Chapter 15

Wishful Thinking

The gossip had calmed considerably lately.

The tabloids had gotten bored of Titus and Ignis about six months after their first night out on the town, and now only published articles perhaps every month or so. Ignis was exceptionally proud of the fact that, in their first full year now as an established couple, Titus had only broken six phones, three cameras, and one nose.

Well—six confirmed phones. Was likely closer to a hundred, for Titus had taken Ignis' suggestion to heart and had gotten a little too trigger happy with flicking his hand and shocking everyone and everything (Ignis included) within a three meter radius. As it had been with Noctis, people learned quickly to give them space.

All things considered, Ignis found it an accomplishment.

Ignis was no longer a stranger to the Glaives. Without the need for discretion, secrecy, Ignis came and went as he pleased into Glaive headquarters, and by now everyone was so used to it that Ignis once more blended into the background like the wallflower extraordinaire that he was. He came sometimes late to help Titus finish up paperwork, because it helped Titus get home faster and also because Ignis liked to meddle in all affairs and see how things worked behind the scenes. Ignis was already adept at council and the Crownsguard; learning how to operate the Kingsglaive would one day be useful to him.

An odd lot they were, that was certain. From many different regions, under as many different circumstances. Ignis hadn't realized how few Glaives were native Insomnians. Perhaps a small handful, and all the rest were immigrants. Ignis could walk into HQ and feel like he had gone to some great cultural parade; so many different appearances, so many different fabrics and trinkets attached to their uniforms, heard so many different languages muttered lowly in corners. Fascinating, if nothing else.

He tried not to interact with them too much, for the sake of professionalism, but would always offer a greeting to Nyx if he happened to be there. Owed the man at least that, he supposed, for his...helpfulness. Sometimes, Ignis would saddle up next to Pelna, who Ignis found still to be the most approachable man in this building.

Only one person ever approached Ignis.

Wasn't any surprise as to who.

Luche was ever charming, ever smooth, and Ignis was actually quite impressed by how brazen and fearless Luche truly was. The man stood there in front of his superior and openly chatted up and flirted with said superior's partner. Had no shame, that man, but supposed that was part of Luche's charm.

Titus watched Luche like an absolute raptor, never lifted his pale eyes from Luche, and it was because Ignis honestly feared for poor Luche's legs that he always quickly squirmed away and left him behind. Luche was catty and bold, too much so, and Ignis didn't wish to see harm befall him on his behalf. Titus looked good and ready to snap some tibias, fibulas, and femurs every time Luche thrust his chest out. If Luche had actually reached out and touched Ignis at any point, Ignis was fairly certain Luche would have been permanently held up in the intensive care unit of Memorial Hospital.

One day in November, Ignis had been coming by in the early afternoon, because he had free time and wished to get a jump start on Titus' paperwork. He had spied Nyx in the corner, but didn't go to greet him because Nyx was with Luche and some other Glaive that Ignis saw frequently but didn't know. He meant to carry on by, but Luche whistled at him, and when Ignis glanced, Luche was waving him over.

Too polite to refuse, Ignis heaved a sigh and went over, and was certain he saw Nyx roll his eyes.

Luche looked around a little, no doubt for Titus, and Ignis was very taken aback when Luche slid Ignis a piece of paper. Ignis very hurriedly tucked it in his pocket so that Titus wouldn't abruptly appear from nowhere and see.

Knew what it was, somehow, and Luche confirmed by saying, so helpfully, "Call me if you ever wanna go have a drink or something. Strictly professional, of course. Or just to chat. You ever need help with the Captain or something, just give me a call. I may not know everything about him, but I know the work side of him. Come have a drink with us all sometime!"

Indeed.

Strictly professional, sure, Luche would absolutely keep his hands to himself in a bar when he could barely keep his hands to himself right here in front of his Captain.

Nyx scoffed very loudly, slapped Luche on the back of the head, began hissing away in what was likely Galahdian, and Ignis tried to distract himself by addressing the other man.

"I'm afraid we haven't been introduced. Ignis."

Ignis stuck out his hand, it was taken, and the man, glancing worriedly at Luche and Nyx hissing like cats at each other, grunted, "Libertus. Sorry 'bout my friends."

With that, Libertus jumped into the catfight, and Ignis watched the three of them without a single bit of comprehension. It was an interesting language, certainly, and Ignis was rather fond of the heavy trilling and guttural affricates. Amusing, as well, anytime Nyx looked remotely alert and awake and somewhat alive, and so Ignis watched them argue and was painfully aware of Luche's phone number in his pocket.

