Chapter Text
Guilt was a heavy, nauseating feeling. Granted, that could well be the hangover, but in the end they went hand in hand. Zanka's stomach twisted with unease, his skin prickled, feeling dirty, nausea swam up his esophagus and back into his belly. The headache felt like punishment, and all he could do was hide under his blankets as if that might absolve him from all the reckless decisions he'd made the night before.
All the sins he'd given into.
He swore his shame was etched across him, smeared like mud against every part of his body.
Flashes came back to him, even as he actively tried to shut them away. The music of the bar blaring through speakers, making it impossible to hold conversation, the colorful lights flashing and gliding across blurred faces, the absolute high of singing along at the top of his lungs while jumping up and down with dozens of strangers and his friend. That much had been fine, he supposed. He had overindulged, though he knew better, but that might have been overlooked.
If not for the rest of the night.
If not for the way a pair of eyes drew him in, the way he allowed hands to roam his body, a mouth against his sweaty skin and teeth making him shiver right there in front of all these strangers, in front of his Riyo. Fuck, how was he supposed to face her after she'd seen him like that? Getting slobbered on and felt up and enjoying it because he was weak.
Only it didn't end there. He had stark memories, even against the haze of inebriation, of pressing this stranger against a wall, tasting sweat and alcohol tinged breath. At some point they'd stumbled to the bathroom laughing over each other, and Zanka himself had locked them into the biggest stall and shoved the guy against the far wall, doing and saying things that horrified him now.
God he was a fucking idiot. A blasphemous, weak-willed, pathetic idiot.
When he'd first seen the guy, Zanka had thought to himself, Whoa. This must be what angels look like. He couldn't remember what he'd been wearing, but he remembered warm brown skin, a wide, inviting smile, and long, thick dreadlocks, the cool sensation of the rings on his hands against Zanka's overheated skin.
Zanka groaned into his pillow, too tired and miserable to let out a proper scream.
That man was no fucking angel. He was a demon. A devil. One Zanka had given into however briefly.
One he never planned to see again.
With his heart stuttering an anxious rhythm that worsened his headache, Zanka reached for his phone which he'd miraculously remembered to plug in when he got home.
He grimaced at the missed phonecalls and texts from Riyo asking where he'd gone and if he was okay and that the bar was closing they had to go.
The last one said Tell me when you're awake I want details!
The also saw a text from Enjin, his roommate, that said Left some pain meds and water on your desk. Glad you had fun!
Despite the easygoing nature and the simplicity of it all, Zanka couldn't shake the feeling of being judged. Though Riyo and Enjin were the last people who would be judgemental, especially with him…. Still, they had seen a version of Zanka he was not proud of. And he did see Enjin as a much nicer, cooler older brother than his own, so it mortified him to think of what he thought when Zanka came home.
He had been raised better. He knew better. He should've stopped drinking sooner, pulled away from the advances, stayed by his friend instead of disappearing.
He glanced at the medicine Enjin had left out for him, longing for it, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to keep it down. Seemed like a fair punishment to feel miserable after the night he had.
He sighed and rolled back over in hopes of sleeping off the memories. He was on the cusp of sleep, the nausea finally having diminished just enough to ignore when his phone buzzed persistently, indicating a phone call.
He was ready to reject the call, fully expecting Riyo to call asking for the details she wanted and wholly unwilling to give them to her. Instead his eyes went wide and he sat up in bed so fast that he nearly hurled right there. He managed to fight it back, clearing his throat as he answered, though nothing saved him from how gravelly his voice sounded, giving him away immediately.
Instead of a straight reprimand, his father took a breath and let it out, full of disdain, disappointment, and admonishment. "I take it you aren't helping with the soup kitchen today then."
"Of course I am—"
"You're an hour late and by the sound of your voice aren't even out of bed."
Zanka took a breath, ignoring the claims feeling that overcame him. "I know, my alarm didn't go off. But I'll be there. I'm sorry."
