𝑮𝒐 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚... 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌
Pairing: Zanka Nijiku x Reader (2nd POV)
Synopsis: Why can't he just admit it's okay to ask for help? Now every one is sad.
Warnings/Tags/Notes: an argument in the first half, angst, Enjin and Gris mentioned (yes im pushing the Gris agenda), Ending is neutral, jiggle my balls, PinkPantheress took over my brain when writing this
- 🎶 Passion: PinkPantheress
- 🎶 Reason: PinkPantheress
- 🎶 Noticed I Cried: PinkPantheress
- 🎶 Break It Off: PinkPantheress
- 🎶 All My Friends Know: PinkPantheress
- 🎶 Don't Smile: Sabrina Carpenter
Ignorance was bliss until it wasn’t.
Like all things, it started off small. A small argument here and there that Zanka unintentionally started. None of it would have happened if he chose his words correctly, though it usually ended in a matter of minutes. Words shared that just scraped the surface of something huge, lightly hitting the egos from both parties.
After the dust had settled down, it usually led to Zanka mopping as he walked through the halls, giving three gentle knocks on your door. Patiently, he waited for the door to open, give an apology, and then be allowed inside.
But lately, he’d take more time walking through the halls. More time standing at your door only to leave, then come back and knock. He would take more time making arguments precise to a degree it sounded almost manipulative, whether he understood it or not.
Now, in his room, a place that used to bring you so much comfort now felt like a boxing ring as wounding words spilled from his mouth. Each time you rebuttaled, it only fueled the fire, soon creating an environment of yelling.
“I told you I was fine and that I didn’t need help,” Zanka asserted his claim. “I didn’t need you to help me. I was fine until you showed up!”
“Zanka!” You argued back, trying to get through that thick skull of his. “I saw it with my own two eyes. You weren’t fine-”
“Yes, I was,” Zanka snapped, stepping forward. “I had it handled until you decided to—”
“—to help you? God forbid I do that—”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” He shouted, the noise level becoming deafening.
It prompted you to stop for a moment and analyze the situation. It was clear as day that he was beyond mad. You wanted to calm him down, have the situation diffuse so he could think rationally before saying something he might regret. Your silence; however, Zanka took it as the opportunity to continue his case.
Zanka’s voice came low at first, but the anger underneath it was impossible to miss. His chest rose and fell heavily, eyes sharp with frustration as he stared down from across the room.
“You always jump in like I can’t handle anything on my own.”
Your eyebrows furrowed immediately, “That’s not what happened and you know it—”
“Then what was it?” he snapped.
The sudden volume made you flinch. Zanka noticed. You could tell he did by the way his expression twitched for the briefest moment, but whatever guilt might’ve surfaced was swallowed just as quickly by irritation.
“Because from where I’m standing,” he continued, voice rough and heated, “It looked a lot like you didn’t trust me to finish the fight myself.”
“I trusted you,” you argued back quickly. “But you were hurt—”
“So?” The single word cracked through the room. “You think getting hurt means I can’t keep going?” he barked. “You think I’m that weak?”
“No one said you were weak!”
“But you treat me like I am!”
The words hit harder than either of you expected. For a moment, silence lingered in the room outside of your uneven breathing. Zanka dragged a hand through his hair in frustration before continuing, pacing now like he couldn’t stand still anymore.
“You hover over me constantly,” he muttered bitterly. “You step in before I can do anything myself. You’re always watching me, always worrying, always trying to help even when I don’t ask for it.”
His jaw tightened, “It’s suffocating.”
Your face fell almost instantly. The second the hurt flashed across your expression, something uncertain flickered through his own, but enough to tell you he knew he’d gone too far.
Still, he kept going. Maybe because he was too angry to stop. Maybe because stopping now meant admitting he was wrong.
“You don’t get it,” he said, quieter this time, though somehow meaner because of it. “Every time you jump in to save me, it’s like you’re telling me you don’t think I’m capable on my own.”
“That’s not true,” you whispered, but your voice sounded small now.
Zanka laughed dryly, shaking his head. “Then why do you act like I’m some damn child that needs to be looked after all the time?”
“I was trying to help you.”
“I didn’t need your help!”
His voice slammed against the walls hard enough to make the room feel smaller. “You think I wanted you there?” he continued. “You think I wanted you to see me like that?”
You stared at him and thought back to what you saw. Bloodied, struggling, and losing. The realization settled unpleasantly in your stomach. This wasn’t just about pride. He was embarrassed.
“I saw you getting cornered,” you said carefully. “What was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch?”
“Yes!” Zanka shouted instantly.
The answer stunned even him. His breathing faltered right after it left his mouth, but the damage had already been done. Your lips parted slightly, disbelief washing over your face.
“Yes,” he repeated, though less confidently now. “I would’ve handled it myself.”
The room went quiet. Not the comfortable kind. Not the temporary kind. The kind of silence that comes after something irreversible. Your expression twisted, hurt, finally overtaking anger. Zanka saw it happen in real time. The exact moment his words landed, but instead of apologizing, his pride sunk its claws deeper.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he muttered, avoiding your eyes now. “You always need to fix everything. Always need to save people so you can feel useful.”
That one nearly took the air out of your lungs.
“Is that really what you think of me?” you asked softly. Your voice hurt more than yelling ever could.
Zanka’s fingers curled at his sides. Because no, that wasn’t what he thought of you. Not even close. But anger was ugly like that. Once it started, it kept searching for something sharper to throw.
“You don’t know when to back off,” he said coldly. “And I’m tired of feeling like you’re constantly looking down on me.”
“I have never looked down on you.”
Your eyes stung. It was humiliating, honestly, how quickly tears threatened to rise after everything you’d done to help him.
