#bathing together

When you entered bathroom it was much different from what you had imagined when your boyfriend invited you to a relaxing night over. Minajael was already undressed, sitting in the warm steaming water, waiting for you to join him.

The bathtub was much too big from what you were used to, and Minajael's smirk a little too wide when he heard you come in.

It smelled hintingly of jade vines, and jasmine petals was placed neatly on the bathtub's rim along with a few lit up candles. Mina opened his eyes and looked sweetly at you when you started slowly entering the water limb by limb.

He moved himself a closer to you, but not too much, he just rested near you while you got comfortable.

You both sat quietly in the water for a few minutes, until Minajael suddenly moved his whole body to face you from the side instead. He gently grabbed your shoulders and started turning you so your back was against his chest.

Minajael hugged your waist and rested his head onto your shoulder, instantly closing his eyes again as he relaxed his body fully, practically melting into you.

But it wasn't just Minajael who was dozing of as the two of you became one, as your eyes were begging to be closed. Although you knew that the chances of falling asleep was greater than one would like. And while you wouldn't want to deal with the consequences of falling asleep in the bath; your eyelids decided to betray you.

Although the lovely boy behind you, apparently, wasn't tired at all. And kept your sleeping body upright so he could still rest on it, while also keeping you from hitting your head.

He smiled slightly when he opened his eyes to see your face so close to his. It's not like he wasn't used to it, just that he forgets how beautiful you really are when he isn't close up to you like he is right now.

...

You wake up in a bed that was much too soft to be your own and a delightful scent of tea. Blinking your eyes open slowly you see the vague figure of what might be the back your boyfriend.

"Mina?"

The figure turned towards you as your sight started to clear up.

"Yes, Hayati?"

Minajael smiled at you, staring right into your tired eyes. He sat with a cup of tea on a different part of his bed, too far from you to reach him without moving.

Of which he might have noticed, since he started moving closer to you. Carefully taking his breakfast tray with him, making sure not to spill any tea. When he finally got close enough, Minajael put his hand gently on yours and kissed you cheek.

        He has lost track of how long he had his jinki activated. It was probably for hours; he could feel the anima swirling inside his chest, travelling through his veins towards his staff with the familiar warmth covering his hands. Sweat trinkled down his forehead to his ears, dripping to his duvet along with dried tear drops. 

        In and out. In and out. He repeated the move out, lungs heaving with great constraints from his depleting anima and just, whatever he was feeling on top of his body. 

        Zanka could still feel his ribs cracking from the intense pressure of his beating heart. Yet, it couldn't match the pull from Death when Mymo not only stopped his attack, but punctured a hole in his stomach with just a flick of his fingers. Granted, that bastard of a news reporter was in that mystical form he had ordered his body to morphed into, but that really doesn't excuse how little Zanka had helped with the whole battle.

        His pride collapsed along with his remaining honour as he listened to his big brother call him pathetic yet again. The small spark of hope in his chest—maybe Goka was worried about him—vanished once he spoke. They were only there due to orders from Kyouka, their older sister. She had instructed the arrest of Mymo, and when the Hell Guards realised they were essentially useless against the mystical news reporter, they turned to support, aiding injured civilians and only intervening when Mymo returned to being human.

        And where was Zanka during all of it?

        In the damn medic tent.

        He was laid unconscious on the ground as doctors and nurses tried to salvage whatever injury he had. Despite being black-out, he swore he felt the alien gentleness of Goka's touches, the hesitancy in his brother's hold when he had to part ways with Zanka to let the medics handle the mess. 

        He didn't know how to feel about it—those phantom touches. It has been like what, three or four years since his departure from the Nijiku clan? His brother had let him walk out of the main house without so much as a last farewell. Heck, Zanka was sure their last conversation was the day before his exile, when Goka had yet again called him weak for depending on Lovely Assistaff.

        Yet, he held on Zanka's treasure with care while he was aiding the civilians. 

        It was odd. Very, very odd. Zanka had assume that Goka would just lay his jinki by his side when they reach the medics. Or, perhaps, find another Cleaner to have them hold onto her while he does his Hell Guard duty. It wouldn't have been an ideal solution for Zanka (he would rather have Lovely Assistaff on his cold, dead hands than entrust it to someone else), but that was the most sensible course of action for his older brother.

        But he didn't.

        Goka had kept Lovely Assistaff tucked into his obi, away from any harm's way.

        "Do not fool yourself, Zanka. I only held onto your jinki as a sign of… respect. Though I despise that stick, I—more than anyone—understand the importance of caring for one’s weapon. Without it, I fear you might descend even further into… incompetence," his older brother spat out the moment he regain consciousness.

