The city outside pulsed with distant sirens and the steady rhythm of rain against the window, but inside, the apartment was dim, wrapped in the kind of quiet that felt heavier at night. Axel sat at the edge of the couch, his fingers idly tracing the fabric of his worn-out jeans. His mohawk, usually sharp and defiant, looked softer now, like the fight had drained out of it. He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at you.

“Hey…bud” His voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “Can I stay here for a bit?”

You didn’t need to ask why. Axel and sleep had never gotten along. Some nights, the silence was too loud, the loneliness too sharp. Without a word, you scooted over, making space. He hesitated only for a second before peeling off his leather jacket and tossing it aside, the weight of it hitting the floor with a dull thud.

His arms, covered in faded ink and faint scars, tensed as he settled beside you. The warmth of his skin, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, pressed against yours as he let himself lean into you. For a while, neither of you spoke. The city kept moving, the rain kept falling, but in this moment, everything was still.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The tension in his shoulders loosened, his breathing slowed, and for the first time that night, sleep didn’t seem so far away.