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"Listen, here, Zanka. I'm your friend, okay? Don't think of me as anything else. I'm your friend. Not your mentor, not your senior, and definitely, not your teacher."
Zanka still remembers those words as clear as the day.
When he was young enough to believe that nobody would befriend him for the sake of the friendship.
When he can barely believe what it means to have a friend.
"I'm your friend, Zanka. Always. So, don't be scared to tell me anything. And when I say anything, let it be anything. You see a cat scratching your Assistaff, you tell me. You think the soup you're having doesn't have enough broth, you tell me. You think the the books you're reading has an awful ending, you tell me. I'm your friend, you can tell me anything."
Years and years go by, and yet, Zanka has never fulfilled Enjin's wish to consider him as his friend.
Because for Zanka, Enjin is not his friend.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.
So, when knowledge has turned into a belief; Zanka has a hard time wrapping his head around the word, especially when it comes to Enjin.
And, why does the memory of it all return to him, at the most inconvenient time?
"I was supposed to tell you things," Zanka begins, voice as quiet as whisper. "I was supposed to tell you when something weighs me down, when something bothers me, when something doesn't seem to be in order. I'm supposed to tell you everything—anything."
Zanka waits for a response, but to no avail, it's still a resounding silence.
"Remember Enjin, when you told me, you're gonna be my friend? A friend whom I can confine my secret in, a friend whom I can share my joys with, and a friend who's willing to listen even if what I'm gonna say is not always sunshine and rainbows."
Still no answer.
"You're my friend; no less, no more," Zanka heaves a long sigh.
Hoping he has aimed right. Hoping he doesn't make a mistake.
"You're my friend, Enjin," Zanka emphasizes. "You’re supposed to be the one I tell about my crush, not be the said crush."
Something shifts in the air. Something has changed. Something irreversible, something he can't take back.
Why not bare himself when Zanka already exposed everything?
What difference does it make, whether Enjin know it or not?
"Fuck being your friend, Zanka," Enjin growls, Zanka holds his breath. "I'm always suck at being your just friend."
Zanka tries to pull back, telling him the most obvious.
That's not true—
But Enjin doesn't budge. He still grips him tight, he still holds him close.
"What kind of friend always wants to kiss you?"
Zanka drops his jaw, eyes widens in surprise.
"I must have been a terrible friend," Enjin repeats, resting his head against Zanka's temple.
Every word is a sweet whisper to his ears, like a secret, unraveling itself.
"And, since I'm fumbling in this department," Enjin eventually pulls back; just a little, just enough. "What'd you say, we venture to much more unfamiliar territory? Less friends, more—"
Zanka can feel himself floating away, as if he has never been rooted to the spot.
"Listen, I'm not gonna be just your friend. Not after everything."
He hears, instead.
And since they're officially not friends, Zanka can pull Enjin back into the kiss, right?
And since they're officially not friends, Zanka is allowed to linger and keep Enjin close by his lips and his touch, right?
Of course.
Because, listen here, Enjin is not Zanka's friend.
Never.
Not ever, not at all.
Always more.
One breath away, Zanka shortened even the non-existent distance.
"Me neither."