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It had been just under a month since he dragged himself out of the hole he planned to die in.
Will to live reignited with all the grace of a newborn deer as he'd stumbled after a stranger. Each step clumsier than the last.
He'd collapsed at the man's feet, folding into the most undignified bow he'd ever attempted. It was unsightly, with piss poor posture and he even had the audacity to beg.
A Nijiku did not beg.
Old wounds stung reminding him of that lesson, permanently etched into his skin.
Now he begged a man he didn’t even know to take him with him. Take him anywhere but here.
Everything about him was wrong.
He could feel the weight of his family crushing him, forcing his forehead further into the dirt.
A disgrace.
He couldn't face them, he had to dissapear.
Die or claw at this outstretched hand and follow it onto a new path into the unknown...
It was all a bit of a blur after that if he’s honest.
He'd never travelled far out of Kamuatari, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't feeling completely out of his depth with just how colourful the world outside his now former home is, both literally and figuratively.
He hadn't lost his new burning resolve to show Enjin he could make something of himself, but he had been pretty down in the dumps with how much the lack of strict routine and discipline had him floundering with the cleaners.
He was being the perfect recruit by his count, effortlessly reset himself to his polished factory default that had got him almost to the very top of hell guard academy. Yet near every single one of them at HQ all had such strained expressions around him, like they found all his formalities unsettling.
He was never a social butterfly to begin with. Only passing pleasantries to maintain a reputation and keeping a comfortable distance from any actual connections. It had never been an issue before, but the social norms among cleaners are a new and strange beast he’d been struggling to tame. They were always telling him 'to relax', that he can 'be himself with them’.
It was downright confusing, and the pitying looks that followed their comments only served to piss him off. Excusing himself to drop his plastic smile and maul a training dummy far more often than reasonable, even for him.
But dammit he was going to make it work.
He won't let himself be defeated by culture shock of all things.
He was glad Enjin had kept him close at least. He was the whole reason he was here. Alive even. And he wanted to show him it wasn't a waste to stop and talk to a failure rotting in a well.
He'd make him proud, and it made him giddy that Enjin actually wanted him around.
A lot of the times the other redhead recruit of his is there, he seems to like to keep her close too.
Makes sense, but Zanka’s a lot less thrilled about that.
Part jealousy. Not that he'd ever admit something so pathetic. But also something about the way she looks at him made him shiver.
Like she was sizing him up. Predatory. A snake trying to figure out if it can unhinge it’s jaw wide enough to swallow him whole.
Enjin tells him that means Riyo likes him.
Either way, Enjin was constantly pestering the cleaners' receptionist, Semiu, he'd noted her name to be, to let him keep an eye on the newest recruit and show him the ropes.
The receptionist seemed vaguely annoyed by everything that came out of Enjin's mouth. Then she'd glance at Zanka, soften ever so slightly, and wave them off. Judging by the smug grin plastered across Enjin's face afterwards, that seemed to mean he'd gotten his way.
Apparently, her glasses let her see into you somehow. He's not entirely sure what she'd seen in him the day they first met, but he thinks this means she can see how much he really, really wants to stick by his new mentor. He should probably feel ashamed she's sensing a puppy like need to show off to Enjin, but if it works out in his favour, he can tolerate some humiliation.
He can tell they're trying to avoid giving him too much active combat though, and that makes him antsy.
He doesn’t need to be coddled.
He supposes it’s not the worst thing to get familiar with the district his faction of the cleaner's handle. Trying to reframe the time wasting road trips as workplace tours as he settles into his new role.
Canvas Town had been a marvel to him. Colour splashed across every surface with no discernible pattern or purpose. It was exhilarating as it was confusing to see such freedom. Enjin had laughed, ruffled his hair and said how adorable it was to see him with childlike wonder in his eyes for once.
His face had never gone redder in all his life.
Found himself in a bug-eyed panic at the entire situation.
It only made Enjin laugh harder.
He felt like he should be mortified having been caught out letting his emotions show so clearly on his face like that, but the feeling of fingers running through his hair had him on a high for weeks.
Enjin made affection seem so easy, natural almost. Like it wasn’t something he’d been deprived of his entire life.
He tried to imagine if his family was capable of something like it, and that he just hadn't deserved it from them.
The comparison only served to bore a pit in his stomach.
He doesn't want to think about it.
About them.
He's still unsteady with his vital instrument, but he feels their synergy grow stronger everyday. Enjin keeps telling him that he's bonded to her faster than he's even seen before, and that it's incredible that he can already take down trash beasts.
Deep down he's certain Enjin is overselling his progress, but he laps it up all the same. No one he’d cared about ever bothered to give him any kind of praise, false or otherwise before. He feels like he’s floating every time a kind word is thrown his way.
He's finding his footing, and if he's lucky, he'll get more chances to show what he can really do in the field. Prove he's more than a clueless recruit being dragged around dodgy markets.
