Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

To most anyone you asked, Zanka had always been perfect.

He was a transfer from some fancy academy in Japan. Grades? Flawless. Appearance? Beautiful. Attitude? Kind, yet serious. He even spoke English with barely any trace of an accent despite only just coming to America recently. Plus, he had humility — always insisting he was some average Joe. It made people flock to him. He was just one of those people that attracted others, even if he seemed to think of himself as otherwise.

Jabber had ended up interested in him, too, but for a different reason. He didn’t give a shit about academics or manners or learning about some country on the other side of the planet he’d never see. Nah, that wasn’t his pace — he was something of a delinquent, more like, always cutting classes to get high or scrap along with other bad seeds in the halls. His suspension record was terrifying.

No, he kept finding his attention on Zanka because the guy was weird.

At first, he’d passed it off as some sort of culture difference, but he wasn’t the type to deny a gut feeling for long. The smiles and polite language were hiding something. Something in Jabber recognized something hidden deep in Zanka’s eyes. That meant he was a freak behind that shell. Jabber had a nose for these things.

It was fascinating, really. Jabber never tried to hide his… quirks, but he knew a lot who did. Generally, he found those people boring. Their acts were one-dimensional and easy for the average observer to see through. Everyone knew something was off with them, and it tended to be something smaller. With Zanka, though, Jabber’s own monstrosity of a brain recognized something huge, not just a faint trace, and Zanka pulled off the act so well that Jabber had even second-guessed his own instincts. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It made something in Jabber’s chest flip around like a fish. It was uncomfortable and wriggly, but addictive. The sort of feeling that only usually a good punch could get him. Anticipation, maybe?

No matter what it was, Jabber wanted more of it. He figured the one way to do that was to put himself in the genius’s line of sight. An introduction that could lead to something else. A start to something that Jabber wasn’t sure how to name. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted from this, just knew he needed more of that energy that could match his, not hidden behind that mask. No one could match him blow-for-blow, but this Zanka character seemed like he could. He decided to introduce himself in the most Jabber-like fashion, with that in mind:

A staggering punch to the face.

“Yoroshiku-ne, twin!” Jabber said with a grin, reciting one of the few Japanese phrases he knew from hanging with the anime club on occasion (some of the shows they played were exciting with all the blood) — nice to meet you. “Name’s Jabber Wonger!”

Zanka stumbled back, gripping the place he’d been punched with wide eyes. Shock. It did come out of nowhere, after all. One of the girls that had been walking with him — a fangirl, likely, based on what he knew about Zanka’s public persona — gasped, grabbing onto Zanka’s shoulders. “Holy crap, are you okay—?!”

“Ayyy, don’t get in the way. I’m tryna talk to Zan-Zan here.”

Zanka’s eyes flashed with something at that nickname, something fierce. That little gleam gave Jabber a clearer peak into his heart and, yeah, he was a monster too. Just as he thought.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Zanka whispered, glancing up at Jabber with angry eyes. Normally serene, but hiding a short temper.

(Of course, he found a short temper to be the only reasoning, not just the fact that he might not have liked being hit.)

Jabber sighed and pouted, crossing his arms and leaning in. “C’moooon, man, I just told you who I am!” He drew back his leg back, aiming to land a kick to Zanka’s ribs. “It’s ya boy Jabber!”

Zanka caught the leg, teeth grit together. This guy had fire. The grip tightened into something bone-crushing, something that sent wonderful waves of pain through Jabber’s entire body. It was more perfect than Jabber could have imagined.

He reached to scratch at Zanka’s face. Blood crept under his fingernails, Zanka’s eyes widening. 

“Oooh, sorry, that gonna ruin your nice face,” Jabber murmured with a grin.

Zanka responded with a punch to the face and a yank at the leg that he held, two motions that landed Jabber flat on his back beneath him. Jabber grinned wide, his face heating up. This was incredible.

Another hit to his face. Another. Each one hit a hot vein in Jabber’s body, each one filling him with a lightness and fast beat of his heart that was more addicting than any drug…

Zanka stopped.

Jabber opened his eyes (he wasn’t sure when he’d closed them) and saw a teacher yanking Zanka off of him. Zanka struggled at first, but very quickly corrected himself, going limp in the teacher’s arms. That sheep mask fell over that beautiful wolf face Jabber had been admiring, returning him back to the mysterious but intriguing boy that had made Jabber punch him in the first place. It was as thrilling as it was disappointing.

Jabber’s nose gushed blood onto his face. He could already feel swelling spreading. Amazing.

The teacher sighed as she finally let Zanka go. “Both of you are bleeding, what a mess… Go off to the nurse’s office to get checked out, and then it’s straight to the principal.” She glanced down at Jabber. “Especially you. That looks like it could be broken.” 

Jabber sat up in his seat on the floor, grinning as he wiped away the blood. “It ain’t broken, ma.”

The teacher bristled at the address — much too casual and close for teacher and student — but didn’t comment on it. “I don’t care, Wonger. You’re bleeding and sending you to Nurse Stilza is important.” She motioned to Zanka and his scratched up face. (Jabber tore him up good. That was satisfying. He did wish Zanka got in at least a few more hits before they were interrupted, though.) “You can take your… friend here and show him the way as well. He’s a newer student, he likely doesn’t know the way.”

“We’re not friends,” Zanka muttered. 

“Yow, Zan-Zan, that’s cold!” Jabber complained, finally standing up. He drooped one of his arms (toned by hallway skirmishes, among other things) over Zanka’s shoulders. They were more slender, but the muscle there was clear. It collected in a more compact way than Jabber — not a bodybuilder by any means and more lean muscle than anything, but still having a bit of bulk — but it was definitely present when someone touched him. “C’moooon, twin! Let a guy help ya out.”

“I don’t need help—”

“Teach told me so, finna do it regardless.”

Zanka paused before sighing. Clearly, even with the temper, he wasn’t stupid enough to keep up a fight that he wouldn’t win. Jabber was the stubborn type, it was written all over him. Zanka was always the prized star student, wasn’t he? “Fine. Just get your arm off me.”

“No can do!” Jabber said gleefully, leading Zanka down the hall. The adrenaline must have settled down for him, because he was starting to look a bit tired. His eyes were a bit lidded, his posture a bit slouched… He must have been the type of guy that got sleepy after a fight. It definitely wasn’t blood loss, Jabber didn’t scratch him that bad.

Weirdly cute.

Jabber coughed, nodding to the nurse’s office door. “It right here.”

Zanka shrugged off his arm. “Fucking jackass.”

“Daaaamn, man, you really gonna treat ya boy like that? Cold as hell, ‘specially when I be helpin’ ya through it—”

“I wouldn’t need help if not for you in the first place,” Zanka grumbled. Which, true, but ouch, what a burn.

Jabber pouted. “C’mon, Zan-Zan, twin, talk to me!”

Zanka didn’t reply, instead reaching for the door.

“Ya might not wanna do that without knocking—”

“American manners don’t demand that when visiting the school nurse.”

Of course the guy had manners memorized like a book. An incredibly built persona. It was something to marvel at. But…

“That ain’t—”

Before he could explain, the door slammed open, revealing an explosion of smoke in the nurse’s office.

“Holy fuck?!”

Jabber began laughing. This was to be expected. “I fuckin’ toldchu,” he said, wiping tears of humor from his eyes as he pointed at Zanka. “Don’t be interrupttin’ August when she workin’! You finna die otherwise!” He pushed past Zanka, diving into the fumes without a care. “Auuugggiiieee, hey, ma!”

“She’s our senior, should you really be referring to her as—”

“Jabs! Hey!” August pulled up her goggles as she turned around on her rotating chair, grinning wide. A set of test tubes and beakers full of weird liquids sat at her desk. Another chemistry experiment gone wrong. It was normal for her. Science was her passion, and even if she had to take a shitty gig as a school nurse, she still ran her crazy experiments of all kinds. Chemistry, biology, engineering, physics, and more… It didn’t matter the discipline, August was all over it. “You got into trouble again, didn’t you?” Loud and blunt, just like always, with that same smile on her face. She never changed.

