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The Raiders' base is a place littered with decay and rot. Trash is mindlessly scattered at the corners of every turn, and not a sliver of light is allowed entry.
It’s terrible.
Fu finds it especially terrible when he finds himself having to walk through those halls, either to some mission or to receive some half-assed, incomprehensible orders from Zodyl. Paired with those dark, empty eyes that would glare into him, filled with distaste.
He is doing neither of those things now, but it still feels terrible.
He’s headed to his room, if you could even call it that. A cold, small capacity of space with a stained mattress in the middle of it. It’s a sad sight. But it’s better than living on the streets like he used to, hardly a couple of months ago. On the way there, Fu suddenly stops in his tracks as he’s hit with a strong, sharp smell.
He grimaces. It’s a smell he’s unfortunately grown very familiar with (but not used to) over the years. It was undeniable. The scent of weed. It seeps into his lungs, and he coughs.
Where is that coming from?..
Fu turns, only to find a slightly creaked open door. Against his better judgment, he peeks through it. The smell is stronger here, so he’s already found the source. He scans his eyes throughout the room. It’s larger than most others he’s seen in base, it’s minimally decorated, with a large couch planted in the middle, facing a TV illuminating a harsh purple light and-
Oh.
This is the boss's room.
Panic immediately surged through Fu’s entire being. He had messed up. Big time. But wait, the boss smokes? He didn’t seem like the type. In fact, there are a lot of regular things that Fu can’t imagine Zodyl doing. He just appeared so-
“Fu?”
A voice drawls lazily, his name dripping from it like honey. It makes Fu freeze and relax, all at the same time. The only person who coos at him in such a way is Jabber. He lets out a sigh of relief. At least he won’t be dying today. Or perhaps he will. With Jabber, you can never be too sure. Fu creaked the door open wider, allowing himself a clearer view of the other boy. Upon seeing him, A large smile spread across Jabbers face. The sight made Fu’s heart skip a beat. (Out of fear! Most definitely, Jabbers wide grins always instilled a sense of dread within him.)
“Hey, man.” Jabber began, lifting himself off the couch and drowsily drifting over to where Fu stood behind the door frame. A light trail of smoke followed him as he did, coming from the neatly rolled joint he held in his left hand. “What’s up?”
Ah.. Of course.
“Oh! Heh..Uh, Hey, Jabber!“ Fu yelped out sheepishly. Jabber raised one of his slit brows. Fu was hit with a wave of embarrassment instantly.
“—um, I.. don’t think you’re.. supposed to be in here.”
Jabber smirked. “Hehe, ‘course I’m not.” He said. Fu took prior note of the fact that Jabber always seemed ecstatic at the prospect of getting himself into sticky situations. Jabber raised the blunt to his mouth, huffing in the smoke, letting it settle into his lungs real good, and unashamedly blowing it into the boss's room. Fu suddenly forgot everything about his dislike for weed.
He looked especially tranquil when he was high like this. Fu made sure to make note of that.
Jabber turned to the side, leaning his back against the doorframe. “Boss man hasn’t been giving me the “good job” special as of late, and it’s really been bumming me out, like, for real..” Jabber whinged, sticking his bottom lip out in a bit of a pout. Fu gulped. Jabber tilted his head towards the shorter boy. “You ever been in a situation like that, Fu? Where you want something from someone.. real bad, but they just won’t give it to you?”
Fu stared up at him, making sure not to get lost in those deep, magenta colored eyes, before nodding slowly.
“..Always.”
Jabber had a cryptic way of speaking. Fu wasn’t quite sure if he was still talking in the context of Zodyl anymore, but he didn’t want to think too deeply about it. Nonetheless, he agreed. A sudden twist of fate had made the entirety of his life revolve around receiving orders, and yet, hardly anybody had interest in giving him any. He instead had to drift around and beg for them. It was pathetic. As was he.
Jabbers grin widened. “You get me, man..” He cooed, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder. (Fu might’ve been imagining things, but he swears a glint of something passed through Jabbers eyes when he flinched.) “That’s why I like you.” That large, heavy thump of his heart returned. Fu tells himself that it’s dread again.
Jabber turns around, walking back into the room. Fu feels inclined to follow. “I’m thinking,” Jabber starts again. Fu can’t see his face with his back turned, but by his voice alone, he can tell that he’s on the verge of giggling. “If I smoke in his room, sleep on his couch, get rid of that funky smell in here that he likes..” He rehearsed.
