Chapter Text
Zanka didn't plan on going out that night.
He’d meant to crash in his room, maybe raid the fridge for some of the leftovers they still had and forget the world existed for a few hours.
So how did he end up here? In the dingy booth of this damn dive bar that the cleaners frequent after a mission well done?
He grumbles a few curses under his breath, already tired out because of the earlier mission. Surrounded by neon lights, sticky tables, and a collection of questionable scents he refused to identify.
He was halfway through his drink, nibbling on the dishes in front of them as the others drank their aching bodies away.
A few hours later, the bar was louder than anything Zanka would usually tolerate.
Music from the speakers rattled the tables, the neon lights flickered like they were having an identity crisis, and someone in the back kept yelling in the background even though nothing eventful was happening. It smelled like cheap alcohol, warm bodies, and a hint of something burning in the back kitchen. A typical night out with the Janitors.
The rest of the team was scattered around the place by now: Gris and Follo were picking up more drinks at the bar, Zanka raises a brow at the sight of Follo insistently taking the tray from the older but decides against speaking out about it. Riyo was busy tangling Rudo's hair as they both talked about the mission and munched on the leftover food on the table.
Enjin had been with them initially. He vanished at the doorway and muttered, “Gonna say hi to someone,” and disappeared into the crowd. Zanka hadn’t cared. He definitely didn’t keep glancing at the door,waiting for the blonde to walk out the door again.
He took another long sip.
The bar’s little stage was usually filled with a garage band who practiced more than they performed, but tonight something must’ve gone wrong. The guitarist wasn’t there. The drummer was frantically typing on her phone and the bassist was muttering with the keyboardist. The lonely guitar sat on an empty table, no wielder in sight.
The bar owner was on stage, announcing apologies and looking apologetic for the major delay.
Zanka didn’t pay attention. Didn’t care.
Not until he saw someone step onto the stage.
Someone tall. Familiar. Too-familiar.
The world didn’t need to hum dramatically, but Zanka swore it did anyway.
Enjin.
Wearing his usual jacket with the sleeves rolled up, a drink still in hand like he walked up there by accident. He leaned toward the bar owner, said something that made the guy sigh with relief, and then—he grabbed the guitar with a familiarity that made it seem like they were old friends.
Zanka’s glass nearly slipped from his hand.
“Ohhh, is Enjin playing?” Follo yelled as he came back from the bar. “Aw, hell yeah, we’re getting live music!”
Riyo raised her head at that, an amused grin on her lips as she cheered. “Let's gooo! Play it, Enjin!” She waves a hand around, getting Enjin's attention as he laughs and gives their group a small nod.
Zanka did not cheer. It's not like he didn't want to, he couldn't.
He just sat there, heart punching upward into his throat, trying very hard not to look as affected as he felt.
Enjin cracked his knuckles, took a small breath, and then his fingers started strumming on the strings, testing how the guitar hummed in his hands. He was so focused, unaware of Zanka's heavy gaze on him—or the chaos of the bar around him.
The first chord was warm. Smooth. Too smooth for this kind of place.
Conversations slowed. The clatter of plates quieted. Even the chaotic noises coming from the kitchen seemed to pause.
Enjin held the guitar like he owned every sound in the room.
Zanka hated this.
Or maybe he didn’t hate it. Maybe that was the problem.
He leaned back slowly, grabbing some random drink, completely unaware that it was Gris’ unfinished glass as he took it and tilted his head back, downing the liquid and grimacing once he realized he just downed a good half glass of alcohol.
He didn't dwell much on that, his pulse kept stuttering every time Enjin hit a sweet low note, every time his fingers glided and plucked on the strings like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Zanka’s eyes drifted to Enjin’s profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle furrow of concentration between his brows, the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever a chord sounded exactly the way he wanted.
He looked good. Really, unfairly good.
Of course he did.
Riyo leaned over the back of the booth. “Zanka, you’re staring.”
“I’m not,” he answered immediately, glancing at the redhead.
Riyo raised a brow. “Sure, man.”
Zanka refuses to acknowledge the red haired woman as she laughs and looks at him expectantly, so he turns his head away. Deciding to focus back on Enjin's frame as he leaned closer with the bassist who grins back at him, accompanying Enjin's little guitar solo.
The melody shifted to something sharper, something electrifying as it got more and more energetic, it got the room hollering and cheering. A few people swayed. A couple leaned into each other. Men and women leaned towards the stage, as if magnetically attracted to the riffs Enjin was easing out of the guitar.
Enjin always had that effect when he wasn’t trying.
“You think he'll pick someone up tonight?” Riyo asks innocently, eyeing Zanka—who immediately stiffened up at her question.
Zanka's eyes wandered all over the place, letting out a sigh as he noticed the countless people Enjin seemed to seduce just by being himself.
“.. Who knows, who cares.” He forces out before grabbing the right glass this time and drinking. Pretending he doesn't care about what he just noticed.
