#follo angst

Chaos erupted through the battle, with citizens yelling and crying in horror, together with the occasional clash between cleaners and aberrant beasts.

People scrambled, bumping on each other in a desperate attempt to flee the scene, a kid even grazed his knees.

A little boy cried helplessly, his shirt, caught by an exposed rebar from a fallen home, as the thick blackened smoke began to choke the air breathlessly.

“Mama!" He cried, but no one came to his rescue. No mother to hold him and shield him against the world.

No one to protect him from the flames, leaving his desperate wails to continue.

"Shit,”

You cursed, narrowing your eyes at the crowd to find the boy from afar. Your feet ran as fast as they could, not minding the fire ahead.

The moment you manage to get close to the boy, he's already a coughing fit, crying—wailing and screaming.

His energy, slowly draining.

You figured that the boy's parents might've accidentally left him behind, unaware during the chaos and panic lingering through their mind.

Your hand reached for a handkerchief, something to shield him from inhaling more of the smoke, before finally getting your hands to work on his shirt that's been caught.

"Shhh, it's going to be alright.” You reassured, giving the boy a soothing rub on his shoulder.

The whole village had slowly become a furnace, or, can even be compared to hell if there's one.

What started as a single spark in a dilapidated shack had now ripped through a whole row of houses at a terrifying speed, and the trash beasts? They have added more to the stress.

Ash rained down like black snow, the smoke curling around would've been deadly to someone's respiratory at this rate.

If it weren't for your gas mask, you would’ve collapsed.

You heard someone call your name, together with the following warning.

"Get out of there! Now! The roof's giving away!” Follo's voice cut through the roaring of the surrounding flames, brows furrowed as his yellow eyes glanced at you from afar.

You tried your best to try and lift the shirt off the rebar, but it's no use. Soon, the roof would fall, so you did what had to be done.

With another reassuring smile, you told the boy to keep the handkerchief on his nose and mouth before ripping his shirt off the exposed metal rod.

"Go!” You yelled to the boy with a push as you looked around for any other way to get out.

A sweat ran down your forehead, the flames were starting to trap you in, it wasn't even traveling slowly. It's fast, it's spreading too damn fast.

You tried to find Follo with just your eyes, but some rusted corrugated metal sheets had already blocked the path.

Suddenly, the support beam of the house beside you groaned. With a deafening crack, the burning framework collapsed.

You lunged forward, but you weren't fast enough.

A massive, flaming timber struck your back, pinning you momentarily to the scorching earth.

Your whole body crashed hard against the debris, hard and rough.

The agony struck first, before the pained cry.

Your nails dug at the dirt, as you felt the white-hot embers slowly burn through the fabric of your clothes, melting down the very flesh of your back and spine.

For a terrifying second, the smoke-choked village, the chaos, and their voices calling out to you faded—

And suddenly, you were back in the dark, suffocating cells of your past—helpless, trapped, and just waiting to break.

It burns.

It burns.

It burns.

Just like the time you've been sold to a guy, who you thought, would give you the love that you never once had.

Parental love.

It burns. It burns. It burns.

“It burns!" You cried, but the man never stopped, he continued to whip that already bleeding part on your back.

Tears ran down your cheeks, as the leathered belt continued to hit your spine.

To him, beating you up isn't enough, your teeth falling isn't enough, your eyes bleeding together with your salty tears weren't enough.

What did you do to deserve this?

Your nails dug deeper at the ground, as if to anchor you from the pain, but it did little to nothing.

It burns. It burns. It burns.

Then, the weight was violently lifted. It stopped. But the burning still continued.

Through the blur of tears and unbearable smoke, there you saw, Follo.

His eyes, wide with terror you never once saw on him before.

Follo's hands beat the embers eating into your clothes and skin as he dragged your weakened body to safety.

The Cleaners' infirmary felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cold tomb carved out of the Pit’s concrete foundation.

Moisture clung to the exposed iron pipes running along the ceiling, dripping rhythmically in the dark corners of the room, where the light from outside couldn't reach.

