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“Well now, here you are.”
Noctis blinks, and the blurry film marring the papers on his desk dissipates as the words bring him back to reality. He lifts his head and smiles. “Fancy seeing you at my door, stranger. What brings you here?”
From his perch leaning against the doorway, Ignis smiles. “The sun has set, and the day has ended, my king. Perhaps you are aware?”
A quick glance toward the windows proves him right: stars blink to life across the sky, bright spots against the blues and purples. The last of the sun’s rays fall below the low-rise buildings that constitute Insomnia’s latest housing districts, reflecting weakly against freshly-fallen snow on the rooftops. The table lamp on the corner of his desk is the only source of light in the room, casting shadows against the papers he has long since lost interest for. “That it has, and yet here I am.”
“Here you are, indeed.” Ignis steps into the room, door still slightly ajar. His court robes flutter behind him with nary a wrinkle, the golden finery draped across his shoulders glowing in the lamplight, despite the long hours spent negotiating with dignitaries from other nations. Though they all strive to rise from the ashes of the Long Night, the days keep them busy, with nary a moment to rest. “At this late hour, I would expect my king to have retired from his office work excitedly.”
Noctis looks back down at his papers, failing to hide a wince directed toward a twinge in his neck. He has been reading various reports regarding the state of the land, scanning each line for successes and obstacles. For each note he pens in the margins, Ignis spins them into his arguments with such persuasion, earning all the world’s inhabitants a better living. It is hard, frankly boring work, but the smiles it puts on his kingdom’s face makes the extra effort and long hours worth it. A far cry from his younger years.
Yet the last report he remembers reading had been regarding agricultural production, with a heavy focus on beans… Little wonder he had zoned out in the midst of the second paragraph. Alas, this leaves much of his unending paper stack unread, many of which require notations for the morrow’s negotiations. His sight starts to blur again at the thought.
Fingers obscure the words on the page, drawing his attention back to Ignis, now leaning against his desk. Noctis sighs. “I’m afraid ruling a kingdom allows little room to step away. Our overseas guests are anxious to finalize agreements, and we can’t keep them waiting forever.”
“A kingdom cannot be rebuilt in a single day, and certainly not in a week of trade agreements. Everyone must rest sometime, even Lucian kings.” And, with an added note of mirth: “And royalty’s word is law.”
“Law, you say? I don’t remember that in any of our constitutions.” That earns him a chuckle, and a hand weaving fondly through his hair. Every so often, the scrape of metal passes over his scalp; a reminder of their bond. His eyes flutter at the contact, a yawn threatening to escape him.
“Really? I seem to remember a particular prince begging me every night to step away from the papers on the table and go to bed; particularly his bed. Threatened on several occasions to make it an order too.” In the grand scheme of things, those moments are some of the best of his life. Because after a few minutes of petulant persistence, Ignis would finally shut the laptop down and face him with an overly indulgent smile that the world outside his apartment would never get to see. Those smiles always bled into their nighttime routines, taking longer than necessary to prepare for bed in exchange for gentle touches and glancing kisses, always ending entangled in each other as they fell asleep. The next day, the day after, and all the days beyond may have had their difficulties, but those nights were theirs alone to share.
The hand carving through his hair trails downward, fingertips tracing lightly over his jaw, slightly unshaven from endless days of tireless work. Another hand trickles up to his neck, rubbing slow circles deep into the tendons there, and Noctis releases a breath of relief as he opens his eyes, unaware that he closed them. Ignis is smiling the same way as he did ten years ago. The irony of their situation is not lost on him, and he laughs softly. “How the tables have turned. Now I have a beautiful advisor pressing me to do what he was so stubborn to do.” Ignis flushes a brilliant rose, blending beautifully in the lamplight.
“Oh stop that, you.” Yet he never will. Ten years has done nothing to diminish Ignis’ beauty and wit, despite every obstacle that dared to stand in their path. To the world, he’s a sharp, stern, elegant hand of the king, using his words to both slice his opponents to ribbons and warm the coldest of hearts. He’s a marvel in the councils and an eloquent orator, speaking when the King cannot. Rumors bustle through the streets that he would make for an excellent Dawn King, though Ignis denies this vehemently, having devoted his whole life to see Noctis take his rightful place in a world without prophecies. And that’s what always gets to Noctis: ten years has only increased Ignis’ brilliant, blinding love for him. And only him.
