It was dark when Noctis woke up; the window was empty blackness where it peeked out from behind the blinds. The lights were still dimmed. His dad’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
‘Noctis?’
Noctis made a rough noise, brushing away his dad’s hand and sitting up with effort. He ground the heel of his palm against his eyes, attempting to force away the sleep that clung to him.
‘The doctor said we can visit Ignis now. He was asking for you, in fact.’
Noctis’ heart thumped in his chest, hard. His inhale almost choked him; the breath of his exhale shuddered. He almost stumbled as he got up, the blanket tangling up in his legs, catching his heels. The light being turned on full almost blinded him.
Sota and Clarus were still there, though they went outside politely to wait as Noctis got dressed. His dad looked at an empty corner of the room, his face a tired, blank mask. The clock on the bedside table read 3:28am.
‘Hey,’ Noctis said, and his dad glanced at him. ‘Thanks. For, you know. Waiting.’
His dad blinked, slowly, and turned to face Noctis. ‘You don’t need to thank me,’ he said. He smiled, but looked, if anything, even more tired than before. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there sooner.’
There was a moment they just stood there, and Noctis didn’t know how to respond to that. He wanted to see Ignis. He wanted his dad to stop looking so tired, unhappy even through his faint smile. ‘Should,’ he said, ‘should we go?’
‘Of course,’ his dad said. His smile twitched, and he turned, and left the room. Noctis followed.
They were walking too slow, Noctis thought, as he alternated between staring at his dad’s back and the heels of his shoes. His heart had started to pound as they walked. He felt lightheaded, still half asleep, almost convinced it were all a dream. Maybe he should have asked for some water or something, washed his face. Sota was walking just behind him, and the sound of her made him want to twitch, turn around to check it was still her and not someone else.
Ignis had asked to see him. He held that thought, gripping on to it with both hands. Ignis wanted to see him. He was out of surgery. Maybe he could even come back with them to the Citadel that night — or, morning, Noctis supposed. Ignis wanted to see him, anyway, and he was fine. They’d been able to get to him quick enough to heal him completely.
There wasn’t anyone else in the corridor. The whole place felt empty. The bright lights made his eyes sting.
Ignis’ room was identical to the one Noctis had been sleeping in; Ignis was lying in bed, flat on his back. There weren’t any wires or machines or even any IV drips or anything that Noctis realised he’d been expecting subconsciously. Ignis looked sort of like there wasn’t anything wrong with him at all, like the last day hadn’t happened, only he was limp and a little grey and his hair was all messed up. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. His eyes were red, swollen. He looked like he tried to sit up, struggling with his elbows pushing into the mattress, but he failed, and slumped back down.
Noctis went up to stand by him, skirting around his dad and Clarus, who’d stopped in the middle of the room. He dug down in the covers and found Ignis’ hand — cool, dry, clenching back weakly.
‘Hey,’ Noctis said, and his mouth refused to go back to the correct shape afterwards. His lips squashed together, pulled out at the corners, trying to force back the sob that was swallowing up his whole face.
‘Noct.’ A tug, barely present but still, undeniably there — Noctis followed it and clambered up onto the bed, careful to put his knees on the mattress and not squash or jog Ignis. He pulled back the covers, shoving them aside so he could see Ignis, put his hands on his stomach, slide them under the loose pyjama top and feel the skin around his waist — intact, whole, warm against his fingers. His hands were sweating, and he could feel the flush in his face, and he couldn’t see that great through the swell of tears in his eyes.
‘I’m fine, Noct,’ Ignis said. ‘Are you? They said — they said we were rescued before they could touch you, but—’
His hands ran up Noct’s arms, over his chest, the sides of his ribcage, up to rest, trembling lightly, on his shoulders.
‘You stupid—’ the words tangled up, broke the barrier that had kept the sob in. It escaped. His face was burning, crumpled up, tears scalding hot. His chest heaved, and his arms holding him up collapsed. He tucked his face into Ignis’ chest. ‘They didn’t. Didn’t touch me.’
