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Zanka would like to say he had a pretty good heat tolerance.
But maybe it had lowered. Or maybe the air was just really fucking hot.
It was definitely the heat.
He groaned, the sound muffled into his own arm as he lay sprawled across the lukewarm wooden floorboards. The smooth material pressed against his cheek, sticky from sweat, doing nothing to undo the burden of the heat. It was cooler than the rest of the room, sure, but it didn’t do nearly as much as he wished it would.
Sweat was dripping from every damn crevice in his body in places he didn’t even know you could sweat. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, plastered against his back, sleeves sticking at the crook of his elbows. His loose outfit offered no relief, the fabric heavy and damp with humidity.
It was suffocating.
When was the last time the ground had gotten this hot?
Even when he was younger, training in his family’s dojo through the unforgiving summers, he remembered the ache of sweat dripping into his eyes and the exhaustion that came with drills under a beating sun.
But never like this.
Never heat that pressed against you so insistently, like the air itself was trying to crush you flat.
Maybe it wasn’t helping that his room was currently in direct sunlight. Bright streaks of light carved through his windows, creating sharp shadows across the floor. He was eighty percent sure he could crack an egg on those boards and have it fry in minutes.
If he really wanted to escape it, he’d have to leave the comfort of his room. Not that there was much comfort left since there wasn’t much in there in the first place.
The only important things were his staff, and the sculpture Rudo had given him.
With another groan, he shoved himself upright with arms that felt like jelly. The heat sucked at his bones, made even standing feel like an unreasonable demand. He knew exhaustion well enough. He knew the good kind that burrowed deep after a training session, a spar that left you shaking.
Sore but alive.
This wasn’t that. This was miserable. Plain fucking miserable.
His throat burned. He was thirsty, desperately so. Anyone would be after sweating out every remaining drop of liquid in their entire body.
Dragging himself toward the door, his wooden geta clacked softly against the poorly illuminated concrete floors of the hallway, each step echoing too loudly in the heavy silence. Shoes were too hot, so he’d have to resort to the traditional way.
How many people were out on a mission today? He doubted there were many. Not in this heat. Even the most stubborn among them had to have some sense of self preservation.
Still, he wouldn’t be surprised if a few idiots had gone anyway. If Follo was given the chance, he would probably have said yes in a heartbeat. He didn’t understand how he had such a strong passion for it. It was more of a hassle dismantling trash beasts then it was a fun, Sunday afternoon event.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to see a portion of the Cleaners hanging around the dining hall. The air felt like it was simmering, heavy with heat, and it wasn’t like anyone had the motivation to work when just existing was punishment enough.
He wasn’t the only one trying to escape the weather. Enjin leaned back on a chair, shirtless, tattoos glistening faintly with sweat as if even the ink was wilting under the sun. He cradled a cup of… was that beer? It was barely past noon and the man was already indulging.
Zanka narrowed his eyes. At least he hadn’t lit a cigarette inside this time. The last time he had stunk up the entire dining hall and gave everyone second hand smoke. He had quite the scolding from Semiu that he hasn't lived down to this day.
Dear Santa was sprawled pitifully across the floor, limbs limp like he’d melted. His poor adoptive father squatted nearby, forced into the role of human fan as he flapped a folded newspaper with a grim expression.
Riyo and Guita had claimed the couch, both bodies sinking deep into the cushions. An electric fan hummed furiously in front of them, blasting straight at their faces. It wasn’t much help since they were still sweating through their shirts, strands of damp hair sticking to temples, but they looked content enough to mutter lazily back and forth.
He can’t understand how Guita is still wearing that onesie
“Look what the heat dragged in.” Enjin’s grin carried more energy than his posture.
“It’s too fuckin’ hot,” Zanka groaned, his voice flat and sharp, before brushing past them into the kitchen.
All he wanted was an ice-cold glass of water. He needed something so frigid condensation would bead and drip down the sides. If he weren’t this dehydrated, he might’ve been drooling just at the thought.
The kitchen greeted him like an oven. The counters gleamed faintly with trapped heat, and he paused only long enough to remind himself that this was the same room that had once experienced the chaos of “baking a cake”. He twitched at the memory.
Never again.
One cake had been enough to prove that his talents did not lie in measurements or ovens. If Rudo wanted sweets, well… Zanka would just have to get rich enough someday to buy them. Not that the kid needed more sugar in his system anyway.
“Hey, Zanka! Make a cup of ice water while you’re at it!” Enjin’s voice muffled faintly through the door.
Zanka’s brow twitched. Did his mentor finally realize maybe, just maybe, a beer at this hour wasn’t the smartest choice? He didn’t answer, but he did pour a second glass, the ice clattering against the sides like little bells.
The glass immediately misted with condensation, and when he wrapped his fingers around it, the cold stung his skin. For the first time that day, relief sank into his bones.
If only he could jump into a giant ice bucket.
Sadly, that would only be in his dreams.
Zanka exits the kitchen with two glasses in hand, condensation slipping down his fingers. His gaze sweeps across the room, and he spots Rudo had joined Enjin at the table. The boy is face down against the table, his cheek mashed into the metal, arms sprawled out as though surrendering to the heat.
Zanka raises a brow. The little genius wasn’t too strong against heat either, it seemed.
He places one of the cups carefully down beside Enjin, who barely spares him a glance before nudging it toward Rudo without breaking rhythm on his fanning. The glass clinks against the table near Rudo’s arm.
Zanka pauses for a moment. He could take the empty chair beside Enjin, his mentor or aka the man he respected, the one who had shaped his every step forward. That would’ve been the logical choice maybe only a few weeks prior.
But then his eyes flicked to the boy slumped the opposite to him. His boyfriend. (Still strange, still new, still a word that clung stubbornly to the inside of his skull, daring him to claim it again.)
Rudo was a mess. His hair was damp with sweat, shirt sticking in dark patches to his shoulders, pale neck glistening under the dim light. He looked uncomfortable, miserable, and though Zanka would never say it aloud, vulnerable in a way that tugged at something deep inside him.
People say once you start dating, your personality and priorities start to change. Zanka had hoped that wouldn’t be the case, pretty confident in his own pride, but it seemed he had already succumbed to the same fate.
Pulling the spare chair with a rough scrape of metal against concrete, Zanka settled beside him. The sound was loud enough to make Enjin flick his eyes up, but Rudo didn’t even twitch. Out cold (or more like hot), or close to it.
“Kid, ya better drink or else yer gonna pass out from heatstroke.” Zanka nudged his shoulder into Rudo’s.
It worked, barely. Rudo groaned, lifting his head like it weighed a hundred pounds. His eyes were half lidded, unfocused, with strands of damp hair plastered to his forehead.