His father only hummed and hung up, leaving Zanka with a renewed feeling of guilt and misery. Oh and—
He scrambled out of bed, grateful that Enjin had apparently also thought to leave his trash bin by his bed because there was no way he would have made it to the bathroom.
It was slow and excruciating, but nothing he didn't deserve as he got ready. He did call for a ride instead of driving himself or braving the bus because he didn't think he could drive and didn't want to jostled his stomach more.
He was mostly presentable. His eyes were still pinched with exhaustion, face pale with nausea, but he was dressed and able to function. He did have to dig out a turtleneck and a scarf because to his horror, his neck was littered with splotches of deep purple and fuschia. Seeing the marks had filled him with twice as much shame and embarrassment and even a terrible amount of desire that he promptly shoved away and stomped down.
By the time he made it to the church, the soup kitchen was well underway. His father was dressed in his cassock, the look in his eyes hardening at the sight of Zanka. His brother and sister were already in their respective places, organizing and guiding and serving with smiles plastered on their faces— the customer service kind, not the real ones.
"Zanka, about time," his father said, eyeing him. Zanka swore he could see every dirty detail, every hormone added thing he said and did, all of it in bright red across his face and clothws for his father to discover. When he drew nearer, Zanka held his breath, fighting nausea and his headache once more when his father's eyes narrowed.
Without another word, he reached out and pulled Zanka out of sight behind a pillar. "Are you hungover?" his father spat.
"No, of course—"
"And now you're lying. Please, I can smell the liquor like it's seeping from your pores." He flicked at a strand of Zanka's hair. "You didn't even bother showering. You look a mess. Go home and pull yourself together. I expect you in a confessional tonight once you're better and at mass early tomorrow morning."
"I can stay, I can help—"
"Go. The last thing I need is you getting sick all over the food. Make sure you say your prayers. And may the lord forgive you your trespasses."
Zanka grimaced, a flash of a bathroom stall and wandering hands and lewd sounds pounding against the back of his eyelids. He stepped back, head bowed down in shame and repentance. "Forgive me," he murmured. He waited until his father walked away to get another ride to get him back home, finally allowing the hangover to hit him fully instead of fighting it off.
When he got home, he showered, imagining that with each scrub, he was peeling away the sin, cleansing himself, piecing who he truly was back together. He couldn't bring himself to talk to Riyo or Enjin past letting them know he had survived the hangover and needed rest. He even cleaned the apartment while Enjin was at work as if a cleaner home space might prove he himself was clean. He went to confession that evening, thankfully with a different priest, and dutifully said his prayers, feeling with each one that his shame was shedding little by little.
He made sure to do everything right the rest of the week. He woke up early, he went to mass, he said his prayers, including a rosary any and each time his mind tried to go back to that lust-filled night of overindulgence and recklessness. He went to his classes and did his work and helped at the church in the evenings.
He didn't let himself see Riyo again until that next weekend. Even then, he still felt embarrassed and ashamed when he saw her at his door, terrified that she would see him differently.
"There you are! You know I hate it when you disappear like that," Riyo admonished. He had invited her to visit for a movie night, unwilling to step near a bar or club when he still hadn't fully shaken the last experience from himself.
"I live with him and even I barely saw him this week," Enjin said, mouth pulled up into a smirk on one side, though his eyes relayed his curiosity and worry.
"I just got busy."
"Did being busy by any chance include talking to your new boyfriend?" Riyo asked simply, like she was commenting on the weather and not memories that plagued Zanka's moral conscience.
"N-no! That was…. I don't want to talk about that."
"Ooh, I do," Enjin said, perking up, like he was a child instead of someone just over ten years Zanka's senior. "Zanka got a boyfriend? Is that why he was covered in hickeys when he came home that night?"
"Riyo, if ya say one word I'm throwin' ya out!" Zanka snapped, grimacing at the way his accent slipped through in his panic.
At that, both Riyo and Enjin slumped and sighed, giving each other a look that screamed here we go again.
"What?" Zanka snapped, maybe a bit too harshly.
