Work Text:
Rudo is still struggling to get used to the sheer size of, well, everything. There is space everywhere. With a sudden bout of radioactive rain, which was an adjustment in and of itself, they were forced to train inside. Rudo prepared for a long, filled corridor or hand-to-hand, getting bashed against shit like a ragdoll fighting.
Rudo would be easily convinced that the training auditorium was bigger than a palace back at the Sphere. Ugh. The Sphere. They’ve got him calling that hell-dome The Sphere now. That’s awesome.
Rudo tightens the buckle of his glove. The floor is a gravelly concrete with large pads scattered about the room. Above them, giant banisters covered in bright colors reign above them alongside pipes and low-hanging wires. They must be the length of one of those trash monsters’ height.
As soon as he finishes the buckle, somebody is shouting at him.
“Gonna spend all day cleanin’ the floor with your ass? Actually, scratch that, you’re prolly gonna make it dirtier.”
This prick. Zanka has been extra annoying lately. Does Rudo have any idea why? Hell no. He doesn’t give a shit, honestly. On one hand, if it solves itself, he gets off Rudo’s ass. On the other hand, if the problem gets solved, that means Zanka isn’t getting what’s coming to him.
Rudo scowls, “Ah, you know what, I think this floor’s pretty damn comfy, actually. I think I can beat you from here, anyway.”
Oh yeah, that does the trick. His eyebrow twitches like an engine misfiring. And there’s his stick flying towards his face. Rudo flings himself forward to avoid the long range of the staff, tuck-and-rolling.
Zanka’s right. The floor’s disgusting. He sits up, and his hair is tugged on something vaguely sticky as he jumps to a stand. At least that hasn’t changed–everything is vile all the time. At least wherever Rudo goes.
Zanka grins, “What was that about fighting from the floor?”
God, Rudo hates him. “Thought I should make some space for where I’ll be putting you.”
Zanka stands up taller, and his hand loosens from its grip on his staff. It shrinks down to its passive state, and Rudo’s eyebrows furrow.
“Fuck you putting that away for? I thought we were fighting!”
Zanka just blinks at him, all at once seemingly terribly bored with Rudo. Rudo’s hair stands on end as he scowls back.
“We are. Just not with these. Today, we will be training hand-to-hand.”
He cracks his neck with a loud pop, looking around them lazily. Rudo keeps his focus on Zanka. He could be bullshitting. Maybe this is some sort of test to get him to drop his vital instrument.
Fat fucking chance. The gloves stay on.
“Why?” Rudo asks instead, “If you lose your vital instrument, you’re as good as dead. There’s no way you can fight without one.”
Zanka blinks again. “Is that what you’re going to do if your vital instrument ever breaks?”
Even the suggestion makes Rudo take a step back. He snarls, “Is that a threat?”
Zanka rolls his eyes and, after a second's hesitation, puts his staff down at the edge of a mat before bowing once and stepping over the mat. “Obviously not. Believe it or not, I am trying to help you.”
That’s the worst fucking part, Rudo thinks.
“Whatever. I’m not taking them off. I just won't use their powers.”
Zanka’s face furrows, “Look, I know you don’t like listening to me, but I am your teacher, so–”
“Ah, it’ll be alright.”
A voice calls from behind them.
Zanka’s face goes an interesting shade of pink. Ah, so it’s Enjin.
Zanka’s skin has a special feature of going this too-ripe tomatoey color. Rudo personally thinks it's equal parts hilarious and embarrassing.
Like really, giving that much of a damn about a mentor? Shit’s embarrassing.
Enjin claps him on the back, pushing him over the mat’s side. “It’s just training right now. Yeah?”
Zanka’s lips furl, “O-oh, sure.”
And just like clockwork, he folds. It’s practically free comedy, honestly. The guy just freezes up whenever Enjin addresses him. Being strung up over a bit of recognition is bullshit.
It makes Rudo want to punch him. Well, lucky timing then.
“Mind if I watch?” Enjin continues from behind Rudo.
Zanka blinks and glares daggers at Rudo. Despite the clear effort, his eyes flick behind Rudo every few seconds. Oh yeah, Rudo is sending him on his ass.
