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Jabber woke up with a start, having been briefly knocked out.
His head throbbed like something serious, but oddly enough he felt… fine? There were some aches and minor scrapes against his body, but he didn't really feel all that bad?
He blinked away the dots in his vision as he sat up. He looked around and found himself on… a bed? A real comfy one at that!
It creaked as he looked around, his head still searing as he took in his surroundings.
The room was covered in various blues and pinks, from half tied curtains to rugs upon rugs laying cosily on the ground. There were various posters on the walls, with bands and memorabilia Jabber didn't recognise-- well, except for Too Lily. But that was a given.
There was a table pushed up against the corner, with what he could vaguely tell were books of chemistry and biology pushed up next to a pair of boxing gloves laying patiently on a mess of papers.
Jabber hasn't seen that many books on chemistry in a while, not since he was a kid scourging libraries and stores to steal them and read them while ignoring the pangs of hunger and pain. He'd always give them back after he was finished, though. He wasn't that cruel.
Well, at least not back then.
Something glittery caught his eye, and he turned to see rows of gold and silver jewellery lining the dresser as trinkets and polish littered the area.
He blinked. Gold? How is that possible? Even the fake gold on the ground wasn't that… plentiful. Or even all that shiny. The cuffs in his hair had already cost a pretty penny, and that had taken months-- almost as long as it took to grow his dreads, truthfully-- of scavenging gold looking jewellery, usually brass, and silver that was covered in chipped gold paint.
It was worth it though, he ain’t ever seen anyone else as dripped out as he was.
And were those-- cat toys? He hasn't seen those in a while. He'd only seen one cat in his entire life, and that cat didn't have nearly as many toys as this place did. They were just as blue as the rest of the room, a few toys of purple and pink as well.
Well, I guess it's pretty clear whose place this is. He thought, eyes trailing the blue upon blue as he thought of those eyes.
Those blue eyes-- filled with such hatred and determination, staring into his soul as if it could rip it out of his body. The way they glittered in the light of the ground when alight, like twin suns of blue fire.
It had been so delicious, so alluring, when those eyes found the smallest misstep, zeroing on the extra second like a viper, striking him hard against his head that he felt the entire world shift. How a single hit did that, he would never know.
And yet, he didn't feel that bad at all! Besides his head, everything felt so… easy. It was easy to move his arms and legs, not even the pleasant tingle of scratches or scabs against his abdomen as it brushed against his clothes-- wait. Yeah, there actually was none! Huh?!
He had never seen his chest so… broad. Smooth.
Healthy.
How is that possible?
Did Zanka somehow cure all his ailments with a single swing?
He was vaguely aware that the Cleaners had a healer with them, does that mean that healer got rid of everything except his head trauma?
He felt the telltale upturning of lips as he let out a soft giggle. Maybe Zanka had made sure to keep all the pain from him and him alone, getting rid of anything he deemed unworthy besides the searing pain of his weapon against his bones. Zanka was possessive like that.
How romantic! He thought with another giggle, forcing himself off the bed and fighting through the dizziness.
His legs shook from exertion, not something he wasn't used to but certainly not something that felt more like a pleasant thrum than a searing ache.
He grabbed onto the wall, steadying his breathing as his legs caught up with the rest of him.
He glanced at the mirror beside the bed, blinking in surprise again as he noticed his change of clothes.
He had piercings on his eyebrows and nose rings, silver glinting in the light. He'd always wanted hella face piercings, but it just wasn't safe on the ground where you couldn't reliably find antiseptic for infections-- not the pleasant kind either. He'd always envied the Cleaners for that, even if there weren't a lot of them fully pierced as he'd want, he'd be a fool not to notice how many of them were sporting piercings. Lucky bastards.
He was also wearing a white tank top that hugged his body in ways he hadn't ever seen, too used to finding ill-fitting clothing when scavenging around.
Even his pants-- which were worn quite loosely-- somehow fit in a way that didn't feel like he had just found something lying around with the hopes that it fit. A chain-link belt kept the pants just under his hipbones, letting a sliver of his underwear peek through. There was another studded belt loosely around his hips too, matching the pants which themselves had various studs and spikes along the purple sides.
They felt so… comfortable. Even high quality! Not that he wasn't wearing the nicest shit before, but it certainly wasn't this... Bedazzled.
Though the cleaners did always seem to have some high quality drip, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised. He wondered why they'd put him in this, though.
Actually-- who changed him? He wouldn't think anyone had the balls to do that, honestly. He hoped it was Zanka.
