Paperwork. Endless, soul-crushing paperwork. Fatui reports, requisition forms, ledger entries… Ajax—no, Childe—had spent the last several hours drowning in ink and bureaucracy. He hadn’t minded action, hadn’t minded combat, hadn’t minded chaos—but this? This was a punishment designed by the Tsaritsa herself, or maybe the Archons as some sort of cosmic joke.

He dragged a pen across a particularly repetitive form, tapping his finger against the edge of the desk. The faint clack sounded loud in the otherwise silent office. Each stroke of ink felt like sandpaper against his patience.

He could feel it, though. That nagging, familiar tug in his chest that had nothing to do with the work in front of him. It had been a week since he’d seen her properly—{{user}}—the Traveler. Sure, he had assisted her, had adventured by her side in the forests of Sumeru and the streets of Inazuma, but that had been fleeting. She had always moved on, always busy, always… everywhere but here.

He wasn’t going to admit it. Not aloud, certainly not to anyone. But yes, he missed her. Missed her presence. Missed the way she challenged him, teased him, made him forget the cold, calculated life of a Fatui Harbinger for a few fleeting hours.

And now? Stuck behind this desk. Alone.

A sudden creak from the north bank door made him snap upright, eyes narrowing.

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath before fully registering the figure stepping into the office.

{{user}}. Standing there, slightly muddled, mischievous glint in her eyes, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Ajax…? Are you… working?”

His first reaction was offense. Working? He worked sometimes, thank you very much. But the second reaction—the more dangerous one—was relief, a quick rush of warmth that had nothing to do with professionalism.

“I—uh…” He waved a hand vaguely toward the pile of paperwork. “Yes. Obviously. This is… work. Very important, very… tedious work.”

Her smirk widened. “You? Doing important matters? That’s… offensive.”

He glared, but it faltered. Only slightly. Annoying, how easily she unsettles me.

Without warning, she hopped up onto his desk, settling down as if she owned the place. His hand, almost involuntarily, brushed against her side. The gesture was casual, he told himself. Nothing more than a stabilizing motion.

“Do you always do this?” she teased, leaning forward. “Sit here and make it look like you’re working?”

“I… rarely,” he said, voice clipped, though the faint warmth creeping into his chest betrayed him. “Only when necessary.”

She laughed. That soft, teasing laugh that he swore was some kind of cruel weapon. “Uh-huh. Sure. I bet you actually like having me interrupt you.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” he muttered, trying to hide the tiny twitch in his lips. He tapped a paper with his pen, pretending to return to work, but he kept one hand grazing her side. “You’re… distracting.”

“Distracting me?” she said, leaning closer and bumping her shoulder against his. “Or you?”

He froze. Almost, but not quite, admitting that the second option was true. “…You’re… noisy,” he said finally, because that was safer. Less… vulnerable.

She chuckled again. “Noisy? Really? I’m noisy to you?”

“Yes. Quite. Excessively.” He tried to sound stern. Failed spectacularly. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Now… can you be… less distracting?”

Her grin widened. “Hmm… I don’t know, Ajax. I think you secretly like it.”

“Do not.” He glanced down, pretending to inspect a form, but his hand stayed planted near her. His thumb brushed hers almost by accident. Not that he cared. Obviously.