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enmeisokusai · 1 year ago

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✧。◟ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ — chrome x reader [PGR] [Happy Activation Day Chrome!!]

please don't be in love with someone else

a.n. - sometimes chrome just raghhhhhh. HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHROMEE!! I promise to finish that other fic for you LOL also thank you for being one of my resilient lil construct, my Lucia and Wanshi are happy to be with you <3 mwa mwa (IM SORRY AGAIN IM LATE)

pairing - chrome x f!commandant

words - 7,881 (it's why I took long TvT)

tags/warnings - none. fluff! alcohol is involved yet again! chrome x reader shenanigans. yall up to what happens in the end uwu. non-sexual naked cuddling. cute stuff for chrome because happy activation day!!

The stars seemed to have blessed Babylonia tonight.

A crowded room. A brightly lit, dazzling chandelier. Wine and champagne glasses clinking together. Orchestral music filling the room — this is a sight that those who can afford luxury would generally see in their life. High society placed itself on top of the pedestal, overlooking its body that wore no gold.

Forget the war that raged outside; Babylonia beheld the grandeur of the rich folk for tonight, and the stars had rewarded their presence by granting the brightest evening for them.

Such sight is normal to a Smith. After all, they were always born with a silver spoon, to feed and to be fed by high society, for everyone to see.

But not for Chrome. He always thought this life was never fit for him.

There he is — champagne in hand, forcing laughter and faking smiles to those who are around him. Humanoid legs are already used to the wages of war, yet they trembled under the hours of talking to people that only blur in his M.I.N.D.

He is only here due to his father, Mr. Smith. “For you to be familiar with the people you will work with in the future,” he always said to Chrome, “be on your best attitude. Show them the makings of a true Smith.”

But they only bore him. He would rather be doing things that are mundane in the eyes of high society, such as lounging in the comforts of Strike Hawk's dormitory; dealing with Kamui's antics, helping Wanshi fix his sleeping pod, tasting Camu's dishes...or cleaning the corners of his room, or strolling the walkways of Babylonia, or playing chess with a certain someone...

A scene flashed in his memory — a warm hand reaching out to him, a sweet smile, a soft laugh, and the chessboard with scattered chess pieces in front of him. A scene that happened not too long ago, a memory so fresh that made him flush a light shade of pink. Was it the alcohol? No, usual alcohol would never make a construct drunk, unless...?

“How are you holding up, Chrome?” A familiar voice called out to him.

Mr. Smith. Holding an identical champagne glass in his hand, he looks up to Chrome with an expectant gaze. Chrome straightens, clearing his throat. “Mr. Smith, I am doing well. I have met the people you told me earlier.”

“Glad to know,” He nods, “it's beneficial as a Smith to meet your future prospects. You know that already, Chrome, don't you?”

“I do, Mr. Smith,” Chrome solemnly spoke.

“Other than that, have you seen the Commandants who are invited tonight?” Smith tsked, “they have commendable records. They seem to enjoy tonight's feast before they go back to war once more. Especially Gray Raven's Commandant, hm.”

Chrome's ears perked up. “Gray Raven's Commandant is here tonight?”

He knew the party was for high society, with some specially invited commandants. Yet, Gray Raven's Commandant? He overlooked that part, why didn't he know?

“Yes, it's understandable due to the glory they have brought to Babylonia countless times now.” Smith paused, moving his hand to make a circular motion with his glass, “I've seen them earlier. Now, they are nowhere to be found.”

“Ah,” Chrome slightly faltered, muttering, “a shame.”

“They also seem to blend well with us, I'd say.” Smith hums, taking a sip from his glass now, “they look well with us, even. We should try asking them to join when they retire.”

A particular thought crosses in Chrome's M.I.N.D. — a person wearing a simple dress amongst the crowd yet so vibrant, the same warm hand he saw as she held onto his arm, smiling fondly at him. The very thought that somehow made his heart crumble in a good way —

“Chrome?” Smith asked, causing Chrome to snap back to reality, “are you alright? You look red.”

“I do?” Chrome muttered, “I'm sorry. There must be something wrong with my cooling system after I got injured last battle. I am planning to get a maintenance check once more.”

“Alright then,” waving his hand, Smith nodded, “I'll leave you be. I need to meet with other people.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Chrome approaches the nearby table tp place his glass, “I will return soon.”

Finally, away from the party, Chrome found himself lingering outside. The garden outside of the hall seems to be the answer to his dilemma, the cool breeze and the artificial night decorated with the authentic stars sparkling above him. He breathes into this sight — once more, a thought that popped into his M.I.N.D.

“The sight may be beautiful in Babylonia,” your voice sent shivers down his spine, “but the ones here on Earth are prettier.”

Bright irises staring at him with a gentle gaze amongst the dark plains, a genuine smile on your lips, “don't you think so, Chrome?”

The memory shook Chrome, his heartbeat skipping. What was it with him lately? Thinking of a particular person that he holds with high regard? It seemed unlike him, the man who only thought of perfection. Battles and tactics are his expertise that makes up his thoughts, yet such stray memories and incredulous scenarios have distracted him since his recent rendezvous with that certain commandant...

