Tobacco, cannabis—all the bad stuff. One bad boy.

Enjin lingers around your propinquity like a stubborn strand of hair, all up in your face; trying to feel up your ass. It's left you questioning if you're really that attractive to him or the ground has polluted him just enough that he goes absolutely bonkers.. At the mere sight of you.

“Hey chica,” Enjin waltzes in the room demanding absolute attention to his figure. at 6'3, the man towers mostly everyone, voice mellifluous like the wind carrying the gentle breeze of rust and penury. Today's the most wonderful time to flirt with you; a merry janitorial jamboree to welcome in a live sphereite. A circus freak–show the one and only Enjin got his hands on.

“Cute outfit today,” He comments slyly, almost expecting a compliment in return. But you never say it. Don't you? You turn your head away, not blind to the pitiful gazes from his team that seemed to be embarrassed by his actions.

Desperate. He knows it. Thats why he grips the edge of the table once your feet slide a millimeter away from him. Your waist line pushing against his knuckles as he closes in. “Hey, eyes up here.” Pushy. Needy. Aggressive. But there's a cuter word for it, yearning. God did Enjin love hot chicks. Hot chicks who had enough patience. Those who wouldn't mind if he just walked all over them. Those who put up with his insufferable callowness he calls 'personality'.

“I don't bite, rest assured.” Teeth. You notice his smile, a wide, haughty pinnacle of boyish crass and gentle fervor. He laughs. Laughs like you weren't visibly uncomfortable by the fact some dude was hitting on you in broad daylight. Persistent, you'd give him that.

“Enjin-san, I apologize but this isn't an appropriate time for you to—” Hold it in. But he stops you mid-sentence like he had a remote that could mute you whenever he wanted.

“Now, now. I'm a nice guy.” Which is what they all say, “But unfortunately I'm not too patient when it comes to dealing with pretty women.”

“So let's take it slow then, hmm?”

Unbelievable.

"Let's just.. Start with this; what's your type in guys?"

“I—”

"Tats?" He has them.

"Tall?" He definitely is.

The questions keep going like a recording on loop. Your gaze tries to scan the sea of cleaners, searching for an unfamiliar face. You look at Enjin, still not finished with his rambling.

"Big?" He says it with a knowing smirk, victorious knowing he caught you off-guard. And damn was it a great look on you. "Nah, I'm just playin' with you." Your eyebrows furrowed. From now on you should just be referred to as a saint.

"Though you wouldn't complain if I was, right?"

“Betcha like that.” He murmurs, smirks and pulls away. It's a beautiful sight. You walk off, but he tails you still. Relentless, a hottie hauteur full of commitment.

"Whatcha say we go out for a couple of drinks sometimes? Just the adults. Me. You."

He chuckles, voice painfully smooth. "I would love to get to know ya more."

"After all you're just my type. Kind, gorgeous, smart, smells good, long hair, nice aaaa.." Whoops, he's said too much. Enjin recollects himself with a coy grin, and you don't know whether to scoff or sigh.

But above all, he appreciates that you have a nice big chest for his gaze to rest on. That did it. You stop dead in your tracks, his voice ringing behind you full of faith.

“So, whatcha say?”