GENRE: angst, fluff
WARNINGS: mentions of violence, possible murder, etc. sexual themes.
NOTES: this is a fanfic for Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist (as seen in deadpool 2). i posted it here bc he's technically a mutant and maybe you guys would like him! he's in x-men comics so it counts lmao. i also posted it in my multifandom imagine book! :)
WORD COUNT: 7250

_________

"Listen, I just need you to take care of this lady for one week. That's it. And then you can carry on doing whatever the fuck it is you do around here." Wade told the other man, placing down a yellow manila file on the table in front of him. Axel couldn't imagine that he'd done any of this work or research in his own, never mind organize it into a folder.

Curiously, he picked it up, flipping to the first page, where your image was. You were pretty, no doubt about it, but not generally his type. The kind of girls he hung around could handle something a little bit more grimy than your life style. You were the daughter of a man who owned a high-end art gallery, that dealt with arms deals and drug trafficking on the side. Your father had always been smart, and made real investments alongside his crimes; before the police could get him, he was already in the pockets of all the people rich enough to put a spanner in the works during an investigation. So, besides the risk of people in rivaling business, you were mostly safe. Mostly being the optimal word.

Lately, someone had been trying to move in on your dad's territory. You didn't know much about that world, and you were happy about it. It made you feel a lot safer knowing that the public were aware that you had no criminal dealings; it made it less likely for anyone to see you as a target. Mostly, you lived on the other side of town to the gallery, and led a quiet life in a normal neighborhood with a normal job. That was, until the moment Wade Wilson showed up on your doorstep.

You couldn't help but stand trapped in your spot, not quite aware of what was going on. It wasn't every day that someone in a spandex suit was on your welcome mat, especially considering that you didn't get involved in anything that would constitute having a hero or a villain near you.

Wade explained that your father had hired him to watch over you for the next couple of weeks, and that there was reason to believe that people were legitimately after you. He shoved a piece of paper in your face, and it was clearly photocopied from a letter; detailing why and how they were going to kidnap you to hold leverage over your father. Sure, you didn't know any business dealings, but he cared about his daughter nonetheless. A lot of people would pay to have your head just to see his whole legacy fall.

Your father called you later that day over Skype, trying to tell you how good it was for you. You tried to tell him that Of course it was, because the only other option was dying. You often had to bite your tongue, and resigned to the fact that you'd just have to deal with it.

Of course you were upset. You hadn't asked to be born into a life of crime, but it was something you'd had to come to terms with long ago. No amount of therapy could save you from actual criminals though, and that's why you were quite grateful to have Wade with you. He was foul-mouthed, and dirty in both the physical and emotional sense, but you knew for a fact that if worse came to worse, he could keep you alive. That wasn't something you could do for yourself. Not under those circumstances.

You mostly spent your time trying to work around him, because in all honesty, you got along, and he was incredibly distracting. You we're working from home, on account of the fact that going to work was a safety hazard. You weren't too sure how Wade, or your dad had convinced your boss to let that happen (but you were sure it was probably a mix between bribery and threats), but it was actually a nice break from having to wake up and commute every day. The only times you really went out was when you had to shop, and Wade made sure to keep that to a minimum. He was with you at all times, with a hoodie pulled over his head to hide himself. Even those trips were fun though; and it never felt like he was chaperoning you. He'd always be looking out for you, making sure you knew where the exits were, and being hyper aware of the people around you.

In moments you could relax, he was nonstop jokes and banter, and he was even quite vulnerable when you spoke seriously. Sometimes it felt like he was smothering you, but you both had a pretty good remedy for it, and were fine with just sitting in separate rooms or doing your own thing (Wade had taken over your Netflix account, despite saying that there was nothing good on there). When the week drew to a close, you were almost sad at the prospect of you leaving. You reminisced that maybe you should get a cat to replace him; you could use the company - of course he resented this, but you just laughed at him.

