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The evening sun filtered through lace curtains floating in the breeze. Zanka sat back against his headboard in the infirmary room, staring blankly out the window beside his bed. This seemed to be his daily routine recently—wake up, reach for his Lovely, only to remember she wasn't there, and fall into an even deeper despair than the day before.
He couldn't bring himself to get out of bed even to do the most mundane things such as brushing his teeth or taking a shower. All he wanted to do was help the others in their restless search for his vital instrument, but he wasn't cleared to leave bed rest.
Ever since the fight with Mymo, ever since losing Lovely Assistaff, Zanka felt little joy in anything. Riyo had tried to cheer him up, Rudo and even Amo too, but they all quickly realized there was little they could do when something so precious to him, something akin to part of his soul, has been ripped away from him.
So instead of doing anything, instead of trying to confide in someone about how he felt, he stared out the window like it held all the answers. And maybe it did.
After a moment, Zanka sighed, deciding that he needs to stretch his legs. Maybe he should go to the bathroom, at least wash his face so he doesn't feel so grimy.
His legs wobbled when his weight shifted to his feet, unsteady and weak from laying in bed all day. He instinctively reached for his staff beside the bed to steady himself, realizing once again she was still lost. His brows furrowed, hand planting on the wall to keep him upright until he felt that he could walk.
And walk he did, clutching his side and hissing with each step. He passed a supporter whose name he couldn't quite remember and tried not to look too pathetic under his pitiful gaze.
"Here, lemme help," the supporter offered their arm, to which Zanka shot him an appreciative smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He declined, still stubborn even as he walked through hell just to get to the bathroom.
The halls were far too quiet for HQ. All the other members of Akuta were out searching for his vital instrument while he was stuck here, barely able to walk without stumbling.
Well, quiet spare for August's workshop.
His loud shouting and blasting music hurt Zanka's ears. He grimaced as he walked past the workshop, peering in momentarily to see what could possibly have the man so worked up. It seemed that he was designing a new outfit for his clothing line; Collosso, or something like that. Zanka admired the work, not so much the methods.
He then turned back to continue towards the bathroom. It wasn't much farther up ahead, just around the corner at the end of the hallway.
But as he turned the corner, he collided with something hard.
"Oof, shit," Zanka let out, the impact knocking the wind out of him when he was already wobbling on unsteady feat. For a split second he suspected he had miscalculated the turn and slammed into the wall. That's when a pair of smaller, sturdier hands grasped his forearms and prevented him from stumbling backwards.
"Be careful, you're still injured."
That voice makes his eyes snap open.
Zanka looked down at the girl who caught him, the strikingly white bob and piercing eyes he could never forget boring into him.
He froze, an overwhelming sense of dread creeping up his spine. Why is she here?
All of those repressed feelings of self-hatred and inferiority came rising back to the surface at the sight of her. Zanka thought he was past this, that he had healed since the days he spent inside that well.
But as Hyo walked past him and into August's workshop, he felt for the first time in a long, long time hopelessness.
He couldn't win against Jabber.
He couldn't win against Mymo.
His treasure, his Lovely Assistaff was missing when he needed her the most.
And now Hyo waltzed right back into his life like she was meant to torment him once again. Torment him with everything he wasn't.
Suddenly Zanka needed to get to the bathroom.
He hurriedly rounded the corner and pushed open the door to the men's room, not bothering to lock the stall as he fell to his knees. All those emotions retched out of his stomach and into the bowl until all he could taste was his own worthlessness.
He hadn't changed at all. He was still that average little boy who pretended to be someone he was not.
A fake surrounded by natural talents and geniuses.
It wouldn't stop; Zanka vomited until nothing came out, but even the empty stomach wouldn't dull the pain he felt in his chest. He hadn't realized he had been crying until his lashes fluttered open and he saw the tear drops that had landed on the toilet seat.
All he wanted right now was to hold his Lovely Assistaff until he passed out At least she understood what it felt like to be a fraud.
He stared into the toilet bowl for what felt like hours. Time seemed to drag when his mind was reeling about everything that had happened in the last couple months. Eventually he forced himself up, flushing the toilet and wiping his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. His legs threatened to give out as he hobbled over to the sink to rinse his mouth from the taste.
After he spat into the sink, he reluctantly lifted his head to look at his own reflection. How dare he let himself believe he could get better.
Zanka couldn't take the pathetic sight of himself, hand rising without fully registering his actions. His fist pummeled into the mirror, shattering the glass and cutting up his knuckles. He punched it again and again, until red dripped down his hand and onto the counter. At least the pain distracted him from the turmoil wracking his brain.
And he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel good to feel the pain he deserved.
The walk back to the infirmary felt like miles. He passed by August's workshop again but couldn't bring himself to even glance in that direction. He couldn't take another visual of the girl that had originally sent him down that spiral.
When he pushed open the door to the room, though, he was met with something even more disturbing.
"Oh heeey, there you are!"
Zanka was sure he was in hell.
"Ooo shit, whatcha do to your hand, man?"
