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“Zanka?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you high?”
…
“Probably, are you?”
“Yeah.”
…
“Riyo?”
“Hm?”
“Are we trash?”
…
“Yeah…”
The room glowed in washed-out purple from a dying strand of LED lights drooping along the walls. Half the bulbs had already burned out, leaving sections of the room swallowed in shadow while the surviving lights buzzed faintly like exhausted fireflies.
Somewhere in the corner, Zanka’s ancient box fan clicked every few seconds, struggling through another rotation like it had to manually remember its job each time.
Outside the cracked-open window, a frog croaked into the humid night. Once, then twice like it was demanding attention.
Riyo lay starfished across Zanka’s bed, one leg dangling halfway off the mattress and her sock barely hanging onto her foot. The blanket had twisted around her waist at some point, trapping her like a poorly wrapped burrito.
Beside her, Zanka stared at the ceiling with intense concentration, brows furrowed as if he were trying to solve advanced mathematics.
After a while, he lifted one hand slowly into the air. “I think,” he said carefully, “my hands are too far away.”
Riyo raised her own hand directly in front of her face and squinted at it like she’d never seen it before.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
Silence settled over them again, comfortable and syrupy. The fan clicked. The frog croaked. A car hissed faintly down the street somewhere far away.
Zanka spoke again, “Do ya think raccoons know they’re little criminals?”
Riyo snorted without opening her eyes. “Absolutely.”
“Like they’re sneakin’ around all tiny and evil,” he continued. “‘Hehehe. Time to steal garbage,” he pitched his voice higher in mockery.
“Hehehe,” she echoed weakly in the same mocking tone.
Both of them dissolved into stupid giggles that bounced around the dim room for no reason at all.
After a minute, Riyo rolled onto her side to look at him. Her hair had fallen across half her face, and she made no effort to move it.
“You know what’s weird?” she asked.
“What?”
“You’re the only person I can get high with and not get annoyed.”
Zanka’s eyes widened, “That’s, like, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Riyo grinned lazily. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late,” he whispered. “I’m gonna remember this forever.”
Outside, the frog croaked again, aggressively, like it had personal beef with the entire neighborhood.
Zanka frowned at the ceiling. “Is that frog getting fucked or somethin’?”
Riyo stared upward for three full seconds as her brain processed the sentence. Then she folded in on herself with a horrible wheezing laugh.
Zanka instantly started cackling too, mostly because her laugh sounded exactly like a lawnmower refusing to start.
“Oh my god,” she choked out, covering her face. “You can’t just say that!”
“But listen to him,” Zanka insisted, pushing himself up onto one elbow.
The frog croaked again outside the window, weirdly rhythmic.
Riyo’s eyes widened. “Oh nah.”
“See?” Zanka pointed toward the window like he’d just uncovered classified government information.
Riyo curled tighter into herself, laughing so hard her shoulders shook silently now.
“You’re actually stupid,” she wheezed. “Like medically.”
Another loud croak echoed through the night.
Zanka gasped, looking towards the window. “Bro is locked in.”
Riyo shoved his shoulder while cackling, and he flopped sideways into the mattress with all the grace of a dying fish.
“You’re so annoying,” Riyo wheezed through laughter.
Before she really thought about it, she reached over and poked Zanka in the ribs.
Zanka jerked away so hard the entire mattress bounced beneath them. A sharp yelp escaped him before he could stop it, his eyes going wide with instant regret.
“Don’t,” he warned, voice suddenly deadly serious. He started scooting backward across the bed like a threatened animal.
“No, no, no,” he said quickly, pointing at her. “Riyo. Riyo, be cool.”
She jabbed his side again.
Zanka folded in half with a strangled shriek, nearly rolling straight off the mattress.
“AH - STOP - !”
Riyo stared at him in delighted disbelief. “Oh my god,” she laughed. “You’re so ticklish.”
“No I ain’t - !” The denial would’ve been way more convincing if he hadn’t said it while physically trying to curl into another dimension.
Riyo gasped, “Zanka, buddy. This is the greatest discovery of my entire life.”
“Riyo,” he warned again, now visibly panicking. “Don’t do this.”
She attacked his ribs with both, hands and Zanka screamed loud enough to probably concern every person within a three-house radius. He kicked helplessly against the blankets, twisting violently while trying to grab her wrists.
“RIYO - PLEASE - PLEASE - MERCY - !”
