"Really, Gladio,” Ignis murmured at the handsome, though it did bring a small, if exhausted, smile to his face. He felt far from handsome, and even further from passably put together, but the gentle teasing — flirting, really — helped ease any tension before it could start to settle in. He spared a thought to how tempting it was to follow Prompto towards a bed as he trailed after Gladio to the kitchen, the brief moment of humor fading from his face as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. He as felt awkward with nothing to do with his hands as he was touched over the fact that Gladio had started some coffee for him, going about it like was something he did every morning, something normal. The kitchen was generally Ignis’ domain, and he had to hold himself back from starting in on some sort of breakfast to go along with the protein shake — and Gladio’s questions.
The storm from the night before had cleared out, at least.
“Long night, yes,” he replied softly. He’d put so much effort into avoiding this exact situation before he’d come to Winterdale, and it suddenly seemed ridiculous in the face of Gladio’s concern, the almost casual you wanna talk about it? The warmth there. The reminder that Gladio had long been his best friend, that when they’d been younger he had been the person Ignis would go to to commiserate with, or talk out a problem, or just be around when he needed to clear his head and breathe. He hated that that had shifted, too, at some point. Gladio had had such a heavy weight to bear as Shield, and Ignis couldn’t remember when he’d started to avoid adding more to it, even small, silly problems. And then when the problems kept getting bigger and bigger…
Ignis sighed quietly to himself. It wasn’t just Noctis and Prompto that Ignis had fussed over — coddled, even. He’d assigned himself so many roles, no wonder he’d been strung so tightly. Shielding the Shield, protecting the protector, scrambling to keep everything together only to end up pushing him away. It felt so distant, that dark world he left behind, and yet he could recall their last conversation there like it had happened the day before. Frustration on both their sides, Ignis refusing to open up.
“I don’t,” he said, plainly and honestly, because it was the truth. He didn’t want to talk about it. If he stopped at that, Gladio would leave it temporarily. He could take some time to run through it all again, process it more, find some nice words to take the raw, emotional sting out of it this time around. And yet there he was, gathering himself to do the opposite. He watched as Gladio finished making his shake, studying him. It was still, even over a year after getting his sight back, strange to see his friends sometimes. Incredible, definitely, but strange.
Now, he was exhausted, emotional, and wondered how much of what he’d written off as teenage hormones and awkward, temporary physical attraction had been feelings he’d been too afraid to face while he also struggled with his realizations about Noct.
“But I need to, and you deserve to hear it.” The coffee had finished brewing and Ignis used the time it took to pour some, to add some sugar and cream because he wanted something lighter and sweeter than usual that morning, to gather himself as much as he figured it was possible right then. He didn’t particularly want to sit at the table again, but standing didn’t seem any better. If Gladio had indeed changed his mind about his run, they could figure that out in a few moments. “What do you remember about Altissia?” Ignis asked, then reconsidered. “Rather, what do you believe happened in Altissia?” Like asking Prompto about the Ring, it would give him an idea of where to start — as well as warn Gladio that this was not an easy conversation, and give him the same choice he’d given Ignis, if he wanted to jump right in or if he needed a moment himself.