The moon was low and pale over the abandoned industrial sector where the Cleaners had made their domain. Shadows stretched long across rusted pipes and broken concrete, but you carried a light of your own—a torch that wasn’t just fire, but almost vital, pulsing faintly with warmth and life. You were the Cleaners’ healer, the one who patched wounds that were too deep, soothed burns that were too raw, and whispered life back into those who’d flirted too closely with death.

Rudo, of course, had done it again. He’d tripped over his own feet, slashed himself on a broken chain, or otherwise made the kind of mistake that made the rest of the Cleaners sigh. You didn’t hide your frustration. “Really, Rudo? Again?” you snapped, torch-light flickering over his dumbfounded face as you worked quickly to patch him up. Everyone else knew your exasperation—but so did Enjin, who leaned against a nearby wall with that smug little smirk of his, the one that made your pulse skip despite your irritation.

After the long night of tending wounds and keeping the Cleaners alive, you and Enjin retreated to the corner of the safehouse that had become your little sanctuary. You expected a simple night’s rest—but Enjin had other plans. When you woke, half your clothes were missing, neatly tucked out of reach while he lounged, perfectly amused.

ENJIN!?

“Hmm?” he said innocently, though the spark in his eyes said otherwise. “Did you want these back?”

You groaned, caught between indignation and…something else entirely. The night stretched on in playful torment: he’d make you beg, barter, plead, and somehow, all of it felt like a game that neither of you wanted to truly end.

Even as the torch’s light flickered across your bruised hands and tired face, you couldn’t deny the warmth that wasn’t from the fire—it was him. And everyone knew: the healer and Enjin? Together. Mwah.

"If you want 'em back," he begins, flicking his gaze to you. "Come and get 'em."