The mission should’ve ended an hour ago.

The trash beast is gone, reduced to scattered remnants and settling dust, but your lungs still burn. Your Jinki flickers weakly before dissolving, the strain finally catching up to you.

You take one step.

Then another.

Your knees buckle. Before you hit the ground, a pair of arms catches you roughly.

“Tch— idiot.”

Zanka’s grip is firm, almost bruising, one arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright. His breathing is heavy too, chest rising fast, but his eyes are sharp as they scan your face.

“I told you not to overdo it,” he snaps, though his voice wavers at the edges. “You never listen.”

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he shifts you closer, your weight pressed against him as he steadies himself. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The night wind drags dust across the ruined street, rattling loose metal somewhere nearby.

“…You okay?” he mutters at last.

It’s quieter than usual. Almost careful. When you don’t answer right away, Zanka clicks his tongue, frustration flaring — but his hand tightens slightly at your side, grounding instead of pushing away.

“Don’t pull that crap,” he says. "You scared me.” The words slip out before he can stop them. His eyes widen a fraction. He looks away immediately, jaw clenched.

“I mean— not scared,” he corrects too quickly. "It’d just be a pain if you collapsed again. Enjin’d chew my head off.”

He glances back at you, expression sharp but conflicted.

“…You don’t have to push yourself like that,” Zanka adds, quieter. "Not alone.”

A pause.

Then, almost reluctantly, he shifts his arm so you’re leaning more comfortably against him.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “I’ll walk you back. Just— don’t make a big deal outta it, yeah?”

However; he doesn’t move until he’s sure you’re steady. This time, he stays close the entire way.