taylor price
Xuebing Du
titsay
#extradirty
RMH
gracie abrams
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
trying on a metaphor
Jules of Nature
cherry valley forever
d e v o n
No title available
will byers stan first human second
One Nice Bug Per Day
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
bliss lane
almost home
EXPECTATIONS
seen from Türkiye
seen from Colombia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Uruguay
seen from United States
seen from Egypt
seen from Norway
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Italy
seen from Argentina
seen from Canada
seen from United States
@itssocomplicatedyeah
https://archiveofourown.org/works/83283656/chapters/219365086
The past often haunts us throughout our lives. Despite our attempts to escape it, it always catches up with us. Even forgotten grievances eventually reveal a different side to our characters.
Imagine: You couldn’t stand Jabber.
Not in the ordinary sense, when someone merely annoyed you with their voice, their manners, or an overly smug smile. Jabber irritated you as a whole: from his disheveled hair to the lazy way he dragged out his words. What infuriated you most was his habit of appearing beside you precisely when you least wanted to see him.
“Are you following me again?” you threw over your shoulder without turning around.
A quiet chuckle sounded behind you.
“And you think far too highly of yourself again. You really think you’re interesting enough for me to follow?”
You tightened your grip on your weapon and continued down the dark corridor.
Olruggio aesthetic💙
Imagine: The room was quiet. So quiet that the faint crackle of the cigarette sounded almost deafening.
Enjin was sprawled across your bed as though it had always belonged to him. His back rested against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm tucked behind his head. A cigarette smoldered between the fingers of his other hand, a thin ribbon of smoke slowly curling toward the ceiling before dissolving into the dimness.
You lay beside him with your head resting on his shoulder. The conversation had faded some time ago, but the silence was not awkward. With Enjin, silence rarely felt empty. Even when he said nothing, his presence seemed to fill every inch of the room: the scent of tobacco, the warmth of his body, and the familiar ease of someone who could make himself at home anywhere.
Imagine: You’re in love with Olruggio, but Qifrey’s fear of losing him proves stronger than anything else. You and Olruggio are already planning a future together, you even want to move into your shop and live there side by side. Qifrey only smiles whenever you talk about it, but deep down, it hurts him more than he lets on.
And then, one day, the darkness inside him overpowers the light.
The last thing you see that evening is Qifrey placing his hat on your head and whispering:
“I’m sorry.”
From that day on, neither you nor Olruggio ever appear in each other’s lives again.
Warning: Spoilers for the manga!
Imagine: The Cleaners’ car tore down the ruined road, keeping pace with the Information Broker's carriage.
Kuro would vanish behind thick clouds of dust, only to reappear ahead moments later, as though he were deliberately allowing them to catch up. Behind them, the roar of the Raiders’ engine grew louder as they rapidly closed the distance.
Then the trash beasts began rising from the heaps of debris on both sides of the road. One leapt onto the hood. Another slammed into the side of the car, making the entire cabin shudder. The screech of claws made from rusted rebar dragged across the roof.
Riyo was the first to climb outside. Rudo followed her, while Enjin reached for the door, gripping his umbrella tightly in one hand. Before leaving the car, he looked directly at you.
“Stay here with Fu.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s dangerous out there.”
“I noticed.”
“Then be a good girl and stay put.”
“A good... What?!”
Without giving you a chance to argue, Enjin climbed onto the roof.
You watched him go. Sometimes it drove you mad how overprotective he had become after the two of you started dating. The thought made you bite the inside of your cheek in irritation.
You glanced over at Fu. He was gripping the seat with both hands and looked as though he had already made peace with his inevitable death.
You had taken responsibility for the boy yourself, since Enjin had not been particularly thrilled about accepting a former Raider into their ranks. But you had never seen Fu as any kind of threat, so you had defended him and taken him under your wing.
“Don’t even think about it,” Fu warned when he noticed the expression on your face.
Another trash beast crashed into the side of the car. The metal buckled inward, and a heavy tremor ran through the cabin.
You unclipped the lighter from your belt.
“I’ll be quick.”
“He told you to stay here!”
But the door had already slammed shut behind you. The wind nearly knocked you off your feet immediately. The car raced along the shattered road, bouncing over every chunk of debris, while trash beasts clung to its sides and hauled themselves upward with long limbs made of rebar and rusted metal.
