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Love is a sweet, delightful thing.
It warms your tongue, endearingly burns under your skin. It’s a slow, pleasant heat that never quite fades, only settling deeper, becoming something that you start to crave without realizing.
Zanka hasn’t felt this form of love before, and it’s utterly addictive.
He’s known about loyalty. Known respect, known the pride that comes from his family name. But he hadn’t known this. This quiet pull toward another person, this instinctive urge to look for someone in every room, to feel relief when they’re close enough to touch. It’s new and a bit strange, and it could be dangerous.
But Zanka can’t bring himself to step away from it.
He hadn’t known you could someone this close to your heart without it hurting, hadn’t known affection could sit so warmly in his chest instead of being sharp and suffocating. He hadn’t known that someone’s mere presence could soften the constant edge he had after leaving his family behind.
It feels unfair how easily Jabber slips past every defense he has ever built.
Jabber leans down, his hair skimming against Zanka’s cheek, brushing warm and soft against his skin. The faint scent of dust, sweat, and whatever soap Jabber had last used is familiar in a way that Zanka refuses to think too hard about.
Zanka breathes it in anyway.
“Zankaaa~” Jabber whines, his voice low and rough, almost growly. He drags out Zanka’s name. “Watcha doing?”
Zanka lifts a hand automatically, fingers brushing Jabber’s face without thinking. His thumb rests against Jabber’s cheekbone, his palm warm against the skin. Jabber grumbles at the contact but doesn’t pull away. He leans into it like a cat demanding attention.
“Trying to finish cleaning?” Zanka says.
He pushes Jabber back just enough to reclaim some personal space as he grabs at Lovely Assistaff. The familiar weight is comforting in his palm as it settles. Muscle memory takes over as he twirls the staff in a few smooth arcs, cutting through the air before he catches it again.
“You should leave before the others come,” Zanka tells him. His tone is firm, but he really never pushes Jabber very far. He doesn’t even look at him as he speaks, as if the suggestion is nothing more than a habit. “Doesn’t your boss like, not like this?”
Jabber scoffs loudly, as if the very idea is offensive, “Mm!! He doesn’t, but it’s fine. I like being near you anyway.”
Jabber grins. It’s wide and sharp, and Jabber is entirely too pleased with himself. His teeth catch the dim overhead light, expression full of mischief. There’s something soft underneath.
Zanka sighs, shaking his head in return, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, twitching upward for just a moment.
He turns back to his work, cloth sliding along the lacquered surface of his vital instrument. His fingers trail across the polished wood afterward, checking for imperfections, feeling the smooth glide beneath his skin. It’s perfectly maintained.
The repetitive motion is calming because it’s something he can control.
Behind him, Jabber shifts restlessly, boots scraping against the floor. Silence stretches – or at least, the closest thing to silence that’s possible with Jabber in the room. A warm breath brushes against his ear.
“Zankaa,” Jabber whispers, voice low and conspiratorial. It’s far too close. Zanka feels the heat blooming along his skin, his shoulders tense as a puff of hot air fans across his ear. “I’m bored.”
His cheeks burn, and Zanka hisses, elbow nudging back into Jabber’s ribs with a bit of irritation mixed with embarrassment. “You’re distracting me.”
“Mmm,” Jabber hums. He’s clearly unbothered. “I’m very distracting, aren’t I?”
Zanka scowls over his shoulder, exasperated, but there’s no bite behind it.
It’s because Jabber’s still here, leaning too close, smiling as if he had all the time in the world. Zanka doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind the way the warmth fills his back, doesn’t mind the noise of Jabber’s presence filling the room, doesn’t mind how natural everything feels.
The staff rests across his knees, forgotten at the moment as he glances at Jabber again.
Jabber’s grin softens when their eyes meet.
Ah, how could it be possible to hate and love someone this much?
~*~
Zanka twists midair, momentum carrying him in a clean arc as Lovely Assistaff sweeps around him. The staff meets Mankira’s claws with a ringing clash that vibrates all the way up his arms. The impact is sharp enough to sting even through a practiced grip and hardened palms.
The metal screams against lacquered wood.
