Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bar is crowded, as expected for a Friday night. Zanka bumped into at least a couple of people on his way back with a drink in hand, joining Riyo who is sitting on a stool along the wall. Photos of regulars and signatures covered where the paint once used to be pristine and there’s a heart carved into the wooden trim. Balancing their drinks in hand, Zanka lets himself look at its rough scratches a second longer.

“So, tell me about this crush of yours,” Riyo starts after she has secured her beverage.

“He’s not a crush.” Zanka corrects her, resting his palm on the back of her chair. “Well…”

Zanka Nijiku had high hopes for this semester. He’s feeling ready, his laptop settings configured, well-rested and readings done days ago with annotations. This is a higher level mathematics class and he’s not looking forward to writing out those answers, but it should be a walk in the park and the top score is just waiting for his name to appear next to it.

He arrived early to the lecture hall. Most of the students hadn’t arrived yet and he’s presented with numerous choices of seats; he picked the one close to the center aisle and in the middle of the room, so he can get out of his seat as quickly as possible at the end of class and also to give the professor the best visibility of his presence. Zanka arranged his notepad, pencil case, and sat his laptop to the side. Perfect setup, as it should be.

The students filtered in slowly, clearly already feeling the toll of the semester, despite it being their first day. Zanka can’t help but glance at their wary faces with contempt. The names of the people sitting next to him won’t matter in a few weeks when the test scores are up—-they just have to know who he is, that’s all–maybe not even his name, just him as the best in the class, or the brightest student in the mathematics major.

No one took the seat next to him and Zanka sighed, pleased. Everything’s going so smoothly. There won’t be anyone bothering him with questions, nor disrupting him in class, nor look at his answers or anything like that…

The professor started off with an introduction of the class content. As if they don’t know this already. Zanka pulled up the syllabus anyways and nodded attentively, only sparing one glance at the person materializing at the door with a bang of the door handle against the wall. The newcomer scanned the room; Zanka locked eyes with him for a second. Both of their gazes drifted to the empty seat next to Zanka.

Shit. Is there nowhere else? He watched as the tardy student walked toward him. He’s got a strange bounce in his step and he came unhurriedly, even though the professor was practically glaring behind his back. His hair swayed before Zanka’s eyes as he bent down and asked, despite the painfully obvious answer, “...is anybody sitting there?”

“No,” Zanka whispered, shifting his chair just a hair forward to not seem rude but to make sure the message gets delivered. The other man got slightly stuck behind him and he felt him there for a second longer, but he was able to wiggle free and plop down on the seat next to Zanka before it got any more awkward. His long legs stretched out into the row ahead of them as he leaned back far into the seat, his rummaging through his bag too loud for Zanka to hear over. Zanka tried to put up with it for a while but eventually ran out of patience, and as he turned around planning to hiss to the other guy to tone it down a bit, he saw that all he’s produced from his bag were his phone, a bag of chips, and his student ID that he somehow forgot to put away.

Catching Zanka staring at him, the other man traced his glare to the card and pushed it to the front like a business card, the other hand dropping his bag to the floor. It stood on its own for a second before falling limply over onto Zanka’s own laptop bag.

That was the last straw. Zanka hated this guy already, even before he asked for a pencil so he could solve all the questions that the professor tossed their way, or when the top score of the class showed a different and higher–a higher! –number than Zanka’s own. But on the first day they met, he only took another quick look at his student ID to make sure he remembers this rude buffoon by name: Jabber, not an easy one to forget.

Zanka tried his best to get away from Jabber after that first day’s encounter. He only had to surrender his best seat, but that’s a small price to pay, considering how insufferable it is to have Jabber as a neighbor. He just doesn’t bring a good attitude to class, that’s it, Zanka thinks as he secretly notes another time Jabber pulls out his phone under the desk. He’ll even do it on the desk–completely irresponsible. He could never remember to bring a pen or pencil, even on the day of the tests, and once he got a hold of one of Zanka’s, the speed at which he’s writing out the equations just drives Zanka insane. The scratching of penstrokes against paper was so loud, carving through his eardrums and echoing through the hall, although no one else seemed to be bothered as much. He has tried every single seat in the hall, and Jabber is always sure to spawn from thin air right next to him. 

