serious minds, tender hearts

Hartentia | 3.1k | Domestic fluff & sadistic cats | meaningful use of the name Squall

Ignis’ eyes go wide, and his skin goes milky pale. “I forgot something,” he sounds terrified, his usually refined voice full of audible dread. “Oh, god, I forgot something, didn’t I?” Or, Leon, Ignis, reflecting on events passed, a cat, chaos, and being in love.

Read it here.

questions compiled by @scarcrossed :)

who hogs the duvet: IGNIS, but not always exactly on purpose. leon is a space heater, so oftentimes the duvet ends up dumped on him involuntarily. ignis usually runs a bit cold though, so he doesn’t really mind.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: DEPENDS. generally, there’s not a bunch of small talk-like prompts between them— their texts mostly consist of planning and coordinating, as well as pictures of freshly made food and places they traveling through when they’re apart. if one catches the other in a bad mood before they part ways for the day, that’s when they’ll send a check up text.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: THEY’RE RATHER EVEN ON THIS— both are attentive and thoughtful, but their methods of presentation aren’t extravagant. they tend to stick to practical items and small indulgences like well crafted pieces of jewelry or a fresh bouquet of flowers.

who gets up first in the morning: NATURALLY— LEON, REALISTICALLY— IGNIS. ignis’ job often demands he is out of the door before leon. on off days though, ignis could sleep till noon. leon gets up naturally at least an hour before then. likely to bring him breakfast (lunch?) in bed.

who uses more terms of endearment: IGNIS, by a long shot. ‘darling’ and ‘love’ and ‘beastie’ and ‘lee’ and so many more spoil leon’s ears and heart rotten. leon sticks to ‘igs’ for the most part, which is very endearing in it’s own right; no one calls ignis ‘igs’ except leon.

who cries at movies: NEITHER, though artistic media tends to visibly draw more emotions out of ignis than they do leon. primarily because leon habitually stifles emotional reactions to avoid ridicule. he’s gotten better about that though.

who gives unprompted massages: LEON, because ignis’ shoulders won’t relax on their own accord. ignis prefers not to be touched like that by anyone that isn’t close to him either— he would never book anything for himself with an actual massage therapist.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: IT’S NOT A MATTER OF WHO DOES AND DOESN’T FUSS, it’s a matter of who is fussier. and it’s ignis. checking temperature, enforcing bedrest, making soup from scratch. leon is just as attentive, but most effective when he’s told what to do, rather than attempting to anticipate wants or needs.

who gets jealous easiest: HARD TO SAY. neither? both? frustration over losing the other to working hours hits each half equally, and that’s about it.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: LEON, in the sense that he can enjoy bad pop music that comes on the radio when ignis cannot stand it.

who collects something unusual: IT WASN’T VERY UNUSUAL WHEN HE WAS A TEENAGER, but leon never passes up the opportunity to collect new triple triad cards. ignis doesn’t exactly discourage it either. if anything, he’s an enabler and an encourager of leon pursuing this lifelong joy.

10.2k | Leon/Ignis

The thing they don’t tell you about people like Ignis— people who have everything under control all the time— is that stuff inevitably slips through the cracks. People like Ignis have people like Leon behind them, catching what they can’t in their endless pursuit of perfection.

Continued from HERE

The trip to his bed had been a blur; an uncomfortable must of motion that he could have done by himself. Squall could have slumped along on autopilot until reaching his room. He didnt need help. He didn’t need someone like Ignis to coddle him, but…

Hyne,

...those fingers felt good as they graced his burning brow. They were cool and compassionate and willing to sacrifice their time for his comfort. This was love. This was what it felt like to be loved. Having Ignis hover above his bed was completely different than being monitored by a physician or examined by an anxious instructor.

It was sincere.

Ignis' concern was consistent and unconditional. Squall hooked an arm over the man's shoulders and pulled him down, into the heat of his fever where his delirium could be passed through a gentle brush of lips. He kissed his caretaker. He connected with closed lashes and raised his free hand to fondle the edge of Ignis' wilting collar. Squall had melted into the moment.

If the back of his hand hadn’t already sensed it, his lips confirmed Squall’s fever without a shred of a doubt. He couldn’t help but melt into it though, hand already cradling the side of his companion’s face from when he pet him in vain. Ignis propped himself on the elbow that had landed on the other side of Squall’s head, now hovering much closer than before.

“I hope whatever it is you have isn’t contagious…”

The gentle kisses began to spread like a pox on Squall’s skin; again on his lips, the side of his mouth, his cheek, temple, jaw, neck, til he was briefly satisfied— this desire had only plagued him every night for an uncountable while. Yearning is a powerful, dangerous disease. Sharing Squall’s warmth was a wonderful, honey-sweet reward.

“Because if it isn’t, next you’ll be taking care of me.”

Another kiss or two found it’s way down the side of Squall’s neck. All chaste, but impassioned all the same. Deeply, terrifyingly sincere.

He hadn't expected an extension of kisses, but greedily soaked up each impassioned peck that was offered. Squall had opened a sort of floodgate and, though the result made it (mildly) difficult to breathe, he'd gladly drown in its torrent. His mouth opened against revisiting lips and its eagerness was not unlike a starving baby bird's.

His face fell after Ignis' to catch stray kisses. He couldn't, but that was hardly a tragedy. This was more than he'd ever had and more than he knew what to do with. His fingers clamped into a knot around Ig's collar, absently demanding the other stay near.

The hall was crowded, but he managed to catch up with him. “Hey, Squall-“ Ignis stepped in front of his friend to stop him. Squall barely looked up to acknowledge his presence.

“No offense meant, but, you look… ill.” He was pallid, shoulders hanging more inward than usual. Ignis pressed the back of his hand to Squall’s forehead.

“No, you’re not.”

He could feel Squall sway on his feet, hear his labored breathing.

“Let’s go to the infirmary— I can’t tell if you’re febrile or not, but you’re showing plenty of other symptoms of malaise.”

Ignis dropped his arms to move beside him, and start steering him down the hall with an indisputable hand between his shoulders.

“-Squall, I know you. You’re not going to go if I don’t bring you.”

A sly smile broke at how stubborn Leonhart was being.

“ …. ”

Squall couldn’t argue. Would-be retorts burned above his tongue like bits of paper licked by flame. He expelled an angry breath, smokey evidence of a debate that had dissipated as readily as his ability to balance. He wilted over Ignis who remained a soft-spoken, steady source of support. And whose lecture was so clearly based on concern that it rang sweet.

Sweet, like his cologne- a luxury that was unique to him amid the halls of Balamb. Its fragrance was so airy that, for a moment, Squall imagined it could fan his fever away.

These were the frayed edges Ignis wasn’t supposed to see. They were off-putting, and left a clear crease between his brows.

“…Sure.”

He caught the arm that clung to his sleeve. He felt a bit guilty, after coming on so strongly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset—“

More words were meant to come out, but they’d be a waste in Squall’s state. Ignis’s hand travelled back from Squall’s arm to his shoulders, and he lead the way to Squall’s dorm.

———

By the time he returned, Squall hadn’t moved a muscle. Still fully clothed, curled up in palpable misery on top of his bedsheets. Ignis unloaded his small collection of food, water, and over-the-counter medication he set out to grab once he’d brought his friend back to his dorm, before sitting on the edge of bed. He wordlessly leaned over and brushed Squall’s bangs aside before checking his temperature again. Squall opened his eyes. He was burning up now. Ignis ran his knuckles along Squall’s cheek a few times, worried, apologetic affection impossibly trying to fix the discomfort his patient was in. Squall turned his face towards him now, into his hand.