Chapter Text
Zanka is the most humiliating, disgusting, perverse being alive on the ground. He knew so once it’d become apparent he’d never change. What sort of man was he? There’s not a lick of stubble on his chin and no matter how much Zanka trains, he still looks thin and lithe under his clothes.
He couldn’t even begin to grow up. He still looks like he’s going through puberty. Never mind that his skin is acne free, it’s a matter of principle. And never mind that he hasn’t had a voice crack in a while. Still, it’s a matter of principle.
The point is — Zanka’s going to live out the rest of his life being just short of what’s expected. Again.
Zanka could live with it if it didn’t feel so crushing. Sometimes he stares into the mirror and wonders what it’d be like if he were born a girl. The idea isn’t so hard to imagine. If he dropped the rigorous training.. Maybe for pilates or just yoga… He could grow his hair out a little longer…
Oh, but he’s just too tall. What a shame.
The idea slips away just as quick as it comes. It’s dumb anyway. He was born a boy, so why mull over a reality he doesn’t live? Not to throw his own pity party, but his life was never fair in the first place. What part of existence cares what he wants?
…
Amo’s been with the cleaners for a while now. They don’t really talk, it’s sort of awkward being around her without the others. Zanka does, however, walk past her room every so often. The girl leaves her door wide open so long as she isn’t asleep. He doesn’t really get it since to him, privacy is everything, but to each their own.
It’s weird because Amo’s last time shopping was only a few weeks after she officially joined. Despite that, it’s as if new clothes just pop up out of nowhere. Magically she just, has them. Zanka has a great memory, and out of all the things Riyo picked out, she certainly did not pick anything that frilly out. It’s detailed better than anything Zanka’s ever seen. The embroidery is the work of a genius and while Zanka doesn’t want to ogle like a creep, (he is one.) he can’t help but to admire how pretty the dress is.
The first time he passed her by, he was mesmerized. Not with Amo of course, she tried to kill him and everyone he cared about. It was that dress that really drew him in. It was so dazzling and intricate Zanka knew it couldn’t have been plucked from just any store on the ground. No. There’s only one place Amo of all the unsurprisingly few people who were sheltered from the world could get that piece.
August Stilza.
Thus, there Zanka sat. Under the watchful eyes of the blond with no way out. He “moment of weakness”’d himself too close to the sphere and couldn’t dig himself out of it.
“Ooh! A dress?! For you? Someone else?! Long or short?! What color!!? You know, I’ve got this sorta-design that I need help fleshing out so if you give me some requests I can shape it however you’d!–” Zanka slapped his hands over August’s mouth, looking frantically towards the door to his studio with more fear than any trash beast could instill in him.
He only let go once August quieted down, not piping up again when Zanka sat back down with an exhale of relief. “You wouldn’t tell anyone about… this, right?” He asked, as though they were discussing drug trade.
“About what?” August earnestly tilted his head.
Zanka bit his lip, anxiety creeping right back up his spine. “You know.. This whole request…” He sounded ridiculous, August may not be judgemental but how couldn’t he judge a pervert like Zanka? Disgusting. He looks down and rubs the back of his neck. So ashamed. “Look… I just, really don’t want anyone to know about this. I know this is a lot to ask when your whole thing is making stuff and being done with it, but… I seriously just need you to keep this under wraps…”
Silence follows, way longer than Zanka knew August capable off. He looks up, afraid of the obviously horrified expression August must be giving him.
Instead, he receives an immediate thumbs up, and August is sporting one of his signature large grins. He… doesn’t seem to care? Not one bit. He just wheels his chair over to his many disorganized sketches and starts asking away. Quieter this time; “What color? How long? Do you already have something ready for me? If so, I gotta be honest with you, I’m gonna take some liberties anyway!” August spoke happily, as if Zanka was like anyone else. Not some creep who snuck into the cleaners and will eventually be tossed out for involving himself with girl world.
“I, uh…” Crap, he was too terrified to think far ahead. “I…”
August whipped his head around at light speed. “You don’t have anything?” He asked bluntly. Zanka shook his head, lifting his hands defensively.
“Listen! Just gimme a sec, I can–” As Zanka attempted to explain himself, August spun around in his chair and planted his gloves on both sides of Zanka’s shoulders. He sure had a passionate stare.
