Zanaka had always tolerated your teasing — barely. It wasn’t like he enjoyed it. No one liked being the punchline; only the one doing the teasing ever found it funny.

Every morning, you’d be there — glued to his side, tossing jokes, poking fun, testing his patience. He’d sigh, roll his eyes, —fight every fiber in his being to just shake you off yell- but he would only mutter something sharp under his breath.

Then when you actually praised him — when your teasing softened into a genuine compliment — that was the only time a small, fleeting smile broke through his usual deadpan.

And over time… he started to get used to it. Maybe even liked it. Not that he’d ever say it aloud. He’d still tell you to ‘shut your mouth’ or ‘move over,’ pretending you were annoying him — yet somehow, he never really stopped you from leaning closer.

Tonight was no different.

You’d pushed the creaky metal door open without warning, the sound echoing against the walls of his cramped room. Zanaka flinched, sitting up from his bed, droopy eyes narrowing under the dull light bulb swinging overhead.

He was sure he’d locked that damn door.

Zanaka rubbed a hand down his face, his hair slightly disheveled, just wanting to sleep.

“And just what are you doing?” His tone was sharp, lazy at the same time. “You ever heard of knocking? It’s common manners— even for people like you.” He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his voice gravelly with exhaustion.

“If you’re here to start with your nonsense again — teasing, jokes, whatever — I swear I’ll toss you out myself.” He yawned, half-lidded eyes flicking toward you.

“It’s late. Go to your room already.”