Chapter Text
It had been three months since the start of their relationship.
Three whole months—and Friday was their anniversary.
Jabber hadn’t thought much of it at first. Three months didn’t feel monumental, not in the way six months or a year did. It wasn’t some big, dramatic milestone. But the more the day crept closer, the more it settled in his chest, warm and restless. Three months meant something. It meant consistency. It meant they’d stayed. It meant this wasn’t a fluke.
So he’d done what he always did when he cared too much—he planned.
He’d done research, scrolling through forums and articles that ranged from cute date ideas to things not to do early in a relationship, bugging his friends until they either gave him suggestions or threatened to mute him. Eventually, he landed on something that felt right: everyone together. Dinner, maybe a movie, maybe an arcade if they felt up to it. Nothing flashy. Nothing too intimate.
Just… connection.
Zanka’s friends. His friends. All in one place.
Jabber knew how much that mattered to him—how deeply Zanka valued the people he kept close, how rare it was for him to let new ones in. Family and friends weren’t just important to Zanka; they were his anchors. And Jabber wanted to be part of that, not separate from it.
Doing nothing felt wrong.
Doing something over the top felt wrong too.
This sat in the middle. Thoughtful. Safe. Earnest. The only problem was the surprise.
Zanka hated surprises. Not in a dramatic way—he just liked knowing what to expect. Liked being prepared. The idea of springing something on him made Jabber’s stomach twist a little, but he wanted to give him this. Just once. Something small. Something good.
He was still staring down at his phone when he realized the lecture had already started.
“Shit-” He rushed in, slipping through the door and ducking his head as he made his way to a seat near the back. He sat quickly, fumbling to pull out his notebook as quietly as possible.
Jabber straightened just as the professor cleared their throat at the front of the room, the sound sharp and unmistakable. He slid his phone into his lap and forced his attention forward. Fu was already sitting beside him, notebook open, pen moving steadily.
Jabber leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Hey, man.”
Fu didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
“Barely,” Jabber whispered. He was usually too loud in class. After getting warned one too many times, he was officially on thin ice. One more slip and he’d be out. “I’m planning a surprise for my boyfriend.”
That got Fu’s attention. He glanced sideways, eyebrow lifting slightly.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
“Yeah. I wanna get everybody together. Dinner, movie, something chill. You free Friday?”
Fu thought for a moment, fingers pausing over the page. “Yeah. What time?”
Jabber leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking up to the ceiling as he calculated. “I was thinking, like… two or three? Nobody really has class past ten on Fridays, right?”
Fu nodded, already pulling out his phone. “That works. I’ve got therapy at twelve, but I’ll be out before two.”
“Perfect.” Jabber grinned, lifting his phone again to add Fu to the group chat he’d made earlier that morning. “I’ll text everybody once I’ve got it more figured out, yeah?”
Fu gave a small nod and went back to his notes.
The rest of the lecture blurred past. Jabber tried to focus, really tried, but his attention kept drifting back to his phone—texts coming in, plans half-formed, nerves buzzing under his skin. By the time class ended, he was restless.
He waved briefly to Fu and headed out.
He knew Zanka’s friends.
But he wouldn’t call them his friends.
Their first meeting had gone… badly. Not disastrously, but enough that the awkwardness lingered like a bad smell. He hadn’t known who they were at the time—hadn’t realized they were already part of Zanka’s life. He’d been loud, a little cocky, too familiar. By the time he’d figured it out, the damage was done.
So yeah, he was nervous.
Adjusting his bag over his shoulder, Jabber walked across campus, eyes glued to his phone. Friday had to be perfect. Not flawless—just good enough. Good enough that Zanka would smile that soft smile he saved for moments that caught him off guard in the right way.
He texted a few more people. Cythoni replied that she was busy. Momoa said the same.
Jabber clicked his tongue, sighing as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
That was fine. He and Fu were enough. Plus Zanka’s friends, he just didnt want to be the only one without a friend.
At least with Fu, he knew what to expect. He wouldn’t embarrass him much. Everyone else he knew was more of an acquaintance. Or too old to hang out, like Bundus, who would probably spend his Friday night watching the news in nothing but his underwear. Or whatever old men did.
He snorted softly at the thought.
Then he stopped mid-step.
He didn’t have any of Zanka’s friends’ numbers.
Jabber stood there for a second, staring at nothing, before exhaling slowly. Of course, he didn’t. He glanced around, scanning the campus. They were easy to find. They never really split up between classes—always together, always laughing.
The realization left a sour taste in his mouth.
He didn’t really have that. Not like this. Sure, he had Fu. But that was more of a we share a class and sometimes get lunch kind of thing. Not the kind of friendship that came with inside jokes and effortless closeness.
He shoved the thought away with a hum, squaring his shoulders.
It didn’t take long to spot them—bundled up behind the art building, leaning against the brick wall, laughing at something Rudo had said. Easy. Familiar.
Jabber slowed his pace.
For a moment, he considered turning around. Instead, he lifted a hand and jogged over. “Hey, guys!”