He looked wrecked.
“Man, it’s been years since the weather’s been this bad,” Bro sighed from across the room, stopping his fanning for all of two seconds. Dear’s glare was sharp enough to send Bro right back to work with a scowl.
“Can we go to the pool?” Guita mumbled from her spot on the couch.
Zanka swore he saw the light shine back in Riyo’s eyes. “Yeah! We haven’t been there in forever!” She chimed in, instantly more awake than she’d been a second ago.
“That’s because the fee is so high,” Bro said flatly, not bothering to look up from his fanning, not wanting to get scolded again. Zanka didn’t know if he wanted to be by that kid either.
Enjin tipped his chair back, grinning. “Y’know, that doesn’t sound like half bad of an idea. We could use a break from this heat.”
Zanka couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone swimming. The thought felt strange, almost foreign. Most bodies of water down here were unusable, poisoned by the constant pollution falling from the Sphere above. What remained was rationed strictly to farming, cooking, drinking, and kept alive only by the Givers whose jinki could purify or redirect water. Pools were a rarity. Even in the larger cities, they were hard to come by, too impractical to maintain when every drop was precious.
“What’s a ‘pool’?” Rudo asked.
The words landed in the quiet of the lounge like a dropped fork.
Guita shot upright, scandalized, “You’ve never been to a pool?!”
Heat flushed up Rudo’s cheeks instantly. He shrank back into his chair, his arms crossing tight. “…No.”
“It’s basically a big hole full of water!” Guita announced, throwing her arms wide. “It’s so much fun, and when it’s hot, it makes everything feel cooler!”
Rudo’s head tilted at that, his scowl loosening just enough for curiosity to spark in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Zanka noticed the way his fingers fidgeted against the hem of his glove.
“Wait,” Guita froze mid-bounce. “But does Rudo even have swim gear?”
Rudo blinked, caught off guard. “Gear?” His voice was flat but genuinely confused.
“Clothing made for swimming specifically,” Zanka supplied. His tone was steady, but his gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have on Rudo’s puzzled expression.
He looked… almost endearing like that. Not the sharpedged boy who bristled at every word, but softer. Vulnerable in a way he’d never admit. It was almost like the heat was softening his features. Or maybe, the heat was making him see things. He couldn’t stop himself as he turned his eyes away before anyone could notice.
“You think we could ask August to make him one?” Guita asked hopefully, bouncing again.
Bro shook his head with a sigh. “I wouldn’t recommend going to him now. He’s brewing something again. Even Eishia probably couldn’t drag him out of that haze.”
“Once those artistic types start a project, they can’t get their hands off it,” Enjin added, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyone got a extra?” He crossed his arms with finality.
The girls’ are a no, Dear’s won’t fit him, and Bro’s and Enjins would fall down the second he stepped into the water.
Silence fell for a beat. Rudo shifted uncomfortably, clearly uneasy about the attention. His brows knitted tight, as though any second he’d declare the whole idea pointless and walk out—
“He can borrow mine.”
The words left Zanka before he thought them through.
Guita blinked at him. “…Wouldn’t those be too big?”
“There’s a drawstring,” Zanka said simply. “And they’re smaller than whatever Enjin and Bro wear. It’ll hold.”
“Well then, it’s decided.” Enjin pushed himself up with a groan and stretched, back cracking like a old man. “Get ready. I’ll meet everyone in the lobby in fifteen.”
Every nodded, a bounce in everyone step now that they knew they could escape this hell called the heat. As the group scattered, Zanka glanced once more at Rudo. The boy hadn’t said a word, but his fists had loosened slightly in his lap.
Zanka turned away before he let himself think too much about why.
Before they could scatter to their own respective rooms, a familiar voice called out to them in the hallway. Semiu was heading down the hall in the opposite direction, her less than PG magazines tucked under one arm.
“Where are you guys headed to?” she asked, raising a brow.
Enjin grinned. “The pool. Wanna come along?” He offered.
“Tempting, but no. I’ve got a meeting with the supporters. Don’t even know why I have to be there since they never listen to a word I say anyway.” She rolled her eyes.
“That’s lame,” Riyo whined, slumping her shoulders.
“I know,” Semiu sighed. “Guess I’ll have to miss out on the hotties at the pool, won’t I?”
“Don’t you see them enough in your magazines?” Enjin teased, smirking.
“Please. Seeing them in person is always the better deal.” She flicked her wrist like she was swatting him away.
“Well then, we’ll be off!” Guita chirped, already bouncing in place. She was very excited.
“Oh—yeah. Enjin?” Semiu slowed her steps just long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Don’t be a weirdo and start saying things again.”
“No promises!” Enjin laughed.
Semiu did not.
Rudo had never thought too much about how he looked. There wasn’t a point in it. He was short, sure, and his body didn’t have the bulk or muscle that the other Cleaners carried so easily, but he was still young. Still growing.
He wouldn’t blame Regto. He had tried his best with whatever scraps of food they could get their hands on. Regto used to say that a body could only do so much with what it was given, and for them, that had been scraps. Rotten bread one day, a handful of stale grain the next. There had been times when Rudo went days hollow eyed and dizzy, walking like a corpse until Regto shoved half his own meal into his hands.
Were there many times where he would go starved for days, and basically become a living zombie? Yes there were, but that was just how life was as a tribesfolk on the sphere. Regto tried his best and that was all that mattered. It was enough for him.
Now, though, with food always on the table at Cleaner HQ and more sugar than he thought a human could safely eat, his stomach was never empty. He wasn’t used to the feeling of being full. Maybe, if things kept up, he’d finally shoot up a few centimeters. Maybe, just maybe, the top of his head would reach Zanka’s chin. He was tired of Zanka leaning on him like an armrest every chance he got. That had to stunt growth somehow.
Just they wait. He was going to grow big and strong.
The jeep ride wasn’t exactly helping with that image of strength. Seven people crammed into a boxy car looked ridiculous, but they somehow made it work.
Enjin took the wheel like always, Dear looked murderous being forced to sit on Bro’s lap in the passenger seat, and Riyo had claimed the trunk, curled up in a nest of everyone’s towels like some smug stray cat. Which left Rudo jammed in the backseat, shoulder pressed hard against Zanka on one side and Guita on the other.
It was cramped. Uncomfortable. And yet—he didn’t really mind.
He told himself it was just the warmth. That was all.
Despite the so-called “boyfriend” label everyone kept tossing at them, not much had really changed. They still argued. Still snapped at each other. Still traded insults loud enough for the whole HQ to hear. Rudo has a hard time noticing, but he could tell that while Zanka didn’t hold his tongue, the bite in his words had softened, as though anger had been replaced with something steadier. He still scolded Rudo when he was being stubborn, but his tone carried less venom and more… something else Rudo didn’t want to name.
