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For the first time in a month, Zanka was going to see Jabber.
Well, that wasn't exactly true. In spite of the intended purpose of his grounding, Zanka had seen Jabber plenty of times over the course of it.
For the first time in a month, Zanka was going to visit Jabber.
More specifically, for the first time ever, Zanka was going to visit Jabber when just about every single Cleaner at HQ knew about it. And they were letting him.
Some more reluctantly than others.
He'd tried everything he could to avoid making eye contact with Enjin while telling him that he was going out for this visit. It'd been a part of their agreement following Zanka's grounding, but Enjin very obviously still did not want Zanka going out to see Jabber at all, as he'd established on many, many, many occasions. Even if he hadn't said anything about it this time, it'd been written all over his face.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, that was far from the most awkward Zanka had felt in his life, so he'd been able to walk right out of HQ, not even needing to stop to bang his head against the concrete exterior of the building.
As far as Zanka was concerned, that was a win.
And now, looping back to the beginning, for the first time in a month, Zanka was on his way to visit Jabber.
He didn't really know why he was nervous. If anything, he should be more carefree now than ever before, with the weight of secrecy lifted from him.
Maybe it was because he wasn't visiting Jabber to fight. It wasn't the first time they'd met without fighting, but all those meetings had taken place among an abundance of other meetings.
This one was the first (official) meeting in a month.
That made it different. Zanka was sure of it. Somehow, deep inside himself, he knew that this meeting was important. He was absolutely certain that whatever happened during this meeting would determine…something. He didn't exactly know what that was yet.
He just had a feeling.
As for what he was looking for, what he wanted from seeing Jabber today, that too was a bit ambiguous.
Like he said, he wasn't looking for a fight right now. And, in spite of the lewd promise Jabber had made to him all the way back when their relationship had been revealed, Zanka wasn't really looking for that either. (At least not today; you couldn't waterboard this out of him, but yes, he had given Jabber's words some thought, and yes, he did have some ideas that he'd had plenty of time to think through—)
He kind of just wanted to spend some time with Jabber.
Which would've been an absolutely insane statement just a couple of months back.
But of course, it all relied on what Jabber wanted.
And, well, to say that that was an enigma would be an understatement. Given the development of their relationship, Zanka had gotten remarkably good at reading Jabber, at least in comparison to the average person. But there were still plenty of times when he had no idea what the Raider was thinking.
Then there was also the fact that Zanka had long since learned that he himself was the most untrustworthy source on the face of the Ground. A chronic overthinker, as Riyo liked to say. Meaning that any theories that he came up with when it came to unknown territory with Jabber could range from being kind of true to completely wrong.
Still, "chronic overthinker" that he was, Zanka couldn't help but partake in a bit of guesswork.
Jabber had certainly kept up their fighting routine during Zanka's grounding, and had (to the misfortune of Rudo) indulged in the other pleasures between them as well. It didn't really surprise Zanka that these were the parts of their relationship that had persisted through his attempted separation from Jabber; the circumstances didn't really allow for much softness after all, not when another Cleaner was just around the corner, waiting to shoo the Raider away like a stray cat.
But in spite of it all, even that hadn't stopped Jabber.
It'd only been in small moments. Small, rare moments.
A short caress following a blow. Utilizing some of the small moments where he managed to grab Zanka out of sight of the others to just lean against him, letting the proximity linger. Tiny things, things that could be easily missed if you weren't looking for them.
Excluding his grandest gesture, that was.
When Zanka had returned that day after Jabber had carried off his paralyzed body, the other Cleaners had had their theories.
Some had guessed Jabber had taken him off for a secluded fight. Others guessed that the kidnapping had been motivated by more lustful goals. Someone (August) had guessed that Jabber had taken him to use as a test subject and had left his body dead in a gutter to be eaten by rats. (It'd been spoken in a loud, cheerful tone, of course, just like always.)
But none of them had guessed that Jabber had spent the time with Zanka's head in his lap, carefully running his fingers through the Cleaner's hair.
He'd taken Zanka to some motel room, understandably not wanting to possibly be found in his own hideout, just sitting and stroking the younger's hair while waiting for the effects of the toxin to wear off, rambling on about anything and everything that'd seemed to have came to his mind. Zanka had already picked up on the fact that the gesture meant something special to Jabber. It was the first form of affection he could remember receiving from Jabber, carried out twice in two very intimate moments, though Zanka hadn't truly been present for the entirety of either, being either under the influence of a toxin or halfway through a panic attack.
