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Relaxation wasn't something Zanka came by often.
Between the studying, the ever-amounting schoolwork, the socializing, the taking care of himself, the extra shifts he would take at the library, Zanka didn't really get time to relax. Especially now, around the holidays, when he had so many concerns and so many things to do.
If he wasn't in class, he was doing stock at the university's library. Helping out the best he could, while also taking full advantage of the fact he had free reign over the array of novels and textbooks, all at his fingertips.
It was a win-win, in Zanka's eyes, while some might differ.
That some being Jabber, his not-quite boyfriend, but also not-quite only-a-friend.
“Dude, seriously?” Jabber scoffs, the annoyance pinned in his tone as clear as the glass of water he almost just spilled over their coffee table sitting up so fast. “Y'don't even work today, why're you going to the library on your day off?”
“Because,” Zanka clips back, wrapping the scarf around his neck a little tighter. The weather app on his phone had said he was in the negatives now, and he refused to be a shivering mess for the whole ten minutes he had to be outside. “You make it impossible to study here.”
Jabber clicks his tongue, and Zanka tries to ignore his approach by distracting himself looking for his work keys.
“The hell? I always leave ‘em–”
His lanyard, including said keys for work, dangle from Jabber's awaiting hand. Before Zanka can even think of snatching them back, the other boy holds them over his head. That shit-eating grin Zanka hates and loves so much spreads across his face, and it's times like these he wonders why he's so attracted to this man.
Jabber, in his oversized t-shirt and boxers he never bothered to put anything over. Zanka's eyes filter over the lean muscle peaking through in the way some of the fabric clings.
Ah, fuck. Yeah, that's one of the reasons he likes him.
“Can ya not do this right now?” Zanka half-whines, only half, because the other part is absolute annoyance.
“You're the one goin’ to study for four and a half hours at a library on a Saturday,” Jabber chirps back, flinching backwards when Zanka tries to fling forward and up to grab his lanyard.
Apparently, that was a mistake. Jabber uses it to his complete advantage to catch him off balance and push Zanka against the counter of their makeshift kitchen.
His lower back is pressed against the fold-up table, while Jabber presses himself much too close against Zanka's chest. He still holds Zanka's keys over his head, but that other arm completely ensnares Zanka into the corner with no escape.
“C'mon,” Jabber murmurs, and that warm breath against his cheek has Zanka sweating under his jacket and scarf. “Y'can afford to relax for a day. I got somethin’ fun we can do.”
Zanka makes a noise of distaste at that, and his hands fall uselessly to Jabber's chest. God, he can feel the muscle there… “I have to study. Just give me my keys, already.”
“Give me a kiss first.”
It's so straightforward, and although in all his time living with Jabber and his inappropriate comments, he really gets under his skin now.
How couldn't it get to him when most of their recent downtime spent together was filled with groping and fondling?
Ever since that morning, Zanka has found himself unexplainably orbiting Jabber like he'd found his perfect gravitational pull. Every moment they were in each other's presence, it felt like a chain dragging them closer until their hands were on each other too desperately and their lips were bruised from kissing too hastily.
It was devastating, yet so fulfilling.
Zanka visibly hesitates, and he gets to bear witness to exposed fangs from the twitch of Jabber's lips curling into that devilish smile. “You're thinking about it.”
“No I'm not,” Zanka shoots out too fast, too defensive. Was it just him, or was their dorm suddenly way too hot?
The man leans impossibly closer, and when Jabber's tongue darts out to lick his lips, Zanka feels the ghost of a brush against his own. Too close…
“I think you are,” his voice is hushed, and so delightfully smooth. “‘N y'know… you gotta take what ya want, Zan.”
Zanka's hands unconsciously slip to Jabber's shoulders, looking for grounding when his blood was blasting in his ears and heart soaring. He swallows, “Yer so annoying,” but it shakes, and as annoyed as he is, the desire pours out.
Jabber cackles, “Then shut me up already.”
Their lips meet unceremoniously. It's so fast their teeth clack, and Zanka matches Jabber's startled moan with a full-body twitch.
Then the door opens.
Zanka wonders briefly, still licking and humming against Jabber’s lips – why the fuck does he bother unlocking the door before he actually leaves?
Then, another thought, just as he realizes what’s happening – who the hell barges in without knocking?
“Zanka, why the hell is your door unlocked– HOLY SHIT.”
Enjin stands at the threshold of their dorm, staring down the two of them, intertwined with each other. Jabber looks annoyed, and Zanka looks and feels more scandalized than he ever has.
