[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.

( It's the ramblings of a man drowning his sorrows, a sight Gladiolus has seen before, but never on Ignis, and it looks unnatural. It doesn't fit with the image of him that's been built up in his mind over the years they've known each other, been side by side as Noctis' retainer and his shield. All the same-

All the same, he supposes if anyone's earned the right to numb the pain and fall into the abyss for one night, it's Ignis. But he can't stay there, and Gladiolus has only ever clawed his way back out of the abyss the same way he's done anything else: by fighting. By getting angry and letting the fire propel him out of the darkness. )

The only way you've lost is if you sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself. ( It's a battle cry, meant to rouse and awaken the things in Ignis that have fallen under too many glasses of wine. ) What's that thing you used to quote? "A king pushes forward, always"? Doesn't just go for kings. Goes for us as well.

[He'd bristle at it being called 'ramblings'. The pain is very real, and the despair? Just as real.]

Oh, go fuck yourself, Gladio. [He mutters under his breath, the words coming out slow and unnatural but vehement. Ignis slides his glass from one hand to the other, carefully, tentatively, every motion he makes needing to be thought out and balanced.

There's too much weighing on him now for those kinds of words to rouse anything.]

You can see what's happened to me. I can't be expected to be of any use now. [What happened with the malboro? A fluke. He's not sure he could repeat it if he tried.]

I told him we should stop. I asked him-- He didn't want to. [Ignis stifles a short, humourless laugh.] And now, what do I have left? I have you, telling a blind man he should get up and fight. Six, do you even hear yourself...

( While not necessarily the reaction an inspiring speech is supposed to have, it's a reaction all the same. If Gladiolus was anyone else, it might be enough of a reaction to make him try a different approach, to be kinder and less abrasive.

But no one ever said Gladiolus was good at that at the best of times. But on this night, at this moment in time where it's only constant battle that keeps him going, the ill-fitting sadness around Ignis' shoulders is a rankling reminder of his own. )

You know he had to go on. We all did. ( And he hates, hates where it led them, but they couldn't stop. Under no circumstances was that a real option and he thinks Ignis knows that.

And then there's that laugh, and the words after it. )

Did I say you've gotta pick up a sword? ( No, no he did not. ) It ain't just the daemons out there that need defeating.

( Gladio doesn't really do comfort. He does action. Action is the best comfort, isn't it? )

What do you expect me to do?!

[That's it, the snap, a reaction even if it wasn't the one that Gladio was looking for. Ignis can feel the frustration building against this conversation like something crawling under his skin and he hates it, he hates how helpless he feels and he hates that he has to voice it, and he hates how terrified he is and that he has no idea, not even the slightest one about what he's supposed to do next.

His outburst comes with a crisp, raised voice, a palm smacked flat against the table, and he declines from saying that he had not mentioned a sword either.]

What do you want from me, Gladiolus? [He hisses out, sharp and angry and--] Gods, who the fuck do you think you are?

[To walk in here, and just-- To just dismiss what's sitting right in front of him? And Ignis is the one who is blind, here?] I can barely walk without someone at my arm, so tell me-- You-- Just tell me, what you expect I'm to do with-- with what's happening out there.

[His hand points directly to the door, without a thought for how he knew exactly where it was in the orientation of the room despite his level of inebriation.]

( Something that's better than nothing, better than sitting here getting drunker by the second, and gods he wishes Ignis wasn't blind right now, that they could settle this outburst with fists and simple anger.

(Of course, then they wouldn't be having this argument in the first place.)

Breathe. He has to breathe. Facing the Blademaster taught him to deal with his fear, but never his anger. Never the thing that was most useful as the Shield of the future King, the thing he could sharpen and wield as the personal defence of their royal family. He used it when Noctis freaked out, and when he shut down after Altissia, and look where that got him.

They lost Prompto, and then they lost Noctis.

And now he's about to lose Ignis if he doesn't figure out what to do. Something that isn't just screaming at each other until their throats are raw, that does something about the stumbling in his speech and the brittleness behind the anger, like--

The very thing he had to learn to shrug off to be a better Shield. The reason he travelled to the trials with Cor instead of stick with the group.

He's a fucking idiot for not seeing it sooner, and Gladio pushes himself off the chair, crossing around the width of the table easily and loudly enough to be heard, his fingers brushing the back of Ignis' hand before- )

Hey...