You pulled yourself onto the roof. Enjin noticed you almost at once.
“I told you to stay inside!”
“I’m more useful up here!”
“That’s not for you to decide!”
“Can we argue about this later?! I’ve still got plenty to say to you!”
Rudo had just knocked one beast away, but another was already reaching for him from the side. You swung the chain attached to your lighter, and flames flared along the metal. The burning whip wrapped around the creature’s limb.
You yanked it toward you, throwing the beast off balance, and Rudo immediately finished it off with a powerful blow.
“Left!” he shouted.
You ducked. His weapon whistled over your head, knocking another creature off the roof.
“Not bad,” Rudo breathed.
“Is that all I get?”
He never had the chance to answer. The car struck a large piece of debris.
“Hold on!” Gris’s voice rang out from inside the cabin.
Too late. The car lurched violently upward. You lost your footing for a split second, slid across the metal roof, and went flying forward, landing directly on the windshield.
The impact knocked the air from your lungs. Behind the glass sat Gris, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Follo was frozen in the passenger seat beside him. For several seconds, the three of you simply stared at one another. You pushed yourself up onto one elbow, thoroughly irritated.
“Could you drive a little more carefully?!”
Gris shouted something back, but the roar of the wind and the engine drowned him out. The car swerved again. Your body began sliding down the windshield.
Then the curved handle of an umbrella appeared in front of your face.
“Grab on!” Enjin shouted.
You clutched it with both hands. He sharply pulled the umbrella toward himself, helping you reach the edge of the roof. Then he caught your wrist and hauled you back up in one swift movement.
The car rocked again. You lost your balance and stumbled straight into him. Enjin immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his body.
“Got you,” he murmured beside your ear.
“Very impressive.”
His fingers tightened against your side. This time, there was none of his usual carelessness in his expression.
“You could’ve fallen under the wheels.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Thanks to me.”
“Do you want praise?”
“For a start, I’d like you to listen to me once in a while.”
You lifted your gaze to meet his.
“Then you should give less boring orders.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. A metallic screech rang out behind you. Another beast had dragged itself onto the roof. Enjin finally released your waist and opened his umbrella.
“Don’t go too far.”
You set the chain ablaze again.
“Afraid you’ll have to catch me?”
“I’m afraid you’ll come up with something even worse next time.”
The car bounced again. Enjin’s hand instantly returned to your waist, steadying you in place.
This time, you did not comment. You only smiled and lashed out at the beast with a burst of flame while he shielded the two of you beneath his open umbrella.
Imagine: You knew falling for a Cleaner was a bad idea. Not just bad, the most idiotic, suicidal idea imaginable, the kind that deserved to have one of the Raiders poke you in the forehead and ask whether you’d had your brains knocked loose somewhere between your first expedition and your latest fight with a Trash Beast.
But your heart, as it turned out, wasn’t particularly interested in logic.
Especially when it came to Zanka. His sharp gaze. That irritating way he spoke as though he were always above whatever was happening around him. The way he confidently gripped his Vital Instrument, making you inadvertently wish he would grip your waist, or your throat, the same way. Depending on the situation. You thought far too often about the tension that appeared on his face every time you ended up standing in front of him.
For a long time, you convinced yourself that he was simply angry. That, to him, you were an enemy first and foremost. Nothing more than a problem that needed to be eliminated.
But on the day the Cleaners and the Raiders clashed in battle once again, everything went differently.
Dust rose like a solid wall. Someone was shouting to your left, where metal debris scattered across the ground with a deafening crash. Somewhere ahead, Rudo was locked in combat with one of your people, Riyo flashed like a shadow between piles of garbage, and Enjin, as always, remained so calm that it seemed even chaos itself had no power over him.
And then Zanka appeared in front of you.
“Not you again,” he muttered, raising his weapon.
You smirked, even though your heart gave a treacherous thump against your ribs.
“Miss me?”
“In your dreams.”
He attacked first.
You barely managed to dodge. The blow passed close enough to slice through the edge of your cloak. It had been close. But you knew that if Zanka had truly wanted to hit you, he would have. And that realization stole your breath far more effectively than the attack itself.
