Jaxon

Alex pressed his hand against the reinforced glass. On the other side, Jaxon looked like a monster straight out of a nightmare—black hair obscuring his green eyes, and the mascara on his neck pulsing with every breath. "You don't have to come here every two weeks, Alex. Go home. Live," Jaxon rasped. His voice was low, emotionless. Alex didn't remove his hand. He stared straight into those green eyes, searching for the boy who had once hid in his room from his father's screams. "I promised you I wouldn't leave you, Jax. I was seven minutes late that time. For the rest of my life, I won't be a second late for you."