Ignis’ hands were on him, pressing at his shoulders, but they were too weak to actually achieve anything. It felt like Noctis’ body was filled with sand, wet, and moving was like hauling deadweights. He couldn’t stop crying. Somehow he kicked off his shoes and then he was burrowed in under the covers, half beside and half on top of Ignis, hands in his armpits and clutching at the fabric of his top. Ignis’ hands were on him, his arms curled around his back. It took a while to realise, because of the way Noctis’ sobs were making him shake, but Ignis was shaking hard, too.
It made him exhausted all over again, like he hadn’t been sleeping the past ten or so hours. And Ignis was warm, and present, his body solid in a way a bed by itself was not. He was tired. The tight, awful knot in his chest was gone. He relaxed against Ignis, more from being physically unable to hold the tension than anything else, and closed his eyes. Ignis smelt of some kind of chemical, dressed in pyjamas that were not his. His shoulder was pressing into Noctis’ chest, uncomfortable but not quite enough be worth to doing anything about it. And none of it really mattered anyway, because it was still Ignis, still there, still alive. He didn’t care if he looked stupid, or childish. Ignis was going to be okay.
Noctis had started to doze off when a hand that was not Ignis’ touched his arm. His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t otherwise move.
‘Noctis,’ his dad said. Ignis’ hands clenched, suddenly, tightening their grip of Noctis’ shirt.
‘I’m not going,’ Noctis said, not looking up, not taking his face out of the dip over Ignis’ collar bone. The response had been automatic, but the extra time and awareness in the pause afterwards didn’t change anything. He didn’t want to leave Ignis. He wasn’t going to. Not again. Not when he didn’t have to. Not when Ignis was gripping Noctis back just as tight.
‘Ignis needs to rest.’ His dad sounded tired, disapproving. His hand disappeared from Noct’s arm, but Ignis’ grip didn’t loosen.
‘Ignis is resting. He can rest while I’m here.’
‘I believe that’s something Ignis and his doctor should decide, not you, Noctis.’
‘No.’
‘Noctis—’ A hand, back on his arm. Noctis flinched, and beneath him Ignis flinched as well, breathing harsh in Noctis’ ear. His arms around Noctis were trembling.
‘No. No. I’m not—’ Noctis’ voice was going strangled, faster and faster, words tangling themselves up together. ‘No. I’m not leaving; please, I’m not, I’m not—’
His dad stepped away. The snarl of words and panted breaths eased, just a little, in Noctis’ throat. He still didn’t look up, or move his head from where he was pressed down against Ignis. Ignis’ legs slipped up either side of one of Noctis’, and clamped down with his knees and thighs, holding it there.
Time seemed to slow again. Ignis’ body was hot where they were pressed together. Noctis could feel his breathing, the rise and fall of his stomach. He could feel his heartbeat, and hear it, too. He thought, if he moved just a little, he could press his mouth to the soft skin of Ignis’ neck and taste it.
He was overheating, and the air was stale and humid, trapped between his face and Ignis’ body. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay wrapped up in Ignis’ arms, squashing Ignis against the mattress with his body, Ignis’ arms holding him tight.
‘Noctis, son, please.’ His dad again, though no hand descended this time. ‘I understand you’re feeling—’ he paused, swallowed back a crack in his voice, ‘overwhelmed. I understand it was an exceptionally difficult, frightening encounter. But you have to think of Ignis. You’re being selfish. He needs to recover, and you need to let him.’
He still wasn’t explaining why Ignis needed to be alone to recover.
‘I’m not asking you to leave; you can stay here for as long as you like. But please, sit by the bed. You’re crushing him. He needs — the doctor will need to check up on him, make sure he’s recovering, and she can’t do that if you’re lying there on top of him like that.’
I’ll move when she comes, then, Noctis thought, but saying it was too much effort. Even opening his mouth was an insurmountable chore; organising his tongue, his lips, find the coordination between breath and mouth and thought was an impossible task.
Another pause. Ignis breathed against him, rising and falling, pumping his lungs.
‘Ignis?’ Regis asked. Noctis tensed. ‘Are you comfortable? Would you like Noctis to move?’
The silence as Ignis didn’t answer rang in Noctis’ ears. Then: ‘No, thank you, Your Majesty.’
