Chapter 14

Sun and Moon

December.

Titus found himself in the clouds more than ever these days.

Stupid, he knew, but this little domestic dream he had found himself in was remarkably important to him all the same. He had already committed himself to Ignis, had accepted at last that he had fallen, and intended now to go all the way. Seemed natural, then, that Titus should ask Ignis to move in with him. The logical next step, though it may have been too soon. Ignis was over here all the time anyway, so Titus didn't see it as such a drastic ordeal. Nothing outrageous.

Besides, having Ignis under his roof, when the time came, would make it easier to determine where he was and when and why.

So that morning, as Ignis bustled over the stove, Titus swaggered up behind him, grabbed Ignis by the waist, kissed his shoulder, and cut right to the chase as he always did.

"You like staying over here?"

Ignis didn't hesitate, and replied, "Of course. In spite of your awful snoring."

Titus rolled his eyes, and retorted, "Says the one who steals the blankets all night and nearly kicks me out of the bed. I have bruises from your heels."

"You must be mistaking me for someone else."

Titus kissed Ignis' cheek, then bit his ear just to make him squirm, and when Ignis was smiling away, Titus went all in.

"At the risk of being kicked to the floor every night for all eternity, I still feel the need to ask; would you consider humoring me and moving in?"

Ignis' smile fell, he looked shocked, abandoning the pan to writhe in Titus' arms until they were face to face.

Was he nervous? Nah—couldn't be. Was just anticipation, that was all. Titus certainly wasn't nervous.

Ignis stared up at him, eyes flitting restlessly over his face, as if judging his sincerity, and after a moment, Ignis softly uttered, "Am I humoring you, or are you humoring me?"

Ignis was shifting, restlessly, and Titus assuaged his nerves by pressing their foreheads together and clarifying, "It would please me greatly if you would stay here. Despite my snoring."

A pass of relief on Ignis' face, and then Ignis broke into an absolute beam, the widest and most breathless smile Titus had ever seen on Ignis, who strove for such composure at all times, and it was as if seeing the sun rise. The prettiest smile he had ever seen0, and he knew then what he would continue to strive for. Would have done almost anything to see that smile again.

For future needs, Titus added, with a kiss to Ignis' forehead, "Make no mistake; if anyone has ever been humored, it's been me. You've given me far too much leeway as it is. Nothing I would ask of you is insincere."

Ignis' blinding smile softened into something much prettier, and he took Titus' face in his palms as Titus so loved for him to. Titus pushed their foreheads together again a bit too enthusiastically, mighta accidentally head-butted Ignis more than anything, but Ignis was far too content about Titus' invitation to care.

One day they would stand like this in some other land, with no skyscrapers on the horizon.

Could have easily stood there like that all day, until the breakfast behind started burning and Ignis very hurriedly shoved Titus away and tried to salvage it.

And that was that. So easy. Who knew this was all so easy?

Titus felt then as if he had been avoiding relationships for naught. This didn't seem like the arduous ordeal he had anticipated. He knew that sometimes a man saw only wanted he wanted to see, but still he felt confident in his ability to hold this all together. Ignis exalted Regis, would have defended him against even Titus, but one day Ignis would look back on everything and realize that it had all been for the best, for the greater good, for the world entire.

Several days later, Ignis had transferred all of his belongings into Titus' house, and the garage had two cars.

Astounding.

Titus watched Ignis settle in, with that same sense of calm and wonder he had felt long ago when he sat and watched the moon over the sea.

Ignis fell into his role very quickly, very easily, and sometimes when Titus looked over it felt as if Ignis had been there all along. As if Ignis had always lived here, had always belonged here, because he fluttered about so easily. It felt in some way as if they had been this way for a hundred years.

They found their feet around each other very quickly, and developed their own routines.

One of Titus' favorite pastimes was to come home and pretend to be exhausted so that Ignis would coddle him and fuss over him and rub his shoulders a little. Ignis wasn't blind to him, but humored him.

Titus knew he was had when he collapsed atop Ignis on the couch one night, and Ignis said, as he happily gripped Titus' shoulders to knead, "You know what you remind me of? Monica's cat."

Titus snorted, head hanging low as Ignis massaged him.

"How's that?"

"She has one cat that fakes a limp whenever it wants extra attention. As soon as she coddles it, the limp mysteriously vanishes. That's what you remind me of."

Titus just kept his eyes closed and smiled away, because there was no point in denying it.

