Chapter 8
The outside world was ablaze with gossip, and yet indoors life seemed to carry on as normal.
For Ignis, anyway. Titus' friends may have been having a go at him, but Ignis' were much less invested.
Noctis was either very oblivious or very unbothered, for not once in these past months had he ever come up to Ignis and asked about any of the rumors. Noctis lived half of his life up in his head, it seemed, and it wouldn't have shocked Ignis much to discover that Noctis could walk by six rows of newspaper stands and not once even glance at them.
Gladio, however, was more astute than Noctis, and so it didn't come as much surprise to Ignis that Gladio was the first one to come to Ignis with questions.
Ignis was daydreaming all the time, it seemed, fluttering about as if in some wonderful, misty plane, and hardly focused these days on anything that wasn't Noct or Titus.
Cor stared at Ignis more than ever during class, seemed to be constantly scrutinizing him, but Ignis knew that Cor knew, and was likely judging him as a whole. The Marshal and the Captain were friends—Cor's curiosity and scrutiny were warranted.
Perhaps Cor was wondering what on earth Titus had seen in Ignis, for Cor did not seem pleased.
Ignis would never live up to any expectations Cor or Titus had, knew that, and tried not to take Cor's frowning to heart.
Still, no one aside from Regis had brought Titus up in conversation at all, for tactfulness more than ignorance. But everyone knew. Gladio was an exception; Gladio was rather single-minded, a bit bullheaded, a bit out of the loop, and simply hadn't noticed at first. Gladio had been blissfully unaware of Ignis backing Titus up into a corner. So much so, in fact, that Ignis had been philandering about with Titus for seven months before Gladio caught on. Ignis wasn't certain how it had come about; if Gladio had finally heard the gossip, if Clarus had let something slip, or if Gladio had just been nearby and observed Ignis and Titus rather openly flirting with each other. If he had been reading a tabloid one day and saw one of the frequent blurbs.
Regardless of how it had happened, suddenly in training it wasn't only Cor studying him. Gladio was staring, observing, seemingly calculating and uncertain, and after class Gladio waited in the hall for Ignis. He fell into Ignis' step, walked along with him, and then finally began, in a very low voice, "Hey. Can we talk?"
"Of course."
Gladio pursed his lips, shifted his shoulders, looked quite uneasy and a bit embarrassed, and then he tentatively tried, "So. I keep hearing things."
"Oh? Do tell."
Gladio's face tinted a bit, and Ignis couldn't ever recall seeing Gladio look so miserably uncomfortable and ashamed.
"I don't mean to get into your business, Iggy, but I, uh— Well. Kinda just wanna know if it's true. You know. 'Bout you and the Captain."
Ignis didn't flinch, didn't miss a beat, didn't feel a single twinge of anything at all, because it was true and it had never actually been a secret. Ignis wasn't ashamed or embarrassed or defensive, and was very calm when he replied, "It is."
A noise of disbelief from Gladio.
A very long, very awkward silence.
Could practically hear the gears grinding in Gladio's head. Contemplating and thinking, and Ignis didn't say a word, letting him sort his own thoughts out in his own time. Clearly Gladio had some things he wished to express, and even if it wasn't Gladio's business, Gladio was his best friend and Ignis would always hear him out.
At last, after eternity, Gladio uttered, "So, then. I just want to know— You don't have to answer, of course, but I have to ask anyway. You know that I always trust you, and I hope...you trust me. That is, you do trust me, right?"
"Of course. With my life."
"So, you know that you could have always come to me, right? If... You know."
Gladio was squirming, shifting, having such trouble expressing what he wanted to, and Ignis was fairly certain he grasped why. He stopped walking, fell still, and turned to Gladio to let him know that he had Ignis' full ear.
Gladio swallowed, looked around to make sure they were well out of earshot, and then whispered, "You were seventeen, right? Anything happen before that? You know that I woulda, if anything happened, I woulda helped, you could always have come straight to me. You do know that? So I have to know, right now, or it'll drive me crazy. Is this something I shoulda been taking care of a long time ago? Was I not there for you when I shoulda been?"
Oh, Gladio.
How Ignis loved this man.
Ignis smiled then, simply couldn't help it despite the awful conversation, and he came forward, so close to Gladio that their chests barely touched. Their way of embracing when both of them were a little too stoic to do it outright, and Ignis met Gladio's eyes and said, to leave absolutely no doubt, "I was seventeen. And I instigated. Nothing happened before that, and nothing has happened at all that I didn't want. You have my word."
