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For once, Enjin doesn't have any perfectly crafted and carefully thought explanation for this. Not a single one of them. And he used to be known as the man of reasons, the man who seemingly has the answer to literally every question. Putting aside whether the answer is correct or not, the most important thing is that Enjin can answer the question.
This time, he got nothing.
The thing is, it's not like he doesn't think about getting confronted. In fact, it's his first thought when he made the decision of doing what he's doing: that he would say something.
Only that the opportunity never presents, only that the chance of having an actual conversation keeps on being harder to get.
Yeah, that's his excuse—a shitty excuse, but still.
"Since... when?"
Enjin is usually great at reading people, especially when it comes to Zanka, but it's one of those rare cases when Zanka is able to mask whatever expression he should have exhibited for the sake of keeping Enjin on the edge.
"Not long," Enjin answers curtly, but one long stare from Zanka and the truth spills out itself. "About, uh, a month ago? I think?"
Zanka shifts his gaze down.
"Not here, though?" Zanka prompts.
Enjin lets out a nervous chuckle. "Geez, of course not. That's suicide."
Zanka gives him a look that makes the words overflow, even if Enjin tries his hardest not to. Or perhaps, he always wants to say something, but also gets discouraged at the last minute.
"The bike shop, mostly. Or when I hang out with Gris after work. The bar," Enjin looks up to the ceilings, the light above his head reminds him of another location. "Outside of August's studio, sneakily on Dr. Alice's house that one time, she never allows me near her porch light anymore."
Zanka crosses his arms on his chest, eyes still focused on the items on the table. Enjin can keep the lies, or just not telling Zanka on purpose without any reasonings, but he finds himself hating the idea. He's not a saint, but to be dishonest to his partner feels like a start of something that could possibly doom their relationship.
Enjin doesn't want that. Zanka is too precious for that, he deserves to know everything about Enjin, even the awful, hard-to-love part of him.
"I know it doesn't look good at all, but I really don't wanna lie to you."
Zanka inhales deeply, definitely avoiding Enjin's eyes when he responds almost too softly.
"You don't lie to me." The man in front of him slowly looks up to him. "You're just not telling me. There's a huge difference in that."
"That's kinda the same," Enjin sighs, even if half of the burden has been lifted by telling the truth, it never really goes away, until he knows about Zanka's verdict on this matter. "I've been smoking behind your back and pretending like I don't."
To his surprise, Zanka breaks his serious demeanor by chuckling.
"Then, you're really bad at playing pretend, Enjin," he shakes his head.
Even if the reaction is nothing like Enjin has anticipated, he's glad that Zanka can see the comedy of this situation. He's been dreading to confess for so long, stressing himself by overthinking what Zanka might say, how Zanka might react.
"I've had my suspicion when you came over wearing too much cologne and you can't possibly think, I wouldn't notice with our affinity to kiss whenever we meet?"
In Enjin's defense, he buys a very strong toothpaste that claims it can get rid of the trace of the tobacco in his mouth. And since Zanka doesn't say something, Enjin genuinely thinks the product works.
It never occurs to him that Zanka will be playing along with him.
"Uh—you knew?" Enjin feels like his younger self when someone found out he had just started smoking. He can't exactly remember who, but it's probably Dr. Alice who chewed him out, which would be impressive if Enjin doesn't know about how she sometimes smokes too. It's getting rare and rare these days, but still. She shouldn't be so easy scolding him like he's murdered someone.
"I have a perfectly working nose and very receptive mouth," Zanka tells him without stutter, the doctor is probably unaware of the innuendo in his own words. "And I just never ask."
That catches Enjin's attention. If Zanka has known all along, why doesn't he say something? Why doesn't he complain? Why doesn't he forbid him from doing it?
"Why wouldn't you?"
Zanka leans forward, picking up the lighter, as if he's inspecting it. For a while, Zanka seems fascinated by the item, hand caresses the antique metal engraving. It's sort of family heirloom to him.
Something flashes on Zanka's face, too fast for Enjin to decipher, vanishing too quick before he can analyze.
Zanka puts the lighter back on the table.
