Chapter Text
It’s an early afternoon Saturday in the beginning of October. The remains of summer heat have long left with September, and with it, the constant rushes of customers. Rather than dragging their parents through the door to beat the heat or coming in with swathes of cash from their own part-time jobs, kids and teens are locked away in school most of the week, and now spend their weekends at pumpkin patches or playing sports. And while the local pool closed at the end of August, Eager Scoops prides itself in being a year-round ice cream shop. Nonetheless, there’s no longer the need for there to be three people working at a time, especially for the slower hours, and so Zanka is left alone for the opening shift. He hunches over the counter, pen in hand as he looks over notes for an upcoming exam and tries to ignore the mind-numbing music blaring from the speakers. They used to be allowed to choose the music, but parents complained when an explicit song slipped past and now they’re forced to use a family-friendly radio station. None of them can figure out how to change the volume, and today Zanka forgot his airpods. Just his luck.
Opening shifts aren’t his favorite, because they’re slow and the tips are shit compared to closing shifts. However, remaking waffle cones only takes about an hour and a half, and once the store sufficiently smells sweetly of baked batter and he’s washed dishes, Zanka is free to do his homework. Technically they’re not allowed to bring things to the counter and work, but Zanka’s been working there for years and Delmon likes him, so he can more or less do as he pleases. The counter is small, and already cramped between the register and IPad they use to print online orders. He manages though, and is furiously scribbling when the bell of the front door chimes, signally a customer.
He’s already wearing his customer service smile and begins his greeting before he’s fully turned. “Hello, welcome in! How are ya doing today?” He walks up to the front freezer, already analyzing the customer before him. Immediately, he has to school his expression to prevent his nose from scrunching as the pungent smell of weed permeates his senses, though he thinks he’s a second too late. There’s a CBD store across the street, and customers are constantly coming in with that distinct smell and order unholy frozen abominations.
Now, Zanka doesn’t care if people smoke weed. He’s gotten high before, he’s no prude. It’s just that whenever someone comes in with that smell, it sticks. When they leave, Zanka can still smell it for upwards of half an hour. Half an hour! And Eager Scoops is a small store. They don’t have a back room. Their storage is a glorified broom closet with high shelves and boxes stacked so high and sometimes so precariously Zanka has feared for his life while trying to get spoons. Needless to say, there is nowhere for Zanka to hide or escape the smell, so he’s forced to endure it. So sue him if he’s not a fan when customers come in reeking of weed.
The customer, a tall and limber guy with jewelry in his dreads, gives him a lazy smile. “Yo. Y’all sell ice cream here?”
What a stupid fucking question. Zanka frowns in displeasure before quickly changing his expression to a customer-service smile with a shake of his head. “Well, wouldn’t ya know. We sell ice cream,” He gestures to the freezers below. “Feel free to take a look around let me know if ya’d like a sample.”
The man’s eyes light up at the prospect of free samples. “Oh hell yea. ‘S my first time here.”
“Oh! Well, welcome to Eager Scoops. Our best-seller is our S’mores, but our Berry Cheesecake is a close contender.” Zanka recites his usual script, knowing the usual back-and-forth like the back of his hand.
“Can I try ‘em both?” The man asks, leaning up against the counter. Zanka feels himself slightly cringe at the way his hands smudge the glass. It’s whatever, he tells himself, they clean the glass every day for a reason. He forces himself to smile again and nods, grabbing two sample spoons from the small bucket they keep them in. Getting the samples is no problem, and the guy grabs the small spoons with glee.
There are a few ways customers tend to grab sample spoons, Zanka has noticed. Some take it by the handle that Zanka has left, only holding on by the end. Others take it from the very opposite end, fingers left with a bit of milky residue. And sometimes, their fingers will graze Zanka’s and he has to resist the urge to pull back in disgust. This customer fits into this last category, nearly grabbing Zanka’s hand in his eagerness. It’s through this that Zanka realizes the man has adorned each finger with a silver ring. They shine in the light of the freezers and Zanka barely registers the slide on metal against his skin before it’s quickly gone, the man sticking the spoon with S’mores into his mouth.