You struck back sharply, almost angrily. Your Vital Instruments collided with such a violent crack that the air between you trembled. Zanka frowned and stepped closer, forcing you backward toward the crooked wall of an abandoned building.
“You’re fighting worse than usual today,” he said.
“And you’re talking too much.”
“I’m being distracted.”
You froze for a fraction of a second.
Zanka noticed.
His eyes moved over your face, lingered on your lips, then returned to your eyes. There was something in that gaze that made the roar of the battle around you seem to fall away into the distance.
And suddenly, you understood one simple truth... He searched for you in the crowd every time too. He missed on purpose when he could have seriously hurt you. He let his gaze linger a second longer than an enemy should. He was angry not because he hated you, but because he couldn’t allow himself to feel the opposite.
Your smirk softened.
“So that’s how it is.”
Zanka clenched his jaw.
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s written all over your face.”
You took a step forward.He didn’t retreat. Only a sliver of space remained between you, enough for a strike, but far too little for hatred.
“Then read it,” you whispered.
This time, he was the one who froze.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his Vital Instrument. His expression grew furious, but that anger wasn’t directed at you. It was aimed at the situation itself. At the Cleaners behind him. At the Raiders surrounding you. At the fact that you stood on opposite sides, even though, in that moment, you both seemed to want the exact same thing: to crash your mouths together hard enough to finally lose whatever remained of your sanity beneath the weight of all those pent-up feelings.
More than once, you had imagined burying your hand in his hair and sliding your tongue into his mouth. Damn it. Just thinking about it made something inside you tighten pleasantly.
Then an explosion thundered nearby.The shockwave knocked both of you off balance. A piece of rusted metal beam broke loose above you and came crashing straight toward your head.
You only had time to look up. Zanka had already seized your wrist and yanked you toward him. The beam struck the ground where you had been standing only a second earlier. Dust blasted across your face. Your palm collided with his chest as you tried to keep yourself upright.
He was holding you too tightly for an enemy and far too carefully for it to be an accident. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. Zanka realized his mistake immediately. He probably would have released you.
But he didn’t.
“You could’ve dodged,” he said hoarsely, his hot breath scorching your skin.
“And you could’ve let me get crushed.” You smiled playfully, brushing your fingers against a strand of his hair.
He frowned.
“Shut up.”
Your smile only widened. He had completely given himself away. There was no point pretending nothing had happened between you now.
“So you do like me after all.”
Zanka turned his face away, but the tips of his ears had turned red. It was so unexpected, so genuine, that you nearly burst out laughing right there in the middle of the battlefield.
“Don’t get carried away, Raider.”
“Of course not, Cleaner.”
He shot you an irritated look. But now, you saw something in it that was far removed from threat or contempt - fear. The kind of fear that appeared when someone realized they had already allowed another person to come far too close.
The second stretched between you. Then both sides surged into motion again. Someone called out to Zanka. One of the Raiders shouted your name. The battle demanded to continue, and the world, as always, had no intention of giving either of you the time, or the right, to show weakness.
You stepped back first. You raised your Vital Instrument and returned to your fighting stance. Zanka straightened as well, as though nothing had happened between you. As though he hadn’t just saved you. As though his fingers hadn’t been trembling around your wrist only moments ago.
But before he threw himself back into the fight, he spoke quietly.
“Don’t you dare die.”
You smirked.
“Worried about me?”
He glared at you from beneath lowered brows.
“I’m warning you.”
You turned and headed back toward your people, but the smile remained on your lips. A bad idea. Idiotic. Suicidal.
But now, at least, you knew you weren’t the only one drowning in this mess.
Imagine: Enjin knew something was off before he even opened the door. It wasn’t the feeling of an unfamiliar presence, the kind that usually had his hand reaching for his umbrella before his mind could catch up. It was more like… a scent. Faint, almost impossible to notice, but painfully familiar.
Yours.
He paused outside the door for a second longer than usual, one eyebrow slowly rising. Then he pushed it open with his shoulder and stepped inside.
The room was dim. Papers and candy wrappers littered the desk as usual, and a few pieces of clothing had been carelessly thrown over the back of a chair. Everything looked almost exactly as he had left it. Almost, because you were sitting on his bed.
Your legs were tucked beneath you as though you belonged there, your hair slightly mussed, your expression far too calm for someone who had just been caught trespassing in another person’s room. And you were wearing his jacket.
