Work Text:
You're my aid displayed in lies
Haven't felt your touch in a while
Heart was stained
The way you left
Felt like I wasn't nothing at all
"Who is it?" Zanka can't help but ask once the Raider has recovered. His chest squeezes as he speaks, something shifting in him with every inhale, sowing seeds in the flesh of his lungs. They hurt like needles, and the sharp sensation travels through him.
Jabber tilts his head, narrowing his eyes slightly. His lips twist in a way Zanka knows Jabber isn't aware of—his plethora of faces was something that never failed to amaze Zanka, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it at first.
"That ain't really any of your business now, is it?" Jabber responded, raising an eyebrow, and Zanka would have been hurt by the words if he wasn't already occupied trying not to heave at the sight of the wet and bloodied flower buds and petals on the ground between them.
"Oh, I'd say it is. Can't have my sparrin' partner dyin' early on me 'cause of some crush." It's a response he knows Jabber would accept because, until now at least, Jabber didn't really do feelings. Not the romantic ones, at least, not from what Zanka had gathered about Jabber. Emotions were something to be left to die on their battlefield, where the only thing there was space for was violence.
(The ones they shared during the late hours of night through their chokers didn't count, obviously, because those were shared in moments of weakness for Jabber, even if they were everything to Zanka.)
Jabber stares at him for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes, and Zanka wonders if Jabber heard the lie in his voice. He wouldn't put it past the Raider—Jabber was marvelous like that.
Then, Jabber sighed, and he looked away for a moment. When he looks at Zanka again, something has shifted in his gaze. Now, his face was impersonal again, like Zanka hadn't already bared parts of his soul to the Raider before. It hurts more than Zanka had expected it to—that needling feeling lances up and down his spine.
"Look, man," Jabber starts, and he won't look at Zanka again. "You won't hafta miss me for much longer—I ain't lettin' this kill me. That right is reserved all for you and the hands that wield Lovely, Zan-Zan, so don't you worry that pretty head a' yours. Cool?"
The first flower petal that Zanka coughs up comes the moment he closes the door to his room in HQ, and it comes with four other petals. They're a dark maroon red that fades to light purple, damn near a perfect imitation of Jabber's eyes, and put together, Zanka imagines that the entire flower itself would have a light purple center, the same color as Jabber's eyes with Mankira activated. It's so on the nose that Zanka can't help but laugh in complete disbelief. To think that such a flower might have existed naturally on the Ground at one point has him thinking foolishly of things like fate, thoughts like 'maybe Jabber was always going to exist, if he's got something so beautiful to represent him so perfectly', but he cuts the train off before it can really progress.
He has no idea what kind of flower it is, or how long ago it died out, or even where it originally grew. All he knows is that its color was adept at camouflaging the blood that stained its petals with their rough exit. He almost hopes that they're toxic somehow because he's sure that Jabber would love them if they were. Maybe then, he'd bring a few of their petals to the Raider and watch as his eyes light up with excitement.
"Where'd you get these? And how?" He'd asked, and Zanka would bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"Doesn't matter," Zanka would answer, sniffing as he turned away. "Just let me know if ya need more."
Maybe they would distract Jabber from his lovelorn heart enough to keep him with Zanka for a little bit longer.
Hyo never laughed, nor did she smile, and yet she was graceful in a way that no one else seemed to be aware of. While his classmates called her sloppy, he couldn't help but see the naturalness in her movements, the way it seemed like she didn't have to think too hard about her next move. Not like Zanka did, at least. He still felt ill-fitting in his own limbs—it took him much too long for him to get them to do what he wanted them to do at the profiency of what was expected of him. They flailed around too much, were too uncoordinated, and certainly not very Nijiku-like.
Back then, before he threw himself into that well, before he'd even found Lovely, he allowed himself to have the thought that, if he were to die early, he wanted it to be by her blade at his throat. It would have been an honorable way to die, after all—she'd make a clean cut and leave no stain behind.
When a similar sentiment repeated itself a few years later under Jabber's claws poised at his neck, Zanka knew that something was wrong.
They were well into the fights they'd have off the record, well past their coincidental meetings. These were intentional, sparked via an accidental exchange of blood between their chokers and a late-night call sounding from his bracelet.
