Work Text:
There's nothing Gris longs for more than a shower once he's safely back at the Cleaners' lair. He sighs heavily as he enters, the rest of the support group following close behind, and Bro Santa grinning from ear to ear, happy that everything went well.
Semiu simply asks if they brought her a gift on they way out, and Gris knows exactly what she means, so he hands her two new magazines featuring of "her favorite girls." That'll keep her happy until they have to go out again, when a new magazine order will top the list of essential things to do for the mission.
As he walks down the hallway to his room, he encounters a figure waiting against the wall at the end of the corridor, near his bedroom door (since it's at the end of the second floor). He doesn't stop because he could recognize him even blindfolded; his build, his relaxed posture, and that spiky hair he always wears down when he's out in the city. Today was no exception.
Enjin says nothing when Gris reaches his door and glances at him with a gentle smile. Enjin's dark, serious, golden eyes soften slightly.
"Bad date night?" he asks quietly, entering his room without bothering to see if Enjin was following him, because he knew he would.
"Ugh, shut up," he snaps, rolling his eyes.
Enjin settles onto Gris's bed, sitting up abruptly and leaning back against his pillows. Gris sits in his chair against his desk, starting to take off his shoes as a comfortable silence falls between them.
Since Enjin joined the Cleaners a few years ago, they've forged a very close friendship based strictly on the trust they both inspire. Perhaps it's in different ways, since Enjin, besides being trustworthy, is a damned womanizer and a first-rate slacker; conversely, Gris is extremely detail-oriented. They're quite opposites, but they work very well together.
Gris gently takes off his boots and sets them aside, his feet moving from the numbness of having been trapped all day. He sighs, leaning back against the chair, and closes his eyes, wishing it were already time to go to sleep.
Suddenly, Enjin speaks, his voice deep and hard as if the words had been stuck there for a long time.
"Have you ever felt... that none of this makes sense?" he murmurs, staring at the ceiling of the older man's room.
Gris looks up, puzzled by the words his... friend? He doesn't really know what kind of relationship they have. He doesn't know if they're close enough to call themselves "best friends," or if they're something more. He can certainly feel the tension between them, like opposite poles drawn almost magnetically, or so Semiu calls it; but he doesn't know how true that is.
Gris gets up from the chair and sits on the bed at the other man's feet. Enjin doesn't move an inch, nor does he lift his eyes from the ceiling, not even when he feels Gris's intense gaze on him. It's serious, because whenever he hears him speak in that tone, it has to be. No jokes in his words, no arrogant or self-assured statements.
"What do you mean?" he asks quietly, resting a hand on the mattress next to the blond man's leg.
Enjin finally shifts his gaze from the ceiling to him. Gris takes in his eyes, hard and deep like the most terrifying ocean.
"I mean..." he sits up slightly, leaning his back against the headboard. "Don't you think everything we do is for nothing? No matter how hard we work, the garbage beasts will keep appearing. And it doesn't matter if we rescue someone today; maybe that same person will be in danger tomorrow. That cycle never ends. What's the point?
Gris listens and doesn't judge his way of thinking and analyzing things; after all, he knows he has a point. It's a question everyone has asked themselves at some point, and what he's suggesting is logical. He sighs and offers a small smile. Enjin's features remain confused, but soften slightly.
"Well, things don't always go as planned. But that's what life is about: facing new problems and some you've already overcome. And that's the good thing. To perfect something, you have to face it several times, and that's good because by the second, third, or even fourth time you face it, you'll know exactly how to overcome that problem."
Enjin swallows hard. His eyes shift to his hands, calloused and scarred from everything life has thrown his way. He's never told anyone about it because it's not something anyone deserves to have on their mind. When he looks back up at Gris, he sees that Gris has moved a little closer and is observing him as if the whole world were before him.
Silence falls again, a familiar pattern between them that they never seem to tire of. They gaze into each other's eyes, studying every part of each other's faces. He knows the answers aren't there, but it's a way to distract himself.
"Sometimes I forget how wise you are," Enjin jokes, chuckling softly. The smile is contagious, and Gris gently punches his shoulder.
"Oh, shut your mouth" he laughs, lowering his head to the mattress.
Enjin nervously fidgets with his fingers. Thousands of questions flood his mind, and no matter how hard he tries to get them out, the words won't form properly. They're difficult to utter, even with someone as sweet and understanding as Gris.
The other man isn't pressuring him at all; he wants to give Enjin the safe haven he knows he has with him. They hadn't formed this connection for nothing.
"My name isn't Enjin," he reveals unexpectedly. Gris's eyes widen, but he says nothing. "At least not my real one."
Gris moves a little closer, their faces are just a few feet apart, and their eyes meet once more. It's as if that were truly their only purpose: to gaze fully into each other's eyes.
"Can I know what it is?" Gris asks in a voice as low as a whisper. Enjin laughs and shakes his head, slightly embarrassed.
"It's not something I'm proud of," he confesses, scratching the back of his neck. "You won't laugh, will you?"
"Please. The only way I'd laugh at your name is if it's Bob," he says, amused. Enjin frowns, but the smile never leaves his face.
