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Enjin doesn't need watch to know that it's late, way too late. Still, after bidding goodbyes to the remaining member of the team for his mission, he can't wait to go back to his room where a certain someone is waiting for him.
Hopefully.
Enjin knows, Zanka will be there. Their brief conversation this morning confirms that Zanka will be waiting for him to come home.
But, it's late, way too late.
He knows, Zanka isn't the type of staying up, except for those nights where Enjin may require him to do so. Does he wants Zanka to sacrifice his sleep for this? A part of himself wants to be selfish, but a bigger part of himself is just happy that he'll have Zanka in his bed, in any state of being.
It doesn't take long for Enjin to arrive at the familiar metal door. He knocks twice and listens; just as he expects, there's no answer. Enjin doesn't bother to get to the third, when he reaches for the doorknob and pushes the door open.
He's welcomed by the dimmed-lit room, where the only source of light comes from the nightstand. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the minimal lighting and Enjin doesn't waste his time standing in the doorway like an idiot.
He locks the door behind him, taking off his coat and drapes it on the chair, before he walks to his bed.
There, he finds the person he was looking forward to seeing this whole day, sleeping soundly.
By the look of it, Zanka clearly doesn't mean to fall asleep.
He has an open book on his stomach, finger slips between the pages as if he marks them. He puts two pillows under his head, like he's trying to kill some time by getting some reading.
Snoring softly, his head lolls to the side, naturally avoiding the light from the lamp.
Enjin stands next to the bed, taking in the sight before his eyes.
He always loves watching Zanka sleep.
Those nights when they get to spend together are one of many favorite moments of his. For someone who's always so alerted during the mission, who always tries to not sleep during the car ride, who never allows himself the rest even when he deserves it; Zanka is always so easy to fall asleep when he's just with Enjin.
They could have spent the nights watching movie, and Zanka will drops his head on his chest, suddenly dozes off. They could have just gone through the hottest make-out session and when they finally take some breather, Zanka's breathing will even out already.
Enjin doesn't mind. Of course, he doesn't.
To be a safe place for Zanka to finally let himself loose and allows the instinct to rest to take over and let himself cave in?
Enjin thinks, there's no greater honor than that.
Zanka is young, younger than him specifically, but he looks even younger in his sleep. Enjin can spend the whole night, cataloging the feature of his sleeping figure. How the eyebrows relax themselves, giving him much kinder face (not that Enjin thinks that Zanka doesn't look kind, but sleeping Zanka is definitely less threatening than when he's awake), how the long eyelashes cast shadows on his face, how the nose is in the perfect shape, how his seemingly chapped but soft lips blow out warm air as he snores.
Zanka is beautiful. And there's never a time when Enjin thinks otherwise.
He inches closer, can't help himself to part the ash-colored hair falling on Zanka's face, revealing the forehead.
He leans down, thumb rubbing the skin lightly before his lips find their way there.
So carefully, he doesn't want to wake Zanka up.
But even if it's done as tenderly as possible, upon receiving the kiss on his temple, Zanka still makes a contented sound, as if he can sense Enjin's presence even in his slumber.
Enjin freezes, lips lingering instead of pulling back, afraid that Zanka will wake up if he makes another move.
But the younger merely resumes his snore.
Smiling against the forehead, Enjin wills himself to pull back, albeit reluctantly.
He should get into the shower soon, but he finds himself linger on his spot a moment longer, listening to the quiet rhythm of Zanka’s breathing in the quiet of the room.
Today's mission had been long, the kind that left tension coiled in his shoulders, the kind that weighed his back even with their winning over the battle.
He knows he should wash it all away before sliding into bed, he knows he should leave it all behind before getting under the comforter.
Carefully, Enjin reaches down and slips the open book from beneath Zanka’s lax fingers. He marks the page with the thin ribbon attached to the spine, then sets it on the nightstand without a sound.
Zanka still doesn’t stir. Only his lashes flutter once, as if dreaming of something pleasant.
Enjin hopes it's a good dream, indeed.
