Water Under the Bridge
Chapter 5
Aranea asked for a day to recuperate from her mission, but Ignis recommended she take a few more after being gone for so long. There was a tinge of relief in her voice when he suggested this and she took him up on the offer, falling radio-silent through the rest of the week. He waited patiently for some sort of message or signal from her to let him know when she was ready. When she finally did give the go-ahead, he made sure he was downstairs, seated in his typical chair, and ready to go at their usual time.
From behind, he heard the clicking of heeled boots as they descended the stairs and crossed the tiled lobby. They stopped right beside him and he knew Aranea was looking down at him, studying him intently for whatever reason. He shuddered unexpectedly as her hand ran through his coifed hair. "Nice specs, Specs. Did you miss me?"
Why did she always have to be so flirtatious?
He turned his face to look up at hers as she continued to play with his hair—for whatever reason, he didn't know. The sound of her voice was familiar, but the length of time since he'd last heard her made it sound so foreign all the same. Still, having her back brought a weird sort of peace within himself and he found a weight he didn't know was there lifted off his shoulders.
"Yes, I suppose I have you to thank for these?" he guessed while pointing to his glasses, though the answer was evident. She kept playing with his hair and he tried not to let on how utterly relaxing it felt to have her hand so casually in his locks. A second later she stopped, flopping into the chair across from him, a quiet 'oomph' escaping her lips.
"It was nothing," she huffed, obviously a little more than shy that he was trying to thank her for her thoughtful gesture. She redirected the subject back to him, gesturing towards him with her hand. "I see you didn't do much to change your hair while I was gone. Still going for the cockatiel look?"
"Ah, deflection." He adjusted his glasses with a sense of superiority. "A wonderful defense tactic when you feel particularly cornered or outmaneuvered. Or, in your case, flustered when called out on doing something nice for someone else, for once."
Aranea balked at his definition. "I'm not deflecting anything." Her voice had gone up several pitches.
"You're a terrible liar."
"Or you're just reading too much into things," she spat, avoiding his blank gaze and anxiously drumming her fingers on the armrest. With every passing second of silence, she became more and more enraged. "What's with the psychoanalysis? Are we going or not?"
At her words, Ignis slowly stood up and grabbed his cane. He was getting better about not using it when in the room or when he stayed close to the Levelle, but he still had a long way to go. He gestured to the door, bowing his head. "After you."
Aranea shoved past him, leading the way by walking only a few steps ahead as they plodded to the empty lot. When they arrived, she moved to the far end of the square, leaving Ignis alone on the other side. "Cutting right to the chase?" he called out, placing his cane against the wall of a long-abandoned building and tentatively walking to what he assumed to be the middle of the lot. As he walked, his lance apparated in a blue haze within his hand.
"While I've missed these sparring sessions, my mind is already reveling at the thought of a huge pot of coffee or a nap. I haven't decided yet. So, if you don't mind, yes, I'm 'cutting to the chase'."
He closed his eye and acquiesced. "You're the boss."
When he didn't hear her move, he took that as his cue to launch forward, boldly attempting several times to lash out at her with his weapon, but only succeeded at swinging at air. She anticipated his moved and evaded every single one, taking a step to the side and striking his back with the butt of her spear while kicking his legs out from under him at the same time. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He groaned and coughed, leaning on one knee and shaking his head. She rolled her eyes and nudged him with the toe of her boot. "You can't hit me head on when you're as slow as you are and your reflexes suck. We talked about this before."
He grunted and leaned his forearm on his knee in an attempt to push himself onto his feet. "I thought— "
"Well, Four Eyes, you thought wrong. I mean, if you want to try and hit me head on, be my guest, but I'm not sure what good it'll do you. Try your hand at throwing your lance instead of using it to physically hit someone. It's all a matter of paying attention— "
"To your surroundings. I know." Ignis finished her sentence, finally back on his feet and slightly leaning on his weapon. His back ached from the blow he received, but he did well to hide it from his challenger. The last thing he needed was for her to see he was already in pain two seconds into their scuffle.
