Archive of Our Own

Enjin first noticed it because Zanka stopped coming to his office.

There had never been any particular arrangement between them, which was probably why Enjin became aware of the absence before he consciously understood why it bothered him.

Zanka did not visit at a specific time, did not knock, and certainly never asked whether he was interrupting; he simply appeared whenever he seemed to have run out of places he was willing to be.

Sometimes he sat in the chair across from Enjin's desk with Lovely Assistaff resting against the wall beside him, sometimes he leaned against the window while Enjin worked, and sometimes he said absolutely nothing for so long that Enjin almost forgot he was there until he looked up and found Zanka watching him with the faintly irritated expression of someone who had apparently been waiting for him to finish something.

Enjin had stopped asking why he was there years ago.

The first time he had made that mistake, Zanka had been younger and considerably worse at hiding how quickly he took things personally.

Enjin had glanced up from his work and asked, almost absentmindedly, whether Zanka needed something, only for Zanka to stare at him for several seconds before asking whether Enjin wanted him to leave.

Enjin had said no.

Zanka had left anyway.

After that, Enjin understood that Zanka rarely asked for something directly when it mattered to him.

If he wanted company, he simply appeared and waited to see whether he would be allowed to stay.

If something was bothering him but he did not know how to explain it, he found the person he trusted most and remained nearby until the feeling either passed or became unbearable enough that words finally became necessary.

It was not the healthiest method of communication, Enjin supposed, but it had worked between them.

Which was why the silence eventually became impossible to ignore.

One day passed without Zanka appearing.

Then another.

Then five.

By the end of the week, Enjin had developed the irritating habit of looking up whenever footsteps passed his open door, and every single time, the person walking by turned out to be someone else.

He told himself that Zanka was busy.
There were missions.
Training.
Equipment that needed maintenance. Reports that someone had forgotten to complete.

Enjin himself had barely found enough time to sit down properly that week, so it was hardly unusual for Zanka to have his own responsibilities.

Except Zanka had been busy before.

Zanka being busy had never stopped him from appearing in Enjin's office at midnight, sitting down without explanation, and remaining there until Enjin eventually finished whatever he was doing and asked whether something had happened.

He had not come.

Enjin did not realize how much that unsettled him until he found himself leaving his door open later than usual.

————————————————————

The next thing he noticed was during dinner.
It was not that Zanka was absent, exactly.
Zanka had missed meals before, particularly after long missions, and nobody considered it unusual enough to comment on unless there was an obvious reason for concern.

The problem was that, when Enjin asked where he was, nobody could actually tell him.
“Training,” Rudo said.
Enjin looked at him. “At this hour?”
Rudo shrugged. “I think so.”
“You think?”
“He said he had something to finish.”
Riyo, who had been listening while pretending she was not, lifted her gaze from her food.
“He's been doing that a lot lately.”
Enjin turned toward her.
“Finishing things?”
“No, deciding things aren't finished.” She shrugged.
“He'll finish whatever he's doing and then start again because something wasn't good enough. I thought he was just being Zanka.”

That was not an unreasonable conclusion.

Zanka had always been difficult to satisfy when it came to himself.

If someone else made a mistake, he could usually identify it, explain how to improve, and move on.
When Zanka made a mistake, however, the problem seemed to remain with him long after everyone else had forgotten it.

Enjin glanced toward the empty place at the table.
“Did he eat?”
Riyo's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Rudo looked down.
Enjin slowly leaned back.
“Neither of you knows?”
“He probably ate earlier,” Riyo said.
“Probably?”
Riyo sighed. “I don't know, Enjin.”

Something uncomfortable settled in his chest.

It was still possible that nothing was wrong.

Zanka could simply be busy.

He could have eaten somewhere else. He could be training harder because something had frustrated him.

None of those things would have been unusual on their own.

Together, however, they formed a pattern.

And Enjin had known Zanka long enough to recognize when something that appeared normal was beginning to become something else.

————————————————————

He found him in the training room after midnight.

