Chapter Text
It took about a week for Zanka to try calling Jabber.
Zanka’s outburst in the alleyway hadn’t been planned, it was impulsive and incoherent—he’d pulled away from Jabber like he’d touched a hot iron, not because he wanted to, but because something in him needed to. He didn’t even manage to cut things off on his own terms, like a proper Cleaner should. Now he was stuck with the consequences, knowing damn well he would’ve never changed a thing if it were up to him. Because Zanka was selfish, and had been content to keep on betraying the Cleaners if it meant he could get that rush only Jabber could give him.
He knew this about himself, but still, Zanka decided he’d have to live with what happened. There was no way in hell he’d go back on what he said, even if he said it in a less than ideal state of mind, because it’s what he should have done anyway. Crawling back to Jabber now would mean going against the Cleaners for the hundredth time, and to Jabber, he’d make himself look like a desperate fool who can’t make up his mind.
But his certainty quickly faded, and he failed to stick even to his own promise. Zanka wanted to hold himself accountable—he laid awake at night endlessly reminding himself that he deserves much worse than the shame he feels—but despite that, he just couldn’t. His mantra, that he’d done the right thing, became a flimsy shield from the ugly fact he felt what felt.
He still wanted Jabber. He wanted Jabber back.
Zanka wished so desperately that once he’d said those words, ‘Just go,’ he could’ve finally let go of the weight on his shoulders that had been pressing down on him for so long. But even when those feelings boiled over, he was still stuck. He could never be the person he was supposed to be, or the person everyone thinks he is. He's weak. Especially weak to Jabber.
Zanka was restless. Restless for an eruption of sound from his choker. To answer and hear Jabber’s voice. He expected it, assumed it would happen—but days passed and Jabber never called. Zanka’s resolve wore down thinner and thinner with every second of silence between the two of them, and eventually it snapped.
Zanka wasn’t stupid. He knew himself. He knew Jabber. He knew that sooner or later he needed to do something about this, or it’d rip him apart on the inside.
He always comes back to Jabber, and in that way, this situation was no different from any other.
But when Zanka called, Jabber didn’t pick up.
The first time, Zanka had guessed that Jabber was asleep, or busy, or some other excuse. But he called again, and again, only to be met with silence.
Zanka tried over and over to come up with a good reason. But Jabber was never 'too busy', and had no need to wait for the right time like Zanka did—he was the type to call Zanka during a mission or in the middle of the night out of boredom. There was only one explanation as to why Jabber wouldn’t pick up.
‘Don’t start this, ‘we can’t do this’ shit, it’s boring.’
Jabber didn’t want to.
‘Way to put me in a shitty mood. Bye.’
Jabber didn’t want Zanka, anymore.
The realization stung. It moved under his skin. He tried to reject it. He tried to ignore it, to pretend it was the same distance there always was between them. He tried to convince himself he didn't even care. Like he was free of something. But it was all faulty. Even when he had every reason to feel something else, or to feel nothing at all, the truth was blatant.
Zanka's body constantly felt like it was being pulled from the inside—he pictured Jabber’s ringed hands and painted nails, his eyes both dull and alight with bloodlust, yellowed teeth and the raw stench of blood and a warm feeling turned scorching hot. Zanka fed himself on his own imagination, never having experienced a yearning that felt so physical. He felt like he was missing an organ or a bone or something just as vital.
He’d fucked up, fucked things up with Jabber worse than he thought he could. He wallowed in the feeling of knowing it was all his fault, and now he didn’t have the one person who could take that feeling away.
He did a shit job of hiding it. He was lashing out more than he usually would, and when he wasn’t he was unnervingly silent. Zanka felt numb, felt a dull ache in his chest, and it was exhausting to live with. Just getting through his daily obligations felt torturous. If the guilt was a shadow following him close behind, whatever he felt now might as well nestle itself in every crook of his being and break him down to bits.
Zanka had never adored large dinners with large groups, but in his current state, the whole affair requires more effort to sit through than his actual job.
