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Jabber had Zanka’s face in the palm of his hands, Zanka’s hands were on his shoulders. His face was ever so slightly flushed.
Jabber stared at him with a slight look of confusion and interest, his thumbs slightly gliding across the soft skin on the other's face. Zanka felt his body going softly rugged, not from any poison, or attack. But from how close and intimidating it felt for Jabber to be so close to him.
“Jabber.” His voice barely above a whisper, he didn’t feel like he was calling out to Jabber, but he said his name anyway.
Jabber hummed in a response, Zanka’s body getting more squished into the cramp alleyway wall.
“We can’t keep doin’ this.” He mumbled, one his hands slowly shifting to cup Jabber’s jaw,
his face softening in the process.
Jabber caught him off by kissing him roughly on the lips, his hand transitioning to Zanka’s waist while the other got tangled in his hair.
Zanka, despite himself, chose to accept it. Softly whining into the kiss, holding Jabber’s cheeks affectionately.
Feeling Jabber’s tongue go down his throat is always the most explicable feeling Zanka could feel.
He loved the way it would roam in his mouth and coax him.
Ofcourse, he could never admit that.
As they separated, a line of saliva followed both of their tongues.
“Zan-zan, it’s my birthday ya’know?” He smiled, instinctively. Pleading for a reaction. Zanka’s expression changed, his eyes subtly widening.
“Yer’ tellin’ me now?..” he questioned, confused but moreover concerned.
“Well, it’s still today isn’t it?” Jabber huffed, pouting slightly.
Zanka thought for a moment and came to a conclusion, that, yeah he was right. “So, ya’ wanna do somethin’?” His body arched into Jabbers, fitting like a puzzle piece.
“Nah, not really, I do wanna ask for a favour though, my lovely friend.” He smiled eerily, grip slightly tightened on Zanka’s waist, Zanka tilted his head as a questioning response.
“The next time we fight, make it special. Extra special for me, yeah? That’ll be my birthday gift.” He laughed, pulling Zanka close to him.
Zanka looked a little puzzled, his face deadpanning. “Yeah, whatever.” He looked away, Jabber nuzzled his head into Zanka’s neck, unzipping his uniform slightly, feeling Zanka’s hand firmly pressed over his own, the other having travelled to his back.
“That’s it.” He limited Jabber to his collarbone and up, which, then again his collarbone was still covered by a black bodysuit.
Jabber scowled, yet he pressed his lips against Zanka’s neck and sucked a sharp bruised hickey, embedding a mark into his skin.
Zanka sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling into Jabber’s jacket on instinct. His jaw tightened, more annoyed at his own reaction than the mark blooming warm against his skin.
“Idiot,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in it. “Yer’ gonna get clocked if someone sees that.”
Jabber pulled back just enough to look at his work, eyes gleaming with unmistakable satisfaction. “Worth it.” He tapped the spot lightly with his thumb, almost reverent. “Gotta leave somethin’ behind, yeah? Otherwise you’ll forget me.”
“As if,” Zanka scoffed, but his voice betrayed him. soft, frayed at the edges. He shifted, pressing his forehead briefly to Jabber’s collarbone, grounding himself. “Ya’ don’t gotta mark me ta’ do that.”
His grip loosened, just a little, hands sliding up Zanka’s back instead of pinning him there. “Heh… didn’t say I gotta,” he replied, tone lighter than his eyes. “Just wanted to.”
Zanka exhaled slowly, then pushed back enough to look at him properly. Alleyway shadows cut Jabber’s grin into something sharper, something dangerous, yet beneath it, there was that familiar spark. The one that always pulled him back in.
“Yer’ twisted,” Zanka said flatly.
“And you like it,” Jabber shot back, leaning in again—but stopping just short of another kiss. Close enough that their noses brushed. “C’mon, Zan-zan. Go all out. Don’t hold back ‘cause it’s me.”
