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evandearest · 3 years

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The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~

Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.

Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes

Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)

Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.

I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.

Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.

A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.

Paradise.

You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.

But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.

Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.

Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.

It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.

Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.

“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.

The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.

You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.

The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.

Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.

“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.

“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.

Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.

“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.

“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I’m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.

You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.

Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.

The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.

You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.

Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.

“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”

The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.

You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.

And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.

“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.

“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.

“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.

The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.

“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”

“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.

“It was supposed to be me!”

The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.

“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.

“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.

“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.

James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.

You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.

Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.

Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--

You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.

“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.

One way, or another.

You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.

-🤍-

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.

You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.

Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.

It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?

The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.

And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.

Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.

Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.

Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.

And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.

Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.

The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.

You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...

You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.

“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...

And it clicked.

“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.

“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.

“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”

“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.

You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.

Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.

You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.

But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.

Your Garden of Eden.

---------

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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omniswords · 7 years

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Keep What Remains, Part IV [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 | Part III

“A few days” passed sluggishly. Waiting time always did. It was always as if the universe knew exactly what you were anticipating and slowed time itself—then kicked it back into turbo drive so that the moment left quicker than it came. Maybe it was telling you to savor the in-betweens as much as the times you all but hinged your life on. But you didn’t know. You couldn’t read the universe. You could only guess at ends of it.

Not that you had much to savor, anyway. There were still students who needed help, and books that wanted to be read, and a routine that demanded to be followed. And the more you stuck to routine, the more you wondered what it would be like to not have to stick to routine. To have a life where you woke up every day not knowing what kind of adventure would be waiting at your door, or once you stepped outside it. To live in phases that were more than just civilian days or bullet points on a To Do list, concrete or imagined.

You could think of a handful of people who’d have a few choice words to say about that, and of course, one of them was Gladio. Hell, he practically lived that life already, to the point that you knew exactly what he’d tell you if he caught wind that you’d even entertained the thought. Things about how it wasn’t the adventure you’d always read about, how the daemons out there would crush you in five seconds flat, and you wouldn’t get to come back to life if someone turned your book back to Chapter One.

And, as much as it annoyed you to admit it, he was right. You weren’t a hunter of any rank. In fact, you didn’t have any training to your name beyond self-defense classes you took on Thursdays, and you were pretty sure you couldn’t suplex a Red Giant. (A goblin, maybe, but even that seemed a stretch, when your only encounter with daemons had involved driving away from them at top speed.

So maybe you wouldn’t just throw your life to the wolves and risk it every day. But you could start small.

That made the days pass a little faster. Knowing your life could begin, really change for something brighter, at any moment. Or, maybe, knowing that it already had.

———

You waited for Gladio in the one place you knew you could wait for him: the bench. But this time, instead of burying your nose in a book the way either of you usually did, you sat up straight, with the books in you lap, eyes peeled. This time, from a distance, you’d be the one keeping certain eyes out for him.

The only sad part about it, really, was the monotony. Not much about the city had changed in the last six years. Probably because it had changed so slowly that you’d missed it, or more likely because not much really had the capacity to change in that time. Maybe it could have, under any other circumstances. People could explore, live beyond these little pockets of the world.

You couldn’t remember the last time just water had rained down from the sky. It only ever came down with whatever ashy spirit the Scourge was made of, and that came down all the time. The Scourge didn’t hurt when it drifted to the ground, fluttering over clothing and skin, but it still felt like, at any moment, it could be too much. It could build up, like every bit of gil. Like someone was teetering on the edge of catching their death, just by going outside.

Gladio showed up a few moments later, eagle feathers on full display as he dabbed at his face with the hem of his muscle shirt. You thought you might have seen a bit of a scar on his abdomen, but your eyes could have been tricking you, too. Besides, it wouldn’t have been all that unusual, all things considered.

He wasn’t grinning as he approached you. It wasn’t that he looked terrible. He just didn’t look spectacular, either. He all but collapsed next to you on the bench, sprawled out with his arm slung along the back of it while he looked up and tiredly waved the Scourge away. “What’s up, Buttercup?” he said, heaving a sigh.

