Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rudo found it a bit odd the Ground celebrated an event for a god that didn't exist — a god they weren't even aware of.

They had no tangible or true concept of god, which confused him all the more. Why have a celebration for something that seemed superficial, frivolous even. Maybe the idea of giving and receiving gifts was all the meaning it needed. Not that it needed a higher being to govern them, or a scripture to tell them what's this and that.

Rudo had brought this topic up, out of pure curiosity to Zanka, who mentioned something about The Headquarters planning and being ‘too busy’.

Rudo's jaw hung open, “Wait, huh? Repeat that?”

“I said, the headquarters would be quite busy. Y'know, plannin’ for Christmas and all that.” Zanka raised a brow at the younger boy.

They were caught in the middle of training. Although it seemed more like they were chatting jauntily and exchanging blows that seemed more like playing patty-cake than fighting. Too calm, laid back — devil-may-care.

Rudo hummed. “You guys celebrate… Christmas…too?” His fighting stance faltered, now replaced with a calmer yet befuddled expression.

The question made Zanka pause, clutching his Lovely Assistaff, scrutinizingly. He stared at Rudo a brief moment before squinting his eyes.

“... Do ya sphereites not?”

“Don’t call me that. But yea, we do – it's just, I dunno. Weird? It's not like you guys have a religion or anything to worship. Seems you all have your own thing going on. Back at the sphere they'd all have some sort of preparations, rituals, prayers, it was annoying.” The shorter spoke, gloved hands making gestures as his expression shifted from confused to mildly interested.

Zanka's face contorted, ever so slightly — not meanly, but rather one of equal confusion. ‘Annoyin’, huh?’.

“As far as I'm concerned, we don't need some ancient or primeval being to tell us when we can give and receive gifts. We usually go by the date and count the days.”

Oh. Rudo's face relaxed. He wonders why he was partially relieved by the fact they had no religion set to rule them all, less suffocating and obnoxious social constructs, and a different concept of the ‘holidays’ than he expected.

“Speakin’ of Christmas and gift-givin, they're plannin’ to hold a little Christmas party… yearly they do this.” Zanka said, standing straight now with his hand on his chin as if trying to recall something.

“One for the twenty-fourth inside the mess hall, we’ll be havin’ a big dinner and some gift exchange... Then one outside the headquarters to the nearby restaurant, on the twenty-fifth to a drinkin’ party, so the “adults can let loose and the kids can play”. Yikes.”

“...Gift exchange?” Rudo asked, voice much softer than usual.

“Hm, what day is it today? Ah, third of December, right? They'll call us to the mess hall by the fifth. They're gonna put all our names on paper, throw ‘em in a box, and see which ones we draw. Who ever ‘ya get, yer gettin’ a present for. And whoever got ‘ya does the same. But nobody can know ‘til Christmas Eve.”

Rudo simply nodded, now overthinking of how he could possibly spend his first Christmas with them, and brainstorming things he could gift.

That evening after training with Zanka had him ruminating, cudgeling his own brain out.

He had celebrated Christmas before — it was a humble one with Regto by his side, they ate a better than usual dinner together at the table. But what he enjoyed most was the “gift opening” afterwards.

He could still recall the awe on his face after being presented with heaps of junk. His dear father Regto had fished out heaps and oodles of pretty decent looking garbage, as Rudo's gift. Regto knew that regardless of what state the trash was in, Rudo would love it either way. Much to both of their pleasant surprise, Rudo almost squealed at the plentiful amount of trash given to him. He was so happy, words he couldn't even express. Regto smiled at his boy, glad he was the cause of such domestic felicity. How he wished he could feed Rudo sweets and all the food he'd like, and see his reaction to the sugary items. How he wished he could have a table that overflowed with warm, fragrant dishes — golden, glistening, and rich with flavor, each bite promising comfort and indulgence. Rudo deserved that much, and if he could give it to him, he would.

It's too bad Regto had died before getting to see Rudo try sweets for the first time. He would have loved to see it.

…

Zanka was not particularly fond of Christmas. Not until recently, at least.

His family had never celebrated it, not formally, not even in their own home. Never saw those Christmas lights or that so-called “magical” Christmas tree.

In fact, back then, every time someone would say the word “Christmas”, he would physically recoil at the world like it was a trigger to his being.

But he wasn't always like this — there was a time, back when he was younger and immature, he'd dream of a perfect Christmas with his family. There would be countless gifts under the tree, his favourite food set on the dining table, and beautiful decorations adorning every corner of their house.

But he never experienced that dream, never indulging in anything quite like it. His family would call it “daft, a hassle, unnecessary, cretinous”. Zanka couldn't find it in himself to disagree with them. But not because he agreed — but rather because it's that he never had a choice. That's how his family was. Nothing more, nothing less. Zanka’s family was rigid and exacting, the kind that valued results over reassurance and discipline over warmth. They raised their children like tools to be sharpened — efficient, controlled, and never once asked whether the blade wanted to be held.

Although, there was a time where he had felt it once, something sentimental. He recalled being six or seven, holding his sibling's hands and still being carried around. He would sometimes get harshly scolded for wanting to be carried too much, though. He had to grow up fast, given the standards of a Nijiku family.

But during that Christmas, his entire family gathered round the table and ate food in contentment.

Nobody raised their voice that day, nobody had gotten upset, nobody told him to do anything. He remembered training that day to be much shorter, too.

He even remembered his sister slipping him an extra bowl of soup broth during dinner, the one she knew he loved so much. And he remembered his brother being ‘extra-kind’ to him that day. Which basically meant carrying him around, or walking with him to different parts of their house, even if it were just to stare at the snow, or for Zanka to giggle at the birds. That was perfect enough of a Christmas for him.

But it never lasted — never was a genuine Christmas. They'd soon come to forget that time ever happened. He'd come to accept that soon enough.

Grew older and realized how things actually are. He convinced himself it didn't hurt as much — that it was fine. It was true, the holidays really were such a meaningless event to fuss over. But part of him longs for that normalcy, for a simple celebration. He didn't even need the excessive gifts or the exaggerated decorations. He just yearns for a sort of kinship. What it could've been to bond with his family.

He believed he would never be able to experience a real Christmas until he joined the cleaners.

Hell — they had more spirit and dedication than his family ever had for the holidays for years. Decors, glitters, shimmers, jingles, bells, wrappers, ribbons, reds and greens. The first Christmas gift he received was a beautifully sewn sweater made by August, and a bunch of trinkets like mugs and charms by the rest of the group. That night felt so overwhelming that he had to excuse himself to scramble to his room to cry alone. Not because he was upset, no, not at all — far from that. He had never felt so glad to experience something like this, ever. He'd later be greeted by both Enjin and Riyo knocking on his door, wherein he'd be too flustered to let them see him weeping like this.

The second time felt just the same. That feeling of appreciation, camaraderie, kinship, warmth. It flooded his senses like a crashing wave, splattering all over his emotions, spreading everywhere — even to places it shouldn't have, places he didn't know even existed. Part of him thought it was immature, silly, and very unimportant. The side that his family raised. But deep down he knew, he wished this would last longer.

He often stops to think about what Riyo would feel. He knows damn well she's had it just as worse, if not more. Riyo could play off things lightly, but deep down both of them knew they appreciated this more than anything.

Riyo had her entire childhood stripped away from her. She didn't get a chance to enjoy anything a little girl should. Not much knew what her past really was, but Zanka could tell it was not easy, never was. Especially with the way she'd never talk about it, or bring it up. That's something they both have in common — they were raised harshly, with a heavy hand and a strict voice. For Zanka, the pressure of expectations and suffocating standards. Riyo? He could only guess it was for her own survival, taught from such a young age to wield a gun rather than how to cook. To grip a knife before a pen, to kill before to love.

And Zanka knew that feeling all too well. Spending time with the cleaners made him realize how much of his childhood he actually missed out on. His family loved and provided, as any family should — but in terms of affection and actual bonding, he struggled to find a time that existed. His family was not functional to say the least. Or maybe he wasn't functional, he couldn't fit their standards. He could only imagine the same for Riyo. Ever since Enjin recruited them both into the Cleaners — into Team Akuta, he had seen her more of a sister than anything. In fact, it'd be fair to say that they'd seen themselves more like siblings, more like family, than anything else could have ever given to them. He was eternally grateful for that. For Enjin, for Riyo, for the Cleaners, everyone that had made them feel warm and wanted.

Now that Rudo's arrived, this would be his third Christmas here. A third time he'd cry in his room silently, out of emotions he ran out of words for. A third time he'd cherish the moments spent with these people he called his second family. A third time he could feel the love in the air, and express it as well.

…

The drawing of names for the gift exchange went well — that’s what Rudo would think, but he’s not as perceptive as other people. So maybe he’s not that sure.

He could overhear Guita let out a delighted squeal, eyes lighting up as she realized she had drawn the name of someone she liked for Secret Santa or so she called it, her excitement impossible to contain. Dear was grumbling like always, Bro smiling and patting him on the back. Riyo seemed to hum in content to whoever she had gotten. Eishia seemed hopeful with eyes glimmering at who she’d gotten, August was, well, August as always. Enthusiastic, expressive, and obnoxiously loud. Tamsy simply grinned at whomever he had gotten, and Delmon loud as always — talking about the “Christmas” spirit or something. Follo looked panicked, expressing his worries to Gris, who looked equally lost. When Amo opened hers, she looked cheery, eager even, that is until she ran to hide behind both Fu and Zanka because Enjin had tried to open conversation with them. He could see Semiu sighing in the corner, and Arkha who didn’t participate in the Secret Santa but chose to watch them anyway.

Rudo stared at the unopened piece of paper in his palm, before letting curiosity take over and carefully unfolding it like it was something so delicate

Enjin.

He had gotten Enjin! Rudo’s thoughts went haywire — spiraling and scattering all over the place. He couldn’t even start, what should he give to Enjin? What does that guy even like? Rudo was instantly stressed. Enjin is unreadable, chaotic, and impossible to shop for in any normal sense. Rudo would spiral between wanting to impress him and not wanting to get scolded or teased, ultimately overthinking everything. He’d probably choose something sincere but rough around the edges — handmade, repaired, or repurposed — because that’s how Rudo understands value. His thoughts continued to dwindle until he was interrupted by Zanka, who tapped his soldier.

“Who’d ‘ya get?” Zanka leaned over, Rudo flinched, his small piece of paper, written ‘Enjin’, almost flew out of his hands.

“Agh! Warn a guy, will you?! Also, aren’t we, I don’t know — not supposed to tell each other who we got?” Rudo waved his hands around, trying to make sense of the situation, the little paper folded in between his gloved fingers.

The taller, ash blonde hummed in response. “Hm, I guess. Thought I’d ask either way.”

Rudo looked up to Zanka, “Well, you first, who’d you get?”

Zanka’s expression shifted to something more genuine. ‘“Don’t tell anyone, ya hear me?... I got Follo.”

“Enjin. I got Enjin.” Rudo deadpanned.

They both stared at each other, eye-to-eye.

“Oh, so we’re fucked, basically?” Zanka let out a helpless little laugh.

