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When Noctis gets out of the bathroom, his hair dripping rivulets down his bare back, he almost trips over the pillow Ignis has set on the floor at the foot of the double bed. Noctis kicks the pillow out of the way before sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“No,” he says. It’s in the tone of voice he reserves for things he hates, like sand and vegetables and strangers getting too close.
Ignis looks up from his bag on the desk. “What do you mean, no?” he asks, voice dry. He folds the shirt and sets it by his bag. Watching Noctis and waiting for a response.
Noctis waves a hand towards the ground. “You can’t sleep on the floor,” he mutters, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes. It was too long before they all piled into the car. Maybe he should ask Ignis for a haircut.
He can feel Ignis’ gaze on him. Weighing, judging. Noctis looks down, his hair falling back into his eyes. Water drips down his cheeks, the back of his neck. He can feel his emotions swirling inside him like a sandstorm, scraping his skin and pressing knives against his throat. Noctis puts the heels of his palms against his eyes, takes a shuddering breath. "I said no," he repeats, not wanting to look up.
He hears Ignis take a step. "Prince-"
Noctis flinches, leans away before Ignis can get too close. "Leave me alone.”
He knows exactly what kind of expression Ignis is giving him even without looking up. Worried, with his brows furrowing together, his green eyes flashing as he adjusts his glasses.
"As you wish. Dry your hair, Prince, before you catch a cold.” Ignis’ words are soft, but he is still using his don’t-argue tone of voice.
Noctis can hear the rustling of cloth, footsteps. The bathroom door gently closing.
Noctis looks up, scrubbing at his eyes. Maybe he should have shared a room with Prompto instead. But Ignis had wanted to keep an eye on him, had pushed him into the motel room while Noctis was half-asleep and too bleary to argue. He stands up and unwinds the towel from around his waist. Dries off. Mostly.
It’s too hot to dress, but Noctis drags a pair of shorts on and lies in front of the air-conditioning, his wet hair dampening the sheets. Every weak breath of the air-conditioning against his face feels like it will be the machine’s last. The water from his hair feels like tears sliding down his face. He hovers between wakefulness and sleep, unwilling to submit to either. Closing his eyes conjures hideous nightmares, paints imagined scenes on the backs of his eyelids. And opening them, staring across the room, rolling to stare at the ceiling, well that feels like a nightmare too. The motel room is too small, too stuffy.
It isn’t home.
Ignis comes out of the bathroom, moving quietly. Noctis watches from the corners of his eyes as Ignis puts away his dirty clothes, cleans his glasses. Takes Noctis’ discarded towel and returns it to the bathroom. Ignis is dressed already - pants and a shirt. Noctis can feel a dozen barbed insults spring to his mind, hovering at the edges the way his blades hover just out of reach.
He shoves the insults aside, rolling and burying his face in the pillow. It smells of mildew, sweat. Noctis lifts his head and scowls. “I’m thirsty,” he complains, whining slightly.
“I believe there was a vending machine outside,” Ignis says. He pauses for a moment, but Noctis just drops his head back into the pillow. It stinks. “Very well.” Noctis hears him sigh.
There’s the sound of coins jingling. Noctis listens to Ignis’ footsteps as he leaves. Then the only sound left is the wheezing of the decrepit air-conditioning. The sound of his thoughts, rattling against his mind. He thought he’d cried himself out in the shower, but tears spring to his eyes again.
Traitor. Idiot. Fool. His father had been so desperate when he’d said goodbye and sent them off with smiles. Noctis should have seen through it. Should have known better. Should have said a better goodbye, instead of itching under his skin to go off with his friends to see Luna. To drive his father’s expensive car like he’d dreamed about doing for years. To escape beyond the walls of his cage. He should have seen it, the way his father had started after him half a dozen times before letting him leave on the stairs. It was so obvious, why hadn’t he figured it out?
The door opens and Ignis re-enters the room, a soda in his hand.
Noctis springs off the bed, his shoulders tense. “Did you know?” He watches Ignis’ face for the slightest movement.
Ignis looks him up and down, setting the can on the desk. “Know what, Prince?” His tone is neutral.
“When we left.” Noctis’ hands clench into fists. “He knew. Didn’t he?” He spits the words out like a challenge.
“I cannot claim to know the King’s mind,” Ignis says slowly, carefully.
