Meknizzxx

“Okay, I should be ready when you get here.” 

You can hear a light chuckle from the other line, causing a side eye. “What’s funny?” 

“You’re never ready when I pick you up. That’s okay, though. I’ll just, uh, sit with your cat.” 

“Of course you would, Snow White.” Michael’s laughter lifted your frown instantly. 

“I should be there in about thirty minutes.” You question the timing since it usually takes him fifteen minutes to get to your house, but you don’t bother asking. 

“Alright. See you.” You set the phone down and sigh when you see the messy state of your room. How the hell are you going to pull this together in thirty minutes? 

By some October miracle, you found a striped dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, keeping the collars popped up. You ditched the desire of heels and settled for white sneakers with slouch socks to match. Bangles, bracelets, and a necklace were the cherry on top that complemented your makeup. You only had a minute to admire your stellar beauty due to the doorbells. You wanted to prove Michael wrong, so you snatch your purse and jacket and speed towards the front door. Your black cat quietly shoots you a look. 

Opening the door, Michael greeted you with a rad red jacket, his gorgeous face, and his wet Jheri curls. You used to never understand the word breathtaking, until Mike being this close to you started squeezing the air out your lungs. 

You mask your heart. “Nice jacket.” 

“Yeah, one of my dancers got it for my birthday.” 

“Oh really?” 

“It was one of those he knew someone who knew someone famous, and he knows my favorite color is red.” 

“That’s pretty bitchin.” 

“Yeah, that word.” You laugh at his modesty. 

You look to the floor and notice his red pants and signature socks and loafers combo. He lowers his head to get a good look at you. “You, okay?” He lifts your chin a little to meet your eyes with his dark ones. 

The stare between you two is too much to hold for more than five seconds. You look away again when Mike softly rubs your chin. Overkill at this point. “I’m fine. Just got a lot going on.” 

“Yeah, haven’t heard from you in a couple days.” He brushes some hair back. “I missed you like crazy.” 

You look up, “I missed you too. I was so excited all day to see you.” You giggle. “It’s kind of embarrassing to say because we’re just going to the movies.” 

Michael lifts a finger. “Ah. Out to eat first. The movie we’re seeing doesn’t start until 8:15.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“Michael...” 

“You wouldn’t even know if I told ya.” 

“I still would like the know.” 

“That’s your problem. I remember you telling me the other day that a lot of your days feels boring. That’s because you want to know everything. You gotta leave room for surprises, y’know.” 

You roll your eyes, “Is this a lecture or a date?” 

Mike does a quiet laugh then stares at you from head to heels. “You look lovely.” 

Your heart screams, your stomach is full of feathers, and your brain tattoos his words. Instead of communicating that, you nod with a smirk. “Thanks. I just threw this on last minute.” 

Mike can see through your facade as he reaches over to let you out first. His face gets close, putting those feelings into overdrive. “Whatever you say.” 

7:05 PM 

There were many booths of loud colors paired with white. A handful of single middle-aged adults and two handfuls of the carefree youth chattered with their clinging forks and small sips. A pop song that didn’t overplay on the radio announce its presence faintly amongst the clatter and chatter. 

You try to ignore you and Mike’s knees getting familiar under the table. Looking at your date, he is clearly oblivious to the unspoken conversation your legs are having. Or maybe he does know and is putting on an act, Michael is a prankster after all. 

 He looks up with a small smile. “Food is good?” 

You nod, “Yeah, it’s delicious. I never been here. How did you find this joint?” 

“It’s been around for almost four years now.” He answers with a chuckle. 

“That’s crazy. I never heard of it.” 

“That’s cause you’re either at home or school.” He points at you. “I was lucky getting you out for this.” 

You fake offense. “So not true!” 

Mike sits back and crosses his arms. “When was the last time you went out?” 

“I-- 

“For fun.” Mike clarified. 

Your mouth was ready to fire back but your mind was frozen over. 

“See? See?”  

You adjust your posture to appear dominant. “In my defense, I’m not from here like you. Plus, school and work got me busy all the time. Not everyone comes from a wealthy family like you.” 

“I’m not from here either, I just lived here most of my life. And you make me sound like some silver spoon spoiled child.” 

“I’m not saying that, Mike. You’re the last person I would call that. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.” 

“Yeah, I know, I’m not mad.” He goes to rub your knuckles, his palm pressing against your polished nails. 

You look to your plate. “But you’re right. I do need to go out more. I don't want to be those people who turn thirty-five and have nothing to look back on.” 

“Well, we can start with tonight.” 

“What movie are we seeing anyway?” You take another wing. 

“A movie called, uh, Thriller. Came out a couple weeks ago.” 

You look up to him with caution. “Is it scary?” 

“Of course it’s scary, it’s called Thriller. You don’t like scary movies?” 

“Not really a fan of them.” You shake your head. 

“You’ll be fine. I'll be there with you.” 

For some dumb reason that made your heart skip a beat. God, you were so easy. 

Mike notices your third slice of pizza being half chewed. “You done?” 

You nod, feeling guilty when you notice your slice of pizza and two wings still on the plate. “Is there any way I can take it to-go? I hate--” 

“Wasting food. I know. I hate it too.” MJ sits back and thinks. “How about I finish it on our way?” 

“You still have room to eat?” 

“Kinda, yeah.” 

“You won’t be hungry for popcorn.” 

“I’ll just get a small bucket.” 

“That’s if you’re still hungry! Your stomach is gonna pop, Mike!” 

Mike chuckles as he waves down the waiter. “Girl, you underestimate my appetite.” 

7:40 PM 

White sneakers and black loafers walk east from the diner they left moments ago. The streetlights emitted their small spotlights along parts of the road. You look up to see a twilight of periwinkle bleeding in the corners of night and lingers of sunset. Mike throws the last wing in the to-go box and looks for the nearest trash can. 

“I can’t wait for my car to get fixed.” 

You turn to him. “What happened to it, anyway?” 

“My brother took it for a spin and wreck it a bit.” 

You smirk. “Which one?” 

He gives you a look then laughs. He reaches over and softly pinches your cheek. “It was Randy.” 

“I figured.”  

“He wanted to use my car to impress a girl on a date.” He shakes his head. “Ended up looking like a dimwit.” 

“When will it’ll be fixed?” 

“Uh, the mechanic said it might be a few more days. I understand it takes time, but I just want my car.” 

You rub his shoulder. “I feel you. Hey, on the bright side, at least we’re getting some exercise in.” 

He pulls a couple of dance moves off the fly. “I already get enough exercise.” 

“How can I forget, Mr. Dancer.” 

Michael was one of the best dancers you ever seen. The way his body flexes and motions with whatever music you could put on, he always looked supernatural. It wasn’t bias either, so many folks request him to teach them how to dance and he even gotten offers to teach some pop stars a dance routine for their music videos. On the 31st, he had a zombie dance routine he was going to do with his dance club for a Halloween competition. You can’t wait to see what he’s been working on the past month and a half. 

Your hand accidently brushes against his and your reflexes pull away, you don’t know why. You two been past the awkward stage yet you still do things like this. Mike notices the pull back and uses his fingers to swing towards yours.  

It was a long brush. You look down. 

Next time, his fingers sweep through the space between yours but doesn’t lock. You look at him. He keeps looking forward, pretending this isn’t happening. 

His hand goes to softly grab four fingers, holding it like a prized possession. His large hand was the only thing warm during this nippy weather. His thumb spreads across your fingers, knuckles, and backhand; a blush follows. Mike takes a good look at you and forms a confident smile, knowing his effect on you. 

Obnoxious bright lights were in the far distance, signaling that they were close. You touch your poking stomach. “I’m so full. I’m not getting anything, not even a drink.” 

“More popcorn for me.” 

“You and your obsession with popcorn.” You pinch his skinny arm. “Such a fatty.” 

“I am not obsessed with popcorn. It’s just a nice snack.” 

“You are obsessed. You refuse to watch a movie without it.”  

“No I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“Yes, I don’t.” 

“No, you don’t.” You slap his arm. “Hey!” 

Mike laughs like a mischievous child and claps his hands. “Trick ya.” 

You shake your head with a smile you can’t hide. “Can’t stand you.” 

Mike looks ahead and stops in his tracks. His smile shapes into a surprised o. “Don’t tell me that’s the line...” You look ahead and see both lines on each side of the theater consisting of at least fifteen to twenty people, estimated by sight. 

Mike grabs your arm and smoothly pulls it towards him. “C’mon. More people are getting in line.” You try to keep up with him, but you weren’t a track star. “We’ll get there, Mike. Slow down, will ya!” 

8:15 PM 

You and Mike are one of the last set of folks to come in. He uses his foot to push himself up to see any available seats for two. Surprisingly, a couple of seats near the front side were available so you tap Mike’s shoulder. 

“Mikey.” He ignores you. You put more force when you slap his arm. He looks at you confused. “Ow! What’s wrong?” 

You point to show him. He squints to see past the crowd of people. He brows raise and he grabs your hand. “C’mon before someone gets them.” 

Thankfully, you two snag them and sit down after shuffling past a few people. After you settle, you look to your left to see Mike opening his Care Bear: Gummi Bears. The small bag of popcorn sat on his lap, white and yellow, hot and fresh, smelling delicious and tempting. 

You grab a few and quicky pull back until Mike grabs your wrist. “I thought you were full?” You continue to move your hand towards your mouth and slowly chew in his face. He goes to grab your jaw delicately with his hand. “That’s gonna cost ya.” 

For some reason that excites your stomach and a little further down, and it shouldn’t have. You hate how easy it was to stir a certain heat within you, especially from him. The guys before Michael had to put in work to get you like this but him, one touch with one look was all he needed. That’s the only thing you hated about Michael. 

The room goes dark, so everyone’s attention starts to turn towards the screen. You pull your head from his grasp and poke his nose to ease the rising tension between you two. He keeps his stare for a long moment before his attention turns to the opening credits. You exhale quietly to control yourself; but that was really fucking hard when his hands caress your thigh for a quick moment. 

A title card dripping with blood shows, Thriller! appearing on a black screen. You mentally prepare yourself for what this movie might put you through. 

10:06 P.M. 

Walking into the lobby, people attending late night showings stand in line, patiently and impatiently waiting in the concession stand. You notice the folks who was at the same showing as you and Mike leave out the doors, having animated conversations. Turning to your left, Michael was quiet with his thoughts, but his face was thrilled. You decide to start the conversation. 

“That was tight.” “That was so scary.” You two say simultaneously. 

You look at him, and he looks at you, both erupting laughter. 

“It was too scary for me. I was closing my eyes for most of the movie.” 

Mike rolls the arm you have been grabbing on for dear life the past hour and a half. “Yeah, I can tell.” 

“Oh, hush.” 

After Michael throws all the trash away, two walk out the theater. 

“It’s dark out.” 

“And it’s full moon...” he pops his eyes wide and form claws, “Maybe I’ll turn into a wolf and eat ya too.” He goes to fake bite your shoulder while growling. You squeal when he picks you up by the waist and spins you around.  

“Mike, stop!”  

You usually feel subconscious about people passing by, onlooking you and Michael’s PDA, but this time you it didn’t bother you too much. He imitates the werecat boyfriend in the movie and chases you around. You giggle as you run from him, accidently running in the street, towards a wide alleyway. You don’t know if this was the way home or not, but you needed to get away from him before he gets you. 

You run out of breath, so you walk slowly along the alleyway with a small smile. Mike ditched the werecat bit but still wanted to play with you. He creeps up to you and walks sideways in an animated motion. 

“It's close to midnight, and something evil's lurking in the dark! Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart! You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it! You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes! You're paralyzed!”  

Coming up with these lyrics off the fly, Mike performs various frisky actions like a theater kid. He did spins and dramatic turns around you, did a backward zombie walk, and grabbed your shoulders to psyche you up. You can’t help but roll your eyes with an amused smile at his childish nature. 

