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Another story

It’s Gladio, but he’s a part-time writer and loves to listen to the radio.

It’s always the same radio station, at the same hour. The Astrals were kind to him, and it happens that he’s already done with work-shift and he gets to listen to the same program during his drive home.

Usually, as soon as he gets in his car, there’s news on the radio. There’s the weather report ever fifteen minutes, and he catches only one before the news are done for a few hours and the program starts; it’s some sort of discussion table, but with only three broadcasters. They talk the relevant events of Lucis, the latest polemic trend, or, Gladio’s favorite, just philosophy and life and cosmos stuff.

Where they think life comes from, opinions on the dressing code, why certain event was wrong, if (X) author deserved the Aurora prize for literature that year, where they think the throne family’s magic comes from, are we alone in the universe, will we be sucked by a black hole, do we reincarnate, polemic trends, who was right and who was wrong in X trial, whether breaking laws is always ‘wrong’, the string theory, any matter to discuss, in two hours.

And Gladio enjoys of the entire discussion.

And Gladio loves one of the broadcasters’ voice.

He wouldn’t lie if you ask him, what first caught Gladio was the mere color of the voice. A delicious tenor, almost baritone, with a Tenebraean accent. A voice that feels like dark brown, coffee beans, a fireplace mid winter. It’s like a flame, but the most gentle of flames. The color, the way it moves, its rich nuances and wide variety of schemes and colors and tones and sounds.

Gladio got immediately attached to the voice as soon as he heard it, and ocassionally listened to the program just to hear it again.

But then he discovered he also loved the mind behind the voice.

A rare jewel of a mind. Smart to mind-blowing levels. Intelligent, wise. Alive like the fire of his voice. This particular broadcaster is by far the most brilliant of the three minds, and by far the most brilliant from all of Gladio’s acquaintances and friends. Maybe the most brilliant in all Lucis. With a knowledge of all things, the ones you do not learn in books included, that it’s simply...impressive.

He always has the best arguments. He always waits in silence during the first half an hour before joining in, and nobody can stop him. You’d think one thing is right, he can convince you otherwise. You’d think a polemic is hard to solve, he proves otherwise. The universe, his thoughts on the cosmos, the oh so poetic way in which he visualizes death, and the oh so beautiful but realistic way in which he visualizes life and the world.

And Gladio starts listening to the program daily, to hear that voice, but also to hear that mind behind.

A faceless creature, a faceless man with a voice and mind of fire, blazing through his head, changing his visualization of many things of life, turning his thoughts upside-down, marveling him with his vast and endless knowledge and philosophical way of living and thinking, all of that said through that wonderful warm voice that almost seems to be able to sing without really singing.

And then Gladio writes a story.

It’s his passion outside work. He loves to write as he loves to read. And he’s a hopeless romantic. So he, inspired by that voice, inspired by the mind behind it, inspired by this faceless broadcaster , inspired like nothing had inspired him in years, Gladio sits down and writes. And finishes, and reviews and re-reads and corrects until it’s done.

And he sends it to the radio’s station’s headquarters, with a nickname due to shyness, and a small note.

The next week, he turns on the radio at an unusual hour, past the discussion table, when he’s already home. It’s the story reading program. They announce the title of his work, recall his nickname, and announce the narrator.

It’s him. The broadcaster of beautiful voice and a more stunning mind.

‘I wish for Ignis Scientia to narrate this’, his note he attached to his story when he sent it read, ‘if he agrees. And if he does, please, do not tell him it was a request of mine.’

And oh, Ignis Scientia agreed. And Ignis Scientia, the brilliant mind with a gorgeous voice and a mysterious face, is reading and narrating it. And his voice fits the story perfectly fine. Because Gladio wrote it thinking about him; he wrote it thinking of his voice, thinking of what and which words would fit with his voice in ways that go beyond the phonetic aspect.

The story flows with his voice like one was born from the other, but none existed before the other. The words come from his mouth like he does at the discussion table; natural, in a way that’s born directly from within him, like this is part of himself. He breathes when it’s required and not a single word before, he stops in the exact spots, he understands which parts require a high comma, which a low one, in ways that they cannot teach at diction and radio schools.

It’s like Ignis Scientia feels this story.

Gladio had been inspired thinking that whatever job he did with his writing, it would be a brute rock, and that, if Ignis Scientia read it, it would be turned into the most beautiful of diamonds.

And oh, was he right. Was he right.

