Gladio knew basically nothing of Prompto's time away from the group, no more than Prompto knew about his, but his didn't come with the quiet, subtle signs of trauma that Prompto still carried with him, nor had they found Gladio hurt (...well, the scar on his forehead but-) or bound up in an enemy lair. Yet it didn't feel like he had the right to ask or even to offer up an ear. If Prompto wanted to talk about it, Gladio imagined he would.

Then again, he never would have imagined Prompto capable of keeping in a secret like he had about what he was for all of those years. It didn't change who Prompto was, not for any of them, but it did tell Gladio back then that there was more to Prompto than met the eye.

"Alright, alright. Let me clean you up and maybe you can make the fuzz look decent." Gladio chuckled and lightly took hold of that chin, looking over the angles of Prompto's face. "It's all about the angle you hold it at. Gotta put it at just the right angle so it slides without chaffing." The razor finally touched skin, then he gave a light scrape, showing Prompto what it would feel like. "See? Just like that." He tilted the blade up in front of Prompto's eyes so he could see the foam and the little bits of hair.