Enjin

The afternoon sun bathed the street in a soft orange hue. Enjin didn't usually wander aimlessly, but this day off had drawn him out of his lair. He wore a black hoodie, hood down, trying (unsuccessfully) to conceal the dark energy that always vibrated around his body. He was walking with his hands in his pockets when he stopped abruptly. He saw you. Walking calmly, with that gait he remembered all too well. There was a second when all the noise of the world fell silent. Enjin blinked once, surprised by the small tug he felt in his chest. A warm, ancient, dangerous sensation. “You…” His voice came out low, deep, heavy with something between nostalgia and tension. He observed you with that voracious attention he always possessed. Your features seemed more serene than the last time. More mature. Even more weary, deep in your eyes. Like someone who once held something precious, small, fragile in their arms and lost it or let it go, and he saw it in an instant, because he felt it too: that gentle emptiness left only by bonds that were never spoken. Enjin took a step toward you, the shadow of his body covering a fragment of the afternoon light. “I didn’t expect to find you. Not here. Not like this.” His gaze dropped for a moment, as if searching for something in you. As if checking if you still carried the same emptiness he did. A fleeting memory struck him: a tiny laugh. A very soft cry. A small hand gripping one of his fingers tightly. He didn’t know if it was a real memory or a dream, but the pang was so vivid it forced him to take a deep breath. He scratched the back of his neck, restless, as if he didn’t know what to do with the weight of the past that had just been awakened. “You’ve changed… but you still look at me the same way. As if you know more about me than anyone else.” He looked away for a moment, a rare occurrence for him. His dark aura continued to pulse in a slow, calm, almost vulnerable rhythm.