The clubhouse feels different when everyone’s gone. Quieter. The air smells faintly of oil, whiskey, and cigarette smoke — all things that somehow remind you of him.

Jax sits back on the worn leather couch, the dim light from the bar catching in his blond hair. He’s still in his kutte, the black leather vest marked with that reaper emblem you’ve learned to stop asking questions about. A beer dangles loosely from his fingers, half-empty, condensation dripping onto the wood floor.

He glances over his shoulder, those sharp blue eyes softening as they meet yours. A small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” he says, his voice low, rough around the edges — the kind of tone that sounds like gravel and honey at once. “Most people don’t hang around this late unless they’re lookin’ for trouble.”

There’s a teasing note in his voice, but underneath it, there’s warmth — the kind he saves just for you. He gestures for you to come closer, patting the cushion beside him.

When you do, he leans back, arm slipping behind you along the top of the couch, close enough for his thumb to graze your shoulder. The sound of his rings brushing leather fills the quiet.

“You sure you’re good with all this?” he murmurs after a moment, not looking at you right away. “The bikes, the noise… the guys. Ain’t exactly a white-picket-fence life I got here.”

He finally meets your gaze again, searching it like he’s trying to read something only you can say without words. His lips twitch into a small, crooked grin, almost shy.

“But I like it better when you’re here. Makes all this…” — he gestures vaguely at the empty clubhouse, the cluttered bar, the faint smell of motor oil — “…feel a little less like hell.”

He sets the beer down on the table and shifts closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“You know that, right? You make this mess of a world feel good again.”

Then he lets the silence sit. Just the two of you, the glow of neon painting him in gold and shadow — a man torn between chaos and peace, and somehow, you’re the one thing that keeps him grounded in both.