Ignis, for his part, seemed to be attempting to 'tame' Titus, as the tabloids cheerily claimed, but was having a bit of difficulty on that end. Titus was set in his ways, very stubborn, very hardheaded, very unwilling to bend, and for the life of him Titus just didn't understand why it was so imperative to Ignis' very existence that Titus match his goddamn socks in pairs and fold them accordingly.

Swore every time Ignis opened his dresser and saw half-folded clothes strewn everywhere, socks mixed up and some of them inside out, it was as if some part of time and space itself was ripped apart from the look on his face.

Titus kinda liked it, though, when Ignis would grab handfuls of loose socks and barge up to Titus to shake them in his face and bitch, "What is this? Why do you do this?"

Because he always had, but nowadays Titus just grunted, "To piss you off."

It worked, and for being so perfectly composed at all times outside of these walls, in home life Ignis was remarkably easy to rile up. Titus absolutely intended to take advantage of that, because it amused him.

When Titus came home, he stripped his uniform off and folded it and set it atop the dresser, but his undershirt and underwear and socks he would just kick off and leave in a crumpled pile on the floor as he made for the shower. Habit. Who cared? He had always been alone.

Ignis cared, obviously, for he heaved a great sigh as he bent over and picked up Titus' crumpled shirt from the floor, and then his underwear, and then his socks.

"Titus!" Ignis chided, "You are aware that there's a perfectly good hamper in the bathroom?"

Titus stepped into the shower in said bathroom, and called, "Yeah, that's for laundry day."

Ignis came walking into the bathroom, arms full of Titus' dirty laundry, and he scoffed, "That's— That's not remotely how this works!"

Titus poked his head out of the shower, as Ignis tossed Titus' dirty clothes into the hamper, just in time to see Ignis crinkle his nose and shake his head. Because he really did like to piss Ignis off, he snatched out, grabbed Ignis' arm, and said, very seriously, "Take your phone out of your pocket unless you want it ruined."

Ignis' eyes snapped open, but by then Ignis had learned that Titus meant every word he said, and he fumbled his phone and wallet over to the counter just in time before Titus dragged him fully clothed into the shower. Multitasking was another one of Titus' specialties, and Ignis wasn't really complaining all that much anymore when he was stripped and lifted right up, legs tangling in place around Titus' waist like the spider Ignis was.

Both of their clothes were in the hamper afterwards, and for that at least Ignis was content.

Who knew having a housewife could be so much fun?

...fun?

Titus didn't remove his boots immediately one day, tromped over the freshly mopped floor in the foyer, and Ignis had come right up to him, him, Titus Drautos, Captain of his Majesty's Kingsglaive, and with absolutely no fear had grabbed Titus by the ear and jerked him back to the front door. Titus had been utterly aghast; even his mother had never snatched his ear like that. Ignis had forced Titus to remove his boots, and then forced him to mop up his footprints. Titus had obeyed, staring at Ignis with nothing less than breathless awe. Who the hell else would ever dare? The huffy mood Ignis was in, however, made for a great night later.

Titus had disobeyed Ignis' order to organize his dresser, and had once more thrown his loose socks every which way. When he plopped down beside Ignis later on, as Ignis sewed up a seam rip on Titus' slacks, Titus gasped and jerked himself sideways when Ignis intentionally thrust his hand out and tried to stab Titus with the needle. Thing came right at his damn neck, he swore it, and at Titus' appalled look, Ignis just snipped, so primly, "I've told you a thousand times to fold your socks." Titus gawked away, riled up as much as Ignis, reached out to snatch Ignis' hair, and dragged him forcibly into the bedroom, and not to organize socks.

Titus had dipped into Ignis' personal stash of coffee, and had nearly gotten a chef knife swung at him. Ignis didn't have many strict rules, but there was one that was apparently a death-sentence to disobey : Never touch the Ebony Ignis hid away. Right.

Yeah, definitely fun, in spite of his near-death experiences.

If Titus had thought Cor was a dragon bowing to a swan, then what the hell did that make Titus? Ridiculous, absurd, to ever think that High Commander General Glauca was out there somewhere, engaging in some perfectly normal domestic bliss.

Would Ardyn come calling soon? Titus honestly tried not to think about it, and before long was very successful. All that mattered was the endgame; what he did until then was his own business.

Titus contentedly watched Ignis watching him, and sometimes Ignis made him feel so happy that Titus momentarily forgot that Ardyn and Glauca even existed.

Hopefully sooner rather than later, they wouldn't.

Never wanted Ignis to stop smiling at him.

Life was absolute hell these days.