On the bed squatted the other genius he hated more than anything right now. Those infuriatingly pretty magenta eyes felt mocking as they gazed at him, rays from the setting sun illuminating Jabber's skin like gold.
He wasn't in his Raider uniform, Zanka couldn't help but notice. Even still, Mankira caught the light on his fingers and almost sparkled. Instead of the usual purple attire Zanka was used to seeing him wear, he was dressed in a simple graphic t-shirt, with words he couldn't read due to the posture, and camo cargo shorts that frayed over the knees.
"I'm not in any position to fight you," Zanka sighed after staring for way too long, leaning against the door frame like a crutch. He was sure he looked even more pathetic than he felt, and he could tell by Jabber's raised eyebrow that he knew Zanka was vulnerable.
Even so, those magenta eyes remained dull, Mankira in her simplest form as rings adorning Jabber's knuckles.
"Good thing I ain't here to fight," Jabber huffed, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck almost— sheepishly? Zanka couldn't tell if a blush was what warmed his cheeks or if it was the sunlight. "Well, maybe I was, but it ain't no fun if you're already dead on your feet."
Jabber reached down off the bed on the side Zanka couldn't see and pulled something up off the ground.
And there, in the hands of his enemy, was his precious staff, her blue wood glowing in a way he had never seen before.
Instantly Zanka was at her side, hands hovering over the staff like he couldn't believe it. His eyes flickered up to Jabber's, who nodded and gently urged him to take her. Zanka's arms wrapped around the stick, cradling her against his chest and nuzzling his face into her. She was clean and oiled like someone had been taking care of her this whole time. The smell of her wood comforted him now more than ever and before he knew it he was crying again.
Quiet sobs wracked his body, trembling from the relief he felt now that his Lovely Assistaff was back in his arms. But sobs soon melted into laughter; laughter at the absurdity of it all. Crying in front of the man that had almost killed him, twice, and simultaneously the same man that brought his treasure back to him.
Jabber seemed confused at first at the laughter, then snorted himself, posture relaxing over the bed. Zanka hadn't realized Jabber had been tensed in the first place.
"Didn't even hafta drug you this time," he referenced, leaning back on his hands and respectfully averting his gaze back toward the open window.
Zanka glanced up at Jabber, cracking a small smile at the joke even if it brought back more painful memories of their previous fight.
"Why.. Where'd ya.. Thank you," Zanka sniffled, hands grasping his staff so tight like he physically couldn't let go. He probably wouldn't let her out of his hands for the next few days. "Where was she..?"
Jabber returned his attention to Zanka, analyzing the sight before him. His eyes lingered on the tear tracks adorning rosy cheeks before dragging down to the busted knuckles that gripped the stick.
"Lyin' on that stage where that.. that thing was," Jabber murmured, reaching out towards the bleeding hand. Zanka jerked back like he was going to take his stick, lip wobbling pathetically at the thought of being away from her for one more second.
Jabber gave him a look, as if to say really? and Zanka bit his lip out of slight embarrassment.
He guided Zanka's hand off the staff and he couldn't tell if the grimace on his face was because of the pain of his injuries or because he let go. He inspected the busted knuckles, noting the bits of glass that had pierced his skin.
"Took me a while to find ya, but i took care of her in the meantime," he murmured, using his shirt to wipe the blood off Zanka's knuckles.
Zanka watched the interaction curiously as Jabber cleaned his hand and plucked the glass out of his skin with his shirt. He could read it now, and it seemed to be some type of chemistry pun. It was a bit washed out but it read "Never trust atoms—they make everything up!"
"What were you doin' at the doll festival?" Zanka asked, his free hand flexing against his Lovely to adjust his grip on the wood. He tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest at the feeling of Jabber's hand holding his, even if it was only to clean his injury.
Jabber clicked his tongue at the question, the corner of his lips pulling up in a sly grin. He pulled his attention from Zanka's hand to stare back at him, eyes glowing with that playful mischief Zanka recognized anywhere.
"I bet you'd love to know, Zan-Zan," he purred, the nickname rolling off his tongue and regrettably sounding the music to Zanka's ears, as much as he hated to admit it. "But that's Raider intel. I did get to watch you fight though, and that hit you landed on Mymo was dope as hell! Wish you'd pull that move on me!"
Zanka's cheeks warmed instantly at the praise and he ducked his head in an attempt to hide the flush. He was used to praise from Enjin, but hearing it from Jabber was something else entirely.
Why? he thought. Why did the praise feel so good coming from his enemy?
Coming from the person he needed to prove himself to?
He was drawn from his thoughts when Jabber released his hand. He inspected his knuckles, the blood mostly gone from his fingers. The glass had been removed too, and Zanka couldn't help but blush further at the embarrassment. An enemy to their organization, laying in Zanka's bed—or really, the infirmary bed, which has lately felt like home away from home—and patching him up like they were friends. What would Riyo or Enjin or fucking Rudo say if they knew about this?
He watches Jabber stand then, stretching his arms above his head like a cat.
"Ya might wanna pour some hydrogen peroxide on those if ya have any and bandage 'em. Trust me, infected knuckles ain't no joke," he murmurs, thumbs rubbing over his rings. Zanka wonders if that's a nervous fidget or a show of affection.
