Chapter Text
You had hit your bed as soon as you got home, barely making it into pajamas before you were out cold. Your sleep had been quiet and dreamless, in the sense that when you awoke you felt rejuvenated, like it was your first day alive.
This calm atmosphere quickly dissipated, as you checked your phone to discover that all but one of your alarms had already passed. It was 6:30, and you had been wanting to wake up extra early (at about 5:50) to get in some practice on what you went over in tutoring yesterday.
It's whatever, I'll just do it during lunch instead. I probably wouldn't have understood well this early in the morning anyways. You rationalize the defeat and utilize your extra 10 minutes to prepare your supplies for lunchtime; gathering up your empty cards and nice stationery from your desk, putting them in an empty front pocket of your school bag, and grabbing an energy drink from the secret stash you have in a shoebox on your shelf.
The day passes unremarkably, and before you know it, it's lunchtime. You make your way to the cafeteria, wolfing down your food so expediently it was probably a choking hazard. 11 minutes, that's a new record, I reckon.
You set up camp at an odd desk, putting in earphones and getting your usual study music going. Hands flying from cards to notebooks and keyboards, you only slow your pace for an occasional reach towards your energy drink. About 10 minutes into your academic rampage, you happen to spot Zanka setting up his own study space, conveniently near yours. He catches your gaze and gives you a brief smile of encouragement, before immediately refocusing on his own studies.
At first, the interaction pleased you, but as you write out definitions you start to question his authenticity.
You pride yourself on understanding people, albeit in the antisocial way. You study body language like it's a secret code each individual has, and when you crack it you feel rewarded, as if you've weaseled your way beyond acquaintanceship. You can't understand him yet, though, and it's been passively driving you a little bit crazy. Every gesture of his is like a foreign language, and you feel as if you're sneaking occasional peaks at a book and trying to use that alone to decipher the text.
Shit, I need to stop getting distracted. You turn up your music a few clicks, absently bobbing your head to the tempo as you refocus.
Before you know it, you have a stack of flash-cards and a page of decent quality notes. Checking the time, there's about 7 minutes left in your lunch period. You pack up your things, before spotting that Zanka has yet to pack his own up.
Since the best way to stop getting bugged by not knowing how to read him is probably to talk to him (that's usually what works), you go over to him, giving him a wave.
Zanka had been enjoying his peaceful study time in the library, as he did many days. It took him a little by surprise, seeing the same person who had been so disinterested yesterday in this same room producing flash-cards faster than he ever could have possibly done.
He had come to the library to get a little more ahead in a book, something simple that shouldn't have disrupted his day much at all. Initially, upon seeing the familiar face that had been so disinterested before suddenly enthralled by producing flashcards, he felt a bit insulted. Was it just that he was a horrid enough tutor that it inspired you to take matters into your own hands?
His thoughts were disrupted when your fringe fell away from your face, head looking up and spotting him.
A bit unprepared for the interaction, Zanka gives you a supportive smile for a split second, before centralizing his attention to setting up his space. Have they even had lunch?
Setting up to read is as average as it is every other day, and the pages of The Great Gatsby slip past his eyes as he takes notes on the book. If he waited on the reading schedule, then he wouldn't have the time to take such in-depth notes, and waiting on the reading schedule was also something he couldn't bring himself to desire. Being ahead felt safe. He liked that.
So absorbed in his note taking, he's almost startled to hear your voice snap him out of his reading.
"Hey, what's up?" you ask, tilting your head and leaning down over his desk slightly to sneak a glance at the book. Zanka sits up a bit and looks at you, briefly puzzled, before giving you his best kind smile.
"Not much, I'm just keeping up with my reading." And I would like to get back to it, if you would go away and let me…
"Oh- I hated that one, I ditched it for chapter summaries." Your finger grazes the title at the top of his left-hand page. The irreverent disregard for his personal bubble is something that you have in common with Riyo. It makes a little more sense to him how you two get along now.
He nods a bit, eyes stubbornly trained on his book.
"Well, lunch is almost over, so I'll cut to the chase. Riyo's wanting to go hang out after tutoring on Saturday at the park downtown, you wanna come?"
That's definitely not what he was expecting, but he hadn't exactly had prep-time for this conversation. After a moment or two of thinking, he nods. "Yeah, I think I could go for a little bit."
Now, if Zanka had been asked that and the tutoring session had gone differently, he probably would have said no, but if he can understand how you engage and disengage in conversation, maybe he can find a few keywords to get you to stop spacing out in tutoring. It's quite awkward to try and teach someone who's off in the middle of Timbuktu the whole time.