“But how can I? I’ve got to be the luckiest king in history to have you by my side for all eternity.” The flush deepens.
“Not nearly as much as I am to have you with me, hale and hearty and whole.” Ignis leans forward, and Noctis will never not respond in kind, meeting in the middle for a kiss that says all the words that they are either too embarrassed or scared to say aloud. “Now, my king, let us adjourn for the night, and relish the hours we have together.”
“After you, Iggy.”
Outside the sanctuary of his office, no one lurks the darkened halls sans a sole glaive that has dutifully guarded him. A quick nod to them ends their diligence, earning him a quick salute before they make for the barracks. In the silence, save for their shoes clacking against the marble floors, Ignis and Noctis walk side-by-side past the main elevators, fingers intertwined between them. They pass through a set of unassuming double doors, revealing a hidden passage toward their shared quarters. Nostalgia warms him again with the memory of their younger years, chasing each other down ancient passageways to catch falling stars, fueled with adrenaline at the notion of being caught. There is still a thrill traversing here now, stepping into a small elevator: anticipation of an established night routine together, which none dare intrude.
In their shared quarters, they are quick to undress each other, hanging each piece of their regalia on their proper stands with reverence at these moments they get to share. In casual finery, Ignis takes to the kitchen as Noctis brings them deeper into this content atmosphere: their fireplace lit, their radio tuned in to light jazz, their window-side candles burning vanilla into the air. Outside their balconies, despite the frigid cold, Noctis carefully plucks one of their blooming camellias in their plant boxes, bringing it inside and tucking it into Ignis’ shirt pocket, earning him an affectionate huff.
“Honestly Noct… I will never need a flower to be wooed by your charms.”
“Let me have my indulgences, Specs.”
Dinner is always a simple affair compared to the grand feasts the Citadel chefs whip up. Tonight it’s a marinated sea bass caught fresh from the Cygillian Sea, laid atop a bed of rice and complemented with asparagus. They exchange expressions: Noctis makes a face at the moderate amount of green on his plate, and Ignis answers with inexplicable fondness; they both know that Noctis will eat anything Ignis makes, even small amounts of beans. The meal transitions into idle chatter about everything and nothing at once; today, they return to their brotherhood days, where Noctis’ attempts to concoct meals in a romantic gesture somehow always ended in disaster.
“I’ll not quite forget the time you managed to catch a boiling pot of water on fire, though I’m not sure I ever asked: how? ”
“The answer is a life lesson in never listening to Gladio’s cooking advice. Cup Noodles logic does not translate to linguine.”
Any lingering worries always washes away in the shower, bodies pressed together despite the heat of the water cascading on their skin. Noctis never fails to relax complete in every pass of soap against skin; every kiss pressed against shoulders, neck, jawline, lips; every lingering touch as they dry each other off. Sometimes it blossoms into something more, and sometimes they leave it at that, content to share the moment together without the desperation of arousal.
The days ends lazing in front of their fireplace, cocooned together in fleece blankets as sleep slowly creeps into their bones. Ignis indulges in light reading as Noctis trails his fingers across cloth and skin both. Sometimes Ignis will bring his reading to life, smooth voice lilting across the words on the page as Noctis listens intently, but other nights he’s content to let himself drift off, dozing lightly until a hand gently shakes him awake.
“Come, my love. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Mmm, but it’s more comfortable here…”
“Surely not as comfortable as a mattress?”
“But you’re here… ”
“And I’ll always be here… In this case, in our bed.”
The part where they prepare for bed is always hazy, as if all a dream. But regardless of ten years ago or today, it always ends the same: Noctis, curled in Ignis’ arms, hopelessly intertwined and impossible to extricate until dawn. Lips press to his forehead, and adoring whispers carry him to sleep, blessing his dreams forevermore, with one always, always tucked close to his heart:
“I love you, Noctis. Now, tomorrow, and all our days beyond.”