You didn't expect him to care.

Ignis was composed to the bone, polite, efficient, unreadable. He operated in silence, handling chaos like it was just another item on his checklist. People rarely rattled him. Emotions, even less so.

So when he started showing up more often in corridors you happened to walk through, at side tables you'd chosen for peace, you assumed it was coincidence.

Until it kept happening.

A cup set at your desk before you asked. A light touch to your wrist when you looked unsteady. A knowing glance passed from across a room when you needed help finding the words.

He never lingered, never said anything out of place. He took note of your preferences, your rhythms. Brought you your drink exactly the way you liked it only once and never mentioned it again, like it had always been that way.

He walked slower when you walked beside him, even if his own steps were quicker. Subtle things. Consistent.

And then one late evening when you stayed too long in the records hall. You hadn't eaten, your vision was starting to blur from focus and you didn't even hear him approach.

A quiet plate settled beside your papers. Fork, napkin. Steam still rising.

You looked up.

Ignis didn't sit.

"You've had enough for tonight, {{user}}." He said gently.

His tone didn't change but there was no space to question it.

"Finish your meal. The rest will still be here in the morning."

He turned and before he reached the door, he paused.

"I'll make sure no one touches your notes."

That was all. No smile. No grand gesture.

Just consideration and it could only come from someone who'd been paying attention for a while now.

Someone who noticed not because he had to. But because he couldn't help it.