If Bahamut had meant to turn Noctis into a willing, timid servant of destiny, he’d underestimated exactly how stubborn his branch of the Caelum family could be. Giving the prince a direct order was a practice in frustration: When told to sit still for a fitting, Noctis picked a pose that made it next to impossible for the tailor to work. When he was ordered to stop talking, he knocked into things, dropped silverware, and blasted music on his phone. Simple commands to wait here and sit with me were obeyed for only a fraction of a second. When he was thirteen, Noct even tried to program an anti-obedience recording on his phone.
“Okay,” he said, bracing himself in the schoolroom he shared with Ignis and Gladio. “Tell me to do something.”
Ignis drummed his fingers on his math book. “Give me your pencil,” he said.
Noct held his breath as the pressure to obey built, the familiar tilting feeling of nausea constricting his stomach. He flipped to the recording on his phone, and Ignis’ voice came out, tinny and loud.
“Ignore that last order.”
The pressure didn’t stop. It kept building, heavier and higher and tighter, until Noct’s head was throbbing and he could taste bile in the back of his mouth. He lurched for his pencil and smacked it on Ignis’ desk.
“Damn,” Ignis said. “Back to the drawing board.”
“I’m never gonna leave the Citadel again,” Noct moaned, collapsing on his desk. His one attempt at going to public school had led to a minor meltdown in the middle of second period. He’d run off, tripped over some poor kid with a camera, and hid in the back of the gym equipment shed before anyone found him. Since then, he couldn’t even go outside without constant supervision. He pressed his cheek to the cracked, plastic spine of his math book and sighed.
“Don’t—“ Ignis stopped. “change your name to Nigel.” Noct snorted. Ignis liked to finish accidental orders with ridiculous, useless commands.
“Will do.” Noct smiled at Ignis, who blushed faintly and smiled back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The door swung open, revealing Gladiolus Amicitia, all of sixteen years old and sporting the worst mullet Noct had ever seen, carrying an armload of books from the library.
“You guys spent lunch in the classroom?” he asked. He dumped his books on the desk with a grin. “Couple o’ nerds.”
“Oh, yes,” Ignis said, eyeing the book sliding off the top of Gladio’s stack. “Much worse than spending it in the library, reading… what’s that title, Noct?”
“Looks like Tempest of Love, Specs,” Noct said.
“Riveting.”
“Oh, shut up, Iggy.” Gladio fell into his chair. “Word of warning, Noct. We got the bossy tutor this afternoon.”
Noct groaned, and Ignis leaned over to pat him on the back. The tutor in question, a grim-faced former Crownsguard who still wore his uniform to work, strode through the door and tapped Noct’s desk.
“Sit up straight, your highness,” he said. Noct waited until the last possible second to obey, and Ignis made a faint sound of distress in the back of his throat. “Now. Gladiolus, open your book to page fifty-three, Ignis, page ninety. Your highness, open your book to page three hundred and six.”
“Yes, sir,” Ignis and Gladio said.
Noct dutifully opened his math book, flipped to the correct page, and set the book on the floor.
Noct was fifteen when Prompto Argentum, the blonde-haired, ganglier version of the boy Noct had run into during his first and only day of school, sat next to him at the shooting range of the arcade and beat his high score. Gladio, who’d been sitting by the vending machines with his policy briefings, immediately drifted closer, but the only threat Prompto seemed to pose was to digital monsters on the screen. Noct kept waiting for him to say something, to admit to being the kid Noct had plowed over that day by the gym, but he just laughed and lent Noct more quarters for the racing games, acting like this was the first time they’d met. Noct walked back to the Citadel that night with a new number in his phone, a disgruntled shield following at his heels, and a whole mess of security problems to answer for.
Only a select number of people knew about the curse: If word got out that the future king of Lucis would literally do what anyone ordered him to, the best case scenario would be his abdication of the crown. The worst involved people using him as a puppet king, ordering him to go to war with their allies, to bankrupt the country, to dismantle their magical wall and let Niflheim take over. So Noct was, with good reason, a shadow prince. He barely made public appearances, never took interviews, and the only time journalists got a good photo of him was when the lucky tabloid photographer shouted, “Prince Noctis, look here!”
Introducing a stranger to Noct’s life, especially one without the kind of clearance Ignis, Gladio, and a handful of Crownsguard had, was almost too much of a risk.
Still, after a thorough background check had been made and Noct was caught sighing over his phone for the third time, the king decided it was a risk worth taking. Noct started venturing out more, meeting up with Prompto at the arcade or at shitty little 24-hour diners.
Ignis and Gladio were always close by, of course. Ignis was on the fast track to becoming Noct’s advisor in truth, and Noct kept having to bat his hand away from the notes on his phone when they were out. One night, after Noct had playfully shoved Ignis out of the booth for daring to say that his own attempt at Crow’s Nest fries were infinitely better, and Ignis had laughed and walked off, claiming to be washing his hands of him, Prompto nudged Noct with his boot.