Cor stared at the wall over his morning coffee and felt so out of sorts. Away from himself. Lost in the woods. Stupid, pitiful, shameful—he knew it. Knew that dwelling on it was useless, he knew that, knew that he should just let it go, knew that there was little he could do about it.

Just let it go; so much easier said than done.

He did his duty. He excelled in his job. He got up in the morning and dressed and drove to work and trained his students and served his King. He did everything he was supposed to do. Outside, he was ever the Immortal. Perfect and untouchable.

At home, Cor fell apart and stare off into space and felt no motivation to lift his hand.

As long as Cor performed his duties with no falter, no one would have ever known what a wreck his head was.

Still, every time he passed a newspaper stand, he glanced over. Shouldn't have, he knew that too, but he looked anyway. His friend, there for all to see, caught smiling in public. Cor should have been happy for him, but instead every time he saw a tabloid it felt as if someone had punched him.

Just when things couldn't seem to get worse, Cor found himself walking along with Regis and Clarus down a corridor, chatting with each other as they had so many other times. They hadn't noticed anything amiss about Cor, because Cor's face was ever blank. No one asked Cor if he was alright, because he was always 'alright'.

And then Cor heard Regis say to Clarus, that freezing December morning, "I heard a curious thing yesterday, Clarus."

"Oh?"

"It seems Ignis has not renewed his apartment lease. He's moving out."

A pang of hurt in Cor's chest, as Clarus snickered and smiled.

"Is that so! Wonder where he's going..."

Regis' leer was strong.

"I wonder, indeed. He hasn't signed a new lease anywhere else. And he isn't staying with Noctis."

"He isn't staying with Gladiolus," Clarus added.

Well, then...

It was obvious, and Cor's already trampled heart sank ever more when Regis happily supplied, "Suppose that only leaves one place, does it not?"

Clarus snorted, and said, teasingly, "One less bachelor pad amongst the council. It's about time the Captain settled down and thought of something other than work."

Cor stared off blankly into the distance, as his friends unintentionally broke his heart.

Regis wondered aloud, "How long do you wager before Titus puts a ring on it?"

Oh—

"I'm sure the council will start taking bets on that soon. I, for my part, give him... Ah. I'll be generous and say a year."

Regis waved a hand and said, "Clarus, you dream! Two years. Even the Captain has nerves."

"Doubt it," Clarus teased, and Cor felt into a trance as he tried so hard not to ever imagine Titus getting down on a knee. Clarus shoved Cor's back suddenly, and said, "Hey! What about you? If Titus of all people can settle down, then surely you can. You're just a little more tolerable. When are we going to see your face on the tabloids?"

Numb and dazed and feeling so lost, Cor just looked around a bit, and walked away.

Didn't know what to say, because he scarcely knew who he was and what he wanted.

More tolerable than Titus? That was a lie; Titus was the better man, clearly, for he had been the victor. Not that there had been a challenge in place, not that they had been in open competition, but Cor always felt second best, when he could look at the city entire and watch it fawn over the Captain. Having a personality went a long way, and Titus being able to show his made him the more tolerable one.

Cor carried on about his day, as he did every long day, and couldn't get that out of his head, he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else. That stupid image of Titus getting down on one knee.

He knew he wasn't being reasonable, he knew he wasn't being fair. Acting like a child, because Titus had bested him.

His entire life, he had walked towards Titus, not away.

Cor had wanted to turn around that day, but in the end his wounded ego had forced him onward.

He lied in bed, stared off into nothing, and wondered what Titus' home was like now that it had someone else in it. Cor had planned out his own flat being rearranged, and no doubt Titus had happily shifted his entire existence around to accommodate someone else.

Someone else.

The New Year came not so long after.

As they did every year, the council and high society gathered atop the Citadel, dressed to impress and standing above the rest of the city. A cold night, but very clear, a nearly full moon. A few stars actually visible, even over the heavy light pollution of Insomnia. Cor dutifully attended the event, as he did every other, dressed for the cold and standing off near the stone wall to look over the lit up city.

Looking over the city, after all, was much easier than turning his head and seeing Ignis huddled into Titus' side for warmth.

The great television screen above counted down the hours until midnight, the band was off playing in the background, people chattering, mingling, and Cor glanced over his shoulder very frequently even though doing so stung.

Titus was in his uniform tonight, because he was technically on duty. In full uniform, and his half-cape had turned into a very efficient blanket for Ignis, as Titus wrapped it over his shoulders and kept him tucked in. They whispered to each other, and Cor felt that awful twist in his stomach.

