Work Text:
Truth be told, Zanka didn’t normally do… things like this.
‘This’ being the whole in a strangers apartment at 11 p.m. because Riyo wanted to hangout with this cute girl at this party and she couldn’t go alone, obviously. So now Zanka’s here on some threadbare couch in a house that’s just a little too loud and a little too crowded with smoke filling the air. He’s no stick in the mud, if the cup in his hand (that’s actually his third drink because Riyo keeps passing hers to him and then forgetting about it) is anything to go by, but the second-hand smoke was actually starting to make his eyes water.
He sighs, rolling his head back as he takes another sip and cringes. He’s never been a vodka guy and the liquor is settling heavy on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling. It’s dark, obviously, but whoever owns the apartment has a set up of lights that dance a flurry of different colors across the ceiling and wall and it lights up the room enough for Zanka to make out some facial features of the people who pass him. Not enough to catch his interest though.
In fact, with boredom weighing him down heavier than the alcohol, he’s contemplating grabbing Riyo and just leaving, forgetting about the fact that she’d be pissed, when the couch cushions dip beside him. He lazily glances to the side, swirling his cup lazily in his hand, just to freeze at the stranger next to him.
Zanka wants to pretend it’s the disgusting linger of alcohol in his mouth that’s making his brain fuzzy, but he knows better than that. Dark skin with long locs, decorated with metal he can’t quite tell the color of with all the vibrant lights in the room. Plump lips pulled into a wicked grin with piercings everywhere. And most importantly - Eyes that he can’t tell the color of, but knows that he’ll see in his dreams for at least the next few nights.
For a moment, Zanka just stares, forgetting himself as he lets his eyes run over the stranger, with their immaculate sense of style and unfairly handsome face, before the stranger’s grin turns into a smirk and suddenly Zanka finds that face much closer to his than previously. He startles, body jolting and the overly fruity drink in his hand spills over, splashing onto both his and the stranger’s, who was much closer than he previously thought, laps.
“Fuck, sorry-,” Zanka sputters, setting his cup on the messy coffee table in front of him as he wipes his hand off furiously on his jeans. The stranger is quiet for a moment and Zanka feels a bit of irritation mix with his embarrassment; At least, until the stranger laughs, high and free.
“Nah man, no problem, didn’t mean to startle ya,” The man says, but the look in his eyes say that was definitely his intention; Or maybe Zanka’s reading into it, but who’s to say.
Zanka fails to say anything, just sitting there awkwardly, his lap wet and uncomfortable as he waits for the man to either say something or leave. In fact, he's just about ready to stand up himself before the guy suddenly says something.
“The name’s Jabber,” The guy, Jabber, says, grin relaxing into a small smile. He seems unbothered by the wet splotch on his pants, baggy cotton from what Zanka can tell.
“Zanka,” Zanka replies, nodding his head as he tries to force himself to relax.
“Zanka,” Jabber repeats, tongue molding over the sound of his name and the sound sends a small shiver up Zanka’s spine, “Nice. I like it. It's like… zesty.”
Zanka’s brows furrow as he tries to parse through whatever the fuck that means. He says as much.
Jabber barks a laugh, “Aw man, no insult. It's like y'know… Your name’s a lemon or something.”
Zanka then comes to the conclusion that Jabber is high, which is proven as such when he notices the blunt tucked in Jabber’s flannel pocket.
“Uh-uh,” Zanka says dryly, grabbing his drink to take another swig. “So. Just looking for a seat then?”
Jabber looks at him blankly before his lips curl into a smile, “Man, didn't know I needed permission to sit on my own couch.”
Zanka freezes and embarrassment floods through him. “Fuck this,” Zanka mutters as he stands, feeling his face flush as he wobbles. Maybe he did drink too much.
“Hey, just teasing,” He feels a warm hand grab onto his wrist and coax him back down onto the couch. Zanka glances at Jabber suspiciously, but sits back down anyway.
“Nah, I just came over to see if you were good. Looked like you were boutta fall asleep on the couch and no offense, but it's kinda early.”
True. As far as Zanka could tell, Riyo and him had only been there about an hour. Damn.
Zanka shrugs with a small not pout, not quite knowing what to say. “This just.. ain't really my thing I guess. Kinda bored.” Truth be told, a party after a long week of long classes, merely three weeks before exams, was the last thing he wanted to do, but he’s a victim to Riyo’s big eyes (and her sweet threats of inviting Enjin over).
Seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Jabber’s eyes widened. “Whaaat? No way man, come on, you gotta like do something. Drink some more, dance a little, talk to someone, y'know!”
Zanka tries not to let it show on his face how unpleasant most of that sounds, but it must show anyway, cause Jabber cackles almost hysterically next to him.
Finally, Jabber seems calm. “You ever smoked before?” Jabber suddenly asks, curiosity lighting up his eyes. He’s lounging lazily beside Zanka, legs spread like he owns the place (which he does, Zanka supplies), and he’s chewing his bottom lip while he watches Zanka.
