Chapter Text
Jabber is freedom.
He is everything Zanka isn’t. He is unrestrained, he is naturally strong, he is manic, and above all- he contains a radical acceptance of everything Zanka hates about himself. He throws himself into what he likes- recklessly endangering himself for that rush of adrenaline he craves. And god he is everything Zanka wants to be, and more.
On nights like these, he is all Zanka can think about. Whilst staring at the ceiling above him, or leaning against the window sill that spilled blueish light into his room, it doesn't matter. He thinks of Jabber. Thinking of how happy he looked in the midst of battle, and he seethes in rage (and carefully shoved down envy). It takes everything in him to not scream, or throw something, or both. Specifically at Him- if only he could. If only he could see him broken and battered. bloody, begging for more and looking up at him with those sharp eyes of his as he-
Lovely leaned against the wall next to his bed, the light shining down on her like a ray of heaven incarnate. Her wood damn near gleamed from how well Zanka took care of her- she is everything to him. She is proof he is not like everyone else, and moreover, his finest weapon.
Zanka pushes himself up and turns to face lovely, picking her up and running his hands over her smooth surface- a soft smile playing on his face as he inspects her again. He had already taken care of her earlier in the night, but it was all he could do to keep himself contained.
“Get yourself together…” Zanka muttered to empty space- his gaze finally breaking from Lovely to look out of the window in his room. How late was it? Certainly sometime after midnight, from how tired he felt.
Zanka hauled himself up, wandering over to the window sill with Lovely still in his hands, clicking softly against the floor. The familiar rhythm that meant safety and vitality. Zanka set Lovely to lean against the wall next to him- always in arm’s reach.
he gazed up at the night sky with exhausted eyes. He had once read from a sphereite book that the night’s there contained wonderful constellations- dots of light shining down on them. He had never gotten to experience this himself, though. The Ground’s sky is constantly congested with noxious clouds of pollution, not even the Moon’s light reaching down here.
In children’s books he sometimes found, they detailed a glowing orb in the sky- one that shifted from full, to crescent, to sometimes outright disappearing. They talked about how secrets whispered to her were kept with utmost importance. The Moon is a safekeeper of fears, her loving embrace one of comfort and blossoming light.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try it out, even if he didn’t exactly have a Moon to talk to, she could still hear him, right?
“... I hate him, y’know?” his voice sounded fragile and small- like a child confessing of a bully he couldn’t stand up to.
“He is horrible. Always fuckin’ somethin’ up. And yet… I find myself drawn to him.” he sighed quietly- this is so stupid. Why is he even doing this? If someone heard he wouldn’t be able to live it down.
“I think… I’m goin’ crazy or somethin’. I have to be, right? To think of someone like him so often?” heat rose to his cheeks, but he kept talking- Zanka’s voice growing somewhat more confident. It did feel sort of nice to decompress. He loved his friends to death, but he just couldn’t talk about something like this with them. They wouldn’t get it- they would dumb it down to a crush or say he needs help or something like that.
“I hate him.” he reiterated, venom dripping from his words “He has done me nothin’ but harm, and gets under my skin like no other. He deserves all the worst that comes his way” he continued, ranting to the sky like she could somehow fix his problems.
“He somehow finds all my buttons, and presses ‘em like it’s some kinda olympic sport. My life would improve drastically if he would just die already!” he spat, shooting a quick look at the door as he realized just how loud he is being.
“Whatever… I just can't stop thinkin’ of him. It’s like some kinda curse, everythin’ connects to him somehow, and it just gets me angrier and angrier”
His voice broke on the last word, his eyes trailing down and landing on the ground below him. He bent at the waist and rested his head on his arms- his eyes closing for a second before looking back up at the sickly sky
“...is this what love feels like? Everyone always talks ‘bout how love feels- how it feels like you’re gonna explode when you’re near them. Certainly this ain't it- can’t be. He’s just… a nuisance. That’s it. Once I beat him, he’ll leave my mind.” he tried his damn best to convince himself- but he knew better. That twisting feeling in his stomach, that heat in his face, all of it.
“I’m not gay. I’m not.” Zanka reassured himself. He has had this feeling towards girls before- though fleeting and quickly squashed by his family. Surely that means he can’t be gay? Besides, it’s simply hatred. Love and hatred do often feel similar, he mused.
He felt… better. Less wound up, sleepier even. Taking one last glance at the sky, he gathered Lovely and laid down in his bed once more. He dragged the blanket over his body and Lovely’s, drawing it close to him as he balled himself up tightly and pressed his back to the wall- keeping his eyes fixated on the door. Slowly, slowly, sleep crept up on him.
He felt like he was floating on clouds, drifting between realms before sleep finally claimed him. His sleep-muffled ears not picking up on the scrambling outside his window- his closed eyes not spotting the red eyes peering at him with a glinting glee, and a hunger like no other