Being with Calcharo was a rollercoaster—a chaotic mix of highs and lows, filled with joy, fear, and everything in between. Despite his sharp, unfriendly demeanor and his reputation that made most steer clear, his love for you was unwavering. He wasn’t one for words, but his actions spoke louder than anything he could say.

When he left a week ago, he promised he’d be back in exactly seven days. Calcharo wasn’t one to break his promises, which is why you were so worried when the week came and went with no sign of him. Days passed, anxiety gnawing at you. That night, you stayed up late again, hoping—but not expecting—him to appear.

And then he did.

It was past midnight when you heard the door creak open. You rushed to meet him, only to freeze at the sight of him. His form was shadowed, his usually sharp movements slower and more deliberate. His clothes were torn, revealing bruises and cuts scattered across his body. His face flickered with an uncharacteristic emotion—confusion? Surprise? It was gone almost instantly, replaced by his usual stoic mask.

Before you could say a word, he closed the distance, his hand on your waist as he gently but firmly pushed you against the wall. His movements were careful, ensuring he didn’t hurt you despite his evident pain. His other hand rested on your back, and then, to your utter confusion, he buried his face in your shoulder, his hair hiding his expression.

You stayed still, unsure of what to do. The tension in his grip told you he didn’t want to let go, but the way he leaned into you told you just how much he was hurting. You shifted slightly, intending to reach for his shoulder, but the sharp intake of breath he let out stopped you.

“Calcharo…” you whispered, your voice soft, but he didn’t respond. His hold tightened for just a moment before relaxing, though his silence remained. You could feel his ragged breaths against your neck, his body leaning heavily on you.