Chapter Text
Rain slammed against the city hard enough to make everything look dirty.
The sidewalks reflected neon signs in warped streaks of red and blue, puddles trembling every time a car rushed past. Somewhere down the block, music blasted through cracked apartment windows. People laughed. Someone yelled. A bottle shattered.
Zanka flinched anyway.
He kept his head down as he walked.
One backpack.
One hoodie.
One pair of shaking hands shoved into soaked sleeves.
That was all he had now.
His phone buzzed violently in his pocket again.
MOTHER.
He ignored it.
Three missed calls.
Then four.
Then five.
His throat tightened harder with every vibration.
He should answer.
If he answered maybe she’d stop sounding disappointed. Maybe his father would stop screaming. Maybe he could apologize enough to make things normal again.
Normal.
The thought alone made his stomach twist.
Normal was bruises hidden under long sleeves.
Normal was being told he was too sensitive.
Too weak.
Too emotional.
Too useless.
Normal was hearing Why can’t you be better? so many times that eventually it stopped sounding like a question.
The rain soaked through his clothes completely as he turned down another street. He didn’t even know where he was going anymore. He’d left home almost two hours ago after his father shoved him hard enough to split his lip against the kitchen counter.
He could still taste blood if he swallowed too hard.
Zanka wrapped his arms tighter around himself.
He was cold.
So cold.
His phone buzzed again.
This time a voicemail notification appeared.
He stared at it for a long moment before pressing play.
“You ungrateful little—”
Delete.
His breathing turned uneven immediately.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and crouched behind a small convenience store near the alleyway, trying to make himself smaller. Hidden. Invisible.
The rain hammered against the metal dumpster beside him.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
A lighter flicked nearby.
Zanka froze.
Smoke drifted through the rain first.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Unhurried.
“Aye.”
The voice was deep and rough around the edges.
Not angry.
Just surprised.
“What you doin’ back here?”
Zanka looked up too quickly.
Tall.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The stranger standing a few feet away looked huge under the flickering alley light. Dark hoodie. Rings covering his fingers. Heavy boots splashing through puddles. Smoke curled lazily from the blunt between his fingers.
His hair was messy from the rain, hood hanging halfway off his head.
And his eyes—
Sharp.
Observant.
The stranger took another drag before squinting at him.
“…Damn.”
Zanka immediately lowered his gaze again.
“S-sorry,” he whispered automatically.
The guy blinked.
“For what?”
Zanka opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
The stranger stared at him another second before muttering under his breath.
“Man, you one of them apologizers.”
He crouched down now, elbows resting loosely on his knees. Even like this he still seemed intimidating. Smoke and rain and something earthy clung to him.
Weed.
Zanka recognized the smell vaguely.
The stranger tilted his head slightly.
“You hurt?”
Zanka shook his head too fast.
The guy looked unconvinced immediately.
“Aight,” he drawled slowly. “So we lyin’ already.”
Another apology almost slipped out before Zanka bit it back.
The stranger noticed anyway.
Something softer flickered across his face for half a second.
Then he sighed and pulled his hoodie off in one motion.
“Here.”
Zanka blinked.
“What?”
“Put it on,” the stranger said. “You look cold as hell.”
“I-I can’t take that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s yours.”
The stranger stared at him like that answer genuinely confused him.
“…Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s usually how givin’ somebody somethin’ work.”
Despite himself, Zanka’s chest tightened strangely.
Nobody had ever sounded confused by his refusal before.
The stranger shoved the hoodie toward him again.
“Aye. Take the damn hoodie before Enjin see me lettin’ somebody freeze out here. He gon’ start actin’ like I personally caused winter.”
The name caught Zanka’s attention.
“You know Enjin?”
“Unfortunately.”
That earned the tiniest huff of air from Zanka.
The stranger’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Was that a laugh?”
Zanka immediately looked horrified.
“S-sorry—”
“Nah, nah.” The stranger grinned suddenly, slow and crooked. “There it is again.”
The expression changed his whole face.
Less dangerous.
Still sharp, but warmer somehow.
He shoved the hoodie into Zanka’s hands before standing back up.
“C’mon.”
Zanka stiffened instantly.
“…Where?”
“My place.”
Fear shot through him so fast it hurt.
The stranger noticed immediately.
His grin faded.
“Aight, listen.” His voice lowered slightly. Gentler now. “You ain’t gotta trust me. That’s smart, actually. But you shiverin’ like crazy and it’s damn near midnight.”
Rainwater dripped from his dark curls as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Enjin there too,” he added. “Old man built like a refrigerator. Yell a lot. Cook nasty healthy food. You safe.”
Safe.
The word hit Zanka harder than it should have.
Because he couldn’t remember the last time anybody used that word around him.
The stranger extended a hand casually.
“Name’s Jabber, by the way.”
Zanka stared at his hand.
