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The East Ward of the Ground was, as always, a monument to decay, dry, dusty, and smelling of every kind of rot. Enjin, was recounting some mundane detail about a particularly stubborn bolt he'd managed to wrench free that morning, his voice a low, steady rumble. Zanka, was more distracted, kicking at the grit on the path, occasionally glancing up at the uniformly bleak sky.
Suddenly, the air pressure seemed to drop, and the world was shattered by a sound Zanka had only heard whispered about: the brutal, flat smack of huge raindrops hitting the ground. In an instant, the path turned from dust to slurry.
Zanka froze, staring up at the sky in sheer, bewildered shock. His eyes were wide, reflecting the bruised, heavy clouds. "What... what is this?" he stammered, the word "rain" foreign on his tongue. It felt cold, heavy, and wrong. He reached out a hesitant hand, watching as the droplets splattered his skin, running down his arm in muddy streaks. It was overwhelming, a sensory assault he was utterly unprepared for.
Enjin, though certainly surprised, was quicker to action. He cursed under his breath, a low, experienced sound, and grabbed Zanka's shoulder, hauling him forward. "It's rain, kid! Move! You'll drown if you just stand there!"
The downpour intensified, turning the alleys into raging, muddy streams. The deafening roar on the surrounding metal structures made communication nearly impossible. Enjin was already scanning, his instincts prioritizing cover over contemplation.
He spotted the dilapidated warehouse, a ruin close to the Cleaners' HQ, a skeletal frame with a crooked, half-attached corrugated iron roof offering a narrow strip of relative dryness. "Under the lean-to!" Enjin yelled, pulling the younger man along.
They stumbled into the shallow shelter, shaking off the water like a pair of sodden stray cats. The noise was still enormous, the TINK, TINK, TINK of the rain on the tin roof, but they were out of the direct blast.
Zanka was still trembling, not just from the cold, but from the sheer, unexpected spectacle. He leaned heavily against a crumbling brick column, his breath ragged. He stared out at the street, which was now a churning brown river, the landscape utterly transformed. The familiar, dry, decaying world he knew had been wiped away in moments.
"Enjin," Zanka managed, his voice thin with awe, "I... I didn't think this was real. The stories, they said it happens on the surface, but here? Never this hard." He looked absolutely stunned, his usual restless energy completely subdued by the force of nature.
Enjin pulled a mostly dry scrap of fabric from inside his jacket, a trick he'd learned from years of scavenging, and started wiping the worst of the water from Zanka's face and short, soaked hair. He didn't rush, letting Zanka take a moment to process the anomaly.
"It happens," Enjin said simply, his voice calm amidst the drumming of the rain. "Just... rarely. And this is a storm, not just a shower." He watched Zanka's reaction, the younger man's completely lost expression. It was rare to see Zanka this disarmed.
"It's... terrifying," Zanka confessed quietly, watching a surge of water sweep a large piece of debris down the street.
Enjin shrugged, pulling him closer into the narrowest, driest corner of the overhang. "Yeah, well, the world's full of terrifying things, Zanka. At least this one's just water." He paused, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. "And hey, look at the bright side. For once, the air smells clean."
Zanka nodded slowly, still gazing out at the downpour, his initial fear slowly giving way to a grudging fascination. He was tucked safely under Enjin's solid presence, watching a world reborn in mud and cold water.
The rain continued its relentless assault, a thick, silver curtain that isolated their small patch of shelter from the rest of the desolate Ground. The booming rhythm on the tin roof was the only sound now, muffling any distant noise, creating a pocket of unexpected solitude.
Zanka, still leaning against the damp brick, shivered, the cold seeping into his bones. He watched the water streaming off the edge of the overhang, a waterfall of refuse and clean rainwater mixing together. The sheer force of the storm felt like a physical barrier, one that promised nobody would be foolish enough to be out, certainly not the Cleaners.
"It's like... we're the only two people left," Zanka murmured, his voice hushed, almost lost in the din. He turned his head to look at Enjin, who was still close, observing him with that familiar, steady gaze.
