twisted bunny

He laughs obnoxiously with his whole body, large palms flat to his abdomen as tears spring to his eyes through unrestrained guffaws - and he always laughs like that at someone else's expense. You can't even count the number of times you've approached Enjin with something embarrassing and he's snorted in your face, cheeks puffing, air spewing through scrunched lips, and hand slapping over his mouth to conceal his entertainment as you bark obscenities at him with flushed cheeks.

He's loud, from the music he blasts through that company jeep to the very manner in which he wrangles it around like it's some kind of cattle rather than a vehicle under his own manipulation. His voice carries across halls, thuds through darkness and early mornings, blabbers the stupidest jokes and slang that you've ever heard in your life coming from a twenty eight year old’s lips.

He eats like a pig, with no manners except for the appreciation he shows toward the person who prepared his meal. He smokes at the drop of a hat, making his presence to a room known with the familiar flick of a lighter and the sound of singing tobacco.

He cheats during card games, roughly nougies the top of Rudo's head in a light headlock just because he knows that it pisses the fifteen year old off, and he flirts like he's flaunting his body around to sell to the entire world.

Oh, he knows he gets on everyone's nerves. In fact, he's proud to. He decided long ago that ragebaiting the people he cares about is his love language, for he's not too good at words or any of the other crap.

And, yeah, it's funny when he's got Semiu threatening to strip him of his choker privileges when he consistently abuses them, calling her in the middle of completing important paperwork to bother her about absolutely nothing, or when he manages to get Gnomulas to flip a table over in the middle of a poorly executed game of Spades.

But nothing compares to when it's you grinding your teeth in vexation as Enjin pushes every single button you could possibly have. And of course, it's different with you. He picks at everyone, but with you, his sincerest form of pestering is by flirting with you.

"You really sure you want me to shut up?" he tilts his head down at you, grin stretching over his face. He's got the doorway blocked as he stands before your room with his elbow pressed above his head to the frame and his other hand planted on his hip. Soft tendrils of his wild hair sway with his movement, and his brow lifts playfully. "You tell me to every day, and yet you always let me come in here and talk your ear off."

"How could anyone ever possibly get you to stop talking?" you mirror the lift of his brow, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glare up at him with weary eyes. "And I don't let you talk. You just don't listen. And you barge in here yourself, by the way."

His brows pinch with his grin, as if to pretend that he is a offended. "I listen to ya plenty! All the time."

"No you don't," you scoff.

"Sure I do. I listened when you told me all about how much you hate super sweet stuff-"

"That's the most useless piece of information you've ever chosen to remember about me."

"No way. It's especially important 'cause you would think someone as sweet as you would prefer otherwise."

You give him a deadpan stare. "You're being gross."

He laughs out, head tossing back. "Didn't like that one either, huh," his voice dips at the edge of his laughter, and you fight the instinct your body has developed to shiver when his words land so seductively. You aren't sure whether it is on purpose or not sometimes, but there is something incredibly lethal about the delicious scratch of Enjin's voice each time he speaks lowly.

And that's what truly bothers you about your coworker and rather close friend of the Cleaners. You've heard that tone time and time again, over and over.

There are times when it's innocent. When he’s simply ruminating in agitation or grumbling incoherently to himself, mulling over something quietly with skepticism and focus. But then there are the times when it's not, when you’ve caught wind of him talking all sweet to some woman in the next town over, loitering outside of a grocery store with heavy lids and telling grins.

You can't stand the way it makes your stomach twist, the way your eye twitches at the very sight any time you happen to intrude. Yet even so, you observe how he keeps every woman he flirts with at a distance - never bothering to offer up means of communication or otherwise, and even far less willing to indulge anyone physically or sexually. He's made the mistake of going home with women before, only to be bombarded with the neediness he so adamantly claims to find unattractive in women.

Enjin avoids the intimate, evading anything that could possibly lead to emotional connection outside of the family he's already built within his occupation. When Enjin flirts, he flirts for fun, for that little thrill of being wanted, of established mutual attraction. He never goes beyond that. Not anymore, and somehow, that only makes it all worse.

Enjin is never serious about anything when it comes to matters outside of what he ordinarily has the capacity to handle. When emotions swarm around, he takes a step back, letting those better equipped to tackle such things take the lead. And it's not as though he's horrible with such things. He's observant, and he gives rather valuable advice to those younger than him. Despite your previous argument, he does listen when it counts. When the kids are struggling with mental ailments. When you demand to be heard, and his playfulness dissapates under the severity of your countenance.

