Synopsis: Zanka's favorite memories was those times that the two of you would dance along the slow music coming from the radio. But now, who's gonna dance with him?
Angst, no comfort, ooc?, one-shot, not proofread, established relationship, gn! Cleaner! Reader, reader's vital instrument is not specified.
Word Count: 2,009
Contains sensitive themes such as: Graphic depiction of violence, gore, mention of blood, decapitation and gruesome description of death. Was listening to careless whisper before writing this, so I decided to merge my idea w this request, sorry for taking a WHOLE month (actually nearing two months) to finish this anon. ALSO LET'S JUST PRETEND THAT THIS SONG EXIST ON THE GROUND M'KAYYY? and sorry for changing the context of the song lmao More author's note at the end.
‘Tonight, the music seems so loud’
‘I wish that we could lose this crowd’
‘Maybe, it's better this way’
‘We’d hurt each other with the things we wanna say’—
“You just don't fucking get it, do you?!"
“Me?! Yer the hard-headed one here! I'm only trying to—"
‘We could have been so good together’
“Let me go, Zanka!"
“I'm not lettin’ ya’ go, until ya’ admit that yer wrong."
‘We could have lived this dance forever’
"So yer just gonna run away?!" He cursed, your name following after like a plea, “Let's at least fix this—”
‘But now, who's gonna dance with me?’
“Fine, leave."
‘Please, stay.’
Zanka clicks his tongue, the sound ringing in his barely lit room as you hurried to pick up all your things.
When the loud sound of door shutting hit Zanka's ears, he flinched. Brows furrowed in frustration as he continuously shook his head.
“Stubborn, so stubborn." He said, fingers reaching at his temple as he desperately tried to calm the mess of his mind.
Then, he clicked his tongue again, then again, and again, and again—
Zanka screamed, angry, his fingers now curling onto the blonde streaks on his hair, tweaking on the messy locs.
Every late afternoon, you'd come by his room, turn on the old radio by his small desk.
Then you'd pull him from where he sat reading a book about discipline or when he's polishing his staff, his usual routine.
He'd always mutter a small word of disapproval, he'd always say ‘no’, but he'd always stand up and join you to dance to that one song that plays every afternoon on that radio station.
The song had become his favourite, and the memories with the two of you dancing to that song had become his favourite.
Those dances with you became a habit, but this afternoon?
Zanka didn't get to dance with you, he didn't get to hold you by the waist, you didn't get to wrap your arms around his neck.
This afternoon, he didn't get to sway you along with the slow tempo of the song,
He didn't get to kiss you every 4th pulse of the beat,
He didn't get to pull you as you sing the song with passion.
Instead, what the both of you got, is a misunderstanding, a heated argument.
Where pride won over the love that tied you both in the very first place.
You let out a shaky exhale, feet marching towards a familiar hallway that leads outside the barracks.
Rage seared beneath the composure you keep like an armor, but tears swell on the corners of your eyes.
Arguments with Zanka were always the same. The same reason. The same fucking reason.
You're tired. Tired of explaining why it hurts you. Tired of dancing along with the same response he'd ever given to defend himself during all these arguments.
He was never the one to back out on arguments where he feels attacked, you understood that he simply feels the need to justify his actions.
Zanka doesn't seem to notice when you're finally hurting, still too fixated on proving or explaining his point. Tone rising with anger and hand throwing you an accusing finger.
He hated losing. He hated losing arguments. And Zanka doesn't care anymore if you're the love of his life.
What matters to him is to prove himself.
Your brows knit together as you continued to stride the hallway with heavy footsteps, reflecting the frustration you dragged with you.
Heart beating—aching.
The jeep’s faint roar contrasted the silence of the dark polluted zone.
Where the sun never shines, covered by the thick clouds that you can't make out the color, but to put it simply—does not mean good.
Fog covered the view in each car window, another cleaner shifting beside you, trying to find a good sight of what everyone would be dealing with later.
Gris’ driving would've bored you to the core, you would've been still asleep by now, but that hollow feeling in your stomach prevented you from getting comfortable.
You can't tell if it was because of the earlier argument, or, something worse is about to happen.
Regret filled your heart. Never once an argument ends unresolved between you two.
It always ends with Zanka's apologetic lingering kisses, and you muttering ‘sorry’ on his lips while he assures you that everything's fine.
But this afternoon, you ran away. Took a mission that was supposed to be Enjin's place just to ‘unwind’.
You should've faced him— both of you should've faced the problem, worked it out, apologized and gone back to loving him.
But anger blinded you.
Now here you are, standing with the rest of supporters and other cleaners.
The documents said you're not dealing with a normal trash beast. Trash had now learned to mimic a human’s figure. But of course, the stench and the patchwork of trash gave them away.
They were able to ape human cries or words, though mostly incoherent, some had been tricked. Reason for the Cleaners organization to act fast.
You adjusted your mask, tightening its grip around your head just in case. You weaved through the path of garbage, rusted metal, scorched rubber and something decaying.
Scrunching your nose as if you actually smelled something when you step on something slimy accidentally.
An hour passed before a voice echoed from the peak of a stocked pile of trash from your left.
One cleaner sent you a knowing glance, the other gave you a curt nod, and supporters looked at each other—understanding that this was indeed the beasts that everyone had been looking for the past 60 minutes.
Your boots stepped first, climbing the pile with determination, but the lingering rage is what actually fuels your courage.
The others follow after you, and there, you see a humanoid trash beast. A broken doll’s head for a face, scraps of metal for the torso, a Mannequin's arms for two limbs and other garbage for legs.