Noctis takes a half-step forward, his fists tightening more. “What about you?”
Ignis looks away, squeezing his eyes shut. Noctis is about to take another step forward, to grab Ignis by the collar, when Ignis opens his eyes and meets his glare. “I had my suspicions.” His voice is soft.
“Then why didn’t you say something? Do something?” Noctis wants to yell, wants to throw something. He wants to pummel Ignis into the ground the way Gladiolus did to Noctis so many times. But his voice is steady, his hands at his sides. Too many years of training, of masking his emotions. And Ignis thinks Noctis never listened to his instructions.
“What should I have done?” Ignis spreads his arms, palms up. “You know what they say about duty, Prince.”
Noctis does take that step forward, his hands shaking. “I don’t care what they say-“
“It’s heavier than a mountain.” Ignis cuts him off, raising his palms further.
Noctis takes another step towards Ignis, shaking his head. “I could have stayed, I could have helped-“
“You would have died too.” Ignis snaps and his voice cuts Noctis like a knife.
Noctis feels his blood turn cold in his veins. “You don’t know that.” His voice comes out weak. He looks down at his feet, Ignis’ shoes. His vision blurs, his anger blown out like a candle. A life.
The shoes move, half a step forwards. Ignis’ voice is quiet. “Prince-“
The anger that blew out instantly reignites, twisting flames up Noctis’ chest. “Don’t call me that.” His head whips up, eyes narrowing. “Do you think I forget?” Ignis opens his mouth, but Noctis barges on, glaring at him, the words spilling out like blood. “Do you think there’s a day I don’t forget what I am? Who I have to be?” He’s close enough to hear Ignis’ sharp intake of breath. “Do you think I don’t hear my duty in every-“
“It isn’t for you,” Ignis cuts him off, his voice rising slightly. “You’re not the only one who has a mountain to bear.” His cheeks are slightly flushed.
“What are you talking about?” Noctis takes a step back, shaking his head. Ignis isn’t the one who has to watch his own fate play across his father’s face. Had to. Noctis’ fingers clench again, his nails digging into his palms.
Ignis’ green eyes glare back from behind his glasses. “I’ve spent my whole life training to advise you, to prepare you, to protect you.” His voice is low, angry. “Except I can’t protect you from everything, I can’t-“ Ignis snaps his mouth shut and looks away.
“Can’t what?” Noctis folds his arms over his chest and scowls.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ignis speaks quickly and pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Can’t what?” Noctis repeats, his voice hard.
“I can’t make it better for you,” Ignis snaps, throwing his hands up in frustration. His cheeks are stained pink. “I can’t fix it, I can’t do anything. I can’t give you what you want, I don’t even know what you want.” Ignis takes a deep breath and shakes his head. Averts his gaze, studying the window past Noctis' shoulder.
“What I want?” Noctis repeats dully. What does he want? He wants to be in the arcade with Prompto after school, bumping shoulders as they play the newest games. He wants to be on his couch, the smell of Ignis’ cooking in his nose while he doodles in the margins of his homework. He wants to be training with Gladiolus, sweaty and sore and smiling ear to ear. Driving his car through the empty streets at night, feeling like the entire city had vanished and left him alone.
He wants to be eight years old again and holding Luna’s hand. He wants to be seven, before the night of fire and blood and flames. He wants to be four, three, safe in his father’s arms. He wants to meet his mother, to see her face, hear her laugh. He wants another life, a different life. One without duty and crowns and death. He wants to be someone unimportant, someone that doesn’t matter in the plots of kings and empires. He wants to get out of his head, to drive faster than his thoughts.
Noctis shakes his head helplessly. His vision is blurring again. He looks down, sniffling. “I want it to be okay,” he admits, hating the way it makes him sound like a child. If it was anyone other than Ignis, he wouldn’t even say it.
He sees Ignis’ shoes move again, step right up to his own bare feet. “I’m sorry.” Ignis wraps his arms around Noctis like he’s ten years old again. For a long heartbeat, Noctis is frozen, arms at his sides. “I’m sorry I can’t make it okay,” Ignis continues. Noctis’ fingers creep towards Ignis’ back. “I’m sorry that it’s never going to be okay again.” Ignis bows his head slightly, resting his chin against Noctis’ shoulder.
