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A rough sigh falls from Neteyam’s lips, shoulders tense as he stomps through Home Tree.
His hands clench into fists at his sides, anger tightening his chest. He seeks you out before he even realizes what he’s doing, ears twitching as he listens for the soothing melody of your voice.
He finds you within minutes, sitting near the tree line by yourself. It’s how you prefer to be, isolated among the dense forest, humming quietly for only your ears to hear.
You are always making noise. Whether it’s the murmur of a song under your breath, or the soft rumble of a tune in your chest, there isn’t a time Neteyam can remember where you were silent. You always seem to be in your own world, big eyes faraway as you release the most beautiful sounds.
“Songbird.” The greeting comes out much harsher than he intended, but he’s still wound painfully tight from an argument with his father.
You jump, spine straightening at the unexpected voice. Your eyes widen as they flit over his tense frame, curious gaze finally catching his after an agonizing few seconds.
“Neteyam?” Your cheeks warm at the nickname he’d given you as children.
At first, you were a bit offended, being compared to a bird, but after much reassurance from him, you understood that it was just his adolescent brain’s way of saying he likes the way you sing.
He lets out a long breath, slowly folding into a seated position beside you. Without hesitation, you move the weaving supplies that previously covered your lap, setting them to the side. He doesn’t stop, fluidly laying his head down across your thighs.
It’s a practiced motion, a familiar position the two of you often find yourselves in. You know exactly what he needs, without him speaking a word. As he settles into your lap, shifting a bit to get comfortable, you begin humming his favorite melody.
His eyes flutter closed, shoulders instantly dropping in relief. Your voice washes over him, soothing his worries, his anger, within seconds. One of your hands moves to his hairline, fingertips drawing a gentle path down his temple.
You repeat the motion, soft touch trailing across his forehead, down his nose, over his cheeks. Even his lips, always pursed so tightly, relax and part beneath your warm caress.
This is how things are between you.
When Neteyam feels overwhelmed, burdened by the responsibility that’s been thrust upon him since birth, he runs to you. He can’t place when it first happened, when he first realized that you’re the key to keeping him calm. Keeping him sane.
But now that you’re his personal music box, he knows he can never go back. He’s reliant on it—on you. He needs the soothing sound of your voice to calm down after fights with his dad and Lo’ak, or hard missions. Hell, most of the time, he can’t even sleep without at least a quick song.
And you—his quiet, sweet girl—have never passed judgement. Never said a single word in opposition when he pulls you from duties, or friends, or even family. You simply send him a heart-stopping smile, let him drop into your waiting embrace, and sing.
That is, until one fateful day when he royally screwed things up.
He’d had what might possibly be the worst morning of his entire life. He woke to the sound of yelling, his father already grilling Lo’ak about his latest reckless behavior. He peeled himself from bed, suffering his dad’s leftover wrath as he demanded help with a raid.
It went terribly. His Ikran wasn’t listening, they barely made out with any supplies, and he nearly got himself killed. Of course, this led to more yelling, being grounded, and a light scolding from his grandmother as she patched him up.
By lunchtime he was so tightly wound, he knew the slightest push would make him explode any second. That’s when you showed up, singing your favorite song under your breath. Your face lit up when you saw him, despite the deep crease in his brow and downturn of his lips.
You plopped down beside him as he ate amongst the clan, humming quietly for the both of you. It was obvious he needed you, as he always did. You were happy to help, to aid him in any way that you could. Except, this time, he didn’t fall into you. He actually tensed further, broad shoulders bunching with irritation.
“Can you stop?” He barked harshly, catching you off guard.
You blinked up at him with big eyes, instantly falling silent. “What?”
He let out a rough sigh, narrowed eyes slicing to you. Anger tightened his chest, twisted his stomach with something ugly. He couldn’t help it, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head begging him to stop, to take a deep breath before his next words, he couldn’t fight the rising emotion.
“You’re always so—” He grunted with frustration, looking away. “Can I just get two seconds of quiet? For once?”
Your lips parted in shock, eyes rounding in his direction. He refused to look at you, jaw tensing as he picked at the food on his plate. You studied him for a long moment, heart clenching at his dismissal. Moisture blurred your vision, but you quickly blinked the tears away, refusing to cry in front of him.
“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology was all you could muster as you gathered your things and rushed away.
One week.
It takes Neteyam seven days to figure out that something is wrong.
At first, he thinks he may be getting sick. He just doesn’t feel right. Something is off, and he can’t place it. He’s tense at all times, back muscles painfully tight. A constant frown mares his features, brow creased with irritation.
He isn’t sleeping well, either. He tosses and turns at night, mind racing to find the cause of his unease.
He tries to talk to you, to spend time with you, but you’re always busy. The second you see him, you’re tucking tail and practically running away. He’s heard your song a few times, when he searches for you in those moments of heightened emotion, but when your eyes catch his, you fall silent. If he happens to spot you within the clan, your soothing voice is nowhere to be found.
It’s eating him alive, the fact that you won’t let him hear you. It makes him feel on edge, wondering if he’s done something to upset you. Or worse, the voice of doubt whispers that you’ve gotten tired of him, that you’ve found the company of another more appealing.