A pass of obvious relief on Gladio's face, because even though Gladio would have happily charged Titus, Titus would have made extremely short work of Gladio, and it was Gladio that would have had the broken legs.
A hand on his shoulder, a jostle, and Gladio said, in a much lighter voice, "Damn glad to hear that. Now I guess I have to ask the obligatory 'isn't he a little old for you'?"
Ignis snorted, pushed playfully at Gladio's chest, and teased, "Hardly! He could still put you down with one hand."
Gladio pushed him back, very gently, but was smiling then, and that was worth it.
"Hey, says who? I can take him."
"Leave that to me," Ignis drawled, and Gladio blushed a bit.
They carried on from there as if nothing had happened, because now that Gladio knew there was nothing to protect Ignis from, Gladio would let him make his own choices. In all the Citadel, it seemed that Gladio had been the only one who ever thought Ignis was capable of doing so.
As they walked, however, Gladio did ask one thing that made Ignis' heart sink.
"So, you two serious, or is this just a fling?"
Ignis hesitated then, because he didn't know what to say. He was serious, all the way, so serious that it was painful, but Titus kept giving mixed signals and was never once direct.
To save his pride, either way, Ignis merely replied, "I'm not certain. I think we're just seeing where it goes. Who can say what will come to pass?"
Gladio nodded, and offered, "Well, I got your back, either way. And if he ever breaks your heart just call me. Now I gotta prove I can take him."
Ignis snorted.
"Let's avoid that as best we can. If you want to have a go at him so badly for my honor, then request a sparring session with him. I'm sure he'll happily oblige."
"Yeah, yeah," Gladio griped, and shortly after they parted ways.
Ignis was pensive and solemn for the rest of the night, as he stared off into nothing and mulled over what, precisely, 'they' were. Were they 'they'? Or, to Titus, was it just 'you and me'? Separate. Not 'we'.
So hard to read Titus, so hard to figure him out.
Titus never invited Ignis to his home, never stayed the night in Ignis' apartment, and never made any declarations aloud, never any words of affection, never made any promises. Would press his face into Ignis' neck, would burrow into him, would cling to him, would buy him a birthday gift, would stand there and stare at him and smile, but then would just walk away without a word.
Ignis was too afraid to assume, and tried to be equally as vague.
Titus only seemed to offer himself in that moment, and Ignis could ask him for little more.
However much he wanted more.
Whatever came to pass, either way, Ignis supposed he could never say that Titus had lied to him, when Titus said nothing at all. Clarification would have been nice, but Ignis never brought it up, because he was so frightened that what Titus told him wouldn't be what Ignis wanted to hear. He was head over heels for Titus, only ever thought of him, and was scared of Titus knowing that.
It felt, in some way, as if Ignis were aiming far out of his league. Thinking Titus Drautos would ever fall in love with someone like him.
Ridiculous.
But hope was nice, and Ignis clung to it, happily leaping into Titus' arms whenever he was granted the chance. Being in Titus' arms was exactly where he wanted to be, had been for a very long time. Just wanted to be as important to Titus as Titus was to him.
For now, March was close to ending, and Titus' birthday was approaching, falling upon the very last day of the month. Seemed natural that, since Titus had gotten Ignis a gift, Ignis should give him one in turn. The polite thing to do.
The problem was that Ignis had utterly no idea where to even start.
A man like that—whoever could know what to get him?
It was very obvious that Titus desperately needed a new jacket, swore that thing had come straight from the era of the Founder King, was literally hanging on by a thread, but Titus must have been keeping it for some reason. Sentimental value, perhaps, and Ignis wouldn't overstep his bounds.
Titus was a very astute man, but Ignis doubted that Titus would have known right off of Ignis' need of grid-paper and love of ballpoint pens and coffee. Clearly Titus had done some investigating, and Ignis was determined to investigate in turn.
There were only three people Ignis could have gone to; Regis, Clarus, and Cor.
Regis and Clarus, however, were already far too invested in this little affair, and going to them would have merely been tossing more fuel onto the fire.
Really only left Cor.
The Glaives were not so easily accessible without Titus being nearby, and their relationship was professional, not personal. Less helpful.
Cor it was, the only good choice, but Ignis still felt an absolute fool when he lingered in the training room one rainy day, glancing at Cor frequently and attempting to gather his nerve. Cor was so serious, no nonsense. Not unfriendly by any means, a very protective and respectful man, but Ignis would never not be intimidated by Cor.
Cor was staring at him quite openly when he seemed to realize that Ignis was busy-working in order to be the last one to file out. Stood up straighter, held his chin high, his brow seemed to lift a bit, and Ignis thought that perhaps Cor looked a bit...
