diary of an angelic soul

Against the cracking of high tide, there is only the sound of his breathing, drawing out as a painful metronome. His large chest takes a long time to expand.

“Tsahìk’s son is dressing my wound.” You hum with a stupid grin. “I must be special.”

If he agrees, he certainly does not say so. Instead, his fingers gently brush away a family of urchin spines and slather a clump of light green paste over the patch of your skin where they, not so long ago, called home. When you jump at the coolness, his other hand comes down on your uninjured knee as a warm, makeshift anchor.

“What, so it’s my fault the reef wants my blood?”

Now, you are pushing. Coaxing. Like you want him to scold you. Like a ticklish kiss to his elbow with the hope that the arrow snaps forward. In a better mood, he would say that the reef had done nothing. You never heed his warnings. You always step forward without looking where your feet land.

With his thick lashes fluttering in every slow blink, Ao’nung wraps the affliction in bandage. With a surge of brilliance, you part your lips in a particularly pained “o” and feign an aggrieved moan. “Ow!”

His eyes, for the first time since his arrival, practically leap from their sockets as he looks up from his spot between your legs to meet your gaze. He’s about to apologize for his roughness in what would have been an amusing gesture considering his feather-light touch, when he notices the glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

“Got you.” You sing, but the brief acknowledgement quickly dissipates into an eye-roll. Still holding your leg, his fingers go back to their tinkering, and this time, you pout.

“You’re mad at me.”

It is so earnest, Ao’nung feels his chest pull from the inside. Slowly, he finishes his wrapping. “I am not mad at you.”

Ao'nung has learned, more often than not, that the quirk in your brow is response enough. In this case, it is quite clear – really?

He pauses. “You give me a headache.”

Not the right explanation, but he says it anyways. It was not so much matter of head as it was matter of heart. You made his heart ache.

And if that wasn’t agonizing enough, his hands were still stained with your blood. His body suddenly comes up until his chest brushes yours and those same red hands caress your face.

“I thought you needed a brain for that.” You whisper, hot air circulating the echo-chamber between you. He scowls for half a heartbeat, then sends himself forward like an arrow, chasing your lips in warm, sloppy kisses. They make his throaty “Shut. Up.” sound sweet.  

Before he pulls apart, Ao’nung presses a few more kisses to your lips for good measure - and if you squint your eyes hard enough, there is a touch of a smile playing at his mouth. Content to see you so speechless. He turns his back to you and kneels down. The unspoken is fast understood.

“I’m only doing this because of your leg.” That was Ao'nung. Always a disclaimer before his better deeds.

Happily, you slot your legs into the space between his arms and torso, and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Together, you lift into the air. Warm and smiley against his muscular back.

“I think you just want to hold me.”

Like the tide retreats into the deep sea, Ao’nung drops his hands so they are no longer supporting your thighs, your dead-weight dragging behind him. “Keep thinking.” He mumbles.

Water is fickle, you muse, before bringing your body back onto his and hugging tightly. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, pressing gentle kisses that make him shiver. “I’m sorry, I love you.” Like an arrow whizzing past his ears.

“Nuisance.”

“And?”

“And I love you.”

Away from your prying gaze, Ao’nung smiles until his cheeks hurt. The arrow hits the target, but the tip is blunt.

He thinks. 

It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth. 

But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him. 

It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you. 

Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone. 

Like now, you linger. 

It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them. 

Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over. 

Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin. 

“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes. 

Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger. 

“We going or what?” he finally says. 

You perk up. 

“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.

Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly. 

“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents. 

You roll your lips and shift on your feet. 

“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful. 

Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours. 

“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.” 

Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible. 

You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes. 

“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up." 

You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off. 

“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh. 

“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles. 

“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”

Lo'ak sneers. 

“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.

“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”

Lo'ak's spine stiffens.

“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.” 

Kiri rolls her eyes hard. 

There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you. 

“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam. 

He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand. 

“Hi,” he says flatly. 

“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet. 

His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare. 

“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat. 

A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him. 

His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows. 

“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”

You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure. 

“My birthday's coming up,” you start. 

“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs. 

It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest. 

“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you. 

“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone. 

You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens. 

“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”

Friend. 

He scowls at the term.

“We're not friends,” he bites back. 

If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face. 

“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly. 

“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp. 

He leaves you in the clearing on your own.

You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice. 

“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head. 

His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply. 

“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”

“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly. 

“But, Dad!”

“Lo'ak.”

Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off. 

“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle. 

The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target. 

Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot. 

You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile. 

“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.” 

Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target. 

His heart sinks. 

“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.

He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two. 

He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn. 

“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs. 

“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest. 

You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path. 

He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora. 

“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel. 

His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks. 

“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!” 

His chest rises and falls with a scoff. 

“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood. 

Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage. 

“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly. 

“You are my friend,” you protest quietly. 

Lo’ak rolls his eyes. 

“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you. 

“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?” 

Friends. 

That stupid fucking word again.

Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path. 

Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.

“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle. 

As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother. 

“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.” 

“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised. 

Lo’ak’s face scrunches.

“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”

“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns. 

“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”

A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates. 

“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.” 

Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly.

You try to coax him. 

“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up. 

You offer up the plate again. 

“Lo’ak–“ 

“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed. 

He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground. 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds. 

“Shit, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.” 

“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering. 

“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.” 

Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–

“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”

“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.” 

“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters. 

“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.” 

“Dad!” 

“Go, Lo’ak.” 

Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air. 

He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology. 

When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye. 

He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction. 

“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief. 

You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest. 

Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about. 

When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile. 

“I wanted to–”

“I came to–”

Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy. 

“You first,” you offer. 

Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing. 

“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.” 

You shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him. 

He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you. 

You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile. 

You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn. 

Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation. 

He shrugs. 

“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.” 

The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face. 

“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?” 

No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly. 

It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night. 

“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly. 

“I dunno, green?” he offers. 

“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly. 

Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head. 

“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.” 

He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal. 

“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages. 

Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up. 

“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.

You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet. 

“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.” 

Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion. 

“What?” he asks. 

You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him. 

“Nothing.” 

Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session. 

And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you. 

He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off. 

And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade. 

Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended. 

“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips. 

Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars. 

“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.” 

“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night. 

And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has. 

But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries. 

The words are leaving him before he can stop them. 

“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.” 

The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.

“I’m not perfect,” you assure him. 

“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.” 

You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile. 

“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.” 

Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.

You continue. 

“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.” 

Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments. 

“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.” 

“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.” 

“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

You nod, smiling at him. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”

Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.

Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night. 

After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring. 

“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village. 

“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed. 

Kiri shrugs. 

“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.” 

You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully. 

“Yeah?” you wonder

So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower. 

It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist. 

Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat. 

He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.

There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again. 

But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw. 

“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands. 

You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff. 

“Hey,” he replies hesitantly. 

“Where you going?” you ask curiously.

His throat bobs as he gestures behind him. 

“Hunting,” is all he says.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.

He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control. 

Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard. 

“No,” he says.

And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly. 

“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?” 

“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.” 

“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–” 

“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too. 

You try again anyways. 

“It’ll be good practice and–”

“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.” 

Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch. 

“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”

The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face. 

Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later. 

You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.

Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore. 

You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully. 

“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates. 

“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone. 

“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles. 

“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.” 

You frown. 

Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud. 

“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent. 

“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs. 

Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.

His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further. 

“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him. 

He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut. 

“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”

“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level. 

“But you’re–”

“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.

Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle. 

You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree. 

You follow after him. 

“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects. 

He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.” 

You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off. 

He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels. 

“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”

“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!” 

You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you. 

“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry. 

“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!” 

You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles. 

“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper. 

“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!” 

The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you. 

“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.” 

Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat. 

You dropped your journal. 

Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands. 

It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet. 

He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been. 

“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal. 

It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open. 

He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch. 

“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued. 

“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers. 

“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?” 

Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.

“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides. 

A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers. 

“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. 

Spider winces behind him. 

“You serious?” 

Lo’ak sighs. 

“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…” 

“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.” 

Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him. 

“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.” 

“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.” 

Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.

“Did you at least apologize?” 

Lo’ak squirms.

“Dude!” 

“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation. 

“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“ 

“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs. 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.” 

“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps. 

“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?” 

He blinks at the human. 

“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.” 

“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.

“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”

“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply. 

“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.” 

Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook. 

“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly. 

Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off. 

It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.

At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths. 

It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind. 

I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis. 

As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him. 

He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you. 

It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late. 

After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.

As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver. 

A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling. 

Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar. 

“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.

It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face. 

When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them. 

“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves. 

A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it. 

“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head. 

A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him. 

As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze. 

“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.” 

Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read. 

“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand. 

“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.” 

His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him. 

His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it. 

He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping. 

It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you. 

You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—

Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain. 

It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished. 

Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind. 

It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap. 

It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.

As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh. 

Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath. 

Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know. 

he is like the sun,

shines so bright,

but burns the closer you get. 

Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting. 

he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him. 

His chest heaves as the words blur. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

Fearless. 

In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward. 

He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye. 

Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time. 

likes green and blue. 

likes yovo fruits. 

The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest. 

When he turns the page, his breath hitches. 

In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes. 

Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another. 

The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star. 

He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like. 

Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease. 

His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones. 

Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river. 

A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide. 

Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you. 

You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself. 

He stands from the hammock and runs. 

You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.

Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.

As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins. 

You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape. 

“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.” 

You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him. 

You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm. 

“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay. 

“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.” 

The tears well on their own. 

We’re not friends. We never were and we never will. 

The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches. 

“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.” 

He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below. 

“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.” 

Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky. 

“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.” 

“I do, _________, I do!” he argues. 

He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you. 

You shake your head again.

“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.” 

“Stop–”

“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”

“No, _________. Wait!” 

You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness. 

Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better. 

She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence. 

“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat. 

Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task. 

It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest. 

“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his. 

Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze. 

“I hurt someone,” he says quietly. 

Neytiri stiffens.

“What?” 

“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. 

Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression. 

“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?” 

You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly. 

