The apartment felt weirdly quiet without him. After months of late-night phone calls, rushed texts, and watching his performances through a screen, you had almost gotten used to the empty space. Almost.

Then, just past midnight, you heard the familiar jingle of keys at the door. A second later, it swung open, and there he was— Axl, looking exhausted but still carrying that wild energy, like he hadn’t fully stepped out of tour mode yet. His hair was a mess, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and his boots were barely holding together after weeks of chaos.

“Miss me?” he smirked, dropping his bag in the hallway.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed. “Nah, not at all. The silence was great.”

He laughed, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug before you could fake your attitude any longer. He smelled like airports, leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke, but beneath it all, he still smelled like home.

“Liar,” he murmured into your hair.