Chapter Text
One week later, Zanka finds himself back on the clock at Eager Scoops. His exam having come and gone, he’s now working on a paper. Well, he’s trying to at least. The weather had indeed gotten warmer, and he may have been too optimistic in the amount of work he’d be able to get done. It seems like people had gotten tired of being holed up from the wind last week, jumping at the first chance to get back outside in shortsleeves and light jackets before true autumn and November (god forbid) came in. The radio station had been changed to a seasonal one, and Zanka was grateful that he’d remembered his airpods this week. He likes Halloween, don’t get the wrong idea, but he can only hear Monster Mash so many times before he tears his hair out.
He’s leaning against the back counter, cup in hand with his company-approved one free kid’s scoop per shift of pumpkin ice cream, contemplating citations, when he hears the door bell chime and an unfamiliar voice shouts “Zanka, my man!” Zanka jumps, completely unprepared to hear his name in this setting from a voice that isn’t one of his roommates or Enjin coming to annoy him. It takes him a second to recognize the voice as he sets his cup down out of reflex. Looking over, his brain finally connects the dots as he sees Jabber in front of him. His hair is up today with a few dreads loose, ringed fingers tapping against the glass counter in anticipation. Briefly, he thinks it looks nice before remembering what their encounter was like last time and holds back a groan.
“Hi, welcome in.” Zanka says, because that’s the script and he has to. “Back again?”
“You made me some straight magical shit, Zan my Man,” Jabber grins. “How could I stay away?” Zanka must make some face at the nickname, because Jabber huffs out a laugh and moves around to look at the freezers. He notices some tubs that weren’t there the week before, and points to them with an exaggerated tilt of his head.
“You holding out on me?”
“Those are our fall flavors, we just got them in earlier this week,” Zanka explains, sample spoons already in hand because he can already hear Jabber asking for samples. “Pumpkin, Cinnamon, Apple Pie. They go pretty well together.”
“That what’s in the cup you were eating when I came in?” Jabber points over Zanka’s shoulder, where he knows his abandoned scoop is. He flushes; whether it’s from embarrassment or indignation, he’s not sure.
“Yea. Pumpkin.” He says curtly. He quickly gets a sample of each, handing them out to Jabber.
His eyes light up. “Man, you know what I want before I even ask for it. Some customer service.”
“You kind of left an impression last week.”
Jabber laughs at his snark, thank god. “I try.” He wraps his tongue around the Cinnamon spoon in a dramatic fashion, keeping his eyes on Zanka in a way that tells him he’s trying to get a reaction out of him. Zanka reacts before he can even try to enact his self control.
“Dude.”
Jabber ignores him, busy savoring the sample. “Damn, this tastes just like cookie batter! How d’you do that?”
“We don’t make them,” Zanka spread his arms to gesture to their small interior. “What you see is what makes up Eager Scoops. All of our flavors are imported.”
“Damn, that’s lame,” He groans, as if Zanka himself made this decision. He tries Apple Pie and Pumpkin, with similar enthusiasm. “You guys should have this shit year-round. It’s good.”
“People usually aren’t too keen on Pumpkin in June.” Zanka deadpans, getting another laugh out of Jabber.
“Fair, fair,” he scans the flavors again. “Can I try Honey Lavendar?”
Zanka frowns. “Ya tried that last week.”
Jabber looks up, eyebrow raised. “And? I forget what it tastes like.”
“In a week?”
“Do you guys have a place where I can leave a review,” Jabber asks, looking around. “I’m not vibing with this service anymore.”
Zanka holds in a sigh. Closes his eyes for a moment, opens them with his customer-service smile. “Give me just a moment to get that sample for ya.”
Jabber is wearing the most shit-eating grin when he receives his Honey Lavendar sample. It grates on every single one of Zanka’s nerves, and any hope he’d had at a more normal interaction is lost. Jabber hums as he tries it again. “This one is real refreshing.”
“I usually suggest it as a palette cleanser.” Zanka’s brain supplies on instinct from the pool of knowledge he has from working here so long.
“You didn’t suggest that shit to me last week,” Jabber says, and something about the way he says it has the perfect blend of nonchalance and amusement to grate on Zanka’s very being.
“It just. Didn’t come to mind I guess. My apologies.” God, if Delmon were here he’d be so fired.
“Wow Zan, you’re killing me,” Jabber throws his hand over his heart and slumps his head against the glass, momentarily boneless. When he lifts his head again there’s a slight smudge. Zanka twitches. “Can I sample toppings?”
