Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jabber never had a permanent place he could call home. Ever since he was a child, he was on foot. He was used to it.

These days, though, he is on a run.

He knows he wouldn’t stay at the Raiders’ forever, so he doesn’t feel much remorse about that. 

The need to be on foot once again doesn’t catch him by surprise, both Raiders and Hell Guards are after his traitor and criminal ass.

Momoa, of course, does not enjoy it. Not being a combatant Giver, she eventually got used to simply sitting around the base. 

By following Jabber now, she’s getting tired pretty easily.

Jabber doesn’t mind taking breaks. He knows this kind of life is not for everyone, and he appreciates Momoa still sticking around.

With their powers combined, a new routine arises: go to some town, find the richest-looking person, knock them out with Mankira, get to know where their savings are with Asyl, rob said person, chill at a rented/abandoned place, move on.

At first, it’s fun, like a little adventure, looking for a chest full of gold with a map at hand.

Then it becomes a little boring. Dangerous too, since, of course, these people immediately file their robberies to the Hell Guard. They become too interested by the careful, but repetitive patterns. The rumors about the commotion among the Raiders don’t go past them, either.

So they need to move further, somewhere where the Hell Guard wouldn’t think to look for them for a while.

That’s how they end up in the North Ward. 

Jabber likes the cold. It is comforting, even.

He likes the way frost tugs on his whole being, cracking dry skin open, lips chapped all the time before he finally makes the balm to fix it. 

The most fun part about travelling? The new things you find along the way. While Momoa is resting, Jabber spends his free time gathering goods to experiment with them later. He dries every plant and flower with care, squeezing the mystery liquids from bugs and animals he encountered into little vials. 

When they finally settle, renting a small apartment from some soon-to-be-blind granny, Jabber is almost at peace. Momoa’s more than glad. Until they eventually run out of money.

They couldn’t go back to robbing, that would expose everything and they would need to flee again. And they have no other choice, do they? The West is basically a swarm of Hell Guards, that will be just asking to put them into those torture chambers. The South is a bit safer option, but once again, that’s where Hell Guard’s Academy is, along with another Cleaners HQ. And the East is out of question entirely: both Hell Guards, Cleaners and Raiders? Yeah, no thanks. 

That’s when Momoa proposes a genius idea: to find a job. 

Jabber never had a job before Raiders. Momoa didn’t either, he thinks.

Surprisingly, Momoa finds one pretty fast. As observant as ever, she accidentally helps a customer to find a perfect gift for their loved one by simply listening to their shared memories. The actual merchant, so bewildered by her skill, immediately hires the girl. Despite her passive and detached personality, she gets along with customers very well.

When it comes to Jabber, though? He has no idea what to do. His only talents are around venoms and fighting.

He could have tried to go and kill Trash Beasts for a living, since there were no Cleaners to do so for now, but that would quickly reveal him as well. No fighting then. 

Before their money ran out, he had a lot of free time to finally experiment. The results were great! Especially from the mystery liquids, he hasn't tripped like that since ages. Momoa, who found him in this state, however, was terrified.

She knew about his experiments, yes, but back in the Raiders days, she didn’t have to deal with Jabber directly, so she had no idea how bad everything was.

She cried until the boy was finally somewhere near conscious, then Momoa beat him up, as much as a girl like her could. At first, Jabber didn’t understand what this was all about. Once sobered, he realised he didn’t want to see the girl so upset anymore. No venom shit either since then, damn.

At her first paycheck, Momoa buys him a book: Herbal plants and their usage. Says that maybe some stuff he picked up on their way isn’t bad, and if that’s so, he should learn it from the ones who already experimented, instead of making himself a test subject. 

Jabber feels weird. This is the first gift he would receive ever since that night– No. He shouldn’t think about that. It wasn’t even a gift, he stole it. Even if the owner never complained about wanting it back, Jabber should not get his hopes up.

The purple paper scorpion on his work desk stands lonely.

The boy reads the book. Actually studies through his findings, realising he has some really rare dope shit, although all plants are considered rare on the Ground. Their effects are interesting too, mostly about different body functions and immunity. Not neurotoxins, but he could work with that.

Momoa eventually catches a cold. It is inevitable, their bodies are not used to this climate. He makes her a herbal mixture that is supposed to help with a fever and to fight back the sickness. At first, she doesn’t trust this, understandably so, but after Jabber explained every component and how they work, she obliges. The girl is already feeling like a dying Spherite child, so it wouldn't matter if she dies slow or fast.

The tea helped well. Too well, even. Just in a day, she is alright like she wasn’t sick to begin with. That gives Jabber an idea.

He visits some pharmacies, just looking around to see what people buy the most. One day, he puts some guy to the side and says he knows where to buy stuff that actually works. The guy doesn’t need to know Jabber is the seller as well.

The guy is impressed. Turns out, his whole family fell sick and he couldn’t afford to buy medicine for everyone, but Jabber’s mixture helped to bring all of them to health. 

The boy was glad at the first satisfied customer and even took less money from him than he planned to. He would raise the price for the next ones, though, if his shit is that good.

With his own money now, he buys a similar book that Momoa gifted. But this one is about the animals and poisons they produced. It would be a shame letting his findings go to waste. Plus, as he quickly finds out, there are also a lot of freaks in this city, looking for some sweet relief in nothingness that his new venoms could provide. They sold the most, by nobody’s shock.

Why won’t Jabber just go and work for the pharmacies? He decides to work for himself, being the only one under his own command. It feels nice.

If Momoa is jealous of him being able to take breaks, day offs and vacations whenever he wants to, she doesn’t say anything. Sometimes, when she would come back from the shift especially tired, she would just make it Jabber’s problem. Like right now.

“When are we gonna finally address the Trash Beast in the room?” She asks casually, fully knowing about the avalanche that this conversation would bring.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

There are a lot to address, but Jabber is not in the mood of doing that right now. Besides, he’s still working on the new order. With winter, he’s been busy lately, people catching cold one after another. He doesn’t complain, money is money. He would need to go to the market and restock some stuff, though.

“Well, for starters, why wouldn’t we just go to the Cleaners? Too late to ask, I know, but you never bothered to explain.” 

“‘Cause there is nothing to explain, it should be obvious.” He’s aware of his deflectiveness.

“If it was, I wouldn’t be asking, Jabber.” She’s aware of it too. “Please enlighten me. If anything, I thought you would come running back to your boyfriend first thing first.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” 

“That’s the only thing you responded to? Okay then, tell me why wouldn’t we go to the organization your boyfriend works for after we left their enemy’s ranks?” 

Hell, these ungrateful kids. How does he deal with multiple of them? He made being the eldest sound so easy. Damn Momoa, now he’s distracted, being pushed into a direction she knows he doesn’t want to go in.

“Oh, and what would I say?” He snaps, getting up from the desk, facing her. “Hey, so, I’ve left the Raiders like you probably dreamt of me doing, now both Raiders and Hell Guards after my ass, but sorry, I can’t join y’all ‘cause I don’t believe I deserve to be protected by someone else?”

Momoa looks at him with her usual unbothered expression, but something emphatic still creeps in.

“He would say you should join anyway. You know he pissed off Hell Guard in the past too, right? And look at that, he’s fine. Even if not the Cleaner, he would support you either way, and you know it.”

Jabber baffles at her audacity.

“Don’t act like you personally know him and what shit he would or wouldn’t say.” The girl looks at him with a raised eyebrow as if asking if he’s serious about this statement. “And no, whatever you see in my memories doesn’t count! Actually, would you finally stop doing that? Creepy as fuck.” 

“Like whatever shit you did to him wasn’t creepy." She snickers. “You’ve exchanged your chokers connections. You should’ve at least told him you’re alive before throwing it away.”

Jabber sighs, unable to deny, sits back down at the desk, determined to continue his work. He doesn’t see Momoa’s face that turns a bit melancholic.

