Chapter 21

Null Moon

Life had returned entirely to normal.

A long rut, for a while there, but, as Ignis had always known, it was only inevitable that they would fight, only inevitable that they would clash, and it had also only been inevitable that they would make amends and move forward.

Titus sometimes still had trouble sleeping, but that aside everything was grand.

Ignis was happily envisioning Titus in formal raiment, standing in the cathedral, handsome and bright and dashing as ever.

No plans had yet been made, and Ignis was impatiently patient. Going about daily life and never once bringing it up in conversation while inside writhing with anticipation. It was Titus' call, though perhaps it was something he had the right to voice an opinion on. Something they should have hunkered down and planned together.

But Titus didn't bring it up, and so Ignis didn't either, for fear of making Titus nervous, of rushing him, of making him feel as if he had no choice.

Wanted Titus to want it.

Monica was far more impatient than Ignis, and had no qualms about walking right up to Titus and Ignis both and asking if the date had been set. She was desperate to secure her position in the ceremony, it seemed, and Ignis was grateful for her enthusiasm. Made it more real for him, as he waited for Titus to find his feet.

Titus was a bit more quiet these days, a tad more pensive than usual, which was astounding because Titus had always been remarkably pensive. Ignis as always couldn't profess to know what went on up in that man's head, for Titus himself didn't seem to know half the time.

Titus was quieter, but also more active.

Lately, Titus had been coming home and instead of feigning exhaustion to be coddled, Titus would instead immediately wrangle Ignis and whisk him off on walks around the city. Odd, yes, but perhaps Titus was trying on his end to return to total normalcy, which clearly he had lost back there in that heat of anger.

In high spring, Titus would take Ignis for evening walks in the east park, and they would amble along the river, making quiet conversation. The scent of flowers and warm air. White clouds dotting the horizon against the pink and gold of sunset. Ignis would stare at Titus from time to time, when petals from flowering trees would land on Titus' hair and shoulders.

In summer, Titus would drag Ignis into the maze of downtown, into the hustle and bustle, where the constant festivals were loud and lively. Twists and turns through alleys, streets they both knew so well, comforting and familiar sights, and then they would come to the edge of the parks sometimes, and see the grass and trees lit up with fireflies. Warm and muggy air. The smell of the rain, when they got caught in a downpour. Titus holding an umbrella, and the scent of Titus' wet hair when they pressed together.

Come fall, Titus would escort Ignis to the central park, where the tall trees were, and they would walk along the paths, covered in fallen leaves. Orange and yellow and red, always falling down from above like snow, the scent of the earth and the slowly dying grass. A world of color in usually grey and black Insomnia. The roses along the path in full bloom. The moon on high, as the sun set earlier and earlier every day. Titus' cologne, mingling with the earthy smell of decaying leaves.

Winter had come again, and Titus walked shoulder to shoulder with Ignis along the quieter streets, the air freezing cold and the sky often clear. Gone was the smell of the trees and flowers, replaced with that chilly scent of ice and the smells of the city itself, drifting on the cold breeze. Snow didn't fall too often, but when it did Titus would walk him along in one of the parks, and Ignis loved the sight of Titus in winter, snow now in his hair and on his shoulders rather than petals. The sight of Titus' eyelashes, when snow fell atop them.

With Titus at his side, Insomnia was ever more beautiful, and Ignis didn't know why Titus was suddenly so keen on spending so much time in the city, when both he and Titus seemed to be rather sort of homebodies. Didn't know why, no, but adored it all the same.

Two things he loved together; Insomnia and Titus.

The year was perfect, the last January incident aside, and now January was upon them again.

The New Year.

Titus stared at the city from atop the Citadel, studying it silently, and was so lost in his head that it took Ignis pressing up against him for Titus to inhale and come around. When the fireworks went off, Titus watched them streaming down over the city, and didn't speak.

On Ignis' birthday that year, Titus took him to the tallest hotel in the city, and they spent the evening and night out on the sky bar, as pensive Titus seemed torn between staring at Ignis and staring out at Insomnia.

That night, Titus breathed, above the wind, "You love Insomnia, don't you?"

He did, and so answered, "Yes. I doubt there's anywhere like it on Eos."

Titus made a noise in his throat, pale eyes sweeping over the vast city endlessly.

Ignis rested his chin in his palm and smiled fondly at Titus, as he seemed tangled up in his own thoughts. Ignis wondered if Titus was in a mood because he had been thinking of his own home lately, with all this wedding talk drifting about. Supposed most men wanted to get married and make a home, and Titus' home had never really been Insomnia. But Titus couldn't go home, not with the war still raging, so perhaps Titus was just trying to see what Ignis saw in Insomnia. Why Titus had been going out within it so much.