She was crying laughing now, barely able to breathe as she leaned over him. Her hair kept falling into her face, but she was too busy losing her mind to move it.
“This,” she wheezed, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“YOU’RE EVIL - !”
She scribbled her fingers across his stomach again.
The noise that came out of Zanka was so embarrassingly high-pitched that he immediately slapped both hands over his face afterward in pure shame.
“Oh my god,” she choked out between wheezes. “You sound like a damn squeaky toy.”
“I hate you,” he mumbled into his palms, voice muffled and deeply offended.
The blankets had become completely tangled around their legs during the struggle, half hanging off the side of the bed now.
Zanka made one final desperate attempt at revenge. With a dramatic gasp, he lunged forward and jammed both hands into Riyo’s sides.
Nothing.
Riyo just blinked at him.
Zanka poked her again.
Still nothing.
No reaction whatsoever.
He stared at her like she had just started levitating above the mattress. “What the hell?” He whispered in disbelief.
Riyo raised one eyebrow lazily. “What?”
“That’s not normal,” he said quietly.
She shrugged, smugness radiating off her. “Skill issue.”
“No, seriously.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Everybody’s ticklish somewhere.”
“I’m built different.”
Determined now, Zanka tried again. Her sides, her stomach, under her ribs. But each attempt proved absolutely fruitless, Riyo just sat there watching him with the same level of concern someone might have for a confused squirrel.
Zanka slowly sat back, horrified. “You don’t even flinch,” he whispered.
Another shrug. “I think you’re just weak.”
“I am not weak,” he said instantly.
Riyo lunged at him without warning, both hands going straight for his ribs.
Zanka screamed.
He curled into himself so violently he almost headbutted her in the jaw, wheezing helplessly while trying to shove her away.
“OKAY - OKAY - YOU PROVED YOUR POINT - !”
“You sound like a car alarm,” Riyo accused through hysterical laughter.
“That’s not even true - AH - !”
Zanka kicked the blankets completely off the bed in his attempt to escape, nearly tangling himself in the fitted sheet. The mattress creaked violently beneath them while the fan clicked uselessly in the background.
“RIYO,” he gasped, blindly grabbing for her wrists. “I’m actually gonna die!”
Riyo snorted so hard she almost collapsed on top of him again.
For the next solid minute, the room dissolved into complete stupidity.
Purple light flashing across moving shadows. Zanka making sounds no human being should physically be capable of producing.
At one point he accidentally kicked the wall hard enough to rattle a poster loose, but neither of them cared enough to stop.
Eventually, mercifully, Riyo relented. Mostly because she physically couldn’t breathe anymore.
Zanka lay spread dramatically across the mattress, chest heaving while he stared blankly at the ceiling like a man who had survived battle.
“I trusted you,” he whispered weakly.
Riyo was still giggling, wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “And that,” she informed him, “was your first mistake.”
She finally rolled off him onto her back, still snickering under her breath.
Zanka stayed face-down in the blankets for an absurd amount of time before mumbling, “I think my ribs are bruised.”
“You’ll survive,” Riyo said, patting his back with fake sympathy.
Another croak sounded outside the window.
Zanka lifted his head slightly from the blankets, hair completely wrecked.
“Frog dude definitely got laid.”
Riyo immediately broke again, shoving her face into a pillow to muffle the explosive laugh that tore out of her.
Their laughter faded into occasional snickers and tired breathing while the purple LED lights flickered weakly overhead, half-dead and buzzing faintly like they were barely clinging to life. The fan in the corner continued its uneven clicking, pushing around stale air that smelled faintly like smoke, laundry detergent, and the leftover sweetness of somebody’s body spray.
Outside, the frog croaked again.
Riyo rolled onto her back with a groan, one arm flung over her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling.
“I’m hungry.”
Beside her, Zanka blinked slowly at nothing for a few seconds, thoughts visibly buffering.
“There might be leftovers from yesterday.”
Riyo sat upright with inhuman speed. “Why are we still in this room?”
Five minutes later, es later they were creeping through the dark hallway like fugitives avoiding federal capture despite the fact nobody had actually told them not to eat the leftovers.
The house was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional groan of old wood beneath their feet. Every tiny noise felt catastrophically loud. Riyo nearly lost her mind trying not to laugh after Zanka accidentally smacked his shoulder into the hallway wall.
The kitchen was almost completely dark when they stumbled into it, illuminated only by the faint green glow of the microwave clock.
