Chapter Text
"He didn't tell you?" The boy behind the counter, Fu, spoke softly and tilted his head down nervously towards the cash register placed in front of him. He picked at his nails and his eyes darted wildly between the register and Zanka.
"Tell me what?" Zanka's voice was tight, his teeth grit so hard his jaw ached.
The vibes in the cafe were off. Raiders Brew was never the most comforting business, especially when comparing it to other cafes near campus, but it certainly had never been this cold and empty. It was 9:45pm, just a little over ten minutes before their closing time, and there was a group of university students huddled together in the corner. Yet there was a prominent lack of something. A loud presence was gone, a fact that got on Zanka's nerves the longer he stood in front of Fu.
The boy in question shrunk back, a wild look in his eye that had Zanka raising an eyebrow. Fu had always been a nervous kid, but he had never reacted this dramatically towards Zanka. The behavior had Zanka anxiously gripping his bag tighter.
"He left," Fu squeaked. He refused to look at Zanka now. "Came in a couple days ago and quit on the spot. Momoa says he left the city."
A moment passed. Two.
Zanka's hand came down on the counter hard, the noise sounded through the room, a violent smack that caused the the group of students to fall silent. At the sudden movement, Fu jumped back and pressed himself against the far wall away from Zanka.
"Left?"
"I-I don't know where!" Fu threw his hands over his face and cowered down, a poor attempt at a fetal position. "I don't know anything else!"
"Fu? Everythin' good?" Bundus, an older fellow that spends most of his days in the kitchen baking the rows of pastries and sweets that were lined next to the counter, opens the door behind Fu. A concerned look washes over his face as he places a heavy hand onto Fu's trembling shoulder. The boy practically flings himself onto Bundus' arm, reduced to a shaking leaf. Bundus turns to Zanka, his forehead creasing even more. His frown lines become more prominent as his lips twitch down. "Zanka?"
Zanka doesn't hear him at first. A strange heat flushes over Zanka's face as he stares at the chalkboard hanging high on the wall. On it is the monthly specials, written in a janky, hardly legible cursive haphazardly naming the several drinks and pastries after disgusting chemistry puns. The piece of thick purple chalk used to write these names lays next to a multitude of other colors, significantly shorter than the rest.
Drawn around the border of the board are a series of colorful flowers, purple salvia curling around red oleander and white foxglove.
All ranged in toxicity to humans.
Zanka knows because he drew them all himself.
He spent a good hour there after the cafe had closed, forced to listen to the ramblings of his boyfriend as he went on and on about the differing effects toxic plants had on the human body. As Zanka dragged the chalk across the board, he was forced to rate which plants he would eat first. "Come on, Zanka. You're tellin' me you wouldn't want to know how throwin' up flowers would feel like?"
"No, Jabber," Zanka had rolled his eyes then, "I quite like my innards inside me."
"Technically," Jabber said, humor in his tone, and Zanka knew he was about to say something incriminating against him, "You have tried at least one of them."
Jabber left? Without telling me? Despite the overwhelming amount of purple in front of him, Zanka could only see the red of the oleander. And similarly to how oleander would effect him if Zanka were to eat it, a sudden nausea overcame him.
"Zanka?"
Zanka's eyes snapped to Bundus. He saw Fu flinch back harshly, his hand falling behind his back as if he were caught doing something awful, but Zanka hardly paid any attention to the boy. Bundus' frown was deeper now. It made Zanka's skin crawl. "You good, kid?"
No, Zanka thought, Jabber wouldn't have left without telling me first. He allowed himself to take a few deep breaths, the heat of anger fizzling but never draining completely. A too wide smile stretched across his face unnaturally, but his voice stayed strong. "Peachy."
He abruptly turned around, ignoring the stinging on his palm that was still present after smacking the counter, ignoring the increasing whispers amongst the group of students, ignoring Bundus' worried voice calling him back, and exited Raiders Brew.
Zanka set a brisk pace towards Jabber's apartment. He knew the directions by heart, as he had mapped out all possible routes within the first two weeks of them dating.
Left? Left? Jabber could not have just left without telling Zanka first. Jabber's last final was yesterday. Zanka had texted him, asked him how it went. Had asked if they could talk about it during dinner tonight! When would he even have the time to leave?
He sends a text to Jabber, something quick and definitely calm. The text in no way was sent in a panic, nor did it showcase that Zanka was in hysterics in any way. Because he wasn't. There was no reason to do that.
Left the city? Jabber wouldn't do that. They had plans, dammit! They were going to the botanical gardens located a state away, they were going to finally visit that museum in the city over next month. Zanka even invited Jabber to join him and Enjin touring a few colleges with Rudo!
Jabber was supposed to go shopping with Momoa sometime this summer. They had wanted to check out that new bookstore that opened in the nearby suburb. There was a festival Cthoni wanted to take all of them to in late July.