The word jogged was generous. He slowed to a stop a few feet away, breath a little uneven. The group went quiet, eyes turning toward him like he’d just stepped into a spotlight.
Okay. Maybe he’d interrupted something.
“Uh—hey,” he said quickly. “Sorry to bother you.”
Riyo crossed her arms, watching him carefully.
“I’m with Zanka,” Jabber continued, forcing himself not to ramble. “And, uh—I know you guys are friends, so I wanted to invite you to hang with us Friday. Get something to eat, maybe watch a movie. Arcade, if that’s more your thing.”
Riyo exchanged a look with the others. “Is Zanka going?” she asked. “Does he know about this?”
Jabber shook his head a little too fast. “No—well. Not yet.” He lifted his hands, palms out like he was surrendering. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. Please don’t tell him.”
That earned a few raised brows.
Enjin laughed quietly, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“A surprise?” Rudo echoed.
“Yeah,” Jabber said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing weird. Just… something nice. For him.” He hesitated before adding, softer, “He deserves it.”
The silence stretched.
Jabber suddenly became very aware of how he must look—hands fidgeting, posture tense, waiting for permission. Waiting to be judged.
Riyo opened her mouth–
“Heck yeah!” Rudo cut in, grinning. “That sounds fun. Zanka’s has been crazy busy lately.”
Riyo sighed, eyeing Jabber for another second before relenting. “Fine. We’ll go. It’d be nice to hang out.” She paused. “Give me your number.”
Relief hit Jabber so hard he almost laughed.
“Yeah—yeah, totally.” He pulled his phone out, hands moving fast as he opened his contacts. “I’ll add you guys to the group chat. I’ve got a friend coming too.”
Once everyone was added, he sent a quick message so they’d all get the notification. When he looked up, his grin was impossible to hide.
Enjin exhaled smoke, nodding. “Just let us know. We won’t say anything.”
“Thanks,” Jabber said honestly. His phone buzzed.
Zanka.
“I—uh—gotta go,” Jabber said quickly, backing away. “Appreciate it!”
As he walked off, heart still racing, he opened the text.
‘Wanna get dinner? Class ended and I’m starving.’
Jabber smiled to himself and typed back sure.
Jabber followed the directions Zanka sent him, weaving through campus with an easy familiarity. By now, he knew the route without really thinking about it — where the path narrowed near the English building, where the lights flickered just a bit too dim, where Zanka usually waited if he got there first.
And sure enough, he spotted him almost immediately.
Zanka was pressed against the brick wall near the entrance, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand. His two-toned hair caught the overhead light, pale strands almost glowing against the darker base. He was frowning at his screen, thumb moving quickly as he typed.
Another buzz hit Jabber’s phone.
‘Hurry up or I’m leaving without you.’
Jabber snorted and jogged the last few steps. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “You’re dramatic, ZanZan.”
Zanka glanced up, pocketing his phone. “You’re late.”
“By, like, two minutes.”
“Unacceptable,” Zanka replied flatly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He pushed off the wall and started toward the food hall. “My day was awful. I’m starving.”
“Bad class?”
“Long class,” Zanka corrected. “And a ton of reading I need to do by Friday.”
Jabber laughed softly, falling into step beside him. He kept his pace matched, careful not to crowd him. “That sounds like a you problem.”
“Wow,” Zanka said, glancing at him. “And here I thought you cared.”
“I care deeply,” Jabber replied. “What, you want me to read your notes to you?”
Zanka snorted. “God, no. You’d absolutely do voices and make it worse.”
Jabber grinned, unbothered. “I’d make it memorable. Educational and theatrical.”
“That’s not a selling point,” Zanka said, but his shoulder bumped Jabber’s as they walked, deliberate enough to count. He shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a slow breath. “I just want food. Something hot. Something that doesn’t require thinking.”
“Tragic,” Jabber murmured. “And here I was going to quiz you on footnotes.”
Zanka shot him a look. “Keep talking and I’m stealing whatever you order.”
“Bold threat,” Jabber said. “But fine. I’ll sacrifice. I’m generous like that.”
They reached the edge of the food hall, the smell hitting them first—fried things, coffee, something sugary in the distance. Zanka visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping a notch like his body had finally remembered how to exist.
“There,” Jabber said, nodding toward the line. “Salvation.”
Zanka glanced at him again, that same twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re buying.”
Jabber blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You care deeply,” Zanka echoed dryly, stepping ahead of him and pushing the door open. “Prove it.”
Jabber laughed, following him inside. “Wow. Emotional manipulation and theft. You really did have a long class.”
Jabber watched him move through the line, the familiar motions grounding him. This part — the normalcy — always settled his nerves. He grabbed a tray too, standing just close enough that their shoulders brushed once, lightly.
Zanka didn’t react. Jabber did.
The contact lingered longer in his mind than it had any right to. He forced himself to focus on the menu, even as his attention kept drifting back to the way Zanka leaned forward, the faint crease between his brows as he decided between grilled chicken or the stir-fried veggies.
