Chapter 7
The Precipice
Seemed everyone leered at Titus these days. No matter where he went, someone always smiled over at him, knowingly, and Titus could only ignore it as best he could. Word traveled fast, and someone had seen Titus kiss Ignis' cheek, had told someone who had told someone else, who had told ten people, and now the entire city knew.
Figured.
It wasn't meant to be a secret, not really, and so Titus could only accept it, for it had only been inevitable.
The problem, of course, was that everyone took it the wrong way, like Regis had. What was it with these people? Titus had just wanted to get laid and suddenly it seemed like the entire council was planning Titus' wedding for him.
Bizarre.
Titus swore he heard camera shutters everywhere he went, felt suddenly like he was under a microscope, a little ant being set on fire, and all because Regis had wanted to have some fun.
Best to blame it on him and call it a day.
The tabloids lately were having a field day. Titus could see the small print on the edges of papers, and grimaced each time. Not big news yet, no, because so far there was no visual proof, so the words were relegated to little suggestions down in the corner.
Titus shuddered, for some of them were worse than others. Saw one in particular that had made him feel actually nauseous.
'The Captain of Hearts? Could the city's most eligible bachelor be settling down? Rumors abound that the Captain and the Hand of the King are moonlighting. Is it true? We dive in on page 14.'
Disgusting!
When the hell had Titus become the city's most eligible bachelor? The most preposterous thing he had ever had the misfortune of reading. What a terrible day to be literate. Took every bit of willpower he possessed not to swing his leg out and kick the newspaper stand right over into the gutter.
As soon as some determined paparazzi snagged an actual photo of Titus and Ignis in a compromising position, it was all over. Woulda been front-page news on even impartial, official newspapers.
Above all else, perhaps, Titus hated those tabloids because he couldn't stand the thought of Cor walking by and seeing it. Poor bastard. Titus hadn't ever wanted to hurt him.
Regis, for his part, just smiled away, and seemed quite content.
As soon as the very first tabloid had printed, as soon as the rumor first started outside of council, Titus found himself in Clarus' sights. Council ended, and somehow or another Titus had been the last to file out, as Clarus lurked by the door. Come to think, that was probably why Titus had delayed, because Clarus was clearly guarding that door and had his gaze set only on Titus.
Titus waited until they were alone before attempting an escape.
No go. Clarus came marching up to him, on the warpath as much as Clarus had accused Regis of, and Titus very quickly turned on his heel and tried to bolt. Not fast enough; Clarus lunged forward and wrapped a forearm around Titus' neck, hauling him back and throttling him. The high leather collar of his uniform was the only thing that had saved Titus' neck from being entirely snapped then, he was certain.
A hiss in his ear.
"You son of a bitch! You were just gonna not tell me, huh? Don't think so!"
Titus lifted his hands, grabbed Clarus' thick forearm and tried to pull it back just enough so that Titus could continue receiving blood to his brain, and some air too mighta been nice. Clarus held fast as Titus squirmed, and Titus was very, very glad that they were alone.
Ignis woulda gotten a kick outta this.
"Tell me!" Clarus barked, as he continued to throttle the life out of Titus. "Who did it? Who made the first move? And don't you lie to me—I'll know."
Bullshit he would. Clarus hadn't caught on to a single one of Titus' lies yet, the creep.
All the same, Titus had been had, and unless it was a necessity, a true need, Titus didn't lie. Only when he had to, to protect a plan. In all other aspects, Titus was perfectly dutiful and honest, really, and so he finally choked out, against Clarus' arm, "Fine! You won, alright? Bastard."
A burst of triumphant laughter, and Clarus let him go.
Titus twisted around, shoved Clarus back, and raised one hand to rub irritably at his neck.
Clarus crossed his arms, smirked away, and said, "I knew it! I told you he was the more brazen one."
Yeah, yeah. The council would be quite pleased to know that their predictions had been correct.
Titus tried once more to duck out, and Clarus called after him, as he went, "I'm gonna let this slide, but you better goddamn well ask for my permission before you buy a ring!"
Titus stumbled over his own feet, aghast as he was, and he looked over his shoulder to retort, "I'm not asking your permission for shit!"
Meant that.
Asking Clarus for permission to have the hand of his second 'daughter'—absurd. How had any of this come to pass? Titus knew that they were having a go at him for fun, were yanking his chain and tormenting him just because they had never been able to before, but it made him uneasy all the same.
Titus was the one that was supposed to know everything, and now suddenly it seemed that everyone else knew something he didn't. Couldn't stand that feeling, because the entire future of this world seemed to rely heavily upon Titus' uncanny intuition.
There seemed to be no going back from it, however, because once people started talking they would never stop. Couldn't erase it, couldn't make everyone forget, and so Titus could only do what he always did and just barge on stubbornly forward.
