With an artful flutter, as if on cue

[blindsider]

[ Ignis is, to put it bluntly, buggered.

He has managed his condition since it first developed, when he was studying in Altissia. This was a convenient place for the onset; he was able to go through all the creeping horror of realizing what had happened to him and discover what he needed to do without it impacting on his performance in any way. By the time he’d returned home it was all under control, and while the honourable thing to do would have been to resign his position and never have contact with the royal family again, he can’t bring himself to do it. He’ll never harm Noctis or anyone associated with him, of course, and by this stage he’s so deeply in love with Noct and so devoted that he simply can’t bring himself to do it.

So he manages. It’s actually relatively easy to find a ready source of human blood, and he needs only a very small amount of it to continue performing at a level equal to that he’d always displayed. Easy enough, too, to tidily conceal a number of vials for their road trip, and his tendency to rise before the others means it’s simple enough to mix a little into his morning coffee and have nobody any wiser.

And then, because nothing can go smoothly on this trip, apparently, they get the Regalia back from the Empire and his supply is gone. He should have had Noct stow it in the armiger, really, but the thought that he’d discover it and ask difficult questions was too much. He reasons with himself that all he needs to do is wait until they land somewhere more densely populated and he can find a was to solve the issue discreetly, but that’s proving harder than he imagined. Between attacks and hunts and delays along the way, he feels worse and worse until it’s nearly unbearable. He starts making stupid mistakes in fights, has to leave Noct in charge of driving (it becomes bad enough that eventually he agrees to letting Prompto take the wheel) and every car ride, every night in the tent, every evening clustered around a table together is like torture. He can smell all of them, alive and vital and delicious. They don’t smell like food, not exactly, but with Ignis as prone to compiling recipes based on tasting similarities as he is, he can’t help but make the association. If they were wine Gladio would be a deep, rich Accordan red, Prompto something fresh and crisp like a sauvignon blanc – and Noctis. Oh, Noctis. Ignis had been present for King Regis’ 50th birthday and all the celebrations associated. There had been champagne, a famous vintage that was so prized as to be completely unavailable for purchase; it was only ever given as a gift, and only to the most important figures. It had been the most splendid thing Ignis had ever tasted, and it’s Jetty’s compared to the scent that billows from Noctis.

He cracks when they’re camping one night. Noctis rolls over in his sleep, bringing him painfully close to Ignis and in such a way that his head is tipped back, all the pale glory of his throat revealed, so close Ignis swears he can hear Noct’s pulse. So he flees. Leaves the tent taking only his daggers, leaves the haven. It seems inadvisable to try and drink from a demon, but it takes him a terribly long time to find an animal given the demonic presence in the area. He settles eventually on a rat; disgusting, yes, but al least not cute enough for him to have to look Noctis in the eye and know that his soft, animal-lover’s heart would be wounded by the knowledge of Ignis killing something sweet and trusting. It’s bugger of a thing to catch with his reflexes dulled as they are -

and then he vomits up all the blood in any case, rendering the whole endeavor useless.

His only option is to disappear. It will ache to do, and perhaps when the matter is resolved he can return and apologize, but the thought of it still hurts enough that he returns to the very border of the haven to look at the tent and regret his folly before he goes.

Which is another mistake, because that gives him the opportunity to see Noctis poking his head out of the tent, calling his name, and for Noct to see him in return.

Damn it all. ]

Comments

[linkstrike]

[ noctis has known ignis for a very long time.

and that means it's easy enough for him to sense that something is up, even though ignis is very good at concealing whatever it is. he's been sloppy in fights, and while it might be easy enough to wave that away as weariness, the idea of ignis being sloppy about anything makes it a glaring concern. and then there's the fact that he's been keeping a sort of distance from all of them -- there's a sudden lack of gentle touches to noct's shoulder or little instances of fussing over some wrinkle in his clothing, and there's a night when noctis stirs half-awake from a nightmare and attempts to roll into the comforting warmth of ignis' body heat only to find that the man nudges him carefully away mere moments after.

it... stings. to think that there's something wrong with ignis, and that ignis thinks he has to hide it from him. but! it's ignis' choice, in the end, and that keeps noctis from pressing the issue.

until one night when noctis is stirred awake by the loss of ignis' reassuring warmth at his side, and decides in a drowsy haze that he needs to look for him. it's the middle of the night -- the only illumination comes from the moon and the faint magic glow of the haven, and the only sounds are gladio's snoring and the faint song of crickets in the grass. definitely not an hour to be up and stirring, even for an early riser like ignis.

... huh. ]

Specs? [ scrubbing at one of his eyes, stepping the rest of the way out the tent to keep from waking up gladio or prompto. ] You okay? S'not even dawn.