Ignis found himself jolting awake in the middle of the night, caught completely off guard by the sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand. Hastily blinking the sleep from his eyes, he sat up and leaned over to grab his buzzing phone, quirking up an eyebrow at the name staring back at him on the bright screen.
Prompto? he thought, puzzled. Deciding that it was probably best not to keep him waiting, he tapped the button to answer it and held it to his ear with a somewhat lazy hand, allowing himself to shift onto his back once more.
"Prompto, why on Eos are you calling me at two in the morning?" he began, his voice rough with drowsiness, but not unkind. He never did find it easy to be truly angry at him; especially lately, but that was an entirely different can of worms all on its own.
Suddenly, there was a hushed sniffle from Prompto's end, and he felt anxious energy quickly clear out the sluggish fog in his brain.
Prompto rarely even texted him, much less called him.
Something's wrong.
"Sorry," he could tell he was trying to keep his erratic breathing under control as he spoke, sounding strangely broken in a way that sent his nerves alight with an icy fire, "I was just—uh—d-did I wake you up?"
"No," he immediately lied, knowing that he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he just wanted to do something to try to put him at ease. "Is everything alright? Do I need to come by your apartment?"
There was a short pause, and he heard him take in a surprised breath.
"No, no—you don't have to do that, Igs, really, I just—" he gave a shaky sigh, and he could hear a quiet, almost distant shuffling. "I-I'm really sorry, it's late, and you're a busy guy who needs sleep, and I shouldn't have called you—"
"Prompto, what is wrong?" he urged.
There was a worrying amount of silence after he spoke, and for a brief moment Ignis wondered if he'd hung up and was about to run out the door with his car keys in hand—but then he heard another quiet sniff, and his heart jolted in his chest.
"I...uhm..."
He let Prompto gather himself in silence, simply praying that he didn't end the call in misplaced embarrassment.
Another sniffle.
"I just...I had a nightmare, and…I just wanted to see if you were okay."
Relief flooded him like a refreshingly cool wave, and he let himself relax against the mattress. Though there was still a small, nagging part in the back of his mind that was worried about the fact that Prompto was apparently stressed enough to have nightmares about him.
"...wow, that sounds so much dumber now that I've said it out loud, okay, uhm, I-I'm gonna hang up and let you go back to sleep now—"
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he quickly cut him off before he could end the call.
As he took the phone away from his ear, he heard Prompto let out a squawk that sounded vaguely like a shocked, 'wait, what?!'


Some ten minutes passed, and then Ignis was knocking on the door to Prompto’s apartment, now wearing a simple grey t-shirt and slightly faded jeans. I'm not exactly going out to some high-profile meeting, had been his justification to himself as he hastily tossed on whatever articles of clothing that he saw first, having been impatient to just get in his car and drive.
"Prompto, it's me," he gently called out after a short while, but still got no response. With a determined huff, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the key that he'd taken just before leaving his own flat and unlocked the door himself, quietly shutting it behind him before making his way deeper inside.
"Prompto?" he called again, voice still just as hushed as before. He eventually ended up at his bedroom door, cracking it open and peering in. Thankfully, Prompto had his blinds up, so the full moon could cast down its pale light and allow him to actually see into the room.
He was a miserable-looking lump on his bed, all but his fluffy hair covered by blankets. There was a tissue box and several crumpled pieces of paper strewn around the vicinity of the bed, and he realized with a sinking feeling that Prompto must've been like this for some time before he called him.
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.
"There was no point in not answering the door," he began quietly, so as to not startle him, "you know I have a spare key."
I was coming in here one way or another, he decidedly didn't say.
"...yeah," was all he said, just before Ignis was about to assume that he wasn't going to reply.
His heart squeezed in his chest, and before he even realized what he was doing he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.
He was silent for a little while, simply thinking. Then, he turned his head to look down at him, observing his melancholy expression over his shoulder.
"Do you have nightmares often?" he gently inquired.
Some more silence—though, admittedly, noticeably shorter this time around.
"Yeah," he sniffed. Completely on auto-pilot, Ignis reached over to place a soothing hand on Prompto's shoulder, rubbing slow circles with his thumb.
"About me? Or just in general?"
"...I didn't used to," he finally admitted after a moment. "I used to get the usual, boring nightmares; teeth falling out, monsters chasing me, falling off of skyscrapers. Y'know. But, then..."
He had to pause, bringing a hand up from under the blanket to hide his face as his sniffling grew more frequent and his voice wavered, "lately, it...it's just been horrible stuff happening to you, and—and I can't fᴜcking sleep because of it."
It sounded like it physically pained him to talk about it, having to choke back a sob by the end.
Ignis was immediate in his response, shifting to be closer to him and rubbing comfortingly at his side as he shivered.
"Shhh, easy," he soothed. "It's alright, Prompto. Dreams are just that; dreams. Nothing is going to happen, and I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
He thanked whatever god that happened to be listening that his words seemed to calm him. After a long minute, Prompto sluggishly rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were still watery, but at least he was no longer struggling for breath between crying. With the blanket now tucked down to his stomach due to his shift of position, Ignis placed his hand on his chest and let him play with it since he didn't have his bracelets on to distract himself. He secretly relished the feeling of his fingertips idly tracing over his skin and squishing at his palm.
"Now, what in the world has been stressing you out so terribly that you would have such awful nightmares about me?" he asked after a couple of quiet minutes. Prompto weakly shrugged.
"Nothing, really," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I just...worry. Subconsciously, I guess. I don't go out of my way to do it, I just...do. It's how my brain is wired, y'know?"
"Is there something in particular that you worry about?"
"No," he answered, far too quickly, and when Ignis's eyes widened in response he scrambled to reiterate, "well, I mean, y—uh...maybe. I-I don't know," he mumbled, sounding confused with himself. "It's just dumb, anxiety-driven worry. Like, deep down I know that it won't happen, but now that I've thought about it it keeps me up at night. 'What-ifs,' that kinda stuff."
His heartstrings pulled themselves taut again at his words, wishing that he could give him some small semblance of peace from his own haunting thoughts.
Suddenly, an idea struck him.
"Prompto, come here," he gently coaxed after a pondering moment, reaching with his free hand to grab his shoulder and suggest for him to sit up. He looked stunned as he did so, though after a few seconds of the gears turning in his head he finally seemed to figure out what he was thinking and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Ignis's neck.
He couldn't believe just how right it felt to wrap his own arms around his sides and rest his chin on his shoulder. Had he really never hugged Prompto before?
...he felt so heartbreakingly fragile.
"How come you're so nice, Iggy?" he sleepily whispered after a good minute, nuzzling down to bury his face against the side of his neck and squeezing him just a bit tighter. "You're like, the nicest guy in the whole world."
Because I love you.
He had to swallow the invisible knot in his throat so he could answer him.
"Who's to say," he replied instead.