Second place. Zanka is sure the second place is his, even though he can never seem to score over Jabber. Jabber finishes his exams fast anyways and he waits outside the lecture hall like how it goes after any other test, twirling his pencil in hand. Zanka opened the door with a scowl knowing Jabber is on the other side of it; the sight of him just made his studying fatigue so much worse.

The mechanical pencil’s clicky part faced him as Jabber extended it out. “Thanks, Zanka,” he’d always say with a lazy smile on his face. At an arm’s distance, Zanka will have to look slightly upward to meet those dark, rosy eyes. The pencil still had his temperature on it when Zanka took it into his own hand; of course, he didn't say much back.

Sometimes he wished he could just drive the tip of the pencil into Jabber’s hand instead of taking it and saying “don’t worry about it”. Bring your own next time, idiot.

This class is ruined for him, ruined, Zanka gritted his teeth as he goes through yet another concept video in the library. He has never seen Jabber here, not even once. Jabber doesn’t keep notes like he does, nor does he seem to have prepared any study materials. He sat  in class looking mildly interested at best only to put out the best performance in the end. Zanka can’t stand him; he can’t stand people like him. 

He just needs to put in more work, that’s all. Zanka convinced himself even though his eyes were burning from focusing onto the screen for so long. He was not sure if he understood anything from these lectures–he’ll have to practice, and then probably look for more to solve, just to make sure that he has it down. 

Zanka was getting dizzy. What time is it? The number at the bottom of his screen told him it’s not late enough. He could get something to eat, or he can power through this bit before taking a break. The sharp, cold lights of the library had drilled a pounding pain into his head. …how many hours of sleep did he have? It doesn’t matter. The test is coming up in a few days and he just has to beat Jabber in it. He needs to, Zanka thinks to himself as he flipped to a new page in his notebook.

“Hard at work?”

“…Jabber.” Zanka nodded curtly, focusing his eyes on his work again. 

“How long have you been here? You look terrible.”

“How long I’ve been here has nothing to do with you.” 

Jabber shrugged, pointing to the seats across from him. Zanka had chosen a booth in hopes that he wouldn't be disturbed, but Jabber’s unexpected appearance had truly messed that up for him. “You mind if I join?”

“You can have it.” Zanka planned on his escape. Jabber is the last person he wants to see while cramming; a stab of anger shoots through him. Does he think he's that much better, that he doesn’t need to put in any effort? 

“Seriously, you need a break. Come walk with me. I saw you come in after class… when was that, like four hours ago?”

“But you just came in.”

“I feel like taking a walk.”

Zanka sighed, getting up from the couch, only for his world to black out for a split second. He could feel vaguely that his body is launching toward the floor, but he can’t seem to correct it——

He fell into Jabber’s arms. It was just a second and the scene of the library came back into focus, but he’s sure it happened, even when his body was straightened immediately and Jabber’s hands slid down his shoulders and fell back to the other man’s sides.

“You see what I mean? A break is good for you.”

“I can’t.”

Jabber cocked his head and the ends of his locks slipped off his shoulders. Zanka allowed his gaze to follow them for half a second before narrowing his eyes at Jabber again. “You have an A in this class. You can most definitely afford a break.”

Zanka shook his head in disbelief. “You just don’t get it.”

“So tell me, Zanka.” Surprised, Zanka didn’t have time to shield his expressions before exposing it all to Jabber. “What is it that I’m not getting? That you need sleep to think?”

“That was nothing. I can keep going.”

“Of course you can. You can also do that after you have a little nap.”

Zanka glared at him. “Why don’t you just find somewhere else to be?”

“I’ll even tuck you in,” Jabber smiles.

Zanka thought he’d rather die than to take this from Jabber. He’s tired and a nap does sound so good right now, but he’s not the person he wants to hear it from. “Fuck you.”

 “You know I’m right.”