He allows himself one more gentle brush of knuckles against Zanka’s cheek before straightening up.
Shower first, he has to remind himself.
No matter how badly he wants to crawl under the covers and pull that warm body against his, he refuses to bring the outside world into their shared space.
He moves through the room on silent feet; taking off his boots, shedding the rest of his clothes along the way.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind him with the softest latch. He keeps the light low, just enough to see, and runs the water warm rather than hot so the sound doesn’t carry. Steam rises slowly as he steps under the spray, letting it ease the ache in his muscles.
His thoughts stay in the next room, anchored themselves to someone sleeping there.
By the time he towels off and pulls on a loose pair of pants, the tension in his body has finally begun to uncoil.
He pads back into the bedroom, hair still damp and smelling faintly of the clean fragrance of the soap.
The lamp is still on, casting its gentle gold rays over Zanka’s form. He hasn’t moved much since the last time Enjin saw him—only shifted onto his side now, one arm curled beneath the pillow, the other reaching out across the empty half of the bed as if searching, even in sleep.
The thought that Zanka reaches for him as if he knows Enjin is near—even in his slumber, is so endearing that Enjin can't help the smile blooming on his lips.
Like a reflex, a muscle memory.
He opens the wardrobe, doesn't even see what he means to grab, only feeling the texture of the fabric that would be warm and comfortable for him to wear and for Zanka to grab onto.
Enjin doesn't need watch to know that it's late, way too late—when he eventually climbs to bed, joining Zanka.
It doesn't take long for Zanka to detect his presence.
The moment the bed dips, Zanka rolls in his sleep, shifting to find himself in Enjin's embrace. He doesn't even open his eyes, the soft snore is a proof of his unconsciousness.
Everything just happens naturally, like it's meant to happen.
Like a reflex, a muscle memory.
Just like when Enjin reaches for his waist, pulling him closer and Zanka curls himself to his chest, hand grasping the front of his shirt—a self-fitting puzzle piece.
Just like when Enjin sighs and Zanka proceeds to nuzzle his collarbone, mumbling something intangible, like he's murmuring comfort. Enjin is unable to catch what he says, but he's pretty sure it's some sort of words of affirmation.
Just like when Enjin cradles Zanka's head, fingers combing between the strands, Zanka shifts his head just slightly, but enough to let the activity continue without hassle.
Enjin isn't the type to say, I love you, but he doesn't need the words to express his feelings.
What is the use of word anyway, when what he feels is greater than any of it?
Leaning down, he places a kiss on the top of Zanka's head, burying his nose in the ash-colored hair—lingering for a while, inhaling the lavender off his hair.
"I'm home, Zanka," he whispers; so soft, so tender like a prayer.
Zanka shifts again, nuzzling Enjin's chest.
Another intangible mumble loses itself between the front of Enjin's shirt and the wall of muscles.
At that, Enjin smiles, tightening his embrace.
The 'Welcome home, Enjin' may be unspoken but never unheard of.
Enjin presses another kiss to acknowledge the unsaid, Zanka nuzzles him again.
Like a reflex.
And the best reflex, Enjin learns, happens when someone can anticipate what happens and responds to it.
And it seems, Zanka has mastered it.
Enjin doesn't need watch to know that it's late, way too late. But as the time passes, the day is just about to change its date, Enjin finds himself wishing for the sleep arrive later.
Because if he could, he would want to spend the rest of the day, just drowning in the comfort of Zanka's warm body against him, Zanka's calming presence in his embrace, and just Zanka, sleeping soundly.
Enjin indulges himself, pressing another kiss over Zanka's head.
Zanka still doesn’t wake. He only sighs, shifting just a slight as if he recognizes the touch. Enjin tightens his arms around him, pulling him even closer.
Zanka smells like home.
Zanka feels like home.
He could travel long and far, but Zanka is always going to be his final destination.
Zanka is his home to come back to.
Enjin thinks, not for the first time, that Zanka is the only home he ever truly needs.
And with that, the sleep comes easy, just as easy as he falls in love with Zanka, again and all over again.