Chapter 11

The Breaking Point

Enough was enough.

Enough tiptoeing, enough uncertainty, enough games, enough evading. Ignis was fed up. Time to know, once and for all, where they stood, what they were, if they were 'they'.

Ignis had composed a hundred speeches in his head, had anticipated a hundred different possible scenarios, had envisioned every possible outcome, and was ready to put his heart out there on his sleeve. Time to tell Titus how he felt and what he wanted. Ignis was hopeful, yes, always, but he was also very much a realist, and had prepared himself for possible rejection.

Three days after Titus had told Ignis about his homeland, Ignis texted him and invited him once more over to Ignis' apartment for the night. As it always was, Titus quickly agreed.

His stomach was twisting the entire while, dread and nervousness flowing, jittery with excitement and fear and just the tiniest bit of hope. He stood in the bathroom, smoothed down his messy hair, and tried to calm his jitters by giving himself a pep talk.

Ridiculous.

Ignis was prepared for rejection, yes, but that didn't mean it was going to make it hurt less.

Perhaps Ignis should have just been happy with what Titus was giving him instead of wanting more, but love made men irrational and impulsive. There was a reason that Cor and Titus had always been alone, and Ignis was ready for Titus to let him down easy in order to keep it that way.

A knock on the door. An exhale and inhale for courage.

When Ignis pulled the door open, Titus swept in and kissed his forehead as he often did these days, and Ignis leaned into him a bit longer than usual, in case it was the last time. Astute Titus noticed everything, and as Ignis pressed himself there into Titus' chest, he asked after a long moment, "Everything alright?"

Ignis nodded, and pressed up to kiss Titus quite furiously. Titus snorted and pushed him back, and before long they ended up where they usually did, on Ignis' couch.

It wouldn't be the last time, wouldn't, just had to keep telling himself that. Titus had confided in him; must have meant something.

All the same, Ignis clung to Titus very tightly that night, barely giving him leeway to move, and even though Ignis had proclaimed that nothing was wrong, Titus must have assumed that something was, in fact, wrong, for he was slow and calm and somewhat gentle. Ignis was entirely in his head the whole time. Couldn't get out.

A long hour later, when Titus fell still above him, Ignis gathered up his resolve, and oddly enough Titus seemed to be doing the same. Titus rested his chin on Ignis' collarbone as he always did, but glanced at him frequently, lips pursed and face somewhat blank.

As Titus were steeling himself as much as Ignis was.

Now or never. Time to get it over with.

Ignis felt brave enough then, found his resolve, and when he had gathered up enough courage, he lifted his hands, took Titus' face within his palms, forcing Titus' head up. Swore that Titus swallowed as their eyes locked, tensed up and seemed ready for some unpleasantries.

None came then; Ignis just pressed forward and kissed him.

Held it for as long as he could, put everything he had into it, every bit of what he felt, and when he pulled back, their noses bumping, Ignis finally spoke up. All he managed to utter, from those many speeches he had in his head, was one sentence. Pitiful. He choked.

"Will you stay?"

Not very direct, as vague as he ever accused Titus of being, but somehow, someway, Titus understood.

Saw it there on his face.

A short inhale from Titus, a widening of his eyes, a parting of his lips. And Ignis was so sure, so sure, that Titus' fleeting expression then was elation. He was so sure of it that his chest hurt, felt that hope wash over, felt that anticipation of having something he wanted. Titus looked elated, if only for the briefest of seconds, and Ignis held his breath.

In his head, already, Ignis was planning his future with this man.

But then...

An odd crinkle of Titus' brow. A flare of his nostrils. A clamp of his jaw. His lips pursed, he seemed to swallow, and his brow came ever lower as his expression shifted into something that made Ignis' heart hammer then in dread rather than hope. Titus' face was stern then out of nowhere, and Ignis realized that it hadn't been elation that had crossed Titus' face—it had been incredulousness.

Ignis realized long before Titus opened his mouth that he had made a fool of himself.

The stare between them then was quite intense, as Titus' eyes practically bored right into him. Ignis tried so hard to remain stoic and impervious, but may have been squirming by then.

Eternity, and then Titus pulled himself up ever so slightly, pursed his lips, and shook his head.

