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Mane was going to lose it.
Hair, sanity, patience, one of them. Maybe all of them. It really depended on when the damn kid decided his room wasn’t the most comfortable place to stay for a whole week. A week! At the very least, Wemmbu was sometimes taking the food that the lion dropped off for him.
And even that was rare. He seemed to be taking every measure for Mane to panic and worry and god, there was really only so long until his fretting won out over his pride. Until he decided there was really only one person he knew that could reasonably understand both him and his cub, what they both needed.
Footsteps, usually light, heavily sounded in his room. A steady pace of back and forth. The openness usually brought a smile to his face; reminded him that there was a boy in his care that was always right beside him now. A boy that was clingy and loud and loveable and…well.
The reminders didn’t just go away when he was gone.
Mane could hear the kid’s sniffling and shuffling. Could reason with himself that even if he tried, there wasn’t much he’d be able to do. Not to say he was bad with mushy crap like that, he was just…bad with it. Yeah. So anyway, he called Flame. Didn’t even panic! He was as calm as could be and was extremely reasonable about his ramblings of how Wemmbu definitely hates him now and wants him dead and probably finds him despicable and, and, and—and just. Just. God.
“Mane, bro, you haven’t even told me what caused him to hide.”
“What?”
A deep sigh from the other side of the communicator, maybe ‘cause it was currently four AM. Maybe ‘cause Flame really hasn’t liked to talk after the whole Zam betrayal thing, “Why’s the kid pouting, bro?”
It took a lot to not just…spill. To let it pour from his mouth and still cough it up for hours afterward simply because there’s still doubt in words unsaid. Because Mane wasn’t really sure why. Wemmbu and him fought, yeah. Wemmbu stepped out of line (out of what was safe; out of what Mane could reasonably do damage control on) an inch or so, and maybe the lion had exploded a little. His brother didn’t seem to be too happy when he said that, though.
“And, Flame—Flame, bro. It wasn’t that bad, I just raised my voice a bit. I—I had to.”
“Did you, bro?”
“Yes! He went off—the kid went and tried killing a diamond trim again! I can’t just let him do that—I can’t let him go and disrespect me like that. He…Wem. Wemmbu isn’t exactly the strongest, he’s like, he doesn’t—he’s impressive, but.”
Clearing his throat, and a subtle shuffle that suggests Flame has most definitely collapsed back onto his bed, “Yeah, he’s weak bro. Why do you care if he almost died, anyway? You said you were in it for the mace, and you got that.”
“No, no, I don’t care if he dies. Of course I don’t. I just—I told you, he disrespected my authority, Flame.”
“Uh huh.”
“He did!”
“I believe you,” he lied. Fully. To Mane’s face. Like he couldn’t tell from the monotone drawl, “Just, like, I dunno…talk to him? Apologize—god forbid—for once?”
“Watch it.”
“Talk to him.”
The line died.
It took a minute to stop himself from crushing his communicator in his hand. Mane was surrounded by kids who didn’t understand that…that—that he didn’t feel mushy things like that. Wemmbu would be fine anyway. He’d be absolutely perfect in that room of his where he complained about the heat and quiet (too quiet, it made everything louder for him apparently) and emptiness and loneliness and…and…and—and.
Soft knocks hit against the wood of a dark door, unfaded from sunlight and free from the scratches that Mane had on every other door from missing the handle after years of use. No response came from the other end, like the fifty other times he tried to talk to the damn kid. That was fine! Fine, just perfect and amazing and oh god his cub hates him now and—How impolite would it be to just…open the door?
Impolite. Gross and rude and that wouldn’t help so he really needed to take a breath and calm down and…and yeah! Yeah. Good plan, Mane. Smart. Yup.
How the hell was he supposed to calm down?
There were, like, twenty calming exercises and techniques he taught Wem. Who was a kid—did that really mean he couldn’t use them? Flame still liked them when someone ended up pissing him off, as far and few between as that was nowadays. And he’s an adult. Mane’s distracting himself.
Clenching his fists like that’d get rid of any embarrassment, he took a step back and…breathed. Slow and holding and paying attention to everything around him. The sun was beginning to rise earlier now, and even though it wasn’t up, it was still stubbornly taking to illuminate the sky. Egg was still gone, so beyond the light breathing from Wemmbu, it was silent. The shadows of everything that sat in the hallway were long and stretched, bleeding into the wood of the flooring that was far too cold for the lion.
