juliet

Heads turn as the Fat Lady's portrait door swings open violently and you march through, sharp eyes searching for that familiar mop of black hair.

"Oi! How'd they get in here?" The voice of Seamus Finnigan calls out, confusion laced in his voice.

You roll your eyes as you continue to scan the crowd of faces occupying the Gryffindor common room.

"My brother is the captain of your god-awful quidditch team," you reply snarkily, growing more and more agitated by the distinct lack of lightning bolt scars and wire rimmed glasses.

If he was going to cheat on you, he should at least have the nerve to tell you to your face. He was supposed to be a bloody Gryffindor for heaven's sake. Your eyes finally land on Hermione Granger, who looks as if she wants to sink into the sofa she's perched on. Her eyes meet yours.

"It's really none of my business, y/n. But you don't have to do this and kick up a fuss," she sighs.

"Of course they do. See, this is exactly why Harry is done with them. There's always some big spectacle when they're involved," Ron's voice carries loudly across the common room as he makes his way down the banister. "Besides. They're a Slytherin. Harry never should have given them a second glance anyway."

You feel your lip curl at your, now confirmed, ex's friend. Those were some bold words coming from someone who'd been throwing up slugs not so long ago. Maybe he needed a reminder of what that was like. But no—you needed to be on your best behavior. So instead, you take a deep breath and turn to face the redhead full on.

"Ronald. I know she's your sister and all, so I'm trying very hard to see things from your perspective, but I just can't seem to get my head that far up my ass. Tell Harry we're done for me, would you, dear? I'm not wasting my time on someone who's too much of a coward to break things off properly."

The entire common room is silent and Weasley is looking significantly more red than usual as you see yourself out. You'd never been much of a fan of the lion's den anyway. Good riddance, honestly.

As soon as the portrait clicks shut behind you, you turn around to find yourself face to face with a figure that was all too familiar. His arms are crossed and he has a rather unamused look on his face.

"Hello, big brother," you chirp, face masking into a look of pure innocence.

Oliver sighs, shaking his head.

"The rumors are true then?" He asks, eyes full of concern.

You hated it when he looked at you like that.

"We're gonna kick your sorry asses on the pitch in two weeks," you reply confidently.

The concern stays, but hint of pride appears on your brother's face as a smile begins to grow.

"I'll look forward to the attempt." His eyes flicker to the portrait of the Fat Lady. "How bad is it in there?"

You blink up at him, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

"I've no idea what you mean, Oliver. I've never done anything wrong in my life. I'm very reasonable."

Oliver looks down at you with disdain.

"Perhaps I'll study in the library for a bit."

"Capital idea, brother."

As soon as you step foot back into the dungeon, Pansy is on you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

"What do you want me to do to him? Eat slugs? Jelly bones? Finish what the Dark Lord started?"

You carefully extract yourself from your friend's arms, laughing at her usual antics.

"None of the above. We are going to handle this maturely. With grace," you reply.

Pansy raises an eyebrow scornfully.

"Gracefully like cursing out the weasel in front of his entire house?"

Your smile drops.

"That doesn't count. Weasley is an arse and had it coming."

Pansy lets out a snort.

"And what has Pucey had to say about all of this?"

"All of what?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the complete one eighty the conversation had taken.

Your friend sighs, shaking her head at you as if the answer is clear.

"The break up. Obviously."

"I don't know. I only just broke up with him, Pans. Through his friend no less. And I haven't even seen Adrian today."

Pansy lets out a sniff that you'd come to learn means she's displeased.

"I see. Well, do keep me updated."

Your eyes squint as you try to dissect the undertones in Pansy's comment, but before you can ask what on Earth she wants updates on, she spins on her heel and disappears into the corridor that leads back to the dorms.

The feeling of wind against your face as you race around the pitch on your broom always serves to melt away whatever tension you've worked up throughout the day. Everyone knew that Oliver's life revolved around quidditch and quidditch alone, and while the two of you definitely had your differences—namely being the fact that his house robes were an obnoxious shade of red and gold—an obsession with the sport seemed to run in the family.

You feel his presence beside you before you see him; slotting comfortably onto your right flank as if it were second nature.

"Pucey! Where have you been? Haven't seen you all day," you shout as the two of you complete another lap around the pitch.

"Heard about Saint Potter. Figured you'd want some space," he replies, that easy smile that you knew all too well flashing across his face.

He was right, of course. You'd always hated the feeling of being smothered by people who were overly nosy about your business. It had been a main point of contention throughout your year and a half relationship with Potter. That and the fact that Potter had despised how you remained so close to Adrian. But if he really thought you were going to pick him over your closest friend since first year, then the boy who lived was out of his damn mind.

"Duck."

Your body jolts forward, following Adrian's demand before his words fully have time to register, just as a bludger goes whizzing past the space where your head had just been.

"Distracted today, Wood? Forget about him. Potter was never good enough for you anyway."

