A/N: I'll be honest. I was kind of surprised/disappointed to not see a similar thing done already. Then I was kind of excited. Then I was really nervous because there are so many other writers who could have done it more justice. Oh, well...

It's like two weeks late, but I'm just happy to have finally finished a thing! And I might be a little bit proud of myself for only being two weeks late considering that I'm a painfully slow writer and have had work almost every day since the idea hit. But I really enjoyed writing it! Using Ignis' pov was a terrifying prospect at first, but it turned out to be a lot of fun! And so did writing Noct and Prompto from an outside pov.

So Happy Belated Mother's Day, and I hope you guys enjoy. :)

.

The Gratest

.

Ignis knows there's something going on the moment the prince snatches the shopping list from his grasp with one hand and yanks on his best friend's collar with the other.

"Come on, Prompto. We're going shopping."

Both of Ignis' eyebrows shoot up at the unsolicited offer. He all too vividly recalls the last time he'd asked Noctis to take up some sort of responsibility, and he'd been far from accommodating at the time. Grouchy, too. Even when taking into account that it was Noct.

"B-But! I wanted to—! I was gonna go and visit—"

"We'll go see Cindy after."

Prompto deflates then, with a pout, but the way he looks out toward the edge of town where the garage resides is proof enough that he hasn't completely surrendered himself to Noct's will just yet. Before he can offer a rebuttal, however, Noct takes hold of his bicep and tugs him nearer. Through his teeth, but not so quietly that Ignis can't make out his words, the prince says, "Remember that thing I needed your help with?"

The blond's blank expression is answer enough.

Noctis sighs in exasperation. "Remember? That thing we talked about? About...you know..." His voice fades away, and his head jerks ever so faintly in Ignis' direction, which is quite frankly a terrifying prospect as far as he's concerned. Ignis is just as strung out as the rest of them over the days of seemingly never ending driving and long hours confined to cramped quarters. He doesn't think he has it in him right now to handle whatever hijinx those two might be up to. At least not with his usual grace and patience.

Prompto still seems confused, though. His gaze drifts over towards Ignis before darting back to Noct, who lets his head hang in response, hand still gripping the blond's arm. It's almost amusing that the prince doesn't seem to realize he'd already given away who this little escapade is really about, but Ignis knows that it involves him, somehow, so he's the furthest from amused he can possibly be. A few moments later, Prompto's face lights up, and his mouth forms into a silent 'oh'.

"You mean the—?" He flaps one hand about in a manner that is entirely meaningless, most likely even to himself.

"Yeah."

"Kinda early, isn't it, bud? It's still like two weeks away." Ignis files that little tid bit away to ruminate on later.

"Eh," Noct says, lifting one shoulder in a blatant show of indifference. "Besides, I figure the earlier we get it, the more people we can have add to it."

Prompto looks utterly enraptured by the suggestion. "Oh my god, dude. That is the most excellent idea I've ever heard..."

"Yeah, I know."

The blond pulls away from Noctis with a snort, punching him in the arm before bounding passed him. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

It isn't the first conversation between the duo that Ignis has listened in on without any amount of comprehension whatsoever, but it is the first time he's listened to himself be spoken about without any amount of comprehension whatsoever. Usually when he's around for something like that, it's a childish display of passive-aggression that Ignis is not only expecting, but fully prepared to handle. So they don't even make it a handful of steps before the older brunet moves forward and says, "A word first, please. If you would."

His two younger companions skid to a stop on the asphalt, sharing a hesitant look with one another as they turn to face him.

"Might I ask what it is that has you so eager you're willing to do...my job, was it?" He crosses his arms and quirks a single brow to emphasize his suspicion. It has the intended effect. Noctis winces, shoulders hunching in something like guilt. It isn't that Ignis is upset about it—he'd been forced to learn long ago not to take his charge's bouts of petulance to heart—but he knows the prince needs the occasional nudge to help remind him to keep his temper in check.

"Yeesh," Prompto says, eyeing his friend in surprise. "Little harsh there, Noct. Don't you think?"

"I know." Noct rubs at the ridge of his brow with one hand, and his voice is remorseful when he continues, "Look. It was a rough morning. I'm not proud of it. I apologized." The hand falls back to his side, and he suddenly looks hopeful, like he's accidentally stumbled across an answer he hadn't known he'd been looking for. "So...just let me take care of this one for you, Specs? To help make up for it?"