Oh—

No words for that hurt.

His job was to remain utterly calm at all times, to express nothing and to feel nothing, to be always clearheaded and in control, he knew it, always knew it, and also knew that his face had fallen all the same. Knew that despite all efforts, he must have looked aghast and distraught. He had prepared for this exact scenario a hundred times, had played it over and over in his head and had convinced himself that he was absolutely ready for rejection.

He wasn't.

Titus finally lifted up that pretty voice and said, softly, "Don't fall in love with me. I can't give you what you want."

The most instantly devastating words he had ever heard in his life.

Shame.

Had never felt such searing, heavy shame, and it was certainly one of the hardest trials Ignis had faced then, to keep his face as blank as he possibly could, to control the race of his heart, to steady his hands, and to kill all tremor in his voice when he uttered in turn, "I understand."

He did, and he didn't.

Titus stared at him, didn't move yet, had Ignis pinned beneath him and completely immobile, and Ignis eventually averted his eyes. Titus stayed ever still, and that was the first time that that weight above him hadn't been pleasant. Entirely stifling, for he couldn't seem to breathe. Ignis squirmed then, very pointedly, and Titus took the hint at last, inhaling and sitting upright. Ignis immediately writhed out from under him, and he thought he did a very admirable job of gathering up his clothes without once glancing back at Titus.

Could see silent Titus from the corner of his eye when he too stood up and began dressing. Titus was staring at him still, he could tell, but Ignis just couldn't find the willpower to look at him.

That had been a mistake. He should have just stayed silent and taken Titus for what he was.

They were dressed then, standing in the living room in silence, Titus staring at Ignis and Ignis staring at the wall. What came next, from this horrific misunderstanding?

He had never felt so humiliated.

Suddenly, a very soft, very low whisper. Scarcely audible.

"How long have you felt this way?"

Ignis scoffed, irritation and anger stirring beneath the awful hurt, and he only snipped, in hardly a rumble, "What's it matter?"

It didn't matter how long Ignis had been in love if Titus wasn't.

Ignis walked over, sat himself down on the couch, and stared away at the wall. Titus took a step forward, and then another, until he was in Ignis' line of sight. Ignis refused to meet his eyes, couldn't look at him at all, and eventually Titus turned around and took a step towards the door.

A pang in Ignis' chest.

Didn't want him to go. Not tonight, and not ever.

But that was how it was.

Titus stood there, back to Ignis, and didn't once look over his shoulder when he said, ever so softly, "Ignis. I think it's time we—"

Didn't want to hear it, because he simply couldn't, and so Ignis interrupted, quickly, to say again, "I understand."

In denial, yet, and if he didn't let Titus finish speaking then he could still deny ultimate finality.

A long, awful silence, and then Titus walked to the door, grabbed the handle, and hesitated.

A stupid, dull lurch of hope.

Dashed when Titus finally whispered, "Farewell."

A permanent goodbye.

His voice quivered when he dutifully replied, "Farewell, Captain."

Captain, because Titus was now a superior again. No longer did they stand on equal ground, and Titus slipped out, after another hesitation, and shut the door behind him.

Ignis was alone again, in more ways than one.

Should have seen it coming, because Ignis always had been alone, and always would be. Even when Titus had been there, he hadn't really been there, anymore than Noctis was. Regis. Gladio, Clarus, Cor. At the end of the day, however many people may have been around him, Ignis was alone.

That was his job.

Couldn't serve Noctis as he needed to if he weren't alone. If he had someone else to think about. That was why Cor and Titus were alone, too, and Ignis had always known that. He had been selfish, because feeling loved had been nice, but in the end it simply couldn't be. It was all for the best, perhaps, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Ignis lied on his couch that night, all night, because it smelled like Titus and that was the closest he would ever be again.

As Ignis had always known, he couldn't be angry at Titus, because Titus hadn't promised him anything. Everything had been in his own head, and that wasn't Titus' fault.

Morning was dreary.

Ignis held his phone in his hand and stared down at it, waiting and waiting for something that would never come. Titus would never call him, he knew that, and he opened up his contacts and scrolled through. His finger hovered over Titus' name for a very long while, but in the end Ignis just couldn't bring himself to delete it.

Pathetic, he truly was.