Enjin had not intended to look for him, although he later admitted that he had probably been doing exactly that without consciously acknowledging it.

The light beneath the training room door caught his attention as he passed, and then he heard the sound of Lovely Assistaff striking one of the reinforced targets hard enough that the impact echoed into the corridor.

There was something wrong with the rhythm.

Enjin stopped outside the door and listened for a moment before opening it.

Zanka did not notice.

That was the first thing that truly worried him.

Zanka was normally aware of his surroundings to an almost irritating degree, particularly when he was training.

Enjin had seen him notice someone entering a room without turning his head and had long ago stopped trying to surprise him for his own entertainment.

Tonight, however, Zanka's attention was fixed entirely on the target in front of him as he repeated the same sequence again and again, each attempt becoming slightly more aggressive whenever he failed to perform it exactly the way he wanted.

His form was still good.

That was what made the problem easier to miss.

Anyone else might have assumed that nothing was wrong, because Zanka was skilled enough to remain impressive even while exhausted, but Enjin knew the details of his movements too well.

His left side was slower than usual. His balance shifted whenever he turned.
His breathing had become uneven, and there was blood on the sleeve of his uniform.

Enjin leaned against the wall and watched.

Zanka completed the sequence, immediately reset his stance, and began again without taking more than a few seconds to recover, but the next attempt was no better than the previous one, and when he missed the same movement for a third time, the expression on his face darkened in a way Enjin had learned to associate with anger directed entirely inward.

“You're going to break something.”
Zanka stopped.
For a moment, he remained perfectly still before turning his head enough to look over his shoulder.
“I'm not.”
Enjin raised an eyebrow.
“Lovely might have a different opinion.”
Zanka glanced down at his weapon immediately, concern appearing before he could stop it.
“She's fine.”
“I'm sure she is.”
Enjin stepped farther into the room.
Zanka finally turned toward him properly, and the movement revealed the bruise beginning to form near his temple.
Enjin noticed.
Zanka noticed him noticing.
The silence between them changed.
“Mission?” Enjin asked.
“Training.”
“Before this.”
Zanka looked away.
“It went fine.”
Enjin did not believe him.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Enjin's gaze moved toward the blood on his sleeve, and Zanka immediately shifted the injured arm behind his back.
That was unusual enough that Enjin felt his concern sharpen.

Zanka had always insisted that injuries were insignificant, but he had never really hidden them from Enjin. He would complain if someone tried to treat him as though he were fragile, but there was a difference between refusing to make an injury important and actively concealing it.

“Zanka.”
“It isn't serious.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
Zanka's jaw tightened.
For several seconds, Enjin considered pushing the matter further, but he knew from experience that Zanka became more difficult when he felt cornered.

If Enjin forced him into defending himself, the conversation would become an argument neither of them actually wanted, and Zanka would leave with the injury untreated simply because accepting help would suddenly feel like losing.

Instead, Enjin walked toward one of the benches and sat down.
Zanka stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently I'm incapable of going to sleep.”
“You have work.”
“I always have work.”
Zanka looked unconvinced.
Enjin smiled faintly. “Go on.”
Zanka hesitated before turning back toward the target.

For the next several minutes, Enjin watched him train without saying anything, and the longer he watched, the more obvious it became that Zanka was forcing himself past the point where his body had stopped cooperating.
He continued because stopping would mean admitting that he could not continue, and Enjin suspected that, at the moment, Zanka considered that possibility considerably worse than pain.

Eventually, his injured side failed him during another turn.

The movement faltered, Lovely Assistaff dipped lower than intended, and Zanka had to correct his balance before he lost control of the entire sequence.

“Again,” he muttered.
Enjin stood.
Zanka repositioned himself.
“Zanka.”
“I can do it.”
The words came out before Enjin could say anything else.

For the first time that night, Zanka sounded neither irritated nor angry.
He sounded frightened.
Not of Enjin.
Of failure.

Enjin stopped.

Zanka seemed to realize what he had said almost immediately, because his expression closed again.