A meal for a mission well done, an excuse for the adults to have a drink. At least with so many Cleaners all packed into a restaurant on three tables pushed together, Zanka has a pleasant excuse to keep his mouth shut the whole time. The rest of the group easily makes up for it.
Despite that, once Zanka gets his food and eats as much as he can stomach, the sheer volume of the atmosphere feels like it might give him a migraine. He feels like he's been sitting at the table for maybe twice as long as he has been, and the lights are too bright in this place. He hates to draw attention to himself, but he can feel it getting to be too much, and he quietly excuses himself and leaves the building to get some air.
He’s incredibly grateful for the reprieve—the air on the Ground can only get so refreshing, but anything’s better than the stuffy restaurant filled with the smell of grease. The rest of team Akuta will shovel down that kind of food with ease, and while Zanka isn’t that picky, it’s far from his first choice. He wouldn’t voice that thought, though.
Zanka appreciates the quiet, grateful for the time of day, with so few people milling about the streets. He values time alone, but these days, having nothing between him and his own thoughts isn’t a place he wants to be in for long. Though, the idea of returning to noise and heat and keeping his quiet makes him want to stay out by the front door forever.
He wishes he could let it go already. He wishes it was that simple. He wishes Jabber hadn’t so effectively wormed his way into Zanka’s heart, nestled in so deep Zanka couldn’t possibly tear him out. It’s unfair, with how easily Jabber…
The door to the restaurant swings open and it makes Zanka jump, Assistaff nearly falling from where she rests against his shoulder, and he whips around towards the person now standing in front of him.
“Hey, Zanka.” Riyo says with an easy-going smile, hands on her hips.
Zanka’s posture loosens, he leans back against the wall and averts his eyes, “What d’you need?”
“I’m here to make sure you haven’t withered away,” She replies, skipping over to stand beside him, “Good to know you’re still with us.”
Zanka huffs, “Not my fault you guys turn every dinner out into a party.”
Riyo shrugs, “To be honest, I kinda wanted to get away from it too. Even I have my limits, y’know.”
“I know.” Zanka says, quieter, and for a little while neither of them speak. Riyo is looking at him, and Zanka can tell, but doesn't comment. If she has something to say, let her say it. He has that much trust in her to be honest.
“Hey,” Riyo starts, sitting down on the ground and leaning against the wall with a small umph, “Has something been going on with you lately?”
Zanka busies himself by sitting next to her, laying Lovely across his lap. He takes a few seconds to think of a response. Zanka knows Riyo can be a suspicious person, especially to newcomers. But he’d to think she would understand why he’d hesitate to answer, knowing that she’s much the same about personal questions.
Eventually, he replies, “Nothing new.”
He avoids lying in a way so cheap he’s almost disappointed in himself, yet he can’t help but give such a vague question an equally vague answer. Zanka hopes Riyo will extrapolate what she wants from it and leaves it there, and for a second it seems like she is. She only grants him a non-committal hum before they’re returned to mutual silence once again.
Zanka can’t help but feel a shift in the air from before, and with one glance at Riyo’s face he can tell she wants to say more, and is probably deciding whether or not to do so.
Zanka lets his gaze fall to his vital instrument, turning it over absentmindedly as he awaits another question.
“I saw you and Jabber in Canvas Town.”
Zanka freezes. His eyes go wide and his hands still over Assistaff. Panic seizes him like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap. Flee, fight, hide, deny—voices in his head scream to do each one, but all he can do is freeze.
She knows. She’ll hate him. She’ll tell the rest. He’ll lose everything. He’ll be kicked out, or worse, they’ll call the Hellguard. Call his sister. He doesn't have anywhere to go. He doesn’t have anyone to go to.
“Zanka. Zanka.” There’s a hand gripping his shoulder, “Zanka, relax.”
He manages to lift his head enough to meet Riyo’s eyes, and is dumbfounded at finding them devoid of anger, or disgust, or even suspicion.
She lets out a small exhale, taking her hand away, “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have… opened with that.”
Zanka stares.
Riyo drags a hand across her face, “I’m not gonna tell anybody, okay? Now can you stop looking at me like that?”