Who was he kidding, he was one in the sea of many. Just another face among the others who saw Enjin in the same light. He was a natural charmer, of course he'd have so many people after him.
Zanka finally looks up again after being so lost in thought, his breath hitches once blue met yellow. He locks eyes with Enjin, who immediately grins upon seeing Zanka's eyes back on him again.
The idiot even adjusted his stance, walking a bit closer to their side. Angling his body in a way that Zanka can see the way his fingers pluck the strings, watching as Enjin licks his lips before continuing to play a riff that seems to pull Zanka's breath out of his lungs.
Enjin’s grin didn’t falter as he shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just remembered he had an audience he wanted to provoke—no, that he wanted Zanka to see that we wanted Zanka's eyes on him. His fingers moved with that casual confidence he always carried, but there was focus in the way he pressed down on each string, turning the cheap instrument into something richer than it had any right to be.
Zanka didn’t blink.
Couldn’t.
The riff dipped low, then climbed, and Zanka felt heat crawl up his neck. Not from embarrassment (he’d be damned before he admitted that) but from something that felt like being kicked in the chest from the inside.
“Wow, he’s really going for it tonight,” Gris commented as he slid back into the booth. He snatched up his glass, frowned at the emptiness, then glared at Zanka. “Did you drink my stuff?”
Zanka didn’t answer. Couldn't.
Because Enjin tilted his head down just slightly, strands of blond hair falling forward as he smiled at his own hands like the strings were whispering secrets only he could hear.
Rudo gawks at their team lead, clearly in awe at this different side of Enjin that he's never seen. “Wow.. I didn't know Enjin could play like that.” He mutters.
Riyo snorted, rolling her eyes at Rudo's admiration. “He doesn't. Usually.”
Zanka was too busy gawking to even include himself in the conversation, busy committing how Enjin made the audience swoon and sight just by playing a simple song.
But then Enjin’s eyes flicked up again, sweeping briefly across the bar like he was checking the crowd—until they landed directly on Zanka’s face.
The air punched out of Zanka’s lungs.
Enjin didn’t look away this time. Didn’t pretend he was scanning the room. No—he held Zanka’s gaze, a slow and deliberate curl forming at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t the teasing grin he tossed at friends. No, this one felt… sharper. More direct. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Zanka’s fingers tightened around his glass.
Riyo leaned forward. A teasing smile on her lips. “Ohoo? He's staring at youu!”
“He’s not—” Zanka started, but his voice cracked. He coughed. Loudly.
Rudo, Riyo, and Gris all stared at him.
“He’s not,” he said again, lower. Trying to convince them and mostly himself.
The three gave synchronized, unimpressed looks. Riyo even scoffs, crossing her arms and muttering about them being idiots.
Onstage, Enjin shifted closer to the mic, that same amused tilt to his lips. His fingers danced across the neck of the guitar with a new intensity, weaving a melody that slid smooth and confident through the room. The bassist leaned closer to him, /too close/. As if she was familiar with him.
It made Zanka’s stomach twist.
The crowd cheered as Enjin picked up the tempo, fingers flying, body swaying ever so slightly with the rhythm. His movements were fluid, controlled, deceptively effortless. Each pluck came with precision, each strum wrapped the room in warmth.
Zanka swallowed hard. “He’s showing off.” He grunts as he leans back into the booth, forcing himself to look away from the blonde's performance.
“Hmm.. Maybe he is,” Riyo said. “But he definitely looks like he's also flirting.”
.. Yeah, maybe he is. Zanka's mind wonders who Enjin was practically flirting with on stage. Who was it that caught Enjin's eye to receive this reaction from the blonde.
“It’s not flirting,” Zanka mutters once he regains his voice. “… He’s just playing.”
Gris shrugged. “Yeah, but it looks like he's trying to seduce someone.” The older man laughs, taking a sip of his drink as he has his free arm behind the seat Follo's in.
Zanka rolls his eyes and looks at the drinks in front of him again before grabbing another random glass and downing it again.
He coughs a bit before wiping his lips withthe back of his hand before looking back towards the stage, eyes hesitantly landing on Enjin again.
Zanka thought we were unnoticeable this time but then Enjin leaned forward just slightly, spoke into the mic, voice smooth despite the bar’s crappy speakers.
“Got a little gift for you guys.”
A few cheers.
Enjin’s eyes dragged back to Zanka before he continued, tone lower, faintly amused.
“There's someone listening real hard tonight and I want to deliver.”
Riyo slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Oh God, he's embarrassing.”
Zanka’s soul left his body.
Rudo gawks before cheering. Gris choked on his own spit before grinning and raising a glass towards Enjin's frame.
Zanka, mortified, turned away sharply—trying his best to ignore the way his heart absolutely pounds inside his chest.
This wasn't meant for him, Enjin is doing it for /all/ of the cleaners, not just him. Zanka reminds himself, hand clutching his chest.