So, if Zanka had pretended to be paralyzed for just a bit longer than he'd actually been, no one would ever know.
And if when he'd actually begun moving again, he'd switched the positions to allow him to hold Jabber for just a little bit, the Cleaners had no way of finding out.
Other than Semiu, obviously, who'd just given him a teasing smirk when he'd returned, her lips sealed.
But still, none of that told him what Jabber would want from their meeting today. And for some reason, today mattered.
He wasn't sure how he'd feel if their goals didn't end up aligning today. Thinking about it logically, it was natural. Neither of them were mind readers, after all. And it wasn't like he expected Jabber to ask him for anything the both of them wouldn't enjoy, in normal circumstances.
But the illogical part of Zanka told him it was absolutely crucial that they be on the same page today. That Jabber would also want the company, even without the battles and the pleasure.
Again, the logical part of him chimed back in and told him he was worrying over nothing. That there was proof enough that Jabber would be okay with that in the fact that he had stayed this long, in spite of the struggles between them.
But no logic worked to calm his nerves.
What could he say? Most untrustworthy source on the face of the Ground.
* * *
"Aaaaaaaand, he's finally free!"
Jabber grinned as he tugged Zanka through the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him. Before Zanka could finish fully removing his mask, Jabber had launched himself at him, grabbing him by his shoulders.
"Not gonna lie, I thought Tattoos was gonna change his mind about the dead line." He just barely avoided knocking the two of them to the floor, taking a moment to steady them both. "Keep you locked up for a while longer."
"He almost did. Several times, thanks to you." Zanka narrowed his eyebrows, though it was a genuine struggle to keep a smiling from forming on his lips. "Includin' after the stunt ya pulled yesterday."
"Come on, I wasn't even messing with you that time." Jabber rolled his eyes. "That was Bang-bang girl's fault."
"Really?" Zanka gave him a skeptical look.
That had been an entirely unforeseen development, coming back to Cleaner's HQ to witness the nightmare combo that was Riyo and Jabber's unexplainable newfound friendship. He'd gotten no explanation out of Riyo, and consequently wouldn't be leaving Jabber alone until he'd gotten one from him.
"Yes, really. But that ain't important, Zan-zan." Jabber moved back to grip his wrist, turning to tug the Cleaner down the hall, towards his room. "Come on, let's—"
Zanka sighed, removing his hand from the other's grasp, rolling his eyes. Still, he didn't pull away.
Before Jabber could even turn around, Zanka had wrapped his arms around him, pulling the Raider close to his body, Jabber's back pressed against his chest.
"Just stay still for a minute," Zanka murmured, his head hovering right next to the other's ear.
Maybe someone that was better with words would be able to just look Jabber in the eyes and say I missed you. Someone who was more secure. Someone who didn't spend agonizing hours late at night staring up at the ceiling, wondering if today would be the last day the people he cared about desperately would be able to put up with him.
Zanka wasn't that person. Not by a long shot.
So instead he held Jabber there, barely a few steps beyond the doorway, legs still lightly aching from the long walk. He kept his head right next to Jabber's, face just out of the latter's sight, too close to turn and catch a glimpse of.
For just a moment, he didn't want to worry about not looking pathetic. Solution being, for just this moment, he'd hide himself from view. And for just this moment, he couldn't be bothered to care about his cowardice.
Jabber went still for a second, like he always did when confronted with affection so suddenly. Like his brain was running a million calculations a minute to process it.
"…Only a minute?" he asked teasingly when he'd recovered, leaning back comfortably into Zanka's chest. "You're being real stingy."
Thing was, thankfully, Jabber wasn't always good with words either. Especially when it came to stuff like this. It'd caused lots of problems before.
Remarkably though, with the both of them being like that, it could sometimes make the small, silent messages easier to pick up on.
We've got plenty of time. I'm not going anywhere.
It made something in Zanka's chest grow warm, settling just beneath his skin, spreading outwards from his sternum. He pulled Jabber even closer, pressing his forehead into the Raider's long locs, sense of smell overwhelmed by whatever chemicals the older boy had been working with last.
