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This feels like shit.
The colder night air breezed past Jabber's shoulders, brushing his locs under the dark murky sky.
The air was heavy with the familiar toxic undertone in it, and if it weren't for the fact that his nose is filled with blood blocking his airways and running excessively down his face, Jabber wouldn't mind at all.
Well, he really didn't mind; the dull ache felt good. But the problem is that the mission he was in was disappointing to say the least. The guys were strong, he'll give them that; landed a couple good hits, but jeez they dropped way too quickly like flies.
It left him dissatisfied and a bit frustrated.
Welp, anything to get a good job on missions from the boss, he supposed, at least he gets to fight him later. That'll at least cheer him up.
But right now, he kind of just wants to lay down.
Dragging his feet, Jabber walks around whatever area he was in, the gash on his forehead running blood down to his chin, dripping lightly on his clothes sinking into the patchworks.
It hurted, but at least the blood on his hands wasn’t his own.
He should probably at least wipe the red liquid off his body, since it was getting uncomfortable, but it adds onto the beat up look, no? Plus, the only thing he had the mood for was walking around, passing by rubble and heaps of trash.
His muscles ached pretty badly, sore despite not putting in as much work as he hoped he would, most likely blue and red with bruises all over — these guys really did put up a fight. Damn bastards just had to die early before the good parts happened.
Jabber groans, the memory replaying in his mind. Why put up with the effort if these were the guys he had to fight in order to get what he wanted. The most boring foreplay ever.
His mind drifted to a certain cleaner — blue eyes with that intense glare he could never get tired of, swift movements with his vital instrument clear like he witnessed them yesterday — and the physical ache suddenly didn't feel as bad. But he couldn't say the same for his heart.
He wanted to hear that annoyed, sassy tone the cleaner always had when he was pissed off, wanted to see what condition his staff was, the way his eyes glinted of happiness whenever he managed to strike Jabber down with his dearest weapon, whenever he complimented him whether casually or as a taunt.
He wanted to fight him again.
‘Is this what the popular trope yearning feels like? Hah.’
Both Jabber and Zanka had been secretly meeting up to spar for a while now, they kept bumping into each other during missions, intentionally or not, it didn't matter as they ended up agreeing with the offer.
He might have kind of forced him to agree, remembering the way Zanka squirmed uncomfortably and giving him a soul-piercing side eye when he brought the suggestion up, but it was all for good causes.
This way, Jabber got to be a first hand witness of Zanka's improvement, and that he did, it was so obvious even a toddler could see it. Yet the other kept brushing it off saying there was still room for improvement, that what he did during their fight was nothing compared to the geniusness Jabber had.
He appreciated the compliment, but that's not how it really works in this unofficial contract of theirs. It sucks how he couldn’t see what effect he had on others. And due to his amount of potential, Jabber kept zoning out to think about his progress even during missions.
The thought of what he could do, the way he knew exactly where to hit to make it hurt, and all the dirty tricks up his sleeve made every day more exciting, just anticipating the day they get to meet up again.
He's not very sure how Zanka felt about this whole ordeal, but the look on his face every time he managed to land a hit felt good to look at, makes Jabber feel proud too. No matter how much he denied and tried to convince Jabber he doesn't like it, he could see that Zanka was enjoying it as much as he did.
That always makes his day, call it stupidly soft or selfish, but that guy really is someone special, and he wants to see even more what he can do with that staff of his. One day, they'll have the most intense battle of their lives, and that might be the day they'll give each other the vows.
What a dream, huh?
That brings him to the point right now, because while Jabber was daydreaming about his next fight, he found himself near the vicinity of the Clearer HQ thingy.
Even if he was at the back, pretty far away from the main entrance, the looming presence of the building was noticeable, standing out from the environment around.
Pausing for a second, he looked at the walls of the HQ, staring particularly on a single, specific window. Shut close, dark, understandably so, it was currently somewhere around midnight when Jabber was walking about.