From the stage, he heard the smug, lazy pluck of strings. The same rhythm Enjin always played when Zanka found him in that same storage room, when he was in a good mood, when he felt comfortable, when he felt safe.
When he was teasing.
Enjin lifted his chin slightly, still looking straight at Zanka’s half-hidden form.
“Hope you’re enjoying it,” he added, softer—as if his voice was caressing the mic, but loud enough that Zanka heard it anyway.
Zanka felt heat flood his ears. “I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not,” Riyo said, grabbing his sleeve. “Sir back down, no one's even gonna drive you back. What're you gonna do?” She countered.
“Walk home?! I don't know? Fuckin’ hell.” Zanka groans, stuffing his mouth with the snacks laid on the table.
“I’m gonna throw up,” Zanka muttered after a while, the tip of his ears still impossibly red.
“From the alcohol,” Gris asked, “or the feelings?”
Zanka considered flipping the table.
Onstage, Enjin finally looked away, but only after one last, lingering glance. He settled back into the melody, shoulders relaxing, expression brightening like the whole bar had become his playground.
People swooned. A few shouted his name. Someone by the stage yelled, “MARRY ME, GUITAR GUY!”
Enjin laughed then, the sound short, warm, genuine. Zanka hated the way his chest tightened at the sound.
Riyo glanced at Zanka and grinned wickedly. “You know what’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“I've only seen Enjin play this confidently when he’s having fun. And guess who finally decided to join our little after mission drink sesh?” Riyo sings-songs, twirling her hair around her finger.
“Shut up.” Zanka grits his teeth, continuing to munch on whatever he can get his hands on.
“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “You make him play like that.”
Zanka didn’t have a response.
He just stared helplessly, hopelessly as Enjin slid into another riff, head tilted back slightly, fingers flying, every movement looking like muscle memory wrapped in joy.
And Zanka knew, in the same miserable, heart-thudding way he knew every time Enjin smiled at him. He wasn’t going to forget this night. He doesn't think he can ever erase the memory of this night from his mind.
Enjin’s fingers slid into another smooth progression, something lighter now, almost playful. It was the kind of melody that didn’t demand attention but commanded it anyway, a quiet confidence that rippled through the bar and settled into the bones of anyone listening. Even the rowdiest patrons softened their chatter into murmurs. The bar lights flickered lazily, casting Enjin in alternating hues of gold and violet, and Zanka felt his jaw tense at how unfairly good he looked in both.
He didn’t mean to lean forward a little. His body just… did.
Across the booth, Riyo and Rudo exchanged a look that made Zanka want to flick their foreheads. Gris took another swig of whatever replacement drink he grabbed, watching Zanka like a man observing a particularly dramatic nature documentary.
Onstage, Enjin adjusted his grip slightly, wrist flexing as he transitioned into a crisper riff. He looked relaxed—no, radiant. There was a glow to him that wasn’t just the bar lights. He tapped his foot lightly in time with the beat, shoulder rolling in rhythm, head dipping when he hit a chord progression he clearly liked. His lips curled into that soft upward tilt that Zanka had seen a hundred times and still wasn’t immune to.
The worst part was that Enjin wasn’t trying. This was Enjin at rest, Enjin in his element, Enjin enjoying himself. The version of him Zanka found hardest to look away from.
“You’re leaning so much you’re about to fall out of the booth,” Riyo whispered.
“No, I’m not,” Zanka muttered, immediately sitting straighter. Tensing up all of a sudden as his nails pressed against the table's edge.
Riyo smirked. “Sure. Totally wasn’t swooningg..”
Enjin’s eyes flicked back over the crowd again, scanning, searching. He found Zanka almost instantly, like there was some kind of invisible thread between them he didn’t even need to think about following. His grin widened again, that smug little curve of his lips.
Zanka’s pulse hit the ceiling.
Rudo chews on the piece of meat he was munching on. “Why does Enjin always look at you?” He ponders, pointing the bone towards their team leader while humming. “He always manages to find you, among crowds, during missions.”
Zanka pursed his lips as Rudo kept talking out loud. Trying his hardest to drown out the younger's theorizing.
“Right?! I knew I wasn't the only one who noticed!” Riyo exclaimed loudly. Zanka shoved at her shoulder, a warning to keep her voice down as his chest kept rattling from within.
Did Enjin really..? Did he really not notice if Enjin keeps a close eye on him.. Or are these idiots fucking with him?
Zanka shakes his head before looking back up to the stage.
The bassist leaned in toward Enjin, whispering something with a grin that made Zanka’s mood immediately worsen. Enjin snorted, shaking his head as he kept playing, but he didn’t move away. If anything, they looked comfortable, like the lack of space between them was familiar. The bassist nudged his shoulder against Enjin’s, laughing when Enjin missed a beat and plucked the wrong note.
Zanka’s stomach stirred unpleasantly.
Gris noticed immediately. “Jealous?”
“No,” Zanka said way too fast. “I mean—what?”
