#the star pajamas are a reference to his name. y’know. meaning ‘star’

[stanleyvampire14]

When you try to confess your feelings to your ONLY best friend and he doesn’t take it very well and you ruin a whole year’s friendship just because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut:

Unfiltered pic after the cut!

I’m hugging this mf so hard he will explode in my arms with TEARS

Messy haired Altair my poor baby 😭💜

Also mandatory @ because I like tagging snow and bean it’s so fun (he’ll be here in 0.5 seconds right after I post this we love Snow sm /p and bean always says the most interesting things it’s always a joy to see her reblog my posts ^_^) @lord-of-the-bundle-of-sticks @chillbean-427

[thiswasinevitableid]

5, sternclay, nsfw? 👀

Here you go

5: Incubus

“Buddy, I promise, you can come in and cuddle in like, ten minutes.” 

The whining at the bedroom door stops, replaced by a big, wet nose, just visible through the crack at the bottom of the door as it snuffles back and forth. It’s very cute, but Barclay is not about to let his dog deprive him of a much needed jerk-off session.

He’s ready for bed, so it’s just a matter of pulling down his pajama pants and getting to it. Closing his eyes, he pictures that cute customer who gets black coffee and a croissant every morning at the Lodge. It takes a few tries to find a fantasy he likes, the one about the back counter and the new uses for a spatula.

Outside the door, Sass starts whining again, scratching frantically at the wood. There goes his deposit. 

God, he can practically feel the guy up against him.

The bed dips on the outside of each thigh. Opening his eyes reveals a man wearing nothing but deep blue boxer briefs and a smile. 

“Holyshitwhatthefuck?” He clambers back, banging his head on the wall in his hurry to sit up, “what the fuck man, how’d you get in here?”

“A portal between dimensions.  That’s the, um, simplified version. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. The opposite really. I’m an incubus.”

“Why the fuck is a fucking sex demon in my bedroom?” Barclay yanks his pants up. The incubus looks sad at this development. 

“I feed on sexual energy, and to do that I follow trails of that same energy to their source. You have a lot of it.”

“Yeah, year-long dry spell’ll do that.”

“Consider it broken.” The demon leans forward only for Barclay to hold up a hand.

“Nope. This is not how I want to break it. Sorry.”

“Is it my appearance? I can look like anyone--or anything--you want.” His features morph, eyes going from brown to blue to green, hair from honey-blond to fire red, “if you’re shy, my powers let me see into your deepest fantasies and make them come true.”

“No that’s not the problem, I wanna fuck someone I have some kinda connection to, not some guy who dropped into my bedroom. And would you please knock it off with that face-changing? I’m not gonna fuck you, so you can just look like yourself.”

The incubus starts, surprised by his sharp refusal, features landing on short, black hair, blue eyes, and a face that’d make a movie-star insecure. 

“I said you don’t have to try and be hot.”

“...This is how I look.” 

“Oh. Uh. Cool.” 

The demon smiles, “Having second thoughts?”

He takes a deep breath and lies through his teeth, “Nope.”

With that, he stands, grabbing the nearest shirt and pulling it on. Sass wiggles when he opens the door, takes one look behind him, and runs the other way.

“I wish I knew why earth canines react that way to me. I have a hellhound named Mother Leeds who adores me.”

“Jersey Devil reference?” He pads into the kitchen, starts the kettle and rummages in the cabinet for the most soothing tea blend he owns. 

“Yes!” The demon grins from his new position by the fridge, “when I found her she was pregnant with a litter. Most people don’t get it. Demons don’t either.”

“Friend of mine likes Mothman and all that kinda stuff. Uh” He takes a cup down, reaches for a second one automatically and then stops, “are you gonna hang around? Because my answer isn’t changing and if you keep pestering me I’ll just leave the apartment.”

“No, I’ll drop it. You’re not interested and sexual energy only works if it’s from something consensual. But, um” he toys with a magnet, “could I ask a few questions before I go?”

“About?”

“Humans. How things work up here, what your daily lives are like, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, sure.” He gets down the second mug, “is this so you can better seduce them or something?” Turning, he finds the incubus sitting at the table, producing a small notebook and pen from the air.