Behind the Cleaner’s headquarters, the training grounds echo with the noise. The stone walls box in the sound, making every sound seem much louder than it really is. Dust lifts from the ground where their feet slide and slam, light pouring in and catching drifting particles and flying sparks.
Jabber laughs. The sound bounces off the walls, wild and unrestrained, like he’s having the time of his life instead of being in the middle of what most people would call a lethal exchange. His joy is contagious in the worst way possible.
Wood slams against metal again. Sparks scatter, bright flecks vanishing against the dusty floor as Mankira’s spinning claws try to catch and lock onto Lovely Assistaff. The force nearly wrenches the weapon from Zanka’s hands.
He twists away instead, boots losing traction as he skids across the dusty floor. Dirt scrapes beneath him as he fights to regain his balance. Across from him, Jabber lands lightly, almost bouncing with excitement.
“Ooo, keep that attitude up!” Jabber yells. Mankira spins in his hand, the metal blurring into a deadly whirl as he swings back into motion.
Zanka clicks his tongue, steadying his breath even as adrenaline surges through his veins. Lovely Assistaff hums faintly under his grip and at his will, spikes burst from its length.
He lunges forward, planting his feet and jamming the staff between Mankira’s rotating claws, straining his muscles as he tries to halt the spin.
For half a second, it works. And then Jabber laughs harder and keeps pushing, spinning in utter delight, forcing Zanka back a step.
“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Zanka snaps, digging his heel into the ground.
“Never, never,” Jabber shoots back, his grin flashing. “You worry too much.”
Zanka narrows his eyes as he twists aside just as Jabber lunges, Mankira slashing through the space he’d occupied a moment before. Drops of poison fling free, splattering across the ground where they hiss on contact, eating small pits into the stone.
Jabber lands beside him with a heavy thud, claws carving deep grooves into the training floor. Acidic fumes consume Zanka’s nose, the smell unpleasant.
“Someone has to keep you alive,” Zanka says, pivoting instantly into a whirl of motion again. He sprints forward, leaps, and brings Lovely Assistaff down with a powerful overhead strike.
Jabber rolls out of the way at the very last second. The dust explodes where the staff slams into the ground.
They’re both back on their feet again, panting slightly as they circle each other slowly, weapons raised and eyes locked. Sweat trickles down Zanka’s temples, his heartbeat pounding pleasantly into his ears.
Across from him, Jabber’s grin never fades, his chest rising and falling as excitement keeps him moving even between attacks.
“Ah! I won’t be dying anytime soon,” Jabber grins. It’s all playful and careless, but there seems to be a hint of something sharp under it.
“You better not, or else I’ll revive you and kill you again.” Zanka snarls, lowering his stance. His earrings swing into the edge of his vision as he shifts, blue matching Zanka’s own eyes that lock with Jabber’s.
Jabber laughs, delighted, and charges once again.
They move without hesitation, clashing once more in a flurry of motion. His staff spinning, Mankira slicing, feet sliding and falling into a dance they’ve done countless times now.
They train like this, every once in a while.
Sometimes it's planned, sometimes it's just because Jabber shows up bored and itching for a fight.
Jabber knows, knows, that there’s something buried under Zanka’s skin, something Zanka keeps contained, something Jabber tries again and again to drag into the open, eager to see what happens when Zanka stops holding back.
Zanka thinks otherwise, but he likes the sparring.
It’s good practice, and he improves this way, keeping his body in fighting shape.
When Lovely Assistaff spins easily in his hands, when Jabber laughs like the world holds nothing worth fearing, it’s fun.
For a little while, the simple thrill of someone meeting him blow for blow, someone who looks at him like this, grinning wide, he can’t say he dislikes it.
~*~
It has been about a week since they last saw each other.
A week isn’t that long, not really. There are missions that stretch longer all the time. Some people disappear into the wasteland for days, sometimes weeks. But still, the absence lingers.
Zodyl had Jabber dragged off on another mission – thankfully, not harassing Rudo this time – and so Jabber hadn’t been able to meet up with Zanka.
