The conviction that it barely matters Noct's reappearance and the return of the sun turned out to be less intrinsically linked than prophesied is, to be sure, not popular opinion; Ignis certainly wishes it were so (though--were he aware of the cost that might waver), and yet. If he could have one or the other he knows what he'd choose, which may be the single most selfish certainty he's ever allowed himself, especially on the grounds that were the dawn to return significantly less would change for Ignis. What set his world spinning back on an axis that made sense happened a year ago. In some ways that's selfish too; he knows what feels like failure hurts Noct, whereas Ignis himself is more inclined to blame whatever, or whoever decided to put that insane plan into motion in the first place.
Meanwhile. It's never a bad idea to announce oneself with input Ignis can actually process (the number of times he's nearly injured someone who startled him is ...higher than he'd like), even if generally he's more than used to the collection of sounds that typically accompany Noct's doings. In the midst of dragging out a skillet, more mixing bowls than he actually needs - more everything than he actually needs, really - various utensils, however, he doesn't consciously register the young man's presence before he speaks. As per usual and as will be, to Ignis' understanding, forever, he stops what he's doing, gravitating toward Noct's voice like a sunflower.
Of course, that also means he completely disregards why the counter is covered with things (notably, arranged in very specific lines from largest to smallest) for a moment, reaching out to settle a hand on Noct's waist, very sightly high of his mark at first. "Apologies, love."
Rueful, but with a lemony twist of humor; he is mildly embarrassed only because: "I suspect I've been causing rather more ruckus than I realized, ah--waking you wasn't among my intentions."
He touches their foreheads together because he can, because when a person can get that he should remind himself as often as possible, then steps back enough to aim his eye in Noct's general direction. "All this is... well. Perhaps an exercise in futility, but I thought I might attempt a simple culinary endeavor. An omelette, if we've any vegetables in the house."
Despite that gentle little dig and sparkle of humor underneath it, this is probably the most apprehensive Noct has ever seen him looking when no one was slowly bleeding to death.
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Meanwhile. It's never a bad idea to announce oneself with input Ignis can actually process (the number of times he's nearly injured someone who startled him is ...higher than he'd like), even if generally he's more than used to the collection of sounds that typically accompany Noct's doings. In the midst of dragging out a skillet, more mixing bowls than he actually needs - more everything than he actually needs, really - various utensils, however, he doesn't consciously register the young man's presence before he speaks. As per usual and as will be, to Ignis' understanding, forever, he stops what he's doing, gravitating toward Noct's voice like a sunflower.
Of course, that also means he completely disregards why the counter is covered with things (notably, arranged in very specific lines from largest to smallest) for a moment, reaching out to settle a hand on Noct's waist, very sightly high of his mark at first. "Apologies, love."
Rueful, but with a lemony twist of humor; he is mildly embarrassed only because: "I suspect I've been causing rather more ruckus than I realized, ah--waking you wasn't among my intentions."
He touches their foreheads together because he can, because when a person can get that he should remind himself as often as possible, then steps back enough to aim his eye in Noct's general direction. "All this is... well. Perhaps an exercise in futility, but I thought I might attempt a simple culinary endeavor. An omelette, if we've any vegetables in the house."
Despite that gentle little dig and sparkle of humor underneath it, this is probably the most apprehensive Noct has ever seen him looking when no one was slowly bleeding to death.