Chapter Text
Bennett could feel each tick of the clock on the wall behind his counter, tick, tick, tick -ing away at his meaningless life as he stood, paralyzed, facing what must have been the grim reaper. Dressed in black pants, a white shirt (with an ominous amount of red stains), and black leather boots, the reaper looked a lot different than the one Bennett was used to seeing on TV and in art.
“Hello~?” A thick russian accent sang, fingers snapping in front of Bennett’s face as the man put down a couple of Red Bull on the counter. Bennett’s eyes moved to watch the fingers snap, flinching back, but ultimately, the white haired boy just stared. “God, please, kid, I just want to--”
“Please don’t kill me!” Bennett suddenly began to beg, as he watched the man reach behind his back. “God, I know I don’t have a lot to live for, but I don’t know, maybe if I have a few more years I can figure it out!” Bennett couldn’t stop talking, or moving, hands dancing in front of him until he snatched them back toward his chest, wringing them out. “I don’t want to die at a Seven Eleven at three A.M. At least take me somewhere nice first, or even just down the road! My life might be the fucking pits, but god, please, not a three A.M death at the fucking Seven Eleven!”
Bennett watched as the red-haired reaper’s mouth twisted into a wolfish grin, his hand continuing its trek behind his back until it came back forward, holding nothing but a wallet. Bennett felt himself slump back against the wall of cigarettes behind him, face pale as the man took out a wad of cash.
“What a funny little bunny you are,” the man states, leaning over the counter, putting his chin on his fist as his back arches, one foot lifting up slightly to rest on the tip as he puts his weight on the counter. “Do you beg for your life to every man who comes in to buy some sticks and drinks?”
Only the scary Russian ones covered in blood, goes unsaid. “Uhm,” is all Bennett can seem to get out of his mouth. The man laughs, standing back up to his proper height as he points toward a pack of cigarettes near Bennett’s head.
“I will just take those,” he says, “the pack of Lucky Strike’s by your head.” Bennett nods, moving quickly as the ginger thumbs through his cash, pulling out two twenties and a ten and handing Bennett about double what his transaction would have cost. “Keep the change, bunny ,” the man says, as Bennett places the pack gingerly on the counter. He watches as the man grabs one of the cans and pulls out a pocket knife, nicking a hole at the bottom of the can before lifting the hole to his lips, popping the cap. He watches, amazed, as the contents of the can immediately get emptied out into the man’s mouth, and he finishes the drink faster than Bennett has ever seen before. He gives Bennett a dazzling smile as he grabs his pack of cigarettes and his other can off the counter, making his way toward the door. The man turns around just as he’s about to open the door, a sleazy grin still plastered to his face, accent thick as he speaks to Bennett again.
“You know, I’ll have to take you up on the offer sometime,” he says, and Bennett blinks, back still pressed flush against the back wall.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, voice trembling only a little in fear.
“I’ll take you out somewhere nice. Though,” he says, lifting his shirt just enough to show the grip of the gun inside his pants. “ I can’t promise I won’t bite .”
He leaves with a cackle, and Bennett thanks every archon above that his pants are still dry when he slumps to the floor.
The next time Bennett sees the man, it’s two in the morning, and the door of his store pounds open, and the ginger reaper trudges in. Bennett has half the mind to tell the man off, no matter how scary he is, for slamming his door open, when he sees the floor.
Blood stained boot prints follow the ginger from the door to the back of the store, where the man had made a beeline to, and was currently rummaging around the beer cooler. Bennett pales as he watches the man give a short groan as his voice reaches the front.
“Don’t you have any good beer?” The man calls, continuing his search through their beer section. “What does a man have to do to get some cheap Russian beer imported to your shop, eh?”
Bennett’s words are frozen in his throat, watching as the man finally gives an annoyed tsk and grabs a small case of Heinekens, mumbling something about being told it was similar enough to a brand he knew from home. He drops it on the counter and points at the wall by Bennett’s head again, not speaking as he reaches for his wallet. Bennett, poor, innocent Bennett, is frozen in fear.
The man takes a second to notice, but looks up when he doesn’t hear Bennett grabbing his pack, and a small scowl forms on his face. “What? Cat has your tongue? You’ve not said a single thing to me, which is not very good for business, you know.”
“B-Buh--” Bennett starts, but his words tremble as his face pales, a single finger pointing gingerly toward the entrance. The man raises a brow, but turns to see what Bennett is pointing at.
