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There’s something at the back of his mind, a constant noise he can’t quite place. It’s incessant, and he can’t for the life of him figure out where it’s coming from. There’s nothing nearby, just a darkness he can’t find his way through. Where was he even? Every direction he turns is met with more endless void, spaces so dark he wouldn’t even be able to see his hand in front of his face. Umbreaker was gone too, but that damn watch still sat around his wrist. It felt heavy, like a weight was fastened to him. His neck ached, but no matter how many times he touched it, there was nothing there. Enjin doesn’t remember quite what happened to wind up here, wherever here was, but he knew that noise was going to drive him insane, so he walks.
It gets him nowhere, just further into this never ending darkness that threatens to swallow him whole. It’s disorienting in every sense of the word, and he can barely remember anything. Zanka, Riyo, Rudo. The choker maker. Mymo. That’s all he can recall, just specific people within unspecific events. It was getting on his nerves. His memories were important to him, yet he can barely recall anything. What if the others were in trouble? What if they were in a similar situation?
The urge to find an exit eats at him like a gnawing hunger. Where was he? What’s happening? Was this a giver’s power? His legs carry him through the unknown, even as the unease grows stranger with every step. He wouldn’t consider himself a particularly anxious person, and even when he was, it didn’t feel like this. His neck was throbbing accompanied by a sharp pain that felt like pressing a hot knife into his skin.
The cleaner's head didn’t feel much better, but it wasn’t as agonizing as his neck. Enjin’s hand comes up to the skin again, and he digs his nails into it, coming to a stop. He needed to calm down. Nothing is coming from walking around aimlessly and overthinking. His eyes slip closed and he sucks in a deep breath, holding it in before letting it out. He just needs to get his head on straight.
Enjin startles when something lands on his head, dripping down his forehead.
“What the hell?” he mutters, his hand jumping to his forehead and he swipes at it, brows furrowing when his fingers come back wet. Another falls, and then another, all landing on him before dripping to the floor. Enjin stares up, but can’t see anything above him either, only the rain before it manages to land on him. His fingers twitch for Umbreaker, chills breaking out across his skin when they begin to come down harder.
He starts walking again, faster than before, in hopes of finding something, but all he’s met with is even more rain. It drenches him, leaving his clothes a sopping mess that weighs him down. The coat slips off his shoulders with a squelch, landing in a pile behind him, and he doesn’t bother looking back. After shedding the offending layer, he picks up his pace, jogging in one direction.
If he picks one direction and sticks with it, he has to wind up somewhere, eventually. His vest is next, dropping into the puddle on the floor. How does a puddle even come to be? How much has it rained for there to be an endless puddle of water already? Each splash grates on his nerves, joining the humming that was there prior, and his neck is burning and his head is throbbing. His hair is sticking to his forehead, water dripping down his nose and onto his lips. Why does it taste like iron?
Enjin rushes forward until he’s standing on nothing; the floor simply disappearing from beneath his feet, and a choked gasp escapes from his throat at the feeling. His stomach lurches, and Enjin bites back a scream when he falls. Umbreaker would’ve slowed his descent. She could aid him as she always has, but his hands are empty, and he’s falling into the unknown with no idea as to what’s happening. Wind whips around him, and he’s flailing in every direction, trying to grab hold of something before his body meets the floor once again.
He tries to find something, but nothing comes to his aid. Not a ledge or a wall, or Umbreaker appearing out of the blue. The watch remains on his wrist, but it would do nothing to aid him now; it could not stop time, and he could not move his physical body with it. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, desperation beginning to rear its ugly head as he continues to plunge towards the bottom. The thought of dying in such a way leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, and Enjin wants nothing more than to be freed from this inescapable darkness and the feeling of weightlessness that’s consumed him.
The rain had ceased once he’d begun falling, but then sheets of it are barreling into him once more, and he can’t make out anything now. Can barely even tell which way is up and down, only that he’s falling and his stomach is twisting into knots and there’s an unbearable sense of dread that’s always accompanied the idea of dying, those familiar questions whenever he’d face death. The questions that made him doubt everything he’d ever done. If he had done well. If he had lived up to his name. If the man who’d saved his life would regret having done so, or if he had failed to live up to the weight of his name.