You swallowed hard, forcing them back. “Fine,” you said quietly.
Zanka frowned slightly. “Fine?”
“If that’s really how you feel,” you murmured, grabbing your things with shaky hands, “then I won’t help you anymore.”
Zanka watched you move toward the door, finally sensing the argument slipping somewhere he hadn’t intended for it to go. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered automatically, though there was less bite behind it now.
You stopped at the door before finally looking back at him. And somehow that expression hurt worse than if you’d screamed.
“You know,” you said quietly, “I would never make you feel weak for needing help.”
The guilt hit instantly, but before he could speak, before pride and regret could battle long enough for him to form an apology, you walked out. With the pull of your arm, the metal door made contact with the door frame, a thundering boom that echoed through the headquarters.
You didn’t know how much time had passed. An hour, maybe even more. At some point, you slid down against your door, knees pulled in and staring blankly at the floor as everything replayed. Over and over, every word hitting harder the second time.
It hurt even more when people would walk past, their whispers reaching your ears as they talked about what they heard. The muffled yelling and the sound of a door being slammed shut. Everyone who thought the relationship was perfect began to pity you. But what would they know about you and Zanka?
What they knew now was that it was not picture perfect.
What they didn’t know was how hard the two of you fought to keep it together.
Zanka wasn’t easy to love. He burned too hot, too fast, all sharp edges and louder emotions than he knew what to do with. Even on good days, he carried this constant tension in his shoulders like he was waiting for the world to swing at him first. But you learned him anyway. Learned the meaning behind every scoff, every irritated click of his tongue, every half-finished sentence he expected you to somehow understand.
And he did love you. Maybe not gently. Maybe not in the soft, pretty way people expected love to look. But he loved you in the way he stood outside your door after missions just to make sure you got home safe. In the way he remembered tiny things you mentioned once and pretended it was coincidence later. In the way his hand would always find yours when he thought no one was paying attention.
That’s why this hurt so much. Because the fight hadn’t started over anything important. At least, not at first.
It was exhaustion. Stress. Weeks of tension building underneath the surface until one wrong comment split everything open. You could still hear the exact moment his voice changed, when frustration turned into anger.
“You act like I’m the only one trying here.” Was that what he said? You weren’t so sure anymore.
The words twisted in your chest all over again. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them as if it could stop the replay in your head. But then came the next part. The part you hated most.
Zanka had gone quiet after shouting, like he realized too late how far he’d pushed it. You remembered the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of regret crossing his face for only a second before pride buried it again. Neither of you said anything. Neither of you backed down.
Then the door slammed. Your throat tightened.
Outside your room, footsteps passed again. Slower this time. Curious people. Judging and sympathetic.
You almost laughed at that.
If they had seen the way Zanka looked at you when he thought you were asleep, they wouldn’t be whispering about some doomed relationship. If they knew how many nights he sat awake cleaning blood from his hands because he couldn’t stand touching you while feeling “dirty,” they wouldn’t reduce this to one overheard argument.
But maybe that was the problem. Maybe nobody ever saw the ugly parts of love until they became too loud to ignore.
A sudden knock made your body tense. You wiped your tears quickly, silently clearing your throat before acknowledging the person behind the door.
“Zanka, just… go away,” you called, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to talk right now.”
There was a small pause, maybe deciding whether to stay or leave before a slightly deeper voice was heard.
That voice, you pushed yourself up quickly, unlocking the door and pulling it open just enough to peek through.
The older man stood quietly outside your door, his usual calm expression softened ever so slightly at the sight of you. His eyes flickered over your face briefly, taking in the redness around your eyes, the exhaustion sitting heavy on your shoulders, but he didn’t comment on it immediately.
Somehow, that made it worse.
“You mind if I come in?” he asked gently.
Not “What happened?” Not “Did you two fight?” Just a simple question spoken in that same patient tone he always carried.
You stepped aside silently, allowing him inside.
Gris moved carefully through the room like he understood fragile things better than most people did. He shut the door behind him softly before glancing toward you again. Neither of you spoke at first.
You hated how quickly your eyes started burning again. “It’s stupid,” you muttered before he could ask anything. “People probably heard everything.”
Gris hummed quietly, leaning against the wall near the door instead of standing too close. “People hear plenty,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean they understand it.”
Your throat tightened at that because what he said was true, they didn’t understand it. They didn’t understand how hard loving Zanka could be sometimes. How underneath all that anger was someone terrified of failing. Terrified of looking weak. Terrified of needing anybody.
And somehow, knowing that only made tonight hurt worse.
You laughed weakly, shaking your head. “He said I treat him like he’s weak.”
Gris was quiet for a moment after that. A sign that he was thinking quietly. “Did you?”
Your head snapped up immediately. “What? No.”
“I know,” he answered calmly. “I wanted you to hear it yourself.”
The immediate reassurance nearly broke you all over again.
Gris sighed softly before folding his arms. “Zanka’s pride has always been… sharp.” There was the faintest pause before he continued. “Especially with the people he cares about.”
You looked down at your hands, a mumble leaving your lips, “That doesn’t make what he said okay.”
“No,” Gris agreed easily, not defending Zanka’s mistakes. “It doesn’t.” And for some reason, that felt kinder than trying to convince you the argument meant nothing.
“He looked scared.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Gris glanced toward you carefully. “Scared?”
“When I stepped in during the fight,” you explained quietly. “At first I thought he was just angry, but…” You swallowed hard. “I think he hated that I saw him struggling.”
A small understanding crossed Gris’s face then. “Zanka doesn’t know how to fail in front of people,” he said after a while. “Especially not someone he loves.”
