A Wayward Son
By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-
Author Notes: I mentioned that I had a Yakuza-inspired fic planned for FFXV in honor of the fallen FF Versus XIII universe, and this is it. This going to be fun and gritty and dark, which is something I really enjoy writing. And surprise (actual shock!) this wasn't inspired at all by the kink meme!
Warning: Violence, Sex, Drugs (mentioned), Prostitution (mentioned), Death, etc. They're mobsters, what can I say?
13 weeks after
The theater smelled like stale popcorn and faded memories. It wasn't hard for Noctis to remember the first time they had met in the theater, though it seemed so long ago now.
Now… now everything felt like a dream, a sad state of affairs that left Noctis both depressed and terrified. It was like he was free-falling and he knew if he hit the ground, it would all be over. The way his soles stuck to the floor that probably hadn't gotten a good washing since his father had taken over most of Insomnia made Noctis almost smile. He could remember with a perfect clarity what Ignis said to him when they found the place-
No. It was best not to think about him, not then. Noctis needed more than that, he needed to refocus himself. He needed… fuck.
He knew what he needed and yet already knew that no matter how it went that things weren't going to change. How was he supposed to erase the last few weeks? How was he supposed to go back when he knew what waited for him?
Noctis placed his tray down into the cup holder on the other side and slid into the cool seat. His wallet chain caught on the busted gash in the side and it only took a solid yank to get it free. He didn't bother to try and fix it; the place was a shithole anyway. It always had been, and Noctis was positive it always would be.
Blue eyes flickered up to the screen, greeted by some small cartoon telling him to turn off his phone.
Hmph.
Noctis pulled out his new flip phone from his jacket pocket, a burner that Prompto had pulled out of the trunk of a half-dead tree a couple blocks west of his apartment, toying with the touchpad. It felt strange in his hands, so unlike his old iMoogle. Going from having the world at his fingertips to something that bit him and tried to take skin whenever he closed it… it was different.
The only thing of any personality was the small keychain at the bottom, a custom metal Carbuncle. He knew he should have tossed it (Six knew what the Glaive could bug, and Noctis really didn't want to find out) but… it was something that reminded Noctis of better times. Better days.
Kind of like the theater, if he thought about it.
They had found it when Noctis was sixteen, and it had become their place. It was only 10 gil a ticket and Noctis knew better than to drink the brown sludge that oozed out of the soda machine. The popcorn was stale and more than once, late at night, there were people who would sit in the back row giving one another handjobs through the opening scenes to the credits. The fact that he was one of the people doing it didn't quite factor into his opinion, but…
It reminded Noctis of the good times, the better times. The times when things weren't perfect, because there was nothing perfect about being the son of a mob boss, but… they were good.
He was good.
Well, had been good.
Noctis's seat in the back was close enough to the locked from the inside exit that he felt the semblance of a shield between himself and the outside world. Gladio had always drilled that into his head: Never come off as unguarded. Never come off as weak. Never be in a position where your flank wasn't covered.
Resisting a snort, Noctis tried to will his body to relax as the light dimmed. The few bodies in the theater turned toward the screen, and Noctis ignored the smacking sounds from the other end of the theater. The lousy support made his shoulder ache, and he had to resist the urge to touch the still-tender and healing bullet wound on his back left shoulder.
Noctis swallowed when he saw the title card come up, some horror movie he was sure would be just as bad as they always were, and the light of the door cracked open and spilled out across the screen.
He didn't want to look, because if he looked it meant that his mask would fall from his face and shatter on the sticky ground. He knew it, he could feel it sliding off...
The body inched closer and up the slight incline. After a brief moment where the body stopped moving toward him (maybe it wasn't him, maybe it wasn't…) Noctis felt his gaze on him.
It was like a gentle caress, and Noctis gave into the sensation, closing his eyes to soak in the feeling.
Peculiar wasn't the best of words, but Noctis couldn't think of anything else when the man slipped between the rows and sat next to him. Noctis heard the sound of a popcorn bowl shuffling across a tray.