The air was thick and heavy, but not the ones from the heat and chaos. But with the lingering scent of antiseptic.

Your body shivered, it's cold, a stark, bitter contrast from the burning heat of the small village.

Every minor movement triggers a spike of agony radiating from your spine, to you, it still felt like it was on fire.

Eishia hasn't tended you yet with her vital instrument, focusing mostly on cleaners with bigger injuries, ones who were bleeding to death or broke their bones in battle.

Zanka, probably.

It's suffocatingly quiet here, behind you, the soft scuff of Follo's boots broke the silence.

Follo didn't have his usual manic energy, nor the charming smile with him. What he has, was a slight frown, and shears in hand.

The metallic snip of his shears cutting through old gauze sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

“Hold still," he murmured, his breath warm against your shoulder as he peeled back the final layer of gauze used as a first aid.

You braced yourself from the stinging, burning pain. But instead, you heard his breath come out a little off a second. He stilled. That much is obvious.

The silence stretched, heavy and sharp. His gloved hands hovering a millimeter.

Beneath the raw, angry blister of the fresh burn, there lay a map of your history.

Pale, jagged ridges crossing over each other, old flesh that had been torn open and poorly healed years before you ever got out of that hell you were forced to live.

“Don’t look at it.” You spoke, cutting the thickening tension and intensity of Follo's gaze. You could feel his eyes trace not at the burns, but the scars.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, softly, as if you were some animal who'd run away if he ever raised his tone.

"None of your business. Could you just—”

"They're sick. I like them.”

Your eyes widened a fraction. You knew damn well he's just saying that to reassure you, but heck, if that didn't tug at your heart.

You gripped your arm, still tattooed like property, covering it with a blanket as if he hadn't seen it the moment they had to take off your uniform.

"I hate them.” A fact. You hated them. Because tracing them with your fingers always reminds you of the pain when you used to try and aid them yourself.

You flinched when his glove finally made contact, but it wasn't even the part where it burned. But the part where it used to ache.

"At least, you survived.”

You did survive, maybe, that's what really matters, but still, the lingering pain couldn't be helped.

“I'm proud of you.” Follo’s voice wasn't loud. It was dangerously hollow, the sound of a man looking at something beautiful that someone else had tried to break.

It makes you feel something—something warm that makes you also feel uneasy. It's unfamiliar, but at least, it definitely wasn't the aching heat of burned skin.

"Stop it, Follo." You huffed, but it only made the raven haired boy laugh.

"I mean it,” he paused, his hands moving to your shoulders, to better position you.

“Personally, I think scars are tokens of things people have gone through, like badges of the wars soldiers won."

You felt his breath close to your ear as he leaned down, hands lifting your arms to finally wrap your back with bandages.

“And you won. You're alive, here, with me.”

Hot tears dropped from the corners of your eyes, you didn't even feel them build up.

Scars sometimes come from an ugly past, but one day, you'll meet someone who'd admire them.

And tell you that,

"They're beautiful.”

so if we're going a different route, id say that follo developed a crush on zanka after seeing just how motivated and driven zanka is, espeically after the events of s1. zanka is also extremely pretty and strong, which didn't help. this developed from admiration into infatuation.

when he noticed zanka starting to disappear more often, he was curious. where was he going? was he meeting with someone? was he just running errands? but then he would come back at odd hours, act like normal, but anyone who knew him could tell it was a performance. it rubbed follo the wrong way.

he started to try to spend more time around zanka to strengthen their friendship (and maybe to gauge compatibility), but he also wanted answers.

they would train together, sometimes eat meals together, and the fluttery feeling in follo's chest intensified whenever zanka smiled or laughed. zanka was a reserved person, not one to readily offer up physical touch with his friends. So, when zanka put his hand on follo's shoulder to get his attention, when he would poke his cheek in an endearing manner, when their legs brushed under the table in the dining hall and he didn't move away, follo would short circuit. he would try to find an excuse to look away to hide his blush. the brief warmth that came from zanka would linger in his body.