Your chest ached because that sounded exactly like him. Gris pushed himself away from the wall then, walking over slowly before sitting down beside you on the floor with a tired exhale. Close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.
“When Zanka first arrived,” he began, “He used to pick fights he couldn’t win. He’d come back bleeding half to death and still insist he had everything under control.” Gris shook his head faintly, almost amused despite himself. “Could barely stand sometimes, but he’d glare at anyone who tried helping him.”
Your lips twitched slightly despite everything. “He sounds exhausting.”
The quiet humor in Gris’s voice eased something tight in your chest.
“But,” he continued, expression softening again, “People like Zanka… they survive by convincing themselves they don’t need anybody. And when someone finally loves them enough to stay,” Gris said carefully, “They don’t always know what to do with that.”
The room fell quiet again. This time, the silence didn’t hurt nearly as much. Gris looked over at you then, his expression steady in that familiar way that always made him feel dependable.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly. “Caring about someone is not the same thing as thinking they’re weak.”
Your eyes burned again at the words, but this time the tears felt different. Gris noticed the way you quickly looked away and, mercifully, pretended not to.
“Give him time to cool off,” he murmured. “That boy’s mouth moves faster than his thoughts when he’s upset.”
A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“There’s the sound I was looking for,” Gris said quietly.
And somehow, after everything, that nearly made you cry harder. Gris didn’t interrupt right away. He let the silence sit there first, like he was giving the words space to fully exist in the room before touching them.
Your head was tucked to your knees, tears spilling onto your pants as your thoughts once more became a jumbled mess. ‘What if’s’ appeared. Zanka’s words repeated in your head. The meaning behind each syllable that spewed from his mouth in a fit of blinded rage.
With a quick breath, you mumbled something incoherent.
Gris tilted his head, the words you spoke not quite reaching his ear. “Say that again.”
You swallowed hard, staring down at your hands like they might offer an easier place to exist. Your throat tightened painfully before you managed, “I think… this isn’t getting better.”
A shaky breath broke through you before you could stop it, “It’s getting worse.”
The words felt too honest once they were out, like they’d been sitting in your chest too long and finally forced their way free. Gris didn’t react immediately. That made it harder to keep going.
Your voice wavered as you forced yourself to continue. “We keep saying we’ll understand each other better next time, or that it’ll calm down when things aren’t so stressful, but it doesn’t.” You shook your head slightly, blinking fast. “It just… happens again. And worse.”
Your fingers curled into your sleeves. “And I keep thinking maybe it’s me,” you admitted, quieter now. “Maybe I’m pushing too much. Maybe I’m making it worse without realizing it.” A breath hitched in your chest, but it came out anyway.
“I think he’s going to break up with me.”
The moment you said it, something in your expression cracked. Your shoulders trembled first. Then your breathing. Then the tears came back harder than before, like your body had been holding them back only out of borrowed strength. You pressed your palm over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t help much.
“I don’t think he wants me around anymore,” you whispered through it, voice breaking. “Not like this. Not after tonight.”
Gris’ tone softened in a way that didn’t feel like pity. More like a grounding certainty. “That,” he said quietly, “Is you guessing.”
You let out a small, broken laugh that didn’t have any humor in it. “It feels like more than guessing.”
“I know,” Gris replied simply.
That steadiness almost made it worse again, because it meant he wasn’t dismissing you just to make you feel better. He was just staying grounded in what he believed was true.
You wiped at your face quickly, frustrated with yourself more than anything. “He was so angry,” you said, voice shaking. “And I said things too. I know I did. I just— I didn’t want him to think I don’t trust him, but I think that’s exactly what I made him feel.”
Gris was quiet for a moment before asking his question, “Do you want to leave him?”
The question startled you enough that your tears paused for a second. You shook your head immediately. “No.” Your voice broke again right after it. “I don’t want that at all.”
That was what made it hurt the most.
Gris nodded once, slowly, like that answer mattered more than anything else you’d said. “Then we start there,” he said.
You frowned through your tears. “You’re not making sense. Start where?”
“Not with what you think he’s going to do,” Gris said calmly. “Not with what you fear he feels. We start what you know you want.”
Gris continued, quieter now. “Zanka’s temper will settle. It always does.” A pause. “But what you’re afraid of…” His eyes softened slightly. “That kind of thought grows when you start believing you’re already being left.”
Your throat tightened again, no answer coming from your lips because part of you was still standing in that room, hearing his voice crack through the air, still feeling the moment it stopped being just a fight and started feeling like something ending.
Gris didn’t rush you. He just stayed there, solid and quiet, like he had all the time in the world to let you feel it without drowning in it alone.
“Alright,” he said at last, calm as ever. “Then listen to me carefully.”
You didn’t look up immediately, but you didn’t pull away either.
“That thought you just said,” he continued gently, “About him breaking up with you, you’re treating it like a conclusion. It isn’t. It’s the fear talking.”
Gris shifted slightly beside you, resting his forearms on his knees just like you. “I’ve known Zanka for a long time,” he said. “Long enough to recognize when he’s angry… and long enough to recognize when he’s ashamed afterward.”
That word made something in your chest twist.
“He doesn’t always express it properly,” Gris added, “but what happened in that room wasn’t him deciding he doesn’t want you. It was him losing control of how much he does.”
You blinked, a tear slipping down anyway. “I don’t think that makes it hurt less,” you whispered.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed immediately. “But it matters. For what it’s worth,” he said, “Enjin is talking to him right now.”
That made you finally look up, even if your eyes were still glassy. “Enjin?”
Gris nodded. “About the same thing. He’s telling Zanka exactly what you already know,” he continued evenly. “That what he said crossed a line. That he didn’t just ‘get his point across,’ he exploded.”