"I was really hoping you wouldn't do this again," Riyo said with shrug. "You even said it yourself." She switched to a faux timbre, face contorting to a strange imitation of masculinity, or so Zanka assumed because she just looked constipated. "This time I'll enjoy myself and I won't feel guilty about. This time I get to be free." She proceeded to turn and pretend to make out with an invisible person beside her, sending Enjin into hysterics and leaving Zanka to feel his whole body burning with embarrassment.
"Wonder what kinda guy got Zanka to say that," Enjin said, still stifling laughter. "So, what was his name? Did you call him at all?"
Zanka crossed his arms and walked away, plopping on the couch and skimming movie options silently.
"Oh, no way," Riyo snorted. "You didn't get his name or number? Did that not come up at all while you shoved your tongue down his throat?"
"Riyo!"
Meanwhile Enjin had come around, shaking Zanka obnoxiously by the shoulders. "You're growing up, kid! 'Bout damn time!"
Zanka felt anger simmering beneath his skin, but he stifled it as best he could even in the face of their amusement. "Stop it! You know I'm not interested in a bohemian, hedonistic lifestyle, so I don't know why you even let him near me in the first pla—"
A stressball Enjin had left laying around hit him square in the nose, making his line of thought dissipate as his brain rebooted to process.
Riyo stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she stared at Zanka. "'Not interested in a bohemian, hedonistic—' oh shut up and get off your fucking high horse, Zanka. We get that you were brought up neck-deep in all these religious beliefs about right and wrong, but the whole point of you getting to hang out with us is that you get to be free. No pressure, no expectations, no judgement." He felt Enjin pat his shoulder as if agreeing. "Also, you're a goddamn Lit major!"
"Hey—"
"Sorry, sorry," she said, hands up in a placating gesture. "You're a freakin' Lit major," she amended. "Besides…. I didn't let him near you."
Zanka blinked, not liking the insinuation.
Riyo tilted her head and pointed at him. "You went up to him." Zanka blanched, but Riyo went on. "Like a man on a mission. Didn't even introduce yourself just weaved your way between people and yanked the guy into a kiss. I'm pretty sure I lost you the second you locked eyes with him."
"Ah, youth," Enjin said wistfully, now sitting beside Zanka.
Zanka sat with his hands in tight fists against his knees, itching for his rosary. Riyo's words had unlocked memories. Meeting dark eyes that reflected the light, the playful grin that had felt like a challenge, and winning that challenge when he saw the surprise, the excitement in that beautiful stranger's face, the elation when the kiss, the desire, the need was reciprocated.
Even with the horror of the realization, there was also… something akin to pride. He'd wanted something and he got it. Reveled in it. Regretted it now, yes, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but preen at the idea of someone like that indulging someone like Zanka.
Hail Mary, full of grace—
"Zanka." Riyo was suddenly in front of him, worry creasing her brows. Enjin was also tilted toward him, as if prepared to strike at all the self-deprecating thoughts in Zanka's mind. "Man, relax. You didn't do anything bad."
Except he had.
Gluttony. Pride. Lust. Even Sloth by morning.
Maybe Enjin and Riyo didn't understand that, but Zanka had been raised with certain rules, certain expectations. He didn't even let himself drink until very recently, believing alcohol as a whole was a sin to partake in, rather than simply something to do in moderation. He was a proper guy, who treated romantic interests with respect, who was waiting until he was married to a nice man or woman his age that most definitely did not spend their weekends making out in dive bar bathroom stalls. Or maybe even become a celibate priest if the calling reached him. He was responsible, he was pious and devout.
He wasn't… whatever he had been Friday night.
"Hey," Riyo said, quiet but still piercing through Zanka's inner monologue. He refocused, realizing with a start that his eyesight was blurry. He immediately blinked the moisture away and composed his expression. Riyo frowned a bit, noticing but not commenting on it. She shook his shoulder gently. "At the time… was it at least fun?" Zanka grimaced, but heat spiked in him again, recalling the rush of someone completely ravishing him where anyone could see. Riyo grinned. "'Cause I mean, if you're gonna feel guilty, at least tell me you had a good time in the moment. It would suck if it was lame and you felt guilty."
