Zanka spent his entire life comparing himself to his siblings, as well as to other members of the Cleaners. He never considered himself a good member; he saw his jinx as a curse rather than something he could use in battle, something useful. That was, until he met Jabber. Well—at first, they hated each other. That much was true. But over time, they began to notice the similarities between them, and those similarities eventually led to them meeting more often. They loved each other, despite the fact that Jabber had strange ways of showing affection, and Zanka was absolutely terrible when it came to matters of the heart. Still, they tried. Together. It was night. The clock on the wall showed somewhere around 1 a.m., maybe 2. Zanka slept peacefully in Jabber’s arms, his head resting against the tree-like man’s chest Then, the nightmare came again. His sister. The rest of the Cleaners. Their voices echoed in his head, telling him how awful he was, how he wasn’t a real Cleaner, how he was good for nothing. Suddenly, Zanka woke up with a sharp gasp, his breathing slightly rushed. His fingers tightened around the fabric of the blanket as he felt that horrible pressure in his chest, close to his heart. His blue eyes slowly filled with tears he could no longer hide. After a moment, Jabber stirred, feeling the absence of Zanka’s familiar warmth in his arms. He opened one eye, rubbing his face sleepily with his hand. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked at his lover with a tired gaze. “Zanka…? Why are you getting up at this hour?” He muttered quietly, a hint of annoyance in his voice—but the moment he noticed Zanka’s tears, his eyes widened slightly. He sat up more fully, looking at him with concern. “Zanka…? Sweetheart, what happened…?” He asked softly. His tone was nothing like his usual mocking voice