Eager? No...maybe not. Not hopeful, couldn't be. Happy? Surely not.
Couldn't tell.
Like Titus, Cor was just so hard to read, but Cor was triply hard to read, because his face never changed in any way that wasn't minute. Cor's brow had lifted ever so slightly, a slight softening of his ever-hard face, and that was it. How was Ignis supposed to ever glean a distinct emotion from that?
Too soon, Ignis was the last man left, and he felt the rise of embarrassment.
Asking the Marshal such a thing. Pitiful. Cor had much better things to be doing than giving hopeless Ignis a possible lead into his friend's graces.
But it was far too late to back out, because they were alone and Cor had taken a step towards him, asking, in a softer voice than Ignis had expected, "Everything alright? Is there a problem? I trust you know you can confide in me."
"I do, Marshal," Ignis affirmed, because confidence in Cor was the only reason he was here. There was no way to ask that wouldn't make him seem foolish, so Ignis just cut to the chase and said, "I do have an inquiry. If the Marshal has a moment."
A ridiculous inquiry, but a necessary one.
Cor took another step forward, hands sliding into his pockets, and if Ignis hadn't known Cor better than that, he would have thought that Cor was nervous.
"I always have a moment for you. What is it?"
Everyone knew about Ignis and Titus, Cor especially so as he was Titus' friend, but somehow Ignis felt abashed all the same when he found his courage and uttered, in a very low voice, "I was hoping... I know this may not be the most appropriate use of your time, and you'll forgive me for that, I hope, but I was thinking perhaps you might assist me in...procuring a useful gift for Titus. For his birthday."
Cor looked momentarily stunned.
To clarify and save his pride, if only a bit, Ignis very quickly added, "He gifted me something rather thoughtful on my birthday. I should return the favor. I just don't know where to start. Any ideas? You've been friends for a very long time. I could think of no one who would know better."
That softening of Cor's face instantly vanished.
Could never have hoped to understand why, or into what emotion Cor had shifted.
Cor swallowed, his brow crinkled and lowered, and Ignis swore that he blinked quite quickly then. Surely from disbelief from the entire situation, wondering how his friend had ended up in this admitted mess.
Nobody seemed to know exactly what was going on anymore, Ignis most of all.
It frightened Ignis, that change in Cor, because perhaps Cor knew so much more than Ignis did, knew that Titus was not emotionally invested in Ignis, and that was why he looked so taken aback.
Pitying Ignis, no doubt.
Cor was silent for a very long time, jaw shifting and nostrils flaring, and with every second that Cor stared at him in silence Ignis felt more and more ridiculous. Maybe Cor really did know Titus' true feelings. Was he making a greater fool of himself than he had anticipated?
Abruptly, Cor turned to the side until he was facing the window, and his hands had come out of his pockets as he lifted his arms to cross them over his chest.
It was then that Ignis began to feel that he was overstepping his bounds, that Cor was very uninterested in any of this nonsense, and that Ignis was very much annoying him.
Ignis bowed his head, took a step back, and murmured, "Forgive me, Marshal. It was thoughtless on my part to waste your time in such a manner. Apologies."
With that, he turned and slunk in shame to the door.
He fled then because he was afraid of Cor actually speaking at last. Afraid that Cor was hesitating like that because Cor was having some moral dilemma. Afraid that Cor would open his mouth and say, 'Listen, kid— Don't get attached. You know Titus isn't serious, right?'
One of his more cowardly moments, that retreat.
At the last moment, Cor called, softly, "Ignis."
Ignis froze in place as training demanded, and looked over his shoulder.
A long, piercing stare, one of those very intense ones that made Ignis squirm, and it wasn't long before Ignis averted his eyes. Could never meet Cor's gaze for long, when it felt as if Cor could see right through and was always scrutinizing him.
A silence, and then Cor's rather toneless whisper.
"Are you alright?"
Ignis turned around fully, not entirely comprehending, as Cor ever stared him down. The crinkle of concern in Cor's brow was apparent, and Ignis' mind started whirring.
Ah—
Understood.
If not for Gladio's prior awkward questions, Ignis might have missed Cor's intent, but it was the only thing Ignis could really think of, for Cor to be looking at him like that. Cor held Gladio's doubts, perhaps, and needed reassurance that Titus hadn't been inappropriate.
So Ignis nodded his head, and said, with every bit of sincerity he could muster, "Perfectly."
"Mm."
Unlike Gladio, however, Cor didn't seem the slightest bit relieved.