The older man’s hand was still resting loosely on Zanka's shoulder from when he'd pulled him in. In the dim, wet light, Zanka could see the weariness etched around Enjin’s eyes, the faint scars from the life they both lived. But there was also a profound sense of calm that always radiated from him, a rare anchor in their chaotic existence.
"For now, maybe we are," Enjin replied, his voice low enough to be intimate, despite the noise. He slowly shifted his hand from Zanka's shoulder, running it down the younger man’s soaked arm, a purely instinctual gesture meant to check the temperature. His touch lingered where their skin met, warm and rough against Zanka’s chilled flesh.
Zanka inhaled sharply, a subtle reaction that only Enjin would notice. Social constructs, the need to maintain distance, the rough-and-tumble boundaries of their survival, were rigid rules of the Ground. But right now, shielded by the chaos of the downpour and the guarantee of invisibility, those rules felt flimsy. They were two wet, cold souls hidden from the world, and Zanka found himself craving the simple, solid comfort Enjin provided.
"You're freezing," Enjin stated, his tone slightly concerned. He looked around their cramped space. He couldn't light a fire, and they had no dry blankets. He moved closer, pressing his side against Zanka’s. It was a purely practical move for shared warmth, but the unexpected proximity, the solid connection from hip to shoulder, dissolved the last remaining distance between them.
Zanka leaned into the warmth instantly, resting his head lightly against Enjin's shoulder. He usually kept his guard up, a necessary defense, but in this moment of raw vulnerability, he found he couldn't. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Enjin stiffened slightly at the contact, the unexpected weight and trust. But then, he relaxed, his arm coming up naturally to settle around Zanka’s back, his large hand resting near his neck, offering a gentle pressure. It wasn't romantic, not in the traditional sense; it was a deeper intimacy, born of shared survival, mutual reliance, and a love that transcended labels.
"Better?" Enjin asked, his voice a low rumble vibrating against Zanka's ear.
"Yeah," Zanka whispered back. He didn't lift his head, just closed his eyes, listening to the rain. The overwhelming fear of the storm was replaced by a quiet sense of safety. Here, under the leaky tin, with the world drowned out, they didn't have to be the ruthless scavengers they were expected to be. They could just be Zanka and Enjin, together.
The quiet closeness intensified, the shared heat a small victory against the biting cold of the storm. Zanka's head was still resting against Enjin's shoulder, and the rhythm of the rain was starting to feel less like a threat and more like a protective screen. For them, every stolen touch, every shared glance that lingered a second too long, was a calculated risk, a risk that vanished entirely beneath the cover of this unprecedented tempest.
Enjin’s large, rough hand, which had been resting loosely on Zanka’s back, began to stroke slowly, a rhythmic sweep up and down the younger man’s spine. It was a familiar gesture, one Zanka knew well from the cramped, hidden corners of abandoned vehicles or the deep shadows of the infrequent nights they managed to sleep side-by-side. It was a language they reserved strictly for these rare, unseen moments.
Zanka stirred slightly, lifting his head just enough to look up at Enjin. Their faces were inches apart, illuminated by the diffuse, gray light filtering in from the torrential rain. Zanka saw the deep concern and the unwavering loyalty in Enjin's eyes, qualities he knew ran deeper than any bond of blood or friendship. He knew that outside, even a hand on the shoulder had to be brisk, functional, and purely pragmatic. Here, however, they had permission to linger.
Enjin simply tilted his head, his gaze dropping momentarily to Zanka’s lips before returning to his eyes, asking a silent question that hung heavy in the damp air. The boundary of 'survival partners' had been stretched thin by the unexpected intimacy of the moment, and with the world outside completely dissolved by the rain, the usual constraints vanished entirely.
Zanka gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, a silent permission that said, Yes, now. We have this moment.