Zanka took his seat and sighed, feeling Jabber sit down next to him. He took out his phone to set a timer for 30 minutes, only for Jabber to interrupt with “I’ll wake you.”

“...I think not.”

“I will. I’m using your study spot, remember? I’ll be here for 30 minutes longer.” Jabber patted his own shoulder lightly. “Come.”

“No.” Zanka refused, bowing his head. 

He fell asleep almost immediately. Maybe he didn’t have enough caffeine earlier in the day, he thought groggily at the edge of sleep. The library suddenly seemed cold and he shivered, feeling the radiation of warmth from his side. He’s really still here, thought Zanka as he finally surrendered his thoughts to the darkness.

He woke up to the faint smell of coffee. Zanka squinted, the artificial lights in the library suddenly too harsh for his eyes. A cup has emerged in front of him and it reads his name. That’s convenient, he thought, before he realized he’s leaning against something mildly warm and soft and very much human.

Zanka bolts upright to look at Jabber, who’s working through some foreign assignments.

“Morning,” Jabber said, turning toward him. “I got you coffee.”

Zanka reached gingerly for the cup. It had the familiar logo of the school cafe, and he could tell it was a normal latte just by the weight of it considering how many times he bought from there, but he just had to inspect it some more. He turned the paper cup to the side and it read his own name.

“What? It didn’t take that long. You still got a good 20 minutes with me.”

Zanka huffed. “I’m not drinking this.”

“Alright.” Jabber didn’t seem offended, only flipped one more page in his notebook.

“...what are you doing?”

“Hmm? My homework for my other class.”

Zanka stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“I’m a chemistry major.”

Chapter Text

“You drank his coffee, didn’t you,” Riyo asked him, already looking like she was bored out of her mind.

“Did you take me for the type of person to toss away perfectly fine coffee?”

“Now every time you buy from there, you’ll have to remember his dreamy eyes.”

“He’s not dreamy.”

Riyo downs the last of her drink. “You need to pay me to listen to the rest of this.”

“I’ll get you another one.” Zanka promises, looking down at the plastic cup in his own hand. He can’t even remember what was in it and everything tastes mildly of sugary drink and alcohol, watered down from the melting ice.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Riyo nods once, then sways in place a few times to the music of the bar. She leans forward again. “So? What happened then?”

Zanka felt worse than before the nap. He can’t comprehend anything that Jabber’s putting down on his notebook, the lines and shapes connecting single letters a completely foreign art to him. It looks like a different language–it probably is, considering one name takes up nearly a whole line anyways. Jabber’s handwriting is surprisingly clean, Zanka remembers from staring at his papers from class, but seeing it in a different subject matter makes it new somehow.

Jabber seemed familiar with the content as always. Supporting his chin on his left thumb, the inside of his pointer finger pressed into his top lip. Zanka held the coffee cup in hand, watching Jabber work through a reaction. His hands are larger, the silver rings fitting over his second knuckle shining as he writes. So he does have his own pencil. His bones are more pronounced anyways, Zanka wonders, glancing down quickly at his own. The protrusion of Jabber’s wrist rolled toward the table, strings of ligaments and vessels popping out of the back of his hand. Jabber seems to have a lot of jewelry on him and Zanka wants to know if his bracelets are from the same place as his rings.

“Yes?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought you had something to say.” Jabber turned toward him, his lips still resting against his finger. Zanka couldn’t help but look down, only to see them twist into a smile.

“Get up. I’m going back to my room.” Zanka announced, shoving his laptop and notebooks into his bag.

“What’re you going to do when you get there?”

“Study without random people interrupting me.” The end of his laptop charger was plugged under Jabber’s side of the seat. Not wanting to pull on the other end and risk damaging the wires, Zanka gritted his teeth and leaned toward Jabber while reaching down. He wiggled the plug free and straightened up as quickly as possible, slamming his back against the couch in the process.

“Jeez. I was going to protect your head while you come up, but guess not.”

