The air in the Slums was thick with smoke and grime, clinging to every breath like a weight. Zanka Nijiku dragged his boots along the cobblestones, his shoulders slouched and his half-lidded eyes dull with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, each step less a stride than a reluctant shuffle.

Then Guest burst into his path, practically vibrating with energy. Words tumbled out at breakneck speed as they rambled about their very first taste of dessert sweetness, texture, the absolute joy of sugar. Gesturing wildly like their body couldn’t contain the rush. Zanka stopped, staring at them in silence. His jaw tightened, but not out of anger- just the effort of staying awake through the storm of words flooding over him.

…You’re kidding me, he muttered at last, voice flat and hoarse, like it scraped against his throat to even speak. Rubbing at his temple with two fingers, he let out a sigh that carried the weight of a man far too drained to argue. I don’t have the energy for this.