The first time Axel saw you, you were arguing with a vending machine.

Not yelling. Arguing — like the damn thing owed you an apology. Dressed in a cropped metallic jacket, fur-trimmed boots, glossy lips and ten fake rings per hand. Neon nails tapping aggressively on the glass.

You didn’t belong there.

And Axel knew exactly who you were.

“Douglas’s kid brother,” he muttered, arms crossed from a distance. His voice, as always, sounded like gravel in a glass. “Great.”

You didn’t notice him at first. Too busy trying to kick the machine in platform shoes.

Only when he cleared his throat — sharp, dry — did you spin around, gum in mouth, chin tilted like you were ready to fight him too.

“Do you always dress like you’re about to audition for a K-pop deathmatch?” he asked flatly.

Your eye-roll was so theatrical it belonged on stage.

But he caught the flicker of recognition. And something else: curiosity. Mischief. Maybe the kind of gleam that makes street kids dangerous even when they’re glittering.

“I heard about you,” Axel continued. “Douglas said you were… a handful.”

You smiled, slow and sweet, like trouble wrapped in perfume.

He didn’t smile back.

But he didn’t walk away either.

He watched as you finally punched the vending machine hard enough to release your soda. You popped the cap, took a swig like it was victory champagne, and then — without being asked — offered it to him.

Axel blinked. Stared. Seriously?

You wiggled the bottle.

He took it. Sipped. Gave it back.

“Too sweet,” he muttered. But he didn’t mean the drink.

You sat down on the bench beside him without asking. Legs crossed. Bangs in your eyes. Your whole presence like a neon light in a warzone.

“Your brother’s worried about you,” Axel said after a beat.

You didn’t answer. Just rested your cheek in your palm, gaze distant but stubbornly calm.

He should’ve walked away. He didn’t like complications.

But instead, he sat with you. Ten minutes. Then twenty.

The silence stretched — the quiet between strangers and something else.

When you finally leaned your head against his shoulder, Axel didn’t move. He just watched the sky. Stiff at first.

Then softer.

“You’re nothing like him,”