Chapter Text
“Perhaps one day you shall. Until then...”
Chrom watches as Marth turns and takes his—her leave. She vanishes around one of the walls of the courtyard, back to the maple grove and through the broken opening from whence she came.
He exhales deeply and lifts a hand to scrub away the exhaustion in his eyes. Exhaustion from both the late hour and the preceding battle, yes, however this isn’t the only source. That exhaustion is caused too by the beginning of wartime, of recalling the horrors he witnessed as a child being raised by a bloodthirsty father. Though this time, he is to witness those horrors firsthand, without the veil of childhood innocence.
Without the veil of being able to blame a force beyond his control, for the start of the war is his own fault.
What else was I supposed to do? Chrom thinks, frustrated. The Mad King threatened Emm—he threatened Ylisse! Were we to lie down and give Plegia the Fire Emblem, he would have killed us anyway!
Yet despite knowing no other options were available to him, Gangrel’s interpretation of Chrom’s heated words as words of war still tugs at his heart. He can’t convince himself it didn’t all come down to his own actions.
“Chrom? Good gods, there you are!”
“Hm?” He lowers his hand from his vision to see his best friend jogging towards him.
“Don’t just run off like that!”
“Run off in my own castle, you mean?” Chrom jokes. Though once the words leave his mouth, he realizes Robin’s mood is the opposite of casual.
“Right after assassins were swarming it, targeting you specifically?” Robin corrects with a glare.
This degree of seriousness from his usually calm tactician catches Chrom off guard, making him pause before he replies. “...You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I only wanted to speak with Marth before she disappeared. I apologize for worrying you.”
Robin stares for another few moments, before his tensed shoulders ease along with the release of his breath. “I don’t mean to scold you... Tonight admittedly has me a bit shaken up.”
Chrom pats his friend’s arm. “You aren’t the only one. It’s alright, Robin.” Moving his hand securely to his shoulder, he says, “Come on, let’s make sure Frederick isn’t having a cow as well.”
The roll of Robin’s eyes is an encouraging sign, though Chrom doesn’t miss the way his fists clench around the edges of his sleeves.
Emmeryn’s agreement in allowing the Shepherds to escort her to the eastern palace helps placate the worst of Chrom’s worries, though he hasn’t had time to sort out even a modicum of his others.
Phila at her side, his elder sister leaves to rest in her chambers. Lissa tails her, likely to sleep in her room, just as she used to as a child. Frederick meanwhile goes to secure the Shepherds’ garrison at Chrom’s request—he doesn’t need his knight’s overbearing hovering at the moment.
It’s then Robin reappears. While Chrom was hoping for some alone time, the sight of his best friend is never an unwelcome one.
“I helped Gaius and Panne get settled in,” Robin says. “...Assuming you’re alright with them joining us.”
“Panne is of course welcome to stay. In Gaius’s case, having him here keeps soldiers away from Plegia’s side,” Chrom reasons.
Silence falls between them. Chrom often finds silence awkward, but with Robin, he’s able to simply enjoy his company without needing much else.
Robin must not currently share this sentiment, however, as his gaze is intense. It’s locked on everywhere but Chrom, as if he’s watching to make sure no other assassins materialize out of thin air.
“...Still shaken up?” Chrom ventures.
The question seems to snap Robin from a sort of trance, the way he starts. “Oh! Um... I guess so.”
It’s not like him to be so distracted, let alone jittery. Chrom can only guess what’s on his mind. Robin learned of Ylisse and Plegia’s blood soaked history mere hours ago, then had to guide their forces through an ambush with the entirety of the Ylissean royal family’s lives on the line. Maybe Chrom is used to fighting, whether it be bandits or Plegian soldiers disguised as such, but Robin’s barely had any experience due to his lack of memories.
Chrom angles himself to Robin’s side and puts what he intends to be a comforting hand on his back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He freezes, before breathing out a laugh along with the shake of his head. “You’re the one who was nearly killed, and here I am making you worry.”
“You put yourself on the line tonight, too. And you haven’t seen war before,” Chrom says, rubbing a gentle pattern through Robin’s coat.
“With how nonchalant you act, I thought you hadn’t either before our talk earlier.”
He shrugs. “I’m more concerned about Ylisse’s safety than my own.”
