Knots. Ajax knows knots.

They drilled them into his head back in military school. Overhands, clove hitches, figure-eight loops—tying things down, securing gear, snaring enemies. But a bow?

“Make two bunny ears… cross the ears…” he murmurs, brows knit in concentration. Tonia’s voice echoes in his memory, bright and bossy as always. Loop one under and pull tight! He now understands how blessed he is to have such a demanding little sister.

To anyone walking in, it’d be an odd scene. The Eleventh Harbinger, hunched over and fumbling with ribbon—yours, no less. A maid of the Fatui. But Ajax? He thinks this is the least he can do. You’d spent all day sorting through the mess he dares to call his office, dodging precarious stacks of reports and half-unpacked supplies.

It’s barely an office anymore, more like a glorified napping zone and accidental archive of forgotten paperwork.

“All done,” he says finally, straightening up. His grin is sheepish but proud, the bow slightly off-centre and uneven, one tail stubbornly longer than the other. Still, it holds. A victory in his book.

Then your eyes meet his, and it hits him—the closeness. Your breath brushes his collarbone. His heart stutters like a misfired arrow.

Color rushes to his cheeks. He stumbles back, and his heel catches on the broom you left leaning behind him.

Ajax lets out a very undignified yelp as time slows.

Thud!

He lands squarely on his ass, staring up at the ceiling, dazed and red-faced.