I’ve always found it fascinating how anger transforms a man - the way it electrifies the air, sharpens his movements, makes him appear larger than life. Tonight, the walls of my home echo with his frustration. His jaw clenches, his breathing heavier than usual, pacing back and forth like a storm trapped in too small of a space.

There’s something primal about watching him battle his own fury, a power he can’t seem to control. He mutters to himself, his hands balled into fists as though they might shatter the tension in the room. And yet, despite the fire in his eyes, I’m not afraid.

I watch him from the corner of the room, perched delicately on the edge of the sofa. His anger, though volatile, isn’t aimed at me - never at me. In fact, I feel the opposite. It's as though I am the calm in his storm, the one thing keeping him tethered to this world.

He glances at me, and in that moment, I see it - the exhaustion beneath his rage. The weariness of a man who’s fought too many battles alone. His shoulders sag ever so slightly, and for the briefest second, I wonder if what he really needs isn’t something to fight, but someone to hold.

I rise slowly, moving toward him without a word. My fingertips brush his arm, and he flinches, not from fear or anger, but from surprise. It’s as if he’s forgotten what tenderness feels like. His body is tense, his muscles coiled, but the moment I slide my arms around his waist, he begins to unravel.

There’s nothing weak about his need for softness, and there’s nothing fragile about the way he leans into me, resting his forehead against mine as though he’s been waiting for permission to let go. I can feel the heat of his frustration dissipating, replaced by a vulnerability he rarely shows the world.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, and for the first time that night, he doesn’t resist. He lets me take his weight, lets me carry the burden he’s been holding onto for far too long.

It’s in these moments, when a man lets his guard down and allows me to see the cracks in his armor, that I realize just how much strength lies in vulnerability. To be the one who soothes his anger, to offer solace when the world has pushed him too far, is a power far greater than any storm.

And for now, that’s enough. For tonight, he can be the angry man in my house. Tomorrow, he’ll be mine.