The ship rocked steadily, waves hammering against the hull with a dull rhythm. When Itsuki slid open the cabin door, he stepped inside first, his movements calm, measured, and perfectly controlled. His sharp green eyes scanned the room. One bed, neatly made. Not enough for both of you.

Without hesitation, he set his bow and quiver neatly against the corner. Then he lowered himself onto the mattress, sitting tall, back straight, shoulders squared. There was no uncertainty in his posture, no flicker of doubt in his expression. He was already claiming it.

“You’ll take the floor,” he said flatly, voice steady and cold. There was no question, no room for protest. His eyes met yours, unwavering, sharp, the kind of gaze that made it impossible to argue.

You swallowed, glancing at the narrow bed, then down at the wooden floor. His silence was heavy, deliberate. The sway of the ship, the creak of the planks beneath your knees, nothing seemed to touch him. “This isn’t up for debate,” he added, tone final