"Listen, I've gotta go out of town for something," He told you, plopping down on the sofa next to you as you looked over to him with a raised eyebrow, "But don't worry, I've got someone else coming in."

You frowned at the prospect of having to be guarded by someone new, especially if you got on worse with them than you did with Wade. "Oh?" You asked semi-rhetorically, curious as to who could possibly replace him. Having someone who dressed up in super hero gear was already weird enough, and you wouldn't be surprised if the people he hung out with (and employed) were even stranger.

"No, seriously," He told you, swinging his legs up in and into your lap in a way that you hated to admit that you were getting used to. "I've got you covered, if you know what I mean," He implied suggestively, wiggling what you could only assume would be his eyebrows, if he weren't so heavily scarred.

"No, actually I have no clue," You told him, amused that he thought that you knew whatever was going on inside his head.

He rolled his eyes at you, plucking the remote from your grasp, "Oh, you'll see."

_____

"C'mon! We must be off to great the babysitter, my lovely," Wade told you once he heard your doorbell ring, making his way over the the entrance with you in tow. He'd been waiting for your new guard to arrive before he left for his out of town trip, spending his last few hours with you by being annoying as always.

"But wouldn't I be the baby in this scenario? Not the wife?" You queried, genuinely confused.

"You know my jokes don't hold up when you put too much thought into them," He told you with an earnest smile, reaching to pull the front door open in one fowl swoop, "That's usually the beauty of them."

You thought you would've learnt from your experience with Wade; not to get too shocked by whatever you saw - yet you were still completely taken by surprise.

He was tall and grimy, with his dark hair slicked back, and his heavy jacket sufficiently torn all over. He stuck out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood (even more so than Wade in spandex), which mostly had green grass and picket fences for as far as the eye could see. He was lean and pale, but was obviously attractive nonetheless, with dark eyes that immediately met yours upon seeing you. Across his mouth and nose was a luminescent visor, obscuring his features half way.

"Jesus, you didn't even clean up a little bit?" Wade questioned, and the other man seemed to dead pan, raising an eyebrow. "Fine, fine. Listen, (Y/n), this is Zeitgeist," He gestured to the man, who regarded you with a lethargic gaze, letting his eyes linger where they pleased.

Soon, he was already making his way into your home, and Wade was leaving with a hug and a goodbye to you. He pretended like he was doubling back at least five times before you got him to get into the taxi that was picking him up. You closed the door before you could see the car he'd climbed into pull away from the curb.

Turning to be alone with Zeitgeist felt almost immediately awkward. He didn't seem as chatty as his co-worker, and he was staring you down with obvious curiosity, his head tilted slightly. Suddenly, he reached up to touch his mask, long ring-clad fingers paused, "Do you mind if I take this thing off?" He asked, speaking for the first time since you'd met.

You decided that you quite liked the sound of it, nodding as you scratched the back of your neck, "Why do you wear it, anyways?" You queried, watching as he pulled it off to reveal the rest of his face. He was unmistakably handsome, but in a strange way, with soft looking lips and gaudy cheekbones. His eyes were the most striking part of him, green and twinkling with something you couldn't quite name yet.

"It's my mutation," He explained, slipping the contraption into his jacket pocket as he began to peer around at your home, "I spit acid."

You were shocked, staying in your spot as he curiously moved into the lounge room to your left, "Thats not dangerous for me, right?"

He seemed to think about it for a second, his broad shoulder pausing before he peered back to you with a smile growing at the corner of his lips, "That's hardly what you have to worry about with me, Miss." He seemed to take delight in the fact that your cheeks flushed slightly at his words, chuckling, "I'm safe, most of the time. It's controllable . . ." His eyes met yours, and for some reason there was something lustrous about his words.

You found yourself looking away under his gaze, your cheeks warming, "Sorry for asking," You told him slightly, not wanting to come off as too forward or judgemental. Hell, someone in your situation could barely say anything. "You probably get that a lot, huh?" You asked, and he couldn't help but let his lips tilt up into a cocky grin at your demeanor. You were definitely different to the people he was around. You were gentle, and polite.

