For laphicet-me-on-fire and samulett, two of the most important people in my life. Hope you enjoy!
Ignis tried to blink his deadened eyes as he stepped back from the water spraying over his face, so warm and refreshing, and was relieved to find the shower faucet with minimal searching. He switched off the tap and stepped out of the shower, hands reaching out into the darkness for his towel. It took him a moment to find it on the edge of the sink, but he promised himself he would not let himself get frustrated. It was too early for that. He needed to give himself time to adjust to this lack of sight, whether it would return in time or not.
Once he'd dried himself, he opened up the bathroom door and stepped slowly and carefully into the bedroom with the towel wrapped his waist. His knees hit something as he proceeded forward, and he concluded that he had reached the bed. Hands found the stack of clothing that Prompto had neatly left out for him, and Ignis began fumbling to put them on.
It wasn't long before a knock was heard at the motel door, and Ignis turned, as if expecting to see his visitor, but he was quickly reminded that that wouldn't work.
"Prompto?" he asked.
"Nope. It's me," came a much deeper voice than the one Ignis had been expecting. The door closed with a quiet click—it was unusual to hear such a soft sound when Gladio was involved, and it was a painful reminder that Ignis' injury had the whole group suffering. Ignis didn't need his vision to know the boys were taking this hard; the stifled sobs and trembling breaths from Prompto and Gladio told him all he needed.
"And the prince...?" Ignis asked, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. So far, he'd gotten all of them in the right holes; Gladio could see them as he stepped further into the room, as he made his way to his companion's side.
"Still sleeping. Prompto's with him now." It hadn't taken much to convince Prompto to take his 'watch the prince' shift early, and Gladio was thankful for his cooperation. The last thing he needed right now was to be close to that royal runt. Part of him worried that if he was left alone with him, he might just smother him while he was unconscious. All he wanted to do was blame him for what happened to Iggy.
The mere thought brought Gladio's eyes to the scars around Ignis'. He didn't want to look at them, didn't want to admit that they were really there, but he couldn't help it. They were dark and red, splattered like a star around his brow bone. Perhaps the silence had alerted Ignis to the fact that Gladio was staring at him, as he quickly reached for the bed again, finding his socks and glasses in the remaining clothing pile. He set the socks aside and rushed to put his glasses on, covering his red eyes that were still stuck closed with swelling and fluid.
"Will he recover, I wonder," Ignis pondered, and he heard Gladio grumble.
"Worry about yourself for a change." The guard sounded utterly irritated, and though Ignis knew the frustration was with Noctis, not him, it didn't make him feel much better.
"You ready to go eat? I hear the hotel's got a meal all ready for us," Gladio announced, though he hated to bring up food right now.
He couldn't bear to think about Ignis' love for cooking, and the fact that they might never taste another Scientia 'recipeh'. He could remember overhearing a conversation between Ignis and Noctis, about how the most rewarding part about cooking was seeing the look on people's faces when they ate one of his meals. Gladio's stomach churned at what was now an impossibility, and he realized he'd lost his appetite right then and there.
"Am I ready? Hmm, I suppose I have to ask you, do I look presentable?" Ignis folded his arms, posing as he allowed Gladio to look him over. Gladio started from the bottom up. The man looked fine aside from the fact that he still needed socks and shoes, but also... Gladio paused as he eyed Iggy's flat, wet hair. The long strands that were usually spiked up to perfection were now dangling down on either side of his face.
"Let's just spend a minute on your hair. I know for a fact you wouldn't be caught dead looking like that in public."
"Oh, is it that horrendous?" Ignis asked, sounding matter-of-fact—maybe even on the verge of amused. Gladio chuckled as he ushered Ignis back into the washroom.
"I just know you prefer more of a chocobo look. Right now, it's more like... dead grass."
"Ah, I see," Ignis smirked, and Gladio laughed again.
It took a few minutes of towel-drying, combing, and gelling before Gladio was satisfied, but as he stood in the mirror behind his friend, staring at the reflection, he silently praised himself for a job well done.
"There. Just like you used to wear it," Gladio announced, but wished he hadn't said 'used to'. Had that really only been yesterday? How could so much have changed in less than twenty-four hours?
Here was Ignis, who was without a doubt the most intelligent of the four of them, and now... Now, he couldn't even do even this simple task of styling his own hair. In time, he would, especially with guidance from Gladio and the boys, but... It still killed Gladio to see him like this.
Ignis gingerly touched the tips of his spiked hair, seeming content with the job his friend had done. It at least felt similar to how he usually wore it, though he couldn't vouch for its appearance.
"Thank you, Gladio."
His gratitude was met with a barely audible and hardly recognizable sound. It was somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
"What's wrong? Is everything alright?" Ignis asked. Gladio blinked back tears, but he was too late. They were already pooling in the indents under his eyes, the light in the bathroom making them reflect in the mirror a little too clearly for his liking. Gladio wiped at them with a muscled forearm, and sniffed only once before clearing his throat.
"Everything's fine. You just..." Gladio exhaled a sigh, and stared at Ignis in the glass, wishing words could erase their tragic yesterday. "You look good."