"Alright, alright, I know." Jabber hummed, voice uncharacteristically quiet and fond. "But I'm sick of standing. Let's go."
He grabbed onto Zanka's arms as he resumed his walk towards his room, sliding them up to his shoulders to make the mini migration easier. The cool metal of Mankira brushing against Zanka's hands sent a barely disguised wave of contentment through him, solidifying how right this moment felt. He walked with Jabber to his room, the Raider's hunched posture making it so that Zanka was essentially draped over him, like a cloak.
A Zanka from an earlier time wouldn't have done this. Not when he was so used to keeping his wants contained, so focused on appearing composed. Not when he fought tooth and nail to not reveal how much he enjoyed something as small as a compliment. Always, a voice had sounded in his head, telling him it would be improper and childish. A voice he knew all too well, a voice he knew was always accompanied by a withering glare and the scent of gunpowder.
Even now, the voice was still there, and even now Zanka kept himself restrained.
But a lot had also changed, and thankfully, Jabber had never really minded how "improper" Zanka was. If anything, he reveled in it. So even if Zanka couldn't manage showing his face right now, he could at least indulge in the desire to cling, to latch on, to hoard this affection for as long as he preferred.
It was only once they'd reached Jabber's room that Zanka had let go, shifting to stand beside the Raider instead. Jabber didn't let the loss of contact last, leaning into Zanka's side as he pushed him towards the jewelry dresser.
Of course, how could Zanka forget?
Jabber's hands slipped around the back of the Cleaner's neck, expertly finding and undoing the clasp of the pendant that had hung at Zanka's chest for the past month.
"There she is." Jabber hummed as the pendant slipped into his palm. "Been on a bit of a vacation, huh? You been keeping her nice and pretty for me?"
It was a rhetorical question. They both already knew the answer.
Still, Zanka provided it.
"Obviously." His eyebrows twitched into a small glare of empty annoyance. "The hell do ya take me for?"
Jabber didn't respond, occupied with the necklace in his hands. He turned it over a few times, thumb running over the pendant, as if soaking in each of the longing touches and caresses that Zanka had given it over the course of the month. Eventually, he returned it to its awaited place on the dresser, a pleased look on his face.
"You always treat 'em so good." Jabber shot him a teasing glance over his shoulder. "Do it with everything you touch, don't ya?"
It was hard for the sudden lack of the pendant's weight on his chest to feel off when the heat on Zanka's face felt so right.
"How about you tell me?" Zanka responded, never one to just sit there and take such a comment. "I mean, you should know."
Jabber just laughed, seeming to not want to escalate the back and forth right now.
"I already know what I'm gonna give you next." His voice had calmed, losing the slightly suggestive tone. "Ain't telling you yet though. You're just gonna have to sit tightly for a little bit."
"Then what's the point of sayin' somethin' now?" Zanka rolled his eyes, removing Lovely Assistaff from where she was strapped on his back, leaning her securely against the wall before plopping down on the bed.
"Impatient, ain't ya, Mr. Bad Attitude?" Jabber grinned, crashing himself into Zanka's side, knocking their shoulders together.
"Yer one to talk." Zanka grabbed the top of Jabber's head, prying him off, gritting his teeth in response to the dull pain. "Mr. Can't-listen-to-directions-for-a-month."
"Don't remember Tattoos ever giving me any directions." The Raider grabbed the other's wrist, removing the offending hand.
"No, he didn't, but I did—"
"Do you really wish I hadn't?"
Jabber looked him in the eye, leaning back on his hands, expression casual.
And—
Damn it.
That look, with none of the fanfare, none of the smiles, none of the unhinged laughter, none of free, wild light in his eyes. That look that to anyone else would seem completely unbothered. That look that thinly veiled something that was entrusted to Zanka and Zanka alone, just as Zanka had entrusted the exact same thing back to Jabber; something so secretly vulnerable and fragile.
When it was that look Zanka was staring it, how could he be compelled to anything else other than blatant, clumsy, and bare honesty?
"I— no. 'Course not." Zanka's eyes shot away, settling instead on the ever-familiar silver rings resting on Jabber's fingers. "I mean— I'm just tryin' to say— it was nice to see yer face."
"Knew it." Jabber snickered, bumping their shoulders together again, softer this time. "Sappy ass."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Zanka huffed, returning the gesture all the same. "Go choke on a grape or something."