The world wanted a wedding as much as Regis did, it seemed, and Titus narrowed his eyes and glowered at the shock tabloids every single day as he passed by paper stands. They seemed to get worse each time, he swore it, and one tabloid one day had even posed the question : 'Will the Captain's title and position change upon marriage to the Hand of the King? We go over possible scenarios and legalities, page 8.'
Disgraceful.
Ignis seemed to take it in good stride, all things considered, but Ignis was calm and collected and always so composed, so even if it bothered him Titus would never have known.
Was it so odd to see Titus being a normal man that this much scrutiny was warranted?
Clarus had had a hundred affairs after the death of his wife, and not once had anyone cared this much. Then again, Clarus had children and had been settled, whereas Titus, as they said, had always been a bachelor as much as Cor. This same amount of gossip would have come about as equally had it been Cor that had acted first.
Nothing for it.
Ten weeks into Ignis and Titus' little affair was when Titus first noticed that his Glaives had found out. Guess it was only a matter of time before one of them would have noticed the papers and bought one to bring it into headquarters.
Titus could only hope it was one of the less embarrassing ones. Not the one that had read 'Captain of Hearts', 'cause he woulda keeled over dead right there.
The Glaives didn't seem to find the tabloids much funnier than Titus did, for they were quieter. Long stares, and not as much laughter. Now that it potentially wasn't a game anymore, the Glaives hesitated, and certainly didn't make any jokes.
Nyx stared at Titus, stared and stared and stared, as if the lummox was trying to solve some very complicated equation, and Titus noticed that Luche was no longer making eye contact at all and pursed his lips as he scuffed his boot on the floor.
It was Pelna who finally gathered up the courage to ask, on the eleventh week, "Hey, Captain, ah— You gettin' married anytime soon?"
Everyone glanced up, breaths held, and waited.
Titus narrowed his eyes and bristled out, not feeling that playing around that time was appropriate, and he knew he must have looked dangerous then because Pelna immediately dropped his eyes and seemed regretful.
But it was best to get it over with, so Titus looked them all over and said, in a very soft but very deadly whisper, "You lot have something to say?"
To be fair to Pelna, that was probably the most tactful way anyone could have ever begun that conversation. What else could they have said?
'Hey, Captain, the papers say you're fuckin' a teenager; wanna confirm?'
No one yet had taken any issue with Titus and Ignis philandering about, particularly since it clearly had a royal blessing, but it was different perhaps for men who worked under Titus. Men who saw him every day, who thought they knew him, who had a less idealized version of him in their heads. Men who saw Titus without the celebrity glitz, and might have been uncomfortable.
Because, to the Glaives, it wasn't the Captain and the future Hand of the King.
It was a middle-aged man and a teenager.
As Titus waited, the Glaives glanced at each other, but no one piped up. No one gathered the courage to speak, at least, that was, until Crowe managed to ask, very softly, "Is it true?"
Everyone was staring at him then, and for the first time in a while Luche was, too.
Titus pondered his options, thought it quickly over, and decided that sometimes honesty wasn't actually always the best policy. He had been honest with Clarus, and he wasn't going to outright lie to the Glaives, no, but wouldn't tell them the truth, either.
So Titus just uttered, vaguely, "Since when have any of you believed the tabloids? Huh? When's the last time anything they printed was right?"
Put it that way, because those same tabloids that loved Titus now were the same tabloids that had always written opinion pieces trashing the immigrant and refugee community, particularly the ones who made up the Kingsglaive. They didn't feel welcome sometimes in this royal city, and Titus was keen to remind them of that.
It was Luche who blew air through his teeth, and said, "I told you guys."
Yeah, of course Luche had; Luche was in denial, likely, unwilling to give up, and now had something to cling to. Luche always had to get what he wanted. The others didn't seem so convinced, but would never dare interrogate him.
That was the last Titus heard of it, and he meant to keep it that way.
As he drove home that night, though, Titus watched the streetlamps pass and pondered.
What to do now.
Felt like there needed to be some kind of conversation with Ignis, but Titus couldn't precisely put his finger on what he would say, what he should say, and more importantly what he wanted to say.
If anything at all.
With all the gossip, with the city invested, Titus probably should have realized that he needed to clarify the situation to Ignis. He didn't; just never really got around to it, and perhaps that was subconscious on his part because he was still reluctant to be made a fool of when Ignis airily gave Titus a what for for ever feeling the need to clarify such an obvious thing in the first place.
Or perhaps Titus didn't say a word because...
...nah. As if.
Ridiculous.
Titus had been alone a long time; company was nice, and that was all.
Particularly company that had been the one to seek him out and who also seemed extremely glad to be around him. Titus didn't let many people near him, didn't allow anyone to get too close, and yet somehow determined and relentless Ignis had successfully burrowed under the wall.
