𓉙 𓇡 鵺¡kaleido!以 𓄽𓉜

When you'd destroyed Prism Tower, you all thought that would be the end of it. You didn't expect one final blast of energy to crash through the city like a tsunami, forcing countless Pokémon to enter rogue mega-evolution.

You were already exhausted from your previous battles, but there had been no time to lose. Teams split up to track down the Pokémon and help them. The rest of Team MZ were working together and had managed to quiet 15. Gwynn got hurt, and Ivor tapped out with her after 6. Jacinthe and Lebanne had made it through 9. Corbeau and Phillipe were still going strong at 12. You? You had battled 23.

You didn't know how long you'd been awake. It was at least a day, maybe two. You hadn't stopped to rest or eat, you couldn't. There wasn't time.

You felt a heavy weight and a loud snap in your leg as the Mega Camerupt stepped on it. Slow and agonizing, the pain shot through your body as if you were being engulfed in flames. It scorched every nerve in your body until you could no longer feel anything. You couldn't help but give into the exhaustion, your vision going black despite trying to keep your eyes open. The burning hot was suddenly replaced by a frigid cold, and you tried to focus on breathing. If nothing else, you could still breathe.

You could still breathe.

Just breathe.

Then everything went black.

-

When you awoke, it was with a gasp. You sat up straight, heart pounding in your ears as your eyes tried to adjust.

There were warm hands on your shoulders, then. Instinctively, your hands flew up and grasped the wrists of whoever was trying to gently coax you back down. When you found the wherewithal to turn your head, you found Corbeau's tired face just a few feet from yours.

Dark circles were painted under his eyes, and he looked even more pale than usual. His eyes were as warm as ever, honey-gold and looking at you with a calm and kindness that convinced your heart to start slowing down.

"Shhh, hey, hey," he whispered. 

You let Corbeau lean you back onto the pillows, and he sat on the edge of the bed as you took in the room around you. You were in the hospital, that much you could tell, though for how long you didn't know. The clock on the wall read 10:42, but you didn't know if that was AM or PM or of what day. The fluorescent lights had been dimmed, the harsh blue of their glow lessened. Corbeau took one of your hands in both of his, holding it to his chest. His fingers felt so strong and warm compared to yours.

You looked over your body, taking in the IV on the hand that rested on the mattress, and the sling that elevated your left leg, which was encased in a cast from the knee down.

Then you remembered why you were here.

"Are all the Pokémon okay?" you asked quickly, looking at Corbeau.

Corbeau laughed quietly, pulling your fingers to his lips and kissing them before leaning his forehead onto your hand. He shook his head, and you could see him smiling.

"That's really your first question?" he asked, looking up at you again. One of his hands let go of yours, reaching up to brush some of your hair out of your face. "Yes, all the Pokémon are fine. We took care of all of them."

You didn't have time to ask any more questions, because a nurse came into the room then, checking your chart and pressing buttons on the IV machine you were hooked up to. You learned that you'd gotten lucky, and though your leg and foot were broken in two different places, you didn't need surgery. The IV was to replenish your fluids, as you were severely dehydrated when you'd been brought in.

"We're estimating about ten weeks recovery time on your leg,"  she said. "Could be a little more or a little less, everyone heals differently. You'll have to stay off of it completely for at least the first two. Do you have someone at home who can help you with things like cooking and bathing?"

You thought about your tiny hotel room, and just the idea of being stuck there for two weeks was giving you cabin fever.

"She can stay with me," Corbeau said without hesitation, and the nurse nodded.

"We'll have the doctor come check on you one more time," she said, writing something down on your chart. "But I think we should be able to get you out of here by the end of the day."

"Thank you," you said as she left the room.

You sunk back into your pillows, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process everything. Ten weeks for your leg to heal. Two whole weeks of bedrest. Your Pokémon were going to get so antsy.

"I hope that was okay," Corbeau said. "You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to, I just wanted to give her an answer."

"I don't want to impose," you said, not looking at him. You hated feeling like a burden. You always took care of yourself.

Corbeau brought your fingers back to his lips and kissed them softly.

"When are you going to learn that I want to take care of you?"

“How did I… get here?” you asked, changing the subject. Corbeau was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t object.

“That Camerupt was the last one,” he said. His lips were tight, recalling the memory. “When Phillipe and I found you, you were already unconscious. I thought you were dead.”

