Chapter Text
On the south side of Insomnia just west of the bay and a stone’s throw from the rail yard, along a string of factories and industrial parks and scattered abandoned buildings there was a series of blocks. Blocks made of concrete and asphalt that were better off ignored and best left alone entirely. Blocks that straight laced boys from the upper tier of the Citadel shouldn’t know anything about. Boys like Gladio.
His black Mustang sat idling, parallel parked along the curb and not any more inconspicuous than anyone else would have been. He waited; and waited and watched as he was finally noticed, and the man he was looking for broke away from the half-circle of bodies tittering on the corner, on display under a street light. He made his way in measured, sauntering steps across the empty street and Gladio couldn’t help but stare. He took that stretched out moment, that short walk over to the car to examine down to the details everything he’d been missing. The bone bitter chill of winter was sharp in the air, but he was all leg and nothing but wide net fishnets to cover him from the shiny red stilettos up, up to the tops of his thighs, where whatever skimpy outfit he was clad in disappeared under a black fur coat, his purse a garish red against it, slung over his shoulder and matching his shoes.
Gladio could spot all the tells of bargain brands and second hand clothes and designer imitations. Fake leather, fake fur, and things worn too often and for too long until seams started to loosen and threads frayed, like the scuffs on the sides of the red heels, the pointed soles worn down from so much walking back and forth and back and forth on that lonely stretch of road. The words were there at the tip of Gladio’s tongue- cheap, tacky, gauche. Classless.
He was, from head to toe, the kind of thing that would make the Council member’s wives clutch their pearls in disgust while their husbands might laugh at the absurdity, or else simply huff and look away in instant dismissal from a three second glance. They would be quick to turn their backs. They would have so much to whisper about amongst themselves. The people and all the thoughts buzzing around Gladio’s head, the world he was raised in, the world he came from. Where the only thing worse than new money was no money.
But watching him, all Gladio felt was a wide and gaping longing, spreading through a deep cavity across his chest.
The passenger’s side door opened and he slipped inside, knees and ankles kept pinched together in a pose that might have been dainty.
“Hey Iggy.”
“Good evening,” Iggy said, and that smooth voice washed over him. Gladio saw the gooseflesh prickling over the pale skin of Iggy’s thighs, and as he put the car in gear, he nudged the heat up just a bit, and made the familiar drive two blocks down the road to an alley behind an empty warehouse. A place Iggy had called private the first night they met.
“Apologies,” Iggy said, the first words he spoke after Gladio parked, “my hands will be a bit cold.”
“You can warm up for a bit, I don’t mind,” Gladio said, watching Iggy stick his fingers in front of the vents flanking the glovebox in front of him. Gladio wasn’t in a hurry. Not even close, and if it were up to him, Iggy would spend the better part of the night in his car warming up. Just warming up- from heated seats and the defroster on high. No obligations, or exchanging services and passing money from hand to hand, just…
Iggy, deeming himself sufficiently warmed and Gladio’s comments irrelevant, reached over into the driver’s seat and unzipped Gladio’s pants.
It was the same as the first time. Guilt and second guessing could run after him later and it was hard to want to hesitate when Iggy didn’t hesitate. He didn’t blush, he wasn’t embarrassed. Not then and not now.
Iggy’s hands were still cold, but his mouth was warm and his tongue was relentless. He kept a steady pace and the sounds of his sucking, of the saliva in his mouth filled Gladio’s head until he heard nothing else.
He was good; with his tongue and with his mouth. He knew what he was doing because he’d probably done it a hundred times before, and as deep as he swallowed Gladio’s cock, Gladio never heard him choke.
He put a hand on the back of Iggy’s neck, let his thumb run along the protruding bone marking the top of his spine. Iggy stopped, like he thought Gladio might want to take control, shove his face down, fuck his mouth, but Gladio didn’t and soon Iggy fell back into his rhythm again. Gladio just wanted to touch his skin, feel the tickle of his hair on his fingers. To pretend it was something romantic, something for lovers to do, that him and Iggy were different people. He let his head fall back against the leather headrest behind him, his breathing getting heavier, and Gladio closed his eyes as he came in Iggy’s mouth, crashing down on him like relentless waves on a stormy beach filled with jagged rocks, slick and sharp and dangerous. This was all so dangerous.
Iggy swallowed and licked his lips.