“So what’s the deal with you guys?” he asked.
“Our deal? Well, he’s a coffee junkie, and I have no shame.” Noct swiped some of Prompto’s fries to prove his point, and Prompto rolled his eyes.
“Not like that, doofus. The way you guys look at each other. You know. The mooning.”
Noct narrowed his eyes, ignoring the heat that rushed to his cheeks. “I don’t moon.”
“Dude, it’s like watching a soap opera. You’re always looking at him when he’s not looking at you.” Prompto propped his feet up on Noct’s knees. “So what’s your deal? Is it ‘cause he’s, you know, working for your dad?”
“Uh.” Noct grabbed his drink and shrugged, taking a long draft.
Prompto grinned. “Stop hiding behind your drink and tell me the truth, man.”
“Of course I like him,” Noct said, and tried to force his mouth closed. But the headache was starting to pound away again, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to throw up all over his new friend in the middle of a seedy diner, so he plunged on regardless.. “I’ve always liked him. Sometimes I think maybe it’d be better if I did abdicate, because he already knows, and he’d never be with me now because what if people think he’s taking advantage of me? Which is dumb, because he’s the…” He was shaking. He could feel the tremble in his shoulders, and the hot, humiliating sting of tears in his eyes as his traitorous mouth kept going, spilling it all out in a terrible flood. “He deserves to be with someone who isn’t a mess, Prompto. What if someone finds out, and they make me hurt him? What if they ask me to kill him? What if I, what if something happens and he isn’t there, and I’ll never—“
“Noct.”
Noct flinched at the sound of Ignis’ voice, and turned aside. A warm, slightly damp hand lay on his shoulder, and Ignis’ breath tickled his cheek.
“Tell the truth when it is your desire to do so.”
Noct covered his face with both hands, and Prompto sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.
“Noct. Dude,” he said. “You didn’t have to—“
“I believe we should go,” Ignis said.
“I’m really sorry, Prom,” Noct said. He refused to look Ignis in the eye as he slid out of the booth. “It’s not you. I swear. I’ll, uh. I’ll call you later.”
Noct still hadn’t stopped shaking when they reached the car. He piled into the backseat rather than the front, and tipped forward until he was hunched up against the back of Ignis’ seat. His lips were strangely dry, and his skin felt feverish and cool.
“I’m sorry, Ignis,” he said.
He heard the shuff of Ignis’ gloved hands sliding over the leather of the steering wheel. “So am I.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, a small bubble of stillness in the center of the city.
“It’s only fair, I suppose,” Ignis said at last, “that I speak honestly as well.”
“Ignis, no. It’s fine, you don’t—“
“I... may have loved you since we were children.” Ignis’ voice sounded strange, like he was struggling to speak around a swollen throat. “This isn’t how I would like for it to be known—I’d hoped to tell you when the curse was broken—“
“If it can be,” Noct said.
“It can.” There was a thumping sound. “It will. But Noct, I can’t bear to think that I might… That in the heat of the moment, I may give you an order unawares.”
“But you’re always aware.”
“Because I have to be.” Ignis’ breath hitched, so faint Noct almost missed it. “I can’t betray your trust on me. If you were hurt on my behalf, by my hand, I don’t think I—“
“Hey.” Noct scooted over, leaning forward so he could see Ignis’ face. Ignis hurriedly swiped a palm under his eyes, and Noct took his hand. “I trust you.”
“A terrible decision,” Ignis said.
“Nah.” Noct sat on the padded CD case between the seats, and lifted off Ignis’ glasses. They were fogged over, and when Ignis turned to him, his eyes were dark and wide and painfully wet.
Ignis closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath.
“Tell me not to kiss you,” Noct said. Ignis’ eyes flew open.
“Excuse me?”
“If I can’t trust you,” Noct said, “tell me not to kiss you.” His heartbeat felt unnaturally strong, pulsing through his entire body as he set Ignis’ glasses on the dashboard. Ignis licked his lips.
Noct leaned forward, and Ignis met him halfway. They kissed inexpertly, Noct’s teeth clashing against Ignis’ braces, the taste of bitter, medicinal chapstick on his tongue. But Ignis’ gloved hands slid through Noct’s hair, and Noct felt like he was drifting, pulling loose from his body on a warm updraft that carried him away from the city, away from the crown, away from curses and prophecies and endless orders. He smiled when Ignis drew back, then slipped, jabbing his elbow into the car horn and making them both jump.