"Why would you laugh if my name is Bob?"
"Because it wouldn't suit you at all!" he says honestly. Enjin laughs because he can't find any flaws in his logic.
"I would have preferred it to be Bob."
"Please, it can't be that bad."
The blond man looks down at his hands, because obviously it's much worse than being called Bob, but the other man doesn't have to know. He's about to reveal something that feels so intimate, even if it's something as simple as saying his full name, but Enjin has never had anything or anyone so personal with whom to confide a secret. He inhales sharply and sighs, looking into the man's eyes and finally lets it out.
"Endoareilychima Illastsalli Machiada Leotrago Sphidi Pharjin"
Silence. A raw, unbearable silence from Gris.
Enjin observes his perplexed face with a hint of amusement. He seems to have a thousand things to say, but nothing really works. He doesn't blame him; anyone who says that's a name might have the same reaction.
"It's..." he begins, but stammers, searching for something that won't sound hurtful. "...exotic."
Enjin snorts, amused. He appreciates his thoughtfulness, but can't help but tease his kindness.
"It's not exactly something you'd find in a 'baby name' catalog," Enjin says, laughing freely.
"Even so, I think Enjin suits you perfectly. It matches your personality and appearance."
"And at least that one actually sounds moanable," he jokes, sticking his tongue out cheekily.
Gris chokes on his saliva and feels his face turn completely red. He hadn't expected such a lewd joke out of nowhere, so he punches the boy, who clutches his stomach, doubled over with laughter. He's a cheeky one, and it shouldn't surprise him, but in a way, he admires the way he always manages to lighten a tense atmosphere, even if it has to be with raunchy jokes.
When the laughter and punches subside, they lie back against the mattress. The day's exhaustion from Gris's work and the tension in Enjin's body from nerves are starting to take their toll. They're not as young as they were when they joined the Cleaners, a few years ago now.
Gris breaks the silence, turning to look at the man beside him.
"I should confess something to you too," he murmurs. Enjin raises an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Well, you revealed something about your past, it's only fair that I do too," he inquires, clasping his hands together and placing them against his stomach. Enjin does the same, but puts them behind his head.
"You don't have to."
"But I want to. What kind of... friends would we be if not?"
Enjin ignores his hesitant, uncertain tone and focuses on his face.
"Okay, I'm all ears."
"Well, when I was a kid, I dyed my hair black with charcoal," he reveals.
Enjin frowns at him. What kind of super-secret was that?
Seeing his confused expression, Gris continues his story.
"I did it because I hated my hair..."
"But your hair is beautiful," he interrupts, taking a long strand of the other's blond hair. Gris feels his face burn again, but says nothing. He swallows hard, ignoring the frantic beating of his heart, and continues speaking.
"But it turns out my last name, Rubion, sounds almost the same as the word 'rubio,' which means 'person with blond hair' in Spanish. And I had a neighbor who spoke Spanish who, whenever he saw me, would say, 'Oh, there goes the rubio Rubion.' It made me a little embarrassed..."
Enjin lets out a loud, genuine laugh. The story sounds absurd, yes, but it's so typical of Gris. The other joins in the laughter, mocking his childish way of thinking and being.
"But it was worst when I found out that my name, Gris, means 'gray' in Spanish. I mean, I have a name of two colors. I felt like a stupid rainbow."
"Hey, but your name is cute," Enjin insists.
"It's like if your name was, I don't know, Black White"
"It's still better than mine, and you know it."
Gris sighs and says nothing more. "Okay, you're right."
"I knew you'd say that, you damn hypocrite," he teases, leaning down to tickle the older boy.
They laugh and squirm like children; nothing else matters except that they aren't themselves, in that moment, in that place. Their problems fade away; any insecurities about absurd names or meaningless words vanish with just the sound of Gris's melodious laughter.
Enjin froze. During that tickle game, he'd ended up on top of Gris, where he could appreciate even more closely how beautiful Gris was. He placed his hands on the older man's waist and gently squeezed his skin. Gris's laughter stopped, and he gasped, opening his eyes slightly to see the man above him.
And as if it were inevitable, Enjin kissed him. It only lasted a few seconds, as soft as a caress on his lips, but he quickly pulled away. He felt his face burn with embarrassment and began to apologize fervently, starting to move away from him. However, Gris stopped him, gripping his neck and pulling him to his lips to kiss him with passion and hunger.
Enjin shifts his weight a little more onto the other man, practically devouring him with his lips. The kiss escalates rapidly, and suddenly Enjin pulls away to leave kisses along his neck.
"Enjin..." he gasps against his ear. A wolfish grin spreads across the older man's neck.
"Yeah, it definitely sounds moanable."
Gris playfully punches him, but laughs softly.
"Oh, Endoareilychima Illastsalli Machiada Leotrago Sphidi Pharjin" he jokes in a honeyed tone, looking at him with mock flirtation. Enjin is surprised that he remembers his full name, but the surprise is replaced by loud laughter from both him and Gris.
"God, don't be a jeark"
Being someone you can trust has many advantages, but for Gris, the greatest of all is that Enjin finds him as safe as home.
And that's much better than any secret they could share.