It’s his words, his story, but it’s like it’s the first time he hears it. He feels like he gave a rough and dirty dummy to this broadcaster, and he turned it into a porcelain doll. More than that, something much prettier than that.

So Gladio continues to write.

This shoots his inspiration to heights he did not know possible. He writes in any free time he has, he’s barely focused in life because life feels so empty compared to the feelings inside himself when he’s writing. And writes until he sends another story, but forgot the note requesting for Ignis, who had not been at the story reading program since the first novel.

But, to his surprise, it’s Ignis Scientia who’s hosting the program. And he’s reading this second story.

And Gladio’s immediately feeling his heart and face lit up and come to life in a way he only experienced when he first listened to Ignis reading something of his creation.

So he sits there, hunger forgotten, work forgotten, everything sent to hell except for Ignis’ voice in the radio reading his story in the beautiful way only Ignis can create.

And Gladio continues to write, and continues to send his stories to the radio station. And Ignis continues to read them, never skipping one, never disappointing, always there at 10 p.m. when it’s story telling time.

And Gladio ignores that Ignis is not being paid for this.

And Gladio ignores Ignis asked permission to read his stories.

When the second story came in, they told him it was fine just leaving it to the usual narrator. But Ignis requested to do it himself. ‘This is not in your contract’ they told him, ‘we cannot pay you for this even if we wanted.’

But Ignis bowed the head.

‘Please. I’ll do it for free.’

[Adding a read more]

And Gladio ignores that Ignis is doing it for free, ignores he requested for his friends at work to tell him whenever another story by this nicknamed author came in so he can rush to the director’s office to ask him almost begging to let him do it, ignores the way Ignis stares at this cup of coffee during the discussion table like it’s the love of his life but he’s not looking at the cup at all, ignores the way Ignis’ face beams with enthusiasm whenever a new story comes in.

And Gladio ignores Ignis is hopelessly in love with his writing.

Gladio continues to write for him, and Ignis continues to read it all back to him.

And they are so hopelessly in love with their exchange of art and each other’s minds that they get carried away, and Gladio writes until the length turns the stories into short novels, and Ignis reads them past the time of work shift. And Gladio starts unattending his job because he spends all day writing, until he’s fired, and yet he doesn’t care and continues to write.

And Ignis insists so much on reading despite the new lenght of the stories that it goes beyond that studio’s work schedule, but he decides to stay nonetheless. Decides to stay to read the entire story, and by the time he’s done the studio is completely alone, all lights except the one of the small room he’s in are off, and there’s notes on the walls for him to “do this” or “close that” before he exits.

And the reading program lingers until midnight and past it, but Ignis still insists to stay, despite spending hours entirely alone in the studio and having to clean afterwards and close when he’s done, so long he can read and narrate the entire story.

And Gladio stays awake until Ignis is done, no matter the hour.

Gladio stays awake to listen to him finish to the very last word, while the rest of Insomnia has already gone to bed. Except for him. Because he’s waiting for Ignis to join him; he doesn’t rest until Ignis does so too.

One day, Gladio sends in a story that stays in the romance scheme, like most of his stories, but this one is much sadder.

The night it was read, Gladio turned to look at his radio with worry when, after the last word was delivered (in the always perfect and beautiful way Ignis reads with, giving the exact emotion to the story), Ignis delayed too much making a comment.

Ignis tends to say a few words about the story after he finishes it, wishes goodnight and good things for the people listening, and then he does take his leave.

But that night, after the last word of the story, there was an abysmal silence. It was enough for Gladio to wait a peaceful moment in silence, enough to go over that wait and have Gladio turning to look at the radio, and long enough to go over that second wait until Gladio reaches for the radio, thinking it broke or shut off. And the silence still continued while he checked the radio and see what was wrong, only to figure out that it’s nothing; it was Ignis who had stayed quiet.

The only comment he gave that night was a murmured “Goodnight”.

So Gladio assumess, by the weak and sad voice, that Ignis must be exhausted; Gladio had been so selfish enjoying to hear him read his stories that he hadn’t realized it was not only a voice, it’s an entire human being, awake at midnight after an entire day at work just to read his stuff.

It hits Gladio like a shovel in the face; that he’s so desperately in love with this voice and mind and faceless person doesn’t mean this person enjoys of this dynamic like he’s doing.

So Gladio, that night, decides to shorten his writing, and hesitates whether he should stop it at all or not...

And then, the next day, Gladio hears during the discussion table program that Ignis is in love.

He hears the other broadcasters make friendly fun of him about it. And he accepts it. But they never mention who’s the receiver of his affection.

