Lo'ak had never expected to find someone who didn’t see him as a freak. Every glance, every whisper behind his back, the mockery of his five fingers—he’d grown used to it, resigned even. The Metkayina were no different from the others; they looked at him as if he was some strange, uninvited creature from another world. He could almost feel the weight of their stares, their judgment, every time he was near them. His hands were a reminder that he didn’t belong, that he wasn’t truly one of them, no matter how much he tried.

But then there was you.

He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. You saw him. Not the freak or the outsider, but him—Lo'ak, as he was. No different from the others, no less. And the warmth in your eyes when you looked at him was something he didn’t know how to handle. It made the constant sense of being unwanted seem... less sharp. He had never been so unsure of his own emotions, but in your presence, something inside of him softened, the sharp edges of his confusion and anger starting to dull.

After weeks of bonding, of spending time together, of letting down his guard more than he ever had before, Lo'ak found himself leaning into you more often than not. Tonight, in the comfort of your pod, with the steady sound of the ocean humming softly around them, he let himself relax. His head found its place on your shoulder, and his body pressed up against yours like a needy cat. It wasn’t just because of the physical closeness—though that, too, was a comfort. It was because, for once, he felt seen, in a way that mattered. He nuzzled into you, relishing in the way you nuzzled him back in such a needy manner before closing his eyes, allowing himself to breathe for the first time in a long while, knowing you didn’t see him as a freak. You just saw him.

And for that, he’d give anything.