Prompt Post: Final Fantasy 15 #1

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Here is the Prompt Post for Final Fantasy 15! As the most recent individual instalment, FFXV has a dedicated post in anticipation of higher activity. This round will close when we reach 5000 comments.

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Final Fantasy 1-6 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasty 7-14 Prompt Post: #1
Final Fantasy 15 Prompt Post: #1
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FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [3a/3]

[(Anonymous)]

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 [3b/3]

[(Anonymous)]

‘Like fuck,’ Noctis snarled, trying to shove his dad off, get back on his feet. ‘Tell them to get off! They’re making him worse, they’re hurting him—’

‘They’ll let go once you’re at a safe distance.’

Disbelief, sudden realisation, hit Noctis, made grind to a halt. ‘What? He’s Ignis. What the fuck? He’s — he’s not going to hurt me.’

‘Until he’s calmed down, we can’t be sure.’

‘No,’ Noctis said. ‘No, fuck that.’ He twisted, getting onto his feet and tearing himself from his dad’s grip, but Sota was in front of him.

‘Your Highness,’ she said. Behind her, Ignis was panting, moaning, crushed to the floor. ‘Please. Step back. We can let him when you’re—’

‘Let him go now,’ Noctis said, snarled. ‘Get the fuck off—’

He warped; he didn’t even register what he pulled from the armiger and threw, but he was beside Clarus and shoving at him. Arms around his waist pulled him away, and he kicked as he was yanked off his feet, dragged back, clawing at the hands dragging him away from Ignis. He grabbed something again to throw, warp, but hands grabbed his wrists, and his dad was in front of him.

‘Noctis!’ Hands on his shoulders, gripping, hard. ‘You will control yourself!’

His shout left nothing behind. Even Ignis’ strangled panting was gone quiet. ‘Noctis,’ his dad said. ‘We can’t help him unless you’re letting us.’

‘Help?’ Noctis tried to look over, beyond his dad to where he could just about make out Clarus, but not Ignis. ‘How the fuck are — how are you—’ His voice had gone broken, hard, like trying to force little stones up his throat. His legs were weak, barely even holding him up.

‘Sit down,’ his dad said, and Sota let go of him, and he was guided back to the bed.

Finally, Noctis turned to look at Ignis, still on the floor, still crushed beneath Clarus. His arms were twisted, wrapped around himself then caught with his wrists behind his back, Clarus straddling his hips. His mouth was open, eyes tight shut.

‘Ignis,’ Clarus said, low, soothing, like he wasn’t literally bending Ignis’ arms back, restraining him, squashing him against the floor. ‘Ignis, can you hear me?’

Ignis didn’t respond. His chest was heaving, awkward, no room to properly expand.

‘Ignis. Ignis Scientia. Respond if you can hear me.’

For a moment, there wasn’t anything. Then, a small, broken whimper, a noise on the tail end of an exhale. ‘Please,’ Ignis said, tiny, like the word was scraped out of him. ‘Don’t — don’t hurt him.’

He kicked his feet, scuffing his toes against the floor, but weakly, and it didn’t do anything anyway.

Beside him, his dad made some kind of motion; Noctis didn’t see what, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ignis. He — he needed to do something, but he didn’t know what, and he felt vaguely sure that even if he knew what he probably couldn’t do it anyway. His limbs had gone useless, his body like the laggiest game played on shitty wifi.

He shut his eyes, fists clenching the sheets, feeling them come loose from where they’d been tucked in. He wanted his dad’s hands back on his shoulders, holding him, anchoring him down. He wanted Ignis.

‘Come on,’ his dad said, and touched Noctis’ arm, just above the elbow. ‘We’ll gave them some space.’

Noctis froze, just as he’d been shifting forwards to get up. ‘What?’ he said. ‘No. I can’t — I can’t leave. He’s — he needs me.’

‘He needs to calm down,’ his dad said, and Noctis wanted to snap at him, tell him, stop saying calm down. Because it wasn’t like he was upset, or — or angry, or anything, he didn’t need to calm down, he was — he thought—

‘No,’ Noctis said.

