 he didnât mean it that way, but it may have boiled down to sarcastic or condescending, unable to move on from⊠him. it was more out of disbelief. eliksni werenât quite known for caring about their fallen crewmatesâ they lost every breathing moment. everything wanted them extinct. the sterile awoken called them insects, often, if not enough. usually they left their fallen people behind; let them rot in the vacuum of space, on the planet, for graves were not enough. too many bodies. even worse, it was not uncommon to see another looting them for their now useless belongings ( if they even had any ). but he also knew mnervis cared about him, if not too much.
 âoh no, no, i didnâtâŠâ he couldnât really take it back now, could he?
 âitâs thoughtful.â sarvoniks offered, but there was still some kind of guilt resonating. to some, it was a sign of weakness to act this way. that is why thereâs such a ruthless reputation⊠but he didnât follow those conventional ideals ( not anymore, in the least ). no one was around to be witness except him, though.
 âi just didnât think youâdâŠâ he swallowed thickly, palette dry. words were hard to come with comfort on his end. most, if not all the time, mnervis had such a stoic & cruel appearance around himâ- so well rounded, the expectation of a killing machine. but times like this, where that facade faltered and he got to see live memories of their old self surface again, it felt oddly natural. natural & nostalgic. words werenât cut for him in this situation.
 in the zen moment, sarvoniks scooted a bit closer. it didnât matter if they protested at that point, but he gently placed his helmet against theirs, so it didnât fall away, and wrapped arms around their chassis. they were much larger than his form. his head rested against the cold chestplate, an airy sigh stuttering.
It seems the stronger you are, the weaker any outward emotion appears. The more vicious your reputation, the more emotionless and cold you've seen. Caring is a weakness, and he's made that all too clear to the many suitors he's had over the years-- not to brag, really. That's just how things were. Though you were seen are more desirable, it wasn't anything but surface deep, really. Attraction was based on power, on just how bloodthirsty you could seem; the higher the stone wall, the better. Sometimes he wonders if the others ever knew he only walled himself in the way he did was because there was no other outlet, no impulse control left, nobody but himself, beyond comrades he was barely acquainted with that typically died the next month, if not week, anyway. It's different. Losing somebody he had known so closely for so long, somebody that could have been quite easily mistaken for his mate, in all honesty, was different. For all intents and purposes, excluding a few details and titles, they may as well have been. Have been. Past tense.
  "I know." Mnervis says curtly to him, hand lingering upon the tattered and worn cloak looped around his neck. Sarvoniks was never mean-- at least not to him, and not genuinely. He wouldn't say something in that way, like that, to him. That's where they differed, really.
Oh, how he'd hate for anybody to see him now, anyone else. To have any of his ruthless and violent reputation chipped away would be salt in the re-opened wound, he thinks, something he values too much. He feels like a whelp, a vandal at best, a dreg. And even then, the emotions he shows is sparing; he wants for it to be like it once was, but it can't. While his friend may be the same, he's all too different in almost every way. In personality, no doubt, even in appearance. So many new scars he'd gained since then-- maybe he would've boasted about the situations lying just underneath the surface of his raised skin, proudly worn them for proof of his survival, perhaps once, he might've even gushed to Sarvoniks about how he got them, but now... He'll put up that wall for Sarvoniks, too.
He doesn't notice the smaller eliksni shift closer to him, too busy staring shamefully at the ground for the emotions that rise in the back of his throat like bitter bile, hating the way every single one of his eyes sting in regards to barely being able to breath through his mouth or even his nose. His body goes rigid when arms wrap around him suddenly, delicately, it feels to him; the breath he'd been holding hitches in his throat then, and he becomes all too hyper-aware of the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Far too many nights he's had nightmares exactly like this, and they would end after he'd say he missed him, and before he would say he loves him, leaving him awake and alone at night to stew in the regret of growing far, far too attached to one friend. Mnervis' fingers relax in place and flex again, arms feeling stiff and frozen before he eventually moves them, gingerly wrapping them around Sarvoniks, gently at first, as if he'd shatter him if he held on too tightly.
   "Sarvoniks..." He murmurs, voice lower, deeper, arms tightening around him suddenly, body hunching down to hold on to him better. To even feel him there, those arms around him, to feel him tangibly is better than any bloodlust he could ever hope to satisfy with an Awoken on the end of his blade. His spine straightens out as he holds on to his dear friend, lifting him up with him without much notice or care, burying his nose against his neck. "Don't leave me alone again."