Then he sees it, something just narrowly catching his eye, but just enough to remind him which direction truly is down. Enjin feels his eyes widen when the ground comes into view, a familiar inky blackness and flooded floor. Is this really how he goes? Like this? Not even helping anyone, or fighting trash beasts, or dying for some greater cause. He’s going to succumb to his demise in an endless void, surrounded by no one, alone once again.
He wants to watch the floor until he arrives, until he snaps his neck, or shatters his spine, but he can’t keep his eyes on it. He should face this head on, he knows he should, so why is it so hard? Why can’t he ever face the ending? Why did he always run away? Even now, at the very end, he’s doomed to his own cowardice, the same cowardice that had led him to leave his housemates at the slave market.
A bitterness spreads through him, cold and mocking, and he knows he’s getting closer, he knows-
Then something wraps around his wrist, and his arm snaps back, his joint bearing the brunt of his weight. A pained shout echoes in the silence, his nerves sending waves of pain through the limb as he dangles uselessly. It’s all he can do to crack an eye open, to gaze up at whatever has saved him from a painful demise.
He’d recognise that glove anywhere, but he can’t make out the face it belongs to. Rudo and Alto’s faces blur, an amalgamation of father and son, two people who’ve made this life of his worth living. The eyes of the man who saved his stare back at him, understanding and gentle in a way he never deserved. Then the eyes of his son bore into him, filled to the brim with a sea of emotions Enjin had become accustomed to since meeting him.
Their gloved hand is still holding him up, but the torrential rain continues to pelt down, and he slips, dropping about an inch. The hand tightens, and he tries to use his other arm to grab on, but the watch is weighing him down like he’s wearing lead. A frustrated groan tears itself from his throat, and he slips further. Enjin looks down, watches the way the rain lands in the water below. Would the sound of his body crashing into the water below mimic that of a raindrop? Would the sound of this rain drown out the sound of his death?
Enjin twists his head back up, and just Alto’s face is staring at him now. A mixture of regret and helplessness has overcome his features.
“I’m sorry. This was never your burden to bear.” Enjin wants to tell him that he doesn’t mind. That none of this mattered because Alto had given him more than he ever deserved. He had given him everything. A name, a purpose, a way to change and become someone better than he was. He would shoulder anything he was asked to.
He still never got to thank him.
He slips once again, and Alto’s barely got his hold on him anymore, squeezing so hard the glove's stitching digs into his skin. Alto’s other hand grabs his arm and hauls him back up the few inches he’d fallen, different from the way he was being held before. It makes sense why, when Rudo’s face comes into focus instead, a familiar frown on his face, and terrified anger in his features.
“What’re you doing, turdface? Grab on!” He yells, and Enjin stares up at him, at the determined look in his eyes. He can only stare, regardless of the situation. The same set of eyes, yet both are so distinctly different he can’t help but stare, utterly enthralled. Rudo’s grip grows together, and he grunts, pulling as hard as he can, but the water’s made the gloves and his arm slick. He slips down once more, and Rudo yelps in response, but he looks just as determined as before, sweat beading above his eyes.
Maybe it’s the way he’s trying so hard, the look in those eyes, or even something else, but he fights to lift his arm. It’s almost so heavy that it hurts; his bones feel brittle as he tugs his arm up, just barely able to get it past his shoulder. Rain continues to pour down, getting into his eyes, and his mouth, soaking into his hair, adding to the weight, but Rudo’s still holding on; he has to help him. That’s what he was supposed to do, that’s what he’d promised to do. Rudo had asked for his help, he supposes helping Rudo save himself falls under that category. Can’t help the kids if he’s dead, right?
Energy abruptly surges within his body, and his arm shoots up, almost by itself, latching onto Rudo. The kid looks at him with wide eyes, before he pulls with all his might and-
Enjin blinks, wincing as bright light floods his vision. The humming from before is even louder now, and it drills into his skull, still incessant, still driving him insane. There’s a pressure on his neck, but it doesn’t hurt the way it had before; even the splitting headache is gone. Enjin’s got his eyes partly shut, trying to spare them from the assault of what must be the damn sun, only for a shadow to hover over his face. There’s another noise now, but it’s a voice and it’s one he knows well enough by now. He cracks just one eye open, stares up into a familiar shade of red.