He found himself taking a step towards you subconsciously, "Don't worry about it, sweetheart," He told you, his voice knocked down a notch in a way that made you look back up, your heart racing and mind reeling because you could've sworn he was just further way just two seconds ago.

"That's not my name," You told him, and it was almost a natural reflex. You didn't take kindly to men you didn't know calling you belittling names (no matter how attractive they were). Zeitgeist seemed to take this rebuttal as banter between the two of you, tilting his head down to capture your eye-sight.

"Sorry," He told you, tone more sincere than you would have expected, "(Y/n), then . . ."

The way he said your name was like black treacle; dark and intentional. You flustered slightly, taking a step back towards the entry-way behind you, "Um, what can I call you?"

"What . . . Zeitgeist isn't catchy enough for you?" He queried, feigning offense with his eyebrows pulled together, his arms crossing over his chest. His jacket rode up to reveal splotches of tattoos across his forearms, and you were sure there were more to come given the ones collecting at the nape of his neck, too. You hadn't really encountered anyone with so many; and that was probably a good indicator on how shielded you were when you were growing up. Your father did everything to keep you away from the criminals he worked with (ironic, because this clearly made him a criminal as well as them), and even anyone that resembled them. You attended private school, and everywhere you went you encountered people that liked to be considered elite - those kinds of people didn't fair well with anyone different to them; nor people who expressed themselves differently. Another one of the many reasons why you'd grown so far apart from him, and his entire side of your family.

"It's Axel," He informed, catching you looking at him with a soft chuckle. You appreciated that he was at least nonchalant about how easy it was to see everything you felt in your expression.

You snorted, your hand covering your mouth as you laughed unceremoniously, "That's a douche-y name, even by my standards . . . and I know people in the mob."

Axel shook his head at your words, "You're not supposed to insult guests," His voice was teasing, but his eyes were still dark and twinkling. Almost as if it was more demanding.

You found yourself almost holding your breathe, stuttering for a response.

"I'm kidding," He implored with a smile, "You can call me whatever the Hell you want," He was watching your lips for a second, and then he was turned around, inspecting your lounge again.

_____

He hadn't really expected your first trip outside the house to be so late in the evening, but you seemed so excited about going that he couldn't bare to kill your joy. His eyes were constantly glued to the rear view mirror to see if anyone was following you (Hell, it'd taken him twenty minutes to even allow you out the door), and his shoulders stayed pushed back, his jaw set the whole ride there.

You couldn't keep your eyes off of the street lamps illuminating every interval in the road. There was barely anyone else on the streets, and by the time you pulled into the 24-hour store, he had seemed to relax minutely. You picked up that he was immediately way more serious than Wade was; whether it was casual conversation, or when it came to his job of guarding you.

When you finally opened the car door, the entire lot was abandoned, and you enjoyed the cool crisp night air. You tilted your face to the sky, disappointed by the lack of stars due to light pollution, but happy all the same that you could admire the full moon. You loved that doing normal things became even more novel in the moonlight - parties, dates, concerts, and even menial things. Especially when you had someone to share it with (and despite the circumstances, that was Axel for you).

When you finally looked back his gaze was already on you, watching you with an expectant look, his lips hinting at a smile. He offered his hand out as if to assist you, rings glinting in the neon light of the store sign. You felt a fluttering in your stomach that was starting to become a scarily familiar reaction to him.

You took his hand, and it was surprisingly warm. He tugged you in his direction, but didn't keep the contact as he encouraged you to walk with him towards the store. Both of you ignored the way you enjoyed it a little more than you thought you would, or should.

The trip was mostly pretty domestic, with him practically guiding you with a hand hovering behind your back. Someone in a more ordinary situation than yours probably could've seen him as a paranoid boyfriend, the way he was looking behind you shoulder, narrowing his eyes at anyone who so much as glanced at you.