but whenever follo tried to ask where zanka would disappear to, zanka's mood would shift. his body language would close up, tension would appear in his shoulders and wrists, and he would look away.

follo sensed he was getting dangerously close to stepping over the line, so he stopped the questions. just laughed it off, trying to be casual about it, like the curiosity wasn't eating at him more now.

it got to be too much. it was consuming his every thought. of course, zanka was allowed to keep secrets. Follo wasn't entitled to know everything about him. But Zanka's mood swings were getting more pronounced, he was starting to blow follo off, and his curiosity was mixing with annoyance.

he decided to follow him the next time it happened. he was worried zanka would notice, he was trained to be a hellguard afterall. but zanka seemed to be distracted, his mind elsewhere as he spoke lowly into his choker. follo was too far away to hear anything.

zanka wandered far, further than follo had been anticipating. but he kept with him, his heartbeat loud in his ears and making him feel paranoid about every step he took.

a flash of another body rammed into Zanka, and follo nearly blew his cover right then. he was only able to marginally stop himself when he saw assistaff already activated, the blue hue shrouding Zanka in a beautiful light in the dark. his face was screwed up in determination, like he had been expecting this ambush. was that a smile on his face?

"heeeey babe~" came from a familiar voice. "you late!"

"tough shit, you didn't even show up last time!" follo's heart clenched when zanka didn't protest the pet name.

a crazed, choppy laughter echoed around them.

no. no, that couldn't be right. no way zanka would willingly meet up with that guy???

"shut up. let's go already!" zanka growled with a manic grin.

the sound of metal on metal was shrill, and follo's worst fear was confirmed. silhouetted against assistaff's blue was a figure with long dreads and deadly claws.

too many emotions began to overwhelm his senses. fear, anger, bewilderment anxiety, jealousy, saddness. he was paralyzed as the two began to fight.

their battle was brutal. follo had obviously seen zanka fight trashbeasts before, everything he did was always executed with calculated precision and grace. but watching him fight jabber was a new thing entirely. which led him to wondering why the hell they were fighting in the first place?

from their brief words, it seemed like this was a regular thing. is this what zanka did every time he left? meet up with jabber to duel? why?

it didn't seem like he was going to get an answer any time soon. hell, he just had to stay out of range of these two monsters exchanging blows. is this who zanka really is? is the perfected poised persona he puts on all an act?

their battle was intense, and follo's ears were ringing by the end of it, and he wasn't even that close to it! the songs of their jinkis were just that intense. more words and jabs were said, taunts that sounded like flirts thrown back and forth. it only served to confuse follo more. what were they?

it ended when jabber slammed zanka against the ground, his claws clearly at zanka's throat. follo once again nearly blew his cover, his supporter instincts rushing over him to protect. but he remained rooted in place.

both were panting heavily and absolutely covered in sweat and grime. it was hard to tell from the angle, but zanka was most definetely glaring up at the raider above him. it was a tense few moments, and the two were definitely having a silent conversation. finally, it broke with jabber's claws deactivating, and assistaff's blue hue faded as it returned to its wooden form.

"aaaaand round one goes to jabber! he's thinkin' pizza!"

"i ain't buying you shit!"

"rules are rules, zankaaaa."

the way jabber practically purred zanka's name had follo gritting his teeth.

"you forfeited last time by not showin' up. you're buying dinner."

"you gonna buy me double dinner next time?"

"i ain't losin' next time!"

the conversation was so casual, like they didn't spend the last 40 minutes trying to kill each other.

jabber sat up, still straddling zanka's hips. he had a wide grin on his face, but it was different than his typical crazed expression. his features were softer and there was fondness in his eyes.

