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.”

Axl was literally going to throw up if he kept worrying. He couldn't tell if she wanted to saw open his head and rummage around inside or cut off all his fingers or give him a hug or yell at him or sit there in quiet trauma or laugh. Which made him literally want to gouge out his own eyeballs with a hair brush. Why did everything have to be so uncomfortable and complicated? Where was logic when he needed it? Then again, logic says she should hate him, so maybe he didn't like logic as much as he thought. Because logic was wrong. She didn't hate him. She had said that before. And he guessed she was going to say it again. So he needed to flip a finger to logic and believe her. And stop thinking.

.

He could tell immediately that she really didn't understand. Why would she? She had never been truly alone. When he hurt her, her entire village was ready to kill him for her. Her mother has always been there loving her. Her clan loved her. She was loved by so many, so he guessed he understood why she couldn't. He was tied to a ton of bricks by Konig and dropped to the bottom of the Mariana trench and now it was just...quiet and dark. He couldn't tell if there was life around him or not, and every breath was a struggle, but he wasn't allowed to die. To sum it up, he was truly alone. Like a rocket shot into space that went off course. He was floating around in a vacuum. Everything was silent and he couldn't reach people. He was slowly going insane. That seemed like a good analogy to how he felt.

.

Axl never expected her to answer. He just wanted her to hear. Even if she didn't understand. He had tried. He didn't want to burden her with his problems, but he wanted to give her the truth. So all he wanted was for her to hear and move on. To know he had issues and to not blame herself. To hopefully have somewhat of an answer to why he hadn't just left. He would gladly hold the weight of his world and the weight of hers for her, even if it crushed him. He wanted her to give some of that weight to him. But he would never try and transfer his weight to her.

.

His golden eyes watched her almost like she was a live grenade, attentive and wary, not wanting her to say something she regretted. But what she did say he took to heart. Whatever she seemed like she truly meant, which was all of it, he memorized and put in a small book of his own in his mind just for her. That was enough for him, completely enough, just her saying that she wanted him here. That was everything he had ever wanted to hear and more. Yet she continued. He wanted her to trust him, and he knew it took a lot to say that, but there were levels of trust. He was on level 1. She trusted him to save her life if someone attacked, sure. She trusted him to be in her house and not hurt her, mostly. But he wanted to be at least friend level of trust. That's what he was aiming for. He may never get there, may never escaped the wary look that came into her eyes every once in a while. But everyone had to have a dream.

It seemed to ease a great load off of his shoulders when she said he'd never be alone. Internally, he may have known that, somewhat, but hearing it... it was much more concrete. More real. He wished he could give her some words that would make sense and truly convey what he was feeling, but he couldn't. So he resorted to saying the only thing that made sense. "Thank you." Two words, but they held the weight of everything she had said and more.

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It wasn't easy for him to switch back, or maybe it was, depending on how you looked at it. He switched back on the outside, but his mind lingered. An exasperated look came over his face, his lips pressing together. "The lights from inside the bar reflected on the window then on my eyes, Raegan. Obviously." He scoffed, managing to beat her 'duh' tone, tenfold. "No, you did this to me. You broke my sanity and insulted my very being." He stated solemnly. "If I get put in an asylum after screaming something about how I'm not a stripper at work, it is your duty to visit me." He huffed, holding up a hand as if to silence her and ignoring the rest of her words. "Mere mortals may not make these accusations." He sniffed, shaking his head slowly. Preposterous.

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Axl dropped his hand and gave her the most incredulous look ever. "It IS intentional! I'm INTENTIONALLY looking like I just woke up! Get a grip." He yelped, wrinkling his nose. "Obviously." He added in a grumbly tone, as if he could not believe that she didn't already know that. To be fair, though, she was right. He was way too busy to do anything to his hair. He usually brushed it, but not in any particular way, and the helmet meant it looked like this anyway.

.

He fully noticed the fact that she seemed almost tense, like she was waiting for something to happen. And he still couldn't do anything about it but act normally and relaxed and like nothing was wrong. Even though everything was wrong. It was really hard. He was not born to be an actor. Thankfully, she made it easier by actually saying funny things. "Free compliments! My ego is loving this, continue." He grinned widely, eyes lighting up with pure evil joy as she pointed out all the things he obviously knew to be true. He was very charming and delightful and he definitely inspired affection. He was glad she finally realized this. "Eh. Take the good with the bad." He said in a flippant, off-hand manner. Not everything was good.