"Awww, there you go! See, you're learning! It's about damn time!" Her words were dripping with sarcasm and it took everything in Ignis not to whip around and throw another attack her way. God, she could be so aggravating. Instead, he grudgingly limped away to follow her advice. Throwing his weapon surely seemed like the best option and, as another advantage, it would keep him out of the chaos of danger, should it ever come to that. But then it came down to making sure his aim was on point. Like everything, he knew it would be just a matter of practice.
Aranea cackled when he reached a certain distance, knowing he was seething inside the more she pestered him. Outwardly, he appeared calm, cool, and collected; inside, however, she knew a storm was beginning to rage. While her guard was down, she failed to notice that Ignis was already poised and ready, his arm cocked back as he prepared to throw his lance. He focused on her laughter and, with all his might, hurled the weapon in the general direction of the sound.
A shriek, and silence. The lance clinked and noisily bobbled on the stone before settling just behind the Commodore. Her eyes narrowed, a flame lit inside them. She whirled around to see the weapon and then whirled back to glare at Ignis. "Hey! I wasn't ready!"
"A real fighter never lets her guard down against her adversary." Ignis' sounded a lot more upbeat this time around, proud that he managed to stun her with the simplest of attacks.
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't consider someone who can't see a real threat."
"Says the woman who whined that she wasn't ready."
"Alright, now you're getting cocky."
He recalled his lance from the ground back to his grasp, ready to rethrow it at any given moment. "Then let's fight."
He could tell that Aranea was cranky, hangry, tired, and pissed that she was not the one in control right now. He knew it drove her mad. Unlike before when he rushed at her, this time he waited for her to come to him. Like he thought, she did just that. In a flash, she appeared in front of him. They engaged in weapon-on-weapon combat before they fell back and Ignis threw his lance over and over, constantly recalling it back to him. He missed more often than not, but there were several times where Aranea practically felt the blade of the weapon whistle by her ear, graze the skin of her arm, or zip by her thigh. She wasn't sure if he was just getting lucky or what, but damn his aim was better than it had been just weeks before.
This back and forth went on for what felt like forever. One minute, she'd be right behind him to pin him to the ground, the next he'd be aiming for her, judging by her sounds. When they'd return to physical blows, Aranea would fight to avoid getting pushed to the ground. She had the upper hand as he was still somewhat clumsy and graceless in his movements, but where he lacked in that, he made up for in strength. Most of the fight, however, was spent allowing Ignis to hone his aiming skills at her. He'd need practice, without a doubt—maybe something they'd work on next time—but he was getting the hang of it.
An hour passed, or maybe a little more before Aranea called for a truce. By this point, they both slowed considerably. It wasn't as if they fought with all they had during these sessions, but even the smallest amount of effort over the course of time would drain even the strongest of warriors.
"Nice work today, Specs. Been practicing while I was gone?" she panted as she struggled to her feet, hunching over and resting her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.
"It's hard to practice alone, but I have been keeping up with my strength and fitness," he admitted, also breathless, dismissing the lance with the flick of his wrist. His hair, clumped together with sweat, clung to his face and he calmly brushed away his bangs. His shirt stuck to his chest and he unsuccessfully tried to pull it away from his body. Little good that did when, as soon as he let go, it went right back to clinging to his skin. Already, he was excited at the prospect of going back to the room to shower off all the sweat and filth from his body.
"Heh, well it definitely shows. You're still no match—"Aranea suddenly bent over and crossed her arms over her stomach, wincing. Her stomach growled angrily. "Well, that's what I get for being active on an empty stomach. You know, I don't know what Cor was thinking, putting me up in a room with no real kitchen. I haven't had a real meal in ages. Kinda sad, actually," she grumbled as another wave of hunger pangs shot through her stomach, so loud that even Ignis heard it.
He frowned, his inner-caretaker upset that she was starving. "Aranea, if you'd like, we received some ingredients for meals from Hammerhead while you were away. I would be more than happy to allow you the use of our kitchenette if you'd like to cook yourself something," he offered. "Gladio and Prompto are on duty tonight, so you're more than welcome to come over when you're ready."