Corbeau wasn’t looking at you, instead staring at some fixed point on the wall. When neither of you were speaking, the only sound in the room was the quiet beeping of your heart rate machine. It did little to ease the cold tension in the air.

“You screamed when I picked you up, though,” he continued. “And I got you here as fast as I could.”

“I don’t remember that,” you said. “When…how long have I–?”

“That was about 10PM last night,” Corbeau said. “Lida told me later you’d refused to sleep at all. You were awake for what, forty hours? Did you even eat anything? What were you thinking?”

You pulled your hand from his and rested your palm against his cheek. You let your thumb graze over the violet shadow under his eye. You knew he wasn’t actually angry with you, there was no venom in his tone, only worry.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

-

Just four days into staying at Corbeau's apartment was when you started to feel like you were going insane. And it wasn't his fault, he was perfect. He'd been working from home so that he could be there for whatever you needed, and when he absolutely had to leave, he arranged for Lida or Urbain to be there in case you needed them.

Your first day there had been full of visits from your friends, flower deliveries, and phone calls from anyone who had your number giving the same offer of if I can do anything, let me know. But your life having to stop for a while didn’t mean that it was the same for everyone else. As the visits and calls slowed down, your boredom grew.

Mostly you slept, it turned out that recovering from extreme exhaustion and healing a broken leg made you really tired. The pain medication probably helped with that too. Corbeau had you set up in his bed, across from which was a large TV. He'd purchased a mini fridge, set it up on one of the nightstands, and every night it was stocked with water, soda, juice, and snacks. 

You read, played some video games, and watched TV, but you were still getting stir-crazy. When Corbeau wrapped up work that day, he came into the bedroom and asked you what you wanted for dinner.

"To sit at the table," you replied, pouting at him. He shook his head.

"Doctor's orders," he said.

"Please," you begged. He was standing next to the bed, and you reached over to grab his hand and pull him onto the bed with you. He sat down carefully, overly cautious about jostling your leg. You put your hands on either side of his face and looked directly into his eyes. "'Beau, I'm going crazy. What's the difference if I'm sitting in here or out there?"

Corbeau looked at you intently, and you tried to convey just how much you needed to get out of this fucking bed with just your eyes.

"Fine. But you're putting your leg up on a chair."

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him hard. You couldn't believe how excited you were to sit at a dining table. Letting go of Corbeau's face, his glasses now slightly askew, you scrambled to get to the edge of the bed so you could stand.

"Oh no you don't," Corbeau said. In an instant he had his arms under you, and he was standing up. You squeaked a little in surprise and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Now this, I could get used to."

When you were sat at the table, leg propped on the chair in front of you—which Corbeau, of course, put a pillow on—you reveled in the bliss of simply being in a different room.

"Can I please have a scotch?" you asked in your nicest voice.

"With all the pain meds you're on?" Corbeau asked from the kitchen, not even turning around. "Absolutely not."

"Ugh," you slumped forward, letting your head fall to the table.

After dinner, you were desperate for any reason to not go back to the bed again. When Corbeu was done taking care of the dishes, he came back to the table, and you knew he was going to pick you right back up and bring you to his room. He picked up his drink to finish it off. 

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tie discarded somewhere, and the top few buttons of his shirt were open. This was your favorite look on him, so relaxed and unguarded, and you loved that you were the only one who got to see him like this. It was distracting, how good he looked. Maybe you should let him take you back to the bedroom and—

No. You definitely weren't recovered enough for that, yet. You blurted out the first thing you could think of that could keep you at this table.

"Do you know how to play gin?" you asked. Corbeau eyed you over his whiskey glass.

"I do know how to play gin," he said, setting his drink down.

"Do you... have cards?"

"I do have cards."

"Do you want to play a hand?"

Corbeau sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. He sat down again, taking one of your hands in his and looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"Y'know, it's really stressful for me that you don't seem to want to take care of yourself," he said. You smiled softly, reaching your free hand out and placing it on his forearm.

"You don't understand," you said, looking him in the eye. "I do want to take care of myself. I want that more than anything, but I have to be allowed to be part of deciding what that means for me. I promise I'm not going to try to go run a marathon tomorrow, but I need to be able to decide when I can come out to the dining room for dinner, or to the couch, or hell, out to the balcony for some fresh air. Part of taking care of myself means making sure I don't go fucking batshit."

Corbeau laughed softly, looking down at your linked hands thoughtfully. 

"You really value your independence, don't you?" he asked.

