Work Text:
Zanka never put much stock in soulmates.
It had been drilled into him from an early age that having a soulmate was an inconvenience at best, and a glaring weakness at worst. Zanka knew his father didn't have a soul mark, he took it as a point of pride, and wore its absence like a badge of honor; proof that he didn't need anyone else to be strong, that he had no "better half."
His mother had had one, though. Zanka had only seen it once, just a glimpse of a small, flowing script at the base of her neck, the only time the area hadn't been covered by a raised collar or hair. He'd asked about it, and he remembered her getting a far away look in her eyes as she lightly brushed her fingers over it, and then pulled her shirt collar back up and told him it was nothing with a kind smile.
Sometimes he wished he'd asked her more about it. What it was like to have one, if she'd ever found her soulmate, if she ever regretted ending up with Father instead of them. Sometimes all the questions he never got to ask kept him up at night. Other times, Zanka was glad he didn't know.
It would be better if he didn't get a soul mark. Maybe if one never manifested for Zanka like it hadn't for his father, he'd look at him with a bit less disdain in his eyes. Maybe then Zanka could naturally do something right for once without having to fight tooth and nail for it. It would be better if words never showed up on his skin, since even if they did it was pointless anyways. His life was practically set in stone already. Once he sat on the golden throne and became a Captain of the Hell Guard, any eventual partnership would be for the purposes of political advantage or producing strong heirs for the Nijiku clan. There was no room for something as silly and illogical as love or soulmates.
Having a soul mark only meant knowing that he was incomplete, and that somewhere out there was a person who could make him whole, and he would never be with them. It would be stupid for him to want a soul mark, and he told anyone who asked that he hoped one never showed.
But sometimes, alone in his room when he was supposed to be sleeping, he'd silently check every inch of his skin for words, twisting in front of the small mirror trying to get a glimpse of anything, any proof that there was someone out there who was meant to love him.
In his darkest, most selfish fantasies, he imagined running away from the fakes in the academy and the oppressive expectations of the Hell Guard and finding his perfect match. He imagined they'd be thoughtful, and gentle, and kind; a purifying force that could disinfect the broken and rotten parts of his soul from the inside out. In his most secret, most indulgent thoughts, he hoped a mark appeared and it led him to someone who could see him for who he actually was and love even that part of him.
...But what if they didnt? All the fakes in the academy seemed to like him well enough, but they didn't know him. They didn't see how much effort he put in, how hard he worked to make it look easy. They didn't get him at all. Everyone who had ever known him —truly known him— had only ever been disappointed by what they found at his core. Even his mother, despite her best efforts to hide it, sometimes looked at him and his siblings like she was mourning something. Physical contact was kept brief, and even tender gestures always had a layer of distance to them, like she was just going through the motions. (Zanka had subtly leaned into every touch anyways.)
He'd known from a young age that love wasn't nearly as unconditional as people liked to pretend. He was fine with that.
But he hoped that maybe, just once, it could be. That if he played his role perfectly and did everything he was supposed to, maybe then the universe would send him someone who would care about him without Zanka having to strip his nails bare trying to carve out a space for himself in their heart.
He didn't know what he'd do if they didn't think he was good enough either.
...
The words showed up on the back of his dominant hand on the night of his 13th birthday. Five words in a simple black font that confirmed all his worst fears.
'You'll be just as easy.'
He stared at it for what felt like hours, unsure if the feeling in his stomach was him wanting to hit something or him wanting to find a hole to crawl in and never come out of.
He pulled his sleeve back down to cover it, and decided to never look at it again.
...
Not many people in the Cleaners knew Zanka had a soul mark.
He'd only ever voluntarily shown it to Riyo and Enjin, and Eisha had seen it once after he'd broken his arm fighting a trash beast. A few other people were aware he had a mark, but not of what it said. He preferred it that way. The less people that knew about those mocking words, the better.
He wasn't the only one who hid his mark, but the Cleaners weren't like the Hell Guard, where covering it was expected. Some people wore them proudly, some incorporated them into tattoos, some didn't bother doing anything special at all. But some, like him, hid them entirely, usually out of superstition, but it was common enough to keep anyone from prying.