“Then the boss man will get all mad..and beat me up real good again..!”
So that’s what the “good job special” is supposed to be.
Jabbers masochistic tendencies were no secret to Fu. Or to anyone, really. But they did unsettle him slightly. Pain was something that Fu had sworn to avoid under any circumstance. (Of course, this completely goes out the window when Hii takes over.) Why anyone would willingly seek it was a mystery to him. One he wasn’t willing to solve at the moment. Maybe another time.
Jabber crouches in front of the television. It’s an old, busted-up thing, and Fu considers it a miracle that it still works. “Don’t be shy, take a seat,” Jabber says, twisting the knobs on the front of the screen to switch the channels. “I’ll find something for us to watch.” Fu brightens up immediately at the give of an order, albeit a small, implicit one. He plops down onto the couch, easing into it, allowing himself to sink into the worn-out cushions. No wonder the boss spends all day on this thing. He thinks. The smell of Jabbers weed is practically ingrained onto the sofa, and Fu wondered, not for the first time, just how long Jabber had been here like this, alone in this space.
Closing his eyes for a brief moment of comfort, he felt the warmth of the couch—and, unbidden, the faint nearness of Jabber beside him—before snapping them open again, heart beating a little faster than it should. “I- Uh, wait, us?” Fu sputters out, caught off guard. He really hadn’t intended to stay here for as long as he had, lest he be guilty by association and take some of Zodyl's Jabber specific beatings for himself.
“Yeah, man.” Jabber chuckles, finally finding a show to his liking. “You’re hanging out with me in here, aren’t you? Might as well.”
An order? Fu swears that sentence had some semblance of an order, and that was more than enough. Zodyl's wrath was suddenly an afterthought. He would obey diligently! Even the fact that he was alone with Jabber, that the nearness of him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, didn’t matter.
“Heh..Then..I suppose I am!” Fu said, his voice small and nervous as it usually was. A shy, crooked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Jabber stood and turned to face him, catching the full sight of his expression. He let out his signature, gleeful cackle, and the flash of his canines woke up the butterflies resting in Fu’s stomach. He had to force himself not to stare for too long in an attempt to fight off the heat that was crawling up from his neck and onto his cheeks.
Jabber let out a low, satisfied hum before flopping down beside him, the couch dipping with his weight. He is awfully close. Fu notes, trying his best not to think too deeply about it. What Jabber has on is some kind of variety show, though Fu can’t really say he's listening. A couple of minutes of stock laughter and artificial scenarios ensue before an ad-break plays, and Jabber lets out a long, irritated groan.
“Ugh, I fucking hate this guy,” Jabber says. He’s referring to Mymo. He’s a TV host known for his news broadcasts implemented all across the ground, but also infamous for his particularly lengthy, un-skippable ad-breaks. “Like, seriously. Just when it was getting good— and now I gotta look at his stupid-ass haircut against my will.”
Fu let’s out a snort. “It is pretty stupid looking.”
Jabber turns his head towards him, smiling. “That’s what I’m saying. Such an odd choice of colour, too.”
“And that weird grin he does..” Fu adds on.
Jabber laughs. “Yo, don't even get me started.”
Silence stretches between the two. It's soft and unhurried, but it’s far from uncomfortable. From the corner of his eyes, Fu watches as the glow of the television ripples across Jabber’s skin, tracing the angles of his face and the curve of his shoulders. The light made him seem almost fragile, in a way Fu never thought he’d get to see. His chest tightened slightly, a quiet awe settling over him,
“You smoke, Fu?” Jabbers voice speaks up again, cutting through the quiet. He crushed the blunt he’d been holding against the makeshift ashtray of the couch’s armrest. “I don’t got anymore of the good stuff.. used it all. (He what?) — But a cigarette should do just fine.”
Fu blinked. “...Do you.. um…really strike me as the type of person who would?” His voice wavered slightly. He hoped he sounded more curious than skeptical. The question truly caught him off guard.
"Maybe. You always manage to surprise me.” Jabber says, a little too casually for Fus's liking. He leans back, just enough to make his eyes glint.
Jabber leaned back further, reaching an arm behind the couch to grab an old, crumpled pack that looked like it had been there for ages. ( Perhaps Fu had been wrong about Zodyl.)