“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…” 

Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest. 

“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.” 

Lo’ak swallows. 

“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.” 

Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.

His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines. 

“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines. 

“Why should I help you with your mess?” 

You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment. 

He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd. 

Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show. 

Be brave. 

He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space. 

You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips. 

“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him. 

You remain jaded.

“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background. “________,” Lo’ak tries again. 

You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side. 

“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder. 

The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday. 

She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you. 

He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact. 

He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet. 

He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely. 

It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right. 

Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt. 

They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart. 

“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.” 

Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve. 

Be brave. Sometimes that is enough. 

Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids. 

“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.” 

The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push. 

“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees. 

“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage. 

“I’ll only be a second!” 

“Wait, Kiri!” 

Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path. 

“Good luck, egghead!”

Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself. 

You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams. 

“Oh, you were–”

You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls. 

“Lo’ak…” 

“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes. 

You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet. 

“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him. 

He scratches the back of his head. 

“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer. 

“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads. 

You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly. 

You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat. 

The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.

His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream. 

“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.” 

“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.” 

He swallows.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.” 

You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words. 

“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.” 

When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him. 

He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes. 

“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.” 

You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek. 

“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.” 

You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you. 

“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?” 

He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze. 

“Did you…” 

“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”

“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?” 

“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening. 

“Lo’ak, don’t–”

“How long?” he presses desperately. 

Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push. 

“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.” 

Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines. 

“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”

You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.

“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.” 

He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out. 

“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief. 

“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. 

“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.” 

Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head. 

“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him. 

“Please.” 

His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours. 

“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.” 

Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope. 

“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers. 

You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss. 

He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you. 

To being loved by you. 

BONUS

“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…” 

Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones. 

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.” 

Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by. 

His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift. 

“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.” 

You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you. 

A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself. 

“Lo’ak, wow…” 

“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.” 

an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx

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neng © 2023

when you first met ao'nung, you hated him. he was constantly bothering you and your siblings and getting you into trouble. but as the months passed, the metkayina was slowly becoming more and more tolerable; wich eventually led to you becoming friends, and later on, something more.

exchanging meaningful looks that only you and him seemed to notice, smiles between conversations and slight touches in front of your friends soon became something common between the two teenagers. but of course people were gonna find out sooner or later.

the first one to notice was you older brother, neteyam. at first the boy thought he was just imagining things — there was no way his baby sister was getting involved with him, out of all people. even if ao'nung has changed his manners towards your family, the omaticaya couldn't seem to let the grudge go.

then, lo'ak used to wake up in the middle of the night to you silently sneaking away to eywa-knows-where and staying until dawn, returning before your parents woke up. he didn't care at first, but when your escapades became more and more frequent, he knew something was up.

"shes gotta be with him, bro. there's no way this is a coincidence! we have to do something." your twin has been annoying neteyam all morning with this since he mentioned that you and ao'nung seemed closer than normal, remembering lo'ak of your outings in the dead of night. soon they realized: their sister was in a relationship.

"what do you me want to do? this is none of our business, lo'ak. she'll tell us when she's ready."

"come on. stop pretending you're not dying to know if they're really dating!" he smiled mid sentence. the thought of you getting a partner before him and neteyam was really funny to lo'ak. "i can see it in your eyes! you're jealous!"

"fine. we'll follow her next time to see if she's really meeting him. and for the record, i'm not jealous. just worried."

and then, they waited. lo'ak kept himself awake until late at night, pretending to be asleep, to see if you were going to leave — he was really invested in this. but for a few days, you stayed in the family's house. it was almost like you were suspecting them. but of course your brothers weren't going to give up so easily: lo’ak was always so nosy when it came to your personal life, and even though neteyam wouldn't admit, he really wanted to know if you really were dating, maybe even more than your twin.

but one night, it happened. trying to be as quiet as possible, you get up and direct yourself to the entrance, sneaking out without anyone noticing — at least that's what you thought. but as soon as you closed the marui, lo'ak quickly sat down and woke up the older boy.

"bro. wake up. wake up! she's leaving." he said violently shaking neteyam, not even worrying with the volume of his voice.

"what the- be quiet! you will end up getting us all into trouble."

"sorry. let's follow her before she goes too far, let's go!"

meanwhile, you made your way to the rocks near the sea, your boyfriend already waiting for you; he always got out of home first so he didn't have to make you wait. arriving earlier than you expected, you couldn't shake this terrible feeling that you were being watched, making you walk faster than you normally do. the taller one noticed the change in your movements from far away and the worried expression on your face, pulling you closer to him once you got where he was.

ao'nung gave a gentle kiss on your lips before asking: "is everything ok, my love? you look bothered.”

you felt you heart melt with the nickname — he always knew how to make you flustered without even trying. that's what you loved the most about your boyfriend: he was always so caring and sweet with you, completely destroying the view you had from him months ago. hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you shake you head in response. there was no need to worry him with this, after all, you must've been imagining things. "are you sure? you seem pretty tense."

"i just have this odd feeling that i'm being watched. but it's nothing, really. my mind must be playing tricks on me."

he looked around for a moment before turning his attention back to you. "it must be. let's sit down?"

