The touch is comforting, welcome in ways he can't express though it's likely apparent in his field. His face smooths as he looks up, some of the tautness in his limbs leaving as he stands.

Wing opens his mouth to answer only to catch the half truth, realizing it for what it is: much the same positive words he'd been handing out earlier. He gives a breathy laugh instead and a small shake of his helm. Of anyone, Drift will know better, and if there's anyone he can speak the truth to, it's also his lover and fellow swordmech.

"I should be." It's poised on the edge of knowledge that he expects better of himself, tempered  by the pending realization that there's part of this that he simply cannot prepare for.