But even knowing Jabber was alive, just busy, hadn’t stopped the irritation settling under Zanka’s skin. The silence feels wrong without the sudden appearances, without Jabber leaning over his shoulder just to be annoying. The space Jabber leaves behind has been noticeable.
Which is absolutely stupid in Zanka’s opinion.
They meet now on a battered bench near the headquarters, its metal legs half-sunk into the ground, wood warped from years of exposure. Beyond them stretches the wasteland, endless heaps of scrap and ruined landscape rolling toward the horizon under a dull sky.
The wind carries dust and the distant metallic smell of garbage fields baking under the sun. For once, Jabber isn’t filling the space with his teasing.
He just sits there, elbows on his knees, staring out across the landscape like he’s actually content to just exist.
It throws Zanka off a bit more than he expects.
He reaches out without thinking and takes Jabber’s hand.
It’s warm, even through the callouses and rough skin. Zanka fiddles with his fingers absentmindedly, rubbing his thumb along the metal rings resting there, grounding himself in something familiar. Jabber doesn’t pull away and just lets him be.
Silence stretches comfortably between them, filled only with wind and distant activity from the headquarters behind them.
One particular twist of Zanka twists Jabber’s hand, and one of the rings slips loose. It slides down, catching precariously at the tip of Jabber’s fingernail, glinting faintly in the light.
“Sorry,” Zanka mutters automatically, trying to push it back into place on Jabber’s second joint.
His fingers are careful, but he barely moves them an inch before Jabber’s free hand lifts, catching his wrist to stop him.
Zanka blinks, looking up.
Jabber grins slowly, his eyes sharp with amusement. Instead of letting Zanka fix it, he pulls the ring off completely and spins it around his finger.
Without warning, he grabs Zanka’s hand and slips the ring onto his ring finger.
It slides into place easily, and Zanka stares at it.
“See, doesn’t it fit perfectly on you?” A devilish smile is curling across Jabber’s face.
The ring is thick metal, worn smooth in places. Three bands fused, scratches and dents marring the surface. A little grime clings stubbornly in the grooms, impossible to fully clean out.
Zanka stares at it, turning his hand slightly.
It looks… ordinary.
There’s nothing about it that suggests it can transform into Mankira’s deadly spinning claws, but isn’t that how vital instruments are, no? No one looks at Lovely Assistaff when it’s dormant and imagines the brilliant blue weapon it becomes in battle.
Appearances lie.
Still.
“Don't put it on me,” Zanka mutters, tugging it back off and pressing it against Jabber’s palm. “That’s your vital instrument. You shouldn’t part with it.”
“Aah, Zan-zan,” Jabber just laughs, sing-song and unbothered. He trills, leaning closer. He pokes at Zanka’s nose lightly, and Zanka’s face wrinkles immediately in annoyance. “They’re my lucky charms. All my lucky charms should be together, no?”
Zanka scowls at him.
Lucky charm.
The implication sinks in a second later, heet creeping faintly into his cheeks despite himself.
Idiot. He’s an absolute idiot.
But Jabber’s grin is so easy, like the idea is so obvious and that there’s no embarrassment in saying it, like Zanka being important to him is just a fact.
Wind sweeps across the wasteland again, lifting strands of Jabber’s hair as the other man leans back against the bench, his shoulders brushing against Zanka’s.
Zanka closes Jabber’s hand, more firmly this time.
“Keep track of your stuff,” Zanka grumbles, “Or you’ll lose it one day.”
Jabber laughs, bumping their shoulders together. “If I lose it, you’ll find it for me, right?”
Zanka snorts in reply, but he doesn’t deny it. And they sit there, watching the wasteland stretch endlessly ahead.
He can’t believe he’s in love with this stupid, ridiculous, reckless man.
~*~
It hadn’t taken long for the other Cleaners to find out about their relationship.
Two months, actually.
Secrets don’t last long in the headquarters, not when everyone eats together, trains together, bleeds together. Someone always notices when someone new starts lingering a little too often, when footsteps start appearing at odd hours, when one particular Raider keeps showing up and leaving suspiciously unharmed.
Zanka had expected them to shout at him. For arguments, for the disapproval, for someone to drag him aside to remind him that Jabber was technically an enemy. Those attachments like that got people killed.