“Uh, ‘Course not.”
“Don’t let me stop ya’ then.”
Zanka nods, and just like that, he’s gone from mentor to student. Hey, brilliant idea. Rudo bites his tongue to keep the grin from his face. All he has to do is smash Zanka’s face in, right in front of his idol. That’ll knock his smarmy ass down a few pegs.
Zanka redirects his focus. Unfortunately, he’s rather good at it.
Rudo just has to unsettle him in other ways. “I’m surprised you let go of your staff there, bud. I was half convinced you shove it up yer–”
Oh boy! He’s quick. But Rudo is quicker.
Zanka, in a quick motion, set his footwork in an open stance, made approaching footwork, and sent a kick flying for Rudo’s back. Dick move.
Rudo responds by jumping over it and, because this shit is what he lives for, backflips before his landing. Zanka doesn’t give two shits about how cool that is, though, because he closes the short distance again and sends a roundhouse kick Rudo’s way.
So a kick fighter. Hell if Rudo knows if it’s some special type of fighting. Rudo doesn’t do fancy smanshy. He just knows one rule of fighting: Survive.
The roundhouse is high enough that he can dodge under it with a squat, then use that momentum to swing it forward, barrelling into Zanka. As expected, he goes down like a sheet of paper, but hits the ground like a damn sandbag.
He heaves, and Rudo straddles him. In the next second, he flings down a fist and lands it next to Zanka’s head.
It’s a clear indication. He’s already won. Zanka stares at such a clean-cut dagger in Rudo’s way, it’s almost unsettling. His eyes flash.
“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me something?” Rudo says, but it’s all for show.
Then, his shoulder cracks against the floor.
He’s not even sure how he ended up there, only that his shoulder is fucking busted and the hardass has one foot digging into it, the other leg pressing his hips into the mat. It is not as soft as it looks,
Christ.
Zanka just looks so damn pleased with himself, too. Fucker. He relents, standing off from Rudo.
“You’re a street fighter.”
Even when he says base facts, he sounds arrogant. Rudo rubs at his shoulder and pushes off the floor.
“What about it? Not good enough for you?”
Zanka offers him a hand, but the scowl on his face clarifies the disinterest. In their fight, their positions have been switched. Enjin is sitting on the floor, expression passive. But he’s not paying attention to Rudo–no, he’s looking at Zanka.
It pisses Rudo off. Just a little. So what?
“It’s fine, but it’s important to have some formal training. At least then you can know what to expect from others you're fighting,” Zanka says, retracting his hand after Rudo ignores it. “Can you even name what style I just fought with?”
Rudo wipes at his nose with a sniff, “Does the name matter? Just teach me the stuff.”
Zanka’s eyes almost pop out of his head. His feet are swept from under him, head cracking to the floor. His head blooms in pain. Above him, Zanka continues glaring.
Worth it.
“Zanka.”
Rudo and Zanka both flick their attention to their one-man audience. Enjin, furiatingly, is still focused on Zanka. Which, what the hell? Isn’t this Rudo’s damn training session? Not that he gives a shit.
They can actually go blow each other for all he cares.
“When did you learn taekwondo moves?”
Zanka’s whole body turns back to Rudo. Moron. Now he just needs to remember how he did that kick…
“I’ve– I practice, uhm, the last six months I’ve been practicing. I thought you’d appreciate someone else here who you could spar with from time to time.”
Enjin gives him a wide-eyed look over, then barks out a laugh, “Kid, you’re something else.”
He slaps his knee and pushes to a stand. Zanka sways a little on his feet, hands behind him, going to play at the seam of his shirt.
Huh. He looks damn-near shy with how he shifts his weight loosely.
“I’ll take you up on that sometime,” Enjin says in lieu of a goodbye.
Zanka squeaks, honest to god squeaks, out a goodbye.
He fiddles with the back of his shirt for two more seconds, even as one of his feet turns away from Enjin. His shoulders still stay square with his disappearing form.
It’s Rudo’s perfect chance.
But he… hesitates. And then Zanka has turned, and he isn’t paying any mind to Rudo. Normally, this isn’t odd after Zanka talks to Enjin. Except, usually, he has this glowy, giddy expression where his eyebrows crinkle up his forebrows and make him look old and wrinkly.