‘Noctis, he’s remembering what happened to him. He’s living through it again, and it’s very likely you’re making him worse.’

Noctis’ eyes flickered to his dad, then back again to Ignis.

‘He may have to be sedated,’ his dad said.

‘I don’t want to leave.’

‘Noct.’

‘Please.’

His dad took him by the shoulders, turned him, and Noctis allowed himself to be taken from the room, tucked under his dad's arm, even though he barely fit. He pressed himself to his dad's side and didn't look back. It was for Ignis' sake; if it helped Ignis, then he'd leave. He wouldn't be selfish. Not after Ignis had — not after he'd—

He didn't want to look back and see whether Ignis was looking at him. If Ignis recognised him, thought he was being taken away. He didn't want to know what Ignis thought was happening.

He sat in a room down the corridor, with his dad and Clarus, who came in a few minutes after them. There was a TV. Noctis wondered dully what'd be playing if he turned it on — whether the news of the kidnap was out already, and his rescue, and the details. People must have seen him wander into the hospital, so they'd know he around and unharmed, though had they also seen Ignis, bloodied and half dead? Had someone got to the paramedics in time to stop them telling anyone what they'd seen, even if only in passing, the briefest of details?

What about Ignis? Was anyone saying anything about him, his injuries, the way they'd tortured him? The Citadel press team would spin it so he was a passive victim, probably, since he wasn't official Crownsguard yet and having a minor, someone not employed to do anything but study, sacrifice himself bodily for the prince — right, it was a bad look, Noctis knew. So they'd play up the kidnapper's sadism, how no one could have predicted it, how terrible it was that not only was the young prince put in such danger but his friend, another child, was caught in the crossfire.

There were footsteps in the corridor outside, hurried. Noctis' head jerked up to the door, but they didn't stop and didn't come in. On their way to Ignis? Or doing something else not related to them at all?

Was Ignis okay? What was happening, right now?

Were they safe with just Clarus? There were probably other Glaive around, just not in the room.

His dad stood, and Noctis' neck hurt with the speed at which he turned to look at him.

'One moment,' his dad said, and had his phone to his ear before he was two strides to the door. Clarus went with him, and left Noctis alone in the room.

The door clicked shut. He couldn't hear them in the corridor.

Anxiety flooded him, like a blow from the flat of Gladio's great sword. His heart slammed in his chest; he broke out in sweat all over. He could barely breathe. His mouth was open, throat dry and raw and chest heaving, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. This was — fuck, this was stupid, but he couldn’t stop the fear that froze him, tearing up his chest. He was fine; he just needed to push through it; where was Ignis? He wanted Ignis — he wanted his dad. He wanted to stop feeling like he was dying.

His eyes were squeezed shut. Tears welled out of them anyway, hot on his cheeks. This was stupid. He was fine. His dad was just on the other side of the door, on the phone. Ignis was alive. They were all fine. Clarus was there, and Sota, and other Kingsglaive. His heart wouldn't stop pounding, trying to force itself up his throat until he threw it up. Breathe. He had to breathe. Cold water, but he didn’t think he could manage to get up to get any.

What were they doing to Ignis? Had they sedated him? Why would they even need to? He wasn't going to hurt anyone. He hadn't done anything except try to protect Noctis, even if he hadn't needed to.

He wanted to go find him, only he knew he probably shouldn't, and anyway he couldn't move. He was helpless, just as useless as he'd been when they'd tortured Ignis. Made Ignis torture himself to save Noctis.

His stomach turned, and his throat tightened. Fuck — fuck, he was going to throw up — he took a gasping breath, trying to force the feeling down, away. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't uncurl. Where could he throw up into? There was an ensuite — could he make it to the toilet? Fuck, he didn't want to throw up on the floor. Fuck, fuck—

Gods, why was he so useless? His hands covered his mouth. His stomach bucked, though he managed to swallow down the burning vomit as it hit the back of his mouth.

He couldn't do anything. He couldn't save himself. He couldn't save Ignis. He couldn't even deal with having been saved, having seen Ignis be hurt. Tortured. He should be doing whatever was needed to help Ignis, not just... sitting here, panicking.