A smile can't help but return to your face at your friend's words, but you don't get a chance to respond before he leans forward in challenge. He always knew exactly how to get you out of your own head. You match his position in the air and the two of you speed off, racing to the other end of the pitch as you dodge haphazardly around your teammates. When you reach the other side, your cheeks ache from how wide you're grinning.

"Oi! Get your arses over here and focus up, you two!" Flint shouts, magically amplifying his voice from across the field.

You turn to your friend, a wicked grin on your face.

"Beat you there."

"In your dreams, Wood."

When you finally land for the night, your whole body aches in the best way. Even when you're just running drills for a few hours, quidditch practice is still the highlight of your day. And honestly? The added eagerness to stomp Gryffindor—or more specifically their star seeker— into dust had done wonders for your concentration and utter persistence in the sky.

"Looking good out there," Adrian's voice rings out as he jogs to catch up with you.

"When do I not?" You tease, slipping into the easy banter the two of you had developed over the years.

You don't see it, but you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you before giving you a playful nudge.

"You don't want to talk about it?" He asks after a moment.

The hesitation is clear in his voice and you appreciate the way he never pushes too hard. Always enough to get out what matters, but never crossing a line.

"Not even a little," you sigh, swinging your broom up to rest on your shoulder.

When you look up, you can see Adrian's mouth open, then close as he tries to find the right words and you laugh.

"You don't have to say anything. I know you never liked him much."

A tinge of red appears across Adrian's face at your blunt statement, but he doesn't deny it either as he avoids your eyes which only serves in sending you into another fit of giggles.

The moment is broken though when you see your brother making his way down to the pitch, followed closely by his whole gaggle of Gryffindors. Great. You try to divert away from them because you don't want to deal with whatever nonsense they're sure to bring, but unfortunately for you, Potter sees spots you before you can fully turn away.

"Oi, look who it is! You sure move fast don't you? Not exactly heartbroken, I see," Potter calls out.

Out of the corner of your eye you see your brother whip around, sharply gesturing for Harry to leave it be, but he's pointedly ignored.

"No, no, it's a tad bit hypocritical to call me out for cheating when you're hopping on Pucey's dick the same day, don't you think?" Harry continues.

"That's enough!" Oliver snaps, eyes shooting absolute daggers at Potter now.

You knew your brother would do just about anything to win a quidditch match, but insulting his baby sibling was putting Potter on some awfully thin ice.

"You know you really shouldn't use words you can't spell to toss around insults, Potter," Adrian responds dryly. "Leave us alone. You've done enough."

Watching the rest of the altercation is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

"Oh shove it Pucey, don't try and get all high and mighty with me. You've been practically panting after y/n like a dog since we got together, don't think I didn't notice."

"That is completely untrue," you protest, but at the same time Adrian snaps.

"And so what if I have? You're still a cheater, and I've kept it to myself because I'm not a homewrecking—"

There's a sickening crack as Harry's fist collides with Adrian's face. You hear yourself cry out as Adrian stumbles back and you grasp onto his arm to keep him upright. Somewhere in the background two Gryffindors grab onto Harry, effectively restraining him as Oliver shouts something about a suspension for unsportsmanlike conduct. You're not really paying attention as you focus on the blood running down Adrian's face.

"Salazar's bloody ballsack, we need to get you to the hospital wing," you fuss, pulling him along.

Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not Harry who was shouting curses at your back, not your brother who was shouting right back at him, not your other teammates who had noticed the commotion and were now preparing to go to war for the two of you. All you knew was you needed to get Adrian to Madam Pomfrey.

As Madam Pomfrey frets over his broken nose, Adrian gazes out the windows of the hospital wing, weighing the pros and cons of throwing himself out of one of them. He didn't know how things had spiraled out of control so quickly. He hadn't meant to try and play knight in shining armor—he knew full well you could handle yourself just fine—but Potter, well, he'd never liked the guy. And not just because he'd worked up the courage to ask you out before Adrian himself had gotten the chance.

And now here he was, sitting in the hospital wing on the wrong side of Madam Pomfrey's wand as you pace anxiously back and forth at the foot of his bed.

"I don't know why you're so worried. I'm the one with the broken nose," he quips, trying to calm your nerves, though his voice comes out funny; probably a side effect of his nose being shattered and all.

Before you can respond, Pomfrey flicks her wand sharply sending a quick brackium emendo his way.

"Shit!" he exclaims, hands shooting up to clutch his face.

"Mr. Pucey! I will not have that kind of language in the hospital wing," Madam Pomfrey scolds, scowling down at him. "You," she snaps gesturing to you. "Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't run off."

With that, the old woman is whisked away to care for one of the many other students filling the hospital wing and you're left picking awkwardly at the rough fabric covering the hospital bed.

"Sorry you got caught in the cross fire," you sigh, finally looking up at him.

Adrian's heart clenches. If anything he should be the one apologizing to you. He's the one who had escalated things. And of course there was the other thing. The hippogriff in the room, one might say. But he'd gotten this far avoiding the topic, so he might as well keep digging. He shrugs his shoulders wordlessly.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as you take a seat next to his bed, elbow resting next to his as you lean against the frame.