Zanka’s brain blanks for a moment. “What?”
Jabber points to the menu. “The toppings. Can I sample ‘em?”
No one, in the history of his time working here (or ever, he’s willing to bet) has ever asked this question. “Why on Earth would ya need to sample toppings?” he asks back.
“Uh, cause I don’t know what they taste like?” Jabber says with a lopsided smile. “Man, maybe you aren’t the genius I thought you were.”
Now, in Jabber’s defense, there was no way he could have known the relevance of the word “genius” in regards to Zanka. Of the weight it held. Still, Zanka’s gut clenched at the word and his eyes narrowed.
“I ain’t no genius,” Zanka retorts, way too harshly for the environment and especially too harshly to speak to a customer. “ But even an average Joe like me knows ice cream stores don’t give out samples for toppings.”
Jabber takes a moment to soak in the change in tone. He then promptly ignores it, propping his elbow up on the counter. “But why not?”
“Cause we don’t have enough stock.”
“Can’t you order more?”
“What topping could you even need to sample? It’s either nuts, fruit, or chocolate essentially. You had like all of that last week.”
“Come on, just one oreo?” Jabber jutted out his bottom lip. “A pecan? Just to see if I’m in the mood for it?”
Because Zanka is incredibly petty, he does exactly that. With a plastic glove, he takes a singular pecan from the tin it resides in and hands it out to Jabber. Unsurprisingly, Jabber is ecstatic that Zanka has played along in whatever game this is. It’s incredibly irritating, because now Zanka just feels like he’s been made a fool.
Jabber doesn’t even end up ordering pecans on his stupid fucking ice cream. This guy, Zanka thinks bitterly as he scoops Pumpkin into a large cup, along with Apple Pie and Cinnamon. He had been relieved by these choices in flavor for all of five seconds before Jabber had demanded he desecrate them by adding strawberry syrup, chocolate chips, and whipped cream. He thinks of an apology to the ice cream as he drowns them in red 40 galore (Jabber had insisted).
The transaction goes as normal, and Zanka can’t help but wonder if this is really going to be a recurring thing. That kind of money adds up week after week. He wonders how this is even possible, because Jabber looks to be the same age as him. Assuming he’s also in school, how the hell could he afford to spend this much on ice cream?
“Thank you, I hope you enjoy and have a nice day.” Zanka says absentmindedly, even though he really couldn’t give a shit if this annoying asshole had a good day or not.
Jabber grins, and leans in over the register, far too close for Zanka’s liking. Zanka can feel his face begin to heat up at the closeness, and trys to will it away before his stupid blush consumes his entire face. It’s just because he wasn’t expecting someone to invade his space like that, but he can’t let this guy know he’s affected. Give him more ammo to pester him with. “No, thank you,” He leans away just as quick, leaving Zanka blinking rapidly in confusion. Jabber winks, before grabbing his ice cream, a spoon, and napkin before walking backwards towards the door. “Same time next week, then?”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “Fantastic. I’ll be eagering waitng yer arrival.”
“Aw, Zan, you flatter me. Earning that tip already.” Jabber mimes a swoon. It’s irritating, Zanka tells himself. When Jabber leaves, Zanka feels like he can finally breathe again. The mention of a tip has Zanka’s eyes wandering to the register screen, wondering if Jabber had left a tip again.
His jaw drops as his eyes are met with a +0.07 for a tip flashing in blue. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. Okay, it’s not like he was expecting this guy to tip him five dollars every time, but this? He had to go out of his way to put in an outrageously low custom tip. He was probably cackling in his head when he typed it in, Zanka none the wiser as he waited on the other side of the register. You may as well just not tip if all you’re going to do is seven cents! Just keep it! Zanka feels rage bubbling up inside of him dangerously, face flushing in that familiar anger he is prone to.
Zanka pauses. Get a grip, you’re at your job for fucks sake his brain reminds him, and he takes a few steadying breathes. He looks over to his pumpkin scoop. It’s started to melt from its perfect consistency. He sighs, and puts it in the back freezer for the time being.
Five rolls around again at some point, and Fu runs through the door hecticlly. Zanka glances up from where he’s serving a family and meets Fu’s wide eyes. Clearly, he wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here to witness his dishevelment. The short boy coughs, waddling over to the back closet where he sorts himself out in shame. He’s ringing out the family for Zanka when he finishes the last scoop of Chewy Chocolate, which he’s grateful for. When the family sits at a table, Zanka can finally clock out.
