[the question reminds him: chill, prompto, you're hardly friends.]

Ah, well...

[with an awkward stumbling of words and a hand placed to the back of his neck in rising embarrassment, prompto slows down a little.]

Sorry. It was just a suggestion. [he's so easily malleable whenever someone expresses discontent or a differing opinion.] You could look around later, or online, too, I guess...

[he trails off, scuffs his shoes on the sidewalk. but not to be deterred, suddenly:] Are you hungry?