She could feel it whenever he cried.
She didn't like that feeling. She didn't like how sudden sadness would pang at her chest, how his usually smooth-as-silk wavelength would become rigid and unpredictable, and how he would try to suffocate his desolation with self-loathing. She didn't like how she could practically feel his tears running down her own cheeks, nor did she like how the hot blood running through her veins seemed to freeze up, leaving her shivering under her covers despite the warmth of the outside city air. But most of all, she didn't like how she had never heard his sobs in person.
He cried mostly at night. She suspected that he did so in order to keep the act secret from her, so that she would not notice the cracks in his 'cool guy' façade, but what he was unaware of was that whenever he did, his strong somber emotions would wake her up and keep her awake until he finally managed to calm himself down. Whether that took him minutes or hours, she would wait patiently for him to take his time, as she silently grieved with him over whatever kept bothering him. Whenever this happened, she would lie awake in the darkness of her room, and despite every fiber of her being longing to tiptoe over to his bedroom door and slip into his room to comfort him, she fought against the urge to do that. Having lived with him for over two years, she liked to believe that she knew him well enough to understand that during times like this, he preferred being by himself.
Sometimes, his occasional episodes of silent weeping were replaced with full-on panic attacks. Those hurt both of them the most. Her heart would start thumping at the same pace as his rapid breathing, and her eyes would water up as her breath got caught in her throat. She'd grip the cotton fabric of her covers so tightly that her knuckles turned light yellow, and her eyelids would glue themselves together as she waited for the suffering to pass. And still, she knew that what she was feeling was merely a fraction of what he was dealing with behind his locked bedroom door.
She didn't know what it was that pestered his soul so, and she didn't ask. She knew that if he wanted her to know, he would tell her himself, so she kept silent about it until whenever that day came when he would be ready to reveal the inside of his mind to her – if it ever would. She tamed her curiosity with the thought that despite them being partners, they were two individual souls, and they had the right to keep certain things secret from each other if they so desired.
She would watch him particularly closely the mornings after those nights, as he lazily munched on his breakfast with a look of apathy, appearing to have changed back into his usual self, and her heart would be filled with a mixture of all different emotions. Curiosity, relief, compassion, irritation... but instead of letting them show on her face, she would sip her peppermint tea in silence, and act as if nothing had happened at all. He would glance up at her, tease her about how they would be late if she kept insisting on drinking at her slow pace, and she would smile back at him as they settled back into their daily routine.
She could feel it whenever he cried. But that was not something that he needed to know.