“ Ah, govno, ” the man hisses. “Apologies, bunny. Grab me a mop. I’ll be back.” Bennett watches as he leaves the store, blinking a few times before taking a deep breath and doing as he’s told. No way am I making the guy tracking blood in my store angry at me , he thinks. Moving out from behind the counter and stopping at a particularly big stain on the floor, where the man had stood while Bennett was paralyzed, the white haired cashier gets to work, though his face is pale when he thinks too hard about the fact that he’s mopping up blood .
The door chimes again, and in walks the reaper, who looks like he changed his shoes from the clunky leather boots to…
Chanclas? Strappy sandals that look so completely out of place with the rest of the man’s blood stained outfit that it almost makes Bennett laugh, if not for the fact that he remembers, again, the man is covered in blood .
“Bunny, no!” He says, walking over to Bennett and gently prying the mop away from him. He shoos Bennett away with a gentle hand, and starts mopping the floor. “Normally, I try not to make a mess, but I am very tired, and, well, to be honest…” He speaks as Bennett returns behind the counter, reaching for the reaper’s pack of Lucky Strikes. “I was a bit excited to see you, yes?”
Bennett freezes, fingers grabbing at the edges of the pack, until he clears his throat, feeling his face flaming as he turns around to look at the man, who was staring directly at him, a smile on his face as he leaned slightly on the mop. Bennett eyed him up and down, before blowing out a puff of air.
“W-well,” he says, sliding the pack over, trying to cover the tremble in his voice with a cough. “Just. Just clean up and I’ll ring you out after.”
“Oh, bunny, you are too kind,” the russian says, chuckling as he continues to mop. “You know, most people would just call the police if a stranger came into their store with blood on their boots.”
“I can imagine it wouldn’t end well for me if I did that,” Bennett says without thinking, before slapping a hand over his mouth. The ginger pauses in his mopping again to stare at Bennett, a wolfish grin plastered on his face.
“Yes,” he says, “I suppose you are correct, bunny .” He makes his way to the back of the store, following his trail to the fridges. “My name is Ajax, by the way.”
“Ajax,” Bennett repeats, rolling the foreign name around on his tongue.
“Yes,” Ajax says, smiling from across the store at him. “That is my name. Most people would respond with their own name, too.”
“Oh!” Bennett exclaims, before his brow furrows slightly. Was it safe to tell a man like Ajax his name? “Well, uhm…”
His silence stretched for a little longer, and Ajax’s smile faltered, dimming visibly even from where Bennett stood.
“I see,” he says, continuing to mop the floor, body tense as he scrubs other stains away as well. “Well, I suppose I should have expected no different.”
“I’m sorry,” Bennett whispers. It’s silent the rest of the time Ajax mops, and when the man is done, he even walks the bucket outside, dumping the red water in the grass. He walks back in and heads straight to the counter, where Bennett is already handing him his items.
“How much is it, bunny?” Ajax asks, and Benentt feels a pit in his stomach.
“Don’t worry about it this time, Ajax,” Bennett says, trying to smile softly at the man. Ajax frowns, but doesn’t argue, simply grabbing his items and walking out, not even offering the boy a wave.
It’s about a week before Bennett sees Ajax again, and this time, he’s not alone.
Following Ajax is a man who Bennett has never seen before, significantly shorter, and with purple hair. They’re arguing in Russian, and Ajax gets so frustrated that his face turns a violent red; Bennett see’s the pale scars that marr his face for the first time. There’s one over his right eye, and Bennett wonders if that has anything to do with the cloudiness of it at all.
Bennett watches the two of them make their way to the back of the store, watches as Ajax leans over to grab a pack of beer from lower on the ground, watches as the short purple haired one grabs the back of Ajax’s head and pushes his head against the other cases of beer, making Bennett jump at the loud thump of skull meeting shelf, and the rattling of glass. The short man leans down and hisses something in Ajax’s ear, who has gone still with his cheek pressed to the beer cartons. The man lets go of Ajax’s neck, and leaves the store without even looking in Bennett’s direction once. The white haired cashier watches with narrowed eyes, before moving out from behind the counter and rushing to Ajax, who had stayed put, head still in the freezer.
“Ajax?” Bennett asks, a hand grabbing the door handle and pulling it open, eyeing the man while still partially behind the glass.
