Chapter 17

Ever After

There were no longer minutes than those spent waiting for someone who may have not come.

Ignis swore he counted every single one of them in Titus' absence, and oh did they ever drag. Staring off blankly in council, glancing from time to time at Regis as if he would magically have word. Staring at the door at home and waiting for it to open. Checking his phone even though he knew there would be no message.

Sleeping in bed alone, with only Titus' t-shirt next to him; the longest nights of his life.

On the sixth day, Ignis went begrudgingly to bed as he had the other nights before, collapsing down and yanking Titus' old t-shirt over. The faint scent of Titus' cologne was hardly any consolation, and could never make up for a warm body.

Sleep was fitful. Uneasy.

He awoke with a start in the middle of the night. Couldn't say precisely what had jolted him. A noise perhaps, and when he glanced at his phone and saw it was three in the morning, he was very ready to hunker back down and wait for dawn and hopefully word.

A floorboard creaked.

Ignis sat up at the waist, sleep-shocked and dazed but pulse already racing, and Ignis leapt out of bed so quickly that he tripped over his own feet and slammed his little toe into the bed frame. Heard the blasted thing crack, yelped a little, and couldn't have cared less as he bolted into the living room. Darkness. No light on. An awful sinking of his heart, as he assumed he had once more been hearing things in his loneliness.

And then he realized that someone was lying on the couch.

Oh—!

Ignis skidded over to the wall, flipped on the light, and there he was, at long last, collapsed on the couch and head turned to stare at Ignis.

An electric stare, as Ignis froze up in nothing less than ecstasy, and then Titus whispered, "Sorry. I was tryin' not to wake you."

His broken toe was throbbing, aching, sharp pain shooting up, and Ignis ignored it to run right over, slide down onto his knees, grab Titus around the neck, and haul him in. He pressed Titus' face into his chest so forcefully that Titus likely couldn't breathe, but there was no resistance. Titus was probably too tired to even move and would have just let Ignis suffocate him if it came to that.

A very long minute, and when Titus' hand finally lifted and fell atop Ignis' back, Ignis assumed Titus wanted some air. He pulled back, and Titus smirked up at him, ever so confident, and he was quick to utter, tiredly, "Just can't be without me for a minute, can you?"

Instead of teasing back, Ignis ran a hand over Titus' messy hair and affirmed, "No. I suppose I can't."

Titus' smirk faded, his face fell, and for a moment there Ignis was very certain that Titus seemed rather gloomy. Melancholy.

Looked an absolute wreck, hair matted to his head with dirt and sand and saltwater. Could smell the sea on him, his black uniform was torn and grimy, new cuts on his hands and brow. Ignis looked Titus over, and fussed, worriedly, "Why did you come home like this? Didn't you see the medic?"

Titus, eyes very lidded with exhaustion, just whispered, "I sent my men to the hospital."

That wasn't what Ignis had asked.

Titus had made the very conscious decision to forgo following his Glaives to the hospital, and had instead come home in this filthy uniform, covered in sand and blood as he was, to make an absolute mess. Titus hadn't even removed his boots, and Ignis knew that it was because Titus was so helplessly exhausted but all the same Ignis griped, "You couldn't even remove these filthy garments, could you, before you lied down."

Titus' weak leer.

"Nah. I like pissing you off."

Obviously.

When Ignis placed his palm atop Titus' breast as he meant to lean over and kiss the insufferable mule, there was a sharp inhale and a slight wince. Ignis withdrew his hand immediately, panicked more than he needed to, and carefully lifted up Titus' undershirt. Cuts and gashes everywhere. Looked a bit like shrapnel shards that had grazed by, far too close for comfort, and then smaller cuts and breaks that were likely from overexposure to seawater.

Little to do then except patch Titus up himself, as Titus had declined professional medical attention for whatever reason. He pulled Titus up at the waist, removed his overcoat and shirt, and Titus was ever cooperative. Ignis darted to the bathroom, grabbed up every medical supply in the house, and Titus' eyes were closed when he returned.

