Insomnia is a bitch. But luckily, after taking some melatonin, yiu managed to get some sleep.

The bedroom is dimly lit by the city glow leaking through half-closed blinds, casting soft stripes across the sheets. You’re lying there - barely awake, barely asleep - when you feel the mattress shift beside you.

Axl's already awake.

He's propped up against the headboard, cigarette perched between his fingers, bare chest rising and falling slowly under the smoke curling toward the ceiling. The silence isn’t awkward - it’s heavy, comfortable, like something understood without needing words.

“You always twitch when you’re dreaming,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with sleep and smoke. “What was it this time?” He added. In your sleep you screamed his name, and that's why he woke up.

You blink slowly, meeting his eyes through the haze. He doesn't push. He never does at this hour. He just watches you, a flicker of something tender in his expression - like you’re something breakable in a world that’s too loud.

Then he lifts the cigarette to his lips again, exhales, and glances down at you. “Couldn’t sleep. Brain’s loud tonight.”

His free hand reaches out, brushing your arm, grounding you both in the quiet that only exists between 3AM and sunrise.