Chapter Text
Aibo was his pride and joy. He had built her from the ground up after his older sister had run the thing into the ground and totaled the car. His parents tended to not care too much about what he did these days– never around to care about anything Zanka was doing. Weekends, nights, afternoons were spent ripping out damaged parts and detailing. Finally, just before he passed his drivers test, he got her engine to turn over. His lovely Honda CR-V, working just for him.
From there, he spared no effort making sure that she was the best damn car in his school parking lot. That motor purred like no other– not even a shiny new Mercedes could compete. Zanka had spared no expense to wrap her in a beautiful navy, cut with white stripes, covering up the old chipping paint and weather damage. If someone even parked too close to him, he would freak out on whatever poor bastard happened to be there.
The morning sun filtered in through the windows, showing off the crystalline formations of ice that danced where his defrost couldn’t get to. Zanka, ever the idiot, was stuck taking an early morning chemistry lab for this semester of his college classes. Dual Enrollment was not for the weak minded, more than once he had wanted to skip a lecture to go hang out with his friends (or with Aibo), but the desire for a decent GPA tended to outweigh those thoughts.
For the most part, the lab was empty. The professor was sitting at the desk, grading papers and checking over reports from the weeks prior. Zanka dropped his findings from last week on her desk, and slid into an empty seat near the back of the room. There were only three other people in the room at the moment, two students from another high-school, and a weird guy from his English class at his school.
Jabber sat in the other corner of the room, opposite of Zanka. His headphones were on, not really paying attention to anyone in the room quite yet; more-so focused on whatever he was scribbling into his notebook. Zanka felt bad for whomever ended up at his table for the day. Jabber had a bit of a reputation for what the polite would call failing experiments. Zanka would call it blowing shit up.
During the first lab of the term, he’d all but melted some junior girl’s jeans when a bit of the acid they were working with splashed out of the erlenmeyer. She’d left crying, and he stayed. Laughing. Zanka had found the girl, Eishia, in the art building a few hours after class with Riyo, fixing up the damaged pant leg.
The room filled with students as the top of the hour came near, minute hand inching closer. The professor stood, finally glancing around the room. Zanka knew he would be working with someone random today, with his normal partner absent today. Band festival out of town, an incredibly big deal (...or so he was told). Nevertheless, Guita left their table abandoned, and Zanka was ready to partner up with–
“Ah, Mr. Nijiku. Would you move to Mr. Wonger’s station for today’s lab?”
With anyone but him.
Zanka was so fucked. He was going to leave this lab with chemical burns and trauma that would take a minimum of fifteen years to unpack. He felt like a robot, slinging his bag back over his shoulder and settling next to Jabber. He didn’t spare a glance when Zanka sat down, still scratching doodles on the margins of his paper. They were almost shoulder to shoulder at their desk, so close that Zanka could hear the music that leaked out of Jabber’s headphones.
“On your lab papers will be the process you will go through to observe and document what is known as ‘The Copper Cycle,’” The professor droned. “You will be using the fume hoods for this experiment. Please be careful with the gasses that are produced during the combination of reagents…”
At some point, Zanka couldn’t bring himself to pay attention anymore. He was barely getting A’s as it was, with Guita carrying the brunt of the work in most labs. In lectures, sure, he was great. However, in practicality… things tended to go sideways. The steady hum of Jabber’s headphones pulled his attention, the swapping of songs showcasing a familiar guitar line bleeding through the speakers. They listened to the same music. That was nice. Maybe they’d have something to talk about, if Zanka survived long enough.
“You have the rest of class to complete this lab. Begin.”
Zanka snapped back into reality with Jabber sliding his headphones off, resting around his neck.
“Go ‘n grab the copper, I’ll measure the other shit n’ we can be outta here quick,” Jabber spoke, boredom apparent in his tone, still refusing to look at Zanka.
“Yeah man,” Zanka shifted, standing up to grab the materials. “Uh, what’s the measurement?”
“Ten grams. Did y’ read the packet or what?”
“Don’t be an ass. Of course I did,” Zanka, in fact, had not read the packet. He skimmed it, once, immediately after last class.
Jabber grabbed the bottles in front of him, starting to put the provided chemicals into vials he pulled from the drawer next to him. “Cool. Copper? Soon?”
Zanka huffed, leaving the other alone. On the shelf across the room laid a spool of copper wire and a scale, with half the class crowded around it. He stood near the back of the crowd, not really wanting to rush back to his lab-partner.
“Got the short end of the stick, huh Zanka?” Eishia snuck up next to him, with a pained expression on her face.
“Yeah. This guy’s a dick. Any survival tips?” Zanka joked, lightly elbowing her arm.
She paused, pretending to think for a second. “Good luck?”
They laughed, nervous energy lingering in the tone. The memory of the incident from just a few weeks ago going unsaid.
“No, but seriously,” Eisha said, “He’s actually really nice, just a little… eclectic. He reminds me of Auggie sometimes..!” She trailed off as they moved closer towards the materials. Eishia was one of the smartest in the lab, typically one of the first out every day. Zanka wished that he ended up working with her, instead of being stuck with someone who would probably blow up his hand if given the chance.
“Here,” She passed him a vial, filled neatly to what Zanka assumed was the correct line, with the copper flakes they were using today. “Have fun! I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Eisha laughed as he sighed, taking the flask from her and wandering over to the fume hood where Jabber stood.
“Ten grams copper,” Zanka grabbed the clipboard off the surface next to him, starting to fill in the preliminary information on his lab report.
Jabber shifted, swiping the metal out of Zanka’s hand. “I’ll mix everythin’ up, just take the notes.”
“Cool.” This guy was an asshole.
He moved quickly over the paper, writing out intelligent-ish answers to the first few questions. Jabber started to mix things, swirling vials around before setting them down, and oddly, glancing over at Zanka after he did so. Jabber poured the copper into the main basin, Zanka crosschecked the equation. Jabber grabbed the acid to mix it with, Zanka… checked the equation again.
Time seemed to stop as he processed the measurements listed. One ounce of copper, not ten fucking grams. Zanka wasn’t the best at lab work but even he knew, if you mess up your measurements, nine times out of ten you were absolutely fucked. The type of gas that was released from the combination of the two agents was also incredibly dangerous. Holy shit, was Zanka about to accidentally burn this guy’s hand off? He watched Jabber combine the two, seeing the drops of nitric acid start to hit the metal, and smoke start to rise, quickly.
Zanka moved before he could even think, grabbing the basin of the solution with one hand, and slamming the fume hood as low as he could with the other. The look of… excitement? That Jabber seemed to have in his eyes was replaced by confusion as Zanka body-checked him out of the way of any real danger.
He waited for the heat to get to him, to start searing the fingerprints off his hand, holding the erlenmeyer as far away from him as possible. A beat passed. Then another. Then–
“Ha! Dude, what are you doing?” Jabber laughed at him, for the first time ever meeting his gaze, with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
Zanka flushed red. “I, uh, so you see–” The flask held in his hand was having a perfectly normal, as expected by the textbook reaction. Maybe running a little bit warm to the touch. “I thought that. Uh. I thought I put the wrong amount of copper in?”
He laughed harder as Zanka stood there, still clutching the vial like his life depended on it. Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Jabber spoke through his giggling.
“Zanka, Zanka, Zanka… What are we going to do with you?” He pulled Zanka just a hair closer, arm wrapping tighter. “Could’ve done some real damage now, huh?” Saccharine and lilting, voice catching on the vowels as his words wrapped around Zanka’s mind.
“Hm, Zanka? Is something the matter?” Eishia appeared from behind her desk, her own ingredients in hand with her lab partner trailing behind her.
Thank god. “Eishia! Quick question, how much copper did you put in that vial? Really, um. Really important.”
She looked at him like he had grown a second head. “An ounce, per the instructions? Zanka, are you feeling okay? Do I need to grab the professor for you?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Just not awake enough, I guess.”
Jabber tilted his head to the side, knocking against Zanka’s. “Oh that? Nah, I told y’ the wrong amount.”
“...What?” His mind went blank, a seed of rage starting to bubble up in his chest.
“Yeah…” Jabber tittered, leaning in closer, closer, closer yet– until his forehead was pressed against Zanka’s temple to whisper in his ear. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I like the burn of an… overreaction.” He had a habit of dragging out the ends of his words, every syllable catching against his teeth. Zanka had some strong feelings about that. For now, he was just pissed off that Jabber was just toying with him, some messed up game of cat and mouse.
“You,” Zanka said, grabbing Jabber’s hand and planting the flask hard in his hand. “Can fuck,” He slipped out from the other’s grasp, shoving the lab report into his now open hand. “All the way off.” Turning on his heel, he walked back to their desk, flipping Jabber off behind him.
Eishia hummed, setting her things down next to Jabber. “Well?”
