recently finished season one of gachiakuta and i think it’s safe to say tamsy and zanka own my whole heart, so here’s the first of (many, no doubt) fic offerings from yours truly ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
ao3
heavy eyes been watching me (zanka nijuku x gn!reader, gachiakuta)
Zanka is famished.
They’d been dispatched to handle a herd of trash beasts wreaking havoc on a nearby town, and after their run-in with the things had left Zanka tired, bruised, and desperate for a bath and a good meal, the only thing he’d been craving more than his bed back at Cleaner HQ was the food on his plate.
And he couldn’t even enjoy it, because of you.
Sensing your eyes on him, his fingers wind tightly around his fork, the muscles in his neck bunching as he resists the urge to lift his head and catch you in the act. It’s pointless, anyway. The moment he swings his gaze in your direction, Zanka knows exactly what he’ll see - nothing but the brim of your hat and the bottom of your chin, your face expertly hidden away as it’s been the last three times he’s checked.
Next to him, Riyo snorts, her shoulder bumping against his. Zanka tosses her a glance and frowns at the mischievous gleam in her eye.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Riyo murmurs airily, popping a still-steaming morsel of something soft and flaky into her mouth. Zanka’s stomach rumbles loudly at the sight of it and her lips stretch into a grin. “Aren’t you going to eat? Rudo might finish it all if you’re not quick about it.”
Zanka scowls at the aforementioned Sphereite, though Rudo is entirely too distracted by his own plate to notice. He’s already on his second helping and quickly gaining ground toward his third; just to be safe, Zanka tugs his plate out of the boy’s orbit and spears a morsel of spiced meat with his fork, determined to enjoy his damn meal regardless of the weight of your gaze upon him.
He nearly sighs at the first burst of flavor across his tongue, tender and earthy and damn near the most decadent thing he’s ever tasted with how hungry he is. He can feel the tension leeching from his frame as he chews, all thoughts of trash beasts and hawk-eyed Supporters fleeing from his mind. There really isn’t anything a good meal won’t fix, is there? Even the pain from his bruises seems dulled, and as Zanka’s teeth drag along the tines of his fork, he feels his lips begin to curl, all of his problems blissfully fading away. Already eager for his next bite, his eyes flutter open -
- and catch on yours.
Startled, Zanka swallows instinctively and nearly chokes as the too-large bite gets caught in his throat, coughing raucously and slapping the meat of his palm against his chest to help clear his airway. By the time he’s able to peel his eyes open, lashes clumped together with tears of exertion, you’ve vanished, the taut line of your back disappearing out the front entrance with Tomme and Follo trailing closely behind. The plate of food you’d left on the table, Zanka can’t help but notice, is still half full.
Next to him, Riyo snorts, making a show of patting him gently on the back as he sucks in air through his nose.
“What - ” Zanka snaps, wincing at the rasp in his voice. For a moment he wonders how Rudo can stand stuffing so much down his gullet at a time. “What’s so funny?”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Riyo purrs, pillowing her chin in the bowl of her palm and regarding him with pitying eyes.
Zanka’s hackles rise. He hates feeling like he’s the butt of some joke. “Stop speakin’ in riddles.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Riyo reaches across the table and taps Rudo’s glove.
“Rudo,” she prompts him, the sound of her voice immediately rousing the boy’s interest. “Have you ever had a crush on someone?”
Zanka can see the moment Rudo’s brain disconnects, crimson eyes flitting from Riyo’s face to her fingers tucked against his glove before his cheeks flood with warmth.
“A crush?” he mutters, a shadow passing over his face. “Why d’you want to know?”
“Just humor me, okay?” Riyo coaxes him, though Zanka notices how swiftly her tone has gentled. She’d seen the shadow too, then. “How did you act around that person?”
Rudo swallows, thumbing away a stray crumb from his lower lip. He can’t quite meet their eyes. “Stupid,” he huffs, a tinge of bittersweet nostalgia in his voice. “Reckless. I wanted to make them smile. Give them things.”
Riyo nods along, though she’s looking more at Zanka than at Rudo, her crimson brows drawing up high over twinkling eyes. “Did they know?”
Rudo’s fingers twitch around his fork. “I don’t know. It didn’t really matter, after - ” He trails off, lips settling into a thin line before he sighs, the shadows leeching from his face, if only a little. “Regto noticed, though.”
“Oh?” Riyo hums, tilting her head. “How so?”
Rudo shrugs his shoulder, a self-conscious slant to his smile. “Guess I wasn’t subtle about it. Always seeking them out, you know? Starin’.”
Zanka’s fork scrapes discordantly across his plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Riyo’s grin growing, stretching broadly - knowingly - across her face.
The rest of their conversation fades into white noise as Zanka stares at your empty seat, the memory of your gaze fixed upon him suddenly carrying far more weight than he was prepared to acknowledge on an empty stomach and in a room full of his peers.
He knows what Riyo’s implying, of course. She had all but spelled it out for him, hadn’t she, that conversation with Rudo carried out purely for his benefit and with all the subtlety of a brick to the head.
Ridiculous. It’s the first word that springs to Zanka’s mind. Utterly ridiculous, in fact, though some small part of him is forced to acknowledge that it would certainly explain a few things. Your constant staring, for one.
He frowns. Now that the thought has been planted in his mind, he can think of little else. Just your gaze, warm and fleeting wherever you think him unaware.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
Zanka rises to his feet, refusing to look at Riyo or the meal he’d been so intent on enjoying a few short moments earlier. He’ll never get any peace - from Riyo, chiefly, but also from himself - if he doesn’t lay these suspicions to rest.