Ignis wasn't entirely certain where he was.
He quickly concluded that, wherever on earth this place was, it was a small, run-down log cabin. There was a distinct amount of cobwebs all over, as well as what looked to be a fairly thick, undisturbed layer of dust on everything in sight—which honestly wasn't much, only a few pieces of furniture. The dirty, time-worn windows all had at least one worrying crack through them, and appeared to be heavily frostbitten on the outside.
He took a few wary steps forward, hastily looking around for any sort of clues as to how he even got here in the first place, given that his strangely fuzzy memory offered him no answers. He was in the living room, and just a little ways off seemed to be an open kitchen with a table and a couple of chairs situated by it, though one had apparently been knocked over at some point. As he approached the admittedly odd scene, he glanced back up at the table and found himself frozen to the spot.
A familiar camera was set on the surface, busted up and clearly broken, along with a black wristband that had been viciously ripped in two.
Prompto, he immediately thought, his blood running cold at the sight. Where is he?
Thinking fast, he turned away and made a beeline for a door that he saw in the corner of his eyes earlier, a bit surprised when he saw a coat rack right by it with one of his thick winter jackets hung up on it, in perfect condition.
...why is this here? I've never even seen this place before, he pondered, immensely confused.
Regardless, the obvious cold from outside had already seeped enough into the building to send goosebumps flaring up over even his covered skin, and without further questioning he snatched the jacket up and hurriedly slung it over his shoulders, zipping it up while he turned the doorknob and finally stepped outside.
He was instantly blasted with fierce, freezing winds the second he set foot onto the creaky porch, and he quickly pulled up his high collar and flipped the hood over his head, squinting through what had to be a blizzard going on around him.
"Prompto!" he called out into the seemingly unending white, his voice nearly drowned out by it. As he walked further, he noticed that there were boot prints in the snow, heading out directly forward from the steps.
The second thing he noticed was the bright streaks of blood that accompanied them like horrible shadows.
"No," he breathed, struck with a fear more intense than anything he'd ever felt in his entire life. Somehow, he just knew that those tracks were Prompto's, and that something terrible had happened.
Nearly slipping on the ice that had frozen over the old wood, he all but flew from the steps and raced to follow the prints, forcing himself through the several-inch-thick snow.
He wasn't sure how long or far he ran; he quickly lost sight of the cabin, and had yet to be able to make out anything else in the pelting snowfall. But the tracks continued on, and so did he.
He has to be okay, he thought, desperately trying to keep his heart from pounding right out of his chest as he stared at the red blotches in the snow, wishing that he could just look away. He has to be.
Suddenly, the prints came to a stop, and at their end was a dark lump lying in a pool of blood.
"Prompto!"
He surged forward, collapsing to his knees before his curled up body and instantly wrapping his arms around him, turning him around to check his injuries.
His clothes were torn and ripped in more places than he could count, and along with them nasty cuts and gashes in his chilled skin. At first, his eyes were drawn to his right wrist, which had been painfully sliced up and seemingly mangled by—by...heat? The flesh was crusted and scorched, and he could swear that he saw hints of bone through all of the bubbled blood.
Then, he looked over, and saw Prompto staring right through him with pale, glazed-over eyes, so alien and unfamiliar without their usual spark of life in them, and a cry of shocked grief caught in his throat.


