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Enjin is not one of those people who thinks that some questions are useless. Silly? Maybe, but not useless
‘What's your favorite color’ is probably a childish one. A naive attempt to get to know the other person probably, not that he thinks it helps very much.
But if you ask him…
1. Blue
Enjin is the type of person that needs to be on the move all the time. And he worries. A lot.
For those who don't know him, it might seem that he's too easygoing, with a laid-back personality and little care in the world. But it doesn't take more than a few conversations to understand. He carries this restless energy that comes from handling heavy burdens on his shoulders, willingly, because he cares too much not to do it.
So, in those times in which he can't immediately have a cigarette, be it because he ran out too quickly or if he's in the middle of a mission, when he needs to calm down the noise in his head, he has come to the conclusion that thinking about blue does it for him…
Blue is steady, blue is persistent and safe.
In times when a normal, routine mission turns into a mess and everyone is a little bit too close to a “... and that was their last mission with the Cleaners”, he looks for blue.
“Go ahead, we have your back!” Zanka says one time, when Enjin has to put all his focus on this stupidly huge trash beast while the rest of the team deal with dozens and dozens of smaller ones. His blue tassel earrings move with the wind, deep ocean eyes locking momentarily on him. Settling on his core. As if an invisible trail wraps itself inside him, untangling the anxiety and helping him focus and breathe again.
Blue is steady, blue is persistent and safe. Deep, vast and beautiful.
So yeah, if you ask about his favorite color, blue might be the one.
2. Yellow
Enjin was still so freaking tired after that mission. Even if he didn't do much of the fighting, it's not everyday that you get eaten by a trash that is attempting to fly to the fucking border while simultaneously being electrocuted by a crazy Raider.
But he’s sure that what weighed the most was having to see Zanka all beaten up while none of them could reach him for a while.
So it is no surprise that after (or more like in the middle of it) he finally has a conversation in the infirmary with the younger one, seeing him well and so very strong and determined to keep growing and overcome his weaknesses, he just switched off.
And what a good snap it was.
He doesn't know how many minutes or hours have passed, but it's probably close to dusk when he opens his eyes and sees Zanka still sitting on the next bed and Rudo and Remlin sitting on the border.
He doesn’t move, though. He stays still, fixed on the sight.
Yellow is warmth, energy and laughter.
Enjin watches the way Zanka chuckles at something Remlin says, probably some joke about Rudo. His hands lightly brush over a yellow flower, one of the artificial ones that Rudo brought earlier as a “get well” wish. Sun rays from the window hit his face just right when he laughs a bit louder this time, casting a warm glow that seems to say “I’m alive, and I will be the fucking best, you’ll see.”
Enjin can't help but stare. He still hasn’t caught up with what they are talking about. But his chest feels so light.
Yellow is warmth, energy and laughter. Shiny, bright and alive.
So maybe, if you ask Enjin, maybe yellow is his favorite color.
3. Green
Enjin didn't know shit about tea.
Like, in the big scheme of things, he knew it's made of leaves and it's usually bitter. A good kind of bitter.
He has been learning more about it.
Quiet days at the HQ are scarce, to put it mildly. Most of the time they are running from one pollution zone to another, fighting trash beasts or bumping into psycho Raiders with their sketchy goals. And the times they are not, they are probably partying with the whole crew. Loud music, cheap beer, cards thrown across the table.
There are a few days, once every few weeks, when everything slows down.
Those are the days he ends up here.
Green is calm. Green is balance and quiet.
Zanka has said that finding good leaves for his ritual is almost impossible. Something about quality, about origin, about how even small differences change the taste completely, about not being able to ever enjoy to the fullest because optimal conditions is something that we don't have in this world. Enjin doesn’t remember half of it.
What he does remember is the way Zanka explains it. Calm and patient. Enjin sits across from him, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hand, watching the way Zanka’s lithe hands move with quiet precision, measuring, pouring. The way steam curls between them soft and slow.
There's no rush in his movements. No urgency. So Enjin waits. For his next movement, for his voice to keep flowing… for him.
“...you’re not listening.” Zanka says with a deadpan expression while handing him the cup.
Enjin snorts softly. “I am. Leaves, water, don’t screw it up. Got it.”
Zanka rolls his eyes and sits across from him. They stay silent after that, enjoying the warm drink. Each exhale leaving him more centered and relaxed.
Green is calm. Green is balance and quiet. Green is an essence he relates to home
So maybe, if Enjin thinks about it, green is his favorite color
4. Black
Enjin sits on the floor of the training room, towel hanging loose between his hands, forearms resting on his knees. After his sparring session with Riyo, he’s supposed to leave soon and shower before his meeting with Corvus in less than an hour. But his attention is locked on the sparring in front of him.
Rudo lunges forward, fast but sloppy. Zanka moves to meet him, smooth and controlled. Black training clothes cling with sweat to his frame, shifting with every step and turn. The fabric catches the light, outlining the lean lines beneath without trying to.
“Too wide,” Zanka says, voice low and even, already moving behind Rudo.
He guides the boy with his voice. One hand adjusts Rudo’s elbow, another presses between his shoulder blades, shifting posture with quiet authority. He doesn’t force anything. He redirects, and Rudo obeys almost blindly.
It looks effortless, but every one of Zanka’s movements is deliberate, honed with purpose and graceful precision. Like a black cat, each twist and turn measured, extracting maximum efficiency from the smallest motion.