...

“they just kissed! gross!” lo’ak said in a whisper. “imagine when dad finds out! he's gonna throw a tantrum. his precious little girl is finally dating!”

“shut up, skxawng. they're going to hear us. we need to get closer, i can barely see or hear anything.”

“oh? what did you say a few days ago again? ‘she's going to tell us when she's ready! what do you want me to do?’ you're such a bad liar, brother.”

giving lo’ak a playful smack on the shoulder, neteyam got a few steps closer to you, being careful to not be seen.

laying your head on his lap while he gently caressed your hair, you were telling ao’nung everything about the forest and how you used to love ikran racing, going out with your sisters to collect different plants and fruits, climbing trees and and how beautiful the hallelujah montains were. but there was something your brothers couldn't see — the way he looked at you. like you were the most beautiful na’vi in pandora; ao’nung was absolutely smitten with you, from the way you talked to the way you smiled. he surely was in love, his softer side reserved only for you.

he leaned in closer to your face to give you a peck on the lips. but a peck turned into two, and two turned into three. soon, you were passionately kissing under the moonlight, butterflies taking over your stomach.

“ew. should we confront them? this is getting awkward. they're eating each other's faces.”

abruptly getting up, your older brother made his way to you without thinking twice. lo’ak far behind him, trying to contain the laughter that was begging to be let out. there was no way in hell he would let you forget this moment.

“hey! what do you think you're doing with my sister, fish lips?”

oh eywa.

“neteyam? lo’ak- what are you doing here?” you couldn't believe your eyes; did your brothers seriously follow you all this way here just to spy on you? “i can't believe this. i'm going to murder you! for how long have you been here?”

“long enough to know there's something between you and fish lips! and you didn't even tell us, y/n… i thought we told each other everything. i'm hurt!” now lo’ak was just making fun of you. feeling your cheeks heat up you gave ao’nung a quick “im sorry” glance, wich he responded with an awkward smile.

“hey, pretty boy. i was talking to you. what are your intentions with her?”

“neteyam. no. you're not doing this right now! leave!”

everything was a chaos. you couldn't contain your frustration anymore, your brother asking a million questions to ao’nung while you tried to make him stop, lo’aks laugher echoing in the back of your mind. “stop! stop, all of you!”

the raise of your voice was unexpected, the boys getting quiet all at once. “you two. come with me. we're going home before we wake up the whole village. or even worse: our parents notice our absence. wait for me right there.” you said pointing to the place they were before.

“you don't-"

“neteyam. now. you don't want us to get in trouble, do you?” he grumbled something you didn't quite catch and left, pulling a very entertained lo’ak by the arm.

you lowered your voice just in case they could hear you. “baby… i'm sorry about them. eywa, i can't decide if i want to kill myself or those two!”

“it's fine. your family was always a little crazy. i guess you took after them.”

“what? i'm the most normal one there!” you laughed. at least he wasn't mad about this. giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you left. “i’ll see you when the sun rises i guess.”

“see you later.”

now your attention was aimed towards the two idiots that you called your brothers. getting closer to them with each step you took, your anger only got bigger. “what is wrong with you guys? spying on me, embarrassing me in front of my boyfriend, sneaking out! if dad finds out we're dead! all of us!”

“so you admit that he is your boyfriend!” you gave lo’ak a flick on the head. “skxawng. i could kill you both right now!”

the walk back home was silent for the most part — you were fuming with anger. only when you were getting closer to home, neteyam broke the ice:

“i don't like him.”

“good thing i'm the one dating him, not you.”

silence again.

“guys.” you turned your head to lo’ak. “i'm y/n’s twin. do you think he's attracted to me too? since we have the same face and all.” you wanted to smack away the mischievous smile on his face.

“that's gross. please don't ever say this again!” now you couldn't help but laugh. how could he be such an idiot?

of course you couldn't be mad at them forever — they might be nosy and annoying, but you were still family. and the sullys always stick together.

authors note: ok so this is not ao'nung centered at all oops! i don't know if i managed to do exactly what the anon asked but i swear i tried my best with this one... also him and lo'ak are a pain in the ass to write.

He’d hound the scientists in the lab for more content for you, would come back with stacks and stacks of books that would make your cheeks warm. And he’d hand bind you journals, fashion you utensils and smash various fruits and petals to a fine paste for you to compile your findings. 

There wasn’t a thing that Neteyam wouldn’t do for you, any lengths he wouldn’t travel just to see you beam up at him with that radiant smile. Neteyam could admit wholeheartedly that he was whipped. 

“Thanks, Teyam,” you’d say gently, arms winding around his waist in a crushing hug. “Appreciate you.” 

His breath would hitch and he’d just grin. 

It didn’t help that you were so achingly beautiful, made his throat bob every time a gleam of sun would refract over your dimpled cheeks. Made his cheeks warm and his body freeze when your skin, soft and smooth, would brush his in accidental touches. 

There was only one small little issue. 

It was a conversation he’d try and fail to have with you multiple times over the course of your adolescence and into your young adulthood. At first, it was unspoken, he was certain it was the two of you for life, but as you trained and passed your rite, the final piece to your coming of age was fast approaching; selecting someone to spend your time with. 