"yeah yeah, mister tough guy. c'mere." jabber fisted zanka's uniform and dragged him up, kissing him.

kissing him?!

follo's mouth gaped, and his eyes nearly bugged outta his head. he slapped his hand over his mouth to suppress a gasp when zanka's hands came to wrap around the raider's midsection, pressing up into the kiss.

confusion. rage. heartbreak.

it had tears clouding his vision. digging his nails into his skin, he tried to blink them away and regulate his breathing; he did not need to choke on air right now.

it was dulled by exhaustion, but they kissed like they were still fighting. tongues and teeth joining the fray for round two.

follos heart nearly stopped when jabber looked directly at him through the corner of his eye. even from the distance, follo recognized the predatory gaze. his eyes were sharp and clear, holding disdain and animosity. the way he held zanka possessively, the way their bodies molded and moved together, it all screamed: he's mine.

it made follo nauseous.

"get off me, im hungry," zanka mumbled.

jabber finally broke eye contact with follo and hummed. with a shit-eating-grin, he unzipped Zanka's collar and pressed his lips to zanka's neck.

follo couldn't handle this. he couldn't handle watching jabber give zanka hickies, he couldn't handle zanka's pleased sighs as he did so.

follo squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head and trying to quell the fury of emotions within his chest, as well as the nausea curling in his gut. he breathed through his nose, not trusting himself to take his hand away from his mouth.

this was worse, so much worse than anything he could've imagined. and he was stuck witnessing it now. he can't leave, they'd see him.

"alright, enough. get off," he heard zanka grumble.

"aww, already?" jabber's voice was muffled, like he was speaking the words in zanka's neck still.

"later," zanka said sharply. could he actually get jabber to listen? "ain't you hungry?"

"hungry for youuuu- ack!" a scuff that sounded like a body hitting the ground brought little relief to follo when it was joined with breathy laughter.

"c'mon already. i want somethin' spicy."

their voices trailed off as they went further and further from follo, and only when it had been quiet for a full minute did he unclasp his hand from his mouth and open his eyes.

that was worse than rejection. that was annihilation. what was that old saying? curiosity killed the cat? consider follo rotting away in no man's land now.

he mindlessly wandered back to HQ, feeling numb, feeling too much, feeling like he witnessed a crime, but above all, feeling lonely.

follo didn't come out much the next day. he and zanka had made plans to train in the afternoon, but he couldnt do that now. he couldn't look zanka in the eyes and not see jabber on top of him, kissing him breathless. god, just the thought of it makes him want to cry again.

its late at night when a light knock raps on his door. its zanka, holding him a plate of food. he doesn't look any differnet than he normally does, and follo found himself searching for evidence on zanka's neck. but as always, his jacket is zipped up, effectively covering anything jabber might've done to him.

"you okay?" zanka asked, looking concerned. follo, despite the anxiety raging a ware in his chest, nodded and took the plate and avoided zanka's eyes.

“Once I become a giver, I'd stay as a supporter, and then I'll show them that us supporters are not as worthless as they think we are.”

“Oh? That's cool. For me, I just wanted to become a giver, because I was once saved by one!”

Your giggles rang on Follo's ears, his heart hammering against his chest as he tugged on the zipper of his uniform that he wears.

Absent-mindedly.

Suddenly, everything blurred, but not your face. Follo saw the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, something he'd chase,

Just to keep it right there on your face.

Your voice drowned in the back of his head as his heart thudded loud. Follo stood frozen, staring at you in awe, like he just saw you for the first time.

For a moment, the ambient noise of the whole room—that the both of you share with other people—slowly faded into a full, distant hum.

Follo's pulse roared inside his eardrums, his breath catching tight in his throat. He can't explain.

But there's this sudden pull that encouraged him to scoot just a little closer.

His eyes widen slightly, watching your face contort into different emotions in a span of seconds while rambling.

This was the same face—the same face he'd seen a hundred times. He's used to that face, he's used to that voice, he's used to that smile. But why is he only noticing your beauty now?

Follo’s world seemed to tilt.

Fracturing the familiar version of you he took for granted, and rebuilding it with something far different.

Something utterly breathtaking.

It was as if a veil had just been lifted off his eyes. He wasn't looking at a comrade, fellow supporter or a friend anymore.