“Bunny,” Ajax says, looking up and giving him a forced smile. “I’ll be at the counter in a second.” His accent sounded thicker. Perhaps it was from having just argued so feverishly in his native tongue. “Grab my Lucky Strikes, yes?”
Bennett nodded, moving away from Ajax and heading back to the counter, grabbing the pack and placing them on the counter. He watches silently as Ajax stands slowly, grabbing a single can of beer at random, and making his way to the counter. He places the can next to the pack, and Bennett silently rings both the items into his system. Ajax pulls out a wad of cash and drops Bennett two fifty dollar bills, making the young boy blanch as his head whips up to watch Ajax unwrapping the pack and flicking out a single stick.
“Bunny,” he says, staring hard at the floor, brow furrowed. “The person you saw tonight. If you ever see him here without me... “
Bennett feels his spine lock, and his fingers twitch. “Yeah?”
“Run,” Ajax says seriously, looking up at Bennett, eyes focused on him, but one is cloudier, dimmer, and Bennett suddenly understands. “If he is ever in here alone, I want you to sneak out through the back as quickly as you can, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Bennett says, voice trembling. “I understand.”
Ajax nods, grabs his can of beer, and leaves the store. Bennett is frozen in place until his shift is over.
Ajax continues to return to the Seven Eleven, somehow always managing to catch Bennett on his shifts. Bennett thought it was pure luck (whether good or bad, he hadn’t been able to exactly tell), until his manager, Royce, catches him as he’s waking in one day, bringing him into his office.
“Bennett,” he says, and it looks like he’s sweating. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.”
That doesn’t sound great, is the first thing that runs through Bennett’s mind. God, I hope he isn’t going to try and pull a move again, flits through his brain too, but it is quickly pushed back as he shows a slightly strained smile, tilting his head innocently.
“About what?” He asks, trying not to panic on the inside at the prospect of losing his only source of income (or worse, getting asked out) .
“Well, recently a very… nice orange haired man came to visit me. Said he was a friend of yours?” Bennett feels himself pale. “Well, he said he was a good friend , and needed to know your schedule…”
“ You gave him my schedule?! ”
Now, Bennett watches Ajax from the counter, arms crossed as the man walks in and gives him a wave, before his steps falter when he sees Bennett’s frown and creased brows.
“Bunny?” The Russian man speaks, walking up to the counter before grabbing his usual drinks. “What is wrong?”
“So, you’re threatening people for my information now?” Bennett asks, bristling. He watches as Ajax freezes, before he mumbles what must be the longest string of Russian cusses Bennett has ever heard. The man looks sheepish for a moment, before he rubs at his cheek with one hand.
“You were… not supposed to know about that,” Ajax mumbles.
“Well, what did you expect! You threatened my boss, and claimed we were good friends to try and, what? Stalk me?! ”
“I do not stalk you,” Ajax said, voice a dangerous tone, making Bennett shrink in on himself. “What is the big deal? You know me anyway, Bennett .” The name is thick and heavy on Ajax’s tongue, making Bennett blush as he opens and closes his mouth, though not a single word comes out. Ajax watches this with a look of bitter enjoyment, before his face softens, makes him look young, tired, and Bennett closes his mouth. “You must have realized that my job is dangerous.”
“You’ve come in here dragging blood under your boots a few times,” Bennett says, crossing his arms. “It was hard to miss.”
“Yes, and yet...” Ajax contemplates his words for a few seconds before leaning his weight on the counter, his hands pressed against the fake wood. “Yet the bunny has not yet tried getting help. Why is that?”
Bennett is silent. He realizes he has no answer: he’s even been the one to help make Ajax’s bloody treks easier by having his drinks ready at the counter, or going out to the fridge to pick them up, so that the ginger wouldn’t have to walk the length of the store. He could have informed the police any of those days, or even pressed his emergency button the first day he saw Ajax walk in, covered in blood and lifting his shirt to show off the little pistol in his pants.
“I…” Bennett starts, but his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, and he ends up just shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
“You make the time after my jobs easy, you know,” Ajax says, smiling as he moves back, walking to the fridge and grabbing his usual Red Bull. “You remind me a lot of my younger brother.”
“Brother?” Bennett says, rolling the word on his tongue. Why did he like that?
“Yes. His name is Teucer. He’s quite younger than you,” Ajax slides the can over to Bennett’s side of the counter. “He’s back in my homeland. I send him letters, you know.”
