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Enjin can only stare.
And stare.
And stare.
Zanka looks away, just slightly, just enough—he thinks, Enjin can still see the blush dusting his cheeks. The sight is so endearing, it almost distracts him from the reason the pink coloring his face.
"Zanka," Enjin wills himself to return his eyes to the object on his open palm. "What is this?"
Zanka doesn't look his way when he mumbles his answer, almost unheard. "A gift."
Enjin tries to recall of millions memories that can lead them to this moment, but he genuinely can't think of any. He can't think of anything that can be the reason why Zanka, standing before him, placing a wrist watch on his hand.
"For what?" Enjin asks.
Zanka shrugs, trying to be nonchalant and failing rather miserably.
"For everything."
For everything, Zanka says. Enjin wonders, what kind of everything Zanka means?
Everything is too… vast.
Enjin can't be doing everything to deserve such a gift. Zanka also doesn't seem like the type of people who gifts something with no sensible reasons. He doesn't just go out and browse for this watch and buy them for just anyone, that's just crazy.
"I found it on the thrift store, when I went out for supply errands, sometimes ago. And since we were already planning to go to the Doll Festival, I just think it'll be fitting for your, uh, suit." Zanka flushes even harder. "August does a good job."
"August does an amazing job," Enjin corrects him, before he inspects the watch.
It's quite well-maintained, considering the ages. It doesn't look as shiny as the new one, but it's captivating in its own way. The old model only adds to its charm.
Nothing similarly close, but the item reminds Enjin of something he stores deep in his fanny pack.
Something that he always carries but never uses; something that he always keeps close but never gets to see the light.
Zanka can't possibly know that, right?
"When I first saw it," Zanka opens his mouth, seemingly unsure but still decides to go on. "I just think that the watch reminds me of you. You, who always arrives at the right time, whether it's for me or Rudo or Riyo; you, who's always so punctual when it comes to saving everyone; you, who's never late, not even once, to be there when someone is really in need."
Enjin's mouth goes dry.
It's all too close to the truth, it's all just an inch from revealing the secret.
"You're also like the clock, always on the moves, whether it's fighting the trash beast, whether it's about rescuing civilian, whether it's about being the Leader who's needed by his team," Zanka continues. "And while, I bought it because I think it's gonna go well with what you're gonna wear for the Doll Festival, I sincerely hope, this will fit you on many other occasion too."
Enjin tries to speak, but no words comes out, he just slowly clamps shut again.
When Zanka puts it like that, Enjin feels like what he has done is intentional, instead of him just winging everything because he only does what he thinks is right.
Everything in his life has been a series of uncertainty, but somehow he finds his way to ensure that what happens to him cannot happen to anyone else.
Enjin often wonders if he helps people because he wishes someone helps him back then, when in reality, he doesn't even need to wonder.
Because someone did help him.
He has been saved and it's his turn to return the favor, even if it's to someone else.
"You don't have to wear it," Zanka adds hastily, when Enjin doesn't respond. "No pressure. It's not like it's a good watch anyway. One can only get so far with some gallas in his pocket."
Enjin chuckles at the frantic dial back.
"It's very nice, Zanka," he smiles. "Of course, I will wear it."
Enjin doesn't even know if the thing he carries can still work.
It's probably broken, considering that Enjin has foolishly kept his promises, never touching it, never using it.
"May I?"
Enjin can only stare.
And stare.
And stare.
Zanka looks away, just slightly, just enough—he thinks, Enjin can still see the blush dusting his cheeks. The sight is so endearing, it almost distracts him from the reason the pink coloring his face.
He can't look away.
He just watches as Zanka unclasp the watch and slide it through his wrist. The leather is bit rough against his skin; it also feels rather snugly, but when he really looks at it, Enjin can't help but agree that it fits quite well.
"What do you think?" Enjin asks, before Zanka precedes him. He spreads his palm, twisting his wrist to show off the watch.
Now it's Zanka's turn to inspect.
Enjin waits for his verdict. An agonizing wait later, Zanka eventually says, "Just like I thought, it suits you."
