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Despite his carefree appearance, Enjin is a deeply troubled person.
It's something Gris learned pretty early on in their acquaintance. Self-explanatory, really — there's few in the HQ that come from loving homes and safe harbours. Gris's got plenty of shit in his past that he doesn't talk about.
Enjin is mostly over it, too, as much as anyone ever gets over anything. Whether everything he does for his team is some kind of atonement or trying to be the saviour he'd needed, it keeps him going well enough. Still, there are days when he smokes through a pack in one sitting out of the blue, or returns from the bar barely coherent on others. And on rainy nights, when they haven't seen the sun for days, he'd disappear, looking for someplace warm.
Now that they've gone somewhat steady, the gloomy, rainy nights have become Gris's duty. Sex makes for better stress relief than booze and chain-smoking, so Gris lets it happen. It's not like he doesn't enjoy it when Enjin comes in from the rain and holds onto him like a lifeline, kissing on him, putting his hands in his pockets.
He's not going to do it for him now, when Enjin appears in his doorway at 2 AM.
"Hey." Enjin's voice might be the raspiest that Gris had ever heard it. It would be sexy if it wasn't 2 AM, screwing Enjin didn't usually take close to an hour, no matter how quick they tried to be about it, and Gris didn't have to drive first thing in the morning. "Oh good, you're still up."
Enjin's dark circles have dark circles. It's been raining for days. The revelations about Rudo and the Raiders, coming one after another, like a barrage of punches, couldn't have been any help. Over the past week, Enjin has chainsmoked through at least ten packs, and another reason Gris needs a break is because he's starting to get sore all over.
"Hey. Still up." Gris is adamant on going to bed before dawn, but he can already feel his resolve cracking. Even if his life didn't recently start revolving around Enjin, Gris was never one to deny a friend in need. "For like five minutes. What's up?"
Enjin's wearing a pair of grey sweats and a faded t-shirt with one of his favorite pop girls. His hair is down, like it's been freshly washed, but it's already a mess, sticking out it all directions, and the smell of cigarette smoke has already clung to it. His nail polish is peeling off.
"I can think of a few things that we could do in five minutes." He's still playing it cool. Still leaning against Gris' doorway, still acting like their untouchable beacon of light. Only his eyes look dead tired, and his fingers twitch for a distraction.
"No, Enjin. I'm going to bed."
"Aw. Without me?"
He may not make the Cleaners' employee of the year, but he gives so much of himself. Trying to make something out of the wreckage of Rudo's life. Managing his little team of maladjusted outcasts. Still finding time for everyone else. And for a relationship, even if they haven't quite called it that.
Gris lets him inside. Enjin's lips immediately find their way to Gris's neck, tattooed hands burrow under his shirt.
"Enjin. Just for the record, I'm too tired for anything." Enjin nods, but keeps nuzzling his face against Gris' collarbone. Looking for warmth. "And we have to be up early."
"Ugh."
"But you can sit with me for a while."
He hopes that Enjin might fall asleep in his bed, even if just for an hour or two. It's happened before, mid-conversation. It was annoying at the time, now that Gris knows how sleep deprived he usually is, he'd love for him to get some rest. Enjin won't screw up tomorrow, even running on fumes, but Gris hates seeing him like this, anxious and exhausted.
It's not fair to expect him to be a fearless leader all the time. He has the right to fall apart, and Gris is grateful to be the one that gets to see it. But what he unravels into is something so twitchy, small and nervous, it makes Gris wish he could go back in time, just to have a word with the people who did it to him.
Enjin delays letting him go, but finally raises his hands in defeat.
"Looking, not touching. Work in the morning," he sighs. "But you'll make it up to me tomorrow."
"You'll make it up to me, for keeping me up."
"I'll make it up to you alright. By keeping you up for the next three nights."
Gris has very little doubt that he will.
Enjin already looks somewhat more lively. He can't be left alone for long when he's like this. Most of his body count is probably the result of all the times he just couldn't stand being alone at night.
