Chapter Text
Zanka sleeps with his eyes open most nights. It isn't something he's proud of – the spiritspeaker back home salted the whole compound after his grandmother called it a bad omen. He knows it's freakish, born from spoiled blood or a twisted genome. He wonders if he'll die with his eyes open, if they couldn't be forced closed even then.
What this means it that he doesn't intend to sleep in the car but he really hadn't gotten much rest last night. So when he leans his head against the window, the rhythmic beat of it against his skull lulls him into an uncomfortable nap, one marked by a dream where he forgets how to swim.
"Zanka?"
That's how Zanka wakes up, to the sound of a familiar voice calling for him. It's Eishia; her face hovers close and Zanka gasps like he's just emerged from underwater. In response, she jerks back and waves a hand. "I'm sorry!" There's something in her hands, a blister pack of medication. "I just– I know you get motion sick so I thought you might want a pill." Then, in a considerably lower voice though Zanka already knows that Tamsy is watching them through the rear view mirror, "You were...making sounds..."
If Zanka was another person, someone who knows how to handle embarrassment with the sort of blasé attitude that can remedy everything, then maybe this wouldn't have him feeling queasy. Instead he laughs, a half-strangled sound that rattles his ribcage. "I was sleepin'."
He senses that doesn't answer many questions and shrugs. "I musta been dreamin' about some trash beast." It's only a little lie. The whole car doesn't need to know about his nerves surrounding today.
"You sleep with your eyes open?"
Zanka can't even bring himself to fake laugh this time. He wishes Guita was here to ask when they'd be arriving. Instead he's saved by Riyo. Sort of.
"It's like his party trick," she says, her voice a little raw from all the singing.
"Yeah, if you're at the worst party ever maybe," Zanka counters, settling for self-deprecation in lieu of anything better. He's itchy from the attention; it would be better if Lovely Assistaff was in his hands but Enjin promised they wouldn't need weapons today.
"I've not been to many parties." Eishia tilts her head, serious even as she smiles. Zanka remembers how reliable he had thought her to be when they first met and how that's only been confirmed over time. "...would you still like a pill, just in case?"
Zanka nods, rendered mute. Eishia is buoyed by this, a drop of confidence making her stronger as she places one into his palm. "We have some sleep masks in the infirmary. They can help with dry eyes." The advice is the sort of care that comes easily to her, though Zanka can't be sure he deserves any. It floods him with an emotion he doesn't want to name. He wishes he could do something in return but his hands were only ever really made for hurting.
It's more than just her career path. Zanka thinks Eishia would be saving people in any lifetime, her heart crowded with an earnestness he wasn't familiar with until the first time she'd bandaged him up.
"Thank you," he murmurs, hoping that manages to convey his gratitude for more than just this moment. He wonders how much longer he'll be satisfied with speaking in code – whether the right words will ever spill out unbidden.
Tamsy has switched the radio to a different channel; he's still watching them. Riyo nudges Eishia, practically glittering as she grabs her hand. "This is our song!"
Eishia hesitates for a second, glancing at Zanka, but then Riyo is waving their hands from side to side like they're at a concert and Eishia gives in – her tremulous voice joining in with Riyo's. Soon the whole car is filled with voices.
If Zanka's voice cracks, nobody comments on it.
***
The thing about being an average Joe is that you know when to retreat. So when they finally get to the lake, Zanka lends Eishia his body spray and doesn't wait for her to use it before walking away.
That would be weird, he reasons. So he wanders off, lets his feet guide him toward some low level chatter around the way. The journey was long enough that he stretches as he goes, caught in the middle of a yawn when he spots Gris with Follo.
"You guys all arrived?" Gris asks, his brows furrowed while he fiddles with some rope. Follo is holding a bundle of material in his arms like a swaddled infant.
"Yeah. Bro made us a lil' late. What are ya' both doin'?"
"A hammock," Gris replies, shifting a little as he concentrates. It draws Zanka's attention to the fact that he's discarded his sandals, treading into the soil like it's sand.
Zanka blanches, leaning into Follo's side. The older boy grunts but acquiesces. "You're getting dirty."
"We're all going to get dirty, unless you're not planning on swimming."
Follo raises a brow. "You're not swimming? We travelled too far for just sunbathing. You can always rinse off after."