Jabber devolved into a short fit of laughter, his back falling onto the bed. Zanka let him go through it, knowing better than to try and defend himself further. (Experience showed it'd only make Jabber laugh harder.)
A comfortable silence fell over them as Jabber's giggles died out.
Now, all the preliminaries were out of the way. All the old issues cleaned up or packed away for the time being.
And now it was the moment of truth.
To see what Jabber wanted. To see if that would line up with what Zanka wanted.
Because somehow, today meant something.
Really, Zanka should just say something. He was being ridiculous. Yet at the same time—
Jabber shot up, a wide grin on his face.
"I gotta go get the thing!"
With that, he ran out of the room, booking it down the hall.
What the hell?
With how excited Jabber had seemed, it'd probably be a good idea for Zanka to prepare an escape route. There was no way of knowing what "the thing" could be— poison, jewelry, a bomb, a cool rock Jabber had found— who knew?
Well, that was always the ongoing lottery that came with getting this close to Jabber Wonger. Whatever it was, Zanka would manage.
Jabber re-entered the room much slower than how he'd exited it, carrying a black, fairly thin box in his hands. He sat down next to the Cleaner again, wordlessly pushing the box towards him.
Zanka merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the smile on Jabber's face, before taking the box and sliding the lid off—
And suddenly, he was a thousand miles away.
He was somewhere where the rooms had tatami floors and the roofs were lined with lanterns, a tall dome high above everything. The phantom voices flooding his ears spoke a different language, one that'd he'd been deprived of for a long time.
Staring at the box of wagashi, for a singular second, the present— Jabber's room, the soft bed beneath him, the light seeping in through the blinds— was swept away.
It only took a blink to bring him back, but damn, the sight alone triggered so many memories. There was a decent variety in the box, all fitted to the season, with different kinds of manju, yokan, and nerikiri all fitting into neat little compartments.
There had been a time, years ago, where Zanka had been staring at the same wagashi he was staring at now, only it'd been one sweet rather than a variety, placed on a kaishi, waiting to be cut with the kuromoji in his hand.
And at that time, years ago, it'd been Kyouka and Goka that had been with him.
The memories were bittersweet. Extremely so.
Because on one hand, the last chakai he'd shared with his siblings hadn't been right before he left the Kamuatari District. No, those memories were relics of an even more distant past.
Those were the softer times. The sweeter, kinder ones. When Zanka's hands had been too small and uncoordinated to hold a weapon. When his legs had been too stubby to dodge bullets. When he'd been young enough to justifiably be carried by his older siblings, even if only for a short time.
Of course, his memories of his family had never been free from bitterness. Always, the weight of the name "Nijiku" had rested heavily on his shoulders, growing more and more crushing with every day that passed. Eventually weapons were placed into his hands, eventually Kyouka was harshly lecturing him while he was staring down the barrel of her gun, eventually Zanka had been picked up by one of his siblings for the last time.
Training hurt. Sometimes, he secretly wanted it to stop. Just for a bit, so he could take a break. Sometimes it wasn't so secret. But it didn't take him long to figure out that neither Goka or Kyouka would be so quick to listen to a request to "stop", no matter how pathetic or beaten Zanka was.
Sometimes, the words hurt more than the physical pain.
Of course, failure always hurt even worse than that.
His time with his blood family wasn't something Zanka liked to dwell on. But whether he liked it or not, it was inescapable. The two shadows loomed over him at all times, heavier than any shadows had a right to be.
But as much as Zanka couldn't bear to think about that time, he couldn't entirely pin his avoidance of it on Kyouka and Goka. After all, it wasn't necessarily their fault that Zanka didn't live up to the Nijiku name. At the end of the day, they had just been doing what needed to be done. It was Zanka that had fallen short.
If he'd been stronger, then maybe those happy times would've returned.
Speaking of those happy times, that was another reason he couldn't bring himself to fully reject his siblings. Because no matter how bad things had gotten, no matter how much it'd hurt, those softer moments had still existed. Even if the chakai he shared with his siblings had become colder and quieter over the years, even if they'd stopped entirely by the time he'd entered the Hell Guard Academy, he could still remember what they'd used to be.
And that was proof that something was there. Some kind of bond, some kind of care, some kind of love (though that word seemed a bit too strong).