“No, this is my own research. I’m, um, more curious about humans than the average demon. I basically ended up an incubus because at my last job I kept trying to talk with humans or spend more time around them than was wise and, well, my supervisor got sick of it. So they offered me a reassignment to a role where the whole point was to be around people.”

“You fuck people just so you can, like, interview them afterwards?” He sets the two mugs on the table, notices that the notebook is crammed with questions in neat, elegant handwriting. 

“Technically, I also need the energy from it. But, um, yes” he blushes, “I know it’s a sort of silly hobby.”

“I don’t think it’s silly to wanna know about other worlds and people. But this doesn’t seem like the most, uh, effective way to do it.”

A sigh as the demon picks up his mug, “You’ve got that right. Sometimes I can get a few questions in during ‘pillow talk’ but mostly it’s in and out. Literally.” He snickers at his own bad joke, which further kindles the inexplicable, protective impulse Barclay feels towards him, “Don’t get me wrong, I like my work, and being a good incubus takes skill and dedication. It just...isn’t quite what I thought it’d be.” He sips the tea, brings the mug away from his mouth to study the liquid, “what kind is this?”

“Mostly chamomile.” 

“Chamomile…” he flips through the book, which contains more pages than should be physically and spatially possible, “that’s a plant, one that humans thing is calming, right?”

Barclay can’t help but smile, “Right. You want me to sit here and quiz you?”

“No, there’s too much to discover. What would you say is your area of expertise?” 

“I’m a cook, so food.”

“Food, food, ah here it is. Let’s see, why do humans persist in eating things that could kill them?”

“You mean things like rhubarb or are we in, like, Fugu territory here?”

The demon smiles, “I have no idea, please say more.”

They sit at the table until two in the morning, at which point Joseph ,the incubus, excuses himself to go collect energy from a willing participant. Before he disappears, he takes a chance and tells Joseph that he can come back if he has more questions. The demon thanks him and, out of what Barclay suspects is a habit more than anything else, blows him a kiss goodbye. 

----------------------------------------

“Y’know, I kinda figured you’d look more demonic. Do incubi just get human forms?” Barclay shakes red pepper flakes onto his pizza while Joseph finishes a filled breadstick. 

“This isn’t my ‘true’ form. When you asked me just to look like myself when we met, I figured you meant the least alarming version.”

“As long as it’s not, like, a beast with a thousand eyes, we’re good.”

Joseph wipes his mouth and by the time the napkin reaches the other corner of his lips, Barclay is gasping.

His nails turn sharp and silver, his eyes pure black, but it’s his skin that’s most noticeable; it’s swirls and swoops of blue and silver, dancing down his arms and blooming out from the neck of his  “Museum of Anthropology” souvenir shirt. He stands, giving Barclay a fuller view. Short horns sprout from his head, doubtless the perfect size and texture to hold him in place with your dick down his throat. His tail is that same mix of royal blue and silver, the right length to wrap around your hand and tug while you fuck him. Every inch of him is made to be pinched and pulled, groped and fondled, and Barclay will not be standing up from the table any time soon.

“It’s the color that gets people.” Joseph smiles with pointed teeth as he sits back down.

“It’s incredible, Joseph.”

The demon smiles, mischievous, “I’m glad you like it. Now, where were we?” He uncovers his notebook from a stack of parmesan packets and clicks his pen, appearance fading back to the human one Barclay is used to. He mourns his loss for a moment, before Joseph draws him into an animated conversation about movie theaters. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Come on Sass, it’s okay. Look, I even have your favorite.” Joseph holds out the treat, still fresh from the oven, while Barclay puts the rest of the batch out of range. The dog no longer runs from the demon, but will not come within arms reach of him. 

Sass whines, looking from Joseph to Barclay and back. 

“Here” Barclay settles on the couch next to him, resting his arm along the back of it, “see, buddy, he’s our friend.”

Sass creeps forward, still on his belly, plucks the treat from Joseph’s palm, and retreats to his bed. 

“Progress.” Joseph leans back, pleased. Their positions mean he comes to rest with Barclays arm around him. Barclay doesn’t move it, and the demon stays put until the end of the episode of Hells’ Kitchen

------------------------------------------

The newest Agent X is so engrossing that Barclay doesn’t register Joseph until his friend slumps onto the bed. 

