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“Why didn’t you tell me, Clarus,” the king says, “that that boy of yours is seeing Ignis?”
Clarus practically chokes on his mouthful of tea. He sets his cup down and slams his fist into his chest, coughing violently, until his sputters subside. “Excuse me, sire?”
“Your son.” Regis steeples his fingers and gives Clarus an amused look over the table. “I was under the impression that he and Ignis were, ah…an item, so to speak.”
Gladiolus? And Ignis?
Clarus tries not to laugh. His son’s as red-blooded as they come. For the past few years, ever since Gladiolus turned seventeen, the Amicitia household has been, if nothing else, a revolving door of women. Clarus can’t even count the number of girlfriends Gladiolus has brought home, much less remember their names or faces. He also can’t count the number of times he’s had to turn up the radio in the kitchen to drown out the muffled sounds coming from his son’s bedroom.
Gladiolus? And Ignis?
This time, he can’t stop himself from chuckling. And then it turns into a belly laugh. By the time Regis cracks a polite, quizzical smile in return, he’s bent double, roaring.
“I’m sorry, Regis,” he says, wiping away a tear, when he finally regains his composure. “For a minute there, I thought you were suggesting my son is dating another man.”
“Well, that is what I’m suggesting, Clarus.” When Clarus chuckles a little more, Regis adds: “Is there a problem with that?”
His laughter fades. How could Regis ask such a thing? Especially after all these years? Gladiolus can date whoever he damn well pleases, and Clarus will love him just the same. It’s just that Ignis is bookish and polite, not really the type of person he’s known his son to date.
“It just doesn’t sound like something my son would do,” he says defensively. “Where in Titan’s name would you get that idea?”
“I saw him carrying Ignis to the infirmary yesterday,” Regis says. He raises his teacup and an eyebrow. “In his arms, Clarus. Like on the cover of a romance novel.”
Clarus waves away the suggestion. There could be any number of explanations for that. A sprained ankle. A broken leg. Two broken legs, even. Maybe Ignis was concussed or unconscious or dying.
“I need more to go on than that,” he says. He drops another sugar cube into his tea and stirs it vigorously. “He brought some girl home last month. He seemed to like her very much. They spent a lot of time in his bedroom, at any rate.”
“Have you seen him with her since?”
Clarus presses his lips together. Regis has him there. Come to think of it, Gladiolus hasn’t brought a girl around the house for a few weeks now.
Regis sits back in his chair, wearing that knowing, kingly smile that always irritates Clarus when it’s directed at him. “Let’s have a little wager, Clarus. I’ll bet you three hundred gil that there is more to your son’s relationship with Ignis than mere camaraderie.”
Clarus doesn’t have three hundred gil to spare, not when Gladiolus is eating him out of house and home and Iris needs new clothes for school. But he’s always had a bit of a reckless streak, and he’s confident he knows his son better than Regis.
So confident that he leans across the table and shakes on it.
*
When he comes home late that night, he finds Gladiolus sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, reading a paperback and slurping noodles out of a styrofoam cup. Clad in boxer shorts and a tank top, his wet hair slicked back from his forehead, he looks like he’s been lounging around the house for awhile.
Which means he hasn’t been out with Ignis. Or anyone else, for that matter. Point one for Clarus Amicitia.
Clarus opens the fridge and helps himself to a beer. “Early night?”
“Yeah.” Gladiolus doesn’t look up from his book. “I think I pulled something in my back during practice today. Had a long soak in your bathtub.”
“Mine?” Clarus pops the cap on the bottle. “Why not your own?”
“Too small.”
“Ah. Did it help?”
“Kinda. Took some painkillers, too. Those helped more.”
Clarus takes a long draught from the bottle and studies his son. He’s a handsome boy, blessed with the kind of face that makes women look twice. No. He’s a handsome man. Sometimes he forgets that Gladiolus is twenty-one now, that time has taken the child who used to come crying to him with scraped knees and left this formidable warrior in his place.
Does he know his son as well as he thinks?
“What happened to that girl you were seeing?” he asks. “You haven’t brought her around recently.”
“Sabina?” Gladiolus’s lips tug into a half smile, one eyebrow rising, as he finally looks up at Clarus. “Since when did you care so much about who I’m dating? You can’t even remember her name.”
