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The silent sound of rain paired with quiet footsteps woke Zanka from his current sleep. His eyes remained closed, even as he regained consciousness. The faucet from his sink began to start running water, as the light was turned on in his bathroom. He felt a breeze coming from the direction of the window. He internally sighed, keeping his eyes shut.
“Zanka…baby…don’t act like you don’t know I’m here.” Zanka’s eyes finally opened, just to see a pair of magenta eyes looking back at him. Except, he wasn’t his normal smiley, crazed and coked up self. Different slashes painted his skin and blood stained his clothes, although he had the feeling most of it wasn’t his. Jabber looked at him with a blank stare, head tilted slightly to the side and eyes slightly relaxed.
Zanka stared back, and visibly sighed out loud this time. He slowly trudged over to the bathroom where Jabber had been currently standing in, and stopped right infront of him. However, probably not a great idea to be standing within arms length of someone who probably just murdered five guys in cold blood. Zanka figured he should definitely be getting paid for this. Keeping someone else’s body alive and well should’ve been an extra job list. Especially someone who wanted to have nothing to do with him if they weren’t fighting.
Grabbing an unused washcloth off the counter, he soaked it in hot water, and wrung it out. All while Jabber looked at him with a blank, yet puzzled expression. Almost like he wasn’t used to people caring enough about him like this, which would make sense given his track record of immediately leaving someone when they get ‘too boring’ for his taste.
He brought the washcloth to his face and rubs the wet cloth onto his face, and Jabber doesn’t even flinch. The cuts on his face soak the washcloth with blood, and Jabber stares down at him—well as much as he can. They really only have a two inch difference in height.
The faucet starts running again as Zanka starts to wring out the blood in the cloth, and Jabber’s eyes get more…tired-like. Zanka’s already questioning why he bothers helping someone who clearly doesn’t desire to be helped at all. Then again, you don’t show up at someone’s dorm room at three in the morning and don’t expect to be shown common courtesy.
Although, that just raises more questions on why he’s here in the first place. Or… how. He was sure Semiu had the place guarded at all times.
A quick look at the tiles beneath them, however, made him pause in his peace of thoughts. A whole lot of blood had been dripping and staining his floors that he worked so hard to keep shiny and stain free at all times. Luckily, they’d went through a similar song and dance before. He had an extra pair of clothes in his closet that fit Jabber, and it was something he chose out himself as well. He was definitely glad Corvus didn’t order any monthly room checks or anything.
Zanka slowly exited the bathroom to grab a pair or clothes, as Jabber’s eyes stayed on him, tracking his every movement. It made him feel weirded out, how Jabber wasn’t automating on his usual energetic and usually coked up self. To be fair, it also had been two in the morning. He quietly stepped on the ground, however each tile would creak under his every movement. Sometimes he wondered how the other was able to get into his room while making no sounds.
The closet door creaked as he opened it, and he slightly winced at the amount of noise it had been making. Not that anyone outside would hear it anyways, the walls had been semi-soundproof. He shuffled around his closet, tossing some things to the side half-hazardly, and finally found that spare pair of clothes. A black long sleeve paired with some black sweats. It had been the middle of December, he figured it would’ve been rude to leave him with some shorts and a tshirt.
Once he returned to the bathroom, he threw the clothes at the others chest. Now that he thought about it, he could’ve tried to avoid the buildup of blood. Too late now, he’s sure it didn’t transfer. “Change out of those and put those on.” Zanka said, and before he let Jabber utter a word out, he closed the door to the bathroom. He could’ve swore he heard Jabber curse a bit under his breath, but he walked away from the door to sit on his bed before anything negative could come of the interaction.
Obviously Zanka had been a bit peeved from the interaction. He usually doesn’t have to wake up in the dead of night just to make sure the idiot behind the door doesn’t succumb to either death by drugs or death by injury. It’s a thankless job, really. One that required him to work overtime and have an extra stash of clothing he bought with the money he occasionally makes from the company.
The mere idea of him working his life away for someone who he isn’t even supposed to be interacting with right now always gives him immediate stress. Trying to take care of Jabber is like attempting to properly dispose of a dirty needle you found in the back of an alleyway—dangerous and almost never has a good outcome.trying to properly dispose of a dirty needle. One touch too many and you probably won’t even escape with your head.
A bit later he hears shuffling around and the bathroom door finally opens, but Jabber’s hair is tied into a low ponytail with a bit of pieces hanging out at the front. He looks at Zanka with an unreadable expression, because of course, what is Jabber without being unpredictable at all times? A whole ass mess, that’s what. He slowly walks towards Zanka, his eyes almost teary and sorrow filled. He suddenly drops to the floor with a quiet *thud*, and Zanka looks down to see him literally on his knees. He only ever used that stance if he was trying to get Zanka to choke him out.
“What d’ya think yer tryin to do here?-“ Zanka starts before Jabber starts lowering his head, head facing his knees. He says absolutely nothing, which makes Zanka even more suspicious of the scene unfolding in front of him. Jabber barely ever looks or acts vulnerable, which gave him a slight feeling he might be smothered if he even attempts to fall asleep.
He hears a slight sniffle coming from below, which disorients him a bit. Zanka slowly reaches a hand out and cups it around the others chin, slowly lifting it to make Jabber face him. Well, he realizes that isn’t exactly possible at this given moment, being that Jabber’s eyes are currently streaming down with tears. Zanka quickly deduces he must’ve been coming down from a bad trip. Seemed to be the case, until Jabber slowly reached into his shirt, grabbing a chain that hung around his neck, and pulled it apart.
The pieces went scattering around the floor, and Zanka is half ready to start fucking yelling at him before the one below him slowly brings out his hand to show a tiny charm. It was a tiny golden cross with a silver star engraved onto it. Zanka tilted his head a bit, until Jabber cleared his throat. “It’s… a gift. Written in blood, I’d say.”
Written in blood was correct. It had been quite stained with red, once again most likely not Jabber’s. Zanka quickly ran through every single scenario through his head of how the hell he obtained this. He eventually settled on the fact he must’ve jacked it from whatever village or family of five he just brutally assassinated. “This ain’t gon give me a curse for the rest of time, right?”
Jabber finally smiles a bit after that comment. Well, a smile turns into a giggle, which turns into a somber laugh. “You thinkin I would give ya something cursed??” Zanka’s even more confused now. Jabber has some serious ass BPD if he just went from crying straight to giggling in the matter of minutes. “I shouldn’t have called you a selfish bitch after you said you didn’t want to fight.”
Zanka kind of stared at Jabber, before sighing and snatching the charm, clicking it onto an earring. Jabber’s eyes widened, and he smiled again. Although, more genuine this time. “You gon explain what all the blood’s for, than?” Zanka asks, and Jabber kind of looks off to the side, almost shamefully
“Unrelated, just ran into a bit of problems on the way. Which reminds me, I kinda need a retwist, Zanzan. My hands are tired.” Jabber complains with a slight pout, which unfortunately whenever Jabber didn’t feel like doing his hair, he would always get Zanka to do it for him. And who was he ever to say no? Zanka rolled his eyes a bit, but dragged his wrist up onto the bed and started to try and fix his injuries.
The care kind of made Jabber forget he got jumped by about five junkies on the way to Zanka’s dorm for the drugs he had currently carried on him. Nothing too much for him, however. They went down in about five minutes. No matter how much Jabber may get his ass slightly handed to him in the back of an alley, Zanka’ll be the only one allowed to kill him.