He fished out a cigarette from the pack and pulled out a lighter. Fu watched it snap, the little flame lit up his face for a fleeting moment in soft orange before the room swallowed it up. For that half a second, Fu thought Jabber looked quite nice in an orange light.
“Wanna try?” Jabber asked, tilting the cigarette towards him with a lazy grin. Fu’s eyes darted between the cigarette and Jabber’s face, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “Uh, heh— y-you see, I would, but…” Fu stumbled over his words, afraid of embarrassing himself. “I don’t..um, know how.” Despite his best efforts, he ended up doing so anyway.
“Damn, for real?” Jabber says, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Yup,” Fu murmured.
Fu half expects him to laugh in his face, ( If he did, he wouldn’t blame him.) But he doesn’t. Instead, Jabber shifts closer, the air between them growing warmer and heavier. Fu suddenly started feeling awfully nervous. “No shame in it, man.” Jabber waves off. “I can teach you. How's that?”
Fu whipped his head around to face him, eyes wide with surprise. “Wait, really?”
Jabber nods. “Yeah, take it.”
An order! Fu beams, taking it between two fingers with more enthusiasm than skill. “Okay,” Jabbers eyes narrowed as he watched him. “First off, don’t hold it like that.”
Fu deflated, shoulders slumping. “..There’s a way to hold it?”
“Of course there is. Here, let me...” Jabber leaned closer. His fingers moved over Fu’s, adjusting the cigarette. They were cold and rough, calloused against Fu’s warmer, softer skin, and for a moment, Fu froze, feeling a subtle tremor run through his fingers. Did Jabber feel it too?
“Like that,” Jabber said finally, letting go. “..Okay.” Fu swallowed hard. “Th..thank you...”
Jabbers grin widened. “Nah, I haven’t done nothing.” But his eyes held something more. Maybe Fu was just imagining things. “Now, take a small drag...” Jabber murmured, voice low and strangely intimate. Well, here goes nothing. Fu thought, doing as he was told and— immediately breaking into a fit of coughs. Now this is what got Jabber to laugh in his face.
“Shit, man! I didn't tell you to inhale it!” Jabber exclaimed, his grin bigger than ever.
“You-“ Fu hacked, voice strained, “..you said drag!”
“I said small!” Jabber chuckled, reaching over to pat the small of Fu’s back.
Still coughing, Fu handed the cigarette back. “You…You try.”
Jabber took it with that infuriating, easy smirk of his. “Chill, you’re overthinking it.” He drew in a slow, controlled drag, then held it out in front of him, letting the smoke curl between them. Fu leaned closer instead of taking it right away.
“See? Watch. I’ll give you a better angle.” Something quick and mischievous flashed through Jabber’s eyes before he moved, and the next moment happened so fast that Fu hardly had time to process it.
Suddenly, Jabber was climbing onto his lap. Fu’s entire body went rigid. His eyes widened far beyond what he thought was physically possible as Jabber settled there like it was the most natural thing in the world. The couch dipped beneath their combined weight, and Fu felt the warmth of him immediately. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t. His mouth hung slightly open, lips trembling just a little as he tried to comprehend the situation. The heat that had started at the back of his neck earlier had now spread everywhere, blooming up his throat and flooding across his cheeks. If he’d been red before, he was certain his entire face must be burning now.
Jabber, meanwhile, acted as if nothing unusual had happened. He leaned back just enough to make himself comfortable, one knee pressing lightly against Fu’s hip while he held the cigarette between two fingers. Completely unbothered.
Fu, on the other hand, felt like he might actually combust. For a second, he wondered if he should move. Or say something. Or at least breathe normally again. But his body refused to cooperate, frozen in place beneath Jabber’s weight.
“Like this,” Jabber said, irritatingly casual in a slow demonstration. He brought the cigarette to his lips and drew in a controlled drag, cheeks hollowing slightly before he let the smoke drift back out in a slow, steady stream. It curled through the air between them, illuminated faintly by the glow of the television across the room.
Fu watched.. Maybe a little too closely. The rise and fall of Jabber’s chest. The relaxed confidence in the way he moved. The soft glow of the ember near his fingers. And the way the smoke rolled from his lips like it had nowhere better to be.
Fu’s head swam. He wasn’t sure if it was the tobacco or the fact that Jabber was currently sitting on top of him, but he suddenly felt a little lightheaded. The world had narrowed down to the small space between them, to the quiet rhythm of Jabber’s breathing, to the faint smell of smoke clinging to the air. Fu thought he could get high off the sight alone.
