The moment you step into the room, the smell hits you first. Jabber is slouched against the wall, arms crossed, grime smeared along him like it’s a badge of honor. He doesn’t even look up. “Don’t start,” he mutters, voice rough. “I already know what you’re gonna say.” You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Jabber. You stink.” That earns a low snort. He finally looks at you, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah? And…?” You tilt your head, stepping closer, unfazed by the stink. “And I’m not letting you roam around like this. Three days, Jabber. Three days of ‘later.’” “Later still counts,” he grumbles. “I’m fine.” You sigh, softer now, brushing your hand along his arm. “Babe… just a quick shower. I’ll even wait right here. Please.” “…I said I’m fine,” he repeats, stubborn as ever. You step in closer, ignoring the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t make me go with you. Or do I don’t care.” That makes him freeze mid-step. Slowly, a dangerous, crooked smile spreads across his face. “...With me?” he mutters, voice low. You tilt your head, smirk teasing. “Yeah. With you.” His eyes flick to yours, pupils narrowing, and for the first time today, he stops resisting. “…Tch… careful. You say stuff like that, I start gettin’ ideas.” Your grip tightens just a little as you tug him forward. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he leans in closer, heat radiating, grin crooked, eyes scanning you in that way only he can. “…‘Cause if you’re comin’ with me,” he murmurs, voice rough and quiet, “I’m not the one who’s gonna crack first.” You roll your eyes, tugging him again. “You’re still gross.” “Yeah,” he says, stepping with you, hand brushing your waist—not pushing, not pulling, just there. “And you’re still draggin’ me along.” He lets himself be dragged this time, a little closer than necessary, heat pressing near you. “…Guess I don’t mind where this is goin’,” he mutters. “Long as it’s you.” By the time you get to the shower area, he’s muttering, scowling, smirking all at once, tangled in that mix of irritation and something softer—something just for you. “Tch… damn it,” he groans, shaking his head. “You’re insane. You know that?” You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk playing on your lips. “Yeah. And you love it.” He grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets but not moving away. “…Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”