ᥫ᭡ lets escape this reality.ᐟ

You looked at him again, he laid shirtless in bed, cuffed to the sides. Fresh gauze, alcohol, cotton, a medical stapler and tape sat on the crate beside you, just in case you needed them, which was very likely. They had patched the worst of the wounds before leaving, but the bandages on his side were already seeping again.

You didn’t want to be here. Matt had asked you because he trusted you, an old friend who’d survived Fisk’s wrath once before.—The bald bastard had tried to get you killed, after all— and because Karen had tried to put a bullet in Pointdexter’s head the moment they dragged him in.

To be honest, a part of you, a dark, whispering part, wanted Dex awake and mobile. Wanted him to walk out of here and finish the job Matt refused to fucking do.

But it’s not a matter of what you want.

With a sigh, you made your way to him with the gauze, cotton, alcohol and tape in hand, kneeling next to him on the bed. Your eyes flickered to him, making sure he was still out before daring to touch him. You peeled back the old dressing on his side as carefully as you could. His skin was fever-warm, muscles sculpted even in unconsciousness, marred by fresh bruises and the ugly gunshot wound. You used the cotton and alcohol to wipe him clean again, and then pressed clean gauze over the wound, securing it with tape, trying not to think about how still he was. You tried very hard not to think about how dangerous even this version of him felt, the man could kill people with anything, literally anything.

His hand snapped up without warning.

Fingers locked around your wrist, yanking your hand up against his chest. His eyes flew open, sharp, pale, instantly focused despite the pain. It was an intense stare that pinned you where you knelt beside the bed, it was scary. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to bruise, but there was no escaping his grip.

“You’re not Karen,” he rasped, voice rough from disuse and pain. A faint, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, it was honestly a little unsettling. “Good. She’d have finished the job by now.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You didn’t pull away immediately. “Let go.”

He didn’t, of course. His thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist, almost curious, feeling your pulse racing under his fingers. “You’re playing nurse for the man who killed your friends’ buddy.” His eyes flicked over your face, reading you. “Matt’s idea?”

“Yeah.” Your voice stayed steady even as heat crawled up your neck. “He had to take Karen somewhere else, you know, before she actually shot you.”

“Smart. She’s got fire. You’re different.” He tilted his head against the thin pillow, still looking up at you like you were the only thing in the room worth focusing on, not that there was much else. The cuffs clinked softly as he tested them without real effort. “And you’ve got that look. You've got your own deal. I’m sure you’ve got a motive of your own to keep me alive.”

You swallowed. The temptation was there again, thick and ugly. All it took was one set of keys to unlock the cuffs. He could slip out, disappear into the city, and do what Matt won’t: end Fisk.

Fisk who sent men to drag you into an alley and put two bullets in your torso because you asked the wrong questions.

You’re tempted to reach for the keys, but Matt’s words echoed right after: killing Fisk now would only make him a martyr. Create ten more Fisk’s in his place.

You hated how reasonable it sounded. You hated how much you still wanted the other, less morally correct option.

“I’m here to keep you alive until Matt gets back,” you said quietly. “That’s the plan.”

His smile widened by degrees until it was a quiet, knowing thing. He loosened his hold on your wrist, though his hand remained heavy against your skin. He sat up with a stifled groan, the movement stiff and careful, you watched his expression tighten, knowing exactly how much those staples must be pulling at his side.

“You’re lying. I can see it in your eyes. Part of you wants me walking out that door, part of you is wondering what I’d do to Fisk if I did.” He licked his dry lips, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before returning. “I’m good at finishing things. Ask Foggy.”

The name hit you like a slap. You twisted your wrist free from his grip, standing up fast. Your hand hovered near the gun at your hip. “Don’t.”

“You know I could take him out.”

“You won’t.”

Dex watched you, calm as ever, even while restrained, bleeding, unarmed and in a clear disadvantage. “Why not? You know what he is. What he almost did to you.” His voice softened, almost gentle. It was fucking eerie coming from someone who holds no regard for feelings. “I’m still balancing the scales. You could help tip them.”

“Who told you about that?”

“I know Fisk tried to get you killed in an alley like a dog that needed to be put down, and I know you’re not happy about that.” He kept talking, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to taunt you or if he’s acknowledging what you went through when no one else seemed to be able to.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” he debated, rightfully so. “I know he sent his men to kill you, your friends know this too, and yet, the man responsible for it is walking around still, free and as the mayor. And… What are your friends doing? Nothing”.

“Don’t.” You tried interrupting him, but he kept going. The gift that keeps on giving.

“They won’t deal with him themselves, and they won’t let me deal with him either—“

“Stop it,” You said, more firmly this time. Without realizing it, your body leaned forward, one knee bending onto the edge of the mattress as you hovered over him, drawn in by his words despite yourself.

“—Which means that your friends are doing nothing to avenge you, you almost got killed and they did nothing.”

“Shut up!” You finally gave in to his provocations and had a reaction, which is what he probably wanted. Your voice came out sharper than intended, breathier, the space between you now dangerously small.

The air felt too thick. You could hear your own breathing, could see the way his chest rose and fell right beneath you, the hard line of muscle leading down to his v line, covered by his sweatpants.

He noticed where your eyes went and tilted his head, shifting his hips deliberately.

That made you draw the gun at him.

“Enough.” The barrel leveled at his chest. “Not another word.”

Dex’s eyes flicked up to yours again. That slow, crooked smile returned, the bastard was having fun despite everything. “You’re not gonna shoot me,”

You kept the gun steady, still leaning over him, hovering close enough that the heat of his body rose up to meet you. You had no intention of pulling the trigger, this is not the way you did things, but the weight of the gun felt necessary.

You held his gaze. He looked up at you from the bed, that intense, unblinking stare locking onto yours, with slightly parted lips, eyes dark and focused only on you. The silence stretched, thick and dangerous.

One twist of the key… Let him go. Let him finish it. The thought slithered back in, hot and treacherous, twisting right alongside the sharp awareness of how close you were to him, with your knee planted on the mattress, body leaning over his, gun steady between you. His warmth radiated up through the thin space that remained. You could smell the faint copper of blood, sweat, and something darker underneath.

Your eyes betrayed you. They dropped.

He was hard. Painfully, obviously hard beneath the thin gray sweats, the thick outline straining against the fabric as he sat upright on the bed, using his strong arms to steady himself, legs slightly spread.

You scoffed, half-shocked. “Seriously?”

Dex followed your gaze. For two full seconds his face flickered, genuine mortification flashing across those sharp, blood-crusted features. His ears went pink.

“You’re very close, and I’m still a man,” he said, voice low and rough, almost apologetic for that split second before the smugness crept back in.

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “A weird man, yes. Who gets hard when someone points a gun at him?”

He tilted his head, that unsettling little smile returning even as his breathing grew heavier. Oh.

“Guess so.” His tongue slowly wet his lower lip. “Yet I’m not getting slapped… So what does that say about you?”

“Shut up.”

Oh, that got him smirking.

The gun stayed pointed at his chest, your finger nowhere near the trigger. Your eyes kept flicking down despite yourself. You kept noticing how the thin gray sweats tented obscenely, how the thick, heavy line of his cock strained against the fabric, a small wet spot already darkening the material right at the head.

Dex didn’t look away from your face. His breathing had deepened, each inhale pulling at the fresh bandages you’d just taped down. The cuffs rattled faintly as he tested them again, not hard enough to break free, but enough that the metal bit into his wrists. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second, then back up, pupils blown wide and dark.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” he said again, quieter this time. “And you’re not gonna walk away either. Not with the way you’re looking at me.”

Your free hand moved before you could stop it. You fisted your fingers in his short hair at the nape of his neck and yanked his head back sharply, exposing the long line of his throat. A low, involuntary sound escaped him— not quite a groan, but close— his Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes stayed locked on yours, pupils flaring even wider at the rough treatment. He didn’t fight it. If anything, his hips shifted forward a fraction, cock twitching visibly in the sweats.

“Tell me to stop,” you said, voice low and steady, searching his face.

The moral storm still raged in your chest: Matt’s trust, Karen’s grief, Fisk’s smug face while his men dragged you. But right now, with Dex’s pulse hammering under your grip and the way he was staring at you,, it all felt distant.

Dex’s tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip again. His stare never wavered. “Don’t stop.”

The words were simple. No hesitation.

You leaned in and crushed your mouth to his, he was already meeting you halfway.

The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing because he surged up to meet you as much as the cuffs and his injuries allowed. His lips were a little dry from dehydration and blood, but he kissed like he was starving, open-mouthed, tongue sliding against yours with surprising heat. The kiss tasted like the metallic taste of blood mixed with salt and something unmistakably him. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue as he instinctively tried to raise his hands to touch you. The cuffs clinked hard against the sides of the bed frame, metal biting into skin, but he didn’t stop pulling, didn’t stop chasing your mouth.

You tugged his hair harder, tilting his head exactly how you wanted, and he let you, melted into it with another low, hungry noise. His cock jumped against the fabric, hips rolling up in a helpless little thrust that made the sweats stretch obscenely.

When you finally broke the kiss for air, a thin string of spit connected your lips for a second before breaking. His eyes were half-lidded, lips shiny and swollen, that unsettling little smile gone, replaced by raw want.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice wrecked. His gaze flicked down to where your knee was still planted on the mattress between his spread thighs, then back up to your mouth. “Do that again.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you holstered the gun—not trusting yourself with it anymore— and climbed fully onto the bed, straddling his lap. The moment your weight settled over his hips, his cock pressed hot and rigid against your core through the layers of clothing. He hissed through his teeth, head staying upright as his hips bucked up once, grinding into you with surprising force for someone cuffed and bleeding.

You shoved his sweats down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavy and thick against his lower belly, flushed dark, the head already slick with pre-cum that beaded at the slit and dripped down the shaft. He was big, longer than you expected, with a slight upward curve and a thick vein running along the underside.

Your hand wrapped around him without preamble, but you didn’t stroke him properly. Not yet. You kept your grip loose and torturously slow, sliding your palm from root to tip in long, dragging pulls, thumb barely grazing the sensitive head each time. Every time his hips twitched up chasing more friction, you eased off just enough to deny him the pleasure.

Dex’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering but staying locked on your face. His pupils were huge, dark, and when you gave one particularly slow twist around the head, smearing pre-cum everywhere before pulling your hand almost all the way off, a low, wrecked sound escaped him. He loved it. The denial, the suffering. You could see it in the way his abs clenched, in the desperate little jerks of his hips that he couldn’t fully control.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as you edged him again, stroking just fast enough to make his cock throb in your fist before slowing to a crawl. “This is what you get for taunting me,” you whispered, voice rough. “For knowing exactly what I want and dangling it in front of me.”

He didn’t beg. He just stared at your lips, hungry and unblinking, chest heaving. When you squeezed tighter on the upstroke and then stopped completely, letting his cock twitch uselessly in the air, his wrists yanked hard at the cuffs on either side of him. The metal rattled violently against the bed frame, but he couldn’t reach you. He couldn’t touch your thighs, couldn’t grab your hips. All he could do was take it, sitting upright, muscles straining, cock leaking steadily over your fingers.

“Fuck… yeah,” he rasped, voice low and rough, almost reverent. His gaze never left your mouth. “Keep going. Just like that.”

You stroked him again, faster this time, fist gliding slick and tight until his thighs started to tremble and his breathing turned ragged, and then you stopped, pulling your hand away entirely. His cock bobbed angrily against his stomach, flushed and dripping, and Dex let out a shaky exhale, head tilting back slightly before snapping forward again to watch you.

The moral battle roared back louder than ever while you tortured him like this. Matt had asked you to keep Dex alive— locked up, controlled— so he wouldn’t kill Fisk and turn the bastard into a martyr. Karen wanted him dead for Foggy, her hands already stained enough by Wesley. And you… you wanted Fisk gone more than almost anything. The alley, the bullets tearing through you, the fear… it still woke you up some nights. Dex would do it. You knew it in your bones. If you uncuffed him right now and whispered the words, he’d walk out of here and end Wilson Fisk without a second thought.

He’d love it. He’d do it for the sport, for the balance, and maybe— just maybe—a little for you.

But Matt’s voice echoed in your head: I cannot let her kill him and do something that will haunt her forever. And you knew he was right. Killing Fisk now would only create ten more monsters in his place.

Still, with Dex sitting there cuffed to the sides of the bed, cock throbbing in your hand, eyes dark with want and that eerie calm acceptance… The temptation to just let him go afterward was thicker than ever.

You gave him one more slow, punishing stroke—tight, twisting, dragging your thumb hard over the leaking slit— then stopped again, watching his face twist with frustrated pleasure.

“Enough,” you finally growled, voice breaking with your own need. You stripped your pants and underwear off in one rough motion, kicking them aside. Then you climbed back over him properly, lining his cock up with your entrance. You were soaked, already embarrassingly wet from the power, the wrongness, the sheer intensity of edging him while he sat there helpless and loving every second of it.

You sank down onto him in one slow, relentless slide.

The stretch burned in the best way, his thick cock splitting you open as you took every inch. Dex’s head stayed upright, eyes rolling back for a second as a guttural groan ripped from his chest. “So fucking tight— Jesus Christ.”

You bottomed out with a moan, hips flush against his. For a moment you just sat there, letting yourself adjust, feeling him throb deep inside you while he remained sitting, cuffed hands useless at his sides. Then, when it stopped being too much, you started moving, slow, grinding rolls of your hips that dragged his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.

His hands were useless, cuffed tight to the sides of the bed, so all he could do was take it. Take every roll of your hips, every clench of your pussy around him. His abs flexed with every thrust, the bandages on his side darkening further, but he didn’t care. He just stared up at you with raw hunger, lips parted, occasionally bucking up to meet you when he could, the cuffs rattling with each desperate pull.

You braced one hand on his sweat-slick chest, the other fisting his short hair again as you started riding him in earnest. Slow at first, then faster with deep, grinding rolls of your hips that dragged every thick inch of his cock along your walls, the wet squelch of your soaked pussy swallowing him obscenely loud in the quiet room.

That should’ve sobered you up, it didn’t.

Dex stayed sitting upright, cuffed hands useless at his sides, but he didn’t stay passive. Every time you leaned closer, chasing the friction on your clit against his pelvis, he craned his neck forward with a low, hungry sound. His lips found your throat, hot and open-mouthed, sucking messy marks into the skin just below your jaw while his tongue dragged greedily along your pulse point. When you slammed down taking him to the hilt, he groaned against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot hard enough to sting before soothing it with his tongue.

“Fuck- so wet,” he rasped between kisses, voice wrecked and rough, lips brushing your collarbone as you rode him faster. “Can feel you dripping down… squeezing me so fucking tight every time you sink down.”

His hips bucked up to meet your downward strokes as much as the pain and cuffs allowed, the motion limited but forceful, driving his cock deeper with every thrust. The cuffs rattled violently against the sides of the bed with each desperate yank, metal biting into his wrists, veins standing out along his forearms as he strained uselessly to touch you. He wanted to grab your hips, to pull you down harder, to feel your skin under his palms so badly that his fingers curled into tight fists, tugging harder every time your pussy clenched around him.

You ground down in tight circles, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every roll, your clit rubbing slick and insistent against the base of his shaft. Dex’s head tilted, lips latching onto the side of your neck again, sucking hard as a broken grunt vibrated against your skin. His breath came in hot, ragged pants between each messy kiss, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat.

“Harder,” he muttered against your throat, the word half-command, half-plea, but he didn’t beg, just kept staring up at you with those blown pupils whenever you pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Another violent tug at the cuffs made the bed frame creak as you bounced on his cock, the wet slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder, filthier.

Your walls fluttered around his thick length, the stretch burning so good as you took him deeper, feeling every vein and ridge as you rode him without mercy. Dex’s abs clenched visibly under your palm, and he groaned louder when you traced them with your fingers, mouth chasing your neck again, licking a broad stripe up the column of your throat before biting down lightly, hips stuttering up to fuck into you from below.

The pleasure coiled tighter, your pussy gripping him like a vice with every downstroke, slick sounds echoing as you slammed yourself onto his cock over and over. Dex’s breathing turned into shallow, desperate grunts against your skin, his cock twitching and pulsing hot inside you, the head nudging your cervix with every brutal grind.

When you came, it hit like a freight train. A good one. Your pussy clamping down rhythmically around his throbbing cock, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you ground down hard, riding out every pulsing wave while your nails dug into his chest.

Dex followed right after with a low, “Fuck—”, his hips jerking up as much as he could, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled thick, hot ropes of cum, flooding your pussy while he stayed sitting upright, lips pressed open-mouthed against your neck through the whole thing.

The room fell quiet except for your shared, ragged breathing.

You stayed there for a long moment, still impaled on his softening cock, both of you slick with sweat and cum and a little blood from his reopened wounds. Your fingers loosened in his hair, stroking through the short strands almost gently now.

Dex’s eyes were half-closed, but he was still watching you, only that now that intense, pale stare had softened just a fraction by the afterglow. His voice, when it came, was rough and quiet.

“…You still gonna keep me locked up?”

You didn’t answer right away. The moral storm was already creeping back in, quieter now, but still there. Matt’s request. Karen’s rage. Fisk still breathing.

But the way Dex had looked at you when he said “don’t stop,” the way he’d yanked at those cuffs like he’d die if he couldn’t touch you… you knew one thing for certain.

He would do it if you asked, he’d walk out of here and put a bullet in Fisk’s head without blinking.

Other children occasionally appeared during large gatherings—sons and daughters of families with similar names and similar expectations. They tried to join your games sometimes.

Draco never liked that very much.

He would tolerate them for a while, watching with that pale, assessing gaze he had even as a child. But eventually he would drift closer, inserting himself between you with authority, steering the game elsewhere or suggesting something that involved only the two of you.

“It's time to take our bath,” he would announce suddenly, pulling you away.

Or a tug at your sleeve. “Did you forget about me?”

Sometimes he did not even bother speaking. A look was enough—one of those steady, pale stares that lingered just long enough for you to recognize what it meant.

That’s enough.

Draco never seemed aware that there was anything unusual in the way he behaved. And you did not question it either. You simply accepted it as another ordinary part of the world you had both been raised in. Boys, and eventually men, in your society were often demanding in quiet ways, accustomed to being obeyed without much discussion. Draco was simply better at it than most.

Perhaps Draco just knew how to handle you best.

Draco grew first.

His limbs lengthened, his shoulders broadened, and the soft, boyish roundness of his face sharpened into something more defined. His hands grew larger, his voice settled lower in his throat. The change came gradually enough that it was easy to miss at first—until one day the boy you had laid with in the gardens no longer quite looked like a child.

Yet in many ways, Draco remained the same.

The same restless mischief lingered in him, the same stubborn certainty that the world should arrange itself the way he preferred. Only now it lived uneasily inside the body of a teenage boy rather than a child. The games were not quite the same anymore. His instincts had shifted, though he seemed only half-aware of it himself.

The innocence of childhood faded slowly after that. Hogwarts had a way of doing that.

Names passed between mouths with smirks and laughter. Rumors about secret meetings after curfew, about couples slipping away into empty classrooms, about things people claimed to have seen or heard in the dark. Many boys bragged about it loudly, with the sort of crude pride that made others lean closer just to listen.

The incident in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor happened that winter.

You heard the whispers at school, of course, but they never quite settled into your understanding.

Your upbringing had been too careful, too controlled. In the houses you and Draco came from, sexual matters simply did not exist in conversation. No one explained them. No one acknowledged them.

Draco pretended not to care.

Among the boys he kept his usual air of superiority, leaning back in his chair while others talked with a kind of eager vulgarity.

“—I'd pinned her down—”

“—she could really take it—”

He would roll his eyes.

“Spare me,” he’d mutter, as though the entire discussion bored him.

But sometimes he listened longer than he meant to. Something in him had begun to wonder—about touch, about bodies, about the strange feverish pleasure that seemed to consume everyone else his age.

Those thoughts always seemed to circle back to you.

The Malfoy estate drawing room had always been too grand for children.

Tall dark ceilings, heavy velvet curtains, shelves of old books that smelled faintly of dust and polish—everything about it had been designed for quiet conversation. When you were younger, it had felt like an art gallery you were constantly at risk of breaking. Yet somehow, you and Draco had always managed to turn it into a playground. 

Even now. 

Winter pressed against the tall windows, frost threading pale patterns across the glass. Inside, the fire burned low and steady, bathing the green walls and polished wood in soft gold light. Across the room, Lucius Malfoy continued speaking in his calm, measured voice. “…alliances such as these are not merely social matters. They are matters of legacy—” 

Draco had long since abandoned the pretense of listening. At some point he had slid off the sofa and stretched out on the thick carpet beside your chair, sprawled on his back like a lazing cat. One arm rested behind his head while the other reached upward, almost absentmindedly.

Toward you.

His collar had come loose, a few buttons of his shirt undone in careless disregard. From where you sat you could see the pale line of his throat, the slow movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. A new part of Draco—something that stirred a strange, quiet curiosity in you, the brief, inexplicable urge to reach out and trace the line of it with your fingers. You wanted to feel the changes in his body.

You sat with as much composure as you could manage, hands folded politely in your lap, nodding occasionally at Lucius as though you were following every word. But Draco’s fingers had already found your ankle. It began innocently enough. His fingertips brushed lightly along the fabric of your stocking, tracing the curve of your ankle beneath the chair.

Absent-minded. Familiar.

The sort of idle contact that had existed between you since childhood. Except now it didn’t feel quite so normal. Since Hogwarts, since the whispers and half-understood conversations, even small things had begun to carry a different weight.

You shifted slightly, nudging his hand away with the heel of your shoe.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, his fingers curled around your ankle more deliberately this time, the warmth of his palm pressing through the thin fabric of your stocking. The touch was slow, absentminded in appearance, but firm enough that it was unmistakably intentional. Your breath caught—just slightly.

He tilted his head back on the carpet so he could look up at you. Platinum hair spilled loosely across the dark rug, and the firelight caught in the pale strands. His grey eyes met yours upside down from where he lay, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

That familiar mischief. 

The same look he’d had since you were children chasing each other through the Malfoy halls. Only now there was something sharper in it. You leaned forward just enough to whisper. “Stop.” Your voice was barely audible over Lucius’s ongoing lecture. 

Draco’s mouth twitched. Instead of letting go, his fingers slid higher along your calf. The movement was slow. Curious. Testing. Your stocking stretched slightly beneath his grip as his thumb brushed along the inside of your ankle, feeling the warmth of your skin through the thin fabric.

Your heart began beating faster. “Draco,” you whispered again, sharper this time. “Stop.” Lucius continued speaking, pacing slowly near the fireplace. “…tradition is not something one simply abandons when it becomes inconvenient—” Draco seemed utterly unbothered by the risk.

If anything, the danger of being caught only made the grin in his eyes brighter. His fingers hooked beneath the edge of your stocking. You stared down at him in disbelief. He raised one pale eyebrow in silent challenge.

Don’t. You mouthed. He did it anyway. The stocking began sliding down your calf inch by inch, the fabric whispering softly as it moved. Cool air touched the bare skin of your leg where the stocking had been moments before. You sucked in a quiet breath. “Stop, Draco,” you hissed, barely louder than before. He tugged again.

Your stocking slipped halfway down your calf. His knuckles brushed the warmth of your bare skin now, and his expression shifted—just slightly. As if he’d only just realized what he was touching. But he didn’t pull away. Instead his thumb pressed gently against the inside of your ankle, warm and deliberate. You kicked lightly at his firm shoulder. He grinned wider. And then— He gave one sharp tug. 

“No—!” The gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Your balance vanished as the stocking slid completely free. You pitched forward off the chair, catching yourself just before you landed directly on him. Your hands hit the carpet beside his head, your knee dropping to the floor near his ribs. Your skirt shifted as you steadied yourself.

For a moment the two of you froze like that. Very close. Much closer than either of you had meant to be. Draco blinked up at you, clearly delighted with himself. Then Lucius stopped speaking. 

“Draco, are you listening?” You both looked up at once. Lucius stood across the room now, watching the scene with mild suspicion. You were half on the floor. Draco was sprawled beneath you. Your stocking hung loose around his hand. Draco didn’t even flinch. “Yes, Father.” His voice was smooth. Perfectly composed.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “No, you aren’t.” His gaze shifted toward you. “You’re playing around.” Heat flooded your face. “Sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” you muttered quickly. Lucius waved a dismissive hand. “That’s quite all right.” You climbed back onto your the couch. While his father’s attention lingered on the fireplace— Draco turned his head slightly.

And bit your ankle. Not hard. Just enough for his teeth to press briefly into the soft skin above your heel. You jolted. Your hand flew down to shove his shoulder. He was grinning like a cat. The same gleam in his eyes he’d had since childhood when he knew he was getting away with something. 

Lucius sighed. “That will do for tonight.” Neither of you moved. “Off to bed, the both of you.” His footsteps faded down the hall. Silence settled over the room again. You remained frozen there on the couch, your bare ankle dangerously close to his mouth.

Then he exhaled slowly. “Gods, finally,” Draco murmured. His hand slid lazily back around your calf again. Warm. Possessive in a way that had always existed when you were younger. “I thought he’d never let up.” A quiet laugh escaped him. And his thumb slowly traced the place on your ankle where he’d bitten you. Draco still hadn’t moved from where he lay on the carpet.

He rested your bare ankle near his shoulder, and without thinking he continued to toy with it—his fingers lazily circling the narrow bone, thumb brushing absent-mindedly over warm skin. Beneath his shirt sleeve, the muscle of his forearm shifted each time his hand moved, firm and steady. You became aware of it in a way you hadn’t before—the strength there—and for a fleeting moment you had the strange urge to press your foot more firmly against it, just to feel it resist.

To him, the contact felt natural. It always had. For most of his life you had simply existed within reach—someone to drag by the wrist, to shove aside, to wrestle with. Touch had never carried any particular weight in his mind.

You had always just been there.

His first companion. His most constant rival. The person his eyes instinctively searched for whenever he entered a room. The one he enjoyed provoking more than anyone else, simply because he knew you would always answer him.

And the strange thing was that Draco genuinely did not see the line that had slowly blurred as the two of you grew older.

In the polite society both of your families belonged to, a young man lying on the floor with his hand loosely wrapped around a young woman’s ankle would already be considered improper.

Draco, however, seemed blissfully unaware.

Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

His thumb traced the faint warmth where he had bitten you moments earlier. You shifted slightly in the chair.

Without much thought, he leaned forward, brushing his mouth against the same place—not quite a kiss, more the brief press of his pink lips against the indentation, as though testing the shape of it.

Then he glanced up at you.

The firelight caught faintly in his pale eyes.

“You’re fidgeting,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

His grip tightened slightly as if to prove it.

Your heart beat a little faster.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then you cleared your throat.

“Do you know?” you asked suddenly.

Draco tilted his head back against the carpet to look up at you again, one pale eyebrow lifting.

“Hm?”

You hesitated, lowering your voice even though Lucius had already left the room.

“I've heard about it from school.”

"Yes?"

You folded your hands together in your lap, suddenly very aware of the warmth of his hand around your ankle.

“The girls talk about it,” you said quietly. “About… what they do in private. At night after classes.”

Draco’s mouth curved slowly.

“Oh?”

His tone carried that teasing lilt he used when he sensed he had stumbled into territory that embarrassed you.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Draco.”

Your cheeks were warm now, and you refused to look directly at him.

It had taken courage just to bring it up. Neither of you had ever spoken about it directly before.

Draco studied your face for a moment.

Then a quiet hum left his throat.

“Hmm.”

He rolled slightly onto his side now so he could look at you more easily. The light from the fireplace showered one side of his face in an orange glow. You shivered slightly at this sight of him.

It wasn’t fear—you had never truly been afraid of Draco. But there had always been something about the way he looked at people, a steady, unblinking focus that could feel almost too intense to meet for long.

And in that moment, stretched lazily on the carpet with the firelight flickering across his sharp features, he looked less like a human but something watchful, like a dragon.

“Are you curious?” he asked softly.

His voice had changed slightly.

Lower. Slower.

“Do you want to know what the boys tell me?”

You frowned faintly.

“So you do know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course I do.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s rather difficult not to when they insist on discussing it every other evening.”

Part of you didn’t want to hear it.

Another part—one you weren’t entirely comfortable acknowledging—felt a sharp spark of curiosity.

“It’s just..” you said quietly. “You probably shouldn’t touch me like this anymore, right?"

Draco glanced down at where his hand still rested around your ankle.

His thumb slid slowly along the curve of your heel again before he looked back up at you.

“Like what?”

“Like this.”

“Why?”

“It's odd. People might get the wrong idea.”

The words hung in the air.

Draco watched you for a moment.

Then a small, thoughtful smile appeared.

“Aren’t you curious?” he asked again.

His tone was softer now, almost coaxing.

Your gaze flicked to his face despite yourself.

“About what?”

“About what they told me.”

He shifted a little closer on the carpet and rested his head against the side of your chair, the movement bringing him nearer to your knee. His pale hair brushed lightly against the fabric of your skirt as he settled there, the weight of his head leaning comfortably against your lap. Through the thin layers of fabric you could feel the faint movement of his throat when he swallowed—the subtle rise of his Adam’s apple pressing lightly against your knee.

“They told me a girl’s skin is soft,” he said.

His fingers brushed lightly up your leg as if testing the truth of that statement for himself.

“They told me it feels warm when you touch it.” His eyes landed at the spot between your legs.

His voice had become quieter.

More thoughtful.

“And they say it makes you feel… strange.”

He paused briefly, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

“Good,” he added after a moment.

His grey eyes lifted back to yours.

There was no arrogance in them now. Just curious.

“They say it’s the best thing they’ve ever felt.”

The fire cracked softly beside you.

Draco watched your reaction carefully.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

“Aren’t you curious?” he asked again, almost gently.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

The words felt strange even as you said them.

Everything about the subject felt strange. Forbidden. The girls whispered about it in dormitories with their heads close together. Soft giggles under blankets. Stories passed around like contraband.

You had listened, sometimes pretending not to care. But you had wondered.

Now, lying here with Draco, the curiosity felt heavier. More real.

He watched your expression for a moment, thoughtful.

Then he suddenly pushed himself upright.

“Come here.”

He patted the carpet beside him.

“Lay here with me. I want to whisper something to you.”

It wasn’t unusual. Still, something about the way he said it made your chest tighten slightly.

You slid from the chair and lowered yourself onto the thick carpet beside him. Stretching out so you lay on your side facing him.

The rug was warm from the fire.

And Draco was very close—close enough for you to catch the familiar scent of him, something clean and faintly warm that had always carried an odd sense of comfort for you.

Close enough that every small detail became impossible to ignore: the faint shadows beneath his pale lashes, the slow rise and fall of his breath, the slight tilt of his pert nose.

For a moment he simply watched you.

Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice as though someone might still overhear.

“I've to tell you something,” he murmured.

Your brows knit slightly.

“Yes?"

His tone carried an odd softness now.

“Come closer, I want you to listen carefully."

His fingers lifted, brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was gentle, almost careful.

You studied him.

There was something in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

Something vulnerable.

A small flicker of nervousness hidden beneath his usual composure.

“I want us to stay like this. I want you to be with me forever. Let them think whatever they like."

The words landed between you.

You stared at him, puzzled.

Wasn’t that already obvious?

Your families had known each other for generations. Your lives had been intertwined since before you could remember. Of course you would always remain connected.

But as you looked at him more closely, you realized something.

That wasn’t what he meant. This wasn’t obligation or a family expectation. Draco had said it like a promise. Like something he had chosen. And beneath that promise was another meaning you hadn’t fully understood yet.

He had never wanted to share you.

Not before. Not ever.

It had always been there in small ways—those quiet, possessive habits that had once seemed nothing more than childish stubbornness.

But now—

Now it carried weight.

And for the first time, Draco had said it plainly.

Draco shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, forcing you to lie your head flat on the carpet.

The movement brought him even closer.

His shoulder hovered just above yours, his pale hair falling slightly forward as he leaned over you.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. The quiet presence of his body beside yours.

His gaze lingered on your face, searching your expression.

Expectant.

There was a quiet intensity in him now that hadn’t existed before. Something steady and deliberate.

His fingers brushed slowly along the side of your face before pausing on your neck.

He tilted your face slightly upward so you were looking directly at him.

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? You'll do this for me?” he murmured. He had always spoken to you like that—softly, with that quiet certainty that you would follow him. The same tone he had used since you were children, when asking you to join him in some new scheme.

“I mean it,” he added quietly.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

The fire crackled softly behind you both.

Draco’s expression had gone very still now.

“You’re mine,” he whispered .

The words were not sharp enough to be a command, nor uncertain enough to be a question. They came out instead like something he had realized in that moment and simply spoken aloud.

Just a quiet statement spoken with the unwavering confidence of someone who had grown up believing certain things in the world were meant to belong to him.

You had always been one of them.

The High Camp was buzzing with the frantic energy of an impending move. Huts were being dismantled, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and stressed ikran. You kept your head down, your hands busy tightening the cinch on a supply pack. You had perfected the art of being a ghost.

You hadn't spoken a word to Neteyam since the grove. Not a real word.

Every time you passed him, you felt the phantom itch of the tsaheylu at the base of your skull. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and questioning, but you never looked up. The air between you was always charged, like the sky right before a lightning strike.

You avoided him because the tsaheylu hadn't just shared sensations. Whatever that happened that night has stripped you of your armor.

You used to be a girl with no home, no ties, and no weaknesses. But in that night, you had felt his soul recognize yours, and even worse, you had felt yourself recognize him. You were terrified of the "we" he had whispered.

Every time you saw the silver scar on his chest, you remembered the taste of his skin and the way his heart had thudded against your palm. It made you feel weak. It made you feel Omatikaya. And you knew that the moment you looked into his gold eyes, everything you’d used as a shield of your feelings would crumble into dust.

So, you treated him like a stranger. You stayed in the shadows, focusing on the cold weight of your daggers and the salt-sting of your memories, convinced that if you ignored the bond long enough, it would eventually stop screaming.

But the bond didn't stop screaming, it just learned how to howl in the silence.

You weren't just avoiding him. You were avoiding the version of yourself you had become in his arms. That girl was soft. That girl was loud. That girl belonged to a family, a clan, and a future.

The silence between you was a thin sheet of ice, and today, Neteyam was wearing heavy boots.

"The supply lines are moving East," he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the din of the deconstructing camp. He was standing in the center of the walkway, forcing you to acknowledge him. "My father wants the medics on the first flight."

"I heard the briefing, Sully," you muttered, still refusing to look up from your pack. "I don't need a personal herald."

"Apparently you do," he snapped, his patience finally fraying after two weeks of being treated like a ghost. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you to drop the rope. "Because every time I try to give you an order, you disappear. You’re avoiding your responsibilities."

"I’m avoiding you," you hissed, finally snapping your head up. Your eyes clashed with his, and the air between you ignited. "There’s a difference. I do my job. I just don't do it for you."

"Why? Because you can't look at me without remembering what we did?" Neteyam's voice rose, attracting the attention of a few nearby hunters. "Because you're scared that I actually know what's behind that cold, arrogant mask of yours?"

"There is nothing behind it!" you yelled, shoving his chest. It was like hitting a stone wall.

"No! I'm tired of the lies!" he roared, his voice carrying across the entire ridge, stopping the dismantlement of the huts. He stepped closer, his finger pointing accusingly at your chest. "You act like you don't belong here, like you're some ghost. Why are you so ashamed of who you are?"

"Stop it," you breathed, panic rising in your chest as you saw Jake and Neytiri approaching from the command tent.

"Why?" Neteyam yelled, his voice cracking with the weight of the angst he’d been carrying. "Because you're Mangkwan? Because you think being a sea-blood killer means you don't get to have a heart?"

The busy sounds of the camp died instantly. Hunters froze. Children stopped playing. In an Omatikaya camp, the presence of a Mangkwan was a shock. You felt every eye in the camp land on you, seeing through your disguise for the first time.

You looked at Neteyam, your heart shattering not from the secret being out, but from the fact that he was the one who threw it away.

"You're a fool," you whispered, the betrayal stinging worse than any wound.

The shift was immediate and brutal. When you walked toward the communal cooking fire, the chatter died down as if you’d brought a cold draft with you.

Mothers would reach out, their fingers hooking into their children's shoulders to pull them back into the shadows of their tents as you passed. You saw the way they looked at you, not with hatred, but with a deep superstitious fear. To them, a Mangkwan was a creature of blood and shifting tides, a bad omen that didn't belong in the steady heart of the forest.

The gossip was the worst part.

"She never goes to the Tree to pray," you heard a woman murmur as you scrubbed your daggers by the stream. "I heard they don't have hearts. No faith."

"Did you see her eyes during the hunt?" another replied. "Cold. No wonder Neteyam was acting so strange."

You kept your back straight and your expression like flint, but every whisper felt like a needle under your skin. You were used to being alone, but this was a different kind of isolation. The kind where you were surrounded by people and yet remained completely invisible, except for the parts of you they feared.

You stopped going to the communal meals. It was easier to eat dried fruit alone in the dark than to watch the Omatikaya shift their mats away from you. Even the other medics, people you had bled beside in the medical wing, now found excuses to be elsewhere when you arrived for your shift.

The final blow came from the commander.

Two days after the move, you were summoned to the command center. You expected a briefing, a target, or even a lecture. Instead, you found Jake Sully standing over a map, his face tight with a weary sort of frustration. He didn't look at you as you approached.

"You’re being removed from the main mission roster and for any kind of missions. I can’t have you on the front lines if the hunters and warriors won't trust you at their back. It's a safety risk, for them, and for you."

"I saved your son’s life," you said, your voice a low rasp. "I’ve bled for this clan for almost two years. And you're benching me because of camp gossip?"

"I’m protecting my people," Jake countered, though there was a flicker of something like regret in his eyes. "All of them. Including you. You’re being moved to the outpost in the western cliffs. You’ll stay there, away from the main camp, until things settle down. You'll hunt for your own food. You’ll keep your distance."

"What? Why–"

"The people are uneasy," Jake interrupted, finally looking up. His eyes weren't unkind, but they were firm, settled in a way that left no room for argument. "They’re calling you a bad omen. The hunters won't fly with you, and the families don't want you near the main camp's supply lines. They think your presence brings the wrong kind of attention from the Great Mother."

It was a soft exile. A way to scrub the Mangkwan stain from the Omatikaya’s sight without actually killing you.

"And my work in the medical wing?" you asked, your voice a brittle thread of its former self.

"Neytiri thinks it's best if you stay away from the wounded," Jake said, and there it was, the real sting. "She says the spirits of the ancestors won't heal those who are tended by a hand that doesn't pray."

You didn't wait for a dismissal. You turned on your heel and walked out, your heart a cold dead weight in your chest.

Within the hour, you had packed your few belongings. You didn't say goodbye to the other medics. You didn't look for Neteyam. You moved your gear to a small and damp hollow on the far edge of the cliffs, miles away from the warmth of the communal fires and the humming songs of the village.

From your new home, the High Camp looked like a distant and glowing star. You were close enough to see the life you had briefly shared, but far enough away to know you would never be part of it again. You sat in the dark, the Mangkwan cave feeling more like home than the forest ever had.

The isolation that was supposed to break you turned out only to sharpen the edges you’d spent months trying to blunt. If they wanted a Mangkwan demon, you would give them one.

Living away from the villages meant you were the first to see the valley wake up, and you were the only one who didn't have to wait for a leader's permission to move. While the Omatikaya were still waking up and singing their morning prayers to Eywa, you were already deep in the brush, moving like a ghost through the shadows.

A few days into your exile, you spotted a prime yerik, a massive one that usually required a party of four hunters to take down. You tracked it for almost an hours in total silence and finally brought it down with a single strike to the neck.

The trek back to the fringes took you right past the main gathering trail, exactly when the mid-day hunting parties were returning.

You didn't hide. You shouldered the massive weight of the beast, your muscles slick with sweat and its dark blood staining your shoulders, and walked right through the center of the path.

You saw them before they saw you. A group of young Omatikaya hunters were laughing, carrying a couple of scrawny yerik, barely enough to feed a single family.

As you approached, the laughter died. You didn't slow down. You kept your pace steady, your eyes fixed forward, a solitary, blood-drenched shadow. You moved right past them, the sheer size of your kill making their measly catch look like a joke.

"How did she take that down alone? Without a party?" You heard one of them said, his voice dripping with a mix of awe and resentment.

"She probably used poison. There is no honor in a kill like that," another spat, though he didn't dare say it loud enough for you to turn around.

You let out a short, cold huff of a laugh, loud enough for them to hear. You didn't need their honor. You had the meat, and you had the satisfaction of watching their pride shrivel in your wake.

You reached your isolated hollow and dropped the beast with a heavy thud that echoed against the cliffside. You sat down, pulling out your primary dagger to begin the skinning, the bitterness in your chest feeling almost like a victory. They could pray all they wanted, but they were still going home with empty stomachs while the omen ate like a queen.

You were halfway through the work when you felt it. That familiar prickle at the base of your skull. You didn't look up. You just kept the blade moving, the silver edge slicing through the hide with a wet sound.

"That's a lot of meat for one person," a voice said from the shadows of the trees.

Neteyam was standing there, leaning against a trunk.

Neteyam stayed back for a second, his weight shifting uncomfortably. He looked at the massive yerik and then back at you, sitting there in the dirt, covered in blood and looking more dangerous than he’d ever seen you.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice dripping with a cold, sharp sarcasm. You didn't even look up from your work, the blade of your dagger slicing through the hide with effortless precision. "I'm greedy. I plan on eating every single bit of it myself."

Neteyam shifted awkwardly, his fingers twitching over a small woven satchel hanging at his hip. You caught the scent of it, a sweet and ripe darsel fruit. He had clearly come here thinking you were starving in exile, playing the hero to the abandoned girl. But as he stepped fully into your camp, his eyes widened, and his ears flattened in sheer embarrassment.

Your hollow wasn't a place of suffering. It was a damn fortress of plenty. Racks were full of smoked fish, baskets were overflowing with forest fruits you’d scavenged better than any Omatikaya, and the massive yerik at your feet was enough to feed a dozen hunters.

You paused then, looking at the tiny bag of fruit in his hand and then back up at his face. A mocking smirk spread across your lips. "What’s that, Sully? Are you bringing me a snack?"

Neteyam looked down at the fruit, his blue skin flushing a darker shade. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He let out a long breath and walked closer, dropping the satchel onto a flat stone with a muted thud.

"I... I didn't know," he muttered, his usual confidence completely stripped away. "I thought you were... I came to say I'm sorry."

Neteyam moved closer, his footsteps soft on the damp earth. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. "I’ve been trying to talk to my father," he began, his voice low and cracked. "About the exile. About what happened at the camp. I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn't have yelled it. I shouldn't have put you in that position. It was my pride, and I—"

"Are you joking?" you interrupted, finally looking up. You let out a short laugh that had no warmth in it. You wiped a smear of blood off your cheek with the back of your hand, leaving a dark streak. "This is the best time of my life, Neteyam."

He froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"No orders, no prayers, and most importantly... there's no annoying prince breathing down my neck. No you annoying me every ten minutes, no sulking about your duty. I finally have some peace," you said, a cruel but beautiful smile spreading across your lips.

Neteyam flinched as if you’d struck him, his golden eyes searching yours for a lie. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" you countered. "I’ve never been happier. So you can take your sorrys and your snacks back to the village. I’m doing just fine in the dark."

Neteyam went quiet, his gaze dropping to the massive yerik you’d single-handedly conquered. The silence stretched, thick with the tension of the last two weeks, until he let out a long, weary breath. He looked up at you, his golden eyes searching yours, softened by a vulnerability he usually kept locked behind his warrior’s mask.

"Fair enough," he murmured, a faint, lopsided ghost of a smile touching his lips. He gestured to the carcass, then back to himself. "But if you’re truly as greedy as you say... do you think you could find it in your heart to share some of that meat with a hungry prince? I’ve had a long walk, and the communal's meal is starting to taste like disappointment."

You stared at him for a beat, your thumb tracing the edge of your blade. You wanted to stay bitter. But seeing him looking so genuinely humbled made the ice in your chest crack just a tiny bit.

"Alright," you muttered, turning back to the carcass. "But you’re cleaning the ribs. I’m not playing servant just because you’ve got a royal title."

"Deal," he said quickly, almost too fast, as if he was afraid you’d change your mind.

He moved in beside you, picking up a smaller blade from your kit. For a while, the only sound was the crackle of the fire you’d started and the rhythmic work of preparing the meat.

As the meat started to sizzle over the flames, the scent filled the small hollow, cutting through the damp smell of the caves. Neteyam didn't even wait for an invitation this time before he reached over and snagged a piece directly from the heated stone, huffing a breath to cool it before popping it into his mouth.

His eyes widened, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his throat. It was tender, perfectly seared, and carried the smoky richness of the wood you’d chosen.

"Wow," he exhaled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I forgot you actually know how to cook. I thought you just lived on spite and sea salt."

"I do," you muttered, though you couldn't hide the slight twitch of your lips. "The cooking is just a side effect of having taste buds."

Neteyam smiled and looked at you. In the village, he was the leader, the son, the responsibility. But here, in the dirt of your exile, he looked relaxed. He loved being with you because you were the only person who didn't look at him and see a throne. You just saw a guy who was bad at lying and liked your food.

"You're staring, Sully," you said, though there was no real bite in your voice anymore. You nudged a larger portion of meat toward him with your blade. "Eat. Before I change my mind and make you pay for it in fruit."

"I'd pay a lot more than that to stay here for a while," he admitted.

"The mighty warrior, hiding in an exile hollow because he can't handle a few meetings," you teased, though your heart did a slow roll in your chest. "Your father is going to come looking for you, Neteyam. I’m already the camp’s bad omen. I don’t need kidnapping the prince added to my list of crimes."

"If kidnapping the prince is a crime, then I am a willing victim," Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping to a low, magnetic hum that vibrated in the small space between you.

He didn't wait for your next snarky retort. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You started to open your mouth to tell him to go home, to tell him that this was dangerous, but the words died in your throat as he leaned in.

The kiss wasn't like the desperate collision in the grove. It was slow, heavy with the weight of the two weeks you’d spent ignoring each other. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you.

