Reluctantly he squeezes them shut, as ordered, and tries to get used to lying on the dorm's bunk. It feels almost too soft. Same could be said for Gladio's gentle touch, Prompto not proud to say that he flinches slightly out of instinct when his thumb rubs over his cheek. He breathes out a quiet "sorry, nerves" because the last thing he wants is his friend thinking it's him. It isn't. It really isn't. He's just hopped up on nerves and the thing is, when your only company around here was Ardyn, you need a few minutes to get used to a friend's touch.

Maybe more than a friend. They'd kinda left off at a funny place before the train.

Prompto doesn't seem like he wants to deal with the potion. Too much work to swallow. Pulling a face, he starts to turn his head away until Gladio says the magic words. Do it for him. That gets a muted reaction from Prompto in the form of a sigh as he tries to do what he asked. It isn't easy, and he swears half of the drink ends up all over his neck and chest, but some of it makes it into his mouth. It slides down his throat, chilled, sweet and carbonated because that's how the Imperials apparently roll with their versions of potions. Sputters turn to coughs wracking his frame.

He realizes with a start that he's suddenly hanging onto Gladio, his fingers tight around his wrist with a dead man's relentless grip. He knows Gladio can take it and more, no problem. Man's built like a tank. Guilt still wells up and he forces his fingers to unlock, hoping he didn't bruise the guy.

"Let's...try again later," Prompto says weakly. "Could you bring me up to speed?"