Jabber flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette and glanced down at him. “Got it?” he asked. Fu nodded quickly, realizing too late that he had been staring. “Y-Yeah..” He replied quietly, taking the cigarette and refusing to pay attention to the way their fingers brushed. He absolutely did not need his mind to wander more than it had.
His grip tightened slightly around the cigarette as he brought it up to his lips. He could feel Jabber watching him, which made it worse. The fact that he was still sitting there, close enough that Fu could feel the warmth of his legs through the thin layers of fabric between them.
Right, the cigarette. Haha.
Fu tried again, drawing in a small breath the way Jabber had shown him. The smoke filled his mouth this time instead of rushing straight into his lungs, and he pulled the cigarette away after a second, releasing it in a slightly uneven puff. This time, he didn’t cough. Fu blinked.
“…Oh,” he said quietly.
Jabber let out a low chuckle above him. “There you go,” he said, clearly amused. Fu dared a quick glance up at him, still holding the cigarette awkwardly between his fingers.
“…Was that right?”
Jabber’s grin widened, sharp canines catching the light from the TV. “Yeah,” he said. “Not bad.”
Fu felt the heat return to his face immediately. He quickly looked away again, taking another careful drag just to have something to do with his hands. The smoke drifted lazily between them, mixing with the faint scent already clinging to the couch.
Jabber still hadn’t moved from his lap, and Fu had noticed that very clearly. He chose not to say anything about it. (Not because he didn’t want him to move, or anything! Um. The tobacco was simply preventing him from speaking his mind. That was it.) At some point between the coughing fits, his apologies, and Jabber’s constant low chuckle rumbling in his chest, the whole thing stopped feeling like a test he was failing and started feeling… strange, in a different way.
The cigarette glowed faintly between them, acting as a tiny orange lighthouse in the dim room. “Alright,” Jabber said after another pass, eyeing Fu carefully. “You’re doing it wrong again.”
Fu’s shoulders slumped immediately. “What now?” he whined, glancing down at the cigarette like it had personally betrayed him. He really felt like it did. Jabber leaned forward as he inspected the situation with exaggerated seriousness. “You keep dropping the ash.” Fu blinked down at the small grey flakes scattered on his shirt and the couch. “…Oh.”
Jabber reached out, pinching the cigarette gently between two fingers and tipping it upward. The motion brought their faces dangerously close again. Fu could feel the faint warmth of Jabber’s breath, could smell the smoke clinging to it.
“..Sorry, Jabber,” Fu murmured, lowering his head in an attempt to obscure his face.
“For what, man?” He leaned back again, settling his weight a little more comfortably where he still sat on Fu’s lap, like the position had long since stopped being something worth acknowledging. Fu’s hands hovered awkwardly near Jabber’s sides for a moment before settling back on the couch cushion with self-defeat. “I keep messing this up.” He admitted quietly. Jabber stared at him for half a second. The silence that came with it felt like it stretched on forever, and Fu felt like digging a hole and crawling into it.
Jabber snorted. “We’re smoking, man.” He said, shaking his head.” It’s really not that deep.”
In the background, Mymos' audience laughed at a joke that neither of them were paying attention to. The bright noise filled the room for a moment before fading again into background static. “If we keep going back and forth like this,” He added lazily,” –you’ll get the hang of it for sure.”
“Okay.”
And they did keep going. They fell into a rhythm of sorts after that, lazily sharing a cigarette and getting high off the others' company. Little by little, Fu relaxed.
When he exhaled, sometimes the smoke drifted upward instead of sideways and rolled directly into Jabber’s face.
“Sorry!” Fu would say immediately.
“You’re good.” Jabber would wave a hand through the cloud like he was swatting away a lazy ghost. “I’ve had worse things in my lungs.”
Other times, Fu would get distracted (entirely Jabbers fault), forget the angle entirely, and a tiny crumb of ash would land right on his lip. That happened once. Jabber noticed instantly. “Hold still,” He muttered. Before Fu could even process the words, Jabber leaned in and wiped the ash away with the pad of his thumb. The touch was quick but obviously deliberate, brushing across Fu’s bottom lip before pulling back.
Fu froze. “…Thanks,” he said after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper. Jabber only hummed in response, like it was nothing. Fu made a mental note of the fact that he seemed to be the only one freaking out during this entire ordeal, and it drove him crazy.