Jabber paid and carried their trays to a quieter corner of the hall. Jabber slid into the seat across from him, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his tray.
“So,” Zanka said between bites, “you’ve been weird all day.”
“Weird how?”
“Quiet,” Zanka replied. “Which is… not your usual thing.”
Jabber shrugged. “I can be quiet.”
Zanka raised an eyebrow.
“Sometimes.”
That earned a small laugh. “Uh-huh.”
They ate comfortably after that, conversation drifting from classes to idle people-watching. Jabber noticed, vaguely, that Zanka seemed more relaxed now, shoulders loose, phone forgotten on the table.
When Jabber finished, he leaned back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You free Friday?”
Zanka glanced up. “Should be. If I finish my work.”
Jabber made a face. “You said that last week.”
“And last week I had work.”
“Mm-hmm. And I got stood up.”
Zanka’s mouth twitched. “Dramatic.”
“Accurate,” Jabber said. “Clear your schedule.”
Zanka studied him for a second, then sighed, pushing his tray aside. “Fine. Friday. But I’m not staying out late.”
Jabber grinned. “Didn’t say you had to.”
Zanka shook his head, amused. “You’re still buying.”
Jabber didn’t argue.
By the time they finished eating, the sky outside had dimmed to a soft gray-blue. They dumped their trays and stepped back into the cool evening air.
“Where ya headed?” Jabber asked.
“Home,” Zanka replied. “Got stuff to finish.”
“Mind if I come over?” Jabber asked, keeping his tone light. “Just hang.”
Zanka shrugged. “Sure.”
They walked side by side, close enough that their arms brushed occasionally. Jabber’s hand hovered near Zanka’s more than once, fingers twitching with the impulse to reach out. Each time, he hesitated — overthinking the timing, the angle, the risk of it feeling forced.
Zanka didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.
Streetlights flickered on as they turned onto a quieter road lined with trees. Leaves rustled faintly overhead, the air carrying the distant hum of traffic.
By the time they reached Zanka’s apartment building, Jabber felt calmer than he had all day.
Inside, he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch without ceremony. Zanka snorted, setting his bag down.
“So,” Zanka said, “what do you wanna do?”
Jabber grabbed the second controller off the coffee table. “Game?”
They settled onto the couch, shoulders brushing as the game loaded. The familiar sounds filled the apartment — button clicks, menu music, occasional curses when something went wrong.
“You call that a strategy?” Zanka laughed, nudging Jabber with his elbow.
“It’s called confidence,” Jabber shot back. “You should try it.”
Zanka leaned back, grinning. “You're just smashing buttons!”
“As long as I’m winning, I don't really think you can complain.”
They played for a while, banter easy and warm. Jabber found himself relaxing into the space, the closeness no longer making him tense. This was normal now. Comfortable. At some point, without really noticing when, Zanka’s knee pressed lightly against his. Jabber didn’t move away.
After a few rounds, Jabber leaned back, stretching. “Best two out of three?”
Time slipped by unnoticed. When Jabber finally glanced at the clock, it was later than he expected.
“Hey,” he said, casually. “Mind if I stay over?”
Zanka glanced at the time. “It’s only ten.”
“Wow,” Jabber said, offended. “You want me to walk all the way back across campus? At night?”
“You’ll live.”
Jabber huffed and leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Zanka’s torso. “I’m delicate.”
Zanka shoved him away. “Delicate my ass, yer build like a goddamn tank.”
“Emotional tank,” Jabber corrected.
Zanka sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. You can stay. But you’re making breakfast.”
“Deal,” Jabber said immediately, grin wide.
Zanka glanced at him, expression softening just a bit. “Acutal food, dont complain about what I have in stock.”
“No promises.”
They settled back into the couch, game forgotten, the quiet settling in around them. Jabber leaned back, content.
Friday was coming.
And for the first time all day, he wasn’t worried.
Eventually, the game faded into background noise and then silence altogether. Jabber set the controller aside and stretched, arms lifting over his head with a low groan. “Okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m officially dead.”
Zanka glanced over from his phone. “You say that every time.”
“And yet,” Jabber replied, flopping back dramatically, “here I am. Vulnerable. Exhausted. In need of rest.”
Zanka snorted. “You’re so annoying.”
“Wow,” Jabber said, clutching his chest. “I bare my soul and this is what I get?”
Zanka stood, shaking his head. “If you’re staying, you need something to sleep in. You didn’t even bring a bag.”
“Preparedness is overrated,” Jabber said. “I thrive on chaos.”
“I’m not letting you sleep in your jeans.”
Jabber perked up immediately. “So you are letting me sleep.”
Zanka shot him a look. “On the couch.”
Jabber’s smile faltered. “What?”
Zanka walked toward the bedroom. “Couch. Blanket. You’ll live.”
Jabber stared after him for a beat, then scrambled up and followed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That was not part of the deal.”
“I said you could stay,” Zanka replied, opening his dresser. “I didn’t say anything about sharing a bed.”