He’d rather not spend any more time with his face next to Jabber’s lap if he can help it. Zanka zipped up his bag and waited impatiently for Jabber to get out, which apparently was taking the other man five business weeks. Jabber stood close, one hand around the edge of the table reflexively. Zanka pushed past him, feeling the other man’s interested gaze on the side of his face.

“Your coffee.” The coffee cup was handed toward him, his own name in clear display. Zanka can almost figure out which barista wrote it down. What would it look like if Jabber was…

“You can have it.”

Jabber looked like he had something inappropriate to say but decided against it, his grin seeping deeper. Zanka sighed, taking the coffee cup from his hand. “Hey, Zanka. You’re kinda pretty.”

“What—” taken aback, Zanka winced. “Ugh, no. That won’t work on me.”

“Just making an observation.” Jabber inhales, stretching a little. “I’ll see you in class.”

“I don’t know, it sounds like he’s got game. You’ve actually never been this down bad before.”

“I’m not down bad!”

“Yeah right. Maybe you’re just easy.” Riyo looks away, but something quickly catches her interest. “Zanka. What did you say he looks like again?”

“...tall, long locks with golden hair rings, silver rings and bracelets…wait, why?”

“He’s right there, isn’t he?”

Zanka turns around slowly. And sure enough, there he is, leaning against the bar counter talking with someone. Whoever he’s talking to must be a lot smaller than he is; his head is bowed, hair shielding his face from Zanka, who is already warm from alcohol and can’t seem to do anything except stare.

“Not the worst looking…Oh, he’s talking to a girl though.”

Zanka has never seen Jabber around girls. He stands up instinctively to take a look, and with some shuffling around the crowd, he finally sees a dark blue head bobbing. He can’t see Jabber’s face and he can barely hear Riyo telling him to sit back down. Zanka, you need to wait, or something like that. Yeah, right. He knocks back the rest of his drink and crushes the cup in his hand.

“I’ll get you that drink,” Zanka whispers half to himself and takes off. 

It doesn’t take him long to shove between people and get to Jabber’s side. He’s never seen this girl before, her small frame nearly swallowed up by the customers around her. Her sharp, yellow eyes focus on Zanka in an instant. Their conversation comes to a halt as one of the participants has identified the new visitor. Jabber follows her gaze and turns around. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Zanka says curtly, still looking at the girl. She is unflinching in Zanka’s line of sight, which somehow irritates him more. “And you are?”

“Oh, I see what this is.” She sighs. “Cthoni. Nice to meet you too.”

Zanka is feeling out of himself. He squints a little, pressing closer to Jabber. He’s lightheaded and he blames this on the anger that’s suddenly coming from out of nowhere. “Who are you?”

“Who…” The girl who introduced herself calmly seems to be regretting her choice. “I’ll leave you to it, Jabber.”

“Wait! You should answer other people’s questions before leaving, you know.” Jabber calls out after her, but she has already chosen another corner of the counter to close out her tab, it seems. Zanka tries to go after her and Jabber catches his wrist in his hand.

His hands really are bigger. Those fingers can curl around the entirety of his wrist and Zanka suddenly forgets the beef he has with the girl. The bartender looks around just in time for him to yell out “two tequila sodas”.

“Zanka. I thought you’re twenty?”

“Riyo knows some people here and they let me in.” Zanka looks at Jabber. The lights of the alcohol shelf behind the counter illuminate in his eyes and he feels the world sway. “Who was she?”

“She’s a grad student at our school and we’re in the same lab.” Zanka must have wobbled, because Jabber reaches out a hand to steady him. “A friend, I guess?”

“Oh.” Zanka tries to play off his relief. It wasn’t anyone…like that, to him.

“Are you sure you should be drinking those tequila sodas right now? How many have you had?”

Zanka takes this question very seriously and works through it in his head. “Two.”

“You lyin’. You’ve had more than that.”

“I’m fine.” Zanka takes a step back and nearly stumbles again; Jabber watches him, amused. 

“At least close out your tab.” Jabber looks down at the two drinks delivered and takes one from Zanka, who can’t really mind at this point. These cups…they’re kind of hard to balance. Is it poured too close to the top? It didn’t seem that way, but one piece of ice still tumbles out of the edge and falls to the floor anyways. Zanka fumbles for his card with his other hand and Jabber took it for him when he finally produced it.