Rudo averted his gaze to the ceiling above him, “If you put it that way…”

Zanka then lowered his voice, whispering something to Rudo — careful not to let the ears around them hear their conversation. “Say, how about ya help me look for a gift for Follo, and I’ll help ya think of one for Enjin?”

Rudo’s neck snapped to look at Zanka, which unsettled the taller guy. “Geez, chill out will ya? Yer actin’ like I offered to kill a puppy in your honor.”

The younger boy rubbed his temples, “Yeah no, sorry. I’d like that. I’m down to help.”

Zanka sighed, then replied “Good, ‘cause I don’t even know where to start.”

…

Now, he didn’t expect that it’d come to this.

They were both in Zanka’s room, papers, pens and notebooks scattered on the ground. That is because The taller ashy blonde refused to step into Rudo’s trash-filled room. Rudo scoffed and mocked Zanka for being such a clean freak. Nobody would suspect a thing if they had spent time together to plan this out, after all, Zanka was Rudo’s mentor. Now, in Zanka’s room – it seemed The mess had made its way over there. The taller boy was pinning a bunch of sticky notes and photos on the wall, connecting them with strings and arrows like they were investigating a crime scene. Rudo laid on his stomach on the floor, scribbling, listing down different things.

“So far, we’ve gotten nowhere.” Zanka facepalmed, dejected.

Rudo scratched his head with both his gloved hands, ruffling the already messy strands.

“Ugh, how do you even find gifts for these sort of people? We already cancelled out what we thought they wouldn’t really like!”

“Ya could just get him a mug or a sweater, Rudo. I believe Enjin would appreciate it either way, since it’s yer first time participatin’ in Secret Santa.” Zanka half-heartedly tried to console the younger boy.

Frustratedly, Rudo playfully argued back, “Hell no! I thought you were supposed to help me with this? There’s no value in buying brand new, meaningless stuff. Have you seen August’s designs? I bet he’d put real effort and dedication into his gift. I want to be just like that. A real gift with real value is something you put thought into, I’d do the same for you or any of the cleaners, too.”

Zanka was slightly taken aback by Rudo’s sincerity. But it was a pleasant surprise, rather than being annoyed by it.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help ya seriously. Besides, I don’t really wanna half-ass Follo’s gift either.”

Rudo offered a thankful glance in return, didn’t attempt a smile — he knew better than to creep Zanka out again. Rudo didn’t smile — but his eyes narrowed in a way that suggested something was clicking into place.

“Okay,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “Then let’s start with the basics. What does Follo even like?”

Zanka froze. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just a half-second too long, like a gear inside him had skipped.

“…He’s practical,” Zanka said at last, arms crossed. “Doesn’t like flashy stuff too much, I think. Isn’t the type to be fussy, but we have a similar notion of gettin’ annoyed when things aren’t efficient.”

Rudo scribbled something down. Practical. Anti-flashy. Secretly grumpy?

“And?” Rudo prompted.

“And… uh,” Zanka glanced at the wall of sticky notes like it might save him. “He’s got good focus. Pays attention. Notices small things.”

Rudo hummed. “That’s not really a thing he likes, that’s just… him.” Rudo scribbles the word, thoughtful.

Zanka clicked his tongue. “I’m gettin’ there.”

Rudo waited. Zanka sighed. “He drinks his coffee black. No sugar. Says it messes with his concentration. But he’s said once that he actually enjoys it much better with milk and sugar.”

Rudo paused mid-scribble, still staring at his paper. “…You know how he takes his coffee?”

Zanka shrugged, too fast. “We work together. Even Gris knows.”

“How often?”

“…A few missions.”

Rudo’s pen hovered. “Define a few.”

Zanka opened his mouth — then stopped. His brows knit together, like he was mentally rewinding something. “Well. The first one was that sweep near the lower sector,” he started, almost absentmindedly. “He was new to the rotation, hadn’t adjusted to the terrain yet. Kept overcompensatin’ on his footing. I told him to loosen his stance — he didn’t listen.”

Rudo tilted his head. This was… detailed.

“So what happened?” he asked.

Zanka snorted. “He slipped. Nearly cracked his skull open. I caught him by the collar.” There was a subtle affection lacing Zanka’s voice.

Rudo stared at Zanka, questioning. “…You caught him.”

“Yeah. Told him not to be an idiot.”

Rudo raised a brow. “Of course.”

Zanka continued, seemingly unaware. “After that, he actually listened. Adjusted fast. Didn’t complain. Just nodded and did better. Most people get pissy when you call ‘em out... And he’s set on his goal. He puts in hard work in almost everything he does, I respect that.”

Rudo’s pen resumed scribbling, but now it was writing ‘Zanka is suspiciously invested in Follo’ in big, loopy letters.

“...And after that?” Rudo asked.

“Well,” Zanka said, scratching the back of his neck, fiddling with the strands of hair at the back of his head, “...we kept gettin’ paired up. He’s real good backup, very reliable. Knows when to step in and when to shut up. That’s rare, somethin’ you ain’t see often in people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he’s got this look, this vibe, it’s in his eyes y’know?” Zanka added, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “When he’s thinkin’. Like he’s already three steps ahead but still second-guessin’ himself. It’s admirable to see someone who works hard to achieve their goals, I can relate to that sorta level, ya know?”

Rudo stopped writing entirely. Squinted his eyes at the taller, ashy blonde like he finally solved a puzzle that took him weeks.

“…Zanka.”

“What.”

“You’re smiling.”

Zanka’s expression dropped so quickly. Like he had seen a ghost — worst nightmare of his life, then immediately scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Rudo said, sitting up now. “You’re doing that stupid little thing where one corner of your mouth lifts, your teeth show a little, and you look like you’re about to insult someone affectionately. You only smile like that when you’re in a good mood!” Rudo exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger.

Zanka’s face heated, finding himself growing infuriated. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rudo.”

Rudo gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. “Oh my god.”

“What now?”

“You like him.”

Zanka stiffened. “I—what? No! No, no I don’t. Don’t be stupid.”

Rudo shot to his feet, pointing accusingly. “You absolutely do. You just gave me a whole oral history of your relationship like I asked you about a favorite book. You said he was admirable!”

“I was answerin’ yer question! I admire Enjin too, ya know!”

“You told me how he drinks his coffee!”

“That’s important information!?”

“For a gift, or for a date?”

Zanka sputtered, stuttering before raising his voice. “Oh my — god, just shut up! Shut yer ass before someone hears us, fuck.” The blonde was beet red from blushing by now, steaming at Rudo’s accusation. “It's nothin’ serious!, believe me! Don't ya dare say shit about this to the rest.”

Rudo laughed, loud and unrestrained, nearly falling backward onto the pile of notebooks. “This is incredible. I thought you were just being weirdly intense, but no — you’re fond! You’re so fond of him.” The younger, white-haired boy said this so evilly, a shit-eating, creepy smile plastered on his face. In truth it was just playful banter. The fact he couldn’t smile or laugh properly was unsettling Zanka even more, but he knew better.

Zanka covered his face with one hand, trying to hide whatever expression he may have. “I am not. Yer damn lucky I can’t beat ya to a pulp right now! Yer fuckin’ face is so annoyin’!”

“You called him rare,” Rudo pressed. “You don’t call people rare.”

Zanka groaned. “I call weapons rare. I call valuable and worthy items rare —”

“Exactly! Don't you see where I'm getting at?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Zanka muttered, “He’s… dependable, okay? I’ve my reasons, to be… in your words, ain’t mine — ‘fond’ of the guy.” Rudo softened, just a little.

“Yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

Rudo made a gentle expression then — not teasing, not smug. Just warm.

“Well,” he said, flopping back down onto the floor. “That makes this easier.”

Zanka peeked at him through his fingers. “How…?”

“Because now,” Rudo said, grinning, “we’re not just buying Follo a gift.”

He sat up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We’re buying Follo a Zanka-approved gift. And dare I say your standards are pretty damn high! So we won't have to worry about the gift being low-quality or half-assed.”

Zanka sighed deeply. “…I regret offering to help ya.” Rudo acted like he didn’t hear anything, and continued writing down a bunch of suggestions.

A few hours pass of Rudo’s brainstorming, and Zanka’s obsessive organization of ideas, and their incessant rambling and arguing. They were now both laying on the floor, visibly tired. The older ashy blonde cleared his throat, clearly attempting to regain some dignity after having his entire internal state psychoanalyzed by a fifteen-year-old on the floor.

“…Alright,” he said, arms crossing again. “Enough about me.”

Rudo blinked. “Huh?”

Zanka tilted his head slightly. “What about ya? You’re takin’ this way too seriously for someone who claims Christmas is weird. Why’s Enjin got you spiralin’ like this?”

Rudo stiffened. It was subtle — his shoulders drew in, his fingers curling slightly against the paper beneath him. The evil little expression he’d been wearing faded, replaced by something quieter.

“I just…” he started, then stopped. He stared at the ceiling, jaw working like he was chewing on the words. “I don’t like giving people stuff that doesn’t mean anything. Brand new stuff is fine, but it’s way different when you know someone was thinking of you while preparing your gift. Like, I’d definitely rather have a beat up, repurposed bag than a brand new shirt.”

Zanka didn’t interrupt. He waited, intending to listen with full attention. It was rare for Rudo to ramble and open up like this.

The younger boy saw this, and took it as a sign to continue talking. Rudo swallowed. “Back when I was younger… Christmas was kinda different for me. It wasn’t like this, here at the Cleaners. Like, no big parties. No decorations. No other people. Not a lot of yummy food. Just me and my foster father, Regto.”

Zanka’s posture softened without him realizing it. He seemed to empathize with Rudo on this topic. Christmas wasn’t the same for everybody. Wasn’t always happy, or joyous, or fun, or fulfilling. Realized that while the holidays that were wonderful and magical for some, were depressing and painful for others. And the taller blonde realized that he wasn’t alone in “not having much” during Christmas, despite their financial states being entirely different. That even if he was brought up wealthy and privileged, he never had the joys experiencing a real Christmas with this family. He had everything and nothing at the same time. Nor did Rudo in a sense, where he only had one person to spend it with — and no one, nothing else, no means to roister or enjoy.

“He was my foster dad, but he was better than whatever the hell my real parents were, all they did was abandon me and leave me with these scars,” Rudo continued, raising his hands to gesture to his gloves, voice low.

Zanka made a puzzled expression. “Scars?”

Rudo sighed, almost angrily — but that anger wasn’t directed at Zanka, the older seemed to be aware of that. He took one of his gloves off, and showed Zanka his bandaged scars, painted with red ooze, black and brown scabs, and pink flesh peeling all the way up to his elbows. It looked hideous, grotesque — the blonde initially thought. But then he came to his senses, what sort of abuse Rudo had to tolerate as a little kid, a baby — for those marks to be that horrid. Zanka unintentionally held in his breath, more concerned for Rudo as well as disgusted by what his parents did. How painful it would be to function like that everyday? To think Rudo threw such brutal punches with those hands, to think he trains and fights with those scabs opening and closing daily.

Rudo calmly tugged the gloves back on. “Never knew my real parents, I think you guys knew that. Didn’t have much. Barely had enough to feed us properly most days. But every year, he’d try.”