“I just like to see you happy in those.” She says quietly, not expecting the boy to listen, laying down to rest. “It's not my fault he’s the main component.”

Despite the Cleaner’s name not being addressed directly, it spins around them in heavy circles. Jabber looks at the paper scorpion with a corner of his eye, underneath it lies a book he long owned. Flowers: Legends and Symbolics.

It was supposed to be a gift, but he never had the chance to give it.

Jabber ignores the implications behind his roommate's words. He’s happy. He has a roof over his head, a job, and a friend, whom he even might consider family. He’s free from being anything he isn’t, not following anyone’s orders. He doesn’t need more than that. He’s happy. 

Every morning Jabbed wakes up, his sheets are cold.

He blames it on the climate. 

If Momoa accidentally met a certain Cleaner, helping him to pick souvenirs for his friends, she doesn’t mention it. As she expected, the boy looked kind. The girl couldn’t help but notice he also looked more tired than she remembers seeing in memories that were not her own.

The winter has formally started, making the cold even more unbearable for most. Today’s snow was light, falling in slow motion. Jabber catches some snowflakes with his tongue despite knowing about its toxicity. Neighborhood children he passes by on his way are building a snowman. Or a snow Trash Beast, their skills aren’t the best.

Jabber hated going into the markets because it quickly destroyed his illusions of being filthy rich. He knows that real plant products are rare as fuck, especially in this environment he chose himself, but why must everything be so damn expensive? He calms himself down with a thought that everything will eventually pay off, no matter how ironic it sounds. 

Once finished restocking his own stuff, he stops in front of a little tent with music discs and vinyls. Jabber does not feel guilty in the slightest, but he can’t help but think something new would cheer Momoa up.

If only it wasn’t an impossible task.

He knows she’s a fan of Too Lily, that’s easy to remember. But the girl already owned every single possible edition that woman ever published, so there is nothing new he could get. She is quite fond of all kinds of artists, so you would think she knows every kind of thing that ever existed. 

Jabber holds two album discs he never heard of, so he assumes Momoa wouldn’t either. 

The first one depicts a pink woman being held by a blue man. The name of the album is ridiculous as the picture itself.

The second one has more softness to it, a woman in white standing in the field, probably a fake one, looking back at the camera. He doesn’t know how to feel about the name either.

Both of the song lists sound sad, pathetic and romantic. Something Momoa would probably enjoy, listening to other people’s misery. Jabber ignores his own curiosity to hear it, contemplating on which one to buy.

“Hm, this is a great choice.” He suddenly hears a male voice beside him, getting him out of thoughts. Goodness, he should really be more attentive, he’s not wearing any camouflage right now, except for the hood. The man talking to him is not a merchant, though. “I would personally recommend the second one. It has more maturity to it, hence the name. But the first one is quite popular with younger audiences. My friend, what do you think?”

Next to the man stands a woman. Unlike him, she looks like she has no desire to be here in the first place, but is a bit amused by the conversation she was dragged in. She has weirdly golden eyes and glasses.

Foreigners, Jabber figures.

“I don’t listen to that kind of music, so I have no opinion on that, I’m afraid. I’m surprised you do, though.”

“What can I say? I like to keep up with new trends.” The man chuckles. Jabber has no idea what’s going on. “Is it for a gift?” 

“Sort of.” 

“How wonderful! Whatever you pick, I’m sure they are going to enjoy it.”

“Thanks…” He looks down at the albums in his hands. Fuck it, he’s already broke anyway, can’t be more broke than that, right? He’ll just buy both of them.

After he pays, the man from earlier calls him again. 

“Say, young man, I heard of a certain mystery apothecary living in this town. Anything you heard of?” He’s looking at Jabber with a casual, but kind smile. The boy can’t help but think the man knows more than he lets on. Who cares, he does need money anyway, and he could even get extra from these foreigners. 

“Or so the streets say. What kind of help would a man like you need from them?” The man looked strong, despite the soft nature. He didn’t look ill either, nor like a junkie. 

“Oh, it’s not for me. You see, I’m looking for a gift as well. There’s this student of mine, who is very hard-working. He’s been stressed lately, and when he’s like this, he tends to overwork himself, ignoring own limits.” 

“What a stupid student you have.”

At that, the man’s companion snorts, which makes both of them look at her. She casually coughs at the attention. 

“What? He’s not wrong.”

Jabber smiles, he likes her already.

“Well, what exactly are you looking for? Heavy stuff is expensive here, just so you know.”

“Oh, no, I’m not looking for that.” The man laughs awkwardly and waves his hand in dismissal. “Something to help him relax, like tea, perhaps.” 

Ah, the easy shit for normies. He could’ve gone to an average pharmacy for that, but why would Jabber refuse potential customers? 

“Guess they could do that in a day.” He turns to leaves, but looks back at them from his shoulder. “Rumor has it they meet for a pick-up in an alley behind the theater at sundown. Better be sharp on time, they don’t like to wait.”

“Understood. Thank you so much, young man. I hope we will meet again soon.” Jabber hopes they don't. Something about this whole interaction makes him feel weird, like he’s missing something important. Money is money, though.

He goes away, planning to return to the apartment. The theater wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t his usual spot either. He learned his mistake for not making personal pick-up places for each customer after being attempted to be jumped. The key word – attempted. Greed killed the dog, or whatever the saying goes.

As Jabber went, he missed the conversation that was not meant for his ears.

“Well, my friend, what do you think?” The man turns to fully face the woman, now with her average not-glowing eyes and glasses. “Is he still the maniac everybody claims him to be?”

The woman sighs, thinking over the information she had gained. 

“To be honest, he hasn’t gone far off his old nature, but it’s true, he left them.” She fixes the glasses up her nose bridge. “But your intuition is not wrong, there is something to him. I think it’s okay for them to finally meet.” 

“Glad to hear.” The man smiles to himself, turning to go their own way. “I hope this diplomatic mission turns into success.” 

On the way home, Jabber decides to buy some pastry, rewarding himself for stocking-up. He’ll get something for Momoa too, she would probably smell the sweets out of him and figure that he went out without her. 

It turns out to be a big mistake.

As he waits in line, the place is surprisingly busy, a girl approaches him. A very weird one, at last.

“Please, excuse Amo, can she talk to you for a second?”

Jabber looks around looking for ‘Amo’ the girl was talking about, but upon seeing that she’s the only one looking at him, he realises she meant herself. 

“Depends on what she wanna talk about.” People rarely approach him, especially children. Well, now, at a second glance, Jabber realises the girl is actually around his age.

The girl lights up, holding her hands together out of excitement. Or cold, maybe. She doesn’t look like a local either. Is there some festival coming around or why are there so many tourists today? And everyone has something to do with Jabber, apparently. The Hell Guard wouldn’t go into these kinds of tricks to lure him out, would they?

”You see, Amo has a very strong sense of smell, she can actually smell human emotions!” Strange, but what the hell, sure. “And Amo couldn’t help but notice you feeling very sad. Amo could try to help and cheer up with her boots!”

Okay, what the actual fuck. Jabber could excuse her quirkyness, but accusing him of being sad? That’s bullshit, even if Momoa said something similar yesterday. Someone’s actually fucking with him. Jabber is curious about the last statement, though, something about the boots.

He looks down at the girl's feet to find no less weird shoes. Something in his head clicks. Isn’t that the boots he stole back in–

“Amo!”

No. He’s hallucinating. He’s been sober for months now, so that means someone drugged him. Was it the girl? The man and the woman from earlier? The merchants?

Because there is no way he heard Zanka’s voice just right now.

He ignores how exhausted it sounds. He runs away. Even if someone is tricking him, Jabber doesn’t care. It can’t be him, it’s not him, surely. But even if he was, what would Zanka do? What kind of expression would he make upon recognising him?

The thought alone makes him nauseous. He’s going home. Zanka wouldn’t be there, only recollections of him. They are enough. 