"C'mon, bad boy. I've been itchin' for a good fight— surely you can give one to me, right?" Jabber had said, a taunt if Zanka ever heard one. His breathing was heavy, and there was a barely hidden giggle in his voice. It felt as though lightning had been sent directly through Zanka's spine—he had jolted out of bed so quickly that he nearly fell over himself. He hadn't bothered with his uniform, just changed into clothing he wouldn't mind dirtying, grabbed Lovely Assistaff, and he was out of his window in the next minute.
That had been a month ago at this point, and now here they were, in a field of trash destroyed by their violence, Jabber standing over Zanka on the ground, with Mankira's sharp edges barely a breath away from the skin of Zanka's neck. If he had swallowed in this moment, the bobbing in his throat would have pressed it against those claws, and he felt the morbid urge to do just that. What poison did Jabber have stored up for him this time? What ways had he hurt himself in preparation to hurt Zanka? Maybe there was none, and Jabber had finally grown tired enough to kill him. It would have made sense; Zanka had only won these battles once in every blue moon.
He knows how Jabber deals with those he becomes bored with—he kills them without fanfare. A simple slice of his neck would have been enough, and maybe he'd stick around and watch Zanka choke on his own blood. Maybe that would be the last time Zanka was able to entertain him.
Maybe…maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, dying for someone so…
Zanka doesn't get to finish this harrowing thought because, soon after he's been put on his back, Mankira retracts, and Jabber is stretching his arms above his head. He's smiling, Zanka realizes belatedly, his mind sluggish for some reason.
"Man, that was great, Zan-Zan." Jabber had said then, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at Zanka still lying on the ground. His eyes had twinkled then, and it left Zanka's throat feeling particularly dry. It was the first time Jabber had ever called him that nickname, and afterward, he never stopped.
Not even when he was telling Zanka not to worry about the fact that he was dying.
Life doesn't stop for Zanka once he starts coughing up flowers. It doesn't even slow down, not for him. Rudo still needs teaching, so Zanka teaches him. Trash beasts still need defeating, so he defeats them. His skills with Lovely still need improving, so he trains to improve them. Enjin still wants him around, so Zanka sticks around.
Things go on like this for a solid month, all of which is filled with Jabber's radio silence. After the first week had passed, Zanka was itching to go and visit the Raider again, to see how far along he was in his progress of getting rid of his own flower. Maybe, once he was done—because Zanka wanted desperately to believe Jabber's words of "I ain't lettin' this kill me"—he would be amenable to giving Zanka some of whatever it was that managed to kill the flower without killing him.
At the start of the second week, Zanka is overcome with thoughts of who it was that Jabber could have possibly fallen in love with, since Jabber won't tell Zanka himself.
They had to be someone strong, of course, so Zanka was already out of the running. He'd known that the moment he realized that it was flowers Jabber was coughing up.
Maybe it was Fu. He fit pretty much all of the criteria: he was strong enough to beat Jabber without even trying—going off Riyo's words—he had known Jabber for longer than Zanka, technically, since he had been with the Raiders before becoming a Cleaner; and, most damning of all, his eyes were blue.
Zanka was quite familiar with this disease—upon realizing that your love for another would not be returned, flowers would bloom in your lungs and kill you slowly until you either got surgery to remove them, along with your memories of your beloved, or you fell out of love. There was the rare case of your love being returned, but that had only ever been recorded a few times in history, and the true problem was that this disease was one of perception. The flower itself didn't know whether or not your beloved loved you back; it only knew what you did and how you felt. Maybe your beloved did love you back, and you just couldn't see it. Maybe you didn't even believe them.
Anything was possible with a disease like this one, so embroiled in the mind and its understanding of the world around it, and Zanka didn't doubt the theory that Jabber might be in love with Fu and was dying because he believed that it wasn't returned.
He wants to ask Fu about it, but he's held back by the realization that no answer would satisfy him. If Fu did love Jabber back, then he'd force Fu to go tell the Raider that, then die from his own illness. Hell, it'd be exacerbated by seeing Jabber and Fu together, in love and happy and alive. He'd be wrought with the confusing mixture of relief and despair, because Jabber wouldn't be killed by something as foolish as unrequited love, but Zanka would be. Jabber deserved a death worthy of him, something loud and declarative and fitting for him.
On the other hand, dying from unrequited love seemed quite the fitting death for Zanka. He wouldn't mind the roots in his lungs taking him if it meant that Jabber got to live a little longer. He always knew he was going to be left behind, after all.
