Wawen #01

“So,” One of {User}'s weaver friends began, her voice light but sharpened with unmistakable mischief, a knowing grin tugging at her lips as she leaned against the woven post of the platform, watching her friend with far too much interest, “you and Wawen...”

{User} barely glanced up at first, fingers still busy sorting strands of fresh water shells and fiber, browbone creasing as {{sub}} processed the implication in the other weaver's tone. {{Sub}} lifted {{poss}} head then, eyes clear and genuinely puzzled, “What about me and him?” {User} asked, tilting {{poss}} head, confusion threading through {{poss}} voice like a misplaced current.

The other weaver's shoulders visibly slumped, disbelief replacing her playful anticipation. “What do you mean, 'what about you and him'?” she said, hands lifting in exasperation. “I thought you two would be all over each other by now.”

A flicker of irritation sparked through {User}, more flustered than angry, {{poss}} posture straightening as {{sub}} turned fully toward her friend. “Ani'ela, what in Eywa’s name are you talking about?” {{sub}} bristled, the words sharp but not unkind, slight defensive, slightly baffled. The other weaver - Ani'ela - let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down her face as if exhausted by the sheer density of the situation. “He’s been stealing looks at you,” she said plainly. “For weeks.”

The shell slipped from {User}'s fingers, clicking softly against the wooden planks as {{poss}} eyes widened in genuine shock. “What?” {{poss}} ears pinned, cheeks flushing, tail giving a pleased flick that {{sub}} couldn't hide in time.

{User}'s gaze flicked up, immediately finding the training ground below home tree. {{Sub}} could JUST about see the sandy ground through the platforms and thick leaves. A few trainees milled about, checking gear, cleaning weapons, clearly fresh from a hunt. And then... Wawen. Stood there, looking oh so stunning in the low light, showing So'lek how to sharpen his blade.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves around the platform, carrying the distant echo of laughter from the training ground below. Wawen glanced up—just for a second—his gaze catching {{poss_p}} before flicking away with practiced nonchalance. But not fast enough.

"Oh, now you wish to look?" Ani'ela teased under her breath, smirking as she followed her friend's stare. "Classic. He does that every time you're near—acts like he’s focused on blade-work or ikran signals, but his eyes? Always drifting." {User} felt {{poss}} tail twitch again, betraying {{obj}}.

"Shut up," {User} muttered, voice low—but there was no heat in it. {{Poss}} fingers fumbled with another shell, heart suddenly louder in your ears than the river below.

Down on the sandy training ground, Wawen handed So'lek back his knife and took a step back. His shoulders were broad beneath his warrior's vest; one hand absently brushed dark locks from his face—and then he looked up once more.

This time... he didn’t look away. And somehow—with no words spoken—you both smiled at once. Tiny. Secret. Yours alone. "Uh-huh," Ani'ela said triumphantly, interrupting the moment, forcing {User}'s gaze to tear away. "That’s exactly what I’m talking about."

Meanwhile, So'lek seemed just as annoyed with Wawen as Ani'ela was with {User}. "Just go talk to {{obj}}, {{sub}} is a weaver, not a viperwolf" He snarked at his mentor, rolling his eyes, "I'm sure {{sub}} doesn't bite" He paused a long while, inspecting me, his nose crinkling. "Why {{obj}} anyway? Why a weaver? {User} is soft, delicate, you are...- you."

Wawen rolled his eyes at So'lek's comments, his hand gripping the handle of the blade he'd just been sharpening. "Oh, and you're the expert on relationships now, are you?" He retorted, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. So'lek shrugged, his expression unperturbed. "Just saying, it's not exactly the most obvious match," he replied, eyeing Wawen up and down as if sizing him up.

Just then So'lek perked up, his ear flicking. His head cocked, listening intently to something, before his gaze snapped to the woven ramp leading from the main home tree platform down to the training grounds, "Your future spouse is coming" So'lek snickered, ducking away from Wawen's half hearted swipe.

The ramp creaked softly under familiar footsteps—light, deliberate, carrying the rhythm of someone who didn’t mean to interrupt... but definitely did. Wawen froze. Not because of So’lek’s snark.

But because there {User} was—bare feet barely making a sound, tail swaying with quiet grace as {{sub}} descended from the higher platforms. The late sun caught in {{poss}} hair like threads of fire and vine. {{Sub}} held a small bundle wrapped in leaf-fiber cloth—probably fresh dyes for mending tapestries—and seemed utterly unaware of the storm {{sub}} had just stepped into.

So’lek grinned, acting very much like a hormone driven teen. "Oh no," he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. "She’s armed with craft supplies. Truly terrifying." Wawen shot him a glare that said I will throw you off this platform, then turned back toward you—suddenly very interested in adjusting his wristband... for the fifth time.

He cleared his throat. “Uh.” He nodded vaguely at your hands. “What've you brought?”

{User} blinked at him, then down at {{poss}} bundle—as if surprised it was there—and tilted {{poss}} head slightly, eyes bright with curiosity and that usual sharpness that made weavers so dangerous when crossed. So’lek snickered and ambled off towards the other hunters before Wawen could grab him.

And now... It was just you two standing there— under tangled vines, between beating hearts, in silence far too loud to ignore.