Imagine: Late in the evening, the Cleaners’ headquarters finally grew quiet. The corridors, which during the day were alive with voices, footsteps, and other people’s laughter, now seemed almost empty. The silence was so deep that you could even hear a pipe creaking somewhere far behind the wall.
You couldn’t sleep. You turned from one side to the other, stared up at the ceiling, grumbled under your breath, and eventually gave up, deciding to at least go to the kitchen for some water.
A dim light was on in the kitchen. Soft and warm, it fell gently across the table, the mugs, the jar of coffee someone had left behind, and two familiar figures. Enjin and Gris were still awake. They sat across from each other at the table, cards spread out between them like a fan. Judging by the look on Enjin’s face, the game was not going in his favor. Gris looked disgustingly calm.
You stopped in the doorway, crossed your arms over your chest, and smirked: “Oh, would you look at that. And someone still has the nerve to say I wander around headquarters at night for no reason?”
Gris lazily lifted his eyes to you, yawned slightly, and shrugged: “We’re busy with important work.”
“Uh-huh,” you snorted. “I can see that. A national tournament in wasting time.”
Enjin only hummed, not taking his eyes off his cards: “Go to sleep.”
“After seeing this? Not a chance.” You walked over to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, poured yourself a glass, and sat down at the table a little off to the side, just to watch. It was always amusing to see how Enjin, despite all his confidence, kept getting dragged into this game with impressive persistence, even though Gris beat him almost every single time.
And this evening, apparently, was no exception. Gris laid down his final card and leaned back in his chair with satisfaction: “Again.”
A muscle twitched in Enjin’s face. He was already holding a cigarette between his teeth as if he was about to chew it up along with the filter, but at the last moment, he restrained himself. His amber eyes narrowed in displeasure, and that only made you find it even funnier. You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand: “You’re hopeless.”
“It was a fluke,” Enjin muttered through his teeth.
Gris yawned victoriously, stretched until his shoulders cracked, and stood up from the table: “That’s enough for me. I’m going to sleep. Enjin, accept defeat with dignity. At least once in your life.”
“Disappear already,” he grumbled.
Gris left with the air of a man abandoning the field of a great battle. A couple of seconds later, the kitchen became completely quiet. Only the faint hum of the fridge remained, your glass in your hand, and Enjin, still glaring darkly at the cards as if they had personally insulted him.
You took a sip of water and, unable to stop yourself, said:
“You don’t actually know how to play at all.”
Enjin shifted his gaze to you. Calm, but already carrying that familiar spark of stubbornness: “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Not at all. And yet every single time Gris suggests a game, you fall for it. This isn’t even gambling anymore. It’s some special form of humiliation.”
“That’s a bold statement coming from someone who just sat there laughing instead of showing us how it’s done.”
You raised your eyebrows: “Oh, sorry? Are you saying I’d play worse than you?”
He tilted his head slightly to the side, and a smirk flickered at the corner of his lips: “I don’t doubt it for a second.”
You pressed a hand to your chest in feigned offense: “You are absolutely asking for it.”
“Then prove me wrong,” Enjin replied lazily, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and twirling it between his fingers. “Let’s play.”
“Just like that? Boring.”
“And who said it would be just like that?” He leaned forward slightly, and that familiar glint appeared in his eyes. The one that always meant this show-off had come up with something that would definitely annoy you. Or, on the contrary, please you far too much.
“We play for a wish,” he said.
You narrowed your eyes: “Seriously?”
“Of you? Don’t make me laugh.”
You set your glass on the table and moved to sit across from him. Enjin dealt the cards with the expression of someone preparing not for another stupid late-night kitchen game, but for the most important match of his life.
You smirked and picked up your cards. The first few turns went smoothly. Almost too smoothly. And that was what started to make you suspicious. Enjin seemed to notice it too. So he quickly decided to change tactics: “By the way,” he said casually, laying down a card, “do you always frown like that when you’re concentrating?”