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"I- I am NOT. I got free pizza and a movie night, sure, but the best outfit? Your clothes are way better." He huffed in an aggrieved manner. He would hate to say this thing was actually somewhat comfortable. He would not admit defeat. Not today, not ever. He studied her with narrowed eyes before sighing dramatically. "I'll sacrifice and keep you company and give you unicorn magic. I hope you realize the toll this is taking on my masculinity." He pointed out like it was an actual problem. For good measure, he crossed his arms, mimicking her, and gave her his best pouty face.

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His felt melted - like an ice cream cone in the sun, a sad way - as he realized he didn't want to lose the joking because then she got less happy and he felt bad. "I know." He mused quietly, a frown twitching at the corners of his lips. When she bumped into him, he barely noticed at first, but then slowly glanced at her with a mildly troubled expression. How was he supposed to tell her how shitty of a person he actually was? How he was trying his very best with her so it meant he had no try for anyone else? How a week ago he had literally fired someone for making his coffee wrong? To be fair, they put NO SUGAR in. Why. Just why. They deserve to go to hell. Actually, no wait- he realized what he was thinking a second too late, and winced. He cared about her. Everyone else? ... let's not talk about that.

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"Well, you lose the points, then get bonus points for patience, and more for humor, and more for being awesome, and more for existing, and by that point you're much higher than most other people." Axl conceded, then blinked and focused on her. A quiet sigh escaped. "The problem with that is if I don't and just accept I'm fine and it's the world... then it's like accepting everything is..." He paused, then just shook his head. No. He wasn't going to trauma dump some more. Rude. "Okay, redirecting. What is your favorite song? You failed to answer, and just said that I should pick one earlier, so I want you to give me a name. It doesn't even have to be your favorite if that's too hard. Pick a bunch of favorites and pick one and tell me." He instructed, watching her eagerly. "I believe that you can pick. No task is too big."

Raegan studied him for what felt like three centuries and a half, give or take, though she was willing to admit her internal clock might be broken. If there was an actual reason she cared this much about what was going on in his head, she should have found it by now, pinned it down, wrung its neck, and then maybe written it a strongly worded letter for good measure. But there was nothing. No obvious reason for this much… concern. Not in the “normal, functioning human” sense, anyway. Which meant she either needed a new hobby or she needed to accept that apparently, she’d decided to make his emotional state her business.

She told herself she was keeping her own expression under control — projecting calm, lightness, maybe a bit of “everything’s fine, totally fine.” But he was watching her like she might suddenly produce a chainsaw and start cutting through the table. Every shift of her hand, every flick of her gaze, seemed to set off this barely-there tightening in his posture. Which only made her want to… fix it. Smooth it down. Or at least distract him enough that he’d stop looking like someone had set him on fire internally.

“You look like you want to bury your head in the sand and keep it there until the sun explodes,” she said finally, because silence was just making it worse. She smiled in that way people do when they’re aiming for breezy and instead land somewhere between “friendly” and “please don’t die in front of me.” The quiet was getting heavier, and they weren’t supposed to be doing heavy tonight.

When she’d invited him over, she hadn’t thought much past the words leaving her mouth. Maybe she’d pictured some polite conversation, maybe him finding a reason to leave after twenty minutes. But instead she got this — the old rhythm. The kind of comfortable cruelty that came with teasing each other until they broke, the rare pauses for sincerity that neither of them liked to acknowledge, the ridiculous arguments over things that didn’t matter but somehow did. And it was good. It was exactly the thing she hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for.

“You can come to me for… well, anything,” she said, quieter now, but not so quiet it sounded like she didn’t mean it. Because she did. She’d make things right if she could — not everything, she wasn’t God, but something. Even if all he wanted was someone to unload on, she’d be there. And maybe one day, when the world wasn’t balancing on his regal, stubborn shoulders, she’d get the same offer back.

The mood cracked like thin ice when the subject turned. “Of course I’d visit you. I’ve offered to visit you at work — a mental institution sounds like an upgrade.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “And, correction: I never accused you of being a stripper. I accused you of wanting to be one. Big difference. One’s a fact, the other’s a dream career goal.” She smirked, but the sight of him — not the scowling, jaw-clenched version from that night, but something almost… younger — caught her for a second. She hadn’t realized how much she hated remembering the look he’d given her then. The one that said anger, maybe hate, all of it reserved exclusively for her. She wouldn’t see that again. Not if she could help it.