His dad didn’t answer that. Footsteps detailed him crossing the room.
Noctis asleep when the door opened, but woke, confused for a few seconds as to what he was hearing, where he was. Then his body all tensed up at once, and beneath him Ignis made a sound — short, breathless. His hands scrabbled up Noctis’ sides from where they’d fallen to lie on the bed. One fell on the small of Noctis’ back, the other on the nape of his neck.
A presence to one side of the bed, and Noctis clutched at Ignis tighter as he was rolled away from it, but he let himself be moved off Ignis and onto the bed beside him.
‘Good morning,’ a woman’s voice said, and Noctis felt himself freeze. His heart thumped in his throat like it had got wedged in there, squeezing shut his airway. He couldn’t move, even to look up or protest as Ignis’ hand left his back.
‘How are you feeling? May I take your arm to check your blood pressure?’
‘Much better, thank you,’ Ignis said. The low vibration of his voice tickled in Noctis’ jaw. There was the sound of mechanical beeping. Ignis shifted.
‘Any new soreness? Difficulty breathing?’
‘No.’
Noctis’ fingers were digging into Ignis’ sides, hard enough his hands ached, but he couldn’t let go. Ignis didn’t try to shake him off. Could the doctor see it? His dad?
‘Hm, your heart rate is a little high,’ the woman said. ‘Are you feeling all right, Ignis?’
‘I’m fine,’ Ignis said, and he was lying through his teeth — how could they not hear him lie through his teeth? Then he was moving, sitting up a little, crowding Noctis down between his body and the mattress. One of his hands went back, pressing on Noctis’ chest and keeping him pinned. When Noctis shoved against it he pushed down harder.
‘Are you okay to carry on?’
‘Yes,’ Ignis said, and was at once firm and lying, flat-out lying, and Noctis tried to sit up again but Ignis wouldn’t let him.
‘I’m just going to lift up your top, to have a look at your stomach and sides. Then I’ll press down lightly and you tell me if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable. All right?’
‘Yes,’ Ignis said, and twisted so he was sitting up properly, still with his hand on Noctis. His hand was trembling; or perhaps Noctis was trembling. He couldn’t tell. He knew he had to do something, get that woman away from Ignis, but he didn’t think he could move. Not out from behind Ignis, shielding him again. His heartbeat was going rabbit-fast. When Ignis’ hand landed on his, prying them gently from him, Noctis let him, and clung instead to Ignis’ trousers, the loose fabric around his hips.
There was the sound of rustling, fabric. ‘Breathe in for me?’ the woman said.
Ignis breathed in.
‘Any pain or discomfort?’
‘No,’ Ignis said, but it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth.
‘Ah,’ the woman said. ‘I think you’re a little tense right now. Would later be a better time? Or perhaps we can do this in another room, where it’s more quiet, less of an audience?’
‘No,’ Ignis said. ‘I can do it. I can — please. I can.’
‘Perhaps it might be best to stop for now, if you’re not in any pain—’
Ignis made a motion — not quite a flinch, an aborted jerk, his whole body tensing up at once. ‘No,’ he said, ‘please, no, I’ll do it — I can do it — please, let me, don’t—’
He was gasping out the words, pressing down on Noctis harder and harder like he wanted to crush him right down into, or maybe through, the mattress. ‘Ignis,’ the lady tried to say, but Ignis interrupted her.
‘I’ll do it, please let me—’
‘Ignis.’ That was his dad, and Noctis only just remembered he was even in the room at all. ‘Ignis, you’re safe. Do you know where you are?’
‘I—’ Ignis cut himself off, and gripped Noctis. His hands were sweating, hot, even through Noctis’ shirt.
‘Please, if you could wait outside for a moment,’ his dad said, a murmur.
‘Ignis,’ Clarus said, speaking up for the first time. His voice was quiet, gentle, in a way Noctis hadn’t ever head it before, not even when he spoke to Iris. ‘Take a moment. Tell me, who’s in the room?’
Ignis’ hand twitched tighter, hard enough to bruise. ‘I — I’m sorry, I—’ he said, stumbled, panting, and he was shaking, it wasn’t just Noctis. ‘You are, and — King Regis. I don’t—’
‘This is Sota, one of my glaive. That’s all right, I don’t think you’ve met before. Is there anyone else?’
