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Zanka wished, dreamed even—more than he ever dreamed to be something—that he could be praised without feeling regretful, guilty even. And Zanka wished more than anything—more than being something or for the dreadful feeling of guilt to go away was to praise.
He wasn’t worthy to praise anything. His hands were filthy with his past actions, yet clean enough to hold Lovely alongside his family without a single other care in the world. As a Cleaner, that’s all he needed.
…Until he felt that praise for the first time, and didn't know how to give it back. He was so, so proud of Riyo—of Rudo when the kid ended up in his life, and even Enjin for always being there for everyone.
He was proud of—
“Zaaaan-Zan?”
“Jabber… sorry. ‘m just thinking.”
“You’re always thinkin’, man! Nothin’ outta the ordinary.”
He was proud of Jabber. On the contrary, he wasn’t at all proud of himself for letting his (visibly drugged out of his mind), Raider boyfriend, (who still has Mankira awakened), sneak into his room with the front door unlocked and the rest of Team Akuta still home.
He’s just waiting to be killed, isn’t he? His… relationship; situationship might be a better word, in Riyo’s language, as he's taken up the title of a sadist to his boyfriend, but he doesn’t care as long as he’s not bothered.
“Yeah.” Zanka cautiously sits down beside Jabber, careful of the claws poking at his stomach playfully, backs against the bed—he doesn’t even bother to go to lock the door after that thought, his legs feel weak.
Jabber melts into him, practically ending up on Zanka’s lap. He doesn’t care in the slightest, nor does the Cleaner. “Seems like I think ‘allot, huh.”
The Raider rolls onto his back, and brings one of Mankira’s claws up to Zanka’s cheek. “You make cute faces when ya’ think. As much as I love hearing ya’ yap ‘bout anything, I like watching the silly cogs in yer’ head turn.”
Jabber was nothing more than an airhead sometimes, but he was always so… perceptive. Zanka knew that from the moment he met him. It was never just physical, no, it was always more than that.
It was always more than reading attack patterns or figuring out what toxins to mix to achieve perfect results in a fight, especially ones with Zanka.
Because he knew from the bottom of the Raider’s poisonous, toxic heart, he would never, ever try to kill him. And that’s why Jabber deserved praise.
Maybe not a cliché good job, or a half-assed congratulations on being a decent human being at least sometimes; but maybe just some sort of softness. A phrase Enjin had taught him because the higher-ups at the Hell Guard sure hadn’t—
“I’m proud of you, Jabber.”
“...H-Huh?”
Jabber stops his light tracing on Zanka’s cheek, Mankira’s claws finally retracting, leaving only the tanned, scarred fingers of the Raider hovering over the Cleaner’s neck. “Haah? What’cha talkin’ ‘bout Zan? I ain’t anything special or none.”
“I mean, I guess fo’ being here. For not killin’ me. That I’m here.” His hand quivers, reaching for—what usually is Lovely—but Jabber's hand. “You're sweet when you’re not riled up fer’ a fight.”
“...That’s weird ta’ be proud for…” Jabber moves his head to bury his face into Zanka’s collarbone, and by habit Zanka’s hand runs up to the scalp of tangled dreads.
He melts into the crook of his boyfriend's neck, muffled by scarred skin and the long, silky robe. “I haven’t done much—I ‘dunno what you’re so proud of. All I’ve done lately is get high and sneak into yer’ room. You should quit being nice ta’ someone like me.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause it’s weird!” Jabber snaps back, nails suddenly and roughly digging into Zanka’s side; who yelps and withdraws his hand to soothe his skin. “A-And… and I don't know how to take yer’ kindness.”
Underneath the embarrassment, the futile attempt at a bravado while under the influence, Jabber looked milliseconds away from crying. “People don’t say stuff like that to guys like me. I’m not useta’ it.”
Zanka stares at the man for a quick moment, eyes bloodshot and brow furrowed. The appearance of someone who believes every word that comes out of his mouth, that usually is a lie.
This time, he notices, is a rare occurrence where his boyfriend is completely honest and true. But, who else is going to tell him?
Who else was going to tell a Raider that they matter? Despite all the blood and near-death experiences, and the poison concoctions and violence and near-death experiences, and mistakes—
—Was still a boy who grew up with a childhood. Had enough care in his heart to end up with a vital instrument, and a powerful one at that.
“Yer’ too kind, Zan… making me think I took too much again.” He leans to find Zanka's touch once more, settling for pulling his boyfriend to him. “I dunno… how ya’ do that in the first place.”
Jabber latched onto Zanka’s hand, pulling it to his chest, heartbeat fast yet steady enough to just say it's happy with love. “...But I’m glad yer’ here too. Haven’t scared you off or anything.” He subconsciously squeezes tighter.
There’s a sudden hint of uncommon fear in his voice as he adds, “or killed you.”
“You know I’m strong enough.” I know you'd do anything not to end me. You’d grieve until your last dying day.
“I know, I just—” He bites his tongue. “What if I do one day?”
Then he’d be helping. Tugging out the rotting guilt out of Zanka’s heart—spill it all over the dusty ground, with the remains only reeking of undying love. “Don’t even think ‘bout that right now. Tripsitting ya’ is enough. Don’t wanna be more of a therapist than I have been.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Jabber exhales shakily, chewing on his bottom lip. “...Can ya’ say you’re proud of me again? Felt good. Better than the shitty high.”
“Mhm. I sure am proud of you, Jabber.” Zanka moves the Raider’s head to his shoulder again, “and I’m not just sayin’ it ‘cause ya’ asked me to.”
He pulls the blanket from his bed off from above him, the two tangled up for a moment before finding where to poke their heads out. “You comfy there?”
“Mhhhhpm.” Jabber finds his boyfriend’s lap in an instant, latching on like some kind of insect; his trail on his uniform wraps around him like one too. “I love you, Zaaaanka.”
“Are ya’ just saying that ‘cause you’re high?”
“Nah, that wore off a while ago. All ‘m saying is from the bottom of my heart. I love ya’ a lot. More than words can say.”
He digs his nails into the Cleaner’s neck gently. “And that’s why I fight ya’.” Can’t love without some kind of masochistic tendencies.
“I love you too, Jabber.”