“This Riyo…where are they? You need to go home.”

“I’m not going home.”

“Okay.” Jabber nods. Zanka gets closer to him just to hear him better, and he thinks Jabber asked, “where would you rather go then?”

“Somewhere with you.”

“Oh, so you’re drunk drunk.” Jabber laughs out loud and bends forward, eyes still filled with laughter when he stops and turns to look at Zanka. “Let’s tell this Riyo that we’re going then.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jabber hands him the receipt and the card for Zanka to sign, then hooks onto his waist and pulls him to his side. “Don’t run away now.”

“I won’t,” Zanka says, taking another swig of his drink, nearly losing some to the front of his shirt. Being next to Jabber feels nice and he lets himself lean on him a bit, his groggy mind returning to that second before waking up, with his face on Jabber’s shoulder. No wonder he slept so well.

Zanka leads them back to Riyo, who looks the slightest bit uncomfortable. If Zanka was any more sober than he is at the moment, he would be able to see that Riyo’s trying to figure out the few crucial questions such as who and how. Jabber sets down her drink. “It’s what Zanka got you, picked it up right from the barkeep. I’m gonna bring this guy home now. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Riyo collects herself and takes a sip out of the drink to let them know the message was received. 

“I live in —-building. The name’s Jabber Wonger. Ask the office if anything.” Zanka’s eyes are closed as he hears the next sentence rumble from Jabber’s chest. “I’ll return him tomorrow…before noon, hopefully, but no guarantees.”

“You can do whatever you want,” is what Zanka thinks he heard her say, but he can’t be sure. His cup is taken from his hand next and this finally alarms him enough to confront Jabber.

“You’ll thank me in the morning, I promise.”

“I can finish it,” Zanka grabs for the cup again only for Jabber to dodge his reach with ease. “Give it.”

“You’re getting one sip max,” warns Jabber as he returns the cup. Zanka flips him off, then chugs it as fast as he could. “...Alright. That works.”

Zanka swallows, reaching for Jabber’s hand. They move away from the center of the bar and Jabber starts to call for a ride. The noises and the music all fade away behind them, with only Jabber’s touch grounding him to the floor. Zanka feels like floating, his thoughts quiet, leaving him enjoying the sensations of his body: the lingering taste of the drink, the speeding beat of the music, and his crush in front of him.

“Seven minutes,” Jabber leans toward him to tell Zanka.

“Ok.” He could really care less. They stopped by the front door and a few people stumbled across on the opposite side of the glass into cars with double blinkers. The streets are still and the air looks cold; Zanka pushes the door open and feels the draft blowing in, hearing some hushed exclamations around him. 

“If you’re gonna do that, we can just wait outside,” Jabber tells him and closes the door behind them. The cold night winds wrap around Zanka’s body and pull, dragging some excessive warmth from him. But soon he starts to feel cold and shivers uncontrollably, as if his body doesn’t know when or how to stop. “I’m cold.”

“Which is why I wanted to wait inside,” starts Jabber, but Zanka only shakes his head until he makes himself dizzy, which wasn’t difficult to do considering his current condition. “It won’t be long now.”

He wished he had felt him a bit longer that day in the library. Zanka has dreamed of it, again and again in his room, only to wake up alone and confused. The pride that he always held close to him screams at him to stop, to stop wasting time and focus instead, or to feel the fire of revenge a bit stronger. But Zanka thinks it never died down; it’s too much for him to handle, and fueled by alcohol while chilled by the wind, he feels like he can afford to get a little closer.

Zanka goes for it, hugging Jabber tight in his arms, burrowing his face close against his neck. Warmth explodes from within him even though it was only his skin saved from the cold and Zanka shivers violently again, like his frozen fingers tended to do after spending some time in doors. Jabber’s body feels good against him and he feels for the lean muscles of his back, then to the tight tuck of his waist; but eventually Zanka settles for just holding on and keeping his face down. He knows what he’s doing, which just makes it so much worse, but he just doesn’t have it in him to control himself. “Hold me, please,” he whispers, the sound still too loud without the booming music from inside the bar.