While you were paying at the counter, he had spaced out, watching the entrance of the store as he leaned on one foot. He was wearing a grey hoodie, his hair peaking from the top messily due to him pulling it up in a tired stupor. Your internal monologue desperately wanted you to admit how cute he was, and your sleepy brain wasn't fighting back. You nearly forgot to take the change from the store clerk while you were distracted.

_____

You loved the way he looked when he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other laying idle between the shift of the gears. His arm outstretched and his muscles taught beneath his skin. Glancing at you from the corner of his eyes distractedly when you were on long stretches of road, as if you wouldn't notice.

He only had one CD in his car and it was a grunge album with way too much reverb. You had no clue if it was one artist or more, and you weren't about to ask. You preferred to talk to him, and he entertained you for the most part, just like he did at home. Except the car was smaller and more intimate, and he couldn't escape if he wanted to (he was the kind of guy that always had a way out of things got awkward or too serious for him). He found himself quite enjoying the time, because you would actively try and fill the quiet air. He often found himself hiding smiles or laughter at your stories, especially when they were particularly sweet.

"I hate you," He remarked with no malice, letting a chuckle escape his lips as he turned on his indicator.

"Oh, c'mon! I know you have a soft spot for me, Cluney," You blanched, half flirting, but fully knowing that you would never really be able to tell something like that with him. A big part of you was just hoping.

He rolled his eyes, but decidedly didn't reply as the rings on his fingers tapped on the wheel. All you could hear was the engine for a few beats, before he spoke assuredly, "Maybe I do." He didn't quite know what had brought him to actually admit that, but he knew it was true. He knew he did from the first time you spoke. There was something about you that he couldn't get enough of; in many senses. He thought about you more than he'd care to admit, and that was new to him on this kind of level. But you made it easy to feel that way. That's what killed him the most.

The previous night in the shower, you were all he could think about when he closed his eyes, tilting his head back to run his face under the water. His hands ran through his hair, washing shampoo from it lazily under the warm stream, thinking about how he had seen you. It was normal by all means, but still enough to send him crazy and he didn't know why.

He chewed on his plump bottom lip, shifting as he looked forward to the cold tile. God, he hated himself. But what was new? Hadn't he stooped lower than this before? He definitely had, in fact. For the first time in his life he found himself feeling guilty for seeing someone sexually.

You were in the kitchen, late at night with no care for the fact that your phone was blasting out a playlist somewhat loudly, seeping through the walls until it reached the room that he was staying in. Curiosity piqued his interest and he went to investigate, only to find you where you were, oblivious to his presence as he stood in the doorway slightly. You had only your underwear and a shirt on to sleep in, allowing Axel to see much more that what was usual of you. He didn't know why he was so surprised; it was your own home. And he'd seen something similar before in other situations and it had never floored him or freeze him to his spot quite like you did. You were reaching up to grab a mug, exposing a stretch of your stomach and back, legs tightening as you stood on your tip-toes. His eyes were glued to you, jaw stiffening as he watched the way you moved, taking in the expanse of your skin for the first time. After a moment, he looked away.

He debated whether he should indicate his presence, but decided against it. He knew you'd be embarrassed, and it was a mistake anyway. Shaking his head, he couldn't help but take one last glance at you, before backed away - retracing his steps to his room.

When he sat down on his bed, he couldn't help but feel hot, stripping himself of his shirt before he could lay down. His heart thumping despite himself, he was writhing the entire night, eyes stuck on the ceiling because all he could think about was you.

It had been like that much of the time since, especially when he was having his nightly showers; just like then. Flashes of fantasized moments filled his head, ones where he was behind you, his front pressed against your ass, his fingers running across the lace along your waist teasingly. His hands drifting across your body as you reacted to his touch, leaning into his chest as you tilted your neck to look at him coyly, blushing.

He groaned to himself, turning up the cold water tap to no avail. His skin felt like it was on fire. He couldn't help it.