Ignis chose not to sit in on council that morning, heading instead to Noctis' apartment to tidy it up, because now there was no one else stealing his time. Noct had already left for the day, and Ignis bustled about in a daze, hands always moving in order to keep from thinking too much.

At the Crownsguard meeting, Ignis made a point of keeping his pen always in hand, the pen Titus had bought him, and kept his nose very close to his notebook as he scribbled mindlessly, the notebook Titus had bought him. The bloody things only served to cause more grief, and Ignis could only keep his face as blank as he always did and no one was the wiser.

Ignis had always been masterful at hiding his emotions, and that came in handy now more than it ever had.

Cor stared at him, as always, so piercingly, and Ignis wondered if perhaps Cor could sense Ignis' mood.

Ignis held up extremely well, he thought, and when he walked down the hall and there was no Titus to pounce out and ruin his hair, he didn't break down. Didn't look over his shoulder, and didn't slow his pace.

That night, though, as he stared at his empty flat, he clenched his jaw and blinked far too quickly.

Hurt.

He glanced stupidly at his phone, and saw there what he expected; nothing at all.

It wasn't until Friday afternoon when he finally crossed paths with Titus, as he always had, as they passed each other in the hall. Titus slowed down; Ignis did not. Titus turned his head to stare; Ignis did not. Titus fell to a halt; Ignis did not.

Silence.

Ignis passed easily by, missed no beat, and didn't turn his head nor his eyes. He didn't glance at Titus, and didn't fold. Didn't crack, didn't break, because that was his job, and in the end Titus never opened his mouth.

Days dragged like years, he swore it, knowing that there wasn't going to be anyone holding him at night.

Titus and Ignis couldn't avoid each other. It was impossible, and so all they could really do was be polite and smile and nod their heads and pretend that nothing at all had changed, that there had never been anything there in the first place, and maybe, maybe, with enough time even Ignis would start to believe it.

July faded into August.

One morning, Ignis started his car, and heard a very unpleasant whirring from within the engine.

Great. Wondrous luck.

Ignis pulled out his phone, found the nearest mechanic, and managed to slowly coerce the old lady there without her giving out on the highway. And now he was stuck on the outskirts of downtown, when he needed to be at the Citadel, and Ignis stared at his phone.

The perfect excuse to call Titus.

He didn't.

He called Cor, because Ignis was pitiful and Cor was just similar enough to Titus that being near him would have given some sense of comfort. Cor answered on the first ring, and instead of saying, 'Hello', Cor immediately asked, "Are you alright?"

Why did Cor always seem so worried about him?

Cor never had taken Ignis very seriously as a fighter. Never said such a thing aloud, no, but Ignis had always had the distinct impression that Cor had never wanted Ignis in Crownsguard training. Always hovered over him, always seemed so worried that Ignis would come to harm, always seemed to analyze Ignis far more than any other student.

Cor was impossible to read, but Ignis had felt that Cor thought him weak.

He was. Cor was right. Weak, to have ever fallen for Titus knowing that the both of them could afford no real time nor distractions. Couldn't have a relationship when one was already sworn to a King.

Ignis tried to push Titus from his mind, and said, as casually as was possible, "I'm alright, Marshal. I was hoping that perhaps you had a moment to come pick me up from the mechanic. My car decided to take the day off."

Cor snorted, and his voice was a bit less taut when he said, "Maybe you should follow suit, for once. I'll be there. Text me your location."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it."

Ignis cut the call, texted the directions, and waited. A half hour, perhaps, and a car pulled up. Ignis darted forward before Cor could get out to open the door, and Ignis could never really explain why he leapt into the passenger seat and not in the back, where he always had been before.

Cor seemed equally startled.

"Thank you for coming, Marshal. I know you're busy."

Cor stared at Ignis for a long while, as Ignis settled his briefcase in his lap and felt that pang of longing, and then Cor pulled out.

"It's no problem. Guess there were no Glaives nearby?"

Cor, naturally, would assume that Ignis had called Titus before all else, even if they weren't together anymore.

Ha—as if they had ever been together.

Ignis played it off, and uttered, "I feel I take up too much of their time as it is. As I do yours."

"Nonsense. I told you before, I'm here whenever you need me."

