#outcast

“You’re going to get soil all over it,” he groaned in mock despair, slumping down on one of the empty old crates in the corner.

“Please, it’s probably grateful it’s somewhere useful instead of wadded up on your floor.”

You muttered a few words under your breath, your fingers brushing carefully over the sightly trampled plant on your bench. Within seconds they were lifting themselves back up proudly, the small fissures in the stems healing and knitting together.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Ajax sitting forward. “Still blows my mind when you do that,” he murmured, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as the little flowers re-bloomed right in front of him.

“Some kids trampled them last night,” you huffed, turning to place the pot back on a tray to take out again later, picking up the next patient in your queue. “Why do they always have to hook up behind the greenhouse?”

Ajax snorted, lips pressing together tightly to try and hold back his grin. “You simply make it too magical, it seems.”

“Or they know only present company come down here now that Thorn-bush is gone,” you sighed, swallowing sourly as her name left your tongue. “Besides, your poor attempts at flattery are sickening. Shouldn’t you be saving all your best annoying lines for Enid?” you asked, raising a brow but not quite taking your eyes off your work.

If there was one topic of conversation you usually tried to avoid, it was that of the she-wolf. You had nothing against Enid, really. But you were not the biggest fan of how she treated your best friend.

Still, you couldn’t miss how his shoulders sank out of the corner of your eye, your gaze instinctively lifting.

“Annoying you is what I’m best at,” he tried, but his energy wasn’t in it. You could have told that from a mile away.

Tossing your shears down and wiping your hands on a rag you sighed, raising a brow at him expectantly. You didn’t need to say anything for him to get the hint.

“That night I disappeared at camp – I found her with some werewolf guy.” Ajax visibly deflated, sinking back to lean against the greenhouse wall as he picked at the corner of his nail.

Biting the inside of your lip was the only way you could stop yourself biting out a remark you knew you would come to regret. Instead, you mused for a moment. “And I’m guessing it wasn’t just a ‘get some fresh air’ kind of walk?” You already knew it wasn’t.

Ajax snorted a half-arsed laugh. “Nope,” he said dryly, popping the p.

You struggled to hold back your scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “I take it that’s why she went quiet over summer?” You pried, trying to ignore the tension bubbling in your chest.

You caught him nodding out the corner of your eye, his throat bobbing as he swallowed and wet his lips. “She said wolf camp was strictly no-tech.”

“But you don’t believe her?” You raised a brow.

Ajax laughed, but it was devoid of any humor, “would you?”

You tilted your head a little in agreement, huffing out a slow breath.

“She didn’t deserve you, anyway.”

For a moment, you both fell silent, the steady drip of the irrigation system filling the space between you. Outside, the afternoon light filtered through the glass panes, casting soft green shadows across his face. It made your heart ache.

Swallowing thickly, you pulled your attention back to the plant in front of you, it’s slightly crumpled vines slowly unraveling and strengthening beneath your palm.

“You know,” you muttered softly, “You’re a wonderful person, Ajax.” You glanced up, offering him a soft smile. “Never forget that.”

He looked up, startled, and for half a second you wanted to reach out and touch his face just to keep him looking at you like that. Instead, you busied yourself with the plant, fingers brushing over fresh growth.

“Are you getting sentimental on me?” He joked, but there was a softness in his voice that was impossible to miss.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head without looking at him. “Please.”

It was easier to hide behind teasing than admit the truth – that you’d been pining for him for years. That every little smile, every laugh you coaxed out of him, felt like something you didn’t want to share with anyone else.

Still, you risked a quick glance his way. He was smiling, just barely. The sight made something ache deep in your stomach.

“You’re terrible at lying,” he said.

Swallowing thickly, you wiped your hands on the rag again, trying to ground yourself. “We should be getting back for lunch,” you said, forcing a smile that felt too tight at the edges. “Give me a hand with these?” You nodded toward the other tray.

He stood slowly, muttering an agreement. You bent to lift your tray, until his hand landed lightly on your forearm.

The touch was nothing, really. Barely there. But the skin beneath his fingers burned. You froze mid-step, the air between you suddenly thick. You risked glancing up, and found his eyes locked on yours – searching, flicking between them

“You mean everything to me,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

For a heartbeat, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

“Of course, you’re my best friend.” The words almost stuck in your throat.

After what felt like entirely too long, he pulled his gaze away, his hand following reluctantly after.

“Y-yeah. ’Course.” He gave a small smile - sheepish, but not quite reaching his eyes - and moved toward the door.

You followed, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin, wondering how much longer you could keep pretending that was enough.