Why the team decided it was a good idea to send him to find people and steal an artifact for the boss’s plans in the middle of the night, he had no idea, but at least he'll have an easier time sleeping now that he's worn himself out.
Jabber contemplated whether he should or should not pay the cleaner a visit. Even if his body was more exhausted than he thought, if he used a bit more strength he might be able to scale up the wall with ease, after all, this wasn't the first time he's done something like breaking in from Zanka's window.
The question is how he would approach him.
'Hmm, what'd I do after that?'
He thought about it more, sitting down on the ground to rest his legs for a while. Right, his legs are also pretty much injured. Sort of, not really, but he's impressed over himself by the fact he walked all the way.
Jabber put his chin on his palm, still glaring at the window as if he was solving a quadratic equation. Even if he managed to use the last bit of his stamina, doing all this felt like a hassle, apropos pretty boring.
No one is up at the middle of the night, so no accidental discoveries, unless the guy guarding HQ was also awake. What was his name? Oh well.
But some extra action and suspense makes a story more interesting, too bad this time he was not in the mood for a miscommunication arc of any sort, and he didn’t want to deal with that blond guy. If he was awake.
Plus Zanka was probably asleep too, not like it'll make much difference, it would be funny to see a half awake cleaner feeling groggy and all that trying to land hits even if barely conscious, but it would also be pretty awkward if he doesn't wake up.
Also, as previously mentioned, he's worn out to the bone today; more like yesterday but you get the point. He’ll take some hits, but that's it.
Grumbling over his decisions, he squinted at Zanka's window, a while up the wall taunting him — telling him to dare and climb up there, pry it open with his hands, and surprise the guy on the other side.
But as much as he wanted to see Zanka, he's tired as hell and would rather find a random place of rubble to stay overnight. What about the air quality? Who gives a damn, he'll manage.
He sighed heavily and let his shoulders slump, slightly pouting in an animated way, still a bit unsure of what to choose. But his unserious attitude changed in a beat, fingers playing on the ground in a small circle as he considered his circumstances.
Those guys didn't have that much impact on him, but that didn't change the fact that he’d rather pass out than do anything.
Maybe he won't be seeing Zanka after all.
Right.
A pit of something twisting gathered between his ribs. He pushed himself off the ground, standing up with his head tilted upward towards the Cleaners headquarters.
Zanka had returned to the HQ after a gruesome shift, exhausted out of his mind.
The most recent trash beast he and his team took on packed a bunch more than all of them expected. Even if all went well, the beast taken down and the documentation all done thanks to the supporters, his head just kept pounding beneath his temples with no signs of stopping.
Even before that, with more predictable trash beasts, it had taken a toll on him more than he thought, and after signing off from work and finally entering his room, closing the door with a soft click, the only thing on his mind was going to bed.
After preparing his best for sleep; showering, brushing his teeth, quickly combing through his hair and dabbing a little moisturizer on his face, Zanka walked over to his bed and sat down.
Putting his head in his hands, he exhaled a frustrated breath that was held back for too long, the tension in his chest releasing to the best of his abilities.
But seriously, Zanka doesn't get to feel like this, doesn't get the privilege to feel bad when the reason it took so long to defeat that damned beast and almost got his teammates hurt was him.
Hesitated too much, didn't act enough, the more he reflected the more embarrassment gnawed on him, digging its nails into him ripping his already low self-esteem to pieces. Guilt and self doubt mixed together like some cursed concoction, poisonous and burning his throat.
It was late by the time Zanka actually laid down on his bed, the softer comfort in difference to the harsh texture of the ground and gravel felt more like humiliation than a place to rest.
It's partially because of that, the undeserving feeling, and his mistakes during the day, that haunts him during the night. No matter how long he closed his eyes, no matter how tired he was, he just couldn't fall asleep.
Everyone in his team had told him it's alright to ask for help because of it, maybe not outright, but the concerned looks from all of them even if they hid it said everything he needed to know. The three people closest to him are the most worried of them all.
