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Nights like these are more uncommon than Gris originally thought, with the way Enjin likes to suppress everything until it boils over.
It's three in the morning, by the alarm clock on the table. Gris' eyes open blearily to stare at it, before turning towards a sliver of light streaking through the darkness.
Suddenly, he's too aware of the cold emptiness beside him. There is no familiar dip in weight, no warmth of arms glued around his middle that he has to carefully extract himself from when he wakes early to go for his run.
They're both usually deep sleepers, only the noise of his alarm and the occasional shouting from either of them when old ghosts come back being the things that wake them. But sometimes the lack of warmth wrapped around him is enough to stir him.
There's a sniffling sound that drifts through the silence as Gris finally wakes enough, tracking it back towards the light falling through the room.
These nights are uncommon, but not entirely rare.
Gris pulls himself out of bed, squinting as he adjusts to the light level. The door to the bathroom is cracked, and the half-burnt-out bulb in there illuminates a small streak into the bedroom. Shuffling forward, he notes Umbreaker is still sitting in her cushioned resting spot. He picks her up carefully before moving towards the bathroom door.
"Hey, 'Jin, you in there?" He calls softly, and the sniffling noises stop. He doesn't peer through the crack, offering Enjin the privacy instead of demanding entrance. He knows better than that.
"Sorry, just needed to piss," comes the response, and they both know it's bull the second the sentence leaves Enjin's mouth.
Gris hums, leaning towards the door. "You safe? Can I come in?" If Enjin's doing really badly, walking in will only make things worse. It was obvious in hindsight that someone of Gris' stature and strength would be viewed as some kind of a threat; the memory of that incident still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
A few moments pass, and Gris figures that maybe it is one of those nights, and Enjin's too far gone to be much more coherent. His stomach churns uncomfortably. He tries his absolute best not to let his imagination run away from him, counting his breaths to soothe the building anxiety. "Enjin," he pleads gently. He is just about to call Semiu to come in as part of their safety plan when a voice finally rasps out.
"…Fine."
Opening the door slowly, the sudden light change makes Gris wince. He blinks rapidly before scouring the room to find his partner curled up on the floor. His back is pressed against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. His usual nightclothes are discarded on the ground, changed into sweatpants and a hoodie he's pulled up over his chin. A hand tugs into his hair, and he stares at Gris with bloodshot eyes.
"Oh, baby," Gris breathes, lowering himself to sit on the floor before scooting closer. He settles Umbreaker in his lap, not missing the way the Giver's eyes dip down to glance at her before looking back up. Fresh tears seem to be gathering in Enjin's eyes, ones he quickly dabs away with his sleeve. He removes his hand from his hair, trying and failing to relax his body.
Gris chews his lip. "What can I do?" He asks. He wants to ask a million more questions, but Enjin always clams up when he tries. It's the best he can do now, hoping that Enjin won't throw up his walls again.
But yet he sees, like a switch, as Enjin's eyes go dull and his expression turns flat. Disconnects and dissociates from his emotions as if it's a trivial thing. Hides behind the mask he's cultivated over the years. Gris has seen it more times than he can count, and yet every time it still shatters him.
"It's okay, Grissy, I just," the Giver sucks in a breath, "just a nightmare. I'm fine. I'll go and clean everything up. Don't worry about it." He stands, reaching for the pile of clothes, grabbing the hand towel left on the sink that Gris missed, and putting it in the bundle. He skirts past Gris, flinching as the other moves to stand.
"I can take care of the sheets?" Gris offers, and Enjin's head tilts as he bites his lip.
"I said, don't worry about it."
"Enjin."
"Gris."
Standoffs are common on nights like these. Enjin's hollow gaze burns a hole in the wall next to Gris. His jaw flexes, eyes darting to make contact for only a second before he can't anymore. It's not often that he can back down from these. Extracting any more information will be hard. Pulling teeth would be easier.
Gris, as he usually does, tries anyway. "The sheets are dry, aren't they? That's not the problem here."
The quiet inhale confirms his suspicions. "Talk to me," he pleads, "what happened?"
