It’s the way his body s l a m s audibly into the side of the car when Ravus pretty much backhands him across the chest, muscle scorching from the strike and bones practically screaming their ache from the nerves all the way into the epicenter of his brain. Gladio almost feels like he’ll never get his breathing right. It shakes him. For fucks sake, it totally rattles him. Once they’re set up for the night, it’s the first time Gladio gets a hotel room alone, away from everyone despite how they’re all seemingly having a great time. He can’t get out of his head. He can’t let it go. Sitting out on the balcony in the fresh air, he’s moping and licking the wounds his ego now has serrated into his very core. At least until steps move forward behind him. “Not in the mood.” It’s a statement, a warning. He’s not to be fussed with right now, because he’s too busy trying to get around the fact that he was bested. A Shield to the crown, smacked like some infant by an overgrown royal freakin’ cyborg.



















