Don’t know you but am happy that you are making a decision that makes you happy. Would love to see your art and maybe we can rp on Discord in the future. If not..BEst of luck!^_^

@outofmychair​

Noct’s eyebrows rise slightly, and he wonders wryly, “What, do you don’t trust me to defend your honor from Specs?” He brings his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt, Gladio.” His hand falls back to his side and he clears his throat. “’Don’t tell the others.’ Got it.”

Personally, he didn’t really care if Ignis or Prompto knew, but if Gladio wants to keep things quiet then that’s fine with Noctis.

“I, uh. I wouldn’t. Mind. Doing that kinda stuff again,” he agrees finally, since actually saying it out loud seems like sort of an important detail. The words trip out as gracelessly as ever, and he shoves his hands into his pocket to keep himself from covering his face. “If you want.” (And maybe then Noct could be a bit of an actual participant, since he hadn’t… really… done anything last time.)

Noctis’ eyes narrowed dangerously. He was in no mood for that, getting belittled and scolded at for the umpteenth time. Feelings or not, he could have jumped down Gladio’s throat right here and there. Get the big guy down and punch him the face, because what, did he came all the way for that?! Did he really think he needed to hear those words?! Well no need rubbing it in, thanks, I already hate myself perfectly well without your help!

But he didn’t want to cause a scene… or rather, another one. He felt tired and resigned and he just wanted the Shield to leave. So he withdrew into a stubborn silence. Not even looking at Gladio, but at the floor instead. The closeness between them was a torture in itself, one he only prayed would not last longer than what his broken heart could endure.

He expected so many angry fits and nasty comments to follow… that Gladio’s composure, his almost soft tone, totally took the prince aback. And his surprise grew even bigger as his hazy brain proceeded just what exactly the Shield was saying here.

           “…. you’re not serious.”

First words that came to his mind, and obviously not the best ones, but with the lack of sleep, thinking before speaking was definitely beyond his reach. He got up, stared down his friend. What could have motivated that speech… pity? He didn’t want that… if anything, it would feel worse than rejection.

           “I know you’re not serious…” he said again. “You can’t be. You’re playing with me, or… trying to bargain maybe? Well, you don’t have to. I’ll do what’s needed without anyone baiting me into it.”

His head was starting to hurt too, just to make things even worse. He let out a long, deep sigh, rubbing his temples.

           “Dammit, that’s why I didn’t wanna talk… I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

One part of him wanted to believe in that, the same part that so desperately tried to keep hoping, against all odds, that maybe his life wouldn’t be too much of a failure. While the other part acted like an injured animal, wary, doubting everything. And he was lost in-between the two, unable to decided which to trust.

Knowledge well known and admitted since the ending of those awkward teenage years where a child blooms into an adult. Men and women alike mingled among the courts made well known their favor of his visual appeal. Age had not tarnished this image rather came with a certain refinement and experience. Dangerous charmer gallant and brimming in confidence attracted even the most reluctant of potential lovers.

Priests warned in their pulpits of fallen seraph cavorting among the populace to drag into the belly of hellish sin. A shame Gladiolus had deafened ears to their warnings. “I am aware of my finer qualities.”

A Lucian Shield willing to pay the price to lay with the devil. “And where would you purpose for this hellish ride you wish to partake?” A coil palm elevated, and an index finger outstretched teasing the surface of his prey’s jawline.