Time passed. He didn't throw up. The anxiety leached out of him, leaving him exhausted, sickly feeling, floating. He still didn't know where his dad was, or Ignis, or anyone; he could be alone in the whole of Insomnia. He tucked himself into the bed, too tired to take off his shoes, or unbutton his jacket so it wasn't tugging at his shoulders, and went to sleep.

He woke to his dad's hand on his back, rocking him awake. Sleep left only reluctantly, dragging at him, sticky and weighting down his body, thoughts.

'We need to get back to the Citadel,' his dad said. 'Noctis? Come on, up we get.'

Noctis squinted, pulling at the threads of his thoughts, and sat up. He scrubbed at his face. 'Ignis?' He said. His mouth was sticky, nasty tasting. He wanted to go back to sleep; exhaustion pulled at him.

'Ignis is going to stay here for a while longer,' his dad said. 'They want to keep him under observation, just in case there are any lingering complications from the surgery.'

That, Noctis knew, even without being fully awake, was a lie. But, if it was for Ignis' best interests — okay, then. He could cope.

He probably couldn’t cope, but that wasn’t the point.

He ended up clinging to his dad's sleeve again, and his dad stood in the bathroom door while he brushed his teeth and washed his face. He still felt unpleasantly grimey, a thin layer of something coating him, but at least it was better now than before. 'I want to see Ignis,' he said, half expecting to get refused straight away, bracing himself to argue. But his dad only nodded, and they were joined outside by a glaive Noctis didn't know and Cor, this time, as they made their way down the corridor.

Ignis had been put in a new room. The door had to be opened with a swipe card; the sound of it locking as it closed behind them, a decisive click, made Noctis turn to look at it. He tried the handle but it wouldn't open.

'You're locking him in?' His voice was shrill with indignation. 'What if there's a fire or something? He's not crazy. What the fuck?'

He turned, looking to Ignis for confirmation that it was a stupid idea, not just stupid but insulting and unnecessary and dangerous, only Ignis wasn't even looking at him. He was on the bed, flat on his back. His eyes were open, just about, but staring at the ceiling.

'In the end they were forced to sedate him,' his dad said, softly. 'But now they know more about his condition, they'll know how to deal with it in the future. Don't worry, Noctis. He'll be all right.'

'In the event of a fire or other emergency, the door will unlock automatically,' Cor said, mildly. Noctis couldn’t even bear to even look at him. He ignored him.

'Can I—' Noctis said, and hesitated, wanting to go up to Ignis, not wanting to do something to — make him do what happened last time.

He ended up walking to Ignis before anyone could tell him not to, but they didn't stop him either.

'Noct.' Ignis' eyes finally moved down to meet his. He didn't smile, or really do anything at all, except open his mouth for a small sigh, a gentle exhale.

'Hey, Specs,' Noctis said, and reached over to grab at Ignis' hand.

Ignis' skin was cool, dry. He didn't grip back at first, then when he did it was weak, nothing at all like his normal, firm grasp. His hand lay in Noctis', his fingers curled around Noctis', just barely. He closed his eyes.

Noct let himself be led out of the room, out a back door of the hospital, and into a car with his dad, Cor, and the glaive from earlier. He shut his eyes and leant his head against the door, pretending to be asleep so no one would talk to him.

The days passed in a blur. He went back to school and repeated the official story of what and why and how it had all happened. He was excused from homework and evening classes with his Citadel tutors. His training with Gladio was rearranged to be low impact, cardio work. His magic and warping lessons were cancelled. Each morning he expected Ignis back — it’d been a day, then two days, and why wasn’t he back yet? Three days was pushing it, why would Ignis need to be kept in the hospital for three days when he wasn’t injured? — but Ignis did not come home.

One of Ignis' secretaries brought up the meeting minutes and things Ignis ought to have brought him, and she smiled and told him gently that he didn't have to look at them if he didn't feel up to it. Noctis nodded at her, returning the smile automatically, and shoved the folio under the pile of books and schoolwork and junk he had lying around on the table when she left.