Not asleep yet, though, for when Ignis went for the largest wound on Titus' breast and began cleaning it, those pale eyes were once more staring him down.

Ignis glanced up at Titus as he cleaned the gash, and finally asked, softly, "Why didn't you go with the others to the hospital?"

Titus stared at him, so calm despite it all, and after a while of looking over Ignis' face, he whispered, "I just wanted to come home. It wasn't life-threatening. No need to take up the doctors' time. They're already overworked."

"As are you," Ignis grumbled.

Titus made no comment, happily staring at Ignis as Ignis played nurse and patched him up.

When Ignis removed Titus' boots and sand-filled socks, he yanked down Titus' pants and felt his mouth fall open.

It was one of Ignis' more surreal moments, when he scoffed to himself, looked back up at Titus and said, very drolly, "Titus, you are aware that there's a bullet-hole in your leg?"

"Hm! That had occurred to me."

"And remind me again why you didn't go to the hospital and instead chose to come here and exsanguinate all over the upholstery?"

Titus gave a weak snort, and rasped, "Because where else could I hear you chastise me for exsanguinating all over the upholstery? Once in a lifetime opportunity."

"Let us hope so," Ignis grumbled back.

"It's been mostly treated."

Ignis inspected, and could see that 'mostly treated' meant crudely packed with soaked through gauze. Had never actually seen a bullet-wound, felt quite overwhelmed, and knew his voice was low and concerned and likely frantic when he met Titus' eyes once more and uttered, "This is far beyond my ability to mend."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You need to go to the hospital."

Titus stared away at Ignis, as he sometimes did, and then he tried to smile.

"I'll go tomorrow, if it will calm you."

"Now would be better."

"Tomorrow. Just let me spend tonight with you."

A rush of affection against the fear, and as always with stubborn Titus, there was little else to do but hold on and be dragged along. Titus bent for no one when his mind was set, and Ignis could only sigh and help Titus sit up.

"Very well," he conceded, crankily. "But at least take a bath, won't you? You're filthy. Come."

Ignis grabbed Titus by the arm and hauled him to his feet, and it hurt a bit to see Titus walking along with that limp, even though his face showed absolutely no pain. Titus would never admit when he was hurt, would never allow any true injury to show, and Ignis supposed he could only get used to it. It was no easy feat, to be with a Glaive. A man of war.

Titus was enough of a handful on his own, without the risk of death. Luckily for Titus, he was quite worth the inhuman amount of stress he caused. Ignis was going to have as many grey hairs as Regis after just a few years with this lummox.

A bath was the plan, yes, but there was a snag; Titus stopped walking, turned to Ignis, and pressed forward and very harshly and abruptly kissed him. And that was all well and good until Titus just as abruptly collapsed, and he was far too heavy for Ignis to catch him correctly and they fell to the floor in a heap.

Titus was unconscious, and Ignis heaved a sigh, as he squirmed out from beneath the heavy oaf to sit up at the waist and place his hands on Titus' back.

Oh, this man...

Hopeless.

Ignis sat there for a long while, an unconscious Titus splayed out over his lap. He mulled it over, thought about it, and Ignis felt very justified when he pulled out his phone. It was the middle of the night, yes, but all the same Ignis made a call.

It was a very calculated risk that he took then.

The call was answered very quickly, and a sleepy, raspy voice came over the line.

"Hey— What's wrong?"

His free hand resting yet on Titus' back, Ignis uttered, very matter-of-factly, "I need...someone. I have a very unconscious Captain on my hands. Who do you men call when a Glaive is out of commission? I didn't want to call civilian lines."

A scoff, and then Luche grunted, wearily, "Sit tight. I'll sort it out. Is it life-threatening?"

"No."

"Alright. Text me the address. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Thank you, Luche."