“Amo! Where the hell have ya been!?” Zanka grabs the girl by her shoulders, forcing to face him. He doesn’t notice the fleeing boy. Amo stiffens under the touch and he lets go immediately, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. You did scare me though!”

“Amo was trying to help this person and become friends…” She looks away, holding her hands tighter. Zanka sighs.

“Look, that is real admirable… But ya shouldn’t have ran off so suddenly without sayin’ a word! I was worried, what if somethin’ happened to you? I cannot lose you too now…” The last phrase was said in a tired, quiet tone, probably out-loud thinking.

At that, the girl finally looks at him with a self-satisfied smile.

“Tee-hee… Zanka-san cares about Amo…” 

Zanka’s heart flutters at the name, still not used to it. The boy has no idea where Amo picked that up from, but ever since, she would address him that way and only him. Maybe Riyo has something to do with it, she’s the only one who knows about him being the youngest back in Kamuatari.

“Of course I care about ya! What kind of a heartless jerk do you think I am…” He runs a hand over his hair in frustration. “Let’s get back, alright? Semiu said they were done with whatever they were working on, so it’s time to eat.”

“Can Amo get a cake?” The girl asks innocently, following Zanka back to their hotel.

“If ya ask Corvus yourself, he would get you anythin’, I think…” He answers absent-mindedly. Amo giggles. 

As they are walking, the girl looks over her shoulder to see the boy long gone. She wonders why he would run away from them like that. 

The sadness the boy smelled of actually reminds her of the way Zanka is feeling lately, even though he denies it, by far refusing Amo’s help with her boots.

She thinks that by helping this boy, she could figure out how to help Zanka as well. 

But as the Cleaner showed up, the boy’s smell suddenly changed into something Amo didn’t expect at all.

An absolute terror.

When Jabber gets to the apartment, he has a hard time opening the door with a key, vision blurred. Once inside, he ignores how real the voice sounded. He ignores the way these strangers were weird, especially the girl with a Watchman series boots. He ignores the way his heart is beating and how short his breaths are, not from running. 

Jabber tries to drop the bag on a desk, but fails, falling on his way. He finally gives up, laying down on the cold wooden floor, curling up and embracing himself.

This time, instead of Mankira’s hum, he hears that voice again. He doesn’t care if it’s real or another one of his memories. 

It’s just me. Do you recognise me?

He couldn’t, back then. But now, unfortunately, he does really well. 

Can you name 5 things you can see?

He couldn’t, back then. But now, he can see pretty clearly because it was still daylight, forgetting about the blur. He blinks a few times to make it more clear. 

A bed, the nightstand, his hair, a bag near his waist, the desk.

Okay. Can you name 4 things you can feel?

Easier said (remembered?) than done. He feels too much to describe it in just 4 things, but Jabber tries.

The way his lungs are screaming, the floor, Mankira on his knuckles, teeth on his bottom lip.

Good.

3 things you can hear?

“You. My heart.” Jabber repeats out loud. Some things don’t change. “Downstair lady.” She, as always, plays some really loud music, knowing he and Momoa wouldn't mind.

That’s good. Two smells?

Jabber is tired of ignoring how the praise is affecting him. His heart is now in a more stable rhythm.

He smells his handiwork on the desk, remembers about the new order, incredibly simple. The boy smells the blood running from his lip. He finally releases his teeth.

And the last one: taste anything?

He doesn’t need that question, but still answers in his head. The blood Jabber licks is far from an unfamiliar taste. 

He looks down at his hands, still hugging himself by the forearms. There’s no blood.

Good job. 

Momoa finds Jabber still on the floor, helping him get to the bed and turning up the heater. She holds him, not asking anything, figuring it out without Asyl. She’ll apologize to him when he wakes up. 

Jabber wakes up the next day. 

There’s still time before sundown, so he gets back to work. Momoa is on her day off, so she’s the one making breakfast (lunch?). The girl brings his plate to the desk instead of forcing him to join her in the kitchen. 

He pulls out two bought discs. Momoa smiles as she immediately puts the Blue-and-Pink one in the player, saying that she was recommended to check it out. 

He continues to work, now accompanied by both music and Momoa’s humming, the girl is now lying on her bed. The apartment feels warm, the tension from the argument is gone. 

Jabber can’t help but listen into some lyrics. 

“Do you really think I should talk to him?”

He turns to face the girl. Momoa stops humming, pushing her torso up, surprised.

“I thought you already did?..” 

“Nah, I ran away before he could see me.” Only after hearing the statement out loud, he realizes how pathetic it sounds. “Damn, am I a pussy?”

Momoa straight up laughs.

“Oh my–” Catches her breath, pausing the player. “I thought you actually talked and he said some bullshit that made you like this, but he hadn’t even seen you? Yes, you’re a pussy, Jabber.” 

“Fuck.” 

He turns back to look at a little packaging, the order for today is ready.

“But seriously…” The girl moves to sit on the edge. “If only a glance at him made you feel like that, maybe start with baby steps?” She comes over to Jabber, leaning on the desk with her back. “Like, watch him from afar? And then, whenever you feel ready, set up the ‘natural’ reunion.”

“So, basically stalk him ‘till he's alone.”

“Precisely.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Did you see anyone else from the Cleaners with him?”

Jabber sighs, the sun has started to set. He gets up to dress his camouflage up, Momoa had helped to make it herself. He puts his locs in a bun, planning to hide them in a hood.

“Not that I know of.” The ex-Raider stands in front of the mirror, putting on his eye-contacts. The decorative ones, simply to change the eye color. “He was looking for this girl whose boots I stole from for Zodyl, her name was… Amore? No, shorter. Amo?”

“Ah, I remember her.” From Kuro’s memories, he supposes. “Guess she joined them after Rudo found her.” 

“Guess so.” The now distorted voice agreed. He had no idea how exactly the mask worked, but thank goodness that among them two, Momoa is the one great with technology. 

The last part of the apothecary image is his mittens, thick enough to hide Mankira’s presence. He would never leave her behind, especially on this kind of job. As Jabber opens the door to leave, Momoa calls back.

“Good luck.” 

“Don’t need it.” He snickers behind the mask.

Oh, but he will.

His alternate persona is leaned against the bricked wall in the alley. He looks up to the sky to see the sun still setting, while snowflakes fall on his masked face. The customer isn’t late yet, but Jabber still hates the wait.

As the boy finally hears the steps, the kind he did not expect to hear, agitation only grows.

“You’re not the one who ordered.” He clenches his fists, setting Mankira to activate soon in case of need.

“The boss is a busy man.” The boy approaches slowly, making Jabber unclench his fists in surprise and look down. “Consider yourself lucky for meetin’ him, let alone talkin’.” 

Hell, how he missed that cocky tone.

That’s his man (and the lady on his back) alright, even if changed for a bit.

The voice is rough against the cold. The eyes are downturned as always, but not with the usual little spark in them. What extinguished it?

The boy, stunned, now contemplated what the Cleaner said. Boss? The man who talked to him about music and ordered some tea to chill was the Boss of the Cleaners, Arkha Corvus? The Arkha Corvus? Who was the woman, then? What the hell were they doing here? Why didn’t they attack him? 

Fuck, the tea is for Zanka, how didn’t he get it from the start?

“I got the cash, don’t worry.” The boy says awkwardly, seeing how the other suddenly went stiff and silent. That brings Jabber back into the real world. “How much is it?”

Right, he didn’t set the price. Cleaners should be pretty loaded, shouldn’t they?

“300 Galla.” It’s not worth even half of it.

“Damn, you hafta be good at this then.” Jabber is good at this. The prospect of getting Zanka’s recognition makes his heart swell. The boy gets the money from the pouch without question, proving the apothecary’s point.

The ex-Raider pulls out the package onto his palm for a trade. As he anticipates the contact, he reminisces how Zanka held his hand, guiding to bed. His fingertips were so soft against his slightly dry ones. Too bad he wouldn’t feel them now because of the mittens - to hide Mankira from unwelcomed eyes and cold. But maybe he could feel something against the fabric, like–

As Zanka drops coins into his hand, taking the order, fabric touches the fabric.