Before Ignis can let him know he doesn't buy into that last ditch effort of an explanation, a hand grabs both his shoulder and attention.

"We actually gonna get ourselves a room here or what?"

Ignis ignores Gladio's words, but when he looks back to the other two, they're already halfway across the parking lot, laughing and shoving into each other every so often as they race away. There's the fleeting thought that Gladio's entrance had been too well timed to be mere coincidence. It disappears just as quickly as it had arrived, however, the sound of a bed and a bath and a glass or four of wine calling out to his stiff-from-disuse muscles like the answer to a desperate prayer.

He doesn't bring up their private little quest when Noct and Prompto stumble into the hotel room an hour later, practically falling into each other as they snicker uncontrollably. They promise to put everything away when they get back from the garage, and Ignis frowns at the way Noctis shoves a small paper sack beneath his jacket before the door slams shut in his wake.

"What's up with those two giggle boxes?" Gladio asks, though he hardly sounds fazed by the short-lived intrusion.

Ignis sighs and turns back to his leather bound notebook. There's a recipe from one of the vendor stalls in Lestallum he's been trying to nail down for a while now. It's one of the few things Noctis has mentioned wanting to go back and try again. He's mostly got it figured out, but there's still something missing. One delicate, elusive flavor that rounds the whole dish out. It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite put a name to it. He tries to shove away any concerns he holds about whatever it is his young friends are planning so that he can get back to it.

"I daresay I don't even want to know.

.

.

Ignis really does want to know, though.

Try as he might, he can't for the life of him figure out what is about "like two weeks away" that bears the slightest significance to any of them, much less himself. On the calendars, there's one small holiday that takes place in the aforementioned timeframe that hasn't been applicable to either Noct, Gladio, or himself for a long time, now. More recently, it's become a day that Prompto also no longer has the means to celebrate, and Ignis makes a mental note to keep an eye on the boy for any signs of grieving or despondency as the day approaches. It isn't one of those holidays with a specified date, though, so there's a chance he may not realize it's even come until well after the day has passed.

Other than that, Ignis has come up empty handed, and although he'll never admit it, it's killing him. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's to look a fool. For longer than he can remember, he's been taught that appearances are vital, and he's done everything in his power to uphold his own, to be the most knowledgeable he can be as aide to the future king, to be the support whenever his dearest friend becomes overwhelmed by the expectations laid upon him, to be a trusted face for the court and people in times of duress should Noct, for whatever reason, be unable to show his own.

Due to his somewhat more lenient upbringing, Noctis doesn't hold quite the same stock in appearances, and from a young age, he'd made it a game to get under Ignis' skin, testing the limits for what it would take to cause the older brunet lose his composure before sailing his way straight through them. In the beginning, it had likely all been an effort to draw out a playmate rather than a babysitter. Now, however, Ignis is certain the prince does it just to see if he can. Because he finds it amusing. And it has only gotten worse since Prompto had come around and drawn him from his shell.

This thing the two of them are currently playing at? This is all a part of the very same game.

"For the love of Shiva, Iggy. I brought you here to relax. So relax."

Ignis loosens his hold on the beer glass, brows still furrowed in thought. This isn't the sort of place he would typically pay visit to, with its dim lighting and smoke hazed atmosphere, but Gladio had insisted that he come along. While the older man knows better than to roughhouse Ignis like he does their other companions, he can still be quite persuasive when he has want to be.

"Alright. Now, spill."

Ignis glances over to see Gladio studying him. He knows what's being asked of him but refuses to offer up more than a questioning look in response. Gladio's lips twitch upward, and he looks around the tavern with a low chuckle. "You can be just as bad as that pain in the ass prince, you know that? Sometimes, I forget you two actually grew up together."

Ignis almost chooses not to respond to the bait, but when he does, he's sure to stray from the original subject. "It has been sixteen very long years."

Gladio belts out a far heartier laugh this time around. "Can't imagine I'd've let the little shit live to adulthood if I'd been in your shoes. The last eight have been enough of a strain on my nerves as it is." Then he raises his glass. "But, hey. Here's to at least sixteen more, yeah?"

