[ There's something important about those areas, but he doesn't know what, or why. The sun makes his eyes ache, staring out at a city of glass and shiny metal, but it's a good sort of pain. It's similar to when he pushed himself too hard training, or fighting, but knew he was successful. He could work through this. After so long in the dark he's not willing to look away; it's harder to look at Noctis, anyway, with as brightly as he burns in the sun. ]

I could never get the filling or the dough right.

[ It's a barely there murmur, his words fogging up the glass in front of him as he watches the city below. It's ragged, of course - ten years means that there are parts still under construction that will likely be for years. But he never had to see how it looked when everything went well and truly to shit. He was saved that sight, somehow. The others all had to live with it, seeing the ghost towns that the lack of a sun wrought. ]

I don't know. I might not even remember it if I had seen how bad things got.

[ Being melancholy isn't helping either of them, though. Ignis turns and looks at him again, drinking in the sight of his king, stopping at the electric blue of his eyes. Just like looking into the sun. Too long and it hurts. He smiles thinly, and steps away. ]

As much fun as it is having a conversation in what's effectively a slip, I would like to get changed into something a little more-- covering, if possible.