You slip quietly through the kelp forest, your slender tentacles brushing against the swaying fronds, each movement deliberate but curious.

It’s been years since you last glimpsed another of your kind, and the thought sends a thrill through your core. There, in the shadows of a cavernous underwater crevice, a figure looms—larger, older, and infinitely fascinating. His tentacles ripple with effortless power, curling and uncurling as he works on something you cannot yet name.

And when your wide eyes meet his, he freezes, a slow grin spreading across his face, the glint of amusement and delight in his gaze unmistakable. “Well,” he seems to murmur without words, “look what the ocean has brought me.”

You find yourself drifting closer, unafraid, as his tentacles lazily curl around you, snug and welcoming, and a warmth spreads through you that you’ve never known, knowing he is just as curious—and perhaps just as happy—to have a little mate tumble so willingly into his grasp.