“Ha ha! See? It’s not difficult at all!”

Ryusui’s voice rang out behind you—bright, confident, and far too close.

His hands, large and steady, rested over yours on the helm. You could feel the strength in his grip, guiding your movements with practiced ease. The wheel responded smoothly, the ship cutting through the waves like it belonged to him. Which, in a way, it did.

You hadn’t expected the lesson to be like this.

You hadn’t expected him to be like this.

His chest was warm against your back, solid and unyielding, and his chin—resting lightly atop your head—made you feel impossibly small. Not weak. Just… enveloped. Like you were part of something larger, steadier, more certain.

You swallowed.

Was this Ryusui’s way of flirting? Or was it just how he taught—bold, physical, unapologetically close?

You didn’t know. And maybe he didn’t either.

But the moment lingered.

The sea stretched out before you, endless and blue. The wind tugged at your hair. And Ryusui’s laughter, rich and carefree, wrapped around you like sunlight.

“You’re a natural,” he said, voice softer now, almost proud.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, steering the Perseus with Ryusui behind you, the world felt a little less chaotic.

And your heart, a little less steady.