass tomorrow night!”

Everyone else clapped and cheered. Ignis felt only a sense of dread. He may have been able to pull off an ordinary show, but one where the label was scouting them? He couldn’t perform the way Noctis could. This could be their only shot at Astral Records, too.

“They’re right, you know,” Noctis said. He was still using the chair, though on occasion he’d use some crutches he brought back from physical therapy. “You’re amazing.”

Ignis shook his head. They were a ways away from the others, but he still lowered his voice. “It’s  not going to be enough. Astral Records won’t sign on a band whose lead singer only has a week of practice.”

“Look, I know it’s your job to worry about our future, but you can’t do the show worrying about whether you’re ‘Astral Record good.’” Noctis made finger quotes. “Just… worry about the music.”

Ignis laughed. “Oh, I’m concerned about that, too.”

“That’s not what I mean! It’s like…” Noctis picked at the black nail polish on his thumb as he thought. “When you’re a band playing a gig, it’s not because it’s some civil service people need to survive. People show up because they like music. They like that connection.”

“They enjoy sharing a hobby?” he surmised.

The singer shook his head. “It’s more than that. Music’s a conversation, but the musician’s the only one saying something. Only… they’re not.”

Ignis fought to contain the grin slowly spreading across his face. Noctis lightly shoved his side.

“Shut up!” he said, though he was smiling too.

“No, no, very helpful advice.” He couldn’t keep his tone neutral. “I feel completely prepared for tomorrow night.”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t think about how good you’re doing. If you’re scared, channel that through the song. There are a bunch of scared people that are out there, too, and they’ll get it.”

Despite his teasing, Ignis could hear the point he was trying to make. Music drew people together through common experiences, after all. Maybe someone heard Noctis’s lyrics about his childhood accident and saw themselves in them.

“Are you ever scared, performing?”

Noctis shrugged. “Sometimes, I guess. But life offstage is a lot scarier for me.”

Interesting. Ignis wondered if that fear was something Noctis grew out of through repeated exposure. Maybe he never felt stagefright to the extent that Ignis did. 

He was right, though: someone out there was feeling that same fear. Maybe they and Ignis could overcome it together through music.

Ignis didn’t shirk his band manager duties for his newfound musician ones. He ensured that he and the other members were on time, that their equipment was set up early before their opening band’s allotted time, and that everyone was in suitable outfits for their rock band image. Unlike other performances, he had to make sure that he was also presenting the rockstar image. Prompto and Lunafreya had been kind enough to help him browse their favorite shops before rehearsal the day before, and the three of them managed to find something that matched the rest of their outfits fairly well, including a rather excessive amount of jewelry. 

He fiddled with the clasp of a studded bracelet. He felt like a child playing dress up. The building in which Regalia had performed so many nights was covered in a dreamlike haze, as if nothing was real. Strange, how dressing up in leather pants was scarier than any business-casual career interviews.

He saw Noctis in the reflection of the dressing room’s mirror.

“You should be resting,” Ignis chastised. Seeing him made him feel a bit more grounded, however, instead of feeling like he was going to float out of his body into the ceiling.

“No way was I gonna miss this,” Noctis countered. “You look good.”

Oh. Well… Ignis tugged at the collar of his studded leather jacket. At Prompto’s recommendation, he wore it unzipped to display the coeurl-print, purple top underneath. Though the V-neck dipped embarrassingly-low over his chest, he couldn’t help but admire the look. “Thank you. I feel like a proper rockstar, if I do say so myself.”

“Just one more thing. Hang on.” Noctis wheeled himself over to the vanity, plucking an eyeliner pencil from the mess of makeup on the table. Ignis was woefully inexperienced in applying such a thing himself, and he was about to voice this concern, but Noctis gestured him over. “Sit down. I’ll put it on for you.”

His heart stopped. This whole arrangement had been like a dream, but to add this on top of everything else… But he found himself drawn over to the chair despite his apprehension. ‘With the voice of a siren, indeed,’ he mused.

“Take your glasses off,” Noctis instructed. When Ignis hesitated, he made a face. “Come on, I’ve done this plenty of times for the guys and Luna without poking their eyes out.”

He folded his glasses and placed them on the table. After that, Ignis wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. He gripped the ends of the chair. 

Noctis wheeled himself closer, his broken leg stretching out beside Ignis’s outer thigh. His other knee brushed up against Ignis’s. Ignis held his breath as Noctis reached up to hold his chin with his left hand.

“Close your eyes.” Noctis said, and Ignis tried not to squeeze them shut. He tried not to focus on the warmth of the hand on his chin or on the gentle, feather-light touch of the eyeliner pencil across his eyelid. Warm breath carried the smell of Noct’s favorite energy drink. It should have been gross, but Ignis was struck with the realization that if he were to lean in only a few inches…

“Okay, open them, but hold still,” Noctis said. 

