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At first it’s just a cough, and Ignis is certain that some cough medicine and honeyed tea will help. He wears a mask and gloves as a matter of course – the only thing worse than Ignis getting sick would be making the prince sick as well.
The prince who gets home late with Prompto unexpectedly in tow. Ignis mentally recalculates dinner options as the two boys flop onto the freshly-cleaned couch, arguing back and forth about the video game already loading on the television. They’d barely even spared him a hello.
In Prompto’s defence, Ignis is fairly certain the boy is still afraid of him.
Noctis seems so absorbed in the video game that Ignis decides to take a chance on stir-fry. He's done it before, too many times to count, mixing noodles and meat and trying to sneak in vegetables that always end up on the side of Noctis' plate. Maybe this time will be different, but Ignis doesn't have much hope.
He's stirring the noodles when the nausea hits. Swallowing hard, he glances down into the wok. They're both too skinny, he considers, glancing towards the couch. He'll just give them larger portions and claim he's eaten already. They won't know the difference.
When he calls them for dinner, Noctis eyes him suspiciously before sitting down.
Prompto eats enthusiastically, scowling at the way Noctis picks out his vegetables. "Seriously!" Prompto reaches across the table and swipes the food up with his chopsticks. Which just makes Noctis pile them onto the edge of Prompto’s plate instead.
Ignis is just pleased they're not going to waste. He sips his tea and tries not to make a face at the taste.
After they’ve eaten, the boys go back to the game and leave Ignis to clean up after them. He sighs, wrapping his fingers around the still-warm mug. Sometimes he thinks about hiring someone else to clean up after the prince. When he dreamed of being Noctis' advisor, picking up trash and doing dishes was not what he had in mind. He swallows the last lukewarm sip of the tea and stands up, tugging the mask back into place.
The boys continue with their game as Ignis cleans up, his eye on the clock. He ought to go and tell them both they have homework to do, but Noctis' laughter breaks through the argument every few minutes, and Ignis doesn't want to be the bearer of boring news. The quiet would be preferable to the loud game, however, as he's starting to get a headache.
"Noctis," he calls out, standing on the edge of the living room, "is your friend going to stay the night?"
One of them pauses the game, and Noctis and Prompto look back and forth at each other. They both shrug, almost mirror images of the other.
"Is he allowed to?" Noctis asks, glancing up under his too-long bangs.
Ignis adjusts his glasses. He did the background check himself. "If you insist," he says blandly.
Prompto cuts into the conversation "It's alright. I don't wanna impose or anything." He's blushing under his freckles.
"You're not imposing." Noctis shoots a scowl in Ignis' direction. "Come on, you can't leave when we're this close to beating the game." He nudges Prompto's shoulder with his own.
Prompto looks between Ignis and Noctis. "W-Well, if it's alright." He gives a lopsided smile.
Ignis sighs, which makes his glasses fog up from the mask. "I'll be back tomorrow, then."
Noctis has unpaused the game and nods, distracted.
Ignis sighs again as he walks towards the entranceway. He doesn't understand the appeal of the mindless violence on the screen, the flashy effects. Perhaps he should research the game if Noctis is going to continue playing it with such fervour.
By the time he gets home, barely a twenty minute drive, Ignis feels drained. The cough is getting worse, dry and painful. He finds flu medicine in the bathroom and takes the suggested night-time dose. Then he tries to study, to do his own homework, but the words blur on the pages in front of him, his vision fuzzing as though he's not wearing his glasses. He checks twice in a row, ensuring that they're still there. On the third time he lets out a disgusted sigh. There's no point in trying when it's not working, and Ignis crawls into bed, the open books looming in the darkness, the gleaming pages pale and accusatory.
He wakes up feeling cold. His alarm - he'd slept through it, hours ago. Ignis scowls, blinking at the screen. He hasn't missed an alarm in... He can't even remember. He tries to remember his schedule, his fingers tapping clumsily at his phone. Just lectures, he thinks, but it’s hard to think at all, and the phone falls from his damp fingers. Water. He sits up, his body heavy. He needs water, but his legs don’t want to listen to him. It takes him a few tries to get them out from the bed, and by then Ignis just wants to flop back onto it and sleep.