His brow seemed to crease further, to lower more, his lips pursed, and then once more Cor averted his eyes and looked away, releasing Ignis from those razors.
Another whisper, this one lower and deeper than the last, a barely audible rumble.
"Are you happy?"
Ignis couldn't help but smile then, despite the uncertainty of the entire situation. Ignis was in love, and even though he didn't know if Titus reciprocated those feelings, being near Titus made him happy. The feel of Titus made him happy. Titus' eyes on him made him happy. The way Titus made him feel.
With just as much sincerity, Ignis once more uttered, "Perfectly."
Cor turned fully around, his back then to Ignis, and there was a pause.
Cor's voice was utter monotone then, completely blank, as it occasionally was, as he whispered, "Very well, then. That's that. I cannot assist as much as you may like. Titus is not a materialistic man. All I could ever think of would be— He hasn't said it aloud in many years, but he used to be frequently homesick. He's from the far north, one of the little islands that make up the highest reaches of Cavaugh. Long ago, there used to be a little shop, out on the corner of the street that's parallel to the fourth police precinct. It was owned by a woman who came from Titus' area. He used to visit, whenever he was feeling homesick. I don't know if it's still there, but if it is, just head in and ask her for something. She'll know what to get."
A pause, a hesitation, as Cor seemed to shift his weight and lower his head a bit.
"If it no longer exists, then don't worry about it. Don't over-think it. Just... I'm sure that he'd be... Give him your time. Your attention. That's all. Sometimes, being noticed at all is all a man needs. It's simpler than you think."
Thought, for a moment there, that Cor's voice had wavered, trembled. Just a little break, hardly noticeable, and likely just in Ignis' head, and it was cast aside at any rate by the burst of hope those words gave him.
Elation.
Ignis stared at Cor's back for a while, logged the information away, and then bowed again despite Cor being unable to see him.
"Thank you, Marshal. Truly. I didn't mean to be a bother. I won't be so again."
Ignis made for the door once more, and this time Cor said, ever softer, "You're never a bother. Ever. I'm here whenever you need me. Good day, Ignis."
"Good day, Marshal. You have my gratitude. More than you know."
Ignis finally slipped out, and shut the door.
He exhaled, heavily, and felt as if he had just walked the sword's edge. Or, rather, the katana's edge. He couldn't recall in his life ever having Cor turn his back fully to him. Cor could say Ignis hadn't bothered him or wasted his time, but his body language said otherwise. A man like Cor had little patience, perhaps, for these sordid little Citadel love games.
Friend or no.
All the same, Cor's information had been invaluable, and Ignis checked the time, and made immediately for the metro. He had eight days to figure it out, and didn't waste a minute. No sense in going home to get his car, when the metro was far quicker and he was feeling too impatient. He pulled his map up on his phone, took the appropriate trains, and somehow he felt horribly nervous, even though it was such a simple task.
He jogged up the metro steps, took a few turns, walked a bit, and came to the street Cor had directed him to. He checked every corner twice, and was ridiculously somewhat heartbroken when he searched and searched and had to accept the fact that the shop just wasn't there.
Drat.
Ignis was nothing if not determined, and slipped into neighboring shops, inquiring anyone behind the counters if they knew what had become of it or where the previous owner happened to be. Came up empty handed, over and over, and his spirits sank.
The sun was setting, and Ignis retreated for the day.
The next day, however, Ignis tried again. Went right back out as soon as he was free, and interrogated more shop owners. No go. Ignis crinkled his brow, pursed his lips, and glanced over at the police station.
Well...
Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that.
Ignis had been rather brazen from time to time, yes, but it was certainly one of his more brazen moments, marching into a police station, notepad in hand, and interrogating the police rather than the other way around. As if often was, Ignis' position helped him greatly, one of the officers actually had information, and two hours later Ignis was stepping off the metro into an unfamiliar area.
Not going to a shop, however, rather than knocking on a front door.
It was rude, perhaps, but by now Ignis had put in far too much effort.
The door creaked open, a very old woman peeked out, and asked, with a heavy accent, "Who are you?"
It would have taken a very long time to explain how he had come to be there and why, and so Ignis just tried, "Forgive me for intruding. I'm a friend of Titus Drautos. I was hoping to inquire about the shop you previously owned. I had intended to procure some goods from you, if you have anything on hand and are willing to part with them."
A long, blank stare.
Ignis realized that she hadn't understood him entirely, as her first language clearly wasn't Royal Lucian and Ignis spoke rather quickly at times.
He tried again, more slowly and more simply, "Can I buy something from you? For Titus?"