"Just drop it," Enjin manages to grit out, hostility seeping into his tone. He hunches his shoulders, teeth barred. "Why can't you ever just drop it?"
"Because it's hurting you," Gris replies easily, and Enjin scoffs. A rinsed and repeated argument between them, one that doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.
Unstoppable force versus immovable object, or whatever they say.
It's quiet for a moment after that, Enjin's face falling from one of anger to one of guilt. His face twitches for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say more, before snapping it shut and shaking his head. Five years ago, there would not have even been a thought of regret. Gris takes his wins when he can.
"I'm fine," Enjin repeats, unconvincingly, "just sweated a shitload. Still less than your night terrors. Think I was swimming around last time trying to wake you." And they're back to the perpetual foot-in-mouth commentary. Enjin seems to grimace at this one at least, ducking his head in sheepishness. He spins on his heels, racing out and leaving Gris and Umbreaker standing in the middle of the bathroom, watching him escape.
Anima burns in between his hands, and Gris sighs, rubbing his thumb in circles around Umbreaker's handle. "I know. I know." It's almost too hot, a desperate attempt to escape his grasp and reconnect with her owner. On better nights, a jinki is the perfect balm to distress. He settles her back in her spot with a soft apology before following Enjin's footsteps to the laundry room.
It only takes a few moments to catch up with him, watching as Enjin shifts from foot to foot in front of the washer. The gentle rumbling of the machine is accompanied by the scritch-scritch-scritch as Enjin claws at his forearms, trying to rid the inked skin of something that only he sees.
His eyes widen for only a moment as he realizes he's not alone, before he sighs, leaning against the wall. "Not going to give this one up?"
"Nope," Gris responds, popping the consonant as he too leans against the doorframe.
Enjin's nose wrinkles, but any prior animosity seems to be drained out of him. He continues to scratch at his arms, avoiding eye contact. The uncomfortable silence draws on, the washing machine continuing to bumble away. Quietly, Enjin pulls his hands away from his arms and rubs the back of his neck.
Usually, silence was one of Enjin's most beloathed things. The man always felt compelled to fill it no matter what. On most days, it was one of his many flaws. Now, however, Gris was betting on it.
It took approximately two minutes before the stillness got to him.
"You're going to hate me if I tell you."
Score for Enjin's inability to filter himself. Gris could see the regret on his face almost immediately.
"I think you've known me long enough that that's not true."
There was that nose wrinkle again. Enjin tapped his foot against the ground and huffed, glancing between Gris and the doorframe a few times. He looked like he was about to book it again, before stopping himself.
Tears began to mist in his eyes again, and he worked his jaw, trying to find his words. "I… didn't lie about the nightmare part. But," he swallows, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Alice said to call them 'groinal responses', to—to make it sound more neutral and I—" He cuts himself off with a sob, collapsing back onto the floor. "I can't be fucking normal about anything, it seems."
"Enjin," Gris tries. The words are jammed in his throat.
Getting Enjin to open up about his past was like getting an alley dog to unlock its jaw for the purpose of surrendering a scrap of food: wholly impossible, with the strong probability of getting mauled for your troubles.
Gris has been able to chip away bits and pieces over the years, stories of an orphaned kid juggling three jobs at a time, rescued from something horrid by a stranger. Enjin refused to give up much else, leaving the detective work to Gris. So he put together the puzzle pieces on his own, rough guesses that made his stomach nauseous and his mind hoping he wasn't right.
And now they were teetering on that edge. Where his suspicions were about to be confirmed. His stomach lurched, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Gris prepares himself to fall.
"Whatever happens, whatever you tell me, I'm not leaving you," he says, the words squeezing their way past the rocks lodged in his throat. He kneels down once again. "I promise. I won't hate you."
Enjin's body begins to shake, his eyes forming that horrible hollow look. He stares at Gris, a squinted look of faux-disinterest that conveys the simplest message. You will.
Gris grinds his teeth, searching for his words carefully.
"I won't hate you, because I know you. You're a good man. You do everything to protect others. You care about people and do your best to help them whenever you can. Whatever happened, I'm sure you had good reasons. And even if you didn't, it's obvious you regret it and want to be better." Time to play the danger card. "You gave Riyo a second chance. Give yourself one."
