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“Go. Cheer Remlin up.”
The second Rudo hurriedly disappears behind the nearest corner, Zanka squeezes his eyes shut and grabs onto the windowsill until his knuckles turn white. Yes, he doesn't like to rest long, but god did he lie that he felt better.
He did not. His vision was swimming even with eyes closed — Stilza might've healed the hole in his abdomen, but she can't necessarily remove all of the longer lasting effects of injuries, including exhaustion and severe poisoning. Hence, even a simple, much slower walk across the room had full potential to make him nauseous to no end.
He opens his eyes, but the darkness still creeps up from the sides. Light flickers in his vision that are akin to stars are a familiar telltale sign that he doesn't have much longer until he passes out, and he has more dignity than to collapse in a random corridor of their medical establishment. That makes him smirk in some weird way — talking about dignity after being beaten the shit out of by Jabber not once but twice and being rendered absolutely useless to the team to the point of being bedridden is beyond absurd to him. Not that he can change anything. Not that this fact makes him feel any less miserable.
Zanka stubbornly drags himself back into the room and falls flat onto his unmade bed. His consciousness leaves him before he can feel himself hit the surface of it.
To his surprise, people come and go (he was prepared to be left in complete solitude for the entire duration of healing, to be honest).
Griss and Follo stop by once in the first few days, both regretting they couldn’t be there and that they tried and failed to drag Tomme around for a visit. Zanka tells them that it’s fine (it is). They ask him how his wound is. Zanka tells them that it’s also fine (it’s not). Then they’re called off for a mission and have to hurriedly leave, not before showering him with so many supportive words Zanka can almost taste how mawkish they are.
Tamsy occasionally appears and side eyes him in a discerning manner (though, to be fair, who doesn't Tamsy side-eye in a discerning manner), but he still appears.
They almost don't talk — Tamsy fixes the artificial flowers next to his bed and Zanka counts his untamed hair strands that stick out sideways like cat whiskers. Sometimes Tamsy offhandedly drops a sentence or two, still looking at the flowers and probably not expecting an answer. Yes, Rudo and Fantasia are hanging out at Canvas town again, Remlin seems like a good friend of theirs. August is at it again with his vices, strongly so that Semiu is considering hanging his corpse above the front door as a forewarning to all visitors. Ah, speaking of visitors — your sister was here, but that's about all that is known to the public.
Rudo visits daily.
He didn’t expect him to; Zanka didn’t expect anyone to visit, frankly, but Rudo is especially surprising, in a way. He can see him stall at the entrance, fidgeting with the hem of a casual t-shirt that is too big for him and looks oddly like a shirt that Enjin owns. He’s grumpy and hasty, relays recent missions to him while stumbling over his own words. Asks a question or two and Zanka suddenly remembers that he is technically this kid’s mentor. Not that he complains, he’s grown quite to like Rudo, because Rudo is brash and can be a lot of things, but amongst those things he is passionate and painfully sincere. Zanka respects that.
(It is also easy to slip into comfortable banter when talking with him like nothing happened, which he is grateful for. Zanka will never admit that, of course. )
Zanka wakes up in tears more often than not. It became a given at this point — he should be doing better, but every time his consciousness stirs awake the world explodes into a million bright fragments that burn deep into his retinas even before he opens his eyes. Some invisible force digs its fingers deep into his skull, applying pressure right at the temples, and it hurts, hurts, hurts and he can't even pinpoint where exactly. It feels like everything at once is up in flames, and it makes him want to scream. He clenches his jaws until his teeth squeak and the sound they produce makes him want to scream even more.
This time he jolts awake more violently than usual, gasping for air. His hand gravitates to where a hole in his abdomen was just a few days ago – it feels like it’s still there, even though he knows it’s not.
“A shitty dream?” a light-hearted voice with a tint of concern is somewhere not far, but somewhere Zanka’s bleary eyes can’t see yet.
“A shitty life,” he groans, letting his eyes slip closed again, but remaining in a sitting position. Enjin snorts, and based on the rustling sound Zanka guesses that he’s laying down on the free bed in the room.
Rudo visits – Enjin stays. Zanka isn't quite sure why.
He used to be mortified of Enjin. Now, even when Enjin trusts him enough to assign him an apprentice, when Enjin speaks highly of him and his technique, when Enjin considers him an equal, some inner part of Zanka is still scared that one day someone will surpass him and Enjin will turn away from him for good. That he might be not strong enough, even with all his dedication and training.
He owes Enjin too much to be a disappointment to him. He thinks he is one, after being taken out by Jabber for the second time and being stuck in the hospital bed.
And yet, despite that, Enjin stays.
Sometimes he barges in and hangs around for hours on end until Zanka eventually falls asleep, and then he's gone. Sometimes, on the contrary, Zanka wakes up to see him frivolously loitering around the room, like he is doing now. He's around so much that Zanka questions if he's avoiding missions and work on purpose, considering he often stays way past the formal visiting hours that no one respects anyway. Not that he blames Enjin for that — the man looks more exhausted than ever, and with the discussion they've had about Vandals and other current events in mind his hard efforts at avoiding facing running workload is more than justified. The hospital rooms are quiet, clean and rarely visited, which makes them a perfect hiding spot. Zanka is just surprised Enjin decided that his company is pleasant enough.
(Not that he complains. He's glad, actually. For multiple reasons.)
(Mainly because as friendly as Enjin is towards everyone, Zanka rarely sees him so relaxed and unbothered as he is around him now.)
Enjin stretches his legs and crosses them, before unceremoniously placing both of his feet on Zanka’s blanket, stretching over the space between two beds like an oversized bridge. Zanka rubs his still pulsating with dull pain eye.
“How are you even getting away with doing nothing for so long?” he scoffs, “You almost spend more time in this room than I do.”
“Riyo owes me. I've just been sending her out instead,” Enjin yawns. His eyes lazily travel around the room before stopping at the ceiling, “But also there just hasn't been much work in general.”
“Who doesn't owe you something around here?”
“Hm. Good question,” Enjin pretends to think for a second or two, “Arkha?”
“Knowing you, that's not for long, either,” Zanka sighs, and Enjin just hums noncommittally in response.
The conversation dies down and Zanka lets himself slide under the blanket as soon as sitting position gets too exhausting to maintain; they stay silent for a bit like that — Enjin half asleep, and Zanka deep in his thoughts.
“Do you mind?” is a sudden question that snaps Zanka out of his mindspace back to reality.
“Mind what?”
“Me staying,” Enjin clarifies, “Maybe it messes with your meditation concentration or something.”
Zanka only rolls his eyes.
“No. But you owe me for keeping you company,” is a reply he settles on, which effectively makes Enjin chickle.
“Isn't it the other way around?”
“Aren't you the first to ask?”
“Fair enough. What would I even owe you, though?”
You owe me to stay, Zanka wishes silently in a prayer-like manner. It's childish and stupid, but he still considers saying it, rolling the sentence on the tip of his tongue to taste the potential consequences.
“To keep me company in return for me keeping you company,” he phrases eventually.
Enjin laughs, and it's heartwarming and genuine, a sound of worldless agreement and a token of friendship not many people have luck to receive.
Zanka hopes he can keep it forever.