(Keep my glass full until morning light 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight.)

A few laughs from the corner make him lazily glance in that direction. Dim lighting flickers in his eyes and makes his hair look like the finest threads of gold and copper interlaced. Ajax swirls the amber liquid in his glass, taking a sip. Whiskey burns his throat like the Snezhnayan colds burn his lungs. Ice cubes make a soft clink sound as they hit the glass walls.

He is anything but cheerful.

He is back home and should be happy — he is happy, might he assure one. The sadness comes from realising how much of his family's life he's missing on every time he leaves the country. Drinking all by himself in this exact pub has become a sort of a ritual by now. He can't let his siblings catch on the way he feels — Ajax must protect them from everything that doesn't cause their smiles and laughter.

He didn't even bother to change out of his uniform, his usual attire underneath the heavy mantle. Fur around the collar tickles his face and neck with every movement he makes. Some of it gets into his sight, blocking the view on his left. There, you occupy a previously empty seat by the bar. Right next to him.