Huh?

Zanka Nijiku never wears gloves. The boy he knows always craved the direct contact with his skin, let it be the paper he folded into figures, the wood of his dearest Vital Instrument, or the dirt Jabber always made him eat in their spars. 

Just like him, the Cleaner always welcomed the cold. The light clothes, too light for the weather, that Zanka wore right now only proved it. The gloves didn’t make any sense.

He has no reason to wear them, if not hiding something.

Once again, the boy pulled him back out of his thoughts.

“Farewell, it better not disappoint him.” The Cleaner still has no idea the tea is for him all along.

Before Jabber could say anything back, Zanka was already gone. Momoa should’ve wished him strength to grab the boy’s wrist, put his mask down and to say something in his own voice.

But alas, he couldn’t. Something felt wrong.

For the next few days, Jabber feels the sudden urge to spend more of his time outside. Even if he tries to stalk Zanka per the advice, he can’t find the Cleaner to save his life. New orders piling up isn’t helping him with that, either.

Maybe they already left the North Ward. It would make sense, whatever brings them here probably wouldn’t have taken them too long. That thought got quickly disturbed by the girl approaching him.

“That’s him! The Sad boy!” 

Jabber had a lot of names, but The Sad boy? He turns to her, slightly hoping Zanka would accompany her again, but no, instead, it’s the man, his customer, Arkha Corvus. They don’t look threatening. 

“Hello! Amo was talking to you the other day, but you ran away, very rude!” The girl frowns, crossing her arms. Jabber looks up to see the man beside her, his gaze amused, but apologetic.

“Excuse us, young man. Amo here is really eager to help, and we would be very delighted if you would let her.” He smiles softly.

The ex-Raider wants to shake him by the shoulders and ask what the fuck he actually wants from him. Why is he allowing the girl, Vital Instrument from whom he stole, to talk to him? Why is the Cleaner’s leader talking to him all nice, knowing everything? Why bother approaching him in the first place just to place an order to help Zanka relax? Who was the woman with unnatural gold eyes?

But he decides to play safe. If they wanted, they would apprehend him any moment now, but for some reason, they didn’t. So Jabber grins and plays along.

“Ah, sorry, Smelly Girl, I got some business to attend to then.” Like having a panic attack over hearing a voice he actually yearned to hear again. Regular Wednesday stuff. “Anyway, how exactly would you try to ‘help’?”

The younger Cleaner seems to be unfazed by the nickname, if anything, she thinks of it as a compliment. The girl uncrosses her arms to bring them to her hips in a proud stand. 

“Aroma therapy!” 

Jabber deadpans. That stuff for sappy people, seriously? 

“I know how it may sound, but believe me, Amo is a very talented student of mine.” She nods. “It may not exclude your problem entirely, but it could help to ease it.” Like the tea for Zanka, huh? Jabber still has to figure out what’s wrong with him.

Amo really looks eager to help, and Zanka would hate to waste her potential, wouldn’t he? After all, he still stole those boots, might as well indulge her a little, that therapy shit is not going to work on him anyway.

“Sure, why not.”

In order to gain some privacy, the Cleaners lead him to their rooms in a hotel, which is insane. But what’s more insane is the fact that Jabber actually follows them.

Amo sits him down on her bed, Corvus decides to stay near the door. To keep him inside? To keep someone else from coming in?

“Now! First, Amo needs to confess that her motives are a bit selfish.” She looks at him, but with determination instead of remorse. “The reason why I noticed you is that your sadness smells very similar to the way my friend’s does. He won’t tell what made him like that and won’t let Amo help with her shoes. So if I could help you instead, that would help me figure out how to help him, too!”

Is she talking about Zanka? The Cleaner did look more down than he remembered, but he was always antsy, no?

“Whatever, do your thing.” 

Before Amo could activate her Vital Instrument, Corvus asks:

“Should I leave?” Is he really going to leave two of them alone? 

“Hmm, actually, Amo would like Uncle Corvus to stay! She needs to train the limits of her power. Amo will try her best so you won’t be affected!” The man nods in understanding, keeping his stance per request.

The girl’s eyes start to glow and Jabber feels some changes in the air, but nothing in particular.

“Don’t worry, it’s Amo’s neutral scent. Can you tell me the reason why you’re sad?” He can’t because he doesn’t know. And even if the ex-Raider knew, he would probably not tell her. “It’s okay, Amo feels that way too, sometimes. That’s why she travels a lot, to help understand herself and others more.”

So she seeks a way to feel complete, interesting. There was always a feeling in Jabber’s life, like he was missing something, too, but he learned to not dwell on it. Of course the Cleaners would encourage her to discover herself, how sweet of them. Jabber feels a spike of something filthy crawling in his guts. Is Amo already doing something?

“Amo learned that a lot of people are sad because they are homesick! Maybe some memories about your home will lift that feeling.” 

As she closes her eyes in concentration, the boy is still convinced that this is not going to work. Memories of his childhood home, really? He never had one. Jabber indulges the girl and closes his eyes as well. At first, there was nothing, as he expects. But then–

Salt. 

And chemicals.

When Jabber opens his eyes, he sees the ocean. Or what remained of it, because of the Sphere. He read in the books that once upon a time, the ocean had been crystal clear with bright blue water. Now, the pollution changed the color he’s never going to see to a yellowish green. The boy didn’t mind since it’s the only thing he has ever known. 

Unlike the ocean, the sky above it was the closest to the books. It had been these rare summer days when the sky had gained its semi-natural color, yellow mixing into blues. The blue hour, as somebody told him once, despite the phrase long lost its original meaning.

He feels the hand holding his own, which is strange, because he also feels Mankira being not on his knuckles. Jabber looks down at a hand, and then looks up at a woman holding it. She doesn’t look at him, her gaze is fixed on the horizon, so he can’t really see her face. But he feels the soft smile she holds for him behind those curls. The woman could rarely allow herself to be this relaxed.

When Jabber blinks, he’s still on the shore, but the woman is gone. The smell of salt and chemicals is still present, but slowly subdues into something similar, although inauthentic. Like a conditioner for laundry rich people use for their sheets.

As the ever familiar scent of incense hits his nose, he feels his hand being held again. This time, Mankira is in her rightful place, but instead of the firm hold from earlier, the boy feels only a light tug on his fingertips. When he looks up, the sight doesn’t surprise him.

Zanka, in his resting clothes, stands before him, looking at the horizon like the woman did. Again, Jabber can’t really see his face, but sure there is a fascinated expression on it. The Cleaner probably never saw the ocean before. 

His earrings and hair strands are swaying against the gentle wind, tassels merge with the color of the sky. Jabber takes his hand in a proper hold, tugging the boy to look at him instead.

Zanka listens and slowly turns his head, except for the way the smell suddenly hitted him, it disappears just as abruptly. When Jabber blinks again, he’s back in Amo’s hotel room, holding her hand all along. 

“You looked so calm! Tell Amo, what did you see?” 

The ex-Raider looks at her, stunned. He really did feel calm. Why? He saw a place he’s probably never going to see again, let alone a woman he doesn’t even remember much. 

Is it because Zanka was also there? That he would potentially follow him to see the ocean again, holding him again?

“A home, like you’ve said.” He’s not so sure about the statement, but it feels like the right thing to say. 

“Amo’s so glad!” The girl beams as she holds his hand tighter. For some reason, Jabber doesn’t let go. “Did she help? Was it the reason why you were sad?” 

No, he wasn’t homesick. He never missed that place from a vision, but he was happy to see the woman regardless. And Zanka… Maybe he was missing not a home, but a person?

“Yes,” He half-lies. “You’ve been a great help to yo boy Jabber.” As the words leave his mouth, he only now realises they never really asked for his name and he had just revealed it. Neither the girl’s nor the man’s behavior changes.