God, he's obsessed with that about you. How hot you get when you're actually serious about something. When you emphasize that you are no longer playing around, and that Enjin will shut up and hear you out as you lecture him about being careless.

Hell yeah, he listens when you have important things to say, but when it comes to anything further than that, like comfort, words of affirmation, and commitment, he's toast. A lost cause. An empty noggin.

So when he does flirt with you, you don't take him seriously. How could you, when he has never taken a single woman seriously himself? Enjin lives to pester, and he has discovered that the easiest way to do so to you is to persistently bombard you with stupid little looks, and that stupid sexy smile, and the stupid twitch of his fingers against your back or your arm or your cheek that you always push away with haste.

You fight against his charms aggressively. You really do, but it becomes harder and harder to do so each day as your true feelings for him blossom under all those disgusted and angry looks you send his way on a daily. Because it's not that Enjin is a bad person, he's just a horrible person to have developed feelings for.

Nevertheless, he's reliable. He's consoling in a silent, effortless way that is far more effective than when he is actively trying to step into a role unsuited for him emotionally. He's thoughtful and encouraging. And while the way he laughs shamelessly into your ear grinds your gears, laughter loud enough to burst an ear drum, he always raps silently at your door at the end of the night to check in on you and make sure you're doing okay.

While his presence is big, he knows when to shrink himself into the warmth of moments where the two of you sit quietly next to each other after a long mission, your head knocking against his broad shoulder as his voice lowly rumbles against you as he speaks to Gris, cigarette hanging from his lips, leg pressing into yours, large arm tucked around your frame like it's nothing.

He tosses your favorite drink to you with a wordless grin when you trudge tiredly into a room. He lets you sit shotgun during every mission the two of you are assigned on together. He lets you braid beads into his hair when his inhibitions have lowered, his body almost numb from alcohol consumption.

He's a good friend. A good guy. Stupid, and unserious, and annoying, but a good man nonetheless. Someone you put your trust in wholeheartedly. Someone you are proud to work alongside at the best of times, and to like him is to doom yourself to an existence of misery and shame.

For your emotions can not seem to get the memo that Enjin is not a contender for your heart. He can't be. That's just not the kind of person he is, and you know it better than anyone.

"Enjin, will you move? Come on, I'm hungry," you groan, moving to push past him, but his ass doesn't budge. He simply shifts his weight to block each direction you attempt to head into, and you grip your hair with a loud sigh. "Oh my god, get out of the way. I'm gonna kill you."

"And I'd be honored," he grins. "You still haven't answered my question, though. I'll let you go once you answer."

"I thought I already told you to shut up."

"You did, and it was nice and all. Really," his golden eyes trail to the ceiling as he pretends to think. "But that still wasn't an answer."

"Why would I give an answer to such a stupid question?"

Enjin pauses, blinking hard and locking eyes with you as his smile diminishes. "Ouch," he drawls. "You think my question was stupid? Just kill a man where he stands, why don't you."

You huff. "Don't play that. We both know you didn't mean anything by it. I'm not feeding your ego with hypotheticals. Your head is already big enough as it is."

You lean up to flick your fingers in the middle of his forehead, and his head jerks slightly, sandy lashes batting at the sensation of your fingers plucking against his skin. Though his ego has been slightly wounded, the corners of his lips curl deviously as he rubs the spot with his tattooed fingers. "Ow... again..."

You smile softly with the shake of your head, turning over your shoulder to move further into your room. Enjin lowers his arm from the door frame, moving to follow you inside.

"Come on, girl," he coaxes through gritted teeth. "It's a simple question. I won't hold any response you have against you."

"That sounds exactly like something you'd do."

"Well, I won't. This time."

You give him a look as you stand beside your bed. "This time?"

He shrugs with a smile, and you click your tongue again.

Watching you turn back around, your back facing him, Enjin deflates slightly. Something nags at him in the back of his mind, tugging heavily and uncomfortably at his chest as he tries to find a way to hide how desperate he is to actually have this conversation with you. But by God, the man doesn't know how or where to even begin with you. Especially when you're so mistrustful of his intentions that you don't even bother to take his questions or words seriously anymore.