"So. You don't want to talk about it?" you ask, mirroring his question from what already seemed like forever ago.

"Not even a little."

The two of you sit in silence and Adrien leans back on his cot, eyes closing as he lets out a breath. If he were being perfectly honest, he'd liked you since all the way back in second year. You'd been friends since first of course, but second year was when he had first truly admitted to himself that he might be falling for his best friend. He hadn't said anything then. You were both twelve at the time, what was there to say? Then he hadn't said anything third year either because, well, he was a Slytherin. He wasn't meant to be brave. In fourth year he finally thought he'd get his chance. At the very least he thought he'd get to take you to the Yuleball. But then you'd come bursting into the dungeon, practically glowing, because one of Hogwart's champions had asked you to the ball. Harry bloody Potter no less. And then the ball had become a date which had become a year and a half of Adrian watching from the sidelines as the boy who lived seemed to sweep you off your feet.

Of course he hadn't been surprised. Potter was exactly the type he'd always been afraid you'd end up with. Your older brother, Oliver, had been sorted into Gryffindor two years prior, so naturally it had come as quite the shock when you'd ended up in Slytherin. Adrian had always been a little afraid that his best friend had been placed in his house by mistake and it was only a matter of time before someone came to rescue you from the snake pit.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner. This isn't how I wanted you to find out. I was going to wait to say something. At least until everything settled down," he says finally, not quite ready to open his eyes.

He didn't want to see the look of disgust on your face. Or the way you'd probably recoil away from him. He'd been your best friend for years, and that's all he was meant to be.

To his surprise though, he feels your hand brush against his, carefully intertwining your fingers with his.

"I really like you too," you say quietly, but Adrian knew you too well to ignore the hesitation in your voice.

"But?"

"But I broke up with Harry less than twenty four hours ago and I don't think it's the best idea to dive head first into a new relationship that fast."

He must be hallucinating. Pomfrey must have mistakenly given him whatever the Hufflepuffs were growing in their private greenhouses because there was no way Adrian wasn't having a very vivid dream right now. He could have sworn you had just said you were interested in being in a relationship. With him.

Well, if this was in fact another one of his dreams, he might as well go all in.

"We can go at our own pace," he replies, voice much more steady than he felt in the moment.

He still hadn't opened his eyes, afraid that if he did, the dream would end and he'd be alone in the hospital wing. But he can feel you smiling next to him, just as he can feel your thumb tracing soft circles on the back of his hand.

"I'd like that a lot, actually," you reply.

The sky is perfectly overcast as you and Adrien make your way to the pitch with the rest of Slytherin's quidditch team. You'd all been training for weeks, and even with Gryffindor's star player benched, nerves were still running high. The back of your hand brushes against Adrian's with each step you take and you have to resist the urge to reach out and lace your fingers together.

The last couple weeks had been—blissful, perfect, easy? Adrian was so patient, but it hadn't taken you long to realize that the line between friendship and something more between the two of you, hadn't been that wide at all. The first time you had slipped your hand into his while walking down the corridor, you had physically felt the air leave both of your lungs. It had been such a casual thing, but after that it was as if a dam had broken. You knew that in the grand scheme of things, him wrapping an arm around you as you curled up next to him in the Slytherin common room, or his lips ghosting across the top of your head as he hugged you goodnight was next to nothing—but to you it felt like everything.

And it wasn't even just the fleeting touches that made you feel like your heart was on fire. It was the way you could practically read each other's minds, constantly anticipating every one of the other's needs. It was the years of friendship that made it so easy to just simply exist around one another with no awkward tension. And it was the way you really started to notice all the little ways Adrian truly seemed to care for you.

"What are the odds your brother goes easy on us today?" Adrian jokes, nudging you gently as he brings you out of your thoughts.

"Abysmal. The last time he lost a match, he tried to drown himself in the locker room showers," you reply dryly.

And people said you were the dramatic one.

Adrian just laughs as you both join the huddle of silver and green right as Marcus launches into his typical pre-game monologue. Ahh. Nothing says team spirit quite like your captain threatening everyone within an inch of their lives. Play well, or don't bother returning to the dungeons. He certainly knew how to make his team feel warm and fuzzy.

The team breaks and Zabini joins you and Adrian in mounting your brooms and getting into position as Madam Hooch prepares to release the snitch. As soon as the ball is released into play, you shoot up into the sky, snatching the quaffle right out from under one of Gryffindor's chasers. You and your teammates pass the quaffle back and forth with practiced ease until your brother appears in your line of sight, guarding the goals. You make first contact, feigning right with the quaffle before passing it to Adrian who sinks it effortlessly into Gryffindor's left hoop.

Your brother lets out a string of curses.

"Have to do better than that today, Ollie," you taunt, speeding by.

He'd always hated that nickname so it was on special reserve specifically for quidditch matches.