“What do you tell him about?” Bennett wasn’t sure if he should speak, but this was the most Ajax ever spoke about his own life, and the white haired boy wasn’t about to miss the opportunity.
“He thinks I am a toy seller,” the Russian laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. Bennett reaches for the Lucky Strikes and places the pack on top of the can, sliding the two items back toward Ajax. “He believes I work for a very popular company in Russia. I spend much of my money on toys to be able to send him.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Ajax,” Bennett whispers, and the ginger blinks a few times, before grabbing his wallet and handing Bennett his usual fifty. Again, he does not accept the change.
“I am not a bad guy,” Ajax says, finger tracing the tabletop, eyes locked on the pattern his own finger was making. “I do not want to frighten you.”
Bennett took a deep breath, before letting it out in a giant puff. He tapped the tip of his finger against the counter, making Ajax look up at him. He gives the ginger a soft smile, which Ajax does not immediately return.
“I’m not scared of you,” he says, and Ajax's face lights up. “But the next time you want to know the days I work, please don’t threaten my boss.” The ginger nods, though his face morphs into something sheepish again. He grabs his items and walks toward the door, but Bennett suddenly remembers something. “Oh, wait!”
Ajax turns, watches as Bennett leans down on the counter, putting his cheek in his hand, and smiling over at Ajax. “I never properly introduced myself. My name’s Bennett, by the way.”
Ajax’s face becomes a dazzling smile. “Bennett. My name is Ajax.”
“Bennett,” Royce says, even though it's nearly midnight, even though he should have left hours ago, even though Bennett has been doing his best to stay away from his nasty, creepy manager for the hour and a half he’s been in the store. Bennett pushes all these things away from his mind, turning to look at Royce with a pleasant smile.
“Yes, sir?” Bennett asks, and the look that crosses Royce’s face after Bennett says those words makes the boy want to hurl.
“That orange haired… Gentleman ,” he starts, moving to stand near where Bennett was crouched, restocking a few items on the shelves. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he?”
Bennett feels himself turn flame red, sputtering at the question. Neither of them notice the welcome bell chime.
“My boyfriend? ” Bennett finally stutters out, watching as Royce shifts his position, basically cornering Bennett where he is. The white haired boy slowly stands, but continues to pretend to be restocking shelves, rearranging items and replacing them in their original position, hoping Royce would just leave him alone. “Why do you ask that?”
“Well, he seemed awfully interested in you, that’s all,” Royce says nonchalantly. “I take it then, you’re not together?”
“No,” Bennett says, before he can better judge himself, and immediately regrets it.
“Is that so? What a shame. Why, if I were your age, I’d snatch you up in an instant,” Royce says, a sleazy sort of smile growing on his face. “In fact, even now, if you were to be interested, I would not be opposed.”
He’s reaching for Bennett, fingers about to touch Bennett’s hips, when suddenly a hand grabs his arm and twists, moving him away from Bennett faster than Bennett can reject the man.
“I do not believe bunny allowed you to touch him,” a Russian voice sing-songs, and the dull sound of a pop is covered by Royce’s loud screech.
“Ajax!” Bennett turns quickly, watching as Royce crumples to the floor, holding his shoulder and screaming.
“My arm! He broke my arm!” Royce yells, and Bennett freezes.
“Oh, do not be so exaggerated !” Ajax chides, tsk-ing. “Your shoulder is simply dislocated.”
“ You dislocated his shoulder? ” Bennett nearly faints on the spot, having to fan himself with a hand as he leans against the shelf behind him. “Oh, god I’m going to pass out. Why would you do that?”
“What do you mean why ?” Ajax asks, incredulously, gesturing to the man on the floor. “He was going to touch you!”
“He’s my boss !” Bennett replies, also gesturing at the writhing man. “He--”
“He what ? He gets some sort of…” Ajax’s words falter as he searches for the word he’s looking for. “Of a… An exception?!”
Bennett reels back, staring at Ajax with wide eyes, suddenly realizing a number of things.
One: Yeah, he has been giving Royce a pass. Multiple passes. Allows comments about his body, his age, his relationship status, to go unargued, letting the older man speak about Bennett however he wants.
Two: Why was he doing that? Because Royce was his boss? Had his own nonchalance-- his own ignoration-- allowed Royce to think he was allowed to touch him without permission?
Three: Ajax dislocated a man’s shoulder because he was going to touch me without my consent?
The last one left him aching.
He would think about what that meant later.
