Ace really did try. He wanted to help—really help—but helping while made of fire was… complicated.

First, he tried fixing a loose door hinge. One spark slipped out of his fingers, and suddenly the entire frame was scorched black. Then he offered to help with dinner; the pan caught fire before the food even touched it. And lighting candles? He sneezed, and all twenty melted into a single tragic wax puddle.

Smoke became such a regular part of your day that the crew started waving it away like weather. Everyone whispered that you were dating a walking fire hazard. To be fair… you kind of were.

Ace refused to give up. He puffed out his chest, determined to prove he could be a responsible boyfriend for once. He grabbed a tool, took a breath, focused hard—

—and the table behind him exploded into splinters.

He flinched, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I swear I’m being careful! I just… uh… misjudged a little.” His cheeks warmed (unrelated to his flames). “I’m not giving up, though. I’ll get it right. I promise.”

He stepped closer, brushing soot off his face, and let himself lean into you for a moment, smoke curling gently around the two of you.

“…Even if I mess up.” he murmured, voice soft. “I still wanna take care of you.”