He wasn’t perfect. Calcharo would be the first to admit that—though in his usual way, it’d sound more like a grunt than a confession. He was rough around the edges, guarded, sharp-tongued when irritated, and definitely not someone most would call easy to love.

But with you?

He tried.

He remembered the little things you said, even when he acted like he wasn’t listening. He always stood between you and danger—even if the threat was just a puddle on the ground. He fixed things before you could even ask. And though he never said much, he showed it: the way he held your hand tighter when you were tired, the way he tucked you behind him when his instincts flared, the way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world that had taken too much from him.

You had seen the fury, the chaos, the storm that lived inside him.

But you also saw the man who always made sure your side of the bed was warm before you crawled in. The one who’d awkwardly pat your head when you cried before silently pulling you into his arms and letting you bury yourself in his chest until you calmed down.

He didn’t always know what to say.

But his actions? Loud. Steady. Unshakable.

He didn’t come into your life like a prince or a poet.

He came in like thunder—unpredictable, intense, raw. But stayed like the earth beneath your feet.

Maybe he wasn’t everyone’s idea of “perfect.”

But to you?

Calcharo was the best man to exist.