It's enough to pull a wry smile from Ignis, and he touches the rim of his own glass to his friend's. "Indeed. And may they be just as insufferably long as the first."

They drink in silence after that, and for a few minutes, Ignis is actually glad he'd been dragged out for a drink against his will. But then Gladio has to go and break it.

"So who got the attitude from who, huh?"

Ignis bristles at the implication, aiming a scowl across the table. "Picked it up all on his own, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint."

"I believe it," the shield says, but his voice suggests the exact opposite sentiment. He takes another generous swig from his drink and pins the younger man with a thoughtful expression. "So. You ever gonna tell me what's got your panties in such a twist lately?"

Gladio's word choice does nothing at all to ingratiate him with Ignis. Even so, he may be able to shed some light on whatever it is Noctis and Prompto are plotting. And Ignis needs to put a stop to that before anything can come from it.

"They're up to something," he admits at long last, and Gladio's face contorts in confusion.

"Who? Noct and Prompto? Aren't they always?"

"Yes." And the word escapes him in a long suffering tone. "But rarely do their shenanigans ever revolve around me."

He sees it then. That glint of knowing in the other man's eyes. But in an instant, it's gone, replaced with a smirk. "Paranoid much?" He teases.

Ignis narrows his eyes. "Don't toy with me, Gladio," he warns. "I haven't discounted your possible involvement in whatever half-baked scheme they have in the works."

Gladio's eyebrows very nearly disappear into his hairline at those words. After a beat he smirks, and his voice is sarcastic when he says, "Why, I'm crushed. And here I thought you knew me better than that."

Ignis knows him quite well, and as such, he knows that's as much of a confession of guilt as he's going to receive. With a small groan of displeasure, he drops his head into one hand, massaging his temples with a thumb and forefinger. "I have no desire to be the focal point for their shenanigans."

That's as much of a plea for help as Gladio's going to receive. Thankfully, the bodyguard also knows him fairly well, because he finally says, "It's really not so bad. You might even appreciate it."

Ignis severely doubts that. Gladio can be just as impossible to deal with as the other two. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Whatever you think they're planning? You've got it wrong. You can trust me on that."

But Ignis isn't sure that he can.

.

.

The strategist doesn't quite know what to make of it when Prompto sidles up to him early one morning harboring a hitherto unknown desire to learn how to cook breakfast. Ignis is fairly certain it has something to do with whatever prank he and the prince have going on right under his nose. He just can't figure out how.

"Thought I'd take up a new skill set," the blond explains chirpily, rubbing his hands together with the utmost zest. "Kinda feels like I've maxed mine out right now. But fishing is boring." He makes a face, tongue sticking out in distaste. "And so is...whatever Gladio does. Probably." Then his expression brightens again, and he's beaming up at Ignis in a way that almost has the older man forgetting to be wary of this out of the blue interest. "But I like food! So cooking it is! I mean...if you don't mind. Even if you do, though, could I at least just watch?"

Ignis eyes the pleading blond with hesitance. It's actually a plausible explanation for Prompto to be bored and in need of something new to keep himself occupied. Not that he buys it for a second, heavens no, but the execution is convincing, nevertheless.

"Oh, come on, Ignis!" Prompto begs again, hands clasped together in prayer as he pushes himself even further into Ignis' personal space. "I know for a fact that you've let Noct burn breakfast more than once! I can't possibly do any worse!"

It may or may not be true. Ignis rolls the idea around in his head for a minute, trying to think of a way this could end up going badly for him. Beyond the possibility of having to purchase a new cookware set, however, nothing comes to mind. It doesn't help that Prompto's entreaty comes across as so genuine. Nor does it help that Ignis has always enjoyed imparting his knowledge and skill with others.

Slowly, and still scrutinizing the blond for any sign of what's truly going on behind the scenes, he relents and says, "Very well. Fetch me the eggs and butter, will you?"

He really hopes he doesn't come to regret this.

Prompto's eyes light up at Ignis' acquiescence, and he pumps a gleeful fist in the air. "Whoo hoo!" He exclaims. "Look out, breakfast time, here I come!"

Ignis can't help but allow his lips to lift at such a sincere display of excitement.

.

.

