Where Are We Now? Chapter 6
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“So what should we do now, ZanKa?” you asked him innocently, snapping him back to reality with your added emphasis on the “K” in his name. He looked lost in thought again, probably thinking something super serious, but you weren’t sure since you were playing your pinball game. He didn’t respond, so you just assumed he was strategizing again and went back to your game.
His thoughts were nowhere near proper.
Zanka was lost in his imagination, his mind creating fake scenarios of how he could tell you how he felt. Well, that's the “serious” version. Currently he was thinking of all the stuff that comes after that. All the mature, intense things he wanted to do to you. He couldn’t think of how to have you without doing something drastic that could potentially ruin his friendship with you.
It was almost as though something was in the air, a sinful aphrodisiac coated with lustful intent. Zanka had never fully thought of you like this. Well, that's the wrong way to put it. He has thought of you like that, romantically and all. But it wasn’t often.
Zanka believed he never had time to think about those aspects of life. He dedicated all his time to getting stronger, evolving, growing, and becoming a genius. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was eating, training, or on a mission. Or in the infirmary because he almost died again. That too. Rarely did he go out and socialize; his sleep schedule was so fucked that he wasn’t usually awake at the same times as everyone else.
He only thought about you late at night or early, early morning when he knew everyone else was asleep. When his brain was too drained to think about anything work-related.
Innocent images of you would flash in his mind: your smile, the glow in your eyes when you’re fighting, and your laughter when you were with everyone. Those ideas would fade and be overridden by serious thoughts of you. Like how he should tell you he liked you without sounding weird. And what your reaction would be, how it would affect your dynamic, and how it would affect everyone around you, your job, and your environment. Then thoughts of jealousy would kick in. How he was jealous of you for being naturally talented and how he wanted to be better than you (although he would never admit it to you). But the main source of his jealousy was when any man talked to you. Only other cleaners talking to you didn't piss him off. And how he would kill anyone that asked you to be theirs before he does. But god, that's embarrassing.
Finally, his brain would switch to a different type of serious thoughts, the ones that give him a physical reaction. The ones made him hard.
So why now, of all times, is he having these thoughts? Why, when he’s in a life-or-death situation with you, is he thinking of making you his? Maybe because he wasn’t sure if you guys would survive? Or because he was just saying “fuck it” in his head. Who knows?
“Y/N, what do ya wanna do that isn’t smokin’?” Zanka asked, trying anything to get your attention.
“Hmmm… I mean, I’m playing my game now, but we could always talk,” you offered.
“Yeah, ahem—we could talk,” Zanka said, the nerves starting to kick in for how he was actually going to pull off his plan.
Right now, he wanted to do a back-and-forth questioning game, along the lines of what Enjin had suggested earlier. But he had to get it to the point where it could lead to him confessing his true feelings for you, maybe get it to lead somewhere further.
“ZANKKAAAA!”
You and Zanka are both jolted by the familiar voice coming from his bracelet, having not expected to hear from him so soon.
“Enjin, good to hear from you again,” Zanka responded, putting on his composed facade.
“We just pulled up at HQ; Riyo’s getting treated right now. Follo and I are going to Alice’s; do you or homegirl need anything?” Enjin asked.
“I think we are all good over here, thanks Poppins,” you answered for both you and Zanka.
“Ok, cool. Eishia said Riyos's treatment will take about 2-3 hours. She got hit pretty hard. Rounding everyone up and coming up with a plan to clean the remaining trash beasts should take another hour or two depending on their locations. Reaching you two, cleaning the trash beats, and freeing you from your prison… will probably take 3-4 hours.”
“So what you're sayin’ is, you aren’t freein’ us for 6-9 hours minimum?” Zanka asked, making sure he heard the man right.
“Yup!” Enjin responded cheerfully. “You guys have been there for about an hour or 2 since we left. Now, ya have tons of time to get to know one another! Speaking of, how’s that been going?”
“Zanka was able to start a fire for us, but he almost set himself ablaze,” you recounted to Enjin.
“Y/N, SHUT UP!”
“Well, you’re pretty lucky to have Zanka with you. If you were with anyone else, there wouldn’t be a fire to begin with. Zanka’s probably the only one who can start a fire.”
Zanka got all quiet, reveling in another compliment from his hero. He started to giggle once again like an idiot, which prompted you to continue the conversation for him.
“Thanks, Enjin. Update us again when you are en route, ok? If you don’t head here today, reach out later and tell us when you're heading over tomorrow. And so we at least know what time of day it is.”
“Yes ma’am,” Enjin answered. “See you on the flip side.”
“You are so lucky I can’t whoop your ass; otherwise there’d be a hole in the wall right now,” Zanka said as you hung with Enjin for him, the meanest look on his face. You knew underneath it all, he was having fun, you think.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” you say, refocusing the man beside you.
