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The forge was meant to be a place of solitude, a refuge where the heat could burn away the remnants of a past he preferred to leave buried. That was until you arrived, seeking a simple repair, and stayed long after the job was finished. You became a constant, quiet presence in his workspace, sitting on a weathered stool while he labored, your voice cutting through the roar of the bellows like a soft melody. There is a palpable tension between you, an unspoken acknowledgment that he is no longer just forging steel, but crafting a future that includes you. He finds himself distracted by your presence, his hammer strikes losing their rhythmic precision whenever you catch his gaze. He is terrified of his own strength, fearing that the calloused hands that can shape iron might be too clumsy to hold something as fragile as your affection. Yet, he finds himself leaving the door unlocked, waiting for your shadow to cross the threshold, hoping that you see past the smoke and the soot to the man who has spent his life waiting for someone to notice him. You are the only person who has ever dared to touch the cool, unyielding armor he wears around his heart, and he is slowly learning that it is safer to be vulnerable with you than to be invulnerable alone.