In the house that was too cold without a second body following him everywhere.
It was fine.
Just…just ‘apologize’, for apparently the first time since…god, when? Too long ago if he couldn’t remember.
Soft and disgustingly uncharacteristic of Mane, “Wemmbu, bro?”
A grunt from the other end of the door, the sound hidden by—knowing his cub—one too many pillows. It was surprisingly similar to the noises Mane made when annoyed, and that alone helped. Just a little; just enough to get a small smile out of him.
“Wem, can we talk?”
Silence.
“Please.”
The door opened slightly, a short (comically so, for Mane. He was, what, a head shorter? Damn), shadowed figure pouted up at him. His hair was a mess—paws twitched at his side to not reach out—and his usual concerningly perfect posture was now slumped and half folded in on itself. Had the kid beaten himself up that much over a small argument?
“I’on wanna talk.”
Said in such a small voice and tired tone and—oh god Mane was going to burst into tears actually.
“I—c’mon, let's sit down.”
Wemmbu had some personal space things, quirks, whatever. It was pretty simple to get a hold of, really, and so when Mane moved toward the bed to let the kid see where he was walking, it wasn’t exactly expected for him to reach out. To grab his wrist and shove him back (weakly, but regardless) while muttering something about it being his room. This kid, man.
His bed was another thing. Don’t lay on it or sit on it or even touch it without permission. It had only ever been once Mane was given said permission. And that, for as much as he didn’t want to admit it, genuinely might’ve sat next to the first time Flame didn’t freak out when Mane groomed him. Whatever, yeah, disrespect talk.
Just tell him!
Black eyes looked up at Mane as he settled on the mattress, blinking slow even despite their argument—another thing stolen from the lion—and holy shit he was going to squish this kid and never let go, actually. Which did not help the authority he was trying to get across. Like, at all. What even was there to say? Wemmbu…the kid had just been trying to prove himself. Mane was already putting him in danger by throwing him into a fight with anything above an iron tier. If the boy had his mace, then he probably would’ve been able to deal with the diamond long enough for Mane to get there, anyway.
Mane’s heel tapped rapidly against the floorboard. Wemmbu’s face was slowly knitting closer into an expression that suggested he was expecting a hit.
And man, he—did Mane mess up?
“Wemmbu…kid, I—ha, uhm—I’m sorry.”
Immediately, like a switch, the tense in Wemmbu disappeared. Disappeared and replaced itself with a shock that seemed so genuine Mane wondered if he had been giving off the impression of some egotistical, arrogant PVPer like the festival-goers in the Capital, and—who was he kidding, he definitely did. Ew.
His hand sat between them silently, a thing that his cub seemed to like simply because it gave him choice, “I shouldn’t have left you—no, I shouldn’t have let you into a fight with a diamond trim,” Wemmbu snatched his hand, if only to squeeze it to all hell in protest, “Ow. We both know you can’t handle—Ow. We both know you can’t handle that yet, and I’m…I’m sorry I let you into that situation.”
When I was supposed to be the one protecting you.
When Mane decided it was actually significantly more shitty of him not to look the kid in the eyes, he found teary irises that looked about a second away from being flooded with tears of…relief? Relief, maybe. Wemmbu tended to let out that same sigh when something ended up turning out okay.
“That…Mane,” he sniffled; wiped at his eyes aggressively, “That was such a shit apology, bro.”
“Language.”
He was pushed back by his chest, a loud and sniffling purple demon of a child now trying to very subtly curl up on top of him (and god, he was doing such a bad job at pretending to be tackling Mane), “Dude, I'm literally—hey! You swear all the time!”
Complaints and whinings came from the kid until Mane huffed—because really, if Wem was going to be a little shit, he had every right—and the lion wrapped his arms around him, harshly turning them over. As he said earlier, the kid was small. Very squishable. It just worked out to use him as a teddy bear, really.
“Mane!”
He tucked Wemmbu’s head under his chin.
“Mane, bro, let go!” he squirmed a little before seemingly giving up, pushing weakly at his chest and whining about it being unfair—there was a remark or two about Mane messing up the demon’s hair as well, but he thought the little braids were cute.
Whatever, he needed to groom his cub anyway, the little knots didn’t really mean much.
Oh, and it let Mane pretend he was focused on them instead of the trills Wemmbu was trying desperately to keep down. This boy was going to kill him.