August blew air through his nostrils, staring down into Zanka’s very soul. “That’s a good thing.” He said so seriously Zanka wondered if he’d been cloned. “No, it’s a great thing actually!!!” August jumped up from his chair, yelling as he usually did. He pulled Zanka up by the arm, already reaching for his kit of measuring tools. “C’mon Zanka! You know me! I can whip up a mean outfit for ya! Just gimme a style– Unless you’re not sure of that either! Actually- Give me full reign of the idea and I can have you looking dazzling!” He ranted excitedly, circling around Zanka like some fashion-obsessed animal.
“I ain’t gonna give you that much liberty!” “So what’cha thinkin’ of?!?!” “I dunno! Not too long, not too short…” “Got it!” “Wait– That’s fine?” “Could’ja unzip this side right here?” “Why are you measuring me? I thought you already had that stuff..!” “‘Bout time for measurement renewal anyway!” “When did we have that?” “Third time’s the charm! What color do you want?”
Zanka was in that dreadful studio for an hour. Every passing second reminding him of the disgusting choice he made. He didn’t even have to leave to know August was starting on it immediately. The fabric was pulled out in an instant and Zanka simply slinked away out of cowardice. He couldn’t even bask in his shame. He planned to wear it. He seriously, seriously planned to wear a dress. Because it was pretty.
He wasn’t a girl, couldn’t even begin to look like one, and knew he’d never be one. Yet, despite all rational thought, he waltzed into August’s studio asking for him to sew up a masterpiece Zanka would just stretch out. Dresses are made for girls for a reason. It just doesn’t work on a male body. Oh, sphere, he’ll look like a fool. Zanka staggers down the hall like an idiot. He’s a moron, a creep, and weirdo who’s too damn bored to make sense of how insane he’s being.
‘It’s just to satiate some curiosity… None of this matters.. Never will.’ At the end of the day, Zanka Nijiku is still himself, and he’ll be a boy regardless of some dumb conglomerate of fabric. Even though he passes August’s studio anxiously. Even though he worries that one morning it’ll be dropped outside his door for anyone to see. Zaka stress-starves 5 pounds down the drain, and the only reaction he has is wondering if it’ll affect how the dress looks.
It’s an agonizing… week. August works sporadically and solely passionately. The fact he got it done, no matter how simple it may turn out to be, is astounding.
Zanka shudders awake to a knock from behind his room’s door. Very short, but enough to pull him from the furls of sleep. He yawns, big, whilst swinging his feet over the mattress and into his sandals. He shrugs on his coat and still rubs his eyes while approaching the door. He turns the knob, and…
“ZANKA!!! My friend!! Your special delivery is heree~!” August sing-songs, Dressed up in the most hideous, monster-esque costume Zanka could ever have the misfortune of seeing so early in the morning. He nearly shrieks. (Only girls shriek, what is his deal?) August practically shoves the bag into Zanka’s hands, looking like he was crawling out the mouth of the beast as he offers the article of clothing.
Bouncing around, August continued to speak. “Mind if I see? Totally not my business but, haven’t seen you for a week my dude! Were you avoiding me like the other cleaners? You were, weren’t you? Can’t I see just this once? Like, totally get dressed out of my view, that’s fine! Of course! But I need to make sure my finished product is as great as I imagined it!” Very unceremoniously, August was pulled into Zanka’s room with the slam and lock of his door.
“Okay! Okay, fine! Please, for the love of everything you hold dear, zip your lips!” Zanka isn’t sure what really counts as something dear to August, but if he had to set his studio on fire, so be it. This could not get out. To anybody.
August drops to the floor and crosses his legs with an intensely giddy expression. “I’ll wait patiently, boss!” He salutes Zanka, which is an odd sight. Deciding not to comment on it, Zanka turns away and slips into his bathroom.
The color’s gorgeous. A simple teal with a soft blue gradient. White lace clings to the hems and it’s frilled at the bottom. Cinched at the waist, a belt would fit perfectly if Zanka wanted on, but he finds the dress alone perfect. For some reason, as he shed his clothes, it feels like even more weight is dropped atop his form.
Zanka looks up.
He stares, deep, deep into his mirror. An ugly, rotten man stares back, holding a dress clearly meant for a girl. What a creep. What the hell is he going to do with that?
Zanka pulls the dress over his head, and it goes on with less effort than Zanka would like to acknowledge. Like it belongs on him. (It doesn’t. It so absolutely does not.)
