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When they first officially met, they fought.
Jabber was loud. Too loud, for everybody’s liking. He was mostly out of restraints during playtime, allowed to scream and bark at other children all he wanted. Usually, they ran away from him in fright. Chasing after them was fun.
Until that kid showed up.
Zanka was quiet. Too quiet, but not discouraged to be so. If anything, he was probably taught to be like this from birth. He didn’t run away from Jabber, but was looking at him confused, like he didn’t know humans can be so loud before. He didn’t scream or at least say anything back either. Just stared.
And that pissed Jabber off immensely.
So he hit the quiet boy, right in his pretty cheekbone, that would later be painted in even more beautiful purple. The next thing he didn’t actually expect? Zanka hit him back straight to his nose.
There was a lot of blood dripping out of it. As Jabber licked it off from his lips, he realised the taste could never have been better. Now this is fun.
When Jabber started chasing after Zanka instead of them, children exhaled in relief. They didn’t know how the quiet boy could stand him, but they were glad he did.
But it’s not like his patience was infinite. Jabber’s neither.
Zanka tried to ignore him, thinking he would piss off and find another toy to play with. Jabber was pissed at the lack of attention, so he hit him again, which led to him getting beaten up as well, making him laugh in joy.
Jabber couldn’t be happier with his new friend, beating each other bloody every time they saw one another, until Zanka stopped showing up at the Anakt Garden.
The teachers said he was sick. The boy didn’t believe them.
Maybe he’s dead. The last time they fought they were really rough, not holding themself back in the slightest before someone called the teachers and they got separated, dragging barely conscious Zanka away. Humans were fragile, Jabber knew that from the experience.
There wasn't any new snowfall though. Zanka wasn’t cremated, so that meant he was still alive. The thought bringed Jabber to smile.
He wouldn’t even try to bother other kids, they couldn’t give him what he craved anyway.
When Zanka finally showed up, Jabber jumped at him in embrace, making both of them fall to the flowered ground. The boy was even more pale, bags under his eyes looked darker, despite the healed wounds. Has he really gotten sick?
“What happened? Why did you leave?” His voice is more demanding and desperate than he would like it to be.
Zanka didn’t answer for a moment, baffled by the sudden affection. When he did, he looked away.
“I can’t play with you anymore.”
Jabber’s eyes widened, he found himself feeling more upset than mad. Weird.
“Huh? Why?” He still didn’t let go. Zanka didn’t try to get away either.
“My owner is mad. They said I shouldn’t let my body get ugly. Bad for marketing.”
Oh. His Segyein took him away to heal. Funny, his own owner never cared for his looks, saying that his talent compensated for it. He never realised Zanka’s owner could. To Jabber, he was beautiful either way, beaten up or not.
“We can play another way! Like other kids do!” He never liked their games, to be honest. They have always felt fake, pretending. Zanka wouldn’t pretend, though. Maybe with him it would actually be fun.
Zanka looked back at him, shocked at the proposition. His eyes, empty before, sparkled with hope. Or maybe it was synthetic lights reflecting from the ceiling.
“Okay!”
Despite playing now like normal kids do, they never invited others to play. They weren’t invited either, except for a few times Zanka was, but he declined. Jabber felt proud and fuzzy every time he rejected them in his favor.
Most of their free time they have spent in Zanka’s room. The boy studied hard, while Jabber was laying around near him, trying to distract either himself or them both.
“Why do you study so much anyway? We could have been playing outside!” He genuinely didn’t understand. Zanka was smart, always getting high grades along with him.
“‘Cause unlike someone, I can’t just look at the page once and remember everythin’. Damn geniuses.” The last phrase said with pure frustration.
Jabber sighed, defeated. Laid back, hands behind his head. Eventually started humming something he never heard of.
“You should write it down.” Zanka said suddenly, not looking back, but apparently listening to him.
“Hm? You think it’s good?” He said with a grin, knowing now that Zanks pays attention to him even though he shouldn’t. Feels nice.
“Yah, of course it is. Everythin’ you do is good.” Although it was said out of spite, it was also said with endless fascination.
Jabber’s grin widened.
One evening, Jabber went to play outside without Zanka. He protested, but the boy insisted, saying something about making other friends besides him. Like he needs one, pft.
It turned out to be a big mistake as he saw some girl approaching him. He knew her, they attended some classes together. When he looked around in boredom, he would notice her gaze on him. Once she noticed that he noticed, the girl quickly looked away, face turning red.
He told Zanka about it and asked what her deal was. The boy said he should try and talk to her, looking away. Jabber noticed him biting his bottom lip though.
“I would like to be an exclusive pair with you!” She exclaimed while blushing furiously. No hello, not even an introduction.
He knew about the pair thing, but never was really interested in it, the idea itself was stupid. More than anything, he was annoyed at her for being such a bothersome coward. But he will be nice, he promised Zanka.
“Nah, sorry, I’m already taken kinda.” Being an exclusive pair meant to spend time with each other the most, isn’t it? If that’s what he and Zanka were about, so be it, he didn’t even mind or find that stupid, after all. “But we can be friends if you wanna though.”