You continue to dodge and weave your way across the pitch, letting yourself get lost in the game. Each play comes to you like second nature, just like you'd been practicing for weeks. The match is long and grueling as you fight tirelessly for each goal. Your brother certainly wasn't letting anything easy slip past him again.

Just as you're sure a timeout is about to be called, the students in the stands let out a loud roar—cheering, screaming. That could only mean one thing. Your heads whips around wildly until your eyes land on Malfoy who's clearly spotted something. He's gaining speed, faster and faster and as he reaches out you see his fingers close around gold.

The stands erupt in cheers as you make your way to the ground. You'd done it. You'd won, and it hadn't even been close. People are screaming, shouting, and through all the chaos the only person you see is Adrian as he touches down several meters away from you.

You don't fully register your actions as you rush towards him, cheeks aching from the massive grin stretched across your face. Your arms wrap around his neck as he catches you in a bear hug, spinning you around before placing you carefully back onto the ground.

"We bloody won!" He shouts, eyes sparkling and smile matching your own.

You don't know what compels you to do it, but before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach up, tugging on Adrian's uniform and pulling him down towards you.

As soon as his lips touch yours, the rest of the world melts away and the only thing you can think about is how you want to be able to do this for the rest of your life.

You can tell Adrian is shocked by the way he freezes for a split second, hands gripping at your waist before slowly responding—soft lips moving like velvet against yours. You never want it to end.

A loud holler from up in the stands breaks the two of your apart however and you look up to see Pansy grinning down at the two of you.

"I do so love being right," she calls out, grinning like a madwoman. "Now where's your brother, Wood? He owes me 20 galleons."

Taglist: @cipheress-to-k-pop @ladyelena112 @bubybubsters

Back then, the world felt permanent.

It was around that age that you were bonded to your first ilu. You did not think of it as a mount. Or even truly as an animal. To you, it was simply… yours.

You recognized it by the pale crescent-shaped mark along its fin, a faint curve like a smile etched into its skin. You talked to it the way children do—to the sea, to shells, to anything that felt like it listened. You believed, with the fierce certainty of youth, that it would always come when you called.

So when it grew old,  you did not understand what your parents saw long before you did.

It died quietly. Not in a hunt. Not in violence. Just time.

You cried the way children do: loudly, openly, with your whole body folded into the ache. You cried into your mother’s chest until your voice went hoarse and you fell asleep. You asked if it would come back. Your grief then was bigger than your small heart could handle, but your parents helped you through it.

Ao’nung and Tsireya’s births came next.

And that grief was different. It was confusing, almost shameful to name.

You loved them dearly. Before them, you had longed for company, for someone to follow you into the water and listen when you spoke too much. And suddenly, you were given not just one, but two. Their arrival was a blessing. You learned their faces by heart, learned the way their hands curled around your fingers, the way they quieted when you hummed the songs your mother sang.

You were happy. Truly. 

And yet—a lot of things have changed.

It was then that the weight of responsibility first settled onto your narrow shoulders. You were old enough to know better now. Old enough to help. Old enough to wade the waters on your own. Old enough to recite ancient stories and songs. Your parents’ attention did not disappear—but it divided, stretched between smaller bodies that needed more, demanded more. You were praised for being understanding. For being easy. For not needing to be held as long.

They still loved you. You never doubted that. But it was different.

That was when you stopped being only a child. Not all at one, but in quiet moments you barely noticed until later. When you were asked to watch instead of play. When you were trusted instead of comforted. When you learned how to swallow wants before they reached your mouth.

You did not resent them. You never could. 

But grief does not always come from losing what is taken away. Sometimes it comes from losing what will never return.

And so you mourned. You mourned the version of yourself who did not have to be strong yet. The child who could be held without also being needed to hold others up, who could ask for attention without earning it first. 

After that, grief stopped belonging to you alone.

It became shared, carried in unison through the village, pressed into Eywa'eveng with many hands. Fallen spirit brothers and sisters, brave hunters who did not return with the tide, elders whose voice once anchored the clan, now gone quiet. And you believed that grief, when shared, could be lighter.

And for a time, it was. 

The way the sea could fill with quiet so dense it pressed against your chest. The way voices blended into one long mourning chant, grief softened by harmony, by the knowledge that you were not alone in it. You learned how hands reached for hands without looking, how tears felt lighter when they were not yours alone. 

You thought, then, that this was how it worked. That grief would become easier with age. That each loss would teach you how to carry the next.

It never did.

Grief remained too large for you. You had grown taller now—hands roughened by sand, arms strong enough to carry nets and burdens—but your chest had never learned how to bear the weight grief brought. Each loss settled somewhere deep, layering itself over others until you were never truly untouched by it again. 

You learned that time did not erase the ache, that grief does not leave. It spreads itself everywhere, reminding you of love with nowhere left to go.

Some days you wake feeling steady, almost whole. And then something small would undo you: the curve of a fin that looked like a crescent, the sound of laughter that sounded familiar, an empty place in the water where someone should have been. Reminders of what had been, of who had been.