You didn't remember how long the kiss lasted, or when exactly the fire burned down to glowing embers. You ended up tangled in his arms, your head pillowed on his chest and your legs intertwined with his. Neteyam held you, his chin resting atop your head as his heartbeat drummed a steady rhythm against your ear.

For the first time in weeks, you felt home.

The sanctuary of the hollow became a world of its own. Over the next month, the western cliffs were no longer a place of exile, but a stage for a dangerous yet beautiful routine.

Neteyam visited nearly every night. Sometimes he’d arrive with medical supplies he’d swiped from the stores. Other times, he’d just bring himself, looking haggard and wind-beaten, seeking the only place where he didn't have to lead. You’d skin the day’s kill together, bickering over Mangkwan versus Omatikaya techniques, before collapsing into the small, warm space of your shelter.

"Your father is going to kill you," you joked one evening as he landed his ikran in the shadows. You were leaning against a tree, tossing a small dagger into the air and catching it by the hilt. "The Olo'eyktan's son, missing every sunset. Wonder what he's doing."

Usually, Neteyam would fire back with a snarky remark about your hospitality. But tonight, he didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He walked past you into the hollow, his movements heavy, his ears pinned low against his head.

"Neteyam?" you asked, the playful edge vanishing from your voice. You caught your dagger and tucked it away, following him inside. "What happened? Did the RDA move? Is it the camp?"

He stood by the dying fire, his back to you. The tension in his shoulders was so thick it felt like it might snap the bones. When he finally turned around, his golden eyes were shadowed with a look of pure defeat.

"My father held a council today," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "With the lead warriors. Specifically, with Eytukan’s bloodline allies."

A cold pit started to form in your stomach. "And?"

"He has arranged it," Neteyam finally looked at you, and the sheer agony in his expression made your breath catch. "I’m to be engaged. To the daughter of one of the lead warriors. Someone worthy of the future Olo'eyktan."

You met Neteyam when your steps were still wobbly and your words mostly giggles. He was barely steadier than you—his braids just beginning, his steps a little wider—but from the moment he found you crouched near the roots of the Home Tree, you became his shadow. He toddled up with a half-eaten yovo fruit and, without hesitation, tore it in two with clumsy fingers, offering you the larger half. It was sticky and sweet, and you always remembered it as the moment he chose you. And maybe… the moment you chose him too.

From then on, it was rare to see one of you without the other. You learned to walk together, your hands often tangled as you teetered around the village. When you fell, he’d help you up, and when he tripped, you’d sit beside him until he stood again. The other adults would chuckle at the sight—tiny footsteps weaving through the forest, your matching laughter echoing through the trees. You’d nap curled beside him in the Sully’s hammock during long afternoons, Neteyam’s hand always reaching for yours in sleep, even when he’d roll away. Jake would raise a brow and smirk knowingly. Neytiri would only smile, brushing your hair back and calling you syulang, her little flower. They saw it early—what you and Neteyam would someday become—even when you were still too young to understand it yourselves.

You both remembered when Neytiri was pregnant with Kiri—Neteyam was confused at first, always poking at his mother’s growing belly and asking when the baby would “stop hiding.” You didn’t understand it either, but you liked resting your head beside him on Neytiri’s belly, watching it move as little Kiri rolled inside. When she was finally born, Neteyam was speechless, wide-eyed and soft as he held her tiny hand. “She’s mine,” he whispered to you with the quiet pride only a big brother could wear. You just nodded, understanding without needing to speak.

Then came Lo’ak. You were both a bit older—Neteyam nearly six—and you still remember when Neytiri told you he’d be getting a brother. Neteyam practically vibrated with excitement, dragging you around the village talking about all the things he’d teach his brother: how to climb, how to throw a spear, how to chase glow bugs at night. “And I’ll teach him how to protect you,” he added casually, like it was obvious. You just smiled and said, “He’ll have the best big brother.” When Lo’ak was born, Neteyam wasn’t overwhelmed like with Kiri—he was ready this time. “I’m gonna be the best,” he told you, gently adjusting the baby’s blanket like he was holding the future. He even whispered to Lo’ak that he already had a best friend—and that it was you.

Those years were full of joy. Your days were endless stretches of running through the forest, racing along vines, whispering secrets while hidden in the high tree canopies. You shared everything—fruit, beads, bruises, laughter. When Tuk was born and made the family five, you both stood over her, older now, understanding just how sacred it was to grow up surrounded by love. Neteyam pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to you. “I hope she finds someone like you,” he whispered, and you pretended not to hear how warm your cheeks became.

Jake often joked that you’d been adopted by the Sullys long before any ceremony could make it true. Neytiri treated you like a daughter, braiding feathers into your hair with loving fingers, scolding you just as gently as she would Neteyam. And sometimes, when she caught the two of you dozing in a sunbeam, limbs tangled and breath in sync, she’d just exchange a look with Jake—a knowing one. The kind that said, it’s always been them.

By the time you were thirteen and Neteyam fourteen, you were no longer just playmates. You were partners in everything: training, learning, dreaming. But even then, the purest part of your bond was the way you looked at each other—like somehow, in all the chaos and beauty of the forest, you had each found home.

When Neteyam turned fourteen, the village buzzed with anticipation. It was also his time—his rite of passage, the long-awaited climb to the floating mountains to claim his ikran. You weren’t allowed to go with him, though Eywa knew you tried to convince the elders otherwise. “I’ll just hide behind the rocks,” you had argued, arms crossed and defiant. But Jake only ruffled your hair, and Neytiri kissed your cheek with a chuckle. “You’ll have your turn, little one. Let him fly.”

You waited at the edge of the village the entire day, pacing, chewing your bottom lip, weaving and unweaving a small bracelet you’d started just to keep your hands busy. Every time you looked up, your eyes searched the skies, your heart jumping at the faintest sound of wings. And then, finally, you saw him.

Neteyam came soaring over the trees with the wind in his braids and the sun blazing behind him, riding the back of a fierce, sharp-beaked blue ikran. His smile was wide, radiant, full of victory. His yips of joy echoed across the forest and lit something wild in your chest. You didn’t wait. You ran—bare feet pounding across the ground, eyes stinging with happy tears—and launched yourself into his arms the moment he landed. He caught you effortlessly, laughing as you wrapped your arms and legs around him like a clingy yip-yip. “I did it,” he whispered into your neck, and you just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder. “I know,” you breathed. “I never doubted you.”

The next night, the village danced in celebration. Neteyam completed his Dream Hunt, bringing back a successful kill and presenting it with reverence. The people welcomed him as one of them—with chants, with firelight, with the steady pounding of drums. You stood beside his family, your heart full of pride. Lo’ak teased you all night, nudging your shoulder and muttering, “You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” And you did. But you didn’t care, you were so proud of him.

A year later, when you turned fourteen, it was your turn. And just like you had waited for him, Neteyam waited for you. He rose before the suns and flew to the floating mountains ahead of you, perched among the cliffs like a silent shadow waiting for you to arrive. You knew he was there watching, waiting, smiling. When you approached the ikran rookery, heart pounding, palms sweaty, your eyes fierce with determination, you didn’t know that far above, Neteyam held his breath with pride as he followed you below the waterfall, “you got this. Remember what I taught you.”

You tamed your ikran with grace and fire, your spirit strong and your heart steady. And when you paused. Neteyam ran up to you holding the rope around your ikran’s mouth and guided her to face the edge of the cliff. “First flight seals the bond, think fly.”

“Fly?” And just like that you took off, quickly finding a way to steady yourself in the back of your now winged companion, the grin on your face nearly split you open. He stood there on the cliff, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered for you. You returned home flying side by side with feathers tangled in your braids and windburn on your cheeks, your soul forever changed. When you landed, Neteyam was the first to greet you. His hands framed your face, his eyes bright. “You were beautiful up there,” he said softly. “Like you were born to fly.”

You became one of the people that night, dancing beside Neteyam around the flames, your foreheads pressed together as the village sang for you. Jake lifted you into a strong embrace, calling you daughter with pride. Neytiri wept and braided a special feather into your hair. Kiri held your hand the whole ceremony. Even Lo’ak, grinning ear to ear, handed you a carved piece of bone shaped like a little ikran.

And Neteyam? He stood behind you the entire night, his hand warm on your waist, his eyes only ever on you. You were no longer just his shadow. You were his equal now, his partner. And it was written in every look he gave you.

The glances you exchanged held a different weight. Now you were fifteen and he was sixteen your bodies had begun to shift, you’d noticed it first in his arms, how they’d grown thicker with muscle from climbing, hunting, training. His chest had broadened, his voice deeper now, richer. You caught yourself watching him from the corner of your eye as he helped build or skin a kill, your stomach flipping each time his back flexed under the stretch of his bowstring. And he noticed you, too. Your hips had begun to curve, your stride more fluid. The paint across your chest during ceremonies now made his mouth go dry. You would catch him staring sometimes, pupils wide, a subtle swallow in his throat as he looked away too late. Neteyam wasn’t good at hiding it, and his siblings were relentless.

Lo’ak smirked every time you came around. “You’re staring again, big bro,” he’d nudge with his elbow, loud enough for you to hear, making your ears burn. Tuk would giggle and whisper, “You’re always looking at her,” and Kiri would grin with that knowing look and mutter, “You’ve got it bad.” Even Jake noticed, pulling Neteyam aside once with a teasing tone and a raised brow. “Keep your eyes in your head, kid. You’re not subtle.”

The heat between you two thickened during sparring practice. He’d pin you, hand against your hip to brace you, and linger a second too long. You’d roll over him to escape, but not before he noticed the way your breath caught. Your touches began to last longer, skin to skin in the most innocent ways that didn’t feel innocent anymore. Then came a moment, that humid afternoon after a hunt, when he walked behind you, offering water. You took it, brushing his fingers, and when you turned, his gaze was already on your mouth. His ears twitched, his throat moved like he wanted to speak. He didn’t. But his eyes said it all.

It started slowly, the shift in how others looked at you both. At first, it was almost laughable, how the same boys who used to pull your braid now stammered when you smiled. Or how the girls, once shy around Neteyam, now found every excuse to ask for help, compliments bubbling on their tongues.

You had grown used to the lingering stares, but what you hadn’t expected was Neteyam’s silence when one of the older hunters, Rokean, offered to walk you back to your kelku after training. You caught the flicker in Neteyam’s jaw, the way he adjusted his stance, too stiff, too still. Later, while cleaning your bowstring by the fire, he dropped down beside you with a grunt.

“Didn’t know you needed someone to walk you home now,” he said casually, picking at a loose thread on his chest strap. You paused. “Didn’t know I needed your permission either.”

His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unreadable. “You didn’t say no.” You scoffed. “I didn’t say yes, either. I was being polite.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, exhaling slowly. “He looked like he was ready to offer you his entire kill pile just to get you to smile again.” You turned to face him. “What’s your problem, Neteyam?”

“My problem,” he said, voice low, “is that I’ve seen the way you smile at me — and then I have to watch you give that same smile to someone else like it means nothing.” Your breath caught, heart hammering, but before you could snap back, the loud sound of laughter echoed nearby.

“Ohh nooo,” Lo’ak sing-songed, appearing from behind a cluster of trees, arms slung around Kiri. “They’re arguing again. What’s this time? Another boy tried to breathe near her?”

“Or a girl complimented his braid?” Kiri added dryly. You rolled your eyes and Neteyam looked away, lips twitching. Then came the softest voice.

“You’re not supposed to fight,” Tuk mumbled as she padded up, holding a leaf plate of fruit. “You’re supposed to love each other. Like kisses and hugs and babies.”

Both of your faces snapped toward her in horror. “TUK!” you squeaked. Neteyam choked on nothing. “What?!”

Little Tuk blinked slowly. “That’s what mama said happens when people love each other too much.”

The rest of the Sully family burst out laughing. Even Jake couldn’t hold it in. Neytiri buried her face in her hands, half-mortified, half-delighted. “You’re grounded,” Neteyam muttered, ruffling Tuk’s hair. “No, you are,” she said proudly. “You’re grumpy.”

You were trying not to laugh, your annoyance slipping away with the warmth of everyone around you. Neteyam leaned closer, voice quiet. “Still mad?” You didn’t answer, just nudged his knee with yours. He smiled. “Didn’t think so.” And though you didn’t say a word, the way your hand slipped into his as you walked off together made everyone, including Tuk, smile behind your backs.

But the jealousy went both ways, you just went as leveled headed as Neteyam. One day, you sat on a mossy stone near the gathering circle, fletching your arrows and pretending not to watch the lesson. Neteyam was helping Airi, one of the older girls in the village with her bow grip. She wasn’t exactly subtle, letting her hand brush his, laughing too loud at everything he said.

Your jaw clenched as you scraped the feather too hard, splitting it. Great. Across the circle, Kiri noticed. She nudged Lo’ak. “Uh oh. She’s got that look again.” Lo’ak followed your glare and snorted. “Poor Airi. She’s about to get shredded.” You stood, trying to keep your face neutral, and walked over just as Neteyam leaned in to adjust Airi’s arm. “Hmm,” you said lightly, arms folded. “Didn’t know bow training required that much touching.” Neteyam blinked, surprised, and then grinned. “Just making sure her stance is right.”

Airi smiled too sweetly. “He’s very helpful.”

You gave her a polite but tight smile. “He’s also very taken. Or is that part unclear?”

Airi blinked, caught off guard, her hand still awkwardly on Neteyam’s arm. “Oh—I didn’t mean anything, I didn’t think—”

“I know you didn’t thinkt.” You didn’t raise your voice, but it was firm with the same smile. “Maybe that’s the problem.” A beat of silence passed, thick and awkward. Airi gave a small, forced laugh, murmured something about needing to help her mother, and quickly walked off.

The second she was out of earshot, Neteyam let out a low whistle and crossed his arms, eyeing you with open amusement. “Damn.”

You turned toward him slowly, still tense. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His grin widened. “Say how hot that was?”

You shot him a look. “You didn’t stop her.”

“I didn’t even see her coming,” he said, laughing. “I was halfway through talking to Lo’ak about hunting patterns. She ambushed me.”

You huffed, still annoyed. Neteyam tilted his head, stepping closer. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Your eyes narrowed and put your hand to rest on your hip very sassily. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated, voice low and teasing. “No official titles. No agreements. Nothing carved in stone.”

Your chest twisted. You hated when he did this, danced the line between teasing and truth, between almost and not quiet.

Then he leaned closer, eyes locking on yours. “But if I did? You know it’d be you.” You froze, caught completely off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. From behind, a snort of laughter broke the tension, Lo’ak, of course. “You guys are exhausting.”

Kiri added dryly, “One of these days you’re both just going to explode from the tension and take the whole kelku with you.”

“I like her better than the other girl,” Tuk said seriously, tugging on Neteyam’s tail. “She’s prettier. And funnier. And nicer.” You buried your face in your hands.

Neteyam chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can’t argue with that.” You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when he was this close, warm and solid and entirely too pleased with himself. And even though you wanted to stay mad… part of you was glowing. Because for all his teasing, you knew he meant it.

A few years passed, just like that. What started as sleepovers and sharing fruit as toddlers had blossomed into something much deeper, something no longer so easy to ignore. By the time you were seventeen and Neteyam had just turned eighteen, the change between you had settled in quietly but unmistakably.

The flirting had evolved from playful to lingering. The touches — brushing hands as you passed, his palm against your back when you ducked beneath the trees — stayed just a little too long. And the jealousy… that hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown more obvious. You saw it in the way Neteyam went stiff whenever another boy tried to flirt with you during hunts or communal dinners. Just like how your stomach would twist when one of the village girls leaned too close to him, laughing too loud at something he hadn’t even said.

Everyone saw it — the whole family. Kiri gave you side-eyes, Tuk giggled whenever she caught the two of you looking at each other. Even Jake had exchanged a knowing look with Neytiri once when Neteyam instinctively reached for your hand as you crossed a riverbank. Still, nothing had been said. Until the night he finally did.

Neteyam had asked you to meet him just after eclipse, near the glade where you’d learned to climb as kids. You thought maybe it was another stargazing night, like the ones you often shared in silence. But when you arrived, your breath caught.

He had cleared a space in the grass and lined it with soft, glowing petals. A few hung from nearby branches — not too many, just enough to make the air feel alive with light. In the center, he stood waiting, hands behind his back, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

“You remember this place?” he asked softly, watching your face. You nodded. “You dared me to climb that tree,” you smiled, pointing up. “You had to carry me down after I got stuck halfway.” He chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ve carried you through a lot since then.” Your stomach twisted in the best way.

He took your hands in his. “I didn’t know how to say it before. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But I can’t hold it anymore.”

Your heartbeat like thunder in your chest. “I love you,” he said. Simply. “I have for years. You’re my best friend, my peace, the only thing that feels right no matter what else changes.” You stared up at him, blinking fast, your chest tight.

He smiled, breathless now. “And if I’m lucky… maybe you feel the same.” You didn’t answer with words. You stepped forward and pulled him into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind from him.

“I see you,” you whispered against his skin, and he melted.

When you pulled back, your eyes were glassy. “I’ve loved you too. I just didn’t know how to say it either.”

His smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You didn’t have to. I think I’ve always known.”

And when he kissed you — slow, reverent, trembling just slightly — it felt like the end of a question you’d both been asking for years. Ever since that night under the stars, everything between you and Neteyam had shifted.

There was no more wondering, no more hesitation, no more hiding behind half-glances and lingering touches. Now you could hold his hand openly in the village, sit a little closer during meals, steal little kisses when no one was watching. But the problem was… people were watching.

It started innocently enough. A few days after you’d officially become a couple, Neytiri had walked into the family kelku earlier than expected and found the two of you curled up in Neteyam’s hammock. Fully clothed, mostly, but definitely tangled together, your hands beneath his chest wrap and his lips pressed against your neck like he had no plans to stop.

She didn’t say anything, not at first. Just blinked, paused… and then quietly backed out of the space with a small smirk that left you burying your face in Neteyam’s shoulder while he cursed softly under his breath.

“She’s going to tell everyone, “You groaned. “She probably already has,” he whispered, but he kissed you again anyway. After that, the teasing began.

Lo’ak was the first to weaponize it. He caught you and Neteyam just outside the edge of the forest, your back against a tree and your mate’s hands far too low on your hips for brotherly comfort. Lo’ak didn’t even pause — just whistled as he passed.

“Don’t mind me, just trying to avoid eye contact so I can keep my vision,” he said loudly, laughing all the way back to the village.

Then came Kiri, who found you both late one night when she came to retrieve a healing pouch from the supplies and opened the wrong curtain — only to find Neteyam halfway beneath your wrap and your legs around his waist.

“AHHHH!!” she squeaked, backing out so fast she knocked over a water basin. The two of you froze, staring wide-eyed at the closed flap.

Even Tuk caught you…Twice. Once during a morning swim, when Neteyam pulled you into his lap and whispered something you really shouldn’t have giggled at. Tuk popped out of the water like a fish, wide-eyed and innocent. “Why is your face all red?” she asked you curiously. “Did Neteyam say something naughty?”

“Go swim,” Neteyam said immediately, flustered. “Go!”

The last time you’d been caught, it had taken a full week for Lo’ak to stop whistling teasingly every time you and Neteyam so much as stood near each other. But today, the pull between you was too strong. Just a few stolen minutes behind the large cluster of flowering trees near the family kelku—it wasn’t far, but just out of sight.

Neteyam had you pinned gently to the forest floor, his broad, paint-streaked body curled over yours, propped on his elbows to avoid crushing you. One hand was tangled in your hair, the other… was not where it should’ve been, tugging your tweng slightly aside as his mouth met yours over and over. The air between you was breathless—sweet, gasping kisses exchanged like secrets.

You had your hands on his back, fingers pressing into the muscle at his sides as you whispered, “Neteyam—” Then came a very small gasp.

“Neteyam?” a tiny voice squeaked. Both of you jolted in unison. There, just a few feet away, stood Tuk, eyes huge, hands clutching her toy beads. She looked confused. Then her lower lip quivered.

“Mommy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “NETEYAM IS HURTING HER!!” Your heart stopped.

“Tuk, no! Wait, I’m not—” You scrambled up, dragging your tweng back into place, face burning.

Neteyam looked like Eywa herself had struck him. “Tuk—it’s not what it looks like!” Too late.

Tuk had already darted off in a blur, hollering, “MOMMY! COME FAST!” Seconds passed in a panicked blur before Neytiri burst into the clearing, bow drawn—followed closely by Jake, Lo’ak, Kiri, and an already-snorting Tuk. The scene they arrived to? You, breathless and flushed, your hair mussed. Neteyam crouched beside you, shirtless as always, hands raised like he was surrendering to the Great Mother herself.

“She—she thought I was—” he started.

“I thought she was hurt!!” Tuk insisted, tears pooling in her wide golden eyes. “She was saying ‘Neteyam—wait—’”

“Oh Eywa,” you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. Jake turned away, trying not to laugh. Lo’ak didn’t bother trying. “Bro. Again?!”

Neytiri sighed deeply and gave her son a long look. “Great mother Neteyam.”

“Oh my Eywa,” Kiri echoed, arms crossed.

Meanwhile, Tuk sniffled into Neytiri’s side, still confused. “But why was her tweng pulled down again?” You shrieked in embarrassment, as Kiri and Lo’ak started and uproar

Neteyam wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leaned in, whispering with a smug smile, “Next time… high in the trees?” You elbowed him. “Next time? There won’t be a next time.”

It had been years in the making, the two of you growing up entangled in a love that had bloomed slowly and deeply, like roots stretching beneath the forest floor. Everyone had seen it coming—long before either of you were ready to admit it. The glances, the lingering touches, the way Neteyam’s eyes always searched for you in a crowd and the way your laughter always came easiest in his presence. But still, nothing prepared you for the day he asked you to be his mate.

You’d been walking together through the forest, side by side as you always had, your fingers brushing now and then as they often did. He was quiet that day, more thoughtful than usual. You didn’t know where he was leading you until you reached that ridge above the canopy—the one with the clearest view of the floating mountains. You’d sat there many times before, watching the banshees in the distance, the sky changing colors like a slow-burning fire. But this time, he turned to you with a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before—soft, certain, a little nervous.

“I’ve known this since we were children,” he said, his hands gently taking yours. “Even before I knew what it meant… I knew you were mine. I want to make that true in the eyes of Eywa. Will you choose me? Will you mate with me for life?”

Your heart stilled, then surged. You had loved him for as long as you could remember—through the awkward childhood years, the teasing, the jealous stares, the stolen kisses behind trees. It was never a question. “Yes,” you whispered. “Always, Neteyam.”

He exhaled, his forehead resting against yours, both of you whispering, “Oel ngati kameie.” His lips brushed yours then—slow, reverent, full of all the promises he hadn’t yet spoken aloud. There was no pressure, no rush. Just love. You would wait for the ceremony. You would wait for each other.

The engagement celebration arrived just a few days later, and the entire clan seemed to vibrate with joy. Music echoed through the trees, lightstones glowing in woven vines above the gathering space. Neytiri had helped braid your hair that morning, her hands gentle as she whispered about her own mating to Jake, about the sweetness and seriousness of the commitment you were about to take. Jake, on the other hand, gave Neteyam a mock stern look and muttered, “I’m so proud of you boy. You earned a good one. Just try to keep it in your tweng until after the ceremony, yeah?”

Kiri hugged you both, whispering, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed all the disappearing acts and stolen touches. Eywa has eyes, you know.” Even Lo’ak smirked and raised his drink in a toast. “To the two worst liars in the family.” Tuk, sweet and wide-eyed, had thrown flower petals at your feet and loudly declared, “Now you get to kiss forever!”

As tradition dictated, you and Neteyam exchanged woven bands of hand-dyed fibers, made from plants you had both gathered together during a quiet week of preparing. They were simple, but beautiful—your initials carved in tiny beads sewn into the weave. You danced beneath the moonlight, your bodies close, eyes locked, his hand warm on your waist. It felt like flying.

Later, when the songs faded and the laughter quieted, Neteyam took your hand once more and led you to your new shared kelku, tucked beneath the giant roots of a banyan tree not far from his family’s. You’d helped build it together, but tonight was the first time you saw it finished. Lightstones glowed warmly inside. Feathers and woven flowers draped along the doorway, and the bed of moss and pelts was soft and inviting.

“I wanted it perfect,” he murmured, pulling back the curtain of vines to let you step inside first. Your breath caught as you turned, meeting his gaze. “It is.”

Inside, he was gentle—so gentle. Every kiss felt like a prayer, every touch reverent. You had both waited for this night, saved yourselves for it. There was laughter and clumsy shifting, soft sighs and long-held gazes. He murmured your name again and again, like a vow. And when the moment finally came, when you gave yourselves fully to one another, it wasn’t rushed or fiery or awkward. It was sacred. Yours. Together.

He held you through it, whispering encouragement, kissing away your nervousness, moving slow and with care. You clung to him, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when pleasure overtook pain, and you realized just how deeply he loved you.

After, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest, your hand curled over his heart. The air still held the scent of the flowers he’d hung earlier, and the sounds of the forest hummed softly around you like a lullaby. He kissed your hair and whispered, “You are my forever, yawne.” You smiled against his skin. “And you are mine.”

Outside, the stars blinked gently through the treetops, and the moon cast soft light across your new home. And inside, beneath warm furs and whispered breaths, you slept curled in each other’s arms, truly mated, body and soul.

Not long after you and Neteyam were officially mated, it happened — you became pregnant. The signs came slowly at first. Your body began to change in subtle ways: your energy dipped, your appetite shifted, and there was a soft heaviness blooming low in your belly. Neteyam noticed before anyone else, before even you. He started watching you more carefully, guiding your steps when walking through thick roots, brushing your hair away from your face when you were tired, lingering with his hand over your abdomen when you rested. He didn’t say anything for a few days — just watched, waited, and loved you all the more gently.

When you finally told him, you placed his hand over your growing belly. You didn’t have to say anything; his eyes widened, and his whole expression softened into something almost reverent. “A baby,” he breathed. “Our baby.” And then he kissed you — slow and deep and full of wonder — before pulling you tightly into his arms. “Eywa has truly blessed us,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I will take care of you both. Always.”

The Sully family’s reaction was just as emotional. Neytiri pressed her forehead to yours and wept, hands cradling your cheeks as she whispered a mother’s blessing over you. Jake grinned and clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s my boy,” he said, laughing quietly. “Starting his own clan already.” Kiri was immediately fussing over you — bringing herbs, creating teas to ease discomfort, and weaving protective beads into your hair. Lo’ak smirked and muttered, “Great, now there’s gonna be a mini you running around,” but even he couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. Tuk was simply overjoyed. She wrapped her arms around your stomach and spoke to the baby as if they could already understand her. “I’m going to teach you all my games,” she promised seriously. “And we’ll eat fruit and swim and make trouble.”

As the seasons passed and your belly grew round with new life, you were never alone. The entire Sully family wrapped you in love and care. Clan members stopped by with gifts — soft cloth for the baby wrap, carved toys, fruits and roots rich with nutrients. Neteyam, though, was your constant. He helped you bathe in the cool springs when your back ached, carried you when your legs tired, massaged your feet when you couldn’t sleep. His hands were always gentle, reverent. He spoke to your belly each night, whispering stories, dreams, and promises. “You are already so loved, little one,” he’d say. “Your mother is the strongest soul I know. You’re safe with us.”

Then, one evening, the pain began. It started as a low pressure in your back, then came the waves — tightening, pulsing, until your body was trembling with effort. Neteyam didn’t panic. He scooped you up and brought you to your kelku, calling softly for his mother. Neytiri arrived swiftly, calm and collected. “It is time,” she said, brushing your sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Breathe, ma’ite. I will help you bring this child into the world.”

Neteyam knelt at your side, holding your hand, grounding you with his touch. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple between contractions. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Neytiri worked with the grace and strength of a seasoned mother. She guided you through each wave, spoke calmly even when your cries rose with the intensity. You gripped Neteyam’s hand, locked eyes with him, and knew — you could do this. With his love. With his strength. With your own. And then — a cry. Not yours.

Your baby was born under the canopy of night, with Neytiri lifting him gently into the air, his small limbs flailing, his voice strong and full of life. “A son,” she said, her own eyes shining as she handed him to you. “You have a son.”

Tears streamed down your face as you cradled him to your chest. Neteyam leaned close, arms around both of you, trembling with joy. “He’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it, yawne. You gave us a son.”

The family came soon after, quiet and wide-eyed. “His name is Eylan.” Neteyam told everyone. Neytiri placed a kiss on your forehead. Jake kissed his grandson’s tiny hand. Kiri smiled with misty eyes. Lo’ak and Tuk peeked from behind the doorway until they were invited in, and Tuk gasped, clutching her mouth. “He’s so small,” she whispered. “Can I hold him?”

That night, your kelku glowed with woven lanterns, the scent of sweet herbs, and the sound of lullabies. Neteyam held you close, his son resting on your chest, and whispered, “This is our beginning. And I will love you both for the rest of my life.” Time had a strange way of moving when your days were filled with joy.

Eylan turned one beneath the thick canopy of Home Tree, surrounded by warmth, song, and laughter. His wide amber eyes sparkled with the curiosity of his father, and his tiny feet already tried to run before they could walk properly. He giggled with wild abandon, often tumbling into arms always waiting to catch him — yours, Neteyam’s, or someone from the Sully family, all of whom adored him beyond reason.

Neteyam carved him a tiny wooden ikran, polished smooth with love, and painted it with soft, natural dyes. “So you can fly even before you’re big enough to ride,” he whispered to his son, lifting him high into the air with a grin as Eylan squealed in delight. That moment was one of hundreds. Every day, Neteyam would swing Eylan onto his shoulders and run with him through the trees, climbing, laughing, teaching him the sounds of the forest and the names of the creatures they passed. “This is your home,” he would say gently, tapping Eylan’s chest with two fingers. “Here, and here with us.”

The Sully family was hopelessly smitten with him. Tuk was his favorite playmate, often letting him ride on her back like a direhorse, giggling as she neighed and galloped through the roots of Home Tree. Kiri braided tiny strings of flowers into his baby hair, whispering gentle stories of Eywa, and Lo’ak — despite pretending to be too cool — secretly carved Eylan little animals out of soft wood, sneaking them into his sleeping furs at night.

Even Jake, who was always so focused, would sit down with Eylan and bounce him on his knee, speaking to him in English and Na’vi, smiling despite himself when the baby would babble back nonsense. Neytiri taught you how to soothe him when he cried and helped you prepare his first bow — though it was mostly for show, since Eylan liked to chew on it more than anything.

And between it all — it was you and Neteyam. Your bond grew even deeper, grounded in shared parenthood, laughter, and exhaustion. Late nights swaying with Eylan between your bodies, mornings where you awoke to Neteyam cradling him on his chest, humming softly, eyes half-lidded with peace. He was the most patient, most loving father you could have dreamed of. He told you that he had never known a love like this before — not just for his child, but for you, the mother of his son.

“Eywa has blessed me more than I deserve,” he said once, eyes locked on you both while you nursed Eylan under the flowering branches of a quiet grove. “You’ve made me a father, a mate… a man.” But peace doesn’t last forever.

The Sky People returned like a storm — metal crashing from the skies, fire scorching the land. In that first wave, everyone fought. Even Neteyam, young but fierce, took to the air with his bow and his ikran to defend what mattered most. For a full year, the Sullys waged war at the edges of the forest — watching, protecting, ambushing.

You kept Eylan close, never letting him out of your sight. Neteyam came back to you every night, stained with ash or blood or both, always checking to see his son sleeping safely in your arms before allowing himself to breathe.

There were nights where he didn’t speak — only held you and buried his face in your neck. “I don’t want him to grow up like this,” he murmured once, voice breaking. “He deserves to know trees, not fire.” When Eylan turned two, Jake finally said the words that shattered your heart: We have to go.

Neteyam protested quietly but understood. “To protect Eylan,” he said, holding his son tighter that night, “we must let go of everything we’ve ever known.”

The night before you left, you and Neteyam stood hand in hand, watching your kelku — the home where Eylan took his first steps, where Neteyam carved lullabies into the walls — one last time. You whispered blessings to the trees, and Neteyam lifted your sleeping son to the stars. “Eywa, guide us,” he said. “Guide our family to where he can be free.” And with hearts both heavy and hopeful, you turned toward the sea.

The sea was not the forest — not in the way it whispered, not in the way it held you — but in time, it became a new kind of home.

Arriving at the Metkayina village had been overwhelming. The open skies and endless horizon felt like another world entirely compared to the thick canopy you had once called home. You remembered how Eylan had clung to Neteyam’s shoulders, wide-eyed and quiet, watching the turquoise waves roll beneath the woven walkways.

You had been welcomed with caution. The Metkayina were kind, but wary. Their ways were not yours. Your bodies were different. Your tongues spoke in a slightly different rhythm. But you learned — all of you.

Neytiri, though her heart still longed for the trees, adapted with quiet grace. Jake trained beside Tonowari, his voice always calm but commanding. Kiri thrived — as if she’d been born from the sea itself. Tuk learned fast, her tiny braids always dripping with salt water, and Lo’ak… well, Lo’ak found love.

Tsireya — beautiful, graceful, radiant. Her laughter was a melody that rang through the cove like birdsong, and Lo’ak fell fast and hard. It was the kind of love that snuck up on him, the way it had for you and Neteyam all those years ago. She became a sister to you, her presence a comfort and joy. Her family welcomed you all in time — friendships forged through hardship, trust, and time. Ronal eventually softened, especially when she saw the way you raised your children with the same fire and patience she held for her own.

You remembered when Neteyam first brought you to the deeper reefs. Your fingers laced, the sun cutting gold through the waves as he taught you how to dive with your whole body, how to let the sea carry you. “This is freedom too,” he’d whispered against your skin as you surfaced, breathless and laughing. “Just a different kind.” Four years passed like water slipping through your fingers, quietly, steadily.

Eylan grew into a wild-hearted six-year-old, just like his father. He was fearless in the water, nimble with his ilu, sharp-eyed and fast. He learned to dive before many of the Metkayina children his age, and Tonowari even joked once that “the forest boy must’ve been born in the waves.” Neteyam beamed with pride, always the first to cheer when his son surfaced from a dive or speared his first fish.

Your family expanded, love growing even deeper between you and Neteyam. One starlit night, under a blanket of bioluminescent light dancing across the sea, you told him you were expecting again. He cried softly, cradling your belly with reverence. “Eywa gives me everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured into your neck. “You, our sons… our life.”

From the moment Likan was born, the Sully kelku overflowed with even more laughter, love, and affection than ever before. Neytiri had been the first to hold him after Neteyam, her hands gentle and sure as she cradled her newest grandson, whispering quiet blessings in Na’vi. She marveled at how much he looked like his father—Neteyam’s strong jaw, his deep golden eyes—but with your nose and the soft curl of your lips. She pressed a kiss to Likan’s brow and then turned to you, tears in her eyes. “Ma ‘ite, you and my son… you make such beauty together.”

Jake, too, was wrapped around Likan’s tiny fingers. Even more laid-back as a grandfather than he ever was as a father, he spent mornings showing Likan carved wooden animals he made just for him, while Eylan proudly helped paint them in bright sea-colored hues. “Two boys,” he’d say with a wide grin, tousling Eylan’s hair while Likan cooed in his lap. “You and Neteyam are in for it now.” But the pride was clear in his voice, and so was the joy.

Kiri, as always, was a natural. She carried Likan around on her hip with flowers braided in his hair, telling him long stories of Eywa and forest spirits. Likan loved the sound of her voice and often fell asleep curled against her chest as she whispered the tales of Home Tree. Tuk—who had long since appointed herself big cousin of the year—took her role seriously. She made matching seashell necklaces for both Eylan and Likan, always watching over the youngest with gentle care. The first time Likan said “Tuk” in his tiny voice, she cried and wouldn’t let go of him all afternoon.

Even Lo’ak, ever the wild one, became surprisingly soft when it came to Likan. He would let the baby climb all over him, even yank on his braids, never once complaining. He carried Likan on his shoulders through the shallows, pretending to be a tulkun, while Eylan rode proudly on Neteyam’s back beside them. “You’re just lucky you look like your mama,” Lo’ak teased once, pinching Likan’s cheek. “That’s why I let you drool on me.”

And Neteyam—Eywa, Neteyam. The way he looked at his sons was enough to melt your heart every time. He was a father so deeply in love with his family that every look, every laugh, every moment spent cuddled between the boys and you in the hammock, told its own story of devotion. With Likan sleeping on his chest and Eylan curled at his side.

Now at two years old, Likan was a constant companion to Eylan — always trailing behind him, squealing as he tried to mimic everything his big brother did. Neteyam was utterly taken with them both. He carved toys from driftwood, told them stories under the stars, and swam with Likan cradled on his back while Eylan darted circles around them. You watched often from the shore, your heart full beyond words. And though the forest still called to you sometimes in dreams… the sea answered back with peace. This was your home now. Your family. Your love.

A few months later you were sitting in the sand with Neteyam, just past the tree line where the sea met the forest, your legs stretched in front of you, your back against his warm chest. His arms were wrapped securely around you, one hand gently tracing the growing curve of your belly — not yet obvious to others, but known, deeply felt.

“You’re sure?” he whispered softly into your ear, his breath warm, his voice reverent. You smiled, fingers threading through his. “I’m sure,” you murmured. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I was certain. You’re going to be a father again.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. He froze, just for a second, then exhaled a shaky laugh of disbelief, joy breaking across his features like sunlight. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your shoulder — then rested his forehead against yours. “Three,” he whispered. “We’re going to have three.”

You both waited until that evening to tell the family. The Sully kelku was alive with laughter and light. Tuk was trying to balance Likan on her back like a pa’li, and Eylan was using a shell to make “soup” out of seawater and sand. Lo’ak and Kiri arguing about minuscule things making Tsireya laugh. Jake and Neytiri sat by the fire, smiling at the chaos around them. When you took Neteyam’s hand and stood, all eyes turned.

“We have something to share,” Neteyam said, his voice gentle but steady. You couldn’t stop smiling as he placed a proud hand over your belly. “We’re expecting again.”

Gasps echoed. Tuk squealed, running to throw her arms around your waist. Neytiri rose quickly, mist in her eyes as she cupped your cheeks, her joy immediate. “Eywa has blessed us,” she whispered. Jake let out a whoop and clapped Neteyam hard on the back. Lo’ak tackled him in congratulations, and Kiri and Tsireya wrapped you both in a long, warm hug.

Even Ronal and Tonowari sent over gifts the next day — strands of woven pearls for you, a carved bone teether for the baby, a set of tiny sea-colored wraps. The whole village celebrated. For a while, everything was peace and laughter and hope. Until the demon ship came.

It was fast — the sky people returning in brutal force. The hunting party never returned. Roa, Ronal’s spirit sister, was slaughtered along with her calf. The waves turned red. The village turned silent. Jake called for the warriors to move — and Neteyam turned to you, gripping your arms tightly.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “Stay here. Watch the boys. Don’t leave the kelku, no matter what. I’ll come back. I promise.” Your heart twisted, but you nodded. You kissed him once, then again, pressing your forehead to his. “Come back to me,” you whispered.

Hours later, too many hours in your opinion passed, the sky and see had matching shades of orange when Kiri came stumbling in, “come, come, he is hurt.” She stuttered out and you didn’t need another word picking yourself up and running to the healer's mauri. Kiri close behind with Likan in her hip and Eylan clutching her hand.

The healer’s mauri was already crowded by the time you ran through the reef village. She hadn’t said much after those word—just “Neteyam” and “shot”—and that alone had been enough to steal your breath, to send your thoughts into a panicked spiral. You didn’t even stop to ask if he was alive. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to hear anything but “yes.”

Your chest was tight, your throat aching with the pressure of a scream that hadn’t yet found air. Kiri’s footsteps splashed behind you through shallow tidepools, your two sons in her arms and at her heels. You didn’t dare turn around. You were focused on one thing.

When you reached the healer’s mauri, you pushed aside the flap without hesitation—and froze. He was there. Laid out on a woven mat, bloodied and still. The wail that tore out of you was immediate, raw and unrestrained. “Neteyam!”

Jake was already kneeling beside his son, hands stained red, whispering soft prayers to Eywa. Neytiri sat with her forehead pressed against Neteyam’s hand, tears streaking her face. Lo’ak stood rigid in the corner, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack his own teeth. Tuk, curled in Neytiri’s lap, was wide-eyed and quiet, too young to understand all of it but old enough to feel the fear. When you stumbled in, the room shifted instantly.

You fell to your knees beside Neteyam, grabbing his hand, sobbing so violently it was hard to breathe. “Please—Neteyam, wake up. Wake up! Please!”

Jake reached for your shoulder, trying to steady you, but you pulled away, your entire body curling over Neteyam’s as if your love alone could protect him from whatever force had done this. “Mama?” Eylan’s little voice broke behind you. You turned around sharply, wild-eyed, as Kiri entered, holding Likan on her hip and Eylan’s hand. The boys stopped short at the sight of their father.

“Mama, what’s wrong with sempu?” Eylan asked, clutching Kiri’s leg, voice quivering. “Why is he all red?” Your breath hitched. Likan looked around, confused and teary. “Is Daddy sleeping?” You pressed your hands to your mouth, eyes wide and brimming with tears. You tried to speak, but nothing came out—only broken sobs.

Kiri gently passed Likan to Neytiri, who cradled him and Tuk together, her arms trembling. Jake picked Eylan up and sat down beside you on the mat, placing the boy in your lap and anchoring your shaking hands around him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said, firmly but gently. “I know. I know it’s hard. But he’s alive. He’s fighting. Look at him.”

You barely heard him. Your eyes were locked on Neteyam’s face, unmoving, pale save for the angry red of dried blood. Eylan looked up at you, his tiny hand pressing to your cheek. “Why are you crying?” he asked, sniffling. “Is Daddy gonna go to Eywa?”

“No!” you gasped out, shaking your head too fast. “No, no, baby—he—he’s not—he’s not—” You couldn’t even finish. You broke again, hugging Eylan to your chest, your other hand reaching toward Neteyam even as your entire body shook.

Neytiri passed Likan to Lo’ak, who gently bounced him as he stood, whispering, “It’s okay, little guy, Daddy’s gonna be okay.” But you could see his jaw trembling too, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Neytiri came to you, kneeling beside you and pulling you into her arms, guiding your head to her shoulder while you sobbed.

“You are not alone,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You don’t carry this alone.” Kiri had tears on her face too, but she wiped them away as she pressed a damp cloth to Neteyam’s brow. “We got to him in time,” she said quietly, mostly for your sake. “Tsireya stopped the bleeding. He just needs rest. Healing.”

Jake was silent for a long moment; his eyes locked on his eldest son. Then he reached over, brushing Eylan’s curls out of his eyes, and said, “Your dad’s the strongest person I know, kiddo. He’ll wake up. You’ll see.”

You just cried harder, holding your boy as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. And all the while, Neteyam lay still, his hand warm in yours. A breath of life—but only barely.

You clutched Eylan to your chest, holding him so tightly he whimpered, confused, but not resisting. His round eyes flicked between you and his father’s unmoving body. His little fingers fisted in your hair as your cries began—raw, broken, guttural. You were saying his name over and over, as if it alone could tether his soul back to you. “Neteyam… please… please…”

You barely noticed Lo’ak nearby, now crouched low, arms full of Likan who writhed and whimpered and cried against his uncle’s chest. The toddler was panicking, struggling to reach for you, reaching out with one hand while he clung to Lo’ak with the other. His small voice was cracked from crying, his face wet with tears, overwhelmed by the sight of both his parents falling apart in front of him. You didn’t notice Kiri until she was right beside you. She didn’t speak.

She simply knelt, calm and sure, and slid her arms under Eylan’s small body. He resisted only briefly, but the tears on your face, the shaking of your shoulders, it frightened him. He let go of your neck and went into Kiri’s hold, his lower lip trembling as she stood and turned away, taking him to the edge of the mauri.

Only when his weight left your arms did you suddenly feel how hollow they were. You turned back to Neteyam, grabbing at his hand, kissing it, whispering to him as tears continued to pour from your chin to his bare chest. Your trembling fingers brushed his braids back from his sweat-damp face, desperate for anything, any sign—any flicker.

Likan was screaming now—soft, broken screams of confusion and fear. Neytiri appeared behind Lo’ak, arms open, and Lo’ak handed his little nephew off gently. Likan’s tiny fists pounded at her shoulder, face pressed to her neck as she rocked him, whispering softly, shielding him from the sight of his father.

The mauri entrance stirred Ronal entered first, sharp-eyed and focused, followed closely by Tsireya and two other healers. Their arms were full of salves, herbs, warm cloth. The moment they entered, the air changed urgency replacing fear. “You must move,” Ronal said, not cruelly, but firm.

“No,” you gasped, clutching Neteyam’s arm, burying your face in his shoulder. “No, I can’t—he needs me—I need to stay—”

“He will not survive if we cannot reach him,” she said, already setting her things beside him. Tsireya crossed to the other side and knelt. Her voice was softer, coaxing. “Please. Let us help him. You’ve done all you can.”

You didn’t hear yourself sob. You didn’t feel your body convulsing with every breath. But the arms that pulled you back were familiar—Jake’s. You resisted at first, claws curling into the woven mat. “No—no, please—I can’t—please, no—”

Neytiri approached, still rocking Likan, who was hiccuping against her shoulder, his little voice warbling with the last of his strength. She kissed his head and crouched beside you. “Let them save him, ma’ite. You must let go for now.”

“No, no no no I can’t,” you whispered through choked sobs. Jake pulled you back slowly, and you crumbled into him, your face buried in his chest as your hands reached blindly for your mate.

Kiri was nearby, holding Eylan close, whispering softly. Lo’ak paced beside her, running his fingers through his hair, glancing back constantly at Neteyam. Tuk stood just behind her mother, silent, holding her own tears in a tight, trembling grip. And there, in that mauri, with your heart breaking open and your sons crying for comfort you couldn’t give, you watched as the only person who could soothe your storm lay still unmoving while the healers began their quiet, desperate work. The moment the flap of the healer’s mauri closed behind you; it felt like the world fell silent—then exploded into anguish.

