“You were always better at this than me.”
“With any luck, you’ll master it yet,” Ignis replies, hands making quick – if not careful – work of the offending tie.
With a sharp tug and a pat at his arm, Ignis steps out of Gladio’s space and clears the view of the mirror. “Acceptable?”
Gladio peers at his handiwork from the reflection. It’s crooked, but he can’t find it in himself to fix it.
“Looks perfect, Iggy.”
Despite his efforts to appear nonplussed, tension seeps from Ignis’s shoulders. Ever the perfectionist. He’s always been an open book to Gladio.
“We’ll be on our way then.”
Gladio’s palm finds the small of his back as he places his cane in his hold. Its familiar weight is more grounding than Ignis has ever given it credit for.
“After you,” Gladio says. Ignis can hear his smile.