Chapter Text
Sunday
Zanka's dorm, 12:57 PM
This week was ending and Zanka could finally get some rest. Or more like he had time for his independent studies.
His routine was nonchangeable. He set his alarm to 5:30 AM. He wakes up. Brushes his teeth. Gets his scent patches, tonics and scent blockers out of his cabinet. Use them. Have breakfast. Get dressed. Studies. Change his scent patch for a new one.
Scent patches are destined to block one's scent from others. Simple. One can use six of them. Two on the neck, two on the wrists and two on the inner thighs. Zanka wears them only on the neck since he takes tonics and scent blockers tablets together. He has written the dosage on the yellow block paper on the bathroom mirror so he won't forget it.
Scent blockers - five tablets in the morning and evening.
Scent patches - three during the day. (Or how many are necessary)
Tonics - depends if the rut is incoming or not. (it is used to surpass or push his rut away)
Prescripted since he was 14. He wasn’t using that much medication when he was younger, but as he was aging, the more his pheromones became unbearable for others. His family was especially loud about it.
‘’Zanka, do something about your scent already. It’s making your mom sick.’’ his brother Goku (and the whole Nijiku family) was always using ‘your mom’ card whenever he could. Zanka was a young naive alpha, full of hope and love towards his whole family. He wanted to be like them, accepted by them, he knew deep down he wasn't - that thought didn't make him try any less harder. When his sister handed him the scent patches for the first time, he started to wear them.
‘’These will make you be tolerable around.’’
The young alpha was diligent; wearing them daily. He never left the house, now dorms, without wearing them.
Now he was sitting on his bed, holding his phone in his hands. He was supposed to call them. Usually he calls his mother these days. She was the only one who picked the phone anyway.
Gnawing his bottom lip while the phone was beeping; waiting for his parents to pick up.
After the third beep, he wanted to end the call and try it again, when the toneless voice responded.
“Yes, Zanka?”
“Hello, mother. I like to hear from you.”
His mother wasn’t impressed.
“Spare me those heartfelt comments and tell me something worth my time.”
Zanka nodded. Typical mother. Always on the point.
“Yes, mother. I apologise. The semester just started and we get to work in the lab already. They approved my contract almost immediately.”
Hum was heard from the other side.
“I see. When will you stop playing with chemicals and do something productive like your brother or sister?”
His siblings were in the family's business, some marketing and/or economics. Not Zanka’s cup of tea. He would rather be Jabber's partner for the rest of his life than be in the family's business. That alone was self-explanatory.
“Mother, I am trying for the full scholarship. I just applied for it.”
“Just applied? Why couldn’t you get it from the beginning? A true Nijiku would get the full scholarship from the beginning.”
Zanka gritted his teeth. She was always like this. Never satisfied with Zanka's accomplishments.
‘Control yourself.’
“Mother –” his tone slipped and snapped.
“Watch your tone with me, boy. You may be an Alpha, but you will respect me. I am still your mother.”
Zanka swallowed the words he wanted to say.
‘I didn’t even say anything.’
“Sorry, mother.” uttered apologetically.
Hummed. “That’s better.”
‘So arrogant like Jabber.’
“Who’s Jabber?”
Zanka froze on the spot. His heart skipped an involuntary beat. Did he say it out loud? He didn’t. He couldn’t, because if he did, his mother would have an opposite reaction from her usual one; disinterested, like the whole conversation was mandatory.
Why did he say his name out loud while on the phone with his mother? Was he out of his mind? Now he needed the appropriate answer to satisfy his mother.
“It’s my lab partner for the semester.” blurted the first thing that came to his mind.
“Is he any good?”
The memory from Thursday's lab came back. How Jabber hasn't written a single line during it and yet he could identify the unknown solution without a litmus paper with extreme accuracy too.
“Yes, he is brilliant.”
Zanka was stunning himself with his words today, staring at the floor before him, holding his phone near his ear. Why did he say that? It only meant… Zanka thought the other was… acceptable. No way. No. No. No. It was just a first lab assignment and lucky guess, there is no way Jabber was that good, wasn't it? (He was.)
“I see. Be better than that Jabber boy. Do not put shame on our family name.”
“I won’t, mother.”
The call ended.
His hand gripped the phone; he could almost break it. Unacceptable. It was offensive to Zanka how he blurted the other alpha’s name out loud. In front of his mother of all the people. The Alpha didn’t even have to be here and
he was making Zanka’s life difficult.