The nervous expression, and hell does Rudo know what a nervous expression looks like, makes him look stupidly young. It makes Rudo want to flinch away. Weirdly enough, it feels… well, he’s seen that expression before. Not a fun thing. Then, his attention snaps back to Rudo, and the moments are gone.
“Right, stand up.”
Rudo scowls and mimics his voice in a high-pitched whine. He gets kicked over it.
Worth it.
.
.
.
Rudo hates this week. Every damn day, Zanka’s barking out bullshit like, “That’s not the right form!”, or, “No, Rudo, it’s called Judo.”
Rudo can’t care less about what it’s called, or what is right and not. He hates all of it. And sure, Karate taught him a few ways to strike without punching and totally fucking up his fists, but who cares? In the end, it’s all pointless anyway, and honestly? He’s thrilled this week is over.
Hopefully, they get a new mission soon. The base has been full, and he’s had it up to his shoulders in people’s bullshit. No matter how cool the people are here, they’re still people. Everybody’s got it out for themselves, and they have to make everything everyone else's problem.
Still.
“Rudo, you want the rest of my noodles? They’re too spicy for me.”
Rudo nods vigorously, earning himself a bowl from one of the soldier-ladies.
They’re not all bad.
They’re having another party. This place damn loves their parties as long as there is food, music, and drinking waiting at the end of it all. Rudo is happy just for the food.
He was supposed to be with Enjin, stuck at his ankles, but then something about a girl calling his name and other things Rudo does not want to remember came out of that man’s mouth. So he’s borrowing extra food from the nice soldier-people he can’t completely remember the names of yet. He should. They’re not half bad.
“Have you seen Enjin?” A terse, stick-up-his-ass voice grunts out.
“Nah.”
It’s not a lie, but Zanka seems to decide it is one, because he shoves past Zanka with a frown. “C’mon, I’m being serious, I need him for something.”
Rudo takes a long slurp from his noodles. Oh. For once, Zanka needs something from him. What a wonderful world. A little bit of the noodle splashes onto Mr.Prissy’s neat sleeves. He’s wearing something overly nice for the dirty underground bunker they call a honme. He doesn’t even notice, looking around them.
“I dunno,” Rudo shrugs, “I think my memory went with my sanity after you threw me to the ground for the eightieth time.”
Zanka crosses his arm. Dully, Rudo notes it smears the sauce a little and laughs to himself. That’ll suck to get out. Maybe even need a spot-bleach.
“That’s my job, you act like I asked for this. You know, this would be a whole lot easier if you were just slightly more respectful–”
“Yer only doing this cus’a Enjin,” Rudo accuses through a mouthful of noodles.
Zanka scowls and covers his face with his sleeve, rearing away. “I’m doing it for the cause.”
Rudo licks off the remnants from his utensils before placing them down on the table at his hip. He proceeds to crack his knuckles through his heavy gloves. “Bullshit. Be a dick all you want, but don’t lie to me.”
Zanka rolls his eyes, “Never mind, jeez, maybe Riyo’s seen him.”
And just like that, Rudo’s nuisance has disappeared. Man, he’s a dman genius!
.
..
Rudo fades from the party as soon as the tables are emptied of food. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the party and all that. But his stomach is full, and a nice, moderately comfortable bed is calling his name.
He enjoys the walk to his room. Which in and of itself is novel. His own room. It even locks! And nobody comes in to disturb him, or bother him, or really do anything at all. The worst is when Enjin is bored and looking for someone to bother, or Zanka is pissy and looking for someone to bother. But otherwise, it’s perfection.
The only downside, since he’s the most recent addition, is that it’s in the most suck-ass part of the complex. Up three flights of stairs, and past pretty much every bedroom door.
He gets his steps in, that’s for sure.
And, oh! Just his luck.
There’s Zanka! And oh, get this, he’s at Enjin’s door. Seriously, this just stepped up from embarrassing obsession to downright shameful. Last Rudo heard, if a man is seen dancing with a pretty woman at a party, you do not go and bother him as soon as he disappears from said party.
