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Zanka anxiously refreshes his inbox for the twentieth time today, waiting for the dreaded rejection email to appear. It's such a humiliation ritual, how they'll CC all of his co-investigators… Zanka just knows the sympathetic messages from his colleagues will make him want to rip his skin off. He can almost hear Enjin's “You'll get it next cycle, kiddo!” already.
Part of him wishes the allocation committee would hurry up and turn his proposal down. At least then he could crush this spark of hope and prepare for another year of teaching and hopping between whichever projects still have funding. Working in science in this day and age makes him feel nearly as masochistic as his asshole roommate. Shit, even Jabber's lab got hit hard by those NSF budget cuts… not that he could ever pity the guy. Zanka sighs, reluctantly standing to take another stress-induced lap around the office.
When he gets back to his desk and refreshes his inbox to see a "congratulations" email, Zanka almost thinks he's hallucinating. He triple checks the subject line and reads the paragraph about his accepted proposal for telescope time in disbelief. He has to scan over it two more times before the bud of hope in his chest blossoms into full-blown euphoria.
He got it! Zanka got the grant! All those long hours spent polishing his proposal, running and rerunning exposure time calculations… they finally paid off! Zanka could shed a tear. He valiantly tries to tamp down the goofy grin spreading across his face, but his deskmate Eishia immediately notices his change of mood.
"Ooh, Zanka, was your proposal accepted?" she asks excitedly. He tentatively nods. Eishia cheers, then claps a hand over her mouth, as if afraid of disturbing the rest of the office. "Th-That's wonderful, congratulations!" she says at a more work-appropriate volume. Zanka feels his face heat up as he thanks her, and the pride of winning telescope time and funding finally starts to sink in. Well, he still has to fill out the budget proposal… Fuck it, that's a next week problem.
Zanka runs a hand through his hair and slips out his phone to text Riyo the good news. It's a Friday, so he's sure she'll drag him out to go celebrate tonight. For once, he's not opposed to the idea.
Riyo responds almost instantly, promising to buy him a drink (or two, if he wears the leather pants she convinced him to get at the thrift last weekend). Zanka shakes his head, already knowing he'll cave.
His whole body feels light, finally free of the heavy tension it's been shouldering these past few weeks. Zanka leaves the office early, hoping to get changed and head to Riyo's place before Jabber gets home.
He hasn't been avoiding his roommate since their impromptu smoke sesh, but he hasn't exactly tried to have a real conversation with the guy, either. It's probably for the best. Zanka sighs, shouldering his bag and waving goodbye to Eishia.
Either Zanka’s tolerance has gotten worse, or the bartender poured extra stiff drinks tonight. Ugh, he wouldn’t put it past Riyo to tell them they’re celebrating a special occasion. Zanka’s blushing all the way down to the collar of his shirt, and he has to force himself not to run a hand through the hair Riyo styled so meticulously for him.
Riyo grins and drags Zanka to the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until they're situated almost directly in front of the DJ’s platform. Riyo's bright red hair glows in the flashing lights, twin braids rippling like water as she sways to the beat. She shouts something to Zanka, but he can't hear over the blasting music, so she grabs his hands instead, pulling them back and forth to make him dance with her.
Zanka smiles and lets his eyes drift shut, allowing Riyo and the music put his body into motion. Riyo drags him out to this gay bar damn near every other week to help him "connect with the culture," but he’s pretty sure she just likes the excuse to flirt with all the other femmes here. Zanka doesn’t mind a few hours of good music and drinks every once in a while, though… And he'll admit it's nice not to be surrounded by painfully straight physicists for a change. Honestly, anything that gets him away from his alluring obnoxious roommate is also a welcome reprieve.
Zanka thinks back to that night on the couch, waking up warm and heavy and still a little high with Jabber pressed snugly against his back. He hadn't taken a single breath while carefully maneuvering his way out of his roommate's clingy grasp. And if he'd felt a pang of something when he glanced back on the way to his room and saw Jabber's sleeping form reaching out into empty air, it was probably just annoyance. They're both too damn grown to be sleeping on a couch anyway.