"Anything for you. I mean, anything for the Captain."

Ignis snorted, rolled his eyes, and cut the call.

Little to do then but to sit tight. Ignis squirmed out from under Titus, and felt a bit cruel leaving him there on the floor, but, alas, Titus was just too heavy to easily move. Ignis did dart to the dresser and grab some of Titus' old clothes, to avoid having him hauled off in only his boxers. Not an easy feat to dress him, but Ignis had much will and therefore a way. Ignis stayed near him after, checked him frequently, and waited.

Titus hopefully wouldn't pitch a fit later that Ignis had called Luche, of all Glaives. Ignis hadn't called Nyx because, well... Nyx didn't seem the sort to do well on a phone call, and at the end of all things Luche just seemed a bit more clever and resourceful. It was Titus' fault! He was the one always saying that Nyx was one lone brain cell away from growing roots.

There was a knock on the door a half hour or so later, and Ignis opened it to see four Glaives, Luche amongst them. A van out in the drive.

Luche lifted his chin and gave Ignis one of those very patented smirks, and Ignis looked Luche up and down before griping, "You look even worse off than your Captain. Perhaps we should load you up as well." Ignis squinted, leaned in, and breathed, "Is your hair burnt? What in the world were you lot doing? Go to the hospital with him."

Banged-up Luche scoffed, smoothed his indeed very singed hair, and grumbled, "Nah. I did my hours in the hospital already. Bailed as soon as they said I wasn't dyin'. You know, the Captain isn't gonna be happy you called us."

Ignis waved a hand dismissively, as the Glaives came in and began carting Ignis' unconscious mule away, and he meant it when he said, "You say that as if I care! I assure you, I am less than afraid. He's the one who knows better than to press his bounds."

Luche looked Ignis up and down, very pointedly, and began backing towards the door, seemingly very pleased when he replied, "You got some fire in you, that's for sure. Guess that's why the Captain follows ya around like a moth."

Oh? Seemed that Ignis was the one following Titus, not the other way around, but it was nice to hear all the same.

Luche turned on his heel, Titus was loaded up, and Ignis hung in the doorframe and called, "Will you call me when he's settled in?"

Luche waved a hand, and affirmed, "I will!"

As an afterthought, Ignis chidingly called, "Take care of yourself, too! Spend the night in the hospital as well."

That time, Luche waved far more dismissively, and then they were gone.

Little to do then but wait. Ignis plopped down on the dirty couch, and nursed his broken toe with a wince. Not the best week he'd ever had in his life, but Titus was alive and mostly well and therefore there was little to complain about.

Come dawn, Ignis received a text from Titus.

'How dare you? You lay me up and didn't even bring me breakfast in hospital bed. On my way home. See you soon.'

Ignis rolled his eyes, because of course Titus was already on the way back.

When Titus marched through the door shortly after, looking half-dead, he was very quick to kick his shoes off so as not to incur more of Ignis' wrath. He was dressed in the grey wife-beater and sweatpants Ignis had tugged him into last minute, hair sticking out everywhere and face so coated in stubble that Titus now had a full-fledged beard.

The man had certainly seen better days.

Ignis looked gruff Titus up and down, and lidded his eyes to condescendingly ask, "Feel better?"

Titus just as condescendingly sneered and griped back, "Unfortunately. The two bags of blood helped. I guess. But if you wanted to get rid of me for a little longer, you could have said so."

"Yes, but then your death is my fault and not the Crown's, and that's simply far too much paperwork and hassle for even me. I occasionally let others do my dirty work."

Titus limped forward, grabbed Ignis' collar and nearly throttled him, lowering his voice to teasingly threaten, "Careful! You're on thin ice, kid. Your mouth gets smarter every day. It's odd; it's your worst trait and yet your mouth is also the only reason I keep you around."

Ignis scoffed, rolled his eyes, and uttered, "I'm...angrily flattered."

