Thinking about your best friend Ajax. You’ve known him since childhood, and even though so much about him has changed, parts of him are still undoubtedly the same. The rough callouses on his palms and the defined cut of his jaw are new- one day you realize it’s because he’s gotten older, that he’s grown into his lanky frame in a way that looks so natural it unsettles you.
Because it is natural, after all. He’s all lean muscle, no longer a wiry figure that any decent coat would swallow whole. He carries himself with a kind of certainty now, unfazed by the stares the two of you receive when walking through the market. His coin purse is always attached loosely to his belt, jingling with the distinct sound of more mora than he knows what to do with. He tells you it’s for ease of access, but sometimes it feels more like a challenge to everyone passing by. Or maybe money just isn’t a concern of his anymore- you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the extravagant gifts he mails to you from overseas. Perfumes, jewelry, and sweets, handwritten letters heavy with unspoken apologies for being away for so long.
The scars all over his body are a patchwork from years past and present, indiscernible from one another but so distinctly his. Raised peach and tan stripes ripple with the muscle underneath, pulled taut across his lithe frame. He can tell you where he got most of them, too. Sometimes you’re inclined to let him, because for a moment, he looks how you remember him. A kid with a too-big grin and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, wide and dull like the sheen of the frozen lake he’d pulled you out of when you were both ten. He’d carried you all the way home that day.
Thinking back on it, you can’t remember a time when those empty eyes have ever shone with anything that wasn’t your own reflection.
But some things never change. You both tell the same jokes, ones you’ve been reusing for so long neither of you can remember where they came from. The sound of his laugh ringing out into the night, only muffled by the falling snow and the crunch of ice underfoot. How he calls your name from below your bedroom window, goading you out of the house at whatever hour he so pleases. The weight of his hand in yours when the two of you fall into step. His looping, sloped handwriting that looks just like his mother’s. The smell of his skin- of home- when you press your nose into the crook of his neck and push your body flush to his, so close you can feel his warmth through your winter coats. How he shivers when your fingers find the faun-soft locks at the nape of his neck, or when you brush your thumbs over the freckles that pepper his cheekbones (because Ajax has always been so pretty).
A part of him will always be yours, no matter what his role as a harbinger demands of him. He would say you have all of him, if you ever asked. If you ever wanted him. Regardless, no amount of time that they send him away will make a difference. He will always find his way back. You’ve known that for as long as you’ve known yourself.
Edited for formatting <3
Loosely connected addition here ! Intent on spreading the bestfriend!Ajax agenda <3