“You were right. He is fun.”
—
Zanka was back in his car before he even knew where he was going, already dialing Riyo’s number.
“Hey hey! Go for Riyo, what’s up?”
He took a deep breath in, held it for a second, then released it.
“I just met. The WORST guy ever. I didn’t think it was possible to be that much of ‘n asshole, like, what? Oh my god Riyo, y’ wouldn’t even– I can’t even–”
“Ha! Eishia already texted me. I didn’t think your face could get that red, Zanka. Well? Tell me about him! I haven’t met Jabber– I think we have a class together next semester?”
“Ugh! One moment he’s acting like I don’t exist, the next he’s crawlin’ all over my skin! Riyo. He whispered. In my ear. Who the hell does that!”
Riyo paused, clearly thinking over her next words. “And… how does that make you feel, Zanka?”
“Fuck off.”
She giggled through the receiver, and Zanka could almost picture the scene. Splayed on her bed, kicking her feet as she painted her nails and made fun of him. The worst best friend ever.
“Seriously!” Riyo whined, “This is, like, the first time you’ve had this much emotion about anything other than your car.”
“Her name is Aibo and you will address her as such, thank you very much.”
“...Dude.”
Zanka sighed, sliding lower in his seat. “Okay. He’s kinda hot. But that means nothin’, okay?”
“Kinda?” Riyo’s suspicion seeped through the phone.
“...Very. Unfortunately to me he is very hot– but he is also a total freak and I hate him.”
A muffled voice came from outside his passenger window.
“Zankaaaa, hate ‘s a strong word!” His passenger door opened and shut quickly. Enter: Jabber. In his car.
“There’s no way–” Riyo said, before quickly getting cut off by Zanka fumbling to end the call.
“What the fuck?” He felt that burning start to build in his cheeks, once again caught unaware by the other man, sepia skin and piercing magenta eyes drawing his attention.
“You ran off! I wanted to talk more, man,” Jabber popped open his glovebox, peering inside for something. “Huh, no napkins? Aren’t ya just freaky!”
“I don’t leave trash in my car– What are you, why are you–”
“Like I said,” He closed the compartment. Reaching into his pocket with one hand and grabbing Zanka’s arm with the other.
“Hey! What the hell?”
“Wanted to talk more.”
Jabber pulled out a marker, biting off the cap and scrawling something on Zanka’s hand. “Hold still.” He murmured.
Zanka didn’t think his face could get any more red. Riyo was never letting him live this down. Every drag of the pen sent a jolt of energy through his body, his vision laser focused on Jabber’s face as he wrote.
“Aaaaand done. You’ll call, yeah?” Splayed across his arm was Jabber’s phone number, bold and dark against his skin.
“I. Ah, yeah.” Zanka stuttered. How pathetic could he be?
Jabber grinned, taking a good look at Zanka’s face; flushed like a beet. “Mmm, forgot somethin’.” He twisted the other’s arm, finding a spot of empty skin. Zanka watched line after line show up, forming the outline of a kiss on his hand. Jabber capped the pen once more, sliding it back into his pocket and holding up his apparent canvas. “That’s better!”
Before Zanka could respond, Jabber pressed a quick kiss to the inked lips on his hand, and slipped out of his car with a wave. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear through his chest. Dear god, that couldn’t be a good sign.
Aibo’s AC blew as Zanka willed the blood to leave his face, willed himself to act normal for once in his goddamn life. Riyo’s contact lit up the screen of his phone, breaking the silence he sat in with a cheerful ringtone. He swiped across the screen, accepting the call— only to be met with Riyo’s unhinged laughter.
“Zanka’s got a crush!”
—
Zanka’s bedroom was on the wrong side of minimalist; impersonal and cold. His bed was neat, his dresser was clear, and his desk was home to his computer and homework. There was a small polaroid taped to his wall–him and his friends at a park, taken by Riyo. One of his most treasured possessions.
The smell of isopropyl taunted him as he sat hunched over his desk to work. He’d written Jabber’s number down on a stray piece of paper in his bag. Not like he was going to call him or anything like that, that would be insane of him to do. He’d scrubbed the marker off his arm, leaving the skin red and mottled, the remains of hand sanitizer scenting his skin. The few lines that remained kept him from focusing on his work.
X squared plus 5X plus six equaled– was the outline on his hand the actual outline of Jabber’s lips?
The author’s intended message in this work is– why didn’t he give Jabber his number as well?
The atomic weight of Zinc is calculated by– should he call?
Our group’s findings in Experiment 4 were as follows. He should call.
Two hours of fruitless attempts to focus left daylight slipping past. His next class was in an hour, at his high school, and if he was late one more time Corvus was going to have his head. That piece of paper, calling out like a siren’s song. Zanka tapped his fingers on his desk. Shifted his notes around. Leaned back in his chair, tipping back and then—
Ten quick taps and he was done for.
The line rang once, twice, three times. Zanka thought about hanging up. Fuck, this was a mistake. He should cut his losses now and just block the number.
The ringing cut abruptly, fabric jostling as someone spoke. “Hey stranger. Lemme guess… Zanka?” Jabber’s voice, honey smooth and catching on every syllable.
“Yeah! Uh. Yeah. Didn’t wanna be an ass and leave ya hanging, so…” Zanka trailed off, not knowing where to go with the end of his sentence.
“Weird… ‘Cause you’re always a bit of an ass. Tryna make amends?"
Was there a vein popping out of Zanka’s forehead? Because he could definitely feel one forming. “Okay, fuck you. Why did I bother even calling?”
“Not too much now Mr. Bad Attitude! Gotta play nice over the phone. I prefer my fights in person y’know.”
“I’m going to beat your ass, Jabber.” He hissed.
“Mmgf– you promise?”
Holy fuck. Jabber was fucking whimpering at him. What. What.
“...ello? Zaaaankaaa, hello? Can’t leave me hangin’ like that…”
“What,” Zanka was burning up. If you took his temperature right now, it would probably read with a number so high you would wonder how he wasn’t dead. “Is wrong with you?”
Jabber huffed a laugh, and Zanka could almost hear the grin he had on. “I know what I like. ‘S that so bad?”
God, he couldn’t take this anymore.
“Well,” Zanka said, a bit too loud, standing up with a start. “For one thing, this is the first time we’ve even had a real conversation, what happened to first impressions!” He paced around his room, back and forth, side to side, then out his door towards the garage. “And for another, askin’ to get beat up– I mean– it’s– agh! What the fuck?”
The cool air of the room hit him like a wall, highlighting just how warm his face was. “What’s the goal? Get hit or don’t? You act like that, no one’s gonna wanna–”
There’s some boxes on his shelf. A new filter, some spark plugs, and some hoses. There’s another project car that he and August were working on, the parts had been delivered yesterday. August would forgive him for making progress without him, so long as Zanka could focus on one thing long enough to be able to. His hands moved without his brain behind it, grabbing the first thing he saw off the wall from his workbench.
“And another thing–” This was embarrassing. Zanka was waving a wrench around for some reason, phone pressed tight between his ear and his shoulder, accent slipping through and a chiding energy to the motion, as if Jabber was actually there. “Y’ can’t just moan into th’ damn phone! Way too soon for that! I can’t even believe–”
Jabber cuts him off before he knows that he’s stopped speaking. “So… you’re sayin’ that there will be a time where that’s–”
“I have work to do!’ Zanka all but shouts. ‘I, uh. I have work to do. Piss off, Jabber.”
“Hey, you called me,” Jabber shot back. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He sing-songed, the ghost of a laugh chasing his tone.
Damnit. Their one other class together. English, with Mr. Caines. God damnit.
“Fuck off.”
—
“Rudo, I can’t even begin to express how much of a total ass this guy— ThankyouforchoosingMcAkuta’swhatcanIgetstartedforyoutoday.”
Like the majority of people with expensive hobbies, Zanka (unfortunately) had to work to pay for them. Every shift at McAkuta’s was in a competition in his mind for the worst experience ever, but Aibo needed new cooler lines and those would not pay for themselves.
He shot a look at his coworker, hopefully communicating the sheer agony that he was going through. In response, Rudo flipped the burger he was cooking. Hopefully in solidarity. Zanka tapped the order into the computer, flipping his headset back down. “$12.80 at the first window.”
“There’s this girl at my school,” Rudo began, hands flying around the grill, “She put one of her socks in my locker, which was weird. But now she’s really nice, so, I get it.”
“Yeah, but this guy’s not nice, man,” Zanka said, turning back towards Rudo and swiping the card of whomever was at his window. “He’s, like, a total freak!”
“Girls are just like that, Zanka!” His manager, Enjin, rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Trust me, kid. I’ve been around long enough to know a thing or two about dating–”
“Ew, ew, ew. Please stop talking.” Zanka cringed, folding in on himself with a grimace.