Zanka swallowed. His hand slid from Jabber’s shoulder to his chest, palm flat, keeping the distance this time. “I never hold back,” he said. Then, quieter, “That’s the problem.”
Jabber laughed under his breath, low and pleased, and finally stepped away, far too easily. He straightened his uniform like nothing had happened, though his eyes never left Zanka.
“You wanted to end our lil’ meetups? Yeah?”Jabber couldn’t help but grin, biting his lip in the process.
“I never wanted them to begin in the first place.” Zanka was reluctant, his jaw tightened the moment the words left his mouth, like he regretted the honesty even as it settled between them.
Jabber blinked once—then laughed sharply, like he’d just been handed his favorite weapon. “Bullshit,” he said easily, stepping back in again, boots scraping softly against the concrete. “If you really didn’t want ‘em, you wouldn’t keep showin’ up.”
Zanka bristled. “That ain’t—” He stopped himself, teeth clicking shut. His hand curled into a fist at his side. “Ya’ don’t make it easy ta’ walk away.”
Jabber’s grin softened at the edges, turning almost fond. Almost. He reached out, not touching this time, just hovering near Zanka’s chest like he was testing an invisible line. “Never said I would.” His voice dipped, lower. “Besides… you always look at me like you’re waitin’ for somethin’.”
Zanka looked away again, the alley suddenly too narrow, too close. “Yer’ full of yer’self.”
“Maybe,” Jabber shrugged, unfazed. “But you didn’t deny it.”
Silence stretched. Somewhere far off, metal clanged, voices echoed—life going on, indifferent to the mess curling tight in Zanka’s chest.
Finally, he spoke. “If we keep this up,” he said, eyes fixed on the wall, “one of us is gonna cross a line we can’t come back from.”
Jabber tilted his head, studying him with that unnerving intensity. “Yeah?” His smile turned slow. “Sounds excitin’.”
Zanka scoffed, bitter this time. “You don’t take nothin’ seriously.”
“Oh, I do,” Jabber replied, stepping back at last, hands lifting in mock surrender. “I just don’t run from it.” He paused, then added lightly, “But hey—if you’re done, you’re done.” He teased, holding his hands up in a policing manner.
Zanka walked up to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “So, what are we?” He asked as he held his face.
“Dunno..” he mumbled, drunk on love. Zanka tilted his head to the side, an idea popping into his head.
He gently kissed his cheek, pressing loving kisses against his face. “So, Jabs.” He felt Jabber’s hands beginning to run up against his waist. Hearing an “mhm..” coming from Jabber was all he needed.
“Why ya’ doing this? Yer’ boss need you to get info outta me?” Jabber’s face was repressed, Zanka gently caressing his body and suppressing his needs had him in a daze.
“Nah, you.. just interestin’.” He mumbled, letting Zanka’s body push him to the other wall in the alleyway.
“Tellin’ the truth, right?” Zanka coaxed him in a teasing tone as Jabber carved his back into an arch.
Jabber let out a breathy laugh, head tipping back against the brick as Zanka’s words sank in. His lashes fluttered, eyes half-lidded, smile lazy but sharp at the edges. “Mmm… yeah,” he murmured. “Always am.”
Zanka watched him closely, thumb brushing along Jabber’s jaw, feeling the faint hitch in his breathing. “Yer’ a terrible liar,” he said quietly.
“Only when I care,” Jabber shot back, eyes opening just enough to catch Zanka’s. There it was again, that look. Reckless, bright, and far too honest for someone like him. His hands slid to Zanka’s hips, not pulling, just resting there like a promise he wasn’t sure he should make.
Zanka stilled. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“…You ever think maybe this is real?” Zanka asked, voice low, almost swallowed by the alley. “Not the fights really. Just this.”
Jabber’s grin faltered, just a crack. He scoffed softly to cover it, forehead leaning into Zanka’s shoulder. “Real’s overrated,” he muttered. “Gets messy.”
