𑣲 Py

1. 2. 3.

4. 5. 6.

7. Orange. Normal.

“Enjin?”

“Mhm.” His voice is low, almost swallowed by the quiet room.

“Go back to sleep.”

You blink until his silhouette comes into focus. He’s sitting behind you on the bed, one knee propped up, a hairbrush resting loosely in his hand. The other is patiently working through a stubborn tangle near the ends of your hair.

“You’ve got knots,” he murmurs. “Thought I’d deal with ’em before they become a whole mission.”

His teasing is softer than usual, because he’s afraid even his voice might make your headache worse. You let your head tip back against his leg as the brush glides through another section.

Your man is so careful with you.

When he reaches a snag, he separates it with his fingers first, only brushing once it’s loose.

“You’ve done this before,” you mumble.

“A few times.”

“On who?”

“You.”

“I don’t remember.”

“’Cause you were sick then too.”

“Oh.” You’d giggle and kick your feet if you weren’t so sick.

He gathers your hair over one shoulder, dividing it into three neat sections. His fingers are surprisingly nimble. Left over middle, then right over middle. The braid grows steadily down your back.

“You learned how to braid?”

“I got tired of watching you struggle with it when you weren’t feeling good.”

The confession slips out so casually you almost miss it. Your chest aches with something warmer than the fever. When he ties off the end, he smooths a hand over your head, fingertips lightly scratching your scalp.

“There,” he hums and you sigh softly. “That feel nice?”

“Mhm…”

Another scratch behind your ear. Another sleepy sigh. Another one down your neck. Another soft noise.

“Knew it.”

You reach blindly for him until your fingers catch the sleeve of his shirt. “Stay.”

He sets the brush on the nightstand, eases himself down beside you, and pulls the blanket back over your shoulder where it had slipped. His palm rests against your forehead for a moment, checking your temperature with quiet concentration.

“Still a little warm.”

“So?”

“So…” His thumb brushes lazily across your temple. “Guess I’m stuck here.”

“You make it sound terrible.”

“It is.”

You squint at him.

“I was gonna get some work done today.”

“You liar.”

“I know,” He smiles, the kind that’s all crooked edges and fondness. “But I’ve got a sick girlfriend who needs someone to keep her hair from turning into a bird’s nest. So the world’s gonna have to wait.”

“What?” You glance over.

“The one flirting with you.”

“Oh,” You shrug. “I barely noticed.”

“I noticed.”

He nudges a pebble down the street with the toe of his boot, shoulders hunched just enough to look dramatically miserable.

“He smiled at you.”

“He smiled at everyone.”

“He touched your arm.”

“He was trying to get past me.”

“Hm.”

The sound is suspiciously thoughtful. You stop walking. You know exactly what he’s doing. “So…”

Enjin looks at you from beneath half-lidded golden eyes. “So?”

“Are you fishing for reassurance?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.”

“There it is.”

“I know it’s stupid.”

“It is.”

“I know you’re coming home with me.”

“I am.”

“You know I love you.”

“I do,” then the asshole pouts. “still…”

You laugh softly, because he’s so damn silly. His expression immediately brightens. “Aha.”

“You were fishing.”

“I said maybe.”

You cup his face before he can dodge away, thumbs brushing over the corners of his mouth. “he could’ve been the prettiest person in the ground.” He watches you quietly. “I still would’ve spent the whole night looking for you.”

His teasing smile falters.

“I would’ve waited for you to finish every conversation.”

His hands settle around your waist.

“I would’ve walked home with you.”

He leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

“I would’ve fallen asleep next to you.”

His eyes soften in that rare way they only ever seem to around you.

“And tomorrow?” You smile. “I’d still wake up wishing you were even closer.”

For a heartbeat he says nothing. Then he lets out the quietest, most satisfied hum. “Yeah.” his shameless grin returns. “I knew that.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“I know.”

He kisses your forehead with exaggerated triumph. “Worth it.”

“So dramatic,” You roll your eyes.

“Says the woman who just gave me a five-point presentation on why I’m the love of her life.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” He slips his fingers between yours, swinging your joined hands as you continue down the empty street. “Think I’ll get someone to flirt with you again next week.”

“Enjin.”

“I’m kidding.”

A beat.

“Probably.”