But every so often, Jabber would glance down at Fu with an expression filled with thought that lingered a little longer than it needed to.
“Look at you, being all chill.” He’d say. “Feels like I’m not allowed to see this.”
The Television flickered across the room, voices rising and falling like distant traffic. Fu took another drag from the cigarette, slower this time, before handing it back again.
“Hey, you’re getting better,” Jabber said, taking a drag for himself.
“Pretty low bar..”
“Man, you’re funny.” Jabber smiled. Fu leaned back against the couch, and when he did, Jabber adjusted by bringing himself closer.
For a moment, the room seemed to shrink. Not physically. The television still flickered in the corner, colours jumping across the walls. Mymo’s audience erupted into another burst of canned laughter. Somewhere in the base pipes creaked softly. The world outside the walls probably continued doing whatever worlds do. But none of it felt close anymore. The only thing Fu could really focus on was Jabber. More specifically, the way Jabber was looking at him. That sharp, heavy gaze didn’t waver. It moved slowly between Fu’s eyes and his mouth, deliberate enough that Fu could actually feel where it landed each time, kind of like a spotlight shifting across a stage.
Fu swallowed. His hands were still resting on Jabber’s hips. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it at first. But now that he had, he was suddenly very aware of it. The warmth under his palms, and the faint tension in Jabber’s posture that hadn’t been there a second ago. The cigarette hung loosely between Fu’s fingers, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward like it was trying to escape the situation.
Jabber noticed, unsurprisingly to Fu. Nothing got past him. “Careful,” he murmured. His voice had dropped lower than before.
Fu blinked. “Hm?”
“The cigarette.” Jabber nodded toward it, though his eyes hadn’t actually left Fu’s face. “You’re letting it burn out.” Fu looked down, startled, and quickly took another small drag just to prove he hadn’t forgotten how. The smoke scraped faintly down his throat, but this time he didn’t cough. He exhaled slowly, watching the thin stream drift past Jabber’s shoulder. When he looked back up again, Jabber was still staring. His eyes weren’t laced with anything in particular. He was just looking.
Fu felt heat rush back into his face.“…What?” he asked quietly. Jabber leaned a little closer. The movement was slow enough that Fu could have leaned back if he wanted to. Could have created space, broken the strange gravity pulling them together. He didn’t. Fu stayed exactly where he was, shoulders pressed into the couch cushions, hands still resting lightly at Jabber’s sides. Jabber’s grin returned, but it was smaller this time.
“You blushing?” he asked.
Oh, no.
Fu immediately turned his head away. “Wh- Heh, why would I be?... Nope!”
“Man,” Jabber chuckled softly, “you definitely are.”
Fu stared stubbornly at the far armrest like it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in existence. The cigarette hovered between them again, forgotten for a moment. Jabber reached out. For a second Fu thought he was taking the cigarette. Instead, Jabber’s fingers wrapped gently around Fu’s wrist, guiding his hand upward just enough to take it properly.
Their hands lingered together around it. “C’mon,” Jabber said lightly. “Gimme that before you smoke the filter too.”
Fu let go, though his fingers brushed Jabber’s again on the way back. He folded his hands awkwardly in his lap, suddenly unsure what to do with them now that they weren’t holding anything. Jabber took the last drag, the ember flaring one final bright orange. Then he leaned sideways and crushed the cigarette into the armrest ashtray. The tiny glow disappeared with a soft hiss.
And just like that, the only light left was the flickering television. Jabber didn’t move away. In fact, now that the cigarette was gone, there was nothing at all between them. Fu realized that at the exact same moment Jabber leaned in again.
The couch dipped faintly under the shift in weight. Fu’s breath caught before he could stop it. Jabber noticed that too. Of course.
His grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You shivering now?”
Fu tried to laugh, but it came out thinner than he meant it to. “The room’s cold,” he said. In reality, it was anything but.
“Yeah,” Jabber replied. His eyes flickered once more to Fu’s lips before returning to his eyes. “I noticed.”
Fu’s brain stalled. Every thought he’d been carrying around scattered like marbles across a tile floor the second Jabber leaned in that close. Centimetres. Jabber was only centimetres away. He was close enough that Fu could see the faint scratch along his lower lip, and close enough that the magenta of his eyes wasn’t just a colour anymore but a dozen tiny shades shifting in the television’s flickering light.