"More than most things," you agreed. "I've always taken care of myself. I've always taken care of others. I mean, I wasn’t in this city for more than twenty minutes before I started taking care of it. And honestly, I'm not very good at accepting help."

"I don't want you to feel like you're alone," Corbeau said, frowning. "I want to be able to take care of you, too."

You picked up his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers before holding it to your heart. You loved this side of him, that was so caring and nurturing and never wanted you to feel a bad feeling.

"I want to be able to let you," you said. "I promise I'll ask for help when I need it. I promise I'll let you dote on me and spoil me as much as I can handle. And I promise in like thirty minutes when my meds kick back in, I'll let you carry me back to bed. I really liked that."

You laughed a little as Corbeau rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he said. He stood up and took a step around the table, taking your face in his hands and kissing you warmly. "One game of gin, but be warned, I will kick your ass."

You smiled up at him, love swelling in your chest. 

rousing from the bedsheets, zanka awoke to the sound of light snoring. rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he notices someone by his bedside. blinking slowly to clear his brain fog, he sees you sleeping on a nearby chair, body curled over and snoozing at the edge of the medical bed. on the nightstand was a plate of food. a mixture of fried rice and vegetables. a rather simplistic meal but a hearty one nonetheless. you even left a pair of chopsticks and a spoon beside the dish, hoping that when zanka woke up, he would have the appetite to eat.

he presses his lips tightly together, scowling— he has nothing to say for himself. had he been a lot stronger, he would have been able to defeat jabber with ease. what was the point of training so hard if it didn’t even show? what’s worse was that he was the only one in the team incapacitated. this meant he was a detriment to the entire team.

it was bad enough for you to come by and save his arse. the last thing he wants to be is a deadweight that everyone had to carry around. gripping the bed sheets tightly, he bites the bottom of his lip hard enough to draw a dribble of blood.

why did i have to be so weak? he asks himself. those praises from enjin felt half-hearted to him at this point. if he couldn’t defeat jabber, he was still the same weak simpleton of his family. he’s a failure amongst a sea of geniuses. pressing his hands to his face, he shields the world away from his shame. 

he used to be popular. well-liked by practically everyone around him. his sister and brother had high hopes for him. his teacher did as well. everyone was drooling at the opportunity to talk to him. and now? he was nothing. just another run of the mill cleaner that has to sweep trash for other people. 

he doesn’t want to stay this way forever. he refuses to believe that after all this time, he’s still a fake. peering through the gaps of his fingers, he sees you. still sleeping soundlessly, you live carefree amongst his worries. 

to some extent, he is frustrated by you as well. on one hand, he admires you. out of everyone in team akuta, you wormed yourself into his heart. meal after meal, sharing one story after the other, he was inevitably connected to you. the warmth you elude is infectious and the love you share for people is palpable. it’s hard to hate you. it’s hard for anyone to get mad at you. 

but your goals to him are fragile. they’re simple. that’s the part that has him worrying if he’s deserving of your attention. he doesn’t agree with your philosophy. if the world exists just to be eaten, why did he feel like the one being constantly chewed out? if anything, it benefited the strong more than anything. and unfortunately, you were part of what he deemed a ‘genius.’

stirring in your sleep, zanka immediately freezes up. he doesn’t move a muscle in your presence. considering how peaceful you were sleeping just now, he worries that his thoughts might be too loud. his eyes inch over towards your side. nervously, every moment closer to you felt like he was invading your privacy.

unknown to him, you’ve been awake for the past several minutes. from the moment he rose from the sheets, you were quietly enjoying the silence in the room. stretching your arms and straightening out your back, you lean into the chair. your gaze meets his for a moment. 

“i made you fried rice. it’s cold now but i can still hear it up if you want. i put a lot less salt in it this time. just to make it easier on your palette since you’re still recovering.” 

he smiles with an amused huff to it, “you didn’t have to do all that for a guy like me.”

you watch carefully as he takes the plate from the nightstand. using the spoon, he shovels down a mouthful of rice. you were definitely right when you said it was cold. but it still retained the same familiar of your usual cooking. however, that’s not that you’re focused on. 

his movements felt more restrained. 

you frown at this thought. normally his eyes were a lot clearer. now, it seems muddied. the blue in his reflection was more dim than usual. you suspect that while his body is still recovering, there is something bothering him.

“what happened while i was out?” zanka asks, continuing to chew through his vegetables.

