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A lot can happen in a day.
Today left Zanka breathless. Amazed. A little sweaty. He was by no means a shut-in, but you really couldn’t blame the guy for struggling to catch up. Especially when the competition was some hopped-up adrenaline junkie he’d just met. And now, he was staring up at the stars that peeked down from above the city’s inescapable smog. Cars honked and people rushed on the streets below, but up here? Up where the air was cool and still, where Zanka could touch the sky if he reached…
“Pretty, ain’t it?” The junkie remarked, bringing Zanka back to reality with a friendly clap on the back.
“…Guess so.”
An hour ago, Zanka had been walking home from the campus library. He’d been kicked out by the staff, since it was closing time. So, begrudgingly, he packed up and hit the streets. And, wouldn’t you know it, construction blocked off the street he usually took to the station. Naturally, he pulled his phone from his pocket, punching the station into Google Maps, and let the algorithm take him wherever. His eyes were more glued to the screen than his surroundings, but, again, you couldn’t blame the guy. He’d spent God-knows how long cramming information into that old, worn-out brain of his— he switched off as soon as he stepped foot onto the streets. He noticed, but didn’t really register when the city’s hustle and bustle faded to the thick quiet of some alleyway.
Zanka’s footsteps were sluggish as he followed the indicator on his bright screen, head down, hold loose. It was eleven at night, and, despite how his eyes stung, what was Zanka gonna do when he got back home? Study— duh— and he would do so until he scored top of his class.
Something scuffed behind him, but Zanka found himself too caught up in fantasies to take note. He zoned out, head still down, grinning to himself as he imagined the look on everyone’s faces when he’d outperform them… ah, how he’d cherish that day…
But all it took was a—
“Yoink!”
—and his dreams were snatched from him. Well, more accurately, his phone. Zanka stood there for a second, with wide eyes, looking dumb.
Then, the fucker glanced back at him, grinning ear-to-ear from under his hood. Motherfucker…
“Hey!” Zanka called after him, breaking into a run, chasing the hooded man through twisting, narrow alleys. Quickly, he ran out of breath, and his head began to pound. When was the last time he’d eaten? When had he last drank? Inwardly, he cursed himself, and outwardly, he cursed that man.
“Asshole! Give me my phone back! Thief!” He tried, but to no avail. If anything, it took more energy to make all that noise, so instead, he just ran. His lungs burned, but he just wouldn’t relent. No way would Zanka Nijiku get mugged by some crackhead in an alleyway.
After a good five minutes of chasing, the junkie ran into a dead end. Zanka caught up, maybe fifteen seconds behind him. He decided that after this, he would spend a little more time on the treadmill…
The junkie panted softly, still grinning even as Zanka stared at him furiously. If anything, the sick bastard seemed to like it. Soft, near maniacal giggles spilled from barely parted lips, as if uncontrollable.
“Give…” Zanka panted, “give it back.” He tried to sound intimidating— he really did— but his voice was rough and quiet with exertion, and his chest heaved. The junkie’s smile only widened, staring down Zanka with those eyes of his… all wide and shamelessly darting all over Zanka’s form.
“You can make me,” the junkie remarked— it was a challenge, and although Zanka had been hitting the books more than the gym lately, his pride forbade him from backing down. Not after all that chasing… not when he was in such an unfamiliar part of town.
So, he took a step forward. Then another. Then another. Zanka wasn’t sure what came over him; something burned in the pit of his stomach— something like anger— and his feet just began to move on their own. The junkie didn’t step away or back down. A small whimper (evidently not born of fear) escaped his throat when Zanka grabbed him by the collar. He gnawed at his lip, hands trembling as they rose slightly at his sides.
Zanka threw the first punch, and it touched down on the junkie’s cheekbone, right below his eye. The junkie’s head whipped to the side. Zanka’s knuckles burned and that made him falter— they always made it look so easy in movies! And when he faltered, the junkie struck back, using Zanka’s own phone as the weapon, striking his head with one of its rounded edges. The screen cracked— a big, diagonal split down the thin glass. He’d just gotten it fixed a few weeks ago… seriously?
Zanka then pushed the junkie to the ground, using all of his might. The junkie fell back with a quiet grunt, phone landing face down against the concrete. He straddled him somewhat, and this time, Zanka threw a more half-hearted punch towards the junkie’s nose. He grimaced when he felt the softness of cartilage against his knuckles. Beating someone up wasn’t as easy or badass as he thought it’d be. He felt a little gross for doing so, but one look at his phone, and his anger was renewed. It had cracked worse since landing on the pavement. Did this guy have any idea how much that thing had cost?!