Then they were laughing—a little hysterical, sure, but Noct thought it was a whole lot better than spilling his heart out in a diner booth—and holding each other, Ignis’ head on Noct’s shoulder, Noct’s fingers clenching on the smooth fabric of Ignis’ dress shirt. And sure, maybe there were a few tears, and maybe it was Ignis’ turn to become a shaking mess, but at least they were a mess together. At least they were there.
Fill 3/? Re: Gen or Ignis/Noctis- Ella enchanted au
“Okay,” he said, bracing himself in the schoolroom he shared with Ignis and Gladio. “Tell me to do something.”
Ignis drummed his fingers on his math book. “Give me your pencil,” he said.
Noct held his breath as the pressure to obey built, the familiar tilting feeling of nausea constricting his stomach. He flipped to the recording on his phone, and Ignis’ voice came out, tinny and loud.
“Ignore that last order.”
The pressure didn’t stop. It kept building, heavier and higher and tighter, until Noct’s head was throbbing and he could taste bile in the back of his mouth. He lurched for his pencil and smacked it on Ignis’ desk.
“Damn,” Ignis said. “Back to the drawing board.”
“I’m never gonna leave the Citadel again,” Noct moaned, collapsing on his desk. His one attempt at going to public school had led to a minor meltdown in the middle of second period. He’d run off, tripped over some poor kid with a camera, and hid in the back of the gym equipment shed before anyone found him. Since then, he couldn’t even go outside without constant supervision. He pressed his cheek to the cracked, plastic spine of his math book and sighed.
“Don’t—“ Ignis stopped. “change your name to Nigel.” Noct snorted. Ignis liked to finish accidental orders with ridiculous, useless commands.
“Will do.” Noct smiled at Ignis, who blushed faintly and smiled back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The door swung open, revealing Gladiolus Amicitia, all of sixteen years old and sporting the worst mullet Noct had ever seen, carrying an armload of books from the library.
“You guys spent lunch in the classroom?” he asked. He dumped his books on the desk with a grin. “Couple o’ nerds.”
“Oh, yes,” Ignis said, eyeing the book sliding off the top of Gladio’s stack. “Much worse than spending it in the library, reading… what’s that title, Noct?”
“Looks like Tempest of Love, Specs,” Noct said.
“Riveting.”
“Oh, shut up, Iggy.” Gladio fell into his chair. “Word of warning, Noct. We got the bossy tutor this afternoon.”
Noct groaned, and Ignis leaned over to pat him on the back. The tutor in question, a grim-faced former Crownsguard who still wore his uniform to work, strode through the door and tapped Noct’s desk.
“Sit up straight, your highness,” he said. Noct waited until the last possible second to obey, and Ignis made a faint sound of distress in the back of his throat. “Now. Gladiolus, open your book to page fifty-three, Ignis, page ninety. Your highness, open your book to page three hundred and six.”
“Yes, sir,” Ignis and Gladio said.
Noct dutifully opened his math book, flipped to the correct page, and set the book on the floor.
Noct was fifteen when Prompto Argentum, the blonde-haired, ganglier version of the boy Noct had run into during his first and only day of school, sat next to him at the shooting range of the arcade and beat his high score. Gladio, who’d been sitting by the vending machines with his policy briefings, immediately drifted closer, but the only threat Prompto seemed to pose was to digital monsters on the screen. Noct kept waiting for him to say something, to admit to being the kid Noct had plowed over that day by the gym, but he just laughed and lent Noct more quarters for the racing games, acting like this was the first time they’d met. Noct walked back to the Citadel that night with a new number in his phone, a disgruntled shield following at his heels, and a whole mess of security problems to answer for.
Only a select number of people knew about the curse: If word got out that the future king of Lucis would literally do what anyone ordered him to, the best case scenario would be his abdication of the crown. The worst involved people using him as a puppet king, ordering him to go to war with their allies, to bankrupt the country, to dismantle their magical wall and let Niflheim take over. So Noct was, with good reason, a shadow prince. He barely made public appearances, never took interviews, and the only time journalists got a good photo of him was when the lucky tabloid photographer shouted, “Prince Noctis, look here!”
Introducing a stranger to Noct’s life, especially one without the kind of clearance Ignis, Gladio, and a handful of Crownsguard had, was almost too much of a risk.
Still, after a thorough background check had been made and Noct was caught sighing over his phone for the third time, the king decided it was a risk worth taking. Noct started venturing out more, meeting up with Prompto at the arcade or at shitty little 24-hour diners.
Ignis and Gladio were always close by, of course. Ignis was on the fast track to becoming Noct’s advisor in truth, and Noct kept having to bat his hand away from the notes on his phone when they were out. One night, after Noct had playfully shoved Ignis out of the booth for daring to say that his own attempt at Crow’s Nest fries were infinitely better, and Ignis had laughed and walked off, claiming to be washing his hands of him, Prompto nudged Noct with his boot.
“So what’s the deal with you guys?” he asked.