He giggled, thinking about the man's furrowed brows as he tried to fit the pants over his hips. He must've been sooo embarrassed---
He froze.
What The Fuck.
Is that… gold.
On his TEETH?
Holy shit.
Jabber leaned in as close as he could until he could see every pore on his skin. His very clean and soft skin.
How-- how the fuck--
He carefully prodded the gold covering his right canine and bottom teeth, shocked to find it cool against his tongue. He could even feel the divot to where it was attached to his enamel.
Jabber felt his heart thrum painfully against his chest as he grabbed the mirror to steady himself.
The clothes. The piercings. The grills. Goddamn-- even his fucking body! He saw those full abs! When the fuck did he get enough food for that?!
He watched as his mouth split into a full grin, his cheeks painfully spreading as he felt his breaths come out in short bursts.
What the fuck.
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
Where was he? This can't be right.
He forced himself to look away from the mirror, unable to stand it.
He---
He needed something. Something to ground him.
He needed--
He needed pain.
He glanced at Mankira, knowing full well that he was in no state to be poisoning himself with what he currently had in her. When was the last time he put any depressants in her? He only had neurotoxins, hallucinogens, paralytics, pain suppressants-- what else, what else?!
He was so distracted by his turmoil he hadn't heard the door open.
Or the soft gasp that followed as a rustle of something was placed on the table.
What he did feel were the fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging them close against a chest.
He felt the gentle thrum of a heartbeat, steadying yet dizzying.
“Jabber, look at me.” Said the voice, soft and melodic, in a way that he wasn't used to hearing, but familiar nonetheless.
He felt his eyes drift toward that voice, so calming.
He met those blue eyes, the very ones he saw before he passed out. The twin suns that seemed to follow him as he went to sleep and the very ones to raise him from the brink of death.
Ah.
That was perfect.
Without thinking, he twisted his arms down and gripped the others wrists.
Those blue eyes widened in shock, a look of confusion passing through those delicate features as he looked up at him with… with a look Jabber doesn't want to name.
With a shove, he pushed him into the wall, hard enough that the wall seemed to shake and cause the man to wheeze out a pained cry.
“Well if it isn't Mr. Bad Attitude to save the day as usual!” He says with a voice he didn't fully recognise.
A voice fuller than he was used to. A timbre he never really grew into, throat too perpetually parched to ever reach it.
But he forced himself to ignore that.
He gripped Zanka’s shoulders as he felt himself erupt in giggles.
This is what he needed to focus on. Not whatever the fuck was up with his body.
He reared his fist back, needing to-- just once-- feel the bones cracking under his skin. He needs to feel the delightful sting of pain.
Zanka, as if on autopilot, grabs the fist and pushes him back with his foot.
Jabber, still shaking, manages to avoid a knee to the crotch. His belts and chains jingle with the effort, catching a little on his feet but not enough to cause him to trip, thankfully.
“Mr. Bad Attitude! Didn't expect ya to hit such a low blow! Though I suppose I can't blame ya’!” His voice booms, barely even cracking as it echoed.
He winces at the fullness. Nope! Don't fucking think about it!
He raises another fist, aiming at Zanka's rib, a perfect copy of where he had once attacked him long before.
Zanka barely avoids it, eyes blinking with that same look that Jabber did NOT want to think about, damnit!
“Jabber, wha--”
“Keep ya head in the game Zan-zan! I ain't wanna hit ya too hard before it gets good!”
He jumped closer to Zanka, kicking hard at his throat, desperate to hear the crack of bone as Zanka blocked him with his arm.
He barely gave him a moment before surging close to him with another fist raised, feinting left.
Zanka, the pretty bastard, somehow predicted the feint and kept himself steady, gripping then twisting the ankle that started to fall as he pushed it out of the way.
Jabber knew his fighting was sloppy. His form was shit, the power of his hits pivoting between angles without a thought of gravity or if his body should be doing that. He never claimed to be the best at keeping himself steady during times like this-- Mankira was his main combat buddy for a reason!
But it was still a bit shocking to feel the way his body seized as if it weren't used to the pain.
Usually his adrenaline was enough to keep him going, but his body seemed to snap out of focus like it wasn't expecting for his legs to be stretched back. He's kicked things harder than that, hell he's jumped and spun and danced in more pain than this! Why was his body acting like it wasn't used to it?!
As his thoughts began to unravel, he felt a succession of quick strikes against his chest, enough to unsteady him but certainly not enough to hurt him.
He scowled, forcing himself out of Zanka's grasp as he caught the wrist and gripped it hard enough to hurt.
“Are ya goin’ soft on me, Zan-zan?”