“I can,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

Enjin looked at him for a moment before walking toward the supplies near the wall.
“What are you doing?” Zanka asked.
“Getting bandages.”
“I said I'm fine.”
“And I heard you.”

When Enjin reached for his injured arm, Zanka pulled back instinctively. He did not argue again, though.

After a moment, his shoulders lowered, and he held his arm out with the reluctant resignation of someone who had decided that resisting would require more energy than he had left.

Enjin cleaned the wound in silence.

“Have you eaten?”
Zanka's body went completely still.

It was such a small reaction that Enjin might have missed it if he had not already been watching for signs that something was wrong.

“Yes.” Zanka said reluctantly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Zanka looked at him suspiciously.
Enjin continued treating the injury.

“You don't believe me.” Zanka accused.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Enjin smiled faintly.
Zanka looked annoyed, but there was no real energy behind it.

Lovely Assistaff rested beside them, and when Enjin glanced toward her, Zanka followed his gaze.
“Can you move her?”
The request was casual, almost automatic, but Enjin still understood what it meant.

Zanka disliked other people touching his things.
He had never needed to explain it for Enjin to know that, and Enjin had never made a habit of testing the boundaries simply because he was one of the few exceptions.

He picked Lovely up carefully and moved her away from the blood and supplies.
Zanka watched for a moment.
Then he looked away.
Enjin returned to his arm.

When he had finished, Zanka flexed his fingers and reached for Lovely Assistaff.

“Go eat,” Enjin said.
“I already did.”
Enjin looked at him.
Zanka stared back.
“Right.”
That was all.
Zanka narrowed his eyes.
“You don't believe me.”
Enjin leaned back slightly.
“I didn't say that either.”
“You're annoying.”
“I'm aware.”

Zanka stood and left.
Enjin watched the door close behind him.
The training room became quiet.
For the first time, he allowed himself to consider that whatever was happening might be worse than simple overwork.

————————————————————

The problem became Rudo later.

Not because Rudo had done anything wrong.

If anything, Enjin suspected that was precisely why Zanka struggled with it.

Rudo was talented.
Everyone knew that.
His understanding of vital instruments came from somewhere instinctive, and while he still lacked experience in countless areas, there were moments when he grasped something immediately that Zanka would have spent months practicing.

Enjin had watched Zanka react to that from the beginning.

At first, the response had been almost entirely competitive.
Zanka wanted to prove that experience mattered, that discipline mattered, and that natural talent was not the only thing worth respecting.
Then something changed.

The more Enjin watched, the more he realized that Zanka was no longer training simply because he wanted to improve.
He was training because he seemed terrified of what it would mean if he did not.

————————————————————

Enjin eventually found the proof by accident.

He had gone into Zanka's room to retrieve a report that had been left behind after a meeting, and he had already picked it up when a folded piece of paper slipped from beneath another document and fell to the floor.

He picked it up automatically.
It was a schedule.
That was unsurprising.
Zanka kept track of everything.
Training.
Assignments.
Maintenance.
Missions.
What Enjin did not expect were the notes beside them.

At first, they appeared ordinary.
Training incomplete.
Maintenance completed.
Mission acceptable.
Then his eyes moved farther down.
Breakfast unnecessary.
Enjin stopped.
He read the next line.
Lunch unnecessary.
And then another.
Rest after completion.
For several seconds, he simply stood there.
The handwriting was Zanka's.
The meaning was obvious.
This was not a matter of forgetting to eat.
Zanka was deciding that he should not.
Enjin folded the paper again.
He put it back exactly where he had found it.
Then he picked up the report and left.

He did not confront Zanka.
He did not know how.
Because suddenly all of the things Enjin had been noticing had rearranged themselves into something much more frightening.
Zanka had not merely been overworking.
Somewhere inside his mind, work had become connected to worth.
Food.
Rest.
Care.
All of it appeared to have become something he believed he had to earn.

————————————————————

The first time Enjin heard him admit it, they were sitting on the roof.

Zanka had lost a training match against Rudo earlier that day.

It had not been a humiliating loss.
It had not even been particularly important.