Jabber turns them around so Zanka’s shielded from the wind and a hand rests in the middle of his back. “You don’t gotta say ‘please’ with me.”

Zanka thinks he’s ready to cry.

TBC.

Chapter Text

This is an uncomfortable distance between everything. Zanka is hugging him close, but his face is hidden to the side. Jabber turns his head slightly to look at the back of Zanka’s head, finally settling to bring a hand over there. The lighter strands of Zanka’s hair feels a little coarser than his black hair underneath. It’s warm and Jabber feels the shape of his skull.

He feels a bit like he’s under a spell. A time-sensitive one; Zanka would surely chew him out tomorrow morning. Jabber plays with his hair some more and Zanka hums into his collar. He probably won’t remember, but there’s no guarantee there. He should try to figure out again where Zanka lives. He doesn't seem to be in danger, Jabber watches for signs of incoming puking, but Zanka is leaning pretty calmly over his body. He’ll be fine, and it can also save him the trip of heading back to his dorm in the morning. That Riyo girl surely knows.

“Nah.” Jabber says out loud. Zanka did ask for it.

“Mmm.”

“Hey, wake up. Our ride is here.”

“I’m awake.” Zanka pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes. The dark blues that draw him in under fluorescent lighting are fading away to black and Jabber finds himself face to face with them. He can feel Zanka’s slender hand resting over his shoulders and his gaze dragging down to his lips.

“Get in.” Jabber pulls him along and opens the back door. Zanka huffs, but manages to sit down and shift toward the other side of the car. Jabber tries to close the door and feels it get stuck. He looks down; Zanka’s foot is up against the bottom of the door holding it in place. 

“Sit in the back with me.”

Jabber grabs Zanka’s ankle and gets in, closing the door and letting go of Zanka’s leg at last. The other man pulls back, suddenly sitting quietly, his face turned toward the street flashing by. 

“What do you want me here for?”

“I just don’t want to be by myself.”

Ah, the emotional part of being drunk. Something in his voice tells him more is on the way. Jabber doesn’t personally experience this, but he’s been the victim of drunk outbursts many times to miss the signs. He nods slowly, knowing Zanka will start talking without prompting, much unlike their usual conversations.

“You’re in a single?”

“Yeah.” Zanka sighs. “My sister said I shouldn’t distract myself with a roommate.”

Jabber thinks it’s better to go along alone anyways, but it seems like Zanka isn’t reacting like how he expected him to. Zanka is always by himself when he’s in the library, notes ready, headphones in. He hasn’t seen the guy eat, but he finds it highly unlikely that Zanka Nijiku would meet up with his friends to go to the cafeteria when he spends most of his days by himself on a small group table. 

“Nothing wrong with flying solo. Didn’t you come with a girl anyways?”

“I can’t be glued to Riyo all the time. And how do I find people when I’m tired of being solo?” Zanka whispers. “It’s probably worth it to find out who the second top scorer in the major is. But why would I bother? They don’t bring me anything, nor do I have anything in return.”

“I think you have plenty in return.”

“I’m not interesting, I don’t know what to say, and I’m not smart enough.”

Jabber straightens his back from his posture against the car door. That’s not like the Zanka Nijiku he knows, especially not the last one almost sounding like a surrender. Zanka’s face looks surprisingly void of emotions, almost too cleanly wiped only with a tinge of tightness in his lips.

He lets his hand fall to the space between them. Zanka glances at the motion quickly but doesn’t respond otherwise, seeming like he’s determined to not meet Jabber’s eyes.

“Not like you would know what that’s like. I worked so hard to get here, but it’s just not enough. I need…to do more.”

“You don’t always have to be the best.” 

“I do. They already hate me enough; why give them another reason?”

“Who are we talking about?”

“The other Nijikus.”

Jabber pauses to think about his choices after receiving this information. “Whatever’s going on with them, you’re still good at what you do.”

