Noctis grimaces, curling up against Ignis as he noses at his jawline, tentatively nuzzling against it. He's not entirely sure if they can do this again -- he did just get pissed at Ignis and walked out, after all, and this thing is so new, so delicate, but he supposes he can test the waters anyway.
Also, Noctis is pretty sure the cat's supposed to be him -- he does get lost from time to time, but he's warmed by that smile so he gently nudges at him. ]
What did the prince's elder brother do? Did he kick her ass?
Alas, that privilege will be left to the king their father, when he finds out what happened. But no, what happens is that the two of them end up getting horribly lost in the woods — the cat and his brother both. And eventually they find each other, but by the time they do they're so turned around that they haven't the slightest idea of how to retrace their steps, or which way to pick to go home.
[He doesn't quite lean back into Noct's nuzzling, not yet, but he also doesn't pull away from it, either. He simply keeps very, very still, and lets it happen without intervention on his part, and sleepily opens his eyes again to watch Noct's face.]
The ground in that part of the forest was covered with nettles, and seeking to walk through it was hurting the princeling's little paws terribly. So his brother bent and picked him up, and moved him to ride on his shoulders, and they started walking, looking for someone who could assist them.
[ Noctis asks drowsily, at the same time aware that Ignis isn't leaning into him just yet. Is he mad? Probably not -- Ignis wouldn't tell him stories if he were; the man's mastered the art of vicious passive aggressiveness and this isn't one of those hallmarks.
This is something different, and Noctis doesn't blame him for being cautious and holding back; Ignis might be perceptive, but he's not a mind reader, and things between them hadn't actually been anywhere close to resolved. It's just paused for the time being, and Noctis has no idea how to sort it out just yet. ]
[It's an endearment that, in his head, he'd meant to sound teasing and a little bit patronizing; it's only after it leaves his mouth that he realizes there isn't much of a tease in it at all, and it leaves him drawing an uncertain breath, feeling momentarily like he's overstepped a boundary line that he shouldn't have.
Luckily, he's got the tale to fall back on, and he does so briskly.]
They wandered and wandered, until at last they came across a fairy's spring. And as they settled down to rest, the fairy appeared, and asked who they were and why they had come to her spring. So the elder brother explained the witch's treachery, and the curse that had befallen his brother, and told her how they were so very lost, and unable to find their way home.
Now, the fairy had never left her spring, so she had no knowledge of their castle, or how they might return to it. But as she looked the young princeling over, she realized — aha! This was a spell she recognized, and one that she knew how to break. But alas, she cautioned them, the price for breaking it was very dear.
[He strokes Noct's hair lightly.]
For three years, the elder prince would have to live in the forest, collecting the nettles and weaving them into cloth, and sewing the cloth into garments, until he'd managed to make a whole little set of clothes for his brother — a shirt, trousers, a cap, and even socks for his little feet. And in that time, he could neither smile nor laugh nor speak a single word, because if he did his brother would remain a cat forever.
Noctis shifts at the unexpected endearment, just a little. He's not sure if Ignis means it, or it's just another way to get him to be quiet and to listen to the rest of the story. But he kind of likes it, he supposes -- he's never heard the man use that on anyone else before, not even when he's at his most affectionate or passive aggressive.
He files that away carefully, not wholly sure what to make of it but happy to give him the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.
He absorbs the story, already invested in the cat and the older prince, leaning into Ignis' touch. ]
That's awful.
[ He says quietly, sympathetic. Then, as it occurs to his sleepy mind: ] I know a witch.
It is. The young cat-prince thought so too, yowling and squirming and doing everything he could to convey his displeasure, trying to convince his brother not to take up such a burden on his behalf. Even if it meant remaining as a cat for the rest of his days.
[He turns his fingers inward just slightly, curling them so that his nails come to scritch lightly against Noct's head in a pleasant, idle sort of way.
That's an odd little addendum that comes at the end, though, and it's curious enough that he puts his story on pause to ask: ]
[ Noctis has the impression that Ignis thinks he's petting a cat, or something, but he doesn't comment on it, nuzzling into his touch. He would purr if he would -- it's so comfortable and relaxing, and he finds hismelf frowning, musing at the little cat-prince.
He wouldn't have his brother do that, either, not for himself. There's another way, right? ]
Mmmhmm. Her name's Flora. Prompto named her.
[ He mumbles, shifting to get more pettings, his hand idly smoothing down his chest as he presses his hear to his heart, listening. ]
I think he likes her. [ But that's neither here nor there, so he hums. Maybe he should ask Flora if she could undo curses that way one day. ] Keep going.