He was a year your senior and the rumor mill was alight with buzz. He hadn’t chosen someone on the night of his feast, had suspended the selection in favor of urging everyone that the timing wasn’t right. 

This didn’t deter a number of fine women from the village taking their chances, advance after gutsy advance that would always end with the sound declaration that he was already waiting for someone. 

That had only solidified the village’s theory about the two of you, that he was holding out for you, waiting until you chose him right back to claim you as his own. It was a sweet thing, most of them felt, would cast tender looks every time the two of you would interact under their watchful gazes. 

But you were a creature of habit, didn’t like being under such prying eyes, yet too nice to let it be known. Neteyam knew, though. Would steer clear of curious glances, would spend whatever free time he had soaking up every moment with you in the shield of the forest. 

He was a strong man with only one weakness: you. 

He’d thought he made himself clear with that, thought that everyone knew that you were spoken for and it was his mighty word, but he comes to find out that there are many young men who’ve been lingering, waiting for any opportunity. 

This much he notices when an especially buff warrior with a narrow waist and broad shoulders emerges from the outskirts and starts hanging around a little more often. 

Ku’aro, Neteyam thinks his name is. 

It had started off innocent, a small thanks for a healing session Mo’at and your mother let you lead when he hurt himself in a hunting party, but Neteyam knew better than to think that no other man would succumb to your charms. 

It continued with bundles of flowers, fruits, little trinkets Ku’aro would surprise you with when Neteyam had other responsibilities he had to tend to. And it wouldn’t have bothered him as much if he’d never seen the little gifts again, but you’re too sweet for your own good, displaying them on the same ledge in your tent.

They take up room next to every one of his thoughtful gestures and the thought of sharing your attention with another man makes him prickle with envy. 

But he could live with it if it made you happy, could push aside his pride and keep his irritation mum if the gift-giving was all it was. But now Ku’aro is starting to chisel into his time with you, stealing you away for walks through the forest, swims in the river. 

And it makes him absolutely seethe, makes him exceptionally angry every time you emerge from the brush with Ku’aro hot on your heels. His mind races and he can’t help the sick thought of you being with someone who isn’t him seep into every crevice of his brain. 

Had you two ever…kissed? You weren’t the type of girl, but things change and he’s not above admitting that he’s as jealous as they come. 

“Something wrong, Teyam?” you ask, looking up from your book. 

He’s sighed for the fourth time in the hour, fidgeting so uncomfortably that you’ve been rereading the same sentence for the past ten minutes because you can’t concentrate. 

His tense shoulders relax when he meets your viscous gaze, lips parting because the forest is darkening with the impending eclipse and you look so soft and glowy. 

He clears his throat. 

“No,” he coughs. “All good.” 

You don’t seem to buy it, head tilting as you inspect your friend carefully, book dog-eared and set off to the side as you shuffle nearer. 

The aroma of herbs and spice, the tang of petals, surrounds him as you press a hand to his forehead, the other to his chest. 

You have to feel it, the way his heart is pounding audaciously. 

“Your heart’s beating fast, Teyam,” you observe. “And you’re warm.” 

“S’just a little hot,” he swallows, hands circling your wrists to pry your touch away. 

You lean back on your haunches, still in his grasp as you peer up at his pinched expression. 

In all your years of closely orbiting the olo’eyktan’s son, you know that something weighs heavy on his mind. He bears a great burden regardless, but something is different this time around. 

“We’re friends, Teyam,” you say tenderly. He could literally melt. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Of course he could, you’re the most understanding person he knows, the purest of hearts. But he doesn’t want to spook you, scare you into resignation by interrogating your budding relationship with Ku’aro. 

So he treads carefully. 

“Your selection feast is approaching,” he says breathily, blinking down at you. 

You mull over it for a moment, a smile spreading over your full lips. 

“It is,” you agree, pulling away to toy with your fingers.

A few prolonged lapses of silence pass before Neteyam continues to try and fill in the gaps. 

“Have you…” He shrugs. “…thought of someone yet?” 

Of course you had, you’d know it from the very beginning, no second thoughts needed. It had always been you and Neteyam since the beginning, thick as thieves. 

There have been many things you’ve been uncertain of growing up, but there’s one thing that you’re sure of, and it’s that Neteyam is your end game. 

“I have,” you hum simply. 

He waits with bated breath, eyes unblinking. 

You don’t continue and he’s opening his mouth to ask you to clarify, but the brush starts rustling and Ku’aro’s emerging. 

He wants to let out the most frustrated groan of disapproval when Ku’aro’s eyes light up. Wants to grill you more but knows that he’ll have to wait who knows how long before he can get you alone to press again. 

But what he doesn’t know is that the looming feast is your grand gesture, the occasion you’ve been mustering your courage for for years. You like to think it’s the least he deserves after years of his blatant displays of affection. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” Ku’aro asks, holding up a woven bag of what smells like spartan fruits. 

Your eyes flit to Neteyam’s and he can see the promise that lingers there as your hands squeezes his gently. 

“See you soon,” you say, collecting your things before standing to your feet. 