Apparently, they didn't have soul marks on the Sphere, and Rudo had been utterly fascinated at the concept.
Zanka knew, logically, that Rudo didn't understand how rude he was being by asking people so blatantly if they had a soul mark and what it said. He knew that. It didn't stop him from snapping at Rudo to mind his own business when he'd caught sight of the black text one time when Zanka was washing his hands.
He was glad August hadn't asked too many questions about his insistence on keeping the traditional Hell Guard Academy sleeves when he'd first joined the Cleaners. As long as he kept them on, and never looked down when they weren't, he could almost convince himself the words weren't there.
Maybe if he eventually did forget they were there, he'd be able to finally leave them behind like he had with everything else.
...
The mud girl and her companion were stupidly easy to beat once he figured out their trick. It was almost insulting. All that work to set up an ambush and talk trash only to go down like nothing.
"Come on, is that all?" He muttered, standing back up straight. "Just one hit did the trick."
Hopefully there weren't any more Raiders waiting to spring a trap for Rudo further underground. Gris and Follo were good fighters, but they had far less practice fighting people than Zanka did.
He didn't even notice a presence behind him until he heard a low voice whisper in his ear.
"You'll be just as easy."
The words plunged him into an ice bath.
No.
There was no way.
The shock of it froze him in place for just a fraction of a second, and that was all the stranger needed to stab something sharp into the back of his neck.
"The hell?!" Zanka choked out as he pulled away from the blade before it could go any deeper and whirled around with Assistaff. Already, he could feel something wasn't right, his muscles weren't responding as fast as they should. Assistaff wasn't moving quite like she was supposed to —even if just by a difference of a couple degrees— and he could feel a burning pain starting to move through him from the wound.
The stranger was a Raider, that much was clear from the purple uniform and lantern. They were also obviously a giver, and the long metallic claws strapped to their every finger were clearly their instrument.
That was what he noted objectively, as important information to catalog for a fight.
(Subjectively, he couldn't help but notice the features of their face, even partially obscured by a hood and several long black locs. He noticed the way they carried themselves, a casual slouch that he could tell from one look hid an underlying grace and lethality.)
He didn't make the same mistake as before of hesitating, even for a second, and as soon as he mentally confirmed they were a Raider he was already swinging Assistaff at them.
The strike was still too slow, and the stranger danced out of the way easily as they grinned.
Cocky.
Zanka tried again immediately, swinging with all his remaining strength even as he felt his muscles start to fail him, and mid-swing he extended Assistaff's reach by loosening his grip on her staff so his hands slid down and catching her again near the bottom, hoping the extra few inches would be enough to take the guy by surprise, and it almost worked. Zanka saw the stranger's eyes widen just a bit (though it looked like excitement rather than alarm) and he leaned his head back, just barely fast enough that Assistaff's blades on the side only left a thin scratch on the bridge of his nose.
"Damn!" the stranger laughed. "You're still movin pretty good, huh! What's your name?"
Zanka grit his teeth. He could feel his legs wobbling and his grip failing. Damn it. He tried one last swipe —that the stranger easily avoided— before his balance was compromised by the muscles in his legs no longer listening to him and the momentum sent him crashing to the floor.
Shit.
So that was how it ended for him, huh? Some sneak attack piece of shit with a one-hit weapon. Naturally.
The ugliest shoes he'd maybe ever seen entered his vision and the stranger squatted down to look at him, still with that stupid grin.
Their hood had fallen down at some point and now Zanka could see their whole unfairly pretty face.
you'll be just as easy.
He could feel the words burning on the back of his hand.
"Asshole." Zanka grit out through a clenched jaw. The pain of whatever he'd been injected with was secondary in importance to the paralysis. He'd gladly fight through the pain if it meant giving a well-deserved beating to the Raider skuzzball who had made his life hell far before today.
"Aww, all done, huh? Don't worry, I ain't gonna kill ya. Boss man said I could do whatever I wanted long as I got the sphereite, so I think I'll leave you for now. That was pretty fun. Next time, you can gimme a real fight, yeah?"