Ah. The one he's been sneaking food to? I've noticed that.
[It is, after all, the duty of a mom to notice these things. Regardless, the more Noct settles in, the more he's correct about Ignis treating him like a warm, comfortable pet; they're idle little touches, designed solely to please, and mostly subconscious in the way he offers them up.]
Mmm. Well. The elder prince took up his younger brother in his arms, and kissed his furry head, and smiled at him one last time as he whispered his last words to him for three years: believe in me. And then he rose up, and told the fairy that without his brother, he had no reason to smile or laugh, and so he accepted the burden of freeing him, wholeheartedly.
He spoke that oath, and around his wrists wrapped two black streaks of something that looked like ink — magic, coiled around his body like a cat's tail, sealing his vow.
And with that, he settled his brother onto his shoulders and set out, stone-faced, to silently begin gathering his nettles.
[ Noctis' frown deepens, shaking his head. The older prince's bound by his word, and he doesn't quite like that, heart hurting for the princes both -- he knows how the cat prince feels, watching his loved one neither smile nor laugh, and he realizes the parallel between them.
He closes his eyes, fingers curling in his shirt now. The nettles will hurt. ]
It'll sting his fingers.
[ Noctis says softly, unhappily. The cat prince will hate every moment of it. ]
[He brings his hand down and away from Noct's hair, moving to hold his chin instead — not gripping, but holding his face with a reassuring purpose.]
Day after day, week after week, month after month, he bears it. Because he knows that the life of someone he loves is depending on him, he bears it. Because he, now, is the only one who can do it, he bears it. Because it will make things right, he bears it. Because he is good, and kind, and brave, and knows that whatever pain he endures is for the sake of a future that seems so long in coming...hour by hour, day by day, he bears it.
[As it turns out, Noct's parallel in this story isn't solely the younger of the princes, after all.]
He bleeds. He suffers setbacks. But he endures...and in three years' time, he completes each and every garment of nettles, just as he'd swore.
[ He can't look away from him, his face held in his hand just so -- it makes him ache, this story, and he shifts at the burgeoning realisation that he... might not be just the cat anymore. Wait, is this even about him? Ignis is looking down at him so steadily, and Noctis is quiet, words caught in his throat.
This is a lot, for a fairytale, and he leanins into his hand, nuzzling his cheek into it and closes his eyes. ]
Did he manage to turn his brother back into a prince again? His brother must've been heart broken all those years, too.
[ Watching, but unable to do anything because of the oath. Gods, this feels awful -- is that what Ignis and Prompto feel, as well? ]
After three years, with his hands battered and torn, reddened and stung, he takes his brother back to the spring, and lays out his armful of clothes, and splashes the water in the pool to summon back the fairy. And when she returns, she looks from the brother to the clothes, and finally turns her gaze to his brother the cat.
"Your brother has suffered for you," she says softly, "And now you must, as well. He made you your clothes of stinging nettles; now you must don them."
Well. Now it was the elder's turn to recoil, from the thought of his beloved brother being forced to feel the sting of those nettles for even a second. But to his astonishment, this time it was the cat's turn to act without hesitation, and he all but leapt to wriggle his way into the clothes, as the fairy had bidden him.
[He falls silent a moment.]
Because he realized, then, that his brother's mission was a curse in itself. One that had left him tormented and in pain and alone — and here, at last, was the cat's chance to free his brother of that curse.
He didn't think once about the reward of no longer being cursed into the body of a cat. He only thought of ending his brother's burden.
And so the nettles scratched and stung, but he donned each and every scrap of clothing his brother had woven, and the moment he finished, a bright light filled the air, and when it cleared, the young princeling was human again.
Because it's nothing compared to what he suffered for the past three years.
[ The brother bled and ached and hurt for the cat for three years, over a thousand days -- Noctis would step into it anytime. He's reaching up to press a soft kiss to his jawline briefly. It's fuzzy now, who's supposed to be which, but he doesn't care. It's a story about devotion, about love and heartache and sacrifice, and he smiles faintly. ]
Did they live happily ever after after that? Did they go home?
[ Back to the king, back home. ] What about the older prince's hands? Were they healed?
[ So many questions to a fairytale, but he's curious. The older prince's hands must have been scarred, the younger prince's entire body hurting -- after all, the brother had prepared all of it for him. A labor of love that hurts, and the cat prince wore it proudly, if only to have a taste of what the older brother has suffered all these years. ]
Oh, they embrace, they hug, they cry. And as the tears wind down, the fairy tells them what they'd both already known, deep down — that it was nothing to do with nettles or shirts that freed the young prince of his curse, but rather their shared love and unfailing devotion. The elder, for suffering for his brother, and the younger, for leaping to share in it without a moment's hesitation.
