Chapter Text
Zanka swiped his sweaty bangs off his forehead and clipped them to the top of his head.
Eishia said it wasn' Jabber’s poison that had done him in so bad this time; apparently, he was sick as a dog. She offered to heal him back to rights as soon as he woke up, but he declined. There was no sense in that. If he wanted to keep gettin’ stronger, he couldn’ always be takin’ the easy way out. He should be able to handle a scuzzin’ cold.
‘Cept, four days of coughing ‘til his back ached and waking up in sweat soaked sheets was wearin’ on him. The worst part was, before Jabber’s toxin had completely worn off, he hadn't felt too bad. Nothin’ ached, and if not for his temperature, it woulda been hard to believe he was sick at all. Eishia couldn' find any traces of anythin’ life threatenin’, just a central nervous system depressant. She suspected he might have even built up a bit of a tolerance for it considerin’ how much was still lingerin’ in his system.
Shikage was the one who noticed a body had been unceremoniously dumped right on the doorstep of Cleaner’s HQ. No trace of the person who’d delivered him. Zanka could only think of one person who knew him well ‘nough and would give a trash beast’s ass to bring him back. He could just picture Kyoka’s smug face findin’ him unconscious in that alley. Thinkin’ back with a clearer head, she probably knew he was there the moment she stepped into that courtyard. Damage left behind by a Jinki was like a signature an’ she knew his well.
Zanka splashed cold water on his face. His skin was boiling, but he couldn't stop shiverin’. At least now he was able to stand on his own. Enjin helpin’ him get upright each day made him want to crawl out of his skin. The feelin’ of his hands on his back, the faint smell of cigarette smoke as he leaned into his body… yeah, that was more’n likely to kill him than this cold.
Another pair of hands flashed through his mind, warm and dangerous, and wrapped around his waist. He turned the tap on full blast and shoved his head under the icy flow. Nope. Those were not thoughts he was havin’. This sickness must be makin’ him delirious. In fact, he was startin’ to wonder how much of that fight was real and how much was his fever.
Zed City was a respectable place, not somewhere Raiders should even be able to get in. It was also clear that Jabber wasn’ fighting him for anything other than amusement—if Zanka was honest with himself, maybe he’d been doin’ the same—that probably meant he wasn't there on Raider business. Which only made him feel marginally less guilty about lettin’ him get away.
Zanka turned off the tap and buried his face in a towel. He groaned, a wet and angry sound that rattled out of his gunked up lungs. All this thinkin’ was hurtin’ his head. He scrubbed the towel up and down his feverkissed cheeks. His skin felt cooler now, but his insides were still raging hot and stuffy.
A tiny crackling echoed in the small bathroom. He pulled the towel away and looked around the room. His imagination? His ears were kinda clogged, so maybe—another static-like sound. Zanka looked down at the choker on his wrist. Someone was tryin’ to reach him? At this hour?
He waited, listening intently for more signs that a communication was about to come through. Huh. Zanka hung up his towel and glanced in the mirror. His undereyes were bruised with dark circles, highlighted by his pale skin. His hair was a mess and needed a trim on the sides. He leaned in and inspected his face a little closer, tsking at the small burst blood vessels on his cheeks. He swiped a pair of tweezers off the counter and fussed over his brows for a while. He couldn' be fallin’ all out of sorts jus’ cuz he was a little sick. What kind of credibility would he have left with Rudo if he didn't keep up appearances?
His choker buzzed again. Was this scuzzin’ thing broken? He’d never gotten random feedback from it before. It only ever made any noise when someone was tryin’a talk to him and the only ones who were connected to his choker were in bed right now. ‘Cept maybe Tamsy, who tended to stay up ‘til all hours of the night.
Zanka stood in the bathroom listenin’ for longer than he’d like to admit. It wasn' until he started swayin’ on his feet that he realized what a chucklehead he was bein’ and staggered back into the bedroom. He flopped face first down onto his bed.
