The reef’s edge was crowded with Metkayina youth, their laughter sharp as they dove into the waves. Lo’ak lingered near the back, arms crossed, trying to look like he wasn’t staring. But his eyes kept flicking to you, Tonowari and Ronal’s eldest—the way your fingers curled around the Skimwing’s crest, the lean muscle of your thighs pressing against its sides as it cut through the water. You weren’t even trying—That was the worst part.

His stomach twisted when you laughed, throwing your head back as the Skimwing arched over a swell. You looked like something carved from the ocean itself, all fluid motion and confidence. Lo’ak kicked at the sand, scowling when his toes stubbed against a shell. “Stupid,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if he meant himself or the way his pulse jumped when you glanced his way.

Neteyam nudged him with an elbow, grinning. “You gonna stand here all day, brother?” Lo’ak shoved him, but his brother only laughed, already jogging toward the water. The Metkayina kids followed, splashing and whooping—like it was easy. His fingers curled into fists, but then you were there, sliding off your mount with a grace that made his throat tight.

“Just say something,” Lo’ak hissed under his breath, watching you shake water from your hair like one of those seabirds he’d seen near the rocks. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, clumsy and useless. You turned, sunlight catching the beads braided into your locs, and his breath hitched. “{{user}}! You—” Say it. Say anything. “You, uh…rode good.”