If only Cor could have just...

Ignis glanced at Cor, and it was ridiculous and childish but Ignis really wished that he could have just turned Cor into Titus. Cor, who was still with no doubt the most strikingly handsome man Ignis had ever seen, and who also was so painfully similar to Titus. If Ignis was staring at Cor then, it wasn't intentional. Pale eyes, brunet hair, broad shoulders, big hands. Not the same, no, but just close enough. The scent of Cor's cologne. Different than Titus', but pleasant all the same.

If Ignis had removed his glasses then, he might have actually been able to pretend that it was Titus driving.

Cor glanced over at him frequently, and finally asked, "How have you been lately?"

"Perfectly well. I hope you are."

What a lie.

"Can't complain."

From Cor's very frequent glances, it was very clear he had many things he wished to ask. Titus was Cor's friend; there was no possible way Cor didn't know. Titus had no doubt phoned Cor and relayed the entire fiasco.

Cor had hesitated that day, and maybe Ignis' suspicions had been correct.

Ignis turned his eyes straight ahead, because Cor already thought him weak. No need to stare at him like a puppy as he had all those years ago and exacerbate those sentiments.

The Citadel came, and when Cor parked the car in the garage and they stepped out, Ignis momentarily felt rather lost. Odd, how things felt so different while looking the same.

Cor came over to his side, looked him over, and then began walking, as if trying to spur Ignis on.

Shameful.

"You been resting at all lately?"

"Here and there."

"That means 'no'," Cor scoffed. "Take a day off, Ignis. You're burning yourself out. When's the last time you took a vacation?"

"What's that?"

"Exactly."

They came out of the garage and into the sun, and the breeze blew in the right way that Ignis caught a faint whiff of the flowering roses that adorned the Citadel walkway. It mingled with the scent of Cor's cologne, and it was stupid and pathetic but all Ignis could think of then was Titus back in his homeland. Standing on the edge of some rocky coastal cliff, purple flowers swaying.

Absurd.

How had Ignis ever let himself fall apart like this?

The Citadel steps came, and Cor turned to look at him, pale eyes lit up beautifully blue and white in the high sun.

"When will your car be ready?"

"This evening."

"Unfortunately, I will be unable to take you there. I'll see if Monica has a moment."

"Don't worry about it, Marshal," Ignis said, feeling ridiculous and like a burden. "I'll catch a Glaive."

Cor's long stare, and then he nodded.

"Good day, Ignis. Take care of yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Marshal. Until then."

Cor bowed and walked off, and Ignis watched him go with a sense of melancholy. Even when Cor looked over his shoulder, Ignis just tried to smile and really couldn't. Felt so miserable.

Forlorn.

The day passed in a blur as the hours ticked away.

And now lied the problem of finding a ride back to the mechanic. Should have called a taxi, really, or tried his hand at Gladio. It was would have been a very easy situation to avoid, but Ignis pulled his phone out and stared at Titus' name.

Ignis did it because he had to, because he and Titus still worked together, still served the same line of Kings, and they were both adults. They couldn't simply ignore each other for the rest of time. There was need to be professional.

So Ignis texted Titus, very formally, very curtly.

'Forgive the annoyance, Captain. I must request a Glaive to drive me out to collect my car from the mechanic this evening.'

Titus' reply was just as formal, and just as curt.

'Very well. I'll send one to you. 17:00 at the front steps.'

Ignis' heart sank, even though it was foolish. Disappointed that Titus hadn't been more...

Well. Didn't matter.

Later that evening, Ignis waited dutifully on the steps when a car finally pulled up and someone got out to come up to him. Ignis finally dared a glance up, and was greatly relieved. Nyx was there, as expected, but without Titus in tow.

Small favors.

Nyx bowed his head quickly to Ignis, all business as he usually was, and walked Ignis right away to the car. As Nyx held the backdoor open, Ignis could feel those piercing eyes on him, and wondered how much the Glaives knew. If they knew now, before everyone else did, that Titus had cast him aside.

Ignis kept his eyes on the window as Nyx started the engine and pulled out, and tried very hard not to make eye contact.

A few minutes of silence, before Nyx said, with a scoff, "Never seen you so quiet. Didn't even say 'good day'."