“Uh. Cigarettes, mostly,” Because yeah, Zanka liked to go to the gym and eat healthy, but he had a weakness and that was nicotine, embarrassingly enough.
“Ever smoked weed?”
A pause. “No.”
A longer pause, like Jabber was coaxing a cat to come near him, “Wanna try?”
Zanka contemplated for a moment, glancing around the room. He could vaguely see Riyo’s silhouette, marked by her signature hair, in the doorway talking to that same blonde girl she’d been raving about for the past month or so.
“Yeah.”
The next thing Zanka knows is his drink is being plucked from his grasp and there's that hand again, warm and shit, is he wearing rings?, pulling him out of the room and into a corridor past the bathroom. There's the click of a door opening and Zanka being pulled in, and now he's standing in a dark room with a guy he met less than twenty minutes ago.
The door closes behind them and it’s a testament to how much of a lightweight Zanka is that he doesn’t really care that he’s alone with the handsome stranger.
Jabber fumbles in the dark for a moment before a lamp flicks on, bathing the room in a warm orange light. Zanka squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as he tries to adjust to the sudden brightness and Jabber hisses a, “Fuck, too bright,” before he clicks the lamp again and suddenly the room is bathed in red.
“LED lamp I got off of like… Temu? I think,” Jabber supplies and suddenly he’s chattering away about how he and his old roommates used to buy electronics off the site to see if they could make them explode. Zanka listens with one ear as he looks around the room. A bed, unmade and stacked high with blankets, sits in the corner. Tapestries line the wall and random clothes and stuff dot the floor. Each glance around the room seems to reveal a little something about the guy who Zanka only knows the name of, and it feels intimate in a way that would disturb him more if he was sober.
Jabber is suddenly in front of him, tugging him towards the bed. Zanka is about to stutter something, but instead Jabber pulls them in front of the window. “Out here, we can sit on the roof,” Jabber says, opening the window up and sliding out the window with cat-like ease. Zanka tries not to look at the flex of his arm for too long, instead resigning himself to follow.
The cold air of the night is refreshing to Zanka’s warm skin. The little roof outside of the window is more spacious than Zanka thought, allowing him to spread his legs out with only his feet hanging over the edge. He settles next to Jabber, cautiously putting as much space as he can between them, but it’s all for naught when Jabber scooches closer, fumbling in his pocket for something.
“Aha,” Jabber says, pulling out a lighter. It’s red with inked doodles covering it and Zanka’s eyes focus on Jabber’s hands, long dark purple nails and-
“Woah. Rings,” Zanka says smartly, and then flushes. Fuck he’s not even high or anything and he’s acting like an idiot.
Jabber cackles, and holds out his hand, splaying his fingers. On each finger, a silver ring sits, with a sharp almost claw-like protrusion on each one. They don’t sit at the base of his fingers, probably because they’re too thick, and instead rest over each second knuckle. It’s a damningly attractive view.
“Like ‘em?” Jabber grins, like he only knows how to smile, “Pretty things ain’t they?” Zanka just nods because he doesn’t know what else to say.
Jabber just chuckles and pulls the blunt from his flannel’s pocket and lights it with practised ease. He takes a hit, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply. The smell of weed burns Zanka’s nose, a relatively unfamiliar scent, but the way the smoke billows from Jabber’s lips lights a different fire in him.
Jabber takes another hit before handing it over to Zanka, who takes it with shaky fingers. He almost drops it when he feels Jabber’s hand brush against his, but he steadies himself with a flush, resigning not to look at Jabber as he tries to maintain his cool.
Biting the bullet, Zanka lifts the blunt to his mouth and takes a drag. The end of the blunt is sticky with the scent of lipgloss and Zanka wonders if he’s gonna faint. He might actually now cause he ends up inhaling too deep and the unfamiliar burn of marijuana claws up his chest and throat in his lungs desperate attempt to expel it.
Zanka hacks some rough coughs, tears climbing to his eyes as Jabber plucks the blunt from his fingers, laughing at him all the while.
“Uh oh, took a little much there huh Zan?” Jabber trills, immediately taking another hit as Zanka tries to pull himself together, completely oblivious to the little nickname.
“F’ck off, basterd,” Zanka hisses when he finally has enough clean air in his lungs, wiping away the little remains of tears on his lashes and hoping it doesn’t smudge his eyeliner.
The feeling in his lungs is heady, throat and lips wet from his coughing, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to try again. He shakes his head, trying to free the fog from his head, feeling the soft tassels of his earrings and his hair brush against his jawline.
“Lemme try again,” Zanka rasps, holding his hand out to take the blunt back.
Jabber makes a delighted sound as he acquiesces, “Be my guest, dude.”
