It could be the fact that you're fairly bad at discussing options with people who've been kidnapped, deposited in the middle of an alley, and forced to eat sugar when they should be replenishing their electrolytes. (critical of everyone, but his attention's on noctis — and he's pissed off at his situation.

life's never going to throw him a fucking bone.

a step around the table and in, standing very closely alongside noctis' shoulder as he leans down to practically speak at his ear. two pervading scents are strong on him: sweat and something with a metallic tang, something busted knuckles account for. blood. but if it's his, there's no indication of where.)

Say it, I'll remember. Low, so no one overhears.