Trying to love Insomnia as much as Ignis did.

Titus was a bit odder this year than years past, yes, but in a very endearing way that Ignis hoped would linger for a while.

May came.

Titus was ever quieter, once more seemed to find little sleep, and on the fifteenth day in May, Titus and his men went beyond the wall to fight off a sudden assault. Ignis fretted, as he always did, but Titus came home that very night with no injury. No physical injury, at least, but Titus was very silent, eyes rather downcast and looking exhausted. As tired as he was, however, there seemed to be no sleep that night; Titus rolled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen at two in the morning. Ignis stared at the door and waited. When he smelled coffee, he got up and followed.

Titus was sitting at the kitchen table, mug beneath him and staring blankly at the wall.

So in space that he didn't even seem to notice Ignis there, and Ignis was able to pour his own coffee and grab a chair and sit down right next to Titus without Titus even being aware of him. He leaned over, rested his head on Titus' shoulder, and at last Titus came out of his daze.

"Back to this insomnia, are we?"

Titus merely nodded, resting his head against Ignis' hair.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

Ignis waved it off, and they rested together in a comfortable silence. When Ignis pulled back a bit later to sip at his coffee, Titus suddenly twisted at the waist.

Titus looked over at him, stared at him for a long while without blinking, and then abruptly asked, from thin air, "Do you love me?"

A rush of affection for this big lummox, who seemed to ever be swimming in self-doubt these past few years. They didn't say those three words aloud very often at all. In nearly five years together, Ignis had said it only twice, and Titus thrice.

Perhaps he should say it more often.

So Ignis held Titus' gaze, and affirmed, "I do. More than you know."

Titus didn't yet look away, eyes ever intense and focused.

"And did you mean it when you said you'd follow me anywhere?"

"I did."

"Always?"

A twinge of anxiety.

Titus was so quiet, and sometimes Ignis wondered if Titus' days as Captain were numbered. He worried from time to time that Titus was considering retirement, and would then wish to marry. After all, men really did think about home and family, and Ignis feared that when Titus retired, that maybe Titus would want to go back home, for it seemed that that had ever been his goal.

Ignis had meant it when he had said he would follow Titus, yes, but had meant it perhaps in more of a metaphorical sense.

Now that he was faced with a possibility of actually going 'anywhere', Ignis began to squirm. If Titus said he would leave Insomnia and go home, then how could Ignis truly follow him there, sworn to Noctis as he was? Ignis was the future Hand of the King, and Titus had always known this, had always known that Ignis was under oath and sworn to the line of Lucis.

Titus wouldn't really ask Ignis to break his oath. The Captain had more honor than that, understood that Ignis was bound. Titus was just speaking aloud to the universe, voicing his inner desire in a vague manner to assuage his nerves.

That was all.

...surely.

So, even though there was a possibility that there had been a misunderstanding, Ignis finally murmured, "Always."

Titus at last looked away.

That night, Titus was very strange, and they sat there at the table until dawn, and when Titus dressed for council, he embraced Ignis before leaving, clinging to him so tightly and for so long that Ignis finally had to utter, "You're going to be late."

When Titus let him go, his grey eyes ran over Ignis' face. Ignis gave him a smile for courage, and forcibly shoved Titus to the door.

Later that day, Ignis understood why Titus hadn't slept.

Regis stood before the council, and began speaking of a treaty.

A treaty?

Ignis had known nothing of it, but no doubt Titus had, for apparently it had been discussed in very private council the day prior. Terms and negotiations.

Ignis had never seen it coming, not in a hundred years, and was shocked. Thrown entirely for a loop. It came upon them all so quickly, so out of nowhere, and Ignis had been so stunned that it had been Titus that time grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet long after council had ended.

Their eyes met, and Ignis could only stare at Titus as intensely as Titus had at him that morning.

To look at a man he loved, who had just heard that his homeland was being forever signed away—

Ignis lowered his gaze, because although Titus stood strong and impervious, stoic, Ignis couldn't. Couldn't stand to look at Titus then, because he didn't have the heart and just didn't know what to say.

Titus hadn't slept last night, and Ignis now knew why.

His home was gone.

And now Titus went to tell his men, as they parted ways, and Ignis drifted out of the Citadel and over to Noctis' apartment. Noctis was pale, jittery, quiet. Ignis didn't know what to say to him, either, suddenly betrothed as he was, and so they just sat together on the couch and stared at the television with little comprehension as the news played on a loop.

