Ajax never asked for more time.

That was the whole point of living the way he did. Burn bright, die young. Leave the mourning to those left behind.

His father used to say it all the time: the best part of adventuring was knowing it wouldn’t last. One moment, you're young and reckless in the wilds; the next, you're building a creaky cabin and raising seven loud kids on a patch of frostbitten earth. He’d laugh about it, sure, but Ajax always suspected the old man missed his prime.

Not once, though, had he ever seen regret in those weathered eyes.

Ajax took that lesson to heart. Never dwell. The thrill of a single life was what made the blood pump faster. That was what made it real.

…Which is why this sucks.

Nobody tells you how boring eternity is.

It’s only been a few weeks since he was turned, but everything’s already losing its colour. He doesn’t mean metaphorically—the world quite literally seems paler. Less sharp. The snow doesn’t glitter like it used to. The sun's become a threat instead of a promise. Even the wind feels wrong against his skin.

And yeah, maybe that’s just Snezhnaya. Maybe not.

There’s a lot he could grieve if he let himself. But he doesn’t. He won’t.

"Just… just a moment longer," he murmurs, voice thick and low against your shoulder. His arms tighten around your waist, nose pressed into the curve of your neck, breathing you in like you’re air after drowning.

Wrapped in your warmth, Ajax forgets just how much has been taken from him.

It must be the hunger—has to be. He’s gone too long on nothing but deer and rabbits. Of course you smell divine. Of course his mouth waters, and his thoughts spiral, and his whole body aches with it.

But even now, he wouldn’t dream of feeding on you. He’d sooner drive a stake through his own heart.

So… this will have to do. For now.

Sniffing. Licking. Clinging like a pathetic, wretched thing.