Chapter Text
It doesn't take much for a slip in routine to appear—it first starts with Gris hitting snooze on his obnoxiously loud alarm clock. Then he sits up, albeit slumped over, and stares at his palms, wondering when the day will end. He goes to work because that's something that he's good at. He's good at doing his job. He compares mechanical parts and makes sure operations run smoothly without a hitch. Sure, there have been cases where he has made a mistake, and someone else picks up the slack, but that doesn't make him any less useful. He's dependable, efficient, and sturdy. Falling is not an option for him.
It's been three weeks since he's seen Jin; actually, it's been three weeks since he's seen anyone. They don't need to see him like this. They don't need to notice the ever-growing cracks in his facade. They don't need to know that he's been skipping out on the gym, opting to go home and sit in silence instead. Semiu doesn't need to know how poorly he's doing; his friend deserves better than to play babysitter. Each call goes straight to voicemail. Each text is quickly responded to with "Don't worry about me," and "We'll catch up later," as Hell's Kitchen plays on the TV. He doesn't know when that show became his new "normal"; it just happened spontaneously, like most recent developments in Gris's life.
As he drives around aimlessly after work, repeating the same song over and over again, he lets the phrase "nagging, pulling, and prodding at me" play on a loop inside his brain. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. Enjin, his mind always comes back to Enjin, no matter how badly he tries to run away. Isn't it hypocritical of him to run when that's the exact thing he accused Enjin of? His chest tightens as he recalls the two weeks he spent "courting" Jin all to get her number. Was he being too much? Maybe he was too clingy. Perhaps he was overstepping.
Gris swiftly turns into a random parking lot. He needs air. He needs release. He needs something. He steps out of the car and begins his trek to a nearby store, hoping to clear his head of any doubts because he's making the right decision, right?
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
How he ended up in a fabric store, coming face-to-face with Enjin's cousin, in addition to his kid, is the question for the ages, but Gris feels like shit, and he wants to leave. He notices the shifty eyes from both August and Riyo until they slip on their own masks.
"Yooo, Gris! What's good with you, my man! I haven't heard from you in a minute!" August energetically waves at him, as loud as ever, with bundles of fabric under his arm. Gris can't help it if the corners of his mouth quirk up.
"I've been well," Gris lies with ease, "how's everything with you guys?" He doesn't want to admit to himself that the underlying question is "How is Enjin doing?" Gris would rather not admit that he's been thinking about Jin every day and how he would give anything to be curled up at her side. Not that it matters at this point.
"Oh, you know, the usual! Trying to come up with a crazy, sexy, cool outfit for Jin! She's been really pounding the pavement, man, there hasn't been a night where the bar hasn't seen her!" Gris doesn't miss the way August's cheery gaze softens into one of melancholy, a smile still present on his face. "Enjin has been really active since that night-"
"August," Riyo warns as she cuts a sharp look at the man. August presses his lips together and nods. He offers Gris a genuine smile, which he gladly accepts. He ignores the throbbing headache he has or the way his heart deflates at the thought of Jin overworking herself. Maybe she's not, though. Maybe she's been at the bar more because Gris hasn't been there at all. That makes everything so much worse.
"I'm gonna go pay for these, Riyo. Meet me at the car?" August gives Riyo a look that only she's meant to decipher. She nods, never removing her eyes from Gris. He feels like shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze. He tries to put on a winning smile and push through.
"Riyo! It's been a while, how's-"
"You're not gonna get anything out of me with this fake approach of yours," Riyo sharply cuts him off, effectively trimming off the remainder of his sentence. "I will say one thing, though." Gris perks up a bit.
"Yes?"
"Don't give up on him. He fucked up, and it's gonna take him a while to admit that, but he always makes it right. You, on the other hand," she points a judgmental finger at Gris's chest, "look like you haven't shaved in three weeks." Gris reaches up to absentmindedly rub his jawline. Maybe he should start looking at himself in the mirror again. Riyo's eyes shift into a look of concern as she shakes her head and begins to walk away.
"Take care of yourself, Gris. Seriously."
