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Clarus Amicitia was not a stranger to awkward situations.
He had two children, after all. Awkward situations kind of came with the territory.
Like the time Gladiolus had been playing in the garden and gotten the grand idea to try and eat a bee. Or the time when he’d come home one day to find Iris decorating the walls of the parlor with the contents of one very dirty diaper. And there was even one time, perhaps seven or eight years ago, when he’d come home to find a thirteen year-old Gladiolus attempting to give his much younger sister the sexual education talk, because he’d just had it given to him in health class, and he had needed to share it with the world.
Jared had been off in a corner, shaking with silent laughter at Gladio’s clinical descriptions of penises and vaginas, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, Master Clarus,” he had said, fighting to maintain his composure. “I should have stopped it. But I just couldn’t.”
Clarus had understood. Had he been in Jared’s position, he would have been doing the same damn thing. And honestly, his only disappointment stemmed from the fact that the butler hadn’t thought to videotape it.
For posterity. You had to record these precious moments when they happened, of course, so you wouldn’t forget them. And so you could remind your kids of them later in life, keep them humble.
Take the bee-eating incident, for example. Clarus had managed to snap a few photos of Gladiolus’ incredibly swollen face before his wife had caught him. And oh, she’d been mad, screeching at him that now really wasn’t the time for that, and that they had to get Gladiolus to the doctors to make sure that he wasn’t allergic to the stings. But he had no regrets.
None at all.
A picture was worth a thousand words, after all, and Clarus had four.
So no, Clarus Amicitia was not a stranger to awkward situations.
This one, however, took the cake.
And the serving platter the cake stood on.
Hell, it probably took the tablecloth and forks and dessert plates and whatever else was on the table too.
It had been a normal day in the Citadel, nothing out of the ordinary happening. Clarus awoke early, made his way to the training rooms and completed his daily exercise regimen, and then showered in the locker rooms. By eight o’clock, he was at Regis’ side, and they had had breakfast together before heading off to the morning meetings. After a brief lunch and a chat with Cor regarding the palace security for an upcoming ball, Clarus had gone to observe some of the new recruits to the Crownsguard, watching them as they were put through their paces by none other than his son. He had been proud of Gladiolus, he remembered, happy to see him taking his duties seriously and upholding the family honor.
After an incident at his elementary school that involved a goat and a bowl of noodles, Clarus hadn’t been so sure of what to expect from Gladiolus as an adult.
He’d returned to the King’s side after that, attending several more meetings throughout the course of the afternoon, and then accompanying him to dinner. It was a long day, but no longer than was usual, and he had returned to his family’s home that evening. He’d planned on a quiet night, having a whiskey or two while he read by the fireside, and then maybe he’d go to bed early. Yes, that had sounded quite nice to him.
Alas, but it was not to be.
He had just sat down on the couch when there was a horrible crunching noise from somewhere upstairs.
Clarus jumped to his feet, his first thought that something had broken, a piece of furniture perhaps, and that maybe Gladiolus or Iris had gotten hurt. His children were older now, Gladiolus an adult even, but he still worried about the two of them. And he always would. That was just the way things were when you were a parent.
So he had leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, anxious to find the source of the ominous crash.
“Fuck!”
He heard the muffled cry from down the hall, where Gladiolus’ room was.
Six, what has that boy done now?
Clarus padded down the corridor, his steps quick and assured. “Gladiolus!” he called out. “Are you alright?”
He threw open the door to his son’s room, not stopping to consider the fact that it was closed.
And he should have.
He really, really should have.
Because when you were a young, virile man like Gladiolus, a closed door generally meant one thing, and one thing only.
It meant that you were getting some.
And, Six, was Gladiolus getting some.
The two of them were on the bed, Gladiolus and his… partner. Clarus frowned, trying to put a name to the shocked face of the man Gladiolus was… well, the man Gladiolus was currently fucking. No need to beat around the bush, he supposed; his son was definitely balls-deep in the other guy. And if he wasn’t mistaken - though it was a little difficult to tell, since the guy was upside down and his eyes were blown wide in shock and dismay - that was Ignis, the prince’s advisor.
Gladiolus was the first one to recover. “Shit, Dad!” he said, accusation ringing in his voice. He grabbed for a blanket, throwing it over Ignis and covering the place where their bodies… yeah.
Clarus cleared his throat gruffly, pointedly looking away from the scene. "Are you alright?" he asked. "I heard a crash-"
"I believe it was the chair," Ignis said weakly, pointing a finger at an armchair that had fallen to the floor across the room. "Gladio tripped-"
Clarus grunted in assent, flicking his gaze back to his son, whose expression was a mix of absolute mortification and rage. "Sorry to burst in on you and all, son - I just thought you or Iris might’ve been hurt, and I…” He paused, frowning. “Where is Iris, anyways?”
“She’s at a friend’s!” Gladiolus snapped.
“Ah." Clarus nodded. "That would explain why she didn’t come to investigate the noise-”
“What the fuck are you still standin’ there for?!”
Clarus hastily excused himself, retreating back downstairs and sinking into his chair by the fire.
Well, shit.
There went his plans for a quiet evening. He eyed the half-consumed glass of whiskey sitting beside his novel. Not enough, he thought, instead grabbing the bottle that stood off to the side. He popped off the cork, brought it to his lips and downed more of it in one gulp than was probably good for him.
Oh, well. If ever there was a time for whiskey, it was now.
A moment later, Ignis appeared at the foot of the stairs, his clothes hastily pulled back onto his body and a crimson flush staining his cheeks. He took a step towards Clarus, not quite meeting his gaze, and, to Clarus’ infinite surprise, gave a little bow.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Clarus blinked. “No,” he agreed. “Probably not.”