Bennett suddenly looked down at Royce, a sort of fire in his eye, and Ajax whistled through his teeth.
“Now we are talking, bunny,” Ajax grinned, pushing at Royce’s shivering form with the tip of his boot.
“I don’t condone violence, Ajax,” Bennett said simply, his face remained clear of emotion, but he tilted his head at Royce, before walking away. “Or, at least, not inside the store.”
“I would not dream of doing anything like that in your store,” the Russian smiled, grabbing Royce by his good arm. “But I know a lovely little place a couple roads down.”
Bennett pulled a pack of Lucky strikes down from the shelf, and tossed them to Ajax, who caught them easily, even as he heaved a struggling grown man over his shoulder.
“Just don’t kill him,” is all Bennett said, before giving Royce a final polite smile and wave, hearing the man yell for help as Ajax cackled, walking out through the door with a rattle.
“Bunny!” Bennett hears from behind him, and blinks multiple times, looking over his shoulder at the sound of the voice. He watches Ajax step into his store, much earlier than usual, and walks straight up to the counter. He smells of alcohol, more pungent than the normal beer he drinks, and Bennett can tell from some strange stains on his clothes that it wasn’t just him who had been drinking, though Bennett could not account for the state the other person may have been left in.
“Hello, Ajax,” Bennett says, moving away from the shelves, grabbing Ajax’s usual pack while he made his way to the register. The ginger man was leaning heavily against the counter, arms spread out in front of him, wrists dangling over the edge and into Bennett’s space. The cashier’s nose scrunched, and he used the pack of cigarettes to poke at Ajax’s hand, moving it away from him as the man chuckled, continuing to be dead weight over the counter top.
“Fun night?” Bennett asked, reaching under his register and pulling out a Red Bull, while Ajax finally moves, rolling over a bit and resting his weight on his elbows, legs stretched out obnoxiously in front of him. The position definitely put more strain on his arms than must have been comfortable, but Ajax simply let his head loll back, staring at Bennett upside down.
“It was work,” the man slurs slightly. Bennett tries not to smile at the fact that the man kept speaking the rest of his sentence in Russian, making it so that Bennett could not understand a single word. He stopped talking after a little and furrowed his brow, his gaze drifting away from Bennett and finding the ceiling. “That. That was not English, was it?”
“It was not,” Bennett agreed, leaning against the counter, cheek against fist as he watched Ajax shift again.
“You did not understand me?”
“I don’t speak Russian.”
“I could teach you, you know,” Ajax says, and Bennett realizes that their faces are very close, and Ajax’s eyes are very blue. Dark blue, with even darker rings somehow filling them. One of them was clouded over, like the ocean during a storm. Bennett was mesmerized. “I could teach you something right now.”
“L-Like what?” Bennett asks, and Ajax smiles.
“Like… ya dumayu, chto vy krasivyy. ” The foreign words are nearly purred, and Bennett can feel Ajax’s breath on his face, and Jesus when did we get so close? Ajax seems to be mirroring his pose, leaning forward to whisper softly, enough that only Bennett can hear. “Repeat it.”
Bennett tries, and butchers it. He can tell in the way that Ajax laughs, a soft chuckle accompanied by a shake of his head. Bennett can feel the hair touching his skin.
“Was I close?” Bennett asks, voice quiet. Ajax gives the boy a soft smile, hand coming up to gently take a strand of Bennett’s hair and twirling it softly between his fingers, before Ajax moves away, standing back up straight slowly, dropping money down on the counter and taking his items as Bennett blinks.
“You’re a natural. A few more lessons, you and I will be chatting entire sentences in my mother tongue,” Ajax says with a smile. Bennett laughs, straightening up and watching as Ajax heads to the door.
“I know you’re lying to me,” Bennett says, but Ajax simply shrugs, leaving the store with a wave the chime of a bell.
It wasn’t until later that Bennett realized he had never asked Ajax what he had said.
The door slams open at three fourteen in the morning, and Bennett immediately knows something terrible is going to happen.
At the door is Ajax, but he is bloody, bruised, and being dragged by his hair by the short, purple haired man from just a few weeks ago.
“B-Bunny,” Ajax says, before groaning as his hair is yanked again.
“Silence, worm ,” the other man says, his own accent even thicker than Ajax’s, as if he spoke as little English as possible on the norm. Bennett guessed that means he wanted Bennett to understand everything. The man looked up at Bennett, a sanchrine smile plastered on his face, making Bennett’s spine lock in place. “So this is your little pet, hm? The little krolik you keep hidden away?”