“Rudo?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, and the kid’s eyes are blown wide with what almost looks like fear. What is he scared of? There’s another voice now, and then there’s a second shadow hiding him from the sun’s assault. Riyo’s staring down at him, and he may feel like shit, but he can recognise the look she’s wearing. Rudo’s scared, Riyo’s uneasy, what the hell was happening?
He lurches upright when the memories flood in, successfully startling both of the children hovering over him. There’s a panicked shout from Eishia to his right, and then someone else wanders into the makeshift tent they’re in, but his hand flies up to his throat. That’s why it had hurt; how could he have forgotten? Blood rushes to his head, and his vision swims, but there’s a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady.
Kuro’s plan. The Doll Festival. The White Crow. Gountess. Mymo’s transformation. The fight. The blood. The watch.
His eye's snap open and he finds his wrist, stares at the watch still bound to his wrist. No one had removed it. Maybe that meant no one had seen the emblem engraved into the metal. Riyo and Rudo were okay. Zanka, where was he? Did the others get out okay too? Amo and Fu. The twins. August and Eishia. Where was everyone? Where was Mymo? The choker maker? He looks around the room in a quick motion, scanning faces. Only Eishia, Gris, Riyo and Rudo were here. There’s the faintest burnt smell that Eishia’s instrument would sometimes leave behind; she must have just used it. There’s blood on Gris’ clothes, his hands and on the cot he was sitting on, and it’s on his neck too. How much blood had he lost? The IV in his arm tells him he must’ve lost enough to require a transfusion.
The hand on his shoulder leaves, and he subconsciously misses the warmth, but then there’s a hand on his face, and Gris is sitting in front of him.
“Enjin?” Gris is staring at him, worry engraved into his features. When the hell had Gris gotten here anyway?
“Corvus dispatched the supporters and cleaners on base when he got word of the situation.” Enjin blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. His hand is still resting where the scar is, and he scratch at it. Enjin doesn’t know what to say. He hasn’t felt so disheveled in years, so out of the know. He can’t even remember the last time he’d gotten hurt enough to require Eishia’s gift.
He thinks back to Rudo and Riyo’s faces and it clicks why they were looking at him in such a way. He swallows before turning, looking for his brats. They must’ve clambered off the bed when he’d sat up, because now they’re both hovering awkwardly a few feet away. Riyo was closer, looking like she was ready to pounce, eyeing him warily, while Rudo was staring at him with uncertainty, like he was just going to keel over and die right here. Perhaps he almost had. Umbreaker is there too, clutched in Rudo’s hands like a lifeline.
The buzzing from before is revealed to be the generator Eishia’s instrument is plugged into, and she stands even further away looking like she’s on the verge of tears, clutching her cord with such force her hands have turned white.
“You guys okay?” he rasps, and tries his very best to plaster on a smile, but knows it falls flat when Rudo’s brows furrow at him and Riyo gets closer, right next to his cot. He offers her his hand, and she snatches it, gripping so tightly that her nails poke into his skin. She doesn’t answer him, but Rudo seems to be fumbling over his words. It’d be a little silly if not for the amount of bandages and bruises covering his exposed skin making him look smaller and younger than he was.
“They’re okay. Eishia’s going to treat them later. She needed to get to the critically injured first,” Gris supplies after a moment, and Enjin looks at him from the corner of his eye, before looking back towards them.
“But Eishia said she’d take a break after healing you,” adds Riyo. Her voice lacks its normal flair, falling flat, and he can’t help but frown. Knowing they're both okay helps calm him down, and he rubs his eyes, mulling over the events of the day. What a shitshow.
“How’s everyone else?” He directs the question towards Gris, and the supporter runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. That’s not a good sign.
“Zanka was hurt badly,” he admits, and Enjin feels his chest tighten.
“But he’s okay now. Recovering in his own tent. He was already back on his feet earlier. Everyone else was unharmed or had minor injuries. Everyone’s okay,” he repeats, and Enjin notices the emphasis on the last part, but nods anyway.
“Well, that’s a relief,” he says with a chuckle, and Gris offers him a smile, patting him on the thigh through the thin blanket that was tossed over his lap. He briefly glances at his team and nudges the supporter.