These days Zanka half wonders if Enjin is testing him by bringing him on field trips to the most rundown dredges of society. Just to see if he'll lose his nerve and turn tail to his prissy spoiled rich kid life.
He could never find the words to tell him that he can never go back, that his family don't want him.
He can’t tell if he'd pieced that together or not, and he’s not sure if it’d feel better or worse if he did know.
Sometimes he looks at him like he can see his soul and all the scars that mar it, choosing to embrace him and all he is despite that. Then the man would turn around and start rambling about the lavish life Zanka must have left behind. He'd been like that since learning what his Family name tied him to. Drooling over imaginary banquets and extravagant family dinners he expected him to have enjoyed every night as though he'd escaped some kind of fairy tale.
He feels a little self conscious at the idea of Enjin thinking the only hardship he’d know was getting a bad grade.
He was privileged, he wasn't blind to that. All the Nijiku special training that had been invested in him to no avail was a testament to that.
He’s not stupid. He knows there’s a desperate fight to survive out here for most, knows that humans can be beyond cruel to each other.
The Hell Guard and the gruelling and unforgiving training he’d been through was because of that.
He‘s not a spoiled brat, blissfully ignorant to any real struggle, and he can’t stand the idea of Enjin thinking he is. It makes him all the more desperate to show him that he was willing to put ten times the hard work needed into anything he ever asked of him.
Even so, he never challenges Enjin on his assumptions, only mutters to his elder’s exaggerated shock that he finds meals taste better with the cleaners.
Now he’d tasted different, he’s not sure why Kamuatari's famous quality ingredients had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe he was sensitive to whatever pesticides they used. Or the different minerals in their water.
Almost against his own nature, he even wonders if he’d started to find eating in shared company than the usual solitude genuinely more enjoyable. It was more lively if nothing else. It had been overwhelming at first, but if he tried to skip a meal and avoid all the ruckus he was practically dragged to the mess hall by the scruff of his neck.
Usually by Enjin, but he’d also have to dodge Riyo who had picked up an insufferable need to wander the hallways to hunt him down and shove things from her own overpiled plate in his mouth if she didn’t see him at team meal.
Sometimes even less familiar cleaners would corner him, and their perfectly polite question of if he’d eaten yet felt far too much like a threat.
He's increasingly convinced they're coordinating behind his back to fatten him up.
He has a complicated relationship with food, but Enjin’s wasn’t entirely wrong. He did grow up eating better than most, when he’d earned the right to do so.
Problem was he would so often fall just below the bar set for him in his personalised Nijiku training and be expected to go hungry. It wasn’t an order. He could have asked kitchen staff for meals, but it was one of the many unspoken rules that Zanka himself had to choose to deprive himself as an acknowledgement of his failure. Needed to understand the shame of his hunger was a consequence he brought upon himself.
If he’d worked harder he might have filled out like Goka did, but his failings are his own, and the slender body he resides in is a reminder of just how many times he’d failed to measure up. Every healed over gnarled knot of flesh on his otherwise perfect milky white skin was just a bullet he should have tried harder to avoid.
Mistakes leave marks.
Whatever Enjin’s gut instinct has him know or not know about him, he's grateful he's never tried to pry too deeply. Quick to change the topic when it's clear he doesn't want to elaborate, even saving him from other cleaners who were all too curious about his upbringing.
He feels a little guilty about it sometimes. Can tell he wants to ask more, but it's all irrelevant now so there’s no point dwelling.
He's not a hell guard recruit or a Nijiku. He's a cleaner, and that's all there is to it.
And cleaners apparently make a lot of supply runs.
He's not sure what they're in this bustling market of swindlers and con artists to get this time but he's heard this song and dance before.
Enjin is yapping away with a vendor, he doesn't care much to listen in on them, but some heated haggling was clearly taking place and was almost certainly going to keep them stuck here awhile. He hates feeling like dead weight, but there is no way he’s getting involved with any of that endless back and forth.
He tries not to be too judgemental, doesn’t want his privileged upbringing have him look down on people when he’s barely worth more than the trash they trudge through every other day...but he can tell he needs to keep his head on a swivel in a place like this. Can feel leering eyes robbing him in their minds as their cleaner uniforms have them sticking out like sore thumbs among all the civilians in far more humble attire.
Not to mention Zanka’s was a little too big for him. He hated how it swallowed him, making him feel smaller than he already was. Looking like a stupid kid way in over his head all dressed up in a hand me down uniform. Far too tempting a target for a petty pickpocket he's sure.
He'd been told he wouldn't have to suffer the spare Supporter uniform for too long, just had to wait for their designer to work on something more fitting. Apparently asking for a deadline on that was sacrilege. He could only hope it would be sooner rather than later.
He also really hopes they can be sorted and leave here soon, but Enjin’s bartering was becoming a lost cause...
“Lookie here punk, if in you can’t afford the merchandise, then scram already, I’m runnin’ a business here not a charity.”
