Chapter Text
Ajax wakes with a miserable groan, his cheek pressed against the rough, unyielding pavement. The cold air stings his skin, cutting through his thin Liyuen fabrics. His scarf is damp, gloves gritty with dirt, and the ache in the back of his neck a familiar sensation from the countless nights he had spent sleeping on the hard, unforgiving floor of the abyss.
Bracing himself on his elbows, he forces his blurry vision to focus on his surroundings. Rows of unfamiliar houses greets him, unlike any he had seen in Liyue. These buildings seem to emit a soft, humming sound, reminiscent of the electro wielders he had encountered before. It's clear he’s no longer in the familiar territory of Liyue.
Pushing himself to his feet, he resolves to explore the neighborhood, hoping to determine his location. Perhaps he had been transported to the land of hydro, as the advanced technology around him bears a resemblance to the Court of Fontaine, though it appears less extravagant. Though, he doubts it's been renovated this much since his last visit.
Ajax glances at the sky, the orange fading into dark blue. It’s definitely late, and he better find shelter fast before the cold seeping through his rugged combat uniform gets to him. Cold Snezhnayan nights and times like these make him wish he had gotten a pyro Vision instead of hydro. Not that he isn’t grateful. Hydro is useful and well—cool as heck, but not that practical. His mora pouch is fastened to his outfit—not a coin out of place—so he decides to wrap his knuckles against the door closest.
Moments later, the door swings open, revealing a disgruntled teenager. His disheveled blonde hair is tousled and unkempt, as if he had just tumbled out of bed to answer the unexpected knock. The teenager's eyes are heavy with sleep, and his expression conveys irritation at being disturbed from his slumber.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be? Is this some shitty Halloween costume?” His ruby eyes scan his clothes, taking in the frayed scarf and drenched cloth.
“My apologies, I seem to have stumbled into the wrong neighborhood,” Ajax explains, clearing his throat. “I’m actually quite lost, I was hoping to find a place to stay for the night, if you would be so kind. I can offer a hefty sum of mora in exchange.” He reaches into his pouch, pulling out a handful of shiny coins and holding them out to the teenager.
“Hah? Is this some kind of joke? Get lost, I'm not fucking interested. Go peddle your crap to your homeless buddies,” The teen stares at him like he’s some descender who crash-landed on Teyvat before slamming the door in his face.
Were the people of Fontaine always this unwelcoming? He puffs out his cheeks in offense. Ajax for one, would always let anyone (Mr. Zhongli) spend the night at his temporary residence and if they try to harm him? He’ll take the challenge.
He knocks on the door again, only to be met with a resounding “GO AWAY” from inside the house.
Perhaps the neighbors will be more welcoming.
Ajax sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping with disappointment. Sixteen houses, and not a single benevolent soul. The moment he showed his mora, the residents reacted with confusion and suspicion, slamming their doors in his face. Is the common Teyvatian currency not accepted here? Perhaps this Fontainian village has its own currency?
One look at the moon notes it is well past 11 o'clock. The neighborhood has grown dark and quiet, the houses around him dark and silent. With no other options, he makes his way to the nearest bench, settling down with a weary groan. He could either try to get some rest here, or wander the unfamiliar streets until morning. Neither prospect fills him with enthusiasm, but he has little choice.
Leaning back against the hard wooden slats, Ajax closes his eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his neck and the chill of the night air seeping through his damp clothes. If only Mr. Zhongli was here, beckoning him into his abode with osmanthus tea for two sitting on his intricately carved dining table….
Fuck it.
He stands, retracing his steps to the first house. Third time's the charm, or so the Traveler always says before launching herself at him during sparring matches.
This time, he rings the doorbell.
A frustrated scream erupts from within. Heavy footsteps thunder down stairs and the door flies open. The blonde-haired boy stands there, teeth gritted so hard they might shatter.
"What. Do. You. WANT," he spits out, each word dripping with barely restrained fury.
Ajax shrugs, unruffled. He's faced worse temperaments than this. "Let me stay the night. I'll owe you a favor—anything you need."
The boy's eyes narrow, calculating. "Anything?"
"Anything," Ajax confirms. If worst comes to worst he’ll just make a run for it if the boy asks for too much. He’s already wanted in Liyue and The Court of Fontaine, what’s another poster with his description going to do?
"Fine. Come in. But so help me God, if you track dirt on my floors-"
Ajax steps inside, grateful for the warmth, and the teenager's voice cuts like a whip.