“You’ll appreciate it someday, isn’t that right Rudo?”
“...”
“Rudo?”
“......”
Enjin huffed. “Rough crowd. Zanka, take your break. Riyo’s in the usual spot.”
“Thanks, back in ten.”
“Ah, take fifteen?” He grinned, sheepishly. “I’m putting you in charge for a bit when you get back. I’m running over to Panera to meet with their owner.”
Rudo shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Again?”
“It is for important inter-building… uh, information. Zanka, go to break.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice.” He slipped out of the kitchen, heading into the mostly empty dining space to meet Riyo at a booth, where she sat already sipping on a soda.
“Be honest. Is he fuckin’ the Panera guy?” Zanka said, sliding into the chair.
Riyo took a long sip of her drink. “Oh, totally. Keeps coming home with long hair on his shirt and reeks of someone else’s cologne. I still haven’t seen the guy, though.”
“Ugh. I hate when he’s like this. Y’ remember that barista?”
Riyo laughed. “Who, Gris? He still comes around sometimes. I try not to think about it too hard. He’s nice, though.”
“Urgh…” Zanka shuddered. “I don’t want to think about Enjin’s personal life while we’re on the clock.”
She scoffed, “You think I like being aware of my Dad’s sex life?”
“Jesus– don’t talk about my manager like that. I feel sick.”
“Mhm,” She leaned back, pausing for just a second while something sinister traced her eyes, “So, how’s your boyfriend?”
Zanka choked on the air, sputtering at her words, “He’s not– I’m– We’re not–”
“I’ve never seen you that red before! Holy shit! Zanka you look sunburnt!” Riyo shoved a hand into her bag next to her, fumbling for her phone. “I’m taking a photo of this!! Hold still–”
He lunged over the table, grappling with Riyo for her phone as she snapped picture after picture. Zanka was never going to live this down. Eventually, he gave up and let Riyo have her way. The two fell into easy conversation for the rest of his break, while Zanka’s mind wandered.
Riyo, undoubtedly, was his closest friend. She’d been there for him before he even knew that he needed someone in his corner. At this point, they were basically siblings. Though, he’d never acknowledge Enjin to be anything like a father figure to him. Certainly not. That would be crazy of him. He did give Zanka a key to the house, which he used frequently. He also got him this job, just over a year ago. There was only so much Zanka could do to stay out of his house, and Enjin knew that well. He may have been young, but Enjin was a damn good father.
“Yo, Zanka!” Enjin appeared behind the two, leaning up against the divider between booths. “You’re back, and I’m out. Here’s the manager pin, call me if Remlin sets the grill on fire again! Back in thirty! Bye!”
Zanka and Riyo paused, watching the door swing closed behind him as Enjin scampered out.
Sharing a look, they both spoke simultaneously.
“He won’t be back for an hour.”
—
Zanka was up bright and early to make it to one of his few classes at the high school, English Lit. Admittedly, English was one of his worse subjects, however Mr. Caines tended to be a fairly kind teacher– or at least appeared to be. That was until his monthly seating chart update.
Tamsy Caines sat stone-faced behind his desk, the top half of his hair pulled into a loose bun behind him. Behind him was a projection that all but spelled Zanka’s own doom. Back corner. Two person desk. Jabber Wonger, and Zanka Nijiku. Fuck him.
“Is something the matter, Zanka?” Tamsy hummed, peering up from whatever papers he was grading.
“Uh, no. Sorry, just… trying to find my name.”
“By all means,” he said, going back to his stack of papers.
Zanka slinked to the back table, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen three times a week, for the next month. What would Jabber do? Fuck, Zanka wouldn’t be able to focus at all with Jabber right next to him. Would he waste paper to pass him notes? Would he sit just a hair too close? Or would he whisper in his ear while the teacher was talking, leg pressing against his and–
“Hey, Mr. Bad Attitude in the flesh! What’s up, man? Didn’t think I’d be this lucky today, damn!” Enter: Jabber, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking down at him with something sharp in his grin.
“Jabber…”
“Hey now, don’t be like that!” Jabber said, slipping around behind him to get to his seat– placing a hand on Zanka’s back and trailing it with him as he walked. “This’ll be fun, yeah?”
“Just, don’t distract me. If you can manage,” Zanka bristled, once again willing the heat in his face to go away.
“Mm, snippy today, are we?” Jabber leaned in, shoulder brushing against Zanka’s own. “Makes it fun.”
“Jesus. Fuck off, class is starting.”
Tamsy started to speak, standing up from his desk at the front to talk over his slides for the day. They were starting a unit on ‘literary analysis in film’ or whatever Mr. Caines was calling it. A series of three movies, each accompanied by an analytic essay, to be watched and written over the course of three months. Zanka tried to pay attention, he really did, but everything about the man next to him pulled his focus.
The scratch of his pencil, the cool metal on one of his locs that brushed against his arm, the smell of his cologne, Zanka was royally fucked. And, oh, did Jabber know it. He’d whisper little jokes to him, draw tiny doodles in his notebook, and constantly poke, poke, poke. Zanka felt like he was freefalling– excited, yet sat with a curdling fear burning a hole through his chest.
“...Please understand,” Zanka picked back up on what Tamsy was saying, hearing the bell ring for dismissal. “That this is a partner project. You will be working with your deskmate, please coordinate before leaving today, dismissed.” The teacher sat back down at his desk, sliding his glasses back onto his face and beginning to grade again.
Zanka felt a pair of eyes on him, burning into the side of his face. Despite his better judgement, he turned to face the other.
‘Well,” Jabber said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You’ve got my number.”
—
The afternoon crept by as Zanka felt the last few beams of sun leave his back. August and him had the hood propped up on a Subaru Impreza, replacing the air intake system before jacking it up to swap out the differentials. Rudo did the truly important job though– holding the flashlight and handing them parts. Riyo and Eishia sometimes helped them as well, however today they were enamored in possible decals they could slap on the side. Every Thursday evening, the five of them all crammed into Zanka’s garage, living room, or even at the park nearby.
“Dude, I dropped a screw!” August, loud as ever, shrieked as he quickly leaned into the hole they’d created, Rudo following quickly with his light. The blond had a way of snapping Zanka out of his own thoughts.
“Are you for real? Riyo–”
“Already on it!” Riyo shot up from the workbench she was perched on, grabbing a sliding board and slipping underneath the car.
“I think I got it!!”
“Ack– August, that's my hair!”
“Auggie, please be careful!”
“Ouch! August, hair!”
“Nah I got it, I got it!!” August shot a smile Zanka’s way, as if he wasn’t causing chaos incarnate with his actions. Just another Thursday.
With a sigh, Zanka elbowed the taller man out of the way. “Move, I got smaller hands.”
“Okay!”
“Volume, August…”
“Okay!!”
Zanka gave the car a good shake, making sure to not accidentally crush Riyo. Something clattered for just a second, hitting against the shiny metal of the exhaust.
“Zanka, that fell on my head! Asshole.” The redhead slid out from under the vehicle, tiny screw in hand. “Eishia, it’s your turn next.”
Unfortunately for Riyo, the girl wasn’t paying attention to her, instead she had wandered across the room, holding something in her hand.
“Ah, Zanka, your phone has been ringing…! Sorry, I meant to say something earlier. It’s been going off for about… ten minutes?” Eishia said, holding out Zanka’s phone to him.
“Fuck, thanks Eish’. Be right back, guys.” Internally, he was a bit freaked out. The only person who ever called, hell, who even texted him that much was his mother, and if he had ignored her for this long, then… Zanka saw the screen light up on his cell and answered before he could even read the number.
“Hello, sorry about missing your calls, I was–”
“Man, what? You’re good, I was just botherin’ you to bother, y’know?”
Fucking Jabber?
Zanka felt a blood vessel start to pop out of his temple. “Fuck’s wrong with you, blowin’ up my phone like that? I thought it was important.”
“Aw, scared that Mommy’s gonna get mad? Little Zanka’s still under ball ‘n chain?” Jabber leered.
“...What do you want?”
The other paused for a second, somehow being thrown off his rhythm. “Uh, English project? I don’t mind workin’ without ‘cha, but somethin’ tells me that you wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Always so cranky… Y’ gotta chill sometimes, Zanka.” If he heard Jabber ever say his name like that again, that teasing, slightly condescending way, something in him was going to snap. Zanka was really hoping that the reason being was rage, and not something else.
“Dude, fuck you. Just– come to my place tonight and we’ll start it, or whatever.”
Jabber gasped over the phone, making Zanka already regret his offer. “The Zanka? Inviting me over? I’m flattered, really, but surely people tend to get dinner first, before–”
“Okay, never-fucking-mind. I’m emailing Mr. Caines for a new partner, I am not dealing with this.”