Zanka takes it with slight apprehension, but gears himself up, pressing it to his lip. He inhales much more carefully this time, inviting the smoke in rather than forcing it in. It still burns in the way nicotine doesn’t, but this time, he can feel its tendrils seeping into his brain. It must show on his face because Jabber makes a cooing sound, “Yeah, let it seep in man.”
Zanka makes a weird noise, like a laugh mixed with a scoff. He stares up at the sky above them; They’re deep in the city and the sky glows with the hue of the lights blocking out all the stars. He feels his bones seep heavy into his bones and he leans back to rest his head against the wall behind him.
Jabber shuffles next to him, copying his position but with his legs still crossed.
“So Zanka,” He begins, holding the blunt between two lazy fingers as he circles it in the sky, “Parties not your thing?”
Zanka hums as he thinks, stringing together words through fuzz, “I like kickbacks; Ain’t too big on parties. I’m only here ‘cause my friends got a crush.” His hands feel pretty big and he presses them to his chest, feeling his heartbeat strumming lazily.
“I dunno a lot of the people here,” Jabber admits, eyes half closed as he stares up at the sky, “Started as lil hangouts to get high with friends. Then more people started showing up and now I gotta throw parties every couple weeks.”
“I’d kill myself,” Zanka deadpans before he can think about it too much.
Jabber barks a laugh, “It ain’t too bad, really. People come by, have fun, sometimes something fun or cool happens, and I have an excuse to get crossed.”
“You don’t seem like the type that needs an excuse,” Zanka says. He makes a grabby hand towards Jabber, who passes him the shrinking blunt.
“Gettin’ high is one thing, but I ain’t a big drinker,” Jabber says. Zanka can hear the sound of Jabber’s locs dragging against the ceiling as he turns his head to look at Zanka. Zanka meets his gaze as he blows out the smoke curling in his mouth.
Zanka blinks. Once, twice.
“Your eyes are pink.”
Jabber furrows his brows, “So are yours.” He lazily points his finger towards the blunt in Zanka’s hands, swirling it in circles.
Zanka shakes his head, immediately cringing at how heavy it makes his head feel. “Nah, nah, like… Your eyes.”
Jabber just stares at him for a minute before his glossy lips form an ‘o’ shape as he realizes and he laughs, “Ha! Yah, I forgot.” He smiles dopily at Zanka from below him.
It seems that was enough for Jabber to start chatting and Zanka wonders if Jabber is his real name because it fits him so well. The two of them sit there for a long time, each just passing the blunt to each other and making conversation, far deeper than Zanka thought he’d be making.
He talks about his major, admits that he hates it but feels like he’s spent too much time and is now stuck in it. In turn, Jabber talks about how he finds school mind-numbingly boring and normally only goes to class because his roommate forces him to.
Zanka finds himself, annoyingly enough, having a good time, even if Jabber keeps teasing him and making stupid comments and generally being irritating, but his buzz is going and Jabber has a pretty smile and makes good conversation, and the next thing he knows, he’s laughing beside him.
“Man, you have a pretty laugh,” Jabber sighs heavily and Zanka freezes, face going red as he looks down at Jabber, unsure what to say. He’s spared, though, as the window behind them is shoved open and the familiar voice of Riyo fills his ears.
“Zaaaankaaaa!” Riyo whines, “I’ve been looking for you - Oh man, you reek of weed.” Her nose wrinkles as she takes in Zanka’s mused state. “Oh, hey Jabber.”
“Yo,” Jabber grins, raising his fingers in a peace sign, “Come to steal my man?”
“I didn’t know you two knew each other," Riyo said, a small pout, but she shakes her head, “Noerde went home so we can leave now. Plus I’m like, kinda maybe really drunk.”
Zanka blinks heavily at her as he tries to register the words, and then makes an ‘ah’ sound. That was Riyo’s way of saying she was wasted. “Alright, let’s uh, go then.” He pulls his way through the window, a little wobbly on his feet and suddenly aware of how sore his ass is from sitting on it for so long.
Riyo immediately stumbles over and rests her head against his arm, giggling about something or another, while Zanka tries to get his head on straight. He’s not quite sure what to say, if he should even say anything, to Jabber, who practically falls through the window himself, laughing all the while.
The three of them walk to the front door, pushing through crowds of people as it only seemed to get more populated the later the night went.
“Hey,” Jabber suddenly stops him as Zanka is pushing open the front door, grabbing onto his shoulder gently and holding out his phone to Zanka. He stares at Jabber with big eyes, confused and flustered and Jabber laughs.
“Your number, big guy,” He says, waving his phone around, “We gotta get high together again. Yer fun.”
Zanka stutters out some half-assed insult, but punches his number in regardless. Riyo makes a weird snickering sound next to him, but he’s so focused on the warm feeling in his stomach he doesn’t pay attention.
“Nice. I’ll text ya, Zan-zan.” Jabber coos and then Zanka is pushing his way through the door with Riyo hanging on him, head empty of any thoughts except Jabber.