“These scare tactics aren’t working, Mike. Try harder.” 

He lifts a finger at you to let you know that he ain’t done. 

“They're out to get you, there's demons closing in on every side! They will possess you unless you change that number on your dial! Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together, yeah.” Michael goes to hug you, and you fit his side like a puzzle, hand on his chest. “All through the night I'll save you from the terror on the screen I'll make you see!” 

You hang to his arm and you two walk past a foggy graveyard. Michael playful smirk distracted you from the creepy atmosphere around you two. You can help but laugh and shake your head at his singing shenanigans. 

“Boy, you’re so silly.” 

10:22 PM 

You two are almost out the alleyway and the area starts looking familiar and signaling that you are close to home. In your right peripheral, you see a two-story house in a nearby park. You don’t recall a house ever being there. Squinting to get a closer look, you see people with torn clothes and rough pale skin. Your lungs feels like it’s compressing when your heart accelerates. 

Your hands tighten around the red leather of Mike’s jacket. “Is that...” 

“Woah.” Your boyfriend eyes widen like a kid. 

“Michael, let’s go.” 

“What!? Why?” 

“Zombies! Do you see what I’m seeing!?” 

Mike looks amused, “I’m sure they’re just actors for a haunted house or something.” 

Looking back, the zombies seem to be walking in your directors, a couple has their eyes on you. Terror pokes around your heart. 

“No, they’re real!” You yank his arm. “They’re coming! C’mon!” 

Mike looses it and throws his head back for a laugh. You face gets tight with embarrassing heat. 

“Everything is a damn joke to you.” You push him and run away until that house and the zombies were dots in your vision. Michael’s shouts were ignored because distress, fear, and shame were all stabbing your chest. 

One sore foot is removed from your shoe, laying it across your opposite knee. You massage the thick muscles from your toes to your mid-arch. The tension makes you wince and regret not putting on more suitable shoes for all the walking you’ve been doing. All to look cute for a boy that isn’t even with you right now. 

“Okay, don’t put too much fire on Mike. You were the one that ran off...” You thought to yourself. 

When you move to the other foot, slow steps against the pavement told you that he chased you down. Should you expect anything less from him? Mike wasn’t the type of guy to leave you by yourself at night, even after you told him off.  

You feel a hand gently lift your chin up to see loving concern. Gosh, he was the most handsome guy you laid your eyes on. 

“Can we talk?” When no response follows, he rubs your chin. He calls your name in the tone that had no trace of annoyance. 

It takes you a moment before slowly nodding. Michael sits so close that his red jeans sit inches away from your skirt. He grabs the foot you were tending to and works the muscles out the core. After a couple winces, you relax at his firm, large hands smooth through your foot. It’s nothing like another person getting the kinks out your lower feet. 

“If I knew you were scared of zombies I would have led us on a different way to your house.” Mike glances over the direction he came from. “The local theater are planning to host a haunted apocalyptic house. They’re not real, baby.” 

“It doesn't matter if they're real or not. They creeped me out ever since I was little and-” A couple tears slip. “I’m sorry if I'm making a big deal out of it but--” Michael pulls you to his chest and let you cry. Deep down you can’t believe your making fake zombies ruin your makeup and final stretch of a great date. But you can’t help how you feel. 

Michael comforts your shoulder with short rubs. “Well, they won’t get you when I’m here.” 

That made you smile a little. “You’ll fend them off for me?” 

“If I have to grab the nearest stick and beat em down for ya’ then I’ll do that.” 

“Wouldn’t you be scared though?” You look up to him. 

“Won’t have time to be scared when I got you to worry about.” Heat burns your cheeks. 

“Such a man.” You tease, but behind that was your painful need to kiss him so bad. 

You two stay there, staring at the moonlight. Michael’s thumb caresses your upper arm while you snuggle as close you can get on his chest. A faint smile creeps when you feel a soft peck on your forehead. 

In an alternate reality where those zombies were real, you would seek refuge in Michael arms over any shelter. His two limbs provided a warmth that can’t be replicated. 

10:56 PM 

Seeing the faux gold 72 on your front door brought relief that you made it safe.  

“We arrived. That’ll be a dollar and ten cents.” Mike puts out his hands towards you with his fingers motioning back and forth to pay up. 

You scoff. “In your dreams.” 

Michael snickers like a kid as your key goes in the gold chipped doorknob. A few moves unlocks your sanctuary, and you push it just enough to crack it. You turn to see Mike giving you a stare with a lot of weight behind it. He wasn’t smiling but he didn’t look upset either, just observing. The hypocrisy of hating being perceived but loving his attention duels in your mind. 

You tilt your head. “What?” 

He doesn’t answer but instead goes to play with a piece of your hair idly. You usually hate making long eye contact but with Mike, everything past his eyes was a blur. Without you noticing, your chin was titled to Michael’s liking. Your eyes lower to his two-toned lips and his subtle mustache that was the cherry on top of his appeal. 

He moves forward and you follow his lead, creating a kiss made of sugar, popcorn, and spices of sensuality. Both of his palms adjust your head so he can find the right angle to transfer his passion on your delicate, glossy lips. 

You don’t care how time works; that moment in time froze and it was just you two. The kiss is a perfect portrait of your relationship, comfortable but not explicit. Funny enough, it can be compared to one of those mild chicken wings you two had at diner. A little heated to make an impact but not too spicy to handle. Feathers cover your stomach at the thought that there are levels above this one. 

You pull away with a small spit line extending before popping off on Michael’s lips. Your lungs, heart, and lips had to recover that minute of eternity. Michael looks down with a shy smile. “Um...” 

“Wow.” You interject. 

“I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so beautiful and...” Michael rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry I should have asked.” 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just surprised. I usually initiate when we kiss.” 

Michael lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, uh, I don’t know what came over me. I do know that I’m crazy about ya.” He pauses and looks up. “I hope this continues for a long time.” 

Your eyes soften to express something unexplainable. “I hope so too. I love you so much.” 

“I love you more.” He pulls you to his chest and holds you tight. Your two souls melt into one another. Everything feels aligned. Everything is right. 

The worst part of this date is you pulling away and giving him one last loving look before heading inside. The last image of Mike tonight was his large brown eyes paired with a kind smile. A look that destroys any unpleasant feeling you had today. 

After closing the door with your backside, you slide down until your butt hits the floor. Staring at the floor, you sit there for a couple minutes processing the whole evening. When that kiss encores, a high-pitched squeal erupts from your throat. Your feet kicks and you bury your head on your knees, releasing something that’s been stored and build upon with each interaction with Mike. 

Settling in your bubble bath, your mind has no choice but to rewind the night like a cherished rom com. Your brain pokes fun of your heart for clinging on to these recent moments shifting into memories.  

You had boyfriends and flings before Mike and even though half of them ended up being dickwads, the other half gave you good memories to laugh back on. But compared to Michael, the emotions they made you felt seems elementary. Like they were appetizers before the main course. A lengthy prologue before the real love story begins. 

He vividly shows up in your mind unannounced. His smooth melanin skin. His cool red jacket. His juicy Jheri curls. His subtle mustache. His soft, wide eyes. His shy smile. His gentle but charming, playful personality. All of these little things that made your Michael.  

You feel yourself getting sleepy, so you hop out the bath, pat yourself dry, then wrap your bathrobe around your damp body. Falling face forward on the bed, the dry, plump sheets made you too lazy to dress in your pajamas. Your eyes were getting heavier by the minute until the telephone rings, jolting you up to answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m home.” That familiar soft-spoken voice tickled your heart again. 

“Hm?” 

“You wanted me to call you when I got home, remember.” 

“Oh, yeah. Wait, why did it take you so long? We don’t live that from far each other.” 

“No car.” 

You slap your head. “Right. Sorry, I’m really tired. I’m asking a lot of dumb questions, huh?” 

“No, you’re fine. I’m starting to get sleepy too.” 

You release a long yawn. “I hate that I got work in the morning after nights like this. I had so much fun.” 

You can feel Mike’s smile from the other line. “I’m glad. Go ahead and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” 

“Okay.” Your fingers twirl the coil cord as you look down at your dresser. You wanted to talk with him all night, but you just know you’ll regret it in the morning when sleep deprivation hits.  

“Sweet dreams.” 

“Bye.” The call clicks and you lay the phone down. 

The last bit of strength you have manages to dress you in your pajamas and shut most of your lights off. You force your heart to stop making your mind think of Michael. You’ll never get any sleep if he shows up again. 

October 31st , 1983 – Monday 

10:20 AM 

This was one of those rare days when you didn’t rush to go to class.  

“Bye baby!” You tell your cat. The black cat’s meows gave you the motivation to get through the day. 

Locking the door, you push forward with a small smile on your face. You can finally get a good seat on the bus-- 

“Rawr!” 

“Aaah!” You scream. 

Mike laughs mischievously. You slap his chest. “Michael! You scared the life out of me!” 

“Your face was priceless!” He claps. “Hahaha!” 

“That-That wasn’t even scary.”  

“Oh please you screamed so loud the whole complex probably heard ya’. You were super scared.” 

“I wasn’t that scared.” You put on a brave front. 

He cocked his head to the side with a small smirk. His dark eyes track your features. “Yeah, you were scared.”  

His proximity to your face was too much to deal with this early in the morning. You turn from him and pout. Mike’s humorous high settles down and walks over to wrap his arms around your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek. 

“Hmph.” You’re not budging. 

“I can make it up to you.” He turns you towards him and peppers your face and neck with kisses. You melt with each quick smooch, struggling to keep a grudge. He pulls back and does a quick scan of your hair, makeup and outfit. “You look real pretty. Prettier than usual.” 

You blush and look to your kitten heels to avoid his gaze. “Thanks.” 

Mike lifts your chin and traces the outline of your jaw. “Pretty young thang.”  

“You sound like a dirty old man.” You laugh. 

He chuckles, “Be quiet.” 

Walking together, you notice Mike wearing a fuchsia Mickey Mouse sweater over a plaid shirt with a bow tie and brown pants. You shake your head and smile to yourself. He must be feeling festive today. 

Looking forward you see a familiar gingerbread brown 1978 Chevrolet Caprice parked close. You gasp and look to Mike who looked at you with a knowing stare. “Suprise.” 

“Wait I thought it would be done--” 

“A buddy of mine got it done early. He’s really good at fixing cars.” 

You just stood there, too surprised to know what to do next. 

“Well, get in! I’m taking you to class.” He flashes his million-dollar smile when he opens the passenger car door. 

You squeal and get in. One of your favorite places is Michael’s car. There’s so many sweet and fun memories that happened in this Chevy. You watch Michael walk over to his side, your heart racing in anticipation. Mike looks at you when he settles in. “Ready?” 

You reach over to the radio. “Mmhm.” 

The Chevy rides across the stretches of hard grey like butter. The beach passing by perfumes its sea salt, waking up your brain. Mike hums along the song on the radio as his hand taps on the outside of his car door. He turns to you, risking a clear view of the road to see your hair blow majestically. It was too beautiful to ignore. 

“The wind too much for ya?” He rubs over the stocking of your left thigh. You feel a heat that was slightly more intense than a couple days ago. It seems like the day you two become intimate is inching closer after small stuff like this. It makes you nervous just thinking about it. 

You turn to him as some of your hair flies in front of your eyes and wide smile. “Nope. I love it!” 

He nods and turns his attention back to the road. 

“Another no show?” Patricia – from beside you – asked. She was currently facing a mirror on the inside of her locker door, delicately applying a fresh layer of lip gloss. 

“Looks like it,” you muttered, frowning down at your scuffed white Mary Janes. Your visible disappointment reflected off the polished floor. 

“That’s the third time this week,” Patricia noted, before slamming her locker door. She turned to face you, mirroring your look of dejection. 

You sighed. “I tried calling him last night, but he wouldn’t answer.”

“Maybe he’s sick?”

“No,” you stated, shaking your head, “I’ve seen him sick before, and he never acted like this.” 