From there, it seemed everything began to fray.

Tension all around.

All anyone ever talked about nowadays was this 'treaty'.

Titus and Ignis didn't speak about it at home; too tense, too irritating, and Ignis wouldn't ever bring it up because he didn't want to open any wounds in Titus, at losing his home officially and at long last. Titus held strong, as always, never seemed to despair, but Ignis knew to let sleeping dogs lie.

Some of Titus' Glaives, however, began to break rank a bit.

Ignis received texts at times, at all hours of the day and night. Ignis hid them from Titus, because Titus very certainly now would be breaking legs with the mood everyone was in.

Ignis would read each of them, and feel his heart sink.

Luche texted, 'Please, can't you talk to the Prince? You're his best friend. Don't let them give away our homes so easily.'

Nyx texted, 'Is this all true?'

Pelna texted, 'Hey. I know you probably can't do much, but can't you at least talk to your friends? Your man's home is out there too. Sorry I'm asking, but I don't know who else to talk to.'

An unknown number one day, that read, 'This is Tredd. Can't you do something? Use your position.'

Just hopeful, desperate pleas from men who fought so hard for so long only to lose the very thing they were fighting for. Hard to stomach for anyone. There was nothing Ignis could do, and surely they all truly knew it, but desperation was a powerful thing. Men who just wanted to protect their families and lands, and they must have felt that they had been given up on.

Sometimes, it was hard to step back and try to see the greater good.

Ignis threw an arm over Titus' chest at night, as Titus stared up at the ceiling and was ever silent. Long had Titus fought to go home, and now it seemed that that could never be.

Titus' home was gone.

Ignis could only try his best to be enough to make up for the loss. To be enough for Titus to call Insomnia home, for surely Titus would have no interest in returning if his homeland was Imperial. Or, rather, Ignis hoped, for Titus leaving Insomnia would be devastating, knowing that he couldn't follow, sworn to Noctis as he was.

If Ignis could be good enough, Titus would stay, in spite of carrying always that cloth of his homeland above his heart. If Ignis could somehow think of a way to make Insomnia home for Titus, then Titus would stay.

He had to.

Ignis loved him.

Everyone was quiet these days.

Nothing to say, because there was too much to say, and no way to say it. His friends were all quiet, and so Cor was quiet, too, though he always was.

There was nothing anyone could do about it, so what was the point in bringing it up? They had been defeated, had to bend the knee, and no one wanted to think about it, and so Cor walked on down the hall and tried not to let his mind wander too much. The Crownsguard was up in arms, furious and raucous, and Cor had his hands full with angry subordinates.

Cor pitied Titus above all else, because if Cor's men were cranky then Titus' were likely on the verge of all out rioting and mutiny, for Titus' men were majority immigrants where Cor's were not.

Beyond that...

Cor pitied Titus, because although it had happened long ago, this was just the official, formal loss of Titus' homeland. Signed away now, for good and at last. Titus could never go home now without calling himself Imperial rather than Lucian.

Three days after the treaty had been proposed, Cor's phone rang.

It was Titus.

He answered, and Titus' voice was a bit softer than usual, a bit more muted, when he invited Cor out for a round. Cor accepted, because they all needed a few drinks around then.

Titus looked exhausted when Cor met up with him in their usual bar, and even in the dim light Cor could see the shadows under Titus' heavy eyes. How pale he was. Hadn't been sleeping much, clearly, and Cor could only clasp Titus' hand in greeting and try to be a crutch, as Cor had often been in years past, as Titus struggled to adapt.

They sat down and began hammering back drinks, and not once did they speak of the treaty.

Titus looked so out of sorts, though of course only Cor and Ignis would have ever known it. Titus was wearing his old jacket, though the weather was far too warm to warrant it, and Cor knew that by then it had just become some security blanket.

It was because Titus looked so off that Cor suddenly asked, "Care to come over? It's been a long time since we got drunk at my place."

Titus looked over, eyes sweeping restlessly over Cor's face, and then he nodded.

No teases, no jokes, not that night. Everyone was too heartsick.

Shortly after they found themselves in Cor's flat, sitting out on the balcony and quickly annihilating a full bottle of liquor between them. The moon was very bright, full, and they sat side by side in patio chairs and stared out at the suburbs. The glow of downtown far in the distance.

The hour grew late, and both of them were fairly hammered, so Cor dutifully said, "Spend the night. You're drunk. I can't send you off like this."

Titus snorted, and said, "Text Ignis, then. It sounds more believable coming from you."