For like the first time ever, Follo saw you. Like really, really see you.

You look.. absolutely captivating, and Follo found himself staring. His heart, slowly falling.

While you continued talking, your voice filled the sudden quietness of Follo, entirely blind by the shift of his posture and focus.

And every time that giggle comes out again, that's the only thing he could hear.

Blood rushed at his cheeks, painting his face with a faint rosy glow as reality hit him with sudden clarity.

You didn't seem to catch the way he leaned even closer.

You didn't catch the way his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

You also didn't catch the way his fingers brush on your skin a lil’ longer.

“Are you listening?" He just nodded at your question. He doesn't know what you're talking about. He's just happy that you look happy beside him.

He's happy that you look so happy talking about your interests with him.

He's just happy that you don't seem to mind being this close to him.

Then a long thread caught his attention.

Follo's eyes squinted as he took notice of the red string lying on your arm that runs along to your finger…

The string moved as you threw hand gestures, emphasizing whatever the hell you were just speaking about.

But his eyes stayed glued to the red thread wrapped around your pinky. His eyes drag along to where it leads.

The moment his eyes landed on the other end—his breath hitched. Follo swallowed. It's wrapped around his finger.

Like a little connection.

‘What was that?’

You continue to flail your hands around, mouth still working—blabbering. Follo just kept staring.

How come you do not see the string when you're swinging it around with each flail?

The thread moved along with you, swaying here and there, but you're not paying any mind to it, it's like you don't even notice the thread at all.

And it confused him, you're acting really normal while swinging that long red thread that's tied on each of your fingers.

Like it doesn't bother you at all.

Curiosity took over him. He reached for the string, his index and thumb catching the thin strand as he examined it with his eyes.

“Oh, shit, Tomme’s calling me. Gotta go, goodbye, Follo!" You said as you moved towards a table where you previously left your hat.

You gave him one final wave, together with that sweet smile that only made his heart flutter just today.

The strand tightened.

The red string stretched longer as you hurried off the room, towards the hallway where Tomme's waiting.

Leaving Follo wondering.

Follo took note of all the details.

The strings are shorter when he's beside you, but it stretches longer when you're farther away.

Only he could see the string. No one else, not even you, who's tied with the same red string.

Every time his pulse fastens, the string tightens.

He thought that it was some sort of connection, until one day, he realized that it may be something more.

The gods or whatever was above the ground gave him a sign that you were to be his.

That red string was evidence that you were his destiny, and that you are tied to him.

The crimson thread stretched taut between you—standing as proof that your souls were bound to be together.

Follo doesn't know what to feel. But realizing that maybe, this means that you'd be his, and his love would be soon reciprocated.

But he remembered one thing. About your crush. About your love for someone else. The boy you deem as the ‘love’ of your life.

“Y’know, Follo? Ever since he saved me, I feel like I met my one true love.”

“I aspire to be as strong as him someday, and maybe one day, I'll catch his attention!”

"Follo! I just slipped a love letter on Zanka's door, do you think that it's obvious that it's me?”

"Follooooooo, look at him, he's so pretty.”

“Zanka's so handsome, do you think I have a chance?"

"Zanka..” with a sigh.

Zanka this. Zanka that. Zanka here. Zanka there. Zanka anytime. Zanka anywhere.

Each of the memories you said while loudly and obviously pinning on Zanka all resurfaced, and it sent a sharp twist right on his chest.

How ironic. Before, all of it earns you a laugh, a shrug or even a tease from him.

Follo even called himself your number one shipper.

But now? The mere thought of it made his heart ache like he's being stabbed continuously.

He felt jealousy spike in his chest, his ears suddenly clouded with your voice continuously mentioning Zanka's name.

Follo lets out a huge exhale as he rubbed his temple with a thumb, jealousy—envy, and heartbreak brewing inside him all at once.

The air hung heavy and thick, tasting of nothing but dust and stagnation.

Though people were talking and the environment was loud, the external noise quickly disintegrated.