Ignis opened his eyes and jolted: the eyeliner pencil was right at his eye.

“I said hold still.” Noctis gripped his chin a little tighter, though not painfully so. Instead of apologizing, Ignis focused on keeping his head still as the tip of the pencil ran along the bottom of his eye, straining to see Noctis as anything but the blur he was without his glasses on.

Ignis wished the vision in front of him wasn’t blurry: Noctis’s gaze directly met his. His hands lingered at his face as he pulled back. He was likely admiring his handiwork, but to the ill-fated fancy in Ignis’s head, it felt as though he was admiring him.

“There.”

Tearing himself away from Noctis’s touch, Ignis put on his glasses so he could see his reflection in the mirror. The lines around his eyes were enough to make the green vibrant behind his lens, but not thick enough (as he had secretly worried) to make him look like a gothic clown. 

“You look hot.”

Ignis’ foot slipped beneath him as he fell onto the back of a nearby chair. He hadn’t expected either the casual compliment or the object in his way.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I appreciate your help.”

Noctis rubbed the back of his neck with a small smile. “Back at you. I feel a lot better about tonight with you on the stage instead.”

Ignis frowned. “Has the pain not gotten any better?”

“It’s gotten a lot better, it’s just…” He gestured at his cast. “This isn’t exactly my ‘brand image.’”

“Hm. So you do listen during my lectures.”

Noctis smirked. “Seriously, though. You’re gonna do great out there.”

“I’ll do my best.” Ignis took a deep breath. “Let’s go to soundcheck, shall we?”

Ignis hoped his voice didn’t tremble as he sang into the microphone. The audience hadn’t been let in yet, so their only audience was the opening band, Cid, and his audio engineer daughter Cindy. Maybe if he pretended the room was this empty during the actual performance it would help him focus.

It felt strange to have the monitor in his ear, and they admittedly took a little bit longer than usual for Ignis to find the right balance of sounds to play from. Eventually, their live performance of “Stand Your Ground” presented an adequate mixture of levels for each musician.

“Sounds good on my end, y’all!” Cindy confirmed.

“Good to hear,” Ignis said, switching hats to his manager role. “We can let the next band set up.”

The hour before the show wasn’t anything out of the ordinary–Ignis usually participated in the band’s ritual of playing multiplayer King’s Knight on their phones–and it was a much-needed reprieve from the pressures of his debut as a live musician. After clearing a dungeon with their typical smacktalk and laughter, however, Ignis felt compelled to check in at the stage just in case something was amiss. As Noctis wasn’t there as a musician, he offered to come along ‘as a stand-in band manager,’ leading to good-natured ribbing as he followed Ignis out the green room to the backstage area.

“Well, whaddaya know?” The voice of Dino Ghiranze, music journalist for Insomnia Daily, was unmistakable. His presence backstage, on the other hand, was a mystery.

“Dino,” Ignis acknowledged.

“Ignis Scientia! Lookin’ sharp!” The blond circled him with an appreciative hand at his chin. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Noctis frowned. “Are you here for an interview?”

“Hey, cool it, pal.” Dino threw his palms up. “I’m not here to steal your man. Just wanted to let you know your scout’s at the bar. Drinking a Rusty Nail with the ol’ geezer, can’t miss him.”

Ignis moved backwards a few feet and peered around so he could see the bar. A man in a waistcoat with dreadlocks pulled back neatly behind his head was chatting with Cid. Both of them seemed relaxed, but Ignis tensed. Weskham Armaugh. It was him. This was real.

“I know, I know, your buddy Dino always delivers,” the journalist was saying. “No need to thank me. Just give me something good to write about tonight, and I’ll consider us even.”

“Thanks,” Noctis replied dryly. 

They kept talking, but Ignis couldn’t focus on anything but Weskham, and then the crowd stretched out across the space. It was a good sign that so many people had started showing up to their concerts–and that some of them were even wearing the patches that Prompto made on their jackets and handbags–but instead of feeling satisfied, Ignis felt sick. His arms felt strangely cold despite the leather sleeves, and they shook at an alarming speed. 

“Specs?”

He turned. Noctis tilted his head toward the opening act, who were ready to walk onstage. It took Ignis an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was blocking their path. The movement of stepping aside made his head spin.

“You good?” A hand touched his shoulder.

He nodded. Noctis squinted his eyes at him.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

They sat on some equipment black boxes off to the side, away from the crowd’s view.

“Apologies…”

The hour marched on to the beat of the live performance. Ignis thought for sure his dizzy spell would be done after sitting for so long–there was one point during their opening act’s cover of “Real Emotion” that he thought he was practically all better–but as Regalia’s scheduled set drew near, his palms were so sweaty he fretted they were soaking his pants.

Slippery fingers hardly helped his predicament. Ignis sucked in a long, shuddering breath.