He sighs softly, scratching the nape of his buzzed neck. He supposes you have every right not to take him seriously, for Enjin has never once presented himself as a serious guy to you. Or anyone. A wall of ease guards him, and blocks women out from getting too close. He distracts them with false promises, sly looks, and kisses to the cheek, and then he runs. Dangling a carrot from a stick that sways ten kilometers into the sky. Out of reach. Untouched.

The dirty blonde truly isn't as bad as he used to be. Hell, his early twenties were monstrous. He woke up nearly every morning in someone else's bed, smelling of someone else's life, and each time he slipped away in the silence of the early morning, he'd have to watch his back for those of his flings who were insane enough to track him down in public, hounding him about why he never reached back out.

Enjin shudders at the memory. He was so stupid back then, and all those women didn't deserve his horrible lack of communication development and emotional maturity. At least now, pushing thirty, he's sharpened the former a tad, but unfortunately, the latter still needs some tweaking. And it always will. Enjin is man enough to admit that.

But what he is painfully not man enough to do is look you in the eye with no trace of silliness and bear himself raw to you, for the years of pining have finally snapped something in his brain, which he starts to think was the remarkable restraint he has shown in your presence thus far. Only now, he can't take it anymore. He doesn’t want to hold back.

Enjin can't necessarily pinpoint the exact moment he knew you had him screwed, but it certainly began around the time the two of you first met. Your looks, of course, had been the first thing to catch his attention, as Enjin can recognize a beautiful woman from a mile away.

But it wasn't just that you were a beautiful woman. Oh, you proved to be so much more than that not even ten minutes into your introduction to one another. Enjin can envision the way your nose wrinkled and your eyes slimmed when he first greeted you with that flirtatious musicality in his subconsciously sensual tone. The second he called you gorgeous, you were souring, striking him swiftly with a rejection so vile that Enjin can feel the way the color drained from his face to this day.

Then after you humbled him, you clasped his outstretched hand, snapping him out of his stupor as you shook it genially.

At first, teasing you was all it was. Seeking a reaction for entertainment. Giving the newbie a hard time. 

But then he saw your strength honed into the effortless manipulation of your jinki, the way your eyes sharpened as you soared through the air and slashed your anima powered weapon through the thick hide of a trash beast, hair whipping about your head as your body twirled, landing perfectly and solidly upon two firm feet. 

He saw the maternal instinct you developed toward the children in the Cleaners' care, always eager to pop a squat and sketch out pictures with Remlin or take Rudo shopping for snacks. 

He saw, beneath the irritation you've felt toward him from the very start, the underlying passion and care that swam in your eyes each time he came back from a mission that almost cost him his life.

He saw your honest, selfless spirit in the way you muttered angrily to yourself as you dabbed alcohol soaked cotton to a thin gash on Enjin's forehead, standing between his outstretched thighs as your warmth and scent, clean and safe and spiced, washed through his senses. Your other palm pressed to his skin, shielding his hair from his forehead with a long exhale.

And in moments like those, when the silence was stagnant after giving Enjin an earfull on responsibility and safety, he would move his eyes to glance at you mid-pout, studying your face with quiet consideration. His hand would twitch from where it dangled over his knee, itching to touch your thigh. He’d tense, shoulders eventually slumping. You'd mutter something about keeping still, and he'd crack a joke to hide the way his skin burned in your wake.

The twenty eight year old thought that he just might have been in love with you this entire time when he saw you limp into the compound a few months back after a particularly rough mission that he had not been assigned on with you.

Ever a man of dramatics, Enjin flipped, demanding to know what happened and why you were refusing assistance when you were actively holding a hand out to Rudo and Delmon to prevent them from alarmingly moving closer to you. They'd learned not to argue with you when you got like that, stubbornly stewing in your pride, refusing treatment that might have stripped you of your dignity, but Enjin had none of it, as he was hot on your tail.

The two of you got in an argument that day. Enjin had kept moving in to support your side, and you kept pushing away, your bickering traveling down the halls as it escalated into a rather rare, loud disagreement. The only way Enjin thought to find a solution was to carefully swoop in and lift you into his arms bridal style, minding the blood seeping through the gauze wrapped tightly around your shin and the curses you spewed at him. He redirected the two of you to the infirmary, gaze stern as he looked ahead and ignored your protests.

And when he set you down on that hospital bed, arms caging either side of your legs as you both barked in each other's face, he wondered in that very moment why he'd grown so angry with you. Especially when he knew why you so consistently refused help. That nasty habit of independence of yours that he usually found so alluring was both your curse and his, for you'd long convinced yourself that relying on others meant submitting to inferiority.