Yet Zanka can’t seem to brush the memory off. Every time he thinks about bringing it up with Jabber, his mouth goes dry, and he ends up quickly shuffling off to his room instead. It’s ridiculous! Jabber probably thinks nothing at all of that evening, was probably way too faded, probably hugs and clings to his friends like that all the time.
Zanka has noticed him leaving his shoes at the door far more often now, though. And sometimes the chemist gets a mischievous glint in his eye when Zanka catches him lighting up a bowl, as if challenging him to say something. Just thinking about Jabber's smug smirk makes Zanka's face flush with.. anger. With anger.
God, he needs to get a grip. He needs another drink.
Zanka taps Riyo's shoulder and lifts his empty glass, motioning back to the bar. She raises an eyebrow and shows him her half-full rum and coke, seeming perfectly content to stay on the dance floor. Looks like this'll be a solo mission, then. Zanka nods, then turns and wades his way to the bar through the energetic crowd.
He recognizes the bartender, a brunet with twin scars along his temple and a hammer tattoo twisting up his forearm. Follo, he thinks?
The man smiles softly at Zanka as he orders another vodka soda, looking him up and down so quickly Zanka can't tell if he imagined it. Riyo always insists Follo’s flirting with him, but Zanka honestly needs someone to knock him over the head making a move for it to stick. Follo may be sweet (and ruggedly handsome), but he’s just too shy. Aren’t bartenders basically paid to flirt with everyone anyway?
Follo pours an extra shot into his soda with a wink and starts to say something as he slides it over, but his mouth snaps shut when someone winds an arm around Zanka’s waist.
“Yooo, roomie! It’s really you!” Jabber yells directly into his ear. Zanka winces and shifts away, but the chemist's hand stays stubbornly glued to his side.
Is Zanka hallucinating? First off, he's never seen Jabber dressed like this before, with sparkling chains over layered tops and baggy embroidered jeans… The purple accents work annoyingly well for him. But second, and more importantly, what the fuck is his roommate doing at a gay bar?
Well, Zanka supposes there's no real reason Jabber couldn't be gay. Now that he thinks about it, he's never mentioned any exes before and hasn't brought anyone back to their place. Zanka tilts his head, starting to view his roommate in a whole new light. That is, until he opens his mouth again and reminds Zanka why he spends as little time as possible in his own apartment.
"Aye, Hammertime, I'll have what he's havin'!" Jabber shouts across the counter. Follo glances down to his tattoo, rolls his eyes, and pours another glass of vodka soda with a deliberately stingy shot. Jabber doesn't seem to notice, grabbing the drink and taking a disturbingly large gulp.
His eyes already look a little red... Of course the asshole smoked before he got here. Zanka doesn't know how Jabber does it. He'd be paranoid as fuck if he were high in such a noisy and crowded place, but Jabber seems to be perfectly in his element, as usual. It's kind of infuriating.
Zanka downs a big sip of his own drink, momentarily forgetting the extra shot Follo added and feeling the heat pulse through him. He should probably close out his tab now, but then Jabber's leaning in, and suddenly the colorful lights reflecting off of his piercings are all Zanka can focus on.
"So, whatcha celebratin', Zan-Zan? Finally got that bad attitude of yours fixed for good?" Jabber laughs, chugging his drink like it's water.
"I got the grant, asshole," Zanka replies, secretly pleased for the excuse to rub his success in Jabber's face.
"Whewww, okay Zankalaus Copernicus, I see you! Looks like you ain't a brokie anymore, congrats!" Zanka rolls his eyes, but he feels his cheeks warming. "C'mon man, we gotta do a shot together, on me!" Jabber hollers, downing the rest of his drink in a flash. Zanka hesitantly does the same — if Jabber really wants to treat him, he'll allow it. Just this once.
Of course, Jabber asks for the bottom shelf shit just to fuck with him.
Follo pours their shots with a wince, averting his eyes when Zanka thanks him. He and Jabber clink glasses, and Zanka knocks back the nasty vodka with a grimace, barely resisting the urge to spit it in Jabber's face. He fights back a groan as the heat shoots straight to his core.