“Hey, you sure you’re up for this?” Noctis asked, softly. 

Not at all. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look so good.”

Ignis looked up at Noctis, seeing his furrowed brows and pinched mouth. The manager forced a smile. “What happened to ‘you look hot’?”

Noctis didn’t react. He continued to stare at him, discerning.

The audience roared in the other room. The opening band’s ‘thank you!’s were barely audible beneath the applause. The musicians filed off the stage with their instruments one after the other, and each one made Ignis’s stomach fall deeper and deeper.

‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he scolded himself. It was time to get up. He needed to find the guitar. He saw the leather-clad figures of Regalia arrive at the corner of his eye. He needed to find the band and let them know it was time to go on. That was his job. 

“Is he all right?” the low voice of Lunafreya asked. 

There was a beat of silence.

"We need to lower the microphone stand."

Ignis had enough sense to be confused, looking up to watch Prompto act immediately. He bounced onto the stage, waving cheerfully to the crowd as if his bandmates weren't breaking down physically and mentally just out of view.

"I'll push if you want to grab the guitar," Gladio said behind Noctis. His hands hovered over the handlebars of the wheelchair, not quite touching until his friend gave him permission.

"Sure, give me a sec." The blue eyes that met Ignis's were determined, but he could see the concern buried beneath the surface. "Specs, find somewhere quiet. Head between your knees and breathe. We're gonna be fine out here."

"Noct–" But it was hard to speak, to breathe.

"Gladio, wheel me out there before he can apologize."

"Sure thing."

"Wait, Noct–"

A swell of applause broke out, the last force of gravity pushing Ignis to the floor.

Hunched over on the green room’s sofa, Ignis realized he didn’t remember how he got there. He bent down so that his head was between his knees. Despite the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be onstage anytime soon, his heart had yet to stop hammering in his chest.

“Hey, man, you need something?” He heard a voice ask, and it took him a moment to register that it was asking him.

Ignis could see the boots of one of the other musicians for the night. Embarrassed, he lifted his head to look the man in the eye while he waved him off.

The other band–For Hearth and Home, he recalled distantly–didn’t stick around in the green room for long. Maybe they sensed he wanted to be alone, or maybe they were uncomfortable being around him in such a state.

He sat there for an eternity. The drums and bass vibrated against the walls, and Ignis could picture how the night was supposed to go: he was to perform admirably, hitting every note and cue like he’d diligently practiced. The crowd would jump and dance, but he’d mostly lock eyes with Noctis in the back of the room, singing to him like he’d been sung to so many times. Noctis would look at him with that bright smile he wore during practice. Ignis would feel invincible. He would feel like he’d reached that fabled moment, when his life’s purpose would click into place like it did in all the movies.

He could hardly tell what song Noctis was singing on the stage across the building.

By the time the show was over, Ignis had no nerves left to fray. He could hardly lift his head up at the sound of Noct’s chair squeaking into the room.

“How are you holding up?” 

He wanted to bury himself beneath the couch cushions in shame, but he felt nominally less likely to die at any second. 

“I should be asking you that question,” he said, instead. 

“Well, didn’t break the other leg.” Noctis nudged his calf with his boot-less foot. 

Ignis dropped his head back down, staring at his folded hands. The wheels of Noct’s chair creaked against the wooden floor, then the cushion next to Ignis sank. His head sprung back up to see the other man slowly climbing into the couch next to him. 

Ignis was too late to help him, though Noctis was perfectly capable despite the pain. “Is it time for your medication?”

“I got a couple hours. I’m fine.” Noctis leaned close so that their shoulders touched. It was still and steady, unlike his erratic heartbeat. Ignis leaned in a little, too. 

Ignis should say something. He should apologize for shirking his responsibility, or ask if Noctis needed anything, or offer to help with any post-show tear-down tasks. He should go introduce himself to the label scout, or at least ask if someone else in the band was doing so. 

But he was exhausted, and he knew Noct was, too. So they rested.

Ignis skimmed the kwehs Dino embedded in his article. He was right: the amount of fans that came out to encourage Noctis was heartwarming. It wasn’t quite enough to outweigh his guilt. Noctis never should have had to perform when he was in pain. Ignis had offered to take his place and backed out at the very last second. He’d always known it would be hard, but…

Should he even show his face at rehearsal? But it’d be worse to abandon any more of his duties. He still had a job to perform.

Ignis was later than he usually was–the drive-thru to Takka’s Donuts was packed–but it was worth it when he saw everyone’s faces light up as he walked in with a box.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Gladio voiced his approval.

Luna clasped her hands together. “I smell chocolate!”

Prompto scurried over like a dog who heard the can opener. “Dibs on the ones with sprinkles!” 

The other blonde in the band gasped. “You can’t do that! Tell him, Ignis.”

“Hashtag sorry not sorry, Luna.”

