#copygunner

    Calm and even as ever, the statement wouldn’t have seemed abnormal if not for the contents of it. After all, Copy X was never one to admit his weaknesses or insecurities- it only served to weaken him further in the end. He felt much too afraid to say such a thing to anyone else, yet, Axl’s warmth was so comforting to him that the king felt he could let go.

    Fingers steepled beneath his chin, he sat with his helmet held in his lap- once in a while, it felt nice to feel a more gentle breeze through his hair, as much as he enjoyed the benefits of his armor- (and anyways, the gunner seemed to rather like it, so he’d allow the embarrassment of helmet hair just this once.) “It’s a little silly. I wish I didn’t have to depend on you for something so frivolous. But I wouldn’t want to stay away.”

The boy did not know who the metallically-gleaming android was. They were only a couple inches taller, but seemed to somehow tower above him. But Kenji was not one to gaze in awe at another, even those incredibly unfamiliar to him. The boy had been instilled with certain values -- Those of politeness and kindness. Of honesty and sincerity.

So he’d give a big smile towards the other, greeting them like he would any other.

   Betta thanked any existing deity that she hadn’t dropped the tools she was carrying, and that they had just sort of gotten jumbled around on the tray she was carrying. She set the tray down on a nearby table and checked to see if she had dropped any-- once, twice-- before looking up at Axl once more--

  --and wincing, bringing a hand up to her own face to touch her own synthetic skin, almost like she was expecting to have the exact same injury as him. She worked in the medbay, so of course she had seen the worst of the worst injuries, but that didn’t make it any easier to see it. Much less while he was walking around like nothing was wrong.

    He almost sniffles a little- perhaps he would’ve if his dignity wasn’t on the line. Holding in his problems was so deeply ingrained in him that he often forgot how to tell the truth, every word always manipulated somehow to make everything sound better than it really was. It was simply a habit. After all, with such a crisis in the nation, he had no choice but to do whatever he could to avoid mass panic. And that meant lies. Even while everything fell apart around him.

    He didn’t like letting blood dry on surfaces. Many times had statues, pillars, carpets, and curtains been scrubbed vigorously until any hint of the material was gone. It was ugly, and it ruined the mood of a room. The stench, the color- he hated it all. To make matters worse, it was a pain to clean up.

    So, of course, if he saw it, wet, ready to stain whatever surface it was on, he would order it cleaned no matter what it got in the way of. It simply wasn’t aesthetically pleasing or sanitary, and Copy X wouldn’t allow it in his facilities in a million years. Of course, if there was no one available to clean a small stain, he’d swipe it away himself with a handkerchief. Be it on his clothes, a photo, or his skin, he found no trouble with it.

    He rarely cleaned other people for them, often ordering them to get out of his sight lest they dirty the area with their blood. The few exceptions were the Guardians, simply because they were his dearest family.

    He didn’t know why he had chosen to swipe the stain off Axl’s cheek rather than telling him to clean it himself, but impulse had carried his arm faster than his brain could quite tell him not to. Still, his face remained calm and neutral as he swiped the blood away with gentle touches.

    With how miserable he looks, it’s clear that he does. Hair mussed, clothing messy, he’s forgone the usual care paid to his appearance in order to get his work done faster. Perhaps the loud slam of his head against his desk was audible from outside his room, as he hadn’t expected any attention- nor did he want any in his current condition (how shameful, how inappropriate for a king to show himself this way.) Still, Copy X knows well that Axl, of all people, would understand.

    “Eh- Axl!” Voice distinctive in it’s surprised squeak, he had initially slapped at the hands around his waist in panic before realizing that it was his one and only mercenary, embarrassing and sneaky as usual. Truly, after doing so much paperwork, he had been much too exhausted to remain in those stuffy clothes any longer. As much as he adored the look of authority they gave him, he needed something warm and comfortable- luckily, Axl’s clothing did the job quite easily. Much bigger and more casual than his own, he couldn’t say he hadn’t snuck a few shirts and sweaters to his own room to recline in. Upon Axl’s offering to share, he had jumped at the opportunity. It seemed, however, that he had finally been caught right in the act.

    “Stop flattering me...” How shocked he must be to reject compliments- Copy X was never one to do anything but relish in them, but with his hands over furiously blushing cheeks, it seemed that the king was far too flustered for his usual behavior. He can’t help but put his hands on Axl’s shoulders to steady himself, stiffly at first. Soon, his grip softens, and eventually he has both arms slung around the gunner’s neck.

    “I can’t. I c-c-can’t.” No matter what, he can’t pull his eyes up from the ground, arms tightly around himself in a defensive gesture. Though he’d normally be in Axl’s arms by this point, he feels repulsive- repulsed, repelled, stuck in an uneven balance between viewing himself as holy and monstrous. This body was not his- something felt wrong, uncomfortable, his own flesh robbed from him when he had died. His return was something straight from the old tales of angels and gods, but whatever blessing had been granted upon him was equally cursed.