His own wings rustle when the arc goes between them, but instead of pulling his in, he just flexes them, as if to shake off any remaining discharge, and lets them settle naturally. He'd never been too concerned with what they did--it tended to foul shit up worse when he tried to control them, and that went doubly for their current size.

They knew when to stay still when he needed them to be still anyway.

"Yeah, well that's when I go home. I'm not there right now, now am I? And neither are you. And considering your talent for making friends despite yourself, I'm pretty sure there's someone back home who'd miss you too if you were there, whether you think so or not. As for being better for it, why don't you let me decide that for myself? Considering you're one of my better memories, I resent I'll forget them before I'd forget other things."

He pauses, realizing he's saying a lot--far more than he normally would. Far more than he would ever be comfortable saying at any other time. He hated making speeches. Yet, here he was, and after all this time of trying to keep his damn mouth shut. Dammit, Tsinku. Is nothing sacred?

Still...in for a pound...bastard.

"And good. I suck at pedestals. I'd rather be the asshole you know, then the saint that will eventually fuck up."