“All right, you lot.” Ignis held the box over his head before Prompto could swipe for its contents. “Everyone gets one at first, and no one uses their instrument as a plate. Or as chopsticks, Prompto.”

Said drummer chuckled nervously under the weight of Ignis’s glare, but gratefully snatched a singular donut and napkin when prompted. “You’re the best, Igster!”

Luna, taking care to find the one with both chocolate and sprinkles, thanked Ignis politely. 

Gladio clasped a friendly hand on Ignis’s shoulder with one hand, fishing out a donut with the other. “That’s another one we owe ya.”

Normally, Ignis would say something sarcastic right about now. It felt wrong to carry on the ruse, to pretend everything was normal. The way each of the bandmates smiled at him, thanking him sweetly, gave the impression that he had their forgiveness. But it was Noct’s smile, not quite outshining the stiffness of his muscles as he inched his way over, that caused any semblance of casualness to crumble.

Ignis offered him the box of donuts to browse, but turned his face away.

"I failed you," Ignis said. "I'm sorry."

"Ignis…” Noctis let out a little laugh that sounded incredulous. “You saved me. I mean, I was the one who messed everything up and made you fix my mistakes. I thought I'd failed you. But when I saw what you were willing to do for me–for the band–even though you were in pain... I knew I could do it, after all."

"You shouldn't have had to," Ignis countered. "If you'd worsened your injury–"

"It would have been my own fault," Noctis finished, defiant, his eyes blazing with determination. It was the same fire he saw in Noctis on stage.

"Besides," he continued, "I've been thinking about what you said. About how I'm... different on stage. Truth is, talking is hard for me. I suck at words when I’m saying them,” Noctis said. “But when I sing them? I want to think it’s easier for people to hear how I really feel.”

“I do.”

“Good, because, well…” He wheeled himself over to the microphone, propping his boot-clad foot up on an equipment black box. “Guys?” he called out. “Like we practiced?”

Bemused, Ignis watched as Luna hastily wiped her fingers before switching her keyboard on and Prompto twirled the drumsticks around his fingers before tapping them rhythmically. “One, two, three, four–”

They weren’t exactly a metal band, but Prompto tended to hit the drums much harder, and Noctis plucked at just a couple of his guitar strings. The harmony of all four of the band members’ voices “aah”-ing at once was surreal in both its beauty and irregularity. 

He didn’t recognize the song at first, but the pieces fell into place when Noctis started to sing, “Well, it’s been building up inside of me for oh, I don’t know how long…”

The astonished laughter sprang out of Ignis so loud he covered his face with his hand. Oh, Noct.

“But he looks in my eyes and makes me realize when he says–”

“Don’t worry baby,” the others chorused.

Ignis managed the courage to uncover his glasses in time to watch Noctis grin back at him. “Everything will turn out alright.”

Ignis clapped loudly at the end of their performance. Luna curtsied, and Prompto called out, “Thank you, Insomnia!”, but Ignis only had eyes for Noctis’s bright joy. The stage was a lot less daunting to cross when he was waiting on it.

"At this point," Ignis said through his smile, "I feel it's my moral obligation to inform you that the Galdin Guys are not my favorite band."

“Yeah?” There was that little smug half-smirk on his face that Ignis loved so much. “What’s your favorite?”

“Truly? YRP,” Ignis admitted.

The smirk drooped into a pout. Ignis couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Come now,” he soothed. “I take my job seriously. It wouldn’t be professional to play favorites.”

Noctis’s expression softened, his voice lowering to a murmur as he asked, “You don’t wanna be… unprofessional?”

“Well, I suppose I could make some exceptions…”

He had to bend down rather low to meet Noctis’s lips due to his inability to stand, but they had a bit of a height difference anyway, and he didn’t mind the practice.

Five months later, he found himself on the rehearsal stage again.

"Okay, yeah, no. This isn't going to work."

Ignis's  heart plummeted. "My apologies. I suppose the idea of having a violin in the band was a bit of a stretch."

"Not you." Gladio jabbed an accusing finger at Noctis. "You're supposed to be playing to the audience. You can't spend the whole concert singing to your boyfriend."

Oh. His heart floated back up.

Noctis’s cheeks flushed. “I-I was making sure he was doing okay. I always watch you guys play.”

“Not like that, dude,” Prompto refuted with a smile.

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed, “you look at me like that and you better be buying me a drink.”

Noctis’s harrumph lodged in his throat as he crossed his arms. Fond, Ignis couldn’t help but tease, “If it helps, I can perform in the audience.”

“Not helpful.”

Luna’s eyes danced in amusement. “I think the two of you are very sweet.”

The lead singer tugged at his bangs. “Let’s just get back to rehearsal. We can worry about that later. Prompto?”

Grinning mischievously, Prompto counted them down: “One! Two! Three! Four!”