Enjin stopped in the doorway. First, he looked at you. Then at the jacket. Then back at you. The corner of his mouth slowly curved upward.
“Well, this is a nice welcome,” he drawled, kicking the door shut behind him. “I’ve imagined plenty of things waiting for me in here, but a cute little thief wasn’t one of them.”
You pulled the jacket more tightly around yourself, though the gesture looked far more teasing than modest.
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“While sitting on my bed?”
“The atmosphere seemed appropriate.”
Enjin let out a quiet laugh and started toward you, slow and unhurried. Almost as if he were giving you time to change your mind. Not that you looked like you planned to.
“So,” he said, stopping in front of the bed, “what brought you here? Other than your sudden interest in my wardrobe.”
You looked up at him.
“I was cold.”
His gaze dropped to the jacket.
“Right.”
“Very cold.”
“So cold that you had to break into my room specifically?”
“Your jacket is warm.”
“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head. “And where are your clothes?”
You didn’t answer.
The silence stretched between you, deliberate and unmistakable.
Enjin’s smile sharpened. His eyes, playful only a moment ago, darkened as the meaning of your silence finally sank in.
“Wait a second,” he murmured.
You blinked up at him innocently.
“What?”
His gaze moved slowly over you, from your face to the jacket hanging loosely around your body, then lower, to your bare knees and the fingers clutching the fabric closed at your chest.
A breathless laugh escaped him.
“You’re serious.”
You gave a small shrug.
“Do you not like it?”
For a moment, Enjin simply stared. Then he dragged a hand down his face, as if physically trying to gather what remained of his self-control, and let out a low, rough laugh.
“Like it?” he repeated. “You’re sitting on my bed, wearing my jacket, and underneath it…”
His voice trailed off. When he looked at you again, the expression in his eyes sent heat racing through your body faster than any piece of clothing ever could.
“Damn,” he breathed. “You really know how to welcome a man home after a long day.”
You smiled.
“I made an effort.”
“I can tell.”
He lowered himself onto one knee in front of you, bracing his hands against the mattress on either side of your hips.
Still not touching you. Just close enough to make the space between you feel unbearably small.
“So what happens now?” he asked, his voice lower, rougher. “Do I take my jacket back?”
You leaned closer.
“You can try.”
Enjin held your gaze.
For a second, something almost boyishly pleased flickered across his face: an unguarded, genuine kind of delight that he usually hid beneath lazy smiles and a perpetually tired tone.
“Dangerous thing to say.”
“For who?”
His smile widened.
“Me, obviously.”
You laughed, but the sound caught in your throat when he finally placed a hand on your leg. His thumb brushed slowly over your knee.
Then his palm slipped beneath the hem of the jacket, gliding upward along the inside of your thigh.
His touch was almost weightless, so careful it felt as though he were afraid to break the strange, warm intimacy of the moment. A shiver ran over your skin. You tipped your head back, catching your lower lip between your teeth.
“Did you really come here just because you were cold?” he asked, softer now.
You looked back at him. Your smile lost its teasing edge.
“I missed you.”
Enjin went still. Only for a moment.
Then the playful look on his face softened into something warmer. He lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair away from your cheek, letting his fingers linger there.
“You should’ve led with that.”
“And the jacket?”
“The jacket,” he murmured, leaning closer until his lips nearly touched yours, as his hand underneath jacket wandered toward the most intimate place, “is officially your problem now.”
“Mine?”
“Mm-hm.”
His mouth brushed the corner of yours.
“Because I’m not sure I want it back anymore.”
You barely had time to smile before he kissed you. Slowly at first, deeply, still holding on to that careful restraint, as if he wanted to draw the moment out for as long as possible.
It lasted right up until you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer, a soft moan slipping into his mouth.
Enjin exhaled against your lips.
“Now I’m home.”
Warning: Spoilers for Chapter 171 of the manga.
Imagine: You found August not far from the square, among the ruins that had survived the festival.
Once, this place had probably been a small shop or someone’s home, but now all that remained of the building was a single wall, several cracked columns, and a heap of rubble covered in dust. Dim daylight spilled through a hole in the roof, picking out broken furniture, scraps of fabric, and colorful ribbons that had decorated the streets only recently.