"Of course, I'm swimming," Zanka huffs and straightens up. He looks toward the overhanging foliage, the air sharp with damp and mulch. Just over the slope of land the lake awaits – dappled in light refractions. "I'll just let someone else dip in first." He's not afraid but he does want to settle in, soak in the scalding heat for a while longer yet. He thinks about offering help but Follo seems happy enough to stand with the hammock like some kind of burgeoning sentinel, so he trots away with squared shoulders.
There's a lakeside cottage here, rundown but built study enough to have withstood the elements. They never enter it but they do take advantage of the picnic tables outside. Enjin is already there, laying out some snacks and munching as he does so.
"Zanka," Enjin says, without looking up. "You hungry?"
"Sorta," Zanka admits, flopping down opposite Enjin. The others are starting to stream in and there's a splash from August diving into the lake – his hair trailing behind him like a ribbon. Enjin passes a sandwich across, cheese and tomato. "Thanks."
"So, what's up?" Enjin asks in that cavalier way which implies that he already knows exactly what's up.
"Nothin'?"
Enjin meets his gaze, seeming for all the world to be amused by Zanka's poor attempt to lie. "You wanna try that again?"
Zanka has gone through a lot of strife in his relatively short life but perhaps mustering the courage right now to divulge his feelings is worse than anything else. "How do ya' get a girl to like ya'"?
"Me?" Enjin shrugs. "I've never needed to try."
It's so obnoxious that Zanka is almost in awe. Almost. He groans out of irritation instead.
"The better question is which girl have you fallen so hard for?"
"I haven't–" Zanka yelps, almost rising out of his seat before getting ahold of himself. "I haven't fallen for anyone. It was jus' a question."
"Even if you weren't the worst liar I know, there's no other way ro explain how you've been walking around with your head in the clouds recently." Enjin points at him with a long finger. "You're totally head over heels."
There's a cramp in Zanka's stomach. He hadn't known he'd been this obvious. And if Enjin has noticed then who else?
Has Eishia?
Enjin must sense his obvious distress because he places his own sandwich down and brushes away the crumbs in seeming contemplation. "Look, kid. You're overthinking all of this. At your age, it's really not that hard to get your feelings reciprocated. Treat her a little nicer than other people; buy her a snack, contact her first and make her laugh. If she's not a Giver then show off with your jinki a couple times." Enjin looks at him carefully and then chuckles, scratching at his tattoo absentmindedly. "I thought it was just a crush but you really like this girl, right?"
Zanka chews at his sandwich, miserable and stubborn. It doesn't stop Enjin from looking utterly delighted.
"They grow up so fast," he continues, his voice laden with a wistful quality that's hard to take serious given the circumstances.
Zanka doesn't get the chance to decide whether he finds that sentiment heartwarming or patronising because Amo has slinked over to the table, casting a shadow with her parasol. Eishia and Rudo follow behind; both of them fond of her in a way that's cute, really. He tries not to trip over the image of Eishia as she stoops a tiny bit, lugging along an ice box. She must have already gone into the water and towelled dry. The ends of her hair are dark with the evidence of it. She looks sweet, dipped in sugar like the candy they have hidden back at HQ. Zanka forces himself to focus back on his food.
"You have mine, right?" Amo asks, her gaze narrowed. "You know I can't–"
"Eat dairy, yes I know." Enjin waves his hand, dismissing her concerns and searches in his bag for something. He pulls out a saran wrapped sandwich neatly labeled with Amo Empool. "Dairy-free cheese, just for you."
Amo's gaze remains narrowed for a moment longer but she relaxes and shoots Enjin a rare, and very small, smile. Rudo stands stiff beside the table even as Amo and Eishia take their seats.
"You can eat too, Rudo," Enjin finally says. "But you have a limit of three sandwiches, okay?"
As if waiting for permission, Rudo grins, his hair pushed back with sunglasses so that he only looks younger. "I can stick to three!" Which Zanka doubts, but he doesn't comment; he just watches Rudo take the seat in-between Enjin and Eishia.
"Would anyone like an ice lolly...?" Eishia unlatches the ice box, the cold air condensing in small puffs. "Auggie packed a lot."
It doesn't take much for Zanka to abandon his sandwich. It's mostly crust at this point anyway. He raises a hand, a residual from Academy teachings. Rudo copies him, hyperactive and too eager considering he's got mayo on his chin. "Me too!" He promptly has his hand smacked down by Enjin.
"Finish your sandwiches at least. You still have two to go."
Rudo grumbles and pouts but goes back to eating like a ravished creature. Eishia blinks, chewing on her lip like she's remembering every time Rudo has ever rampaged for something sugary. After a beat, she nods and fishes out two ice lollies.
