Chapter Text
“Zankaaa. Wake up,”
Jabber is rocking him back and forth with his hand on his shoulder, and still hardly a response from him. He was getting ready for class when he realized it was Thursday, and Zanka should have been up and getting ready at the same time. Zanka is infamous for taking forever to get up, but this seems a little excessive, even for him.
Zanka finally groans loud enough to get Jabber to stop.
“Five minutes,” Zanka mumbles into his pillow. Jabber can barely hear him all muffled like that. He takes his hand back. Zanka buries himself further in his sheets so that Jabber doesn’t keep bothering him.
Jabber has been rooming with Zanka in this dorm for the last seven months. He had never met him before move-in day. Jabber had opted for a random roommate because the choice didn’t matter to him, and Zanka had evidently signed up too late, and ended up with a stranger as a result. Zanka is absolutely not a morning person, and Jabber usually ends up trying to wake him up like this, but he always makes it to class on time anyway.
Jabber knows him fairly well by now. Maybe a little too well.
Jabber heads back to their shared bathroom to finish getting ready. Brushing his teeth, washing his face. He throws some eyeliner on too, he’s been liking that recently, and makes sure he has all of his rings on before he decides he’s ready to go. He inspects them for a few seconds. He thinks he'll borrow the ultrasonic cleaner at the lab to get these clean today.
When he shuts off the lights in the bathroom and walks back into their room, he’s surprised to see Zanka is still in bed, still buried way underneath his blankets without any sign of getting up. That’s a little unusual for him, but maybe his class schedule is different today.
“Hey. I'm leavin’,” Jabber tells him as he approaches his bed, and slings his bag over his shoulder. Zanka doesn’t react at first, and Jabber opts for letting him sleep and heading out, but Zanka finally shifts and turns himself around.
“Wait,” he starts, his eyes blinking to adjust to the light.
He never says what he wants, but Jabber can tell. They've sort of created a habit out of this.
Jabber dips down to kiss him. He doesn't intend on it being drawn out in any way, but Zanka makes it clear that's what he wants right now. He cups Jabber's cheek and kisses him back, and a heavy, shaky breath comes with it.
“Whoa there, princess,” Jabber giggles, not expecting this from him so early. Clearly, he still has some energy left from them fooling around last night.
“Don't call me that,” Zanka groans, but Jabber knows he likes it. He loves it. Jabber thinks there might be something behind it, but Zanka likes being called feminine things.
Zanka keeps it going, biting Jabber's lips while he tries to keep kissing him.
“All bothered this early? Damn,” Jabber says, a little breathless and totally amused. If he didn't have to be in class this morning, he'd probably already have his clothes off. “It’s like, not even seven.”
Zanka's breath is hot. His skin feels warm. Jabber’s imagination fizzles out as he wonders if Zanka's running a fever. It would explain why he’s still in bed.
“You sick, babe?” Jabber asks him while he's close to his face.
That seems to shut things down pretty quickly. Zanka looks offended by the accusation. “No.”
“You’re hot,” he says, straightening up and laying a hand against Zanka’s forehead. Zanka is stunned still for a second while Jabber gets a better feel, and his skin is definitely too warm. “Ya’ didn’t feel like that last night.”
“I’m fine. ’s hot in here,” Zanka grumbles, taking his sheets back and turning around. Jabber’s pretty damn sure he has a fever. Zanka has complained about Jabber keeping their room too warm before, but Jabber has gotten really used to how Zanka’s skin feels, and that wasn’t normal.
“If ya’ fine, then you should get readyyy,” Jabber reminds him, reaching out to grab his shoulder again, but Zanka pulls away.
He doesn’t say anything that time, and his face is turned away so Jabber can’t see him. Jabber pouts. Zanka does this sometimes, completely shuts him out when he’s pissed, but Jabber doesn’t think it’s warranted this time. He’s just a little concerned about a fever.
“Well, I’m goin’ for real, now.”
Still no answer.
Damn.
Jabber doesn’t usually let stuff like this get to him, and he hasn’t, but it’s weird. Zanka hasn’t given him the silent treatment in a while, and he doesn’t get why it needed to happen over this - but then again, he’s never seen Zanka sick before. Maybe he’s just more irritable when he’s not feeling well. Fair enough, right?
How you feeling?
Jabber is staring at their message thread. Zanka hasn’t texted him back. It’s been at least three hours by now, and Jabber is nearing the end of his second class.
