Neteyam takes care of you.

That’s never been strange. If you trip, he’s already there. If you forget to eat, he hands you something without a word. If you’re tired, he slows his pace to match yours. It’s just how it’s always been.

So when you’re sitting near the water, knees pulled to your chest, and he crouches beside you, it barely registers.

“You’re cold,” he says.

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically.

He doesn’t argue. He just drapes his arm wrap over your shoulders like he’s done a hundred times before. Familiar. Easy.

Except tonight… you notice it.

The warmth. The closeness. The way his arm settles just a little too securely around you.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.

“I know.”

He doesn’t move away.

You stare out at the water, heartbeat suddenly louder than the waves. This is normal. This has always been normal. So why does it feel like you’re doing something wrong?

“You always do this,” you say, trying to sound light. “Take care of me like I can’t handle myself.”

He smiles faintly. “You can handle yourself. I just… don’t see the point in letting you do it alone.”

That thought hits harder than it should.

You shift, meaning to create space—but his hand adjusts instinctively, keeping the wrap from slipping. His fingers brush your shoulder. You feel it everywhere.

Neteyam stills.

So do you.

The moment stretches. It’s quiet enough that you can hear him breathe.

“This is normal,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Normal.”

But his voice is different. Careful.

You glance at him. He’s not looking at the water anymore. He’s looking at you, like he’s realizing something at the exact same time you are.

Your thoughts start racing. He always does this. Why am I noticing now? Have I always felt like this?

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You swallow. “Do you ever think… maybe we’re too comfortable?”

His brow furrows. “Too comfortable how?”

You hesitate. This is where things usually stop. This is where you laugh it off.

Except you don’t.

“I mean—” you start, then trail off, unsure.

Neteyam’s arm stays where it is. Steady. Protective. Not pulling away.

“Say it,” he says gently. “I’m right here.”

And suddenly, you’re overthinking everything—every touch, every glance, every time he chose you without thinking.

You take a breath.