But the sea gives, and the sea takes.

You had believed it meant balance. Birth and death. Joy and loss braided together the way tides are. You had believed it was something slow. Natural.

You realized how wrong you were the day the water turned red.

The day Ta’unui’s village burned from the shore outward, flames climbing wet wood as if the sea itself had betrayed them. Smoke curled low over the water, thick enough to sting your eyes, to choke the breath from your chest. 

Avatars moved through the village like something torn from a nightmare. Too cruel for the world they were breaking open. At first glance, they almost looked like forest people—tall silhouettes, familiar limbs, the same borrowed shape from Eywa. Almost.

Up close, everything was wrong. Their movements were sharper, heavier, stripped of grace. Their eyes did not carry the quiet depth of the People, only a cold focus that slid past suffering without catching on it. Where Na’vi presence felt like the tide, theirs felt like iron dragged through water. Familiar in shape, monstrous in intent.

That was what made it worse. That they wore something so close to your own skin.

You remember clutching your knife then when they grabbed you from the tsahìk’s marui pod, the weight pitiful in your palm. The newborns you were trying to carry, when warmth was still kind and not from metal, whimpering from a distance as they dragged you. Feeling how small you were. Knowing that no amount of love, no depth of grief, could stop what was happening.

“Light ‘em up. All of them.”

They have left as abruptly as they had come. You remained frozen, unmoving, letting the world blur around you. Your limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if the very air pressed against your skin. The heat, the smoke, the cries—it all pressed in, yet you felt oddly detached, as if watching from a distance, outside yourself.

It took a long, hollow moment before your voice came, barely more than a rasp. 

“Vey’irva…”

The name caught in your throat, but you forced it out, raw and trembling. Your knees wobbled as you tried to rise, your hands scraping against the sand, eyes blinking rapidly as you forced yourself to focus. Around you, the fire still roared, climbing higher into the sky, sparks flying like burning stars scattered across the night. The acrid scent clung to your throat, burning with every breath.

Vey’irva, the clan’s tsakarem, the one who had been beside you throughout your stay. You didn’t know why she was the one you were searching for, only that you had been together before all this.

Your legs felt like they weren’t fully yours as you stumbled across the wreckage, each step heavy. Your head throbbed, dull at the base but sharp with every inhale. Fingers curled into fists and loosened, trembling with the uselessness of it all. Your eyes flicked over the debris, over the scattered clan members, over shapes that might have been familiar until your mind swam past them, not really seeing.

Every sound—a crack of burning wood, a distant cry, the slap of water against the shore—felt magnified, yet muffled, as though you were underwater. Your body moved on instinct, legs carrying you forward, arms reaching toward vague forms, but your mind was elsewhere, tracing the steps that might lead you to… someone.

And then you saw her.

She lay limp, surrounded by clan members, dust and ash clinging to her hair, her armband torn. Your chest tightened so sharply it felt as if the air had been stolen from you. 

Tears stung your eyes, throat raw as a sharp, ragged sound tore through you. Your legs move of their own accord. You fell to your knees beside her, hands clenched in the grains beneath you, trembling, too afraid to touch her, too terrified to feel the absence of warmth where life should have been.

Not yet, Great Mother… please.

The tears came freely now, scalding and relentless, trailing down your cheeks, while your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. You called her name again as your eyes scanned her body frantically, searching for any sign of movement, a twitch of a finger, the rise and fall of her chest. Anything that could tell you this wasn’t real, that if you looked hard enough, reality would bend, and she would still be alive.

Before you could even gather the courage to touch her, strong hands pulled at your arms to stand. You stumbled, breath uneven, tears still streaking your face, and looked up to see the clan’s olo’eyktan. His strong hands gripped your shoulders, steadying you. His eyes were sharp, commanding, but there was an unspoken understanding in their depth—a recognition of your grief, even as he refused to let it consume you entirely.

He placed a firm palm against your chest, holding you in place. “Stay strong, child,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “We need you. Go help the others.”

The words felt like a tether pulling you back to the present, anchoring you even as your heart threatened to shatter completely. Every instinct screamed to stay, but you obeyed. The world spun around you: flames climbing higher, sparks dancing like cruel fireflies, smoke curling into your eyes. Still, you lifted yourself, hands trembling, chest tight, and forced your legs to carry you.

Every step away felt like a betrayal, but there was no choice. The living still needed hands. You wiped at your cheeks, tasting salt and ash, and tried to push the pain down.

The sea gives, and the sea takes—but sometimes it is not the sea at all. Sometimes it is fire. Sometimes it is strangers who wear your skin and do not know your names. Sometimes it is standing still while everything you love is set in flames, and realizing there is nothing you can do but witness it.

It was hours before the heat of the fire began to fade. The sky above the village was dimming, streaked with smoke and ash, the last remnant of sunlight struggling to reach the scorched ground. The whole clan had regrouped closer to the forest, farther beneath the vast, intertwining roots of the elder trees. Their thick limbs arched overhead, offering shelter and a sense of guarded enclosure, though the air was still heavy with smoke and the bitter scent of burned wood.