Riyo gave him the flattest stare known to man. “Dude. That’s the worst lie you’ve told today.”
“I’m not—jealous,” Zanka defended himself, crossing his arms. “Why would I be?”
“Yeaahh, you're drilling holes into that bassist's head with your eyes.” Follo joins in, a grin on the noiret's face as he takes a sip of his drink. “But sure, totally not jealous!”
Zanka didn’t dignify that with an answer, because Enjin was looking at him again—eyes bright, smile softer than before. Zanka swallowed hard and looked away, but his gaze kept drifting back involuntarily, pulled into orbit.
Enjin shifted again, setting his stance wider as he transitioned into something more upbeat. The crowd clapped along, some raising their drinks in the air, a few whistling. Zanka felt heat crawl under his shirt as Enjin played, shoulders swaying, fingers absolutely dancing. It was like the entire bar was vibrating with the rhythm he was creating.
He knew Enjin was good but this was different.
This was Enjin showing off.
Not for the crowd.
For him.
The realization hit Zanka like a punch to his gut, like a pack of trash beasts just decided to gang up on him.
Even the band behind Enjin had caught on. The drummer smirked when Enjin stepped forward again, directing his next few notes unmistakably toward the corner booth where Zanka sat. She rolled her eyes and fake gagged at the sight but kept the beat steady.
“You know,” Riyo said, chin propped on her hand as she observed Enjin, “if he gets any more obvious he’s gonna make the guitar say your name.”
Zanka pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of you.”
“Love you too,” Riyo chirped.
Another burst of cheers broke out when Enjin hit a tiny solo, nothing complicated, just enough flair for the audience to go wild. He laughed into the sound—bright, free, the kind of laugh that pulled the corners of Zanka’s mouth up even when he didn’t want it to.
Then someone from the crowd shouted, “ENJIN, PLAY THAT ONE SONG!”
Enjin looked toward the voice, then back at the mic, amused. “Which one?”
“The one you played last month! The fast one!”
A few others cheered in agreement.
Enjin scratched his cheek sheepishly. “Huh… that one’s kinda intense.”
“DO IT!”
“YEAH!”
“CMONN!”
Enjin laughed again, shaking his head like he was being bullied into a dare. His eyes flicked to Zanka one more time.
And Zanka felt something settle uncomfortably low in his gut.
Enjin adjusted the guitar strap, squared his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles again.
“Okay, okay,” he said into the mic. “Don’t complain if it’s too loud.”
The bar rumbled with anticipation. Even the cleaners leaned forward slightly. Even Zanka, before he realized and forced himself to straighten his back again.
Enjin inhaled.
Then he played.
The first few notes were sharp enough to slice through the noise in the room. Fast, technical, precise—too quick for most people to follow, but smooth as hell. The bar erupted with screams. Even Follo, who barely reacted to anything unless it involved food or chaos, whistled sharply.
Enjin didn’t break eye contact with the strings or the crowd for a solid thirty seconds. His expression shifted from concentration to thrill, to something dangerously close to wild joy. His foot tapped faster, shoulders moving with greater intensity. His fingers ran up the fretboard so fast Zanka blinked twice just to keep track.
He was radiant.
Alive.
Ridiculously, painfully attractive.
Gris leaned in as if narrating something sacred. “This is a mating display.”
Zanka nearly choked on his own breath. “What?!—NO—”
“Look at him,” Gris insisted, gesturing toward the stage. “Tell me he’s not courting someone right now.”
“He’s not—”
“He’s absolutely courting someone right now,” Riyo said, nodding in agreement.
Rudo held up his soda drink. “To Zanka’s impending doom.”
Zanka slammed his forehead against the table.
Onstage, the song built toward its peak. Enjin’s fingers blurred, sweat beading on his temple. He looked exhilarated, mouth twitching into a breathless grin. The bassist hyped him up, shouting something Zanka couldn’t hear over the crowd, but it didn’t matter. Enjin was in his own world.
Until he wasn’t.
Until he lifted his head.
And found him.
Again.
And this time, Enjin didn’t look away. Didn’t smirk casually or tease with the same playful glances. This stare was heavier. Grounded. Charged.
Like the music wasn’t just a performance.
Like it was a message.
The chord rang out, vibrating through the entire bar. The final note lingered, the band was panting on stage but all Zanka focuses on is the droplets or sweat trailing down Enjin’s skin. Not long after, the bar exploded into cheers that rattled the walls. People stomped their feet, clapped wildly, shouted his name.
Enjin exhaled sharply, pushed his hair back, then finally cracked a lopsided grin into the mic.
“Guess I still got it,” he said.
The crowd roared.
Zanka sat frozen.
Riyo nudged him. “I think you need to talk to him after this.”
Zanka shook his head violently. “Nope.”
“Oh come onn,” Riyo practically whines. “He’s practically dragging you onto the stage with his eyes.”