“That’s cruel,” Jabber said seriously. “You know I don’t do well without emotional support.”
“You’ll survive one night.”
Jabber leaned against the doorframe, watching as Zanka rummaged through his drawers.
“Okay, but counterpoint—your couch is awful.”
“It’s fine.”
“It literally tries to kill you,” Jabber insisted. “The spring stabbed me last time.”
Zanka paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I have scars,” Jabber said solemnly. “Deep ones.”
Zanka rolled his eyes and tossed a folded shirt at him. “Here. Wear this.”
Jabber caught it automatically, then noticed the sleep pants Zanka tossed after it. He gave a small grin, set the clothes on the bed, and started stripping down in the corner of the room. First, his shirt came off, muscles flexing with each movement. He pulled his jeans down to just his boxers—then froze, unaware that Zanka had turned around.
Zanka’s eyes went wide, cheeks flushing red, and he yelped, covering his face.
“Oh my god! Why are you—why are you standing there like that? The bathroom is right there!”
Jabber looked down at himself, grinning slyly, letting the boxers hug his hips comfortably.
“What? It’s too far. Plus, I figured I’d give you a free show.”
Zanka groaned, voice muffled behind his hands. “You’re impossible…”
Jabber laughed, stepping toward the bed. “Relax. I’m about to get properly dressed.”
He tugged on the shirt first, the fabric stretching snug across his chest and shoulders, sleeves tight around his biceps. It clung to his torso, his muscles being outlined by the thin fabric, the hem barely covering his lower abdomen. Then he pulled on the pants, sliding them over his thighs and settling them low on his hips, snug but comfortable. Every small movement made the fabric stretch just enough to accentuate his build. He looked down, his lower abdomen exposed to the air.
Zanka couldn’t help sneaking a glance between his fingers, cheeks still red.
“See? All better now,” Jabber said, flexing lightly, grinning at Zanka’s flustered expression.
Zanka shook his head, trying to look away. “Seriously… why not the bathroom?”
“Bathroom’s boring,” Jabber replied, shrugging. “This way, I get an audience.”
Zanka groaned again, voice flustered but quiet. “You’re impossible.”
Jabber finally moved toward the bathroom. “Anyway, you can still show me where the towels are, right? I need to wash my face at least.”
Zanka waved vaguely, still avoiding looking at Jabber. “Under the counter. Don’t mess it up.”
Jabber stepped inside, rolling his shoulders, still aware of Zanka lingering in the doorway. He leaned over the sink and rubbed at his eyes. As he reached for the faucet, a small cup caught his attention—two toothbrushes sitting side by side.
He paused.
“…Hey,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder.
“What?” Zanka asked.
He lifted one of them. Pink handle. Bent bristles. Familiar scratch near the grip.
“This one’s mine.”
Zanka blinked, looking away a little too quickly. “Yeah. You left it last time.”
Jabber smiled, slow and surprised. “You kept it?”
“I didn’t throw it out,” Zanka said. “Figured you’d be back.”
Something warm settled in Jabber’s chest. Not heavy. Just steady.
He turned back to the sink and brushed his teeth, the space around him feeling oddly familiar, like it had been expecting him. When he finished, he set the toothbrush back in the cup where it had already claimed its place. Then quickly washed his face with cold water. It would have to do for now, Zanka would throw a fit if he used any of his product.
A moment later, Jabber stepped back out into the room. The shirt clung to him like it had been tailored to make a point—stretched tight across his chest, sleeves riding up his arms, fabric pulling slightly with each movement. The pants sat low on his hips, snug along his thighs. His shoulders looked broader than usual, muscles obvious beneath the thin cotton.
Zanka blinked. Once. Then, unable to stop himself, looked again—longer this time, cheeks burning.
“That fits,” he said flatly.
Jabber grinned. “Liar.”
“Don’t get dramatic,” Zanka muttered.
Jabber tugged lightly at the hem, which barely reached his hips. “I breathe wrong and this thing’s splitting.”
“Then don’t breathe,” Zanka replied, voice low, still trying not to look too obvious.
“That’s dangerous advice,” Jabber teased, stretching casually.
Zanka very deliberately looked away, but his eyes kept flicking back.
“…You’re doing this on purpose,” Jabber said lightly.
“I’m really not,” Zanka muttered.
“Uh-huh,” Jabber replied, catching the way Zanka’s gaze lingered in the mirror.
“So,” Jabber said, leaning casually against the wall, “about the bed.”
“No.”
“Okay, hear me out.”
“No.”
Jabber stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough. “I’ll be cold.”
“There’s a blanket.”
“I move a lot.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“I might fall off the couch.”
Zanka sighed. “You’re not sleeping in my bed.”
Jabber tilted his head, expression turning almost sweet. “I’ll stay on my side.”
“You never do.”
“I’ll behave.”
Zanka raised an eyebrow. “You said that last time.”
“And I mostly did.”
“You kicked me.”