He already had Nyx's number by now, and Pelna's, too; hardly a big deal. Titus absolutely would not pitch a fit were he to see Luche's number in Ignis' phone, surely not.

...right.

Luche suddenly slapped Nyx's hand away, turned back to Ignis, switched languages, and happily offered, entirely out of nowhere, "Sorry 'bout that. Hey—you wanna learn some Galahdian? Might be interesting for you. Seems up your alley."

Ignis lifted his brow, and didn't get a chance to answer, for someone else spoke up.

"Considerate offer! I'm certain that you would absolutely never abuse that power in order to say things your Captain won't understand."

Nyx smirked as Titus came marching up, arms swinging heavily at his sides and shoulders squared, puffed out to his impressive full size and eyes intent. Luche, to his credit, didn't cower at all, didn't back down, didn't flinch, and smiled easily as he met Titus' gaze.

"I would never, sir! You're mistaking me for someone else. This is purely in the interests of cultural appreciation."

Titus quirked a brow, smiled ever so slightly, as Ignis leeringly looked back and forth between them. Ever the treat to see the Captain interact with his men, and more so two absolute mules like Titus and Luche.

Titus looked Luche up and down, and uttered, "Luche, your endless ability to throw out believable excuses for any possible situation is the only reason I keep you around and in one piece."

Luche smirked, smugly, bowed his head, and said, so smarmily, "Thank you, Captain!"

Titus was quick to thrust himself in between Ignis and Luche, and quicker to push Ignis back with his chest and force him to move along.

When they were in the elevator, Ignis glanced at Titus and teased, "The Captain isn't threatened, surely?"

Titus scoffed, held his head high, and drawled back, "Hardly. Merely attempting to keep the saliva off your heels."

As he often did, Ignis purred, "My hero."

"Don't let Nyx hear that," Titus grumbled. "He'll pitch a fit. He's the only hero in this building, according to him."

Well, good, Titus and Nyx could pitch fits together and wear each other out and then maybe Ignis could get a day of complete relaxation.

However dishonest Titus may or may not have been when he declared himself 'hardly' threatened, Ignis still put Luche's number into his phone when Titus was in the shower, because there was no real reason for him not to. Luche was a Glaive, Ignis was living with the Captain, and it didn't seem unusual to him. When Ignis texted Luche so that he would have his number in turn, Ignis did add, at the end, a note to be professional.

Luche was obedient, and weeks later in late December Ignis had yet to receive an unsolicited text or call.

Good. All was well.

And it was very silly, yes, an utter pipedream, but Ignis couldn't deny that he was a little disappointed that there had been no formal request for his hand. Ridiculous, yes, but the entire city was abuzz with wedding chatter and maybe it had gone a little to Ignis' head.

Every time he and Monica crossed paths, her eyes always flew first down to Ignis' hand.

One year and three months officially together, a year longer unofficially; people got engaged far quicker than that, didn't they? Ignis was optimistic, but never got his hopes up too high.

As if Titus would ever wish to marry. The man already had everything he wanted.

Ignis helped Titus with his paperwork one night, glancing very frequently at Titus, over and over and over again, and didn't know what he expected. Titus caught him staring, and eventually asked, "Do I have something on my face?"

No, and nothing in his hand, either.

Ugh—shouldn't keep mulling over it.

Ignis just straightened up a stack of papers, and finally muttered, "Nothing at all. Merely your face upon your face."

"Sorry about that," Titus teased, and Ignis called it a day.

He left Titus behind, annoyed and agitated for no reason at all, and when he got home, he went about tidying up just to keep his hands busy. When he went into the upstairs bathroom, however, his agitation magnified tenfold.

Opening the door to see that somehow a pipe had started leaking heavily beneath the sink. Water everywhere, and before long it would start leaking right through the wooden floor and to the living room below. Joy of joys. Delightful.

Ignis trudged back downstairs, went into the garage and searched about for a toolbox, because of course a man like Titus would have a well-equipped toolbox. He did, as a matter of fact; too well-equipped. Ignis stared down at the thousand varieties of wrenches and screwdrivers and...whatever they were called. Far from his department, and he pursed his lips and just grabbed one of each of anything that looked remotely useful and scaled the stairs. He took off his socks, rolled up his pants above the knee, took off his shirt, and stepped grumpily into the freezing water coating the bathroom floor.

