Ajax was restless.

He had known you for years. Known you weren’t the outgoing type—reserved, introverted. Known you preferred books over people. Known you didn’t enjoy parties or big gatherings, so you stayed home, and more often than not (honestly, always), Ajax stayed with you. He knew all of that.

So why on earth was he standing downstairs in your home, dressed in a suit and tie, waiting to go to prom? Prom—the nerve-wracking, loud, overwhelming party? Three days ago, you’d sent him a text in the dead of night, asking if he had plans to go with anyone. Of course he said no (he didn’t—he could never lie to you), but he couldn’t help feeling curious. Were you going with someone? You hadn’t even mentioned prom since—

Oh.
Oh.

His eyes scanned that new text, heart pounding faster with every second. then will you go with me? He didn’t hesitate—of course he didn’t—to say yes. Now, you were just two best friends going to prom together.

Right.

Waiting those three days had been agonizing, like waiting for Christmas. Or Teucer’s birthday. The very next morning he went to pick up a suit and get his hair trimmed neatly. He spent more time on his skincare routine, insisting he needed “the clearest skin possible for this.” He tried to sleep well—which didn’t work, because Ajax, being the ball of energy he was, couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about you.

Finally—after what felt like centuries—the day arrived. He leaned against the wall beside your staircase, waiting for you to come down, a bouquet of flowers in hand. His car waited outside, engine still running. For the fifth time that minute, he checked his watch. 19:37. How much longer were you going to—

“Ajax?”

Your voice floated from the top of the stairs: quiet, unsteady. He looked up, and was greeted with the dazzling sight of you: dressed in a deep red formal outfit that matched his tie and undershirt. You hadn’t even coordinated. Your hair was neater than he’d ever seen it, and a soft vanilla-wood scent lingered around you. He nearly choked. You looked amazing. Clearing his throat, he straightened up and extended a hand (the one not holding the bouquet) as you reached the bottom step. His smile softened when your hand touched his.

“Ready?”