He wanted to see Ignis. He wanted to know how Ignis was doing that wasn't sanitised, wasn't he's still recovering but doing well, your highness, I expect he'll be out in no time. He sent Ignis texts, tried to call him, but his phone was off or dead or maybe Ignis had blocked him, even.

He asked, four days after he'd left Ignis at the hospital, about going to visit him. He'd sent an email to Ignis' uncle, because he had to know how Ignis was doing, and would be able to say if Ignis wanted to see him or not, and whether Ignis was ignoring his texts or just wasn’t getting them.

Ignis had to want to see him. It was Ignis. Of course he would. He wouldn’t be Ignis without Noctis.

The reply hadn't come until two days later. Noctis read it, then reread it. He picked out which parts he could ignore, the formality and well-wishes, and copied the relevant lines out to stare at:

Ignis is still unwell, and may find visitors a little overwhelming at this time. I'm sure he appreciates that you're thinking of him, however. If you would like to visit I can put you in contact with his doctor, of course, but please be aware it may not be possible.

What was that meant to mean? Wasn't that just a polite way of saying Ignis didn't want to see him but couldn't refuse if he demanded it? Or the doctor was refusing Ignis visitors? Noctis didn’t care what the doctor thought, but did Ignis want to see him? Wouldn’t Ignis have already asked to see him, or even asked how he was, or anything that said more than he appreciates that you’re thinking of him?

Only, maybe Ignis didn’t want to see him. Maybe Noctis had been wrong to assume he did, and always would, when it’d been because of Noctis that Ignis had been tortured in the first place. Noctis wouldn't want to see — only he would. He was sure he’d want to see Ignis if it were the other way around, but maybe Ignis just didn't feel the same.

And it hurt; it really fucking hurt, but that was being selfish, and wasn't the whole point of what he needed to be doing was doing what was best for Ignis?

So, right, if Ignis didn't want to see him then he wouldn't have to. And if he wanted to quit then that'd be fine, too. Noctis would do whatever would make Ignis happiest, because Noctis owed it to him, and even if he didn't then he still wanted that anyway. To make Ignis happy.

FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [3c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Days passed. No one talked about Ignis, except for the news, which didn’t release Ignis’ name or what exactly had happened to him, but said he was still in hospital (and then stupid fucks talked about what that meant since the victim had had access to healing magic, if he was just that damaged to still be in hospital, and they didn’t even want to say brain injury except they were clearly thinking it, and they were wrong, wrong, wrong—).

The rest of the world seemed to forget that Ignis existed at all.

He existed, Noctis told himself. Of course Ignis existed. He just… didn’t exist within Noctis’ life, any more.

Noctis went to school and the therapy they’d scheduled him in for without asking whether he wanted or needed it. He did his training and stayed over a few odd nights at Gladio’s place, where he finally managed to get a full night’s sleep, lying there and listening to the sound of Gladio breathe, trying to feel safe enough to close his eyes.

He didn’t really feel like he existed, either. The whole world felt on pause. Or maybe he was the one on pause.

Three weeks later, Noctis got an email telling him that Ignis would be returning to work on Monday. Three days’ time. It didn't say anything else important — didn't say how he was, if he was better, if he was happy. If he ever wanted to see Noctis ever again.

On Monday, Ignis turned up at his rooms to bring him lunch, tidy up a little, and take him to school.

'Good morning,' he said, and he looked — he looked the same as he always did, not thinner or paler or whatever Noctis had been imagining, the stereotypes for people having been in hospital. Ignis looked fine, but then as Noctis stood there and stared at him like a fucking idiot, he hesitated, pleasant smile cracking, visibly taken aback.

Noctis was ready to go. He'd been ready for twenty minutes, actually, eaten breakfast and washed and dressed and got everything in his school bag. He still just stood there, watching Ignis pick up the junk he’d left lying around, and the words he'd been rehearsing all weekend trying and failing to form on his tongue.

'It's okay if you wanna quit,' he didn't say. 'I get it if you want to move to another job, do something that you like that isn't to do with me.'

'Are you ready to head off?' Ignis said finally, and it sounded so normal Noctis was nodding and grabbing his bag before he could stop himself.

'Sure,' he said. 'Let's go.'