Their barbs exchanged, Titus matched Ignis' 'angrily flattered' with 'angrily affectionate', and kissed Ignis' forehead while still attempting to strangle him with his own collar.

And then pale and wan Titus looked utterly exhausted, and let him go. Ignis was quick to usher him to the bed, where he threw the blanket atop Titus and then all but tethered him there for the next several days. Titus wouldn't allow himself days to rest, and so Ignis simply forced him—sometimes, it was just that easy.

Besides, Titus wasn't complaining when Ignis put his smart mouth to work.

In the meanwhile, Ignis crept into Titus' office and tried his best to keep up with paperwork.

Titus recovered slowly but surely, as Ignis hovered over him endlessly and doted upon him. Someone should have coddled Titus a little. Astrals knew the man had earned that, at least that.

Every time Ignis changed Titus' gauze, Titus stared at him so potently that Ignis swore he was a breath away from being set ablaze. It seemed that Titus always had a million things up in his head and only ever vocalized about six of them. Part of Titus' appeal, really, was just how hard it was to figure him out at any given time.

When Titus had been home for five days, he finally sat up in bed, and from the look he sent Ignis, Ignis knew it was time to let him be. Alas. Ignis allowed Titus out of bed and back into normal life, and by then the limp was barely noticeable. Rest had done Titus good, as had a shave and haircut, and he looked back up to speed.

Work and life resumed.

Several days later, however, Ignis came home after the sun had set and in one of those rare instances, Titus was there before him.

And clearly, Titus had been there for a while.

Titus grabbed his hand as soon as he walked in, and said, very abruptly, "Come with me."

No choice; Titus was already dragging him. Ignis was rather startled when Titus dragged him to the backdoor rather than the front, and even more startled when Titus pushed open the door. The deck out back was all lit up. Candles on the patio table and all along the deck, even up on the railing. It was beautiful, but very suspicious, and Ignis was put on guard right off, for Titus wasn't exactly a romantic man. On the patio table there was a small vase of flowers and a bottle of wine.

Hm—! Most suspicious indeed.

Seemed like an impromptu, at-home date.

Titus better not have said he was going away again, so soon. Ignis would have put his foot down on that and fussed at Regis soundly, for Titus at least needed to fully recover from that gunshot to the leg before he went out beyond the wall once more.

Ignis looked Titus up and down, and observed that Titus had combed his hair. He was wearing that one single button-down he owned, and his slacks, for once, weren't wrinkled. Cologne.

"What's all this?" Ignis asked, somewhat breathlessly, looking about in a daze and feeling the adoration potent in his chest, even against the unease.

"For missing your birthday," Titus grumbled, gruffly, "and also for putting up with me and being a patient nurse."

Relief.

Ignis snorted, and smiled contently at Titus as Titus tried very hard to remain aloof and stoic and save face. The Captain could be sweet, when he very much put his mind to it, though he would have keeled over and died before he ever admitted it. Ignis hadn't thought a single time about his birthday, not with Titus far beyond his sight.

For all of Ignis' prior expectations, somehow it never occurred to him that something was amiss that night. He had been so thrown off by Titus going away, perhaps, that that thought had been pushed entirely onto the back burner.

It was quite cold out, their breath visible in the chilly air, and although Ignis hadn't been given opportunity to remove his coat before being dragged out back, surely Titus must have been cold, with no jacket as he was. Ignis was about to chastise him, but then Titus pulled out the chair for him, and Ignis lost his train of thought.

Chivalrous Titus was a rare treat, and it was best to make the most of it.

Titus poured the wine, staring ever at Ignis and having yet to utter a word. When the glasses were full, Titus rested his right hand atop the table, and the left hand fell below, resting atop his injured leg.

A long silence, Titus seemed to shift his weight and sit up straighter, and then abruptly Titus held his glass up and breathed, "Here's to your patience."