Rudo had found an opening, Zanka had reacted too slowly, and the match had ended before either of them could fully recover.

Rudo had been pleased.
Zanka had congratulated him.
Then he had left.

Enjin found him several hours later.
The food beside him was untouched.
“Bad day?” Enjin asked as he sat down.
Zanka glanced at him.
“No.”
“Good. Then I'll leave.”
Zanka's expression changed slightly.
Enjin remained where he was.

After a few minutes, Zanka spoke.
“I should've won.”
Enjin looked toward him. “Why?”
Zanka frowned as though the question itself were stupid.
“Because I had more experience.”
“That doesn't mean you're required to win every time.”
“I trained for years.”
“Yes.”
“He didn't.”
“Rudo trains too.”
“You know what I mean.”
Enjin did.
He waited.
Zanka looked down at his hands.
“It took me a long time.”
“To learn?”
“Yes.”
Enjin remained silent.
Zanka's fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeve.
“I had to work for everything.”
The words were quiet.
Enjin turned toward him.
Zanka continued before he could respond.
“And he just…” He stopped, frustrated with himself. “I don't hate him.”
“I know.”
“I don't want him to fail.”
“I know.”
“But sometimes he understands something immediately, and I don't.”
Enjin felt the shape of the problem beginning to reveal itself.

Zanka was not angry because Rudo was talented.
He was afraid that his own effort had not meant as much as he had believed.

“I thought,” Zanka said slowly,
“that if I kept working hard enough, eventually I would become good enough that it wouldn't matter whether other people had more talent.”
Enjin watched him.
“And?”
Zanka laughed quietly, without humor.
“And now he keeps getting better too.”

The wind moved through the silence between them.

Finally, Enjin said,
“You're allowed to be jealous.”
Zanka looked offended.
“I am not jealous.”
“Sure.”
“I don't hate him.”
“I didn't say you did.”
“I don't want him to fail.”
“I know.”
Zanka stared at him.
Enjin's expression softened.
“You can be happy that someone else is doing well and still wish that some things were easier for you.”
Zanka looked away.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Enjin glanced toward the untouched food.
Zanka noticed immediately.
“I didn't earn it.”
The words were so quiet that Enjin nearly thought he had imagined them.
Zanka seemed to realize what he had said at the same moment Enjin understood it, because his entire body went tense.
Enjin did not move.
“What?”
Zanka looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Zanka.”
“I didn't mean—”
“Do you think you have to earn food?”
Zanka did not answer.
The silence became unbearable.
Finally, he whispered, “Sometimes.”
Enjin felt something in his chest tighten.
“Why?”
Zanka laughed softly.
“Because I didn't do enough.”
“What is enough?”
Zanka looked at him.
There was genuine confusion in his face.
“I don't know.”

And that was when Enjin understood how dangerous the idea was.

There was no point at which Zanka would decide he had done enough, because enough was not a real destination.

He could always have trained harder, reacted faster, learned sooner, made fewer mistakes.

He could always have been more.

The finish line would keep moving because Zanka himself was moving it.

Enjin wanted to tell him that he was wrong.
He wanted to tell him that he was worth more than his usefulness,
that he deserved to eat because he was alive and to rest because his body needed it,
but the words felt too simple against something Zanka had probably been carrying for years.

So Enjin stayed.

He did not force Zanka to finish the meal.
Eventually, however, Zanka picked up his food.
Enjin looked away.

————————————————————

For a little while, Enjin believed things were improving.
That was his mistake.
Zanka began coming to his office again.
Not every day, but often enough that Enjin stopped leaving his door open deliberately.

He occasionally admitted when something hurt.
He ate more consistently when the others were around.
He even started answering some questions honestly.

If Enjin asked whether he had eaten, Zanka would sometimes say, Not yet, rather than lying outright.

Enjin saw that as progress.
It was progress.
It simply was not enough.

Because Zanka had not stopped believing that he had to earn everything.
He had only become better at letting Enjin believe he was trying.

And he was trying.