“And,” Gris added, “That pushing people away before they can ‘see you weak’ is still pushing them away.”
The words landed quietly in the room, but they steadied something in your chest anyway. You let out a shaky breath. “So he’s… getting yelled at too.”
A faint, almost tired look crossed Gris’s face. “Enjin doesn’t yell as much as he used to.”
That earned the smallest, broken sound from you that might’ve been a laugh if your throat wasn’t still tight. Gris glanced at you then, softer now. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want you sitting here thinking you’re the only one being blamed, or the only one at fault.”
He shook his head once, “You’re not.”
Your hands loosened slightly in your lap, though your voice still shook when you spoke. “I just… didn’t want to lose him.”
Gris didn’t hesitate this time. “You’re not losing him tonight,” he said firmly. “And you didn’t do anything wrong by trying to help someone you care about.”
Your eyes stung again, but it didn’t feel as sharp this time. Gris watched you for a moment longer, then added quietly, “Zanka will need to hear that too. When he’s ready to actually listen.”
“And you will too,” he said, a little gentler now. “Because right now, you’re carrying more blame than you should be.”
“You can be upset,” he said. “You can even be scared. But don’t decide the ending of this story while you’re still in the middle of the worst part of it. That’s not fair to you. Or him.”
And for the first time since the door slammed, the room didn’t feel like it was closing in anymore.
Zanka paced back and forth in his room. His shoes and his useless mumbles were the only thing that was heard in the quietness. Worst of it all, Enjin didn’t stop him.
“She doesn’t get it,” Zanka muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “She just jumps in like I can’t handle anything on my own.”
Enjin slouched in the chair in Zanka’s room, fingers itching for a cigarette. He heard him complain and hummed.
“It’s annoying,” Zanka went on, quicker now. “Like, what am I supposed to do? Just stand there and let her take over every time something gets rough?”
“Did she say you couldn't handle it?"
The question irritated Zanka immediately.
His pacing stopped for half a second before starting again, sharper this time. The heels of his boots struck the floor with enough force to make the room feel smaller. His fingers dragged harshly through his hair before dropping back to his sides.
Enjin hummed. “Thought so.”
That lazy response only made something in Zanka’s chest burn hotter. “But she looked at me like it,” he snapped.
Enjin finally glanced up from where he sat. “Looked at you like what?”
Zanka scoffed under his breath, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. “Like I was losing.”
The words came out rougher than he intended. He hated how quickly the image forced itself back into his head after saying it out loud. Blood running down his side. Breathing too hard. Vision blurry for half a second too long. Then you appearing. Stepping between him and the fight before he could regain control of it himself.
His stomach twisted violently. “I had it handled,” Zanka said again, more defensive this time, like repeating it enough would force it into truth. “I was getting back up.”
Enjin’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Mm.”
Zanka clicked his tongue harshly. “Don’t do that.”
“The one where I think you’re full of shit?” Zanka shot him a glare sharp enough to cut skin. Enjin barely reacted. “You know what your problem is?” Enjin asked after a second.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You hear ‘help’ and your brain translates it to ‘weak.’”
Zanka’s expression turned sour instantly. “That’s not what this is.”
“Really?” Enjin leaned back further into the chair. “Because from where I’m sitting, your girl saw you hurt and reacted like someone who cares whether you live or die.”
“I don’t need someone hovering over me every damn second!” The frustration exploded out of him fast enough to echo. “I know how to handle myself,” Zanka continued, voice rising again. “I’m not some rookie that needs someone stepping in every time things get rough!”
His chest rose sharply with each breath now, anger keeping his blood hot even though the fight was long over. Or maybe not anger. Something uglier.
Enjin watched him carefully. “And what would've happened if she didn’t step in?”
Zanka’s silence answered enough. The irritation on his face twisted immediately afterward, like he hated himself for even giving Enjin that much.
“See?” Enjin said. “There it is.”
“Nah.” Enjin crossed one leg over the other lazily. “You’re acting like she insulted your pride when really she just saw something you didn’t want her seeing.”
Zanka’s shoulders went rigid, “You don’t get it.”
He opened his mouth immediately, only for nothing useful to come out. Because how was he supposed to explain that the look on your face haunted him more than the fight itself? Not pity. That would've been easier to hate. Concern. Fear. Like you genuinely thought he might lose.
Zanka dragged both hands down his face roughly before speaking again, voice lower now but no less tense. “She looked terrified.”
“And I hated it,” Zanka admitted bitterly. “I hated that she saw me struggling like that.”
The words tasted awful coming out. Zanka had spent most of his life surviving by being stronger, louder, harder to knock down than everybody else around him, even if it meant someone would prove him and others wrong. Regardless, it turned into a mindset. Ihe got hurt, he kept moving. If he was exhausted, he swallowed it. If he was scared—
No he wasn’t. He didn’t let himself be. Because weakness got people killed. Dependence got people abandoned. And the second someone saw you as fragile, they started treating you differently like you were something that could break.
Zanka hated that feeling more than almost anything.
“So instead,” Enjin said slowly, “you blew up at the person trying to help you.”
Zanka’s jaw clenched, “She kept pushing.”
“Because she was worried.”
“Because she thinks I can’t handle myself!”
“Or,” Enjin interrupted bluntly, “because watching somebody you love nearly get their ass handed to them tends to scare people.”
The room went still. Zanka looked away immediately after that, irritation flashing across his face again because the word 'love' made the guilt sitting in his chest suddenly harder to ignore.
Enjin noticed. Of course he did.
“Dude,” he sighed, “you’re so damn focused on protecting your pride that you didn’t notice what she was actually protecting. You.”