Enjin scoffs back, all too comfortable making a scene.
“Oh c’mon you sold to me literally last week, how does the price TRIPLE in a WEEK!?’
“Inflation,” The seller shrugged, a sleazy smile tugging at his lips “I dun’ make the rules.”
“YOU SET THE PRICES, YOU LITERALLY MAKE THE RULES!”
“Damn straight I do, and these be me prices, so take em or leave em.”
From the parrot like squawk from Enjin, it was clear he was nowhere near done. The man's brain firing on all cylinders as he rapidly sifted through profanities to ensure he strung together the crudest possible arrangement. He swears he can see smoke coming out his ears at the effort.
The eye-roll slips out before he can stop it, and Zanka immediately recoils at his own brazen display of insolence. It was his natural reaction, but it still felt perilously close to insuborination to let himself be so openly exasperated with a higher up. A brief war erupts inside his head as various cleaners' voices, Enjin included, chime in with their usual arguments.
‘Cleaners don't have a hierarchy.’
‘Suppressing your emotions isn't healthy.’
Ugh, they really were a confusing breed of people...and they were his people now, and he supposed they were right. The world hadn't ended because he'd allowed himself one tiny moment of irritation....But maybe that’s just cause Enjin didn’t actually see him do it.
Either way this so called haggling was just becoming more and more yelling, so Zanka decides he would rather focus on... Literally anything else.
As distasteful as some of the people here were, it was easy to see why it was a common destination for supply runs. The market had quite the selection, things you would never see anywhere else, or likely ever again. You could find anything you dreamed of right here, and probably plenty of things from your nightmares too.
He lets himself stray just a bit, if nothing else some distance would save him from an inevitable headache later.
The cleaner’s boss had told them he’d earn a wage while working for them, but he’s never thought about the kinds of things he would even want to buy before. It’s an odd concept for him to chew on. He can’t say he has a great deal of interest in the various knickknacks and baubles adorning each of the tables he finds himself at. All useless tat as far as he’s concerned.
Musing for a moment, he recalls overhearing another giver explain that proper maintenance could improve a vital instrument's quality, which in turn made it stronger.
Maybe some of the vendors here sold wood polish or varnish...
He scans the tables closest to him, not really sure what he’s expecting to find before he freezes.
Standing there numbly for what feels like an eternity as the entire market slowly fades away to a blur, the hustle and bustle drowned out as he finds himself locked in place.
Staring blankly at a pair of tasselled earrings.
These ones are blue, they're not even all that similar, so he’s not sure why his brain is so adamant on making the connection.
His mind flashes to a lone tassel. White. Pure. Fitting of a perfect Nijiku. Framed with hell guard red hanging from his sister Kyouka's neck.
He doesn't want to let his mind travel there, but now he has he can't tear his eyes away. Before he knows it, he's lost in a trance. Thinking about all he's left behind, wondering what she thinks of him now, if any of them will miss him.
He bites into his lip, barely suppressing the need to dig in until he bleeds. He knows it's a childish train of thought, one that would only earn their scorn. Truthfully, he knows the answer, but it eats away at him as he reaches out, letting the silky threads brush over his fingers.
Longing.
-------
Enjin can also tell his new little responsibility is restless about getting his fancy new uniform, to get that stamp of officially being a cleaner. It’s partly why he’d offered to pick up materials August had requested for some final touches alongside some other general supplies. Though he hadn’t expected his normal contact to switch up on him like that.
He really lost his head, and in the battle of wills, he’d caved and ended up waaay over buying but dammit, HQ was running low on half this stuff anyway.... Had to make sure to pick up what he could when he can.
He lets out a dramatic sigh as he forks over the cash to vendor who snatches it all too keenly with a cheshire cat grin.
“A pleasure doin’ business wit’ ya’”.
The asshole was even pouring arsenic in his wounds. He bundles up his goods with a pout. An utter defeat.
Man, he’s gonna be in a sour mood all day. Best just to high tail it back on home so he can sulk in peace without having to keep his stir-crazy little super solider entertained. He’s certain if he didn't keep distracting him with supply runs he’d be throwing himself into a polluted zone just to prove to him he could take on a bigger foe.
Honestly he doesn’t doubt that he could, he still can’t believe this is what hell guards considered a failure. Zanka had taken to being a giver like a fish to water. If it wasn’t a touchy subject for him, he’d say he was a natural, but best to make sure he’s really got a feel for waving that stick of his around before letting him swim in the deep end....That and there were still some concerns on the kids mental wellbeing considering the state he recruited him in....Speaking of....
His head snaps in every direction, small beads of sweat forming as it becomes abundantly clear a certain someone was no longer diligently waiting by his side.
Where the fuck is my kid.
.....
Shit .Shit. Shit.
He’d kick himself into a deserved stupor if he’d let Zanka get napped.