Around you, the survivors moved like shadows, their figures hunched, carrying what they could salvage. Some cradled waterlogged baskets, others tended to cuts and burns, while the injured leaned on each other for support. The quiet murmurs of mourning threaded through the soft rustle of leaves and the distant lapping of water against the shore.

You had been helping with injuries, the salt of sweat and soot burning in your eyes as you pressed cloths and applied balm, when Iwei, the clan’s olo’eyktan, called you over. He stood with hunters you knew, their faces set with the weight of what had happened.

“You should go home,” Iwei said, his voice firm but not unkind, the lines around his eyes deepened by exhaustion. “They will go with you to ensure you travel safely once the first light rises.”

You shook your head, voice hoarse but determined. “I can stay longer. The village still needs hands, and I can—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off gently but firmly. “No. You’ve done enough. Your family asked for you to return, they worry for you. It is safer with them now.”

You looked down at your hands, still smudged with ash and dried blood, the ache in your muscles a distant throb that only now began to register. You realized that you had been moving for hours without truly deciding to—hands working, feet carrying you from one injured body to the next, mouth murmuring reassurances you barely heard yourself say. It had been easier that way. To keep your body busy so your mind did not have to return to the shore, to the fire, to the stillness you could not unsee.

For a fleeting moment, you felt anger—not at him, but at yourself, at the helplessness pressing in on all sides. Yet the truth of his words settled in your chest like stones. Your family’s concern, the exhaustion clawing at your limbs, the uncertainty of what remained of Ta’unui’s village. They drained the fight out of you. You nodded slowly, voice barely audible.

“...I understand,” you nodded slowly, the motion feeling distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

Then her face cut through your thoughts, sudden and without a warning.

Not as she had been laughing, but as she lay on the sand. Still and unmoving. Ash in her hair where your fingers had wanted to be. The image struck so sharply it stole the breath from your lungs.

“No—” the sound slipped out before you could stop it. Your head snapped up, eyes wide, unfocused. “How about Vey’irva?” The question came out too fast, as though someone might tell you it had been a mistake. That she had risen after you were pulled away. That she had laughed and told you not to look so worried.

Your hands curled into themselves, nails biting into your palms. “The funeral— her ceremony.” Your voice faltered, tangled in itself. 

Neilomya stepped forward then, her presence quiet but grounding, like cool water over scorched skin. The clan’s tsahìk rested a gentle hand over yours, waiting until your gaze finally found hers. Her eyes were tired, rimmed red, but kind.

“She will be tended to,” Neilaomya said softly. “You may visit her when you return. She would not mind waiting for you.”

Something in your chest cracked at that. Your shoulders trembled as the strength finally began to drain out of you, the weight of holding yourself upright growing unbearable. 

“What matters now,” Neilaomya continued, her thumb brushing a slow, reassuring circle against your skin, “is that you are safe. Go home to your family, child. We will be okay here.”

She did not rush you after that. She stayed closer as you gathered what little remained. Things that no longer felt like yours, yet were all you had left. She folded and arranged them carefully, as if the care itself might restore what fire had taken, and she handed them to you one by one to put on the canoe.

As you worked, she spoke of her daughter.

You listened. Not because the stories distracted you—they didn’t. It only sharpened the ache, filled your mind with impossible what ifs. What if she had stayed close that day. What if the humans didn’t arrive. What if she had lived long enough to become tsahìk herself.

But you listened anyway.

Because Neilaomya’s voice softened when she spoke. Because grief, when shared, became something bearable for a moment. Because after everything that had been taken, this was something you could still give

When your things were packed, Neilaomya pressed her forehead briefly to yours, a gesture steady and maternal. No words followed. 

Two hunters escorted you from the settlement before dawn fully broke. It was safer to travel in small numbers, they said—fewer bodies, less noise, less chance of drawing the eye of metal aircrafts if they still lingered above the horizon.

The journey back to Awa’atlu felt unreal. The sea breathed steadily beneath you, waves rising and falling as they always had. Stars dimmed and slipped away with the coming light. Fish darted through the water, unbothered, alive. The world continued as if it had not just ended for so many.

Back in Awa’atlu, Ao’nung and Neteyam found themselves unexpectedly tolerating each other’s presence.

Ao’nung hadn’t agreed at first.

He had scoffed when Neteyam asked, brows drawing together in something between surprise and irritation. Forest boys weren’t meant to handle Metkayina weapons, and certainly not the speargun—he reasons that it’s too tied to the sea. That was what he said, already turning away as if the matter were closed.

“I won’t be slow,” Neteyam followed him, voice steady, not raised. “I am a good shot. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Ao’nung stopped.

He glanced back, irritation flashing across his face. “That’s not the point.”

What he didn’t say was that he had seen how quickly Neteyam learned.

His sister’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, about the Sully boy who watched once and remembered everything, who adjusted after a single correction. Ao’nung had seen it himself in the water. There was a quiet competence there. The kind that crept up on him.