Jabber.
That fucking genius. Zanka hated those. They didn’t have to put any kind of work in anything in their lives. Everything was served on the silver platter. No more sweat to add. The blonde wasn't anything special like them. He was only second on the list. Only on the outside it might've looked like it was easily accomplished, but his success was made out of blood, sweat and tears, and late night studies. He remembers how his eyes were closing themselves as he tried to remember the periodic table.
He smelled the incense and rotten eucalyptus. Even his scent was affected by the other. The alpha doesn't let his scent out that often. Only when he is in a closed room alone where he is safe. Now the room felt too suffocating to be here.
‘I need fresh air.’
Zanka couldn’t be with his thoughts alone in one room any longer, so he did the best he could. Run away from them.
He didn’t want to fall back to the place he once was during his teens.
The room full of self-doubt. Four walls suffocating him. Vision blurring. Hair long enough, the haircut was long overdue. Feelings of self doubt while keeping his head high. Not letting anyone, especially his family, see him weak. It wouldn't be very Nijiku of him.
He was rushing out of the dorms as if the thoughts would stay in the room behind. One could hope it was true. He opened the door and stepped outside. Typical campus. Sidewalks, trees, grass where students could sit and study. Basketball court where some students already played.
Suddenly, he bumped into someone. Their shoulders breezed. Zanka had enough of anyone and anything, the impact made him growl at them without looking back. What surprised the alpha was spiky vanilla and hand gripping his wrist, making him stop in his tracks.
“Hey! The least you could do is apologize for bumping into me, you jerk!”
Zanka bared the teeth on the person when he turned around to face them. What he noticed first was piercing green eyes framed by long eyelashes. A young omega student was glaring at Zanka, flashing her teeth right back at him without any fear.
Her red hair was in the long, messy, red hair tied up in a sideways loop. Her eyebrows were cropped, short and squinting. Grimace was so obnoxious that if Zanka wasn’t an Alpha, he would be put off by her.
“What? You bumped into me, omega.”
Wrong. It was so wrong. Why does Zanka only say the wrong things? No wonder he wasn't a genius like others.
The scent got only more strong, it made the blonde almost gagging.
‘What a strong nauseous scent.’
He felt a sharp pain on his wrist. Claws were digging on the skin. Omega's claws by biology were longer and sharper, it helped them to defend themselves. It stung and felt wet. Zanka realized it was his blood. He hoped he wouldn't bleed out.
“Just because I am omega doesn’t make you above me, you fucker. What do you think you are? Some kind of entitled rich Alpha whose mommy is paying for college? Mama’s boy.”
Zanka’s vein almost popped listening to that bullshit she was spouting. None of what she had said was true, but it still made him angry. After every phone call with his mother, the young alpha was like this. Sensitive to any kind of comment on his family or himself. He won’t show how those comments were affecting him. Some unknown, omega of all genders, woman was uttering those words aiming at him.
‘Control yourself. Don’t let her get to you… You are Nijiku. You can win this.’
“Excuse me? You kiss your mother with that foul mouth of yours?”
Touché.
He had no idea if the omega before him had a mother or not, his mouth was quicker than his mind. Again. But in his defense, she was acting like a bitch to him.
Without any warning, the redhead kicked him in the stomach, using her knee for it. The blonde leaned forward from the impact; groaning in the pain, not expecting the knee from omega of all people. For someone smaller and petite like her, she knew the right spots to hit.
She let him go and Zanka touched his stomach as if touching it would stop it from hurting. He felt like he would throw up, but he held it in. He looked up to glare at her, but the omega wasn’t done in the slightest with the alpha. Her fist met with the face next. That alone hurt like hell he almost forgot about the previous hit.
Crunch. Something inside Zanka crunched.
‘Bitch, did she break my nose?’
Zanka fell down like in slowmo. He dropped on the ground. His right cheek was feeling hot and throbbing, it felt like it was already swelling. Something wet was going down on his lips, he licked it off with his tongue. Blood. Oh fucking hell. Tears formed in his eyes from the pain. It was a normal body reaction. Nothing more. No mixture of his previous call with his mother and his inferior complex and the psychical pain he experienced.
He was simply defeated. By a woman. By an omega. Some random omega. OMEGA! Maybe that hurt more than his nose right now.
