Chapter Text
Zanka felt ecstatic as he exited the rink. It had been his best run through by far.
The rush of adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as he thanked his coach and made his way to the changing room.
He knew why he'd done so well, and unfortunately he knew what or more specifically who had been the reason.
Grabbing his things he made his way out of the building as quickly as he could manage without looking like an absolute idiot.
It was currently mid-afternoon around 5pm as he began his walk back home.
The walk would give a few minutes of peace to relax and think about his day before he would have to talk to his siblings.
—
He had been ecstatic about his performance and the look on his face proved that without a doubt.
Jabber saw the look in his eyes. It was the same look he got after a particularly difficult game.
He knew the feeling all too well— the elation at succeeding.
The adrenaline rushing through your body.
The air around you seeming as if impossibly it was standing still.
Watching the faces in the crowd as they clapped and cheered for you.
However he was the only one besides Zanka's coach who had seen the wonderful performance.
Jabber watched as Zanka thanked his coach and left the rink, before he quickly left the stands and made his way out to his car.
—
Zanka didn't know what he was expecting when he made it home but it most certainly wasn't quiet.
The Silence was foreign to him. Usually he would hear his sister Kyouka bustling around getting ready for work or making sure that their house was absolutely pristine. And as for his brother Goka he was the quieter of the two but he still seemed to voice his opinion when it came to Zanka's skating.
So to find the house empty was a bit of a shock, but a welcome one at that.
The absence of his siblings allowed him the time to think about work and skating and Jabber.
Hold on Jabber! No! Why would he be thinking about him! He wasn't important! Zanka had to focus on how well he had skated today.
Not about the six-foot-tall man that was stuck in his brain.
This had nothing to do with the hockey player.
Or at least that's what he told himself.
—
In reality, he couldn't go five seconds without his brain redirecting his thoughts.
For example, one moment he'd be thinking about how clean his Quads were— and the next he'd be wondering if Jabber thought they looked good.
"My Quads were really clean today, I wonder if Jabber thought they looked good?"
" No get a grip Zanka ya' have more important things to be focused on!"
The worst part was he remembered exactly where Jabber had been sitting.
In the third row of the stands, leaning back as if he owned the place.
Zanka groaned and ran a hand down his face.
" This is ridiculous."
—
Zanka lay on his bed squeezing his eyes shut.
Jabber was starting to piss him off.
If that idiot wanted to keep showing up that was fine with him, he would just have to make sure that every preformence was perfect.
Each one better then the last.
He was going to prove he was perfect, prove that...
Bam! The door slammed open downstairs temporarily snapping Zanka out of his thoughts.
"Zanka are ya' at home!"
He sighed as he got out of bed quickly making his way out of his room and down the stairs to greet his siblings.
—
" Good evening Sister, Brother."
" I heard him mention he was competing now," Zanka just stood there listening fighting the urge to not roll his eyes.
"Really?" Goka replied, " I didn't know people could actually make a living out of that."
Zanka scoffed before replying, " Ya' both know I'm standing right here, right?"
Kyouka glanced at him before responding, " Oh, Zanka, ya' are here,"
Before she turned back to Goka saying something about how tired she was from her fancy law enforcement job— mentioning off-handily how it was a real job and that Zanka should consider getting one.
Zanka however wasn't paying much attention instead choosing to focus on the text he'd just received from none other then the head ache himself, Jabber Wonger.
—
How did the creep even get his number???
He didn't remember giving it to him but there on his phone was the message:
Unknown number: Heyyy Mr. Bad Adittude Wacha up to
Zanka: How did ya' get my number Jabber?
Walking Headache: A magician never reveals his secrets😏😏😏
Zanka: What do ya' want Jabber?
Walking Headache: Can a guy not ask how his man's doing 🥺
Zanka froze staring, fingers hovering over the screen.
His man?
His man?!
The blush rose slowly creeping up the back of his neck settling lightly on his cheeks.
Jabber Wonger the tall, broad shouldered, good looking hockey player had just called him his man.
Walking Headache: Zanka😩😩😩
Walking Headache: My Man! You still there🤨
Zanka: Huh? yeah I'm still here
Walking Headache: Awesome you free anytime soon🧐🧐🧐
Zanka: Why do ya' wanna know?
Walking Headache: I just wanted to hang out but if you don't wanna that's fine😩😩😩
Walking Headache: Might hurt my feelings though
Zanka: I'm sure I could make time, but I have to go for now it's late and I have to get to bed.
Walking Headache: But Mr. Bad Adittude it's only 7pm🤨🤨🤨
Zanka: Yes and I have to get up early so I'll see ya later good night.
Walking Headache: gn My Man see you tomorrow 😜
—
Zanka hadn't realised that he was still standing on the stairs until his sister said she was going to bed.
—
Jabber had managed to find Zanka's phone number, where he would never say but it may not have been legal.
He'd been home for a few hours when he decided he wanted to mess with Zanka.
He'd started simply by calling him his man, which unsperisingly shut Zanka up for a least a minute before he responded.
After that came the fun part.
Asking Zanka if he wanted to hang out.
And surprisingly, he actually agreed.
Jabber grinned at his phone, the kind of grin that made his friends roll their eyes. He could practically see Zanka’s blush rising up his neck, feeling the tiny pause before he replied. Worth it.
Leaning back, he made a mental note: tomorrow, he’d swing by Zanka’s workplace—if only to retrieve his shirt. But really… it was just another excuse to see his man.
He could already imagine Zanka’s scowl when he walked in, arms crossed, cheeks pink and maybe—just maybe—that scowl would make his heart race more than it should.