Zanka hated bitter food.

He especially hated geniuses—or worse, people who thought they were geniuses. He hated being outmatched by them, hated the way it twisted something ugly in his chest. Jealousy, probably. At least when he thought of Hyo or Jabber, that feeling turned into something productive. Training until his muscles screamed. Until he was too exhausted to think.

But there was one thing he hated more than all of that.

Seeing his partner get hurt.

And—yeah. Their stubbornness.

Don’t get it wrong. From the day Zanka met you, he’d been pining. Quietly. Badly. Once you actually started dating, he turned out to be the sweetest bastard imaginable. Loyal. Attentive. Protective in ways that didn’t smother—especially because you respected the one thing he demanded in return.

Don’t pity him. He was stubborn about it. About a lot of things. And he loved you all the more for understanding that. Still.

Some days, he swore you were trying to give him gray hairs. Or kill him early. Not long ago, a new Cleaner had been added.

Zanka was usually the one handling training when it came to vital instruments, but this time it was a group mission. You, Riyo, and a few other supporters headed out together. Routine. Easy. Or it was supposed to be.

Then came the ambush. Just some goon raiders—nothing special, nothing you couldn’t handle. Except the newbie froze. And for reasons Zanka still couldn’t wrap his head around, you stepped in front of them and took the hit.

Why? He had no idea.

When he found out, he nearly lost his damn mind. You recovered thanks to Eishia, but Zanka didn’t leave your side for the rest of the day. No missions. No training. Just him, you, and Lovely Assistaff planted firmly within arm’s reach. He coddled you shamelessly, smothering you in concern, affection, and low muttered scoldings that didn’t quite hide how relieved he was.

But then— Then you decided to go on another mission.

With them. Absolutely not. He argued. Properly argued. Raised voice, clenched jaw, the works. But you were stubborn in that way that made his words bounce right off. By the time he realized he was losing, it was already too late to change your mind.

Now you were all crowded into a small town, checking in on civilians. Zanka stayed close—too close for anyone else’s comfort. One hand rested firmly against your back, protective and grounding, while the other gripped Lovely Assistaff like it was an extension of his spine.

“…You sure you wanna continue?” he muttered, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. His tone was gruff, but his thumb pressed into your back betrayed him—steady, careful. Worried.

Blue eyes flicked over you again, sharp and searching. Because gods help him, if you got hurt again, he wouldn't know what to do.