"What're ya doin' outta yer lab anyway?" Zanka tries to ask nonchalantly. His southern drawl has gotten thicker after a couple drinks, and he prays Jabber won't comment on it.
Jabber grins, showing off sharp canines. "My homegirl Momoa’s spinnin' tonight! Wouldn't miss it for the world! That's my day one right there."
Zanka looks over to the DJ, a freckled girl with purple-tipped hair and chunky headphones. Yeah, that tracks.
"Speakin' of…" Jabber grabs Zanka's hand, dragging him back toward the dance floor. "Lemme see ya move those fancy feet, Zan-Zan!" he shouts over his shoulder. Zanka could easily yank his arm away, but his body is buzzing, and he's unfortunately way too drunk to stay mad at his idiot roommate tonight. He catches a flash of red hair in the crowd, but he knows better than to interrupt Riyo if she's making her rounds. Jabber pulls them into the middle of the crowd and finally releases Zanka's hand, which feels oddly cold now.
The music vibrates up through the floor, and Zanka can't help but move along to it. He ducks his head, secretly relieved he doesn't have to dance alone while Riyo's on the prowl. All he really likes to do is sway his hips and two step like Rudo taught him to ages ago.
His little brother might be a pain in the ass, but he does know how to dance. Zanka glances up through the strobing lights to the man across from him. Of course, Jabber’s not half bad either. Not that he'll ever tell him that. The jokes he’d have to endure about Jabber teaching him how to dougie would be endless.
Zanka closes his eyes, swaying and rhythmically shifting his weight so his hips catch every beat of the Jersey Club remix Momoa's spinning. The music pulses through his chest, and the vodka gradually loosens the tension in his limbs. He cracks an eye open to make sure Jabber's still there, and the man's already looking back at him. Something about his heavy-lidded gaze makes Zanka's heart stutter, but he doesn't have time to analyze the feeling before a much less pleasant sensation assaults him.
A splash of cold liquid soaks into the back of Zanka's shirt, and he whips around in a daze to find the source of the spill. A deeply remorseful (and deeply drunk) buff man in a crop top reaches out toward Zanka, slurring a barely audible string of apologies and sloshing his drink more in the process. Zanka waves him off, not sober enough to get involved in what was clearly an honest mistake.
As he turns back to Jabber, Zanka feels the spilled drink trickle further down his back, and his skin crawls. He's officially reached the stage of drunkenness where sensation precedes thought, and he mindlessly takes the wet garment off to alleviate the awful sticky feeling. Ah, much better.
Zanka only realizes what he’s done when Jabber freezes and a few guys whoop behind him.
“Damn Z, didn’t peg ya for an exhibitionist!” Jabber whistles. Zanka looks down at his bare chest and blushes hard, suddenly painfully aware that he's standing in a crowded room in nothing but leather pants and combat boots. He quickly fumbles with his damp shirt, but Jabber drags him outside to the smoke section before he can put it back on.
The cool night air feels heavenly against Zanka's flushed skin, and for once he's grateful for his asshole roommate. That is, until Jabber takes his own outer top off and unceremoniously shoves it over Zanka’s head. He reels back, nearly tripping over his own feet as Jabber guides his arms through the sleeves with a laugh. The shirt smells like jojoba oil and weed, but Zanka has to admit the material is cozy. And that no longer being half-naked in public is a relief.
"Thanks, Jabs," he mumbles to his feet, too embarrassed to meet the man's eyes. He knows they're probably crinkled with amusement, deep magenta glittering in the dim outdoor lighting just like the snakebites under his plush lips, and— Yeah, Zanka definitely can't look at him now.
"What was that, Zan-Zan? Don't tell me you're sneak dissin' ole Jabs under your breath for protectin' your modesty now," Jabber teases, giggling when Zanka still doesn't lift his head. "C'mon, now that we're out here, ya might as well do me a favor n' help me finish this J," he adds. Zanka does glance up at this, watching Jabber pull a joint out from a canister in his pocket.
The music's still steadily pulsing through the wall, but it's nice and muted out here. And Zanka's not ready to abandon this fresh air for the stuffy confines of the dance floor just yet. Fuck it, it's not even a full joint. They might as well polish it off.