His hands tremble. They seem lonely. A small part of him wishes those familiar hands would hold them right now.

Gray Raven's esteemed Commandant. The very thought of her makes Chrome weak. He who should maintain a professional, beneficial relationship with her. Yet, thoughts beyond that relationship seemed to have spawned in his M.I.N.D.

Chrome entertains that thought to no avail. After all, a small part of him wishes he should have seen or heard from you tonight.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”

Yes, something like a nursery rhyme that is sung by you. Sometimes, Chrome thinks you drove him insane to the point that he's having hallucinations of you.

“...how I wonder where you are~”

Wait. That voice seems closer and familiar. Surely, he wasn't dreaming. Chrome rushes to the source of the voice.

“up above the world so high,” the voice hiccupped, “like a diamond in the ska-ay~!”

Chrome thinks this sight is one of the best he's ever seen: sitting on the ledge of a fountain, gazing at the water beneath, your sky-blue dress nearly submerged yet you didn't look like she minded; in fact, in your hand was a glass of unfinished wine, and your face seemed too pleased with your antics, a contagious smile written on your face.

Gray Raven Commandant in the flesh. And drunk. (According to Chrome's readings anyway)

“Commandant!” Chrome's voice - shaking? - echoed throughout the garden, making you look, “Over here! What are you doing?”

You finally look at Chrome, your usual bright eyes laced with tiredness and mirth. Upon recognizing the figure that was approaching you, you cheerfully raised your glass to him.

“Hello stranger!!” your shoulders shake with visible joy, “you're hereeee, come on, come on! Join me in watching the fishies~”

Stranger? Perhaps the alcohol fogged your senses. “Fishies?” Curious, Chrome follows where your hand points, to the fountain...devoid of any fish, “I...see?”

Instead of fish, Chrome could recognize that the 'fish' the Commandant referred to are the coins that people must have thrown into the fountain. The reflection brought by the moonlight highlighted with the pattern underneath the fountain must have tricked you into thinking she was talking to fishes. Not wanting to break your delight, Chrome plays along.

“I named that lil' blue fish Lee, because he looks grumpy.” You giggle as you point to a blue-shaded coin, “then that pink one is Liv!”

“That's cute, Commandant,” Chrome chuckles, opting to sit at a considerable distance from you, “who else did you name?”

Lights over the garden seemed ethereal. Haloed with the gentle glow of the skies, the white noise of the party inside the hall, and the mellow laughter of the Commandant — Chrome could easily capture this memory for a lifetime, although you couldn't recognize him. He could try taking away the glass in hand and tell you that you're drunk, but he does not. Instead, he asks more about the 'fishes' you found. And somehow, you went silent.

“Commandant?” Chrome gently pokes the silent Commandant, “are you alright?”

“Mmm,” closing your eyes, you tapped your chin, “stranger, I can't see Chrome...”

The nickname seems to grow on him now. “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe he's sleeping.”

“Fishies never sleep!” opening your eyes just to stare at Chrome, “that's basic knowledge!”

Chrome could finally see you properly: the dress snugly fit you, the train already submerged in the water. Some strands of your hair framed your face perfectly. Alcohol flushed your cheeks in the shade of pink. Irises that still lit brightly amidst the dark, a sight Chrome could never forget. Blinking to come back to reality, Chrome reached out to brush away the strand that was on your lips.

“Some fishes sleep with their eyes open.” Chrome smiled, “but what you said is still, it's true, Commandant is always smart.”

A smug smirk flashed on your lips, arms crossed to assert her amusement, “hm! I told you!”

One of the sleeves fell to your arm as you moved. Flickering to that, Chrome spoke before reaching out to lift it, “Yes, of course. Commandant, are you not cold?”

“Nope!” Somehow filled with a new burst of energy, you drunkenly placed the glass in front of Chrome, making Chrome reel back, before struggling to stand up on the ledge with the heels on. Chrome acts quickly, aiding you by holding your legs for support. “I realized something!”

“Commandant! What are you doing, get down!”

“I need to find Chrome!” you spoke with such reverence, it could make Chrome cry, yet it only made him scared, “he could be drowning!”

Drowning? “Commandant, I know you're smart,” Chrome hesitates, before speaking, “but fishes don't dro-”

“-I know what I'm doing!” you grin at him, rotating your arm as if exercising and exhales, “that's why I'm going to save him from this ocean!”

At that moment, Chrome realizes where he went wrong. “Wait, Commandant, no!”

At least he tried to stop her.

A shivering Commandant is wrapped in Chrome's coat for tonight.

“Are you alright, Commandant?” Chrome spoke as he ran through the streets, “do you still feel cold?”

After the stupid attempt at jumping head-first into the water, Chrome had to save you - even after trying to get away from his hold. Now, you were tightly wrapped in Chrome's coat, carried like a princess in his arms.

Sneezing, you shook your head furiously, “I'm fine, you stranger! Why did you stop me?”