‘Me.’
There was a pause before Clarus spoke again. ‘Anyone else, Ignis?’
‘Noct.’ Ignis’ voice came out a croak, quiet, barely there.
‘Yes, that’s good. And do you know where we are?’
‘A hospital.’
‘That’s right. I know it might feel like it, but you’re not in any danger, now, nor is Noctis—’
Ignis’ hands clamped down on Noctis as soon as his name came out of Clarus’ mouth, and Noctis couldn’t help the surprised cry, a short, sharp intake of breath at the pain. Then Ignis was yanking at him, hard enough it felt like he’d yank Noctis’ arm out of his socket, pulling at Noctis and making him yelp.
‘Ignis! You’re safe; Noctis is safe. Let him go—’
Ignis’ hand, the one that wasn’t clamped round Noctis’s arm, was on Noctis’ face — a finger pressing down on his shut eye, another slipping into his mouth. He was shoving Noctis down again by the face, yanking at his arm, and both Noctis’ dad and Clarus were speaking but Noctis couldn’t actually hear what, only that both their voices were raised, loud, clamouring with his own ragged breath, Ignis’ sobbing gasps above him.
‘Please don’t — please, I’ll do what you want, please don’t hurt him—’
‘Ignis!’ Noctis’ voice croaked, and he didn’t have any more time to speak before Ignis slapped his hand over Noctis’ mouth, shoving down. Noctis’ neck twisted painfully, and he cried out again, muffled.
The world tumbled over as Noctis fell from the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedcovers; hands caught him under the arms, dragging him backwards over the floor. It was Sota, and she tilted up his face to check him, patted him down, and only left him when he shook her off and scrambled back. She offered him a tight smile and went to kneel by Clarus, who had Ignis pinned face-down to the floor, twisting and gasping. She grabbed Ignis’ legs, holding him still.
Noctis rolled to his knees, already lunging forwards to pull them off him, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, onto his ass. ‘Noctis,’ his dad said, hard, loud. ‘Stay back.’
FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [3a/3]
‘Noctis?’
Noctis made a rough noise, brushing away his dad’s hand and sitting up with effort. He ground the heel of his palm against his eyes, attempting to force away the sleep that clung to him.
‘The doctor said we can visit Ignis now. He was asking for you, in fact.’
Noctis’ heart thumped in his chest, hard. His inhale almost choked him; the breath of his exhale shuddered. He almost stumbled as he got up, the blanket tangling up in his legs, catching his heels. The light being turned on full almost blinded him.
Sota and Clarus were still there, though they went outside politely to wait as Noctis got dressed. His dad looked at an empty corner of the room, his face a tired, blank mask. The clock on the bedside table read 3:28am.
‘Hey,’ Noctis said, and his dad glanced at him. ‘Thanks. For, you know. Waiting.’
His dad blinked, slowly, and turned to face Noctis. ‘You don’t need to thank me,’ he said. He smiled, but looked, if anything, even more tired than before. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there sooner.’
There was a moment they just stood there, and Noctis didn’t know how to respond to that. He wanted to see Ignis. He wanted his dad to stop looking so tired, unhappy even through his faint smile. ‘Should,’ he said, ‘should we go?’
‘Of course,’ his dad said. His smile twitched, and he turned, and left the room. Noctis followed.
They were walking too slow, Noctis thought, as he alternated between staring at his dad’s back and the heels of his shoes. His heart had started to pound as they walked. He felt lightheaded, still half asleep, almost convinced it were all a dream. Maybe he should have asked for some water or something, washed his face. Sota was walking just behind him, and the sound of her made him want to twitch, turn around to check it was still her and not someone else.
Ignis had asked to see him. He held that thought, gripping on to it with both hands. Ignis wanted to see him. He was out of surgery. Maybe he could even come back with them to the Citadel that night — or, morning, Noctis supposed. Ignis wanted to see him, anyway, and he was fine. They’d been able to get to him quick enough to heal him completely.
There wasn’t anyone else in the corridor. The whole place felt empty. The bright lights made his eyes sting.