You dropped to the sand as if your legs no longer knew how to hold you. Jake had carried you out, his hands firm but careful, his jaw clenched with grief. He tried to speak, but you had already broken into pieces in his arms, and there were no words that could hold your weight now. Gently, he set you down and immediately turned back for Tuk, who had come stumbling out moments after, her face a pale mask of confusion.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Her wide eyes just watched her family unravel. Jake bent down, scooped her into his arms, and held her like she was the last solid thing in his life. He kissed her forehead again and again as she clung to him, asking over and over, “Is going to Neteyam okay daddy?” Jake had no answers.

You knelt just beyond the entrance, in the pale sand outside the mauri, your body trembling uncontrollably. The sobs that escaped you were unhinged—raw, cracking your chest open in a way that made Lo’ak look away, jaw tight, his own eyes shining. You gasped like you couldn’t find the air. Like breathing itself betrayed you. You clutched your stomach—your growing belly—and cried out his name.

“Neteyam! Neteyam! Please—please! Wake up! I can’t—he can’t—” The words never finished. Your throat closed around them.

Lo’ak was the one who caught you this time, sliding to his knees and pulling you into him. You fought him at first—your hands pushing against his chest, trembling with the desire to get back inside, to feel Neteyam’s warmth, to stop this nightmare. But Lo’ak held you, arms locked tight around you like a brace, grounding you when the world kept spinning. You crumpled into him, shaking violently, your sobs muffled in his chest. “He’s cold, Lo’ak. He was so cold. He looked—he looked—gone.”

Lo’ak couldn’t speak for a moment. His throat was thick, lips trembling. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “But he’s not. He’s not gone. He’s alive. Tsireya stopped the bleeding. Ronal’s working on him now. He’s gonna pull through. He has to.” Your arms clung to him like a lifeline. “I need him… I need him…”

“I know,” he whispered. “We all do.” Nearby, Kiri sat cross-legged in the sand, Eylan tucked into her lap. The little boy was crying silently now, exhausted, tears streaking his cheeks as he leaned into her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances even as her own face was stiff with fear. She kept glancing toward the mauri, her heart clearly still with her brother.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, wailing louder now—not because of Neteyam’s absence, but because he could feel the pain in his family, see the desperation in your cries. “Mama! Mamaaaa!” he hiccuped into his grandmother’s neck, reaching his arms toward you, but Neytiri gently rocked him and whispered, “Shh, little one. Let her breathe. She’s just scared. She loves you. She loves your sempu.”

Jake, holding Tuk close, had crouched in the sand a short distance away. His face was stone, but his eyes—red and glossy—betrayed the cracks inside. He held Tuk’s small head against his shoulder as she finally started crying, her confusion becoming real fear. “Why is she screaming?” she asked. “Why can’t we go help?”

“She’s scared,” Jake said softly. “And we’re just waiting now. Giving Neteyam time to be okay.”

Kiri gently leaned her head down, pressing her forehead to Eylan’s. “Your daddy’s strong, ma ‘itan,” she murmured. “He’s going to be okay. But you need to be brave too, alright? Your mama needs you to be brave.”

You didn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t. Everything was a blur. A tunnel of sound—your heart pounding, your sobs relentless, your baby squirming in your belly as if they, too, could feel your terror. Lo’ak held you as your cries lost their sound and became breathless heaves, his own hands trembling as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You can’t fall apart,” he said, but the words weren’t harsh. They were trembling. “Not yet. Not when he’s still fighting in there. You know Neteyam. He’d never leave you. He wouldn’t.”

The world was muffled behind your tears. But your ears caught the soft, broken cries of your sons again, and your heart lurched. Your lungs burned as you forced yourself to look around.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, clinging tightly to her as fat tears rolled down his round cheeks. At two years old, he didn’t understand any of this—just that something was terribly wrong. He let out a pitiful whimper, burying his face in her shoulder, sniffling and murmuring, “Mama… mama, dada… where dada?”

Eylan sat quietly now in Kiri’s lap just a few steps away, tear tracks fresh on his cheeks, his little fingers curled in the fabric of her chest wrap as he looked between you and the mauri hut. His voice was quiet but clear. “Why won’t Daddy wake up?” You broke. Again. But this time it was different. This time you didn’t fall into your grief—you leaned into your sons.

Lo’ak gently released you as you dropped to your knees, arms open for Eylan. Kiri didn’t hesitate; she leaned down and let your boy shuffle into your arms. He clung to you instantly, curling against your chest, his little breaths shaky.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m right here, my love.”

You felt movement behind you—Neytiri came forward and knelt beside you in the sand. Her arms eased Likan into yours, his soft, warm body curling against your other side. The moment your arms closed around him, he gave a wobbly cry and pushed his face into your neck, still trying to speak through his distress.

“Dada hurt? Dada owie?”

“No, baby,” you murmured, rocking them gently, tears still falling. “He’s going to be okay… He’s just sleeping. Just sleeping…” And then, finally, the world slowed.

The sky darkened above you as the sun dipped lower, the air thick with salt and grief. You sat there, tucked beside the mauri, your sons pressed tightly to your chest, tears still running silently down your face. The rest of the family formed around you.

Jake sat just behind Neytiri, arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who trembled in his lap but didn’t make a sound. She stared at the entrance of the healer’s mauri like it might swallow her whole. Kiri curled next to you, brushing your hair back, her own eyes rimmed red but her touch soft, calming.

Lo’ak finally lowered himself to the sand beside you and sat in silence, head in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. One of his knees bumped against yours—close, supportive. He didn’t say anything more. No one did.

For a long time, the Sully family simply sat in a circle around you. Pressed together. Supporting each other in silence. Each face painted with pain and fear; each heart suspended between hope and horror. But together.

You clutched Eylan and Likan closer, your lips brushing their hair, whispering soft things that didn’t always make sense—just your voice, soothing, constant, loving. And in that quiet, broken moment, you remembered: you were still a family. Still together.

The night had long since fallen, the sky above painted with stars scattered like beads of light across deep ocean blue. The air was cool now, and the soft crash of waves against the reef was the only thing filling the silence outside the healer’s mauri. The Sully family hadn’t moved far — they couldn’t. Not with Neteyam still inside, still unconscious.

You were seated on the sand, legs folded, your arms wrapped tightly around both of your sons. Eylan was curled in your lap, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your chest wrap. He’d cried until his voice broke, then fallen asleep against you, lips still quivering in dreams. Likan, your littlest one, had cried himself hoarse in Lo’ak’s arms. When your sobs had calmed just enough to take him back, Lo’ak wordlessly passed him over, holding the back of your hand for a moment as he did, grounding you without needing to speak.

Now, Likan lay tucked across your legs like a baby ilu, one hand curled in your songcord, the other clutching his father’s discarded sash. His cheek was wet, pressed to your belly where his unborn sibling stirred gently in your womb — safe, for now. His small chest rose and fell with heavy, exhausted breaths.

Lo’ak sat directly beside you now. He hadn’t left your side since you’d been dragged from the mauri. His arm brushed yours, his shoulder nearly touching. Though he wasn’t saying much, the tension in his posture spoke volumes — hunched slightly forward, fingers fidgeting over a seashell bracelet, jaw clenched like he was fighting every wave of panic. His eyes, normally so full of mischief and light, were dim. He kept glancing toward the mauri flap like if he blinked, something would change.

Jake sat not far off, his strong arms wrapped around a sleeping Tuk. She was curled tightly in his lap, her small face still damp with tears. Neytiri had one hand on your back, rubbing slowly, her presence like a warm fire in the cold. Kiri was nearby too, legs pulled close to her chest, her gaze occasionally drifting to you and the boys, then back to the healer’s tent.

Tonowari stood quietly at a respectful distance, his wife having disappeared back inside some time ago. Aonung sat cross-legged just behind Lo’ak, giving space, but still clearly there — watching his friend, his second brother, with the protectiveness of someone who’d become family too. No one spoke.

The stillness was heavy, the kind of silence born from fear and hope and bone-deep exhaustion. But Neteyam was alive. You repeated that over and over in your mind like a prayer, like a chant to keep your heart from tearing again. Neteyam is alive. He is breathing.

You tightened your arms around your boys. Lo’ak’s hand reached over in the quiet and touched your shoulder, squeezing gently. You leaned into him for a moment — both of you needing it more than you’d ever say out loud.

The flap of the healer’s mauri finally shifted. Everyone’s head snapped up, every breath caught. You clutched your sons tighter, both still asleep against your chest and belly, and Lo’ak’s hand instinctively moved from your shoulder to your back, steadying you.

Ronal was the first to emerge. Her expression, always unreadable, was softer now — solemn, but without panic. Her hands were streaked with drying blood up to the forearms, her chest rising in quiet, measured breaths. Tsireya followed a heartbeat later, her eyes already shining with unshed tears, but her mouth curled in a small, hopeful smile.

“He lives,” Ronal said gently, looking at the circle of broken hearts around her. Your breath hitched, and Neytiri gasped softly beside you. Jake let out a quiet, choked sound and pressed his lips to Tuk’s hair, hugging her closer in his arms.

Lo’ak slumped forward, burying his face in his hands with a trembling exhale. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“He is stable,” Tsireya continued, stepping forward, her voice softer, for you. “The wound was deep… but it missed anything vital. We have stitched it well and given him salves for pain. He is sleeping now — deeply. He may not wake for some time… but his spirit is strong.”

You couldn’t stop the tears. Silent, steady drops falling down your cheeks, soaking into Eylan’s curls. “He’ll wake up?” you asked, barely a whisper.

Ronal nodded. “Yes. In time. But he must rest. His body must heal.” Your arms tightened around your children. You nodded through your tears, leaning your head down to kiss both your sons on their brows. Neteyam wasn’t lost. Not this time. Not this battle.

Kiri let out a shuddering breath and leaned into Neytiri’s side. Neytiri took her hand. Jake looked to the sky as if thanking Eywa herself.

Aonung stepped forward and crouched next to Lo’ak, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brother will be alright,” he said simply. Lo’ak just nodded, still pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, silent tears slipping through.

Tonowari stepped forward at last, kneeling beside you. “You are welcome to stay here, all of you,” he said gently. “As long as you need. You are not alone.”

You looked up at him through your blurred vision and nodded gratefully. “Thank you… thank you…” Ronal placed a hand gently on your head — a rare, maternal gesture from her. “Soon, you may see him. Not yet. But soon.” You nodded again, your throat too tight for words, and pressed your cheek to Eylan’s little shoulder.

After that night, the one that tore the sky open above you — it was Neytiri who suggested moving Neteyam. She spoke quietly, like she might break if she raised her voice. “He should be home,” she said, eyes red-rimmed. “With you. With his sons. Where he belongs.”

And so, gently, the family helped you move him to your mauri — the small sea-shelled home you and Neteyam built with woven love and endless laughter, now filled with echoing silence. Jake carried his son’s weight like a ghost, Kiri and Lo’ak flanking either side. You stayed close, one hand on Neteyam’s chest, the other wrapped protectively around your swollen belly.

It wasn’t far from the Sully mauri. Close enough that no one ever knocked, and no one ever asked to enter. And so, your home became the heart of the family — the place everyone gathered, watched, waited. Grieved. Nights were the hardest. The soft sounds of the ocean couldn’t mask the ache.

Eylan slept between you and Neteyam, fingers always curled in his father’s braids. He would whisper, childlike and sure, “I think Daddy can still hear me. Right, Mama?” And though your heart would squeeze in pain, you nodded. “Yes, baby. He hears every word.”

Little Likan, barely two, still too young to understand, would crawl across Neteyam’s unmoving chest and giggle like nothing had changed. “Dada sleepin’,” he would murmur, laying his head down. “Shhh, baby sleeping.” Your heart cracked, over and over again.

One quiet afternoon, as you rubbed your aching belly and tried not to cry, Lo’ak sat beside you, legs crossed, elbows on knees. He watched Neteyam in silence for a while before saying, “You know, he always said he’d be the best dad. Like he wanted to prove something.”

You glanced at your sleeping mate. “He didn’t need to prove anything. He already was.”

Lo’ak smiled sadly. “I think… I think he was afraid. Of becoming like Dad. Of being too hard. Too… heavy.”

“He’s not,” you whispered. “He’s light. Always was.”

The Sully family never stayed away. Jake would come by early mornings to sit near Neteyam’s mat, just watching him with a hard jaw and teary eyes. Neytiri often brought steaming bowls of herbal broths and helped brush Likan’s hair from his eyes. Tuk curled against Neteyam’s arm every chance she got, small voice rambling about whatever creature she’d found that day.

“He’s still warm,” she said once, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “So that means he’s still in there.”

“Yes,” you murmured, brushing her hair back. “He’s still with us.”

Kiri came often too, singing over Neteyam’s still body, lighting healing oils, and wrapping arms around you when your breath caught from the pressure of the growing baby inside you. Tsireya and Ao’nung came by almost every day.

Tsireya would gently take Likan into her arms and hum soft Metkayina lullabies while you rested. “You are being so strong for your boys,” she said once, when your hands trembled too much to feed yourself.

Ao’nung was quieter, surprisingly so. He didn’t speak much, but he would bring fish, or woven toys for the boys, or sit near the edge of the mauri, his gaze flickering to Neteyam’s form with guilt and worry that never quite left his face. Once, you caught him whispering, “Come back, forest boy.”

It was your little family that held the world together. Eylan curled beside Neteyam at night, whispering stories about jellyfish and fish chases with Uncle Lo’ak. “Daddy needs to hear what he missed,” he would say matter-of-factly. Likan would climb onto your lap and ask, “Baby come soon?” then lay his tiny hand on your belly and say, “Tell Dada wake up. We waitin’.”

And you would lean into Neteyam’s chest, brushing your fingers over his jaw, whispering into the hollow of his throat, “You have to come back, ma yawne. They need you. I need you.”

Even though your world had cracked, you weren’t alone in the pieces.

Three moons had passed since the day your world cracked in two. Neteyam lay motionless on the center mat of your shared mauri, surrounded by silence and warmth and the weight of his family’s endless love. His chest still rose. His heart still beat. But his eyes… they never opened.

The boys had adapted, in a way only children could. Eylan had stopped asking when his father would wake. Instead, he stayed close, laying his tiny reed mat beside Neteyam’s every night, whispering stories into his ear about fish he’d seen, shells he’d found, dreams he’d had. “So when he wakes up, he knows everything, Mama,” he’d explain.

Likan didn’t understand. Two years old and all big eyes and chubby fingers, he still climbed onto Neteyam’s chest every morning and curled up, waiting for his father’s arms to wrap around him. Sometimes he laughed, babbling in half-sentences. Sometimes he cried. You never stopped watching.

And your belly — it was so round now. Eight months. You could feel every kick, every shift of the baby inside. Every night, you whispered to your unborn child as you stroked your mate’s still face. “Your sempu is here. He just needs more time.”

Norm and Max had come again that morning, quiet as always. They carried their strange, blinking human tools and moved around Neteyam’s mat with practiced care. They checked the IV that fed his body fluids and nutrients, adjusted the monitor that tracked his vitals. “He’s still holding on,” Norm said gently, not looking you in the eye”

“I don’t need him to hold on,” you muttered. “I need him to wake up.”

Lo’ak stood near the entrance of the mauri, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. He hadn’t left your side in weeks. He helped with the boys, helped you up when your back ached too much to rise, helped keep you breathing when everything inside you begged to scream.

That night, Eylan climbed into your lap beside Neteyam. “Mama,” he whispered, stroking your arm, “when is sempu gonna talk to me again?” You froze. Your hands tightened on his little back. “I miss daddy,” Eylan continued. “I think Likan does too. He cries sometimes for daddy.” You couldn’t hold it in. You turned your face away and let the sob break through. Eylan reached up, brushing away a tear. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. Eywa, no.” You kissed his forehead, hugging him tight. “He loves you more than anything. He just… he’s sleeping very strong.”

“Like when the fish go deep for the cold moons?”

“Exactly,” you lied, smiling through the ache. “But he’ll come back.”

Later that night, after the boys had fallen asleep — Likan curled on Neteyam’s chest, Eylan tucked under his arm — you stepped outside. The stars shimmered over the ocean, and the sound of waves broke softly against the reef. You didn’t cry this time. You just breathed.

“I’m scared,” you whispered to the sky. “He’s missing everything. Every kick. Every day the boys grow. He hasn’t even heard this baby’s heartbeat.”

Lo’ak appeared behind you quietly. “I know.” You turned to him, voice trembling. “What if I have this baby alone? What if he never—”

“You won’t,” he said, stepping forward. “We won’t let you be alone. I know I’m not him, but I swear… we’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You sank into him, tears finally returning. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want him.”

“I know,” Lo’ak whispered, pressing your head to his shoulder. “I want him to wake up too.”

Ronal came the next day, her presence as quiet and firm as ever. She set a bowl of warm herbs beside Neteyam’s mat and applied a paste along his temples. You watched as she murmured prayers and touched his chest.

“He is tethered,” she said finally, glancing at you. “You are the cord that keeps him here. Keep speaking to him.” You nodded, though your heart was so tired.

Tsireya came later, bringing new salve for your aching legs and sweet-smelling herbs for the boys. “We haven’t given up,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t either.” Even Ao’nung came by more often now. He didn’t speak much, just brought fresh fish or sat with Lo’ak near the shore when he needed space.

And still, your stomach grew. Every movement of the baby inside you brought both awe and fear. You’d lie next to Neteyam at night, his arm draped lifeless across your middle, and whisper, “They’re almost here, ma tìyawn. Please… please don’t miss this.”

But the days kept passing, and one month later, the pain came like fire—deep, sharp, and wrong. It was still dark outside the mauri when it woke you, seizing your breath and curling your body forward instinctively. You gasped, a broken cry ripping from your throat as you clutched your swollen belly. You knew what it meant. “No—no no no,” you whispered, panic rising fast. “Not now. Please not now.”

Your pain woke the boys, who both began to cry in their half-sleep—frightened, confused by the sound of your agony. “Mama? Mamaaa?”

You couldn’t even answer. You barely registered the door flap flying open, Kiri and Neytiri rushing in. Kiri dropped to your side. “It’s the baby,” she breathed, feeling your stomach. “You’re in labor.”

“I won’t do it,” you gasped, trying to stand—only to collapse into Neytiri’s arms, trembling. “I won’t—I can’t! Not without him!”

“He would want you to be strong,” Neytiri said quickly, but her voice cracked. “You have to be strong—please, for the baby.”

Tsireya and Ronal arrived next, gathering supplies and laying out a woven mat across the floor beside Neteyam’s still form. You shrank away from them, clutching your belly like it might hold the pain back.

“You need to lie down,” Tsireya said softly.

“I said no!” you cried. “I’m not having this baby without him! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to hold my hand—he promised!” Ronal looked to Kiri, silently asking her to calm you, but before she could move, a voice cut through the panic.

“Y/n I’m surprised at you I really am, this…. this is not how I thought you’d handle this.” Lo’ak stood in the doorway. Pale. Tense. Eyes rimmed red from weeks of holding back every emotion that now pulsed right beneath his skin. Kiri opened her mouth, clearly ready to tell him to leave. “Lo’ak, maybe give her some—”

But he walked straight past her. He knelt down in front of you, gently brushing your damp hair back, speaking quietly so only you could hear. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. But you don’t get to quit right now.” You shook your head, voice cracking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I do,” he said, cutting you off gently. “He was supposed to be here. I know that. And this isn’t fair. None of this is fair. But you’re not alone.” Your eyes welled up again, and you looked away.

Lo’ak leaned closer. “You’re not doing this for just you. You’re doing it for the baby. For Neteyam. For your little boys who still need their mama cause they’re crying cause you're in pain. You don’t get to quit on them. You don’t get to quit on me.” Your lower lip trembled as a contraction surged again, and you folded into it, screaming. “I know there’s a lot of things going on here we can’t control, but this, we can do this.” He caught you as you slumped forward, gently guiding you down onto the mat Tsireya had prepared. The moment you hit the floor, the room shifted.

Kiri immediately began gathering towels and boiling water. Neytiri scooped the boys into her arms, quickly passing them to Jake who waited just outside to rock them even as tears streaked her own cheeks. Ronal positioned herself at your feet, checking how far along you were. Tsireya set her hands at your side, grounding you in soft whispers.

Lo’ak didn’t move from behind you, sitting cross-legged so your back could lean into him, just like Neteyam had done for your first two births. He took your hand in his. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another contraction came, and you screamed into his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. “I know it hurts,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “I know everything feels like it’s falling apart, but this baby is yours and his and they’re ready. You just have to help them get here.”

“I don’t want to do it alone,” you sobbed.

“You’re not alone,” he said, pressing your forehead to his. “Look at me.” You opened your eyes—barely.

“I’m here. Kiri’s here. Mom’s here. Tsireya and Ronal are here. You are surrounded by people who love you. We’re not letting go. You can do this.” You let out a shuddering breath, nodding once. “Okay.”

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s all I need. When the next one comes—push. I’ve got you. I swear.”

The room shifted again—calm in the storm. Ronal nodded. “The baby is crowning. You must push.” You closed your eyes, tears falling fast, and squeezed Lo’ak’s hand as the next contraction came. You pushed. Screamed. Cried. And Lo’ak held you through every second of it.

Your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin as your trembling arms cradled the impossibly small bundle against your chest. She was still crying—tiny and sharp and alive. And Lo’ak… Lo’ak was still behind you, arms braced on either side of you, steadying you like a living pillar. His chest pressed to your back, chin briefly lowering to your shoulder as he whispered, “You did it.”

You couldn’t answer—not yet. Your voice was trapped in your throat, and your heart was thundering too hard, but you nodded weakly, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

Tsireya leaned close, her smile wet with emotion. “She is strong,” she whispered. “Just like her sa’nok.”

Ronal was quiet, checking your daughter’s tiny fingers, murmuring something under her breath maybe a prayer, maybe thanks to Eywa. “I’ll go tell them,” Neytiri said softly, already turning toward the mauri flap. Her hand trailed along your shoulder as she passed. “They are waiting.”

You could feel Lo’ak’s breath on the back of your neck. His voice was hoarse when he said, “She looks like Neteyam.” That broke something in your chest. You nodded, lips trembling. “I know…”

She was beautiful. She was warm and breathing and here. And yet… Neteyam still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t seen her. Not yet. You shifted slightly, and Lo’ak helped you ease backward, supporting you so that you were resting against his chest, your newborn daughter swaddled snugly in your arms. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding his hand until you felt his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles. Then the flap lifted again.

Jake entered first, quiet and slow, with a child in each arm. Tuk still clung to his side, sleepy and blinking, and beside her was your oldest—Eylan, eyes wide with worry, searching.

“Mama…?” he said softly.

Your breath caught. You sat up straighter. “Eylan,” you whispered. He ran forward before Jake could even say anything, reaching out toward you. You held out your free arm, and he climbed up next to you, careful but eager, immediately peeking down at the baby in your arms. “Is that the baby that was in your belly?”

You nodded, voice soft and cracking. “Your sister, yeah.” He gasped quietly. “She’s so small…”

“She’s perfect,” you said.

Lo’ak shifted behind you, his hands never leaving your shoulders, still there like an anchor. Jake stepped closer, kneeling with Likan in his arms. “He woke when he heard her cry,” he said gently. Likan rubbed at his eyes with a little fist, clearly still tired, but the moment he spotted you and his brother, he reached out. “Mama…”

You nodded, arms full, and Lo’ak moved for the first time, gently helping take Likan from Jake and nestling him beside you, right between you and Eylan. Both boys now tucked into your side, wide-eyed and curious. “Look,” you murmured. “Your little sister.” Likan blinked at her. “Mama Baby…” You nodded, kissing his forehead.

The flap to the mauri was still drawn open, and behind Jake came Neytiri and Kiri, the whole family drawn like a tide around you. They didn’t crowd. They didn’t speak loudly. But the space filled with warmth—blinking away the cold ache of the months of silence. Your daughter squirmed a little, letting out a tiny sneeze.

“Oh,” Eylan whispered with a giggle. “She sneezed!”

“She’s a strong girl,” Jake said with pride, voice a little rough as he tucked a few braids behind your ear. “Just like her mama. Just like her brothers.”

You looked to Lo’ak then. He caught your gaze, then leaned close enough to kiss the crown of your head. “You did so good,” he murmured. “Neteyam would be losing his mind right now.” The lump in your throat swelled again.

“I wish he could see her…”

“He will,” Kiri said gently, her voice from just beside the boys. “He’s still here. And when he wakes up, we’ll tell him everything.”

Lo’ak looked at you, his voice a low, sure thing. “We’ll tell him how brave you were. How beautiful she is. How she cried just like Likan and wriggled like Eylan when they were born.”

“And how much we missed him,” you whispered. Lo’ak nodded.

Tuk came forward then, kneeling beside the boys, and smiled at the baby in wonder. “She’s really here…” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You paused, heart pounding. You hadn’t chosen it yet. Not without him. “I uh— I haven’t chosen one yet, Neteyam normally has finally say but this time we…I don’t know yet.” I tell the family and Lo’ak squeezed my arms softly his fingers running up and down them. “It’s okay, you’ll name her when you’re ready.” He whispered speaking for everyone.

The air in the mauri is thick with warmth, sweat, blood, and silence. Somewhere just outside, Neytiri hums to Likan, rocking him slowly. Kiri is tending to your newborn, her steps soft. Tsireya is quiet, watching the Eylan sleep, giving you space.

It’s just you and Lo’ak now. The curtain drawn. A bowl of warm water beside him, and you, aching and barely awake, lying half-curled under a blanket, eyes glazed with exhaustion. You don’t even flinch when you feel the cloth on your thigh. His touch is gentle, almost too gentle like he’s afraid of you breaking.

“…Lo’ak?” your voice cracks. He doesn’t look at you. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The cloth moves carefully over your skin, down the inside of your thigh where the blood dried hours ago. Normally, this moment is sacred, Neteyam’s hands, not Lo’ak’s. Always Neteyam’s. After every birth, every hard night, every wound. It was Neteyam who bathed you, held you, kissed your shoulders in the firelight. Only him.

This feels too close. Too much. Your voice trembles. “You don’t… have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Is it weird?” You swallow. “You can ask someone else—”

“I know,” he cuts in, gently. Finally, his eyes meet yours. And the look in them — it undoes you. It’s not pity. It’s not lust. It’s something else. Raw, reverent. Careful. Fractured.

“It is weird,” he admits, voice low. “But not because I don’t want to help you.” He dips the cloth again, wrings it slowly. “It’s weird because this isn’t mine. This moment. This part of you. It’s his.” Your breath catches. He lowers his eyes, begins wiping you again — the inside of your knees, the curve of your hip. Nothing improper. But your skin burns under his touch.

“I used to wonder what it felt like,” he murmurs suddenly, “being needed like that. The way you always looked at him after the births. Like he was the only person who knew where you ended and started again.”

You say nothing. You can’t. His next words are barely audible. “Now I know. And I wish I didn’t.” The silence hangs so heavy it could break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears slipping sideways into your hair.

“I’m not,” he says softly. Then after a beat, a shaky breath escapes him, and he tries to smile — the kind that barely holds. “…Though I gotta say,” he adds gently, “I never pictured the first time I’d see you naked would involve this much blood and crying.” You laugh — a strangled, wet sound. “Lo’ak—!”

He grins, but it’s quiet. Tired. Tender. “Hey. I made you laugh. That counts for something.” The cloth slips back into the bowl. He covers you gently, then sits there beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes. It should not feel this way. He should not have seen this much of you. Should not have touched your skin. Should not have looked at you like that. But he did. And you let him. And in the soft dark, with your mate still unconscious and your body raw from birth, you realize… You’re not sure where the line is anymore.

At first, it’s still about the kids. Lo’ak carrying Eylan when the boy is too sleepy to walk, playing with Likan in the dirt while you rest with the baby sleeping on your chest. He never complains. Never acts like it’s too much. But the way he watches you begins to change — it becomes quieter. He’s more careful. Always aware. He doesn’t hover. But he notices everything.

When your arms start to tremble from holding the baby too long, he’s already there before you ask. He doesn’t make a scene — he just crouches beside you and gently takes her from you, cradling her like she’s his own blood, offering that crooked half-smile you’ve seen a thousand times before. Except now it feels different.

When you try to eat, one hand balancing your daughter and the other too sore to lift much of anything, he kneels next to you. No teasing, no fuss. He just takes the food and feeds you with quiet patience, like it’s normal, like you’ve always done this dance. There’s a rhythm forming between you that neither of you meant to create.

“You either eat this,” he says once, “or I eat it and tell everyone you starve me.” You roll your eyes. But you open your mouth. The next time, you lean forward before he even lifts the bite. The first time it goes too far is at the river. You sit on the edge of the rocks, staring at the water, your body aching and raw, and no one else is free. You don’t even say anything. You don’t need to.

“I’ll help,” Lo’ak says, not looking at you. “Just the shallow edge. You don’t have to move much. I’ll look away.” And he does. Always.

But his hands are gentle when they brush your back. His silence is heavy. And when he hands you the cloth and cups the water for you, your hands touch — just for a moment — and your breath catches, and neither of you mention it.

He still returns to Tsireya’s arms every night. He kisses her when she brings herbs to help with your healing. He rests his head on her lap while she hums over his braids. He holds her hand when they walk together, when they sit by the fire, when she laughs too loud and he smiles just watching her. He is still her perfect partner.

But something in him has gone quiet. Especially when it’s just the two of you. He stays a little longer than he should. Touches your shoulder more than is necessary. His eyes linger when they shouldn’t. He steps into Neteyam’s absence like he was born into it, without ever being asked.

And Tsireya notices. Not everything. Not enough to accuse. But enough to pause. One evening, she watches from across the marui as Lo’ak gently lifts the baby from your lap, tucks the blanket higher on your legs, and smooths your hair away from your face. His fingers hesitate there, just for a moment, brushing your skin like it means something. Like it hurts to let go. She doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

You try not to rely on him. You hate how easy it’s become — how when you need something, when you so much as look tired, Lo’ak is already there. You try not to look for him, not to listen for his voice, but you do. And you catch yourself waiting for him, for the sound of his feet in the sand.

You hate the heat in your chest when he speaks your name gently. The soft way he says, “Eat. You need your strength.” You hate that sometimes — just sometimes — you wish it wasn’t just kindness. That it meant something more. Because it’s Lo’ak. Because you love Neteyam. Because you’re still his. Because you shouldn’t feel this.

But you lean your head against his shoulder one quiet afternoon while your boys laugh nearby. And he doesn’t move. He just lets you stay there, still and warm and silent. His fingers brush your wrist — the barest touch — like it anchors him. Or maybe anchors you. Neither of you speak. But something has shifted. Quietly. Unmistakably. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

The baby’s asleep again, her soft, steady breaths rising against Neteyam’s bare chest. You’ve bundled her there every night now — it’s the only place she seems to settle. Her little hand rests right over the bullet scar. Your fingers twitch every time you look at it.

You sit beside them; knees pulled to your chest. The lantern burns low, casting long shadows across the woven floor. The boys are asleep near the doorway, Likan curled against Eylan’s back like a fern folding in the night.

You don’t expect Lo’ak. Not this late. But the flap rustles, soft and careful, and he steps in — quiet, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone. His hair’s damp. He smells like the sea. He sees you and stops. “I thought you’d be asleep.” You give a tired shrug. “Can’t.” His eyes flick toward the baby on Neteyam’s chest. “She’s there again.”

“Every night.” You feel the breath leave your chest, sharp and bitter. Lo’ak crosses the marui, lowers himself to sit beside you. You don’t look at him. “Tsireya okay?” you ask, voice low.

“Yeah. She’s… she’s good.”

“Did she want you to stay?” A pause. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the fire.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not.”

You glance at him. “And what if I’m not?” He meets your eyes, steady and too soft. “Then I stay.”

You don’t say anything. Not for a long moment. The only sounds are the baby’s tiny sighs, the breath of the wind outside, the creak of the marui walls. You shift, hugging your knees tighter.

“I miss him,” you whisper. “Even though he’s right there. I miss him like he’s already—” Lo’ak turns quickly, hand reaching for yours. He grips it tight, grounding you.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t say it.” You look down at your joined hands.

“I’m so tired, Lo’ak,” you breathe. “Of being strong. Of pretending I don’t need help.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You exhale a shaky laugh. “You’re not supposed to be the one holding me together.”

“Maybe I want to.” His voice is lower now. There’s something in it that curls under your skin — a crack you shouldn’t notice, but you do. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Really looking. The firelight flickers over his face, the high cheekbones, the small scar near his jaw, the dark, aching eyes.

Your voice comes out quiet. “This feels…” He doesn’t let you finish.

“I know.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like he’s not sure if he should. His fingers brush your cheek, just once. You don’t stop him. He leans in, just enough that his forehead grazes yours. Just enough to steal your breath.

“If I kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “will you hate me for it?”

Your heart stops. You don’t answer. And he doesn’t move. You sit like that — too close, too quiet — with your foreheads barely touching, your breaths syncing, your hands still joined.

“I still love him,” you whisper. It’s barely audible.

“I know,” he says again. “I wouldn’t ask you not to.”

Then the baby shifts. A small sound. A flutter of fingers against Neteyam’s chest. You both freeze. And just like that, the moment shatters. You pull back slowly, blinking fast, like coming up for air. Lo’ak leans away, breaking contact, hand sliding from yours. He looks wrecked. Like he’s been caught in something he didn’t mean to start.

“I should go,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moves. Your hands are still touching. Just your fingers. Barely. And the silence between you tightens, not like tension, but like grief. Like hunger. Like everything you’ve tried not to feel has risen to the surface and is begging to be touched.

He looks at you. You look back. He leans in. And this time, you don’t look away. Your breath catches, but your body doesn’t flinch. His hand brushes your cheek again, fingers trailing behind your ear, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Almost.

“Lo’ak,” you whisper. Just his name. Nothing more. But it cracks.

And he breaks. He kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Terrified. He’s not rushing. He’s not devouring. He’s aching. His lips press to yours like he’s asking for permission he already knows he shouldn’t need. Like he knows it’s wrong — but more than that, he knows it’s too late.

And still… you kiss him back. Only for a second. Maybe two. It’s not passionate. Not carnal. It’s not even romantic. It’s just grief. Muted and drowning. A moment where you aren’t the woman holding everything together. You’re not Neteyam’s mate. You’re not a mother. You’re just you.

And Lo’ak is the only one who sees that. When he pulls back, he stays close — forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Shit,” he whispers, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” You say nothing. Because you’re not. Not yet. Your chest is rising too fast. Your hand is still on his wrist. You can feel his pulse beneath your thumb.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts. “Yes, you did,” you say. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… honest. And it shatters him. He nods. “I know.”

Then a soft sound breaks the air — not from the baby, not from the boys. From Neteyam. A shift. A breath. You both turn. He hasn’t moved. Still and unchanged. But the guilt crashes into you anyway. Heavy. Sharp. You pull back completely, hands to your lap, your chest squeezing like it’s too full to breathe. Lo’ak stands up slowly. “I shouldn’t have—” You cut him off, eyes still on Neteyam. “It’s okay..” you whisper. “But I think you should go.”

He hesitates. Just a second. Then he leaves. And you sit alone in the half-light, your baby sleeping on her father’s chest, your heart pounding from another man’s lips. You don’t cry. You don’t panic. You just stare, swallowing the weight of it — knowing that something has changed. Knowing that if Neteyam wakes up tomorrow, if he looks at you the way he used to, you will never be able to tell him. But you’ll feel it.

The next morning, Neytiri was brushing your baby girl’s tiny curls back from her forehead, humming softly, when you approached. “Can you take them to Ronal for their checkups?” you asked quietly, trying not to wake your daughter. “She wants to see them today.”

Neytiri turned, giving you a look that read deeper than words. “Are you all right?” You hesitated. “I just… need a moment.”

She nodded, collecting the baby in one arm and calling softly to Eylan and Likan. Your boys rushed over, Likan clinging to your leg briefly, then letting go when Neytiri took his hand.

You kissed each of them, your heart squeezing tight as Likan babbled a sleepy, “Mama be back? “Soon,” you promised. “I love you.”

With Neytiri leading them off toward the reef healer’s marui, you turned away. But your heart stayed behind.

Lo’ak was exactly where you expected — perched alone where the reef cliffs met the sea, his feet dangling above the water, arms resting on his knees. The wind pushed through his hair, the waves whispering beneath. You approached quietly and sat beside him, not too close. He glanced sideways. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I had to.” He looked back out at the ocean. “I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.” You nodded. “Me neither.” A pause stretched out. You could feel the weight between you — not heavy with love, not sweet with longing. Just guilt. Raw and too recent.

“What we did…” he said slowly, “I keep trying to explain it to myself. I know it wasn’t about love. Wasn’t even about wanting each other like that.” You watched the horizon. “We were just too tired. Too empty. We found each other in that space.”

“I still hate that it happened.” You swallowed. “Me too.” A moment passed. Then, quietly: “But I don’t hate you for it.” He looked over. “I don’t hate you either.” The wind picked up, salt brushing your skin. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” you whispered. “But I don’t want it to happen again.” His eyes fell to the ground. “It won’t.”

“Good,” you breathed. “Because I can’t lose him. And I still feel like I’m losing myself.” Lo’ak’s hand reached out, fingers brushing yours gently.

Not holding. Just… acknowledging. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Eventually.” Just then — a scream carried across the reef. “GET HER—GET HER NOW—HE’S AWAKE—!”

You both bolted upright. Kiri’s voice. Your heart slammed into your ribs. “Neteyam?!” you breathed. And then Lo’ak grabbed your hand without thinking, and the two of you ran. By the time you reached the mauri, the entire reef was there. Ronal. Tsireya. Ao’nung. Neytiri with the baby held protectively in her arms, boys pressed into her sides. Jake knelt by the mat.

Neteyam was sitting up. Blinking. Awake. Lo’ak skidded to a halt beside you, breath ragged. Your legs wouldn’t move — not at first. Kiri turned to you, eyes wild with tears. “He opened his eyes. He said something—he looked around, but—” You pushed through them all, falling to your knees at his side.

Neteyam looked at you, face pale, chest rising with effort. His gaze slid over you, confused but calm. You smiled through the tears. “Hi. Hey. I’m here.”

He blinked again. “Are you… the healer?” The words hit like ice water. Your breath caught. “What?” Jake turned sharply. Neytiri’s lips parted. Neteyam looked around slowly. “I… where am I? What happened?”

You didn’t feel your legs give out, but suddenly you were leaning forward, gripping the edge of the mat. “I’m—” your voice cracked. “I’m your mate. Your wife.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Neytiri stepped forward, voice soft and shaking, “itan… Neteyam… this is your wife. Your children are here. You are safe.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed. “Wife?” He looked at your baby in her arms. At Eylan and Likan — their golden eyes wide and scared. His eyes were blank. Tsireya stepped back, hand over her mouth. Lo’ak stood frozen beside you, his face twisted in disbelief, grief washing over him in a silent wave.

Neteyam’s gaze landed on him last. “Lo’ak,” he murmured. “I… I know you.” But even that seemed uncertain. Lo’ak stepped closer. “Yeah, bro. It’s me. I’m right here.” Neteyam squinted, nodding slightly. “You look… older.” And then he looked at you again. Eyes searching. Still not recognizing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know who you are.” You didn’t break down. Not yet. But your hand slipped from the mat. And Lo’ak was the one who caught it.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice low and tender. “Neteyam,” she said gently, kneeling beside you, “this is [Name].” You watched his eyes flick to her, then back to you. The name hung in the air. He blinked slowly, and something passed across his face. Not clarity — but a glimmer.

“[Name],” he repeated, tasting it. “I know that name.” Your heart jumped. You shifted, leaning in, desperate for more. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, you do.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place a memory behind fogged glass.

“You had long braids even at a five-year-old,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “You followed me everywhere. You made me that ugly stone necklace and cried when I said it stank” A soft laugh caught in your throat, half-sob. He looked up again, blinking hard. “That was when we were… kids. That’s all I remember.”

Jake exhaled quietly through his nose. Kiri covered her mouth, face crumpling. You reached for his hand, but he shifted just slightly — not in rejection, but in confusion. He stared at your touch like it was unfamiliar. “I don’t understand,” he said again, voice cracking. “Why is everyone crying? Why do I feel like I’m… missing something? A lot of somethings?” He turned his gaze slowly toward Jake. “How long was I out?”

Jake hesitated. “Months,” Neytiri said softly, before her husband could answer. “You were shot. You almost—” She cut off. Her eyes burned. Neteyam looked down at his chest then, slowly lifting his fingers to touch the healed but angry scarring beneath the cloth. His breathing hitched.

His head snapped back up. “Months?” He looked around wildly now — at the baby, at the boys pressed into Neytiri’s side, at the reef around him he didn’t recognize. His fingers curled tightly into the bedding. “I—I don’t remember this place,” he stammered. “I don’t remember being here. Why are we not in the forest?”

“The…the sky people returned we came here because they were hunting us,” Jake said gently. “We all…live here now. Me, your mom, siblings and your wife and kids. This is our home now.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, more panicked now. “Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I know her name but not her voice? Not—” His voice cracked. “Not those kids?” Eylan whimpered softly. Likan shrunk against Neytiri’s side, clinging to her braid. The baby stirred in Neytiri’s arms and let out a soft, fussy noise — and Neteyam flinched at the sound. His eyes snapped to her. He stared.

“She’s… mine?” he asked. “Ours?” You nodded, your voice almost inaudible. “She was born while you were still… still asleep, just a couple weeks ago.” He dragged a hand down his face. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense.”

“Neteyam—” Kiri started, moving forward. “I don’t know her,” he said louder, looking at the baby. “I don’t know them. How can they be mine?”

Lo’ak tensed beside you. You could feel it in his grip. You turn to your boys who were shying away from their father saying he didn’t know them and your heart ached.

Neteyam’s breaths were picking up, eyes darting. “Why don’t I remember you?” he asked again, his voice climbing toward panic. “If you’re my mate, why don’t I feel it? Why does it feel like I’m seeing my own life from outside?”

You leaned in, your hand still lightly on his, even though he wasn’t returning the touch. “Because something happened,” you said quietly. “And we don’t know why yet. But I’m here. And we’ll figure it out.”

He stared at you for a long time. Then whispered, “I feel like I’m drowning.” You nodded, a tear falling as you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“So am I.” Neteyam didn’t pull away this time. He just looked at your hand on his, blinking back tears he didn’t quite understand.

And Lo’ak, still kneeling beside you, kept holding your other hand, jaw tight, not speaking a word. You sat frozen, still holding your breath, your hand gently resting on his.

Neteyam’s gaze was on you — no longer searching, just… overwhelmed. His eyes were wide. Distant. Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand away. It was a soft motion. Not cruel. Not forceful. But deliberate. Your heart cracked again. He pressed his palms flat to the mat, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were curling in on himself, trying to make sense of a world that was too loud, too big, and far too unfamiliar.

You swallowed hard and pulled your hand back, fingers trembling in your lap. Neytiri’s face shifted, like something inside her folded in half. Lo’ak’s arm brushed yours. Subtle. Silent. “I’m sorry,” Neteyam said again, still staring down. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just—” he shook his head, a quiet panic rising again in his voice. “It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.”

Jake stepped forward then, slow and calm, crouching near his son. “Neteyam, you’ve been unconscious for a long time. Your body survived, but something’s wrong with your memory. You don’t remember the reef. You don’t remember what happened. And that’s okay. We’re gonna help you through it.” Neteyam barely nodded. He still wasn’t looking at anyone. Only the floor. A small voice broke the stillness.

“Neteyam?” Everyone turned. Tuk. She had slipped through the gathered crowd, her steps careful and quiet. Her big golden eyes glistened with tears as she crept toward the mat, holding something in her arms — a small shell toy he’d carved years ago.

She knelt near him and offered it up with a little smile. “You made this for me when I was little. Do you remember?” Neteyam looked up and froze. His brows furrowed hard, confusion blooming deep. His eyes roamed over her face, her frame, her tiny shaking hands. “I…” he blinked. “I don’t know you.” The silence snapped sharp. Tuk’s smile faltered. Her lip quivered, and she clutched the shell tighter to her chest.

“I’m Tuk,” she whispered. “I’m your baby sister.” Neteyam’s face had gone pale again. “No, I—no. I have one sister. Kiri. That’s all. You weren’t… there.” You could feel Neytiri’s body tense, just a breath away from crumbling. Tuk’s chin wobbled. “But I was. You used to braid my hair. You used to carry me everywhere when I was small—”

“I don’t remember,” Neteyam said, voice cracking. “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry, I don’t—” Tuk’s face fell, and the shell slipped from her fingers. Kiri was already moving, sweeping her into her arms and pulling her away as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Tuk buried her face in Kiri’s neck and sobbed. Neteyam shut his eyes tight, pressing his palms to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I don’t understand why everything hurts.” Your own tears blurred your vision as you watched him — not just lost but shattered inside his own mind.

Neteyam’s breath hitched again. He stared at the place Tuk had stood, hands still braced on the mat, knuckles pale. He didn’t look at anyone now. He couldn’t. And then, like a dam breaking everything scattered. Jake stood swiftly. “I need to call Norm and Max,” he said to no one and everyone, already stepping toward the sat phone near the far wall. “If this is neurological, they’ll know what to look for.”

Ronal moved forward without a word, her face set in that unreadable Tsahìk calm. She knelt beside Neteyam and placed her hands lightly over his head and chest, lips murmuring prayers too soft to catch. Tsireya and Ao’nung stepped back to give her room, their hands linked tightly. Tsireya looked like she might cry. You didn’t move at first. You were still kneeling right where Neteyam had pulled away. Right where he’d looked at you and not known who you were.

It hit you then, all of it. The months of keeping it together. Of surviving. Of healing. Of pretending you could carry all this weight alone. It caved in without warning. Your breath snagged. Your hands trembled. And then you stood, barely feeling your legs move, and backed away. Slow. Silent. Like if you just got far enough away, maybe it wouldn’t crush you.

