Chapter Text
The bell above the door rang a lot during spring.
Once. Twice. Four times before noon.
By the fifth, Zanka barely looked up from the half-finished stencil spread across his station.
The shop was always busy. People came and went with ideas scribbled on napkins, photographs crumpled in their pockets, crazy ideas that took weeks of time they didn't have, or drunken confidence they would regret in less than a week. The bell ringing wasn't anything special.
The fifth time, however, made his hand pause.
A familiar jingle of metal accompanied the sound of the door opening, footsteps heavier than his heart.
"You miss me already?"
Zanka looked up, barely.
Jabber stood in the doorway with a grin sharp enough to cut skin, sunlight catching on the rings hanging from his ears and fingers. Fresh ink curled across his light brown arms—ink Zanka recognized immediately.
His work.
Again.
Zanka rolled his eyes and returned to his sketchbook.
"You're gonna run out of space eventually."
He spoke and, for a while, didn't look away from the paper.
Jabber laughed as he dropped into the chair across from him, manspreading like usual, always sitting backward with his arms resting on the headrest. His smirk grew wider, and the two snakebites on his lip caught the sunlight.
"Then you'll just have to get creative."
The worst part was that he wasn't joking.
Most clients came once. Maybe twice if they were particularly happy, even with how famous the shop was.
Jabber came back every other day.
For touch-ups.
For new designs.
For lame excuses.
And lately, Zanka couldn't decide if the guy liked getting tattoos, or if he just liked coming back to him—liked gazing into those blue eyes and telling him elaborate stories to mark on his skin.
"Next thing you know, you'll have no skin to get creative with."
Zanka spoke with a slight raise of a pierced brow, his hair down for once and hanging slightly in his face. He was casual at best, wearing a navy blue tank top and comfy jorts. Honestly, he was surprised no one—especially his nosy coworker Enjin—had said anything.
"Well, we can make it work. Next thing you know, I'll be askin' for your name on my back, pretty boy."
Jabber snickered.
"Don't get too bold. If you ask again, the ink'll kill me, and you'll have to go to someone else for once to get 'R.I.P.' added next to those pretty letters, Zanka."
Zanka hummed, raising a brow as he finally met Jabber's eyes.
Of course Jabber was smirking.
"Good idea. Just not the dying part."
Zanka ignored him.
"What do you want this time?" he asked, tapping the pen against his forehead with nimble fingers.
"A blowjob would be nice, but if you really just can't, then I guess I'll have to get some sick-ass poisonous shit, man."
He snickered, taking the blonde-and-brunette's pen and twirling it through his ringed fingers before flicking it into the air.
Zanka snatched it back midair.
"That's a no."
He stood and began gathering his tools.
"Well, I'm busy now. Let's schedule for tomorrow."
His voice sounded tired.
Jabber whined.
"Zankaaa, my man! I can't wait. It's suuuper urgent."
"Too bad. Go talk to Semiu. I'm on my break now. Bye."
He smiled mockingly before shrugging and turning toward the break room to grab his food, passing by Enjin and Riyo with their own clients.
Jabber called after him.
"Bye, Mr. Bad Attitude!"
Zanka rolled his eyes, not even needing to turn around to picture the smirk stretched across Jabber's stupidly perfect teeth.
Or the way Semiu didn't even bat an eye from her erotic magazines.
...