Noctis rested his hand on the arm rest, though his fingernails were busy digging into fabric, and opened his eyes. He took deep, carefully measured breaths, listening to the cacophony of sounds as the movie was thrust into a violent scene of zombie carnage.
"Ever the delight when you choose the film."
Noctis let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding through his nose. His upper lip quivered. "Sorry it isn't one of those period shitshows you like so much. The last one started an hour ago."
Ignis tsked. "Period dramas are highly undervalued, I would have you know."
Tears prickled at the corners of Noctis's eyes and he blinked, hard, until his sight cleared.
Almost. It was almost normal.
"Iggy…"
Noctis could feel Ignis turn his head to face him, but Noctis could only stare, half-entranced, at the screen. This was all… it was so much, and yet so little. After all of the shit, after all of the fighting and the dying and the-
No. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't.
"Noctis… please. Come home."
Ignis's words cut deep, a desperate note that was fleeting and yet spoke of the years of them together. Since they were children, it had always been Ignis and Noctis. Later, Gladio and even later Prompto would join the picture, but when Noctis had to think of time all he could see was the passing of years on Ignis's face.
"I… I can't. Not yet." His throat was dry and for a moment Noctis would have killed for one of the brown sludges from the theater. It would have ended this… this… this moment, at least.
Ignis sighed and turned to the movie. In the open they couldn't talk about the chasm between them, about the burning bridges, about what had happened that night…
"You and Prompto should move out soon from wherever you are located. We received news that they're sweeping District H tomorrow afternoon."
Noctis nodded. It was a good thing he and Prompto were holed up in some hooker's shack back in District B, but Noctis said nothing. Niflheim's men had already shown what they were willing to do to get him. If they tried to get the information from Ignis, it was better he didn't have anything to lead back to him…
If they tortured Ignis.
"Come with me."
Noctis saw from the corner of his eye that Ignis pushed up his glasses, and it was what almost broke him. Such a casual move, such an Ignis move. He had to ground himself again, digging his nails in deeper.
"You know I cannot do that, Noctis."
The weight settled uncomfortably between his collarbones and it was hard for Noctis to breathe.
"You know why," Ignis began, but Noctis jerked his head to the side, finally seeing Ignis's profile.
Ignis turned his head away.
"You…"
"Don't say it, Noct."
Noctis let himself fall back into the chair, head hitting the back of his seat with a thump.
"This is my fault," Noctis whispered.
A warm, calloused hand tickled across the top of his hand and Noctis instinctively let go of the arm rest. The tips of his fingers and the soft, supple leather… it was heaven on Eos. It was more than he deserved.
"I'm a monster, Iggy."
Ignis rested his fingers between Noctis's, lacing them together. "This is not your fault, Noctis. If you believe nothing else of what we have ever spoken of, believe that. Your heart is true."
Noctis pulled in everything he could from the warmth of Ignis's hand. It was everything, a last bastion of hope, of humanity…
"Your father has had the Glaive looking through your old coordinates. I'm not sure if he'll connect this as a place of interest, though I doubt it will be a safe haven for us anymore."
Noctis knew that. Even calling Ignis to come had been risky, but he needed the man, he needed Ignis…
"I know. I just… I needed to see you."
Noctis turned when he felt Ignis's hand tighten around his. "And I, you, my Prince."
Noctis sat up in his chair and tightened his fingers around Ignis's, reaching out with his other hand to gently cup Ignis's left cheek. He gently turned the man's face, seeing the burns that had engulfed the left side of Ignis's face. The wound was still pink and raw, despite having been weeks since the attack. He ran his thumb across the marred skin at the edge of Ignis's cheekbone, stopping only when Ignis hissed.
"This is my fault. It's all my fault."
Ignis's one good eye stared back at him, and Noctis wondered how Ignis could look at him, to stare at the reason his face was like this.
How much did Ignis hate him? And could it possibly be as much as Noctis hated himself?
"I would do it again in a heartbeat," Ignis responded, pulling up their entwined hands. Noctis did not let out a sound, despite the pain in his aching shoulder as Ignis lifted his hand up. He rested Noctis's open palm to his lips, then over his left shirt pocket.