“Shit, girl! We talked about this violence thing! You didn’t have to kill the guy!” proclaimed a familiar voice with humour.
‘Enjin?’
What was the beta doing here? And since when he was here? Did he see the whole thing? He hoped not, he felt already embarrassed as the whole situation unfolded. Zanka wouldn't be able to take it.
The girl crossed her arms and by the voice she sounded like she was pouting, like she didn't just punch the guy moments ago.
“He started it, Enjin. I was only defending myself.”
Zanka was at a loss. Why was that redhead talking to Enjin in a familiar way? Did they know each other? How? Since when?
His stomach and face hurt, he was bleeding from his nose. It was undoubtedly broken, he could feel it. The ground was strangely cooling him from behind. The sky looked pretty from this angle. Everything was slowly getting blurry. He closed his eyes to rest.
Some time later
University's infirmary
“‘You kiss your mother with that foul mouth?!’ He said that?! And then you kicked him and punched him?! Ok, I'm dying! BAHAHAHAHA! This shit is hilarious!”
Enjin was shaking from the laughter on the chair he was sitting on while Zanka was being fetched up by the old doctor. She was an elderly bald woman with huge purple eyes. Her outfit consisted of a black blouse, lab coat and olive green shorts. Not very professional by the university standards, but the alpha could be grateful she was even treating him. (Even tho she had this crazed look on her face, so that was debatable)
“Shut up! I am trying to treat my patient here!” The old hag of doctor screamed at Enjin - who he simply just put hand over his mouth while his body shook from the power of his laughter.
Thankfully, Zanka's nose wasn't broken, even when he was arguing about that. It felt broken before.
“Are you a doctor or me?!” snapped at him.
One snap, all it took for Zanka to shut up and let the doctor handle it.
In the meantime of the examination, the redhead, Riyo, as Enjin had called her, explained what happened to the beta, hence the reaction. Enjin, bless his soul, filled Zanka with a few things about the redhead. (Her face while talking about her stuff was worth the trouble)
She, indeed, didn't have a mother. Great, Zanka was acting like an asshole before. Her whole family was a touchy subject, Zanka respected that. (From now on) She was Enjin's friend for some time now, a year or two, was an omega and her major was Scentology. Pretty impressive for an omega woman. It wasn't the easiest subject at the university and it was closely related to Toxicology with its complexity.
Scentology was a science major where you study about pheromones, secondary genders and scents. How they work, they can run tests to determine what kind of secondary gender you are. They are also the ones who make scent patches, blockers and any necessities you would need, and they are responsible for their development as well.
Thanks to this major, Zanka could've lived peacefully this whole time. If it weren't for the scent patches and any other drugs they were making, Zanka's ruts would've been unbearable. Rut was a normal biological drive which Alphas had. During those times, alphas have an urge to mate.
It wasn't like Zanka became a beast and ran off to fuck everything and everyone. Not like that. He was… unconscious during that time of the month. Like he had the biggest blackout from the partying and couldn't remember the previous night. It scared him the first time it happened to Zanka. He was 13 when it happened for the first time.
The Nijiku family locked their youngest in his room when he had the first symptoms of his rut. It was a whole week, he wasn't aware of himself and his surroundings. At the end of it, the lock was opened and his brother entered the room with a smile on his face. Dog on the leash. It was their family dog. Zanka likes him. It was a three years old doberman, named Orlo. Was the dog in the room the whole time? Zanka couldn't tell.
‘’Oh great, my young brother is finally conscious. Your dog was a nice company during your first rut! Isn't he a good boy?’’
Goku, an alpha male, was petting the dog. Zanka stared at him from his bed, a puzzled expression on his face. What did he imply with that? Then his mind filled with the implications of what the rut is for. His bright mind connected the dots.
No.
No way.
He didn't.
He didn't.
‘’What do you mean by that?’’ asked with a trembling voice. He couldn't believe it until he got it confirmed.
His brother, his alpha brother, looked at him with a wicked grin.
‘’What do you think, young brother? You and your dog mated during your rut. Next time, be quieter.’’
He was a monster after all. He betrayed himself. As an Alpha. As a man. Zanka failed. Just because of his biology. Because he was a Nijiku Alpha. The disgrace of his generation.
The memory was haunting Zanka's narrative. Ever since the dog accident, the young Alpha had been taking medications of all kinds. The tonics helped him cancel the ruts. Scent patches helped him to block his pheromones from leaking and scent blockers were for blocking his ruts.
