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There was a man with a name erased. A name that, in childhood, was etched onto walls, unceremoniously scratched into the hard surface, then forgotten; for nobody returned to claim it. It was funny, truly. How the Ground was the home of the forgotten. The home of forgotten items now reduced to trash, and now forgotten names too.
Gris watched the features of the man, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door of the Jeep. He’s pale and lean, but not as pale as Gris himself. The ragged old linen shirt he wore hung loosely over his shoulders as he tended the fire: a burning pile of trash set on fire. Outside lay toxic fields, ridden with anger and poisonous air, plains of trash sediment. Further still would be the trash-beasts they’d intended to fight that afternoon. But tonight, they’d rest. Tomorrow morning they’d head on into the next town, to collect parts for the car that had been on its last legs for some days now.
“Enjin,” Gris called; he’d been awfully silent, “What’s on your mind?”
“Y’know, I’d hoped we would get back this evening,” The man prodded the trash-fire with his umbrella, watching sparks burn brighter, “Semiu made this sound easy.” He followed with another agitated prod. Even through the dim light of the fire, Gris could see his brows furrow in annoyance.
Gris laughed under his breath, the sound coming out more as an amused rumble than anything else. “Remind me again, when was the last time we had anything easy?” He glanced behind him, in through the Jeep’s windows, at Follo, who had nodded off against the passenger window, then Rudo, Riyo and Zanka, who all seemed to rely on each other for pillows, . He pushed himself off, moving to sit, crouching opposite.
“Ah… It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Enjin gave the smallest of chuckles, leaning back against the rock behind him, hands on the back of his head, “This whole sphere business, with the raiders. Time-consuming.” He enunciated the words ‘time-consuming’.
Gris mused, “I miss it sometimes.” He wasn’t lying. Even if he wasn’t a giver, being a supporter, too, had been rougher since the Raiders started acting up more than they did before.
“Really?” Enjin’s gentle smile cracked into that token grin, “This is hella fun.”
Gris snorted, glancing down at the trash-fire. That was more like the Enjin he knew. Fearless, the sort to smile through everything.
“You’re not tired?” Gris raised a brow as he looked up at Enjin. The other man’s gaze had become more contemplative.
“..Nah. Nah, not really.”
There was a quiet moment, aside from the fire’s crackling, where Enjin leaned forward to stoke the flames with a twig, then tossed it inside. He’d initially looked away from Gris’ eyes, but now it seemed he made a conscious effort to look right into them. He settled his chin in his palm, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You’re not tired either?”
To be honest, Gris was tired. Something he’d noticed recently. Not even did he seem to (albeit barely) lack the stamina of a Giver, but he seemed to tire earlier than before. He rubbed his eyes sub-consciously, earning an amused snort from Enjin.
“Yeah, you’re tired. You gotta sleep, y’know. You’re important.”
Gris paused at the thought, the concept of importance. “I doubt I could sleep in a place like this.” Is what he chose to comment on.
He watched Enjin reach into the pocket of his jacket, which lay beside him unworn, to fish out a pack of cigarettes.
Gris had seen Enjin roll his cigarettes many times. Walking past his room in the evening, with the dim lamp illuminating his desk, his face. Sometimes with his leg hitched up for support, in the passenger seat of the car. He’d have that expression of deep concentration, one that was only otherwise seen on Enjin when he found himself in a tough fight– which was also rather rare.
“Can you pass me one?” Gris asked, receiving a look of surprise from Enjin.
Enjin’s surprised expression became a mocking grin: “I thought you quit.”
“I can handle one or two every so often. I’m not a chainsmoker like you.” He extended his arm over the fire, palm out. But to his own surprise, Enjin stood up. He stood up, leaned over the fire, to put the cigarette, personally, between Gris’ lips.
