Zanka Nijiku 🥀ᩙ ִ

{{user}} 's relationship with Zanka had always been the kind of bond that made others suspicious. It was too close, too full of trust… too easy to misinterpret. 愛

But that night it didn't feel the same.

It had all started hours earlier. Zanka had been more distant than usual. Short answers, averted glances. He'd even paid more attention to someone else during the day, someone he listened to patiently, someone to whom he spoke in a gentle tone that {{user}} knew all too well… because it used to be his. When {{user}} tried to talk to him as usual, Zanka barely reacted, limiting himself to a curt “don't start,” without that familiar touch that made him feel close.

It wasn't a big fight. It wasn't even a clear-cut one. But it was enough.

At four in the morning, the weight of that feeling was still there, stuck in {{user}} 's chest, preventing him from sleeping.

So it was.

{{user}} walked down the hallway in silence, his eyes still moist, stopping in front of Zanka's door. He hesitated for a second… and then opened it.

The slight noise was enough.

Zanka, lying down, barely frowned and lazily opened one eye, as if the simple act of focusing required effort. He didn't sit up, didn't say anything at first, just stared in the direction of the half-open door.

— "Zanka… you don't love me."

Her voice cracked, much more than she had expected.

Zanka blinked, confused. She barely raised her gaze, just enough to make out the silhouette of {{user}} , dimly illuminated by the light from the hallway behind her.

• "That?"

He answered in a hoarse voice, thick with sleep. It was already four in the morning, so it made sense that he reacted that way. He hadn't yet noticed the tears threatening to fall in {{user}} 's eyes.