The older of the two laughed, cackling with joy as he spoke again. “Sure, man. Send me your location, I’ll be ‘round in, like, two hours.”
“Cool. Sure. Whatever. Fine. I will send you my address.” Zanka hissed, cheeks hot with embarrassment, and just a tinge of excitement.
A loud thud came from behind the garage door, pulling Zanka’s attention.
“Uh, I need to go, Jabber. Just, give me a sec’ to–”
“Guys, Zanka is inviting a boy over after we leave!!” August’s voice carried through the wall, apparently having been eavesdropping this entire time. Zanka was so fucked. He hung up just as something else carried through the wall, a cacophony of his friends' voices.
“August, volume!”
—
The hum of the streetlights outside Zanka’s house held steady through his veins, keeping him on edge as he tried to find things to clean in the garage. It was stupid, really, but part of him wanted Jabber to know that he was a capable individual– someone smart enough to stay on the level. Why that translated into Zanka trying to sand out stains on his workbench by hand was anyone's guess. Maybe Riyo would know.
A dusty blue Ford Fusion idled to a stop in front of Zanka’s place, and it took all he had to not look at it. The brake pads were probably worn down, Zanka could fix that for him. He could fix everything about that car, broken or not, and Jabber would— God what was Zanka’s damage? He needed to pull his head out of his ass.
“Hey, nice place!” The slam of a car door sounded, and there was Jabber, walking up the driveway towards Zanka, and coming to a stop just outside the threshold of the garage. “You look busy.”
“Eh, not really.” Fuck yes. Zanka is going to get to show off his car skills. “Just cleanin’ up a bit, was workin’ on a friend’s car when you called.”
“Didn’t take y’ for a car guy.” Jabber hummed, picking up a wrench and twirling it around in his hand.
“Nothin’ more than a hobby, I’m no professional.” Zanka swept the pile of sawdust off the table, finally turning to face Jabber next to him. “Cheaper than going to the shop, yeah?”
“Huh. Y’ fix up your own car too?” He asked, shooting a look towards Zanka, then going back to inspecting the various items strewn about on the desk.
“Basically built her myself, actually. Aibo, my pride and joy. She was basically totalled when m’ sister dumped her on me a few years back.” He smiled, basking in the joy of flexing his repair skills on another person. There was an electrifying tension in the room, a silence that Zanka was just waiting for Jabber to break, for him to say how cool Zanka was, how skilled he must be.
Jabber stilled, sucked in a breath, and Zanka was ready to hear–
“...Aibo? You named your car… Love Stick?”
“What? No? What?” Zanka felt a pit form fast in his stomach, while Jabber turned towards him with that all too familiar grin– nose scrunched from how hard he was smiling.
“Zanka, y’ named your car after–”
“No– No, I did not– Fuck you. You know what? Fuck you, Jabber.” Zanka spun on his heel, walking briskly into the house and slamming down the button to close the garage. “Don’t talk to me about my car–”
“Your car that you brought up.” Jabber added, a faux innocence lacing his tone as he slipped inside.
“My car that you insulted! I was going to be a good host,” Zanka whirled around, gesturing at carefully set bags of chips, dip in a bowl– not the container it was stored in, and a bag of candy sitting sealed on his couch. “But you piss me off so much–”
“Did you go to the store just for me?”
“Yes– No. Maybe. Fuck off. I want this over with as soon as humanly possible.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Bad Attitude…” Jabber brushed past him, snagging the tortilla chips off the table and crashing hard on Zanka’s couch. “Remember, Zan-Zan, loosen up! ‘S no fun if you’ve got a stick shoved up your ass!”
Zanka sighed, embarrassment finally starting to ease off his mind. “Don’t even make the joke, I’m sick of you already.” He grabbed the other snacks from the kitchen, much to his chagrin, and settled up against the armrest. “What are we watching.”
“Thought we’d start with ‘Contact’. We have a list though, if you prefer somethin’ else.” Jabber said, eyes darting over to the other side of the couch.
“It seems fine. I don’t really watch a lot of movies.”
“Really? We’ve gotta change that, man.”
“Kinda the goal of this project, right?” Zanka huffed, crossing his arms. “Remote’s on the coffee table.”
Jabber flailed around on his side of the couch, nearly kicking Zanka in the nose as he did so. The metal on his locs clinked softly as he sat up, hitting the power button and sitting like a normal person for the first time, he presumed, ever. “This one’s kinda weird. I think you’ll like it.” He said, pressing play on the film and leaning back into the cushions.
For all intents and purposes, Zanka should have been focused on the movie. Hell, he needed to be; one more missed assignment and Mr. Caines was going to drop him a letter grade. Yet the cold lighting that flashed from the television screen caught Jabber in such a way Zanka thought he was going to die. Was it weird for him to want to move closer towards the other man? He could probably play it off as just stretching. Enjin had mentioned something about yawning?
Jesus. If he was taking Enjin’s dating advice, he was further gone than he would like to admit.
Jabber himself was fully immersed in the film, sitting criss-cross and clutching a throw pillow in his lap. Scenes flashed across his irises, characters flitting across the screen reflected in that pink-magenta hue. Was Zanka staring too much? He was probably staring too much.
Unfortunately, trying to focus back on the movie left him with more questions than answers. To Zanka, the plot seemed to be nonsensical, sci-fi drivel. There was one guy that looked like August, yet fused with a beaver, and he was not a fan of that.
The film dragged on, and Zanka found himself still saddled with questions. Questions, not from lack of attention, but at the sheer absurdity of plot. The main character was launched into space, with quite possibly the worst CGI he had ever seen, and Zanka was at a loss for words.
“Are you serious? Jabber, this sucks.”
“Quiet. Pay attention.” A simple command, and yet Zanka felt something in him snap to attention. God, how embarrassing. If he had a tail right now, it would be wagging.
By the time the credits rolled, Zanka was all but pissed off. He wasn’t even a fan of movies in the first place, but this had to have been the worst thing to ever grace a theater.
“So?” Jabber questioned. “What d’ya think?”
Zanka shifted, now turning to face the other man, and spoke with a calmness that he was entirely new to him. “If I ever. See that movie again. I’m removing my eyeballs with a goddamn spoon.”
“Ha! Really? What about all the science-y stuff? Not a fan?” Jabber laughed, turning the same, and shifting closer towards the center of the couch.
“Is that your definition of science?” Zanka scoffed. “Even a child would know more about space than whoever wrote this.”
“Yeah?”
“I certainly did! ‘nd another thing, this fuckin’ shitbag of a movie doesn’t even pass the Bechdel test!”
Zanka rambled on, passion mixed with anger seeping fast into his phrases. Jabber, ever the antagonist, egged him on more and more– a non-committal hum, a stifled laugh, a slight raise of an eyebrow to set him off again. Zanka felt almost like he had something to prove.
Before he knew it, he was almost in Jabber’s lap; having shifted forward with every exclamation or gesture he made. Realization hit him as he looked at sharp rosy eyes that pierced daggers into his own.
“...Anyway. I didn’t like it. …Sorry for, uh, being dramatic about it.” Zanka mumbled, readjusting himself to try and make room between them.
He flinched as a cold hand grabbed his wrist before he could fully move away. “Y’know, Zan-Zan, you do this thing, ‘s weird…” Jabber hummed, giving a slight tug on his arm to get him to stay near. “Y’change how you speak ‘round people. D’ ya know that?”
Zanka froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Um. Yes. My parents dislike the way that I speak, so… I try to stay normal– uh– professional.”
“Fucking normal?”
Fuck. Shit. Goddamnit.
Jabber tugged on his arm again, pulling Zanka ever so slightly off balance so that he slipped, now having to look up at the other. “Don’t do that shit ‘round me, yeah? ‘S fuckin’ creepy, Zanka. Y’get me?”
“Uh, understood…?”
“No, say it right.”
“...I got ya.”
“Better.” Jabber sighed, loosening his grip. He sighed, cocking his head to the side with a lazy grin. “Anyway, that movie sucked shit. I just wanted to piss you off a ‘lil.”
A beat, and then–
“Oh, fuck you, man.” Zanka breathed, desperately trying to ignore whatever feeling was curling up in his ribcage. “Get outta my house, Jabber. ‘S like, almost midnight. We’ve got lab in the morning.”
“Sounds like someone’s got a curfew…” Jabber crooned, crossing his arms. Zanka couldn’t help but mourn the loss of contact on his own skin.
“Dude, ‘m fuckin’ tired. Scram.” He sent a light punch into the older teen’s shoulder, a crooked smile finding itself upon his face.
“Ooh, a taste test for later? Zan, aren’t ya a tease!”
Zanka flushed slightly, looking away from the other towards the floor. “Goodbye, Jabber.” He said, falling backwards to lie on the empty couch behind him.