[This time, he tips his face slightly into Noct's kiss to his jawline, accepting it a little more easily than he had the last. He's warming up to him, now; the story is winding down, and they're both growing sleepy, and something that had fractured between them seems to be beginning to mend again.]
Then the fairy told them to hold hands and drink of her spring, and to think of the place they most wanted to go while they did. So the two brothers clasped hands, and drank as one, and as they did they both thought of their father's castle, and in the blink of an eye, they were home.
And their father, who hadn't seen either of them in three years, was beside himself with disbelief and joy, and ran to embrace them, and they all hugged and cried and cried. And the elder's hands never fully recovered from the punishment they'd endured, and the young prince still sometimes craved fish and hated water and could be found dozing on his back in a spot of sun, but they were home again, and they had each other, and that was enough.
[ Noctis muses, but the ending is lovely -- befitting a fairytale, he supposes. He reaches down to grasp Ignis' hand, taking it in both of his and curling around it, holding on to him like it's his hand that's scarred and not the older prince's.
There's a little bit of them in these two, but it doesn't matter. What's important is that something in this story if providing precious illumination, simple and warming, and he' very okay with that. ]
Did you dream up that story all by yourself? You should be writing them down if you are.
I stole the basics of it from an existing one. In the original it was a princess with brothers, and they changed into birds. It also gave her a love interest so she might get married in the end, but I thought the tale did a bit better without that part of it.
[He hums softly, letting Noct take his hand, and sliding his eyes open slowly to regard him.]
Seems it's done the opposite of what I'd hoped it would, though. You're wide awake, when I'd meant to help you sleep.
[He'd rather be in their bed, as usual, as though things are still normal. But who knows if they even are, anymore. Who knows where they stand with each other?]
But it'd be rude to drift off without you, I think.
[ And he must have been hurting too, himself -- Noctis had essentially gently turned him down, afraid to hope, afraid for Ignis; it must have been difficult to watch. ]
[He draws in a slow breath, listening to the sound of Noct's words echoing in his ears again and again. Let's go to bed, as though it's that simple, as though it can really be that easy to mend things.
He wants it to be that easy. He wants it to be as easy as kissing him was, when they'd set aside questions of propriety for a night and simply let themselves feel.]
[ He's not wrong -- it's what Noctis wanted, what he needed, and if he hadn't done what he did then he wouldn't have met Prompto, spoken to him.
He's not sure if this is going to be easy; for them, this is uncharted territory, and it seems now like the stakes are infinitely higher now that he knows the taste of his lips, the warmth of his love, the fire of his devotion.
It should be terrifying, difficult, but Noctis is too tired for all of that, too exhausted for pride and another fight, and he exhales a soft sigh, allowing himself to feel. ]
You didn't do anything wrong.
[ He's quiet, trying to find the proper words to say. ] You did what you had to do. I just -- I freaked out.
[The word is soft, but with the sort of steady authority that invites no argument — the sort of tone a mother uses when gently chiding a favored child — and it seems they're not getting up for the moment after all, as Ignis rests his hand on the back of Noct's head and guides him back down to his chest, to feel protected and steady and safe against the rhythm of his heart.]
You've always taken it badly when someone you care about is hurting. Every time you act out, it's because you feel responsible for suffering you couldn't prevent.
[The Astrals chose well when they chose Noct, Ignis thinks grimly. That's a perfect tendency to have in a sacrifice — someone who can't help but want to bear the burden for others, to prevent their suffering.
Not for the first time, and not for the last, he silently vows he'll watch the world burn before he lets them use his Noct like that.]
Sometimes you choose suffering for yourself, but then you won't allow the people who love you to make that same choice. You'll suffer for love of others, but you won't let others suffer for love of you. Even when they would choose it, freely and willingly, because they love you.
[ Noctis says firmly, shifting to brace himself above him after a few moments, looking down at Ignis. He's not angry, he's determined. As much as he loves the way Ignis protects him, shields him and keeps him safe, he knows that there are times when the situation's reversed. And when those times come, Noctis won't back down.
He leans down to nose against his cheek -- he's no longer the young charge Ignis has to protect. He's... they're more than that, right? He's reaching down to brush Ignis' bangs off his forehead, a hand coming down to stroke over his cheek.