The man lets out a frankly obscene noise as he tastes the ice cream, and Zanka is eternally grateful no one else is in the store to hear it. It is unfortunate he’s the unlucky soul that has to bear witness, however. Zanka is finding it harder and harder to maintain a friendly persona with every second that passes. “Dude, this is the shit.” He basically moans, and now Zanka is praying his ears aren’t red from the secondhand embarrassment. He pops in the Berry Cheesecake, and has a similar reaction.
“They’re popular fer a reason,” is what he manages. “Most people end up getting it once they try it.”
The man deliberated for a moment, scanning the other flavors. “Man, these all look so good though,” He points to a seemingly random flavor. Peanut Butter Cookie Dough. “Lemme try this.”
“Of course.” He’s used to customers trying four or five flavors when they first come in. Besides, it’s not like there's a line out the door. What’s the harm?
The man tried Peanut Butter Cookie Dough.
He tries Coffee Toffee.
He tries Caramel Mocha Brownie.
He tries Pistachio.
Then Mango.
Then Turtle Cheesecake.
Mint Chocolate Chip.
Cotton Candy.
Oreo.
With every sample spoon thrown away and a request for a new sample, Zanka’s irritation grows. It’s not often they get customers like this, because most people don’t have the stomach to eat 10 samples plus a scoop or two. But every once in a while, someone will be too eager and stupid to realize, and store policy says unlimited samples. But this? This is ridiculous. The man is flitting between freezers like a child, eyes dragging between flavors and Zanka can do nothing but abide by his requests with reluctance. He drags out every taste, leaning against the counter in faux ecstasy and compliments them as if Zanka made them himself rather than taking it from the back freezer, which came from a truck every Wednesday. Zanka just knows the annoyance is showing on his face, and pretty soon he realizes that not only did this guy know, but he seemed to enjoy the nasty expression on Zanka’s face. This, of course, only makes his mood worse.
Eventually, Zanka gives up on being a friendly employee. It is not worth it at this point. “Dude, you’ve tried like every flavor besides vanilla,” He says “That’s like, two scoops worth of samples. Ya made yer decision?” Rather than surprise or annoyance at the frankly abhorrent service, the guy looks at Zanka with an amused and satisfied smile. Like he was waiting for this reaction. What a weirdo.
“Can’t help it man, this is a hard decision,” He licks his lips. “Everything is so good!”
“ We can always split a scoop if you’re stuck between two flavors.” Zanka grits out, because that is usually the problem and people are so grateful for the suggestion he at least gets a dollar tip (not that he’s expecting or even wanting a tip at this point). It’s really not a revolutionary idea, but people treat it as some coveted option.
The guy looks up, a new twinkle in his eyes. “Man, really? Why didn’t you say that shit earlier?” He really shouldn’t be surprised that the guy is the type to curse to strangers, considering how he was moaning over strawberry ice cream not even 30 seconds earlier. However, Zanka is still thrown off by just how little shame this guy has. Sure, people have accidentally cursed when ordering before, but they usually apologize or awkwardly pretend it didn’t happen. The guy asks if he can retry samples, but this time two at once so he can see if they go well together, and Zanka can’t even hide the way his eye twitches. The asshole then barks out a laugh.
In the end, The guy gets three kids scoops of Cotton Candy, Peanut Butter Cookie Dough, and Lemon Cookie… with marshmallow and hot fudge syrups. And crushed Oreos. And M&Ms. And gummi bears. And whipped cream. Zanka feels like he’s committing a crime with each topping he adds. The hot syrups slide down the tops and mix with the toppings into a rainbow-brown sludge, thankfully hidden by the whipped cream. The ice cream flavors don’t even go together that well, let alone with the toppings. He doesn’t even bother to try and hide his disgusted expression, simply sliding them on the counter together. The guy is bouncing on his heels in anticipation, so Zanka is at least comforted by the fact that he’ll actually eat it. Somehow. The thought of ingesting all of that sugar in one go makes Zanka’s stomach churn.
With a heavy heart, he rings up the sin to ice cream. “$11.49 is your total today.” At the register, the smell of weed is even stronger and Zanka forces his feet to stay put. The guy inserts his card with a happy hum. Once the transaction goes through, Zanka says the final line of his script. “Thank you, I hope you enjoy and have a nice day.”