But then there was the option of Fu not loving Jabber back, and Zanka knew immediately that he would hate Fu for it. Unless Jabber managed to get rid of the flowers himself, Fu would be sealing Jabber's fate, and Zanka knew that he'd follow him shortly after his death.
It would be the same if Enjin had died: they both were people who saw enough worth in him to stick around, to keep pushing him, to continue wasting time on him. Zanka didn't think he was much worth it, but those two saw something in him, something that had them investing in him, and he'd be damned if he let them die before he could reach (and exceed) their expectations.
It's the reason Zanka had decided that he needed to be the one to kill Jabber. He had to prove that he was worth the Raider's time after all, and he needed to do it before the genius abandoned him, because that was what all natural talents did to people like him.
That's why this situation wasn't fair, Jabber coughing up flower petals. Killing Jabber should be Zanka's job—he was supposed to be the one to become strong enough to give Jabber the death he deserved, and now that opportunity was being taken away from him by someone who didn't deserve it. If it were Fu, Zanka doesn't think he'd ever be able to get over it, the fact that Fu would be cutting Jabber's life short. He probably wouldn't have to, anyway, because he'd be following Jabber into death, rife with the same sickness that took him.
It wouldn't matter that Enjin also saw something in him worth fighting for because the flowers didn't care that other people loved Zanka, only that the one person Zanka loved with his entire being didn't love him back, and had died before he could.
Zanka should be more upset about this.
Hell, he was upset when he first realized that he'd fallen in love with Jabber. That evening, when Jabber had aimed Mankira at his neck and the thought that dying to her wasn't so bad had crossed his mind, Zanka was irate at the entire thing. He was upset at Jabber for being a challenge Zanka couldn't resist, upset at Mankira for being such a beautiful vital instrument, and most of all, upset at himself for being so easily swayed.
But he can't help the fact that the most fun he's ever had has been in his fights with Jabber. Those were the times when he felt like he could let loose, fight his hardest without having to worry about doing damage to anyone or anything else. Those were the times that he'd indulge in his deep-seated need to hurt someone, the way he used to when he was in the Hell Guard and he'd best someone during a spar. Back then, he'd revel in the disparity between them, even if his ego was founded on false grounds.
Now, Zanka could feel himself improving with every fight, and for a while, he had been hoping that it was enough to keep Jabber around, at least until he could prove his worth by ending the Raider's life.
Now, with this disease wracking both of them, Fu was going to take that away from him.
Of course, that was all dependent on the theory that Fu was the one Jabber was choking over. If he wasn't, then Zanka didn't have another lead to give him any hints. It could be anyone, and Zanka wouldn't know it. He didn't know everyone Jabber's ever met, and he couldn't ask Jabber about it because he knew Jabber wouldn't answer him. He doesn't even think he'll be able to handle knowing anyway.
In the end, it mattered little who Jabber was dying for, just that he was, and Zanka would likely have to be a witness to it. This disease, once it's taken root in you, was an absolute bitch to get rid of, and as much as Zanka wanted to believe Jabber's steadfast claim, he knew all too well the effects of these deadly flowers.
He's had to watch his own mother die from them, after all.
"Zanka, promise me this one thing."
Zanka, five years old now, shifts closer to his mother's bedside, where she holds up her hand in askance of his. He obliges, and he holds her hand as tight as he can without hurting her. It didn't take much these days, given how weak she was. Her skin was pale enough that it almost felt like he could see the roots of the flower killing her shifting in her veins. When she coughed, it shook her entire body, and a lone flower petal came out, deep yellow, because there was no flower accurate enough to represent the brown of his Father's eyes.
"Yes, mama?" He had said, glad that his father wasn't in the room at the moment, lest he scold Zanka for the childish address.
Zanka's mother had sighed in a way that felt like it was meant to be a laugh, and her lips quirked gently upward. Despite this, her deep blue eyes remained as mournful as the day Zanka was born, though he wouldn't know this. To him, his mama looked the way she always did. "Promise me that you'll never make the mistake a' fallin' in love, okay?"
In the second week of the second month, the peace of Zanka's bedroom is interrupted by the sound of his window sliding open late at night, followed by a quiet thump as Jabber lands gracefully on his floor.
Zanka, who had been sitting on his bed polishing Lovely as part of his routine, somehow manages not to startle at this. In all their secret meetings with each other, separate from Cleaners vs Raiders, this was the first time Jabber had ever come to him rather than the other way around.