“everyone got trapped inside a giant trash beat. we practically cleaned up everything but the raiders still got away.” an exhausted sigh slips through your lips, “at first, i didn’t understand where everyone went. you all got sucked inside a manhole and after paying for everyone’s meal, there weren’t any sign of you guys around.”

“i got the news from semiu only after i got back to headquarters.”

“how did you know where to find me?”

“instinct. probably.”

was he the first person you sought out? if so, it takes every single nerve and muscle in zanka’s body to hold back from combusting. his ears are tinted a flush shade of pink and a smile is threatening to break out on his face.

“zanka…” he turns his head in your direction.

unlike what he was expecting, your expression appears crestfallen. your gaze is downturned. lips are held tightly together, almost as if you were struggling to find the right words.

“... is getting stronger that important to you?”

“huh?”

curling up your fists, you squeeze your nails against the palm of your hand. “you looked so angry, i assumed it was something i did.” 

“sorry. i don’t understand. i think i should have come sooner. you wouldn’t have gotten hurt so badly.”

 if it was you that was taken, perhaps things would have turned out better. however, with that level of thinking, it makes zanka more hyperaware and frustrated with you. you think you being there would solve everything—if jabber had fought a better, more powerful cleaner, things would have ended up perfectly fine.

of course, a genius such as yourself wouldn’t understand. 

“i don’t need your help or pity,” his reaction is short and snappy, “i’m glad you found me and whatnot, but you don’t gotta blame yourself for my shortcomings.” 

he hardens his gaze, “i need to get stronger. you pitying me won’t help at all.”

“if—” 

“there are no if’s here,” zanka clicks his tongue.

“saying things would be better if you were there… you think you can fix everything. and then you go on asking me if getting stronger is important—do you see what you’re saying?”

“huh?”

“i was stupid and let my guard down around jabber. one hit on my leg and it was enough to knock me out. the best i did in that fight was get in the way of everyone else. but you don’t need to remind me about how different you are,” biting his lip, he quivers, “i will get stronger. no matter what. i have to prove everyone wrong.”

you lower your head, words clipped, “i see.”

noticing your change in mood, zanka quickly straightens up. did he hurt your feelings? he should have known his words were too harsh. you were just doing what you knew best: helping. now that you aren’t looking at him, he thinks he has gone too far. zanka mentally scolded himself. he’s an idiot for not reading over his own words. all the blame shouldn’t be shifted onto you. if anything, he should be the one apologizing for being a deadweight. 

“ah, wait—”

“no, you’re right,” you release a muted chuckle. “it’s inconsiderate of me to say those things. it sounds like i’m better than you, doesn’t it?” 

zanka wouldn’t directly admit it, so you did.

“i don’t know what it was like for you back then… so i can’t go around assuming everyone is the same as me.”

stabbing your fork into one of zanka’s vegetables, you hold it up to him. underneath the weight of the sun, the silver material glimmers and reflects light. 

“you’re right in saying we’re different. you come from a very powerful family. i grew up somewhere in the slums. you take very good care of your clothes and appearance. i wake up just the way that i am. we're fundamentally different people." twirling the material in your hands, you smile. 

when zanka first joined the cleaners, riyo commented about how strange it is seeing you get attached. she believes that as good as zanka is, he’s just not the type of person others would imagine you being around. he had a nasty look in his eyes that practically screamed: ‘get lost.’ she assumed that with his ironclad personality and seriousness, the two of you could never truly get along. you were outgoing and laidback, always doing whatever you thought was right at the moment. he was the calm and calculated one of the group. he follows a strict regime in order to keep himself in top shape. one day, she says, his words will hurt you.

there are a lot of reasons why the two of you don’t work together. “i don’t fight to get strong. and i don’t really care about being powerful. but i can imagine it in other ways.”

“when you think about steak, what do you see? for some people, they think it’s just a slab of meat. and they wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that way. its just a big hunk of meat after all. for others though, they see hard work and love.” shutting one eye, you tilt the vegetable against the light, letting it seep through the cracks.

“people spend a lot of time practicing how to cook steak.” lowering your fork, you lean against the palm of your hand, “it takes a lot of effort to make your steak taste good. if you cook it for too long, it becomes too chewy. too short and its practically raw. and if you add butter and garlic, then everything comes together—like harmony.”