“The waters in Babylonia in the evening get colder. I don't want you to suffer from hypothermia.”

You whine, before sneezing once more. “I was fine! Oh well, I managed to get Chrome though.”

“You managed to- what?”

Fishing out of his hold and the coat, you childishly held out a white and blue-tinted coin. Chrome could only sigh in disbelief.

“Also, put me down, you stranger!” Attempting to wiggle out, you whine more as Chrome tightens his hold on you, the familiar way illuminated by the lights already in sight, “my mama said not to trust strangers!”

“Right,” Chrome laughed, his heart skipping a beat, “don't worry, I'm taking you to Chrome right now.”

Halfway through the run, you drifted off to sleep (and it granted Chrome the opportunity to see you comfortable with your guard down). Finally, they arrived in front of the Smith Estate.

Carefully opening the door, Chrome is met with a comforting silence. Were the cleaning robots still around? He knew his father wouldn't be around until the next day, which meant the robots were the only company. Stepping inside, he finds the place deserted, the faint sound of the Commadant's breathing filling the room. Placing you (not minding the water dripping off of you) to his room on his bed, Chrome rushes to the kitchen.

Still no robots around. Easy to explain and less hassle to explain why a stranger was in his bed. He'll worry about that the next day. Quickly, he grabbed a few pieces of food from the fridge and concocted a hangover drink and water.

Upon returning to his room, Chrome finds you still asleep on his bed. Silently placing the items he brought for you, Chrome wistfully gazes at you.

“you're always taking care of me, Chrome,” you'd say if you were awake, your voice echoes in his M.I.N.D., “I want to return the favor.” (You are now corrupting his thoughts.)

A little stir from you made Chrome snap out of his daydream. Slowly opening your eyes, looking around your surroundings in a daze, Chrome leans down to check on you.

“Commandant,” he softly calls out to you, hand touching yours, “are you awake? Can you sit up?”

“Mmmhm,” rubbing your eyes as you sat up, Chrome aiding you, “where am I...?”

“You're in my room. I will take you back to Gray Raven's headquarters when you've freshened up and rested. Come on, drink some water.”

Your legs dangle on the side of Chrome's bed as you sat up. Your figure, although shivering from the stunt, still seems smaller than him. Chrome reached out to grab the glass of water and hold it out for you, but you only stare at him.

“Commandant?”

“Ch...” you whisper, slowly lifting your cold hands to cup Chrome's cheeks, “Chrome...”

His heart flutters at the call of his name. With a free hand, he caresses the hold on his cheeks. “Commandant?”

“Why are you...hot?”

Chrome's cheeks burn at your touch, he noticed. Was it really the cooling system, or that his growing fondness for the Commandant of another team making him like this?

“The cooling system,” he chose the first option, “I'm trying to get it checked, don't worry.”

“Mmh, Chrome...”

Your innocent, sleepy eyes were looking at him. And you were leaning closer to him. A human instinct, Chrome leans forward as well, until their foreheads touch.

“...Chrome. Why don't you call me by my name?”

It feels expensive. It feels surreal. He wanted to tell her, but the words die in his throat.

“I will only do so, if you wanted me to do it, Commandant.”

“Mmh.” Your breath fans Chrome's own lips, further intensifying the heat in both of your cheeks. “Then, Chrome...”

He closes his eyes. Closer, closer...until you pulled away so abruptly. And then, a warm liquid spilled across his chest.

Chrome's eyes opened. Sometimes, the timings are uncanny.

—

A bathtub full of bubbles, lavender dousing the room with its intoxicating smell. Near the bathtub, Chrome sweats nervously as he stares at the guilty figure sitting on the toilet.

“I'm sorry,” the Commandant, who was usually strong and courageous in the face of danger, shrunk in guilt, voice timid and remorse, “I didn't mean to puke in front of you.”

“It's alright, it's not your fault,” he dismisses it, smiling slightly, “I was planning to get you changed...”

He is already wearing a new set of clothing, compared to you. After that quick nap, you seem sober. But based on Chrome's readings, you are still far from being sober. At least, you recognize him now. Squeaking, you shook your head. “I can't just let it slide. Is there anything I can do for Chrome?”

Kneeling on one knee, Chrome awkwardly pats you. “It's okay, really. Um...”

A reddening blush was on Chrome's cheeks as the words died in his throat. He motions to your soiled clothes, clearing his throat in an attempt to gather his pride.

“Commandant, I am going to...” whispering, “...I'm going to take off your clothes so you can...um, take a bath.”

You stare at him. Blinking tired eyes at him, you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

You turn your back on him, presenting the zipper on your back. For you, it seemed normal (Liv and Lucia are always hands-on whenever you are invited to events like this, so they're seen what's behind those clothes). But Chrome, whose ventilation was now out of place from the possible outcomes running through his head, was shaking and turning into a blushing tomato.

“You can unzip me, Chrome,” you pipped, noticing Chrome's silence, “I can't reach the top.”

A shaky exhale from Chrome. He mutters something you couldn't hear, but could feel the small pressure from his hand holding your hair to the side before resting on your shoulder.