He didn’t need to tell Gladio how much. He wordlessly took out his wallet and paid in cash before driving back around the block to drop Iggy off on the corner once again. He drove away, not thinking of the secret phrases, the magic words that might get Iggy to stay with him for just a little while longer.
The Citadel sat in the center of the sprawling metropolis that was Insomnia. The tallest building for miles, a lofty seat for Royalty to reside and view the world below from a safe and comfortable distance.
From his father’s office in the crisp and cutting clarity of the winter sun, Gladio could see out the window a stretch of city all the way down to the bay. Down to where he pictured that corner he’d been frequenting as of late in the midnight hours. His own office didn’t have that kind of view, facing off in a different direction and getting the worst of the afternoon sun until he was baking in his suit jacket.
It was all for show.
The Amicitia’s used to be Shields. They used to mean something more than money and empty political power all those hundreds of years ago when there was still magic in the world and people fought with swords and daggers. Gladio used to imagine it, who he could have been, wielding a greatsword, protecting his King, guarding him from traitors and assassins that shot lightning from their fingertips. The old romantic days at Court that some part of Gladio like to dream of, even knowing life wasn’t ever some adventure story. He was older now, too old to keep dwelling on those things, but sometimes the thoughts resurfaced before he could quiet them down. Like all the romance novels he read, a Prince coming to save the Princess, slay the dragon, save her from her high and lonely tower. He used to think- that’s me. He used cast himself as some sort of hero. He had the charm, he had the life anyone would desire, he had never wanted for anything except… As of late, sometimes looking down from the roof of the Citadel he thought he had it all wrong. He wasn’t the hero here, he was the princess trapped at the top of the tower.
“Gladiolus, are you listening to me?”
The window, with its endless, sprawling view faded and Gladio blinked, eyes going fuzzy before they refocused on his father starting at him and frowning from behind his desk.
“Sorry,” he said, and he heard the sound of Clarus Amicita sighing through his nose. That old tell that he was irritated and trying to hide it. Instinctively, Gladio sat up straighter in his chair.
“Gladio, you’ve been distracted lately.”
“Sorry,” he said, shifting in his chair and hating how even now, as an adult, Clarus could still make him feel like some hapless kid, hand caught in the cookie jar.
“I don’t want you to be sorry Gladio,” he said, face pinched but voice gentle, “I want you to understand. We’ve stood by the Caelums for generations. For centuries. It’s in your blood. Your position here is an honor and a privilege and I want you to be proud of that. No one else can do what you do. I want you to appreciate that. I want your head here when you’re here.”
Gladio thought of the long hours spent behind his desk and in meetings, training or being groomed to be an advisor for Prince Noctis when his time came to ascend. He thought about all the thousands on thousands of people in Insomnia, and how many hundreds of them were better equipped for this kind of thing. How many of them would appreciate it more when it wasn’t an automatic given that they would one day be secure in their lives and their duties since they day they were born.
He put his head down. For all his stray thoughts he didn’t want to be the disappointing son. He never wanted to make his father ashamed.
“Sorry,” he said yet again, “just… had a lot on my mind lately. I won’t let it affect work.”
His father nodded, placated, and Gladio fought to keep his eyes from wandering back out that window, even if his thoughts couldn’t be tamed the same way.
He wondered where Iggy was. What he was doing.
Gladio was impatient, drumming fingers on the steering wheel and sweating under his heavy coat, the heat preemptively turned up. But no familiar figure walked toward him.
Instead it was one of the girls that took pity, or rather got tired of staring at his car taking up space, and she strutted towards him, leather pants low and leather jacket cropped, leaving a strip of bare skin exposed to the air, level with Gladio’s eyes when she knocked on his window until he rolled it down.
“You here for business or what?” She looked annoyed, but she was trying to hide it, brushed silver hair from her face before pulling out a pack of Camels and lighting one with a temperamental zippo. Her nail polish was chipped.
“Where’s Iggy?” he asked, like she didn’t know who he was waiting for. He had to be there often enough that his preferences were known to all the curious eyes on the corner, watching and waiting for a summons of their own.
“Busy,” she said, puffing away like a chimney and filling Gladio’s lungs with the smell of smoke.
“You know when he’ll be back?” he asked, and her bald faced irritation showed, no longer bothering to be polite.
“How the fuck should I know? You want your cock sucked or not?”
“I’ll wait,” he said and she curled her lip, straightened up from the window.
