#regaelia

#R E G A E L I A & #S T A R S H E L !

              𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐍, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌.    they 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸, and ignis feels peace as he sits beside his only friend. though raised to look after the prince, 𝗱𝘂𝘁𝘆  did not create a wall that kept them from a close kinship, sneaking out long past any curfew they were given to stare up into the 𝙫𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙠𝙮. small hands are intertwined, childhood  𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎  still blossoming between them - 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬.   ignis turns his smile away from the night sky, and glances at their tangled fingers.  ‘  you’re my  𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱,  noctis.  ‘  there is brightness both in his eyes and his voice, as if the stars had lit him up themselves. a 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀 is pressed to the back of nocts hand, where he’d scraped it during a fall earlier that week.  𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, before someone realizes they’re gone  -  but at least for the moment, ignis isn’t worried.

                                                          [ . . . ]

              𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍  that he sees noct without a shirt. he spends his days spinning around him, collecting notes from meetings and schoolwork that still needed completing. part of him wants to be hard on noct, for the way the work has piled itself into a 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 on his desk. but he remembers months ago, when he’d been too harsh. he remembers the moments of regret, his head laid tiredly against the steering wheel as he tried to find the right way to go about things. ignis is, at times, 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 with his words. not often does he speak with his heart, mind instead overtaking. 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁. but here and now, noctis stands in front of him, a striking line of scar tissue trailing along his spine. something pangs in ignis’ chest, and suddenly, the work he’s collected for noct seems as though 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵. the press of ignis’ lips to barren, cold skin is ever so brief ; a fleeting moment  NOT  to be spoken of. it’s ever so reminiscent of how they were as children, open and free about affection. there’s no room for that now. he moves on quickly after the touch, working steadily to put together something for dinner. he thinks, just this once, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘷𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵.

                                                          [ . . . ]

              𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒. he knew what he had signed up for, all those years ago when he’d shook noctis’ hand as children. they were both so 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜, and through years growing together, devotion had blossomed with great strength within ignis’ chest. there is nothing he would not do for noct. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. and now there was proof, the skin around his eye red and splotchy with still-healing injury. it seems, more often than not these days, he finds himself simply stuck thinking. he’s lost the freedom to roam, to find comfort in a second of solitude. constantly, he requires help, prompto’s hand at his back or noctis’ voice ahead of them, guiding him along the path.   𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢.   he would not change his decision, yet still mourns the loss of his capability. he has half a mind to jump when hands suddenly gently hold the line of his jaw, but he recognizes the touch, as its been felt so many times before. the soft press of noctis’ lips below ignis’ scarred eye lingers for a moment, and the air between them feels heavy, dark and sad. he does not speak, but his fingers wrapping softly around noct’s wrist says all that lingers in his mind :  𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝘼𝙉𝙔𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙔𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂. 𝘼𝙇𝙒𝘼𝙔𝙎.

𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴:   𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶

   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐎’𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒...   that were never intended.   part of him has always known he never belonged,  not to lucis,  not to his parents,  𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙮 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡 & 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙮 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨.  he didn’t belong to the streets he memorized by the age of seven,  or even the park he’d find himself photographing over & over despite having pictured every last square foot, years ago.  𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌,  that knowing but not quite knowing, always put a wall up between prompto and everyone else.  he felt his brand  𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏, 𝒂𝒏 𝒖𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓  that would scare anyone who saw it, far- far away.  

yet,  𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩.  noct gave him what prompto had always wanted since he was aware he’d never belonged to anywhere or anyone.  𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐  in his heart that spread from lung to the source of the butterflies in his belly.  he was everything prompto wanted without realizing it, and once he did, his fear became an all encompassing thing that  𝖎𝖓𝖛𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖉  both thoughts & dreams in their early friendship.  

he would lose noctis, wouldn’t he?  he would lose ignis & gladio too, right?  sometimes, prom finds these thoughts to be debilitating–  crippling him as he stands   𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩,   fingers twitching to reach out and reassure himself, but never quite making the final step unless prompto found himself alone with noct–  tangled in blankets and bed sheets with nothing but he & his friend’s own breath   𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩.  

this afternoon was such a moment, 𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒅 while late afternoon sun sluggishly streamed in as a golden haze through partially closed curtains.  here, he could reach out and touch, dragging finger tips over the back of noctis’ hands, until those hands would be reaching out to take his own.  only where silence usually accompanied these   𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗,  it was as if noctis could read his mind–  peering into violet eyes to pry away every wall he’d crafted, just so that he could tell prom everything he needed to hear.

                                                                “  𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖙 ...  “

his reply is held a few moments, simmering on his tongue, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 too close to the prince’s mouth while their foreheads rest against one another.  the close proximity in which they share always seems too far these days, with the ever consuming need to touch   𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎  through prompto’s veins, starved of oxygen & searching for the only source it can see.  the prince.   

                                                      “ —  i... i–  i see you too. “

                                                   ‘   AND I YOU.  ‘ 

                voice stays firm and steady, trying to get the point firmly into noct’s skull. his decision may not have been favorable, but it had been necessary.    𝙖 𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩   - and so he had fought, and fought, and fought, dug in with every piece of ferocity hidden behind curtains of formality. and he was not weak. he had done enough for them both to be saved, noctis & prompto, be it at the cost of his eyes or not. he would make the same choice, a million times over, day and day again. there is no regret to be found in the depths of his mind. 

               large palms reach out, fumbling blindly to find purchase against familiar skin. once noctis is found, ignis holds his wrist gently, allowing him to pull away if he were to choose so.  for noctis to remain at his side, he’d give anything. for the chance to heal what had been broken between the two of them and prompto . . . he would do the same.  ‘  ignis takes a steadying breath, trying not to be unsettled by the darkness that had swallowed him whole.  ‘  we’ve bigger things to worry about than my eyes.  ‘  he tilts his head to the side, as if he could look to the other bed in the room, currently holding a smaller frame. he couldn’t see him, but he’d been told prompto lay there, still recovering from the worst of his wounds. blessedly, still alive.  𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮’𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩.

  𝚁𝙴𝙱𝙴𝙻 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚂𝙴,  as quickly pushed into unsuspecting arms,  prompto finds the bouquet pressed flush to his face–  hiding it amongst a bustle of reds & oranges, of carnations & wild roses, babies breath & white caspia.   𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕, prompto soon learns as he shuffles the bundle of flowers carefully into his other hand so that it might rest against his breast bone instead.  the 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 that noctis, while he hadn’t taken much care in assembling the bouquet, had indeed thought of thorns instead   ( 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧’𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 where others might have thought the prince would forget )    brought a blush to his face, albeit cleverly hidden into the bouquet.  violet eyes managing to express just as much ecstaticisity, as did the smile hidden beneath the collar of his 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 uniform.  

                             “  r ... really ? ( a crack in his voice, 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 )  thanks, man!  “

@regaelia's : noctis lucis caelum liked for a starter from, prompto argentum.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤETCHED INTO PROMPTO'S EYELIDS ARE HORRORS ! unable to escape, he sees them every time he closes his eyes. even now, despite the ache he feels to close them and let the lull of the running bathroom sink soothe him, he refuses. the thrum of his blood and the looming threat of verstael's ghost revisiting him, keeping him awake enough to stare at himself in the mirror. should he see an MT staring back at him... well, it'd be no ones business but his own. it didn't matter anyways— because his reflection was true. each body under those suits of armor was just a twisted version of his own; each one once a little blond boy, just as scared as he used to be.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤA SUDDEN KNOCK !