You didn’t stop until you reached the far side of the mauri, your back pressing against the woven wall. But your eyes never left him. You kept watching. As if sheer will could force his memories back. “Mama?” The small voice broke you. Eylan was at your side, his little hand wrapping around yours, eyes wide with confusion. Likan toddled behind him, thumb in his mouth, clinging to your leg. You sank down, arms wrapping around both of them. And then Neytiri was there too.

She knelt on the floor beside you without a word and pulled you into her arms like she used to when you were young. When you scraped your knees or cried after fights with Neteyam. She knew her son needed her in this moment, but her daughter needed her more. You clung to her tightly, your face buried in her shoulder, trying not to sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, voice splintered. “I don’t know how to help him. I can’t lose him again. I can’t.” She stroked your hair, arms strong around you. “You haven’t lost him, ma’ite. He’s here. His heart still beats. You brought him back.”

“But he doesn’t know me,” you said. “He doesn’t remember… us.” And just behind you, Lo’ak kneeled his hand brushed your shoulder, grounding you. “I’m here too,” he said quietly. “You are not alone.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving the figure across the room. Still staring at your mate. Your love. The father of your children. Still watching the way he looked around the mauri like he was on another planet.

The mat was still where it always was, yours and Neteyam’s. But it hadn’t felt like his since the day he woke up. Now, it was you and the boys. Eylan curled into your chest, Likan wrapped around your leg, the baby in the woven basinet beside you, close enough to touch. Neteyam watched you from across the room, the firelight casting your silhouette in soft gold. You were quiet, always tired, always holding one child while keeping an eye on the others. Always doing something. And he… just watched.

He slept on a new mat, set up on the other side of the mauri. The distance felt necessary. That first night when he’d pulled away from you—when he saw Tuk and didn’t recognize her—it was clear. He wasn’t the same. He remembered his mother’s voice, his father’s hands, Lo’ak’s laugh, Kiri’s connection to the forest. But he didn’t remember you as his wife. He didn’t remember the baby, the boys. And Tuk—she wasn’t even born in his memory either. The look in your eyes when he’d asked who you were, never left him.

Since then, the mauri had been a blur of movement. Jake had sent word to Norm and Max. Ronal checked on him every day. Tsireya and Aonung kept their distance, though Tsireya’s eyes lingered sometimes when she looked at you. Kiri stayed close. Neytiri moved between you and Neteyam like she was split in half. Everyone tried to act like things were normal. They weren’t.

You never asked Neteyam to come back to the mat. You let him choose. You never tried to force the baby into his arms. Never corrected the way he hesitated when Likan reached for him. But he noticed. He noticed everything. He saw how you carried it all—how you shifted the baby with one arm while holding Likan’s hand, how you smoothed Eylan’s hair and soothed him to sleep while the others cried. You never asked for help, but you didn’t need to. Lo’ak was always there.

Lo’ak, who should’ve been carefree. Who should’ve still been the younger brother. But Neteyam saw how he moved around you like he’d done this all before. Helped you wrap the sling for the baby. Tied the back knot without needing to look. Lifted the basket out of your way without being asked. Fed Likan. Braided Eylan’s hair. Caught you when your legs almost gave out. And it wasn’t just helpful—it was natural. Familiar. Too familiar.

One morning, Neteyam watched as Lo’ak pressed a hand to your back while you sat feeding the baby, whispering something that made you exhale a tired laugh. Your head dropped forward, and he gently lifted the hair from your face. The touch was soft. The kind of soft that made Neteyam’s stomach twist.

Later that day, you stumbled again as you were going to a fussy Likan, only for a second and Lo’ak was there, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands went to your waist. You gripped his arms to steady yourself, eyes meeting in silence.

Neteyam stood up. The room shifted, just slightly. Kiri paused. Neytiri looked up. “I’ll do it,” Neteyam said, voice sharp. You turned, confused. Lo’ak blinked.

Neteyam crossed the space and reached for Likan, who had been fussing on the floor. His hands were unsure, but the moment Likan saw him, the toddler’s arms lifted in recognition. Neteyam picked him up. Held him. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right. But Likan laid his head against his chest and didn’t move. It was the first time Neteyam held one of his children since waking up. Something cracked open.

That night, he watched you sleep again. Your body curled around the baby. Eylan sprawled out beside you. Likan using your leg as a pillow. You hadn’t even noticed how your hand remained outstretched, resting on the basinet like you needed the baby within reach. You looked like a home. His home. But it felt like you were a thousand miles away.

Lo’ak came in quietly and crouched beside you. He brushed your hair back. Whispered something. You nodded. Neteyam’s jaw clenched. His fists curled in the blankets.

The next few days, Lo’ak pulled back. Let Neteyam help first. Watched from a distance more often than he acted. He never said anything about it. But Neteyam noticed that, too.

He noticed the quiet glances from Kiri when he didn’t know how to soothe the baby. The way Neytiri held both you and Tuk in the mornings. The way Jake’s eyes lingered on him with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Everyone knew he was missing something. And they were waiting.

Neteyam was trying. Trying to remember. Trying to learn. But more than anything, he was trying to understand how he could forget you. How you could be his mate, and he couldn’t feel it. How Lo’ak could touch you like that, help you like that, and somehow it didn’t seem wrong to anyone, except him.

And still, the baby slept with her cheek to your chest. Likan wrapped his hand in your braids. Eylan reached for you when he woke crying.

Neteyam sat on the edge of the mat, stiff and quiet, watching his own hands like they weren’t his. Max crouched in front of him, scanning a pad while Norm gently rotated a small light near his temple. Every time Neteyam blinked, it felt like he was waking into a world he didn’t recognize.

You sat nearby, the baby still asleep in the shallow woven basket beside you. Eylan was curled into Lo’ak’s lap again, sucking on his thumb — not out of habit, but anxiety. Likan was sprawled across your thigh, little fingers tangled in the strings of your chest wrap.

“I’m going to ask you a few things, okay?” Norm said gently. “No pressure. Just answer what you can.” Neteyam nodded slowly.,“What’s your name?”

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Norm smiled, “that’s good,” encouraged. “And your parents?” Neteyam looked across the room at Jake and Neytiri. “Ma sa’nok. Ma sempu.”

“Do you remember where you grew up?”

“The forest. The Omatikaya clan” He glanced around the reef mauri. “This place is… new.” Max nodded. “You came here during the war after the sky people returned. That’s okay you don’t remember yet. What about your siblings?”

Neteyam hesitated. “Lo’ak… and Kiri. I remember them.” His brow furrowed. “But that little one—” he pointed at Tuk, who stood near Neytiri, peeking out from behind her legs. “I don’t know her.” Tuk shrank back slightly, confused. Neytiri placed a protective hand on her head. “That’s Tuk,” Jake said gently. “Your youngest sister.”

“I never met her,” Neteyam murmured, voice flat. You glanced down, heart sinking. Norm didn’t let the pause linger. “And this woman?” He nodded toward you. “Do you remember her?” Neteyam looked at you for a long time.

“I know her name,” he said quietly. “I remember her from before. When we were little. She always followed me around.” You almost laughed at that, even through the ache. “But after that… nothing,” he whispered.

“Neteyam,” Max spoke up, shifting tone. “You’ve lost all memory past a certain point in your life. It’s not unusual in cases like this — trauma, brain swelling, lack of oxygen, coma…”

“I’ve been asleep for months?” Neteyam cut in, sharp as if to confirm it again. Jake stepped forward. “Yes.”

“And you’re all just… what? Waiting for me to get up?”

“Of course we were,” Neytiri said softly. He rubbed at his chest like it ached. “But I don’t even remember learning how to fight. Or fly. Or the war. I don’t remember being a husband or a father—” He stopped. Looked at the children.

“You’re telling me they’re mine, but I don’t feel it.” Lo’ak’s jaw twitched. Tsireya stepped beside him. “It’s okay to feel lost.”

“Is it?” Neteyam shot back, and his tone was more edge than emotion. Silence crept through the mauri. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Neteyam turned to his brother, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve been helping. With… them.” His gaze flicked to you. “Why?” Lo’ak blinked. “Because she needed help.”

“You seemed very close,” Neteyam said, voice careful. Lo’ak frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped in finally, firm but calm. “It means he’s scared. And confused. And this is all too much for everyone involved, especially him.”

Neteyam looked at you, jaw tense. “I just don’t understand how I’m gone for a few months, and suddenly I wake up and my little brother knows more about my life than I do.”

“That’s not what happened Nete—”Lo’ak stood, slowly setting Eylan down beside him cutting you off. “Bro, none of us wanted this. I helped because I had to. Because I love you. You think this was easy for anyone?”

You stood too, placing a hand on Lo’ak’s arm before it escalated. “Stop. Don’t fight. Please.” Jake’s voice was heavy. “We all did what we had to.”

“I’m not even mad about it,” Neteyam muttered, running a hand over his face. “I probably should be but, I just feel like I woke up in someone else’s life. A stranger’s life.” Neytiri moved to kneel at his side. “It’s not someone else’s life, ma’itan. It’s yours. We will walk with you until you find it again.”

Tsireya leaned gently into Lo’ak, whispering something that calmed him. He exhaled hard, jaw clenching, but he nodded.

Max tapped something on his pad. “We’ll give you space. The best thing now might be small pieces. Familiar things. Let him be around his family. Let him feel things before he tries to remember them. Just live, hopefully memories will resurface during daily activities which normally happens in cases like these.”

You looked down at your children. Eylan was clinging to Lo’ak’s hand. Likan was staring at Neteyam like he didn’t understand why his papa didn’t scoop him up. And your daughter, curled in her basket, let out a tiny sigh in her sleep. A sound Neteyam once swore was the best thing he’d ever heard when you had the boys. But he didn’t even flinch this time. And you had no idea how to begin again.

The next few months were both careful and chaotic — a balance of heartbreak and fragile hope, as life moved forward with Neteyam awake but not truly returned. You tried not to mourn what you lost. He was alive. Breathing. Laughing sometimes. But he wasn’t yours, not in the way he used to be.

At first, it was small things. Kiri brought out the old woven toys they used to play with as kids. She laughed when Neteyam remembered the names they gave them — “that’s O’upey, the angry monkey-bird,” he muttered one day, blinking in surprise at the memory. Tuk was still shy, unsure how to be with a brother who didn’t know her. But eventually, she began sneaking beside him during mealtimes, nudging his arm with her shoulder until he smiled down at her and shared his fruit.

Lo’ak kept his distance for a few days after that first confrontation, letting space settle between you all. But he never strayed far from the kids. Eylan still ran to him when he scraped his knee. Likan still tugged on his braid when he was sleepy. Neteyam watched this from the edge of the room, always quiet.

Neteyam had moved into a separate space near the edge of the Sully mauri which was next to the one you both shared in the previous years. He couldn’t sleep beside you, not with the weight of your shared history heavy on a mind that couldn’t recall it. So, the boys stayed with you, and the baby girl in the woven basket slept at your side. Neytiri helped every night, whispering lullabies and staying close when your arms trembled from exhaustion.

Jake took it hardest in the quiet moments. His son was there, walking beside him, training again slowly, and yet the bond between them was stunted. Neteyam asked him once if he’d been a good warrior, and Jake nearly broke, but he told him how proud he was, how much of a good person, son, warrior, husband and father he’d always been.

“He was the best,” he told Max later, voice rough. “He died trying to save us. And now he doesn’t even remember what he was saving.”

You and Neteyam began spending time together carefully. Norm had suggested building new memories to replace the missing ones. So, you started showing him the forest again — not the one you’d grown up in, but the edge of it, where vines crept low and fruit hung from branches. You told him the story of how you first met.

“You were three, just turned three and I was two years old. I was sitting in the village, and you came up to me and sat down and shared your fruit with me.” you said one day, crouched in the sand beside the mangroves. “And you just sat there with me eating the little piece of fruit you kept for yourself and after that we just…stay together.” He smiled, barely. “Sounds sweet.”

“It was,” you whispered, “and so was the fruit, I knew cause as we got older you never ate fruit that wasn’t overly ripe. It was always the sweetest u could find.” Neteyam didn’t argue. But he kept his soft smile until it faded.

Tsireya was gentle with him, like she always had been. She reminded him of reef customs, reintroduced him to Aonung, and brought him on swims through familiar coral paths. There was never judgment in her voice — only patience. You saw her watching him when he wasn’t looking. Once, you caught her eyes drift to you, and in that silence between you, there was no rivalry. Just pain shared in quiet solidarity.

Lo’ak helped where he could, but he never overstepped again. Not in front of Neteyam. Not anymore. But you felt it sometimes — the way Neteyam watched him carry Likan, or braid Eylan’s hair while you nursed the baby. It wasn’t jealousy, not fully. It was a wound. A gap in time that didn’t make sense.

One night, after a long day helping with repairs near the reef line, Neteyam lingered outside your mauri. You were inside, humming softly as you tried to get the baby down. He didn’t enter. But his voice drifted through the curtain: “What’s her name?”

You froze. You stepped toward the flap, lifting it slowly. “We haven’t named her yet,” you said. “Not fully. We were waiting”

He blinked. “Why?” Your voice cracked. “Because I choose too many names because there are a lot of pretty ones, and you are the one that normally has the final say.” He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t leave either.

Kiri was the first one to make him laugh again. She dragged him to the beach with a basket full of sea slugs and made him chase Likan, who had stolen one and was screeching with joy. When Likan fell in the shallows, Neteyam picked him up instinctively — and for one heartbeat, it felt like the past.

But when Likan called him ‘sempu,’ Neteyam stiffened. “He thinks I’m someone I’m not,” he told you later “No,” you said quietly. “He thinks you’re you. His father. And he is not wrong.”

One afternoon, the sun had barely started to dip beneath the waves when Tsireya brought Neteyam down to the shallows again. Lo’ak followed without a word, as if he didn’t want to leave his brother alone, to keep him safe. It had become a quiet ritual, easing Neteyam into the life he’d forgotten. He was polite. Curious. Observant. And completely unaware of the landmines his presence was walking over.

The beach was half-crowded with young hunters cleaning their weapons and tending to their gear. Laughter floated above the gentle surf. “Neteyam?” Soft, like a breeze. He turned, and so did Tsireya and Lo’ak.

Lina stepped out from a cluster of others, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes were kind, the curve of her voice never sharp. She was tall and pretty, wet curls cascading down her back, bow slung across her back, fingers stained with oil from cleaning arrowheads. Neteyam tilted his head. “Have we met?”

“Yes,” she said gently, approaching but still giving him space. “We used to train together. Before… everything.” He squinted, curious. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You used to say you could outswim me. You never could.” He blinked, then laughed — and it was so easy. Like he didn’t have the weight of a family he couldn’t remember pressed into his chest. Like something about her didn’t require effort. “I doubt that,” he said, smiling full now. “You don’t look like you swim very fast.”

She blushed faintly and laughed. “You said I was faster than you once. But you also said I cheated.”

“Maybe I did,” he said, eyes twinkling a bit too long on her face. “Sounds like something I’d say.” Lo’ak’s brows lowered slightly. Tsireya shifted beside him, her hand sliding into his as if instinctually — as if to ground herself. Lina lowered her eyes a moment. “You helped me build my bow. Back when my brother broke mine. You carved a seashell on the handle for me.” Neteyam looked down at the bow on her back, then back at her. “I did that?”

“You said it reminded you of a sunrise.” There was a pause. His smile softened. “I’d like to see that sunrise again.” Lo’ak’s jaw slackened, his brother had always been smooth, but he’d only ever seen Neteyam really show interest in you. Tsireya sucked in a slow breath, eyes flicking toward her mate in quiet concern. They exchanged a look — full of too much they couldn’t say out loud. Not here. Not now.

“You… want to walk the shore?” Lina offered shyly, motioning toward the far end where the cliffs curved. And Neteyam nodded. “I think I do.” The two of them wandered off, feet kicking through the foam. Tsireya turned to Lo’ak. “We need to say something.” His face was carved from stone. “Not yet,” he said, voice quiet. “She’s been through too much already.”

“She’ll notice eventually.” He nodded, jaw tight. “Then we’ll tell her eventually.” But neither of them moved. They just stood there, watching their brother disappear further down the sand — toward someone he never remembered, but now seemed to see more clearly than the people who’d loved him all his life.

It was another sleepless night. It had been a couple of weeks now since Neteyam woke up and he was no where to be found. The baby had been fussing for hours, her soft cries escalating into breathless wails. Likan stirred again, kicking off his woven blanket, eyes puffy with confusion and frustration. Eylan was curled on his side but not asleep, thumb tucked against his lips the way he hadn’t done in years. He didn’t cry anymore, he just stared at the wall and sniffled, quiet in that way that made your heart twist.

You were pacing again. Rocking the baby against your chest, bouncing on tired feet, muttering soothing nonsense into her ear. You hadn’t eaten much. You hadn’t really sat down. You hadn’t even noticed the blood on your lower back where the wrap had pulled too tight across your healing skin. The strain of childbirth, the strain of grief, the loneliness of loving someone who didn’t know you anymore — it had started to show.

And no one had said it aloud, but the mat felt emptier now than when Neteyam had been unconscious. Because now he wasn’t there, and you were alone.

The family tried, they did, Neytiri and Kiri checked in. Jake held Likan when he screamed for his father. Tsireya helped brush Eylan’s hair when he refused to do it himself. But they were pulled thin. And Lo’ak had pulled away.

You had noticed it a few nights ago, when you turned in desperation to ask him for help reaching the water jug, and he pretended not to hear you. When the boys cried for him and he sent Tuk instead. You hadn’t said anything then. Maybe you thought it would pass or that you’d just figure it out.

But tonight, the pressure snapped. The baby wouldn’t settle. You were shaking. Likan started crying. Again. And your hands were trembling so bad the cup of water you tried to pour spilled across the floor. And that’s when Lo’ak walked in.

You didn’t even hear him at first — just saw his shadow, crouched beside Eylan, checking on him. The soft whisper of “Hey, buddy,” as he tucked the boy’s arm back under the blanket. Then he turned and saw you.

You were standing near the mat, the baby clutched to your chest, your whole body strung tight. Likan was crying in the corner, and you didn’t even know what to do anymore — hold him? Put her down? Lie on the ground and cry with them? You blinked at Lo’ak like he wasn’t real. And when he reached to take the baby from your arms, something snapped.

“No.” He paused, arms mid-stretch. “What?”

“You don’t get to come in when it’s convenient for you.” Your voice cracked. “I’ve been here. Alone. You were supposed to help me. You always did.”Lo’ak’s jaw locked. “I thought with Neteyam—”

“Well, Neteyam is gone!” you hissed, too loud, the baby jerking in your grip. You rocked her faster, whispering apologies, tears burning behind your eyes. “He’s not dead but he’s gone, and I am so tired, Lo’ak. I’m tired of holding this family together with spit and prayers.”

“I didn’t know you wanted my help anymore.”

“I didn’t want to need it anymore!” Silence stretched. You were shaking. Lo’ak took a slow step closer. “He’s my brother,” he said, quietly. “And I thought… if I stepped back, maybe it would be easier. For everyone.”

“It’s not.” You looked up at him, eyes glassy and dark. “I didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t expect you to fix it. But you were the one who was there. You were the one who held me when she was born. And I know, I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I know these kids aren’t your responsibility, but I need help sometimes.” Lo’ak flinched.

The baby finally drifted into exhausted sleep. You sank to your knees beside Likan, curling him against your chest as best you could. Lo’ak just stood there, like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought Neteyam would come back and remember how to be everything you needed.” You didn’t look at him. Just whispered: “Me too.”

He knelt down beside you then, hands hovering before gently reaching for Likan, taking him from your arms. The toddler’s sobs stilled a little against Lo’ak’s shoulder.

“You should rest,” he murmured. “I’ll stay tonight.” You didn’t thank him. Not with words. But you leaned into him — just slightly — and he stayed there. Holding your child, watching you sleep with the baby curled in one of your arms. The other reaching for Eylan to try easing him to sleep. But no one said the thing hanging in the air between you. That he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there. That he shouldn’t have had to fill the space his brother left behind.

Neteyam stayed close. His mauri was just a few steps from yours — the one you used to share — and right next to his parents’. Close enough to hear the baby cry at night. Close enough to sometimes catch the scent of your cooking drift over in the mornings. Close enough that the boys could wander to his mat and sit nearby, even if he didn’t fully understand why it made his chest tighten when they did. But he never stepped inside.

Even as the weeks passed and his strength returned, Neteyam never once crossed that threshold. Not even when he watched you from the corner of his eye, swaying the baby back to sleep just outside. Not when Eylan called out “Sa’nok, sa’nok! Look!” while holding up a fish Lo’ak helped him catch. Not even when Likan would wander over, curious and bold, standing at the edge of Neteyam’s sleeping space before being gently redirected by Kiri or Neytiri.

He stayed in the in-between. And Lo’ak, for all his own complicated grief, never once gave up on him. He came by almost every day. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with little tools or handmade knives — “You used to like this,” he’d say casually. Other times, he just sat, throwing pebbles at the sand as Neteyam stared at the sky. “You talk less than you used to,” Lo’ak muttered one day, nudging him. “You used to talk a lot. Mostly telling me I was being dumb.”

Neteyam gave a faint, crooked smile. “That still sounds accurate.” It was moments like that flickers, glimpses, that made Lo’ak hopeful.

But then there was Lina. She’d been there from the beginning, one of the few Metkayina Neteyam didn’t look at with the uncomfortable weight of “I should know you.” Because he didn’t. Not really. Not in memory. So, it was easier.

Easier to walk with her on the shore after a long day. Easier to practice knife-throwing with her and not feel like a failure when he missed. She’d laugh gently, encourage him, sometimes place her hand over his to guide the movement. She smelled like sea salt and wind. Spoke softly. Never stared at his scars. Lo’ak noticed it all.

He didn’t mention it but, he didn’t stop it either. But he started watching more closely. Not out of jealousy — no, not that. It was something closer to protection. For you. For the boys. For a version of his brother that Lo’ak still believed was inside there somewhere. And the strange thing was, Neteyam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He was just lost. And Lina, with her easy calm and open eyes, was the only place that didn’t make him feel like he was failing someone just by existing.

Meanwhile, the nights for you stretched long and raw. The baby cried more now. Maybe she felt it — her father just a few paces away, but never close. Eylan had grown quieter, his eyes constantly drifting toward his father’s silhouette. Likan had taken to curling into your side and not letting go, even in sleep.

The family helped where they could. Neytiri especially — splitting her time between you and Neteyam, her heart torn in half. But no matter how many hands helped, you were still up at night. Still aching. And Neteyam was still outside, just beyond the flap of the mauri. Awake. Watching the stars. Not knowing why they felt lonelier than before.

One day the boys were laughing as they chased one another along the shore, their feet kicking up puffs of white sand. You watched them with tired eyes from just outside the mauri, the baby restless in your arms.

She was crying again — not a loud, piercing wail, just that miserable, fussy sound that always came in waves when she couldn’t seem to settle. You’d walked her, rocked her, hummed and whispered to her until your throat ached. Nothing helped today. You bounced her gently, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek. “I know, sweet girl. I know.”

Behind you, there was a shift in the air. You turned your head just slightly — and found Neteyam standing there. He wasn’t close. Just at the edge of the clearing, half in shadow, watching with unreadable eyes. He hesitated. “I can take her,” he said finally, voice low and unsure. “If… if you want.”

Your heart gave a soft, startled flutter. You straightened slowly, blinking at him. “You don’t have to,” you murmured. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.” You looked down at the baby in your arms. She was still fussing, fists clenched, brow furrowed like the whole world was wrong. She didn’t know her father had never held her. Didn’t know he’d been sleeping when she was born. Didn’t know he didn’t remember her at all. But somehow… maybe she felt it.

You stood carefully and stepped toward him. Your arms trembled a bit — not from fear, just the weight of the moment. You cradled her close a second longer, then gently passed her over. He took her like she was made of glass. The way his hands moved — cautious, reverent. His whole body stilled as she settled into the crook of his arm. She squirmed at first, then let out a small, sighing cry… And stilled. He looked down at her. Then up at you. “She looks like me,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “She does.” “I never held her before now?” he asked. “No,” you whispered. “You haven’t really.” He looked away, shame flickering across his face. But the baby — your baby — made a soft, curious coo and blinked up at him with slow, sleepy eyes. His mouth parted, stunned. “I don’t remember her,” he said. “But I feel like I should.” You reached out gently, fingers brushing his arm. “You don’t have to force anything. You’re holding her. That’s enough.”

He looked at you — really looked — then back down at her. “What’s her name?” he asked. You exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t have one yet. I… I couldn’t pick. I tried. But I couldn’t.” He looked at you again, a strange mix of emotion tightening his brow. “You said I used to choose.” You nodded. “Always. I would give you too many names. I could never make up my mind, and you’d just… decide. Like you already knew.” His eyes fell back to her, the tiniest crease forming between his brows. “Do you have names now?” he asked. You swallowed. “Three.”

He waited. “Sahri. Eiweya. Kiriya.” He mouthed them silently. Then, softer than breath — “Kiriya.” You blinked. “That one,” he said. “She feels like that.” She shifted in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh before nestling her head beneath his chin. You stared at them, heart thudding, something breaking and stitching together all at once. “Kiriya,” you echoed. “Then that’s her name.” He didn’t say anything else. But he didn’t hand her back either.

The beach wind had quieted, the tide soft at your feet. Kiriya’s cries had faded into soft snuffles as she dozed in Neteyam’s arms. Her tiny hand rested against his chest; her brow furrowed even in sleep — just like his.

You were watching Eylan and Likan build crooked towers of shells in the sand when Neteyam glanced over at you. “I should bring her in,” he said. You turned to him slowly, heart tapping at your ribs. “Will you stay? For dinner?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the baby. “Do you want me to?” You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Of course,” you said. “The boys would love that.” Neteyam gave a tiny nod, shifting the baby carefully. “Okay.”

At the mauri, the scent of roasted yovo drifted over fresh leaves and warm stones. Neytiri and Jake were already sitting, Tuk bouncing between them with a carved spoon in each hand. Ronal and Tsireya moved around the fire, while Kiri passed plates to everyone. Lo’ak was sitting cross-legged, peeling fruit with his knife and chatting with Ao’nung.

He looked up when he heard your voice first — then saw who was walking beside you. His eyes widened slightly. Neteyam holding the baby. Lo’ak stood up halfway, his fruit forgotten. A grin broke across his face before he could stop it. “Bro.” His voice cracked. Neteyam paused, shifting under the attention. “She was crying,” he said stiffly. “I was just… holding her.” Neytiri was already clearing a space near her side. “Come. Sit.” Lo’ak backed up, still smiling, as you and Neteyam stepped into the circle. You caught the warmth in his eyes — not surprise. Relief. Eylan barreled past you, nearly knocking over a bowl. “She’s still sleeping?”

“Still,” Neteyam said. Likan scrambled onto your lap, thumb in his mouth, then reached toward his baby sister. “Dada hold her,” he whispered, proud. “She sleep wike a bug,” he added, pressing his hand over his cheek to mimic her squish. Neteyam smiled — a real one. Quick and uncertain, but real. Lo’ak sank down beside him, nudging Eylan aside just enough to pass him a plate. “You gonna eat or just be the baby chair tonight?” Neteyam snorted. “Think she’s claimed me.”

“Good,” Lo’ak said. “She deserves it. So do you.” You looked over at him, and he gave you a small wink — not smug, just glad. Like something inside him had finally relaxed. Dinner passed in slow waves — small bites, soft laughter, cautious conversation. Kiri watched you like a mother pent up with hope. Tsireya offered seconds. And when Kiriya stirred, Neteyam didn’t pass her off right away. He held her close, tracing the fine wisps of hair over her temple. You didn’t say anything. But when he looked at you and said softly, “I like the name,” it almost broke you. “Me too.”

Afterward, when the children had eaten their fill and begun nodding off against each other, Lo’ak helped clean up. He passed behind you and murmured low near your ear: “He’s trying. I see it.” You looked back at him. “And I’m glad,” he added with a grin. “You look lighter tonight.” You pressed your fingers to your lips, almost in disbelief. So did he. Because for the first time in many weeks, you all sat under the stars together. And Neteyam stayed.

Over the next several days, Neteyam had been around sometimes, other times disappearing off to somewhere in the reef. You honestly didn’t think much about it, having your hands full with the children kept your mind occupied, and ever since the night he had dinner things have been better between you, or that’s what you thought anyways. You had no idea he was off bonding with another woman.

The first time, they were hunting along the reef ledge. Lina was leading him through narrow tunnels in the coral, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at him every few paces. “You’re too slow,” she calls over the bubbling tide. Neteyam grins, swimming harder to catch up. “I’m letting you win.”

“Oh?” she tilts her head, treading water as he nears. “You always this generous, or just with me?” He chuckles — can’t help it — and bumps her gently with his shoulder. She bumps him back.

The second time, they were drying gear near the rocks. Lina’s hair is loose, still dripping, skin shining with salt and sun. She reaches out to adjust the strap of his sling.

“Still too tight,” she mutters, tugging it just slightly. “You’ll bruise yourself.” His hand brushes hers. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve. Or bleed out,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes. Neteyam bites the inside of his cheek to hide a grin.

The third time, he finds her sitting on a flat stone, braiding thin strips of shell into a necklace. “That for me?” he asks, flopping down beside her, deliberately brushing her leg with his tail. She laughs, doesn’t move away. “You wish.” He leans on one arm. “What if I do?” She goes still — just for a second — then smiles again. “Then maybe I’ll make you one. If you catch a bigger fish than me tomorrow.”

“Easy.”

“You talk too much.”

“You like it.” She says nothing — but she doesn’t argue.

The fourth time, they were in the shallows, dusk falling in golden streaks across the ocean. She splashes him lightly, then darts away with a laugh. He chases, catches her wrist under the water, and spins her in a circle. Their laughter echoes against the reef wall. “You’re impossible,” he says, chest heaving. “You’re slow.”

“I let you go.”

“Liar.” He pulls her close again — just slightly — hand on her arm, holding her steady. She doesn’t pull away. “You gonna let go?” she whispers. He hesitates.

And that’s when they hear it. A sharp inhale. Both of them turn — and Tsireya is standing at the edge of the sandbank, staring. She wasn’t meant to find them here. Not this close. Not this comfortable. Her eyes flick between their bodies — wet, pressed too close, laughter still fading in the air. Lina steps back instantly and Neteyam’s hand drops. Tsireya’s voice is tight. “Lo’ak’s been looking for you.” He doesn’t answer so she turns and walks away.

That evening when the tide had rolled in, moonlight catching on the crests as the reef swayed in rhythm. Most of the village had gone quiet — the firelight around the Sully mauri low and flickering. Tsireya found Lo’ak by the far edge of the reef, feeding dried root to an ilu calf. His hair was damp, eyes tired. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, jaw tight.

Lo’ak glanced up. “Hey,” he offered, but her expression stopped him cold “What?”

“I saw them again.” He frowned. “Who?”

“Neteyam. And Lina.” Lo’ak’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I figured—”

“No,” she said sharply. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just awkward flirting anymore.”

She stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “She touched his chest today and he was touching her arm. Laughed like it was nothing. Then leaned into him like—like she wanted him to notice. And he did.” Lo’ak looked away, jaw clenching.

“She doesn’t care,” Tsireya hissed. “She knows. She knows he’s married. She knows you all told him. She knows he has children. And she still looks at him like that.”

“Neteyam doesn’t remember—”

“That doesn’t excuse her.” Lo’ak shook his head. “I don’t think he sees it the way we do.” Tsireya didn’t back off. “He doesn’t have to know everything to feel what’s right. Something in him should know. That kind of bond doesn’t disappear just because you forgot a name.”

“He’s not the same,” Lo’ak muttered. “Not yet.”

“And she’s taking advantage of that,” Tsireya snapped. Silence hung between them, thick as sea fog. “I didn’t tell her,” She said quietly. “I didn’t say a word. But I swear, Lo’ak… if Lina puts her hands on him again like that, I will.” He exhaled slowly. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s already breaking,” he said, voice strained. “Every day she’s holding it together for those kids, for the family. You think watching him forget her wasn’t bad enough?” Tsireya’s eyes softened.

“She finally got him to hold the baby,” Lo’ak added. “Named her with him. The day they sat and ate with the family. First time in months. It was right before that.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then why is he out there with her?”

“I don’t know,” Lo’ak admitted, eyes glistening. “But I can’t be the one to break her.” Tsireya nodded once, quietly. “Then I’ll wait. But not forever.” Lo’ak stared at the stars, wondering how long he could keep pretending nothing was burning.

Neteyam sat on the warm stone, legs stretched, hands braced behind him as the waves lapped close. Lina was beside him, knees drawn up, the curve of her smile impossibly soft in the golden light. “Your shoulders tense again,” she murmured, scooting closer.

He didn’t stop her when her fingers brushed along his shoulder. “I think you like touching me,” he said, not quite teasing, not quite serious. Lina laughed under her breath. “Maybe. You’re not stopping me.” He turned to look at her — really look.

“You’re not like the others,” he said slowly. “Everyone stares at me like I’m supposed to be someone they remember. You just… let me be who I am now.”

“You don’t owe anyone a past you can’t remember,” she whispered.

“You don’t even ask questions.”

“I already know the answers that matter,” she smiled. “I like you.”

He blinked. “You don’t care that I’m—”

“Married?” she finished, almost playfully. “You don’t remember that. It’s not the same.” There was a pause. A long, heavy pause.

“I’m still—” he started, then faltered. “She’s kind. Patient. But it’s like I’m supposed to feel something I don’t.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Lina said, brushing her fingers along the side of his jaw. “You just… feel this. Now.” And then she kissed him. Not a short, confused kiss. Not unsure. This was deliberate. Gentle, but real. And Neteyam—he didn’t pull away, not right away. His hands twitched against the rock. When he did break it, it was breathless, conflicted. “Lina—” She smiled. “You can stop me next time. If you want.”

Behind a rock ledge just above them, Neytiri stood frozen. She had come looking. Something in her heart told her something was wrong. And what she heard broke her completely. Every word. “You just feel this. Now.” The kiss. She almost called him out. Almost walked forward and made her presence known. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when her son — her eldest — the one she buried her soul into, kissed another woman while his mate rocked their baby just a few steps away in the village. Neytiri backed away, breath trembling, hand pressed hard against her chest. She didn’t speak. But something inside her, something sacred, began to unravel. Not for herself, but for you.

The night air was still and thick with the hum of distant ocean wind. Only the crackle of low embers broke the silence inside the Sully mauri. Neytiri sat by the hearth, her body unmoving, eyes fixed on the firelight flickering across her knuckles.

Jake entered quietly, wiping his hands with a cloth after helping Kiri settle Eylan and Likan into their sleeping mat while you tended to Kiriya. “You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, crouching beside her. Neytiri didn’t look at him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but cut with steel. “I saw them.” Jake’s brow furrowed. “Who?” Her jaw clenched. “Neteyam. And the girl.” He sat down slowly, feeling the air shift. “What girl?” Neytiri nodded once. “That Lina girl— Two nights ago. I followed him. I wanted to be sure.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “What did you see?” Her eyes lifted to meet his, burning. “They were kissing. Her hand was on his jaw. He did not stop her.”

Jake swore under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Shit.” Behind the thin woven wall, there was a scuffle of movement. Someone breathing too loudly. Too sharply. Neytiri’s ears twitched. A moment passed before Lo’ak stepped into the light, arms at his sides, face drawn in guilt. Tsireya stood behind him, hands knotted in front of her, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I know,” Lo’ak said before either parent could ask. “I’ve known.” Neytiri rose slowly to her feet. “How long?” Lo’ak held up a hand. “I’ve known for a while. Since before he even held the baby. I saw them. First just talking, then… more. Since he started to go to the tide pools the hunters hand out by.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” Lo’ak admitted. “She’s already barely holding things together. She’s feeding the baby alone. Putting the boys to bed. Waiting on him to come home. And I just—”

“You should have told us,” Neytiri snapped. “I thought he’d come around,” Lo’ak said, voice cracking. “I thought once he saw her — really saw her — saw the kids — it would all fall into place. I thought the memory flashes were working.” Jake’s jaw worked. “But he kept going back to Lina.” Lo’ak nodded. “He kept going back I guess.” Neytiri’s voice was trembling now. “And you let her believe he was trying.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to break her,” Lo’ak whispered. “She still believes in him.” Tsireya finally spoke, quiet but firm. “Lo’ak and I first saw them. I told him we should say something, but he said it wasn’t time.”

Neytiri turned away, her fists clenched. “He kissed another woman. While his mate waits. While she takes care of those babies alone.”

Jake stood slowly, running both hands down his face. “We need to talk to him.” Lo’ak looked up quickly. “Not yet. Please. He’s remembering. Not all of it, but enough that I think he’s confused. Let me talk to him first.”

Neytiri’s eyes narrowed. “And if he touches her again?” Jake answered this time, voice cold and low. “Then it’s no longer confusion. It’s a choice.” The word no one said was still thick in the air. And none of them could bear to imagine the moment you would find out.

The sky was dark, save for a stretch of stars reflected on the surface of the sea. Small waves lapped at the sand as Neteyam stood alone, arms folded, staring out at the horizon. His back was to the village, but he hadn’t gone far — not really. He could still hear the soft calls of nocturnal birds, the echo of distant laughter, the crackling of fires. Lo’ak found him there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside his brother, letting the silence linger. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, the sea wind tossing their braids gently. Neteyam spoke first, barely above a murmur. “Did they send you?” Lo’ak shook his head. “No. I came on my own.” Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I already know what this is about.” Lo’ak sighed. “Then that makes it easier.” A long pause. Then, quietly: “I saw you with her, bro.” Neteyam flinched, but didn’t turn. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“No,” Lo’ak said softly. “Just looking out. For her. For the kids.” Neteyam finally looked at him, eyes conflicted, searching. “It’s not like that.”

“You kissed her,” Lo’ak replied, not harshly, just stating fact. “And you’ve been sneaking off for weeks.” Neteyam’s mouth opened, but no words came. Lo’ak shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to yell at you,” he said. “I’m not our dad. I’m your brother.”

He hesitated, then added, “And I’m hers too. Not by blood — but I helped catch your daughter when you were unconscious. I’ve held your sons when they cried for you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you like you hung the stars.” Neteyam’s eyes shimmered with something — regret, maybe, or confusion. “I don’t know what’s happening in your head,” Lo’ak said, voice low. “I know this memory thing is eating you up. I know you’re not the same. But that doesn’t mean you get to break her in silence.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Neteyam said. “But you are,” Lo’ak whispered. “Every time you don’t come home. Every time she lies to the boys and says you’re busy, or training. Every time she feeds the baby alone. And she won’t ask you to stay, she has no idea. She’ll wait for you to come to her.”

Neteyam turned his face away. “She thinks you’re getting better,” Lo’ak went on. “She thinks you’re coming back to her. And you are, sometimes. That night on the tablet, when you smiled at her. You felt like you. That’s what’s killing her. She hopes.” Lo’ak paused, then said gently, “Is it Lina?” Neteyam didn’t answer. “She’s not your mate,” Lo’ak said, still calm. “She doesn’t know your sons’ lullabies. She didn’t carry your child. She didn’t sit at your side when you were dying.” Neteyam closed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. “I know.”

Lo’ak looked at him with something like grief. “Then why are you still going to her?” The silence hung, heavy and raw. “I don’t know,” Neteyam said. “She’s… easy. I don’t have to feel like I’m failing when I’m with her.” Lo’ak’s eyes darkened. “She doesn’t ask you to remember.”

Neteyam nodded. “She doesn’t look at me like she’s waiting to find the old me.” Lo’ak stepped closer. “She doesn’t know the old you. We do. And she does.” Neteyam looked at him, chest tight. “What if I never remember everything?”

“Then you start from where you are,” Lo’ak said. “But you don’t build something new while she’s still holding the pieces you left behind.” Neteyam turned away again, swallowing hard. Lo’ak let the words sit. He didn’t demand. He didn’t lecture. Just before he walked away, he added one last thing, soft as dusk. “You were always the one I looked up to. The steady one. The protector.” He paused. “If you can’t remember it from your own memory, remember it came from me.” And then he left his brother alone with the stars.

It’s the next morning. You’re up early with the baby, trying to braid Eylan’s hair while Likan chews on a toy. Neteyam returns from the beach. His shoulders are tense. His steps are slow. You smile when you see him. “Hey,” you say softly. “We missed you at breakfast.” He hesitates. Then: “Can we talk?” Your stomach drops. You hand Eylan the comb and step outside with him, the light warm on your skin.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “I… I need some time. To think. To breathe. Things are getting clearer but… it’s a lot. Being here. With you. With the kids. With the pressure to feel everything I’m supposed to feel.” You go quiet. His words twist in your chest. “You don’t feel anything?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No— I do. I think I do. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s me wanting it to be real. Last night felt… good. You felt safe. Familiar. But then I woke up this morning and…” His hands clench. “I was terrified again. Of losing myself to a life I don’t remember.” You swallow hard. “So, you want space.” He nods. You nod too, but your lips tremble. “Okay.”

“It’s not forever,” he says, voice low. “I just need to understand who I am… on my own.” You force a small smile. “Of course. Take the time you need.” But when he leaves, heading toward the far edge of the village — you don’t know he’s going to see Lina.

you’re left standing outside the mauri with the wind in your hair and a silent ache blooming beneath your ribs. And for a long moment… you just stand there. Because what are you supposed to do? Chase after him? Beg him to stay? Demand an explanation he doesn’t even understand himself? No. You go back inside. You wipe your eyes before the kids see.

The sun had barely risen when he walked away. Soft golden light slanted through the mangrove roots, stretching long shadows over the damp earth. The village was still, caught in that in-between hush before the day began — birds just beginning to chirp, ocean breeze barely rustling the fronds above.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly sweet from the firepit’s embers. The kids were already stirring. Kiriya had begun to fuss softly in her basket, tiny fists working against the woven cloth around her. Eylan sat nearby, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm and yawning loudly — a tangle of half-finished braids still jutting out at strange angles. Likan lay sprawled on his belly, drooling into a woven mat and humming something tuneless to himself. You didn’t feel ready. But ready or not — you were their world. And you were not going to let them see you fall. You’ve already let them down too much as it is.

You moved on instinct. You knelt first beside Kiriya, scooping her into your arms with the ease of a mother who’d done this a thousand times, even if it still ached in your chest. She whimpered once before latching against your breast, and the tension in her small body melted almost instantly. You rocked gently, her soft suckling grounding you. “That’s it, my little star,” you whispered, brushing your nose against her temple. “Eat well. You’ve got a big day ahead.”

“Is it done?” Eylan’s voice broke into the silence, scratchy and young. “My braids?” You turned your head to him, gave a soft smile. “Not yet. Come here.” He scooted over eagerly, plopping himself down in front of you with crossed legs. “You stopped braiding it,” he said, not accusing — just observing. “I know,” you murmured. “Mama needed a moment. But I’m here now.”

You finished nursing Kiriya and shifted her gently to your shoulder. With one hand, you resumed braiding Eylan’s hair, fingers nimble even with your youngest curled against you, slowly drifting back to sleep. His hair was thick, like his father’s, and slightly wild — stubborn strands that always slipped from your grip. But you were patient. You always had been. Likan toddled over next, dragging his woven bird toy, his eyes still puffy with sleep. “Hungry,” he mumbled, pressing his face to your knee. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Soon, baby boy. Let Mama finish your brother’s hair.”

“I help?” he asked, pointing at the pile of fruit. You chuckled. “You can hand me the yovo, hmm?” He nodded proudly and waddled off on his mission. By the time you finished Eylan’s last braid and tied it off, Kiriya was burping sleepily against your shoulder and Likan had managed to bring back half a yovo fruit, teeth already sunk into it. You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Thank you, sweet boy. Very helpful.” He beamed, mouth full.

You got up slowly, adjusting Kiriya in your sling so she could sleep tucked against your chest. The boys followed as you moved toward the firepit, preparing their breakfast from leftover grilled fish and soft yovo mash. Eylan fetched the dishes, Likan danced in circles, and you worked — stirring, plating, humming softly — while the sun crept higher outside.

There were no grand declarations. No epiphanies. Just movement. Just being present. Just… trying. Because yes, you were his wife. But you were more than that. You were their mother. Their comfort. Their rhythm. Their constant. And no matter who stayed, who left, who forgot — you would always be the one still here.

The stars were beginning to blink awake as the sea breeze curled through the village, quiet and cool. Dinner had come and gone. The children were already tucked away — Eylan and Likan asleep in their nest, Kiriya dozing peacefully in her wrap against your chest. You sat close to the firepit outside Jake and Neytiri’s mauri, cradling her gently, her small weight grounding you more than anything else could.

Kiri was plaiting Tuk’s hair beside you. Lo’ak leaned against a post nearby, Tsireya tucked against his side. Jake and Neytiri sat across the fire, quiet, eyes flickering between the flames and each other. It was Kiri who finally spoke. “Neteyam didn’t come back with you today?” You shifted slightly. “He said he needed some space. Just for a while.” Lo’ak stilled. You didn’t see his jaw tighten, but Kiri did. Jake looked up. “He told you that directly?”

You nodded. “This morning.” There was a beat of silence. You were still trying to gauge the reactions when Neytiri stood slowly, brushing off her hands. “He asked for space,” she repeated, voice carefully neutral. “From what, exactly?” You blinked. “From everything, I guess. The memories. The pressure. Me.” You looked down at Kiriya. “He’s not running. He just… needs air.”

“Air?” Neytiri said sharply. “He has all the air in the world here.” Jake put a calming hand on her leg, gently. “Ma’Tiri.” Lo’ak straightened up suddenly. “It’s not just about the memories.” Everyone looked at him. Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Lo’ak.” But he ignored her. “He’s confused, yeah. But it’s not just about that.” “Lo’ak…” Neytiri warned under her breath. He backed off instantly. “I just mean—it’s complicated for him. You can’t judge him for needing time.” You watched him, head tilting. “You okay?” He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You didn’t press it. The odd quiet that followed said more than any of them did. You felt it but couldn’t place it — the edge in Neytiri’s tone, the way Lo’ak wouldn’t quite look at you, the heaviness in Jake’s silence. Kiri shifted closer to you, her presence warm, protective. “You’re all acting weird,” you murmured, trying to joke. “I’m the one who got asked for space. I should be the one brooding.”