Patricia hummed, crossing her arms as she watched the passing students. You pushed yourself off from the locker, rolling your shoulders back as you gave one last glance toward the front double doors. 

“Let’s go,” you urged, nudging her forward.

“I’m sure Michael’s fine.”

You smiled, the action coming across as strained. Patricia shrugged, and fell in step beside you as you two headed to class. 

Worry tugged at the back of your mind, daring you to peer over your shoulder every so often with some false hope that he might appear. 

Yet Michael’s presence remained vacant amongst the sea of students. 

You pressed your cheek into your palm, lazily scribbling notes down on a loose sheet of paper. The monotonous tone of the teacher lulled the entire class into a weary silence, as some students struggled to keep their eyes open. They droned on, and on, stretching out the 45 minute class period into an eternity. Patricia didn’t take History with you, so you were left to peer out the large scaled window to your right and think. 

Perhaps you were being dramatic, and Michael truly was sick, as your friend suggested. You couldn’t help recall a time though, when he had come down with the flu and yet insisted on attending every baseball practice as if he were fine. Yet, this past week – when you would walk past the field on your way home –  you noticed his absence among the other players. You wondered if the coach had the same questions buzzing around his head as you did. 

The suddenness of the lunch bell startled the class, as if pulling them out of a dream. With a heavy sigh, you gathered your belongings, pushing your boyfriend to the back of your mind. 

Students fled the classroom, spilling out into the hall as they headed for the cafeteria. You brushed past people, cringing whenever their sharp elbows jabbed into your side. Uphead, you spotted Patricia peering over the numerous heads of passing students, searching for you. 

You raised your hand, trying to signal for her attention when something caused you to stop in your tracks. Just a few feet from you, was Coach Lee standing by the front office door. His eyebrows were pinched forward in concern, as he peered down at Michael, who was frantically speaking to him. Michaels lanky body seemed to sway ever so slightly, as if struggling to keep balance. He appeared drowsy, his wide brown eyes slowly blinking up at the coach. Even from a distance, you could make out the thin sheen of sweat on Michael's dark skin. You began pushing through the crowd, shoving your way through the slow moving bodies. 

“Michael!” You called out, your voice drowning in the cacophony of other rising voices. His warm eyes found yours, but only for a brief second as he hurriedly glanced away. Coach Lee solemnly nodded at Michael, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then Michael was off, moving further and further away from you until he vanished into the crowd. 

You scoffed, coming to a full stop as you glance over at the spot he once was. Coach Lee had a perplexed look on his voice, seemingly lost in thought, before he shook his head and walked into the office.  

Patricia approached you, watching in confusion as your eyes remained glued to the office door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, coming to stand beside you. 

“I just saw Michael,” you stated, “but it was kind of weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you were right about him being sick,” you admitted, “he didn’t look well at all.” 

Patricia frowned. “Did you try to talk to him?”

“I called his name, and I swear he heard me but he just walked off.” 

“You’re right, that’s weird,” she mused to herself. 

You sighed, feeling some strange unexplainable weight rest on your shoulders. A dozen questions ran through your mind, all overlapping into one constant buzz of noise. 

You were only sure about one thing, that something was definitely wrong with your boyfriend. 

The rest of the school day went by in a blur of assignments and lesson plans. By the time you approached your front door, your hand was already reaching to throw off your bookbag. 

“I’m home,” you announced, stepping into the entryway. You kicked off your shoes, nudging them over as you waltzed into the living room. It was a cozy, cramped room with shelves stuffed to the brim with books and a dull green couch that had been there since you were a kid. You glanced over at the looming grandfather clock that sat in the corner, it was currently 3:30 p.m.

“Dad must be working overtime, again,” you said aloud, your quiet words going unanswered. 

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to have the house to yourself most afternoons. Your father had a habit of working late – at his office job – and losing track of time. You remembered being upset over it when you were younger, but you expected it now.

The bookbag was lazily tossed to the floor, as you flopped onto the couch. Sunlight streamed in through the living room window, splashing over your body like a warm blanket. Your body grew heavier, sinking into the plush cushions on the couch. The consistent ticking of the grandfather clock echoed throughout the otherwise silent house, worming its way into the corners of your brain. 

Your eyelids shut, as you eventually drifted off to sleep. 

You awoke with a gasp, the images of some horrific nightmare still stuck to your eyelids as you rapidly blinked. The faint depictions of blood and gore soon washed away as you shook your head. The living room was now shrouded in darkness, moonlight now spilt over your once resting form. For a moment, you believed you were still dreaming. The odd stillness of the house felt suffocating, as the shadows of the room seemed to move and grow the longer you peered into them. 

You harshly rubbed your eyes, before looking around the room again. Only to find it was just that… a room. 

“It was just a silly dream,” you whispered, reassuring yourself. 

Beside you, the home phone rang, momentarily starling you. You gathered yourself, taking a few deep breaths before you answered. 

“Hello?” 

“What the hell took you so long?” Patricia’s irritated voice came through the speaker, offering a strange sense of relief. “I’ve been calling you for, like, two hours.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, moving to properly sit up. “I fell asleep as soon as I got home.” 

“Well, you’re a damn heavy sleeper,” she muttered.

“Why are you calling, anyway?”

“My dad advised me to call, and warn you.” Patricia explained, you could faintly hear her smacking on a piece of gum. “Apparently a few hunters this spring have been experiencing wild animal attacks – remember when my dad and brother took us hunting that one summer as kids? – anyway, he just thought it would be important for you to know.” 

You stared down at the carpet. “Why would it be important for me to know, exactly?” 

Patricia snorted. “Because of the absolute jungle that lives behind your house.” 

At her words, you peered over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the woods just beyond the kitchen window. The longer you stared, you could begin to feel some form of dread stir inside your belly. 

“I think I might try and give Michael a call, to let him know,” you said, swiftly turning away from the view of the kitchen. 

“Good idea,” Patricia mused. “Call me back afterwards, okay? I forgot to take notes during Algebra class and I know you’re Miss goody-two shoes about that stuff.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

“Thanks, babe!” she shouted into the receiver, before hanging up. 

You quickly punched in Michael’s number, knowing the digits like the back of your hand. The sharp ring of the phone pierced your ear, as it rang… and rang. 

“Pick up,” you muttered, gripping onto the phone cord. 

After what felt like forever, someone finally picked up. 

“W-Who is it?” Michael asked, his voice sounding scratchy and dry. 

“Michael? It’s me, are you alright?” you immediately asked.

“Shit – I’m fine baby, just uh – not feeling well.” 

“I saw you at school today,” you admitted, “you didn’t look too good.” 

“Yeah I’m just uh-,” his sentence was interrupted by a harsh coughing fit. 

“Michael-

“I’m fine, just sick,” he said, voice hoarse. 

You bit at your bottom lip, contemplating what to do. There was something itching at you, scratching at the back of your mind. Yet you couldn’t put your finger on it, as to why something felt off.

“Is that all?”

“I’m okay,” he assured, “don’t worry your pretty head about me so much.” 

Despite the worry nagging at your skull, heat rose to your face at his words. 

“It’s just…” you trailed off, unsure as to what to say. 

“What?”

You sighed. “Nothing, Patricia just called me about a few animal attacks going on. I guess it left me a little spooked, considering where I live.”

“Did she say what was attacking the hunters?”

“N-no, she just said-

You went silent, thinking back to his exact words. “I didn’t mention hunters.”

Michael was silent, the only proof of his existence on the other line was the faint sound of his shallow breathing. 

“Did you already know?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he drawled out, "Patricia called and told me earlier”

You furrowed your brows at his answer. “She doesn’t have your number.” 

“Uh-,’ he stammered. “Look, I have to go, it’s getting late.” 

“Is everything alright?” you asked again, feeling your stomach twist. 

“I already fucking told you,” he growled into the phone, his voice dropping an octave deeper, sending a chill down your spine. “I'm fine, did you forget already?” 

You scoffed. “Don’t talk to me like that, I’m just worried about you.”

“Stop-

“No!” you exclaimed, suddenly standing up. Frustrating bubbled up inside you, spilling over the edge until the phone shook in your tight grip. 

“I’ve been calling you all week, only for you not to answer until tonight, “ you ranted, burning a hole into the carpet as you began to pace. “You don’t show up to school at all this week, and suddenly you pop up only to ignore me – and I know you heard me calling your name.” 

“Baby-

“Don’t baby me,” you interrupted, clenching your fist. “Christ, I’m sorry for giving a shit about you and your health. But that doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole about it.” 

Michael sighed. “Are you done?”

“You know what,” you muttered, “forget you.” 

You slammed the phone down, hoping the sound echoed in his head for the rest of the night. 

In the morning, you drowsily wandered into the kitchen. Your eyes were dry and prickly, as your legs could barely muster up a slow drag. Exhaustion cocooned you, causing you to bump your hip into the counter's sharp edge. 

“Shit,” you hissed, rubbing the area. 

“Language,” a voice scolded, over by the kitchen table. Your father peered up at you, from behind a pair of wired spectacles. A carefully folded newspaper was tucked under his arm, as if he were about to get up. 

“What time did you get home?”

“Around eleven last night,” he said, grunting as he stood up. 

“Don’t hurt your back, old man,” you joked, giggling to yourself. 

He playfully rolled his eyes at you, as he folded his arms. 

“You look as if you haven’t slept,” he questioned. 

“Just had a nightmare,” you explained, the lie slipping past your teeth. Well… half-lie at least. After your conversation with Michael, you spent the rest of the night wide awake, pondering over his words. When you called Patricia back, you relayed them to her, hoping to get some kind of answer. She was left just as confused, stating she has never had Michael’s number. You were left with more questions than answers, and a nauseous feeling in your gut you couldn’t explain. 

Your father hummed. “Well, take it easy then today.” You nodded, faintly smiling at him. 

“I’ll obviously be at work by the time you get home,” he said, “but I’ll leave some money behind for dinner, in case I have another late shift.”

“You always work late, dad.” 

The morning dragged on, until it was time for your father to drive you to school – something Michael always did. 

You tried to ignore the sudden coldness of his absence, as you got in the car.

Before you could comprehend it, Friday soon approached. School days felt as if they bled into each other, a giant warp of memory consisting of assignments one after the other. Throughout that time, Michael was never present. You could hear murmurs of his name sometimes, walking down the hall. You imagined the athletes were wondering to themselves about where their star player was. 

All that time too, and not a single phone call or note from him. Not even as much as a voice message, giving a half-assed apology. Your concern only grew, overshadowing the initial anger you had that night. 

“His ass better be dying, or worse, for him to ignore you this long,” Patricia said, over by the couch. It was late Friday afternoon, and Patricia had offered to come over, as your dad was – once again – working late. The sun was beginning to go down, a drowsy ending to a long day. 

You shrugged, flipping through a Cosmopolitan magazine. It was an older issue, one you had read more times than you could count. 

“Have you tried to go see him yet?”

“Yeah, earlier today but no one was home.”

“Of course,” Patricia snorted, looking down at her nails. 

“I just…” you pondered, lowering the magazine into your lap.

Patricia glanced up at you, awaiting your answer. 

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it,” you said, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. You stood up, beginning to pace back and forth, in front of Patricia. 

“I keep replaying that weird conversation we had in my head. Why would he lie, and tell me you called him about the animal attacks?” 

Patricia tilted her head, curiously watching as you ranted, widely gesturing with your hands. 

“I don’t know, girl, but according to my brother they haven’t stopped.” 

“Have they been getting worse?”

“Apparently some hunter showed up to the ER last night, “ she explained, “with deep, red scratches across his chest.” 

You frowned, coming to a slow halt at her words. “How do you know?”

“Because a friend of my mom brought him in, heard them gossiping about it on the phone earlier this morning before I left for school.” 

“Jesus,” you whispered, sitting back beside her. 