Noctis lets out a shuddering breath, his fingers twisting in the back of Ignis’ shirt. He’s not good at hugs. The only person who usually touches him is Prompto. Well, Gladiolus too, but that’s in training. That’s different. Prompto is full of constant touches, slinging arms, casual intimacy. For weeks after Prompto had finally gotten the courage to talk to him, Noctis had been tormented by all those touches.
There had been a girl once. At some function, some party. He couldn’t even remember. She’d cornered him in a hallway. Kissed him before he could escape from her, all soft and sweet. He’d almost considered kissing her back, but she’d murmured Prince against his mouth in a way that made him turn on his heel, disgusted. He had called Ignis’ phone as he walked away, ignoring the girl following behind him.
Ignis had asked what happened. Noctis had ignored him, spent the entire drive home pretending that he didn’t notice Ignis’ concern. Ignis asked him again in the entranceway, lingering by the closed door. Noctis had whirled, on the frayed edges of screaming. “It doesn’t matter,” he’d said, because it did. Ignis had left and Noctis had buried his face in his pillow and screamed until it stopped hurting.
He’d analysed Prompto’s touches for a week before the answer had sliced him open like a knife. Prompto was just as lonely as Noctis. Lonelier. Filled up with affection and no one to give it to. After he’d realized that, he stopped flinching whenever Prompto touched him unexpectedly. Mostly. But everyone else… He never knew if they wanted to touch him, or his title, the throne he’d inherit. So he stayed away from them, the hassle they’d bring, the uncertainty. Besides, there was Luna. Noctis’ heart tripped in his chest every time he thought of her, her bright smile, the way she’d held his hand, her fingers warm against his. His heart is tripping now, thudding against Ignis’ chest.
Noctis wants to bury his face in Ignis’ shoulder, to let out the sobs that are climbing up his throat. He wants to writhe out of Ignis’ grasp, to fling himself under the blankets in the bed. Ignis is not the kind of person that hugs, that stands still while Noctis hugs him back. That doesn’t complain about the way Noctis is twisting his shirt. Noctis is not the kind of person to hug like this, either. His breath shudders again. Ignis pulls him tighter.
“You’re not alone, Noctis,” Ignis tells him in a soft voice. “You’ve got me. And Gladiolus. And Prompto.” His hands are warm against Noctis’ bare back, distracting. Close enough to the scar from when he was almost cleaved in two to make Noctis’ skin prickle. He knows Ignis won’t touch it, but he can’t stop his skin from itching at the touch.
Noctis presses his face against Ignis’ shoulder, uses his shirt to dry his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he mutters against Ignis’ chest. He ought to pull away, let go. He unclenches his hands and makes an attempt at smoothing the wrinkles in the back of Ignis’ shirt, stroking the fabric out against his back.
Ignis flinches and presses his fingertips into Noctis’ skin for a brief second. Noctis can feel his sharp inhale, can feel Ignis' muscles tensing under his hands.
It doesn’t take him a week to slot the puzzle pieces together this time. The way Ignis almost never touches him unless Noctis touches him first. The way he’s caught Ignis staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Why lately he’s always Prince when they’re alone. He pulls back, meets Ignis’ eyes. “Ignis-“
“Your soda will get warm.” Ignis steps back. He adjusts his glasses, averting his gaze.
Noctis’ skin feels cooler without Ignis’ warmth. For a second he considers putting a shirt on, but he’ll sweat through it in minutes. And it’s not like Ignis hasn’t seen almost every part of him before. He can feel his own cheeks heating up, turning pink.
Ignis hands Noctis his soda. It has gotten a little warm – there’s almost no condensation on the can. Noctis stares at it for a moment in his hand. “Ignis,” he says in a quiet voice, looking up.
Ignis sighs, looking down at the desk. “It doesn’t matter, Prince.” He sounds tired.
“Why not?” Noctis clings to the uncomfortable conversation because it’s the only thing that’s managing to distract him from thoughts of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood, staining the marble, the tiles. Almost managing. Sort of. Not really.
Ignis meets his gaze, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because you’re the prince.” He’s using his pointing-out-the-obvious tone of voice. “Because you’re engaged to Lady Lunafreya. Because it would be improper.”
Noctis scoffs. “Improper?” He opens the soda, takes a sip. It’s too sugary-sweet. He makes a face and holds it out.