The word landed hard. Zanka’s throat tightened before annoyance quickly buried it again. “I didn’t ask her to.”
“Again, that’s the thing about people caring about you,” Enjin replied dryly. “They usually don’t wait around for permission.”
Silence settled again. This time Zanka didn’t pace. He just stood there, shoulders tight, staring at the floor while your last words replayed louder than everything else.
'I would never make you feel weak for needing help.'
His chest twisted painfully. Because the worst part? He knew you meant it.
Zanka stood near the middle of the room, shoulders stiff beneath the dim light while Enjin watched from the chair silently. For once, the older man didn’t interrupt with some smart remark or half-amused observation. He could see it happening already.
That war inside Zanka’s head. Pride clawing one direction. Guilt pulling the other. Zanka’s jaw stayed locked tight as your words replayed over and over whether he wanted them to or not.
'I would never make you feel weak for needing help.'
His stomach twisted every single time. Because he knew you meant it. That was the problem. You weren’t mocking him. You weren’t pitying him. You weren’t trying to humiliate him. You saw him hurt and reacted like someone terrified of losing somebody they loved.
Zanka exhaled sharply through his nose, frustrated with himself now more than anything else. He’d taken that fear and turned it into something ugly. The realization sat in his chest like broken glass.
Enjin noticed the silence dragging on but didn’t fill it. This wasn’t something he could force Zanka into understanding. Some lessons had to claw their own way through a person’s pride before they stuck. So he let him think. Let him pace once. Then stop. Then start again.
Zanka’s hands flexed uselessly at his sides. His thoughts were loud enough to make his head hurt. Every argument from the past few weeks started bleeding together now that he was actually looking at them.
You worrying. Him snapping. You trying again. Him getting defensive faster each time. It wasn’t just tonight. Tonight was just the first time he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t gotten bad. His chest tightened unpleasantly. Because what if this kept happening? What if one day you got tired of trying to understand him?
The thought came suddenly enough to make him feel sick. And somehow his mind twisted that fear into something worse. Something “logical.”
If he pushed you away first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much when things finally broke for real. Zanka hated how quickly the thought rooted itself. His voice came out rough when he finally spoke.
“I’m thinking about breaking up.”
“What?” Enjin’s head snapped up immediately. The shift in atmosphere was instant.
Zanka avoided his eyes automatically, irritation surfacing again now that the words were actually out in the open. “You heard me.”
Enjin stared at him for a long second before abruptly standing from the chair. The movement alone made Zanka glance over. “Oh, you’re stupid stupid right now,” Enjin muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Zanka’s expression fell immediately. “Why the hell are you acting like that?”
“Because you’re talking like somebody who got punched in the head too hard during that fight.”
“I know you are,” Enjin shot back. “That’s why I’m concerned.”
Zanka clicked his tongue harshly and looked away again. Enjin watched him carefully now, all traces of teasing gone. “You wanna tell me why that thought even crossed your mind?”
“Because maybe this keeps happening because of me.” The admission sounded jagged coming out of him. “If all we do lately is fight, then maybe…” He swallowed hard before forcing the rest out bitterly. “Maybe she’d be better off without dealing with me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Enjin said flatly.
Zanka frowned. “You don’t know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.” Enjin stepped closer now, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re ashamed of yourself right now, so your genius solution is to blow up the entire relationship before she gets the chance to decide you’re difficult to love.”
Zanka’s eyes narrowed immediately. “That’s not—”
“It is exactly what this is.” The sharpness in Enjin’s voice cut him off completely. “You think breaking up fixes what happened tonight?” Enjin continued. “You think walking away suddenly means neither of you gets hurt?”
Zanka’s silence answered enough. Enjin scoffed softly, disbelief written all over his face now. “Dude, that girl is sitting in her room crying right now thinking she lost you already. And you’re in here talking about proving her right?”
The words hit hard enough to visibly make Zanka tense. Because the image appeared instantly in his head whether he wanted it to or not. You crying. Alone. Thinking he didn’t want you anymore. His stomach dropped. Enjin saw it happen. This is good.
“Breaking up doesn’t magically erase feelings,” Enjin said, calmer now but firmer somehow. “It just takes all this pain and splits it into two separate rooms where neither of you can fix it together anymore.”
“She loves you,” Enjin continued. “Stupidly, honestly, painfully loves you. Everybody with eyes can see that. And you love her the same way.”
“That’s exactly why this is dangerous,” Enjin said quietly. “You wanna know what I think?” he asked. “I think you’re scared.”
That made Zanka scoff immediately out of reflex. “I’m not scared.”
“Bullshit.” Enjin’s stare didn’t waver. “You’re terrified,” he said bluntly. “Because for the first time, somebody matters enough that they can actually hurt you.”
The words landed directly in Zanka’s chest. “And instead of admitting that,” Enjin continued, “you’d rather convince yourself ending it first is somehow protecting both of you.”
Zanka’s jaw clenched painfully. Because part of him knew Enjin was right. And that part hurt the worst. Zanka looked away sharply after that, jaw tight enough to hurt. His hand came up fast, rough against his face like he could wipe away the exhaustion sitting there too.
Fingers dragged beneath his eyes before he pushed his hair back again, irritation radiating off him in waves now that emotions he didn’t know how to handle were starting to surface. Enjin pretended not to notice the slight shine gathering in his eyes. Zanka would rather die than be caught crying right now.
The room fell quiet again, but not in the same suffocating way as before. This silence felt uncertain like the aftermath of a collapse neither of them knew how to clean up yet.
For once, Zanka didn’t pace. He just stood there thinking. His mind felt loud enough to split open. Because now that the anger had started cooling off, all that remained underneath it was fear. Raw and humiliating and impossible to ignore anymore.