He went to school. On the way Ignis told him about his weekly schedule (still minimal, and Noctis wondered if Ignis was being given half duties as well, or if he'd been shoved back into his full-time job and own studies already). He asked how Noctis' schoolwork was going, and whether he needed help in anything. He commented on the retirement of one of the senior Crown lawyers that had happened and apparently Noctis ought to have known about.

It sounded like a recording of something Noctis had already watched, a cutscene in a game he was being forced to rewatch. 'Right,' he said. 'Got it. Sure.'

He sounded distant and distracted even to himself.

He needed to ask how Ignis was. Make some kind of conversation -- any kind. Say how glad he was that Ignis was out of the hospital, finally. Ask what the food was like. Make a joke about the good drugs.

They pulled up outside the school; Noctis mumbled a thanks, got out, and went inside.

He thought he wouldn't be able to concentrate through school, but it was okay. Things went back to how it had been — flat, like Noctis was watching from behind himself. Gritty with exhaustion. And he and Ignis hadn't said anything other than was normal, standard, what they always talked about. That was — that was okay, right? Better that it was completely standard than something weird and wrong and abnormal, right? And maybe, maybe Ignis didn't actually want to leave him.

Or if he did he'd wait a while first and Noctis could at least enjoy having him until he did leave. It'd probably be that, because it wasn't like Ignis to ignore something like Noctis being kidnapped, and the fact that he was acting normal was therefore abnormal.

So yeah, he was probably waiting for something before he left, or... moved department, or whatever. Noctis wondered if Gladio knew, but Gladio had been terse and flip-flopping between intense and casual, friendly and professional since the incident, and trying to guess what he'd be like at that moment made Noctis' head hurt. And Gladio never wanted to speak about Ignis. Noctis got it — Gladio felt like he should have been there, should have been the one to protect Noctis, since that was literally his job. And sometimes when Noctis was terse back, it was because he wished it had been Gladio instead of Ignis, because since it was Gladio's job he wouldn't be about to leave like Ignis was.

Then he felt bad, because he shouldn't want any of his friends to have been tortured, literally their job or not. And Gladio would probably have told him if he knew something about Ignis, because he could be an asshole sometimes but he wasn't — wasn't an actual asshole. Not like some people were. He’d let Noctis stay with him, after all, set up a camp bed so they’d be able to sleep in the same room without Noctis having to even ask for it. They’d eaten junk food and played games and watched crappy movies, and he’d clearly tried hard not to be weird.

Then they’d gone back to sniping at each other, trying to connect like they’d used to and missing somewhere in the middle.

He’d thought the world would go back to how it should be now that Ignis was back. It hadn’t. Waiting for Ignis had been his one solution, and now? He had no fucking clue.

Since he didn't have any homework and wasn't expected to do his evening lessons or keep up with the Citadel's daily shit, Ignis didn't actually need to do anything except drop Noctis and a few files off. He still drove Noctis back from school and walked him up to his rooms, like he’d used to always do when he had actual reason to. He carried Noctis’ bag, as if that justified the journey up, then hesitated in the doorway.

‘I — are you in need of anything?’ he said, as he handed Noctis his bag so Noctis could fish out the keys and unlock the door. ‘I realise there’s nothing in the way of homework, or—‘

There wasn't anything, no excuse to invite him in. Saying, hey, want to come in and hang out, was weird when Ignis probably didn't want anything to do with him any more. He couldn’t exactly ask Ignis to come in and clean for him, either. And Ignis always let himself in whenever he wanted to. At least, he had.

'Uh, no,' Noctis said, but Ignis didn't move, and Noctis couldn't exactly shut the door in his face. 'But, thanks, I mean.'

Why was he still standing there? Did he want Noctis to invite him in so he could tell him he was leaving in private? As soon as possible?

'Noct,' Ignis said, eventually, then trailed off again. He shifted, glancing down to the floor, to the doorframe, back to Noctis. 'I suppose I should be off, then,' he said. He still didn't move.

'Yeah. If you want. You probably have work and stuff to do, right?'