Zanka bit his lip, unsure what the right thing to say was.
"Some of those marks are still fading," Enjin muttered past a yawn. "Damn well better have been fun."
A memory of piercing eyes looking at him like he was both predator and prey at the same time made his heart stutter a bit. He wondered if anyone would ever look at him like that again. Ever touch him like that again. Like he was something… sacred. But also like he was strong enough not to break. With desperation.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Most fun I've had in my life."
"Good," Riyo said before sitting on his other side. "Now please don't choose a historical drama or I will gouge my eyes out."
There was a mix of relief and disappointment when the topic was dropped, an unsaid agreement not to bring it back up. Zanka figured it was just as well. Better to leave the memories in the past where they belonged.
Zanka refrained from going out for another two weeks. He finally felt like himself again, and somehow felt… almost fond of the memories he'd pushed away. He kept recalling his hangover as a reminder why he would never do anything like that again. The next time he met someone, it would be at a church event or a cafe or library. Or at the very fucking least, somewhere clean.
Then came Riyo begging Zanka to join her once more because going out wasn't as fun on her own and the last time she'd taken Rudo had been a bit of a disaster because the poor guy had no idea what to do in such a crowded place with so many people in his space. She didn't want to put him through that again.
"C'mon, Zanka you've gone with me before without getting wasted. I take care of you, you take care of me, yeah?"
Zanka had his refusal on the tip of tongue, ready to say it succinctly in multiple languages if necessary. Then he took one look at Riyo's big eyes gazing up at him and he folded like a total spineless fool.
"If I come back wasted, just end me," he muttered to Enjin before leaving.
They arrived at the bar early enough that it wasn't packed. There were even available seats both outside and inside, and while it was easier to talk outside, it was also freezing cold, so they stayed inside.
Slowly, Zanka began to relax. There was nothing wrong with enjoying his time, with dancing around with Riyo, nothing wrong with a single drink before he cut himself off for the night so he could drive them home. He could have fun without doing anything bad. Still, Zanka felt for the rosary he had on under his shirt, his tether and reminder. He was certain that even wasted, that rosary would jolt him back into himself.
The bar filled with more people as the night went on, some who looked Zanka's way and even offered to get him a drink. Zanka tried to keep his ego in check, but he had to say he enjoyed the way people looked at him, even if he wasn't going to pursue anything.
They went to the bar to get Riyo another drink. She yanked at Zanka's sleeve with a force someone that small shouldn't have had, making him crouch down to hear her.
"I know you don't wanna talk about it, but that guy from last time has kinda been here every weekend and I kinda think he was looking for you but anyway he saw you and he's walking this way andnowhe'snexttoyou." Her words ran together by the end, and Zanka quickly sat upright, highly aware of a presence beside him. Riyo grinned, awkward and fake, glancing at Zanka to gauge his reaction.
He could feel the weight of his rosary around his neck like a noose.
"Damn," a smooth, playful voice drawled out, too close to his ear. "I 'on even get a hello?"
Heat flared in Zanka's cheeks as he steeled himself. He turned to look at the stranger, fully prepared to tell him he didn't want to talk to him. Until he saw his face.
It made sense that Zanka had needed an insane amount of alcohol in his system to go up to him. There was no way he ever would otherwise. It also made sense why he'd been so certain he'd met an actual angel.
He was unfairly beautiful.
Lucifer was an angel once too, his brain helpfully supplied.
The guy tilted his head, grin widening as one eyebrow arched. Every twitch of his face was expressive, like a cartoon character. It unnerved Zanka.
He cleared his throat and snapped his mouth shut, which the guy for some reason took as an invitation to invade Zanka's personal space. The cologne he wore wafted toward Zanka like some kind of aphrodisiac and he promptly made himself stop breathing.
He'd heard it said that a person's standards dropped when they were drunk. That someone they found attractive while wasted might not be quite as attractive when sober. But it felt like the opposite with this guy. Zanka's memories were fuzzy, blurry, full of movement.