"Sweet, thanks Zanka, see you then!" You wave and walk off, backpack slung over one shoulder, and he waves back ever so slightly.
Zanka sighs and reaches for his bookmark. He doesn't know how much he's looking forward to Saturday, but at least he knows that this person can speak to him, because it had felt as if there was a real possibility they couldn't. His precious free-time just got sold off, so this thing on Saturday better not be a huge waste, that's valuable time he was going to use to study.
You did it! You got him to go, and you didn't even have to tell him about the cookies you're bringing to get him to say yes.
The rest of your day blurs together a bit, and by the time you're home the headache from your energy drink hits. You kick off your shoes and go over to the kitchen opening the fridge.
Oh, we're out of juice, I'll… go to the store tomorrow.
You pour yourself a cup from the water pitcher and take some ibuprofen, before going to your room and lying down.
You really ought to bake the cookies tonight, because it'd be a pain to bake them and pack them up in the same night. Begrudgingly — and after about 5 minutes of bargaining — you get up and get to work.
Baking is a simple interest of yours. You follow a recipe, get nice sweets, and then get to give them to other people and spread the joy. The largest downside is that sometimes people have allergies, but you never really make anything with nuts as a first to try and be safe. This time, you're just making chocolate chip cookies. They're not your absolute favorite, but, generally, people like them a lot.
You crack in the eggs, and drag down a bowl for the dry ingredients. Maybe someday I'll get some friends who like oatmeal raisin enough for me to make it.
Before you know it, the cookies are done, and you order them onto cooling trays. You steal one while it's still fresh and melty, and it almost fixes the slight headache you've been sporting since 4:00 PM through how delightful it is. The edges have a slight crisp, the middle is chewy and blends together with the warm chocolate chips to form a pleasant mouth feel.
Nothing seems to have been messed up, the cookies have the right texture, thickness, and color. These ought to be fine to bring Saturday.
You fix yourself dinner, eat, and by the time you've finished the cookies are cooled enough to pack into a tupperware and forget about until Saturday.
Finally, you go off to bed.
Friday, you have a pretty unremarkable day, and then Saturday comes around. You get to school at about 10:30, finally getting to drive yourself there instead of riding the bus, since busses don't run for Saturday school.
You see Zanka in the library, rolling over a standing whiteboard and testing out markers.
"Heyy!" You wave and hurry over, setting down your bag by your seat at the table and then setting down the tupperware of cookies on the table as you dig for your supplies.
Zanka spots the tupperware, perking up a bit for just a second before catching and calming the behavior. "You made cookies?"
"Mhmm! Made 'em the other day. You don't have any allergies or nothin', right?"
Zanka shakes his head no. He pulls out a notebook from his bag and writes out key points on the whiteboard, targeting what people were struggling with Wednesday.
You watch him write on the whiteboard, analyzing the stroke of his wrist as he writes with neat precision. You're impressed by his handwriting, but when he looks over his shoulder you refocus on getting out your notes, embarrassed at him almost catching your observation.
"Those are for after at the park, right? I don't wanna get hollered at for leavin' crumbs in the library—"
"Oh, don't worry, they're for later." You reassure him, flipping to the correct page in your notebook and titling a new section with the date. "They just didn't fit well in my bag, and I didn't want them to get melty sitting in the car."
The both of you go quiet, Zanka referencing notes to put up his lesson plans. His posture is relatively refined, just like his notes and handwriting. It's almost irritating to you, but you can't really pinpoint why.
As if to save you from thinking any further on the topic, Riyo and Rudo show up, with Rudo being dragged forwards by Riyo from his hand. Riyo likes teasing him, so you don't think much of it.
"Hey! You ready?" Riyo calls out, waving at you.
"Yep, and I made the cookies for the park too."
"Ooooo, I love your cookies…" Riyo ogles the tupperware momentarily, before refocusing and unpacking.
Rudo also files into his seat, head resting against the table. His rest is short-lived, as Zanka kicks at his foot.
"Alright, time to lock in, you hear?" Zanka gives Rudo a scolding glance, to which he earns a huff, before refocusing to the whiteboard.
"First thing we're gonna go over is figurative language. There are a few different types…"
Somehow, in your master plan to get to know Zanka, you overlooked Rudo and his chronic zoning out. His track record was usually worse than yours, mostly because he zones out mid-sentence, which is a pain when you're trying to not loop over content more than necessary.
This is gonna be a long 2 hours.