“Hey, you’re early.” He sets the book down on the nightstand, scooching to where the demon sits rubbing his forehead.

“I’m, um, I’m having a bit of a problem.” When he looks up, silver and blue peeks through the skin on his face, “I misjudged how much energy I was going to get from my last two visits. I’m so weak I don’t think I can make it back home. I, um, I came here because if I’m going to be stuck and without powers I” his horns appear and he scratches them awkwardly, “I want it to be around someone I trust.”

“What’ll happen if you can’t get more energy?”

“I’ll get sick, and if the worst happens I’ll have to signal for someone to come get me. Which’ll get me demoted for sure.” He tucks his legs up onto the bed. He’s wearing the UFO socks Barclay gave him as a surprise last week, and the cook sets a hand on a flying-saucer covered ankle. 

“You can stay as long as you need, okay? And if there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

“Unless you feel like taking me door to door to ask your neighbors if they want to fuck, a safe place to rest is what I need most.”

“What if, uh, you recharged here?” He draws a finger up and down the side of Josephs’ calf.

The incubus raises his eyebrows, “Barclay, are you forgetting how we met?”

“I didn’t want to fuck you then, but now...now you’re you, this handsome, clever, dorky guy who also happens to be a sex demon who hangs around my house most nights. I, I didn’t ask about sooner because I was afraid you’d think it was fuck me or lose our friendship, but if I can help you in a kinda self-serving way, I’m down.”

Joseph shakes his head, “That’s sweet, but you’re not the only one with concerns. How can I be sure you actually want me, and you’re not just offering because you want to help?”

Barclay snaps his fingers, “You can read my deepest desires, right? How about you take a peek and tell me what you see?”

Joseph closes his eyes, tail twitching as he concentrates, and Barclay gets the distinct pleasure of watching his face as he learns the truth. 

“Oh. OH. Um, you’re not kidding about how badly you want me. And some of this makes the reaction you had the one time I showed up in a suit make way more sense. But we can explore that later.” His eyes, now-pitch black, snap open, “right now, big guy, I’ll do whatever you want, however you want it.” 

“In that case” Barclay catches Joseph just as he tries for a kiss, “how about you tell me what you want?”

“Barclay, I’m an incubus, I want whatever the person I’m feeding on wants.”

“Nuhuh, I don’t buy that, babe. You’re telling me there’s nothing that’s your favorite, or that you’re curious about?” He teases their lips together.

“N-no?”

“You’re not getting any kisses until you tell me the truth.”

Joseph narrows his eyes with a “hmmph.” Then, as if it’s his greatest secret, he whispers, “I want to know what it’s like to get a massage as foreplay. No one’s ever wanted it or offered, and it sounds so nice.”

Barclay rewards him with a kiss. The demon melts against him, slides a forked tongue into his mouth to tease it. Clawed fingers tug at his shirt until Joseph remembers he can do magic and renders them both naked with a wave of the hand.

When they part, Joseph licks his lips, “Holy hell, Barclay, that kiss was enough to make me feel better than I did this morning. Tastes nice too, like coffee with lots of cream.”

“So, coffee the way you like it.” Barclay nudges him backwards, rolls him over as the incubus keeps talking. 

“Usually it’s a neutral sweetness. I wonder, hmm, maybe it has something to do with the fact you’re attracted to me, as in the actual meOHohhhhhhh” he flattens into the bed like a cat on a sunny floor as Barclay digs his thumbs under his shoulder blades. 

“You can theorize later babe, I promise. Right now, all you gotta do is let me rub you down. Uh, can you magic up some oil or something? It’ll feel better if--great, thanks.” Barclay sets the lit massage candle safely on the nightstand, waiting for it to melt. 

“Should I put my human form back on now that I can hold it?”

“Nope” he traces his hands up parallel patches of silver, pinches one horn playfully, “I love that version of you, but this one is so, so, fucking hot. Now” be kisses the base of his neck, “relax.”

Drizzling liquid wax down his spine makes the incubus moan, but the sound is nothing compared to what happens when he starts kneading him like dough. It’s a yowl, rough and inelegant in a way Joseph never is, and Barclay dedicates the next fifteen minutes to finding new ways to trigger it. He’s so beautiful, it’s like touching a painting, a galaxy, a miracle.

