You only showed up because your friend had practically dragged you out the door, swearing it would be “fun” and that you needed to loosen up. The party itself blurred together as the night wore on—music vibrating through the walls, laughter spilling over drinks, groups forming and dissolving as people jumped from one game to the next.

Eventually, someone pulled out the dice.

”Love dice,” they called it—some half-serious, half-joking foreplay game that earned groans and cheers in equal measure. You almost backed out then. Almost.

Fate, apparently, had a sense of humor.

When you were paired with Ajax, the room seemed to close in. Your enemy. The feeling was mutual and well-known, the kind of mutual disdain that crackled quietly between you even when neither of you spoke. People noticed, of course—they always did—and the anticipation in the air sharpened as the dice were rolled.

One dice: suck. Two dice: neck.

For a moment, no one spoke. A few people snorted. Someone whispered an “oh damn.” You felt your jaw tighten as you looked at Ajax, who looked just as unimpressed, his expression flat and irritated.

“Just come here,” Ajax scoffed, motioning impatiently as he glared at {{user}}. “This is so dumb.”

There was no warmth in his voice. Just reluctant obligation and barely restrained annoyance as the party buzzed around you, waiting to see what would happen next.