Zanka’s fingers tightened in his hair, not rough, just firm enough to keep him there. “So are you.”
A quiet huff of laughter escaped Jabber. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess I am.”
“Zanka, we need you back at HQ. How long are those errands gonna take?” Semiu spoke through his choker which was on his wrist.
Zanka froze.
Well, not dramatically, just enough that Jabber felt it. The weight of the moment cracked, reality bleeding back in through the faint buzz of the choker against his wrist.
“…Shit,” Zanka muttered under his breath.
Jabber lifted his head, eyes sharpening instantly, amusement flickering back into place like a mask snapping on. “Aw,” he drawled, thumb brushing Zanka’s hip one last time. “Duty calls?”
Zanka shot him a look, half warning, half apology, then raised his wrist. “I’m on my way,” he said evenly. “Got held up.”
A pause. Semiu’s voice came back, unimpressed as ever. “You always do. Five minutes.”
The line cut.
Zanka exhaled slowly, hand dropping to his side. The alley felt colder without the press of Jabber’s body against his. He turned back to him, jaw tight, eyes conflicted.
Jabber tilted his head, studying him again—different now. Less dazed. More dangerous. “Guess that answers your question, huh?” he said lightly.
Zanka frowned. “What question?”
“What you’re willin’ to walk away from.” Jabber stepped back this time, giving him space instead of stealing it. “Go on, Zan-zan. Don’t keep ‘em waitin’.”
For a second, Zanka didn’t move. Then he reached out, fingers catching Jabber’s sleeve, brief but deliberate. “This ain’t over,” he said quietly.
Jabber’s grin was slow, sharp, and far too pleased. “Never is.”
Zanka let go and turned, boots echoing softly as he headed out of the alley. He didn’t look back.
Jabber watched him disappear anyway, fingers brushing his own lips where Zanka had kissed him earlier, laughter bubbling up under his breath.
He felt like his pupils could dilate into hearts with how smitten he’d become for this man. He watched as Zanka trailed off with his lovely Assistaff in hand.
Jabber thinks he couldn’t get a better birthday gift than Zanka being in his life.
As the later night rolled around, so did an intervention between the raiders. Zanka, Enjin, Riyo and Rudo fought against four big trash beasts, vital instruments swinging and flaunting attempting to get a hit on the core.
Zanka’s breath hitched as he felt strong arms wrap around him from behind, his face began to drain of color and he whipped his head behind him.
He saw half of Jabber’s body coming out of, what he assumed is, Cthoni’s manhole portal.
“Nice seeing you again, Mr. Bad Attitude.” He gleefully pointed, Zanka’s hands flew on top of Jabber’s in a way that wasn’t as intimate as their last encounter.
“ENJIN—“ He could barely finish his sentence before he’d gotten sucked in.
Right on cue, Riyo jumped into the manhole, while the other two could barely share their own mortified faces before hopping in as well.
The place they ended up in looked like the same trash beast they’d been in all so long ago.
Zanka huffed as their bodies hit the rough ground with a thud, his fall being cushioned against Jabber’s body, which caused him to yelp.
Then again, Zanka mustered the strength to jump up and back away from the other, which Jabber did the same but that was so he didn’t get trampled on by the other oncoming bodies from above.
The intervention felt so loud, yet barely anyone had spoken in the amount of time, Zanka only heard the little giggles and murmurs Jabber had let out as he held Zanka close to him.
Zanka was trying to figure out why the other three hadn’t come falling down yet. His breath was heavy.
Had they not followed him in?
“Ima’ assume Cthoni split everyone up already..” he thought, rubbing the back of his neck in confusion watching the portal close up.
Zanka didn’t wanna question it, he held his activated staff close.
Jabber himself, activated Mankira into her first form, already getting ready to charge at the other.
It’s funny really, they’d kissed and ‘loved’ each other so intensely earlier, it felt as if the energy had washed away. Had they ever even decided what they were as a duo?