Then she realized, far too late, that she’d basically thrown a confetti parade of compliments in his direction. Absolutely not the plan. But his smile made her let it go. “Yay!” she declared, the sarcasm sharp enough to set off a car alarm. “Axl Jäger is pleased! Stop the presses, shut down the government, we’ve reached the pinnacle of civilization.” She pretended to consider him, then softened the edges. “Fine. Yes, you’re charming and delightful. Inspiring affection? I’ll let the jury decide. But you’re at least halfway there.”

The clothing war started next, and she gasped so hard it could’ve won her an Oscar. “You think my clothes are better than that magical unicorn wonder you’re wearing?” She tugged at her own shirt like she’d just realized it had been stitched together from tissue paper and regret. Which wasn’t far off — she’d had it since she was sixteen, and now it was strictly in the “things I can sleep in without shame” category. “We could swap,” she continued, deadly serious, “but nothing I own would fit you, and I refuse to be responsible for the collapse of the economy if you stretched out these joggers. So you’re keeping the fluff and sparkles.” Arms crossed. Because yes, his lack of outfit appreciation was a personal insult. She’d picked it out knowing full well it would irritate him, but also knowing maybe — in the middle of the ridiculous — they’d find something lighter to breathe in. And they had. Which was the point.

When he just said “I know,” it should have been enough. And maybe it was. But knowing and believing weren’t the same, and she could feel the gap between the two sitting heavy in the room. She flicked the TV off and, because she couldn’t let it go, added, “Also, you’re sponsoring a girl to ride horses. Bad people don’t do that. You still owe me dates and times for her competitions. And yes, you’re picking me up. I expect VIP treatment, obviously.”

Then he started talking again — really talking — and somewhere around metaphor number six she realized she’d gotten completely lost. “Right. Okay. You lost me about twelve comparisons ago.” She rubbed her temples with exaggerated despair. But when he circled back to his earlier question, she groaned like he’d asked her to pick a favorite child. “I’m not a music person,” she started, but the way he looked at her made it clear she wasn’t escaping. She sighed. “Fine. Morning Glory. Oasis. My dad loved it. I like it too. Basic? Sure. But I don’t care.” She tilted her head at him, half-challenging, half-smiling. “You asked. You got an answer. Don’t make me sing it, though. I’ll ruin it forever.”

Her expression was less than unreadable, and it was driving him literally up the wall. He was ready to clamp a pillow over his face so he didn't have to watch her watching him like he had sprouted six heads and one of them ate an umbrella. Axl didn't know whether to cry or scream. He was convinced that the devil himself had possessed Raegan and was doing this just to piss him off.

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He made a strangled noise like he may just die if this went on any longer and nodded awfully fast when she did finally speak. "Yes, yes that seems quite accurate. What did I do?" He all but begged, his eyes wide. "Did I say something or is it just me existing? Should I do something? Look fluffier? I don't know how that's possible but I'll try. Anything to make you stop looking at me like I'm a very small salamander trying to solve an unsolvable rubix cube." He let out a whoosh of air, hand flapping weakly for a moment in a gesture that could mean anything. "I'm not good at getting stared at." He finally squeaked, looking almost terrified. Especially when he didn't know what he did wrong to make someone stare at him. Were his fucking eyeballs on fire!?! Why?

.

He blinked as he watched her smile in a way that was not fit for any friendship unless you were the most socially awkward person ever, and honestly it hurt his very soul. "I'm sorry- whatever I did. I'm sorry about it. Tell me what I could do to be better." At this point, he was grasping at straws, but what the hell. He just needed to know if it was something he was doing and how to stop it.

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Axl's gaze shifted slightly as she spoke in that quiet tone, his mind prodding him and telling him he should say what he had thought multiple times. "I know you might not want to, but... you can come to me as well. If it's too much, then don't, but if you need anything, even if its to complain about how your burrito was made wrong... I'll be there to help. And smack anyone who dared make the burrito wrong. That's a promise I can keep. I'll always make time for you." He said quietly. Gently. He could almost hear her thinking about everything that was going on in his life, so that's why he added the last line. He wanted her to know that her needs were actually more important than his crazy life. Mostly because he was going to bring Jager Industries to the ground soon, so he didn't care what happened.