Was anything supposed to change when you were together?
He didn’t really have anyone to base off of. Rudo had never seen Regto with anyone, and he doubted that the man would spend his free time with women. Somehow, whenever Rudo came back from trash hunting Regto would be seated up on the beat up couch, reading something or house work. He would always make sure to tease him for something he did that day.
Zanka shifted next to him, and the press of his body against Rudo’s side tightened. He wore a loose T-shirt, navy swim shorts, and cheap plastic sandals, casual in a way that made him look annoyingly at ease. Well, Zanka just always kinda looked like that when he wasn’t yelling at him.
Rudo’s own outfit was less put together with black swim shorts that still hung a little too big even when the waistband was cinched, a white T-shirt August had tossed him months ago, and sandals he’d scavenged from a junk pile and repaired himself. Too small, but they worked. He had scrubbed them clean, too. He wasn’t unhygienic, despite what some people thought.
He shifted slightly, pretending it was just to get comfortable. The warmth at his side didn’t ease.
Zanka’s right arm rested against the jeep’s window, chin balanced on the palm of his hand as his gaze drifted lazily over the endless horizon of trash. His other hand stayed on his thigh, casual.
Rudo, meanwhile, couldn’t stop fidgeting. His fingers twitched in his lap. He glanced from Zanka’s arm, to his thigh, to the steady line of his profile.
Couples held hands, right? That was a thing right? After the two had talked near the candy store, Zanka had grabbed his hand as they walked back to the car.
With shaky hands, he reached toward Zanka’s.
Shoot. This was a bad idea.
But it was already too late. His glove brushed Zanka’s knuckles, and before he could retreat, the contact was made.
Zanka’s head didn’t turn, but Rudo caught the sharp flick of a side-eye. His whole body tensed, about to yank his hand back and laugh it off as a mistake—
The older boy caught his glove in a firm grip, fingers interlocking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rudo’s throat nearly closed up. Thank god for his gloves since if Zanka could feel how sweaty his palms were, he’d never hear the end of it. From the heat or the nervousness, he wasn’t sure. For now, he would just tell himself it was the heat.
Zanka turned back to the window, face unreadable.
Rudo couldn’t stop staring at their joined hands. The way Zanka’s fingers fit so easily against his own, the pressure steady, unyielding. It was grounding and terrifying all at once.
The rest of the trip was swallowed in silence, broken only by that one radio station Enjin always blasted. There were so many songs Rudo had never heard before in his life. Up in the Sphere, the radios only hissed static, teasing him with faint bursts of voices and instruments he could never make out. Now the songs came clear, real, and his brain was already working out how the stations functioned, how the signal was picked up, how it was built.
Shame Enjin only listened to what Zanka had called “rock music.” Rudo liked the sound, sharp and heavy, but if this was only one genre, how many others were out there waiting?
WO—AH!
The jeep lurched forward suddenly, brakes screeching. Rudo’s body nearly slammed into the dash, but Zanka’s grip tightened, anchoring him back against the seat.
Nobody here wore seatbelts. Not like he ever had the chance to ride in cars up in the Sphere anyway to check if they did the same up there.
“Sorry!” Enjin grinned over his shoulder. He was absolutely not sorry. “We’re here!”
The others piled out fast, already chattering excitedly about the pool, ready to cool off.
Rudo moved to pull his hand free, embarrassed at the thought of anyone noticing. But surprisingly, Zanka didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, thumb pressing briefly against the seam of Rudo’s glove before he finally slid out of the jeep.
Rudo’s chest felt too hot. From the sun. Definitely from the sun.
Enjin was wearing black swim shorts, and a casual button-up he’d tossed over him hung open, exposing every inked curve of his tattoos. Typical Enjin.
Riyo had no shame either, bouncing around in a bikini that looked way too impractical for actual swimming but perfectly suited to her.
Guita, by contrast, wore a modest one piece with a skirt attached, already tugging at the hem nervously as if anyone cared. She still looked… well, like Guita.
Bro leaned into the full dad aesthetic with his swim shorts paired with a blindingly loud Hawaiian shirt. Rudo had no idea where he even got that thing, but somehow it fit. He looked like he belonged behind a grill, telling bad jokes that Dear would be embarrassed about.
Speaking of him, Dear shuffled along beside him, wearing swim shorts with a rash guard zipped up to his chin and bright orange inflatable armbands strapped tight around his skinny arms. The little floaties had cartoon fish patterns scattered across them.
And then there was Zanka. Swim shorts, navy blue, simple. His shirt was already off, folded neatly under his arm, and his sandals clicked against the pavement as they headed for the building.
Rudo tugged at his own oversized white t-shirt, still hanging awkwardly on his frame. The swim shorts borrowed from Zanka were cinched so tight he could practically feel the knot digging into his stomach. His sandals pinched a little at his toes. He looked patched together compared to everyone else, but at least he wasn’t walking around in floaties. (No shade to Dear, he thought to himself)
“The pool is indoors?” Rudo squinted at the building in front of him. From the outside, it looked more like a greenhouse than anything else. A thin net or mesh stretched high around the place, filtering the sunlight and trapping the heat inside. It wasn’t exactly suffocating, but it made the air heavy, the smell of what he was told was chlorine clinging to his skin before he’d even stepped through the doors.
“Before there was so much pollution raining down, pools were outdoors,” Bro explained, adjusting the strap of his bag. “But once it started poisoning the water, they had to close it off. The mesh keeps it clean.”
Rudo frowned at the panels again. He’d never thought about swimming being such a luxury down on Ground. Heck, he didn’t even know people were alive down here.
Up in the Sphere, clean water was only for drinking, if you were lucky to even get some. Pools were something out of the old books Regto would tell him about, the kind of thing he’d let go through one ear and out the other because it felt useless to imagine.
And now he was walking into one.
Enjin, of course, didn’t care for explanations. The second they were through the entrance, he ripped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the nearest chair, already sprinting toward the water. His dive was less a dive and more like dropping an entire boulder into the pool. The explosion of water was violent, spraying outward like a wave about to swallow the deck.
Most people managed to stay dry.
Sadly, Dear wasn’t so lucky.
The boy froze where he stood, now drenched head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead. Normally, that kind of thing would earn Enjin a glare sharp enough to kill from the short child, but the heat must’ve worn him down too, because before Rudo could even process it, Dear shuffled forward and slipped straight into the pool, floating stiffly on his back like a soaked corpse.