So Gladio assumes it can’t be him.

Because he’s just literature on anonymous. Ignis can’t possibly be in love with him; he doesn’t know anything except for his literature, which, Gladio wrongly assumes, doesn’t speak anything about himself.

And Gladio stops writing to him.

Because, while everybody may think he writes for the public, truth is he writes for Ignis. He writes thinking about him, inspired in him, hoping and wishing for Ignis to read it, to like it, to narrate it. And all the things he writes, or, well, some of the things in the stories he writes, some of the dialogues, some of the things that are there...it’s Gladio’s indirect way of expressing him his feelings.

Gladio writes romance for him, thinking about him, to express the way he feels for Ignis without being direct.

So to continue writing and showing him his stuff is a way to continue telling him how Gladio feels for him, but now that Ignis is in love, and maybe even in a relationship already, it’s not appropiate. Because he’s taken; because his affection is for somebody else. And it’s wrong to continue courting him...and Gladio knows Ignis has no idea of his existance and has not a single clue of his intentions, but it feels wrong.

So Gladio stops.

He’s not sure he’s in the mood or able to listen to the story telling program without aching inside, to hear Ignis reading and it’s no longer for him, remember it never was, and that he’s just doing his job. He never read for Gladio; he read because he’s paid for it.

And he ignores Ignis was never paid for it. Ignores Ignis hasn’t been in the program because he doesn’t want to read anything that isn’t Gladio’s, and won’t read anything that isn’t Gladio’s.

Ignores the way Ignis asks, every day, if Gladio sent anything in.

For a week.

For three weks.

For two months.

And then, Gladio decides to close the cycle, because he has to get over this, thinking himself over romantic, over dramatic, and ridiculous for having considered this a love story, when truth is he’s just a man who lost his job to maniatically write non-stop for a man whose voice and mind happened to catch his heart, and he confused the man’s job for reciprocate feelings.

So he writes a last story.

He signs it with his usual nickname when he sends it in, and adds a little note at the end.

‘Also known as Gladiolus Amicitia’.

Because it feels wrong that he knows the name of the broadcaster he helpessly fell in love with, while Ignis knows nothing about him.

And Ignis did not fail to cover the night program to read it.

And he heard the way Ignis said his name. Said it for the first time; slow, tasting every syllable, tasting every letter. And gods, oh gods, his name had never before sounded so good. So pure. So beautiful.

And Gladio turns off the radio after Ignis says his name, because he can’t stand listening to him any longer.

And he misses the way Ignis asks him out, “now that I know your name”.

And Gladio stops his writing. Retakes his job. Can’t focus on writing without feeling awful; returns to routine, oblivious to the request and never answering it.

And ignores the way Ignis asks every day at the radio sstation headquarters if he has written and sent something again. Every day. Every day, first thing he says iwhen he arrives, last thing he asks when work is over.

And he asks every day for another week.

For another month.

For another three months.

And Ignis has long assumed Gladio doesn’t want to go out with him, and he’s fine about it, until he realizes he’s not fine about it.

And then, one day, another month later, Gladio’s heading back home, on foot because his car broke down earlier that week, and ends up walking in the rain. And the rain is gentle enough to walk through, so he does. And, then, a few houses from reaching his own, he stops when he almost walks into this guy that’s holding an umbrella, walking in the opposite direction.

“Sorry” Gladio says, looking down at him, and finding he’s in presence of one of the most stunning men he’s ever seen; strong but slender, with beautiful face features, a wonderful smell, gods, his face, with ashy light brown hair all sticking upwards stylishly, his gorgeous face, and the most beautiful pair of eyes Gladio has ever seen, a blazing stare that look like green fire. And, gods, is this man incredibly handsome. Gladio feels his face burning and heart skipping a beat, and he tenses. “Sorry” he repeats “I didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay. You’re all wet, do you not- can I entertain you for only one second?”

The voice.

The goddamn voice.

Gladio recognized it as soon as the first syllable was said, as soon as the first sound slipped past this gorgeous man’s lips.

It’s the one voice. The voice that stole his heart all those months ago. The voice that hides that incredibly, wonderfully brilliant mind. The voice that bring his literature to life.

It’s this voice.

It’s his voice.

It’s Ignis Scientia.

And he’s standing right in front of me.

Gladio freezes right there and then and sees Ignis’ lips moving, but he hears nothing. The rain doesn’t exist, the street, life itself kind of loses it sense for a moment, and Gladio’s standing there in absolute shock unable to respond or react.