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"You're right, a mental institution would be a massive upgrade." He mused thoughtfully. "My work is terrifying and quite honestly full of a bunch of assholes." He added with a bright smile. "But thank you for being willing to throw yourself into a battle zone for me." He said cheerfully, then frowned. "... that makes it worse. Raegan, that's so much worse." Axl's lips twitched and he forced himself to frown deeper, looking disapproving. "Amazing fail at making me feel better, success at making me feel worse." He huffed out, Biting back a chuckle.

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He noticed that she almost looked remorseful at the fact that she had given him any compliments at all, so to back up the fact it was a good decision, he smiled brighter. "Actually, I should make this happen. I bet if I paid them enough money they'd pause for a day so my pleasure is truly a groundbreaking thing." He mused, scratching his jaw. "Good idea." Axl smirked, though it turned genuine as she continued. "Halfway is good enough for me."

.

His eyebrows shot up at her dramatic performance, already ready to totally beat her. "I do! They are just exquisite, my dear." He slapped on an old English grandma voice (that honestly sucked), grinned widely, and looked as innocent as possible. "They could win a designer's heart." He added serenely, saying it with enough reverence to be considered a priest. A bit of true alarm lit on his face when she decided they should swap, but it cleared when she apparently REALIZED that he was just a LITTLE bit bigger than her. And that he didn't want to wear her clothes. Nuh huh. "The economy would collapse for more than one reason." He pointed out with a snort. "Luuuucky me." Axl sighed, sarcasm and sorrow both present in his woeful tone.

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His eyes flicked to the TV for a moment before shifting back to her, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Well, I was planning on giving you VIP treatment. If you want me to show up in a suit, I can do that too." He commented seriously, then smiled faintly. "I like the horse." Was all he could think to say. "Talented rider, too." There was no arguing with that intellect.

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Axl realized about halfway through that she was lost. He sighed when she spoke, also realizing that this happened often. He should. "I know." He replied with an almost amused look.

His smile reappeared brighter than ever when she actually did answer. "THANK you!" He exclaimed happily. "I shall remember that forever and be pleased that I actually got you to tell me." A smug look fell on his face a second later. "I don't need you to sing it, although I bet you're a better singer than you give yourself credit for." He replied, his gaze flitting around once more before landing on the clock. It read a scary scary time. "I, wow- so, love this heartfelt discussion, want to continue later, but holy shit it's 2 am and I have to get to work." He almost looked panicked as he hopped up. "You're awesome, don't forget that, gotta go, sorry." Axl literally scurried to the bathroom after he snatched his clothes and changed in record speed, then when he came out, stopped. "If it wasn't 2 am I'd obviously give you a long drawn out speech about why I don't want to leave but it is. So I will see you tomorrow when I bring you that wrap and I will send you the dates for the horse riding. Bonne nuit, mon ami." With that, he grabbed his helmet, unicorn thing tucked under his arm, and popped out the front door. If he got murdered by her clan, whatever. He had to hurry before Konig skinned his ass.

Raegan slipped through the city like she’d done a hundred times before — though “slipped” might have been generous. It was more like dodging. Dodge the guy shouting into a cracked phone. Dodge the hot gust of steam that hissed from a sewer grate like the ground was exhaling on her. Dodge the mysterious puddle that definitely wasn’t just rainwater.

The streets here were thick with the kind of smell that felt like it was clinging to your lungs. Oil, metal, wet concrete, a faint tang of garbage baked in by too many summers — and that faint metallic sting in the air that reminded her of old coins and something far less pleasant. She’d been here long enough that, by all logic, her nose should have given up. You know, the whole “nose blind” thing people swore happened if you stayed in one place long enough. Yeah, well, her nose was apparently a tenacious little bastard. Every morning, without fail, it woke up ready to experience every scent in 4K resolution.

The hospital appeared before her in the gaps between buildings — a hulking gray slab with reflective glass windows that mirrored the smog-heavy sky. To anyone else, it might look reassuringly official. To her, it looked like the opening to a maw, glass doors waiting to swallow her whole and spit her out smelling like antiseptic.