Your Enjin fics are some of the best I've EVER read. On any app or website. You are single-handedly sustaining my faith in the Gachiakuta fandom. KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK 🙏🥹
OMG🤧 Thank you so much for the nice words🫶✨ I'm very glad that you like my fics. I will try to please you even more.
Imagine: Among the Givers, there was a legend. An old, strange one and, honestly, it seemed as if it had only been invented to confuse people even more.
They said there was a way to combine the power of two Jinki. That things that had become Jinki responded not only to their owners, but also to each other. In doing so, they could complement one another in battle. Literally merge into one for a brief moment, if their energy was perfectly compatible.
Most people treated it like an ordinary fairy tale. A pretty one, sure. Convenient for scary stories and drunken conversations after missions. Someone claimed they had once seen it happen with their own eyes. Someone else laughed and said that “someone” had simply been hit in the head by a chunk of trash and imagined the whole thing. Others tried to test it personally, always unsuccessfully.
Warning: spoilers for the Doll Festival arc.
Imagine: The Doll Festival no longer felt like a festival.
Only moments ago, Andio’s streets had been buzzing with voices, music, announcements from the stage, the rustle of costumes, and the delighted squeals of people who had come here simply to have fun. There were masks everywhere, stalls, bright fabrics, strange doll ornaments, white crows flashing overhead, and far too many people to keep track of every movement. Especially when you were responsible for several not particularly controllable teenagers, it became even harder.
Now the noise had shifted into something anxious.
People were running away in panic. Someone was lying injured. Someone was crying somewhere. Everything had blended together into one terrible, panicked sound.
And on top of that, too many moments had appeared where you could fail to make it in time.
And you hadn’t made it.
You had been distracted for only a second by someone else’s scream, by the need to cover the others, to hold the line, to stop the panic from spreading any further. Only for a second.
And that had been enough.
“Zanka!”
Warning: spoilers for Chapter 170 of the manga.
Imagine: The corridors of the Hell Guard smelled of medicine, metal, and other people’s exhaustion.
You walked quickly, barely looking around, though the stares still clung to you. Burgundy uniforms, stern faces, clipped commands, people who were used to not asking unnecessary questions out loud, but who knew perfectly well how to ask them with a single glance.
They led you almost in silence. Maybe someone had managed to warn them who you were. Or maybe your face simply looked the way it did, and even the guards understood that it was better not to stand in your way right now.
After the Doll Festival, the news had reached you in fragments. First: “It’s over.” Then: “There are wounded.” Then, far too late and far too dryly: Enjin had been taken to the Hell Guard’s infirmary.
You didn’t remember getting ready. You didn’t remember how you got there. You only clenched your fingers so tightly that your nails left marks in your palms, repeating one thing to yourself: he’s alive. If they brought him there, then there’s still something to save. That means he’s alive.
The door to the ward was slightly ajar. And the first thing you heard was an irritated male voice.
“Are you kidding me?”
Goka Nijiku’s voice was so dry and angry that even the walls of the room seemed to grow straighter.
Enjin was lying on the bed, half-sitting against the pillows. His neck was tightly bandaged, the white wrappings disappearing beneath the collar of his hospital shirt, and when he answered, his voice sounded hoarse and lower than usual.
“I’m lying down. Not bothering anyone.”
“You’re smoking.”
“I’m healing.”
“It’s annoying.”
“A lot of things annoy you.”
Goka narrowed his eyes sharply.
“You annoy me.”
Enjin smiled faintly, but it came out crooked: the movement must have sent pain somewhere beneath the bandages.
“Mutual.”
Goka took a step closer and jabbed a finger toward the cigarette.
“My sister can’t stand cigarettes. If Kyoka finds out you turned this place into a smoking room, first she’ll chew me out for allowing it, and then she’ll tear your head off too. Although, considering your neck, she won’t even have to try very hard.”
“How touching that you’re so worried.”
“I’m worried about myself. Don’t confuse things.”
“Of course.”
“And about clean air.”
“How sweet.”
“Shut up, Enjin.”
“You’re forcing me to answer.”
Goka exhaled heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
“Just start by putting the cigarette out.”
At that exact moment, the door opened quietly. Goka turned first, already prepared to scold whoever had entered too.
But then he saw you.