“He’s not!” Zanka hisses back, shoving at Riyo's shoulder.
Gris cut in, “If he stares any harder, you'll start to melt.”
Zanka wanted to sink into the floor.
The band started talking among themselves again, probably deciding whether to play another song. Enjin set the guitar aside for a moment, grabbing a small towel offered by the bar owner. He wiped his forehead, still smiling faintly, still glowing with the high of performing.
Then, because the universe hated Zanka. Enjin hopped off the stage.
And headed right toward them.
Riyo slapped Zanka’s arm. “POSTURE UP, SOLDIER.”
“I’m leaving,” Zanka whispered.
“No, you’re not,” Rudo said, blocking his escape route like a brick wall.
Zanka’s heart hammered against his ribs.
Enjin weaved through the crowd easily, people patting his shoulder, complimenting him, trying to grab his attention. He smiled at all of them, thanked a few, nodded politely.
But his eyes?
They stayed locked on Zanka.
Every step closer made Zanka feel like he was sitting under a spotlight. He straightened unconsciously, hands suddenly unsure of where they belonged. His drink wasn’t even finished but he held it like it was the only thing anchoring him.
Riyo murmured, “Look alive, lover boy.”
Zanka hissed back, “Shut up—”
Enjin reached the table.
“Hey,” Enjin said, voice warm, eyes glowing like he’d just conquered a kingdom. His hair was a little messy, his breaths slightly uneven.
Zanka forgot how to speak.
Rudo waved casually. “Nice performance.”
“Thanks,” Enjin replied, though his gaze didn’t leave Zanka. “Had a good view.”
Riyo raised both brows. Gris stifled his laugh into his fist.
Zanka swallowed. Hard. “... You done showing off?”
Enjin’s lips curved. “Did you see something you liked?”
Zanka’s throat constricted.
The bar was loud. People still cheered. Drinks clinked. Music thumped from the speakers.
But none of it existed for a moment.
Just Enjin’s smirk.
And Zanka’s pounding heart.
Enjin tilted his head slightly, lowering his voice. “You didn’t look away once.”
Zanka opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No words came.
Zanka’s chest felt like it had been hollowed out and replaced with lead. He wanted to pretend he wasn’t staring, but his body betrayed him, shoulders slumping forward slightly as he tried to sink deeper into the booth.
And everyone noticed. Of course they did.
The peace and quiet of their little booth broke when someone approached.
“Hey, man, mind if I sit with you?” A guy asked as Enjin settled beside Zanka. Too late. Too obvious. Enjin didn’t even hesitate, flashing a grin that made Zanka want to rip his own face off.
“Nah, we're already full for the night,” Enjin said smoothly, motioning to everyone around the table before giving Zanka a look that was equal parts teasing and acknowledging.
The guy didn’t retreat immediately, though. He leaned a little too close, shoulder brushing against Enjin’s as if proximity was some kind of challenge.
Zanka’s hands curled into fists around his glass.
“Excuse me,” Enjin said, his voice low but with an edge that made the guy finally blink. Enjin leaned in slightly, just enough to make the guy aware of his own audacity, then flashed that grin—cruel in the softest, most infuriating way possible. “I think you heard me, I hope I won't have to repeat myself.”
The guy laughed nervously and stepped back, and Zanka finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Enjin got to relax at last, moving one of his arms behind Zanka on the seat.. Riyo and Rudo immediately try to steal his attention with questions about the performance.
“Damn,” Enjin said, resting one elbow on the table, “that performance would've been a mess without a proper guitarist.” He shot a glance at Zanka, eyes sparkling in a way that made Zanka want to leave entirely. “I almost forgot how quiet it can get when no one's performing up there.”
Zanka’s jaw tightened. He wanted to tear his gaze away from Enjin. He tried. Really. But the way Enjin leaned back in the booth, effortlessly charismatic even in casual conversation, made the air feel thick and heavy, and Zanka could feel himself losing.
The cleaners were finally starting to get comfortable but it seems like Enjin’s little stunt really attracted a lot of people.
It started innocently enough. A girl with purple streaked hair came up, leaning against the side of the booth.
“You were amazing,” she said, voice breathless. “I’ve never seen anyone play like that. Can I… get your number?”
Enjin tilted his head, that lazy, amused grin twisting onto his lips. “I’m flattered. But I’m not interested,” he said while waving a hand off, casual and unreadable. “I’m kind of… taken tonight.”
The girl blinked. “Oh. Uh… by who?”
Enjin’s lips curved into a teasing smirk. “By my friends here.”
Zanka felt like he’d been sucker-punched. Friends. Friends. He’d known Enjin was just playing to impress, but that casual, offhanded deflection felt deliberate, almost cruel in the way it hammered home Zanka’s place. Reminding him that there was nothing else happening. That was it, performing for friends. And yet, at the same time… it felt impossibly intimate.
The girl raised her hands like she was conceding some invisible battle. “Okay… Fair.” She left, shooting Zanka a quick glance that almost made him want to glare, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. What right did he have to do so?