Zanka knocked on Jabber's door three times and waited exactly fifteen seconds before jiggling the handle. Locked. With a click of his tongue, Zanka dug in his bag until he found a lone bobby pin hidden under his sketchbook and laptop. With a determined hand and a few seconds, Zanka heard the latch unlock and a grin fell onto his face.
"I'm coming in," There was no waver in his voice. No fear or hesitation leaking from his thoughts. There was nothing to fear, anyways.
The hinges squeaked a little too loud. The sound echoed off the walls in a way that was unnatural.
Empty. The entire apartment was empty.
The walls, which were filled with tapestry and Zanka's own paintings just two days ago, were now bare. There was not a single plant in sight, despite Zanka having watched Jabber water his multitude of botany just last week. The kitchen no longer housed cheap cutting boards and knives. The TV was gone, leaving behind the IKEA-grade entertainment center bare and alone. Zanka couldn't hear the familiar sound of Mankira's purring, nor could he feel her rubbing against his ankle in her excitement.
The apartment was cold.
Jabber left.
Zanka felt his lips twitch up before a manic giggle left his mouth. He lifted a hand up to smother them, but the giggling poured out of his mouth incessantly.
Four months down the drain, just like that. Zanka wondered what the point even was, if in the end, Jabber was just gonna skip town and leave him in the dust.
Zanka needed to calm down. The giggling didn't stop. He looks into the room that used to be Jabber's bedroom and stares at the corner that used to house a large bookshelf containing piles upon piles of thick books, all pertaining to forensics and chemistry. There used to be a desk pushed against the wall, right next to where the now sheetless mattress lays on top of a bare bedframe. The desk was always cluttered in a way that had Zanka yanking his hair, but Jabber somehow managed to know where everything was at all times. Zanka would peak at the papers laying about, only to find that he could barely read Jabber's chaotic notes from his lectures and labs. Chemical formulas Zanka wouldn't even know where to start with, notes directly copied from slides that seemed to veer off into the insane theories and ideas that Jabber would come up with seemingly on a whim, and poorly drawn figures labeled with the different effects certain drugs had on the human body. Zanka could never tell if they were necessary for Jabber's lectures or if the man just had an unusual fascination.
There is still the faint smell of weed and cologne clinging to the room.
"That bastard," he says out loud, as if that would help him calm down. His fist curls with a white-knuckled clench. He could feel his nails digging into his palm harshly. His other hand still held the bobby pin, which is now bent in unnatural ways and close to snapping. Zanka debates on if it's worth it to snap it or not.
His back hits the walls in a rough attempt to divert his attention, but instead it just brings forth an ache that pulses behind his eyes. His breath hitches as he slides down the wall and lands on his ass. He harshly rakes his fingers through his hair, his palms coming down to rub circles on his closed eyes. It doesn't help.
"That fuckin' prick." He's laughing again, but there's a wetness to it that Zanka refuses to acknowledge. He can't seem to calm down now, no matter how much he forces his breathing to slow. His temples are starting to hurt, the throbbing migrating around the sides of his head until it overtakes the entirety of it. He's tugging strands of blonde and brown hair out as he digs his fingers into his scalp.
Zanka is pissed. An unsettling feeling wriggles in the pit of his stomach and a seething rage fills him from the bottom up in a way that he hasn't felt since he lost that scholarship to a chick that hadn't even wanted it--
"Hello?" A soft, feminine voice filters through Zanka's thoughts. His head shoots up from his curled position and he turns to see a familiar blonde in the doorway of Jabber's bedroom. (What used to be his bedroom.)
Eishia, Jabber's neighbor, stands in front of Zanka. She's dressed in a pair of scrubs, her badge still hanging from her neck. Her hair is disheveled and the dark circles under her eyes seem more prominent than usual. Her hands are close to her chest, a protective stance she usually takes when uncomfortable. When she finally spots Zanka, however, her entire posture relaxes and a worried crease forms on her forehead. "Zanka?"
"Eishia," Zanka responds, and his voice is too hoarse for his liking, "What are you doing here?"
Eishia keeps her distance, huddled by the doorframe. Her face falls into something like pity. Zanka bristles. "He left last night, I believe," she said, and she looks from corner to corner of the room before her eyes fall upon Zanka once again. She does a once-over, like she's checking for injuries, before her lips drop into a frown. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The question sets something off in Zanka and he bolts to his feet. "I'm fine." he snaps, ignoring the dizziness that floods his head now that he's standing. Eishia flinches back, her head knocking against the doorframe. This time, Zanka feels bad, but he doesn't let it stop him from escaping. Still, he finds it in himself to soften his tone when saying, "Don't worry about me."
Even as he makes his way down the hallway, his skin itches in a way that makes Zanka want to run, to punch something, to punch someone.