“Bruh,” Jabber huffs as Zanka hurries to push him off, clicking his tongue. “Never gotta get a moment to yourself, huh?”
“Enjin,” Zanka tries, quickly going toward the older man. Enjin stands stock-still, blinking rapidly. “It's– listen, it's complicated, okay?”
“No it ain't,” Jabber announces, bored. “Making out is pretty simple.”
Zanka shoots him a look over his shoulder, face red-hot.
Enjin's face twitches, and suddenly he's taking a deep breath. He looks like he’s about to scream, or maybe pass out.
Thankfully, Gris welcomes himself into their dorm moments later, smiling that calming, reassuring smile he's known for. His cheeks are red, and his breathing insinuates that he'd just run here. Likely chasing after Enjin. “Hey, Zanka! Sorry for the random visit, I… is Enjin okay?”
Zanka looks between the two of them, embarrassment rising like bile in his throat. “Um– I– it's fine nothing was happening.”
Gris blinks, and chuckles hesitantly. Behind Zanka, Jabber is cackling maniacally. “Um, okay?”
Jabber whistles something from somewhere behind him, and it takes everything in Zanka to not turn around and punch him. The only thing stopping him is that the only thing more mortifying than getting caught making out with him, is Jabber getting a full-fledged boner in front of his parents.
Enjin eventually calms down enough to talk semi-normal, but Zanka notices the way his eyes keep flickering over to Jabber. There's something akin to murderous intent there, but Zanka just stays between them to keep the peace.
At least Gris is normal. But unexpectedly, instead of talking to Zanka, he actually goes to Jabber instead.
While Enjin is giving Zanka a speech about not trusting weird perverted roommates, asking intrusive questions, all the stuff he’s used to hearing, Zanka keeps an ear out for the separate conversation.
All this was a surprise visit, as per usual. But surprise visits from his parents tended to be focused on him. Watching Jabber and Gris talk out of the corner of his eye feels… odd. It’s not entirely negative, but a part of him concerns itself greatly about the impression Jabber is making for himself.
Yet, Zanka’s surprised by the fact it sounds so… normal. Gris asks him questions about his courses, and Zanka can tell it throws the other boy off. But Jabber doesn't make insane comments, just gives proper answers. As much as he wants to be able to listen in, listen to Jabber talk about his courses like he never had before, Enjin won’t stop.
“Zanka, buddy, you gotta listen to me here, I was your age once too,” Enjin drawls on, and Zanka can’t help but roll his eyes. To see this man, typically so nonchalant and uncaring about how Zanka went about his life so… suddenly concerned, felt like such a bother. “I know about all the craziness, but really? This?”
“Did ya really only show up to lecture me?” Zanka whispers, embarrassed.
Enjin hushes him, finger pressed to his lips in the hush motion. “No. I’m concerned. You haven’t been talking to us as much, you’re not going to the cafe with Riyo, when was the last time you even saw Rudo?-”
Zanka groans, loud as ever. “Enjin. Please.”
“There’s just a lot of stuff I’m noticing here lately and I wanna make sure you’re okay,” he continues regardless, but Zanka makes sure it goes in one ear and spills out the other.
“Oh, Zanka,” Gris butts in now, silencing Enjin in his rant about how Zanka must be experiencing some kind of psychosis. “I'm sorry, were you about to leave? I just noticed your jacket, we really shouldn't visit so abruptly.”
Gris gives a pointed stare to Enjin, who smiles back at him like a lovesick fool. Like he wasn't making an idiotic fool of himself seconds ago. God, they make Zanka sick.
“Well,” Zanka's eyes move from Gris to the floor, thoughtful. When he glances back up, he sees a pensive-looking Jabber standing behind Gris. For whatever reason, that doesn't sit well with him. “No, I changed my mind.”
He tries to look away before Jabber can meet his eye, but he sees the way Jabber grins anyway. His chest becomes overly warm.
Still, he can feel Enjin's eyes boring into the side of his skull. Like he knows.
“Ah, well, we still shouldn't take up more of your time,” Gris quickly approaches him, and instinctively Zanka stands up to lean into the warm, protective hug Gris gives him. “I know you're a very busy man.”
Zanka rolls his eyes, still basking in the physical touch. He hides his affectionate smile in Gris’ jacket, which always manages to smell like cigarettes from Enjin. It’s comforting. “Always.”
In that time, Enjin has moved from his spot on the couch and over to where Jabber is standing. They aren't fighting, so Zanka tries to pay it no mind, but it reminds him vaguely of a cat on high alert around an excited puppy.
When Zanka goes to move away from his father, eager to not let his father get traumatized by whatever Jabber might say, Gris tugs him back in, leaning down quickly.