Jabber had spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office throughout his time at the high school. Now a senior, he’d probably spent more time in this room than in class. Talking to August, getting to know her and her quirks. She wasn’t on the same vibration of freak, not like Jabber was, but her levels matched his even if it was a different flavor. They got along easily, more like peers than anything. They connected in a way that most people couldn’t. He’d helped her start her transition, picked her new name, always looked at her experiments even if he didn’t totally get it. She never berated him beyond a bit of teasing, always fixed him up amazing, and usually took his side on things. Lord knew if he wasn’t gay, he’d probably be head-over-heels for her. (Not that the feelings would be mutual even if it developed. She wasn’t into younger guys in the first place, even if it was appropriate.)

“Trouble? Nahhhh, ma! Just havin’ a lil’ fun wit’ my new best pal!” Jabber dragged Zanka in by the arm, putting his hand up to his face to show August. “Ain’t he a cutie?”

“Get your hands off me, you—”

“Oooh, a little firecracker!” August giggled, taking Zanka from Jabber. “Maybe he could be good for an experiment.” She sighed. “That’d get me fired, though… man, this job sucks.”

“Since when ya care ‘bout the rules?”

“True enough—”

“Stop considering me as a Guinea pig,” Zanka mumbled, his cheeks a bit pink. All the close touch and attention was embarrassing. Jabber was pretty sure that he heard the anime kids say once that Japan didn’t do touch and things as much. Maybe that was why. Though, most people got off-put by August anyways, kind of like they got weirded out by Jabber. It was what tied them together. Maybe Zanka wasn’t used to weirdos.

“Awww, but it so fun!”

“I’m not your plaything.”

“Maybe I’ll try a new sedative on you to get you to stop arguing,” August mused.

“Don’t—” Zanka began to argue.

The nurse giggled, putting her arm over Zanka’s shoulders in a similar manner to what Jabber had done. “I’m kidding, Grumpy Cat!”

“My name is Zanka Nijiku, not—”

August frowned, poking Zanka’s nose with her finger. “You look like Grumpy Cat.”

“Ain’t that thing dead now?” Jabber commented, looking through August’s cabinet to grab the right supplies to patch himself and Zanka up. He was a sadomasochist, but he wasn’t a monster or enjoyed unnecessary discomfort that wasn’t the sting of pain he loved. When he messed someone up, he helped, usually. (If they weren’t an asshole.) When he got hurt, he bandaged things up.

August scoffed. “Don’t be depressing, Jabs,” she scolded, knocking him over the head. His extremely sore, bruised head. Even if the hit was light, it made him wince.

“F-Fuck, ma!”

“I’m going to run an x-ray on you.” August grinned, leaning closer. “It’ll be fun to see all your bones… see what makes you tick…”

Zanka made a noticeable gulping noise in his spot now seated on a medical bed. Jabber laughed, handing over the proper medical supplies to August. “You ain’t ever changed, August.”

August snickered, taking the bandages and medication. “Why would I? I’m awesome.” Confidence.

Jabber grinned wide. “Fair ‘nough, ma!” This was exactly why he liked her. He sat down at the desk, allowing August to use the small, portable x-ray to check his nose.

“Daaaamn, he got you good!”

Zanka flinched, as if not pleased to hear that. Another act, maybe? No. That was real. Not in line with the monster that laid beneath. Why? It seemed there was even more to Zanka Nijiku than Jabber initially anticipated. He wanted to bite right in.

But, first things first. “Is it broken?” As fun as broken bones were to get, he didn’t particularly enjoy the annoying healing process, especially with ribs or facial fractures. If it was a limb, it was easier to manage, but you couldn’t do much for the face or torso.

“Not the way you think. The bone is fine.” She tapped her nose. “The cartilage is a bit messed up, it looks like from the lack of bone fracture but the level of damage, but you’re old enough that it’ll heal on its own. It’s not particularly out of place, so it should heal fine by itself. We can give you a cast, if you wanna be a baby about it, but it should be fine without touching it.”

(It was strange how she could lock in when she was normally so high-energy.)

“Isn’t that still bad?” Zanka asked curiously, glancing at Jabber. He didn’t really seem worried, not about him, but there was something else that he couldn’t quite place in those weird blue eyes. “It’s still a nasal fracture, right?”

August shrugged, grinning. “Ain’t nothing to be done!”

“Eh?” Zanka stared.

“Broken ribs and facial fractures. Two types of breaks you can’t do much with.” August poked Jabber’s fractured cartilage, making him squeak. Damn, that hurt… Fire… “If the cartilage was damaged worse to the point it could squirm out of place, I’d give him a cast, but it’s a small break that’ll heal fine by itself. Noses bleed easily. You didn’t hurt him that bad, grumpy cat.”

Zanka scoffed, looking away. “Don’t call me that.”

August giggled at his annoyed expression. “What a tsundere he is.”

“I’m not—!”

She ignored him, moving her attention back to Jabber. “Did he get you anywhere else?”

“Leg.”

“Pants off, then!”

It would be a disturbing request from most people, even a doctor. Jabber used to fight tooth and nail when doctors had to do examinations with his clothes off. He liked nudity, but not in sterile medical environments. It made his skin crawl. August, though, made it so things weren’t so sterile. It was like a time between friends. More relaxed.

Jabber snapped off his belt buckle. While he worked on that, August began examining Zanka’s face. “These wounds are bleeding a lot, but with some proper care, the scars shouldn’t be too bad. Do you own any scar-removing drops?”

“No…”

“You should get some. It’ll help. For now, I’ll butterfly it.” August held up her butterfly closures with a smile. “Isn’t that fun?”

“Not particularly.”

“C’mon, don’t be grumpy!”

“You’re the one who’s decided I’m a grumpy cat clone,” Zanka muttered. August took the moment of weakness to grab Zanka’s face and start disinfecting the wounds. Zanka let out a sharp yelp. He didn’t react too much to getting hit, but apparently a bit of Neosporin was too much. He really was like a cat — got clawed up fine, but freaking out at the vet.

Jabber snickered at the image in his mind of a blond-and-blue cat clawing up his veterinarian's arms. It was enough to grab Zanka’s attention back on him, a glare. “What’s so funny, freak?”

Fuck, him looking at me like that is good. And the insult? Delectable.

“You. You like an overgrown kitten.”

“I’m going to kill you!”

August giggled. “Young love.”

“There is no fucking love,” Zanka seethed, but he couldn’t elaborate before the disinfectant was pressed to his wounds again. He went to glare again at Jabber, who had finally dropped his pants to his ankles. His face turned red before he looked away.

“Why not? I’m lovable as fuck, twin!”

“Debatable,” Zanka muttered, not looking at Jabber anymore. Embarrassed? That was hilarious. Jabber snickered again.

“Hold this towel to your face. I’m going to finish checking the idiot—”

“I ain’t an idiot,” Jabber protested.

“—out and then finish stitching you up.”

Zanka nodded. “Yes, uh…” He examined August, seeming to struggle with her gender. He seemed to backlog the rest of the conversation before settling on “ma’am.”

“Damn right,” Jabber said with a nod. If he called her “sir”, he was ready to kick Zanka’s ass.

“Right, yes. Ma’am.”

August smiled a bit — not a manic grin, but a genuine smile — before returning her gaze to Jabber’s face. “Which leg?”

“Left.”

“He went for your good leg? Cold as hell.”

“Good leg?” Zanka asked, tilting his head.

Jabber looked away, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. His right leg wasn’t something he liked talking about, something he liked people knowing about. It was a raw memory still.

August, however, never had the tact to not speak on uncomfortable things. “Old injury, his right leg is kinda bummed out because of it! Like a headless chicken — it still works but not nearly as good as if it had a head.”