He had braced for it, but none of it had come. No one had kicked him out, pointed fingers at him, or accused him of betrayal.
Instead, somehow, Jabber just slipped into their family, like he had always been there.
Of course, it hadn’t been instant. The Raiders weren’t exactly a popular company – especially from their clashes with Team Akuta – and Jabber’s reputation preceded him in the worst ways. There were plenty of wary looks following him the first few times he showed up.
But the Cleaners were good at hiding things, at accepting the truths. Their whole lives were built around salvaging what others threw away, after all.
Rudo had been the hardest to warm up on Jabber, not that Zanka blamed him. Their first encounter had been rough, and it wasn’t something you just forgot. But eventually, Rudo’s hostility softened into something of a reluctant tolerance, especially once Jabber stopped trying to provoke him with every chance he got.
Enjin, surprisingly, had been the second hardest to convince.
Zanka remembers vividly the way Enjin’s usual grin had flattened into something of a scowl the first time he saw Jabber openly draped all over Zanka like some parasite.
Jabber, shameless as ever, had hooked an arm around Zanka’s shoulder and waved cheerfully back at Enjin, as if unaware of Enjin’s slight hostility.
Enjin had stared at him like he was calculating how hard he’d have to hit him to knock him unconscious. Zanka wouldn’t have been surprised if Enjin hadn’t cornered Jabber later and issued some sort of threat about hurting Zanka.
Jabber hovered in that strange middle ground between the older Cleaners and the younger ones, not quite belonging on either side but bouncing easily between both.
And, surprisingly, his closest new companion became August. They were both loud and obnoxious, laughing and creating a ruckus whenever they interacted.
Zanka’s ears always hurt whenever he was close to both of them.
Still, their relationship was nice.
Today was one of those rare good days at the Cleaner’s headquarters.
They have a feast set out, a once-in-a-while special occasion when they get their hands on an abundance of food. Tables were dragged together in the common area, a large one in the center and smaller ones around it, where the table creaked under the plates that were piled high.
Cleaners wandered around, grabbing whatever they wanted, trading food, arguing over portions.
For a little while, life almost felt normal.
Zanka leans against the wall with a plate in hand, watching the chaos unfold, and immediately he notices a dangerous look in Jabber’s eyes.
He’s hovering near Rudo with a mischievous glint, the one that is always there when he makes bad decisions.
“Rudo,” Zanka warns, and Rudo turns his head to glance at Zanka in confusion.
Jabber, unfortunately, takes that moment to steal a cupcake from Rudo’s plate. Silence hangs in the air for half a second as Jabber pops it triumphantly into his mouth.
Rudo whips his head around and sees the missing cupcake and snarls at Jabber. He slams his plate down and lunges.
Jabber yelps, jumping backward as Rudo barrels after him.
“Help!” Jabber calls dramatically, dodging out of reach. “Zanka, your mentee is trying to kill me!”
Zanka watches this unfold for a solid second before he deliberately sighs heavily and turns his head the other way, making a big show of ignoring him.
If Jabber wants to start problems, he can deal with the consequences.
Behind him, there’s the sound of Rudo shouting and Jabber’s laughter echoing.
Somewhere from Zanka’s left, soft and delighted, Amo giggles. Zanka glances over to see her covering her mouth, her eyes bright with amusement.
Zanka exhales slowly, shaking his head. His chest feels warm.
~*~
“Listen, children,” Zanka instructs. His voice is firm in the way he thinks responsible adults are supposed to sound. His hands rest on his hips as he places slowly in front of them, his boots crunching lightly over gravel at the edge of headquarters’ outer grounds. The wasteland stretches beyond, scrap heaps and jagged silhouettes.
“The world out there is full of dangers,” he continues, turning sharply on his heel, “Which is why you will stay near me. No running off, no chasing trash beasts, no wandering off. Understood?”
He stops pacing and looks at them.
Three faces stare back.
Guita tilts her head slowly, red eyes wide and unreadable, like she’s trying to figure out if this is a joke. Her vital instrument hangs right around her head, threatening to dangle past her face.