"—no," Ignis gasped breathlessly, shooting upright from the pillow he'd previously been tossing and turning on.
The burning cold slowly faded from his mind as it fully woke up, and the longer he started at the wall of their dark bedroom the less he actually remembered of the awful world he'd just been in.
All except every little detail of those dreadful, lifeless eyes that he’d had the misfortune of staring into.
He caught his breath slowly and carefully, blinking away tears as he gradually reeled his soul back into his body after the emotional whiplash of everything that just transpired.
It was a dream, he realized, dazedly taking in the sight of the room, the pale moonlight coming in through the window, the bed he was laying in; piece by piece, memory by memory. It was...all of it...it was all only a dream...
Without even thinking, he glanced down to his left to find Prompto at his side, curled up and peacefully sleeping beneath the blanket. He simply stared at him for a good minute or two, watching how his side slowly rose and fell with each gentle breath.
He's...he's okay.
Overcome by pure, unadulterated relief, he rolled over and hurried to snuggle up to his back, squeezing his arms around his waist and pressing the side of his face to his neck. The faint traces of his cologne immediately filled his senses, soothing his frazzled nerves, and he buried his face harder against him to needily breathe him in.
"Mmm," the sleepy groan brought him out of his chaotic train of thought, and he peered open an eye to find Prompto shifting to try and look back at him as best as he could, given the angle.
"Iggy...?" he mumbled, clearly only half-awake. "Is somethin' wrong?"
For just a moment, he considered his options.
"No, darling," he murmured, nuzzling back down to him. "I just...had something of a fright, is all. Everything's alright."
He doesn't need to know about the horrible things I saw. Certainly not in detail, in any case.
Prompto was silent at first, probably trying to sluggishly process what he'd been told. Then, he shifted even more, rolling over to face him and wrapping tiredly-weak arms around his neck in an embrace, letting him hide his face against the hollow of his throat.
"Everything's alright," he quietly echoed into his hair, sounding as if he was trying to reassure him. Ignis honestly wouldn't have been surprised if, even in his current state, he was able to sense the stress coming off of him in waves.
Finally able to let his tense muscles relax, he all but melted into him, pressing affectionate kisses to his skin and gently grasping at the back of his shirt; just so that he had something to hold, something to keep him grounded to reality.
I'll never let anything like that happen to you, he thought with a determined furrow of his brow, protectively squeezing him just a bit harder. Not ever.
His grip only loosened when he managed to drift back off to sleep a few minutes later, his new slumber dreamless and comfortingly dark.

Once upon a time, there was a young man that shone with the soft heat of the sun, though many people of his quaint little village weren't oft to think twice about him whenever he passed by. But his mother loved him dearly, and his grandmother even dearer. So much so that she fashioned him a lovely red cloak. And he adored it, so much so that he rarely let anyone see him without it, and soon the townspeople took to calling him Little Red Riding Hood.

One day, his mother called him into the kitchen, and as he walked into the room he saw her just as she was putting a small blanket over a wicker basket. She turned to him, with a smile that was only gently strained with worry, and said, "My dear, would you take this basket to your grandmother, and see how she is doing? I have heard that she has fallen ill with a frightful cold, so I baked her a pie and squeezed fresh orange juice just for her."

Little Red Riding Hood nodded eagerly and took the basket's handle in his hands, setting out for his brief journey that very moment.

But as he was walking along the path that cut through the thick woods and led to his grandmother's cottage, a Shrouded Woodsman stepped out from the brush, onto his way.

"These woods are quite dangerous to be wandering on your own," the Shrouded Woodsman told him, and as Little Red Riding Hood ducked his head to peer at his face beneath his dark hood he saw the seemingly emotionless flash of bright green eyes, "where ever are you going in such a studious hurry?"

Little Red Riding Hood, admittedly naive and perhaps a bit too trusting for his own good, beamed at the stranger, "I am going to see my grandmother. She is sick, so my mother sent me to take her a pie and some fresh orange juice to help her feel better."

The Shrouded Woodsman's head tilted only slightly as he considered Little Red Riding Hood's words. Then, he gestured to the stretch of road ahead of them and said, "I will let you carry on your way, Little Red Riding Hood, but only if you'll allow me to follow in your quiet prints and make sure that no harm befalls you in this forest."

The young man didn't see any issue with the arrangement, and so he agreed and trotted along his merry way, occasionally glancing back at the Shrouded Woodsman who sauntered after him much more leisurely and further among the treeline.

After only a little while, he reached the peaceful clearing that housed his grandmother's cottage, and he turned around to face the Shrouded Woodsman with a big and bright smile.

"Thank you, kind stranger, for watching after me so carefully," said Little Red Riding Hood, "I worry what could have happened to me, had I not you as a guard."

"You've no need to thank me," was all the Shrouded Woodsman told him, and just as quickly as he'd arrived he was vanishing into the shadows of the many oaks surrounding them.

As Little Red Riding Hood stepped up to his grandmother's front door, he realized that he never even thought to get the man's name. He only hoped that he would run into him again so that they could at least exchange such simple pleasantries.


.


Some few days passed before Little Red Riding Hood's mother sent him to his grandmother's with wicker basket in hand once again. She had indeed been sick, and the pie and orange juice helped so wonderfully that his mother decided to bake more goodies for her to enjoy.

And so Little Red Riding Hood set out on the same path again, being careful not to jostle the cake and pot of honey too much in the basket as he went. And again, he was stopped in his tracks by the same Shrouded Woodsman.

"On another journey, are we?" he asked.

"That's right," Little Red Riding Hood happily replied; "to my grandmother's again."

The Shrouded Woodsman's eyes stared what seemed to be like right through him, and for just a moment he wondered if he might be able to see into his very heart.

"I will walk with you again, then," was all he said.

And so he did; the Shrouded Woodsman acted as Little Red Riding Hood's towering shadow, and they made their way to grandmother's.

