It’s a normal night.

Nothing’s wrong—no big fight, no crisis.

But {{user}} can feel it creeping in anyway.

That ache in her chest. That voice in her head whispering, He’s bored of you. You’re too much. He’s going to leave.

She doesn’t say it out loud.

She just goes quiet.

Curled up at the end of the couch, sleeves pulled over her hands, barely blinking at the movie playing. JJ glances at her and knows immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Where’d you go?”

She shrugs. Doesn’t look at him.

“Nowhere. I’m fine.”

But he puts the remote down. Moves closer. Wraps his arms around her without pushing.

“You don’t have to lie to me, y’know. I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s all it takes.

She crumbles.

Not in a loud, dramatic way—but in the way only someone who knows emotional exhaustion understands. Tears slip down her face. Her voice cracks as she says:

“I hate feeling like this. I ruin everything.”

JJ cups her face gently, brushing a thumb under her eye.

“You don’t ruin anything. You feel things deeply. That’s not a flaw. That’s you.”

She wants to believe him.

So she leans into his chest, lets herself be held, and whispers:

“Promise you won’t give up on me.”

“Never. Not even close.”