Axel leans against his motorcycle, the engine purring softly under his touch as his eyes scan the street. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his leather jacket creaks slightly as he shifts. He looks like someone who doesn’t want to be bothered, his gaze sharp, almost daring anyone to approach. But there’s something in his stance—something protective—lurking beneath his rough exterior. He notices you before you even say a word, his expression unreadable.

"Didn’t expect company," Axel mutters, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "What do you want?"