That was the part Enjin understood too late.

Zanka was not deliberately deceiving him.
He genuinely wanted to get better.

The problem was that he still believed recovery was another task he had to complete correctly.

If Enjin told him to eat, he tried to eat.
If Enjin told him to rest, he tried to rest.
If Enjin said he was allowed to make mistakes, Zanka nodded.

But the belief underneath all of it remained untouched.
What happens when I fail badly enough that you change your mind?

————————————————————

The answer came during a mission.

Nothing catastrophic happened.
Nobody died.
That was almost the worst part.

If something terrible had happened, perhaps Zanka would have understood why everyone was so concerned afterward.

Instead, he made one mistake.
A single hesitation.

He saw the opening too late, Rudo reacted before him, and Enjin had to intervene before the situation became more complicated.

Afterward, Enjin immediately saw the change in him.

Zanka became quiet.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Quiet.

The mission ended, the team returned, and everyone slowly scattered.
Zanka disappeared before Enjin could speak to him.

At first, Enjin assumed he had gone to the training room.
He was wrong.

Then he checked the roof.
Nothing.

His office.
Empty.

Dinner passed.
Zanka did not appear.

That was when Enjin began to feel something close to fear.

He knew Zanka's patterns.
He knew where he went when he was angry.
He knew where he went when he wanted to be alone.
He knew where he went when he was overwhelmed.
And Zanka was nowhere.

By the time Enjin found him, the sky had already darkened.

He had gone to one of the old training areas that had been abandoned after newer facilities were built, a place far enough away that nobody would accidentally pass by and ask what he was doing.

Enjin stopped outside the doorway.
For several seconds, he simply watched.
Zanka was still training.
Except he could barely stand.
His movements had lost their usual precision hours ago.
There was no rhythm left,
no improvement,
no goal beyond continuing to move.

Lovely Assistaff struck against the target, Zanka staggered slightly, corrected himself, and started again before his body could force him to acknowledge the pain.

Enjin's chest tightened.
“Zanka.”
He did not stop.
Enjin stepped inside.
“Zanka.”
“I can do it.”
The answer came immediately.
He had not even looked at him.
Enjin felt cold.

Zanka started another sequence, but his body failed him halfway through the turn.
He caught himself against the floor before he could fall completely, breathing hard as Lovely Assistaff slipped from his hand.

For one terrible second, Enjin thought he would finally stop.
Instead, Zanka reached for her.
“I can do it.”
Enjin crossed the room and caught his wrist.
Zanka froze.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“I said I can do it.”
“I know.”
“Then let go.”
Enjin looked at him.
Zanka was pale.
Exhausted.
There was blood on his sleeve, though Enjin could not immediately tell whether it came from a new injury or an old one that Zanka had reopened through sheer stubbornness.

His eyes, however, were what frightened Enjin most.
They were completely empty.
Not numb.
Desperate.
As though the only thing holding him together was the belief that he could still fix himself if he kept trying.

“Zanka.”
“I just need more time.”
Enjin did not let go.
Zanka swallowed.
“I know I messed up.”
Enjin's expression changed.
“Zanka—”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
For the first time, he looked directly at Enjin.
“I know I should've reacted faster. I know Rudo shouldn't have had to do it for me. I know you had to step in, and I know that wasn't supposed to happen.”

Enjin went still.
Zanka looked terrified.
“I can fix it.”
Something inside Enjin broke.
Not because Zanka had failed.
Because he genuinely believed Enjin had come there to demand that he correct himself.

Enjin crouched in front of him.
Zanka immediately tried to look away.
“Look at me.”
“I can't.”
“Zanka.”
“I said I can fix it.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Zanka's breathing became uneven.
Enjin tightened his grip slightly around his wrist, not enough to hurt him, only enough to make it clear that he was not going to allow Zanka to disappear into himself.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Zanka did.

