The neon lights of the Denny's sign shine outside the window beside our booth.
Axl and I's secluded corner that we've claimed is just as calm as the rest of the mostly dead restaurant.
I yawn a little, the fact that it's past midnight not skipping me. My parents think I'm at Michelle's house, asleep beside her. But in actuality, she was the one who helped me pick out my outfit, and locked the front door behind me as I ran to Axl's car.
"Is that all I can get you kids?"
Our waitress is a sweet older lady, one who has pens stuck in her bun and wears bright lipstick. Her nametag reads "DONNA."
"Yes," Axl and I both say as we nod at each other from across the shiny red table.
Donna smiles as she sets down the check, and then she's hurrying away.
Old songs play over the speakers, singers like Paul Anka and Ritchie Valens. Somehow, Axl has known every single song. He's been singing them to me ever since we got here, humming in my ear while we were waiting for our table, and now, as he goes searching for his wallet in his pockets.
I finish off my vanilla shake, the only thing left on our table. Donna already carried away our plates that held two double stacks of pancakes, one for each of us.
"You make me look younger," Axl beams, his voice audible over the sound of money moving through his hands as he counts out enough for the check.
"You already look young," I tell him.
He might not appear to be seventeen too, but his whole aura gives off the impression of youth. He's goregous, really. His skin is tanned and alive, and the only faint lines on his face are just under his eyes, from all the smiling he's done in his twenty-five years. His hair is thick and long. I can imagine how it felt last in my hands, silky and soft. And I know that underneath his leather jacket, there's muscles upon muscles, his abdomen chiseled, his strong arms painted with vivid tattoos. He looks exactly as he did when I first met him, when I was fourteen and he was twenty-two. Axl hasn't aged one bit.
He's like a God.
My fingers toy with the straw in my glass as I continue to admire him, moving around the last bit of shake left. "It's your singing that gives you away." I smile at him, still looking at his face.
He's prettier than I am.
Axl cracks a smile, lowering his voice a few octaves as he sings along. "You're mine, and we belong together. . ."
It makes me laugh, but when does he not? All I've done tonight was thoroughly annoy all the people drowsily drinking their coffee and reading the paper in this Denny's with my laughter. All because of Axl.
He closes the checkbook now, money safely inside, tip between the salt and pepper shakers.
"You know, when I said I wanted to talk to you, that didn't mean that I wanted to make you take me out to eat," I tell him honestly. It makes me feel bad that we're here. I already told him all while we pulled into the parking lot.
But of course, he insisted.
"Don't feel bad. I figured you were getting sick of sittin' in my car all the time," Axl says, grabbing my hand on top of the table. His thumb brushes against my skin, a gentle smile on his lips.
"I'm not sick of anything when I'm with you," I counter, interjecting quickly. God forbid he thinks I feel any differently. "I wanna be with you all the time."
His whole demeanor gets shy then, something he rarely exhibits. A blush spreads across his cheeks, his eyes dipping to the table before they meet mine again. His hand feels so warm against mine, his grip not faltering once.
