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Zanka is going to kill that motherfucker Adrian if he ever sees him again.
No really; dude had better hope Zanka never catches his ass alone. Not after lying to Zanka about being clean and being single.
See, he’d finally gotten started on what Riyo had dubbed his Sexploration Journey, after a frankly legendary fumble, and Adrian had been boring enough he didn’t have to worry about getting attached during a one night stand.
And so, long story short, Zanka had used Adrian to practice giving head until he was sure he knew what he was doing, left the guy passed out in his own bed, and then found out two days later from Riyo via a game of Instagram telephone that the guy was sleeping around on his girlfriend and had gonorrhea.
Seriously. He’d only gotten to item fucking two on his checklist before getting an STI from that fucking loser. He’s genuinely ready to commit unspeakable violence.
Which leads him to now. Sitting in the campus health center across from a doctor after testing positive.
“Sorry, a study?” Zanka asks.
“Yes,” the doctor confirms. “There’s anecdotal evidence that oral gonorrhea can be transferred via kissing, but since there isn’t enough data currently to conclusively prove that, our health center is participating in a study where we have people with gonorrhea kiss people who don’t and see if it’s passed to them.” She must see the look on his face, because she rushes to reassure him. “You’ll be compensated of course, and treated for free afterwards!”
Zanka can appreciate the practicality (and of course the money, though he should rightfully be extracting it from Adrian’s hide), but he can only imagine what kind of people will end up on the other side of this experiment. Poor bastards.
“...How much compensation?”
She names a number he deems acceptable, and then hands him a form and information sheet when he agrees. She also mentions that he can bring whoever he wants as long as they come by at least twenty four hours beforehand to get tested, but Zanka ignores that.
As he fills out the form, he sighs internally. He’d kinda been hoping to save the kissing item on his checklist for someone he was actually into, but practice is practice and money is money. Though he does list a preference for male partners; he’s not opposed to kissing chicks, but he’s pretty sure at this point that his type is at least 90% men.
When he hands the form back, the doctor thanks him, tells him to drink lots of water and not to kiss or lick or perform oral sex on anyone else, then tells him to come back at any time if his symptoms progress beyond a minor sore throat and mild fever, or if he wants to opt out.
Zanka wears a mask for the rest of the week until the scheduled testing, obviously. And steers clear of… other potential transmission vectors.
Then, once he’s done taking care of everything on his R.A. to-do list for the day and eaten lunch (and brushed his teeth), he heads over to the student health center. The back of his throat is sore enough that he’s been counting the minutes.
The receptionist bites back a smirk when Zanka tells him why he’s here, and he feels his face heat. He glares, embarrassed at having to expose himself like this.
“Don’t worry man, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last,” the guy reassures him, smirk becoming a wry smile. “Got mono myself last year.”
Zanka forces his shoulders to relax. “At least I’m providing good data, right?” He jokes, trying to fold his temper back beneath his skin.
Before the receptionist can respond, someone pulls the door open and bounds inside with a loud “Yoohoo!,” stopping obnoxiously close to Zanka and then beginning to bounce on his feet.
“Jabber, dude, wassup?”
Oh, great. They know each other. Zanka looks to the side to avoid snapping.
“Here for a suuuper special little study about gettin’ the clap on purpose! Know where that’s at?” The newcomer leans towards the desk, and something in his hair clinks.
The sound is unexpected enough that it cracks Zanka’s resolve to ignore him.
His head turns, and he sees that it’s from large gold cuffs on the longest wicks he’s ever seen, spilling over lean, muscled shoulders in a purple cropped hoodie. There’s some kind of shirt or tank top beneath the hoodie though, covering the guy’s actual skin.
Which Zanka only noticed because of how long the wicks are. Honest.
The receptionist raises a brow. “Did you actually fill out the form and follow directions this time?”
“Yes, mom,” the other guy says, rolling his eyes and leaning back to stand– well, not straight. Vaguely upright, anyways.
“Well then, it’s in 318. And you can guide my new friend Zanka there while you’re at it,” the receptionist informs him, tone edging on flirty.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” New guy looks distinctly uninterested now that he’s gotten what he wanted. Which is why it surprises Zanka when he spins on his heel and slaps a big fat grin on his face. “Zanka, was it? Hard to believe a prude like you got the clap! But I guess they do say it’s the ones you never expect…”
Zanka’s face contorts beneath his mask. “Excuse me?” He hisses.
