Chapter Text
Autumn had approached quietly with no fanfare. The warm summer air shifted into a brisk and chilly ambience with the occasional shower of vibrant leaves that crunched under the students' shoes as they scrambled for their first class of the semester. Well, only one student. In the Ground University, strict discipline was something that had been drilled in most of the students long before applying. That being said, most of these try-hard students had been sitting in their respective classes long before lecture even started.
Not Jabber Wonger though.
Long locs tied back in a loose ponytail with a few stray ones framing his face, his tall and lean stature dressed in dark grey jeans and an oversized purple hoodie, he skips down the beautiful campus while humming to himself without any care in the world. Ten silver rings adorned his long and slender fingers, clinking together with the sounds of his metal bracelets and studded belt. Crisp crunches of fallen leaves trailing behind as he makes his way to class.
Many of the other students tended to stick in groups, whether it be for study groups post lectures in the campus cafés or in order to gain connections with powerful families to secure a successful career, Jabber understood that birds of the same feather flock together. The majority of the school being the typical snobbish elitists, he expressed individuality with his demeanor. Ill-mannered, some on the campus may whisper, but it was hard for these students to say much else when Wonger's name was listed as top 6th in his year's roster.
Some people try too hard, Jabber always thought. Having fun was crucial for him, yet it didn't help that everyone in the Ground University was so uptight that their spines were basically ironed straight. If he'd known prior to attending the school, he would've gone somewhere else.
It wasn't like Jabber was a complete loner though. Having met few professors and students who matched his "deflective" energy at the Raiders Club, student lead by a fourth year named Momoa and sponsored by some scary and cryptic Humanities professor, Zodyl. It was an odd group of students who got together a few times a month, a humanities-focused exploration club focused on uncovering stories, histories, and mysteries both on and off campus. “Expeditions” like campus history scavenger hunts, artifact analysis nights, and film discussions centered on adventure, and mythology. Sure, it was boring as hell to Jabber but at least the people weren't hollow elitists. Jabber also enjoyed the company of the members since they could talk about other normal things like fashion and music while everyone else yapped about grades and careers and futures.
With about 5 minutes until his lecture started, Jabber started picking up his pace. Wired earphones tangling as they bumped with every skip of his tall stature, the music's volume was turned up so high the sounds leaked to cut through the deadpan silence of his lecture hall, earning himself a few scowls as he sat down at a seat in the back. From there, the room was stretched out like a shallow bowl with rows of heads and their open laptop screens. The fresh autumn breeze was replaced with the faint hum of old ventilation and the muted rustle of notebooks.
Even as the professor entered to set down her thick binders with piles of notes and her laptop with the lecture's presentation, Jabber's earphones stayed lodged inside his ears.
Slumping his shoulders and crossing his arms on the desk, Jabber lets his head lay on his makeshift "pillow", hoping a few seconds shut eye will chase away the boredom.
The lecture begins and murmurs behind his loud music playing on. Maintaining attendance was such a drag, but it wasn't like Jabber had much to do anyway. He loved the hands on labs for chemistry, though the minor lectures besides his major bored him.
He drifts off, lost in the tunes thumping within his ear and into his head.
However, when he shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable, a movement in his peripheral vision conducts a sudden curiosity.
In the very first row, someone sits with a kind of sophistication that caught Jabber's attention. His posture is straight but relaxed, hands poised over his pristine notebook filled with neat, disciplined handwriting. Ash grey locks draped over the dark black ones, a pair of blue tassel earrings swinging slightly at his head's movement, which wasn't much at all. He sat there like a stone, eyes following the professor's lecture. Jabber could only see the student's 3/4th profile, enough to notice the beautiful wide aegean eyes, and his unique look further defined by those slitted eyebrows. Jabber's loose locs not caught in the hair tie pooled in his arms with his head, he squints his magenta eyes.
He couldn't help but stare.
"Whatta weird ass pair of earrings..." Jabber thought. It was strange, the student blended in with the others but harshly stood out at the same time. His elegance seemed automated, as if he'd trained. Funny enough, Jabber was quick to automatically yank his wired earphones out from his ears as he watched the ash-grey headed student raise his hand, presumably to inquire a question?
"Yes, Zanka?" Professor Semiu asks, nodding at the ash-grey headed student.
Zanka. Jabber slightly bit his bottom lip to prevent a grin. A polished and opulent name that was very memorable. Jabber couldn't recall on what Zanka had specifically inquired to the professor, since he found himself distracted by his voice. Smooth, slightly husky, deliberately neutral, as if he had run it through a filter to erase its origins. Avoiding any of the lilts that might give them away. Jabber listened closely, a faint trace lingers, an occasional harsh vowel, It’s practiced and controlled, almost elegant in its restraint, but underneath, the voice hints at a deeper, more unique accent.
He finds himself curious about this Zanka boy. His interest bubbling inside him, swelling up until it'd be harder to contain sanity. The conversation between two boys in the row in front of him only fueled that interest.
"Hey, isn't he apart of the Nijiku family?" One queries the other.
Jabber had heard of the Nijiku Family. It was a name impossible to avoid at Ground University. But since when did Jabber care about these people? The way monotone days blend together, so did most of the people with their uptight lives.
"You mean Kyouka and Goka? My cousin had a class with Kyouka. She said the tension in the lecture hall was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I heard Kyouka was top of her year. I think Goka did, too." The other responds, gossiping in whispers to avert attention.
"Hard core tryhards hah..."
"Nah its gotta be natural. Runs throughout the family or something."
"That's bullshit. They probably just throw money at the administrators."