“Was it busy?” Fu asks anxiously.
“More than last week,” Zanka says. “ The weirdo from last week came in again.”
“With the samples?” Fu asks, “ What did he order?”
“All of our fall flavors with fucking strawberry syrup.” Zanka mutters in disgust, being sure to control his volume so the customers don’t overhear him. Rudo made them all have a staff meeting because he kept accidentally shouting curses when he ran into the counters, and he does not want a repeat. Fu wrinkles his nose at the combination. “And he tipped seven cents. What an asshole.”
Fu nods hurriedly in agreement, taking Zanka’s place. “Well, he’ll probably clear out when the weather gets colder…”
“Yea… yea you’re right.” Zanka agrees. He gathers his things and bids Fu farewell. As he walks to the bus stop, he mulls over Fu’s words again. He really shouldn’t worry about it. When the winters come, most of the regulars dwindle and wait until the warm returns. Jabber has come, but he’ll leave, and hopefully by then he’ll come in on different days and be someone else’s problem.
-
“I’m going to kill this guy, I’m fer real Riyo.” Zanka has his hands in his hair, pulling the strands so he stays in reality (the corner of a cafe they’ve tucked themselves into, a compromise of leaving the house and also getting work done. Theoretically.) and doesn’t go off and track down Jabber so he can get ris of him permanently.
Riyo sips on a drink that is 90% sugar and 10% coffee, barely sparing him a glance. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?”
“Riyo. Didn’t you hear a word I said?” Zanka groans. Four weeks have passed since Jabber had first crossed through the door of Eager Scoops, and in those four weeks Zanka has not known peace. Once a week during one of his shifts, Jabber will somehow know when the store is empty and waltz his way in. He picks, he prods, and he jabs at Zanka’s very being through insistent sample requests and a barrage of questions every week.
“What if you made, like, sour ice cream,” Jabber asks, peering over the freezer. Zanka shot him a look, and he backed off with a smile. “I like sour shit. Do you?”
“Again, I don’t make the ice cream,” Zanka reminded. “And I’m not a fan of sour things. They burn my tongue.”
“Ah, but that’s the best part! And if there was an ice cream that did that… oh I’d be on that.” Zanka grimanced. What a weirdo.
Jabber seems to tip entirely depending on his mood. Most often what he thinks is funny or will throw Zanka off his game, rather than the service itself. Beacuse of course, why would he tip off of service like a normal person? His visits always leave Zanka feeling off-kilter, lost in some weird headspace until Fu or Rudo takes his place.
The whole thing is frustrating, the most frustrating part being how it has taken over Zanka’s life. He spends his shifts looking over his shoulder for dreads and a loud laugh. During notetaking his mind drifts to piles of sample spoons. He’s started listening to ocean sounds to help himself sleep. And now, it’s gotten to the point where he has to talk to someone about it. Granted, that person is his best friend in the whole world who he trusts with anything, but still. He knows getting himself to open up is a Herculean effort.
So here they were, talking about it over coffee. He really needs Riyo to solve this problem so he can go back to normal. Maybe Riyo can kill this guy?
“Yea, it just sounds like he has ADHD or something.” Riyo shrugs.
“No Riyo, he’s out to get me,” Zanka argues. “The tipping? The samples? And-and the nickname. The nicknames. He’s made so many. He knows I don’t like them. Freaking weirdo probably gets off on it-”
“Maybe he’s like, flirting with you?” Riyo offers, staring at her computer. Clearly, she’s not taking this seriously at all. Zanka blinks, processing her words slowly. When he does, he squawks in indignation.
“What? No way. Riyo. No.” He sputters, the suggestions having completely thrown him off. Jabber? Flirting? With him? No way.
“Why not? Not just anyone would randomly become a regular coming in when the same person is working. It also would not be the first time you didn’t realize someone was flirting with you. Remember a few months ago at the food court-”
Zanka throws his hands out in an attempt to shush her. “I remember!” He exclaims, a smidge too loud as a lady across from them shoots the pair a nasty look. Zanka blushes, then says more quietly, “I remember the food court. But this is not that. And plus, maybe my shifts are just the only time he’s free.”
“Alright, fair,” Riyo concedes. “But those nicknames are totally flirting. Zan-zan? Are we serious?”
“He’s making fun of me.” Zanka insists.
“Well if it’s that bad, ask Delmon to ban him.” Riyo says.
“I-” Zanka falters. He could do that. It would be petty, but Delmon values them, and he would sacrifice a customer if it meant they felt more comfortable. But..