That stings a little. “Well, I wasn’t much older than you when I met your mother. If you’re thinking about settling down—”
“Ramuh’s thundering asshole, Dad, I’m nowhere near thinking about getting married.” Gladiolus gets up to bring his chopsticks to the sink. “And I’m not seeing Sabina anymore. I was never serious about her.”
“Ah.” Clarus licks his lips, savouring the flavour of hops as he thinks about what to say next. Should he just be forthright and ask Gladiolus about Ignis? “Is there someone you are serious about? Someone you feel you can’t tell me about?”
Gladiolus runs his chopsticks under the tap. Clarus can’t see his face, not even his reflection in the dark window above the sink, but he recognizes the tense set of his shoulders.
“Gladiolus?” he prompts.
“Shit, Dad, what’s with the third degree?”
“It was just an innocent question.”
Gladiolus puts his chopsticks in the draining board and turns to his father with a strained grin. “I’m not seeing anyone. Okay? But I’ll let you know when I am.” He claps Clarus on the shoulder. “Gonna hit the hay now. Night.”
He collects his book and pads out of the kitchen, leaving Clarus to his beer. Shrugging, he pulls out his phone and texts Regis.
Clarus (03/12, 11:36 PM): Gladiolus said he isn’t seeing anyone right now.
He doesn’t expect Regis to answer. The king has been going to bed earlier and earlier these days as the ring saps his energy. But his phone vibrates just as he’s sliding it back into his pocket.
Regis (03/12, 11:37 PM): In that case, I’d like to raise my wager to five hundred gil.
Clarus (03/12, 11:38 PM): You can’t be serious.
Regis (03/12, 11:40 PM): I am, I assure you. What say you?
Clarus shakes his head, chuckling to himself in his quiet kitchen, before he types his response.
Clarus (03/12, 11:41 PM): This is ridiculous. You’re on.
Regis (03/12, 11:43 PM): I’m glad to hear that. I take cash or cheque. :)
*
The next morning, Regis insists on dropping by the gym to see how Gladiolus is doing with the new Crownsguard recruits. Gladiolus gives him a quizzical look when they enter the room and take a seat in the bleachers, but to Clarus’s immense pride, he doesn’t let the king’s presence distract him. He just continues to run the recruits through their drills, going perhaps a little harder on them than he would if Regis weren’t here.
After about twenty minutes, Clarus leans over to speak to Regis. “Have you seen enough yet, sire?”
“Not yet, Clarus. Ignis should be here soon.”
“How do you know?”
“I got Noctis to tell me his schedule.”
Clarus sighs. He should have known the king would have ulterior motives for coming here. Regis hasn’t visited the gym in years. Not since the ring really started to take its toll on his health. They used to train here together, long before Gladiolus was ever born. He misses those days.
Ten minutes later, Ignis enters the gym, still dressed in his slacks and button-down shirt, but with a duffel bag in his hand. He does a double take when he sees the king, then hastens over and bows low at the waist.
“Your Majesty,” he says. “It’s good to see you out and about. What brings you here today?”
“I just wanted to…observe,” Regis replies, with a wink at Clarus. “It’s been quite some time since I checked in on the troops. I figured I was due for a visit.”
“Ah. I see.” Ignis shifts the duffel bag from one hand to the other. “Well, I’m scheduled to train with Gladiolus in ten minutes. If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, I must get changed.”
“Of course, Ignis, of course. Don’t mind us. We’re just flies on the wall.”
Ignis bows again and departs for the locker room. Clarus watches him go. Not once does he look at Gladiolus. And not once does Gladiolus look at him. There’s nothing unusual about that.
Or is there? Is it suspicious that they not once cast a glance in each other’s direction? Surely Ignis’s movements should have caught Gladio’s attention?
Clarus is still mulling it over when Gladiolus dismisses the recruits. He watches his son wipe his face on a towel and strip out of his jacket and dress pants, leaving him in nothing but a tee and jogging shorts. Ignis emerges from the locker room in similar attire, carrying two wooden training daggers. Clarus is surprised by Ignis. The prince’s composed, put-together advisor has sturdier thighs than he would have expected.
Hairier, too.
Very much unlike anyone Gladiolus has ever brought around the house.
“Regis, what do you hope to gain from this?” he asks.
“Proof,” Regis replies pleasantly, “of course.”