“… harmony .” the title rolls off the tip of your tongue, “that’s the name of my jinki.”

you drop your fork onto his plate, letting it bounce onto the surface with a resounding clang. “maybe it doesn’t make sense right now. and i’m just talking gibberish. to put it simply: harmony means being together. it means putting in work even when others don’t appreciate it. harmony is the reason i fight.”

“food tastes better when you’re with friends,” zanka freezes in his position, eyes widening, “and i want to keep eating with you.”

“i would be sad if you died. it’s not the same without you here. and it won’t be the same if enjin or riyo leaves too.” 

no matter how different you are to zanka, you’re still putting in the effort to meet him in the middle. you aren’t going to fully understand what it’s like to be an average joe. but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to see him from the sidelines, giving him the support he needs to push forward. 

he understands your world now. you’re not just fighting for some grub at the end of the day—you’re fighting to keep everyone alive. he looks down at his hands, ego crumbling beneath the weight of your innocence. for a faker such as himself, seeing the real deal just isn't the same. before he could pierce his lower lip with his teeth, you reach out with your hand, grasping onto him. his breath hitches at your touch, unable to move as your fingers rub circles on his palm.

“i’m not trying to imply that you’re weak.” 

your gaze lingers on him, observing his movements like a hawk, “you’re one of the strongest people i know. you wake up early in the morning for practice. you study like crazy after every fight. and you take time out of your day to train rudo… it takes a lot of effort getting to where you are.”

“you’re a strong person, zanka.”

his lips tremble while your face only grows softer.

“i just wanted to say: i’m happy knowing you’re still going to be around—especially with someone like me. and after all your hard work, when you become one of the strongest cleaners, i hope you’ll let me see that side as well.”

your words finally break through zanka’s ironclad defenses. his face blows up into a bright shade of red. you thought of him this highly? covering the lower part of his face, he exhales a deep breath to steady his nerves. your speech is making him go crazy. with his racing heart, he forces himself not to smile stupidly at you. 

“is that so?” he coughs, diverting your attention from his shy expression. he has to play it cool in front of you. it would be embarrassing if he was caught head over heels for you, which he totally is—though, that is beside the point. the two of you didn't feel like you were worlds apart anymore. he felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. 

comfortable silence fills the air. with you resting your head on the bed and zanka watching over you, the scene felt perfect. while you were zoning out, zanka notices the loose strands of hair falling in front of you. he carefully and slowly tucks your locks behind your ear, exposing your side view.

perhaps the scene was a little too perfect, as the moment zanka’s hand turns to weave your fingers together, the door bursts open. both of your eyes widen as you see a large group of people enter the infirmary. quickly straightening out your appearances, zanka clears his throat. simultaneously, he tries to ignore enjin’s teasing whistle.

the group consisted of rudo, enjin, delmon, and the mayor of canvas town. the most noticeable of the bunch is the young spellcaster: remlin tysark. 

“zanka! you got a different spell from the others! we’re sorry!” remlin’s companion, the mayor, pushes their head downwards, forcing them into a bow. he lectures them from underneath his breath, apologizing profusely to zanka for his injuries.

“but why zanka?” enjin asks. 

“remlin! explain yourself!”

“be… before you went to penta, you asked for a spell to ‘reduce damage for one big hit’ right? and that’s what i drew, you know? on everybody… i drew the same spell on everybody. yeah…”

enjin turns to rudo, “well, i don’t know about the other guys who didn’t take hits, but it worked when we took damage, right?” his question has the shorter boy nodding his head.

“whew! i knew it! that’s great,” remlin sighs, “um… so, the thing is… well,” they look up at zanka, body trembling in a mixture of embarrassment and fear. 

“while i was drawing, i was like ‘zanka looks like the most serious guy in this bunch. i bet it’d be funny to give him a weird spell.’ and that’s what i was thinkin when i drew his, i guess.”

“so you’re saying zanka didn’t get the damage reducing spell?”

“if i may ask, what ‘weird spell’ did you give him?”

remlin lifts their arm, curling it up in front of them like a bodybuilder, “zanka? do this.”

without a second of hesitation, zanka copies their exact movements, causing his left arm to inflate comedically. rudo’s eyes proceed to bulge out of his skull, delivering a horrific stare in the man’s direction. the spell that was meant to protect zanka… was just a child’s joke. in the next moment, his arm started to quickly deflate to its original size. this causes the room to be filled with uncomfortable silence.

before remlin and enjin could speak up and apologize for the misunderstanding, zanka broke into a fit of laughter. clutching his lower stomach, he leans against the headboard, chuckling to his hearts content. everyone in the group is cautiously smiling, still left confused. for a serious guy like zanka, they assumed he would have flipped the rails on them.