Ignis’ room was identical to the one Noctis had been sleeping in; Ignis was lying in bed, flat on his back. There weren’t any wires or machines or even any IV drips or anything that Noctis realised he’d been expecting subconsciously. Ignis looked sort of like there wasn’t anything wrong with him at all, like the last day hadn’t happened, only he was limp and a little grey and his hair was all messed up. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. His eyes were red, swollen. He looked like he tried to sit up, struggling with his elbows pushing into the mattress, but he failed, and slumped back down.
Noctis went up to stand by him, skirting around his dad and Clarus, who’d stopped in the middle of the room. He dug down in the covers and found Ignis’ hand — cool, dry, clenching back weakly.
‘Hey,’ Noctis said, and his mouth refused to go back to the correct shape afterwards. His lips squashed together, pulled out at the corners, trying to force back the sob that was swallowing up his whole face.
‘Noct.’ A tug, barely present but still, undeniably there — Noctis followed it and clambered up onto the bed, careful to put his knees on the mattress and not squash or jog Ignis. He pulled back the covers, shoving them aside so he could see Ignis, put his hands on his stomach, slide them under the loose pyjama top and feel the skin around his waist — intact, whole, warm against his fingers. His hands were sweating, and he could feel the flush in his face, and he couldn’t see that great through the swell of tears in his eyes.
‘I’m fine, Noct,’ Ignis said. ‘Are you? They said — they said we were rescued before they could touch you, but—’
His hands ran up Noct’s arms, over his chest, the sides of his ribcage, up to rest, trembling lightly, on his shoulders.
‘You stupid—’ the words tangled up, broke the barrier that had kept the sob in. It escaped. His face was burning, crumpled up, tears scalding hot. His chest heaved, and his arms holding him up collapsed. He tucked his face into Ignis’ chest. ‘They didn’t. Didn’t touch me.’
Ignis’ hands were on him, pressing at his shoulders, but they were too weak to actually achieve anything. It felt like Noctis’ body was filled with sand, wet, and moving was like hauling deadweights. He couldn’t stop crying. Somehow he kicked off his shoes and then he was burrowed in under the covers, half beside and half on top of Ignis, hands in his armpits and clutching at the fabric of his top. Ignis’ hands were on him, his arms curled around his back. It took a while to realise, because of the way Noctis’ sobs were making him shake, but Ignis was shaking hard, too.
It made him exhausted all over again, like he hadn’t been sleeping the past ten or so hours. And Ignis was warm, and present, his body solid in a way a bed by itself was not. He was tired. The tight, awful knot in his chest was gone. He relaxed against Ignis, more from being physically unable to hold the tension than anything else, and closed his eyes. Ignis smelt of some kind of chemical, dressed in pyjamas that were not his. His shoulder was pressing into Noctis’ chest, uncomfortable but not quite enough be worth to doing anything about it. And none of it really mattered anyway, because it was still Ignis, still there, still alive. He didn’t care if he looked stupid, or childish. Ignis was going to be okay.
Noctis had started to doze off when a hand that was not Ignis’ touched his arm. His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t otherwise move.
‘Noctis,’ his dad said. Ignis’ hands clenched, suddenly, tightening their grip of Noctis’ shirt.
‘I’m not going,’ Noctis said, not looking up, not taking his face out of the dip over Ignis’ collar bone. The response had been automatic, but the extra time and awareness in the pause afterwards didn’t change anything. He didn’t want to leave Ignis. He wasn’t going to. Not again. Not when he didn’t have to. Not when Ignis was gripping Noctis back just as tight.
‘Ignis needs to rest.’ His dad sounded tired, disapproving. His hand disappeared from Noct’s arm, but Ignis’ grip didn’t loosen.
‘Ignis is resting. He can rest while I’m here.’
‘I believe that’s something Ignis and his doctor should decide, not you, Noctis.’
‘No.’
‘Noctis—’ A hand, back on his arm. Noctis flinched, and beneath him Ignis flinched as well, breathing harsh in Noctis’ ear. His arms around Noctis were trembling.
