The afternoon sun is warm enough to make the air shimmer.

The water beyond the reef sparkles, broken by the massive dark curve of Payakan’s back as he rolls lazily near shore. You’d watched from a distance earlier, smiling despite yourself as Lo’ak whooped and whooped, launching off Payakan’s fin, racing him, diving beneath the surface only to pop up somewhere new.

He had looked so happy.

Which is probably why you didn’t realize how long he stayed out there.

You’re sorting dried herbs in your healer’s hut when the shadow falls across the doorway.

Big.

Slouched.

Suspiciously quiet.

You glance up.

Lo’ak stands there, shoulders drooping, hair half-fallen from its ties, cheeks flushed a deeper blue than normal. His eyes are heavy-lidded. His mouth is set in a pout so pronounced it almost hurts to look at.

“…Hey,” he mutters.

Your gaze immediately slides to his shoulders.

Angry red.

Across his collarbones.

Down the tops of his arms.

“Oh, Lo’ak,” you sigh, already rising. “You cooked yourself.”

He shrugs, wincing halfway through the motion. “Payakan wanted to play.”

“That is not Payakan’s fault.”

“He was very convincing.”

You gesture him inside. He shuffles in like a scolded ilu, tail dragging, movements slow and sore. When he sits on the low bedding, he leans forward automatically, presenting his back like he’s done this before.

Which he has.

You scoop a cool, green-tinted balm from a carved bowl, the sharp herbal scent blooming in the air.

“This might sting a little.”

“That’s fine,” he says, then immediately adds, quieter, “Be gentle though.”

You press your fingers into the balm and smooth it across his burned skin.

Lo’ak makes a noise.

Not quite a groan.

Not quite a sigh.

Something dangerously close to a purr.

His shoulders drop.

His head tips forward.

You spread the balm slowly, working it into heated skin, thumbs gliding along the curve of his shoulders, down the thick lines of muscle in his upper arms. His skin is hot under your hands. Overworked. Overexposed.

Another soft sound vibrates out of his chest.

You pause. “Are you purring?”

“No,” he mumbles.

He purrs again.

You hide your smile and keep rubbing.

His tail starts flicking lazily behind him.

“I feel bad,” he says after a moment.

“Because you’re burned?”

“Because I’m dumb.”

“Both can be true.”

He huffs weakly.

Silence settles, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves outside and his increasingly audible purring.

After a minute, he mutters, “I need kisses.”

You blink. “For the sunburn?”

“For feeling bad.”

“That’s not how medicine works.”

He twists his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder, eyes big, glossy, and unbearably hopeful.

“…Please?”

You fold instantly.

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

Lo’ak exhales like you just cured him of a terminal illness.

Another kiss.

Then one on the other shoulder.

He hums.

“Maybe one on my cheek too.”

You sigh, but comply.

His cheek is warm. Slightly salty. Familiar.

He turns his head at the last second so your lips brush the corner of his mouth.

Totally accidental.

Definitely intentional.

He freezes.

You freeze.

He goes pink.

“So,” he says quickly, voice hoarse, “are you… staying in the communal beds tonight?”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Could I… go with you?”

You look at him.

Big, burned, sleepy, hopeful Lo’ak.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he adds softly.