Well, that cat was out of the bag. Speaking of cats, Jabber sneaked a peek at Zanka’s reaction. Those blue eyes looked at him with something akin to pity. No, he didn’t like pity. Hated it. He liked being looked at like scum, not as if he was something fragile to be handled gently. He wasn’t delicate! Not by a long shot!

“Sorry. That was a dirty play,” Zanka said, glancing away. 

“Dirty? It was a fight.” He sat down again to allow August to examine his lower leg.

“There’s honor when it comes to fights.”

“That some Japanese thing? In the States, we don’t do none that shit.” Jabber drew a line across his throat. “Hit ‘em ‘til they can’t move! That be how fightin’ works, yeah?!”

Zanka blinked slowly. “You’re… a freak.”

“Damn straight, twin!” Jabber laughed, jabbing his finger at his chest. “Proud of it, too!”

“…strange.”

“Ohhh, yeah, he dislocated the ankle with the angle he held it at. Ouch!” August grinned broadly up at Jabber. “You really got yourself into a mess, you big loser!”

“We’re even! I fucked up his face too!” Jabber declared.

August snickered. “No, you lost.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“I wouldn’t say the loss counted.” Zanka looked down at his hands. “I mean, he didn’t give it his all.”

“Huh?” August said, glancing up at the Japanese transfer. 

Zanka smiled bitterly, glancing at Jabber. “Despite that speech you just gave, you didn’t put in all your lots, did you? I felt the strength in your body when I pinned you down. You could have knocked me off if you tried. You didn’t.”

Jabber grinned, putting his hands up. “You caught me!”

“Why?”

His grin shifted into a smirk, one of a predator. “Because if I win too easily, it’s no fun. I want to come out with some bruises.”

August snorted. “Alright, shut it, you crazy freak! I’m popping it back in now!”

Jabber grimaced. “A’ight, ma, whatever ya say.”

“I’ll give you the count of three.”

“Fine.”

“One…”

Jabber relaxed his muscles, knowing that tightening them would just screw up August.

“Two…”

His eyes met Zanka’s across the room, who was still holding that washcloth to his face. He looked so fucked up like that. Yeah. A draw is right. If you decide to let that monster out of its cage, Zanka, I’ll give you mine too.

“Three!”

A rush of pain came from his ankle. Jabber bit his lip hard enough to bleed, his eyes watering. Beautiful, wonderful agony coursed through his veins, dulling his senses… and it disappeared almost as fast as it came, leaving Jabber feeling like his leg was never hurt.

“That should all be fixed. Let me guess, you two were dumb enough to fight in the halls and have to go to the principal’s after this?”

“Caught me,” Jabber said sheepishly, rubbing his ankle.

“I’m guessing grumpy cat here didn’t start it, either.”

“Would I be Jabber Wonger if I didn’t start shit?” Jabber asked with a broad smile.

“True.” August giggled a bit, taking the towel away from Zanka’s face gently. She looked over his face and nodded. “I’ll put closures on these and bandage them, and you should be fine after that. The hit on your nose didn’t break anything, but it’ll swell up. Put it on ice when you get home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A handful of butterfly closures and some gauze later, Zanka and Jabber were both ready to go (Jabber equipped with a pack of tissues in case of further bleeding). August waved them off with a few insults and a couple cookies, saying they were from her grandma and tasted awful. Jabber thought that was bullshit and it was pretty damn good, but the woman never did like sweets.

“She’s strange,” Zanka commented as he munched his cookie. Not a friendly invitation to conversation, but an observation. Jabber would take what he could get.

“Yep! A real weirdo!” Jabber smiled, shoving the last bit of his cookie down his throat like a snake. That move seemed to disturb Zanka, who gaped at him. “She kinda like me, yeah?”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“It is to me.”

Zanka sighed, rubbing his face. “Soulmates, or something.”

“Nah, not really. ‘M gay.” Jabber shrugged, not giving Zanka a second glance. Zanka, however, paused his walking, staring at Jabber.

“You… just feel safe saying that?” the Japanese teen asked. The Black boy shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Isn’t it… scary? People can be awful about that sort of thing—”

“Ya really think I be worryin’ ‘bout what someone else be thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

Zanka froze, and their eyes met. The purple hues of Jabber’s eyes were flashing as they bore into the strange dark blue of Zanka’s. Like night skies, Jabber realized. Dark and hiding everything in a huge shadow, but the faintest bit of cool tone could still shine through. Maybe that was what was so unsettling about them.

“My perfect record is going to be wrecked by you, you know,” Zanka said, the subject shifting ever so slightly.

Jabber grinned. “Perfection is borin’, yeah?”

“Perfection is survival.”

“Maybe if you a robot.” Jabber put his fist against Zanka’s chest. “But you human, yeah?” He tilted his head. “Or maybe not human, per se, but definitely breathin’. A cat!”

Zanka flushed, shoving Jabber’s hand away. “I’m not a damn cat, you freak.”

Jabber snickered at the protest, shrugging it off. “Principal’s is right here. Ready to face the music?”

“Not particularly.”

“Too bad!” Jabber smiled as broad as ever as he slammed the door to the room open.

The receptionist sighed, looking up from her computer with obvious exhaustion. “You again?”

“C’mon, ma, you know you love me!”

“Love is a strong word.” She rubbed her temple. Probably getting a headache. Jabber took pride in that. “Principal Typhon will see you in a few moments. Please take a seat until then. And for the love of God, don’t be loud.”

Zanka swallowed, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The receptionist blinked slowly before nodding, clearly not used to this level of politeness. “Uh… of course.”

Jabber kicked the back of Zanka’s leg lightly as they went to sit down. “Suck-up.”

Zanka glared at Jabber as he settled in a chair. “Delinquent.”

“Dumb kitty.”

“Crazy freak.”

“Coward.”

“Stubborn.”

Before Jabber could think of another insult to throw, they were interrupted by a door opening. Zodyl Typhon stepped out, looking down at the two boys with a cold expression that could make milk curdle. “Come in. Now.” 

No matter how many times he had to deal with Zodyl, that look on his face never got less unsettling. It was perfect, like a guy about to give him the perfect beatdown. He had a bit of a crush on the guy, even if he’d never act on it. The idea of Zodyl beating his face in with those big hands never ceased to put shivers down his spine.

“So, you two got into a fight.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

“Yes, sir. I apologize for my misconduct,” Zanka said with a bow of his head.

“Quit with the flowery language. It serves no logical purpose.” Zodyl glanced over at Jabber, raising an eyebrow. “Would I be wrong to wager that it was you who started the conflict?”

Jabber gasped, pretending to be deeply offended by the insinuation. “Excuse me! Why would you even think that?! Is it ‘cause I’m Black?”

Zodyl sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s because your record is the highest stacked in the years I’ve worked at this school. You could be green for all I care.”

Zanka laughed a little against his palm. Traitor. Jabbed decided that flipping him off under the table was an appropriate response.

“I started it,” Zanka suddenly said. A lie.

Lying on Jabber’s behalf? That came out of left field. His eyes slowly lifted from Zodyl to Zanka, staring at him with wide eyes.

“…what?” Zodyl asked, seeming as taken aback as Jabber. Which, well, made sense even without the context of all the arguments that had happened since Jabber punched him. Zanka was the golden child, the star student, the perfect boy. He had no reason to damage his record, and most people thought he was mild-mannered.

“He was annoying me and playing games of chicken,” Zanka lied smoothly. “He teased me and provoked me, but in the end, I threw the first punch, so I should face the consequences.”

Honor in a fight.

Huh. Zanka truly was strange.

There was a long pause where the three men just looked at each other, exchanging glances turn by turn. First Zodyl and Jabber, then Zodyl and Zanka, and then finally Jabber and Zanka with one another. The cycle took a few turns before Zodyl let out a short sigh through his nose.