It's not unusual for him to not text back. He's a terrible texter, the type to mentally respond and forget to actually reply, but Jabber's a little concerned. He didn't think too much about it this morning, but he doesn't think Zanka has ever skipped a class, and he knows for a fact he had one this morning.
Dont leave me hangin princess
He texts again, and puts his phone down on the desk, but reaches out to grab it and check for a reply just a minute later.
Damn. He’s really got him good.
Jabber gathers all his things when their class finishes, and manages to not pick up his phone until the end, but there’s still nothing from Zanka. He groans to himself. Once he’s in the hallway, he decides to attempt to facetime him, so that his phone will at least go off. So he knows Jabber’s trying to get ahold of him. He always has his ringer on.
No answer, and enough rings to make Jabber confident that he didn’t decline the call himself. Maybe he’s in class. It would make perfect sense why he wouldn’t reply if he’s in class.
He thought about it, a few weeks ago, sharing Zanka’s location with himself. He knows his passcode. He thinks Zanka might be a little weirded out if he ever found out about that, but Jabber doesn't really care.
Jabber stops by the on-campus coffee shop to pick up something for the both of them. He usually does on Thursdays, because Jabber will get back an hour before Zanka, and they’ll walk to the library to study together. He’s hoping he’s still up for that. He’s hoping he’s not actually sick.
Jabber fumbles with the key for their room between the two coffees he’s holding, not very gracefully, but manages to do it without spilling anything. He pushes open the door to their dorm room with his shoe, expecting not to see Zanka at all, but he's laying on the floor in between their beds, half-tangled in his comforter.
That's not good.
He walks inside, closing the door behind him with his shoe.
“Zanka…the floor's not for sleepin’,” he tells him, setting aside their coffees on his desk, and crouching beside him with a hand on his shoulder. Zanka only groans in response, unintelligible mumbling. “C'mon, get up.”
Zanka manages to sit himself up with shaky arms, but he's pressing a hand against the side of his head like it hurts. Jabber wonders if he fell and hit it on the way down, or if it's a headache that's just a symptom of whatever illness he's contracted. Either way, he is definitely sick, and he wasn’t warm for no reason this morning. He can see that clear as day right now.
He's staring forward, and blinking a little more often than he should be. He's definitely really out of it, much more than this morning. Jabber reaches forward to feel his forehead, and he's hot.
“Ouch,” he jokes as he pulls his hand away, shaking his hand out like he’s burned himself, but Zanka doesn't really react to that. “Looks like ya’ sick for real.”
Jabber crosses his legs and sits across from him, waiting for him to wake up a little more before he decides what they should do. He's obviously got a fever, but Zanka would seriously hate if Jabber took him to the clinic over that, even though Zanka has done that to Jabber before for less. Does he have fever reducers laying around somewhere? He's pretty sure there's some in the tote he uses. He'll sneak it into his food if he has to.
Zanka's gaze sort of starts to focus, but not in a way that makes Jabber think he's suddenly going to be super responsive. He’s breathing weird.
“Y’want your coffee?” Jabber asks.
“‘m gonna puke,” he mumbles back.
“Oh, shit, uh…okay,” Jabber says, not really expecting that turn, but at least reacting quickly enough with the warning he got. There's a trash bin under his desk that he reaches for and hands to Zanka with just enough time.
He gags kind of unproductively the first time, but pretty soon after a rush of vomit comes up with enough force that it leaves Zanka coughing afterward. He groans in between, spitting up the saliva that’s pooling in his mouth. He gags again, and nothing comes up except for spit.
He looks miserable. His hair is sort of stuck to his forehead from the sweat, saliva shining his lips as he breathes over the can, silently praying that there won’t be any more of that. Jabber can’t help but reach forward and brush his hair away so it’s not in his eyes.
“That the first time t’day?” Jabber asks him. Zanka manages to nod. Swallows. That’s good, at least he hasn’t been sick enough to his stomach that he’s already puked before now. “You better not have somethin’ contagious. I got an exam tomorrow.”
Zanka presses a hand against his stomach with a groan, spitting out more watery saliva before pushing the bin away. A fever, a headache and he's throwing up, it's probably a stomach bug. Jabber has a wicked immune system, so he's not actually worried about catching whatever this is, but he's never seen Zanka this sick before.
