Chapter Text
It wasn't different from any other Saturday night for Gris, or the occasional weekday where Enjin was given a day off the following day—where Enjin would come back to HQ, unnaturally drunk to the point where it's a miracle he didn't drive into his untimely end, and Gris would always offer himself up to act like some sort of caretaker. Even with this longtime experience as Enjin's cushion to consistently fall back on, Gris finds it harder to watch his friend destroy himself like he wasn't fragile. No one else in the world would consider the renowned leader of team Akuta that way, except for his concerned ol' best buddy Gris.
Regardless, he remains patiently waiting in the lobby, at a time so late that Semiu is off to her own bedroom, and way past when he should normally be sleeping. But his body has been forced to change itself for the sake of making sure his friend makes it back safe, especially when no one else would go to these lengths for this absolute maniac of a man. Why does he even bother?
Gris perks up to hear one of the cars pull up to the parking lot, as well of the roll of lights faintly passing by the windows next to the door. He settles his reading glasses along with his filed report onto the side table to make sure he could park the borrowed car into a non-liable position.
Before he even gets the chance, it passes the spot where it's normally conveniently stopped for him to take over, and cleanly weaves into the tunnel to park the car in the headquarter's lot. Did Enjin come home with someone today?
To answer his question, he finds a completely clean Enjin walking over like he has never touched a bottle of alcohol in his entire life albeit his dead tired eyes, and a face in complete annoyance to contrast. No one else is seen to exit after him. Gris doesn't even realize he's relieved about that fact, since his focus is locked on to finding out what caused the anomaly of tonight.
Enjin's fixed gaze to the ground shifts upwards as he approaches Gris, and his face slips into surprise. "Hell're you doing out here?"
Gris blinks once, twice, turns to see if there's anyone else in the vicinity that could be picked out as unusual. Confirming it's only him, "what do you mean?"
Enjin stops in front of him, and starts scratching the back of his nape in confusion, eyes darting a bit before keeping steady eye contact—not like there's much to look at. "It's late. Don't your old bones need rest, or somethin'?"
He scoffs with what he feels could be a hint of an amused smile worming its way onto his lips. "I'd be getting that if I didn't have to supervise you like you just got your rights to legally drink every Saturday."
Enjin's face tries to jerk itself into… some specific expression, before it was consciously stopped and contorts back into the essence of something more neutral, fast enough for Gris to be unable to get a read. "…Hm."
"What?"
"Nothing." He waves it off with his hand, causing Gris' attention to flit from the hand's movement to the other visible parts of skin uncovered from clothing. There's a significant absence of lipstick marks this time around. "Y'know, you can quit it if you want. I don't need you to watch over me. You're already Follo's guardian angel." His hand patting Gris' shoulder, "don't trouble yourself over it, dude."
"Someone needs to make sure you come back safely."
Enjin's expression once again threatens to falter from neutral. His body language maneuvers to something more casual—something Gris has noticed he does when he tries to hide the fact he doesn't want to talk about something. "I got it covered."
Frustratingly, he can't let this escalate. It's late, he's tired, Enjin probably isn't, which is the worst kind of combination to let a back-and-forth bubble through. It wouldn't even get through that thick skull of his. Biting his tongue to scold this idiot like he's newly 21, he huffs a tired sigh and ushers Enjin to go inside. They walk and talk—more just Enjin talking about completely unrelated topics—and Gris forces himself to stay curious of everything that could have transpired wherever Enjin could have gone.
It wasn't until they were at the hallway for Enjin's room that he tuned his monologue back in.
"…and I think I have a shot."
Gris' eyes shift to look at Enjin, who somehow, somewhere in the middle of his ranting was taking on a more fond demeanor. "Sorry- what?"
"…Jesus, dude, you really need your sleep."
"Maybe. What were you saying?"
His eyes dart around the hallway. "I found a girl." Like he foresaw Gris about to make a comment, "for real this time."
"…Right." Add another tick mark to the vast number of times he's said that, and you'll get enough to build a ladder to the sphere itself.
"Well, we're at my stop. Thanks for waiting for me, Gris." He gently bumps his fist into the middle of Gris' chest. "But for fuck's sake, just get your ass some rest."
Creaaakk— click.
After the door closed, he couldn't hear anything. Gris beelines to his room, with a ringing in his ears that seemed weirdly unfamiliar. It felt like it wasn't new, but he's experiencing it for the first time in his life. All he thought to do about it was mechanically wrap himself in his blankets, and stare at the ceiling.
Enjin had a reputation for short relationships. Going out to wherever it is he goes, usually bars, finding a woman to wrap around his finger for about a few days to a week, and then getting ultimately dumped for being either an asshole or a cheater. It annoys Gris to no bounds, the fact he treats other people's feelings so carelessly, and having the nerve to complain to only Gris about whatever went down. It has him second guessing why they still talk to each other. Maybe because no one else would want to hear him babble about how he was "definitely romantic," and he has to take a bullet for the rest of the cleaners. It's bizarre how much he endures for Enjin.
But it doesn't explain how much every single stage of his new relationships ache. The beginning, where Enjin gushes about every little mannerism she does that's sickeningly endearing only to him. The middle, where he explains the mundane things they did together in a boringly long monologue that includes every detail. The end, where he passes it off and moves on. The end, where he gravitates to Gris for comfort, with no explanation needed. The end, where Gris accepts him with welcoming arms, even if he doesn't understand why—and shares his pain in a way that Enjin finds it easy to pour his feelings out. It all feels so natural to Gris by this point, even if it means feeling left behind every time Enjin feels better and ready to start everything over again.
The ceiling is an asshole. Gris tosses to his right, and faces the opposing corner of his room.
Still, it doesn't explain why that is. What should he care about Enjin's turmoils, especially when it comes to his relationships? Thinking further, nothing else has ever made him this depressed. Maybe he should find himself a girlfriend, too. Shit, maybe this way Enjin could use a good example on what an actual relationship looks like.
He shifts, and the left side of his body rolls to plant on the mattress, placing his eyes onto the wall. Everything feels so fizzed out that the only thing Gris can hear is his own heartbeat, and staring a hole into the small piece of chipped paint helps him stay grounded into reality.
…Enjin.
He's an ache in all the wrong places.