A twinge of annoyance but also embarrassment, and Ignis waved a hand shortly in the air and said, very curtly, "Good evening, Nyx. How are you?"

Dutiful as always, even if his heart was breaking.

Nyx just droned back, "Better than you, from the look of it."

Of all times for Nyx to actually want to open his mouth.

Nyx kept glancing at him relentlessly in the rearview mirror, studying him, and it was one of the more mortifying moments in his life when Nyx suddenly asked, "How's the Captain?"

Knew then that Nyx knew, that the Glaives knew, or, rather, that they thought they did.

Agitated and frustrated, Ignis gave a snippy sigh, and uttered, "How should I know? You're the one that sees him everyday."

"Yeah," Nyx replied, very unbothered by Ignis' tone. "I do. But seein' someone everyday doesn't mean I really know how they're doin'. Just thought I'd ask. He's in a mood, too."

Ignis looked over, at last, to see Nyx ever glancing at him in the mirror.

Maybe it was because he once more felt a ridiculous ember of hope stir to life that Ignis met Nyx's eyes in the mirror and said, more snippily than he meant to, "Subtlety doesn't become you, Nyx. Say what you want to say."

"Alright, alright," Nyx scoffed, fingers drumming the steering wheel.

Ignis hoped, pathetically, that Titus was in a mood because he too felt that loneliness. Regret. That maybe Titus missed him as much as he missed Titus.

After a minute of gathering his thoughts, Nyx cut right to the chase and asked, "You two get into a fight? This is the first time in years he's made me think he actually might break my legs. Says it all the time, but these days I think he might actually do it. He hasn't smiled in weeks. Not that he smiles all that much, ya know, but I've never seen him this mad. He just kinda stares off. Doesn't talk."

Ignis stared away at Nyx, pulse racing, and it was so stupid but Ignis tried to cling to anything, anything at all. Could never be, but Ignis could at least take Nyx's words and hold onto that lifeline. That there could have been a chance in the future for some sort of reconciliation.

Impossible, but Ignis was desperate and foolish.

"And dare I ask what makes you think you have any right to know about our personal lives?"

Our—never had been 'ours', but Ignis said it anyway.

Nyx lifted his chin, undaunted, and retorted, "'Cause your personal life could interfere with mine if I actually do get my legs broken."

A joke, a tease, as Nyx tried to settle Ignis down, but it just wasn't working that time, and Ignis sniped back, "If you do as you're told you won't have to worry about fractured femurs, will you?"

Nyx seemed to accept that he wasn't going to be able to salvage Ignis' mood, and mercifully fell silent.

For a while, anyway.

When they pulled up to the mechanic and the car started slowing down, Nyx spoke up one final time.

"Whatever he did, think about givin' him another chance, won't ya?"

The vehicle hadn't yet come to a full stop, but Ignis grabbed the handle anyway and all but leapt out of the car, leaving Nyx and his sudden nosiness behind.

Another chance! Hardly.

Titus had been the one who had sent Ignis away, not the other way around.

If Titus was in a mood, then it was just because Ignis had ruined a nice routine that they had developed, and Titus had lost something that had warmed his bed. Nothing more.

Ignis collected his car and drove home, and he didn't know what it was, exactly, that did him in. Could feel it building up, everything washed up like a wave, he couldn't seem to break above the surf, and when he made it to his flat and parked his car, it just came up out of nowhere. He pressed forward, pushed his forehead onto the steering wheel, and burst into tears.

Couldn't remember ever crying.

Titus had wrecked him.

This was the way it had to be.

Ignis loved Noctis, he did. Loved him more than life, loved him all the way. Would have without a single hesitation laid down his life for Noctis, and would have been happy and proud to do so. Noctis was all he needed in this life, he knew that, had always known that, always, but oh...

Trying to sleep, knowing that there was no one out there thinking about him—

The only way, but the most difficult to swallow.

Missed Titus' hands.

He had done the right thing. That, he knew. He was so certain.

Then why did he feel so miserable?

For the first time in his life, Titus felt regret.

Deep and honest regret, and it was strange because Titus knew he had done the right thing by sending Ignis away. That was the way it had to be of course, the natural course of action, the only way, but he regretted it all the same.