His skin’s cold. The straps rest over his shoulders, and of course the dress is skimpy. Because he’s disgustingly weird. It stops immediately above his knees… but it’s still skimpy. Maybe a long-sleeve would be better. Maybe he should’ve asked for that when he had the chance. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked for a dress of all things in the first place.
But oh, she looks so pretty. The colors compliment Lovely so well too. It’s not like Zanka would ever give her up, but his dear Lovely Assistaff always belonged in the arms of a woman. She’d love to see.
Despite that, Zanka was frozen before the mirror. The thought of someone else seeing him like this made his heart sink. Sure, it was only August and his darling outside, but that’s one too many. If he speaks, even dares to utter something, the illusion breaks. It’s such a fragile look, it only takes a bit of staring to see his defined shoulders, knobby knees and toned calves.
Fuck, he looks so damn stupid. …Maybe some tights would look good with this dress.
Zanka turns as grabs the doorknob. He takes far too many deep breaths and none of them really help. He turns the knob and pulls the door open anyway. August’s jaw drops, almost comically, before he begins grinning like a madman. “Yes! Yes! I knew I worked my ass off for something good!” August springs to his feet, literally jumping for joy as he sprints and circles Zanka.
“Isn’t it perfection?! Y’know, I actually planned on having a bow in the back– but, you said simple, so I dialed it back, and maybe it would’ve worked but hell!!! This is the best thing I’ve ever put you in!” August spins Zanka around, then takes a step back to mimic a picture frame with his hands. “Gorgeous~! You don’t plan to hide this forever, right?! This might be some of my best work! Well, for casual wear, of course.” August was genuinely praising how the dress looks on Zanka. He truly thought it to be gorgeous. On Zanka, the weirdo guy who asked for girls' clothing.
“Well, can’t say I’m surprised, you work anything!” August bluntly admits. “Perfect for modelling outfits, but, ah, I figured you wouldn’t be interested.” August happily gets close to Zanka’s face. “You like it right?! It’s amazing, yeah?!” He questions Zanka happily.
…What did Zanka think about it? The dress was pretty, really pretty, Zanka adored the obvious effort August put in. Despite that, only bile seemed to rise up in his throat.
This dress does not belong to him.
“It’s, nice.” Zanka grits out, and he hates the fact August’s joy stops in its tracks. The blond stands straight, staring dead into Zanka’s eyes.
“Is something off about it?” He asks, and Zanka worries if he says yes August will throw him or himself out of the window. “Maybe the lace isn’t as detailed as you liked? Do you actually like the bow idea? I can sew one right on.” August only got impossibly closer to Zanka’s face as he prodded. He could use some personal space.
In a near-instant, August slams his palms on Zanka’s shoulders, staring into his very soul. “I deliver 110%, you’re not going to be my exception.” Zanka feels like he’s going to turn into stone if August keeps scrutinizing him so much.
Zanka bites his lower lip, looking away nervously. “I really like the dress, I do. It’s just…” Although Zanka was still struggling on what exactly he had to say, he didn’t get the chance to even begin as August burst out into a pained yell.
“Agh! I knew it! The color was off!! I was picking between two shades and I pucked wrong!!” August plants his palms in his hair, throwing his head back and falling to his knees.
Zanka just looks down at him nervously. “Uh.. you mean ‘picked’?” He nearly shrieked when August grabbed onto his calf, still wailing like it was the end of the world as they knew it.
“I swear! I can spray paint it or something! Or better yet! I’ll redo it! Just wait for it! Swear!!!” August pleaded, although if Zanka had to guess, he’d just redo it regardless of what Zanka had to say.
“H-hey! Chill out, man! I don’t mind the color!” Zanka tries to assure the artist, but August simply jumps to his feet, pointing his index straight into Zaka’s face.
“You don’t mind it but you don’t love it either!” August’s hands return to his hair, tugging so much it’s a shock he isn’t bald. “Gah! I gotta redo it! All the way over!”
Maybe Zanka would tell August he didn’t have to, but that more than likely meant explaining himself. The last thing he and August are, is close. There is no world where Zanka admits to August Stilza of all people that he can’t accept a gorgeous dress just because he hates himself for having it.
He’s still being greedy too. Because the thought of having the same dress in two different colors makes him want to smile. Internally, of course. “...Don’t make it such a priority, I only wanted one dress anyway.” Zanka tells August instead, looking off to the side. August nods one too many times before squishing his arms back into the sleeves of his costume.