“Shhh, no time, we’re gonna be late!” With that, he grabs Zanka by the wrist and darts towards the elevators. His grip is surprisingly strong, and accompanied by the cool sensation of rings on every finger. He is also, now that Zanka is looking closer, sporting fuschia acrylics that come to a point about a centimeter past his fingertips. He can feel the way the thin skin of his wrist dents beneath them.
Fury bubbling beneath the surface, Zanka lets himself be dragged to the elevator, which opens immediately when the UP button is pressed. He follows the other guy in, waits patiently for the doors to close, and then wrenches his hand away.
“What’s yer fuckin’ problem, asshole?!”
“My name is Jabber, not asshole, but more importantly: where the hell are you from?” Jabber turns to look at him with wide eyes, which have a startling almost burgundy tint to them and a distinct look of amusement.
“Seriously? First ya call me a prude, and now yer makin’ fun’a my accent?!” Zanka’s so mad it’s not even funny. And what makes him even madder is that being face to face with Jabber makes it abundantly clear that the guy is hot. Long lashes, big dark eyes, smooth brown skin, straight but rounded nose, full lips, strong jaw– he’s even got those fucking eye creases that Zanka’s always been partial to.
Combined with the eyebrow slits and snake bites, it’s like his face is tailor made to ruin Zanka’s life.
Fortunately, Zanka has never been ruled by his dick, so it’s not hard to tuck the realization into the back of his mind and get back to tearing this piece of shit a new one.
“I’ve known ya fer all’a two minutes, an’ I already pity anyone who’s known ya longer,” he starts, voice icy and eyes even colder. His accent is thicker now that he’s upset, which he refuses to be embarrassed by.
“Goddamn!” Jabber exclaims as the elevator doors open. “You’re nasty!” He says it with a tone of admiration Zanka has previously only heard from Enjin when he accidentally caught his mentor talking dirty to someone over the phone.
The universe hates Zanka, so naturally there are two girls right outside the doors as Jabber says this. They both go very still and surreptitiously turn their heads a bit to hear better.
“You always got a mouth this dirty, or is that just for me?” Jabber continues obliviously. He grins at Zanka, and bumps his shoulder as he exits.
“Shut the fuck up,” Zanka snaps, trying to jam an elbow into the fucker’s side. “I’m tellin’ you yer a waste’a oxygen, stop makin’ it sound gross!” He exits too, striding past the girls and trying to outpace Jabber.
“Wrong way~!” Jabber sings out. “Even numbers are to the right.”
Zanka stops, nearly shaking with anger, and grinds his teeth to keep himself from screaming every insult in the book. He slowly turns, and then begins to stomp past all of them again.
“Just kidding~! You had it right the first time!”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Zanka lunges for Jabber with a wordless snarl of rage.
He’s not sure whether he intended to strangle the other guy or grab him and shake him, but Jabber dodges, cackling loudly, and renders his intentions moot. The other man also dodges the follow up backhand, and then makes a break for the left side of the hall with such beautiful footwork that Zanka wants to genuinely kill him.
With his temper running this high, seeing Jabber run from him activates what Riyo has called his ‘high prey drive.’ He can’t help but give chase.
“YOU SCUM-SUCKIN’ SONNUVA BITCH!”
They sprint down a hallway and around a corner, Zanka slinging insults the whole way, until Jabber skids into a doorframe and bounces off it into the room beyond with a whoop of glee. Zanka follows at speed, sure that he’s about to catch that motherfucker–
–only to stumble to a halt as he’s faced with a room full of startled students staring.
Shit.
Mortification heats his cheeks, and he’s abruptly grateful for the mask.
“We’re not late, are we?” Jabber sings out, skipping over to a round-faced older woman with a clipboard surveying the room.
“Wonger,” she greets him, exasperated. Her box braids sway as she shakes her head. “You’re right on time. And making a spectacle of yourself as usual. Who’s your friend?”
Jabber answers before Zanka can protest this designation. “This is Zanka; he’ll be the other half of my trial!”
Walking over to introduce himself properly, it takes a moment for the meaning of that to really sink in. “...Now hang on–”
“Zanka Nijiku? Well that’s solved then, I suppose,” the woman interrupts, too fixated on a sheet of names to hear him.
Zanka hates what he’s about to ask. “Solved?”