“I will...start unzipping you, Commandant.”

It feels...intimate. The way Chrome held onto the zipper with care, thoughts running wild in his M.I.N.D., dragging it down slowly. You notice it, despite the alcohol fogging your thoughts. The sound of Chrome's nervous breathing, the water dripping from the faucet, the bubbles on the tub — it almost makes you sober.

However, a question seemed to linger on your lips. But before you could ask, Chrome had already unzipped your dress, the sleeves finally down on your shoulders.

“I-I'm done, Commandant.”

You turned to Chrome, a smile on your lips, “Thank you! But...are you...okay...?”

“Yes.”

You weren't that convinced. In front of you, Chrome's hands shook, and his face was in the deepest shade of red. You tilted your head to the side, before shimmying out of your clothes. Yes, still in front of the man who has been nothing but an angel to you.

“I'm done!” You excitedly quipped, standing up, causing the dress to fall to the floor. “where am I going next?”

Seemingly snapping out of his trance, Chrome looks down to pick up your clothes and dashes to the door. He stops by the door frame, his back facing you. “I need to put your clothes in the washer. They'll be ready after you take a bath.”

“Chrome, will-”

But he was already out of the door.

Chrome remembers every part of the laundry process, even without help from the robots. Yet, even though he has loaded up the washing machine (he knows it'll be done in at least 2 hours, clean and fragrant), his hands are still shaking, the memory in the bathroom turning his mind into a haze.

Even when he closed his eyes after he unzipped your dress, or when he heard it drop to the floor, he couldn't help but imagine — how your skin must feel under his touch, soft or smooth; the expanse of your back, would there be goosebumps like when you touch him; would there still be a smile on your face even when you would know about his feelings?

He accidentally slams the door of the washing machine too hard. It's all pointless, really; all he wanted was to show how eager his rapt attention, yet terrified that he may have crossed unwanted boundaries. Maybe he needed some rest. That's right - it has been a long week anyways. Sighing, he leaves to go back to the bathroom, in case you fell back to sleep...

— except, he called it too early.

“Chroooome,” you cried out as you whimpered in the tub, bubbles covering everywhere but your face, “I'm drowning!”

Suffice to say, he wasn't going to be relaxed tonight.

The water was warm.

And so was the hand that you wish you held onto as you dangled your arm on the ledge of the tub, reaching out to Chrome, who sat on the floor. You wanted something - but the golden boy wouldn't budge.

“Join meee,” you pouted, “don't you see I am a lonely girl sitting here so lonely?”

The light of the bathroom casts a glow over Chrome's frame. The sound of the water splashing around, paired with his humming, sends your mind in a close lullaby, you fear you'll only fall asleep at this rate.

“I see you well, Commandant.” He shook his head, “however, I will stay here.”

“Mean.” Huffing, you sunk to the comforts of the bubbling water, feigning annoyance to him “At least I could wash your hair...you said you'd allow me to see you with your hair down...”

“Commandant,” it's a surprise how Chrome could still hold his composure, voice calm and cool, “you are drunk. You are also very dirty, so it's best you wash up now and get dressed in something warm.”

“I'm not drunk!” Exasperatedly raising your hands, you glared at Chrome, “and I can't wash my hair...”

You look at him expectantly, to which he stares back with curiosity. Pointing to your wet hair, you whispered. “I always wondered what it's like to have my hair washed.”

“And?”

“Will you...wash my hair, please, Chrome?”

Crossing his arms, he thinks for a moment. “Will you promise not to do anything stupid?”

“No.”

As he scoots closer to you, you reeled back. Chrome mistook it as something else, when he sees the look on your face.

“...don't tell me you are planning to wash my hair in that.”

“Pardon?”

“Strip!” you pouted, “I get fussy when someone isn't touching me.”

In an instant, you see Chrome's cheeks tint a shade of pink. “Commandant, that sounded...”

“Hurry up,” you yawned, scooting a little closer to the faucet on your legs, “I won't look.”

True to your word, you look elsewhere but wherever Chrome was. Raising your hands high to your face (look how pruned they are, the longer you stay), before the shuffling of clothes and the sound of cautiousness tiptoes its way into the water, beside you. From your peripheral vision, you see two hands reach out to hold your open hands — have these hands looked so lonely until Chrome came?

“Look at you,” he huffs, fingers caressing the pad of your pruned fingers, “you should have been faster.”

You find comfort in this cramped space — the warm water that you're doused in, a familiar body close to yours, a heat that you never realized you've been craving all this time. You crawl; on Chrome's legs, your scent intertwined with the smell of lavender, you hope it rubs on the man beside you. Unknowingly, you crawled further, until your back hits the sturdy structure of Chrome's physique, leaning back to curl up in his chest.

“Can we stay like this?” the words slipped past your mouth, faster than you could have noticed. Without a word, his hands drifted to the expanse of your shoulders, your arms, your clavicle.