        Even with half his brain buzzing with pain, medication, and confusion, Zanka caught a flicker of worry in his brother’s eyes—before Goka turned to leave.

        Though perhaps he had imagined it, considering Goka had no hesitation tossing Lovely Assistaff onto Zanka’s freshly bandaged abdomen.

        Still, the knowledge that his brother had been helping out during the Doll Festival while he lay there playing the victim again left a nasty, bitter taste coating his tongue. His gut twisted with knives the moment it hit him—he slept through the whole damn fight, forcing Rudo, Amo, and Fu to take all the heavy hits. The newbies. He felt sick just thinking about it. 

        He bit his lip, drawing blood as his chest tightened with the familiar feeling of envy, disappointment, and inferiority. Why him? He had asked himself the moment Mymo landed the blow. Why was it always him who had to be defeated first, in the most humiliating way possible as well?

        It happened with that Raider, Jabber, too—left to believe he had won the fight, only to be greeted by the real form of Mankira. He had promised to work harder after that defeat. "I ain't good enough, that's all," he had said to Remlin back then, not wanting for the young teen to shoulder the guilt of his injuries. In a way, he was right—he had been too weak to go against Jabber and Mymo, even when he was fighting for his literal life.

        "I just have to get stronger," he had announced, fingers digging into his palm as he willed himself to appear composed. 

        He bit his lips harder, tasting the metallic liquid down his throat. 

        Stronger.

        He had to get stronger.

        If not to show the world that an average joe like him could defeat natural-born geniuses, then to be able to land the finishing blow on his opponent.

        He will wipe that fucking smirk out of Jabber's face, mark his words.

        Disappointment, anger, envy, and motivation swirled in his chest, clogging his airway until he had to cough all of it out just to breathe again. But even then, they stayed in his lungs, dragging down with every beat of his heart.

        Zanka barely had a moment of peace before his door was slammed open, hinges nearly flying off the wall, as Riyo marched inside, throwing the door shut behind her.

        He furrowed his brows in confusion, and momentary annoyance. "The hell's yer problem, Riyo?"

        She didn't flinch at his tone, instead chuckling as she made her way to his bed. "Geez, you've been dull these past few days, Zanka," she huffed, hands on her hips. "Even Rudo and Dear Santa are starting to worry about you."

        Zanka blinked, a flicker of comfort blooming in his chest before he grunted, rolling onto his side. He spooned Lovely Assistaff (who he had returned back to being a wooden staff), careful not to put too much weight on her, tugging the blanket over them two.

        Riyo's expression softened. She moved toward him, the weight of her steps quieter than before. Instead of another tease, she simply sat at the edge of his bed, mattress dipping under her.

        She didn't touch him, just had her hand rest near his curled leg, close enough that he could feel her warmth seeping through the clothed space between them. The heat felt comforting, easing through his muscles and untangling the pressure he had been shoving down his stomach.

        Zanka exhaled, basking in the soft lull of silence that befall between them. 

        The knot in his chest started to loosen with each inhale. Riyo didn't say anything, just sat there radiating her presence with a small smile on her face. Sometimes, Zanka wonders what goes on inside the younger girl's mind whenever she spots him wallowing in self-pity and destruction. Was she disappointed on him? Maybe she pities him as well. Or, perhaps, she understands where he was coming from.

        She was with Enjin the day he was going to kill himself in that well.

        "...I was useless," he muttered, shifting to face the girl, voice low and rough. "During the fight with Mymo. I didn't do a damn thing to help y'all out."

        Riyo blinked, throwing her head back slightly in disbelief. She then shook her head, scoffing, "Useless? You're kidding, right? You helped a ton, Zanka—especially with that killer blow of yours figuring out Mymo's weakness!"

        Zanka let out a humourless laugh, remembering the scene all too well. "Ya mean when I basically gave him back his freedom of speech?"

        "You win some, you lose some!" she shot back, shrugging as if that excuses his shortcomings.

        The ugliness inside his chest revives, twisting and turning at the sight of the carefree young girl. The tip of his tongue wanted to lash out, to compare himself to her, who had managed to defeat Mymo's underlings and aid with the main battle. But, he kept it to himself.

        There wasn't any reason to do so. It was his fault he was in this situation. He just had to get stronger, that's all.

        He sighed, breath shuddering out of him as the heaviness crept back to lay on his body. He resigned at the brief comfort fading away, being replaced by the ache thundering in his ribs, chest, skull, and every inch of his body.

        Riyo stared at him, smile faded into a thin line. Silence lingered some more as her expression shifted from disbelief, to concern, and to something more serious.

        "How are you even doing—physically, that is," she asked quietly, eyes lingering on his face.

        He didn't even need to answer. His sunken cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and the blanket he'd been hiding under for days had answered her question for him.