She looked him up and down, and surmised, "You the one the papers talk about?"
A surge of embarrassment. Those ridiculous headlines—
"Yes," he said regardless, because it was true.
She looked far friendlier then, and opened the door.
"Come in."
"Thank you."
He bowed his head and ducked in, following her through her small, cramped flat and into her kitchen. He naturally observed every single thing around him. Foreign motifs, fabrics, lace tablecloths, unique embroidery. Took it all in because, in some way, it was glimpsing a little bit of Titus that no one was ever privy to.
Seeing him at a baser level.
Titus had been in Insomnia so long that Ignis never really thought too much about where Titus had come from. That he had had an entirely different upbringing. Different customs. Different traditions. Different languages.
What did they speak up there? Ignis had never thought about it, as little as he thought about what native Tenebraean language he had never gotten to learn before he himself came to Insomnia at two.
She ushered him to sit at the kitchen table, and it was one of his more surreal moments, being served tea in the flat of a very old woman that Ignis had only found because he had barged into a police office and refused to take 'no' for an answer.
Ignis gawked at everything around him, she noticed, and before long she asked, "What do you want? For him?"
"I have no earthly idea," Ignis admitted.
She studied him relentlessly, judging him no doubt, and Ignis squirmed a bit. She must have worried he was slightly insane, given his being here so randomly.
For a lead, Ignis asked, "What did he used to buy?"
"Bread. Terva. Always same thing."
"Bread and what?"
She stood, hobbled over to the cabinet, pulled out a ceramic jug and took down a glass. She poured some amber-colored liquid in, brought it over, and Ignis was already wincing.
Could smell it a mile away.
She put it before him and said, "Drink."
Blast—no choice.
Knew right away that it was a very strong liquor, and knew that it would be decidedly unpleasant. He would die before he ever refused her, and well! He had wanted to get to know Titus, hadn't he, and supposed there was no better way than to dive right into his culture.
Ugh.
He put on a brave face, lifted the glass up, and put it back in one shot. Couldn't stop the wince, the cough, and that was likely expected because she laughed and clapped his back teasingly.
Disgusting.
Clearly a tar liquor, very potent and very off-putting.
She went to pour him another, and he quickly called, "No! No, please, I couldn't possibly."
She ignored him, set the second glass before him, and said, "Drink! It make you strong! Like Titus."
As everyone in the Citadel had always said, Ignis was a housewife, not a soldier. He didn't want to be as strong as Titus, thank you very much, and was not appreciating having literal tar forced down his throat. Alas, manners were a must, and Ignis put the second glass back with another helpless wince.
This time, he kept his empty glass clenched in his hand so she wouldn't refill it.
Disgusted or no, Ignis inclined his head to the jug and asked, "Where can I buy that?"
"I make it. I can sell you."
Grand.
Feeling the warmth of the liquor on his face, Ignis then asked, dutifully, "Can I buy bread as well?"
"My oven is broke. I can give you recipe."
"Would you?"
She nodded, and went over to a drawer, pulling out pen and paper, sat down, and started writing. Ignis tried to rid his mouth of the lingering bitterness, and she was all smiles when she pushed the paper over, saying, "I like you taking care of him. He needs someone. You keep him in line."
Ignis snorted at that, and took the paper in his hand.
Keeping Titus in line, absurd though it sounded, was actually much easier than trying to keep Noctis in line. For all of him, Titus was surprisingly easy to handle and wrangle when need be.
He glanced down, and furrowed his brow.
Ingredients...and that was all. Literally. No measurements, no temperatures, no order, no context, no instructions.
...right.
Vague, but Ignis was never one to back down, never gave up, and was willing to try over and over again until he came up with something edible. Wouldn't ask more of her, because she had already gone out of her way for him and didn't need to give him anything at all. Clearly just something she knew from memory and practice.
For just a little bit of help, Ignis asked, "Is this sweet bread?"
She nodded.
Whew. A bit of a guide.
He stood up, pulled out his wallet, and did business with her, purchasing a jug of that god-awful liquor and tucking the not-so-helpful recipe in his pocket. He lifted his eyes over to the many embroidered tablecloths, inclined his head, and asked, "Do you sell those?"
She followed his eyes, tutted, and offered, "No. But for you, yes."
"Wonderful."
She poked around, found one she must have thought was appropriate, a small runner that was meant for an end-table, and Ignis was feeling rather accomplished. As an afterthought she also bestowed upon him a small, colorful towel, with the instruction to wrap the bread in it. He tucked the table runner and towel in his coat pocket as well, grabbed up the jug, and considered it all settled.