“I haven’t been affected much from here, only sensed a light nostalgic aroma.” Corvus says from his place near the door with a proud look. “Great job, dear Amo.” 

The girl smiles to herself and lets go of him. The man comes closer to them.

“By the way, that tea helped greatly as well.” He looks down to Jabber. “I’ve been wondering if I could request for more supply.”

The ex-Raider looks back, a bit confused from the vision. They are still keeping the play? Or he could just be himself? 

“There have been a lot of orders lately.” Jabber could go and remake it right now, but there are actually sick people in his need. “Will be ready in two days.”

“Of course, thank you, Jabber. Let us walk you back.” 

Despite the vague end of this conversation, Jabber can’t help but feel a slight crack through his persona. There are still so many questions he has no answer for, although, for once, he’s finally certain:

They aren’t going to hurt him, after all.

The next day, Jabber goes outside of the city walls. Certainly not in hope to see a certain boy again, of course not.

He simply needs to restock some of the stuff he could gather himself. Tree roots, reeds. 

It does not even snow today. In fact, it has been getting surprisingly warm lately. Well, easier for him to harvest.

Done with the roots first, he goes to the lake, ice shining in the sun quite blindly. 

Reeds hide him as he works, up until he is forced to stop to a familiar voice again.

“Amo, stop, we should check the ice first!” 

The girl in question doesn’t stop, running into the ice and, inevitably, falling on her butt. As she attempts to get up and move, she falls again.

The boy tries to hide his laugh with a palm to his mouth, while the woman snickered unashamed. Amo’s reddened face turns to them in a pout.

“Don’t laugh at Amo!” She yells.

That provokes them to laugh even harder. When they stop, Semiu points a finger at the girl.

“This right here? That’s called embarrassment. Feeling silly for doing something stupid in front of other people.” 

Amo’s eyes light up at the lesson. Her hands move to her flushed cheeks, fascinated with how her body reacts to such emotion.

Zanka sits down to change his boots into skates.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show ya how it’s done.” He says with a self-confident grin. The boy looks better than days ago.

As he steps on the ice, Zanka gracefully skates a few circles around the girl, leaving her in awe. Done with a show-off, he comes back to her and lends a hand.

“I can teach ya, if you want.” He looks back at Semiu with a second pair of skates in her hand. “You’ll need to get the boots off, though.” 

Amo follows his gaze and contemplates for a moment. Her encouraged eyes turn back to him.

“Amo wants to learn to walk on ice! She trusts Auntie Semiu with her boots.” The woman hums in content, free hand on her hip.

Shoes changed, Zanka teaches her. 

By holding her hands, he makes the girl follow him until he suddenly lets go.

“Zanka-san!” She shrieks, trying to get back to him.

“C’mon, I know ya can do it on your own already.”

And she does. Upon realizing it, Amo laughs in excitement, now lapping circles around the boy instead. 

Zanka looks at her, proud, but still a bit bitter.

“It took Follo hours to teach me. And she did it in under half an hour. Damn natural talents.”

The woman behind him, still on the land, scoffs.

“Maybe she just had a better teacher?” The Cleaner turns around as if to check if he didn’t imagine it. He didn’t, Semiu looks back at him with a smile. 

Zanka hides his stupid grin behind a palm as he tries not to giggle at the compliment.

“Well, looking back now, you’re probably right… He tried to teach me all these fancy tricks before the basics!” The boy realizes with a shock. 

Semiu laughs once again. 

“Zanka-san!” The girl catches him by surprise, hugging him. “Now that Amo knows how to walk on ice, she wants to dance!” Amo lets go of him only to grab by the hands.

“Uh, afraid I can’t do that.” Zanka stiffens uncomfortably. 

“Huh? Why not?” The girl pouts again. 

“I don’t really know how.” Why does he feel ashamed to admit this? Dancing is not the proper skill for a fighter that he is. 

At that, Amo only perks up.

“Don’t worry, Amo knows! She will teach you!”

Is this what the Cleaners do in their free time? Enjoying themselves, let the kids be kids? No wonder why they are such softies. 

Jabber tells himself that the reason why he stayed to observe is simply because he will be discovered if he gets up from the reeds. He could finally face Zanka, something he was meaning to do for days, but now he’s stunned again. 

Is it because the boy is in such a good mood now, contrasting with their meeting in the alley? 

Is it because Jabber finally realized that without him, Zanka is perfectly fine? 

As the last thought stung, he managed to calm himself with revelation. Zanka still wore the gloves.

Even the girl, Amo, clearly the weakest to the cold, who always used to wear mittens, doesn’t wear them now. The woman, Semiu, has light clothing, too.

Semiu. Zanka mentioned that she, along with Arkha Corvus, knew about him sneaking into the Cleaners’ HQ. And yet did nothing against it, not then, not now, after meeting him in the market.

As he averts his gaze from the (attempting to) dancing pair to the woman, he wonders what their deal is. What Jabber doesn’t expect is the golden eyes looking back right through him. She’s a Giver as well, he, at last, figures.

They stare at each other, aware of the eye contact. To the boy’s surprise, she smirks, before deactivating her Vital Instrument to look back at the youngsters.

“Zanka, be mindful of your left foot.” Semiu says with confidence.

“What?” As expected, the boy makes a wrong move, almost stumbling both him and Amo, but catching balance just in time.

The girl doesn’t dwell on the mistake, and continues to lead, by holding the Cleaner’s waist and hand. 

“Ugh, it feels weird…” He doesn’t mind learning the new skill, even if it was an absolutely unnecessary one, it’s just the way the girl leading him feels. Though now, with enough basics, he’s the one on the lead.

“Tee-hee, this is a slow dance! You’re supposed to dance with a lover, that’s why it must feel weird for Zanka.” The boy’s brain circuits. “But don’t worry, family and friends can dance it too!”

Honestly, it’s not even that bad. Simply circle around with a person at hands, sometimes letting go one of them to twirl or, how Amo explained it, to change partners.

He wouldn’t mind changing partners right now. Maybe he would even let the strong, masculine hand, adorned with rings on each knuckle, hold his waist and lead. He wouldn’t mind holding the other’s waist either, probably feeling the toned muscles even under the clothes.

“Enough with dancing, birds, we should head back.” Semiu’s voice brings him back to reality, stopping both of them.

“But Amo doesn’t want to go yet!”

“Amo, you should be more mindful of others. Zanka spent all morning clearing the Trash Beasts around the town, while you were sleeping in.” She says it without judgment, just to prove a point. The woman asked Zanka to show Amo the lake tomorrow instead, but he insisted it to be today.

The girl looks back at Zanka with surprise, but then her gaze falls with remorse. 

“Zanka-san, Amo’s sorry, she didn’t know…” He wasn’t even mad at all, but how could he be otherwise? 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m ain’t even tired at all.” Semiu pierces him with a stare. “I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ lunch, though.” 

“Amo wants cake!” 

She lets go of him and skates back to Semiu, who gives back her boots. Zanka contemplates coming back as well, before he decides to go further to the middle of the lake.

“Zanka!”

“I’m just tryin’ to do this trick Follo showed! I wonder if I can do this now.”

He sprints to gain speed, unaware how dangerously close he is getting to the ex-Raider. The boy swiftly turns in a jump, spinning a few times while in the air. A corner of his eye spots a familiar figure in the reeds and that distracts him. 

Huh?

Zanka doesn’t have time to react properly and place his foot right. The power of the land and the angle of the fall led the ice beneath him to crack and break. Before he could check if he imagined the figure or not, his head was already under water. The Cleaner’s companions shout his name, Amo already running back to him as he swims out. Luckily, the lake is calm and there is no stream to drag him away.

“Stop!” Only that halts the hiding boy from sprinting to him as well. “Stay where ya are! I can get out on my own.” The circumstances are different, but he surely has experience. The Cleaner quickly remembers the safety instructions Follo managed to teach him about. Lean on the stomach on the edges of the pit and spread the limbs to distribute the weight evenly, he uses Lovely to help him with that. His poor Assistaff is now wet and cold as well because of his stupidity, what was he even trying to achieve? 

