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It was four thirty in the morning, the hour when the world felt unusually gentle. The Dump was quiet. The HQ was quiet. Even the machines that usually hummed all night seemed to be holding their breath. The building itself felt soft, as if it had paused to watch them.
Gris woke first from the tired but peaceful slumber.
His eyes opened slowly to the dim, muted darkness of his room. The short platinum blond hair fell slightly into his forehead, soft and unkempt, catching the faint light. His own space was neat, meticulously arranged, filled with books and charms, a quiet island in the chaos of their lives. The only messy thing in the entire room was the person lying in his arms.
Enjin.
His gold-blond hair glimmered faintly in the darkness, messy from sleep, strands falling into the sharp angles of his face. He was curled into Gris, head tucked into his chest, legs tangling with his own. Always the little spoon. Gris never complained. He liked this–liked the way it felt like their bodies fit without effort. It made his chest feel warm and full, something he had never realized he needed until it became a habit.
Enjin’s arm draped over Gris’s waist, as though holding him in place. He breathed softly, warm and steady. Gris’s fingers moved automatically to brush through Enjin’s hair, slow, gentle–part of their morning rhythm.
His eyes drifted lower, and Gris’s palm lingered lovingly over the sharp contrast of Enjin’s tattoos. Black and crimson lines swirled across his neck and chest, feathered shapes rippling with his every movement. Three dark circles etched across his abdomen drew Gris’s attention every time, silent sigils that begged to be traced. Gris could not resist running his hand over the jagged sleeve wrapping Enjin’s left arm, feeling the muscle beneath the skin, the raised ink under his palm. Every brush of his fingers over the designs was an unspoken declaration of care.
Enjin stirred, making a half-whine, half-sigh noise. Gris smiled and poked his cheek lightly.
Enjin’s hollow amber eyes opened slowly. They had no shine, no reflection of light, but they were expressive in ways that cut deeper than most. Sleepy. Confused. Then soft. Then focused on Gris. The expression always made Gris’s chest tighten.
“You awake already, Gris?” Enjin whispered, voice raspy and low.
“You are loud when you sleep.” Gris replied flatly, hinting some tease with love in the tone.
Enjin groaned and buried his face back into his chest. “You bully me first thing in the morning. So mean.”
Gris shrugged. “Might poke you again.”
“Do not. I am fragile.”
Gris poked him anyway. Enjin made exactly the noise Gris wanted–a laugh caught in a whine. Gris’s chest warmed.
He leaned down slightly, letting his stubbled chin brush against Enjin’s hair as he watched him. Enjin knew Gris’s features intimately–the faint scar near his eye, the stubble on his chin, and above all, his sky-blue eyes. Even in the dim morning, their shine was undeniable.
Enjin’s amber gaze lingered on them, hollow yet hungry for the life in Gris’s eyes. “I could get lost in them,” he murmured softly, tracing the curve of Gris’s jaw with his tattooed lazy fingertip. Gris let a small smile tug at his lips, though he pretended not to notice.
They stayed like that for a while. The HQ was silent. No one else was awake. Follo. Zankga. Rudo. Riyo. Amo. All sleeping, all unaware of the quiet, private warmth shared between them.
Enjin shifted, and Gris traced his palm slowly over the tattoos on his chest again, letting his fingers linger over the crimson feathers, the swirling black lines, the sigils on his abdomen. Enjin relaxed further into him, letting out a soft sigh, a sound that made Gris’s chest tighten.
“The room is cold,” Enjin murmured.
“You are warm,” Gris said simply, letting his hand wander lower, tracing the black and red swirls on Enjin’s abdomen. Enjin shivered slightly under his touch.
“You just want to say you like hugging me,” Enjin said, smug but soft.
Gris snorted. “You wish.”
“I know you do. You hold me like I am going to vanish.”
Gris tightened his arm around Enjin, feeling the heat radiating from him. Enjin leaned up to kiss the edge of Gris’s jaw.
“Morning.”
“You are clingy.”
“We have a day off. I am allowed.”
Enjin finally sat upright, though still perched comfortably on Gris’s lap. His messy golden hair framed his face perfectly, pale torso crisscrossed with tattoos that Gris couldn’t stop touching. The black and crimson ink shifted under the light, alive with every subtle movement, and Gris loved the way his hand traced the contours, memorizing them with affection.
“You put the cologne,” Gris said, raising a brow.
Enjin froze. “How do you know?”
“You always do when you are with me.”
Enjin ears turned red. “I like smelling nice, okay.”
“You think I don’t notice?” Gris teased.
“Do you like it?” Enjin asked softly, leaning close.
