he’s screaming in his own mind, words echoing back at him tenfold, rising in volume until he feels as if he might shatter like glass. nails drag against his thighs as he fights every urge to give in, give in give in. he is fragile in this moment; caught in the tremulous moment of do i or don’t i. it cracks at his resolve, batters against his walls, beats him until he’s black and blue. tongue clenched between teeth, he wars with the desire to bear his bleeding heart, or wrap it back up and hide it behind the walls of grief and pain that he so diligently erects when the pain becomes nearly unbearable. he breaks behind those walls. breaks and breaks until he’s nothing more than a shattered mess of grief and heartache kneeling on the floor, tears staining his cheeks, heart bleeding for a loss he has no right to feel. he couldn’t have that life. he couldn’t be with someone he loved. he grits his teeth, clings to his walls, and begs the sob not to slip past and expose him.
what’s wrong is that you’re with her and not me !!
he’s tried to find another, tried to find space in his heart to accommodate something. sought out the many girls who fawned over him from afar, painfully approached them and gave to them what they had craved for so long. attention and a smile, and words that fell empty from his lips. he couldn’t withstand many, left anxious and overwhelmed by the feeling that this isn’t right crushing his chest. and it wasn’t. nothing was right. he could only see amber when he looked at them, eyes too green, lacking in vibrancy. the absence of black ink across their chest startling, upsetting. the smell of earth replaced with sugar and cinnamon. he was caught in the realization that her hands were too small, too soft. laughter not deep enough. she was everything he should have wanted, but his heart had already been given to another. there was nothing that could change that. nothing he did could alter this cursed path he had set himself upon.
for he loved gladio. he loved him. it was so obvious now, listening to his heart shatter in his chest, and feel the tears burn his eyes. he loved him and he could never have that. that is what has plagued him these past couple weeks. that is what his heart aches for when darkness descends and he’s alone, cold in an empty bed. it was wrong for them to have taken things so far. he let himself get comfortable in the closeness of their bond. twisted it until it became something he couldn’t have. king and shield. that’s what they were, that’s what they would always be. that’s all they could be.
he still hasn’t spoken, and he knows the longer he’s silent, the harder gladio will be on him to reveal what wars within. already he knows that something is wrong, something more than usual and noctis knows he can’t talk about this yet. he can’t. he can’t face the rejection, the notion that gladio would never love him like this. could never love him as if breath came only in the form of the other’s life. as if his heart could only beat if the others did. so much of what he wanted was entwined with this man, and it was impossible. he didn’t want to face that, and he wouldn’t. instead he lets the harsh reality of his life take over, giving him fuel to an anger that simmered beneath the grief and pain, and pushes it forward. being angry was easy too. being angry helped him survive.
❛ you’re my problem. ❜ i can’t get you out of my head, out of my heart. it sits on his tongue, so ready to be released but he swallows, jaw grit, and barrels forward. ❛ don’t you know when to quit? i get it. i have a lot to live up to. ❜ a lot to live up to, a lot to give up, a lot he can’t have. he’s fully aware of everything that his title demands of him. he’s known for years when others think he’s too self-absorbed. he’s not so stupid as to be blind to the life that awaits him. ❛ i get it. ❜ softer now, still laced in fury, but so soft. i get it. you can’t be mine. he wants nothing more than to go home, to hide in his apartment, lose himself in mindless video games, take solace in prompto’s company, and bury himself beneath his sheets until he was nothing more than one with the bed. he rises, feet a little unsteady beneath him, but he refuses to seek help in this moment. he just wants to be out of his presence. ❛ i’m going home. ❜
with withered patience does he search once - delicate features for the answer to his query— watches as his brows narrow to a malicious extent until he swears he’d open his mouth to say something he’s regret. his voice is something he doesn’t receive, and he’s left with nothing more than the disparaging sound of the silence between them and the astralforsaken hope of a real conversation where the prince finally tells him what addles his mind. this pattern he maintains leaves his limbs stiff and his teeth practically bared. if anything, there is nothing more irritating, nothing that boils the blood within his very veins more than when he doesn’t let air what weighs on his heart and drags him into the depths of the darkest seas like the boulder it seems to be. in truth, gladiolus is in no mood to entertain the idea of extending the misconception that he can continue to get away with it anymore, if not for the way the way his brows draw inward, lips tight as if he’s just about to explain himself— but he doesn’t. it’s infuriating and unnecessary, he thinks, pushing himself up on the heels of his palms enough to watch noctis’ face contort when he considers too carefully what he wished to say. he even considers cajoling him, as if pressing him further into a corner might finally make him burst, but he knows better. knows that will earn him weeks of silence that only he himself is to blame for.