Zanka carefully crawls to the shore and gets up when he approaches Amo, the ice being safe there. The boy ignores his own body and voice shivering. 

“Saw that? That’s what ya do when ya fall through the ice. Don’t do that, though. An’ you should call for help first.” She looks at him bewildered from the hypocrisy. Semiu kindly voices their shared thoughts.

“Moron! An utter idiot! What were you thinking?” She takes off his drenched jacket and gives her own, a dry one. Amo helps him to change back into his shoes, since his hands are shaking too much.

As they go back to the city, Zanka is silent, head low, still shivering. 

“Hey, Semiu?” She harshly turns to look at him, still mad, but her gaze softens a bit. “Can I get some hot soup?” The woman sighs and turns back to the road.

“Sure, I will bring you some to your room.”

“Thanks.” 

He smiles in relief, knowing she’s not really mad at him, just worried.

Once the Cleaners are out of sight, Jabber runs back to the city in the opposite direction, through the different gates. He already was a witness to stupid kids playing in the snow too much, they inevitably fall sick, making their worried guardians go straight to him. 

Falling into an ice cold toxic water and not being able to go to a warm place immediately? Yeah, that’s basically asking to catch a cold. And as the ex-Raider already knows, Zanka doesn’t take them easily. 

The boy tries his best to finish his orders to work on a new one. He remembers how to do it by heart, almost a muscle memory. The mixture that started his career, by healing Momoa. And now he will use it for Zanka. By the evening, he’s ready.

The Cleaner is supposed to meet him tomorrow for a new pick up, but the medicine is the most effective if used as soon as possible. So Jabber does what Jabber does best - finds Zanka’s hotel room window and climbs to it. He could’ve just gone through the door, but accidentally meeting Semiu seems like a bad prospect. He still feels weird about the woman, she never interacted with him directly and Jabber doesn’t know what to expect from her.

When he looks into the room, Zanka isn’t alone this time. Turns out, it’s the same room he already was in, during Amo’s ‘Aroma Therapy’. He should’ve guessed by the two beds, really. Right now, one of them is unoccupied, the girl clings to Zanka’s trembling figure under the covers, hugging him from behind, despite the bed being too small to fit both of them. They are asleep. 

Suddenly the door creaks and another person comes into the room. Arkha Corvus. He stops in his tracks to take in the view. He’s clearly worried for the boy, although the man can’t help but find the scene endearing. He comes closer to Amo’s side, hovering over them both, to lift Zanka’s bangs from his forehead, checking the temperature. The fever is rising. 

Corvus slightly shakes Amo awake, she groans and hides her face into Zanka’s back. The man sighs.

“Amo, you need to go. Miss Semiu will share her room with you.”

“No…” She drags sleepily. “Amo wants to stay with Zanka…” 

“I know, but Zanka needs a good rest. He would be very upset if you get sick as well, we don’t want that, do we?”

The girl, against her wishes, obliges. She sits up, but doesn’t move more.

“Amo’s too drowsy to go.” Today’s adventures had tired her out too. 

Corvus chuckles, crouches near the girl and takes her in his hands in a bridal style. Amo hugs his neck weakly, looking back at the boy still asleep.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“Of course. He always does.” 

As Jabber watches their backs, he notices an eye on the Cleaners Leader’s back of the head blink at him.

Once the door clicks shut he opens the window and climbs inside. Since the Cleaner is asleep, the ex-Raider appeases himself by looking around the room. There are three heaters, probably brought from Corvus’s and Semiu’s rooms, all working. The Cleaner’s clothes hang near them, almost dry by now. Lovely Assistaff is drying off too, in the safe from the overheating distance.

There are multiple various objects on the desk, near them is a hand-written name list, opposite to the names is a list of things to buy, all scribbled over in completion.

What he doesn’t expect is to find his name there as well.

Jabber (The girl said she would find something special. Will come back on the weekends.)

By the look of everything, these are gifts and souvenirs for his Cleaner friends. But why include him, after he’s already gone? The concept of Zanka still thinking about him despite everything fills Jabber with weird warmth that was not from the heaters. 

Near the bed there is a nightstand with a lamp. On it were letters, though surprisingly lesser in amount than letters on a nightstand near the other, Amo’s, bed. He picks up to read all three of them.

Zanka-san!

Hehe, sorry, it's just so funny to see your face whenever Amo calls you that! Should I address you like that as well? You seem to not be against that, so I will from now on. 

Do you miss us already? Because we certainly do. Waking up so early just to train Rudo is a pain in the ass! I don’t know if I should beat you up for setting me up with him or just cherish you more when you come back. Rudo misses you too and says hi, even though he pretends not to. He’s writing a letter to Amo, though. Tell her I said hi as well, okay?

You know you can tell me anything if something troubles you, right? Because I might know something more than you wish me to, but just to clear it up, I would support you no matter what. Even if I would try to hit some senses into your head first, I’m always on your side.

Oh, Eishia asked me to put her letter into my envelope, so make sure to read it too.

Don’t have too much fun with those North Trash Beasts and buy me something cool on the way back!

– Riyo ;)

Zanka Nijiku,

So sorry to disturb you with this letter, but it would be rude to not check on my friend!

How are you? I hope the climate doesn’t bother you much, considering it’s not your first visit. Not like I think it would, you just already have an experience, right? They say the snowfall is beautiful. I wonder what it looks like.

Please remember to take extra care of yourself! Me and Bell (the sheep origami figurine, in case you forgot!) will be waiting for you in the infirmary. Oh, but not as a patient! Even if you do get injured on the way, that’s fine too! Come back safe and sound, okay? 

Please convey my warm regards to Mister Corvus, Miss Semiu and Amo! It would be better if I wrote them a letter as well, but I’m afraid I have nothing much to say to them. 

I’ll be asking Riyo to put this letter together with hers in one envelope, so it won't go missing, hope you don’t mind!

– Eishia Stilza

P.S.: August asks to let him know beforehand if something happens to your clothes, so he will bring the material to patch it up. He knows how reckless you can be sometimes during battles. It’s not a bad thing, he says! It just means the clothes did their mission. 

Zan-Zan! 

Having fun on your big-boy mission? Makes me wonder why they would choose you as the only combatant Giver, but oh well! Guess I’m still a bit salty for you all not taking me as well. Has Corvus said anything about this ‘diplomatic’ mission of his yet? Are you going back soon? I already forgot how this place feels when you’re not around. Crazy, right?

You know you can always talk to me, okay? Not accusing you of anything, yet, but I hate this smug look on Riyo’s face when she clearly knows about you more than I do. Since when teenagers are so secretive? I swear, one day one of you will bring a girlfriend/boyfriend before I could even bat an eye! Imagine that, huh? Whatever it is, I’m going to brace it like a man. Just… give me some heads first, good?

Rudo asked to remind you take off these fuck ass gloves. I’m glad you two are getting close, I knew I could count on you when assigning you as his mentor.

Say hi to Amo for me, and tell me what kind of sour expression she makes! Me and Gris are already planning a huge party when you all come back, can’t wait to get wasted.

– Enjin

P.S.: Follo asked to say hello, since he won’t write a letter of his own. Guess he’s as salty as me. Can’t blame him, that’s his hometown, after all. Make sure to buy something for him, will you? We all know he loves souvenirs.

P.S.S.: Hey, could you try and buy me some local cigars? Last time I tried them they were so dope, I kind of miss the feeling. Asked Semiu as well, but she is probably going to ignore me. You won’t ignore your big bro’s only wish, right, Zanka? 

Jabber huffs as he looks back at the candies in a cigar-box shaped package on the desk. 

The letters only proved his suspicions, something was wrong with Zanka and the Cleaner didn’t talk about it with anyone. More than that, it looks like he started to wear these gloves even before coming to North Ward, so it is definitely not for the weather.