As he reaches for his staff, he vaguely hears Enjin’s voice rising above the din to herd the rest of the team out to the truck, but Zanka is already a few steps ahead, a determination in his footsteps that serves to clear the rest of the patrons from his path.
You’re nearly to the truck when he steps outside, trailing balefully behind the other Supporters with the notepad you often use to scribble your trash beast findings tucked under your arm. The sight of your bowed shoulders hurries Zanka’s feet, his Lovely Assistaff clutched between fingers that are decidedly not clammy; even so, he makes a point to swipe them clean on his robes and plant a placid expression on his face before he reaches the truck, forearm shooting out to prevent Follo from following you into the backseat.
“Oh, uh - ” Zanka just smiles pleasantly at Follo’s stumbling, settling into his seat and tucking his staff against his shoulder without giving anyone else in the vehicle - including you, now sitting stiffly by his side - a second look.
He pillows his cheek against his staff as the others pile in and the truck lurches into motion, Gris at the wheel ensuring a smooth ride back to Cleaner HQ and plenty of time to test whether Riyo’s suspicions are true. But how?
You’ve yet to fully relax beside him, the curve of your shoulder stiff against his own and your hands clasped tightly together in your lap. Sneaking a glance at your profile doesn’t give him much, your face carefully blank and your eyes pointed straight ahead, and Zanka purses his lips. Is that lovesickness upon your face, as Riyo would have him believe? He wouldn’t know. If anything, you just look shell-shocked.
An idea forms in his mind; Zanka makes a show of yawning into his hand and allows his arm to brush against yours, shoulders pressing firmly together for a split second, two, three, before he retreats. You breathe out harshly through your nose at the contact, your gaze frozen on the windshield ahead. Well, he thinks wryly, that’s something.
Emboldened, Zanka allows his knee to press against yours; his pulse leaps as you suck in a breath and nearly choke on it, the sound neatly swallowed by the rumble of heavy wheels over uneven ground.
“Are you alright?” he can hear Tomme question from your other side.
“Just a tickle in my throat,” you murmur back, your tone even and your face fixed in the facsimile of a smile. Even as Zanka studies you, however, the expression cracks the moment Tomme glances away. In your lap, your fingers have curled into fists.
Zanka swallows roughly. You’re wound as tightly as a spring, he marvels, and all for what? Because he’d dared to sit beside you? Press his shoulder to yours? Just a touch had affected you that much?
Had Riyo been right after all?
The thought brings a warm flush to Zanka’s cheeks. It’s ridiculous, he thinks. Based on your reactions to his presence alone, you were just as likely to despise him as hold some sort of torch for him. The former was so much more believable, in fact, that he nearly gives up on the whole venture, seconds away from cramming himself as close to the window as possible in an attempt to give you space when you startle him by moving yourself - not away from him, as he had predicted, but enough to flatten out your notepad across your lap, pen scratching along the surface as you begin to map out a drawing of the trash beasts you’d all faced hours before.
Zanka finds himself fixated on your fingers, watching them skitter across the page and leave swaths of dark ink in their wake, lines and curves and angles eventually forming the body of one of the beasts they had dispatched, a nasty amalgamation of horns and hooves with a mouthful of sharp, crooked teeth.
It doesn’t take long for the gentle scritching of your pen and Gris’ impeccable driving to coax him into a bit of a fugue state, eyelids growing heavy and body slumping into his seat.
He doesn’t intend to fall asleep, nor to encroach upon your space any more than he already has for fear that you might actually fling yourself out of the car if he tries, but he also doesn’t bother to slow his descent whenever his body begins to tip, inching slowly but surely into your orbit until his cheek nudges against your shoulder and settles there.
Your reaction is immediate, your breath hitching and your pen jerking to a stop atop your note pad. You’ve scratched a jagged line through your trash beast, Zanka notices absently, and feels his lips curl into a smile.
“Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily, tilting his head to catch your eye. The sensation of his breath fanning across your throat seems to send a jolt through you, your body twitching beneath his cheek.
“It’s alright,” you breathe, throat bobbing on a swallow. You don’t seem to know where to fix your gaze. “Long day, huh?”
Zanka suppresses a grin at your forced composure. This close, he can hear your heartbeat fluttering at the base of your throat, quick and light. He wonders if it had raced half as fast while in the midst of those trash beasts.
“ I can always - ” he trails off meaningfully, preparing to lift his head from the warmth of your shoulder.
“No!” you protest, so quickly and so sharply it seems to shock you both. Zanka can practically feel the heat rolling off of your skin as you flush heavily beneath his gaze, but you’re not a Supporter for nothing, and it only takes a moment for you to find your mettle, catching his eye and, for the first time all day, holding it taut. “I mean. You don’t have to move. I don’t mind.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know,” he huffs, taking pity on you and allowing his eyes to flutter closed once more. He doesn’t actually sleep, although between the eventual resurgence of your pen quietly rasping across paper and Gris’ driving, it’s a near thing. He simply listens - to the soft huff of your breaths as you jot down your findings, to the shift of your clothing as you switch positions, always cognizant of his cheek pillowed on your shoulder, to the flutter of your pulse, steady and strong, and showing no signs of slowing.
But that’s just fine, Zanka thinks, turning his cheek to graze his nose along your throat and thrilling at the hitch in your pulse. It’ll match with his.