The heat's up too high, the butter already browned and smoking, splattering over the expanse of the workstation. All just in the amount of time it takes Ignis to return from handing Gladio the trio of eggs he'd used to demonstrate for Prompto. He holds back the dismayed sigh that lies in wait just beneath the surface, ready to burst it's way free from his chest at the first opportunity. "Perhaps we should just..." He reaches out, and with a flick of his fingers, Ignis dials the flame down to a much more manageable level.

"Too much?" Prompto asks, sounding a little disappointed that he'd made a mistake already.

"Just a tad," Ignis replies, and he looks down to where the butter is beginning to form a dark crust at the edge of the pan's surface. He's thinking up a delicate way to suggest that they wipe the pan clean and begin anew when the blond grabs an egg. Before Ignis can stop him, he cracks it against the lip of the pan, just the way he'd watched his mentor do, and the brunet momentarily curses himself for not taking into account the fact that Prompto would copy his ministrations to a T. He could have shown a potentially less messy technique. Or at least given him an opportunity to practice before attempting such over a live burner.

Prompto misjudges the force he needs for the job, and the shell all but explodes in his grasp, coating both his hand and the outside of the skillet with its gooey remains. The stove burner hisses it's discontent at coming into direct contact with the substance and rebels with a dark cloud reeking of the angry scent of burning breakfast. Coupled with the somewhat shell-shocked look splayed across Prompto's face, it turns out to be the segue he'd been looking for. Not even Ignis Scientia has the ability to salvage this mess, so he kills the heat completely and holds out their tiny trash bin.

Thankfully, their second attempt goes much more smoothly. Prompto isn't nearly as brazen this time around, waiting instead for Ignis' every direction before gingerly moving on to the next step. Ignis takes a sip from his coffee mug and continues to instruct.

"Very gently, now, slide the spatula beneath the edges to make sure the egg hasn't stuck."

Prompto does so, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. Once he's made certain it isn't sticking to the pan, he turns his expectant gaze back upward. Ignis nods his approval.

"And...flip it."

Blue eyes glimmer with delight at the new command, and Ignis chances a glance over toward the tent. Someone will need to wake the prince soon. Given his and Prompto's current preoccupation, it really only leaves one option. His gaze slides over to Gladio, who had tired of teasing their youngest member some minutes ago in favor of whatever novel he'd recently taken up. Ignis opens his mouth.

"Oh..."

It's the most dejected sound he thinks he's ever heard, and his mouth falls back closed as he looks down to his pupil. Somehow, in between Ignis' directions, the egg has managed to glue itself to the surface of the skillet. It's torn itself in two, one half sizzling browned side up while the other bleeds broken yolk out into the rest of the pan.

"No matter," Ignis assures him, placing a comforting hand on the forlorn blond's shoulder. There's a reason he had suggested taking things one egg at a time. "It should taste just as fine. Go ahead and flip the other half. We've still two more for you to get through."

It seems to help brighten the mood, and each successive attempt shows improvement. They're not much to look at, to be sure, somewhat overdone with the yolks not having survived the flipping process. But they appear edible, and that's a start.

"You're not cooking for everyone, are you?" Noctis asks, looking completely awake now and almost terrified of Prompto's proudly displayed fare.

"What? There's nothing wrong with them," Prompto defends, and he squints down at the plate in his hands. Once satisfied with what he sees, he grins. "Right, Ignis?"

Ignis settles for an honest, "You've made a lot of progress this morning, Prompto. Well done."

The blond doesn't seem to notice that his question remains unanswered, as his grin grows even wider at the praise, but the unimpressed look Noctis sends his way says that he realizes exactly what he's just done. A small half smile is all the prince receives in return. "Shall I begin on your breakfast, now, Highness?"

"Please," he says before shuffling after his friend and settling by the campfire. Ignis catches his distant, "Dude. Your eggs look like crap."

"Whatever, bro. You're just mad that I didn't almost burn the camp down like you."

Shaking his head, Ignis turns back to his workstation, the sounds of the bickering duo drifting through the air both a comforting and familiar warmth in the crisp morning air. Then:

"Hey, Ignis! How do you do toast without a toaster?"

Ignis eyes the globs of butter and egg still decorating his every preparation surface. He decides it's a lesson than can be saved for another day.

.

.

It's another morning at camp, and Ignis hasn't quite decided that he isn't still asleep and dreaming. He stares.