He makes a sharp left turn, the opposite direction of his own apartment.
He's glad he wore sweatpants today.
Something cold and wet pressed against the back of Zanka's neck. He whipped around, arm reeled back in preparation, before a plastic cup was shoved into his face. Zanka blinked once, twice, before he looked up and saw Jabber's grinning face.
"Well, don't let me stop you," he laughed, genuine humor in his eyes. His face is flushed from the cold outside, his beanie falling into his eyes from the lack of hands he currently has. Zanka scoffed before taking the iced drink out of Jabber's hand, watching Jabber round the table and fall heavily into the chair across from Zanka.
"Dude, I was about 'ta hit ya. Don't think I won't." Zanka eyes the drink suspiciously and swirls it a couple times. It's a weird green color that makes Zanka think the main drink is matcha, but he doesn't get his hopes up when Jabber's involved. "What did you put in it this time?"
Jabber swirls his own drink, already half empty, and hums. A sly smile is on his face as he lazily tips his head to the side. "That's for you to find out," he says, and there's a chuckle in his tone that has Zanka fearing for his taste buds.
They're in Zanka's studio, a small room in a building a little ways away from the main campus. Spread out in front of him on the large table he rented out for this year is his sketchbook. The pages are filled with small sketches quickly shoved onto any blank space he can find. Next to the table is his easel, a large canvas leaned onto it, still blank despite the amount of sketches littering Zanka's sketchbook. This assignment for his Painting I[1] class is due in two weeks, and he still hasn't started anything.
Taking advantage of the distraction from his assignment, despite definitely not needing the distraction, Zanka takes a weary sip from the mystery drink. It tastes disgustingly similar to a garden, but isn't actually half-bad. Matcha is the main substance, but there seems to be a combination of something citrus-y and floral mixed into it as well. There's a tang of something else, but Zanka is unable to describe it. "Coulda' been worse," he says in replacement of a compliment, because Zanka would rather jump in front of interstate traffic than tell Jabber he enjoyed a drink. Despite this, however, Jabber's grin widens as if he knows exactly what Zanka is thinking, and he takes a noisy slurp from his own iced coffee.
A silence falls over them as Zanka resumes musing over his sketchbook. Jabber pulls out his own laptop and notebook, random stickers from 50 cent baskets covering the back of the screen. Soon, Jabber's pencil is flying across his notebook, occasionally pausing to scroll through something on his laptop. Zanka remembers that Jabber has an exam coming up in his Applied Ethics[2] class, one of the only classes that Jabber can't bring himself to care about, and quickly stops staring to let the man focus.
A few minutes later, though, Jabber lets out a quiet, questioning hum. "Would you be able to?"
Confused, Zanka looks up at Jabber. The other is chewing on his thumb nail, a glint in his eye that has Zanka's face heating up significantly. "What are ya on about?"
"Would you be able to hit me?" Jabber's gaze sharpens into something heated and competitive. He drops his voice, "I don't think you can." It's lilted in a way that grates on Zanka's nerves, and his expression alone tells Zanka that Jabber knows exactly what he's doing. Zanka falls for the bait.
"Would you like me to crawl across this table and show ya?" Jabber's face lights up as if he fully expects Zanka to do just that, but Zanka leans back and scrubs at his face. No way in hell was he gonna risk trashing his sketchbook for something like that. He lets out a sigh, dragging his hand down his face and letting it fall onto the table. "Did ya know, I took karate for fifteen years."
Jabber leaned forward, like this was some kind of dramatic retelling of a bad trip rather than a boring fact about Zanka.
"Not that I was any good at it," Zanka shrugged. It was true. He may have been top of his class for a good portion of those years, but he never kept that title. And he never managed to earn his black belt. To the humiliation of his family, Zanka dropped karate as soon as he started university, only investing time into it when his anger spikes. "'S not like I do it much anymore."
"You have to show me." Zanka looked up at Jabber, who looked like he was about to burst in pure excitement. His eyes rounded out and he was leaning so far from his chair, Zanka was surprised he hadn't fallen on his ass yet.
"Show you?" Zanka repeated, and he couldn't help the twitch of his lips.
Jabber nodded fervently. "You. Me. And a really, really good mat." He pointed to the both of them, grin wide and manic on his face.
And Zanka really shouldn't have gotten as excited as he did. It wasn't normal, thinking of the different ways he could beat his boyfriend into the ground and getting thrilled. But the way Jabber looked at him, as if he were even more excited at the mere suggestion, had a thrum going through Zanka's veins that he had never experienced before.
"You're on."
Sweat pooled on Zanka's brow and neck, cool against his heated skin. His skin wasn't crawling anymore, instead replaced with a familiar stinging on around his hands and feet that grounded him. He sat heavily on the floor and wiped the sweat from his neck off with one of the cheap towels the gym had given him.
