[ Ignis didn't even mean duty, this time. Not even a little. He meant - it was his own confession, worded in a way that wouldn't force Noctis to notice it, to pay attention to it, to change because of it, and, well. He is ready for it to be missed or ignored, as is already the case inside his mind.

Then, hands on his face, rougher than his own ever get because of the gloves, still soft. A pout. A pout that he's somebody the reason for, and Ignis squeezes his eyes for a moment to steel himself against the punch in his gut because of that. And... words.

Those words.

Ignis knows. Ignis knows what the essence of what he will be told is. Because there is really one thing that he would bring up those things to argue against, and it's already on his mind and he wants. He wants to ask Noct if he is sure, to tell him he doesn't have to, to, to--

(Don't guide him but let him find his own way.) (A pout.)

(A hope.)

Ignis wets his lips, not that it helps any, and meets the deep blue eyes again. ]

I will listen, yes.

[ He's not even aware that one of his hand is bunching Noctis's shirt and releasing it, oh so gently, as his hand folds and relaxes nervously. ]