Rudo let out a small, breathy laugh, no smile in it this time. “He knew I liked trash. Like — actual trash, it was the only thing I showed actual interest in, according to him. Stuff people threw away. So he’d go out of his way to collect it. Clean pieces, interesting parts, shiny trinkets, torn plushies, things I could take apart or fix. And he’d give them to me like they were treasure. And they were, to me at least… I absolutely hate people who waste their shit, who throw away perfectly good things after a tear or a crack.”

Zanka’s brows knit together. The older cleaner now comprehends why Rudo was so deeply, emotionally attached to rubbish — of all things.

“I was so happy,” Rudo said. “I didn’t even care that it was junk. To me, it meant he thought about me. About what I’d like.” There was a pause.

“He’s gone now, which is why I'm here,” Rudo added quietly.

Zanka exhaled through his nose and shut his eyes “…Sorry.”

Rudo shrugged, but there was no real nonchalance in it. “It’s fine. I just —” He hesitated, fingers picking at the edge of a notebook. “I think that’s why this matters to me. Giving someone something that fits them. Something they wouldn’t get for themselves.”

He glanced sideways at Zanka. “My dad made me feel… seen. Even when we had nothing. The same way Enjin does for us, even if it’s half-assed or unserious.”

Zanka looked away, jaw tightening, remembering his own, stoic father. He feels guilty, but he doesn’t know where exactly it’s rooted. “Sounds like he did right by ya.”

“…Yeah,” Rudo said, a small frown tugging at his lips. “He really did.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the earlier chaos of sticky notes and strings feeling oddly reverent now. Then Zanka spoke, rough but sincere. “...Alright. Then we do this properly.”

Rudo blinked. Once, twice, then stared at Zanka. “Huh?”

“We’re not buyin’ Enjin somethin’ flashy or stupid,” Zanka continued. “We’re givin’ him somethin’ that means somethin’. Same goes for Follo.”

Rudo’s ears reddened. “…You’re weirdly serious about this now.”

Zanka scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.” Rudo beamed anyway.

“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s do it right.”

Zanka nodded once, decisive. “Good. Now — tell me everything you know about Enjin.”

Rudo groaned. “Oh no.”

Zanka smirked. “What? You started this.”

“Enjin doesn’t even know what he likes! Other than curvy ladies and good food I guess??”

“Then we figure it out,” Zanka replied flatly. “One thing at a time.”

And they’d end up spending the entire night discussing, eliminating choices, coming up with new ones, and racking their brains out for gift-giving.

…

Follo knew the moment he unfolded the slip of paper that his soul had left his body.

Not metaphorically, no way. Genuinely. It exited somewhere through his ears and his eyes, then evaporated into the mess hall ceiling, went up to the heavens, crossed the border, and then dissipated fully.

— Zanka Nijiku.

He stared at the name like it might rearrange itself if he waited long enough. Maybe it was a prank. He flipped the paper, rotated it by ninety degrees, then another one-eighty degrees, then a three-sixty. Nothing changed. Maybe the ink would smudge. Maybe — somehow — this was someone else’s handwriting, and they added it in on accident. And definitely not the cruel, deliberate scrawl of fate.

It did not change. Didn’t even smudge.

Follo folded the paper. Unfolded it. Folded it again, sharper this time, as if crisp edges could make the reality more manageable. His heart was racing so loudly he was convinced Gris — standing beside him — could hear it.

This was bad. No — this was catastrophic.

He had already been panicking at the idea of giving anyone a gift, at all. Now he had drawn the one person he’d been very carefully, very quietly, and very painfully had a happy crush on for… gods, years now.

Twice as much panic bloomed. Then tripled. Quadrupled? He lost count the moment he reread the name ‘Zanka Nijiku’ on the little piece of paper.

He pressed the folded paper to his chest like it might keep him upright.

Zanka.

The name alone made his stomach flip. Follo had admired Zanka from the very beginning — from the day saw Zanka take down a trash beast ten times his size, he thought he was magnificent, enchanting even. From the moment he’d shown up at the Cleaners, desperate, unsure, practically begging to be useful. He remembered it vividly: Zanka standing there with his arms crossed, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. Younger than him. Smaller than expected. Infuriatingly composed.

Follo had thought, That’s it. That’s what competence looks like.

Zanka had been everything Follo wasn’t — or so he’d believed. Confident. Direct. Strong in a way that didn’t beg to be seen. Hard-working without seeking praise. He took hits without complaint, and took criticism without flinching. And Follo? Follo second-guessed every step he took. Just took whatever was given to him. Held it all in like he might burst. Has Zanka ever felt the same way about certain things?

They worked together often enough. Spoke politely. Exchanged notes about missions, routes, efficiency. Zanka never dismissed him. Never mocked him. Which somehow made the admiration way, way worse than it actually was. At least he’d have a reason to be indifferent to Zanka if he was meaner, more arrogant, or self-centered. But that man, he cared. Cared so deeply that everyone around him knew. He didn't care gently, he cared callously — in a way you didn’t need to ask. He was self-sufficient, but also self-sacrificial, in more ways than another. In Follo’s eyes, Zanka was persevering and infatigable. Something he'd aspire to be. You could knock him over, stomp on him, stab him, almost kill him, and leave him shaking, and he’d still come back to beat your ass to a pulp. But at the same time, he’d also tend to the people he loves and cares about in the oddest, most subtle ways. That kindness extended to everyone in The Cleaners.

Because kindness, when you’re already looking up at someone, feels devastatingly intimate. By the time the room emptied, Follo was still standing there, staring at nothing.

“…You okay?” Gris asked calmly.

Follo startled so hard he nearly dropped the paper and knocked his hat off. “I — yes— no— maybe—” He swallowed. “Gris.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m going to die.” He rubbed the sides of his head, ruffling up his hair, tracing his scars.

Gris blinked once. “That seems unlikely.”

They ended up sitting on the steps outside, the air cool and quiet. Follo had his knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on them, staring into the distance like he was contemplating exile.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

Gris didn’t press. He waited patiently.

“I want to do this right,” Follo continued softly. “The gift-exchange I mean. Not just… buy something. I want it to matter. But what if it’s too much? Or not enough? Or weird?”

Gris hummed. “You’re spiraling.” Follo sighed, “I know.”

“Now if I may ask. Why does this one matter more?” he asked gently, like a father who knew his son got into trouble that he needed help with.

Follo hesitated. His ears burned. “…I guess I just don’t want to disappoint them. I admire them a lot — and look up to them, I consider them in such high regards. And what kind of face would I make if I got something they couldn’t appreciate?”

Gris looked at him sideways, something knowing in his gaze. “You really have changed. You’re a giver now.”

Follo frowned. “What?”

“You weren’t always like this, you changed — and that's a good thing.” Gris said evenly. “Ever since the conflict with Rudo, you’ve been… different. You measure yourself by what you give. By whether it helps. You’re considerate.”

That hit uncomfortably close.

“…Is that bad?”

“No,” Gris said. “But it does mean you’re putting your worth into other people’s reactions.” Follo went quiet.

Gris added, gentler, “Whatever you give — if it comes from thought, it will matter. Especially to someone who notices effort.”

Follo nodded slowly. “…Thanks.”

Gris stood. “You’ll figure it out.”

As Gris walked away, Follo buried his face in his sleeves. Especially to someone who notices effort. That didn’t help. That made it worse.

…

Follo paced the quiet corridor outside the mess hall, fingers tapping nervously against the slip of paper in his pocket. Zanka. He’d been staring at the name for hours now, half-expecting it to morph into something else — maybe a prank, maybe a mistake — but no. Fate was merciless.

“Riyo!” he called, voice cracking slightly. “Hey, um… can I— uh, talk to you for a sec?”

Riyo looked up from the lockers with an amused tilt of her head. “Oh? Someone in trouble already, huh?” She smirked, knowing full well Follo’s panic.

Follo shifted from foot to foot. “Hypothetically… if someone were… extremely disciplined. And practical, hardworking. And — you know, meticulous. And someone you admired a lot…” His words trailed off like the world might end if he continued.

Riyo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hypothetically, huh?” she echoed, stepping closer. “Oh… this is good already.”

Follo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I— uh— I’m supposed to get them a gift. For the Secret Santa exchange-gift thingy. And I have no idea what they like! I don’t know what to do! I can’t make it weird, but I want it to… mean something!”

Riyo leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Let me guess… it’s Zanka, isn’t it?”

Follo froze, a deer in headlights. “…How—?”

“You’re sweating bullets, your notes are scribbled all over the place, and don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve caught you staring at him. Also you came to ask me of all people. Could have asked anybody else, but went to me — who’s on the same team as Zanka, close to him too.” Riyo said, clearly enjoying herself. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.” She held up a finger like a tiny judge of secrets. “I won’t tell a soul. But seriously, you’re pathetic.”

Follo groaned, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m fucked,” he muttered.

“Do you want help or just venting?” Riyo asked, eyebrow raised.

“Both,” Follo admitted, flopping onto the chair.

“…I just — I don’t know where to even start. Zanka’s not… not too flashy. Not obvious. Practical. Serious. But he stands out in his own way, he’s recognized for things he works hard for, but not in an attention-seeking kinda way, you get what I mean? And now I have to get him something that actually… matters. But what does that even mean?!”

Riyo crouched beside him, resting her chin on her knees. “Well… you said it yourself. He’s practical. So maybe start there. Something he’d actually use. Something that makes his life easier… or at least doesn’t annoy him.”

Follo tilted his head, trying to process this. “So, no sparkly junk, no gag gifts, no… meaningless stuff?”

“Nope, definitely not. I think he’d appreciate it either way, though,” Riyo said, smiling. “But—and this is important — you also want him to feel seen. You know, that ‘I get you’ thing.”

“…I don’t know what that even looks like,” Follo admitted, fingers tapping the wooden step.

Riyo nudged him gently. “Then just start with what you do know. His routines. What he pays attention to. Stuff he’d actually appreciate. You know he values hard work, I’m sure you do, too. Dedication and effort type of guy. No wonder you got such a crush on him”

Follo looked hopeful for a moment, face dropping when Riyo said crush.

“I do not— I don’t have a crush on him–!”

“God, ew, you’re so lovesick it’s makin’ me gag! Don’t argue with me, Follo. I know everything.” Riyo jabbed, playfully, no real malice.

“You’re gonna continue teasing me about this, aren’t you..?”

Riyo snorted. “Oh, every chance I get. But again, your secret’s safe. For now.” She leaned down, whispering, “And you better not get something stupid. Or I will laugh at you. Internally. And possibly externally.”

Follo sighed in defeat.

…
Gris figured it out two days later. Mostly because Follo had reorganized his notes five times, stared at Zanka whenever he thought no one was looking, and nearly dropped a box when Zanka spoke to him unexpectedly.

“You’re being obvious,” Gris remarked.

Follo choked. “What? Don't know what you're talking about, Gris.”

Gris smiled faintly. “You’re a terrible liar."

Follo’s face went red. “…fuck, I’m doomed.”

Gris patted his shoulder. “Relax, lover boy. It’s… kind of sweet.”

“Please don’t call me that. How did you even find out!? Did Riyo tell you?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll stop calling you that, and I have my ways..” Gris laughed, lightheartedly. Follo looked away and shoved his nose back into the notebook he’s been carrying around for days now.