“Ignore Enjin. I like him, he's smart. Seems good for you.”
Zanka flushes instantly, sputtering when his dad pats him on the back and heads for the door. He pulls Enjin with him, who has an accusatory finger pointed in Jabber's amused face. Clearly, he missed something. “Bye, Zanka! See you again soon.”
The door closes again, and Zanka's eyes find Jabber, like always.
He seems… a little more frazzled than before. But Zanka can’t even open his mouth to ask about it, because Jabber's already snickering. “So, decided to stay after all?”
Zanka scoffs, and any nice words he was about to say were lost to the wind. He goes over to their door, tugging off his scarf and unzipping his jacket. “Don't think too much about it.”
“I'm that convincing?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
Zanka turns around and Jabber is standing there, way too close. He nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Holy shit,” Zanka whisper-shouts, hands shooting to his mouth. “You're too quiet.”
“You talk about me to your dads?” Jabber asks, voice… too serious to be Jabber.
Zanka swallows a lump in his throat, and he can feel his ears turning red. “Why would I?”
Jabber's face contorts into frustration, but he sees how those frantic eyes scan his face. He watches realization dawn on him, much too fast. “You do talk about me.”
“I just said I don't, you asshat!”
“Nah, nah,” Jabber waves off, head tilting too close into Zanka's space again. He's pinned to the door, no chance of anyone barging in and ruining it this time, but also no chance of escape for him and whatever else Jabber's thinking of now. “Your face does this stupid thing when ya lie.”
His hands shoot to his face, mortified for the second time that day. Jabber laughs as Zanka tries to frantically scrub at his cheeks, embarrassment washing over him in waves. “It does not.”
Jabber grabs both his wrists in one hand. Zanka tries not to think too hard about that.
There's silence for a moment, and it feels contemplative. Jabber's still holding his wrists, and Zanka is examining him like he might actually have to fight him any second now. His senses are heightened, confused and partially afraid that he's scaring Jabber off by being an idiot.
So what if he tells other people about Jabber? He's annoying. Jabber annoys him. It's not talking about – no, it's complaining about.
Zanka wants to say that, but his voice feels strangled in his throat just at the thought.
Jabber hums, breaking the long silence that had Zanka slowly suffocating. “Y'should invite the one with the cool eye scar over more.”
Zanka blinks.
“Huh?” He breathes.
Jabber shrugs, then tugs Zanka toward him with his captured wrists. “I like him. The other one is cool too, but I got favorites.”
The way Jabber emphasizes it with a hand snaking over Zanka's waist has his head spinning, as if it wasn't already.
“The hell did you guys even talk about?” Zanka mutters, coming off much more put together than he feels inside. There, he's feeling overwhelmingly content, like the reassurance of those he cares about liking each other could swallow him whole.
There's no response.
He feels Jabber move closer, and Zanka instinctively moves his head to the side.
Jabber snickers at the movement. Zanka yanks at his dreads. Jabber moans, and teeth find their way into Zanka's neck.
“Hey,” Zanka huffs, attempting to pull Jabber away by the scalp. He gets a purr in return. “Answer me, jerk.”
Warm fingers push up Zanka's sweater, exposing skin, and then a palm is placed flat against his stomach. He has to bite his lip to control himself.
With less restraint, Zanka yanks at the man's hair.
He feels Jabber twitch violently, a pleased groan following, and he pulls off. “Love it when you get rough.”
Zanka sneers, with a great amount of effort. “Freak.”
“You love it,” Jabber counters, grinning.
Zanka ignores it. “Didn't ya say ya had something for us to do…?”
“Mm,” Jabber lazily looks over his shoulder, and Zanka can only guess it's toward his room. “If you wanna have sex so bad, y'can just say.”
Zanka blushes furiously.
“Not that you asshole!” He panics, hands balling into fists to hit at Jabber's chest and arms. “Yer just saying whatever you want! Do ya even listen to me??”
All that elicits is laughter, as well as Jabber curling further into him. It almost feels malicious, when that grin of his changes into something akin to sinister. “Calm it, I know you couldn't handle all of me.”
“Fuck you, I can,” Zanka tries, confidence overarching his doubts. His face turns challenging, body steeling.
“Oh yeah?” Jabber clicks his tongue, “Lil’ virgin Zan-Zan gonna take me?”
Zanka sputters at those words, losing all of his fight. “Who told you??”
…
Jabber blinks.
Zanka blinks back, flustered. “What?”
Jabber's bottom lip pokes out innocently, “Oh. I was just trynna tease you. I wasn’t serious.”