“Rough day?” you shot back, sparing him a glance. The poor guy seemed like he’d barely slept since he’d called you. Since he’d last left, really. But he managed a laugh, as breathless and exhausted as he looked, and shifted so his arm found purchase around your shoulders instead. An insistent little pull had you leaning against his side, comforted by solid muscle and the scent of a body wash with a spice you couldn’t place.

(Well, he might not have slept much, but at least he’d found a place to shower.)

Gladio didn’t say anything for a while. Didn’t look at you, either. He only held you there—loose enough to let you go if you needed to, but firm enough to tell you he needed a body. Whether it was yours or another’s was an entirely different matter. “It’s good to see you,” he finally said when that while had ended, his fingertips stroking a lazy trail up and down your arm.

“Now who’s acting like we’re married?” Your voice was soft, but teasing, and even then, you moved a little closer, pressed a little more flush. Gladio didn’t speak, but the gentle jolt of his chest told you he was holding back a laugh, and he laid his cheek on top of your head.

Maybe this was one of those subtle homecoming moments. It wasn’t a hunter scooping their child up in a hug or getting tackled to the ground by their dog; it wasn’t someone returning from a long journey to dip their lover in a kiss without caring who saw. It was quiet. It spoke of a pause. It betrayed, maybe, more to come.

Two almost-ordinary people in the night, again.

“So what’s this ‘place nearby’ you keep talking about?” you asked him. You were close enough to press your ear to his chest, to find solace in the steady thud of his heart.

Gladio hummed thoughtfully; it buzzed against your ear. “It’s a secret,” he finally said.

“Is it a secret because it’ll put me in danger, or because I’ll get upset and offer you a place to crash, which you ultimately won’t take because you’re ‘too gentlemanly for that kind of thing?’”

“Y’know what? That first one sounds good and not way too specific at all.”

“Gladio!”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a groan. “I give. It’s just the Leville.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Lemme rephrase that,” he said. “It’s the armchair in the lobby of the Leville. Look, I can explain—”

You froze, sitting up straight to face him; he was already giving you a look that said, I knew you’d react like that. But why wouldn’t you? You had a perfectly good space to accommodate him, and here he’d been refusing that because he placed gallantry above comfort? “You’re taking my bed,” you said, with little room for argument, as you got to your feet and extended a hand to him.

Of course he found that little room. He would. “I’m not taking your bed.”

“Then at least the couch.”

“I’m a big guy, Buttercup.”

“It’s a big couch, Gladio.” It wasn’t, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.

Gladio sighed. “You’re not gonna budge on this, are you.”

“Nope.”

He closed his eyes, either weighing his options or praying—or both—and pushed himself to his feet once he opened them. “Just tonight,” he said, in a voice that added, and that’s final. “I’m leaving for Leide in the morning.”

“Just for tonight,” you agreed, taking his hand and leading the way, and he fell into step with you soon enough. As an equal instead of a guard.

———

You weren’t sure what it would be like to have Gladio in your apartment for the first time. Any time you thought about it had been less about him in your home and more about him being in front of you when he was too far away to be. But he didn’t seem to make a big deal about it, beyond the occasional leftover insistence that he’d be all right at the Leville. He must have taken your silence to mean you still weren’t budging, because all he did as soon as you unlocked the door was follow your suit.

It was kind of comical how he had to duck his head just to get inside. He stepped out of his boots and left them by the door as he walked in, and hung against the wall while you set to searching for a spare pillow and blanket. And he looked around like he wanted to take in that this was the safety he left you to every night he walked you home.

“Have you eaten?” you asked; you were halfway inside a closet, straining for a pillow. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t heard you.

“Yeah, I ate.”

“Really ate?”

His socks muffled his footsteps as he made his way over to you, and you braced yourself in case he decided to spontaneously pick you up again. But he didn’t; he only stood behind you, reaching over you to grab the pillow from the top shelf. “Yeah,” he said as he held the pillow out to you, then tucked it under his arm when you refused it. “Would I lie to you?”