In their eyes, Zanka had just outgrown it.
(Or they had grown tired of it.)
At least the two brands of memories balanced each other out. Made the harsher moments more bearable.
"Hey, don't blank out on me, I didn't even lace those."
Jabber's voice broke him out of his thoughts, dragging him the thousand miles back to his physical body. Still, even as he sat there, fully present, Zanka found himself at a loss for words.
"…Thought I'd get you something nice." Jabber spoke again when it became obvious that Zanka wasn't ready to respond. "Need you to forgive me for breaking all those rules somehow, right? Figured you'd like something like this. Unless Bang-bang girl was playing me."
Ah.
So that's what happened between Jabber and Riyo.
He'd asked her for advice. Gone out of his way to ask Riyo for advice, and had somehow managed to get along with her, in spite of everything.
It was different with Zanka. For Zanka, he and Jabber had had this strange connection from the start— beginning with something between a obsession and a rivalry and slowly morphing into what they were now. From the beginning, Cleaners and Raiders had had nothing to do with that. Their opposing organizations had simply been what'd allowed them to fight each other.
For anyone else, in such a casual setting, with no fights involved, the labels of their organizations actually did matter. Jabber had tried to kidnap Rudo and had nearly killed Zanka. Riyo had quite literally shot him down. While Jabber wouldn't bear any grudge against a gift of pain, approaching a Cleaner amicably— nonetheless Riyo who was perhaps one of the most guarded among them— was a heavy task.
But he'd done it. For Zanka's sake.
"Nah. She was tellin' ya the truth." It was that realization that managed to get Zanka's brain up and running again. "…Been wantin' to have one of these again for a long time. Hell, I'd pretty much given up. Where'd you get these?"
"You don't wanna know. Pretty sure that old guy would kick me out if I ever tried to go back." A tension Zanka hadn't even noticed dropped out of Jabber's shoulders as he finally got a response. "Which is completely unfair 'cause I only did a little bit of threatening. Pretty sure the stick he's got shoved up his ass is bigger than Lovely."
Zanka scowled at the inclusion of his vital instrument in the vulgar comparison, but it was hard to stay mad at Jabber when he was holding the box of wagashi in his hands.
As much as he'd grown to hate the Kamuatari District for the time he spent there, he missed the place for what it was. Or rather, what it could've been, had he been born into a different family living under that dome.
He missed the language, how easily it'd flowed from his lips. He missed the smells and tastes of the food, which the replications offered at Cleaners HQ could never seem to perfectly re-create, something always slightly off. He missed not being the only one to wear the traditional clothing he'd been dressed in since the beginning of his childhood.
Of course, wagashi was on that list.
He'd avoided it until now because of the price. Wagashi weren't exactly common in this area, so finding the real deal meant being faced with a hefty price tag.
"I'm surprised ya managed to find someone sellin' these for a reasonable price." Zanka voiced his thoughts aloud.
"I'd be surprised too." Jabber huffed a laugh. "'Cause I know I sure as hell didn't."
Zanka's eyes widened.
"Don't worry 'bout it none. The Raiders ain't exactly a galla-printing machine, but I'm doing just fine." Jabber gave the Cleaner a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Ol' Wrinkles the Overpricer ain't got nothing on me. And I don't got no problem spending galla on someone who's worth it."
It almost felt unreal.
The idea that Jabber, the idea that anyone, would go out of his way to make the effort to befriend Riyo and ask her about what Zanka liked, and then pay such a high price to get it for him— what had Zanka done to deserve any of that?
He didn't know what to say. Really he didn't know what to say, except for—
"I need to go get some tea."
"Huh?" Jabber tilted his head, confused.
"Tea." Zanka repeated, a little embarrassed about how he'd blurted it out just now. "That's how yer supposed to eat wagashi. Traditionally. Yer supposed to have it with tea."
"Why?"
"It's to balance it out." Zanka glanced down at the box, focusing on the intricate details of the nerikiri. "The wagashi are sweet, so they balance the bitterness of the tea. Makes the tea taste nicer."
Long ago, there had probably been a lot more to it. But even for families like the Nijikus, the details and even the existence of many old traditions had been lost to the Ground. The tea ceremonies Zanka had shared with his siblings were surely only skeletons of what they used to be. Maybe there had been more meaning to it in a time when the air wasn't so polluted, when there wasn't as much trash piled up all around, when people had time to think about the importance of preparing tea and what it symbolized. But unless there was a time machine out there, Zanka doubted he'd ever know.