There wasn't anyone out there that had ever chased after Titus quite this exuberantly, and Titus just found that pleasing to his ego.
Nothing more.
Though, sometimes these days it seemed that Titus was chasing after Ignis equally as exuberantly, for he seemed to stalk Ignis about the Citadel as a cat stalked a mouse. After hours, when the Citadel was quiet and almost everyone had gone home for the evening, Titus would make for his office and see a lone Ignis striding down the same hall. A tease, as always, and Titus sometimes reached out to grab Ignis' arm and drag him into the office, too, but nimble Ignis evaded him, forcing Titus to give quick chase. It had become just another game, he supposed. Darting around corners and into halls, slinking in shadows and pouncing out.
Ignis happily played along, putting up a chase for he seemed to sense that Titus liked the hunt, and it was a strange but exhilarating feeling, darting down an empty corridor after Ignis, only for him to somehow loop around and jump at Titus from behind, causing Titus to bristle and whirl around, and then Titus was chasing Ignis again. That feeling of accomplishment, though, when he finally snagged Ignis' shirt, hauled him back, slammed him into the wall, and kissed him. Hands in his hair.
Ignis made him work for it sometimes, and Titus was happy to give it his all.
It wasn't the most dignified either of them had ever been, no, but it was fun. They could have fun, too, in the right circumstances. They weren't machines, though people sometimes thought they were, Ignis in particular.
Ignis distracted Titus from Ardyn's ever-tightening noose, and so of course Titus played around a little. Who wouldn't, had they had even half of Titus' burdens and expectations? Even he needed a breather sometimes.
Twelve weeks since Titus had first summoned Ignis to his office, and he had brought Ignis back to that office two more times, but no more, because the Glaives were already doubting Titus. He had instead dragged Ignis five times into his Citadel office, and once had slunk into Ignis' apartment.
Titus never lingered, nor did Ignis, and so Titus still didn't see the need to clarify anything.
They screwed each other senseless and quickly parted ways; no need for awkward conversations. No point in making things more complicated than they needed to be.
Coworkers with benefits or some such. Simple. All they were.
And one day, Titus just woke up and decided he wanted to have his way with Ignis right there in the Citadel in a room that was not his office, in the middle of the day, because why not? Needed a thrill every now and again, and maybe, at some level, he just wanted to make sure that Ignis was thinking of him all day and not just at night.
...why the hell would he want that? Never mind. He'd take that back.
Just wanted to be devious.
After council, Titus left immediately, not lingering, because he needed to beat Ignis. Ignis was a creature of extreme habit, had a routine that was rarely disrupted, and so Titus hid himself in a corridor, back against the wall, and waited.
As expected, several minutes later, Ignis passed by, briefcase in hand, and Titus peered out, waited until the sparse occupants of the hallway weren't looking, and darted out. He snuck up quickly behind Ignis, grabbed his wrist, and before Ignis could even figure out what was happening, Titus had tugged Ignis out of the hallway, through a door, and into the lounge. Ignis looked startled, as one should be when being dragged against his will out of nowhere.
Titus turned his head, saw one wide-eyed clerk sitting on a chair drinking coffee, and puffed out to his full size as he said, as sternly as he could, "You. Out. Now."
The clerk bolted up and out of the lounge so quickly that he splashed coffee on the floor, as Ignis stared in shock, and when the clerk had skidded into the hall, Titus was quick to shut the door and twist the lock and bolt the chain.
Ignis scoffed when Titus twisted him around and hauled him in, griping, "Titus! Do you mind? I was—"
Didn't get to finish before Titus had grabbed the back of his head and forcibly kissed him, yanking the briefcase out of Ignis' hand and setting it aside on a chair.
As usual, Ignis didn't put up too much resistance.
Ignis resisted only ever as much as Titus liked him to, had really gotten the hang of things since that first tentative night, and had become alarmingly adept at wrapping Titus around his finger. Ignis always had been brilliant, and was just as much a tactician in the bedroom as he was in council.
Perhaps Titus had never stood a chance.
Ignis tried to squirm out of Titus' hands and make for the door, because he knew Titus would haul him back, and when Ignis tried the second time to get away, Titus slammed him into the wall. Coulda sworn he saw Ignis smirk, for a fleeting moment.
Titus pretended that he was in control even as Ignis blatantly pulled the strings, clenched one hand in Ignis' hair, and twisted it furiously enough to make Ignis wince. Ignis didn't try to get away after that, and was quite obedient when Titus' hand in his hair forced him down onto his heels against the wall. Anyway, had Ignis wanted to complain then he wouldn't have been able to, as he shortly after found his mouth otherwise occupied. Eh, as if Ignis ever would, when Ignis was the one to grab Titus' other hand and drag it up to the back of his head.
