The snow had stopped falling over Snezhnaya, leaving nothing on the streets but a beautiful white blanket. The trees held onto the snow, dressed in pale silence, while the sun lit up the sky—blue like Tartaglia’s eyes as he looked at you. Ajax, to be precise. That was the name he let you use.

He had challenged you. You accepted, because there was no malice in his gaze—only the pure, playful urge to tease. “The loser has to do whatever the winner says,” he announced, before explaining the rules of the game he had just invented. Whoever touched the ground first would lose.

How ridiculous, you thought. What kind of game was that? Ajax could be childish at times, swinging between lighthearted foolishness and sudden seriousness—but in that moment, he seemed to be joking, nothing more.

Still, you decided to indulge him and prepared to throw him to the ground. It wouldn’t be difficult anyway—Ajax would probably let you win, as he often did, just to see you victorious. That was simply the way he was.

You moved to take him down, throwing yourself at him—not with much conviction, nor much force. And just as you were about to say, “I wo—” he flipped you onto your back instead, his hands gently gripping your arms. The snow softened the fall, cool and yielding beneath you. You felt his hands slide toward yours, fingers intertwining.

When you opened your eyes, Ajax was above you, looking down with that serious, thoughtful expression of his, his eyes catching the sunlight. His shadow covered you now, and the only brightness you could see was in his irises.

“You lost,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Even though it wasn’t entirely true—he had touched the ground first—you chose not to argue. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. “Yeah, alright. You won. Can I get up now?”

“The loser has to do whatever the winner wants,” he reminded you—after all, that was the most important part of his stupid little game.

“Yes, yes, I know. What do you wan—?”

“Marry me.”

He said it simply, that seriousness returning—the same one you often saw when matters truly mattered. It wasn’t unusual for him. But this time, it was different.

No. He wasn’t joking anymore.