Carla

But those concerns don’t stop him from picking up dinner for two on his way home. The worst case scenario, he tells himself, is that you deny the dinner and leave him to eat it alone on his couch. But even then he’d feel better having at least seen you, getting confirmation of life and reassurance that you were taking care of yourself. And if he didn’t get those reassurances, he’d figure out how to get himself inside so he could take care of you. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to look so tired when you opened the door. Clad in what he knew were pajamas with your hair up in a messy bun, and he almost felt bad to have bothered you but was grateful that he had. 

“Hey,” you mumble, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile. 

“Hey,” he greets, a new awkwardness washing over him as you look up at him. “I haven’t seen you around, so I-I wanted to check on you. I brought dinner, if you’re interested.”

He sees the hesitation, his hand grips the handle of the bag tighter as he watches you glance over your shoulder as your fingers tap against the door. 

“It’s really messy in here, and—“

“My place is messy too, so I don’t care about that.” He cuts you off, and your eyes widen in response. “I’d like to spend time with you, if you’ll have me.”

“You just can’t judge, alright? It’s been a long week.”

He’s much more relieved that you were letting him in than he could ever find the energy to judge the state of your home, but those are things that he can’t just tell you. Not right now, not when he was still just your neighbor. 

Your small table is covered with various papers, so he sets the bag on the open spot on your coffee table before taking it upon himself to take a couple of the dirty cups from your table to put them in your sink and taking two clean ones from your cupboard to fill with water (you likely hadn’t been drinking enough). 

“Big project?”

“You could say that,” you mumble, accepting the glass from him and taking a sip. “They forget I’m just one person sometimes.”

He understood the feeling, and he hated that this was something that you were dealing with. High stress and short deadlines weren’t fair, but there wasn’t much he could really do to assist with your work and he was able to accept that. However he could help out in your home, and makes his own plan to clean up while he ate dinner with you. 

After you eat he gently encourages you to shower, with reassurance that you didn’t stink but he thought you might want to take some time to relax a bit, and he’s pleased when you agree with a comment  about washing your hair. He doesn’t want to ask if you’ve left your apartment recently, the answer is evident in the mountain of takeout containers piled atop your overflowing trashcan. Your fridge is close to empty, save for a couple energy drinks and a half full carton of strawberries that was more mold than fruit. It’s likely you forgot they were there at the bottom of your fridge, and he’s happy to crush the hazardous fruit into the pile of takeout containers to tie your trash bag closed. 

By the time you re-emerge wearing fresh pajamas, he’s managed to tidy up the trash and clean the dishes, with any laundry neatly piled up beside the coffee table (since it probably would’ve been weird for him to start your laundry for you). 

“Oh, you did a lot,” you mumble, and he nods slowly as he steps away from your small kitchen. “You really didn’t have to—“

“I wanted to make sure you had a few less things to worry about.” He can’t tell if he’s making you feel better or worse, but he does notice the brush and comb that you fiddle with in your hands. “Do you need help?”

“Do you know how to braid?”

“I haven’t had to since I was a kid, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

He vaguely remembered braiding Mina’s hair for her when they were children, remembered her teaching him using a doll with long hair before letting him try on her hair with confidence he wouldn’t tie her hair in knots. Here he was now, sitting on your couch as you sat on the floor between his legs looking at your hair with the same intense concentration. His fingers would not be as nimble as they once were, but he’d be able to get this done for you because you’d asked him to. 

“I need to go grocery shopping,” you comment as he finishes the left braid, and he nods his agreement. “I’ll have to make you dinner in return for being so nice to me all the time.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he comments, starting the second braid as you sigh. “Taking care of someone I care about isn’t something that requires repayment.”

“Y-you care about me?”

“You think I cleaned your apartment because I don’t?” You tilt your head back to look at him, and he manages to tie the hair tie in place as you do without missing a beat and meeting your gaze with a smile. “This might be too forward while you’re going through a moment, but you’re more than just a neighbor to me and I like spending time with you a lot.”

“Kafka,” you whisper, staying still as he leans down to the best of his ability to get closer to you. “You mean it?”

Would he be here if he didn’t? Not to this extent but he’s flattered that you’d think he would go to such great lengths for just any neighbor. 

“So much that I want to go grocery shopping with you in the morning.”

"So much that you want to stay the night?"

You don't, leaving his comment hanging in the air between the both of you. Enjin doesn't turn his head to look at you. It's dark in his bedroom, the lamp having been turned off hours ago. His vision is hazy from the dream he just woke up from due to your constant shifting. 

He nudges his nose against your temple. 

“Talk to me,” comes his plea. Soft. Not pushing for you to tell him anything, but rather offering an open ear, should you need it. He waits, with much more patience than he usually has for anyone. 

“Can't sleep.” Your voice is a little hoarse. Raw. As if you've cried while he was vacationing in dreamland. 

“I can tell.”

That earns a snort and Enjin feels a silly smile tug on his lips. At least you're not feeling bad enough to the point of being unable to laugh at him being a smartass. That's good. Less worrisome. 

Your breaths come evenly. A deep one goes in, your chest expands against his body, and you keep it in. Enjin counts two seconds, before you release your breath again. It's an effort to relax your body. To lull yourself to sleep but it's ineffective, apparently. 

“I feel antsy about today,” you confess, whispering your anxieties like a confession. The encounter with the Raiders had been less than fun. Even Enjin, for a second, had feared that you might suffer losses. Everything had turned out to be okay after all but the stress lingers. Of course, it does. 

A soft breath leaves Enjin now, as he absentmindedly pats your shoulder, his big hand cupping around the shape of it comfortably, with the familiarity of years gone by. 

“I get that.” He does. And you know. You can hear it in his voice, could tell earlier, when he had hung his head over Zanka’s bed, expression riddled with guilt. Exasperated, upon the realization that the people around him could get hurt so badly. “I get that.”

You feel his lips press against your forehead. He doesn't kiss you or do anything much except stay right there, the warmth of his skin against yours a comforting distraction. 

So many words linger on your tongue. Dangerous sentiments, which you've been dying to share with the man, whose bed you've been occupying for the past two years. Anxious thoughts you wish to discuss. Ideas to prevent such situations in the future. Plans for counter measures. 

You settle on a simple “Thank you”, burrowing your nose into the space where his throat meets his shoulder, occupying the little nook for yourself. Your nose brushes against his skin and you inhale the familiar scent which you've gotten used to now. The smell of tobacco mingles with the perfume he had put on earlier today. It's the one you had gifted him after your latest trip. 

“I think I can fall asleep now,” you mumble, your lips brushing against his skin. You don't miss the way he flinches slightly at the contact, his fingers tightening their hold on your shoulder. You're sure, he'll be a needy handful tomorrow morning. 

Perhaps, you'll indulge him. In exchange for this little comfort. 

“Good night, then.”