“Lemme go find you some meds,” Jabber says, pushing himself up off the floor to check his dresser for his tote bag.
He finds it easily, and digs around for a few minutes to find two Advils. Zanka’s not going to like that these were loose in his bag, but Jabber knows for a fact what they are, and they’re not expired, he thinks. He turns around after closing his closet, and finds that Zanka is trying to lay back down on the floor.
“Hey, you can't sleep on the floor,” Jabber tells him, a little smile of amusement growing on his face. “‘S gonna hurt like a bitch when you wake up.”
He crouches down to wrap a hand around Zanka’s waist, and help him up. Zanka’s legs are shaky, but he manages to hold himself up on his own, his hands bracing himself on the bed.
“You got it,” Jabber encourages. Zanka looks like he’s so dizzy that he can’t see straight for a few seconds. Once he’s adjusted, he sees the trash bin he’s thrown up in the floor, and turns his head away with a groan.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, “S’gross.”
“At least y’didn’t puke on me this time,” Jabber giggles. That was just a month after they met at a party Zanka had one too many drinks at despite not being able to tolerate alcohol well at all, and Zanka groans at the memory. He hates whenever Jabber brings it up, but honestly, it was weirdly cute. His reaction, anyway.
Zanka crawls back onto his bed after a minute or so with Jabber's help, and presses his palms against his eyes. Jabber opts to close the blinds and just turn on a desk light instead, in case that’s causing him a headache, because it’s been an issue before.
Jabber’s holding the two pills and Zanka’s water bottle in the other hand, displaying them to Zanka once his hands fall away from his face, and he squints up at him.
He shakes his head with a groan, pulling his sheets up to his eyes.
Jabber lifts a brow. “Uh, not an option.”
“I’ll b’fine,” he mumbles, now hiding his face completely.
“Nuh-uh.”
“It’ll go’way,” Zanka insists.
He has a really weird complex about taking medication. This isn’t the first time Jabber’s tried to argue with him about this.
“Zankaaa. This’ll make ya’ feel better,” Jabber tries to tell him. The fever, at the very least.
“It’ll go’way faster if I jus’...power through,” he groans, peeking past the end of the comforter.
“Says who?” Jabber asks suspiciously.
Zanka doesn’t respond.
“Ya’ sister, huh?” he asks.
Zanka groans yet again.
“That's the role model ya’ goin’ with? Hell no,” Jabber huffs, “Jabber says take the damn drugs.”
“Who says I gotta listen t'you,” he complains.
“Ya’ sister ain't the one helpin’ you study, for one.”
Zanka finally gives in, because there’s definitely no arguing with that. His sister’s been pretty much useless to him since he moved out of that house.
He sits himself up, and Jabber can tell by the way he’s moving that he’s in pain. Stiff movements, reflections of pain in his eyes, and tense, careful breaths. Jabber can’t tell if it’s his stomach or his head or something else, but he knows Zanka won’t be honest with him about it if he’s that difficult about taking medication, and Jabber’s deciding he doesn’t want to waste any time arguing with him, the way he is right now.
Zanka lifts the pills up to his mouth, but something makes him stop and hesitate. He lifts up his other hand to press a fist against his lips, and he gags.
“That nauseous, huh?” Jabber says halfway under his breath, picking up the trash bin for him just in case that was what was coming. That’s not good.
Zanka sits there and breathes through his nose for a few seconds trying to will away the nausea, and Jabber takes the pills from his hands and sets them on his own desk. It’s not worth forcing him to take something that he’s going to puke back up.
“Maybe you need’a lay back down and get some sleep,” Jabber tells him.
Zanka groans to himself, and crawls back into his bed.
He’s wondering what he should do. He knows there’s a clinic on campus, but he doesn’t know at what point he should utilize that sort of thing, or if Zanka would ever be compliant enough for something like that. Chances are never in a million years.
But maybe he’s thinking about it too much. This might just be a twenty-four hour bug. It is that time of year, after all.
Zanka sleeps for several hours, which is super unlike him.
He has a terrible sleep schedule, but Jabber isn't any better, and probably does a good job of encouraging that behavior. He doesn't think Zanka's ever slept this long, continuously, in his life.
Jabber feels his forehead every now and then. He's hot, but not hot enough that he worries about taking him to a doctor. He doesn't have a thermometer, but he'd guess around a hundred and one or so. Every time he checks, he’s hoping it’s cooler, but his skin feels worse, hot and clammy. He sees sweat start to dampen his hairline again. That’s got to feel awful.