“Yeah,” she said, “of course you will,” and then she stalked off, back to stand with the rest of them leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. But he did wait. And waited. And waited longer still until another car pulled up to the corner and Iggy stepped out, straightening his coat and fixing his hair as he did so.
It was one thing to know, like Gladio knew, what Iggy did. He knew first hand. Whatever he might have felt, whatever pretty lies he wanted to tell himself, and wayward thoughts that painted memories in rose colored glasses, he knew what he was doing deep down and that Iggy was doing it with anyone else. He didn’t think on things like commitment or obligation or jealousy. Those words were useless. Those words meant nothing. But nothing quite prepared him for the feeling thrumming through his veins to see it. See Iggy leaving another car. To imagine what he’d been doing. To know what he’d been doing. It was the final thing to push Gladio’s indecisiveness over the edge, the question he’d wanted and waited to ask every time he came back, any time Iggy crossed his mind.
The woman in leather gestured at him as the other car pulled away, no attempt to hide the disdain on her face so that Gladio could see it all the way from where he sat. He also saw the wide eyed look Iggy shot over his shoulder before he turned back around and started walking once again.
“Good evening,” the standard greeting rolled off his tongue as Iggy sat himself down, and Gladio gave him a nod, nervous and wondering about his accent. Where was he born? Where was his family?
“… shall we?” Iggy prompted when Gladio made no move, patiently impatient in his prodding.
“I uh, I was wondering,” Gladio swallowed, and thought of the box of condoms sitting in his glovebox for the better part of two weeks, and all the time spent before that thinking about it instead, “I was wondering if I could take you to a hotel tonight. For the whole night.”
Iggy looked back at him, if he was surprised he didn’t show it, but he wasn’t showing anything else either.
“Only if you want. If not we can just do the ah, usual.” The usual. Like he was a regular at a coffee shop, ordering off a menu. “I’ll pay,” Gladio said, and cringed because of course he would pay, “I’ll pay whatever you usually make in a night. Since I’m putting you out.”
Something in Iggy’s eyes turned sharp at that, even if his face didn’t change. He dropped a number. An amount that Gladio didn’t doubt was probably inflated from his nightly income, but Iggy was good. He didn’t show the lie, and he could probably smell the money on Gladio, even if he didn’t know just how much. But the thing about the rich was that they were notoriously cheap when it came to passing that money along. Gladio agreed without a second thought and he could practically see Iggy picking the situation apart.
“A moment,” he said, and stepped out of the car again. He left his purse sitting in front of the seat which felt like it said something about trust. Poking out of the open zipper on the top Gladio could see the little knock-off branded bottle of Listerine. He thought of that other car, and pictured Iggy washing his mouth out afterwards.
Iggy was talking to the girl on the corner. She didn’t look any happier than she’d been and as Iggy spoke she pulled out a phone and Gladio suspected she was snapping pictures of his car. To each watch out for their own. Something surged in Gladio, virulent and disgusted that they should suspect him, that they thought he’d ever do anything to hurt Iggy, that he was the same as someone that would. And then the drop, the realization that he was. He was just the same as any other John that came around for a pop. He felt dizzy. Iggy opened the door and sat back down.
“Now then… shall we?”
In downtown Insomnia there was a hotel. It catered to the rich and sometimes famous, when anyone of importance was in the city; celebrities from Accordo, foreign dignitaries from Tenebrae. It meant a certain amount of privacy was a near guarantee, though as Gladio pulled up to the wide front doors, he hoped that no one would recognize him in the first place. The city was quiet from visitors, as far as he knew, and dressed down with a baseball cap on, with his hair tied back, no suits or ceremonial robes in sight, he thought he might be safe from prying eyes.
Then there was Iggy.
He hesitated before he made himself say it, “You mind staying in the car?”
All those gears turning in Iggy’s head, he could almost hear them, that sidelong glance at the hotel before he watched Iggy’s eyes drop down, eyelashes near kissing the tops of his cheeks. “Of course.”
Gladio’s hand went for the door handle before he pulled it back again, “It’s just...” I know how these people are, “I don’t want anyone to give you a hard time.”
Iggy folded his hands in his lap, but at least his head stayed upright. “Of course.”
He told the valet not to touch the car, that he’d park it himself and then he rented a room. Quick and painless in the nearly empty lobby, nothing but the sound of a fountain and muted piano echoing off the marble floors. If they knew who he was then no one said anything. They didn’t offer him the top floor suite when he booked a standard room with a single bed. Not that he didn’t consider it, and walking back outside, driving down to the parking garage before leading Iggy to the room, he thought about it again. If he should have. If he should have made this even nicer as if it was some kind of special occasion, if he should have booked some beautiful open suite for the night, with a private pool and kitchenette, or if that would have been pretentious. If it would have looked like he was shoving money in Iggy’s face.