“No, it’s… it’s not that bad. He’s just an ass. I can grit my teeth and customer service my way through it. Especially if it gets me a good tip some of the time…” Zanka trails off, feeling lame. How had he gone from ranting about the guy to defending him? Maybe he was cursed.
Riyo gives him a curious, almost knowing smile. “Alright. Whatever you say.” She goes back to her computer, typing away. He can tell she had gotten something from his behavior. Analyzed it, compared it with her little manual of Zanka-isms. Whatever she had found out, he knew she wouldn’t share. She never did until she felt it was right, so it was pointless to push.
Instead, Zanka sips on his own drink and changes the topic. “Heard there’s a new vintage shop not far from our place that we haven’t checked out. I need to get a new coat since Remlin fucking stole mine when they tried to domesicate that raccoon over the summer.” He’s still pretty pissed about that.
Riyo laughs at the memory. “Yea, we probably should get one for you before you freeze in December. When are you thinking?”
“Well..next Friday?” I don’t have classes.”
Riyo groaned. “I have to do this mandatory volunteering for one of my classes next Friday.”
“Ah, well we can always-”
“But-” Riyo interrupts. “-you should use this as an opportunity to hang out with someone that isn’t me.”
Zanka frowns. “...Why.”
“Oh c’mon don’t give me that look. You know I love you. But you need to socialize with others too! What about your coworker, Fu?”
“...Fu.” Zanka deadpans.
“Yes, Fu. You guys get along and have been working together forever. And from what I’ve seen he clearly thinks you’re cool and would want to hang out,” Riyo argues, looking back at him. “It would be good for you.”
Zanka continues to give her a blank, disbelieving look.
She counters with a confident look of her own.
He stares.
She stares harder.
Zanka sighs. “I’ll think about it.”
-
The next Friday Zanka finds himself perusing through racks with Fu jittering next to him, surprising himself immensely.
In retrospect, he should’ve known it would be incredibly easy to convince Fu to join him and there was no need to feel embarrassed or nervous. Fu had instantly agreed when asked, head perking up like an excited puppy.
Of course, now he was facing a different issue.
“Fu,” Zanka begins. “Have you even looked at anything?”
Fu startles, eyes wide at the confrontation. “I-well,” He pauses, “I don’t really need anything.”
Zanka turns to face him. “Then why did you come?”
“Because you invited me,” he says simply. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been invited somewhere.”
Immediately Zanka feels like an asshole for feeling upset. Here he was, upset at the fact that someone just wanted to spend time with him. Sure, Zanka only had a few friends, but they invited him to places! His roommates and he hung out often.
“I-I don’t have to stay,” Fu backtracks, and Zanka might just be the worst person alive. “You know what, I’ll just-”
“No, no stay,” Zanka puts his hand on Fu’s shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. “I’m sorry. Just… why don’t you try looking for something for yourself?”
Fu smiles then. “Oh, okay!” He takes a step back, looking at the rack next to where Zanka is. Huh. So the taking orders thing extends beyond the workplace. Is that just how he lives life? Doing nothing except the bare essentials unless it’s asked of him?
They stay like that for a while, Fu occasionally looking over at Zanka as if he thinks Zanka will run off. Zanka finds a simple, yet sleek grey coat that theoretically is in his size. Tapping Fu on the shoulder for a quick check-in, he heads over to a small stall with a patterned curtain and a sign in a curly font labelled “dressing room”. He can see string lights and paper starts strung up peeking from above the curtain. It’s exactly the kind of whimsical, homemade vibe these kinds of places love.
As he walks up the curtain swings open and a figure exits. It’s too fast and Zanka’s too close to get out of the way before they collide. Zanka hears a wheeze as he stumbles back, an apology already on his lips.
“Sorry-”
“Well, look who it is!”
Zanka freezes at the words, eyes stuck to the ground because he knows that voice. It’s the same voice that’s been haunting him every waking moment for the past few weeks. But it can’t be. Jabber cannot be here. He cannot exist in the same realm as Zanka if it’s not within the walls of Eager Scoops. Zanka holds onto hope that this is all a mistake or hallucination, because while that’s pathetic it’s better than having to deal with him off the clock.
“What, too good to look at me?”
With a frown, Zanka finally tears his eyes away from the carpeted floor to meet Jabber’s eyes. Because of course it’s Jabber, who else could it be?
“Why are you here?” Zanka grits out.
Jabber smiles, wide and predatory. “Well, I assume for the same reason you are. Unless you just couldn’t get enough of me and stalked me. Are you?”