He stood back up and started to retreat back towards the direction he presumably came from, and a minor relief filled Zanka at the fact that at least he wasn't going towards where Rudo and the Supporters had run.
Then, it seemed like he finally noticed the massive hole in the ceiling from the cave in and stopped, muttering something to himself.
He spun back around on one foot and looked over at Zanka.
"Yo, I came from this side, right?"
Zanka felt his eye twitch.
There was absolutely no way he lost to this guy.
There was absolutely no way this guy was his soulmate.
"Hmm." The guy hummed, and then threw his head back dramatically. "Maaaaan, this blows! Dunno why we had to do this shit underground, can't even call Cthoni..."
He pointed off towards a direction that was just slightly off from where Rudo and the others had run.
"It was that way, wasn't it."
Zanka just continued to glare at him. Was he fucking with him? Or did he just genuinely have such a bad memory he couldn't remember the direction he came from just a few minutes ago. Unbelievable.
"Eh, fuck it." he said, and started cheerily jogging off in that direction. "See ya around, Mr. Bad Attitude!"
...
Zanka left the infirmary as soon as he could. Gris was the priority anyway, Zanka had no business being there when he didn't even have a single scratch, save for the two small stab wounds on the back of his neck where the guy —Jabber, apparently— had injected him with one of his neurotoxin coated blades. Twice.
As soon as Eisha had healed those, Zanka had left, and he'd turned down her offer of painkillers for the poison whose pain was still faintly lingering. He needed the reminder.
He'd given his well wishes to a mostly-healed Gris before he exited the infirmary, and Gris had seemingly misinterpreted the reason why Zanka couldn't look him in the eyes when he did. Zanka didn't correct him.
His soulmate. A Raider. An attempted murderer. A masochist.
An enemy.
you'll be just as easy
He bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.
He'd understood from the second he'd read the words that they meant he wouldn't have the fairytale romance it promised others. That even the one person assigned by fate to be his other half still mocked his inadequacy. He'd known that the whole damn time.
It was one thing to know it, and another to have it shoved in his face.
Of course Rudo, his trainee, who hadn't even understood how his instrument worked prior to the fight, had managed to land several hits on the guy before Zanka had even been able to drag himself back to the battle. And of course his soulmate had been more interested in Rudo —the natural, the sphereite— than him. Zanka had only been an obstacle. And not even a difficult one.
Piece of shit.
He needed to train. The guy had mentioned something about Zanka giving him a "real" fight in the future.
Zanka would. He'd beat him bloody. He'd hit him so hard with Assistaff that he'd regret ever saying those five stupid words that ruined Zanka's life.
Maybe he'd hit him hard enough to kill, and the curse tattooed on him would finally fade from his skin, and he'd be free.
...
Zanka knew what was coming the second the portal opened in whatever weird cavern he'd been pushed into by the trash flood. He knew exactly what was gonna go down, even before a pair of ringed hands and a face that seemed persistent on haunting him had fully emerged from the swirling mass.
He got a better grip on Lovely Assistaff. About time. Even if the circumstances were less than ideal, part of him couldn't wait for the chance to finally fight this asshole for real.
"Bring it on." Zanka muttered with a frown as he got Assistaff ready.
Jabber landed in a crouch, still with that same stupid grin on his face.
"Been a minute, you ain't excited?" Jabber drawled, and Zanka activated Lovely Assistaff in response. "Mr. Baaaad Attitude!!"
There was a flash of pink, and then there were those claws. A single hit would be all it took.
Good thing Zanka didn't plan on getting hit.
"I'm mad hyped for this!" Jabber jeered. "The day when you mess me up good!"
At that, Jabber lunged at him, claws extended, and every other thought left Zanka's brain except for one, and he embraced it wholeheartedly.
Kill or be killed.
...
Zanka came to looking at the sky. He blinked, but it didn't change.
..what?
He looked down to see Eisha crouched over him, finishing some sort of wrap around his stomach with a worried crease in her forehead. Her generator was sitting next to her.