Follo scribbled furiously in a notebook, muttering to himself. “Practical… dependable… habits… efficient… attention to detail…”

Meanwhile, Gris stared quietly, arms crossed, observing Follo’s flurry of activity.

He sighed, “You kids. You’re overthinking again,” he said flatly.

Follo froze mid-note. “…I know,” he whispered, almost pleading, prolonging the ‘oh’ sound.

Gris crouched beside him, placing a hand on Follo’s shoulder. “Look, just remember something simple. Whatever you give, if it’s thoughtful, it will matter. Even if Zanka doesn’t say anything, he’ll notice the effort.”

Follo’s cheeks burned. “…But… what if it’s wrong?”

Gris smirked faintly. “Then it’s wrong. But he’ll still respect that you tried. And knowing you, it’ll be… personal. Not random. That’s what counts. Besides, Zanka isn't the type to throw a fit over a gift.”

Follo nodded slowly, letting Gris’s words sink in. “…Okay.”

“Good,” Gris said, standing. “Now go. Stop pacing and pick something already.”

Later that evening, Follo found himself sprawled on the floor of his room again, scattered notes around him, sketches, coffee mugs, sticky notes all forming a chaotic map of thought. He muttered aloud, half to himself, half to the universe: “Practical… useful… meaningful… shows I notice him… shows I care… but subtle enough not to scream ‘I have a crush!’”

He sighed and buried his face in his sleeves. “…Maybe I need a list of everything he doesn’t like.” Riyo’s voice echoed in his head, teasing and comforting at once. ‘If you know, you know.’

Follo’s heart raced, adrenaline and panic mixing with something… warm. Maybe this was exactly what Christmas was about: the effort. The care. And the terrifying, exhilarating thought that sometimes, the person you admire most could actually… notice you.

He closed his eyes. “…I’ll do this right,” he whispered. “I have to..”

Eventually — desperately — after hours that felt like forever of contemplation, Follo sought out Rudo. The next closest person to Zanka other than Riyo and Enjin.

“Hey,” Follo said, trying very hard to sound normal. “Can I ask you something?”

Rudo perked up immediately. “About Secret Santa?” Follo winced at how quickly he was spotted. He was wrong, maybe Rudo was becoming more perceptive.

“…Hypothetically,” Follo said quickly, voice dropping several octaves, “if you admired someone a lot. Like. A lot. But didn’t want to make it weird. What kind of gift would you give them? Especially if they're like, very practical. Stick to a routine type of guy. Very stern sometimes too, like intimidating but in a cool way. Gets your tummy flipping and stuff.”

Rudo’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then he slowly, his expression softened.

“Oh,” he said casually. “You like them.”

Follo slammed his palm against his forehead. “I didn’t say that! Why do you people always assume that, I don’t —”

“You didn’t have to, you literally said ‘admired’. And the way you described them? Dead giveaway, man… Besides you were talking with this glint in your eye like that person meant a lot to you.” Rudo replied with a shrug. Follo sighed, nevermind, guessing Rudo’s social skills were still the same despite their past conflict — blunt and honest. But at least now he knew that Rudo held no true ill intent.

“…What would you do?” Follo asked quietly, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves had ears.

Rudo tilted his head, thinking. “I’d give them something that helps them. Something useful. But with… feeling.”

Follo peeked through his fingers. “Feeling?”

“Yeah,” Rudo said simply, voice calm, deliberate. “Something that shows you see them. Even if they don’t say anything, they’ll know you care. It’s in the effort. That's where I believe true value is hidden.”

Follo’s heart skipped painfully. “…Okay,” he whispered, letting out a shaky breath. Somehow, Rudo’s calm, simple wisdom made the impossible seem… doable.

Rudo’s eyes twitched with curiosity, though. “…Wait a second. Follo — who’d you get?”

Follo froze. “…I… don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on,” Rudo pressed, leaning closer. “You can’t hide it. I can see it in the way you’re sweating, pale skin, and muttering to yourself like some broken automaton. Spill it!”

“No! I'd rather die than have another one find out!” Follo. yelped, trying to scramble away from Rudo.

Rudo almost growled playfully in return, now chasing Follo down. “Dude! Just tell me already! We're not gonna stop until you give up.”

Follo was sprinting as fast as he could. “Please Rudo!! Let me have at least this part of my dignity!!”

Bro and Dear, who happened to be passing by, stopped abruptly. They see them chasing each other in the hallways, almost bumping into literally everything like cat and mouse. Except the cat was the one being chased, and the mouse was scaring the ever-living crap out of the poor kitty. They're both confused, but they let it be.

Follo reaches a dead end, and attempts to barge into somebody's room — too late, Rudo catches up and corners him.

“Come on, Follo! I thought we were friends now!?” Rudo grumbles, almost emotional. And Follo almost feels bad for starting a chase over something so trivial.

“Ugh, fine. I, got… Zanka Nijiku,” Follo admitted under his breath.

Rudo’s eyes widened, then sparkled mischievously. “…Ah. So that explains everything.”

Follo buried his face in his hands. “Guh!! Shut up. Don’t let anyone know about it, please — there’s three of you already. Fuck, I’m so dumb.”

Rudo couldn’t resist looking mischievous. “You’re not doomed. But you are being a little, well, let’s say weird — about it. And that, my friend, calls for… intervention.”

Follo peeked through his fingers. “…Intervention?”

“My bad for pressing, Follo! Don’t think about it too much! Good luck with your gift!” Rudo said, before leaving Follo to figure out things for himself. Oh how Follo wishes these Akuta Team people would be less cryptic!

Rudo chuckled quietly to himself. Like he had just made a realization of a lifetime. Anyone who would have seen him probably would have gotten unsettled, freaked out. Creepy little grin and gritting noises by his teeth clicking. Semiu saw him pass the front gate and quietly wondered what had him all giddy. Then, just for a moment, on his way back to his room, he considered telling Zanka. After all, this would make their “missions” so much more entertaining — watching them stumble around, secretly trying to impress each other. But no. He decided against it. It would be more thrilling to let both of them flounder a little longer, blind to each other’s feelings.

…

A day passes. Zanka was in the training yard, training by himself like he does daily, expression unreadable. The loose yukata that hung around his frame and flowed like water emphasized that body type of his. Follo’s stomach knotted. It was always a sight to see, the ashy blonde hard at work — putting all those skills to use. Zanka may be a bit skinnier, but he was taller an inch or so than Follo. He was muscular, but not beefy — in fact, just right. Compared to Follo who grew stockier over time, due to Gris’ workout routines and excessive training to compensate for not being a giver. He almost got distracted from what he set out to do today, too busy soaking up Zanka’s toned form, like a memory he’d set aside for later.

It seemed that Zanka was finishing up his rigorous routine, clutching Lovely Assistaff more loosely before setting some of his items aside. Follo pretended to be passing by when he realized that Zanka had noticed him.

“H-hey,” he managed.

“Oh, hello, Follo. Sit?,” Zanka said simply, sounding more like a command than an offer. Follo obeyed, not even taking a second to think of where else he needed to be.

“What are ya up to, if I may ask?” Zanka asked with a gentle but overwhelming smile, he picked up the towel next to Follo before wiping himself down, dabbing his sweaty forehead. Follo noticed his hair wasn't slicked back at the sides today — his bangs framing his face.

“Oh, I just happened to pass by, y’know? Everyone’s been busy trying to get gifts for Secret Santa.” Follo said casually — too casually. Hopefully Zanka wouldn’t notice what he’s been hiding underneath that amiable nature he carries with him.

Follo also couldn’t help but notice that Zanka, despite being damp with sweat and tired from training, did not smell like it. Zanka carried the subtle, lingering scent of incense with him — a calming, almost meditative aroma that seemed to cling faintly to the air around him. It wasn’t overpowering, but soft, a mix of warm sandalwood, sweet-spiced resins, and the faintest trace of something floral beneath it all.

From the mention of the gift exchange, Zanka’s facade seemed to falter for a moment, realizing that he was the Secret Santa of the person right in front of him. In his mind, he thought — this was his chance to ask!

“Ya could say that again. Rudo’s been pretty fussy over his gift-exchange as well. Had a talk with him about it last night, pretty sure he’s up to no good comin’ up with those antics of his just to figure out what they like. It’s good he’s puttin’ the thought and effort into it, though. How about ya, Follo? Yer pull got ya as busy as everyone else?” Zanka questioned, almost naturally. The ashy blonde thought it was a pretty good hook for a conversation — now he just needs Follo to take the bait so he can make the older boy talk about his own interests.

Follo froze, before blurting out, “Oh, ‘busy’ is an understatement! I've been racking my brains out here.” He immediately regretted it, however there was no turning back now.

Zanka’s smirk grew, interested “Really now, how so? I could imagine a few people who’d be a bit difficult to gift.

Including yourself! Follo mentally exclaimed. “Oh you know, they seem to be really meticulous and specific when it comes to these sorts of things. Not in a mean way of course, just don’t wanna disappoint them, that’s all..”

“Ya got me intrigued, who’s the lucky person? Maybe I can help ya think of something.” Zanka sat down next to Follo, elbow propped up on his knee, hand holding his chin up. Was it Tamsy? Semiu? August?

“No — ! Need! No need, don’t worry about it, Zanka. Thank you though. I don’t think we’re allowed to tell either way.” Follo almost screamed, he was able to play it off. Not sure how long it’d last, though. He felt his shoulder brush against the younger’s, trying his best not to flinch or lean into the touch like a creep.

“Ah, that’s fine, I understand. Keeps the thrill of the Secret Santa after all, surprises and such. Say, wanna tell me what yer looking forward to gettin’ instead?” Zanka mentally scolded himself, that was too obvious of a question!

Follo on the other hand felt relieved — saw it as an opportunity, too. He could deflect the question back to Zanka after answering, so he could have an idea of what to give the younger man.

“I’m honestly fine with anything. How about you?” Follo smiled sweetly, scars contrasting the gentle expression.

“Seriously? No preference or anything?” Zanka sighed, well that didn’t go as expected. “Guess I could say the same for myself, I’d be thankful either way.”

Follo mentally facepalmed. “C’mon, you sure you don’t secretly have a really, like, long and specific wishlist there?” He figured he’d press for long enough, he’d get answers eventually.

Zanka hummed and thought for a good moment. He sighs, not disappointedly, but rather in contemplation. “I guess, a few books? Although I’m very picky when it comes to genres and authors. Got a whole shelf of books I’ve read once, and never again. Don't really like nonsensical stuff. I do appreciate a story with a good plot, though. Sufferin’ brings validity to the narrative.”

“Oh, I see.” Follo finally has his answer! Although, he wasn’t sure what to with this newfound information yet. So many new terms he’d have to look into later.

“Yer turn, Follo. It’s only fair ya share, too.” Zanka joked. It made the black-haired boy pause as well.

“Uhm…I guess… some trinkets and souvenirs? Gris noticed I always got heaps of them piled up on the shelf in my room. Less of a collection and more like a remembrance for each place and day. Come to think of it, it’s probably why I asked Eishia not to heal up these scars on my face. Always been a sucker for symbolic things.” Follo said with a light chuckle, his voice relaxing the more he shared.

Zanka returned the light-hearted vibe, content with the answer he got. “I can see where yer gettin’ at.”