Outside, the scene was already playing out like some grim stage production. Private ambulances lined up with clockwork precision. Medics wheeled patients in and out — an elderly man bundled in blankets, a pale woman clutching her own ribs, a kid with a cast bigger than his arm. People wandered past with baggy eyes and slow steps, carrying their discharge papers like golden tickets.

Inside was worse, if you knew what to look for. At first glance: normal. Bland waiting room. Chairs that looked like they’d been designed to be uncomfortable enough to prevent loitering. Posters about hygiene peeling at the corners. But tucked just out of sight — the restraints. The padded jackets. The emergency call buttons stationed at regular intervals, like little red beacons for when things inevitably went sideways.

Raegan puffed out her cheeks, letting out a long exhale before heading for reception. The receptionist gave her a nod — not friendly exactly, but familiar enough — and she started down the main hallway. She always thought of it as the battlefield: nurses zipping past with charts, the faint, tinny rattle of gurney wheels, the unpredictable chorus of beeps, cries, and the occasional yell that you just learned not to react to unless it got really bad.

Her office was a small, half-forgotten room down a quieter wing — which suited her fine. She dropped her bag, flicked on the light, and pulled up her schedule. Appointments first. Regular patients today, mostly. She preferred those. There was something comforting about knowing what you were walking into. A follow-up. A healing check. A quick chat about pain levels and whether stitches were holding. The kind of stuff you could handle without having to dodge claws or explain why someone woke up in a cast they didn’t remember earning.

Her eyes landed on a familiar name and her chest tightened. The girl. Ten years old, though if you’d seen the way she squared her shoulders you might have guessed older. Attacked by a gang of rogues months ago. Same injury Raegan had once survived — the same awful tearing pain, the same desperate gasps for air. Raegan still remembered the night they’d wheeled her in, hands pressed to her neck, eyes wide and wet, trying not to choke on the blood flooding her throat. The girl was better now — nearly healed, still in speech therapy. Still smiled more than most adults Raegan knew. There was something about that stubborn resilience that got to her. The girl would be fine. She told herself that often. She almost believed it.

The morning started calm enough. Two routine checkups. A blood draw that didn’t even result in swearing, which was practically a medical miracle. Then she headed to the ward to check the overnight patients — and that’s where “calm” packed its bags and left. People who came in overnight never woke up gracefully. There was always that moment of pure confusion — blinking, groaning, then the rapid-fire questions: Where am I? Why am I in a cast? Who dressed me? What happened to my pants? They were always too concerned about who had dressed them and not concerned about WHY THEY WERE THERE. Raegan would read from their file, keep her voice steady, try to stitch their memories back together with careful words. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

One man that morning… well. He went from asleep to bloodcurdling scream in record time. She barely had time to step back before his good arm lashed out, the cast on the other cracking under the force of his twisting. His shift hit mid-thrash, claws slicing across her cheek in a hot sting. She stumbled back, swore under her breath, and yelled for backup. Two orderlies rushed in, restraining him with practiced ease. Even then, it took a solid thirty minutes before he gave up fighting, panting and trembling like a cornered animal. Only then could she explain: blackout drunk in a human bar, wrong fight, wrong people. He’d shifted mid-brawl without anyone catching it, which, oddly, seemed to settle him. Painkillers went in, arm reset, notes logged. Discharge likely by afternoon. Not her patient, thank every god that ever existed.

In the bathroom mirror, the cut on her cheek looked worse than it felt — shallow, already clotting. She cleaned it, antiseptic biting at the raw skin, and washed her hands until the smell of blood and stranger was gone. By the time lunch rolled around, she was counting the minutes. Back in her office, she checked her phone. Nothing from Axl. Typical. He was either buried in whatever work kept him at odd hours, or — more likely — face down in bed after an all-nighter. She rolled her eyes. His sleep schedule wasn’t just bad; it was offensive.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward reception, already thinking about food. And then she saw Axl. He was standing near the desk, half in shadow, looking… smaller. Not physically — though he had that hunched, weary posture she recognized — but like someone had dimmed the brightness on him. His usual energy was gone, replaced by something quieter, which really didn't do much to settle her. He didn’t see her at first. Well, to be honest, it didn't look like he was trying to find her. More like just standing there on autopilot. She lifted a hand in an excited wave, the grin forming before she could stop it. “You, sir should be sleeping,” she called, voice light, teasing — even as she glanced over him for something wrong. "How was work?" She found nothing, and so her eyes went straight to the bags of food. "You brought wraps?" She asked excitedly, her eyes lighting up at the idea of some sort of decent food.

