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Enjin doesn't like waking up early.
It's not a flaw, it's just a fact.
It's Zanka who usually wakes up earlier than Enjin, but this time Enjin precedes him.
It was the first night Zanka had spent in Enjin's room without slipping away before dawn like he doesn't want to be seen coming out of the Leader of Team Akuta's room. No hurried dressing in the dark, no careful footsteps toward the door, no scrambled scribbles on the notepad because Zanka doesn't want to wake him up.
It's the first time, Enjin doesn't wake up to the cold, empty bed and the remnants of the previous night memory.
Instead, the memory of the previous night has still materialized solidly, next to him; the warmth a sign of the reality of this moment.
Zanka is still here.
Zanka hasn't left.
Zanka who usually wakes up first and sneaks out of his room, is still curling up on the other side of the bed, a sight so endearing and innocent, it makes Enjin's heart ache.
Is this what he has been missing all this time? He wonders, shifting his body, carefully to not move too much as he spends a good amount of time admiring Zanka's sleeping figure.
He has seen Zanka falling asleep countless times.
Those nights they have spent together, Zanka is always the one who falls asleep first. But, Enjin is ashamed to admit that he never really takes a look at the sight of him.
Zanka looks even younger in his sleep. The usually serious expression has morphed into something kinder, the seemingly permanent scrunched eyebrows and frown have smoothened themselves.
Zanka looks different in his slumber, and Enjin is glad that only he gets to see this scenery.
The object of his affection makes a contented noise, and Enjin has to hold his breath, afraid that he may accidentally disturb his sleep. But Zanka doesn't even get bothered. He continues to snore softly, lips puffing out air while the long eyelashes cast a shadow on his face.
Is this what he has been missing all this time?
Enjin doesn't have the heart to wake the younger, knowing Zanka has to be so exhausted that he oversleeps, his natural biology clock be damned.
At this exact hour, Zanka usually has jumped off the bed, hastily putting on his clothes, before he slips out of Enjin's room.
But this time, Zanka doesn't.
For the first time, Zanka stays the night and he still stays in the morning too.
"Can I ask you something?" Enjin remembers their last night's conversation.
Something that he has struggled to say, without making it like he's a complete selfish asshole. Something that he has been thinking of saying, of asking.
Zanka hummed his response. Enjin swore he had never been this nervous before.
"Would you like to get a breakfast with me?"
The request so odd, Zanka slightly pulled back only to give him a frown.
"Breakfast?"
"Yep, breakfast," Enjin cleared his throat. He's eleven years older than Zanka, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't feel like he's walking on the eggshells whenever he wanted to say something, or do something. He shouldn't have to tiptoe around everything, like he's afraid he's gonna make a mistake.
Because it's Zanka, you know?
Zanka might be the last person on Earth to ever judge him, but Enjin would be damned if he ever takes the wrong steps and ruins what they have, too.
"I mean, you're always training so early—" You always leave my room so early, like you're afraid to get caught coming out of it.
"—kinda worried you don't get to have your morning meal—" I want you to know that the option to stay is always on the table for you.
"—so I figured, we can get the breakfast together, this time." So I need you to know, that I want to be seen with you.
The room was quiet for a while, too quiet that Enjin was momentarily afraid he had overstepped, that he had asked too much.
The relationship is still relatively new, he doesn't broadcast it, he even doubts that anyone but Rudo and Riyo notice anything. It isn't like he wants to keep this a secret, but he knows everyone in HQ can be bothersome when it comes to someone's relationship. Enjin can already picture the incessant questions directed to them, if they ever come clean.
They will, of course. Just not right now.
Zanka is never a secret to keep, Zanka is more than just a fling; as much as Enjin tries to not confront the overwhelming feelings towards him—Zanka is his everything.
He deserves the spotlight, instead of a mere shadow.
Waiting for Zanka to respond his request is such an agonizing wait, but when the younger eventually sighs into his chest, a simple "okay," it still sounds like a million gallas reward to his ears.
His reminiscence is interrupted when Zanka shivers in his sleep, a brief of disturbed grumble slips out of his lips.
Enjin quickly reaches for the blanket that has been strayed, pulling it up to cover Zanka's shoulder. Zanka hums, as if he approves the action—a sight so endearing that Enjin can help but to lean forward and brush a kiss on Zanka's hair, as he whispers, "Sleep well," before he quietly gets off the bed, just as carefully.
Enjin hasn't decided what to do.
Seeing Zanka in his bed has just sort of disoriented him. He doesn't even know why he chooses to leave the bed when he's the one who has been asking Zanka to stay.
Now, Zanka is there, sleeping soundly.
And Enjin is pacing across the room, like he's panicking.
He doesn't panic, he doesn't freak out.
And, yet.
"I'm so fucking lame," he chides himself, finally make a decision to wash his face first.
The coldness of the water clear his head just a bit, still enough to get him rummage through the pocket of his coat for his cigarette.
He doesn't usually smoke at this hour, but he can't help himself.
Creaking open the window, just enough to let the chilling morning breeze sneaks in and ventilate the room, he lights up his cigarette.