        Riyo's face dropped, tilting her head, eyes narrowing with quiet concern. "You haven't been eating properly," she flately stated. "And you barely leave your room. The other's have been worried about you, Zanka."

        Zanka looked away, jaws tightening. He couldn't deny it—couldn't even muster a half-ass lie to excuse all of it. He wasn't supposed to be like this in the first place. He should've been out there mingling with the others, showing that he had already digested the aftermath and ready to continue training himself to be better. 

        And yet, here he was, rotting in his bed like some sort of pathetic loser.

        "Okay!" Riyo snapped her fingers, then slapped her hands on her knees and stood with sudden decision. Her smile was wide, too wide. Zanka could feel the incoming dread in his spine before the younger girl could even voice her thoughts out. "That's it. You and I, we're taking a bath. Right now!"

        Zanka blinked, confident that he had misheard the younger girl. But, he didn't. Riyo started to drag him out of his bed with his leg. He quickly sat up straight, hands digging to the plush of his bed in an attempt to stop the madness.

        "Hol' up—What?!" he sputtered, baffled as the redhead just gave him her signature smile. "Whad'dya mean we gon' take a bath together? Are ya crazy?"

        Riyo pouted, putting her hands on her waist. "Eh, don't be like that Zanka. It's not like this is the first time we're taking a bath," she reasoned, shrugging her shoulders.

        Zanka felt heat creeping into his cheeks and ears. Riyo wasn't wrong, it wouldn't be the first time they had shared a bath together, but it wasn't exactly a daily occurrence between them two! And besides, the only reason they did before was they were stuck with only one bathroom during a labour-intensive mission in the North Ward.

        "C'mon, it's not weird. And if you did try something funny, I'll just shoot ya." Riyo pressed three fingers to her palm, mimicking a gun as she pretended to shoot Zanka between his eye sockets.

        "Don't tell me ya bathe with yer gun too, weirdo?!"

        Instead of being insulted, Riyo burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. Zanka sighed. He knew a losing battle when he saw one—and anything involving Riyo's shenanigans usually counted. What Riyo wanted, Riyo got, especially once she started asking nicely to Enjin, Bro Santa, and even Gris.

        With another resigned sigh, he slid off the bed, earning a victorious cheer from the redhead menace. He still had no idea what the benefit of bathing together was supposed to be, but he could humour his junior just this once.

        Zanka let Riyo in the bathroom first, giving her the privacy of slipping out of her clothes while he does the same in his room. As he reached for his shirt, a sharp sting erupted in his abdomen. He cursed, gripping the nearest wall as his hand shot to cover the area. His wound was acting up again; the bruised flesh pulsed like a constant reminder of his failures.

        He waited a few seconds after hearing the splash of water before entering the bathroom. He could feel the redness spreading from his face down to his neck as he was walked toward the bathtub. 

        Riyo's eyes were, thankfully, closed as he put one foot and another in the bathtub before fully submerging himself. The water was cooler than he expected, prickling his skin with goosebumps. He drew his knees closer to his chest, settling opposite from her. They both made a clear effort to keep space between them... though their feet brushed now and then.

        "See?" Riyo said cheerfully, hair drifting around her torso in the water. "Isn't this fun!"

        "It really ain't," Zanka muttered, though he could feel the tension leaving his muscles, relaxing under the gentle pressure of the water. He attempted to shift back to give the girl more space, but accidentally sucked in his stomach, causing him to let out a sharp groan.

        Riyo furrowed her brows, concern flickering across her face. "Your injury acting up?"

        He nodded bitterly, one hand pressed against his abdomen. "Yeah... it's gettin' better thanks to Eishia, but still shoots me pain every now and then. It sucks ass."

        Riyo pressed her lips together, a mix of frustration and understanding in her expression.

        Zanka felt pathetically bare and vulnerable under her gaze. There wasn't any shame or embarrassment in her face, like bathing with your co-worker was just a run of a mill moment in her day. Jealousy bubbled inside his chest. He had always envied the girl's easy-going personality, not to mention her fighting prowess with not only her jinki, but with guns and hand-to-hand combat as well.

        His mind flashed to Kyouka. There weren't much similarities between the redhead girl and his older sister aside from their proficiency with guns, yet he couldn't help but remember the last time his sister had done something similar like this to him.

        It was around the evening of his fifth birthday, just after the banquet in his honour had ended. He had played and eaten too much, to the point where even their maids had to step in to assist him. As a child, there wasn't much shame in relying on them, but feeling the intense scrutiny of his parents and Goka, he pushed himself to act on his own—which just resulted to him staining his pristine clothes with vomit.

