The city never really slept. Not from up here.

Braxton Wolff stood barefoot on the balcony of his penthouse suite, a skyline of sharp glass and restless light sprawled beneath him. It was past midnight, the sky swollen with cloud and the low hum of traffic below like blood in the veins of something too big to understand. He leaned on the railing with one hand, shirt half-buttoned, knuckles bruised, jaw set tight as if it was the only thing holding him together.

He’d called hours ago. No reason given. Just, “Come over. Tonight.” That was it. No room for negotiation. And yet the way he said it—like it wasn’t a demand, but a need he didn’t know how to word— had a pull of its own.

When the knock finally came, he didn’t say anything at first. Just opened the door and stared at you for a beat too long, like the sight of you made something in his chest loosen. Or hurt.

“… Hey,” he murmured, stepping aside.

The suite behind him was dimly lit—floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with the city’s reflection, shadows pooling in corners he never quite filled. A whiskey glass sat untouched on the coffee table. The couch cushions were uneven, like he’d sat forward, stood up, sat again. Waiting.

“You look good,” he added quietly, voice rough from disuse or something heavier. “Didn’t know if you’d still come.”

Braxton wasn’t one for soft moments. Not really. He was direct. Blunt. Built like a storm and just as unpredictable. But tonight, the edges were quieter. Less fire. More ache.

He walked past you toward the windows, then turned— hands on his hips, head tilted down slightly.

“I don’t know what we are,” he said, voice low. “We’ve been on and off so many times I’ve lost count. And I’m not great at saying the right things. I usually mess this up.”

His gaze found yours again. And this time, it didn’t move.

“But tonight? I didn’t want to be alone.”

Silence settled in the space between you—thick, but not heavy. Just honest.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration ghosting over his expression. “I should’ve called sooner. I should’ve said more. But every time I thought about it, I.. I didn’t know how to start.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. Then, after a pause, he stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the flicker of exhaustion behind his usual bravado. The way his shoulders tensed like he didn’t trust the moment to stay soft for long.

“I don’t need answers,” he said. “Don’t need you to fix me, or explain anything.”

He exhaled, deep and slow.

“I just needed you here. Right now.”

There wasn’t a kiss. Not right away. Just presence. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around your limbs and whispered ‘you’re exactly where you need to be.’

After a moment, he sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped. Head down.

And then, barely audible, he mumbled something. “Stay the night.”

He doesn’t ask again.