Zanka looked at him with that familiar expression of incredulity, an expression Jabber has gotten most accustomed too. He almost sighs in relief.
“OBVIOUSLY, scuzzball?! Why would I wanna hurt my boyfriend!”
What?
“What.” Jabber says eloquently.
Taking the opportunity, Zanka pushes him hard, aiming a kick to both knees while simultaneously gripping the back of his head.
Jabber falls like a ragdoll, too stunned to respond.
Thankfully(?) Zanka's hand protects his head from the fall as sits on his legs to prevent further kicks.
“Jabber what is up with ya?! Ya ain't try to fight me since we were seniors! Are you--” Zanka took a deep breath. “Didja start using again? I thought you said weed was enough, you haven't injected in years. What happened? Are you okay?”
Jabber couldn't breathe. What was this bullshit?
He hated that tone. That soft look in his eyes. Like he was fucking fragile. Like he was, what, someone worth worrying about?
He was a fucking Raider. He wasn’t some weak chicken shit who needed to be looked after!
“Don't you fucking dare act like you give a shit! I ain't some delicate fuckin’ doll!” He exploded, trying desperately to push Zanka off.
Zanka kept steady, grabbing his wrists with the same pressure he had used before. It was strange.
Why was that pressure so comforting?
Jabber could push him off right now. In fact-- he will. Fuck this! He ain't holding back with Zanka, he already told him! Zanka can take it! He can take Mankira!
It doesn't matter that those blue, blue eyes are staring at him with--- with that look. With… concern.
Fuck those pretty ass eyes. He ain't need concern!
He forced himself to steady his breath forcing himself to let the anima flow through his bones to Mankira. She was his only hope, as always. Only treasure that kept him sane and didn't treat him like some glass bone having ass loser.
He waited for the familiar feeling of claws to encase his fingertips, holding them like they were precious so he didn't have to feel that grip against his wrists, and that-- that thumb running cool circles on his palms?
Wait.
How are his hands doing that?
Mankira should… she should be protecting him right now. Pushing Zanka back. Why wasn't she pushing Zanka back?!!
His breath started to come out in short bursts, again.
Mankira--- he couldn't feel her.
Why couldn't he hear her?
Zanka blinked in surprise, relaxing his grip on Jabber's wrists, as if knowing that he needed to release them.
Jabber brought his hands to his face, eyes widening. They… they weren't there. The claws really weren't there.
He's-- he's trying to activate her. The anima, it should be flowing-- where is the anima?!!
As if two steps ahead, Zanka gently grabbed Jabber's hands once again, putting that same gentle pressure against them.
He used his other hand under Jabber's head to push him up, Jabber being too numb to disobey.
As he sat, Zanka brought the other hand to return, his shiny blue nails making gentle circles against the back of his hand, his eyebrows furrowing the way Jabber had seen countless times before.
He looked on, breath stuttering as that gentle pressure engulfed his wrists and pushed against the thumping drumbeat of his chest. Zanka was wearing metallic pink eyeliner, his long eyelashes coated in a pretty purple as it fluttered just barely against his cheek, like every part of him was focused on making Jabber feel fuckin’ insane.
“Jabber, I'm right here. Just feel the heartbeat, alright?”
Jabber didn't say anything.
The voice continues. “You can feel my hands, right? The rings against yer fingers, the beating of my chest… And you can hear my voice. I'm right here. I won't abandon ya. You remember that, right?”
Jabber found himself nodding, not knowing why he was acting like he knew that for a fact.
They sat there in silence, Zanka's hands loosening its tight grip slightly and moving carefully off Jabber's legs when it was obvious he wasn't going to fight back.
“Are ya feeling better now?” Zanka murmured, voice back to that soft, airy tone. Jabber didn't dislike it as much this time.
He nodded again, like he was hypnotised.
Zanka sighs in relief, putting the wrists off his chest and onto his lap, continuing the gentle ministrations against his skin.
Jabber suddenly noticed the silver and gold rings glinting off his middle and thumb finger on his right hand and the single ring that glinted off his ring finger on his left hand.
The rings looked like copies of Mankira.
The ring on the ring finger had a magenta gem.
“Ya really scared me, ya know. I thought ya said you were jus' gonna take a quick nap before hangin’ out with Riyo--? Though I’m glad yer sober. Ain't ya got a tournament comin’ up? You can't be using anythin’ remember? Not even weed. Ya gotta keep yer head steady, and lock in like I always say, yeah? You always found it funny when I said that to ya, so I'm saying it now. Whatever ya got goin’ on, you promised you'd tell me. Ever since… ever since then. Said I'd never see ya like this again.” He said, almost accusingly.