The girl, however, lost all of her excitement. She looked at him confused.
“You’re already–?.. But I don’t see you spending time with anyone besides Zanka!”
“Yeah, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
At that, he receives a slap on his cheek. Wasn’t even that hard, but it did catch him by surprise, leaving the hand-shaped mark reddening.
“You’re disgusting! You are supposed to be with a girl!”
She runs away in tears before he could attempt anything. He wouldn’t hurt her anyway, she was a weakling. He didn’t have anything to say back, confused by the statement itself. Others called him names before, but it never bothered him. Jabber was bothered about the reason, though.
Was it that wrong to like Zanka? Just because he was a boy as well?
That’s stupid.
Zanka greeted him with a small smile that quickly vanished into concern, approaching Jabber.
“What happened? You were out for merely an hour!”
“Eh, some girl slapped me after I rejected her. Doesn’t even hurt much.” To prove the point and uplift the tension, he smiles, tugging hurt skin. It really didn’t hurt, no one could compare to Zanka’s beating. Damn, he missed good old times.
The boy’s eyebrows only furrow. Jabber gets his hands up in a defence stance.
“I didn’t touch her! I even told her we can be friends, like you wanted me to!”
“What?” His face is confused now. “But you rejected her…”
“Ah, she proposed to become an exclusive pair, but I declined.”
Zanka stays stunned for a minute.
“Why?..” Now it’s Jabber’s turn to look confused.
“Um, because I have you already?”
At that, Zanka flushes a bit and looks away. Cute.
“But we’re friends.”
“Are we though? We probably spend more time together and know each other better than those idiots.” He says as he chuckles.
“You’re just– You never told me, so I didn’t think–” He blushes even more, not being able to look back.
Jabber laughs at the sight, tugging the hurt skin more, actually hurting, which made him wince.
Zanka finally looks back, blush still present, but eyes more determined. He takes Jabber’s face in his palms and kisses over the red mark. It’s inexperienced and childish, as it would have been. Jabber stiffens. Zanka pulls away, worried.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–” He brings his hands close to his chest as if burned. “It’s jus’, you told me your mother would kiss your wounds so they won’t hurt, and I thought–”
“Do it again.” Jabber heard himself saying.
He knew kissing the pain away wouldn’t do jack shit, it was about the attention that would make it distracting. He felt greedy at wanting more.
He took Zanka’s hands to bring them back to his face. The boy was shocked with mouth agape, but obliged, with blush anew.
He kissed the slapped cheek again. Jabber moved his head so the other cheek would face his lips. Zanka giggled, kissing it as well. He felt braver, moving his lips further: nose, eyebrows, forehead, hands still holding his. Each kiss grew in confidence. Jabber smiled in contentment.
It really didn’t hurt anymore. Jabber felt warm. He didn’t feel disgusted in the slightest.
Ever since mama was gone and he was inevitably caught and sold off, Jabber wanted to die.
Apparently, Alien Stage was the most appropriate way to do so. He volunteered as soon as he first saw the show.
Zanka didn’t volunteer. He came from a prestigious Segyein family, famous for its talented pets, who kept winning every other season.
The boy, unlike his victorious siblings, wasn’t talented. He was keen to learn and adapt, so he still had that potential. Looks and good marketing helped too.
But everybody knew Zanka wouldn’t win the actual competition. Full of talent, strays from the slums appeared to grow in popularity lately. His owner knew, but sent Zanka to Anakt Garden anyway, since the child had no other purpose.
Zanka never really wanted to die.
Jabber figured it out by the way the boy shook, close to tears, whenever the snow hit the ground.
They visited the memorial often, since other kids wouldn’t hang out there. Zanka always brought flowers for the newest graves.
One time, they just laid there, as usual, until Zanka started sobbing. Jabber never actually saw the boy cry. It reminded him of times when he was so hungry he didn’t have anything else to do but let the tears fall.
He held him, as his mama did back then, whispering meaningless words that were supposed to be comforting. They surprisingly worked on Zanka.
Jabber caught himself sniffling too.
Ever since Jabber met the boy, his desire to die vanished.
Jabber wasn’t surprised to be selected for the next season. He had talent, good scores, and even better looks, as his new sponsors said.
Zanka, of course, was selected as well. Against him in the first round, even.
The ones behind the organisation of this season probably saw how different they were. By visuals, voices, instruments, backgrounds. They probably expected them to fight in a desperate duel. Segyeins love it.
Jokes on them, because he and Zanka are making a duet.
His sponsors didn’t approve. Jabber’s sure Zanka’s neither. But to hell with them, what would they do about it? Kill them? Too late for that.
Since they literally had to work together, it bringed them even closer. Almost inseparable.
Jabber worked on the soundtrack, while Zanka wrote the lyrics. They would revise each other from time to time, either fighting over something that didn’t fit or adding something new from the other’s perspective. A perfect harmony.
“The lyrics are a bit silly, don’t you think? What the hell is even ‘Clematis’?” He asked the boy.
Zanka looked away, frowning a bit, continuing to write.
“It's a flower, it bloomed back on Earth. You can look it up in my book if ya wanna.”