He did throw down every towel in the house to salvage the floor.

When he fell to his knees and crawled under the sink, Ignis quickly realized he was very out of his element, no clue at all what he was doing. He contemplated calling Gladio, but pride stopped him short, for Gladio already treated him so delicately and the last thing he needed was for Gladio to condescendingly attempt to guide Ignis over the phone on how to use a blasted wrench.

He'd figure it out, sooner or later. Wasn't rocket science, as they said.

Famous last words.

Should have been a simple feat, but the wrench didn't fit and so he had to go back and grab another one, and then that one didn't fit, and by his fourth trip back into the garage Ignis was feeling his blood pressure rising and would have liked nothing better than to start throwing wrenches at the wall and grab several cups of coffee.

He persisted nonetheless, so long in fact that Titus returned before he could accomplish anything.

Ignis was muttering under his breath and entirely frustrated by the time Titus came home, and Ignis was so focused that he actually didn't notice Titus was there at all until he heard a laugh. He glanced up, and saw Titus leaning there smugly in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and smirk strong. Ignis felt a rush of red to his face, because he realized how ridiculous he must have looked; sitting there shirtless on the bathroom floor, arguing aloud with a pipe and hair sticking out in every possible direction.

Ignis could only narrow his eyes at sneering Titus, and then gripe, huffily, "What are you looking at?"

Titus snorted, and drawled, "A lost cause."

Well—! Hmph!

Annoyed and irritated and wet and grumpy, hands aching and in a mood, Ignis pulled himself to his feet, tossed the fifth wrench aside, lifted up his chin, crossed his arms, and snipped, "Well, then! You do it!"

Titus broke into a smile at that, far from offended, and pushed off the doorframe to swagger forward.

Ignis turned his head away rather huffily, and Titus reached out, grabbing his chin and trying to force his gaze. Ignis glared away at Titus, who kissed his damp nose and said, condescendingly, "Get back in the kitchen, dear."

Worse than Gladio!

Ignis' glare didn't set Titus ablaze, alas, and Ignis 'hmph'ed and snipped, "Gladly, darling!"

He wasn't offended anymore than Titus, if only for the chance to hear Titus call him 'dear' in whatever manner it may have been, and he grabbed his shirt from the counter, stomped out of the bathroom, and right back into the kitchen where he was very happy being, thank you very much.

Needed coffee, immediately.

He snatched an Ebony, cracked it open, started chugging, and flew right back upstairs in less than a minute.

He leaned in the doorframe to imitate Titus' posture, crossing his arms. Titus, always eager to show off, removed his own shirt to imitate hopeless Ignis in turn, flexed his biceps a bit, rolled up his pants, and made a grand show of wielding the wrench and twisting the loose pipe into submission.

Thirty blasted seconds, and Titus had fixed the leak.

Ignis pursed his lips and glowered, and Titus tossed the wrench in the air in show, saying, so smarmily, "Works better if you use the right end."

Ugh.

Ignis was annoyed, yes, but a shirtless Titus was always pleasant, so Ignis turned his narrow eyes instead down to Titus' exposed pectorals and abdominals, covered in that nice layer of dark hair.

Yes, yes, very well, then. He could live with this.

Titus knew what he was looking at, pulled himself to his feet, flexed a little more, and teased, "How long were you messing with that?"

Another tint of pink on Ignis' face, and he very pointedly averted a direct answer by grunting, "I did the leg work for you."

Titus lidded his eyes, raked Ignis' legs up and down very heatedly, and murmured, "You are good at leg work."

Titus swaggered towards him, shoulders swaying and chest puffed out, and Ignis pretended not to be remotely impressed. When they were face to face, Titus leaned down, and whispered, very huskily, "Next time, just call me. Wouldn't want you hurting yourself or ruining your pretty hands."

Pretty hands, eh? Clearly not pretty enough for Titus to put a bloody ring on it—

He really was in a mood.

Ignis waved Titus off very visually, and found his wrist suddenly snatched up in Titus' lightning quick hand.

It was Ignis who lidded his eyes then, looking pompous Titus up and down, and Titus added, just to rile Ignis a bit, "I do the heavy lifting around here. Leave the wrenches alone, won't you?"

Oh-ho!

Ignis lifted his brow and shot back, "Heavy lifting, indeed. Don't think there's another man out there that could fix a leaking pipe nor work a wrench! You're truly one of a kind, Captain."

