My Land, My Rules

"I don't know, Liliana," said Prompto, but it was in a tone that had decidedly shifted toward the light joking and the ribbing and the very unseriousness that he would always use to blanket all those insecurities and uncertainties, "I mean, you did say something about him making his own wine. It might take at least ten birthdays to drag him away from something like that."

Then, he snorted, maybe a little bit to show just how convinced and joking he was. "Actually," he added, "when are you leaving? Maybe by the time Sunday rolls around, they'll have kicked him out for being too insufferable about it, anyway."