The forest was settling into night.

Soft blue light from the plants outside filtered through the marui walls, and somewhere in the distance an ikran called across the canopy. The village had grown quieter, hunters returning, fires dimming low.

Neteyam stepped inside after patrol, rolling one shoulder as he set his bow down near the entrance. His braids shifted slightly as he moved, small beads clicking softly against each other. The knife strapped across his chest caught a faint shimmer of light as he straightened.

His golden eyes immediately found you.

They always did.

You were across the room, sitting far too innocently for someone who had clearly been thinking about something.

Neteyam leaned against one of the woven supports for a moment, watching you in that quiet way he had—observant, patient, like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.

Then he pushed himself upright and walked over.

“Every time you look that thoughtful,” he said calmly, “something dangerous follows.”

You barely had time to react before he reached you.

One hand settled easily at your waist, the other resting briefly against the marui post beside you as he leaned in slightly. His touch was warm and familiar, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side.

It was second nature for him—if you were close, his hands usually found you somehow.

His head dipped closer, voice lowering just enough that it felt meant only for you.

“I leave for one patrol,” he murmured, “and when I come back you look like you’ve been planning something all evening.”

His nose brushed lightly against your temple before he leaned back just enough to study your face.

There was the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Neteyam’s tail flicked lazily behind him as his thumb continued tracing slow circles at your waist.

“…Should I be worried,” he asked quietly, golden eyes narrowing with amusement, “or should I be helping?”