Aranea bundled her hair into her hand and held it up on top of her head, allowing the sticky air access to the nape of her neck in a feeble attempt to cool off. She fanned herself with her other hand and mulled the proposal over. "Well, you do owe me for my time and for those glasses of yours . . ." she hemmed and hawed and then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why the hell not. I'll be over tonight. You'll help, right?"
Ignis held his hands up defensively. "Oh, no. I don't . . . I haven't cooked since my injury. It's just not feasible with my condition."
He heard her grumble and readied himself for a barrage of 'tough love'. "I swear, Ignis . . . would you stop with the excuses and the pity party? For God's sake, you're blind, not bedridden or crippled, so stop acting like it."
Her words shocked him, really. How was it that Gladio— his longtime friend and the man who knew more about him than he knew of himself— was terrified of Ignis' handicap and the limitations it caused, but Aranea—a woman he'd only really gotten to know over the last few months— only saw it as a simple roadblock that was easily surpassable with some effort and hard work? Both sides pulled at him and waged a war inside of him. Who was right?
She repeated her question. "So tonight? You'll help me with dinner? Don't make me cook alone. I promise I'll burn the place down if I'm left unattended."
Say no. You can't do this. How can you really cook without visually seeing the measurements, the food you're preparing, or how done everything is? You'll just mess it up. She has no idea what she's asking for. It's a disaster waiting to happen.
He tried to force a smile, but all he could muster was a grimaced look. "Sounds good. Tonight."
Great job, idiot.
Ignis showered for the second time that day and now stood, doubtful, in front of the bathroom vanity, water dripping from his hair. His palms were pressed against the vanity surface and in his head, he saw himself staring back from the mirror. Normally, he would style his hair as he always did without a second thought, but once again he remained fixated on Aranea's mockery of him.
My hair looks fine. It does not make me look like a cockatiel. Does it? he wondered, fluffing his own hair insecurely. He couldn't believe he was letting Aranea's criticism get to him. What was it about that woman that caused him to feel . . . different? She certainly had a weird hold on him. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that he felt, but thinking about it confused him, so he hardly dwelled on it for long. Anyway, if he had to guess what he felt, he'd say he was just glad to have someone who was willing to help him out with everything.
Yeah, that was it. That had to be it.
Taking a deep breath, unnecessarily nervous about changing his hairstyle (though he'd forever deny it had anything to do with what Aranea thought about it), he reached for the gel and ran it through his hair, ruffling it a bit before brushing it back with a comb. He played around with it for a minute until he was satisfied that it looked alright—in his mind at least. How bad could combed-back hair really look, anyway?
He finished getting ready, dressing in something a little more casual. He buttoned up his striped shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, when he realized he had no idea where his old recipe notebook was. That would probably be helpful tonight seeing as Aranea didn't seem like the type of woman who would have a variety of meals memorized and she would probably need some inspiration. A hunt for the notebook commenced. He felt around on the upper shelf of his closet and only found scrap papers and an old box that he kept a pair of dress shoes in. Nothing on the floor of the closet. Nothing in any coat pockets. Could it be in any of the drawers?
Then, an assertive knock at the door.
"It's open," Ignis called out as he searched his dresser drawer, pushing the contents of the drawer aside. It had been so long since he'd cracked the book open and he fretted that he possibly tossed it out at some point between Altissia and now. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief though when his fingers brushed the smooth cover of the pad, shoved carelessly in the back, behind his slacks and jeans. He knew he'd never throw this old thing out.
Aranea opened the door as he stood up, waving the book in his hand. She stopped, stunned, in the doorway and he'd forgotten for a split-second that he changed his hairstyle. Her judgment was palpable. "Your hair."
He kept a straight face, the book still held in the air between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes?"
"You actually changed it."
". . . I did," he affirmed, though regret started to sink in. Suddenly he felt like a foolish schoolboy, kicking himself for stepping outside of his comfort zone and making a change to himself, no matter how small it was. Why did he do it, anyway?