“Yes, improper.” Ignis takes the can. He takes a cautious sip and makes a face, setting the can down on the desk. “I won’t try that one again,” he mutters to himself.
Noctis sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his hair out of his eyes. If he concentrates on Ignis he can block out some of the other thoughts swirling around his head – and he needs to block them out. “How?” Noctis needles.
Ignis shoots him an exasperated look. Noctis just shifts on the bed, waving a hand to the empty space. Ignis stares at it, glancing between Noctis’ face and the bed. He sighs again and takes the few steps towards the bed, sitting down on the edge. “You know how, Prince,” Ignis says tiredly. “So don’t… Just don’t.”
Noctis’ thoughts swirl in the inky blackness of his mind, pushing and shoving. He’s treated so many don’ts like challenges. Don’t slouch, don’t swear. Don’t leave vegetables on your plate. Don’t drive so fast, don’t leave your homework undone, don’t stay out all night. Don’t skip training, don’t skip school. All those rules he followed, the lectures he got when he didn’t, and for what? What good are grades now? What good is anything now? Noctis’ hands clench into fists on his knees. He tries to shove the thoughts away, but they just come back, stronger and darker.
“Why not?” Noctis spits out, looking up.
Ignis is watching him with a guarded expression. “I told you already, it doesn’t matter.” His voice is calm.
It’s Ignis’ tone of voice that sets off the final spark, ignites Noctis’ dark thoughts like they’re kindling, setting off a wildfire that screams through his head, burning his mind. He wants to hurt something, someone, make them feel the same black despair that’s wrapping its fingers around his throat and squeezing, choking him. He waits until Ignis blinks. He dives forward, crushing his lips against the other man's. His kisses are attacks, the best weapon he has.
The first one makes Ignis stiffen, flinch. The second causes him to make a sound in his throat that might be a snarl or a moan. The third one makes him shove Noctis away, scrambling off the bed to stand with his back to the wall.
His face is red, flushed with anger. "How-"
"It's what you want, isn't it?" Noctis taunts, sliding off the bed, glaring. His hands tremble at his sides, nerves and anger coursing through him like bad whisky sneaked from Ignis' apartment and shared with Prompto on a cold, half-forgotten night.
"No." Ignis shakes his head, adjusting his glasses. "I'll-"
"What, it isn't soft and sweet enough for you?" Noctis goads, talking over Ignis, stepping closer. If he doesn’t spit his anger out he’ll choke on it.
Ignis gives him a glare sharp enough to make Noctis flinch and swallow. "Hurting me isn't going to bring your father back, Prince." Ignis' voice is as cold as a blade and his words cut through the fire like icy water down Noctis’ back. "I'll sleep in the car."
He pushes himself off the wall, shoving past Noctis. Noctis reaches out and before he realizes what he's doing, he grabs the back of Ignis' shirt. "Don't." His voice cracks on the word. A shudder courses through his body and makes his fingers tremble.
Ignis' shoulders twitch. "Unhand me." He speaks without turning around, his voice still cold.
"I'm sorry." Noctis' voice is a whisper. He can feel Ignis tensing and knows that he won't be able to fix this. His rage feels far away, like it belonged to somebody else. "Ignis, please." He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. He drops his hand, lets Ignis go. Waits for the sound of footsteps, the door closing. He hugs his elbows to his chest. Idiot. Fool. His knees feel weak.
The sound of a door shutting doesn't come. Noctis opens his eyes slowly, afraid to find out what expression is on Ignis' face.
Ignis is watching him with narrowed eyes. "I'm not some little toy for you to amuse yourself with," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I know that," Noctis says softly. He could think of a handful of reasons, excuses, justifications. Always the selfish prince. He looks down again, studies his toes.
Ignis blows out a sigh. "I'd still rather sleep in the car." His voice is as stiff as the rest of him.
"I won't-" Noctis speaks up quickly and it makes his voice crack again. He clears this throat, looking away. "I won't touch you. If you don't want me to." He feels stupid for adding the last part, an idiot, the worst idiot. Why would he even say something so stupid? He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes again, trying to get his thoughts under control.
Ignis puts a hand on Noctis' shoulder. "I know this is hard for you," he says in a soft voice, "but as long as you live there is still hope." Noctis looks up and Ignis meets his gaze. "I'll forgive a lot from you, Noctis, but I have limits too." He gently squeezes Noctis’ shoulder, then drops his hand.