By the time he reaches his lower back the incubus is grinding on the bed and Barclay is half-hard from touching him. He grips Joseph’s ass, parting it enough to grind between the cheeks. 

“Don’t tease” his tail delivers a scolding thwack to Barclays cheek. The cook growls, turning his head to capture the offending appendage between his teeth.

“OHholyffffffuckinghell.” Joseph rips the blanket as he flails, “no one’s ever thought to do that before and now I really wish they had.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He ignores his growing hard-on in favor of nipping and kissing his way down Joseph’s tail. It’s velvety, feels like nothing he’s ever experienced as it twitches and trembles under his tongue. The base gets an extra-hard lovebite and Joseph moans, rolling over so fast he nearly catches Barclay in the face with his cock. And what a cock, on the narrow side but covered in swirling ridges.

“Holy shit, you just get hotter and hotter.”

“Th-thank you, big guy, now for gods sake pleeEEEase fuck me.” He whimpers adorably when Barclay licks up his shaft. 

“Okay babe, we can fuck. But I think…” he grabs the incubus, flipping them so Joseph straddles him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Joseph registers his words and his eyes glow deep blue. 

“Uh, is that a good thing?”

“Yes, big guy, it’s the closest I get to having my pupils dilate when aroused. And since you look so good underneath me, I’ll expedite things” he snaps his fingers and Barclay inhales in surprise; his ass is dripping lube and stretched like someone just pulled three fingers away from it.

“Fuck yeah” he spreads his legs, “c’mon blue eyes, don’t make me wait anymoreOHFUCK, fuck, yeah, like that.” He hooks his legs around Joseph as the incubus thrusts all the way in. Joseph kisses in precise shapes up and down his face, even as his hips keep a rapid, erratic rhythm. 

“Shit, shit, Barclay you taste so good, feel so good, please, please don’t stop touching me.”

“Not sure I could ever keep my hands to myself again, babe, god you’re so fucking handsomeAH, hah, someone got a praise kink?” He gasps out laughter as Joseph fucks him harder with each kind word. The ridges on his cock are solid enough that Barclay feels them with each drag, and it sets his toes curling.

“Maybe a little one” the incubus smiles against his neck, “though kink is a distinctly human concept and a complex one-SHITfuck, fuck please do that again.” He kisses Barclay hard as the human obligingly pulls his tail with one hand and smacks his ass with the other. Teeth catch Barclay’s lower lip on the next tug, a moan spilling from Josephs’ mouth down his chin. 

“That’s it baby, fuck me while I rough you up, fuck, Joseph, your dick is fucking perfect, never gonna want another one, c’mon please, I’m close.”

Joseph sits up, grinning joyfully, and grips Barclays cock. It’s a masterful handjob, because how could a sex demon give anything else, but what strikes Barclay most is how happy and relaxed Joseph is. The incubus admitted once that even when he was having sex, he constantly worried about fulfilling the fantasy to earn enough energy to feed. Yet here he’s laughing and smiling, eyes aglow as he works Barclay up to the best orgasm of his life. 

It means something; Barclay only hopes Joseph will stay in his life long enough for him to figure out what. 

He’s too busy with the sparks behind his eyelids and the pleasure coursing down from his head to his toes to note that Joseph managed to make them cum at the same time. The incubus pushes a hand through his fair, swooping it back and off his face, as he notes this accomplishment. 

“I want to run a marathon. Or maybe go hiking, or swim the lake. I have so much energy. Barclay, it’s amazing. You, it’s never been like that before. It’s felt good, but that was fucking transcendent. 

“No fucking kidding.” Barclay shifts onto his side, nestling up against him so his head is under Joseph’s chin. He yawns, kisses a blue shoulder, “but you might have to burn off some energy without me. You wore me out, blue eyes.”

Joseph adjusts his arms so he’s holding him, “If I stay the night, can I walk Sass with you in the morning?”

Barclay nods, already falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that Joseph is okay and, better yet, so fond of him that his eyes are still glowing, “You got a deal, babe.”

[omniswords]

Keep What Remains, Part III [Gladiolus Amicitia/Reader]

“What do you think about holding onto something when you’ve lost everything else?” Remember how Gladio mentioned getting a girlfriend during all those years of darkness? Here’s how that happened. Spoilers up to Chapter 13 of the game, so proceed with caution!