Black is elegant power. Black is focus and gravity.
The world narrows. The sounds of the room fall away, until all Enjin can see is the controlled sweep of movement, the confidence in every correction, the way Zanka’s weight settles, then lifts, then settles again.
Zanka shifts again, stepping in close, voice low near Rudo’s ear as he corrects his stance. The curve of his shoulders, the line of his back, the calm dominance in every motion.
It’s almost unfair how naturally he moves. How his waist bends, how his hips sway as he circles Rudo, waiting for the next opening. How his neck stretches and adjusts, how his nimble fingers curl in a silent come here gesture. Zanka probably doesn’t even notice. Hell, he might even say he’s exaggerating.
The towel twists tight in Enjin’s grip before he realizes it.
He inhales deeply and slow, catching the breath he’s missing (He knows it’s not from the spar with Riyo)
“Fuck…” he exhales.He can’t look away.
Black is elegant power. Black is focus and sensual gravity. Black is the pull he doesn’t want to escape.
So if you ask him right now what Enjin’s favorite color is, black might definitely be the one
5. Red
It’s been a couple of weeks since they started this… ritual.
It was inevitable, if you ask him. With the push and pull they’ve had for so long, the reluctance and initial guilt that kept creeping in at the beginning, always competing (and always losing) to how badly he just wanted to give in. To reciprocate
So it’s not surprising that his new normal is having Zanka in his bed every other night. Never going far beyond some cuddles, lingering touches and heated kisses. Not yet.
This, however, it’s oh so very new.
Zanka usually shows up late, when most people are probably already asleep, with some half-baked excuse about checking how the report with Corvus went or to discuss critical points from a mission. Whatever reason he comes up with never lasts long. Not when the distance between them gets almost nonexistent so easily, when Enjin doesn't have another thought that isn't having Zanka on his lap. Inhaling the faint but ever-preset scent of incense that live sin the crook of his neck
Today is different.
Because Zanka is already there, laying on his side, back facing the bathroom door when Enjin comes out after his shower.
And maybe that wouldn’t be such a surprise, if it wasn’t for what he’s wearing.
Enjin stops and stares.
He closes the bathroom door softly behind him and leans back against it, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.
Zanka turns at the sound, and when he sees Enjin's smirk and brow lifted in amusement red creeps up his cheeks, brushing the tips of his ears. “I was cold”, he says, almost shyly, while he tuck his head on the neck of Enjin's favorite sweater, inhaling.
Red is heat. Red is proximity and impulse.
Enjin wets his lips before pushing himself off the door.
“Were you now?”, he murmurs.
He crosses the room without hurry, each step deliberate. He climbs onto the bed and places his arms on either side of Zanka's body, caging him. Zanka tilts his head up to meet his gaze, eyes bright, lips slightly parted, tempting him far too much.
Enjin’s hand moves with purpose, brushing over the red fabric, following the edge of the collar before sliding lower. Caressing the skin of his thigh where the sweater ends, then moving up again. Slow. Testing. Noticing every shift and hitch in Zanka’s breath.
His fingers curl lightly at the youngest’s waist, squeezing with quiet intent before he leans in further, dropping more of his weight, closing the distance until there is barely any space left between them.
“Tell me then” he adds, voice lower now, rougher, “is it warm enough?” He bites at his earlobe, playfully.
Zanka inhales sharply and arches his back
Red is heat. Red is proximity and impulse. Red is this uncontainable and overwhelming fire he wants to burn in.
Then, if you’d like to know, red most certainly would be his favorite color.
+1
Who would have thought that Enjn would be able to look forward to mornings like these?
Draped in sheets, warm and content, heart full after a night of shared closeness
He's a goner, he knows it.
Falling for Zanka was as inevitable as fire burning you, as water wetting. He feels so much, enough to scare the shit out him because he knows this word does not treat good things as this very kindly
But zanka loves him so sweetly. So steady and devoted.
Enjin has grown to adore waking up tangled around that smaller body. But Zanka is a creature of routine, even now. Even when knows he might be tired and sore.
So Enjin is happy to watch. Zanka is sitting at the edge of the bed, closer to the window and deep in meditation. The curve of his spine forming a perfect line and ribs extending and contracting with each measured breath
Zanka is now comfortable enough to not feel the need to cover his body while doing. it. And Enjin is helpless to the sudden squeezes of his heart.
He sees that fair skin absorbing and reflecting all the light and hues the morning has to offer, like he was meant to be the color palette that came to repaint the canvas of Enjin’s life.
He just watches. And waits.
He waits for the final, longer exhale that signals the end of Zanka's meditation session. And when that momentt comes, he moves.
He wraps his arms around the other from behind, one at his waist and the other across his chest, pulling him close. His face presses into the curve of Zanka’s shoulder and holds him as if wanting to melt their bodies together.
As if there was a way to make a home for Zanka somewhere in the center of his very being. He would do it without a doubt if it were possible
“Good morning…” Zanka murmurs, leaning back into him, hands coming to rest over Enjin’s arms.
Enjin inhales and hugs him just a bit tighter. And he thinks…
He thinks about the blue that grounds him, about the yellow lifts him. He thinks about the green that feels like home. About the black that pulls him an enchant him and about the red that consume him warmly.
He inhales and thinks about the world who rest between his arms, "morning, love”
So, if you ask Enjin what his favorite color is, would it be too weird if he says it's Zanka?