Chapter Text
“…Jabber fuckin’ Wonger.”
Zanka’s lips stretched into a wide, empty grin, his eyes bright with a twisted mix of excitement and hatred.
“Why’d you run?” His voice stayed calm, too calm. “Am I not good enough? What do I have to do to make you stay?”
His grip on Jabber tightened.
“Now that I’ve got you… don’t even think about running again.”
“Ever.”
How long has it been since Jabber left Zanka?
A month? Two? Half a year?
No, two years.
Two years of sleepless nights, skipped meals, and training until his body gave out. Some days he snapped without warning, startling even the other Cleaners.
He’d changed a lot. His personality, his habits—his build, too. Everyone thought he looked like someone who’d just gone through a brutal breakup.
And honestly? It felt like that.
Zanka knew perfectly well that what he had with him wasn't a serious relationship, though it's not even close to a relationship.
Memories he should’ve buried kept looping in his head, like the first time he sneaked into the Cleaners’ base just to see him. Everything spiraled from there. He’d tried so hard to chase that feeling, to keep that attention on him.
Jabbet had done all sorts of things to make this heart flutter, and Zanka is no better than a man easily swayed by just some handful of attention.
Why did he let Jabber walk into his heart just to tear it apart?
Was it hypnosis? Some stupid trick Jabber pulled just to mess with him? This must be some bizarre trick Jabber had devised just to torment him further.
…Right?
That explanation was easier to swallow than the truth.
“hey… Hey! Zanka!”
“…?”
He snapped back to reality so fast he flinched, nearly spilling his tea. A hand shot forward, grabbing the cup before it tipped.
“Ah. Thanks.”
Riyo sat beside him, lowering the rescued cup. “You okay? You look like someone just kicked you in the crotch.”
Riyo sat right next to Zanka, brushing aside her strange joke. Riyo seemed genuinely worried about him.
It only makes him feel worse. Was his presence genuinely bothering anyone?
“Oh… uh… probably,” he muttered, not sure what else to say.
Riyo sighed. “Come on. Everyone here knows you got dumped. It’s not a secret.”
Zanka didn’t reply. He just stared at her, blankly.
Anyone walking by would’ve mistaken him for someone who was bullied daily. Pale face, heavy eye bags darker than Rudo’s, hair overgrown and messy. The only thing improving was his muscle mass from overtraining.
Riyo stared a bit longer, then watched him look away and sip his tea again.
“Seriously? Still not over it? Who the hell got you this messed up?” she pressed, taking a drink from her aluminum cup.
Who was it? he thought.
Who else?
Jabber Wonger. A walking disaster of a person.
If Zanka had to list everything wrong with him, he could rant for twenty minutes straight.
Weird. Stinky. Annoying. Creepy.
And all the horrendous things he did just for fun, or just to mess with Zanka like it's some kind of joke.
And for some reason, Zanka liked him that way.
Or something like that.
….
Or something like what?
“So who’s the lucky gal?,” Riyo titled her head, “I mean… Everyone was pretty curious back then, you know? If only you looked approacherable.”
“...girl?”, He froze.
Jabber… A girl?
“I mean… He does look like one..”, Zanka muttered to himself.
“hm? What did you say?”
“...What? Uh…”
“Nothing.”
Riyo looked at him with a puzzled expression, but didn't ask any further. Zanka breathed a sigh of relief.
Because no one should know anything about him.
His hand curled into a fist.
“Wine…”
“…Huh?”
“I need alcohol.”
He downed the rest of his tea in one gulp and shot to his feet.
Riyo nearly choked. “Wait—are you serious?! You’re gonna steal Enjin’s liquor again?!”
“…yeah.”
She grabbed his sleeve before he could take a step.
“Zanka, your alcohol tolerance sucks. You know that, right?”
He glanced down at her hand, then up at her face.
The way those sturdy eyes so full of concern.
She’s aware that she couldn’t stop him. He wasn’t the kid from two years ago anymore.
And he knew that she knew.
He gave her a small, faint smile and gently loosened her grip.
“Don’t worry. I’ll only take a little. Promise.”
He wasn’t sure she believed that, but he walked away anyway, heading down the hall.
Riyo remained sitting for a moment, then stood up with a groan, ready to go bother someone else instead.
“hah…”
A long weary sigh echoed through Zanka's bedroom.
The huge liquor bottle beside him was already half-empty. His head throbbed as if someone were beating a drum inside his skull, every pulse burning hot. He felt like he was dying and reviving in loops—alive just long enough to suffer through another wave of nausea.
Ah… Damn it.
His head hurts. Like crazy.
