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Tugging at his jacket collar in irritation, Gladio scowled at his reflection. Yeah, he looked great in his formal dress fatigues, but Gladio already longed to be back in his old, faded Crownsguard tank and denim cut-offs. But being on duty during Council meant dressing the part. You’d think Gladio’d be more used to it be now, but some things never changed.
After tying his long hair back into a ponytail at the base of his skull, Gladio eyed himself one last time. His beard looked neat enough, though it would need trimming tomorrow. The buttons on his uniform gleamed brilliantly, and they paled compared to the polish of his boots.
Enough dallying, Amicitia. Squaring his shoulders, Gladio left his quarters and made his way to the Council chamber. He was one of the last ones there - oops - and the bemused look leveled at him by one Ignis Scientia as he took his post next to the king’s throne made Gladio’s heart skip a beat.
Ignis had always been a handsome man. He wore those suits like a second skin; Astrals knew Gladio had noticed over the years the way Ignis’s pert ass filled out his pants so very, very well. But while Gladio had admired the Ignis of their youth, he was in awe of the changes maturity and adventure had wrought. The scarring at his eyes seemed to make the scintillating green more striking; the small blemish marring his lip made Gladio want nothing more than to kiss it and see what it felt like under his mouth.
The meeting was called to order, though Gladio would be hard pressed to tell you what was on the day’s agenda. The part of his brain not focused on guarding Noctis - a role that was largely ceremonial these days, since the King was more than capable of protecting himself - was mulling over what Ignis’s lithe muscles would feel like beneath his calloused hands, how that pristine, perfect accent might sound shaping words of passion instead of listing the Citadel’s inventory.
Gladio tore his eyes away from Ignis and focused on the far wall, straightening his posture. That side of the room, arranged intentionally where Noctis could see them from his massive chair, where blown up copies of photographs Prompto had taken over the years.
Some were from before everything changed - King Regis with his son, both of them wearing ridiculous fishing gear. A photograph of the late Lady Lunafreya - not a shot Prompto took, but given a place of honor. A group shot of old members of the Kingsglaive, lost in the fall of Insomnia.
Only one was from their arduous journey. A group shot taken by… fuck, Gladio couldn’t remember… containing not only the four of them but many of their allies.
The rest were from after the Dawn, cityscapes showing the progress in Insomnia’s restoration. In fact, Prompto was off traveling right now, taking shots from Lestallum to Altissia and back again, cataloguing the changes wrought on the world by ten years of endless night. The daemon scourge had left its mark on Eos, that was for sure.
After the meeting drew to a close, Gladio sighed, rolling his shoulders. Standing still for so long wasn’t as easy as it’d been when he was younger, but he had his pride and waited until everyone had left before shaking out the stiffness.
Or so he’d though.
“Gladio,” Ignis called out. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Iggy,” Gladio muttered, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.
Ignis crossed the room to join him. “May I?” he asked, quirking his scarred eyebrow inquisitively.
Gladio’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure what Ignis was asking, and he didn’t care. “Sure.”
Relief flooded through him when Ignis gently lay a palm on his shoulder, pouring a healing spell into his body.
“Thanks,” Gladio said gratefully. “I’m sure you have more pressing matters than taking the edge off my aches, yeah?”
“None at present,” Ignis smiled. “I thought we could catch up.”
And so they did, whiling away the afternoon in Ignis’s office with a pot of ebony and a plate of sandwiches. Just as Gladio was congratulating himself on staying cool and not jumping Iggy’s bones, the fucker shot right to the heart of the matter.
“What’s bothering you, Gladio?” Those verdant eyes were piercing, and the intensity of the regard made Gladio squirm in his seat.
“Can’t talk to you about it.”
Ignis frowned. “Gladiolus… we’ve known each other how long now? You can tell me anything.”
Gladio leaned forward, laying his forearms on his knees. Guess how much he cared that it would wrinkle his formal shirt? At least he’d lost the jacket. “Can I though?” he rumbled out with a laugh.
“Of course.” Ignis’s words were wrapped in concerned confusion. “Gladio, you’re worrying me. What is it? Is something wrong with Iris?”
“Naw, Iggy, nothing bad,” Gladio said quickly. “It’s just… it’s like this…” After a couple false starts he swore under his breath. “Shit. I’m no good at dancing around so I’m just gonna say it.” He met that steady, seafoam gaze, and prayed his sincerity shone in his burnished eyes.
“I love you, Ignis.” Gladio shaped the words tenderly, and felt as though a behemoth was lifted in his shoulders at the relief of finally saying the words out loud. “Have for years. And I’m tired of hiding it.” He reached out, took one of Ignis’s gloved hands in his. Damn Ignis’s poker face; those sharp, delicate features were giving away nothing as Gladio continued to speak. “I wanna be with you. Now. Forever. If you’ll have me.”
Ignis laughed. He fucking laughed.
And then Ignis kissed Gladio, and that was all the answer he needed.