From his seated position at the fire pit's edge, Noctis stares back just as intently, but the effect is somewhat diminished by the tousled bed head and drooping eyelids.

"Coffee," Ignis says, voice dripping with suspicion. "You honestly expect me to believe you want to learn how to brew coffee?"

Noctis yawns and rubs at the sleep still lodged in the corners of his eyes. "Not really. But you're gonna show me anyways, right?"

Ignis presses his lips together. It's true. If Noct desires to watch him brew his morning coffee, then watch him brew coffee Noct shall. He just wishes he understood why. It's eerily familiar to his unexpected cooking lesson with Prompto a few days prior—which had surprisingly continued on in the mornings since. Unlike with Prompto, however, the prince is far from enthused. And he's doing absolutely nothing to hide his relative disinterest.

"Might I ask why the sudden interest?"

"Sure," Noct says, the faintest hint of a smirk tracing over his bleary features.

When it becomes apparent that no further explanation is forthcoming, Ignis sighs. Getting answers from his charge can be akin to pulling teeth some days. So he tries again. "You detest coffee."

Noct's brow furrows in response. "I...drink it sometimes."

Not because he wants to, Ignis knows, and when he does drink it, it's more sugar and cream than actual coffee, if he can get away with it. At the moment, they don't happen to be in possession of either of those things. He smiles down at the frowning prince. "Very well then, Noct. How strong would you like your cup?"

The younger man's eyes go wide, and Ignis is fully aware that he hadn't expected to be called out on his words. But if this is the game Noctis wishes to play, Ignis can play along with the best of them. At long last, Noct's expression settles into a disgruntled pout, and he rises from his seat. In a defeated tone, he answers, "However you like yours, Specs."

"Wonderful. Go place the sauce pan on the stove while I retrieve the coffee and water."

He really shouldn't be surprised, when he returns, to find that Noct has chosen the incorrect pan for the job. If he hadn't known any better, he'd think the prince had done it on purpose, just to spite him. But having been his personal maid and chauffeur and chef for several years, now, Ignis knows just how honestly hopeless his charge can be.

"That would be a skillet, Your Highness. This—" he brandishes the correct pan from its hook beneath the preparation table and places it upon the stovetop "—is a sauce pan."

"Great," Noctis drawls, glaring down at the cookware as though each piece has paid him grievous insult. "They all have names. How am I supposed to remember which is which?"

Ignis gives his answer a moment of thought before retrieving the skillet and holding it up between them. "Also referred to as a frying pan. You see me use it as such almost every day." He stows it away and reaches for the sauce pan. "This one, however, is much better suited for heating large volumes of liquids." Making eye contact with the prince, his tone is bone dry when he adds, "Such as sauces."

All of the sudden, Noct's glare is leveled on him. He snatches the pan from his advisor's grasp and sets it back on the burner with more force than is necessary.

"Temper, temper," Ignis remarks with a smirk. "I merely presented you with the information you requested. No need to get so testy."

"You're a jerk," Noct huffs.

"And you are entirely helpless."

Noct doesn't even try to deny it. He just lifts one shoulder and lets out a garbled noise that sounds something like, "Mnyeh."

Despite the previous lack of enthusiasm for the lesson he'd requested, Noctis surprises him with his earnest desire to get every detail right. He takes notes in his phone and even stops Ignis long enough to take a picture of the scoop size for the coffee grounds.

"Don't want to get it wrong," is the only explanation he offers as he watches the grounds float in the pan.

Ignis eyes him hesitantly. He still can't figure out how these little excursions fit together to form a prank that centers around him, but there is no doubt in his mind that that's exactly why this is all taking place. It's too bad. He has rather enjoyed helping Prompto master fried eggs and toast in the mornings, and if the prince were to randomly feel the need to awaken early and brew coffee, far be it from Ignis to complain.

"Now what?" Noct asks, pulling the older man from his thoughts. He points at the boiling water, and Ignis reaches out to lower the heat. It's not enough to stop it from boiling, but just enough to keep it from scorching the contents.

"Now, we allow it to boil until the grounds have sunk. Just take care not to get distracted lest they scald to the bottom of the pan."

Noct pulls out his phone, presumably to add to his notes, and quirks a brow up at him. "It's really that simple, huh?"