“Accidentally.” Jabber hummed.
They stared at each other for a moment. The air felt different — quieter, heavier. Jabber didn’t push further. He just waited.
Zanka exhaled slowly.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re staying on your side.”
Jabber’s face lit up instantly. “You’re the best.”
“Don’t make me regret this.” Too late.
Jabber hovered for a second at the edge of the bed, suddenly aware again of how big he felt in the too-tight clothes, how much space he took up. He slid in carefully, keeping to his side as he’d promised. The mattress dipped under his weight.
The room settled.
Zanka reached over and flicked the light off as he climbed into bed with him.
“Hey,” Jabber said immediately. “You didn’t even say goodnight.”
“You’re not five.”
“Rude. I require verbal confirmation of bedtime.”
Zanka sighed. “Goodnight, Jabber.”
“There it is,” Jabber said, satisfied. “Now I can sleep.”
“You were not going to sleep.”
“Okay, but now I could.”
The mattress shifted as Zanka rolled onto his side, his back facing Jabber. “If you keep talking, I’m revoking bed privileges.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
Jabber grinned in the dark. “You say that every time. And yet—”
“And yet you keep ending up here,” Zanka cut in.
Jabber laughed softly. “Wow. Bold of you to admit you like me around.”
“I admitted nothing.”
“Its okay to admit you like having me around,” Jabber said. “Im like, the best guy ever, so it's hard not to like me.”
Zanka snorted despite himself. “You’re exhausting.”
“And you’re still letting me stay.”
“Regretting it, currently.”
“Lies.”
There was a brief, comfortable silence before Zanka added, “You stretched my shirt.”
Jabber gasped, leaning up. “I would never.”
“It’s clinging to you for dear life.”
“That’s because it feels safe.”
“Pretty sure fabric doesn’t feel.” Zanka huffed, pulling the blanket up to his shin. A faint smile playing at his lips as they argued.
“Then explain why it’s refusing to let go.”
Zanka shifted, probably rolling his eyes. “If it rips, you’re replacing it.”
“I’ll frame it instead. Fallen in the line of duty.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You’re obsessed with telling me that.”
“Because you don’t listen.”
Jabber rolled onto his side, careful to keep space between them. “You know, most people would find this whole thing very couple-coded.”
Zanka scoffed. “Most people don’t crash uninvited and steal clothes.”
“I was invited,” Jabber corrected. “You handed me the clothes.”
“So?”
“So that’s basically commitment.”
“That’s not how commitment works.”
“Disagree,” Jabber said lightly. “You kept my toothbrush.”
Zanka went quiet for half a second. “You left it here.”
“And yet,” Jabber pressed, grinning even though Zanka couldn’t see it, “still there. Waiting for me. Loyal.”
“It’s a toothbrush.”
“A symbolic toothbrush.”
Zanka groaned. “I’m never doing you favors again.”
“You say that,” a pause. “but you always break when I beg you.” There was silence. Maybe that last bit was a bit too much?
Another pause. Zanka shifted under the blankets, closer this time — not touching, but enough that Jabber felt the change.
Jabber’s grin softened. “Hey. Thanks, though. For letting me stay.”
Zanka shrugged casually. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
There was a pause.
“Also,” Jabber added suddenly, “you snore.”
Zanka froze. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I breathe deeply.” Zanka bit back.
“You sound like a broken lawnmower fighting for its life against a feral cat.”
“Stop making stuff up to keep me awake,” he huffed. “Stop talking and go to sleep.”
Jabber rolled onto his side, pointing accusingly into the darkness. “You’re one to talk. You love it when I keep you company.”
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
Zanka groaned. “I’m kicking you out.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”
“You need me,” Jabber said smugly. “I balance your sleep ecosystem.”
“My what?”
“You know, your sleep ecosystem, I have a very comfortable aura, you know.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I dunno..”Jabber replied. He really was just pulling shit out of thin air to keep talking to him.
Zanka shifted again, likely to reclaim warmth or the blanket — Jabber didn’t question it. Their shoulders were almost touching now.
“Try not to steal the blanket again,” Zanka muttered.
Jabber smiled, softening. “No promises.”
Another quiet stretch followed, the earlier energy fading into something calmer. Jabber stared at the ceiling, listening to Zanka’s breathing even out.
This was easy. Comfortable. Domestic in a way, Jabber had started to take for granted. He always loved their banter.
Zanka wasn’t big on words. Never had been. He showed things sideways — through routines, shared space, letting people stay.
Jabber told himself that counted.
He adjusted the blanket just enough to cover both of them, careful not to wake him. Zanka stayed still. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t move closer either.
Guarded, as always.
Jabber let his eyes close, heart warm despite it all. He could wait for Zanka to open up.
.
.
.
Sunlight spilled through the blinds. Jabber groaned, arm screaming in pins and needles — and then froze.
Zanka was lying with his head on Jabber’s bicep, his face buried in his chest. Their limbs tangled together blanket tangled around them both. His eyes were closed, but Jabber noticed the faint twitch of a grin even in sleep.