He forces himself upright, into the kitchen. Drains a glass of water, and then another. Rummages in the bathroom for the flu tablets and takes the daytime dosage. For a brief moment he considers calling Gladiolus, asking him to look after Noctis, but the prince will survive one afternoon on his own. Probably. And there’s still hours left until he finishes school. Ignis drags himself back to bed, pausing in the hallway to cough and cough, leaning against the wall and feeling like his ribs are splitting apart.
He’ll be better by the afternoon, Ignis tells himself as he stumbles back to his bed. Definitely better by the afternoon…
Something cool is against Ignis’ forehead. Cool and wet, which makes his lips twist in a weak scowl. He cracks his eyes open, but without his glasses he can’t make out much more than a dark-haired figure by the bed.
“You look terrible,” Noctis tells him.
Ignis opens his mouth to give a dry reply, but he coughs instead, turning his head away fast enough to make his vision spin.
He hears Noctis sigh, feels the cloth shift against his head. “The university called me when you didn’t show up, you know.” The prince is talking softly, and Ignis turns his head back, closing his eyes. “I didn’t realize you had me as your emergency contact.”
Ignis licks his lips and clears his throat. “It was you or Gladiolus,” he croaks. Every word feels like a knife scraping against the inside of his throat.
“I would’ve gone with Gladio,” Noctis mutters under his breath. “Should I call a doctor or something?”
Ignis shakes his head slightly. “I just… need rest.” He squeezes his eyes, feeling weak. Hating it.
“You? Rest?” Noctis teases. “I don’t think you’ve got it in you.”
Ignis’ lips curl slightly upwards. The cloth against his head feels nice. “You’d be surprised,” he mumbles.
“Did you eat?” Noctis puts his hand on the cloth and smooths it out.
Ignis carefully shakes his head and hears Noctis blow out an annoyed breath.
“Alright.” The weight of the prince’s hand vanishes, and Ignis hears the sound of the chair scraping. “Try not to die before I get back, alright?”
“I’ll do my best,” Ignis rasps out.
He hears Noctis scoff, the sound of his footsteps going down the hall. Ignis sighs, but it turns into another cough, one that propels him up, clutching at his knees, pressing his forehead against them, coughing out knives that tear his throat.
There’s a hand against his back, gentle and rubbing. He hadn’t heard Noctis slip back into the room. Ignis shudders, tries to draw an even breath. When he manages, he sits up slightly and opens his eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?” Noctis passes Ignis a glass of water as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sure.” Ignis downs the water in a gulp. “You should leave before you get sick too.” He isn’t even wearing a mask, the idiot.
Noctis takes the glass and shrugs. “Be a good way to get out of exams,” he mutters, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. “Besides, I know an excellent nurse.” He grins at Ignis.
Ignis just groans and lies back down. Noctis fetches the cloth from the tangled sheets and sets it back on his forehead, smoothing out Ignis’ hair afterwards.
“Now I don’t even want to leave,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m going hunting in your bathroom, Specs,” he continues, his voice slightly louder. “Any objections? Just shake your head.”
Ignis rolls his eyes. “I don’t object." He wonders if his throat is truly bleeding, or if it just feels like it is.
“Stop talking.” Ignis doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the prince is scowling. “You’ll just make it worse.”
If his throat didn't feel sandpapered and bleeding, he'd give Noctis a lecture, but he just lets out a puff of air that had meant to be a sigh, and listens to Noctis' quiet footsteps as they retreat from the room.
He can make out rattling, the cabinet door opening and closing. And opening again. Worry builds in his chest, squeezing his lungs just in time to battle another coughing fit that tears its way through him. Ignis sits up, clutching at his eyes, his throat.
"Shit, Iggy." Noctis hurries back into the room, dumping the bottles on the bed and sitting beside him. "I'm calling-"
"No." Ignis coughs the word out, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Noctis." He doesn't look up, doesn't want to see the disbelief on Noctis' face.
"No you're not," Noctis snaps. "Stop being stupid."
Ignis lifts his head. Noctis' blue eyes seem to glitter in the dim light. "You've got home-"
"For fuck's sake, Ignis," Noctis interrupts him, rolling his eyes. "Stop fussing."