Jabber’s face appeared above his, leaning down over the armrest to look down at him. Locs framing his face, Zanka felt like he was trapped in a tunnel of gold rings, pink eyes, and the intoxicating scent of campfire. “I’m takin’ the rest of the chips with me. Cool?”
“Asshole.”
“Be a good host, Zanka!” He smiled, dragging out his name– saccharine and condescending, per usual.
“Lock the door when you leave.”
“How?”
“Uh… Just whack the keypad a few times. Should do the trick.”
With a hum, Jabber disappeared from his vision. The quiet sound of a door closing, followed by a couple of hearty whacks against wood let him know that he was alone.
Zanka thanked every God in existence that his parents weren't home tonight. Holy shit. There was this overwhelming desire in his very soul that he couldn’t physically ignore anymore, and Jabber knew all the right things to say to him. Sit, stay, beg. Fuck, Zanka would bark for this guy, at this point.
A firm grip on his arm, a visceral command, all things he craved– things he needed. Yet, that was just how Jabber was. A flirt, a maniac, a masochist. All the same, Zanka sent one last glance towards his front door, making sure he was alone, and let a hand trail down towards his waistband. He was going to remember this night for a while.
—
Closing with Enjin always led to no end of strange, thought provoking questions directed his way. Tonight his dear manager had hidden in his office, glued to his phone whilst Zanka was left to handle a late night rush of drunk girls. Normally, Enjin would be all smiles on the register, chatting away while he let the teen hide from the thick taste of booze that followed people like that around. Yet, the door to his office stayed shut. Something was wrong.
“Okay, are you done sulking? Y’have a register to balance.” Zanka said, throwing open the door to Enjin’s office and taking a seat across from him, crossing his arms disapprovingly.
“Don’t you have a kitchen to clean?” Enjin grumbled.
“Been done for twenty minutes. Front’s also done. In fact, Enjin, I’m clocked out right now!” He hissed the last few words, eyes creasing with a deranged sort of anger.
“Oh. Go… home?”
“Enjin. Five drunk blondes were in the store, and you closed your blinds. Are y’ dying? Be honest with me.”
The blond sucked in a breath through his teeth, tensing up a bit before speaking. “It’s… adult stuff.”
“Enjin.”
“Fine, Zanka! Gris is moving. Next month. I’m not taking it well. Are you happy now? Huh?” Enjin spat, clearly at his wits end.
“Oh.”
“...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” The older man sighed, putting his head in his hands. “I haven’t told Riyo yet. Hell, I found out today.”
Gris had been around the Reaper household often when Zanka and Riyo were younger. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened between Enjin and the barista, however they were still on good terms. As of late, Riyo didn’t speak about him much. People had busy lives, or so he assumed, and Gris Rubon faded to a memory in Zanka’s camera roll.
“I’m sorry for your, uh, loss.” Zanka said. “Where’s he going?”
Enjin scoffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not even far. He’ll be an hour’s drive. It’s fucking stupid, I’m upset over nothing.”
“But..?”
“But I know I’ll never see him again, Zanka. Once a month becomes every three months, then once a year, and then never. I only have so many friends, y’know?”
“Yeah.”
Enjin lowered his head to the desk, and slumped his shoulders. “Weird fucking night. Sorry, kid.” He sat up, shaking off the negative buzz around him. “Let’s finish up here, get you home.”
“Well, wait.” Zanka said. “You have the Panera guy. Isn’t he your friend?”
The older man stilled, something flashing across his eyes. “...Yeah. You could say that.”
“I don’t think you should be alone tonight, Enjin. Call him. I’ll deal with the register.”
“...Thanks, Zanka. I’ll be out to help in a second.” The blond murmured, poorly hiding his voice cracking with emotion.
Zanka got to work once again as he left the office, swallowing the awkwardness in his throat and finishing up the till quickly. He stole a cursory glance back at the office, mostly to make sure Enjin wasn’t still wallowing, and saw him standing in front of the desk– a small smile on his face that Zanka hadn’t seen in a while. His eyes creased with a fondness towards whomever was on the other end of the line, something so hopeful in the action.
With a quiet beep, the register finished processing the bills that he”d imputed a minute ago. They were officially done closing. Zanka supposed he should actually clock out now, instead of making the vague threat of it towards his manager. However… he turned over his shoulder once again, seeing Enjin start to wear his heart on his sleeve again, and decided against interrupting him.
He slipped through the kitchen, grabbing his clothes from his locker and heading into the bathroom to change. The smell of oil and meat clung to him like a bad perfume, sticking to his hair, his skin. Zanka tossed his uniform down next to him, sliding on a hoodie to brace for the chill outside air.
He paused, taking a look at his appearance in the mirror. His hair was greasy, an uncouth sight that bothered him more than it should. God, was anyone going to give him the time of day when he looked like this? Zanka leaned in a bit closer towards the mirror, shifting his head to get a better view of his face. His skin was disgusting. Why would Jabber care enough to–
Slam! “Oh-kay, Zanka! What else needs done ‘round here!” Enjin’s voice echoed from down the hallway.
Fuck. What the hell was with him recently?
Zanka stepped out of the bathroom, taking his stained uniform with him.
“I finished everything. Clock out, man…” The teen grumbled, sliding his phone out of his pocket as he walked towards his manager.
“Eh?” Enjin questioned, whirling around to face Zanka. “Hey– great job, kid! I’ll see if I can’t adjust your pay for today.” He clapped a hand on the younger’s shoulder, a buzzing energy about the older blond that Zanka was happy to see again. The praise went straight to his head, something he was far more aware of as of late, yet all he could think of was sharp magenta eyes and mixed metals.
“Whatever…”
It wasn’t quite freezing outside yet, a biting cold that tended to precursor a few weeks of ice– if they were lucky, some snow as well. Enjin, per usual, relied on a spark of a lighter and a Marlboro Red to keep him warm. The two of them paused on the sidewalk, both hesitant to move to their respective cars just yet.
“Can I get your advice on something?” Zanka blurted out before his brain could catch up to what he was saying.
Enjin chuckled, taking a seat on the edge of the frigid concrete he was standing on. “Of course, Zanka.”
He took a breath, bracing himself for what he was about to say. “There’s… a guy.”
“Mm?”
“He’s a total pain in my ass.”
“Aren’t they always…” The blonde said, taking a short drag of his cigarette.
“We’re partnered for this… project. Y’know, the movie one.”
“Ah, yeah. Riyo’s working with Eishia on that. What did you watch this week?” Enjin questioned, not knowing the can of worms he had just opened.
“Here’s the thing!” Zanka exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “He picked a movie that he knew was bad. Just to piss me off! And then–”
“Oh boy.”
“He just– just kept setting me off! For his own amusement! Just to argue! Who does that?” Zanka hissed, crashing down on the sidewalk next to his boss. “Fuck. That movie. And fuck him, too!”
Enjin huffed, amusement evident in his tone. “Sounds like a real piece of work. Just get a new partner, yeah?”
“...”
“There it is. Not so simple?”
“...No. Not really.”
The older man looked up towards the sky, abandoning his still burning cigarette for just a second. “Listen, Zanka. I might not be your own flesh and blood, but I still care about you. Save yourself the time, okay?”
“You’re right…” Zanka mumbled, looking at the road in front of him.
“Nah. Not really. Just been burned too many times. From what I’ve seen…” Enjin trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. “Be honest with yourself. Hell, say it out loud when you’re alone. Keeps the heart stable, I think.”
“Huh.”
“Alright, time for you to get home, kid. It’s late, and I have somewhere to be.” The blond said, standing up, and holding out a hand to pull Zanka up as well.
He took the outstretched hand, hauling himself up. “Mr. Panera?”
Enjin grinned, a glint in his eye telling Zanka everything that he needed to know. “Oh yeah. It’s his day off tomorrow, y’know.”
“Ew, gross.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, listen Zanka.” His boss said, stubbing out the smoldering ember on his cig. “Call me, if you need advice. I’m here for you, okay?”
“...Okay. I will.” Zanka said, slightly embarrassed.
“Good. Now get home!” Enjin laughed, crossing the parking lot towards his rusted Jeep Wrangler.
Zanka watched him pull out of the parking lot, just a tinge faster than normal, through the windshield of Aibo; the idle hum of her engine soundtracking his internal monologue. Be honest. Say it out loud. Fucking admit it, you coward.
“I have feelings for Jabber.”
…But no, that was still wrong. Zanka couldn’t place the rotting feeling nestled deep within his ribs– carving out a hole for itself to permanently take root. Fine, he could admit it, he wanted Jabber bad. Yet it still felt like there was a missing piece in the puzzle, something tearing at his subconscious that he couldn’t get a good look at.
“I want to date Jabber.”
