A faint smile flickered over Ignis' face at Prompto saying he knew what Ignis meant. In a way he probably did. Their experiences hadn't been the same, but Prompto had been through his own troubles. Ignis didn't glance at the barcode on the other's wrist, but he was keenly aware of it, knew that there was a story there he hadn't heard the entirety of. He had never once blamed Prompto for not rehashing what had to have been his own nightmarish experience. Ignis would gladly listen, but he'd never try to intrude where he was unwanted.
It was the same for Prompto here, he realized, and that was why he took his hand and let him guide them to the table, away from the colder air by the door. He was also reminded of those days right after he'd lost his sight, with Prompto always right by his side, there to fill the tense silence with chatter, to help him when he stumbled. Ignis wouldn't have been able to hold it together without him; it'd been easier to be strong, to keep himself composed, with Prompto there, guarding him. To make sure he didn't add anymore to his worry, because he'd been able to practically feel Prompto fretting himself to pieces.
He hadn't wanted that, and later, that concern had become a double-edged sword.
While not wanting to worry him had helped leading up to Noct's disappearance into the Crystal, it had turned into one reason Ignis had started to spend more and more time away from Lestallum and the others — the concern for him, the worry and understanding there. With the world falling apart around them, Ignis hadn't had time to allow himself the luxury of a breakdown, even if he had wanted to, and his friends had made it all too tempting at times. It was probably a good thing he hadn't been able to see then, he thought darkly. The way Prompto looked at him now, in the dim light of the kitchen, nearly undid him, and he twisted between wanting to soothe that worry away and reassure Prom that everything was fine, it was an old nightmare, nothing to fret about, and wanting lean into the gentleness there, even if he didn't talk.
Honestly, he wasn't certain he could find the words. Not in a coherent or eloquent manner, which… he almost laughed. What reason was there to be proper and well-spoken when talking about ones grief? Ignis' hand was still in Prompto's and he gave it a gentle squeeze, holding on as if he were drawing strength from it. In a way, he was. It was too late to back away now, not when he'd willingly settled at the table, not when Prompto simply being there helped more than the other man probably realized. Ignis knew he could remain silent, just ask for the company. Prom wouldn't push him for answers.
Maybe that was why Ignis finally, quietly said, "Altissia." His fingers tightened in the blanket where he was holding close around him, his gaze distant for a long moment before more thunder shook him out of his thoughts. He looked tired, haunted, in a way he hadn't allowed anyone to see him in… ever, really. He felt it, too, his reasons for keeping everything to himself shaking under the weight of just how much he had carried around in silence, never complaining and never letting it bleed onto the others.