“Oh, sorry, yes,” she replies, looking at him. “The other people in this section all either pre-selected their partner or match other preferences better. Jabber was a last minute addition when another participant withdrew, but if you agree to partner with him we won’t have to rearrange any of the other pairs. Is that alright?”
From her body language (and her obvious familiarity with Jabber), the woman knows damn well what she’s asking of Zanka and that he doesn’t want to agree to shit. But he also knows a veiled plea when he hears one, and he just wants to get it over with at this point.
“Yeah alright,” he grits out.
Jabber whoops again, and then trails him over to a pair of shitty blue plastic chairs by the wall.
They sit there for nearly thirty seconds, Jabber humming cheerfully and rocking back and forth, until Zanka’s eye twitches. “What the fuck is wrong with ya?”
Zanka doesn’t have high hopes of being given a genuine response, but Jabber surprises him.
“Had a feeling you were hiding something the moment I saw you. Just had to figure out what it was, in case it was something fun. And boy was it!” He wiggles a little in his seat, and shakes his hands like he’s trying to dry them.
“Gettin’ people so angry they swing on ya is yer idea of fun?” Zanka asks, incredulous.
“Well yeah, but I wasn’t really expectin’ you to actually go that far. Not until I’d pushed you a whole lot harder at least!” Jabber giggles. “Kinda love how little it took to set you off.”
Zanka wishes he could deny that, but. Well.
“Wish we could really go at it and make with the violence instead’a this kissing shit,” Jabber continues, lamenting. “That’d be way more fun.”
Unfortunately, Zanka finds himself agreeing. Being extremely aware of why he’s even here, and having a sore throat on top of that, is really making him crave that peace and calm he only ever gets from hitting things. Though outside of carefully monitored sparring those things are usually objects, not people.
(Guys here apparently love picking fights with male foreigners who wear big dangly earrings, though, so there have been a few people.)
That said, he’s unwilling to openly agree on that with a guy who just admitted to pissing him off on purpose. That’s just asking to be messed with. No matter how much he suddenly wants to see if Jabber can take it.
“I bet you could take it.”
Zanka’s head jerks towards Jabber before he can stop it. Did he say that aloud?
“Most people back down real quick once I try to actually make things physical, but you actually started it! Which means you can back it up, right? You can probably make me hurt real good.” He bites his lip and looks at Zanka from beneath his eyelashes.
It’s a stupidly good look on him, and the quick double blink to flutter his lashes makes it obvious that he knows it, too. Which means he absolutely noticed Zanka’s attraction.
Fuck this guy for real.
A comment to that effect almost leaves his mouth, but Jabber is spared his vitriol by their names being called.
Jabber lets his lip pop out from between his teeth and smirks.
Zanka doesn’t want to hear whatever comment he’s about to make, so he stands up and strides over to the girl that just called for them. He very pointedly does not stomp.
Jabber follows, keeping his mouth shut in what is no doubt a monumental feat of self control.
“I’m Eishia, and I’ll be the one supervising.” Their supervisor’s eye bags practically have their own zipcode. Fortunately, she does not seem to be acquainted with Jabber, unlike everyone else working in the health building, so Zanka doesn’t have to contend with another look of pity.
Eishia outlines what’s expected of them as they’re led to an unoccupied examination room, finishing the explanation as they sit on opposite ends of the bed.
“Do you have any questions?”
“What if we stop kissing and then start again?” Jabber immediately asks.
“Invalid data,” Eishia promptly replies. “Part of why we had to extend trials to, um. Pretty much anyone we could find. Um, anything else?”
There’s a pause, and then they both shake their heads.
“Okay. Please remember, I’ll be timing you from when your mouths are open and touching, and please keep any touching appropriate and stop immediately once I call time." Poor Eishia gives them the beseeching look of someone who wishes she didn't have to give that direction.
“Yup!”
“Got it.”
Zanka begrudgingly turns his head to look at Jabber. “Sittin’ or standin’?”
Jabber puts a finger to his mouth as if he’s thinking hard. “Hmmm… standing!”
He jumps to his feet, and Zanka rises to meet him with a harsh, irritated exhale, removing his mask and pocketing it. They eye each other for a moment. Infuriatingly, now that they’re right next to each other, it becomes clear that Jabber is an inch or two taller.
…Where the hell are their hands supposed to go?
