#anaya

The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the faces gathered around it. Noa sat near his mother, absently chewing on a piece of roasted fish while his eyes followed her. She sat cross-legged, laughter shining in her eyes as she spoke to the young ones, who were transfixed by her words, her hands weaving stories of places they had never seen, of humans and old legends, of a world before their own.  Even the eagles seemed to like her, especially Eagle sun, who would always bring her little trinkets or fishes if she joined them on hunts.

She belonged here.

Noa had not expected that. 

The first time he had seen her, bloodied and weak, he had only thought of survival, of Raka’s words, of Caesar's... Of what she could mean for them—for him. Humans were dangerous, unpredictable, and only thought about themselves. But she… she was something else. She had woven herself into their lives like the roots of an ancient tree, steady and firm, until it was impossible to imagine the village without her presence.

His mother, Dar, adored her. The young apes clung to her words. Soona and especially Anaya with his endless teasing, had warmed to her in ways that made Noa’s chest tighten.

He watched now as Anaya leaned over, pressing a piece of ripe fruit into her hand with a soft hoot and  an easy grin. She smiled, thanked him softly, and took a bite.

Noa felt his fingers clench around his own food. A bitter taste rose in his throat, though he had not swallowed anything bitter.

The firelight suddenly seemed too bright, the voices too loud, and the air too thick. He had never been one to question his emotions, but this… this unfamiliar tightening in his chest, the heat curling in his belly—it unsettled him.

He pushed away his half-eaten meal and rose to his feet, ignoring the questioning glance from Dar. He needed air, needed space, needed—

You.

He climbed to the eagles’ tower, hoping it would calm the raging storm in his mind and that the sickening coil would disappear. Your smile flashed through his mind, eyes bright with the fire’s flames and softly looking at the clan’s young ones.

Would she look at him like that too? Would she look at him with love?

Could she only look at him?

Noa’s conscience  (that sounded a lot like Soona’s voice) reprimanded him for feeling jealous of the children of the clan, of any ape that interacted with her. But a more animalistic part of him roared that you were meant for him and was begging him to go and show you that he was the best choice as a mate. Show his prowess as master of the birds, as leader of the eagle clan, fight the other apes and lay claim on you.

He felt his restraint waning.

He could not control himself anymore, he needed to see her– see you.

The night was well in when he climbed down the eagles tower, the stars and dim fire the only light illuminating Noa’s green gaze, more serious than ever.  He found her outside her hut, the soft glow of the fire casting long shadows. She turned when she heard him approach, her gaze warm although surprised.

“Noa?”

He stopped a few paces away, uncertain. The jealousy still burned, hot and undeniable, and yet, beneath it, something deeper stirred. Something he had been afraid to name.

“You… you are close with Anaya,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

You blinked and tilted your head, studying him. “I suppose I am. He’s my friend. Like you.”

Noa’s hands curled at his sides. “Not like me– Not like Noa.”

Silence stretched between the two of you, thick as early winter’s mist. Taking a careful step forward, you murmured, “Then tell me,” voice soft and tinted with something he couldn’t quite decipher. “How are you different?”

His heart pounded loud, the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. He had fought Proximus Caesar and won, had faced dangers beyond count but this—this was something else entirely. This was losing control in a way that frightened him. He felt like a young ape again, clumsy, afraid...

“I don’t like seeing you with him,” he admitted in a low voice. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. The way you smile at him–.” He exhaled sharply, frustrated at his own lack of words. “I don’t like that I care.”

Your expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across your features. Then, to his surprise, you smiled, understanding shining in your eyes. Gently reaching out for him, hesitating only a moment before resting your palm against the scar on his chest. His skin burned hot where your skin touched his.

“Noa,” you whispered, voice steady as the river’s flow and warm like the sun’s rays in the morning. “You don’t have to be afraid of what you feel.”

He swallowed hard, his green eyes looking for yours. “And what if I am?”

Stepping even closer, until there was no space left between you, until he could hear the soft hitch of your breath. “Then let me show you.”

Softly your hands wrapped around his neck, holding his head gently as your foreheads touched shyly.

Closing your eyes, you felt Noa tense under your hands until his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding your head closer to his, with a need that surprised both of you.  A breath of your name as Noa's eyes fluttered closed.

Then, your lips softly kissed his. A brief, shy peck. Short but full of meaning.

A human kiss.

It was nothing like he expected—soft yet certain, delicate yet powerful. The world around you two faded, the firelight, the village, the elders, Anaya… Gone with the whispers of the wind, disappearing into the warmth of your lips against his. He responded instinctively yet clumsily, unfamiliar with the Echo customs. His arms wrapping around your waist, holding tight as if letting go would mean losing something vital.

When you finally pulled away, much to the ape’s chagrin, his eyes met yours, those beautiful eyes that looked up at him with quiet certainty and a deep loving glint. “You don’t have to be jealous, Noa,” your voice echoed in the darkness of the forest, resting your forehead against his again. “Because it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Noa closed his eyes, inhaling the truth of your words, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe.

A small, breathy laugh escaped you as you nudged his shoulder playfully. “You’re adorable when you’re brooding, you know that?”

His ears twitched, and you could swear he was blushing under his fur, warmth spreading across his face as he fixed you with a playful glare. “I don’t brood.”

Smirking at his cute behaviour, your fingers running through the rough fur on the nape of his neck. “You do. But I like it.”

Noa sighed, defeated but content, letting his forehead rest against you once more and pulling your bodies as close as physically possible. The tension he had carried all evening melted away with each caress of your fingers. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Please”

Smiling, fingers curling around him, foreheads like hearts, finally united.

 “Always.”