Replaced by that annoying high-pitched ring of silence that defied the noisy room.

Follo tapped his shoes, as if waiting for something, or is already running out of patience. A grimace placed on his usually bright face.

He leaned onto his palm, the same hand where the red string was attached at his pinky, elbows propped on top of the table, and sat at a place where the two of you usually sit.

Side by side too. Together with the rest of supporters.

Over the course of a single week, the space between you and Follo grew uncomfortably and noticeably wide.

He didn't even remember when it started, but it began slowly.

You stopped showing up for meals in the mess hall, your old routine with Follo slowly vanished, and even conversations with him are always cut short with you needing to be somewhere else.

Or, that's just his interpretation of his observation to your sudden distance. But it's obvious.

Even when missions threw the both of you shoulder-to-shoulder, you treated Follo like a total stranger.

Every ride back or to the location of said location, you're still sat beside him, like the old times. But you don't even bother talking to him.

You'd move alongside Follo, yet you still managed not to acknowledge his presence.

Basic courtesies, greetings or that sweet smile he only realized he loved months ago don't appear anymore.

Entirely gone.

Replaced by a wall of indifference you built so thick, it made even the toxic air feel twice as suffocating as before.

Everyone noticed it too, Gris noticed the shift of dynamic, Tomme took notes of the changes.

And the red string? They don't tighten anymore, instead, they loosen.

They're still wrapped on each of your pinkies, but the thin crimson thread seemed to slacken.

Follo's brows scrunched, frustration gnawing inside him. Gris, who's always observant, gave him a small pat on the back. Tomme just offered a smile, awkwardly so.

Suddenly, Follo's thoughts are then interrupted by the loud whistling that came from Enjin's table. It sounded like those types of whistling made to tease or sometimes catcall.

He quickly turned his head to the side, following Enjin's and the rest of Team Akuta's gaze.

The sight struck Follo like a physical blow. His eyes narrowed,

There you are, navigating the mess hall, the sweet smile he missed stuck on your face, while carrying a lunch tray in hand—but you weren't alone.

Zanka looms behind your slightly shorter figure. A neutral expression on, but the faintest smirk was there.

Follo caught it. That small smug lift of the corner of Zanka's lips.

Like a mockery for his feelings.

Like a mockery for what Follo believes was supposed to be his.

Riyo yelled a teasing remark, Zanka just shut her down with a glare before the tassel-eared boy led you to a completely separate table.

Meant only for two people. Just you, and Zanka. The same table you used to sit with Follo. The same table you started refusing to sit on.

In that single, agonizing second, something vital shattered inside Follo's chest. Not a rib.

His heart crumbled right then and there,

Reduced to ash by the simple, devastating reality of seeing someone else occupy the space that used to be his.

It was all too much to bear.

The red string loosened, just a fraction, on your finger. With how much he's eyeing you—the both of you, he could easily catch even the simplest details.

The red string of fate.

Fate decided that you are supposed to be his. That your soul is supposed to intertwine with Follo’s.

The red string was a sign to bring you closer to him, and now, it's just one tug away from completely untying itself off your pinky.

Was it his fault for not tugging on the thread to pull you closer?

Was it his fault for not acting sooner?

Follo continued to watch, the bright shine of his eyes completely gone, his grimace deepening.

Gris completely caught the tension, but said and did nothing. Nothing would help anyway.

Nothing would help when another string was then created—tied to your other pinky. Glowing redder, and tied to him.

To Zanka.

The crimson thread on your left was slack, while the one from your right—tied to Zanka—was tight.

What can Follo really do,

When someone else already claimed you?

What can he do,

When the gods decided that it was a mistake—that Follo as your destiny was a mistake?

What can Follo do,

When the same fate who gave him a sign, took what Follo realized he wanted?

Ermm I kinda altered the idea and the concept of the red string of fate to actually go with my idea. I hope it's fineeee. Should I do a part two or should I just leave this as it is? Also I'm sorry if this ain't any good, I wrote half of this at school.