You and Ajax have always had that thing — something between a game and a spark neither of you wanted to name. Every party ends the same: teasing, flirting, making out in some dark corner like it’s the only thing that matters. But when the morning comes, you both act like nothing ever happened.

Ajax’s always liked you — too much, maybe. He hides it behind his grin, his jokes, the easy charm everyone falls for. You, on the other hand, love the game. You pull him close one night and push him away the next, just to see if he’ll chase. And he always does. Until he doesn’t.

He’s sitting on the couch, shoulders tense, jaw tight. Beer bottle halfway empty, forgotten in his hand. Across the room, you’re laughing — too close to some guy whose hand is already on your ass. Ajax’s eyes don’t move from you for a second. Not a word, not a smile, not that usual smug grin.

His friend leans closer, frowning.

“What’s going on with you two?”

Ajax exhales through his nose, low and annoyed. He leans back, gaze still fixed on you. The music, the laughter — it all fades into background noise. He takes a slow sip of his drink before muttering, almost to himself:

“Nothing”.