Not to mention Semiu is gonna kill him. Already grilled him that if he's going to make a habit of recruiting children he damn well better be ready step up and actually be responsible for them. He’s sure she can sense he’s fucked up and is gonna buzz him on his choker any second just to cuss him out.
It’s fine, the kids capable, and knows better than to wander far...and is totally not going to be kidnapped and sold off to the highest bidder. Nope.
A small strangled noise dies in his throat in his efforts to stop himself chanting ‘I fucked up. I fucked up. i fucked up.’
Uggrrhhggg....He can’t catastrophise, that’s not helpful. Besides that supporter uniform should stand out pretty well in a crowd...even one as manic as this.
He does a piss-poor job of pretending not to panic as he starts shoving his way through the crowd. Heart thumping against his ribscage while his eyes dart from face to face.
He makes a mental note to get a choker sorted for the kid the second they get back to HQ. It hadn’t occurred he might need one with how attached to his hip Zanka had been. Hindsight is 20/20.
His twitchy fingers imagine turning back the clock and doing things right the first time. If only right? He feels a headache blooming in his skull, pulsing against scarred skin.
...
Or maybe he needs to cool it on the drama.
He feels like he’s won todays biggest idiot award when not two seconds later the boy he’d all but written off as living a life of torment and anguish under some cruel new master in an underground ring, is doing what anyone does at market, and casually browsing the wares.
He chokes on the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Gripping his chest as his heart rate finds normality again.
Of course it was fine. Zanka was responsible...not like his other troublemaker...He’s sure Riyo likes to disappear and reappear on him just to see if she can trigger a heart attack.
These kids are gonna kill him.
Kid had barely wandered to the end of the street, maybe Gris was right, he really is becoming too much of a mother hen. Still, Zanka rarely strayed from him at all. And in a crowd like this, even a few dozen feet suddenly felt a mile wide.
Something must have really caught his eye.
He’s far too much of a busy body to not be intrigued at what could have tugged his protégée from his side. Moving at a far more relaxed pace toward him now he didn’t have to worry about what ill fate might have befallen him.
He weaves through the tides of bodies with practiced ease. Eying Zanka carefully on his approach, he’s sure if he notices someone watching he’ll quickly boot up his hell guard.exe programming and whatever small moment of whimsy he might have been experiencing for the first time in his life would be lost in the wind. And fuck if this kid didn't need all the whimsy he could get.
He’s lucky Zanka is distracted, he’s not sure his attempt to look disinterested are fooling anyone. Some of the passerbys even have the audacity to give him a judgemental scowl.
They probably think he's a creep.
He can’t blame them, obviously stalking a kid like this. He only hopes their matching cleaner uniform doesn’t give anyone too unsavoury an idea of his intent. The idea of someone thinking that of him turns his stomach inside out.
He shifts uncomfortably. Enough of that. Focus. Zanka. What is he looking at. Why? As expected Zanka has quite the poker face, a steeled expression masking a storm in his mind seems to be his default.
If he’s honest, he struggles to read this kid so he can’t really tell what he’s thinking as he rolls blue threads between his fingers, but heck, if the kid likes these earrings, sure, he'll get them for him.
A belated welcome to the cleaners gift.
It’s not like Zanka to be interested in something so fanciful, always opting for practicality over everything else. Long flowy earrings that were begging to be ripped out in combat are not the kind of thing he would’ve expected him to be drawn to.
He hums thoughtfully to himself, bringing his hand to his chin. Maybe that was a front. One of the many in this kid's fortress of walls he’s nowhere near breaking though. Maybe he did always want to indulge in something pretty but was always steered away from it.
He conjures up a silly flip book sequence of a baby Zanka reaching out for a little blue teddy bear only for a disgruntled hell guard solider to snatch it away, wagging a finger at him and handing him a comically sized spiked mace to play with instead.
The baby Zanka is quickly crushed by the mace, and the weight of lost childhood.
Ah, his heart bleeds....
He really needs to stop making up tragic backstories.
He usually has good instincts for these things but there’s no telling how completely off all his assumptions about him are.
If the kid ever wanted to open up about whatever kind of regimental upbringing he went through, he’d tell him when he’s ready. Or maybe he never will. That’s also totally fine. Though there’s a reason everyone tells him he’s too nosey for his own good. It gnaws away at him NOT knowing...
It would make sense that Zanka had never been allowed to want things just because he wanted them before. The way he was staring at those earrings, expression locked down tight, but Enjin swore he could see longing slipping through the cracks of his carefully maintained composure.
His chest tightened...Dammit, he really is too soft.
His wallet had already taken a beating today, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was leaving those earrings behind now. Can’t not buy them for little Zan-Zan. Not when he’s looking at them like that. Not when this was the first time he'd seen Zanka show interest in something that wasn't tied to training harder, fighting better, or proving himself useful.
Something he wants simply for himself.