The kind that might outpace him, if given the chance.

So instead, Ao’nung had shrugged and thrown out the excuse that felt safest. “My father didn’t ask me to teach you,” he said flatly. “And I don’t teach without permission.”

“Please,” Neteyam met his gaze, “I want to help my mother hunt.”

That did it.

Ao’nung exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But if you embarrass yourself, that’s on you.”

Neteyam had listened carefully to him the entire time. He had watched his father use it before. He knew you used one too, though you had only ever spoken of it in passing as you sharpen your arrows, of using it beyond the reef where the water grew darker and deeper. He had never seen you use it himself.

And he did not want to think about it now.

The thought of you, so far away now and among another clan, pressed too sharply against his chest. The last few days had left him hollowed out, the kind of tired that sleep did not touch. Thinking of you holding the speargun, steady and capable, would only open something he had been carefully keeping shut.

So he focused on Ao’nung’s words instead.

They moved farther from the shore, past the shallows where the sand still glittered with light, into water deep enough that the shapes of fish grew larger and slower, their shadows cutting lazily through the blue. Not beyond the reef, but far enough that the current began to speak more clearly.

Below the surface, sound fell away.

Ao’nung’s voice disappeared, replaced by sharp, practiced hand signs. “Be patient. Feel the current before you shoot.”

The speargun felt different in his hands. It was heavier than a bow, its weight concentrated forward instead of spread along the length. With a bow, everything came from the body: the draw of the shoulders, the tension in the back, the steady burn in the arms. The show was released, and the arrow belonged to the air.

Here, the water demanded something else.

Neteyam adjusted his grip, easing his hold instead of tightening it. He angled the weapon slightly lower, compensating for drag the way Ao’nung had shown him. The current tugged at his forearms, insistent but not hostile, and for a moment he understood. This was about patience.

A flash of silver cut through the water ahead.

Neteyam steadied himself, legs drifting just enough to stay balanced. He waited. Not for the fish to come closer, but for the water to still around the barrel. Then he fired.

The recoil was muted, absorbed by the sea, but the bolt flew true. It struck the fish just behind the gill, clean and precise.

Neteyam blinked.

Ao’nung’s eyes widened, just slightly, before he caught himself. He circled once, inspecting the catch, then shot Neteyam a sharp look that was half-annoyed, half-impressed.

“Not bad.”

By the time they had returned to shore, rain had begun to fall.

It came soft at first, a fine mist that dimpled the water’s surface, then heavier, drumming against skin and stone alike. Neteyam hauled the fish up the sand, its weight solid and undeniable in his arms—proof of something done right. He couldn’t wait to show it to his mother.

Ao’nung followed a few steps behind, speargun resting against his shoulder. He shook the water from his bun like a displeased ilu.

Neteyam broke the silence first. “Thanks, bro.”

Ao’nung turned to him quickly, rain sliding down his face, eyes narrowing. “Don’t bro me,” he muttered, clearly annoyed, though the bite didn’t quite land.

Neteyam huffed out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

Ao’nung glanced at the fish again, then away. “You learn fast,” he said, as if the words tasted strange. “My sister was right.”

There it was. The reluctant admission.

They stood there for a moment longer, rain filling the space between them, the shore empty save for the hush of water and sky. Neteyam adjusted his grip on the fish, the weight shifting against his forearms. He hadn’t meant to ask.

But the question rose anyway.

“When will your sister return?”

Ao’nung stiffened just barely.

He didn’t look at Neteyam as he answered, gaze fixed on the gray horizon. “Four more days.”

He shot Neteyam a sideways look then, sharp and knowing, rainwater dripping from the tip of his nose. “Why are you asking?”

“It is nothing,” he said, a little too quickly. “Just wondering.”

Ao’nung stared at him for a second.

Then he laughed.

It burst out of him, sudden and sharp, echoing against the rain and the empty shore. Neteyam frowned, thrown off.

“What?” he asked.

Ao’nung shook his head, still grinning, like he’d just been handed the most obvious answer in the world. “You—” he pointed, then laughed again. “You both are so obvious.”

Neteyam scoffed, turning away, eyes suddenly very interested in the wet sand, the treeline, anything but Ao’nung’s face. “What are you talking about?” He said, tone carefully flat.

Ao’nung snorted. “Sure.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened, but there was something almost-smiling at the corner of his mouth. He scrubbed rain from his face, then muttered, “…Is it?”

Ao’nung made a face immediately, exaggerated and dramatic. “Ew. Don’t ask me that, brother,” he said, shoving Neteyam lightly with his shoulder. “I don’t want to think about that.”

The conch shell’s cry split through the air, sharp and urgent, echoing over the reef and into the shallows. Ao’nung’s chest tightened instantly. He knew that sound. He had only ever heard it like this once before: a signal that someone had returned or that something had gone terribly wrong.