"It is, indeed, that simple," Ignis confirms with a tired smile. Usually, he's had his first dose or two of caffeine by the time the others begin to rouse. He's unable to hold back a yawn that he hides behind his hand, and Noctis stares at him in wonderment.

"Didn't know you even did that."

Ignis hums in response. Appearances are important, after all, and he's worked very hard to only show what he wants others to see. Even so, there's a hint of amusement in his voice when he says, "I am only human, after all."

For some reason, the prince looks just as mystified by that remark as he had with the yawn. Almost like he'd never really considered the fact before. "You've got me fooled," he says. "I have no idea how you keep up with everything you do."

"Well. It is my job."

Noctis flinches, raising a hand to rub the back of his head. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?" He mumbles, and Ignis blinks, uncomprehending.

"Ah," he says once he recalls their brief confrontation a few weeks prior. He's surprised at how much guilt Noct still seems to carry at those past words. Being used to the younger man's mood swings, which had only become more unpredictable and extreme since the loss of their home, he had long since put the event behind him. "It...hadn't even crossed my mind, to be honest."

Noct doesn't look convinced, though, so Ignis moves to elbow his friend in the arm. "Technically, you were only speaking the truth." He really shouldn't excuse the behavior, but he hates to see Noct like this.

There's a disbelieving scoff from the prince before he says, "So were you. It really wouldn't kill me to help out a bit more."

Ignis casts a sidelong glance the other's way as he considers his own past words. "I don't know that I quite believe that."

He lets the sentence hang in the air between them, and the choked laugh it manages to elicit from Noct only causes him to let loose a warm chuckle of his own.

"I don't think I've heard you laugh since we were kids," Noctis muses wistfully, but Ignis doesn't know how to respond. He can't exactly say the prince's words are wrong given that before this morning, he'd be hard pressed to remember the last time he had shared more than a derisive snort or an aborted snicker of amusement. He opts to say nothing, the two of them leaning back against the table in comfortable silence as they wait for the coffee to cook and settle.

Despite his unwavering intention of forcing Noctis to drink his words, Ignis shows mercy in the way he fails to fill his cup even half full of the bitter liquid, taking great care not to spill any of the grounds along with it. No sense in wasting the precious drink on someone with no appreciation at all for its benefits. Though the mug is almost too warm for bare skin to withstand, the prince shudders when he takes it from Ignis.

"Ugh," he says, voice glum, and he blows away the steam that drifts up from the surface. "Beans."

It's almost enough to draw another laugh from Ignis, but he refrains, smiling instead and lifting his mug for a careful sip. "Not to worry, Noct," he says. "Coffee beans aren't actual beans in the true sense of the word."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm. Think of them more as pits of the fruit."

The look he receives in return is utterly priceless.

.

.

"Dude. You're doing it wrong."

Though the gentle lull of muffled voices have been swirling about in the back of Ignis' groggy mind for some time, now, those are the first words that solidify enough to hold any actual meaning.

"Oh, yeah? Well, then why don't you come over here and do it yourself, hotshot?"

"Nah. I'm delegating. And you were going to be standing there anyways."

A snort.

"Would you two knuckleheads cut it out before you wake him up?"

*Yes, please do,* Ignis agrees. It's far too late for this. Possibly too early, knowing the younger duo's penchant for waiting until the early hours of the morning before finally turning in. While Gladio still being awake is somewhat unusual, it isn't completely unheard of. Exhausted, Ignis had been the first to bed. He's feeling incredibly well rested, too, despite what small amount of time he must have slept before awaking to their squabbling. Even so, there's a fairly large part of him that wants to tell the lot of them to either tone it the hell down or go to sleep themselves.

But then he smells it—that warm, spicy, life-giving scent of coffee caressing his senses—and his eyes snap open at once. He notes the sunlight filtering through the canvass walls with momentary confusion before he scrambles around in search of both his glasses and phone. He blinks down at the screen. It's impossible. He could never sleep in so late, and certainly not through his alarm, but the numbers 8:38 stare right back up at him, their bold form against the blue background nothing short of accusing.

"So it just boils then?"

"Yup. 'Til everything sinks to the bottom. Just don't burn it."