Titus narrowed his eyes, and retorted, "Sure eluded you, didn't it?"

"I would have gotten it eventually."

"After the water started dripping through the floor to downstairs."

"I imagine you also know how to fix a ceiling."

"Better than you do," Titus griped, as he grabbed Ignis' other wrist and suddenly had him pushed back against the wall.

...that was probably true.

Still, arguing occasionally with Titus brought Ignis great joy, because neither of them ever conceded and so the argument usually carried on all the way into the bedroom, where Titus tried very hard to be the victor. And that was exactly what Ignis liked.

So Ignis very brazenly said, "Next time, I'll simply call Nyx. He can manage just as quickly, I imagine, but with far less ego."

Titus scoffed at his audacity, and gave Ignis a gentle slam into the wall.

"Nyx? Less ego? Those words don't belong in the same sentence." Ignis nearly snorted. "But all that aside, try calling another man and see how that works out. I'm very territorial."

Ignis knew then that he was leering, couldn't help it, and Titus' stern face threatened to crack.

This was going to be a very good night.

But Titus actually was very territorial, if his stalking gaze at headquarters was any indication, which was why Ignis had tossed Nyx's name out rather than Luche's. Mentioning Luche at all would have riled Titus up in all the wrong ways, and that fight might have been the first one to ever go from playful to serious.

It was only inevitable in a relationship that a fight would occur between them, but Ignis would delay it as long as possible.

Tonight wasn't that night, for Titus lifted him up against the wall, always striving so hard to show off, and muttered, "It's a shame how hard I have to work to keep your mind off of all these younger men. No rest for poor old me."

Ignis rolled his eyes.

Wanted to say, 'Well, maybe a ring would be a good start to deter all of these imaginary 'younger men',' but didn't feel like giving the old man a coronary.

If Ignis had any younger suitors, Luche aside, then let them show themselves, because Ignis had never seen a one. No one aside from Titus and Luche had ever noticed Ignis in any romantic sense, and only Titus would have ever dragged Ignis into a relationship. Gods only knew why, but here they were.

The New Year was coming; he would remain optimistic.

So Ignis just heaved a beleaguered sigh, grabbed Titus' face, and rumbled, "Then don't rest now. My mind is wandering."

The tease worked, as Titus bristled out and literally carted Ignis off into the upstairs bedroom.

That night, though, threatened and combative Titus became a bit too enthusiastic. Ignis was very used to Titus tossing him about like a doll in every corner of the room, he was used to Titus knocking him around, was used to Titus roughing him up and bruising him, and sometimes he felt like a glorified football or stressball for Titus, happily so, but that night somewhere along the line Titus made one wrong move and pulled Ignis' arm behind him at the wrong angle.

An awful, searing pain in his shoulder, and Ignis knew it had been dislocated.

Yet another joy on top of all the others.

Ignis cried out at that, but it didn't matter much given how firmly his mouth was muffled by Titus' palm. He reached up with his other hand to grab Titus' wrist and try to pry him off, to be able to speak up, but there was no hope in budging him.

Iron Titus could never be moved unless he moved on his own.

In the end, all Ignis could do was grit and bare it, trying very hard not to cry as Titus pummeled him senseless, his arm still wrenched back behind him. Long, agonizing minutes as Titus panted in his ear, too intent to notice the pain Ignis was in. Felt like eternity. At last, a guttural grunt, a gasp, and Titus fell still, collapsing fully upon him and panting into the back of Ignis' neck. Another long minute later, Titus' palm finally fell down, freeing his mouth, and yet Ignis found himself silent then, teeth clenched and eyes squinted and trying very hard to control his breathing.

Don't slap Titus, don't slap Titus, don't slap Titus—

The urge was strong, but luckily for Titus, slapping him would have required too much movement and that might have hurt just a bit too much.

Mercifully, Titus noticed that Ignis was in pain, and yet didn't seem too concerned as he kissed Ignis' shoulder and asked, softly, "Did I hurt you?"

Not an abnormal question given Titus' violent tendencies in the bedroom, certainly not the first time he had asked such a thing, and his voice was relaxed because Ignis always denied any injury.

Not this time.

Ignis merely whispered, very thinly, "I believe my shoulder is dislocated."

Omitted was the, 'You miserable, discourteous, son of a catoblepas!'

Silence.