Usually, it was Zanka pushing himself to walk faster to meet Jabber because 'what if he gets bored and leaves?' The fear was a familiar shadow to his thoughts, fuel for his every action, and now it was faltering at the sight of Jabber Wonger here in his bedroom, looking around at its meager decoration curiously. When his gaze lands on Zanka's widened eyes, his lips lift into a small, personal grin.
"Been a minute, huh, bad boy?" He says, voice low and raspy. Zanka can tell his throat has been rubbed raw by the petals he's been coughing up because he feels it too, can practically taste it on his own tongue. The sound of it has his next inhale shuddering vaguely in his throat—a cough would come soon if he wasn't careful.
"What're you doin' here, Jabber? How'd ya even get in?" Zanka swallows thickly, forcing himself to look away from the pallor of Jabber's skin, completely unnatural in its existence. Instead, he finds his eyes focusing on the cracks in Jabber's lip, which wasn't much better.
Jabber shrugs in answer, walking around his room, hands skimming over the dresser pushed up against one wall. There wasn't anything on it, and hardly anything in it, but it made Zanka's room feel just a little bit less empty. "Figured I'd come an' pay you a visit, make sure you ain't think I passed away or somethin'."
Truth be told, it was a worry that had begun steadily seeping into the vulnerable crevices of Zanka's mind halfway through the first month of his non-acceptance of Jabber's hanahaki. With Jabber being so quiet, Zanka wouldn't know if the Raider had passed unless he went there to check himself, and even then, he wouldn't know how long the Raider had been dead for. His heart squeezed painfully at the possibility, and whenever he thought of it, he'd nearly choke to death on his flower in those moments alone. The only thing that kept him from doing so was his trust in Jabber's resilience alone. He had to believe that Jabber would live at least longer than Zanka would. He was remarkable in that way.
"'Course not," Zanka says instead, because of course he couldn't tell Jabber any of that. Jabber didn't like weakness, after all, and Zanka was rife with it. "No way you'd let yerself go like that." Jabber snorts, and Zanka wonders what he's said that was so amusing.
"You've got so much faith in me, Zan-Zan," he snickers, walking away from Zanka's dresser now and toward Zanka's bed. Zanka watches him carefully, breath rattling in his lungs again, stifled by the flowers blooming in them. He hopes Jabber won't find the petals he's stashed away under his bed.
"Shouldn't I? You've figured out how ta get rid a' your flowers, haven't ya?" He tries fiercely to keep the hope out of his voice.
Jabber's smile becomes brittle, and he shakes his head. "Why? You feelin' pent up and ready to fight, huh? Oh, I know I am—" And suddenly, he's sitting on Zanka's bed, directly in front of him, leaning so close that Zanka can almost smell the flowers on his breath. He can hardly bear it, and it makes Jabber's durability even more impressive. He's been living with these fragrant flowers for at least two months now, whereas Zanka could hardly stand the one thus far. "I wanna fight ya so bad, Zan-Zan, but I've been half-high for days now, and I can't even really think right, and I'm so tired—" his voice cuts off abruptly, and he pitches forward. Zanka has half a second to move Assistaff out of the way before Jabber is flopping into his arms, shaking as he's suddenly wracked with coughs that tremble his entire frame, frailer than it was just a month ago, when Zanka had last seen him.
Jabber coughs for a long, long time, and Zanka holds him throughout all of it, patting his back in a woeful attempt to make the petals come up quicker. He would wonder what it was that set Jabber off, but he was too busy trying to keep his own flowers from making an appearance, and that in itself was an entire ordeal.
Zanka knows that the flower has finally come up when Jabber makes a retching sound, and he readjusts them so that it will land on his floor instead of his bed. Then, he wouldn't have to explain why his sheets were bloody when he took them to be washed.
"Fuckin' hell," Jabber swears, panting as he recovers from the nearly minute-long coughing fit. He's practically limp in Zanka's hold, yet he manages to pull back just enough to wipe his mouth and the blood and spit lining his lips. His eyes are watery and red, tears slipping from the corners of them, and it has Zanka's stomach flipping horribly, his heart skipping at least two beats.
Even now, Zanka can't help but find Jabber beautiful.
The thought is inevitable, and so are the coughs that finally take over his, at the moment, very vincible will.