At some point, about halfway there, Little Red Riding Hood looked over his shoulder at the man and dared to ask, "What is your name, kind stranger?"

"Names are not important to me," he stated quite matter of factly, "otherwise, I would not call you Little Red Riding Hood."

It was not what Little Red Riding Hood wanted to hear, but he didn't dare intrude further, and so he looked back away with a poorly concealed pout.

Just the same as the other day, Little Red Riding Hood made it to his grandmother's cottage with the silent aid of the Shrouded Woodsman, and just the same he disappeared into the shade once he was sure that the young man would shortly be under his grandmother's watchful eyes.

"Grandmother," he began, an hour into his visit, "do you know of a Shrouded Woodsman that lives in these woods?"

"I do," she said, though her eyes were sharp as steel, "and you would do well to stay clear of him, my good child. I have heard tale that he is a beast; a cruel creature of the dark. He is nothing but bad luck, like a solid black cat winding between your legs."

Her words greatly discouraged Little Red Riding Hood, and again he wilted where he stood. It was not what he wanted to hear, but he didn't dare intrude further.


.


Little Red Riding Hood made many more trips back and forth, to and fro his grandmother's, well after she was feeling better. And only a scarce few times did he encounter the Shrouded Woodsman.

"I've been told that you are bad luck, like a black cat," Little Red Riding Hood once boldly told him as the Shrouded Woodsman stood in his way.

"Perhaps I am," was all he said. And then he let him pass, and then he followed after his prints all the way to his grandmother's cottage, as he always did.

But one day, as he was trotting along, a Big Wolf stepped out onto his way, and Little Red Riding Hood nearly jumped out of his cloak in fright.

"Stay back, wolf!" he cried out.

"I mean you no harm," said the Big Wolf, "these woods are dark and dangerous, and I simply wish to help guide you on your journey. Where are you going?"

Little Red Riding Hood, skittish yet still hopeful, allowed himself to step closer.

"I am going to my grandmother's, to spend the night," he told the Big Wolf.

"And so you will," the Big Wolf said, moving back to allow Little Red Riding Hood to pass by, and once he did the wolf followed right behind him.

Little Red Riding Hood cautiously thanked the Big Wolf once he was at his grandmother's door, and with a silent nod it turned and went back from whencesoever it came.

From then on, even when it was not his grandmother's cottage that he was trekking to, he played a guessing game with himself as to which company he would wind up with; the Shrouded Woodsman, or the Big Wolf.

'How fortunate I am,' thought Little Red Riding Hood, 'to have not only one but two strangers that would walk with me as if I were a Prince, and they, my trusted guardsman.'

"A wolf follows me when you do not, you know," Little Red Riding Hood told the Shrouded Woodsman one afternoon.

"I am glad that someone is able to be with you when I am not," he replied.

"But it is a wolf," he said, a bit bewildered at his cursory demeanor.

"Not all wolves are beasts," the Shrouded Woodsman patiently murmured, "I happen to know many that much prefer a leisurely and quiet life to one of misery and mayhem."

His words shocked Little Red Riding Hood. He hadn't previously considered that creatures such as wolves could want for something as simple as peace; then again, he supposed that humans were just as fickle in the same way.

"Thank you," he told the man, for more reasons than one.

"You've no reason to thank me, Little Red Riding Hood," was all the Shrouded Woodsman said.


.


Many months later, Little Red Riding Hood was sat on a smooth tree stump near a cabin that was halfway built into a steep hillside. Not much further, the Shrouded Woodsman was wielding a shining axe, cutting firewood.

Little Red Riding Hood had not seen the Big Wolf for many weeks then. Though he had been worried for it at first, he would seldom catch glimpses of its ashen-brown fur in the far distance between trees, and concluded that it was simply tending to wolf-y business of its own. But he still had the Shrouded Woodsman to guard his walks, so he was hardly worse off for it.

"I had not realized how big your arms were," Little Red Riding Hood observed innocently.

"They must be, if I am to have enough strength to survive out here on my own," the Shrouded Woodsman told him.

A sentiment that he'd told Little Red Riding Hood before; one that, now, made his cheeks puff stubbornly.

"I help you out now and again," he said, a tiny bit hurt, "you aren't alone."

The man paused his next swing, then finally allowed an easy smile to turn up his mouth, and said, "That you do. And that, I suppose, I am not."

It was a few more days before Little Red Riding Hood was able to learn of the Shrouded Woodsman's name, after many past attempts to do so.

"I won't tell anyone," said Little Red Riding Hood, "if that's what you are worried about."

The Shrouded Woodsman looked to him over his shoulder, from where he was stirring a boiling pot on the stove.

"Ignis," he finally said, after a long, thoughtful silence. Little Red Riding Hood immediately beamed.

"That's a lovely name. It suits you," he commented idly. Then, hastily added, "My name is Prompto."

He could swear that the Shrouded Woodsman's cheeks came alight with the faintest dusting of color, but he turned back around before he could properly examine him. He heard him whisper his own name under his breath, as if testing the syllables on his tongue, and Little Red Riding Hood smiled ever brighter.

"You've grown to become very comfortable here, haven't you?" The Shrouded Woodsman said to him one night as they relaxed in the living room of his cozy cabin. Little Red Riding Hood had told his mother that he was spending the night with his grandmother, and his grandmother that he was spending the night with a friend in another village close by.