Noctis clears his throat, finds the voice he uses for formal occasions. It’s close enough to the one he uses – used for his father to make his throat feel stuffed full of tiny daggers. They prick every word. "I'm sorry for kissing you without permission. I won't do it again." He makes a slight bow and his hair falls across his eyes, obscuring his vision.
He feels Ignis touch his head briefly. "We can pretend it never happened, Prince." His voice sounds almost normal. Except for that undercurrent of anger and disappointment.
Noctis lifts his head, nodding slightly. He can slide into this role that he knows by heart. Prince Noctis and his royal advisor. King, those black thoughts remind him. He shoves them out of reach, like a weapon in the armoury.
"Okay." He shrugs. The whirlwind of emotions have left him feeling drained, exhausted. Ashamed. He sits on the side of the bed, puts his head in his hands. "I really am sorry." His voice is a mutter and he curls his fingers in his hair, wanting to rip chunks of it out in frustration.
"It doesn't matter." Noctis feels the bed shift as Ignis sits down beside him. "Everything will look better in the morning," Ignis says it quietly, as though even he doesn't believe his own words.
Noctis shakes his head. "It won't."
"It won't," Ignis agrees. "But you have a duty to your people."
"Duty," Noctis echoes dully. "Yeah." He shuffles up the bed and presses his face against the stinking pillow.
He hears Ignis moving. Footsteps. The light switches off. More footsteps, the creak of the bed. He can feel the mattress shifting under Ignis’ weight.
Noctis opens his mouth, closes it. The last time he was in a bed with Ignis, Noctis had been nine, ten, dreaming that same nightmare he always had. Normally he cried himself back to sleep, muffling the sounds with his pillow.
But one night it hadn't worked. He kept shivering, his eyes and throat feeling like he was choking on sand. Ignis always slept in the room beside his. Noctis had crept to his bed, beneath the sheets. Ignis had woken instantly. Seen Noctis' face in the dim light. Held him until he fell asleep again, stroking his hair. Thinking of it made Noctis wish he was ten again, that he hadn't just betrayed Ignis' trust.
Noctis turns slightly, peeking out from under his hair. Ignis lies like a corpse, on his back with his arms crossed over his chest. A dark shadow in a darker night. He licks his chapped lips, nervous. “Ignis?”
“Yes, Prince?” Ignis’ voice is as quiet as Noctis’.
“Do you re-“ Noctis cuts himself off and coughs, clearing his throat. He rolls onto his side, trying to make out Ignis’ expression in the faint light. He can still feel the ghost of Ignis’ lips against his. A wave of shame, mingled with guilt, crashes into him. “Do you want a do-over?” The question spills past his lips before he can stop himself, before he can swallow the words back down and seal them away.
“Excuse me?” Ignis’ voice is too loud in the quiet room. He’s looking at the ceiling, Noctis thinks.
Noctis can feel his face heating up. He’s probably blushing as red as Prompto, if not redder. He clings to the awkwardness, uses it as a shield against the dark thoughts that coil like snakes, daemons. He shudders, placing a hand against his back. “A do-over,” he repeats himself and touches the edge of the scar with his fingertips.
Ignis exhales slowly. “I want you to go to sleep, Prince.” His voice is mild, but Noctis can see that Ignis has squeezed his eyes shut.
“Can’t,” Noctis mumbles, pulling his hand away to push his damp hair out of his eyes. He covers his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temples.
Ignis is silent. If Noctis couldn’t see his chest rising and falling, he’d almost think the man wasn’t breathing. It was stupid to say anything. Noctis is about to roll over, to face the window, when Ignis puts a hand to his face, covering his eyes. “Why are you asking?” The words come slow, heavy.
Noctis looks at his fingertips, then presses his hands together. Any answer he can think of won’t be good enough, will only drive the knife deeper. The swirl of emotions twisting through him doesn’t give him an excuse to twist someone else. He chews at his lower lip, searching for an answer. “I don’t want your memory to be a bad one,” he finally says, looking up from his fingers. It’s the best he can do and he’s not sure it will be good enough.
Ignis watches him, his head turned. He takes a deep breath and looks away. His eyes seem to glitter in the dim light as he clears his throat. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.” It’s the stuffy kind of voice he used in front of Noctis’ father. Used.
