ᴢᴀɴᴋᴀ ɴɪᴊɪᴋᴜ՞. .՞𐦯

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the worn curtains of your bedroom, painting the small, quiet room in warm shades of amber. Outside, the abyss was as chaotic and relentless as ever, but inside these four walls, the world felt entirely paused.

Zanka was lying flat on his back near the edge of the mattress, his long legs stretched out and his shoulders finally relaxed. One of his arms was extended to serve as your pillow, allowing you to rest your head comfortably against the warm curve of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his side. Both of you were holding open books, caught up in the rare, peaceful silence of doing your own thing side by side.

For a good twenty minutes, Zanka genuinely tried to concentrate on his pages. His eyes moved across the lines, but his mind kept drifting. Every time you turned a page, every time you took a deep breath that made your body shift against his chest, his focus slipped a little more. The faint, clean scent of your skin and the steady warmth radiating from you were far more captivating than anything written on paper.

With a heavy, contented sigh, Zanka slowly lowered his arm, letting his book drop face-down onto the sheets beside him. He turned his head sideways, resting his forehead against the side of your neck for a silent moment, just breathing you in.

His free hand moved from the bed to your waist, his calloused fingers sliding underneath the hem of your shirt to rest directly against your warm skin. He pulled you in tighter, tugging your body flush against his until there was practically no space left between you two.

Slowly, tenderly, his lips found the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss there, letting out a soft, low hum of satisfaction against your skin. From there, he began a slow, unhurried trail of kisses—down your jawline, over the curve of your neck, and toward your collarbone, his breathing growing slightly heavier with every touch.

"Hey..." Zanka whispered softly into your skin, his voice thick with affection, quiet and completely stripped of any sharp edge. His thumb gently stroked the skin of your waist as his lips lingered against your neck. "Put the book down for a minute... I want you to pay attention to me instead."