When did he get outside? Everything hurt, and he felt nauseous. What the hell had happened?
The last thing he remembered...
Zanka's eyes widened and he tried to shoot up before a residual pain and a pair of hands pushed him back down to laying.
"Jabber-!" His voice was muffled. Someone had put a mask on him.
"Shhh, its okay, its over. Just breathe."
Over?
...He'd been fighting Jabber in some sort of cave...he remembered he'd gotten swiped on the ankle by one of his stupidly long second claws (Because of course he had a second set of claws, of course he'd been holding back the whole damn time). He'd lost Assistaff, and then....
...He remembered getting her back, she'd responded to his call and come back to him and he'd fought through the pain and the poison and the blood loss, standing up and getting back in the fight. He'd landed more hits on Jabber, good hits on Jabber.
He'd beat the shit out of him, and it had felt great. He'd gotten lost in it, and all of the violence had been hazy, almost dreamlike, as he'd hit Jabber over and over again.
It had been weird though, he'd heard Jabbers voice distantly, saying things that didn't match the movement of his mouth. Jabber hadn't moved like before, it had been almost too easy to beat on him. It was so blurry, and at some point he could've sworn he remembered seeing Hyo...
...venomenal...hallucinations...
.......oh.
His stomach churned from more than just the nausea and he just barely managed to roll himself over onto his side and rip his mask down before he emptied his stomach onto the ground, distantly hearing Eisha make a noise of alarm. The searing pain in his side only got worse.
It hadn't been real. He'd lost. Again.
He spat, trying to clear the taste of bile from his mouth. He took a few deep breaths and then collapsed back on what he now realized was a stretcher.
Damn it.
He looked down at his right hand. Without his sleeves the text stood exposed to the world, mocking him. He should really just carve it out of his skin already. But that might fuck up his handling of Assistaff.
He saw Eisha follow his eyes to his hand and she picked up the small roll of bandages.
"Do you want me to..."
He nodded, and then he just looked back at the sky while Eisha looped the bandages around the top of his hand a couple times, just enough to hide the words from anyone who hadn't already seen them.
And from him.
...
The next time he saw Jabber had been pure chance.
He hadn't been planning on getting into a fight, he hadn't even had Assistaff on him. So of course that's when he caught sight of familiar locs and an unmistakable posture in town.
That freak. Was he following him? (Had he managed to figure it out??)
Jabber wasn't in his Raider uniform, apparently opting instead for an oversized tee and baggy pants. But his choker and the rings on his fingers remained, both threats if he decided to use them.
Zanka immediately abandoned doing any of the shopping he'd intended, and instead kept one eye on Jabber in case he tried to start anything. Zanka stayed at a distance, keeping one hand on the pocket knife he carried whenever he couldn't bring Assistaff, and tailed Jabber from shop to shop. The hell was he up to?
If Jabber noticed him, he was doing a great job of pretending like he didn't. Or maybe that was his plan, trying to get Zanka to let his guard down so he could catch him by surprise. Zanka wasn't gonna fall for it.
Jabber slipped into an alleyway and it only confirmed Zanka's suspicions. No doubt he was waiting for Zanka to follow him, waiting in the shadows to get a jump on him as soon as he turned the corner. Zanka wasn't that stupid.
Though, if Jabber was relying on him walking into the alley unprepared, he probably wouldn't expect it if Zanka came in on the offensive, and then maybe he could flip it around and get the drop on Jabber.
...The logic wasn't entirely sound and he knew it, but every second he waited only increased the chance that Jabber would begin to suspect something was up. He made his choice, flipping open the knife and getting a good grip before quickly turning the corner and rushing into the alley.
Just like he'd expected, Jabber was waiting a few steps in, leaning against the wall out of sight from the main street while he messed with something in his hands, and within a second of their eyes meeting Zanka had the knife at his throat as he pinned him to the wall.
He heard something small and plastic clatter to the ground but didn't look down at it, keeping his eyes locked on Jabbers, ready to slit his throat the instant he saw those dark eyes light up with anima.
"What are you playin at?" Zanka growled. "Ya followin me now?"
