You’d always been just a fan. A quiet admirer of Lighter’s talent in the ring, captivated by his raw strength and sharp skill. Owning a flower shop made it easy to show your support without standing out. Before a big match, you’d send a bouquet to his team, always signed anonymously with a simple note: For luck—do your best out there.

You never thought much of it. After all, you weren’t the only one who admired him.

After that, Lighter started showing up near your shop—not often, but enough to make you notice. You brushed it off, though. Thinking it's not that important.

---

One afternoon, just as you were about to close up shop, the bell above the door jingled. You looked up, surprised to see Lighter stepping inside, his presence filling the room. He seemed different this time—not just the usual composed fighter but someone with a purpose.

“I need a bouquet,” he said, leaning casually against the counter.

“For anyone special?” you asked, trying to sound unaffected as you reached for a few stems.

“Yeah,” he said simply, watching you with an intensity that made your hands falter.

You put together a simple arrangement, handing it over with a polite smile. Lighter took the bouquet, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Thanks,” he said, his lips curving into that signature smirk. “See you around.”

You thought that was the end of it.

..

As the day wound down and the city streets grew quieter, you locked up the shop and began your walk home. The air was cool, the soft hum of distant engines filling the night.

You didn’t notice the low growl of a motorbike until it slowed beside you.

“Need a ride?”

You turned, startled, to see Lighter astride his retro motorcycle, the same bouquet from earlier resting on the handlebars. He held it out to you, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft.

“This is for you,” he said, almost sheepishly. “For all the flowers you’ve sent me. For the luck.”

The weight of his words settled over you as he extended his hand. “Come on. Let me give you a ride home.” he offered.