He was pretty sure he overplucked one of his brows. That was a problem for tomorrow Zanka. Tonight Zanka was goin’ to need to sleep if he ever hoped to kick this fever. He rolled over and wrestled out of his robe, coughin’ heavily as he tried to maneuver around. He stacked his pillows to keep his head elevated so he wouldn't suffocate on his own snot while he was sleepin’. Whatta thought: here lies Zanka, choked to death on his own phlegm. Would anyone be surprised?
He finally settled, his head feelin’ like it was filled with rocks and his breathin’ heavy. He stared up at the cracked ceiling. Tomme was directly above him. Sometimes her perfume would waft down into his room through the vent. He never told her, not wantin’ to sound like some sort of creep. Not that Tomme would think that of him, she was kind and… intensely observant. He was pretty sure she had a crush on Enjin. Whenever Zanka was talkin’ with him he’d noticed her givin’ him weird glances.
A low hum from his choker tore him out of his thoughts. Zanka sat upright in a rush. The room tilted and black spots exploded across his vision. He closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore his pounding head as he tucked his wrist up against his ear. It was faint, it was so faint he almost thought he was imagining it, but there was humming. Someone was humming on the other end of the line.
The hum sounded far away. Like there was interference preventing it from comin’ through. Their chokers were usually pretty clear, ‘less they were underground. The static seemed to only get louder the more he tried to focus, the humming becoming harder to distinguish amongst all the crackling. He pulled the choker away and looked at it. Nothin’ seemed off, no scratches or dents, didn’ look damaged. He gave it a little shake and tapped on it with his finger.
“Hello?” The cracklin’ immediately stopped. He eyed it suspiciously. ”If ya punkin’ me, you're dead!”
There was no reply. Weird... He would have to mention to Enjin there was somethin’ screwy goin’ on. Zanka flopped back into the pillows and got settled again, he reached over and curled his fingers around Lovely.
“G’night, Sweetheart,” he sighed.
Exhaustion overcame him swiftly and he fell into a restless sleep.
A warm breath bloomed across his bare nape. Zanka sagged, and fell back into the solid body behind him. Somehow he knew who it was, but didn't at the same time. Everything was blissfully warm and hazy. He felt weightless. The person nuzzled the side of his neck, he could feel their smile pressed into the back of his ear, a hint of teeth scraping his skin. Hands slipped around his waist and squeezed, cold metal rings sending a shiver up his spine.
Claws birthed out of the rings and curled into his stomach, he screamed as they punctured him.
Is this what you like?
His eyes snapped open. His heart was rattlin’ around his rib cage like a flighty bird. An uncomfortable feelin’ throbbed low in his stomach. The room was dark—not mornin’ yet. Zanka had a white knuckled grip on Lovely. Somethin’ had woken him up.
His wrist crackled. Ah, this crap again.
Zanka threw his arm over his forehead, the choker danglin’ near his ear. Soft static poured out of it, like it was connected to someone. He cleared the gunk out of his throat and croaked a soft hello. The static increased, shifted around, like background noise was seepin’ through.
“Aight, enough games. I don’t know who you are, or how you got this connection but once I find out imma murderize you.”
No reply.
He licked his chapped lips. Zanka tucked the choker close and listened intently. The static abruptly quieted, there was still a faint buzzing though, the line was definitely connected.
“Say somethin’ scuzzball,” he growled, frustrated and exhausted.
“Wow, that just gave me the shivers.” The voice sounded off, in the way that everyone sounded a little different through the chokers, but it was still smooth and raspy and unmistakably recognizable.
“Jabber,” he replied in a congested whisper laced with disbelief.
“Ding, ding, ding!”
He clapped his hand over the choker to muffle it and sank into the bed. “Are you out of your mind?!” He hissed.
Jabber’s laugh was loud, echoing around the quiet room. Zanka’s pulse made itself known, pounding away under his skin, thumpin’ against where the choker was resting on his wrist. He grabbed the sheets and threw them over his head. If anyone heard him talking to a Raider he was cooked.