Ignis swallows the reprimand at Noctis' language and wishes he hadn't when it burns all the way down to his stomach. He nods jerkily, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.
"Okay," Noctis' voice is quiet again. "Do you want your cough syrup or your flu tablets first?" He holds them up when Ignis opens his eyes.
He nods towards the syrup.
Noctis eyes the instructions before unscrewing the lid. "You ought to just take all of it," he says before passing it over. "I can get you more."
Ignis just glares and wishes he could tell Noctis that the instructions are there for a reason. And that he forgot the measuring cup. Ignis glances at the bottle in his hand, and his throat hurts so much that he doesn't bother with the math. He swallows a large mouthful - straight from the bottle - and tries not to grimace at the sickening cherry flavour.
"Too bad Prompto isn't here." Noctis takes the bottle from Ignis' fingers. "That would've made a great shot."
Ignis glares, but Noctis just smiles back and holds out the box of tablets. "Take this so I can get you some water." He wriggles his fingers, makes the box shift back and forth.
Ignis snatches it and glares harder, which just makes his head hurt.
Noctis just grins and collects the damp cloth that Ignis had dislodged again. "You ought to take the blue ones. It's after eight."
Ignis lies back down. He doesn't believe it can be that late, but without his glasses, he can't make out the clock on the wall. And his phone is somewhere - probably under the bed, or tangled in the sheets. He can find it later. He takes slow breaths, trying not to set off another coughing fit.
"Hey." Noctis touches Ignis' forehead. "You're kinda warm.”
Ignis shifts his head slightly. "I'm fine," he mumbles, the words cutting through the layer of syrup in his throat.
"Didn't I tell you not to talk? Do it again, and I'll call Gladiolus," Noctis threatens.
Ignis snaps his mouth shut.
Noctis waits a moment, eyes narrowed. Ignis keeps his mouth closed. "Alright. Here's your water." He holds it out, and Ignis sits up.
He pops the foil, takes one of the night-time pills. It seems ridiculous to go back to sleep when it's all he's done for the last twenty hours, but even as he considers how stupid it is, he yawns hard enough to make his jaw pop. And makes his throat hurt in new and different ways. He passes the glass back to Noctis, who sets it on the bedside cabinet without even putting down a coaster.
"If it will make you worry less," Noctis pulls out a bag, "I have most of my homework here."
It does make him worry less, but Ignis doesn't want to admit it. He just nods slightly, and Noctis dumps the bag under the chair again. "Do you want something to eat?" He leans forward and pushes Ignis' shoulders gently back towards the bed, forcing him to lie back down.
Ignis shakes his head. Noctis frowns. "Alright." He puts the cloth against Ignis' head again, and the cool material makes Ignis feel much better. "But I'm making you something next time you wake up," he adds under his breath.
Ignis has a moment’s despair for his poor kitchen at the thought of Noctis’ cooking skills. But it is touching to have the prince be so considerate.
He can hear the sound of Noctis opening his school bag, digging around for his books. “The light’s alright, isn’t it?”
Ignis nods slightly, though if he wasn’t convinced he’d end up smacking himself in the face, he’d move the cloth to cover his eyes. His limbs feel so heavy.
Noctis hums for a moment, and then Ignis feels the prince’s hand against Ignis’ forehead, moving the cloth over his eyes, patting it down gently. “Better?”
Ignis smiles slightly as Noctis takes his hand away. “Good.” There’s the rustling of papers, a book. Ignis can feel the weight of it against the side of his bed. “Go back to sleep, Specs,” Noctis murmurs.
Sleep sounds wonderful, but it’s hard not to listen to the scratching of Noctis’ pen, the way the boy mutters to himself, makes disgusted noises. Ignis hovers on the edge of sleep, a spiked lump in his throat.
Noctis hums, taps his pen against a book. “If you don’t go to sleep,” he mutters in a quiet voice, “I’ll start reading my economics textbook at you.”
It’s not a good threat, but he doesn’t want Noctis to make good on the one from earlier and call Gladiolus, so Ignis doesn’t say a word.
The prince continues to hum under his breath, tapping on his books as he studies.
Eventually, the sounds fade out as Ignis drifts off to sleep.