He knows you mean it, knows that you never make a promise that you can’t keep, but he can’t help the feeling of dread that coils tight in the pit of his stomach.

Ku’aro stands a little too close as you two walk through the forest, eating the spartan fruits that he’d picked before he sought you out. 

“I have to ask you something,” he says, after a pregnant pause. 

You turn just in time for him to nearly barrel into you, strong hands coming to right your stance. You stomach knots when you notice he’s close, eyes gentle and glowing as he gazes down at you. 

“Yeah?” you peep, body tense as his fingers skim your biceps, down your forearms and clasp your hands. 

You’d held hands with Neteyam countless times, had spent so much time in his space, that the touch of another isn’t lost on you, but this makes you feel queasy. 

You ease away. 

“I need to be courageous,” he says. “I know your selection feast is approaching and…” 

You know what he’s going to say. You’ve dreaded it this entire time, hoped that village gossip and the copious amounts of time you’d spend with Neteyam would be the glaringly obvious sign that you weren’t interested in anything beyond a friendship. 

“Ku’aro…” you sigh and his face falls a fraction. 

He’s already pieced it together in his head. 

“It really is him, huh?” 

He’d known. Of course he did. No one was blind to it, just wishful thinking on his part that maybe he could get you to see someone else. 

But your heart was locked up tight, an impenetrable fortress that refused to unravel for anyone but him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say apologetically, then add, “you have been very kind to me, and a woman will see your great heart one day, but it can’t be me.” 

His smile is sad, but he’s known it was a losing battle going in, worth a shot if anything.

His shoulders shake with a defeated laugh. 

“He’s a lucky ass,” he says, extending the remaining fruits to you. “My peace offering to him. I know he’s been boiling recently.” 

Your walk with Ku’aro couldn’t have been more than a hour, but Neteyam waits for what feels like an eternity. He’s lingering in the same spot you’d left him, spacing out as he paces, waiting for your arrival. 

His body goes rigid when he feels a pair of arms circle around his waist from behind, but relaxes when he wafts the familiar scent of herbs and spice. 

“Hi,” he whispers, voice hoarse from disuse. 

He turns to face you, brushing your hair behind your shoulders to get a good look at your face. And despite wracking his brain for the latter part of the hour you were gone, he tries to get a grip on his composure. 

“Have fun?” he asks, insides gooey as your face angles towards his, chin poking his chest as your eyes curve into crescents along with your smile. 

“Was okay,” you tell him. “He let me bring back the rest of the fruits.”

Neteyam resists an eyeroll. 

“Probably dry,” he remarks quietly and you can’t help the full laugh that leaves your lips at his snarky remark. 

You wanted to put it off until the night of the feast, but you can tell there’s an internal warfare that agonizes him. You were shy, not a fool, had known that he was waiting for any concrete evidence that you’d chosen him. 

And at first you thought it was obvious, could read him like one of your books. But you hadn’t realized that maybe you weren’t that easy to read, years of growing up learning how to remain composed for your potential role leaving you internalizing every feeling. 

“You asked me about my selection feast…” you trail off, making him shiver when you start drawing small shapes on his spine. 

“Uh huh,” he agrees shakily. 

“You’re curious, huh?” you ask. 

“You could say that,” he laughs, but you hear the twinge of uncertainty. 

It makes a ripple of sadness work through your veins. 

“Well…” you start. “I like someone. A lot.” 

The flame of hope flickering in his chest dances, the smile on your face an obvious tell. 

“Do you now?” 

He should’ve knew never to doubt you, should’ve known with the same ferocity as the other villagers that you two truly were written in the stars. 

You hum in agreement. 

“You gonna tell me about him?” he bites. 

You peel away from him, shy, even though you know that there isn’t a surer thing on the moon. You tilt your head, grin bashful as you clasp your hands behind your back and start pacing. 

“Well, the most important thing is that he is kind,” you say, pausing to think for a moment. “And he’s strong, a great warrior and very brave.” 

His chest pumps infinitesimally.

“I think he cares a lot about me,” you continue, then correct yourself, “I know he does. He is gracious and so thoughtful, never makes me second guess myself. He is my greatest supporter and makes me want to be a better person.” 

Neteyam’s smile is unbridled. 

“Most of all, he is my best friend,” you swallow, eyes searching his. “And while I love every person who has made me who I am today, nothing compares to how much I love him.” 

His breath hitches at the words, your first official declaration. 

“And it doesn’t help that he’s very, very, very handsome,” you add, standing before him.

Your eyes settle on the beadwork of his choker, too sheepish to meet his eyes as you brush non-existent debris off his shoulders. 

His fingers catch yours and you look up find that tears are welling in his eyes. 

“Teyam,” you coo, a watery laugh leaving your lips at that sight of the usually poised leader-in-training showing far more emotion than you’d seen in the lifetime you’ve known him.

“Don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he chuffs, head bending forward to rest on your shoulder. 

You want to tease him, ask him if he’ll say it back, but you already know. 