Titus lied there in stillness, as if he hadn't quite comprehended, and then Titus lifted his hand, ran his palm gently over Ignis' shoulder, and when he felt the dislocation, there was a sharp gasp, very uncharacteristic of Titus. A rush of cool air as Titus rolled off of him and grabbed his left arm to pull him upright, yanking Ignis back in between his legs, back pressed up against Titus' damp chest.

Titus' voice was a bit higher, a bit thinner, when he whispered, "Sit still. I'm going to have to pop it back in. Forgive me, I— Hold still."

Ignis clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes and braced himself, trying not to think about it too much as Titus' hands found his joints and readied them. Wouldn't be the first time Titus had shoved some dislocated joint back in place, for sure, also likely after having caused the injury to begin with. At least Titus hadn't broken his leg—

A sudden, violent push, and Ignis couldn't help but shriek a bit when Titus forced his arm back into place with one more shove, when the first was unsuccessful.

Gods! Don't slap him—!

The joint was in, though, that much was certain. Easy to feel. A rough palm running restlessly over his shoulder, feeling and searching, and Ignis just hung his head and sucked air in through his teeth as he tried to settle down before Titus began feeling too bad about it, now that the urge to slap him had mostly dissipated.

When Titus knew the problem was rectified, he embraced Ignis from behind, pressed his face into Ignis' neck, and began whispering endless apologies.

"Please, forgive me, I didn't mean to do that. I should have been more careful. It wasn't my intention to hurt you—"

Ah, had a Glaive ever heard such a thing? Ignis thought not.

Charming, that very soft, very nervous tone of voice, and irritation faded. Couldn't stay mad at Titus, he had learned that long ago, and particularly when Titus was squirming like that.

"Hush," Ignis finally murmured, before Titus really did have a coronary, "Enough. No need to fret. It's taken care of. It was an accident. No point in dwelling on it."

Titus scoffed into Ignis' neck, and griped, "Only you would say that. Anyone else would leave me."

"Leave you?" Ignis tossed back, a bit more airily than he meant to. "Being a bit dramatic, aren't we?"

"Hardly. I'm sure a normal person would have called the police on me by now. I feel sometimes as if you let me go too far just to please me. At some point you need to care more about yourself."

Ah, goodness. Never took Titus Drautos for being such a drama queen.

In all fairness, though, Titus did have a point; Ignis did have a bad habit of letting others do what they would if it made them happy. God knew he let Noctis walk all over him, and would have let Titus do anything at all, and was usually quite happy about it as long as everyone else was happy.

Truthfully, Ignis uttered, "I care for myself by caring for others. As long as those above are content, then so am I."

Not the best way to live, but the only way Ignis really knew.

Titus lowered his voice, still very much in damage control, and whispered, "You're too much. I speculate that the reason your parents were from Tenebrae is because the gods sent you to be a messenger of the Oracle. Your patience is otherworldly. I would give a great deal of money to see you truly angry."

A rush of affection, hearing Titus uttering kind words, and teased in turn, "Just be yourself. Eventually, you'll do something to earn my wrath. A man like you."

Titus snorted at that, seemed to perk up, seemed to come around, and Ignis was glad for it.

Titus grabbed his arms, gently, twisted him around so that Ignis was looking up at him, gazes locked, and Ignis could see the concern on Titus' face when he uttered, very lowly and very seriously, "I am sorry. Know that I would never hurt you intentionally."

Ignis just smiled, because it was best to accept the apology and get it over with, and merely replied, softly, "I know. Fear not; I have a great deal of trust in you."

He meant that, and was glad he had successfully not slapped this hopeless behemoth.

Titus was just as eager to accept that, and they fell still, lying in each others arms for a while as the moonlight streamed in through the curtains. Sleep was easily found, despite the throbbing in his shoulder.

Titus was the strongest, most powerful, most composed, most unbending man that Ignis had ever met, and yet Titus seemed to trail behind him the next morning, eyes always upon him and hands ready to reach in and assist at any given moment, and appeared so anxious. Nervous. Titus watched Ignis with that same raptor-like scrutiny he applied to handsy Luche, and Ignis could see that Titus was worried that Ignis really was upset with him, really was thinking about leaving him.

Nice to be the one being doted upon for once, he would admit.

Couldn't say he was in too much pain, although the throbbing ache was quite uncomfortable. It did hurt to raise his arm too high, and yet that pain was very much worth it—when he had tried to reach up into the cabinet for coffee, only to stop halfway with a wince, Titus had come darting forward with intent, taking down the coffee to place it carefully on the countertop.