“If you weren’t there, I’d be the best.” Zanka states matter-of-factly, still looking outside the window. “Why did you take the class anyways? You don’t need it for your major.”

“Well, for fun.”

“Motherfucker.” 

“Yeah, that’s more like it.” Jabber taps him on the shoulder and Zanka shakes him free. “If I’m in your way, all you had to do was to beat me.”

Zanka lowers his gaze, then finally meets Jabber’s halfway. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“That’s not what we want? Ok.”

“I don’t…ugh.” Zanka seems annoyed with himself somehow. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Toxins are just not all that good for you, Jabber sighs. They tend to make you forget who you are. “I think you’re great,” Jabber settles for this one, only he didn’t expect Zanka’s eyes to turn glossy as if on-command. Uh-oh. You were right, Jabber, but at what cost?

“You don’t know anything about me,” Zanka chokes, tears falling from his eyes and crashing into his lap. He pauses as if surprised by the sudden wetness on his face and looks up instinctively to find the source of the drip; when finally realizing that he’s spilling over from his eyes, he sobs once, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve like a child. “I’m…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying, and I shouldn’t be telling you this in the first place.”

“And who told you that? One of the Nijikus? That’s bullshit.”

“I feel weird,” Zanka gasps for air, putting his face in his hands as he tries to swallow down his cries. His entire body starts to shake, and for a moment Jabber is worried he might actually start throwing up, but the only thing out of his mouth is the suppressed sound coming from his throat. “I’m weak, and I’m annoying, because I just can’t stop–stupid…!”

Jabber waits for the hiss of his last word to dissipate. “Just go about your regular, tearless day tomorrow. Might as well let it out when you can.”

“I’m just…so lonely. I want someone to tell me it’s okay, and that I can make it. I want to feel safe, and I don’t, and it’s all my fault,” Zanka sniffs, doubling over to hug himself close. “This is all wrong. It's wrong. You didn’t even say anything, and I’m already overwhelmed somehow. Fuck you.”

He has a lot more where that came from. Jabber touches his back and smoothes down his spine. “Yeah? This is what I was going to tell you: Zanka, you’re important to me.”

“Why?” Zanka wails. “There’s nothing you need me for.”

“Maybe so,” Jabber says absent mindedly, distracted by what he could confess to himself; he gathers his thoughts again. “If you really need to be the best, just make sure to get me one day. I’ll be waiting.” Zanka will be right behind him, no matter what. That’s the sort of guy he is.

Zanka mumbles something under his breath.

“Hmm?”

“I said I wish we had never met. I don’t want to think about you, and I don’t want to like you anymore.”

He’s gotten himself into more than he bargained for. The swelling pain of his heart makes Jabber feel like he’s a step toward death–it’s all so thrilling.

“Jabber, I hate you. For everything.”

The car arrives at Jabber’s building. Jabber opens the door on his side and waits for Zanka to come out. The younger man follows but sits at the edge of the seat with his feet on the solid floor and yawns, which Jabber takes as his cue to hook Zanka from under his arms and pull him up. Zanka lets him and blinks, eyes moist from tears. 

“Thanks,” Jabber calls out to the driver and shuts the door, other hand sliding down to his waist and holds him there. Zanka is no longer shivering, which is always a joy to see, Jabber checks for his keys and phone in his pockets and takes another good look at Zanka.

He used to never let Jabber touch him. Their fingers would come together close on the classroom tables and Zanka would always pull back to leave a few inches of space between them. Jabber tries to say hi…more friendly, and way more than once, and Zanka has always managed to duck out from under his arms. 

But Zanka doesn’t seem like he has accepted anything. He stares back at Jabber unflinching, and the other man knows right there that he’s waiting for something too. Zanka, who never gives up going for what he wants. 

“You can still go back to your own place.”

“Only if you’re coming with me.”

Jabber smiles. “Mm, I don’t think so.”

“Lead the way.”