He doesn’t really stir at anything that Jabber does, not even when he accidently knocks his entire backpack off of his desk. He stares back, sort of ready to take the heat for it, but Zanka doesn’t even make a noise of complaint. He wonders if he got any sleep at all the night before.
Zodyl calls him at some point. He doesn't like wasting time waiting on text messages replies, so Jabber isn't put off by that notification.
“What's up, boss?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“My roomie's sleepin’.”
“Oddly considerate of you,” he says. “I reserved the study room we're usually in. Momoa is here. Cthoni will be here soon as well.”
Jabber totally forgot he said he'd study with their usual lab group. “Oh. Uh…”
“What?”
“I can't…come. My roomie's actually sick, and, I don't want you guys to catch any of that,” he says. It's an honest answer, but the real answer brings up too many questions.
“That's fine. Good luck tomorrow.”
Zodyl never wastes time on the phone, and he hangs up before Jabber can say anything else.
Man, this is totally not him. Jabber’s pretty diligent about studying, even when he feels like he doesn’t need to. Tuition is damn expensive, and he’ll make the most out of it. Those study rooms are the best too, he’s got endless room on those whiteboards to write things out. Paper’s never enough.
Choosing a guy over the study room. Cthoni would lose her mind if she knew. This is different, though, right? It's his health.
Jabber hears Zanka shifting around on the bed, a while later.
Good timing, maybe. Jabber’s decided he’s pretty much done studying for tonight, and maybe if Zanka’s feeling better, he can help him work on his stuff. Maybe that’s a little wishful.
“You awake, princess?” he teases, rolling his chair up to the bed and leaning his elbows on it. It’s at the perfect height.
“W'time'sit?” he mumbles. Zanka isn’t steady at all. He’s trying to hold himself up a little, prop himself up with an elbow, but it’s shaky at best. He rubs at his eyes with a painful groan, but still tries to push through and sit up some.
“Like, six thirty,” Jabber was, rolling backwards and turning on his phone screen for a time check.
“I missed m'class.”
“Yeah, you weren't makin’ that anyway,” he tells him, “can't even hold yourself up, see?”
“Why didn’ you wake me up,” Zanka groans.
“You hearin’ me?” Jabber asks. “Pretty sure you can’t even walk out the door right now, the way you’re lookin’, Zanka.”
He’s trying to steady himself, and somehow ends up in a position where he’s sitting up, but he’s got that unfocused look in his eyes again that Jabber now recognizes as unbearable nausea. He can see the color slowly leave his face, and his breaths trying to will it away, but it’s not going to work, by the looks of it.
“You gonna puke again?” Jabber asks, standing from his desk. He can’t remember where he put that bin after he dumped it. Probably somewhere near the bathroom.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, lifting a hand up to his mouth.
Except, this time, Jabber isn't fast enough, and Zanka throws up on his comforter.
Jabber bolts to grab that bin from where he left it.
Jabber can tell it's freaking him out. Throwing up in a trash can is different because it's already trash, but he's always been particular about keeping his things clean, for the most part. Staring down at vomit-stained sheets would probably make him crash out even if he wasn't burning up. He’s breathing heavy, fast, his eyes wide. It looked like he was trying to calm himself down for a second, but he’s given up.
“I got it. Take this if you still gotta puke,” Jabber tells him, handing him that bin and taking the comforter as quickly as he can.
He’s dry heaving for several minutes. Jabber thinks it’s partially anxiety, at least this time. He’s seen this once or twice before. He’s shivering too, probably from that fever, and that’s gotta make it a hundred times worse.
“Zanka?” he says. “It's not a big deal, ‘kay? Don't freak yourself out.”
It has to be some sort of subconscious reaction. The first time he saw this, it was because he broke something of Jabber's by accident. It was so unimportant to him that he doesn't even remember what it was, but Zanka freaked himself out so bad that he almost threw up from how hard he was breathing. Jabber doesn't think he himself has ever reacted to something like that before. It's gotta do something with Zanka's fucked up family, but they never had a conversation about it.
Now is probably a bad time for it.
Jabber just rubs his shoulder. Even if there’s a different reason for it to suck more this time than the last time, he still definitely looks like he feels a lot worse. He has a hand pressed against his abdomen, a clear sign this time that that’s what hurts so much, and he grits his teeth and tenses up out of nowhere. Jabber thinks he’s going to throw up again, but he doesn’t. It’s just pain.
