Work Text:
There were good and bad days in one's life. But then, there were also absolutely fucked up, unredeemably awful, everything-that-could-go-wrong-went-exactly-that-way kinda days. And Jabber could swear to God today was exactly that type of day.
Because if it wasn't, then why in the everloving fuck did he have to almost set fire to his entire house right before his chemistry final, when he had about two hours left to drive to the other side of the city during peak rush hour?
Sure, it might have had something to do with his inability to focus on one task at a time since he did leave the iron on while he went to feed his snake, even though he was in the middle of ironing his shirt. And yeah, maybe he shouldn't have done that knowing his cat Mankira was on the loose and prone to cause mischief at any given moment. So cat plus hot iron plus shirt equaled a whole lotta smoke. And smoke plus fire alarm equaled his place becoming a makeshift swamp. At least Mankira got drenched too. Payback, huh? (Not that he had to dry her too or anything of the sort).
But that wasn't enough, no. After he managed to get himself out of the house in a somewhat presentable state (at least to his standards), he tried to start the old, rusted piece of junk that the world's most optimistic person might call a car. He wouldn't, though, that was a death trap if he saw one. But he did love to play with death, so when his sister asked him if he wanted the Godforsaken thing, he wholeheartedly agreed. He couldn't afford buying one since his scholarship barely covered his basic needs, so he was more than happy to take it off Cthoni's hands. He wasn't as happy now, though, given that, no matter how many times he tried, the fucking engine wouldn't start.
The clock was ticking, and the start time of the exam was drawing near. But it wasn't like he was nervous about it in any way, no. No, sir. Not only was he sure he'd pass it, he would most likely ace it 'cause whatever it was that they studied during class was far behind the stuff he'd read for fun. He didn't even need to go to college, didn't need some stuck-up professor to explain to him the same stuff he already knew by eighth grade. But the labs were cool, and the equipment was nice and free to use as long as he had some project he was supposed to work on as an excuse.
He would, however, work on his own, extremely special, personal projects instead. Ones that were maybe a tad bit too toxic for the school grounds, and maybe a tad bit too dangerous and volatile to be done in a college-grade lab. But, oh well, no one died yet and no one kicked him out either, so he assumed they most likely didn't care about what the students did in their labs as long as they didn't make the type of drugs that could be sold.
The sound of the engine starting made him let out a sigh of relief. He pulled out of the driveway in record time, and that without hitting any of the children running around the neighborhood entirely unsupervised. He stepped on the gas pedal and made the poor rusted excuse of a car creak every time he took a sharp turn. Usually, he'd be more gentle with the old thing, if not out of pity at least out of self-preservation, since he wasn't that eager to find himself upside down somewhere in a ditch, trapped in a mangled mess of metal if he pushed it too far.
And sure, he was speeding. And he might have passed several cars in a manner that some might call dangerous. And yes, a couple of people yelled and cursed at him. But so what? He had twenty minutes on the clock to get to the campus, half of which he needed to just go up the stairs to the last floor of the building, since the elevators were reserved for faculty members only. Snotty fucks. Whatever.
So he didn't really think it through when he swerved left to pass the car in front of him, which was moving with far too little urgency for what a Monday morning usually demanded. But in his (admitted) recklessness, he didn't see the bike that tried to do the exact same thing as him until the other was a breath away from crashing into the rusted backside of his car. Oh well.
And since the biker was so good at avoiding impending crashes and saving his own life and maybe, in the process, keeping Jabber out of prison for involuntary manslaughter, he wouldn't mind if Jabber sped up without even glancing back towards the person he almost accidentally killed, right? Right...
But he needed to stop at the red light because, yeah, there were cameras and he didn't really look forward to spending the money he didn't really have on things that, well... could be avoided. So one minute at the red light meant he needed to go up the stairs two at a time, so what. So- huh?
Why could he hear a bike's engine so close to the car all of a sudden? And huh? Who's knocking on the window...?
And he might've done it by instinct. Or maybe it was that part of him that just loved taking risks. That part of him that just wouldn't let him be. 'Cause otherwise he couldn't explain why he had to go and roll down the window at the biker's request.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" The biker yelled in Jabber's face. And wow, he was already getting super close. Like, when did his arm get inside the car? And oh, hello, biceps. Was it even safe to wear short-sleeved shirts while riding a bike? Not that Jabber really gave a fuck about what was safe or not, though he didn't have the same standards as normal people did on what might be considered dangerous. But maybe the hot stranger had the same standards as him, given his reckless driving and all.
"Whatchu lookin' at, dude? My eyes are up here," gritted the angry biker who somehow managed to get half of his upper body inside the car.