Yet, he forces himself as conscious as possible, and asks this man (who is Ignis, this is Ignis, ohmygods, this is Ignis Scientia, he’s sure) to repeat what he just said.

“I uhm...” Ignis starts and looks away, with what Gladio registers in his head as a shy smile. “I’ve been...I’m looking for Gladiolus Amicitia. Do you know him?”

And Gladio tenses even more, eyes open wide, and he feels how pale his face has gone by now. He takes some moments into his shock before he’s able to say anything.

“...th-that depends. Who’s asking...?”

“My bad; I’m Ignis, Ignis Scientia” and Gladio’s heart jumps out so bad and so roughly inside him Gladio has to look down at his chest to make sure his heart did not break through it, because it physically felt like that. He loses the breath and tries to catch it again, and the man in front of him mistakes it by a shiver due to the cold water. “I am...I’ve been looking for him for a while now, and...the phone registered in the Insomnia directory seems to be outdated, and...well, from what I could gather I belive he lives nearby this zone, but I’m not sure exactly where” he looks up at Gladio with a expression that almost seems apologetic. “If you could tell me if I’m close or nowhere close at all, I’d be very grateful...”

“...oh” Gladio says and tries to force the shock out of him, but he can’t. So he forces himself to speak despite pale face and wide eyes. “I...yeah, I...I know where he lives...”

And he sees (ohgods, he sees it) the way Ignis’ face...lights up. Like a kid being told they will give him a chocobo for his birthday; like an ill hearing he’s recovered; like a person finding the love of his life after years apart. The smile, dear gods, the smile on his face, and that adorable and so hopeful gleam in his eyes....

“Do you?” Ignis whispers, huge smile still on his face. “That’s wonderful! I am so- I don’t know what to-”

“Say, why do you...why are you looking for him?” Gladio asks him, still paralized in his place.

He sees Ignis hesitate a bit, blink at him, smile gone. Watches him stare away, grip at the umbrella a little tighter. Nervous. He’s nervous. And then he sees Ignis Scientia, oh so handsome, so cute Ignis Scientia, blushing red in the face while he smiles, looking away.

“I’ve...you see, it’s a long story” Ignis starts telling him. “He’s an author, and he writes- Astrals, the things he writes...” Ignis chest swells with a breath, and he looks so content, Gladio doesn’t understand how someone can be so happy about something he did. “I’ve had the honor to read many of his pieces, and I’ve loved every single one. The way he writes, all those wonderful words...he has a way with words, I couldn’t help but...”

He stops there for a moment and lowers the head, burning redder in the face.

“I’ve read his literature, and it has spoken things to me about him. It showed me part of his spirit. We’ve never spoken face to face, but the things he writes...” he looks at a side and sighs before continuing. “His literature....it speaks of a man with a huge and very sensible heart. With an artistic soul. I can feel the passion he puts into his writing. I can feel his heart through his words. And I’m...”

Again, he stops for a moment, stares at somewhere that isn’t Then and There, and then looks back at Gladio, smiling.

“Let’s keep it as, I’m his fan number one. And I wish to meet him. What a good luck I’ve had today; I’ve been looking for weeks, and I’ve finally found someone that knows him” he sighs and smiles up at Gladio, hopeful. “I’m assuming things too fast. You said you know where he lives, not that you personally know him.”

“...o-oh....b-but I do” Gladio says, stumbling upon his words, tongue stupid, face paler, body entirely paralized, and heart turned into a mess. “...I...I know Gladiolus...”

“Do you?” and again, Ignis’ face beams radiant of joy and hope. “That’s- wonderful! I don’t mean to be a bother, and I’ll pay you for your attention and help and I’ve kept you under the rain long enough, but do you think you could introduce Gladiolus to me some day?”

Gladio looks at him. That’s all he can do. Stare. Stare at Ignis, watch him, look at him. Never before had he felt this that he feels inside; it feels like the first time he heard Ignis reading his first story....but much more...real. And much more alive.

Gladio spends a little too long just staring at him, not blinking, amazed and overwhelmed by this flood of happiness and hope and affection and excitement inside himself.

Eventually, as he stares, he starts smiling, until the smile turns into a grin of mere joy.

“...sure” he murmurs.

And, then, he shows a hand to Ignis, waiting for him to shake it.

“Gladiolus Amicitia” Gladio murmurs. “Your fan number one.”

Ignis stares at him. Eyes wide, smile gone, lips parted.

And he drops the umbrella.