Zanka blinks, then looks back down at his hands, choking out a hushed, “Okay.”
Riyo sighs, clearly not happy with that response, but continues on anyway, “I didn’t mean to… or well, I did mean to follow you. But it’s because I was worried. I could tell something was going on and I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger.”
Zanka nods. He can’t even be mad at her. He can’t even be mad at the situation at all. Of course it would happen eventually. Maybe she's just trying to soften the blow. Or she misunderstood what she saw. He bites the inside of his cheek, focuses on the pain.
Riyo seems to struggle to find the right words, “And well… when I saw.. Jabber, I kinda assumed that was the case, y’know? I was ready to take out the Ripper if he so much as laid a hand on you, but I decided to wait, and I guess I’m glad I did.”
Zanka feels his face burn in spite of himself. In spite of the fact one of the people closest to him caught him in a lie. In a lie that could very easily ruin his life. He’d forgotten the smaller problems in the face of the bigger ones, being that his secret is incredibly fucking embarrassing.
He can hear the smile in Riyo’s voice even though he refuses to look at her, “Well, um, not really what I expected.”
Zanka buries his face in his hands, “Riyo.”
She bumps their shoulders together, “Zan-ka,” she echoes.
Zanka groans, “How much did you see?”
“Uh, saw the guy practically tackle you,” She affirms and Zanka whines into his palms, “I think he noticed me though, so I dipped. Also I… didn’t really wanna see all that.”
Zanka sinks as far as he can into his hands, wishing he would curl up into nothing, “Riyo, I.. we…”
“But I’m guessing something happened after I left, right?”
Zanka turns to look at her, a serious expression on her face this time.
“How… did you…”
Riyo scoffs, “Zanka, for the past two weeks you’ve been acting like you’re about to go find the nearest well. That happened to start right after I caught you with poison-freak, so tell me what happened and I’ll kill him if I have to.”
“You’re not killing him.”
“So tell me and I won’t!”
Zanka grimaces, “I was the one who fucked up, okay? It just… it was getting to me. Hiding it. You remember..?” He gestures to his earring.
Riyo nods, eyebrows slightly scrunched. She seems to be waiting for him to continue, so Zanka lets the words spill out.
“I mean… I knew what would happen if anyone knew. Or at least I thought I did. But I couldn’t stop and I just.. I don’t know. But it was killing me. I worked so hard and I just.. I didn't want to lose this. I don’t know why I said all that shit to him then but I just—I wanted to stop having to feel like this.”
Zanka takes in a strangled gasp for air, his eyes burn, and he feels like he’d had to cough up each and every word. Riyo doesn’t respond right away and he feels like he might crumble if she stays quiet any longer.
“Can I tell you what I think?” She asks.
“...Yeah. Please.”
“I don’t trust that guy for shit. I think he’s dangerous. I think he’s not good for you.”
Zanka shuts his eyes. This much, he expected. Hearing it aloud shouldn’t sting as much as it does.
“But, I also saw how you and him were that day. And I think that’s the most I’ve seen you want something in your whole life.”
…Huh.
Riyo leans back and looks up at the sky, “If it were up to me, I’d stay the hell away from him. But I know you. And I know you refuse to let yourself just be happy. So listen to me, Zanka, do something for yourself for once. If you want it that bad, just take it.”
She meets his eyes, “And don’t make yourself miserable just because you think you’re supposed to be.”
Zanka swallows. There’s no way he’s letting himself cry, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t close. He wants to push back, to tell her she’s wrong, that she doesn’t know him, to condemn himself like he’s been doing for so long—but there’s an insistent part of himself that asks, couldn’t you just have this?
Riyo pats his shoulder with a heavy hand and absolutely no subtlety, “I dunno about Enjin, or Rudo, but at the very least none of us are gonna hate you for having a psycho boyfriend. I don’t really get it, but hey, the quiet ones are always the biggest freaks.”
Zanka's brain briefly trips over the word boyfriend before he immediately slams his elbow into Riyo's side, sending her on her back in a fit of heartless laughter.