He hadn't the bravery to tell them the full truth of his escapades. He feared what they would say, and that they might even forbid him from seeing the Shrouded Woodsman ever again.

"I am comforted by your company, Woodsman," he answered playfully, secretly admiring how the colors of the nearby fireplace danced on his skin and in his eyes from where he sat on the opposite side of the short table between them, lounging half-asleep in a chair.

The Shrouded Woodsman smiled contently at him and said, "As am I with yours, Little Red."


.


"You need to keep up, Little Red," the Shrouded Woodsman told him over the distance between them, with him up on a sloping rock and Little Red Riding Hood all the way at the bottom of it, grasping uselessly at the overgrown stone.

"I can't climb as well as you can," huffed Little Red Riding Hood, "nor can I leap as high."

"You will be able to, eventually," he said, carefully easing himself back down to reach out for him; "with practice."

Little Red Riding Hood took the Shrouded Woodsman's hand, instinctively wrapping his free arm around his neck as the man scooped him up to his chest before lunging back up to the top with a single powerful kick of his legs.

"Your legs are quite big, like your arms," commented Little Red Riding Hood.

"They must be," the Shrouded Woodsman replied, "so that I may jump from barrier to barrier as needed. Like these rocks."

Then, only a day later, Little Red Riding Hood startled at a strange noise from somewhere in the distance as they walked through the woods.

"Settle down," the Shrouded Woodsman all but whispered to him. He felt his jaw against his hair as he presumably turned his head to look towards the sound, "It's only a squirrel, climbing into a tree."

"You could tell that?" Little Red Riding Hood gaped. Then, he glanced to his pointed ears, and said, "Though, maybe I should not be so surprised; your ears are quite big, I've noticed."

"Indeed," replied the Shrouded Woodsman, "they allow me to hear things that others cannot. It proves very useful for any worrying bumps in the night."

"I say," Little Red Riding Hood gladly agreed, recalling days of the past when he accompanied his walks to his grandmother's.


.


Little Red Riding Hood didn't realize that he would be visiting the Shrouded Woodsman during a full moon until that very night, and he walked along the nearly overgrown path alone for the first time in months.

"Ignis?" he called out into the moonlit clearing where his cabin was, worry making his voice brittle, "where are you?"

Feeling eyes boring into him, Little Red Riding Hood turned to find glowing green eyes staring at him from the shadows of the treeline.

"You must leave, now," the towering figure growled out at him. Immediately, he made out the Shrouded Woodsman's rather distinct accent, and he felt his blood go cold.

Despite his warning, Little Red Riding Hood walked closer, watching how the eyes slanted in worry of their own. Once he got near enough to make out the shape of his silhouette, he asked, "What has happened to you?"

"I am a Beast, Little Red," the Shrouded Woodsman answered, sounding utterly defeated as he went on, "for as long as I have breathed, I have fought to keep my transformations under control. But beneath the full moon, all of my training goes to waste, and I become this...horrid creature."

"What ever do you mean?" Little Red Riding Hood pleaded, "let me see you."

The Shrouded Woodsman hesitated, but after only a moment he stepped out from the shelter of the trees, and Little Red Riding Hood gasped.

He was still humanoid, but much taller than he already was, and where there was not sparse bits of skin there was thick brown fur. His nails, elongated to dark claws; his face, changed to instead shape a canid muzzle.

The moment he realized that the features were all strangely familiar was the same moment he realized that the Shrouded Woodsman was in fact the Big Wolf from before.

"I could not bare to tell you," the Shrouded Woodsman—the Beast—began, his ears nearly flat against his head and his gaze downcast, "not when we started to become so close; not when I felt myself growing ever more fond of you."

They stood in silence for a long moment. The Beast didn't dare look at so much as an inch of him while Little Red Riding Hood carefully thought over what he had just been told.

Seemingly assuming the worst, the Beast turned his head as if to start to walk away and told him, "Please, Little Red Riding Hood...leave me. I do not deserve your kind company."

Little Red Riding Hood was frozen to the spot at first, but managed to bring himself out of his own daze to rush forward and wrap his arms around the Beast in a desperate embrace.

"Please don't go!" Little Red Riding Hood begged him, balling his shockingly soft fur into his harmless fists, "you are not a Beast to me, nor even a mere Woodsman; to my heart, you are only Ignis."

"You cannot deny my nature," rumbled the Beast, though his large hands twitched at Little Red Riding Hood's sides, fighting himself so as to not touch him.

"Your nature is not beastly," he told him earnestly. He grabbed up at his shoulders until he finally looked down at him out of the corner of his eye, "even as a wolf, your first instinct was to protect me on my way through these woods. That is not very 'beastly' behaviour."

"Aren't you frightened by me? By what I am?" he asked.

Little Red Riding Hood only smiled hopelessly up at him and said, "How can I be?"

At his words, it seemed the Beast properly broke, and he collapsed onto a knee and squeezed his powerful arms around Little Red Riding Hood, burying his nose to the side of his neck and tickling the sensitive skin in the process.

"I would never do anything to hurt you, Prompto," he breathed against him, "I beg of you to understand that."

"I always have," he replied.

After what felt like a solid minute, they leaned back from each other to meet eyes. When Little Red Riding Hood truly got a good look at them, he brought up a hand to cup the side of the Beast's fluffy face.