The guy smiles again, which is starting to piss Zanka off. “No, thank you…” He leans in to scrutinize Zanka’s name tag. “Zan-ka! Man, this is gonna be so good…” He walks to the door, nabbing a spoon on the way out. He’s humming a tune and almost skipping out the door, already shoveling ice cream into his mouth with a moan that is entirely unnecessary. Zanka stares at the door for a momentin genuine disbelief, wondering if that was a real interaction he just had or a boredom-induced hallucination.
Once the door swings shut, Zanka looks at the screen of the register. It’s then he realizes that the guy left him a five dollar tip. His eyes widened in shock. Damn, really? Usually big tips were reserved for rushed when people felt bad, or regulars. Definitely not for customers he treats as a nuisance. Maybe he felt bad for all of the samples after all.
It looks like he also signed up for their rewards program. He eyes the button that says View Customer with an unfamiliar curiosity. They can see the profiles and names for anyone that signs up for their program, but Zanka never bothers to look at them unless someone needs help applying for a discount or coupon. It feels like an invasion of privacy, and why would Zanka bother to spend room in his brain to know the names of customers when he needs it for his studies?
But there’s something telling Zanka to look at this guy’s profile. An itch he needs to scratch. Feeling much like a stalker, Zanka clicks on the button.
Obviously, since he just signed up, there’s not much. He has 11 points, so he can get a dollar off his next purchase. Soon, there will be a holiday 20% coupon he can redeem. There’s a line that reads 1 visit.
Zanka’s eyes lock onto the name at the top of the profile. Jabber Wonger. The crazy sample guy’s name is Jabber Wonger.
Alright, the itch has been scratched. He hurriedly exits the profile, as if someone will barge in and arrest him on the spot if they see. He doesn’t know what his brain wants him to do with this new information, so he pushes it to the side and pulls his notebook back out.
Eventually 5 pm rolls around and Fu is there on the dot, as always, ready to switch out with Zanka for the closing shift. Fu is… nice. They get along, being the same age and going to the same college. Better than the high schoolers that also work here and make it their life’s mission to grate his nerves. And Fu is a great coworker in the sense that when he’s given something to do, he puts his all into it. He’s never seen the freezers look so clean ever since Fu started working here. However, he’s not so good when left on his own. While normally this is fine, it’s a little (very) annoying during a summer rush to juggle waffle cones, milkshakes, screaming kids, the register, and ordering Fu around so he isn’t fumbling like an idiot. Nonetheless, Fu is cool.
Fu gives a shy wave as he puts up his jacket in the storage closet in favor of their aprons. Zanka is just finishing resetting the drawers, about to clock out. He’s thinking about what he wants for dinner. Maybe Riyo will want to get something together?
“Um, has it been busy?” Fu asks.
“Nah, it’s slowing down fer sure,” Zanka says, sorting dimes into little stacks of ten. “But we’ll be getting our fall flavors next week and I heard it’ll be warmer, so it might pick up.” He takes off his apron and hat, both with a logo of a little ice cream man and Eager Ice Cream plastered on it.
Fu hums in acknowledgement. “ It’s uh…kind of weird working alone. I’m always scared a crazy guy is going to walk in and kill me.” Fu laughs it off, but Zanka can tell he’s being genuine. Jesus Christ, the anxiety of this guy is at levels surpassing even his teenage years. While yes, they are in a city area and close to the bus stop, and yes they’ve had some weirdos come in, that can’t be good for him.
“You know I always get the weirdos, don’t worry,” Zanka reassures. “Today this pothead came in and sampled damn near every flavor, then ordered some disgustin’ mash of flavors.” He’s stuffing his notebook into his bag and grabbing his cash tips while Fu clocks in. A customer then comes in with the familiar chime of the door, and Zanka says a brief “Good luck, see ya.” And Fu says something back before he greets the customer and Zanka is out the door. It’s a bit warmer than when he was last outside this morning, which is more than welcome. He leaves his jacket open as he walks to the bus stop. The little screen at the station says the next bus is five minutes away, so he decides to call Riyo.