Dear stands stiffly beside her, lips pressed thin, eyes narrowed in irritation at being lumped into a ‘children’ category.
Rudo looks like he might actually try to kill him. His crimson eyes burn with offense, jaw clenched so tightly Zanka almost hears his teeth grinding.
From beside him, Jabber bursts out laughing, rolling on the ground in a comical manner, as if Zanka’s attempt at authority is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed.
Zanka whips his head around, glaring.
“You’re not helping,” he snaps.
Jabber just laughs harder, holding his sides in exaggerated amusement.
“Ahh, Zan-zan, you’re adorable like this!” Jabber manages between breaths. He pushes Zanka lightly, which catches Zanka off guard, and he stumbles a step. Zanka straightens with an irritated click of his tongue. “Look at them! They’re like ducklings!”
“What?!” Rudo yells.
Zanka winces at the loud shout, his shoulders tensing. Rudo seems to notice he had overdone it a second later, because his mouth closes and he shifts on his feet awkwardly.
“Well,” Zanka says after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, “Jabber’s not wrong.”
Rudo immediately begins to scowl again, clearly annoyed.
Ah, the joys of being a child are unmatched.
~*~
“You’re injured,” is the only thing Zanka says when Jabber crashes through his window.
The frame rattles violently as the Raider tumbles inside, boots hitting the floor in an ungraceful landing before he catches himself against the wall. Outside, the night wind whistles through the half-opened window, carrying the distant smell of rust and smoke from the wasteland.
Zanka doesn’t turn around at first.
Jabber’s visits are always like this, sudden and loud, like a force of nature barging into his space.
When Zanka finally glances over, he sees fresh claw marks gouged into the windowsill where Jabber had grabbed hold to pull himself through. The wood is already ruined, scratched deeper with every visit. Marks layered over older ones like a record every time Jabber visits.
Zanka ignores it. He turns toward the cabinet, moving to retrieve the medical supplies he’s long since accepted he’ll need.
Bandages, alcohol, gauze.
“You should stop throwing yourself into danger,” Zanka says, annoyed. “I know you’re better than this.”
Behind him, Jabber laughs.
When Zanka turns back, Janka is grinning, wide and toothy, his eyes bright despite the blood staining his collar. His face is flushed, skin overheated from exertion, strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
Before Zanka can protest, Jabber steps in close and plants his hands on Zanka’s hips, steadying himself.
Zanka clicks his tongue, unimpressed.
“No,” Zanka says, flicking at Jabber’s forehead. “You’re injured, be patient.”
Jabber barely responds to the flick, his grin only widening further.
He sinks onto the edge of the bed, legs spreading slightly as Zanka steps between them to examine the damage. Only then does Zanka notice how deep the wound along Jabber’s collar really is, blood seeping sluggishly through the torn fabric.
He exhales slowly. Carefully, he pushes Jabber’s jacket aside and presses gauze against the wound. Jabber doesn’t flinch, and his voice drops, softer than usual.
“But Zanka,” Jabber murmurs.
Zanka has become aware of how close they are, how easily Jabber’s legs bracket his hips, how his breath brushes against Zanka’s cheek. “I missed you.”
Zanka’s hands were still for a moment. He keeps his focus on cleaning the wound, keeping his tone deliberately casual when he answers.
“And I missed you too.”
Jabber hums in satisfaction, arms sliding loosely around Zanka’s waist as if that settles everything. One hand drifts upward, fingers slipping into Zanka’s hair.
Zanka tries to ignore it. Jabber twists the strands experimentally, brow furrowing in concentration. His fingers work clumsily, attempting to braid what little length Zanka keeps his hair at.
It’s ridiculous.
Zanka pretends not to notice until he hits a deeper part of the wound with disinfectant.
Jabber’s entire body tenses, fingers clenching instinctively and yanking painfully at Zanka’s hair.
Zanka hisses, jerking back slightly.
“Hey–” He swats Jabber’s shoulder slightly, “See? This is what happens when you get yourself hurt.”
Jabber only grins again, sheepish, hair still caught between his fingers.
“It’ll take more than that to kill me,” Jabber says sweetly.
Zanka snorts, his hands gently as he finishes bandaging the injury.
