Tam

Singing Headcanon?

Ok, but something I've noticed is that everyone assumes that Linh manifested first. But really, we have no idea when Tam manifested, if it was a few days before his sister, or after, or even at the same time. Just putting that out there.

I was crying.

My hands shook as I tried to make my tears useful, weave them into something worthwhile and beautiful, like my mother and father wanted. But my concentration was marred by the words pounding around in my head.

"Do better, Linh."

"Don't make me get your father, Linh."

"Are you even trying?"

With a final sob, my shaking hands fell into my lap, the soft ends of my hair brushing against my palms. I grabbed them and pulled, trying to distract myself from the hurt.

The door to my room creaked open, and I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face behind a mass of hair. I didn't want anyone in here.

I felt the bed sink beside me and an arm around my shuddering shoulders, pulling me closer. I turned and pressed my forehead to his shoulder, trying to stifle my sobs for his sake.

"Don't listen to them, okay?" He squeezed me tighter. "They're wrong. They're all wrong."

"Are they?" I sat up, swiping my hands across my face, trying to erase the tears as if he hadn't already seen them. "What if they're not, Tam? What if--" The next words dissolved into sobs. "What if I really am as useless as Mom and Dad say?"

He didn't answer, but I knew he wasn't agreeing with me. He was thinking the same thing about himself.

We both were.

"Linh," he said softly, and I looked away. He only said my name like that when he was scared, and angry. Angry at our parents, and scared for me. For both of us. "Linh, don't listen to them. Don't listen to anybody who says that. They don't know us, they don't know you, they don't know anything! They just...." He relaxed his fists, which had knotted into my comforter. "They just don't know."

He sounded lonely, and scared. He didn't know what to say, because he was just as lost as I was. He was just better at hiding it than me.

"I could play you something," he offered, as if trying to make up for not saying what I needed. "I know you don't like silence."

It was true. Just like my mother, I found the waves comforting. And as a result, Dad stuffed us into the farthest room he could find.

I shook my head. "Nothing of Mom's. I don't want anything of hers in here."

Tam nodded, and wrapped an arm around me. The cold night made me shiver, and he tugged the comforter over us both.

Then, he started singing. There was no music, and it had been a while, but he was still as good as I remembered. It reminded me of the long nights when we were younger, when he started singing to distract himself from the dark. Soon, it was a way to make us both feel better.

He sang well into the night, and when I woke up, I found him resting against my headboard, sound asleep. I smiled, and tucked the fallen comforter back around him.

Maybe he wasn't perfect. Maybe he didn't always know what to say. But he was trying.

We both were.