"Thought you didn't like bitter stuff." Jabber hummed curiously, his eyes joining Zanka's in tracing the details of the nerikiri.
Riyo must of told him that.
"…Yeah. I don't."
"Then why have it with the tea?"
"I told ya, the tastes balance out."
"And who made that rule up?" It was clear Jabber was just talking out of his ass, saying whatever came to mind rather than giving it serious thought. "Why can't the sweet stuff just be sweet on its own? Why's the bitter stuff gotta be there too?"
And for a second, it wasn't the wagashi that Zanka thought about.
Instead, he thought about small hands, stubby legs, and a child worthy of being held and carried. He thought of small pieces of affection, of a family that still had hope for him, of a world that seemed so endless and new. He thought of a child that looked at Kyouka's back and thought, one day, I'll be just like you, and you'll be so proud of me.
He also thought of weapons being gripped awkwardly by shaky, inexperienced hands, legs that had been just too slow to completely dodge a bullet, a child that no longer expected any kind of gentle touch. He thought of pain, of exhaustion, of a fear that one day one of his siblings would go too far. He thought of the birth of the endless spiral of I'm not good enough, and everything else that had brought with it.
He thought of how long he'd cherished those softer memories. He'd thought about how he sometimes thought everything else had been worth it, as long as he had them.
Who decided it had to be that way? Why couldn't the kind memories be kind on there own? Why had Zanka had to have spent so much time in the place "balancing it out"?
Why couldn't those times have existed without the endless hours of training? Without the dissapointment? Without the pointed insults? Without the shame? Without the cold wall of indifference?
Why couldn't Kyoka and Goka have loved him without hurting him?
"You can tell me to fuck off, I'm just saying whatever." Jabber broke the silence, reminding Zanka that such silence had even come to exist since the Raider's last remark. "I'm not trying to shit all over your tradition. If it's something actually important—"
Zanka wasn't focused on him.
Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on the nerikiri in the box. He'd always liked them the best, with how colorful and beautiful they were.
Of the different shapes they were formed into for autumn, the chrysanthemum ones had been his favorite as a child.
He still remembered what they symbolized.
Nobility, perfection, and longevity.
It'd always been the first thing he reached for.
But this time, it wasn't the chrysanthemum-shaped nerikiri he decided on. No, instead it was the nerikiri shaped into the form of a ginkgo leaf that he was reaching for.
He remembered what that meant too.
Longevity as well, but also resilience and endurance.
"—just tell me, I can go see if I've got some tea around—"
Zanka grabbed the ginkgo leaf nerikiri and took a bite out of it
He could picture the disapproval that would come over Kyouka's face if she could see him now, picking up the nerikiri with his hands, not a kuromoji in sight, taking a bite out of it like an apple.
But she wasn't here right now. The only person that was was Jabber. And Jabber had never really cared about Zanka being "improper".
The soft dough seemed to almost melt as he chewed, just as he'd remembered. He savoured the bean paste inside, attempting to create a perfect replica in his mind to hold on to.
He let the sweetness linger on his tongue, let it stay without the threat of bitterness washing it away. Even if it was only once, he let it stay unbothered, existing simply as it was.
"…I'll make an exception." Zanka spoke after a short pause, voice subdued, but not small.
There was something so comforting about it. About the nostalgic taste clinging to the inside of his mouth, about sitting here on this bed, in this room he'd grown to know, about Jabber sitting less than a foot away, looking just slightly out of his depth, but still there nonetheless, still looking at Zanka and nothing else— staying, looking at him, giving him this gift, because miraculously, to Jabber, Zanka was someone that mattered.
He held out the remainder of the nerikiri to Jabber.
"Try it."
Maybe this was a chance for something new.
"You sure?" Jabber reached his hand out, just shy of taking the offer.
Really, it'd be better to offer him one of the untouched nerikiri instead of his half-eaten one. It'd be basic courtesy.
But right now, it was the ginkgo leaf that Zanka wanted to share. He had a feeling Jabber would appreciate it too, if he knew the meaning.