There was no one else in the quiet hall they turned down, plush carpet muting the sounds of Iggy’s shoes. In keeping with the hush of the building they didn’t speak as Gladio unlocked the door with a keycard.
He turned the light on, casting everything in a dim yellow glow, and Iggy set his purse down on the dresser against the wall. He gave a glance around, taking stock, then his look landed on Gladio.
Off came the heels. Iggy was tall still, but no longer almost Gladio’s height. Off came the fur coat, and Gladio saw that he was in a black dress tonight, short and skin tight up through the hips and torso, but a wide neck and loose sleeves, enough to just start slipping off Iggy’s shoulder.
Off came the dress.
In one fluid motion it was lifted up and over Iggy’s head. That left him in nothing but those fishnet stockings. There was a half-circle opening in them, right at the groin, leaving the bottom half of his ass bare and his cock hanging free. Gladio didn’t know if he bought them like that or if Iggy cut the hole himself, but either way he couldn’t stop staring. When Iggy made a move to grab the elastic waist and pull down, Gladio cautiously caught his hand.
Iggy still jumped, careful as Gladio had been and so aware of himself- his size, his strength, how easy it would be for him to grab too hard, get too rough, cause harm without meaning to. He only brushed Iggy’s wrist.
“Can you leave them on?”
A curious pause as Iggy gave him another one of those long looks, and then he nodded.
With a gentle hold still on his hand Gladio walked back until his legs hit the edge of the bed, then sat down. Iggy followed. When Gladio sat, Iggy slipped forward and sat too, perched on top of Gladio’s thighs and his arms came to rest over Gladio’s shoulders.
Iggy was always waiting on him. Waiting to see what Gladio wanted, to be used as Gladio willed. It was the best view Gladio had ever gotten of him, so close, and not in a car, on a dark street, not both facing forward but instead face to face. Almost instinctively his hands came up and took hold of Iggy’s waist, soft skin under his hands, and there was a little shiver of a response when he ran his fingers up the line of Iggy’s spine. He wondered if the fabric of his jeans was rough on Iggy’s bare skin. He was all pale and fair and little flecks of beauty marks, faint scars on his face that Gladio hadn’t ever noticed before, just like all the faint shades of green in his eyes that Gladio hadn’t ever noticed before.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, voice low and a little rough, afraid the answer might be no, but Iggy nodded and he leaned in.
Soft lips parted under his and a warm mouth welcomed him, let him taste his way inside, let his tongue move slow. Iggy’s hands came up, first to his neck, then to push the hat off of his head. “You can take it down,” he said, when fingers tangled in the bun he’d put his hair into, and Iggy tugged on the band he’d used to tie it back and dropped it somewhere on the floor before his hands wound their way back over Gladio’s scalp. He shiver at how cold they still were, thinking, cold hands, warm heart.
When Gladio pulled his shirt off, those fingers traced over the lines of his tattoo in exploration. Where Iggy was lithe and fair, Gladio was the bulk of muscle, dark hair and tan skin covered in all of that black ink. He kissed Iggy again, breathed him in, touched him everywhere he could. When he came to Iggy’s cock it was worth noticing that he was getting hard. With some stroking he got harder, and Gladio kissed and kissed every bit of skin in front of him pretending that it meant something if he was willing in the ways his body responded.
It was awkward getting his pants off, but they managed with more than a little shuffling, and then Iggy was back in his lap. Gladio’s erection didn’t need to be coaxed with all the anticipation that had been building inside of him. But Iggy let him take it slow anyway, slow kisses and slow meandering touches until Gladio dragged his hands up the length of Iggy’s thighs, catching on his fishnets before reaching further back, to spread his cheeks and rub his pucker.
Iggy wasn’t shy about it. He got up to grab the lube and a condom, fit it snug on Gladio’s cock before reaching behind himself to get slick and ready. He wet Gladio as well, in that same perfunctory way, and then he was lowering himself down barely giving any warning. Slow, and Gladio felt Iggy squeeze his shoulders and he wanted to say that there wasn’t any rush, that Iggy could take his time but he was busy catching his breath and then he was fully inside. Iggy let out a sigh from his open mouth, eyes closed, and he rocked his hips while Gladio clung on to him, desperate for more but wanting to make it last.
