Raegan’s gaze flicked over him like she could dig answers straight out of his skull if she stared hard enough. He was jittery — not like coffee-twitchy, but like ‘please don’t explode on me’ jittery. It made her stomach twist a little. Not because she blamed him for it, but because… well, same. She didn’t exactly trust herself not to spiral, either. She wasn’t made of titanium. She was barely made of stitched-up thread and a lot of denial. But even now, even after everything, she didn’t want him to worry. That was her job. She’d signed up to be her own personal disaster warden long ago. When she sat with it — really sat with it — she couldn’t even remember being scared that night. Angry? Absolutely. Hurt? Of course. But scared? Had she ever hated him? Not really. She hadn’t feared for her life. Not even when he looked at her like she was something to end. That was the worst part. That she hadn’t been scared of him — just devastated by what it meant. If he could do that to her, she had to have done something truly, unspeakably awful. Some heinous moral violation only she didn’t remember committing. Because that had to be the only reason, right? Except it wasn’t. And now she knew that. He didn’t want her dead, he just hadn’t wanted anything. Including himself.

Still. If he’d wanted to leave that badly… why hadn’t he? That part had never made sense. He had every reason to pack his shit and vanish into a better life. A safer one. A softer one. But instead, he’d stayed, practically glued to König’s side like trauma’s loyal lapdog. Raegan would never understand it. And she’d forever think he was an idiot for it. Her head tilted again, slightly exaggerated, like she was hoping gravity might shift the words in her brain into a more logical order. It didn’t help. Because the things Axl was saying? They made sense to him, clearly. But to someone who’d had people — a whole damn village of them — backing her from the start? It was like hearing someone say air was optional. Like, what do you mean no one cared? What do you mean she was the sun? And yeah, maybe her people wasn’t always perfect. But it existed. He didn’t have that. What he had was a void. A silence so loud you could go mad in it. She remembered the way he looked back then. Like someone had carved out all the parts that should’ve held warmth and left a shell behind. So maybe, for a little while, she could be that warmth. She’d been glad to. Still was. But she knew — now more than ever — there was a wall. Big, brick, emotional wall with barbed wire and regret hanging off the top like a "Do Not Trespass" sign, and even though she hated that it had to be there, she wasn’t strong enough to tear it down. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He looked wrecked as he spoke — that kind of sadness that lived in your bones and occasionally peered out through your eyes to wave hello like a ghost. And she wanted to reach out. To say something that didn’t feel like a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. But she also didn’t want to give him something he couldn’t lean on. She couldn’t hold his whole world. That was too much weight for anyone. She could barely hold her own sometimes.

Still, she managed a soft shake of her head, steady but careful. “Then don’t leave,” she murmured, like saying it too loud might make it real. “I want you here.” And she did. But she needed him to hear the rest of it. “Axl, you know I’m always here if you need anything. And if it helps... I don’t hate you, and I do trust you.” She swallowed, lips pressed tight for a beat. “You’re not alone. And you never will be.” That was a promise she could keep. One of the only ones she felt certain about. “You’re always welcome here,” she added, softer now. Because no matter how much had changed, some part of her still saw him as hers. He was her best friend, even if he wasn’t.

After a long beat, her eyes dropped, pulling herself back into the moment slowly, like she’d waded too far into a memory swamp. She exhaled a quiet laugh and tugged the blanket up, grateful for the change in tone. Sarcasm was safe. Jokes were easy. “It was dark!” she protested like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There was no light in the windows! You did this to yourself!” Her grin was full-blown now. “You were this close to going full Magic Mike and I almost had to physically intervene.” Her giggle snuck out before she could catch it. “This is all your fault, Jager.” God, this was better. The laughing, the teasing. She could stay here forever if it meant things stayed light.

Her gaze narrowed. “But honestly? Your hair is kinda weird. Like, not Roman statue weird, but more like ‘I woke up like this and I’m pretending it’s intentional’ weird.” She gave him a smug little huff, delighted to flip the tables on his earlier bravado.

Still, as much as they joked, it was obvious he’d been making the rounds — slowly earning his place back in her space, in her trust. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. In fact, it had made her miss him more than she thought she would. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d been holding her breath until his laughter started filling the room again. When he cackled like a gremlin, she rolled her eyes dramatically. “What’s the evil laugh for? I know what adorable means, and I stand by it. You’re delightful. You’re charming. You inspire... at least a moderate amount of affection,” she teased, unable to hold back her smile. “You’re also insufferable, so it balances out.”

She pulled her arms across her chest in mock-offense. “Don’t you dare complain. You got free pizza. You got a movie night. And you’re wearing the best outfit in the room,” she added with a smirk. “If that’s not a good time, then I don’t know what is. But hey — if you hate it so much, feel free to go change. I’ll just sit here, alone, with all this pizza and zero unicorn magic.” Her face was blank but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

And then, her expression shifted again. Something quieter. More thoughtful. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I know I can’t make up for what you lost. Not your family, not what happened after. And I’m not trying to,” she added gently. “But I am here. And you’re not alone in it.” When he started tearing into himself again, she frowned, bumping her shoulder against his with a softness that barely registered. “What’s so bad about acting like you?” she asked, brows raising. “You’re stubborn and snarky and sometimes a little dramatic—” She paused. “Okay, a lot dramatic — but you care. And that’s rare.”

She leaned back a bit, giving him a wry smile. “Also, extremely rude of you to suggest I lose points just for talking to you. I should get bonus points for patience alone.” And then, a little softer, like a quiet truth she didn’t want to scare off:“You’re doing fine, Axl. Better than fine. You don’t have to tear yourself down to make sense of the world.”