Tonics were used just in case blockers would stop working. He never wanted to experience his rut ever again. Doctor's words be damned.
‘’Mister Nijiku, remember to have ruts, one-two times at least. Because every single time you won't… the worse the next one will be… You have a young body-’’
Zanka wanted to listen to the doctor, he really did, he was professional and meant well. The younger alpha just… didn't trust himself during his most vulnerable state. He wanted it gone altogether. For it to never exist. Another reason why he used those medications. It helped him feel better about himself, less stressed about him as an Alpha. Be confident on the outside while on the inside he was walking anxiety. Fraud of Alpha. Masking his insecurities.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the female voice:
“Okay, Enjin, don't bully the alpha boy, he looks like he will cry soon if you don't stop.”
Zanka frowned. “No, I won't.”
Riyo grinned at him.
“Aawh, see, Enjin? I think I already see tears forming in his eyes.”
If Zanka wasn't too hurt from her strikes, he would return the favour. Two straight punches to her face and she would be finished. (What a sadist)
Enjin stopped laughing, but the smile stayed on his face, clearly enjoying the entertainment he got from the both.
“Hey, don't be too let down, Zanka. This crazy redhead went easy on you. Tho, she could use different methods than violence. We talked about this, Riyo.”
The mentioned girl rolled her eyes.
His eye twitched.
‘The nerve of this woman!’ Zanka thought bitterly while sitting on an examination couch, gripping the end of it, his knuckles turned white.
“Okay, you are good to go. No nose is broken, young one. It will be swollen, but it's not broken, you whiny Alpha. Alright! Leave my office already!” the doctor shouted at them, and three of them actually listened without any word.
Out of the infirmary, the redhead looked at Zanka. Her expression was unreadable and yet it was judgemental; seeing every single fiber of the clothing Zanka wore. (Just a basic black t-shirt and baggy beige jeans.)
It was becoming too unrevealing, the younger alpha didn't know what to do, awkwardly standing in front of them.
Riyo stretched her hand towards him which shocked the two blondes.
“We went off the wrong foot. Let's start over. Hi, I am Riyo Reaper. Nice to meet you.”
His blue eyes widened. The other’s reaction was different, like she didn't whoop his ass just an half an hour ago. Her pheromones were in check. She didn't look like she wanted to rip off his head either. With hesitation, he took her hand and shook it.
“I am Zanka Nijiku. Alpha, uhm… Forensic Science major.”
Riyo whistled.
“Wow. You chose a difficult major. I kind of see it. I like you. Give me your number.”
Without a single beat, she took out her phone and passed it to him.
‘This feels like a dream.’
Or a bad comedy passed as fanfiction. Whatever. He took her phone and exchanged their numbers. When her phone was returned to her, she smiled, her smaller fangs on display.
“Great! We will hang out after our schedules are free. See ya later!” She smacked his shoulder and left.
Zanka watched her leave. This whole situation felt surreal. One minute, she was kicking his ass and the second she wanted to be her friend. Make it make sense.
Enjin patted him on the pain free shoulder.
“You just made a friend out of her! That's good! She usually doesn't like everybody. This is progress!”
The alpha stared with a widened look at the beta.
“She punched me and kicked me. I don't know how that makes us friends.”
Whatever Zanka said made Enjin laugh.
“Exactly! But don't worry, once you are friends with her, she doesn't attack you without a reason.”
The blonde patted him on the shoulder once more, squeezed it and Zanka didn't know if that was supposed to be encouraging or distracting him.
Every psycho tends to be attracted to Zanka like a magnet.
At least Enjin was somehow normal. (He hoped so.)
.
.
.
Two weeks went by and Zanka and Jabber were trying to work together. The key word here is trying. Because no matter how Zanka tried to keep his pheromones and nerves in check, with the kind like Jabber's, even the saints would have had a problem with him.
Not only the other Alpha coming late to the lab, his only excuse being ‘I showed up in the end, didn't I?’, his work methods were… so off the book. It seemed as if Jabber made his own rules and it was messing with Zanka's. The worksheet couldn't be filled right step by step thanks to him. Jabber's methods were simply testing his patience, and it was running thin by each assignment they had together.
For example, how the darker haired alpha lit the Bunsen burner. It made Zanka cry in desperation.