“Oh yeah, umm… Maybe we could play that question game that Enjin suggested,” Zanka answered, his left arm moving behind his neck, as if to massage a cramp on his back.
Suddenly, a lightbulb flashes above your head, a brilliantly clever plan forms, and you realize you can subtly convey how you feel through touch. It’s a stupid plan in all honesty, but maybe it could help soothe the pain in his back. Two birds with one stone type of plan.
LighhhtttbulB.
“Sure, we could do that. Just scooch up a bit for me, ok?”
Zanka does as he’s told, moving a few inches forward enough. He has no idea what your intentions are, or your motives, and he feels his whole body tightens up.
You move behind him and take a deep breath to build up all your confidence, telling yourself this is a good idea. If he doesn’t like it, he can just tell you to stop, easy, right?
Your right hand makes contact with his lower back first, and you feel how tense he becomes just from your fingertips grazing his clothes. Zanka is internally freaking out. It’s like you're making direct contact with him, skin to skin, but there's a whole layer of clothing between you two, and it’s only your fingertips touching him right now. His body sits up straighter, his back tenses from your touch as if he jumped into an ice bath, goosebumps trailing wherever your hands make contact with his body.
“Zanka, relax, I’m trying to help here,” you say, using your voice to soothe the man, to relax him into your touch. To show that you care for him. You didn’t need a tense man all alone with you, especially a hot one. He follows your lead after a few more words of encouragement, and his back relaxes, curving into your touch.
Your left hand touches his traps, and your hands move into a rhythm, giving the cleaner a much-needed massage. You draw circles and rub out his traps because they’re so tight from how hard he overworks himself. Your hands slowly move down his neck to his mid-back and then to his lats. Your fingertips spread and retract along the sides of his back, making sure to not leave an inch of him untouched, even though clothing was in the way.
God, you wanted to see his back and feel the grooves of his muscles under your hands. As your thoughts ramped up in intensity, you leaned your head back to slightly and barely control yourself as you as continued to massage his back.
“You ask me first, Zanka. What do you want to know?” you say, kickstarting the conversation.
Zanka was so lost in your movements he almost forgot about that, but he couldn’t let you know. His mind was on fire. Everywhere you touched, a trail of heat followed. He was making a map of where you massaged him so he could ask you to massage him like this again, either dressed or undressed. Undressed? Zanka, lock tf in.
“Well, let's start with the obvious,” Zanka started, and you had a feeling he would ask this. “Why are you doing this?”
“I saw you rubbing your back, and I figured I could reach the spot you couldn’t. Am I right?”
“Mhmm.”
“My turn,” you say, thinking of your next question and continuing your massage. “Is this the first time you’ve gotten a massage?
“No, Eishia’s given me some before for treatment.”
“Your body is acting like it hasn’t had one before,” you noted, parts of his back still slightly tensing from the contact.
“Anyways,” Zanka ignores you, trying to calm his internal self down. “What should I bet on if we go gambling, red or black?”
“Always bet on black,” you respond, smirking as your answer is one of your vocal stims. “Is your hair dyed, or is it naturally like that?”
“All natural, dealer. I don’t do all that fake shit, you know that,” Zanka answered, very quickly at that.
Zanka was doing everything he could to hold back any noises from your massage, but some subtle "ahhs" left his lips, directing you to continue in the same area, rubbing out any lactic acid buildup. You took a mental recording of those noises, making sure to save them for personal use.
“Who, out of all your cards, is your favorite?” Zanka asked you.
This one took you a minute, pausing your massage momentarily to think.
“Who said you could stop? I’ll tell ya when you're done, ok?”
You weren’t expecting Zanka telling you what to do. But oh your body and the horny, little monster in your head loved it. Your brain scrambled to find an answer to his questions and processed that he said that to begin with. Your hands tensed a bit, and Zanka sensed it.
Zanka came to the realization that his words have an effect on you, and he could use it to his advantage to get closer to his goal: confessing to you and having you all for himself. Although he wasn’t sure if you froze in fear, to think, or for deeper reasons. If it was the latter, his plan would probably have a higher success rate. Hopefully the latter because he couldn’t see your face. And your face was turning slightly pink.
“Sorry, umm—what was the question?” you ask, your mind unfogging.
“Out of all your cards, who is your favorite?” he asked, his tone sterner, putting his best ‘normal, nonchalant’ front on.
“Right, umm, I like my bombers, Grenade, because he’s an idiot,” you finally answered, still massaging his back.
“Grenade is pretty funny,” Zanka agreed with you.
“Who’s jinki do you not understand?” you ask, continuing the questioning.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Like whose jinki would you not expect from that person, or whose jinki is kind of... Weird?” you clarify, running your hands along the folds of his uniform around his shoulder blades.
“Maybe Dears? I mean, he’s ten and still uses a binky.” Zanka shrugged. “But I love the kid; he’s a great asset, and he’s adorable. No Dear slander will be tolerated. If I had to give a real answer, maybe Bro because he has a headband. I haven’t seen it in action all that much.”