He just had to have a thing for women who weren't needy. This was where his preference led him, fighting with the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen in his life until your hand struck him smack across the face.

The slap echoed throughout the hospital room, and as soon as your hand made contact with his cheek, his head snapping into the opposite direction, you both froze. Your hands rose to your mouth as the reality of your actions weighed down on you, and you watched terrified as Enjin remained still.

And he really should have been mad in that moment. He felt the white hot sting of your palm buzzing over his cheekbone. His eyes were shrunken and his posture thrown off kilter, and neither of you said anything as you watched in horror, waiting for the worst to come.

But stupid Enjin couldn't even bring himself to be upset anymore, for that slap of yours did nothing but make his heart burst and his skin tingle.

'Cause damn girl, you've got one hell of an arm. 

And that tenacity, that fire, that unbridled, unapologetic determination - the kind that drives you to blindly smack the shit out of one of your best friend's face - is what got Enjin malfunctioning with the realization that you could do anything to him and he would bask in it.

The severity of this revelation crushed down on him without mercy. He lay awake that night with wide eyes and sprawled limbs, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as his mind plagued with thoughts of you. In the silence of nightfall, nothing could buffer the fears that lay dormant within his core. Fears that you could have died. That the sight of your blood is a reminder of your mortality, and Enjin wasn't there that day to back you up, to push you out of the way, to keep you from crossing the line and fucking up your pretty leg.

He doesn't know who made you feel like you need to perform as an unfeeling soldier all the time. He doesn't know who shamed you in the past for needing basic human connections and support, berating you to the point where any gesture of kindness or concern sends you reeling with discomfort and shame. Enjin's talked to you about it. You've gotten better over the years, but the thought alone wrecks him during the times he can't outrun it.

Times like now, when his feelings for you swallow up his dignity in the worst way possible and actually start to make him unsure of what to say next, how to continue, how to keep the conversation between you alive.

"What is your deal, today?" you eye him in the middle of straightening up your sheets, watching as he stands before you with a sudden silence that catches you off guard.

"Well for one, you still won't answer my question," he manages to say coolly.

"Seriously?" you scoff. "I don't understand why you're so pressed about me answering a dumb question that you don't really want the real answer to."

Enjin's brow curls, eyes roaming over you as if to visually check your attitude toward the issue. What a weird thing to say. "Oy vey. Care to explain what that means?'

"Do I really need to?"

"I think so," he tucks his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants, red shirt hanging loosely over his tall frame, fluttering softly around the length of his inked arms, black and red swirls tracing the curve of skin. You side eye him as your hands busy themselves with folding your little blanket, your side profile to him. He steps closer, lingering by the foot of your bed. "You think I'd ask a question I don't care to hear the answer to?"

"You know what I mean, Enjin. You don't mean any of that stuff you say," you exhale.

You don't even have to further explain yourself, for Enjin receptively catches wind of what you're saying. His heart pangs, but his eyes close calmly. "If it bothers ya so much then you can tell me to stop."

"I tell you to stop all the time, jackass. You don't."

"Well, duh, because I know you don't actually want me to stop," he complains, eyes opening and darting to the sky with softly angled brows. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be so close."

"That doesn't even-" you toss your folded blanket atop your sheets, and stop yourself with another loud exhale. "The point is, Enjin, we're friends. The question is stupid. Doesn't even make sense."

"How is asking you if you'd ever kiss me stupid?"

Silence hangs in the air after the words leave his mouth, and against his best wishes, he feels the tips of his ears burn with the attention.

"Really? How is it stupid?" you prop a hand on your hip.

"I wonder if you think the idea of kissing me is stupid and not the actual question."

"Why does it matter?! We would never kiss, so who cares!"

He puckers his mouth as humor catches his golden eyes. "Never?"

"Shut the ever loving fuck up, Enjin. GOD almighty."

He can't help but chuckle, moving in toward you with a hand reaching out. "(Y/n), listen. Friends kiss all the time. I doubt y're actin' like this because you're not attracted to me."

"What if I'm not?" you bite back. "What if I think you're ugly?"

"Then, I'd have to offer myself up to a trash beast as a sacrifice, wouldn’t I?"

He stops directly beside you, and you look up at him with cynical eyes. "Better get to it, then."