Seems pretty atypical from what he knows about stomach bugs. He almost wonders if it’s food poisoning, but that doesn’t really line up with what’s going on with him.
“Stay here, lem’me get you a sweater,” Jabber says. He knows he should be cautious warming him up with that fever, but shivering out of his mind can’t be good for him either. He pulls something off the hanger from his closet, some old tour hoodie he wore to death, but Zanka’s not there yet, it looks like.
He's just breathing heavy over the bin, but carefully, like it's hurting him. He spits out saliva. He still shivers, and Jabber almost thinks it looks like he’s trying to stop himself from crying.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, coughing once or twice. Still, nothing else comes up, but he still looks crazy nauseous.
“Nothing to be sorry ‘bout. I'm here anyway,” Jabber insists.
“But you're studyin’,” Zanka mumbles.
“I’m done studyin’, Zanka, Don’t worry about it, yeah?” he says. Not that it would matter anyway. Obviously, Zanka’s more important, but he probably wouldn’t recognize that if it spit at him in the face. “Y’think your stomach’s empty?”
“Hope so,” he groans, “‘m sorry.”
“Not acceptin’ no apology that I don’t need,” Jabber tells him. He moves the bin back to the ground, and takes Zanka’s hands to help him pull the sweater over his head. He slides on one sleeve at a time, and Zanka just mindlessly stares forward. He must feel terrible. Jabber presses his palm against his forehead for a few solid seconds, and he swears it’s worse, now.
“Y’rings feel nice,” Zanka murmurs quietly, looking like he might fall asleep sitting up.
“Yeah? Cold?” Jabber asks.
“Mhm,” Zanka mumbles. “‘m gonna…gh.”
Jabber gets the message and brings the bin back up underneath his chin, and this time, it’s a productive bout of vomit. Zanka coughs a few times following it. It sounds like it hurts, burns.
At what point does he decide that Zanka probably needs medical attention? He’s seen him sick before, but this seems like a lot for anyone.
Eventually, things calm down. Zanka lays himself back down on the bed, slowly, carefully, the pain and soreness he feels is pretty obvious in his movements. Maybe he’ll just see how things go. He doesn’t even know what he’d do if things got worse. He’s never had to take someone to a hospital before. He’s been himself, with a few failed chemistry lab experiments to blame, and maybe partially himself. Cthoni is usually his lab partner though, and she’s taken care of all of that stuff.
Maybe he’ll call her. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Zanka will feel better after throwing up, and he won’t have to call anybody.
He decides it’s time for a smoke break.
Jabber walks over to his tote bag and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. “I'll be back. Just a minute."
“I wanna come,” Zanka murmurs. He thought Zanka was already half asleep, but evidently not. Jabber turns his head and gives him a look.
“You're not smokin’ if you're pukin’, Zanka,” Jabber says.
“Not t'smoke. Just wan'ta go outside,” he says as he tries to sit himself up again. He doesn’t look as bad as he did a few minutes ago. Maybe this time throwing up did help him feel better, but he’s not totally convinced, based on the discomfort in his expression as he sits himself up, and brings his legs over the edge of the bed. There’s a few seconds where he breathes carefully, reacting to pain.
“Y’sure, Zan?” Jabber says, not sounding convinced at all.
“Wanna get some fresh air,” he mumbles, and Jabber totally gets that. Fresh air is always great, and maybe it’d do him some good, but he’s not really sure how it’s going to help with the pain that he’d clearly feeling.
Jabber makes a decision that he probably wouldn’t ever make for anyone else. “Well, if ya’want the air t’be fresh, I won’t bring my cigs -”
“No, bring ‘em,” Zanka mumbles. “I like the smell.”
“Yeah? Ya’ freak,” he giggles. He doesn’t know what kind of guy asks to smell cigarette smoke when he’s pretty much puking his guts out, but he’s always suspected that Zanka is just as weird as he is.
Zanka stands up from the bed, and has to take a few seconds before he decides he can take a step. Dizzy as hell, Jabber could see that even if he was blind. Probably because he’s completely dehydrated. Does he try to force some water in him? Break into the clinic and stick an IV in him? That honestly should have been his first call.
“Y’want some water?”