“Dear! You shouldn’t be in the deep end!” Bro’s voice cracked with panic as he rushed over. He crouched at the edge, hands flailing uselessly. “Let’s go to the kids’ pool, alright?”
Dear turned his head, unimpressed. When was the kid ever impressed? Rudo didn’t like his attitude.
“Fine. Enjin, look after him while I put our stuff away.” Bro sighed, shaking his head.
He didn’t even need to say don’t let him drown. The warning was already stitched into the tone of his voice.
“Yes, sir.” Enjin mock-saluted, grinning.
The girls were quick to join. Riyo and Guita leapt in together, their laughter bubbling up as they resurfaced, water dripping from their hair.
“Rudo, get in here! It feels so good!” Guita swam in wide, playful circles, splashing just enough to send ripples toward the edge.
“You too, Zanka!” Riyo called out, pushing closer to the side.
Rudo glanced over without thinking and froze.
Somewhere between the time he watched Enjin jump in to now, Zanka had quietly set his shirt and sandals aside. His posture was rigid and stuck up as usual, but Rudo’s chest tightened all the same.
Rudo swallowed hard.
He wasn’t the type to care about appearances. Never had been. People could look however they wanted, and it meant nothing if their personality was rotten. That was the rule he lived by. It was the rule that had kept him alive for so long. And yet, seeing Zanka like this made his stomach flip in ways he didn’t want to name.
His face prickled with heat.
“Oooo, Rudo’s turning red!” Guita giggled, kicking her legs to create little waves.
“No—I’m not!” Rudo snapped back, too quick, too defensive. He could feel the blood rushing to his face anyway, traitorous and obvious.
Zanka crouched by the pool, dipping his hand into the water to test it. He hadn’t even said a word. Now that he had thought of it, Rudo had expected him to lash out at the others, scold them that they were being too loud and that there were other people around them. Basically, act like his normally stuck up self.
Huh… Was he okay?
Zanka wasn’t telling him anything, so he was probably fine right? He had never been very good at reading people, so he must be imagining things right?
But before Zanka could straighten, a hand shot out of the water, grabbed his wrist, and yanked.
There was a startled sound, more grunt than word, before Zanka toppled forward. He hit the surface with a violent splash, body twisting awkwardly before sinking under.
Rudo’s chest lurched.
He stared at the ripples, heart hammering. For a moment too long, Zanka didn’t come up. The panic crept fast as his legs twitched like he might throw himself in after him, even though the thought of flailing into the water in front of everyone made his throat burn.
He didn’t know how to swim.
Beside him, Dear drifted lazily on his back, turning just enough to watch the bubbles rise where Zanka had gone under. His face was unreadable, like he was half-expecting Zanka to simply vanish for good.
Finally, Zanka burst out of the water with a sharp gasp, flipping his hair back and dragging wet bangs from his eyes. Water streamed down the lines of his face, dripping from his chin. Coughing, dripping. He looked like he was struggling, his mouth switching between gasping for short, panicked breaths and gritting his teeth.
Something was wrong. But Rudo didn’t know what.
“Nice one, Riyo!” Enjin howled in the background.
“Fuck y’all,” Zanka said finally after a painful sounding cough, spitting a mouthful of water toward the edge.
Rudo’s breath left him in a rush he hoped no one noticed. That was more like his usual self.
“Rudo, are you going to get in?”
Bro’s voice came from behind, too close, too sudden. Rudo jolted, shoulders jerking like he’d been caught doing something wrong. His eyes darted toward the pool again, wide and shimmering, stretching out like some strange otherworldly thing. It kinda was in all honesty. He wasn’t used to such a large body of water that looked… clean. Not when every body of water he’d ever seen before was choked with trash, thick with oil and grime.
This wasn’t the same. The sight alone made his throat tighten with fear.
A memory rose without warning. It was Regto’s voice, soft but firm, drifting through the haze of his mind.
“If you don’t tell people what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling, they won’t know why you act the way you do. They can’t guess, Rudo. You’ll have to explain it. With words.”
He’d hated hearing that then. He hated it now. Words always felt like traps, things that came out wrong, or too late, or not at all. When he tried to explain himself, it always sounded smaller than what he actually felt, like trying to fit a storm inside a bottle.
But Regto had always been right. He always was.
Rudo took a deep breath.
It trembled on the way out, shaky and uneven, but he knew he had to say it. “I don’t know how to swim,” Rudo admitted, the words low, almost bitten off before they could catch in his throat.
“Shit. Forgot ’bout that.” Zanka’s voice came quick, sharper than usual, but it didn’t sound mocking.
Enjin didn’t waste a second. He barked out a laugh so loud it echoed off the mesh walls. “Since your mentor’s such a great guy, why won’t he teach you how to swim, huh, Zanka?”
Zanka turned his head, ignoring Enjin’s grin.
Huh, that was odd. Normally he would do anything for his mentor’s approval…
“Of course.” Zanka looked back at Rudo, voice even, steady, but that same tenseness he had before hadn’t left his shoulders. “Ya wanna meet me by the stairs?”
Rudo’s mouth went dry. He forced a nod, though it felt stiff, awkward, like his head had been yanked by strings. “Yeah.”
While Rudo shuffled his way over, the group kept chatting, voices bouncing across the water.
“How’d you learn how to swim?” Riyo asked, swimming back and forth like a frog.
Zanka’s mouth opened, then closed, before opening once again. He looked like a fish out of water, despite standing hip deep in it. “My sister drowned me,” he shrugged.
Enjin choked, beer spraying from his mouth in a messy arc that nearly hit Bro’s towel. Rudo’s eyes darted to the poolside and… yeah, those were definitely two other empty cans stacked on the edge. He couldn’t help but silently prayed Bro would be the one driving back. The last time Enjin had taken the wheel drunk, Rudo was certain his life had been flashing before his eyes.
“No different from bein’ waterboarded,” Zanka added dryly, though he grit his teeth afterward.
“Holy shit, what the hell did your sister put you through?” Riyo yelped, flipping upright in the water, her jaw practically hitting the surface.
“I dunno,” Zanka said, voice flat. His gaze skimmed the pool, unreadable. “I’m still here now, so that’s all that matters.”
Rudo swallowed. That kind of answer didn’t sound like “all that matters,” but Zanka didn’t look like he wanted to be asked about it.
He started toward the shallow end, but his legs betrayed him, suddenly too heavy and too light all at once. Each step felt as if the air had turned thick, his knees wobbling like jelly, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides
He was nervous.
The water looked different up close. Darker. Deeper. He told himself it was just a pool, just a hole filled with water, but it might as well have been a bottomless pit. And Zanka was there, waiting in the shallows like it was nothing. Like this wasn’t terrifying at all.
