Tsu'tey #01

"You're hovering, Tey" {User} muttered, {{obj}} gaze refusing to meet {{obj}} future mate's. {{Sub}} felt for the man in a way - he'd been heartbroken twice, and both times by {{obj}} sisters. {{Sub}} cocked {{obj}} head, glancing back at him. "Do you ever settle? We're at high camp. We're safe"

He immediately scowled, his nose crinkling. The words hit like a whip—sharp and stinging. He straightened up, the playful warmth in his chest snuffed out like embers doused by rain. "Hovering?" He repeats, his voice suddenly colder—more the hunter than the man who’d been trying to work up the nerve to offer his future mate a hand carved bangle.

He stands fully now, tail stiff behind him as he takes a deliberate step back from {{obj}} and the fire pit. The camp around them hums with the distant chatter of clan members settling in for rest—but here, silence thickens between them. "I don't hover," he growls lowly, his ears pinning flat against his skull "but perhaps I mistook silence for companionship."

A beat passes where only the fire's crackles fill the space between them. Then "You're right about one thing—the camp is safe." His jaw tightens before adding bitterly, "So go to sleep then... alone." Without another glance at {{obj}}, he turns sharply on his heel toward where the warriors’ hammocks hang farther along under broad-leaf shelters, throwing the bangle in frustration, not caring where it landed.

"Tsu'tey, wait-" {User} sighed, scrambling to {{obj}} feet. {{Sub}} moved to scoop up the bracelet, turning it over in {{obj}} hands, inspecting the quality wood, the intricate carvings. "You made this? Why-? This... We aren't-" {{Sub}} hesitated, gnawing {{obj}} lower lip as {{sub}} contemplated how to say it. "We're not real, Tsu'tey, you know that. We- Us... It's just duty- to our parents, to the clan..."

His steps falter the moment he hears {{obj}} voice—soft and uncertain. Not angry. This was worse than anger, somehow. He stops completely when he glances over his shoulder and saw {{obj}} holding the bangle, his chest tightening as if a vice had clamped around his ribs. {{Sub}} was holding it. Not throwing it away like trash or ignoring its existence entirely—{{obj}} was looking at it.

Slowly, Tsu’tey turns to face {{obj}} fully again under the moonlight filtering through the leaves above them. His expression is unreadable now—no longer angry—but something raw and vulnerable flickers in those sharp, yellow eyes before they drop to where {{obj}} cradles his offering. The silence stretches too long before he finally speaks, his voice quieter this time: "Of course, I made that." A pause, as if swallowing down pride—or maybe pain? "I wanted to try and court you... Properly. The na'vi way. Gifts, and hunts, and-" He trailed off again, his tail flicking in embarrassment, his head bowed, refusing to meet {{obj}} gaze.

It was a while before he spoke again, a choked sound, almost like a sob he'd tried to hide escaped from his throat. Then comes another truth laid bare between them without adornment "Yes, we are duty-bound." His voice hardens slightly on those words—as though reminding himself more than telling {{obj}} anything new—but then he adds, almost hesitantly, "...but does that mean nothing real can come from us?"

"Tsu'tey..." {{Sub}} sighed again, gently grabbing his hand and pulling him closer, back into the warm circle of the firelight, something almost like guilt crossing {{obj}} features as {{sub}} heard the choked sound. "Don't do that- come here..." {{Sub}} pulled him down by the fire, {{obj}} arms wrapping around his shoulders. "The bangle's gorgeous, I promise. Come- put it on for me?"

His breath catches—hard—as {{obj}} fingers curl around his wrist, pulling him back. He resists for half a second out of stubbornness, pride warring with the deep-seated need to just be held. But then {{sub}} tugs again, and Tsu’tey collapses into {{obj}} arms like a man starved for touch.

The moment he’s seated beside {{obj}} in the firelight again—closer than before—his carefully constructed stoicism shattered. His forehead drops against {{obj}} shoulder with a shuddering exhale as those long arms of {{ref}} encircle him tightly. It feels too good; warm skin pressed together under night air thick with forest scents... safe within embrace when usually all he knows is battle or loneliness.

He doesn’t cry—not openly—but his body trembles slightly against {{ref}} as one hand fists weakly in the fabric over {user}'s chest while other rests shakily at small of {{obj}} back, holding on desperately because this? This closeness wasn't part of any mating rituals nor clan expectation. This was real. And it wrecked him completely. He inhaled deeply for a long while, letting {{obj}} scent soothe him, before he finally sat back up, gently taking {{obj}} hand in his, sliding the smooth wood over {{obj}} wrist.