He bowed to her, and tried to escape as quickly as he could before she forced more tar upon him.
"Hey!" she called, as he made for the steps.
He turned and looked back at her, and she smiled at him, wrinkled eyes crinkled so much they were no longer visible.
"You give me wedding invitation!"
An awful rush of blazing red to Ignis' face, as he could have easily sank right into the ground and died. She laughed at his shade, but Ignis could do little but bow his head and mutter, "Of course."
What else could he say? She had been invaluable.
He all but ran away as fast as he could, went home, and checked his kitchen. Needed a few things, but easily acquired. Could procure them at dawn.
Harder to find was his confidence.
An awful surge of doubt; all these years, and he still hadn't been able to recreate for Noctis correctly the confection he desired from Tenebrae. How on earth could he ever hope to be successful in this venture? With so much more at stake.
As it often was, Ignis took everything far too seriously, put too much of himself into the task at hand, and berated himself endlessly for potential failures.
Cor's words; don't over-think it.
Difficult for Ignis, but there was little else to do than try to relax.
The next day, the experiments began.
It was one of Ignis' more nerve-wracking experiences, guessing measurements and having so little to go on. He did his best, as he always did, and was not satisfied. He scratched the measurements on that attempt, recalculated, and tried again.
Yuck.
It took Ignis three days of constant experimentation before he came up with something he could remotely consider 'edible'.
Time to call his guinea pig.
He pulled out his phone, rang Noct, and when Noct answered, Ignis said, "Come over. I need your taste buds."
"On my way."
Noctis never refused food, thankfully, and Ignis impatiently waited. The minute Noctis walked through his door, Ignis held out a piece of bread and demanded, "Eat."
Noctis snorted, but happily obliged. Ignis stared Noctis down as he chewed, and shifted his weight, anxiously.
"Well?"
"Mm— It's good. But I gotta know what your goal is, ya know?"
"I have no idea," Ignis supplied, and Noctis rolled his eyes.
"Well, I like it. It could be sweeter. I think. Just a little."
Ignis pursed his lips, but dutifully took note.
Noctis looked him up and down, studied him as he took another bite, and then casually said, "So. Haven't seen you much lately, Specs. I've been doing all my own housework."
Ignis sighed, and muttered, "I'm sure you're suffering. I can come over next week."
After this task was done.
Noctis was smirking, ever observing Ignis, and said, far too slyly, "You've been busy? Cookin' and cleanin' for somebody else, huh?"
Ignis snapped his eyes over, saw Noctis' leer, and knew that Noctis had finally caught on. Took long enough.
"Hardly," Ignis retorted, because his time had been occupied by Titus, oh yes, but he certainly hadn't been cleaning for the man. Dirtying things up, more like.
Noctis lifted his chin, and smarmed, "Sure, sure. You've forgotten all about poor little old me. Thought you always said I was the only man for you?"
It was Ignis' turn to snort, but he smiled all the same, happy to have good-mood-Noct and thankful for the cheeriness in light of this frustrating process.
"Are you heartbroken?"
"Damn right I am. What's he got that I don't?"
Ignis eyed Noctis up and down, and teased, "I don't think you really want to know."
Titus had large and impressive biceps, large and impressive shoulders, large and impressive pectorals, large and impressive quads, and a large and impressive...
Well.
Noctis reached out and shoved Ignis' shoulder, griping, "Man! You led me on all that time. Better make it up to me and keep baking me stuff. It's the least you can do."
"You're right, Noct. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Ah. I'll think it over."
They bantered amicably, Noctis hung out for a while, Ignis felt considerably less stressed, and the following day was the same process.
That time, Noctis offered, "Still good! But this time I think it's a little too sweet."
Ignis furrowed his brow, whipped out his pen, and adjusted ingredients once more.
"What's in this, anyway? I can't figure it out."
"Molasses. Do you really like it?"
"Yeah. Where did this come from, huh? What's the occasion?"
At that, Ignis hesitated, feeling once more foolish.
He shrugged a shoulder, and vaguely offered, "Merely trying to recreate something from another land, once more. Perhaps this time more successfully."
Noctis' smile was a little smug, a bit knowing. Perhaps Noctis knew the occasion already and was attempting to see how much Ignis would confide. He would confide more when he figured out what 'they' were, but until then he refused to say more than absolutely necessary, and he stuffed Noctis full of bread that day and then sent him on his way.
Time was running out, and it was the day before Titus' birthday when Ignis finally stood before Noctis, hand on hips, and Noctis smiled.
