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( He keeps track of the time that passes in the darkness because it's about the only thing which stops the slog feeling so endless. Always keeping his phone charged even in the iffy power conditions because it's the only thing that properly tracks the date and time any more. He keeps track of how long they keep doing this dance, one started in the corners of the citadel in Insomnia before they'd even thought about abandoning Lucis for a road trip that spiralled into everything that now is. Every stolen moment and undefined tryst, each kiss that leads into something more physical.
It should be easy to remain undefined, to not care about something more when you spend so much freaking time together anyway. When they both have duties that supersede personal desires and relationships. None of it should matter, not compared to serving Noctis or the people of the world he's destined to save.
But then Altissia fell, and soon after, all the world plunged into this. Forgotten murals on the citadel walls taunted Gladiolus in his dreams and waking hours became their own sort of nightmare. He pushed forward because that's what he does - it's what their kings do, and the shield must always push alongside the king, like generations of Amicitias before him. There's no turning back.
So he keeps track of the days and holds the faith that Noctis will return tight to his chest to make it easier to go forward with everything. But it doesn't stop the world from sucking; doesn't mean that being overrun by daemons and trapped in ruined cities and service stations is anything but a draining, terrible way to live and he can only hope that Noctis returns before there's nothing left of Eos to save.
The motel room window rattles on broken hinges, faded wallpaper peeling by a broken radiator, and the humidity seeps through the room, leaving bare skin sticky as Gladio stretches out on the bed, eyes fixated on the empty spot next to him.
Like clockwork. Or the certainty of a daemon attack the second you step out of the light. Gladio should be used to it - no, not should be, he is; he all but counts down the seconds between them catching their breath and Ignis pulling back to shower, his expression cool as anything.
He's all too used to it, but in this reduced, decimated world, each moment after they sleep together stings in ways he can't ignore like he could when Noctis was here. When it was all so easily dismissed behind the veneer of duty, a need to not overcomplicate things.
His head hits the pillow with a groan, arm tossed over his eyes. The room's rented for the next few hours, someone might as well use it.
Gods know it won't be Ignis. )