And for a moment, all his anger seemed to vanish somewhere. He didn’t look openly flustered. Not enough for anyone else to notice. His gaze simply went still for a little longer than it should have. The fingers gripping the folder in his hand froze.
Enjin turned his head too and immediately winced.
“Don’t move,” you said.
For a second, a strange silence hung in the room. Enjin gave a hoarse chuckle.
“Now I’m definitely in danger.”
You didn’t smile. Your gaze stopped on the bandages around his throat, and something inside you clenched unpleasantly. Rumors, fragments of news, other people’s hurried explanations on the way here… all of it was nothing compared to seeing that white bandage on his neck.
“How did they let you in?” Goka asked.
His voice had gone even again, almost official, but there was still that same poorly hidden disorientation in it.
You shifted your gaze to him.
“I said I was here for Enjin.”
“And that was enough?”
“No. Then I said that if they didn’t let me in, I would start looking for whoever was responsible for the wounded after the festival.”
Enjin gave a quiet snort and immediately started coughing. Goka snapped his head toward him.
“See? You can’t even laugh properly, and you’re already sticking a cigarette between your teeth.”
You walked over to the bed and silently took the cigarette from Enjin. He looked at you almost offended.
“You too?”
“Absolutely.”
You put the cigarette out in the ashtray and sat down beside him, careful not to touch him. Enjin looked up at you from below. Tired and pale. Still trying to hold himself like nothing serious had happened. But his voice gave him away.
“You came,” he said quietly.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I thought you might decide to give me some time to live peacefully.”
“Not a chance.”
“Understood.”
Goka stood nearby in silence. Technically, he should have left. It was embarrassingly obvious, but for some reason he still didn’t move for several more seconds.
He watched as you adjusted the edge of Enjin’s blanket. As you carefully touched his shoulder, as if afraid even the slightest movement might cause him pain. As your gaze returned again and again to the bandage on his neck.
You didn’t even notice that Goka was still there. All your attention was fixed on the man you loved.
And that was what irritated him most of all. Not the fact that Enjin was smoking. Not the fact that he was arguing again. Not the fact that even wounded, he still managed to answer so easily and mockingly. It was the fact that you looked at him as if there was no one else in that room. Goka tightened his grip on the folder.
“I’ll arrange for them to bring water and something to eat,” he said at last. “You should eat too, if you came here straight after hearing the news.”
You turned around.
“Thank you, Goka.”
A simple “thank you.” Calm and, in essence, meaning nothing at all. And still, it struck him.
“You’re welcome,” he replied dryly.
Enjin lazily lifted his gaze to Goka. Something attentive flickered in his eyes, almost unpleasantly perceptive.
Goka understood at once: he had noticed.
That man irritated him even more because he saw too much, even while lying there with a bandaged neck, looking as if he should have been silent for at least a week.
“And no more cigarettes,” Goka threw over his shoulder at the door.
Enjin answered hoarsely,
“Tell Kyoka I repent.”
“You can tell her yourself. If you survive her visit.”
The door closed. You followed Goka with your eyes and said quietly,
“He really doesn’t like you.”
Enjin looked at you.
“It’s mutual.”
“Why?”
“Because he has good taste in women too.”
You frowned.
“What makes you say that?”
He smiled faintly, this time softer.
“Doesn’t matter.”
You carefully touched his hand.
“What matters is that you stop making me come here like this.”
Enjin fell silent. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he turned his palm over and covered your fingers with his.
“I’ll try,” he said hoarsely.
“I don’t like that answer.”
“Bear with it.”
You wanted to protest, but instead you only exhaled and lowered your gaze to his bandaged neck. Enjin noticed your worried look.
“Hey,” he called to you softly.
“What?”
“I’m here.”
“I can see that.”
“No,” he said even quieter. “Look at me, not at the bandages.”
You raised your eyes. He was looking at you calmly. He was still pale and exhausted, but with that impossible habit of remaining himself even when death had passed far too close.
“I’m here,” Enjin repeated.
And you, squeezing his hand a little tighter, finally allowed yourself to believe it.
Imagine: When Follo returned from the mission, you did not hear his footsteps right away. First, you heard someone quietly curse behind the door, and then came a dull thud, as if a shoulder had accidentally hit the doorframe.
“Everything’s fine, really. I can do it myself.”