        He cried to Kyouka that night, babbling apologies and insisting he was a good "big boy." To her credit, she was still relatively a good older sister back then. She pulled him into her arms, ignoring the mess on his clothes, rubbing his back gently while humming a soft lullaby.

        She had cleaned him up in his private bathroom, splashing lukewarm water on his face as she wiped him down, careful not to irritate his skin. Her hands were steady and warm, moving with practised ease that he had almost fallen asleep in the bathtub. She laughed about that, teasing him with a smile as she whispered, "Ya ain't gotta worry 'bout a thing, Zanka. Big Sis' always got yer back, okay? Always and forever."

        Always and forever his ass! She couldn't even give him a proper goodbye at his last day.

        The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving a bittersweet taste in Zanka's tongue. He shifted slightly, drawing his knees closer to his chest to hide any expression he had on his face.

        "Y'know," Riyo breathed out, water rippling as she shifted on her seat, "I was real scared when I saw you get blasted like that."

        Zanka's head jerked up slightly, surprise flickering across his face.

        "I mean it," she continued, voice unusually soft. "For a second, I thought you were a dead man. I damn near pulled my gun out right there and then—" she chuckled, throwing her head back "—was ready to shoot every enemy in sight. Almost forgot the promise I made to Enjin."

        Zanka gaped at her, disbelief crossing his mind. Was... Was she legit serious? He knew that she basically had the front row seat to his failure, but it didn't really cross him mind on how she would've acted about it. Sure, he knew she cared about him despite all the teasing, but to the point of breaking the most important promise in her life?

        Surely, she was joking... right?

        "Riyo... yer not supposed to do that. Enjin'd kill ya if he knows."

        She huffed, pouting as she pointed a finger at him. "I'd do it for you. I consider you part of my family, y'know."

        He froze, trying to digest her words. Family? That word hit deeper than he wanted it to. He thought of Kyouka; her familiar warmth being extinguished by the pressure of the clan. He thought of Goka, whose encouraging words soon hardened into barbs, sharp enough to pierce his soul. And then, he thought of his parents, who pushed him to the carved path of a Nijiku child, only to turn their backs on him once they realised his incompetence.

        He then stared long and hard at Riyo, who just confessed to almost breaking her promise to their team leader. Riyo, who had found him after his second defeat against Jabber. Riyo, who had carried him back with the other Cleaners and stayed with him while he was being operated by Eishia.

        Riyo, who he had been quietly thinking of as his younger sister... along with the other kids in his team.

        But still...

        "That'd be stupid," he muttered, looking away to try and hide the flush on his face. "Ya can't just throw everything away over me. I ain't worth allat trouble."

        Riyo's eyes sharpened with deadly intensity, splashing a bit of water to his face and hair. "Don't say that. You're important to me. I... I don't wanna lose another person close to me. Not again. You know that, Zanka." She inched closer to his space, uncaring about her appearance. "I'd do anything to protect all of you."

        The bath fell quiet. Zanka swallowed his emotions, chest tightening, but unlike before where it stung every breath he take, this was unfamiliar and hitting too close to his locked away emotions he had been burying every since his departure from his family.

        Finally, after a long silence, Zanka sighed, head leaning back to the wall as he stared at the dull ceiling of his bathroom. The butterflies in his stomach was still active, fluttering around and creating a tingling sensation that crept up to his heart, matching its beat.

        Closing his eyes, RIyo's words continued to echo in in ears, untangling the doubts he had been planting for the past few days. Not everything was unrooted, however, Zanka couldn't find it in himself to be angry or disappointed (he had already been feeling like that all his life), rather, he let the warmth from Riyo's body travel up his arm, unwinding his tensed muscles and bones, until all he could feel was the soft touches of the water.

        "Turn around, would ya," he cleared his throat, gently pushing away Riyo's face. "I'll wash yer hair."

        She blinked, momentarily puzzled. "Huh...?"

        "Said I'll wash yer hair. Now, turn  around, would ya?"

        She snorted, immediately regaining her usual energy. "Using the bathtub water? Didn't know you were gross like that, Zanka!"

        "Shaddup," he warned, eyes narrowing, but there wasn't any heat to his voice. "Or I'll pour freezin' water on ya instead."

        "I'm tattling on Enjin!"

        "Why the hell would ya do that?!"

        Riyo just laughed, turning her back to him as he picked up the showerhead, adjusting the water to a comfortable, lukewarm temperature. He let the water cascade over her hair, running his fingers gently through the red strands, careful not to tug on any tangles (though, he doubt there were any.)

        For the first time in days, Zanka could feel himself smiling softly, lungs free from any blockage. The sound of running water, the warmth of the bath, and the grounding weight of Riyo's presence—all of it was allowing him to breath properly without the constraints of his coiled emotions lingering heavily on his chest.