“Can those things get wet?” Zanka raised an eyebrow, breaking him from his inner thoughts.
Rudo blinked down at his gloves, like he hadn’t even considered them.
He hadn’t.
Not really.
“I… I take them off when I’m in the shower. Or when I need to wash them.” His throat bobbed. “But I don’t really like to since…”
The words trailed, but the rest burned in his skull. The second the fabric peeled away, it felt like his hands were being ripped open again. The air stung like knives against his scars, a pain so raw it made his whole body curl in on itself.
He hated it.
Hated how vulnerable it left him when he didn’t have his gloves.
Hated that his parents had left him with this.
Zanka’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, but his expression stayed neutral. “We can keep them on then,” Zanka said simply, like it wasn’t an issue at all. “Just be careful not to get chlorine on em since the smell lingers.”
He could already kinda tell with how his nose already burned from it.
Rudo exhaled slowly, tension loosening just enough that he could take another step. He hated the way his heart hammered, hated that his nerves were this obvious, but somehow, with Zanka there, it didn’t feel completely unbearable.
Rudo took his first hesitant step onto the stairs, one hand clamped tight around the railing like it was the only thing keeping him steady. The cool bite of the water crawled up his legs, and he hissed quietly at the shock, but… it wasn’t bad. Actually, it felt good against his overheated skin, the burn of summer dulled by the chill pressing around his ankles, then his knees, then higher as he shuffled down step by step.
By the time he reached the bottom, the pool had swallowed him up to the middle of his abdomen. He glanced sideways and of course, it barely rose to Zanka’s hips. Typical. The guy probably didn’t even notice the difference, but Rudo felt like he was drowning already.
He kept his arms lifted stiffly above the surface, elbows locked, hands hovering like some idiot trying to signal for help. The last thing he needed was his gloves soaking through.
“Instead of stickin’ your arms up like a freak,” Zanka muttered, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise of splashing water around them, “get on my back.”
“What—?” The word came out of Rudo’s mouth before he could swallow it. His face went hot in an instant, blood rushing up until his ears felt like they were on fire. He stared at Zanka, wide eyed.
“Loop yer arms around my neck so ya gloves don’t get dirty,” Zanka clarified.
Rudo’s stomach flipped.
Was he serious? Was he actually serious?
What kind of sane person asked someone to just climb on like that?
Maybe, as your boyfriend, his mind supplied.
His arms twitched uselessly in the air, the water lapping at his waist as he tried not to imagine how ridiculous it would look. Or worse, how close he’d have to be pressed against him.
Argh. His face was definitely bright red now.
Zanka turned his back and crouched lower in the water, shoulders dipping just beneath the surface. Rudo stood frozen in the shallows, the water lapping at his stomach.
“Well?” Zanka glanced back over his shoulder, voice flat but edged with impatience. “You gonna get on or not? Don’t you wanna try the pool without clinging to the kiddie steps?”
Rudo’s throat bobbed. He swallowed hard.
Every instinct told him this was a bad idea, but his body moved anyway. Slowly, stiffly, he waded closer, then looped his arms around Zanka’s neck. His gloves pressed awkwardly against the other boy’s collarbones.
Before he could second-guess it, strong hands caught at his legs. Rudo flinched, kicking against the hold.
“Quit squirming,” Zanka muttered, adjusting his grip. “I’m not drowning you— just getting a hold.”
Rudo froze, realizing what he was doing. His chest rose and fell too quickly, but he forced himself to ease up. Zanka hooked his arms beneath Rudo’s knees, steadying him firmly against his back.
Suddenly, Rudo was clinging there, lifted just above the waterline. His chest pressed flush against the Zanka’s defined back.
They moved slowly toward the deeper end. Rudo could feel the change with every step, the water creeping higher, swallowing more of them. It surged past his waist, then his ribs, until only his hands and head stayed above, knuckles pale from gripping too tightly around Zanka’s shoulders.
Zanka stopped when the water nearly covered him whole, his chin just above the surface. Rudo’s feet tapped lightly against his thighs as the two of them floated there in place.
“How’s it feel?” Zanka asked, voice steady.
“Cold.” Rudo’s breath hitched, but the word came out softer than he expected. He loosened his grip, tilting his face up toward the faint light filtering through the ceiling. “I like it.”
For the first time that day, he felt the scorch of the heat finally break. The cool wrapped around him like a shield, washing the ache from his skin. He looked sideways and caught the faintest shift in Zanka’s expression, a slight upturn on the edges of his lips bleeding through the calm mask he always wore. Normally, Zanka had refused to let it show.
But Rudo could see it now, this close.
For a few breaths, neither of them moved. The water rocked gently, small waves rolling against Rudo’s chest as Zanka shifted his weight to keep them steady.
Rudo could hear everything.
The splash of the others somewhere behind them, Enjin’s loud laugh, Riyo’s shrill squeal, but all of it felt far away, muffled by the closeness of Zanka’s back beneath his arms.
His gloves pressed against damp skin, slippery and solid at the same time. Every rise and fall of Zanka’s breathing transferred straight into Rudo’s chest.
He hadn’t expected that.
Hadn’t expected to feel how steady he was.
“You’re not shaking anymore,” Zanka said, not turning his head, his voice low.
“I wasn’t—” Rudo started, then faltered. He had been shaking. His legs still felt weak, but clinging onto Zanka made it harder to notice. “…Maybe a little.”
“Mm.” Zanka’s response was little more than a hum, but his grip under Rudo’s knees tightened just slightly.
Rudo hated that his face was still hot even with the water cooling him down. He told himself it was the sun burning through the mesh overhead, but that excuse felt paper thin. Every little shift, like the scrape of Zanka’s damp hair brushing his cheek when he turned, the faint pull of muscle in his shoulders only made Rudo’s heart beat harder.
“Not so bad, right?” Zanka asked after a pause, his tone was casual, but there was a glimmer in it, almost teasing.
Rudo pressed his forehead to the back of Zanka’s neck before he could stop himself, letting out a breath that misted warm against skin. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Not so bad.”
The pool glittered around them, fractured light dancing across their arms and faces.
Everyone else was still wrapped up in their own chaos.
Riyo chasing Guita in circles and Bro hovering near Dear like a lifeguard ready to dive at any second. Even Dear, with his usual scowl cemented on, looked oddly at peace, bobbing in the water with his inflatable arms keeping him steady.
Everything felt so… normal…
It was fun.
Suddenly, Enjin’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Careful back there, loverboys. Don’t get too comfortable. I don’t want to have to file any reports on public indecency."