"Alright, but I ain't cookin' fer yer sorry ass when ya get the munchies at 3am," Zanka mutters. He still remembers the last time Jabber smoked too much and ate through half the damn pantry… fucker still owes him a pint of ice cream for that.
"Such a mean drunk, Zanka," Jabber whines. "Here I am just tryna get you lit to celebrate your big day, and ya won't even make me a lil' stir fry for my troubles?" He pouts, pressing the joint to his lips and flicking his translucent purple lighter until the flame catches. Fuckin' tweaker lighter, Zanka thinks. Jabber giggles around his first puff of smoke, and Zanka realizes he failed to keep that thought to himself.
Jabber takes another deep hit, humming that Migos song under his breath. "Shit, now I really do want stir fry," he murmurs, tilting his head to give Zanka his most lethal puppy dog eyes. As if those manipulation tactics could ever work on him.
"Hm.. Guess ya should learn ta use a stove without settin' the kitchen on fire then," Zanka says flatly. Jabber sighs, visibly deflating as he passes him the joint. Well, more like: hovers it obnoxiously in front of Zanka's mouth until he snatches it away. Like hell he's letting the guy hand-feed him! He's not nearly drunk enough for that.
Zanka brings the joint to his mouth, ignoring the phantom heat from where Jabber's lips were pressed against it moments before. He shakes his head, taking a couple deep hits of his own. They continue this puff puff pass until the joint's down to a roach, and Zanka finally taps out. Jabber drags every last hit from it, since of course the acrid harshness doesn't bother him. Freak.
Zanka's whole body feels light and airy now, drifting along to the beat from the bar behind them. He knows the joint's hitting when he meets Jabber's eyes and they both burst out laughing without saying a single word.
Once their laughter subsides, Jabber finally grinds out the roach and tosses it, then stares down at the damp shirt Zanka's still holding. He purses his lips as if seriously debating something.
"Yo, you want me to go beat his ass for ya?" Jabber asks with faux seriousness, and Zanka feels a giggle bubble up again before he can stop it. The mental image of Jabber going back in to wail on some poor unassuming dude, set to the sound of Jersey Club beats, is somehow the most hilarious thought to have crossed his mind all week. "You think I'm playin', but I'll put him on a shirt, for real! Just say the word, roomie," Jabber grins. Zanka just doubles over and laughs harder, wiping a tear from his eye. Shit, what was in that joint?
Jabber raises his pierced eyebrows, and his expression softens into something unreadable. He starts to ask another (probably ridiculous) question, but Riyo's hand on Zanka's arm interrupts them.
"Zanka, I was looking all over for you!" she says with relief. "I'm calling it a night — do you wanna share an Uber?" Her lipstick is smudged around her mouth, and her thick plaited braids look decidedly less neat than they had an hour ago. Zanka wants to ask who she met tonight, but Jabber has apparently decided it's his turn to speak.
"Aye, what's this nonsense 'bout a Uber? Throw me my keys, I'll handle it," he jokes, holding out a hand and swaying on his feet dramatically before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Zanka tries not to smirk at the stupid proposition, but Jabber's laughter is infectious, especially in their current state.
Jabber leans into his side to steady himself, and Zanka pretends the solid contact doesn't make his skin tingle. Riyo glances between them and gives Zanka a knowing look, which he pointedly ignores. At least she has the good sense not to mention his new attire.
"Yeah, we'll share with ya, if that's alright," Zanka says, definitely not slurring any of his words. "Shit, lemme close out my tab." He jolts forward to go back inside, weaving through warm bodies to get to the bar. He's subconsciously aware that Jabber's still behind him. Good, it'd be just like him to mysteriously disappear right when the Uber arrives.
Zanka hands Follo his card, and Jabber sidles up beside him, digging through his pockets to procure a questionably rumpled wad of cash bound with a rubber band. The fuck? Follo's clearly less impressed by the display than Zanka, but he still takes the bills Jabber pulls from the roll without complaint. Zanka shoots him an apologetic look and thanks him again, but Follo only gives him a small smile before turning away.