He’s gotta water that tiny seed of self expression, and who knows, in time maybe Zanka might grow to let himself be an actual person, with wants and needs and everything else that comes with being painfully human. Yes sir, no sir machine his old life drilled into him left in the dust. Wouldn’t that be something?
Alright, ain’t no need to stay sitting pretty when his mind’s made up.
Zanka is a lot like a cat, a cat who would punch you in the throat and bring you to your knees if you approach him too quickly.
This wouldn't be the first time he'd pushed his luck, sore memories twinge in his jugular.
He figures an inevitable startle is coming.
Tries to approach Zanka from the side so he's at least in his line of sight before slinging an arm over him. It was also a little strategic, meant to weigh the kid down just enough to stop him instinctively bolting out of sight. And giving him another heart attack.
Anyway. It was about time Enjin abandoned his self-appointed role as the world's creepiest market stalker and bring himself back into Zanka’s orbit.
"Well, well. Didn’t peg you for the fancy jewellery type?"
He wore a teasing smile, unable to resist poking a little fun at Zanka taking an interest in something so unexpectedly delicate. Nothing too merciless.
Someone had to teach this kid he was allowed to want things.
He jerked his chin toward the display.
“Whaddya say, you want me to get these for ya?”
Zanka looks at him like he just got caught dismembering a body.
----
Caught.
Shame crashes through him like a gong.
His whole body jerks.
Only Enjin's weight slumped against him keeps him rooted to the spot. Without it, he probably would've launched himself ten feet into the air.
His knee twitches upward on instinct, poised to drive into the gut of the stranger touching him.
Then recognition catches up, sparing his mentor from another assault.
He wills himself to pull his hand back, but he’s still clinging to a lone blue strand.
He doesn’t know why he can’t quite let go.
“what? I- uh-... no- no you don’t have to do that, I was just....”
Fuck he’s useless, can’t even find a believable excuse on the spot.
Undignified splutters are unbefitting of his breeding.
He doesn’t even know why he feels like he has to find one.
Would it really be so strange for him to be looking at something at a market?
Of course not.
So why does he feel like he’s in trouble. Like any second now there will be a raised hand, a venom laced reprimand, a glowering stare.
He keeps his breathing as stable as he can muster, winding himself into a coiled spring and willing himself to shrink.
Enjin’s gaze remains soft.
No indication he’s going to scold him, or even mock him for fiddling with something feminine that a boy has no business being interested in.
He wasn't even really interested in what they are they just...reminded him of her.... and admitting that felt worse than him just liking something he probably shouldn’t.
"Hey now, the heart wants what the heart wants,"
Enjin flashes him an easy grin with a shrug.
"C'mon, Zan-Zan. Let big bro treat you."
His mind struggles to catch up with everything being thrown at him.
Treat him?
Big bro?
Zan-Zan?
He's short-circuiting.
Beady eyes watch on silently, impatiently assessing the back and forth, and before Zanka can convince Enjin to back down the looming vendor's hand whacks Zanka away.
"YOU TOUCH? YOU BUY??"
Zanka retreats, clutching his hand like she'd bit it clean off.
"H-huh??"
Unfazed she repeats herself, this time less of a question, more of a statement.
“YOU TOUCH. YOU BUY.”
He falters, he has no idea how to handle a pushy vendor, never covered anything like this in his training.
She reminds him of that yelling doctor Enjin was always visiting, only with an untamed mane of hair that bounced with every jerky motion.
Maybe it was that same doctor, just in a wig.
Came all this way just to mess with him so Enjin could laugh at him.
who knows. His brain is melting....
She never breaks her stare.
He wonders if she can blink.
Zanka gulps.
“I- uh- No..No I was just looking-”
Despite the manic glint in her eyes, she adopts what almost seems like a kindly smile. Though it could just be part of her sales tactic.
“You don’t want? Why?? Very nice, suit you well. Perfect for you. You buy.”
She wasn’t yelling anymore so that at least helped offset his nerves. Still, he has no idea how to get out of this exchange and ends up tripping up on every word that he tries to make come out his mouth.
Enjin of course comes to his rescue, and he mentally forges an ironclad rule for himself to never touch something at a market ever again.
He wants the ground to open up and swallow him.
It doesn’t help that Enjin always has to make the simple things be more dramatic than it needs to be.
“Oh don’t you worry crazy lady I. am. buying!”
He has a goofy grin, almost mischievous as he punctuates his declaration.
Oh crap, he’s really going to buy them.
Since the pavement stubbornly refused to absorb him, he's forced back into reality to panic and protest through the whole purchase. All to no avail.
The woman cackles, clearly very pleased with the whole affair.
“Lovely blue, matches eyes, meant for you nyeheheh...NO REFUNDS!”
With that, Enjin calls it a day.
“A’lright, lets get our asses home!”
Dimples on full display from an ever growing grin, his hand lands between Zanka's shoulders, steering him away from the busiest stretch of the market. Away from the shouting vendors and weaving crowds. Away from the hundreds of eyes Zanka is convinced are staring at him.