Jabber only stared. Taking a good look at the other for the first time.
His hair was more or less the same, bangs swept back with small purple clips shaped like stars. It looked softer than usual, oddly enough, his hair reaching just past the nape of his neck. He was wearing a blue long sleeve shirt with thumb holes over what seemed to be a white collar, though it was clearly just a part of the shirt and not actually something underneath. On top of that he was wearing what seemed like a purple motorcycle jacket, a small J stitched onto the side of it.
Oh shit-- that was probably his jacket.
He looked… he looked so cosy. So warm. Like a dream of cotton and sleep, or some weird ass shit like that.
Zanka took another deep breath, like he was forcing it out. He looked into Jabber's eyes, the same look that always seemed to peer into Jabber's very soul. “You promised me.”
Jabber wasn't sure what he was talking about. Promised? Tournament? Huh? He ain't been in no tournament since Mankira, not worth having to hold her back every time.
But Zanka looked so desperately at him, so earnestly… What was he meant to do besides listen?
He hated those blue, blue eyes.
“I don't think you'd get it.” He says finally.
Zanka looked even more relieved, strangely enough. What, did he think Jabber was too fragile to even speak?
He felt that familiar spark of anger, but stamped it down when he saw a genuine smile on the other's face. Fuck.
“Try me.” Zanka said, lifting one of his hands to his cheek and nuzzling into his palm.
Jabber was kind of terrified. And Jabber doesn't get terrified.
But the way the cleaner was being so gentle with him didn't seem to anger him as much as it should.
Zanka left a fluttering kiss against his wrist, looking at him like he hung the stars and moon.
Weird ass.
“I'mma be so for real I really don't think you've heard of shit like this before.” Jabber tried again, almost feeling a little bad about what he might reveal to the other man.
Because Jabber… Jabber doesn't dream. He refuses to. Why dream? It ain't worth accidentally remembering shit he doesn't need to. When he first got those nasty ass dreams, he'd pricked himself full of questionably sourced depressants. Enough that he couldn't even remember his own name when he falls asleep.
So Jabber knows this can't be a dream.
Things felt too real. Those punches a little too physical. And he knows he hasn't needed to use those depressants for years, because he refused to dream.
Dreams, even lucid ones, didn't have the pleasant pressure against his legs. The pleasant thrum against his veins as Zanka kissed them. Nah, he wasn't dreaming.
So there has to be a different explanation.
“I ain't the Jabber ya know.” He says.
Zanka raises an eyebrow. “What? You tryna punch me in the ribs the second I walk in ain't enough of a tell for ya? I'm asking why yer acting so different, Jabber. Tell me.”
Jabber sighs. “Nah I'm being legit. I ain't him. I think some Giver out there put me in some weird ass freaky ass dimension shit with their instrument. I ain't even know ya like that where I'm from.”
Now Zanka looked confused. “Giver? And what do you mean where ya from? Yer not makin’ any sense, Jabs.”
Jabber resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air. Instead, he opts to roll his eyes. “See? Don't believe nothin’. I'm saying I ain't the Jabber you know. Look, call up the Raiders in this dimension and ask ‘em about Cthoni. I don't know if ya know each other like that over here but Cthoni is the only one I know who has weird dimension shit with her vital instrument. ‘Cus I ain't from this bougie ass place where ya got me in grills and shit. We don't even get dental where I'm from!”
Well, he never got dental. He knows some rich kids out there probably did. But Jabber didn't mind, he liked his fucked up teeth, makes it easier to bite.
Zanka continued to look at him strangely. “You're the one who chose this place, Jabs. And you've been saving up for the grills for ages, what's wrong with them? It's not like dental is cheap here either.”
Jabber was really getting frustrated. How was he supposed to prove he ain't this man's… boyfriend or whatever. Why'd he even date this dude anyway?
Yeah, Zanka was some fine ass shit. And yeah he has thought before how they'd probably look good together (especially with how Jabber's looking right now-- hot damn!) But he isn't stupid enough to think that he'd date some trashy ass Cleaner who probably gets off on ‘protecting the weak’ or some shit.
But he can't deny, he and Zanka are more alike than he'd like to admit.
Zanka was just like him, even if he pretended he wasn't.
Like him, he was desperately looking for a fire that would never stop burning. Just like him, he wanted to fight until their limbs popped and squeezed, until their blood dribbled between them like some sick painting of raw power. Just like him, he saw the only value to their lives was pain. Sweet, delicious, pain.