The words landed heavy, loud enough for everyone to hear. Riyo snorted, Guita squealed in laughter, and Rudo’s chest locked tight.
His body jolted before his brain could catch up. The heat in his face exploded, worse than before, and suddenly his arms weren’t holding steady. His grip on Zanka slipped.
Hel—
The water swallowed him whole.
The world turned upside down, sound dulling into a mess of bubbles and pressure.
He couldn’t breathe.
His chest seized, lungs screaming, throat burning. His arms flailed, gloves heavy in the water, useless against the weight pulling him down. He bumped against something solid.
Again, again, and again.
Panic jolting through him each time he hit it.
Zanka.
That had to be Zanka.
He couldn’t see.
Everything blurred, shapes warping, stinging water searing his eyes. The noise of the pool above turned into a smear of static.
Then, hands.
Strong, deliberate, clamping down on his shoulders.
The sudden pressure froze him and his limbs locked for a single heartbeat. With that stillness, Zanka acted. He hooked Rudo up with a force that cut through the water, dragging him upward, closer, closer until the surface ripped open and light and air slammed into him at once.
Rudo’s body convulsed as Zanka hauled him toward the edge. In one motion, he was pushed, straight up half-thrown, onto the rough concrete lip of the pool. His chest hit first, then his elbows scraped as he scrambled forward, hacking and choking.
The air hit his lungs wrong. It was too thick and too thin at the same time, like the poison gas the Apostles would try and scare him away with. The sound of water rushing in his ears warped into something else, something he’d heard before.
It was the muted mechanical hum of the Sphere.
His chest convulsed, and suddenly it felt like it wasn’t just the chlorine stinging his throat anymore. It was the burn of the Sphere’s air, dry and heavy, choking him from the inside. His lungs clawed against the emptiness, dragging in nothing.
Not again, not again—
Darkness pressed in around him, black and shapeless. He could feel the floor falling away beneath him.
Back into the pit where you belong.
Banished like the trash he was.
Fear ripped through him first. That sharp, instinctive terror of being unwanted, unseen, unworthy. Then came the hatred. The familiar burn crawled through his veins, the same one that had carried him all the way down to the Ground. It pulsed with every cough, every ragged gasp.
Hatred for the Sphere.
For them.
For himself.
He wanted to hide. To disappear. To dig a hole in the dirt and vanish before anyone could look at him like that again. But his body wouldn’t listen. His throat spasmed, forcing out another wet, ugly cough. Water dripped from his chin, his nose, the corners of his mouth.
He couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t breathe.
A hand found his back, rubbing firm circles between his shoulder blades. Steady. Grounding.
It was Zanka.
“Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t fight it.”
Rudo coughed harder, spittle and pool water dripping down his chin the words cut through the static buzzing in his skull, though shame roared louder. Rudo hated it—hated being touched, hated needing help, hated being exposed like this. He was shaking, not from cold but from terror.
And before he could think—before Zanka or Enjin or anyone else could see more—Rudo bolted. His legs moved on instinct, carrying him.
Away from the pool.
Away from the stares.
Away from the burning.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Things had been going so well, and then he had to go and fuck it all up.
The second Rudo bolted, Zanka’s body moved before his head did. His legs tensed to give chase until suddenly a hand shot out in front of him, blocking his path.
“Bring this.” Enjin’s hand extended, his umbrella balanced in his palm.
His jinki.
If Zanka had been in any other situation, maybe he would’ve stopped, just for a second, to actually think about what that meant. Enjin didn’t let anyone touch that thing, let alone carry it. To entrust it to him now… yeah, maybe that should’ve made him pause, maybe even warmed something in his chest.
But he didn’t have the time for sentiment. Not when a certain little gremlin was sprinting off into the heat like his life depended on it. Zanka grabbed the umbrella with both hands, gave a quick bow of thanks, and took off.
“Rudo!” he shouted, voice rough in the hot air.
The boy didn’t answer. Didn’t even slow. He was fast, way too fast, and every pounding footstep against concrete only widened the space between them.
“Shit,” Zanka hissed, frustration grinding his teeth.
Enjin and his big mouth.
Always tossing comments where they didn’t belong, always poking when he should’ve shut up. As much as Zanka looked up to him (and he really did), even he could admit the guy could be a pain in the ass sometimes. And clearly, that caught Rudo off guard.
Thankfully, fate cut him a break. A trail of wet footprints led straight off the main path, small puddles marking the way. Zanka followed until he found him: huddled down against a trashcan, curled up with his face buried in his arms like he could erase himself out of existence.
Zanka slowed, letting the heavy beat of his pulse even out.
“Rudo?” He crouched down, knees popping slightly, lowering himself to the boy’s level.
The heat bore down on him instantly, searing against the back of his neck, his arms, the exposed line of his shoulders. It felt like being roasted alive. He wasted no time cracking open Enjin’s umbrella. Shade spilled over him instantly, dark and welcome. The air didn’t cool, not really, but the difference was enough to make him breathe easier.
Zanka let out a small exhale.
Thank you for trusting me with this, Enjin.
He angled the umbrella carefully, shifting his grip so that the circle of shadow stretched just wide enough to cover the ground beside him. Just wide enough that Rudo could slip into it if he wanted.
But of course, Rudo didn’t move. His damp clothes clung to him, water already evaporating under the sun. Even drenched, the heat was clawing at him, burning him from the outside in. Zanka could see it plain as day.
And still, the kid stayed curled tight, pride a stronger leash than common sense.
So stubborn.
Despite that, Zanka didn’t push. He didn’t tell him to scoot over or stop being stubborn. He just stayed crouched, umbrella tilted, waiting.
Because he knew Rudo would give in eventually.
Stubborn, but with time could change.
Rudo’s shoulders hitched, the sound escaping him broken and small. Zanka froze.
Rudo’s breath hitched again, ragged and uneven, and he swore his stomach lurched at the sound.
Crying.
The brat was actually crying.
Zanka had seen him angry. Hell, that was Rudo’s default setting. He’d seen him stubborn, seen him guilty, seen him lash out like a feral cat when cornered. But this? He had no idea for this. No staff forms to follow, no rhythm of combat to lean into.
Just a kid breaking down in front of him, and him with nothing but two hands and a clumsy tongue.
Shit. What the hell should he even say?
“Rudo,” he tried, crouching low so they were eye level. The boy’s arms stayed locked tight around his chest, gloves pressed against him like a shield. His eyes were red, but his jaw was clenched like he hated himself for letting the tears out at all.
Zanka hesitated, then forced himself to keep going. “Ya need to tell me how ya feel. I can’t— I don’t— I won’t be able to understand ya unless you tell me.”