“The fuck? ‘Course not.” Zanka spits, a guttural reaction brought out by surprise. “Why would I wanna stalk yer ugly mug?”
Jabber laughs. “So I see your bad attitude only gets worse when you’re not on the job,” he ponders for a moment. “Hey…that’s the perfect descriptor actually. Mr. Bad Attitude.”
“What,” Zanka is reeling. “No. No.”
“Yes,” he cackles in glee. “Mr. Bad Attitude!”
Zanka groans. “Can you just move? I wana try somethin’ on.”
Jabber’s eyes flit to the item of clothing in Zanka’s hands, and before he can register it the taller man has swiped it from him. Zanka blinks, registering the emptiness of his hands as Jabber inspects the coat.
“Oh, Mr. Bad Attitude has a taste for the finer things,” Jabber remarks, fingers holding the price tag. “ Maybe I should call you Mr. Rich Boy instead. But you shop vintage, not luxury. Is it taste or necessity?”
That familiar anger slithers its way up Zanka’s spine, this time laced with a sense of shame. How the hell did he gather that much just from the coat? Sure, it’s… pricey, but it’s vintage! Good quality material. And it’s not like he’s living off a trust fund (he’s been cut off, thank you very much). But the idea of Jabber knowing that makes embarrassment crawl and make a home in Zanka’s stomach. Hastily, Zanka yanks the coat back with more force than necessary.
“Yer making no damn sense. Yer in tha same damn store, aren’tcha?” Just when things couldn’t get worse Zanka loses control and his accent slips out more than normal. He cringes, and Jabber’s eyes light up in what he can only assume is amusement.
“What accent is that?”
“None of yer business Jabber-” Zanka freezes. Shit.
Jabber raises an eyebrow. Zanka watches with despair as a delighted grin slowly makes its way across Jabber’s face. Every second feels like hours as the both of them revel in his mistake.“Oh? Can’t recall telling you my name.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “ It was on the rewards thing ya freak.” Oh my god, he definitely waited too long to answer. Maybe Zanka should kill this guy.
“Freak? That’s no way to treat a customer. And clearly your favorite, since you know my name and all-”
“-Stop assumin’ it means shit when it don’t. I’m off the clock so I can do whatever tha hell I-”
“-Zanka?”
The two turn, and Fu is there, awkwardly standing with his hands behind his back.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jabber says rudely. Fu shrinks back, but otherwise accepts the comment like he’s used to it.
“Fu,” Zanka says dumbly. With shame, he realizes he got so caught up in the argument he forgot the other was there. “What’s up?”
“I-I just wanted to see what was going on,” He quickly looks back “You guys are being kind of um. Loud.”
Zanka follows his previous line of sight, and a new wave of dread washes over him as he notices other customers failing spectaculatly to pretend they aren’t listening in on their conversation or giving him dirty looks. An employee looks crossed between intrigued and fed up.
Quickly, Zanka grabs Fu’s hand and begins to drag him out of the store. Fuck the coat. Fuck friendship. Especially fuck Jabber. Zanka needs to get out of this situation as fast as possible.
Fu squeaks at the contact. Jabber follows the movement with narrowed eyes and in the split second before Zanka turns he sees something flicker across Jabber’s eyes. He can’t think about it though, because he’s too busy weaving around racks of clothing and pushing open the door. November air bites at him, but if anything it’s a welcomed coolant to the furnaces that are his cheeks. As the door closes, he hears a “Bye, Zan-zan!” Ugh.
Zanka doesn’t stop until they are two blocks down, in the warmth of some other coffee shop because this is a college town and they’re everywhere. They stand for a moment, panting.
Fu eyes him warily “Uh, what-”
“I hate him,” Zanka seethes. “I hate that guy. He’s definitely out to get me, I don't care what Riyo says. I-I can’t believe he was there.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“Who-wait was that him? The guy?” Fu asks.
“The bane of my existence? Yes.” Zanka replies.
“Oh,” Fu wrings his hands. “I would offer to switch shifts, but I really can’t. I have my-”
Zanka waves him off. “It’s-it’s fine, Fu. I just need to walk it off or something.”
They don’t end up getting coffee, but they do end up walking around despite the cold. And Zanka finds that he actually enjoys Fu’s company. He’s a little odd, but upon light reflection most of his friends are. After not much longer they say their goodbyes, and Zanka is wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket at home, watching one of his comfort documentaries.
And not thinking about Jabber.