Cor scoffed and pulled his phone out, and as he texted Ignis (with a pang of hurt), he finally summoned up the energy to tease, "What? Afraid if you text him he'll come looking for you? You been sneakin' out?"

Titus' turn to scoff, as he plowed through another glass and poured one more.

"Hardly! I don't want him thinking that I'm sitting somewhere in my car, crying all goddamn night."

"Sounds like something you would do," Cor grumbled.

That wasn't exactly a tease, and Titus knew it, for he grunted back, "I know."

Cor's clumsy drunk text made it to Ignis, who quickly responded.

'Very well. Take care of each other. Call me if he becomes a handful. Otherwise, have a good night, Marshal.'

Cor snorted and said to Titus, "Hey, he's finally caught on that you're a goddamn handful. I wondered how long it would take."

Titus hammered back another glass, and Cor made a noise of annoyance when Titus claimed the last contents of the bottle. Rude. Cor snatched out and took Titus' glass before he could annihilate it, putting it back himself because it was his damn alcohol, after all.

Titus may have needed it more, but Cor's heart was breaking, too.

Titus glowered over at the empty bottle, and stood up, no doubt to march to the kitchen and pull down another one. He staggered when he stood, and Cor was quick to leap up and catch him.

But Cor was drunk, too, and so really all they accomplished then was tumbling back inside the house in a clumsy heap. Not the first time Titus had fallen on his backside in Cor's flat, nor was it the first time Cor had reached down with both hands, grabbed Titus', and hauled him upright. The blind leading the blind, really, for when Titus was on his feet Cor just stumbled back and caught himself at the last second on the kitchen counter.

A short laugh between them, halfhearted and false, and Titus grabbed Cor by the collar to stand him upright. They grabbed the front of each other's shirts for balance, and somehow made their way over to the cabinet, where Cor pulled down another bottle miraculously without breaking it.

Ah, hell—

Cor just unscrewed the top and drank straight from the neck, as Titus blearily stared at him.

Cor had a million things he wanted to say to Titus, and just didn't know how to word a bit of it, so it was easier to keep drinking. He passed the bottle to Titus, who drank just as eagerly, and then they sat the bottle on the counter in a momentary, breathless impasse.

Their hands on the counter, side by side, as they stared off at nothing.

Just didn't know what to say, how to look at this man he cared so for and say, 'I'm sorry that you can't ever go home.'

Too much for anyone.

Cor and Titus would have done anything for each other, and it hurt more knowing that this time Cor was absolutely powerless to assist.

It was Titus who suddenly broke that impasse.

Titus reached out then, and rested his palm atop the back of Cor's neck.

"I must ask something of you."

A lurch of anxiety, as Cor glanced over and saw Titus staring very piercingly at him.

"What?"

Titus wasted no time, and breathed, with just the slightest slur, "We both know this may all go awry. I'll be in the midst of it. I know this isn't a great burden I ask of you, for I know you would have done it all along. I suppose I say it now more so that you'll know you have my full blessing—"

Cor held his hand up for silence, because he really couldn't stomach hearing it. Not aloud.

Titus hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and grabbed the hand Cor had put in the air and clenched it.

No, couldn't, not now—

Cor turned his head aside, to save face in the case that he cracked.

Titus carried on, far more gently, more breathily, that beautiful voice Cor was so desperately jealous of but also so adored on full display.

"I must say it, even if you don't wish to hear it. Please. Should this all go wrong, and should I fall, please, I ask that you have a care for him. Take my place, and keep him safe. Should you find yourself beyond the wall, find him. Protect him. Whatever comes to pass, he'll follow the King, and so I ask that you follow him in turn. I ask only that you love him in my stead, and don't allow him to ever become a martyr. Whatever his calling may be, do your best to see that he comes through."

Cor couldn't look at Titus, eyes squinted shut as they were, too goddamn drunk then to be able to fully handle this request. Too close to an intoxicated emotional meltdown, and when Cor didn't speak or look over, Titus very suddenly reached out and wrangled him.

The next thing Cor knew, they were chest to chest, heads butting and Titus grabbing Cor's shirt as Cor took hold of Titus' belt for stability.

Couldn't open his eyes, even when their foreheads pressed together and Titus started whispering again.

"And you, too, my old friend—don't throw yourself off the cliff without dire need. I would actually have you be immortal, even if you detest it. Keep him safe, for as long as it is in your power, and have a care for yourself as well. Don't go and die, for he'll need you. Swear it to me. As my friend and brother. Give me this oath, that you'll do as I ask. Please. I trust no one else."