"I don't wanna make you feel like you can't do things you used to do," Zanka says. "You are your own person, Enjin, before you meet me, before everything. I have no right to change you, if you aren't willing to be changed."
Enjin opens his mouth like he wants to argue, or to reason, or to defend himself—he has absolutely zero idea what to say, that he ends up clamping his mouth shut again.
"I think, I don't need to tell you the downside of smoking? I also don't need to tell you about my view on that, you must be aware of it or else, you wouldn't say anything to me."
For once, Enjin doesn't have any perfectly crafted and carefully thought explanation for this. Not a single one of them. And he used to be known as the man of reasons, the man who seemingly has the answer to literally every question. Putting aside whether the answer is correct or not, the most important thing is that Enjin can answer the question.
This time, he got to know the answer, but he doesn't think he should have said it out loud. It's not hard to puts two and two together. Every doctor must have the same opinion about smoking. Enjin can recall now, almost too vividly about that one time the doctor personally 'tattooed' him with a marker. A no-smoking sign. He briefly forgets about that incident because of his goddamn head trauma, but the memories come back to him eventually, almost in too fondly way.
"Enjin," Zanka starts, Enjin looks up at the call of his name. "I don't want to be the reason for you to give up things that you find enjoyable and I don't want you stop for my sake."
"I do really appreciate it that you come forward with the truth, Enjin, and if you can't completely stop, maybe consider that I would want to spend the rest of my life with you and I can't do that if you're succumbing to lung cancer."
Zanka rises from the couch, before he gets to the corner of the room where he has the landline installed there. It doesn't take long for Zanka returns again, with apparently blue marker that keeps near the notepad for taking notes when someone calls him.
"Give me your hand," Zanka says, and Enjin does as he says, already wondering if Zanka's about to do what he's thinking.
The doctor uncapping the marker, steadying Enjin's hand upon his own palm, before the he starts, as Enjin has just expected, drawing on his skin.
The same, exact doodle of a wonky-shaped cigarette, being circled and crossed out.
"I don't know if you remember—" Zanka's voice is small when he's done with his little masterpiece, but Enjin is having none of that.
"I do, Doc, of course, I do," he rushes to answer and hooks his thumb over Zanka's, giving them an illusion of holding hand. Zanka tenses, either from the touch or the words, so Enjin keeps going. "It's my favorite reminder from you, Zanka, of course I'll keep that in mind."
"You don't have to completely stop at once, but you can lessen the frequency," Zanka squeezes Enjin's hand subtly. "If you want."
The thing is, it's not like he doesn't think about getting confronted. In fact, it's his first thought when he made the decision of doing what he's doing: that he would say something.
Only that the opportunity never presents, only that the chance of having an actual conversation keeps on being harder to get.
Yeah, that's his excuse—a shitty excuse, but still.
Now that he has it, Enjin would be damned if he doesn't get to tell Zanka about everything.
"I didn't tell you any of this, without reason, Zan," Enjin returns the gesture. "I know, smoking has been a huge part of myself, I wouldn't resort back to it, if it doesn't take the edge off my stress."
Every cigarette that perches on his lips has their own reason to be there. A supplier fucks up his gear shipment that Enjin has to cancel on his client; he hits the bump while trying to restore some of the bikes in his shop because of the rarity of the spare parts, client accusing him of scam when their bike breaks down but they refuse to bring it back to the shop so he can recheck—those are some moments when Enjin sees smoking as a way to cope. Except, he feels guilty while doing it because he knows Zanka dislikes it.
"The truth is," Enjin flips their hands, so that his hand gets the upper hand on Zanka's. "I was gonna ask for your help so I can completely stop."
Zanka blinks.
"You're not the only one who wants to spend the rest of their life with everything we have, Zanka," Enjin rubs his thumb over Zanka's knuckle. "I want that, too."
He lifts his palm, without letting go of Zanka's, as he marvels at the blue doodle on the back of his hand.
This time, Zanka is the one who opens his mouth only to clamp it shut when the words don't seem to get to him.
For once, Enjin doesn't need any perfectly crafted and carefully thought explanation for this. Not a single one of them.
Because all he needs is simply saying the truth.
"So, Doc, whaddya say?"