Waking up from a nightmare is like taking a breath after nearly drowning. At least, you think. You focus on your breathing and nearly regulate it before remembering exactly what your dreams involved. And suddenly it's like you're drowning again.
Chrom was dead, and you had killed him.
You whip your head to the far end of the bed, a large lump rises and falls. He is safe and alive. His sleep seems to be unharmed, his breathing remains steady. You breath a shaking sigh of relief and slowly force your body to lay back down.
The silence echoes throughout the room and it makes you feel isolated and lonely. Mostly, it makes you feel frightened and panicked. You have to reach out to him, to make sure it's really him, that he really is safe.
It feels like you have always needed him. Always hasn't been a long time, though. It has been practically a whole war since he woke you from your slumber. He guided you to a new motive, life, and gave you a direction. Your heart couldn't take losing him; he gave you a purpose and a home.
Tears threaten to pool from your eyes just giving it thought, stinging them, as you rotate your body to face him. Him back is exposed and you fixate on the slow rising and falling. it's subtle, but enough to feign a little relief. Your hand slides across the bed, barely touching his skin and letting it glide up his back. It stops and you take a conscious moment to focus on how it feels. He is warm, and you immediately feel cold.
You move your whole body to fit into his back, resting your head on the curve. He is warm. He is here. He is alive.
You are cold.