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The cleaners' headquarters was strangely quiet, an unusual occurrence even considering the time of day. It was as if the walls, having been informed of recent events and those to come, had decided to muffle the sounds in the corridors to provide a false sense of peace capable of calming their hearts for a while.
It was a pity that, for Enjin, the concept of “peace” did not exist.
The blond had just left the infirmary, where Eishia was finishing treating Follo's wounds — though she kept the battle scars, as requested. Even though the boy had made clear his desire to continue acting as support on missions, Enjin still felt the need to be there until he fell asleep, explaining simple things about the use of jinkis and the training schedule they would follow when Zanka returned.
Follo was not his responsibility. His tired brain offered again as he crossed the hallway leading to the cleaners' quarters.
That single statement had been stuck in his head ever since he arrived and witnessed the damage caused by Rudo's mission firsthand. The intriguing part was that even if Follo were one of his own, it wouldn't change the fact that Enjin had never been seen as attached or responsible.
The umbrella user had always prided himself on his carefree attitude, being the relaxed figure even to those “children” — they were no longer children, the cleaner knew, but they were still too young for him to call them anything else — who were supposed to be his responsibility. However, in recent weeks, something had changed. And he still didn't know the exact reason, or perhaps he wanted to deny it.
Either way, Enjin was tired — Corvus didn't send him along with Rudo, but sent him on an equally difficult mission alone, as if to punish him for shirking his responsibilities. Of course, the boss wasn't that kind of person, but he still suspected that Semiu was involved in the mission, so he was sure she had done it on purpose.
A loud yawn escapes his lips, and he decides he can wait until the next morning to argue with Semiu. His tired eyes wander over the doors in the hallway, the sound of his footsteps being the only thing audible in that part of the headquarters — everyone was tired, of course, but Enjin knew very well that not everyone was asleep.
He ignores the door to his own room, moving on as if it had never been his main goal in the first place. The rest of the way is familiar, as is the warmth in his chest that grows when he notices that the other door is open, as if the person inside were waiting for him, of all people.
Enjin is greeted by darkness as soon as he enters, without even apologizing for the intrusion. The blond knew that the open door would always mean that he was welcome in the other's room. He moves around the place without thinking too much after locking the door, leaving his jacket on a dresser before fetching a change of clothes from the room owner's closet.
The umbrella user wasn't exactly an organized person, so it was good to know that at least here some of his clothes were properly arranged, separated in a drawer reserved just for him. Enjin changed quickly, leaving his dirty clothes in a corner before finally turning to the bed, where another body was already resting and breathing deeply with his back to him.
“I know you're awake, so don't bother pretending,” he murmured with a touch of humor in his tone, but the traces of a smile disappeared and gave way to an exaggerated pout when he noticed he was still being ignored.
Enjin let out a low sigh, suppressing the overwhelming urge to smoke a cigarette that was beginning to grow in his chest. Carefully, he rested Umbreaker beside the bed before finally lying down on the mattress. He was facing the other's back, and although his breathing was still rhythmic, it was possible to notice the tension consuming his body.
“You know, I'd appreciate the view of your back in other situations, but it's kind of boring if I'm just talking to myself here, right?” The words didn't elicit the chuckle or weary sigh he had hoped for, but they were enough to make the other body move. Enjin moved away a little to make room, allowing the blond to face him, his hands — still gloved — resting between them.
“What gave me away?” Gris' voice sounded hoarse, and his eyes, though bright, seemed dull in his tired face. It was an expression no one was used to seeing, but it still made Enjin feel out of place and imposing.
It's stupid. And the worst part is that he knows it. Gris was a grown man, he could handle his own problems — come on, the guy was twice as strong as him, “weak” was not a word that applied to him. The problem was that, even though he was aware of this, Enjin still cared deeply, and to make matters worse, he was unable to even admit it, because the walls he had built around himself ended up isolating him from everyone, including the people who mattered most.
“There’s no way you were going to sleep after what happened today, I know you,” he replies, his relaxed tone disguising the turmoil inside him. His eyes still haven't strayed from Gris', and he almost gives in to the urge to stroke the scar on the support's left eye, but manages to control himself. “And your hands were clenching the sheet too tightly for you to be asleep. They're still clenching, by the way.”
Gris blinks in surprise at the statement, looking away to stare at his own hands between them. Indeed, he was still clutching the sheet and crumpling it between his fingers, as if trying to hold it close or simply taking out his anger on the fabric.
“...Yeah, I guess so,” the support replies in a whisper, loosening his grip, but not looking back at Enjin. His hands seem to be itching to squeeze something, to take out his frustration on something, anything, that won't break under his strength.
Luckily, Enjin always prided himself on being unbreakable, despite adversity.
Reaching out with his right hand, he forces the taller man to lift his face and look at him again. Gris' eyes are wide and Enjin can't help but laugh — he was so predictable that it had started to become hilarious.
“I know you were worried about everything that happened, but relax," the Giver murmured, taking one of Gris' hands and placing it on his waist. He didn't complain about the pain he felt when Gris unconsciously squeezed it. “Everyone is fine, aren't they? The mission was a success, the rest is just details.”
“Rudo and Follo started fighting. And I couldn't stop them until it was too late,” Rubion confessed quietly, looking at where his hand met Enjin's skin as if struggling to maintain control — he knew Enjin wouldn't complain if he lost it, but he still didn't want to deal with the feeling of crossing the line and hurting someone.
“I'm sorry to inform you of this, but you signed up for this job to be a support, not a babysitter.” The umbrella user responded with a snort, earning an eye roll in return. “And even if they did fight, what's the problem? They're friends now, the past is the past.”