Jabber hooks an arm around Zanka's neck and drags him out front, where Riyo's already waiting. "Perfect timing," she says, stifling a yawn as she leads them to a car idling at the curb. As much as Riyo loves dancing, drinking seems to take the energy right out of her. Zanka checks the time, surprised they even made it this long. Riyo nudges him toward the middle seat, and he's too far gone to protest, even though she's clearly the shortest of the three of them.
Once they've all shuffled in, the driver glances at Zanka in the rear view mirror and wrinkles his nose. Shit, he and Jabber must smell loud as hell. Nothing they can do about it now, though. Riyo's unbothered at least, immediately slumping against the window and closing her eyes.
Jabber seems to have the same idea, except instead of resting against the window like a normal person, he tucks his head against Zanka's shoulder as the car pulls away. Jabber's locs tickle Zanka's neck, and he halfheartedly tries to nudge him off, but the sour-faced driver hits a turn so hard Zanka ends up sliding halfway into his lap instead.
Damn, what's this guy's issue? He's weaving through traffic like a maniac… Is he really that fed up with them? Didn't he know what he was getting into accepting a ride from a fuckin' gay bar at 2am? All Zanka can make out from his side profile are the metallic edges of a spiked cartilage piercing, and a fucked up two-tone dye job.
Just as Zanka's rolling his eyes and scooting back to the middle seat, the driver adjusts a knob on the console, turning up his music until they can make out every word.
Is this… Christian hip-hop?
The driver starts to rap along, and Zanka feels a puff of air against his neck. Fuck, if Jabber starts laughing now, he's gonna lose it, too. "Aye man, turn that shit up!" Jabber yells from his shoulder. Zanka nearly tears up at the effort of maintaining a straight face.
Seemingly impervious to sarcasm, the driver blasts the awful music even louder. Jabber cackles after one of the corniest bars Zanka's heard in his life, and he can't contain his own laughter anymore. Riyo stirs for a moment, then tucks her head back against the window with a sigh. Zanka feels mildly guilty knowing her Uber rating is going down tonight.
Jabber's giggles eventually peter out, and he shamelessly nuzzles his face back into Zanka's neck. A few minutes later, his body goes heavy and limp. Ugh, Zanka can't believe Jabber and Riyo both left him to endure this trash-ass music alone. He tries his best not to make eye contact with the driver in the mirror as he flies through a four-way stop without so much as tapping the brakes.
Zanka carefully winds an arm around Jabber's waist to hold him more securely (the idiot didn't even bother buckling his seatbelt, okay?), then leans his head against his hair. The springy locs actually don't make a bad pillow. He closes his eyes and lets the rhythm of the pavement beneath them lull him into a trance.
Zanka's barely lucid by the time they reach Riyo's place. The driver shoots him an impatient glare in the mirror (asshole), and he gently nudges the redhead awake. Riyo stretches as she exits the car, then leans in to ruffle Zanka's hair. "Congrats again, Z, you should be really proud," she murmurs before closing the door.
Riyo's always been a sappy drunk, but Zanka's face flushes from the praise all the same. He starts to scoot over now that the other seat's vacant, but Jabber slumps further onto him with the movement, head sliding down his chest, and Zanka quickly scoots back to readjust him. The driver's still mumbling along to his Christian hip-hop as he pulls off, and Zanka bites his lip and tightens his arm around Jabber's waist. He just has to lock in for a little bit longer, and they'll be home.
When they round a corner and Zanka finally sees their apartment, he nearly sheds a tear of pure relief. He's not sure how much more of this music he could withstand before he'd have to lean over the console and shut it off himself, sleeping roommate be damned.
The grumpy driver says nothing when Zanka thanks him and drags Jabber out of the backseat to walk up to their place. Seemingly still half-asleep, Jabber drowsily blinks, stumbles, then collapses onto Zanka's side within the span of two steps.
Ugh, Zanka's too crossed to deal with this shit right now. He sighs, leaning down to scoop up Jabber's legs and carry him the rest of the way in. Jabber doesn't even stir. God, he prays none of their neighbors are still awake to see this. Zanka shakes his head, balancing his unconscious roommate between his hip and the wall as he unlocks their door.