“Someone’s fidgety tonight,” Enjin said softly, leaning just slightly closer, enough that Zanka could feel the faintest warmth from his body. His voice was quiet, meant for him alone. “You okay?”
Zanka choked on his own tongue. “I… I’m fine,” he managed, voice tight, brittle.
Enjin hummed softly, his gaze scanning Zanka’s face like he was trying to memorize it in low light. “Mm. You sure? You’ve been… looking at me funny.”
“I—” Zanka’s hands trembled slightly as he gripped his glass. He didn’t like feeling exposed. Didn’t like feeling noticed. But Enjin leaned closer again, elbows resting on the table now, head tilting in that way he always did when he was about to make someone confess something they didn’t want to admit.
“I’m fine,” Zanka repeated, sharper this time.
“Right,” Enjin said, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “Good. Just making sure.”
Riyo, oblivious to the tension, leaned over, grinning. “Zanka couldn't tear his eyes off you earlier. Don’t act like you don’t notice!”
Zanka felt like the table had just tipped over. “I’m wasn't—”
“You were,” Enjin interrupted lightly, voice low, teasing, dangerous. His fingers drummed on the edge of the booth like he was keeping a rhythm just for Zanka. “You were staring. You’ve been staring since I got up there.”
Zanka’s throat went dry. “I wasn’t staring,” he lied. The lie tasted bitter, but Enjin’s smirk deepened, like he could taste the lie too, savoring it.
“That’s fine,” Enjin said, leaning back with the faintest sigh, as if he’d let Zanka off the hook. “I like that you were.”
The words hit Zanka like a splash of ice water. He couldn’t even look at him, so he busied himself with swirling his glass, hoping the condensation would hide how hot his palms were.
It didn’t help that people kept drifting toward the booth. A guy from earlier tried again, muttering about joining the group to ‘watch the magic’ happen. A woman with glittery makeup leaned too close, laughing, complimenting Enjin’s performance, flirting shamelessly.
Enjin handled them all with that easy charm Zanka both loathed and wanted to kill him for. He would smile, nod, laugh lightly, all the while politely turning them all down. Every glance, every slight lean, every subtle shift of weight was calibrated so precisely it made Zanka’s chest ache with jealousy, desire, and something else he couldn’t name.
“Hey,” Enjin said finally, gently placing a hand on the stranger’s shoulder as he tried to steer them away with a soft laugh. “It was a nice chat but I have company.”
The stranger hesitated, clearly wanting to talk to Enjin more but wandered off, leaving Zanka to glare at the back of their head as they blended back with the crows.
“How do you—how do you make people just listen to you like that?” Zanka finally blurted, voice rough.
Enjin’s head tilted lazily toward him. “Do you want me to teach you?”
Zanka blinked. “… No.” He meant it. He just wondered. Maybe if he knew how Enjin does it, he'd avoid being charmed and pulled in by the older man's allure.
Zanka’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to leave, wanted to pretend he didn't come to this damned bar at all and just stayed behind to rest and sleep early.
“Was just wondering,” he managed to mutter, trying to steer the conversation away. Enough to mask the way his mind started to recall just how good Enjin looked when he was in his element.
Enjin chuckled, soft, low, and dangerous, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Zanka. He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting mischievously. “I could’ve stayed on stage all night, you know.”
“And you didn’t,” Zanka said automatically, voice catching again despite himself.
“Nope,” Enjin said. “I came back here for you.”
Zanka froze. He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was imagining things. But the way Enjin looked at him, like the world outside the booth could collapse entirely and all that mattered was this. He knew he couldn’t.
Someone tried to butt into the conversation again, hand waving, asking if Enjin was going to play a song for them.
Enjin glanced over his shoulder, then back at Zanka. “Nah, I'm done for the night.” he said, tone smooth and unyielding.
The person sighed, defeated, and wandered away.
Zanka exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging, feeling simultaneously relieved and infuriated. He wanted to punch him, scold him, maybe even just walk back to HQ. No matter how far it actually is.
Riyo leaned closer again, whispering, “Dude. He’s literally making everyone back off for you.”
Zanka’s jaw tightened. “... He’s not doing that.”
Enjin reaches over, lightly brushing Zanka’s hand as he grabs some random drink from the tray Gris brought back earlier. Not much. Not enough to be noticed by anyone else. But enough for Zanka to flinch back from.
Zanka couldn’t handle this. He shouldn’t even be here, he should’ve checked the drink earlier so his mind won't be as fuzzy as it is right now. But he did anyway, because for the first time that night, with the music gone and the bar chaos shrinking to a dull roar in the background, Zanka realized he could just pretend this all didn't happen. But he wanted to remember, he wanted Enjin's attention on him. Even if it was just as a friend.
But the way the blonde leaned just slightly into him, commanding, teasing, just a bit too close yet also far enough to keep Zanka’s thoughts at bay. Actions that made it seem like he was Zanka's and words that made him reel back to reality.