Jabber, despite the position he was in —or maybe because of it— just looked utterly delighted.
"Oh shit! Heya Zan-zan."
Zanka pressed the knife a bit harder.
"Don't call me that." he said without thinking, and then kicked himself for giving such an obvious reaction, especially because Jabber's eyes twinkled and Zanka got the distinct sense that he'd be hearing much more of that stupid nickname from Jabber in the future. "What d'ya want. Why are you followin me."
Jabber wet his lips as he grinned again and Zanka very pointedly did not take his eyes off of Jabber's to look anywhere else.
"I just came here to shop, man. Seems like you're the one following me."
"Don't flatter yerself, I wasn't-" ...He had been tailing Jabber, but only to keep an eye on him so Jabber wouldn't catch him by surprise. But if Jabber really hadn't been there because of him...No. He was bluffing. "If that's true, why'd ya slip in here then? No shops."
"To smoke." Jabber said simply, and Zanka blinked.
...what?
"Honest, man." Jabber laughed at his expression, seeming entirely unconcerned with the blade currently at his throat. "You made me drop my shit when you came in like a tornado. Not cool by the way. Look down."
"Yeah, like I'm fallin for that." Zanka said, and Jabber didn't do anything but roll his eyes.
Zanka realized after a second that they were effectively at a stalemate, and he really didn't have a plan on what to do next. Damn it. What was it about Jabber that made him absolutely lose all sense of rationality?
He narrowed his eyes at Jabber for another couple seconds and kept the knife pressed against his throat, then he quickly glanced down to the ground where he'd heard something land before.
That split second was apparently all Jabber needed, and the next thing Zanka knew the wind was knocked out of his lungs as Jabber landed a hit on his solar plexus, making him stumble back.
"Piece of shit." Zanka wheezed, and moved to counter an incoming hit before he realized Jabber didn't have his instrument activated, and paused.
Jabber had his hands up, and Zanka noticed a thin line of red at his throat, just barely bleeding from where the knife had moved during the scuffle.
"Chill, dude. I ain't tryna start shit." He said, and bent down to pick up what Zanka could now see was a plastic lighter and a joint that had at some point rolled into a small puddle in the cobblestone. Jabber clicked disapprovingly behind his teeth as he picked it up, examining the damage. "Damn. You owe me a new pre-roll."
Zanka didn't respond to that, only getting a better grip on the knife as he waited for Jabber to strike.
Jabber fished a tube out of his pocket and popped the wet joint into it, rolling his eyes again at Zanka.
"Put that thing away, I'm not interested in fighting when you don't even have your instrument. You went down easy enough with it."
Bastard.
"Won't happen again. I want a rematch." Zanka said, and then kicked himself again for not just taking the easy out.
"...A rematch, huh tough guy?" Jabber mused, studying him, and Zanka realized he didn't know what he'd do if Jabber said no. He needed to beat him.
Jabber seemed to consider him for a long while, tilting his head with a grin, and Zanka wondered what exactly he was looking for.
"...You really are just like me, aren't you..." Jabber said quietly, and then stood back up straight. "Aight, bet! We can tango again, just not here."
Jabber took his thumb and swiped up a bit of blood from the shallow wound on his neck.
"Gimme your choker."
Zanka just glared at him.
"Hell no."
"C'mon, how else we supposed to reschedule?"
"We can 'reschedule' right here and now. Just name a time and place."
"Nah, that ain't gon work. Boss man never gives me a heads up about jobs, what happens if I gotta miss and can't tell you, and then you show up all alone lookin stupid?"
Zanka hated that he had a good point, and took a second to at least pretend to himself that he was weighing the pros and cons of doing something this reckless.
"...Fine." He finally said, and begrudgingly held out his left arm to Jabber, who pressed his bloody thumb to the choker on his wrist and Zanka saw the thin line of yellow electricity from a connection establishing.
"Your turn!" Jabber said cheerfully.
Zanka bit his thumb to break skin while the last remaining part of his brain that had any common sense screamed at him to think about what he was doing. He ignored it, and moved to press his own bloody thumb against Jabber's choker.
