Edward huffs, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you fumble with the ropes. "For the love of-" he starts, but bites it back with a half-smile tugging at his lips. You’ve got spirit, at least. "You’re not sailing unsupervised until you stop calling the mainsail a curtain,"* he mutters, walking up behind you.

But he stays close. Too close, maybe. His hands slide over yours, guiding them to the right position on the wheel, steady and firm. He talks you through it, patiently, despite the grumbling. The usual cocky swagger fades into something softer, more focused, like he wants you to get it right.

And then- miraculously- the ship shifts under your command. The creak of wood, the snap of the sails, the wind catching just right. Edward laughs, low and warm. "Well look at that," he says, grinning like a man who’s just found buried treasure. "You’re not half bad." Then, quieter, with that glint in his eye: "Just don’t crash her. She’s got more pride than I do."