But that surely wasn't enough to get him to what-- date him? What would be the point? Screwing him was worth more than that.
Suddenly, an unbidden thought emerges. I wonder how many times we've fucked on that big, comfy bed. I wonder how good it felt.
Well, that's the other weak-ass Jabber's prerogative. He ain't about that life.
Or at least that’s what he told himself.
Suddenly his head began to throb. Oh no, not this shit again!
He shook his hand out of the other and grabbed the side of his head. The blood rush from the fight and the sudden calm somehow made everything ten times worse. When's the last time he's felt a concussion before? He usually uses Mankira to get himself out of the pain, but without her…
He stares at his other hand, looking down at his rings. She was still beautiful, as always. Well taken care of, still. At least he knew this Jabber, despite being a loser, knew how to take care of what was important.
He felt another hand touch his head, the touch gentle as it was searching.
Jabber tried to stay still as Zanka inspected the wound.
“Oh God, no wonder you're saying all this shit, Jabs. You got a massive knot on the side of yer head! How'd this even happen?! Did ya get into a bar fight or something?!”
Jabber wanted to laugh.
Actually, why shouldn't he?
He laughs in Zanka's face, the ridiculousness of the situation starting to catch up on him.
Zanka looked at him like he was insane.
As he should!
“You did this, man. I ain't say you were Mr. Bad Attitude for nothin’! Ya got me real good with that stick of yours, next thing I know I woke up here! In this fugly ass room!” Okay, he actually liked the room. It felt cosy. But Zanka didn’t need to know that.
Zanka looked stunned. “...I did this to you? But I… I would never…”
Jabber laughed. “Yeah ya did! It hurt real good too, ain't ever felt nothin’ like it! It was like the whole world… shifted…”
He paused.
That's right. The world had felt so… odd. Like everything had frozen and turned neon pink. His body had felt like it got kicked through the ringer one moment, tumbling through gravity and fire and light and the next until he had just… stopped.
And then he woke up.
How is that possible?
Zanka was a giver, sure, but he wasn't able to make someone shift dimensions with a hit, right?
That would be such a crazy fuckin’ power to be hiding. He thought with a grin. ‘Average Joe’ his ass!
Zanka sighed, watching Jabber go into a spiral of thoughts as he carefully lifted himself off of him.
He reached for Jabber's hands, cutting Jabber's thoughts off as he was pulled to his feet.
“Look, if ya really want me to call Cthoni, I will. But I don't think she's gonna be able to do much. You say you're from some different dimension? You can tell me about it while we lie down. You can't be punching and kicking like that when you've got a tournament coming up-- didn't Zodyl tell ya that moving like that ain't gonna do yer body any good?”
Jabber froze. Zodyl? Huh? Since when did he give a fuck?
Zanka continued, gently leading and laying him onto the bed, before getting up and rummaging the room for something.
“Like, I even have the letter he wrote ya from when I had to get ya excused from classes last year. He specifically said, your hypermobility makes it imperative that you stick to steady, controlled movements. You literally just stopped needing those braces every night, I don't know how much your body can take now that you've gone out tryna start some shit with me.” Zanka shook his head, almost affectionately.
With a small ah! of approval, he comes back with a strange looking pillow and some weird ass rings.
“I get it, I really do. But we promised we'd get better about this shit together. So don't go back on yer end of the deal, awright?”
Jabber watched curiously as Zanka placed the pillow beside him, pushing it against his legs and back. He places another strange pillow to help his neck. Jabber kind of felt like a doll. He didn't hate it as much this time.
“Ya need me to help ya or do ya wanna do it yerself?” Zanka said, sitting comfortably beside him as he brought up those fuck ass rings for him to see.
“What the fuck is that shit?” He said, already feeling dread of what he might have to do.
The rings had a weird pivot to them, looking like they were meant to circle around his knuckles for some reason. Looked mad uncomfortable.
Zanka sighs. “Man ya really gotta get over this shit, man. I know it sucks to wear splints but remember-- you need to keep your hands steady, like a well oiled machine. It's not like you'll never wear your rings again, right?”
Holy shit. He really was asking.
“I don't ever take off Mankira-- especially not for those fuck ass rings!”
Zanka blinked. “Mankira? What do you mean? She's in the living room.”
Huh?
“I'm talking about my rings.” He says dryly. He doesn't know what Mankira is in this dimension, but he doesn't give a shit.
“...your mama's rings?” Zanka asked, confused, before setting those fuck ass rings away thank god.
Jabber tries not to flinch as his words caught up to him. Wait-- Zanka knew about that?