Ajax groans, seemingly trying to get away from the man's grasp, but ultimately being unable to. The man simply slams Ajax’s head down against the floor, letting go of the hair and walking toward Bennett, who is frozen in place, back pressed flush against the wall of cigarettes, and feeling much more like he was going to piss himself than Ajax ever made him feel.
“You’ll help me, will you not, little rabbit?” The man asks, staring at his nail as he idly rubs his finger tip against it. “Your little master has been protecting your store for a few weeks, not letting others near it, and making it clear he owns this territory.” The man scoffs. “Well. As much as he can own it while being such a pathetic little slug.”
“I-I don’t understand wh--” Bennett tries, but is cut off by the man slamming his hand against the counter, making him jump in place as his eyes screw shut.
“I am not done speaking,” the man hisses, eyes flaming bright with rage. “You have found yourself under the protection of one of the harbingers, yet you do not know how to act when a harbinger of higher level is in front of you? Poor Childe has not trained you well at all, rabbit.”
“Scaramouche,” Ajax ( Childe? ) groans from the floor, lifting himself up. “I told you, I can explain my own self.”
“You are nothing but a pathetic little blip on the Fatui’s map,” the man Bennett has just learned to be Scaramouche continues to speak to Bennett, ignoring Ajax’s words completely. “What have you done to earn the protection of the 11th of the Fatui harbingers, huh? There is no way even your entire store can afford a protection like that!”
Bennett remains silent, but his eyes are watering, and his breaths are heaving from his chest, making it hard for him to focus on the man in front of him.
Ajax is up, standing behind Scaramouche, his hand coming up to grab Scaramouche’s shoulder. The short man stiffens, but immediately shrugs the hand off, turning around to look at Ajax. Bennett looks at him too, sees his blind eye is swollen, with another heavy cut above his brow bleeding into it. His good eye seems safe, but the cheek underneath it is purple and red, as if he’d been slapped by a heavy hand. Ajax does not look back at Bennett. He begins speaking in Russian, and the other man stiffens, looking back at Bennett angrily before pushing Ajax out of the way, leaving the store in a flourish.
Ajax is silent for a few moments, before he turns to leave as well, hand grabbing the door handle as Bennett lets out his first sob.
“The fatui?” Bennett cries, crumpling to the floor, pants drenched. “Ajax…”
“I’m sorry,” Ajax tries, but Bennett just heaves, feeling like his body wanted to eject everything he ate from his stomach at that moment from pure fear.
“You’re not,” Bennett states simply. “Just go.”
It’s the first night that Ajax didn’t buy anything from Bennett.
Ajax has been acting strange. It’s not like Bennett wants to notice, but when the Russian man who has exclusively been buying Red Bull and Heineken for a few months suddenly buys Monster , it throws you off. He wants to ask what’s wrong, but at the same time, feels ill at the idea of knowing more than he does.
He can’t take it anymore when Ajax comes up to the counter and asks for a pack of fucking Camels.
“That’s it!” Bennett says, pressed against the shelves and pointing dramatically at Ajax. “Who are you? What did you do with the real Ajax?”
The ginger stares at him blankly for a few seconds, before his face starts warbling, and he breaks out in the ugliest guffaw Bennett has ever heard. The heat rises in Bennett’s face immediately, of course.
It takes Ajax a few minutes to calm himself from his heaving laughter, and when he finally does, he’s rubbing under his eyes at the tears that had gathered against his lashes. Bennett watches, and notices that his right eye doesn’t move as much as his left, though it does still move. Seeing this little detail, watching how Ajax holds his stomach as chuckles continue to fall from his lips, seeing how much younger Ajax looks when he’s mid laugh… It makes Bennett realize he’d never stared at Ajax very hard before, and now that he’s doing it…
He’s… Well, I mean it’s just that… His mind tries scrambling for words, and finally settles itself when Ajax looks at him with a toothy grin, making Bennett blink multiple times.
Ajax is kind of handsome, isn’t he?
“I do not understand,” Ajax says, still breathing heavily through his nose. “Did I do something?”
“Of course you did!” Bennett hisses, pointing at the man's purchase. “Look at what you’re fucking buying!” Ajax looks down at his items, blinking a few times, before looking back up at Bennett, a slightly confused look on his face. Bennett huffs, bringing his hands together. Was he overthinking? He’s watched the man buy the same thing for so long, not even picking up different flavors in his drink, that the idea of seeing Ajax drinking anything but cheap beer or a Red Bull seemed… weird.