'Ah, no. They've actually relieved me of a good deal of my duties. Just for the time being, while I... recuperate. They had been pushing for extended leave, my uncle especially, but I—' He stopped himself. There was something wrong about him — something in the way he stood, his eyes flickering to and from Noct like he couldn't bear to look at him for longer than a few seconds at a time. Something in his voice, hesitant in a way it never was.

'Yeah,' Noctis said, just to say something to fill the awful, awkward silence between them. Silences with Ignis were never awkward. Annoyed, sure, or upset, or pointed, whatever. Even really, really angry, furious to the point of wordlessness, sometimes — just never awkward.

'Yes. I — Noct, could I come in? I wanted to say something, and I thought it'd be better inside than standing in the corridor. Not that it’ll take long, and I can come back later if you have other things to be doing, or I can say it tomorrow morning or after school, of course, if that's better for you.' He stopped because he ran out of breath, it seemed like, rather than anything else.

'Now's good,' Noctis said, then regretted it, because this was Ignis saying he was going to quit, wasn't it? But he couldn’t take it back now. And whatever was best for Ignis. He stepped back, kicked off his shoes, and went to dump his bag on the table. He didn't look back at Ignis, and the achingly familiar sounds of him taking his shoes off and setting them to the side, putting on the pair of guest slippers that were unspokenly his.

But Noctis had to do what was best for Ignis. And if that meant letting him quit, and leave, then he'd do it. Because it was his fault Ignis had been hurt. Because he wanted Ignis to be happy, even if it meant being happy without Noctis.

Ignis unbuttoned his jacket, looked almost about to shrug it off, then kept it on. He sat down on the edge of the couch, and Noctis slumped down on the arm of the chair opposite, balancing with one foot on the cushions, back to the wall. After a moment he slid down to sit properly on the chair.

'I'm glad you're all right,' Ignis said, fidgeting. 'At least — in as much as can be expected. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. In the last three weeks, that is. But I hear you… Gladio had you over a few times.'

Noctis stared at him, though he was looking down at his hands, and didn't see. 'Specs,' Noctis said. 'You were in the hospital. You — yeah you weren't there, but it's not like — Specs, you were in the hospital.'

'For three weeks longer than necessary,' Ignis said, then, quickly, all in one breath: 'Noct, if I make you uncomfortable or am unpleasant to be around due to associated memories, I understand completely and will of course step down from my position.’

For a split second, Noctis didn't understand. The words did not register, could not string together in his head into anything coherent at all. Then he figured it out, and he didn't even know what the emotion was that hit him, hard. Ignis was framing wanting to leave as doing it for Noctis' benefit. Was the sudden tightness in his chest hurt, or anger? Or just the grief at the confirmation that Ignis did want to leave after all, because even if Noctis had known it he'd still kinda hoped that, maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong.

Was Ignis really going to make him say he wanted him to go?

Because he didn't. He really, really didn't. He wanted Ignis to stay, more than anything, even if it mean he was selfish and terrible and an awful person, much less friend.

'Don't leave,' he said, and it didn't matter if he was a shitty person, the worst in the world, because even if he were shitty he'd still have Ignis. Ignis would stay no matter how much he fucked up, so long as he asked. 'Specs, don't leave. Don't leave me.'

If Ignis just stayed long enough then they could work things out, make things better. But they couldn't ever do that if Ignis left.

He didn't know what he'd do without Ignis.

'Noct?'

He couldn't lift his head to look, see the disappointment that he knew would be on Ignis' face. He pressed his eyes shut because they were burning, threatening to start crying. He sniffed loudly, too, because his nose was about to run as well.

Ignis exhaled, shaky, small. 'Noct,' he said. 'I won't leave you, if you don't want me to. And I'll stay if you want. Whatever you want. Please, Noct, don’t cry.'

'But—'

'What do you want? Please, I can do it.'

Noctis looked up, and sat there while Ignis leant forwards until he tipped off the couch and shuffled across the room on his knees. 'Noct.' The sound of his desperation froze Noctis, holding him paralysed as Ignis arrived between his legs. For a second Noctis thought Ignis would touch his knees, could already feel the heat and weight of him on his skin, but instead Ignis placed his hands on the cushion either side of Noct's legs.