“Awe, don’t sound so upset. Tell me you’re happy to hear from your good pal Jabber.”
“We are not pals.”
“Cold as ice!” Jabber whined. “It’s always the pretty ones who are so mean.”
Maybe he was still sleepin’ n’ this was just his fever playin’ tricks on him. Maybe if he bashed his head into somethin’ he might wake up.
“What do ya want?” Zanka spoke through clenched teeth.
“I just wanna talk.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”
“Sounded like you were having a real good dream. What was it about? It’s kinda wild because I could have sworn I heard my name.”
What?
Oh, please, no…The dream he was havin’ flashed before his eyes the way they say ya life does before you go dyin’. Heat ravaged his face. In the back of his mind Zanka could hear Riyo teasin’ him for conkin’ out in the car ‘n talkin’ in his sleep.
“You’re delusional, all them poisons really messed with your head, huh?" His stomach tingled where Jabber’s hands had been like some kind of messed up lie detector.
“That does happen from time to time, it gets confusing, yah know?” Jabber suddenly sucked in a harsh breath. “Ouch! Yeah nah, this is real. That stings bad, and if it hurts, it's gotta be real, right?”
“That’s some screwy ass logic,” he grumbled, but realized maybe that was true for Jabber. When he was all hopped up on toxins things probably got real distorted. Maybe it did make a whole lotta sense that pain made him feel real. “You’re seriously messed up.”
Jabber chuckled softly, “You’re funny, Zan.”
"Ain't tryin’ be and don’t call me that.”
“Huh, why not?”
Because it made him squirm, because it sent a strange little tingle through his chest like whenever Enjin praised him.
“We ain’t that familiar.”
Because he liked it.
“Maaan, that’s what I’m saying! I’m trying here. Let’s get to know each other.”
“I ain’t tryin’ to familiarize myself with someone like you.” Zanka could feel his patience wearin’ thin, an unsettlin’ feelin’ was bubblin’ under his skin. “You’ve tried to kill me.”
“Nah, if it was tryin’ to kill you,” Jabber’s voice dropped, menace seeping into his tone. “You’d be dead.” Just as quickly he shifted back to upbeat. “None of the toxins I got right now are killers on their own. If I mix them though, that's when it gets fun. If it’s all of my claws at the same time? You’d be kcht blehhh kuhhblehhh bllerrgggghh.”
“Wow,” Zanka deadpanned. “Don’t hold back next time.” He hated these scuzzin’ natural talents always bragging about how they weren't givin’ it their all. Hated it even more when they rubbed it in his face.
“Yeah,” Jabber sighed, all weird and dreamy-like. “I wanna go all the way with you, Zan.”
The likelihood of them facin’ off against each other again was pretty high with how the Raiders seemed so intent on muckin’ around with the Watchman Series. Bein’ honest, he didn’ exactly hate the idea either. Three times now he’d ended up on the losin’ side of them clashing. An’ if that wasn’ Jabber fightin’ to kill—a shiver went down his spine. He needed to get trainin’. He needed to be a lot fuckin’ stronger next time.
“Speaking of holding back, so, likeee…” Jabber drew it out real long and slow. “What turns you on?”
Zanka started coughing so aggressively he thought his lungs might actually pop. This freakin’ guy! “I’m going to pulverize you so hard you’re going to disintegrate into dust!” he growled, cheeks burning.
“Oh snap. Wait, are you actually down for this? Man, I knew I wasn't imagining it. Okay, okay.” There was rustling in the background. When Jabber spoke again, his voice had dropped a few octaves. “I bet you’d pulverize me real good. What else you wanna do to me?”
Zanka flew out of bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, ripped his choker off, and threw it into the toilet. He trudged back, slipped under the covers and put both pillows over his head.
He was goin’ to bed. He was goin’ to bed and he was not givin’ that, whatever that was, another scuzzin’ thought.
