[ Ignis has one hand on the edge of the table (his knees are supporting most of his weight, so they're not going to collapse it .....yet, at least) and the other loosely settled around one of Noct's hips; he is, unsurprisingly, amenable to Noct doing whatever he wants with them, curls his palm idly upwards to skim the inside of slim wrist with one thumb. In an absurd flight of philosophical fancy it strikes him that what he's really feeling, in the rush of blue veins, is Noct being alive; as a conceit it's spectacularly beyond malnutrition in terms of romance. Ignis elects not to give voice to it, because then he'd probably have to fling himself into the ocean or similar. Instead he picks up Noct's hand and brushes his mouth across the same little lines; it's nearly as ridiculous, just not verbally so. ]

Poetics are apparently not my strongest suit.

[ A little self-deprecating, but comfortably. Ignis is aware of the things he does well and cultivates those, rather than insecurity regarding the things he doesn't. In this case he's managed to rescue breakfast and make Noct laugh in the same minute; if that's not a win he doesn't know what is. Anyway, at least he won't be attempting to write sonnets, since ultimately the prince could expect more of the same. Eyes as blue as this one set of dishes Ignis liked in a store once, et cetera et cetera.

If he notices the flush he doesn't comment on it, considering the heat bubbling merrily away under his own skin it would hardly be fair. On which note his eyes drop shut a moment, then open to seek Noct's gaze in some easy marriage of intent and wry. ]

While I have you, on the topic of romance--

[ emphasis on the second syllable, because that's how Ignis' accent goes ]

Much as I enjoy our forays into, ah, carpe noctem*, as it were, perhaps we might try for avenues less capricious. I'm certain I could concoct Official Sounding reasons to steal you away.

(as opposed to diem, because seize the noct, get it; ignis is so very very clever)