Nobody ever reached for him gently.
Not really.
“You ain’t gotta shake it,” Jabber said after a second. “I just figured you should know the name of the dude kidnappin’ you.”
Zanka blinked.
Then, unexpectedly—
A tiny smile appeared.
Jabber noticed instantly.
And something unreadable flashed through his expression.
“Yeah,” he murmured quietly. “There you go.” Rain soaked through the sleeves of the hoodie in Zanka’s hands before he finally pulled it over his head.
It smelled exactly like Jabber.
Smoke. Weed. Laundry detergent that had almost faded out completely.
Warm.
Way too warm.
The fabric swallowed him whole, sleeves hanging past his hands. Jabber noticed immediately and snorted softly.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You tiny.”
Zanka looked down quickly, embarrassed.
“S-sorry.”
“There you go again.”
Jabber started walking toward the sidewalk, hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargos. After a second he glanced back.
Zanka still hadn’t moved.
Rain poured around him in sheets.
Fear sat plainly on his face now.
Jabber sighed through his nose.
“Aight,” he said. “How ‘bout this?”
He pointed across the street toward a small twenty-four-hour noodle shop glowing under a flickering sign.
“We go in there first. Public place. Food. You decide after.”
Zanka hesitated.
Jabber shrugged.
“If I was crazy, I wouldn’t give you options, shawty.”
That—
That actually made sense.
Slowly, Zanka stood.
His knees almost buckled from the cold.
Jabber noticed immediately but pretended not to.
“C’mon before I catch hypothermia watchin’ you.”
The noodle shop smelled like broth and fried garlic.
Warm air hit Zanka’s face the second they stepped inside, making his body ache painfully as feeling returned to his fingers. He hovered awkwardly near the door while Jabber greeted the old woman behind the counter with easy familiarity.
“Auntie, lemme get two bowls.”
“You paying this time?” she snapped instantly.
Jabber looked offended.
“I always pay.”
“You still owe me six dollars.”
“That’s hate.”
The woman rolled her eyes before noticing Zanka standing frozen near the entrance.
Her expression softened immediately.
“Oh,” she said gently. “Honey, sit down before you fall down.”
Zanka blinked.
Honey.
The word made his chest hurt strangely.
He sat carefully across from Jabber in a cracked vinyl booth. Water dripped from his clothes onto the floor beneath him.
Jabber leaned back lazily, one arm stretched across the booth behind him.
Up close, he was even more intimidating.
Broad shoulders.
Sharp jaw.
Piercings glinting silver under the warm lights.
But his eyes looked tired.
Not mean.
Just… tired.
Jabber caught him staring.
“What?”
Zanka startled immediately. “N-nothing.”
“You got thoughts loud as hell.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Zanka looked down at the table.
Jabber watched him quietly for a second before speaking again.
“You hungry?”
Zanka automatically answered, “I’m okay.”
Jabber gave him a flat look.
“Ain’t what I asked.”
Zanka froze.
Nobody ever corrected him gently before.
Usually people just got angry.
“…A little,” he admitted quietly.
“There you go.”
The old woman dropped two steaming bowls onto the table a few minutes later. Zanka stared at the food like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch it.
Jabber noticed that too.
“You waitin’ for permission?”
Zanka’s face heated instantly.
“No—”
“Aye.”
Jabber’s voice softened.
“You don’t gotta earn food around me.”
The words hit so hard Zanka forgot how to breathe for a second.
Jabber looked like he regretted saying it immediately after.
Not because he didn’t mean it.
Because he suddenly realized how true it probably was.
Silence settled between them.
Rain tapped softly against the windows.
Finally, Jabber leaned back again and rubbed his jaw awkwardly.
“So,” he muttered. “You got a name or I’m supposed to keep callin’ you Tiny?”
“Zanka.”
Jabber repeated it slowly.
“Zan-ka.”
Something about the way his rough voice wrapped around the name made heat crawl up Zanka’s neck.
“That’s pretty.”
Zanka nearly dropped his chopsticks.
Jabber blinked.
Then barked out a laugh.
“Oh nah,” he grinned. “You really ain’t used to compliments.”
Zanka stared down at the steam rising from his bowl.
“I’m not…” He swallowed hard. “I’m not really good with people.”
“Most people suck anyway.”
That startled another tiny laugh out of him before he could stop it.
Jabber immediately pointed at him dramatically.
“There it go again!”
Zanka covered his mouth instinctively, horrified.
But Jabber just looked weirdly satisfied.
Like making Zanka laugh was suddenly important to him.
The thought made Zanka nervous.
Dangerously nervous.
Because people were only kind when they wanted something.
That was how life worked.
Yet Jabber hadn’t asked him for anything.
No pressure.
No fake sweetness.
No anger hiding underneath.
Just warmth.
And somehow that scared Zanka more than cruelty ever had.