He gently pushed the nerikiri into Jabber's hand, watching as the Raider raised it to his lips to take his own bite. A brief flash of surprise fell over Jabber's face as he chewed.
"Huh. Softer than I thought it'd be." He offered the small scrap of what was left back to Zanka.
It really was a pointless gesture— the remainder of the nerikiri was barely the size of a toothpick— but Zanka took it all the same, finishing it off.
"Meant it when I said this was an exception, we're eatin' the rest of them the right way." Zanka finally returned to his normal speaking voice, grounded and put back together. "The whole balance thing ain't just about taste, it's part of the process. Means somethin'. And not all teas are bitter, I'll bring some Genmaicha—"
"It's your gift. You don't gotta share it for me, I got it for you." Jabber interrupted him, seeming a bit caught off guard. "Just cause it was expensive doesn't mean—"
"Yer supposed to share 'em."
It wasn't exactly true. But that was the way Zanka preferred it. It was how he always had.
He wasn't foolish enough to think he could erase the memories. He didn't think that he'd ever be rid of the presence of Kyouka and Goka in his mind. Always, his time in Kamuatari would be part of him, twisted into his soul like an ugly bramble of thorns.
But maybe he could add some new memories to go with them.
Maybe, even if he couldn't get rid of the memories of the chakai he'd shared with his siblings, growing colder and more oppressive with each instance, he could make sure they weren't the only memories that came to mind when he thought of wagashi.
Maybe instead, he could also think of light filtered through window blinds, a soft, now familiar bed beneath him, and a place he'd grown to feel so very at home in, in spite of everything. Maybe instead of stiff silences and glares from eyes that looked so similar yet so different to his own, he'd remember a wide grin, lively pink eyes, and unhinged, admittedly charming laughter.
"Why not your Cleaner buddies then?" Jabber asked absentmindedly, picking at some loose threads at the hem of the shirt he was wearing. "Seems like the type of sentimental shit you'd all eat up."
"Cause I wanna have 'em with you, dumbass." Zanka set the box of wagashi to the side, moving closer to Jabber to flick him on the forehead. "Ya tryna say ya know better than me 'bout what I want?"
He watched a brief look of surprise that came over Jabber's face too quick for the Raider to mask initially.
They really could be good at those silent messages, huh?
You matter to me too.
It only took a second for Jabber's eyes to light up— and there it was, that grin, the one Zanka knew by heart by now.
"I don't know," Jabber leaned closer, smug as all hell, "do I?"
Something about it— all of it, since the moment he'd re-entered the room carrying the wagashi box with that dumb little smile on his face— was so incredibly endearing. So much so that the feeling of fondness in Zanka's chest was overflowing, overwhelming him with the desire to squeeze Jabber until his bones cracked in half.
He settled for snatching Jabber and hold him close to his chest, sending the both of them falling sideways onto the bed.
"Hell nah." Zanka placed his chin on top of Jabber's head, lucky to hide his own idiotic grin from view.
Things wouldn't always be sweet. It wasn't a matter of malicious intent, or lack of care— that's just the way things were. Relationships between any two people of any kind were bound to have their bouts of bitterness. There was a natural balance in that.
But the moments could exist as they were. Not to justify one another, but to be taken for what they truly were. A sweet moment did not magically make a bitter one "worth it".
Even with all those revelations, Zanka knew he was still nowhere near working out the giant internal knot that was the subject of the Nijikus. He still had no reason of "why", still didn't know what had really been there between them all, and sure as hell didn't have any idea on what to do about all the burdens his time with them had left on him.
But at least now he could say to himself, maybe it shouldn't have been that way.
Even though it was such a small step, even though it was still a "maybe", even though he was sure it would cause a breakdown sooner or later, right now it felt like he'd actually gotten somewhere.
But that's not what he wanted to think about right now.
He'd given the Nijikus enough of his time today.
"Thanks." Zanka tightened his hold on Jabber, a warmth blooming inside him as a pair of arms wrapped around him to reciprocate the gesture. "Really, this…it means a lot, Abby."
Jabber didn't say anything back, only providing a small, happy hum. Zanka understood. He'd have no idea what to say either.
Predictably, the logical part of Zanka had been right. Turned out, he'd worried over nothing.
He still had no idea what was going to happen next between him and Jabber, in this new phase of it all.
But if today was anything to go off of, Zanka had a feeling everything would be just fine.