Trying not to look as uncertain as he feels, Zanka firmly puts one hand on Jabber’s waist and slides the other around the back of his neck.
“Pft!” Jabber snickers, and then mimics his hand placement. “Don’t be too boring, dude.” His eyes are wide open, the harsh white lighting bringing out an almost pink highlight in them, and they don’t close even a little bit when he leans in, full lips slightly parted.
The last thought Zanka has before their lips touch is, Of course he kisses with his eyes open.
Then they’re kissing, mouths open as requested.
It starts out normal, like the few other kisses Zanka has had. Just lips moving, tongues brushing. A bit cooler than he’s used to, because his mouth is hotter than usual due to the fever. But then Jabber shoves his whole damn tongue into Zanka’s mouth and he reflexively bites down.
It makes Jabber squeak and jerk beneath his hands, and suddenly Zanka wants more. Wants to turn the tables on this asshole and put him off balance.
He gentles his bite so he can suck on Jabber’s piercing, and brings the hand on his neck up to thread his fingers through his locs. He can’t get his hand very far up, obviously, but he still waits a second to see if Jabber will object. When he just tries to stick his tongue in further again, Zanka maneuvers his hand to get a sort of grip on a few of his wicks.
It allows him to guide Jabber’s head into a deeper angle, which pulls out an almost intrigued hum. Not quite what Zanka’s looking for, so he tries giving what he’s been getting, and swirls his tongue so he can shove it into Jabber’s mouth instead.
Jabber jerks again, and makes a sound that’s almost a moan. Clearly Zanka is on the right track.
Then the asshole tries to bite his tongue. Zanka makes a noise of irritation and digs his thumb into Jabber’s waist, prompting another jerk and a muffled giggle. The giggle frees his tongue, so he briefly sinks his teeth into Jabber’s bottom lip before licking back into his mouth.
Jabber moans outright at this. His fingers flex on Zanka’s neck, the faint prick of his sharp nails sparking heat.
For a moment, Zanka considers pulling back to bite him more aggressively, more thoroughly, but after brief consideration there’s no way he can manage that without invalidating their data.
Oh well. He’ll just have to find another way to mess this guy up.
Determined, and admittedly a bit frustrated, Zanka curls his tongue around Jabber’s. Their mouths are equally hot now, but the ball of Jabber’s piercing is still ever so slightly cool in comparison. He savors it for a second, then moves on. Maybe–?
Before he can experiment with something else, Jabber shoves his tongue deeper again. This time, though, he goes for finesse, tongue stroking the sensitive roof of Zanka’s mouth with just the right amount of pressure. The cool, hard ball of his piercing amplifies the feeling, the sensation leaving Zanka’s mouth tingling and sending a rush of heat through him. It immediately gets harder to focus on anything but getting more.
Grip tightening around Jabber’s wicks, he immediately tries it out for himself.
When he gently but firmly strokes his tongue across the roof of Jabber’s mouth, Jabber shudders. When he does it again, following it with another swirl, Jabber’s shoulders go up as he shudders even harder. When Zanka does it a third time, he finishes by sucking on Jabber’s tongue and then biting down almost gently, right behind the piercing.
This time Jabber’s mouth goes slack on a moan, and the shudder makes him sway dangerously. Zanka reflexively tries to steady him with the hand on his waist, but tightening his grip and digging his fingers in just makes it worse.
To keep their mouths connected, Zanka has to wrap his arm fully around Jabber’s waist–
(Why the hell is it so tiny? Shit–)
–And guide them to the examination table, leaning against it for stability. They’re pressed together from chest to thighs, now.
He isn’t sure if he’s ever been as hungry for more as he is in this moment. Having a beautiful, aggravating, confident man all but swooning because of him? Yeah, that’s a high that he could never replicate with some loser, no matter how nicely they fall apart. Making someone weak in the knees doesn’t mean shit if they were already weak.
"Oh no, please don't..." Eishia trails off, sounding a bit distressed.
Zanka tries to care, honestly, but he’s quickly distracted again by Jabber leaning into him, pressing him back until he’s practically sitting and then trying to hitch a leg over his hip. He’s not a monster though, so in a bid to maintain some sort of propriety, he moves his hand back to Jabber’s hip and reaches down with the hand in his hair to push his leg back down and keep him from outright grinding.