“Well, if Wonger was truly acting out of self-defense—” He sounded doubtful of it, but accepted it. What reason would Zanka have to protect a guy that beat him up, after all? “—and you were the one who started the violence, even if provoked, the responsibility would fall on you, Nijiku, though Wonger would still be owed lesser punishment as well.”

Zanka nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Typhon sighed, rubbing his face. “I suppose you haven’t given a reason to question you… fine.” He looked between Jabber and Zanka. “You both will be cleaning classrooms after school for the rest of the week as a form of detention. Nijiku, I also expect an essay from you reflecting on this, 5 pages.”

“That all?” Jabber said with a slow blink. Last time he got into a fight, he got suspended for three weeks.

“A first incident comes with a lot less consequences than the 100th, Wonger. Since he apparently started the fight, there’s no reason to punish you worse if we go by the book, especially considering you seem to have been beat up worse. Did you two already see Dr Stilza?”

“Yes, sir,” Zanka answered.

“Awww, ya got a secret soft spot for me, huh, Zoldy?” Jabber teased, leaning in just to get a sharp glare.

“Your punishment can be extended for disrespect, Wonger.”

As tempting as that was, scrubbing floors wasn’t exactly Jabber’s style, so he sat up again.

Typhon sighed, looking between the two boys. “You’ll report to Stilza, since I know that one can handle you. Your punishment starts when we get back to class on Monday. Understood?”

“Loud and clear, boss man,” Jabber confirmed.

“You’re both dismissed.”

Throughout the day on Monday, Zanka wouldn’t even look at him. Cold shoulder, then. Fine. Jabber could deal with that. They would be stuck together all afternoon, anyways. He’d throw enough fire to melt that ice.

Classes came and went, Jabber hardly paying attention per usual. Zanka was locked in like crazy, another bit of normality. He could sense some classmates staring at the two of them, likely ones that saw videos of the fight on TikTok or wherever else. They were looking for a part two like vultures on a good piece of roadkill. Too bad that even Jabber wouldn’t risk Zodyl’s wrath two days in a row, puppy crush or no. 

Though he couldn’t deny it was a charming idea, faced with the fate of listening to this sad sack of shit drone on and on about math. No style, no flair, no monster. Someone completely ordinary, someone that couldn’t even drill home the smallest punch. How pathetic.

Jabber scoffed, looking out the window. He hated people like that. If they couldn’t make his blood sing with pain, what was the point? That feeling was what he lived for. It made every fiber of his body settle into something beautiful and pleasant and familiar and comfortable. It was such a perfect place to be. He couldn’t understand how not everyone craved it, really. It was an even harder struggle to connect when they didn’t have another thing to be crazy about, like August with her science projects. Who would bother with such a dull existence? Jabber would just die. That was why he never bothered hiding who he was; Why dull a world so full of color?

Though, Zanka did just that, and yet he was still intriguing. Strange how he did that. Why was something that normally pissed Jabber off so appealing on Zanka? Is it because his monster fed Jabber’s? Or maybe that he didn’t do a shitty job like others?

No, there was something else. Something he couldn’t name. Something about the way those weird eyes and soft face and strong attitude made his chest do that little flopping motion. What was it? Jabber didn’t have a name for it. For once, he wasn’t content just not knowing. This thing was distracting him and altering the feeling of pleasure in his head. He got into a little skirmish on his way home after his fight with Zanka to let off the remaining steam (nothing serious, just a few punches easily won) and it didn’t give him the same heat as before he met Zanka. Why was that?

RRRRIIIIIINNNNNNGGGG!

Jabber startled at the sound of the school bell. The teacher sighed, realizing he was out of time, before setting down his textbook. “It seems we’re out of time today. Complete problems 1-8 on pages 99-100 for homework tonight. Make sure to check your ALEKS for additional assignments—”

No one was really listening, all seeking the sweet escape of the outdoors after being stuck inside all day. No one hesitated with last period like they might with first or third.

Jabber took his time, though. Wasn’t like he was going to get out of the building so early, not with cleaning duty on his hands. He approached Zanka’s desk, bag slipped over one shoulder. “Ya remember where the nurse is?”

“Uh… no,” Zanka admitted. “I wasn’t really paying attention yesterday.”

Jabber shrugged. “Fair ‘nough, twin, I hit ya kinda hard. I’mma take ya.”

Zanka stood up, getting his bag together. He still didn’t look at Jabber, that bit was pissing him off like crazy. “Thank you.”

“Just returnin’ the favor.”

“The favor?”

“Yest’day.”

“Oh.” Zanka blinked slowly. “It’s no problem.”

Jabber grinned, putting an arm over Zanka’s shoulder. An annoyed grimace appeared on his face, the same one that kept coming up when they were with August the day before. Jabber liked that. “C’mon, man, lemme give ya some credit! Honor among thieves or some shit!”

“Thought you said honor was stupid.”

“Lemme has my moment.”

Zanka sighed, rubbing his face. He made an attempt to shrug off Jabber, but he stayed gripped on like a stubborn koala to a tree. “You’re obnoxious, you know that?”

“Sure I am! At least I ain’t lyin’ to myself.”

Zanka stiffened, eyes slowly meeting Jabber’s. “What?”

“You just like me, a real freak. I can tell.” Jabber leaned in closer with a smirk. “I’d love to see more of that monster.”

Zanka stumbled out of Jabber’s arms, face red. “You’re— you have no sense of personal space! I hate it!”

Jabber snickered and began leading Zanka to August’s. They needed to get signed in with her before Zodyl’s patience ran out on them. If he had to do this cleaning gig for any more than a week, he would kill someone. Probably Zanka, since he was one of the few people actually in the building. Tracking down that damn math teacher was an option, too.

The walk was quick. The math room was closer to the nurse’s office than the hallway they’d duked it out in. Why they felt the need to put the nurse so close to the math department was a mystery Jabber hadn’t quite solved yet. His personal theory was enough people felt as poorly about the subject as him and would end up flipping tables. (If he wasn’t a chronic class-skipper most days, he would’ve done it a lot sooner. The teacher was lucky he didn’t snap today.)

Jabber knocked on the door twice. There was a sound of rustling from behind the door before August opened it up. For once, it seemed she wasn’t doing some experiment that would get her fired if Typhon poked his head in. No, the papers on her desk suggested paperwork. She must have had an odd patient load today. He heard the gym classes were playing contact football instead of flag like usual, that probably had something to do with it.

Jabber saluted stiffly, knowing his posture was all wrong. It was dripping with sarcasm. “Jabber Wonger, professional maid, reporting for duty! Along with my trusty sidekick, Zankitty!”

“For the last time, I am not a cat.” Zanka sighed, crossing his arms. “And why do I have to be the side-kick?”

“‘Cause you don’t know where anything in the school is, but I do,” Jabber said. That was common sense, after all.

“…I hate that you’re actually making sense for once.” Zanka shook his head. “Principal Typhon told us to report to you, ma’am.”

August hummed, seeming to think about it hard. If it wasn’t an experiment or something she had something to say on, she forgot it pretty easily. “Oooh, yeah, you guys are playing house or whatever! Like a bickering married couple!”

Jabber wasn’t sure why his cheeks warmed a bit at that.

Zanka was quick to jump in to defend his honor. “In your dreams.”

August giggled, pulling out two buckets of cleaning supplies from under her desk. “He left these for you. You’ll find a clipboard with a list in each. You guys have to fill that out while you clean to show what you did. He’s not expecting you to do every room, but try to get at least 5-10 done.”

That… was surprisingly merciful for Zodyl Typhon. Was he going soft?

“Oh, and grumpy cat?”

“Eh?”

“If you hit Jabs without being him hitting you first, I will have something to say about it.” She still smiled brightly, but there was a threat behind it as her hand touched his shoulder. “We clear?”

“W-We’re clear.”

The two of them exited the room after that, buckets in hand. They were quiet for a few minutes, neither of them having anything to talk about in particular after their visit with August. Just like last time, Zanka surprised Jabber by starting the conversation:

“Is she your older sister or something?”

