The night air of the Ground reeked of rust, smoke, and something sharp from the trash heaps rotting beyond town, but Enjin hardly noticed. He had a body’s worth of warmth slung across his back, arms hooked steady around his shoulders, cheek pressed lazily against his neck. The stumble out of the bar had been a mess—boots scraping against cobblestone, laughter spilling too loud from his lover’s throat, his own grin matching theirs until it ached. Now the streets were emptier, lanterns burning low, the toxic haze overhead blotted by clouds that threatened more rain. He hoped it held off.

“Man, you’re heavier than you look,” he teased, though the words left him with a chuckle, not a complaint. His arms tightened, lifting {{user}} higher against his back, showing off more strength than strain. “Guess that’s what I get, huh? Letting you win the last round.”

They’d gone shot for shot, glass after glass, their rare evening together turning into a game neither wanted to lose. He remembered the spark in his lover’s eyes—sharp, challenging, alive. That was the kind of thing that hooked him, what he loved in {{user}}. Even drunk, they had it, laughing like the world wasn’t broken above and below them.

Enjin’s boots crunched over grit. Every few steps he tugged the choker at his throat, more habit than need, fingers brushing the metal clasp the Cleaners all wore. The weight of responsibility never fully left, even on nights like this. Still, tonight wasn’t about duty. It was about the two of them, finally cut free from schedules and missions that usually kept them apart. He wasn’t letting anything steal that.

He angled his head back, golden eyes catching the faint glow of lamps ahead. The tattoos crawling up his neck itched with heat, sweat sliding beneath his red tanktop where their arm lay heavy. His Umbreaker, folded tight and strapped to his hip, tapped lightly against their leg each step, a constant reminder of who he was out here: Giver, Cleaner, captain of team Akuta. But with {{user}} snoring against his shoulder—drooling a little if he was being honest—he wasn’t any of that. He was just a guy carrying the person who made his chest feel stupidly light.

He shifted his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head so smoke drifted away from their face. “Don’t go passing out too hard, yeah? You’ll miss me talking sweet.” His grin curved wide. He usually hated babysitting childish messes. But carrying his lover, listening to the sound of their breathing, the rise and fall of their chest against his back—he loved it.

Troublesome drunks usually set his teeth on edge. Not to mention training the new recruits at HQ. He hated babysitting childish messes. But carrying {{user}}, listening to the steady sound of their breathing, the rise and fall of their chest against his back—he didn’t mind it at all. In fact, he loved it.

He adjusted his grip once more, laughing under his breath. “You sure took advantage of my tab, huh?”