Wait shit, he's dating the motherfucker. ‘Course he woulda known.
Still, a part of him was kind of… worried. How close was this other Jabber to Zanka that he would… reveal that information to him? He kinda thought it wasn't that serious.
Surely I'm just dating him ‘cus he's a good fuck or something right? Yeah, I bet he got real possessive and wanted to make it official or some pansy-ass shit like that. Yeahhhh…
Zanka tilted his head cutely as he blinked up at him. “Jabber? Why ya lookin’ at me like that?” He says, a small frown-- almost like a pout-- on his face.
Jabber swallowed.
That was abnormally adorable. What the fuck.
“I just… uh. In my dimension I ain't tell nobody that. Kinda fucking weird you knew about it.” He says before he could stop himself.
Fuck! Why'd I say that!
Zanka looked, somehow, even cuter. He furrowed his eyebrows with a thoughtful look on his face. “I mean, ya ain't tell me on purpose. It kind of just happened. I'm guessing you forgot that?”
He reached for the bump against his skull, tracing the sensitive skin. Jabber hissed, enjoying the pleasant sting as Zanka's well manicured blue nails scraped against it.
Zanka smiled sweetly. “Ya like that? I'll try not to cause it to bleed again, so don't try to move around much and cause it to open up-- The pain ain't worth being in the hospital again.”
Again?
“Now tell me about this other dimension you're from. Maybe it can help me figure this shit out for ya.”
Jabber wants to scoff. Zanka clearly didn't believe him.
But as he felt the small ministrations shift from the knot to his neck, he couldn't find it in himself to argue.
“Alrigh’, well, uh. We ain't dating for one. I don't even wanna date. All I really care about is fightin’ and shit so iunno why I'm even doing this.” He says bluntly, gesturing between the two of them and expecting the other to look offended.
He almost wished he was, it would be better than however he's looking at him now.
Zanka seemed unperturbed, nodding thoughtfully as he listened. Like Jabber's words were the only ones worth listening to.
Jabber swallows. “And, uh, we got these-- these monsters. Trash beasts. From trash that falls from the sky, yannow. Seein’ as I'm not skin n’ bones, I'm guessing y'all don't have to worry ‘bout nothin’ like that. They be eating and killing people so often we ain't got time to eat much ourselves.” He says, keeping his tone carefully light.
Zanka continues his gentle caress, only giving a thoughtful hum in response.
Jabber looks away from the blonde's earnest look, staring instead at the Too Lily poster to his right.
“I dunno what we do with our treasures here, though. Usually me n’ you fight to the death with ‘em. Well, not just us. I'm usually tryna stop y'all with the other Raiders cus y'all wanna save others or some shit. I think it's a waste of time, though. Who cares about those weak ass losers? Ain't nothing important about saving their lives. But whatever, I'm only in it for the fights anyway. Zodyl gives me a name and points out a guy, I kill ‘em, get my fix, and keep it pushin’.”
He glanced back at the Cleaner, hoping his harsh words bring some sort of fire back in those eyes and not that… that weird ass gentleness he keeps looking at him with.
Finally, Zanka speaks. “Hm, so yer still like how you were before then? In yer memories, I mean. It's interesting that yer rememberin' all this stuff about fighting monsters, though. All I know was that you got into fights all the time in high school. Ya used to be well known, ya know. Even me, who was from the Nijiku Guard Academy a few months before transferrin’ here, heard about ya. ‘The Jabberwocky of Ground High.’ Always tryna fight and start shit, but always at the top of yer class even with that reputation.”
He smiled ruefully. “Ya don't remember but I really hated ya. Ain't ever liked geniuses. Especially someone who always bested me on tests and shit. I still remember that look you had, back then. When we first fought. I thought you was too beautiful to be doin’ all o’ this. Ain't see the point in ya wastin’ energy fightin’.” Zanka leaned against him, head resting against his stomach as he grins up at him.
Jabber flushes. Up close he could see the slight glitter of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. Not a burning blue flame, but a surging blue ocean. Those eyes looked at him with something short of worship.
“But I don't mind. I wanted to see if I could get that pretty face of yers to crack, to bleed. I wanted to kill ya so bad, ya were everything I detested.” He looks up at him with an adorable expression, eyes blinking slowly up at him like he could photograph Jabber's features into his soul if he stared long enough.
Jabber's head was spinning. Zanka… Zanka had thought so highly of him back then? Does… does that mean his Zanka…
No. Just because he was similar to the Zanka he knew doesn't mean he was the same.