"SHOES. OFF. NOW," he barks, his ruby eyes blazing with an intensity that would intimidate most. "I don't care if you're some cosplayer or an actual fucking vagrant. You're not dragging that filth across my floors."
"Of course," Ajax says smoothly, kneeling to unlace his boots. The leather is worn, caked with layers of dirt and grime. His socks, when exposed, are equally deplorable.
The teen wrinkles his nose in disgust and turns sharply. "Bathroom's down the hall. Clean yourself up. And don't touch anything without permission."
Ajax grins despite himself. "Thanks comrade!”
Alone in the bathroom, he peels away his sodden clothing with relief. Ajax reels back, almost toppling over if it weren’t for his quick reflexes. Frowning, he reaches for a towel, running his fingers over unblemished skin. Wait, unblemished? Where did all his scars go? Even his face, catching it in the mirror, looks youthful and rounder at the cheeks.
What the hell?
Wait a minute, he looks exactly as he did at fourteen.
The realization sends ice through his veins. Maybe Skirk was right, the abyss really does mess with your head. Whatever, his exhausted brain is likely hallucinating. He can process this nightmare with a clearer mind after sleep and a good fight.
When he emerges from the bathroom, the blonde is on the couch, staring intently at a thin metal object. Ajax approaches cautiously.
"Thanks for letting me stay the night, and—apologies, what was your name?”
"Bakugo. And you're sleeping on the couch." He doesn't look up, shuffling off to his room as if desperate to get out of the vicinity.
Ajax shrugs. Well, you win some, you lose some. On the bright side, this sofa is way more plush than the stiff leather contraption in Zhongli’s living room. You’d think an ancient god who spends his days leisurely paging through tome after tome would invest in a seat with actual cushioning. But no, he buys the couch that looks like it walked straight out of a grandma’s attic. Zero functionality whatsoever.
Archon forbid Mr. Zhongli ever invites Ajax over in the morning. Sitting on that thing while exchanging pleasantries with the Geo Archon is an exercise in silent suffering, forced to pretend his ass isn’t as sore as his muscles after a day of training with the Fatui. The Qixing could use that couch to make interrogation victims confess in record time.
Seriously, how does Zhongli xiānsheng keep his composure while sipping tea, posture perfect as ever seated on that instrument of torture? It’s like the man is carved out of stone or something.
…Wait.
A yawn escapes his mouth and he sighs, pulling off his mask and setting it onto the coffee table in front of him. Sweet Tsarista, he really needs some sleep. Ajax sinks into the cushions, unconsciousness claiming him instantly.
The next morning, the smell of perfectly cooked eggs and sausage infiltrates his nose, dragging him from sleep. His mouth waters at the sight of Bakugo's breakfast spread—rice, vegetables, meat prepared with surprising skill for a teenager. The harbinger stands up and wanders over, entranced by the fish.
"Get the hell away from my breakfast, you leech!"
Ajax blinks, his newfound baby-face apparently triggering some kind of primal territorial response in his host. He eyes the marinated vegetables scattered across the counter.
"You're telling me none of that is for me?"
Bakugo whirls around, teeth bared. "I let you stay ONE night. Not become your personal chef. You want food? There's a convenience store down the street. Now get OUT of my kitchen before I throw you out.” He turns around, grabbing something from the counter. ”While you’re out, give this dish back to the Midoriyas three houses down. Grab me some groceries and drop them off once you're done.”
Ajax squawks in indignation. “Hey! Why do I have to-”
Bakugo shuts him up with a glare. “Need me to remind you that YOU owe me?” This is the least you could do, now zip it and go.”
Ajax sulks like a kicked puppy before finally grabbing the dish and his pouch of mora, trudging out the door with all the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own execution. He’s honestly surprised that getting scolded—by a teenager, no less—hits him this hard, but he supposes his body’s regression must’ve dragged his mental development down with it. How unfortunate.
Now what is he supposed to do for food? As far as he can tell, the neighborhood is completely boxed in by the city, so hunting is out of the question. And after the fiasco with the neighbors, he doubts any vendors are going to accept his mora. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can find a jeweler willing to trade the precious metal for whatever passes as currency in this village.
He sighs, looking down at the clear dish in his hands. Not before returning this.
He follows the road, eyes flicking over each passing house. When the address comes into view climbs the steps, and presses the doorbell.
The door opens gently, revealing a middle-aged woman with vibrant green hair that seems to catch the sunlight like living emeralds, and a smile so warm it could probably level mountains.