Hastily turning away, Zanka slaps a hand over his mouth as his own body begins to shake with his hacking. Though it isn't as severe as Jabber's, it is intense nonetheless, and for the next few seconds, Zanka can't fight the fluttering petals that surge up his throat and out of his mouth as they're forcefully expelled from his lungs. His heart pounds in his ears when they finally make their way to his mouth, and he manages to catch the gaggle of velvety maroon petals in his hands, wet and sticky.
The silence between them is almost as suffocating as the flowers killing them, and Zanka can't bear to meet Jabber's gaze. Jabber, who hasn't even moved since Zanka started coughing, remains still as Zanka's fists slowly close over the clump of petals, clenching it tight with his shame.
Jabber was much too smart not to know who those petals were for, and Zanka had surely sealed his own fate.
"…When did that start?" Jabber asked eventually. He shifted his position, and Zanka could feel him leaning closer. He can feel Jabber's faint breath sweeping across his neck, and the one short loc that rests in front of his face brushes against Zanka's skin. Jabber did not ask him who they were for.
"…About a month ago, now," Zanka answers truthfully, too tired to bother lying. His own voice is hoarse, and his chest squeezes in warning. He was liable for another fit if this kept up.
"Was it the day you came and found me?" Jabber continues ruthlessly, voice quieter now. He leans closer, and Zanka swears the Raider's lips brush against his skin. He nods. "Zanka, look at me."
Zanka wants desperately to refuse, to resist the ineffable pull Jabber has always had on him. It would mean that he gets to keep at least some of his dignity before death, before his inevitable rejection. Alas, along with Jabber's masochism, Zanka is very intimately aware of the sadistic streak he carries next to it. He likely wanted to see the despair on Zanka's face as he killed him, as he left him behind for good.
Zanka forces himself to look away from the spot on the floor he'd been focused on, and into Jabber's eyes. They were still shining with unshed tears, still tinged red, but now they were wide and unblinking. The plum red of them matches perfectly with the flower petals he clutches in his hands.
"Zanka," Jabber says his name again, solemn and unnatural on his tongue—he only ever used the nickname these days—"Zanka, are those flowers for me?" And there it was, that unavoidable question laid out in the open between them, the answer irrefutable. Zanka can't bear to open his mouth anymore, so he instead holds his hand up between them, opening his palm and revealing his love for Jabber resting on it in the form of petals as beautiful and almost as deadly as their muse.
The silence that ensues once more is another heavy one, weighing down on Zanka's shoulders and rooting him in his place. He might as well have been a mountain. Or perhaps a tree, with flowers sprouting from its branches.
Then, Jabber starts laughing.
It's a raspy, rattling thing that sounds just as horrible as the last time Jabber laughed at him like this, when Zanka had told Jabber he missed him. That was a confession he hadn't meant to make at the time, as caught up in his longing as he was, and he only regretted the unintentional reveal more when he was ridiculed for it. Obviously, Jabber had laughed at Zanka then, so it was expected that he would laugh at him now.
"Holy shit," Jabber wheezes, and it takes Zanka a moment to realize that, even now, Jabber was still conscious of their surroundings—he couldn't be too loud, not unless he wanted to draw even more attention to Zanka's room than he already had. His laugh was more like an uncontrollable giggle, bubbling and bursting from his chest like he couldn't help himself. "You really are terrible, Zan-Zan." He says when his giggles die down, and Zanka doesn't even get a chance to be confused by this before Jabber is shifting again, lifting himself into Zanka's lap. "Just as terrible as me." The Raider sighs, breath as sweet as the flowers he's just coughed up. Then, he's leaning forward and pressing his lips to Zanka's.
It's as though Zanka is breathing for the first time.
Jabber's lips are cracked against his, but Zanka found that he couldn't care less if he tried, focusing solely on the feeling of Jabber against him, of Jabber's hands coming up to cradle his face, of the cool metal of Mankira pressing against his skin. Zanka's hands instinctively make their way to Jabber's hips, and he holds them tenderly when he kisses back, his fingers sliding under Jabber's loose shirt and grazing his skin with featherlight touches that have his Raider shivering.
