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Ignis let his feet dangle, just this once, into the cold waters. It sent a shiver up his back, and he all but resisted the urge to pull his legs back up on the dock. He shifted the rod in his hands, slouching forward as he waited for something—anything—to bite.
He hadn’t much luck these days. Or rather, at all, if he was being honest.
There were a few fish pulled from the water back when Ignis first started coming down to the quay. But they were scant, and the few soon turned to nothing.
How long had it been since he picked up this little habit?
Far too long to be healthy, probably.
Ignis started his weekly migrations shortly after Noctis’s disappearance, and when everyone started their own migration to Lestallum. People came in, Ignis went out.
The ride to the faded resort always felt longer than it was, and he couldn’t ease the ache in his chest whenever he caught the scent of briny air. Ignis could never resolve whether it was a good ache, or a bad one that dredged up too many dark memories. Regardless, he went on these trips for a reason.
On the occasions where Prompto was dropping him off for the weekend, the blond would nervously offer to stay behind and accompany him, and Ignis would deny him every time. He knew Prompto’s attempt at comfort was well-intentioned, but he much preferred the silent grunt of acknowledgement from Cid, or the gruff, “see ya in a couple days” from Gladio. Sometimes, a passing hunter would greet him, and he would wave them off when they asked if he needed any assistance.
Here, alone in his thoughts, Ignis focused on fishing.
It wasn’t hot as he remembered, nor did he hear the warm, distant chatter of patrons at the Galdin Quay. The daylight was gone, the resort deserted and left covered in a layer of salt. There had been some faint telling of light in the beginning, but now the sky was darkened into an endless night. Ignis wondered why he kept returning, angling for now nonexistent fish.
He wondered, but he always knew why.
Just one more link to him, Ignis would reason. It made him feel just a little bit closer, a little bit more whole. The breeze that moved across his face reminded him of the hours spent standing in the sun behind his charge, listening to his quiet hum as he waited for a bite on his line. For the briefest of moments, Ignis could let himself imagine those honest blue eyes turning towards him in triumph with a successful catch.
And Ignis would feel that ache again, as he smiled back at the Noctis of his memories.
Ignis remembered when their journey began drawing closer towards Altissia, towards the Chosen King’s fate. Noctis grew more solemn, and Ignis could recall the draw of his shoulders whenever he looked in the Regalia's rear-view mirror. His conversations became more terse, his sentences clipped. And soon, Ignis had realized Noctis had stopped fishing.
Deep down, Ignis was aware his indulgence needed to end.
And eventually, Ignis stopped fishing, too.
♤
Ignis wondered why he returned to the edge of the water, listening to the waves lap gently against the sand and the wood creak beneath his shoes. The sun was just as hot as he remembered.
He always wondered, and yet he always knew. Even though his world was gone, Ignis cast a line and let himself imagine.