"What are you doing here?"
I sound out of breath, but not as much as Axl. He's still trying to get his other denim-clad leg over my windowsill.
"My parents are down the hall!" I try to whisper, but it's pretty much impossible.
Once Axl's completely inside my room, he stands up tall, towering over me in his boots. "I couldn't wait. I need to know what's goin' on."
I stare at him for a second, unable to believe it. His red hair is a mess, and he's still breathing heavy. I pluck off a leaf from his leather jacket, one that was growing on the vines outside my window. "Well, like I said, it's not good. Let me lock the door, first." I pad over to the opposite side of the room, listening for a second.
Last I checked, it was close to eleven, and with tomorrow being a school and work day, everyone should be asleep. But still, I wait. Our house is old, and it took some strength for me to push up the heavy window before Axl nearly fell all the way to the ground a minute ago.
Nothing. Dead silence. The metal of the door handle is cool as I turn the lock slowly, hearing it make a click.
At the same time, Axl and I both exhale.
"You're crazy, W. Axl Rose."
"I know." He shrugs off his jacket before slinging it over the back of the chair at my vanity, sighing.
When he looks at me, I have to remind myself to keep breathing.
"Were you asleep?"
"Just about," I nod. I thought I was in the middle of my own horror movie when I heard him outside from the safety of my bed. My eyes were just barely beginning to close.
"I'm sorry honey," Axl frowns, as if he's upset with himself. "God, I'm a pain in the ass."
"It's okay. I should've expected this," I yawn. "You're stubborn."
Without another word, I carefully push back my closet door, to where I've hid the pictures.
"What are you getting?"
"The bad news."
I move the shoeboxes away from the corner of the top shelf of my closet, and right away reveal the pictures. I haven't looked at them for twenty-four hours, not since I smuggled them out of the band's apartment and brought them here, to my room.
They feel cool in my hand, heavy. The weight of all the decisions each picture represents is astronomical.
Almost as much as the jail time Axl could get if these were with someone else.
I watch Axl's eyes survey me, flicking up and down from my face to my hand. The exact moment he understands appears on his face and it makes my heart sink.
"You're kidding me."
"I wish I were, Will. God, I wish I was making it up."
Just a dream. Something I just thought about too many times, a nightmare conceived by my own nervous brain. Anything but real.
My knees hurt as I lower my body to the hardwood floor, spreading out all the photos for Axl to see.
Quickly, he kneels down beside me, eager to assess the damage.
We both stare down at the gift Dylan's given us, and it's silent for a few minutes.
The stiff picture paper scrapes against the floor as Axl brings it up into his palm for a closer look at the grainy photo. It's the one of us under a streetlight, in front of my house. I can make out Duff's tall, blonde figure beside Michelle near the opposite end of the van, away from Axl and I. We stand together, Axl's face close to mine, one of his hands on my shoulder.