He and Jabber used to spar in this gym. They would rent out one of the private rooms for a few hours and wouldn't leave until they physically couldn't continue. It became a weekly thing for them, usually after Jabber had successfully made it through another week of long, frustrating assignments.
Now Zanka sits alone in that same private room. There's music blasting through the headphones secured to his head, a Pierce the Veil song pooling into his ears in an attempt to flood out his thoughts. It's unsuccessful.
Something wet and cold presses against the side of his neck unexpectantly, and Zanka whips his head around, eyes wide, to see--
"Enjin?"
His mentor stands behind him, a lopsided grin on his face. He's still in the same clothes he was earlier today in the shop, before Zanka had left to Raiders Brew. Zanka pulls down his headphones and grabs the water bottle still pressed to his neck. He tries not to let his face fall, tries to look grateful instead, but something must look off because Enjin's smile softens just enough to notice.
"Thought you might've run off here, kid." Enjin steps back to allow Zanka to stand. Once he's on his feet, Enjin places a hand on Zanka's shoulder and gives him a shake. "Fu told us what happened."
Zanka feels the grimace forming on his face before he can hide it. Enjin notices immediately and laughs. It makes Zanka's face flush an embarrassing red and he ducks his head down and away from the man.
This cannot be happening.
Enjin had picked Zanka up when Zanka had just started university. Right after being disowned from his family for pursuing art rather than law[3], Zanka impulsively joined a competition the university was holding. It was to prove something to his family, to show that this was enough, but they had never even showed up to the competition in the first place.
Enjin had, though.
Zanka didn't win any place in the competition, but he had been approached by a random man in street clothes and given a job offer. To be an intern at a nearby, run down tattoo shop[4] was not something Zanka thought he was gonna do, nor did he ever think he was gonna do it for this long--just long enough to shove it to his family's face--and yet...
Enjin pulled Zanka closer to his side, and Zanka had to pretend that it did not have an effect on him.
For his mentor, the man he looked up to more than anything, to see him in such a state was the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to him.
"Come on kid," Enjin said, tugging Zanka closer to the door. Zanka scrambled to find his bag, only to notice that Enjin had already grabbed it. He lets himself get pulled through the gym. "Gris is outside. We'll take you home."
It's dark outside, the moon already in the sky. The air has chilled enough to make goosebumps show on Zanka's skin. He spots Gris' jeep in the parking lot easily. It's an old and busted thing that Gris has apparently had for years now, but refuses to get a new one. Through the window, Zanka spots Rudo in the back seat, seemingly too distracted from something on his phone to notice Zanka's appearance. He jumps when Enjin loudly announces their presence.
"Man, you look like shit," Rudo says as soon as Zanka takes the seat next to him.
"Thanks," Zanka replies with more sarcasm than probably necessary, "The results from workin' out for two hours straight."
Rudo presses his lips together, forming a stiff, thin line, but refuses to pry any further. Instead, he presses play on his video (Zanka does not understand how his gloves[5] don't hinder that action) and leans back in his seat. Zanka can see now that he's watching some news channel cover... something about biodiversity and climate change. Rudo likes to stay on top of those current events more than Zanka, the older can hardly keep up with how much Rudo seems to know on the subject.
Gris looks to Zanka in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot, "Hey kid." Zanka gives him a nod before looking out the window. He refuses to acknowledge the concerned frown that falls onto Gris' face as well as the meaningful looks the two men in the front seats exchange with each other.
Enjin's voice drones on as background noise for Zanka. He listens halfheartedly to the conversations being had, though he makes sure to poke fun at Rudo when his upcoming date with Amo gets mentioned. The resulting punch to the shoulder is worth seeing the boy's dramatically flustered reaction.
They soon make it to Zanka's apartment complex. He's about to say his goodbyes when he notices Enjin also exiting the vehicle. It makes him tense up.
The windows to the jeep are rolled back up, and Zanka can see Gris starting an animated conversation with Rudo, before he averts his attention back to Enjin. The blonde is holding a glass container filled with some kind of pasta. He holds it out to Zanka with a knowing look.
"Make sure you eat something," he says as Zanka takes the tupperware. Zanka's face darkens in embarrassment, but he nods anyways. The hand he gets on his head is enough of a reward for the embarrassment to flush away into a smile. When he looks back up, Enjin's face in contorted into something Zanka can't identify, but the man shakes his head and gives Zanka's head two more pats before he's opening the passenger door and bidding Zanka a good night.
The jeep doesn't leave until Zanka is through the building's doors.
Lovely greets him at the door. She's a Russian Blue that he had picked up right before being disowned by his family. His sister had called her a 'distraction,' and even if that was a little true, Zanka wouldn't trade her for the world. He gives her chin a few scritches before tossing his bag onto the floor and taking off his shoes.