That prompts a smile out of Robin. “So I’ve heard. I suppose there’s a reason your sister makes you keep Frederick around.”
“There’s that witty tactician of mine,” he chuckles. “Anyway. My point is is that it makes sense you’re having a tough time adjusting after everything that happened today. It’s all new to you—don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“I have a lot more responsibility than a random soldier, though,” Robin insists, his muscles tensing beneath Chrom’s hand. “It’s up to me to be prepared for a surprise attack like that. I wasn’t. At all. If Marth hadn’t been here, you could’ve been killed,” he says miserably. “The battle’s been over for two hours now and I can’t stop searching the shadows for something to jump out at you.”
“Robin, I promise to you that I’m safe. Now that we’re aware of the threat, we won’t be taken by surprise again,” Chrom assures him. “The castle guard will be on extra high alert after tonight, as will I. And I have Falchion on me at all times. Look, you must be tired—I am too. We’ll each feel better after a good night’s rest, right?”
Robin doesn’t reply. His eyes are lowered to the ground in avoidance of Chrom’s, but he can spot the fear in them regardless.
“Robin? Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”
He remains that way for a bit longer, before finally answering with a soft, “No.”
Chrom frowns. He’s never seen him so upset. He hates knowing Robin is in distress and being unable to help. While he doesn’t enjoy the feeling of powerlessness in general, something about not being able to comfort Robin is torturous to him. He cares for all his friends and desires to do what he can for them. But he’s noticed as of late that when it comes to Robin specifically, that desire to help becomes a burning need.
It’s that burning need that compels his next words, no matter how strange it would be to offer them to anyone else. “Would it help if you were to spend the night with me?”
Chrom is dimly aware of his held breath as Robin processes those words, praying they haven’t come off as weird as he’s pretty sure they are. Hopefully Robin would interpret them as him giving his permission to guard him, rather than what Chrom truly meant.
...As if he’s sure of what he truly meant, himself.
Robin glances back up at him. “...Are you okay with that?”
His heart leaps into his throat. “Of course.” Then he quickly adds, “If that’s what will ease your mind.”
“...Okay,” he says with a nod, his voice a little stronger. “Thank you, Chrom.”
Chrom has to fumble around a bit in the dark before he’s able to get a lantern going, lighting the rest of his bedroom. Though the room isn’t the easiest to see at night, Robin marvels regardless. It’s certainly larger than the rooms in the Shepherds’ garrison, with it being split into a bedroom, a parlor, as well as its own bathroom—and the bed is much more comfortable, too. It’s one luxury Chrom is always glad to come home to when he’s back in Ylisstol.
“Shoot,” Robin remarks as Chrom opens his dresser. “I forgot I’m still in my battle clothes.”
“I don’t mind if you sleep in that. The sheets are going to be changed after we leave tomorrow regardless,” Chrom says. “You can borrow some of mine if you’re worried about it.”
“...Were we both sleeping in your bed?”
Chrom stops, embarrassment flushing his face. Thankfully, he’s still facing towards the dresser, and he stalls turning around by rifling through the currently open drawer. “Er, if it pleases you. I figured it beats the couch. B-but if it bothers you, you can take the bed alone.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed. I think both of us being in it will help calm my nerves, anyway.”
The situation certainly isn’t calming Chrom’s, but he can live with it for one night if it means being close to Robin.
He decides on a pair of linen pants for himself, then checks over his shoulder at Robin, who has hung his coat neatly over the chair that sits at Chrom’s desk, and is now sitting in said chair to remove his boots.
“Battle clothes or borrowing from me?” Chrom reiterates.
“Oh, umm... borrowing, if that’s alright. I’ve done enough sweating today, I don’t need to sleep in it too.”
All of Chrom’s clothes were certain to be too large for Robin, with both his height and bulk over his smaller tactician. He does his best, selecting a shirt with lace to tie the front and a pair of pants with string at the waist that will help make up for the difference in size. He tosses his choices to Robin, which are caught easily.
“You can change in the bathroom. I’ll change in here quick.”
“I’ve already got a head start on you and you plan on changing faster than me with that mess of an outfit?” Robin chuckles.
“I happen to like my mess of an outfit,” Chrom counters, though in no real offense. “It’s not some complex ritual to take off a belt and loosen some buttons.” He demonstrates by unbuckling where his belt fastens at his chest and swiftly sheds it. “See?”