Zanka doesn't protest. He isn't entirely sure where they're going, can only hope they're finally heading back and there’s no more pitstops along the way.
His thoughts keep circling the same impossible fact.
Enjin bought something.
For him.
Every time the sentiment surfaces, his stomach twists and he shoves it back down again. It’s not something he’s eqipped to process right now. Feeling near catatonic with the flurry of emotions stirring inside of him.
A clumsiness unbefitting of him on full public display as he stumbles helplessly at his elder’s whims, his steering of Zanka about as coordinated as his driving.
But Enjin was keen to make his gift offering somewhere a little less overwhelming for him.
-----
As eager as he’d been to get them somewhere more fitting for the big reveal, Zanka looks about ready to collapse as they linger outside their vehicle.
For once, he exercises a shred of patience. Lights a cigarette instead and leans against the truck, letting smoke lazily dance in the air while the kid tries to gather his bearings.
Crazy how he’s seen the teen take down two story high beasts and not break a sweat, yet one awkward conversation has him practically gulping for air like a dying fish. Flopping uselessly out of water.
His eyes narrow at the thought. Actually, what do you call it when a fish dies from too much air?
Drowning?
No...
Maybe?
Whatever. He shakes himself out of it. Not important.
He takes one more long drag before tilting his head toward his fidgety tagalong.
“Heh, she was kind of intense huh?”
He doesn’t meet his eyes, apparently intent on staring a specific spot of dirt.
“She was...Unexpected.”
He snorts at that, how it was said with a severity as though he’d been ambushed and barely made it through the battle with his life.
He supposes it probably does feel that way to Zanka. he was a lot quieter than the types you’d typically find among the cleaners.
A subdued demeanour that he still questions just how much of it is actually Zanka, and how much is deeply instilled Hell Guard militaristic conditioning.
He gets the impression there's a lot more personality buried beneath that reflexive subservience. A version of Zanka still waiting to claw its way to the surface.
Right now, it mostly comes in fleeting moments. Little slips where Zanka eases up and starts acting his age before immediately catching himself.
Like he's broken some invisible rule.
Like he's still waiting for someone to punish him for it.
Those moments always leave an ache somewhere beneath Enjin's ribs.
He tries not to dwell too deeply on it, sure that if Zanka saw the slightest change in him it was going to be read as some sort of confirmation he’d disappointed him and not him just...Worrying for him.
Either way, an unhinged conversation with a crazy lady hell bent on selling you her wares is clearly out of Zanka’s depth. Doubts Zanka's even seen a great deal of how constant exposure to pollution can turn your brain into gravy. Makes people a little loopy.
“Well, got to prepare for the unexpected out here, you never know what crazy shit’s going to be thrown at you.”
The younger mused on that, taking it all in as though he’d dropped some kind of important pearl of wisdom and not just snarky commentary.
It was a dynamic he was unused to, how he’d linger on his every word like that.
Most people tried not to listen to him.
This made him feel like he had to be way more careful about the crap he said. He spouts far too much bullshit on a daily basis for Zanka to be taking it as gospel. He worries what kind of less than savoury things he might have let slip that Zanka had taken to heart.
He was a terrible influence.
He sure knows how to pick them. Managed to pluck the ground’s two most complicated kids from the pile. Dragged them home, begged Semiu and the boss to let him keep them, and then had the audacity to be surprised when they’re hard work.
Needy kids, they’ll be the death of him.
His one weakness.
Still, it’s probably as good a time as any now Zanka seems a little more present. Heh.
He clears his throat, making sure he had the teens full attention.
“Annnnyway...”
With a theatrical flourish, he presents the open gift box, tasselled blue nestled neatly inside.
“What do you say, shall we call these a little belated welcome home gift?”
For a moment, Zanka doesn't understand what he's hearing.
The words don’t fully process.
Zanka goes still.
Numb.
Body and mind can't agree on what emotion he's supposed to have in response to this, so they settle on nothing at all.
He wasn’t even an official cleaner yet.
Hadn’t earned his place among them.
How can Enjin make that claim so causally?
In earnest?
A welcome home gift.
As though there had never been any question that he belonged there.
He can't look directly at Enjin, he was shining bright enough to hurt.
His eyes already burned from unshed tears to be able to stare directly into the sun.
Enjin falters for a second, uncertainty flickering across his face as he wonders if he'd overstepped. Then he rallies, deciding to give it another shot.
"Awww, don't be shy now..."
Zanka raises his head slightly this time. Still unable to speak but gaze fixing on the offering.
“ and no need to thank me, I know, I’m the best.”
Tentatively, wordlessly, Zanka accepts.
He desperately searches within himself for a framework to guide him through this exchange, finding none.
Everything had always been practical. Purposeful. Worth measured by usefulness.
Zanka included.
There was no logic in sentimentality. No purpose behind affection or gifts. They served no objective, achieved nothing tangible. All silly fanfare of the weak.