Cor couldn't speak, eyes still pitifully squinted shut, and he shook his head against Titus', because he could never fulfill such a request.

Ignis had never seen Cor there, and Titus' shoes could never fully be filled by any other man.

He couldn't swear it.

Titus pressed forward, trying to spur Cor on, foreheads ever butting, and Titus implored, "You must. Please, swear it. I know I overstepped my bounds, I know that I hurt you, I know that I was not the friend I should have been, but I ask now that you forgive me, and let bygones be bygones for the sake of something greater. I stepped in when I should not have, and I will not ask that you forget. But understand that he needs someone there beside him, for he will not hesitate to throw himself into the line of fire for the King's sake. And I know that our duties also require such sacrifices on our parts, but I beseech you now to forgive also what I am about to say : I would see him alive before the King. I know this is treachery on some part, this I know, but you don't understand how much I love him, and you, the both of you— I would see you both secure somewhere, long after the fall of all kings and lands. Please. Swear to me that you'll keep him and yourself safe. Ever have you followed the King; I ask now that you follow him with such fervor. Give me this vow."

Why was it that Titus spoke more eloquently to Cor the more he drank? Every time, it seemed that when they were drunk Titus became more dramatic, and that didn't help this time because somehow it made it harder to stomach, for in that manner of speech it felt more like an elegy.

As if Titus had already passed and Cor was just hearing someone read his will aloud.

Oh—

Even though it was an impossible task, something Cor could never hope to live up to, he couldn't stand hearing Titus uttering his final request when by all rights the world should be on track to become safer, and felt himself founder. The end of the war, and yet Titus spoke as if the world were on the brink of collapse.

Cor gathered his courage, and nodded his head.

At last, he opened his eyes, as Titus exhaled and breathed, "Thank you."

Misery.

They stood there for a very long while, foreheads pressed together and using each other for balance, leaning on each other as they had now for thirty years. Titus' fingers tangled up in his collar, as Cor yet clenched Titus' belt, and it was one of the stranger moments in his life when Titus lifted his chin and kissed Cor's forehead.

Strange, because Cor was somehow so certain that Titus was saying goodbye to him, long before anything had even gone wrong, and Cor couldn't stand it.

Just as abruptly as Titus had wrangled him, Titus suddenly let him go, and took a step back. Titus studied him, the softest of smiles on his face, and then Titus turned on his heel and stumbled back out onto the balcony. Cor followed him in anxiety, and watched as Titus took hold of the balcony railing and stared up at the moon.

Cor felt suddenly as if Titus were behind a pane of glass, despite being in reach.

His friend.

Cor watched the moon light up Titus' hair white, and felt as if he were mourning Titus even when Titus was still right there in front of him. Could never have explained it. Titus had said a farewell long before it was time, and Cor felt angry about it in some manner. As if saying it aloud would make it so, and if Titus had just obeyed Cor and stayed silent then everything would have been alright. If something came to pass, then it would be Titus' fault, for uttering it into being and jinxing them.

Intangible thoughts drunk Cor couldn't really pin down, as he stared at his best friend and brother.

Titus suddenly looked over his shoulder at Cor, lit up in the moonlight, and spoke.

What he whispered made Cor shiver.

"Forgive me that I've never actually said it aloud in as many words, all our long years, that I love you. I always have, since the day we first met."

A sting in his eyes as he began blinking too quickly.

Oh, why wouldn't he stop? He was making it worse, so much worse, if Titus would just not say it then nothing would happen—

And even though he didn't want to, didn't want to keep spouting words aloud, didn't want to doom them somehow, Cor still heard himself utter, in a voice that was too thick and cracked, "And I, you. Always."

Titus smiled, turned his eyes back to the moon, and spoke no more.

Cor stared at Titus, and somehow already missed him even as he yet stood by.

Titus' pale eyes, lit up silver in the moon.

Once, long ago, drunk Titus had thrown a blanket over a sleeping Cor and then slept on the floor beneath him. And so did Cor that night, when Titus collapsed on Cor's couch, throw a blanket atop Titus, and then lie there beneath him on the floor.

As he slipped into unconscious, Titus breathed to the air, "Live long, my friend."

Cor stared at the spinning ceiling, and couldn't really say for certain whether he was crying or not, because everything was blurry and distant as Titus breathed away above him.

The burden was too heavy, the expectation too high.

Cor was very certain that he would be unable to fulfill it, for no one could have ever taken Titus' place in Ignis' heart, and it felt like Cor could do so least of all.

All the same, Cor had sworn it, and would see it done.

Brother.