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( It's in his instinct to push, to confront; these are qualities a shield needs in order to properly defend his king, ones which have been drilled into Gladiolus from the moment he could hold even a toy sword. It carries over into everything he does, but in this he's been patient, held back the stinging disappointment every time Ignis walks out of whichever room they've managed to secure this time. He bites down on the desire to spend time together after it's all over, to steal whatever moments he can, and tries to remind himself that this is all much more than he might have otherwise.
But those scraps have long stopped being enough in a world where light has forsaken them and every day means a dance along the very edge of a blade, where one wrong move can send them tumbling into the afterlife.
He wants to yell, to grab Ignis by the shoulders and ask him what the hell that's supposed to mean, but the hesitance in those words, as though the very act is painful for him, says far more than the I don't knows. Gladiolus hisses, the sound like a balloon deflating or his instincts being pushed out for something softer, and his hand finds Ignis' shoulder, squeezing as a brief warning before he wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. His voice softens far from the last growled outburst; )
...That makes two of us.
( But Gladiolus knows what he wants it to be, at least. He also knows what he can't live with any more, that this undefined something is more painful than nothing at all. )
Look, Iggy. Do you want to be with me or not? ( That's what it boils down to. )
. musebox . - Post a comment