Ignis snorted, and clinked his glass dutifully against Titus', uttering, "Here's to your three remaining lives."

Titus rolled his eyes.

Ignis was surprised when Titus put back his glass in one long draught, and then immediately poured another, just to put that one back, too.

Ignis teasingly asked, "Why bother with the glass? Drink straight from the bottle, won't you, like a distinguished gentleman."

Titus glared gently across the table, but Titus could also be a bit of a brat and so he actually did grab the wine bottle and just start drinking straight from the neck.

Apparently, Titus was having a...moment.

Ignis wouldn't pretend to have any inkling, because sometimes Titus was simply incomprehensible to him, however hard Ignis tried to fix the puzzle.

When the bottle was nearly empty and there was a flush of red on Titus' cheeks that wasn't from the cold, at last Titus seemed to be gathering up some of his uncountable thoughts.

Ignis could see Titus tuck his hand into his left pocket, and leave it there. Cold, no doubt.

After a moment, Titus leaned forward and murmured, lowly, "I've been...pondering many things lately. I'll admit that my head has been a bit of a mess. I have so many things I want to do and say, and yet as of now I haven't acted upon any of them. But, I think now, in light of this recent event, I would like to have a discussion."

A jolt of adrenaline.

A discussion? Well that never sounded too great, did it? No one ever wanted to hear 'we need to talk' from their significant other.

Ignis tried to remain as poised and calm as possible, and very evenly met Titus' eyes when he rested his chin in his palm and asked, "Recent event?"

Titus snorted, and clarified, "My beach getaway."

Ignis refrained from rolling his eyes, which was remarkable, as eye rolling seemed to be about eighty percent of all manners of communication between them.

Although his heart was pounding, Ignis gave away absolutely nothing, and Titus eventually carried on, voice ever softer and gentler, "We've never exactly sat down and discussed the more serious side of our being together. It would be unfair to you for me to carry on now without addressing it aloud. I have to ask, then; how willing are you to truly commit to this? Knowing now a bit better the risks it pertains?"

Ignis opened his mouth, and Titus held up his hand for silence.

"Before you answer that, I want to know also how you feel about how much older I am than you. In all seriousness. Please don't be dismissive. I want to know. If I were to die in battle in the next few years, then are you prepared for that? Are you willing to take that risk? And that aside, if I were to live out my years with no harm, would you truly hold an interest in staying? When you're my age, in your prime, have you really thought about how you'll be tied down to an old man? Please, think it over, and answer me honestly, even if it's not what I want to hear. It will save us both a bit of grief down the line."

Well.

Titus certainly had a way of cutting right to the chase, didn't he?

Ignis stayed very silent for a while, to pretend that he was very much in thought, if only to appease Titus. Ignis had already contemplated those two outcomes endlessly, knew what he was in for, and had always known with full clarity the situation that he had put himself into.

After a long enough amount of time had passed, Ignis uttered, thoughtfully, "Titus, when you're eighty-four, I'm going to be sixty. I truly don't think being 'tied down to an old man' is going to be much on my mind."

Titus stared him down, pale eyes lit up in the candlelight, and Titus scoffed, "It's not you being sixty that concerns me. I was thinking more of when I'm sixty, you'll be thirty-six. That sounds far more daunting to me than your example."

That was the first time, perhaps, that Ignis may have truly grasped how insecure Titus may have been.

All those jokes about keeping Ignis' mind off of younger men—perhaps more serious than Ignis had first assumed.

Titus hadn't wanted Ignis to be flippant, but Ignis often couldn't help it, and was quick to toss out, "Clarus is nearly sixty, Titus. If I may say, at the risk of you becoming 'territorial', he seems to be quite in impeccable shape. If that's what you can expect to look forward to, I think your concerns are truly all up in your head."

He meant it.

Titus opened his mouth, and it was Ignis that time who held up his hand.