“I’ll still get it done for ya! Swear!” He exclaims, waving Zanka off before making a mad bolt out of his room, slamming the door behind himself. Zanka worries that August was loud enough to attract the others’ attention.
Zanka locks his door. The second silence settles over the room, he places his hands to his sides, feeling the soft fabric press against his body. The end of the dress is inches past his fingertips. “Not too short, not too long…”
If he ignores his rough hands and how nothing fills out the upper half of the dress, it’s a nice feeling to have it on. A smile tugs at Zanka’s lips despite his shame. He feels the cloth between his index and pointer; he almost twirls. Soft cotton that formerly felt like a thousand pounds suddenly existed as a cloud stuck to Zanka’s body. Right. This was exactly why it was meant to be private. An escape, just for a second, into something weird, morally questionable, that just felt too right to ignore.
Morally questionable. Zanka was being weird. This was creepy. The thoughts made Zanka’s joy bitterly sour, and yet he reached for Lovely Assistaff, spun her around, and held her close. She was always meant to be held by a pretty girl, but she didn’t have that. So, Zanka, creepily wearing a girl’s dress over his weird man-body, would have to do.
The buzz of his choker shakes Zanka back into reality, and just as quick as the euphoria had come, it evaporates just as fast. He seals the dreaded dress away, and one day, he’ll be sure to burn it. It was just to satiate curiosity anyway.
Zanka thought it truly was a one time thing. A month passed with no word from August. The remake clearly was never going to find its way to Zanka. If the first dress took a week, why wouldn’t an exact remake, with just a slightly different color, not take less time? In fact, the “incident” as Zanka mentally labelled it, had disappeared from his mind after such a long wait.
He arose to a knock at his door, mentally dousing himself with ice water for the undoubtedly hellish day he’d be subject to. A knock so brief and simple was only the mark of Riyo when she felt the most mischievous. In just seconds after getting up for the day, Zanka would be a lamb sent to slaughter. Sure, shopping with Riyo wasn’t exactly a nightmare, but with Rudo by her side, it was a concoction of trouble.
Zanka slips on his sandals, rises from bed, and approaches his bedroom door. He reaches his hand out, and turns the knob.
A loud, booming yell blows his hair out of his face.
“ZANKA!!!’ August blares, bolting into the boy’s room before he gets the chance to fully process the sudden appearance. “Okay, okay! I’ll quiet down–But just a little!!!–because I remember you wanted this in secret!!! Fine by me, my man!!!” August poses erratically, and the overflowed bag in his hand sends dread down Zanka’s spine. He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, fearing for who August could attract.
“You actually remade the dress?” Zanka asks; His throat feels impossibly dry, clearly from fear. Despite that, he feels a bit of warmth in his stomach at the thought of trying on another piece August has made.
August points to the ceiling with a grin, despite nothing being up there. “Better!” Randomly, August takes up continuous jogging whilst he keeps in one spot, explaining with a surprisingly calm face. “You see– I got the thing done, but y’already know it took a ding dang long while–” Zanka looks August up and down. It’s like watching a circus act.
“It’s because I had to put it on halt a bit! I suddenly had these awesome ideas! Like, absolute amazingness. The designs were so good, I had to get it out of my system.” August stops his jogging in place to pick up the bag Zanka could only assume was clothing. He spun around once before outstretching his hand towards Zanka, offering the bag with a grin.
“Too long didn’t listen–I made you three pieces!” August exclaims happily. The admission freezes Zanka to his very core. He never intended to have this many articles of evidence proving how much of a weirdo he was. It was just supposed to be one dress, one moment of weakness that would never see the light of day again. Hell, he didn’t even want a remake in the first place. It just felt too awkward to explain himself to August of everyone out of the cleaners.
Despite his internal mess, Zanka quietly takes the bag and looks at the swirling folds of different colors making up the dresses stuffed inside. “...I’m guessing you want to see how these look on me?” He looks up at August, who took up a side-stretch yoga pose.
“Only if you’re comfortable!” He says. As weird as August is, he’d never stoop to Zanka’s level of being a complete creep. “I already have a mental image of what it could look like on you, but ah, sometimes the execution is just not as good as the idea! It could look like total crap! So! I was hoping to have the bandaid ripped off!” Zanka never considered the possibility that August could think any of his work is trash. It sort of makes sense when Zanka acknowledges his routine outfit updates.