“Hello! Is there anything you ne—Oh! Is that the yakitori I sent for Mitsuki and Katsuki?” She reaches out gracefully, taking the dish from Ajax’s hands. “Thank you for bringing it back. Are you a friend of his?”
Ajax rubs the back of his neck, trying to ignore the tug of awkwardness in his chest. Katsuki, that’s probably Bakugo. The idea of calling that explosive teen a ‘friend’ makes him laugh internally. Something tells him the boy wouldn’t exactly appreciate it.
“Oh yeah, the best of the best!” he announces, looking forward to when this statement gets back to “Katsuki.” “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” He steps back, feeling the awkwardness ease as he prepares to leave, but a gentle hand shoots out to stop him.
“Wait! What’s your name, boy? A friend of Katsuki is a friend of ours! Actually, my son Izuku is home, would you like to meet him?”
The woman’s eyes sparkle with genuine warmth, and Ajax feels a bit of guilt at the thought of turning her down. Her kind demeanor is almost disarming, and for a moment, he considers just saying yes. But reality tugs him back.
“Sorry, ma’am, I wish I could, but I have some errands to run,” he says, forcing a polite smile.
Her brow furrows slightly, though there’s no real edge to her disapproval. “Errands? Kids your age should be outside playing or studying!” she chides.
Shit, that excuse won’t fly anymore; he’s fourteen again.
He pauses, thinking back. What did he usually tell his parents when he wanted to sneak outside with Tonia before finishing his homework? The memory surfaces.
“Uh… I promised my friend I’d return a book he lent me today,” Ajax blurts, hoping the excuse sounds plausible. He can feel a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, but she doesn’t hesitate.
“Oh, alright. Please tell Katsuki we’d love it if he came to visit, it’s been ages since he hung out with Izuku,” she says, her smile returning, warm as ever.
Ajax nods quickly, grateful for the small mercy, and offers a polite goodbye. As he wanders out of the neighborhood, he shakes his head in disbelief. He still can’t wrap his mind around how someone that sweet could tolerate Bakugo.
Once outside the neighborhood, he’s hit with the full force of a bustling city and—holy shit, are those talking animals? The streets teem with all kinds of “people,” some sporting animal features, others with mutated limbs. Yeah, there’s absolutely no way he’s in Fontaine. He walks down the sidewalk, scanning the storefronts. The characters on the signs look Inazuman, and even though he definitely doesn’t speak the language, he somehow understands every word.
In his peripheral vision, metal carriages zoom past at impossible speeds and—is that a guy with a broom for a head? What the hell is this place? No, no. Focus. Task.
After stumbling around the city—enduring more than a few puzzled stares—he comes across a building marked “Musutafu Bank”.
Finally. Ajax pulls open the glass double doors and steps inside, the muted hum of conversation greeting him the moment he crosses the threshold. A snaking line of customers (each one just as peculiar as the people outside) waits to speak with the banker at the counter. He glances at the queue, then at the doors behind him. Bakugo hadn’t given him a strict time to return, only a vague “Don’t take all day.” Hardly helpful. Still, it’s enough permission for Ajax to settle in and wait. The guy could use some patience.
He joins the end of the line, folding his arms as he studies the people ahead of him. Might as well make use of the downtime.
The woman directly in front of him immediately steals his attention. She has a neat pair of green antlers curling upward from her head, polished like they’ve been buffed that morning, and her hooves clack methodically against the tile floor as the line shifts forward. If Ajax were home, he would’ve taken one look at her and assumed she was some kind of Liyue adeptus. But here, she barely stands out! Everyone in this place seems to have one strange detail or another, as if the entire city is a competition for the most unusual set of features.
He forces his gaze forward, only for it to drift again moments later. By the time he’s halfway through the line, he’s already catalogued a dozen distinct oddities: a man whose hair looks quite literally like bundled straw; a woman with a petite, buttonlike animal nose that twitches whenever she talks; someone whose ears flick when they hear the faintest noise; another whose skin glimmers faintly, like sunlight bouncing off water.
And then there’s the kid, a little boy bouncing on his toes, palms cupped together. Ajax watches as a shimmering sphere of water forms between the boy’s hands, rippling like a miniature pond. The mother hisses at him to stop, swatting down his arms before he can fling the water at his sister. The boy sighs dramatically, droplets dripping onto the floor.
Hydro vision? Could be, but unless it’s hidden no amulet is apparent on the boy.
He steps forward with the line, trying to appear unfazed.
The woman at the counter looks up, and for a split second her expression slips, eyes widening before she reins it back in.