“Well,” Ajax starts, making Bennett eyes look up and lock onto Ajax, who was standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. “To be honest, bunny, I have been thinking of something, but it has nothing to do with my purchase.” Bennett crosses his arms, walking closer to the counter, and watches Ajax silently.
Working at the Seven Eleven was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be quiet, especially in a nowhere town like Mond, especially when Benentt purposefully chose the night shifts so that he wouldn’t have to deal with weirdos and entitled freaks during the day.
So, why was he standing behind his counter, watching as Childe, eleventh of the fatui harbingers , set down a wad of cash on his counter.
The entire mood of the evening suddenly shifted, and Bennett felt panic rise at the back of his throat.
“What is that, Ajax?” Bennett finally asked, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer.
“It is an apology,” Ajax stated, before nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Of sorts.” Bennett took in a small gasp of air, before sliding the cash back across the counter towards Ajax, who didn't grab it.
“I don’t need your money,” Bennett stated. They stared at each other in silence, Bennett’s gaze unrelenting, while Ajax seemed to get increasingly more nervous. Bennett cocked a single eyebrow.
“It is your boss's money,” Ajax finally admitted. “I am trying to return it.”
“Is this what bought your protection ?” Bennett asked, though it sounded an awful lot more like an accusation. Ajax flinched, rubbing his neck.
“This is what bought the promise of nothing bad happening during any shift…” Ajax paused. “It came with the bonus information of your schedule.” Bennett stayed silent. “And the ability to change your schedule to better be able to see you.”
“I knew it,” Bennett said, slamming his fist on the counter. “You sneaky son of a bi--”
“ Bennett, ” Ajax pleaded. “Please, just give this back to your boss.”
“I thought we had to pay for your… services.” Bennett stated, remembering Scaramouche’s words, and wrinkling his nose. Ajax sighed, shifting.
“Yes…”
“Then why are you giving that back?”
“I…” Ajax paused, as if searching for words. “I am being returned to Russia for some time.”
This made Bennett straighten up. “You’re what?”
“The tsaritsa, the leader of the fatui, she wants me to go back home for a while, I don’t know how long--”
“So, you aren’t going to protect the store anymore,” Bennett states. Ajax hesitates, but nods, blowing out a puff of air.
“This store was a… pet project of mine. None of the other Harbingers would protect a place like this.”
“But, they’ll come here?” Bennett asked, remembering the other night vividly, how he had to explain to his boss what had happened-- why he was a mess of snot, vomit, and piss-- and yet had to beg for the authorities not to be involved. Bennett knew it would only end in more problems for Ajax if that were to happen.
“... Hopefully they do not…” Ajax says, his finger gliding along the rim of the can of Monster in front of him.
“What were you protecting us from?” Bennett asks, suddenly curious.
“ Us? ” Ajax chuckles, though it sounds dry, a hollow imitation of how he was laughing just earlier. “I was not protecting the store , bunny.”
Bennett’s eyebrows furrow, and he feels his lips curl in confusion. “What do you mean? You just said--”
“Yes, yes,” Ajax said, waving his hand. “The store is part of the whole, I suppose, but really--” Ajax suddenly coughed into his hand, a faint smudge of red covering his cheeks. “One could say I was just protecting… you.”
Bennett’s brain takes a second to process the words, but when the gears finally lock into place, clicking into motion, his face flames a bright, ugly shade of red. “Ajax, I--”
“You need not say a single thing, bunny,” Ajax says, reaching into his pocket and dropping down five hundred dollars before Bennett can protest, and grabbing his drink and pack of cigarettes in his hand, turning to leave. “Anything said now will only hurt me, I think.” As his hand moves to grab the door handle, Bennett finally speaks up.
“Write to me,” he says quickly, covering his cheek with a hand to try and hide his blush when Ajax turns back to look at him. He keeps his gaze steady, even as Ajax tilts his head, grin wolfish. “Like how you write to your brother.”
“The bunny wants the wolf to write to him,” Ajax laughs, and Bennett feels silly for a moment, before Ajax continues to speak. “I will then. Just like I write to Teucer; and I will send you toys from the company I work for.”
Bennett smiles, nodding. “It’s a deal, then.”