Titus took the hint, as he always did, because Ignis was never subtle.
It was funny how, in Titus' experience anyway, it was the neatest, prissiest, nicest people who seemed to like being roughed up. Ignis was no exception, though Titus had yet to press the bounds very far and find out how much he could get away with. Felt in some way as if he should have waited until Ignis was at least twenty, out of his teens, if only to make himself look better.
He didn't hold back too much then, that said, fingers very tangled in Ignis' hair as Ignis gripped his thighs. Every so often he took one hand back and pinched Ignis' nose shut, just to be a jerk and because Ignis seemed to enjoy it.
The clerks that couldn't get inside the room for their coffee fix did not enjoy it as much, doubtless, but Titus wasn't rushing.
At least until Ignis, unable to speak, reached out and tapped Titus' watch very pointedly with one finger.
Titus rolled his eyes, figured it would be bad form to make Ignis late to his Crownsguard meeting (for Cor's sake more than Ignis'), and pulled back to drag Ignis to his feet and throw him up against the wall. He swiftly removed Ignis' belt and helped him hop out of his pants, before quite literally picking him up. As Ignis' legs tangled around his waist and Titus rested him against the wall, Ignis very blandly said, "You have seventeen minutes, Captain."
Titus scoffed, made his annoyance known by pushing up into Ignis as roughly as he dared, and griped back, "Keep track for me."
"Oh, I will," Ignis hissed, his hands the ones then to grip Titus' hair.
And because Titus had absolutely no doubt that Ignis really was counting down every second in his head, he picked up the pace and tried to be quick about it. He'd be sure to drag it out the next time, to make up for Ignis being a bit of a buzz-kill.
In this instance, however, Titus only taking eight minutes to finish them both up was a bit fortuitous. If not fortuitous, then at least Titus could say pivotal. It was there in that lounge that Ignis' next move had possibly been the beginning of Titus' slip down the slope.
He held Ignis aloft, catching his breath and calming his racing heart, and then a sigh from Ignis, and a movement :
Suddenly, Ignis lifted up his gloved hands and cupped Titus' face within his palms.
A simple act. Nothing extraordinary, but Titus froze up, stopped breathing, and he couldn't really say why; perhaps some long buried memory of childhood, of a mother he no longer truly remembered. A very odd and very unexpected sensation of safety. Security.
Comfort.
No one had ever done that, and for that perhaps it had a rather profound impact on Titus.
He stayed very still within Ignis' hands, and felt rather sleepy from more than just the recent exertion. A bit of a lull then, from the touch and the faint scent of Ignis' leather gloves. Thumbs over his cheeks, as Titus stared entranced up at Ignis and Ignis' eyes flitted over Titus' face, and there was a sting in his chest that he could never have explained.
What was happening to him?
Every time Ignis was nearby, it seemed that time slowed down and senses dulled. Very dangerous, yes, but very comforting.
Without releasing his face then, Ignis pressed down and kissed Titus' damp forehead.
An odd rush of his heart, a jitter, and Titus leaned in and buried his face in Ignis' breast as Ignis smoothed down his hair. Could have happily stayed there for several more hours, being coddled like that. Being mothered a little bit.
No one had ever kissed Titus' forehead before Ignis, and no one had ever held his face, because no one had ever thought to nor been given enough proximity to Titus to ever want to. Ignis, so assertive and bold, had forced his way in against all odds, and was too fearless to hold back.
Some poor soul then tried to open the lounge door, the lock jingled, and Titus finally came back to life and carefully untangled Ignis' legs from his waist and set him back on the ground. The door fell still, as the starving clerk or whoever woefully carried on in search of another break room, and Ignis studied Titus with a tilted head when Titus had set him down but hadn't yet backed up to let him loose.
Reluctant as ever to leave Ignis' hands and warmth, sad as it was.
Ignis helpfully put Titus back together and zipped up his pants, and then abruptly lifted his hand up to run a finger over the scar across Titus' nose. And then his cheek, then his forehead, then his neck. Traced every visible scar, and there were many, and Titus let him do as he pleased, as always.
Ignis seemed thoughtful, and then met Titus' eyes and whispered, "You should take better care of yourself."
Taken off guard and somewhat bewildered, Titus just stared a bit dumbly at Ignis.
Couldn't seem to ever describe exactly what it was that Ignis was making him feel at any given moment.
Ignis saw his blank look, snorted a little as he once more traced the scar over the bridge of Titus' nose, and then he sighed, "Utterly hopeless. You desperately need someone to take care of you, it seems, as you appear incapable of doing it yourself."
...was Ignis offering?
Titus tried to appear casual, didn't want Ignis to think him strange, and finally he gathered up the sense to smirk a little and tease, "I'm a lost cause."
Ignis smiled, prettily, and Titus was keen to it.