But… To hear that he had once been more or less the same in this dimension did make him hate this loser version of himself a little less.
“Ya wanted to kill me?” Jabber says with a wicked grin.
Zanka hums, grabbing at his hands and massaging his fingers. “Mmm, yeah. I wanted to hurt ya so bad. Feel the way you broke so you felt even a speck of the shame and anger I felt every time I looked at ya. It was unfair, ya know. To be such a genius in everything. Couldn't even say ya were trash, cus ya clearly tried when it mattered to you. I hated it.”
“Careful, Zan-zan. Ya might make me fight ya again, and ya apparently don't wanna do that, right?” He says, trying to shift the conversation to something less… raw.
Zanka laughed, that melodic jingle like some sort of parasite in his chest. What the fuck.
“Right, right, my bad. All I'm sayin’ is that yer dimension seems pretty close to mine. Except we don't fight random beasts made of trash from the sky.”
He didn't like how flippantly Zanka was treating this. Like he ain't talking to someone who has killed and would kill again to reach a means to an end. He doesn't get this softness. He shouldn't be getting this at all.
“Did ya not hear about me saying all that shit about killin’ people? Tryna stop y'all from saving the weak? What if I told ya I nearly killed you?”
Zanka didn't say anything for a moment.
Good. Maybe he'll finally get a grip and I can stop feeling so goddamn--
“I guess I'm not surprised. We did kind of almost die that one time we fought. Not a pretty sight. And I guess if ya hadta choose between bein’ some hero and kill-for-hire, I can see that too. I mean, I'm guessin’ ya ain't got me an’ the others to help ya, right?”
Jabber blinked owlishly. What? “The others?” He echoed.
Zanka nodded, sitting up as he counted out names on his fingers. “Me, Riyo, Momoa, Rudo, Amo, Cthoni, Zodyl, Fu-- hell, even Enjin. We started to get along in high school when we were all seniors, yannow. ‘Course, then we got separated but we met again, here.”
He looked up at Jabber with that same goddamm soft expression.
He was really starting to resent his body for reacting to it so easily.
“So I guess it makes sense. What were you supposed to do? I probably would've been the same if I hadn't met the others. And besides--”
Zanka leaned against Jabber's shoulder and nosed his neck. “You would still be my Jabber.”
Jabber froze.
What the fuck.
What the actual FUCK.
He really was getting tired of having to control his breathing and shit, ya know. He really doesn’t like constantly losing his mind because of what-- a few weirdly possessive words from Zanka?
He already knew the man was possessive! Of course he would be the same anywhere else!
Though he hadn't thought he was for real that serious though… he thought in a panic.
Yeah, he was always saying shit about Zanka being possessive and romantic but… but Zanka wasn't supposed to know that! He ain't supposed to know anything about that! He's supposed to be all fire and fury, determination and hatred. Constantly pushing and pulling against Jabber as he tries to bring the other out into the open so they could make beautiful violence that brings them both to the end.
This… This was too much.
Zanka continued to play with his fingers, now tracing initials into his fingertips. “Well, what else? Ya said I hit ya or somethin’? We get into a fight?”
Why did he have to say it like a tease?!
“Yeah, man. You an’ the rest of yer ugly ass crew. Ya tried to murk me with that stick of yours, but obviously it wasn’t enough. I mean, I’m still kickin’! Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring ya boy Jabber down!” He says, trying to force himself to feel the cheer he was certainly not feeling right now.
Weirdly enough, Zanka looked at him like he knew.
He did NOT like that.
“What? Ya got somethin’ to say?” He says tightly.
Zanka hums, then shakes his head. “Ya don’t hafta front, ya know. ‘Least not with me. I’m not gonna leave ya just because ya say some shit. Just say it. No need to hide.”
Jabber felt himself bristle. “Hide? Hide what? I don’t front or nothin like that-- That ain't my style. I say what I’m sayin’.”
Zanka doesn’t respond to that. He just looks at him with that same, ugh, thoughtful expression. He’s really getting sick of this shit.
“Can you stop looking at me like that!” Jabber explodes. Zanka flinches at the sudden loudness, and Jabber relishes into the way his strong, full voice echoes across the room.
Zanka blinked. “Man, you really don’t remember, do ya?”
“I told you--”
“--That you’re not from this dimension. Yeah, I got it. I’m just sayin’ this really is a lot to take in. Ya can’t blame me for finding it hard ta believe.”
Tch. “Not my problem. I jus’ wanna leave this place and get back to fightin’. Ya said I got a tournament or something comin’ up right? Tell me about it. Please don’t tell me it’s some lame ass sport like… tee ball, or somethin.”