And maybe Jabber was indeed staring, but what did this man expect when he put on that form-hugging t-shirt that showed off his body in all the right places? People not to stare? And as Jabber's eyes went up he could see the high turtleneck collar of the shirt, wrapping around his long neck and disappearing under his helmet. That's hot... okay, backtracking.
"Where exactly? Can't see shit behind that helmet," snapped Jabber, just for the sake of it, because he unfortunately had the innate ability to escalate all and every conflict, even if it hardly ever worked in his favor. His hand went up and knocked on the visor of the helmet before he could even attempt to stop it.
The motion seemed to further piss off the biker, if that was even possible given how riled up he already was, and his hand flew up, grabbing Jabber's wrist, and oh! He had some bite in him, after all. Jabber couldn't help but lick his lips because rarely did he ever find someone who not only had the strength to hurt but also didn't hesitate to go ahead and do it. The bones of his wrist ground together in the strong hold, and Jabber could only curse his luck, 'cause why did he have to go and find such a good potential sadist while he was running for his life to take that fucking final?!
"Don't fucking touch me," yelled the biker, while very much still touching Jabber. "You almost killed me back there, you fucking psycho! Did you get your fucking license yesterday, or what?!"
"My man, but you're accusing ol' Jabber here all unfairly. If you weren't acting like a fool yourself trying to do the exact same shit I did, nothing would've happened and both of us would've gone on our merry ways."
"Listen here, brat, who're you callin' a fool here-" A loud honk interrupted the biker just as he started to invade even more of Jabber's personal space. Not that Jabber minded. Not really.
But the honk made him take his eyes off the biker and lock them onto the traffic light, which had indeed turned green during this little fight of theirs. And it seemed that the same thing happened to the biker, as he took his eyes off Jabber for a moment. And, of course, Jabber was the type to take advantage of an opening so he used the man's momentary distraction to push him right out of the car. The other fell back against his bike's seat, seemingly bewildered, though Jabber couldn't be entirely sure as his face was still covered by the helmet.
"Gotta go, my man, but see you around soon, yeah? Let's have some fun," Jabber said with a grin, intending to freak the man out enough as to not follow him all the way to the campus, but also kinda hoping that they might actually meet in more favorable circumstances. And even if the circumstances weren't that favorable, he wouldn't really mind. He loved being manhandled, after all.
With a wave to the biker, he stepped on the gas pedal hard and thankfully, the rusted piece of junk didn't betray him a second time that day and actually started to move before the drivers behind him decided to do more than honk and actually come up to him to beat him up. Though, in retrospective... No, he still needed to get to the campus, he could have fun later, one way or another.
He got to the exam hall with two minutes to spare thankfully, even though the professor did throw a dirty look at him the moment he entered. But the old fart always had a bone to pick with Jabber, so he chose to ignore him and just go take his seat and relish in the fact that he actually made it in time. And the biker thankfully decided that Jabber wasn't worth his time and didn't follow him all the way to the campus to beat him up in the parking lot. Though, Jabber did like the idea. Maybe they'd cross paths again at some point and Jabber could bait him into doing more than just crush his wrist in his grip, though the chances of them meeting again in this big ass city were slim at best. Eh, a boy can at least dream.
He didn't have the time to daydream too much, though, as the door to the exam hall flew open, and my oh my, apparently there were people that got here even later than Jabber himself. Checkmate, Professor Shithead. And look who it is! Mr. Goody-two-shoes himself. Jabber couldn't help but snort at seeing him enter the hall and hurriedly apologize to their professor, who was full of understanding smiles (the old bastard), then go straight to his seat. Of course, he found the time to throw Jabber a nasty glare, to which Jabber responded with a leer of his own. The boy scoffed before he put his bag down, and Jabber felt like laughing again, but then his eyes met the disapproving stare of their professor, so he had to stop before he got kicked out of the final after he went through so much trouble to get there.
Zanka Nijiku was the name of the boy who managed to arrive even later than him. Jabber took a look at him as the other was taking stuff out of his bag, took in his stiff posture, back all straight, and the way he was dressed up, loose-fit blue cardigan over a black turtleneck because, yeah, it might actually kill him to show just the tiniest bit of skin.
He had some one-sided beef with Jabber ever since the midterms, mumbling something about geniuses and average Joes and whatnot while checking his results during class. Which might actually be a bad idea when one finds himself unable to keep his emotions from showing on his face.
And so what if Jabber aced all of his exams and got the top scores and all? Second place was as good, in his humble opinion. Not that he ever got second place, but it wasn't like he'd mind that, anyway. But clearly Mr. Bad Attitude over there did, since he looked as if he was informed he'd die the next day as he checked those results. And ever since then, he'd throw these nasty glares at Jabber whenever they crossed paths, which was almost every day given that they shared most classes.
