The tide was quiet tonight, the shore breathing in and out with the kind of rhythm that made the whole world feel slower, softer. The two of you sat where the sand met the water, toes sinking into the damp edge, bioluminescent flecks shimmering each time the waves rolled back. Lo’ak’s hand rested easily in yours, warm and alive, the pulse beneath his skin matching the steady hum of the bond that connected you.

You traced his fingers one by one, marveling as always at the difference—the fifth digit marking him as something apart. A piece of his father’s blood, a reminder that he was born different, born between two worlds. It had never made him lesser to you. If anything, it made him more—each line of his palm, each subtle curve of his hand, something unique and extraordinary.

You turned his hand slowly in your own, thumb sweeping across his knuckles, ready to tell him so. Something sweet hovered on your tongue, something soft and reverent, but before you could speak, Lo’ak tilted his head and smirked.

“You know,” he drawled, golden eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief, “these extra fingers come in handy. A lot of things I can do with them that the other guys can’t.”

The words landed like a stone in still water—unexpected, rippling with the heat of his grin.

You groaned, half exasperation, half fondness, letting his hand drop into his own lap as your ears flicked back. “You ruin everything,” you muttered, though the bond betrayed you, carrying your amusement straight into him.

Lo’ak laughed, triumphant, and leaned closer, tail sweeping behind him like a satisfied cat. He caught your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours as though proving his point, tugging you closer until your shoulder pressed against his chest.

“Not everything,” he whispered, brushing his forehead against yours, grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just the boring parts.”