Enjin groans. "You're the coldest woman I've ever met."

"Funny, a few minutes ago you were calling me sweet. So which is it?"

"Both. Your ass gives me whiplash all the time, girl. Quit playing around with me," his voice drops lightly. You take the time to still yourself as Enjin enters your personal bubble a few inches away from you. This is not anything new, for the two of you are rather invasive of one another's space on any given day. But you don't exactly know how to fare with the way he's looking at you now, like he does not know how to communicate all the reasons behind his ridiculous ass hypothetical questions. And Enjin thinks that he is officially losing his touch, for he realizes that he is going back and forth with you about the idea of a kiss. It is stupid, like you said, but once the thought formulated in his mind, he needed to know what you'd say.

It's partially because he enjoys your reaction, enjoys seeing the way you get all flustered and annoyed when his words hit your ears. It's also partially (well more so mainly) the fact that he has no other ideas on how to express that he needs you verbally. The two of you have been dancing around each other for years, and now that Enjin has finally reached his limit for all the tension that he can tolerate in your presence, he is truly struggling to find ways to break the barrier, to get closer, and to mask this genuine desire with something flimsy, fun, and unserious.

Because that is how you regard him. As unserious.

But when he thinks about it… maybe Enjin does not want to be unserious in your eyes anymore. He does not want you to look at him and see someone who is incapable of fulfilling your needs as a man. He does not want you to roll your eyes at any true prospect of the two of you being something more than friends, for you always do when Gris or Semiu approach you with smug skepticism regarding your relationship to Enjin.

The golden eyed man really thought he hated neediness, that he despised the notion of commitment and would never be ready for it, but he thinks now that he's only thought that way because he didn't know you. Now he does, and Enjin doesn't even bother to sleep with anyone else under the guise of not wanting to complicate things, when it is really just because he has no interest in doing so anymore. Not with anyone who isn't you.

He blinks those long, blonde lashes down at you as his smile returns, lighter this time. You can smell the faded air of ash that captures his scent, intertwined with something safe and comforting that you always associate with the image of your blonde friend. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you with a softness, a heaviness you don't like, and your head spins while you try to remain vigilant.

"Yes or no. That's all I'm askin'," he says gently, voice rumbling with warmth. You're all the more confused, for you don't understand why Enjin is so hellbent on getting an answer from you that he would surely hold over your head for as long as he possibly could.

His flirting means nothing. You know that. But it's hard to focus on that fact when he's looking at you all soft and mischievously, crowding your air, filling it with himself. When the vision of his bare chest is so close to you, as it peaks out from the loose drag of his shirt, swirls of tattoos curling over his bare collarbones and up his neck. Your heart hammers, and you resent yourself for it. Because this means nothing to him. It always has, so what is the point of mocking you with such a question?

You exhale, for the only way you're going to get out of this is by playing along.

"No," you say bluntly, and Enjin shortcircuits. "I'd never kiss you."

He mulls over your answer with a blank face. You wait expectantly, feigning indifference as you tap your foot. "...So you do think I'm ugly," he concludes.

You snort, laughing loudly in his face, and Enjin gets a taste of what you have been putting up with for as long as you can possibly remember. His shoulders slump and his expression falls flat. 

"Just because I wouldn't kiss you doesn't mean I think you're ugly,” you chuckle.

"Well, what is it then? What's the reason?" he probes.

"You're not my type."

You smile innocently and Enjin gapes at you. Low blow.

You giggle softly, brushing your hand over his arm as you move around him to head toward your door. Once Enjin snaps out of it, he's on your heel. "Not your type? What the hell is your type? Friggin' bums?"

"If that were the case, I'd rethink kissing you."

"Oh ha ha," Enjin walks close behind you as you venture out into the hall and toward the kitchen. "You got jokes, missy."

"Yes, Enjin, because this is a stupid ass conversation."

"You ain't takin' me seriously," he states.

"'Course not. I know you're joking too."

"What if I'm not?"

You freeze, stopping dead in your tracks before turning slowly over your shouler. Enjin is already watching you with a neutral face, eyes unreadable. Your heart pangs. "What are you on about?" you eventually ask, slowly.

"Does that change your answer?" he asks, sincerely. "If I wasn't messin' around. If I was bein' for real for just a second. Would you still say no?"

Your brows draw together as your skin warms, and you hesitate, struggling to find the next words. "This is a trick, right? You're messing with me by saying you're not messing with me."