“Why don’t you go tell Zanka I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he suggests, and Gris seems to take the hint, pushing himself off the bottom of the cot. He walks past Riyo and Rudo, and ducks out of the tent. Eishia steps closer after he leaves, still looking like she was going to start bawling, but she sniffles and look at him.
“Do you feel okay? I’m not sure if it worked fully, you had a bunch of minor injuries too, but I tried to focus on your neck,” she rambles, twisting her instrument between her fingers.
“You did great, I don’t feel a thing,” he reassures, and a smile tugs on her lips.
“Oh good! I was so worried, and you were bleeding so much, I just didn’t know what to do, but I did it,” she bounces on her heels for a moment, and Enjin grins before reaching out and patting her on the head. She hands him a cloth, damp with water, and he takes it, gingerly wiping at the blood on his neck. They must’ve had bandages over it originally because there’s a surprising lack of blood on his clothing.
“I need to go check on Zanka now too, don’t get out of bed yet please,” she exclaims, and he knows he won’t follow that rule when Zanka’s alone in a tent somewhere, but gives her a thumbs up, anyway. He never was a very good patient.
The tent is empty now, besides his two teammates and he twists, facing both of them.
“Are you guys alright?” he asks again, quieter this time, careful not to spook either of them. Riyo doesn’t change, but Rudo scoffs, looking anywhere but at him. Riyo won’t say anything to him. Not right now. Not somewhere so open, so he shifts his attention to Rudo, but tightens his hold on her hand, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere. She looks at him briefly in response, her green eyes boring into him, before she looks back towards the ground.
“You don’t get to ask that,” mutters Rudo, and Enjin cocks his head at him before throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. Riyo moves with him, her grip never loosening, but Rudo reels back.
“She just said to stay in bed!” he hisses, and Enjin steps forward, dropping his free hand onto the kid’s head.
“I’m fine! Eishia always gets people back on their feet. I don’t even have a headache anymore,” he says, ruffling his hair. Rudo huffs, crossing his arms when he must decide he doesn’t have an argument for that, but he’s still tense, and Enjin nudges him.
“Why don’t we all go see Zanka together, hm?” He offers his hand, kinda shot in the dark in all honesty, but to his surprise the boy gently grabs on. It’s different from the grip dream Rudo had on him, and he briefly wonders why Rudo had been there at all, but he’s in no mood to decipher his near death dreams. Riyo sticks closer to him than Rudo, but even Rudo’s closer than he’d expected. Frankly, he didn’t even think Rudo would’ve held his hand given how often they hurt, but he wasn’t going to deny either of them the comfort no matter how hard it was to navigate the maze of tents with two kids glued to his side.
—
They were asleep now, and he almost wishes he had a camera. Riyo would never let him share the image with another soul, but that would be okay. He’s the only one who’d need it anyway.
Riyo was next to Zanka, leaning onto his shoulder, while Rudo was about to fall off the end of the cot because he didn’t want to lean on Zanka. They’d bickered earlier in that amusing way they do, and the normalcy of it had managed to soothe his frayed nerves. Even Riyo had relaxed enough to slip onto Zanka’s cot, freeing his hand from her grasp. He leans forward in his chair, and lightly taps Rudo, just enough so he’s falling the other way, his head bumping against Zanka’s shoulder. He’d let teh kid keep holding Umbreaker, and he just looked too cute to take her away from him now.
Only when he’s sure Rudo doesn’t stir does Enjin push himself out of the chair and stretch, a series of pops traveling up his spine.
“Yeesh, your back sounds worse than mine.” Enjin huffs out a quiet laugh at Gris’ words, turning to meet the supporter’s gaze. He’s waiting for him at the tent’s flap, holding it open for him to slip out. The cleaner does just that, his eyes finding the overcast sky. It’s dark now, but with the mess around here no cars could really get in or out, so this small camp would have to do until tomorrow. Gris leads the way, and he falls into step beside him until they reach the tent he’d started in. Eishia is still out, so it’s empty, the bright light from before having dimmed from being on for so long. He’s almost happy to just have a moment away from everyone else to clear his head.
Gris busies himself with pulling up the sheet he’d been on earlier, still stained with blood, and Enjin finds a small mirror in his bag, propping it up on a small shelf. It teeters towards the edge and he knocks it back one way before it finally stills.