Sucker for symbolic things, he repeats in his head.
Suffering brings validity to the narrative, he repeats in his head.

They’d later be interrupted by a suspecting Gris, a teasing Riyo, and clueless Rudo, who’d invited them over for breakfast.

Unbeknownst to both of the boys, they had both spilled to each other exactly what they needed to know.

…

The next day, Rudo crouched behind a row of stacked crates, notebook balanced precariously on his knee. He was definitely not hiding from danger. Oh no — he was on a far more treacherous assignment: figuring out what Enjin might actually like. Mission impossible, in Rudo’s opinion, given that Enjin seemed to exist on a plane of utter indifference, other than liking pretty ladies and good food.

He peeked around the corner just as Enjin leaned back in his chair at the mess hall, casually stretching, completely unaware that anyone was “observing” him. Rudo whispered to himself, notebook trembling: Step one: Engage. Step two: Don’t blow it. Step three: don’t panic. Already panicking.

Rudo edged closer, voice slightly higher than he intended. “Uh… hey, so… Enjin?”

“Hm?”

“What’re you planning for your gift-exchange, the secret santa thing?”

Enjin looked up from his plate. “I don’t really know yet.”

“You haven't thought of anything? Not even snacks?”

“Eh, I don’t really care. Snacks are snacks. They don't seem to be fond of food either way.”

Rudo’s eyes went wide. “…Oh. Okay...” He scribbled frantically in the notebook, pen practically shaking. Status: zero intel acquired. Start panicking internally. Execute distraction protocol.

He leaned a little closer. “Uh… coffee? Do you think maybe gifting them you know… like coffee? Or… not? Maybe tea? Uh — whichever. Morning, afternoon, night… doesn’t matter?”

Enjin arched a brow. “Maybe if it’s there. If not, I don’t die. I'll look for something else.” He shrugged, going back to his food.

Rudo froze mid-scribble, notebook wobbling. “…Right. Makes sense. Totally makes sense.” He muttered under his breath, eyes darting around. Why is this so difficult? He’s eating like a normal human, why is this impossible?!

Rudo opted to leave the premises and find other means of acquiring information.

Semiu, who was reading her supplements in the corner, glanced over to Enjin. “Oh, your little one is so obvious.”

Enjin couldn’t help but cackle. “Tell me about it! God it’s so sweet that it’s hilarious. I just want to see what he ends up getting for me in the end. Any guesses, Semiu?”

Semiu sighed with a smile on her face. “One thing I don't know, yet.”

…

This was probably the worst possible car ride in the history of thoughtful gift-giving.

Zanka Nijiku did not like his hometown.

This was not an exaggeration. This was not a mild discomfort. This was not a “haha, small town cringe” situation. It wasn't something he could brush off easily.

No — Zanka disliked his hometown in the same way one disliked stepping on a nail, or getting stabbed in the thigh, or opening an old wound, tearing the scabs off and everything, just to confirm that yes, it still hurts, and yes, you probably should not have done that. But his hometown was rich in culture, rich in general, plentiful. In exchange for his mental state, so he didn't want to go there.

And yet.

He was standing at the entrance to the Cleaner’s lobby, arms crossed, jaw set, staring at a mental image of the southward region like it personally owed him money.

“...All this just for Follo,” he muttered to himself. He didn't mind buying stuff.

This was the problem. This was always the problem.

Because Follo — quiet, earnest, painfully sincere Follo — had somehow wormed his way into Zanka’s life in such a way that Zanka was now contemplating a multi-day trip to a place he actively avoided, all for the sake of buying him a box of souvenirs and trinkets.

Not one thing. A box. A whole box. One he'd have a hard time carrying around maybe.

His mind was all over the place. What should he even buy when he arrives there? Incense sticks carved by hand? Region-specific charms? Small figurines locals used as ward-tokens? Little handcrafted bookmarks made from pressed northern bark? Whatever souvenirs he'd get his hands on. Things that carried meaning. Things that said I thought of you. Things that said I see you without ever saying it out loud.

Zanka exhaled sharply through his nose.

He hated this. He hated that he cared this much. He hated that the thought of Follo opening the box, smiling and thankful, made his chest feel warm and giddy and stupid and tight.

And he especially hated that this meant he had to notify Semiu in advance. Which he did. Reluctantly.

With the air of a man reporting to be executed, or one that sounded like he was going on a deadly mission. “I’m heading South Ward, Kamuatari District.” Zanka said flatly, leaning against the wall near where Semiu lounged, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded in eternal amusement. Reading her supplements, Semiu opened one eye a little wider

“Oh?” she said. “That’s rare. Voluntary suffering?”

Zanka ignored that. “I need the van.”

Semiu’s other eye opened.

“…The crappy old sedan?”

“Yes.”

“You know how to drive that van?”

“Yes.”

“The one that rattles like it’s possessed?”

“Yes.”

“The one whose air conditioning works only if you beg it nicely?”

“Yes.”

Semiu smiled, knowingly. Then set her very graphic magazine down. Then stared at Zanka with her chin propped up on her hand.

Zanka narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m doing it,” she said sweetly. “This is interesting.”

“I’m just getting souvenirs.”

“Mmhmm.”

“For the Secret Santa.”

“Mmhmm.”

“For someone who is not from the north. It'll mean… more. Y’know. It's creative. Whatever.”

“Mmhmm.”

Semiu sat up a little straighter. “You’re going to your hometown, the place you'd hate to be in the most… A place you'd actively avoid. For… I assume, let me guess… Follo?”

Zanka stiffened. World around him dropped like he was shot in the stomach with Riyo's gun. “Hey what — Ya don’t know that! How did ya find out —”

Semiu blinked slowly. Then laughed. “Oh. Oh, I do know that.”

Zanka scowled. “I told no one! I — ok maybe I told someone. But it was only one guy!

“You didn’t have to,” Semiu said. “You have the emotional subtlety of a locked chest labeled Do Not Open.”

He turned away, flustered. He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling the bangs, opting to hide his face before further embarrassing himself. “Just make sure the sedan’s available.”

“Oh, it is,” Semiu said lightly. “Very available.”

Zanka walked off, unaware that Semiu’s smirk had sharpened into something dangerous.

Meanwhile — much tragically, meanwhile — Follo was having the exact same idea.

Which was how the universe decided to be funny.
Follo sat on the floor of his room, hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring at a small list he’d written and rewritten no fewer than five times.

Zanka Nijiku — Secret Santa Gift Ideas
Books (careful: picky. Does he like philosophy books? Or story books?)
Southern trinkets (regional! optional…)
Something practical but thoughtful
Something that doesn’t scream I’VE BEEN STARING AT YOU LONGINGLY FOR MONTHS
Something that won’t make him uncomfortable

Follo groaned and flopped backward. “He’s so picky,” Follo whispered to the ceiling. “Why are you like this?”

Follo pondered. He imagined Zanka, leisurely dressed, reading in a library, choosing the right book. His nose would scrunch up while reading a certain text, like he saw something that bugged him or he thought was cringe-worthy. It was sort of cute, the idea of a Zanka out of the workplace, comfortable and laidback. What? He immediately dismissed the thought.

Zanka liked books apparently — but not just any books. He liked specific topics. Specific authors. Specific bindings. He hated poorly printed pages, hated flimsy spines, and hated sentimental fluff unless it was earned, and hated nonsensical plots that brought “no validation” to the narrative. Whatever that meant.

Which meant buying him a random book was a death wish.

So Follo had reached the same conclusion Zanka had, independently, stupidly, fatefully. That he should go north.

Zanka’s hometown region produced books that weren’t circulated elsewhere. Old texts. Essays. Field manuals. Cultural records. Things that carried weight. Things that felt seen. He'd assume that even though Zanka didn't really like his home city, it'd be nice to receive something that would remind him of the calm it once was.

Follo wanted Zanka to feel seen. This was, unfortunately, his fatal flaw.

So Follo marched — nervous, determined, already sweating — to Semiu.

“I need to go to the South Ward... Could I perhaps… borrow a vehicle…?” Follo said, blurting it out like a confession.

Semiu looked up from wiping her glasses. “Oh,” she said. “Perfect.”

Follo blinked. “…Perfect?”

“You can go with Zanka.”

The world ended. Follo’s soul left his body. The third? Fourth? He lost count of how many times his poor, shattered, beaten bloody soul left his body this month.

The blood drained from his face so fast Semiu worried, briefly, that he’d collapse.

“I— what— no— WAIT— ” Follo sputtered. “I can’t— why would— Zanka— what?”

Semiu tilted her head. “He already asked for the sedan, the rusty old van. He's going there to purchase some stuff for his gift-exchange as well.”

Follo made a strangled noise. “No,” he said faintly. “No, no, no, no, no —”

“It’s efficient,” Semiu continued calmly. “Same destination. Same car. Saves fuel.”

“Semiu, with all due respect, I will die if I get on that van,” Follo said.

Semiu smiled knowingly. “You’ll survive.”

“I will combust,” Follo insisted.

“You’ll be fine.”

“I can’t be alone in a car with him for hours!”

Semiu raised an eyebrow, more teasingly than contemplating. “Why not?”

Follo froze.

Because he likes him, he really does like him. Because he smells like incense and calmness, and discipline, and that pleasant floral shampoo he uses. Because he makes him feel like he could exist properly, how? Why? Because Zanka is living proof that hard work truly would be seen. Because Follo knows he will panic and ruin everything.

“I— he—” Follo flailed. “It would be awkward!”

Semiu hummed. “Interesting. So fussy. Over Secret Santa?”

Follo’s eyes widened. “…You don’t know, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Semiu said pleasantly.

Follo died again. “You pulled him,” Semiu added.

Follo’s scream was internal, but powerful enough to rattle the universe.

“How much more of you are going to find out!?” Follo whispered.

Semiu stood and patted his shoulder. “Just hop in the car already, Zanka reserved it for the tenth of December. Be ready by then.”

…

A few days pass. Zanka, loosely clutching Lovely Assistaff, was checking the van when Follo arrived, stiff-backed and pale, moving like a man walking to his execution.

Zanka turned, head tilting ever so slightly. “.... Yer comin’?”

Follo nodded, jaw clenched, but forced his expression into something casual. “Oh, thought I'd tag along, if that's okay with you of course. Semiu suggested, something to do y’know. Wanted to get out of my room, too, so there's that. Since there's no mission being assigned recently. Christmas does its wonders… Besides, Semiu said it was efficient,” Follo said weakly.

Zanka stared for a moment, his expression would show nonchalance. But inside? Even Lovely Assistaff felt how much Zanka was gushing. “Sure thing, hop in.” They stood there.

Silence. The air was thick with things unsaid. Then —

“Oh… Why is Rudo here?” Follo asked, facade dropping. Rudo knows his secret — what if he told Zanka!? What if Zanka knew, and this entire trip would be uncomfortable and awkward, and —

Rudo waved enthusiastically from the back seat. “Hey Follo, you're coming too?”

“Oh I invited him. He needed to look for inspiration for his gift exchange apparently. Remember me sayin’ he's been a bit fussy over his own?” Rudo pouted at being outed by the ashy blonde, Follo's shoulders relaxed. It seemed Rudo didn't say anything to Zanka… yet.