“If you would’ve continued with your first answer, I would’ve slapped you,” you teased. No Dear slander will ever be tolerated; it’s pretty much an unspoken rule.
“Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t slap me,” Zanka said, throwing his hands in the air in sarcastic relief, which led you to slap the back of his head. “Ouch, I just said I was glad you didn’t.”
“You deserved it,” you smirked. “It's your turn.”
“You can stop now; don’t worry about it,” Zanka said, ushering you to sit back next to him. “I wanna look at ya when I’m talkin’ to you, makes this conversation feel real.”
You follow suit, brushing his back with your hands one last time. Your left hand lingered a little longer, going up to the nape of his neck to feel his hair, which was soft like fresh cotton and untangled for all the fighting he’d been doing. It made you wanna keep playing with it, but you refrained for the time being.
“For my question, have you ever heard of a living Sphereite before Rudo came along?”
“No, I haven’t, and I’ve never seen one before him either. I’ve only seen dead Sphereites and their clothes,” you answered as you made yourself comfortable, shuddering at the repulsive memories; them being that you were offered a dead Spherite as a ante offer during your “dealer” days. “Have you ever killed before, Zanka, and if you haven’t, is there someone you want to have the honor of killing yourself?”
Sure, Zanka had been fighting for a while, being in the Nijuku family, the Hell Guard, and a cleaner. Killing wasn’t viewed as taboo back in Hell Guard; it was seen as reinforcement. Keeping everything in order. But Zanka never had to kill while being in the Hell Guard. For the younger members, it was prioritized to keep targets alive for questioning and research purposes. Only higher ranks had the authority to kill.
“I haven’t yet; I’m not that unhinged,” Zanka scoffed, as if it was obvious. “And for the second question, I wanna kill Jabber. I’ve still gotta score to settle.”
“You shouldn’t have lost either of those fights,” you say, and Zanka rolls his eyes, thinking you’re pitying him. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have. You get such unfair opponents, and you should’ve won. You had him the whole time.”
“Well, I don’t need your pity, Y/N,” Zanka said, his voice sounding annoyed. He hated pity, especially when he was receiving it. “I just need to be stronger, that's all. Then I’ll show ‘em what a mediocre man is made of. Speakin’ of Jabber, why do you and all the other cleaners say that Jabber an’ I like each other? It’s fuckin’ weird and it pisses me off.”
As soon as that question left his lips, you couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone in HQ has this inside joke of Jabber being in love with Zanka. Enemies-to-lovers style. From the reports from Zanka and other cleaners of Zanka and Jabber's fights, to the comments they make at each other are what really does it in. Jabber going “easy” on Zanka, then Zanka being the only person Jabber has gone “all-out” on thus far. Jabber calling Zanka a sadist, Rudo calling Jabber a masochist. Jabber making DIRECT eye contact with Zanka, grin and all, when changing his left claw during their rematch. It was a perfect match; opposites attract after all.
“Ahhh, I’m sorry, Zanka,” you say in between your giggles. “Ahhh, I love that gag.”
“That’s what he said,” Zanka said under his breath. That's what I wanna say.
“We say that because it’s funny, duhhh,” you said, continuing to laugh and not hearing his joke. Even though he didn’t like your answer, he couldn’t help but let a small smile appear. He really did like your laugh; even if you sounded like Lego Batman, it was a beautiful laugh.
“Did you find Remlin’s spell funny?” you ask, after fully calming down from your laughing fit.
“Honestly, yes, I did,” Zanka answered, chuckling at the memory. Even though it fucked him over, it was a pretty good prank. Wrong situation, wrong intentions, but hilarious looking back on it.
“Do you still have the shirt I bought for you the day we met?” Zanka asked, genuinely curious about it. He hasn’t seen it on you in a few months; maybe you just haven’t done laundry (Zanka would find it gross if that's the reason since he’s a bit of a clean freak) or you lost it.
“Oh, about that…” you start, unsure of how to tell him. “I don’t actually have it anymore; I’m sorry.”
“What, why? I spent so much on that thing,” Zanka sighed.
“Well, I grew, and that shirt didn’t fit me anymore,” you admitted. What you meant by ‘I grew’ is that your chest grew, and you did see Zanka’s eyes zip to your chest before quickly zipping back up to your eyes. “I did give it to Riyo; it fits her better anyway. I didn't want to throw it out. You know how Rudo is about throwing things away.”
“At least you didn’t throw it away. It looked better on you though,” Zanka agrees, flashing his warm smile.
A low gurgling takes over, detracting from the subtle flirting from Zanka. You both look towards the source of where it’s coming from. Your stomach.
“Heh, umm, I’d hate to ask, but—”
“Save your breath, I already know the script. It might not be the best, though, so be grateful.”