Zanka opened the fridge and a heavenly white light spilled across both their faces.
Riyo actually gasped. “Ohhh my god.”
Two white takeout containers sat on the middle shelf like sacred artifacts.
Zanka reached in carefully, reverently. “Orange chicken,” he whispered.
Riyo clasped both hands against her chest. “We’re gonna make it.”
“Hold on.” Zanka squinted deeper into the fridge. “Holy shit, there’s crab rangoons too.”
Riyo made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.
They carried their treasure back to the living room with the kind of exaggerated caution usually reserved for transporting explosives. Somewhere along the way they’d also stolen two mismatched forks, a packet of duck sauce, and a half-flat Sprite that hissed sadly when opened.
They collapsed onto the couch with absolutely no coordination whatsoever. Riyo nearly sat on one of the containers. Zanka caught it at the last second with the reflexes of a war veteran.
The living room sat in soft blue darkness, lit only by the microwave clock glowing faintly down the hallway and the weak streetlight bleeding through the curtains. Shadows stretched long across the carpet while the TV reflected black and empty in front of them.
For a while, the only sounds were chewing, plastic containers crinkling softly, and occasional emotional reactions to the food.
Zanka took one bite of orange chicken and visibly ascended. “Oh my god,” he whispered.
Riyo pointed her fork at him while chewing. “Right?”
“This orange chicken,” he said quietly, staring into the middle distance, “might actually fix me.”
“No cause seriously,” Riyo mumbled around a crab rangoon, “why is Chinese food always better at like… whatever the fuck time it is.”
“It’s because the government puts stuff in it, like coke or somethin’.”
Riyo nearly choked laughing.
At some point, Zanka became completely distracted by the folded takeout container sitting in his lap. He rotated it slowly in his hands, studying it with deep suspicion.
“You think they teach people how to fold these,” he asked eventually, “or do they just know?”
Riyo blinked at him. “What?”
“The boxes.”
“What about them?”
“How do they know how to make them?”
She stared at him for a long, painful five seconds.
“Zanka,” she said in disbelief, nearly dropping her fork onto the carpet, “they don’t handcraft the damn boxes.”
He frowned, unconvinced. “No, but like - ”
“Bro, they come like that.”
Zanka’s face slowly changed as realization hit him in stages. “…Ohhhhh.”
She curled sideways against the couch cushions cackling while Zanka sat frozen beside her, looking confused by reality itself.
“Why,” she gasped between laughs, “would you think the Chinese food place got origami masters in the back?!”
“I don’t know!”
“You thought somebody was back there foldin’ boxes by hand?!”
“IT MADE SENSE TO ME!” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, which only made her laugh harder.
The couch shook beneath them while she wheezed into her sleeve and Zanka sulked beside her with a deeply wounded expression.
Outside, another frog croak echoed faintly through the night.
Eventually the laughter faded again into soft exhaustion.
Riyo slumped sideways into the couch cushions, legs tangled in a blanket that had somehow migrated from the back of the couch. Without warning, she reached over and stole the very last piece of orange chicken directly from the container right as Zanka moved to grab it.
His fork stabbed empty air, and he turned to look at her with genuine heartbreak.
“You bitch.”
Riyo licked orange sauce from the fork with absolutely no remorse. “Should’ve been faster.”
Zanka narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re evil.”
“Yeah,” she said lazily, settling deeper into the couch. “But I’m eatin’ good though.”
Beside them on the coffee table, the half-flat Sprite fizzed quietly every few seconds.
Outside, the frog croaked again. Absolutely dedicated to whatever horrifying activities it had going on out there.
Zanka pointed vaguely toward the window without lifting his head. “He’s back.”
Riyo instantly folded into silent laughter again, shoulders shaking while no actual sound came out for the first few seconds. She tipped sideways until her shoulder bumped into his.
The living room had gone soft around the edges. Blue light from the microwave clock glowed faintly down the hallway, barely illuminating the mess they’d left behind, empty containers sprawled across the coffee table, crumpled napkins and scraps, and one abandoned fork somehow on the floor.
Zanka groaned and slumped lower into the couch cushions until he looked moments away from liquefying entirely.
“I think,” he mumbled, staring at the ceiling, “I ate too much.”
“You ate like four rangoons.”
“Five,” he corrected weakly.
Another few minutes drifted by in lazy silence.
The frog croaked again outside.