For a split second, they just stared at each other.
Not as lovers.
Not as almost-something.
As enemies who knew each other’s tells far too well.
Jabber broke first, grinning wide, feral, Mankira’s segmented form clicking eagerly as she unfurled. “Heh. Guess birthday’s gettin’ better by the minute.”
Zanka tightened his grip on Assistaff, the familiar hum of resonance grounding him. “Don’t get it twisted,” he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse still hadn’t settled from earlier. “This don’t change nothin’.”
Jabber laughed, light and sharp, rolling his shoulders like he was loosening up for a dance. “Sure it does. Now I get to see you serious.” His eyes gleamed. “You promised, remember?”
Zanka scowled. Damn him for that.
He charged forward slamming Jabber’s body with Assistaff into the rough gravel, he got back up on his feet quicker than Zanka could step back, swiping at his mid torso.
Which, he’d surprisingly blocked.
“Whats up with ya’..” he mumbled out, going in for another swing. “Yer’ always..” he kept swinging, he missed most of them. “..So bundled onta’ me..”
as he finished his sentence he’d slapped Jabber across the face with his staff, the force was brutal.
Jabber wasn’t going easy was he?
How was he managing to get so many hits?
Had Zanka gotten better?
Zanka staggered back half a step, boots grinding against the gravel as the recoil traveled up his arms. His breath came sharp through his teeth.
When did he get this fast?
Jabber rolled with the hit instead of taking it clean, laughter bubbling out of him even as blood welled at the corner of his mouth. He spat to the side, eyes blazing—not angry. Thrilled.
“There it is,” Jabber grinned, wiping his mouth with his thumb. “That look.”
Zanka didn’t answer. He adjusted his stance instead, Assistaff humming as he tightened the compression. His shoulders squared, gaze sharpening. “Shut up.”
Jabber lunged again, too reckless. Mankira snapped forward, segments elongating like a living whip. Zanka barely ducked in time, felt the rush of air skim his hair as he twisted and brought the staff up hard to deflect the next strike.
Metal shrieked.
They clashed again and again, the rhythm brutal and intimate. Jabber fought like he always did, wild, unpredictable, throwing his whole body into every movement. Zanka countered with precision, control, adjusting mid-swing, reading Jabber’s tells like muscle memory.
And that was the problem.
“You’re hesitatin’,” Jabber taunted, slipping inside Zanka’s guard and driving a knee toward his ribs.
Zanka blocked it—but barely. The impact rattled him, it sent a sharp jolt through his side. He hissed, pivoting away, staff sweeping low to force distance.
“I’m not,” he snapped.
“Yeah, you are.” Jabber’s grin widened, manic and knowing. “You always pull back right here—”
He feinted left.
Zanka took the bait.
Mankira slammed into his shoulder, throwing him sideways. He hit the ground hard, grit scraping his palms as he rolled, barely avoiding a follow-up strike that cracked the earth where his head had been a second earlier.
It grazed his clothing, thankfully not piercing his skin.
Zanka pushed himself up on one knee, chest heaving.
I didn’t get worse, he realized grimly.
He got better.
Or maybe… he just wasn’t fighting the same way anymore.
Jabber bounced on his heels, energized, eyes shining. “C’mon, Zan-zan. Thought you wanted this to be special.”
Zanka wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, jaw tightening. Assistaff flared brighter in response, resonance deepening, compressing instead of exploding.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, rising to his feet. “I do.”
He stepped forward, no hesitation this time.
If Jabber wanted all of him—
Then Zanka would stop holding back. Like he ever was to begin with.
Jabber decided on making it more fun for himself, unleashing Mankira’s all out form.
Zanka gritted his teeth as he jumped on and over Mankira, landing a hit straight onto his head, causing Jabber to groan.
He whipped Mankira through the air, Zanka ducking with each swing, beginning to memorize the way he fought.
