Work Text:
Enjin's hand was cold.
Zanka could only stare at him, unblinking, as if he himself was the one who got killed.
He wished it so.
Gone were his gentle touches, warm and welcoming, like that day he’d been accepted into his team. His family. At the helm was him, Enjin, who now laid in the wet, dirty mud, like he was just an afterthought.
Zanka had no strength to stand up. Why would he? For what reason?
He’d shaken Enjin’s lifeless body, willing him to wake up. To smile at him once more, to tell him he was doing good. But now he was stiff, slipping out of Zanka’s grasp.
Splash. There it laid. His arm, sleeve slowly getting coated in the blood that Zanka could not push back into his body.
Enjin’s eyes were still open. He’d have to close them. The rain was falling onto them.
He wouldn’t like that, would he? He had an umbrella for a reason. He must’ve hated the rain.
Zanka couldn’t move.
He felt rigid, just like the man in front of him that was now devoid of warmth.
His vision blurred, unable to make out the details of Enjin’s emotionless face.
Zanka wondered if it would turn that way in his mind if he continued to live. Enjin’s many kind words and expressions slowly fading into obscurity, like he was just a whisper along the wind.
He didn’t want to think about it. It hurt too much, so instead he forced himself to move, and he grabbed Enjin’s hand once more.
Cold. Just like the rain.