How determined his Ignis is, how fierce, and maybe that's enough. Maybe knowing Ignis' depth of feelings for him is enough, and he feels something in his heart clench. ]
I -- I like you. A lot. [ And he doesn't know how it'll pan out, even if he has an idea. In every scenario he passes sooner than Ignis will, whether he gets to live out the rest of his days as king or not, and he's not sure how it works in here, either. Does time stop for them? He wishes it does. Ignis' observation is right, perhaps, but Noctis doesn't want to fight. He's tired of it -- he just wants to hold Ignis and love him, and be loved, and think about the things twenty year olds in love think about. ]
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no subject
Noctis grimaces, curling up against Ignis as he noses at his jawline, tentatively nuzzling against it. He's not entirely sure if they can do this again -- he did just get pissed at Ignis and walked out, after all, and this thing is so new, so delicate, but he supposes he can test the waters anyway.
Also, Noctis is pretty sure the cat's supposed to be him -- he does get lost from time to time, but he's warmed by that smile so he gently nudges at him. ]
What did the prince's elder brother do? Did he kick her ass?
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[He doesn't quite lean back into Noct's nuzzling, not yet, but he also doesn't pull away from it, either. He simply keeps very, very still, and lets it happen without intervention on his part, and sleepily opens his eyes again to watch Noct's face.]
The ground in that part of the forest was covered with nettles, and seeking to walk through it was hurting the princeling's little paws terribly. So his brother bent and picked him up, and moved him to ride on his shoulders, and they started walking, looking for someone who could assist them.
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[ Noctis asks drowsily, at the same time aware that Ignis isn't leaning into him just yet. Is he mad? Probably not -- Ignis wouldn't tell him stories if he were; the man's mastered the art of vicious passive aggressiveness and this isn't one of those hallmarks.
This is something different, and Noctis doesn't blame him for being cautious and holding back; Ignis might be perceptive, but he's not a mind reader, and things between them hadn't actually been anywhere close to resolved. It's just paused for the time being, and Noctis has no idea how to sort it out just yet. ]
Did they find someone?
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[It's an endearment that, in his head, he'd meant to sound teasing and a little bit patronizing; it's only after it leaves his mouth that he realizes there isn't much of a tease in it at all, and it leaves him drawing an uncertain breath, feeling momentarily like he's overstepped a boundary line that he shouldn't have.
Luckily, he's got the tale to fall back on, and he does so briskly.]
They wandered and wandered, until at last they came across a fairy's spring. And as they settled down to rest, the fairy appeared, and asked who they were and why they had come to her spring. So the elder brother explained the witch's treachery, and the curse that had befallen his brother, and told her how they were so very lost, and unable to find their way home.
Now, the fairy had never left her spring, so she had no knowledge of their castle, or how they might return to it. But as she looked the young princeling over, she realized — aha! This was a spell she recognized, and one that she knew how to break. But alas, she cautioned them, the price for breaking it was very dear.
[He strokes Noct's hair lightly.]
For three years, the elder prince would have to live in the forest, collecting the nettles and weaving them into cloth, and sewing the cloth into garments, until he'd managed to make a whole little set of clothes for his brother — a shirt, trousers, a cap, and even socks for his little feet. And in that time, he could neither smile nor laugh nor speak a single word, because if he did his brother would remain a cat forever.
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Noctis shifts at the unexpected endearment, just a little. He's not sure if Ignis means it, or it's just another way to get him to be quiet and to listen to the rest of the story. But he kind of likes it, he supposes -- he's never heard the man use that on anyone else before, not even when he's at his most affectionate or passive aggressive.
He files that away carefully, not wholly sure what to make of it but happy to give him the benefit of the doubt, so to speak.
He absorbs the story, already invested in the cat and the older prince, leaning into Ignis' touch. ]
That's awful.
[ He says quietly, sympathetic. Then, as it occurs to his sleepy mind: ] I know a witch.
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[He turns his fingers inward just slightly, curling them so that his nails come to scritch lightly against Noct's head in a pleasant, idle sort of way.
That's an odd little addendum that comes at the end, though, and it's curious enough that he puts his story on pause to ask: ]
Do you, now? You've met a witch?
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He wouldn't have his brother do that, either, not for himself. There's another way, right? ]
Mmmhmm. Her name's Flora. Prompto named her.
[ He mumbles, shifting to get more pettings, his hand idly smoothing down his chest as he presses his hear to his heart, listening. ]
I think he likes her. [ But that's neither here nor there, so he hums. Maybe he should ask Flora if she could undo curses that way one day. ] Keep going.