Ignis says something to Gladiolus, but he speaks so softly that Clarus can’t quite make out the words. Gladiolus smiles in response and hefts his sword over his shoulder. Both of them assume battle stances. And then they start to spar. Even Clarus has to admit they’re a good match for each other, at least in this context. What Ignis lacks in power, he makes up for in speed, darting under Gladiolus’s defenses to land blows on his ribs.
He never bests Gladiolus, of course. If he did, that would be a problem.
At some point, after they’ve been going at it for a good half hour, Gladiolus shoulders Ignis a little too hard with his shield, sending him skidding to the mats.
“Shit!” he says, dropping the shield to go to him.
Regis elbows Clarus in the side as Gladiolus clasps Ignis by the hand, pulling him to his feet. Then his hand goes to Ignis’s arm to steady him. Is it Clarus’s imagination, or does his touch linger there a little too long? Yes. Yes, it must be. Of course it’s his imagination.
But that doesn’t stop Regis from waggling his eyebrows at him.
“Sire, please,” he says in exasperation. “It’s an innocent gesture between friends.”
“If you say so, Clarus,” Regis says. “But if that’s the case, I’d like to up my wager to a thousand gil.”
“Accepted.”
They watch as Ignis adjusts his glasses and collects his daggers from the mats. And then as Gladiolus smacks him on the rump when he turns to go to the locker room. He doesn’t yelp—because Ignis Scientia, of all people, would never do that—but he jumps.
Regis clears his throat. “Let’s make it two thousand, shall we?”
Clarus just sighs.
*
Clarus is sitting in his living room with a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, enjoying a coffee with his Sunday paper, when a phone pings in the hallway. Clarus recognizes it as Gladio’s tone, and he’s prepared to ignore it, even after it pings again. But when it pings a third time, then starts to ring off the hook, blaring that gods-awful Justice Monsters Five theme song, he sighs, puts down the paper, and rises to answer it.
“Yes?” he says.
“Gladio?” The voice on the line belongs to Ignis.
Clarus goes tense. What in the world could Ignis be calling about at this hour of the morning, and on a Sunday, no less? “I’m afraid not. This is his father.”
“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. “Apologies, sir. Gladio was supposed to meet me a half hour ago for training. He hasn’t shown up yet.”
Clarus pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the time. 8:27 AM. “He seems to have forgotten his phone at home. I’m sure he’ll show up soon. He’s never been the most punctual, that boy.”
“No, sir. Thank you for letting—” Ignis breaks off, and from the other end of the line, Clarus hears the faint sound of a door slamming closed. “There you are. Where have you been? I’m on the phone with your father.” Now, Ignis speaks to him. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s here now.”
“Glad to hear it,” Clarus says. “Don’t take it easy on that boy. Someone needs to remind him he’s not invincible.”
“Of course, sir.”
Clarus hangs up and looks at the phone speculatively. There’s a notification on the lock screen that shows three messages from Ignis. He hesitates for just a moment before he unlocks it and opens the message thread.
Iggy (03/15, 8:05 AM): Where are you?
Iggy (03/15, 8:08 AM): Gladio?
Iggy (03/5, 8:20 AM): I’m going to leave if you don’t show up in the next five minutes.
Well, that’s nothing out of the ordinary. It certainly supports what Ignis told him on the phone. Nothing suspicious at all. And yet…
Clarus lets his thumb hover over the screen. What would be the harm thoroughly debunking His Majesty’s preposterous ideas about his son’s relationship with Ignis? If evidence exists that Gladiolus and Ignis are something more than friends, it would be in this phone. And naturally, there won’t be any evidence. So there would be no harm, of course. And Gladiolus would be none the wiser.
He scrolls down.
Gladiolus (03/14, 5:17 PM): just about finished here with princess. can i drop by after? i have a pizza with your name on it.
Iggy (03/14, 5:20 PM): Pizza? Again?
Gladiolus (03/14, 5:31 PM): yes. it’s that or cup noodle. take your damn pick.
Iggy (13/14, 5:32 PM): Very well. Pizza it is. I’ll leave the door unlocked.
These messages are from last night. Clarus was already in bed, fast asleep, by the time Gladiolus came home. But that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he and Ignis stayed up late watching action movies and drinking beer. Astrals, he and Weskham used to do plenty of that back in the day. He has fond memories of afternoons spent drinking Leide pilsners and marathoning the Justice Stalks Insomnia series for the hundredth time.
