Chapter Text
Ignis looks good in the waning sunset. Out of place with his spiked hair and clothing, but Gladio supposes they all are. None of them belong on a dude ranch, that’s for certain.
Yet here they are. Even though Iris is waiting for them in Lestallum and they’ve got actual shit to do, Noctis insisted--
Gladio takes a deep breath; getting pissed probably won’t help. A distraction might. He leans against the railing of the fence that Ignis is standing by, pitches his voice low. “You want to hit the head?”
Ignis glances at the chocobo stalls. Prompto and Noctis are trying to feed a disinterested bird; the greens they’re offering look like they’ve seen fresher days. “Five minutes.”
The bathroom is filthy, of course, but less filthy than most of their roadside stops have been. The smell is unimaginably worse—a mixture of bleach overtop piss with a dash of chocobo manure thrown in.
Ignis’ nose wrinkles as soon as he steps inside, but he doesn’t complain as he locks the door and fishes his cock out of his pants.
They make it fast, partially because of the smell and partially because there’s only so long Prompto can stand to be ignored before he starts searching for a new source of attention. They finish in each others’ mouths because the floor’s not too disgusting and it’s easier than trying to aim everything onto Gladio’s bare stomach.
Gladio steps out first, gaze sweeping the area until he clocks Noctis trying to tempt a chocobo chick with the same bundle of week-old greens. It goes over as well with the new audience as it had with the old.
He also notices Wiz watching him rather closely. Gladio wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before joining Noctis in the corner of the yard.
“I don’t think the little guy’s feeling it,” Gladio says.
“We can’t afford the expensive kind,” Noctis says. “Ignis will flay me alive if I spend any more money on chocobo feed.”
“Hey hey hey, I come bearing a solution!” Prompto jogs towards them with something cupped in his palm. He and Noctis whoop in victory when the chicobo pecks at the pepper.
“You know Ignis was saving that for his new recipe,” Gladio says.
“It’s one pepper, big guy. There’s a ton left. No way he’s ever gonna know,” Prompto says, petting the chick’s feathery head.
Ignis emerges from the bathroom, as composed and nonchalant as ever. Wiz’s head turns, and Gladio can feel his gaze flickering between the two of them.
“Uh huh,” Gladio says. “I did not condone this and I did not see this.”
Noctis coos over the animal in unabashed delight, the expression on his face stirring something inside Gladio’s chest. He hasn’t seen Noctis smile like that since they left Galdin Quay. Since their whole lives collapsed into rubble behind them.
Gladio drifts away, scanning the forest surrounding the ranch. There’s a rustling in the distance: a lone garula would be his guess, or a wild chocobo if Wiz’s claims about the area are to be believed. There’s birdsong, but it’s faint. Daemons make it unsafe for animals and humans alike.
“Have Prompto and Noctis exhausted my store of sweet peppers in their attempts to curry favor with the local wildlife?” Ignis asks once Gladio walks into earshot. He’s seated on a plastic chair, newspaper spread across the table.
“As far as I know, Prompto only grabbed one and hasn’t been back for more. Yet.” Gladio sinks into a seat beside Ignis, winces at the hard plastic cutting into his side; the chairs wasn’t made for anyone close to his size. “You left them out for him?”
“I did. I also left a copy of the book Talk Birdy to Me: The Care and Feeding of Chocobos in the backseat of the car,” Ignis says. “Untouched and unread despite a four-hour car ride.”
“Points for the pun, but you know Noct’s all about the picture books.” Gladio says. “Maybe if you hide it inside a comic next time.”
“Tried that before. Didn’t work.” Ignis has his head tipped back, staring up at the sky. Gladio can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
Gladio tips his head back, too. Ignores the creak of chair legs underneath him. “I’ve never seen stars this bright before.”
“No clouds, no tall buildings. In a city, the light pollution obscures them,” Ignis replies. “It’s part of the reason I gave up on a dream to be an astronomer.”
“You wanted to be an astronomer?” It catches Gladio off-guard. Of course Ignis had a life before he became part of Noctis’ retinue, but it’d never occurred to Gladio that Ignis might have wanted to become anything other than a chamberlain.
“I did.” A smile graces Ignis’ lips. “When I was a child, my mother gave me a book about constellations and a telescope. I used to peer through it for hours every night.”
“Got bored after a while, huh?”
“Not exactly. I lost my telescope after my parents died and I moved in with my uncle. Then I had more pressing matters to attend to than staring at worlds lightyears away.” Ignis looks down, closing the newspaper in front of him. “Funny. I haven’t thought of any of this in ages.”
Gladio glances at the headline scrawled across the front page--INSOMNIA FALLS, ROYAL FAMILY DEAD--and away again. “You remember any constellations?”
“There’s the Dancer.” Ignis points. “That triangle of stars is the fan she’s carrying. And beside her is a bouquet of white daisies, brought by her most ardent suitor.”
Gladio follows the movement of Ignis’ finger, imagining the dancer smiling coyly behind her fan, lover on one knee before her.
He’d read a poem about the dancer, once, years ago. She’d enchanted the entire court with her performance, moved her suitor to propose without a single word. But as they walked through the garden on their wedding day, she was bitten by a poisonous snake. As she lay dying, her suitor begged for the gods to intercede. The depth of his love moved them to elevate the dancer to the stars so he could gaze upon her forever.
One of Gladio’s ex-girlfriends had found it romantic, but he’d thought—still thinks—that looking up at the heavens is cold comfort to someone who’s lost everything.
Gladio’s father hasn’t responded to any of his calls, his texts, his emails. It doesn’t mean anything—he could be on the run, phone out of juice, unable to get in contact. When they reach Iris, they’ll be able to put together a plan, figure out--
“Aren’t chocobos the best?” Prompto says as he drops into a seat on the opposite side of the table with a contented sigh. “I think it’s impossible to feel down when you’re near one.”
“They do seem to lift his majesty’s spirits,” Ignis says, quietly.
“He could probably use it, you know?” Prompto’s watching Noctis cradle a sleeping chicobo in his arms. “Maybe we all could.”
Gladio stares back up at the darkness, at the bouquet of stars spilling across the sky. Cold comfort.
fin