“Keep up that pace and we’ll make it to bed before dawn,” Robin quips, earning Chrom’s now unlatched cape being thrown at him.
Robin departs for the bathroom while Chrom makes sure to be fast in taking all the parts of his outfit off required to get his sleep pants on, with Robin reentering just as he’s ridding himself of his tunic.
“I didn’t realize you slept without a shirt,” Robin says. Chrom looks up just in time to see his dark eyes raising to be level with his. He tries not to linger too long on the strange sense of pride that swells in his chest at seeing Robin wearing his clothes. Though the open neck is laced up, Chrom can still make out hints of Robin’s chest through the unavoidable windows in the lace. His pants being tied tightly so they don’t fall off exaggerate how small his waist looks compared to the bagginess of his overly large shirt.
Chrom forces himself to respond so as to keep himself from staring. “When I’m not freezing my ass off in Ferox, I don’t.”
As he fully removes his tunic, he examines himself to make sure he isn’t grossing his friend out with leftover blood from the battle or something like that. “I can throw one on if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Robin grips nervously at his own forearm. “No, I’m already intruding on your routine by being here. You don’t need to accommodate me—not that it bothers me to begin with.”
“You’re not intruding at all. It’s not a burden to me to support someone I care about.”
“...That’s very kind of you, Chrom. Thank you.”
With their clothing changed, Robin slips into bed while Chrom puts out the lantern, then joins him afterward. His bed is king sized, so there’s plenty of space that doesn’t force them to squeeze together.
His eyelids are drooping the moment his head hits his pillow, but he restrains himself from shutting them all the way until he’s sure Robin’s asleep. Laying still on his back with gaze towards the ceiling, he listens carefully to the rhythm of Robin’s breathing. This, for some reason, has the rate of his heartbeat increasing.
Minutes pass, and though Robin’s breath has slowed from its earlier shallow quality, it doesn’t sound slow enough for him to be unconscious. Chrom doesn’t want to accidentally rouse him if he’s wrong, but he decides to risk it anyway in case his friend’s mind is still racing.
“Are you asleep yet?” he whispers, turning his head toward the lump of shadow next to him, where he knows Robin is located.
It takes a few seconds before he sees Robin shift and receives an answer. “No. I have a hard time sleeping even on the best of nights.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed the lantern on in your tent long after everyone else has theirs put out,” Chrom acknowledges, unable to keep the smile from his voice. “...Are you still worried for my safety?”
“I’ll always worry about you,” Robin says steadily, which doesn’t help Chrom’s heart rate, though that steadiness retracts from his next statement. “...I mean, yes, but it’s not just that. Currently, I’m thinking about that one soldier who was leading the attack.”
“The sorcerer? What about him?”
“He seemed to recognize me, didn’t he?”
Chrom tries to recall the moments leading up to he and Robin facing the sorcerer head on. However, he can’t reconstruct a memory involving an expression on the Plegian man’s face or any words that may have supported Robin’s hypothesis. “I didn’t get a good look at him. ...Did he seem familiar to you?”
“I’m not sure if it’s that he genuinely does feel familiar, or if it’s only me psyching myself out,” he admits. “And I guess it has me thinking about my past—or lack thereof. What it could be hiding. If there’s anyone looking for me, well-intentioned or otherwise.” Robin sighs. “I can’t think of a good reason someone like me would show up in Ylisse alone, especially in times like these.”
“I wish I had a better answer for you,” Chrom says. He’s wondered the same himself, and Frederick has plenty of his own theories, but without more leads, everything they’ve come up with is conjecture at best. “What I can tell you is that you’re one of us. No matter what might happen involving that, you’ll always have a place here at my side, Robin.”
A chuckle sounds at that. “As if you haven’t told me that at every open moment you find.”
“I mean it every time I say it.”
“I know. I jest. I do appreciate it... More than you know.”
“Good.”
Silence hangs between them for a good minute or so, when Chrom speaks again. “Is there anything more I can do for you?”
“...To help me sleep? Or to calm me down?”
“Either. Both.”
“I’m not sure there’s much else to do,” Robin says. “We have to travel tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up.”
“I don’t mind,” Chrom reassures him. “Maybe I could...” he begins, but the words die in his throat as his brain catches up with his traitorous mouth.