"Hey. I think this is it, man. This is really good. I'd eat it for sure."
Perhaps as good as he would get on this deadline, and with absolutely no idea what he was even supposed to be creating. A relief, and Ignis could only trust Noctis' tastes and work with what he had.
When Noctis left that day, he called back to Ignis, "Don't worry too much about it, Specs. It's the thought that counts, right? Wouldn't you be happy if he made something for you, even if it wasn't perfect?"
...yes, actually. Yes he would.
Hadn't really thought of it like that, and smiled at Noct as he left.
All that was left then was to put it all together. That was the easiest part of the entire ordeal. He needed to be as casual as Titus had been, so no fancy wrapping paper. Just a plain cardboard box, big enough to fit the small jug and the bread, swaddled up in the patterned towel as instructed, the table runner lying between them.
Not something he wanted to cart about the Citadel, and so Ignis texted Titus, asking him to come over to Ignis' apartment the following night. Not the first time Titus had set foot here, nothing abnormal, and so Titus naturally accepted.
A restless pass of time, as Ignis doubted himself and Titus' reaction.
In the morning, Ignis didn't text Titus again, and didn't offer him a 'happy birthday' in passing in the Citadel, ever so leery of coming off as clingy and emotional.
Titus may not have even remembered that it was actually his birthday at all.
That night, Ignis awaited the knock on his door, and made extra effort to not make effort. He had already showered, left his hair down, had on a t-shirt and sweatpants and wool socks. The more casual and laidback he appeared, the less likely Titus was to take Ignis' gift the wrong way. ...right? Right.
Titus was out of uniform when he finally arrived, in that ancient jacket and wrinkled slacks, hair sticking up to high heaven, and Ignis momentarily lost his nerve.
So much so that it wasn't until half an hour later, when Titus was shirtless and had Ignis pinned down on the couch, that Ignis finally uttered, softly, "There's something for you on the kitchen table."
Titus pulled back, and, as Ignis before him, breathed, "For me? What for?"
"Isn't today of particular import?"
A thoughtful pushing out of Titus' lips, and then an 'Oh' of realization.
Titus really had forgotten about his birthday.
An odd expression that Ignis couldn't pinpoint as Titus' eyes ran over his face, and then Titus rolled off of Ignis and wandered into the kitchen. Ignis sat up on the couch and didn't follow, already too nervous and trying too hard perhaps to appear detached.
Just waiting, then.
And wait he did. Minutes passed, and Ignis eventually stood up and crept into the kitchen, hoping that Titus hadn't panicked and escaped through the window to avoid an awkward conversation.
Far from.
Titus stood there over the box, hands on the table and staring down, and Ignis slunk closer and closer, going to the sink for a glass of water. When he turned around at last, Titus didn't look worried or alarmed. His face was rather blank, actually, quite stoic, but Ignis realized quickly enough that that was to keep grip on composure.
Titus swallowed, jaw clamped and lips pursed, blinking quickly, and Ignis was the alarmed one when he swore that Titus' eyes were just a little bit red.
Homesick, after all. After all these years.
But Titus never broke, was as perpetually composed as Cor, and shortly after unlocked his jaw and asked, very softly, "How in the world did you find this?"
Ignis waved a hand, airily, and played it off, saying, "I did a bit of sleuthing. Nothing too difficult."
Titus lifted his head then, and stared at Ignis. Just stared at him, unblinking and seemingly frozen, so much so that Ignis was fairly certain that Titus had stopped breathing.
Ignis could only pray that Titus wasn't going to say, 'This is...weird. You're not catchin' feelings are you?'
He would have denied it for the sake of pride and then would have cried himself to sleep after Titus left.
But Titus didn't say a word. He merely stared at Ignis for what felt like eternity, and then looked back down, reaching into the box and taking the table runner in his hands to study it. Ignis wandered to the side and gave Titus a bit of space, didn't want to hover, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see that Titus had lifted the cloth up very briefly to his nose.
Trying to catch a whiff of home, perhaps.
Couldn't imagine what it felt like to be homesick like that, because Ignis knew nothing else but Insomnia. He had come far too young, after all, to feel any loss.
To be so far away from where one belonged.
Ignis hadn't really expected Titus to dive into anything at that moment. Had presumed Titus would tuck the box under his arm and take it home, then tomorrow perhaps open the jug and towel. He was rather surprised when Titus glanced up at him, and said, "Where are your glasses?"
Oh, no, not that dreadful libation again—! Blast.
All the same, Ignis inclined his head to the cabinet, and Titus brought down two small champagne flutes, all Ignis really had that was close to appropriate, and at the last moment grabbed two plates.