They fell into a comfortable silence, and when Titus broke away to allow Ignis to pull on his pants, Ignis kept glancing up at him, and every time those sharp eyes fell on him Titus shifted his weight in what could very well have been anxiety.
Ignis was a natural born caretaker, and although he didn't say it aloud, Titus was under the impression that Ignis wanted to give him a good bit of mothering. And Titus didn't say it aloud, but he was very willing to be mothered.
No one ever had.
Someone paying attention to him was nice, but someone caring about him was nicer.
Ignis crept closer and closer, and it was so bizarre, because Titus clearly saw him coming, knew how dangerous it was, had plenty of time to jump out of the way, and yet stood ever still. Hypnotized and immobile, despite knowing that actually becoming invested in Ignis could be his downfall. Couldn't seem to get his feet working.
Never fall in love. He knew that. He wasn't, really. Just liked the attention.
Love and affection were two entirely different things.
To break that trance Ignis cast over him, Titus asked, pointedly, "Did I meet the deadline?"
Ignis fixed up his hair, straightened his shirt, and teased, drolly, "Indeed. A bit faster than I anticipated. Thought you were working on your stamina?"
Titus made a noise of false offense, and shoved Ignis gently towards the door.
Titus loved Ignis' hands, but also loved that Ignis wasn't afraid of him in the slightest. That Ignis would say whatever he damn well wanted to Titus, without fearing a single repercussion.
Feeling normal.
It was then, on their way to creep sneakily out, that Ignis suddenly looked utterly horrified, aghast, and he whipped his head to Titus and said, in a breathless hiss, "Are there— There aren't cameras in here, are there?"
...oh.
Titus snorted, felt little shame, and shrugged a shoulder.
Ignis paled by about six shades, and it was only because Ignis looked honestly and truly faint that Titus reached out and jostled him, and vowed, "I'll hack into the security system tonight and find out. If there are, I'll wipe the footage. Sound good to you?"
A jittery exhale, as Ignis judged his sincerity, and then he griped, "You better! And for your sake I hope there's no one watching in real time."
"If there was, so what? They got a damn good show, I'd say."
Ignis lifted his chin, and snipped, "I wouldn't get too far ahead of myself if I were you."
Titus scoffed, offended, and aggressively snatched a handful of Ignis' hair, hissing, "Guess I'll have to work harder next time."
Ignis was very, very unbothered, preened his hair when Titus released it, and merely said, "Fix it."
Titus gave Ignis a droll look, and merely quipped, "Yes, boss."
Ignis 'hmph'ed, and opened the door.
As Ignis slipped out, just to torment him a little, Titus whispered, "I will be keeping the footage for myself, just a heads up."
Ignis looked appalled and scandalized.
Titus waved him off, and added, "That was a joke."
Kind of. Sort of.
...maybe.
Ignis rolled his eyes, gave a great, dramatic scoff of disgust, and briskly strode off. Titus smiled as he watched him go with fondness. Fondness, mind, not love.
And Titus, of course, didn't care at all if anyone happened to watch any scandalous footage, but he had promised Ignis he would take care of it, and so that night from his Citadel office he hacked into the system. Easy to do, as he had done it a million times and had supervised the construction of this very security system from birth. He didn't have to hack, no, he had access to everything, but it was best not to have his signature on erased footage. Looked bad for him. Could raise questions, and Titus was nothing if not always prepared.
Luckily for Ignis, there was no camera in the lounge on that floor, nor on the two floors above it, nor in many other places that weren't considered 'high priority'. Titus took note of everywhere without a camera, and logged that information away. For no particular reason. None at all.
When Titus went home that night, he thought about Ignis' fingers tracing his scars.
The hope that maybe Ignis actually would start mothering him a bit, as he did Noctis.
Pathetic.
But maybe it actually would happen, for several days later, when Titus had shed his uniform and changed into casual clothing, Ignis seemed to take an interest in Titus' wellbeing again.
He was wearing his very old jacket, the one he had had since he and Cor had been dumb kids, the one literally falling apart at the seams, and that was one of the rare nights spent in Titus' HQ office. Gossip or no.
Had started out normally, but as Titus had his teeth well clamped into the crook of Ignis' neck, Ignis' hand kept running over the left side of his jacket. Up and down one particular area, as if searching for something. Couldn't figure it out until Titus had shoved Ignis none too gently back on the couch and stripped himself of his jacket, and then Ignis very randomly said, as Titus yanked Ignis' pants off, "Titus, your jacket is falling apart. Allow me to take it home tonight and I'll patch it up. I'll return it to your office tomorrow."
Titus froze up still like a deer in headlights, Ignis' pants clenched in his hands and mouth falling open.
...huh?
