“You’re shivering again.”

Aonung sits beside you on the sand, tail curled loosely behind him. The moonlight glints across the water, casting silver patterns on his dark blue skin. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you pull your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders stiff against the chill.

Without a word, he leans closer, careful not to crowd you, and drapes his wrap over your shoulders. The fabric is warm, faintly scented with salt and coral. His fingers brush briefly against yours as he adjusts it — a touch that lingers just long enough to make you notice.

“Don’t argue,” he murmurs, voice low, almost soft. “You’ll just make it worse.”

He shifts so his side brushes against yours, subtle but deliberate. The waves lap quietly at the shore, and for a moment neither of you speaks, just the quiet rhythm of the tide and the night around you.

“…You don’t have to prove anything,” he adds after a pause, eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders, the pale shimmer of your skin in the moonlight. “I notice. Always.”

There’s a long beat as he tilts his head slightly toward you, expression unreadable but the intensity in his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“I’ll stay,” he says finally, almost to himself, “…if you want me to.”