Finally, he can no longer take it, and decides enough his enough. He’s losing his mind, completely unable to focus on even the most mundane of tasks. He needs you to calm him, whether you’re previously engaged or not.
He spots you around the raging fire one night, talking and laughing with your friends. His now constant frown deepens, arms crossing in frustration as he approaches the group.
“Song—ah, Y/N.” He scratches at the back of his neck, cheeks warming with embarrassment. “Can we talk?”
The smile drops from your face, making his stomach churn with unease. Your hips shift uncomfortably, hands clasping tightly in your lap. Your shoulders round, chin lifting as you try to muster the strength to avoid him yet again.
“I don’t think—”
Before you can even finish, he’s grabbed your bicep, firmly hoisting you to your feet.
“She’ll only be a minute.” He calls over his shoulder, the assurance met with a chorus of giggles as your friends watch him pull you away.
“Neteyam—” You try, but he simply ignores you.
Your legs stumble to keep up with his rushed pace. He doesn’t stop until he’s dragged you into the forest, brought you to a secluded section just outside Home Tree. He suddenly turns on his heel and drops your arm, causing you to take a step back in surprise.
“What is wrong?” He demands, voice rough.
Your breath hitches at the intensity in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours. You sputter for a few beats, mouth opening and closing as you search for the right words.
“I-I don’t…” Your heart thrums wildly between your ribs, having never expected him to confront you so directly.
“You haven’t been singing. Why aren’t you singing, songbird?” His tone softens, eyes rounding with concern.
He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you so that he can reach out, cradling your face in his palm. You blink up at him, chest heaving with pent up emotion. He’s so close. Too close to remain platonic, but neither of you move an inch.
You force down a thick swallow, throat hoarse. Moisture blurs your vision as you remember his words, remember the way he snapped at you. Though you know you have a nice singing voice, you’re aware that the constant noise can be irritating to some.
You’ve seen the sideways glances, heard the scoffs and sighs of annoyance when you’re around. But you can’t help it, music is always in your mind, swelling until you can’t contain it anymore.
The only reason you’ve embraced it, continued humming and singing despite the occasional comment from the clan, is Neteyam. The way he relies on you, uses you for comfort, it gives you meaning. Gives you purpose. Shows you that your voice can do good, that it isn’t just some annoying quirk.
But then…
“Oh, songbird.” He coos gently, thumb swiping away a falling tear. “Tell me, please.”
Your chin wobbles with the effort of keeping the words in, of sparing him the details he already knows. Realization suddenly dawns as his worried gaze flickers over your crestfallen expression.
His eyes widen, heart crashing into his stomach as his own stupid words replay in his mind.
“Is this about what I said?” The question rushes from his lips in a single panicked breath.
“No! No, of course not, I—”
Before you can finish the lame excuse, his arms are around you. He pulls you onto the ground with him, settling you into his lap. Heat prickles your skin at the intimate position. Though you've been close many times before, it's always him laying on top of you in some way. Now that you’re the one in his arms, nervousness grips your chest.
“Songbird...” His large hands engulf both sides of your face, guiding it up toward his. “I’m so sorry. I never should've said those things. I was upset with my father, and I never should've taken it out on you.”
Your eyes widen, unsure what to make of his sweet words. “It's okay, Neteyam, really—”
“No,” His head shakes rapidly. “No, you don't understand. I'm a mess without you. I can't sleep, can't focus. Can't even fly my damn Ikran right. I need to hear your voice. Sing to me, please?”
Breath lodges in your throat, brows lifting in surprise. You’ve never heard him so open, so vulnerable. It’s left you speechless, heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears.
When you don’t respond, his hands wrap around your hips, gently pulling you off his lap. Your eyes pop wide, but you make no move to stop him as he guides you back until you’re propped against a nearby tree. His eyes flick to yours in question before he slides down, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.
You stiffen, spine straightening as he presses his face into your stomach, laying his body beside you. One of his legs tangles with yours, parting your thighs so he can nestle himself between them.
“I just need a good nights sleep, please, songbird? Help me?” He murmurs lowly, the sound vibrating the soft skin of your stomach.
Your skin is on fire, blazing in every spot he touches. All you can do is stare down at him, mouth agape, but his eyes are already closed. Your heart melts, any lingering resentment crumbing at the sight of him so desperate on top of you.
You can’t stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try.
Slowly, quietly, you begin to hum a familiar tune. Instantly, Neteyam sighs, relief flooding his system. You’re a bit hesitant, after not singing for an entire week. Your voice is hoarse, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Your hands fall onto his head, fingers tangling in his braids. He moans lowly, a soft tremor rolling down his spine. Your face feels impossibly hotter at his little noise of satisfaction. You’ve never seen him like this, so pliant under your touch.
Within minutes, you’re singing his favorite song, beautiful words washing over him. His breathing slows, eyes growing heavy as he finally feels at peace for the first time in days. Before you know it, he’s fast asleep.
You can’t help but smile down at him, fingers dancing across his scalp soothingly. Now that he’s back in your arms, everything feels right once again.