His hands rest there, as your body relaxes in his embrace. The subtle, erratic beating of his heart is there, it's not a surprise when yours mirrored his. And you smell the hint of vanilla on his skin, forgetting that he's humanoid in these very small moments. Yet, you breathe into it, the smell lulling you to sleep faster.

“If you want to,” he mutters, “I thought you wanted to rest.”

“I do, but I feel comfortable when there's someone else.”

The quiet snap of the shampoo bottle opens. Along the way, he places his hands over your head, gently massaging the tips of your hair to make the shampoo bubble, to your scalp. Gentle, soft as he held you like this. The way he pours the water over your head, careful enough to not let it reach your eyes. You must smell like lavender now; the scent already sinking into your skin, like how Chrome's warmth was seeping onto your cold ones. His touch felt unreal, it makes you want the world to freeze for a moment and only behold this scenario for a long, long time.

“Commandant,” even his voice was a whisper, movements slowing to a stop, a telltale sign that he's done, and a little emotion was hanging on your chest - annoyance - “finish up washing now. Your hair is done.”

A dissatisfied grunt escaped your lips. Sitting up straight, you turned to him, hands outstretched. “Let me wash your hair too.”

Slightly looking down from your chest, his eyes shot up to meet yours, the blush that was on his cheeks already invading his ears. “N-No. This bath is only for you, Commandant.”

“Pleaseeee,” you dawdled, brushing away the bangs that covered his face, “I want to help you.”

Although hesitant, he lets you anyway; you, crawling to straddle his thighs, reaching out for the shampoo on your right. His eyes were carefully trailing your movement, which made you shrink under his grasp, but you never minded (after all, the both of you are naked in front of each other, what else was the difference?). You mimicked his movements: massaging the scalp, entirely focused on how you moved your hands on him.

“You're so pretty, Chrome...”

“Huh...?”

“I'm drunk but you're still pretty.” you giggled, booping his nose, “in the morning, when I'm sober, I know you'll be prettier.”

You thread your hands into his hair now, forgetting that bubbles should come out, but you're too focused on everything around you, drowsiness coming to catch you.

“Your hair,” you mumbled, aware of his hands placed on your waist, “...it feels really soft.”

“Does it?” He chuckled, eyes closing, “I'm glad you think so, Commandant.”

Commandant. A title you've always worn, but the way he called you that, a gnawing feeling crammed in your chest — with that pretty mouth of his, a stray thought made you think: what would it be like if he were to say your name?

“You never call me by my name.”

Turquoise irises locked with yours. Unable to pull away, mesmerized by the magnitude it beheld as you stared at each other — you wanted to speak, but Chrome beats you to it.

“I- I never thought I'm allowed to say it.” Looking away, the flush you've seen earlier came back and dusted his cheeks, “we never established it before.”

“Call me by my name then, Chrome.”

You wonder how your name would sound when it leaves his lips. You wonder, if the sound of your heartbeat reverberates if speaks, if he calls you in a name hidden behind your title — and for a moment, you've realized.

“[Y/N],” it is quiet, a soft tone calling for your name, “[Y/N],”

All you could do is close your eyes. Your mind is racing. The sound of two people, breathing in the silence, in the warmth of another's presence. The bubbles are now dissolving in your fingers and in his hair, you're certain the ones on your head are gone too. Were you still drunk, or had the intensity of your feelings reached its threshold? It made your mind spin, and your fingers tremble. What was going on?

“Did that sound weird?” You opened your eyes to find Chrome's worried gaze. Still realizing the situation you're both in - and yet you were both comfortable now - you opened your mouth, only to close it.

You realized you've always liked Chrome all this time.

And the way he said your name is far from what you've imagined. You breathe in once more at his appearance: disheveled hair coated in shampoo, flushed cheeks in contrast to his pale complexion, doe-eyed in the shade of the light. Of course, you had to fall for this man. And it made your heart ache - alcohol or the touches alone? Who knows.

“No.” You quietly spoke, looking away, hiding the blush on your cheeks, “I...want to get out now.”

Chrome doesn't say a word. Instead, he stood up and left you there - confused, in a daze. When he comes back, a pair of clothes were on his arms.

“Can you stand, co...I mean, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for the clothes.”

You spoke by the time you re-entered his room, the oversized shirt hanging loosely on your body. You looked at your appearance in the mirror twice before leaving the room, where you'd deemed it was good enough, however; judging by the way Chrome was staring at you intensely, head to toe, you couldn't help but wonder - is something wrong?

Chrome must have changed the sheets first, the shade of blue occupying the space on the bed. He now stood behind a smaller stool, a hair dryer in hand. You awkwardly stood, gesturing to the sight behind you: “I promise I'll repay you back when I get back.”

“The shirt,” He looks away for a moment, before clearing his throat, “it looks...good on you.”

You looked down — the oversized white shirt with the print fading away reaching down your thighs, just above your knees. At least, you were wearing something to combat the cold, yet your back catches the wetness of your hair, which made your temperature drop further. Noticing this, Chrome motions you to sit on the stool.