He’s met with the sight of a jagged scar across his neck, remarkably similar to the one on his temple, where time had etched its mark into him. They had come from the same thing after all. It cuts through the tattoo he has there, and he absentmindedly wonders if he could get the tattoo fixed over the scar. He traces its shape, making note of its rough edges and thickness, before two arms slide around his waist.
“Eishia was too worried about electrocuting you to fix the scar too,” he supplies, and Enjin can’t blame her. He’d probably be exactly the same way if he had such a risky power. Enjin hums, letting his hand fall from his neck, and he tucks the mirror back into his bag before eyeing the watch. He’d take it off later.
Gris doesn’t move, instead burying his face into the crook of his neck just under his fresh scar. Enjin reaches back and plants one of his hands at Gris’s nape, squeezing lightly.
“I thought- there had been so much blood when we’d found you with Rudo.” The words were quiet, and Enjin nearly shudders at the admission of Rudo being there while he was bleeding out. He obviously knew he was there, but hearing it makes it real. He’d need to sit him down later.
“We thought you were dead. You should’ve been.” Enjin doesn’t have the words for once. Everything feels wrong, or like dismissal, or cheap. Gris wouldn’t take dismissal well, and he deserves far more than a few cheap words to cheer him up. Enjin turns around instead, letting Gris’ arms settle at the bottom of his back instead, before he mimics the other, looping his own arms around him. Gris tightens his hold, before shooting him a look.
“How did that happen to you?” He freezes, momentarily caught off guard, but then realizes why Gris had tightened his hug. He opens his mouth, a lie on the tip of his tongue, but Gris raises an eyebrow at him almost instantly.
“That’s not fair,” he complains, and Gris looks at him, utterly unimpressed.
“You’re going to lie; it’s the most obvious thing in the world.”
“How could you have known if I was going to lie?” Gris just stares, not letting them fall into their normal bickering. No way out then, it seems. He feels the smile slip off his face before shrugging miserably.
“I had to help Rudo. It’s… nothing else really mattered besides that,” he admits, and Gris frowns at him.
“Your safety matters too,” he counters, and it irks him for a moment. He’s not someone who needs to be told his worth, or have someone reassure him of where he falls on the chain of importance. He can’t help but scoff, nearly breaking away from Gris right then and there.
“Over him?” he snaps, and Gris watches him, unfazed by his tone. Perhaps having this conversation right now was a poor decision.
“So you’ll happily kill yourself for him then? For Zanka? For Riyo? Just because you think they matter over you? How do you think they’d feel knowing that?” He bites back, and Enjin tears his eyes away from him before pushing away from the other man, only to get practically pinned against his chest.
“Gris-”
“No. I let you get away with a lot of shit, but this? You didn’t see Rudo’s face when we found you. You didn’t see Riyo’s face when another one of her teammates came back nearly dead after Zanka. You didn’t get to see Eishia crying while setting up her instrument while I held a towel to your neck. You-” He cuts himself off, letting out a shaky breath, and Enjin swallows, stilling in his grasp.
“You’re so careless with yourself sometimes. I can’t stand it. I hate watching any of you talk about yourselves the way you do, but seeing it in action, hearing you admit to tossing away your life for someone else.” Gris doesn’t let him go, but he grabs the back of his shirt, gripping the fabric so hard he swears it may tear. He thinks back to Rudo, stalking towards Gountess while under Mymo’s Rule. Mymo had the necklace in his grasp; he would’ve killed Rudo right after making him see what he’d done to the choker maker. He couldn’t just stand there.
“Should I not have saved him?” he argues, and Gris sighs, sounding utterly exhausted.
“Saving him isn’t what you did wrong; it's… the way you did it.”
“I didn’t have another choice.” Gris scoffs, and Enjin feels the annoyance growing each second. What did he know? He wasn’t there. Gris isn’t usually so argumentative either, and it only serves to rile him up more.
“Your only choice was to kill yourself? We both know that’s bullshit.”
“What do you know? You weren’t even there!” he shouts, and Gris presses his lips into a thin line before letting him go suddenly and stumbling back.
“You can be so unbelievably hypocritical sometimes, you know that? To an infuriating degree.”