"Your eyes are so big and beautiful like this," he told him, taking note of how they shared both man and wolf qualities alike, coming together to create something almost otherworldly, "like raw emeralds, or ocean foam."

A fox-like smile quirked up the corners of his blackened mouth, and as he pushed his face forward to nuzzle their noses together he said, "Such a penchant for complimenting me, haven't you?"

"I say only what I feel," he answered.

That night, the two of them retired to the cabin's main bedroom, where Prompto shed his red cloak and Ignis allowed him to lay close in his arms. They had only each other's calm breathing and gentle heartbeats to fall asleep to, and as if they were children soothed by a lightly strung harp they drifted right off into dreamless slumbers.


.


Thankfully, Prompto's mother allowed him to spend the night yet again only a few days later, and he was quick in setting off for the woods mere minutes after speaking to her.

"Good afternoon, darling," Ignis greeted him at the treeline as expected. Prompto all but leapt into his waiting arms, pressing an eager kiss to his lips.

"Hi, beloved," he joyfully replied, giggling when Ignis's mouth traveled to kiss at his cheek and jaw.

The walk back to their cabin was filled with chatter, both of them asking the other how their mornings had been and discussing what they wanted to do with their shared time while they had it.

"Will you show me how to properly chop firewood?" asked Prompto, "mother nor father have ever managed to find the time.”

"But of course," Ignis immediately replied. And so that made up a majority of their day, with Ignis right at Prompto's back showing him how to hold the rough wooden handle and what posture to have as the axe was brought up and down, and then how to best handle the firewood afterwards so that he didn’t risk splinters.

At the end of their rather busy day, they finally laid down with each other in their bedroom, pressed together at every comfortable inch.

Ignis had been nipping at Prompto's lower lip when he piped up, "I never noticed just how big your teeth are. They are like fangs."

At that, Ignis opened his eyes to meet his own, gleaming with a hunger and wanting that sent warm shivers up Prompto’s spine.

"All the better to ravish you with, my dear."

And so, the Big Wolf pressed Little Red Riding Hood onto his back, into the soft blankets, and positively ate him all up.

Their journey up to the Taiga had been a comfortably mid-paced, and relatively quiet trip; a feral Great Maccao had almost given them trouble a little over halfway towards the mountains, but Pietersite had been swift in weaving through the tall grass and brush in order to avoid what would have, frankly, been a complete waste of time.
The whole point was to not have to fight, for once. They didn't intend to go back on their own word.
It wasn't very long until shrublands gave way to darker, shorter grass, swallowed up by crowds of towering evergreens, and already the air had a certain nip to it. It had been much too long since their scales had known the chilling bite of the mountains; since they had seen the peaks' glittering stars, almost seeming to be close enough from the elevation that one could reach out and touch them. They only hoped that they would have the excuse to stay in Shichi for the night, so that they might be able to catch a glimpse of them once again.
The dirt path they travelled along had started to chill their underfoot, and once they were surrounded by thick-leaved tress as far as they could see, they broke off from the road and put their nose to work.
They had brought along three decent-sized pots with them in a cloth sling tied around their side to keep their gathered honey in. Yes, they likely could've bought some jars of honey from a shop back at the Crossroads, but they knew all too well the wonders that the comforts of familiar food from home could do. They imagined that honey harvested from the tundra's woodlands would have a significantly different taste to that from the plains, and figured that the Arzurous would appreciate the detail.
The woods were peacefully quiet, with only the occasional noise of travellers passing by on the nearby path and smaller wildlife scuttering about in the undergrowth. They saw distant figures of feral monsters further off in the cool fog every once in a while, but they always carried on out of sight, leaving them to their gathering with no issue.
It didn't take too long to find enough hives to fill up all three pots, and they almost wanted to keep stalling out among the trees, just to keep feeling the breeze in their fur and have the serene silence around them. But, they would not abandon their purpose.
And so they returned to the path, and continued on their way to Shichi.

-

Since they'd left quite early in the morning that day, by the time they reached the town's gates the sun had nearly completely vanished over the horizon. The temperature hadn't dropped terribly yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time before the chill of night would loom over the forests.
I will stay for the evening, they decided, with the faintest hint of an excited sparkle in their eyes.
But, first, they had a hungry Arzuros to find. The parchment only said to meet in the Bolstering Taiga; aside from that, they planned to simply ask around, and hope that their client was of a particular enough character for the locals to be able to put a name to off of those details alone.
They figured their first stop should be a tavern or inn of some kind, then move on from there.
Stepping through the doorway of the first lantern-lit, busy-looking building they saw, they had to peer around for only a moment to find the innkeeper's counter on the opposite side of the room. Desperately trying to avoid any unwanted attention, they kept their head low as they approached.
"Pardon," they forced theirself to speak, trying to clear their throat as quietly as possible in order to get their vocal cords started back up. The Great Jaggi behind the counter, presumably an apprentice of the establishment's owner given how young they looked, turned to offer their full attention in response.
Pietersite shifted to grab the rolled up parchment from their sling, unfolding it to place it onto the smooth wood. "Do you know who wrote this? I am looking for them."
The innkeeper's eyes examined the writing for a few moments, then they lightly shook their head with a good-humored smile on their muzzle.
"Yeah. When you step out of the gate to the plains, look to your left and you'll see a side path. Follow that and eventually you'll come up on a den. That's where she lives."