Noctis wants to shove him off the bed, to push him into the ground. “Is that your only reason not to?” He inches slightly closer, his fingers twitching. If he can’t get out of his mind, he’s going to crawl out of his skin.
A long moment goes by without Ignis saying a word, barely making a sound. Noctis moves across the bed, stopping a few inches from Ignis. His heart is a war drum in his ears, loud enough to drown out most of his thoughts. He can see Ignis’ eyes glancing between him and the ceiling. Ignis presses his lips together and closes his eyes.
Noctis inches closer still. He can feel the heat radiating off Ignis’ body, making him uncomfortably hot. “Ignis?” His voice is a whisper.
Ignis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Noctis props himself on his elbow and leans over him, careful not to touch him. Ignis’ breath is warm against his face, distracting. “Ignis.” He draws the word out as he hovers over the other man’s face.
Ignis’ eyes flicker open, widening slightly, then narrowing. “It’s a good reason,” he whispers, meeting Noctis’ gaze.
“It’s a shit reason,” Noctis counters. “So give me permission.” His face feels red-hot and he mostly wants to roll over and hide his face in the pillow again. Except backing out now would make him look even stupider than he already does.
Ignis exhales a sigh and closes his eyes again. Noctis can see him shake his head slightly. “Fine.” Ignis’ voice is barely audible.
Noctis blinks. He’d been expecting a no. His nerves are in his throat, choking him, as he lowers his head. One girl in one hallway isn’t enough practice to make him as bold as he’d like to be. Ignis’ eyelids flutter for a moment, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
Noctis brushes his lips against Ignis’, feather-light. Ignis’ lips are softer, less chapped than his. He hadn’t noticed before. A shiver runs through him, from his scar all the way up his spine to his skull. Ignis doesn’t pull away and Noctis kisses him again, putting his other hand beside Ignis’ head for balance as he hovers over him.
Ignis tilts his head slightly and kisses Noctis back. It’s everything and nothing like the girl in the hallway. Noctis’ breath stutters in his throat and his arms don’t feel strong enough to support him. Ignis puts his palms flat against Noctis’ chest, slowly running his hands around to his shoulders. Ignis’ touch feels like the desert sun, hot against his skin. His lips are hotter still.
Ignis’ tongue runs along Noctis’ bottom lip, light and teasing. Noctis’ breath hitches again. He hears Ignis’ echo him. The sound makes Noctis’ heart slam against his ribs, makes his arms wobble. Ignis twists his fingers through Noctis’ hair, pulls his head closer, kisses harder. Slides his tongue past Noctis’ lips, into his mouth.
Noctis whines, the sound caught in the back of his throat. His fingers tense in the sheets as he kisses back. If he’d known kissing could feel like this he would have done it more often. A lot more often. Ignis tugs at his hair, drawing Noctis’ head away, giving him a soft kiss. Another.
“Tell me to stop.” Ignis’ voice is husky.
Noctis shivers, opening his eyes. Ignis is watching him, his eyes dark. “What if I don’t?” He sounds more out of breath than he’d expected.
Ignis drops one hand to his face, covering his eyes. The other hand gently toys with Noctis’ hair. “Then I’ll want to kiss you all night. And we both need some sleep, Prince.” He lifts his hand to Noctis’ cheek, holding it there for a moment while he lets out a gentle sigh.
Noctis dips his head and gives Ignis one last gentle kiss. “Okay,” he whispers the word against Ignis’ lips. His skin feels like it’s crackling with energy, lightning zapping between his pores.
He pushes himself away, lying back down on the pillow and faces Ignis to watch him. He can feel the dark thoughts circling around his mind again, waiting for an opening so they can slice through him. “Can I ask you something?” He needs the distraction.
“Of course.” Ignis turns towards him, rolling onto his side.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Noctis feels his face heating up again.
Ignis coughs slightly. “A book,” he mutters, adjusting his hair.
“You read about kissing in a book?” Noctis can feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, just for a second. It slips away before he can grab onto it.
“I read a lot of books, Prince.” There was a warning note in Ignis’ tone.
Noctis shakes his head slightly. “You’re such a nerd, Specs.” He closes his eyes.