“You’re handling it with grace,” Jake said finally, offering a quiet smile. “We’re proud of you for that.” You met his eyes, then Neytiri’s. Hers were guarded. Too guarded. Something was off. Still, you smile and looked down at your sleeping daughter. “He just needs time. That’s all.” No one argued with you. But no one agreed either. And as the fire crackled quietly, your heart ached with the weight of all the things left unsaid — because you were still standing in the light, and everyone else… already knew something you didn’t.

Three months later, your mornings had changed. No longer did they begin with tear-streaked cheeks or aching silence. They started now with purpose. With Eylan giggling as he tried to braid his own hair, with Likan waddling into your arms, babbling half-formed words, and with Kiriya’s soft, sleepy coos as she nursed while wrapped against your chest. You rose before the sun most days, not out of sorrow, but to reclaim yourself piece by piece.

You had begun to hunt again. The first time you picked up your bow, it felt foreign in your hands, the weight unfamiliar after moons of barely using it. But the moment your feet touched the forest floor—alone, quiet—you remembered. The strength in your arms, the rhythm of your breath, the way the jungle had always spoken to you. You didn’t go far the first time, but it was enough. Enough to remember who you were. Not just his mate. Not just a mother. But a warrior. A woman. A force.

Over time, you started to laugh again. It came slowly at first—soft smiles, half-hearted chuckles. But then, one afternoon, you met up with two old friends from your youth, both mothers now, and one cracked a joke about her toddler eating a bug. You laughed so hard you cried. You realized you missed yourself. And more importantly… you missed joy. Joy you haven’t felt since neteyam had his memories. You helped mend nets, wove baskets, joined other mothers in gathering sea fruits, and swam farther than you had since giving birth to Kiriya. You didn’t do it for Neteyam. You did it for your sons, for your daughter… and for you.

Jake and Neytiri loved you like their own. They helped when they could—watching the kids when you needed to gather, bringing fresh meat after long hunts, or simply sitting with you at night when you couldn’t sleep. They noticed your growing strength, the fire returning to your eyes, and they were proud—even if it broke their hearts that it had to be this way.

They said nothing of Lina. They didn’t have to. The pain in Neytiri’s eyes whenever she looked at her son, the way Jake sighed deeply whenever the topic of space came up—it was all there. They knew. And they hated it. But they also understood that Neteyam was lost in his own way, and anger wouldn’t guide him home. Patience might.

Lo’ak was the one who struggled the most. He couldn’t understand why his brother—who had once looked at you like you were the stars—couldn’t see you now. Lo’ak tried to hold his tongue, but it gnawed at him. Tsireya was the one who calmed him, reminding him that love can’t be forced, and healing isn’t always linear. Even Tuk knew. She had cried one night in your arms, confused and worried, asking if Neteyam would ever come back to being him. You didn’t have an answer.

The children were adjusting, each in their own way. Eylan, ever the oldest, had grown more protective, more aware growing into a man who mimicked his father without even knowing. He watched your face carefully when you thought he wasn’t looking, quietly stepping in to help with Likan or Kiriya when he sensed you needed a moment. Likan, wild-hearted and two, was all tangled curls and endless energy, bouncing between tantrums and giggles as he tried to mimic his big brother’s every move.

And Kiriya, just three months old, was beginning to show more of herself: tiny hands always reaching, eyes wide and curious, gurgling happily whenever you or her brothers came near. She loved being held against your chest, calmed instantly by your heartbeat. Together, the three of them were loud and loving and beautifully chaotic. They didn’t understand everything, but they were still happy. Still whole, because they had you.

Each night, after the children were asleep and the fire was low, you knelt and prayed to Eywa. For strength. For patience. For your mate to find his way back—not just to you, but to himself. You no longer waited by the door, hoping he would come. But you didn’t close it either. You lived. You thrived. You healed. Quietly, painfully, and steadily. And though you didn’t know it… Your light was still reaching him. Even from afar. Even in the arms of another. Something in him still remembered. And Eywa… was still listening.

Meanwhile with Neteyam, he spent his months with Lina, she always waited for him at night. Not coy. Not nervous. Prepared. Her hair was down, lips glossed with fruit oil, and her wrap — if you could call it that — barely covered anything. A soft green length of fabric tied at her hip with a loose knot that looked like a gentle breeze might undo it. Neteyam didn’t miss that. And she knew.

“Long day?” she whispered one night, slipping behind him, arms curling around his waist, mouth pressing to the back of his neck. She was tall, taller than you, where you stood at Neteyam’s chest, she stood just below his jaw. “You can relax now, you’re with me.” Her hands slid across his stomach, dipping low. He exhaled, chest tight. Sometimes, he didn’t stop her.

Her fingers found him hard, aching — always from her touch, her scent, the way she pressed into his back like she belonged there. She’d stroke him slowly, lips dragging along his jaw. Sometimes she’d murmur praise. Other times, she’d drop to her knees, hands sliding up his thighs — but every time her lips brushed against him, the sound of footsteps, a call in the distance, a flicker of light— He’d freeze. “Wait—” he’d say, hands gripping her shoulders. “Not now.” She always looked up, mouth flushed, eyes wide. “You’re always say that.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I know.” But he wouldn’t let her finish, wouldn’t let her cross that line. Even the night she climbed into his lap, completely bare under her shawl — guiding his hands to her breasts, her thighs parted over his hips, rocking gently until he gasped against her mouth — he stopped it. Her fingers had worked his tewng loose. Her tongue was in his mouth, his hands full of her heat and softness, his head spinning— Then a branch snapped outside. A child’s laugh. A shadow. He gripped her hips, breathless. “No. We shouldn’t.” She groaned in frustration, but softened, kissing him again. “You keep saying that.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“But you want me,” she whispered, grinding down again, making him stutter. “Don’t lie.” He didn’t. He never did. Because yes, he wanted her. She was beautiful. Willing. Soft and warm and slick against him. But every time they got close — too close — something pulled him back. Something inside or outside stopped him. And when he left her mauri, half-dressed and still aching, he’d collapse onto his sleeping mat and try to breathe.

That’s when the dreams began, not nightmares — memories. You. Laughing beneath him in the forest, hair tangled, your moans stifled by his kiss. And just felt it, he loved kissing you in those dreams, loved dipping his head and pressing up on your skin. You on your back, guiding him in with a sigh like you’d done so many times he just couldn’t remember them all yet. You crying with joy, his son in your arms. You pulling his hands to your growing belly. And the way you looked at him like he was your whole world. He started to wake up with a tightness in his chest. Not just lust. But longing. He’d press his palm over his heart like it could stop the ache. The confusion, the guilt. Because Lina felt good. Safe in a way. Familiar now. But when he touched her, it was never like that. The feeling of worship. Of oneness. That only lived in the dreams. And those dreams were growing stronger, more vivid, more real. Which meant, little by little… Lina was losing him.

he didn’t know when exactly the dreams had started exactly. Maybe it was after the night you looked at him with flushed cheeks, when the sunlight kissed your skin and your laughter echoed through that small space between you, when his fingers brushed yours and something deep in him shifted. Or maybe it was earlier—when Likan grabbed his tail one day on the beach toddling between his legs like he was so used to doing it. Maybe after he once again, stopped Lina from getting her desperate fuck. He wasn’t sure.

But now, they came more and more often. Vivid. Unshakable. Sometimes warm and quiet, like drifting through memories too soft to be real. Other times sharp, intense—desire threading through his body until he woke in the dark, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat, painfully aware of the ache low in his belly.

At first, he thought they were just dreams. Imaginings. Wishes. But they kept happening—so detailed, so real, down to the sounds of your voice, the way you smelled, the exact curl of Likan’s fingers around his thumb. Eylan laughing, splashing in the river as you reached for him. You smiling up at Neteyam in the forest, eyes glowing with pride and love. The feeling of carrying you into your new mauri when you first arrived at Awa’atlu, both of you still dripping from the sea. The first night Likan was born, when you placed the baby in his arms and cried into his chest, or when you both introduced Eylan to his new baby brother.

He started writing them down, carving the details into the bark of a sea tree near the cliffs where no one would look. Just in case. He needed to be sure. Needed proof. He wanted to bring them to you someday, look you in the eye and ask, Was this real? Did I carry you across the ocean? Did we love like this, this deeply, this hard?

And then there were the other dreams. The ones he didn’t know what to do with. Your hands on his chest, your mouth on his skin. The soft groan he made when your hips rolled against his. The sound of your laughter tangled in heavy breathing, the press of his hand between your thighs as your voice broke on his name. Your body beneath him, around him. Sometimes playful. Sometimes desperate. Always you.

He would wake up with his heart racing, painfully hard, breath caught in his throat. It was impossible not to imagine what it had felt like in reality—your warmth, the way you moaned when he whispered in your ear, how you gripped him when he pressed deep inside. Sometimes it left him quiet for hours. Other times, he found himself flushed, frustrated, pacing near the water’s edge, unsure if it was guilt or longing.

He never told Lina. How could he? Those dreams never had her in them. Only you. He still didn’t remember everything. He was still confused, overwhelmed, pulled in two directions. But each night when he curled beneath the woven mat in his quiet mauri, Eywa whispered a little more of his past back to him. Gently. Deliberately. Sometimes cruel in its intensity, sometimes kind in its simplicity.

The cove was half-shadowed, kissed in dusk light and the faint shimmer of tide pools. The waves lapped gently, rhythmic, soft like the hush of a whisper. Neteyam sat alone on a rock worn smooth by the sea, one leg bent, the other dangling just above the sand. His jaw was tight. His eyes distant, mind loud Lina found him there again, just as she always did, silent steps through the shallows, stopping just behind him. “You always come here when your head’s too loud,” she said softly, voice just above the waves. “I like that.”

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders didn’t tense. He was used to her now, her voice, her scent, her closeness. “I’ve been dreaming again,” he murmured, fingers drumming against his thigh. She took the invitation. Sat behind him on the rock, then leaned forward, pressing her chest to his back gently, her arms wrapping around his middle without hesitation. Her hands settled flat against his stomach. “About her?” He nodded slowly.

“I see her sometimes. The boys. The baby… Kiriya.” He said the name carefully, like it might shatter in his mouth. “It’s not just flashes anymore. I can feel the emotion of the moment. Like I was really there.” Lina rested her chin against his shoulder, her fingers tracing slow, calming shapes against his stomach. “Dreams can be like that,” she murmured. “Vivid. Powerful. Especially when you’re searching for something — for yourself. Maybe your mind is trying to fill in blanks with what your family told you.” He was quiet.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her lips just behind his ear, soft, innocent. “But here, now… none of it is confusion.” He inhaled — not sharply, but deep — and Lina felt the moment shift. She took it. She moved to sit beside him, hips pressed to his, then slowly reached for his hand and brought it to her thigh, guiding his fingers to rest there. “You weren’t dreaming when you kissed me,” she said, voice velvet smooth. “Or when we touched.” Her hand slid along his wrist, up his arm. “You weren’t someone else. You were you. And you were relaxed. Real. With me.” He looked at her now, eyes shadowed with conflict — torn. Lina’s smile was soft, never smug. She cupped his cheek with one hand, her thumb grazing his jaw.

“She may have been your past, Neteyam,” she whispered. “But I’m your present.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t shy not like the first few times. Her fingers slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer as she moved her body more fully into his lap. His hands hesitated — one landing on her hip, the other still limp at his side — but she coaxed him gently, slowly. Her touch was steady, persistent, like the tide eroding stone. “You don’t have to force yourself to remember someone you don’t feel for anymore,” she murmured against his lips. “What if she’s just part of the story others told you? What if you don’t fit there anymore?” Neteyam looked at her — really looked at her.

“I don’t know what fits,” he admitted, low and raw. “I just… I don’t know.” Lina kissed him again — slower this time, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Then stop trying to remember who you were,” she breathed. “Let yourself be who you are. Now.” And for a while, he let her hold him like that. Let her mouth guide his. Let her arms wrap around his neck and pull him close, as if she could remake him from memory’s ashes into something brand new. And for now — she had him. Right where she wanted him.

Lina’s fingertips danced along the cords of muscle at the back of Neteyam’s neck, so light it almost tickled. She leaned in again — not to kiss him this time, but to let her forehead rest against his. Their breathing synced in the quiet. “You’re always thinking too much,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “Even now.” His hands had stilled at her waist. She could feel the tension buzzing just under his skin. “I see it, you know,” she whispered. “The weight you carry. The questions. The guilt.” She traced down his arm slowly, then took his hand in hers, guiding it back up, placing it over her heart. “But here, with me… you don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to know anything. You can just be.”

His jaw clenched, throat tight. His fingers flexed against her chest, and for a moment she thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Lina smiled gently and leaned back just enough to look at him fully. “You told me about your dreams,” she said, brushing his hair from his face. “How they feel so real. So full. But those dreams… they’re just pieces. Fragments.” He blinked slowly, watching her lips more than her eyes.

“You said they feel like memories, but maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just your mind trying to give shape to something you lost.” Her fingers slid up under the leather strap across his shoulder, curling against his collarbone. She leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the edge of his jaw. Neteyam exhaled hard through his nose, but his hands came down to her thighs, steadying her in place. Lina’s voice softened, velvet sweet. “But this?” She guided his hands again — down her back, over the curve of her hips — slowly rocking forward so he could feel the press of her body. “This is real. This moment. Me.”

Neteyam groaned under his breath, jaw tightening, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he opened them again. “It’s not that simple,” he said, voice rough. “Why not?” She nuzzled against his neck. “Because I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re waking up in a life you don’t remember. A mate you don’t recognize. Children who look at you like you’re someone you’re not. That’s not your fault.” She felt him tense under her, so she kissed the side of his neck, slow and soft. “You didn’t choose this, Neteyam.”

“I didn’t choose you either,” he said quietly. That made her pause. Not because it hurt — but because it told her she needed to move more carefully. So she gave a soft laugh — not mocking, but light, breezy. “No,” she agreed. “But sometimes Eywa puts the right person in your path at the right time. Someone who sees you. Who gives you space to breathe.” Her hands cupped his face gently now. “I’m not asking you to choose me. I’m just here. With you. Right now.”

His eyes flicked down — to her mouth, her neck, the way her chest rose and fell close to his. His hands were still on her thighs, but one began to trail upward slowly, as if he were testing what felt familiar. Or maybe… what felt good. Lina closed the distance again, this time kissing him with more intent — a slow burn, coaxing his mouth open with hers, one hand sliding down his chest and resting low on his stomach. She didn’t push further. Not yet. She just let the kiss carry the weight, the confusion, the need. And when he didn’t stop her, when he kissed her back and let his hands roam, when his grip tightened and his mouth opened wider — she knew. He was spiraling. Floating somewhere between desire and doubt. Between what used to be and what he didn’t remember. So she kissed him deeper, then slower. Then softer.

When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, she smiled and leaned her forehead against his again. Her fingers grazed his chest. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to want something that feels good. That feels real.” He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ground over her shoulder, jaw taut, hands still trembling on her body. “You’re not the same man you were before,” Lina whispered. “You don’t have to force yourself to go back to someone you don’t know. Maybe… Eywa gave you a second chance. A clean start.” Neteyam said nothing. But he didn’t pull away either.

And that was enough for her. Because as far as Lina was concerned — she already had her foot in the door. And every time he let her touch him, let her pull him in, let her speak softly into the cracks in his memory — He was already choosing her. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

His lips were still warm against hers. Lina didn’t move at first — didn’t dare. Her fingers lingered on his chest where she’d pulled him to her, heart thudding like a war drum in her ears. She kept her eyes on his mouth; breath caught in her throat like she’d swallowed fire. That kiss was real. That was progress. Slowly, she let out a trembling breath and smiled up at him, soft and sweet, playing the part, she’d carved out so perfectly.

“You always taste like the sea,” she whispered, voice low. “Even after all this time.” Her thumb dragged gently along his jawline, a featherlight touch meant to make him stay. To keep him close. Hers. Neteyam’s eyes flickered—uncertainty warring with something else. Want. Or confusion. Maybe both, she didn’t care which. Because he hadn’t stopped her. That was enough.

She shifted closer, knees pressing against his hips. Her fingers slipped from his jaw to the cords of muscle along his throat, brushing softly, tracing. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured. “I know what it feels like to be lost. You don’t owe anyone your peace.” He swallowed but didn’t answer. Just watched her. Watched the way her hands moved. The way her voice soothed. The way she filled the silence. Lina leaned in, nose brushing his. “Let me be that peace,” she whispered.

She had worked too hard for this, too long. From the moment she saw him step out off his ikran, a baby in his arms and war in his shoulders, she knew. She felt it. The weight of who he was — who he used to be. And she envied it. All of it. The love. The family. The way his mate clung to him like gravity. He never noticed her back then. Not really. But she noticed everything. She started helping with hunts she didn’t care about. Took training sessions near the Sullys. She gave him fruit, offered quiet jokes, asked him questions no one else did — just to hear him speak.

But his eyes always found their way back to her. The mate. The mother. So she stepped back. Smiled politely. Waited. Until the sky burned and blood soaked the sand, and suddenly, Eywa delivered him straight to her — broken, blank, and so beautifully lost. She had thanked the Great Mother that night. And every night since. Lina’s hand slid beneath the braid resting on his collarbone, fingertips brushing the skin just under the hollow of his throat. “I don’t ask you to be anything,” she said softly, lips brushing his cheek. “I don’t ask you to remember. I only ask you to feel what’s right in front of you.”

Her hand guided his again, this time to her hip, letting it rest there, just above the bone. His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t pull away. She smiled. “You’re always tense around them,” she murmured. “Like you’re failing some invisible test. But with me… I see you breathe again.” She leaned in, barely touching her lips to his ear. “You feel like you when you’re with me.” And he did. She made sure of that. She never questioned him. Never pushed. She laughed at everything he said. She let him lead even when he didn’t know where he was going. She was patient. Attentive. Always near but never too much. She never even brought up the mate. Or the children. Not unless he did. And even then, only with a quiet smile and understanding eyes. The kind that said it’s okay that you don’t love them. You don’t have to.

Because eventually… He wouldn’t go back. Eventually, he would stop dreaming of a woman he didn’t recognize and realize how easy it was to just let her go. Eventually, he would choose the calm over the storm. And she would be there. Waiting, still smiling, still soft and still his.

Neteyam began spending more time outside during the day, often seated in the sun with Kiri or helping Jake mend a fishing net, eyes following the sway of the sea in silence. He spoke more now — slowly, cautiously — as if testing the weight of his voice in old rhythms. The boys would come up to him sometimes. Eylan offering him small gifts, Likan tugging at his tail to get attention. He didn’t always know how to respond, but he didn’t back away.

That morning, you caught him holding Kiriya again — this time with her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his braid as she gurgled happily in his arms. He didn’t realize you were watching. But he smiled. The dreams were changing him. He’d begun writing them down — scratching notes into thin leaf parchment when he woke, tracing the edges of memory with almost frantic curiosity. He saw your face in all of them. Your laughter. Your tears. The sound of your voice calling him “tìyawn.”

And lately, he’d been seeing Lo’ak too, laughing with him, hunting beside him, helping deliver Eylan, pulling him from danger. The images weren’t clear, but the feeling was. Love. Loyalty. Trust. He needed to talk to someone. So that night, he found Lo’ak sitting on the rocks near the shore, watching the tide pull against the reef. “You got a minute?” Neteyam asked, voice rough from use. Lo’ak glanced over. “Yeah, Whatsup bro?” They sat together in the moonlight, the ocean lapping at their feet. For a long time, Neteyam said nothing. Then, “I keep dreaming of you.” Lo’ak blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

“No,” Neteyam huffed a laugh. “Not like that, skxawng. I mean… we were close. Weren’t we?” Lo’ak’s smile faded into something soft. “Yeah. You are my brother. My best friend.” There was silence between them again, warm and heavy. Neteyam nodded slowly. “I feel it. Even if I don’t remember it all yet. I feel like I trusted you more than anyone.”

“Besides your wife, you did,” Lo’ak said. “You still can.” Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. “Everything’s so loud lately. The dreams won’t stop. And every time I look at her—” His voice faltered, but Lo’ak knew who he meant. “It’s like… my body remembers even if my head can’t.” Lo’ak swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “You don’t have to force anything. But if you feel it… follow that.” Neteyam looked at him, searching. “You think I’m a terrible person?”

“No,” Lo’ak said without hesitation. “I think you’re lost. But you’re finding your way back.” Neteyam exhaled, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “I missed you.” Lo’ak grinned. “I missed you more.”

But further back, hidden in the shadow of the reef wall, Lina stood — her back pressed against the stone, breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to follow him, not at first. But when she saw him walking toward Lo’ak, toward his family, something gnawed inside her. And when she heard what he said — that he dreamed of them, felt something for them, missed them and that gnawing turned to fear. No. No! She had worked too hard to lose him now.

She had touched him, claimed pieces of him, given him herself in every way he would allow — all to be the one he reached for in the darkness. She couldn’t compete with dreams. Not if he started believing they were real. And so, as the brothers laughed quietly under the stars, Lina stepped back into the shadows — her smile gone, her hands curling into fists. If he was starting to remember who he was… Then she had to remind him who he could be. With her.

The lanternlight inside Lina’s mauri flickered low, casting her face in a warm, amber glow. Outside, the reef was quiet, only the occasional lap of water against stone and the breeze threading through the woven walls. Neteyam stood near the entrance, silent for a long while. He shouldn’t have come. He knew that. But her voice had pulled him in again, soft and aching when she’d said, “Can we talk?”

Now he stood in the hush of her space, tense and unsure. She hadn’t touched him yet — not like she usually did. She just sat there, on the mat, her knees drawn to her chest, her head resting lightly against them. “You didn’t come yesterday,” she said quietly. His brow twitched. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“I noticed,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve been… different.” He didn’t answer. She glanced up at him — eyes glistening. “I keep thinking I did something wrong.” Neteyam exhaled. “You didn’t.”

“Then why don’t you want me anymore?” He flinched. Lina dropped her gaze, fingers curling against her legs. “You come here, but you don’t touch me like before. You don’t even look at me the same way.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m just—” she whispered cutting him off. “I know. Confused” A shaky breath escaped her lips. “But… you kissed me, Neteyam. You held me like I mattered. And I—I thought that meant something.”

“It did,” he said quietly. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He stepped forward, uneasy. “You’re not.” But she shook her head, blinking fast. “You are slipping away, and I can feel it.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she looked at him with trembling lips. “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I be enough?” Neteyam’s chest ached. He didn’t have an answer. His mind was too full — dreams, flashes of laughter, touches he couldn’t place, names that held weight even without memory. Lina leaned forward slowly, crawling toward him on her knees, eyes wide, wet. “Do you still want me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or was I just… something to hold while you were lost?”

“Lina—”

“Because I was there,” she said. “I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t push. I just stayed. I listened. I held you. And now…” She reached for his hand. “You won’t even look at me.”

He looked down at her hand in his — warm, trembling. Her fingers threaded with his, then slowly, she guided his palm up to her shoulder, pressing his hand there like she was pleading with her skin. “Touch me like you did before,” she whispered. “Like I matter to you. Even if it’s just for tonight.” His fingers twitched.

She moved closer, lifting his hand to her collarbone now, guiding his touch as if it were his idea. Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed her neck. “There,” she said. “Do you feel that?” He swallowed. “That’s me,” she murmured. “Still here. Still wanting you.” Her hands slid to his waist, her head tilted, eyes searching his face. “Let me have this. Let me keep something before it all disappears.” His heart pounded. She rose slightly onto her knees, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm on his lips. Her hands curled around his shoulders, pulling him gently, softly, until his forehead was resting against hers.

“I need you,” she whispered. “I need us.” His eyes closed for a moment, the weight of her words curling around him like vines. Guilt. Sadness. Confusion. His body responded — it always did — but his mind was a storm. And then, like always… a noise outside. Children giggling, passing by. A familiar laugh in the distance — his brother’s. Neteyam tensed. He stepped back slowly, his breathing unsteady. Her hands slipped from his skin, her face falling. “Why?” she asked, voice breaking. “Why do you always pull away?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, gaze heavy with something she couldn’t quite decipher — sorrow, maybe. Or guilt. Or both. Then he turned and left. And she stayed there, staring at the doorway like it betrayed her. But in her chest, something twisted. If soft didn’t work… maybe it was time for something harder. Because she was not going to lose him. Not after everything.

The stars blinked above him as Neteyam walked the short distance from Lina’s mauri to the Sully’s. His hands were still warm from her touch, but his heart felt heavier than it had when he walked in. He hadn’t said anything on the way out. He never really did. The flicker of torchlight reached him first — then the sound of laughter, children’s voices, and the smell of grilled fish and roasted sea roots drifting through the humid evening air, home. He stopped at the edge of the mauri, just out of sight, watching.

Jake sat cross-legged with Tuk and Eylan, cutting bits of fish for both of them while they chattered excitedly. Neytiri was nearby, laughing softly at something Lo’ak had said while Kiri fed Likan, who squirmed and babbled with his usual endless energy. You sat to the side with baby Kiriya in your lap, bouncing her gently while you tried to eat with your free hand, the sling now loosened. Her little head bobbed as she cooed and reached for a piece of your braid.

The space was warm and full, lively and familiar. It felt like something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. Then Tuk spotted him. “Neteyam!” she chirped, waving hard with both arms like her life depended on it. Everyone turned. And you—your head snapped up, eyes meeting his with that small, soft smile that hadn’t changed, even through all of it. He stepped in slowly. Lo’ak shifted over without a word, patting the space between him and Eylan. “You’re late,” Jake teased. “I didn’t know I was invited,” Neteyam replied lightly, settling down between his brother and son. “You always are,” Neytiri said, smiling warmly at him.

Eylan wasted no time crawling into his lap, talking a mile a minute about the reef games he played with his friends and how he won twice but only because one of the boys cheated once and tried to pull his tail underwater. Neteyam listened. Really listened. His arm curled around the boy instinctively, his smile more genuine than it had been all day. Kiriya squealed from your lap; eyes locked on her big brother now curled in her father’s arms. Her little hands wiggled excitedly in the air. “She’s been very chatty today,” you said softly, brushing a hand over her head.

“Like you?” he replied before he could think twice. Your eyes flicked to his and your open your mouth in offense playfully, the words surprised even him. “Was that an insult? You saying I talk to much?” You laugh and so did he, a real chuckle. Then Lo’ak leaned in, smirking. “We were just talking about the clan gathering.”

“The big one?” Neteyam asked, eyes going to Jake. Jake nodded. “Few weeks. All the coastal villages are coming in for it. Singing, dancing, food — even a few races and competitions.” You grinned. “Eylan is already planning what he’s going to wear. And I’m thinking we’ll leave Kiriya and Likan with a sitter so we can all actually enjoy it.” Neteyam blinked. “A sitter?” You nodded and told him about a friend of Ronal’s who volunteered to watch them. “She agreed to watch them,” you said. “So the family can go.”

“She’s kind,” Neytiri added, “and Likan already loves her.” Neteyam looked toward Likan, who was now face-first in Kiri’s lap, pretending to be a sea creature while she dramatically scolded him for drooling on her skirt. Everyone laughed. Neteyam looked down at Eylan still cuddled into his chest. The world felt right for a moment. Lighter.

“I remember this,” he murmured softly. “This feeling,” he said more clearly. “This noise. The way everyone talks over each other. It’s warm. I remember that.” Lo’ak smiled at him, wide and proud. “You always said it drove you crazy.”

“But I liked it,” Neteyam replied. Eylan looked up. “You remember us, sempu?” Neteyam hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. “Not fully. But I dream about you. A lot.” Eylan’s eyes lit up. “What do I do in your dreams?”

“You cry a lot,” Neteyam teased, nudging him with a grin. Eylan gasped. “I do not!” Everyone burst out laughing. Likan shouted something unintelligible and flailed in agreement, as if he understood everything and Kiriya squealed again, bouncing in your lap. For the first time in weeks, Neteyam laughed — fully. Loud and real. He leaned into his brother, who bumped shoulders with him. You looked down at your baby, then at your boys, your mate sitting there like he always belonged, and you smiled.

Dinner had ended with the warm hum of laughter still lingering in the air, the scent of smoked fish and sea root still clinging to everyone’s fingers and hair. You’d barely noticed how late it had gotten until Tuk yawned with a dramatic stretch, and Eylan slumped more into Neteyam’s side, rubbing his eyes and murmuring sleepily. Likan was already asleep in Kiri’s lap, his little hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of roasted yovo fruit. Kiriya lay against your chest, blinking slowly from the sling, her fists curling into your wrap like she didn’t want the night to end. You rose slowly, brushing the side of her cheek. “Alright, bedtime,” you murmured. Neteyam was already shifting, carefully gathering Eylan into his arms. The boy sighed, nestling in with a contented little hum.

“I can get Likan,” he said, glancing toward Kiri. She smiled softly and handed over the sleeping toddler. “He’s heavier when he’s asleep. Good luck.” Neteyam gave a little huff under his breath and took him carefully, one arm under Likan’s bottom, the other supporting his back. “When did they get so big?” he muttered. “You’ve been gone a while,” Kiri said gently, then turned to help Neytiri tidy the dinner space.

With the baby against your chest and the boys in his arms, the two of you left the Sully mauri and padded softly across the sand toward your own. The stars blinked above, and the soft crash of waves against the reef formed a lullaby in the dark. Your home was quiet, warm. The fire pit glowed low with embers, just enough light to see by. Neteyam crouched and carefully lowered Likan onto the sleeping mat, then Eylan, who stirred immediately with a dramatic groan.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” Eylan mumbled. “You’re already sleeping, itan,” Neteyam said dryly, nudging him. “Am not,” came the sulky reply. “I’ll settle Kiriya,” you murmured, already tugging at the ties of her sling, her soft breath hot against your skin. “If you settle the boys—?”

“Done,” Neteyam said. It was not done. Eylan rolled onto his side, bumped into Likan, and immediately yelped, “He’s kicking me!” Likan sat up with a startled cry, wide-eyed and completely disoriented. “No kicking! No!” You sighed. “Great. Now they’re both up.” Neteyam rubbed his face. “I jinxed it.”

“Clearly.” The next half hour was a blur of soothing and shifting. Eylan wanted a different pillow — “not that one, the soft one!” and Likan kept scooting off the mat to look for a rock he swore he lost during dinner. You nursed Kiriya while walking gently in a slow loop, whispering soft lullabies, but she squirmed and whimpered, unsettled. “I think she’s overtired,” you murmured. “She gets that from you,” Neteyam called quietly from the mat. You shot him a look and he grinned.

Eventually, Eylan conked out again, curled around one of the large shell-shaped pillows. Likan was sprawled across Neteyam’s chest, one tiny hand curled against his father’s collarbone, breathing slow and deep. And Kiriya… well, she was still fussing. You sat on the edge of the mat, nursing her again, hoping this time it would soothe her to sleep. Neteyam turned his head where he lay on his back, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “You make that look so easy,” he said softly. You huffed a tired laugh. “I don’t think my back would agree.”

“She looks so much like you when she’s angry,” he whispered. “She looks like you,” you corrected, brushing a finger down her nose. Neteyam’s voice dropped lower, warmer. “You’re really beautiful when you do that, you know.” Your eyes flicked to his. “Feeding her,” he added. “You look strong. Like a mother. Like a wife.” You felt your cheeks flush, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve been doing it for months.”

“I know.” His gaze lingered on your chest for a moment longer before flicking back up to your eyes. “Still.” You cleared your throat. “You should get up. You’ll fall asleep like that.” He smiled rubbing a hand on Likan’s back “I might.”

“You haven’t slept here in months.” He looked down at the cozy chaos beneath him — soft woven blankets, the seashell pillows, Likan drooling slightly on his chest. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. “You made this warm. Safe.” You smiled, brushing Kiriya’s cheek. “That’s what a home is supposed to be.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move either. His hand rested lightly on Likan’s back, rising and falling with the toddler’s breath. “You’re good at this,” you said softly, surprising yourself. “At what?”

“Being a father. Even if you don’t remember how you got here… you belong here.” He turned his face toward you again. “You really think so?” You nod, “I do.” The fire popped gently. You switched Kiriya to the other side, and Neteyam’s eyes flicked toward your chest again before quickly looking away. “You know,” he said after a pause, “some of those pictures we saw… you looked downright dangerous.” You laughed under your breath. “Dangerous? You were looking at pictures again?”

“In a good way. Like… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I did,” you teased. “You liked that.”

“I do like that.” You glanced over. “Don’t flirt with me while I’m breastfeeding.”

“Why not?” he said, voice a little lower. “You’re still hot.” You laughed again, quieter this time, trying not to jostle the baby. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Neither can I.” There was a pause. Then, softer: “But I think I mean it.” And when Kiriya finally drifted off against your chest, her little lips still puckered, Neteyam reached out and adjusted the blanket around your shoulder, fingers brushing the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Thank you for this,” he whispered. You met his eyes, voice almost too soft to hear. “You’re welcome home.” The mauri was quiet, soft with the hush of the ocean beyond its walls and the occasional murmur of sleeping children shifting in their dreams. But Neteyam lay wide awake, still and silent, his arms at his sides, his head turned slightly toward you.

You were close, closer than you had been in months. Eylan lay between you both, curled into his father’s side, one hand resting over Neteyam’s chest. Likan sprawled in his usual starfish pattern across the bottom of the mat, and Kiriya had been swaddled and tucked close to your chest earlier. But now, it was the middle of the night. The stars outside had shifted overhead. And Kiriya stirred, giving a soft, sleepy whimper. You woke immediately — that mother’s instinct still razor sharp. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, careful not to jostle Eylan. Kiriya let out a soft protest again, louder this time, and you pulled her into your arms, guiding her to nurse as naturally as you breathed. Neteyam didn’t move. But he wasn’t asleep. His voice came softly, almost hesitantly, like he was testing the darkness.

“If someone… forgot their whole life,” he said, “and started over… are they still responsible for what they do when they don’t remember who they were?” You blinked at the question, caught off guard. “You’re awake?” Kiriya suckled quietly, your hand stroking her soft downy hair. “That’s a strange thing to ask,” you said gently. “I know.” You could hear the tension in his voice — low and conflicted, almost uncertain. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just…” he paused. “What if… they did something they wouldn’t have done before? Something that… wasn’t fair to the people who love them?” Your heart tightened. Your fingers stilled where they stroked the baby’s back. The air felt thicker now. In the dark, you couldn’t see him. But you knew. You knew what this was. “Neteyam,” you said quietly, “did you do something?” He didn’t answer right away. You reached out, careful not to wake Eylan, and your fingers brushed across your son’s curls before finding the edge of Neteyam’s arm — warm, steady, trembling slightly. “I didn’t know who I was,” he said finally, barely a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t… feel. I still felt things. Wanting to be wanted. To feel like I mattered to someone.”

“And now?” He exhaled shakily. “Now I remember more every day. And I feel like I’m… two different people trying to live in one skin. The man who forgot, and the man who’s starting to come back.” Your hand stayed there, on his arm, fingers tightening just slightly. “And both of them are hurting.” He swallowed. You heard it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You whisper, “I know.”

“I think I already did,” he whispered. You were silent for a long moment, and Kiriya stirred again in your arms, unlatching briefly before shifting and settling once more. You brushed her cheek and whispered, “She’s hungry again. She does that. Doesn’t like to be alone.”

“I think I understand that.” You looked at where you knew he lay. “I don’t need a perfect version of you, Neteyam. Just the one who tries.” He was quiet, but your fingers still felt his — brushing lightly over your knuckles now, just barely. “I don’t want to be lost anymore,” he said. You nodded. “Then come back. Piece by piece. I’ll wait.” And there was something in his next breath — a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob, so soft it barely made it to you. You didn’t say more.

You stayed there, in the dark, with the baby nestled against you, your fingers resting against the edge of his hand across Eylan’s little head. And somehow, even with all that had happened — the heartbreak, the confusion, the silence — it felt like you were finding your way again. In the dark, but still together.

The rain had slowed outside, just a gentle patter on the leaves now, but inside the mauri, it was still warm with your shared breath and the soft sounds of your sleeping children. Neteyam hadn’t moved since your conversation started. Likan was curled up on his chest, Eylan pressed into his side, and Kiriya was snoozing in your arms. You let a beat pass. Then you whispered, not quite able to let it go, “Is that all you did with her?” He blinked slowly. “…You mean—”

“Yes, Neteyam,” you cut in, voice hushed but clearly not done. “Because I’ve been sitting here, holding our daughter, who literally looks like a smaller, grumpier version of you, and wondering how far another woman got with my mate while I was leaking milk and chasing toddlers.” Neteyam groaned softly, covering his face with his free hand. “You really want to do this now?”

“Yes.” He peeked out between his fingers at you. “…You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes. “Dead serious.” He sighed, careful not to jostle Likan. “She… tried things.” You raised a brow. “She kissed me. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, nose wrinkling. “And, uh… she touched me.” His ears twitched slightly in embarrassment. You waited, blinking slowly. “Touched you how, exactly?” He gave you a long look. You didn’t blink. Neteyam cleared his throat. “With her hand.” You blinked again. “And?” you pressed, biting back a smirk. He gave a half-hearted shrug, lips twitching. “She tried to go down on me. Like… a few times.” You gave him a scandalized look, eyes adjusting to the dark. “She was very—forward,” he muttered quickly. “I never let her. But her hand… got there a couple times.”

You just stared at him and then shook your head. “Couple times, he says. Neteyam, a couple is two.” He looked at the ceiling like it held answers. “It was more than two.” You let out a soft snort. “I should throw this baby blanket at you.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “Please don’t. Likan might wake up. And I’m currently pinned under his drool.” You stared at him, lips twitching despite yourself. Then your voice turned teasing, but it held an edge. “So? Was she good at it?”

He choked. “What?” You tilted your head. “I’m asking. Was she good with her hands?” Neteyam looked like he wanted Eywa to strike him down where he lay. “I—I mean. It was… fine.”

“Fine?” He winced. “Okay, good. Whatever. It felt good. I’m not made of stone.” You leaned closer, voice lower. “Better than me?” He looked horrified. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I’m your wife,” you said, barely containing your laughter, “and if another woman had your favorite parts in her hands, I want to know if she did it right.” He groaned again. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me.” You shrugged, totally unfazed. “Was she better?”

“No,” he said without thinking. Then added, “Like—I mean I don’t fully remember everything with you, but I know how it felt with you. That connection. The trust. The way we… moved together. That’s not something you just replace.” You smiled a little, then asked slyly, “Did she smell good?” Neteyam paused. “What is this?”

“Answer the question.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She smelled like seaweed and flower oil.” You wrinkled your nose. “I knew it. That woman bathes in crushed petals like she’s trying to lure in unsuspecting men.” Neteyam chuckled softly. “You were always so territorial.” You shrugged. “Yes, but I’m more protective. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, lips twitching. “Was she softer than me?” His eyes slid over to you, finally catching on to the playful, wicked glint in your gaze. “You’re soft and strong. Best of both.”

“Was she prettier?”

“No.”

“Curvier?” Neteyam smiled. “No one fits against me like you do.” You paused, surprised by how much that made your heart skip. Then, in a quiet moment, you asked, “Did you want her?”

He went still. His gaze dropped to your daughter, curled on your chest. To your hand resting on the mat near his. And finally, to your face. “…No,” he said. “I was confused. Lost. And she was there. But I didn’t want her. Not like I want you.” The silence that followed was full of everything unspoken, all the weight of grief, memory, love, and longing. You exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed softly. You nodded. “We’ll figure it out.” He looked at you a moment longer, then brushed a knuckle across Likan’s back. “You’re incredible, you know that?” You smirked. “Yeah, well. Your memory may be slow, but your taste is still perfect.” Neteyam laughed under his breath, and for the first time in ages, it felt like home.

The mornings felt different now. For the first time in what felt like seasons, Neteyam was back in the mauri where he belonged — where you and the children had waited for him without ever stopping. His things had been moved quietly during the early hours of his return, his arm brushing yours as he helped fold blankets, tuck them into corners, smooth over sleeping mats. The space had always been his, and yet now he treated it like a sacred gift he was trying to earn back every day.

He hadn’t gone to Lina since you told him not to — since he agreed not to. He hadn’t even looked in her direction when he passed the outer reefs. Every time guilt threatened to creep up his spine, he reminded himself that he was here because of you. Because you still loved him, still prayed for him, even when he’d forgotten everything.

He remembered more now — slowly, in pieces. The way you used to curl into his chest at night. The way Eylan would cling to his shoulders when he was younger, pressing his cheek into Neteyam’s neck. How Likan used to demand to ride on his shoulders, yelling “Up! Up!” with a chubby little hand tugging his braids. And how Kiriya’s lips curled the tiniest bit when she nursed, like she was smiling up at you in her own way.

He apologized over and over. Quietly, loudly, sometimes with tears in his eyes, sometimes with flowers braided into your hair when he thought words weren’t enough. He hadn’t slept with Lina — but it didn’t make what happened disappear. And he didn’t expect your forgiveness quickly. He just wanted the chance to prove he was worthy of it. You let him. Slowly. On your terms.

He swept the floors of the mauri. Took over the task of bathing the boys in the lagoon when they were fighting so you didn’t have to. Cooked badly — and burned things often — but he kept trying. Kiri joked once that he was trying to atone through labor, and Neteyam didn’t even deny it.

One afternoon, a few days into his return, Lo’ak came by to help him fix a crooked support beam that held up the side of the roof. The boys were napping after an afternoon of chasing each other in the sun, Kiriya nestled against your chest while you rested in the shade nearby. “Hold this steady,” Neteyam said, gripping the thick vine and pulling it taut while Lo’ak looped it around. Lo’ak grunted. “You got heavier since the war, bro. You’re not fun to lift anymore.”

“You got scrawnier,” Neteyam shot back, smirking. Lo’ak snorted. “You wish.” They worked in easy silence for a bit, sweat collecting at their temples, the weight of the sun warm but not oppressive. Then Neteyam asked casually — too casually — “So… you and my mate. You kissed her?” Lo’ak froze like someone had poured cold water down his spine. “What?” Neteyam didn’t look at him right away. He was focused on tying a knot. “She told me. Said it happened the night before I woke up.”

“You—she—oh my Eywa.” Lo’ak dropped the cord. “Bro, I didn’t mean to—she was crying, I was—Neteyam I wasn’t even trying to—I’m sorry.” Neteyam let the silence stretch. Then: “Was it… passionate?”

“Bro!” You, overhearing from the shade, couldn’t stop the snort that slipped from your nose. Lo’ak looked like he wanted to fling himself off the reef. “I mean I just—” Neteyam’s mouth twitched, trying to keep a straight face. “Should I be worried?”

Lo’ak waved his hands wildly. “There was no tongue, okay?! It was like—a sad, forehead-touchy kind of thing, and then we kissed but like—your wife kisses with emotion, okay?! I wasn’t trying to seduce her—” Neteyam was laughing now. Fully, openly. Lo’ak narrowed his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m serious,” Neteyam said between laughs. “Was it good?” Lo’ak turned to you. “Are you hearing this madness?” You were howling now, arms crossed as Kiriya snoozed peacefully, unfazed by her family’s antics. “I’m just saying,” Neteyam added, wiping his face, “if my brother kissed my wife, I at least want to know how I rank.” Lo’ak pointed at him. “You ranked. I promise. I almost got punched by guilt mid-kiss. It’s you, bro. It’s always been you.”

Neteyam’s expression softened at that. He nodded once, serious again. “I know. It’s okay. I just… I needed to hear it.” Lo’ak tilted his head. “Are we… cool?” Neteyam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You raised my kids with her. Helped her when I was gone, kept them safe. I’m not just cool with you—I owe you.”

Lo’ak smiled. “Just don’t make me babysit all three at once again. I still have nightmares.” You grinned, watching the two brothers laugh again. The ache in your chest softened. This was what you’d missed. What had been missing. And slowly, piece by piece, the bonds were stitching back together.

The dreams were getting worse. Or… better, depending on perspective. But for Neteyam, waking up next to you every morning while you slept peacefully—with your curves tucked beneath soft cloth, your breath warm and even, and Kiriya cooing quietly against your chest—was becoming increasingly difficult. Not because he didn’t want to be there. But because he really wanted to be there.

The dreams started off soft, tender… sweet flashes of you and him tangled in the glowing forest under a curtain of bioluminescent vines, your skin glowing, your laugh echoing in his ears as you kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his neck. But then they escalated. Faster than he was prepared for.

Now they were… loud. In every sense. They were full-body, flushed-skin, back-arching, tweng-tangling flashes that left him panting awake in the dark, his hands fisted in the bedding, his chest heaving, and a very obvious situation in his lap that he had to hide quickly before Eylan or Likan stirred beside him. He thought cold water would help. He was wrong.

So, every morning, right as the first rays of dawn touched the edge of the reef, Neteyam would sneak off into the waves, slipping into the water with a hiss through his teeth, determined to let the icy ocean chase the heat from his blood. It never worked. And when he came back in, shivering, teeth chattering slightly, you always gave him the same look. This day was no different. You blinked awake slowly, brushing a hand over Kiriya’s soft little back where she lay snuggled against your chest, her lips still puckered from nursing. Then you caught sight of him, dripping wet, shoulders hunched slightly, arms wrapped around himself as he tried to warm up. You blinked again. Then smirked. “Another swim, mighty warrior?” He cleared his throat, doing his best to look casual. “Just clearing my head.”

“Sure.” You sat up slightly, brushing Kiriya’s curls from her cheek, her sleepy little eyes barely cracking open. “Did the ocean help, or just make your balls disappear?” Neteyam choked, whipping around. “Skxawng!” You were laughing before you could stop yourself, your shoulders shaking, one hand trying to cover your mouth. Neteyam was pink around the tips of his ears as he rubbed his arms. “It’s cold out there.”