Part I | Part II

D’you think something can mean everything and nothing at the same time?

You’d been sitting at your desk and staring at the text message for the last five minutes, speech bubble as grey as you thoughts. You couldn’t help it—it was that time of year when students were in need of any extra help they could get for their finals. A boon to your bank account, sure, but it still took a toll on your schedule, and your brain.

Your eyes drifted to the header of that text conversation, where Gladio’s name stared back at you, challenging you beside an emoji of a flexing arm. Sure, your conversations tended to err on the side of philosophical sometimes—he joked that it was a curse placed upon him by a guy he only ever referred to as “Iggy”—but that only ever happened when you got to spend time together. When you got to stare out beyond the outlook, scouring for as many stars as the streetlamps and your wildest hopes would allow you to see. (You both knew they weren’t out there. Not with the Scourge. You hoped beyond hope anyway, that you might philosophize them back to life.)

They were a stark contrast from the messages you exchanged by phone—a few months’ worth of two- or three-word bits asking where the other was, checking for safety, and the occasional good morning or good night. Like those times ever mattered anymore. If he wanted to talk to you, he’d call you from his “place nearby,” wherever that was, and listen to your evening. To make up for howsparesly he got to see you, he said. Strangely, it made for good company when he couldn’t be around.

So then, why was he texting you something like this?

With a sigh, you made quick work of the best reply you could manage. I have no idea what we’re talking about here.

There wasn’t much to do after that, beyond watching the grey ellipsis on your screen that indicated that he was typing back, and wondering why he wasn’t calling. Or why he couldn’t.

I was just thinking. About what we talked about that one time.

Um, we’ve talked about lots of things lots of times.

The dog tag thing. And then, Can I call you?

It was kind of sweet how he asked every time, as though your schedule was less forgiving than his. Call me, you typed, and no sooner had you pressed SEND than your phone began to vibrate, nearly silent in all that dark. Part of it was because you didn’t want to disturb anyone, even in the comfort of your own home. Part of it, through some sense of paranoia that had never quite settled, was because you were never exactly sure how well daemons could hear.

Gladio didn’t sound like he was in any kind of dire situation when he picked up. Maybe the text was a fluke, then. “It’s good to hear your voice,” he said; you could practically hear the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You always think it’s good to hear my voice,” you pointed out, pushing away from your workspace and setting on your usual bed routine.

“That’s because it is,” Gladio shot back. “Am I not allowed to like your voice?”

Your stomach fluttered a little. You weren’t sure if you hated it or not. “Well, no, but—”

“I rest my case. You’re home, right?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m at an outpost, but I’ll be back in Lestallum in a few days.”

“Right.” These days, if he wasn’t in town, he was at some outpost or other, reporting on or receiving hunts from colleagues or their leader—Dave, if you remembered correctly. Still, he tended to work alone, in spite of literally every other hunter out there, though he never seemed to talk about why. In fact, it seemed like he tried to deter you from asking why. “Listen, what’s this whole thing about meaning nothing and everything? And what does that have to do with the dog tags?”

Gladio sounded like he was leaning against something on the other end; he tended to do that when he was thinking particularly hard about something. Or when something you’d said had taken him aback, as though anything you could ever say would surprise him. “Just crossed my mind, is all. What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About holding onto one thing when you’ve lost everything else.”

You managed a laugh, putting him on speaker as you changed. “You’re all over the place. Like, you just went from point A to point X, and I’m somewhere around… I don’t know. E? But tell me about the dog tag thing,” you went on over the sound of his low laughter and an apology.

“That’s what I’m asking about in the first place.” Sometimes he was a little too convoluted for anyone’s own good. A few steps ahead, on the edge of everything.

Shorts in hand, you took a seat on the edge of your bed; it creaked with protests and thoughts. “I think meaning is relative,” you told him honestly. “What means nothing to one person means everything to another. We can’t really… underestimate that, even in people we know, without hurting a part of someone’s soul. And as for the whole ‘holding onto something when you’ve lost everything’ bit… I think, all you can do is keep what remains, and move forward.”