How normal they were.

Ignis had his phone pulled out, held up in one gloved hand as he swiped over who knew what, as Titus offered a word here and there. Whatever Ignis was showing Titus was a mystery, and even though it was stupid, Cor couldn't help but imagine that they were looking over wedding venues. All anyone seemed to talk about these days, that imaginary wedding the city was planning.

Was it really imaginary?

Once more, in his head Cor could only see Titus getting down to his knee, and he prayed to the gods that that wouldn't come to pass tonight.

Would have been a great time, though, to be fair.

The great aquarium lit up the stone floor in shades of blue, ultramarine, light shimmering and dancing about, and Cor could only watch Ignis and Titus murmuring to each other beneath the blue. Ignis' hair, tinted cerulean as he rested against Titus' chest. Titus' grey eyes, suddenly teal in the light.

Cor was blue, too.

People wandered past him and greeted him with bows from time to time, and Cor drifted away from the wall over into the shadowy corner. As he had moved, Titus had lifted his eyes from Ignis to follow Cor, and Cor had seen him so plainly but had still turned his head.

Let it go; he wanted to. Just couldn't seem to find the motivation.

Every so often, Titus would glance at Cor, and aside from Monica it was really only Titus who remembered at all that Cor was even there. Ignis had greeted Cor once upon exiting the elevator, and he hadn't looked over to Cor one single other time the entire night.

They were in their own universe, it seemed, Ignis and Titus. Every time Ignis would walk away to chat with someone else or go for the champagne, Titus would follow him with his eyes, always guarding him even in such a safe place, and Cor didn't miss how Titus would stand up on his toes a bit whenever Ignis briefly went out of sight.

The sun, always hopelessly chasing the moon across the horizon.

When Ignis inevitably returned to Titus' side, Titus settled down, and his soft smile came right back up.

The counter finally hit zero then, and one more year was suddenly behind them. Midnight. Everyone cheered, champagne sloshed, people kissed, the bang of fireworks exploding into the air, and Cor's chest hurt when Titus leaned over and kissed Ignis' cheek.

The fireworks lit up Insomnia from above. Embers, trailing down from the sky as everyone watched. Everyone watched the fireworks, except for Cor. As always, he just hung in shadows and watched Ignis.

But so did Titus.

Behind, Titus' Glaives were smiling openly as they stood guard, and Regis and Clarus were whispering to each other. Gladiolus and Noctis were chattering away in the corner. Monica and Dustin were laughing. Everyone else stood with their own groups, their own friends, their own partners, happily enjoying the fireworks above and celebrating.

Only Cor stood alone. As always.

Titus stared at Ignis long after Ignis had taken up his glass and resumed watching the fireworks, and once more Cor saw far too much of himself in Titus. Breathless and captivated. In love. So elated to be near someone that nothing else going on around seemed important. Titus stared at Ignis and seemed to be helpless to look away.

Once more, that awful image snuck into his head, and that time it was much easier to visualize, because if ever Titus got down on one knee, Cor knew now what the expression on his face would be.

Could see it there so easily.

Thankfully for Cor's fragile sanity, Titus just inhaled and finally turned his eyes up to the sky, and Cor breathed a sigh of relief. The fireworks show went on for a good half-hour, and the entire city celebrated. Seemed only one man was mourning, but no one would have guessed. Every time Titus looked at the fireworks, Ignis would turn his head and look at Titus with that same expression of adoring tranquility. When Ignis looked back at the sky, Titus would look at Ignis. Back and forth, all night, and Cor realized then that the ship had sailed. There was no longer any game, no uncertainty, no fling, and therefore no hope for him. If Ignis was the lighthouse, then Titus' ship was already safe in the harbor while Cor was still lost in the stormy sea.

Just the way they looked at each other—there was no room for Cor.

Seeing Titus' face that night, seeing him like that, catching him in that more vulnerable state...

'I miss you', Titus had said, and Cor felt that way, too.

Let it go.

Maybe he couldn't let it go, but he could walk around it. Couldn't drop it entirely, but could learn to carry it more easily. Time to once more walk towards his old friend, and not away. He had lost, there was no one to blame, and there wasn't a point in losing Titus, too, and bring himself more misery.

And so, even though it hurt, Cor swallowed his pride and ego and three days later set out.

He stood inert in a corridor after council, and waited for Titus. He missed that insufferable ass, he really did, and was ready to make amends.