Zanka stared down at the guy’s face, fist tight around his collar. He didn’t really want to hit the guy again— his nose already bled, and that smile on his face was gross— so he just sat there, glaring down at him. Who knew fights were so awkward?
“Oh, fuuuuck…” the junkie suddenly groaned, blood pouring down either side of his face from both nostrils. “Keep looking at me like that…” he remarked breathlessly, hand snaking over to Zanka’s, holding his wrist. Immediately, Zanka pulled away, springing up to his feet.
“Dude!” He exclaimed, expression contorting into something like disgust. He snatched the phone from the ground and stuffed it into his right pocket. On the other hand, more giggles escaped the man, hood falling as he sat up. Zanka would be sure to remember his face for the police later… golden-brown skin, crooked smile, long, decorated wicks, intense eyes, soft lips…
Zanka found himself visibly distracted again, and so, the junkie took off running, laughing and breathing heavy as he did so. Zanka had half a mind to let this guy go, but by the time he’d considered it, his legs were already moving.
The junkie wove between buildings and dumpsters, turning sharp corners Zanka’s tired eyes and body could barely keep up with. Eventually, the narrow opened up, and he found himself in a somewhat familiar location— the park all the way on the other side of town. To Zanka, whose family was rich and well-known, the shabbier side.
He ran across the road to catch up to the junkie, narrowly avoiding a motorcycle whizzing past. The junkie began up a big hill; Zanka almost groaned aloud. Seriously? He could feel tomorrow morning’s aches already. Huffing and puffing, he ran (jogged) after the junkie. The junkie glanced behind himself, then disappeared over the top of the hill.
When Zanka finally reached its peak, breathing rough and loud and heavy. He was surprised to find the junkie in a similar state, laid down on the grass, staring up at the night sky— the night sky. Zanka found himself entranced. What beautiful blues. Dark clouds swirled and danced in the soft breeze, brushing over distant skyscrapers. Stars twinkled and glittered, plentiful and smattered unevenly across the deep night. The moon peeked down at them through a crack in the clouds. The night air was cool against his burning lungs. Zanka was so entranced he didn’t even realise he was already lying down to the left of him.
“…Thas’ the Big Dipper,” the junkie blurted, pointing up in some vague direction. Zanka pretended to follow along with his gaze, but truly, it lingered on the junkie’s face.
“Pretty, ain’t it?”
“…Guess so.”
The two men lay there in silence for a while, occasionally broken up by little giggles from the junkie. Zanka kept glancing over at him— he couldn’t help it! Something pulled him to this man; something warm in his chest he couldn’t name. They were close, too. Sometimes, the junkie would shift and graze against Zanka’s side. Sometimes neither of them would move. Maybe neither of them hated it. And… although the junkie had snatched his phone earlier, broke its screen, hit him in the head… maybe he wasn’t all that bad! Maybe he was just misunderstood.
…The junkie sighed heavily, slowly sitting up. He stretched before rising.
“Well,” he drawled, dusting himself off. “S’getting late now. Name’s Jabber, by the way. Seeya.” The junkie— Jabber— gave Zanka a smirk and a little wave. Zanka just nodded in return, watching Jabber out from corner of his eye as he left. What the hell kind of name was that? Then again…
“Jabber…” Zanka tasted the name on his tongue. Unconventional, memorable... he decided it fit.
It was peaceful up here. He never knew there was a view like this in a local park… maybe he ought to take walks more often. Live a little. Yeah— that’s exactly what Zanka would do.
…It was late, though. Tomorrow, he decided. After enjoying the stars and night a while longer, he stood up, patting his pocket for his phone.
Huh. He was sure he’d slipped it into his right pocket. Maybe his left?
Or… his jacket?
Maybe it was in his back pocket…
Was it in his hand?
In the grass?
No matter how hard Zanka looked, he couldn’t find it anywhere! When could have Jabber possibly…
The warmth of Jabber’s body against his came to mind. The subtle shifting. Those weird breathy giggles…
“…Motherfucker,” Zanka muttered to himself, his anger reborn. He stared off in the direction Jabber had walked away in.
Jabber. He’d remember him.
He’d remember him well.
So much can happen in a day…