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As much as Enjin is expected to lead, he's good at deference too. Maybe it's not obvious, not conventional, but Enjin listens. He internalises, burns through commands with staggered compliance. Sure, he's often late, often gets billed with property damage, but he's no saint. None of them are.
"Report," Corvus says, while not looking at him. Instead, he's scanning through a document, one of many that Semiu compiles weekly so that he can keep up with the endless diplomatic matters which require the Head of the Cleaners to have an opinion. Enjin doesn't speak, won't do it until he has his full attention. And Corvus knows this, has to know it considering it's an old song and dance, but he still has the gall to resist. After a few beats of nothing but static air, Corvus exhales, sharp and tired and the picture of a man who's been working for too long. Then he looks up, his charcoal bullet eyes tracing Enjin's form like it's been a while since he's actually seen him. "You're the worst of my employees, y'know that?"
"Fire me then," Enjin replies, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, grinning a little just to aggravate the man a bit. It hardly ever works, Corvus always too composed and Enjin pulling back at the last second from whatever proverbial bridge he can never jump off. Corvus is the same now, an absolute wall. It's a warm day and he's opted for comfort in the privacy of his own office, shucking off his jacket sometime before Enjin had arrived. The lack of layers doesn't make him seem any smaller.
"Report."
Enjin closes his eyes. He pulls back.
"They're doing well. We've had lots of those little missions around town, had to rescue a cat from a tree and Zanka got scratches all up and down his back but he walked it off like a champ." Enjin thinks, cataloguing the last week. "Riyo has been spending a lot of time in the gym. I imagine prioritising strength training would be helpful with someone of her jinki type. She's been eating more because of it. And Rudo hasn't been able to stop himself from gorging. You'd think deviled eggs were going extinct with how he devours them in the cafeteria."
"It's not necessary to report back on their meal plans." Corvus tilts his head, nothing about his expression gives away what he's thinking. It deadens Enjin. Some rooted nerve inside of him loses feeling while surrounded by all this snakewood, by the sheer overwhelming density of Corvus.
The office smells like roses, petals already rotting sugary sweet. Someone sends in a bouquet whenever they manage to find enough unbroken stems to make a decent bundle. It gives Enjin a headache.
"What kind of leader would I be if I neglect their nutrition?" Enjin says it like a joke but it falls flat. Maybe because his mouth doesn't move the way he wants or maybe because Corvus has always been able to see straight through him, as if that's his power – turning Enjin thin as paper.
"What about you?"
"What?"
Corvus finally puts his pen down. "Enough about the kids. Tell me about you."
"You know all about me." And Enjin doesn't look away even when Corvus raises a brow in challenge. Nor when he folds his arms, his biceps curling into something that's only strength.
"Enlighten me."
Though Enjin feels the oily tang of irritation rise up his throat at being commanded, he doesn't bite back. Instead he taps the hollow of his knee, considers himself from a vantage point which isn't so harsh. "I took the truck down to that new open air theatre. Had a picnic in the back and watched a movie." Then he glances away to the side, almost shy. They had a rerun of The Giving Tree. I would have asked you along but you were busy."
It was one of the first things they ever bonded over. A children's book turned into a feature length movie. It didn't always have many fans, too on the nose for casual consumption. But it's turned into a cult classic at this point. Enjin has the DVD and watches it on a crappy little projector, shaky images on his bedroom wall. He went to the open air theatre alone but kept a space beside him on the picnic blanket. Imagined all the different ways the day could have gone if he'd had the courage to be different.
"How was your week?" Enjin asks, quick enough that the words run together in a slurry. He's fuelled by trepidation at how he must sound – like talking about a movie is akin to desperation. His salted skin shining in the relative dark.
Corvus doesn't respond and glances back down. He's so much like a blank slate sometimes, consumed with an utter refusal to give away what he's thinking. It's infuriating.
"Gonna blow me off?" Enjin grins, too crooked to be worth anything. "It's just a question, not an interrogation." The churning in his stomach won't abate. He's been knocked off his own axis since the appointment was called, getting all in his own head after seeing Corvus laughing at the bar yesterday in the company of somebody else. Or maybe Enjin's been wrong for longer than that. His body turned to mulch after Corvus held his hand, the man pulling him out of danger and then lingering even after the threat had been dealt with. The touch felt earthen, like something real.
"I think you should take an actual day off." Corvus shrugs, saving his manners for other people. "You've got bags beneath your eyes so dark it's like you've been bruised. Not every Trash Beast needs your attention."
It takes effort for Enjin to not touch his face, startled by the description. He's not been getting sleep, sure. He's been taking on more missions too, yeah. But none of it is without cause. There's a swell of change on the Ground. Trash Beasts get closer to residential holdings than they used to. Enjin is working to keep the rest of his team from having to go on missions at odd hours. "That's a strange complaint to make when my productivity is up. You should be giving me a raise."
"It wasn't a suggestion. Take a few days off. Overworking yourself will only be detrimental."
Enjin stares, an absence in his throat while he tries to work sound out. "What are we making here?" Enjin asks, his voice pebbled over with indignation. He doesn't specify what he means, can't lead Corvus to the right conclusion without it feeling unearned. Doesn't ask what are we becoming? though he fears dying without knowing.
Corvus takes the easy way out, carves out the only interpretation which can leave the both of them untouched. "We're making for a world where we can all live a little longer. That's all it is." Enjin would hate him for skipping out on defining what their relationship is but the ambiguity is a crutch for him too even if it does keep him up at night.
"Do you not trust me? Is that what this is? How am I authorised to lead a team when you can't even trust my word?"
"You don't want my trust. You want my faith."
Semantics. Just another way to potentially derail the conversation. Though Corvus is staring at him head-on now, unblinking in his conviction. Enjin leans forward despite himself, knows that intimidation is a cheap and futile trick but that it's better than barefaced sincerity. "Fine. Do you have no faith in me?" The words are forced out through gritted teeth. He waits for a denial that he knows isn't coming.
The breath Corvus lets out is shallow, a slight puff of air which Enjin takes note of anyway. "Faith is reserved for those who are infallible. But there are no Gods down here. We all have our weaknesses."
"What's yours?"
Corvus offers up a rueful smile, his eyes shining like the end of a long day. "If I told you then I'd just create another wouldn't I?" He shakes his head. "We are not like the Spherites. We don't toss away everything we have because there's always another replacement. You're not replaceable. You're indispensable. That's why I need you to rest."
There's something unspoken between them, a thing much like a beating heart. It's warm and volatile. Spring-loaded. Although Corvus appears to be the perfect picture of control, his hand twitches where it rests on the desk. All that pent up energy with nowhere to go. He must want to drive Enjin's head through the wood, force understanding into him. Or maybe he just wants to hold him.
A heart is selfish. It only exists to fulfill one purpose. Everything else is noise. Enjin doesn't understand what it's like to be Corvus, to rule over a kingdom that can never truly be his. But he knows his own heart. He knows that he won't question Corvus past the limit that's been set. So, he nods and moves to stand.
Corvus says his name now – the one Enjin hates. He makes it sound like something good.
"Yes boss?"
There's a beat wherein Corvus just looks up at him. He's already got his pen back in hand.
"Next time they do a rerun, let me know. I'll join."