Jabber makes a noise of protest. Unable to respond verbally, Zanka nips his lip again. He seems to take that as a challenge, because he huffs into Zanka’s mouth and then proceeds to glide the hand on his neck up into his hair and pull.
It hurts just enough to register as bright and hot and sweet, and make his mouth open a bit more on a moan. Jabber takes the opportunity to tongue him sloppily again, earlier finesse nowhere to be found, and giggles in the back of his throat when Zanka decides to go with it and kisses him back just as sloppy.
The kiss quickly gets wet and messy. Their mouths get slick with spit, some of it leaking and smearing across their faces. Zanka can feel heat rising on Jabber’s face where their skin is touching.
It’s getting harder and harder to remember why he’s not allowed to touch Jabber the way he wants to, with lust chipping away at his ability to keep himself in check. Even reminding himself that they’re being watched becomes a less effective deterrent every second they spend kissing, because it just makes him want to show off exactly how well he can take Jabber apart. How good he is.
Just as he’s beginning to seriously consider pulling Jabber close again, the alarm goes off.
“Okay, that’s time!” Eishia says loudly and emphatically, sounding a bit frantic.
It’s loud and startling, instantly cutting through the haze of lust and making Zanka acutely aware that he’s halfway to getting in a guy’s pants in a goddamn clinic in front of a witness who almost certainly does not want to see that.
When he jerks his head back and opens his eyes, Jabber’s are already open and staring. Probably because they were open the whole time. Freak.
His face is flushed, and his mouth is wet and red. His lips are even fuller than before, swollen and shiny with spit, and he licks them as Zanka watches.
Fuck.
“Quick learner,” Jabber purrs. “You always that trainable, or am I special?”
For a second, Zanka is confused. Then it dawns on him; Jabber noticed Zanka copying him. He noticed, and then used it to make Zanka give him exactly what he wanted.
Zanka’s mouth drops in indignation, and he grabs Jabber’s wrists to pull his hands away. “You bitch!”
“Aw, don’t be mad,” Jabber pouts. “Means you’re good at this shit!”
Despite trying to hide his reaction, Jabber clocks Zanka’s shit immediately.
“Ohhh, ya like that? Ya wanna be a good boy for me?” He coos, clearly delighted.
Gritting his teeth to keep from lunging at the asshole a second time, Zanka turns to look at Eishia. Unsurprisingly, she looks kind of mortified and frustrated, though she perks up with relief when she gets Zanka’s attention.
He pushes himself off the examination table and casually shoves Jabber aside. “Anythin’ else ya need, or can I go?” He asks, pointedly ignoring the question.
“Nope! Nothing! Just, uh. Follow me back to the room you started in, and get the next set of instructions from Marjorie.” Seeing Zanka’s frown, she clarifies. “The doctor you checked in with.” Then she turns on her heel and lead the way back to 318.
She doesn’t look Zanka or Jabber in the eye the whole way back to 318. Which is fine, since Zanka can’t make eye contact either. He occupies himself with putting his mask back on instead.
Jabber is blessedly silent the whole way. Almost suspiciously so, in fact.
Even once they check back in with Marjorie, leaving Eishia to gratefully collect the next pair of participants, he only says the bare minimum necessary to get his reporting instructions.
He stays quiet throughout Zanka’s instructions, throughout their walk to the elevator, and throughout the elevator ride itself. It’s unnerving, but Zanka can’t bring himself to give in first and break the silence.
He’ll say something once he’s gotten his shot, he promises himself.
He doesn’t realize he was expecting Jabber to stick around through that process, though, until Jabber turns the other way as they leave the elevator.
“Sorry, dude, can’t stick around. It’s been fun though!” Grinning, Jabber wiggles his fingers in a cutesy wave and skips away, right past the receptionist calling his name and out the doors.
Zanka is left standing there like a moron, hurt and anger churning in his stomach. He should be glad that that asshole left him alone; it isn’t like he wanted some freak following him around and getting on his nerves!
But the hurt lingers.
It doesn’t abate even a little bit through the whole process of checking into the downstairs clinic and getting injected with a single dose antibiotic. He can’t stop poking at it; it’s like a bruise.
He decides to distract himself by texting Rudo. If shithead little brothers are good for anything, it’s for getting so angry he stops sitting in his own self pity. And sure enough, it takes about three texts for him to develop the urge to reach through his phone and strangle the little shit.
He only makes it ten feet out the doors of the health center before a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.