But why would he do something as stupid as asking for help regarding that, it's just sleep, it's not like he has insomnia or anything.
Groaning, Zanka tried again at the whole falling into deep sleep thing, squeezing his eyes shut and then slowly relaxing his face, hoping that at least he would be able to fall asleep earlier than usual so he wouldn't do more stupid shit he will regret at work.
It worked, for just a little while, his brain starting to close off and drift, the pain easing to a steadier rhythm as he felt his eyelids grow heavier.
He was still awake, but it's better than nothing.
Just as Zanka could almost grasp out to actual rest, just within reach, he felt something heavier settle beside the sides of his body. At first he paid no mind to it, he should focus on something for once and it was probably the blanket anyway.
But something felt off, way too off.
It's when he could feel the cool breeze of air against his cheek, a light howling coming from the direction of his window, that he decided to crack open his eyes just slightly in annoyance.
And to his own surprise, he saw a shadow looming above him, sitting up on its knees hovering above his legs, long hair trailing down its face with a deathly glare staring down at Zanka, like a predator that caught his prey.
He could barely see what that shadow was supposed to be, only the faint light from the open window helped him see a dark outline around the body, a pungent smell of iron and something almost sweet wafting in the air stinging his nose.
The worst part is, the shadow didn't even say anything, it just kept staring at him, now breathing heavily through its mouth, face still shadowed with hair covering half its face. It was exactly like a scene from a horror movie where the main character finds out their stalker had been watching them sleep the whole time.
Laying down at the bed, completely frozen, Zanka came to the terrifying realization that the shadow kneeling intimidatingly on top was not some paralysis demon, but someone he personally knows, his eyes getting used to the dark recognizing that silhouette of a certain raider.
Stomach sinking, blood running cold, palms getting sweaty, the whole nine yards. This was the last thing he’d ever expected from the raider, despite him having broken into his dorm several times, and that scared the living shit out of him.
“Wassup.”
“WHAT THE F-”
Before Zanka could properly scream out in shock — voice cracking from the sudden shift from rest to strain — a sticky hand clasped on his mouth, cold rings making contact with heated skin, and the smell of blood even more intense, making him nauseous.
He didn't even get to squirm or move or anything, still frozen on his bed trapped between the mattress and a warm body he would much rather not have contact with.
The only things that made a change was Jabber being closer than he was just a second ago, leaning in and meeting face to face, and how Zanka's hand that was resting on the side of his pillow clenched to a fist.
The iron smell mixed together with that sickening sweetness made him dizzy, teetering on the edge from getting an even more painful headache. Locs cascaded down around like a waterfall ghosting his face and neck, making this whole scene more intimate than it should.
Zanka could barely breathe with the bloody hand covering both his airways, even if it was just a gentle press, affirming and unmoving like a statement more than a threat. But it didn't matter if the gesture was softer than usual, you don't cage someone, much less your rival, in the middle of the night and expect a normal reaction to it.
Now that he's thinking of it in the quiet of the night, the way he yelled at the raider was a bit embarrassing. And if Jabber was acting like this to him, then something must've happened right? That psychopath is rarely ever this quiet, and that was even creepier than that grin of his when he's high on toxins.
“Shh...” Jabber hushed, voice low almost like a whisper, then let out a short, airy chuckle.
“Wouldn't want your little friends to wake up and find us like this, would you?”
Zanka's eyes widened even more, slowly gaining consciousness from the surprise, head clearing up and attempts at wriggling his way out of the position he was in. But that didn't work, and it only resulted in Jabber pressing his body closer, causing him to stop all movement.
That makes Jabber chuckle again, this time more clearly. He took notice that the raider on top of him sounded stuffy, and lying down, something warm and viscous dripped on his forehead.
“As much as I love seein’ you mad, I'm really not in the mood right now.” The way a smile could be heard in his voice makes Zanka want to lash out just to wipe his face, but he couldn't bring himself to actually do it.