“...Could what?” Robin asks once he senses Chrom won’t finish that sentence on his own.
“Er,” he hesitates, “Well... I was going to say I could hold you. You know, if it’d help you relax.”
The impact of his words float in the air much too long for Chrom’s comfort. When the wait for a response becomes unbearable, he tries to backtrack, “I don’t want to impose, I just—”
And Robin cuts him off, “—Yes.”
He stops, wondering if he heard his best friend right.
“I mean, it’s... worth a shot, right? Maybe it’ll at least get you to sleep.”
“Yeah...” Chrom murmurs in a daze. Then he realizes he’s the one that offered hold Robin, and thus, is supposed to be the one initiating. “Uh, yes.” Chrom rolls to his side and scoots towards him, bumping his knee on what he assumes is the side of Robin’s leg. “Do you want me to...?”
Robin turns so that his back is to Chrom. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” He shifts forward again, pressing the length of his bare upper body against Robin’s back and immediately melting in his warmth. He adjusts his left arm crammed underneath Robin, at which he automatically lifts his hips so that Chrom can snake it around, securing it at his soft stomach. There’s a strong urge to touch Robin with his right hand, but decides to keep it at his side in case doing so would be crossing a line.
Once they’ve each stopped moving and settled, the two men are effectively spooning. Chest to spine, knees tucked into the backs of knees. If Chrom thought his heart was pounding earlier, it’s now slamming against his ribcage so hard that he fears Robin can sense it. “Alright?” he manages, in attempt to distract himself from his nerves.
“Y-yes. This is good,” Robin replies.
They lay like that for what probably isn’t actually that long of an amount of time, but to Chrom, it lasts for hours. Touching Robin so closely is doing the exact opposite of lulling him to sleep—and dimly, he questions if it’s affecting his best friend in the same fashion.
Eventually, Robin says, “...Chrom?”
“Yes?”
He adjusts in such a way that has him dangerously close to grinding against Chrom, who has been subtly shuffling his hips a safe distance away so Robin can’t feel his growing erection. He didn’t intend for tonight to be anything beyond platonically helping a friend out, but he can’t control the reactions his body has at the nearness of Robin’s.
Chrom can’t deny he has always found Robin awfully pretty. How close the two of them have become between now and when Chrom first lifted him from the ground doesn’t help the confusion between his heart and his hormones. He liked him from the moment they met, yes... However, something changed for Chrom after Regna Ferox. Something that made Robin fill his waking thoughts and something that made him confide in him earlier tonight. Something that made him yearn to touch him, to make all his troubles seem far, far away.
“...I’m having a hard time relaxing, still.” Robin’s voice is faint, but his underlying anxiety remains within.
Chrom’s in that daze again, each second passing becoming more unreal than the last. “Tell me how I can help.”
Robin’s breathing through his mouth now, quiet yet audible enough for Chrom to hear. His right hand moves on its own accord to Robin’s waist, brushing over the fabric of his shirt before slipping down a little to his pants, coming to rest on his hip.
He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but it can’t be anyone else’s but his own voice whispering, “I could service you.”
Bump. Bump. Bump. He uses the rhythm of his heart to keep track of how long it’s been since he said that.
“...S-service me?” The disbelief is palpable in Robin’s tone. “...As in... bring me to release?”
Though Robin is clearly apprehensive, Chrom clings desperately to whatever bravado got him here. “Yes. To help you relax.”
Robin shakily exhales what sounds like a held breath, sending shivers through the entirety of Chrom’s body. “You would do that for me?”
What exactly has made him so bold, he has no idea, but he’s riding with it now, and follows through when it tells him to touch his lips to the back of Robin’s neck. “I’d do anything you asked of me.”
It’s Robin’s turn to shiver, bringing a deep sense of satisfaction to Chrom that spreads down into his pelvis.
Finally, Robin says, “Okay.”
“...Okay,” he confirms too. Yes, to reassure Robin, but primarily to reassure himself. “Give me one moment.”
Moving away because the nightstand on his side is too far for him not to, Chrom uses one hand to open its drawer. He fishes around for two items he knows are there. Once he’s found them, he grasps them together and nudges the drawer shut, then reclaims his previous position behind Robin. His left hand is back beneath him and hugging his torso, so his right hand is the one to reach over and place the two items in front of Robin for easy access: a bottle of oil and a handkerchief.