Riyo’s eyes had drifted half shut by now, head tipped back against the couch cushion while the Sprite rested loosely in her hands.
Then, without warning, Zanka slowly leaned sideways directly onto her like a gradually collapsing like a falling tree.
Riyo immediately made a strained noise as his shoulder crushed into her side.
“You’re crushing me.”
“No I ain’t,” he mumbled, voice muffled against her shoulder. “You’re dramatic.”
“Zanka.” She shoved weakly at his arm. “You’re heavy.”
“That sounds like body shaming.”
Riyo laughed tiredly through her own suffering and tried to wiggle out from underneath him, but instead of moving away, Zanka somehow relaxed harder.
“Dude,” she groaned, “why do you weigh like six hundred pounds?”
“It ain’t my fault you’re a fuckin’ fairy-built bitch.”
Riyo snorted. “If I’m Tinkerbell,” she said, pushing uselessly against his shoulder, “then you’re that ugly fuck Grimsley.”
Zanka lifted his head just enough to squint at her in confusion, hair sticking out in every direction now.
“Who the fuck is Grimsley?”
“The troll from that one movie.”
“That’s crazy coming from somebody built like a decorative twig.”
Riyo laughed again, too tired to fully defend herself anymore. She shoved him weakly one more time, but Zanka had apparently decided becoming dead weight was a permanent lifestyle choice. Instead of moving, he somehow sprawled even farther across her.
One of his legs hooked lazily over hers. His elbow landed somewhere near her stomach. His head slid lower against her shoulder while the full force of his body settled onto her like a tranquilized bear collapsing in the woods.
Riyo wheezed dramatically. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “You are fully on top of me now.”
Zanka hummed sleepily, completely unconcerned.
“Zanka,” she groaned, shifting beneath him, “I can’t feel my organs.”
“You don’t need all of ‘em.”
Outside, the frog croaked again, suspiciously passionate.
Without lifting his head from her shoulder, Zanka lazily pointed toward the window.
“He’s still fuckin’.”
Riyo snorted so violently she nearly dropped the Sprite onto both of them.
“You need a psychiatric evaluation.”
“Nah,” Zanka murmured. “Frogs just committed.”
The entire house felt half asleep around them now. The air smelled faintly like takeout containers and fabric softener.
Riyo let her head fall sideways against the couch cushion with a long sigh, too comfortable and too tired to keep fighting him off anymore.
“You’re actually the worst.”
“Mhm,” Zanka mumbled against her shoulder.
Outside, cicadas buzzed faintly somewhere beyond the window screens, blending into the occasional croak of the frog that apparently refused to sleep.
Zanka was still sprawled across Riyo like a collapsed building.
One arm was trapped loosely over her stomach. One leg tangled with hers. His cheek squished into the shoulder of her hoodie while he breathed slow and warm against the fabric.
Riyo had long since given up trying to move him.
Then, muffled directly into her hoodie, Zanka muttered, “I miss Jabber.”
Riyo stared at the ceiling for a full second.
“Really?” she asked slowly. “The same guy you called a manipulative bitch and who threw a McChicken at your car last week?”
Zanka whined quietly, face still buried against her shoulder.
“I can fix him.”
Riyo let out a tired laugh of disbelief and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“You are actively making each other worse.”
“Nah.” He shifted slightly, somehow managing to squish his face even harder into her hoodie. “We got chemistry.”
She immediately kicked him lightly in the ankle. “Motherfucker, the only thing y’all got is Stockholm syndrome.”
Zanka made an offended noise. “You don’t get it.”
“I get it perfectly.” Riyo looked down at the top of his messy hair. “You literally broke up six days ago.”
He groaned like she’d stabbed him. “You don’t understand our bond.”
“I understand the man keyed your car.”
Zanka finally lifted his head slightly, eyes narrowed with the exhausted seriousness of someone about to deliver a life-changing speech while profoundly high.
“Nah, nah, listen.”
He pointed vaguely upward into the air, nearly poking himself in the face in the process.
“Me and Jabber got somethin’ rare.”
Riyo lifted one eyebrow slowly, completely unconvinced. “He called you unemployed because you missed one phone call.”
“That,” Zanka said slowly, picking his words, “was foreplay.”
Riyo made a noise somewhere between a cough, a laugh, and a scream.
“Oh my god, you are so fuckin’ toxic.”
Zanka grinned sleepily against her shoulder again, eyes half-lidded now.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But he’s funny.”