Ah, yes. He seemed to have a little helper today.

Titus never lifted his eyes from Ignis, and hovered over him as he made breakfast and was very quick to step in and take over any time he noticed Ignis was having trouble. He pulled down all mugs, all utensils, all plates, sometimes running to fetch what Ignis asked for so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

How darling.

It was rather endearing, and so Ignis set Titus to work on the stove. It was one for the books, seeing Titus poking very uncertainly at frying eggs, clearly unused to cooking at all, and when he tried to flip one over under Ignis' guidance, it broke and Titus cursed under his breath.

How adorable. Ignis made sure to enjoy it while it lasted.

When breakfast was set, Titus pulled the chair out for him, as he sometimes did, and Ignis was very quick to scoot his chair over when Titus was settled, just enough to press their knees together. Titus stared at him intently, judging Ignis' honesty from the night before, and after a while Titus gave something close to a smile.

Satisfied, Ignis lifted his coffee, and the day began.

That night, though, Titus was home before Ignis, and when Ignis walked inside, Titus stood up from the kitchen table and stared at him. Stared and stared, didn't speak at all, brow slightly crinkled and lips barely parted. It seemed, in some way, as if Titus were shocked that Ignis had come home at all.

There was little Ignis could do but smile at Titus, and try to convey with his eyes alone that he wasn't going anywhere until Titus asked him to leave.

Titus stared at Ignis for a very long while, and the expression on his face was one Ignis simply wasn't able to pin down.

Hoped, above all else, that it was love.

Be strong, be brave, be true, be hard, and, above all else, bend no knee to anyone or anything unless it be to home and family.

How his father had raised him, and how Titus had always tried to live his life. Always, he had bent only to the needs of his home. Every decision he had ever made throughout the duration of his life had been with home in mind.

Now, Titus found himself bending a knee to Ignis.

If Ignis lived under his roof, then that made Ignis family, did it not? Was it so outlandish of him to think of Ignis in that manner, to view him through that lens? Family was nothing more and nothing less than those who loved you and whom you loved in return, and Ignis was the only person alive now who fit that bill. Ignis allowed Titus to walk all over him, and Titus in turn allowed Ignis to use Titus as a footstool.

So then...

Ignis hadn't left him, hadn't screamed at him, hadn't even slapped him though he had deserved it, and had been smiling as easily at Titus the day after as he had before. It was an accident, yes, but Ignis' willingness to forgive it wasn't what had captivated Titus so.

Ignis trusted him.

Complete and blind trust, all the way, no questions asked, no hesitation, and to have anyone's full trust was a gift that was very rarely granted.

It was then that Titus began seriously considering bending a knee to Ignis in a different kind of manner.

Everyone wanted a wedding, and Titus wouldn't deny that it had been heavy on his mind lately as well. It seemed imperative that he do anything possible to keep Ignis on his side. A husband, after all, was just a bit harder to leave behind than a flatmate.

Ignis' trust in Titus now amplified that urge.

Several days before the New Year, Titus found himself taking a day off and heading into downtown in his plainest civilian clothes, trusty old jacket in place, without Ignis' knowledge. Just as well, to avoid Ignis calling him 'homely' or some such, and Titus perused the windows of shops with a purpose in mind.

Of all things Titus had envisioned himself doing, standing there on the street and staring into the window of a jewelry store was not one of them. Absurd, utterly ridiculous, somewhere he should have never been, and yet somehow in that moment it seemed precisely where he was meant to be.

Didn't even really hesitate, when he made up his mind and grabbed the handle of the door.

He walked in, and the jeweler greeted him very casually. Civilian clothing kept Titus from being recognized then, because the average citizen outside of the royal circle didn't know Titus from any other man. Hell, Titus once hadn't even recognized his own King, so he was hardly shocked. The jeweler seemed to have little interest in him, because, as Ignis had implied, out of uniform Titus really did look like some broke construction worker temporarily huddled under a bridge.

Best to remain incognito, lest a journalist creep up to the window.

The real trial now was just trying to figure out what finicky Ignis would actually want to wear. Ignis would have worn anything Titus gave him, bless him, even if secretly he thought it was the most hideous goddamn thing he had ever seen, and Titus was hoping to avoid that.

Hopelessly clueless, Titus finally lifted his hands a bit helplessly at his sides and said to the jeweler, "I've got the world's pickiest and prissiest hopefully soon-to-be-fiancé, and I have no clue where to start."

