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Ignis had long since come to terms with the loss of his sight. It had taken less time than he would have thought to re-learn even the more complex things like cooking and fighting. In fact, muscle memory had served him rather well in most of his daily routine; it was more his personal life that needed more extensive re-learning.
The most difficult thing to face had been knowing he would never again see Gladio’s face, his chest, his arms, his everything. He had taken quite a great deal of time to familiarise himself fully with the vast expanse of Gladio’s body, his fingertips acting as his new eyes, learning every bump and every groove, memorising the placement of each scar. He had always been able to read Gladio like a book; he would know instantly when the other man was hurt. None of that was about to change with the loss of his eyes. He could still read his favourite sentient book perfectly; he had just needed to translate it into braille first.
He instantly knew something was off when Gladio walked in after a venture out to the nearby hunters’ outpost to deliver some supplies, the harsh scent of antiseptic cutting into the air. He was at his side in an instant, a flurry of worry and reprimands on his tongue, fingers reaching out to feel his face first, making sure nothing was out of place.
‘Ssh,’ Gladio captured a wandering hand and pressed a kiss into its palm. ‘I’m fine, Iggy. Here,’ he guided the hand down to his left forearm, where a fresh gash had been cleaned and stitched closed at the outpost by Margaret, a rather overbearingly motherly woman who ran the infirmary there.
‘Feels deep,’ Ignis tutted, running his fingers gently over it, doing his best not to irritate the wound. ‘The hunters fixed you up?’
‘Yeah, saved me another scar across the chest, too,’ Gladio said without thinking. ‘But it would’ve been fine. I can handle a few coeurls. Don’t make that face, Iggy. I’m fine.’
‘You’re reckless,’ Ignis shook his head, fingers wandering up the arm, making sure that was the only new addition to Gladio’s rather extensive collection of scars. ‘You’re sure that’s all? You were gone much longer than you should have been. You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?’
‘I couldn’t for long, could I?’ Gladio rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss him gently. ‘You can read me like an open book, Iggy. I’m not stupid.’
‘At least there’s that,’ Ignis finally smiled. He reached down, grasping at the hem of Gladio’s tank and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it aside so he could continue his careful inventory. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gladio, it was just that… well, he didn’t trust him to not hide an injury for the sake of keeping him from worrying too much about him.
His mistrust proved correct as his index finger encountered a small bump on the small of Gladio’s back, just under where Ignis knew his tattoo ended. ‘Hm, and what’s this? I thought the coeurl only got you on the arm?’
‘Ah, that,’ Gladio said after a moment’s pause. ‘Well, it’s uh, not from the coeurls. I took a little detour this morning.’
‘And just where did you go? And what in the world did you encounter that left this?’ his fingers ran across the series of bumps curiously. It almost reminded him of the raised lettering he had needed to learn once it became very apparent his blindness would be permanent, except the dots were complete gibberish.
‘I went to the tattoo parlour,’ Gladio kissed his forehead. ‘Here, let me show you.’ He turned, facing his back to Ignis, and reached back to guide the sensitive finger pads over to the first series of tiny bumps. ‘I figured since you already read me anyways, I might as well make it official.’
Ignis frowned, feeling out the first collection of dots. He paused, shocked. ‘Gladio… these are letters! Did you have them scar braille into your skin?’ He really wanted to be angry. He should be. Gladio had gone out and risked injury and infection, not to mention purposely scarred his skin. Yet, Ignis was touched, pierced to the core with the level of love enduring that amount of pain must have taken.
‘Read it,’ Gladio said after a moment of allowing Ignis to get over that initial shock, trying not to get impatient, but failing miserably. He had a very important question scarred there; he needed to know what Ignis’ answer would be.
Ignis read it. Then he read it again, because he could scarcely believe it the first time. On the third or fourth pass, possibly the fifteenth, Ignis wasn’t really keeping track as he reread the message, Gladio let out a small laugh. ‘Are you going to read it all afternoon or are you going to give me an answer?’
Ignis felt his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed down the large lump of emotion and fought with his tied tongue a bit to get it to work properly. ‘You… you went and got a braille message scarred into your back to ask me to marry you? I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well,’ Gladio turned around to place the simple gold band he’d been saving up for ever since the light had returned into Ignis’ palm, closing his fingers around it. ‘You could start with an answer.’
Ignis blindly pressed kisses wherever his lips could reach. A muscled shoulder, a stubbled chin, a warm and flushed throat, eventually finding their way to Gladio’s lips. He slipped the ring onto his finger before pulling away, positively beaming. ‘Gladio, you already know the answer to that question. You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if you didn’t.’
‘Nothing I ever do for you is any trouble at all,’ Gladio pulled him into his arms, burying his face into Ignis’ neck. Ignis could feel the wide smile pressing into his skin, and answering one spread across his own face. He didn’t need any braille messages to let him read the happiness that was practically radiating off Gladio. Ignis would always be able to read his best friend, lover, and soon to be husband, even as they added a new chapter.
His fingers trailed back to the raised flesh spelling out Ignis Scientia, love of my life, will you marry me? and read it a few times more. Ignis figured he could live with never reading another series of words again in his life if these were the last he ever would. What good would other books do him while he had his favourite one right here in his arms?