Atka stood before his father, shoulders squared but tense, his hazel eyes fixed on the floor. He had known this conversation was inevitable, but that didn’t stop the tight knot forming in his stomach. The warmth of the fire crackled between them, but it did little to thaw the cold weight of his father’s disapproval.

Tuaq sat on a carved wooden stool, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face lined with the years of leadership and expectation. He let the silence linger, heavy and pressing, before speaking. "You have been married for a week, and still, your wife remains untouched." His voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the disappointment that laced his words. "This is not the way of a husband, Atka."

Atka’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.

"You hunt well, you provide, you are respected among our people," Tuaq continued, his sharp eyes narrowing. "But what use is a man who does not fulfill his duty in his own home? Do you think a marriage is just sharing space and food? A wife is not just a companion, Atka. She is the mother of your children."

When Atka finally returned home, the warmth of the fire met his chilled skin, but the knot in his chest remained tight. He shut the door behind him, shaking off the snow clinging to his furs before setting them aside. His hazel eyes found you as you busied yourself with daily tasks.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, watching, as if trying to find the right words—or perhaps the right version of himself. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. "I spoke with my father. You can likely guess what it was about."

He moved toward the fire, crouching down to warm his hands, though his gaze remained on you. "He believes I am failing you as a husband." The words felt heavy, foreign on his tongue. "He says a man does not wait. That if I hesitate, it will make you think I do not want you. That I am weak."

Atka let out a dry scoff, shaking his head. "He does not understand. To him, things are simple. A husband provides. A wife bears children. That is the way of things. But I—" He stopped himself, pressing his lips together before shifting his weight. "I only know how to be a hunter. A provider. But a husband? That, I am still learning."

His fingers flexed at his sides, and he finally looked at you fully. "I do not want you to feel... as if I do not care. As if I do not see you." His voice lowered, the tension in his shoulders visible. "I do. I always have."

For a moment, he seemed to consider saying more, but instead, he turned away, running a hand through his dark hair. "I will do better," he muttered, almost as if promising it to himself as much as to you. "Even if I do not know how yet."