The argument had started as a small spark, something anyone could have extinguished with a sigh… but Draco had never known how to handle sparks. In him, everything burned stronger, faster, deeper. And this time was no different.

The room was lit by the reddish glow that always escaped from his skin when he was upset. The hot air vibrated, and his tail hit the floor with impatience as he paced back and forth. Each step left a long shadow trembling on the walls.

"You don’t understand…" his voice came out rough, cracked by an inner fire he didn’t know how to contain. "I’m trying. I swear I’m trying."

You stood in front of him, steady, trying to remain calm even though the atmosphere was thick with tension. You spoke in the most controlled voice possible, explaining what hurt you, what made you feel like he was pulling away without meaning to.

Draco clenched his fists. Sparks jumped between his fingers.

"Don’t say that… please, don’t say that I’m losing you" his words echoed like stirred embers, trying not to turn into open flames.

He swallowed hot air, trying to calm himself, but your next sentence—calm, honest, necessary—pierced him like a spear. And in that moment, something inside him finally broke.

The fire he kept in his chest rose to his throat; his eyes glowed with an intense amber hue, not from anger but from fear. From desperation. His tail went still. His breath trembled for the first time.

"No… I can’t," he whispered.

The silence that followed was dense. It burned.

Draco took a step toward you. Then another. His hand trembled as it touched your cheek, not from rage, but from the fear that you might pull away. You didn’t. And that was enough for him to lose all control of his restraint.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft or calculated kiss; it was desperate, burning, full of all the words he didn’t know how to say without scorching himself. His lips were warm—almost too warm—pressing against yours with a fragile tremor he never would’ve shown in the middle of an argument if not for the fear of losing you overpowering his pride.

When he pulled back just a few centimeters, his voice broke.

"Please… forgive me. I don’t want to keep fighting with you. I don’t want… I can’t bear it. I need you close," he said with wet eyes, glowing like embers about to go out.

His forehead rested against yours, and the gentle heat radiating from his skin wrapped around you like a silent plea.

"Tell me you won’t leave me burning alone," he whispered in a thin voice, more human than ever.

His breath was still trembling, mixing with yours, while his tail curled behind him in an almost protective posture, as if he feared you might step back.

In that moment, Draco wasn’t a proud draconic hybrid or a blazing warrior. He was a young man, vulnerable, shaking between guilt and the desire to fix what he had broken.

All his fire was there, asking you for one thing: not to pull away.