When Jabber finally looks down at the curled up figure on the bed, he realizes that the gloves are finally gone. Instead of firm yet soft hands the ex-Raiders remembers, there is a distorted image of them. 

There are cracks all over them, the result of wearing gloves for too long and the lack of moisture, a harsh cold seems to make it only worse. What Zanka tried to hide was his bitten off cuticles around nails, skin not having time to heal. 

Still in slumber, the boy’s hands trembled from a fever, but holding something tight. When Jabber gently tries to pry them open, he finds an origami cornflower. With the way how the little flower was wrinkled with age and wear, Jabber’s sure that this is the very same one he left on Zanka’s desk months ago. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about the revelation. About the way Zanka has been still thinking about him to the point of wanting to buy a souvenir as well as for his closest ones. About the way Zanka not only kept this silly attempt of a futile confession, but also bringed it with him all over to North Ward, holding it close in sickness. Does the Cleaner always hold it with him wherever he goes? What does he say to his companions when they notice and ask about it? Jabber has the urge to know.

When the boy lets go of him to put the origami on a nightstand to not wrinkle it any further, a hand grabs his wrist. Once magenta eyes meet the half-awaken blue ones, the ex-Raider finally remembers why he came in the first place.

“You’re an idiot!” He spats. “An utter moron, Semiu is absolutely right about that.” Jabber brings his free hand to touch the boy’s forehead under the bangs. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

To his confusion, Zanka smiles at him, truly like an idiot. Then laughs at own thoughts, as much as a feverish person could laugh.

“What’s so damn funny?” 

“I don’t think I ever saw you this mad. I kinda like it, scream at me more.” He brings the hand in his hold to cup his own face. It’s no less hotter than the forehead. 

Jabber sighs, can’t help but caress it. He pulls out the vial from his sash with the other hand and uncorks it with his teeth.

“C’mon, Mr. Good Attitude, drink up and you’ll be as good as new.” The boy brings the vial to the other’s lips, but Zanka leans back in a frown.

“There’s no way in hell I would let ya poison me again, even if it’s all a fever dream.” Ah, so that’s why the Cleaner isn’t surprised much at the reunion. Does he dream of Jabber often, then? The ex-Raider looks down at the lips refusing to listen to him.

“I guess you wouldn’t expect this happening in a dream, then.” He brings the mixture to his own lips and downs it in one go without swallowing. Zanka looks at him confused when suddenly Jabber moves closer to him, own face meeting him half way, being moved by the other’s hand, appearing on the nape of his neck somewhere between that.

The Cleaner’s mouth goes agape from shock as their lips meet, Jabber uses this perfect opportunity to pass the medicine, leaning their faces for proper trade. Bitterness fills Zanka’s mouth, but his reflexes make him swallow, possibly influenced by the other’s words. He turns his head away in a coughing fit, trying to get the awful taste away. 

The intruder is amused by the reaction, not closing his eyes even once during the process. Something close to remorse fills him as he licks the remains of the mixture, acknowledging the fact that the other boy’s mouth has the same taste now. Maybe he should’ve thought of the other ways, without condoning his own desires. 

“Sorry, I had no time to add artificial flavor. You can take it, can’t you?” He derides.

When the Cleaner finally looks back at him, his eyes are now fully aware and in rage. Yes! Maybe if Jabber is lucky, the boy could land at least one good hit before they depart, and–

Zanka abruptly takes the boy’s face in both hands, bringing their lips together again. It was Jabber’s turn to be shocked now, watching the now-closed eyes with his wide-open ones. Turns out, he actually might be wrong about the assumption that Zanka never dreamt of kissing him. Because the way he leans his face against the other’s, licking lips open and then biting them can’t be explained otherwise. Jabber would certainly make fun of him for such desperation if he wasn’t busy devouring his mouth in return, closing his eyes as well to drown in the sensation.

The intruder holds Zanka’s back of the head again, working out what angle is best. Zanka rudely interrupts his experiments by bringing him down on the bed, pinning him. Jabber hums in content, glad to be manhandled even in these circumstances. He moves his hand lower, feeling all the sweat the other has been producing, feeling aware now of how sweaty he became as well, either from the Cleaner’s body heat or from three damn heaters working at the same time. 

The bitter taste of medicine subdues into a coppery one, saliva mixing in, cracking open the skin of their already dry lips. Jabber forgot to apply his lip balm again, but it’s not like he regrets it. If anything, he pretty much enjoys licking the other’s lips clean, provoking more blood to leak as he sucks on the wounds. Zanka moans from the feeling, but has no plans of backing off.

The Cleaner eventually breaks the kissing strike. While Jabber whines from the lack of contact, chasing his lips, Zanka’s mouth is already on the other’s neck, biting just behind the ear. The boy gasps, but then chuckles in pure joy, tugging his nails on Zanka’s back. Not strong enough to leave any real scratches, the layers of clothes are to blame.

Unfortunately, everything comes to a stop when the ex-Raider hears steps, creeping closer to the door. He pushes the boy away back on the bed, leaving him baffled, while hovering over.

“You have very interesting dreams, Zanka, but sorry, I gotta go.” Jabber gives him a soft peck, contrasting to the action that led both of their lips to end up chapped.

As he almost exists through the window, the boy looks at the other one last time with a smile.

“Make sure to get well soon, alright? Shit’s expensive, y’know.”

When Semiu comes into the room, she immediately takes notice of the open window and the boy wide awake looking at it. She puts the bowl of steaming soup from the restaurant downtown on the nightstand.

“If it’s too hot, you should just turn off the heater.” She’s aware he wasn’t the one to open the window as she closes it.

“Uh, yeah, sorry…” Zanka rapidly blinks and then grabs the bowl, taking the utensil. Semiu looks at him with her usual perceptive eyes.

“There’s blood on your mouth.” She states simply. The boy’s face reddens even more than the fever made him.

“Thanks, I, uh… I must have bit myself while asleep.” He says while rubbing off his lips with the back of his hand. 

Semiu huffs amusedly.

The next day, Jabber still comes to the alley behind the theater, not expecting anyone to come since yesterday’s incident. But then, he does hear the familiar steps, the same one that interrupted them by coming into the room.

“Where’s your delivery boy?” He asks, despite knowing the answer. 

The woman comes closer and leans on the wall opposite to him, one foot up against the brick. She lights up a cigarette.

“Dumbass got himself sick, this kid never knows when to stop.” She takes a drag and sighs. “Couldn’t send him.” 

Jabber looks into her golden eyes first before giving a package and another vial. 

“He didn’t order a vial.” Another drag, not hasting to take the order. 

“I know. Free of charge, made too much.” There’s never too much when it comes to his work, Jabber made the mixture again in the morning, wondering if the first dose would be enough considering the way it was consumed.

Semiu looks at him through her glasses, a second too long. Then pulls out a pouch, giving him money back, more than should be.

“Boss wants to meet you.” 

“I don't greet and meet with clients. Especially if they don’t even show up to pick up orders themself.” He scoffs in a distorted voice. The woman hums in understanding.

“Drop the act, Wonger, you’re a terrible actor.” She says suddenly. “Momoa’s already there, let’s go, he has a proposition for you.”

So that’s why she was missing, although supposedly having a day off. ‘My own business’ his ass. 

Jabber has no choice but to follow Semiu, already on her tracks to the hotel, putting out the cigarette beforehand. He takes off the mask, eye-contacts and mittens, the real mask being long dropped. 

When he and Semiu come to Corvus’ room, Momoa, of course, is already there. She looks up at him with an apologetic gaze.

“So you called Cleaners on us, huh?” Honestly, it would make sense. The girl’s face changes into an offended one.

“I did not! Miss Semiu approached me from the very first day, that’s why I knew everything from the beginning. Keeping you in the dark? For that, I’m sorry.” Jabber looks back more conflicted than offended.