Jabber wiggled his fingers experimentally. Dead arm. Perfect.
Then Zanka’s eyes flicked open. His gaze landed on Jabber. And suddenly, he realized.
“Oh… crap,” Zanka muttered, stiffening. He rolled off Jabber’s arm in a flash, pulling his legs away, grabbing his pillow, clearly embarrassed as he turned his back to him.
Jabber gasped, mock-offended. “What? You’re abandoning me already?”
Zanka rolled onto his side, hugging his pillow like a shield, trying to pretend to sleep. “I dont know what your talking about,” he said grumpily, face pink, not wanting to admit he enjoyed cuddilling with Jabber.
“Oh come on, you were just sleeping on my arm, dont pretend you didnt enjoy it. ” Jabber said, poking him lightly in the back. “After all that… after last night’s blanket war, the snoring, the arm service… and now you choose your pillow over me?”
Zanka groaned, tugging the blanket tighter. “I didn’t choose anything. Stop, seriously.”
“Not happening,” Jabber said, poking him again, harder this time. “I worked hard last night keeping the blanket in check, surviving your snoring… and now this betrayal? Truly shocking. You sure seemed to enjoy sleeping on my arm. Was it the muscles or just the fact that it was me?”
Zanka rolled his eyes, tugging his pillow closer. “You’re insufferable.”
“Insufferable? Me? I’m a delight,” Jabber said, grinning, poking his back again. “Absolutely delightful. But clearly, my services are undervalued.”
Zanka sighed, glancing at him over the pillow. “You’re pushing it.”
“Pushing it?” Jabber teased, leaning closer. “I’m just… checking the quality control. Arm comfort, blanket distribution, snore management…How about a 5-star review for my excellent service?”
Zanka had reached his limit. Without looking, he lifted his foot and kicked backward — directly hitting Jabber in the shin.
“Ow!” Jabber yelped, scooching back slightly.
“Start in the kitchen,” Zanka said flatly, still half-buried in his pillow, trying to stay grumpy. “Breakfast. Now.”
Jabber rubbed his shin, grinning despite the pain. “Fine, fine. But you’ll regret this. Betraying my services has consequences.”
Zanka didn’t respond, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and pretending not to smile faintly at Jabber retreating to the kitchen.
Jabber opened the fridge and froze. “Wait… this is it?” He held up a carton of eggs with exaggerated horror. “Three eggs… oh my god.” He leaned back and stared at the fridge like it had personally insulted him. “There's nothing in here but eggs, yogurt, and.. Is that avocado?” He collected himself, pulling out the items from the fridge and setting them on the counter. Maybe Zanka just hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, he opened the cabinets, hope still lingering.
Pure dread washed over him as he scanned the shelf.
He grabbed a loaf of whole-grain bread, waving it like it was a death sentence. “Whole-grain? Seriously? Not even white? Is this what they call performative eating??”
He dug through the cabinets next, pulling out a box of oatmeal. His face scrunched up. “Oatmeal… plain. Yogurt… plain. No sugar, no cereal, no chocolate, no fun! How… how are you even alive, Zanka?”
From the doorway, Zanka appeared, half-bundled in blankets, hair sticking up in every direction. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “I’m alive because I’m healthy. Not everyone needs sugar to survive.”
“Healthy? Healthy?!” Jabber wailed, holding up a single egg like a tiny, pathetic shield. “This is… this is nothing! This is a dietary crime! I am supposed to feed us, and all I have to work with is… nothing!”
Zanka rolled his eyes. “It’s not nothing. You’re making it sound like I starve.”
“Starve?!” Jabber repeated, throwing his hands in the air. “I’d die on this! Three eggs,whole grain bread, oatmeal, and plain yogurt! How do you even function? How do you… breathe?!”
Zanka smirked, tugging the blanket higher. “I told you — healthy. That’s all it takes. You’re just dramatic.” he paused, “Dont forget about avocado.” he joked.
Jabber paced a little, muttering to himself. “Dramatic? No… this is survival horror. I should’ve stocked up secretly before setting foot in this kitchen. I need sugar, I need butter, something.” a pause, “Oh yeah, cant forget the avocado, you'll starve without it!”
“Or,” Zanka said, shaking his head, “you could just… make do. That’s what I do every morning.”
Jabber groaned, flopping against the counter. “I… I can’t believe this. I have to make something out of… this? How did you survive, ZanZan?”
Zanka shrugged, biting back a smirk. “Experience. And apparently good genes.”
Jabber stared at the eggs, bread, yogurt, and oatmeal as if they had personally betrayed him. “This is… catastrophic. I can’t even pretend this is fun.”
Zanka rolled his eyes again, leaning against the counter. “You’ll survive. Or not. I really don’t care which.”
Jabber muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Im going to starve..” He threw his hands up again. “This is the worst. I really need to take you shopping. This is just sad.”
Zanka snorted, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous. And no, you won't starve. I eat less than what you're even making every morning and I’m just fine.”
