he was vulnerable to art and to her eyes; gladio x ofc.
While I am an avid reader of ALL THE READER INSERTS, I decided I wanted my first work to revolve around an original character that I came up with last night. I was playing my second run of FFXV and ran in Sania for the second time and realized how much I enjoy her. Then I started reading all the things on here about her. And I threw around some ideas and decided, “you know what? I’m sure there was someone who was running errands for her before Noct and the gang came across her. And maybe even someone before she reached out to hunters.”
And thus, Ezra was born. This doesn’t go into extreme detail; it’s just me kind of showcasing my writing and getting something out since Ezra has been on my mind. Hopefully you guys like it and I can continue with the next stage with confidence and support!
On a completely unrelated note, if you guys know where I can get in touch with other writers and prompts and / or have ideas of how I can get out there, please let me know!
Summary: Gladio has a silent admirer during Professor Sania Yeagre’s discourse in Insomnia.
She can't remember the last time she was this distracted. She seeks out beautiful things, immortalizes them in the pages of the journal she always keeps with her. They are never as impressive as real life, but she can find satisfaction nonetheless. She draws because she enjoys it, not because it puts gil in her pockets or makes people interrupt her when they look over her shoulders.
Ezra thinks she would like to draw him. No, she knows she would. Because usually, she attends her aunt Sania's lectures and pays the utmost attention. It's nothing new; they're the same things shared over dinner or explained over their long distance calls. Aunt Sania, however, demands notice much like she demands everything else. The passion she feels for her research, for the subject, comes through in every word.
So, usually, Ezra would be paying very close attention. But her eyes had fallen on him instead.
Of course, she wants to draw the usual things: the hard lines of his jaw, the sheer magnitude of his torso. She almost curses his casual lean against the wall and how he crosses his arms because she wants to see his hands, wants to see for herself if they're as calloused and robust looking as she assumes. She has enough pages of long and thin fingers that caress, and she wonders if his are the kind to bruise.
And his eyes, maybe she wants to draw them the most. Were his eyes closer to the pigment of gold dust and would she need to search for more ore? Was the light in the classroom playing tricks on her or were they indeed the color of whiskey? Color, though, would the last of her problems.
How would she convey the depth of his eyes? That is the question she needs answered the most. While others in the room, most students looking for extra credit, seem to be paying decent attention or merely taking up space, he is avidly watching. He had immediately garnered note when he had first walked into the room, and even still if she looks around, she can see others glancing at him much like she is. However, he never looks away, never pays attention to the giggles and mumbled conversations. Ezra wants to immortalize that intensity in the pages of her book, much like she had for Aunt Sania's published works and the things that have garnered her attention.
Since she had lost the lecture in its beginning stages, she has taken to doodling in her journal. They are the modest lines of the broad stranger's shoulders, of his head, of the hair she thinks she would enjoy braiding much more than the mass on top of her head. He seems too invested in biology, apparently, to pay attention to the force of her own gaze. And yet, the next time Ezra looks up...
Oh. He's looking right at her. And having his eyes on her is an entirely different animal.
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