Zanka shakes his head.
Zanka takes his forearm crutch from the wall, but he's unstable even with that. Jabber decides he'll just walk close to him, and they won't go further than the stairs in front of the building. He opens the door for him and watches his steps carefully.
They’re outside, sitting on the wide stone steps that lead up to the dorm building, lit nicely by the lamposts. Usually, Jabber goes a little further out, but he’s pretty sure Zanka wouldn’t be able to make it up the staircase easily if they did.
Zanka's head is leaned against his shoulder. He never sits this close to him.
Jabber's starting to get a little concerned. He's not this type of person. He never asks for help or comfort of any kind, and he doesn't seem to like it very much when he receives it without asking either. And even after times they've kissed or fooled around, Zanka always distances himself afterward, pretends like they're just normal roommates. It’s weird, confusing, but Jabber has never thought too deep into it. They’re not together, so it shouldn’t matter.
Except now, he seems to be actively seeking out Jabber’s help.
Jabber tries to decide what to do. His first instinct is to tease him for this sudden show of what seems like affection, but he's worried he'll scare him away.
“You don't feel good at all, huh,” Jabber says after he breathes out a puff of smoke. He looks over at him, and to his surprise, there’s tears - actual tears running down his face.
Oh, shit. He's crying.
Okay, that's not good. He's never seen him cry. He's seen him all sorts of things, but never actually crying, tears streaming down his face like this. He’s not even making any sound, like anyone else would. Jabber wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking at him.
“Whoa,” Jabber says, honestly caught off guard, “what's up? Something hurt?”
“Sorry,” Zanka mumbles. Jabber can hardly hear him. “Just hate feelin’ like this.”
Jabber was hoping that maybe he was turning a corner and feeling a little better, but any hope of that is dashed completely with what he’s seeing right now. He might need to actually start thinking of a plan, and he thinks Cthoni will be receiving a phone call from him tonight. She’s the only person he knows with a car that isn’t Zodyl, and he doesn’t exactly think Zodyl is the right choice for this situation.
After a few minutes, Jabber decides he’ll just trash the rest of his cigarette instead of smoking the rest of it, because he’s admittedly a little stressed about this situation, and he’s absolutely not the type of guy to be stressed about anything. This is what Zanka does to him, he supposes.
Zanka isn’t crying by the time Jabber helps him stand up, but the tear tracks on his cheeks and the exhaustion in his eyes make him look totally miserable. Zanka doesn’t take his help beyond the staircase, gently pulling his arm out of Jabber’s grip and relying on his forearm crutch instead. Jabber thinks he’s doing that thing again where he goes cold because he accidentally let too much of his real self slip.
Zanka goes straight into their bathroom once they’re back in their room. Jabber hears him gag and sputter a few seconds after closing the door behind himself, but it's hard to tell if it's productive or not. He wants to make sure he's okay, but he's not really sure where to actually go from here.
Jabber just sits on the chair by his desk and waits. He juggles with the idea of calling Cthoni now, but he wants to make sure Zanka’s okay in there first. He definitely can’t call Cthoni while he’s in the room with Zanka, he’d be pissed.
Zanka wanders out of the bathroom. He leans his crutch against the wall, and uses the bed as a guide to walk back over to the side of it.
“Hey,” Jabber starts, “you good?”
Zanka nods, but it's clear as day that he's in a lot of pain. His arms are wrapped around his middle.
“Jus’ wanna lay down,” he mumbles, but he can’t manage that. The bed is really tall, they all are, and Zanka definitely has trouble getting onto it on bad days because of his leg, and he doesn’t even put up a fight with it now, despite what he says. He gives up and gingerly slides down the side, leaning against the edge of the bed once he sits on the floor.
“I could’a helped you get up there,” Jabber says. He gets off of his chair and sits across from Zanka, who is refusing to look at him. Zanka shivers with every breath. Jabber can’t tell if he’s freezing from how the fever is making him feel or if it’s pain. Or both. He must feel miserable.
“M'fine,” Zanka mumbles. Jabber watches him try to sit up straighter, look more presentable, but he can’t. It’s painful.
“Not super believable, y'know,” Jabber tells him, but Zanka doesn't react to him at all. Jabber reaches out a hand and tries to move his hair from his face, but his bangs are nearly stuck to his forehead from sweat. Zanka groans as a wave of pain crashes through him, his arms wrapping tighter around himself, laying his head against his knees. Careful breaths.