Now everything was so sharp. His smile, his eyes, his jawline, the cut of his clothes, his scent. Zanka was getting dizzy.
Right, he wasn't fucking breathing.
He took a sharp breath and with it a step back. Dark eyes watched him, but the guy took his own step back, granting Zanka space.
"You seem more nervous than I remember," he said, leaning lazily against the counter. "Can I get you a drink?" He ran his words together, dropping consonants and merging similar sounds.
"No," Zanka finally managed to say. "I'm not drinking. Just here with my friend." At that Riyo waved.
The guy's eyes flitted to her, head lolling in a sort of nod of acknowledgement. "Yeah I seen her around," he said. "Kinda got the vibe you were avoidin' me when you weren't with her."
Clearing his throat Zanka forced himself to look away, to appear in control, to remember how he'd felt the next morning. He fixed the guy with a steady look. "Right. I'm not really one to… behave the way I did. So I apologize for… that." He nodded as the guy's gaze flitted to Riyo as if trying to see if there was a joke he was missing out on.
He let out a laugh, loud even with the music and the people. It was infectious, and Zanka felt a little bit of pride at getting to make him laugh. It shifted his whole face, his smile all teeth, including pointy canines, tongue between those very teeth as a piece of glinting jewelry poked out beneath it. His eyes squinted, laugh lines appearing at the corners.
"You for real?" he asked. "Was that an actual apology? Oh, you funny as hell, man."
Zanka grimaced. "Okay, well…. Enjoy your night."
As Zanka started to walk away with Riyo in tow, he heard the guy call after him, "You know I miss your accent. Dunno why you hide it."
Zanka turned back around, wondering how this guy even remembered everything or how he picked Zanka out from the crowd of faces.
"Hey," Riyo said. "You wanna go talk to him? It's not like you'll repeat what happened."
Zanka shook his head and turned away once more, resolving to not pay attention to the guy no matter how fascinating. "No, come on. Let's dance."
Riyo's gaze was calculating, despite how much she'd had to drink, but she only nodded and pulled Zanka into the crowd.
He couldn't help himself from glancing around every now and then, taking stock of where that stranger was. Couldn't fool himself into not being a little excited when he caught sight of him near or not being disappointed when he was nowhere to be seen. He just kept touching the beads of his rosary over his shirt, reminding himself that he would not fall again.
Then he saw him again. Dancing. Body pressed against someone else. Some blond guy. Zanka wanted to ignore it, write it off, and roll his eyes. But then those eyes, sparkling with amusement and the multicolored lights around them, met Zanka's.
He watched as fingers adorned with rings ran up the guy's body, following the flow of music. As full lips skimmed his neck. All the while never breaking eye contact.
When he arched a questioning brow, Zanka knew for sure it was on purpose.
And oh how it worked.
Rosary forgotten, shame muddled beneath pride and rage, all Zanka wanted was to pull the two apart, to make his stranger chase him, to know he wasn't so easily replaceable. Who cared if there was nothing to pursue, who cared if he ended up in a bathroom stall again? He had somehow been worth the effort of remembering past a drunk haze, enough to have this guy coming back to the bar in search of him, apparently even alluring enough to tease with jealousy.
There was no alcohol to excuse the reaction. Nothing in his system to make him more easily susceptible to bad choices. Still, it took every bit of self control in him to stay in place. To appear more in control of himself than he was.
At the very least, he wanted to win this stupid staring competition. He wanted to seem unfazed by his stupid little game. A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that if he was really that easily replaced, this guy wouldn't be making the effort to piss him off.
Zanka really shouldn't even be giving him any attention. He should look away, forget about it, remain composed if only on the surface. Even if he bristled seeing someone else's hands sliding against brown skin.
He rolled his eyes, moreso at himself, banishing the thought from his head. He shouldn't be thinking that way anyway.
"Okay, you're freaking me out," Riyo shouted over the music. "You haven't said a word."