Outside, the wind rattles the window again.
Jabber relaxes slowly as the adrenaline wears off, leaning comfortably into Zanka, his arms loosely looped around his waist like he belongs there.
For a while, Zanka lets him stay.
~*~
Zanka is out with the rest of Team Akuta on a particular cleaning job when he stumbles across Jabber again.
The wasteland stretches endlessly around them, heaps of broken metal and discarded remnants forming unstable hills beneath a washed-out sky. Trash beasts crawl and roar through the debris, malformed shapes stitched together from discarded parts.
Zanka moves in rhythm beside Riyo, their coordination honed through dozens of missions together. She darts above, boots barely touching surfaces as her scissors flash through the air, slicing apart trash beasts clinging to scrap towers overhead. Synchronism thrives between them from the time they’ve gotten used to each other’s fighting.
Zanka handles the ground. Lovely Assistaff spins in his hands, blue metal glinting. The staff slams into a beast’s core, spikes bursting outward as the creature collapses into useless scrap.
Riyo lands lightly nearby.
Above them, Enjin and Rudo deal with the rest. Umbreaker’s power pulses as Enjin keeps larger beasts at bay while Rudo lunges forward, striking with raw intensity with whatever trash he’s changed this time with 3R.
Zanka smells it before he sees him.
The distinct smell of Jabber’s favourite poison drifts in the wind, and Zanka turns his head in time to see a nearby trash beast jerk violently, before exploding into pieces.
Metal and scrap scatter as something slices clean through it, poison sizzling where it splatters across the debris.
Zanka doesn’t need to see who it is, but he looks anyway.
A familiar figure lands atop a scrap pile, claws retracting. Wind whips through long hair, and purple eyes lock onto him through the chaos.
“Ah! Mr. Bad Attitude!” Jabber’s voice crows.
Zanka ducks beneath a particularly large piece of trash, swinging Lovely Assistaff in one fluid motion. The staff shatters the beast’s body mid-lunge. He straightens, irritation bubbling underneath his skin with a relief he refuses to acknowledge
“Focus, Zanka!” Riyo shouts as she cuts another creature apart.
“I am focused,” he shoots back automatically.
Behind him, Enjin groans loudly. “Why is he here again?”
Jabber seems wholly unconcerned with their irritation.
He hops lightly between scrap piles, claws carving through another beast with effortless delight before he lands dangerously close to Zanka.
“Miss me?” Jabber asks, flashing that stupidly bright grin.
Zanka spins his staff once, smashing aside another Trash beast before answering.
“You’re in the way,” he says flatly.
Jabber gasps dramatically, “So cold!”
Zanka clicks his tongue. He notices it anyway, the way that Jabber’s movements subtly cover his blind spots. Zanka has to admit that, unfortunately, Jabber is annoyingly helpful.
Riyo lands nearby. “Is he helping?” She asks, glancing between them.
“Don’t encourage him,” Zanka snaps automatically.
Jabber beams back in response, “See? He does care!”
Zanka’s staff slams into another beast with unnecessary force.
The fight continues as they push forward.
Somehow, poison and blue metal flash side by side, like they always somehow end up doing.
~*~
Zanka is honestly surprised it took this long for his siblings to find out about Jabber.
Three months.
Three months since things shifted from violent rivalry into something softer, warmer, infinitely more dangerous in a completely different way.
Three months since they’d stopped pretending the lingering looks meant nothing.
Three months since they’d started officially calling it love.
And dating.
The word still feels strange in Zanka’s head. Dating sounds temporary, like something you try and drop if it doesn’t work.
What he feels with Jabber is heavier than that. Something that felt more like choosing someone again and again, even when they’re annoying, reckless, insufferable—
But the language is limited, and it’s the only word that fits the best at this time.
Still, they hadn’t planned on anyone finding out this way.
The Hell Guards’ visit had come without warning, their arrival sending a ripple of tension through Cleaner headquarters.
Zanka hadn’t thought much of it. He had been too comfortable, and that was the problem.
He’s sprawled across one of Corvus’ couches, exhaustion from the recent cleaning job still weighing pleasantly in his muscles. Jabber sits far too close beside him, one long leg hooked lazily across Zanka’s own.