"Interesting . . ." She eyed him up and down, sneering as he stood there, plainly uncomfortable. Then, she put an end to the torture by voicing her opinion. "I like it. It's different, but at least you don't look like some avian species. You also don't look as much like a giant douchebag anymore."
"You're crass."
"Would you expect anything less?" She closed the door behind her.
"I suppose not." He held the notebook out for her, changing the subject. "I'm sorry; I wasn't sure what it was that you were interested in, so I thought you could go through this for some ideas."
"Aw, hey! Your recipe book!" she recognized as she snatched it from his hand, flipping through it as if it were the first time she'd done so. She fell silent and Ignis smirked, imagining her curiously reading each recipe as she did when they camped together. It seemed like it was just yesterday.
He could still remember the way her plump, red lips moved with every word, even though she didn't realize it. Her silver hair, just long enough, fell in front of her face but couldn't do well to hide the glint in her eye. A glint from what, he never found out. He theorized it was from the excitement of food or the still-rushing adrenaline from battle. The way she stood without a care in the world made him, dare he say, envious? The passion for life and fun that radiated from every fiber of her being almost had him wishing that he, too, could be so carefree. All of that combined gave her this aura of strength and beauty and he admired it. There was more, though. Something about her. She was just . . . so . . .
"Helloooo? Anyone home in there? Why are you looking at me like that?" Her fingers snapped several times in his face.
Ignis flinched, realizing his vacant stare probably caught Aranea off guard. He laughed nervously. "Sorry, dozed off for a second. You have my full attention now."
"Am I that boring?" she asked, making them both laugh quietly. "Actually, I was just saying how I'd really like those skewers that you made for me before. I'm not sure if you have the ingredients for it, but nothing else sounds appetizing right now and I'm not in the mood for a heavy dinner."
Ignis brought his finger to his chin in thought, trying to recollect what it was that Cindy had gifted them and what Prompto and Gladio listed off as they helped put everything away. He knew there were some Leiden Peppers in the fridge and he vaguely remembered hearing something about frozen Anak meat. Maybe. It was a shot in the dark, but he beckoned Aranea to follow him all of ten steps to the kitchenette. "If we do, the meat is in the freezer. Would you mind being my eyes and look for them?"
"Making me do all the work. That's just great. I can already see how this night is going to go," she complained, but obviously did not mean it.
"Oh, it's a night now?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. "Here I was thinking this was just you hungry for dinner." He was unaware of the simpering look Aranea shot his way. A blast of cold air hit their faces as she opened the freezer and rummaged around.
Her fingers began to ache from shuffling the frozen food around. "I'm not seeing anything in here that looks anything like Anak meat."
"Check the refrigerator. It's possible that Gladio or Prompto put it in there—although I told them it would keep longer if placed in the freezer."
Aranea shifted her search to the fridge and, there all along, was the Anak meat. She took it out, along with the Leiden Pepper in a clear drawer toward the bottom, and placed them on the counter beside the stove behind her. "Defrosted and everything!"
"Perfect. No need to utilize the microwave to defrost anything."
Incredulous, she asked, "What's wrong with microwaves? Lemme guess, you're one of those people? Afraid that microwaves give you all sorts of diseases if you use them too much?"
"I have nothing against them. I just find them more likely to ruin the taste and texture of a meal rather than enhance it in any way, as opposed to, say, a gas stove or an oven."
Aranea scrunched her face at the stove. "But . . . this isn't a gas stove. It's an electric one."
He sighed and rubbed his temple, growing more and more exasperated at her questions and comments. "I was merely using an example. I prefer gas stoves, yes, but we'll make do with what we have at our disposal. Now, shall we?"
The advisor instructed her to grab the necessary spices and oil, cutlery and pans, and the cutting board and stood back. He listened as she started to cut and cube the ingredients, but her movements were incredibly slow and choppy. Every so often, she'd mutter "shit" or "Goddammit" under her breath when her cuts didn't come out perfect. She didn't notice, but it made Ignis smile hearing her get so flustered. She was definitely out of her element.