Patricia pursed her lips, looking as if she had more to say. A look of unease came across her face, as she uncomfortably shifted in her spot. 

“What is it?” you urged her. 

“They don’t know what animal caused it yet,” she said, her voice falling to a quiet hush as if the walls could hear her. “The marks don’t look like anything they’ve seen before. When they asked the hunter what happened, apparently he broke down in tears, and began screaming about some beast out in the woods.” 

You found yourself ever so slightly leaning towards her, drawn in by the horrific nature of her story. 

“It could have been a bear,” you suggested, feeling your hands begin to tremble. 

Patricia shook her head. “No, according to what I heard, the guy was inconsolable. I don’t think it was just some bear.” 

“Well, what the fuck was it then?” 

“I don't know."

You two sat in silence, allowing the story to sink and settle in your mind. “I-I should get home, before it gets any later,” Patricia stammered, bolting up off the couch. 

“What, you’re just going to leave after telling me that story?” You trailed after her, as she hurriedly gathered her belongings.

“My parents don’t want me out after dark, not until the attacks stop.” Patricia opened the front door, allowing the last bit of golden light to leak into your house. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, “ she called over her shoulder, before slamming the door. 

The sun soon fell behind the hill beyond the houses, taking with it your last source of solace. 

The dark street outside the living room window seemed impenetrable now, as if trying to swallow the town. Even the glow of the neighbor’s porch lights seemed to dim. The night felt as if it were trying to reach through the window, and into the living room.

 In the dark, can anyone hear you scream? 

You fiddled with your pen, blankly staring down at a jumble of equations. A record spun on your turntable, giving you a false sense of comfort. Patricia's story had frightened you – as much as you hated to admit it. Images of your nightmare from before had returned, visions of grotesque gouges of flesh and blood as you thought about the hunter in the ER. How deep were the claws embedded in him? Did he pray, and if so, to who? 

Who would you pray to, if you were in his situation? Face to face with a wild beast, who cares little for your broken pleas and cries. Would you pray to your father, to your best friend… to God? 

The longer you continued to think about it, the more your throat began to constrict, as if it was trying to throw up the awful memory of that nightmare. 

“I need some water,” you muttered, hopping out of bed. You maneuvered your way through the dark hallway, and toward the kitchen. 

A tall, lanky silhouette stopped you in your tracks. It silently stood by the backdoor – that was open. You stepped back, feeling terror constrict around your lungs. The figure stepped forward, approaching your trembling form.

“Hi, baby,” they said, reaching a hand out toward you. 

That voice…

“Michael?” you inquired, feeling the breath leave your body. “What are you doing here?” 

“Something’s wrong with me…” 

You nodded, clenching your jaw as he stood in front of you. His wide eyes shined with tears, as they carelessly slid down his warm cheeks. 

“Oh, honey,” you whispered, cautiously stepping forward.  

He was trembling, as his bottom lip quivered. The sight of him broke your heart, resembling a lost child. 

“I came here to apologize,” he started, “I’ve been a real jerk to you lately.”

You sighed, gathering him in your arms. His bright red varsity jacket smelled of pine, and mint. 

“Michael, I need you to tell me what’s going on,” you demanded, caressing his face. 

He opened his mouth, the truth barley dangling off the tip of his tongue. Michael just sighed, muttering something incomprehensible to himself. 

“I can’t tell you.”

“Damnit, why not?”

“Because…” he trailed off, searching your face for an answer. You nudged him, silently pleading for him to go on, and offer you some peace of mind. 

“It would break me if you saw me differently,” he confessed, suddenly gripping onto your forearm. “I can’t lose you, god not like that.” 

“You’re not making any sense,” you argued, pulling away from him. “All I’m asking for is the truth, Michael. Whatever it is, that’s all I want.” 

His dark eyes bore into yours, an unresolved panic buried within his pupils. 

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he explained.

“By pushing me away in the process?” you shouted, hearing your voice crack. 

“Please –

He suddenly doubled over, letting out a hiss of pain. You gasped, going to reach for him when he forcefully pushed you back. You stumbled into a chair, nearly falling over. 

“Shit, Michael –

A cry, buried deep within his stomach, left Michael’s lips. It pierced your ears, as his wails of agony echoed inside the house. He was curled over, clutching onto his head, digging his nails into the flesh of his scalp. 

“No, no, no, “ he pleaded to himself, “not yet, not like this.”

Then, you watched in between a mix of fascination and utter horror, as his bones emitted a sickening pop. His arms, and hands seemed to extend, as if someone was stretching them. Gross, sickly yellow talons grew over his natural nails. His tortured scream filled your head, as his body continued to shift before your eyes. Michael shakely stood to his feet, raising his hand before him as he stared at it in terror. 

A breathless scream left your lips, at the sight of his face. His black curls dangled over a pair of bright, piercing yellow eyes. A set of teeth, as sharp as blades, crowded his mouth. Tufts of hair began protruding from neck, crawling up his cheeks and sideburns. 

“Oh my god,” you uttered, feeling tears prick at your eyes. 

It was a grotesque sight, as the transformation bled into forever. His howls of torment were inhuman, and as ear-splitting as a banshee. 

A werewolf, the thing attacking the hunters was a fucking werewolf. 

It glanced up at you, momentarily meeting your crystal-like eyes. It snarled at you, before escaping into the night, through your backdoor. You stared, wide eyed, as the inky blackness of the woods swallowed up his figure. 

And before you could grasp onto a single though, you found yourself trailing after him, your socks sinking into the damp grass. 

Up ahead, a howl pierced the night sky, as the moon lit a path before you. 

The woods consumed you, as the low hanging branches struggled to fight against your driving force. 

The answer felt so close now, tantalizingly dancing in front of you. 

"You keep talking about how we do not belong here," you hissed, your ears pinned so far back they were practically invisible against your skull. You poked him again, harder this time, forcing him to take a stumbling step back through the waist-high waves.

"But all I see is a boy who is so insecure about his own position that he has to pick on the people who came here for help, people who know nothing of this ocean." You poked him a third time, driving him further back. "You think you are a big warrior because you can swim? My father was Toruk Makto. My mother has killed more Sky People than you’ve seen fish.” you boasted, tilting your head up as to look down on him, despite him being taller.

“And me?" You drove your finger into his chest again, pressing him backward with every syllable. He really was taller than you, broader too— you began to notice it but chose to ignore the fact that if a fight broke out he’d have you beat. But your sheer ferocity was a physical force. He was mesmerized, his eyes blown wide as he watched the way your amber eyes flared.

"I have lived through a war you cannot even begin to imagine.” you seethed through your teeth “So if you think i am going to sit here and let some half-brained, arrogant piece of shit tell me Im 'pathetic' because I do not have a tail like a paddle, you’ve got another thing coming." You didn't stop. You kept pressing into his space, forcing him deeper into the shallows, your tail standing straight up behind you like a spear.

"Your father told you to teach us?" you hissed, your face inches from his, your accent dripping with venom. "Then teach. Stop being a dickhead and do your job. Otherwise, get out of the water before I show you exactly how this 'clumsy' forest girl can whoop ass. Do you understand me, or are your ears filled with sea-foam, fish boy?"

The silence was absolute. Rotxo and the other Metkayina boys were frozen, eyes wide. Tsireya looked like she wanted to hide under a rock. Neteyam just crossed his arms, a small, hidden smirk playing on his lips as he watched his twin sister absolutely bamboozle the boy.

Aonung didn't move to strike back. He didn't even try to push your hand away. He just stared at you, his skin flushing a deeper shade. His wide pale eyes looked at your finger still pressed against his chest, then back up at your face. For the first time, he wasn't smirking. He looked dazed—almost intoxicated by the heat of your rage.

"Well?" you challenged, your chest heaving with exertion. "Are we going to swim, or are you going to keep catching flies with your mouth open?" Your ears flickered forward, the rage you felt finally flowing out of your body after getting it all out.

Aonung finally pulled his gaze away from yours, though it seemed to take a physical effort. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his lost composure. "Yes. We... we are wasting daylight. Everyone, under. Now."

As the group began to submerge, you stayed on the surface for a moment longer, breathing deeply to calm the fire in your veins. You felt Aonung’s eyes on you again. He was watching you as he dove, but the look in his eyes had changed. He didn't think you were pathetic you were toruk makto’s daughter for eywas sake. He thought you were the most terrifyingly beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As you finally dove under, joining your brothers, you caught Aonung looking at you through the clear water. He wasn't even watching Lo'ak's form anymore; he was just watching the way your slender tail moved, and the way your amber eyes never once lost their spark. He was in deep—and it had nothing to do with the ocean.

The following morning, the heat was a physical weight, pressing down on the woven platforms of Awa’atlu. The lesson today had shifted from the physical strain of swimming to the mental strain of communication. You sat cross-legged on the cool, braided reeds of a teaching gazebo that jutted out over the lagoon, the water below so clear it looked like glass.

You were flanked by Neteyam and Lo’ak. Your tail was still stiff, a lingering sign of your mood from the day before, and your ears were turned slightly outward, catching every whisper of the village. You were still annoyed—annoyed at the heat, annoyed at the salt, and specifically annoyed at the boy sitting directly across from you.

Tsireya sat in the center, her presence a calm pool of water between two fires. Aonung, however, was a different story. He sat with his broad shoulders squared, his thick tail sculling the water through a gap in the floorboards. He wasn't smirking as much today, but his eyes were fixed on you with a focused, predatory intensity that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up.

"In the water, the tongue is silent, words are quite literally drowned out" Tsireya explained, her hands moving in fluid, melodic patterns. "We speak with the hands. It must be precise. If the hand is lazy, the meaning is lost."

She demonstrated the sign for Tulkun—a grand, sweeping motion. You mirrored her, your slender fingers moving with a natural grace.

"You are doing it wrong," Aonung’s voice cut in. It wasn't the loud mockery of the previous day; it was lower, sharper. You stopped mid-motion, your eyes snapping to his. "Excuse me?"

"Your fingers," Aonung said, leaning forward until he was encroaching on your space. "They are too close together. You’re signing 'small fish,' not 'Tulkun.' Unless you believe a Tulkun is the size of a minnow?"

You didn't break eye contact. "I think i am signing it just fucking fine, Ao’nung. Perhaps your eyes are as useless as your teaching has proven to be."

The mention of his name—or rather, your sharp use of it—made his ears flick back. Neteyam shifted beside you, sensing the temperature rising. "Tsmuke, just widen your hand," he muttered under his breath, trying to play peacemaker.

"No," you said, the word sound like a snap of a dry branch when rolling off your tongue. "If he wants to be a teacher, he can teach me. But he does not get to lie about my form just to hear himself speak."

Aonung’s jaw tightened. He didn't back down. Instead, he raised his hands and began to sign rapidly, his movements aggressive and clipped. He signed clumsy, then stubborn, then forest-dweller. He did it with a sneer, his eyes challenging you to keep up.

"You move like you are still a monkey swinging through trees," he said, his voice a low challenge. "This is the ocean. We do not have time for your 'refinement.' We need clarity."

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "And we don't have time for a teacher who spends more time looking at my face than the gestures you are trying to teach. Are you going to teach, or are you going to keep staring at me like I’m a stranded stingbat?"

The air between you turned brittle. The tension was so thick that even the breeze seemed to avoid the gazebo. Tsireya looked between the two of you, her brow furrowing. She saw the way your tail was lashing, and the way Aonungs chest was heaving as if he’d just run a mile.

"I am staring," Aonung said, his voice tightening, "because you are doing it wrong."

"Then show me," you challenged, thrusting your hands toward him. "Show me, oh great Master of the Sea. Show me how a real warrior signs it."

Aonung reached out, his large, cool hand grabbing your wrist to adjust your fingers. He didn't do it gently. He moved your hand with a rough, impatient jerk, forcing your fingers into the correct position. "There," he hissed. "That is a Tulkun."

You didn't pull away. You stayed there, your wrist in his grip, your eyes boring into his. "you are shaking, Aonung."