The phone rings only once before she picks it up. “Heyyy Zanka, just getting off?”
“Yea,” he confirms. “Doin’ anything tonight? I’m starvin’.”
“Hm,” He can hear her smug smile as she pretends to deliberate, “Will you be supplying dessert?”
“I’m already out of the store.”
“Isn’t the bus stop like two minutes away?”
He takes a glance at the screen. Three minutes. If he goes, he’ll have to wait for the next one. He sighs. “Yer so needy. What flavor?”
“You’re my favorite, Zanka,” She sings “Also, Chocolate Cherry Cheesecake. I’ll get the food so it’ll be here when you get back.”
“Ya better.”
“Yea, yea. We're fine dining with Panda Express tonight.”
“Ya know how I feel about that affront to Asian cuisine.”
“Yea, I know you’re pretentious and pretend you don’t like it, but not all of us grew up with in-house chefs preparing hibachi or whatever the hell.”
Zanka pouts. “...I want the walnut shrimp.”
“And I’m the needy one,” she laughs. “Also, we’re watching a horror movie tonight. Dunno which yet.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She hangs up after blowing him a raspberry through the phone, and Zanka wonders how someone like her ended up being his best friend. He then wonders how he would ever survive without her.
He goes back in and scoops himself a pint of Riyo’s favorite, ringing it up with his employee discount. He could just steal it, but there’s a voice in the back of his head that tells him Delmon will find out and fire him. Fu trembles and trieds not to make eye contact as he wipes milkshake from his hands and the counter. The milkshake machine hated Fu for some reason, and the short boy couldn’t seem to go a shift without milkshake exploding all over him. Zanka huffs out a laugh and waved goodbye again, this time for real.
He once again is mourning the temporary loss of his airpods as he enters the bus. It’s easier to ignore the antics of people on a public city bus with Tame Impala in his ear. However, his resting bitch face comes in clutch in times like these, and he’s sufficiently ignored until he gets to his stop. From the stop it’s a short walk to the apartment he rents with Riyo and their other friends, Eishia and Follo.
Whenever he tells people his apartment is split 50/50 between girls and guys, he gets weird looks and questions about boyfriends and girlfriends and “doesn’t that get messy?”. Riyo’s parental figure (loose term), Enjin, had certainly thrown a fit when he saw the names on the lease. That was, until he met them all and remembered not only is Riyo a lesbian, but Eishia has had a long-term girlfriend, Zanka is gay and emotionally unavailable, and Follo definitely has the hots for Eishia’s older brother but is too pathetic to do anything about it. Riyo and Zanka have also known each other since middle school, so even the thought of doing anything romantic with her made Zanka want to vomit, and he knew she felt similarly.
As he turns the key and opens the door, he’s met with the smell of soy sauce and chicken. Riyo lays across one side of their couch as she lazily scrolls through Netflix, and she seems to have covered the couches with every fuzzy blanket they own. A hearty spread of asian fast food lays across their coffee table. Follo is also present on the loveseat, digging into a container of lo mein. He looks up and waves to Zanka, slurping on the rest of his noodles. “Zanka! Hope you don’t mind if I join.”
“Ah, finally,” Riyo groans. “Okay, I was looking through movies, but then I saw this show, and it’s like they’re in Korea and in high school but it’s a zombie virus, and I saw this Tiktok and it looks super gorey and-”
“Do you want us to throw up our food?” Zanka asks, a joking tone to his voice. He knew what he was signing up for when he let Riyo choose what they watched. “Sounds cool.”
Riyo grins, clicking on the show with astounding speed. Zanka curses her and rushes to get into more comfortable clothes, coming back and settling in next to her and leaving space for when Eishia comes home. Riyo paraphrases what he missed as he picks food onto a plate, stomach growling after not eating since breakfast. Follo makes sure to interject with commentary and theories as she explains and Zanka is caught up.
They’re about three episodes in when they hear the door unlock, and Riyo pauses while they turn to greet Eishia. However, it becomes obvious incredibly fast that she’s not alone.