Gris doesn't turn around to make sure she's left the building. Gris isn't even sure he can move where he is. He's trying not to crumble into pieces in some fucking fabric store that he decided to walk into. He clenches and unclenches his fists and takes a couple of deep breaths, ignoring the bile that is quickly rising as he gulps down whatever emotion he's feeling.
He shouldn't be behaving like this in public. It's unsightly.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
He misses Enjin. So damn much. He can't help but think about him as he watches Hell's Kitchen, knowing good and well that Enjin would brag about how he could cook circles around any of those chefs. He thinks about Enjin while he prepares his own dinner, thinking about the home-cooked meal Jin prepared for him. He imagines sliding his arms around Jin's waist, pressing into him as he lets the scent of his dupe of a designer cologne, cigarette, and the smell of his cooking flood his senses and bring him peace.
He misses tracing Enjin's tattoos with his finger and his tongue. He wants Enjin. He needs Enjin, and that fact alone is enough to kill him. He misses the way his laugh lit up the room just as much as it lit up his life. He misses the way it always felt like a risk to lean in and kiss Jin. He misses the feel of her gloss, the smell of her perfume, the stretch of her stockings. He misses the way she glimmered in a room. Gris almost can't believe it, but he misses the complicated ins and outs of Miss Jin, which is funny because he hates when things get complicated.
As Gris slumps down onto his couch in front of the TV with food in hand, he can't help but wonder if Jin is thinking of him. The words that Riyo spoke to him replay in his mind. He doesn't want to give up on Enjin, but how can he talk to someone who clearly doesn't want him around? Obviously, the party was too much, too overwhelming for Enjin to handle. Gris being the one to suggest the party was overstepping lines that he didn't know had been drawn. How can he even look at Enjin after that?
Gris chokes down the rest of his food and emotions, turns off the TV, and places his dish in the sink. He looks around his home and wonders how it would feel to have Enjin and Riyo singing and dancing around in his living room. Gris didn't realize how lonely he was until he learned what a warm room felt like. With a sigh, he turns off the lights and drags himself to his room, yearning for his bed.
Once he reaches it, he slowly pulls back the covers and tucks himself in, praying for a better day.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
"Gris, get the hell up," said a feminine voice that sounds oddly like-
"Semiuuu," Gris groans as he pulls the covers over his head, shielding himself from the sun that Semiu rudely lets in, "how'd you get in my house?"
"I know where your spare key is," she scoffs as she rips the sheet off of Gris. "I don't need an answer for why you're ignoring my calls— by the way, don't you ever do that again— but I need to know who fucked up this house. Seriously, Gris, there are like fifty dishes in the sink, crumbs everywhere, and— please don't tell me you've been wearing that shirt for the past three weeks without washing it."
Gris curls in on himself as his cheeks grow warm. "Maybe…" he grumbles. Semiu sighs and sets herself down on his bed.
"Gris, you remember what you told me when I went through that nasty breakup last year?"
Gris sighs and looks over at Semiu with a pitiful expression. "You can be upset, but you can't stop living."
"Exactly. You can be upset about Enjin; hell, we all were, but you cannot stop living. You are your own person first and foremost. Now get up, shower, and put something clean on. It's time for Saturday morning cleaning, and I'm gonna watch you clean this shithole that you made for yourself."
Semiu crosses her arms patiently waiting for Gris to get up, and knowing her, she will wait all day. Gris begrudgingly sits up and feels several joints pop in agony. As he walks over to his bathroom, he can't help but feel a warm sensation brimming in his chest at the thought of his friend showing up to check on him. He turns around and attempts to smile at his friend.
"Thanks, Semiu."
Semiu waves him off with a smile of her own as she begins to stand up from the bed. "Thank me after you finish cleaning. I'm ordering breakfast, I'm starving," she states as she starts to head downstairs.
Gris stands in front of his bathroom and looks at his reflection, and this time he really looks at himself. His facial hair is overgrown and unruly, he has dark eye circles despite sleeping far more than he should, and his skin has grown pale, but it's still him.
Despite everything, it's still him.