And Enjin saw the moment when he understood that something was wrong.
Not with the mission.
With him.
“You think I came here because I'm angry at you.”
Zanka's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“You think I was looking for you because you made a mistake.”
Enjin watched his expression.
Zanka's face began to change.
“I came here because you weren't there.”
The silence that followed was almost unbearable.
Enjin's voice softened.
“You didn't come to dinner.”
Zanka stared at him.
“You weren't in your room.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“You weren't in my office.”
Something in Zanka's face crumpled.
“I looked for you because I wanted to know where you were.”
Zanka's breathing hitched.

Enjin had never seen him like this.
Zanka was still trying to remain controlled.
Enjin could see it in the way his jaw tightened and his shoulders remained rigid, but the effort had become impossible to maintain because he was simply too exhausted to rebuild the walls every time they started to crack.

“You weren't supposed to look for me,” Zanka whispered.
Enjin frowned.
“What?”
“I messed up.”
The words were almost childlike in their certainty.
“I should've fixed it first.”
And there it was.
The entire truth, reduced to a single sentence.
Enjin closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them again, Zanka was staring at the floor.
“I thought you didn't want me around.”
Enjin felt the words physically.
Not because he had ever given Zanka a reason to believe that.
Because Zanka had been waiting for it anyway.
“Zanka.”
“I know you said I could come to you.”
His voice shook.
“I know you said I didn't have to be perfect,
but you say that because you're you.
You don't actually mean—”
“Stop.”
Zanka went silent.
Enjin leaned closer.
“I mean every word I say to you.”

Zanka looked unconvinced.
Of course he did.
Enjin swallowed.

“You know what I think happened?”
Zanka did not answer.
“I think you've spent so long proving that you're useful that you've forgotten what happens when you're not trying.”
Zanka's eyes flickered.
Enjin continued.
“You think that if you stop being useful, people will finally realize they have no reason to keep you.”
Zanka's face crumpled completely.
It happened so quickly that Enjin barely had time to react.

One moment Zanka was still holding himself together through force alone, and the next the tension disappeared from his body as though he had simply reached the point where there was nothing left with which to fight.

Enjin caught him before he hit the
floor properly.
Zanka's hands came up to cover his face.

Enjin did not tell him to stop.
He did not ask him to explain.

For several minutes, he simply stayed where he was, holding him upright while Zanka tried and failed to regain control of himself.
“I don't know how,” Zanka finally managed.
Enjin looked down at him.
“How what?”
“How to be here if I'm not doing anything.”
The words were broken, but not because Zanka was incapable of speaking.
They sounded like something he had never said aloud before.
“If I don't work, I think about everything.”
Enjin's expression softened.
“And if you work?”
“I don't have to.”
That hurt more than anything else he had said.
Zanka was not training because he enjoyed it.
Not anymore.
He was training because exhaustion was easier than being alone with himself.

Enjin looked toward Lovely Assistaff lying on the floor.
Then back at Zanka.

“I can't fix this for you.”
Zanka's expression tightened.
“But I can stay.”
Zanka looked at him.
Enjin continued before he could look away.
“You don't have to explain everything tonight.
You don't have to understand why you feel this way.
You don't have to promise me that you'll never do it again.”
Zanka stared.
“You just have to stop trying to earn the right to rest.”
For a moment, Zanka could only look at him.
Then, very quietly, he asked, “What if I can't?”
Enjin's answer came immediately.
“Then I'll remind you.”
Zanka shook his head.
“You'll get tired of me.”
Enjin almost laughed, but there was nothing amusing about the fear in his voice.
“Have you met me?”
Zanka stared at him.
“I've been tired of you for years.”
The corner of Zanka's mouth moved despite everything.
Enjin smiled.
“And yet.”
Zanka's expression broke again.
Enjin's smile faded.
“And yet you're still here.”
For several seconds, Zanka did not speak.
Then his eyes moved toward Lovely Assistaff.
Enjin followed the movement.
Zanka looked away.
“Can you…”
He stopped.
Enjin waited.
“Can you get her?”

The request was so small that anyone else might have dismissed it.
Enjin understood.

