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[Ignis' jaw tenses.
Gralea. Part of the problem - large part - but not even close to all of it. What happened in Gralea is not what has him sitting here now, two bottles deep and very sure he'll pitch straight onto his face the moment he tries to stand up. His failure to protect Noctis, the impulsive sacrifice that had caused him to be more than useless in the face of everything that he might have been able to stop before--
It's part of it, but not all.]
It still hurts. [He says, bringing his hand up, his fingertips (numb, fuzzy) brushing the lowest edge of the scar over his eye. It won't even open yet. He's tried.] It still...
[Gods, it feels like it's on fire. Like the flames that burned him never truly died but sank beneath his skin and continued to smoulder white-hot beneath the surface. He breathes in and lets it out, slow and not-quite-steady.]
I don't know what to do now, Gladio. [The admittance doesn't come easily, but the alcohol removes many of the hurdles that such a thing would normally have to pass to make it out.] I've lost everything.
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