Silence stretched. The cicadas outside screeched like knives scraping glass.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper,
“I thought… I thought I was back in the village when they…” Rudo’s voice cracked, strangled halfway through the sentence.
Oh.
So that’s what this was about.
Zanka’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know much about what Rudo had gone through up there. Enjin had only ever given him a few details, but he knew enough to tell it hadn’t been anything good. The Sphere, the banishment, whatever they did to him before…
Zanka exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his own chest to stay steady. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck. It wasn’t just the dry, suffocating air around them, but the kind that came when he didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to make things worse.
Rudo’s gloves were still in his fists. Soaked through, clinging to his palms. Zanka wanted to reach out, but his fingers froze midair.
What if touching him now only made it worse?
He let his arm fall back to his side and crouched lower instead. Tried to make his voice come out calm, low, like it wasn’t trembling as much as it felt.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “We aren’t though, right? You’re here.”
You’re here with me was left unsaid.
It sounded awkward as hell to his own ears, too stiff, too practical, but it was all he had.
Rudo didn’t answer. He sniffled once, the sound small and wet, his shoulders curling tighter. His chest still hitched every few breaths. Thankfully, not crying anymore, just… trying to get back to breathing right.
Zanka rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward the horizon where the heat shimmered over the pavement.
He could only imagine how it must’ve felt for Rudo. Suffocating, trapped, everything around him pressing in like it did back in that place.
No wonder the kid panicked.
“I’m sorry ya slipped and fell,” Zanka said finally, the words quiet and uncertain. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt. Must’ve been real hard, thinkin’ you were back at the Sphere.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, wishing he could’ve phrased it better.
Wishing he was better at this.
Zanka’s gaze dropped to his arms. The gloves and bandages were soaked clean through, water dripping onto the concrete. A mess. Something about the sight made his chest ache in a way he didn’t like.
“Your gloves ‘n bandages are all drenched,” he said softly. “Once we get back, I’ll help ya rebandage them, alright?”
That finally got a response. A small nod, quick and almost guilty.
Zanka felt a tiny breath of relief leave him, though his shoulders were still stiff.
Was that enough?
Did he say the right thing?
He didn’t know.
He never knew with Rudo.
But at least he wasn’t running again.
The boy shifted suddenly, scooting sideways until their shoulders brushed. At first Zanka thought it was a mistake, but no, the kid was inching closer.
Zanka flicked his gaze to the umbrella Enjin had shoved into his hand. The shade it cast stretched just wide enough for two. Rudo tucked in close, not looking at him, but close enough that their arms brushed with every breath.
Zanka stayed still, letting him have the space as his thoughts churned like storm water all the same.
Damn kid.
Tough as nails when it comes to everything else, but one slip, one scare, and he falls apart.
What was he supposed to do with him?
But then again, if this was anyone else, would he have ever opened up like this?
And would Zanka have ever tried this hard to comfort someone if it weren't him?
He kept his hand hovering just above Rudo’s back, fighting the urge to rest it there again. Not yet. Not unless the boy needed it.
Instead, he said quietly, “We’ll fix ‘em up when we’re home. Don’t worry.”
The air burned, but under the umbrella’s shadow, the boy stayed.
The silence stretched, heavy but not unbearable. Rudo’s breathing had steadied some, though every now and then his shoulders hitched with a leftover sniffle. His gloves were still pressed tight against his chest, like if he let them go, the whole world would unravel again.
Then, finally, Rudo’s head tilted up. His eyes were rimmed red, lashes stuck in damp spikes, but the wild panic was gone. He didn’t look like a cornered animal anymore. Didn’t look like he was about to bolt.
He just… looked at him.
And for the first time since all this started, Zanka could breathe.
Oh.
So maybe he didn’t fuck this up after all.
The thought almost startled him. Comforting people wasn’t his thing. It never had been. But the kid wasn’t scared anymore. He was still hurting, sure, but he was here. Sitting next to him. Looking at him like maybe… just maybe… he could trust him.
Zanka felt something in his chest unclench.
Quiet.
Relief, maybe.
He let out a slow breath through his nose and leaned forward before he could second-guess himself. His thumb brushed against Rudo’s cheek, catching a stray tear trailing down. The boy stiffened for half a second, then stayed still, letting it happen.
“There,” Zanka said quietly, more to himself than to Rudo. “Nothin’ to cry about now.”
Before he could even think, his lips pressed softly against Rudo’s cheek.
The words weren’t perfect—he knew that.
He never said things the right way. But Rudo’s gaze softened just a little, and that was enough.
For once, Zanka let himself believe he hadn’t failed.
The hum of the engine had turned into a lullaby. By the time they were halfway down the road, the chaos of the day had finally burned itself out. Even with his shit driving, one by one, the kids had nodded off.
Dear was the first to fold, slumping sideways until his head landed against Bro’s shoulder. By now, the boy was drooling shamelessly into his father’s shirt. Bro didn’t stir, didn’t shift, didn’t even look down—he just kept one steady arm around his son, as though it was the most natural weight in the world.
Enjin glanced at them in the rearview, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Behind them, Riyo had slumped sideways, one arm dangling limply against Guita’s lap. Guita herself was out cold too, head tilted at an awkward angle against the window, mouth slightly open.
But it was the very backseat that Enjin kept sneaking glances at.
Zanka had taken the farthest corner, pressed against the side of the car. Which, in itself, wasn’t strange. Zanka always preferred distance, always liked control of the space around him. But what was different was the boy sleeping against his chest.
Rudo.
The kid’s body was curled close, like he’d been too exhausted to fight his own instincts. His gloves still clung to his hands, wet fabric clinging dark against his arms, but his head was tucked under Zanka’s chin, breath puffing slow and even.
Zanka hadn’t moved. Not once. He just sat there, steady as stone, one arm braced lightly around Rudo’s shoulders. His expression was unreadable.
Enjin’s chest twisted.
Fuck. He felt bad. Really bad.
That crack he’d made back at the pool which was completely thoughtless and meant to get a laugh, had quite the opposite effect.
If Zanka hadn’t been there, he doubted Rudo would’ve been convinced he was safe again. He doubted the boy would be sleeping now, looking like he’d finally found a moment of peace after that whole fiasco.
The guilt sat heavy, sharper than he liked to admit.
He gripped the wheel tighter.
Enjin let out a breath, quiet enough not to disturb the silence.
He was grateful.
Zanka was truly one of the best students he had ever had.
–
Everyone drifted toward the showers after the long day, voices faintly echoing against the tiled walls before fading one by one behind stall doors. Rudo picked one at the very end, shutting it quickly, locking himself in with only the sound of running water for company.