Close enough that breathing felt like a shared activity. Fu wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on. Jabber was trying to kiss him. He sure was taking his time, though. Which was the worst part.
His thumbs rested warm against Fu’s cheeks while the cool metal of his rings pressed lightly against the skin near Fu’s jaw. The contrast sent little sparks up Fu’s spine that he tried very hard not to visibly react to. He failed.
Fu’s fingers tightened against the couch cushion beside him. “You’re shaking again,” Jabber murmured, his voice barely louder than the TV murmuring across the room.
“I— I’m not—” Fu tried. The sentence fell apart halfway through. Jabber’s grin crept back, slow and satisfied, like he’d just watched a very predictable outcome unfold. “Man,” he said softly, “you are terrible at lying.” Fu let out a weak, nervous laugh that didn’t sound anything like a laugh. Those magenta eyes moved slowly across Fu’s face, studying him with a strange sort of patience.
In return, Fu’s hands hovered uncertainly near Jabber’s sides again. His fingers twitched once, then twice, before finally settling back on Jabber’s hips where they’d been earlier. This time, he didn’t pull them away. If Jabber noticed, he didn’t say anything. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“One more thing,” Jabber repeated quietly. Fu blinked. “..One more thing?” he echoed, his voice thin and breathy. Jabber hummed softly, tilting his head just a fraction. The tiny shift made their foreheads brush for the briefest second.
Fu froze. “There’s a part you’re missing,” Jabber said.
Fu swallowed. Hard. “W-What part?”
Jabber’s thumbs moved, a slow, absent motion against Fu’s cheeks, like he was grounding him there. Keeping him from drifting away. Fu doesn’t think he’d leave even if he could. “The part where you relax,” he murmured.
Fu let out a shaky little laugh. “I am relaxed.”
“Man,” he said under his breath, “you are the least relaxed person I’ve ever seen. Make that met.” Fu opened his mouth to protest again, but the words never made it out. His breath caught halfway, snagged on the fact that Jabber had leaned even closer while he was talking. There was barely any space left between them now.
“Relax,” Jabber said, though the teasing edge in his voice suggested he wasn’t trying very hard to make that happen. The realization sent another shiver through him, one that ran straight down his spine and settled somewhere low in his stomach. His fingers tightened slightly against Jabber’s hips without meaning to.
Jabber definitely noticed that. “You wanna know if you were doing it right?” Jabber said after a beat.
Fu stiffly nodded once. “..Yeah.”
“Well.” Jabber’s thumbs shifted slightly against Fu’s cheeks, nudging his face just enough so he couldn’t look anywhere else. “You were.”
Fu’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
“Mostly.”
They tightened again immediately.
Jabber’s grin widened. “See, the trick isn’t just taking the drag,” he continued, voice dropping lower. “Anybody can do that.” Fu blinked slowly, trying very hard to follow the conversation even though Jabber’s face was still hovering dangerously close to his. “Then… what’s the trick?” he asked quietly.
Jabber didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drifted again. From his eyes, to his lips and to his eyes again. Fu was growing dizzy with anticipation. The silence stretched just long enough that Fu could hear the faint buzz of the television and the slow thump of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. Fu’s heart was beating so loudly he was certain Jabber could feel it through the couch, through his chest, through everything.
Jabber leaned a tiny bit closer. Fu’s breath caught again, chest rising under the hand that had rested there earlier.
“The trick,” Jabber said softly, “is knowing when to stop thinking about it.”
Fu swallowed. “That doesn’t sound very instructional.”
Jabber chuckled under his breath.“Nah,” he admitted. “It’s not.” He tilted his head just enough that their noses brushed again. The contact was feather-light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through Fu like static. Jabber caught every hitch of Fu’s breath. His hands shifted slightly, cupping Fu’s face more securely now. “Relax,” Jabber said again, barely louder than a whisper. Fu tried. He really did. But when Jabber leaned in the final fraction, hovering just centimetres from his mouth, every muscle in his body trembled anyway.
“Jabber…” Fu started again, embarrassingly adjacent to a whine. Though, he wasn’t quite sure what he planned to say after his name. Hurry up, was the message he hoped to convey.
Jabber’s eyes flickered down for the last time, and the smile he gave this time was softer.
“Yeah,” he murmured. His thumbs brushed lightly along Fu’s cheeks again as he leaned in that last fraction.
“Like that.”