Jabber glared at the food as it had personally insulted him. “Eat this? This… this is criminal.”
Zanka leaned back, smirking faintly. “Then make the best out of it, genius.”
Jabber huffed, accepting defeat. He would just have to have a big lunch later. He started cooking the food, scrambling eggs, boiling the oatmeal, and toasting toast.
Jabber finished plating Zanka’s breakfast first: a single egg, a slice of toast, a scoop of oatmeal, and a dollop of Greek yogurt neatly on a plate. He set it on the counter with exaggerated care, wiping a stray crumb off the plate as he cut the avacodo and set the slices on Zanka's toast, the final touch.
Then he turned to his own plate and ladled a heaping mountain of oatmeal, along with the two scrambled eggs for himself and 3 pieces of toast. Every spoonful seemed to double as he tried to fill his stomach with the meager healthy options available.
Zanka, perched on the counter with his blanket wrapped tight, squinted at Jabber’s plate.
“Wait… why so much oatmeal?”
Jabber glanced up, fork already digging in. “Because this is all you have. And I’m hungry. I need… sustenance.”
Zanka raised an eyebrow. “You’re eating all that oatmeal just for yourself?”
“Obviously,” Jabber said, shoveling a mouthful in. “I actually need to eat to live, man. I’m not gonna starve, even if this food makes me question existence.”
Zanka smirked, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous. That’s… at least three times more oatmeal than anyone needs.”
Jabber waved a hand vaguely toward the pan. “You try surviving on two eggs, a few slices of bread… without adding mountains of oatmeal. It’s math. Survival math.”
Zanka leaned forward slightly, smirk still in place. “So I’m just supposed to watch you overeat now?”
“Of course not,” Jabber said, shoveling another spoonful. “I’m generously letting you have your ‘balanced breakfast.’ Meanwhile, I’m fueling myself until I can hit the cafe before class.”
Zanka snorted, picking up his fork. “I don’t think anyone needs that much fuel.” He pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. “You have class at ten. There’s no way you’ll be hungry by then. It’s only eight.”
Jabber grinned over the oatmeal mountain. “Clearly, you don’t understand the struggles of living in a growing body. I actually need food to live—unlike someone who could survive off almonds. Actual question: are you an almond mom or do you just hate yourself?”
Zanka rolled his eyes, tucking the blanket tighter. “Fuck no. I just know how to balance my diet. Unlike somebody who eats cold pizza for breakfast.”
Jabber ignored the jab, diving back into his enormous bowl, while Zanka carefully nibbled at his own plate. The contrast between their breakfasts was painfully obvious, and Jabber quietly savored the fact that at least his stomach wouldn’t betray him till class.
Zanka sat there, toast in hand. “Just how much of the oatmeal did you cook exactly?”
Jabber froze mid-spoonful, dread washing over him. “All of it?”
Zanka’s eyes darted to the empty box on the counter, then to the massive pot on the stove. He whipped his head back to Jabber’s plate.
“All of it?! I just bought that! It was supposed to last me all week!”
Jabber grinned innocently, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “What? You clearly underestimate my need for food.”
Zanka groaned. It was too early to be this irritated. He took another bite of his toast, the avocado sitting nicely on top as he chewed.
“You freaking owe me, I cant believe you cooked all of it.”
Jaber wiped his mouth, standing up to clean the mess he had made while cooking for his boyfriend. “Yeah, yeah, I promise to get your groceries, like actual food. None of this low sugar, no fat bullshit you seem to think is edible.”
Zanka stayed at the counter, finishing the rest of his food as he watched Jabber clean. He couldn’t lie to himself—it was nice, watching Jabber prance around his kitchen in his clothes. The shirt clung too tight around his shoulders, the sleeves riding up his arms, the fabric clearly not made for his build at all. And yet.
Cooking for him. Existing in his space like it was natural.
It felt… nice?
Zanka shook the thought from his head before it could settle, glancing at the clock on the wall instead.
Zanka glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at Jabber, who was still moving around the kitchen like he belonged there.
“I think it’s about time you leave, Jabber.”
Jabber whipped his head around, arms still wet with soap as he scrubbed the pan he’d used for the eggs. “What? Why are you trying to kick me out already?” he demanded. “I just cooked you breakfast, and you’re already trying to get rid of me?”
Zanka sighed, pushing his plate aside. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms like he needed the barrier. “Because,” he said flatly, “we both have class, and I need to do schoolwork, and if you stay it’ll never get done.”
“So?” Jabber shot back, gesturing vaguely at himself. Water splashed onto the counter as he moved. “You act like that’s a crime.”
“It is when you smell like my detergent and you’re late,” Zanka replied. His eyes flicked to Jabber despite himself—then away just as fast. “Finish up. Then go.”
Jabber huffed and turned back to the sink. “Wow. Cold. Heartless. After I fed you.”
“After you ate all the oatmeal,” Zanka muttered.
“That was strategic,” Jabber said immediately. “You benefited from it.”