He’s still close enough to feel Ignis’ sigh fan across his face. Noctis inches forward, presses his forehead against Ignis’. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Ignis is still and quiet for a moment. “Do you remember what Prompto said, when he fell into that sand dune?” He puts a hand to Noctis’ bare side, his fingers hovering above Noctis’ skin.
“Not really.” Noctis yawns, ducking his head.
“I believe it was something along the lines of ‘what happens in the desert should stay in the desert.’” Ignis lets the weight of his hand fall onto Noctis’ waist. “I think it would be better if we applied that logic to tonight.” He shuffles slightly, pressing his legs against Noctis’.
“Sure.” Noctis looks up and meets Ignis’ stare. “It doesn’t matter.” He closes his eyes and slides a hand over Ignis' arm, twists his fingers in the back of Ignis' shirt. He can feel exhaustion finally defeating the other emotions swirling in his mind. Black against the darkness.
Ignis places his forehead against Noctis’ again. “I’m glad you agree. Good night, Prince.”
“G’night.” Noctis yawns once more, snuggling a little closer. It’s too hot, but it feels nice to lie under someone’s arm. Safe.
For a moment after waking up, Noctis forgets. And then everything – everything – crashes through his mind like a behemoth. He opens his eyes slowly, rubbing the sand out of them.
Ignis is in the middle of laying out clothes and towel on the other side of the bed. He notices Noctis moving and smiles slightly. “Good morning.” He sounds like the same old Ignis.
“Morning.” Noctis feels a little unsure. “You showered already?”
Ignis touches a hand to his obviously damp hair. “Indeed. It’s all yours, Noct.”
The sound of his name makes Noctis flinch. “Thanks.” He slides off the bed. Ignis passes him the towel, the clothes. Ignis’ fingers are warm and Noctis has to try not to flinch again.
He keeps yawning in the shower. He feels like he barely slept. He’d drifted off into one nightmare after another, jerked awake again and again. Eventually he’d shifted out from under Ignis’ arm and curled up on his side. Stared at the window and waited for the dawn light to slash through the tattered curtains. He must have fallen asleep before the sun rose.
He dresses, roughly dries his hair. Brushes his teeth, avoids his reflection. Grips the edges of the sink and bends over, taking a deep breath, two. Seven. Twelve.
“Okay,” he says to himself. As long as he doesn’t think about it, he’ll be okay.
Noctis steps out into the room and shoves his toothbrush into his bag. Ignis has already left. Noctis glances around the room. Nothing that doesn’t belong. He swallows a bitter laugh and steps out into the glaring sunlight.
The Regalia stands out in the dusty, empty parking space. Noctis tosses his bag into the backseat, sighing.
“You should get the others.” Ignis is already in the driver’s seat, staring at the map.
“Right.” Noctis sighs. He trudges back and bangs on the door. “Oi,” he drawls the word out loudly. “Hurry up.”
He can hear Gladiolus saying something. Maybe ‘yeah yeah.’ Maybe something about a bear. Or a pear.
Noctis goes back to the car and slumps into the backseat. He feels like he could fall asleep if he just closes his eyes. He keeps them stubbornly open, watching the breeze scattering the dirt and dust.
It feels like an hour before Prompto and Gladiolus emerge from the room.
“Slow.” Noctis draws the word out, glaring.
“Sorry.” Prompto throws his bag in the back and slides into the car. “Had to fix my hair, you know.” He grins at Noctis, bright as the sun.
Gladiolus chuckles as he gets into the car. “Worse than Noct.” He glances back at them both.
Noctis scowls and slouches further into the seat. “Wake me up if anything interesting happens.” He covers his eyes with an arm.
“Sure.” Prompto sounds way too cheerful for this time of morning. “Hey, are we gonna stop for something to eat? I’m hungry.” Noctis is pretty sure Prompto’s stomach growls, as whiny as the rest of him.
“You’re always hungry,” Gladiolus says.
“I’m sure there will be an adequate diner on the way.” Ignis starts the engine up. Noctis feels the car rumble as Ignis pulls out of the parking spot.
“Yeah.” Prompto’s voice is soft.
Noctis lets the sound of the car lull him to drowsiness while his mind is distracted. What happened last night doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Again. He peeks around his arm towards the front of the car, towards Ignis’ head. But the desert is pretty big, he considers, before sleep washes over him and pulls him down.