Of course, he’d be stunned. By the action, of course, but far more importantly, that soft look that had graced Enjin’s face. That look from earlier had become a gentle smile, with a barely-there, just about unnoticeable gleam of mischief in his eyes. Gris didn’t know what kind of face he himself was making– he’d be at peace with that fact. But he could feel the heat spread right across his cheeks. He looked away, pulling the cigarette from his lips to speak.
“I could have done that by myself–”
“..Shut up,” Enjin hummed around the cigarette; Enjin had crouched down to light his own with the fire, then leaned forward to Gris again, “Your light.”
Gris put the cigarette between his lips once again, leaning forward to brush the end of his cigarette against Enjin’s lit end. The little spark, reflected in Enjin’s eyes, seemed to make them even brighter than usual, as if Enjin were taking great enjoyment in flustering Gris this way. If it were obvious that Gris was just about barely holding himself together, then Enjin mentioned nothing of it. It must have been at least somewhat noticeable, judging from the sleazy grin that was now gracing his mouth. Gris blinked when Enjin pulled away and finally took a drag. Enjin slumped down beside him this time, “Man, I don’t remember when you became such a goodie two-shoes.”
That was food for thought. Well, he was never particularly as much of a rogue like Enjin had always been. Enjin always had something carefree about him that Gris admired greatly. Something that Gris had never personally achieved, nor had felt in some time. It might’ve been Follo. Follo was young, determined, and most importantly Gris’ responsibility. Gris supposed it was responsibility that changed a man. In the corner of his vision, he could see Enjin’s hair sticking up slightly. Gris could think of one person whom responsibility had yet to change.
He glanced over, craning his neck, where Enjin was still peering curiously at him.
“Goodie two-shoes.” He repeated, a teasing lilt in his voice. Gris didn't answer, and it didn't seem to bother Enjin. He flopped his head onto Gris’ shoulder with the faintest ‘thump’. Gris could feel Enjin’s gaze on him as he took another drag, his eyes following his lips. There was another period of silence, within which Gris and Enjin both fit in a few drags. Enjin’s hand crawled towards Gris’ knee, testing waters.
Enjin tossed his half-finished cigarette into the fire, watching it burn away. Yet again, he watched Gris take another drag, and he reached up to take it from his lips.
“Enjin–” Gris began, smoke curling around his lips. Then he was silenced by the feeling of a hand in his hair, and cracked lips on his own. His eyes widened for a second then closed, hands finding Enjin’s face as he kissed him back. He pulled back, gasping softly as he locked eyes with Enjin again.
“I swear, you never get a hint.” Enjin’s voice came rough, slightly frustrated, and breathless.
“Hint?” Was all Gris could manage.
“Holy Sphere, you’re clueless!” Enjin groaned, but he was still inching closer in the hopes of another kiss. His cheeks were tinged pink, his ears even pinker, and he grit his teeth as he leaned in again, brushing their lips together tentatively– asking. This time, Gris was the one to lean in, firmly capturing his bottom lip. He gently angled his head to deepen it, shivering at the feeling of Enjin’s nails scratching the hairs at his neck.
When they finally pulled away, Gris knew this time for sure that he’d become a mess. He could feel the heat spreading to his ears, his neck; the way his heart pounded in his chest. His own breathing was staggered, but he didn't speak. He didn't say a word. Perhaps because he didn't know where this was going.
The truth was, despite all his loudness and talkative nature, Enjin was a mystery. His motives lay locked up behind a perfect, cheeky façade– something that continued into this. His expression was, at least to Gris, unreadable. Gris swallowed the thoughts down.
“Good times?” Enjin raised a brow. Gris nodded weakly, his eyes darting to the fire that was beginning to die down. Enjin stood up, reaching over for Umbreaker and opening it, creating a gust that blew the flames out. Gris remained where he was, mind racing with thoughts and questions, trying to fit together puzzle pieces that didn't quite align.
Enjin’s voice felt distant, “Now, you better sleep. I’ll keep watch. Goodnight, Gris.”
They wouldn't speak of this in the morning.