Chapter Text
Some nights, when Jabber couldn’t find peace and slumber in his run-down apartment, his mind would wonder. Memories engulfed his pounding head, blinding his vision and making his body wrack with full body shivers.
He’d see happier times - walking through crowded hallways on his way to class with his friends, quieter mundane moments of relaxation in his friends dorm rooms, chatting quietly in class and messing around on school projects…
Each memory was warm and fuzzy, like a warm summer’s day. It made sour bile rise in his throat and his heart pound against his shivering chest. All those faces he couldn't remember, drowned out by substance abuse and loathing, but ultimately yearning.
All the days he’d spent working his ass off to pay the student fee to stay at school, working late shifts at unholy hours multiple times a week (which had always resulted in his homework expectations to be shockingly low) had ultimately lasted for a while - long enough to fill his heart with warmth, at least for once in his life. Jabber’s days at college were no doubt the best time he’d had in his miserable life. And that’s what made losing it hurt so terribly.
Or losing him, rather.
The boy he’d ran away from. Ghosted. Pretended that what he’d done was all for the better as he ran away from that poor, weeping face with his heart in his throat. Jabber would forever feel guilty for what he’d done. But what else could he have?
Zanka.
Zanka Nijiku.
The ever popular boy in the year below him, destined for greatness and grandeur from the moment he’d taken his first breaths. A prestigious family, wealthy beyond Jabber’s wildest dreams, with a spotless and well respected social profile.
Or, his Zanka. The Zan-Zan he’d grown to love and cling to. Now out of his life forever.
And he’d done that. Jabber could never live with himself. The night he’d cut their ties replayed like a broken TV in his mind, static sending his thoughts into a dangerous cycle. Those soft, blue eyes wide and afraid chasing his nightmares forever.
Zanka was the only person he’d ever felt remotely safe with. With a voice like honey and an attitude sharp like a slap to the wrist, Jabber was infatuated with the man. He found himself gazing into his eyes longer than he needed to, sitting closer than necessary, leaning in when the two were alone together…
Growing up with a rough childhood, Jabber had learnt to be closed off from everyone around him. But Zanka’s hands were warm. They’d trace his back in a circular motion, soothing and loving, using the scars adorning his warm skin as a map to the stars. And Jabber would always lean into the touch.
Jabber was selfish and he knew it. Every moment he spent with Zanka felt as if he could touch the sky and bring the sun itself back as a treasure in the palm of his hand. It was a sick thrill he kept close to his heart, a sting of pain like a needle popping the tissue and making him bleed to death in his lonely moments.
It also felt as if he was plunged into the deepest of oceans, darkness engulfing his body as he struggled against the cold.
Everybody liked Zanka. He was a role model within the college, forever exceeding expectations with shining grades and a beautiful face. Jabber, on the other hand? Nothing like that.
Sure, he had a circle of good friends, but everyone else thought the same thing - despite being popular, he was too childish, too much of a bother, dark-skinned and doomed for failure. He’d always continue with that mischievous attitude and shrug it off, as if their rumors were trying to cut a titanium wall. But it did get to him. Every time.
Every new rumor was a scar on his wrist. Another absence on his report. A night spent suffocated by his own beautiful pain. Zanka could never know what a freak he was.
They were too different. As soon as Jabber started getting fired from some of his part time jobs and losing the money he needed to provide for his school fees, he knew he couldn’t be with Zanka anymore. He’d only drag him down.
It took Zanka to accidentally walk in on him holding a bloodied blade towards his arm that told him it was time to do something. Throw away his source of loving light in the world. Protect it from his miserable self.
Jabber had taken off into the night, with the few possessions he’d need to get by and an intense mental breakdown weighing on his back. He’d be better off dead at this point, or so he thought. The idea was so cruel that it excited him. He kept running until his legs gave out, collapsing into a dark and closed off town far away from Zanka.
The feeling of being at the bottom of the world would linger beneath his fingernails forever, along with the haunting sound of Zanka’s screams and pleas as Jabber slammed the door behind him.
.
…
…..
.
Tonight, wracked with mind-numbing insomnia, Jabber thinks back to the times where Zanka would delicately drag his pale fingers through the roots of his hair and talk to him calmly until they both fell into a steady sleep. Jabber muffles a hoarse scream into his tear-soaked pillow.