Enjin takes a moment to observe you and he notes your sudden stiffness, the staggering of your once smooth and steady speech, the widening of your eyes, and his manner eases slightly. You're just as anxious as he is.

He smiles. "I'm askin' a question. No tricks. No messin'."

You scrunch your face. "Why?"

"I can't ask my friend a question?"

"But why - why that of all things? Do you want me to kiss you, or what?"

He pretends to ponder it. "It wouldn't hurt," he shrugs. What he really means to say is that kissing you may be the final thing that makes his resolve snap and push him over the edge, tossing aside restraint to finally, finally get his hands on you.

But hell, Enjin's out of practice when it comes to you. You flip everything he thought he knew on its head.

You frown, turning fully to face him with both hands on your hips. "Seriously, Enjin," you exhale. "What's this about."

"You're reading way too into this, sweetheart. I'm just lookin' to iron out the possibilities in case we ever get to that point one day."

"In what world would we ever find ourselves in a situation where I'd kiss you?"

Enjin hums a nonverbal 'I don't know,' and your eye twitches. "Anyway. Thoughts?"

"I would never kiss you, Enjin. Joking or not."

"What if we're drunk?"

"That's different."

"You think?" he asks and you scoff.

"If I'm drunk and I kiss you, it's because I'm drunk. Not for any other reason. And it would only ever happen if I'm fucked up."

"It's a kiss either way. I'll take it."

"Enjin, be serious," you start.

"I am being serious."

You squint at him as if you want to believe him, but you just can't. "I'm gonna go make a sandwich," you shift the subject.

You go to continue walking, but Enjin's next words keep you grounded. "If it's not 'cause you think I'm hideous, then why don't you consider it?"

You throw your arms out to the side. "Because you're my friend? Because you flirt with everyone all the time? Because I know at the end of the day, you wouldn't actually kiss me, so it doesn't matter."

"I never said I wouldn't kiss ya. You just assumed that."

"I-" you flush, clamping your lips shut. Enjin regards you and a soft smirk graces his features, for he's never seen you so exasperated before. "I'm going... to eat." You try to go again. You try to end this before you act stupidly.

"What if I wanna kiss right now?"

Your neck cricks. "Enjin," you warn.

"What? What? Relax. C’mere, pretty thing," he grins deviously, moving into you with open arms as you catch him with a palm to his firm chest. He looks down at your hand pressing to his frame, then back up at you with a wider beam, dimples poking. "Just one kiss."

"Stop being such a freak. Go kiss one of your other girls or something," you screech as Enjin chuckles darkly, enjoying every bit of this.

"I don't have any girls, (Y/n). Just you."

You fume, lifting your other hand to slap at him. "Shut up-" his large hand clasps around your wrist mid air, catching you before you can inflict any further damage on his body and soul.

And while you are accustomed to fighting back, your body does not seem to react in such a way this time around. Instead, you go completely still, allowing Enjin's touch to sway you.

"All this beatin' on me and tellin' me to shut up," he tsks lowly. "You know I love it, but sometimes a man just wants a little reassurance. That's all."

Your eyes flicker over his face, bouncing between alluring golden hues and his lips, and you know he notices by the way his smile continues to spread. Hell, Enjin seems to notice everything about you these days.

"You get me?" he hums. "I'm not too good with words, but askin' for a little kiss should be enough to put me out there, yeah?"

You swallow hard, twitching when you feel the familiar thrum of his thick fingers reaching to brush your waist experimentally. Your hand has yet to leave his chest, and he's still clutching your wrist tight. The proximity between you has shrunken significantly, and you aren't sure why you've allowed this to happen.

Of course, you've noticed the tension bubbling between the two of you for as long as you've known one another. You feel it in his stare, in his passing touches, in the way he knows you so well.

But you've pushed it away time and time again out for fear of vulnerability, of rejection, of the hell that it is to admit that you've been in love with the idiot for god knows how long.

Still, he manages to stun you when you least expect it. He manages to unveil you, strip you down to the simplest, pathetic mess of sap and yearning for him when he dares to treat you like he could ever focus his attention into you as a potential partner.

And you've thought, for so long, that the notion was impossible, but here Enjin stands before you with softness and heat in his eyes that only he knows has been reserved for you and you only.

It makes your knees weak. And the very fact that he's fine as all fuck is not helping. It never does.