"I would burn down all of Insomnia for you."
Noctis closed his eyes and swallowed. He could feel the panic bubbling up again. The moments before everything had gone belly up, before he was running away from his father and Niflheim, before Ignis's eye… before… before…
It was too much, and Noctis allowed both hands to go limp, his right hand dropping away from Ignis's burned face.
Ignis closed his eyes for a moment before gently disentangling their hands. He was gentle with placing Noctis's arm back onto the armrest and placing his other hand in Noctis's lap.
Noctis allowed himself to be a rag doll in those moments, soaking in every touch… if it were the last time, if Noctis walked out of the theater and took a bullet to the back of his skull, he could at least remember what his hands felt like.
"I left the flowers, Iggy." He didn't know why, but he needed to say it. He had made Gladio swear on his life and honor as Shield to put the glass vase on Ignis's left. When he woke… when he woke, he wouldn't have Noctis, but he would have them.
"Rue, sweet briar, and forget me nots. Of course only you would make such a bouquet."
"Yeah I got the idea from the engagement book Lun-" Noctis bit his tongue.
"Lady Nox Fleuret chose well. She would have been pleased to know you used her gift."
Not now, not now. Noctis took in a deep breath, wishing for Ignis's warmth.
"Ignis.. please. Can we not talk about it? Ok?" Noctis wanted to reach out and take Ignis's hand and never let go, but it was at that moment that Ignis's pocket began to buzz, a so familiar melody playing through the theater.
"I…"
Noctis swallowed. "You need to take it. Don't let him know, he'll try to make me come back."
"He hadn't expected you would run from the hospital." Ignis reached into his pocket and hit the tab on the side of his phone, silencing Gladio's ringtone.
He didn't expect me to pull his gun on him either, Noctis wanted to reply with, but bit down on his lip to keep silent.
"If Gladio asks… tell him I'm sorry."
"For running away or dragging his boyfriend with you?"
"Just… tell him Prom's okay. We're both okay."
Ignis pushed up his glasses again and stood from his chair. He let his gaze, one-eyed and so scarred, linger on Noctis for another moment before reaching down to pick up the bucket of popcorn.
"I brought you a gift. Eat your fill, my Prince," Ignis said at last, handing the bucket to Noctis. "And be careful."
No "I love you"s. No tearful kisses. No begging. No goodbyes. It wasn't who they were, and never would be.
It couldn't be.
Watching him go was more painful than the bullet wound on his shoulder. He would have gladly taken another round in the other shoulder if it just kept Ignis with him…
But they both knew this wasn't how their story would go.
Noctis waited long after the movie theater emptied, grabbing the popcorn bucket Ignis had left for him.
He made his way past the glowing and flashing movie posters to the men's bathroom and locked himself in the nearest stall. Noctis dug his fingers in the stale popcorn, feeling it snap in his hands as he pulled out handful after handful. He tossed it toward the toilet, neglected pieces spilled out across the floor.
The baggie at the bottom had a loaded handgun and a stack of hundred gil notes thicker than his wrist. No note, no letter. Just like Ignis; no need for frills unless it was his baking...
Noctis dropped the bucket, letting the popcorn skitter across the ground in a wave of yellow. Quickly shoving the baggie into the inner pocket of his jacket, Noctis unlocked the door and made his way out of the theater. He carefully pulled his hood up halfway, eyeing the passersby. He didn't know all of the Nifs, but the Glaive…
He walked swiftly through the street and turned to look back at the theater, noting the black car parked to the side of the street. For one tense moment Noctis's blood ran cold and he could feel a fire building in his legs, but he could make out the tell-tale coif in the neon sign above.
The car wasn't running, just sitting patiently as it always did to make sure that Noctis ran into no issues.
"This isn't a goodbye," Noctis promised, though he was sure Ignis couldn't possibly be close enough to hear him, let alone see his face. "I promise."
Noctis nodded his head once and left stepped into the bowels of Insomnia's District C.
Please review!