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[It is, after all, the duty of a mom to notice these things. Regardless, the more Noct settles in, the more he's correct about Ignis treating him like a warm, comfortable pet; they're idle little touches, designed solely to please, and mostly subconscious in the way he offers them up.]
Mmm. Well. The elder prince took up his younger brother in his arms, and kissed his furry head, and smiled at him one last time as he whispered his last words to him for three years: believe in me. And then he rose up, and told the fairy that without his brother, he had no reason to smile or laugh, and so he accepted the burden of freeing him, wholeheartedly.
He spoke that oath, and around his wrists wrapped two black streaks of something that looked like ink — magic, coiled around his body like a cat's tail, sealing his vow.
And with that, he settled his brother onto his shoulders and set out, stone-faced, to silently begin gathering his nettles.
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He closes his eyes, fingers curling in his shirt now. The nettles will hurt. ]
It'll sting his fingers.
[ Noctis says softly, unhappily. The cat prince will hate every moment of it. ]
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[He brings his hand down and away from Noct's hair, moving to hold his chin instead — not gripping, but holding his face with a reassuring purpose.]
Day after day, week after week, month after month, he bears it. Because he knows that the life of someone he loves is depending on him, he bears it. Because he, now, is the only one who can do it, he bears it. Because it will make things right, he bears it. Because he is good, and kind, and brave, and knows that whatever pain he endures is for the sake of a future that seems so long in coming...hour by hour, day by day, he bears it.
[As it turns out, Noct's parallel in this story isn't solely the younger of the princes, after all.]
He bleeds. He suffers setbacks. But he endures...and in three years' time, he completes each and every garment of nettles, just as he'd swore.
no subject
This is a lot, for a fairytale, and he leanins into his hand, nuzzling his cheek into it and closes his eyes. ]
Did he manage to turn his brother back into a prince again? His brother must've been heart broken all those years, too.
[ Watching, but unable to do anything because of the oath. Gods, this feels awful -- is that what Ignis and Prompto feel, as well? ]
no subject
[He smiles softly.]
After three years, with his hands battered and torn, reddened and stung, he takes his brother back to the spring, and lays out his armful of clothes, and splashes the water in the pool to summon back the fairy. And when she returns, she looks from the brother to the clothes, and finally turns her gaze to his brother the cat.
"Your brother has suffered for you," she says softly, "And now you must, as well. He made you your clothes of stinging nettles; now you must don them."
Well. Now it was the elder's turn to recoil, from the thought of his beloved brother being forced to feel the sting of those nettles for even a second. But to his astonishment, this time it was the cat's turn to act without hesitation, and he all but leapt to wriggle his way into the clothes, as the fairy had bidden him.
[He falls silent a moment.]
Because he realized, then, that his brother's mission was a curse in itself. One that had left him tormented and in pain and alone — and here, at last, was the cat's chance to free his brother of that curse.
He didn't think once about the reward of no longer being cursed into the body of a cat. He only thought of ending his brother's burden.
And so the nettles scratched and stung, but he donned each and every scrap of clothing his brother had woven, and the moment he finished, a bright light filled the air, and when it cleared, the young princeling was human again.
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[ The brother bled and ached and hurt for the cat for three years, over a thousand days -- Noctis would step into it anytime. He's reaching up to press a soft kiss to his jawline briefly. It's fuzzy now, who's supposed to be which, but he doesn't care. It's a story about devotion, about love and heartache and sacrifice, and he smiles faintly. ]
Did they live happily ever after after that? Did they go home?
[ Back to the king, back home. ] What about the older prince's hands? Were they healed?
[ So many questions to a fairytale, but he's curious. The older prince's hands must have been scarred, the younger prince's entire body hurting -- after all, the brother had prepared all of it for him. A labor of love that hurts, and the cat prince wore it proudly, if only to have a taste of what the older brother has suffered all these years. ]
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[This time, he tips his face slightly into Noct's kiss to his jawline, accepting it a little more easily than he had the last. He's warming up to him, now; the story is winding down, and they're both growing sleepy, and something that had fractured between them seems to be beginning to mend again.]
Then the fairy told them to hold hands and drink of her spring, and to think of the place they most wanted to go while they did. So the two brothers clasped hands, and drank as one, and as they did they both thought of their father's castle, and in the blink of an eye, they were home.
