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During the ten years of darkness, they learned a lot of and from each other.
Gladio, having spent nearly all his life learning the in's and out's of wilderness survival, still found himself challenged with the new dangers the constant night brought. He had to figure out new tactics, find ground that was decently safe since the havens no longer held their protective magic, learn to sleep with one eye open when he was forced to keep outside when he ventured too far from civilization and proper shelter.
Prompto forced himself to tuck away his camera in favor of not getting mauled by some daemon or Scourge-infected beast, no matter how perfect the snapshot would have looked. Sometimes, not even the most well-timed joke or gentlest smile could soften the blows of grief and desolation, and he had to let people ride out their own waves of sorrow.
They also learned just how Ignis had almost lost his life. Between horror and understanding, all they could do was bow their heads and take it as it was. A valiant effort made in the past, to keep their future king safe and alive. Neither could blame Ignis, especially knowing that any of them would have done much the same, if not something more drastic.
It was done out of love and loyalty, but dead kings didn't care for heart-rending stories. Gladio and Prompto couldn't fathom the idea of standing before the great phantoms, feeling their burning gaze cut deep into their very souls, to have them cut through their chests and gauge their hearts for whatever criteria of arbitrary "worthiness" the old beings held. Gladio never considered himself a coward; he's stared at death reflected in daemons and beasts, but something about having his soul dissected and laid bare before ancient kings did not strike any fancies. Prompto, well, was understandably not on board with the whole thing to begin with.
And the pain? Wretched, horrid, unimaginable. They could see only a glimpse of what he must have endured — despite his guard, there was the tell of his set jaw and the crawl of his hand toward his scarred finger — but they knew to not press. When they had first found him, crumpled to the ground and barely clinging to life, they almost feared to breathe as Noctis begged the Crystal to return what had been almost stolen.
It was a sight no one wanted to remember ever again.
"Ignis, did it uh… Hurt? Putting the ring on."
So when Gladio and Prompto cross the hall and hear Noctis' question through the crack of Ignis' office door, they thought better of their king.
Noctis, of all people, should be most understanding of Ignis' trauma, having watched the Ring drain the life of his father throughout his childhood and after the fall, feel its terrifying draw on his own life.
Gladio remembers racking his brain of all the first aid and emergency lessons he's been ingrained with, trying in vain to find a solution to the ashen skin and burning veins that crawled up his King's arm and neck. Prompto deleted every photo he managed to snap of Noctis using the Ring, feeling what little remained in his stomach threatening to climb up his throat. During the ten years, they managed to cull the daemon numbers around Insomnia but the city was still a nest itself; upon Noctis' return, they tried to pick off as many as they could before the Ring had to be used, and it was still used too many times in their opinions.
“I was nervous the first time I’ll admit,” they hear Ignis say, “but by the second try, I rather enjoyed the pressure.”
Gladio and Prompto jerk their heads to stare at each other in disbelief. There was a second try? What in the gods’ name happened that warranted Ignis wearing the Ring again? The first attempt should have never happened; it was a miracle the man survived the power of Kings, and he was bedridden for days even after the Crystal healed him of most of the injuries. And he enjoyed it? What.
Prompto reaches for Gladio’s arm before either of them can barge in there and demand an explanation, but Gladio is too quick (despite his massive bulk) and shoves the office door wide open.
“Oh, okay. It’s just, I just thought it might be interesting to try too so — “
Noctis cuts himself off the second Gladio stomps inside, Prompto quickly following after and having the mind to close the door behind them.
“Gladio? Prompto? Is something wrong?” Ignis rises from his seat, slightly alarmed at the urgency the two carry themselves with.
“Damn straight something’s wrong.” Gladio barely keeps his hands from slamming against the desk, and he leans over to see almost nose-to-nose with Ignis. “What’s this about wearing the Ring again? You know what happened the last time! We all do, Iggy, so why in the hell would you even — “
“Holy shit.” Noctis flies both his hands to his face and groans.
Ignis' eyebrows almost meet his hairline.
“Uh, yeah? Holy shit is kinda right, buddy. Seriously, Ignis, how come you two didn’t tell us?” It's Prompto's turn now, and though he doesn't share Gladio's tactic of getting up close and personal, his disapproving frown and crossed arms are just as potent.
“It’s a, ah, rather… private matter between Noct and I." Ignis slowly lowers himself back into his seat, pulling at his collar that seems just a tad too tight all of a sudden. "Really, you two, it isn't what you think it is."
“Dude. We know you’re a pair but we’re your best buds too! You can’t keep these sort of secrets from us.”
Noctis hunches over in his lap and whines like a dying dog, and he still hasn’t bothered to look them in the eyes.
Gladio notices and turns his eyes to Noctis, seeing that his loyal advisor refused to peep a word. “Hey, Majesty. Wanna explain?” he says in an impatient tone, narrowing his eyes. Noctis may not see, but he's sure his King can feel his scathing look.
“Gladiolus Amicitia,” Ignis nearly hisses, resorting to full names now. "I promise you it is not a topic for your ears —"
"Iggy! C'mon, don't keep something like this from us."
"Prompto's right. All these years together, the daemons, the battles. We have each other's backs, and we always will. You can tell us —"
“For fuck’s sake, it’s a cock ring!” Noctis yells, ripping his hands from his face, red as a ripe tomato. But just as quickly as he raised his head to finally give them the answer they so demanded, he ducks his face again into his hands.
A deafening silence follows, and the air suddenly becomes too warm. Ignis breaks the pregnant pause with a sigh and an irritated tap of his pen.
“Ohhh-kay then.” Prompto laughs nervously, already taking a few steps backward toward the door. "Yeah, that's uh. That's a ring alright."
Gladio takes a few extra beats to comprehend exactly what just transpired. He blinks, opens his mouth to speak, then closes it before any words come out. He ends up making a sour face as if he took a nice bite out of a rotten fruit; he almost wishes he had one just to chuck it at Noctis because why the hell are they talking about their sex life?
"For your information, this is my private office, and you two happened to barge in here by your own volition."
Gladio doesn't realize his thought must have slipped out, as Ignis answers him anyway. Before his big mouth starts blabbering on without his consent, he mutters an apology and turns on his heel to leave. Sure, he's an adult, he's no blushing maiden. But hearing about his King's kinks and sex life? Yeah, that was just weird. It's like learning about his brother's sex life, and considering Noctis is practically one, kinda gross. Super TMI.
He and Prompto walk down the corridor in silence, each digesting what they had heard in Ignis' office and wondering about the unfortunate circumstances that led to the misunderstanding. Perhaps, in a couple of weeks, they'll look back on it with good humor and maybe some whiskey; but for now, they'd rather just have the whiskey to forget about the whole thing.
"Hey, Gladio, you think we should buy one too?"
Ah, fuck it.
"Sure."