“...Tee ball.”
“I swear if it’s not somethin’ physical, I’ll--”
“It’s boxing. You’re a boxer, Jabber.”
Jabber paused.
Okay, well, not too bad. “So I get to beat people up with my fists, ey?”
Jabber could get used to that. He wasn’t used to fighting hand to hand, but he did enjoy the thrill of fighting with only your body to protect you.
“I’d really prefer if ya just stuck with biochem, though. I hate the idea that you could die from brain damage. There’s so many other sports where there isn't a high likelihood of ya dying before 50.” Zanka says with that pout again, worrying his pretty little teeth against his pretty little lip.
Jabber looks away before he could do something truly stupid. “Aw, Zan-zan! But it ain’t as fun--”
“--Yeah, yeah, it ain’t as fun without a little risk of head trauma or some shit. I know. Just remember to take care of yourself, okay?” Zanka looks up at him with that same expression, the one that looks into his soul and traps it beneath the weight of his words.
Jabber opens his mouth, then closes it. He did not like how effortlessly Zanka had predicted his next words.
Zanka finally sighs as he gets off Jabber and the bed.
Jabber decidedly does not think about how empty it feels without him tucked into his side.
He watches him stretch languidly, shirt riding up and revealing just a hint of the lean muscle beneath. God, those abs.
“Awright, Jabber. Lemme get ya Mankira before you pass out. I ain't wanna see you that frazzled again while I'm not here, okay? I'll just be cooking some soup for ya, but holler if ya need me.” he says, turning to Jabber with that adorable little upturn of his lip.
Ugh he hated that he couldn't resist it.
He looked away, flushing as he nods.
Whatever this other Mankira is, it better be worth--
Zanka opens the door and gives a small yelp of amusement. “Never mind! She's already here!”
---before Jabber feels small, fluffy paws crawl up his leg and onto his lap.
He blinks.
Ah.
So this is Mankira.
A pretty tortoiseshell cat stares up at him, the orange and black on its fur looking almost brown as it catches the light. It immediately began to purr, head bumping against his hand as if to urge it to touch her this instant.
Jabber obliged, letting his aching fingers trail the cat's head.
He hadn't seen a cat in so long, he almost forgot what they looked like. And were cats always this large? She was almost half the size of his legs lengthwise.
“Wow… you're…”
Beautiful.
He never thought he'd say that about a cat.
Okay, maybe loser Jabber has some good taste.
Zanka laughed prettily again, before walking back to Jabber and leaning in to pet the cat on his lap. “Aw, good girl. Always know when yer favourite ain't feelin’ the best, huh?”
He teases, arm wrapping loosely around his waist. Jabber could only think about the breath tickling his cheek.
“Mankira… is a cat?” He says uselessly. Anything to get his mind off the fact that Zanka's arm around his waist felt more comforting than the cat on his thighs. The faint pressure easing him into a numbness he only experienced with his poisons. The way it reminded him of the tight hold of mama, like she wanted to protect him from everything cruel.
“Mhm. She and Lovely are constantly cuddlin’ and shit. Mankira is 3, and Lovely is 1. I think you got her when ya first moved out of yer mama’s place... I’m just glad ya wasn't alone.”
He felt a small touch of lips against his cheek, Zanka kissing him sweetly before his arm slowly and carefully unwrapped from his waist. “I'm gonna make yer favourite, awright? I'll add extra spice an’ shit. So don't worry yer pretty head about bein’ in a different dimension and just relax. We'll figure it all out later.”
If Jabber was cognizant he would've noticed the teasing lilt of ‘different dimension’ in Zanka's voice, but unfortunately for him his thoughts were still on the soft caress of lips against his skin and the breath against his ear.
Holy shit.
Zanka hummed, walking back to the door he had gotten the cat from, leaving it slightly ajar as Jabber watched him saunter to something out of sight. Probably the kitchen. It wasn't a big apartment but he could already smell the lilting scent of spice and lemon.
Oh shit.
There was no strange ache in his lungs-- chest feeling clear and perfect when he took a breath. Not even a tiny lingering of trash could be smelt, either.
Clean air.
He's… he's never felt such clean air.
He takes a deep breath, hands gently rubbing against the fluffy creature on his lap as he did.
The cat purred, burrowing against his stomach in a way that shouldn't make him feel this… full.
He hears the light melodic movement of Zanka, humming some tune he didn't recognise as the clatter of dishes and silverware soothed his already unravelling nerves.
Maybe he could stay here, like this.
Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.