“Hiya~!”
Zanka’s head turns slowly.
“Miss me?” Jabber asks, sitting up from where he’s sprawled across a bench.
Zanka’s shoulders relax a bit against his will, because some part of him that he hates to acknowledge is relieved and happy that he wasn’t abandoned. That he’s worth coming back for. Worth keeping around.
“Who could miss yer crazy ass?” Zanka snaps back.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Jabber pouts as he stands up, walking over to stand uncomfortably close. “I’m sorry I had to ditch ya, dude, but the boba place on campus closes at 3:30. And the look on your face, oh, man, that shit was priceless! Poor little puppy dog, getting abandoned by your new best friend. So cute.”
“Yer not my friend,” Zanka blurts out.
Jabber raises a brow, and Zanka realizes too late that he didn’t deny the puppy dog thing. He doesn’t have time to correct his mistake though. “That’s okay, friends are overrated anyways. What people like you ‘n me need are enemies.”
“What?”
“See, I know your type,” Jabber tells him. “You think you can’t get angry, can’t let go of your precious self control or you’ll lose everything. But you don’t have to worry about that with an enemy! You can be as nasty and violent as you want with me, and I’ll just keep comin’ back for more. All you gotta do is keep showing me that monster I know you got tucked away.”
Zanka feels laid bare by Jabber’s words. “...Yer nuts.”
Jabber leans in with a sly, knowing smile. “Yeah, sure. But doesn’t that sound way better than being friends?”
Zanka’s first instinct is to deny it. He likes having friends; he likes having a family that doesn’t resent him or think he’s weak for being less than perfect.
And maybe he enjoys sparring, enjoys getting physical and all. Maybe he even enjoys being aggressive and shredding people verbally. But he’s careful to never go too far; it’s important to him that he doesn’t. It means something, that he has the control to stop himself.
He almost explains all this; almost tells Jabber to fuck off.
What stops him is the fear sitting behind his denial. He’s afraid that Jabber’s right about him, and that his friends and family will throw him away if he is.
But the truth is, he knows Jabber’s right about him. He used to tell himself he wasn’t violent, that he didn’t like hurting people, but he knows better now. And he also knows that that fear is stupid, because his people all know damn well at this point that he’s a horrible person who likes violence, and they still love him.
“Yo, Earth to Zanka!” Jabber waves a hand in front of his face. “Come on, it’ll be so fun! You can do anything you want to me; beat me, bruise me, make me bleed.” He leans in to whisper in Zanka’s ear. “Kiss me, fuck me, make me cry.” Then he leans back again. “‘Course, you’ll have to win first to get that little perk.”
Zanka takes a grounding breath. Is he seriously gonna do this? But then he takes in Jabber’s stupidly pretty face and realizes yeah, he’s absolutely down to cover it in blood. “Ya wanna get yer ass beat that badly, just name a time ‘n place.”
“Tomorrow at noon, that little alley by the student housing quad,” Jabber immediately replies.
“Eager much?”
“Mm, yeah. Can’t wait to teach you what else I like!”
Reminded of how Jabber played him earlier, Zanka flushes and jabs stiff fingers into his belly hard enough to make him jerk and stumble back, clutching the spot where Zanka hit him.
“Nnh, ow!” He sounds inappropriately delighted by the pain. “Changed my mind, how d’ya feel about right here, right now?”
“I feel like we’re gonna get campus police called on us,” Zanka informs him, pushing down a flash of heat at the noise Jabber made.
“Damn, you right,” Jabber huffs. “And I really do gotta go TA for a lab session in, uh.” He pulls out his cracked phone to check the time. “Five minutes ago. Oopsies.”
Unfortunately, Zanka is reluctantly charmed by this. Though somehow it doesn’t make him any less interested in seeing what he looks like beaten and bloody.
“Dumbass,” he snorts. “Go to yer lab. You’ll see me tomorrow.”
“It’s a date!” Hitting him with a big grin and dorky finger guns, Jabber spins around and starts jogging towards the science buildings.
Even though Jabber isn’t looking any more, Zanka is still glad his mask is covering the goofy smile threatening to spread across his face. He doesn’t need anyone else seeing how affected he is by some jackass calling their little violent meet-up a date, thanks.
And if he lays in bed that night and feels a flush of heat at the thought, that’s no one’s business but his own.
They get campus police called on them the next day anyways.