You are compliant with his wishes. He starts to turn the hair dryer on, before carefully handling your hair. In front of you was a tall mirror, which must have been Chrome's height. As he gently starts to dry your hair, you take in your surroundings - it's your first time in Chrome's room. As they say, the bedroom reflects its owner; tidy, neat, and everything in place. Various books with small print on the spine you couldn't make out on the shelves, the Queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. A perfectly neat study table with a few papers here and there near the dresser of the bed. It brings you to shame, how cleanly Chrome sets up his room which is far different from yours.

It reflects; your senses in a daze as you feel Chrome weaving through your locks, attentive to how his turquoise irises are on his masterpiece. Your eyes look up at his face once more.

“You also look good with your hair down.”

His attention flickers back to you. It's true - he looks more human this way, hair framing his face. Blinking slowly, he sheepishly laughs. “Ah, I always have my hair down after a shower. Do I look weird?”

“No.” You admit, “you look handsome still.”

Another wave of silence washes over. You realize you're more sober this way, the guilt of not talking too much gnawing on the back of your throat. But you are thankful, Chrome takes the opportunity.

“You are wearing my shirt that the F.O.S. gave,” humming, he brushes away the hair on your back, heat radiating off on your back, “they gave it shortly after graduation. I took it before father could notice.”

The hair dryer shuts off. He places it on the dresser, eyes still on your now-dried hair. You asked, “does your father not want you wearing these things?”

“He thinks it's useless. After all, medals and honor are the only valuable things the college would give to you.”

“But I see that it seems well-used,” you smell the cologne Chrome uses every day, “like you've always worn it.”

His hand is on your shoulder, tracing the outline. “Shortly after my Construct surgery, I always wore this. Anywhere as long as my father wouldn't see.”

A thought where Chrome wears the shirt comes to mind, in bed, clutching the fabric. Holding a handful and raising it to your nose, you spoke, “is there a reason?”

But he only sighs. “I am a Construct.” He looks up to meet your eyes in the mirror, “I am made for war. I threw away my humanity a long time ago.”

Those words tugged a hidden emotion in you. Spinning to meet his figure, you craned your neck just so you can properly look at him. Words are bubbling in your mouth, but it comes out dry.

Yet, you try anyway. “It's true that you're made for war, but you shouldn't be denied of these...”

“It's alright, co...[Y/N].” The call of your name sends your heart into somersaults, “I've learned it the hard way. There is no need for me to feel that way anymore.”

“Besides,” he added, as he got on one knee, smiling, “it's time for you to take a nap. It's past 2 am now. I wouldn't want my Commandant to be sleep deprived, yes?”

“I-” you looked at Chrome, you don't pretend you didn't mishear his words. Looking at his irises, you took a deep breath.

“The first time I saw Chrome,” you began, “I always thought you were attractive.”

That caught his attention. Tilting his head with an eyebrow raised, he curiously asked, “I'm sorry?”

“I wondered why a human like me was roaming around the city ruins that day.” You fidgeted with the hem of your clothes, “But then, I saw your inver-device.”

Ah, this memory. Chrome remembers it fondly. In the heat of dispute, where Lee had been injured badly, he doesn't remember if it was the situation at hand or the way the sunlight shone down on you that day - either way, he always thought it was something for that moment.

“It didn't change one bit of my impression of you.” You take a deep breath, “I think...it became something else.”

Your heart beats chaotically. You're sure it's the alcohol, but you're also aware that it's your feelings shaping at this very moment. Your hands tremble with want - to hold Chrome, to hold his hand.

“Something else?”

“I don't see you as a Construct, Chrome,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his chin, eyes trailing where your finger touched, “I see you more than that.”

You're aware; his gaze on you, as his own fingers shake as they touched yours. Such feelings have echoed in your mind, and you are afraid they wouldn't go away unless you tell them upfront. Are you scared to be rejected? Too bad, you're not; let the alcohol drain all your fears tonight.

“I don't want you to keep calling me 'Commandant'. I don't like it when you see me as someone from F.O.S., but I like it when you touch me, or when you're close to me-”

His hand is holding yours now. Firm, gentle. He's in front of you, and you swore you could see the future reflect in his irises. It's warm, the way he grasped your hand, fingertips touching his lips. His eyes are closed - a single kiss on every finger, mouth muttering some kind of prayer.

“[Y/N],” he whispers on your fingers, gazing at you with an expression you've never seen him make before.

Loving. Adoration. Something along those lines. It claws on your stomach, inching up to the top, that if you opened your mouth you would regret.

“When I saw you at that time, I didn't know what to think. I remember thinking: would you only be another soldier I will see on the battlefield, regardless if dead or alive?”

“Am I the former?”

“A part of me thought so. But...”

He pauses, before taking your hand to his chest, a strong vibration echoing there. Your heart feels the same, it wishes to free itself from the cages of your ribcage and into whatever was in the middle of the both of you.

“If I were to lose you, I...wouldn't know what I'll do.”

Heaviness weaves in your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck for support, blissfully unaware of the distance left between your lips. “Chrome,”

“[Y/N], I cannot...”