Silence hung on the line between you, during which you put on the rest of your pajamas and turned out the lights. Gladio seemed to be reflecting on what you’d said. It was something he did every time you said something like that. Dropped a truth bomb, he called it. But the quiet never got easier. It still got under your skin and unnerved you while you waited for some kind of approval.

“Huh,” Gladio finally said, the way he always did when you said something worth contemplating—which he seemed to think was all the time. You could picture him standing there, leaning on some counter with his lips quirked and his eyes narrowed in thought (definitely not stroking his beard, though; even the thought of picturing that made you stifle a laugh). You could see it right in front of you, even though he’d never come inside your apartment before. Maybe that was just the wishing talking.

“Listen.” He was pulling you back now. “I’ll be back in Lestallum in a few days, like I said. I wanna see you again before I head back out.”

You shifted under the covers, trying to hide the frown that threatened to mar your face—from who, you didn’t really know. “You’re always heading back out somewhere, huh?”

Gladio had this laugh sometimes, where you could barely hear it: a rumble in his throat somewhere on the level of an old cat’s purr. But you could pick up on it, so easily, and it was as if someone had poured molten gold into your veins. You’d swear on the cosmogony that it had some kind of healing properties, because the frown disappeared almost instantaneously, a smile taking its place. “You make it sound like we’re married or something,” he teased, and then, in a mocking, higher-pitched voice, “You’re hardly ever home, Gladdy. I miss you soooo much!”

That got a laugh out of you; it was probably a good thing he wasn’t around, because you weren’t sure if you wanted to smack him or hide under the covers. (You probably would have hidden; you had to stand on tiptoe to reach the back of his head.) “First of all, I don’t sound like that.”

You could practically hear the threat of more laughter in his voice. “Yeah, you do.”

Dignifying that with a response was useless. “Secondly, I’d never use Iris’s nickname for you. That’s just… I dunno. Weird. Besides, I like Gladio just fine.”

“You like me just fine, huh?”

“I like your nickname just fine.”

“You wouldn’t even call me babe?”

“Thirdly—” And you stopped. Not because there was no thirdly, but precisely because of what it was.

Gladio hummed curiously, molten silver instead of gold. “Thirdly, what?”

You bit your lip. “Thirdly... we’re not married.”

“No,” Gladio mused after a moment. “We’re not married.”

“Do you even want to get married?”

“What?” he laughed. “To you?”

“In general, Gladiolus.”

“Ouch. Full-named.” He was leaning again. On thoughts, maybe, instead of furniture. “Well. Depends, I guess,” he said after yet another moment. “Do you want the hypothetical answer, or the real one?”

You had time to spare. (Did he?) “Both.”

“I mean…” He sighed, a thoughtful kind that betrayed that he’d asked himself this exact question too many times before. “Yeah, I’d want to. I think we all… kinda want some life companion. A partner, or a friend. Hell, even a cat, if that’s what you want. Whatever makes you happy.”

There was a but hiding in there somewhere. You didn’t try to pry it out of him. He’d come to it in his own time. Still, there was something endearing about the thought of Gladio with a spouse. Maybe even kids. A whole movie montage of dates and work and the kind of intimacy only he could play out. Even from a friendly sideline, you could see it near-perfectly. The guy was made for love. It didn’t really matter what kind.

“But I gotta be realistic. I can’t.”

There was the but. There was always a but.

“Too much to do, y’know? Daemons to fight, hunters to save, stuff I’ve had to do before I ever met you. Before I was even born, I think.”

“Are you about to go off on some thing about fate and destiny?”

“Hell no. I already think about it all the time.” The two of you already talked about it all the time, anyway. Always called it going off on some thing. It was some fatalistic thing that wormed its way into your words and into your silences and demanded to be spoken about, as though formalities and interests and dreams were only ever meant to fill spaces and take a back seat.

You sighed. “So you can’t get married.”

“Not yet.”

You hated that you knew the rest of his sentence without his even having to say it. If I get through it all alive. You didn’t even know what “it all” entailed. “Sucks to suck, I guess.” It wasn’t the most sympathetic thing you could have said, and in retrospect, maybe you shouldn’t have said it at all. But maybe it was better to dial back destiny, or at least to keep him from falling headlong in his own silence.

Gladio seemed to think it was funny, at least’ there was a low, gruff laugh on his end. “How did we even get to talking about this?”