The way, the proper way, Zanka did prepare the Bunsen burner went like this:
- Attach rubber hose to gas nuzzle
- Close the collar → no air
- Turn on gas at the bench.
- Light a flint striker - click, click, click WHOOSH
- Adjust collar to half open → blue flame
- Check that the flame is stable
- And NEVER leave the flame unattended!
Simple. Practical. That's how it is supposed to be done.
Jabber's method was completely out of normal.
- Turn on gas
- Flick a lighter
- WHOOSH
- Adjust the collar by feel (HE DOESN'T LOOK)
- And yet the flame is PERFECT anyway
- Zanka hates him.
It was one example out of many. If Jabber's work ethic was graded, he would get a zero. That grade is not possible, so Zanka suffers in silence. He could notify Enjin or professor Bundus, he should notify them. He should, but he can't for a mysterious reason.
The way how despise every single step being out of ordinary, the results are always accurate. Always. Almost 98% accuracy, for someone who is uncontrollable, that's a pretty high number. Zanka doesn't know if he hates it or if he is impressed. (He hates how he is impressed)
When they had theory lectures together, Jabber seemed to possess the knowledge of chemicals unknown to Zanka. During those lectures, the other Alpha was most of the time staring at Zanka, just watching. Still. Zanka didn't know why he was staring at him. How can one person even be interested to stare at someone for almost ninety minutes? (1.5 hours)
You can't be entertained by such an activity for that amount of time. Yet Jabber seemed not to mind. If anything, he seemed to be intrigued by the other. (Not like Zanka wasn't, he was more sophisticated than him)
Another example why Jabber was driving Zanka crazy could be explained right now. Today's lesson in the lab was titration. Everyone had opened their chemistry manuals to help them with the process.
Titration is a laboratory method used to determine the concentration of a solution by gradually adding a solution of known concentration (the titrant) to a solution of unknown concentration (the analyte) until a reaction endpoint is reached, often indicated by a color change. This technique is commonly used in various fields, including chemistry, food processing, and pharmaceuticals.
Many students had problems with the method, not everyone could use it right, and then their measurements were wrong as a result. Zanka saw many tutorials and read books about the topic. This should be a piece of cake for them. He looked over to see what his lab partner was doing. Blue met pink. Smile wrinkles appearing around the pink eyes as a result.
“Hey there, handsome. How do you want to work on today’s task? What does your magical book say you should do?” his grin was plastered on his face, Zanka would punch it away, no problem. (He needs to control himself already.)
Ignoring his inner voice, he took his laboratory manual and opened it in the chapter. Read it carefully, his index finger pointing at the text he was reading. He felt the other’s gaze on him even without looking, he knew it after spending time in the lab for such a time.
“If you won’t help, at least pretend you are studying.” annoyance slipped in the tone.
Jabber smirked.
“But I am studying!”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“What a stupid answer.”
“Stupid question, stupid answer.”
Zanka’s face scowled.
‘Fine, be a nuisance. You and your stupid pheromones.’ Zanka thought bitterly.
He got out of the stool and went to gather the equipment for today’s lesson based on the manual.
1. Buret (burette), clamp, and stand
2. White paper (used to see a color change in the solution)
3. Volumetric pipet (pipette) and pipet bulb
4. pH indicator (the type depends on the reactants)
5. Erlenmeyer or conical flask
6. Titrant (the standard solution of known concentration)
7. Analyte, or titrand (the solution of unknown concentration)
8. Wash bottle
9. Waste container or beaker
The equipment is put down on the table and he is now ready to work, hopefully in peace this time. Before he started to do the fun stuff, he needed to check his apparatus for any deficiencies.
He did not rush the process. He did not guess. He executed.
Step 1: The Burette
He inspected its tip under a single beam of calibrated light. No chips. No cracks. The stopcock turned with a whisper of resistance; perfect.
He rinsed it three times with deionized water, each rinse rotated exactly four times, drained for precisely six seconds. Then he rinsed it with the acid of unknown concentration, letting the liquid kiss every inner surface before dripping from the tip into a sacrificial beaker.
Finally, he filled the burette. The meniscus settled at 0.00 mL. He did not accept 0.1 mL or 0.01 mL. Only zero. He locked the reading into his memory.
Step 2: The Pipette
He lifted a volumetric pipette; slender, flawless, beloved in the way only tools of absolute precision can be loved. He rinsed it with the standard alkali solution three times, discarding each rinse with cold efficiency.