And without a doubt, it was him.
You set your cup down on the table and rose just as Follo stepped inside. He was still wearing his work clothes, covered in dust. His cap sat crookedly, the goggles on it pushed off to one side, and a thin scratch ran across his cheek, marked by a dried streak of blood. His right hand, however, he kept hidden behind his back.
“Don’t even start,” you said.
Follo froze in the doorway.
“I just came in.”
“You’ve got ‘I’m fine’ written all over your face.”
He blinked, then tried to smile.
“But I really…”
“Follo.”
Warning: this story contains non-canon plot details.
Imagine: You should have hated him. Maybe that would have been easier. Easier to wake up in the mornings, pull on your Cleaner uniform, check your gear, listen to brief orders, and pretend that the name Tamsy Caines no longer touched anything inside you. Easier to call him a traitor along with everyone else. Easier to remember his smile with disgust, his voice with rage, his touches as part of a lie.
But you couldn’t. And that was the filthiest, most shameful truth.
Tamsy betrayed you all and disappeared. He left behind the wreckage of trust, broken voices, anger, confusion, and a heavy silence in the places where he used to appear with a lazy smile and say something so calm that the whole world around him seemed insane.
Everyone dealt with his betrayal differently. You, meanwhile, simply kept waiting for his return in silence. Quietly. But every time unfamiliar footsteps echoed down the corridor, your heart gave a painful jerk. Every time someone spoke his name, you froze for a split second. And every time the night became too quiet, you remembered how Tamsy had once sat beside you after a difficult mission and gently wiped the blood from your cheekbone with his thumb.
“You need to be more careful,” he said back then.
You smirked.
“Don’t forget who you’re saying that to.”
He smiled in return.
“I could never forget.”
And for some reason, in that exact moment, in his calm gaze, in that soft teasing, in those elegant fingers lingering near your face just a little longer than necessary, you first realized just how badly you had already fallen.
You fell in love with him long before you knew he was capable of destroying everything. And even after, you still couldn’t stop loving him. That was worse than betrayal. Because he was the one who committed the betrayal. But you were the one who kept loving the person who had done it.
Imagine: You were absolutely sure the communal showers were empty.
For one thing, it was late. For another, most of the Cleaners had already scattered after the mission, disappearing into their rooms, the kitchen, or wherever else they usually went to collapse after a long day. And, most importantly, you had listened before stepping inside. No footsteps. No voices. No familiar heavy stomp of boots.
So, with a perfectly clear conscience, you shut the door behind you, set your things down on the bench, and finally allowed yourself to breathe.
The hot water hit your shoulders, washing away dust, exhaustion, and the last stubborn traces of your terrible mood. You closed your eyes, tilted your head back, and almost decided that maybe the day hadn’t been so bad after all.
Almost. Because the very next second, the door to the shower room swung open.
“Damn, finally,” came a familiar voice. “I thought nobody was in here...”
Enjin froze in the doorway. You froze too.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence between you was so thick that even the sound of running water suddenly seemed suspiciously loud.
Enjin stood there with a towel slung over one shoulder, already out of his outer clothes, though thankfully not yet fully committed to walking into the showers like he owned the place. His amber eyes widened. Then he blinked. Once. Twice.
Then, very slowly, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling.
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Enjin.”
“Nothing at all.”
“Enjin.”
“You could even say I was born blind.”
You grabbed the nearest bottle of shampoo and hurled it at him without thinking. Enjin dodged it far too smoothly for someone who had just claimed not to have seen anything.
“Aha!” you snapped, peeking at him through the steam while covering yourself with your arms. “So you can see well enough!”
“Reflexes,” he said calmly, still staring very hard at the wall. “My life is full of danger.”
“Your life is about to end if you don’t get out.”
“Fair.”
He took one step back. And, of course, that was the exact moment his foot slipped on the wet floor.
You barely managed to squeak:
“Careful!”
Enjin flailed, reached for the doorframe, missed it completely, spun in the least graceful way imaginable, and somehow managed to catch himself at the very last second. The towel on his shoulder, however, gave up on him entirely and slid solemnly to the floor. Both of you stared at it.
Then Enjin said, with complete seriousness:
“It sacrificed itself for my dignity.”
You clapped a hand over your mouth, but the laugh slipped out anyway. At first it was quiet and muffled, then bright, helpless, and impossible to stop.