Clarus scrolls some more.
Gladiolus (03/14, 10:43 AM): cassius was a no-show. he didn’t even send me a text. asshole.
Gladiolus (03/14, 10:44 AM): what are you up to?
Gladiolus (03/14, 11:05 AM): hello?
Iggy (03/14, 11:59 AM): I was in a meeting.
Gladiolus (03/14, 12:03 PM): no worries. you free for lunch? i’m bored.
Iggy (03/14, 12:05 PM): I’m afraid not. I have to drive Noct to the dentist, and then I’m in meetings again all afternoon.
Gladiolus (03/14, 12:05 PM): okay. :(
Gladiolus (03/14, 12:06 PM): i’ll text you later.
His son’s communications with Ignis are almost tedious. But he should keep going, shouldn’t he? Just to be sure. Clarus scrolls down.
Iggy (03/13, 6:47 PM): I know this is last minute, but I’m afraid I must cancel our plans tonight.
Gladiolus (03/13, 6:55 PM): dammit, iggy! i just got to your place.
Iggy (03/13, 6:55 PM): I’m sorry. His Majesty has asked me to help Noct with some studies. I’ll explain it all when I see you.
Gladiolus (03/13, 6:56 PM): ugh. fine. you’d better make it up to me.
Iggy (03/13, 6:56 PM): I always do.
Gladiolus (03/13, 6:57 PM): guess i’ll head home. call me after? dying to continue our conversation from this morning. ;)
That gives him pause. It’s the winky face. No one winks unless they’re making an innuendo or alluding to a secondary meaning. He scrolls again, and almost faints dead away on the floor.
Gladiolus (03/13, 9:31 AM): can’t stop thinking about the way you kissed me last night.
Gladiolus (03/13, 9:34 AM): now i’m horny.
Iggy (03/13, 9:46 AM): Gladio, I am in a meeting. You can’t text me things like that.
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:07 AM): sorry. it’s just driving me crazy.
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:10 AM): i wanna touch you all the time.
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:11 AM): can we just take the day off and make out instead?
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:23 AM): guess i’ll leave you alone.
Iggy (03/13, 10:29 AM): I excused myself under the pretense of using the washroom. I can only reasonably be gone for five minutes.
Iggy (03/13, 10:29 AM): Much as I would relish an entire afternoon lying in your arms, we do live in the real world.
Iggy (03/13, 10:29 AM): But the hours we spend apart are a sweet sort of torture, wouldn’t you say?
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:30 AM): no. they’re just torture. full stop.
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:30 AM): you saying you like being apart?
Iggy (03/13, 10:30 AM): I would rather be together, but I take pleasure in thinking of all the things I’m going to do to you long before I ever get to do them.
Gladiolus (03/13, 10:31 AM): oh yeah? like what?
Iggy (03/13, 10:32 AM): Like putting my hand on your—
Hastily, Clarus puts down the phone, feeling all the blood drain from his face. Well, damn. Regis was right.
His son is sleeping with Ignis Scientia.
*
The next morning, Clarus pours their tea with uncharacteristic silence. He can feel Regis’s eyes on him. He probably already knows what Clarus is thinking, the bastard. Still, Clarus isn’t going to willingly part with two thousand gil, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“Is something the matter, Clarus?” he finally asks, as Clarus passes him his saucer.
“Nothing at all, Regis,” he responds. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re awfully pale. Did you see something you wish you hadn’t seen?”
Damn the man. If there’s one thing Clarus can’t do, it’s keep a secret from his king.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he admits. “Something in Gladiolus’s phone, to be precise. A very, er...vivid conversation between him and Ignis. Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad my son is happy. I just had no idea he could be so imaginative.” He suppresses a shudder at the very explicit texts in Gladiolus’s phone, the kind of texts no father should ever have to read about his grown son. “You were right, Regis. He and Ignis are together.”
Regis smiles triumphantly. “I told you so, Clarus. The two thousand gil will help me pay for Noctis’s driving lessons. And while we’re on the topic, I’m willing to take bets on the date of their wedding.”
Resigned, Clarus sighs and pours some brandy into his tea. “Do you accept credit?”