Ravus feels there's so much to apologize for, so much he can't ever make up, but that's a morbid, downward spiral of a thought. The least he can do is offer some semblance of sympathy where he once had little for the younger prince. Still, he's finding that wrinkle his nose does, like a displeased cat, is almost adorable enough to justify it.

"Perhaps not. Consider is an expression of misplacing the order of my steps then." As Noctis twists to get more comfortable against him, Ravus subtly adjusts to let him put as much of himself on him as he needs or likes. There's no shying from the comfortable warmth, something Ravus is finding he really does enjoy more than he ever suspected he might.

While he's relaxed, the haze of poison keeping him at ease despite everything, there's a moment where he does tense. The mention of the others has him... Well, he'd say nervous, but that's not quite right. He's not sure what he's nervous about, but the apprehension is there, and he asks aloud. There is, after all, so much they could hold against him, least of all wanting a date with their future king.

"What do you mean by that?"