“I changed my mind. You’re the worst person to find out.” He hisses.
Riyo snickers, “Well you’re stuck with me, and only me. I have exclusive material to annoy you with now.”
Zanka sighs, bone deep, and leans his head back against the wall behind him. “S’all well and good, but I’m pretty sure Jabber wants absolutely nothing to do with me right now anyway.”
Riyo tilts her head, looking at him like he’s said something ridiculous, “So?”
“He’s not answering his choker?” Zanka supplies, confused.
Riyo blinks, “Spam call him? Zanka, you’ve got to get more creative.”
-
Zanka trails after Enjin after they get out of the car and make their way up to Cleaner HQ’s entrance. He shoots a glance at Riyo, who gives him an exaggerated thumbs-up, to which he rolls his eyes.
As Enjin finally ends a lengthy conversation with Gris and the combination of Cleaners and Supporters that had attended the dinner disperse and make their way towards their respective rooms, Zanka closes the distance and clears his throat to get Enjin’s attention.
Enjin glances back, then turns fully around, “Hm? Zanka, what’s up?”
Zanka glances at the floor, then forces his eyes back up to meet Enjin’s, “I wanted to ask about something.”
Enjin nods, “Sure, yeah.”
“Could I…” Zanka starts, gaze flitting around the room against his will, “Get a day off tomorrow? I think… It could help. I’ve been a little.. distracted, and I think some time off would help me get myself back in order.”
Enjin hums, seemingly mulling it over, before shrugging and giving Zanka a wry grin, “Well yeah, I don’t see why not.”
Zanka nods, uttering a small thanks before going his own way. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and for the first time since Riyo had found him outside the restaurant, he’s able to actually feel how clear his head is.
He doesn’t know the last time he’s felt this weightless.
Zanka would’ve expected anyone knowing to be the worst feeling in the world. And it’s not like everything’s gone, it’s not like he feels perfect, but he can think in coherent sentences, and that's a best care scenario in his book. The words none of us will hate you alone somehow felt like enough, as if that possibility had never even existed, but the reassurance is more than can ever ask for. Maybe even more than he deserves, but he clings to it anyway. Even if it was just Riyo, even if she was the only one who could accept it, maybe Zanka could live with that.
Besides, when he thinks about it—which is about all he’s been doing—he knows that all the shame didn’t come from one place. It wasn’t just what he did. It was what he was. Who he was. It wasn’t all about what he did wrong, he’d been scared, scared that he was wrong. Enjin's face, all those nights ago, flashes into his head and he flinches. Zanka can feel what he felt before so viscerally, the panic and fear and disgust. Not only that, but what happened before it. His hands on Jabber's wounds, a closeness he wanted to hold onto, only to let it slip out of his hands so easily.
Do something for yourself for once.
Zanka traces his hand over his choker, stares down at it like it had somehow been the culprit for all his turmoil in the past several months. He supposes, in some ways, it is the catalyst for some of it. Maybe he could get a new one. He could maybe even wear it like an actual choker, like everyone else. Clean slate or something like that.
Instead he’s forced to remember the other advice Riyo had left him with.
And Zanka takes it. He spends about 45 minutes pacing around his room, spam calling Jabber’s choker while desperate to just go to bed already. In place of the rush of anxiety he’d felt at Jabber silence only days before, Zanka felt pure determination, and maybe a little spite. It got to a point where he considered actually taking Riyo up on her offer to ‘track the purple bastard down if it means you stop looking so butthurt.’
But, as Zanka sits on the edge of his bed, he hears an inhale from across the line and bolts up with his hand clasped in an iron grip around the choker.
“The house.” Zanka grits out before he can even hear a word from Jabber, “Tomorrow, 4 o’clock. Be there.”
Zanka presses his finger to the choker and hangs up, then wrenches the choker off his wrist out of pure frustration and drops it onto the ground with an unceremonious clunk.
There. Fucking finally.
Zanka collapses onto his bed, reaching lazily for Lovely and dragging her to his side. She's seen it all by now. He feels a little sorry.
He better get some rest.