Then he drew up exactly 25.00 mL of alkali, the liquid rising like mercury in a thermometer. He transferred it to a conical flask, touching the pipette's tip to the inner wall for exactly two seconds. No drops lingered. No shortcuts were taken.
Step 3: The Indicator
Three drops of phenolphthalein. Not two. Not four. Three. Each drop fell from a micropipette calibrated that morning. The alkali turned a faint, expectant pink, a color Zanka acknowledged with a curt nod.
Step 4: The Addition
He placed the flask beneath the burette's tip, adjusted the magnetic stirrer to a precise 400 rpm, and opened the stopcock. The acid streamed down; not fast, not slow, but deliberate. He swirled the flask by hand even with the stirrer running, because machines assist; they do not replace vigilance.
Step 5: The First Flicker
The pink began to die.
At the first hint of fading, Zanka's hand moved like a viper. He closed the stopcock to a crack, reducing the flow to singular drops. Each drop hung for a moment on the burette's tip, then fell into the swirling solution.
Swirl. Fall. Fade.
Step 6: The Permanent Change
The solution turned colorless. No ghost of pink. No returning blush. Permanent.
Zanka stopped the flow instantly. The final drop clung to the tip, and he rinsed it into the flask with a jet of distilled water.
Step 7: The Titre
He leaned down, eyes level with the meniscus. Read it from the bottom, parallax eliminated. He recorded the final volume in his notebook: 24.65 mL. He subtracted the initial 0.00 mL.
Titre: 24.65 cm³.
He did not celebrate. He did not smile. He simply wrote the number in the worksheet he was given before the class and turned to repeat the process.
Step 8: The Repetition
Second titration: 24.67 cm³.
Third titration: 24.66 cm³.
Fourth, for certainty: 24.65 cm³.
Concordant within 0.1 cm³. The experiment was complete.
Zanka set down his pen, washed every piece of glassware himself.
He felt inner satisfaction from completing the task. No one could make it go away. Unless he looked at his right. Jabber was - Jabber. He just sat and was doing nothing. Only staring at Zanka. Nothing more. Expression unreadable. Wrists and neck covered.
“Wow. It was like a surgeon doing an operation. I almost forgot how to breathe.”
‘Again with that mocking tone.’ Zanka had enough.
“Oh yeah? How do you prosecute the titration? Show your talent, genius.”
His words worked like a switch, Jabber’s bored expression turned into interest in an instant. His whole posture straightened at the mention of titration. Not scared. Confident. Like he had done this countless times.
“Are you sure you can handle me, Mister Bad Attitude?” The Cheshire cat’s smile on his face.
Zanka wondered if he did the right thing. Back up now? Not a chance. Not when Jabber was straight up challenging him. His Alpha side wouldn’t take it well.
“Why wouldn’t I? If you are scared to do it-”
Jabber didn’t let Zanka finish the sentence, he got up from the chair, pushed the apparatus closer to himself.
“Wait! Before you begin. You need to follow the steps. In order. And I watch every move.”
The other wasn't answering right away. He was looking at Zanka with the new expression. Analysing one. What was he analysing, Zanka had no clue.
Then:
“Fine. But! Since you are making rules now, here is my rule: I do it my way.”
“There is no ‘your way’.”
“There is now. Do you want to watch me do it or are you going to bitch every second?”
Zanka was silent and Jabber took it as an answer.
The other Alpha turned to the table and the show could begin.
Step 1: The Burette
Jabber took Zanka’s calibrated buret and inspected it. Hold it up to the ceiling light. The markings are flawless.
“Markings are readable,” Jabber announced. “Stopcock rotates… let's see.” He spun it three times fast. “Freely. Tip intact. No chips.”
The tip is, in fact, intact, but Jabber scratches a tiny “J” into the glass with a diamond scribe. Where did he have a chance to get it?
“Now it’s mine.” Announced it like he was proud of his actions.
Zanka's breath hitched, but nodded stiffly. “Acceptable… until the J.”
Jabber titled his head.
“Was that a compliment?”
“It was an observation. You didn't do the titration yet. Don't get ahead of yourself.”
Jabber scoffed and went to the second step.
Step 2: Clean the titration equipment
Jabber reached for the squeeze bottle of deionized water.
“Wait,” Zanka said. “You're actually using deionized water?”
“I am not an animal, Zanka. I just play one in your dreams.”