The first taste of nicotine gives him the amount of clarity he needs.
This is everything I always want, the epiphany hits him like a freight train.
Enjin doesn't want, Enjin doesn't desire—he's too much of a coward for it.
But Zanka comes to him, worms into his life; Zanka never cares about the boundary Enjin has tried to set, the line Enjin has tried to draw.
Not like Enjin is trying hard anyway.
It's scary now that he is allowed to, Enjin can't stop thinking of returning to the bed again, just so he can wrap Zanka in his arms, going back to sleep.
Zanka is just there.
So close to him.
Why does Enjin choose to lean on this window and run away (even if he doesn't want to frame it that way)?
"Why are you not in bed?"
The answer manifests itself before his eyes.
Enjin whips his head only to find Zanka standing in front of him, grumbling and rubbing his eyes.
His usually slicked back and well-styled ashen hair is a messy crown on his head. He looks unsettlingly alien without the tassel earrings that usually grace his ears.
Enjin doesn't mean to, but his eyes roam on the sight before him from head to toe.
From the way Enjin's shirt is clearly too big on his smaller and lithe figure, it keeps slipping off his shoulder; the way the shirt is too long, the hem covers half of Zanka's thighs; the way Zanka is tapping his bare feet like he wants to make a point of his annoyance of being left alone in bed.
It's overwhelming. It's too much.
"I'm just—" Enjin doesn't even get to finish his excuse, when Zanka walks to him with a determined pout.
It's a good thing that Enjin possesses a great reflex, that when Zanka suddenly climbs on him, he can anticipate the action.
The arms encircle his neck, his legs hooking around Enjin's waist. Zanka weighs nothing to him, that Enjin can so easily hoist the younger to position him better.
Zanka feels warm, Zanka smells warm; Zanka is the personification of warmth and Enjin is quickly absorbed by the comfort he radiates.
Who needs sun when he has his personal sunlight in his room?
"I'm still sleepy," Zanka mutters against the crook of his neck, stating the obvious. Enjin doesn't know what he expects but it's certainly not Zanka acting like this.
"I can see that," Enjin chuckles, tilting his head so Zanka can nuzzle him better. The younger wastes no time doing exactly that.
It isn't necessarily erotic, even as Enjin can feel Zanka's soft length nudging against his middle. It just feels extremely domestic. Something that Enjin doesn't—never allows himself to have.
Zanka makes it like this can be so easily their morning routine.
Zanka being clingy, Enjin entertains him.
It doesn't sound so bad.
"Bed, Enjin," Zanka sighs.
Usually, it means so much for more, but the way Zanka rests his head against his shoulder, the way his warm breath fans Enjin's ears—that word only feels intimate, instead of sensual.
"Of course, Zanzan," Enjin says, his tone is indulging, fondness overflows on every syllable. He stubs his cigarette, doesn't even get to start much. The thought of treating himself some nicotine now sounds less appealing than what Zanka has asked from him.
Dare he says, more tempting too.
The trip to the bed is not far by any means, but it gives enough time for Zanka to glue himself to him.
When he finally arrives at the end of their bed, Enjin has trouble lowering Zanka because Zanka refuses to peel himself off him. They both end up falling on the mattress, Zanka's legs and arms are still wrapped around Enjin, like a confinement.
"Clingy, aren't you?" Enjin teases, caressing his thighs, coaxing Zanka to release him. Zanka makes an irritated noise at that, but let him go, not without getting his hands on Enjin's cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss.
Zanka kisses him lazily, soft pecks after soft pecks; hand slips past Enjin's ear, neck, before it settles on his undercut.
Enjin indulges him; doesn't try to take over, doesn't try to dominate.
Years could have passed, or decades, even centuries too. And Enjin wouldn't have known.
Not when Zanka's lips are all he could ever know.
Not when Zanka's touches are all he could ever feel.
Only then, Enjin realizes the kiss has stopped, when Zanka's lips no longer pursue him. He pulls back and notices Zanka has fallen back asleep in the middle of their kiss.
"Fuck, I love you, Zanzan," he wheezes, once he realizes the comedy of the whole situation.
Zanka doesn't wake up, as his arms slowly slide down. Enjin smiles before he leans down and gives Zanka one more peck.
It's late for Zanka's usual morning, but it's still way too early for Enjin.
"You need more rest, anyway," he justifies.
With that in mind, Enjin plops himself next to Zanka, positions the younger in his embrace, before he pulls the blanket up to cover their bodies. The open window carries the chilling air of the early morning, but Zanka's warmth against his body and their shared heat under the quilt are perfect defense against it.
Zanka still doesn't wake up, even if he naturally gravitates to Enjin, settling himself on his chest like it's always his place all along.
The morning can wait, the day can wait; everything can wait too.
The world is still asleep, anyway.
The world is still snoring softly against Enjin's chest.
The world—his world.
It's Zanka who usually wakes up earlier than Enjin.
This time, Enjin precedes him.
Enjin doesn't like waking up early, but, he would like to change that if it means he can indulge himself with Zanka in his arms.
For the first time, for the second time, and probably for the other times that may come after.
Because it's Zanka, you know?