He makes his way to the kitchen to prepare the leftovers Enjin had made him.
Zanka is not oblivious. He knows that Enjin is worried. That everyone is now probably worried. He's surprised Riyo hasn't called him yet.
It gets on his nerves, just a little bit. Do they not think he can handle this? He thinks he's handling it pretty well, all things considered. In fact, he doesn't think there's any other way to handle this kind of situation. What else could he do, when his boyfriend up and leaves with no notice?
Jabber still hasn't answered his text.
The microwave beeps. Zanka eats the reheated pasta slowly, achingly. He gets five bites in before he physically can't stomach any more. Lovely purrs at his hand, still gripping the fork. He places it down, ignoring the trembling, and picks Lovely up carefully. Holds her up to his face. Takes a deep breath in.
She still carries his cologne.
The sob rips through him before he can even try to stop it.
Was Zanka not good enough?
Who is he kidding? He's never good enough.
Honestly, he should have seen this coming. He's surprised it didn't happen a lot sooner. Jabber had always been the more impulsive, eccentric one of the two. The man had the attention span of a toddler and often gravitated towards what he wanted to do in the moment. In the time that they had dated, Jabber had found and excelled at three new hobbies. He seemed to master them within a month of trying them. Zanka had sworn that Jabber was lying, that he had to have prior experience in those hobbies before trying them, but that was never the case.
A natural talent. Something Zanka could never catch up to, no matter how hard he tried.
Even with something that Zanka had been doing for more than half his fucking life. Jabber was better at it. That first time they rented out a private room, Zanka had ended up on his ass more times than he ever has in his martial arts journey. He still remembers now, the look on Jabber's face. It's seared into his brain.
Jabber had looked bored.
"Man," he had said, a slight frown on his face. Zanka was under him, panting like a dog, the sweat pooling on the small of his back in a disgusting way. "I thought you'd have been tougher, Zan-Zan." He tilted his head, and Zanka could see the exact moment his eyes had dulled. The same look he had when doing his ethics homework. Bored. Uninterested. Not worth the effort. "Guess I was wrong."
Jabber had never even touched martial arts in his life. He simply grew up on the streets of an inner city. He fought hard and dirty. And yet...
Zanka couldn't even keep up with that.
Zanka woke up to his phone ringing. Lovely was curling next to his face, her ass far too close to comfort. She whined as he sat up, tossing him a glare before reorienting herself to where Zanka had just been.
He had fallen asleep on the couch again. His mouth was horrendously dry and his hair felt like a knotted mess. He rubbed a hand down his face, scrubbing extra hard at his grimy eyes. The ringtone grated on his ears, a pulsing behind his eyes gearing itself into a massive headache.
He felt like shit.
It had been two days since Jabber left. Zanka hasn't left the apartment. He called yesterday off work. He has been rotting in this same spot in his apartment for two days, barely getting up for food and a shower.
He's thought about going out, getting some fresh air. But every time he faces the front door, he thinks of that date he and Jabber had planned. Every time he pets Lovely, he thinks of the playdates he and Jabber set up for her and Mankira. Every time he starts the Keurig, he thinks of the smell of coffee clinging to Jabber after his shifts at Raiders Brew.
Lovely stretches, her paws hitting Zanka's thighs and snapping him back to the present. His phone had stopped ringing for a blessed two seconds before starting back up again. He groaned and fished through the couch cushions to find it. When he did, one glance at the screen told him who had just ruined his sleep (not that it was great sleep anyways).
It was Riyo.
He answered the call, voice croaking in a way that immediately exposed him, "Hey Riyo."
"Zanka! About time you answered," Riyo didn't sound any different, but Zanka knew better. She would not be calling him this early if she wasn't worried. "Are you busy?"
She kept talking before he could even answer. "Of course not, you sound like you just woke up. We should go shopping. Sound good?" A beat of silence. Two. Zanka opened his mouth, but Riyo beat him once again. "Great! Meet you in twenty."
Zanka groaned, easily accepting his fate. There wasn't any way for him to escape anyways. Riyo would be here in twenty minutes, whether Zanka was ready or not. He might as well clean up before her grand appearance.
He managed to do the bare minimum before he heard his front door open. He throws on a loose shirt and the first pair of jeans he sees before walking out his bedroom.
"There you are!" Riyo was already inside his living room, a lazy grin on her face. Her hair was tossed into a messy bun, loose strands falling in front of her face. She also looked like she didn't put much effort into her outfit, which made Zanka feel much better about his own appearance. She saunters up to him and roughly grabs at his wrist. "Have you ate yet? I'm thinking of that diner down the street before we hit up the mall. What do you say?"
Not like he has much of a choice when Riyo's involved. He nods and grabs his phone, barely registering it's only on 20%, and follows Riyo out of his apartment.
Now, Zanka is not stupid. He knows Riyo only planned this so he didn't rot in his apartment all day. He had been doing it the past two days, what was one more?