He froze. He was. A fine tremor was running through his fingers where they gripped your dark skin. He looked down at his own hand, then back at you, and for a split second, the bravado cracked. A deep, bruised indigo flush began to creep up his neck, staining his cheeks a dark, tell-tale purple.

He was blushing. Hard.

Tsireya’s eyes went wide. She looked at her brother’s face, at the way he was still holding your wrist, then at your defiant, narrowed eyes. She saw the way the air seemed to vibrate between you—with a raw, unfinished energy that was making everyone else in the gazebo incredibly uncomfortable.

"Aonung," Tsireya said, her voice small. "You can let go now."

Aonung snapped his hand back as if he’d been burned. He turned his head away quickly, but the purple flush on his ears was unmistakable. He let out a sharp, frustrated huff, his tail lashing the water so hard it splashed up through the floorboards.

"Her hands are just... they are too small," Aonung muttered, his voice cracking slightly. "It is frustrating."

"My hands are fine," you snapped back, though your own heart was thudding against your ribs. "it is your head that is the problem."

Lo’ak leaned over to Neteyam, his voice a loud whisper. "What the hell is happening? Are they going to kill each other or what?"

Neteyam didn't answer. He just watched the way you and Ao’nung were pointedly not looking at each other now, both of you looking like you wanted to jump into the ocean just to cool off. Tsireya caught your eye and then looked at her brother, a knowing, slightly worried look crossing her face. She realized right then that Ao’nung wasn't just annoyed by you. He was completely rattled by you once again.

"Let us try the sign for hunt," Tsireya said, trying to break the spell.

"Good," you muttered, your ears flicking forward. "I’m very good at hunting things that annoy me." Aonung didn't respond, but you saw his tail give one final, violent lash against the water. The tension stayed, thick and heavy, a silent storm waiting for the right moment to break.

Days later, after a fight between your brothers and Ao’nung and his friends over them picking on kiri. Lo’ak informed you that Ao’nung offered to take him hunting with their group as an apology— but the sun was dipping below the horizon, and a cold, oily dread had begun to pool in your stomach the moment the hunting party returned without your youngest brother.

You stood on the main braided walkway, your hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Beside you, Neteyam was a statue of vibrating tension, his eyes scanning the darkening surf. Ao’nung and his circle of friends emerged from the water, their movements hurried, their faces pale under the bioluminescence beginning to glow on their skin.

"Where is he?" Neteyam’s voice cracked like a whip. "Aonung! Where is my brother?"

Aonung stumbled onto the walkway, dripping wet. He wouldn't look at Neteyam. He wouldn't look at his father, Tonowari, who was approaching with a terrifying, silent gravity. But his eyes flickered to you for a split second, and in that moment, you saw it: the guilt. The stuttering, pathetic shadow of a boy who had played a game he wasn't man enough to finish.

"He... he was right behind us," Aonung stammered, his voice thin. "We were just swimming. He must have gotten turned around. You know how forest people are, they can't—"

"Aonung," Tsireya’s voice rose in a sob as she broke through the crowd, her face streaked with salt and tears. "Tell them! You took him past the reef! You left him in the deep water!"

The world seemed to tilt. The deep water. The hunting grounds of the Akula.

Something inside you didn't just break—it incinerated. Every ounce of restraint you had practiced for your father, every "diplomatic" breath you had taken to keep the peace, evaporated in the heat of pure rage.

Your ears didn't just pin back; they once again vanished against the curve of your skull. Your pupils dilated until your amber eyes were nothing but twin pits of black fire. You didn't growl; you let out a sound that was half-hiss, half-scream.

"You piece of shit!"

The curse, sharp and jagged in the Sky People’s tongue, shocked the nearby Metkayina, but you weren't finished. Before anyone could track your movement, you lunged.

You were a blur of dark skin and fury. You hit Aonung with the force of a falling tree, the momentum carrying both of you off the walkway and into the shallow, churning water below. You didn't care about the splash. You didn't care about the gasps of the village. You were on top of him in an instant, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you shook him.

"You cowardly, bottom-feeding son of a bitch!" you shrieked, the language of your father flowing out of you in a gutteral torrent of filth. "I told you! I warned you not to fuck with us! You left him to die? You left my kid-brother in the dark?"

Aonung’s hands came up instinctively to shield his face, his eyes wide with genuine terror. He had seen you angry, but he had never seen you like this.

"It was a joke—we were just—"

"A joke?" you roared, and before he could finish, you pulled back your fist.

You didn't hit like the frail girl your frame suggested. You put every bit of your weight, every bit of your betrayal, and every bit of your fear for Lo'ak into a single, devastating punch. Your knuckles connected with his cheekbone with a sickening thud that echoed off the nearby pods. Aonung’s head snapped to the side, his skin split at the contact.

You raised your fist again, a string of curses falling from your lips that would have made a Marine raider blush. You were reaching for his throat, your hands ready to leave marks that would never heal, when two powerful arms wrapped around your chest.

"Sister! Stop! Let go!"

It was Neteyam. He hauled you back, feet splashing in the surf as he struggled to keep his grip on you. You were a thrashing, wild animal in his arms, your heels kicking at the water as you tried to get back to Aonung, who was slumped in the shallows, clutching his face in shock.

"Let me go, Neteyam! I’ll kill him! I swear to Eywa, I will gut him like a fish!" you screamed, your accent making the threats sound like a dark prayer. "You motherfucking coward! Look at me! Where is my goddamn brother!"

"(Y/N)! Look at me!" Neteyam shouted, spinning you around so you had to face him. His own face was a mask of panic, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "He’s not worth it! Lo'ak is still out there! We have to find him! Do you hear me? We have to go now!"

The mention of Lo'ak’s name acted like a bucket of ice water. The adrenaline didn't leave you, but it redirected. You stopped thrashing, though your body was still vibrating with a violent tremor, ears swiveling. You looked past Neteyam to where Aonung was being pulled up by Rotxo, his face already beginning to bruise, blood dripping from his wound into the turquoise tide.

You pointed a trembling finger at him, your voice dropping to a deadly, vibrating whisper that carried over the sound of the waves.

"If my brother is dead," you promised, "there is no corner of this ocean deep enough to hide you from me. I will find you. And I will finish this."

Neteyam didn't give you another second. He gripped your hand tight, pulling you toward the banshees. "Move! We're losing light!"

You turned your back on Aonung, leaving him standing in the red wash of the sunset, broken and humiliated by the girl he found himself most drawn to. You didn't look back as you mounted your Ikran, your mind screaming one name over and over again as you took to the dark, unforgiving sky.

The return of Lo’ak had been a frantic, saltwater-drenched blur. You remembered the agonizing wait, the silhouette of the Tulkun against the moon, and the bone-crushing hug you’d given your brother—a hug that was half-relief and half-threat to never scare you like that again. Then came the shock of his lie. You had watched through narrowed, disbelieving eyes as Lo’ak stood before the Olo’eyktan and took the full weight of the blame on his own shoulders. You had scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard they ached, but you had remained silent. You knew the price of that peace, and though it tasted like shit in your mouth, you didn't contradict him.

The rage that had fueled your punch the night before had cooled into a heavy, throbbing ache by the following morning. Your right hand was swollen, the knuckles a bruised indigo that matched the dark markings of your skin, the heat already beginning to shimmer off the turquoise water.

Inside the Tsahik’s pod, the only sound was the rhythmic scraping of a pestle and the distant, hollow call of an ilu. Ronal’s hands were steady and clinical as she worked; she had tended to Aonung first, her silence more piercing than any scolding could have been. You sat a few paces back, nursing your swollen right hand, watching as she finished bandaging his face.

Aonung didn't look at you. He stood up slowly, nodding to his mother with a quiet "Irayo," and ducked out through the woven entrance without a word.

When it was your turn, Ronal took your hand. Her touch was firm, her eyes scanning the deep indigo bruising across your knuckles. She applied a cooling, pungent paste that made your skin tingle, then wrapped it in clean, white sea-fiber. She didn't offer any maternal comfort, only a sharp, knowing look that told you she understood the fire that had driven the blow. When she finished, she tapped your hand twice and gestured to the exit.

You stepped out of the shaded pod and into the blinding brightness of the walkway. You expected to be alone, but Aonung was leaning against one of the carved wooden pillars, his tail trailing listlessly in the water below. He looked up as you approached, the bandage on his face stark against his teal skin.

He didn’t smirk. He didn't even try for a witty comeback. He just looked at your bandaged hand and then back at your face.

"You punch harder than your brothers," he said, his voice raspy. He gestured with a tilt of his head to the fading yellow bruise around his other eye—the mark Lo’ak had left on him during that fight over teasing Kiri. "Lo’ak’s was good. But yours... I felt that in my soul."

You looked at your hand, then back at him. "Yeah. Dad’s strength. He says if you’re going to punch something, you make sure it’s worth the pain."

Aonung let out a soft, dry huff—a laugh. "He taught you well."

The walk back toward the village center was quiet. For the first time, the silence wasn't jagged or filled with the need to sharpen your tongue. You walked side-by-side, the rhythmic thump-thump of your feet on the braided walkways matching the pulse of the tide. You passed hunters preparing their nets and children splashing in the shallows, but your focus remained on the path ahead.

The weight of the previous night still hung between you. You knew why Lo’ak had lied, and Aonung knew that you knew. The guilt was visible in the way he kept his shoulders hunched, his usual bravado stripped away to reveal a boy who was finally realizing the cost of his own pride.

Just before you reached the clearing where the other teens were gathering for the final lesson of the Way of Water, Aonung stopped. He turned to face you, the morning sun catching the pale skin of his chest.

"Wait," he said softly. You stopped, turning your head to look at him, your amber eyes searching his.

Aonung hesitated, his throat working as he searched for the words. Then, he reached out. His large, cool hand hovered for a second before he gently took your bandaged hand in his. He didn't grip it; he held it with a reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

"I am sorry," he said, his voice steady and clear. "For everything. For the things I said, for the way I treated your siblings... and for leaving Lo’ak." He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing lightly over the white fiber of your bandage. "I was a coward. I wanted to be a leader by making others small, but all I did was make myself look pathetic."

You didn't pull away. You felt the sincerity in the way his hand trembled slightly against yours.

"I wish to start over," Aonung continued, finally meeting your gaze. "With you. With your family. As of today, after this lesson, you are no longer just guests. You are brothers and sisters of the Metkayina. I want to be someone who you all can depend on ."

You looked at him for a long moment, the salt air blowing a loose strand of hair across your face. You saw the boy who had mocked your tail, but you also saw the man he was trying to become.

"Fine," you said, your voice softening as you looked him in the eye. "But if you call me a 'forest monkey' one more time, I am using the other hand. And I won't be going to the Tsahik for paste afterward."

Aonung let out a genuine laugh this time, the sound bright and clear. "I think I’ve learned my lesson."

He didn't let go of your hand until you were in sight of Neteyam and Lo’ak. As you approached your brothers, you saw Neteyam’s eyes dart to your joined hands, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Lo’ak just smirked, a knowing look passing between him and Aonung.

The final lesson was beginning. As you dove into the water together, the transition felt seamless. You weren't Omatikaya and Metkayina anymore; you were a single unit, moving with the tide.

credits to the gif owner

The sun dipped low over the lush canopy of the Omatikaya forest, casting golden shafts through the leaves that danced across your azure skin like fleeting fireflies.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat at the edge of the communal fire pit, your lithe frame relaxed after a long day of gathering herbs and weaving baskets. Strands of your dark hair, loosely braided with feathers from the hexapede you'd befriended, framed your delicate face, where wide amber eyes sparkled with quiet contentment. Your beauty was effortless, a soft curve to your full lips, high cheekbones flushed with the day's warmth, and a slender neck that led to the gentle swell of your shoulders, bare save for the thin straps of your beaded top.