“I’m a hypocrite? What about you? You nearly got yourself killed by that raider in the parking garage. You could’ve stepped aside or fled, or told Rudo to run, but you didn’t!” Gris scowls at him, shaking his head before letting out a harsh laugh. The sound makes Enjin narrow his eyes.
“It’s not the same for me the way it is for you.”
“And why’s that?” Gris turns to him, looking far angrier than before, fists clenched.
“Because you do this all the time! Going out into No Man’s Land by yourself. Not caring about the price when Rudo was going to Kuro. Throwing yourself into this fight and nearly dying, but then acting as if it isn’t a big deal! Like you were fine with it,” he accuses, and Enjin scowls, wishes this room was big enough to accompany his pacing.
“So what? You think I just go try to kill myself everyday, is that it?” He asks, tone dipping into something childish and admittedly immature. Gris lets his arms drop, dragging his hands over his face.
“Stop being intentionally dense. You know exactly what I’m talking about, and it drives me crazy. It keeps me up at night seeing the way you’re so dismissive about it, and it’s gotten worse since Rudo showed up. You can deny it, but even your team has started to notice it. Semiu mentioned it to me, and I see it too.” Enjin feels his stomach twist, and the urge to bolt out the tent skyrockets. The idea of being viewed like that makes his skin crawl. The supporter steps closer, and he steps back.
“You know there was another way you could have approached the fight,” Gris says, and Enjin digs his nails into his palm, bites the inside of his cheek so hard he can nearly taste iron.
“No, I couldn’t have! You don’t know a damn thing about what I did to get that necklace away from Mymo. What I had to use-” he cuts himself off, jerking backwards, and the watch feels heavy once more. He was openly wearing it, something he’d never done in his life, and then he’d almost just gone and yelled about it. Gris doesn’t understand, but that’s not his fault. He doesn’t know the real reason he got his neck cut open. He probably assumes Mymo did it. That it was a normal battle, not the use of the sixth and most obscure watchman instrument.
He bites his tongue, and Gris stands a few feet away, eyeing him like he’s going to start up their screaming match again. He had to do what he did, but Gris wouldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand that. There’s so much he doesn’t know. It’s not his fault he can’t understand. This yelling, this argument, it wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Not when one side didn’t know all the details.
Gris cares with his whole heart, wears it on his sleeve. He’s protective, and he hates seeing the people he cares about hurt. Nights spent worrying about the kids and friends who have to fight for their lives every time a job comes up. They’ve even argued about this before, not to such an extent because they both knew how to keep a level head. Not today though, apparently. Enjin knew what to tell him then, what would help, but now? It feels like the ground’s been ripped from under his feet again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes glued to the floor, but he can imagine the way Gris reacts to the words without even looking at his face. Skeptical of his sudden withdrawal, and rightly so.
“Are you just saying that? Do you actually plan to not do it again?” Enjin sighs, before looking up at him again. Gris looks sad now, the anger having slipped away into something more somber. He could lie, say he means it a hundred times over, but the thought of it makes his mouth taste sour.
“I want to mean it, but I just can’t,” he confesses into the silence of the room. Eishia’s generator had been shut off a while ago now, and as much as he hated the noise, it would’ve been better than this tense silence. Gris looks utterly gutted, like those words have taken a knife to his heart, but Enjin can’t. He just can’t.
“I don’t want you to die. Any of you.” Enjin just stands there, not sure what to do with himself or with his hands. He wishes he hadn’t left Umbreaker with Rudo now, wanting nothing more than to hold something, his fingers twitching at his side.
“I’m not trying to die, I just,” he pauses, raking a hand through his hair, “seeing Rudo like that after fighting alone. I didn’t even think about it; I just knew what I had to do.”
Gris stares at him, looking him over, for what Enjin doesn’t know, but eventually he closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. He lets it out shortly after before stepping closer, and Enjin tenses, unsure of what the other is going to do until arms trap him in another hug. He doesn’t say anything this time. No accusations or fears; he simply hugs him so tight it nearly hurts, his face burrowed into his shoulder.
Enjin brings his own arms up, circling them around the other man’s waist before squeezing gently. He doesn’t speak when he feels his shirt grow wet, or when Gris’ shoulders begin to tremble and his hold somehow grows tighter. Gris is no fool; he knows this will happen again; they both do. Maybe that’s why lying to him just to get this conversation over felt so wrong. He couldn’t do that to him.