He had done the right thing.

It was safer for everyone, but he couldn't very well try to explain that to Ignis. As much as Titus had never wanted to hurt Cor, he had wanted to hurt Ignis even less. Never in a thousand years had he thought Ignis would have fallen in love with him. He hadn't seen it coming. A failure on his part, one misstep.

He had expected Ignis to send him away at last, not ask him to stay.

And for an awful moment, for one weak minute, Titus had almost said 'yes'. He had almost cracked, and then he remembered Ardyn, always watching and waiting, remembered the task that lay at hand, remembered what he needed to do, and remembered that Ignis was far too great a distraction.

If Titus had said 'yes', then what? What came next? A relationship? That wedding everyone wanted? Titus becoming so smitten with Ignis that the thought of harm coming to Ignis might have bent iron Titus' will? That if it came to it, and Titus went to strike Regis down and Ignis had leapt in front to defend the King, that maybe Titus would have pulled back. That Titus might have allowed Regis the chance to escape, to defend himself, if Ignis happened to be in the way.

That couldn't be.

He had done the right thing, oh yes, and even knowing that, Titus still lied in bed and stared at the ceiling and wished more than anything that Ignis was there to run fingers over his scars and hair.

Seeing Ignis and not being able to touch him—that was tortuous.

He lifted his eyes in the Citadel and watched Ignis fly down the hall, following him with his gaze, and felt the twinge of longing. Couldn't be, but Titus pined all the same.

If Titus thought he had been pathetic in love, then he couldn't even begin to describe how hopeless he was being loveless.

Absolutely disgraceful, in every possible way.

Regis and Clarus had made no comment, and Titus hoped that no one had noticed yet. Now that he and Ignis had been in the public eye for long enough that everyone was used to it, there was less scrutiny. No one stared at them as much anymore, and it would take far longer for people to realize that they weren't together than it had for people to realize they had been.

Not together.

Never had been, not really, and so it shouldn't have bothered Titus as much as it did.

The Glaives were really the only ones who noticed at all, and that was only because Titus had snapped at them more in the past two months than he had in ten years. Swore to the gods above he actually almost lunged forward one day with every intention of grabbing Libertus by the collar, tackling him to the ground, and snapping his leg.

Felt it there in his chest, that anger.

Irritation.

Sure were on their best behavior these days, the miserable lot of them, and Luche was kissing ass more than ever. Nyx was staring away, always staring, and Crowe seemed to be deep in thought.

Titus hoped they weren't up to something, and likely most of them weren't, but Nyx might have been an exception.

As several new recruits were falling from the top of the building in terror, Titus watching them dutifully, Nyx came slinking up. Titus saw him coming long before he got there, and only stood still because he actually liked Nyx.

Nyx saddled in next to him, stared over at him, and yet remained silent.

For gods' sake.

After a minute of Nyx's silent staring, Titus glanced at Nyx from the corner of his eye, and muttered, "Did your last brain cell just burn out?"

Nyx snorted, and finally said, "A long time ago, sir. I was just wondering how you were doing."

Titus rolled his eyes, and snipped, "You my mother now? I missed the adoption signing."

"No offense, sir, but if I was your mother I woulda permanently grounded you."

A screaming recruit thudded into the ground a bit harder than necessary, and Titus barked to Tredd, "Hey! Who the hell was watching him? Eyes up!"

Tredd jumped and stopped staring at Nyx schmoozing and looked once more at the trainees.

"Cut to the chase, Nyx," Titus griped, as he stared Tredd down. "I ain't got all day."

Nyx stared at him for a while, then turned his eyes back up, before finally uttering, as he walked away, "I was just gonna say that it's never too late to ask for a second chance. Sir."

Titus snapped his eyes over to Nyx, who was already a good distance away (to save his legs, no doubt) and felt that awful rush of hurt, pitiful as it was. He took a step to the side, and had almost rushed after Nyx to grab his arm and haul him back to ask, 'Did he say something?'

That day Nyx had been sent out to pick Ignis up; Titus had always wanted to ask if Ignis had said something, but was far too proud.

He bit it down, buried it, and tried to carry on.

Tredd kept on glancing at him, and it eventually annoyed Titus enough that he walked back inside and into his office.