Not that Zanka would understand something like that. The needy bastard.
Rudo jumps back behind the corner he rounded, hearing Zanka knock.
Unfortunately, this is the only way to get back to his room. And here Zanka is. Awesome. Now he has to wait this sure-to-be cringefest out to its completion.
The knocks echo all the way down the hall. It’s physically grating on Rudo’s ears.
Rudo definitely doesn’t peek around the corner to see Zanka cradling his staff in his hands, standing hunched at Enjin’s door.
He waits. And waits. And waits.
And then knocks again. Rudo actually physically has to rub his eyes out against the pain he gets from witnessing how his hands go tighter around his staff as the time ticks on.
He twists his hands tighter. Rudo grips the corner of the wall, just watching.
He’s not stupid. Even Rudo can recognize a fruitless crush when he sees one. Usually, he can ignore it, but the way Zanka’s face starts to redden at the sound of a door lock jostling is undeniable.
What shit luck Rudo has.
“Whu–huh?” Enjin’s voice is pitched lower than usual, gravelly at the corners. “Zanka…?”
Another peek around the corner reveals him to be shirtless with black sweatpants, hair a ratted mess on his head. And if he looks close enough… yep! That’s teeth marks on his shoulder.
He’s shocked Enjin even answered the door.
Zanka looks equally as shocked. The pink has disappeared under sheets of white. His fingers, somehow, twist tighter around his staff, and he winces.
“You–” His gaze flicks behind Enjin and immediately looks away, “I’m so sorry! I– Never mind! It’s not that important.”
“No– hey, what is–”
“Nope, so sorry!” He bows and is already half-running.
Rudo flings behind the wall and begins making space. He’s going to get caught. There is no universe where it isn’t obvious he was snooping–no, he can make it look like he’s just walking down now!
Yeah!
He makes it just far enough away down the hall and then turns around again, stuffs his hands inside his pocket, and glues his eyes to the floor.
The image of inconspicuous, surely.
The footsteps slow as soon as they round the corner. Fuck fuck fuck, why is he slowing down? Rudo barely forces himself to raise his gaze slowly to see, surprise surprise, Zanka.
Except… Zanka does not notice him. He immediately rounds the corner, slams his back against it, and buries his face into his free hand, fingers slipping into his hairline.
He stands like that for a moment.
In the dull yellow-white, his face still burns a bright red. Every muscle of his arm is straining, and his breath is audible from three doors down. Rudo… freezes.
Then Zanka heaves a breath, curses, and stands back up, shoulders set in a straight line.
Fuck, Rudo flinches, looking back down.
He hears the moment Zanka notices him. Namely, because his ragged breath hushes to silence. One step becomes another and another, and soon enough they’re passing by each other.
Perfect. Nothing happened. And Rudo doesn’t have to deal with this.
So then why, when Zanka passes by him and his footsteps fade, does Rudo linger at the corner? Why does he look back at Enjin’s door, where it’s already shut tight?
No. He won’t look back. That’s pussy shit. He’s going to bed and sleeping.
He is not looking back.
Faintly, only audible due to the huge, cavernous nature of the hallways, does a tiny sob travel all the way through the halls to make it to Rudo’s ears.
Goddamnit.
Fuck this place.
.
.
.
“Fuck off.”
Zanka says it without even looking up at who it is. Fuck! Fuck if Rudo ever gives a shit ever again! Zankia can go cry a whole ass river of tears for all the fucks Rudo gives.
And then, he looks up. Stupid red-rimmed eyes. There’s a little line of snot from his nose connecting to his forearm.
For the first time since Rudo’s seen him, he looks all of his 17 years. Which is old as hell, honestly. But, still a teenager, or whatever.
Rudo grunts.
“Too bad.”
He’s spent a long time ignoring Zanka, and that’s not changing now.
Zanka found himself a lovely storage closet to furrow away into. Why didn’t he choose, oh, who knows, his own damn room? Rudo couldn’t begin to understand the workings of his mind.
Instead, he picks up a bucket, flips it upside down, and sits on it. If he sits down next to Zanka, that’ll feel too… weird. He’s just sitting. To rest his legs. Or whatever.
