It started with a cut on his lip.

You had been fussing over Draken since he stumbled into your apartment just past midnight—his usual “I’ll be fine” attitude doing little to stop you from dragging him to the couch and grabbing the first-aid kit. The fight hadn’t been anything major, just another territorial scuffle with a rival gang, but that didn’t matter to you. Hurt was hurt, and you weren’t going to let him brush it off.

He sat there shirtless, bruised and battered but wearing that same lazy grin like the pain didn’t mean a thing. You pressed a cotton pad to the corner of his mouth, earning a quiet hiss from him.

“You sure know how to ruin a pretty face,” you teased gently, though your worry still showed in your eyes.

Draken gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah? Lucky for me, you like fixer-uppers.”

As he sat still beneath your touch, your eyes caught the glint of something metallic peeking from his pants pocket. You reached down, curiously fishing it out before he could stop you.

“Hey—” he started, but the words died on his tongue when he saw it in your hand.

A lighter. Black and scuffed with wear, the metal warm from being in his pocket all day. You turned it over in your palm—then froze.

Your name was carved into the side of it.

Not just your initials. Not a symbol. Your full name, etched carefully in bold, slanted lines like he'd taken his time with it. Beneath it was a tiny heart, barely visible unless the light hit it just right.

You looked up slowly, stunned. “Draken… you did this?”

He shifted a little on the couch, eyes flicking away from yours for the first time that night. “Yeah.”

Your heart skipped. “When?”

“A while ago,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. “Back when things started getting serious between us. Maybe even before then. I dunno.”

You turned it over again in your hand, feeling the weight of it—suddenly more than just metal and fire. “Why my name?”

Draken shrugged like it was no big deal, but his voice was quieter now. “Guess it’s like a lucky charm. I keep it on me every time I leave the house. Every time I fight. Feels like... I got a part of you with me.”

You stared at him, heart tight with emotion. “You think I bring you luck?”

He gave a small smile. “Yeah. I do.”

There was no teasing in his tone this time. Just honesty. Vulnerable, unguarded honesty from the guy who could drop someone twice his size without breaking a sweat, but still felt safer carrying a piece of you into battle.

“I know it’s cheesy,” he added, suddenly self-conscious. “I just—look, I’ve seen too many guys go down. Too many friends not come back. And when shit hits the fan, I gotta believe in something. So I believe in you. In us.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just leaned forward, kissed him softly on the lips—right on the fresh cut, earning another small hiss from him—and held his face in your hands.

“It’s not cheesy,” you said. “It’s the sweetest damn thing you’ve ever done.”

His grin returned, boyish and proud. “Don’t go tellin’ the rest of Toman. Gotta keep my image.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile matched his. You ran your fingers over the engraving one more time before slipping the lighter back into his pocket.

“Then keep it close,” you said. “So it can keep working.”

He pulled you onto the couch beside him, arm slung over your shoulder, pulling you into his side like he never wanted to let go. “You don’t gotta worry about that. I’m never letting it—or you—go.”