The bizarre timing is probably the other thing inducing just that splash of sheepishness; it hasn't been all that long since the much less complicated times when a chocobo stealing his glasses flustered Ignis to no end. He likes the events of his life well in hand, if not safely predictable; impulse simply does not strike him often. Rationally he knows that the world they inhabit, as well as his disability (though he oscillates back and forth on calling it that), means adaptability is key, and yet. Even with Noct, having suddenly crashed into the determination to reteach himself a skill he's had since he was ten--he's starkly aware that comprises an abrupt spike on the Ignis scale.
Extra reassurance is therefore, more than worth the time; a question mark pops over his expression when Noct takes his hand, smoothing out and out until his whole body visibly, palpably relaxes against the shape he can recognize, the smile curved like a cradle. He adjusts his hand inside Noct's just enough to tuck thumb and forefinger around his chin, expression sweetening so subtly it would take the prince's proximity and experience to discern it's changed at all, let alone all the flotsam and jetsam underneath, the little twist a prelude to a moment of quiet, instead of the thicket of not particularly adequate responses all tangled up on his tongue.
Maybe that's just a moment of shock that they might have a pepper, though. There's a beat where Ignis clearly comes close to saying something, then strikes whatever it was to square up his shoulders and thumb Noct's lower lip before their foreheads touch again, functional eyelid closing. Actual vocalization doesn't come until he's tipped back, releasing Noct's chin and backing carefully up the step it takes for the counter to line along the small of his back. Because otherwise maybe they'll just kiss in the kitchen for an hour, and it would be all too easy, Ignis is aware, to retreat to something he's confident he excels at, after two years of practice.
"If you intend to remain amongst the waking I could use your help," he finally says, after a space that seemed like throat clearing despite the audible lack of it. It's not as if he hasn't solicited a pair of extra hands many times in their acquaintance, it's just that in this case the request wanted to emerge apologetically, tinged with shame that Noct is pressed to live with, care for someone who needs so much. It's probably a tossup as to which of them hates the idea more, even if suppressing it is as constant for Ignis as pushing down all the world's guilt is for Noct.
After a moment the feeling passes, Ignis' knuckles going white on the counter with it and then flooding pink with new circulation, his mouth quirking in unforced dry humor. "Starting with the pepper that enthuses you so."
A list of 'also, whatever they have in the fridge that they will both eat and would be good in an omelette' goes here, for ease of convenience.
no subject
Extra reassurance is therefore, more than worth the time; a question mark pops over his expression when Noct takes his hand, smoothing out and out until his whole body visibly, palpably relaxes against the shape he can recognize, the smile curved like a cradle. He adjusts his hand inside Noct's just enough to tuck thumb and forefinger around his chin, expression sweetening so subtly it would take the prince's proximity and experience to discern it's changed at all, let alone all the flotsam and jetsam underneath, the little twist a prelude to a moment of quiet, instead of the thicket of not particularly adequate responses all tangled up on his tongue.
Maybe that's just a moment of shock that they might have a pepper, though. There's a beat where Ignis clearly comes close to saying something, then strikes whatever it was to square up his shoulders and thumb Noct's lower lip before their foreheads touch again, functional eyelid closing. Actual vocalization doesn't come until he's tipped back, releasing Noct's chin and backing carefully up the step it takes for the counter to line along the small of his back. Because otherwise maybe they'll just kiss in the kitchen for an hour, and it would be all too easy, Ignis is aware, to retreat to something he's confident he excels at, after two years of practice.
"If you intend to remain amongst the waking I could use your help," he finally says, after a space that seemed like throat clearing despite the audible lack of it. It's not as if he hasn't solicited a pair of extra hands many times in their acquaintance, it's just that in this case the request wanted to emerge apologetically, tinged with shame that Noct is pressed to live with, care for someone who needs so much. It's probably a tossup as to which of them hates the idea more, even if suppressing it is as constant for Ignis as pushing down all the world's guilt is for Noct.
After a moment the feeling passes, Ignis' knuckles going white on the counter with it and then flooding pink with new circulation, his mouth quirking in unforced dry humor. "Starting with the pepper that enthuses you so."
A list of 'also, whatever they have in the fridge that they will both eat and would be good in an omelette' goes here, for ease of convenience.