‘No. No. I’m not—’ Noctis’ voice was going strangled, faster and faster, words tangling themselves up together. ‘No. I’m not leaving; please, I’m not, I’m not—’
His dad stepped away. The snarl of words and panted breaths eased, just a little, in Noctis’ throat. He still didn’t look up, or move his head from where he was pressed down against Ignis. Ignis’ legs slipped up either side of one of Noctis’, and clamped down with his knees and thighs, holding it there.
Time seemed to slow again. Ignis’ body was hot where they were pressed together. Noctis could feel his breathing, the rise and fall of his stomach. He could feel his heartbeat, and hear it, too. He thought, if he moved just a little, he could press his mouth to the soft skin of Ignis’ neck and taste it.
He was overheating, and the air was stale and humid, trapped between his face and Ignis’ body. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay wrapped up in Ignis’ arms, squashing Ignis against the mattress with his body, Ignis’ arms holding him tight.
‘Noctis, son, please.’ His dad again, though no hand descended this time. ‘I understand you’re feeling—’ he paused, swallowed back a crack in his voice, ‘overwhelmed. I understand it was an exceptionally difficult, frightening encounter. But you have to think of Ignis. You’re being selfish. He needs to recover, and you need to let him.’
He still wasn’t explaining why Ignis needed to be alone to recover.
‘I’m not asking you to leave; you can stay here for as long as you like. But please, sit by the bed. You’re crushing him. He needs — the doctor will need to check up on him, make sure he’s recovering, and she can’t do that if you’re lying there on top of him like that.’
I’ll move when she comes, then, Noctis thought, but saying it was too much effort. Even opening his mouth was an insurmountable chore; organising his tongue, his lips, find the coordination between breath and mouth and thought was an impossible task.
Another pause. Ignis breathed against him, rising and falling, pumping his lungs.
‘Ignis?’ Regis asked. Noctis tensed. ‘Are you comfortable? Would you like Noctis to move?’
The silence as Ignis didn’t answer rang in Noctis’ ears. Then: ‘No, thank you, Your Majesty.’
His dad didn’t answer that. Footsteps detailed him crossing the room.
Noctis asleep when the door opened, but woke, confused for a few seconds as to what he was hearing, where he was. Then his body all tensed up at once, and beneath him Ignis made a sound — short, breathless. His hands scrabbled up Noctis’ sides from where they’d fallen to lie on the bed. One fell on the small of Noctis’ back, the other on the nape of his neck.
A presence to one side of the bed, and Noctis clutched at Ignis tighter as he was rolled away from it, but he let himself be moved off Ignis and onto the bed beside him.
‘Good morning,’ a woman’s voice said, and Noctis felt himself freeze. His heart thumped in his throat like it had got wedged in there, squeezing shut his airway. He couldn’t move, even to look up or protest as Ignis’ hand left his back.
‘How are you feeling? May I take your arm to check your blood pressure?’
‘Much better, thank you,’ Ignis said. The low vibration of his voice tickled in Noctis’ jaw. There was the sound of mechanical beeping. Ignis shifted.
‘Any new soreness? Difficulty breathing?’
‘No.’
Noctis’ fingers were digging into Ignis’ sides, hard enough his hands ached, but he couldn’t let go. Ignis didn’t try to shake him off. Could the doctor see it? His dad?
‘Hm, your heart rate is a little high,’ the woman said. ‘Are you feeling all right, Ignis?’
‘I’m fine,’ Ignis said, and he was lying through his teeth — how could they not hear him lie through his teeth? Then he was moving, sitting up a little, crowding Noctis down between his body and the mattress. One of his hands went back, pressing on Noctis’ chest and keeping him pinned. When Noctis shoved against it he pushed down harder.
‘Are you okay to carry on?’
‘Yes,’ Ignis said, and was at once firm and lying, flat-out lying, and Noctis tried to sit up again but Ignis wouldn’t let him.
‘I’m just going to lift up your top, to have a look at your stomach and sides. Then I’ll press down lightly and you tell me if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable. All right?’