Enjin closed the remaining distance with deliberate slowness. His lips met Zanka’s in a contact that was initially soft, almost tentative, a careful checking of the waters, ensuring this was real. But then, the years of suppressed affection and the need for secrecy poured into the kiss. It was a familiar intimacy, a homecoming.
Zanka sighed into the contact, his earlier shiver melting away to a different kind of tremor. He moved his hands, pulling them up from where they had been tucked against his body, to settle them around Enjin’s waist, gripping the fabric of his soaked shirt.
The kiss quickly deepened. Enjin shifted his stance, his body fully turning to face Zanka, using his weight to pin the younger man gently against the damp wall. The kiss became firmer, moving past simple affection and into a hungry, passionate declaration, a way to reclaim all the moments the world had forced them to deny. Enjin’s mouth was demanding, tasting of the stale air of the Ground and the freshness of the sudden rain.
Zanka responded with equal fervor. This was the intimacy they had to ration, had to hide beneath layers of gruff exchanges and functional teamwork. He twisted his fingers into the wet fabric of Enjin’s clothes, pulling him closer, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. The sound of the rain was a ferocious, driving soundtrack to their secluded moment, a private noise that ensured their absolute privacy.
Enjin broke the kiss only to breathe, pressing his forehead against Zanka’s. Their breaths mingled, ragged and warm in the chill. He didn't say anything, but the intense look in his eyes, possessive, protective, and consuming, spoke volumes about the depth of his feeling for the younger man. He knew this stolen moment was precious, and he wasn't ready to let go of the heat they had generated.
A slow, almost predatory smirk touched Enjin’s lips. His large hand, still resting low on Zanka’s back, shifted. With a provocative slowness that dragged out the moment, he slid his fingers beneath the hem of Zanka’s wet, clinging shirt. The cool, damp fabric gave way easily, and his palm pressed flat against the smooth, surprisingly warm skin underneath.
Zanka gasped, the sound muffled by the rain's roar. The sudden, invasive warmth of Enjin's hand against his flank was a shock, a sensation that obliterated the last remnants of the cold. His back arched slightly, a silent, instinctual reaction to the intimate contact.
"You're warm," Enjin murmured against Zanka's ear, his breath hot. His fingers splayed out, deliberately tracing the line of muscle just above the waistband of Zanka's trousers. The contrast between the saturated clothes and the burning heat of Zanka's skin was intoxicating.
The smaller boy could only manage a choked sound, his mind reeling. This was far beyond the quick, desperate comfort they sometimes allowed themselves. This was slow, deliberate, and undeniably sensual. With Enjin's hand cupping his side, the sheer intimacy of the gesture, hidden completely from the judgmental eyes of the Ground, felt like a dangerous, thrilling rebellion.
"We shouldn't," Zanka managed to whisper, though the words were weak, devoid of true conviction. His hands, still clutching Enjin's waist, tightened instead of pushing him away. The truth was, beneath the heavy rain, with the sense of total, secure invisibility, he wanted Enjin to keep touching him. He wanted to push the boundaries that their harsh reality usually enforced.
Enjin chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated against Zanka's ear. He withdrew his hand only to slide it back around Zanka's side, this time moving the wet cloth of Zanka's shirt slightly to ensure more direct skin-to-skin contact. He then lowered his mouth to Zanka's jawline, nipping lightly before dragging his lips down to the sensitive skin of his neck.
"Why not?" Enjin challenged, his voice low and husky, entirely for Zanka's ears. "No one can see us. No one can hear us. We have this moment, Zanka. It’s ours."
He punctuated his statement by pressing his body closer, allowing Zanka to feel the full weight of his desire and the hard, undeniable evidence of their shared passion. Zanka responded by tilting his head back, giving Enjin better access, his initial protest abandoned in favor of the intoxicating freedom of the secret they shared. The torrential rain outside seemed to cheer them on, a loud, indifferent witness to their concealed relationship finally being indulged.