The boy was curious, so he did and was surprised to see such a pretty flower.
“Wow, it’s so pretty! I wish we had real flowers, I heard they smell super nice.” He traces the picture with fingers. “Why did you pick it, though?”
The boy stood still with an averted gaze, pausing the work.
“Reminds me of someone.”
They were equals. At least, that’s something Jabber believed in.
You can’t blame him for getting mad when Zanka suddenly decided to change their parts, giving most of them to him, right during recitals.
“Your voice is more fitting.”
“I don’t like that line.”
“I will sing in the background.”
These excuses made sense and Jabber hated it. Zanka, of course, noticed him being upset. When their costumes were done, he proposed to switch them.
“White suits me more, ain’t it?” He said, holding Jabber’s costume over himself. It did suit him better.
It reminded Jabber of an old human tradition of wearing black and white, in order to seal their fates together. He liked that one. Zanka thought it was silly.
He also learned that humans used to wear all-black for sad occasions as well. Such as mourning.
“It sure is.” He replied quietly, although wanting to scream.
He kept pretending. He saw Zanka watching the execution videos for hours and still pretended it was fine. If Zanka wanted this to be that way, so be it.
He couldn’t imagine his life without Zanka now, but the thought was slowly forming in his head already.
Worse than that, he couldn’t imagine Zanka living without him.
So he accepted it. Trashed his room, Zanka’s too, screamed, cried, hit himself and then Zanka as well, when he tried to calm him down.
It was fine. As long as Zanka won’t have to go through what he has to. He already knows loss, he could handle it.
They often took showers and bathed together, nothing new. But it felt like the last, quiet filling the room instead of their usual chatter.
Zanka moves closer, disrupting the water, and takes his hands. Moves them to his own face, cradling it. Jabber watches with an unreadable expression. Then, Zanka moves them slowly down to his neck. Squeezes it, closing his eyes with a smile. Jabber can feel his pulse, supposedly calming. His own heart won’t stop racing anyway.
Zanka’s face is wet, they had washed their hair earlier. When Jabber leans in and licks it, the water is salty, as expected.
They spend the last night before their round in Zanka’s room once again. Somehow, it was always emptier than Jabber’s. Bigger as well, too big for one lonely person.
Jabber loomed over the other’s body, taking in the view. His locs protected them both from the outside world.
They’ve grown up. Shoulders broader, voice rougher, hair longer, skin hotter to the touch.
He had no idea what they were doing.
“...Feels weird.” Zanka whispered.
“Yeah, me too.” He whispered back.
They had anatomy and social classes. They knew about human mating rituals, something about reproduction. The thing is, the books were only about females and males.
Nobody wrote down what a man should do with the other man. Could they have children? Probably not, someone has to have a womb for that.
Jabber never thought about having a kid of his own. Right now, though, looking back in Zanka’s eyes? He wouldn’t mind.
They would have been the greatest. With his talent and Zanka’s skill, their looks combined, they would be unstoppable. And probably the cutest child in the entire universe, as long as they have Zanka’s eyes.
He smiled at the thought, bringing the other’s hand to his lips.
“How cruel you are.”
Zanka doesn’t answer, complies to the truth.
Jabber leans down, bringing Zanka’s hand under his ribs, where his tag is located. His mouth finds itself on the other’s neck, licking and sucking on the silver tag, now blistering in sweat and saliva.
Zanka shudders, scratching Jabber’s tag with nails, breathing heavily. The man on top of him grins.
Turns out, they don’t need books when they have each other. They knew if it was good by simply listening: the shortened breath, the fastened heart, sweat rolling down their bodies.
For a fleeting moment, Jabber thinks he should write down this melody. Then thinks against it, not wanting to stop. Not wanting anyone else to possibly hear it besides him.
He will eventually regret that decision.
The stage was massive. The seats before them were endless.
It was perfect. They were perfect.
Their sponsors can suck it up, this performance is gonna go down in history.
With perfect sync, with perfect harmony, they forgot about everything else. Truly enjoying themselves, giving it all, without restraints or regret.
Their song comes to an end. Zanka looks at him and grins. With teeth and everything, adorned with dimples.
Zanka was taught how to smile before he could utter his first word. Humans’ smiles were delightful, and his owner didn’t want to see any other emotion other than that. Later on, he was taught to smile differently. Soft, gentle, polite. Everything to keep the perfect picture for his fans.
Because his smile cost money, attention, and votes.
But now, Zanka’s genuine grin wasn’t directed to the Segyiens nor the cameras.
Only at Jabber, for free.
Sweat is running down their faces.
He can’t help but return the gesture, giving the best smile he ever did.
The blood splatters on Jabber’s cheek.
The stage blows up in excited screams and cries.
He feels choker being back on his neck.
He was right from the very beginning, even with blood rushing down his neck, Zanka looked as beautiful as ever. The man looked calm, as if only fallen asleep. This face will haunt Jabber forever as his last memory of him. He finally understood and appreciated the man's efforts. He wouldn't stand to see this face full of fear he was truly feeling.
97 | 92
Jabber Wins