“Well maybe,” you said, setting Kiriya gently down beside her brothers, who were still tangled in a sleepy pile, “you should try not torturing yourself.” He huffed. “It’s not like I can control what I dream about.” You gave him a knowing look as you moved to him, placing a thick, woven cloth over his shoulders. He flinched at the warmth, grateful. “But you can control what you do about it,” you teased. He looked at you warily. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, beginning to rub warmth into his arms through the cloth, “I see you, Neteyam. You wake up every morning tense and hard like a stone pillar under that tweng. You’ve been diving into the water like some cursed, guilty little boy. But you’re not little. You’re a grown man. My mate.”

He looked anywhere but your eyes. You lowered your voice. “I know what your dreams are about.” He finally met your gaze, his voice low. “Do you?” You nodded slowly. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He groaned, pulling the cloth over his face. “Great.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you said, laughing softly. “They’re… kinda flattering.” He peeked at you with a look of dry betrayal. “You’re enjoying this?”

“Just a little.” He scowled, though it lacked heat. “It’s not fair. I remember just enough to want you, but not enough to feel like I deserve to act on it.” Your smile faded into something softer. You moved closer, fingertips brushing his arm. “You’re my husband. The father of my children. You don’t have to earn what’s already yours. You just have to come home to it.”

He looked at you for a long time, jaw tight, eyes searching your face. “I dream of you,” he said. “The way you used to kiss me. Touch me. Your voice—sounds—I didn’t know I remembered… They wake me up shaking.” Your lips parted slightly, your own breath catching. “And then I look at you,” he added, “and I just feel… pulled. Like my body remembers everything my head forgot. Every time I brush against you by accident, it feels like lightning in my chest.” You swallowed thickly, stepping closer. He glanced toward the children. “But I can’t keep waking up like this, hard as a rock, running into the ocean like a fool—freezing my balls off.”

You laughed again, unable to help it. “Do you want help next time, ma Neteyam?” His eyes darkened, lips quirking. “Don’t start, yawne. I’m barely holding on as it is.” You smiled at him with soft eyes, brushing his hair from his face. “Then maybe you should stop fighting so hard. Come back to me. All the way.”

He leaned in, almost without thinking, but then pulled back with a sigh. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he said. “So I’ll wait until I know for sure I’m ready. You deserve all of me.” You nodded. “And you’ll get there. But maybe next time, skip the icy ocean.” He looked down at his lap, where the evidence of his dreams had finally subsided. “Good. Because my balls still haven’t recovered.” You giggled, smacking his arm. “Go warm up, skxawng. I’ll make tea.”

As you turned, he reached out and caught your wrist gently. “Hey.” You turned back. His gaze was full of everything he couldn’t quite say yet. “I love you,” he said, voice quiet. Your heart skipped. You squeezed his hand. “I know.” I giggle, “I love you more.” And as the morning sun broke through the clouds, there was a quiet promise lingering in the space between your joined hands: He was coming home. Fully. One dream, one breath, one kiss at a time.

The night was still. Quiet but for the gentle whisper of waves against the reef, and the occasional coo or sigh from the children shifting in their sleep. Neteyam sat on the mat, legs crossed, the tablet glowing faintly in his hands. You had already told him—twice—to come to bed. You were curled up at the far end of the mat, Kiriya tucked in your arms, Likan curled against your side, and Eylan’s head resting gently near yours. But still, he stayed up. Still, he scrolled.

He couldn’t stop. The images, the videos… they were you. Him. All the small things that should’ve been ordinary felt sacred now. You walking through the forest, barefoot, laughing. You trying to cut fruit with a curved blade and muttering curses under your breath when it slipped. You with the boys—smeared in mud, singing lullabies, dancing in the kitchen. Every second was a thread. And slowly, they were stitching his life back together.

Then he tapped a file. One he hadn’t seen before, the screen went black for a moment, then it lit up. It was you. Dressed in Omatikayan wedding cloth—deep forest green and rich maroon threads, handmade jewelry wrapped delicately around your wrists and ankles. Beads adorned your hair. Your face was dewy with tears. You stood inside a new home, just barely furnished, still smelling of fresh cut wood and woven palms. You looked straight into the camera and sniffled, smiling so wide it cracked through your tears.

“We’re mated.” You laughed, wiping your eyes. “I can’t believe it. I mean… I can, because of course it’s him. But I’m still—I’m married to Neteyam. The love of my life.” You giggled. “He went back to get the rest of our stuff. He wouldn’t let me help. He said, ‘Just stay here, baby. I’ll bring home our whole world.’” You glanced around, eyes full of emotion. “This is it. Our home. He built this with his own hands for us. And somehow, I get to live here with him.” The camera shook slightly as you leaned in. Your eyes were shining. Honest. “He loves me. He loves me so much. Even when I’m angry. Even when I don’t get things right. Even when I talk too much or sleep with my feet freezing cold. He never complains. He just… pulls me close. He tells me I’m everything he ever wanted.” You breathed out slowly, clutching something—your courting token—in your hand. “I never thought I’d have this. I never thought I’d get to be chosen. But he chose me. And I’ll spend, the rest of my life loving him the way he loves me. The way he made me feel like I deserve and the way I know he deserves.” The video ended quietly. Neteyam’s chest caved inward as he stared at the dark screen, frozen.

And then—It hit him. Everything. Like water crashing through a dam. The forest. The moment you first reached for his hand. The first time you slept curled up together under the stars. Your first kiss, his fingers trembling where they touched your jaw. His face pressed into your neck the night you gave birth to Eylan. You squeezing his hand, eyes locked on him as Likan came into the world. Your laughter. Your cries. The fights. The passion. The love. Every. Single. Second. He gasped—choked on air—and jerked forward as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled violently. You stirred. He didn’t even realize how loud he’d whispered your name. “Ma—ma yawne—” You blinked awake slowly, sleep-soft and groggy. “Teyam?”

But his hand was already on your cheek, his breath hitching, eyes wide and wet as he leaned over you. And that was when Kiriya stirred—your movement jostling her. She let out a sharp cry, confused and still tired. Likan, pressed against you, whined and flailed sleepily. Eylan murmured something and turned over. You sat up quickly, trying to hush her, but Neteyam was shaking—smiling—and crying all at once, one hand over his mouth, the tablet slipping from his lap. You turned to him in confusion. “Neteyam—what—?” He was already pulling you close, chest heaving as he clung to you, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I remember.” His voice broke. “I remember everything.” Your heart stopped. “What—”

“Everything.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “You. Our life. The boys. Kiriya.” His hand hovered over her; chest wracked with emotion. “*You were right. You’ve always been right. I was yours. I’ve always been yours.” The emotion in your chest was a storm. You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

Then you heard feet, running. Kiri burst in, wide-eyed, Neytiri behind her. Jake wasn’t far. Tuk, sleepy and bleary, trailed behind holding her bow. Lo’ak came in next, tense and worried. “What happened?! Is something wrong?” Kiri’s eyes landed on Neteyam’s face—his tear-streaked, smiling face—and yours, where you trembled and wept against him. Neytiri’s breath caught. Jake’s shoulders slumped in relief. You turned to them, cradling Kiriya as Neteyam wrapped an arm around all three of his children, pulling them in.

“He remembers.” The room stilled. Kiri’s hands flew to her mouth. Neytiri was crying in seconds, turning into Jake’s chest. Tuk ran forward, hugging Neteyam’s leg. “You’re back?” He laughed wetly. “I’m back, Tuk.” Lo’ak stared, stunned, then shook his head in disbelief. “You’re such a skxawng,” he muttered, voice cracking. “I’m gonna punch you so hard later.” Neteyam only nodded, tears slipping free as he held you tighter. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I probably deserve it.” You were sobbing now, holding onto him as he kissed your temple again and again, touching your face, your hands, your belly, like he had to feel every part of you to make sure you were real. He remembered. Everything. And from this moment on, he would never forget again.

Once the noise settled and the tears dried, the Sully family gave their son one last round of bone-crushing hugs, quiet laughter, and forehead kisses before Neytiri gently ushered everyone back to their mauri, smiling through her tears.

“I’ll see you in the morning, ma’itan,” Neytiri whispered as she smoothed his hair like she had when he was a boy. “My son has returned.” Jake gripped his shoulder with pride, his eyes red. “We’ll talk tomorrow. You’ll explain everything… after you sleep.” Kiri gave him a long, tight hug, and even Lo’ak ruffled his hair with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief. “You’re lucky I love you, bro,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I remember you,” Neteyam replied with a grin.

After the family trickled out, leaving only the soft glow of a candle and the quiet hum of night, you found yourself staring at the mat, where the three kids had already started dozing again in the aftermath of their interrupted slumber.

Likan had kicked off his blanket and sprawled belly-first across a woven pillow like a tiny lizard. Eylan had found his way to the spot Neteyam sat in earlier and curled up there like it was still warm, his little face slack with sleep. Kiriya, sweet and full after nursing, lay content against your shoulder, her soft breaths ghosting across your collarbone. “Stars,” you whispered, looking at the chaos. “They sleep like drunk adults.”

Neteyam let out a small, husky laugh and dropped into the mat beside you, his shoulders finally relaxed, his posture slouched in a way you hadn’t seen in months—like the weight of confusion had fallen off his chest. “You always said that” he said with a grin, brushing Likan’s stray braid out of his face. “I never understood it until now. He sleeps like he fought a tree.”

“He did fight a tree yesterday,” you said, smirking. “Lost, too.” Neteyam chuckled, glancing at you as you gently laid Kiriya down between the pillows and tucked her beside her brothers. You both stared down at them in silence.

“I missed this,” he said softly. You turned to him, laying on your side, your hand propping your head up. “You didn’t know you were missing it.” He groaned and replied “I know. That’s the part that kills me.” You reached across the mat and touched his wrist. “You came back to us. That’s all that matters.” His eyes softened. “You kept this going. All of it. The home. The kids. Me.”

“I cried. A lot,” you admitted. “And yelled. And didn’t shower nearly enough.” Neteyam grinned. “You smell fine. You always smell like… berries and sunlight and baby.” You giggle softly. “That’s either really sweet or mildly offensive.”

“Depends on the baby,” he joked. Then, after a beat, his smile faded into something gentler. “I remember what you went through. At least, parts of it. When I was shot. When you saw me unconscious. The birth of Kiriya.” You blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded. “Not the pain. But I remember her crying. And Lo’ak’s voice. And yours.” His gaze dropped to your belly. “You were in so much pain, and I wasn’t there. And then you were holding her and sobbing because I didn’t wake up.” Tears welled in your eyes. “You remember that?” He reached over and cupped your cheek. “I do now. It all came back. I felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe without you. But the second I saw that video of you—our wedding, you talking to the camera—it was like my whole soul snapped into place.” You sniffled, trying not to cry again. “I didn’t know if you’d ever see that.”

“I’m glad I did. You were so beautiful in that video.” His grin returned, sly this time. “I remember how long it took me to take those wraps off.” You flushed. “Don’t start, Neteyam. The kids are—” He leaned closer, teasing. “All asleep. Deep, drooling sleep. We could draw on their faces and they wouldn’t notice.” You swatted his shoulder, laughing into your hand. “You’re horrible.”

“I’m yours,” he whispered, brushing your fingers aside to kiss your knuckles. You stared at him, your heart full to the brim. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He lay down facing you, so close now your foreheads touched. “I remember every scar, every fight, every kiss, every moment I told you I loved you—and everyone I didn’t say it but showed it anyway. I remember you, yawne. All of you.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your fingers finding his, tangled loosely between your bodies. “You’re gonna have to prove it, you know.” He smirked. “Oh, I plan to.” Kiriya stirred in her sleep with a little grunt and both of you froze, peeking over her bundled shape. “She’s got your nose,” Neteyam whispered. You smiled. “And your attitude. She screams when her milk isn’t warm enough like I can do anything about it.” He laughed softly “She’s perfect.”

“She’s ours.” Neteyam leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your brow, your temple, then your lips. It was soft. Familiar. Like coming home. When you pulled apart, he yawned—finally—and tucked himself closer to you, curling behind Kiriya as you remained on your side facing him. “This side better than mine,” he mumbled. “Because it’s mine,” you teased. “I’m never leaving it again.” And you believed him. As the rain danced on the thatched roof above and your family slept safely around you, you let your eyes drift closed. Neteyam was home.

Lina paced the length of her mauri, the woven floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet. The ocean breeze no longer felt soothing—it was biting. Mocking. Her hands trembled as she set down the shell bowl, she had no intention of eating from. The scent of sea fruit made her stomach turn. Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since she’d last seen Neteyam.

No word. No visit. No trace of the man who once sat beside her every evening, tangled in her nets, tangled in her. Gone, like fog when the sun rises. And worse—worse—he had moved back into the home he once shared with you. That forest-bred thing he couldn’t remember loving. That mate who stood in her way again. She had heard it secondhand. Whispers from the market, low murmurs from children, the ripple of gossip as effortless as breath. “Did you hear? Neteyam moved back in with his family.”

“He carries the little one again, helps the boys bathe by the shore.”

“They say he remembers.”

That last part hit like a blade. He remembered. She’d dropped her basket when she heard, too stunned to care that her gathered sea herbs had spilled across the coral path. Her chest had gone tight, her vision narrowed. She hadn’t cried. No. She didn’t cry. But the burn in her throat was undeniable. He remembered. And he didn’t even say goodbye. He hadn’t needed to. You’d won. Again.

All her work, all her effort—everything she gave him: her attention, her patience, her body, her time—it had been for nothing. For a glimpse. A taste. And then gone. But Lina wasn’t the kind of woman to lose quietly. She sat that night beside her hearth, face lit by dim firelight, fingers curled tightly around a carving knife. She didn’t think about stabbing anything. Not really. Just the weight of it. The way the handle fit in her hand. She needed control. She needed something. Then the plan began to spin in her mind, fine and sharp as woven fishing line. If Neteyam remembered everything—everything—then surely, he also remembered pain. Jealousy. Doubt. The flaws. The insecurities. And maybe… just maybe, if she sowed the right seed, it would take root.

She didn’t know about your moment with Lo’ak—how could she? But that didn’t stop her from making one up. She found the right voice, trembling, sweet, just innocent enough. She whispered it first to a pair of girls near the shore. “They say she was never loyal,” she sighed. “Even when Neteyam was still unconscious. I heard Lo’ak was always around. Maybe too much.” She knew how to pick the right moments. Who to speak near, she wasn’t foolish enough to name names or say it too directly. But whispers had power in a clan this tightly knit. “Did you see how Lo’ak always carries the boys around? It’s like they’re his.”

“I thought she moved on. I heard she and Neteyam weren’t… together when the baby came.”

“She and Lo’ak used to sneak off into the woods before dinner, remember?”

Lies. Crafted with care. Not wild ones, but the kind that sounded like they could be true. And they spread. Lina watched from the rocks, arms crossed, as you passed with Kiriya in your sling and Neteyam at your side, your boys trailing behind him, clinging to their father’s fingers. You were laughing. He was smiling—genuinely smiling. Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair.

She had earned him. She’d been there when no one else had. When he didn’t know his name, she had whispered it against his skin. When he forgot who he was, she told him he was hers. But that version of him—blank, open, lost—was slipping further away with each passing day. So, her smile turned thin and patient, her hands laced sweetly in her lap, but her eyes stayed sharp. Scheming. She wasn’t done. Not yet.

It started with whispers — again. You had exactly, one week of peace together. But this time, the whispers were about you. At first, Neteyam tried to ignore them. He wanted to. He wanted to stay focused on the life he was building back — the family dinners, the quiet moments with Kiriya curled into his chest, the way Eylan giggled when he tossed him into the shallows, Likan’s sticky kisses, your soft sleepy smile before dawn. That was his life. But the voices got louder.

“She was with Lo’ak even before the baby came, I heard.”

“I saw them, always together, before Neteyam woke up. Touching.”

“Maybe the little one isn’t even his. Look at her eyes.”

“You think that’s why Lo’ak always helps with the kids? Guilt?”

One thing Neteyam had learned since regaining his memories: gossip in the clan was like a storm on the sea. Small at first, and then suddenly everywhere, churning, devouring, crashing over every surface. And it hurt. It hurt more than anything had in the last few months — because he had forgiven you. You had told him everything. That one kiss. That one moment of weakness. And he knew you regretted it. You had been broken. Alone. You had never stopped loving him. He knew that. But now, it wouldn’t leave his mind, the noise of it. Over and over. What if there was more? What if everyone else knew something he didn’t? He tried to push it down. Until the final blow came. “Lo’ak said something once… he said he loved her. That’s what I heard.” Neteyam lost it.

The entire family was gathered, talking near the cluster of Sully-linked mauri when it exploded. You were inside yours with the kids, nursing Kiriya down for her nap, and Neteyam was supposed to be helping Jake with spear repairs — but his voice rang out loud enough to stop everything. “You swore it was only one kiss!” Neteyam’s voice cracked like thunder, loud and hurt and furious. “One mistake! And now I’m hearing that my daughter might not even be mine?! That you and my wife—” Jake stepped in immediately, pushing a hand against Neteyam’s chest. “Hey! Hey! Watch yourself—” Lo’ak’s face twisted in confusion and disbelief. “Bro—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You knew she was mine!” Neteyam shouted at him, ignoring everyone else, fury pouring out of every muscle. “You stood by her while I was dying, and now I’m finding out you touched her? Loved her? Are you proud of that?” Lo’ak stumbled back, face blanching. “No. What—Neteyam, I never—! It wasn’t like that! You know that!” Neytiri’s voice sliced through the air. “Enough.” But it was too late. You stepped out of the mauri then — Kiriya in your sling, wide-eyed, blinking against the noise. You looked… shattered. Neteyam saw you. The pain on your face. The hurt. The sheer shock at what he was saying. And still — still — he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked, low now. “Tell me right now, if you ever—” Your eyes welled up. “How dare you?” Everyone froze. You backed away slowly, turning without another word, disappearing down the sand path.

And then, a day passed. Two. You barely left the mauri, save for fetching food for the kids, helping them bathe and nap. You didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him. Which is exactly when she came. Lina, you didn’t realize it was her before, honestly you didn’t even know what she looked like, but then she started talking. Soft-voiced. Sweet-smiled. Innocent eyes. “Oh,” she said gently, “I just… I saw you out, and I wanted to say I’m so sorry for what everyone’s saying.” You didn’t respond. She stepped closer. “It must be hard, all the lies. But if anyone’s lying, it’s not you.” You blinked, confused. She leaned in, whispering. “Neteyam lied to me too. Said he wasn’t with you anymore. I wouldn’t have ever let it happen otherwise. But… he got me pregnant. So… I guess you’re not the only one he’s been lying to.” Silence. Your vision blacked out. You shoved Kiriya’s fruit basket into Lina’s chest and bolted.

The entire family saw it. The storm that broke next. You stormed into the Sully cluster of mauri, hair wild, eyes blazing, your body shaking with rage, and before Neteyam could say a word—your fist collided with his jaw. “Motherfucker.” He stumbled back, hand to his mouth. “Wha—?!”

“You accused me of things I never did! Sleeping with your brother?! And now—NOW I find out you got the girl pregnant?! After everything?!”

“What?! Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?!” You shoved him again, sobbing, your arms flailing, “I loved you. I forgave you! I took you back, I let you in our home! And the whole time—”

“She said I what…?” Neteyam asked again. Lo’ak repeated it, slowly, disbelief still etched into his features. “She told your wife… that you got her pregnant, bro.”

“She—” Neteyam shook his head, blinking fast like he could erase the whole moment. “No. No. I never… Eywa. I never even slept with her.” You scoffed bitterly, a sharp sound that cut deeper than your fist had. “Well, she says you did.”

“I didn’t!” Neteyam barked, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “We… we kissed. She touched me, I told you that. But I never— I never laid with her.” You held up your hand, cutting him off like a blade. “Don’t. I swear to Eywa, don’t come any closer.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Jake stepped forward. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Now.”

That’s when Kiri ran up, breathless. “I heard it,” she gasped. “The other girls were talking. It’s Lina. She started the rumors. She’s the one who said the baby might not be Neteyam’s. She’s been lying this whole time. I knew it. I knew something was off—” The entire family turned quiet. Everything made sense. The rumors. The whispers. The timing. Neytiri’s face went pale with rage. Jake’s jaw was clenched like stone. And you—broken, shaking, furious—you stepped back, whispering only: “I hope she’s worth it.” Neteyam didn’t say a word.

Because for once… he had none. The silence after your final words was thick and suffocating. Your voice still rang in everyone’s ears. Kiri stood stiffly off to the side, face pale and lips pressed tight, trying to catch her breath after rushing from the far reef. Neytiri stood close to her, a trembling hand on Kiri’s shoulder. Lo’ak had his hand on your back, trying to steady you as you held Kiriya close now, her tiny fists gripping your braid, confused by all the shouting. Likan and Eylan stood by Jake’s side, wide-eyed and silent, watching everything with the sense that something very, very big had just happened.

Neteyam’s lip was bleeding. A trickle ran down the side of his mouth, where your fist had landed hard. He didn’t wipe it. He didn’t move at all. Just stood there, heart pounding out of rhythm, staring at you like he couldn’t breathe. Jake crossed his arms, staring hard at Neteyam. “Then you need to find out the truth.”

“What?” Neteyam’s eyes darted from his father to you, shaking his head. “I told you. It’s not true.”

“You think I care what you say right now?” you hissed, voice low and deadly. Kiri took Kiriya from your arms gently, but your hands didn’t fall limp — they curled into fists again. “I stood in front of your family, of my family, and defended you when you asked for space. When you forgot me. When you kissed her. When she touched you. I let it go because I loved you enough to let you find your way back. And now this?” Neteyam opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“You accused me of being unfaithful,” you said through your teeth. “Of letting your brother touch me. Of lying about our children. You believed the rumors without asking me first, and now you expect me to stand by and let you see her again? After she says you got her pregnant?”

You took one step closer, the fire from your soul blazing in your eyes. “I don’t care what you find out. I don’t care what she says. I don’t want you anywhere near that woman again. You walk into her mauri, Neteyam, and you stay there. You hear me?” He flinched at your words like they were lashes. Neytiri finally spoke, her voice cold, quiet. “She manipulated you. Lied. Twisted her way into this family’s peace. If you don’t find the truth, she will never stop.”

“And if she’s not pregnant?” Lo’ak asked warily. “If it’s just another lie?” Jake added grimly, “Tonowari and Ronal will deal with it.” Neteyam looked torn apart. His face was pale, expression twisted with a storm of pain. “I never wanted this.”

“But you made choices,” you said softly now, quieter. It was worse than yelling. “And now you live with them.”

“I’m sorry.” You scoffed. “You believed everything she said.”

“I didn’t! Not all of it, not really,” he argued, eyes desperate now. “But I— I wasn’t thinking. I was a mess. And she— she took advantage of that—” Lo’ak cut in, jaw tight. “Yeah, we know. But the damage is done. The clan’s talking like it’s already true.”

“I don’t care what the clan says!” you snarled. “I care about my children hearing lies that their father has another family!” Jake raised his hands, trying to calm the growing storm. “Enough. Both of you. We need to figure this out. Without sending Neteyam back there.”

Neteyam looked over at Jake now, lost. “How do we find out? If she won’t talk to anyone else, and I can’t—won’t—go near her?”

Kiri stepped forward slowly. “I might have a way.” Everyone turned to her. Kiri’s eyes were steady, serious now. “She talks to someone every day. A younger girl named Aluke. She was the first to start repeating the rumors about everything — about the baby not being yours. She might’ve overheard something else. She’s not very good at keeping her mouth shut.” You narrowed your eyes. “You think you can get her to talk?” Kiri tilted her head. “If she’s anything like she was as a child, yes. If not, I’ll figure out another way.” Lo’ak nodded. “If she’s saying too much, she’ll keep talking. Maybe she knows Lina’s real intentions. Maybe she even knows it’s a lie.”

“I’ll go with Kiri,” Neytiri said, jaw clenched. “That girl said she saw the kiss between you two.” Lo’ak grimaced. “That lie ends today, too,” Neytiri hissed. Jake nodded. “Good, go.” You didn’t speak again — just nodded, sharp and stiff, and turned back toward the mauri with your children. Neteyam reached out instinctively — not to stop you, but to be near you. “Ma yawne—” You turned your face just enough to look at him over your shoulder. There was no softness in your eyes. “I meant it,” you said again, low and quiet. “If you go near her, we’re done.” He watched as you disappeared inside with Kiriya on your hip, Likan trailing behind you sleepily, Eylan still gripping your hand tightly.

The night settled in around them like a heavy blanket, no stars visible behind the clouds. And all Neteyam could think, again and again, was: ‘what if it is… and I’ve destroyed everything anyway?’

The rain had started up again just before nightfall — soft and drizzling, tapping against the woven leaves of your mauri like a lullaby meant for someone else. Not for you. Not for the mess your life had become. You sat curled up against the far wall, knees pulled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them as Kiriya nursed at your breast, her soft suckling the only real sound in the room. Likan and Eylan were asleep on the furs, their small bodies curled up together near the low-burning fire pit, unaware of the storm — outside or inside.

Your face was damp, and not just from the rain that had kissed your skin earlier. You’d cried so hard your ribs ached. Your stomach burned. Your soul had frayed. You didn’t look up when you heard the flap of the doorway shift. Neteyam stepped in quietly, his shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed red and jaw tight. He was breathing like he’d run here — or maybe like he was trying not to scream. He saw you and stopped mid-step. You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly. Like you were something fragile. Like the wrong word would break you for good.

You didn’t answer. Just stared down at Kiriya, who had stopped feeding and now blinked up at you sleepily, pawing at your chest. Neteyam took it as a maybe and came closer, crouching slowly beside you, careful not to disturb the boys. “I know you’re hurting,” he whispered. “And I deserve it. I do. I just— I need you to know something. Really know it.”

You finally looked at him. Your face was blotchy, lips trembling, eyes bloodshot. His heart cracked wide open. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he said, quickly, his voice raw. “No matter what she says, or what anyone says… I swear it on Eywa. On my soul. I didn’t. I never did.” You stared at him for a moment, like you weren’t sure if your heart could risk believing him again.

“She tried,” he said. “A lot. But every time… something pulled me back. It didn’t feel right. It never did. Even when I didn’t remember everything, there was something wrong about it. And I promise, I promise baby I told you everything. Everything that happened.” Your voice cracked when it came. “You touched her.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I did. And she touched me. I’m not going to lie to you. But it didn’t go further than that. I never let it. I never wanted to go all the way, even when I was confused. I didn’t let her stay with me. I didn’t let her into our home. I never crossed that line.” You choked. “Then how—how could you still accuse me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice nearly breaking. “I heard what people were saying and I thought… I thought maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was true and I— I couldn’t breathe. I lashed out. And I know it was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He dropped his head, resting his forehead on your knees. “I was stupid. I let myself get pulled into something I knew deep down wasn’t real. Not like this. Not like us. And now you’re hurting. And I did that. I did that.” You finally spoke again, whisper soft. “She said she’s pregnant.”

“I don’t care,” he said quickly. “If she is, it’s not mine. It can’t be. She’s lying. She has to be. And if she’s not… she was with someone else.” You stared at him, your hand resting on Kiriya’s back. “Why would she say it, then?”

“Because she knew I was slipping away,” he said. “I stopped going. I stopped touching her. I came home. She saw. She knew I remembered. That’s why she did this. To punish me. To keep you from forgiving me.” Your bottom lip quivered. “You don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I know. But I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it if you’ll let me.” A silence passed. The sound of Kiriya’s breath. The fire crackling. A gust of wind outside. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “I don’t believe she’s carrying your child.” Neteyam’s eyes met yours, startled.

“I don’t believe her,” you repeated. “Because I know you. Even with your memory gone, I knew who you were. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t give her that. You could make mistakes, sure. But that? No.” His throat bobbed. “I swear I didn’t.”

“I believe you.” Tears welled in his eyes, falling freely now. “Thank you.”

“I’m still angry,” you added quickly. “I’m so angry. I’m not ready to just… be okay. But I needed to hear it from you. That it wasn’t true.” He nodded, eyes shining. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“I can’t give much,” you whispered. “I’ll still be here.” You exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the sleeping boys, then to Kiriya now curled against your shoulder. “I need you to be the father they deserve. Not the man that woman wanted you to be.”

“I will be,” he whispered. “I swear, yawne. No more lies. No more her.” Your lip trembled again. “You’re not allowed to leave us again.”

“I won’t.” He reached out, gently covering your hand with his.

The fire had burned low. The boys still slept, warm and safe beneath the woven furs. Kiriya dozed in your arms again, her soft little face pressed against your bare chest, one tiny hand curled at your throat. You rocked her absently, though your eyes stayed locked on the flames.

Neteyam hadn’t moved far. He knelt just beside you still, silent, watching the way you held your daughter. The weight of everything hung between you — grief, pain, betrayal, but also something else. The flicker of something alive. Something trying to bloom back to life in the ash of everything you’d survived.

When Kiriya let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering fully closed, you shifted and began to lower her gently to the mat, tucking her into the blankets beside her brothers. You stroked her cheek once and then let yourself sit back — your hands trembling from the storm you hadn’t yet shaken loose. Then… Neteyam reached for you. Slow. Gentle.

His hands came to your waist first, then slipped around your back, tugging you into him. You let it happen, though your arms stayed limp at your sides, your face burying into his shoulder automatically as your body began to tremble again. Not loud, not dramatic. Just deep, silent sobs. The kind that come when the worst has already passed, and all that’s left is the exhaustion of surviving it. He rocked you gently. “Ma yawne,” he whispered, over and over. “Oeyä yawne. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”

His hands rubbed up and down your spine, anchoring you against him, his breath warm at your temple. You clung to him then, arms looping tightly around his chest, pulling yourself into his warmth as if you could melt into him and never have to leave. “Forgive me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Please. I’ll say it every day. I’ll say it in my sleep. I’ll never stop saying it. But you have to know — I never stopped loving you. Even when I didn’t know who I was… something in me always knew you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was wet with tears, his eyes searching yours like he was still begging to be allowed this moment. And you nodded. “Then show me,” you whispered. “Show me, ma Neteyam.” He blinked. “Are you sure?” You nodded again, slow and full of meaning. “I want to feel you again. All of you.” He inhaled sharply, heart pounding, and then — reverently, slowly — he reached for your kuru. The moment he touched it, your chest fluttered, and your hands instinctively rose to the braid at the base of his skull. Together… you connected. Tsahaylu. And in an instant — the world shifted.

You gasped softly as everything came crashing in. The pain he’d been holding onto. The regret. The confusion. The shame. And then—underneath it, rising like the tide—the love. So much love. You felt it — how he’d carried your voice in his soul even when he didn’t know it was yours. How home had always been the sound of your laugh. How the dreams haunted him because you were in every one of them — your smile, your body, your touch. How much he missed being yours. Being Neteyam — your Neteyam. And you let him feel everything too.

The moment your belly swelled with Kiriya, and you lay awake at night just praying he’d live to see her. The quiet strength you held for your boys every day while breaking inside. The ache of being forgotten. The pain of being blamed. The unbearable longing for his arms, his voice, his eyes full of love. How you still wore his courting token in your hair every day. How even after everything — you still loved him. Still chose him. A choked breath left his throat, and he crushed you into his chest again, one hand cradling your head, the other spreading across your back.

“I can’t believe I forgot I had this,” he whispered hoarsely. “Everything. Every moment. Every promise I made. I meant them all.”

“I know,” you whispered back, your breath catching as more tears fell, softer this time. Cleansing. “I know, ma tìyawn. So did I.” He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple, tenderly, over and over like he couldn’t stop. His hands shook against your skin. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he murmured.

“You already have it,” you said quietly. “You always did. You were sick, Neteyam. Lost. But I knew you’d find your way.”

“And you waited,” he whispered. “Even when I was breaking your heart.”

“I prayed for you every night,” you said. “I loved you even when it hurt.” He pulled back and touched your cheek with such reverence it made your eyes sting all over again. “I don’t know how I ever looked at another woman when you were right here.” You let out a broken laugh, and he laughed too, just a little, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re such an idiot,” you whispered, watery and smiling. “Biggest skxawng in the clan,” he agreed softly.

You both stayed there for a long time — connected, bonded, whole — until the fire burned down to embers and the soft rise and fall of your children’s breathing filled the quiet night. For the first time in moons, you weren’t broken anymore. You were together You looked up at him, your fingers still trembling in his. Your tears had dried, but their weight clung to your chest. The soft glow of the lantern in the corner of the mauri cast golden light over Neteyam’s face, over the worry in his brow, the love in his eyes.

You had missed him. Missed the warmth of him. The way his arms felt like protection. The way his presence calmed the storm in your chest like nothing else ever could. His hand rose to brush your cheek, thumb grazing softly over the edge of your jaw. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, full of ache. Your breath caught. “You don’t have to say that just because you remember now.”

“I’m not,” he murmured. “I’m saying it because I feel it. Because I’ve always felt it.” Then he kissed you. Slowly, gently—like a prayer, like an apology, like a promise. His lips moved with care, like he was relearning the shape of you, the rhythm of your breath. You shifted carefully until you were straddling his lap, your hands slid up his arms, his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as his fingers trailed down your sides, not rushed or demanding—but familiar.

He paused, eyes locking with yours. “Can I…?” he asked, voice quiet, but full of need. Full of reverence. You nodded, breathless, pulling him closer. He leaned in again, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I want to take every doubt out of your body,” he whispered. “Every lie she told, every word I ever said that made you feel less.”

Slowly, tenderly, he slid away the fabric of your chest wrap, revealing skin he hadn’t touched in what felt like years. He kissed every place he uncovered—your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, your shoulder. His hands were careful, steady, full of quiet devotion.

“I missed you,” he said against your skin. “The way you laugh. The way you look when you hold our children. The way your eyes soften when you’re teasing me. I remember all of it now.” You breathed in shakily, fingers in his hair. “Then show me.” And he did. Every kiss was a promise. Every whisper a vow. No rush. No demands. Just the slow, sacred return to something only the two of you had ever shared. To something no one—not even memory loss, not even betrayal—could truly erase. When he finally held you in his arms, skin to skin, soul to soul, the weight you’d been carrying fell away. You weren’t just forgiving each other. You were finding your way back home.

His hands moved with a reverence that made your breath catch, as if every part of you deserved to be memorized all over again. And maybe you did—maybe he did, too. His lips traveled slowly, unhurried, pressing to every dip and curve like he was rediscovering sacred ground. Neteyam was about to lay you down onto the mat but then the Likan shifted, and you both paused looking over at him. Instead, you silently pointed to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, and he lifted you effortlessly, laying you down in front of the warmth.

When he kissed down your body, over your chest, the soft skin of your stomach, and lower, you gasped, a quiet sound that broke somewhere between relief and longing. Your fingers curled against the blankets beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut. It wasn’t just the sensation of his mouth or the trail of heat he left in his wake, it was what it meant. It was him choosing you—not out of duty, not because memory demanded it, but because his heart knew it. Because he remembered. Because he wanted to.

You felt it in the way his lips lingered. In the way his hands steadied your hips like you were something precious. In the way he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes before continuing, like asking for permission even now. Your heart thudded in your chest, overwhelming and fragile. You whispered his name. Not in desperation—but in awe. He smiled. Softly. Like he knew what this meant. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It wasn’t about need. It was about presence. You had him again. All of him. The weight of his body, the brush of his breath, the worship in his touch. And for the first time in so long, you weren’t surviving. You were living. You were loved.

Neteyam’s lips brushed your collarbone, slow and warm, and you gasped softly half-laughter, half-need. “You’re laughing?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smile. You giggled breathlessly, your fingers brushing through his braids. “It tickles,” you whispered, voice catching. “You’re not usually this slow.” He chuckled, dragging his lips to your neck. “I’ve been gone a while,” he said lowly, “I think I’m allowed to savor my wife.”

You bit your lip. “You’re lucky I missed you.” He lifted his head just long enough to meet your eyes. “Missed me? Or missed this?” His hand slid along your thigh, deliberate but gentle. You grinned. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he teased, voice dipping as he nipped at your shoulder. “Fine,” you breathed, a flush blooming over your cheeks. “I missed your mouth… and your hands… and the way you—” You broke off with a gasp as he found a spot that made you squirm. “There?” he said with a smirk, nosing into your neck. You shoved at his chest, laughing. “You’re so smug.”

“Only when I’ve earned it.” You arched slightly, brushing your lips against his ear. “You haven’t yet.” His growl was soft but promising. “Challenge accepted.” You both laughed, your bodies close, breaths mingling. Then he stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I thought I’d never remember what you felt like. But now… I’ll never forget again.” Your eyes stung, heart pounding. “Then don’t ever leave me again, mighty warrior.” He leaned in, brushing your lips with his. “Never,” he promised.

Your breath hitched as his mouth wandered lower, slow and reverent, and your hand found its way to his hair. “You always do this,” you murmured, voice trembling with a smile. “Do what?” His voice was low, warm against your skin. “Take your time… like you’re unwrapping a gift.” He chuckled. “You are a gift. I’ve been starving, yawntu. Let me taste what I nearly lost.” His lips kissed down and around both your breast before kissing your nipple softly, his lips dragged against the harden nub You blushed hard at his words, shivering under his touch. “You’re saying things that make my knees weak,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said, tongue darting out to give you a tantalizing, slow flick. “Because I remember now. I remember exactly how to make you fall apart.” You gasped, laughing lightly, trying to tug him back up to kiss you, but he resisted, trailing his fingers up your sides instead. “No, no,” he teased, grinning against your skin. “You said I hadn’t earned it yet.” You whined. “Neteyam…”

“Say it again.” His tone was softer now, tender. “Say my name like that.” He moved his head down after biting your nipple and tugging softly making a little mess in his mouth. “Neteyam.” Your voice cracked on it, raw and breathless. He kissed down the curve of your ribs, slow and steady. “There it is.” A pause. “You always said it like that. Like it was sacred.”

“It is,” you whispered, cupping his face and drawing him up to you. “You are.” He kissed you then — slow, searching, aching — and as he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs tangled beneath the covers, you felt the shift. “Do you remember this part too?” you asked shyly, teasing. He laughed softly. “I remember everything to know you used to beg.” You let out a scandalized gasp. “I did not.”

“You did,” he said with a smug smile. “Especially when I’d tease these cute nipples with my tongue and my fingers….and when I sucked on your pretty clit and stuck my tongue in this tight little hole.” He leaned down and whispered something in your ear that made you swat at his arm, breathless and flushed. His fingers ran down your body, all the way dow between your bare thighs to rub small light circles on your clit, making you whimper “Fuck…!” you said, burying your face in his neck.

“You love it,” he whispered against your shoulder. “I love you,” you corrected, breath heavy on his neck as you kissed under his ear He froze, just for a moment but didn’t stop his movements. Then his voice broke as he said, “Say it again.” you repeated, one hand over his heart. “I love you…Always.”

“Even now?” You nodded. “Especially now.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “Then let me show you how much I love you too,” he whispered. “Yes please…” you whisper as he worked his was down once more, smiling as he already got that little ‘please’ out of you. His head disappeared under the thin blanket, kissing and sucking the skin of your thighs, grazing his fangs and sometimes biting like he really was getting taste out of the act. Your moaned softly into the air having to control your voice now more than ever, not wanting to be interrupted. Neteyam’s hands wrapped around your thighs pulling you closer and tossing your legs over his shoulders, his breath lingered on your core making you clench around nothing before you felt his mouth on you.

His tongue worked magic between your thighs, hit the spots he had hit perfected for years, as if it was the only thing in the world he was supposed to remember. It’s been so long since felt him you didn’t realize you’d want to cum so fast, his tongue flicked up and down, side to side making you arch your back and whimpers escape from your lips. Your hands tangled into his braids tugging him closer as if his face could be anymore buried in you. He sucked on your clit making your eyes go wide and your grip tighten in his hair as you hiss into the air, “oh…oh my Eywa…” you whispered clenching your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as he fucked his tongue into you, it only took a few sweet thrust before you were cuming on his tongue, your essence messing up his face, your thighs, and leaking down his chin to his neck as he lapped you up sweetly.

His head rose from the blanket as you were trying to catch your breath, he looked very pleased with himself. He wiped his face with the back of his hand before hovering over you again, his fingers trailing down to your core as he kissed you again letting you taste your cum on his tongue, it was sweet, like the flowers he picked for you yesterday. Your thighs twitched as his fingers made may to your hole, but you stopped him, “Ma Teyam…” you mumbled against his lips. He pulled away and looked down at you, “what is it sweetheart?”

You bit your lip at his sweet nickname and took a breath, “don’t…. don’t put your fingers in..” Neteyam tilted his head at your request, it’s been months since the last time you had sex he wasn’t to stretch you out, so it doesn’t hurt as much, and he was about to say so before you spoke again. “Want your cock to stretch me out…wanna feel it” you bit your lip and smile up at him sweetly, as if the most vile words ever didn’t just come out of you. Neteyam let his fingers pause where they were toying between your folds, rubbing against your tight hole and look he gave you was wrecked. “Oh, Great Mother…” His groan punched from his chest like he’d been struck.

You snorted through your nose, half laughing, half breathless. “Shh, the kids are asleep, ma Teyam—” You put a finger to his lips, wide-eyed. “Do not wake them.” He caught your wrist, kissed your fingertip, his voice rough and dark: “Then stop saying things that make me forget we even have children.”

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, panting hard, his hand that was between your legs now gripped tight on your hips. “You can’t say things like that.” His voice was wrecked, trembling. You tilted your head sweetly. “Why not?” He growled, lifting his head to look at you, eyes ablaze. “Because I’m trying to be gentle, and that…” —he kissed you hard, teeth grazing your lip— “makes me want to ruin you.” You gasped into his mouth, heart pounding. His hands roamed now, slow but more desperate.

“Stars, yawntu,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me.” You giggled — quiet and sinful. “You keep saying that.” He groaned again, softer this time, but no less strained. “Don’t do that, don’t laugh like that after you didn’t just say the nastiest thing to me” which made you giggle again. “You want me just like this?” he whispered, voice dipping low, dangerously low. “Want my cock in you just like that?” He asked as if he was confirming that’s what you so desperately wanted. You nodded, lips parted, breathing shallow. And the fire in him roared. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” But even as he said it, he was already gone for you.

His body shifted again, ridding himself of his loincloth now hanging, hard and heavy between his strong thighs over cunt. Before his hand could, you swiped your fingers on your tongue giving them a nice wet lick before grabbing his cock in your hand, your stroked it softly and his body tensed, “oh fuck—great mother” he cursed dropping his head down, so your foreheads touched. “That feel good baby?” You whisper into his mouth as your lips brush, but you didn’t kiss.

“S-so good…” he matched your tone, strained. “My poor husband…so touch starved..” you giggle wickedly but it was still so, so hot to him. “You missed me muntaxtan? Missed the way I touched you? Stroked your cock?” Your words were hot down his throat he couldn’t breathe, so he nodded against you, brushing your skin close, quiet, hot. Like you’d just created a whole world for this moment. “Wanna fuck me muntaxtan?” He nodded again, hand running down your body to grip his out cock over your hand, “yea? Do it…fuck me, put it in muntaxtan…” you edged him as your jaw went slack as he entered you. Slowly, like he was memorizing how ever ridge on his cock, how every bugling vein felt going into your sweet, hot, cunt.

His jaw matched yours swallowing all the moans you let out, with every inch of his thick cock stretching you open. His eyes shut to calm himself, he felt like he could cum on the spot. “Oh…Eywa” you moaned and his eyes darted open, taking in your furrowed brows and heavy panting. His cock was only halfway in at this point, and he stopped, moving back and forth giving you a few shallow thrusts, “calling for God baby? Eywa’s not fucking you, my cock is fucking you…say my name.” His voice was soft but commanding. Your legs wrapped around your waist, one over the other on his back, his tails wrapped around your ankle and yours around his thigh. Neteyam dug his cock deeper in, until he was fulling you completely, cock snug in your cock, “f-fuck…Neteyam.” You whispered into his mouth making him smile, “that’s my good girl…so perfect for me…so good at taking instructions.”

Your eyes rolled you swear you was your brain when he started to move, shallow thrusts at first, balls slapping your skin softly as you took him in. “ah, ah, ah…” you went softly moaning against him. Your hands went up and over his shoulder to his back, digging into the skin as he started to spreed up his thrust. Your moaned start to get louder but he smiled and locked your lips in his kiss, swallowing all your noises, “shh baby…gonna wake the kids and I don’t wanna stop…” his tongue invaded your mouth quickly finding dominance over yours. It was sloppy and wet; you could barely kiss him back feeling him drag his cock against your sweet spot. His thrusts continued to get faster and faster until he was pounding into you, your entire body shook with his movements, but he kept you grounded, complete covered by him.

Your back arched off the soft mat, bringing your chest closer to his. His elbows hit the mat next to you bringing himself impossibly closer. “Oh—oh just like that…please tey—teyam..” you moaned into his mouth, and he let out a grunt. “Just like that?” He repeated moving a little harder and you lost the ability to kiss completely, as you nodded against him. Then suddenly he pulled out completely, you let out a whine in frustration, but it didn’t last long, his hands moved you without a thought, pushing you over onto your side and sliding into the spot behind you, back pressed against his chest facing the fireplace. His hand moved down to grip your right thigh pulling your entire leg up into the air as he effortlessly slides his cock back into your warmth with practiced ease.

Your stomach did flips when he started fucking you again, your hands gripping his arm that ended up under your neck and around the upper half of your body and you bit down on his bicep to keep from getting too loud. Your eyes were teary at this new depth, the way he just fit so perfectly into your cunt like you were made just for him. You sniffled leaning back against him wanting to be as close as possible while made him chuckle, “keep your leg up.” He commanded and took your hand bringing it down to your lower stomach where his cock bugles out and pressing down. You chocked on air feeling his cock move in and out of you, heightened the sensitivity, it was as if he knew (which he did) that spot would over activate your sweet spot. Your eyes widened and your jaw went slack once more; you couldn’t help the moans that escaped you. But he could, he gripped your lower face turning you to kiss him again swallowing up your moans, “feel that baby?” He whispered against your lips, “that’s how good I make you feel, you love it when I pump this cunt full huh?” He asked and you nodded frantically, “yes…yes yes yes feels so good…”

Neteyam smiled into your lips once again, “fuck you’re clenching so hard baby…gonna cum on my cock?” He asked speeding up his thrust once more, he was close too he wanted you to cum with him, and when you confirmed through a heavy moan you were close, he fucked info you faster. His grip tightened and so did yours, his hand that was in your stomach moved—with yours— back around your right thigh intertwining your fingers together as he fucked you. Your release hit you like a rough wave as he emptied himself in you at the same time. Neteyam came so much while his cock was thrusting more and more cum into you, he filled you to the brim, so much so that it leaked out the sides of your cunt even though he was still inside you.

