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It happens every day, except Sunday, like clockwork: at 12:35 on the dot, the chime over the bookshop door tinkles, and Ignis’ life is brightened by tufts of flaxen hair, freckles, and indigo eyes that contain galaxies. He’s greeted with a smile and carefully-made, piping hot sandwich from the tiny deli next door. In exchange, Ignis hands over a steamy cup of coffee from the espresso machine behind his counter, and his next book recommendation, free of charge. And then Prompto spins around, book and coffee in tow, back out of the door and back to the deli, leaving Ignis’ world dull and gray again.
Except.
Except, now, it’s currently 12:40, and Ignis hasn’t seen anyone in over an hour, and he’s bouncing his leg so fast that his smartwatch just congratulated him on reaching his activity goal for the day. His stomach grumbles, yearning for both the sandwich and the thin pale hand usually attached to it. He grumbles to himself, frowning as the vintage clock above him ticks away long seconds of loneliness.
“Perhaps he had to take the day off to attend to personal business,” Ignis muses. It’s true that he doesn’t see Prompto on Sunday, because his shop’s closed and Prompto’s off work that day anyway (or so he’s been told); but it’s still a break in his usual routine, because it’s Thursday, and if Ignis is anything, he’s a man of routine and habit.
“Silly to fret over this,” Ignis chastises himself. “Pining over someone who you see for barely five minutes every day.” He should know better, shouldn’t he? He should be old enough to get over silly schoolboy crushes...shouldn’t he?
The shop phone jolts him out of his weird self-deprecation cycle; Ignis fumbles for the wireless landline and hits the green button.
“Thank you for phoning Literary Libations ,” Ignis says smoothly. “Ignis speaking. How may I assist you?”
“Ignis?”
Ignis pauses, because he knows this voice. Only, it suddenly sounds like his sweet deli boy has swallowed several frogs, and inherited the lungs of a lifelong chainsmoker. “Prompto?”
“Yeah,” comes the croak from the other line. “Sorry, was sleepin’, I meant to call earlier but...” Prompto trails off into a coughing fit, and Ignis winces at the wet, raspy sound.
“You meant to call, as to inform me you wouldn’t meet at our usual time.” Ignis looks at the abandoned paper to-go cup and the newest trade paperback edition of the book he planned on giving to Prompto, resting sadly on the side of the checkout counter. His heart swells at Prompto’s thoughtful intentions, and his frazzles brain settles as he realizes that no, Prompto didn’t just suddenly lose interest in him.
If there’s any interest at all.
More coughing, then; “Yeah man, I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried.”
“For a moment, I was.” Ignis feels his face warm, finding his words flowing much more freely now that he’s not face-to-face with his crush. “I truly treasure our little shared moments. There’s nothing I love more than our lunchtime chats, and your delicious sandwich creation of the day.”
“Aw man, you’re makin’ me blush,” Prompto grunts, letting out a phlegmy laugh. “Which I don’t need to be doing, my fever was over a hundred this morning.”
Ignis startles. “Prompto. Have you been to the doctor?”
“Nah, I have some cough syrup here at home. It expired a month ago but I should be all right. Meats & Treats is a good place to work, but they don’t pay very much, and I haven’t seen a doctor in years.” He coughs again. “Man, I’m ramblin’. You probably didn’t want to know all of that.”
Ignis frowns. “Prompto, please listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I am going to recite my phone number, and you are going to text me your address. I am going to come collect you at once and bring you to the urgent care clinic, and I’m going to pay for it. And I am going to nurse you back to health.”
“Wha....what? Man you don’t gotta do all that, we barely know...” Prompto hacks up his lungs again, and Ignis is already closing out his cash register and striding to the door to flip his shop sign to closed .
“What nonsense. You won’t talk me out of this one. I won’t have you ill, hanging onto life by a thread and expired cough medicine. Not if I can help it.”
“I can pay you back--”
“Absolutely not,” Ignis says, pulling the key from his pocket and locking the shop from the inside. He flips the light switches by the door, and Literary Libations falls dark. He grabs his blazer on the back of his stool and recites his number, staying on the line until his personal cell phone buzzes with a chocobo emoji from a new number.
“Okay,” Prompto groans. “I guess I can’t stop you. But man, what a shitty way to actually spend time with you. You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I have a mask,” Ignis says, fumbling behind the shadowy counter for the box of medical-grade masks he keeps around for cleaning. “And when you’re feeling better, we can find less shitty ways of spending time together.”
There’s a long silence as Ignis hovers over the slim phone charger. “Prompto?”
“You mean...spend time together...outside of work?”
“I would like that very much,” Ignis says softly. “If that’s agreeable to you.”
“Yeah--” More coughing.
“I’m hanging up now,” Ignis says, swiping his phone. A new text notification has appeared with a local address a couple of miles away. “Please be presentable when I arrive, and don’t forget your wallet with all necessary identification.”
“I’ll shower real quick,” Prompto rasps. “I’m super gross.”
“And I like you anyway,” Ignis says, heart swelling. “I’ll hang up now, Prompto.”
“Ignis?”
“Yes?”
“...Thanks.”
“It is my pleasure.” Ignis smiles, says goodbye, and hangs up the landline, rushing out of his employee-only back door to go rescue the man of his dreams.