Enjin wonders how long Gris will be able to stomach him and all his problems before it simply becomes too much to bear. The thought scares him. A small part of him hopes Gris will stay no matter what, but that’s the selfish part of him talking, wishing for the unattainable.
“Enjin.” He blinks, twisting his head to look at Gris’ nape. He doesn’t say anything for a long while; nothing but silence fills the room.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” is what Gris seems to settle on. The words make his chest ache, and he shakes his head.
“Nah, I probably deserved it.” Gris leans back suddenly, looking at him with furrowed brows. His eyes are red, and he sniffles.
“No you didn’t; that’s exactly the kind of mindset …” His words trail off, and Gris looks like he’s psychoanalyzing him, like he’s got a million different things to say, and Enjin fears all of them. He shakes his head, as if physically shaking away whatever he was thinking about. One of Gris’ hands finds his neck, and he rubs a thumb across the scarring. It feels odd.
“It’s stupid to ask you not to do this again,” he starts, and his eyes flick between him and his fresh scar. He opens his mouth to continue, but closes in a moment later, looking troubled, like he can’t find the words.
“I don’t know; I just don’t. I don’t want to watch you kill yourself,” he confesses, each word riddled with sorrow. Enjin wants to do nothing, but tell him it’ll be okay, that he won’t, that he doesn’t ever plan to do that again, but the watch sits heavy on his arm, and he can’t lie. Just this once he can’t.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, because it’s all he feels like he can say, and Gris shakes his head.
“No, don’t apologize. Please.” They lapse into silence once more, before Gris lets his arms drop. He eyes him again, before looking towards the cot.
“You should get some sleep.” Enjin eyes the makeshift bed before looking back at him.
“Do you want to join me?” It’s another shot in the dark. He knows what Gris values, what makes the other feel better, but that’s usually when he’s not the reason for his sorrow. The supporter doesn’t say anything, but he sits down on the edge of the cot. Enjin follows suit, kicking off his shoes before moving past Gris to lie down, his back pressed into the tent. He waits there for the supporter to move or leave, to make up his mind while he sits there mulling over his options. Gris turns, just enough to look at him, before twisting himself onto the cot. Their legs intertwine, and they cram onto the cot that’s far too small for both of them, their feet hanging off.
Silence falls over them, neither brave enough to say anything, so they just stare. Gris seems to look at every inch of his face, like he’s trying to commit his features to memory. If that didn’t feel like a gunshot to the chest, he doesn’t know what will.
“We don’t fit on this,” he notes out loud, and Gris’ eyes finally meet his own. He’s back to looking unimpressed at his obvious attempt at brokering peace.
“...No we do not,” he answers, scooting farther from the edge. Enjin huffs out a quiet laugh and puts his arm around Gris to keep the larger man from rolling off the side during the night.
A few moths have gotten into the tent, fluttering around the dim light overhead. They’re so erratic they nearly bump into each other before tapping against the glass, trying to reach an unattainable light. Gris has closed his eyes, but he’s not asleep if the tension in his body means anything.
“I’m not going to die anytime soon,” he says abruptly, despite his earlier fear. He’s not lying. It’s not like he planned his stunt with the watch earlier. It’s a last resort; it always has been. At the end of the day, if he has to pick between saving one of them or himself, the answer is clear. Gris is one to jump in front of you and protect you until he can’t anymore; even if he wants to deny it, he knows the supporter understands where he’s coming from no matter how much he hates it. Gris stares at him before sighing.
“You better not,” he grunts out, and Enjin chuckles.The conversation isn’t over, far from it really, but they’ve both settled for this fragile peace instead. The supporter closes his eyes again, and Enjin closes his own, but he waits, listening to the sounds around him. Fading footsteps from someone passing by outside. The wind that flips the tent’s flaps around. Gris breathing slowly evening out beside him. Only when his lips part slightly and his shoulders go slack does Enjin pull his arm away from the man’s back.
He’s greeted by a familiar broken watch face. Enjin stares lazily at it, at this tiny thing he got fifteen years ago. He uses his teeth to undo the clasp, and he pulls it from his wrist until he spots that damning emblem. He swears this thing is laughing at him sometimes, so he slips it back into his pocket with ease before returning his arm to Gris’ waist without a sound.