It was hard to see anything with another person blocking his vision, but paired with the strong odor of iron, he could rule out that it was more blood that landed on his skin.
‘What the hell was he doing before this?’
“I'm gonna let you breathe in a sec,” the raider said with a low tone, voice rough like something was stuck in his throat cutting through his thoughts, “just stay quiet for me, ‘kay?”
But he didn’t immediately remove his hand. With little context clue, Zanka could feel how the air got more tense as Jabber's gaze in the dark hardened, removing the glare that just rounded out to a milder look.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Sensing the sincerity in his words, Zanka bit his tongue, holding it shut. The last thing he wanted to do was to piss off this version of Jabber, who knows what he could do to him?
After what felt like minutes of held back breathing, it looked like he finally got the memo, slowly but surely taking his hand off the cleaner’s face, fingers trailing and touch lingering for maybe a second too long.
Then suddenly, the raider collapsed under his weight, crushing the poor guy under him with an ‘oof’. Before Zanka could react, Jabber rolled to the cleaner’s left, wrapped his arm around him the best he could, hiking one leg up to his stomach and rested his head on his collarbone.
The touch immediately caught him off guard — actually, when had he ever been not caught off guard by the insane man laying right on top of him.
This was so weird, he shouldn't be allowing this to happen, but for some reason he couldn't command his own body to push Jabber away. As if he wanted him to be there.
‘Ew ew ew damn it get offa me!’
Ironically, despite his thoughts, he remained still, body stiff from being hugged by his rival like a teddy bear. If it wasn't because of the absurdity from this situation, he would've died from embarrassment.
Jabber was completely oblivious to Zanka's inner turmoil and decided to nuzzle his cheek to his neck, pressing impossibly close, limiting his movements more even when half asleep.
He had closed his eyes for a long while ago, the heavy feeling finally caught up to him, and Zanka started to feel his breathing even out, ribcage rising with every deep inhale.
‘Can’t even get to sleep anymore, fuck is wrong with you??’
He could feel his own pulse beat impossibly fast in his ears, blood rushing to his face for reasons he didn’t want to disclose. Yet, Zanka still did absolutely nothing about it.
Whatever Jabber was doing, it was on purpose, and once again he lost another unprompted competition.
It annoyed him, but for some twisted reason, he didn't mind that much, at all.
Unsure what to do, he looked down at Jabber, and in the black and grey atmosphere, the raider looked uncharacteristically soft, almost peaceful, in the comfort of Zanka's bed.
His sharp features contrasted the expression he was wearing, a dark gash running on his forehead, smearing half dried blood across his face. All of it looked unreal, contradictory, but this was still the Jabber he kept fighting with in his arms, no matter how out of worldly he seemed.
“What happened to you? You look like shit.” Zanka asked, maybe in a tone that was too rude for asking about what Jabber went through during the day. Not that he cared.
“What, you can see me?” The raider mumbled, asking about Zanka's sight considering how dark it was in his room.
After a while with no answers, the cleaner assumed he fell asleep, until a small giggle erupted from Jabber, barely noticeable if it weren't for the skin to skin contact with his face and Zanka’s neck.
“You care about me.”
“Just answer the damn question.”
His giggles got even more obvious, breath uneven and his stomach tensing, stifling back his usual laugh with the rest of his energy as he clung onto Zanka's sleeve.
He sounded tired even if he acted like a schoolgirl, and Zanka's heart lurched at the rare melody of Jabber’s voice, not sure when he would hear its song again.
After a well deserved laugh attack, Jabber's breathing returned to normal, or as normal as it could be, and sighed. Pulling closer to his makeshift stuffed animal’s heart, he listened to its beat through fabric, flesh and bones.
“Just tired, fought a horde of goons of some person to find a trinket or something, kinda don't remember.”
It was Zanka's turn to sigh, listening to his rival's complaint made him frustrated in a way he hadn't experienced yet.
“You couldn't even bother to clean yer own wounds after? Yer gonna get an infection, idiot.”