The gloves sat on the little ledge beside the faucet, their presence almost glaring in his peripheral vision. He kept glancing at them every few seconds, just to make sure they hadn’t slipped away when he wasn’t looking.
It was ridiculous.
They couldn’t go anywhere, but the idea of losing sight of them made his chest tighten.
When he peeled them off earlier, his hands had already been raw, skin burning and stretched thin. Now, scrubbing shampoo through his hair, it felt like fire licking across his palms. He clenched his jaw until it hurt, refusing to make a sound.
It wasn’t anything new. Pain had always been there.
He rinsed quickly, not because he was done, but because every second without the gloves nearby felt like pressing a bruise over and over. He toweled himself dry in a rush, then sat on the little bench in the stall, spreading the gloves over his knees. T
They were damp, but still whole, still there.
Cleaning them took longer than cleaning himself. Longer, but worth it. He couldn’t afford to damage them.
By the time he left, most of the stalls were empty. Normally, Zanka lingered forever since he always had bottles lined up with products Rudo didn’t even know the names of. But today, when Rudo stepped out, towel draped over his shoulders, Zanka was already gone.
Rudo’s chest dipped in a strange way at that. He shook it off, shoved it down, pulled on loose shorts and a plain shirt. His hands throbbed raw against the fabric of the towel, every rub like sandpaper, but he kept wiping anyway. His eyes stung, though he didn’t let himself acknowledge why.
Pain was nothing.
Pain was normal.
He walked the quiet hallway to his room, the sound of his bare feet muffled against the floor. When he reached his door, he paused. The crack of light slipping through the gap wasn’t from his lamp. His door was ajar.
Inside, Zanka sat on the edge of the bed. The sunset poured through the window behind him. His jinbei sleeves were loose around his elbows, and the blanket was covered in things Rudo could recognize as gauze, bandages, a small bowl, something folded in cloth. In short, supplies. Things Rudo for sure knew wasn’t his. They were too clean.
Zanka noticed him in the doorway and straightened, just slightly. For someone who was always so put together, he looked… unsettled. Rudo wasn’t good at reading people, but even he could catch it in the way Zanka’s shoulders shifted, the way his gaze flicked up and away too fast.
He had been getting good at that. Or at least, he felt like he was slowly getting it. Or maybe it was just Zanka, but he wasn’t too sure.
The room was darker than he expected. Instead, just the fading orange bleeding across the floor.
Had he really spent that long in the stall?
“Can I bandage your hands?” Zanka asked finally. His voice wasn’t its usual gritty tone.
Hesitation.
Rudo froze in the doorway, the gloves clutched tight against his chest. For a second, the words didn’t register. Then they did, heavy and strange.
Despite him being in his personal space, sitting on his bed, he couldn't help but feel safe in Zanka’s presence in a way he wasn’t used to since he’d come to the Ground.
Maybe… he could trust him.
Trust him with something he never trusted anyone but Regto with.
Rudo sits down next to him, stiff at first. The bed dips under their combined weight, and the supplies laid out—rolls of gauze, ointments, a small bowl of water—make the whole thing feel strangely official, like he’s about to be inspected.
He doesn’t say anything. He just holds his gloves in his lap, still damp from the stall, his thumb rubbing at a loose thread on the wrist hem. He wasn’t ready to let them go.
Not yet.
Zanka doesn’t rush him. He just sits there, hands folded, gaze flickering between Rudo and the fading strip of light bleeding through the window. For someone who always seemed so calm (when he wasn’t screaming at him which was getting while not rare, less often), he looked… uneasy.
Zanka didn’t push. He only reached for the supplies, unrolling a strip of gauze between his long fingers. “Give them here,” he said gently, meaning Rudo’s hands, not the gloves.
Rudo’s chest clenched. His first instinct was to refuse, to draw back, to mutter something sharp to cut the moment off. But the words stuck in his throat. Slowly, stiffly, he set the gloves down on his lap, close enough to keep in sight, and extended one hand.
The contact made him flinch. Zanka’s hands were warm, steady, and careful. The sting came instantly when the gauze brushed across the open raw skin, sharp enough to force Rudo’s eyes down to his knees. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of copper filled his mouth.
Zanka worked in silence. The pressure was firm but not harsh, holding Rudo’s hand still as he wrapped, layer by layer. Each pass of gauze burned, but there was something grounding in the rhythm of it and the faint brush of Zanka’s fingers against his knuckles.
Rudo’s thoughts tangled and twisted. He hated how exposed it made him feel, letting someone see this. Letting someone touch. But at the same time… there was a strange relief in it. Like he didn’t have to carry the sting alone for once.
He felt safe.
The first hand was finished before he realized it. Neat, secure, but not suffocating. It wasn’t as good as Regtos, but it was still good. Zanka reached wordlessly for the other. Rudo hesitated, then offered it too, eyes averted.
The second hand burned worse. It was rawer, more swollen. Rudo’s throat tightened, breath catching once, almost betraying him. Zanka’s grip steadied, just enough to anchor him through it.
When it was done, both hands rested in fresh bandages, wrapped cleaner and tighter than Rudo could’ve managed himself. He flexed his fingers tentatively, surprised at how the pain had numbed.
Zanka sat back, gathering the leftover supplies into a neat pile. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of cloth. Then, quietly, he said, “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. Rudo kept his eyes on the gloves in his lap, heart thudding unevenly. He wanted to argue, to scoff, to push it away, but the thought stuck, lingering in the corners of his mind.
He curled his fingers slowly against the new bandages. He didn’t look up.
Couldn’t.
But a part of him, small and buried deep, was glad.
Rudo feels warmth spread within his chest.
Rudo stared down at his hands, at the neat white bandages layered over skin that only minutes ago had felt like it was burning alive. The gloves sat in his lap, waiting, but he didn’t reach for them yet. His throat felt as if there was something stuck there.
“…Thanks,” he muttered finally. The word scraped out stiffly, like the words were unfamiliar on his tongue.
Zanka didn’t miss a beat. “No problem.” His voice was calm, steady, like this whole thing was nothing. Then, softer, almost as if he thought twice before saying it “If you ever need any help with them… anytime.”
Rudo blinked, once, twice. The words landed heavier than he expected.
A warmth spread through his chest, slow and unsteady, like a heat he didn’t know how to name. His instinct was to shove it away, to deny it, but it stayed anyway, glowing there beneath his ribs.
He liked Zanka.
It was undeniable now.
He curled his hands tighter in his lap, careful not to ruin the fresh bandages.
Before he could even think, Rudo grabbed the front of Zanka’s jinbei and pulled him close—
Their lips met.
Regto, I did it!