When he got his hand close to Jabber's neck he caught sight of something and froze.
There, on the lower right side of Jabber's neck, mostly hidden by his red choker, were two words, in the exact same font as his own.
'The hell?'
...If Zanka cared any about what Jabber thought, or about soulmates in general, he might've been embarrassed about giving him such a lame first sentence to have stuck on him forever. But he didn't. And he wasn't.
He mentally snapped himself out of it and quickly pressed his bloody thumb to Jabber's choker before stepping back, praying he hadn't noticed the hesitation.
"You got a mark?" Jabber asked, tilting his head.
Zanka's heart shot into his stomach. Had he seen it? Did the fabric on his sleeves move to give it away? Did he know?
"What?" Zanka managed.
"Soul mark." Jabber said, tapping his with one finger. "Saw you starin at mine, you got your own?"
He doesn't know.
Zanka could have fainted from relief, but he needed to play it cool.
"...Just surprised someone like you has a soulmate out there."
"Guess so, somewhere." Jabber shrugged. "But I don't really do that kinda thing."
Zanka didn't know whether that was a comfort or not.
"Question still stands though," Jabber continued, "you got one?"
Zanka swore he could feel the words burning on the back of his hand.
"Nah."
...
Zanka landed on a large wooded crate, and didn't get even a second to catch his breath before he had to immediately jump as it got destroyed by one of Jabber's massive claws.
He landed a few feet away, lungs burning and arms sore with exhaustion, but he was still in it. This was the longest he'd lasted in one of their spars so far, and Zanka knew they were both pleased by that. It was invigorating. The only thing better would be actually winning.
The original "rematch" Zanka had asked for had quickly turned into another fight the following week, and then another, and then before Zanka knew it he'd gotten into a routine of sneaking out to meet Jabber, training specifically to beat him, spending his spare time trying to find new techniques and strategies to try and trip him up. His life was practically starting to revolve around fighting him and Zanka probably would have been more concerned about that if the entire thing didn't feel so right.
Zanka jumped back out of range from another swipe, denying Mankira a taste of him or Assistaff, and he could tell the evasion was starting to annoy Jabber. Good.
In her true form, Mankira was most effective at mid-range, but Jabber was nothing if not impatient, and like clockwork he lunged to get in close. Zanka took advantage of the proximity and instead of using Assistaff to attack, he used her to parry Jabber's smaller claws to the side while he kicked him hard in the chest, and couldn't stop the grin that made its way onto his face from the sound he forced out of Jabber at the impact.
His good mood didn't last for long though, as Mankira's larger claws came in from the side, and while he was fast enough to keep from getting stabbed, the impact of the hit still sent him skidding on the concrete floor, and he felt the slide tear through a couple layers of his clothes on the right side. He could feel a slight friction burn on the side of his knee and arm, but that wasn't enough to keep him down.
They traded hits one more time before Zanka jumped back when he noticed Jabber's demeanor suddenly change.
Jabber usually kept direct, unflinching eye contact during their fights, and it had gone from deeply unnerving to just another thing Zanka had come to expect, but Jabber's eyes weren't locked on his now. Instead, he could tell Jabber's eyes were trained on his right hand where he gripped Assistaff.
...His partially bare right hand where the sleeve had ripped during his slide accross the concrete.
Oh fuck.
"Now what's that?" Jabber asked with a grin.
Shit. Shit.
Zanka could feel his heartbeat starting to pick up and his throat felt dry.
"None 'a yer business." he spat.
"Damn." Jabber crooned with obvious delight. "Touchy subject, huh?"
"Ain't we here to fight, or are ya just gonna yap my ear off all night?"
Jabber laughed.
"I can do both. Better lock in for this round, Mr. Bad Attitude, cause I'm mad curious now!"
...
Zanka had been so close.
He'd almost gotten one over on Jabber, but the distraction of needing to keep the back of his hand out of direct view had compromised his ability to move as effectively as he needed at close range, and the battle had ended with Zanka making one misstep and Jabber getting a clean cut on the side of his thigh.
