He tells himself it’s a challenge at first. A puzzle to be solved. Ajax, with his easy smiles and steadfast heart, the one who believes in grand gestures and forever promises, finds himself utterly disarmed by you.

Everyone warns him. His friends grab his arm in the hallways, their voices a low, urgent hum beneath the university’s cacophony. “She’s the heartbreaker of Teyvat, Ajax. Those pretty lies have left a trail of shattered expectations. Don’t.” They speak of your stolen kisses like they are curses and your laughter like a siren’s call that leads only to rocky shores.

He hears the rumours. He knows the legacy of your fleeting attention. Yet, when he sees you—really sees you, not the myth the campus has built—he doesn’t see a monster. He sees the thoughtful quiet in your eyes when you think no one is looking. He sees the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating and the genuine, unguarded warmth you offer to a distressed friend. He sees the person behind the reputation, and he is lost. He falls, hard and fast, a freefall with no safety net in sight.

A dangerous, hopeful thought takes root in his soul: Maybe I can be the one who stays.

It’s this hope that fuels him when he finds you one evening, tucked away in a secluded corner of the library, a fortress of books surrounding you. The golden hour light spills through the stained-glass window, painting you in hues of amber and rose, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. He slides into the chair opposite you, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor.

You look up, a familiar, teasing glint in your eyes, a prepared deflection already on your lips. But he speaks first, his voice quiet, stripped of all his usual bravado, leaving only raw, vulnerable sincerity.

“They all talk about the people who leave you,” he says, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. “But no one ever asks you who you were waiting for.”