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“I’m just observing. It’s cute, by the way.”
He smirked, but a couple of seconds later, he spoke again: “And if I win, you won’t run away, will you?”
“Well, who knows. Maybe you don’t know how to play fair.”
“Me? You’re the one sitting here talking nonstop.”
“So you’re easy to distract.”
You cut yourself off when you noticed that, at that exact moment, he calmly placed down a card that was clearly working against you. You clicked your tongue in irritation, and Enjin raised an eyebrow with satisfaction.
“Oh. So that’s how it is.”
“I was just keeping the conversation going. If you lack composure…”
But of course, he started. Jokes, passing comments, lazy questions thrown in as if by accident. And with every minute, you understood more clearly that this bastard really was distracting you.
And, worst of all, it was working. When the game finally ended, irrefutable proof of your defeat lay on the table. You looked at the cards, then at him, and gave a quiet laugh: “Fine. Let’s hear your wish.”
Enjin didn’t answer right away. He only took a drag from his cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and slowly exhaled the smoke to the side. Then he lifted his gaze to you. Golden, attentive, far too direct: “Kiss me.”
For a second, you thought you had misheard him: “What?”
“You lost,” he reminded you calmly. “My wish is a kiss.”
Your cheeks flushed with heat so sharply that it was probably visible even in the dim light. You had already opened your mouth to protest, to make some biting remark, to call him a self-assured idiot anything, just to hide that completely inappropriate surge of feeling inside you.
But for some reason, the words never came. Because, if you were honest with yourself, Enjin hadn’t left you indifferent for a long time. And that irritated you.
It irritated you how easily he could turn everything into a joke. How confidently he was looking at you right now. How he flirted with anyone and everyone in bars and on the street. It irritated you that you should not have cared, but for some ridiculous reason, you did. No matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that he was just a show-off, someone who liked to have fun and nothing more, something inside you stubbornly kept reaching for him. And fighting that feeling was becoming harder every time.
You slowly rose from the table. Enjin watched you silently. You walked around the table and stopped right in front of him. Even sitting down, he still seemed taller, larger, and the closeness made something inside you tighten in a way that was unpleasant, yet sickeningly sweet.
You reached out, touched his lips, and pulled the cigarette from between them. Then you brought it to your own lips, took a short drag, feeling the sharp, bitter taste of smoke, slowly exhaled to the side, and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table.
When you looked back at Enjin, it seemed that, for the first time in a long while, he truly didn’t know what to say. It was almost amusing.
He stared at you, captivated, so openly that even you felt a little unsettled. The admiration in his golden eyes disarmed you more than any of his jokes or teasing ever could. That look did not fit the usual loud, brazen Enjin at all.
And because of that, the moment between you felt even sharper. You stepped closer, almost flush against him. You felt his torso against your chest, the warmth of his body, his breath. You lifted your hand and touched his cheek with your palm. He froze almost imperceptibly beneath your touch, but he did not look away.
At first, cautiously, as if you were still leaving yourself a chance to step back. But that chance disappeared the very second Enjin kissed you back. His hand settled on your waist, still careful, as though he couldn’t fully believe this was really happening. The kiss was not playful, not even triumphant. It was unexpectedly hungry and desired, carrying the taste of cigarette smoke and longing, as if both of you had been moving toward this for a long time, but neither of you had wanted to admit it first.
When you finally pulled back slightly from each other, a warm, tense silence hung between you. Enjin looked at you with that same unbearably intent gaze, and the corner of his lips twitched into a pleased, almost soft smile.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I think that was my best game.”
You snorted, though your heart was still beating far too fast: “Don’t flatter yourself. You only won because you cheated.”
“If by cheating you mean my natural charm, then yes.”
“And yet you still kissed me.”
You wanted to make some sarcastic comment in return, but instead, you only shook your head, hiding a smile.
And, honestly, at that moment, you didn’t feel like going to sleep at all.
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