"Sorry," he said, offering her a smile. "Just a little shaken up."
Riyo nodded and tugged his sleeve. "Let's get some air. It's crazy hot in here now."
Zanka followed her, telling himself not to look back.
The cold air was jarring, and honestly welcome. His ears buzzed with the sudden lack of blaring music. They sat at a little table placed along a corner that seemed to block out most of the wind.
Riyo was watching him a little too analytically, and Zanka didn't like it. They were opposites in so many ways, but Riyo had been very understanding of all his eccentricities, and she was one of the few, if not the only one who could read him like an open book.
"He was hot," she blurted eventually.
Zanka couldn't help it; he let out a sharp laugh. He felt his shoulders relax, reminding himself that as much as he might chastize himself, Riyo never judged him.
"Yeah. Can't really believe I went for him. Or that he was into it too." He chewed the inside of his cheek, pride rearing its head once more. "You… really think he was looking for me? The other weekends?"
Riyo shrugged. "I never talked to the guy, but I think so. Even more now that he mentioned the fact that he noticed you weren't with me." She sipped her drink leisurely. "So let me see if I got this right. The terrible, horrible, sinful thing you did… was get drunk and make out with a stranger, right?"
Zanka felt his cheeks flush. "In the simplest of terms, yes."
She hummed. "So what would be the problem with just talking to him now that you're perfectly sober?"
The perfectly honest answer? Zanka didn't trust himself. He didn’t think he would be strong enough to reject all the urges and desires if they were offered to him. It was one thing to face temptation, and another to invite it into his life. Zanka was strong, but he was still human.
"My… actions before might have… given him some expectations. Besides, I really don't think that someone worth my time is going to be someone I meet at a place like this."
Riyo sighed and narrowed her eyes. "Zanka. You're at a place like this. You know your holier-than-thou attitude really makes me wanna kick you."
"That's not what I meant!" he protested. "I know that being here doesn't automatically mean you're a bad person. It's… everything that happened, everything he encouraged and pushed—"
"Hey now, I didn't force you to do nothin'."
The voice had a jolt coursing through Zanka. The guy came around from behind Zanka and leaned his hip against the table. The look in his eyes wasn't like before. There was nothing playful or amused in it. He looked… bored. A little annoyed.
"Don't go makin' me out to be someone creep who felt you up. You was doing and sayin' plenty all on your own."
Zanka blinked, feeling oddly chastized and he hated it. "Never said you were," he grit out. He took a breath, regaining composure. "You're right. I made my choices. I was the weak one. It's not on you, it's on me. I knew better."
The guy glanced at Riyo, a confused look on his face now. Riyo just stared back and sipped her drink.
"He always like this?"
"You get used to it," Riyo said. "Wanna go back inside, Zanka?"
"Nah," the guy said. "I wanna talk to him before he runs off again."
Riyo looked at him, a question in her eyes. Zanka knew that she wouldn't go anywhere if he asked, if he felt the slightest bit threatened. But he didn't feel threatened. There was a buzz beneath his skin hearing this guy's voice so clearly, a rush that came from knowing that he had to have followed him out here and ditched the off brand lookalike.
"You stay on that side of the table," Zanka said. The guy gave him an amused look before sitting where Zanka pointed. Meanwhile Zanka nodded at Riyo, indicating he would be fine. No more bathroom escapades.
"I'll be inside. If you don't come to find me, I'm coming to check on you."
He nodded and watched her go before turning to look at him.
Dark eyes were already trained on Zanka, boring into him like they could unspool him and get a look at all the mess. Zanka sat up straighter, kept his expression passive.
"Name's Jabber, by the way."
"Zanka," he offered.
Jabber nodded. "Yeah, I heard your friend." He tilted his head, dreadlocks swaying with the movement to frame his face. "So. I ain't worth your time?"
Zanka frowned, the cold beginning to seep through his clothes and into his bones. He welcomed it as a tether.
"I remember you bein' way more talkative."
"I'm surprised you remember anything at all," Zanka finally said.