+++
“Good morning, Zanka. It looks like you’re doing better.” Tomme had her sleeves pulled over her hands and was balancing a steaming bowl in her palms. She smiled warmly at him before setting it down carefully on the table and taking a seat.
“‘Mornin’.” He pushed his spoon around a dish of mushy rice. He didn’t have much of an appetite. “Fever’s gone,” he offered, but couldn’ exactly say he was doing better. He’d hardly slept a wink. Hadn’t even noticed his fever had broken on account of how fiercely he’d been blushin’. His mind kept trippin’ all over itself, and by the time the sun had come up, he was almost convinced none of it had happened… ‘til he found his choker in the toilet.
“I was getting worried. Your cough seemed pretty bad last night.”
Zanka tensed up. Of course it had occurred to him some time ago that the vent in the ceiling worked two ways. Tomme was incredibly quiet but he could still hear faint echoes of her movin’ around. Sometimes even singin’, when she was in the mood. He never minded it; livin’ with the Cleaners was jus’ like that. Ya got used to August’s loud yappin’, and Dear throwin’ tantrums, and Tamsy’s music that sounded like trash goin’ through a blender. If he was honest, it was comfortin’, a stark contrast to the silent, barracks-like hallways of his childhood.
“Apologies for botherin’ ya.”
Tomme waved her hand back and forth. “Oh no, no. I’m just a light sleeper.”
Zanka wondered how often he was disturbin’ her. He thought about askin’ but the door to the cafeteria swung open and Rudo marched in lookin’ surly. That kid was so naturally full of piss and vinegar, Zanka wondered if he’d eventually grow out of it or he was just stuck like that for life.
“Morning, Rudo.” Tomme beamed and when Rudo looked over his scowl eased up by a fraction.
“Mornin’, have you seen Enjin?”
“No, I haven't. Do you want to join us?” Tomme motioned to the seat next to Zanka. Rudo eyed it suspiciously before shaking his head.
“No, I’ll pass. Enjin said he's taking me to get more trash so I can keep practicing while Zanka gets better.”
“I’m mostly better,” Zanka piped up. That wasn’t true but he couldn’ lay about forever. Enjin trusted him to be Rudo’s trainer and that meant no slackin’. In fact, he should probably start gettin’ back into his routine. At the very least some stretchin’ might help the ache radiating through his back.
“Then why do you still look like crap?” Rudo asked in such a genuine tone that Zanka wasn' even sure he knew he was insultin’ him. He was funny like that, always gettin’ under people’s skin and not understandin’ why. If Zanka had the energy he woulda liked to smack him one. Instead, he’d have to make due with not entertainin’ it.
Ten minutes later, after pushin’ around his food until it looked completely unappetizing, and sufferin’ Rudo’s stank face, he excused himself. Back in his room, he lingered in the bathroom doorway, eyeing the choker where it sat innocently on top of a towel. He chewed his lip and nervously ran his knuckles up and down the doorframe.
Zanka stalled for a minute more before huffing, he was bein’ scuzzin’ ridiculous. He marched forward, snatching up the choker and slipping it on his wrist. All he had to do was sever the connection and his problem was solved. Though he wasn’ quite sure how to go about that, he'd never had to before since he wasn't the type to give out his line freely. Could ya even extract blood that’d already been all mixed in? Semiu was probably the first person he should inquire with.
Zanka put on his Cleaner’s uniform, makin’ sure everythin’ was properly fastened and carefully tied his sash. It felt good to get out of his casual clothes. He ran his fingers along the large gashes from Jabber’s claws on his utility bag. He would have to sew that up tonight.
He retrieved Lovely and took out a small box of supplies from his dresser. He went to work unwrappin’ her and checkin’ for any cracks or damage. Then he wiped her down with a special oil, thanks to Delmon, from crushed seeds. It was calming to slowly work the oil into the wood. The warm, earthy smell was comfortin’ as he fell into the motions of running his palms up and down the length of the stick. When he was done, he gave her one more wipe down with a clean cotton towel and then rewrapped her stress points.