Raegan studied him for a split moment when his gaze finally lifted to meet hers — though it felt like minutes. In that space of silence, her mind did what it always did: ran scenarios. He could just be tired. Hell, he should be tired. If he’d told her about his work shift, they could’ve picked a different day for their little movie night. A day where he didn’t have to be out working at two in the morning and then somehow functioning like a human being the next day. Or, well… functioning like Axl. Which was its own category of questionable.

She assumed he was off now, though, and she hated the idea of him wasting his time here when he could be in bed sleeping for a solid week. But the more she looked, the more “tired” didn’t seem like the right word. He looked drained. No — worse than drained. Like a real-life zombie, except even zombies usually had some kind of unholy spark in their eyes. This wasn’t the usual Axl.

And then his smile cracked across his face, and despite herself, she let out a soft chuckle. He was definitely out of it. Fine. They could make this quick, then he could go home and hopefully collapse into hibernation. Not that it would fix his mess of a sleep schedule — he’d told her it was “already a little off,” which was the understatement of the century.

Still, she decided to shelve the worry for the moment. He was smiling, even if it was a little dimmer than usual. And she wasn’t about to poke and prod if he didn’t want to talk about whatever was chewing at him. Maybe it was just the hospital making him uneasy — she’d never seen King Clan inside here before, and judging from the curious stares they were getting, she wasn’t the only one. “Well, after this you need to go hibernate. You look awful,” she said lightly, giving his side a little bump. But her eyes kept drifting to the bag in his hands until he finally held it out. She took it with a murmur of thanks, pulling one out and unwrapping it with far more enthusiasm than was probably dignified.

“You didn’t need to get three,” she said, offering the bag back so he could take one. “And sauce-wise? Perfect. I probably would’ve picked all of them anyway.” A smirk tugged at her mouth as she pictured him at the counter, clearly failing to pick just one sauce before giving up and buying them all. “But for future reference? Mayo’s always a safe bet.” She snorted and took a bite, humming her satisfaction. Her gaze flicked toward the coffee next — her eyes lighting up like someone had just offered her the winning lottery ticket. She reached for one, but froze when he didn’t hand it over right away. He was just… staring.

It took her a beat to realize his eyes were fixed on her cheek. Axl leaned in, pointing out the cut, and she reflexively patted his chest to get him to back up, although by then he'd already done that. “I’m fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her tone softened. “A patient was upset. And yes, they’re claw marks.” She’d explained this before — to him, to others. It happened. The job came with bruises and scratches and occasional “near misses” that weren’t so near. She’d had her meltdowns about it in the early days, but this? This was nothing. “It’s not deep. And, in his defense, I did wake him up,” she added with a small laugh, hoping it would take the edge off that worried crease in his brow.

But then she noticed it — his fist, clenching at his side. The tremor in his hand. Not the kind of shake you get from holding a coffee cup too long. The kind that comes from something tighter, something you can’t quite name. Her own brows pinched together. “Are you… okay?” she asked quietly. It wasn’t her usual teasing tone. She wasn’t sure if he’d even hear the difference, but she felt it. He looked… somewhere else entirely, like his body was here but his mind was pacing some other, darker room. He blinked, maybe realizing he was still holding her coffee hostage, and handed it over. She took it gratefully, though she didn’t stop watching him over the rim as she took a sip. After a few seconds, she cracked a little grin. “You have one,” she said, tilting her head toward the bag.

“You can come eat in my office if you’d like,” she offered, voice brightening. “Oh, I could give you a tour!” The idea alone made her perk up, a spark of pride slipping into her smile. She wanted him to see where she worked, where her life actually happened — the good, the bad, the strange. “Only if you don’t have anywhere to be, of course.” Mostly, though, she wanted him out of this waiting area where every set of eyes seemed to be asking the same unspoken question as to what the King Clan were doing around. And, maybe, she wanted to keep him close long enough to figure out what, exactly, had him so down. It could be nothing, but she had an obligation as a friend to make sure he was as okay as he could be.