“Damn it… I swear I’m never drinking again.”
He had said the same thing a few weeks ago.
Zanka slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the bed frame. His hair—uncombed and falling in messy strands, brushed the blanket behind him. He rubbed at his temples, wincing as the headache sharpened.
Just like getting completely drunk on that pungent alcohol, it wasn’t pleasant at all.
Zanka's visions shifted towards the bottle, and he realized that he had miscalculated the amount of wine he drank to not get suspicious.
“Enjin is going to kill me.”
But... It's not like he could help it.
Zanka never liked alcohol.
He never had any desire to try it, not even as an adult. That suffocating smell of alcohol made him sick, the strange burning taste that lingered in his throat like punishment. He never believed people actually enjoyed it. Why suffer through drinking something so disgusting?
And yet… here he was.
Because of Jabber.
All because he cannot handle the mere sights of him in his mind.
Because the moment Jabber’s face crept into his mind, the ache inside his chest returned with a vengeance, and Zanka would reach for the nearest distraction. Even if it was a bottle he couldn’t stand.
“…that bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
It feels like he’s right here, standing right in front of him…
…?
It’s hard to say…
Zanka blinked hard. His vision wavered, shapes drifting like unsteady shadows. A figure lingered near the window—familiar in posture, in attitude, in that annoying way he never stood still.
Was that….?
He couldn’t tell. The alcohol blurred everything, made the room tilt as if the floor were shifting beneath him. His ears buzzed, drowning the quiet.
Was he hallucinating?
Wouldn’t be the first time. It always happened on nights when his thoughts turned poisonous and he let himself spiral.
Jabber? Is it really him?
Zanka thought to himself in his fucked-up head. The intoxicating drunkenness had drained him of his strength, his ears were ringing as if he were deaf… if only he’s sane enough to recognize, if only he could tell apart from his doubts.
What about the person standing in front of him?
Is it real or just a delusion?
Maybe if he just closed his eyes, the shape would dissolve. If he slept, he could forget…just for a moment, who he thought he saw.
“... Hm? Are ya drunk?”
…!
“I thought ya didn't like alcohol? Guess I’m wrong”
You…
Zanka eyes widened.
He’s…Real.
Not a fragment of his exhausted mind. Not a memory. Not some blurred phantom his alcohol-soaked brain invented.
Tanned-skin, long dark brown locks, hot pink eyes.
The only differences are the enhancement of height and the way his hair got longer.
How could he just sit right here in front of him, staring at him with eyes like that and expecting him to find peace?
“…Jabber fuckin’ Wonger.”
Zanka’s lips stretched into a wide, empty grin, his eyes bright with a twisted mix of excitement and hatred.
Those feelings he’d shoved down for two years: rage, hurt, longing, confusion—rose all at once, crashing through him like a storm. Jabber always had a way of stirring things up. Always.
“Crap–”
The prick was caught off guard, wincing like a coward whilst his face got paler. He’s like a thief trying to get some piece of him, and now running away after getting caught.
Zanka moved first.
Even drunk, his reflexes snapped alive. He grabbed his Lovely Assistaff and swept it forward, not striking Jabber, but slamming the window shut with a loud, decisive clack. He locked it with the tip of the staff, barring the only easy exit.
Jabber jumped back a step, eyes wide. “H-hey—easy, easy! I just got here, don’t go crazy on me!”
“All this time,” he said quietly. “You’ve been avoiding me. Leaving me like dust on the floor. Like I was just—what? some toy you got bored of?”
Jabber opened his mouth, then closed it again, backing up until his shoulders touched the wall.
Zanka, fighting back the urge to vomit and the unsettling dizziness he got from alcohol, grabbed Jabber by the locks and harshly pulled him back, almost smashing him on the ground with a painful thud.
Before Jabber could gasp or slip away from his grasp, Zanka jumped on top of him, slamming down his Lovely Assistaff towards Jabber, pining him down, locking him from squirming away.
“h-hey, listen—”
“Why’d you run?” His voice stayed calm, too calm. “Am I not good enough? What do I have to do to make you stay?”
His grip on Jabber tightened.
“Do you know how many times I imagined this? Meeting you again? Do you know what I’ve been through since you left?” Zanka asked, his tone quiet but unsteady. “Two years, Jabber. Two years of hell.”
Do you know how much I’ve missed you, you little bastard?
Surprised? Go ahead. Keep that expression on for as long as you can, keep staring at me with those painful wide eyes.
Because that's all I need to keep going.
“Now that I’ve got you… don’t even think about running away.”
“Ever.”
But if you think of me as some desperate helpless dog…
Then woof woof. I don't care.