“Aight, then?” He looked her over, feelin’ pleased. “I think that’s good. Sorry it’s been a few days. Let’s go do a little work?”
It was windy out. Luckily, that provided a nice bit of extra resistance against his swings. Zanka went through the movements like a dance. The same key motions he always used. There was somethin’ to be said for always keepin’ up with the basics. On the days he wanted to challenge himself he would focus on acrobatics. Days like today, where he needed to be takin’ it easy, he stuck to core training. Sometimes he envied the less calculated and free form fightin’ styles of some of the other Cleaners, but when your Jinki was just a stick, ya had to make up for it with disciplined fightin’.
His choker crackled. Zanka faltered mid swing. He looked around and felt relieved to see he was alone. He was certain now that crackle was Jabber connecting the line. It made him rethink everything he’d been doin’ the other night when he’d heard it makin’ noise. He took a deep meditative breath. He just needed to ignore it. If he didn’ pay him any mind, Jabber would eventually get bored and stop harassin’ him.
Zanka laid Lovely across his shoulders and hooked his arms over her. He bent forward to stretch out his back, twisting back and forth. A series of pops ran up his spine and he groaned appreciatively. His chest still felt heavy with congestion but the exercise and fresh air had momentarily cleared his sinuses. He took in a deep breath through his blissfully unclogged nose and let it out slowly. A gust of wind swept through the open yard, rattling his earrings and ruffling his hair. A soft whistlin’ floated out of the choker. Zanka’s eyes fell shut, he turned his face into the breeze and enjoyed the coolness on his flushed cheeks. He didn’t recognize the tune but somehow could sense it was a little off pitch; it was slow and surprisingly sweet. He rocked back and forth as Jabber cycled through the same loop of highs and lows.
Zanka caught himself just before he almost started humming along. “Shut up!” He barked.
Jabber laughed in reply, trying multiple times to continue whistling, but couldn’t seem to stop giggling.
Zanka disconnected the line, feeling like a swarm of bugs had erupted in his stomach. He couldn’ help but notice that he had a nice laugh.
+++
Semiu had her head propped up on one hand and lazily flipped through a magazine with the other. When Zanka approached her desk she spoke without looking up.
“While I appreciate the effort…Really?” Semiu lifted the magazine and flecks of dirt fell out onto the table. Zanka recognized it as one Jabber had speared. As if reading his mind, she lifted it higher and peered at him through one of the holes in the pages.
“Ah, well, I had a bit of an altercation.” Zanka rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. The fact that the magazines were returned with him was a testament to his sister’s commitment to being a scuzzwad.
“Which would be fine except…” Semiu sighed. “It’s not personal, but I think we have a difference in taste.” She gave him a pointed look before her gaze darted down to the magazine, and she grimaced.
Zanka scowled back. “I think those are pretty tasteless to begin with, not that I'm judgin’ you or nuthin’.” He held up his hands to show his sincerity, but he wasn' goin’ to pretend it was the kinda thing he was into. He had his preferences, he’d seen plenty of girls that he thought were pretty. It was when things got more intimate that it got confusin’. Riyo called him oblivious and Zanka thought he might be takin’ that title to the grave rather than admit it was somethin’ else entirely.
Semiu rolled her eyes dramatically before mumblin’ under her breath somethin’ about Enjin, somethin’ about a man with real taste.
“I got an inquiry.” Zanka came to lean his hip up against her desk and crossed his arms.
“Sure, shoot.” Semiu pushed the magazine aside and sat back to give him her attention.
“Have you ever heard of disconnecting someone from a choker? Permanent like.”
Semiu tapped her finger on the desk thoughtfully. “I’ve seen them flushed to be reused. It removes everyone, though, on both ends.”
“There are connections I'd like to not go askin’ for again.”