And even with the steady tolerance he'd been building, it wasn't enough to keep Zanka's muscles from locking after a few more seconds of fighting and sending him face down on the floor. Fuck.
"Alright, lets see what you're hiding." Jabber said cheerily as he made his way over.
No.
"Lets go again. Double or nothing." Zanka grit out frantically; anything to keep Jabber from reading the traitorous words now exposed to open air on the back of his hand.
"We can go again after this, but I'm way too curious now." Jabber laughed as he continued to get closer.
Damn it. No.
"Jabber." He choked out, and it sounded more like a plea than a name.
Apparently Jabber heard it that way too, because he paused for a moment, and then continued.
"C'mon man, I showed you mine, only fair you show me yours."
"I never asked to see yours." Zanka said, heart pounding in his chest from more than just the poison as Jabber crouched down beside him and took his infuriatingly unresponsive hand. "Listen-"
There was a long moment of silence, and any remaining hope that Jabber had maybe forgotten that he'd been the one to say those words faded faster with every lasting second. It was agonizing, and Zanka couldn't do anything but lie there and wait for Jabber to say something as he grit his teeth.
Instead of the words he'd expected, the next thing Zanka experienced was a sharp but brief pain in the back of his neck, followed by an almost immediate relief of all the pain in his body and a renewed control of his muscles.
He tore his hand out of Jabbers grip and stumbled back up to his feet, heart still thundering in his chest.
Jabber looked up at him as he did, still crouched on the floor, and then slowly stood up too. He had a half smile on his face that was somehow entirely unreadable to Zanka.
"Damn. You been keepin secrets. You knew this whole time, huh."
Zanka swallowed, and Jabber kept talking.
"That why you kept comin back? Cause I'm your soulmate?"
He said "soulmate" in an almost singsong-y tone, but with a distinct bite at the end. Was that bitterness?
More importantly, did he seriously think Zanka kept seeking out their fights because he was hoping it would lead to something romantic? That was maybe more insulting than anything else
"I came back" Zanka said with a glare, "cause we ain't finished til I beat yer ass so bad with Lovely Assistaff that you regret ever sayin this shit to me in the first place. I don't give a trash beast's ass about 'fate' or any of that nonsense, so keep that sappy shit to yourself. I'm here to fight you and that's it."
There was another long moment of silence where Jabber just observed him, and then Zanka watched as Jabber's half smile slowly turned into a real one, and his eyes went from an analytical squint to lighting up with pure joy, and he laughed.
"You sure are, huh! Sorry I doubted ya Zan-zan." Jabber grinned. "Shoulda known you wouldn't pull that lame shit on me."
Jabber tilted his head as he looked at him, and there was an unmistakable heat in his eyes. Zanka felt something deep in his stomach flip.
"After all, we're made for each other, right?"
Zanka's heartbeat only got faster. He needed Jabber to stop looking at him like that immediately before he did something really stupid.
"Ya got selective hearing, skuzzball? I don't subscribe to that crap. Thought you didn't either."
Jabber started walking closer, and Zanka's pride refused to let him back away from Jabber in turn, even as his heartbeat got faster with every step Jabber took.
"Didn't, really." Jabber said as he shrugged. "Always too boring for me. But what we got goin on is the furthest thing from it. So if we're supposed to be together-"
"No 'supposed to' about it." Zanka interrupted, pushing down the feeling that came over him at the indirect praise and the confirmation that their fights were interesting enough to keep Jabber's attention."I choose shit for myself, and I made the choice to forget about this a long time ago."
"Really. Cause the way you been lookin at me ever since we met says somethin different."
Zanka needed to kill him.
Jabber was close enough now that he swore he could feel the heat of his body.
Jabber's hand crept up to the back of Zanka's neck and he smacked it away.
"The hell d'ya think yer doin?"
"C'mon, you can't tell me you ain't at least a little curious. It's supposed to be better with a soulmate, y'know."
Zanka had heard that.
"Even if that were true, tough shit. Far as I'm concerned we're still enemies, don't expect me to get all lovey-dovey just cause of a few stupid words on my skin."
