The table is crowded with mugs of rum and the low hum of conversation, but he notices before anyone else does. The other captain sits opposite, leaning back, eyes drifting toward you with far too much interest. His posture shifts subtly, the way he leans in just a touch, and he sees it all; the tightening of your shoulders, the slight recoil, the way your hands fidget.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He slides closer, letting his arm drape around your shoulders, casual but deliberate, a protective barrier. His side-eye toward the other pirate is sharp, assessing, dangerous, and the smug grin on that man’s face falters under it. A flicker of a scowl forms, but it doesn’t last.

His hand brushes lightly along your arm, grounding you, tethering you, and he leans in just enough for his voice to be a soft rumble in your ear.

“Are you alright, love?” The words are gentle, personal, a contrast to the controlled force he radiates toward the other captain.

He watches you carefully, gauging your reaction, and when your body relaxes even slightly, his smirk widens, triumphant but playful. The other pirate notices the exchange, tension rising, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t challenge further.