And their father, who hadn't seen either of them in three years, was beside himself with disbelief and joy, and ran to embrace them, and they all hugged and cried and cried. And the elder's hands never fully recovered from the punishment they'd endured, and the young prince still sometimes craved fish and hated water and could be found dozing on his back in a spot of sun, but they were home again, and they had each other, and that was enough.
[He pauses.]
...The end.
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[ Noctis muses, but the ending is lovely -- befitting a fairytale, he supposes. He reaches down to grasp Ignis' hand, taking it in both of his and curling around it, holding on to him like it's his hand that's scarred and not the older prince's.
There's a little bit of them in these two, but it doesn't matter. What's important is that something in this story if providing precious illumination, simple and warming, and he' very okay with that. ]
Did you dream up that story all by yourself? You should be writing them down if you are.
[ They're very good. Bittersweet, but good. ]
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[He hums softly, letting Noct take his hand, and sliding his eyes open slowly to regard him.]
Seems it's done the opposite of what I'd hoped it would, though. You're wide awake, when I'd meant to help you sleep.
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[ Noctis agrees -- but he's cheered up, too. Which is a weird thing when just about the entirety of the story is morbid as hell.
But whatever, he liked it. And the tale definitely did better without the love interest and the whole bird thing, and he pauses to meet his gaze. ]
Are you sleepy? I'll be quiet.
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[He'd rather be in their bed, as usual, as though things are still normal. But who knows if they even are, anymore. Who knows where they stand with each other?]
But it'd be rude to drift off without you, I think.
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[ Noctis says, after a moment. He's missed him. ]
I know you were just trying to give me space.
[ And he must have been hurting too, himself -- Noctis had essentially gently turned him down, afraid to hope, afraid for Ignis; it must have been difficult to watch. ]
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[He draws in a slow breath, listening to the sound of Noct's words echoing in his ears again and again. Let's go to bed, as though it's that simple, as though it can really be that easy to mend things.
He wants it to be that easy. He wants it to be as easy as kissing him was, when they'd set aside questions of propriety for a night and simply let themselves feel.]
You're saying I'm forgiven, for telling Prompto?
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He's not sure if this is going to be easy; for them, this is uncharted territory, and it seems now like the stakes are infinitely higher now that he knows the taste of his lips, the warmth of his love, the fire of his devotion.
It should be terrifying, difficult, but Noctis is too tired for all of that, too exhausted for pride and another fight, and he exhales a soft sigh, allowing himself to feel. ]
You didn't do anything wrong.
[ He's quiet, trying to find the proper words to say. ] You did what you had to do. I just -- I freaked out.
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[The word is soft, but with the sort of steady authority that invites no argument — the sort of tone a mother uses when gently chiding a favored child — and it seems they're not getting up for the moment after all, as Ignis rests his hand on the back of Noct's head and guides him back down to his chest, to feel protected and steady and safe against the rhythm of his heart.]
You've always taken it badly when someone you care about is hurting. Every time you act out, it's because you feel responsible for suffering you couldn't prevent.
[The Astrals chose well when they chose Noct, Ignis thinks grimly. That's a perfect tendency to have in a sacrifice — someone who can't help but want to bear the burden for others, to prevent their suffering.
Not for the first time, and not for the last, he silently vows he'll watch the world burn before he lets them use his Noct like that.]
Sometimes you choose suffering for yourself, but then you won't allow the people who love you to make that same choice. You'll suffer for love of others, but you won't let others suffer for love of you. Even when they would choose it, freely and willingly, because they love you.
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[ Noctis says firmly, shifting to brace himself above him after a few moments, looking down at Ignis. He's not angry, he's determined. As much as he loves the way Ignis protects him, shields him and keeps him safe, he knows that there are times when the situation's reversed. And when those times come, Noctis won't back down.
He leans down to nose against his cheek -- he's no longer the young charge Ignis has to protect. He's... they're more than that, right? He's reaching down to brush Ignis' bangs off his forehead, a hand coming down to stroke over his cheek.
How determined his Ignis is, how fierce, and maybe that's enough. Maybe knowing Ignis' depth of feelings for him is enough, and he feels something in his heart clench. ]
I -- I like you. A lot. [ And he doesn't know how it'll pan out, even if he has an idea. In every scenario he passes sooner than Ignis will, whether he gets to live out the rest of his days as king or not, and he's not sure how it works in here, either. Does time stop for them? He wishes it does. Ignis' observation is right, perhaps, but Noctis doesn't want to fight. He's tired of it -- he just wants to hold Ignis and love him, and be loved, and think about the things twenty year olds in love think about. ]
I don't want you to choose that for my sake.