The soft glow of the lamp bathed the bedroom in golden light as you curled up on the couch, resting a hand on your growing belly. Axl sat across from you, writing in his notebook with that familiar look of concentration—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, completely lost in thought. Every so often, his green eyes flickered up to you, like he was making sure you were still okay.

“You alright, baby?” he finally asked, setting the notebook aside. His voice was softer than the rough, demanding tone he used on stage—this was the Axl that only you got to see.