( It's quiet and soft before his arm wraps around Ignis in a gentle hug, something easy to escape if he wants. )

[Six, he can feel his own anger buzzing through him with no way to get out save for the harsh, unfair words that he spits in Gladio's direction. But under that anger? It's fear, so much fear that he can barely stand it, doesn't know what to do with it except drink to try and push it down.

They've lost everything. He has lost everything. Everything except--

He feels arms come up around him, a sharp tension thrumming through his body in those first moments before his rising fury crumbles under the comfort. Subtly, silently, pressing a hand flat against Gladio's chest and his forehead to the larger man's shoulder.]

... I'm so afraid, Gladio. [Ignis says, curling his fingers into his friend's jacket.] So lost. Help me.

( They're getting somewhere, now. Gladiolus feels all his own rising irritation sharply dissipate, replaced by the long-familiar ache in his heart. One that can't be dealt with now, but lingers all the same. A painful reminder of what they keep behind closed doors and draw firm lines over.

Slowly, his hand comes to Ignis' hair, the pause a request for permission before his fingers begin to move through it. It's a big ask, a change not only to Ignis' life, but to all of theirs and now they're without the one man their lives have been constructed around. A breath hisses out between his teeth, eyes flicking around the room, resting on the door yet again.

He wonders... )

Alright. ( He doesn't yet know how to help, not properly, but that can be dealt with tomorrow. Tonight is about calming the man in his arms. )

Anything you need.

[So close to him, Gladio would doubtless feel the way that Ignis relaxes slowly, the way he leans into him and against him in a way he has never needed to before. If he closes his eyes here he can pretend for a moment that when he opens them it won't still be black.

His friend (friend? it seems like such a silly word to call them when he knows they're so much more, and yet... they've never given what they are a name) makes that offer and he exhales a slow breath, concentrating on the movement of Gladio's fingers through his hair and the gentle, simple comfort of it.]

... This is what I need.

[This. Just... this.]

Stay with me.

( It's different, but he can hardly call it unpleasant, not when the only thing that's stopped the discussion of naming what they are is the simple fact that Gladiolus is almost certain Ignis would wall himself off in fifty different ways if he tried to broach it. Even here and now, there are things worth protecting, things which make this bearable.

He bites that all down. No need to bring up more feelings tonight. )

Let's sit down.

( There's a couch near the door. They can stay there for the moment. )

... Alright.

[With the anger gone all that's left is the uncertainty, the worry, the fear, and he feels it eating away at him even as they move across to the couch - Gladio feeling so sure and solid while Ignis holds onto his arm and hopes he doesn't trip.

They make it to the couch without incident. Ignis' steps are far more certain than he would give himself credit for and he sits down carefully, curling his hands against the edge of the cushion. He feels as if he's shaking inside his own skin, tense and nervous and so unlike himself that he doesn't know what to do with any of it.]

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that.

Edited 2018-09-08 09:37 pm (UTC)

( Maybe it's easier to believe in Ignis' capabilities when he can see them for himself. When each step rings with the familiar sureness he has so long associated with the adviser, it's easy to know that he'll be back to his same skilled self with work.

Those things must be harder to recognise in the dark.

Gladio relaxes onto the couch and straightens up almost immediately, leaning elbows onto thighs, threading fingers together as he looks over. There are so many obstacles to overcome and moving forward is the only way Gladio can see them getting through this. Any of it. )

Don't mention it.

( Who is Gladiolus to complain about anyone's angry outbursts, after all.

There's something there, a flare of hope, an awareness of his surroundings which Ignis doesn't seem to realise yet, but perhaps this isn't the time to bring it up. )

Want me to, uh, just listen?

No, I--...

[The words come out muttered, but Gladio said 'don't mention it', and he trails off into silence as he sits there. He can still hear his own voice ringing in his ears, the shouts, the cursing, and Six, someone must have heard it but thanks be to everything that no one has come to investigate. Ignis isn't sure he could take the embarrassment on top of everything else.

Gladio's offer almost makes him smile. Almost, but not quite, as the smallest twitch of a movement pulls at the corner of his mouth and then dies off. He squeezes his fingers around the other man's, taking more comfort in that point of contact than he ever would have thought possible, and there are a few false start of indrawn breaths and unsteady exhales before he manages to speak.]

You can't imagine it. It's... it's terrifying, Gladio. I keep trying to reach for some flicker of colour, some speck of light, and there's... nothing. There's nothing, and it's never going to change.