He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the counter. "Not much of a cook?"
"What gave you that idea . . . fucking peppers, I swear," she spat before taking a deep breath and persisting. "I'm more of a 'TV-dinners' and 'Cup Noodles' kind of gal. If I can't have it unwrapped and in front of me within three minutes, I'm done. None of this gourmet meal bullshit you seem to have going on."
"I'm sure you're doing an outstanding job," he encouraged.
She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't be saying that if you could actually see the massacre in front of me. Honestly, I don't know how you do this. You made it look so easy before!"
"Practice. Patience. It wasn't something that came overnight, though there were plenty of times I wish it did. You'll get there with time," Ignis gently reassured, but only heard another grumble in return. Fearing she'd start throwing things against the wall in anger, he reached for her hand when heard her growl, feeling her overzealous grasp on the knife. "You can start by relaxing your grip. Loosening your fingers will stave off the fatigue in your hand than if you hold the knife too tight. Plus, it'll increase your range of motion and cut accuracy. Here, let me show you."
Aranea's eyes flickered at the contact. "What are you doing?"
"Showing you how to correctly hold a knife, for one," he said. She stayed guarded at first but loosened up as he wrapped his hands around hers from behind, guiding her slowly and carefully. His voice was low as he spoke directions in her ear, protecting her fingers from accidently getting caught up in the cutting of the food by covering them with his own.
He was right, but why wouldn't he be? He'd only been doing this since he was a child. By using less force, cutting everything became a lot easier. It made for fewer jagged pieces of peppers and the meat stopped looking so minced and more like actual cubes. She smirked. "Are you sure you're really blind?" she asked over her shoulder as he still smoothly moved her hands with his, his chest pressed against her back.
"Why's that?" he responded.
"I mean, your cuts make mine look like shit.
Ignis paused and then continued. "My apologies. That . . . that was not my intention."
"Woah, no, I'm not pissed or anything. You just . . . I mean, you're really good at this. Honestly, maybe even more so since you can't see."
"You think so?" he replied, not knowing that his mouth was dangerously close to her ear. The sound of his voice and the feel of his breath gave Aranea goosebumps. She couldn't respond, so she continued to let him guide her until they were done.
With all the meat and peppers cut, Ignis, holding Aranea's hand, placed the knife to the side. He let go of her and turned to the sink, quickly washing his hands with soap and water. He pushed the glasses up higher on his face awkwardly with his forearm and his brows furrowed as a thought came to him. "You don't . . . you don't exactly tiptoe around me when it comes to my vision."
"What brings that up?"
"You don't behave like I'll crumble at simply mentioning that I'm blind. You don't give me the impression that you have any intentions of holding me back from anything. Since we've partnered together, you don't treat me any different than you did when we were on opposite sides of the fence—fighting each other as mortal enemies."
"No, I don't feel the need to treat you differently." Aranea searched for the skewers among the mess she created, seamlessly getting back to cooking on her own. "Why, do you want me to? Because I can, if you want."
"Oh . . . that's not what I meant. It's just something I've observed about you, that's all."
She alternated the chunks of meat and peppers onto the skewer and shrugged. "That's me—never one to sugarcoat things," she muttered. "Let me hazard a guess and say that your buddies treat you differently now than they used to. Am I right?"
It was Ignis' turn to shrug. "More overprotective, I'd say."
Aranea snorted. "Can you blame them? Their best friend takes a cheap shot to the face and winds up with a fate far worse than death, in my opinion. Because of that, you can't fight efficiently, your lack of defense is horrifying, and it's probably a pain in the ass to take you anywhere because you need someone to constantly guide you so you don't get lost," she fired off without skipping a beat, pausing to look at him while putting together another skewer. "Sound about right?"