Jabber knows he isn't badly sensitive to pain, so he's worried this is actually serious.
“Y'know, Zanka, this ain't normal,” Jabber tells him.
There's gotta be a thermometer around here somewhere. Jabber stands up and tries to look for it. His drawers are in a state of organized chaos, so he can probably find it if he thinks about the last time he used it - on himself, he’s pretty sure, just a few weeks ago, so it has to be visible in whichever drawer he pulls it from.
Bingo.
Jabber uses his shirt to wipe it clean, and Zanka’s, face wrinkles in disgust when he sees him hold it up to his mouth.
“W’s i’jus’ in y’drawer?” he says, hardly managing that.
“C’mon, can’t make you feel worse than you already do,” Jabber insists, taking the opportunity to stick it under his tongue before he finishes talking, and miraculously, Zanka doesn’t try to spit it out.
Jabber turns his head to watch the numbers climb from the side, and finally, it beeps.
A hundred and four? That can't be right.
Zanka is still relatively conscious, and he would think someone with a hundred and four degree fever would be completely delirious, but then again, it wouldn’t surprise him. Zanka doesn’t seem to have any interest in seeing the result, laying his head back onto his knees. He nearly whimpers that time from whatever is causing him so much pain that he doesn’t even want to lay down.
“What's hurtin’ you so bad? Your stomach?” Jabber asks him, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, and he flinches at the touch. “I gotta call somebody, princess.”
Zanka doesn't even fight it this time.
Jabber takes the opportunity to take his phone from the desk, and slip out into the hallway.
Cthoni. It rings a few times, and he almost thinks that she won’t pick up, but she does, right when he needs her to. He breathes a sigh of relief that he’s sure she can hear before he starts talking.
“Heyyy. Cthoni,” he says. Act casual, right?
Cthoni groans. “Why are you calling me? It's almost midnight.”
“What time's the clinic close?” he asks. Maybe not the best wording.
“What did you do?” she asks. She doesn’t sound all that concerned, moreso annoyed.
“Nothin’,” he answers.
There's a pause. “They're closed.”
“Damn. So I'd gotta go to the emergency room?” he says. That makes things a lot more serious, for sure.
“What did you do, Jabber?” Cthoni asks. Now, she sounds way more serious.
“Nothin’. Swear.”
Cthoni groans. “What do you mean, nothing? The last time you asked me this, you had pretty much cut your finger clean off.”
“Nah, they re-attached it,” Jabber says. He honestly forgot about that. A ring covers up the scar.
“Not my point, Jabber.”
“Where’s the emergency room at, anyway?” he asks.
“Why do you need to go to the emergency room?” she groans.
“My roomie's real sick. And I don't think it can wait ‘til tomorrow, wherever the clinic opens back up” he says.
“That bad?” Cthoni says.
“Uh-huh. Like, I've never seen ‘im cry before today bad,” Jabber says. “Hundred and four fever, puking his guts out, kinda.”
“Sheesh. Which roommate is this? The new one from Japan?” Cthoni asks.
“That’s him. Zanka,” Jabber confirms.
“Don't you have an exam tomorrow morning?” she asks, sounding surprised about where he’s putting his priorities, it seems.
“Don't matter,” he answers casually. He’ll find a way around it like he always does, it’s not a big deal. “What do I do? Uber?”
Cthoni huffs through the phone. “Do not take an Uber to the ER, Jabber. You want to borrow my car?”
“Yes ma'am,” Jabber says, “promise all your tires'll come back in one piece this time.”
“Okay. Give me like, five-ten minutes,” Cthoni says, and curtly hangs up the phone.
Okay, he can work with that. Cthoni usually picks him up at the drop off spot on the east side of the building, and he’s pretty sure he can get Zanka out there in time, but he’s only just now realizing that he’s going to have to somehow break the news to Zanka that he’s taking him to the emergency room, probably against his own will.
Jabber wanders back inside after he stuffs his phone in his pocket, making sure his ringtone is audible in case Cthoni calls back. Zanka’s still in the same position, and Jabber is noticing intentional, pained breaths from his hunched over frame.
Jabber kneels down in front of him.
“Hey, so…ya’ probably gonna hate me for this, but…” Jabber starts, but he’s distracted, because it looks like Zanka’s crying again.
Damn. That really, really hurts to see, for some reason.