[ It feels almost desperate and cathartic after a fashion, this light-heartedness, tension released but not Noctis' own sorrow, the seed of which he buries carefully within himself. Sadness and pain is infectious, and Noctis loves Prompto too much to inflict it on him again.

After all, what use is there to bring down the mood now, when Prompto brightens and it feels like maybe, just maybe, there could be a glimmer of hope on the horizon. He's leaning against Prompto, seeking him out in his own ways even if he doesn't actively press forward, appreciating the simple warmth of just the both of them, enjoying a bout of jokes like they've always had. ]

"Or perhaps taught you which side your toast is buttered on.

[ But okay, this is fun. Is Ignis sneezing up a storm? Noctis is smiling, before he reverts to his usual tone. ] Can't believe he's only two years older than us, you know? It always seems like he's much older.

[ And yet, he's like them -- young, pushed out into the world and left to find their way around, tragedy nipping at their heels. ]