Zanka smiled, it was eerily intense, like he’d stolen the same smile Jabber always wore on his sick face.
Slight blood spilled from the wound he’d gotten from his forehead.
Zanka moved first.
Not with hesitation. Not with restraint.
Assistaff flared, resonance compressing so tight it screamed, a dense, brutal hum that vibrated through the walls of the odd cave. He closed the distance in a blink, staff crashing into Jabber’s guard hard enough to bend it, the impact detonating through Jabber’s arms and rattling his teeth.
Jabber laughed anyway.
“THERE you are—!”
He twisted, Mankira snapping open wider, blades screeching as she tore at the air. Jabber came in fast, relentless, forcing Zanka back with a storm of strikes, claws, elbows, knees, teeth bared in something feral and ecstatic.
They collided again.
And again.
Concrete shattered. Scrap walls burst apart. Every impact echoed like thunder inside a beast, their souls pulsing faster, erratic, feeding off the violence.
Zanka blocked, parried, redirected—but Jabber kept pushing. He always closer. Always inside his space.
“You’re thinkin’ too much!” Jabber crowed, ramming a shoulder into Zanka’s chest and driving him into a wall of compacted trash. “Fight me like you mean it!”
Zanka snapped.
His staff slammed into Jabber’s ribs point-blank, compressed force detonating inward instead of outward.
The sound was wrong.
A dull, sickening crack, not debris.
Jabber’s breath left him in a strangled gasp, body folding before he could even laugh it off. Zanka didn’t stop.
He followed through.
Assistaff shifted, extending mid-swing, smashing Jabber upward and then down, driving him headfirst into the ground with catastrophic force. The earth cratered beneath him, shockwaves tearing through the chamber.
“Jabber!—” Zanka heard himself shout, too late.
Mankira clattered uselessly beside her wielder, slowly disintegrating back into the 30 rings on his fingers.
Jabber didn’t get up.
Zanka stood frozen, chest heaving, staring down at Jabber’s unmoving form.
Blood pooled beneath his head.
“…No.” Zanka dropped to his knees beside him, hands shaking as he grabbed Jabber’s jacket, rolling him over. Jabber’s eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. His grin still somehow replenished.
“Hey—hey, look at me.” Zanka pressed his forehead to Jabber’s, panic clawing up his throat. “You said you wanted it special, right? You don’t get to—don’t you dare—”
Jabber coughed weakly.
A thin, broken laugh bubbled out with blood. “…Heh… wow…”
Zanka felt sick.
“Zan-zan,” Jabber murmured, voice barely there, pupils blown wide. “Guess… you kept your promise…”
“Shut up.” Zanka’s hands trembled as he tried to stabilize him, resonance flickering erratically. “You’re not dying. I didn’t—I wouldn’t—”
Jabber’s fingers twitched, brushing weakly against Zanka’s wrist. “…Still… best birthday…”
His hand slipped.
His inner core let out a deafening shriek.
Zanka pulled Jabber against his chest, Assistaff screaming in protest as Zanka poured everything he had into shielding him,
Too late to undo it.
Too late to take the hit back.
For the first time since he’d met Jabber, Zanka wasn’t fighting an enemy.
He was fighting the terror that he’d finally gone too far—and crossed the one line he could never come back from.
Assistaff clattered against the floor, tears beginning to intensely stream down Zanka’s face. “I hate ya’.. I hate ya’ Jabber.. I hate ya’ Jabber so much..”
he tightly hugged Jabber’s body against his own, falling back into the floor. Be tried feeling the last of his heat that remained on his body.
Feeling him, feeling the remains of his lover.
His legs straddled against the others body, pressing fingers against his neck for a pulse. “Yer’ gone aintchya’?.. Yer’ leaving me here.. Ya’ sick fuck.” He gritted through his smile, tears falling onto Jabber’s clothes.
What could he do now?
He stared at Jabber’s hands, specifically his fingers, where his vital instrument rested.
