Chapter Text
“Well, try me.”
That didn’t come out as he’d intended.
Zanka took a step back, his stance firm. Balling his fists as he eyed the other intentively.
What else could he possibly want?
This isn’t the first time that he’d come across Jabber Wonger. Devastatingly charismatic yet a pain in the ass to be around. He’s obnoxious, so effortlessly perfect. (You could maybe even call it, jealously.)
Jabber, shocked by the absolute audacity of this twig that was challenging him to a fight, it isn’t that he hadn’t noticed Zanka’s putrid jealousy that lurked off of him whenever the top 3’s are announced in class, but setting things even with a fight? Damn he’s overestimating himself.
“Zankaaa, my man, this isn’t what any of us would’ve wanted alright? Also, it’s not like you’d win.”
He was still mad about Zanka dragging him into the back alley of the restaurant he’s working at in the middle of his shift, but it’s unfortunately against company policy to harm a customer.
Before he knew, a blow swept past his cheek, dodged thinly as Jabber’s responses kicked in.
“What the fuck man? I didn’t say I wanted to try ya.”
Then a thought crossed his mind,
“Are you that desperate to prove yourself to be better?”
That hit Zanka’s nerves.
It’s painfully obvious, isn't it, that he wanted to be the better student,the best student, the best son, the best pupil but time and time again he’s beaten down by effortless geniuses (like Jabber). He wanted to be the better one. It’s humiliatingly taunt that even his academic rival could so clearly pierce through this sick dynamic he had had in his mind for countless years. He just wanted to appear effortlessly better, even if it means consequences.
“Shut up.”
“So you wanna fight it out or nah?”
“I still do.”
“I’ll take it as a yes then. Just..give me a sec.”
Humming a made up tune, Jabber tied his long locs up in a high bun, long hair is pretty diminishing to a good fight, especially when the opponent doesn’t play fair and tugs on it to bring you down.
That was something his father had taught him as a growing child.
The hollow loc beads in his hair clanked like a sore song, echoing in the cramped alleyway. He slid his rings off of his fingers, safely packed into his back pocket.
“Bring it on, Mr. Bad attitude.”
Unexpectedly, the twig was a pretty good fighter.
Zanka aimed straight for Jabber’s chin, his fists hooked up, desperate to just shut him up for once.
Always the smarter one, always the funnier one. Why can’t I just be good at anything.
It was an unexpected punch that sent his ears ringing, Jabber expected him to go for his chest or groin, the usual spots for a dirty fighter. But nooooo, he had to be special, civilised.
Gathering himself from the impact, he knows he’s ready to send this man into a coma. A drool of blood strung from his lips from an braised gum. His hair had fallen again. Should’ve bought better hair ties.
“You should’ve gone for harder.”
Before Zanka processed the sentence, he found himself staggering backwards, his torso numb and eyes blank.
It was a fist to the gut, swiftly followed by a knee to the chest.
Before any of them knew, Zanka’s head crashed onto the alleyway wall, and there he dramatically slid down, a small trail of blood seeping out of the back of his head, ending the fight in silence
K.O
Jabber didn’t want to hurt Zanka, but he did ask for it. The audacity that this man has is unbelievably hard to overlook.
Hopefully he hadn’t killed him right.
Looking at his limp body, Jabber kneeled to check for the man’s pulse. Zanka’s breath was soft, a stark difference from that person from only 30 minutes ago that initiated this fight, in which he so humiliatingly lost to a disagreeing opponent.
“steady breath…steady pulse…I think you’d be fine.”
He hadn’t, what a relief.
Jabber checked his watch, 6:30. About time to clock off the shift,
The winter gusts are unforgiving, it’s not like he wanted Zanka to die from hypothermia. Jabber quickly grabbed his belongings from the employees’ closet. Bade Cthoni ,the shift manager, a goodbye, and went straight back to the alleyway. The dim alley maintained a fairly steady temperature due to its dampness, but it’s not long before the unconscious man would catch a cold.
“You’re prettier when you’re knocked out.”
Jabber mumbled to himself as he gazed at his challenger’s unmoving face, the droplets of sweat had long evaporated, now illuminated by the dim street lamps outside of the small space.
It’s… peaceful.
Zanka’s lashes are long and unmoving, lips shut, dry. A string of blood infused with saliva had dried around his chin from the fight earlier.
Almost as if an invisible force had taken hold of him, Jabber raised his thumb to wick off the piercing redness from Zanka’s idle lip.
It’s.. Soft.
