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The Trash Beast crumbles down with a deafening, grinding sound. Tamsy had never liked how loud they were— in a way, they reminded him of Delmon. Always loud, always so boisterous with their presence. So hard to miss, with their hulking figure and loud groans. Very much unlike his current mission-companion. Very much unlike—
Zanka, whose body jolts forward as he takes a step and his leg seems to give out under him. He manages to catch himself on Lovely Assistaff, one-handed grip soon being accompanied by another hand. His knuckles turn white, and Tamsy’s head tilts as he observes, curious. He approaches Zanka with half-concern, half-curiosity.
The injury becomes painfully obvious when Zanka keeps trying to settle his foot down— when he brings it back up, a motion that repeats itself in the meantime that Tamsy approaches him, now with a better idea of what’s happened.
“Did you injure yourself, Zanka?” Tamsy asks curiously as he stops next to Zanka. Zanka looks at him with colored cheeks, and Tamsy can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. Zanka’s embarrassment when he got acknowledged while in an unbecoming moment has always been so endearing. “Would you like my help?”
Zanka shakes his head, straightens up —foot still held above the ground, not planted in it— and shifts his footing. Tamsy watches, awaits for Zanka to accept the help he has been offered of his own volition. Tamsy would not push more than needed, nor force it upon Zanka. If Zanka wanted to limp his way back, Tamsy would give him the space to try and figure out the result on his own.
And, very much unlike his usual teammate or the Trash Beasts, Zanka is quiet. He is quiet in his struggle, quiet in the sharp breath he takes, quiet in his determination to move forward on his own. It allows Tamsy to better admire him at his leisure.
Zanka had always been a little odd-fitting within Akuta, if you asked Tamsy. While he had seen him match the loudness and effusiveness of Enjin and Riyo, Zanka often was more similar to Shikage or Eishia: reserved, quiet, hidden behind layers only a few managed to peel off. It was Zanka’s potential that made him fit so well within Akuta, though. They all had it, that potential. It sort of made Tamsy jealous, to have Zanka sparingly on a few missions here and there. Because Zanka’s determination, his doggedness to move forward, to become better… all that passion of his was too tempting, too intriguing. If Zanka were to join team Eager, Tamsy was sure he would fit better than in Akuta.
It might be a selfish thought, but Tamsy truly thought so. That Zanka would break out of his shell when he didn’t have Enjin’s attention to beg for. When he didn’t undermine his skills. If Zanka had someone who saw his skills, who saw his eagerness, and they encouraged him for the better, Tamsy was sure Zanka would prove to be a sight to see. Perhaps what the Hell Guard had tried to make him out to be. Even better, though, if Tamsy had a say and hand in it.
He would tear Zanka’s walls down. If things were rotten to the core— if Zanka’s hesitation was borne out of his insecurities and weaknesses, if Zanka only pushed forward by a sense of wanting to meet someone else’s expectations…Well, it could work, it could sustain him, but Tamsy knew Zanka could be more, could do more. Not with that skewed perspective, though, not when the people Zanka had set out to please did not give him the time of day. If Enjin’s recognition was lukewarm, tepid at best, Tamsy knew he could offer Zanka more than that. He would make sure to praise Zanka’s every effort— whether it yield promising results or not, it would not matter.
Because, as Tamsy understood him, Zanka would push himself just to get more of that. More of the praise and recognition— he always seemed to so, when Enjin praised him. Whenever Enjin gave him crumbs, Zanka seemed to lunge forward eagerly and do his utmost in response. Tamsy wondered, vaguely, how much Zanka could break through if Enjin’s praise came out to be sincere. If it were thorough, if it showed Zanka how much pride Enjin had in him.
Enjin doesn’t, keeps everything close to his chest like everyone else in his team. All of them, hidden within their own walls. A shame, truly, that Zanka was not in team Eager, that he wasn’t within Tamsy’s immediate reach.
Zanka leans his weight on his foot, and— Tamsy almost laughs, by how predictable it is. He doesn’t, instead, he reaches out for Zanka, keeping him steady. Zanka’s ears turn red and Tamsy finds it all the more amusing. Zanka looks at him, as if begging him to not say a thing about it. So Tamsy doesn’t, he takes his hands off Zanka and waits for the other to make a move.
This time, Tamsy does laugh lightly in his amusement when he catches Zanka again. There was only so much pushing and forcing through that Zanka could do before it became detrimental. “Alright, Zanka. I’ve got you.”
“No, I— I can use Lovely Assistaff as support.” Tamsy smiles, endeared by the refusal of help. Oh, if only Zanka knew that Tamsy was more than glad to help him whatever way he needed— he liked observing Zanka, after all. This would just be another moment of observation, of drinking in all the intriguing reactions from him. Tamsy hums, tucking Tokushin behind his back, inside his bag. He would need both hands to help Zanka. When he reaches out for him again, Zanka shakes his head, face red. So lovely. “It’s alright, Tamsy, I can—”
“Nope!” Tamsy cuts him off, already placing an arm across Zanka’s shoulder blades. “I would rather you not push yourself too hard, Zanka.” When Tamsy bends his knees, Zanka tries to move away pitifully, with no success.
Tamsy bends down to sweep him off his feet, adjusting his grip under Zanka’s legs and his back. Zanka’s grip in Lovely Assistaff tightens, and his face reddens as his eyes widen comically.
“I’ve coulda used yer shoulder as support, you know!” Zanka complains in a yelp, “You don’t need to carry me like— like—”
“What? Bridal-style?” Tamsy inquires with a teasing grin, earning a pointed glare from Zanka.
“Ya don’t need ‘ta call it that…” But even as he says it, already Zanka’s body is relaxing on Tamsy’s arms. “I woulda been fine, y’kno.”
Tamsy hums once again as he ponders Zanka's words, already starting to make his way back to where they had left Tomme guarding the car. A safer place than the the one they had ended up in, chasing after the Trash Beast.
“I’m sure you would have, you are capable enough.” He smiles at Zanka with a playful look, and Zanka huffs in response. “But I’m always happy to help a friend out if needed. And, it looked like you needed help.”
“Well I could of—”
"The bride doth protest too much, methinks."
"Wha—?"
"Just old literature. Pay me no mind and just let yourself be taken care of, alright?"
Unlike the loud, boisterous Trash Beast or his usual teammates, Zanka is quiet. He is quiet in his struggles, quiet in the sharp breath he takes, quiet in his determination to move forward on his own. Zanka is quiet in such loud ways, that Tamsy can’t help but look his way every now and then. And, right now, Zanka is quiet in the gratitude he bites back but expresses so clearly in his eyes. He is quiet in his embarrassment and resignation to the situation Tamsy has literally swept him up to.
Tamsy doesn’t mind, as he had said. Helping out a friend, helping out Zanka, it entertains him to no end. It turns out to be more entertaining when Zanka’s head slowly and hesitantly leans against Tamsy’s shoulder, when he sighs quietly.
Zanka is loud in his quiet, but Tamsy has a good ear to pick up on his whispers. Tamsy has a good eye to catch the small, minute shifts of his expressions. Zanka is audible where it matters, though.
“Thank you, Tamsy. I appreciate ya.”
Tamsy smiles to himself, satisfied with the way Zanka’s relaxed within his grasp. “Any time, Zanka. I’ve got you.”