‘ you’re my problem, ‘ he finally says, and so too does he become. it’s not uncommon between them to have a skirmish or two when it came to the strain on his body at the cause of a new technique learned during training or even the way the king himself would ask that the prince be supervised when he wished nothing more than to be alone in some of his ventures ( this much, he understood ). this time, however, there is a certain volatility when he speaks, a hitch in his breath enough to signal that this is not a topic of their usual bickering. the tension in his shoulders only grows when only a small shred of his anxieties is allowed to come to light— not nearly enough to cause him this much grief when he’d usually have too much to say. this time, it’s as though the words are jammed into his lungs, held together with as much tape and glue as he could muster if only to keep them from spilling forth. when noctis speaks again, his heart DROPS at the sound of vulnerability in the wake of all the malice he’d borne just moments before. it’s something he’s so unaccustomed to that he nearly doesn’t believe it once it’s aired— a phantom sound wafting across the room from somewhere across the world he does not know. gladiolus opens his mouth, but dares not speak; no amount of robust return - fire could salvage him in his current standing. there is no argument to bring forth that he hadn’t already heard a million times over— the crown is a heavy burden and one he must bear without choice. that much, he’s well aware that noctis knows. there isn’t any doubt that all his determination is garnered into everything he does, especially when it’s for the sake of his future.
gladiolus watches the prince’s posture hunch inward until he begins to stand, a darkness surrounding his mood that he can’t quite understand just yet. he’s the cause— noctis had said that much— but of what, he doesn’t yet know. somehow, with the copious amount of vulnerability shared with or without him actively trying, he cannot even bring himself to ask ( a feeling entirely too foreign when he’s used to getting anything and everything he wanted from noctis by just asking ). he’ll watch the way he hardly has the energy to even rise to his feet, watches his eyes nearly spill over with tears unshed as he tries desperately to keep himself in check. a chord tightens within his chest; an astounding realization that there is nothing more he could possibly hate than to see noctis cry. it’s something he’s never realized because he’s never been given such an unfortunate opportunity before, even when he’s frustrated beyond belief. it’s why when he asserts his departure for his apartment, gladio reaches out to take hold of his wrist. his hold isn’t forceful— nor is the expression with which he regards noctis when he doesn’t look back at him— easily broken should he will it. for once, he decides a different approach is necessary, especially when he’s this wound up.
❝ what are you talking about? ❞ he nearly sighs— sometimes he wished asking him whatever was troubling him wasn’t akin to pulling teeth. just once, he wished noctis would be honest with both him and himself, enough to make life easier for the pair of them. he’d never understand what kind of suffering the prince would have to endure if he’d never opened his mouth to tell him. ❝ why are you so damn moody? what made you so upset that you can’t even look at me? ❞ he’s curious beyond measure; the prince always makes it a point to glare daggers at him whenever he’s displeased or when they’re arguing ( so why not now? ). so he’ll give a gentle tug, bidding him to sit back down with him, if even for just a moment, blissfully unaware of the turmoil suffered by his charge. ❝ you just did your first successful warp! can’t you be happy about that? ❞
gladiolus nearly reaches out to brush his hair away from his eyes, a gentility he doesn’t recognize as familiar until he’s warring with noctis’ stubborn heart. he wants to calm him down in any way he usually did; sling his arm around his shoulder or even make a mess of sleep - worn hair, but he doesn’t. there’s nothing worse than the feeling of helplessness brought on when he can protect noctis from everything but himself.
snowghoul
titsay
baratheonpilled
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