You were known in the clan for your sweetness, always offering a kind word or a helping hand, your voice like a gentle breeze carrying notes of laughter that eased tensions among the hunters and weavers alike.

Neteyam approached from the treeline, his tall, athletic build cutting through the underbrush with purposeful strides.

His blue skin held a subtle sheen under the fading light, broader than the average Na'vi, he moved with fluid grace as any born of Eywa. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, softened the moment they landed on you, and he carried a skewer of roasted yerik meat in one hand, the savory aroma wafting toward the fire. He had been out on patrol all afternoon, his lithe muscles still taut from the exertion, a faint sheen of sweat tracing the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, where faint scars from training marred the otherwise smooth expanse.

Without a word, he lowered himself beside you, his thigh brushing yours in a way that felt natural, protective like a shield woven from his very presence. The heat from his body mingled with the fire's glow, and you shifted slightly, making room, your tail curling idly against the mat.

"Here." He said, his voice deep and warm, laced with that attentive care he always reserved for you, extending the skewer. "You haven't eaten since morning. Take this."

His free hand hovered near your shoulder, as if ready to steady you, his fingers long and calloused from bowstrings.

You accepted the meat with a grateful smile, your lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, and bit into the tender flesh, juices dripping down your chin. "Thank you, Teyam. You're always looking out for everyone."

Your tone was light, sincere, as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, savoring the smoky flavor.

He watched you eat, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved with each swallow, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When you'd finished half the skewer, he reached over casually, his knuckles grazing the soft plane of your midriff just above your woven skirt. His touch was light, playful, as he poked gently at the slight give of your stomach, testing.

"Full yet?" He teased, his golden eyes crinkling with amusement, the firelight reflecting in their depths like stars.

You giggled, the sound bubbling up sweetly, your hand instinctively covering his for a moment before pulling back, the contact sending a warm flutter through you that you dismissed as simple comfort.

He poked your tummy once more, firmer this time, until he nodded in satisfaction, withdrawing his hand but not his proximity.

Leaning back on one elbow, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion, he grinned a full boyish expression that lit up his handsome features, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "Good. I have to keep you well-fed, or else you'll be grumpy all evening, and no one wants that."

His words carried a fond lilt, protective undertone threading through like vines around a tree trunk.

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming to a subtle lavender hue, but you waved it off with a laugh, assuming it was just his way. Neteyam had always been kind, especially to you, like an older brother watching over the clan.

"I'm not grumpy." You protested softly, nudging his arm with your elbow, the muscle there solid under your touch. "But I appreciate it. Really."

The flattery settled comfortably in your chest, a quiet joy at his attentiveness, yet you chalked it up to platonic concern, the kind he showed to his siblings or close friends.

As the evening deepened, the camp buzzed with shared stories and laughter around the fire.

Neteyam stayed glued to your side, his knee pressing against yours whenever he shifted to gesture during a tale, his arm occasionally draping over the log behind you, fingers nearly brushing your hair.

You leaned into the space without thinking, your shoulder nestling against his, reciprocating the closeness naturally by tucking a loose strand of his braid behind his ear when it fell forward, or passing him a gourd of water with a soft tone. "Here, you look thirsty."

Each act felt easy, instinctive, like breathing in the humid air, unaware that to him, they were signals blooming in the silent language of courtship.

Neteyam interpreted your every response as understanding, as quiet acceptance of his intentions. He had never spoken the words outright. Why would he? In the ways of the People, actions wove the bond stronger than declarations. Your easy touches, the way your amber eyes met his without pulling away, filled him with a swelling joy, his heart pounding a steady rhythm whenever that purple flush colored your cheeks under his gaze. He believed you knew, that your sweetness masked a shared secret, and it made his protective instincts burn brighter.

The next morning dawned with mist clinging to the ferns, the air alive with the calls of ilu in the nearby streams.

You knelt by the riverbank, your slender fingers dipping into the cool water to rinse fresh fruit, your lithe legs folded beneath you, the curve of your hips accentuated by the morning light filtering through the leaves. Your beauty shone in these simple moments, skin glowing like polished sapphire, the gentle arch of your back as you reached for a low-hanging vine, full lips pursed in concentration.

Neteyam emerged from the path leading to the hunting grounds, his stride confident, a small woven pouch slung over his shoulder. He had risen before the sun, his mind fixed on you as always, seeking you out amid the clan's morning routines.

Spotting you by the water, he veered toward you without hesitation, his tall frame casting a shadow that made you glance up, your face brightening with that sweet smile.

"Good morning." You greeted, straightening with a handful of berries, droplets trailing down your arms like liquid diamonds.

He knelt beside you, close enough that his knee dipped into the damp earth next to yours, his scent earthy and spiced from the hunt washing over you. From the pouch, he drew a delicate necklace, woven from fine fibers dyed in deep indigo, threaded with small beads that matched the ones woven into his own braids, iridescent and polished stones, symbols of promise among the Omatikaya. Such gifts were no small thing, only those spoken for exchanged beads and jewelry, a quiet vow etched in adornment.

His golden eyes held yours steadily as he held it out, voice soft with earnest warmth. "For you. I made it last night."

Your eyes widened, fingers trembling slightly as you took it, the beads cool against your palm.

It was beautiful, intricate, and you traced the patterns with awe, slipping it over your head without a second thought. The weight settled against your collarbone, warm now from your skin.

"Neteyam, it's stunning." You breathed, touching it lightly, your voice laced with genuine delight. "Thank you so much. You're too kind."

To you, it was another gesture of friendship, a token from a dear companion who noticed your love for such crafts.

He watched as you adjusted it, his chest tightening with quiet elation at how it complemented the curve of your neck, drawing out the glow of your eyes.

Leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear, he murmured. "It looks pretty on you. Suits you perfectly."

His hand lingered near your shoulder, thumb brushing the strap of your top in a fleeting touch, protective and tender.

Throughout the day, he positioned himself near you effortlessly, standing at your side while you helped mend nets, his arm steadying yours when a knot proved tricky, the heat of his body a constant reassurance.

At midday meal, he claimed the spot beside you on the log, sharing bites of breadfruit from his own portion, his knee bumping yours under the pretense of passing a utensil. You reciprocated without reservation, feeding him a piece of fruit in return, your fingers grazing his lips accidentally, laughing softly at the juice that smeared his chin.

"Messy eater." You teased sweetly, wiping it away with your thumb, the act intimate yet innocent in your mind.

Neteyam savored these moments, his heart swelling each time you leaned into him or met his gaze with that trusting warmth. Your acceptance fueled his belief that you understood that this was the dance of courtship, unspoken but profound. He never pressed for words, in his eyes, your sweetness was the answer, and it made him seek you out even more fervently.

That evening, as the hunters returned from a brief foray into the woods, Neteyam was among the first to break from the group, his eyes scanning the camp until they found you seated by the weaver's circle, your fingers deftly threading vines into patterns. He approached with a small bundle wrapped in leaves, his lithe form still humming with the thrill of the chase, chest rising and falling steadily under his harness.

Kneeling before you, he unwrapped it to reveal a cluster of rare glow-fruit, their skins luminescent even in the twilight, plucked from a hidden grove.

"For you." He said again, his voice rich with affection, golden eyes locking onto yours as he placed it in your lap, his hand covering yours briefly, thumb stroking the back in a soothing circle. "Saw these and thought of your smile, they light up like you do."

You blushed, the purple tint blooming across your nose, and accepted the gift with a soft gasp, your free hand touching his wrist in thanks. "Neteyam, you didn't have to. But... I love them. You're always bringing me the best things."

Popping one into your mouth, the sweet burst made you hum in pleasure, and you offered him the next, unaware of the courtship ritual in the sharing. He took it from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin deliberately, a spark of joy igniting in his chest at your oblivious sweetness.

As days blurred into a rhythm of closeness, you couldn't help the quiet worry that gnawed at you during quieter moments.

Neteyam spent so much time with you, guarding your path to the river, joining you in the evenings to stargaze, his arm around your shoulders as if warding off the night's chill. It was flattering, the way his attentiveness made you feel seen, cherished, but you fretted silently that it might deter other potential mates. He was the clan's golden son, brave and skilled. Surely, his focus on you could ruin his chances.

Yet, deep down, a selfish part of you wanted to bask in it longer.

You'd always harbored a secret longing for it to be you, imagining his hand in yours during the mating rituals, his golden eyes promising forever. But if he truly wanted that, wouldn't he have said it outright? Na'vi didn't play games with such things.

So you kept quiet, letting yourself enjoy his presence while it lasted. The way he'd pull you close during a sudden rain, shielding you with his body, his laughter rumbling against your ear or how he'd braid a fresh flower into your hair after a swim, his fingers lingering on your scalp, massaging gently until you sighed in contentment.

One afternoon, as you walked the forest paths together collecting vines, he stayed a step behind, his eyes tracing the sway of your hips, the elegant line of your spine. When a low branch snagged your arm, he was there instantly, plucking it away with a tsk of concern, his palm cupping your elbow to inspect the minor scratch.

"Careful, sevin." He murmured, the endearment slipping out like a habit, his touch feather-light as he blew on the mark, golden eyes fierce with protectiveness.

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering, and squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, thanks to you."

In these drawn-out exchanges, his affection unfolded like the petals of a sunbloom, attentive in the way he anticipated your needs, sweet in the stories he shared by the fire, his voice dropping low as he described hunts just to see your eyes widen. He'd draw you into his side during communal dances, his hand at the small of your back guiding your steps, bodies moving in sync under the bioluminescent glow.

You reciprocated with hugs goodbye after shared tasks, your cheek pressing to his chest, inhaling his scent, convincing yourself it was all just the warmth of friendship.

~

The bioluminescent glow of the evening settled over the Omatikaya village like a soft veil, vines pulsing with faint light as the clan gathered for the communal meal.

You wove through the crowd, your bare feet padding silently on the woven platforms, the sway of your hips subtle under the lightweight loincloth that hugged your curves.

Your azure skin caught the ethereal shimmer, highlighting the graceful taper of your waist and the gentle rise of your breasts beneath a top of supple leaves. Strands of your hair, adorned with tiny shells that clinked softly, fell in loose waves over one shoulder, framing your heart-shaped face where your amber eyes held a lingering warmth from the day's simple joys.

You spotted Neteyam near the central fire, his broad back turned momentarily as he conversed with a group of hunters. But then, as you drew closer, your steps faltered. He was leaning in toward a female Na'vi you'd seen only in passing.

Kalife.

The one whose voice enchanted the nights during celebrations, her songs weaving through the air like threads of moonlight. She was striking in her own right, her lithe form draped in a shawl of iridescent feathers that accentuated the elegant length of her limbs and the high arch of her brows. Her skin gleamed with a deeper cobalt hue, and her full mouth curved in easy laughter as she tilted her head, exposing the slender column of her throat.

Neteyam laughed a deep, resonant sound that rumbled from his chest, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges in a way you'd rarely seen, softened by an unfamiliar tenderness. A faint azure tint colored his cheeks, blooming across his sharp jawline, and he reached out to lightly touch her arm, his fingers lingering just a beat too long on the smooth expanse of her bicep.

They stood close, shoulders nearly brushing, the space between them charged with an intimacy that twisted something sharp in your gut.

Jealousy uncoiled like a viper in your chest, hot and insistent, mingling with a wave of insecurity that made your throat tighten.

Who was she to him?

You knew little beyond her reputation, the clan's finest singer, her melodies drawing sighs from even the sternest warriors during feasts. But seeing Neteyam like this, his usual guarded demeanor cracking into that rare blush, you couldn't help the assumption that solidified in your mind.

He liked her. Of course he did.

She was everything vibrant and captivating, while you'd been fooling yourself with his attentiveness, mistaking brotherly kindness for something more. Embarrassment flooded you, heating your face as you imagined how naive you'd been, reciprocating his touches and gifts like they meant what your heart had dared to hope.