A laugh, and the man came out from behind the counter to helpfully guide Titus through this arduous process. Started with the cheapest options, naturally, from the look of Titus, and Titus was very quick to set him straight on how much precisely he was willing to spend; anything. Price didn't matter, as long as it may have been something Ignis actually liked.

That was a very surreal moment in time.

For all of it, Titus found that he didn't feel anxious, nervous, didn't second guess himself, because he had already thrown himself into the fire and was fully aware of any consequences that could come from this foolish endeavor. Titus had already committed, and meant to go all the way. A fantasy, yes, but one Titus would try his best to make a reality. However many lies he had to tell to make it so was hardly an issue. He was so well-adept at lying that he was entirely convinced he could sell his mental fantasy even to brilliant and astute Ignis.

The only thing that nagged Titus, as he ordered a customized ring, was thinking about the awful expression of hurt that would have crossed Cor's face when he heard the news. Cor, who was always alone far more than Titus ever had been. His only friend. They had mended things, mostly, but that didn't change the way Cor felt, and in some way it seemed to Titus as if he were slapping Cor in the face. Wanted Ignis to have a more tangible reason to follow Titus across the world after the fall, but also didn't want to see how it would have hurt Cor.

Wanted Cor to play a part, wanted it so badly, and felt that he could have never asked. He had choked in the bar, and from the look on Cor's face it had been damn good for them both that he hadn't finished asking. How could he call Cor now and ask, as he had truly wanted to before, 'Will you be my best man?'

Could any man ever hope to withstand that? Titus may as well have plunged his dagger into Cor's chest, because to Cor it likely would have felt the same.

Had to stop thinking about it, and focus on Ignis.

Had the roles been reversed, Cor would never have hesitated to buy a ring, and so Titus didn't.

Plain clothes could only save Titus for so long, and the jeweler didn't glance twice at Titus during the entire customization until he finally began payment and asked for Titus' name. Game was up, then, and there was little for it. Dammit all—why hadn't Titus yoinked Luche's card and then wired the bastard the money? Woulda saved him a lot of headache and possible tabloids.

"Drautos, Titus."

The jeweler snapped his head up, eyes wide and looking shocked, and Titus kept his face extremely blank even though inside he scoffed. Shocking, was it? Because Titus had always been alone. It would have been the same reaction had Cor ever come walking into this shop.

Another pang of hurt.

Cor couldn't ever come walking into this shop, not now; Titus had denied him all opportunity.

Tried to push that out of his head, and Titus had the sense then to stare the jeweler down, and say, with dead seriousness, "If I see an article about this in any tabloid, I swear to your ancestors you'll be on the next batch of missing citizens posters. Understood? You're the only one who knows of this, so I don't have far to go to track the source."

The jeweler immediately nodded, pale and wide-eyed, and Titus hoped that would at least buy him some time to get a jump on Ignis before the papers did.

Just needed to gather his nerve first.

He went home, tried not to let Ignis know that anything was different, and waited for the jeweler's call. Time then passed as normal, but Titus thought that Ignis was staring at him particularly potently during the New Year's gala. Kept on staring and staring, and so Titus just coddled him a little extra atop the Citadel. Seemed that no matter how much attention he paid to Ignis that night, however, by the time they went home Ignis seemed a little let down.

Why? Titus had behaved himself and hadn't even raged when Luche had texted Ignis a 'Happy New Year!' (When the fuck had that bastard gotten Ignis' number, anyway?) He was on his best behavior these days, at all times, and so couldn't figure out why Ignis' smile didn't reach his eyes.

Two weeks later, Titus got the call he wanted. He retrieved the ring, threatened the jeweler one more time just for good measure, and stashed the ring and box inside his office desk. Couldn't keep it at home; Ignis cleaned so thoroughly he was bound to come across it, and Ignis was also hopelessly curious and so immediately would have opened it.

Titus just didn't even know how to begin going about it all.

How did a man propose?

Simple on paper, sure, but much harder in practice, and Titus wracked his brain.

But three weeks later, as Ignis' twentieth birthday approached and Titus pondered where and how to make an ass of himself, there was a grand inconvenience.

Word from hacked codes came of an Imperial armada, creeping up the coast from the east.

It had caught Titus off guard, because he had had no knowledge of it, and he knew everything. Titus sat down over a map with his men and drew out their plan of defense, and Titus waited for a clearer picture to come from the Glaives he had sent out to spy.