Dazed by the view, he looked down, noticing Zanka’s torn sweater collar, he couldn’t recall much from the fight earlier. But it did result in leaving Zanka’s lower neck bare.
Wouldn’t be a good look.
Jabber gently wrapped his thick scarf around Zanka’s neck. Then slowly slid his arms below Zanka’s waist and hips.
“Huuurup.”
Zanka’s body was surprisingly dense, at least not as ‘twiglike’ as he’d imagined.
What the hell is he thinking about.
Clearing his mind of…things, Jabber hurried home. It’s a just street down to the alleyway. It’s not like he could afford good housing.
Zanka woke a short while after Jabber treated his wounds, his mind groggy and pieced up.
“Where the fuuuuuck..?”
The room lurked with the smell of untreated leftovers. Though the bedsheets were surprisingly new. He propped up on the bed.
Where the fuck is he.
Then he saw. Those dreaded locs spread across an old sofa, over some guy in nothing but a purple sweatshirt. Jabber was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, facing his way, awaiting his wake.
“Oh you’re up.” Jabber said with such casualty that made Zanka question whether he’s the one overreacting. Then the realisation hit.
Oh righttt, he was knocked out like some sucker, he’s never good enough isn’t he. Judging from how Jabber acted in the apartment, it’s safe to say he probably lives here. All Zanka wanted right now was to leave. The embarrassment only hit him like a pulsing wave, endlessly and another tormenting memory.
As Zanka tried to get off the bed, his head began to relentlessly pulsate.
“What are you doing?”
It sounded like it came in from a distance..disorganised…weren’t he just there..? Laying acro-
Thump.
The expected numbness of impact didn’t come. His head still dizzied on, the face of that oh so annoying Jabber echoed infront Zanka eyes..two…four..eight..they just keep multiplying do they. He clung onto Jabber’s arm as his body fell limp, once again.
“Well fuck me.”
Jabber, once again carried Zanka back onto his bed. For gods sake he’d changed sheets just for this unexpected visitor. Would be a shame if he’d left and fell later on the cold, hard streets, instead of into his arms.
So vulnerably so too.
Jabber laid Zanka back onto the bed, cushioning Zanka’s back onto his thigh to check for any more bleeding from the back of his head.
The bandages remained pristine.
A soothing sign that the bleeding had stopped.
Slowly, he laid Zanka onto his bed again, covering him up with blankets. Only this time, he moved a low chair next to the bed to better observe him.
The clock had struck 3:00AM. Jabber was genuinely tired out at this point. He wouldn’t want Zanka to suddenly wake again to just escape and pass out somewhere he can’t find when he’s asleep, that’d be too risky for both of them. It’s not a safe area where he lived in. Wind also howled out as the harsh weather of mid-January had slain possibly any tree within the area, this patient wouldn’t make it home if he’d tried.
…Paitient..huh.
it’s quite fascinating to see such a hard-shelled guy just lay here defenceless
Jabber leaned his chest onto the bed, folding his arms as he idly gazed at the man he knocked out cold, now towelled clean and almost as if he was just sleeping.
On his bed. God.
His memories went blank after that. His instincts gave in and he plopped front.
The dream was..not as savoury.
He’s back where he used to be.
Floors of clanking needles rolled, brown stains of dried blood still on it. Outside the dark cupboard was a frenzy of sound. Almost a fiesta of chaos, music boomed on and on endlessly for nights at a time, he couldn’t remember the nights he had had a good night's sleep. But he knows if he’d bring up anything about this to the nice lady that comes once in a while, he’d starve for the next month or so.
It is only within the cupboard in which he is safe.
But this time it’s different
. The shadow of a familiar man cowered over him, dragging him out by his hair. He could only so helplessly flail his limbs as he felt his back heating up from the friction of the tow. Needles…needles.. oh how the crowd adored him, the ladies fawned over this cute little boy, squeezing his little cheeks and rubbing his hair, grabbing…pulling…restraining him against his will as the man jabbed the needles within him.
“GET OFF OF ME!”
shit.
The sky had brightened. He’d fallen asleep without even knowing. Zanka stared at him in an equally akward manner.
“I think you stole my line there.”
He dropped dead, lying on Zanka’s chest the previous night. Zanka, waking to his periodical alarm, wouldn’t dare move, fearing another play of humiliation.
There he laid for another 4 hours, but he couldn’t fall back asleep, listening to whimpers of muffled pleas coming out of Jabber’s mouth. It’s quite…unexpected to hear something like this from a person that looked so...perfect.
Are you alright?