-

Pietersite wasn't entirely certain what they were expecting when they came up on the aforementioned den, but it wasn't such a...warm reception.
"Oh, you're answering my request!" The dark-colored Arzuros all but bellowed in her excitement when they presented their pots and the paper, her voice gruff but no less friendly for it. "Please, come in—it's too cold out for either of us right now!"
Though they didn't intend to stay for long, they made no argument as they were ushered through the door that led further into her home. It was a modest, cozy little den, with countless trinkets sitting on shelves and hanging from fixtures in the stone ceiling, with many quilts, blankets, and the like laying all around. They looked handmade.
Or, rather, clawmade, they supposed.
"I can't thank you enough for bringing this honey to me," she began, gesturing to a table for them to relax. They sat down after a few moments of hesitation. "The new season really snuck up on this old girl, harharf!"
Unable to smile, Pietersite just nodded briskly, yet still politely, in acknowledgement.
"The name's Tabeiht, by the way," she said, sitting opposite of them with a comfortable grunt, "how about yourself? If you young'ins still bother with names nowadays, that is, heheh."
Their heart stopped, just for a second. Then they let out a quiet, steadying breath.
That was a question they hadn't heard in a long time.
"Pietersite."
"Oooh," she whistled under her breath, pausing where she was popping open one of the pots, "now isn't that a fancy one! Well, it's nice to make your acquaintance, Pietersite."
Tabeiht made idle conversation with them while she enjoyed the food; asking how their journey to the Taiga was, where in the world they got such fresh honey, how they came upon such well-crafted cuffs, etcetera.
Slowly, ever so slowly, they found theirself relaxing more and more into the comfortable chair, and listening to Tabeiht's stories with more intent as she went on.

-

"Oh, pluck my behindfur," Tabeiht suddenly exclaimed underneath her breath, looking up at a clock on the wall with wide eyes. "I was talking for so long I completely missed the time going by!"
Taking their cue, Pietersite gave a single nod before standing to their feet and turning to make their way out, waving a hand towards her in farewell.
"Well, hang on, now," she grumbled with an easy smile, standing up with them to halt them, "there's no need for you to be rushing off like that. The nights up here have been getting even colder, and I'd hate for you to have to make your way allll the way back to the plains while freezing your poor scales off."
At first, her words stunned Pietersite, and they only looked back at her in surprise. Then, they shook theirself off.
"It is fine, I—..."
"I insist," she cut them off with a confident snort. Lumbering over to stand at their side, she pointed a huge paw over at a short hall carved into the stone, leading into what looked like another, smaller space. "I've got a spare room for you to sleep in for the night, and everything. It's no trouble at all. In fact, I'd say it's the least I could do for you, after you brought all this delicious honey to me!"
They couldn't imagine managing to convince her otherwise, so with a weary, defeated blink of their eyes they nodded at her. They supposed it didn't exactly matter where in the Taiga they stayed; it would be the same clear night sky, all the same, and from here they could just make out the hints of a rounded window in the other room.
"You rest up, now," Tabeiht murmured to them once they were settled in a few minutes later, sounding fairly tired now, herself. "Tomorrow'll be a long trek back to the plains for you, I'd imagine!"
They just nodded in reply, shifting a bit where they laid in the bednest. It was surprisingly comfortable.
With one last warm smile, she turned and made her way back into the main room.
Pietersite relaxed in bed for a little while—their insomnia made it difficult for them to fall into an actual, deep sleep very easily—before their eyes caught the glitter of a star out the window. Smoothly sliding up and onto their feet, they stepped over to it, unhooking the latch so that they could gently slide it open and get a better look.
Thousands upon thousands of stars, littering the sky like grain in sand, occasionally highlighting the barest hints of color within the seemingly infinite black.
They wanted to stare at it forever.

-

"Ah—aren't we up early!" Tabeiht pleasantly greeted them as she squeezed out of a decent-sized nook in the wall of the main room—where she slept, if they had to guess—to find them patiently sitting at the table.
"I did not want to leave without bidding you farewell," they quietly replied, and already they knew they were going to be taking a break from speaking for several days after this.
...perhaps, if they got into the habit of seeing each other quite often, Pietersite would be able to teach her some sort of rudimentary hand language, just something simple that she could understand so that they wouldn't have to talk in order to communicate with her.
"Well, isn't that neighbourly of you!" she grinned, before lumbering over to the kitchen in the corner of the den. "—buuut, I do hope you know that means that you're staying for breakfast, now!"
Instinctively, they almost uttered out something about really needing to leave now, but the words never found their way up their throat, and instead they merely relaxed into the chair. Staying for just a little while longer wasn't exactly some sort of horrific death sentence.
They watched in silence as she zipped about the small space, reminding them of the very insects that fluttered about as they calmly gathered up some of their honey yesterday. She seemed much more energetic than last night; more energetic than her age would presumably allow, in any case.
"You seem...very lively, this morning," they decided to voice their observation when she made her way over to sit down with them, keeping the last remaining honey pot close to her while passing them their own bowl of honey with her claws.
"Of course I am! Harha!" she smiled, slapping at the table with a paw in her mirth. "It's the honey, kiddo; always helps bring some life back into these old bones."