He wakes up suddenly, the remnants of a nightmare propelling him forward, reaching forward, groping blindly in the darkness. There’s nothing but air, and Ignis takes a deep breath. He can’t even remember the dream any longer.
He shifts, and his hand bumps into soft hair. Noctis, he realizes. The prince is slumped over his books, a pen still between his fingers, his head and arms on the bed and the rest of him slouching in the chair beside the bed. He brushes the hair away from the prince’s face, squinting at the pale blur. He’ll wake up with a dozen aches and pains unless Ignis wakes him up, but he looks so peaceful.
Ignis considers how much less peaceful the prince will be when he’s complaining, and moves his hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Noct,” he croaks, giving it a gentle shake.
Noctis’ head whips up, his eyes wild, his hands raising. He blinks, focuses his gaze on Ignis. Blinks again and lowers his hands. “Oh.” He rubs at his eyes. “I couldn’t figure out the coffee machine.”
Ignis shakes his head slightly. His head doesn’t ache at the movement, which is a good sign. “I have a perfectly nice couch,” he rasps.
“I can’t-“ Noctis breaks off and yawns, turning his head, “keep watch on you from the couch.” He gives Ignis a lopsided smile.
Ignis swallows the lecture bubbling up in his throat and shakes his head slightly. “Noct-“
Noctis interrupts him. “I promised you soup, right?”
Ignis gives him a long, hard stare, and Noctis shuffles his schoolwork into a disorganized stack. Ignis sighs. “There’s some cup ramen in the cupboards,” he admits, because it’s the only thing that might save his kitchen.
“Really?” Noctis meets Ignis’ stare with a grin. “I knew that you couldn’t resist.”
Ignis grumbles slightly under his breath, the words coming out as mostly air.
Noctis gets up and stretches, groaning as his bones creak and pop. “Guess there’s no point going back to bed.” He reaches over and grabs Ignis’ glasses, passing them over.
It’s almost five. Ignis reaches under the glass and rubs at his eyes. “Probably not.”
“Not for me,” Noctis amends, giving Ignis a sharp glare. “You’re staying in bed.”
“I feel fine,” Ignis points out.
Noctis scoffs. “You’d make me stay in bed.”
Ignis’ shoulders twitch and for a moment he feels like squirming. “That’s different,” he croaks out.
“Is not.” Noctis shoves his books and papers haphazardly into his bag. “What is it you said? Something about how pushing yourself to get better makes you sicker faster?”
He definitely feels like squirming. “Something like that.”
Noctis gives a triumphant grin. “So you’re staying in bed.”
Ignis lets out a defeated sigh. “At least let me brush my teeth,” he mutters.
Noctis lets him out of bed for that. After Ignis has splashed some cool water on his face and brushed the remnants of the cough syrup from his mouth, he feels a little better. A little. He takes more flu tablets, downs another gulp of cough syrup. At least the ramen will mask the taste.
When he gets into the kitchen, Noctis is slumped at the table, scowling at the two cups.
“What is it?” Ignis sits down, feeling exhausted already.
“I hate waiting,” Noctis admits, putting his chin on his forearms. “I’m hungry now.”
“Patience is a virtue,” Ignis' voice still feels it's scratching his throat.
Noctis just scoffs and closes his eyes. “Sorry I can’t make you chicken soup or anything," he mutters without opening his eyes.
“You don’t have to make me anything,” Ignis points out in a soft voice. It hurts less that way.
“I know I don’t have to,” Noctis grumbles. “But you’re always taking care of me.” Noctis slits an eye half-open, stares at Ignis from underneath his messy hair. “Sorry I’m not as good at it as you.” His cheeks are pink.
Ignis’ head feels like it’s swimming. Hunger, exacerbated by the smell of the ramen, he tells himself. “It’s my duty to look after you, Prince,” he says slowly. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Noctis rolls his eyes. “Jeez.” He lifts his head and pokes at the ramen with his chopsticks. “Is that your way of calling me a slob?” He glances up and watches Ignis’ face.
Ignis narrows his eyes. “You are a slob.”
Noctis pokes at his ramen some more. Blows into his cup. “Sorry.” He quickly shoves a heap of noodles into his mouth, staring intently down at them.
