Work Text:
The hallways of the Cleaners' headquarters were swallowed by a heavy, stifling silence as night settled over the town. Zanka moved through the corridor tired but his mind was too loud to allow for sleep. He was heading toward the kitchen for a drink of water when a sliver of warm, flickering light caught his eye.
It was coming from Enjin’s room. The door wasn’t fully latched; it stood slightly ajar, casting a thin, golden blade of light across the darkened floor. The younger Giver paused. Usually, he would never dream of intruding on Enjin’s privacy, but the atmosphere felt strange, thick and somber. He peered through the gap, his breath hitching in his throat.
The older man was sitting on the edge of his bed, his massive frame hunched over. On the small bedside table sat a tiny, modest ceramic urn and a single, guttering candle. Enjin’s eyes were closed, and his large, scarred hands were pressed together in front of his face in a silent, solemn prayer. His broad shoulders were trembling, and the sound that escaped him was a ragged, wet breath, the sound of a man desperately trying to swallow a sob while paying his final respects.
Zanka felt a cold spike of guilt hit his chest. He had seen something he wasn't meant to see. He took a panicked step back, but his geta scuffing the floorboards made a sharp, echoing thud.Inside the room, Enjin stiffened. He lowered his hands instantly, roughly wiping his face with the back of his hand and clearing his throat with a harsh, forced sound.
"Who’s there?" his voice was thick, lacking its usual thunder.
Zanka pushed the door open just an inch further, his face flushing hot with shame. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, looking at the floor. "The door was open... I didn't mean to pry. I’ll go. Sorry for disturbing you, Enjin."
Enjin took a long, shaky breath, looking at the candle flame. He didn't look angry, just exposed. "Stay," he said softly, though the command was weary. He gestured to the small stool near the bed. "You aren't disturbing anything."
The younger boy hesitated, then moved forward with tentative steps, sitting down as if he were afraid the floor might break under him. He stared at the small urn, the silence stretching between them until curiosity finally outweighed his fear of overstepping.
"Who is it?" Zanka whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Someone from your family?"
Enjin looked at the urn, his expression softening into a look of profound, aching tenderness, a look Zanka had never seen before. "In a way," Enjin replied. He reached out, his calloused fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic. "This is Sabi."
"Sabi?"
"A dog I saved years back, long before you showed up," Enjin said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips even as his eyes remained glassy. "He was just a scrap of fur when I found him, shivering in a pile of garbage. I brought him back here. He practically ran this headquarters for three years. He’d sleep on my clothes while I worked and bark at anyone who tried to wake me up too early."
Enjin’s voice dipped lower, the weight of the memory pulling at him. "He was one of my best friends. More loyal than most men I've met. But his lungs... the air out here isn't kind to small things. He got sick, and one morning, he just didn't wake up."
He straightened his back, his jaw tightening as he tried to reclaim his usual stoic mask. He cleared his throat again, pushing the vulnerability back down with visible effort. "It’s just a dog, I know. Life is cheap in this land. It’s a stupid thing to get worked up over after all this time."
But Zanka saw the truth. He saw the way Enjin’s hand shook as he pulled it away from the urn. He saw the raw, pulsing grief that Enjin was trying so hard to hide.
"It’s not stupid," Zanka said firmly, leaning in just a little closer. "Loyalty like that... it matters. He was lucky he had you to remember him."
Enjin looked at Zanka, and for a moment, the barrier between mentor and subordinate vanished completely. The blond man reached out and placed a heavy, warm hand on Zanka’s shoulder, squeezing once, hard.
"Yeah," Enjin whispered, his voice finally cracking just a little. "Maybe he was. Come on, kid. Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another long day."
As Zanka left the room and the door finally clicked shut, he felt a new, quiet weight in his chest. He realized that Enjin didn't just protect the Cleaners because it was his job, he did it because he knew exactly what it felt like to have a hole in his world that could never be filled.
The next evening, the memory of Enjin’s bowed head and trembling hands weighed heavily on Zanka. He couldn't shake the image of the man who was his entire world mourning something so small, yet so significant.
Zanka remembered seeing something weeks ago while he was tasked with organizing the headquarters' storage room. He navigated the cramped, dusty space, shifting crates of rusted spare parts and tangled coils of wire until he found it tucked away in a corner: a small, sturdy ball made of densely packed rubber. It was weathered and dull, a relic of a world that once had time for games. He spent the rest of the afternoon meticulously cleaning it, scrubbing away the grime of the Borderland until the original red color finally peeked through.
Late that night, when the headquarters had fallen into its usual uneasy slumber, Zanka returned to Enjin’s door. He stood there for a long moment, the rubber ball clutched tightly in his hand, his heart thumping against his ribs. He didn't want to be an intruder, but he felt an inexplicable, driving need to acknowledge the shadow that had occupied Enjin's heart before he did.
Taking a breath to steady his nerves, Zanka reached out and knocked softly on the heavy metal.
"Come in" Enjin’s voice drifted through, low and steady.
Zanka pushed the door open. Enjin was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading some report, the small ceramic urn still resting on the table. He looked up, his expression neutral but his eyes curious as they landed on the boy.
"Zanka? Everything alright?"
"I... I found something," Zanka stammered, crossing the room with tentative steps. He reached out and placed the red ball gently on the table beside the urn. It looked humble, almost pathetic against the starkness of the room, but to Zanka, it was an offering of peace, an acknowledgment that Sabi’s place in Enjin’s history was respected.
Enjin looked at the ball, then back at Zanka. His throat moved as he swallowed, a flicker of raw emotion crossing his face before he masked it with a tired, appreciative look.
Zanka didn't wait for a thank you. He stepped back and knelt on the cold floor, just as he had seen Enjin do the night before. He pressed his palms together in front of his face, his fingertips touching the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes, his mind focusing on the image of the scruffy dog Enjin had described.
I'll look after him now, Zanka thought, a silent vow directed at the urn. You don’t have to worry.
He held the pose for a long minute, the silence of the room wrapping around him like a shroud. When he finally lowered his hands and opened his eyes, he saw Enjin watching him. The man's gaze was heavy with an intensity that made Zanka’s chest tighten.
"It was his favorite kind" Enjin murmured, his voice thick with a vulnerability he no longer tried to hide. "The red ones. He used to chase 'em until his legs gave out."
Zanka felt his face burn with a mix of embarrassment and pride. He offered a small, hesitant nod. "I thought... he should have one. To keep him company."
Enjin let out a breath that sounded like a long-held weight finally being set down. He reached out, resting a heavy hand on Zanka’s head for a brief, firm second. "Thank you, Zanka. Truly."
Zanka stood up, feeling a strange sense of lightness, as if he had finally been granted permission to truly belong there. He backed toward the door, giving Enjin a final respectful nod before stepping out into the hallway.
For the first time in a long time, Zanka didn't feel like a stray dog following his human. He felt like a part of a family, a long line of loyal hearts that Enjin had gathered from the dust.