Enjin's lips moved away from Zanka's neck, settling back into a slow, deliberate kiss. His hand, warm and firm beneath Zanka's wet shirt, began a subtle, seeking exploration. He used the cover of the clinging, saturated fabric to his advantage, his touch feather-light yet firm as he moved across Zanka's ribcage, circling back to the curve of his waist. Every intentional press of his palm was a silent reminder of the forbidden freedom they were indulging in.
Zanka was practically melting against the wall, relying entirely on Enjin's solid presence to hold him upright. His own hands, still clinging to Enjin's soaked shirt, now moved beneath the material, sliding up Enjin's back. He felt the ripple of muscle under the cold, damp material and the heat of Enjin’s skin beneath. This tactile communion, the meeting of warm skin under cold clothes, felt intensely intimate, a profound acknowledgment of their mutual reliance and private history.
"Your heart is racing," Enjin murmured against Zanka's mouth, pulling back just enough for their lips to brush, a teasing contact. He shifted his weight, using his knee to press gently between Zanka's thighs, a simple move that was powerfully suggestive and designed to elicit a response.
Zanka swallowed hard, the sound caught in his throat. He leaned his face into Enjin's shoulder, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of smoke, cologne, and ozone from the rain. "It's cold," he lied weakly, even as his blood felt like it was boiling. It wasn't the cold that made him tremble; it was the raw, unrestrained attention Enjin was giving him.
The older man’s fingers stilled on Zanka’s skin, not in withdrawal, but in deliberate pressure. He tilted Zanka’s chin up with a gentle, damp hand, forcing their eyes to meet in the dim light. There was a challenge in his gaze, a demand for honesty only they understood.
"I know what you hide, Zanka," Enjin said, his voice a gravelly whisper. "But you don't have to hide it from me. Not here."
He kissed Zanka again, softly this time, but with infinite tenderness. It was a slow, consuming kiss that bypassed lust and went straight to the core of their attachment. It was a recognition of their shared secrets, their burdens, and the hidden comfort they found only with each other. Zanka melted into the contact, letting go of the tension that usually kept his posture rigid. In this small, shielded space, surrounded by the unrelenting storm, he finally allowed himself to be entirely vulnerable and completely seen.
Enjin’s touch moved lower, his thumb tracing the upper edge of Zanka's trousers, a boundary only acknowledged by the slightest pause. He rested his cheek against Zanka's temple, both of them breathing in sync, finding a moment of deep, sensual peace amidst the chaos of the downpour.
The ferocious drumming on the corrugated iron roof began to falter. Slowly, the deafening roar of the downpour receded, transitioning into a hard, steady drumming, and then, inevitably, to a soft, persistent spattering. The sound was no longer a protective shield but a thinning veil, allowing the muted, background noises of the East Ward, the creak of distant scrap metal, the soft squelch of mud, to seep back into their isolated world.
Enjin felt the shift immediately. He broke the contact, his hand reluctantly sliding out from beneath Zanka’s shirt, leaving behind a sudden, chilling absence where his warmth had been. He stepped back slightly, just enough to put a respectful foot of distance between them, already resuming his role as the watchful, practical partner.
"Rain's breaking," Enjin murmured, his voice now back to its usual low, measured tone, professional and alert. He glanced out at the alley, where the light, though still gray, had intensified, making the puddles gleam unnaturally.
Zanka shivered again, this time a genuine chill as the cool air hit the skin Enjin had just warmed. He nodded, trying to match Enjin’s composed demeanor, but his movements were stiff, his muscles protesting the abrupt withdrawal.
He stared at the spot where Enjin's hand had been, a faint blush still high on his cheeks. A sharp, stinging wave of regret washed over him. He had been so close, so thoroughly and deliciously lost in the moment, but his deeply ingrained fear of exposure, the constant pressure of the Ground's judging eyes, had held him back from truly letting go. He’d allowed himself to be taken, but he hadn't fully given. He should have pulled Enjin back in when he had the chance. He should have asked for more.