"Here you go," Eishia says, giving him the yellow (melon) while she takes the blue (artificial blueberry). It's uncomplicated then to settle into himself and listen to the chatter of Amo and Enjin debating the best flavours of ice lollies while the sound of the leaves and the birds and the water play a symphony in the background. That is, until, Guita and Dear start rolling about in the grass in some sort of cartwheel competition.
"Someone count who does more!" Guita yells, the syllables muddied like she has a face full of dirt. It has both Amo and Rudo racing over to join, to Enjin's dismay and Zanka's restrained amusement.
"Be careful," Enjin calls. "You guys just ate!"
As expected, Amo ignores him. "Zanka, you count!"
Zanka is good enough at following instructions so he pays attention even though they're all apparently terrible at somersaults. Guita and Amo keep bumping into each other and Rudo's more like an unfortunate ouroboros. He has to strain not to cackle at Dear being the only one to manage more than three in a row. The score keeping distracts him enough that the lolly begins to melt in his hand, sticky and golden enough to stain his lips.
Eishia's pink eyes are orbital when she laughs, the sun in one warm body, hope personified. Zanka wants her to be like this forever, carefree, her burdens unloaded for a brief time. He wants to be able to do that for her, give her a reason to keep smiling, so if he's a bit clumsy or a bit silly, if he overacts, it's okay. He thinks he catches Enjin looking at him, a knowing look to him, and Zanka remembers that he's on a stage for more than one, tempers himself if only a little, dampens his spirit just so nobody can know about his want, let alone the true depths of it.
Then Enjin is tilting his head, appearing for all the world like a curious bloodhound as he sniffs the air.
"You using a new fragrance, Eishia?"
"Uh." Eishia doesn't look over at Zanka but he feels his face warm anyway. "Sort of."
Enjin nods, something like laughter in his voice when he says, "Suits you."
It does, but Zanka stays quiet.
***
It's a little like his dream the way the sky is turning pink as Zanka stares across the lake. But the water is clear and his limbs work fine, so maybe it's nothing like the dream at all. Zanka takes a couple of steps from side to side, the dirt beneath him not much of a grievance unless he focuses. He imagines a springboard, a run up to the edge before he jumps, cutting through the water in a dive that might have impressed his father – if he ever cared to watch.
It's silent after his ears pop and Zanka keeps his eyes open here too, scanning the freshwater for anything interesting. There's no fish but there is some algae. He counts the seconds, wading until his lungs are sore and he breaks through into the air, gasping half for fun.
It's proof of something. Survival, maybe. He doesn't focus on that either, clambering over the slanted lake bank to climb onto a large smooth boulder and kinda lay back. Photosynthesis or whatever. It's hot beneath his palms and he shakes his head like a dog, droplets of water spattering. His bangs have flattened, clinging to his skin, and he blows out some air upwards to no avail.
There are steps treading so quietly they may as well not exist at all. Zanka tilts his head back to see Eishia, positioned inverse, the sun framing her. She's brightened over the course of the day, an immeasurable sight that's more striking than the canvas of sky that stretches onwards behind her. Aureole from the backdrop of the sun, one big glow spot. Her hair acts as a curtain, falling on either side of her face so Zanka's vision is narrowed to just the freckles scattered down toward her cupids bow. Zanka finds himself being hungry even though he's already eaten. He closes his eyes against it all – unable to tolerate more than he's already been given.
"Hi," he says, softer than he's been all day. Like maybe he's been eroded too, made honest by the weather.
"Hi," Eishia says back. And Zanka– he just can't help himself, blinking his eyes back open because he's greedier than anyone realises. Eishia's ditched the cover up, the frills of her one piece spiral out in petal formation. The divots of her bare shoulders crest like wing bones, waiting to sprout and take flight. Zanka swallows. He wants teenagedom in all its glory. He wants a soft place to rest his head at night and endless youth in the palm of his hands. He needs a love so bright it burns straight through everything else, even the latent misery which clings to everything on the Ground like some terrible second skin.
Zanka can pretend, just for now, that there's nothing other than this: his friends and the girl he likes and the warm lake water still pooled around his ankles.
"Rudo wanted to know if you'd like to play globe trotters?" Eishia asks and Zanka nods, not even thinking about it. "Yeah, I'll play."
He holds out his hand and Eishia pulls him up, a solid connection, tendons and muscles and smooth skin. Zanka doesn't linger, though he knows he could. This is more than enough for him.