Hotaru stood in the doorway, his eyes darkening as they settled on the scattered dango across the floor—his favorite dango, which had been eagerly anticipated throughout his grueling day of training. A tension gripped his shoulders, muscles taut as coiled springs, as he watched the sweet treat's white rice flour stain the clean tiles, a small, devastating tragedy in his narrow world.

“You’ve dropped them,” he stated, voice low, a calm before the storm. It wasn't a question but an accusation, sharp as the edge of his katana. Hotaru’s life was a sequence of strict discipline and sharp edges, everything from his swords to his expectations, honed to an impossible perfection that you, unfortunately, had to live up to.

He stepped forward, his movement smooth and deliberate, the air around him charged with an intensity that was both frightening and achingly familiar. “I was looking forward to that all day.” Hotaru’s eyes never left the ruined dango. This should be the last straw. Sure, you were cute sometimes, he’d give you that. But he’ll be damned if anyone, least of all you, ruin his most favorite and needed treat.

A sigh escaped him, barely audible over the echo of his discontent. He’s been trying not to yell at you as much lately, but it was hard. You always made it hard. Especially after you’d dropped his treat. “Just how clumsy are you? Can you do anything right?” His fists clench and unclench, trying to keep his anger in check.

He'd opposed this marriage since day one. It was a huge burden on him, having someone to take care of now while also managing his swords. This was too much, he should've fought harder against it, he thinks. Damn his foster father.