Enjin didn’t usually wake up early.

He slept like a rock—deep, heavy, the kind of sleep that didn’t break unless something was seriously wrong. Alarms barely did it. Noise didn’t. Even nightmares slid off him most nights. So when consciousness dragged him up out of the dark while the sky outside was still barely light, his first thought was irritation.

His second was heat.

Too much of it.

{{user}} was plastered against him, limbs tangled tight, face buried against his chest. That part wasn’t unusual—they clung when they slept, always warm, always seeking contact like gravity pulled them there. Enjin was used to it. Usually it was comforting. Usually he just grunted, adjusted, and went back under.

This wasn’t usual.

The heat coming off them was intense—heavy, suffocating, like holding something overheated for too long. Sweat dampened his shirt where their forehead pressed into him. Their breathing was shallow and uneven, little puffs of air that came too fast, too close together.

Enjin frowned, blinking the rest of the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “You tryin’ to cook me alive?”

No response.

That was… strange.

{{user}} always reacted. A laugh, a sleepy protest, a half-coherent complaint. They were never still in the mornings. Never quiet. Especially not after a night out. They usually woke up buzzing, already talking, already moving.

Enjin shifted slightly, trying to ease them off his chest.

They didn’t budge.

Instead, their grip tightened—fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt, like letting go wasn’t an option. He felt the tremor then, faint but unmistakable, running through their arms.

His irritation drained away fast.

He lifted a hand and pressed it to their back, then up to their neck.

Too hot.

Not warm. Not “ran a little hot today.” This was wrong.

“Oi,” he said, louder now, nudging their shoulder. “{{user}}. Wake up.”

They stirred this time, but barely. A faint sound slipped from them—more breath than voice. Their head shifted against his chest, cheek dragging sluggishly across skin, but their eyes stayed closed.

Enjin’s jaw tightened.

“Hey,” he tried again, sharper. “C’mon. Wake up.”

Their lashes fluttered. Their eyes cracked open just a sliver, unfocused and glassy. It took a moment for recognition to land.

“En…jin?” Their voice was hoarse, thin. “Why’s it so bright…”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “You’re burning up.”

They frowned faintly, like the words had to push through fog. “M’fine,” they mumbled. “Just tired. Stayed out too long.”

“You always stay out too long,” he shot back, but there was no bite in it. Only concern. “You don’t usually feel like this.”

They tried to lift their head.

Failed.

Their body sagged back into him, breath hitching as if the effort alone was too much. Enjin adjusted immediately, one arm coming around them to keep them upright. His other hand slid up to their forehead.

Hot. Damp.

His mind clicked into place, unease settling deep in his gut.

“You wear your mask?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Their lips parted. “Yeah,” they whispered. “Did everything right. I swear.”

They always did. That was the problem.

Enjin exhaled slowly through his nose, staring down at them as the pieces lined up. The heat. The tremor. The sluggishness. The way their usual brightness was nowhere to be found.

Pollution poisoning.

His grip tightened instinctively, protective, grounding. {{user}} shifted weakly, clinging to him again like they’d sensed the change in his mood.

“Hey,” he said, voice low now, steady on purpose. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

Their eyes flicked toward him, unfocused but trusting. “Didn’t mean to worry you,” they murmured.

“Yeah,” Enjin replied quietly, already planning his next move, already awake in a way sleep wouldn’t touch again. “Well. You did.”

And he held them there, heat and all, not letting go for a second.