At least, that's what he'd always told himself.
Then he found value in a stick and everything changed.
Everything is still changing.
Every fleeting brush of physical contact, every awkward display of affection, every scrap of acknowledgement for his efforts stirred something within him that he couldn’t suppress.
As overwhelming as it was, he craved it.
Now Enjin was standing before him offering a new equally terrifying salve to soothe a bone deep ache he’d grown so accustomed to ignoring. Until now, he hadn’t registered it was there at all.
His thumb traced over the earrings.
He'd been drowning himself as he'd stared at them. Mourning all he can never go back to, but now it was all but replaced with new sensation. A warmth that was strange and almost painful in its intensity, spreading in his chest at the sight of them.
Growing still as he finally took the box into his own hands.
Unfamiliar, terrifying, as though they might shatter in his hands, leaving broken shards embedded deep enough within him to scar.
A deep chasm in his heart he had never acknowledged begging to be filled.
It chokes him.
Lodged itself in his throat, forcing a tiny, pathetic sound from him that he'd never imagined allowing to escape in public.
They were a gift.
For him.
Not earned.
An offering of home.
Given solely because Enjin thought he might like them.
No matter how many times he rolled the thought in his head he couldn’t make sense of it.
Everything instilled in him strained against the moment, threatening to unravel at the seams as he fought a losing battle of keeping welling tears spilling forth.
"Zanka…?"
Enjin is suddenly hovering, hand reaching out. A small bead of sweat forming on his brow as he second guesses himself.
Maybe he'd completely misread. Dug up some deep wound better left buried and sent the kid spiralling back down into the worst parts of himself.
Fuck the kid looks like he's going to burst into tears.
He supposes that's on him, Zanka had been an enigma since he chased them down and begged to become a cleaner.
The soul shattered foul mouthed ranting of the unseen phantom at the bottom of a dark hole had been replaced with an actual kid, adorned with painted on smiles and rigid posture.
It was easy to forget they were one and the same.
Easy to forget that he'd found this kid having chosen a slow death and waiting for it to claim him alone in the dark.
Outside the well Zanka rarely let anything slip. He held himself together with such relentless discipline that it was almost convincing. Every uncontrolled emotion a personal failing that needed immediate correction.
Enjin had never quite managed to get a decent read on the kid, but he liked to think he'd gotten better at picking up on the subtle clues.
He definitely hadn't banked on being the one to open the floodgates, leaving him fumbling for what the hell he was supposed to do with a teenager on the verge of tears. All kick-started by him trying to buy the kid a nice gift.
Man...
He was not cut out for this.
Despite every internal alarm blaring at him not to make things worse, he reaches out anyway.
A slow, careful gesture.
Comfort, if Zanka wanted it.
Not that he expected Zanka to take it.
There's a heavy intake of breath, laden with equally heavy emotion, before Zanka finally manages to collect himself. A quiet sniffle escapes him as he rubs furiously at the offending wetness gathering in his eyes, only for it to return as quickly as his sleeve wipes it away.
Shaking hands cradle the earrings against his heart as he bows his head.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut in a futile effort to keep the tears from falling.
He hopes Enjin can tell the difference.
That this isn't the rigid dip of the head offered to a superior. That it carries the depths of gratitude stirring painfully within his chest. The added benefit of hiding his crumpling expression is merely a coincidence.
Swallowing around the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, he forces himself to acknowledge Enjin.
To acknowledge the gift.
To acknowledge everything Enjin had already done for him, and everything he continued to do. Somehow convey that he intended to repay both this kindness and the investment Enjin had made in him.
“Thank you. I...No one’s ever...I know I don’t deser-”
He trails off, none of the cleaners ever reacted well to him saying things like that. He didn’t want to tarnish the moment.
A different approach.
“Thank you. I swear it, i swear you aint gonna regret taking a chance on me. I’ll work harder than anyone. I’ll show you, I’m gonna grow, I’ll be worthy of all of this.”
Enjin listens with befuddlement as the words tumble out of Zanka.
The undying declaration of fealty was really throwing him for a loop
He'd thought they'd made progress on that front.
“Dude.....They’re just earrings.”
Zanka allows a small laugh, a short exhale of air that barely counts as one.
He doesn’t voice it back to Enjin, but they’re so much more than that. He's certain if he hadn't already bonded with Lovely, these would be the item he would bind to his soul.
At the sentiment he swears he feels a faint pulse of jealousy from where his partner rests strapped across his back.
Silently his heart returns reassurance. These wernt a replacement for her, or comparable to what they have.
These represented something new, unfamiliar, deeply important in a way he struggled to find words for.
He would treasure them forever.
Even if he couldn't wear them.
...
A beat of silence passes as they both linger awkwardly in place.
Enjin is clearly waiting for something, adopting his nervous habit of rubbing at his neck.
"...Are you, uh, gonna wear them or what?"