Iggy rode him, slow at first while he was still adjusting to being stretched full, but faster as he went and Gladio was mesmerized to the point of being useless, panting and grunting and watching Iggy work him. Watching his cock bounce and thinking about how he wanted to see Iggy come, watching the muscles in his thighs work, the way the black lines of his stockings stretched over the skin.
Gladio didn’t think he lasted long but time was losing meaning every second he spent inside of Iggy. He came, gasping against Iggy’s shoulder and with arms wrapped tight around his back. Dazed, the world a hazy blur of dim light he still had the sense to go back to stroking Iggy’s cock. For every time he came Iggy would come too. It seemed only fair, and an easy way to lessen the sick feelings in his stomach that would take over if he let them, that he could use someone the way he was using Iggy just because he could pay.
Iggy shuddered, and came spilling over his hand, body twitching and flushed. They stayed together like that long enough for Gladio to get lost in a fantasy, one where he could call Iggy his own.
Iggy lifted his hips until Gladio slipped out.
He lay Iggy down on the bed, even if anyone needed help and rest it was Gladio. He tugged off and threw out the condom and came back to open arms while Iggy let himself be kissed again. He let Gladio cover him, let his legs part to make room. And after so much kissing and touching, and the heat and closeness of their bodies, when Gladio started getting hard, he let him inside again too.
The second time was different, harder and faster with Gladio on top and brimming with need like he hadn’t just been sated. The headboard knocked against the wall in a thumping tempo, and if they got a noise complaint for it, Gladio didn’t care so long as he could keep hearing the way he was making Iggy moan. If it was all an act, if it was all for show, then it was a good one. Certain things were hard to fake, and when Iggy came again, legs clenching around Gladio’s hips he could believe that pleasure was real. And down the rabbit hole, Gladio chased him.
They slept after that. At least Gladio did and he supposed he couldn’t know if Iggy had slept at all with him. He was unconscious for almost an hour, and waking up came in small starts, little pieces of the room coming into focus while he got his bearings.
Iggy was still next to him, with Gladio’s arm wrapped around his stomach, Gladio’s face pressed near his neck. He was scrolling through messages on his phone with one hand, absently picking at a scab on his knee with the other. The stockings were off. Which was a bit of a shame for the aesthetics, but Gladio didn’t imaging they’d be particularly comfortable to sleep in. When he shifted his arm, Iggy stilled, then dropped his phone over the edge of the bed.
“Apologies,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were awake.” Gladio kissed his neck instead of answering, and in a tone without judgement, Iggy asked him, “again?”
“You hungry?” Gladio asked after a moment, thumb rubbing over Iggy’s hip where he could feel the bone. “I could order room service.”
“You don’t need to get anything on my account,” he said, but Gladio hear the hesitation before the words.
“Well, I haven’t eaten,” he said, and got up to grab the menu from the desk in the corner, “you’re welcome to have some of whatever I get.”
Whatever he got was almost half the menu, Gladio ordering at random over the phone. Sandwiches and fruit and roasted vegetables, coffee and wine and juice. He didn’t know what Iggy would want and his own appetite was distracted with things that weren’t food. He slipped clothes back on for the sake of answering the door when the knock came, and used his bulk to block the runner from stepping or seeing inside where Iggy was still lounging naked on the bed. They had a little cart all to themselves, a bit disgustingly excessive, but Gladio wanted to make sure Iggy had something to eat.
Gladio watched him sit up, and poke through plates with curiosity, then take a tiny bite of a strawberry.
He went into the bathroom, to let Iggy eat and get a grip on himself. Splash water on his face and check the time, start that slow countdown until dawn when he’d have to let Iggy go again. All of the best. He shouldn’t have even been here from the get go, but he couldn’t even pretend to regret it.
There was a dent in the plate of sandwiches and Iggy was sipping on a cup of coffee when he came back out. Gladio took his time peeling his shirt off, and let Iggy go back to taking those dainty bites of food for appearances while Gladio sat behind him on the bed, pressing kisses to his back and shoulders. When Iggy gave him his mouth again, he tasted like fruit and cream and the bitter bite of coffee.
They fucked. They slept.
Gladio took him one last time from behind, pressed flush against his back and filling Iggy as deep as he could get. When he finished, floating on pleasure and want and need, he looked at saw the sky lightening. His time coming to a close.
