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Jabber had known he was gone from the moment he set eyes on him. He had never seen a more magnificent sight in his life. It was so otherworldly that for a second, he'd doubted if he imagined him in his delirium.
The first time Jabber saw him, he was lying on his back, his legs felt like they were being yanked away from his body all at once, and he was getting delirious from blood loss. His face appeared in front of Jabber, brows furrowed in concern, and at that moment, Jabber thought he would gladly die right then if that meant this was the last view before his eyes.
He was saying something on his phone, looking frantic, while occasionally glancing at Jabber to make sure he was still conscious. Every time their eyes met, Jabber felt it was all worth it. The accident, the way his legs were slowly getting numb; He got to meet him, and he would do it again in a heartbeat.
The sharp sound of the ambulance sirens returned his sense of hearing to him, bringing with it a stabbing pain to his skull. He was ushered away by the paramedics and he was out of Jabber's sight. Jabber closed his eyes, burning the fleeting images of him into his mind forever.
Jabber didn't see him after that. He was unconscious through his multiple surgeries and only woke up a week later. The doctors told him he'd have to recuperate for at least two months before he could use his legs again. The surgeries had already been paid for, but he'd have to cover the rest of the bills. Money wasn't a problem for Jabber. He made a lot of money from his hobby—testing poisons. What he wanted to know was the name of the person who paid for his surgeries. Unfortunately, the doctors didn't disclose it.
He had a nurse get him a drawing pad and a pencil. And in the hospital, with his hands steady and his legs slowly healing, he drew him for the first time. He remembered the face in great detail, the concern in his eyes, the way he looked at him like he wasn't a weirdo, the downturn of his beautiful lips. He tried to imagine what he'd look like when he smiled. He drew that, too. Again, and again. And everyday for two months. He became an artist in the hospital, one with literal perfection as his muse.
He got discharged after two months, and only stopped using crutches after the third month. His partner, Tamsy, had come to visit him after his discharge. Jabber's room was not particularly neat, a section and half of the walls dedicated to his portraits. A stack of drawing paper all filled with drawings of him was on his bedside drawer.
“Who's this?” Tamsy asked, curiously looking through the drawings. He didn't find it strange; if anything, this was the least strange thing about him.
“Do you believe in god?"
This surprised Tamsy, he turned to Jabber. "God?”
Jabber nodded, "He's god.”
Jabber was wholeheartedly convinced he was god. Wasn't god's whole deal being there when you needed him, at the right time? He was there when he was on the verge of death. He saved him. He was his god.
Tamsy nodded to the wall filled with him, "Is that a shrine, then?”
Jabber responded with silence, lost in thought. Tamsy saw this and said nothing more.
It was the sixth month after the accident now. Jabber's obsession hadn't diminished in the slightest. He had barged into Jabber's mind and taken root there, unwilling to move. His memory of the first sight of him remained fresh in his mind, the object of his dreams, the constant in his thoughts.
It was late evening, the snow falling lightly settled on Jabber's shoulders as he walked with his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. He stopped in front of a bar, intentionally not eye catching from outside. He pushed the door open and stepped into the dimly lit bar. The bar had a cozy ambience, a perfect warmth in contrast to the cold outside. He looked towards the bar and his heart stopped completely for the second time in his life.
He was there. He was standing right there, the smile Jabber had dreamed of for months on his lips, and it looked more beautiful than anything Jabber's subconscious could conjure up. Jabber found himself seated at the bar without any recollection of how he got there. He finished serving a patron and turned to Jabber, his eyes lighting up with recognition at the sight of him.
“Hey." Jabber finally heard his voice, and it was everything he imagined it to be, and more. It was light and fleeting, seeming to flow with the wind and leaving the listener grasping at straws and wanting more. He smiled, his eyes curved into crescents. "How are you doing? What can I get you?”
Jabber cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn't sound too shaky as he replied, “I'm doing alright. Gimme a Macallan, neat.”
He nodded and poured the drink, Jabber's eyes tracing every movement of his wrist and slid the glass over to Jabber. Jabber took a sip from it under his gaze and his face burned unfathomably.
“Do you remember me?" He asked, to which he nodded with a mildly surprised expression.
“I'm surprised you remember me. You were quite delirious that day."
Jabber fiddled with the glass in his hands, eyes evasive. "How could I forget the face of the one who saved me? I haven't thanked you yet."
“There's no need to thank me."
“You work here?" Jabber asked. He wanted to know. To know everything about him. Inside out.
“In my free time." He nodded, “My friend and I own this bar, actually."
“It's a really nice place." Jabber glanced around once before his eyes settled back on him. "I never got your name…”
"I'm Zanka.”
Zanka… Zanka was his god's name. It was a really nice name, and it suited him inexplicably.
“I'm Jabber."
Zanka laughed, “I know, the doctor told me."
"Oh… You paid for my surgeries?” Jabber suddenly found himself asking stupid questions. Zanka winked and said with a smile, "You're welcome.”
A bartender arrived to start their shift and Zanka walked around from behind the bar, taking the stool next to Jabber. He poured himself the same drink as Jabber and clinked their glasses together. "Cheers.”
Jabber's eyes were glued to the slight tilt of his chin and movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. He didn't move an inch as he watched transfixed. That was until Zanka called out to him, "Jabber?”
His eyes snapped up to meet a blue the color of the deepest part of the ocean. Concern colored Zanka's features, "Are you okay?”
"Do you have a partner?” There was an urgency in Jabber's tone, one he couldn't understand himself. Zanka froze in surprise for a moment, then a light chuckle escaped his lips.
"Why? Do you want to be my partner?” He said that, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, and a lock of hair fell over his eye. Jabber was grateful for his dark skin because his face was literally on fire.
“Yes…” His voice came out quieter than usual, uncertainty laced in.
"It's not easy to be my partner, are you sure about this?” Zanka tilted Jabber's chin with his hand, his thumb lightly tracing the corner of his lips. “I'm not a really nice person."
Jabber's breath caught and he nodded, “I'm sure." He watched, unable to move as Zanka leaned closer to him, and closer still. A pair of cold lips fell on his own, and before he could register the sensation, he felt Zanka's tongue coax his lips into parting. The nimble tongue slipped into his mouth, teasing his tongue and sweeping through every corner of his mouth. His eyes were open, and he gazed down at Zanka's focused expression as he kissed him with his eyes closed.
Zanka pulled away and licked the corner of his lips, " Okay,” he said. "But there’s a test you'll have to pass.”
"What test?” Jabber asked slowly, still not registering the fact that Zanka just agreed to date him.
“You’ll see." He winked playfully at Jabber.
Jabber looked on blankly for a moment before it dawned on him… He just kissed his god.
What.