Work Text:
“Well,” Ignis says, as the movement of the door stirs dust in the abandoned room. “This has seen better days.”
Noctis nudges him aside with his hip as he passes, setting down the boxes he’s carrying to one side of the entrance. “It’s been, what, fifteen years since I moved out? Don’t think care-taking was high on the daemons’ list of priorities.”
It hasn’t been high on anyone’s list of priorities. Now that the Dawn has come, activity is slowly returning to Insomnia, but most of the rooms in the Citadel are still unused, and there’s only a skeleton crew of staff to take care of domestic matters. Noctis’s childhood bedroom hasn’t made the list so far.
“Are you sure this is where you’d like to stay?”
Ignis runs a fingertip along a shelf, accumulating gray dust.
“Better than the barracks, at least. And I’m not staying in Dad’s room.”
By barracks he means the appropriated guest rooms in the east wing, stripped by time and daemons of all luxuries, but still sufficient to house the remnants of the Kingsglaive.
Ignis’s expression softens by a fraction only perceptible to Noctis.
“Of course,” he replies.
He retrieves a rag from the box of cleaning supplies, and sets about clearing the worst of the dust from the furniture. Now that he no longer wears glasses, Ignis’s gaze is intense with nothing to filter it. Whatever task he works on, he does with intent concentration. Noctis watches him for a moment before grabbing a duster for himself.
“How long has it been since you were in here?”
“Hm. If I recall correctly, we spent more time sneaking out of this room than we ever did in it.”
Ignis replies with a soft chuckle.
“I believe the last time I entered was when I stayed the night upon your return from Tenebrae.”
Noctis strains his memory. Could that really have been the last time that Ignis stayed the night in his childhood bedroom? He’d crashed on the sofa semi-frequently after Noctis had moved into his own apartment, but childhood sleepovers had been somewhat rarer. After all, Ignis spent the long days of his childhood with Noctis; he had been encouraged to see his family in the evenings.
Ignis stretched himself long and lean to reach the top of the bookcase, going up onto the balls of his feet. Even in the simplest tasks, he maintains a feline poise that Noctis envies.
“I was so glad to see you back, and walking on your own two feet again. But it soon became clear you were rather distraught over what had happened there. And so, I volunteered to stay by your side until you could rest.”
He may have merely volunteered to be present, but Noctis recalls him slipping from the foldout bed and under the blanket with him, a warm and comforting presence with the rise and fall of his breath, until Noctis had fallen into dreamless sleep.
It takes an hour or two for them to clear away the dust from every surface, including the floors. Once they’re done with that, they begin the task of moving in the new furniture, a mismatched collection salvaged from all over the Citadel. The bed goes where it always has, and the dresser next to it, but Ignis objects when Noctis starts dragging the sofa over.
“It’s so when people come around, they can chill on the couch while I’m on the bed,” he explains.
Ignis sighs.
“And just how many guests do you intend to host while in bed?” he asks.
Noctis gives it some thought. Gladio’s more of an outdoor type, though Prompto might visit once he gets some game consoles set up. If there’s an unshattered television anywhere in Insomnia. Come to think of it, it might take a while.
“Mostly you,” he admits. “Though you won’t need to be on the sofa…”
Ignis gives a faint smile and blinks, cat-like.
“Then may I suggest we set the sofa next to the coffee table and bookshelf? It will make a pleasant reading nook for reviewing reports.”
Noctis gives him a blank face.
“Or your comic collection.”
“Now you’re talking.”
With the matter settled, Ignis begins stripping the covers from the couch cushions.
“These will need to be laundered. I suppose we could replace them in the meantime with those from the sofa in the portrait gallery, it’s hardly seeing visitors these days.”
Noctis scrunches his nose.
“The black ones? Ugh, not the atmosphere I was going for.”
“I think it will bring the room together. And black is a practical color, if someone spills a neon-green energy drink over the cushions, it won’t show any stains at all.”
Noctis rolls his eyes. He remembers the incident, of course, and the results of his lackluster efforts to mop it up, but when Ignis had arrived he had insisted on laundering the cushion covers and scrubbing the rest.
“Fine, whatever.”
Ignis looks up from the cushion he is wrangling out of its cover, hesitating for a moment. In that moment, Noctis can’t help but be reminded of his uncertain teenage version, tentative in moments when he was unsure if he should push Noctis to act, or cut him slack.
“What color would you prefer, Noct?”
Noctis lets out a frustrated breath, and says a little too fast.
“Just not black.”
Ignis’s full attention is on him now, as he runs a hand through his hair anxiously.
“I just… feel like I’ve always been surrounded by black. The halls, the walls, the Council, the Glaive… all of it… Cause of who I was. Didn’t have any choice in it. And… it’s okay if all the rest of it is black. It’s home, after all. But this is my room. I just want something different here.”
Ignis gives a slight nod.
“I do believe the guest rooms in the east wing have Lucian blue cushions. There’s only a handful of un-mangled ones, but I’m sure the Glaives won’t mind swapping blue for black.”
Noctis feels the tension in his body lower a notch.
“Good idea.”
They keep working until the returned sun beyond the windows begins to stain the room orange. After a while, Noctis steps back, watching as Ignis continues to work, brow furrowed as he stacks the bookshelves by category and in alphabetical order. Noctis slips away to make a brief sojourn to the kitchens, returning with two mugs of coffee.
“Thank you, love,” Ignis says as he accepts the mug, stepping back to survey the bookshelf. He reaches out a fingertip to straighten a leaning volume, then exhales, apparently satisfied.
Noct grabs the first volume from the other end of the shelf. Ignis tilts his head slightly.
“Been meaning to reread. Besides, we’ve made good progress, haven’t we?”
“I suppose we could call it a day,” Ignis agrees, setting his mug on the coffee table. After a moment, he also takes a comic from the shelf.
“Didn’t know you were into that.”
Ignis settles into the couch, crossing one long leg over the other.
“I read the first few volumes, but I must admit I never had time to keep up with it.”
Noctis takes a sip of coffee, wincing at the heat and the bitterness. He’d so rarely caught Ignis indulging in personal reading, given the twin mountains of paperwork he’d been saddled with for his own education and his role as royal advisor to Noctis. Noctis resolves to make sure he does more of it.
“Well, we’ve got some now. Good time to catch up?”
“Hm,” Ignis agrees, turning the page over. Noctis watches him. Ignis is always so intently focused no matter what he’s doing, and Noctis can’t help but smile at the image of him on the sofa in Noctis’s childhood bedroom, reading a comic with the same seriousness with which he regards council reports. He sits himself on the couch next to Ignis, and slips an arm around him, reading over his shoulder. They remain so, as Ignis slowly turns over the pages, the slight movement of his breathing detectable to Noctis as he leans against him. One volume turns a small stack on the table.
“It has gotten quite late,” Ignis remarks finally, looking up at the clock he’d hung on the wall earlier.
“Maybe you should stay the night,” grins Noctis, teasing. Ignis folds the book in his lap.
“A sleepover? Well, it has been quite some time… I’ll let the kitchens know we intend to take our dinner here.”
He takes out his phone to send the message. Noctis is already slipping under the blankets, holding one edge up as an invitation. Ignis chuckles as he joins him.
“Now this does bring back memories.” He slides his long legs under the covers and settles in next to Noctis. Noctis shuffles closer, resting his head on Ignis’s shoulder, and Ignis wraps an arm around him, pressing his lips to the top of his head. If it’s going to be like this from now on, Noctis won’t feel the need to escape this room ever again.
“Rest well, your Majesty.”