“...I’ll try them on.” Sphere, drop a fridge onto Zanka’s head. He’s not using it anyway.
Of course, the original dress August was meant to remake looked fine. Zanka liked the first one and a small color change didn’t really affect how he felt about it. Showing it off (for a crowd of one) felt a lot better than when Zanka first tried out wearing a dress. Maybe because August went an entire month not blabbing to others about Zanka’s request. Maybe because it didn’t feel as new.
All Zanka really understood was that it was the perfect, simple dress. Pulling out the next thing in the bag felt nothing like the small comfort the first two dresses gave him. Sure, the end of the dress was ruffled to hell and back, but there was no overlooking the asymmetrical cut. It was teal, form-fitting, and showed off way more thigh than Zanka would even show off in his male clothes. He can’t even begin to question why August thought he could pull off an off-the-shoulder look. The extra fabric on his right side didn’t look any more suiting. Nothing is inherently wrong with a bold look, but Zanka’s a coward who’s too pathetic to confront his own perversion. This was too much for him.
Yet still, he adjusts the way the fabric clung to his body, and opens the door to August’s expecting face. August literally claps. It feels humiliating, and so, so good. “C’mon! Give me some confidence! Face makes fashion!” Against the sensible part of his mind, Zanka actually attempts to look more confident as he wears the most humiliating thing he’s ever put on. August doesn’t sneer or gag or show any sign Zanka looks ridiculous. It’s weird.
Sure, Zanka may not be the most ripped, hairy, chiseled guy on the ground, but he’s still a dude. He looks like a dude, he thinks. His muscles just can’t look flattering in such a dress. His hips aren’t full enough, his torso is boxy, his clavicles look like horse ribs. His thighs dip around the obvious muscle and the last thing he appears as is dainty.
Instead of the obvious conclusion, which was to: Tear the dreaded thing off and never wear a dress again; Zanka’s mind drifts. ‘Maybe if I laid off of training for a bit…’ The second it crosses his mind Zanka stiffens. Him. Zanka Nijiku. Toning down on training? Just so he looks cuter wrapped up in some fabric? He’s officially lost it. He abruptly turns heel and re-enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. August clearly wanted to marvel at his expertise a bit longer, but Zanka’s ready for the terror to be over. This isn’t him. It’ll never be him.
Zanka stares at himself in the mirror when he puts on the final dress. It’s plaid and baby yellow. Theoretically, it should feel more comforting. It’s not completely formless, but the actual dress part does enough to have the tight upper half not feel as humiliating. His shoulders are still exposed. It’s awful, because Zanka’s shoulders are defined, hardly even soft to the touch. His frame isn’t very broad, but it still obviously belongs to a man.
His own mind still doesn’t help. ‘Maybe a week on Rudo’s diet would make my features softer…’ Zanka’s not sure why it takes him so long to squash the idea. He’d pull his hair out before self-sabotaging his health for the sake of a fuller body. That amount of sugar would certainly murder him.
Zanka tries to revel in the praise August gives him when he steps out, but all that plagues his brain is how much better everything would look if he looked more feminine. He can’t enjoy his own escape when he doesn’t fit his own fantasy.
“...You said you wanted me as a model, right? It wasn’t for anything like this, was it?” Zanka asks in a quiet voice, his face downturned towards the ground. August ceases his applause, yet still smiles. He places his palms against both his knees while he sits criss-crossed.
“Absolutely! It was actually for a little bit of everything, your whole look works for both sides of the coin! Although, your attitude was so prissy! I thought you’d rather die than be bundled up in a skirt!” August admits, laughing to himself at how bad his first impression of Zanka was. It’s not like that impression changed much before recently.
“Are you interested now?! If so, I’m pumped for it! I’m fine with supplying you with little dresses and whatnot, but that’s gonna cost ya some! Unless you model for me, then price goes out the window! Just work it and you’re set!” August’ words curl around Zanka’s ears like an invitation from the raiders. Such a trap. An evil, monstrous trap. Despite the alarm, Zanka knew all too well that August was far from a threat, and his logical brain screamed over itself too much for Zanka to scare himself off.
Damn it, he’s only dropping himself deeper into depravity.
“The hell, sure… Just, still, be quiet about it, okay?”
August threw a thumbs up. “You got it, captain!” He grinned. Because for some reason, he couldn’t care less about who Zanka was.