You walked out of that room hurt. Destroyed even. And he was the reason for it. The realization made his stomach churn violently.nWhat if you didn’t want to see him anymore after tonight? What if this was the moment you finally got tired of trying with him?
The thought hollowed his chest out completely. Zanka swallowed hard, suddenly feeling younger than he wanted to. He hated it. More than that, he hated that he genuinely didn’t know what to do now.
No fight to win. No enemy to hit. No clear answer. Just guilt. And the terrifying possibility that he’d hurt the one person he cared about most badly enough that sorry might not fix it this time.
Slowly, Zanka looked back toward Enjin. Not as a Cleaner. Not as someone trying to defend his pride. Just as a lost kid looking at the person he trusted most.
His voice came out quieter than anything he’d said all night. “What should I do?”
Enjin’s expression shifted immediately at that. Because there it was. Finally, honesty. For a moment, Enjin didn’t answer right away. He studied Zanka carefully instead, watching the way his shoulders stayed tense like he was bracing for impact even now.
Then Enjin sighed softly. “You stop acting like apologizing is the same thing as losing.”
The words landed hard. Zanka frowned slightly, but didn’t interrupt. Enjin continued, calmer now. “You go to her when you’ve got your head on straight. And this time?” He pointed toward him slightly. “You listen instead of trying to defend yourself every five seconds.”
“You hurt her,” Enjin said plainly. “That’s the truth. Doesn’t make you evil. Doesn’t mean you don’t love her. It means you screwed up."
“And if you care about somebody,” Enjin continued, “you don’t run the second things get ugly. You stay. You fix what you can.”
Zanka’s throat tightened painfully because he wanted to. God, he wanted to. But fear still clawed at him. “What if she doesn’t wanna hear it?” he asked quietly. The question sounded almost wrong coming from him.
Enjin’s eyes softened slightly at that. “Then you respect that,” he answered. “But you don’t make that choice for her because you’re scared. She deserves the chance to decide what she wants after hearing the truth,” Enjin added. “Not whatever self-destructive nonsense your guilt is telling you right now.”
A weak scoff left Zanka despite himself.
“There he is,” Enjin muttered.
The corner of Zanka’s mouth twitched faintly before disappearing again just as fast.
“She’s hurting too,” Enjin said after a moment. “Probably sitting there thinking all kinds of stupid shit about herself because of what you said.”
That made guilt slam into Zanka all over again. Because he could picture it perfectly. You wondering if you were too much. Too overbearing. Too difficult. Too exhausting. When really, you were just trying to protect him.
“Zanka,” Enjin said quieter now, “Being loved isn’t weakness. Needing people isn’t weakness either. But hurting somebody because you’re scared they’ll see the ugly parts of you?” Enjin sighed. “That’s something you gotta work on.”
Zanka looked away again, shame written all over his face now. He knew. That was the worst part. He knew.
Enjin walked over then, stopping beside him before roughly ruffling a hand through Zanka’s hair hard enough to irritate him on purpose.
“You’re not doomed because you had one awful night,” Enjin muttered. “Relationships get messy. Especially when two stubborn idiots love each other.”
Zanka immediately smacked his hand away. “Quit that.”
“There’s the attitude again.”
Another tiny twitch threatened at the corner of Zanka’s mouth before fading. Enjin stepped back afterward, expression softening one last time. “Get some sleep first,” he advised. “You’re emotionally constipated and exhausted. Bad combination.”
“I’m serious.” He pointed toward him again. “You go apologizing right now and you’ll probably say something dumb halfway through and restart the whole fight.”
That earned an annoyed look. At least it looked more like Zanka again. Enjin exhaled slowly before finishing quieter this time. “But tomorrow?” he said, “you go talk to her honestly. No pride. No yelling. No trying to ‘win'.”
His eyes locked onto Zanka’s. “Just tell her the truth.”
And somehow, that sounded a lot scarier than any fight Zanka had ever been in.
The training yard was louder than usual for an off day.
Metal clanged somewhere near the far end where a few Cleaners still insisted on sparring even while “resting.” Team Child had completely taken over the center area, their laughter carrying through headquarters as they argued over some game only they understood.
Rudo sat nearby with Riyo, both occasionally getting dragged into the chaos against their will. From a distance, it almost looked normal. Too normal.
Enjin leaned against the railing overlooking the yard while Gris stood beside him, arms folded loosely across his chest. Neither of them spoke at first. They just watched.
More specifically, they watched you and Zanka. The two of you sat on the same bench near the edge of the training grounds, close enough to technically count as sitting together, but far enough apart that it looked painfully deliberate. Like neither of you knew what to do with your hands anymore. Or your words.
Zanka sat stiffly, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together so tightly his knuckles looked pale. Every now and then his gaze shifted toward you before snapping away just as quickly. You weren’t doing much better. Your eyes stayed fixed somewhere ahead, posture careful in a way that made Gris quietly sigh through his nose.
“They haven’t said a word to each other since they got here,” Enjin muttered.
Another silence settled between them as Team Child erupted into screaming laughter nearby. The contrast almost felt cruel.
Enjin glanced sideways eventually. “She alright?”
Gris took a second to answer. “Not really.”
That got Enjin’s attention immediately. The older man straightened slightly from the railing while Gris kept his eyes on you across the yard. “She thinks he’s going to leave her.”
Enjin’s expression dropped at once, “What?”
Gris finally looked over at him then, calm as always, though concern still sat quietly beneath it. “That’s where her head went after the fight,” he explained. “She thinks things have been getting worse for a while now. She genuinely believes he might break up with her.”