Jabber hummed, holding his basket to his chest. “Kinda? Ain’t blood, but it basically that, if ya get me.”

“A sister that isn’t by blood? Adoption, then?”

“Nahhh, nothin’ strict like that. More like… found family? Think that the term.”

“Found… family…?”

Jabber blinked, looking over at Zanka. “Ain’t that a thing over in Japan?”

“No. We value blood above all else.”

“Sound hellish.”

“…sometimes,” Zanka admitted.

Jabber played with some of the cleaners in his basket, thinking for a moment. “Y’know, in English, we got a sayin’. Ever heard of blood is thicker than water?”

Zanka nodded.

“You ever hear the second half of that?”

“There’s a second part?”

“‘Blood is thicker than water’,” Jabber began, “‘but the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’. S’metimes, ya meet people that be better than blood. Sometimes it ‘cause ya family sucks. Sometimes it for some other reason. But we gotta find love somewhere, yeah?” He shrugged. “So, I guess sister be a good word. We ain’t really family, but it kinda like how she treat me.”

Zanka blinked slowly, tilting his head. “You Americans are strange,” he said, for once not sounding grouchy about it.

Jabber smirked. “Nah, I think y’all the weird ones, twin. This the first room on the list.”

They were at the music room. It was a larger room, but it was generally kept relatively tidy, so the work wouldn’t be as hard. It also had carpet instead of the usual hard floor, and vacuums were less to do than sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing.

“I’ll do the shelves, you can handle what’s on the floor,” Zanka decided.

“Fine with me.” The more efficiently they did this, the sooner Jabber could head home. He got a new fake ID over the weekend and wanted to use it to sneak into some bars for some evening fun.

The time passed quickly, surprisingly. When you focused enough on something, the world faded away a bit. Jabber had put aside distraction in hopes of getting done fast, and it seemed to be paying off with every chair he stacked and neglected piece of trash he collected from the corners.

Zanka hummed a little tune under his breath, nothing Jabber recognized. It didn’t sound like any pop song that was on the radio. Maybe it was something popular back in his homeland, or he had more niche tastes. Whatever the case, the sound was nice. It grounded his urges a bit, like something in Zanka was able to collar him down.

The idea was more appealing then he’d imagined it would be.

“Why’d ya do it?”

“Eh?” Zanka looked up from the shelf he was scrubbing.

Jabber picked up the broom, preparing to sweep up the floor. “Cover for me. Prolly wouldn’t be here if ya didn’t.”

Zanka blinked before returning his eyes to his work. “Well… I didn’t see any point in exacting revenge or pushing someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Someone who can’t be assed to give their all.” Zanka dunked his towel in a bucket of soapy water, clearing away the dust and grime on it. “It’s insulting, holding back like that.”

Jabber’s eye twitched. There were a lot of nasty things he didn’t mind being called, even enjoyed. Freak, crazy, monster, killer, pervert, he was fine with all of them. The idea of being implied to be a coward, though, that struck a nerve. Jabber didn’t do fear! He shook hands with death and danced with pain and kissed his fears. There was not a cowardly bone in his body.

“So ya wanna rematch? I can beat ya ass at full throttle, if that whatchu searchin’ for—”

“No.”

He blinked, the fire in his veins flickering. “The fuck you mean, no?”

“No.” Zanka began to move to the next shelf. “If you can’t prove that you can give it your all in some other way, I can’t trust that you will if we did fight again. For all I know, you would hold out again and claim that was your best.” He rubbed his bandages. “I don’t look at some genius who can’t even bother to try as a rival. That’s a different sort of person than me, and if you sit on talent, you lose it.”

The words sounded weirdly personal, but that wasn’t what bothered Jabber.

Zanka Nijiku was talking about geniuses who didn’t try? The guy who seemed to breeze through classes, fought with quiet grace, and mastered every manner easily? The one with an act so well-maintained that even Jabber’s keen senses almost dismissed him? The weird transfer student that had a soul that made Jabber’s reach out and seek bouts? 

How ridiculous was that?

“Look who be talkin’. Ya trippin’ or some shi’, twin?”

“I’m not a genius.” Zanka’s fingers tightened around the towel. “I’d prefer you didn’t refer to me as such.”

“Whatchu gonna do if I do, genius?”

The Japanese boy threw the towel at Jabber’s face, nearly landing soapy water in his mouth. Jabber jumped, not having expected the projectile as opposed to a punch or slap. “I’m going to the bathroom. Finish up here, I did my end of the work. I’ll meet you at the next room.”

Cold detachment, a refusal to acknowledge him.

Fine, was that how it was going to be?

Jabber let out a sound that was between a laugh and a scoff. He needed to show he could do his best in order to get Zanka to truly look at him, huh? Fine. He would beat Zanka at his own game. 

Jabber would be the first to admit that he wasn’t some prodigy when it came to school, but midterms were coming up and the results were commonly publicly posted at their school to get people to strive harder when finals season came around. If he worked hard enough over the next week, maybe he could pass Zanka at exams and show his nerve. After all, Zanka had been in classes with him long enough to know that he barely scraped by.

It wasn’t a competition he’d normally pick up, preferring malice and blood, but to get another peek of the wolf underneath that wool? Jabber would be happy to be a fish out of water for a little while…

…which was easier said than done.

Jabber hadn’t paid attention in class since… well, ever. He was totally behind even on stuff from past grades. He relied mostly on submission-based grades to keep up his D’s, sometimes failing because he couldn’t even manage that. It was just so boring. He couldn’t focus on words on a page like this. Numbers made his head spin. Scientific theories went through one ear and out the other.

He groaned, slapping his own face. Not the time to slack off. Zanka was on the line here! The boy that piqued his curiosity enough to punch him where a teacher could easily find them! Plus, this would benefit him as well. He was on thin ice in a lot of his classes, a good midterm would give him a cushion.

August walked back into the office. Per usual, it was where Jabber hung around when he had time on his hands. This period was art class, which was skippable even with his newfound academic rigor. Lunch period would be directly after, so between those two things, he was all set.

She whistled, looking over Jabber, his now-pink cheeks (matching his still-swollen nose), the snacks scattered across the patient bed he was sitting on, and the spread of textbooks and worksheets. Her usual grin popped up, her loud, blunt voice reaching Jabber’s ears quickly: “Damn, Jabs, did a devil take you over?! What’s with all the schoolwork?! Aren’t you supposed to be a dumbass?!”

Jabber grit his teeth. Sure, he was bad in school, but he wasn’t dumb! He was… street smart.

He was going to bite back with that, but his brain caught up with him. August was a genius, a real, true-blue one. Maybe she would know how to get through this. She hated subjects outside of math and science, he knew, but she still passed those classes, so there must have been a trick.

He weighed his pride and stubbornness with August against what he had with Zanka, and decided Zanka weighed more heavily. He wasn’t sure how that happened, even with how fascinating the guy was. August had been his friend since he started at this school and she patched up his first bruises as a high schooler. However, this weird guy with tassel earrings (yet another thing that reminded him of cats; Cats loved tassels like that to play with) and eyes like the midnight sky had somehow overpowered that.

Jabber tried not to think about that too much. It was starting to give him a headache. Instead, he turned to August and said, “How do ya study shi’ ya hate?”

“Hmm? You’re trying to turn around your GPA or something?” she asked, sitting down at her desk. She was eating lunch early, it seemed, as she took out a healthy sandwich and an apple from her bag. Always the nutritionist. “Little too late for that, delinquent!”

“Nothin’ like that…” Jabber looked up at the ceiling. “Wanna get someone’s attention. They smart, so if I do better at tests—”

“—they’ll look at you,” she finished. “Yeah, fine, I get it. Weird for you to be so worried about someone else. You’re a real egoist normally.”

He huffed, but didn’t argue. Yeah, he was self-centered. Never would deny that. Even his focus on Zanka, honestly, was self-centered. It was all tied up in how Jabber felt, nothing about really caring about what Zanka thought of him, in the end.