You quickly activate your Jinki upon meeting the beast's doll eyes, your eyes glowing together with the faint glow of your weapon transforming.
“Yer stubborn, so stubborn." Zanka's voice echoed in your head—his piercing mismatched eyes flashing with that familiar frustration blended with something you can't point out—right before you stormed out of his room.
You gritted your teeth at the memory,
Why does he have to appear right now in your mind?
The broken voice of the trash beast broke you out of your thoughts, the monstrosity jumped, lunging itself towards you.
Trying to dodge its attack, you rolled down the pile of trash, getting yourself scratched by the side from an exposed sharp corrugated iron.
You groaned from pain, but there's no time to slack, so you pushed up from the ground where dirt now clings to your uniform.
Usually, your movements are fluid, but your mind's a chaotic mess. Add the fact that you quickly got injured not even halfway through the battle.
The argument replayed again. Zanka's familiar clicking of tongue ringing in your ears, but you swore it's just in your mind.
Fueled by raw anger, you quickly made your way up again, aiming your strikes wildly when the familiar monster came to view, just to vent your frustration.
Each hit of your vital instrument, you put extra effort. The other cleaners—fighting the same species of trash beast—glanced at your direction with worry as you beat the beast relentlessly.
It screeched, as if actually in pain. You crushed one of its limbs with brutality, mind, still clouded with anger, you didn't even notice its makeshift hand reach to claw at your ankle.
You hissed from the pain, eyes glowing with pure anger as you knocked off its doll head with one foot.
Zanka's face flashed again, shaking his head, clicking his head in disapproval.
“Be careful." He said, in your mind. Your brows furrowed, but that evident split second of distraction was all that the beast needed.
Because you were blinded by lingering fury, you completely missed the jagged, whip-like tail of rusted wire swinging from your blind spot.
Crack.
The impact was brutal. The sharp, jagged metal tore through your uniform, slicing and passing through the skin from your other side.
It throwed you hard against the frame of a half buried ship container from the pile of trash. Knocking air violently out of your lungs.
Only then did you feel the searing pain, eyes wide, and breath ragged in your gasmask now. Your hand instantly flew to your flank.
Pressing down, you felt the sickening warmth of dark crimson blood quickly soaking through your fingers, dripping onto the colorless trash below where you lay unmoving.
You trembled. Eyes widening as you saw your blood pooling beneath you, tears wet your eyes as you cried helplessly.
Other cleaners still have their own fights, supporters are not in sight, your vital instrument nowhere to be seen, no one yet is available to come to your rescue.
“Do… you… know… what it's like-...” The same humanoid trash beast approached you, leaning down to pick up the doll head you kicked off of its anatomy.
"To be…decapitated?" Your breath hitched as you now realized it can actively form a sentence. Your tears ran to the side as it fixed its doll head where it previously belonged.
The trash turned to you, you can feel it. Anger. Like it was angry with what you've done.
“No… No… No—!!” Your scream echoed in the scrapyard, which soon died down.
“Pull me closer, Zanka!” You giggled, body swaying to the rhythm.
‘I feel so unsure’
“This is so embarrassing…” Zanka muttered under his breath, not meeting your eyes.
‘As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor’
"Oh, come on. Just feel it with me, okay?” You led the dance with simple steps, Zanka quickly catching on, danced with you.
A smile creeping up on his beautiful lips that you loved to kiss. You giggled again, leaning up, and pecking him right there on his lips.
Zanka returned your kiss, both your bodies still dancing to the beat, but the kiss never broke away.
"I'm definitely never gonna dance again the way I dance with ya’. ” He murmured against your lips, before both his hands traveled up from your waist.
He cradled your head with care, leading you throughout the kiss as you led the dance.
Your head fell onto the pile of trash with a loud thud.
The beast roared as it brutally ripped half your spine out of your body. Blood splattered all over, the scene leaving everyone else horrified as they hurried to your location.
But they're all too late.
"I… I can't do anything about it. I can never put back someone's bones and head back in place.”
Eishia's voice was small, tears falling down her cheeks as she stared at your cloth-covered remains.
It soaked through the white cloth.
Zanka's eyes remained dark as he stared at your boots peeking out of that same white fabric.
He received a rough pat on the back by the blonde tattooed man, Enjin, not smoking for once.
"It's all my fault.” His voice sounded shaky as he bit down hard onto the flesh of his lips.
Zanka approached your coldened body, dropping to his knees, arms laying atop your torso as he weeped right there. His tears wet a part where blood hadn't soaked through yet.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" He apologized, as if it could do something to bring you back alive in his arms.
Zanka cried, eyes red and puffy, but he didn't stop. Nothing could stop the guilt and grief mixing inside his now empty heart.
Now that his love lies dead in front of him,
Who's gonna dance with him?
Who's going to pull him to dance as ‘Careless Whisper’ plays on the old radio he owns in the late afternoon?
Zanka will never dance again.
As his guilty feet lost their rhythm.
Together with your heart that no longer beats, not even for him.
Since this is a written form of literature, I just want to point out this one specific detail from the start. Where Zanka tells reader to leave. 'Careless Whisper', was playing in the background. When Zanka said "Fine, leave." It's supposed to be in synch to the time the lyrics said "Please, stay.". It was actually intentional, it was Zanka hinting he want you to stay instead. Just imagine that when Zanka said the complete opposite of what he means, he actually whispered it so that one line from the song would win over his words. But of course, Reader didn't catch that :3 Please note that author's first language is not English so grammatical errors or spelling mistakes might happen, that I will try my best to fix. You can totally correct me in the comments especially if I mentioned something unfactual. Interactions, Requests, Suggestions and Criticism are deeply appreciated:D