Enjin stared at him for a long second before dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, that’s bad. Like,” Enjin continued, looking back toward the bench, “really bad.”
Because suddenly the silence between you and Zanka looked different. Enjin exhaled sharply through his nose before speaking again. “He said the same thing.”
Gris glanced toward him. “About breaking up?”
Enjin nodded once, clearly annoyed by the memory alone. “Talked himself into believing she’d be ‘better off’ without him.” He made air quotes with obvious irritation. “Which is apparently what his brain does instead of processing emotions like a normal person.”
A quiet huff of amusement left Gris despite himself. “Sounds like Zanka.”
“Sounds like an idiot,” Enjin corrected immediately.
Gris didn’t disagree. Enjin’s eyes shifted back toward the yard again, watching the way Zanka kept subtly glancing toward you like he was trying to build up nerve for something.
“He didn’t mean any of it,” Enjin said after a moment, quieter now. “The stuff he said last night.”
“He’s just…” Enjin clicked his tongue softly, trying to find the wording. “Terrified of being seen struggling.”
Gris’s gaze softened faintly. “And she’s terrified of losing him.”
That sentence sat heavy between them. Because that was the real problem now. Not the yelling. Not the argument. The silence afterward. Two people sitting five feet apart while both convinced themselves the other might walk away first. Yet it never happened.
Despite nothing major happening during the day, exhaustion clung to you heavily by the time night settled over headquarters.
Maybe because silence was exhausting too.
You hadn’t spoken to Zanka once after arriving at the training yard. Not really. A few accidental glances happened throughout the day, each one brief enough to pretend they didn’t matter. But every time your eyes met his, your stomach twisted painfully.
Not the warm kind of nervousness he used to give you. This felt hollow like something bruised too deeply to touch.
Your room was quiet now except for the soft rustling of fabric as you changed into something more comfortable. The mirror across the room caught your reflection every few seconds while you moved around absentmindedly, reorganizing things on your nightstand just to keep your hands busy.
You looked exhausted. The kind that sleep wouldn’t fix. Your gaze lingered on yourself in the mirror longer than intended. The redness around your eyes had faded since yesterday, but not completely. You still looked like someone grieving something. Maybe you were.
A shaky breath left you before you quickly looked away. There was no point crying anymore. Not when everything between you and Zanka felt stuck. Neither broken apart nor repaired. Just sitting there in painful silence, untouched because both of you were too afraid of making it worse.
You sat carefully on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the floor. Maybe this was the worst part. Not the fight. The aftermath. The distance afterward that made two people who loved each other feel like strangers. Your chest tightened painfully. You missed him. And somehow that made everything hurt worse.
Just as you reached over to turn off the lamp beside your bed, a knock sounded against your door. Three gentle knocks.
Your entire body stilled instantly. For a second, you considered ignoring it. Pretending you’d gone to sleep early. Pretending you hadn’t heard anything at all. But even thinking it felt pointless. Because eventually, you would have to face him.
Another silence passed outside your door. No extra knocking. No impatience. Somehow, that alone confirmed exactly who it was. You closed your eyes briefly before standing. Each step toward the door felt heavier than it should have. By the time your hand rested against the knob, your heart was beating hard enough to annoy you.
Slowly, you opened it. Zanka stood there looking just as exhausted as you felt. His posture straightened slightly the second he saw you, like he’d been preparing himself for the possibility you wouldn’t answer at all. The hallway light cast shadows beneath his eyes, highlighting the tension sitting heavily around his mouth.
For once, he looked uncertain. Neither of you spoke immediately. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the door.
“What?” you asked quietly. The word came out tired more than cold.
Zanka swallowed once before answering. “Can I come in?”
You hesitated long enough that his expression tightened slightly, though he hid it quickly after. Like he was already preparing himself for rejection before you’d even answered. Still, eventually, you stepped aside.
Zanka moved into the room quietly, slower than usual. Almost unsure of himself inside your space now in a way that felt completely wrong for him.
The door clicked softly shut behind him. Silence settled immediately afterward. Zanka stayed near the middle of the room while you remained closer to the door, neither of you knowing what to do now that the moment had finally arrived. His eyes flickered toward you briefly before lowering again.
“You were gonna ignore me,” he muttered quietly.
You crossed your arms loosely over yourself. “I thought about it.”
A weak huff left him through his nose. Another silence followed. Normally, Zanka hated silence. He filled it instinctively, even badly. But now he looked like he was fighting with himself over every word before speaking it. Your chest tightened painfully watching it.
Finally, he dragged a hand through his hair roughly before speaking again. “I know things are bad right now.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
The response visibly stung him and immediately afterward, guilt curled unpleasantly in your stomach for even thinking that. Zanka noticed your expression shift but thankfully didn’t comment on it.
Instead, he looked away briefly before speaking quieter now. “I was an asshole.”
Your eyes lifted toward him immediately. The bluntness of it clearly cost him something.
“What I said…” His jaw tightened. “About you treating me weak. Looking down on me.” He shook his head once. “That wasn’t true. I knew it wasn’t true while I was saying it,” he admitted bitterly.
The confession hit harder than you expected. “Then why would you say it?” you asked quietly.
Zanka looked miserable at the question. “Because I was angry,” he admitted. “At myself. I hated that you saw me struggling,” he continued, voice rougher now. “Not because it was you.” His eyes dropped toward the floor. “Because it mattered that it was you.”
Your eyes stung almost instantly.
“You looked scared,” he muttered. “And instead of dealing with that like a normal person, I took it out on you.” The honesty in his voice made something painful twist in your chest.
“I know you were trying to help me,” he continued quietly. “I knew it then too. I just…” He exhaled shakily through his nose. “I panicked.”
