He nods acceptance, unbuttons his trousers and slips them down -- folding them and setting them aside to hang so the creases might begin to fall out. He turns to Anduin, picks up the hot chocolate and moves to sit on the cover of bed likewise. Should they be pulling back the blankets, or sitting atop them? Wrathion is not entirely sure the etiquette here, his body language hesitant but curious all the same.

"You've always had a good appetite," he replies finally. Voice soft, careful, as if approaching an animal that he has to convince closer. "Fuel to grow into your broad shoulders, I assume."

Certainly Anduin has grown over the years, filling out a frame not quite as broad as his father's but... getting there.