“I should apologise as well. I’m sorry, Jabber, it was my request to keep things the way they happened.” The older man’s voice finally rings out. “We needed to make sure if you would be alright with the proposition I wanted to offer. Please, take a seat.”

For some reason, he feels respect for the Cleaner’s Leader. Therefore, he obeys and sits down near Momoa. Semiu moves to stand beside Corvus, behind the other sofa, facing them two quietly. 

“I wish this conversation wouldn’t happen this soon, but considering the last incident with our only combatant Giver, we’ve decided to come back to Cleaner’s HQ as soon as possible for his wellbeing.” 

Wait, the medicine didn’t work at all? Zanka should have been better by now, why would they need to go so soon? Jabber still hadn't had a proper conversation with him.

“So I’ll make it short: I would like you two to join our organization.” The man deadpans. 

At first, the boy thinks he misheard. He turns to look at Momoa only to find her already looking at him. She looks hopeful.

“I know this is sudden and unexpected, but I mean my words.” Corvus clasps his hands together to lean his chin on them, as he looks at the ex-Raiders. “You two are very valuable, talented Givers. I would be lying if I said that I’m not interested in you for the Cleaners’ gains as well, although I'm still really worried for the youth to be alone in their struggles. Being on a run must have been hard on you.”

When Jabber looks at Momoa again, her head is low. It has been hard.

“This won’t be easy. The Raiders and the Hell Guards would probably still be interested in you, but I give you my word, under our protection they won’t get to you.” He sighs before saying the next part. “I’m not saying the Cleaners would be very welcoming either. Someone will hold grudges against you, personal or not.” He looks especially hard at Jabber. “But I know my people. With enough time, they will get used to you, to the point of calling you family, even.” 

Jabber hardly believes the last statement. At one point in his life, he had a ‘family’. The lack of memories proved it to be not the most pleasant thing. 

But there is Momoa. Who is she if not family to him?

“We don’t need your protection, we’ve handled ourselves on our own so far.” He says it half-heartably. The boy feels a hand on top of his.

“Jabber…” Momoa says weakly, not looking at him. “I’m tired of hiding.” 

Jabber says nothing in return. He knows.

“Besides… I’ve missed the East, this climate fucking sucks.”

Jabber laughs. Semiu can’t help but chuckle into her fist as well while Corvus huffs, pleased.

“There has been a personal reason for this decision as well.” The man continues, but with a soft smile. “Jabber, I believe there is someone who would like to finally meet you.” 

As if on cue, there’s steps near the door, then polite knocks.

“Zanka, you may come in.” 

The door creaks as the Cleaner comes in, looking perfectly fine since yesterday.

“Sir, me and Amo are done packin’ our things and ready to go whenever–” He closes the door and turns to face the scene. “... you are.”

All four of them look at the stunned Cleaner. While Semiu and Corvus stayed the same, the boy and the girl had to turn around. Momoa waves her hand at him lightly, Jabber full on grins and wiggles his fingers in a greeting. Zanka looks at him and blushes furiously, remembering the events of last night with a realization that it was, in fact, not a fever dream. 

“I should be apologizing to you as well, Zanka. I’ve been holding off on the true meaning of this mission to see if you would be ready too.” His gaze turns back to the ex-Raiders. “Please, welcome our, hopefully, new addition to the Cleaners assembly.” 

There is surprisingly not much stuff for them to take, despite living in one place for months. Jabber meets his last customers, notifying them that he won’t be here anymore. Their soon-to-be-blind landlord doesn’t even recognise them, simply taking the money. Momoa’s coworkers try to make her stay, but she doesn’t budge. They give her some new discs for her collection as a goodbye. 

With their belongings loaded in the trunk, they are on their way. Semiu is driving, Corvus is in the passenger seat, ready to switch whenever the woman gets tired. 

On Jabber’s shoulder lies fast-asleep Zanka, seemingly still a bit weak from the sickness. He holds his hand, adorned in the gloves fabric, craving for the real touch. He can wait.

Momoa and Amo are chatting on a second row behind them, rapidly bonding. The boy hears Amo ask about what kind of guys she likes. When Momoa says she’s not interested in them, the girl quickly rephrases her question about the girls instead. Now Momoa’s invested. Jabber snickers.

When the boy looks in the window, he notices a familiar circle of blue and yellow, a short woman standing near it.

She still wears the Raider’s lantern. 

But instead of attacking, she meets Jabber’s eyes and smiles, content in what she’s seeing. After that, she goes into the portal, disappearing.

For some reason, the ex-Raider thinks that maybe she was behind it all along. That would explain how the Cleaners found them faster than anyone else could. 

They would meet again some day, he’s sure of it, even if on different fronts. And when that happens, Jabber would try to convince her as well. 

Zanka’s room is too damn bright this early in the morning.

When they returned and entered through the main doors, not as intruders, but as guests, everybody was surprised, to say the least.

The letter informing about two more people on the way didn’t arrive on time, so nobody prepared new rooms. Amo volunteered to share her room with Momoa, eager to already have a sleepover with her new friend. 

Zanka volunteered to share with Jabber. Well, to be exact, the ex-Raider clinged to his arm and informed of it himself, saying that he’s already familiar with that room specifically. Nobody argued, but some threw dirty looks in his way. Enjin and Rudo in particular, who weren’t expecting him at all, let alone with Zanka as his roommate. 

Jabber, awoken first, stares down with half-lidden eyes at still asleep Zanka, who looked more at peace than ever. This time, the boy doesn’t feel wrong about the expression. 

As he plays with strands of the other’s hair, the boy contemplates if he should ask to not give him a separate room. He doesn’t mind waking up to this everyday, now that he has a full right to. 

Once the Cleaner is asleep too long, making it boring, Jabber kisses him awake. Zanka frowns at the disturbing, but doesn’t lean back, eventually giving in.

“What’s up with kissin’ me while I’m half-awake?” He asks when they part.

“Would you like me to wake you up some other way?” 

Zanka doesn’t answer, Jabber grins. The latter leans back to pick up the paper cornflower, fiddling with it.

“So… Thought of me often?” He asks with a surprisingly shy smile. 

“With a goodbye-stunt you pulled? How was I supposed not to?” He pouts, but blushes. “By the way, is there any reason in particular when you chose this… figure?” He means to ask about the flower, not about the origami itself.

Jabber simply pulls out a book from his bag near the bed.

“It was supposed to be a gift back then, but, uh, you know what happened.” He says, giving it to him. “In case you’re wondering: yes, I’ve read it first. So we can be on the same page.” He chuckles at his own pun. Zanka can’t help, but smirks as well. 

He sits up to go through the book, finds the page with a cornflower chapter rather quickly, seeing exactly what he was looking for. 

Jabber can’t see his face from this angle, but from the way how the Cleaner’s shoulders shake, he is either laughing or crying. 

“You’re such an idiot.” Zanka says, finally looking back with a vulnerable face. 

“It takes falling into an ice water to see one.” Jabber answers, hugging him from behind, chin on a shoulder. Puts the flower next to a pictured counterpart. “It didn’t die, did it?” He looks down at the other’s scarred hands, taking one in his and bringing it to own lips. “What happened to making stars?”

He noticed the lack of jars full of them on a desk. 

“I did make a thousand.” A pause. “Then I made another thousand.” 

“I thought you didn’t believe in wishes.”

“I thought so too. But then I did, that’s why I burned them all in frustration.” 

And probably didn’t touch paper again since then, Jabber figured. He’s sure he knows the answer already, but asks anyway:

“What did you wish for?” 

For you to be alright.

For you to be safe.

For you to be alive.

For you to come back.

“I think ya know already.” Got him. The boy sighs in defeat. “Ready for the party?” 

“The one Enjin ‘can’t wait to get wasted for’?” 

“Ugh, of course ya still went snoopin’ around when I was asleep, having a fever!” He states scandalously. 

“Some things don’t change, Mr. Bad Attitude.” He says, holding him tighter, breathing into the other’s neck deeply. 

Maybe Jabber found a place he could call home, after all.