Ignis' head jerks toward the front of the tent, beyond which his friends' voices seem to be emanating, and the smell of deception weighs in the air just as heavily as that of his coveted specialty coffee blend. He forces a harsh breath of air through his nose in an act of attempted calm. Then, with an indelicate shove of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he untangles himself from his sleeping bag and stumbles his way out of the tent.

He very nearly trips as he yanks aside the flap and steps out onto the rune-ridden stone of the haven. From his place behind the camp stove, Prompto looks alarmed. "Yo, Iggy," he greets weakly, offering a salute with the spatula held in his hand.

Gladio's knelt down by the dwindling remains of the fire, looking just as taken aback as the blond at Ignis' sudden appearance. Noctis, however, is curled up in the chair closest to the tent, hair mussed, eyes sleepy, and bundled up in his sleeping bag. He doesn't even look up from his phone in wake of all the commotion.

"I'm impressed," the prince says, and judging by the cinch of his brow and the frantic tapping of his thumb against the screen, he's in the middle of a King's Knight battle. "Didn't know you even knew how to sleep past sunrise anymore." Then, to someone else, though he never turns away from his game, he adds, "Told you the smell of coffee would finally get him up."

"It's morning," is all Ignis can come up with to say, and he hopes the displeasure he feels at the revelation is as clear in his voice as it is in the scowl on his face.

Unfortunately, his ire only seems to be brushed aside. Gladio stands, an amused smile taking up residence on his face when he says, "Can't get one over on you, can we, Iggy?"

Ignis fixes the full force of his narrowed gaze onto Gladio, who remains largely unaffected. If anything, his amusement only seems to intensify at the display. "Why exactly is it morning?"

"Oh! Oh!" Prompto raises a hand in the air and bounces up and down like a fool. "Pick me! I actually paid attention in that class."

The frustrated brunet rubs at his temples with a barely suppressed sigh before clarifying, "Why am I just now waking up?"

There's a smirk curling its way onto Noct's lips now, but once again, Prompto is the one who answers, and he does so with a far too gleeful cry of, "Sabotage!"

"Good thing, too," Gladio remarks with a frown. "You slept like the dead for almost ten hours. You obviously needed the rest."

"Yeah." Noct is still staring down at the phone in his hands, and he tugs the sleeping bag more tightly around himself. "You're always nagging at us about not taking care of ourselves. But you're the worst offender."

Prompto agrees with a frantic bob of his head. Then, glancing down at the stove, he squeaks out, "Shit!" His hands disappear from view near the stove's dials, and he pulls the boiling pot of coffee free from the burner. "It's fine," he announces, blowing at the rising steam as though that alone is enough to keep the grounds within from scalding to the bottom of the pan. "They haven't been sunk for that long." His voice is just as uncertain as his expression, though, and he leans in to take a sniff. He grins. "Well. It doesn't smell burnt. I'm sure it's fine."

Noctis actually looks up from his phone to glare at his friend while Ignis eyes the scene around him with the same sort of bemusement that he's felt since first opening his eyes those scant few minutes ago. Their words aren't untrue, and he knows that he's been a bit lacking in the self care department of late. There's just been so much to do between the hunts and the dissecting of rumors that could potentially lead them to another royal arm. Taking care of these things is a part of his job description, and he upholds his duties with the utmost pride and dedication. As much as he appreciates the thought of the three of them looking out for him, there are by far more important things to attend to.

But before he gets the chance to relay this to the others, Noctis whips his gaze across camp. "Hey, Gladio. Where's the card?"

"Card?" If Ignis was perplexed before, the feeling has only increased tenfold. He stares down at the envelope stuffed into his grasp with something like dread, and Gladio snickers.

"What day is it today, Iggy?"

Ignis hesitates. There's something more to this question than he understands at present. "It's Sunday."

Prompto makes a loud buzzing sound as if to signal an incorrect answer before making his way towards the three of them. He leans forward against the back of Noct's chair, elbows resting on the prince's shoulders, and watches the exchange with excitement. "Try again," he trills.

"Come on," Gladio prods, humor still dancing behind his eyes. "You've been agonizing over this for weeks. I know you know what today is. Even if you just blew it off as nothing."

Something niggles at the back of Ignis' mind, then. The faint memory of a holiday no longer relevant to anyone gathered here now. The date matches up, he realizes, and everything else falls into place in his mind after that—breakfast with Prompto, coffee with Noctis—all culminating into waking on his own this very morning, his usual responsibilities taken over by the others in his stead.