“Well, a mental block should do it. It’s not permanent but you can disconnect right when it comes through.”
“And if they're persistent?”
She shrugged. “Squash the bug that’s pestering you.”
Zanka straightened up, feeling a little bit surprised.
Semiu stared at him intently for a beat before her expression eased up. “Just kidding. Look, I'll see if I can find some more information for you.”
Zanka started to give his thanks but she held up her hand. “You’ll owe me.” Semiu tapped the tattered magazine with her fingernail.
Zanka nodded. “I am sorry for that.”
She smirked and waved off his apology. “Take Enjin with you, he knows what I like.”
Zanka nodded politely and walked away. A strange sensation swoopin’ through his stomach at the thought of talkin’ to’ Enjin about what kind of women he fancied. Not that it was a secret, he talked pretty openly about his preferences. Zanka seldom engaged with those types of conversations. Luckily, no one ever asked him to either. What would he even say? I’ve never taken a likin’ to a girl…
+++
Zanka had a schedule he seldom wavered from. He didn't need an alarm; his internal clock was faithful, always wakin’ him up ‘bout the same time each day. With one exception: if he was being forced awake.
“Shut up,” Zanka grumbled, half coherent. The faintest bit of consciousness was registerin’ someone yappin’ but otherwise his brain was still blissfully offline. Small bits of information slipped through into his dreams. He was cocooned in his bed, warm and relaxed, it was still dark, and there was a persistent voice botherin’ him. He acknowledged it for only a moment before exhaustion pulled him back to sleep.
He awoke again, the talkin’ was loud, more intense. An angry shout finally snapped Zanka’s eyes open. He wiped the drool off his mouth and peeled his earring off his cheek. His choker was practically vibratin’ from the noise comin’ through it. His eyes hurt, he pressed gently into his lids to alleviate the ache.
Jabber’s voice seeped out of his wrist; it was pitched and he muttered a steady flow of incomprehensible words. Whatever he was sayin’ all bled together, Zanka was only able to pick out a word or two. His voice wavered suddenly, his ramblin’ interrupted by a panicked whine.
Zanka startled. He tucked the choker close and whispered, “Jabber?”
The whine dragged out before tapering off and was punctuated by harsh panting.
“Jabber.” Zanka whispered again.
The panting eased up to soft sniffling, mixed with erratic gasps; the line crackled like maybe he was movin’ around.
Zanka chewed his lip and wondered if he should be hearin’ this. The way it sounded, Jabber was cryin’. Which was unnerving. He didn’t really seem like the cryin’ type. How bad did something have to be to upset a guy like him?
There was another loud sob and Zanka felt his chest ache. He definitely shouldn’t be hearin’ this. He should just disconnect. Give him his privacy. Jabber hiccuped and blew his nose and Zanka felt his indifference melt into a puddle of goo. He couldn't explain it. He didn’t wanna jus’ leave him alone like this.
“Hey,” Zanka kept his voice soft. “You there?”
There was a flurry of shufflin’ and then a broken soundin’ curse before the line went dead.
Welp, guess that settled that. Zanka drummed his fingers on the comforter, a weird anxiousness vibrating under his skin.
He stared up at the ceiling, his hope to fall back to sleep slippin’ away by the second. He felt slightly haunted, the sobs still fresh and lingerin’ around the room. He chewed his lip and drummed his fingers and chewed his lip some more til he tasted iron. Then without givin’ it much thought, he reached over and tapped his choker. He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say but as soon as the static signaled a connection he spoke before he could punk out.
“I can’t sleep.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Been sick as a scuzzin’ dog this last week. I’m finally feelin’ better but I can’t sleep an’ seein’ how that's your fault, the least ya can do is keep me company.” He laughed bitterly, not believin’ the load of crap that was comin’ out of his own mouth.
Jabber didn’t reply, the open line buzzed.
Zanka sighed. Shit. This was stupid. What was he doing? He didn’t have a clue, but felt like he should keep talkin’.