Zanka actually punches him.
It takes a while to calm down from it all, especially when Zanka is now horrified that Jabber knows he's a virgin and must think this is the most action he's ever had with another person.
(It is. Making out is a lot nicer than he thought it would be. The touching is delightful. These are all things he's making sure Jabber never finds out.)
But once it's fine again, it's fine. Jabber still doesn't tell him what his conversation with Gris was about, but Zanka's become less concerned with it. Gris said he liked him, and Jabber wanted him around more; that was good enough. At least until he got paranoid and decided to text Gris about it himself, and he’ll get the full tale of it to calm his worries.
But for now, sitting back in Jabber's room and smoking together, Zanka's found himself at peace without that knowledge.
It's so hard to come by. With these relaxing moments being so few and far between for him before, it's heaven that he experiences them so much more frequently now. He’s more than grateful that he even has the ability to relax, still.
It's a nice bonus that he associates Jabber with it.
So here, with him, Zanka feels fine. Better than fine. More than he could ever say and mean before.
With his leg slung over Jabber's, feeling the man's hand rubbing soothing shapes into his thigh, and pressed close enough together Zanka had no chance of being cold. Even with the window open, sucking out the warm air along with their smoke.
When Zanka goes to take a puff, he hears Jabber giggle. “What're you laughin’ at?” Zanka mumbles, and maybe it's for the better. He was starting to focus a little too much on those fingers inching up his leg.
Jabber huffs, and his gaze falls down to where his hand is placed on Zanka's leg.
“I'm in chemical engineering,” he says.
Zanka is taken aback. Jabber has never really talked about his courses, let alone told him his major. “Really?”
“Yup,” Jabber replies simply, then goes to snatch up the joint from between Zanka's fingers.
Zanka struggles to find his footing now, but he panics when he feels the hand on his thigh begin to retreat back down. “Y'never talked about it before. Must be a lot of work.”
Jabber shrugs, and his fingertips lightly dig into the inside of Zanka's leg. “Nah, too good at it. Kinda gets, like… boring, when you got nobody else at the same speed.”
“On your… level?” Zanka asks, flabbergasted, and a little too high to properly process this new information.
“Oh, man, yeah. Need some kinda challenge.”
Zanka is quiet again, a flurry of thoughts invading his mind.
It clicks then, that it must have been what he and Gris were talking about. Why Jabber was so frazzled after, and it was that he wasn’t used to talking about himself, or what he was interested in so personally.
“Nobody's ever actually asked me about that kinda stuff before,” Jabber answers his internal dialogue like he’d read his mind, and Zanka watches his head fall back and hit the wall. “Super weird. Who even asks that shit? Like… perverts? Is your dad into me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Damn.”
Zanka considers for a moment, his fingers curling around one of the many plushies Jabber had on his bed. “Gris does this a lot. He likes to know how everyone's doin’, make sure they aren’t strugglin’ if he can help it,” another pause, then quieter, Zanka continues, “Must mean he likes you.”
Jabber stares at the ceiling for a long moment, and then tilts his head to look over at Zanka.
There's a heaviness in that stare that Zanka can't put his finger on, not in the state he's in.
“So… he is into me?”
“Do ya actually wanna die?”
Jabber laughs out loud and adjusts, away from him, and Zanka fears he's about to pull away. So, as a precaution, Zanka grabs his hand.
“Hey, hey,” Jabber snickers, and Zanka pushes down how silly he feels for the childish move when Jabber sounds so sure. “Not goin’ nowhere.”
Zanka looks away, out the window. It's hard to see the stars here with all the light pollution, but he can make out a couple of them.
“I don't hate you, either,” Zanka murmurs, quiet as ever.
He can't see Jabber's face, but he feels the shift of the bed and the creak of the bed springs under new weight.
Fingers take Zanka by the chin, and he's made to look at Jabber.
Kinda feels like he was made to do that, anyway.
There's more contemplation in Jabber's gaze now, and Zanka fears there would evolve to be doubt there. So he does the most reasonable thing he can think of.
Zanka leans in, pushes him down, and kisses him.
It's good. It's always good.
Hands at his waist, touching his skin, the smell of marijuana and Jabber's body wash, and sweat and musk. That, and the knowledge that he was getting irreparably close to a man he never thought possible to be like this with.
Zanka's head falls down, and like a mimic of earlier in the day, Jabber's head falls to the side to grant him a canvas of skin, followed by a chuckle. “C'mon, fuck me up already before I steal your dad’s number.”
Zanka wonders how he got so lucky to be at peace with such a disaster.