Zanka wastes no time, pressing his tongue against Jabber's lips in askance and nearly groaning when Jabber grants it to him—he's wanted this for so long that he can't help being a little desperate, and it seemed that the sentiment wasn't his alone. Jabber squirms against him, his hips shifting delightfully against Zanka, and one of his hands moves from Zanka's face to cradle the back of his neck, Mankira cooling Zanka's heated skin as Jabber winds his fingers into Zanka's hair.
The pads of Zanka's calloused fingers are rough against his sensitized skin, and it was as though they leaked an aphrodisiac of some sort—Jabber was endlessly turned on by the way Zanka's hands would roam higher and higher up his sides, hiking his shirt up further and brushing against every scar along the way. It's distracting enough that he feels like he's drifting away under the heat of it.
Zanka's tongue continues ravaging his mouth, his hands tracing fire into his skin, and his hips begin doing this subtle jerking thing that Jabber doesn't think he's aware of. All of it has him feeling so heated that he thinks he might be melting, or like his next exhale would release smoke. Maybe the flowers in his lungs were burning up from the fervor of their desire.
The thought of the flower has it shifting in his lungs, and he pulls away to cough up a few stray petals, but Zanka won't let him go too far; he immediately connects their lips once more, and he catches the petals with his own mouth. It shocks Jabber so severely that all he can do is watch with wide eyes as Zanka pulls away again, those deep violet-blue petals held between his teeth as he snares Jabber with eyes nearly the same shade. Then, with all the intent of someone declaring their undying love for another on a battlefield, Zanka begins to eat the flower petals.
Jabber isn't sure if he's passed away already.
Then again, he also doesn't think he's ever been hornier in his entire life.
Zanka crunches and chews on those partially poisonous flower petals, and Jabber watches as his throat bobs when he swallows them down. Absently, Jabber has half a mind to warn Zanka that he was likely going to regret that soon. The other half urged him to do—something. He's not quite sure yet. He knows for certain that it involved more of Zanka's hands on his skin, though.
"…Does this mean that those flowers you were coughin' up were for me?" Zanka speaks suddenly, voice rough with lingering arousal. The question breaks Jabber out of his reverie, and he blinks owlishly as he registers it. Once it gets past the thick haze of lust clouding his mind, though, he snorts.
"Who else could they have been for, dumbass?" He snickers, and Zanka huffs, averting his gaze.
"I dunno. Fu, maybe? He's strong, and his eyes are blue, ain't they? Plus, weren't y'all friends before he left the Raiders?"
"His eyes are closer to green than they are blue, and we haven't talked in forever because I've been spendin' all my time talkin' to you, ya idiot." Jabber flicks the side of Zanka's head, who grumbles but takes it regardless.
"Well, how was I supposed ta know that? I don't keep tabs of who ya talk to every day." Idly, Zanka's thumb begins tracing the skin above the waistband of Jabber's pants. Jabber swallows down a sound because of it. "Maybe I should start though, since ya decided it'd be a good idea ta go radio silent on me for damn near two months straight."
"Whoa there—clingy much?" Jabber moves the hand still on Zanka's other cheek to slide a finger along his Cleaner's jawline. He won't let himself think too hard about the fact that his stomach had flipped at the idea. "Can ya really not stand to not hear from me for more than a few days?"
Zanka's expression flattens. "I started coughin' up these flowers the moment I got home—what do you think?" Jabber can hardly smother his grin.
"I think you've got problems, Zan-Zan. Serious ones." Coming from Jabber, Zanka knows that these words aren't the insult they would have been had anyone else spoken them, and his chest feels warm because of it. "Lucky for you, I'd say we're in the same boat." Jabber kisses the tip of Zanka's nose, and when he pulls back, he's smiling sweetly. "'S why I love ya, after all."
A tremor goes through Zanka at the soft look on his Raider's face, his grip on Jabber's hips tightening just a tad. Zanka feels like he wants to kiss him again, and he's about to do just that when a knock sounds from his bedroom door.
"Hey Zanka, just wanted to check on you, since Riyo said she heard you coughing up a storm earlier," Enjin announces quietly, and Zanka's heart jackrabbits in his ribs. Instinctively, Zanka slams a hand over Jabber's mouth, having already spotted the way his eyes glittered with excitement.
