Gladio had known. He'd known nearly all of his damn life what he was actually guarding Noctis for. The Prophesy. The Chosen King. He could remember every moment vividly of the day his father took him aside and showed him the Crystal and explained what it would truly mean to be Noctis' Shield. He'd been young. Thirteen, no more. Clarus had seen the growing change in their relationship from a Shield who didn't believe in the bratty prince to actual friends... and knew it had been time.

Gladio wasn't sure he could ever have been old enough to take that news well. He'd sworn to be Noctis' Shield knowing that in the end, he couldn't protect him from the final danger that awaited him.

Prompto... Prompto hadn't known until so very, very much later. Call him blind. Call him innocent. Call him naive. He'd once been all of those things. He wanted to go back to it, to the not knowing, to days of video games and pizza, campfires and chocobos, to getting caught in the rain and dealing with sunburns. To the days before.

He turns all at once and wraps his arms around Ignis, burying his head in against the other's shoulder. Suddenly, he isn't thirty something anymore but the idiot of a teenager who can't handle his own emotions. There's no one else in the world that could understand like Gladio and Ignis can, and handle he's being an asshole for taking comfort right now when he knows Ignis has to be hurting as much as he is, maybe even more.

But he needs it so he can take his next breath.