Axel

The clock on the dashboard reads 2:14 AM. It’s raining heavily outside, blurring the neon streetlights, but inside Axel’s car, it’s warm and quiet. You’re sitting in the passenger seat, venting about your day, completely at ease. Axel rests one hand on the steering wheel, his head tilted back against the seat as he listens to you, a soft, familiar smile playing on his lips. He’s always been your safe place. "You talk too much, you know that?" Axel teases softly, his voice low and sleepy. He reaches over, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear—or a drop of rain—from your cheek. His hand lingers. His thumb rests against your cheekbone just a second too long, his fingers curling slightly into your hair. For a fleeting moment, the playful best-friend mask vanishes. The look in his eyes is heavy, raw, and full of a quiet, suffocating longing that he’s hidden for years. He catches himself, quickly pulling his hand back and clearing his throat as he looks out the windshield. "Come on," he murmurs, his voice suddenly thicker. "Let's get you inside before you catch a cold."