“Sure, I’ll help.” She gnawed on her sandwich — scrambled eggs with meat and vegetables mixed in with a light layer of cheese. “You have to do me a favor, though! August Stilza doesn’t work for free!”

Jabber pouted. “Not even for a friend?”

“When that friend has all the time in the world, the friend status carries less weight.”

Hurtful, but fair. “Fine. Whatchu need, ma?”

She removed a paper from her desk and handed it over. “Just a store run. Need some household things for an experiment I’m running, and I hate going to stores like that. Too many normal people.” As much as Jabber knew she didn’t care if people judged her and stared, it got to a point where it was plain obnoxious, even if it wasn’t hurtful. Such was the life for freaks like them.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” They needed groceries back home, anyways, and Lord knew Dad wasn’t going to get them. Lazy bastard. Jabber took the list from August’s hands, folding it up and storing it in his seemingly bottomless pockets. Despite how much he tended to keep in them, he always knew where everything was. It was a sort of second sense. “So? How ya do it? Ya hate history ‘n’ English, yeah? How ya pay attention when it a drag?”

August tapped her chin, tilting her head. “I just… made it about something I like.”

“Huh?”

“I read mostly stories that involved science in their plots for book reports. I used scientific history to understand time periods. Everything’s easier if you relate it to something you like!” she grinned, looking over at Jabber. “Well, you’re a freak for fighting, so maybe focus on that! Look at depictions of battles instead of just reading them for history, make word problems in terms of brawling, that sort of thing!”

Jabber considered it. Yeah, that did sound better. Putting it in terms of how hard of a punch he could take instead of just solve for X sounded a lot less draining.

“Since the test is your motivation, you should be all locked in when it comes along. You’re good at that when you’re all competitive.” She tossed the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth. “For now, just learn it in a way that makes sense in your head, the rest will work later.”

“That was… weirdly helpful.”

August grinned. “Only ‘cause you’re doing my shopping.” She let out a whoop and went back to her food. Classic August.

Jabber decided to turn back to his work, pulling up his headphones so he wouldn’t be distracted by August’s stimming. It wasn’t bad in normal conversation, usually (though her volume control as abysmal), but when she ate or worked on something she enjoyed, it got pretty loud. He began looking over the required material, trying to think of scenarios to make things work in his head like August said.

History was an easier one. They were on the World Wars. Lots of violence. If he looked at the material through documentaries and photos instead of just plain text, it would be infinitely easier to process.

Next was chemistry. Mainly chemical bonds and fusion. He squinted at the equations. Fucking chemists had to be special, not even writing their problems like normal math. At least normal math he had a background in from earlier in life, even if he despised it. He sighed through his nose and took a look at the overviews. He could represent the binding process as a fight, one that ended with two rivals becoming friends. That would work well enough.

Math was a battlefield in itself, numbers fighting each other. If he could get the digits to process right, imagining a war on the page would be easy.

English. What book were they getting tested on again? Macbeth? Honestly, he hadn’t touched it. He picked up his phone and began searching the web for a summary. He skipped past the AI overview — those things always did a shitty job — and clicked on the GoodReads page. Not a website he ever touched, but he’d heard of it in passing.

What he hears will change everything. Egged on by his wife, he decides to kill in order to gain the Scottish crown. How many people will have to die in Macbeth's pursuit of power? With armies, ghosts and magic against him, will Macbeth survive in this tale of greed and betrayal? Getting the crown is one thing - keeping it is quite another.

Murder, war, blood… Damn, Jabber should’ve gotten past the weird way it was written sooner. He could work with this.

He scribbled down each plan in his notes and nodded to himself. This would be a good path. 

Zanka would fight him again and acknowledge him. He needed that rush again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zanka scoffed, looking down at a slouched Jabber at his desk.

Jabber groaned, sitting up a bit to look at Zanka. “Oooh, Zan-Zan…”

“Don’t call me that. You look like death. We still have cleaning duty today, why didn’t you go to Miss Stilza?”

He sat up, rubbing his face. He had overdid it, pulling a couple all-nighters this week. He was doing better with his studies, but at what cost? His entire body was aching, and not in the fun way that made him all warm inside. His head felt like someone had took a mallet to it (though, on the bright side on that front, his nose was looking better). His mouth was dry, his eyes stung, his lips were chapped…

“Just… doin’ some stuff.”

“Is ‘some stuff’ licking deadly viruses off petri dishes?” Zanka deadpanned.

Jabber blinked slowly before laughing loudly. He wasn’t realized this guy had a sense of humor. “Nah, twin, but I’d love that job!”

“…there’s something wrong with your head. Were you dropped as a child?”

His laughter didn’t stop. “Yeah, whole bunch!”

Zanka sighed in clear exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a shake of his head before he spoke again: “That… certainly explains a lot about you.”

“You real mean, y’know that?”

“I’m nice to most people.”

“Nahhh, you can keep bein’ mean. I like it.”

Zanka grimaced, a small bit of color rushing to his face. It was one of those odd expressions that Jabber, even with his strange senses, couldn’t put a name on. Zanka had more of those looks than most people he met. “What are you, a masochist?”

“Right again, man!”

“…seriously?”

Jabber shrugged, his laughter quieting down. “Ain’t really a sex thing most the time, if that what you thinkin’, but I do like it.”

Zanka processed that information silently, seeming to file it away, before accepting it. “I suppose that explains some things as well.” He sighed, reaching into his bag and pulling out some cold medicine. He offered it out to Jabber. “Take this and go home. With you in this condition, you’ll just slow down the work. I’m sure Miss Stilza will lie on your behalf and say you made it, and I can fill out your sheet. Our handwriting is similar, yours is just more messy.”

Another save from the star student.

Jabber was tempted to fight it and turn it down, but he realized this time didn’t have the same context as the other. There was no fight or reason that Zanka would put him down in the first place. It was just simple logic, something similar to what Principal Typhon himself would lay down. Not condescending, just thinking. 

“…you’re a complicated person,” Jabber mused, taking the pills from Zanka’s hand. “Can’t get a read on ya.”

“Maybe I prefer you didn’t.”

“That just be makin’ ya more interestin’.” Jabber swallowed the pills dry before getting up, tossing the medicine back to the transfer student. “I’mma be back tomorrow, trust, twin. Ain’t leavin’ ya to Zoldy’s Cleanin’ Dungeon of Doom alone forever.”

The faintest hint of what seemed to be a smile appeared on Zanka’s face. “I won’t be so nice tomorrow if you don’t deliver on that.”

“Win-win, then!”

Zanka scoffed. “Get out of here, freak.”

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice, kitty cat!”

Zodyl must have felt extra evil when he made that punishment for the two of them, because with a couple snow days, the last day of their cleaning duties was on the same day as their exams.

Jabber was already wiped from working all week, and the exams just added to that. Now he had to clean, too? What kind of bullshit was that? Fuck the puppy crush on Zodyl, he was going to kick that guy’s ass one day—

“You’re laaaaate! Lazy bum!” August declared, grinning at him as she passed him a cookie. 

“Your grandma send you more?”

“Yeah. She thinks I like them for some reason. Crazy hag!” She laughed without a care, grabbing Jabber’s bucket. “Grumpy cat is already making himself busy. I think he went to room 54B, if you want to work with him.”

Jabber took the bucket. “Maybe.” Though, on the other hand, he didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone really, even as social as he was. He wanted to crawl under a desk and pass out. Bickering with Zanka, while entertaining and a mood booster, wasn’t exactly what he needed right now. Then again, they did work quicker when they took on rooms together…

“How were exams?” August asked in a rare moment of care for someone else. Usually, she didn’t ask about Jabber’s life unless he was actively moping or messing with her office or the conversation was active and interesting.

“…y’know? Think I did good.” That wasn’t a feeling he had since early middle school when he still tried. He looked up at the ceiling. “The exams ain’t as bad as the textbook questions.”