Zanka wanted to confront Enjin, wanted to voice out the things in his head that clouded his mind but he didn't.
He couldn’t.
Enjin laughed softly, leaning closer, close enough that Zanka could smell faint sweat, guitar strings, alcohol, and something warm and familiar that hit him straight in the chest.
“Wanna grab some air with me?” Enjin asked.
Riyo practically shoved Zanka into Enjin's arms, eyes wide and nodding in encouragement.
Gris kicked Zanka under the table.
Zanka’s ears burned.
He stood up before he could stop himself.
“… Yeah,” he muttered as he set his drink back onto the table. . “Sure.”
Enjin’s smile softened—less teasing now, more genuine.
“Cool,” he said. “Come on.”
He led the way toward the door.
And for the first time all night—
Zanka followed without question.
The night air outside the bar hit Zanka like a breath he didn’t realize they’d been holding. It was cold, a little damp, and infinitely quieter than the chaos behind them. The neon sign above the door buzzed softly, flickering in that half-dead way that promised it would short-circuit any day now. The muffled thump of music seeped through the walls, but out here, the world felt… gentler.
Zanka shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure what to do with himself now that he wasn’t forced to stare at Enjin through a crowd, pretending not to care. He kept his gaze fixed ahead as he exhaled, trying to shake off the heat still trapped under his skin.
Enjin stretched once they were far enough from the door, his shoulders popping audibly. He let out a satisfied sigh, the kind someone only made when they were free from loud noise and bright lights.
“God,” Enjin muttered, tilting his head back to stare at the sky, “I forgot how stuffy it gets in there.”
Zanka hummed. “You volunteered to go on stage.”
“That’s different,” Enjin replied, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned against the railing by the sidewalk. “The stage is fun. The crowd part… less so.”
Zanka snorted. “Couldn’t tell. It looked like you loved all the attention.”
Enjin shrugged lightly, not meeting his eyes. “It’s just noise. Playing music makes it easier to ignore.”
Zanka glanced at him. Enjin wasn’t smiling smugly the way he was inside. Out here, he looked softer. More relaxed. His hair, still messy from performing, fell over his forehead. The streetlamp beside them cast a warm glow over his features, giving him this annoyingly serene look.
“…You’re good,” Zanka said quietly.
Enjin blinked. “Huh?”
“At the guitar,” Zanka clarified quickly, ears warming. “You’re… good at it. Like that night at the piano—like actually good at playing it.”
Enjin’s lips parted just slightly, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Thanks,” he said after a moment. “That means more than you think.”
Zanka’s heart did a weird, unpleasant skip. He looked away immediately.
“Didn’t realize you could pull a whole crowd together like that,” he muttered, kicking a pebble on the ground. “They were practically worshipping you.”
Enjin huffed a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m not a rockstar."
“Keep playing like that and you will be.”
Enjin smiled—small, honest. “I just like the sound. The feel of it. Makes everything else… quieter.”
Zanka found himself nodding. He didn’t get music the way Enjin did, not deeply. But he understood the need of silencing whatever it was in your mind with something else. Or something close to it.
Enjin tapped his knuckles against the railing. “You know, the first time I picked up a guitar, I broke two strings.”
Zanka lets out a small scoff. “Sounds about right.” He murmurs as he tucked his hands into his pockets.
“Hey,” Enjin protested lightly, “I got better.”
“Yeah, well. Didn’t see you break anything tonight.”
Enjin rubbed the back of his neck. “Tonight was… good. Haven’t played like that in a while.”
Zanka hesitated. Then asked, “Why’d you go up there anyway?”
Enjin blinked. “The guitarist bailed. They needed someone.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Enjin paused. Then he shrugged. “It felt like a good night to play, I guess.”
Zanka waited, but Enjin didn’t elaborate. If anything, he looked a little bashful, which was new. He doesn't think he's even seen Enjin like this before
They drifted down the sidewalk slowly, neither really aiming for a destination. Just walking. The street was quiet except for the occasional rumble of a passing tricycle and the soft buzz of streetlights. A stray cat darted past them, pausing to glare judgmentally before disappearing into an alley.
Enjin stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “You guys seemed pretty tired earlier.” He points out as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, placing a stick between his lips and looking for his lighter in the other pocket.
“Tired is an understatement,” Zanka replied. “Rudo almost fell asleep waiting for seats to be open.”
Enjin snickered. “Did he now?” He flicks the lighter on, finally taking a deep inhale and puffing out smoke.
“Yeah. Annoying bastard.” Zanka hums, crossing his arms as he forces his gaze away from the blonde.
Enjin kicked a loose bottle cap, sending it skittering across the pavement. “The mission wasn’t that rough. Just long.”
“Still long enough that Riyo started looking like a corpse.” Zanka scoffs, remembering how exhausted Riyo looked as they piled into the car.