And part of you still isn't convinced that he isn't joking, until his hand releases your wrist and traces up the curve of you inner arm, to your palm, then swiping away to reach for the other side of your waist.

"Enjin, what are you trying to say...?" you question, watching him carefully with a knit between your brows. "...You actually want to...?"

"Don't worry. I won't make you do anything you don't wanna do," he murmurs, orbs dancing over your face. His fingers dip further into your sides, testing, inching you a little closer. He's more surprised that you aren't pulling away, and he edges closer and closer toward your limit, searching for if you even have one right now. "But... hell, if you wanna. I ain't gonna stop you."

You narrow your eyes, your other hand subconsciously pressing to his chest next to your other one. Enjin feels his skin burst where your hands settle over the thin fabric of his shirt. "Enjin, if you want to kiss me, you need to say it and maybe I'll think about giving one to you."

You know you've got him when you feel his hands tense against your middle, and you can not help the smile that breaks onto your face from the sheer joy of finally getting his ass to shut the fuck up.

All that talk, and the thought of actually putting his desires into words forces a lump into his throat.

You tilt your head, mimicking the way he so often does, with the drag of your finger teasingly under his chin. Enjin gulps, grip slacking on your waist subconsciously. "Cat got your tongue now, mouthy?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. You smile, patting his cheek softly before pushing lightly against him.

"That's what I thought. Now let me go so I can-"

You're cut off when you feel warm fingers clasp around your chin as you turn your head, bringing your face forward to face him. Your words die in your throat when the fan of Enjin's breath wafts against your skin, for that is how close he's got you to his face. Auburn hues capture your (e/c) ones with intensity, and for the first time in your life, you see no trace of amusement on his features.

Your eyes shoot wide, your mouth runs dry, your heart damn near stops. And Enjin sighs.

"All I gotta do is say it, then, right?"

You blink. "Wh-"

"Then you'll give me a kiss?" you don't answer, and he frowns, hand sliding over your cheek, thumb slipping over your hairline. "Huh? C'mon, help me out. That a yes?"

You gulp. "You won't do it," you test.

"No?" he dips in further, nose brushing yours. You suck in a sharp breath, pressing closer to his chest, allowing his inked arms to snake all the way around you.

Your lashes flutter with an exhale. "You still haven't."

"I don't have to tell ya somethin' you already know."

The air grows thick around you as his forehead bumps against yours, weighted eyes following the curve of your soft lips, flickering back to your pretty (e/c) eyes every now and then. His body is firm against yours, his mass towering over you, shadowing you, pulling you in like some mystical force.

And you almost let him get to you, as the drag of his fingers along the curve of your spine sends chills running down your back. His lips carefully, slowly chase yours, seeking them out like they are meant to be connected, and your skin jolts with an electricity you can't name when you feel the bow of his lips graze yours.

A gentle hum rumbles through Enjin's chest, against your hands. You almost forget where you are and let him take you, as the hover of his warmth brings you enticingly into him. Your mind is fuzzy, your nerves alive.

He's almost got you. He's centimeters away from having you.

But then, you snap out of it. Because you realize that, despite what you now see as something blatantly mutual, he still has not grown the balls to actually tell you what he wants.

And if Enjin thinks he has feelings for you, you're not going to reward him for skittering around your demands.

So you lean your head back and slide your palm against your mouth, blocking Enjin's lips from yours as they meet the back of your hand. He pulls back, blinking hard as he adjusts to the sudden barrier between you. He looks down, then incredulously up at you with angled brows.

You giggle, moving to hold either side of the man's head. "If you really want to kiss me, It’s not gonna be that easy. Talk to me when you learn how to use your words."

You lean up on your toes to press a chaste to the center of his forehead, where you flicker him earlier. Enjin's tan skin pinches with heat as he watches you lean back, baffled, his hold on you going slack so that you may step out of his arms.

"Now I'm going to go eat, and until you can lock in, don't ask me any more stupid ass questions."

With that, you turn on your heel and hum a tune as you strut down the hallway, leaving Enjin, once more, to pale in the humility of your absence. 

His skin is still tingling where you kissed and touched him.

He growls to himself when he manages to recover, sliding a hand over his hair as he looks to the ceiling as if it could grant him the strength to deal with you.

Because now that he knows that you know how he feels, in true fashion, you're going to make him work hard to be better, to give you the honesty and transparency and dedication you deserve if he's really serious about it.