Ignis wavered, unable find the words to respond. The kitchen fell awkwardly quiet and Aranea turned back to assembling more skewers. Ignis was surprised when she spoke again, assuming her small tirade was all she had to say. "What they don't see right now is your passion to help them. They don't see how eager you are to get back out there in preparation for the Prince to return and they definitely don't see how well you're doing so far, all things considered." She paused for a moment to finish the rest of the skewers and turned the stove on, dropping a small amount of oil into the pan and letting it heat up. A nod from Ignis told her to put the skewers in the pan and they immediately began to sizzle.
She wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel before continuing. "I say just give them more time and they'll eventually come around. They're scared of you and perhaps scared for you. What happened to you wasn't fair, but you're not the only one affected by it. Keep that in mind, alright?"
Ignis gave a half-smile and shifted his weight. "You're a wise woman, Miss Highwind."
"Tell me something I don't know."
The smell of the skewers permeated the room and made the two of them salivate ravenously. Ignis, back to leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, counted out the minutes in his head, waiting for the right moment to take them off the stove. Too soon and they'd be raw in the middle; too long and they would burn. That was the thing with cooking—it was an art that required the utmost skill to pull off the perfect dish. All the cooking trial and error he experienced over the years taught Ignis that.
The pan popped angrily as the oil sizzled under the meat and peppers. "Alright, you can turn the skewers over now."
"Why don't you do it?" she suggested.
He tensed up and shook his head, stuttering for an excuse. "Oh, that's ok. This is your dish. I'm just here to— "
"Nonsense. Give me your hand." It sounded like a suggestion but it was more of a command as she snatched his hand from between his crossed arms and, with her hand on top of his, guided him to the sticks of the skewers. She repressed a giggle as he stiffly moved under her grip, rotating each skewer awkwardly. He was visibly nervous but made no effort to move away. Instead, he continued to stand over the hot stove with cheeks tinged strawberry-pink.
"Between helping me cut everything and now this, I think you severely underestimate yourself," she whispered, finally removing her hand from his but remaining close. She watched him with interest and it was all he could do not to turn away from her stare, feeling her eyes on him. He breathed in to slow his racing heart but instead picked up on the faintest notes of jasmine and orchid coming from her hair. It was a beautiful, intoxicating scent, one he hadn't noticed before with her.
He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, taking a half-step to the side. "They're almost done," he rasped, clearing his throat again to rid the lump in it. He chalked it up to nerves from being over the stove for the first time in a long while. It had nothing to do with Aranea, the way her hand so casually rested on his, how she smelled of dark florals, or how she vacillated between grumpy one minute and carefree the next. No way.
"Perfect timing because I'm starving. I'm going to eat my own arm in two seconds if I have to wait any longer."
Ignis let the skewers sit for a few more minutes to ensure they were thoroughly cooked through before removing them from the heat and placing them on the plate that Aranea so generously handed to him. He warned her to wait until they were cooled before trying to eat them as he gathered up the pan, the cutlery, and the cutting board and dumped them into the sink for cleaning.
"Don't you want any?" she asked right before taking a bite of the still-steaming meat, hissing and cursing as it painfully burned the roof of her mouth.
He smirked and refrained from saying 'I told you so', blindly scrubbing and cleaning the dishes with scalding, soapy water. Without a dishwasher, using near-boiling water to clean the dishes in the sink was the only way he felt comfortable in getting rid of any residual bacteria on the cookware and utensils. He'd built up a tolerance to the high heat of the water, so it didn't nearly affect him as much as it did when he was younger. Still, the sting of the water smarted his hands and he wondered if it was karma for wanting to gloat his propensity for being right.
As he scrubbed and cleaned the dishes, Ignis felt Aranea's presence beside him with her plate in her hand. He paused to look in her direction. "Did everything come out alright? Is there something wrong?"
"Open your mouth."
He raised a cautious eyebrow and shook his head, wondering if he heard her wrong. "I . . . I'm sorry, what?"
"Well, I certainly wasn't the only one to make this and you still need to eat. Come on, I'll feed you a piece," she innocently insisted with a hidden layer of mischievousness underlying her words. The mix of jasmine and orchid made him go weak again as Aranea leaned in, pulling a piece of Anak meat from the stick. His heart felt like it would pound right out of his chest but he obliged, parting his lips slowly as she placed the food in his mouth.