Ignis picks up his own chopsticks and turns them over for a moment. “You don’t have to be.” He opens his own ramen and eyes the noodles inside.
Noctis doesn’t say anything, and they both eat in silence. Noctis finishes first, and he drums his fingers against the side of the cup, tapping out what might be a beat to a song. Or it might be nothing.
“I’ll come back after school,” Noctis finally says, still toying with the plastic container. “With more medicine.”
Ignis swallows his last mouthful of food. “You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t.” Noctis looks up but doesn’t meet Ignis’ gaze. “But if you complain again, I won’t bring you dinner.”
Ignis sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Very well. I suppose you expect me to go back to bed now?”
“Yep.” Noctis grins. “I’ll even clean up breakfast.”
Ignis is fairly certain that whatever cleaning Noctis does, Ignis will have to redo later. But he just stands up, supporting himself with the table. Truthfully, he does want to crawl back into bed. “Lock the door behind you, then.” A coughing fit squirms its way through his lungs, and he squeezes his eyes shut and feels his shoulders shake with the effort. He digs his fingers into the wooden table as he coughs into his other hand.
“If you want me to stay…” Noctis' voice is quiet as he rubs Ignis’ back.
“I want you to go to school,” Ignis croaks.
Noctis sighs. “Alright.” He rubs Ignis’ back for a moment more. “But if you won’t call me, will you promise to call somebody? If you get worse?”
Ignis tries not to grind his teeth. “Yes,” he squeezes the word out, feeling it piercing the back of his mouth.
“Ignis.” Noctis’ hand stops on his spine, his fingers clenching against Ignis’ shirt.
“I said yes.” Ignis straightens up, adjusts his glasses.
The movement makes Noctis drop his hand. “Alright. I better go.” He pulls out his phone and scowls at it. “Go back to bed.” He points down the hallway.
Ignis shuffles down it. The sooner he gets better, he tells himself, the sooner Noctis will go back to his usual, spoiled self. He crawls back into bed, putting his glasses on the cupboard. So it’s better just to listen to him for one day. Two. Ignis yawns, sprawling out over the covers. It’s too warm now to sleep under them.
He wakes up, thirsty and cold. Somehow he’d gotten under the blankets, even though Ignis is fairly certain he fell asleep on top of them. He fumbles for his glasses, putting them on and rubbing at his eyes. Almost noon. He crawls out of bed, yawning with every step to the bathroom. More flu tablets. More cough syrup – the bottle’s empty now. He leaves it in the sink to rinse out later. Shuffles to the kitchen, drinks two glasses of water and wishes he hadn’t when his stomach hurts from it.
After he’s shuffled back to bed, Ignis reaches around for his phone. It was under his bed, and the battery is about to die. He finds the charger cord and fumbles to connect it again. His screen is littered with notifications, but trying to read them makes his head pound. Ignis lies back with a groan. He hates getting sick, hasn’t gotten sick in years. He just wants to put his head under the pillow and not wake up until he feels better.
He pulls his glasses off, shoves them and his phone on the cupboard. Snuggles under the covers, kicks them off a minute later. Too hot, too cold. Eventually he slides into sleep, only to wake again, almost instantly, his heart thudding in his ears, a nightmare scratching at his mind, unremembered and terrifying.
By the time Noctis lets himself in, Ignis feels like he’s going to lose his mind. He feigns sleep as he listens to the soft footsteps coming towards him, the heavy thud of a bag.
“Oh sure,” Noctis mutters under his breath, “says he’ll call.” He scoffs. “You look terrible, Iggy.”
Ignis winces before he can stop himself. “I can’t sleep,” he mutters, rolling slightly and burying half his face in the pillow.
Noctis sits on the edge of the bed and puts his hand to Ignis’ forehead. “Jeez, you’re burning.”
Ignis resists the urge to whine, to emulate the prince’s behaviour the last time he was sick.
“Did you drink any water today?” Noctis asks, pushing Ignis’ hair back, smoothing it away from his face.
“Yes.” Ignis closes his eyes. The sensation of having someone touching his hair is unexpectedly pleasant. It’s probably the fever.
Noctis continues to stroke Ignis’ hair. “Alright. Well, I got you some juice. And more syrup. Stuff that isn’t cherry. And I even found chicken soup.” Ignis can hear the smile in the prince’s voice.
