@amicitian ▞ a heavy load
It’s still difficult to tell what is what in the nebulous dark that has become his world; but over the past few weeks he’s begun to covet scraps of clarity, the rhythms of his friends’ footsteps, snatches of sound (coughs, grunts, tiny little murmurs) that to him are as unique as fingerprints. So the sounds of Gladio’s unsettled pacing has become ever more familiar to him in the past few days especially, along with the agitated gust brushing Ignis’ skin when he storms past.
Ignis felt he had made himself quite plain. He would have thought the bodyguard’s temper might have cooled after their exchange at the Tomb of the Warrior. That said, the air around him does feel different; less heated, more tired. Ignis suspects it will be a long time before things are back to normal--if they ever are--but Gladio’s unease bothers him, in spite of everything.
He puts his arm out into the empty air the next time he hears him move past, fingers opening and closing on nothingness, at first a fumble, then a beckon.
“I thought we had cleared the air,” he says flatly. “But I know you must still have misgivings.”
Something inside him twinges. Fear. Pain. If after everything, you don’t want me here...
“If there’s something you must say, then say it.”