“I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
“Course it won’t,” Clarus huffed. “Next time, I’ll knock on the damn door first.”
Ignis made a strange, constricted noise at that - it might have been a poor attempt at a laugh.
“Iggy, wait!”
Gladiolus appeared then, clad in a pair of sweatpants, but Ignis jerked away from him, heading towards the front door.
He shot Clarus a murderous look, and then followed after his… boyfriend? Lover? Fuck buddy? Hell if Clarus knew what the kids were calling it these days.
“Not now, Gladio,” Ignis murmured, his voice carrying back down the hallway to Clarus, who astutely pretended not to hear anything.
“Iggy, c’mon, it’s not a big deal, it’s just my dad-”
“Whom you haven’t told that we’re dating,” Ignis snapped back. “If you think you’re avoiding that conversation now, you're not paying attention.”
Regis had been right - that Ignis kid was pretty damn intuitive. Polite, too. Though Clarus wasn't sure how he got along with Gladiolus, who was neither intuitive nor incredibly polite. Ah, maybe he should give his son more credit. He was an Amicitia, after all.
Clarus shrugged and took another swig from the bottle of whiskey, still pretending that he wasn’t paying attention.
“I know, I know.” Gladiolus sighed. “I’ll talk to him. I just - he’s not mad at you, okay?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Iggy… don’t be like this.”
There was a brief pause, followed by a slightly wet noise that Clarus assumed was a kiss. He could’ve been wrong. He really didn’t want to think too hard on it.
“I’m alright, Gladio, just surprised is all,” Ignis murmured. Another wet noise. “Now go, talk to your father. You can call me later, if you wish.”
“‘Kay.”
One more wet noise, and then the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps padding back into the parlor. A moment later, Gladiolus appeared, dropping down into the chair opposite Clarus. He said nothing, staring at a spot on the rug beneath their feet.
With a smirk, Clarus wordlessly offered him the bottle of whiskey.
Gladiolus wordlessly took it, taking a long draw that made Clarus proud.
“So.”
His son looked up at him, eyes guarded. “Yeah…”
“You have a boyfriend.”
“I - yeah. I do.”
“Ignis, yes? The prince’s advisor?”
“Uh-huh.” He offered Clarus the bottle of whiskey again, and then clenched his hands together so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Clarus nodded. “And how long has this been going on?”
“Couple years now,” Gladiolus said. He had the decency to look a little sheepish as he said this, as if realizing that keeping a relationship a secret for several years was something that hurt Clarus.
Which it did, if he was honest. A bit.
But he couldn’t say that he didn’t understand his son’s logic. “You thought I wouldn’t approve,” he guessed.
“Dad, I-”
“Are you using protection?”
“Aw, fuck, Dad, c’mon!” Gladiolus ran a hand over his face, the slightest tinge of red now coloring his cheeks.
“Because that’s the only thing I wouldn’t approve of,” Clarus explained.
Gladiolus looked taken aback. “What?” he asked. “Even though Iggy’s a…”
“A guy?” Clarus snorted. “If you think you’re the only man attracted to other men here in the Citadel, Gladiolus, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I’m not gonna ask how you know that,” Gladiolus replied, shaking his head. “But you… you really don’t mind? I mean, after all that stuff about the family legacy and protecting the kings of Lucis-”
“You do have a sister, Gladiolus,” Clarus interjected. “And cousins. There are other options.”
“I just thought… I didn’t think you’d approve.”
“So long as you-”
“Yes, we use protection,” Gladiolus muttered, not letting Clarus finish up his sentence.
“Good! Wouldn’t want you to get taken out of action by a venereal disease.”
“Gods, Dad, we’re clean,” Gladiolus retorted, groaning. “We’re exclusive! Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d inherited from Clarus himself. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. But now you know. And if you don’t mind that me and Iggy are together - which I’m grateful about, don’t get me wrong - I’d like to go get really drunk right now and forget that my father just walked in on me while I was havin’ sex.”
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Dad - it was sex. How the fuck could it be worse?”
“Do you remember the incident with the goat?”
Gladiolus groaned, holding his head in his hands. “You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”
Clarus grinned. “It’s my duty as your father to remind you of these embarrassing things,” he said. “Keep you humble.”
“Fuck me.”
“That’s the spirit, boy.”
Gladiolus reached out and swiped the bottle of whiskey before slinking away upstairs, shooting Clarus one last disdainful look. Clarus let him have the liquor, amused now that the situation had resolved itself. You had to take these things with a grain of salt. It was what he’d learned to do a long time ago, whenever an awkward situation had presented itself. You just had to let them roll off your back, shake your head a little, and laugh. It was something his wife, bless her, had never been able to do. She'd never been able to separate her worries as a parent from her amusement at the antics of children.
It was alright. Clarus had laughed at them for her.
Maybe now that Gladiolus and Iris were older, she would have laughed too. Clarus didn't know.
What he did know was that if there was anything more humorous to Clarus and his friends than the antics of the new Crownsguard recruits, it was stories about their children.
He grinned, reaching for his book.
Oh, Regis and Cor were going to love this. Gladiolus might murder him for spilling the beans, but Clarus thought it well within his parental rights. And after all, Gladiolus hadn't told him about his relationship with Ignis, so it was only fair that he got to needle him about it a little.
Just a little.
He wasn't cruel.
Clarus chuckled, reaching for the abandoned glass of whiskey and bringing it to his lips, his son's absolutely mortified expression from earlier coming to his mind's eye.
Well, alright - maybe he was a little cruel.