"Axel?" You queried, snapping him out of his thoughts. When he came back to, the traffic light he'd stopped at had turned green, and he was making no effort to move.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry." He shifted the gears into drive, and you were pulling forward like nothing had ever happened.

_____

"(Y/n) . . ." His hand paused on the wheel, and you could tell he was gripping it tight by the way his knuckles turned white. His shoulders turned tense in a way that he'd hardly ever done since you'd first met, and for some reason you almost wanted to reach out to touch him and calm him. You thought better as his jaw locked, and you saw him look at something in the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah . . .?" You asked, anxiety suddenly building in your belly as he glanced to you from the corner of his eye, lips pulled into a taught line.

"I want you to stay calm, okay?" He told you, and dread set in as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't look at you as he pulled up to the curbside, putting the car into park without another word.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you refused to move. In a beat, he was opening the car door on your side, leaning down to look at you with dark, hurried eyes, "You've got your keys, right?" He asked you, and his tone was calm (whether he was doing this for your sake or his, you didn't know). He saw you nod unsurely, grasping at your pockets to make sure they were there, "You're going to get inside immediately. Don't look at them. Don't let anyone in. Keep Wade on speed-dial, okay?"

Before you could reply, he was pulling you out the vehicle, his body shielding you from behind as he walked you to your front door. Your hands were shaking as you quickly pulled out your keys, unlocking the front door as fast as you could despite the circumstances. Soon you were inside, and the door was shutting closed behind you. All you could hear was your heartbeat as you dropped your things and made your way way through the house, mind racing as to what Wade had told you when he'd first come. He'd made sure that you knew how to be safe if they ever got inside your home.

You grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and locked yourself in the downstairs bathroom (the windows had bars, and slammed shut tightly). He said to never go upstairs because they could corner you. Never reply if you hear them call out. Steady your breathing to stay quiet.

Sitting on the cold tiles, you weren't sure if you were shaking from the temperature or sheer panic. Your eyes pricked with tears and you wrapped your arms around yourself to keep yourself from panicking; realizing that Axel was out there doing God know's what. You hadn't even thought about the fact that someone could get hurt because of you. That was one of the reasons you swore to never get into your father's business. What if Axel was killed and they got to you anyway? Your head was spinning and you swore that an anxiety attack was setting in.

You didn't know how to handle yourself in that moment, and despite yourself let tears stream down your face, wiping them away ferociously with your sleeve in hopes that you weren't being too loud. The house was silent but every moment that it was, it made you feel more uneasy. You pulled your phone out and went to Wade's contact. Seeing the picture he took for it almost seemed to calm you minutely; it was almost like a piece of normalcy. Your thumb hovered over his number but you couldn't bring yourself to call until you were sure there was a threat. Your ears felt like they were ringing with how hard you were trying to listen. All you could hear was something outside in the distance. And then nothing.

You couldn't estimate how long you were leaning up against the bath tub, eyes unfocused as you prayed with every fiber in your being that it was all okay. As okay as it could be.

You didn't look at the time once. You knew it wouldn't help. Every moment felt like it expanded, and the room felt comparatively small.

Scenarios played through your head like a broken record, and despite your mortality on the line right in front of you, your mind couldn't help but get stuck on Axel. He barely had anyone else's help. It was just him against so many others, and you were wondering why he would even volunteer to do something like that. Put himself in so much danger just for one person. You tried to rationally tell yourself that he was in that line of work for a reason; and he could handle himself. Wade doesn't seem like someone who would just send a team member to die.

You sat there until your back ached from your position. Until you heard the front door slam, your heart skipping a beat before his voice echoed through the walls between you. Relief washed over you like a wave when you realized at the very least, that he was alive. You scrambled up with stiff bones until you were standing, your legs felt like jelly as your fingers pressed to the doorknob with no intention of opening it just yet.