While Robin’s arms shift to untie and lower his pants, Chrom caresses his shoulder. He can feel the tremors in his movements and wants to calm him, but he also needs to stay busy if he wants to quell his own nerves. He may have been the one to initiate, however he’s never done this for anyone else before, let alone someone he cares so deeply for.
Robin’s shaking eases as Chrom touches him, so he takes it as permission to continue forward. He runs his free hand down Robin’s arm to his wrist, then guides him towards the oil. As he does, he has to press his body close to Robin’s to reach, resulting in his half hard dick pushing at his rear. He doesn’t really mean to—whether Robin wants to be seduced or to simply blow off some steam, Chrom isn’t certain. Although, he can’t deny how it arouses him.
As Robin has two free hands as opposed to Chrom’s one, he asks, “Help me with this?”
He hears the bottle pop as it opens, which is soon followed by the lukewarm substance of oil filling his palm. Robin’s shoulders move as he’s likely putting the bottle’s cork back in place. Meanwhile, Chrom’s lubricated hand has to aim in the dark for its target. His right arm draped around Robin and his left holding him close, he reaches down.
He’s just off from his goal, his fingertips brushing against the wiry hair of Robin’s crotch. A moment later, they’re met with the velvety skin of his shaft, which Chrom trails up, ghosting teasingly along a bulging vein. Air barely releases from Robin’s lips. Chrom’s palm fastens itself over the head of his cock, before pushing his closed hand all the way down to the base and leaving a coat of oil in its wake. He’s surprised to find Robin’s tip had already been poking out of his foreskin, implying he was fairly erect before Chrom began touching him. But he’s more preoccupied with the gasp Robin makes from a singular stroke. That noise alone has Chrom’s dick stiffening completely against his best friend’s body.
Robin doesn’t wriggle his hips away, appearing to not mind.
Chrom hardly registers the hammering in his ribcage, his focus being completely honed in on Robin—the panting he tries to keep from escaping his mouth, his small back rubbing Chrom’s bare chest, his round ass pressed into Chrom’s crotch, and above all, the weight of his hard cock in Chrom’s hand.
Sliding further down, he cups underneath Robin’s balls and curls his fingers around them. He swaps between squeezing and easing pressure, loving the way Robin tenses against him each time he does. He then massages his fingertips into them, tracing gentle circles with each. He alternates his technique, doing his best to ramp Robin up and build his anticipation. Taking his time is entirely worth being the cause of the low noise emanating from the back of Robin’s throat.
Once he thinks Robin’s balls have received enough attention, Chrom returns to his cock and pumps slowly. All the way up to the tip, all the way down to the base, and all the way back up again, making certain Robin can feel the tightness of his fist and the heat of his skin along every inch of his dick. The oil provides enough slickness to make the journey smooth, but not so smooth that Robin isn’t getting any friction. He continues this for a bit, seeing if he can coax a full-on moan out of Robin by teasing him with such deliberate stroking.
Suddenly, Robin’s hips buck, perhaps instinctively seeking to increase Chrom’s pace. He responds by splaying his left hand against his stomach and digging in his fingers to hold him still as he jerks him off. He’s drunk on the control he holds over Robin’s reactions. He relishes in making his best friend feel exactly how he wants him to feel. And his mouth gains a mind of its own as it hovers over where Robin’s neck meets his shoulder—Chrom just managing to keep from separating his lips to do Naga knows what.
That’s too much. He’s enjoying this much more than he should. He can’t push Robin into something so intimate when he doesn’t know whether he finds it sexy, or if it’s a bit intense for a handjob and he’s only being polite by not commenting on it. His feedback points to the former, but Chrom would rather be safe than sorry. He doesn’t want Robin to feel awkward afterward. Or worse, to regret agreeing to this.
In an attempt to avoid doing something more daring, Chrom instead opts to lean his face against the back of his neck and simply breathes in Robin’s scent, trying to commit it to memory. When his hand arrives at the top of his cock again, his fist remains there as he draws his thumb along the ridge of his head. He circles it around to the bottom side of the tip, rubbing a bit. If Robin’s anything like him, there should be a sensitive spot there.
He’s immediately proven right by a whined, “Chrom!”
Fuck, his name sounds good in that tone.