Yes, and no at the same time. What could Zanka have done to deserve all of this, a complicated mess of feelings bothering him each and every day. Part of him felt guilty, even. How could Jabber want to be around someone who couldn’t even get their emotions in line? It was pathetic.
“I… want. Jabber.”
Closer, still, but not right. Zanka shook his head, brushing off the thoughts that were plaguing him. Shifting into drive, he cracked the windows on Aibo, letting the cold night air whip through the car. Yet, one thing couldn’t help but stay at the front of Zanka’s treacherous mind.
What was wrong with him?
—
All things considered, the Reaper household was remarkably tidy for how its two inhabitants tended to live their lives. Riyo’s room was coated wall-to-wall in posters, polaroids, and any memento of her friends she could get her hands on. Hell, there was a lock of Zanka’s hair pinned to her wall. It was only a little bit creepy.
The girl herself sprawled across a cushioned bay window, tangled up with stuffed animals and her phone. Zanka was lying on the floor, staring at the popcorn ceiling, and preparing to say possibly the most embarrassing sentence to his pseudo-sister.
“Riyo… ‘M in hell.” He whined.
“Oh no.” Riyo scoffed, adjusting her hair in her phone’s camera app.
“Fuck you, I’m not telling you anything.”
“...”
“...”
Riyo flicked her eyes over in her friend’s direction, visibly exasperated with him already. “...Are you done?”
Zanka huffed. “Yes. I was talking to Enjin last week–”
“I changed my mind, go back to being quiet.” The redhead muttered, while she set her phone down to look towards her friend on the floor.
“--and he made some good points?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I think…I think I’ve got a thing for Jabber.”
“There is no way you are just now realizing that.” Riyo deadpanned.
“It’s different!”
“Is it?”
“Ugh, you don’t get it, Riyo.” He whined, throwing an arm over his eyes to not see her unimpressed face anymore. “It’s like, I have feelings for him, but I– I just– I don’t know.”
Riyo slid down off her seat, leaving her phone behind, and joined him on the floor. “So what’s the holdup?”
“I mean, I hate the guy.”
“Okay.”
“I do! Really, it’s like he makes it his life’s mission to piss me off. Or be all… weird and freaky towards me!” Zanka exclaimed, feeling that unexplainable sensation in his chest start to creep its way back in. “It’s not as simple as wanting to date him. Y’know?”
“Hm.”
“But I like spending time with him, which is the confusing part. He’s like a rock in my shoe.”
“Interesting description…” She muttered.
“And not to mention this weird feeling I get when I think about him. It’s not like a normal… crush. Situation. I don’t know what’s going on with me!”
“So, to recap.” Riyo said, craning her neck to look in Zanka’s direction. “You like him, but you feel weird that you like him because he makes you… upset.”
“It’s not that simple–” Zanka said, sitting up.
“Oh my god, Zanka!”
“--it feels like I need to do something before I can ask him out!”
The redhead stilled, slowly sitting up to look at her friend. “...What could that possibly mean, dude.”
“I don’t know! That’s the point of this conversation!”
“Listen. You know what they say about hate and love. Either kiss him, or punch him in the face! You’ll get results one way or another.”
Something in Zanka stilled at her comment. Punch him in the face? Punch Jabber in his beautiful, effervescent, gorgeous face? What sort of freak would do that? Probably Jabber, actually. What was the purpose of seeing something so ethereal that you just had to ruin it? The simple mindset of marring a blank canvas, to get his hands on skin and just claw–
Fuck. Oh, fuck him. He wanted to see Jabber like that; bloody and disheveled– a torn apart version of the person he used to be. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“...I am not going to punch him in the face.”
Riyo laughed, oblivious and innocent to the sickness coursing through his mind. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!”
He has. He has thought about it now, thank you Riyo Reaper, for introducing him to something he would need to repress for the rest of his life. Fuck, why did he want this? “I have not! That’s weird. I’m done talking about this, okay?”
“You’re no fun! Fine. …You, uh, hear ‘bout Gris?”
Zanka sucked in a breath. “Yeah. Enjin told me when we were closing last night. You doing okay?”
She looked off to the side, something complicated in her eyes. “Dunno. Never really got too close to him, but… it’s been messing with Enjin pretty badly. He thinks I can’t tell, but, y’know.”
“He said he wasn’t telling you yet, last night…?”
“Yeah. Gris texted me himself. Offered me a key, if I wanted it.”
“Do you?”
“Dunno.”
The two sat in silence for a minute, letting the words hang heavy in the air.
Riyo spoke again, eyes darting everywhere but to where Zanka was sitting. “It’s complicated. Enjin made a lot of mistakes when he was younger, and I think that not settling down was one of them. I, uh, don’t want to hurt him by reminding him of that.”
Zanka hummed, letting her continue.
“Maybe someday he’ll figure his shit out, but I’m not going to be an additional problem to deal with in the meantime.”
“I don’t think he’d ever think of you like that, Riyo.”
Riyo scoffed, light and unserious. “I know. I just… wanna be a good daughter. He didn’t exactly ask for me, so it’s the least I can do.”
Part of Zanka was jealous of her. To have a family that cared, to be surrounded by people so supportive that she could do anything she put her mind to. What he wouldn’t do to have a Dad who put him first, to not have to deal with sibling hierarchies and family names and embarrassment. He’d swap with her in a heartbeat.
“Well, I’m here if you need anything.” Zanka said. “Y’wanna play Mario Kart?”
“Oh, hell yeah. I’ll kick your ass!” She exclaimed, shaking that melancholy haze out of her vision and plastering on a grin.
—-
Zanka ended up home far later than he expected. Streetlamps flickered dim pools of orange on the asphalt below, with small clouds of bugs flitting about. Aibo hummed to a stop as he pulled into the garage, harsh automatic lights flicking on with the movement. It was calming to be out this late, he supposed. Nothing but the quiet buzz of electricity to fill the air. The garage door thudded closed behind the car, sealing him inside once again. With a turn of his key, Aibo went silent– leaving Zanka alone with his thoughts.
Riyo… where to begin? She had some good points. Maybe he did want to rough up Jabber, just a bit. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it by now! The guy had been a menace all year, and a royal pain in Zanka’s ass. Just one good punch and his lip would split, blood pooling around his mouth, in his teeth as Zanka would–
Nope! Not one single punch was in the cards for him!
Zanka sighed, clambering out of the car and slinking inside. The light of his phone’s lockscreen shone his way up the stairs, not bothering to turn on the lights on his walk towards the bathroom. He was still the only one home for another while, and he didn’t want to run up the power bill too much. Not worth the argument.
His bathroom was minimalistic. The walls were a grey-white, the sink a standard porcelain, and a simple borderless mirror reflected his own face back at him. When he was younger, he had a shower curtain with some stars on it, though his parents had replaced that with a glass door once he hit twelve.
Falling back into rhythm, Zanka shut the door behind him and started to run the sink– attempting to get ready for bed. His earrings were placed gingerly in their tray, a light comb through the tassels to undo any knots. Slipping his shirt off, he cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed some water on his face, scrubbing a bit harder than usual.
Coming back up for air was a mistake, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyeliner ran, his face was red– not helpful with the thoughts that had been plaguing him the past few hours. Idly, he wondered if Jabber wore any makeup…
A fallen tear, a line of black smudged makeup marring otherwise clean skin, a perfect canvas for a bruise, a cut, a scar.
Zanka needed serious help. Better yet, he needed to lock these thoughts in a deep, deep part of his mind that he didn’t have to address for another ten years. This, he thought, could be locked away until he was settled into his life in the future; somewhere far away and disconnected from this soulless town.
He pulled at the skin under his eye, taking a wipe to his waterline to clear out the last of the pigment. The red bloodshot that stared back at him only grew with the irritation of the chemicals, sending a tear springing up and rolling down his face. Zanka watched it go, falling down his face and onto the porcelain sink, next to his phone.
His phone, which had a text from Jabber on it. Fuck.
- jabber
- u want the matching ones?
- jabber
- zannnnn :(
- pay attention to meee…
- theyr cute i pinkie promise
- jabber
- zanka i miss u
Holy fuck. What should he say? Should he respond? Obviously he should respond. Shit, was it over for him?
Zanka, in fact, did not remember. He was so tired he wasn’t sure what day of the week it was anymore.
He set his phone down, quickly. Looking at his disheveled state in the mirror, face red enough to rival a sunburn, Zanka quickly scrubbed off the rest of his makeup and got the hell out of there– grabbing his shirt and flicking out the lights behind him.
His phone was buzzing in his hand as he trudged to his room, Jabber’s notifications lighting his way back amidst the dark hallway. A desk lamp stayed on in his room fairly often, the soft light peeking out into the rest of the house. Zanka kicked his door behind him, clicking off his lamp and falling into bed.