You turned away abruptly, your tail flicking with agitation, and slipped back toward your family's marui without a word to anyone. The woven entrance flap closed behind you with a soft rustle, sealing you in the dim, vine-draped space.

For the next few days, you retreated fully, curling into your hammock with a blanket of furs pulled tight around your frame, the curve of your knees drawn to your chest as if to ward off the ache. Meals were brought by your mother, her concerned eyes tracing the shadows under yours, but you waved off questions with murmured excuses about fatigue from the heat.

On the second day, a familiar voice echoed from outside.

Neteyam's, low and laced with worry. "Is she alright? I brought some healing herbs from the lowlands, they ease any fever."

Your heart stuttered at the sound, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, nodding urgently to your parents.

Your father stepped out, his voice steady as he relayed your fabricated illness. "She's under the weather, Neteyam. A stomach ache from bad fruit. Best to let her rest."

You heard the hesitation in his tone, but he held firm, and after a pause filled with Neteyam's murmured concern. "Tell her I hope she feels better soon, please."

His footsteps retreated, leaving you with a pang of guilt that only deepened the hurt.

By the fourth day, the isolation gnawed at you, the marui's walls feeling too confining.

You emerged into the dappled sunlight, blinking against the brightness, your body moving with a deliberate stiffness as you gathered a heavy basket of woven fibers for the clan's repairs. The weight strained your arms, pulling at the lithe muscles of your shoulders, but you gripped it tighter, determined to manage alone.

That's when you saw him.

Neteyam crossing the platform, his stride purposeful, the harness across his torso accentuating the powerful V of his back and the ripple of his abs with each step. His braids swung gently, catching the light, and his gaze locked onto you immediately, concern etching lines around his mouth.

He quickened his pace, reaching out with an instinctive offer.

"Let me take that for you." He said, his voice warm but edged with that familiar protectiveness, his large hands already extending toward the basket.

In the past, he'd always insisted, lifting it effortlessly from your grasp with a teasing grin, his fingers brushing yours in the process, claiming it was no trouble to spare you the strain. But now, you stepped back, hoisting the load higher against your hip, the edge digging into your side.

"No, thank you, Neteyam." You replied coolly, your tone polite but distant, the sweetness drained from it like water from a cracked gourd.

Your eyes flicked away from his, focusing on the path ahead, and you walked on without waiting, the basket's weave creaking under your effort.

He froze for a moment, his extended hand dropping slowly, confusion flickering across his features, those sharp handsome planes tightening as he watched you go.

From his perspective, the shift hit like a sudden storm. The first day of your absence, he'd accepted the news of your sickness without question, lingering outside your marui with a bundle of fresh-picked leaves that promised relief, his mind replaying the easy laughter you'd shared just nights before.

But by the second day, unease settled in his gut, a quiet worry that gnawed as he patrolled the borders, his bow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the treetops more restlessly than usual.

Something felt off.

When you finally reappeared, the change was stark. Your avoidance of his help, that basket he'd carried a dozen times without fail struck him like a slap. He replayed his actions in his mind. The necklace, the gifts, the constant nearness.

Had he been too forward, pushing the boundaries of courtship too aggressively? Na'vi ways were subtle, but perhaps he'd overstepped, made you uncomfortable without realizing.

Worry coiled in his chest, making his breaths shallower during hunts, his focus splintering as he glanced back toward the village more often. He didn't approach again that day, respecting the invisible wall you'd raised, but he watched from afar, ensuring the path you took was clear of roots, his golden eyes tracking your form with a mix of longing and self-doubt.

At the communal dinners that followed, you enforced the distance with quiet resolve.

You chose seats on the far side of the fire pit, your posture straight and composed, legs tucked gracefully beneath you as you picked at your portions of smoked fish and roots. When Neteyam's gaze sought yours across the flames, you met it with a nod and a smile that didn't reach your eyes. It was polite, detached, the once-affectionate “Teyam” replaced entirely by the formal “Neteyam” in the rare instances you spoke.

"Pass the salt, Neteyam." You'd say evenly if needed, your voice stripped of its former lilt, and turn back to conversation with others, your fingers twisting a vine idly to avoid his stare.

One evening, as the fire crackled and stories flowed, you glanced up to see him settling beside Kalife and another lithe female from the weavers' circle, her features soft with rounded cheeks and eyes like polished amber.

He frowned briefly in your direction after your latest dismissal earlier, when he'd offered you a gourd of water, you'd taken it with a murmured thanks and no further engagement but then he turned to them, his shoulders relaxing into the group.

Kalife leaned in to whisper something, her hand gesturing animatedly, and though he didn't laugh this time, the sight of him there with a small soft smile, surrounded by her easy camaraderie, soured the warmth in your belly. Bitterness rose like bile, confirming the whirlwind of speculations in your head.

He had something with her, or at least the beginnings of it. Why else would he seek her company now, after your withdrawal?

You'd been a fool to bask in his attention, and the realization stung, sharpening your resolve to pull away further.

Neteyam felt the shift acutely, his confusion deepening into a persistent ache. He'd sought out Kalife only for advice on a melody she'd sung, a way to perhaps share it with you later, to draw you back with something light but your distant smiles and full-name address cut deeper than any blade. He wondered if his affections had overwhelmed you, if the beads in the necklace now felt like chains.

From across the camp, he continued his quiet care. Leaving a fresh-picked cluster of berries near your marui's entrance at dawn, hidden just enough to avoid intrusion, or positioning himself during patrols to overlook the paths you frequented, his lithe form perched on a branch, bow at the ready should any danger stir. But he held back from direct approach, uncertainty rooting him in place, his mind a tangle of worry.

Had he misread your reciprocation entirely?

The thought haunted his nights, sleep evading him as he stared at the canopy, heart heavy with the fear of having lost the quiet bond he'd cherished.

Meanwhile, you carried the hurt in silence, a jealous fire smoldering beneath your composed exterior. Each glimpse of him with Kalife, her laughter ringing out during a midday gathering, his head tilting attentively fueled the insecurity, whispering that you'd never been the one he wanted, just a convenient friend in his orbit. You believed it fully now, the embarrassment of your misinterpretation locking the pain in place.

Yet, beneath it all, you missed him fiercely, the solid warmth of his presence, the way his touches had made your days brighter.

In the quiet of your marui, you'd trace the necklace he gave you, fingers lingering on the beads that matched his braids, a secret ache blooming as you wondered what might have been if you'd been braver, or if he'd ever truly seen you that way. The distance stretched, a chasm of unspoken misunderstandings, leaving you both adrift in the village's rhythm, yearning across the divide.

The days blurred into a haze of unspoken tension, the village's vibrant hum fading into a dull echo for Neteyam.

He moved through his routines like a shadow of himself, sharpening arrows with mechanical precision, his callused fingers gripping the stone too tightly, or scouting the perimeter with a bow that felt heavier than usual across his sinewy shoulders. The once-vibrant spark in his golden eyes dimmed, replaced by a furrowed brow and a jaw set in quiet frustration. His lithe frame, honed from endless hunts, seemed to carry an invisible weight, his steps less assured as he navigated the woven bridges and fern-shrouded paths.

Sleep evaded him, leaving dark circles beneath his lashes, and even the clan's evening songs couldn't coax a smile from his lips.

His family noticed the shift immediately.

Jake's sharp gaze lingered during family meals, his own broad form leaning forward with unspoken concern, while Neytiri's ears twitched at his subdued responses, her elegant fingers pausing mid-gesture as she wove nets. The younger ones picked up on it too. Kiri's empathetic tilt of the head, Tuk's wide-eyed questions about why Teyam looks sad.

But it was Lo'ak who confronted him first, cornering him one afternoon near the edge of the training grounds, where the air hummed with the distant calls of ikran.

Lo'ak crossed his arms over his chest, his lean muscles flexing under his skin painted with fresh hunt markings, his braids swaying as he cocked his head.

"Skxawng, what the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded, his voice a mix of brotherly exasperation and genuine worry, eyes narrowing at Neteyam's slumped posture. “You've been moping around like a hexapede with a thorn in its hoof. Energy's gone, poof. Spill it."

Neteyam sighed, running a hand through his braided locks, the beads clicking softly against each other. If it was any other day, he would have beaten Lo’ak for calling him that but right now, he just doesn’t have the energy for it. He leaned against a sturdy tree trunk, its bark rough against his back, and met Lo'ak's gaze with a weary intensity.

"It's her." He admitted, the words tumbling out low and raw, his throat tightening around the confession. "She... dismissed me. Cold as the deep caves. Won't look at me, won't let me help, calls me by my full name like I'm some stranger. After everything, the hunts, the necklace, I thought... I don't know. Maybe I pushed too hard."

His voice cracked slightly on the last part, vulnerability etching lines across his handsome features, the high cheekbones and full lips that usually curved in confidence now drawn tight.

Lo'ak's expression softened, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture firm and grounding. "Bro, you're overthinking it like always. Guessing games? That's for dummies. Just talk to her straight up. Ask why she's acting like that. Can't fix what you don't face."

His tone was direct, laced with that reckless honesty that always cut through Neteyam's reservations, eyes gleaming with encouragement.

The advice lingered like a persistent vine as Neteyam ventured into the forest the next morning, the canopy filtering sunlight into golden shafts that danced across the mossy undergrowth.

He needed a quiet moment, away from the clan's watchful eyes, to gather his thoughts. But fate or perhaps Eywa's subtle nudge led him to you. Hidden among the thick foliage, his body low and still like a predator's, he watched as you knelt by a cluster of luminous blossoms, their petals unfurling in shades of violet and gold.

Your form was a vision in the dappled light.

Azure skin glowing with a soft sheen from the morning dew, the curve of your spine arching gracefully as you reached forward, fingers delicate yet sure plucking the stems. Your hair cascaded in loose, silken waves, catching flecks of pollen that sparkled like stars, and the gentle swell of your hips shifted with each movement, your loincloth whispering against your thighs. Beauty radiated from you effortlessly, a quiet allure that made his chest ache with longing.

He'd missed this, missed you, the way your presence lit something fierce and tender within him.

Heart pounding, he stepped forward, leaves crunching faintly under his feet, revealing himself with a soft rustle.

You startled slightly, your hand pausing mid-reach, but when your eyes flicked up, they darted away immediately, focusing on the flowers as if they held the secrets of the universe. Your tail curled tightly around your leg, a telltale sign of unease, and you rose slowly, brushing dirt from your knees with averted gaze.

"Why?" Neteyam asked, his voice steady but laced with a raw edge of hurt, stepping closer until the space between you hummed with tension. He towered gently over you, his broad chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, the scent of earth and sweat clinging to his skin from the trek. "Why are you avoiding me like this? Is it because you do not want me to continue courting you?"

The words hung heavy, direct and unyielding, his golden eyes searching your face with desperate clarity.

Shock rippled through you, widening your amber eyes as you finally met his stare, your lips parting in disbelief. The forest seemed to still around you, the distant chirps fading as his confession sank in, this was the first time the pieces aligned, his actions no longer platonic gestures but deliberate pursuits of your heart.

"Courting?" You echoed, voice breathy with surprise, a flush creeping up your neck to tint your cheeks. "You're... courting me?"

Neteyam's brows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting slightly, braids shifting like dark rivers over his shoulders. He took a half-step nearer, the heat of his body palpable, his expression a mix of bewilderment and earnest plea.

"Of course I am." He replied, tone deepening with frustration at the misunderstanding, his large hand gesturing vaguely to encompass the memories between you. "Was it not obvious? The portions I bring from every hunt, carved just for you. The woven necklace with beads pulled from my own braids, so you'd carry a piece of me? The way I linger close, touch your arm in passing, shield you from the rougher paths during patrols?"

His voice softened on the last, eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your mouth, as if memorizing you anew.

Surprise ebbed into a whirlwind of emotions. Embarrassment heating your skin, hurt uncoiling from where you'd buried it. You looked down, fingers twisting the stem of a flower, the petal's velvet texture grounding you.