Enjin laughed, pushing his hair back. “It happens, you know how Riyo is.”
“I know. I had to carry her into the seat, she slept like a log as soon as I got her inside and buckled in.” Zanka recalls as he stares at how the smoke seems to waft around Enjin before fading back to nothing.
They walked another few steps in comfortable silence.
“You okay?” Enjin asked suddenly.
Zanka blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re… quiet.” Enjin hums, letting out another puff.
“I’m always quiet.” Zanka points out.
“You’re quiet in a different way.”
.. Enjin wasn't wrong, this quiet doesn't normally come out of Zanka. Only when he was alone, only when he let his mind wander and allow him to think of something more.
Zanka frowned, shaking his head to get out of his thoughts. “What does that even mean?”
Enjin shrugged. “I dunno. Just feels like you’re thinking too loud.”
Zanka rolled his eyes. “You’re weird.”
“Says the guy who stares holes into people.”
Zanka stopped walking. “I do not.”
Enjin raised a brow. “You do.”
“Name one time.” Zanka crossed his arms, challenging the older.
“Tonight.” Enjin said with a knowing smirk, flicking the cigarette butt somewhere.
Zanka felt his entire soul attempt to escape through his skull. “I wasn’t—forget it.” He gave up, grumbling to himself.
Enjin didn’t push further. Instead, he looked ahead, leaning slightly against a lamp post. “I liked it.”
Zanka’s brain short-circuited. “Liked what?”
“Having your eyes on me,” Enjin said simply. “Made it less… I dunno. Less like noise for strangers.” He breathes out, carding a hand through his blonde strands. “Like I was actually performing good, despite how long it's been since I last played.”
The honesty in his tone threw Zanka off more than any teasing could have. He cleared his throat, gaze darting away.
“You’re sentimental when you’re tired,” Zanka muttered.
“You’re judgmental all the time,” Enjin shot back.
“Yeah. Someone has to balance you out.” Zanka retorted back just as quickly.
Enjin smiled at that, letting a small chuckle leave his lips.
The night breeze tugged gently at their clothes. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. A jeep rattled past with music louder than the speakers inside the bar. The city felt half-asleep.
Enjin shifted, leaning more comfortably against the post. “Y’know what’s weird?” he said.
“What?” Zanka raised his head to look at Enjin.
“I always thought you hated going out.”
Enjin was staring at him, keeping eye contact with that damn softened smirk on his lips that made Zanka's heart drop and jump back up again.
“I do.” Zanka clears his throat before looking away again, too nervous. Not trusting himself to keep calm if Enjin kept looking at him like that.
“And yet you came and stayed tonight.” Enjin muses, pushing off the post and tugging Zanka to start walking back to the bar.
Zanka glared halfheartedly. “I was already there. Plus, Riyo would be more annoying if I didn't come with.”
“You could’ve stayed in the car and slept. Left early.” Enjin raised another point, giving him a glance as they slowly strolled back.
Zanka scuffed his shoe against the concrete. “Didn’t feel like walking back alone.”
Enjin raised a brow. “Sure.”
Zanka huffed. “What? You want me to say I stayed to watch you play?”
Enjin blinked.
Zanka flushed. “I didn’t. But if I did—Hypothetically, it’s because the others were excited to see you play and I was curious.”
Enjin burst into laughter, head tipping back.
“You’re impossible,” he wheezed.
“Good.”
Enjin shook his head, smiling as the laughter faded. “It’s nice being out here with you.”
Zanka’s heartbeat stuttered.
Before he could reply—before he could even figure out what the hell to reply with—someone yelled from the direction of the bar.
“HEY! YOU TWO!”
Both of them jolted like teenagers caught doing something suspicious.
Gris stood in the doorway with the subtlety of a foghorn, waving his arms dramatically.
“WE’RE LEAVING!” he called out. “Get your asses back!”
Zanka coughs, thanking Gris profusely inside because he really didn't know how to reply to what Enjin just said.
Enjin snorted. “Wanna bet Follo’s drunk?”
“He definitely is,” Zanka nods as they both hurried their steps.
Riyo poked her head out as Gris went back inside, waving excitedly. “Come on! HQ time!”
Rudo appeared behind her. “I want to go home. My legs hurt.”
“All of us are exhausted,” Gris points out as he re-emerged back outside with a half aware Follo carried on his back.
Enjin sighed, fishing out the car keys from his pockets. “Guess it's time to go back home.”
They started walking back towards the parking lot. Their steps fell in rhythm—unintentionally, naturally.
Halfway back, Enjin nudged Zanka’s shoulder lightly.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” he said quietly.
Zanka’s mouth went dry. “Don’t mention it.”
Enjin smiled. “I will."
“Don’t.”
Enjin laughed again, brushing past him as they got everyone in the car, Zanka ended up sitting in the passenger seat as Enjin shut the door after settling into the driver's seat.
Maybe Zanka didn't mind going out that night.