August laughed a bit. “Yeah, textbook writers are real jackasses! At least it got you through!” She slapped Jabber’s back, making him cough.

“Oof— yeah, I guess so.” He looked down at his bucket. “I gave it my best, either way.” That was bound to show some improvement and, more importantly, was what Zanka was looking for. 

He couldn’t wait for that rematch.

He said his goodbyes to August before heading down the hall. His aim was the music room — if Zanks went to Hall B, he likely hadn't touched it yet. It would be an easy check on his list, considering not many people used the room on exam days. He leaned his head against the door briefly, feeling the cool wood against his face. Studying and testing were more exhausting than any fight he’d ever been in. He felt like he would fall down from pure strain at any moment. Weird how using the brain was more work than using the body sometimes.

Jabber groaned. He could take a nap when he got back home, skip out on his plans to go out. For now, he needed to focus on finishing up detention. He would skip, but it was the last day, and he didn’t feel like getting sentenced again when so close to freedom. He hesitated before hoisting his bucket up (it was starting to slip from his hand) and pulling the door open in one movement.

Surprisingly, Zanka was there already, on his knees to scrub the floor with carpet cleaner. His hair was draped around his face like a curtain, for once not pulled back at all. Tassel earrings brushed his cheekbones, his eyes focused on the floor he was scrubbing. Small beads of sweat were gathered at his temple from all the effort, slowly pulled down by gravity to trace the shape of his neck…

Jabber set down his bucket hard enough to make Zanka jump. The Asian boy squirmed, wide eyes on Jabber. He was perfectly startled, like an alley cat. Cute. “I thought you was in Hall B?”

“I was. Finished up.” Zanka rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought you wouldn’t come. You looked pretty wiped out during last period.”

“‘N’ risk Zoldy-bear’s wrath when I’mma be done today? Not a chance. ‘M a masochist, not a dumbass. ‘M not gettin’ stuck wit’ some second dumbass task ‘cause I skipped.”

Zanka blinked, before looking away. “I’d cover for you. Your attendance would probably affect mine, too, so I’d get things in order.”

“Always the pragmatic type.”

“Didn’t know you used words like pragmatic. I was under the impression you kept your vocabulary to a fifth grade level,” Zanka said. The rhythm of bickering during cleaning was familiar.

And… well, it surprisingly wasn’t draining, even if Jabber thought it would be. Normally, fun took energy, but this didn’t. A new burst of it came into his body as he spoke to Zanka, an easy smile spreading back to his face. Goddamn, Zanka was something else.

“Yeah? ‘Least I don’t just use big words to sound better than people,” Jabber said, getting down on his knees to help Zanka scrub.

“…I’m not.” Zanka looked away, getting back to work scrubbing. Another weird reaction in response to it being implied that he had any spot above people.

Weird.

“Ain’t ya tired?”

Zanka focused on his work. “Why?”

“Exams.”

“Japanese curriculum is different, and my academy was accelerated.” He dipped his towel in the soapy water, squeezing out any dirt. “The only thing I really had to study for was American history, so that made it significantly easier.”

“Oh.” That actually made sense with how Zanka breezed through classes. Even a genius had to study a bit to make sure things were memorized, but if you already knew it all from something previous, it was easy. “So ya ain’t some crazy genius.”

Zanka shook his head. “No. In fact, I detest those sorts of people.”

Jabber blinked. “You do?” That was surprising, coming out of Zanka’s mouth. A islike for talent wasn’t the rarest thing, many people had spite against it, but to have an explicit hatred for all people blessed with it wasn’t something Jabber expected. Especially from someone who seemed so outwardly blessed.

“Yeah.” There was a sigh as Zanka went back to scrubbing. “I mean, you can work all the days in the world, and it won’t mean a thing against someone who’s just naturally gifted.”

Jabber shrugged, getting the last of the grime on his side up. “Kinda pessimistic, yeah?”

“Is it wrong?”

“Yeah.”

Zanka didn’t pause again, but his hands did slow on the last corner he was working on. “What?”

“I mean… if the genius ain’t tryin’, how he gonna win?” Jabber threw his towel towards his bucket. It landed with a splat, perfect shot. He had been invited to the basketball team at one point, but his record made it so he couldn’t participate. “If he don’t go to the content or open the book, that kinda borin’, yeah? Talent only works if ya know what to do.”

“…you’re a freak.”

Jabber laughed a bit, nudging Zanka with his foot. The scratches on the guy’s face were almost healed, now to a point they didn’t need the closures. “So are you.”

“I’m not.”

He shrugged. “Deny whatchu wanna, but I see it. Lion, not a domestic shorthair.”

Zanka stiffened, staring at the ground. “…shut it.”

For once, Jabber did. He could be patient for this one piece. He could dig up the real Zanka with his grades in a few days. That was how he would issue his challenge. Everything was set and loaded.

Now Jabber just had to hope his exhaustion and hard work paid off in the end.

The day of exam postings was the one day Jabber ran for a school occasion and not a fight or to get out of classes. He had to make sure his position to be able to ask Zanka to a rematch was secured. Though the idea initially came from Zanka’s suggestion, he was excited. Though he’d held back against Zanka, he could tell the guy would make a good opponent. A real fight, one where he didn’t have to hold back just to reach the sweet pain he loved… that was a dream come true.

Jabber’s eyes scanned the rankings, looking for his name. He wasn’t first, that was Zanka. A little disappointing, considering how hard he worked, but to be expected. The guy had been walking circles around most of this content for years, by the sounds of it.

Second went to some girl he hardly talked to, Aria Winchester, was next. Then, Vice Principal Enjin’s favorite, Rudo Surebrec.

Fourth, though, he managed to get fourth in their class. Considering it was a smaller school (less than 100 kids per grade level), it wasn’t as impressive as if it happened at some other schools, but he’d take it. It was a huge improvement from bottom of the list, definitely showed effort. Now, he just had to hope Zanka noticed.

Zanka, at that moment, walked up to the rankings and surveyed them. Speak of the Devil. Jabber hummed to himself, waiting for him to have something to say. Would it be enough? It was a huge improvement, but—

“Huh.” Zanka glanced at the rankings, then his eyes met Jabber’s. “I thought you were a slacker.”

Jabber puffed out his chest, smiling. “Yeah, well, I can work hard, too, twin.”

Zanka surveyed Jabber, looking him over — The messy locs (he needed a retwist, but God be damned if he’d sit down long enough for one), the purple eyes bright with excitement, the tan skin, the toothy grin. His eyes sparked with something briefly, but it was gone before Jabber had the chance to identify it. He slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You said you wanted to fight again.”

Oh, fuck yes.

Jabber’s smile grew even further, jumping forward to close the gap between the two until his face was right up in Zanka’s. He wasn’t letting this guy get space now that he was being humored. “Today?” he asked eagerly.

Zanka sighed, checking his phone. “Fine. Classes today are optional since it’s score day, so we’re free.”

“Sooooo responsible, worryin’ ‘bout class.” Jabber put his arms behind his head, allowing his neck to rest. “A’ight, guessin’ we ain’t doin’ it in no school hall this time ‘round.”

“No.” Zanka typed something into his cell before shoving it in Jabber’s face to put some space between their faces. A location on a navigation app was displayed. “This place doesn’t have cameras and it’s low traffic, but it’s only a five to ten minute walk. It should be fine.”

Jabber whistled, looking at the location. “Damn, ya did research for a lil’ thing like this?”

“I like to be prepared.”

Jabber wrinkled his nose. Preparation was usually his enemy. Sure, he did it this time around, but even that was just working for a short period right before a deadline. It was boring, and Jabber ran on things that put a fire in his heart. “Whatever. Let’s go.” Jabber put an arm over Zanka’s shoulders, grinning. “Finna whoop you good, twin.”