He was still staring down, stupid, when Ignis said: 'Noct, please tell me what you want. I can still — whatever it is, I'll do it.'

Without meaning to, Noctis reached out and grabbed the shoulders of Ignis' jacket. Ignis was shaking.

'You,' Noctis said. 'I want you. I — of course I do, why wouldn't I? Specs, why wouldn't I?'

'I hurt you. They told me, when I wasn't — they said I hurt you.'

'Bullshit. No you didn't.'

Ignis opened his mouth, but all that came out was the sound of a gasping inhale, and then exhale, shaky. ‘Oh,’ Ignis said.

‘Who said it? Who said you hurt me?’

‘No,’ Ignis said, immediately withdrawing, and Noctis knew with a bite of frustration that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of him, at least not now. ‘No one. I just — why didn’t you—’

Noctis almost would have said it was a decoy away from whoever fucker told Ignis that lie, except that Ignis was still withdrawing, looking sideways. He was pulling back, trying to tug his shoulders from Noctis’ grip.

‘Why what?’

‘Nothing,’ Ignis said, promptly, but it was too late, because Noctis wasn’t letting go of this one, too.

‘Why didn’t I what?’

‘Noct, it’s nothing; please forget it.’

‘It’s why didn’t I visit you, right?’ The realisation hit even as he was talking, the words falling from his mouth the same instant he knew, one hundred percent, that it was exactly what Ignis meant. He felt his stomach drop, go cold, then his whole body burn hot with shame.

‘Please,’ Ignis said again. ‘That was stupid of me. I realise they must have told you no if you’d asked, and tried to dissuade you from asking besides. They didn’t allow me my phone. Not even a computer with internet access. My uncle stayed with me. He didn’t want me to come back for months.’

‘Specs,’ Noctis tried to say, but Ignis shook his head and cut him off. His hands on the couch were balled into fists.

‘I was only allowed back because I said exactly the right things to the doctors, and begged very well. Noct, I would have been back sooner. I should have been. I’m sorry I wasn’t. I kept — I sat there, waiting to hear that you’d been hurt, that they’d succeeded this time, only I kept thinking too that maybe they simply wouldn’t say and I wouldn’t know until I got out, and—’

Noctis let go of his jacket to grab him properly, hands around his upper arms, but then didn’t know what to do with him — push him away, pull him closer. Ignis was breathing hard, forced slow and deep, his head dipped, clenching the cushions of the couch like they were his lifeline. The muscles in his arms twitched and jumped under Noctis’ hands.

‘It’s fine,’ Noctis said, without knowing why it was fine, or if it even was fine. ‘Ignis, it’ll be fine. You’re here now. No one hurt me.’

‘And I’m here to stop them, now, if they mean to,’ Ignis said.

Noctis paused. Then he said, ‘Yeah. I know. Specs, stay with me? For the night. We can go to yours and grab your stuff, then come back. You can cook. Sleep in the spare bedroom if you want, or share mine. If you didn’t mind, I mean. Just for tonight. If you want.’

Ignis’ ragged breath held for a moment, then turned into a quiet laugh, equally ragged. ‘Yes. I can do that,’ he said. ‘I’d like to do that.’

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Ignis stood. ‘Come on, then, Noct,’ he said, and smiled, not quite the way he always did, but close enough. ‘We’d better hurry if we want to be back here before my uncle gets home from work.’

He offered a hand out. Noctis took it and let himself be pulled up.

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [3c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

that's such a great ending. so scared, and so overwhelmed, clutching at each other like survivors in a storm, the way they just want to drown in each other, forever. i love all the little details - the press spin, the enforced hospital stay, gladio visibly freaking out in the background but still being there for noct, and through all of it such - such longing. and ignis on his knees, not even holding onto noct as he clearly wants to. AND A SLEEPOVER YES.

Re: FILL: Gen, Ignis self-mutilating himself to save Noctis [3c/3]

[(Anonymous)]

And the codependent disasters become more codependent. Ugh, I love it. Also, when Noct realizes that Clarus sounds gentler than even when he’s talking to Iris—talk about a punch to the gut.