Jabber just hummed softly in reply. “I'll just clean ‘em tomorrow, and don't worry, I haven't replaced you.”
“I did not-! Ugh.” He scoffed, realizing it was no point in trying to get through his thick skull.
But that last sentence did something to Zanka’s heart, skipping a beat, confirming something he didn't even know he wanted to ask or felt, reassuring him even if it was just a joke from an exhausted raider.
For a while, they both laid there, bodies pressed together feeling each other's pulses, each other's warmth, in a completely new way from how their interactions usually went.
This time, in the middle of the night, there was no fighting between the two. It felt surreal for Zanka, and surely for Jabber too — he never fully knew what that guy was feeling half the time — although he came to the realization that this wasn't as horrible as he'd thought.
Even if the second morning comes, the second quiet conversations could be heard outside the confinements of his room, they would have to separate; and who knows when something like this would happen again? Maybe it never will, and they'll go back to being normal.
They'll go back to meeting in unconventional places, threatening each other's lives, feeling the adrenaline from the violence and the danger. Hear the screech of metal against metal, knowing one of them would end up on top. Knowing that one day, they will have to fight for one last time.
The thought of that made his stomach hurl.
He didn't want that day to come, and neither did he want this night to end.
So for now, even if he might not act like it, he'll enjoy this moment in secrecy.
The silence broke when Jabber lifted his body just ever so slightly, ruffling the covers and watching over Zanka to study his face in the dim room. Breath shallow, flickering his gaze between his eyes and his lips, until he finally said something.
“Thanks for letting me have this.”
Blue irises stared back with heavy eyes, an unamused smirk creeping up Zanka's face even as he could feel himself starting the process of slipping away from consciousness.
“Why are you thanking me for? This is coercion.” He said sarcastically, and met with a short snarky comment back.
“Heh.”
He pulled Jabber back in, this time having one arm around him too, regaining something back so they were even. The thought of that, being equal in even mundane things like hugging — if you could call it that — made satisfaction bloom in his chest.
Wow, he was more tired than he thought.
Ignoring his poorly made decision, Zanka brought one hand up to caress Jabber's head, fingers lightly brushing on top of his long hair.
Although still strong, he had now gotten used to the odd smell of almond flowers radiating from the man laying on top, the way his bodyweight applied pressure to his entire body was more comforting than any heavy blanket.
“Just go to sleep already.”
And following his instructions, Jabber did, falling into his dreams and lightly snoring the second his head hit the side of Zanka's ear, shifting to bury his face in the warm space between neck and shoulder.
When the rhythm of his breathing steadied as well as the thumping of his heart, the cleaner also felt his own sleepiness catching up to him, making his brain feel more groggy than it was before Jabber broke in. Which was pretty funny, but right now, he didn't complain.
Before getting ready to rest himself, Zanka shifted his head for easier access and pressed his lips on top of Jabber’s head, a soft touch that only one of them would remember in the morning, before repositioning to steal a final glance at the ceiling.
“Goodnight.” He whispered before closing his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.
The morning came, light shining through the now closed window. Zanka woke up from his dreamless sleep, hair ruffled and splayed over his pillow trying to process where he was.
He laid there for a while, eyes blinking rapidly trying to clear his mind from fog and the slight soreness in his upper body. His blanket was kicked off to the edge, barely hanging on.
Although he rarely moved in his sleep, he somehow made a messier sleeping environment than it usually was. It was after Zanka's consciousness returned to a normal degree did he realize how unusually light his body was.
He looked down, only seeing his own shirt crumpled from previous tension and pressure, but there was no sign of the raider that slept on top of him, which only left a dull ache in his chest.
All of a sudden, like getting hit by a car, Zanka’s head started to hurt, a piercing pain shot through his temples, returning even worse than it was before bed. Pushing himself up, supporting his weight on his arms, it felt like the whole world was spinning; solid matter flowed around like water which was deeply disturbing.