Even watching her push her snout into the opening to lap up mouthfuls of the beautifully-golden globs, her energy levels were wildly different. They thoughtfully stared for a few moments more, tilting their head just a bit.
"...genuinely?" they asked.
"Sure am," she said, swiping her long tongue over her sticky muzzle as she looked over at them. "But it's not just the honey by itself, y'understand. Your body has to appreciate it, really get everything it can out of even a single drop. Things get real desperate, sometimes, so a monster's gotta be capable of living off of only the measliest of scraps. Especially out here!"
She didn't let herself get too serious, still smiling and chortling away, but there was a wisdom to her voice that Pietersite found theirself struck by all the same. Obviously, they weren't a fool—they knew perfectly well the hardships of life, the precarious balance of peace and ruin that it constantly teetered on.
But her words...made them think, in a particular way. Made them consider. Reconsider.
While she got back to her meal, they glanced down at their own. Watched how the light from the nearby window lit the honey up, revealing all of the tiny air bubbles shifting around within it, and all of the beautiful layers of colors, like a deep sunset.
With a new purpose, they leaned their head down, dipping the end of their muzzle just barely into it to carefully, slowly lick it up.
Savoury. Sweet.
Full of the love, labour, and life, of the little worker insects that made it.

-

They left not too long after, waving goodbye to Tabeiht before turning to face the path from her den and picking up their pace so that they could get back to the plains before nightfall.
And as they went, kicking up dirt and gravel in their effortless haste, idly licking some sticky bits of leftover honey from their mouth, they found theirself feeling more aware of their surroundings in ways that they hadn't been before.

"Oh! Ritva! You've walked in at just the exact perfect moment—"
The cream-and-red skydancer came to a sudduen halt before the opening into the spacious den, soft blue eyes wide in her puzzlement as she looked to where the voice came from. Cotton was somewhat awkwardly shambling over to her, several metal bowls in his hands. "The Gala is only mere days away, and I've had my claws absolutely full trying to get everything prepared for the event," he explained, stumbling before a long table to let the bowls clatter onto it, briefly reaching up to straighten his glasses from where they'd began to lopsidedly slide down his snout, "Spumoni, Icewarden bless him, has been doing his best to lend a helping hand whenever he has a spare minute, but his hunting duties have kept him so busy lately that he hasn't been able to stop by nearly as much as he usually does. I know you're not among those that typically have a presence in the kitchen, but can I please ask for your help? It's nothing terribly difficult, I assure you!"
Ritva just looked at him for a few moments, blinking thoughtfully. Then she made her way over, gait smooth and slow like flowing water, before coming to a calm stop on the opposite side of the table to him and sitting down with her front paws gently placed up onto the cold steel, watching him attentively. His soft purple eyes lit up and he gleefully clapped his gold-gloved paws together.
"Oh, thank you so very much! I promise this won't take long—"
Ritva helped him with making sure all of the ingrediants were properly measured, pouring the appropriate bowls into a mixer and leaving it on slow spin to check the few things Cotton had cooking in the stone ovens, before he moved her onto dough-kneading.
"Alright, I've already got the dough we'll need prepared—all I need you to do is knead it!" he pushed a few bowls over to an empty space on a table, next to a wooden board, where Ritva then scooched over to. She looked from the balls of dough over to him as he continued, "you'll need a light dusting of flour over the board to make sure the dough doesn't stick! You might need to do it a few times as you knead it, but make sure not to overuse it," he explained kindly, removing a glove to dip the tips of his claws into a smaller bowl of flour off to the side of the board, flicking his wrist to delicately spread it over the wooden surface. She gave a dip of her head in understanding.
"Then, once you have everything ready, you just get the dough from the bowl—" he removed his other glove and set them to the side as he scooped one from a bowl and onto the board, "—and then you just knead, knead, knead!" he cheerfully sang, putting one paw over the other and pushing the balls of his hands down into the doughy ball, obviously falling into a familiar rhythm as he then folded it over itself and kneaded it back down, fold, knead, rinse and repeat, until he assumedly sensed that Ritva understood the process well enough and backed off to let her continue from there. It took her a minute to get used to the movements, but after a bit more gentle guidance from Cotton she felt more acquainted and eventually fell into a comfortable rhythm, as he had.

"—oh, dear!"
Cotton's voice suddenly broke into her thoughts, and she looked up in confusion from where she was pulling a pan from an oven. The bright pearlcatcher was looking further up to the wall where a clock was hanging, clutching worriedly at the base of his whiskers, "time flew by much faster than I anticipated! I'm very sorry to have kept you, Ritva, I'm sure you had things you were doing before I dragged you in here, you can leave the rest to me—"
He cut himself off when he realized she wasn't rushing to leave, instead carefully examining the neat little dough shapes on the pan before gently sliding it back into the heat, then turning around to approach the table where she'd briefly left the unkneaded dough and calmly sat down in front of the board, resuming her earlier kneading before she'd decided to check on what was baking to make sure it was still going nicely. She felt his curious eyes boring into her, and after folding the dough she paused to turn to him, signing;
I am not busy.
This is nice. Good for anxiety. Calm.
I am fine here.
And then she went back to kneading. All was quiet for a moment, then he gave a stiffled, choked-up sniff, and she could practically hear his touched smile as he spoke, "o-oh—okay! That's perfectly fine with me, Ritva; please, stay as long as you like. Your company is never a bother."
A serene smile crossed her features, and her tail gave a content swish against the smooth stone floor. She was more than fine here.