When Gladio quietly steps into the kitchen as he begins cooking, after Prompto has delivered all of the ingredients that's been asked of him, Ignis doesn't even comment on it. They both know why Gladio is here - the numerous reason he's here in fact. All he does is try to focus on the work in front of him, of channeling his energy into something useful while he still can.

He knows - they know - that Gladio will step forward when he needs to.

Like now.

Ignis breathes out, tries to keep it as steady as that pressure against his spine, and doesn't pull his hands away from Gladio. For once, he allows the reassurance of their pressure, their grip. "Just a bit of adrenaline," he says quietly, staring down at where their hands are connected. The knife he still holds in his hand, and the grip that he has to remember to keep as a proper cooking hold rather than... anything else. It's not needed, here. There are no enemies to tear through. Just vegetables and chicken which needs to be cut and cooked.

"...I worried you dearly, didn't I?"