"Do you think this is something that has never occurred to me before? I'm not going to wake up one day, ten years from now, and realize all of a sudden how much older you are. And I know that you're going to say that that's merely because I can't fully envision that scenario, but I can. I have. I've thought it over a hundred times, pictured it all out, and all I can ever see in my mind is a remarkably handsome silver fox, who at sixty will still have far more trailing fans than I could ever hope to garner."

A crinkle in Titus' brow, a pass of something that could very easily have been sadness. Hurt. Not that Titus found Ignis flippant, no, but perhaps that Titus himself had such a hard time believing that.

If only he could make Titus understand how much he meant those words.

Titus stared at a candle, lips pursed and right hand yet atop the table, and Ignis carried on, because it was best to get it all out there and over with.

"Titus. Look at me."

A hesitation, and then Titus lifted his grey eyes. Ignis reached across the table, and put his hand atop Titus'.

"You asked me to stay. I have. And I will continue to do so, for as long as you'll have me. Make no mistake; I entered into this ready for the long haul. I fell for you, Titus, for who you are. How old you are makes no never mind to me. Has it never occurred to you that you could perhaps reach a hundred, and I may have passed before you? Stranger things than that have happened. I'll stand by you until the day I die, and it won't matter to me if you're still alive or if you have long since left me behind."

Titus' eyes flitted restlessly over his face, ever judging him and his sincerity, and in the dim light of the candles and moon Ignis could see Titus swallow.

When Titus had apparently been satisfied, as much as was possible in that moment, that Ignis was serious, Titus gripped Ignis' hand, and whispered, in a voice scarcely audible, "If it comes to pass sooner rather than later, beyond the wall, or in whatever manner, please don't hold yourself to that oath. I would have someone else take a care for you in my stead. That you won't pass any years alone for my sake. Will you offer me that vow as well?"

Hurt to think about, but to satisfy Titus there was little else Ignis could do but nod.

A very long silence, as Titus lowered his eyes down to Ignis' hand there within his own. Titus was one of the more pensive men Ignis had ever known, right up there with Cor.

Titus twisted Ignis' hand restlessly within his own, and then sighed, softly, before uttering, without looking up at Ignis, "Well, then. That's that. I suppose...that only leaves one more question."

Ah.

No rest for the wicked. Titus was full of insecurity tonight and chose to spout it all aloud at once.

Titus glanced up at him at last, but rather than asking his last question right away, he tugged Ignis' hand while inclining his head, and Ignis took the hint. He came over, plopped down atop Titus' lap, uttered an apology when Titus winced at the pressure on his leg, and Ignis very quickly wrapped his arms around Titus' neck. A kiss to Titus' forehead, as one arm held him up.

Titus' other hand was yet in his left pocket, and Ignis was beginning to worry that his bullet wound had reopened and Titus was trying to apply pressure without being obvious.

"Well?" Ignis pressed, at Titus' heavy silence. "What's your next question, Captain? We've addressed now how I feel about being parted by death, but perhaps I should be asking if you're prepared to face sudden death in your own home. The way you refuse to organize your half of the dresser and continue to throw your clothes about, it could very well be by my hand that the valiant Captain falls. How do you feel about that? What's your question, Titus?"

Trying to tease the man to put him at ease, but that time it didn't seem to work, for Titus kept his face buried in Ignis' neck for a long while, and made no move. Utter stillness, and Ignis sighed in exasperation and ran a hand down Titus' neck and back.

One day, Titus would get it. Until, all Ignis could do was constantly reassure him.

The candles flickered, the moon hung on high in the cold sky, the glow of distant downtown keeping the horizon a bit bright, and Ignis had long since closed his eyes and succumbed to drowsiness there against Titus' warmth before Titus finally moved. Titus pulled his head back, their bleary, sleepy eyes met, and then Titus inhaled very deeply.

And then, at last, Titus asked his final question.

It was not what Ignis was expecting.