“What’s up, party people,” August greets louds. He gets smacked in the arm gently by Eishia, who reminds him once again that they have neighbors. He brings his voice down as low as he can manage. “What’s up, party people? Hope you don’t mind if I crash.”
“Ah, I was wondering when our unofficial fifth roommate would show up again.” Riyo says in lieu of a greeting. She’s not wrong; August is over so often they probably have cause to charge him rent. He pulls his weight in beer and height for more vertical chores, however, so it’s all good. Follo certainly doesn’t mind, based on the way his eyes are ogling the stretch of skin that’s exposed when August stretches. Eishia quickly claims the spot next to him, and Zanka expects August to claim the floor. However, the blonde man instead looks across the landscape of fleece and lands on Follo before smiling wickedly. Zanka has to stop himself from laughing at the squeak Follo lets out when August drapes himself across Follo’s lap, picking a noodle from his hands and eating it like an animal. Riyo, sparing Follo his dignity, unpauses the show and whispers to Eishia what she’s missed. They all know August doesn’t care about catching up, but will somehow understand the plot and relationships anyway.
It’s a nice night. A really nice night, actually. Zanka isn’t even thinking about his homework. That much. The high school students being brutally mutilated by their classmates-turned-zombies is quite good at distracting him, believe it or not.
They watch deep into the night, only deciding to call it when Zanka and Eishia keep nodding off and August tries to balance crab rangoons on Zanka’s head. They just barely are able to make themselves properly store the food in their fridge before they begin to shuffle to their rooms, or in August’s case, back to the couch.
Riyo bumps his shoulder as they dump their dishes into the sink, a problem for tomorrow. “It’s nice to see you finally take a break from studying.”
Zanka eyes her. “Oh come on, I take breaks.”
“Me have to basically drag you out the door does not count.” Riyo deadpans, hands on her hips. Zanka pouts, knowing that’s exactly what he was referring to.
“Not my fault my classes are trying to kill me.” He argues. “I gotta keep my scholarships-”
“Hey, hey. You don’t need to defend yourself to me. I know how you are,” Riyo laughs, putting her hands up in a placating manner. “We just miss you, you know that right?”
Zanka stopped for a brief moment. “Uh-yea. Yea. ‘Course I did.” He maybe, perhaps, did not. They were all pretty busy, whether it’s Follo’s internship or Eishia’s nursing workload actively eating her alive. And it wasn’t like Zanka was the most pleasant to be around.
Riyo looked at him again, and he had the feeling she could see right through him. She’d always been able to read him with ease, ever since they were preteens. Who knows why he still tries to hide from her all-seeing eyes. In a way though, he was grateful to have someone who could know how he was feeling without him having to say so.
As he gets ready for bed, his brain goes back to his shift earlier in the day. To one customer in particular, to be specific. Jabber. He’s brushing his teeth, brain occupied by thoughts of weed smells and samples and rings. Especially the rings. They were cool, he had to admit. He’d never seen someone wear rings in such a unique way before. Now that he thought about it, Jabber’s style overall was pretty stylish. It was definitely streetwear; a mock jersey over a sweatshirt and intentionally baggy jeans. Chains hung from both his neck and belt loops, and he had noticed a graffiti design that ran up one of the pant legs as Jabber had skipped out in glee. Zanka wondered if he bought it like that or did the design himself. There were some blinged trinkets also chained to his jeans that Zanka couldn’t identify, and while he also didn’t know the brand of shoes, they looked nice. Eager Scoops was nestled in an up-and-coming neighborhood, so they were often getting cool alternative young people coming in and making Zanka feel even more ridiculous in his striped apron and hat. He couldn’t help but notice when people had unique styles.
And maybe also when they were attractive. Sure, he was annoyed by the guy, but he had eyes. Zanka was now laid in bed, having wasted his entire nighttime routine on a stranger. An attractive stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. An annoying, overdramatic, weed-smoking stranger, he reminded himself. It was weird. Zanka was acting weird. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. It’s whatever. He’s thought one-off customers were attractive before. And then they never come in again, or they do but it’s been so long Zanka’s forgotten. That’s the routine. And this guy was a real piece of work. He’s just…off today, that’s all.
He just needs some sleep.