“no, sorry… i just never met anybody who’d attempt a thing like that on me. heh,” he exhales.

“why are you laughing? it’s my fault you got hurt so bad!” remlin cries out.

“what? it ain’t your fault. those spells ain’t nothin’ but insurance. i’d never go into battle presumin’ i could count on that kind of safety net.” his light-hearted smile gradually fades, “i ain’t good enough, that’s all.”

rudo, upon hearing these words, could tell that zanka was frustrated. he was holding onto the sheets with a vice grip. the restrained expression on his face tells him that there was more he wanted to say.

“i’m still too weak, that’s the problem. it ain’t nobody’s fault but mine. so it doesn’t matter how much i hear the words ‘i’m sorry’ because i got no intention on accusing anybody.”

“but at least let us pay for your—”

“don’t want that either,” a confident gaze returns to his face. to some extent, zanka has come to peace with where he is at right now. “i don’t need your money. i can get stronger without it. don’t sell me short.”

the group look at each other, unsure if they were hearing the right thing. after all, they were still under the effects of guilt that they’re failing to see zanka’s forgiveness. standing up from your chair, you smile at everybody and wave them off.

“you heard him. if zanka doesn’t want you to feel bad, then don’t worry about it. he’s a tough cookie,” you proceed to walk over towards remlin’s side, patting them on the shoulder, “that’s the hardest i’ve seen him laugh in a while, so don’t knock yourself over it.”

“i…” remlin mumbles. 

“how about we go to the kitchen for snacks? i think it’s time for us to give zanka a break anyway.” at your words, remlin brushes away the small droplets of tears. giggling, they quickly nods in agreement, reaching out to hold onto your sleeve. 

leading everyone outside the room, you look back at zanka, waving to him. mouthing a few words of encouragement, you close the door, leaving only rudo in the room with him. you knew that out of everyone there, he was practically shaking in his boots.

whistling as you tread down the hall, you suspect he had something to say to zanka.

shrugging your shoulders, you take remlin towards the kitchen. it was a few ways down from the infirmary. only a seven minute walk. when you reach your destination, you started to rummage through the cabinets. searching for something, you pull out a few objects from the back of the fridge. 

remlin’s appearance started to sparkle with excitement. in your hands was a crumb-coated cake. it was small but decently sized for a child. you originally intended on bringing it for long expeditions. you heard from local vendors that these kinds of cakes are called ‘box cakes,’ and are meant to be eaten outside. 

however, remlin didn’t quite understand the purpose of crumb-coating, so you had to kneel in front of them to explain; crumb-coating is a very common practice amongst bakers. in order to create a smooth canvas, you have to spread a thin layer of frosting around the cake to catch all the ‘crumbs.’ without this technique, the outside of your cake would be muddy. 

thankfully, you already prepared the cake the day ahead. the only thing left was to decorate the outside. so in your hands, you held out a few piping bags. each of them were tint a different color. some were red, others were blue and pink. 

“are we frosting cake today?”

“yep!” popping the p in your words, you hold out multi-colored piping bags, “you’re an artist aren’t you? you should draw whatever you think zanka would like on the cake, and we can give it to him later, alright? this can be your unique way of saying sorry.” 

remlin’s expression finally changes for the better. no longer burdened by their guilt, they reach out to the blue piping bag. remlin thinks this is the best color to decorate the cake with. squeezing the base, they hurriedly draws their own design on the cake. it comes out messy and haphazard, but you can’t help but laugh at the young kid’s enthusiasm. 

meanwhile, zanka peers from outside the door, watching as you wipe away a bit of frosting from remlin’s cheek. the two of you are giggling loud enough for him to hear you from the other hall. originally, he came by only to give rudo some tips and suggestions, but he couldn’t help himself. his curiosity was killing him and his legs were walking on their own.

“… do you have room for one more?”

rotating your body to the sound of his voice, the two of you make eye-contact. zanka’s arms were crossed over his chest and he was still leaning against the door, waiting for your invitation. you let out a cheerful giggle.

“of course.”

without a second to waste, he takes the red piping bag from you. surprisingly, his fingers last longer on your skin than he intended. but that doesn’t bother you at all. if anything, you encourage him. roping your pinkies together, you stand beside each other, shoulder to shoulder—sharing one piping bag.