He reached for Lovely Assistaff and picked her up carefully.
When he brought her back, he did not simply place her on the floor.
He held her out.
Zanka looked at her.
Then at Enjin.
“You trust me with her,” Enjin said quietly.
Zanka's face changed.
Enjin had rarely spoken about it.
There had never been a need.
“You trust me with the things you care about.”
Zanka's fingers closed around the staff.
Enjin continued.
“You just don't seem to realize that you've been trusting me with yourself for years.”
That was the moment Zanka finally stopped fighting.
Not because everything suddenly became better.
Not because Enjin had found the perfect words.
But because Zanka looked genuinely confused by the idea that he had ever been wanted without first having to make himself useful.
Enjin saw him trying to understand it.
All those evenings in the office.
All those times he had appeared and said nothing.
All those moments when he had thought he was bothering Enjin.
And suddenly, perhaps for the first time, he understood that Enjin had noticed when he stopped coming.
He had missed him.
Not the work Zanka could do.
Not his strength.
Not his usefulness.
Him.
Enjin shifted slightly and held out his hand.
“Come on.”
Zanka looked down at it.
“I can't stand.”
“Didn't ask you to.”
For the first time that night, Zanka gave him a look that was almost normal.
Enjin smiled.
“We're going home.”
Zanka stared at him.
Then his expression changed again.
“Am I allowed to?”
Enjin's heart broke.
He reached forward and touched the side of Zanka's head.
“You never needed permission.”
Zanka closed his eyes.
And this time, when he leaned toward Enjin, he did not stop himself halfway.

————————————————————

They did not speak much afterward.
Enjin did not force him to.

The walk back was slow, and when Zanka could not manage it properly, Enjin stayed beside him without commenting on the way he leaned more heavily against him than usual.
No one was waiting for an explanation.
No one demanded to know why Zanka had disappeared.
Enjin made sure of that.

Later, after he had eaten something and been convinced to rest, Zanka sat in Enjin's office again.
He looked exhausted.
Different, somehow.
Not healed.
Enjin would never insult him by pretending one night could undo years of believing that care had to be deserved.

But something had changed.
Lovely Assistaff rested beside his chair.
Enjin worked quietly at his desk.

Eventually, Zanka spoke.
“I still don't believe it completely.”
Enjin looked up.
“I know.”
Zanka seemed relieved by that answer.
He looked down.
“I want to.”
Enjin's expression softened.
“That's enough.”
Zanka frowned.
“No, it isn't.”
Enjin smiled.
“See? That's exactly what I'm talking about.”
Zanka looked offended.
Enjin laughed quietly.
For a moment, the room felt almost normal.
Then Zanka's expression became serious again.
“When you came looking for me…”
Enjin waited.
Zanka looked uncomfortable.
“Were you really worried?”
Enjin stared at him.
Zanka immediately regretted asking.
“I mean, you don't have to answer that.”
“Of course I was worried.”
Zanka looked away.
Enjin leaned back.
“You vanished after a bad mission and didn't show up anywhere you were supposed to be. What did you think I was doing?”
“I thought…”
Zanka stopped.
Enjin waited.
“I thought you were relieved I wasn't bothering you.”
The answer was so quiet that Enjin almost wished he had not heard it.
Instead, he looked at Zanka for a long moment.
“Brat.”
Zanka frowned.
“What?”
“I was checking the hallway every time someone walked past my office.”
Zanka stared.
“I left my door open.”
His eyes widened.
“I was annoyed every time it wasn't you.”
Something in Zanka's expression softened.
Enjin looked back at his work.
“You're very inconvenient to care about, you know.”
Zanka's mouth twitched.
“But I do.”
The silence that followed was warm.
Not dramatic.
Just quiet.

Zanka sat there for another hour before he finally fell asleep in the chair.
Enjin noticed only when the room became too quiet and he looked up.
For several seconds, he watched him.
Then he reached for a blanket and carefully placed it over him.
Zanka did not wake.
Lovely Assistaff remained beside him.
Enjin returned to his work.
And for the first time in a very long time, Zanka rested without having to earn it first.