"I'm—" Zanka's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "I'm fine, Enjin. Just—just had somethin' in my throat, was all." Zanka swears internally—that couldn't have sounded like a more obvious lie if he tried, and Jabber certainly wasn't helping his composure. Rather than licking his hand as Zanka expected—like any normal person would—Jabber instead began to shift his hips insistently against him, and it had Zanka sliding his free hand down to his Raider's thigh and squeezing hard in warning. It worked immediately, and Jabber inhaled sharply, eyelashes fluttering as he went still again. Even without the flower choking him, Jabber still found ways to bring Zanka to damn near the edge of death.
It's quiet for a moment on the other side of the door, with maybe some muffled mumbling, then Enjin sighs. "You sure?" He asks, like he really wants a reason to open the door, and Zanka huffs irritably. It's odd, that sharp feeling prickling along the back of his neck—he doesn't think he's ever been irritated with Enjin before, and he's almost disturbed by the revelation, but it's quickly pushed aside in favor of focusing on the way Jabber's eyes have gone sultry, and he's quickly distracted again. He'll freak out about it later, for certain.
"Yes, I'm sure. About ta head ta sleep, now," he answers briskly, and he waits until he hears Enjin's footsteps fading before he removes his hands from Jabber's mouth, replacing it swiftly with his own.
Luckily for them, no one interrupts them for the rest of the night.
Extra:
"I have—had—hanahaki," Zanka confesses to Enjin one day, when keeping the secret no longer sits right with his spirit. It hadn't sat right when he first told the lie of 'Must be one of Jabber's poisons', to explain why he was unable to stand up straight for nearly a week after that night with Jabber, but he didn't think breaking the news that he was quite literally dying before then would ever go over well, so he'd resigned himself to just never saying anything.
Until now, at least.
"I know."
Zanka whips his head to look at Enjin so fast that it aches, and when he's met with his mentor simply lighting another cigarette, he feels as though his fingers have floated away from him, like maybe he's floating away from himself.
"You knew?" He breathes, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. "How come ya never said anythin'?"
"Wanted you to come and tell me yourself." Pulling the cigarette from between his lips, he exhales smoke slowly. "I'll be honest though, if you and Jabber hadn't worked it out that night, I was probably gonna give you like, two more days before I did something about it. I trust you and your ability to make decisions, but I refuse to let you die when I could have done something to prevent it." Enjin's voice is gruff, sort of, lacking the lightheartedness he usually carried with him, and he won't look at Zanka beside him. Zanka, who can hardly hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Zanka, who certainly hadn't mentioned Jabber.
"…Wait. How'd you know that it was Jabber I was dyin' for? And how'd you know we worked it out?" Was that why he'd been hesitant to let it go that night? Because he knew Zanka was dying.
"Two things," Enjin starts, holding up two fingers before he puts one down. "One, I know you—" Zanka blinks, resisting the urge to mumble, 'the hell does that mean?' "—And two, I took a trip to Shikage's room that night, and he told me that Jabber had snuck into your room. Asked him why he let him in, and he said it was because Jabber didn't seem like he was planning to hurt you, and I trust him, so I let it be."
Zanka can hardly breathe. "You…let it be?" Enjin nods, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. "Why? Aren't ya mad at me for fallin' in love with a Raider? Our enemies?" He can't help but ask, and for some reason, Enjin smiles.
"See, I kinda wanted to be, but what's the point in that? The guy clearly makes you happy, and who am I to take that from you?" His words are more flippant than Zanka expects, and he's about to respond, but then Enjin finally looks at him, and he pins Zanka with a look that he can't decipher. "Besides, didn't I tell you already? I trust your decisions, but I won't let you die, so if push comes to shove, then I'll do something about it." He lets the weight of his words sit between them for just a moment before continuing. "Plus, Shikage trusts Jabber. Enough to allow him into HQ without warning anyone, at least, and I trust him, too. Clearly, you guys are seein' somethin' that I can't say I do at the moment." Sighing, he leans back against the bench they were sitting on, propping his arms up against the back of it. "So, for right now, I'm letting it be."
Zanka can only look at Enjin with complete awe, mouth agape as he tries to reconcile with the fact that Enjin knew he had been lying when he told everyone that it was Jabber's poison keeping him from standing straight. He knew Zanka was lying when he told everyone that he was simply experiencing a particularly bad cold when he began to look sickly rather than just feeling it. He knows that Zanka was, has been, and is in love with Jabber Wonger of the Raiders, and he's…he's letting it be.
Zanka has never been more at peace than this very moment, and he can't help but feel at least a little grateful that Jabber loves him back enough to allow him to experience it.