Zanka’s gaze lingered on those rings.
Thirty of them.
Dull now. Silent. No hum. No response.
His breath hitched again, sharper this time, like something was clawing its way up his throat. “…C’mon,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “Don’t do this ta’ me.”
His fingers trembled as they hovered over Jabber’s hand. For a split second, he hesitated—like touching them would make it real in a way he still wasn’t ready to face.
Then he closed his hand around Jabber’s fingers anyway.
They were already cooling.
Zanka swallowed hard, forehead dropping to Jabber’s chest. There was no rise. No fall. No familiar, maddening laugh vibrating through him. Just stillness.
“…You idiot,” he breathed, voice cracking fully now. “You were s’posed ta’ dodge. You always dodge.”
His shoulders shook as he pressed his face harder against Jabber, like he could force warmth back into him by sheer proximity. Assistaff lay forgotten beside them, resonance dead and hollow, like it knew.
The trash beast groaned again, walls shifting, collapsing inward. The core’s shriek faded into a low, dying whine—unstable, dissolving.
Zanka barely noticed.
He lifted Jabber’s hand, pressing his thumb against the pads of his fingers, right where Mankira used to answer. “Fight me,” he whispered desperately. “Get up an’ hit me back. Laugh at me.”
Nothing.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“…Ya’ promised,” Zanka choked. “You said it’d never be over.”
His grip tightened, nails biting into his own palms as reality finally, viciously settled in.
He did this.
Not fate.
Him.
Maybe it was meant to be fate. He was a cleaner, Jabber was a raider, was he really gonna live through this?
Zanka squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound tearing out of him as he curled around Jabber’s body, protective even now, even when it didn’t matter anymore. His tears soaked into Jabber’s jacket, hot and relentless.
He punched his chest, specifically where his heart rested. Jabber’s body lurched. “I said I’d make yer’ birthday special..”
His voice hollow as he muttered insanity to himself.
He ripped Jabber’s uniform, continuing to claw into his chest, sick draws of blood settling out everywhere, on his hands, Jabber’s body.
It was everywhere.
The mix of their own blood.
He tried digging deep into his skin, he wanted to take his dead, un-pumped heart and preserve it for himself.
He wasn’t strong enough.
He wasn’t strong enough to dig into his skin and take what was most connected to him, to give him comfort.
Zanka’s breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as he forced himself to stop.
His hands trembled violently where they hovered over Jabber’s chest, slick and red and useless. The urge still screamed in his skull.
Take, keep, don’t let him leave.
but his body finally gave out before his mind did. His arms went weak, dropping to his sides as he slumped forward, forehead resting against Jabber’s collarbone.
He licked his finger, tasting the strong metallic blood on his tongue, the aroma filling his nostrils.
He glanced back to his hands again.
He’ll take Jabber’s soul.
The next best thing closest to his heart.
The other half of him.
One by one, he took off his rings, they were slightly oversized on Zanka’ fingers compared to Jabber’s.
He sprayed his hands out in front of him, a sick smile fastening onto his face.
Some rings had blood coated on them, but that’s what made it better.
A preservation, a memory of this night.
He kissed his own hands, releasing the urge to eat Jabber whole.
He looked down at Jabber again.
Still smiling. Still unfair.
Zanka’s mouth twisted, something between a sob and a laugh tearing free. “Even now… yer’ unbearable.”
With shaking arms, he pulled Jabber close one final time, forehead to forehead, like earlier in the alley, like a lifetime ago. “Happy birthday,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry it was me.”
Then, with a sound that barely resembled breathing, Zanka stood.
He took one last look, burning it into himself, before turning away, rings clenched tight in his fist, he picked up Assistaff, the weight of her dragging behind him as he staggered toward a collapsing exit.
And Zanka walked out alone—
hands stained, heart hollowed,
carrying the soul of the man he loved
where his own had split clean in two.
“Really was special..”