He stole a quick look at Enjin, who was already running a hand through his damp hair, his focus entirely external, assessing the post-storm landscape. Did Enjin sense his hesitation? Did he feel the unspent energy, the desire Zanka had failed to fully express?
"We should move soon," Zanka stated flatly, forcing his voice to sound steady and indifferent. He brushed the mud from his damp clothes with overly meticulous care, a distraction technique.
"Give it five more minutes," Enjin advised, though he was clearly already itching to leave. He caught Zanka’s eye for a fleeting second, and in that brief connection, Zanka thought he saw a hint of gentle disappointment, a silent acknowledgment of the moment they had wasted, or perhaps, the parts Zanka had held back.
"Right," Zanka mumbled, dropping his gaze quickly. He wished the rain would return with its full fury, drowning the world and granting them another hour of reckless, forbidden intimacy. But the chance was gone. The world was creeping back, and with it, the rigid, cruel rules that governed their every interaction. He cursed himself silently for his caution, for prioritizing survival's routine over passion's rare opportunity. He wouldn't dare admit the regret, though. Not to Enjin, not to anyone. He just had to lock that desperate, vulnerable feeling back down where it belonged, hidden deep beneath the surface.
The rain faded to a sparse, weak mist, and the lingering sound of water dripping from the tin roof replaced the earlier thunderous roar. The air was heavy and chill, but the danger of the storm had passed, meaning the danger of the Ground returning had come back into focus.
Enjin pushed off the crumbling pillar he’d been leaning against, the sound of his heavy boots crunching faintly on the wet grit. He retrieved his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, his demeanor entirely back to the efficient, guarded scavenger.
Zanka watched him, bracing himself to fall back into their usual, brisk routine, the distance, the neutral talk of routes and scrap. He felt the familiar weight of their enforced secrecy settling back over him like a cold, wet blanket, making the memory of their warmth under the overhang feel impossibly distant.
Enjin turned, his eyes scanning the alley one last time for any signs of movement. Then, he looked at Zanka. His expression was serious, practical, but his eyes held a softness that contradicted his posture.
"Hey," Enjin said, his voice just loud enough to cut through the dripping water. "Tonight. You should come back to my room."
The smaler boy blinked, caught off guard. He had expected a terse instruction about their next move, not an invitation. He felt a sudden, hot flush rise from his neck up to his face, a raw, exposed feeling. They hadn't slept in the same place in nearly two weeks, intentionally spacing out their interactions to minimize suspicion. The invitation was a direct challenge to their careful system, a desperate bid to reclaim the intimacy the rain had briefly granted them.
"Your room?" Zanka repeated, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
Enjin stepped closer, his gaze steady, but there was a flicker of something needy beneath his usual resolve. "It's been too long since we slept together, Zanka. We both know it." The word 'slept' was loaded; in their world, it meant far more than just sharing a rough mattress. It meant safety, warmth, and the brief, unguarded hours they reserved for each other.
Zanka’s throat felt tight. He wanted to say yes immediately, to run to the safety of Enjin’s cramped, hidden space. But the embarrassment of the sudden, public request, even if 'public' only meant the two of them in a deserted alley, made him hesitate. He felt the ghost of Enjin's hand on his skin and the regret from a few moments earlier hit him again.
He shifted his weight, avoiding Enjin's direct gaze by focusing on a piece of trash floating in a puddle. After what felt like an eternity, Zanka gave a small, jerky nod.
"Yeah. Okay. Tonight," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
A subtle, genuine smile finally touched Enjin's lips, quick and gone, but enough to warm Zanka to the core. It was a victory, a promise of a continuation of the privacy they had just enjoyed.
"Good," Enjin confirmed, the practical tone returning, yet somehow softer than before. He nudged Zanka's arm lightly. "Let's move, then. The Ground won't clean itself."
The ash haired boy pushed off the wall and fell into step beside Enjin, their bodies moving in sync, the familiarity of their partnership back in place. But now, Zanka knew there was a secret, warm destination waiting for him at the end of the day, a destination the rain storm had helped them claim.