Zanka then propped Lovely Assistaff next to the driver’s seat. He then checked around and inside the van, ensuring there was enough space for the gifts they'd be buying… But then he saw more familiar heads pop out of nowhere.

“Wait. Why…” Zanka continued slowly, “are Guita, Dear, Amo, and Fu also here?”

The kids waved. Fu was eating something unidentifiable. Rudo noticed Amo and his expression visibly brightened, something Zanka would point out later when they were alone.

Semiu, appearing out of nowhere, leaned against the doorway. “Field trip.”

“This is not a field trip,” Zanka snapped.

“Oh, it is now,” Semiu said cheerfully. “They’re coming.”

“May I ask. Why?”

“Because,” Semiu replied, “It's Christmas. And they're kids. It'll be fun. Bring them along Zanka. Besides, you got an extra pair of hands to help you watch over them.” She glanced over to Follo, who looked lost. And the to Rudo, who seemed determined.

Zanka pinched the bridge of his nose. Follo stood rigid, staring straight ahead like if he moved he would shatter.

“Just get in the car, enough wasting time,” Semiu said. They did. Rudo thought it was another one of those missions, like Corvus assigned to him back then — his ‘big brother’ initiative would be activated. But now they had Follo and Zanka with them… so it'd be three times the brother initiative, correct?

Bad decision number one. The van groaned as it started, like it was personally offended. The kids immediately began arguing about seating. Rudo took notes right in the middle part of the back seat. Dear kicked the back of Zanka’s seat. Guita tried to open the window on the opposite side, and failed, Zanka locked it. Amo stared outside the window giddy, excited for the field trip, and chatting nonstop with Fu who listened intently, waiting for a request — or order.

Zanka sighed, started the engine and drove. He made sure Lovely Assistaff was secure before taking off. Follo sat in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in his lap, posture perfect, brain screaming. They did not speak. The incense scent filled the car. Follo nearly blacked out.

“So,” Rudo said eventually, leaning forward. “Why are you two going south?”

Zanka said nothing. Follo made a sound like a dying kettle. Rudo knew something that both of them didn't. And that very thought gnawed at the two older boys’ very beings.

“..Uh, I just tagged along to get out the headquarters. I don't really have a specific goal. You know, gift ideas maybe. For the… Secret Santa,” Follo squeaked.

Zanka glanced at him. “Oh,” Zanka said. “…Same ‘ere. I thought goin’ back there would do me some good… maybe.” That last part was a blatant lie, both Follo and Rudo knew it.

The silence that followed was devastating.

Guita gasped. “You’re matching!”

“We are not,” Zanka snapped.

Follo nodded too fast. “We’re not.”

Rudo squinted suspiciously. The van rattled onward. Somewhere, fate laughed.

…

It was not quiet. It was anything but quiet. It was nauseating. It was infuriating.

Zanka felt his patience thinning by the second. He looked over to Follo, and the way his soft expression molded over into something more irritable, he was the same. He only planned to bring Lovely Assistaff and Rudo along, Follo was okay, too. But now the van became a daycare and a weapon against emotional stability.

The van was not supposed to turn east. This was important. Zanka Nijiku had a plan. A route. A carefully mapped, emotionally fortified path that minimized time spent thinking about his past, maximized efficiency, and involved exactly zero detours for sentimental nonsense. But here he was.

Unfortunately, Zanka Nijiku did not account for children with candy addictions, didn't account for onesie-wearing, pacifier-using, trauma-having children and an ex-raider who only ever took orders.

“WAITWAITWAIT— STOP THE CAR—” Zanka slammed the brakes on instinct alone. The voice sent him into a slight panic like he thought he had run someone over.

The van screamed. The kids screamed. Fu dropped whatever unholy substance he’d been nursing directly onto the floor again. Follo yelped.

“What,” Zanka said through clenched teeth, “is happening.”

Guita was half-standing in the back seat, pointing dramatically eastward like a prophet receiving divine revelation. “REM! REMLIN IS OVER THERE!”

“Remlin?” Zanka asked.

“REM,” Guita repeated, scandalized. “REM-LIN.”

Rudo’s head popped up. “Oh, we're bringing them along, too? They're all the way over at canvas town, though.”

“Yes!!” Guita squealed. “We promised Remlin we'd meet again, right!? We exchanged choker blood thingies and I talked to them all day!! So I invited them over for our field trip when me and Dear heard that Zanka and Follo, and even Rudo would go southward!!”

Zanka closed his eyes. Of course.

Dear leaned over, his expression saying more than everyone else in the van. He shared the same annoyance Zanka had in his face. Zanka was not good with children — you could send ten trash beasts at him, all out to gut him alive, and he'd have the patience to deal with them. But children? That was a different story.

“Very serious! Don't you think, Mr. Zanka?” Amo agreed, nodding like this was basic law. Fu seemed to nod along.

Zanka, who had shut his eyes to prevent lashing out, opened his eyes slowly. “Ya can't just — exchange chokers by blood, and then demand a field trip, then invite yer friend over unplanned, Guita.” His fist was clenched, temper short. Follo peeked from his peripheral vision, afraid things might take a turn for worse. Like Zanka might snap.

Guita gasped. “I'm really sorry Mr. Zanka, but it’s already done!”

Follo, who had been silently watching this unfold like a man witnessing the collapse of civilization, swallowed. “Uh. Maybe… we could… pick them up, you know? The more the merrier… they can make space at the back and—”

Zanka glared at him, like he was about to kill something, or crash the car into the next boulder they'd see. Follo folded instantly and made himself smaller. “Sorry, I mean like. Only if it’s okay. Totally okay if not. I mean it’s your van, I mean — y-you're driving. And your plan. And uhh… “

Zanka softened his expression, exhaled. He was so tired. So deeply, bone-achingly tired. He could say no. He already spent nights awake brainstorming with Rudo, slowly catching whatever insomniac tendencies the younger boy had. He was in position to say refuse, they didn't have a choice. He was driving, they'd have to abide by his rules. He could be strict, and say no. He was about to. His mouth, his lips formed in an oh shape, like he was about to yell again. Lose his shit.

Zanka sighed. “…Fine,” he said.

The kids erupted into squeals and giggles.
“Yay!”
“Yahoo!”
“FIELD TRIP!”
“EASTWARD!”
“REM REM REM!”
Followed by Dear's quiet grumbling.

Zanka felt something leave his soul. Ten minutes later, they were officially off-route, heading eastward toward Remlin’s settlement, canvas town. The van rattled louder, like it too was protesting this betrayal.

Zanka’s eyes were heavy. His grip on the wheel had loosened slightly — not dangerously, but enough that Follo noticed.

“... Zanka. You can… rest, you know. I can take the wheel before we arrive at Canvas Town and continue South Ward. Just give me directions.” Follo said softly.

Zanka blinked. “What?”

“I can drive,” Follo offered, carefully. “If you want. You look… tired.” Zanka hesitated.

This was not about pride. This was about control. This was about not letting anyone take the wheel, literally or otherwise. Zanka didn't give in, that was his core. He would seek out a goal until the very end, no less.

But his shoulders ached. His head throbbed. And the idea of sitting back, just for a while…

“…Alright, if it's alright with ya Follo,” he said quietly. The kids gasped like they’d just witnessed a sacred transfer of power. Amo squealed whispering something to Fu about love and acts of service.

They pulled over. Follo took the driver’s seat with a seriousness usually reserved for ceremonies and funerals. Zanka slid into the passenger seat.

And immediately became aware of several things: Follo was a careful driver. Follo smelled faintly of soap, specifically laundry detergent. Zanka thought that it was fairly pleasant. Why had Zanka only noticed this now? The ashy blonde made some newfound realizations to deepen whatever infatuation he already had for Follo. Little did he know, Follo had felt the same. And for much, much longer than he'd expect.

…

They finally reached Canvas town, it was almost half past twelve, they left the Headquarters in the morning. And expectedly, Remlin was already waving from outside the wall. Zanka overheard them yapping through their chokers. Follo stopped right in front of the gate, unlocked the doors.

Guita opened her side of the door to get out, and now more chaos was added to the bunch. This was dangerously domestic. The kids decided to step out to stretch out their limbs, greeting Remlin.

Remlin energetic, ran over to the group, eyes lighting up when he saw Guita. “You came!”

Guita launched himself forward. Hands were grabbed. Words were shouted. And Rudo, despite not smiling, seemed to be happy to see his friends gathered in one place.

Zanka watched from the car, arms crossed, exhaustion settling deeper. Follo stood beside him, hands tucked awkwardly into his sleeves.

“They seem… happy,” Follo said.

Zanka nodded. “…Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“…Thank you,” Zanka added quietly. “For driving.”

Follo froze. “O — oh. Of course…I'll drive for the rest of the way, so don't worry, okay?”

Zanka returned a smile. “Then I'll drive on the way back, just so it's fair.”

They stood there, awkward, comfortable, unspoken things hanging heavy between them. Behind them, the kids laughed.

…

They thought that they finally passed the hard part of the drive. That it’d go smoothly from here, on their way South Ward, to the Kamuatari District. However, they were wrong. So, very terribly wrong. The children behind them, the kids were… not settling. At all.

Twenty-five minutes into the ride after picking up Remlin, Rudo had started explaining something about rubbish at length to Amo, who listened and exchanged words happily. Later on, Fu and Amo were yapping nonstop about the Christmas Spirit, explaining to Rudo what it meant. Guita was leaning halfway out of the window again, along with Remlin who was giggling while drawing something. Remlin then showed their drawings over to Dear, who was humming and grumbling at the same time. Zanka pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How,” he muttered, “did it come to this.”

Follo laughed weakly. “You read my mind… I've been asking myself that the moment we turned East Ward.”

Guita kicked the seat in excitement.

Zanka flinched. “Hey — !”

Dear was restless, fidgety, tapping his foot on Follo's seat. Each bang becoming stronger than the one before.

“Dear, I know you're a bit antsy right now, but please be patient. Bro isn't here right now.” Follo said helplessly.

Rudo then shrieked. “Stop touching me, dude!”

Fu exclaimed “It was an accident! You touched me first!! It's not my fault Remlin and Guita keep switching seats — I just follow! Amo wants to sit next to someone she can talk to—”

The children were all over the place, switching seats, yelling, complaining. Snacks opened and unfinished, shoes on the seat, handprints on the windows, grease on their clothes. Somebody was kicking the other, somebody left the door open, the window rolled down. That's it.

Zanka turned slowly, before grabbing Lovely Assistaff from the driver's side.

Follo panicked — what was Zanka about to do!? Follo knew that Zanka was raised with a heavy hand, strict upbringing, probably lots of training — military training, no less. But he didn't believe that Zanka would resort to violence to a bunch of children. Right?

Zanka then raised Lovely Assistaff, before plunging it down hard enough to rattle the entire vehicle, but not enough to cause any dents or serious damage. Everyone flinched, paused. Even Follo kept a hand on his hat. Zanka's voice raised slightly, akin to a scolding — but not exactly a yell.

“Enough! Settle down before I make y'all get out of the car and walk South Ward ‘til yer legs give out.”

It wasn’t even a shout. It was worse. The car went quiet. Even Follo's grip on the wheel tightened.