Their fingers are intertwined.
It’s become a habit without Zanka realizing it. Jabber reaches out, and Zanka allows it, and their hands are clasped together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jabber’s thumb absentmindedly rubs slow circles against his knuckles while Enjin talks to Corvus across the room.
Zanka pretends he isn’t enjoying it.
The door slams open, and everyone looks up.
Kyouka storms into the room, stopping abruptly mid-step as her gaze lands directly on Zanka. And the man practically tangled with him.
Her expression freezes, and Zanka’s brain short-circuits.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t shove Jabber off like instinct tells him he probably should. The shock pins him in place, eyes wide as realization crashes down all at once.
Oh.
Oh no.
His body reacts before his mind does.
Fear crawls up his spine, his muscles locking. His grip tightens unconsciously around Jabber’s hand, breath catching as the rest of the Hell Guards begin filing in behind Kyouka.
Jabber seems to recognize the signs immediately, because he smoothly unhooks their legs from each other, though his hand doesn’t leave Zanka’s waist. The warmth is a comforting feeling as Zanka breathes in, still trembling.
“What do you need?” Enjin asks, drawing attention away as he turns toward Kyouka, his eyebrow raised.
Zanka clings to that distraction gratefully.
“The Sphereite,” Kyouka says.
The room’s mood shifts.
Corvus is behind Zanka and Jabber faster than Zanka had expected, his hands resting on both their shoulders as he hints at them to leave.
This conversation could spiral fast. Political tensions between Cleaners and Hell Guards are always a delicate thing, and that’s the last thing Zanka wants to become a part of.
Zanka stands quickly, pulling Jabber with him, and for once, Jabber doesn’t resist. He quietly follows behind Zanka in a way that tells Zanka he understands the urgency.
They slip past the others, Zanka deliberately avoiding eye contact with the Hell Guards as they move towards the door.
He ignores Goka’s gaze as they pass by each other.
Behind them, voices rise again.
“Who is the other one?” He hears Kyouka ask when they’re outside the door.
He doesn’t stay behind long enough – he doesn’t want to either – to hear Enjin’s answer.
The hallway air feels cooler as the door shuts behind them, cutting off the conversation entirely, and only then does Zanka realize he’s still shaking.
Jabber’s hand is warm in his.
“You okay?” Jabber asks quietly.
Zanka exhales slowly, shoulders slumping.
“Yeah… I just wasn’t ready for that.”
Jabber snorts softly, “You act like you got caught committing a crime.”
Zanka shoots him an annoyed look.
“It felt like it.”
Jabber grins, wholly unbothered. “Well, if loving me is a crime, I guess you’re guilty of it.”
Zanka rolls his eyes, but his grip on Jabber’s sleeve tightens slightly anyway.
They stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around them.
~*~
There’s someone else in the Cleaners that isn’t quite particular with Jabber.
He hadn’t noticed it the first time around, but he had the second time.
During a particular shit show of a cleaning job, there is a collapsed sector of the wasteland. Trash beasts crawled out from under layers of compressed junk, broken metal leaning dangerously overhead.
Zanka fights at ground level, Lovely Assistaff flashing brilliant blue as it crashes through a beast’s core. Above him, Riyo moves like a shadow, her scissors slicing apart creatures that try to descend on them.
Nearby, Rudo and Enjin deal with another swarm.
And as usual, Jabber is somewhere too close to Zanka for comfort.
“Stop tailing me!” Zanka snaps over the noise, swinging his staff to knock away snapping metal jaws.
Jabber dodges backward, laughing, “Can’t help it, Mr. Bad Attitude! You attract danger!”
“You are danger!” But even as he says it, relief settles in his chest knowing exactly where Jabber is.
Then everything happens at once. A distance crash echoes above them, and Zanka looks up just in time to see an enormous slab of compressed debris break loose from a crumbling heap. The metal beams, shattered plastic, broken appliances, all tumbling downward, straight toward them.
“Tamsy!” Delmon shouts.
Tamsy’s Tokushin reacts instantly.