Recognizing the thud of his boots in the hallway, your grip tightened on both the knob, and the weapon in your other hand. You could hear it was just him from the footsteps, but the thought of opening the door so quickly made you freeze up in fear.

"(Y/n)," You heard his voice through the walls, and suddenly your face was wet with tears again. It sounded desperate and tired, and almost pleading. "It's okay. You can come out now. It's all over," He told you as gently as he could, and by now you could hear he was just on the other side of the door.

You let the knife you were holding slip from your grasp as you went to cover up a small sob that escaped you. You weren't sure how you'd face him looking like such a mess, but all he did was relentlessly try to open the door. His heart plummeted the moment he heard you cry. Something about the situation set it. He'd rarely ever liked the people he worked with (or for), never mind really get along with them. The fact that you were in danger became an even bigger concern for him; a priority. But he hadn't even thought about the emotional repercussions that this would have on you. Never mind how it would affect him that it affected you.

He wasn't very in touch with his emotions because his lifestyle didn't call for it.

But now he had feelings for you that complicated things. Feelings he didn't know he had until he saw the genuine fear in your eyes the moment you realized people had really come after you. When it finally set in.

He didn't need much help in taking care of the men who had come. All he needed was one guy alive, and a boot on his neck with the threat of a crushed wind pipe. That's how he found out that they were planning on taking you and not killing you, and that's how he sent a message back to whoever sent them: that you were protected.

"It's gonna be okay," He said, voice calm for you despite the way his heart was thumping equally as fast, his hand falling from their place, incessantly trying to get through to you.

When you finally pulled the door open, it inched bit by bit, finally revealing his figure in front of you. His eyebrows were furrowed with worry, eyes softer than you'd seen on him before. Before you could think, you went towards him for comfort, hand reaching out to touch him. He immediately backed away, his face swimming with something you didn't recognize; like he couldn't understand what he was feeling or thinking.

You paused in your place, trying not to cry despite the fact that you were a total wreck. He wasn't looking at you, and his lips parted slightly, weighing up if he should speak. Instead, there was silence as he didn't know what to do.

Despite yourself, you went forwards, wrapping your arms around his torso with your head against his chest. He didn't move, and nor did he protest as you held onto him tightly, gripping desperately at the material of his jacket as you sobbed. After a moment, he allowed himself to hold you back, unsurely letting his arms drift around you, not wanting to startle you in your state. You were getting his shirt wet, but he didn't care. He only hoped you wouldn't hear his uncharacteristically erratic heart.

________

You were sat on the edge of your bed, your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea that Axel had made you while you were showering. All you did was stand under the hot water until you stopped shaking. By the time you made it back to bed in fresh clothing, he was in your doorframe with a mug and his most helpful smile. You couldn't help but crack, returning it slightly as you realized how thoughtful he had become since you'd first met. You guessed that it was always underneath his crass surface somewhere.

He disappeared soon after you to shower, too, cleaning off the blood and grime that had stained him during the fight. His clothes were messy and had acid-damage, but he didn't think you'd even noticed when you hugged him. You barely let go for what felt like half an hour, but he couldn't bring himself to care. You were warm, and the affection was appreciated no matter the circumstances, and no matter how much Axel told himself otherwise. He talked a big game but he never really spoke to women. None that it'd feel right to get emotionally attached to. But with you it all fell into place in a way that terrified him.

He came back to see you again when he was done, hair wet and tousled slightly, and his sweatpants hanging low around his waist. His white vest was actually white for the first time in a while due to your washing machine; and he belatedly noted that it smelt like you because of your fabric softener that you used.

"Can I sit?" He asked softly, gaze flickering between where you sat on the edge of your comforter, and the chair across from you.

You nodded silently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with your free hand. By now, what was left of your drink was cold, and you decided to place the cup down on your night stand. When you looked back you saw him, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His eyes couldn't leave you if he tried, his expression empty in a way that frustrated you. You liked to know what people were thinking. Especially when you put so much out on the line in front of them. "I'm sorry. You saved my life . . . you don't need to take care of me any more than that," You chuckled slightly, trying to make light of your emotions. It was what generally worked for you that far in life.