Ajax catches it. Hard not to. Shoot, did he do something weird? Did he forget to zip something? He hesitates. “Uh… is something wrong?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. Sorry. You just, you look like someone I know.”
Someone she knows? Ajax tries to read her eyes, but half her face is covered, and the mask makes her look like some kind of half-finished sketch.
“Oh.” He forces a little laugh. “Funny. You actually look kind of familiar too.”
Where has he seen her? He squints a bit. “Hard to tell, though. The mask’s doing all the work.”
She reaches up, touching the fabric lightly. “Yeah, I know. Makes things awkward.” The banker clears her throat before putting on her customer service voice.
“Anyway, how could I help you today?”
Ajax unpins the mora pouch from his shirt, the familiar weight settling into his palm. “I was wondering if this bank could help identify the metal in these coins,” he says. “I’m looking to sell them.”
“Of course,” the attendant replies with a polite nod. “Right this way. Please have a seat, someone will be with you shortly.”
Ajax sinks into a lounge chair, letting his body relax as he rolls a coin between his fingers. The metal is warm from his touch, catching the light in soft flashes.
This bank is unusual. No marble floors or towering pillars like Northland Bank. Instead, the air smells faintly of polished wood and ink, and the quiet hum of conversation replaces the silted silence he’s used to.
“Excuse me, young sir. My colleague mentioned you needed assistance?”
Ajax looks up and blinks. A tall, broad-shouldered man with tawny cat ears approaches, his tail flicking lazily behind him. Ajax forces his gaze to stay on the man's face. Don’t stare.
He places a few mora in the man’s outstretched hand. “I’m hoping you can help determine the value of this metal?”
The man tilts his head, clearly surprised, but nods. “Certainly. Please, follow me.” He leads Ajax down a short hallway into a compact private office, dimly lit and cluttered with tools.
“It’s not every day we get requests like this,” the man says as he opens a drawer, revealing an array of scales, acids, loupe lenses, and odd little chisels. “But I believe I can help.”
He works with a careful, practiced precision, testing the coin from every angle by scratching it, weighing it, checking how it reacts to different solutions. With each step, his expression tightens, eyes widening by degrees.
Finally, he sets the tools down with a soft clatter.
“Young sir… where did you acquire this much gold?”
Ajax lifts a shoulder, letting the lie flow easily. “Inherited it from my grandparents. We’re kind of low on money right now. How much is it worth?”
The man stares at him like he’s heard the world’s strangest joke. “Low on money? No offense, young sir, but selling even a fraction of what you have would set you and your parents for life!”
Ajax beams, all easy charm. “Perfect. Thank you for your help, I'll be on my way.”
He turns on his heel before the man can fully process the response. Behind him, sputtered protests follow—“Wait! Sir, hold on!”—but Ajax ignores them.
He’s seen that look too many times. The sudden interest and lean-in from people hoping to get close enough to benefit from his generosity. Sure, he spoils his companions and crew without a second thought, but that doesn’t mean strangers get to cozy up with the same expectations.
Ajax tightens the pouch at his side and walks out, expression bright and steps light.
Finding a pawn shop had been easy enough. He had spotted one on the walk to the bank, and if there was one thing he could rely on, it was his sense of direction. It came with the job, really. Traveling across every corner of Teyvat—especially when most locals were too wary of the Fatui to offer help—had sharpened that skill out of necessity.
The old woman running the shop turned out to be surprisingly kind. She’d been just as startled as the banker when he produced his mora, but unlike him, she meant no harm. If anything, she seemed delighted by his presence, fussing over him like a long-lost grandchild. She even asked why he wasn’t in school, and Ajax, absurdly, found himself momentarily stunned.
It took a bit longer than the quick transaction he’d envisioned, but eventually she exchanged the gold for yen—at least, that’s what he thinks the currency is called—and sent him off with a warm smile and a reminder to “eat more.”
She reminds him of his own mother.
The grocery trip is far more complicated than Ajax had anticipated. He enters the store with confidence, but it vanishes halfway through the produce section once he realizes that Bakugo had never actually told him what to buy. Just an instruction to “go get groceries,” and now he was left wandering among unfamiliar foods with no plan.
The store itself did little to ease his confusion. Bright, artificial lights buzz overhead, making the colors of the fruits and vegetables almost painfully vivid. Small cold boxes are scattered along the aisles, releasing puffs of icy air every time he opens them. He moves cautiously from shelf to shelf, examining the items, trying to figure out what might please his volatile host.