"Yo. Jabs. We're back," Zanka says, kicking off his boots as he steps in. Jabber's head stays stubbornly tucked against his neck, breaths slow and deep. Zanka has half a mind to toss him on the floor right here and call it a night, but he feels a prick of guilt remembering how quickly Jabber had taken him outside and offered him his own shirt earlier.
Speaking of… Fuck, Zanka definitely left his wet shirt in the Uber. Yeah, Riyo's rating's going down for sure. He winces, giving up on jostling Jabber awake and trudging toward the chemist's room to deposit him in bed instead. Zanka still needs to go shower after that drink-spilling mess, but he's sure Jabber doesn't care about getting his own outside clothes on his bed (shoes either, for that matter.. sickening as it is). He plops Jabber down onto the bed, narrowly avoiding the mess of open textbooks and surprisingly neat pages of notes scattered across the floor.
Zanka turns and begins to carefully map his way out of this nuclear explosion of a room, but as soon as he takes a step, a wiry arm wraps around his waist and sharply tugs him back. Thrown off-balance, Zanka tumbles onto the bed and half-crushes Jabber, who doesn't seem to mind. He just squirms out from beneath Zanka's back and winds his other arm around him, pulling him in until he can wrap around his side like a koala.
Before Zanka can shove him away, Jabber slings a leg across his hips and squeezes him with a sigh, resting his head over his pounding heart. "G'night, Zan-Zan," he murmurs into Zanka's chest.
Nope. Cuddling his possibly-gay roommate is one thing, but going to bed without a shower is another entirely. Zanka lurches to the side and attempts to disentangle their limbs, but Jabber's surprisingly strong for such a lanky guy. The thought of just giving into Jabber's whims again crosses his mind, and he's disturbingly less resistant to it than before.
It's probably just the weed. The residual high makes it feel like Zanka's melting into the soft mattress, and Jabber's weight across his chest is unexpectedly comfortable. Fine, maybe he can stay here for a few hours. As long as he showers first thing in the morning.
Zanka sighs, finally accepting his fate and shifting further into his roommate's warmth. He reaches over to brush the locs out of Jabber's face, expecting to find it relaxed with sleep, then jolts back when he's greeted by two wide magenta eyes.
Jabber cackles, somehow squeezing him even tighter. "Zankaaaa, ya should've seen your face!"
"Get—" Zanka grunts, shoving uselessly at Jabber's arms, "— offa me!" Jabber only laughs harder, and Zanka can feel his own face flaming. Hopefully it's too dark in here for Jabber to see.
Zanka suddenly has a harrowing realization. "Jabs. Did ya just make me carry yer sorry ass in here.. Fully awake? The whole damn time?"
Jabber twists a loc around his finger pensively. "Mmm, judgin' by that stank face, I'm gonna say… No?" His smirk undercuts the denial, and Zanka feels a vein in his forehead twitch. "Y'know, now that I'm up n' all, though, I'm gettin' kinda hungry… Zan-Zan, would ya be a dear and—"
That's it. Zanka forcefully twists to the side, pinning Jabber beneath him and finally wrenching those pesky arms off of his waist. Unfortunately, Jabber just thinks it's a game (like everything is to him in life, apparently). He wrestles forward, lunging for Zanka's ribs and headbutting his chin in the process. Zanka grits his teeth and squirms back in the direction of the door. He elbows Jabber hard in the stomach and refuses to feel guilty over the soft "Oof" he hears as he finally launches himself off the bed.
"Aww, don't be like that, Zan-Zan! It's not my fault you're so comfy, man!" Jabber whines as he leaves. Zanka fixes him with a cold glare, refusing to let such a ridiculous comment fluster him. And to think he was gonna let the guy cling to him all night… Yeah, any goodwill Jabber built up earlier is gone.
Zanka stalks off to his room without another word, trying in vain to forget the feeling of his roommate glued to his side. This is what happens when he makes the mistake of treating Jabber like a regular person. If the chemist ever asks to smoke with him again, his answer will be a firm 'no'.
At least, that's what Zanka tells himself as he carefully removes and folds the shirt Jabber lent him. If his hands linger on the soft fabric a little longer than necessary, it's probably just because he's tired.