The half-assed glare lets Gris know he hit the mark.
Slowly, the other unfurls, still shaking. He smoothes the creases on his pants, over and over again. A few noises splutter out, obviously trying to start the sentence before he cuts himself off each time.
And then, he reaches over, tugging on Gris' wrist. He flips his own arm up before spreading Gris' fingers and running them along his forearm.
Underneath the red and black ink, raised lines are just barely visible. Enough to pass as regular scars, but as Gris' hands feel them, there's an obvious pattern. His stomach knots. Too specific for self-inflicted wounds. Some clusters almost feel like words, and oh Sphere—
"Identification brand," Enjin murmurs, "so everyone knew who we belonged to. Gob did his best to cover 'em, but they purposefully ensured it would create keloids."
Gris has heard his fair share of tragic backstories. Almost nobody on the Ground has a good childhood, and he's not counting himself in that small percentage either. But hearing it from the man he loves sends bile crawling up his throat.
He can't get his tongue to move, weighed down in his mouth. He moves his hand to interlace fingers with Enjin, slow and deliberate so the other can back out. The weight feels a little less heavy when Enjin accepts it, squeezing twice before he removes it. Gris mourns the loss.
"The place was shitty as hell. Barely enough food to go around, splintering floorboards. The adults wanted us to," Enjin swallows, "provide the funds so we didn't starve."
Fuck, Enjin. I'm so sorry, Gris thinks, because his brain has fully disconnected from his mouth at this point to try to say anything useful.
Enjin's knees come back up, leaning his cheek against them as his eyes glaze over. "I tried to get help once. Looked for someone important. Someone who could get us all out of there. I found a guy. He promisedhe'd help me. He said he wouldn't let any of us starve anymore. And I was ten, and stupid, and fucking believed him."
There's not much Gris can do at this point, as everything comes tumbling out. He holds his hands palm-up on his thighs, a silent offer for physical support. Though now, he can see why Enjin rejects it.
He didn't want to assume, running on the hope his observations were wrong. He wishes, selfishly, that he had stuck his head in the mud instead of trying to unravel his partner's mysteries.
"Just ended up jumping from a shitty cage to a gilded one, really," Enjin says with a light snort. "The other kids thought I was their fucking savior. They were kept clean and given food and taught to read and write and all the important shit. 'S long as I paid him back for it."
"It's not your fault," Gris tried, his mouth finally deciding to work. Enjin let out a wet cackle.
Shaking again, his eyes barely alight with anima, teeth pulled back. "Of course it was my fault, Gris. Things were shitty in the orphanage, but we came back every morning. We kept each other alive. But because I went out and spread my fucking legs to a random guy I met, he started—he started selling them off. Permanently. To whoever the fuck wanted them. Didn't matter the reason. Some of 'em probably got chopped up in some cannibal's soup because I didn't think straight. Don't you dare say it wasn't my fault."
"You were ten," Gris replies firmly, as words begin to be more accessible. Tears sting his eyes, rushing down his cheeks. "Failed by every adult around you."
Enjin picks at the threads of his clothes, shaking his head. "Yeah, and now I'm failing every kid I try to help. I still can't even look at Amo, Gris. I ruin everything around me like a Spheres-damned curse."
"I know a rather steadily growing handful of kids that would argue that." Enjin glares again.
"I'm a horrible role model for them, we both know it. You're the one they should look up to."
Grinding his teeth, he lets in a few deep breaths. He really did have to fall for the most stubborn man in existence.
"And yet, you still try to be the best for them."
That's enough to shut the other up, staring at the ground in a mix of frustration and pain. Any time he looks like he's about to formulate a retort, he snaps his jaw shut again.
For a decade now, Gris has been dutiful in his role as a Supporter. Not just physically with trashbeasts. It wasn't technically in the job description, but he'd always made himself a shoulder to lean on for anyone who needed it. He was good at his job. He enjoyed helping others get through stuff like this.