He groans. "Not that again." The dawning comprehension only serves to set his companions off into a fit of snickers at his expense.

"Oh my god, Ignis. Are you...blushing?" Prompto's awe-struck voice questions.

"You should have seen him when we were kids," Noct teases, and his voice is both fond and nostalgic. "He used to get embarrassed all the time about the smallest things."

"Small to you, perhaps," Ignis retorts, keeping his tone patient as he tries and fails to will the blood rushing below his cheeks to disperse.

"Sooooooo," Prompto says, and he swipes the phone right out of Noct's hand ("Hey!"), all eager eyes as he holds it up and aims it Ignis' way. "You gonna read it or what?"

Ignis returns his gaze to the envelope. "I suppose I should," he says, but he doesn't think he really wants to see what's contained within. When he makes no move to open it, Prompto scoffs.

"Oh, c'mon! I promise, it's awesome!"

Gladio snorts out a laugh. "It is a pretty good one."

Noctis digs an elbow back into the blond's stomach and tilts his head to grin up at him. "Man. I still can't believe we found that."

"I know, right?"

"Go on, Iggy," Gladio taunts, nudging his shoulder into the younger man's. "The kids worked so hard to make your day special."

Ignis glowers at him. "This is all your fault, I'll have you know," he accuses, and there's no doubt in his mind that it's true. From the moment Gladio had first ordered the 'kids' to be quiet so that 'mommy' and 'daddy' could finish their conversation, the designation had stuck. There was no shaking it. He'd tried, but to no avail. Gladio looks wholly unrepentant, however, so Ignis gives the gift his full attention instead. It's just a card. Nothing life threatening. He's faced off much worse things over the last several weeks, to be sure.

He fixes his features into the most inscrutable expression he can manage before sliding one finger beneath the sealed flap. It gives way with ease, and Ignis mentally steels himself for what's coming next. Ignoring the expectant looks all cast his way, he reaches inside, tugging free this little piece of card stock that has been haunting him for two weeks now. It only takes the smallest glance of the purple and pink pastel-ed image to wrench a faint sound of exasperation from Ignis' lips. Then he closes his eyes and brings his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

His three friends burst into laughter, and amid it all, the sound of Noct's phone immortalizing this moment to relive at a future date pierces through the ruckus.

The reality isn't all that bad. It could have been much worse. There's only the small depiction of a cheese grater, holes painted on in the shape of hearts, with the phrase YOU'RE THE GRATEST MOM printed underneath. Ignis can almost appreciate the fact that they'd chosen a cooking pun over so many other possibilities. Almost.

"I think," he begins, eyes still pinched closed and fingers massaging at his brow line, "I may be in desperate need of a coffee."

Prompto is more than happy to oblige with his whim, and he chatters all about the egg and ham breakfast sandwiches he'd decided on for the morning, how it was a perfect conglomeration of all the things Ignis had taught him over the last week.

Gladio forces him into a chair next to the prince and says, "Sit down, shut up, and let yourself be doted on by the brats for a change."

So he does.

Ignis eyes everything going on around him with an unfamiliar sense of purposelessness, and soon enough Prompto returns, placing a steaming mug in his hand. Ignis toys with the card in his lap for a minute or two before taking a tentative sip of the coffee. To his surprise, it turns out to be fine, if not a little weak, but there isn't the slightest hint of burntness nestled against his tongue, which is all that truly matters.

"We all wrote on the inside, too, you know," Noctis tells him, and Ignis has been with the prince far too long not to pick up on the edge of nervousness behind the words.

The faint embers of humiliation still smolder within him, fire mostly quelled but not entirely smothered. Yet all traces of his frustration melt away the moment he opens the card. Words of gratitude and appreciation more easily expressed in written form than spoken aloud cause a different warmth to spread throughout his chest.

And it's something Ignis hasn't felt in a very long time.

.

.

A/N: So I totally didn't come up with the card idea. I googled 'cheesy Mother's Day cards', eventually ended up in a list of fantastic food pun cards, and finally decided I liked this one the best. I feel the need to credit it, and it really is a super cute card, so if you're interested in having a peak, just sub the underscores with periods: www_etsy_com/listing/226084299