You looked down at your hands. “You made me feel like loving you was something wrong,” you admitted softly.
The second the words left your mouth, Zanka’s expression cracked. “I know,” he whispered immediately. No excuses this time. No defending himself. Just guilt.
Your chest ached looking at him now that the anger was gone. Without it, he just looked tired. Young. Lost in a way he’d probably hate anyone else noticing.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he continued carefully. “And for making you feel guilty for caring about me.” His throat bobbed once before he forced himself to continue. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Your vision blurred slightly. Zanka looked away immediately after noticing. “I’ve been thinking about it since it happened,” he admitted. “Not just the fight. Everything lately.” His fingers curled tightly at his sides. “Every time you worry about me, I get defensive. Every time you try to help me, I act like you’re attacking my pride.”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “That’s not fair to you.”
The room went quiet again. Because he was right. And somehow hearing him admit it hurt more than denying it ever did.
“I don’t know how to…” He stopped briefly, frustrated with himself before trying again. “I don’t know how to let people take care of me without feeling weak for it.”
Your throat tightened painfully. Zanka laughed softly under his breath, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “I think I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t need anybody that now I don’t know what to do when somebody actually stays.”
The vulnerability in his voice nearly broke you. With shaky hands, he placed them on your forearms, gentle in a way that showed he always cared for you. “I don’t want you carrying the weight of that,” he continued quietly. “Especially not when I keep hurting you because of it.”
You frowned immediately, hands grasping at the sleeves of his night wear. “Zanka—”
“No.” His voice stayed soft, but firm enough to stop you gently. “Please let me finish.”
That alone made your chest ache. Because for once, he wasn’t trying to win. He just looked terrified.
“I love you,” he said quietly, like the words physically hurt to say right now. “That’s why this got so bad.”
Your eyes burned instantly.
“Because you matter enough to scare me.” His jaw tightened hard afterward. “And every time I feel scared, I turn angry before I even realize it. And if I keep acting like this…” His voice faltered slightly for the first time all night. “Eventually I’m gonna say something I can’t take back.”
“Or I’m gonna make you miserable trying to love me while I still don’t know how to deal with my own shit.”
“Don’t say that,” you whispered immediately.
“But it’s true.” The words landed quietly between you. Zanka looked exhausted saying them. “I don’t wanna keep putting you through this,” he admitted. “You shouldn’t have to walk around carefully every time I’m upset because you’re worried I’ll lash out again.”
You opened your mouth immediately, but nothing came out. Because part of you knew he was right too. The realization hurt.
Zanka’s eyes finally lifted toward yours again, and the amount of guilt sitting there almost made it difficult to breathe. “I wanna get better,” he said quietly. “Not just say I will.” His fingers flexed around your skin. “I wanna learn how to actually talk to you when I’m scared instead of turning everything into a fight.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“But right now?” he continued softly. “I don’t think I know how to be with someone properly without hurting them when things get hard.”
Your breathing turned uneven instantly. No. No no no. Your expression must’ve changed because Zanka’s face twisted painfully.
“That’s not me saying I don’t love you,” he said quickly. “Because I do.” His voice cracked slightly around the edges. “Probably more than anything.”
“Then don’t do this,” you whispered.
The look on his face nearly destroyed you. Because he wanted to listen. You could see it. Every part of him looked ready to cave immediately if you asked hard enough. Which somehow made the next words hurt even worse.
“I think we need a break.”
The room went completely still, filled with silence. The kind of silence that changes things. Your eyes widened slightly, tears gathering faster now while Zanka looked like he hated himself for every second of this conversation.
“You’re breaking up with me?” you asked quietly.
“No.” The response came instantly. “No, that’s not what this is.”
Zanka swallowed hard. “It’s me realizing I’m not ready to love somebody the way they deserve if I keep acting like this.”
The tears finally spilled over fully. Zanka’s expression broke immediately at the sight.
“You shouldn’t have to keep surviving my issues while I figure myself out,” he continued quietly, though his own voice sounded rough now too. “That’s not fair.”
You wiped harshly at your face. “I don’t care if it’s fair.”
“But I do.” The words cracked slightly. “I care because I love you.”
Your chest hurt so badly it felt difficult to breathe. Zanka dragged a shaky hand down his face before continuing.
“If we stay together like this right now, I’m scared I’ll keep repeating the same cycle.” His eyes shut briefly. “Get scared. Get angry. Hurt you. Apologize. Then do it again later because I still haven’t fixed the actual problem. And you deserve better than that.”
You shook your head immediately. “I don’t want better.”
Zanka’s expression crumpled at that. “Don’t say that,” he whispered painfully. Finally, quieter now, he admitted, “I need to learn how to handle the ugly parts of myself before I keep asking you to stand beside them.”
Your shoulders trembled harder. Because this didn’t feel like someone giving up. That was the worst part. It felt like someone loving you enough to step away before they damaged you further. And somehow that hurt infinitely more. Zanka looked wrecked standing there. Every instinct in him was screaming not to do this.
But he stayed firm anyway. “I’m not asking you to wait for me,” he said quietly after a long silence. “I don’t think that would be fair either.” His throat tightened visibly. “I just… I need to become someone that doesn’t make you cry like this every time things get hard.”
Your face twisted immediately. “Zanka…”
His eyes finally met yours fully then. Raw and terrified, yet full of love and grief all at once.
“I don’t wanna keep hurting the person I love most because I don’t know how to deal with myself yet.”
The room fell silent again except for your uneven breathing. And for the first time since opening the door, Zanka looked like he understood completely that loving someone sometimes also meant knowing when your damage was bleeding onto them too much.