"I... I thought you were just being kind." You admitted quietly, voice trembling with the vulnerability of it, your shoulders hunching slightly as if to shield your heart. "Like a brother, or a friend. After seeing you with her, with Kalife, I felt foolish for hoping more. Embarrassed that I'd misread everything."

A soft chuckle escaped Neteyam, low and rumbling from his chest, relief flooding his features as tension eased from his frame. He shook his head, a fond smile curving his lips, exasperation mingling with amusement in his gaze.

"My fault, too." He murmured, stepping fully into your space now, his presence warm and enveloping. "I should have spoken it plain from the start. You thought I didn't want you... after everything? Baby, you thought I was just being kind? Have you ever seen me do that “kindness” to anyone else other than you?"

He paused, voice dropping to a husky whisper, eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity.

"The gifts, the way I stay close, the way I... watch over you, even in the quiet moments? I don’t do that for anyone else paskalin, only you."

His hand lifted, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin there, calluses rough yet tender.

Emboldened by his nearness, you pressed on, the jealousy spilling out like a dam breaking. "I saw you laughing with her, blushing. Close like you shared something special. It hurt, Neteyam. Made me think you'd chosen her, that I was never the one."

Your voice cracked, eyes glistening as you searched his face, the forest's humidity mirroring the mist in your gaze.

Neteyam's expression softened further, a gentle laugh bubbling up as he drew you nearer, his free hand capturing yours.

"I wasn't talking to her like that." He reassured, tone warm and steady, laced with a hint of playful denial. "I was asking for advice. I thought maybe you didn't want me, since you hadn't said yes to my pursuits."

He squeezed your fingers, his grip firm yet yielding.

"I only want you." His eyes sparkled with mirth, the earlier confusion dissolving into clarity. "Besides, she has a mate of her own, a woman from the weavers, just as stubborn as you."

In truth, that first encounter you'd witnessed had been Neteyam pouring out his insecurities to Kalife by the fire's edge.

"She hasn't acknowledged it." He'd confided, cheeks warming under her knowing gaze as she leaned in, her eyes teasing. "What if she doesn't see me that way?"

Kalife had grinned, her full lips quirking. "Then grow some balls and tell her outright then you'll be making babies with her under the stars soon enough.'

The blush you’ve saw had been from her bold ribbing, not affection, and Kalife's reliability stemmed from her own mated life. Her partner, that pretty girl with the rounded features and amber eyes, waited nearby, their hands often clasped in quiet solidarity.

It was all platonic guidance, her experience a steady compass for Neteyam's fumbling heart.

And those frequent talks after your avoidance? More desperate queries. "Why does she pull away? What did I do wrong?"

Kalife had offered insights, her mate chiming in with nods, but in your pain-fueled haze, you'd missed the intertwined fingers of Kalife with the woman sitting next to her that you bypassed before as she talks with Neteyam, the casual leans of their shared life, seeing only threat where there was counsel.

Relief washed over you like a cool stream, warmth blooming in your chest, easing the knot that had tightened for days. Your body relaxed, shoulders dropping as a tentative smile curved your lips, the flower's stem forgotten in your grasp.

Neteyam sensed the shift, his thumb tracing your knuckles before he lifted your joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lips soft and lingering against your skin, breath warm and reassuring.

"You're mine." He whispered, voice thick with emotion, eyes half-lidded in quiet possession. "And I've been hoping you'd see it."

You laughed softly, the sound light and airy, embarrassment tinting your cheeks but overshadowed by bubbling happiness. Your free hand rose to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath the taut muscle.

"I guess I was too slow to notice." You replied, gaze lifting to meet his, vulnerability giving way to joy.

Neteyam's smile widened, radiant and full, as he pulled you flush against him, arms encircling your waist in a secure embrace. Your bodies aligned perfectly, his height enveloping you, the solid planes of his torso pressing to your softer curves.

"You don't have to assume anymore." He promised, voice a low rumble against your ear, one hand stroking down your back in soothing arcs. "I'll make sure you always know."

The forest enveloped you both, a private sanctuary where misunderstandings melted into certainty, the pretty flowers at your feet a silent witness to the mending of hearts.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

Watching you is his favourite hobby. Everything from the way you walk, to how you talk, to how you eat and how you sleep just enrapture him to you. So of course, when he watches you fumbling your words while you practice something he'll be too curious to not know what it is you're saying.

But getting closer and hearing you utter the words; "I-I like you so much! Pl-please go out with you-! NO! ME! Go out with me-! Damnit!"

You're adorable, no argument there, but those words make his heart sink all the way to his stomach. You're going to confess. How!? He watches you almost every second of the day and when he can't he has an underling keep an eye on you. He's sure he kept any potential rival away. How did some fucking rat slip past his radar?

Congratulations, you're not going to fucking breath without him being close by anymore. He's got a million different plans on how to prevent you from ever getting with this fucking usurper. He's going to find him before you have a chance to confess, and he's going to make sure he'll never have the chance to see you ever again.

Is it the douchebag at the corner store, the asshole you sit next to at the library, THE OLD MAN WALKING HIS DOG!??!!!!??? Not knowing is killing him until one day...

"K-kisaki? C-can we talk for a minute?"

He's so confused why you want to talk to him. He'll speak with you for hours on end if that's what you want of course, he just can't seem to wrap his head around why-!

"I... I like you. A lot. For a very long time now," you confess, and it feels like all the sunshine in the world is upon him at that moment. This warmth and glow he thought he'd never know suddenly being handed to him by you, his angel. "Wi-will you g-go down on me-! NO! IN! Inside of me-! NO! Oh my god! Out! Out with me-!"

He's got his arms wrapped around you in seconds, his heart beating out of his chest, and his dick twitching at your fumbles.

"Of course! God a million times, yes." he says, not even trying to hide his elation, "Everything you just said, I am more than willing."

YANDERE!MANJIRO (MIKEY) SANO

Mikey is an annoying little shit, especially when he likes people. Therefore, since you two are basically married, (girl run he thinks he owns you) , he is very pissed and betrayed when he catches you one day mumbling to yourself.

"I think- No shit, - I know I love-, Fuck no! That's too intense. I really like you- God, I sound like a loser..." Fuck ya, you do. Because only a loser would pick someone else when you have Mikey, ready and willing to strangle you give you all his love.

He's hurt. And he knows it shows with the way he treats you. Whoever you confess to he's going to find out about it. He's going to make you watch him pummel the sorry fuck into the dirt.

For now, though? He's giving you the cold shoulder. Left on read, blatantly ignored, and making sure you're feeling as heartbroken as you made him feel. Maybe he sneers with a mean comment or hurtful jab. Maybe he just doesn't respond when you try to say something to him.

And he knows he's hurting your feelings. He can see it in the way those gorgeous lips tremble when he's being a dick. Good. You should feel shitty for doing this to your soulmate. For thinking that anyone else could have you. But you'll fucking learn your place. He'll make sure of it.

Dickhead straight up walks past you, ignoring whatever the hell it is you're trying to say, when you grab him by the wrist. He can't help the electric pulse he feels at just that small amount of contact. You're not the only one suffering, he misses hugging and touching you, but he has to punish you for your betrayal! Doesn't mean he hasn't thought about loving you every day he's hurting you! (girl run)

"C-can we talk?" you whisper, and there is a slight thrill in him at how sad and broken you sound. "There's nothin' to talk about, Y/N." But your hold on his wrist just tightens, and Mikey thinks it's cute you actually believe you'd be strong enough to hold him. You fucking could have if you chose right.

"You heard me that day, right?" He doesn't answer you, just looks at you with cold and distant eyes. His silence is his answer. "I- I'm sorry," you tell him looking down at your feet but never letting him go. "Too late for that-," "I didn't mean to fall in love with you."

Wait.....What?

He opens his mouth to say something but when you look back up at him with tear filled eyes it's like the words get sucked out of his very body. Has he been wrong?

"You're so amazing, strong and kind and I... You made me feel so important and special, so I thought that m-maybe..." watching the tears stream freely and hearing every word you're saying has Mikey feeling so many different things. Love, regret and this never ending drum in the back of his mind telling him; Mineminemine, all fucking mine.

"I-I didn't think m-me loving you w-would be such a b-burden! B-but I can't help the way I feel! P-please don't hate me-!"

Suddenly he can't take another word out of your mouth. Too many emotions are stirring because of them, feeling like a stab to the heart and gentlest most tender embrace at the same time.

He's kissing you, all over, first on your lips to make you stop saying things that make his head spin, then he's kissing your tears away, your nose that's turning red from your sniffles. Every inch of your face. The whole-time saying things like; "You're perfect, you're beautiful, I love you, I love you, I love you."

You two need to have a very long and meaningful talk. Where Mikey is going to explain what belonging to him means. Good thing you're in love, right?

Yandere!Rindou Haitani

He's super fucking obvious about wanting and needing to impress you. Gym-bro over here flexing every time you walk into the room, talkin' about. "Ya you know, I'm like benchin' 250, easy, everyday-" "Shut the fuck up Rin."

Poor dude isn't fooling anyone. He is sprung HARD on you baby girl. It's like every interaction is an excuse to try and make you see that he's obviously prime boyfriend material. Showing off his strength, gloating about how he could totally take on 20 dudes at once.... doing this:

AceVane Beauty & The Beast , Rindou is the Beast, Ran is the candlestick and Kakucho is Cogsworth. OBVIOUSLY, YA BOI GOT ZERO RIZZ when it comes to you.

He shouldn't be so confused or hurt when he hears you practicing in the bathroom mirror. yesbitchhefollowedyou,causehelovesyou.

"Aight man, look, you ain't got no game and I ain't got no game, so let's just cut the shit and fuck- No jesus. Look, I'm into your cringey ass- No shit- You stupid as hell but I'm still try'na fuck- Jesus christ..."

Damn bitch. How could you? He's been trying to smash for MONTHS and now you think you get to leave him high and dry for some other grimy ass dude!? Hell no! He loves you bitch!

Rindou tries to play it off, like he didn't fall in love the second you walked into the club. Like he hasn't been thinking about you every waking second since. Like he ain't out here making you romantic ass mixtapes cause he wants it all with you.

He hopes whatever bitch boy you like can fight. He hopes that fucker knows someone is coming for his ass. He hopes you fucking watch him and realize that HE IS THE TOP CANIDATE FOR YOU.

But fuck, the idea someone could be occupying your mind, the idea of you loving anyone else, is killing him. He can't eat or sleep for a week straight, too focused on how he could possibly loose the greatest thing he's never had.

Ran, very gently (hethreatenshislife), tells him to stop being so sad, "Quit bein' a bitch,", tells him he needs to honest, "Over here acting like a pussy, can't even tell some random hoe how he feels,", and tells him he needs to find you and confess. "You either get the fuck out this apartment and get laid, or I'm breakin' your dick off for good."

Its just the pep talk he needs! So, he's running to find you! And when he spots you, nothing stops him. Not the car's that almost hit him when he runs in the middle of the road, or your scared friends that are screaming that he's a maniac. None of it until he puts his hands firmly on your shoulders and says, "Fuck your man, bitch! I SHOULD BE YOUR MAN."

Your response is exactly what he needs it to be. "WHAT MAN, STUPID ASS!? YOU THE ONLY ONE I'M TALKIN' TO." A romance for the ages, your children will love this one day, I am sure.

Neither of you have a real conversation, not until after you two run into the nearest hotel, rip the clothes off of each other's bodies and FUCK like you two hate each other. You don't of course, you tell him as much while you're riding it like you want to break his hips and spine, and then he's got you bent in a full nelson making you beg and cry.

It isn't until later, much later, like a lot later, goddamnhowlongcantwopeoplego, that you're mumbling something about how much you like his goofy ass and he's saying something about "Never lettin' go, stuck with me forever." that you both realize that the feelings were mutual this whole time.