When he turns back towards the window, Zanka reaches out, hand entirely missing Jabber's wrist.
"Wait, Jabber.."
He called out before he could stop himself. Jabber looked back over his shoulder, and for a moment, Zanka forgot they were on opposite sides. The Raider looked so soft, so harmless, as light from the setting sun danced over his features. He doesn't know if he'll be able to get the sight out of his mind.
Maybe he was allowed to think of Jabber as a friend for now. Now that he brought his treasure to him. They were both off the clock anyway.
"What, ready to fight now?" Jabber grinned, hand flexing at his side as if to show off his powerful rings. But something in his eyes lacked confidence. Like he was already out of his comfort zone by staying to hear him out.
"Do ya.." Zanka trailed off, holding his vital instrument closer to himself. He couldn't believe what he was doing, asking Jabber of all people something so stupid. "Do ya think I'm weak?"
Jabber was caught off guard by the question, to say the least. His smile faded slowly. He stood frozen for a moment before sitting back down on the bed, this time beside Zanka, leaning back against the headboard.
"A little," Jabber spoke, eyes trained on his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he could see how Zanka visibly stiffened, expression dropping at Jabber's words.
"But only 'cause you're holding yourself back," he continued, building up the courage to face Zanka now. "All this 'average' bullshit. I've seen you pull some insanely technical moves, man, and you've got crazy high battle intelligence. Trust, you're not average."
Zanka's eyes narrowed at Jabber's words. He's heard them before, Enjin and Riyo have had this talk with him multiple times. But hearing them from an outside perspective, from someone who has no reason to have a bias towards him, made him begin to rethink.
Jabber's hand shifted over the sheets, finding the one Zanka had used to reach out for him. First his fingertips brushed against Zanka's, giving him a chance to pull away, before lacing their fingers together and holding their hands up between them.
"You an' that stick of yours got some crazy power you just haven't tapped into yet," he murmurs, bringing their hands closer to himself and brushing his lips over Zanka's busted knuckles.
Zanka goes rigid, and he can't tell if its from the stinging pain or the action itself. Maybe it was both, because Jabber and Zanka weren't fated to be affectionate without pain.
"I just hope I'm the one on the recieving end of your rage when you do."
And without even realizing it, too distracted by the oddly comforting words and confusing emotions Jabber was making him feel, Mankira had been activated and pierced Zanka's leg, just deep enough to pump the poison into his bloodstream.
"Motherf— ughh.." Zanka groaned in pain, hand leaving Jabber's and shooting for his leg on instinct. By the time he activated his vital instrument, the paralytic began to set in, and Zanka could barely muster the strength to point Lovely Assistaff at Jabber before it fell to the bed beside him.
"Oopsies~" Jabber sing-songed, standing from the bed abruptly and clearing his throat like he still needed to ruin the mood. "Don't worry, 's not anythin' lethal. By the time I hop outta this window you'll prob'ly be movin' again."
Zanka's eyes glanced away from his leg back up at Jabber, brows furrowed in anger at the man. He made Zanka's heart race so quickly in his chest by kissing his hand, only to go and poison him like it meant nothing.
Or it did mean something, and that was the issue.
The pink glow from Jabber's eyes dulled as Mankira returned to her rings. Zanka wondered how such pretty jewelry could be so deadly.
"Later, Zan-Zan," Jabber hummed, already halfway out the window. "Think ya might have another visitor~"
Zanka watched him jump from the window and into a newly opened manhole-portal, his body disappearing into the swirling blue and green hues. Then the portal dissipated into thin air, leaving him alone once again.
Except now he had his precious treasure back.
A knock on the infirmary room door tore Zanka's attention from the window, paralytic wearing off quickly just like the Raider had said. He turned towards the sound, and a white bob poked its head around the door.
Zanka scrambled to sit up, hands grasping his staff and shoulders tensed when the girl stepped inside. She was holding a plate of food, cold eyes meeting his across the room.
"Eishia said you hadn't eaten dinner," Hyo spoke, voice cracking slightly and quickly covered up by clearing her throat. "Basic Hell Guard training taught us to eat three meals a day lest we become malnourished."
Zanka seemed to relax, albeit still confused as to why Hyo was even here. Then he remembered August ranting and bragging about his new model, one with "pale eyes and even paler hair", and it suddenly clicked.
Hyo's a model now..?
He cracked a small smile at the nice gesture, but he didn't understand. He hadn't exactly given her the warmest welcome to the organization.
"Thanks, I suppose," he laughed, a bit forced but a laugh nonetheless.
Her eyes trailed down to the staff lain across Zanka's lap, and they seemed to soften at the sight of it. She could tell it was something precious.
Hyo stepped further into the room, like she didn't know if she was allowed closer. Eventually she made her way over to his bedside and placed the plate on the nightstand.
Zanka looked up at her then, and he realized that this can't be the same girl he met years ago in the Academy.
Or maybe he never really knew her all too well.
"I always admired you for choosing the stick, you know."