& both still pine for the other's side spine

[igniscent]

In the larger scheme of things, not all that much has changed since they started utilizing every spare moment to try to get under each other's clothing. (Their definition of spare time continues to differ wildly, as a for instance.) Most of what makes them up is so routine Ignis wouldn't know how to stop doing it if he wanted to--he still makes Noct's schedule, does his laundry, badgers him about eating the odd item not mostly composed of sodium, and when Prompto isn't available to walk with for whatever reason, drives him to school.

Holding hands in the car on the way there is new, of course. As are all the times the prince has tried to convince Ignis to pull over somewhere on the way home for purposes of frantic kissing; to date he has succeeded twice.

Will he succeed in similar endeavors today? Oh, the suspense.

Driving being faster than walking, even with city traffic, Ignis is entirely unsurprised to discover, upon letting himself in, zero signs to indicate the Noct has so much has stirred from his bed, let alone his room, let further alone done anything that would contribute towards readiness. The sigh this induces, as he engages in his usual shoes-off jacket-off ritual at the door, should probably be less fond, but look. Ignis knows what he is. As such, he just pads back to the bedroom, where, upon glimpsing the sliver of his majesty available sticking out of the top of his fusscave, Ignis' heart does something lurchy, as if a fist closing around it could be pleasant.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping a little under its weight, and sifts fingers through black hair, not even particularly intended to wake, just to touch. It can't even have been a full day since they saw each other, but Ignis aches for him, all the time, this low throb he was already used to living with. Which makes it absolutely no easier when the smallest things bring it flaring into overwhelming light.

"Noct." Quieter than it might otherwise be, but Ignis at this point has leaned over to brush sleep-warm hair away from shut eyes; he's distracting himself a little. "Rise and shine, love."

He's just using the idiom for his own amusement, honestly. Can Noct still get annoyed with it when coupled with quasi-compulsive endearment? Let's find out!

you're so far, so far, so far away from me;

[innoctuous]

The first few days, he'd somehow managed to convince himself he would be okay; a month wasn't long at all, in the grand scheme of things, especially when it came down to the thought of how much of Ignis' time the prince would command on his return. It was an easy thing to distract himself with, because he has never been anything but possessed of a vivid imagination, and those first few nights he'd spent alone had been passed with the touch of his own hands and that willful imagination, and it. Had seemed like enough.

At the end of the first week, he'd managed to convince himself that he was going to perish before Ignis returned. Days were already long enough with classes and the ( fucking ridiculous ) itinerary his chamberlain had left for him in his stead, and Noct — while he's been given to the notion that occasionally it might do him some good to catch up on things, to make an effort with his royal proceedings, he can't exactly find it in him to concentrate when all that passes through his mind are things like what are you doing and do you miss me and I kinda hate sleeping in this bed without you.

So, he gets an idea. One that he thinks is pretty fucking ace, and there is no hiding the smirk that spreads across his face when he thinks of it in the middle of the afternoon. When there are still a couple of hours of school left, and there's little more that he can do except to fidget in his seat and try to persevere.

Schoolbag and half of his school uniform are discarded the moment he reaches his room, the moment the door is closed behind him and his eyes settle on the shadows of the restraints he knows are hidden just beneath the covering of sheet and blanket. ( And duvet cover. And a few throw pillows. Because there is always extraneous need for decoration in the royal bedchamber, especially when it means adding to the covering up of one ( 1 ) set of under-the-bed restraints. ) The bed isn't made, of course, because he's never seen the point of making it if he's just going to mess it up all over again, and since Ignis is really the only one to set foot in his room for anything other than a routine, royal security check? In his advisor's absence, it means that bed is going to go unmade indefinitely, and he doesn't care.

Noct throws himself down into the plush linens with a satisfied sort of hum as he reaches for one of the restraints meant for his wrists, mouth pulling to the side in a bit of concentration as he situates it over his skin. Works it into place with nowhere near the sort of precision that Ignis would have boasted, but for all the effect it's sure to have, the effort is enough. Right. ( Right. )

It takes him a minute or two to get the angle right, but he somehow manages to snap a shot from overhead, barely more than a tuft of dark hair and almost equally dark eyes that make up the background to what he wants to be the center focus: that pale wrist encased in soft black leather, fingers curled in on themselves in the sheet beneath him. A simple enough thing, all things considered, but it's the text that accompanies it that might just be the kicker.

miss u ;)

It's a few hours, at the very least, before he gets a response — and a couple more before a call comes in, the familiar tone reaching his ears at the precise moment his eyes had drifted closed in a doze. The crowned prince of Lucis smirks when he picks up, and it's sure to be evident in the tone of his voice. "… Hey."