Zanka wasn't dreaming about Jabber. The comment was absurd. He crossed his hands and waited for the other's next move.
Then he noticed something out of the ordinary. Not Jabber's kind out of the ordinary, the ‘normal’ kind.
Jabber didn't take the squeeze bottle in one hand, but two. Two hands. For the squeeze bottle.
Zanka's frown deepened.
Jabber rinsed the buret once. Then twice. Then three times. The extra repetition was strange- Jabber usually cut corners, not adding them.
Zanka watched every swirl.
“Three rinses? You're being religious today.”
"Just thorough.”
“You've never been thorough in your life.”
Jabber didn't smile. This was the first time he didn't react to the comments. That was the first thing that worried Zanka, but didn't voice it out loud.
After a while, Zanka forgot to count those steps in his head. Being totally enticed by Jabber's work. (Not admitting it out loud… ever)
Jabber tilted the buret and let the water run down the inner wall. He checked for the beading. The movement was slow, almost labored.
“No beads,” said Jabber.
Zanka noticed what was wrong. It was obvious as a day. “Your hands are shaking.”
Jabber looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Low blood sugar. Do not comment on them.”
The way he said it was also different. Defensive. It wasn't low blood sugar like Jabber is proclaiming. Normally, Jabber would make a smart comment to throw Zanka off his balance. But now? There was nothing. Just an unusual compliance and defence.
Zanka didn't like it. It made him uncomfortable.
He could still see the shaking hands. Once he sees it, he can't unsee it.
The other boy continued with the steps. Poured the titrant into the buret. The pour was already unsteady - the stream wobbled. Some liquid ran down the outside.
Zanka winced. “You are spilling.”
The cherries turned smoky. It was low, but present. “I'm pre-wetting the exterior.”
“That's not a thing.”
“It is today.”
Jabber rotated the buret. His elbow stayed locked against the bench. Zanka had never seen him brace like that before.
“Are you sick?” asked Zanka.
"I'm working.”
“You look like someone who hasn't slept in a week.”
Jabber didn't answer. He rinsed the buret twice with the standard solution; not three times. Zanka decided not to correct him.
During the fifth step, Jabber picked up the volumetric pipet. His hand trembled as he brought it to the unknown solution. The tremor was small, almost invisible to the naked eye, but Zanka's eyes were trained to see micro-level deviations.
He decided to get the information out of Jabber.
“Your hand.” Started.
“What about it?”
"It’s shaking.”
“It's cold here.”
“The thermostat says 22.0 degrees Celsius.”
“Well, my hands didn't get the memo.” Jaw tightened.
Jabber drew up the unknown. He titled the piper horizontally, slowly, too slowly, and rolled it. The movements were precise but effortful, like watching a musician playing through the pain.
Cherries lingered in the air, reminders of the other's emotions.
Zanka said nothing this time. But he was watching.
Jabber took the flask. One rinse. He swirled it once and poured it out.
Zanka waited for the second rinse. Then the third.
They didn't come.
“Three rinses,” Zanka pointed out.
“One is enough.”
“The protocol says three.”
“The protocol can kiss my-”
“Jabber.” no room to argue.
Jabber stopped. His jaw tightened. Then, without a word, he rinsed the flask twice more. His movements were jerky, almost angry.
Zanka watched him flex his fingers afterwards. A habit. A new one. He fixed it in his memory. (To study the fact afterwards)
Jabber pipetted 0.25 mL of unknown into the flask. His technique was flawless - Zanka couldn't deny it. The meniscus kissed the line. No bubbles. No over-delivery.
But Jabber's hand stayed on the pipet for an extra second after delivery, as if he needed to confirm he'd done it correctly.
He added three drops of phenolphthalein. Three. Exactly.
“Done.” Jabber said. His tone was flat. Emotionless.
Zanka studied him. “You're not going to make a joke?”
"Not in the mood.”
“You're always in the mood.”
Jabber looked up. For a second, Zanka saw something behind those pink eyes, something tired and old. Not from the lack of sleep.
It was gone in the second it appeared.
“Let's just finish,” said Jabber.
Jabber poured the titrant. His hand wobbled again. The meniscus landed at 0.00 mL on the first try anyway, pure muscle memory.
Zanka blinked. “How did you-”
“I'm good at my job.”
Zanka hummed. “You are something.”