‘Yes,’ Ignis said, and twisted so he was sitting up properly, still with his hand on Noctis. His hand was trembling; or perhaps Noctis was trembling. He couldn’t tell. He knew he had to do something, get that woman away from Ignis, but he didn’t think he could move. Not out from behind Ignis, shielding him again. His heartbeat was going rabbit-fast. When Ignis’ hand landed on his, prying them gently from him, Noctis let him, and clung instead to Ignis’ trousers, the loose fabric around his hips.
There was the sound of rustling, fabric. ‘Breathe in for me?’ the woman said.
Ignis breathed in.
‘Any pain or discomfort?’
‘No,’ Ignis said, but it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth.
‘Ah,’ the woman said. ‘I think you’re a little tense right now. Would later be a better time? Or perhaps we can do this in another room, where it’s more quiet, less of an audience?’
‘No,’ Ignis said. ‘I can do it. I can — please. I can.’
‘Perhaps it might be best to stop for now, if you’re not in any pain—’
Ignis made a motion — not quite a flinch, an aborted jerk, his whole body tensing up at once. ‘No,’ he said, ‘please, no, I’ll do it — I can do it — please, let me, don’t—’
He was gasping out the words, pressing down on Noctis harder and harder like he wanted to crush him right down into, or maybe through, the mattress. ‘Ignis,’ the lady tried to say, but Ignis interrupted her.
‘I’ll do it, please let me—’
‘Ignis.’ That was his dad, and Noctis only just remembered he was even in the room at all. ‘Ignis, you’re safe. Do you know where you are?’
‘I—’ Ignis cut himself off, and gripped Noctis. His hands were sweating, hot, even through Noctis’ shirt.
‘Please, if you could wait outside for a moment,’ his dad said, a murmur.
‘Ignis,’ Clarus said, speaking up for the first time. His voice was quiet, gentle, in a way Noctis hadn’t ever head it before, not even when he spoke to Iris. ‘Take a moment. Tell me, who’s in the room?’
Ignis’ hand twitched tighter, hard enough to bruise. ‘I — I’m sorry, I—’ he said, stumbled, panting, and he was shaking, it wasn’t just Noctis. ‘You are, and — King Regis. I don’t—’
‘This is Sota, one of my glaive. That’s all right, I don’t think you’ve met before. Is there anyone else?’
‘Me.’
There was a pause before Clarus spoke again. ‘Anyone else, Ignis?’
‘Noct.’ Ignis’ voice came out a croak, quiet, barely there.
‘Yes, that’s good. And do you know where we are?’
‘A hospital.’
‘That’s right. I know it might feel like it, but you’re not in any danger, now, nor is Noctis—’
Ignis’ hands clamped down on Noctis as soon as his name came out of Clarus’ mouth, and Noctis couldn’t help the surprised cry, a short, sharp intake of breath at the pain. Then Ignis was yanking at him, hard enough it felt like he’d yank Noctis’ arm out of his socket, pulling at Noctis and making him yelp.
‘Ignis! You’re safe; Noctis is safe. Let him go—’
Ignis’ hand, the one that wasn’t clamped round Noctis’s arm, was on Noctis’ face — a finger pressing down on his shut eye, another slipping into his mouth. He was shoving Noctis down again by the face, yanking at his arm, and both Noctis’ dad and Clarus were speaking but Noctis couldn’t actually hear what, only that both their voices were raised, loud, clamouring with his own ragged breath, Ignis’ sobbing gasps above him.
‘Please don’t — please, I’ll do what you want, please don’t hurt him—’
‘Ignis!’ Noctis’ voice croaked, and he didn’t have any more time to speak before Ignis slapped his hand over Noctis’ mouth, shoving down. Noctis’ neck twisted painfully, and he cried out again, muffled.
The world tumbled over as Noctis fell from the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedcovers; hands caught him under the arms, dragging him backwards over the floor. It was Sota, and she tilted up his face to check him, patted him down, and only left him when he shook her off and scrambled back. She offered him a tight smile and went to kneel by Clarus, who had Ignis pinned face-down to the floor, twisting and gasping. She grabbed Ignis’ legs, holding him still.
Noctis rolled to his knees, already lunging forwards to pull them off him, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, onto his ass. ‘Noctis,’ his dad said, hard, loud. ‘Stay back.’