"Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon. Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild. "Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference. "Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.

"Thankfully," says Ignis, "the spiders in this area aren’t of the venomous variety." Prompto perks up, and sets a paper bag of cookware on top of a rock. "Well, that's a relief." "Certain other species," says Ignis, "are not nearly so benign." Noct laughs a little at Prompto's face, which is caught somewhere between terror and disbelief. "C'mon, Specs, quit trolling him. He's gonna wish he didn't come."