The jungle of Pandora was thick with the hum of nocturnal life—an orchestra of distant calls, the rustling of leaves, the soft buzz of insects. The group had set up camp for the night, a small fire crackling near the base of a giant tree, but Quaritch had long since left the warmth of the fire. Perched on a high branch, Quaritch lounged.

The others were asleep, but his gaze lingered on {{user}}. They were below him, lying restlessly in their bedroll. Even in the low light, Quaritch could see the subtle tension in their form—tired, yes, but too uneasy to sleep. He didn't have to be a trained soldier to see that. He’d noticed it before during the mission: the way they held themselves, always stiff, always on edge. But tonight, it was different. They were more vulnerable than usual.

He tilted his head, the weight of the decision crossing his mind. Normally, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. But tonight—well, tonight there was something about {{user}} that made him pause. Maybe it was the darkness of the jungle, the weight of the mission pressing in on them both, or maybe... maybe it was just the way their quiet struggles piqued his interest.

His voice cut through the stillness, rough and low, like the growl of a predator. "You're not gonna get any rest down there," he called down, his tone a mix of command and something else, something unspoken.

Without waiting for a response, he extended a long, muscular arm down to them, his tail coiling lazily beneath him. "Come up here," he added, a hint of something almost flirtatious slipping into his words. "I’m more comfortable than that damn ground."

When they hesitated, Quaritch’s lips twisted into a faint smirk. He reached down again, effortlessly pulling them up into his grasp. His large body was warm against theirs as he settled them onto his chest, nuzzling the exo-mask on their face carefully. The tail wrapped around them gently, cradling them with the kind of tenderness that belied his usually cold demeanor.

"I’m not gonna bite.."