And Jabber didn't mind being looked at with so much spite, not really. In fact, if it were anyone else he might as well have welcomed it, he usually got off on being looked at like he was a piece of trash, and sure, the boy was cute, he'd give him that. If only it wasn't for the haughty, stuck-up personality Zanka had and, of course, the fact that he hated even the ground Jabber walked on.
The exam was easy, just as he expected. He could see himself getting the top score again, much to the chagrin of his self-proclaimed rival, who was sweating bullets the whole two hours the exam took. And Jabber could, in the back of his mind, feel some kind of sympathy for him, since he seemed to really care about his scores for whatever reason (family pressure, if Jabber had to guess), but, my friend, you gotta breathe. Fuck whoever's expectations and let loose from time to time. But Zanka obviously wouldn't. Jabber wasn't entirely sure he even knew how to.
He watched as Zanka turned in his exam paper, a crestfallen look on his face, and Jabber sighed. He was sure the boy did well, okay, maybe not as good as himself, but he'd definitely get one of the top scores. Though that wasn't enough for the type of overachiever that Zanka was, who was surely beating himself up over scores their peers wouldn't even dream of. Well, whatever. Not his business, anyway.
Jabber got his stuff, and he was out of the exam hall. It wasn't like he had any more reasons to stick around. He had the inkling the people attending that class couldn't stand his ass, if their envy-filled stares were anything to go by. Though their stares were kinda more irritating than Mr. Overachiever's, 'cause at least in his case Jabber knew that the reason for his attitude had more to do with his anger at his own inadequacies, rather than with Jabber himself.
It was no biggie, though. He got his friends, even if they were outliers just like himself. And it wasn't like he'd ever like to hang out with those boring ass people that attended this college, anyway.
So he made his way to the parking lot to get to his car, which he hoped would start and not leave him stranded on campus, but, just as he was about to pull open the car door, he heard a loud thud right behind him.
"You piece of shit!" Someone yelled, and Jabber could only hum in response. Yeah, music to my ears. But, as he turned around to take in the person who so kindly decided to do him the honor and throw at him one of his top five insults of all time, he found his jaw falling slack and his eyes widening because what in the actual fuck?
A few steps away from him stood Zanka Nijiku, throwing his way one of his usual glares, which was not out of the ordinary, yes, but what was out of the ordinary was the fact that he was leaning against a bike, a very, very familiar bike. And, at his feet, there laid an even more familiar helmet, which he probably dropped, hence the thud.
And Jabber was fucking stunned. Not only by the sudden realization that Zanka was in fact the biker he met earlier that day, but also because, where did Zanka get those ripped as fuck arms from?! And where did the baby-blue cardigan go? Jabber thought the man was a wimp, through and through. But then again, he could've had arms like those the whole time and no one would've known given the oversized shit he wore.
And isn't that such a shame...
"Why d'you run out, huh?" Zanka snapped, getting away from his bike and starting to approach Jabber. "Our talk was far from over," he gritted, now a foot or so away from Jabber, crowding him against the car. And Jabber has never seen him like this. So angry, so riled up, so violent, so-
Jabber could work with that.
"And what else did you want us to do, huh? Wanted us to have a little scuffle? Wanted to hit me, maybe just a bit? But, you see, I don't think you're capable of that, you're too much of a wimp to-"
He couldn't finish his sentence as Zanka grabbed his collar and pulled him close, so close that he could feel the man's breath hitting his face. His fist was raised, ready to strike at any moment, and Jabber could barely contain his smile at the prospect.
"You really wanna get punched, huh, brat?" Zanka seethed, and yes, Jabber really, really wanted that, and maybe some other stuff if they got to it. But his ears picked up chatter, and his eyes slid to the side. Some people gathered in the parking lot, and a couple of girls even started to film the altercation. And it wasn't like he cared, he didn't really mind a bit of exhibitionism. However, he still depended on his scholarship, which could be threatened by a video of him throwing punches on campus becoming viral. So he turned his attention back to Zanka.
"Yeah, sure, but not here," he said, making Zanka gape at him.
"Wait, 'fuck you mean, yeah, sure?! So you wanna get punched?! Wha-"
But the chatter got louder, and Jabber knew they really needed to stop this before the campus security got called.
"Wanna go somewhere else? Somewhere you can hit me, just the way you want?" He said, a leer in his voice.
"What?! Huh? What are you-" Zanka stuttered, bewilderment clear on his features.
But it wasn't a no. And while his words were stumbling out of his mouth, his grip on Jabber's collar never faltered, and his fist stayed up, ready to strike.
So yeah, Jabber could definitely work with that.