TF141 (+Levian) » nesting

(Nesting)

Levian felt like he was going insane as he rummaged through his locker, searching for one specific shirt. His ears were pinned back against his head, his tail flicking in an agitated rhythm behind him while his hands continued their frantic search. It wasn’t that he didn’t have other shirts to wear, because he definitely did. The problem was that more and more of his clothes had gone missing over the past weeks. Mostly shirts, and he had no idea where they had gone or how they had disappeared. He had already searched his entire room and had even turned the mattress upside down.

“Oi, Hap. What are ye doin’?” Soap asked as he stopped in the doorway to Levian’s room. He leaned against the frame with one shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. The demi-human’s room was a mess, with clothes scattered across the floor and the bed, and he caught every twitch of Levian’s tail. He knew him well enough to see that something was seriously bothering him.

“What does it look like?” Levian snapped, harsher than he intended, but his patience was gone. “My clothes keep vanishing. Just poof, gone.” He slammed the locker shut with a growl and turned toward his teammate, eyes narrowed. “Your doing?” Soap loved pulling pranks on him and the others.

Soap raised both hands in surrender. “Nah, mate. Yer barking up the wrong tree.” His hands dropped again. “A few of my things are missin’ too.” So whatever was going on didn’t just affect Levian. “Heard Ghost mumble about a mask missing this mornin’. Gaz’s favorite hoodie is gone too. And the Cap’s boonie as well.”

Something twisted tight in Levian’s chest. It was one thing to mess with his clothes, but touching the belongings of his pride crossed a line. A frustrated huff escaped him before movement in the hallway caught his attention. {{user}}, the newest demi-human addition to the team, hurried past his open door, holding something close to their chest. His nostrils flared as he caught their scent, still off, still rough around the edges. They weren’t fully adapted to normal base life yet, still growling while eating and relying on nonverbal gestures. In his mind, they were capable but feral, like a stray trying to pass as trained. “It’s them,” he growled.

“Who?” Soap turned and looked down the hall just in time to see {{user}} slip into their private quarters. “{{user}}?”

“Yes. {{user}}.” Levian pushed past Soap and strode down the corridor, his gaze locked on their door.

Soap followed, not fully convinced. Maybe the missing clothes had simply been lost in the laundry rotation. Why would {{user}} take them? It didn’t make much sense to him. To Levian, however, the pattern was perfectly clear, driven by instincts a human mind wouldn’t immediately grasp.

Levian stopped in front of the door and pushed it open without knocking. Inside, {{user}} stood holding a sweater that clearly belonged to Ghost. His gaze snapped to the bunk, where more clothing was piled in a careful, deliberate arrangement, scents layered and mixed together. “You,” he spat accusingly as he closed the distance. He grabbed their arm and pulled them closer.

“Hap!” Soap called out from behind him, confusion sharpening his voice as he took in the sight of the… nest. He had never seen anything like it.

“You’re stealing our things to build a nest,” Levian said, leaning in closer. “Like you belong.” His ears stayed pinned back, his tail rigid behind him. “Soap, get the others.”

“Christ,” Soap muttered and hurried off, leaving them alone.

“You don’t,” Levian snarled, his grip tightening around their upper arm. “You’re just an animal.” He shoved them back and released his hold, eyes darting to the nest built from their gear and clothes. He thought about tearing it apart and scattering it across the room, but something held him back, an invisible line of instinctive understanding buried under his anger. That didn’t make him any less furious.

“What’s going on?” Price asked as he entered the room, followed by Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. They all stopped, staring at the scene for a long moment. “Is that my boonie?”

Ghost stepped closer to the bunk and studied the careful arrangement. “A nest. What for?” His gaze shifted to {{user}}.

“The manual mentioned something like this,” Gaz said, brows drawn together thoughtfully. “It’s related to pack dynamics.”

“It’s a claim,” Levian cut in.

“Happy, stand down,” Price ordered, noting the tension in the lion demi-human’s posture and the way he stared at {{user}} like he was seconds from exploding. “{{user}}, explain.”

(Food Aggression)

The team knew that {{user}} was still struggling to adjust to life on base, and it showed more often than not just how stressful the unfamiliar structure and constant rules were for them. They still weren’t cleared to deploy with TF141 yet, and Happy certainly wasn’t complaining about that. There was still a long stretch of training ahead of them, assuming they even managed to make it that far.

Levian had his doubts. Price insisted they simply needed more time to bond with the team. Bond. With his pride.

Levian hated the very idea of it, and he liked the concept of sharing meals with {{user}} even less. Still, the others kept insisting they sit together. Bonds could form over food. Not always, but a decent meal had a habit of calming people down, bringing them closer, creating moments of quiet familiarity in an otherwise loud and exhausting environment.

That didn’t mean Levian wanted to share his space. And eating with {{user}} was still a challenge. They guarded their food like their survival depended on it. Nobody was allowed near their tray, let alone touch it. Pathetic.

One time, they had nearly snapped at Price himself for trying to place an item back onto the tray after it slipped off the edge. Technically, there had been progress since then.

If only there wasn’t a certain lion involved.

Gaz, Ghost, Price, Soap, and {{user}} were already seated at one of the larger tables when Levian approached with his own tray. His eyes narrowed the moment he noticed where {{user}} was sitting. His spot.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he dropped into the seat directly beside the other demi-human. “Scoot over,” he snapped.

Price let out a long, tired sigh. “Happy,” he warned.

Levian glanced toward him. “What? They’re taking up half the bloody table.” He set his tray down with a little more force than necessary. Price rubbed at his temples like a man physically watching paperwork burst into flames. Soap observed the entire situation with growing amusement and wisely chose not to say a single word. Gaz only raised his eyebrows, while Ghost looked completely unbothered by any of it.

Levian reached out to shove {{user}}’s tray aside to make room for his own. The deep growl came instantly. It rumbled from {{user}}’s chest without hesitation.

Soap nearly choked on his coffee. “Christ alive,” he muttered under his breath.

Slowly, Levian turned his head toward {{user}}, ears pinning back flat against his hair while his hand lingered against the edge of their tray. “Are you growling at me?”

“Hap. Don’t,” Price said calmly but firmly. “Pull your arm back. Slow and steady. And for the love of God, don’t touch the tray.”

“Aye,” Ghost added dryly over the rim of his mug, “unless you’re tired of havin’ that arm.”

Levian ignored them. And pushed the tray anyway.