Ignis let Titus do as he pleased, hiding very well his disdain when Titus poured far too much of that awful liquid into those glasses. Titus came forward, and Ignis took the offered glass, dreading it but dutifully obedient. The blow was very much softened when Titus pressed forward, kissed Ignis' cheek, one hand on the back of his neck, and lingered there for a moment.
Worth it for that, he supposed, but he still winced when Titus pulled away and said, "Cheers."
A clink of glasses, and Ignis tried hard to finish it in one go but was not successful.
Titus snorted at Ignis' expense.
"Sorry," Titus uttered, very softly and just a bit unsteadily. "It's an acquired taste."
Ignis held the rest of his glass out, and muttered, "Here, then. You can acquire mine."
No hesitation at all, and Ignis was spared the second swig.
When Titus opened the towel, however, and clearly meant to serve Ignis as well, Ignis put his foot down.
"That's all for you. I don't need any more, believe me."
"Any more?" Titus inquired, with a glance up through his lashes.
"I've been eating nothing but that for four days. Couldn't get it right."
Ignis had never seen Titus do a double take, and had certainly never seen him look quite as shocked as he did then, mouth falling open and eyes widening.
Inwardly, Ignis was wincing, flinching, hoping that wasn't the tipping point.
"You made this?"
An incredulous tone of voice.
Ignis nodded, trying very hard to be flippant as he offered, "You'll forgive me if it's not what it should be. I had very little to go on. I'll require a bit of input on your part, as I had no inkling at all of what I should be aiming for."
Once more, Titus stared at him, and once more, Ignis fretted.
Very suddenly, Titus abandoned the box and came forward, pressing down very abruptly to kiss him.
Whew.
Hands on his waist, a very enthusiastic tongue in his throat, and then Titus just as abruptly pulled back, bumping their foreheads together, and Titus blurted, "I—"
He froze up immediately, cut himself off, and fell silent.
Ignis held onto Titus' shoulders, and waited, breath held and hopeful.
In the end, though, Titus just uttered, softly, "Thank you."
Disappointment.
"It was nothing."
"Not to me," Titus assured, and that was the last they spoke for a long while when Titus' hands began wandering and Ignis was steadily pushed back into the bedroom.
A very odd night, all around; that was the very first time that Ignis could say Titus had been gentle. Not careful, as he had been the first time, but oddly slow. Purposeful. Strange, not to be tossed about and battered, but a nice change, if only once in a while.
At some point, Titus gripped Ignis' hands within his own, intertwining their fingers as Titus lied above him.
Afterwards, Titus pressed his face into Ignis' neck, a hand on the side of his face, Titus' stubble scraping him, and Ignis had hope that tonight would be the night Titus stayed.
It wasn't.
Titus lingered a bit longer than normal, yes, but eventually rolled off of Ignis and dressed. When Ignis swung his legs over the bed to follow suit, Titus did extend his hand, and held Ignis' there for a while. Still staring at him wordlessly.
Whatever went on in Titus' head, only he knew.
Before he shut the box of gifts up to take it home, Titus once more picked up that embroidered cloth and raised it to his face. Ignis watched him fondly, and perhaps that was really the first time Ignis could say he had really met Titus, in some way. Seeing a different side of him. Another piece of the puzzle Ignis was constructing.
The impervious and statuesque Captain, fearless and hard, so homesick beneath it all.
Titus was a man, as any other. Ignis could see it so plainly then, that there was absolutely nothing special about Titus. Nothing different about him. Nothing abnormal.
Perfectly ordinary.
It was Titus who took Ignis' face into his palms that time, as he pressed forward and kissed Ignis' forehead twice. And then he was on his way, and Ignis felt the pang in his breast, sharp and potent.
Never wanted Titus to leave.
Felt as if he took the sun with him when he went.
There was hardly any point in saying it any other way :
Ignis was in love with Titus, and was too afraid to say it aloud. Titus' rejection would be the end of him, so Ignis made the most of his brief time in Titus' arms, took comfort in his hands, and pretended.
Pretending that Titus would feel the same.
Couldn't keep it up for much longer, though. Sensed it coming.
Soon, Ignis would crack and confess, even if it would backfire, if it would all crumble, because he was desperate and living in this uncertainty was killing him. He wanted to know, needed to know, and if he pressed too far and destroyed everything, then that would be for the best, before Ignis got too far in.
Titus was the sun, and Ignis had gone from a wallflower to a sunflower.
Always following Titus across the horizon.
Soon.