“Mmm,” he mumbles into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want soup. He just wants someone to keep touching his hair like that. He leans slightly against Noctis’ fingers.
The fingers pause for a moment and then continue. “I hope you’re not expecting a lullaby,” he mutters dryly.
“Mmm,” Ignis repeats. He doesn’t even know any himself.
Noctis hums under his breath for a while, stroking Ignis’ hair. It’s a mishmash of tunes, of half-remembered songs. Ignis can recognize some of them. He curls slightly on his side, and Noctis drags a blanket up over him, awkward and slow, his fingers still brushing through Ignis’ hair.
He wakes up feeling warm and cosy. He’s under a blanket, lying on his back. Someone – Noctis – is lying beside him on the bed, an arm flopped over Ignis’ neck. His fingers are curled in Ignis’ hair, and it makes Ignis’ face feel flushed and hot.
The fever must have broken. If he squints out of one eye he can almost read the clock – a little after one in the morning. Noctis’ breathing is slow and steady, and Ignis doesn’t want to wake him up. He licks his dry lips, swallows. Closes his eyes. Tries not to think too much about the blurry memories of Noctis humming him to sleep.
Noctis stirs slightly, his fingers clutching at Ignis’ neck.
Ignis exhales slowly, quietly. The prince shifts in his sleep, nuzzling against Ignis’ shoulder. Which makes Ignis’ breath catch in his throat. Which makes him start coughing, and he has to sit up before he chokes on air. Which makes Noctis stir. He rolls onto his side and looks up at Ignis with sleepy eyes.
“You okay?” The prince mumbles, rubbing at an eye.
Ignis nods between coughs, covering his mouth with his trembling fist.
Noctis lifts a lazy hand and rubs at Ignis’ back, which is little more than a soft tug at Ignis’ shirt. “D’you want some water?” Noctis asks in a bleary voice.
“I’m fine,” Ignis says carefully. “Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm,” Noctis groans, rolls over to look at the clock. Groans again. “Early.”
Ignis lies back down, clearing his throat. “You didn’t want the couch?” he mutters, pressing his fingers to his temples.
“Mmnope.” Noctis rolls back over, yawns. “Comfier.” He nuzzles into the pillow. “G’night.”
“Good night,” Ignis whispers.
It takes him a long time to fall asleep. When it finally comes it’s in fits and bursts again. Every time he jerks awake, Noctis stirs beside him. Every time, Ignis freezes, panic welling in his throat. He doesn’t want the prince in his bed, sleepy and messy-haired, his legs bumping into Ignis’ every time he rolls and shifts around, half-falling out of the bed, arms and legs everywhere. Taking up so much space in Ignis’ bed.
The morning comes slowly, painting the room in grey, blue, gold. Ignis rubs at his eyes, thinking desperately of the coffee machine in the kitchen, impossibly far away until Noctis gets out of his bed. He nudges with a gentle knee, an elbow.
The prince groans, stirs slightly. Lifts his head from the pillow to blink blearily at Ignis. “Too early.” He flops his head back into the pillow with an exaggerated groan.
“Maybe for you,” Ignis points out.
Noctis groans again, rolling out of the bed and landing with a thud on the ground beside it. “Ow,” he mutters, rubbing at a knee.
Ignis peers over the edge of the bed, a laugh building up in his chest. He slithers out from under the blankets, inches down the bed and climbs out. “Are you injured?” he asks, though he’s fairly certain the prince is just fine.
“Yes. Terribly,” Noctis says as he pulls himself to his feet. “You look better.” His eyes roam over Ignis’ face.
Ignis feels his cheeks warm. “Yes, well.” He clears his throat and steps past Noctis to get his glasses. “I’ll make you some coffee.”
Noctis makes a face but doesn’t say anything.
The noise of the machine is comforting. Routine. Ignis feels almost his old self again as he prepares the coffee, the extra sugar and milk for Noctis. He doesn’t understand why the prince drinks it if he hates the taste so much. He never even asks Ignis for something different.
He hears the sound of a chair scraping behind him, the noise of Noctis slumping onto the table.
And then Ignis hears the prince cough. Once, twice.
“Damnit.”