Each scar was worth it. A memory earned alongside his brothers, defending them. Many of them were silver now, or a faded pink while some were still a vibrant red, showing recent hurts. The scars under his skin were deeper and few of those were healed to silver. Ignis had long since grown used to the numbing effect that deep pain afforded him, but having Noctis there, his voice a soft brush of air against his lips, was a salve he had no idea how much he'd needed.

There was a soft groan of relief when he kissed those words away, his fingers trembling as they mapped out the line of Noctis' jaw and down the side of his neck only to settle over his pulse, as if he had to remind himself that yes, he really was there. It wasn't a fantasy or a nightmare, like so many other nights that the young king had come to Ignis. He was there, his skin warm under Ignis' hands as he coaxed the kiss deeper and deeper.

If Noctis wanted him to have him, then he would.