It was probably the emotional proximity, but Gris felt like he was floundering about, struggling to stay upright during an earthquake. Maybe Enjin's fatal flaw was finally starting to rub off, because he couldn't figure out what else to say. A million different thoughts race through his mind, incoherent and jumbling together. So many things he wants to say, but stringing them together in a feasible order feels impossible. He leans forward slightly instead, brushing the thoughts aside and plucking out a simple request.
"Enjin," he breathes out, slowly, "can I hug you? I'll keep my arms above your stomach."
Shock fills the beautiful golden eyes as they look at him. It hurt, somewhere deep in Gris' chest, as he knows exactly what that look means.
"I told you, nothing you could say would chase me away." He reaches out a hand, slowly, carefully, as if comforting a stray. Enjin stares at the limb for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he thinks up a response. "I'm here, 'Jin, as long as you'll have me."
As new weight barrels into him, the old settled in his chest begins to dissipate.
Enjin grips the fabric of Gris' nightshirt tightly, tears spilling. "You're too good for me, Rubion," he whispers. "I don't deserve you."
"Hey," Gris replies, clicking his tongue. "I think you've run out of self-deprecating statements for the night. I'm not accepting any more. Bank's closed."
The tiniest giggle against his chest makes him feel so light he might be able to get to the Sphere by sheer laughter alone. "What are you gonna do about it, big guy?" Enjin manages, and Gris offers him a lopsided smile.
His arms wrap tightly around the other's shoulders, squeezing with just enough pressure to be reassurance. He tucks his chin into Enjin's hair, resisting the urge to kiss it first as he hasn't been given permission. "I'm going to keep us here in the laundry room until the sun comes up and our butts are numb, and won't let go of you 'til then. How's that?"
"Mmm, sounds nice. Except for the numb-butt part," Enjin replies.
They both let out a snort, falling back into the quiet. Steady whirls of the washing machine continued, the only noise drifting through the space. Gris rubs circles into the other's shoulder, letting out a pleased hum as Enjin relaxes further into him.
"Thank you for opening up with me," he says. "I know your stubborn ass isn't going to believe me always, but I'm staying. None of this made me love you any less. I'm not mad at you. Definitely mad at some perverts I'd like to filet, but not you."
Enjin hooks an arm around Gris' neck, nuzzling in further as he inhales the scent. "Kinda grateful this happened at fuck-ass-o'clock. Morning Enjin is gonna hate me," he mutters with a slight snort.
"Morning Enjin can take it up with Morning Gris, who's gonna continue to get it through your thick skull that you're a good man that deserves love."
Enjin pulls back to glare a little. "You're so mean to me, Rubion," he half-wails, slumping dramatically against Gris' collarbone.
Gris just shakes his head with a laugh.
On some level, he wanted nothing more than to stay like this. Maybe sitting until sunrise was a nice idea. But he knew Enjin was tired, and he was tired, and he should probably get some water and a snack to help ease the mental processing of this night for both of them.
"I think we should probably go get some sleep," Gris offers. "You're fighting staying awake as is, and I think my mental capabilities are starting to dwindle. You want to go back to your room?" A gentle offer, without judgement. The squeezing in his chest reminded him that after such an emotional night, being trapped in a bed with someone who could easily overpower you might not do well to help deal with the remaining emotions.
Surprisingly, though, Enjin shakes his head. "I don't—don't wanna leave you right now. I'll grab a sleeping bag though, if that's… okay," he finishes awkwardly. Gris nods.
Enjin carefully untangles himself, pulling away from the embrace. Gris squeezes his shoulder carefully before they both stand.
"I love you, Enjin," he says, tears once again choking his voice. He hopes that he poured enough into those three words that Enjin would understand. That they could talk about this any time, that Enjin could rely on Gris emotionally just as much as physically. That nothing has changed except context for the boundaries Gris already acknowledges.
Those dazzling golden eyes lock with his again, and this time they're lighter, crinkled at the edges with a smile wide enough to show Enjin's dimples.
A small kiss presses to the edge of Gris' mouth, before Enjin hurries out of the laundry room like a flustered teenager.
Enjin's always been best at conveying his feelings through actions instead of words, and long ago Gris found he didn't mind, because their messages were always clear enough.
I love you too, Enjin had said.
Thank you.