Everybody does. 

neng © 2023

“We can go back to that if you’d prefer. Your face looks really punchable right now.” His hands take hold of yours, which were gearing up to do the aforementioned punching. He laughs again, softer this time. “You’re really stubborn sometimes,” he says casually, holding your hands to his chest. “Like you can talk,” you mumble, staring at your hands held securely in his own. He’s right, your relationship has changed drastically. Constant arguing and competitions were replaced with sweet nothings and gift giving. Anger dissipated into affection and fondness as you finally understood exactly what it was that you felt when you looked at him.

“We can go back to that if you’d prefer. Your face looks really punchable right now.” His hands take hold of yours, which were gearing up to do the aforementioned punching. He laughs again, softer this time. “You’re really stubborn sometimes,” he says casually, holding your hands to his chest. “Like you can talk,” you mumble, staring at your hands held securely in his own. He’s right, your relationship has changed drastically. Constant arguing and competitions were replaced with sweet nothings and gift giving. Anger dissipated into affection and fondness as you finally understood exactly what it was that you felt when you looked at him.

“That’s true,” he leans in closer, and your breathing becomes laboured again as you study his face so close to yours. His soft lips, his blush coated cheeks, his eyes, calm as the sea but they could be just as deadly. “Maybe you should shut me up.”

As much as you want that, your natural instinct is to bite back. “No please, keep talking. I am fascinated to know what other outstanding qualities I have.”

He pauses, clearly thinking you’d give in to him. His face changes, and you can’t read his expression.

“Fine.” Maybe he thought that when you started dating it would be all sunshine and rainbows. But after fighting for so long, you find it difficult to rid yourself of the urge to piss him off. He’s just so cute when he’s mad.

“You’re annoying, and you’re obnoxious and you’re irresponsible,” he spits, his eyes resembling the deadly waves you’d encounter if you ventured outside the reef. He leans in further and further with every word. You raise your eyebrows, silently egging him on.

“And you’re so, so enticing.”

No later than he has the last word out does he capture your lips, greedily and hungrily. His hands grip your waist tightly and he pulls you as close to him as physically possible, your entire body flush against his. His lips taste like the sea, they feel like the sea, they are the sea; they save you and drown you all at the same time. They drag you under their currents and steal your breath only to guide you back to the surface when your lungs start screaming that they’re going to burst. They have no beginning and no end, they give and they take. They make your head spin and your eyes see stars. The only thing that mattered to you right now was this moment, standing in the shallow waters, the moon you called home traveling so that the planet it orbited blocked the sun and cast you in darkness.

He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands, his hands so rough and rugged from his training and hunting but which hold you with such tenderness and warmth.

“I hate you,” he whispers, the words making his lips brush against yours again. His eyes are calm once more, like an undisturbed sea, specks of green swimming in the soft blue pools.

His words make you smile, because you know he does not mean it, but being open and emotional is not something that comes easily to Ao’nung. He trusts you to know what he really means, and you do, because his eyes are screaming it into the night, loud enough for the whole village to hear if only they could study his eyes as you have.

“I hate you more.”

he sends a daring look over his shoulder as he begins to wade into the water. a taunt, a question. are you going to join me? you will join me, won't you? you will swim the seas with me until the sun burns out and night reigns forever and we are all that is left and—you will join me?

you will—you do. as soon as ao'nung turns back around to dive into the water you are rushing immediately after him. it's cold, chilling, against your skin as you break through it. but that does not mean it is unwelcome.

below the tide ao'nung greets you. he is still smiling, still keen, but it is softer. bubbles trickle from his lips to the surface like glitter chasing the heavens. he glistens and gleams and he is beautiful, here. you would not dare ever utter such a thing to his face for fear of it being held above your head for the rest of your adjoined lives. but it is truth and you stand by it, tuck it away into the crevices of your heart. within a file tagged: ma ao'nung alone, for only my eyes.

because this here, right now, is only for you, is it not?

ao'nung swims a circle around you, causes the ocean to spin you at its whim and you do not protest. you give way to see him like this; playful in the most innocent, pure sense. no animosity, so spite. you wonder if he even realizes how much of himself he gives away at times like these. if he's even aware he's baring bits and pieces of his soul to you.

you do not wish to complain and you will take all that you're given with outstretched hands and an ever-open heart. ao'nung is like the ocean: ruthless and unruly but strong and blanketing of all those held within him.

you have always been fond of the ocean.

his circling stops and he tips his head back up to the surface. more air, a need to breathe, he conveys. you've been so caught up in it all you hadn't even realized your chest had started to burn. funny, how such vital things can be pushed to the side.

you follow him, breach the sea and inhale until your lungs are satisfied. as you blink the water out of your eyes, you catch ao'nung's gaze. one beat, two beats—by the third you're laughing. at what, for why, you have no clue. but you aren't entirely sure there needs to be a comprehensible reason behind it.

it is warm and it is light, and that is enough.

"how about we play a game," ao'nung proposes. "whoever gets a shell from the ocean floor and makes it back to surface first wins."

"oh, you're so on," you snort, let a playful smirk tilt the edges of your lips. "do not cry too hard when i beat you."

"as if you could beat me," he snarks back, mirroring your grin, as he lines himself up with you. "go in three."

you narrow your eyes at him, splash a smidgen of water at his face just to vaguely throw him off his game. he splashes back, you do not fight it. you seem so drained of fight tonight.