Robin groans as Chrom continues playing with the head of his cock, expelling a sharp breath once he finally returns to stroking his shaft, this time at a much steadier pace. Robin might not be aware of how much he’s squirming, but Chrom craves every single grind of his ass against his clothed erection, intentional or not. His increasing arousal chips away at his patience, driving his fist to pump Robin’s cock faster and faster.
“C-Chrom! Please!” he moans, still struggling against Chrom’s grip to fuck his hand.
And gods, does hearing Robin so desperate drive him up the wall. “Please what?” he practically growls, freezing the hand around his shaft and clawing with the other at his waist.
Robin hesitates, but the adrenaline in Chrom’s veins and the tightness in his balls has him far beyond embarrassment. “Please what?” he demands, squeezing his dick and causing Robin to whimper.
“Hah... Please, don’t stop,” Robin murmurs.
“Come on, let me hear you,” Chrom goads.
“I want more,” Robin says, a little louder this time. That earns him another pump, resulting in a surprised, “Ah!”
“You’re doing so well. Again, Robin.”
“I want more,” he repeats, the rise in his volume corresponding with the continuation in Chrom’s stroking.
“Again!”
“I want more, please!” he begs. “I want you to finish me!”
The grunt Chrom lets out is pained with how hard he’s straining not to flat-out hump Robin’s round ass. The more he touches him, the more his hips keep pushing teasingly against his cock. If his left hand wasn’t trapped, it’d be groping every bit of that ass—and probably peeling both of their pants all the way off subsequently.
Chrom will damn well do it too if he doesn’t redirect himself. He focuses in on the throb of Robin’s dick in his hand as he resumes jerking him off. “Keep going Robin, keep telling me what you want!”
“Ahh—I want you to keep touching me, I want you to make me cum in your hand!” he pleads, each word making Chrom increase his pace. “Please, Chrom! Please!”
Chrom manages to swipe the handkerchief from earlier with his left hand and caps it over the head of Robin’s cock, his right arm burning with the rapid motion of back and forth. Finally, he says, “Cum for me, Robin!”
Immediately does Robin unravel against him. His orgasm has his body spasming in Chrom’s arms and a drawn-out moan trailing from his mouth. Chrom feels liquid heat splatter on the handkerchief held in place by his palm. He loosens his grip on Robin’s waist to allow his hips to piston into his hand, fucking into it and working furiously to milk out the remainder of his orgasm. That heat spreads in the fabric, until Robin’s begun to slow down, eventually to a complete stop. He stills, his breath coming out in heavy pants, with his dick occasionally twitching in Chrom’s grasp.
Seeing as Robin is incapacitated, Chrom is careful to ball the soiled handkerchief in such a way so as not to spill any of its contents, then passes it to his free hand. He wriggles his left arm out from beneath Robin and adjusts himself so he can sit up. He then leaves the bed to dispose of the handkerchief, navigating through the dark to the bathroom.
He pauses once he’s gotten rid of it. His own cock is still throbbing in need of release. While he doesn’t want to leave Robin alone, he knows he can’t return to bed in this state. Sure, he just spent his best friend, but that doesn’t mean said friend wants to listen to him masturbate next to him.
...He’ll be quick with just how horny he is. Chrom goes to the toilet, lowers his pants, and gets to work at rubbing one out. He flits through the memories fresh in his head of Robin, of his noises and his rutting and his waist and his dick and his ass—before Chrom knows it, he’s cumming hard to the thought of Robin pinned beneath him and taking his cock up his ass.
Once he’s cleaned up, a task that takes a bit longer than usual without the aid of light, Chrom is back to the bedroom. He listens for Robin, who has eased into the deep, steady breathing of sleep.
Chrom is mindful of this as he crawls back into bed, though he risks the chance of waking him when he cuddles up to him again. Chest to spine, knees tucked into the backs of knees. Arms secured around the waist of his best friend.
When morning comes, Robin has vanished from his bedroom. His tactician’s outfit is gone, with the clothes he borrowed in a neatly folded stack atop the dresser.
Chrom has never felt so alone waking up before. A little guiltily, he shuffles towards the spot Robin laid, and pressing his nose into his pillow, he takes a deep breath. The scent of him is fresh enough to soothe him, though it’s nowhere near as comforting as having his best friend in his arms.
After the events of last night, Chrom prays his own title of ‘best friend’ hasn’t changed.