No rest for the weary, though, for there was a knock on the door several hours later.

"Come in," Titus called, though he would rather have said, 'Go away.'

The door cracked open, and a head poked in.

Titus lifted his eyes, tired as they were, and griped, "What do you want now?"

Luche stood there at perfect attention, and said, with no hint of shame, "Sir, I was wondering if I might assist you with your workload. You've seemed a bit overwhelmed lately."

What was all of this? Had Nyx and Luche gotten fuckin' married and adopted Titus, because that was news to him and he had a few qualms about that, thanks a lot. He had let the Glaives come too close, had let them get too invested in his personal life, had played with them too much, and now suffered for it.

"My hero," Titus drawled, with every bit of sarcasm he could summon, and Luche might have smirked a little, as if even he knew he was being a suck up.

Even so...

Titus contemplated, wondered, and because Titus knew that every single man could have many different uses, Titus played along. If Luche wanted to preserve his femurs, that was all well and good, if Luche was just trying to creep in and get a sense of Ignis' availability, fine, if Luche just wanted Titus to praise him a little, whatever.

Luche was amongst the more invaluable men he had, if only because Luche had more than one brain cell, which was more than could be said of Nyx.

Every day was one day closer. Titus hadn't been given an exact date for the fall, no, didn't know yet the full details, because it was all still in the works, may have yet been another ten years off, but it was never too early to start getting his eggs together.

Titus reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a folder, and set it on the desk.

"Here. You wanna impress me? Work on that."

Luche came forward, grabbed the folder and flipped through it, and asked, "What is it?"

"Theoretical assaults. I've been mapping every possible Imperial advance I can think of, and our response to it. Some I've finished. Some are in the works. Take these, and see if you can come up with a counter-assault. I didn't make them easy. If you can find a way to utilize the Glaives and come up with something that can stop a full fleet of dreadnaughts, then I'll be impressed."

Luche smirked away, tucked the folder under his arm, and said, so surely, "I will, sir."

Luche was nothing if not ambitious, and certainly had drive.

Titus eyed him, and asked, "Is it your wish to be commander one day, Luche?"

"Yes, sir. I would go so far as to say that I would one day even hope to replace you as Captain when you retire."

Titus couldn't help but snort, because Titus enjoyed Luche's willingness to do whatever it took to advance himself. Luche was a smarmy bastard, yeah, but he was a hard worker and, unlike Nyx, obeyed all orders.

In his heart, Titus would have liked to see Nyx become Captain, but it didn't matter in the end because neither one of them would ever be, for before Titus retired the Kingsglaive would be a thing of the past.

"Get to it, then. If you impress me enough I'll promote you to Sergeant."

Luche's face lit up, an offer of power there before him, and it was very easy to see how seriously Luche took those words.

"Thank you, sir," Luche said, far too happily, as he saluted. "I'll bring them back first thing tomorrow morning."

Titus rubbed his fingers into his temples, and muttered, "I'll be waiting with bells on, Luche."

A snort, and Luche was gone.

Titus checked his phone; nothing there.

Ignis would have also very happily attempted to come up with counter-assaults, tactician that he was, and Titus' mood sank ever more as he stared at the closed door.

In the inner breast pocket of his uniform, Titus carried that embroidered cloth.

The next morning, Luche returned the folder, looking so confident, and Titus spent the day flipping through clever Luche' s efforts. They weren't half-bad. Actually, they were pretty damn brilliant, and Titus was pleasantly surprised. So he kept his word, and the next week he promoted Luche.

When it came time for Insomnia to fall, Luche could take those brilliant strategies of his and turn them around, because Titus could read people and knew that Luche would stand on whatever side Titus felt inclined to keep him on.

Everything seemed on course.

The time would come soon, and so Titus couldn't figure out why his head wasn't screwed back on yet. Why he was still thinking about Ignis, and why nothing seemed to have changed in the way he felt.

Every day felt like eternity.

If he had done the right thing, then why did he feel as if he were sinking under? Should have felt free, relieved, knowing that nothing now could have gone wrong. He didn't feel that way. Just felt lonely and sick.

August faded into September.

Still, Titus' chest felt heavy.