Zanka sighed, knowing by now that there was no point in shrugging off that arm. That was progress, Jabber decided, even if it was just wearing the guy down. “I thought you said an average Joe stands a chance against a genius.” The two began to walk, Zanka leading despite Jabber looking like the dominant one from his position.

“But neither of us are geniuses.”

“But you are—”

“Nawwww, man. Just be fightin’ ‘nough that I got good at it.” Jabber shook his head, his locs brushing against his face. His entire life had been filled with it, from grappling in schoolyards to back alley brawls to conflicts that were closer to him. It was his lifeblood, his every thought other than drinks and smokes most days. 

Zanka scoffed. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then I gotta shows ya, yeah?”

“I guess so. This is the place, just down this turn is a good alley.” He nodded to the scrappy little street. Jabber knew of it, smoked there a bit when he was a sophomore, but he hadn’t been back in a bit. Place was just as trashy as he remembered.

“A’ight.” Jabber threw his bag against a dumpster to lighten his load. Zanka placed his down much more gracefully, giving Jabber a judgmental little glance. 

“We have rules this time.”

“Aw, c’mon, man—”

“Do you want to get in trouble again?”

Jabber zipped his mouth. Not just after getting out of maid duty.

Zanka began counting each rule out on a finger, looking directly at Jabber. “One: No hitting above the collarbone. Too obvious, someone will see at school tomorrow, and there’s just too much damage.”

That wasn’t awful. Jabber preferred to hit where there was more muscle anyways. It made the fight last longer, if you didn’t go for vital areas like that. Only reason he went for the face in the first fight was to catch Zanka’s attention. He nodded along. “Fine.”

“Two, how we win or lose. The loser will either cry uncle—”

Who the hell says “cry uncle”?

“—or the one that can’t move first. If the opponent can’t move, you’re done, no more fighting.”

Jabber smirked a bit, leaning in. “Oh, you scared to die?”

“More like I don’t want to die at your hand.” Zanka let out a noise close to his signature scoff, but wasn’t quite there. “There’s much better ways to go out than getting my face beat in by someone like you.”

“Is it ‘cause I’m—”

“If you say is it because I’m Black, I’m calling this off and going home.”

That shut Jabber up.

“Final condition.” Zanka held up a third finger, it staring Jabber down like he owed it money. “No talking about this, not in public. Not at school, not where anyone who knows me could hear. I don’t want to have another mark on my record because you want to fight. All sound agreeable?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I ain’t the braggin’ type ‘nyways. Can we start now? ‘M achin’ to feel those fists on me again. Gettin’ me all fired up.”

Zanka grimaced as though he was beginning to regret agreeing to this. He lifted his phone from his pocket, showing it to Jabber. “I’ll put a timer on my phone for 10 seconds. When it goes off, we can start. Sound fair?”

“Maaaaan, I’on care none if it fair! I just wanna fight!”

He seemed to take that as a yes, because he set up the timer and put his phone aside to avoid it getting broken. His next move was to change his stance — widening the distance between his feet, putting up his hands up in a way that could be used to both grapple and jab… Traditionally trained at some martial art, Jabber could tell. He’d fought guys like that before. (What art, exactly? Well, hell if he knew. He learned by doing, not by bowing to some old guy at a stuffy dojo.)

Jabber didn’t do any of that, staying relaxed in his place. He never really did preparation like that. His body moved how it wanted to. He didn’t need to tell it anything in order to do this — It was written all up in every bit of his body.

RRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGG! RRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGG!

That the worst fuckin’ alarm I ever hear, Lord Jesus—

He didn’t have time to finish the fight before Zanka charged. He moved his position, swinging back his leg and delivering a jab aimed at Jabber’s stomach. He didn’t have time to block, too distracted by that stupid alarm. It was an easy thing to land.

Nausea hit before the pain did. He gagged, his stomach lurching with his lunch that day (spicy curry leftovers). He held back the bile, stumbling back from the force. His eyes stung with tears, an automatic reflex. The agony came later, followed by a warm feeling in his veins that always came with injury. Familiarity, comfort.

Zanka was at it again in a blink, his body built for speed. A leg was lifting, approaching Jabber’s side. A blow to the ribs. 

There was a little voice in his head that told him to let himself get hit again. He made a promise, though. He was giving his best this time. He would make good on that.

Jabber’s body moved.

His leg slid back to balance his weight and one of his hands grappled the leg coming for him. A yank came next. Zanka yipped as he lost his balance, falling to the ground.

Jabber took his chance. He got on top of Zanka, pinning him down. His right hand cuffed Zanka’s wrists above his head, the rest of his body over top. His fist came up, ready to strike—

“Oof!”

Before he could, Zanka reacted. Two boot-clad feet landed against his torso, near that first punch to his stomach. It messed with Jabber’s center of gravity. He felt his body become a bit less stable, even if the force wasn’t enough to knock him off. However, Zanka was smart. The opening allowed him to flip them over again, landing a knee to Jabber’s ribs.

The pain was sharp, stabbing. It felt like hell, which was heaven to a masochist.

“Ah, fuck, yeah! Harder!” Jabber snarled, grinning up at Zanka. It was genuine, mostly, but he also had seen how Zanka reacted to his masochistic tendencies before. He had a guess on how this would work.

And he was right. Zanka hesitated.

Jabber yanked him off by the collar and slammed two fists hard into the nearest body part he could find. That was a shoulder.

Zanka cried out, his eyes widening.

Jabber figured he still had the advantage, raising his fist again instead of blocking. His arm swung down, this time aiming for Zanka’s stomach. A good blow to knock the air out. That would be good—

“Shit, hey!”

Zanka had caught his locs in his hands and was pulling. Oh, no, no one touched the hair. He had been growing out these locs for years, and he didn’t go through the awful starter stage just to have them yanked around—

He would’ve vocalized that if Zanka didn’t land another kick at his side, this time knocking him off.

Jabber wheezed. Fuck.

“I thought you said nothin’ ‘bove the collar, jackass!”

Zanka pointed at his own hair with a shrug, his face neutral. “I mean… your hair’s really long. Goes past your shoulders.”

“Fuckin’ wit’ me on a technicality? Seriously?”

“You got a problem with that, freakshow?”

Jabber didn’t answer, instead using Zanka’s judgmental distraction to slam an elbow into his chest.

Nah. He wasn’t letting that one slide.

Jabber wasn’t sure how long the fight lasted. Could’ve been five minutes. Could have been a year. Time didn’t work the same when adrenaline was driving you and your body was covered in bruises.

They had collapsed around the same time. As Zanka would phrase it, two average Joe’s who ran out of steam. Both were covered in bruises and other injuries that August would (likely gleefully) have to deal with the next day. There was no way either one of them was going to a hospital for something like this. Besides, August loved it when people came in with issues above her pay grade and (surprisingly for one so loud-mouthed) was good at keeping a secret.

For now, the two just laid there, breath heavy. It was quiet beside that sound, two worn-out teenage boys panting like they ran a marathon. Which, well, between the pain and the exertion, the level of energy exerted was probably similar.

Jabber hurt so good. His head was spinning, he couldn’t move his limbs with how bad they hurt, bits of blood had surfaced at his lips from how many hits he took to the torso…

It was the best fight of his life by a long shot.

He was too busy basking in the afterglow to speak for once, but his silence was interrupted by laughing.

At first, he thought someone had caught them, maybe someone Jabber knew. August would laugh like that at his current state, type of woman she was.

But, no. It was an unfamiliar laugh, but it was similar to a voice he recognized. And it came from right beside him.

Jabber managed to move his head enough to look at Zanka, and he was cackling.

It was the first time the guy had smiled in front of Jabber, and it was huge, like he was having the time of his life.

Jabber blinked, surprised at the sudden change in attitude, before joining in. Their laughter mixed together like sugar and butter, filling the air. He could tell right then — for sure this time, not just a hope or a hunch based on the sadist that he’d discovered beneath the shell:

This was the start to something that he’d never regret.