Riyo shoved weakly at the side of his head. “You are both the problem.”
Zanka only laughed quietly, the sound muffled into her hoodie again. It vibrated faintly against her shoulder.
The frog croaked again.
Zanka didn’t even lift his head this time. “You think the frog misses his ex too?” he mumbled.
Riyo nearly choked laughing. “Oh my god,” she wheezed. “Maybe that’s why he’s yellin’ like that. He’s outside fightin’ demons.”
The couch creaked loudly as he shifted again, somehow managing to get even more comfortable directly on top of her. His knee hooked further around her leg while his shoulder pressed heavier against her ribs.
“Dude,” Riyo groaned dramatically, trying and failing to shove him off again. “Actually move a little. I can feel my spine compressing.”
“Your skeleton’s bein’ dramatic.”
Riyo snorted tiredly and let her head fall back against the couch cushion again.
The room had gone pleasantly blurry around the edges now.
Zanka stayed there for a while, heavy and weirdly comfortable against her.
“I think he’s gonna text me again.”
Riyo stared blankly at the ceiling.
The frog croaked once more outside like terrible timing itself.
“You are genuinely the easiest person I’ve ever met.”
Zanka sighed heavily, like a man burdened by love itself.
“You just don’t understand forbidden romance.”
Riyo barked out another laugh, her shoulders shook underneath Zanka’s weight while he remained sprawled across her like he’d permanently fused himself to the couch.
“See?” she wheezed. “This is exactly what I mean. Jabber texts you ‘u up?’ and suddenly you forget every insane thing he’s ever done.”
For a second, Zanka went quiet. “He does text like that.”
“Of course he does.”
“And sometimes,” Zanka continued with deep seriousness, “he adds a question mark.”
Riyo stared blankly at the ceiling. “Wow,” she said flatly. “Romance is alive.”
Zanka snorted softly into her shoulder.
“Let’s also not forget,” she continued, “how this man threatened to bite a cashier because they forgot ranch.”
“He was havin’ a rough day.”
Riyo physically could not stop herself from laughing at that. Her entire body folded around the noise while Zanka just grinned sleepily against her hoodie, completely sincere in his defense.
“You defend him like a hostage,” she gasped.
Outside, the frog croaked again.
Zanka listened to the noise, “Bro finished.”
Riyo started cackling breathlessly again, “STOP - !”
She nearly dropped the Sprite all over both of them as laughter exploded out of her again. The soda fizzed dangerously near the rim while Zanka laughed too now, shoulders shaking against her side.
“I’m just sayin’!” he wheezed. “He sounded accomplished!”
“You have ruined frogs for me forever.” Riyo shoved weakly at his face. “Move your big-ass head.”
Instead, Zanka just turned slightly and stayed there. His cheek rested warm against her shoulder now, hoodie fabric bunched beneath his face.
Purple LEDs from Zanka’s room cast a faint haze down the hall, bleeding dim color into the darkness.
Riyo’s eyes drifted half shut.
The couch creaked softly whenever either of them breathed too hard.
“Hey, Riyo?”
“Mhm?”
“If Jabber texted me right now and said he missed me…”
Riyo didn’t even open her eyes. “You better not finish that sentence.”
“I probably wouldn’t answer.”
Riyo blinked slowly. “Oh?”
A tiny shrug shifted through Zanka’s shoulders against her.
“I’d wait like ten minutes first.”
Riyo groaned so loudly it echoed through the living room. “Never mind then!”
Zanka dissolved into quiet laughter against her shoulder again, clearly pleased with himself.
The couch creaked softly when Riyo adjusted underneath him for what had to be the hundredth time tonight. At this point she’d fully accepted that he was apparently part weighted blanket now.
Outside, the frog croaked one final time.
Zanka lifted his head slightly. “Damn.”
Riyo smiled lazily without opening her eyes. “He finally found peace.”
Zanka nodded, “Good for him.”
“Mhm.”
Another car passed faintly somewhere down the street.
Zanka spoke again a few seconds later, “You ever think we’re losers?”
Riyo cracked one eye open. “Currently?”
“Yeah.”
She looked around slowly at the dim living room, the empty takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, a half-flat Sprite sweating onto a coaster neither of them remembered grabbing.
Two exhausted idiots collapsed together at three in the morning, listening to hypothetical frog sex like it was a nature documentary.
Riyo let her head sink deeper into the couch cushion.
“Yeah.”