He passed Ignis in the hall, and it took every bit of effort he possessed not to reach out and grab him. To pull him in and say, 'I didn't really mean it.'

Being in love with Ignis and thinking it was one-sided was one thing, but knowing now that it had been reciprocated just twisted that dagger. Thinking that maybe he hadn't been such a fool, after all, because Ignis had felt that way, too.

He sat in his office on the second day of September, and pulled the cloth out of his pocket. He studied it, ran it through his fingers, and his mind ever whirred away.

Contemplating ways to make sure Ignis would be out of harm's way. If for whatever reason Titus couldn't escort Ignis out of the city, thinking of other ways, other people. Luche could always come in handy, and maybe if Titus was simply unable, then Titus could put Ignis in Luche's hands and allow sly Luche to get him out.

Or maybe...

He drifted in and out of focus, set the cloth aside, and picked up his pen, turning his attention to his paperwork.

Cor, of course, could have always been trusted to get Ignis out of the city, but the problem with Cor was that Cor would need a good reason first, and Titus would have a hard time giving him one.

Or maybe Monica—

Oh, for fuck's sake, why was he still on about this? The entire reason he had rejected Ignis had been so that he could focus on literally anything but this.

It hadn't worked.

Titus shook his head, and tried to get Ignis out of it.

That didn't work, either.

It couldn't be.

Couldn't be.

Titus' pen steadily started slowing down, and eventually fell to a complete halt. He fell to a halt as well shortly after, staring blankly down at the paper beneath him, pen inert in his lax fingers. A crinkle in his brow, a pursing of his lips, a swallow.

Couldn't be?

Well. Said who, really? Ardyn?

If Titus had let Ignis throw off his plans, change his mind, distract him from his task, sway him, turn him, that would have been one thing. But Titus had never intended to let that happen, that wouldn't happen, nothing could have ever changed his path, so why couldn't he have both? Why couldn't it be, if Titus were smart about it? Knowing now his weaknesses and his vulnerabilities and better able to plan around them accordingly.

Titus had fallen into the trap, but now knew how to operate it.

Titus was in love, and there was no reason that he couldn't be in love and still do his job.

Home. Ignis.

Didn't have to be one or the other, didn't have to cancel each other out, didn't have to leave room for only one. Home or Ignis? No. It could be home and Ignis. Ignis in his home, because when Insomnia fell Ignis would need a new one.

Titus had always planned to go home when his services were no longer needed, when his land was free, and he was just now realizing that he could take Ignis there with him, if he played all of his cards right.

Titus didn't need to worry about faltering, about Ignis defending Regis, because Titus always had been and always would be smarter than that. Ignis wouldn't be in the city when it fell. Noctis would be outside the wall, and come hell or high water Titus would make certain that Ignis was right out there with him. And if something happened, if something went wrong, if somehow Ignis were to remain inside of Insomnia, then Titus could work around that. He had so many Glaives at his disposal, could have used any single one of them to make sure Ignis was anywhere other than near Regis.

Titus was always prepared for any situation.

Ignis wouldn't ruin the plan, and so why couldn't Titus have him?

Titus could stand there right now and say that he would have protected Ignis today as fervently as he would have three months ago—so why bother keeping him away? If he felt the same for Ignis even after dismissing him, then clearly he hadn't accomplished what he had wanted to. Did it matter if they were together or not, if Titus would have worked behind the scenes equally to toss Ignis out of the city?

Not a damn bit.

Nothing had changed, and he realized that, then, as he yet fretted over Ignis' safety.

And if nothing had changed, then nothing needed to change, and therefore Titus could have carried on with Ignis there beside of him.

As it always was with Ignis, Titus came up with a million excuses, and when he drove home that night, he lied in bed and came up with a million more.

What could he say? He was a man, he was weak, and he was in love. Couldn't stand it anymore, no one there to coddle him, no one there to give him affection, no one there to tease him.

So when dawn broke, Titus sat up in bed, inhaled, and steeled his will. He had made this bed, and would lie in it now, whatever it would cost him down the line. He never started any venture without accepting full responsibility for the consequences, and this was no different.

In his mind and heart, Ignis was his, and that was the way it was going to be.

Home—

Who said Ignis couldn't go there, too?

Titus marched.