It was the most absurd thing Titus had ever heard, something very plain and very simple, sure, if not bizarre, and so Titus wasn't exactly sure why his heart started hammering. Such a small thing like that—shouldn't'a made any impact at all, but something about it had captivated Titus.
All his long years in this city, breaking his back for others, keeping these oblivious people safe, protecting this city from the harsh outside reality, and not once had anyone ever actually tried to return the favor. Expected Titus to be a human shield, and had never had the decency to ask him how he was feeling afterwards.
And now to have someone, out of nowhere, giving him care without it having ever been asked of them—
Ignis raised his foot and turned Titus' head rather sultrily, trying to wake him up, and Titus came to rather quickly with a scoff, relieving Ignis of his pants at last and running palms down one long leg.
Finally, Titus managed to find his voice long enough to utter, "I'll buy you a coffee with all the money I'm about to save on a tailor."
Ignis snorted, yanked Titus in with his thighs like a fly in a spider's web, and there was no talking after that.
Afterwards, though, when Ignis held Titus' jacket in his hands and studied it, Titus found himself slouching a little, staring at Ignis and quite unable to look away. Had just never had anyone think about him in that way, and it was strange how such an insignificant act had such a resonating effect.
At home that night, Titus stared at the wall over the kitchen table and imagined Ignis sitting on his couch, long legs pulled up beneath him and diligently sewing up Titus' old jacket.
Couldn't get it out of his head.
The next day, Ignis was as good as his word, and delivered the jacket quickly and very discreetly into Titus' Citadel office. When Ignis set it atop the desk, Titus found himself grabbing the back of Ignis' neck in both hands and leaning forward to kiss Ignis' forehead. Seemed the natural thing to do, an affectionate 'thank you', and was well-received, for Ignis lit up quite brightly.
Humans were strange, and Titus was rather enjoying these new sensations.
There had been little in his life worth feeling happy over; was it really so wrong of him to be enjoying Ignis' attention?
Before Titus knew it, it was the week of Ignis' eighteenth birthday. Not as important a milestone as the year prior, no, nothing exactly worth noting. Ignis certainly didn't seem to care, hadn't uttered a single word of excitement nor anticipation. Ignis, like Titus, was not the type to get excited over a birthday. All the same, for some ridiculous reason, Titus had briefly considered getting him something. Just a small thing, something casual. Why not? The kid was sewing up Titus' clothes, after all. Deserved some kind of recompense.
Didn't wanna come off as clingy, though. Didn't want Ignis to force a smile and be worried that Titus was getting attached or anything, because he certainly wasn't. Not at all. Just wanted to be nice.
Flowers would be out of the question. Way too weird. A watch? Never saw Ignis wearing one. Maybe not; Ignis was very finicky and particular. Letting Ignis choose his own style of anything was wisest. A card? Too sappy, too personal. Needed to be something practical, useful, something Ignis would actually need.
Because he didn't want to make a fool of himself anymore than necessary, Titus pulled out his phone and called Monica. She answered as quickly as Titus ever did, and he felt a bit ridiculous when he asked her to come to his office.
She was there shortly after, rapping on the door and slipping inside.
Ignis was rather difficult to figure out for a man like Titus, as Ignis leaned more towards the feminine side of the spectrum, and, well, Monica was a woman. The only one Titus actually trusted all the way.
Monica stood at attention as Titus pulled himself up and returned the motion, and then he waved her at ease. She clasped her hands behind her back, and asked, dutifully, "How can I help you, Captain?"
Felt so stupid, but it was too late. He'd already committed.
Titus rested a hand on his desk, tried to look very casual and unbothered, and he jumped right in, asking, "Monica, I trust that whatever I say to you in here stays in here, yes?"
"Of course, Captain. On my honor."
He believed that, fully, and that was the only reason Titus found the nerve to say, "You and Ignis are quite close, no?"
Monica's stoic face cracked, she started smiling, her eyes lit up, her posture changed, and Titus knew that he was only gaining one more member of the 'let's-plan-Titus'-wedding!' club.
Dammit.
"Indeed we are, Titus. Something on your mind?"
Stupid, stupid, stupid, why had he even done this—
Feeling unnerved and a bit embarrassed, Titus grumbled, anxiously, "Well. As you know, his birthday is this week. I— Well. That is—"
Titus furrowed his brow and broke off, realizing how painfully idiotic he must have appeared.
Monica saw him floundering, took pity on him, and offered, "And you...wish to know what I think you should get him?"
"Yes," Titus grunted.
Monica's smile then was very wide, very pretty, one Titus hadn't really seen her use before, and he felt just a bit less foolish under her happily crinkled eyes.
"Well. I don't profess to know everything about him, but might I suggest something practical. He very much loves cooking. Perhaps some kitchen gadgets? Also, he blows through the grid-paper he uses for tactical mapping. Mm— Gladiolus just bought him a huge box of different sorts of coffee last year, and he still talks about that to this day. I think with Ignis, the simpler the better. Oh, but he does very much love ballpoint pens. Every time a councilman steals one, I think his heart breaks a little."
