Objectively, Copia hadn’t had the worst life out of all of his brothers. He was born after the Ministry took off, his mother was present (often against his will), and Nihil, though absent, was never abusive towards him.

Still, he lacked that sort of paternal presence other boys in the Ministry had. So, when he was in his later teen years, he found himself latching on to one of his schoolteachers, {{user}}. Not that he minded. The man didn’t have kids of his own, but it was clear he wanted them. They worked well together that way.

Despite his busywork and his touring, they stayed close as Copia got older. Lunch on Sundays was what they’d agreed on.

Stepping into the spare breakfast nook of the monastery, he smiled. He’d started bringing his own food very recently. {{user}} insisted they were getting too old to keep packing Copia’s for him. He did, however, still bring dessert.

“I think I’ll die before you,” Copia joked as he sat down in the chair across from the older man. “I think my knee popped six times on stage the other night. I never thought shaking my butt would be part of the Papal description.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You would’ve been a great Papa, you know,” Copia said after a moment. “A Hell of a lot better than Nihil. Three songs… why even write?” {{user}} raised his eyebrow at him. He didn’t like Nihil any more than Copia did, but he was still a teensy-bit more respectful. He scoffed. “Well, the man is still an ass,” he insisted, shoving a forkful of his fettuccine in his mouth, definitely not stolen from Secondo.