Jabber leaned forward, arms crossed over the table, smile sharp and eyes locked on Zanka. "Couldn't forget if I wanted to. Believe it or not, I don't go around kissin' strangers every weekend. Ain't ever had somebody do what you did." Zanka blinked, cheeks warm. He was unsure what that even meant. His confusion seemed to amuse Jabber, his grin growing. "Walking through the damn place like a flame, no hesitation. Sayin' the filthiest things with that cute accent. Damn near brought me to my knees, you know?" He tugged at his collar and twisted just so to show a little divot in the slope of his neck. "Even left me a nice little souvenir."
Zanka blanched, ignoring the way his jaw tingled with the urge to bite even now. "I did that?" he asked.
Some of the amusement faded at the sound of Zanka's tone, but there was still enough to tell Zanka that Jabber truly hadn't minded.
"You a wild one, Zanka. You got this prim and proper act up now, but I seen it. Seen you." Zanka startled when he felt a leg press against his own, a small reprieve from the cold, but it ignited a desire Zanka wished didn't exist. "So why you pretending now?"
The rings on his hands glinted as he reached over. Zanka thought he was going to touch his face, but instead warm fingers dropped to his neck. To the rosary beads resting there, following the bumpy line of them along his neck to his chest.
"Oh. This why?" Jabber murmured.
Zanka knew he was breathing too heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his touch. He tore himself away and stood. He knew that he was toeing a dangerous line, that he would buckle and it would take longer than a week to wash the guilt away if he lingered longer.
"You don't know me," he said curtly, smoothing out his jacket.
Jabber leaned back where he sat, pulling his legs up to cross his feet on the table. "Sure I don't. And you're not running away scared."
The words pierced through Zanka like electrifying blades. A wave of heat washed over him before he surged forward, shoving Jabber's feet off the table so he could stand in front of him.
"Listen t'me, asshole, I'm not fuckin' running away an' I sure as hell am not scareda you. Yer just not worth my fuckin' time."
Despite the insults, Jabber's grin grew impossibly wider, wild, hungry. "Oh-ho-ho, church boy got a potty mouth! You say your prayers with that tongue?"
"Fuck you."
Jabber shrugged. "Been trying to offer."
Zanka grimaced and stepped back, holding onto his anger before he could give in to his embarrassment. And that other thing he refused to name that had his heart slamming against his ribcage.
He didn't deign him with a response, especially not with the excitement lighting up his eyes like he wanted Zanka to keep playing along. He had to pull himself together. He was not this person. This person who gave into anger and insulted strangers.
Zanka took a breath and stood up straighter, composing his features. Something Jabber didn't seem to like if the way he rolled his eyes said anything. Then, without saying anything, he turned around and started for her door, shoulders hitched up against the cold.
"See you around, Mr. Bad Attitude!" Jabber called after him.
Zanka scowled and pushed the door open, startling Riyo who had apparently been waiting there. She gave him a once over, an unspoken question in her eyes.
Zanka leaned down so she could hear over the music. "I'll be right back. All good." He didn't wait for her to answer before he was making his way between people to get to the crowded bathrooms, going straight to the sink and splashing his face with icy water.
Now even grabbing his rosary felt wrong because instead of thinking of prayers, he could only think of the slow, steady way Jabber's finger traced it, the barest brush of his skin against Zanka's neck.
He groaned and splashed his face again, slamming the palms of his hands hard against his own cheeks. He took a breath and went back into the crowd of dancing bodies, meeting Riyo by the DJ table.
They danced some more, and Zanka forced himself not to look around. And he ignored the disappointment when he did notice that Jabber was seemingly nowhere to be found.
By the end of the night, Zanka had brought Riyo to his apartment, letting her take his bed while he laid down on the couch.
Even in sleep, Zanka couldn't stop thinking about that wicked smile or the warmth of those fingers. He couldn't tamper down the part of him that itched to see that excited glint of a challenge in those eyes.
He only let himself replay the memories because he knew for certain this time that he would never speak to Jabber again.