Gris wouldn't have noticed it a few months ago, but Enjin's hands shake when he opens the window and takes a seat on the window pane.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Enjin looks up at him and lets the cigarette that he just put in his mouth slide back into the pack.
"What does it look like?"
"Come on, Enjin. I told you, not in my room."
"I opened the window."
"The smoke gets in anyway. You just can't smell it anymore."
Enjin closes the window and leans against it with a dramatic sigh.
"If the last twenty haven't calmed you down, then this one won't either."
Gris doesn't intend on making Enjin talk about his past. He's not keen on sharing much of his life before the Cleaners, himself. If Enjin ever wants to, he'll tell him about it. But the least they can do is acknowledge that he's been better.
Enjin just shrugs. His fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the window frame. His tall figure seems awkward, hunched over himself, squeezed in the tiny space between the windowpane and the wall. He looks like a younger man in an oversized body. It happens to people, especially those who've been through a lot, this return to helplessness. It happens to Gris. When a mission goes badly and he can do nothing but watch, no matter how many times he's been through it, he always feels seventeen again.
It's a terrible look on Enjin, though. It hurts to see that fierce, independent personality crushed into a defeated ball of raw nerves.
Gris approaches him with easy, confident steps. Enjin might get mad at him for bringing it up. He won't say that he is, but he'll get upset when the conversation gets too personal, leave and go sulk on his own, which will only make it worse. Enjin has a lot of emotional intelligence, and he loves throwing it out the window to say or do the worst possible thing.
"What's bothering you, baby?" Gris takes the risk anyway, hoping the pet name would soften the impact, and he takes Enjin's shivering hand, too.
"Weather's been shit." Enjin shrugs, again, then realizes that what he said probably makes no sense. "I don't know. I just can't warm up."
Gris rubs his hand between his. It doesn't feel cold to the touch. Enjin is still shivering from some rain that fell years ago.
"Can't warm up?"
"Yeah. It's stupid. I'll just wear a sweater."
The rain relentlessly drums against the window. The roads will be difficult in the morning. Enjin glares at the water streaming down the glass, avoiding Gris's eyes.
"Or just come here." Gris pulls his hand closer to his chest. "Hold me."
"Just a hug?" Enjin shoots him his best puppy eyes, but the dark circles make him look more like a sad owl.
"Yes. I want a hug. Bring it in."
Enjin doesn't need to be told twice. He wraps his hands around Gris's waist; everything fills with the scent of smoke and shampoo.
"Of course you can have a hug. There, there." Enjin rubs circles over his back. He doesn't mind comforting people, especially in silly, awkward ways, he's just bad at being comforted. "There you go, Gris. That's my boy."
Gris peels his hands off and gently places them around his neck. He then puts one hand around Enjin's shoulder, the other under his knees, and sweeps him up.
"Whoa!" Enjin clings onto him. "Man, this never gets old."
Enjin's slipper falls to the floor with a slapping sound. Nobody bothers picking it up. Gris stands there, just holding him in his arms for a moment. Showing off in front of Enjin never gets old for him.
And besides, it's just nice. Having him here, in his room, instead of God knows where, in some scummy bar or a shabby hotel room. Being able to breathe in his scent. Feel his warm, living weight. His strong arms around his neck. His feet wiggling in the air, with just one slipper on.
"Come on," Gris murmurs into his shoulder. "Let's warm up."
Enjin groans, still not keen on going to bed. Luckily, he has little to say in the matter, as the one being carried.
"I won't fall asleep anyway," he whines, as Grips drops him on the white sheets.
"Then don't. I'm going to sleep. You can lay with me."
Enjin grumbles something under his breath, but kicks off the other slipper and slides under the covers. The sheets have been washed two days ago, and Enjin already managed to get the smell of cigarettes on them at some point.
It had bothered Gris at first. He wasn't insane enough to try and get Enjin to quit, but he tried to minimize his olfactory influence. It proved mostly useless, so he learned to love it instead. It's like Enjin's always in the room with him.
