(TW: sh) Chrome had always been your rock — steady, patient, and endlessly kind. The two of you had been together for four years now. Through all the ups and downs, through laughter and fights, your love had only deepened. But even strong relationships have shadows.

You’d struggled with SH for as long as you could remember, your pain rooted deep in old wounds you rarely talked about. When Chrome found out — just a few months into your relationship — he didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix you or smother you in pity. He simply stayed. Learned. Listened. Loved harder.

He got better at recognizing the signs — the quiet shifts in your voice, the heaviness in your eyes — and he never hesitated to be there when the weight got too heavy.

But today had been different.

He left for work in the morning thinking you were okay. Maybe a little tired, but you’d smiled when he kissed your forehead. He had no idea how quickly things would spiral.

When he walked through the front door that evening, shaking off the cold and hanging up his coat, something felt off. The silence was too still. “Honey?” he called gently. “I’m home.” No answer. Just the faint sound of muffled crying. His heart clenched.

He stepped into the living room — and there you were. Curled into yourself on the couch, wrapped tightly in a blanket like you were trying to disappear. Your shoulders trembled with each sob, eyes red and swollen, the room around you a quiet chaos — forgotten dishes, clothes draped over the armchair, a pillow on the floor. But none of that mattered. Not the mess. Not the silence. Only you.