The bucket is very ceremoniously knocked by Zanka’s ankle as he pushes to a stand. “Stop following me.”
Rudo trips him. He can’t help it. The dude is still a complete dickwad. He barely catches himself with his staff before kicking at the bucket again.
“Stop that.”
Zanka ignores him and makes his way to the door.
“What’d you want Enjin for, anyways?”
Why does Rudo ask? He has no reason. Does a man need a reason to meddle? Distractedly, he rubs out a smudge of his gloves on his pants.
Zanka stands at the door for all of five seconds, glaring, and surely thinking about hitting Rudo upside the head for asking.
And then he tsk’s, pauses, tsk’s again, and kicks a storage unit. It rattles angrily.
“Don’t kick shit just cus’ you're in a shit mood,” Rudo snips on instinct.
He pauses. Sighs, this time, then finds a basketball and promptly collapses onto it, propping up his staff against the wall. The crack in the supply closet door lets light flood in, and it barely streaks over his nose and right eye.
They’re sitting opposite one another. Staggered. Rudo looks at him, but Zanka seems busy staring at nothing.
Well. Rudo can’t blame him. Rejection just fuckin’ sucks. Rudo continues working at the smudge. Damn thing is persistent.
“I wanted his help with my staff.”
“Haah?”
“Oh for the love of–” He sighs, collapsing his head into his knees. He takes a deep breath. “Why did I want Enjin’s help?”
“Ah.”
Quiet, again. A little bit of dust floats in and out of the stream of light, landing squarely on Zanka’s nose. He snivels. His blush has still not gone down at all.
To be fair, what Rudo saw of Enjin is going to haunt him forever as well. In a totally different context, but… Rudo grimaces. He doesn’t get Zanka. Not one bit.
He’s sick of thinking about Enjin, actually.
“Well, uh,” Rudo grunts, “What’s wrong with it?”
Another long stretch of silence, punctuated by Zanka clearing his throat. More dust filters in front of Zanka’s face. The rest of the room is washed in shades of greys.
Zanka drops his arms from their bind around his knees and grabs the staff. “It has splinters again, and I let him borrow my tools to fix it.”
Oh. That’s… reasonable. Honestly, Rudo would break down someone’s door, girl in their bed or not, just to get his tools back to fix his gloves. Actually, scratch that, he’d never let anyone borrow his tools in the first place. He doesn’t care if they’re his goddamn soulmate. But… whatever. Too late now.
Zanka plucks at a particularly egregious one, using the splinter of hall light to pluck the staff clean.
It’s the first thing that gets his face to stop looking all droopy and mopey, turning very quickly to his needle-point focus. He’s careful as he draws the line of his nail through the grain, only pulling what must out of the wood.
It’s obvious he knows how to care for it.
It’s familiar. All of it too familiar.
Rudo stands up abruptly, shattering the silence as he accidentally kicks the bucket behind him and sends it flying. Zanka flinches, catching the bucket with his foot. Before he can fling an insult, Rudo beats him to the punch.
“Just borrow my tools.”
What.
Zanka’s glare flicks up to him.
He stares. Rudo gapes like a stupid, dying fish. The fuck is wrong with him? His fucking tools? No fucking way! They’re his! Zanka was the one stupid enough to lend them out.
Then Zanka scowls deeper, face cut by harsh shadow.
“Really…?”
Rudo storms to the door, “Yeah, but you don’t get to touch 'em! I’ll fix it up for you.”
Honestly, Rudo wouldn’t trust anyone else with his vital instrument. But Rudo also knows himself. And if anyone knows anything about Rudo, he knows how to fix broken shit, at the very least.
Zanka goes back to cradling his staff. Thumbing over a groove in the wood.
“Fine.”
.
.
.
“Ah-Ah-Ah! Hands off!” Rudo swats his hands away.
“It’s my damn instrument–”
“Fuck off, I know what I’m doing, and I’m almost done! Then you can shove this stick up your ass!”
Zanka collapses back into the wall, crossing his arms and huffing. All the while, he glares down, not blinking for a second while Rudo works.
