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Gladio stands on the roof of the Citadel and looks out over Insomnia. Late afternoon traffic crawls like lines of ants on the streets far below. In the Financial District, glass skyscrapers burn with the orange light of the setting sun. He’s up so high he can see it all. So high that gusts of wind tousle his hair, whipping it into his face one minute, then blowing it back the next. He runs a hand through it, grabbing it into a knot at the nape of his neck to hold it in place.
“Iris said I’d find you here.”
Surprised, Gladio glances up and finds Ignis standing a few feet away, framed by the doorway to the stairwell. “Yeah?” he says.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
This is where Gladio comes when he wants to be alone, when he needs a few precious minutes to himself. If it were anyone else, he’d be annoyed—but it ain’t just anyone. It’s Ignis. “Nah, you’re not. I was just working through some stuff.”
“Oh?” Ignis crosses the space between them and joins him at the low wall that separates the walkway from empty air. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his tailored dress pants, the sunlight turning his hair and skin golden, he looks as handsome as Gladio’s ever seen him. “A penny for your thoughts?”
Gladio waves a hand. “Just all this stuff with Noct’s wedding coming up. Dad’s started getting on my case about settling down too. He’s obsessed with introducing me to girls. Says I need to start thinking about continuing the family line.”
Ignis nods, but he looks out at the city below instead of at Gladio. “And this bothers you.”
“Well, he was in his thirties when I was born. Don’t see why I should have to get started sooner,” Gladio grumbles.
“I never thought you’d be the type to view marriage as a ball and chain.”
“I don’t.” Not in theory, anyway. In practice, it’ll be a nightmare. Because there’s only one person he wants, only one person he daydreams about kissing, and he’s standing right next to Gladio. Problem is, he doesn’t think his dad would ever let him bring Ignis home. “I just don’t wanna marry someone my dad picks for me.”
“Ah. Well, that I can understand.”
“Besides, can you imagine me getting hitched right now? I’d feel sorry for any woman who had to put up with me.” Gladio chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ignis smiles, still looking out at the city. “Is that so? Then I take it you haven’t seen the latest issue of the Examiner. You’re number one on their list of Insomnia’s eligible bachelors.”
“That gossip rag?” Gladio waves a hand dismissively. “They have no clue what the hell they’re talking about.”
“And what of Insomnia Weekly? You were their sexiest man alive last year.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Ignis chuckles. “I’m simply saying, I think there are a great many women who would be very happy to put up with you.”
He means it to be reassuring, but it ain’t, ‘cause Gladio doesn’t want Ignis thinking about him with someone else. ‘Cause if Ignis is thinking about him with someone else, then he ain’t thinking about himself with Gladio, and Gladio wants to live in the delusion that Ignis has at least flirted with the idea.
He clears his throat. “What about you?”
Ignis finally looks at him. “Me?”
“Yeah. You’re from a noble house and all. Your uncle planning to get you hitched to someone too?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Ignis searches his face, his green eyes luminous in the dying sunlight, as if he’s hoping something in Gladio’s expression will give him an answer to some private question he’s asked himself. “At least, he’s never brought it up with me. He’s a life-long bachelor, you know, so I don’t think the thought ever occurred to him.”
“Lucky you.”
A sardonic smile twists Ignis’s mouth. “Well, I’m rather too married to my work myself to focus on a relationship at the moment, especially one requiring so much commitment.”
“But if there was someone you were interested in…”
“There is.”
Gladio glances at him, his gut twisting sharply with hope or disappointment, or maybe both at once. “There is?”
Ignis nods. He’s still looking at Gladio, neither his eyes nor his mild expression giving anything away. For all Gladio knows, the person Ignis has his eye on could be him, or it could be Marcella down at the reception desk. One seems as unlikely as the other.
“Who is it?” Gladio asks.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ignis’s smile softens into something wistful, and he finally looks away from Gladio, back out over the city. “Like I said, my duties to Noct take up too much of my time. I can’t afford any distractions.”
“So, what? You’re just gonna spend your life alone?”
“Romantically?” Ignis shrugs. “Perhaps.”
Gladio grunts. “Kinda sad, ain’t it?”
“I suppose. But we’re not the sort of people who get what we want, are we?” Ignis says. Their eyes meet again as the setting sun sinks below the skyscrapers to the west, draping shadows over the rooftop where they’re standing. “We’re more the sort who do what we must in service of something greater.”
Gladio holds his gaze, wondering if Ignis can see his feelings in his eyes, and whether it would make a difference if he could. ‘Cause Gladio knows he’s right. They both have their duties; they’ve always had them. They were born to them, and even though Gladio resents that sometimes—resents that he’s had almost no say over the course his life has taken, that he’s expected to father the next shield and die for Noct, no word of an argument—he wouldn’t trade those duties for anything. They’re too much at the core of who he is.
And he knows it’s the same for Ignis.
“Maybe you’re right.” He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “But I’m guessing you didn’t come up here to talk to me about my love life. So what’s up?”
Ignis smiles. “Ah, yes. Your father is looking for you. He said it was rather urgent…”
“Uh huh. Everything’s urgent with him these days.”
“He does have a lot on his plate.”
“Sheesh. You’d think we’re going to war, not a wedding,” Gladio says.
He starts to move toward the stairs, expecting Ignis to follow. But when he opens the door, he glances over his shoulder to see Ignis still standing in place, his eyes trained on Gladio. His face is soft, the rare kind of soft Gladio only sees on him when Noct’s scored an A on an essay or thanked him for making dinner—when Ignis has realized the outcome of all his efforts were worth the pain. It’s naked, unpracticed, unvarnished fondness.
Gladio clears his throat before he can read too much into that look. Before his imagination can carry him away.
“You coming?” he says.
Ignis shakes his head like he’s shaking himself out of a trance. And then that brief tenderness is gone, replaced by his usual calm, courteous demeanour.
“Yes,” he says, “I’m right behind you.”