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zanka was always easy to read. enjin spots it without having to try; the way zanka’s eyes linger on rudo, his eye twitching and his brows furrowed, mouth set in a hard line; annoyed clicks of his tongue that seem to echo loudly when enjin praises the younger boy; grinding of his teeth when rudo seeks out enjin for guidance or advice or even so much as sits next to him in the cafeteria, someone familiar in a sea of strangers, a stand-in for a father figure that he doesn’t have anymore.
zanka chews at his lip, absentminded. habitual. tries to hide the scab forming on his bottom lip, the blood on his sleeve before enjin can see it. enjin acts like he doesn’t.
it stings, throbbing uncomfortably for the rest of the day.
–
it’s been several weeks since rudo joined the cleaners. zanka’s let his frustrations mellow out in that time, trying to ignore the dull ache at the edges of his skull that starts to creep in if he thinks about it too much, if he lets his gaze linger for too long.
they’re sparring, zanka going through the motions with practiced ease, movements he’s done hundreds, thousands of times before. there’s something about today though, something that gnaws persistently at zanka’s patience, makes him throw more weight into his swings. like there’s malice in his movements, in the way he brings his staff down towards rudo with intention, like he wants it to hurt. rudo steps back, easily dodging the polearm, but zanka is two steps ahead of him, ducks down in one smooth motion and kicks his leg out, hooking underneath rudo’s foot and sweeping it out from underneath him. it’s satisfying, watching rudo’s back hit the ground, hard, and zanka doesn’t waste a minute standing back up to his full height to loom over rudo, the prongs of his staff on either side of the younger boy’s neck.
rudo almost looks scared underneath him, eyes wide and mouth agape. zanka can feel a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, something a little bit mean, if only for a moment.
it's stupid, childish, like he's trying to prove a point. he doesn't move until he feels rudo nudging at his foot with his gloved hand and zanka snaps out of his stupor, stepping carefully over him and lifting his staff, its form shifting back to the usual worn, dark wood, smooth edges and hairline cracks wrapped up beneath fraying bandages. he bends over and extends a hand to help rudo up. zanka doesn’t miss his hesitation, a mere second of indecisiveness.
it makes something twist in his gut, painful.
–
“you need to cut it out,” enjin says when they’re out on a mission, hanging back to walk next to zanka while riyo and rudo rush on ahead with the supporter group hot on their heels. he’s not looking at zanka, just straight forward, arms raised and fingers laced behind the back of his head, but zanka can imagine the expression enjin is making; it wouldn't be hard. a wave of hot shame rolls over him. enjin sighs, knows that zanka is tensing up next to him based on the stuttered sound of his footfalls, like he’s stumbling, thrown off-guard.
“i trust you, zanka, and i need you to trust me. that’s how this works, yeah?”
enjin smiles, something warm, and he pats zanka on the back.
it leaves zanka with a phantom sensation along his spine that keeps him up later that night, thoughts working overtime trying to decipher every detail of enjin’s mannerisms, each hidden meaning in nearly every imperceptible contortion of his facial expressions or body language.
his chest hurts, heart squeezing and stuttering.
–
zanka is a bad liar. he’s bad at hiding things, bad at masking his emotions, his heart on one sleeve and his soul bared on the other, despite thinking otherwise.
enjin knows zanka’s anxieties and the way his mind spirals over the tiniest sliver of doubt. sees his lip chewed raw at least once a week, can feel the rough drag of broken skin and the taste of dried blood when they kiss. it’s a habit that enjin’s tried countless times to fix but one that zanka clings to, like some twisted form of self-sabotage, punishing and painful.
he’s pliant in enjin’s hands, soft and malleable. goes weak-kneed from deep kisses and the heat of enjin’s palm searing against his lower back, like a brand through thick fabric. it’s cute how he gets breathless, pink cheeks and glassy eyes and enjin wants to hide this side of zanka away from the rest of the world. soft and vulnerable within the chasm of him.
enjin knows that this is a temporary reprieve from a much deeper rooted problem, something that’s wound itself so tightly around zanka that it’s suffocating. that the only way for zanka to loosen his grip on the noose of expectation that he’s strung up, give himself a sense of metaphorical slack, is the comfort of another. he feels the way zanka grips onto the front of his coat, knuckles white like he’s afraid enjin will leave, will turn his back, will abandon him the moment he’s no longer of any use to him. he’s woken up to zanka curled tightly against his side, the abrupt, choked noises of someone who’s trying to keep it together, to not fall apart under an impossible weight that enjin can never truly understand. remembers fingers curled into the sleeve of his kimono, furrowed brows and wet eyes set with determination, an awkward smile and flushed cheeks in the biting cold that feels like ages ago.
but he can at least be there for zanka, be something grounded and unmoving. maybe even hopeful.