Zanka turned in his seat, resting an arm over the back, eyes calm, voice steady.

“Everyone,” he said evenly, “Sit down, fix yer selves. Seatbelts on. Close that darn door, and don't roll the window down all the way. We’re not stopping again.”

The kids stared. This wasn’t Zanka-the-enforcer. This wasn’t Zanka-the-terrifying. Not Zanka-the-best-jinki-user. It wasn't even Zanka-the-cleaner. Not the Zanka they knew. Even Rudo was shocked, seeing Zanka not lose his shit. He'd expected Zanka to start cursing out somebody by now.

“And,” he added gently, “if yer restless, talk to each other quietly. Ya can draw, y'all can write, y’can look out the window. Calmly. Or sleep. But no yelling, no kicking, yer not the only darn person in this van. So be considerate for everyone else's sake, yeah?”

The kids muttered a bunch of drawn out ‘okays’ and ‘alrights’. Dear blinked, nodded. Amo settled down. Guita sat. Fu curled up. Rudo whispered, “Wow.”

Follo watched from the corner of his eye, heart doing something illegal, doing something it shouldn't be doing.

Zanka turned back forward, adjusting his seat, rubbing his eyes briefly like he hadn’t just demonstrated a kind of patience Follo didn’t know he possessed.

The kids stayed quiet. Some time passed. The road stretched long and warm under the afternoon sun.

One by one, the kids slumped, heads tilting, breaths evening out. Guita drooled. Fu snored. Amo leaned against Rudo who kept writing, but slower now.

Zanka exhaled softly. Follo swallowed. Oh no, Follo thought distantly.

‘I am in love with him even more now.’

This was bad. This was very bad. Zanka didn’t know it. Zanka couldn’t know it. Zanka was just sitting there, eyes half-lidded, incense scent faint in the car, being gentle.

Follo focused on the road with religious devotion. Neither of them suspected. Not even a little.

…

The southward district had not changed.

Which was, frankly, rude. In Zanka's honest opinion.

The streets were still narrow in that irritating, familiar way. The stalls still clustered too close together, their signs creaking in the same places they always had. The smell of fried dough, metal polish, incense, and dust hit Zanka square in the chest the moment they crossed the threshold. The kids immediately split up like they all had their own missions to accomplish, Follo making sure of their safety by instructing them to be back at the city center if they ever got lost. Zanka held onto Lovely Assistaff tightly, as if trying to ground himself.

He slowed. Just a fraction. Follo noticed immediately.

“You okay?” Follo asked softly, walking a half-step closer.

Zanka nodded. “Yeah.” A Lie.

But Follo didn’t push. He just stayed near — close enough that Zanka could feel his presence without being crowded. Which was… helpful.

The first thing they did upon arriving southward was eat. This was non-negotiable.

The kids were starving, the older ones were tired, and Zanka — despite refusing to admit it — had been running on spite and tea for hours.

They ended up at a cozy outdoor restaurant wedged between two shops, all warm lights, wooden benches, and the kind of comforting smell that made your body relax before your brain caught up.

Food arrived in excess. Plates stacked on plates. Bowls crowded together. Fried things. Steamed things. Sweet things.

Follo found it a tad bit silly — maybe even cute, how Lovely Assistaff was propped up next to Zanka at all times. He couldn't say much as his hammer, Alan was strapped to him at all times as well. But to think Zanka always spent so much time caring for her? No matter how tedious tending to her may be. That was something Follo could admire, already adding onto his admiration for the younger guy.

Rudo stared at everything with reverence. Amo, sitting beside him, held up a small skewer glazed with syrup. “You want to try?” he asked casually.

Time slowed down, dramatically. Like something terribly wrong was about to go down. An imaginary clock started ticking, a countdown.

“AMO — !” Guita said, horror dawning.

Dear lunged, slamming the table, pacifier almost dropping from his. mouth.

“Wait, NO—” Remlin reached out dramatically.

Too late. Rudo took a bite. There was a pause. Then —

“…Oh.”

Zanka looked up. “What?”

Rudo’s pupils dilated within a quarter of a second.

His posture changed. He dropped his spoon. His grip tightened around the table.

“…Oh no,” Guita whispered.

Rudo stood up so fast his chair fell over.

“It's sweet…” Rudo declared, voice unhinged. “THIS IS SWEET. THIS IS GOOD. WHY IS IT SO GOOD!?”

He grabbed another skewer, ate it in less than five seconds. Then another. Zanka blinked, he's seen Rudo eat like this one time — that was when Enjin and Riyo presented him with a plate full of sweets. That time Rudo had inflated to something akin to a beach ball because… he basically ate everything.

Follo muttered “… What’s happening.”

Zanka instinctively, protectively grabbed onto his Lovely Assistaff, and prepared for something — anything. He then grabbed onto Follo who was sitting next to him. Follo couldn't help but get flustered at the action, and before he could protest or say anything, he heard a high-pitched squeal.

“Gah!!! All hell is gonna break loose!” Remlin cried.

“Somebody, grab Rudo before he takes off!” Guita shouted.

Rudo began devouring anything remotely sugary in sight, everything on the table? Gone. Movements feral but joyful. “This one's better— NO THIS— NO WAIT—”

“Rudo, wait — no, that's not yours!! Stop, that's mean!” Amo cried, reaching for him.

“I NEED IT,” Rudo yelled back, already halfway into someone else’s plate. Zanka stared in dawning horror.

“…He goes feral over sweets!” Remlin exclaimed, before running over to grab Rudo by the hood.

Rudo, despite being strangled, tried to grab a tray from a passing waiter, who shrieked in fear. Guita and Dear immediately jumped to stop, grabbing both his arms.

“WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, RUDO STOP,” Remlin and Guita screamed. Dear grumbled once again. Amo looked at this new side of Rudo in fear.

Zanka reacted instantly. He gave Lovely Assistaff to Follo for a moment to pack up their stuff. Follo was taken aback by how quickly the blonde trusted him with her.

He then grabbed Follo by the sleeve, then Fu by the hem of his shirt. “We’re leaving. Ya too, Fu. Come. We'll come back… when they calm down.”

Follo gulped, didn’t question it, and calmly gave Lovely Assistaff back. Fu followed silently.

They paid their bill, then retreated to the edge of the restaurant as the kids collectively tackled Rudo, who was laughing maniacally while trying to bite a pastry through a napkin.

“I CAN STILL TASTE IT,” Rudo yelled.

Zanka rubbed his temples. “…I hate this trip.”

Follo snorted, trying not to laugh. “You say that, but you planned it, let them come along.”

Behind them, a table collapsed.

“Pay attention to him!” Zanka said firmly. “Do not let him near sugar again.”

…

After that food-filled incident, everything calmed down, the sun slowly setting. Noticeably, at a Christmas sunset, Kamuatari glows instead of sparkles.

The dome softens the sky into warm amber and violet, lantern light slowly taking over as the sun dips. Wooden buildings and tiled roofs catch the glow, their edges traced with simple strings of gold lights and paper charms. There’s no snow — just incense smoke curling through the air, mixed with the scent of roasted food and spice.

Families gather outside their homes, voices low and familiar. Bells chime softly as doors slide open, and faded reds and greens decorate the streets with quiet care. It’s not flashy or loud — just steady, lived-in warmth.

For someone like Zanka, it’s beautiful in a way that hurts a little. Hurts a little too much, actually. He remembers things he doesn't want to, remembers things he's buried so deeply at the back of his head. He feels emotional. His fingers trace the spirals of wood naturally engraved onto Lovely Assistaff. It was a grounding little thing, his jinki being one of the things he'd find comfort in.

Zanka walks with Follo, while keeping an eye on the wandering kids, including Fu.

“Oh my GOD look at this—”

“WAIT WAIT WAIT—”

“IS THAT A WEAPON OR A TOY—”

“Rudo, get. your hands OFF that damn cookie!”

“REMLIN DON’T TOUCH THAT—”

“It's so pretty! —”

“I WANT THIS ONE—”

Zanka snapped into survival mode ever since they arrived. He knew every shop. Every corner. Every shortcut. It was even more so amplified by the wandering kids, whom the older ones — Follo and Fu, had to watch.

His eyes flicked constantly — too constantly — scanning reflections, crowds, shadows. He steered them subtly, unconsciously, away from certain streets. Avoided others entirely. Follo noticed that too.

Zanka let the kids window shop. That alone was a miracle. They pressed faces to glass. They begged. They pleaded. They negotiated like seasoned diplomats, and some like certified frauds. They ran out of money from careless spending, immediately. They were already holding two shopping bags in each hand, and others, boxes of trinkets, sweets, figures, and whatnot.

They stopped inside a large shop, its interior drenched in glitters and shimmering lights that caught on every surface and corner. The place was crowded with people drifting between aisles, voices overlapping in a constant hum as shoppers browsed and bargained. Shelves and stalls overflowed with all manner of goods — tiny trinkets and novelty toys, souvenirs stamped with memories, practical house needs and appliances, and decorative pieces that sparkled simply to be noticed.

The children beamed like they all entered heaven. They would have spent their cash here if they hadn't wasted it on the stores on the outside already. So that left them one option — beg either Follo or Zanka for extra cash. They'd try Fu, but it seems he hasn't much on him, no offense.

“Please, Mr. Follo, Mr. Zanka!! We'll pay you back!” Amo pressed her hands together. Zanka hushed Amo, careful as to not let anyone else hear his name. What would they think, prodigal son, Nijiku, came back in town?

Guita begged. “Pretty please, Zanka! You seem to know this place so well, can't you let us get something? We keep promises!”

Remlin then side-eyed the kids begging. “I'm pretty sure some of us already ran out of… ahem… allowance.” Dear joined Remlin's side-eyeing, foot tapping repeatedly.

Zanka sighed, then gripped his Lovely Assistaff carefully. He didn't have to, he really didn't have to. He didn't have to give in to these pesky critters. He looked around his city, his town, his once home. For a moment he felt sentimental, thinking of all the memories he's had here, both good and bad.

His breath hitched, stuttered a bit. Then his resolve faltered. Follo was about to step in, dismiss the children and just opt to look around.

“…Fine,” he said eventually. It was like all the pent-up tension from arriving at his hometown melted away at the sight of the kids puppy-eyeing him.

Follo looked at Zanka, concerned. “But only one thing each… And don't pay me back, no need to take money from a buncha kids. That's immature as hell. Go get what ‘cha want.”

The kids froze. Did they hear things correctly? The prissy, work-oriented, diligent Zanka, offered to buy them all something?

“…wha… each? Zanka —” Rudo asked, Dear’s eyes widened, thinking the same thing, pacifier almost dropping for the second time that day.

Remlin was counting on her fingers, “that's… five of us. Five things you gotta buy!” Guita's eyes shone like she saw a shooting star.

Zanka grimaced. “…Don’t make me regret this. Go, before I change my mind. And don't get somethin’ too pricey!” Chaos erupted.

They screamed, cheered, thanked Zanka, the girls hugged him briefly, and jumped around. Then scattered into shops like feral cats. Rudo and Dear spared Zanka a thankful glance, before waddling off. Follo stared, shocked, jaw ajar.