Zanka snorted despite himself. “Out. Five minutes.”
Jabber’s grin spread slow and victorious. He leaned his hip against the counter, clearly settling in. “See? You do care.”
Zanka grabbed his phone, pointedly ignoring him. “Don’t push it.”
Jabber, of course, pushed it.
He rinsed the pan with agonizing slowness, rotating it under the faucet like he was checking it for flaws. Scrubbed once. Paused. Scrubbed again. He dried his hands on the towel—then immediately re-wet them to wipe down a counter that was already spotless.
He adjusted the sponge. Set it down. Picked it back up.
Zanka watched from the table, jaw tightening. Jabber leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting around the apartment like he was mentally taking inventory. Like he was deciding where he’d sit next.
“Oh,” Jabber said casually, “did you want me to take the trash out before I go?”
“We don’t have time,” Zanka replied.
“Right, right,” Jabber said, nodding—then somehow moving even slower. He folded the dish towel with unnecessary precision. Straightened a chair that hadn’t moved. Checked his phone. Slid it into his pocket.
Zanka exhaled sharply through his nose.
He knew this routine. If Jabber changed, he’d sit. If he sat, he’d talk. If he talked, he’d stay. And suddenly it would be mid-afternoon and Zanka would be staring at unfinished notes wondering where the day went.
“Nope,” Zanka said, standing abruptly.
He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with an armful of clothes—Jabber’s from the night before, wrinkled and unmistakably not pajamas. He shoved them into Jabber’s chest before he could react.
Jabber blinked down at them. “Hey, now, I was just helping.”
“You were nesting,” Zanka said, already steering him toward the door. “And you’re not changing here.”
“What?” Jabber laughed. “I can be ready in, like, two minutes.”
“That’s the problem.”
Zanka herded him into the hallway while Jabber protested half-heartedly, twisting back like he might still earn one more delay.
“At least let me change first,” Jabber tried. “You’re really going to make me walk out like this?”
“Yes.”
The door opened. Jabber stumbled into the hallway, clothes pressed into his arms. He looked back at Zanka with that familiar, exaggerated pout—the one that usually worked.
Not today.
The door shut.
The lock clicked.
Zanka stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door like it might reopen out of spite. Then he turned, rubbing a hand down his face as he headed back to his room.
He sat at his desk, opened his notebook—
—and his phone buzzed.
He stared at it for a long second before flipping it face-down on the desk.
Three seconds passed.
It buzzed again.
With a sigh, he picked it up.
unbelievable. truly cruel and unusual punishment
Zanka rolled his eyes and set the phone down again, aligning it carefully with the edge of the desk like that might keep it quiet. He leaned forward, pen in hand, forcing his attention to the page.
Notes. Formulas. Highlighted sections he needed to review.
He read the first line.
His phone buzzed again.
Zanka groaned quietly and grabbed it.
'people are staring at me
this is your fault btw'
Zanka typed back without thinking.
'go to class'
A reply came instantly.
'wow. cold.
wearing your shirt like a badge of honor now'
Zanka’s thumb hovered over the screen. He deleted his first response. Typed another. Deleted that too.
He locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed.
Focus.
He leaned over his desk, pen moving. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Long enough that he almost felt productive.
Then—buzz.
Zanka didn’t look. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Buzz. Buzz.
He snapped.
“Jabber,” he said to the empty room, grabbing the phone. “I swear—”
'be honest
you miss me already'
Zanka stared at the message longer than he should have.
His reply was short.
'stop texting me'
There was a pause.
Then—
'that wasnt a no'
Zanka groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
Studying was impossible.
He was halfway through rereading the same sentence for the fourth time when his phone buzzed again.
He didn’t look.
Another buzz.
Then a third.
“…You have to be kidding me,” he muttered, snatching it up.
There was no text.
Just an image.
Zanka unlocked the phone.
Stared.
Blinked once—like his brain might catch up if he gave it time.
Then he froze.
Jabber stood in the middle of campus, unmistakably outside, wearing Zanka’s pajama shirt and lounge pants. The shirt had ridden up way too high, bare abdomen fully on display, dark skin catching the daylight like he didn’t have a care in the world. One hand hooked into the waistband of the pants. The other held the phone, his dirty clothes shoved under his arm.
Behind him, slightly out of focus, at least three people were openly staring. One guy mid–double take. Someone whispering. A girl glancing between Jabber and her phone like she was questioning reality.
Zanka felt his soul leave his body.
Another message popped up.
'told you people were staring'
Zanka’s ears burned. He locked the phone. Unlocked it. Looked again—why did he look again—then covered his face with one hand.
“This is not funny,” he said aloud.
Buzz.
'youre really gonna let me walk around like this?'
Zanka typed furiously.
'PULL YOUR SHIRT DOWN'
The reply was instant.
'Cant
your shirt keeps riding up
tragic really'
Zanka dropped his phone onto the desk and leaned back hard in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it might offer guidance. He was really starting to regret being rash and kicking him out before he changed.
Friday better be worth it.