Came before long.

Eleven Imperial missile cruisers, five carrier ships, and twenty more support ships.

Titus felt the hand of Ravus upon this for sure, because only Ravus would be so...salacious. Ravus liked to pretend he was giving all effort to crush Insomnia just as Titus pretended he was giving all effort to protect it. On that end, perhaps, Titus had always understood Ravus, and knew this maneuver was likely little more than the Emperor breathing impatiently down Ravus' neck and so Ravus had tossed some battleships out just to appease the senile old bastard. A fleet of battleships was fine, but to Titus' knowledge there were no Imperial missiles that yet had the capability to reach Insomnia from such a distance. As if they could have cracked the wall, anyway. The only possible gain was a dropping of soldiers on the coast, but why drop them there when they could just send out airships instead? The Empire had already seized the northern ports; didn't see the point in sending ships to the east as well. Ravus was just appeasing a slew of grumpy old men, and Titus knew well that feeling.

No word from Ardyn; that meant that Titus fought this battle as a Lucian. As Captain, and not High Commander. And that was perfect, because Titus was always itching for the opportunity to wreck some Imperial battleships.

Could still hear that blast from an Imperial turret, so many years later.

Sinking fleet ships was a great joy.

Still...

Such a fleet was no laughing matter, not with the lands beyond the wall falling back farther and farther, and with the Lucian navy long since practically defunct. They had lost control of the sea long ago, and had no defenses beyond the land. Letting them land could be disastrous in the long run, even if the missile cruisers were just for show, and because Ardyn hadn't asked otherwise of him, Titus had no plans to allow that to happen.

Kinda wanted a little more time in this miserable city now, stupid as it was, so he could at least get hitched before it crumbled.

They would intercept the ships, and leaving in two days time would get them there when the ships were close enough to shore to launch an offensive. As he found himself hovering over a tactical map with Luche and several of the more intelligent soldiers, Titus glanced up from time to time, stared at the wall, and thought about Ignis.

Or, more specifically, what would come to pass were he to fall in battle.

So much left unsaid.

Long hours they plotted their counterassault, and Titus crept into his office afterwards, when he knew Ignis wasn't there, sat down, and wrote a letter. Most Glaives carried a letter to their families back home in their pocket, but Titus never had because there had never been anyone to give a letter to. Had someone now, and so he gave all effort to express himself within it. Not enough, because there was no way for any man to ever say entirely what he was feeling, when there was just so much to say.

He sealed the letter in an envelope, folded it, and placed it inside the black box where the ring and its case lied. Something to at least leave behind, were he to never return, something that Ignis could have held and at least found some peace in, hopefully.

He tucked them back in his desk drawer, and went home.

Then came the hard part :

Having to stand before Ignis when he walked in, and say, "I have to go away for a while."

It was one of the harder things he had done lately. Leaving this kid behind and knowing that maybe he just wouldn't come back at all.

The awful crinkle of Ignis' brow and the pursing of his lips.

Ignis didn't need to pry to know that Titus was really saying, 'I have to go to battle.'

Ignis was very quiet, very solemn, and merely gave one very stiff nod of his head. They were both soldiers, at the end of all things, and knew well the risks they ran, though Titus naturally was the only one ever really in danger. He'd do everything in his power to keep it that way, too, whatever else he had to risk along the way.

They were quiet that night. No teasing, no chatter, no playfulness. Just sitting on the couch together and staring off at the wall. Titus was slow and gentle that night, because he didn't want it to ever end, and passed most of the hours with his hands clasping Ignis', fingers intertwined and face buried in Ignis' neck.

Wouldn't be the last time; just had to keep telling himself that.

For one of the first times, the following morning, Titus awoke before Ignis.

He slunk out of bed, dressed quietly, trying so hard not to wake Ignis, and lingered in the doorframe. He glanced over his shoulder, at sleeping Ignis, and stared at him in the dim light of the moon. One final glance, just in case it would be the last. He snuck out then and left Ignis sleeping, because if Ignis had awoken then saying goodbye would be difficult. Better just to slink out quietly, and save everyone the grief.

Titus left before Ignis awoke, and hoped he hadn't denied Ignis his own final glance.

Titus was very aware of his own mortality.

Time now to put being in a relationship to the true test; would it distract him in battle as he had always feared, knowing that someone was waiting for him back home? Or would it motivate him, spur him, give him an edge?

Only one way to find out.

But who to entrust that ring to, should he fall?