Never in his life, Enjin dreams to wear such an item. Ever since that old man gives him the similar watch, he always think the object will not be something wearable to him.
Enjin dislikes wearing something around his neck, including his choker. He sees some people wearing it on their wrist, but the wrist, his wrist—it feels like it's reserved for something bigger, something important.
Or probably, just something familiar.
Funny he thinks that, when Zanka has just gifted him the watch merely minutes ago. He shouldn't feel familiar with it, he shouldn't be so quick in accepting it. He has a similar item for years, for the half of his life, and while he has never worn it once, the idea of putting it on… just feels strange.
Why is Zanka's gift different?
You know why.
"It's perfect," Enjin clears his throat. "I really like it, Zanzan."
Because it's given for him without any entailing responsibilities.
Because it's given for him without consequences.
Because it's given to him, no, it's gifted to him, for the sake of Enjin—not to be hidden, not to be kept as a secret, not to be trusted, not to be something that isn't meant to use.
The reason Zanka gets him the watch because Enjin is… well, Enjin.
Nothing less, nothing more.
Enjin can only stare.
And stare.
And stare.
The watch wraps his wrist like it has always belonged there—the leather warm now from Zanka's fingers, the faint ticking so steady it feels like another heartbeat pressed against his pulse.
Not the cold, forbidden weight he has carried for years in the bottom of his fanny pack, wrapped in cloth and guilt and the ghost of an old promise.
That one was never meant for him.
That one was responsibility dressed up as kindness, a chain disguised as a gift from a man who had saved him once and then asked him to carry the end of the world in silence.
But this—this is just a thrift-store watch.
Scratched glass if you squint, slightly faded leather that feels rough on his skin, nothing special, except that Zanka saw it and thought of him.
Enjin feels something crack open behind his ribs, something that has been sealed tight since he was a kid standing in hazardous rain, clutching a similar object he was ordered never to wear. His throat tightens. It's just supposed to be a simple gift, and yet, it's greater than simply a present.
"I'm gonna take a real, good care of it," the promise rolls off so easily because Enjin knows he can do it, that he will do it.
It earns him a light chuckle. "You better be. I've spent my last gallas for that."
"For my gift?"
"I told you. It reminded me of you. And while the watch had been on the display since forever, I can't risk someone buy it before me and—" Zanka cuts himself off, embarrassed, and mutters, "Whatever. It's not that deep."
But it is that deep.
Because for once, someone gives him this very particular object without responsibility, without secret, without burden.
This watch is just a watch.
Except, it isn't.
It's something that loudly says, "I see you, I see what you're doing, and I want to appreciate you for that."
Enjin often thinks, that all he wants is to be worthy of the man he wishes himself to be.
Maybe it's time to accept that being himself, accepting himself, is the way to it.
Enjin's fingers brush over the surface of the watch, tracing the glass.
For the first time in half his life, the idea of time doesn't feel like a curse. It doesn't feel like a secret he has to protect, or a promise he can never break.
It just feels like… a gift.
He exhales shakily and steps forward before he can stop himself. His hand finds Zanka's shoulder, squeezing once firmly.
The action is intentional.
Zanka who's startled by the sudden touch, widening his eyes but he doesn't pull away.
"Thank you, Zanzan," Enjin says, quieter this time. The nickname feels softer on his tongue now, almost reverent. "You have no idea how much this means to me."
Zanka looks like he wants to argue, maybe insisting that it's just a cheap watch, nothing special—but something in Enjin's expression must stop him.
Instead, he ducks his head, the blush spreading all the way down his neck.
"You're really gonna wear it?” he clears his throat.
"Every day," Enjin answers without hesitation. "To the festival. To every mission after that. Until the strap falls apart."
He doesn't say the rest out loud, but it echoes loud inside his chest, anyway.
Because this one isn't a secret I have to carry alone.
Because this one doesn't come with a warning.
Because this one was given to Enjin—for the his sake of being… Enjin.
Just Enjin.
And yes, maybe he still has the long way to go to make himself worthy of the name he's given, of the responsibilities thrust upon him.
But this time, wearing Zanka's gift, Enjin is just Enjin.
And for once, it's enough.