Jabber tapped the buret. Once. Twice. A bubble cling to the tip.
He tapped again, harder. His hand jerked from the impact. The bubble didn't move.
“I've got it.” Said Jabber, teeth gritted. Cherries were stronger this time.
He reached for the buret to tilt. His fingers slipped on the barrel.
Zanka caught the buret before it moved. “Stop.”
“I can do it.”
“You're going to break the glass.”
“I said I can do it.” His fangs were glaring at him. Jabber's pheromones were hitting Zanka's nose now.
But Zanka didn't let go. He tilted the buret himself, gently, precisely, and tapped the barrel with a fingernail. The bubble rose and disappeared.
He set the buret back upright. Checked the stopcock. Dry.
“No bubbles,” said Zanka. “No leaks.”
Jabber stared at the buret. His hands were still.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Zanka frowned. Jabber didn’t thank people. Ever. Is this the Jabber he knew?
“Just finish the titration,” said Zanka. Not trying to think about such details right now.
Jabber picked up Zanka’s pen. He wrapped his fingers around it carefully - two-point grip instead of three. Zanka noticed.
Jabber wrote:
Initial volume: 0.00 mL
The handwriting was shakier than usual. Still legible. But different.
Zanka said nothing. He filed it away.
Jabber opened the stopcock. He swirled the flask with his left hand, his left hand, not his right. Zanka had never seen him titrate left-handed.
“Are you ambidextrous now?” asked Zanka.
“My right hand is tired.”
“From what?”
“Living.”
The pink flashed. Jabber slowed. The pink held at 21.8 mL.
“Rough: 21.8,” said Jabber.
Zanka nodded. “Fine.”
Not “good.” Not “acceptable.” Just fine.
Jabber didn’t seem to notice.
Second titration: Jabber started at 0.00 again. He added titrant to 19 mL, then switched to half-drops.
His hand trembled on the stopcock. The drops came unevenly; too large, then too small.
“Your delivery is inconsistent,” said Zanka.
“I’m aware.”
“Then correct it.”
Jabber’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“What are you doing?” asked Zanka.
"Focusing.”
“With your eyes closed?”
“Some of us don’t need to see to be precise.”
Zanka bit back a response. Jabber opened his eyes and finished the titration. Endpoint at 22.2 mL.
Third titration: Jabber worked more slowly. Braced his elbow. Used two fingers on the stopcock. His breath was shallow.
The endpoint hit at 22.1 mL.
“22.2 and 22.1,” said Jabber. His voice was quiet. Tired.
Zanka wrote them down. “Your replicates are acceptable.”
“High praise.”
“Don’t push it.”
The end results of other titration:
· Titration 2: 22.2 mL
· Titration 3: 22.1 mL
· Average: 22.15 mL
He set down the pen. His hand stayed on the bench, fingers spread.
“Done,” he said.
Zanka reviewed the numbers. Every decimal. Every entry.
“The average is correct,” said Zanka. “But your technique was sloppy.”
“It worked.”
“It worked despite you, not because of you.”
Jabber laughed - a short, hollow sound. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day.”
Zanka began rinsing the buret. Deionized water. Three times. Methodical.
Jabber watched him. He didn’t move to help.
“Are you going to sit there or are you going to clean up?” asked Zanka.
“I’m resting.”
“You’ve been resting for five minutes.”
“I need eight.”
Zanka turned. Jabber was flexing his right hand again, staring at his own fingers like they belonged to someone else.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Zanka.
The question hung in the air.
Jabber looked up. For a moment, Zanka thought he might answer. Might say something real.
Then Jabber smiled - the old smile, sharp and broken.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just getting old.”
Zanka didn’t believe him. But he didn’t ask again.
The lab ended and everyone bolted from the room. Even Jabber, the stool made a squeak at the speed.
Zanka could only stare.
Zanka's dorm
21:45 PM
Zanka recalculated Jabber’s numbers behind the desk. They were correct. They were always correct, even when the hands delivering them weren’t.
He opened the notebook and drew a small checkmark next to Jabber’s average.
Then he stared at the page for a long time.
'His hands are shaking.
He used two hands to pick up a squeeze bottle.
He titrated left-handed.'
He closed his eyes.
'It was a long day.' thought simply and closed the notebook. He turned off the light. Went to bed.
He didn’t know what was wrong. He only knew that something was.
And for the first time in his life, Zanka didn’t have a protocol for it.