The glare of his phone screen burnt his eyes a touch, a volley of messages from his classmate-turned-crush waiting for him.
And there it was. A photo of Jabber’s knee busted and bloody– crusted blood surrounding the clearly unwrapped wound, catching on stray scraps of torn apart skin. A violent bruise, purple black and yellow, surrounded the cut– wrapping around his leg like a gilded picture frame to an incandescent painting. Zanka could almost feel the heat radiating off the injury itself.
Zanka was a fucking freak. He needed to be locked up.
Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him and his brain and everything leading up to this moment in his life.
Zanka felt hot and heavy and wrong. This conversation wasn’t good for him. Fuck, it was a gateway drug into whatever was wrong with his brain to take root and become real. He could not let that happen. No matter what.
He blinked, a bit startled that Jabber knew his schedule like that, yet shook it off.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time for Zanka to get a flip phone. One that could only receive calls. Texts were overrated anyway, right?
Switching his phone to silent, he set it face down on his nightstand. Staring into the dark didn’t help his dilemma, however there was no way in hell he was falling asleep. Again, he wondered, what the fuck was wrong with him?
For his entire life, he could compress every wayward emotion into a neat little ball, and place it in a box in the very back of his mind. What the hell was so different about Jabber Wonger that he couldn’t do the same! Something about that slightly deranged look in his eye, his all consuming laugh drew him in. For fucks sake, the man tore up his own injuries just for the fun of it. Any rational person would have run far, far away by now.
But not Zanka. Like wires crossing in his brain, he couldn’t figure out a thing about the entire situation. Sleep would do him good, however fitful. Maybe, he would dream of something new tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t be Jabber’s face, cut up and broken.
—
Jabber had apparently given up knocking when entering Zanka’s house.
It was the second movie of their English unit, and Zanka was desperately trying to be normal. He was hiding upstairs, not allowing himself to wait for Jabber’s arrival in the living room. He wasn’t desperate like that. Instead he stood hunched in front of his desk mirror, fixing his appearance like a desperate housewife. Fixing his bangs obsessively, willing the red to leave his face, readjusting his casual pajama pants that framed his hips nicely– Zanka was absolutely normal about this entire ordeal.
The clock struck two minutes to the hour, and he went to make his trek downstairs.
“Wow, six minutes! What were you doing in there, jackin’ off?”
Jabber Wonger was leaning against the wall across from his bedroom door, hitting a button on his phone and proceeding to flash a stopped timer at him. Those same red and black pajamas from the night before caught his eye, leading Zanka to wonder if he had actually brought the matching pair.
Despite his best efforts, Zanka flushed almost immediately. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Not my fault the door was unlocked. I got here early! ‘S polite, so they say.”
Zanka huffed, looking at the floor and shaking his head as he moved past the other. “I think they also say not to walk into someone’s house unannounced…”
Jabber laughed, sharp and playful. “What’ll y’do? Toss me out?”
“Maybe I will!”
“Naw, I’d crawl in through a window or something.”
He craned his head to look at the almost-home intruder. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like… like an infestation of ants.”
“You’re so weird, man…” Zanka said, trying to smother the grin on his face.
“Don’t be a prude, Zan-Zan. Y’know you missed me too.” He cooed.
“As if. What’re we watchin’?”
Jabber brushed past him on the landing down the stairs, shooting a lopsided grin his way. Shoulders bumping together with a dull slide of fabric to buffer the impact. Zanka was very normal about this action. “You’ll like it. Promise.”
“Whatever you say…”
There were a few snacks on his coffee table, all unopened. Jabber must have brought them along with him, judging by the can of Pringles that sat proudly in the midst of everything.
“You are legally required to tell me if this is going to be just as bad as the last movie, by the way.” Zanka said, grabbing a box of soda off his kitchen counter and bringing it with him to the couch.
“‘S not! It’s more popular. Recent, too. Everything Everywhere All At Once. You heard of it?” Jabber questioned, flopping onto the center of the couch this time around (score!).
“Nope. Not really a movie guy.”
“Weird! I watched it when it came out with a friend of mine– she cried like a baby though. Eyes were all red n’ shit when we were leaving, y’could’ve convinced me she was higher than a kite!” Jabber giggled, bracing an arm against the back of the couch and leaning closer to where Zanka was.
“Yeah? I don’t really cry, so…” Zanka laughed, brushing off the notion of ever being that vulnerable around someone.
“Y’might. This one’s kinda crazy sometimes…” The other man muttered, flopping further downwards to grab the remote from Zanka’s hand. “Hope you enjoy it, though!” Jabber said, flicking to a streaming service, and pressing play.
For the first bit of the movie, Zanka was almost entirely lost. Which was, by all means, completely expected of him. Jabber still wouldn’t pause the film to answer his questions– instead opting to fit in quick phrases in breaks of dialogue. Yet this time around, Jabber was shooting glances over at him from across the couch, eyes lingering as if to study something.
By the second act, Zanka felt a sting in his eye and promptly looked away from the screen. Fuck, he was not about to cry in front of Jabber of all people. Speaking of– he had apparently noticed Zanka’s respite from the screen, piercing rosy eyes reflecting half of the television screen.
Jabber spoke so quietly you could almost miss it, barely a note above the movie itself. “Y’ good?”
“‘Dunno.” He murmured back.
Jabber hummed, looking away from him for the time being. With a light rustle of cloth, he shifted closer to Zanka, leaning over and resting against his side silently. He stilled, unsure what to do next. Should he put an arm around him? Do nothing? Confess his love for Jabber right now?
Zanka opted to grab the blanket that was resting on the back of the couch, clumsily laying it over the two of them. On the bright side, when if Zanka started crying he could wipe his face on the soft material. Jabber was warm, a space heater leaned against him in a cool contrast to the cold metal of his hands. The difference in the feeling helped him settle, his mind tethering down to something real.
Ultimately, Zanka did end up crying. If Jabber noticed, he didn’t say anything in the moment. The credits began to roll, and the warmth left Zanka’s side. Jabber sat up, stretching out whilst
Zanka hurriedly scrubbed his face in the plush of the blanket once more.
It was decidedly late– an amber sunset now disappeared over the horizon. The audio on the television faded out, a dim glow of white text scrolling against a black background. In the silence, you could hear the soft melody of frogs croaking outside.
“Well–” His voice warbled. Shit. “Well. I liked that one, I guess.” Zanka looked down at the coffee table in front of him, not wanting the other to see how puffy his eyes were.
Out of his periphery, he saw Jabber look over at him for a second, before flopping right back down onto him again. This time, head resting on his lap.
“So,” Jabber said. “Family issues?”
Zanka sucked in a breath. “It’s nothing. Shouldn’t you be heading out?” He muttered, fishing his phone out of where it had fallen between the cushions. To his dismay, he had one missed text from Riyo.
Without thinking, he threw his phone to the other end of the couch, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. He could feel Jabber’s eyes on him, a splitting grin undoubtedly forming on the man’s face.
“...Maybe some slight family issues.” Zanka acquiesced.
Jabber giggled, eyes shifting towards where the phone had landed. “No, really? I couldn’t tell, man!”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Aww, you wish! Now what’s the deal? No, wait, I can guess– Ma’s a lawyer? Pa’s a… doctor?”
“Mom’s the doctor, Dad works in finance.” He paused. “…Older sister’s the lawyer, m’ brother’s in medical school. Neurosurgeon.”
“Explains the house…” Jabber murmured.
“Yeah. Nice ‘n homey, right?”
The credits had finished at this point, leaving the living room only illuminated by the dull display of the “Watch Next!” screen. In this view, the area could be confused as a display room in a furniture store; sterile and lifeless.
Jabber shifted, assumedly getting comfortable, before poking Zanka. “What ‘bout you? What’re you gonna do?”
In truth, Zanka could spill his guts right here, right now. He could tell Jabber that he really didn’t have a choice in what he’d do, his parents had decided it for him. He could tell him that his life was just a part of a ten year plan, a company merger for all the wrong reasons.
Yet, this was easier. Reciting the same script as always, letting the concept cement itself ever further. “I’m going to major in Biomedical Engineering. I applied to Georgia Tech, though admission decisions aren’t out y–”
“Ew.”
Zanka paused, knocked off of his careful rhythm. “What?”
“I said ew. ‘S not you, Zan.” Jabber scoffed, crinkling his nose.
“Well. It’s what I’m going to school for. So.”
With a start, Jabber pulled himself upwards, closer to Zanka’s face. “You for real? You actually wanna do that?”
Zanka looked away, face flushing a shade. “It’s a good career path. I already have connections in the industry.”
In a second, he felt his head get jerked back– a warm hand with electric jolts of cool metal holding onto his jaw, forcing him to make eye contact with Jabber again.