“Jury’s still out.” You gave him a grin that you hoped seemed familiar to him, and joined him on the couch once he’d settled up there and patted the empty space next to where he sat. “Look what I found, though,” you went on, nodding toward a globe-shaped device and setting it on the coffee table.

Gladio raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Without a word, you rose to shut the lights off, flipping a switch on the globe’s stand, and your ceiling and walls flickered to life almost instantly with pinpricks of light. It seemed that Gladio didn’t need to say anything either. He only sat up a little straighter, and his eyes went a little wider, lips parted in wonder as his gaze flitted around. You always figured that Gladio carried himself a little too heavily for any part of him to flit, but maybe he could if he’d been seized enough by something outside of him. Or within him. It was hard to tell.

“I got it from one of the shops,” you explained. “I used to have one back home, but I couldn’t bring it with me. Cause it wasn’t an ‘essential,’ and all. It’s not exactly the same, but close enough.” You were huddled at the opposite end of the couch, sometimes watching the lights, sometimes watching him, and you might have moved closer if you didn’t think it would disturb him. Or if you were just a little braver.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw the stars for real,” you admitted, before you went quiet and let yourself get as lost in the lights as he was.

He pulled you close again, after a moment—a soft but emphatic tug on your wrist that had you inching toward him, nestled against his side. He didn’t need to say anything; it was all fine as it was, with his hand at your waist and your head at his chest. Like this was more than enough to question what went wrong so long ago.

“Got you a souvenir,” he mumbled, words that you felt more than heard.

“What?” you laughed. “A voretooth fang on a leather strap?”

Gladio laughed, too, though it wasn’t as heart, and rummaged through one of his jacket pockets. He pulled out a tightly-closed fist, unraveling each fingers as if uncovering his soul.

You blinked a couple of times at his open palm before lifting your gaze to meet his. “A dog tag?”

He only nodded, letting the pendant dangle from its chain; it glittered in all that starlight, and he made no move to lower it into your hands. “Figured you should have it. Or at least, keep it safe for me. It means more to you, and, well.” He shrugged. “The thing might not mean much to me, but you keeping it does. So would you?”

Neither of you was looking at the other, only beyond, and you came to focus on the dog tag again. It was still swaying there, and the way it moved made it hard to read the inscription on it. “Is that how you feel about your life sometimes?” you asked, your voice just barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” he said.

“Like it should mean nothing to you and everything to someone else. To me.”

If there were any light in Gladio’s eyes, it had gone out then; his fingers were still curled around the chain. “Can I put it on you?” he asked instead.

You didn’t answer, only scooted forward and jammed your hands in your lap, your eyes on his. All those questions. All that silence.

Gladio didn’t say anything else as his arms looped over your head, and his touch was gentle, if battle-callused. Warm, compared to the cold of the chain, and reluctant to pull away. Even afterward, he kept his hands on your shoulders, just enough firm to reassure you—or himself—of reality.

On further examination, the pendant was heavily polished and glinted in the light as if it had been made only recently. Stamped on the front of it, in all capital letters, was his first name and last initial, with his date of birth just below. “Gladiolus A.,” you read out loud, squinting to read the small font. “You never told me your last name started with an A. Thought you said it was like… Hester, or something.”

Gladio paled.

Your heart sank, the pendant suddenly heavy in your palm. “Guess the jury’s not out about the lying thing anymore.”

“I can explain—”

“Can you?” Your voice was eerily even; you weren’t sure if that would hurt more than yelling.

“Look, you just.” Gladio sighed, pulling his legs up onto the couch. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.” The tag warmed up in your grip, felt a little lighter with your words. “If you’re gonna entrust this to me, then don’t I deserve to know the truth about it? About you?”

There was a stray lock of hair caught under the chain, and Gladio reached forward to brush it away from your neck. Your breath hitched at his touch, and you held it until he pulled his hand back, and in that moment, neither of you broke eye contact. Like you’d shared souls without sharing words.

“You’re right,” he finally said, a low rumble in his throat. “You’re right. But not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because it’s too much to dump on you and then just. Leave you to think about.” He shook his head. “I’m not gonna do that to you when you deserve better.”