"Ohh Zanka," Jabber practically purred, and Zanka suppressed a full body shiver at the sound of his name coming out of Jabber's lips. "the last thing I'd want you to do is get all lovey-dovey with me."
Jabber's hand rested lightly on his waist this time, and Zanka didn't remove it. The touch was electric, and at the lack of a denial, Jabber's hand went from just barely resting on Zanka's waist to actually holding it, and Zanka felt his stomach flip again. What was he doing?
"Just once?" Jabber asked with a grin, voice low, and their faces were close enough now that Zanka could faintly feel the air of his breath as he talked. When had their faces gotten that close? "Just to try it out, for research. Then we can go back to beatin each other stupid with no hangups. Pleeease?"
The "please", even in that clearly joking tone, was what finally did it, and Zanka's hand fisted in Jabber's hood, pulling him closer.
"...This doesn't change shit, alright?"
"Course not." Jabber answered with barely restrained glee.
Their lips were practically touching, just barely brushing with each word, and Zanka's whole body felt like he had goosebumps.
"Just once." He clarified, more for himself than anything else.
"Sure." Jabber replied, and Zanka could tell just from his tone that he didn't believe him. Zanka didn't know if he believed himself either. He could worry about that later.
Leave it to Jabber to always make him choose the most irrational course of action.
"I really hate you." Zanka muttered for good measure, and then closed the negligible distance and finally pushed his lips against Jabber's, getting an enthusiastic hum in return, and if he had the wherewithal to string together a proper thought past that moment he probably would've been annoyed that it was exactly as good as everyone said it was.
(Epilogue)
The sounds of the city were always loud in Jabber's apartment, even in the middle of the night.
Zanka had fully given up on trying to convince him to get new blinds for his window several months ago, and the decision to let it go had less to do with frustration than it did the fact that the faint neon glow from the signs outside would occasionally paint Jabber's skin gorgeous colors, and Zanka had decided he didn't mind sacrificing a little sleep for the sight.
Jabber's eyes were closed, and with his wicks neatly tucked away in his bonnet Zanka could see his whole face, cast in a dull magenta glow from some sign outside. It suited him.
He traced a finger softly down the ridge of his nose, over the paper-thin scar there that Zanka had given him when they met, and then moved down past the bruises and the bitemarks to the base of his neck, running a thumb lightly over the words.
"Watcha thinking bout?"
Jabber's murmured words surprised him, and he pulled back a bit.
Jabber cracked one eye open, still visibly sleepy, and Zanka couldn't help the small smile that made its way onto his face uninvited.
"Sorry, did I wake ya?" he said quietly.
Jabber hummed blearily.
"Not sure. Don't think so." He yawned. "Wha'sin your head? Soulmate shit?"
Zanka hummed.
"Sorta. Just thinkin back on our first meeting. ...Ya really didn't have any clue it was me?"
"None." Jabber said, and before Zanka could think too hard about that, followed it up with "Never really cared about that sorta thing. Not just soulmates, all of it. Was kinda surprised when I got a mark."
Zanka stayed quiet, hoping he'd keep going, and he did.
"Kept one ear out for a bit, eventually just kinda stopped. 'Was a common enough sentence, I heard it a lot."
"Not a common first sentence," Zanka said, rolling his eyes. "yer just in the habit of bein a menace to strangers."
Jabber laughed quietly as he shrugged, crumpling the sheets a bit.
"Eh, either way. You were hardly the first one to say it to me. Stopped noticing it after a while." Jabber was quiet for a moment, and then he continued. "Didn't think I'd like my soulmate. Figured they'd be boring as hell based on the words. So of course I wasn't gonna think it was you."
Oh.
Zanka hoped the pink glow from outside could mask the glow he no doubt had from the indirect compliment. Clearly it didn't do a good enough job though, since Jabber caught his eye with a knowing look and smile, before adjusting his head on the pillow to get comfortable again.
"M'glad I was wrong." Jabber murmured as he closed his eyes.
"Yeah," Zanka said quietly, looking down at his hand, and then back at Jabber. "Me too."