“I like you, Chrome.” It is a genuine confession. You never lied. “I like you too much, that I feel like my heart can't handle it if you disappear on me, too.”

A confession that brought tears to your eyes. “I want to run away with Chrome. I don't want to be away from you.”

“I'm not going away.” He took you by the waist, propping you on his thighs, “I'm here.”

“Meeting you...being here with you...it feels enchanting.” You closed your eyes, blindingly touching wherever your hands meet, “Please don't be in love with someone else...”

Chrome feels like it's the first time for him to recognize the ability to love. The passion for studying, living in the moment where examinations take place, keeping everything orderly — it has always been how he always lived. Yet, for the first time — someone was here in his room, in his touch, in this space. It makes him greedy; it makes him wild.

“[Y/N],” his hands cup your cheek, nuzzling your cheek, “I feel the same way. I like you - I adore you. Every glory I will bring to you, it will be all for you.”

That confession triggered something inside of you - to bridge the gap between the both of you. Leaning forward, the urge to slam your lips to him right there and then grows fervently. However, a hand stops your advances. Pulling back, you are met with a blushing Chrome, looking at you in awe.

“Comman- I mean, [Y/N], as much as I want to kiss you...I cannot. I can't kiss you when you are still drunk.”

“But I want to, let me show you how much I like you.”

His hand easily slips under your shirt, warm ones grasping your hips, rubbing circles around it, “In the morning. When you are sober, when you are about to make better judgement. I will let you do whatever you want.”

A mischievous smile graced your lips. “Anything?”

The blush on his face became a darker shade. Shyly nodding, “Yes, anything.”

He eases into his arms. Lifting you up and carrying you to bed, a thought crosses your mind — you, in a long white gown, and him, in a silver tuxedo. You see him in the lights of the room, illuminated in this dark evening, his smile sending ripples of your heart into motion. You see him this way, your hand carrying a bouquet of flowers that you both love, your fingers intertwined with a ring of promise. In your thoughts he carries you like this, and you swore it felt familiar; one day, you wish. You would have to tell him in the morning.

But for now, the alcohol hits you harder more than ever, drowsiness threatening to shut your eyes. As you felt yourself dip into the mattress - his bed - you wish you could stay with him, the lingering warmth on your skin now fading as you feel him pull away. But your mouth is a jumbled mess, only opting for the fatigue to succumb to you. So, you use your hand, grasping whatever you could reach - his shirt, his hand, his arm.

“Don't go.” You beg, voice laced with grogginess and want, “won't you stay here?”

“I will be sitting here next to you. Don't worry, I'm not going away.”

“No,” your voice sounds like you're pleading now, “don't go, stay beside me. I want you to be beside me when I wake up.”

“[Y/N]...”

“Stay with me, Chrome.”

With a sigh, you feel the space beside you dip. The shuffling of sheets, the smell of lavender invading your weary senses. At last, warm hands enclose yours, before placing them close to his lips, one last kiss before darkness consumed your senses.

“Goodnight, [Y/N],” you knew he'd tell you that, “I will see you in the morning.”

Chrome doesn't see you in the morning.

When sunlight slipped through the windows, he woke up to an empty space beside him. Disappointment comes knocking on his door, calling out that he was only dreaming for something unreal, something that only humans would indulge in. Although the sheets prove that someone else was here with him last night, he doesn't dwell on that slipping hope. Instead, disappointment and frustration, paired with despondency, makes a home inside his chest and his M.I.N.D.

No longer interested in ruminating on the mattress, he drags himself out of bed. However, the robots that usually greet him aren't around still. But the floors and the walls on the rooms he passed are cleaner than what he saw last night.

Probably elsewhere. Probably at the garden.

But the glass door to the garden shows no signs of robots, at least where his sight can reach. No robots cutting grass or cleaning the pool. At times like these, they should've been around. Where were they?

A sound of an R5 cleaning robot chimes in nearby. Chrome follows the sound, and the sight isn't something he was expecting.

“You did well,” your voice feels like a cloud, floating amongst the sea of beeping robots, “thank you for your help.”

Your back faces Chrome. Crouching in front of a faceless R5 cleaning robot, you gently patted its "head", small giggles on your lips.

“You're a good robot, aren't you,” the sound of beeping seemingly mirroring an appreciative noise, “you're a very good robot.”

A sizzle comes out of the oven, to which you jump to your feet, scrambling to reach the stove. “Ah, it's getting burned!”

Chrome couldn't help but admire you; the way you move, your interactions with the robots although lifeless, and your cautiousness seemed to boost his adoration for you. It must have been his M.I.N.D., but the sunlight on your toes, his shirt that fits you perfectly despite being too big for you, and the smile as you tasted whatever you were cooking — it hits him harder. The want, the like, the adoration for someone he could never think he'd fall for. The feeling that his chest had earlier disappeared; only warmth began to repair its fractured roots.

“Chrome?” Your quiet voice called out, the beep of the robot chiming in, “you're awake.”

“And you're here.”