You both came down from your high, cock still snug in you, and his hand rubbed up and down the side of your body, then he stopped and wrapped around you even more holding you there against him, the way it was always meant to be. “That was incredible” you bummed out making him chuckle. “I love you muntaxtan” you whispered to him, eyes closing. “I love you more tìyawn.” He said as he kissed your skin softly.

The fire crackled softly in front of you, casting flickering gold over the quiet curve of your back. The thin woven sheet barely covered the two of you, tangled between legs and limbs as you lay tucked between Neteyam’s arms, your back to his chest. His breath brushed the curve of your neck, slow and even now, but his fingers hadn’t stopped tracing patterns into your skin. Outside, the night sang with insects and the ocean’s lullaby. Inside, it was still. Warm. Full.

Neteyam’s voice broke the silence gently, quiet and husky, his chin resting just above your shoulder. “I used to think home was a place. Forest. Sky. Clan.” You hummed softly, fingers brushing over his as they danced across your stomach. He paused, then pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, reverent and slow. “But I know now… home isn’t a place.” He paused. “Home is who you fight for. Who you crawl back to. Who you breathe for.” Another kiss, this one behind your ear. You felt the lump rise in your throat. He whispered it into your skin like it was prayer. “Home is You.”

You turned your face toward him, eyes full and glistening, and he kissed you. A soft, sacred kiss — not rushed, not fiery — just full of love. Of peace. Of truth. In that moment, with your body tucked to his, the fire warming your feet, and the stars peeking through the cracks in the thatched ceiling, everything was exactly as it should be. You smiled against his mouth, your voice a whisper. “And you’re mine.” He pulled you closer. Held you tighter. And there, beneath the soft songs of night and the gentle crackle of fire, the story that once felt like it shattered — finally felt whole again.

💜 Likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

💜I hope you all enjoyed reading this, honestly I tried to make it as realistic as possible, relationships are messy, especially when trauma is involved. So please any feedback I’d love to hear, and any ideas are welcome!

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Here’s the thing: you loved answers more than anything.

Some of your earliest memories are of sitting in the front row of class, bum scooted right to the edge of the seat, hand shooting up before the question was even finished. The teacher would turn to you with a kind smile and ask:

"Yes? Do you have an answer for me?"

And you’d nod, heart thumping, because yes, you always did. At the end of every week, nobody ever had more gold stars on their chart than you.

Oh, and isn’t it simply glorious to just know things? Is there anything more gratifying than the pursuit of knowledge? No. No, most definitely not. There is always something new to be learned, some old assumption to be tested, some scientific mystery waiting to be solved. You are, after all, the sort of person who needs to be fully informed.

And so, naturally, it is most infuriating when you don’t know something. And as of late, a particular question has been gnawing at you. It’s a question you hadn’t considered before, mostly because no one had ever been allowed to consider it.

The boundaries of Bridgehead’s kill zone kept everyone penned in, the same ground surveyed and resurveyed, studied until it felt like there were no secrets left.

These past few weeks, you’ve been studying Pandora’s flora, specifically a species the botanists call lumafera. At first glance, they look like ordinary vines, coiling across the ground in tangled mats, their tendrils pulsing with soft bioluminescence. But you noticed something strange in the archived drone footage: they don’t just glow randomly. Entire patches seem to flare in sequence, almost like they’re passing signals from one cluster to another.

And there comes the question that’s been gnawing at you into play: were these plants communicating?

Inside the lab, you’ve tested clippings under microscopes, ran chemical analyses, watched as pieces of vine dimmed and brightened under controlled conditions. But it’s all fragments. Whatever pattern might exist is lost the moment the plant is cut from its root network. After all, you can’t replicate the complexity of a living ecosystem inside sterile glass tanks.

But things were finally changing. You don’t know why and who gave the final green light, not that it really mattered, but for the very first time, a crew was cleared for a field trip outside the perimeter. And not just any crew for any field trip, no, Dr. Garvin himself had put your name on the assignment!

Holy hell.

You’ve replayed the moment in your head at least a hundred times, the way he barely looked up from his tablet and said, "You’ll do it." Like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t been waiting your whole damn life for this opportunity.

Because let’s be honest, not many people get this shot. Ever since the avatar program got shut down, most researchers spend their careers trapped behind the reinforced glass, poking at samples that were chopped up and half dead before they even made it through quarantine. But you? You were going to see the plants where they actually live. You were going to walk out into Pandora proper and put your boots in the same soil that Dr. Grace Augustine herself had!

And yeah, you might’ve been a little over the moon because of that. You had wanted to experience this ever since the day you first learned what Pandora even was!

But you’d be lying if you said your stomach wasn’t in knots at the very thought of leaving the safety of these walls. Because out there was no controlled environment, protected by walls and soldiers and heavy machinery. Out there, one wrong move and you’d be someone’s dinner.

However, even considering the possibilities of not making it back from your little field trip, you couldn’t help but grin every time you thought about it. This was it, the big leagues! Your very first mission. The kind of opportunity that makes all the late nights and busted experiments worth it.

However, being as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning was only half the story.

The other half, the part that tied your stomach in even tighter knots, had less to do with Pandora’s forests and more to do with the man who’d made himself a permanent fixture in your life. Specifically, about having to leave him behind for a couple of weeks.

The past few weeks with Quaritch had been… well, they had been something.

Behind closed doors, the Colonel was a whole different person. The rough, iron-willed Soldier everyone else knew turned strangely soft when it was just the two of you. Sweet in ways you’d never expected, protective in ways that sometimes bordered on ridiculous. Hell, he had once brushed a strand of hair from your face with more care than you ever thought was possible for someone with hands this big.

But out in public? That possessive streak of his could make you want to crawl under the nearest desk. The man had a way of making every single one of your coworkers shrink two sizes the second he walked into the lab. He didn’t even need to raise his voice, a single look was enough to clear the space around your desk. No one lingered too long near your station anymore, not unless they had a death wish. And while part of you burned with embarrassment at the spectacle, another part of you thrilled at the unspoken claim he had on you.

You liked it. Being his little secret. His favorite girl, as he liked to call you.

No one knew about the two of you. At least, not officially. It was too new and certainly too risky to put out in the open. But, his squad wasn’t stupid. The way they grinned and winked when you walked by told you they’d put the pieces together by now. More than once, you caught the low chuckle of a recombinant when your cheeks flushed scarlet at the sight of Quaritch in the hallway. Those bastards lived for your embarrassment, and you hated how easily they got it out of you.

And this is what a trophy wife must feel like, you thought sometimes. Quaritch got a kick out of showing you off, though never outright, never in a way that could blow your cover. It was all subtle.

In the canteen, for example, he’d drag his whole squad over to sit directly opposite you. Doesn’t matter if there were fifty other empty tables, he wanted you pinned under his gaze, your fork clattering just a little too loudly against the tray while his recoms snickered into their rations. He’d lean back, arms crossed, eyes locked on you with that smirk that said he knew damn well you were squirming in your seat.

Then there were the marks, little claims of ownership no one else would ever notice, but you always did. A necklace he clasped around your neck one evening, a bite on your thigh, a hickey on your collarbone, just barely out of view. Sometimes it was as simple as the faintest trace of his cologne lingering on your jacket, or when he would lend you his dog tags while he was away for a mission and they were hiding beneath your shirt.

He understood the risks. Knew full well that if word got out, it could cost both of you your positions, maybe more. And yet, beneath all his ironclad discipline, there was a part of him that wanted to throw subtlety out the nearest airlock. To put you on a pedestal, high and untouchable, where the whole damn base could see that this sweet cherry was his and his alone.

The Polaroids however had become rare.

In the beginning, he’d wanted stacks of them, little snapshots of you to tuck away, to keep him company in the dead of night. Now, though? He barely asked. Said he’d rather have the real you that he could bury himself in, than some flimsy piece of glossy paper. Not that you‘d stopped leaving him a few here and there, especially before his missions. You would slip them into places you knew he’d find: one inside the field manual he pretended to read, another tucked between his cigarettes. A breadcrumb trail of you for him to stumble over while he was gone.

And maybe it was sappy, maybe even pathetic, but leaving those pictures behind was your way of saying what neither of you dared out loud. That you’d miss him. That you wanted him thinking of you while he was out in the wild. A reminder to stay safe, that this was what he would come back home to if he were.

And now it was your turn to leave him behind.

Which is why you decided to leave him a couple of extra spicy Polaroids before heading out on your own mission. Like a soft little goodbye, hoping he would miss you just as much. The last few days had been a blur of double shifts in the lab, endless preparations and stacks of reports to sign off on, and in all that chaos you hadn’t seen much of him. Barely more than a nod in the hallway or the brush of a hand when no one was looking. There hadn’t been time to tell him about the trip, not properly anyway, so you hoped the Polaroids would speak for you.

You slid them under his door when he wasn’t there, quick and quiet, before you could lose your nerve. Then it was a straight shot outside, heart hammering, trying not to think about whether he’d find them before lights-out. Even after all this time, you still couldn’t help your reaction to the knowledge of him seeing something so private, seeing you this vulnerable.

A cluster of your lab colleagues were already waiting by the landing zone outside, faces pale, yet still grinning in excitement, arms weighed down with packs and gear. A few of the higher-ups stood stiff at the edge of the platform, barking last minute instructions like school teachers before a field trip.

They ran through the final instructions in clipped, precise tones, their words falling heavy in the night air.

"And remember, keep your comms open at all times. Do not wander from the group, maintain strict cataloguing protocols for every specimen collected. You have two weeks to find what you are looking for, before the supplies will run out. Then, you are escorted back, no excuses and exceptions. We expect each and every single report by 0900 upon your arrival."

You tried to focus, to let the instructions anchor you, but your thoughts kept slipping sideways, drifting back to the Polaroids you’d left behind and the look you imagined would flicker across his face once he‘s found them. Would he be pissed you had left just like that? God, you hoped not. You had made sure to wear his favorite set of lingerie when you’d taken them, the red one with the pretty lace panties and the bra that was nearly see-through. Perhaps that would lighten his mood a little.

Distantly, you overheard a line that made your ears prick up: "Oh and before I forget, your team will be accompanied by a special security detail, arranged upon request to ensure safety during this research project."

Security detail? For a handful of botanists and xenobiologists poking around in the mud? Nobody said it out loud, but you could feel the unspoken question burning behind every set of eyes.

Who the hell had made that request and why?

The man‘s voice then trailed off mid-sentence, his gaze sliding past the assembled group to fix on something behind you. His tone changed instantly, the sharp edge of authority softening into crisp formality. "Ah, Colonel. Just in time."

The familiar title hit you like a physical jolt. Slowly, you turned, your stomach lurching even before your eyes confirmed what your body already knew.

Out of the shadows at the far end of the platform, three figures emerged, their boots ringing against the metal deck with a rhythm that was steady, unhurried and completely assured. Quaritch walked at the front, broad shoulders squared, his stride carrying that unmistakable weight of authority that seemed to bend the space around him. Just a step behind were Wainfleet and Mansk, both towering, both wearing the same faint smirks that never quite reached their eyes.

You couldn’t believe it. Colonel Quaritch— your Quaritch, Miles, was standing there in full gear, and from the way the higher-up stiffened at his arrival, there was no doubt about what he was there for.

He would accompany your team!

Your mouth fell open in the most obvious, least professional way possible, lips parting like you’d just been smacked upside the head. Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to school your expression into something resembling composure, but it was too late. Wainfleet caught it instantly, his smirk stretching into a grin, while Mansk gave the faintest huff of a laugh, low enough that only you could hear it.

Quaritch however didn’t so much as glance your way at first. He came to a stop beside you, posture relaxed but commanding all the same, and addressed the group with that gravelly confidence that made your knees go weak.

"Morning, folks. Colonel Quaritch, here to make sure you don’t get yourselves killed out there. My squad and I will be accompanying this mission for the full two weeks— security detail, perimeter checks, threat assessment. You focus on your plants, we’ll handle everything else."

A ripple of uneasy relief went through your colleagues, half grateful for the protection, half unsettled by the sheer presence of him and his men. The higher-up nodded approvingly, seizing the chance to hand the spotlight back over to him. And just like that, all eyes shifted forward again, back to the soldier giving final instructions.

That’s when he finally looked at you.

"Miles!?" You shrieked in a half-whisper, then quickly cleared your throat as you glanced around for any unwanted listeners. "I- I mean Colonel, Sir."

For a heartbeat, it was only his eyes on yours, pinning you where you stood. Then the corner of his mouth tugged upward and he tipped you the quickest wink.

"Hey, kid," he drawled, voice pitched low enough that it barely cut through the surrounding noise, but still enough to give you goosebumps.

Your throat went dry. God help you, because you knew the blush that spread across your face was giving his squad exactly the reaction they would later tease you for if they get the opportunity.

"What are you doing here?" You whispered in disbelief.

"Protectin’ your ass from gettin’ swallowed whole by whatever’s crawlin’ out there," he said with a grin. His tone was casual, like he was discussing the weather, but every syllable hummed with satisfaction, as if he’d just pulled off some masterstroke you hadn’t even realized was in play.

Your mouth opened, then shut again, brain struggling to catch up with the fact that he had just inserted himself into your mission. Your carefully prepared, long awaited, first field mission, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. The Colonel wanted in, so of course he got in. Rules, chains of command, mission rosters… none of it mattered when it came to Miles Quaritch.

You stared at him, half stunned, half amused, because the means he must’ve gone through to get this, pulling rank, twisting arms, maybe even rewriting the damn assignment sheet himself, were almost unthinkable. And the way he stood there now, smug as a cat that got the cream, left no doubt in your mind that he’d enjoyed every second of it. And all of this, just to be with you?

You let out a deep sigh as you looked up at him, before your lips curled into a sly smile.

Oh, wasn’t that just so him, to bend the whole damn world to his will, all for the simple reason that he refused to let you out of his sight.

However, even with all the briefings you had to go through these past couple of days, you still weren’t prepared for what it felt like to actually land out here. And god, were you suddenly grateful for your big blue protector.

The samson helicopter had dropped you and your team, as well as the three recombinants into the heart of Pandora’s forest, and the second your boots hit the ground, the reality of it hit harder than any slideshow or safety lecture ever could.

The air around you was thick and damp, so different from what it was like back home. Every direction you looked, the trees stretched impossibly high, their roots twisting into knots big enough to crawl inside, while the sounds of chirping, growls and low thrumming calls from the animals you couldn’t see filled your ears.

Immediately, goosebumps rose all over your skin.

Everything around you was just so big, you felt significantly smaller out here. And so very vulnerable.

Just mere minutes after landing, your team scrambled into action, hauling crates onto the clearing’s edge. Within an hour, the portable field laboratory stood assembled, all gleaming white panels and sharp corners, looking small and temporary against the living wall of jungle that surrounded it. It was sturdy enough to keep the gear safe, but standing there, you couldn’t shake the thought that it wouldn’t take much to tear the whole thing apart. A single hammerhead thundering through the clearing could flatten it like a tin can, or one swipe from a thanator’s claws would peel the panels back as if they were paper.

Not to mention what would happen if the natives of this moon discovered the lab and decided they didn’t want all of you here…

Shaking your head to shake off these thoughts, you tried to focus back on the excitement of being here. No point in spiraling over what could happen.

After years of studying clippings under sterile lights you were finally out here and everything was basically waiting to be observed in their real environment. It made your pulse race.

In the corner of your eyes, you spot Quaritch moving through the treeline with his rifle slung loose across his chest, shoulders surprisingly relaxed as he swept the area. Wainfleet and Mansk trailed a few feet behind, equally alert. The Colonel looked like he was born for this, muscles loose, eyes sharp, completely at home in the wild that left the rest of you jumpy and clammy with nervous sweat. Watching him like that stirred something low in your stomach that you immediately shoved aside.

Focus. You were at work, this was about being a good scientist and finding answers. Not about the way Miles looked utterly delicious like this, his tank sticking to the muscles of his chest, his biceps bulging.

You tore your gaze away before it lingered too long, heat already creeping up your neck. Jesus. The last thing you needed was one of your colleagues catching you drooling over the man meant to keep all of you alive.

Stuffing the last of your kit into the field bag, you slung it over your shoulder, double checking the seals on your exo pack and headed straight for the man pacing along the treeline. He didn’t so much as flinch at your approach, though one eyebrow ticked upward when you stopped in front of him, basically blocking his way. You looked about ready for a safari trip, you noticed a little too late. With your datapad in hand, smelling a bit too much of anti-mosquito spray and sun blocker, while wearing a worn out fishing hat to make the look perfect.

"I want to walk a little further, if that’s possible, sir," you asked, voice tight with barely contained excitement.

Quaritch shifted his rifle against his chest, eyes narrowing just slightly as he took you in. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled upward in a grin. Oh, you would never hear the end of this, you already knew it.

Then, he shook his head with the click of his tongue. "No can do, kid. Sun’s droppin’ fast, and this jungle turns mean as hell soon as the lights go out. You want your scans, you haul your ass out there tomorrow when we’ve got daylight on our side."

You gave a quick shrug, already half bouncing on your heels. "But I’ve unpacked already and checked everything twice. Waiting until morning isn’t an option, Colonel. I just want some first scans, that’s all. The rest can wait until tomorrow."

For a long moment he just looked at you, silent, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew he’d already lost the argument. Then came the eye roll, his head tilting back as if he couldn’t quite believe the headache he’d signed himself up for.

"Christ, cherry," he muttered under his breath when he was certain nobody would hear, then jabbed a finger at you. "Fine. But I’m stickin’ to your hip the whole damn time. You ain’t takin’ three steps into that brush without me. Clear?"

The grin you gave him was bright enough, Quaritch had to squint his eyes at you before turning away.

So off you went, the two of you slipping past the edge of the clearing and deeper into the forest. The camp noises faded fast until it was just the crunch of your boots and the low rasp of your exopack filtering the air for you.

After a while of walking in silence, you found your focus slipping once again without even meaning to. The scanner in your hands hummed quietly, but your attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on Quaritch and the way he walked ahead of you, clearing the way. There was something stupidly comforting about having him at your side like this, like nothing could touch you as long as he was there.

Of course, the thought didn’t stop there. Your mind, unhelpfully, went a little further, wandering into territory that made your cheeks burn. How damn good he looked in his element, muscles flexing under the tank that clung to his chest, the confidence in every step he took. And how good it felt, how dangerously good it felt, knowing all that strength and focus was trained on keeping you safe.

And suddenly you were thinking about this strength that could carry you so easily. The way he could hold you up by the hips or shove you against the nearest wall like he had done so many times by now. If only he would just turn around, grab you by the hips and—

Heat crawled up your neck before you could shove these thoughts away. Distracted, you caught your boot on a gnarled root jutting out of the soil and stumbled forward with a soft yelp.

Quaritch’s hand shot out instantly, catching your arm and steadying you before you could face-plant into the dirt. His grip was firm and the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he gave you a look.

"Eyes on the ground, cherry," he drawled, voice low and amused.

You opened your mouth to stammer out an apology, or a half-hearted excuse for why your brain had decided to short-circuit, but before you could think of anything, your eyes catch on something behind him. Just past his shoulder, tangled around the base of a tree, was a flicker of soft blue pulsing light.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

"Wait, hold on," you gasped, eyes going wide as you wriggled out of his grip. The rush of excitement hit so fast you barely noticed the confused sound he made behind you as you practically bounced toward it.

There, coiling delicately through the roots and stretching toward the damp air, was the unmistakable shimmer of the lumafera you were so desperately looking for! The vine pulsed faintly with bioluminescence, its glow rhythmically dimming and brightening like a slow, steady heartbeat.

"Oh, finally!" you exclaimed happily, crouching low until your knees sank into the soft soil.

Behind you, Quaritch huffed out a breath, half amusement, half exasperation, as he shifted his stance and took up position a few feet away to stand guard.

"Alright, cherry, half an hour ‘til the lights go out," he called over his shoulder, "so better hurry that sweet ass up."

Kneeling down, you powered on your field scanner, humming softly as the screen flickered to life. Vines coiled lazily over the roots at your feet and you slipped your gloved fingers into the tangle, careful not to snap anything, before you ran the scanner along a thick stem.

"Yes, sir!"

— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —

It was hot as a whore in church in this goddamn jungle. As per usual.

Sweat was already sticking to his skin under his vest, rolling down his spine in a way that made him want to rip the whole damn uniform off and wring it out. Humidity sat thick in the air, like trying to breathe through a soaked towel and the buzzing insects sure as hell weren’t helping his mood either. Pandora always found new and creative ways to piss him off it seems.

Quaritch stood a few paces behind you, boots planted firm in the mossy ground, rifle slung loose but ready across his chest while his eyes swept the treeline.

He didn’t trust a single inch of this place.

Didn’t want to be here, either. He’d spent enough time in Pandora’s wild to know better than to go wandering around for fun. Jungle didn’t care if you were trained, armed or prayed to every god in the book, it would chew you up and spit you out with your ass backwards if you weren’t careful.

But then there was you, in your little nerd on safari tour outfit.

Crouched in the dirt, talking to that glowing vine like it was a damn house pet, face all lit up with that excited little spark you got when science-shit started making sense in your head and you got all the answers you were so desperately looking for.

It was cute, really. Even Quaritch couldn’t deny that.

Oh, you definitely needed him here. Who else would protect that sweet oblivious ass of yours out here if not him? You were so focused, so lost in your work, you didn’t even notice the sweat dripping off your temples or the way some mean neon colored bug nearly landed on your neck. He swatted it away before it got a chance, grumbling under his breath.

Quaritch had his fill of Pandora’s forests a lifetime ago and nothing about the place made him feel any friendlier toward it now. Still, if he had to be stuck in the middle of this humid nightmare with someone, it might as well be his little cherry. Better than babysitting the brats back at Bridgehead, that was for damn sure.

But God, time was crawling.

After what felt like twenty minutes, he checked his watch just to find that only three minutes had passed.

Quaritch sighed under his breath and started pacing behind you, slow circles in the clearing— five steps one way, turn, five steps back. Leaves crunched, a branch snapped under his boot. He circled again. Anything to keep himself from falling asleep where he stood.

Another glance at the watch. Two more minutes.

"You done yet?" he called over his shoulder, not really expecting an answer, because you were still humming to yourself as you poked and prodded at that vine. When you finally shook your head with a slightly delayed reaction, Quaritch rolled his eyes and made another loop, boots leaving a faint path in the moss from the constant pacing.

Guard duty was one thing. Guard duty while you happily talked to plants was another level of torture entirely.

Another few laps around the same patch of ground, and Quaritch was ready to claw his way out of his own skin. Watching your back while you whispered to glowing weeds was probably the most boring thing he had ever done in his entire life and also the one before that. But it was necessary to keep you safe, so he wouldn’t dare complain. Not yet, at least.

After a while his eyes drifted, scanning for anything remotely interesting, and then caught on a cluster of round, reddish-pink fruits drooping from a low branch a few yards away. About damn time something broke the monotony.

He shot a look toward you over his shoulder. Still kneeling, still murmuring into your recorder, still oblivious to the world spinning around you. Figures.

With a quiet huff, he wandered over to the branch, brushing aside a curtain of vines as he got closer. The fruits were smooth, slightly translucent and each one pulsed faintly with bioluminescent specks under the skin. This damn rock couldn’t just grow normal apples, no, everything had to glow or buzz in this freakish way that made his skin crawl.

Still, he reached out and prodded one with his finger. It was firm, springy and didn’t immediately try to melt his skin off. Good start.

He gave it another poke, watching it wobble, then closed his hand around it and plucked it free from the branch with a quick tug. It almost came off too easily for his liking. Earth produce at least put up a little resistance before you tore it from the stem. This thing practically volunteered.

Slinging his riffle from his chest over to his back, Quaritch slid his knife from its sheath. With a flick of his wrist, he cut into the fruit. The blade sank through with a soft, wet sound and the inside revealed itself in a shockingly bright pink, almost fluorescent, like someone had dyed it for a damn carnival.

He scrunched his nose at the sight.

"Jesus. That’s aggressive."

Back on Earth, fruit looked like fruit. Apples, peaches, oranges, simple and straightforward. They didn’t glow like that and rarely ever came in colors like this. Quaritch hadn’t even realized how much he missed the normalcy of biting into a crisp apple without wondering if it was something sacred the natives prayed to.

He held a small slice between his thumb and the flat of the knife, studying it. The juice glistened, and a faint, candy-sweet smell rose from the cut.

He sniffed it once, cautious but curious. Then, because boredom and stubbornness were a dangerous combination, he brought it to his mouth. The slice pressed between his lips and he let it sit on his tongue for a moment.

Sweet.

Weirdly sweet. Like someone had taken cotton candy, mixed it with a sugar coated cherries, then cranked the sugar up to eleven.

Definitely sweeter than any Earth fruit he’d ever had, but not in a bad way. Just… too much. Like one bite was fine, maybe two, but any more would make his teeth ache. But it was good enough for now.

Still chewing, the Colonel casted a glance back at you.

Instead of eyes narrowed in judgement, he found you still completely oblivious to what he’d just done. At the very least, you were finally rising to your feet, brushing soil off your knees with a grin so wide it could’ve powered the base’s generators. You looked proud and fulfilled, like you’d just solved three equations that had been haunting your dreams.

Hell, if that wasn’t satisfying to watch.

"Guessin’ you found what you were after," he said, tossing the remaining fruit behind a bush and wiped his hand on his vest.

You nodded enthusiastically, practically buzzing with energy. "Yes! I mean, maybe. I need to run the scans through the database, but this sample— this one wasn’t just reacting to light. I’m pretty sure it was signaling to another cluster. Like an actual exchange, Miles. Communication! That’s huge, oh, I can’t wait to tell the others! We have to come back here tomorrow."

Quaritch didn’t know jack shit about any of that plant gossip or vine Morse code or whatever the hell you were implying. Didn’t really care about it either. But the excitement in your voice was enough to tell him it must’ve been important to you. And if he learned something crucial over the past few months then it was, when you got that look, the universe had better step aside because you were coming for answers with teeth bared.

He jerked his chin toward the direction of the camp. "Good. You can brag about it once we’re back behind walls. Let’s move, sweet cheeks."

Boots sinking softly into the moss, you quickly fell into step beside him. As you walked, the forest dimmed around you, bioluminescence slowly beginning to spark to life in the underbrush.

Meanwhile, you were running your mouth without even pausing for breath, hands gesturing as if you were presenting to a damn lecture hall instead of hiking through a predator infested jungle. Words like "bioelectric currents," "root networking," and "signal relay pathways" were spilling out of you in one long, excited stream. A never ending waterfall of words he had no intention of even trying to understand.

Quaritch didn’t follow half of it and the half he did follow made his brain itch. He wasn’t here to unravel plant telegraph systems or whatever theory you were chasing. He was here to make sure nothing with teeth turned you into a chew toy.

Still, every few minutes, when your voice hit a certain pitch or you bounced on your heels at your own conclusions, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He’d never say it out loud, but there was something tolerable about your rambling. Almost —almost— enjoyable.

Didn’t change the fact that after ten straight minutes of listening, he rolled his eyes hard enough to see his own skull.

"Christ, kid," he finally muttered, stepping over a root. "Breath for a minute."

Either you didn’t hear him or you simply chose to ignore him, because the stream of useless information that poured out of you simply continued.

Up ahead, a curtain of fern-like leaves blocked the narrow path. You ducked toward it, ready to shove through, but he reached out first, grabbing a handful of the foliage and lifting it so you could pass under without getting a faceful of plants.

You slipped beneath his arm and for half a second, his eyes tracked the movement automatically. The swing of your hips, the way your gear shifted across your back. Completely normal for a soldier to notice terrain, footing, the person in front of them.

But his brain didn’t log it as tactical information. It logged it as something else entirely. How fucking perfect that sweet ass of yours looked in those tight pants, for example. Something in his fingers itched to reach out and touch what Quaritch knew damn well belonged to him anyways. Goddamn, had it been a while since he had last played with what was his…

A wave of heat rolled through him at that, settling thick beneath his skin. Felt like someone had lit a fire just right beneath his navel. He blinked, pulling in a breath that didn’t cool him down at all. The air was damp, sure, but it wasn’t this hot. Not a few minutes ago.

He tried to brush it off. Humidity, exertion, vest sticking to his back, heavy gear and pretty little lady with him in the jungle. Yeah, it made sense.

Still. Clenching his jaw, he gave his head a sharp shake as if he could knock these thoughts loose.

Focus. Eyes up, perimeter clear, watch for threats. This wasn’t the time or the place for his brain to go wandering where it damn well shouldn’t.

Quaritch wiped his palm across his forehead, irritated to find fresh sweat pooling along his hairline. It felt like someone had shoved him under a heat lamp. His tank still clung to his skin uncomfortably and he adjusted the rifle strap, rolling his shoulders. Christ, he was overheating.

He blamed the heat. Had to be the heat.

But the burn crawling across his skin lingered, stubborn and wrong. Even as the night air cooled and he reached the safety of their camp.

Back at the lab, a shower was the first order of business.

He felt sticky, grimy, and altogether contaminated by the jungle. Sweat and dirt had collected under his gear, turning his skin into a slick second uniform, and by the time he stripped it off he was pretty sure the inside of his vest could’ve grown its own ecosystem. Disgusting.

The showers here weren’t built for comfort, just a cramped metal stall with a timer that cut off after a few minutes, but hell, it was water and it wasn’t recycled through the same filter as the toilets. That was good enough.

He twisted the knob and stepped under the spray, letting out a low breath as the water hit his shoulders. The pressure wasn’t much, the temperature flickered between lukewarm and freezing, but the grime slid away in gray streaks. For a second, it helped. The heat eased, just barely. Then the timer beeped and the water cut off with a click that echoed too loud in the tiny space.

"Figures," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. Just two minutes in paradise was all the luxury one would get out here.

A towel slung over his shoulder, Quaritch made his way back to the barracks, a repurposed cargo module that smelled faintly of metal, detergent and too many bodies in too little air. The recoms didn’t get much in the way of luxury. Thin mattresses lined up in a row, one set of bunks squeezed into the corner.

Mansk and Wainfleet had called dibs on the bunk beds early, with Wainfleet already grumbling about the top bunk creaking. "Real professional setup," Mansk snorted, throwing himself down on the lower mattress. "What are we, ten?"

The beds were hard as rock, the blankets thin. Quaritch stretched out on his own mattress near the wall, hands folded behind his head, eyes tracing the rivets in the ceiling. If they’d packed the room any tighter, he thought, they’d be stacked like goddamn firewood.

He let out a huff. The air felt stale, hot. Even without his gear and most of his clothes, his skin still prickled with heat, the kind that stuck under the surface and refused to quit. Dizzy, maybe a little off balance. Probably the long day catching up to him.

"Sleep it off," he muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes.

Through the thin wall, he could hear faint shuffling and a door sliding shut, the scientists’ quarters next door. The nerds, of fucking course, got their own rooms, if you could even call them that. Little more than metal boxes with single bunks and just enough floor space to turn around without knocking into something. Cramped, but at least private.

Miles wondered if you were already asleep.

Probably. You’d worked yourself half to death over those damn glowing vines and knowing you, you’d crash the second your head hit the pillow. Then again, maybe you were up late, logging samples or writing notes like the perfectionist you were.

He shifted on the cot, exhaled through his nose.

Wondered if you’d taken a shower too.

Two minutes of cold water prickling down your skin, turning your pretty nipples into hard pebbles. Did goosebumps raise where your hands brushed soap over your skin? Quaritch swallowed thickly.

The heat just wouldn’t quit, crawling slow and stubborn beneath his skin, pulsing like it had a rhythm of its own until it reached his cock. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall and forced his eyes to keep shut. He was already half hard just thinking about you.

Two minutes would’ve been more than enough for you to rub yourself down, get your pretty ass squeaky clean. God, how bad he’d wanted to take a bite out of it earlier. You would’ve looked so good on your hand and knees before him in the jungle, his hands on either side of your hips, just pounding you into the dirt.

The image of your ass bouncing with every thrust made him think of the last set of Polaroids he’d received a while ago. Specifically the one where you had bend over your desk and spread yourself open for him, pretty pussy all soaking wet and the cute little heart shaped plug in your ass. The red one, of fucking course. Quaritch remembers the day he got back from his mission after that. Never before had he cleared a room full of scientists that quickly just to fuck you against the wall of the laboratory in the middle of the day.

He still grins when he thinks back to the way you scolded him afterwards for having to come up with a plausible explanation for why the Colonel wanted a private meeting with you right then and there.

Fucking hell.

With an irritating groan, Quaritch turned to lay on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling, willing his body to cool off. It didn’t. On the contrary, the heat under his skin even kept climbing in a way he knew had nothing to do with the room temperature. He kicked the blanket off, rolled over, rolled back again.

No, not happening. He couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t even think straight.

His mind drifted without permission, back to the showers, the sound of the pipes, the hiss of the water, the short sigh that always slipped out of you when the day finally caught up. He pictured you standing under the spray, hair plastered to your neck, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Water running down your navel, the curve of your hips, your tattoo. All the places his tongue had already explored, skin he’d soaked in cum or bruised with bites when he’d been too lost in the pleasure of your body. Those images hit harder than he expected and he let out a low curse, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Jesus, get a grip," he muttered.

The barracks were quiet except for the soft snoring from the bunks across the room and Mansk shifted, muttered something in his sleep. Quaritch sat up a little with a sigh, sweat beading at his temples before he finally pushed a hand past the waistband of his sweats.

He was fuckin‘ leaking, he noticed quickly. A filthy amount of pre-cum had already soaked his briefs, making his cock all slippery once he closed his fist around the head and stroked down to the base.

There’s a tightness, a throbbing warmth that swells inside him and it gets even worse when he starts stroking his cock to the thought of his sweet cherry.

— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —

Sleep came easy after a day like this.

The air in your room was cool enough to make you shiver, but you didn’t mind. Wrapped up tight in the thin standard-issue blanket, you were comfortable and cocooned. The low hum of the base’s power systems was steady and almost soothing and you were out cold the moment your head had touched the pillow.

The day had really wrung you out, but it had been so worth it. The image of that glowing vine still floated somewhere behind your eyelids and the thrill of it lingered too, that quiet satisfaction of having chased down a question and pinned it long enough to glimpse an answer.

And tomorrow would bring even more! More samples, more data, maybe even confirmation that you’d found something new. The thought made your chest tighten with a sleepy kind of excitement. You could almost feel the hum of the scanner in your hands again, hear the soft chime of the readings coming through.

Your notes from earlier that day mentioned a secondary cluster nearby, possibly fruit-bearing. That was next on your list. You’d read some old reports from Grace Augustine’s time, about the Na’vi using those fruits for ceremonial purposes, even calling them an aphrodisiac. Most of the science teams had dismissed that as myth, but you wanted to know what they actually did. What compound triggered that reaction? How did it affect their biochemistry?

The questions lined up neatly in your half-awake mind, answers waiting to be chased come morning. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips at that.

Distantly, you register movement. It slips into your half-dream like a ripple through still water. Your brow tightens, a faint furrow forming as the mattress gives beneath some new weight. You exhale, a soft sound, and your body shifts instinctively toward the disturbance instead of away from it.

The rustle of fabric follows, somehow muffled by the haze of sleep. You can’t tell if it’s you turning over or something else brushing against the sheets, but you’re too tired and too comfortable to care.

Then comes the warmth. At first it’s faint, easy to dismiss, just a change in the air, maybe. But it spreads slowly, soaking into your skin, climbing from your calves to your knees, up along your thighs in a way that feels achingly familiar and comforting. Your muscles loosen one by one, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding ebbing away.

The chill that had clung to the room fades. You breathe in, slow and deep, the corner of your mouth curving faintly in your sleep. The warmth feels good and you stretch your limbs to embrace it. You don’t know if it’s gravity or if it’s yourself doing it subconsciously, maybe even something else entirely, but your knees slowly fall open and a gentle breeze brushing over your body makes you shiver.

Suddenly there’s more warmth and it’s starting to bloom deep in your core. It builds and tingles and you spread your thighs wider as if to chase that sensation. You make a humming sound when warmth morphs into heat and when you’re slowly coming back to your senses, you notice that your breathing heavier than before.

Sleep still clings to your mind, trying to pull you back in, and you squeeze your eyes shut to drift back. But then something warm and wet slips through your folds and your back arches of the bed when it suddenly plunges into you without warning.

Your hands instinctively reach out and it’s only when a familiar soft stubble of hair glides between your fingers that you finally peel your eyes open.

"M-Miles?" You squeak, but the sound cuts off into a moan when his tongue slides out and glides over your sensitive clit. You feel dizzy.

"Well, look who’s finally up." Quaritch grins from between your thighs.

"What—", you want to sit yourself up on your elbows, but a big hand on your chest pushes you right down against the pillow.

"Easy, kid. It’s just me. Didn’t mean to spook ya." He murmurs and you notice that he sounds a bit out of breath. For a moment your brows furrow, but before you can take him in fully, his mouth is back on you again. Instantly, your hands clasp over your mouth to hide all these noises from escaping and possibly waking up the rest of the crew.

Miles was starving, it looked like. He was licking and sucking on you as if he were possessed by something, smothering his entire face between your thighs, not even caring for the fact that he couldn’t possibly be getting enough air into his lungs like this.

"O-H! M-Miles, what– what are you doing? We’re gonna wake the others!" You tried, barely able to lower your voice with how fiercely he was sucking on your clit.

"M‘sorry, cherry," you hear him murmur, his voice muffled against you. "Just couldn’t help myself here. You’re just too damn sweet, could smell ya‘ through the wall."

This time, you’re not prepared for the sudden suction on raw nerves created by his puckered lips, and you nearly cry out in surprise. It feels too good, too much, too hot, and he has your legs quivering in so little time that you almost question if this is even reality or if you’re still dreaming.

Your back would arch off the bed, if it weren’t for his hand keeping you in place. It felt like his tongue was everywhere at once, licking every inch of you, all those places that had your orgasm rushing forward and then shatter your entire being into a thousand pieces.

Once you feel your senses come back to you and you register the sound of Quaritch still slurping up your juices, your hands weakly find the stubble of hair on top of his head. Your fingers softly brush through them, before you find a good grip and gently tug him off of you.

You can tell Miles is not entirely pleased with being removed from the wonderful space between your thighs. There’s a scowl on his face, his eyebrows drawn tight, but other than the fact that the entire lower half of his face is dipping wet, you also notice his impossible wide blown eyes.

You frown. The hand that’s not in his hair cups his cheek, and you almost flinch away from the temperature of his skin.

"Oh my god, you‘re burning up," you whisper, half concerned, half still dazed from the intensity of your orgasm.

His breath comes rough, uneven, like he’s trying to wrestle it under control. For a second, he doesn’t answer, just closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, jaw flexing. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse, low.

"Yeah," he mutters, half a grimace, half a tired laugh. "Somethin’s off, alright. Feel like I’ve been sittin’ in a damn oven since we got back. Christ, I can’t even keep my hand off myself."

He shakes his head, dismissing the concern clearly written all over your face. "Don’t matter." A pause, softer this time, his eyes flicking toward you. "Ain’t what I’m worried about right now."

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off before you can find the words, voice rough but steady.

"Later," he says. "We’ll deal with it later. Can’t think straight with you here, cherry."

He exhales, the sound rough, shaky, almost a growl. The space between you narrows until you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and uneven. It sends a shiver through you that you try, and fail, to hide. His lips move from your navel, up your stomach, until he’s brushing your shirt up to lick a long teasing path over each nipple.

A shaky breath escapes you before the rational part of your brain finally kicks back in. The scientist in you claws its way to the surface, pushing past the confusion, the heat radiating off him, the way his words are starting to slur.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Miles— what did you eat today? Anything unusual? Did- Did you cut yourself, or get stung by something?"

He blinks at you, slow and unfocused, like it takes effort to piece the question together. "Nah," he mumbles. "Didn’t touch nothin’. Well—" A pause, and suddenly the world around you tilts. The next time you blink, he’s sprawled out in your entirely too small bed, with you straddling his hips. "Maybe that fruit."

Your stomach drops, and not just because his hands find your waist and he’s starting to move you on top of him. "F-Fruit?"

He nods, eyes half-lidded and focused only on the way he’s using you to grind his still clothed cock against your folds. "Yeah. Pink thing. Looked fine. Didn’t taste bad either." He gives a sluggish grin, almost proud of himself. "Kinda sweet."

For a second, you just stare at him, disbelief rooting you to the spot. You let him move you, the pleasure tingling in your clit when the hard seam of his pants brushes over it again and again. Then your voice comes out louder than you intend, a harsh whisper that cuts through the quiet room.

"You did what?"

He doesn’t even flinch. Just gives a lazy shrug, like it’s no big deal, eyes still glued to the way your arousal forms a wet patch on his fabric. "Relax, doc. I’m still breathin’, ain’t I?"

Of all the reckless, infuriating— he’d eaten an untested alien fruit without a second thought! Your mind races through the possibilities: toxins, hallucinogens, biochemical agents. Pandora’s plants weren’t harmless curiosities, they were unpredictable and—

"Wait," your blink. It was getting significantly harder for you to concentrate the harder he moved you over his cock, pushing you right against that throbbing bulge. "What…", your eyes flutter, "what color was it again?"

"Pink," he says finally, voice rough. "Bright damn pink inside. Like candy. Or your…"

His grin widens when his thumb brushes against your clit and he gently pushes its hood back to reveal the tiny wet nub.

You stare at him with crimson cheeks. "Pink."

"Yeah," he mutters. "Found it hangin’ off a branch near where you were pokin’ at those vines. Looked harmless enough."

And then it clicks.

The samples, the faint chemical traces you’d seen in the reports, the notes from Augustine’s old logs— the fruit. The one the Na’vi used in ritual contexts, the one they claimed "woke the blood."

Your heart lurches. "Oh god."

Finally, he looks up at you, confused. "What?"

"Miles, that wasn’t just some fruit. It’s— it’s bioactive. It messes with body chemistry. The Na’vi use it as a stimulant, an enhancer." All these words seem to do about nothing to him, so you roll your eyes and groan, "It’s an aphrodisiac!"

He blinks again, slow, as if your voice is coming from a long way off. "That so?"

"Yes, that so!" you snap in a half-whisper, frustration spilling over your worry. "You could’ve poisoned yourself or— or worse! We don’t even know what it might do to you!"

He gives a low, unfocused chuckle, head falling back against the wall. "Well," he breaths, "guess we’re about to find out."

Before you can contradict him, Quaritch already moves to unclasp his jeans. His hands move with an urgency you’ve never seen on him before. He might try to act as calm and collected as possible, but you could only guess how hard it must be for him to hold back in this moment.

His skin felt clammy and hot at the same time, which made you excuse the strong and desperate grip he had on your thighs once he’d managed to free his cock from his briefs and started moving you up and down his base, slowly lubing himself in your arousal. Like this, you felt every vein, every hard ridge and bump along his length.

"Christ, cherry", Miles was beginning to pant, "Been thinking about this sweet pussy for hours. You’re gonna be a good girl and ride me, yeah? 'Cause if I take the lead I’m gonna break more than just the bed."

Goosebumps made themselves known along your skin the faster he moved you along his cock, the glide growing more slippery and wet the more time passed. God, yes, you wanted that. But there was a crucial fact that you needed to remind him of…

"I- you know, we need…"

The Colonels hand wandered up your stomach and over your chest as you spoke, before it briefly closed around your throat. Not hard enough to squeeze, but enough to make you follow his lead and lean down where he caught your mouth in a rough, desperate kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips as he laid claim to them. Your surprised little yelp was lost between your mouths, and he devoured you until you nearly couldn’t breathe.

A soft click like the sound of a small bottle cap flipping open made you finally break the kiss.

"You took that with you?" You breathed softly as you stared at the familiar tiny bottle of lube in his hands over your shoulder. There was the faintest smile on your lips at the thought of him packing this with the handful of other belongings he usually bought on his missions.

"Figured I might want to bend you over a log or something sooner or later to celebrate your first mission." He grinned proudly.

Still straddling him, but with your chest flush against his now, Miles then began to spread a great amount of the clear liquid to your cunt. One hand on your ass spreading you open, while the other one teased your folds and circled your entrance.

You hissed softly when it touched your skin, too cold for your liking, but the uncomfortable sensation quickly faded into that warm, fuzzy feeling that melted the tension in your muscles away.

You could tell Miles was impatient, more than what was typical for him. His whole body looked coiled, tense, like he was just waiting for you to be loose enough so he could plunge his length into you, but he couldn’t stand the waiting part. The part that he was normally so much better at than you. Normally, he was your self-control.

But his pulse was still running too high, a faint sheen of sweat had gathered at his temples and he was muttering curses under his breath about how bad he needed you right now.

Once he’d deemed you ready enough to take him, you let him guide you until the thick head of his cock prodded at your entrance.

With a lot of concentration, you reach between your bodies and wrap dainty fingers around his base to keep him there, then carefully lower your hips.

You make a surprised sort of noise, a little gasp once the tip slips halfway inside, but Quaritch isn’t even looking at you. You’ve moved to squad over him, hands balancing your weight on his thighs behind you and he’s much too occupied with staring at the space where you’re connected, that he almost forgets to breath.

Carefully, you rock your hips, gasping for air when the movement sends a spark of pleasure and a little bit of familiar pain through you. And when you finally get the head inside and a couple of extra inches too, Quaritch clasps your mouth shut with one hand and slams you all the way down with the other one grasping your hip.

The moan that’s muffled by his hand is almost a scream, and your thankful he’s decided to be this mindful of the rest of the crew for once.