Rudo, on the other hand, finally feels like he can relax. He pulls the lamp down closer into the grain to see the damage.
“So what happened to it, anyway?”
Zanka grunts. Leers, leaning down slightly. Rudo just mock grunts and ignores him, lowering his tweezers and tiny scissors. Almost all of the damage is complete. Then Zanka can borrow as much sandpaper as he wants.
He thumbs along the grain. It’s pristine.
It’s a beautiful instrument, actually. He can see where little improvements have been made. It looks pretty freshly lacquered, which, how the hell Zanka got such high-grade lacquer is beyond him.
“You take good care of this,” he comments.
To a cleaner, that’s a high compliment. From Rudo, well… he’s yet to meet someone who wholly lives up to his standard of care. But Zanka comes close. But that just comes with the territory, he supposes.
“Thanks.”
It’s better than a grunt.
Rudo pulls away, getting distracted by the care of the instrument. It’s nice under his hands. He swears he can hear the thing thrumming. He can feel it living and breathing.
Or maybe that’s just him.
“Here.”
Zanka takes it from him gently before immediately examining every inch of it. Rudo pulls open a drawer of his workdesk, pulls out a gritty and smoother grade of sandpaper, and passes it to Zanka. He takes it, also, surprisingly gently.
“I can’t do anything about the laquer though.”
Zanka shakes his head, “That’s fine. I make it myself.”
Rudo’s mouth audibly smacks open.
“Fuck off.”
Zanka grins. “I owe you one. I’ll teach you.”
“You fuckin’ better, you asshole, the hell?” Rudo shouts, standing up to shove at Zanka’s shoulder.
He laughs. Actually laughs, and it isn’t actually… the most annoying sound. Up there. Top ten. But not worst. His face flushes easily, apparently, as his cheeks swell, looking down at the staff.
And no droopiness either. So, mission accomplished?
It’s weird.
Rudo kinda feels… better. He’s not sure about what. But something feels kinda neat. Zanka begins to sand at his staff, and the neatness disappears in an instant.
“Okay, now get out before you get dust shavings in my carpet.”
Zanka blinks, “Oh. Right.”
He blinks at Rudo. Then, his face sours. Rudo tenses. He knows what’s coming.
“Uh… thank y–”
“Skip it.”
“Cool. Night.”
Rudo watches him storm off, stupid stick cradled in his hands. Fuck, does he hate that guy.
.
.
.
(Bonus Scene: one hour previous)
“That–hey! Ain dat’uhhh, yer the teacher for that newbie, right? Ahh, what’s his face, Mr.genius–” The girl’s face is all shades of red, twisted up in a grin. She nurses a bottle between her thumb and pointer.
Zanka sidesteps her approach. He wants to see Enjin. If he catches him in a good mood, he can pry a promise of a sparring match from him. This week of busting his ass fighting his pest of a student might actually pay off if he’s improved enough to stand toe-to-toe with Enjin.
That is, if he can shake this woman.
“C’mon! Be friendly, don’t hafta be such a hardass–”
Why does everyone insist on calling him a hardass? He dodges her attempt at a side hug.
“Hey! Don’t tell me since ya started teachin’ that spherite bitch–”
“Shut your mouth.”
He’s rounding on her before he can even think. He’s glaring at her, and hell, why’s his breathing heavy? She squints at him. Then scowls.
“You did! You went damn elitist again–fuck, well I guess that isn’t shocking–”
He shoves her out of the way. Should he? Probably not, but he wants her business to stop being his, and honestly, she just pisses him off. He doesn’t have to deal with her–
His instincts react first, drawing his staff and blocking. He doesn't even have enough time to activate it, and the bottle the woman has swung crashes into the wood.
“Whoa! Hey!” Somebody shouts.
It’s seconds before three people are on her, another four hovering over him like he’s some little kid who just got hit. He pays no mind to any of them.
Just above his knuckle, a long shard of glass is jammed in the wood.
He just laquered it!
Zanka shakes off the hands on his shoulder and pushes out of the crowd, dislodging the glass and wrapping it up in a paper towel before dropping it in the trash.
Now he has to fix his fucking staff.
All over Rudo. Fuck does he hate that kid.