“And what if something happens to you in Leide? What if you don’t come back?” You folded your arms, voice matching his volume. “Then you’ll have left me with too many questions, instead of too many answers.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me in Leide.”

“How can you be so sure?”

The light had come back to Gladio’s eyes, hard and determined, unmoving like the rest of him. “Because I’m not allowed to die yet.”

———

That had been a week ago. A week of good morning and good night text messages, a week of sparse, ten-minute phone calls. A week of work on your part, and hunts on his. The quietest week you’d had since you met him.

The morning Gladio left, he knocked on your door and woke you up a few hours before your alarm was supposed to go off, reassuring you of his presence with a soft, “Hey.” It was hard to see the outline of him in the half-asleep dark, and you needed a moment to remember he’d even stayed the night to begin with.

“Didn’t wanna go without saying goodbye,” he mumbled, hanging by the doorway as if waiting to be invited in.

You beckoned him over, turned on the bedside lamp and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, wondering if he’d gotten any himself. “Don’t go yet,” you said. “Got something for you.”

How you remembered when you were half-awake, you still didn’t know. Maybe it was because you’d thought of it too often right before falling asleep. But you padded over to living room, where you’d left your bag to lie limply against the couch. After a moment of rummaging through it, you fished out the books you’d cradled so carefully the night before and held them out to him. “The third book in the series, and that poetry collection you kept reading in the store. So you’re not stuck reading the same stuff over and over again.” You yawned. “Don’t say no. Just give them back when you’re done with them.”

In that quiet span of time, Gladio weighed the two books in his hand light he was weighing the worth of souls—and maybe he was. But he tucked them away in a satchel and gathered you up in his arms. No warning, again. “Come on, Buttercup,” he said. “Back to bed.” And you weren’t about to protest. Not when he let you hug him the whole way there.

“Don’t die,” you told him, hazy and well on your way back to sleep. “If you die I’ll have to kill you.”

It was kind of a blessing, how one of the last things you heard from Gladio was his tired, molten-gold laugh. “I’m not gonna die,” he said.

“You can’t.”

“I can’t.”

He had the courtesy to wait until you fell asleep to leave—and, as you noticed when you later woke up alone, to close and lock all the doors behind him. But he didn’t have the courtesy—or maybe the impertinence, in his mind—to touch you goodbye. No lingering thumb on the cheek or across the forehead, no squeeze of the shoulder or hand, no brush of his lips on your existence.

You had to wonder what it would have been like if he had. If it would have meant anything beyond a see you soon.

It couldn’t have. He couldn’t do anything about it besides.

Still, the city felt more absent with him gone: short two books and a man who thought he was nothing and everything in this forsaken place. There was an in-betwen you couldn't savor here. The streets were the wrong kind of weightless. The floorboards in the bookshop didn’t creak the way you remembered—or maybe you were merely projecting about that. All the weight hunt instead in the dog tag around your neck, which you turned over and over in your fingers when you thought of him, rereading the name from time to time.

Gladiolus A. An explanation in every etch. A story in every light it caught.

And, to top it off, someone had taken his spot on the bench.

To be fair, it wasn’t really his spot; it didn’t have his name written on it the way the tag did (and even then, the tag was still technically in your hands). But it didn’t feel right, for a body to replace his so easily, so soon after.

Habit had you walking there, you knew. Maybe a longing you should have sent out the door with him. And of course they worked together to push your heart deep in the pit of your stomach when you saw someone else sitting there. But they looked exhausted, liked they’d only just straggled into town and needed as little as a hot meal and a water bottle to get by. Who were you to deny someone that if you could afford to give it to them?

The figure looked up as you approached—at the ready, limbs tense. If you could see nerves, theirs might have steeled. “I’m sorry, I can’t help…” they began, voice feather-light but void of energy or emotion, and then stopped. And their eyes, a brilliant brown in the streetlight, went wide. “It’s… you.”

And so did yours. “Iris?”

#gladiolus amicitia #gladio x reader #ffxv reader insert #ffxv headcanons #ffxv scenarios #ffxv spoilers #fic: keep what remains

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