For a very long moment, it‘s quiet. There’s only the sound of his heavy breathing and your little pants muffled by his hand. Quaritchs chest is heaving, his eyes shut and his head resting on the pillow, just enjoying the feel of your walls softly fluttering around his cock. It must feel heavenly, like sweet relief he’s been waiting for too long now by the look on his face.

Even with that generous amount of lube that made your insides tingle, you still felt that familiar kind of stretch from having him fully inside of you. But it was the good kind, the one that made you feel warm and full paired with the way Quaritch was looking up at you now, it did made you feel powerful too.

His hands then both find your hips again, squeezing the soft flesh there and gently pulling you back and forth, moving you inch by inch.

"C‘mon, sweetheart," he purred in that low, gravelly voice, "I’m… losin’ my damn patience here."

Now that you’re looking at him like this, you notice how blown his pupils are. How much trouble he has just laying still, getting his breathing under control. How much sweat has gathered on his forehead. He looks about ready to come apart at the seams.

You don’t even mean to, but you involuntarily flex your pelvis as you put more weight on your feet and Miles groans a little too loud. His cock throbs heavily inside you as you lift yourself up and sink back down on his length slowly.

You feel every vein as you push yourself up and down his cock, slowly but steadily gaining rhythm. Rolling your hips, you let the tiniest whimper escape. It feels so good to have control of him like that, to push and move him right where it’s feels best, watching his dazed expression like a man drunk off the sight of your cunt swallowing him over and over again. Wet squelching sounds fill the silent space around you, but there’s nothing you can do to prevent this. You’re sweating too, and it feels so incredibly hot between your thighs, your wetness smearing everywhere, making it easier for you to fuck yourself on his cock.

But you can tell it’s not enough. The hands on your hips are slowly starting to bruise you, moving you just a little faster, a little harder. Soon, his hips are raising off the bed to follow your movement, until you’re not even moving at all and he’s just holding you there, thrusting into you from below.

His cock is hard as it drives into you, again, again and again, more moans spilling from your lips until it’s your own hands clasping your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

"Good girl, just like that." His voice was more breathy than commanding. You rocked your hips, alternating between fucking yourself with short, sharp thrusts, hardly moving on his cock at all, and rising in long, slow pulses, pulling him nearly all the way out of your body before slamming back down. In between, you closed your eyes so you could feel Miles below you, the flex of his thigh muscles, the roll of his own thrusts, the grind of his body against yours.

It went on and on, tongues soon sliding slickly over each other, hands clutching your bodies close, hungry, pleasured noises muffled by the press of mouth on mouth. Bodies tangled together, hips grinding, until you made a startled sound and came suddenly, your whole body locked tight trying not to make a sound.

"Atta’ girl," Quaritch managed between heavy pants, fingers brushing your jaw, hardly able to resist diving back into the kiss. "You're getting ahead of me, cherry."

Miles moved his lips from your lips over to your jaw, licked a spot on your neck, just below the curve of your jaw. You sighed and slid one hand into the back of his hair, raking your fingers against his scalp. He groaned at that and opened his mouth a little wider and bit down on the spot he had just licked. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsed so vividly it made your whole body shiver and you bit back a moan.

But it was so incredibly hard to keep quiet when he was suddenly slamming into you like a man possessed. Both of your bodies slick with sweat, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing through the small space.

"Fuck, yeah." Miles groans under his breath. "My little fuck toy, letting me use you like that. You like that, don’t ya‘ cherry?"

What is he even saying? God, you had no idea, the words were filtering through you until all you could pick out were bits and pieces, and he drives you down harder at "my little cockslut," while you’re shaking and whining in complete agreement.

"So good, you’re doing so good fr‘me. Making me feel so much better."

After these words, Miles didn't seem capable of going slow. He thrusted into you harder and harder, faster and faster, until you could only moan and push back into the thrusts, heat flaring within your body over and over again.

It seems like he wanted it to go on forever, the clinging friction of him pulling out of you, the rush of your body giving way before his thrusts.

He was loosing control, you could feel it.

Soon, your moans deepened, gaining a measure of desperation, probably matching Miles‘ own. The still rational thinking part of your brain was screaming at you to bite your tongue, so you lean over and burry your face in his shoulder, letting him fully take control.

And that’s when he lost it.

Hands squeezing the pillowy flesh of your ass, Miles used the newfound leverage to drive himself impossibly deeper inside you and then buried his face in your hair, while slamming his hips against you wantonly as he released all of his cum deep inside.

Quaritch’s entire body shook as he emptied himself inside of you, and you could feel it warming around you as his hips refused to stop moving, just using it to slick the way even further.

Blinding stars explode behind your tightly closed eyes as hot pleasure fills you to the brim, leaking out in thick spurts where his girth fills you.

The desperate urgency that wracked Quaritch seemed to ease the moment he came down from his pleasure high.

For a moment.

There's silence at first, broken only by harsh breaths. You feel kind of used and raw and open, and you know you’re going to have bruises on your hips from how hard he was gripping you there. Quaritchs come is starting to drip out of you in a way that's kind of squelchy and faintly disgusting, but every vein inside you thrums with satisfaction. Despite it all, you feel warm and content laying on him like this, his cock still inside you and…

"Miles," you slur later, when your brain and your body have reconnected and you feel movement between your thighs. Your brows furrow.

He‘s still… hard.

The tip of his cock is nested tight against your cervix in this position and you can feel it pulse, the hard length of him sliding just the tiniest bit back and forth, little rocking motions that you barely registered at first.

There's a beat that seems to go on forever before he replies, "again," short and quipped, like it takes effort to get the words out.

There’s a sudden shift in the air, his muscles going tight beneath you, coiling like something inside him snapped into motion. Before you can process it, his hands find your waist, his grip hot and unsteady, and in one swift, startling movement he rolls.

The world tilts.

You gasp as your back meets the mattress, your breath catching from surprise rather than pain. Miles ends up above you, braced on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you, his body trembling with the strain of even that small exertion.

His face hovers just inches above yours, breath warm and uneven across your cheek. His eyes are half lidded and focused on something, so you follow his line of sight to the space between your bodies. Swallowing thickly, you watch the way he slowly pulls his cock out of you, until it’s only the tip inside you. He’s entirely covered in slick and cum and the sight is beyond filthy, but then he groans and pushes himself right back in.

The movement makes a squelching noise and your thighs begin to shake when he repeats the motion, slowly, but rocking back deeper than before, knocking the wind right out of your lungs.

"Jesus fuck, you feel so good," he groans, pressing his hot forehead against yours. "One more time, cherry. You‘ll help me out one more time, won’t ya?"

He‘s not even waiting for a response. You’re both just watching, entirely transfixed, how he’s thrusting in and out of your pussy, more cum seeping out of you to make room for his cock.

That’s… not good.

The thought flickers through your mind even as you lie there beneath him, his heat soaking through you like a second pulse.

The fruits effects clearly haven’t died down.

Not even a little. A normal spike of heat should’ve faded by now. The chemical intensity should’ve tapered off. His body should be stabilizing, at least a little. But none of that is happening.

You thought the aphrodisiac characteristics would wear off after ejaculation, so why wasn’t he getting better? You should be worried.

Objectively, clinically— you are.

But then he shifts just enough for his forehead to rest against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin, his weight settling over you and he thrusts into you in that angle that makes your toes curl and you practically melt under him, and yeah.

Oh, yeah, you're definitely doing this again. And again. And again. In fact, you could envision quite a lot of again’s in the next couple of hours. And you absolutely don‘t have a problem with that. You‘re kind of looking forward to it, actually.

You’d get your answers. Tomorrow, or the next day, whenever his body stopped burning and his brain stopped swimming and he let you get more than six inches away from him.

For now, there was one thing you loved way more than getting an answer. And it was this.

His name was Five Hargreeves. 

He had six siblings. 

They had super powers. 

They were a team of superheroes formed by their father. 

When he first told you, you chuckled through the bandana over your mouth and nose, but he didn’t display the same humor. 

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Why would I not be?” 

“Well maybe you just went cuckoo here and made up some super stupid backstory!” You replied, pretty certain that he was just nuts. 

Then all of a sudden, he disappeared. 

You jumped at a flash of blue light that suddenly appeared next to you. When you looked back to the area where he was standing, he was gone. 

Looking around frantically, your eyes searched the dusty highway for any signs of him. But there was nothing. 

Was he even there to begin with? Was he just a figment of your overactive imagination? 

Your breathing grew heavy once again as you panicked, then suddenly that blue light and he was right back in his spot next to you, looking amused at your eyes that were wide with shock. 

“Maybe you’re the one who’s cuckoo,” he said with a smug voice. You punched him in the shoulder before the two of you continued walking. 

~~~~ 

His base was interesting, to say the least. 

He had found a building that had only remnants of its walls intact, no roof, and used tarps to makeshift a roof and to cover the enormous gaps in the concrete. 

It didn’t look trustworthy by any means, you’d probably be better off sleeping in cars like you’ve been doing for the past five years. 

He lifted one of the tarps covering a significantly large hole in the wall and crawled in, letting it fall on you as you follow in behind him. You scoffed as you followed his lead. 

He surprisingly had a good stash of resources. Several canned foods, boxes of pasta, and cases of water were stacked in a corner. A makeshift fireplace was in the middle, with a pot leaning next to the circle of rocks. 

There was a small space in the corner. It consisted of what looked like a bundle of tarps and ashy blankets and pillows. You knew whatever happened to the world pretty much converted everything to dust, but he must’ve found those in cars, which somehow withstood some of the fire.

Since you had been sleeping in cars, you collect a couple of sleeping supplies you had found over the years. Thank fuck people decided to road trip before they perished or else you would have frozen to death ages ago. 

You began unpacking your bag and wagon, but you could feel his eyes watching you intently. 

Once you got settled, you didn’t really know what to do to break the unnerving awkward silence, he just sat there staring. You would tell him to take a picture since that would last longer but you're pretty sure there were no surviving cameras in the apocalypse.

The sun had set about twenty minutes ago, leaving the base to get darker as night grew closer. 

He made his way over to the fire pit, and took out a lighter from one of his pockets. When he went to light the wood aflame, the lighter wouldn’t spark. He tried for a while until you couldn’t bear watching the pathetic scene anymore. You took one of the new lighters you had just grabbed today and handed it over to him. He scoffed and snatched it out of your hand, then lit the fire in one try before tossing it on the ground and quickly walking away. 

You were taken aback by his childish actions. Sure, he was alone for years and only had himself to rely on, but now you were here so he shouldn’t be this upset to ask for help with a simple task. 

“You know,” you started with an annoyed tone, “the only reason I’m here is so we can work together.” 

“I don’t need you or your help,” he snapped. 

You cocked your head, not offended but amused. You found his self-reliance ridiculous. 

Sure, it would’ve done him wonders if he truly was the only person on Earth, having no one but himself to rely on. 

But he wasn’t. 

And you sure as hell couldn’t go back to the way things were before. 

If the two of you had decided that you could continue to survive on your own once again, you would drive yourselves mad knowing that there was another human to talk to, that someone else was out there alive and that you weren’t alone. 

You had to stay together to keep yourselves sane. 

“Fine.” 

You had too long of a day to even bother arguing with him. He’d either get used to you or die trying. 

You got up from the dusty ground and tossed yourself on his soft makeshift bed, comfortably taking over. He groaned frustratingly loud, and he tossed his head back and walked outside to get away from the bothersome girl he now had to deal with. 

~~~ 

A few months had passed since Five had encountered the girl at the gas station. That was the last thing he expected when he went out for more supplies that day. 

He definitely never thought he would have to share his hard earned food supply, water supply, and base with her, but that’s exactly what happened. 

She was impossible. She was incredibly sarcastic. She was such a pain. 

And of course, she was a nobody. This meant whenever she got bored of staring into her gross canned beans during those nights by the fire, she would ask about his past. 

He had already told her everything she needed to know, but she kept prying about how he got here, what life was like as a superhero, how his family was. At first, he would ignore her, or at least change the topic to distract her empty mind, but eventually he decided he could tell her little by little. He didn’t trust her, but he knew she wouldn’t try to kill him again. 

Initially, he wasn’t thrilled about being stuck with a girl. He was focused on survival, and his alone. But he quickly realized she was incredibly capable of surviving in this long gone world. Hell, she could’ve shot him dead that first day, yet she didn’t. 

He had been faced with the barrel of a gun several times in his life, yet he’d never felt the way he had when his life rested in the twitch of your finger. 

Your anger did something to him. He blamed it on his teenage hormones, but he couldn’t get enough of when you would pounce at him with a clenched fist. He enjoyed bumping into you purposefully, tripping you, picking you up just to toss you away from him. His constant scowl only hid his raging smirk every time you would get up close, letting him see every detail of your face, how your pupils dilated with intense anger, just to yell about how selfish he was, knowing you were just as guilty. 

If surviving on your own in the end of the world wasn’t hard enough, providing for two was nearly impossible. You had to be extremely cautious about your rations, conserving your intake only to what was deemed necessary. Oftentimes, the two of you would steal from each other when no one was watching, which would piss them off horribly, leading to even more fights. If starvation didn’t kill you, your deadly attitudes would. 

Your tempers had gone through the roof once you started living together. 

Walking away from a fight would call for a knife to be thrown at you behind your back. A snarky comment would result in a hand coming in and punching over your meal. 

While neither of you were going out of your way to deliberately kill the other, you sure wouldn’t mind if it accidentally happened. 

When the nights got colder, and autumn turned to winter, the wind would pick up, making it extremely difficult for the tarps to trap any heat into the base. No matter what the two of you did, the constant flapping drove you insane, and you had already been ticked off when he ignored every single idea you had. His bright idea of just stretching the tarp tight enough over the biggest gap in the whole base led to it ripping right in half, letting the winds fly in with no other tarp big enough to replace it. 

“Great job, you dumb fuck,” you muttered as you turned to the fire, which was too small for its warmth to be felt from the beds. 

Your nose felt like it was about to fall off, your fingers felt like nothing, and your lips were blue. You had put on every layer you could find and it still wasn’t enough. Surely, this was the harshest winter you’d experienced in the apocalypse. 

You had usually been fine sleeping in cars, but every single one within a mile radius had been completely destroyed. The two of you would let out your violent rage on the vehicles rather than each other. 

Five had stared at you from his spot by the hole in the wall, snowflakes freckling his face, holding the remains of the tarp. He did his best to cover as much as he could with the pieces then made his way over to you. He noticed how red your cheeks were, and how pale the rest of you was. You had sat down by the fire and dropped your chin between your knees. 

“We’re not surviving this winter,” you said solemnly. You weren’t necessarily giving up, you would still do what you could, but you had little hope in yourself. Morale was hard to build these days, especially when all you wished was to throw yourself into the fire for even a moment of warmth. 

For Five, giving in to the cold wasn’t an option. Not in the slightest. 

He had an idea, maybe a bold one, but if it meant living to see another spring then he would do it. He walked over to the bed and grabbed as much as he could grab. The tarps, blankets, and pillows stuffed under his arms until he couldn’t fit anymore, and he dropped them right next to you by the fire and started laying them out. 

You lifted your head up slightly and displayed a curious arch in your brow as you watched him remake his bed on the ground. The idea was so obvious you cursed yourself for not thinking of it first. 

As you were getting up to grab your bed supplies, a freezing hand pulled you back down and into him. You caught your balance with your hand on his jacketed shoulder, “What the hell?-” 

“Just listen to me,” he cut you off, “The only way either of us is gonna last the night is if we use our body heat. The fire’s going to help but it won’t be enough.”

You scowled, was that seriously the only option? 

Instead of letting you take your sweet time to contemplate whether or not it was worth it to cuddle with him for your life, he tugged you into him and laid down with you. 

His arms wrapped around your front as he held you against his chest, and holy fuck, it felt as if you had been leaning against a furnace. His heat warmed you up quickly, and you brought a blanket up to your chin to keep that heat locked in. 

The proximity of the two of you was what kept you from falling asleep immediately. His chin resting in your neck made you feel something you didn’t want to admit you felt about Five. His arms around your waist made you want him to move his hands just a little bit lower. 

You had an idea that could get you killed. 

While pretending to adjust and get comfortable, you gently grinded your ass against him, trying to get a reaction. 

Immediately, you could feel his arms tighten around you, and a bulge was already pressing into you. 

He leaned closer to your ear and growled quietly, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

You turned your neck to look at him, performing with the sweetest eyes you could display, “Just getting comfortable.” 

Your lips were inches away from his, yet neither of you made a move to close the gap. Five still looked at you with skeptical eyes even though he knew exactly what you had planned. 

Once you moved your hips again, a little harder, he pressed his face into your shoulder as he sighed and repeated the action. 

You let out a quiet groan, enjoying the pressure, yet you brought the blanket up over your mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

He picked up his pace, lowering his hands to hold your hips firm, rolling them against his. The blush on your face grew even more red, and you could feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead. 

His grip was tight, his groans were getting louder, and it felt like you really had frozen to death because this felt like heaven. 

His hand crawled through your layered sweatpants as he reached between your legs. As his cold fingers reached the spot you needed him most, you almost cried out, desperately needing the pressure. 

His other hand moved from your waist, traveled under your sweatshirts, and found its place on your breast. The freezing touch had such a strong sensation, and the pressure felt so good. 

“Please,” you let out, knowing you’d be kicking yourself later for sounding so painfully desperate, “I need more.” 

He moaned in your ear as his bulge pushed harder against you, “We can’t.” 

“Please,” you pleaded, as his fingers circled your clit.

God, you felt pathetic but it felt so good. 

He groaned as he gathered your wetness. 

“It isn’t safe,” he said, disappointed at the fact that you just couldn’t risk that in the apocalypse. 

Before you could beg, he plunged his long fingers into you, soft moans spilling from your throat at the motions. 

His actions grew faster and so did his panting, you knew he was getting close and you were too. 

You turned your neck to face him, looking up at his flush face. He met your dazed eyes, admiring how your face glowed with pleasure. His eyes locked onto your lips as he moved closer and captured them with his. 

Moaning into each other's mouths was just too much for you both, as he came in his sweatpants as you came around his fingers. He let you both ride out your highs before he gently pulled out his fingers. 

He looked at you unusually sweetly, and as you turned to ask what that face was about he shoved his fingers into your mouth, sliding your juices onto your tongue, letting you taste yourself. 

You were surprised initially and groaned at the action, then bit his fingers which caused him to scowl and quickly pull them out. 

“This doesn’t change anything.” 

“Of course not.” 

~~~

The Apocalypse was over and Five Hargreaves did what he did best, drink and cope. The first few weeks of freedom he tried things he had missed early on in his childhood. It started when Viktor took him shopping for a new, more appropriate wardrobe, that someone who looked his age would wear. Then he would often visit the park just to admire the beauty of places that were once a baron landscape. And sometimes he just spent his time reading catching up on what he missed in the last few years.

But old habits die hard when you spend 54 years alone and the next 2 weeks desperate to save yourself and save your family. Maybe Klaus was right when he called the apocalypse his drug because, for a while, it was all he’d ever know.

Five hadn’t slept well in a long time and despite his newfound freedom without the looming feeling of impending doom. He would find himself waking up at 4 am to check his window and just to see if everything was real.

The Academy had been empty for a bit, the first week his family had stayed back to collect themselves, celebrate, and appreciate one another but slowly their lives fell back into place. Allison went back to Claire wanting to get back her career and her daughter back. Luther wanted to find his independence and took a small helping from his inheritance to live on his own. Diego and Lila had also moved out in hopes of continuing to grow their relationship and perhaps find happiness in normalcy. Viktor, now confident in himself wanting to explore the world more began traveling and meeting new people. To Five it felt like everyone had moved on, except him. He had been the one to jump through time, and now he felt like he was stuck in it.

However this morning, his silent coffee and breakfast time was interrupted but a surprisingly sober Klaus barging through the door with a girl no taller than 5’3 who looked as if she had been dragged through the mud and a forest in his arms.

“I didn’t know where to bring her she ran into me frantic and couldn’t speak much,”

“There wasn’t anyone chasing her so I have no idea where she came from and she’s in pretty bad shape.”

Klaus looked panicked, he felt bad for the beat-up girl in his arms but what could he do besides bring her to the place he knew could help her best.

Grace and Pogo immediately took action, bringing the girl into the spare room to care for her wounds.

“What makes you think you can just bring random people in here? She could be dangerous?”

Five arched his eyebrow at Klaus’s behavior. He wasn’t a trusting man but he trusted his brother’s intuition and the girl genuinely looked like she needed help.

“I couldn’t just leave her on the road. I’m not a bad person Five. There’s something different about her I swear.”

Five looked distrustful at what his brother was saying.

“Well, we’ll just have to see when she wakes up.”

The two went back to doing their own things in the Academy waiting for you to wake up.

————————-3 days later————————

The sun shone brightly in the room you stayed at. Your eyes slowly opened, blinking harshly to adjust to the shining light. You had no idea where you were, this new place was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. Warm wood furniture decorated the walls, and the mattress you slept on seemed more comfy, soft, and warmer than your old hay-filled cot. Unsurprisingly your wounds ached but were clean nevertheless. You jumped when the door swung open to reveal a monkey? no an ape? in a suit. "Ah you're finally awake, Ill let the others know"

"I am Pogo by the way, please rest, we don't want your stitches reopening." Maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to you, but you listened to his words and laid back, staring at the large high ceilings waiting to see if whoever brought you here would be like your old doctors. Back downstairs Pogo noticed Five pacing around in the living room. "Any troubles worrying you?" "Yes that girl, I can't find any information about her, she had no ID, no name card, I even looked around the area trying to track back where she came from, and nothing." Five glanced around, more cautious of his surroundings

"What if the commission sent her?" "This is not good, not good at all"

And with a quick turn, he teleported to the room of which his unwelcome guest occupied. A flash of blue interrupted your daydreams when a boy about your age in a green flannel, cargo pants, with slightly long side parted hair entered your space. Besides appearing out of nowhere he looked almost normal, but that didn't stop you from being scared. Shivering you pushed yourself back on the bed as far as you could to try to get away from him. Sensing your fear Five held out his hands as a way to show you some form of peace. Lowering one hand he slowly approached you. But the closer he came the farther back you shuffled. Something wasn't right Five thought. You were terrified of him, what had happened to you to cause you to be in such a state.

Hey Im not going to hurt you, I don't know who you are but Im not going to hurt you." Five could see that you weren't budging so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hazelnut toffee-flavored candy. He wasn't a big fan of sweets but had kept some from his last visit to a local coffee shop. "Here you must be a little hungry, it's good to see." He popped it in his mouth to show her that it was safe, not a trick. Slowly you reached out and touched his hand, grabbing the little treat, unwrapping it before letting the gooey sweet melt on your tongue. Five smiled at your reaction. "See? It was good." He thought you looked adorable with big doe eyes waiting to see if he had any more. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out another handle full of candies. "Ill give you one each time you answer a question. Can you do that for me?" You nodded slowly. "Okay, can you tell me your name?" "Angel" you pointed to yourself "Five" you pointed to him. You had heard Klaus shouting his name when you entered the house. "Angel? Do you have a last time?" "Five. Five Hargreeves" He pointed to himself. "Angel" You repeated. Okay maybe you didn't have a last name that was fine, at least he had gotten a name. He gave you another candy and watched you excitedly open it. "Okay Angel, another question where did you come from? Who or what were you running from?" "Doctor" you responded looking down. "What Doctor? What did he do to you." You felt like you should have known better than to trust the boy in front of you, but he looked so earnest so sweet, that you decided to show him your secret. Opening your fist a ball of shadows appeared in your hand before you tossed it into the air letting whatever light was in the room dissipate. Five knew what this had suggested. Whoever took you, held you captive, and experimented on you. Perhaps they were trying to make you into one of the unlucky 43. Another candy was handed to you.

“Show me more” Five demanded. You blinked at him slowly before he put another candy in your hand. “Show me.”

You looked at him and brought both your hands up into the air. He watched shadows run from the ground into the room and swirl around you. It appeared you could summon shadows at your will and control them.

“Good girl” and another candy as placed in your hand. "Tell me, Angel, do you know where or who it was? Do you know the name of the commission?" You stared at him blankly not understanding what he said. Before Five could ask any more questions Klaus had burst through the door. "My Angel! You are okay !" As he rushed towards you to grab your face. Stunned you jolted back from his presence. "Angel, that's why she called herself that, it's not her name, it’s what you called her!" Five went to smack Klaus in the back of the head when his hand was stopped by a shadow. "No hurt, Klaus friend" With heart eyes, Klaus dove into Angel's arms "LOOK AT MY ANGEL PROTECTING ME!!" With the gentleness of a newborn deer, Angel reached out to Klaus with a small sweet in her hand. "Candy?" "For me? Of course, Angel thank you!" Rolling his eyes at the scene Five teleported to his room to think. Where had this girl come from she had no name could barely speak and had a dark power with unknown consequences. Angel clad in Umbrella Academy uniform, and Klaus were in the living room when a flash appeared in the doorway. "Cinco! Where are you off to?" "Library I need to do some research." But just before he would reach for the doorknob a body was flung into his back. "Here take Angel with you, she needs a new set of clothes, can't have her wearing this uniform, you know all about that wouldn't you?" Klaus said as he shoved Angel forward. "I don't have time, I'm not a babysitter." Five expressed as he grabbed your arms and pushed you back. "Five...mad?" You looked up at Five with tears in your eyes. Reaching out to his face with his hand you softly pet his cheek. "Five...happy. Happy"

The time travelers face softened at the kindness you showed while trying to console him.

“I’m sorry Angel, yes Five is happy. Come on let’s go.”

He grabbed your hand ignoring the feeling of his heart when your soft skin wrapped around his.

————————-In the Car—————————

“Alright Angel, as cute as you look in the uniform we have to get you some normal clothes.”

Five looked over at you, but you were looking out the window. His green eyes passed over the cuts on your legs and the faint but visible bruises on your neck. It wondered him how someone could do this to you, turn a girl who seemed like an Angel into a shadow user. He parked the car at Gimble's before flashing to your side of the door to open it, Five was still a gentleman after all. "Okay now Angel, we're here to buy you some new clothes." You nodded your head to show you understood him and hopped out of the car excited to see the world around you. Being locked up for so long you had forgotten what the outside world looked like. Today the sky was blue with warm gusts of winds filling the air. People and families were seen chattering about. You reached out to grab Five's arm and pulled him closer to the store. Five chucked at your childlike antics, letting himself be whisked away by you. You dragged him to the dress section; some of the kinder doctors had given you books to look at to pass the time, many of them being princess books. There were cute frilly dresses that caught your eye immediately. Rushing forward you grabbed 3 dresses that might have suited you. With a sigh Five grabbed your shoulders wanting to tell you to go find some more practical everyday clothes. But after seeing the glimmer in your eye as if you found the most priceless thing...he couldn't bear take that away from you. "Come on Princess, let's go try them on." He ushered you to the changing room and waited outside. As he turned his back you grabbed his hand, but Five had yanked it back at the unexpected contact. He wasn't completely used to physical touch yet.

Ignoring this you grabbed his hand once more and tried to take him into the dressing room with you. "No Angel I can't go with you, just put on the dresses inside and Ill wait out here."

You had refused to let go of his hand. With another sign he allowed himself to be pulled into the confined space of the changing room. You quickly shimmied out of the uniform skirt and tie throwing it into a random corner. Five's face turned a deep scarlet red, although he was an older man the sight of your small and barely clothes body was enough to make him shift in his pants. Before he could embarrass himself any further he blinked out into the waiting room fanning his face as if he ran a marathon. There were small warning signs in his brain, don't get too attached, she doesn't know better, please don't get a boner right now. Trying to collect himself he put his hands in his face wanting to be anywhere but here right now. You interrupted his train of thought when you came out bouncing with a big smile on your face. The dress you picked out was a cute white summer dress that was white had thick straps tied on your shoulders. The skirt part stopped right above your knees and flared out with a twirl. You looked absolutely adorable, an Angel who wielded the power of a devil. "You look...beautiful" Five muffled through his hand. "Beautiful?" You questioned. "Yes you, Angel, you are beautiful." And as if your smile couldn't get any bigger, you ran and jumped into Five, his arms slowly wrapping around your frame to prevent you from falling.

"Five! Beautiful!" You smiled and pointed at him. Your fingers had graced his cheeks into a smile. Pointing at his dimple "Five! Beautiful" you repeated. "Oh, you think I'm beautiful Angel?" Five couldn't help but also feel happy and continue smiling, something about you felt like a breath of fresh air. His last few weeks had been nonstop paranoia and feeling the effects of an identity crisis, but hearing your laughter and seeing you call him beautiful, it felt as if he was actually living again. However, that didn't stop the nagging fear in the back of his mind of where you came from and what had happened to you. Perhaps it was the assassin in him that just couldn't let him...enjoy a moment. "Come on Angel, let’s get the rest of the dresses and pay. We need to head to the library before it closes." You nodded your head and skipped off to grab the rest of your dresses and clothes. You and Five stood at the cashier waiting to pay. "That will be 45.78." Five pulled out a 50 and felt your head lean on his shoulder. "Five, thank you." You looked up at him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. As he was retrieving his change you leaned up and placed your soft lips on the corner of his mouth. "Five happy?" He looked down at you and blushed "Yes Five is very happy." ————————The Library—————————- You were sat in Five's lap flipping through a picture book while he was doing research. Unfortunately, there was almost no information about any kind of suspicious activities in the area where they had found you or even how you even got to the city. Five had to expand his research on places that might have to do with experimental tests but with so little access he was found himself at a dead end. "Nothing! Absolutely Nothing!" Five yelled before slamming his notebook on the table. You jumped in his lap and covered your ears, eyes filling with heavy teardrops waiting to fall. "Shit Angel Im sorry come here." He cooed wrapping his arms around you for the fourth time today. Five pressed a kiss to the top of your hair and inhaled slowly. You smelt like a blooming meadow and a hint of cinnamon. Closing his eyes he rested his head on yours. It wasn't been often when he felt a peace like this, heck he didn’t even remember the last time he felt calm, other than when he was drinking or passed out after a mission. Your eyelashes fluttered on his neck as you began to press small kisses on his jawline. "Come on Angel what are you doing?" "Make Five happy. Kiss you" You mumbled and continued leaving marks on his neck and jaw. Five clenched his fists around you "Angel if you keep this us I'm not going to be able to hold back." Five groaned as he pulled you closer into his lap. And with his last bit of resolve, he blinked you guys back into the car. "Come on Angel let's go home." He kissed your cheek slightly to assure you he wasn't mad and drove the two of you back. ————————the academy———————--- "Mi hermano and Angel ! You guys are back" Klaus shouted from the couch he was currently lying on. You ran into the living room jumping in front of Klaus to show off your dress.

"My cutie Angel! You look so pretty!"

Klaus then swept you off your feet and into a fit of giggles. Five, who had been observing the scene from the bar was actively trying to fight off the green monster that was creeping up his heart. "Leave her alone Klaus we had a long day. Come on Angel let's have your shower and get ready for bed." It was obvious you needed to be cared for and Five had already begun to assume the role. Pulling out some extra pajamas Five had in his wardrobe he handed them to you before showing you the bathroom. "Shower here and come back to my room when you are done okay?" You nodded back and went into the bathroom. With a sign Five flopped on his back in bed wondering more about you. How could someone he just met cause him to feel such a way? Maybe it was his messed up time-traveling brain that was causing these emotions but deep down he knew he had a hidden attraction to you. He began to think more about your powers. You couldn't be part of the 43 because you were too young but you also showed an understanding of your abilities and more control than Viktor did when he first found out about his. Five would have to talk to you after you shower about your abilities. Small footsteps padded outside his room before stopping. The door swung open and there you stood wrapped in only a small towel Grace had given you. Five green eyes turned wide as you skipped into his room.. You had turned to grab the pajamas he had left you on the bed and dropped your towel. Five sat up instantly, his eyes wandered over the curve of your breasts and the plumpness of your backside. Being in the apocalypse and focused on getting back home to his family never allowed him much time for romance or women, besides Delores. You stood up as bare as the day you were born, nipples perked up at the cold air and you put the silk top and bottom on. Now properly clothed you turned to Five who was staring at you with eyes that rivaled a burning sun. In a blink, he was in front of you grabbing your waist with such a force it felt like you would disappear if he let go. Bringing his lips to your neck he kissed gently and dragged his face to meet your eyes. Soft despreate lips met plump shy ones as you and Five melted into each other. The kiss grew hungry, more desperate, both parties missing the feel of one another. The two of you fell back onto the bed with Five on top of you. Two souls both isolated from the world finally finding solstice in one another. All the questions Five had for you were gone from his mind, the only thing replacing it was the thought of how your body felt against his. A small hand reached into the front of Five's pants. "I want to help Five" You had whispered into his ear. It was going to be a long night.

His name was Five Hargreeves. 

He had six siblings. 

They had super powers. 

They were a team of superheroes formed by their father. 

When he first told you, you chuckled through the bandana over your mouth and nose, but he didn’t display the same humor. 

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Why would I not be?” 

“Well maybe you just went cuckoo here and made up some super stupid backstory!” You replied, pretty certain that he was just nuts. 

Then all of a sudden, he disappeared. 

You jumped at a flash of blue light that suddenly appeared next to you. When you looked back to the area where he was standing, he was gone. 

Looking around frantically, your eyes searched the dusty highway for any signs of him. But there was nothing. 

Was he even there to begin with? Was he just a figment of your overactive imagination? 

Your breathing grew heavy once again as you panicked, then suddenly that blue light and he was right back in his spot next to you, looking amused at your eyes that were wide with shock. 

“Maybe you’re the one who’s cuckoo,” he said with a smug voice. You punched him in the shoulder before the two of you continued walking. 

~~~~ 

His base was interesting, to say the least. 

He had found a building that had only remnants of its walls intact, no roof, and used tarps to makeshift a roof and to cover the enormous gaps in the concrete. 

It didn’t look trustworthy by any means, you’d probably be better off sleeping in cars like you’ve been doing for the past five years. 

He lifted one of the tarps covering a significantly large hole in the wall and crawled in, letting it fall on you as you follow in behind him. You scoffed as you followed his lead. 

He surprisingly had a good stash of resources. Several canned foods, boxes of pasta, and cases of water were stacked in a corner. A makeshift fireplace was in the middle, with a pot leaning next to the circle of rocks. 

There was a small space in the corner. It consisted of what looked like a bundle of tarps and ashy blankets and pillows. You knew whatever happened to the world pretty much converted everything to dust, but he must’ve found those in cars, which somehow withstood some of the fire.

Since you had been sleeping in cars, you collect a couple of sleeping supplies you had found over the years. Thank fuck people decided to road trip before they perished or else you would have frozen to death ages ago. 

You began unpacking your bag and wagon, but you could feel his eyes watching you intently. 

Once you got settled, you didn’t really know what to do to break the unnerving awkward silence, he just sat there staring. You would tell him to take a picture since that would last longer but you're pretty sure there were no surviving cameras in the apocalypse.

The sun had set about twenty minutes ago, leaving the base to get darker as night grew closer. 

He made his way over to the fire pit, and took out a lighter from one of his pockets. When he went to light the wood aflame, the lighter wouldn’t spark. He tried for a while until you couldn’t bear watching the pathetic scene anymore. You took one of the new lighters you had just grabbed today and handed it over to him. He scoffed and snatched it out of your hand, then lit the fire in one try before tossing it on the ground and quickly walking away. 

You were taken aback by his childish actions. Sure, he was alone for years and only had himself to rely on, but now you were here so he shouldn’t be this upset to ask for help with a simple task. 

“You know,” you started with an annoyed tone, “the only reason I’m here is so we can work together.” 

“I don’t need you or your help,” he snapped. 

You cocked your head, not offended but amused. You found his self-reliance ridiculous. 

Sure, it would’ve done him wonders if he truly was the only person on Earth, having no one but himself to rely on. 

But he wasn’t. 

And you sure as hell couldn’t go back to the way things were before. 

If the two of you had decided that you could continue to survive on your own once again, you would drive yourselves mad knowing that there was another human to talk to, that someone else was out there alive and that you weren’t alone. 

You had to stay together to keep yourselves sane. 

“Fine.” 

You had too long of a day to even bother arguing with him. He’d either get used to you or die trying. 

You got up from the dusty ground and tossed yourself on his soft makeshift bed, comfortably taking over. He groaned frustratingly loud, and he tossed his head back and walked outside to get away from the bothersome girl he now had to deal with. 

~~~ 

A few months had passed since Five had encountered the girl at the gas station. That was the last thing he expected when he went out for more supplies that day. 

He definitely never thought he would have to share his hard earned food supply, water supply, and base with her, but that’s exactly what happened. 

She was impossible. She was incredibly sarcastic. She was such a pain. 

And of course, she was a nobody. This meant whenever she got bored of staring into her gross canned beans during those nights by the fire, she would ask about his past. 

He had already told her everything she needed to know, but she kept prying about how he got here, what life was like as a superhero, how his family was. At first, he would ignore her, or at least change the topic to distract her empty mind, but eventually he decided he could tell her little by little. He didn’t trust her, but he knew she wouldn’t try to kill him again. 

Initially, he wasn’t thrilled about being stuck with a girl. He was focused on survival, and his alone. But he quickly realized she was incredibly capable of surviving in this long gone world. Hell, she could’ve shot him dead that first day, yet she didn’t. 

He had been faced with the barrel of a gun several times in his life, yet he’d never felt the way he had when his life rested in the twitch of your finger. 

Your anger did something to him. He blamed it on his teenage hormones, but he couldn’t get enough of when you would pounce at him with a clenched fist. He enjoyed bumping into you purposefully, tripping you, picking you up just to toss you away from him. His constant scowl only hid his raging smirk every time you would get up close, letting him see every detail of your face, how your pupils dilated with intense anger, just to yell about how selfish he was, knowing you were just as guilty. 

If surviving on your own in the end of the world wasn’t hard enough, providing for two was nearly impossible. You had to be extremely cautious about your rations, conserving your intake only to what was deemed necessary. Oftentimes, the two of you would steal from each other when no one was watching, which would piss them off horribly, leading to even more fights. If starvation didn’t kill you, your deadly attitudes would. 

Your tempers had gone through the roof once you started living together. 

Walking away from a fight would call for a knife to be thrown at you behind your back. A snarky comment would result in a hand coming in and punching over your meal. 

While neither of you were going out of your way to deliberately kill the other, you sure wouldn’t mind if it accidentally happened. 

When the nights got colder, and autumn turned to winter, the wind would pick up, making it extremely difficult for the tarps to trap any heat into the base. No matter what the two of you did, the constant flapping drove you insane, and you had already been ticked off when he ignored every single idea you had. His bright idea of just stretching the tarp tight enough over the biggest gap in the whole base led to it ripping right in half, letting the winds fly in with no other tarp big enough to replace it. 

“Great job, you dumb fuck,” you muttered as you turned to the fire, which was too small for its warmth to be felt from the beds. 

Your nose felt like it was about to fall off, your fingers felt like nothing, and your lips were blue. You had put on every layer you could find and it still wasn’t enough. Surely, this was the harshest winter you’d experienced in the apocalypse. 

You had usually been fine sleeping in cars, but every single one within a mile radius had been completely destroyed. The two of you would let out your violent rage on the vehicles rather than each other. 

Five had stared at you from his spot by the hole in the wall, snowflakes freckling his face, holding the remains of the tarp. He did his best to cover as much as he could with the pieces then made his way over to you. He noticed how red your cheeks were, and how pale the rest of you was. You had sat down by the fire and dropped your chin between your knees. 

“We’re not surviving this winter,” you said solemnly. You weren’t necessarily giving up, you would still do what you could, but you had little hope in yourself. Morale was hard to build these days, especially when all you wished was to throw yourself into the fire for even a moment of warmth. 

For Five, giving in to the cold wasn’t an option. Not in the slightest. 

He had an idea, maybe a bold one, but if it meant living to see another spring then he would do it. He walked over to the bed and grabbed as much as he could grab. The tarps, blankets, and pillows stuffed under his arms until he couldn’t fit anymore, and he dropped them right next to you by the fire and started laying them out. 

You lifted your head up slightly and displayed a curious arch in your brow as you watched him remake his bed on the ground. The idea was so obvious you cursed yourself for not thinking of it first. 

As you were getting up to grab your bed supplies, a freezing hand pulled you back down and into him. You caught your balance with your hand on his jacketed shoulder, “What the hell?-” 

“Just listen to me,” he cut you off, “The only way either of us is gonna last the night is if we use our body heat. The fire’s going to help but it won’t be enough.”

You scowled, was that seriously the only option? 

Instead of letting you take your sweet time to contemplate whether or not it was worth it to cuddle with him for your life, he tugged you into him and laid down with you. 

His arms wrapped around your front as he held you against his chest, and holy fuck, it felt as if you had been leaning against a furnace. His heat warmed you up quickly, and you brought a blanket up to your chin to keep that heat locked in. 

The proximity of the two of you was what kept you from falling asleep immediately. His chin resting in your neck made you feel something you didn’t want to admit you felt about Five. His arms around your waist made you want him to move his hands just a little bit lower. 

You had an idea that could get you killed. 

While pretending to adjust and get comfortable, you gently grinded your ass against him, trying to get a reaction. 

Immediately, you could feel his arms tighten around you, and a bulge was already pressing into you. 

He leaned closer to your ear and growled quietly, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

You turned your neck to look at him, performing with the sweetest eyes you could display, “Just getting comfortable.” 

Your lips were inches away from his, yet neither of you made a move to close the gap. Five still looked at you with skeptical eyes even though he knew exactly what you had planned. 

Once you moved your hips again, a little harder, he pressed his face into your shoulder as he sighed and repeated the action. 

You let out a quiet groan, enjoying the pressure, yet you brought the blanket up over your mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

He picked up his pace, lowering his hands to hold your hips firm, rolling them against his. The blush on your face grew even more red, and you could feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead. 

His grip was tight, his groans were getting louder, and it felt like you really had frozen to death because this felt like heaven. 

His hand crawled through your layered sweatpants as he reached between your legs. As his cold fingers reached the spot you needed him most, you almost cried out, desperately needing the pressure. 

His other hand moved from your waist, traveled under your sweatshirts, and found its place on your breast. The freezing touch had such a strong sensation, and the pressure felt so good. 

“Please,” you let out, knowing you’d be kicking yourself later for sounding so painfully desperate, “I need more.” 

He moaned in your ear as his bulge pushed harder against you, “We can’t.” 

“Please,” you pleaded, as his fingers circled your clit.

God, you felt pathetic but it felt so good. 

He groaned as he gathered your wetness. 

“It isn’t safe,” he said, disappointed at the fact that you just couldn’t risk that in the apocalypse. 

Before you could beg, he plunged his long fingers into you, soft moans spilling from your throat at the motions. 

His actions grew faster and so did his panting, you knew he was getting close and you were too. 

You turned your neck to face him, looking up at his flush face. He met your dazed eyes, admiring how your face glowed with pleasure. His eyes locked onto your lips as he moved closer and captured them with his. 

Moaning into each other's mouths was just too much for you both, as he came in his sweatpants as you came around his fingers. He let you both ride out your highs before he gently pulled out his fingers. 

He looked at you unusually sweetly, and as you turned to ask what that face was about he shoved his fingers into your mouth, sliding your juices onto your tongue, letting you taste yourself. 

You were surprised initially and groaned at the action, then bit his fingers which caused him to scowl and quickly pull them out. 

“This doesn’t change anything.” 

“Of course not.” 

~~~

“P-Please Five, don’t do this…!”

You cry out as your shaky hands cup his face, your forehead pressed against his as his solemn eyes stare deeply into yours.

Both of you standing on a familiar platform, while Lila’s family and Claire watch with melancholy. You could see his eyes pooling with his tears at your desperation.

You have no idea how much Five wanted to abandon everything, the world, his family and leave everything behind to jump back on the train with you.

To a house in the middle of the woods, where you’d grow strawberries and to spend the rest of your lives together.

Live the life he always imagined with you by side until he draws his final breath but he couldn’t.

It’s time to let go, I’m bent over backwards.

He knew if he did, everything would start over again-the end of the world is always going to be inevitable as long as he and his family lived.

He tried over and over again and just when he thought he could finally live-when he finally stopped it, does the cruel reminder that it’ll never end, come back.

He couldn’t do this to you again, you deserved to live a full life even though he won’t ever be a part of it.

That is why, with a heavy heart does Five slowly shake his head at your plea.

His heart sinks even further at the look on your face at his rejection.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I wish it didn’t have to be this way but there’s no other options left. I wish there was, I r-really do…” Five croaks out as he tries to wipe the tears that continuously fall from your eyes

. As the trains signal its doors closing, Five knew his time was up.

If love ain’t enough to make it alright. Leave me dead to the world.

“I love you...”

With a final press of his lips to your forehead, Fives pushes you harshly into the train.

Surprised, you fall backwards, only for Claire to try and catch you as you land on the floor of the train.

Horror filled your eyes as the train doors closes on you, separating you and Five forever. You quickly scramble to stand up, yelling and pounding on the door that separates you both.

Five smiles sadly at you, as he places a hand on the glass then bringing it up to a wave as the train signals its departure.

Your shouts get louder as the train starts to move, pounding harder as you call out your lover’s name.

As the speed picks up, you see Five’s figure growing smaller and smaller until it completely disappears. Only then do you fall to your knees with a dreadful wail as your heart shatters into a million pieces.

Five's hand falls back down to his side lifelessly as the train disappears into darkness. The tears that welled up in his eyes, finally cascading down his cheeks.

The Five who never showed any weakness, nonetheless cried - his walls now completely broken down. He had to remain strong in front of you or else he would have wavered in his decision.

With a shaky breath, he turns around preparing to blink back to the mansion - back to his family who waited for him.

He promises that if he was ever given another chance at life again that he'll find you again, and love you like he always wanted to.

No matter how long it takes, he'll find you again even if you won’t remember him.

When he meets you, will you fall in love with him again?

It’s wishful thinking but he hopes that even if it’s a tiny bit, that you'd still remember him.

With all of his heart he hopes that you do but until then.

"Take care, my love."

I can lend you a dream, till we meet again. I’m dead to the world.