Of all the places he could feel at ease in, it's weird that it's this club. Maybe it's the sex, or it might just be the atmosphere, wandering around absently without much thought to what he's doing. It's not as if he's looking for anything like that, but the nostalgia gets to him every so often, pushes him to find something familiar in the way that can only remind him of Duplicity. Even the hand that curls around him and settles down over his ass is oddly reassuring... until a sharp blush heats up his neck and into his face.

"Uh..." Oh, right. He should probably say something. Words. Those things. "No? Do you?"

Prompto isn't sure why he even bothers to ask that or why he doesn't move away. Maybe he's just hoping that this guy will take the hint from the way he's sort of tensed and let go or move away before he has to protest. That seems the more logical option, so he just stands there awkwardly without knowing where to put his hands.