Enjin makes himself comfortable, nuzzling his nose into Gris's white pillow sheets, his clean, soft hair falling into his eyes.
"I'll turn off the lights." Gris lowers his voice on reflex.
"Whatever."
"What's keeping you up this late, anyway? Just cold?"
"Rain's too loud," Enjin murmurs into the pillow. It's like he's rubbing his scent off on them on purpose. Or maybe he really likes Gris's.
"I've seen you sleep through a trash storm." Gris switches off the light. The room is flooded in darkness, save for the warm yellow glow of the lanterns outside peeking through the curtains. "In the front seat of a car."
Gris climbs into the bed. Enjin's grabby hands immediately find him, playing with the hem of his t-shirt, wandering around his chest.
"Yeah, whatever, the sound just bothers me. Roof's fucked."
"Roof's fucked," Gris repeats, wrapping an arm around Enjin and letting him rest his head on his chest. Contrary to what he said, Enjin feels warm, and his worn t-shirt is soft to the touch. Gris pulls him a little closer, just to enjoy holding him against his body.
"Yeah."
"We live on the first floor."
"Then the windows are fucked, I don't know. Or the drainpipes. Whole place is falling apart."
Despite it's raggedy appearance, the HQ is one of the more well-maintained buildings that Gris has had the pleasure of living in. He's not going to argue with Enjin, though, when something is bothering him this much. What he hears is the echo of some rain from years ago.
"What if I put the radio on?"
"It won't keep you up?"
"You've seen me sleep through a trash storm."
"Yeah, yeah. In the front seat of a car. I was sleeping next to you."
Gris remembers opening his eyes and Enjin's sleeping face being the first thing he saw. There were others in that car with them, but Gris can't recall where they were sitting or whether they said anything. Just the golden eyes, blinking awake, and his own silent prayer that he'll get to wake up at Enjin's side many, many more times.
"I'll put it on."
Gris keeps a radio on his nightstand, precisely so he doesn't need to get out of bed to turn it on and off. He finds a station that won't bother them too much, playing old instrumental numbers through the night. He turns the volume up enough to drown out the rain, quiet enough to sleep.
He doesn't mind the sound of the rain. If anything, it's steady murmur is relaxing. So are the familiar sounds of all the life happening in the Headquarters, even at night. Footsteps, whispering voices. Doors creaking open and closed. A car parking in the garage below.
He likes his little life with the Cleaners. The late nights and early mornings. The long drives. The moments between their crazy adventures — his room, the dim glow of the lanterns outside, and the leader of team Akuta in his bed.
Enjin drums an anxious rhythm against his chest, rubbing his feet together, vibrating with anxiety and still unable to find a comfortable position. If Gris could, he'd give him all of the safety that he feels when they're together.
"You're alright, Enjin," he tries. "Everything is fine. You're home with me."
He runs his hand through Enjin's hair, relishing in the way his undercut scratches at his fingertips. Enjin curls up against his shoulder, and finally stills.
"You're warm and dry. Everyone is safe. We don't have to go anywhere. Nothing to do but sleep until morning."
Enjin's breathing steadies. His inhales turn a little slower, exhales a little deeper.
Gris knows that he's a reassuring presence to his team, and to the younger Givers. He stays calm in a crisis, but he's not cold and aloof. People need that in their line of work. He wasn't sure whether he makes Enjin feel that way, though. If anything, he found himself relying on the younger one more often than not.
It's good to know. Enjin needs a safe person.
"We're safe. No one will hurt you here. No one will hurt your friends."
Gris opens his mouth to continue his —hopefully — reassuring monologue, and finds Enjin already asleep, literally with one eye open.
Someone's sleepy footsteps shuffle through the hallway; their bedroom door opens and shuts. The rain slows down its pitter-patter against the window. Hopefully it'll stop come morning. The sounds of soft piano and sax on the radio and Enjin's calm breathing send Gris to sleep.