They spend an hour and a half in the mall before they take a break in the food court, not having bought a single thing. They sat on a bench next to an indoor water fountain, the bottom lined with tossed and forgotten pennies. Zanka lazily swirls his matcha around, while Riyo sips idly at her boba. The silence lasts five minutes before Zanka breaks it.
"I'm fine, you know," he starts, glancing at Riyo. Her face remains passive, but she drops her boba between her knees and holds it there. She doesn't look back at Zanka. "I didn't need this, but thank you."
Riyo hums. She lets the silence pass through them for a couple seconds before she rolls her shoulders and sits straight. "Those are Jabber's jeans."
Zanka flinches back and looks down. She's right. They are unmistakably a pair of Jabber's jeans that he had left behind, loose on Zanka's hips and pooling around his shoes. Curse that man and his need for oversized clothing. It makes Zanka choke up. He squeezes his drink a little too hard and the liquid bursts from the top, spilling onto Zanka's hand and wrist, landing haphazardly onto the marble floor.
Riyo chuckles, but leans over to wipe away the mess with some napkins she magically pulled from her pocket. "Dude, everything happened this week," she said, not an ounce of humor in her voice but smile still present on her face. "It's fine to be dramatic about it."
Zanka scoffs before tossing the rest of his drink and the soiled napkins out in the trashcan next to them. "Dramatic? What is there to be dramatic about?" Riyo raises an eyebrow at him. "I wasn't enough to keep his attention. So what?"
"He's a dickhead," she insults, and for some reason it brings up an anger in Zanka's gut. "I talked to Momoa. You know he didn't tell her either? Or any of the others?"
That was surprising. Momoa and Jabber were close, and had been for longer than Zanka has even known Jabber. She was the one to get him the job at Raiders Brew. Most of their shifts lined up so that they would work together. Zanka would see her when he went to visit Jabber on his shifts. Though Zanka didn't know her all that well, he did know that Jabber liked her enough to keep her attached to his hip when they were together. She is the much needed chill to Jabber's easy excitability.
"Forget him," Riyo continued, her voice laced with poorly hidden venom. "He seemed to forget you rather easily."
Forget him? Forget Jabber? He's not sure how he's supposed to do that.
This was four months of his life. Jabber was four months of his life[6]. Wherever he went, whatever he did, Jabber was next to him. And whatever Jabber did, Zanka was by his side. When Jabber impulsively adopted the sick kitten from the shelter, Zanka was there. When Zanka needed a muse for a last minute assignment, Jabber was there. When he needed to let out stress, whether from work or from school, Jabber was there to suggest the gym, some weed, something.
When he was struggling with his chemistry class, a stupid gen ed he was forced to take, Jabber was there to help well into the late hours of night. All nighters pulled before big exams that he would pass with flying colors were done with Jabber by his side. Shitty drink mixtures that he could never forget the taste of were made for him by Jabber.
These past two days, there had been an aching, gaping hole in Zanka's life the shape of Jabber fucking Wonger.
"He's not worth it, Zanka," Riyo kept a steady gaze on Zanka, her tone the most serious Zanka has ever heard it. "Not anymore."
Was Jabber really not worth it? After four months, was everything just supposed to be forgotten? Thrown away?
A bubbling, boiling rage was reignited in Zanka's gut. An epiphany.
Zanka shot up from his spot on the bench, a new fire alight in his eyes. Riyo seemed to notice. She stood up as well, much more weary. "Zanka?"
"I need to go." He tried to leave, but Riyo grabbed his wrist, pulling him to a stop.
"Go? Go where?"
He shoved her hand away and took two steps back. Facing her, a serene smile fell upon his face, unsettling for the topic. "I'll be back. Don't worry." It didn't seem to reassure Riyo, not one bit, but she let him run out of the store.
When Zanka entered his apartment, the first thing he did was fill Lovely's automatic feeder to the top and made sure her water fountain was pristine.
Next, he called Momoa. She answered on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Where would Jabber have gone?"
There was a brief pause. There was no noise on the other end for a good minute. Zanka had to check if the call was still going through.
Eventually, Momoa sighed. She sounded tired, something far from her usual stoicism. "His hometown. I don't know the details. I never asked." A pause, "Apparently he goes every summer."
Every summer? And he never told Zanka? That anger was starting to flood throughout his body, slow and corrosive. He held it in, trapped it down to something manageable. For now.
"Thank you," he told Momoa, full of sincerity. She hummed her acknowledgement and hung up, as succinct with her interactions as ever.
Lovely mewled behind him, bringing his attention away from the haphazardly packed bag laying on his bed. She rounded his ankles and he bent down to pet her affectionately. "I'll be back," he promised.
Yes, he would be back.
"He seemed to forget you rather easily." Is what Riyo had said.