“...Fu, you too.” Zanka glanced over to Fu, who was patiently waiting for something to happen, for someone to tell him what to do.

Fu looked like he was about to burst, blushing and jaw hung open in awe. “Zanka… A-are you sure?? I'm not a kid, man! I'm literally the same age as you— ! I think it'd be kind of weird you know— It's not like I'm opposed to it but…”

Zanka smiled, eyebrows furrowing a bit, still a relaxed expression on his face. “Merry Christmas, to ya too, Fu. That's an order. Just keep an eye on the kids, will ya?” Fu beamed, the biggest smile Zanka and Follo have seen so far. He then scurried away, following the kids who were nowhere to be seen.

“You… just bought things for them, well – you're about to, but still” Follo said slowly.

“If ya want one too, ya can choose, Follo, I don't mind.” Zanka giggled lightheartedly, causing Follo to fluster all the more.

The thought of his long-time crush, someone he had two whole years on, one strong enough to take him down without a weapon if he wanted to — was offering to buy him something!

Follo flushed, pink-tinted cheeks, and a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest. “No— no Zanka! No thank you, I just… That's not what I meant. It's just.. awfully nice of you. And unexpected. Very kind of you, you know.” The older boy smiled at the blonde.

Zanka stiffened. “Well. They had an allowance, finished it. It's fine, it happens. It's Christmas.”

“You’re paying, money’s not a joke. It's too generous of you,” Follo pointed out gently, not accusatory.

The softness in his voice made Zanka looked away. “…They wanted it.” Follo smiled.

“Oh wow,” he said, in a playful tone, almost teasing. “You’re such a good older brother.”

The words landed like a brick. No, that was an understatement… It was like he got run over by an eight-wheeler truck. Zanka stopped walking and stared at nothing. His eyes were glassy, but Zanka ignored the tears threatening to leave his eyes. He let out a pained chuckle.

For a second, Follo thought — fuck, he shouldn't have said that.

Zanka’s shoulders went rigid. His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered — something dark, something sharp, something raw.

“Oh man,” Follo thought. I screwed up.

“I’m sorry, Zanka!” Follo blurted immediately. “I didn’t mean to — if that was weird or too touchy—”

Zanka inhaled, then exhaled.

“…No,” he said quietly. “No such thing, Follo! It’s fine.”

Follo hesitated. “…You sure?”

Zanka nodded, voice softer now. “…It was nice. Don’t mind me ‘n my antics. I was just taken aback… You're really sweet. ”

He turned away before Follo could see the way his hands trembled. Follo stood there, heart in his throat. He would be flustered, but he was more worried at whatever caused Zanka to act that way. That was too much, he best be careful with his words next time Follo thought.

Deep down, Zanka wanted the children to feel happy. He wanted to spoil them at least this once — it's not like he couldn't. But it wasn't like he had to, either. Somewhere within him, he wanted to spoil them excessively to fill that void inside of him. Something he wished he had when he was younger. Yes, Zanka was brought up wealthy, filthy rich even. He was the son of a noble family. Indeed, he had toys, and was given things not many children could receive. But his childhood left little to no room for things whimsical or magical. Everyone was practical, stern, just, and strict. And he had to work towards a goal that drained him, only to be surpassed by someone within a moment. He didn't want to be crushed by that weight, truthfully. And somewhere in him, he wished these children would never have to bear the same weight, either.

Zanka paid for all their little trinkets, all their toys, goodies, whatever they were. The person at the cashier gave them a confused stare, before quietly checking out all their items. Follo's eyes almost fell out, glaring at the offensive piece of paper that was the receipt. He grabbed Fu by the shoulders exaggeratedly, and gently tilted his head, making the shorter boy gaze at the crude, lengthy piece of paper.

They both counted… one, two, three…. That's five digits, so tenths place? Ten thou— No — fourty, thousand..

And before they could finish reading the bill out loud, Zanka snatched the piece of paper and crumpled it up, shoving it into his pocket. The two looked up at Zanka, whose cheeks were dusted with a pretty shade of pink they've both never seen before. Follo and Fu both looked shocked — was he… embarrassed? For paying that much?

Faking a cough, the ashy blonde spoke gently “...Ahem… ya guys don't need to see all that. Non’ya business what I choose to spend on. Let's continue walkin’ around, yeah?”

Follo and Fu hesitantly nodded, wondering how much Zanka has on him… They knew he had cash… just not this much? Is it the benefits or being a son of a noble family in that area? They tried to get their minds off how deep Zanka's wallets were.

…

They moved on. They did not see Kyouka Nijiku at first. Nor Goka. Which was a blessing.

But fate once again laughed at him that Christmas. Zanka spotted them before they spotted him — of course he did.

His breath caught. There they were.

Kyouka, unmistakable even out of uniform — back straight, presence heavy, eyes sharp. Goka at her side, arms crossed, scowl permanent.

Zanka turned instinctively, ducking before grabbing a hold of Fu. He tried looking around frantically, Follo nowhere to he seen. Maybe he looked around?

“Kids,” he hissed. “Come here. Now.”

“Huh— but Mr. Zanka—” Guita protested, before Remlin could even join in, Zanka gripped his Lovely Assistaff tightly.

Rudo nudged them along, knowing what that look on Zanka’s face meant. Eventually, they obeyed, unusually quiet. Some confused.

Zanka pressed himself against the wall, heart pounding. He was careful. He always was.

Kyouka and Goka passed by, not noticing him.

They wouldn’t have approached him anyway. There was no point.

Until—

“Zanka?” Follo’s voice. Clear. Familiar. Fond. Zanka turned, cursed internally. Fuck! They definitely heard that.

Too late. Even though Zanka was far enough, Follo walked over, smiling softly, holding up a small carved bookmark. “Look what I found —”
He stopped. Noticed Zanka’s expression.

“...Anything wrong, Zanka?” Follo said.

Too late. Kyouka stopped. Goka followed her gaze. They saw him. Zanka Nijiku. Standing there, blushing.

With a man far too close. Goka’s eye twitched.

“…Kyouka,” Goka muttered. “Do you see this.”

“Yes,” Kyouka said calmly.

“…Is he flirting?”

“Calm down, we're not on duty right now. He’s just smiling,” she said. Zanka was, in fact, smiling. Barely, softly, fondly.

Follo was smiling back.

Goka made a sound like a dying engine. “What the hell am I seeing?”

Before they could move, there was an impact.
“ZANKA—!”

The kids slammed into him like bowling balls. Arms wrapped around his waist. Heads bumped his chest. Someone nearly knocked him over.

“HEY—” They hugged him. Publicly, loudly. Unapologetically. Zanka's brain short-circuited, breaking his facade entirely, and the fact he was supposed to be hiding!

“Oh Mr. Zanka—”

“BIG BROTHER ZANKA—”

“LOOK WHAT I BOUGHT—”

“LOOK LOOK LOOK—”

Zanka froze, face red. “…What,” he said faintly, “did ya just call me.”

Guita beamed. “Big brother!”

Remlin nodded. “You’re literally big brother material. You're a little mean and all.”

Dear crossed his arms, as if approving the statement.

Zanka looked lost and helpless, then shot a non-threatening glare at Rudo.

Rudo waved his arms in the air, “Hey, they started it! Not me. I ain't calling you that.”

Amo then came closer, “Amo thinks it's because you’re mean. But in a good way, because you care. So that everyone listens to you! And usually for their own good.”

“And super cool,” Guita added. “Yes!! You were super scary when I first met you, but Rudo talks about you like a sibling he never had!” Remlin added, making Rudo blush at unexpectedly being outed.

“Uhm… you and Follo work really well together,” Rudo blurted, then realizing how his statement might affect the two. Whatever it was, it didn't matter at this point. “Like — really well.”

Follo choked on a laugh. Fu smiled, content to just be there. Zanka did not move. He could not. Something in his chest broke.

The kids kept talking. “You always make sure we’re safe—”

“And even if you yell, you like listen to us’”

“And you bought us this stuff—”

Zanka’s arms moved on their own. He hugged them. Pulled them close. One hand rested protectively over a head. Another patted gently. He stared into nothing.

Rudo whispered, awed, “Wow. Never thought I’d see this.”

Amo leaned toward Fu. “This is very… Christmassy.” Fu nodded solemnly. Amo then grabbed Rudo and Fu, then dragged them closer to join in on the hug.

Follo laughed, trying to pry them off. “Okay — okay — you’re crushing him—”

Dear grumbled, getting squished into the hug by Guita. “We’re not!” The younger girl smiled.

Behind them — Kyouka stared. Goka stared harder.

“…Is that,” Goka said slowly, “our brother.” Kyouka exhaled.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s him. He really has gotten weaker.” Goka clenched his fists, no real threat to them.

“…Who are those kids.”

“… They're part of the cleaners. Seen them in Enjin's group, and that's the sphereite we were previously after… until Corvus dismissed us.” Kyouka replied. Silence.

“…And that man?” Goka hissed.

Kyouka watched Follo laugh, gentle, careful, close.

“…Someone important to Zanka.” she said. Goka looked away.

“…We should go. No point lingering around here.”

“Yes,” Kyouka agreed. They turned. Zanka never saw them again.

…

Deep down, Zanka shuddered in something uncomfortable —- something worming inside of him and crawling out of his throat. It was not fear. At the fact that his siblings saw him like this. With his friends, people he saw as his family. He wasn't ashamed of them, no, not at all. But it didn't diminish his worry, or concern. Of what his siblings thought of him. Of his severe inferiority complex he still couldn't control up until now. Under their gaze, he felt like he would have been eaten alive by their glares. But the moment he was hugged by those children, not giving a damn about their surroundings? That shattered him into so many pieces. In the best and worst ways possible.

He was taught to fit into a standard, a terribly high one. To feed into everyone's expectations, to tear away and break himself apart to be better. And he followed that value until the very end. He wouldn't come to a halt until he reached every goal he'd set. Even if it killed him.

So to be hugged like that, in public. To be cared about, loudly, publicly, unapologetically. It should've sent him over the edge. It could have brought him to tears. It could have made him snap. Should have made that facade falter — it could have destroyed everything he worked hard for. It did, somewhere inside of him, something cracked and something bled. That sentiment gushed through that crack and reopened a wound he thought closed up many years ago. It poured out that boiling, hot emotion, and burned everything that he built down. But what he got in exchange? He couldn't tell if it was better, or something that would consume him wholly.

It was a warmth he barely experienced. A warmth despite the cool, winter air. A warmth that stayed, persistent even if he fell face first into the snow. A warmth a true family would bring. And it gutted him alive to feel this way.

And it didn't feel right, it didn't feel real. He felt undeserving, and wrong. And hideous, and unsightly — like someone like him shouldn’t be seen this vulnerable.

But he wanted this, and needed this so badly.

So even under their heavy gazes and piercing glares, he hugged back. He accepted and embraced that warmth, torched his own skin to feel that loved. And for once, it felt okay. It didn't matter.

So he'd hold it in — even if he felt like something was screwed, twisted and wrong. He'll hold everything in and fight for that goal, even if it melted him down, or torched him to ashes. He'll protect this moment, even if his inner conflict never disappeared.

And he could only hold in so much. Little did he know, someone who had a similar experience sat right next to him, waiting.

…

To be continued !!!