Chapter Text
“Alright,” Enjin grabs Zanka’s shoulders and pilots him towards the shopping cart. “Go wild.”
Zanka’s fingers curl around the handle. His eyes dragging to and fro, never sticking in one area for long. Clothes, food, toys, hygiene, and various miscellaneous items that Zanka couldn’t imagine himself ‘going wild’ with. He looked over to Enjin, his expression tight and unyielding.
Enjin’s smile falters, “Don’t look so tense, you look like you're about to shit yourself.”
“I’m not.” He swears, thwarting the unpleasant roll in his stomach. “Why are we here? I thought ya said we were getting supplies.”
“Yeah,” Enjin grabs the bumper end of the cart. Zanka lurches forward, but steadies himself. It doesn’t take long to match Enjin’s unhurried pace. “We’re getting supplies for you. You can’t keep sleeping in your room with a little itty bitty ass blanket. That, and there’s only so many clothes I can lend you, y’know?”
Zanka frowns, glancing down at himself. He’s wearing a shirt that’s too big and a pair of shorts that keep slipping down his slim hips. They smell like tobacco, old perfume, and a spicy body wash. With the scents mingling together, his nose stings.
When he first arrived about, what, a week or so ago? Around that time, he was more worried about keeping to himself. The other Cleaners would talk to him, acting all mild and polite as they could manage, but the grace period was over. He needs to prove that he’s an asset, not a liability.
“Sorry.”
A small hand took root atop of his back. Firm and fleeting all the same. Zanka brought his attention to Riyo, who was already staring at him with an easy going smile. “Chill out man.”
“I am chill.” He grumbled. Enjin leads them to the closest aisle: Men’s Clothing.
It’s like a thick swamp of differing fabric and designs. Some are more casual and relaxed. Cool cottons, minimalist patterns, rows on top of rows of baggy attire. On the opposite side, there was a more mature section. Zanka very blatantly ignored it.
“I wasn’t aware how broad a clothing section could be..”
Riyo cocks her head. “Haven’t you been shopping before?”
“No.” His priorities at the time rested elsewhere, and it wasn’t elbow deep in the clearance rack of hoodies and sweaters. Zanka’s life revolved around studying, physical exercise, and maintaining his status. He has a strict routine. Well, he had one at least.
“What the hell?” Riyo grimaces, as if she caught a whiff of spoiled milk left out in the sun. “Enjin, are you hearing this?”
“Yeah.” Enjin holds up a shirt. It’s plain white, save for the image of a…pair of jeans printed in the center? What the hell? No words are exchanged, but Enjin takes a hint. He puts it back. “Rich kids have other people do stuff for them, y'know?"
“I did not know. Dunno if you noticed, but I’m not exactly rich.”
Zanka feels warm beneath his collar. He doesn’t say much else after that, even after the two start cracking jokes with each other as they lap around the area.
They’re not there long. Zanka doesn’t know what he likes, much to Enjin’s dismay. He holds up shirt after shirt, only to earn a sheepish grin or wobbly nod. He eventually fills the cart up with ‘fundamentals’. Soft T-shirts, pants, shorts, pajamas, underwear. Things to call his own.
They hit up the hygiene aisle next.
“Do you need this much?” Zanka pauses, his brow hiking. Enjin gestures wildly to the cart.
“Yes?”
“Deadass?”
Zanka sputters. “Yes?” He hadn’t even touched the body care items yet. Now that he thinks about it, he’s kinda scared to. That might send Enjin into an early grave, and cannot handle that weighing on his conscience.
“He’s only shocked because he uses 3-in-1.” Riyo says, words sharp and her tone sharper.
Enjin is wholly indifferent. If anything, he absorbs the blow and takes it with stride. “Yeah, and I look just fine without all this pricey crap.”
“Mehhhh.”
“You’re telling me he needs all this shit?” Enjin lifts a bottle—the container looks all fancy and delicate. It smells like vanilla and pear. Riyo opens her mouth, and for the first time that day, Enjin uses his brain. “Pause. Pause. I’m asking the wrong person for their opinion.”
Riyo snorts, “If he’s using all this stuff it obviously works. Look at his hair—it looks super nice right?”
Enjin eyes Zanka, rather his hair, before turning away with a grunt. “It is.” He relents, sounding a bit bitter.
A dopey grin threatens to crack along Zanka’s lips. It takes everything in him to suppress the stupid laugh threatening to claw up his throat. The only reason he successfully salvages his dignity is because Riyo runs her hands through his dark strands.
“Your hair is soft too.” She pauses. “You ever perm it?”
“…No?”
“Bleach it? Dye it?”
“No.” Zanka says, unsure how to handle her sudden urgency.
Riyo grins wickedly towards Enjin. The man just shakes his head and pulls the basket from the front.
“Wanna dye it?”
“Ummm,” Zanka looks over to Enjin. He stares back, a look of confusion tugging at his features. “Can I?”
“Do you, Boo.” He shrugs. He picks up a bottle of men’s body wash, opening the cap to sniff it. He gags. Theatrically. Zanka’s about to ask if he’s alright, but he keeps talking as if nothing happened. “That’s your hair on your head, not mine. You don’t need my permission to do what you want.”
Something in the air shifts, or maybe something clicks in his head, he doesn’t know. Zanka stares at the lines of dyes, eyes latched to one color. He doesn’t see the sparkle of quiet excitement in Riyo’s eyes.
“Oh.” He mumbles. “Okay.”
He grabs a box and throws it in the cart.