“You said I sounded like your wife, remember? Which I don’t.”

“Which you don’t.”

“Because we’re not married.”

“No,” Gladio said with a thoughtful hum. “We’re not. That’s a hell of a tragedy if I ever heard one.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. You couldn’t tell if you wanted him to be joking or not. He never really carried himself or spoke like he’d seen other tragedies—real, visceral tragedies—but the dim glint in his eyes that the streetlights caught every so often seemed to tell you so. Right there with probably unintentional muscle twinges, and the occasional hollow word. He didn’t have to admit out loud that he was a walking tragedy, or that he kept them as companions.

“It’s not a tragedy if you get married in the end,” you reminded him. Because maybe breaking the tension was the right thing to do. “It’s only a tragedy if everyone dies. If other people, leftover people, have to pick up your piece when it’s all over.”

“I can pick up my own pieces,” Gladio said, speaking through loosely-clenched teeth. As if he wanted to say, I’m other people. Or, I won’t let you pick them up for me. I won’t let you be my leftovers.

“I know,” you murmured, half-apologetic, half-soothing. “I know you can.”

“I will.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be in Lestallum in a few days.”

“You said that.”

“I did say that.”

You cradled the phone with both hands. A fragile thing. A fragile moment. A vase of split glass that was gluing itself back together. “Where will you go after that?”

“Leide. Nasty bunch of daemons out there, and someone I have to check in with, anyway.”

“Oh?” That made you sit up straighter. “Iris? Or that Iggy guy?”

“Neither. A guy named Cid. Could say we go way back. His granddaughter’s a real firecracker, too. Sure knows her way around a toolbox.”

You could hear the admiration sneaking into his voice, could feel the odd twinge in your chest. The realization that once upon a time, Gladio had probably had a life outside of hunting and surviving and conversations with you. A real life. You played it off with a laugh all the same. “What, she an old flame or something?”

“What, you jealous?”

“No!”

Gladio actually laughed. Not molten gold, not hollow, individually wrapped things. A real laugh that echoed of daylight and, probably, everything he used to be when the sun came up. “You kidding?” he said. “Cindy Aurum either wouldn’t know flirting if it smacked her and asked to dance, or is just really, really good at swerving people. Hell, she still does…”

He trailed off then, like he remembered something he shouldn’t have—or didn’t want to—and he cleared his throat. “Anyway. Cid. He can soup up my stuff.”

You nodded, fully aware he couldn’t see you, and lay back against your pillows, eyes already adjusted to the dark. Lights from the city outside bled through the gap in your curtains, casting a stream of safety on the floor. FOr a moment, you wondered what Gladio looked like in daylight, real daylight. Not these artificial glows that never did anyone justice. Not even the light of the bookstore. Not even the day bulbs vendors constantly raved about in the marketplace (because if they weren’t enthusiastic about it, then who could be?).

Maybe daylight wouldn’t do Gladio justice, either.

“And then what?” you ventured to ask.

“Let me get through that stuff first, jeez.” Individually wrapped things.

You smiled sadly, into the dark. “Have you always lived your life like that?”

“Like what?” he asked.

“In phases. Planned phases.”

“We all do that. They’re called days.”

“Gladio…”

If he were here right now, he’d be leaning forward as he sat, his smile caught in a Venn diagram of endearing and knowing too much. “It’s what you gotta do when you’re not guaranteed tomorrow,” he said. His voice had dropped to match yours; you might have fallen asleep to it if his words hadn’t been so sad.

“None of us is guaranteed tomorrow, Gladio,” you told him, and you sounded so small. Painfully small. “But we can still dream anyway. Even you.”

“If only,” he replied, and it sounded like he meant to say, If only you knew what I meant. But if you were meant to talk about these things in the dark, then the phone wasn’t the way to do it.

“I’ll see you in a few days?”

“Yeah. See you in a few days.” Gods above, he sounded like he was trying so hard to keep it together. To make you smile before bed. “Rest up, Buttercup.”

That was the only bad thing about spending time with Gladio, you thought as you hung up and stared blankly at the ceiling. The less he was around, the more you understood the difference between being alone and being lonely.

Maybe Gladio had already figured that out a long time ago.