Titus snorted and shook his head.
"Sorry I can't be of more assistance."
Titus waved her off with a quick, "It's fine," and pursed his lips as he contemplated, and Monica watched him rather curiously.
Knew she had a million questions she wanted to ask, but would never be inappropriate enough to do so.
All Titus could really do was to nod his head, thank her for her input, and send her on her way.
As she left, she looked over her shoulder and added, helpfully, "Don't think about it too much, Captain. He'd be over the moon just to receive anything at all from you."
A twinge of adrenaline, cast quickly aside.
She meant to close the door, and it was Titus that time who stopped her to say, quietly, "Monica—if this happens to get out to anyone, however it might happen, if by accident— Fine, but, please, make sure it doesn't get out to the Marshal. Please."
Titus wasn't a man who used 'please' very often, and she stared at him for a moment before bowing her head.
"Yes, Captain."
She was gone, and Titus took her advice not to think too much about it to heart.
He went out, bought a stack of grid-paper notebooks, a box of expensive ballpoint pens, and a few bags of coffee. No kitchen gadgets, because Titus didn't know a whisk from a spatula at the best of times and wouldn't know where to start.
Simple and practical, as Monica suggested.
Still felt dumb as a rock when he tossed it in a gold foil bag and set it on his desk. The last time he had gotten anyone a birthday gift (that didn't involve him buying Cor drinks at the bar) was when he had been twelve and coming home with flowers and bread for his mother.
The next day, when Titus dragged Ignis into his office after hours for a romp, he hesitated several times before he finally gathered up the courage to incline his head to the bag.
"That's for you," he said, in a very low voice that he hoped didn't crack with anxiety.
Ignis glanced back, seemed startled, and turned back to Titus with a look of astonishment, breathing, "For me?"
Titus nodded once, too proud to say 'happy birthday' aloud and hoping Ignis wouldn't expect him to. Ignis must not have, for he didn't wait at all for any further explanation before he squirmed out of Titus' arms and over to the bag.
It was one of Titus' more nervous moments, awaiting Ignis' judgment as he stood there feeling far too vulnerable, much more than the occasion ever called for. He had bought Ignis some goddamn pens and coffee for his birthday; shouldn't'a felt like he was awaiting the jury's verdict at trial. Thought he might have swallowed and he certainly shifted his jaw when Ignis opened the bag and poked about.
Ignis was smiling already. That was a good sign, and Titus loosened up a bit.
When Ignis opened the box with the pens, he seemed to light up, and then, abruptly, he turned to Titus and stared at him. Stared and stared, as Titus squirmed, and Titus could never have hoped to place his expression.
Hoped he hadn't made a complete ass of himself.
Ignis finally released Titus from his potent gaze, placed the box back in the bag, smiled some more, and then said, as he looked perhaps fondly at the gift, "Thank you, Titus." Ignis turned his eyes once more to Titus, looked him up and down, and added, "You're a very intriguing man. I'm enjoying the meticulous effort needed to dissect you."
Titus relaxed at last, smirked, and vowed, "I won't make it easy for you."
"That's quite alright. I never back down from a challenge."
Clearly.
Whatever Ignis had really thought about Titus giving him a birthday gift was neither here nor there, because Ignis shoved him down into his desk chair and the subsequent ride Titus received then was doubtless one of the best he'd had in his entire life. Made more so, granted, by Ignis grabbing his face and kissing his forehead as they parted ways.
How had it happened that Titus looked more forward to the after-sex coddling than the sex itself?
And Titus had had the audacity to think Cor pathetic once.
Ignis came and went, and it became to Titus like the rising and falling of the tide. Only it was backwards, because Ignis was somehow the moon, pushing and pulling Titus helplessly along at his whim.
Like the water, Titus flowed along without complaint.
Time had flown. In late September they had danced at the gala, and now in late February the tabloids were gushing about them yet, despite the lack of concrete evidence.
All this time, and Titus still hadn't sat down to have a single conversation with Ignis about what, precisely, was going on between them.
Was he purposefully avoiding it? Maybe.
In the very back of his mind, Titus knew why he was avoiding it, but he was in extreme denial, refused to accept it, convinced himself that if he kept ignoring it and not addressing it then that would make it disappear. Titus knew, and pretended that he didn't, even to himself. Couldn't bring himself to say it.
Until one day he couldn't ignore it anymore.
Started as any other, and Titus had been walking about the mess hall as the Glaives took their break, drifting in and out and thumbing through paperwork.
Luche's voice caught his ear.
Didn't know why or how or what precisely Luche had said to catch his attention. Luche was whispering, and Titus was far enough away to where surely they thought he was out of earshot.
