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The water laps at Zanka’s feet, curls around his ankles. He steps forward and his bare foot sinks into soft sand. The beach stretches as far as his eyes could see and the blue ocean dips down beneath a setting sun just on the horizon.
He holds his arms out and feels the damp sea breeze pressing against his skin and tangling his hair. His wooden staff is soft beneath his palm. He can feel Death near him–the break in the air, the silence in his passing. Zanka turns to face him.
“Death,” Zanka says in acknowledgement.
Jabber is awash in orange and pink light. With each step, it catches the golden rings in his hair. He had always been good at finding Zanka, though Zanka was rather predictable. He was simple in the way that he loved the earth. He loved to feel it beneath his feet, between his toes, against his skin.
Jabber clicks his tongue and runs a knuckle along Zanka’s cheek. Jabber won’t hurt him, but Zanka clenches his jaw anyway as if waiting for a blow.
“Did you think about my offer?”
Zanka had thought about more than his offer. He had thought about Jabber’s ringed hands, his melodic voice. Even now, his attention settles on the tilt of Jabber’s head, the playful smile that tugs on his lips.
“I have.”
The rolling waves groan beneath the weight of Zanka’s decision, the wind whips between the two of them. It’s as if the world knows that Death has him in his clutches. The tassel of his earring sticks to the side of his face and Jabber reaches out to slide it back under his ear.
He grins. “I’ll make it worth it.”
Jabber slips his hand around the back of Zanka’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. He tastes like the ash of a dying fire, the salt of an unforgiving ocean. His mouth is damp and hot against Zanka’s as he winds his fingers through Zanka’s hair.
Zanka didn’t know what kissing Death would feel like, he imagined it would be empty and cold as the sea. But it was like the sea in the way it swallowed him, in the way that Jabber crashed upon his shore. Jabber melted on his tongue like seafoam. Zanka definitely didn’t want to believe he would enjoy it, but here he was.
Zanka can’t tell his own feelings from the effects of the kiss. He’s lightheaded and dizzy and there is a tingling numbness in his hands. He has a general awareness of Jabber’s hands on his body, one cupping his face, one around his waist. It’s grounding in a way, an anchor among choppy waves.
Suddenly, he’s drowning. Each breath comes in like a knife to his chest. Zanka gasps quickly and unevenly for air as Jabber reaches to steady him. Blood is hot in his veins and he can feel it moving and bubbling within him.
Jabber presses his lips to Zanka’s throat, where a pulse now thrums beneath Zanka’s skin. Zanka can hear his heartbeat in his ears. It sounds like music.
He draws in a fresh breath, full of sea air and potential. Pain swells in his chest. He looks at Jabber with wide eyes.
“It hurts,” he chokes out.
“Being alive will do that to you.” Jabber’s fingers run a featherlight trail from Zanka’s shoulder down his arm.
Alive. Zanka was alive. Each breath he drew confirmed it, each beat of his latent heart underscored his mortality.
“Life looks good on you,” Jabber chuckles and Zanka feels his face flush hot. He touches two fingers to the pink of his cheeks.
“I thought I was going to die.” Zanka clutches at his chest. He sways, leaning on his staff for support.
Jabber hooks a knuckle beneath Zanka’s chin and tilts it up to look at him. “Gotta live first, you know that.”
Zanka was as eternal as water. He moved like the tides of the ocean and gave life like the currents of the rivers. He thought he knew what it meant to be alive.
But the air in his lungs sings a different tune. It sounds like whispering and screaming and birdsong. It feels heavy like stones in his chest. He fights the need to reach inside himself and pull them out.
As if to steady him, Jabber leans forward and kisses Zanka again. It’s different this time–Zanka’s heart races, his breath catches in his throat. He is surprised at what his body can do, can feel. And, even more so, he is surprised at the effect that Jabber has on him. It’s harder to deny when it’s written on his skin in a warm pink blush.
Zanka throws his arms around Jabber’s neck and kisses him back. He can feel Jabber’s lips lift into a smile as he kisses him, he hears the soft pleased hum from the back of Jabber’s throat. Jabber’s hand runs up Zanka’s back, flirts with the idea of slipping beneath his shirt.
Zanka can’t imagine experiencing Jabber in any other capacity. It only feels right that his blood rises to meet Jabber’s touch. Jabber’s hands are hot on his skin and Zanka wonders what he felt like before–cold, maybe, hollow.
There was a part of him, however small, that knew the clock was ticking. Jabber’s kiss was a death sentence. He breathed life into him, but part of living was dying, wasn’t it? Still, he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to know a moment without Death pressed against him.
Zanka hears the crackling laugh of a seagull. He thinks of the mice, the deer, the fish–all with hearts that beat inside fragile bodies. He feels his heart beat in time with the rest of the earth, like he’s fitting into place within a larger symphony.
“So pretty,” Jabber hums against Zanka’s mouth. He presses a hand to Zanka’s chest and holds it there. Zanka’s sure he can feel his heart beat through his clothes. It practically rattles his entire ribcage. It must reverberate through every part of him.
Death had always seemed like such an ugly thing. Greedy and violent and terrible. But Jabber holds him so tenderly, looks at him with a kind of new softness. There was beauty there, buried beneath the fear.
Jabber steps back. Steam rises from where he stands in the ocean, the waves crash at their feet. His hand catches Zanka’s fingertips.
“Death isn’t so bad, I think,” Zanka says and Jabber squeezes his hand.
His heart races in his chest. Salt air fills his lungs. Jabber’s smile settles his nerves. The sun burns off whatever resignations Zanka might have had before.
He was ready to die. More importantly, he was ready to live.