It didn’t matter that the previous night might have been the best sleep he’s gotten in a long while, whatever new type of headache he had left Zanka confused and for once concerned over his own well being. Maybe he should check in with Eishia after breakfast, just in case.
Guilt and shame washed over him now that he realized he can’t go to work like usual if he feels as sick as he did right now, but better safe than embarrassing himself mid fight in front of his mentor and friends.
Thinking about his headache, Zanka’s attention returned back to the raider and their sleepover, how he left before saying anything, moving swiftly away without waking him up.
It wasn’t that surprising he left already, since Jabber never really stayed that long whenever he “visited” Zanka. And while he was grateful for that, this way there won’t be any accidental discoveries he didn’t want to explain, but he also couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
This is a rather selfish thought, but if he could, he wanted the raider to stay a while longer. It was stupid to think this way, it was not like they don’t meet up that often, actually their sparring sessions were so integrated in his schedule that it was one of the things that kept him up at night before finally giving in to slumber.
Despite his own body protesting, Zanka managed to sit up properly, messy bangs brushing past his eyes tickling his nose and cheeks. Remembering more of what happened last night, he brought a hand up to wipe off the dried up, still a bit sticky blood on his face.
While attempting to swallow saliva down tight throat due to disgust, he noticed a small piece of paper on the bedside table, tattered around the edges like it got ripped off from another sheet. He reached out to grab and inspect the piece, seeing that it had scribbles of graphite on it.
‘Good morning Zan-zan, I gotta go cause otherwise they’re gonna put a se-’ this part was crossed out multiple times, the mark from the pencil going back and forth on that specific spot. ‘Whatever that will never happen lmao anyways see you next Tuesday! Or Thursday or both idk.’
The note was written in one of the most messiest handwritings he’d ever laid eyes upon, distinctively and exclusive to Jabber, obviously written in a rush before dashing out the window. But despite having to put in a little bit more effort to decipher the wall of text, and finding his second guessing humorous, Zanka didn’t mind it at all, in fact it confirmed for him that what happened before wasn’t just some fever dream he made up.
While the entirety of the disorganized jumble of text could be noticed on the other side of a room, it was the bottom line at the edge of the paper that stood out the most, written more neatly compared to the others as if Jabber wanted him to see it.
‘P.S. you looked real cute asleep.’ The last sentence was displayed in a lighter tone with a smiley face drawn at the end, or if you could even call it that, it looked more like a copyright symbol. Still, it brought a small, unwarranted smile to Zanka’s face.
He folded the paper in half as evenly as he could and put it in the drawer part of the table, the silence in the room weighing but not suffocating at all. Before he could lie down again to ease the throbbing pain, a knock was heard coming from the closed door.
“Come in.” He called out, rubbing his temple with one hand, and in comes a man with a confident stance.
“Hey, Zanka.” Enjin stepped in with heavy steps, uniform already on with his vital instrument in hand. “You might wanna get up now, breakfast ends in like 20 minutes.”
‘It’s this late already?’ Heat crawls up Zanka’s neck from the realization, embarrassed over that he slept in so late that his mentor had to check in to see what he was up to.
“Uh- got it, thanks fer tellin’ me.” He answered back politely, sheepishness present in his voice.
“Don’t sweat it!” His mentor flashed him a smile. “You feeling a bit better now?”
Zanka nodded once to not worsen his headache, hiding his suffering from Enjin, which made it even more awkward. “Yeah, don’t worry.”
“That’s amazing to hear, if you need anything just give a call, okay?”
The guy gave a crooked smile to the older man, returning the hospitality even if he might never do that. Enjin’s smirk faltered for a second when he looked at Zanka’s side, towards the blanket that was half shrugged on the floor, lifting one eyebrow in amusement and suspicion.
“Wow, didn’t know you also had your period, when were you going to tell the team? Planning to keep it a secret til the grave, hm?”
It took a while for the joke to register in Zanka’s head.
“Wha- huh?!”