“Yes,” Gris answered, without hesitation.
Enjin’s grin was impossible to hide.
“Coffee,” Enjin said suddenly, pretending to be brisk. “Before I start whining.”
“You always whine.”
“You bully me too much.”
“Maybe.”
Enjin laughed softly, leaning into Gris for a moment before finally sitting upright. His left arm, inked in the jagged sleeve, brushed against Gris’s chest. Gris trailed his hand over the designs, watching Enjin’s reactions. A subtle shiver. A small smile. The faintest sigh. Enough to make Gris’s chest tighten and his fingers linger.
Their morning unfolded slowly. Enjin moved lazily, stretching, revealing glimpses of more tattoos that Gris memorized over the years. And Gris’s stubble, faint against Enjin’s lips, made the kisses even warmer. And the scar by his eye–Enjin never missed an opportunity to press a kiss there, gentle, reverent, adoring.
Gris’s sky-blue eyes caught the dark glow from the small curtain open and reflected it softly, their shine something Enjin never tired of. “I love how your eyes… shine,” he murmured, resting his hand over Gris’s, still tracing his tattoos. “Even in the quiet, even in the dark.”
Gris felt heat rise to his cheeks. His chest tightened in a way that made him suddenly aware of how small and unworthy his own eyes felt next to Enjin’s hollow amber gaze. He fumbled slightly, looking away, trying to hide the awkward flutter in his stomach. “You… you don’t have to say that,” he mumbled, voice low, embarrassed.
Enjin noticed immediately–the slight shift of Gris’s body, the averted gaze, the way his fingers fidgeted over the tattoos. He smiled softly, understanding. Rather than pressing further and risking an uncomfortable talk, muttered the second time, “Coffee. Now.”
Gris blinked, momentarily relieved, and nodded with a chuckle and obliged. They moved to the small kitchenette, making the coffee together. Enjin lingered close, brushing against Gris as he waited, hands sometimes catching Gris’s wrist or forearm in a familiar, intimate habit.
Once the coffee was ready, they carried their mugs back to Gris’s room. The aroma of breakfast–smell of pancakes–began to drift from the cafeteria, wrapping the HQ in warmth. Footsteps and the faint clatter of early risers were starting somewhere beyond the walls, but here, in the soft morning light, their world felt paused.
They drank coffee by the window of the bedroom. Their fingers brushed. Enjin’s amber gaze, hollow but expressive, sought out the sparkle in Gris’s eyes whenever he spoke. Gris listened, tracing tattoos absentmindedly, sometimes resting his palm on the inked shapes as if grounding himself in Enjin’s presence.
“Should we kiss?” Enjin whispered.
“Maybe.”
Enjin leaned up. Gris tilted his head down. Their lips met slowly, softly, the morning light washing over them. Gris’s fingers trailed down Enjin’s arm, over the jagged sleeve. Enjin’s hands found the scar near Gris’s eye, gently cradling it.
When they pulled apart, Enjin looked dazed. “You kiss nice in the morning.”
“That is your line,” Gris teased.
“I know. But you do.”
Gris flicked his forehead, eliciting a yelp from Enjin.
“You are cruel,” Enjin said, pressing another kiss to Gris’s cheek. “I want another one later.”
Gris did not argue.
Outside, the sky lightened. The HQ would wake soon. Follo would be getting to the cafeteria as soon as he woke up to Tomme with her books. Rudo would still be asleep but soon be woken up by complainful Zanka and a mischievous Riyo. Amo would be grumpy on a holiday morning.
But for now, it was theirs. Quiet. Warm. Alive.
“I like mornings with you,” Enjin murmured, nuzzling into Gris’s shoulder.
“Me too.”
“We should make this a habit,” Enjin added softly.
“I want that,” Gris said.
Gris’s palm wandered one last time over Enjin’s tattoos, lingering, memorizing the shapes, the crimson lines, the silent sigils on his skin. Enjin smiled into his chest, head tucked in.
Gris leaned back against the headboard, Enjin settled beside him, the warmth of his body pressed close. They sipped their coffee slowly, letting the quiet linger, hands tracing tattoos and exchanging soft murmurs.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. The kids were awake.
Enjin turned to Gris, smiling wide and soft. “Ready for chaos?”
Gris nodded. “Always.”
Enjin leaned in one last time. “Happy day off.”
Gris rested a hand over Enjin’s tattoos, tracing them one final time before the madness arrived. “Happy day off.”
Then the hallway erupted in shouting, laughter, and chaos bangs at the door for breakfast. The domestic between the two may be over, but the warmth in their chests, the soft traces of ink and kisses, remained.