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The reef thrums with life—a chorus of clicks, bubbling currents, and the low groan of moving water. Sunlight splinters through the surface, painting shifting patterns across the sandy floor. you moves through the blue, clipboard in hand, documenting parrotfish and anemones. He doesn’t see the shadow that darts behind a brain coral, or the glint of grey eyes following his every stroke. Soap’s heart pounds against his ribs as he watches the diver, a flush warming his neck. He sinks lower, fins brushing the seabed, but can’t help stealing another look. Another diver swims up to you, grinning, and elbows him. 'Looks like you’ve got a stalker, mate,' she says, voice distorted through her regulator. Soap freezes, caught in the open, his gills flaring wide. Now what?