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It was just after a fight, the sun started to set, when the two of them were laying next to each other. Blood still gushing from their wounds, the fight considered a draw, or so he thought.
Silence lingered in the air, but not quite the comfortable one they started to get used to. It was weird, to say the least.
Usually after Fights, they, especially Jabber, would ramble for hours or they would simply enjoy each others presence.
But this time, was different.
They were quiet.
Too quiet..
He couldnt put his finger on it though, maybe it was just the high of Mankira's poison finally wearing off, leaving him drowsy and tired.
Jabber shifted slowly, facing the young man next to him. He suddenly felt uneasy.
Zanka was laying there, not moving - like at all.
"Hey Zanka?" He exclaimed, sounding uncharacteristically soft for him.
Jabber never really admit it to himself, but he actually felt something whenever he was with Zanka, even If it was just talking to him. He didn't need to fight to feel alive when he was close to the latter.
It made him feel weird, vunerable even. He disliked it, he disliked being seen as vunerable.
Showing his raw emotions made him feel disgusting, as if something inside him that was rotting and falling apart was finally shown to the world, something he had been trying to hide so desperately.
But secretly he longed for it, for the touch, the gentleness, the warm embraces him and Zanka sometimes shared after fights that made him feel sick to the stomach.
He needed it so bad, to be fixed, patched up,told he's okay and not alone, to be accepted and not left behind, abandoned in the dark pits of what felt like hell itself.
Jabber was laying there, starting at the disgustingly sweet cleaner, who, he finally admitted to himself, had stolen his heart. The only one that made him feel regulated, calm, accepted.
Jabber had been told all his life how weird he is, that somethings wrong with him, that he'd be better off dead. The first to have seen Jabber any differently - was Zanka. Zanka didn't question things, didn't question the way he is, he was just there for him.
So when Zanka didn't give an answer, Jabber felt his throat close up.
Slowly, Jabber sat up, now hovering over a very pale cleaner.
Oh god, why was he so pale?
Only now he did notice the huge pool of blood next to Zanka.
He felt panic rise up in his chest, carefully but hastily turning the man around.
His breath hitched.
Zankas once beautiful blue eyes were robbed of any life, his face completely pale, skin cold to the touch. Jabber panicked, he searched for any sign of life from the man, trying to find a heartbeat, feel his breath, or anything, really.
It was no use and he knew.
He knew Zanka was already dead, killed by his very own hands - yet he didn't give up.
His hands were starting to shake, soon his whole body was trembling.
He cupped Zanka's face with unsteady hands.
" No, no, no, no.." Jabber exclaimed under his breath. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?
This just can't be real, it can't. His vision started to blur, warm tears starting to flow down his cheeks, dripping one by one onto the lifeless body of what was supposed to be his one and only.
Where did he go wrong? He always knew he was a monster,he has always destroyed everything he had ever cared about.
Zanka was like a flower, delicate and beautiful, thriving with life, of course, a flower as such is doomed the second Jabber lays his eyes on it, wilting and falling apart at the touch of him. His mere presence was enough to make anything beautiful start rotting, he had never known it any differently - so why did he think that it would be any different this time?
He should have never believed that this time it would be different, that he would be different.
His throat hurt - had he been screaming? He did not know. Everything hurt.
He's held onto Zanka's hand as if he was holding onto his lifeline.
Softly taking the cleaner onto his lap, slowly cradling him in his arms, ugly sobs started to escape his throat. Tears spilling, as if there was no end to it. He felt himself falling apart, cracking open one by one, as if an animal he'd been suppressing was finally being let loose.
He didn't know what to do with himself, where to put himself, now that there weren't any oh so familiar arms to embrace and calm him anymore.
Jabber started talking, even though it made no sense, trying to get a response from the cleaner. A noise, a breath, a huffed laugh, saying it was all just a horribly mean prank that Jabber had fallen for. Anything.
Nothing.
Zanka was dead.
Slowly the realization started to weigh him down, a heavy blanket being put on him, choking him more and more with each passing minute.
Jabber always won, so why now? Why now, the one time he didn't want to win, why did he win?
Each and every hole in his heart which Zanka filled, was now left more empty than before. Every melody Zanka brought into his life, now replaced by an overwhelming silence.
Jabber was helpless, he didn't know what to do.
" I didn't even get to tell you how i felt -" I wanted to be with you, for the rest of my life, join the cleaners for you, believe that you love me, hold your hand forever. -
remained unsaid.
His head was buzzing as he was staring into nothingness, the darkness around him consuming him whole.
He felt empty, hollow. The hole in his chest started to grow bigger, threatening to eat him alive.
Silent tears were still streaming down his face.
He didn't want to let Zanka go, not now, not in 10 minutes, not in one week, not ever. He couldn't.
A silent decision was made.
He activated Mankira.
Glancing at her one last time, the moonlight making her shine in the most beautiful way, he gently caressed the beautiful pair of claws, saying his silent goodbyes to Mankira.
He would miss her.
He looked at Zanka one last time, taking in all his beauty , caressing his face.
Jabber bent down, placing a gentle goodbye kiss on top of the ice cold lips, which belonged to the cleaner laying on his lap.
Jabber took a sharp breath, slowly digging Mankiras claws into his stomach. Usually pain felt good, it usually made him feel alive. Not this time - he felt nothing but grief and guilt.
As his claws went deeper, blood started dripping onto the cleaner still laying in his lap.
Jabber injected scary amounts of poison into himself, knowing that there was no going back now. Looking at the gaping wound in his stomach together with the amount of poison he injected, he knows that he's going to be dead in the next 3 minutes.
He grabbed the cleaners hand, holding it for the last time. He thought of what could've been. Maybe they would have fought together for the cleaners. Maybe they would have married.
He could not change things now.
Slowly bleeding out, his hands were starting to tremble.
He didn't want to let go of Zanka yet, but it was starting to become hard to concentrate and hold himself upright.
As his vision started to fade, head throbbing, he never stopped thinking of Zanka.
He slowly felt his body giving in, falling backward, thoughts starting to fade, his vision going out.
Maybe in another universe we could've been together .
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It was hours after their fight, the sun having finally set, when the two of them were laying with each other. Blood having stopped spilling long ago, the fight considered a draw.