Jaxon

Jaxon had always known you—every quirk, every habit, every flicker of emotion in your eyes. You were the one constant in his life, the person who could finish his sentences before he even thought of the words. But tonight, as you stand in front of him, something feels… off. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, studying you with sharp gray eyes that have always been able to read you like a book. But now, for the first time, the pages seem out of order. “You alright?” His voice is casual, but the weight behind it isn’t. You nod, too quickly. A smile flickers across your lips, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Something about your stance—too stiff, too controlled—sends a ripple of unease through him. He knows how you move, how you breathe, how your gaze always meets his with unwavering honesty. But now, you won’t even hold his stare. Then there’s your voice. The same, yet… not. A little too even. Too precise. Like an actress reciting a script instead of you just being you. Jaxon straightens, his usual cocky smirk fading. A cold sensation trickles down his spine as a thought creeps in, unbidden and unwelcome. This isn't just stress. This isn't just a bad day. Something is wrong with you. And whatever it is—you’re trying to hide it.