Iggy took a shower before they left, per Gladio’s suggestion, plucking up his clothes and his purse to take in the bathroom with him, coming out a half hour later all dressed up like he’d been the night before and smelling like hotel soap. Gladio wondered if Iggy stole all the little bottles of toiletries, tucked them away in pockets for later use, part of him kind of hoping that he did.
He paid in cash. A solid stack of bills counted and folded while Iggy had been in the other room, with a generous addition to the amount agreed upon, like he could pay any unsavory feelings away. Iggy caught it. He saw it in the way his fingers ran over the stack, but Iggy shoved it all in his purse anyway without calling it out, leaving Gladio to think about all the things that never felt appropriate to ask; are you eating enough? Are you staying warm? Do you have someplace safe to sleep?
They pulled back up to the corner just as the sun was peaking up over the horizon. Iggy slipped out of the car without a parting remark, and Gladio watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.
There was a convenience store in a seedy neighborhood, on the corner of St. Charles, open 24/7. Gladio knew because he’d driven past it on nights full of too much empty space when he took to wandering the road. Warm nights were better, when he could roll down all the windows to let the wind crash in on him and exhaust his Mustang’s engine, listen to the way it purred while he sped down the deserted highways that mapped the city. When he could be nothing but a feeling, an impulse, existing not for the past or the future but for the moment. He did’t particularly worry about getting pulled over- cops wouldn’t ticket an Amicitia for something like speeding.
Nights like that sometimes took him a little too close to the South Side. Nights like that were how he got into trouble in the first place, when his headlights flashed over a figure in the dark, and green eyes in a pale face had stared him down through his windshield. But tonight Gladio was exercising his self control.
There were other places among all those hollow buildings and construction sites that gave a pretty view of the city at night. High and far away so that it almost felt quiet when Gladio went there alone. Most of those places were surrounded by chain link fences and plastered with NO TRESPASSING signs, but it was all irrelevant to Gladio. No one would call the cops on an Amicitia for something like trespassing.
He passed the convenience store on the way there, pulled off into a parking spot on impulse. He thought he might get some watery coffee to sip at and keep him warm, maybe a pack of smokes to go with it. He hadn’t smoked much, not since he was 16 and looking for some small and stupid rebellion against everything he couldn’t stand about his father and the world he lived it. But self destruction was awfully convenient for the people he was trying to fight against, the people that would have liked to see the outspoken son crash and burn. So smoking never lasted long, but sometimes he got the urge, when he was feeling just a little trapped, just a little self destructive once again. Small acts of rebellion and nothing more. Like buying a motorcycle and driving muscle cars at reckless speeds. Growing his hair out, covering himself in tattoos.
It’s traditional, he’d said to his father. Because as much as he was trying to break out of a cage, solidify himself as something individual, he hadn’t wanted to intentionally upset his family.
And it was true, Gladio knew, because Clarus didn’t disagree with his point, just threw his hands up and told Gladio to do what he wanted, since it was clear he had his mind made up anyway. There were ancient writings, decorative tapestries even, hidden safe in the bowels of the Citadel that only people like Gladio could go and see, depicting Shields receiving their ceremonial tattoos, and all the pomp and circumstance that use to surround it. Massive sprawling designs, all birds of prey. Something had tugged at Gladio when he saw it. Something that felt right.
All just small acts of rebellion. Small acts and nothing more.
The bell on the door rung loud in the store, florescent lights casting a blue-green glow on everything until it looked sickly. Gladio gave a nod to the tired guy behind the counter, and made his way to the back of the store through cramped isles filled with rows of chips.
Some rounded the corner, nearly crashing into him.
Gladio’s sorry came out as a grunt, and at the same time he was looking down, the guy in front of him was looking up and…
Iggy looked up at him.
And immediately dropped his head back down, brushed past Gladio’s shoulder in a way he should have thought was rude and would have normally made some quip about, but instead he stood there staring.
Iggy, in an oversized sweater wearing thin and a pair of jeans that had seen too many washes. A pair of glasses on his face and hair tumbling over his forehead, clutching a bottle of juice and a package of ramen to his chest. He wasn’t blushing. He never looked embarrassed. He made for the cashier.
He paid with a wad of cash in small bills, all singles and fives, and when the cashier handed him his change and his plastic bag, he gripped them close again, walking quickly out the door with his head still down.
Gladio stared after him.