Enjin glanced at you, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Glad my humiliation improved your evening.”
“Don’t worry,” you said, still laughing. “It was a very respectable performance.”
“I’d bow, but I’m afraid you’d misunderstand.”
“Enjin!”
“Leaving. I’m leaving.”
He bent down to grab the towel, but you instantly hissed:
“Don’t look!”
“I’m looking at the floor.”
“I know you.”
“That’s because the floor is the only one not accusing me of anything.”
You snorted. Towel in hand, Enjin began backing toward the door again. This time with extreme caution. Almost majestically, if not for the fact that he was moving sideways like the world’s most suspicious crab. And it might have ended there. It really might have.
If you hadn’t said:
“You know, for someone who asks me for a light all the time, you lose your composure surprisingly fast.”
He stopped. Slowly, he turned his head, though his eyes remained very honorably fixed somewhere on the wall beside you.
“That was unfair.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re clearly in the winning position here.”
“I’m naked in a shower, armed with shampoo.”
“Exactly. Absolute advantage.”
You narrowed your eyes, though he could barely see it through the steam.
“Are you flirting with me right now?”
“Me?” Enjin pressed a hand to his chest, looking so deeply offended that anyone else might have believed him. “In the middle of such a serious crisis?”
You gave him a silent, knowing look.
“Yes. I’m flirting,” he finally admitted.
You laughed again. This time, it came out a little more bashful than you intended. He smiled too, but not with his usual smugness. This one was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that made your chest tighten in a way his teasing never quite did. And somehow, that felt much more dangerous.
“All right,” he said at last, stepping back behind the door. “I’ll leave. I’ll stand guard and protect your sacred right to personal hygiene.”
“How noble of you.”
“I’m a very noble man, actually.”
“You barged into the showers.”
“Accidentally barged into the showers. Very important difference.”
“And nearly fell.”
“That was tactical.”
“And lost your towel.”
“It fell heroically in battle.”
You shook your head, but your smile refused to go away. Enjin had almost closed the door when he paused again.
“Hey.”
“What?”
He still wasn’t looking inside. He stood just beyond the doorway, one hand holding the door, his voice a little quieter now.
“When you’re done… I can walk you back to your room. Just in case there’s more dangerous wet floor on the way.”
The hot water suddenly wasn’t the only reason your cheeks felt warm.
“Is that an excuse?”
“Of course.”
“A terrible one.”
“I’d call it creative.”
You were quiet for a couple of seconds, then turned your face away, as if that could hide the smile in your voice.
“Fine. Wait outside.”
There was a brief silence from behind the door. Then Enjin gave a pleased little hum.
“Understood. Guarding.”
“And don’t listen in!”
“What, are you planning to sing in there?”
“Enjin!”
“Okay, okay. Silent.”
And, to his credit, he really did go silent. For about two minutes. Then his voice came through the door again.
“Hey… was that my shampoo you threw at me, or someone else’s?”
You covered your face with one hand.
“I told you to be quiet.”
“So it was mine.”
And despite the embarrassment, despite the ridiculousness of it all, you laughed again. Because no matter how hard you tried to stay mad at him, with Enjin, it almost never lasted long.
Imagine: You noticed it by accident. Not because you were spying. Not because you had gone looking for something strange in Gris Rubion, even though, if you were honest, your own insecurity had always tried to find a flaw in him. You thought he was perfect, and perfection was a difficult thing to believe in.
But this was different.
Mornings at the Cleaners’ headquarters always began in the same noisy, restless way. Somewhere in the gym, people were arguing over a missing piece of equipment. Someone was finishing breakfast on the move. Someone else was checking their weapon while sitting on the edge of a table, despite having been chased off it at least ten times before. The corridors smelled of iron, dust, old cloth, hot tea, and something faintly burnt.
Apparently, someone’s latest attempt at cooking had failed again. You were carrying a stack of clean bandages toward the medical room when you heard a familiar voice.
Gris stood in the locker room, a little apart from the chaos, beside the window where the pale morning light fell across his shoulders. He was already prepared for departure: jacket fastened, gloves on, gear checked. He looked exactly the way you were used to seeing him before a mission: broad, steady, so solid that even the walls seemed fragile beside him.