[Noctis’ frown threatens to turn into a lopsided sort of expression instead, an almost-smile. The half-shove only makes him exhale in a chuckle as he catches his balance with ease, ironically appreciative of the gesture. The shift in tone — though likely not softening the blow of this revelation — is at least welcome as they walk. A quick, automatic pace, Noctis’ alien attire flowing behind him. He’s nearly forgotten about how ridiculous he looks, too focused on the conversation at hand.]

Of course. I wasn’t going to leave everyone hanging.

[There’s more to the story, of course. More spokes to the wheel. His conversation with Bahamut from within the Crystal (the feeling of ageless eternity wrapped in fractured light), their battle with the Infernian (coiling flame, so much of it), his final confrontation with Ardyn (hate and sorrow and pity and pain, the dance of two Lucian kings). Noctis pulls his gaze forward, setting his jaw. Quietly thinks that he can ebb into Gladio’s head, just slightly, a ghostly tendril reaching in to feel what he feels.

It slips past him, just barely. Whatever the man had just pushed down and away, locked from Noctis’ prying mind. This is enough to make his decision for him. Noct won't say anything else, not just yet —he's sure he can get away with it for now, to maybe have this conversation later.]

But now we just have another problem altogether. Being trapped out here, moving from mission to mission.