He wasn't.
He found himself falling utterly still, back to Luche and eavesdropping as discreetly as possible.
"—is the year. I'm tellin' ya. This year I'm doing it. I'm off that door at the Citadel, whatever I gotta do, and I'm gonna make my move, soon as I see him. I'll take the fuckin' suspension if I get caught, I don't care. I'm doing it. You watch and see."
Son of a bitch!
Titus walked around a bit, papers lifted up, glancing at Luche without looking like he was glancing at Luche.
Nyx rolled his eyes, and scoffed, "Yeah, sure. I've heard that only a hundred times before."
"I'm serious this time, man! I feel it. This is my year. I feel lucky."
Libertus was the one to say, with a laugh, "Yeah, right, 'cause the Captain's just gonna let you walk right up and steal his catch."
Luche waved a dismissive hand in the air, and griped, "Oh, please, you really buy that? Ain't no way. Just rumors. The Captain said so himself."
Yeah, he kinda had said that, in not so many words, but—
Titus couldn't explain that bolt of fury, anger, wrath, the way his nostrils flared and his jaw clamped, the way he felt threatened, cornered, insulted, offended. The way he felt like he had just caught Luche breaking into his house.
Jealousy.
Something he had never felt before, not once in his living memory.
Nyx made a noise in his throat, and began, tentatively, "I dunno. I can't tell. Somehow, Luche... I think it might be better if you back off. All these rumors can't be for nothin'."
A defiant crinkle of Luche's brow.
Titus was jealous, threatened, angry and agitated and would have liked nothing more in that moment than to march forward and break Luche's legs.
And that was a huge fuckin' problem.
It hit him like a rock over the head, out of nowhere. Realization.
The precarious situation he found himself in.
Titus realized then that he was entirely in over his head. His perfect plan; what the hell had happened? Never in his life had he miscalculated, had never made mistakes, had never fallen short, and yet this time found himself tangled up in his own web. Ignis was supposed to be a reward, a fun time at the end of a long day, a minor comfort in the middle of war. Something there to warm his bed and relieve a little stress. Something certainly not permanent.
And now he was in trouble, because Ignis had grown on him far more than he should have.
Titus stopped thinking about the ways he was going to use Ignis' legs, and instead began daydreaming about Ignis coddling him after work. Instead of rushing out of the headquarters to get laid, Titus found himself rushing out because, to be quite frank, he desperately wanted to have Ignis' fingers running through his hair.
Gods above, the thought of Ignis holding Luche's face like that.
Couldn't stand it.
Pitiful. Absurd. Shameful. Wasn't supposed to be that way.
Titus wiped his face blank, carried on walking around, papers in hand, taking himself out of earshot of Luche so that he didn't actually end up snapping Luche's tibias and putting him out of work for eight months.
Titus walked on, and felt the dread hammering.
Still, even then, even realizing what was happening, Titus hesitated and found excuses.
He was in over his head, yes, but as long as flighty, flirty Ignis didn't reciprocate those sentiments, then all could have been well. Titus was a bit too proud yet to admit that he was falling in love, so would deny it for as long as possible because teenage Ignis' fancies would eventually move on. Ignis wouldn't fall in love with him, so Titus didn't need to cut things off, because he was grasping at every excuse not to.
Ignis smiled ever at Luche, at Nyx, at Gladiolus, at Noctis, at Cor, at every other man that happened to glance at him, and so Titus bit it down, hid it, and attempted to screw his head back on straight before he got himself into a worse spot. Could afford no real distractions.
But at night, he still stared up at the ceiling and wished that Ignis was there to run hands over him and mother him a little. Having someone take a care for him was entrancing, astounding, and Titus knew he should have ended it before he turned into a puddle as Cor had.
Before Ignis became so important to him that Titus was willing to bend the plan to fit around Ignis' safety.
A million things running through his head, and one above all else; should have never fallen for Ignis' advances, never, had been a mistake all along, and should never have extended his hand to Ignis when he knew that someone else had wanted him. Perhaps this was his punishment, this turmoil. It would have been much safer for everyone for Titus to send Ignis away and right into Cor's ever waiting arms, but gods help him he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.
Just kept telling himself that it would be alright until Ignis got bored with him.
Eventually, Cor would snap and barge forward desperately, or Luche would successfully sneak in, one of them would steal Ignis away, and then Titus could refocus and not have to worry about where Ignis was when the time came.
Until then, until Cor or Luche acted, until Ignis said the words, until it was all said and done...
Until then, Titus would look forward to Ignis' hands.
Love was the most dangerous thing to a man, and Titus had stumbled into the trap all the same, even though he had seen it sitting there plainly in the light of day, a hundred miles away.
The safe harbor had turned into a whirlpool, and Titus' ship was sinking.