[ Noct's expression makes Ignis somewhat abruptly and crashingly aware he is, if possible, now even more attuned to the prince's little hurts and disappointments; it won't do at all to dwell now, there's nothing to be done, but he chances a quick, hard squeeze of hands before they're out of reach, passable vision owlish as he fixes it on midnight blue. ]
You would say such things when I can hardly relish hearing them.
[ A little teasing, fond and wry, but--Ignis' gaze turns intent as he reaches up to put Noct's hair to rights as best it can be; that's probably a thing no one would bat an eye at coming upon, given the constant fuss over the entire group's tendency to become disheveled just by standing downwind of dirt. The focus on Ignis' face owes less to fastidiousness than it does to laser-focused affection, of course, but that's probably a mutable conceit at the best of times. He brushes a mostly imaginary smudge from Noct's cheekbone and steps back himself, puts palpable distance between them with a little sigh. ]
Soon, I promise. As soon as we can manage.
[ Actually verbalizing I promise is fairly extraneous, Noctis knows what it sounds like when he makes those, formally or not. He leans with excessive nonchalance by one hip next to the stove, fiddling with his own hair unconsciously before his expression goes all wide and quasi-alarmed, since. You know, his glasses are still sitting over there on the folding table. A quick, sharp gesture for them - thank you, Noct, you're a gentleman and a scholar - and he looks relatively himself, if not a little less terminally even-keeled than usual. Color slightly high, eyes a little brighter; he can only attest to either of these because he can see them on Noctis, a fact he will take no small satisfaction in for how well-concealed any smugness on his part might be. ]
no subject
You would say such things when I can hardly relish hearing them.
[ A little teasing, fond and wry, but--Ignis' gaze turns intent as he reaches up to put Noct's hair to rights as best it can be; that's probably a thing no one would bat an eye at coming upon, given the constant fuss over the entire group's tendency to become disheveled just by standing downwind of dirt. The focus on Ignis' face owes less to fastidiousness than it does to laser-focused affection, of course, but that's probably a mutable conceit at the best of times. He brushes a mostly imaginary smudge from Noct's cheekbone and steps back himself, puts palpable distance between them with a little sigh. ]
Soon, I promise. As soon as we can manage.
[ Actually verbalizing I promise is fairly extraneous, Noctis knows what it sounds like when he makes those, formally or not. He leans with excessive nonchalance by one hip next to the stove, fiddling with his own hair unconsciously before his expression goes all wide and quasi-alarmed, since. You know, his glasses are still sitting over there on the folding table. A quick, sharp gesture for them - thank you, Noct, you're a gentleman and a scholar - and he looks relatively himself, if not a little less terminally even-keeled than usual. Color slightly high, eyes a little brighter; he can only attest to either of these because he can see them on Noctis, a fact he will take no small satisfaction in for how well-concealed any smugness on his part might be. ]