"two."

ao’nung’s feet knock against yours underwater. an accident while keeping himself afloat, you know, but you still nudge him back with your own. his grin widens, you tip your head in a taunting manner.

"one."

now, in any other circumstance, one might expect ao'nung to be the cheating type. and, to be completely forthcoming, they'd be right. ao'nung is not a textbook cheater, you would say, but he knows his way about bending rules without causing the brittle decrees to break in order to turn the table in his favor. he likes to win, and he likes doing so by any means necessary.

but, that does not ring true in the case of you. ao'nung becomes a fair man within your presence. you like to joke that it's because he's scared of you, too afraid of what you might do in retaliation to his swaying. but you know that that is not the reason behind it at all. rather, he holds enough respect for you within his heart, that he would not try to pull your plug early. and you can't help but admire that.

especially now, as he even waits half a second after you take your dive to take his.

you know it will not make much difference and—despite your own competitive hunger to win—you know ao'nung could give you a five second head start and still best you easily. he is one of (if not the) strongest swimmers in your entire clan. you never had a fighting chance of winning, but you put on an act like you're trying to anyways, just to appease him.

you retrieve the first shell your hand grazes as you reach the bottom and instantly push off the sandy floor to race back to the top. and, just like you predicted, ao’nung is already a whole body’s length closer to air than you. his smile has turned triumphant, proud. you hate that you think it suits him.

you meet him above the waves only a few moments after he rises through them himself. he’s already opening his mouth for a tease before you even have the chance to move the sopping hair out of your eyes.

“what did you say, about beating me?” he goads, waving the shell he’s picked in front of your face. “i should have put some odds on the deal. what an easy win.”

of course it was, you want to say, but, “oh, shut it,” is what leaves your mouth.

you roll your eyes as you reach over to shove at his head. and he wastes no time in grabbing your arm, tugging you closer in the chilly water so that his chest brushes yours with every other flutter of your feet to keep you from sinking. his smirk is still there, still cocky and prideful and haughty, but his eyes twinkle with something more genuine in nature.

“why do you bring me out here, ao’nung?”

perhaps it is not something you should be so easily inclined to ask. not now, not when you are having such a good time with him. not while he’s got you so close. and yet, maybe that makes it the perfect time to ask such a thing. maybe, the heart finds it harder to lie when its pair is only separated by two inches of water and slanted ribs.

ao’nung’s snide expression falters; fizzles out like a star who’s died years ago and now it’s light has finally decided to dim. but it is not regretful, not bad.

it is more so contemplating, thinking of how to define its own existence.

“it is just… nice.” he juts out his bottom lip, drops his gaze from yours then back up. it’s so real, raw. he’s beautiful. “when everyone else is around, i get annoyed. they are all so nosy. and they—agh.”

he tries to throw his head to the side in a groan but you stop him. your hand molds to his cheek, brings him back to you. it’s almost comical, the pout on his lips.

“they what?” you ask, because you’d like to know. whatever it is.

and ao’nung takes a moment to chew it over. like he’s really having to think about if he really wants to tell you or not. (you think if he settles on not, you’ll just have to twist his ear until he agrees, but you don’t voice that just yet).

finally, he puffs out a breath. “everyone is just always looking. at you. at us. what we’re doing. and that’s just so…!”

“wait, you,” your eyes widen, the corners of your lips twitch up, “you’re shy!”

“i am not—“

“oh my eywa,” you laugh, wholly and totally uncaring of the volume of such now, “this is why you like to meet at night? when no one is around? that’s so—you’re so cute, ao’nung!”

“oh, i’ll show you cute,” he grumbles.

and suddenly you’re gasping as you’re being thrown back. a split second into the air before you’re splashing into the water. you’re all sorts of twisted around, but with a few passes of erratic thrashing, you make your way back up to the surface. you’re sucking in a breath as you hear ao’nung’s busting of a gut. you’re glad he finds nearly drowning you funny.

“oh now that,” he chuckles, reaches forward to sweep the mess of hair out of your eyes so that you can get the chance to glare at him properly. “that’s cute.”

“how do you somehow always end up spinning these things onto me?” you question, allowing him to pull you close once again, despite the chattering of your teeth.

“you just make it too easy,” he levels, pinching at your waist and laughing once more at how you jerk from it. and yet, you let him place your arms around his neck, don’t object to how he settles his own hands onto your hips submerged in the sea. how uncouth of you, your father might just be ashamed. but as ao’nung’s gaze softens, you can’t find it within yourself to care about his approval right now. “you make everything too easy.”

“why, prince ao’nung, are you flirting with me?” you ask through a faux gasp. and now it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you. but it is done lovingly, with a squeeze to your hips and another inch closer.

“i’m about to do a whole lot more than flirt,” he murmurs, darting his eyes to your lips, closing the gap that suddenly seems eons too far. light reflects off the droplets clinging to his lashes like a linear constellation, and you wonder if they’ll transfer across your cheeks as you let your eyes flutter shut with the first brush of his salty lips against your own.

moonlight tends to paint the prettiest pictures when it is veiling over tides and two young lovers, you think. beauty is forged among the whispers and waves.