He forced himself to chew, his head swimming from the intimate act. He heard Aranea chuckle as she pulled a piece of pepper from the skewer. "See? It's good, isn't it? We make a great team."
He wanted so badly to say something and put an end to whatever this was, but he continued to stand there like a complete idiot, cheeks growing redder by the second. "I can . . . ah . . . you know I can get my own plate and . . . um . . . I can feed myself."
"I know, but where's the fun in that?"
With his hands still submerged in the once-scalding, now-lukewarm dishwater, she put the piece of pepper to his lips and he tentatively ate that as well. "You're getting far too much merriment out of this, aren't you?" he deadpanned, not wanting to admit that he was having a little fun, too. Only a little.
"Maybe, but only because I'm learning how cute you are when you're flustered," she huskily breathed.
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," he returned just as gruffly, finding himself playing into her game.
A smile formed across her lips as she reached up to feed him again. "Sure, you don't."
While they were caught up in the moment, they missed a figure standing, jaw dropped, in the room, watching them. "Uh, guys? What's . . . going on?"
Aranea and Ignis jumped, startled by the intrusion. Prompto's eyes were wide with surprise at the scene he stumbled onto; Aranea leaned in dangerously close with her fingers perched right at Ignis' lips and Ignis looking like he, surprisingly, enjoyed it. On Prompto's exclamation, however, Ignis choked down the food in his mouth and quickly returned to scrubbing dishes, mortified, while Aranea gave the blonde a crocodilian smile.
"Well, I'll take that as my cue to be on my way. Thanks for dinner, Four-Eyes." She snaked by Prompto with her plate of skewers in hand, brushing his shoulder with her own, leaving the two men alone in the room as she returned to hers down the hall.
"Prompto," Ignis began, harsher than he meant to, "you're home early." Ears burning, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. Melt into the ground. Teleport anywhere else on Eos but here. He silently begged Prompto to ignore whatever it was that he thought happened, but that was like asking the sun to come up again.
"Yeah . . . Cor took over guard duty for the rest of the night and brought Iris with him. But, Iggy? Wanna explain what that was all about?"
"To be honest, Prompto, your guess is as good as mine," he feigned ignorance as he began to place the clean dishes in the next basin.
"Mmmhmmm, well you seemed to be enjoying whatever that was."
Please stop talking. Please leave me alone. For the love of Ramuh and Shiva and Bahamut and the rest of the Six, please go away.
Prompto's finger prodded Ignis in the side and Ignis scowled back at him. "Do you have a crruuussshhhh?" he asked in a sing-song voice.
"I can assure you that, whatever you think you saw, was most certainly not in any way, shape, or form, signaling an attraction between either of us. She was hungry and we had all that food from Cindy that we brought back from Hammerhead. I was merely being a considerate host."
"Oh yes, because most considerate hosts allow their guests to tease them provocatively with food. I must have missed that when I took Home Ec in high school, but thank the Gods you're here to let me know!"
Ignis flicked some water toward Prompto in a last-ditch effort to get him to go away. He protested and slapped the advisor on the arm in retaliation. "Alright already, I'll stop . . . for now. But Gladio's going to flip a shit when he hears about this!"
Ignis' face shot up upon hearing this and he abandoned the sink to chase Prompto, who was now howling with laughter as he bolted to the door and down the hall, away from his would-be assailant. "What do you expect? You know I'm the worst at keeping secrets!"
Author's Note: Ahhhhh! I loved writing this chapter. New hairstyle for Iggy, learning how to cook while blind, and Aranea unabashedly flirting with him. It made me smile :)
Also, who is excited for the new DLC coming out on Tuesday? I'm going to try really hard to get the next chapter out on time, but please don't hate me if I lapse a day because I'll be playing the new Chapter 13 and Episode Gladio. I've been really looking forward to this new content.
Thanks again so much for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. Especially after the week that I had, they really made my day! I can't wait to hear how you feel about this chapter :D