Is this what pining feels like? An unspoken feeling that settles deep between the distances of the two of you. He knows he shouldn't hope, when a night drowned in alcohol remembers nothing. Yet, the way your eyes seem to tell him something, he hopes to cling onto whatever was left in his pride.

“Good morning,” he spoke, aware of his morning voice now, “I apologize that you had to be the one to cook.”

“N-no, it's alright! The robots mostly did the work. I merely supported them.”

“Still,” he slowly approached you, timid footsteps leading to you, “the fact that you treat them as if they're human too speaks a lot.”

“It's even a surprise that they show no hostility to you. They are trained to fend off those who are unfamiliar in the household.”

“Commandant [Y/N] is welcomed.” the robot from earlier chirped, “helped us with housework.”

“Mr. Smith also invited me here once in a while to talk about politics.” You shrugged, opting to pat the robot once more, “I just did a favor for them.”

You nodded to it, to which it purrs in your touch. Satisfied, it happily trots away, probably deciding to work elsewhere.

Another silence. You've decided to go back and finish cooking the food, but the fire had long been doused (probably from the advancement of this stove?). Chrome wants to talk, yet no words could be formulated in his head. After the agonizing long silence, you took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

“I remember what happened last night.”

Chrome freezes. He looks up to meet your guilty eyes looking elsewhere. “You do?”

“I...am regretful that I puked on you. That's why I decided to clean up here as an exchange.”

Ah, so you don't remember what happened afterwards. Chrome's heart sinks, before noticing you looking away, and a creeping blush on your cheeks.

“I...also remember that I asked you to take a bath with me.”

Memories of last night came crashing over his M.I.N.D. The garden, the bed, the bathtub, the hair dryer, and your skin — all a mixture of things that only makes him go haywire. His blush mirrors yours; that means one more thing.

“I also remember telling you how I feel.” You began, “and I...”

The sinker comes. And Chrome's heartbeat isn't sure now. But you - you approached him, eyes down, figure covered, but reaching out to him. With shallow breaths, you raised your hand to his chest, before looking up. And there - your eyes meet his. Same innocent, shimmering eyes looking at him with vigor, with enchantment; he forgets how to breathe.

“I like you, Chrome.”

You've said it once more. Sober, genuine, and true. And it breaks Chrome's heart into pieces, folded and mashed into dough, before it forms in the shape of a heart. You've set the oven now; his feelings are ready to be baked, ready to be eaten - and he wants you. No, he needs you to be the one to take it.

“I still like you, even when I'm drunk or sober. I want to be with you all the time. I want you, Chrome. I want you to be part of the future that I am building.”

Wordlessly, he captures your hips and pulls you close, him leaning down just so the proximity knows no bounds. He feels your breath ghost his lips, your heartbeat in his ribcage - it beats, and beats, and beats so loudly he forgets you're in the kitchen at daylight; in a house he's grown up with no love, but he's here now. Creating a love that no Smith can forge.

“A concrete object made of materials and information, whose borders are continuously constructed and reconstructed,” said the definition for 'Smith'. He could live in that definition forever, but what about Chrome?

“I am forging a new one.” He whispers, “I am...bridging the new future with you.”

Your eyes are shining, and there he knew-

“I like you, too, [Y/N].”

If only bodies were capable of seeing what's happening underneath, a cadenza ringing in Chrome's heart, beating furiously for you, only you. You smiled, a mischievous gaze written across your face.

“Does the offer about me doing anything I want when I'm sober still stand?”

He smiles back. “Of course.”

“I want to kiss you.”

Tiptoeing to reach Chrome's height, you craned your neck and tugged his shoulder. But Chrome is kind; he hoists you up by the hips, capturing your lips in an instant.

Sweet is a word to describe the first kiss Chrome shared with someone in his life. Forget the war, forget that you're on the kitchen island; it's only two lovers baring their adoration for one another, sharing a kiss blessed in daylight. It's warm, it's soft, it's needy - the way you both melt into each other, how you wrapped your arms around his neck, or how his hands are holding you up. Enchanted, Chrome's M.I.N.D. echoes, it's really enchanting.

Satiated, you both pull away, breathless, as your foreheads touch. He doesn't let you go, though. You (unfortunately) do, when the other kitchen door opens, a parade of little robots bursting through the door.

You cheer as the little robots go through the surprise: a small banner written "Happy Birthday!" hastily, and the cake you baked earlier with the robots. Chrome looks at you confused, before noticing what the parade had brought.

“How-”

“Happy birthday, Chrome,” You beamed, hands cupping his cheeks, “you deserve the celebration.”

“Thank you.” He whispers on your chin, leaving little kisses there, “I really appreciate this...I appreciate you.”

“You should enjoy today.” You winked, “my birthday present to you is for later.”

“Later?”

You squeezed his arm. He blushes. “Yes, later.”

Chrome is thankful his heart doesn't need to somersault out of his chest now. At least, until later.

HAPPY LATE ACTIVATION DAY CHROME!!!!!! please like, reblog, share, comment down on this post! don't copy and plagiarize my work!!

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