The living room smelled like stale smoke and regret. Axel stood at the kitchen counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other rubbing the back of his neck. The clock above the stove read 2:47 AM. He hadn't slept. Couldn't.
Wilder appeared in the doorway, hoodie strings dangling, hair a mess from tossing in bed. He looked at his brother's back—the tension in those broad shoulders, the way Axel's jaw kept working like he was chewing glass.
"Do you guys argue a lot?" Wilder asked, following Axel around as the older brother moved to the sink.
Axel grumbled, low and rough. "Why are you so interested about my love life—"
"She's like a sister to me." Wilder cut him off, voice earnest, almost desperate. "You guys have been dating for almost two years. How is she upset at just me saying one stupid thing? She's mature and—"
Axel shut him up by putting a hand beside him on the counter, caging him in. The younger brother's eyes went wide. "Well unlike your teenage ass, college life is hard and chaotic as fuck. We've both had lots of drama in our lives so I'd rather you not question that. How would you like it if your girlfriend talked about another guy? Pissed, right? So she's probably pissed at me."
Wilder gulped. He didn't butt himself ever into his brother's business, but ever since he started living with him and getting tutored by Elena, he found himself involved between grown ups more than he'd like. Considering Wilder's zero dating experience and Axel's hundred-times daring experience, they were pretty different from each other.
"I wasn't trying to—" Wilder started.
"I know." Axel's voice dropped. He stepped back, ran both hands through his hair, left it standing. "I know you weren't. You don't think before you talk, that's your thing. It's fine. But she's…" He trailed off, thumb finding his lower lip, pressing. Thinking. "She's not just some girl I'm seeing. She's mine. And I fucked up before her. I got a history. She knows that. But knowing and hearing it are different things."
Wilder leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His focused eyes—the ones that made people squirm during anatomy practicals—fixed on his brother. "What did you do? Before her."
Axel laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You really want that list?"
"No." Wilder looked down. "I just… I don't get how someone like Elena stays. She's smart. She could have anyone. Why you?"
The words hung. Axel's jaw tightened. He cracked his knuckles one by one, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. "You ever been in love, little brother?"
Wilder's cheeks flushed. "You know I haven't."
"Then you won't get it until you are. It's not about being the best option. It's about being the one she picks. Every day. Even when I make it hard." He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with tap water, drank half in one go. "She picks me. I don't know why. But she does. And I spend every day trying to be worth that choice."
The younger brother was quiet for a long moment. Then: "She'll come back."
Axel set the glass down. "Yeah."
"You sound sure."
"I'm not." He turned, leaned against the sink, arms crossed. "But I know her. She needs space to cool off. Then she'll come back and yell at me some more, or she'll just show up and pretend nothing happened. That's how she works."
Wilder pushed off the counter. "Can I ask you something else?"
"You're gonna anyway."
"Why do you let her tutor me? I know you get… distracted."
Axel's mouth curved, just slightly. "Because she loves teaching. And you need the help. And I'd rather you learn from someone who actually gives a shit than some professor who reads off slides." He paused. "Also, watching her explain things—the way her hands move, the way she lights up—that's worth the distraction."
Wilder's flush deepened. "That's… weirdly sweet."
"Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe." Wilder headed for the door, then stopped. "Axel?"
"What."
"I'm sorry. For saying that thing. At the bar. I didn't think."
Axel's expression softened. Just a crack. "I know. Go to bed."
Wilder disappeared down the hall. The bedroom door clicked shut.
Axel stayed in the kitchen. He pulled out his phone. No messages. No missed calls. He stared at Elena's contact photo—her mid-laugh, hair falling over her face, eyes bright. His thumb hovered over the call button. Then he set the phone down.
Space. She needed space. He'd give her tonight. Tomorrow, if she still hadn't reached out, he'd drive to her dorm, climb the fire escape, bang on her window until she let him in.
He picked up the glass again. Empty. Set it down. The clock ticked.
Somewhere across the city, Elena was probably asleep. Or lying awake, staring at her ceiling, replaying his words. Pretty. She said you called her pretty. One stupid comment from months ago, before Elena, before any of this mattered. And now it was a wound he couldn't close with apologies.
He laughed again, quiet and bitter. Wilder thought college drama was chaotic. The kid had no idea what real chaos looked like.
Axel moved to the living room, dropped onto the worn leather couch. The cushions still smelled like her—vanilla and something floral, the shampoo she used. He grabbed a pillow, held it, breathed her in.
The cigarette smoke and stale beer clung to everything. He'd air the place out tomorrow. Clean it. Make it smell like her again.
His phone buzzed.
He grabbed it.
Elena: I'm okay. Just need tonight. I'll call you tomorrow.
He read the message three times. His thumb moved before he could stop it.
Axel: Okay. I'll be here.
He waited. No reply came.
But she'd reached out. That was something. That was everything.
He set the phone on the coffee table, face-up, and lay back on the couch. The ceiling had a crack that ran from the light fixture to the corner. He'd noticed it the first week he moved in. Never fixed it. It reminded him that nothing stayed perfect, but you could still live under it.
Tomorrow, she'd call. He'd apologize properly—not with excuses, just with the truth. He'd tell her she was the only one he saw. The only one he wanted. That "pretty" was a word he'd used before he knew what the word beautiful actually meant.
And maybe she'd believe him.
The couch creaked as he shifted. The lamp cast long shadows. Somewhere in the apartment, a pipe knocked. City sounds filtered through the thin walls—a siren in the distance, a car door slamming, someone's TV bleeding through the ceiling.
Axel closed his eyes.
Her face was waiting there, behind his eyelids. The way she'd looked at him in the bar before she walked out—hurt, controlled, betrayed. He'd carry that look for a while. Maybe forever.
But she'd also looked at him with love. With trust. With that soft thing in her eyes that made his chest ache.
He held onto that image instead.
The phone stayed dark. The clock kept moving. The night stretched thin and patient, and somewhere across the city, Elena was breathing, thinking, deciding if he was worth the risk of trusting again.
Axel pressed the pillow closer. Her scent. Her absence. The shape of her name in his chest.
He'd wait. However long it took.
A/N: they made up! Dont worry