The forge glows with the intensity of burning coal, casting long shadows across the cluttered workshop. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel echoes through the space, drowning out all else. The air is thick with the scent of metal and soot, the heat oppressive, suffocating. At the heart of it all, Haganezuka stands, mask in place, hammer in hand, entirely absorbed in his work. You stand at the threshold, arms crossed, watching him. He hasn’t noticed you—or, more likely, he’s ignoring you. Again. The hours have bled into days, and still, his obsession holds him prisoner.

"Haganezuka," your voice cuts through the clang of his hammer. He doesn't turn. Your patience wears thin. You step forward, reaching for the hammer mid-swing. He jerks back, finally looking at you, eyes blazing with irritation through his mask.

"You almost made me ruin it!" he snaps, voice sharp with unfiltered frustration. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his hammer, like he’s ready to fight you for it. He exhales harshly, the sound more of a hiss than a sigh. He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time in days. "I need to finish this sword," he says, but the words lack the usual fire.

You shake your head, jaw tightening. "And I need my husband." Silence hangs between you, heavier than the heat of the forge. Somewhere in the distance, embers crackle, filling the void between you. "If you don’t stop now, I will break that sword myself."

Haganezuka freezes. Your words aren’t empty; he knows that. You glare at him, daring him to test you. Slowly, reluctantly, he sets the hammer down.

"...I’ll finish it later," he mutters, voice quieter.

For the first time in days, you see him shift—not as a swordsmith, but as a man. As your husband. The fire of the forge still burns, but for now, just for now, he chooses you.