When Titus came around the corner, Cor stepped to the side, standing in the middle of the hallway and making himself as big as he could to deny Titus passage. Titus saw him in an instant, and slowed his pace. No doubt Titus was always waiting for Cor to punch him in the face, and oh, Cor had thought about it many a time. Titus was probably even leery of Cor drawing his katana, for his stance stiffened up just a bit as he walked towards Cor.

When they were chest to chest, Cor blocking the passage, Titus met his eyes and said, somewhat stiffly, "You the hallway monitor?"

Cor lifted his chin, stared Titus down, and kept his face stern when he replied, very drolly, "Yeah. Where's your pass?"

A very long, very thick silence.

Titus seemed to be attempting to discern whether Cor was playing with him or not, and Cor knew that wasn't easy because his face showed no emotion.

Titus hesitated, likely because he was reluctant to get into a fistfight there in a Citadel hallway, and Cor couldn't blame him because if it had been Titus that had blocked Cor in order to force him to talk, Cor absolutely would have clocked him.

When Cor had gotten his fill of Titus squirming, he put his hands in his pockets as he did when he was nervous, took a step forward, and uttered, quietly, "I realized that I desperately need a drink, and I don't have anyone to go to the bar with tonight."

Titus' eyes widened, his lips parted, and Cor thought that Titus might have turned his back on Cor then as Cor had on him. Cor had walked away from Titus; it would have been fair for Titus to get a hit in and do the same.

He didn't.

Titus swung his hand forward, clapped Cor on the arm, left his hand there, and whispered, "You askin' me out?"

A twinge of hurt, cast aside.

Cor eyed Titus up and down, and griped, "Yeah, guess so. I got terrible taste."

Titus shoved him, gently, and for one moment there it seemed as if they had never fallen out in the first place.

"Don't worry," Titus teased, as his hand ever lingered, "I clean up real well."

Titus didn't seem in any rush to let Cor go then, and Cor knew that it was because Titus had meant it when he said he had missed him. Cor felt the same, yeah, but he didn't want to have an emotional meltdown here for the world to see, and so he took a step to the side, and said, "I'll call you later."

Titus watched Cor as he sidestepped and began walking, and Titus called to his back, "Don't forget! Please."

Please? Didn't hear that too often from that behemoth.

To assuage him, Cor looked over his shoulder and vowed, "I won't."

Titus was watching him go, turned fully in Cor's direction, smiling and face quite relaxed. Soft. A pang of jealously, that Cor could look at Titus and see so easily what he was feeling, an ability he envied. Titus knew Cor better than anyone else, and yet even he hadn't been to tell if Cor had been playful or aggressive in that moment.

Sad.

Cor kept his word, and called Titus later.

He had just wanted to tell Titus where to meet him, but every time Cor tried to hang up, Titus would start talking again, about nothing at all, and Cor humored him because he knew that Titus hadn't had anyone else to talk to in Cor's absence.

Took a while, but he finally managed to get Titus off the phone and into the city.

Cor arrived first, settled down at the bar, and stared blankly into his beer as he waited for company. How strange; it had been so long now, over a year, since he and Titus had interacted. Time wasted, really, for no good reason.

When Titus walked into the bar, Cor wasn't shocked to see him wearing that old jacket. Never could let it go. Sometimes, in spite of how much Titus had changed, Cor could look at him still and see that lost little kid from all those years ago, standing forlorn and bloody on the street.

A hand on his back as Titus sat down next to him, and that hand stayed there.

Cor looked over, observed Titus, and grunted, "You lied to me. You don't clean up at all."

Titus smiled then, and it was one of the few times in their lives that Titus' smile was genuine, bright, enough to show his teeth and crinkle his eyes. A surge of guilt—hadn't really meant to cast Titus aside. Cor had been hurt, was all, and lashed out.

Cor added, as Titus smiled at him, hand ever heavy on his back, "Hope I'm not keeping you from something."

"Nothing in this world could keep me away from you. That's what you get when you go picking up mangy strays from the street; they follow you for the rest of their lives."

Cor glanced at Titus' jacket, back up, and said, to save face, "Don't worry. I'll take you out back soon."

Titus laughed at that, ordered a beer, and they fell back into their old routine as if nothing had ever happened. Two soldiers sitting at a bar, drinking. No one would have looked at them then and known that one was celebrating and one was mourning.

It was awkward, a little stiff, as they tread around each other so carefully, and Titus in particular seemed very uncertain as to exactly how free he was to be himself around Cor in that moment. How much he could say, how far he could push, how easy it would be to set Cor off.

