[ ignis is certain that this is how it all ends, that it's this exact kind of shit that izunia has been trying to do all along. nothing is right and ignis feels as if he's in some kind of free fall, where there's no way to stop any of it nor any chance to gain some semblance of control. the last time ignis felt so helpless was the longest of times ago when he was nothing but a small child starting their first day of education in a school for the gifted. at least that had worked out. this whole useless exercise doesn't have a good end that ignis can see and he swallows his next words, realizing that he's just given gladio a conversation starter for the next few weeks. how has it come to this?
Sort yourself out, Gladio. ignis wants to shout the words, to shake gladiolus and make sure that the shield can't do anything except hear them. but what's the point? it's not changing anything and right now ignis is wishing he was anywhere in the world but here. he wishes it had been himself and not noct. anything but this.]
Right then. [ quiet, matter of fact, ignis turns and heads for the bed. he can't stand to look at anyone right now, let alone gladio and his non-reaction to everything around him. the bed is an easier target and ignis almost viciously begins to set the blankets straight, clicking his tongue as one of the corners begins to stray. he's over doing it, moving it here and there by the smallest of fractions and seeing some imperfection that requires restarting and it's only when it's perfect that ignis spots his one mistake. gladio is built of hard stuff and punching the other comes with it's own hazards; mainly a split knuckle that has consequently left a few drips of crimson across the white sheets.
ignis stares at those marks as if they're responsible for everything, expression one of bewildered hurt as though he just can't believe he's done this. it has to be perfect and now it's worse than when he started and already he's smoothing his hands over the marks in some vain attempt to get rid of them, gladio all but forgotten in the interim.]
no subject
Sort yourself out, Gladio. ignis wants to shout the words, to shake gladiolus and make sure that the shield can't do anything except hear them. but what's the point? it's not changing anything and right now ignis is wishing he was anywhere in the world but here. he wishes it had been himself and not noct. anything but this.]
Right then. [ quiet, matter of fact, ignis turns and heads for the bed. he can't stand to look at anyone right now, let alone gladio and his non-reaction to everything around him. the bed is an easier target and ignis almost viciously begins to set the blankets straight, clicking his tongue as one of the corners begins to stray. he's over doing it, moving it here and there by the smallest of fractions and seeing some imperfection that requires restarting and it's only when it's perfect that ignis spots his one mistake. gladio is built of hard stuff and punching the other comes with it's own hazards; mainly a split knuckle that has consequently left a few drips of crimson across the white sheets.
ignis stares at those marks as if they're responsible for everything, expression one of bewildered hurt as though he just can't believe he's done this. it has to be perfect and now it's worse than when he started and already he's smoothing his hands over the marks in some vain attempt to get rid of them, gladio all but forgotten in the interim.]