Just a very pretty, breathy whisper, in one of the more uncertain and therefore attractive voices Titus had ever used.

"Would you consider marrying me?"

Eh—? Must have misheard.

He gawked down at Titus, silent and utterly stunned and suddenly very wide awake, and Titus shifted beneath him in a moment of clear anxiety.

Ignis must have looked flabbergasted, slack jawed and wide-eyed, for Titus suddenly looked away and broke the gaze. Titus' hand abruptly came out of his left pocket, there was a very awkward moment of shifting and shuffling, and somehow Titus had rearranged them so that Ignis was straddling Titus and Titus held within both hands a little black box just above his breast.

A low, barely audible murmur, so breathy that it was hardly a wisp.

"Forgive me, I didn't— I should have put more thought into it. I didn't mean to come off as flippant. I just— That is—"

Another long hesitation, that strange moment of Titus being unsure and stumbling over his words, and then suddenly Titus inhaled and opened the box.

A glint in the moonlight.

Ignis glanced down, lost his own six lives when he saw Titus holding a ring aloft in a little box, and then Titus asked, far more forcefully but also in a voice that shook, "Will you marry me?"

Ignis stared away, in a terrified trance. Couldn't be real; must have been dreaming. Titus would never. Ignis had wanted it more than anything but had always known he was fooling himself.

Not real.

Sure felt real, however, the wind blowing, the flickering of the candles, the scent of cold winter air, the warmth of Titus beneath him, that tremble in Titus' voice, that look of trepidation on his face.

Real?

At Ignis' silence and immobility, Titus' resolve seemed to be crumbling, for his hands began steadily lowering, ever so slowly, and Ignis thought that Titus suddenly swallowed. Ignis just couldn't seem to get his brain working, to find his voice, because he had been knocked utterly senseless. Everything he had wanted and yet the very last thing he had ever expected.

Titus' hands had lowered so much that they now rested atop his abdomen, and his eyes flitted down and away suddenly, no longer holding Ignis' unblinking gaze. A parting of Titus' lips, but no sound came out, as Titus entirely turned his head aside.

It was that break in Titus' composure that finally woke Ignis up with a sharp inhale.

This was real—!

Before Titus could have a meltdown or a malfunction, Ignis suddenly reached forward, snatched Titus' face in his hands, forced his gaze, and said, with no hint of doubt, "Yes."

It was Titus then who looked flabbergasted.

As if Titus hadn't expected Ignis to accept any more than Ignis had truly expected Titus to ask. A very long, very intense stare between them, as they each attempted to dissect the sincerity of the other, and then Titus suddenly moved. As if in a daze, Ignis felt Titus slide that ring down on his finger. A wavering sigh of relief from Titus, who no doubt was happy enough that the ring actually fit. Bit too big, but that would be easily fixed.

Ignis had long fantasized about this, and yet then he found that his eyes didn't once drift down to that ring resting upon his finger. Couldn't look at it, because his eyes were positively locked onto Titus, and for the life of him he couldn't look away.

Everything he had ever wanted was right there before him.

A perfect life, right on track, serving both Noctis and Titus until the end of all of their days. His dream; Noct upon the throne, Gladiolus on one side and Ignis on the other, as Titus stood watchfully behind, ever guarding from the shadows.

As his thumbs ran restlessly over Titus' cheeks, Titus suddenly asked, "Will you stand by me, in spite of my flaws? Would you follow me, always, anywhere?"

Ignis glanced at last at the ring upon his finger, sitting just above the cut off glove.

Black, the royal color, with a slender dark silver band in the middle, studded with diamonds and peridots; green and grey, and although it may not have been Titus' intention, Ignis could really only think of it as reflective of the color of their respective eyes.

And so Ignis looked back at Titus, and affirmed, "Always, and anywhere."

It just never occurred to him that he and Titus had different interpretations of where, precisely, 'anywhere' actually meant.