Zanka's mouth goes dry.
Consumed with a sudden irrational need have seen this whole affair coming and to have gotten his ears pierced pre-emptively.
He blinks uselessly at Enjin.
His elder, meanwhile, appears entirely oblivious to the issue at hand and the apparent disrespect Zanka was inflicting upon his gift.
Does he expect him to pierce his ears himself? Right now? Surely not. The Hell guard might have put him through some kind of weird obedience test like that, but not the cleaners.
That’s only more baffling then.
Enjin isn’t stupid. Enjin is the most incredible person he has ever met. Observant to a point it seemed he had a sixth sense for it...Yet he carries on staring expectantly at him like he doesn't seem to understand why he can’t wear them.
Fidgeting nervously, he lets out a hushed murmur he hopes will pass as speech.
“I uh...I don't.... have my ears pierced...”
Enjin quacks. He really had not considered that in his brilliant plan. Whoops.
“oh.... Huh- I guess I didn’t think of that. do you want to get them pierced?”
He squeezes the back of his neck again, suddenly far too aware of how poorly thought out his impulse buy was. Though Zanka had clearly been touched by the gesture, so he guesses it worked out.
Still, would have been a good idea to have got him something he could actually wear.
He feels like a dumbass, his only hope is that the kid even wants to go forward with getting piercings.
Then again, with the amount of sway he seemed to have over this kid, asking the question might've been the same thing as making the decision for him.
Ah, shit.
Traumatised kids were hard.
He’s not even sure if Zanka is old enough to get piercings from somewhere legit... which would mean he’d give parental consent. Man, that would be weird.
Officially listing himself as Zanka's guardian.
He supposed he kind of was. Team leader of a gang of minors and all. But the idea alone had him feeling himself age in real time. Just how long does he have until grey sneaks it's way into his hair.
Come to think of it...
How old even is Zanka?
The internal ethical debate of pressuring a minor into some light body modification melts away just as quickly as it arrived as big blue eyes sparkle at him, followed by an enthusiastic nod. Phew. Though Zanka’s not being discreet about eyeing up Enjin’s own earrings.
Jeez, at this rate he’ll be asking to get a tattoo. He’s not sure if he’d have it in him to say no to the idea if he looks at him like this again.
“Weeell getting them done anywhere here is basically asking for an infection, but there’s plenty of people out there who can set you up.”
“Who did yours?”
“Mine? Well shit... Now you're asking...”
He looks to the sky for answers, sifting through his years of memories and the haze of uncertainty he finds had him feel the onset of wrinkles by the second. At least they'll match his early greys.
“Gob maybe? That punk covered in paint we met in canvas town if you remember him? We can ask him to break out the gun when we pop by again.”
“Gun?”
Zanka recalled his sister getting hers done with a needle. He was fairly certain he didn't mean an actual gun, but it sounded a little unorthodox. Still, if Enjin says it’s fine he trusts it.
Enjin tried not to look too pleased with himself despite the uncertain look the kid was shooting him. He was really making a breakthrough with Zanka today.
With his guard lowered like this, every thought in the kid's head was painted across his face clear as day.
“Yeah a needle gun! Ain’t nothin to it, a quick jab and boom, it’s in there.”
He mimicked the motion to illustrate his point.
Zanka only cocked a brow in return.
Enjin laughed.
He really shouldn't be this excited to see the growing scepticism on the kid's face, but he couldn't help himself.
Usually, the range of expressions Zanka offered the world consisted of regimented obedience and carefully rehearsed politeness. The only genuine thing that consistently shone through was that blazing determination of his.
There had only ever been fleeting glimpses of everything else.
He wonders what other sides of this kid he’s yet to unlock.
He was keen to finally meet his protegee in full.
First, however, he had to find a piercer. Ideally one who actually knows what they're doing.
Zanka was still processing the concept of a needle gun when Enjin's hand was suddenly on him again, whacking him between the shoulders.
It feels like an assault.
It takes every ounce of willpower Zanka possesses not to grapple the offending arm and send his mentor sailing over his shoulder.
Between the repeated thunks knocking the thoughts right out of him, he reminds himself that back pats are another affection thing.
Even if this gesture seems like it’s one goal is smacking all the air out of him. Enjin really should have learned after being thrown into the dirt for this very thing the first time.
Or the second.
Or the third.
At least this time Zanka manages to tolerate it without resorting to instinctual violence.
A small victory for both of them, even if his body remains rigid as a board.
"If Gob's busy, I'm sure Riyo can figure something out for ya."
Zanka pulls a face.
The image of Riyo gleefully ramming her scissors through his ears did not inspire confidence.
But he'd endure whatever it took.
He wanted to wear his earrings proudly. Always.
He could already imagine his hand drifting upward to weave through blue threads in quieter moments, drawing Enjin's words gently back to the forefront of his mind.
Welcome home.
A soft smile slipped free before he could stop it.