“I been wonderin’ what you were doin’ in Zed City, guess they just let anybody in.”
There was a soft snort; at least that meant Jabber was listening. “Scuzzin’ place is too overcrowded, but I get why so many people settle there. Felt like it was closer to the sun or somethin’.” He couldn’ help but think of the way the rays of light dippin' below the horizon had reflected in Jabber’s eyes. “One of the prettiest sunsets I’ve ever seen.”
There was a low hum of acknowledgment.
Zanka flopped his arm on the pillow beside his head. What was he supposed to talk about with this guy? They didn't have a damn thing in common.
Let’s get to know each other.
Was that really okay? Well, he figured as long as he didn’t reveal nothin’ too personal, nothing that could be used against him, what did it matter? He was pretty sure Zodyl had already told Jabber about his family, he’d known they was Hell Guard hadn’t he?
“I grew up in the Kamuatari District. You’ve probably heard of it. Not a whole lotta sunshine there, that’s for sure. My family’s been in the Hell Guard for generations, I was supposed’t be too. Spent most of my childhood trainin’ n’ junk. Things really didn' go my way though…”
+++
Sunlight bled through the curtains and fell across Zanka’s brow. It lit up the back of his eyelids vivid red and made him grimace. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow trying to block it out.
A loud snorin’ drifted out of his choker. Zanka shoved his arm under the pillow to muffle it. Jabber hadn’t said a word last night, but didn’t disconnect either.
Zanka’d never talked so much about himself in his life. It was pretty embarrassin’ but it felt like it was worth it when he realized the breathin’ on the other end of the line had calmed down. He’d kept prattling on til mornin’. Jus’ yappin’ away about his childhood, inconsequential stuff, but still...stuff he hadn't ever told anyone. He secretly hoped Jabber wasn’ even listenin’ to half of it.
He was just drifting back to sleep again when there was a sudden loud knock on his door.
“Zanka!” Enjin’s loud voice punched right through the wall. “Rise and shine, Zan-zan!” The doorknob jiggled and there was another loud rap. “C’mon, you got five minutes. We got some Cleaning to do.”
Zanka scrambled out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face when his foot got tangled in the sheets. He flew into the bathroom to wash up and get dressed before sliding back into his room to snatch up Lovely.
He was just about to open the door when a loud yawn burst out of his choker. He froze with his hand on the knob. He’d completely forgotten…
“Morning, Zan-Zan.” Jabber’s voice was teasing, still sleep drenched, low and raspy. And oh, scuzz, why did that make it feel like there was a swarm of insects buzzing through his stomach?
“G’mornin’” he mumbled, his insides squirming.
Jabber groaned long and deep like he was stretchin’ out his limbs, and Zanka felt his face blaze, a completely rogue burst of arousal tearing through him. He panicked and quickly disconnected the line.
Zanka threw the door open and rushed out, nearly colliding with Enjin.
“Whoa, hey there.” He gave Zanka a quick once-over. “You feeling up to coming with?”
“I’m feelin’ alright,” Zanka replied quickly, not wanting Enjin to think he was still too sick to work. He’d been out of commission for too many days already.
Enjin smiled and nodded, his gaze shifting up, over Zanka’s shoulder. Zanka felt a wave of embarrassment crash over him; he knew his bed was unmade and his sleep clothes was strewn about the floor.
“We’ve been trying to call you for a while.” Enjin let his gaze drop back down to look Zanka in the eye, and he reached up and tapped his choker. “Couldn’t get through.” His voice echoed out of the choker on Zanka’s wrist.
“Must have slept through it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled forward, closing the door behind him. “Apologies,” he mumbled, unable to make eye contact.
Enjin stared at him intently like he was waiting for more, until finally he shrugged. “Ah, well, all good,” he laughed, loud and boisterous, before clapping Zanka on the shoulder. “C’mon, Gris is waiting in the car.”
Zanka nodded and followed Enjin down the hall.