After wandering the aisles for a while, he finally settles on a few seafood options and some vegetables that look fresh and workable. He hopes that picking whatever appears best will be enough to satisfy Bakugo, who definitely strikes him as the type to hate anything too sweet.
Ajax adds an absurd amount of chocolate to the cart.
With the groceries selected, he makes his way to the counter. The clerk greets him with a polite smile and begins scanning and bagging the items with practiced efficiency. Ajax watches closely, fascinated by the system and advanced technology used.
He stands there for a long moment, staring at the front door that had just been slammed in his face with the force of a miniature explosion. He blinks once. He should have expected that. Still, he turns right back around and marched up to Bakugo’s porch, grocery bags cutting into his fingers, and pounds on the door like the world depends on it.
“HEY!” he shouts, leaning close enough that his breath fogs the paint. “Do you want your groceries or not?”
From the other side comes an indignant, muffled screech, “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BACK? THE DEAL WAS ONE NIGHT! MY HOUSE ISN’T YOUR DAMN HOTEL!”
He’s right. Ajax winces. He might’ve, well… forgotten that part.
“Uhhh, could you maybe open the door?” he tries, pitching his voice higher in what he hopes passes as desperation. “If you don’t, I might just piss on your doorstep.” A lie, obviously. He has far more dignity and bladder control than that, but Bakugo doesn’t need to know.
The door nearly rips off its hinges as it flies open. Bakugo appears, looking like Ajax had personally offended his entire bloodline, disgust radiating off him in waves.
“Go, and then LEAVE,” he snaps.
Ajax slips inside before Bakugo could decide otherwise, dropping the grocery bags onto the floor like a peace offering. “Wait. Just hear me out, okay?” he says quickly, risking a glance at the teen. Bakugo’s face is an alarming shade of red, bordering on volcanic eruption. Ajax winces. Yikes. Maybe threatening to pee wasn’t the best strategy.
“I got your groceries,” he continues, lifting his hands in surrender. “And I can pay you back now! Just, please, let me stay a bit longer.” He presses his palms together in mock prayer, giving Bakugo his most pitiful, wide-eyed look.
Bakugo looks very unconvinced and possibly homocidal
Ajax scrambles for an excuse. “I can be your bodyguard?” he offers. That should be an easy sell, he is a Harbinger, after all. But instead of calming Bakugo down, it somehow makes him look even more furious.
“DOES IT LOOK LIKE I NEED A FUCKING BODYGUARD?” Bakugo roars, sparks crackling at his palms. “I’M GOING TO BE THE NUMBER ONE HERO! I DON’T NEED SOME STREET–DWELLING RAT TO PROTECT ME!”
Ajax stares at him, slowly blinking. This kid seriously needs a vacation in the Abyss. “Number one hero, huh?” he muses. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. “That must mean you know how to fight. How about this, you let me stay one more night, and in the morning we spar. If I win, you let me stay longer. If I lose, I’m gone and out of your spiky hair.”
“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” Bakugo barks, but Ajax can see the gears turning behind that furious scowl. “Don’t come crying when I kick your ass!”
He holds back a laugh. Hook, line, and sinker.
Bakugo snatches the grocery bags out of Ajax’s hands with all the gentleness of a feral animal protecting its den. He marches himself to the big cold box—as Ajax had named it—and yanks the door open like it offends him. One by one, he shoves the items inside with clipped movements, muttering under his breath the whole time.
Then he reaches the bottom of the last bag, hand enclosing around the chocolate bars.
Slowly, Bakugo lifts his head and turns to stare at Ajax. The glare he delivers could have curdled milk on the spot. It was the kind of look that his older sister would give him anytime she found him using something of hers.
Without saying a word, he whips the chocolate onto the counter hard enough that the bars skid across the surface. “I’m not cooking for your sorry ass,” he spits. “So go ahead and eat your dinner straight out of a wrapper. Enjoy your feastable diabetes.”
Right on cue, Ajax’s stomach lets out a desperate, echoing growl.
Bakugo raises an eyebrow in disgust.
Ajax, accepting his fate, grabs one of the bars and tears it open with the ferocity of a starving wolf. Chocolate for dinner isn’t ideal, but he’s eaten far worse.
Bakugo points sharply at the refrigerator, stabbing the air between them like he is making a declaration of war.
“And don’t. Touch. My. Fridge.”
He nods quickly, mouth full of chocolate, putting his hands up placatingly.
Satisfied with nothing except his own rage, Bakugo huffs, turns on his heel, and stomps down the hall toward his bedroom. The door slams behind him, rattling in its frame.
Ajax takes another bite of chocolate, chewing slowly.