Ravus grunts a non-answer. He'll hate himself more in the morning if he tries to sleep with it attached, but he also doesn't want to move or let Gladio move. He rolls his shoulder under Gladio's fingers, already feeling the muscles tightening up in protest.

"I will eat tomorrow." If Ignis is the one cooking, he might even eat well.

He shifts, pushing back against Gladio as if he could burrow into that muscular chest and forget about the world.