Zanka slips a hand into his. Jabber holds on instinctively. There’s no one on the campus as far as his eyes can see. They pass by rings of street light, Jabber trying to stop a drunk Zanka from wandering off or stumbling while Zanka probably will deny it happened at all in the morning. But this is not bad, and if this is what those couples feel walking around the school everyday, Jabber doesn’t think he’d mind.

Zanka has calmed down from his outburst earlier, or it seems that way anyways. He sways a little side to side, humming something under his breath.

“Happy to be back?”

“This is nice.” Zanka smiles, his eyes curving in glee. 

“What, drunk walking home?”

“Yeah, that too. I meant holding hands with a boy, or humming.”

“What, you don’t get to sing a tune at home?”

“No.”

Zanka waits until they’re in the elevator to kiss him. Jabber is kind of surprised he held off this long, really. Zanka uses their linked hand against him and pushes him against the wall, pressing into him so hard Jabber thinks he tastes blood from the inside of his lips.

He fumbles for the button, but of course he misses with Zanka all over his body. His hands are in his shirt and grips onto him hard, as if the biting and pulling of his lips aren’t enough. Jabber lets Zanka have fun exploring his body and sneaks a few kisses back here and there.

No one’s waiting for the elevator at this hour, even for college students, and even if there were they wouldn’t be surprised by what’s going on in here. Jabber tries to pull his shirt down but Zanka has unfortunately found his waistline and seems fascinated.

“Zanka, baby, you’re killing me.” Jabber finally manages to hit the right button, but not before the elevator stopping on almost every floor. 

“I’m cold,” zanka whispers against his lips.

“I’ll hold you. We have to get home first.” Jabber coaxes him, pulling Zanka's hand from his skin. 

“Is this what kissing feels like?” Zanka wonders out loud, nuzzling into Jabber's neck once more.

“Sure.”

“It feels like melting.”

The elevator’s doors open and they stumble down the hallway together. Zanka is actively trying to get into Jabber’s shirt now and it’s getting increasingly difficult to hold him back. Jabber doesn’t know if Zanka is just that strong or if alcohol tends to do that to people… probably both.

He finds his keys after much effort and drags Zanka in before shutting the door, nearly catching Zanka’s pant legs in the door. It’s time to kiss him back now, he thinks, and Jabber starts kissing Zanka back, tasting the heated remnants of alcohol on his lips. Zanka’s lips and tongue are incredibly soft, Jabber indulges himself in them before feeling a scratch down his back. 

It burns, and after the initial pang of pain, ecstasy fills his chest. Jabber moans against Zanka who somehow manages to pin Jabber between his two legs.

They stumble backward onto Jabber’s bed and Zanka ends up on top of him. The pressure feels like a tight hug. Jabber can feel his nerves sing under Zanka’s body. He’s so close, and Jabber feels so alive, that if Zanka asked him to drop dead he thinks he’ll simply….

Zanka yawns, falling to his side to rest on Jabber's pillow. 

“Huh.”

Zanka worms around, looking for the opening of Jabber's blanket.

“You can’t do this to me———” Jabber inhales sharply, then holds himself close. Come on Jabber, you can do this. He’s drunk and he’s tired. This is it. 

He can’t wait for Zanka to hurt him more. He knows Zanka has that cruel bone in him. Trying to get into his body then falling flat to sleep… who does that? He’s all worked up for nothing. Zanka waits for himself to calm down, but the longer he waits, the more it starts to hurt. It feels even better than waiting for Zanka to come to him. 

“You’re really beautiful.”

Jabber shakes his head. “Don’t say that, baby please.”

“You are. Come sleep with me.”

Jabber lays down next to Zanka, who found his way under the covers and is hogging his pillow. He reaches for a hoodie over his chair and rolls it up to raise his head just enough to lay against Zanka when he says, “you’re in my dreams almost every night.”

“Yeah?”

“We’d have sex, then you’d hold me, and I fall asleep.” Zanka’s eyes are closed when he tells Jabber, his lips curling from the memories. 

Jabber tucks him close, only to flinch from something hard under his back. It’s Zanka’s phone, fallen out of his pocket at one point during their make out session.

TBC.