Titus looked over at Cor, eyes soft and face relaxed, and he opened his mouth to speak before abruptly falling still.

Titus was cautious, and so it was Cor who finally bit the bullet, and said, so lowly that his voice momentarily gave out, "So what's it like not being a bachelor anymore?"

Wanted to know, and didn't.

Couldn't even stand thinking about it, but it was a part of life now, and one that Cor would just have to learn to accept. Titus was his friend, and typically friends had a care for each other's lives in all aspects. Couldn't be friends with Titus and never once speak about Ignis. Unavoidable, so it was best to just start working towards building his wall ever higher.

Titus turned his head, averted his eyes from Cor, and it was in that moment that Cor knew for certain that Titus had known all along how Cor felt. A little rush of anger, forcefully pushed right back down. It was done and over; no point.

Titus was painfully silent for a very long time, and when he spoke at last, it was only to whisper, very softly, "You do realize that I didn't...do it intentionally."

Yeah. He did, and had all along. Ignis had apparently gone after Titus, not the other way around, and so Cor couldn't blame his failing on anyone but himself.

Still, it was a grand struggle to concede, and whisper back, "I know."

Titus looked over again, their eyes locked, and it was Cor that time who reached out and clapped Titus' back and left his hand there. Titus leaned in just a bit, perhaps subconsciously, and despite the hurt and jealousy under the surface, Cor was damn glad to at least have Titus back, if only a bit.

That Titus had caused the injury to begin with meant little in that moment.

Titus suddenly uttered a laugh, still leaning into Cor's shoulder, and then he said, so breathily, "Do you remember when Regis got married, and you and me were fighting over who would get to be the best man?" An awful hammering of Cor's heart, at the direction Titus may have been heading. "And then we realized it was a royal ceremony and there was no such thing? How upset we were. Didn't we say that we'd..."

Titus trailed off, and Cor knew why.

Because after that royal wedding disappointment, they had told each other that, if by some miracle either of them got married, the other would be the best man.

Oh, why was Titus bringing that up?

Cor hadn't even wanted to think about it. Once more, there was that mental image, and Cor wondered if Titus had already bought a ring and had it stashed away.

Titus didn't finish his sentence, Cor put back his beer and ordered something harder, and they passed the rest of the night in relative silence. It was best just to get used to each other again, Cor supposed, as Titus had to carefully pick and choose what to say so that he wouldn't unintentionally break Cor's heart.

Cor had a million questions he wanted to ask, but that he didn't actually really want to know the answer to.

Couldn't sit there in good conscience and ask, 'Hey, so what's it like having someone else in your bed? Having someone to wake up next to? You know, that guy you knew I was in love with but went for anyway? What's it like to have someone notice you?'

Titus didn't seem remorseful, no, but then he didn't need to be. Cor wouldn't ask him to be, either, because it was really Cor that should have been apologizing, for acting like a scorned child and ignoring Titus so immaturely.

Before they parted ways that night, though, Titus stepped forward and embraced Cor, very quickly and very stiffly, pulling back before Cor could actually return it. Was probably afraid to be punched yet, Titus, and he just clapped Cor's shoulder, starting walking off, and called back, "Let's do this again soon, alright? Call me. Anytime."

Cor watched him go, and when Titus was no longer visible Cor finally uttered, weakly, "Alright."

He would.

Because it was the only way to carry on. The way things had to be.

The path had to be walked, regardless of how unpleasant it was.

It didn't matter if Titus and Ignis stayed together. Didn't matter if Ignis moved in with Titus. Didn't matter if Titus got down on one knee. Didn't matter if Cor one day received a wedding invitation. Didn't matter if years might have passed and there was only happiness. Didn't matter if Ignis would have stood by Titus very happily until the day of Titus' death. Didn't matter if Ignis would have loved Titus beyond that and stood dutifully by Titus' grave as faithfully as he had Titus' side. Didn't matter if Ignis never saw anything aside from Titus for the rest of his life.

All the same, in spite of it all, Cor would always hold a torch.

Always.

Even if Ignis never noticed Cor, Cor would forever be in love with him, and would never extend his hand to anyone else. He would never step in between them, would never actively seek to force them apart, would never tell Ignis how he felt as long as Ignis stayed by Titus. Never—Titus was his friend.

Yet he could hope all the same.

He hung there in limbo, torn between the desire to see his friend happy, and the desire to see himself happy. Fumbling in the dark down this long, lonely road.

Even so...

Cor clung to hope yet, however dark the horizon, and felt guilty for it.

Titus, smiling.