His features changed into something close to concern, leaning toward you slightly with intent, "Don't apologize. You didn't ask for this, but I did sign up for this job, okay?" He asked you reassuringly. You'd noticed that whenever he said something, he always made sure to check that you understood or agreed with it. Whether it was something small or something monumental.

You could feel your heart twist and you hated yourself for how you thought about everything.

About him.

He was being paid to take care of you. Yet here he was being so sensitive, and more gentle that you'd once imagined. If he got hurt defending you from something as stupid as a turf war, you'd be even more mad than if you actually got kidnapped.

"I don't know if my life is worth yours . . . that's all I'm saying," You told him, and he immediately cracked up, letting a laugh escape his lips.

"No offense, (Y/n), but I think it is," He rebutted, leaning back in his seat, gaze still connected with yours, "I'm trailer trash. The least I can do is protect someone like you." He joked, but there was definitely real sentiment behind his words, and you both knew it in different ways. He hadn't ever encountered someone he guarded or worked with that actually cared about him being in danger - sure, they didn't want him to die or fail, but you weren't like that. This was genuinely putting you in a moral and emotional crisis.

"I know you know that societal acceptance doesn't equate to your worth as a person."

He sighed, looking away from you for a moment as his foot tapped on the floor, "Sure . . ." Blue eyes met yours with hesitance, peering through long lashes, "But what about my personal opinion?"

"You like me more than you like you?" You asked with a wry smile, your stomach filling with butterflies despite the circumstances, curious as to his real answer.

He waited a beat, debating on what his next words would be. He wasn't sure if he was okay with just coming out with something like that, but it was true in a way, "If you want to put it like that . . ."

You cheeks felt warm, and you tugged at your blanket to pull it over yourself, holding it close to your chest, "I didn't think you'd ever admit to something like that."

"Me neither," He sighed, his head tilting to the side as he peered at your form in front of him. There were a lot of reasons why he liked you. You were a Hell of a lot nicer than he was, and generous and kind. You were thoughtful, and determined, and made him smile when he wasn't expecting to. Not to mention that seeing you so closely every day, he'd had time to admire you ardently. Your dips and curves, and the sway of all of your movements.

He was a few steps away from being worried for himself at this point.

"If you were wondering, we've got someone else in to watch the perimeter of the house," He informed, clearing his throat and his mind, "And your dad's got his guys talking to whoever sent them. You're safe."

"Thanks . . ." You tried, but it was always going to be fruitless when the job he was doing had the stakes it did. You couldn't put into words how much you appreciated him being around.

"Do you think you'll be okay tonight?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat as he stared you down, studying whatever your reaction was. He knew you lied to make him feel better, and he mostly didn't mind it. But he had to play close attention for when it mattered; moments like these.

There'd been a few nights where you'd gotten threats, and you couldn't bare to sleep at all. You would sit up in the lounge room, playing whatever was on TV at a low volume, listening to the comforting chatter as you tried to keep yourself busy, and your mind off of everything. He would sit with you, silent but comforting across the room. Unlike Wade, he didn't distract you completely (well, that was debatable) when you were together. He offered his thoughts when you pitched him questions, but mostly was there to keep you company. A pleasant force that helped you understand that you were safe.

Your chest rattled as you breath out a sigh, looking down at your sheets slightly. You picked at the lace slightly, unable to meet his gaze that you could still feel on your face, "I don't know," you admitted. The thought of sleeping was pretty far off as of that moment, and you were sure your subconscious would torture you as soon as your head hit the pillow. Your mind tended to jump to the worst conclusions, your anxiety pitching up as soon as you had time to overthink.