“That's not how it works, Enjin.” Gris let out a tired sigh, burying his face in the pillow as if the whole world were weighing on his shoulders. "I was responsible for them, but I couldn't do anything. When Follo was thrown away, I thought— I tried to go after him, but Tamsy stopped me. I know it was a rash move, but not being able to help him pissed me off at the time, and still pisses me off now."
Enjin didn't respond right away, his mind was too focused on the glint in Gris' eyes to think of how to formulate a response. He doesn't know the frustration the support feels, since Enjin has never been prevented from being the one who helps others. However, he knew that the older man's reaction wasn't related to the fact that he is not a Giver, it was something deeper than that — because they were not the same, Gris was a kind person, while Enjin simply couldn't care.
He refuses to think about why he cares so much now.
“I know nothing I say here will convince you, so I'll save my breath.” The shorter one suddenly mutters, forcing Gris to look at him again. "But you protected them. You always protect them. Have you noticed how they always get happier when you tell them you're coming along? Everyone thinks you're fucking awesome, Gris."
The chuckle he so desperately wanted to hear finally reached his ears, low and faint, but more than enough to make Enjin's body relax visibly, although he prayed internally that the other wouldn't notice.
“That's only because no one likes you driving.” He quickly received a push on the shoulder in response, his laughter intensifying as Enjin began his endless drama, grumbling exaggeratedly about how they were all just a bunch of ungrateful people.
By the end of the teasing, Gris was smiling with his eyes slightly closed. The hand on Enjin's waist loosened its grip and simply rested there while the gloved thumb traced lines on the painted skin. For a moment, Enjin allowed himself to enjoy the feeling — that distorted sense of peace that, rather than calming him, brought with it an uneasiness that made him want to vomit or kiss Gris, whichever came first.
He realizes that he may have been too distracted staring at Gris's lips, because the older man is now smiling as he tries to catch his gaze. Enjin expects a taunt, perhaps because that would be the cowardly way out he himself would find, but instead he receives a delicate kiss on the contour of his jaw. His heart skips a beat. He feels stupid.
“Thank you.” His voice is little more than a whisper, and Enjin suspects he wouldn't have heard it if his lips weren't so close to his ear. He chooses to ignore the irritating feeling in his gut, focusing on the surprise that consumed his face when he heard those words.
“Why are you thanking me? I just said what everyone else is thinking, man.” His voice is also a whisper, but much less soft. Because that's how they are. Gris is the reliable, kind adult who knows how to be gentle and protective in just the right measure. Enjin knows that most people would wonder how the hell he saw Enjin — the irresponsible, tactless adult — among the crowd of eyes that followed him. He had wondered the same thing for a long time, but gave up trying to understand and learned to just accept it.
“Because you're the one saying it.” Gris's eyes are closed now, and Enjin is grateful for that because it means he won't see the surprised expression on his face. “You don't spend much of your time comforting others. Why do you care?”
Enjin had been trying to avoid that question since he returned, changing the subject whenever it was brought up. It wasn't just about Gris or Follo. It was about the red-haired brat he brought to a place she could call home, without having to worry about the blood that stained her hands and past. It was about the unordinary boy he had pulled out of the depths, promising him strength and a family that didn't limit him to the purity of his blood. It was about the child who fell from the sky after losing everything, the boy Enjin took in despite the problems he would bring, all because of something he couldn't name.
Why do you care?
He doesn't know, he doesn't want to know. Because he doesn't really care — that's the reality. That man was a wolf in sheep's clothing, crawling around and saving others, as if that could change the fact that those people didn't even really know him.
“Enjin.” Gris's voice calls out, the grip on his waist tightens again.
Don't call me that. That's what he wants to say, but he forces himself to remain silent. Gris pours his heart out to those he trusts and values, but Enjin is unable to even say his real name to those he cares about.
Those he cares about.
Did he care?
He thinks of Riyo, barging into his room as if it were nothing and demanding that he help her with a new hairstyle while they listen to Too Lily. He thinks about how Zanka's expression lit up when he praised him and how he has been doing it more often in recent weeks, because the boy deserves it, given all his hard work. He thinks about Rudo, who is always angry about something, but who never backs down when Enjin plays with his hair after promising a new shipment of his favorite sweets.
He thinks of Semiu who, despite constantly complaining about his irresponsibility, never failed to invite him to his drinking nights on days off. He thinks about Follo, how he was when they first met and how he has developed over the years under Gris' care.
Finally, he thinks of Gris. Gris, who cared about Enjin when Enjin didn't even care about himself. Gris, who never demanded anything from Enjin, not even about his past, simply because it was not his place to get involved in such matters. Gris, who chose to trust even when everything around him said it was not a good idea.
Gris, who now repeated his name like a mantra, one hand on Enjin's cheek and the other still clenched against his waist. There is no concern in his eyes, and Enjin is grateful for that. Instead, his blue eyes shine warmly when he feels that the other has started listening to him again.
He doesn't demand an answer because that's just how he is. Enjin doesn't answer either because that's just how they are.
The golden eyes close and the small body crawls carelessly until it finds a comfortable position close enough to be embraced and steal some warmth from the other. With the same speed, he feels strong arms wrap around him. There are no words or sounds for a while.
Why do you care? Enjin could ask the same thing, and Gris would certainly have an answer. But he knows the answer doesn't matter now — maybe it never will — as long as he knows how to live with this feeling he refuses to name.
"Because you guys are too annoying to ignore."