Well, looks like he just has to force Jabber to remember.
Pry Jabber open from the inside out and force him to face what he has so easily forgotten. To show him that those months they spent together weren't just something to toss away, left in the dust of their pasts.
To prove to him that Zanka was something worth remembering.
To prove that Zanka was better than him.
Zanka entered the city at illegal speeds. The three hour trip was reduced to two hours, with Zanka shooting through the interstate at speeds that probably shouldn't be possible for his car[7]. He would later blame Enjin for the bad influence.
He slowed significantly upon entering the inner city, though. He had an asshole to find.
He realized pretty quickly that he had no idea where to start looking. He didn't know a lot about this city, nor had he ever visited prior to this moment. This didn't deter him, though. In fact, it only fueled the anger inside him.
It was currently 12:35am. Zanka knew Jabber would be awake at this time. Probably smoking a joint--or worse, if those four months had meant nothing. Gritting his teeth, he made a right turn and slowly started making his way through the city.
Zanka had a feeling that Jabber would be outside. Jabber had enjoyed time spent outdoors, something about fresh air and a nice breeze calming his nerves. Zanka also knew that Jabber would be smoking at this time. It was the only way to get Jabber to sleep.
Jabber liked walking, too. Activity was something Jabber needed constantly. The reason was beyond Zanka, but the two often found themselves walking through the city at disgusting hours of the night, or through park trails well past sunset, often having to avoid security just to get in.
That train of thought eventually led Zanka to searching every park in the area. Most weren't big enough for hiking trails, the only trails being in forest preserves and a lakefront, but those smaller parks were a great start.
When the clock on his dash reads 1:48am, Zanka parks his car in a lot across the street from a small, deserted playground. It houses a large garden full of colorful wildflowers and bushes, trees decorate the border sparingly, and the play sets look relatively worn. Zanka thinks of taking a short break, checking his fuel tank to make sure he has just enough to make it to the nearest gas station, when he spots movement ahead of him.
Someone is on one of the swings. He's hunched forward, joint loosely hanging between his pointer and middle fingers, and blowing out smoke into the open air. The lone streetlamp lights his silhouette in a way that allows Zanka to immediately know who it is. Before Zanka can think it through, he is turning his car off and slamming the door shut behind him.
He makes his way through the park, a determined set to his steps that doesn't falter until he's stopped a little ways away from the man.
Jabber looks up at him, his face contorted into a harsh expression, before it falls away to genuine shock. Zanka allows himself the small win that brings.
The piercings littering Jabber's face glisten in the dull lights illuminating from the streetlamp. His hair is pulled back into a loose, low bun and his eyes are smudged with old eyeshadow that hasn't yet been washed off. He's wearing the most casual fit Zanka has ever seen him in--a simple wifebeater and sweats.
Zanka forces his face into a neutral expression, not allowing a single emotion or intent to be seen. Jabber's own face filters through multiple emotions before his lips settle into a wide grin.
"Zanka?" He sounds surprised, but his posture doesn't change. Zanka can't tell if he's faking the aloof attitude or not. "What are you doing here?"
The anger finally, finally boils over. Zanka feels the red creeping into his vision, the fire spreading under his skin, and the grinding of his teeth. It feels rejuvenating. It burns him in a way that sharpens his focus onto Jabber and Jabber alone. He came here to do one thing. And he will make it a reality.
"Why did ya leave?" Zanka asks, his voice tight. Jabber's grin falls, his eyes sharpening into a scary focus. He rolls his shoulders, takes another deep drag from the joint, and blows the smoke away from Zanka.
"I got bored."
Zanka's fist strikes Jabber's face as soon as the words hit his ears.
Jabber hits the ground harshly, his head bouncing off the grass in a way Zanka knows hurts. The joint is forgotten on the ground, tossed somewhere out of Zanka's line of sight. Jabber sits upright quickly, though, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Woah- Hey! What was that for-"
Zanka practically flies at him. He straddles the man's hips and rears his fist back for another punch. It lands on Jabber's nose with a satisfying crunch, and the feeling fuels Zanka with so much satisfaction. It ignites a pride deep in Zanka's chest and spreads throughout his body in a thrum that is addicting. Adrenaline now courses its way through his veins, and allows him to get three more hits in before Jabber reacts properly.
Zanka sees his eyes alight with a craze he's seen very few times. A sharp, frightening, electrifying smile spreads across Jabber's face. Something stirs deep in Zanka's gut.
Jabber somehow manages to flip Zanka off, pulls his leg back, and lands a dirty kick hard into Zanka's stomach. He barely has time to cough up spittle before Jabber is laying another hit onto him.
The fight is dirty, messy, and beautiful. It breaks all the rules Zanka learned through his karate lessons over the years. It does not give curtesy time for the other to catch their breath. It does not allow for the other to reorient themselves. It is fast and intoxicating. Zanka feels the blood pumping in his veins hard, a heat pooling throughout his body and bursting through the spaces that Jabber strikes.