You could hear him move from his seat, and then felt the bed lightly next to you. Surprised, you glanced up to see that he had moved closer to you, sitting only a few inches from you as he tried to comfort you. His eyes were kind and empathetic, and you were wondering where that had been upon your first meeting. You weren't sure why it was here, for you, at all.

Once he saw that you were seemingly comfortable with him being nearer, he gingerly reached over, and you weren't sure if it was on account of your fragility, or his unsure nature. After a moment, he had taken your hand in his, offering you a reassuring smile that you actually believed was genuine.

"You don't usually do this, huh?" You asked, no real judgement in your voice, despite your teasing. His thumb began to run your skin subconsciously, and you thought that maybe you'd choke on your own words in a second.

His smile turned into something slightly more mischievous - a side of him that you'd come to discover, and love. "No . . ." He admitted, shaking his head, and you could tell he was thinking of his next words carefully, "I usually skip the whole hand-holding part and get to the other stuff."

You snorted at his crudeness, but didn't shy away from his touch at all, "Man, I would love to see some evidence of 'Axel, the Lady Killer', because right now, I just have to take your word for it." You couldn't help but want to pull at the thread, happy that you could focus on something besides the earlier incident. Or at least; that's what you told yourself.

You'd gotten plenty of examples of his behavior before, but you weren't going to let him know that it got through to you in the way it did. His lingering glances that were unabashed, the way he looked you over, licking his bottom lip unintentionally. It drove you mildly insane. It had since the moment you realized you had an inkling of feelings for him. God . . . what were you doing admitting that to yourself? You were too far in and Axel was making it way easier than you expected. You were sure he could've gotten in your pants if he wanted to, or hit on you if he really cared; but he didn't, and it drove you crazy no matter how little you wanted to admit it.

You noticed something about him that was more thoughtful and reserved, though. Something that clearly held him back emotionally, but allowed him to flaunt his cockiness and attraction on the surface.

He rolled his eyes at your words, looking away from you with a thousand mile stare. Like he was really having to come to terms with something. After a few moments, he parted his lips to speak, "I don't do emotions well. I never had to . . . but you bring it out in me," He told you, peering back to see the way your cheeks filled with a rosy blush. He always loved how it looked on you - and in that moment, he'd give anything to reach out and feel their warmth. For the first time in a while, he had an affect on someone, and it turned out alright. "And I'm kind of glad that you do . . ." He added, offering you a small, sincere smile, which you couldn't help but mirror bashfully.

You squeezed his hand gently, knowing it must have taken a lot for him to say something like that so honestly. Your stomach was bursting with butterflies, and you didn't know if you could really say anything in reply.

For the rest of the night, the two of you climbed further into bed, and watched movies on your laptop until you could barely keep your eyes open anymore. Axel was under the sheets, radiating warmth, still holding your hand as he concentrated on whatever you'd put on. He'd always been the type of person to stay up until ungodly hours, having suffered from insomnia for years. You however, were exhausted, and dozed off before the second half of the film even started. Unintentionally, sleepy you had drifted closer to Axel; your head was resting against his shoulder (and he was sure you didn't have a clue - not consciously, anyways), your arms between you. It wasn't long before you had completely fallen asleep on him, moving your other arm so that it was pressed against his chest.

No matter how many times he'd been intimate with someone, this was the time he swore he was going to spill over emotionally. His heart was thumping, his mind was racing, and all he wanted to do was pull you closer to him. He couldn't bring himself to move an inch, afraid that it'd somehow stir you, and you'd pull away; embarrassed that you'd ever done it. Maybe it was selfish, but Axel was deprived of any affection, and the fact that it was you giving it to him, meant that he was going to saviour every second of it. He swore he couldn't hear a word of the movie anymore, watching you sleep peacefully out of the corner of his eye. You sighed softly, contentedly, cuddling further into him, serving only to make him even more weak at the knees.

After what felt like hours, Axel allowed himself to calm, resting his cheek against the top of your head as he began to drift off, too. For now, he didn't have to think about what was going to happen tomorrow. For now, he got to be with you.