“Our deal? Well, he’s a coffee junkie, and I have no shame.” Noct swiped some of Prompto’s fries to prove his point, and Prompto rolled his eyes.
“Not like that, doofus. The way you guys look at each other. You know. The mooning.”
Noct narrowed his eyes, ignoring the heat that rushed to his cheeks. “I don’t moon.”
“Dude, it’s like watching a soap opera. You’re always looking at him when he’s not looking at you.” Prompto propped his feet up on Noct’s knees. “So what’s your deal? Is it ‘cause he’s, you know, working for your dad?”
“Uh.” Noct grabbed his drink and shrugged, taking a long draft.
Prompto grinned. “Stop hiding behind your drink and tell me the truth, man.”
“Of course I like him,” Noct said, and tried to force his mouth closed. But the headache was starting to pound away again, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to throw up all over his new friend in the middle of a seedy diner, so he plunged on regardless.. “I’ve always liked him. Sometimes I think maybe it’d be better if I did abdicate, because he already knows, and he’d never be with me now because what if people think he’s taking advantage of me? Which is dumb, because he’s the…” He was shaking. He could feel the tremble in his shoulders, and the hot, humiliating sting of tears in his eyes as his traitorous mouth kept going, spilling it all out in a terrible flood. “He deserves to be with someone who isn’t a mess, Prompto. What if someone finds out, and they make me hurt him? What if they ask me to kill him? What if I, what if something happens and he isn’t there, and I’ll never—“
“Noct.”
Noct flinched at the sound of Ignis’ voice, and turned aside. A warm, slightly damp hand lay on his shoulder, and Ignis’ breath tickled his cheek.
“Tell the truth when it is your desire to do so.”
Noct covered his face with both hands, and Prompto sat up, swinging his feet to the floor.
“Noct. Dude,” he said. “You didn’t have to—“
“I believe we should go,” Ignis said.
“I’m really sorry, Prom,” Noct said. He refused to look Ignis in the eye as he slid out of the booth. “It’s not you. I swear. I’ll, uh. I’ll call you later.”
Noct still hadn’t stopped shaking when they reached the car. He piled into the backseat rather than the front, and tipped forward until he was hunched up against the back of Ignis’ seat. His lips were strangely dry, and his skin felt feverish and cool.
“I’m sorry, Ignis,” he said.
He heard the shuff of Ignis’ gloved hands sliding over the leather of the steering wheel. “So am I.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, a small bubble of stillness in the center of the city.
“It’s only fair, I suppose,” Ignis said at last, “that I speak honestly as well.”
“Ignis, no. It’s fine, you don’t—“
“I... may have loved you since we were children.” Ignis’ voice sounded strange, like he was struggling to speak around a swollen throat. “This isn’t how I would like for it to be known—I’d hoped to tell you when the curse was broken—“
“If it can be,” Noct said.
“It can.” There was a thumping sound. “It will. But Noct, I can’t bear to think that I might… That in the heat of the moment, I may give you an order unawares.”
“But you’re always aware.”
“Because I have to be.” Ignis’ breath hitched, so faint Noct almost missed it. “I can’t betray your trust on me. If you were hurt on my behalf, by my hand, I don’t think I—“
“Hey.” Noct scooted over, leaning forward so he could see Ignis’ face. Ignis hurriedly swiped a palm under his eyes, and Noct took his hand. “I trust you.”
“A terrible decision,” Ignis said.
“Nah.” Noct sat on the padded CD case between the seats, and lifted off Ignis’ glasses. They were fogged over, and when Ignis turned to him, his eyes were dark and wide and painfully wet.
Ignis closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath.
“Tell me not to kiss you,” Noct said. Ignis’ eyes flew open.
“Excuse me?”
“If I can’t trust you,” Noct said, “tell me not to kiss you.” His heartbeat felt unnaturally strong, pulsing through his entire body as he set Ignis’ glasses on the dashboard. Ignis licked his lips.
Noct leaned forward, and Ignis met him halfway. They kissed inexpertly, Noct’s teeth clashing against Ignis’ braces, the taste of bitter, medicinal chapstick on his tongue. But Ignis’ gloved hands slid through Noct’s hair, and Noct felt like he was drifting, pulling loose from his body on a warm updraft that carried him away from the city, away from the crown, away from curses and prophecies and endless orders. He smiled when Ignis drew back, then slipped, jabbing his elbow into the car horn and making them both jump.
Then they were laughing—a little hysterical, sure, but Noct thought it was a whole lot better than spilling his heart out in a diner booth—and holding each other, Ignis’ head on Noct’s shoulder, Noct’s fingers clenching on the smooth fabric of Ignis’ dress shirt. And sure, maybe there were a few tears, and maybe it was Ignis’ turn to become a shaking mess, but at least they were a mess together. At least they were there.
Like always.