Threads burst outward, weaving together midair, wrapping around the group and forming a cocoon-like shield.
The impact hits a second later.
The world shakes, and dust explodes outward, metal screeching as debris slams against the barrier.
Zanka feels the threads coil protectively around his arms, chest, and legs.
Everyone’s covered.
Everyone–
His stomach drops.
All except Jabber.
Outside the protective weave, Jabber stumbles backward, eyes widening as a jagged piece of metal spins straight toward him.
“Jabber!” Zanka yells, already lunging forward. His fingers stretch out, and he’s almost there.
A thread spins free and whips around his waist, hard. The force jerks him backward before he can reach Jabber, boots scraping against rubble as he’s dragged into the shield’s protection.
“You’ll get hurt,” Tamsy’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Let–let go!” Zanka snarls, furiously clawing at the threads binding him.
They don’t budge. And all he can do is watch.
Mankira bursts into full form, metal extending as Jabber twists midair, a grin flashing on his face even with the danger barreling towards him.
The debris explodes apart under Jabber’s strike, shredded metal raining harmlessly around him as he lands in a crouch.
The dust swirls.
Jabber looks up, laughing breathlessly, “Whoa, that was close!”
Zanka’s heart is still in his throat.
“Tamsy!” He snaps.
The threads finally retract, dissolving back into Tokushin as the danger passes.
Zanka storms forward before anyone can stop him, grabbing Jabber by the collar and hauling him upright.
“You could’ve been crushed!”
“But I wasn’t.” Jabber blinks, surprised by Zanka’s panic.
“That’s not the point!”
Zanka releases him with a frustrated shove, turning away. Behind him, he hears Tamsy calmly instructing Delmon about securing the area, as if nothing unusual had happened.
But Zanka can’t stop thinking about it.
Everyone else had been protected. Everyone. Except Jabber.
Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe Tokushin simply couldn’t reach fast enough.
But later, as they regroup, Jabber casually throws an arm around his shoulders, grinning about something Riyo had said to him. Zanka catches Tamsy watching them, his expression unreadable.
Zanka’s not sure if something like this won’t happen again, and if it does, he’s not sure if it’ll end with Jabber unharmed.
~*~
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jabber whispers into Zanka’s ear.
The words trickle through his ear, and Zanka feels the familiar, traitorous shiver run down his spine. He refuses to give Jabber the satisfaction of reacting more than necessary, though he only hums quietly in acknowledgement, eyes still scanning the page in front of him.
“Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?” Zanka finally asks. He’s reading an interesting book, flipping through the pages with mild interest. Riyo had recommended it to him, and it had been surprisingly good thus far.
“Zodyl wants Cthoni to try and grab Rudo again,” Jabber says.
By the time Zanka looks up, Jabber’s already half out the window. Of course he is.
One foot planted on the sill, fingers hooked lazily into the cracked frame. He looks like he belongs outside more than in, the open sky suiting him better than walls ever could. He looks at Zanka, a fond grin on his face. “Might want to stay close to him the entire day.”
Zanka sighs slowly, closing the book over a finger to hold his place. “Yeah, I figured.”
Jabber’s eyes linger on him for another second, and in that quiet pause, Zanka realizes how used he’s grown to these visits.
There once was a time when he would’ve chased him out immediately.
“Don’t miss me too much, Zan-zan.” Jabber grins, sharp teeth flashing.
Zanka snorts softly. He watches as Jabber launches himself out the window, body dropping out of sight.
Zanka stands before he means to, crossing to the window just in time to see Jabber land lightly below, already turning and disappearing like he was never there at all.
Reckless idiot.
Zanka leans on the sill, watching the empty night for a few seconds longer than necessary, just to make sure he’s really gone.
The wind slips back into the room, cool against his skin.
There’s a warmth lingering in his chest, and Zanka exhales, finally sliding the window shut.
He returns to his bed, picking up the book again, though he rereads the same paragraph twice without noticing.
Tonight has ended, the night stretching on.
But tomorrow… tomorrow means Jabber will come back again.
Without meaning to, a small, quiet smile tugs at the corner of Zanka’s mouth as he turns the next page, the room settling into a peaceful silence around him.