He feels alive.
They sit in Zanka's car after. Zanka can hardly remember the fight now, a blur in his mind, but the feeling is still there. A buzz underneath his skin, an itch that crawls and leaves him wanting more. But his knuckles are dripping blood, staining the leather of his seats. Jabber's temple is split open, pretty red spilling down and coating his lap in the thick substance. His nose is bent in a funny position, and Zanka wants nothing more than to caress it before snapping it back into place. He refrains.
Jabber's breaths are coming out harshly, a whistling noise following every inhale that he can't control. He digs through Zanka's glovebox until he pulls out the small first aid kit kept inside. Zanka realizes abruptly that the man remembered where exactly it was.
Jabber's hands are trembling so hard, he struggles to grasp the zipper properly. Zanka scoffs before snatching it out of the man's hands. "Pathetic," he grumbles out before fishing out antiseptic cream and bandaging. His movements are harsh as he grabs Jabber's hands, but he tends to the wounded knuckles with a compassion he can't hide.
There is, however, a sick satisfaction he can't mask as he inspects Jabber's wounds. Wounds that he had caused. Evidence of that spots the inside of his car. Beads of blood on his seats, the smear of blood on the steering wheel, the drops coating the center console leaking out from the open cuts on both of their knuckles. Zanka isn't sure if he cares about the stains they will inevitably leave.
The car was deathly silent as Zanka worked. Jabber didn't attempt at helping Zanka, just allowed himself to get tugged around until his knuckles were securely wrapped and the gash on his temple was properly bandaged.
When Zanka started tending to his own wounds, he forced himself to speak. "You got bored?" His voice was hoarse, a scratch to it that made it hitch on certain syllables. He couldn't bring himself to care.
Jabber had been watching him intently. When asked the question, he tilted his head in mock consideration. His hair had been done up in a low bun, now loosened from their fist fight.
"School was over," he spoke, an unnerving calm to his voice, "What was there to stay for?"
He seemed dead serious. Zanka blinked, slow, as he thought of how to answer. That deep-seated rage was still lingering in his abdomen, but it was tampered down to a low simmer. Now, with the adrenaline dissipated, he was just tired. He glanced at the time on his phone, left haphazardly behind in his initial pursuit. 2:25am. Somehow still running on only 2%.
"Why not stay?" He asks in response. He glances back to Jabber as he bandages the last of his own wounds. "What is there ta' leave for?"
Jabber's expression doesn't change from that calm facade, but Zanka saw the way his eyes flickered. Jabber hummed and broke eye contact to draw circles onto the bandage around his knuckles with his finger. Zanka's eyes followed the movement, finally taking notice of the lack of rings on Jabber's fingers. The lack of jewelry on Jabber in general. The piercings on his face don't look to have been changed out, either.
It unsettled Zanka. Jabber looked drained in a way he has never seen before. The dark circles under his eyes are far more prominent than they had ever been, even during the week before finals when he was scrambling to finish his labs. There were frown lines along the sides of his mouth that weren't there before. The skin on his elbows and fingers looked ashy, something Jabber took great care in preventing.
Zanka lets the silence go on for a minute. Two.
Before he surges forward to grab Jabber by the collar. A noise escapes the other, something between a gasp and a moan, as Zanka forces his face to look at him.
"Jabber Wonger," he starts, voice low. It's still raspy, but he makes sure to force every syllable to be as clear as possible from his throat. "You are never allowed to leave without my say-so again."
He can't allow Jabber to pull this shit again. It is simply out of the cards. The thought makes Zanka sick to his stomach, a writhing, nasty thing that pulls at his innards until he chokes up and can't breathe any longer. Those three days alone in his apartment opened his eyes to how much of his free time was dedicated to Jabber. How much of his apartment ached in the absence of its second occupant. How much he ached in the absence of the other.
The thrill of having a sparring partner. The anticipation after long shifts. The high of spending nights together.
Jabber. Jabber. Jabber.
"You are gettin' in this fuckin' car," he roughly pulls on Jabber's face, emphasizing his point, "and you are comin' back with me."
He watches as a new light shines in Jabber's eyes, a grin breaking out onto his face. Zanka can feel it in his own skin too, a sudden burst of energy that hums like a melody. Now that he's touching Jabber, he can't stop.
"I'ma be honest with ya, Zan-Zan," Jabber says, his voice just as low. He lets himself get manhandled, and Zanka can feel the shiver that wracks his body. "This is the hottest I've ever seen ya."
The following kiss is harsh and cruel, but it is everything Zanka has missed.
And if Jabber decides to dip in the future?
Zanka will just have to beat some sense into him and drag his ass back. Simple as that.