"Is that Zanka boy 'suposed to be some kinda rich smart guy?" Jabber quietly slips into the conversation without warning, earning him two turned faces that didn't have time to conceal its bewilderment at the audacity.
"Wha- mind your own business...!" One of them sputters in a harsh whisper-yell after a few seconds of a shocked stare.
"Hey man, I was just curious, no need ta be so defensive." Jabber laughs a little too loudly, causing half the lecture hall to glance back at the three.
While the gossips' faces turn bright red at the sudden attention, Jabber's grin widens so far it nearly splits his face once his magenta hues meet Zanka's neutral aegean blue eyes. Even the quick glance granted Jabber a moment that he would replay within his crazed mind for the remainder of the lecture, and as he leaves the building once Professor Semiu wrapped things up.
Jabber guessed, Zanka seemed like the type of guy to hang around after the lecture ended to inquire about the class and boring stuff to the professor that Jabber really didn't want to think about. Even so, trusting his intuition, instead of heading to his favorite thrift stores, antique jewelry stores, or even his cozy dorm, he stays put right outside the building.
His frame leaned against the brick wall, eyes scanning the groups of students flocking together out of the building. Chatters about studying, and meeting in coffeehouses or fancy dinners, Jabber filters it all until a particularly large group files out of the double doors, with Zanka in the middle.
His voice rang out and practically snatched Jabber's attention.
"Get yer scissors away from me!" He clamored at a red-headed girl besides him, swinging a pair of silver scissors at him in a playful manner while the others in the group laughed.
Jabber couldn't help but notice the accent. The one that'd been concealed earlier, suppressed by the tone of synthetic sophistication now able to be free. A slender hand lifting to sprawl his fingers over his flushed face. The cool silver rings along with the chill of the breeze embarrassingly wasn't enough to cool him down.
"Pfft- Zanka, c'mon, you're due for a haircut and I happen to know someone who'd be willing to put up with your bad attitude!" The redhead laughs.
"I ain't lettin’ ya touch a hair on my head. If anyone needs a haircut it's August!" Zanka argues.
"Hey, don't drag me into this!"
The more he watched, the more he wanted to know. Zanka, the uptight elitist Jabber along with may others chalked him up to be was here, clamoring and joking with a group of friends. So, which part of him was real? What else was he hiding? Why was Jabber getting the sense that life hadn't treated him as kindly as it had to his so called "legendary" siblings? And who was he to start interrogating this smart rich boy?
Well, It'd been the first time Jabber felt a feeling of thrill and along with that, the intense desire to dig deeper into something he had no business in. Zanka and his group of friends walked further enough that even if he squinted, Jabber wouldn't be able to spot their silhouette, and yet he was still there. Stuck In his mind, body leaned against the brick wall endlessly replaying the moment they shared an eye contact, and his head echoed the unique accent accompanying that lovely voice.
Aaa, fuck...
Zanka made it to his dorm room around evening. After an intense studying session at the library by himself, having only a black coffee and a curry bun from the convenience store in his system, it'd be an understatement to say he was beat. But the night time provided a quiet opportunity to immerse himself in yet another study session.
His keycard jingled with the other keys as the thick door closed shut. Routinely, Zanka hung the keychain on the white hook adjacent to the door and took off his shoes. He hangs his school bag besides his chair and enters his bathroom to take a shower.
Afterwards, its back to studying.
He sits at his desk, a single lamp casting a bright circle of light on a pile of textbooks, notes, and open tabs. Zanka's posture is squared, yet comfortable, as if he'd trained his body to endure long hours of concentration. His eyes twitch every once in a while, strained from staring at the words on paper and the bright screen of his iPad. Slightly tired but sharp, he flip between the pages in his open textbook and digital resources, absorbing knowledge with a hunger that never seems to wane. The sounds of pens scratch across paper in rapid strokes, while white sticky notes with reminders crowd the edges of his desk.
The room is quiet, save for the occasional sigh or yawn. Time seems to blur, the late evening merges with midnight as Zanka persists. First class of the semester, and Zanka had nearly made it through 2 am.
There’s an intensity to Zanka's ambition, but it grows impatient. Zanka's knee nods up and down, fuck, he needed caffeine.
Throwing on a hoodie, Zanka heads out with his keycard in hand. Walking down the corridors, punching in the ground floor for the elevator. He steps out and takes a deep sigh of the cool autumn night. A little chilly, so Zanka makes his way to the 24 hour convenience store quickly.
A 5 minute walk at most, and as expected, some students gather for their own fix of caffeine. Ironically, Zanka scoffs in disbelief to himself. This was a competitive school. Not even exam season, yet there were a handful of tryhards like him pulling all nighters already. Zanka hated that he was one of them. He hated that he wasn't an effortless scholar like his older sister and brother.
Zanka buys a can of cold dark brew, a metal click and gulp later, he makes his way back to his dorm building.
For an odd reason, a sense of alertness overcomes him. A prickle rises on the back of his bare neck, that cold, electric awareness that something that wasn't the crisp air. Zanka holds his breath without realizing it. His heartbeat is steady but heavy, like it’s trying not to be heard. His body moves with a quiet urgency, every gesture tentative, as though the world has suddenly become a stage and he'd forgotten his lines. Zanka felt watched.
Yer going absolutely fucking crazy He thinks to himself.
The feeling doesn’t shout. It whispers. But it’s a whisper that won’t leave him alone.
Zanka makes it back to his dorm building. Beep-- his keycard opens the door, and as the door closes, he couldn't help but look back and stare into the distant dark. The cold, sweating can of coffee still in his hands. That's when he sees it, a small shift in the darkness. It's subtle, though Zanka doesn't doubt that he saw someone moving. Was someone following him?
What the hell He mutters to himself.