“You’re doing that thing again. Puttin’ on an act.” He leered.
Narrowing his eyes, Zanka fired back. “You’ve got no fuckin’ right–”
The dull ache of nails pressing into his face cut him off, paired with Jabber tugging him further downwards.
“Shut it. ‘M askin’ you, Zanka, what d’ you wanna do?”
Piercing magenta, cutting deep into his soul. Zanka found himself getting pulled into Jabber’s gaze, falling deeper and deeper into the other’s mind. Like a sinner in church, Zanka felt the burn of a secret tear up his throat and escape past his lips.
“A mechanic.” He whispered. “I want to be a mechanic.”
Zanka felt his face burn, eyes still raw from earlier, as well as the unfortunate realization that he was nearly trembling. How pathetic of him. A beat passed, then Jabber smiled– giving Zanka’s face two quick squeezes before flopping back down. “Ain’t that better! Seems your style. What gives with the other stuff?”
“Family business.”
“Gross!”
“I know…” Zanka trailed off, disgusted with the thought of himself as just another cog in a machine. The lighting electric feeling shuddering through him softened, easing off of his nerves.
Jabber hummed in agreement. “Somethin’ ‘bout cars pull your interest?”
Zanka had a track record with explaining his love for the inner workings of a vehicle. August had sat silently and listened to him, while Riyo said it made him sound like a pervert. It was always weird for him to talk about his interests to others— not many understood him.
“‘S nice to work on ‘em. Like a puzzle.”
“That’s not all it is!” Jabber groaned, throwing his hands over his face. “I know it’s gotta be some freak shit, Zan-Zan…”
Zanka clicked his tongue, looking away towards his garage door. “It… might be easier to just, uh, show you. My car.”
“Mn? For real?” Jabber said, moving a hand away from his eyes to make eye contact.
“Yeah. Get up.”
With all the grace of a baby deer, Jabber rolled backwards off the couch, whacking into the coffee table and onto the floor.
From the ground, Jabber spoke. “Lead the way!”
Zanka nudged him with his foot, before getting up and stepping over the man. “Freak..”
A tug on his pant leg nearly sent Zanka to the floor as well, Jabber held the fabric in a vice grip– bunching the plush fabric in his hand. “Wait, almost forgot… I got y’ somethin’.”
“What?” Zanka said, twisting around awkwardly.
“Those pajamas. The matchin’ ones. From yesterday?”
“Oh. Really?” Zanka choked out, internally cheering at the gesture.
“Yeah, pass my bag over.” He said, flipping himself over to look towards Zanka.
Jabber’s tote bag was against the back of the couch, easily reachable as Zanka pulled it up onto his lap. Sure enough, cerulean blue fabric sat folded at the top of the bag— golden rings and blue hedgehogs decorating the material.
“Should be your size.” Jabber grinned. “If they’re not, ask Red to fix ‘em up. She did some good work on Blondie’s jeans a few weeks ago.”
“Who, Riyo?” Zanka muttered, pulling the pants out of the bag and holding them up. Almost definitely his size.
“Mn.” He hummed in agreement. “You gonna show me this car or what?”
“Are y’ gonna get off the ground?”
Jabber made a noise, not too dissimilar from a cat, and clambered back upwards. “Car…”
Zanka huffed a laugh, turning to walk towards the garage. With Jabber not being able to see him, the sheer anxiety on his face was free to be unmasked. God, he was so nervous.
The chill air of his concrete workshop felt like a wall in comparison to the house itself. Crossing the threshold, he felt almost at home here. In his element. Zanka heard the light sound of the door behind them being pulled closed, cutting off the outside world.
The automatic lights flickered on as he walked over to Aibo, grabbing his keys off the rack as he passed to pop the hood. He slid into the driver’s seat, pulling on the nearly hidden lever on the wall, and waited to hear the familiar thump of the mechanism releasing. Zanka set his key on top of the center console, closing the door behind him gingerly.
“She’s a 2003 Honda CR-V.” He began, sliding past Jabber to unlatch the hood with a practiced ease. “Kyouka used this car in high school before it shut down. Real common issue, actually…” Grabbing the hood prop and setting it in the groove, Zanka’s hands flew through the components of the engine, letting muscle memory take over.
“The A/C compressor went bad, fucked the whole system up. She got a new car, m’ parents set this one aside to get repaired and go to Goka, my older brother.” Zanka pulled up the dipstick with a towel in hand, sliding it up and down the rod, before plunging it back in. Distantly, Jabber made a noise. “He ended up saving up to buy an F-150, so this baby got passed down to me.” Pulling the metal back up, he checked the fluid amount in the light– shifting the stick side to side to let the overhead LED’s glint off of the oil. Sitting pretty at the halfway mark. Needed to be filled up.
“At that point, my parents wanted to trash the damn thing.” He continued, taking a step towards a rolling cart, reaching out to pull it closer to the body of the car. “Unfortunately for them, I was already tryin’ to fix it up. Started at about… fourteen? Took me ‘round six months to fix the problem. By the time I was able to start drivin’, I was already thinkin’ about how else to make her better.”
Grabbing a bottle of oil, Zanka laughed. “Y’know, they call compressor failure The Black Death in these things— most folks’ll tell ya to just buy a new car entirely. Y’ gotta flush parts of the system and replace what just won’t… budge.” He spun the engine cap off, setting it on the cart. Three quarters of the bottle should do fine. Deft fingers spun the cap of the bottle off quickly. “Her paint started t’ chip, so I spent a month split wrappin’ her– swapped out the headlights ‘s well. All nice ‘n pretty for me.” He cut the stream of oil off cleanly, wiping off the excess on the lip with his towel. Checking the level once more, it still read just slightly low. Once the engine got hot, it would even itself out.
“At that point, y’ got a fancy lookin’ exterior, so why not the interior as well?” He grabbed a small flashlight from a drawer, clicking it on to inspect his coolant reservoir. “But that’s nothin’, really…” Fluid was at the full line, same with the power steering and washer fluid. He’d replaced the air filter last month, so that was fine as well.
Zanka shot a look over his shoulder to Jabber, who seemed to be focused intently on the car. He smiled, and gestured for the other to come closer.
“The good part of all this, the real fun part,” He started, drumming his hands on the lip of the engine bay. “Is that I’ve held every single one of her parts in my hand. I can take her apart and put her back together in my sleep, y’know.” Zanka reached out, running one hand over the engine cover, the other across the ridges of the air intake hose. “‘S a bit like surgery. If there’s somethin’ that’s not workin’ out for her, I can just take it out and replace it with somethin’ better.”
“Is that what y’ like about it?” Jabber blurted, watching Zanka’s hands trail across the rest of the inner workings of the car.
He hummed, considering the statement. “Maybe. I think what I really like is… well, the power. She’s at my whim, in a weird way.” Zanka said, almost freakishly. “I can push her as far as I want, and if somethin’ goes wrong I can just… fix it.”
“Huh.”
Zanka paused. “Is that weird?”
“I don’t think so.” Jabber replied, finally tearing his eyes up from the engine bay to look at the other.
Zanka met his gaze, a light smile dusting his face. “You’re probably the only person to think that way.”
“I’m cooler than them, what can I say?”
“Pft.” Zanka laughed, breaking eye contact. He hesitated, before asking Jabber about his current train of thought. “Listen, uh, I gotta take her out on a drive tonight– since I had t’ put more oil in her. Do you, ah–”
Jabber cut him off before he could finish. “Wanna go for a ride in your Frankenstein car? I got nowhere else t’ be tonight!”
“Well. Hop in, then.” Zanka said, unlatching the prop, and closing the hood with a calculated slam.
Sleek tan leather greeted the two of them inside the vehicle, glossy and pristine. Zanka spared no effort reupholstering his seats, and this was the reward. With the turn of his key, that beautiful engine purred to life, humming quietly over the noise of the garage door rolling up.
“Where’re we goin’?” Jabber asked, clicking his seatbelt across himself.
“Dunno.” Zanka replied, shifting into drive and rolling down the driveway. “Thought we’d just speed around in the backroads outside of town?”
The man in the passenger seat grinned, leaning forwards in excitement. “How fast can this thing go, Zan?”
A thrill went through Zanka’s chest as he turned onto a road out of town. “You wanna find out?”
—
Dusty purple skies turned into a deep navy as the night led on. Only when the sun threatened to rise within the hour did Zanka pull back into his driveway, after dropping Jabber off at his car down the block.
Strangely, the door was closed– something he didn’t remember doing when he left a few hours ago. With the quick press of a button, he idled into the driveway, waiting for the garage door to finish raising. A dull realization washed over him as the door slid higher and higher. Cherry red paint, a checkered blue and white logo, an expensive car that only a lawyer’s money could buy.
Kyouka was home.