Neteyam stiffened beside him, eyes narrowing, scanning the horizon with a sudden tension that made the rain drip unnoticed from his lashes. The wind carried faint, frantic shouts, too muffled to understand, yet clear enough to twist their stomachs.

“Something’s wrong,” Ao’nung muttered, already moving, muscles coiled to run.

The fish slipped from Neteyam’s grip, forgotten, thudding into the wet sand. He followed Ao’nung, rain blurring the past as they crested to rise toward the heart of the village.

The center was already alive with motion. People poured from marui and platforms, voices overlapping, sharp with panic.

Neteyam’s chest tightened without understanding why at first, until he saw the movement on the shore. Figures moving quickly, carrying someone between them. The closer they came, the more his blood ran cold.

It was you.

You were slung across the back of another reef na’vi. Even from a distance, Neteyam could see that you were slumped, your head tilted awkwardly, your limbs hanging with a dangerous slack. The rain plastered your hair to your face, a pale teal smear against the dark wetness. Small cuts traced across your forehead, a smear of blood mixing with the rain. And something in the way you didn’t move made his heart seize.

The canoe you had ridden before, spoke of the struggle that had brought you here. Pieces of broken wood floated in the shallow surf, twisted and slick. Neteyam’s stomach turned.

Ao’nung had called your name before breaking into a sprint toward the commotion.

Neteyam barely had a moment to react before his father’s hand pressed against his shoulder, holding him in place. “You’ll only get in the way,” Jake said, low and unyielding. “Now is not the time.”

Neteyam’s mind refused to register the words. All he could see was you—your body pressed against the reef Na’vi’s back, your chest rising shallowly if at all, your arms dangling like reeds in the water. Every second you’re not moving made his chest pound harder, the rain soaking through him, and the world felt impossibly slow.

You were being passed into Tonowari’s arms now, the motion careful and urgent, but all the more terrifying for your limpness. Your head lolled, and he saw the blood matted in your hair glint faintly in the torchlight. Your torso bore scrapes and bruises, some already crusted with rain-soaked dirt. Tonowari’s hands worked to steady you, but your injuries made it clear just how close the last moments had been to something final.

The crowd gathered fast, murmurs rising like waves, gasps breaking through the rhythmic sound of rain. Flickering torchlight cast long, trembling shadows across the wet sand, illuminating your pale face and the stillness that shouldn’t belong to you.

Your family followed, eyes wide, hands placed over yours as if sheer will could force your body to move. Every glance at you was a silent plea, a desperate hope that you would awaken, that your chest would rise more than just faintly.

Neteyam’s fingers itched to reach out, to help, to shake the world itself into fixing what had been done—but his father’s hand kept him rooted. All he could do was watch, helpless, as you were carried to your mother’s pod.

The days stretched long and heavy for Neteyam. Since that night, he had spent every waking moment asking after you. The memory of your limp form in Tonowari’s arms, the blood in your hair, the way your body had seemed so impossibly small in someone else’s grasp. He could not remove it from his thoughts. 

It had been four days since he had last seen you that way, and two days since Tsireya had told him you’d woken. And since then, he had asked every time if he could see you, if he could know you were alright. He counted those days, trying not to, trying to tell himself it was silly, that you were healing, that your family would take care of you. But he couldn’t stop.

Tsireya, patient and amused, never got tired of him asking. She found it sweet—how he, usually so careful to mask what he felt, allowed himself to worry, to show concern without reservation. The corners of her eyes would crinkle with quiet amusement whenever he hovered, waiting for news. She heard Lo’ak teased him once, “You’re ridiculous,” and he flushed, but did not deny it. The truth was written plainly in his furrowed brow, the way he barely slept like his brother told her, the way he tried to busy himself yet circled back to your name in every conversation.

Even his parents had noticed, too. The repeated questions, the restlessness, the tension in his shoulders. They whispered among themselves that he had never been like this, not for anyone, not ever.

On the other hand, you were healing.

Slow and steady. Enough that your body no longer felt like it was betraying you with every breath. The pain dulled into something manageable. But there was still that heaviness, sitting deep in your chest, unmoved by rest or medicine. The image of a clan still mending itself without you. The funeral you hadn’t been able to attend properly. The journey home that blurred together in rain and blood and half-remembered voices.

Still, you were home. Safe and wrapped in familiar sound and the steady presence of your mother, who rarely left your side. She slept close, checked your bandages with practiced gentleness, brushed your hair back when you drifted in and out of sleep. After the first time they asked—after your voice had broken, after the tears had come fast and uncontrollable—they stopped. You were endlessly grateful for that mercy.

Being surrounded by people who loved you helped more. And you weren’t going to lie—you were enjoying the attention. Your parents fussed over you shamelessly, feeding you by hand, scolding you softly when you tried to sit up too fast, treating you like a child again. It was comforting in a way that made your chest ache, a reminder that you were still allowed to be taken care of.

But what you enjoyed most were your siblings’ stories.

They have filled the room with words. They told you about the Sully kids, animated and warm, their hands moving as they spoke. About their visit to the Cove of the Ancestors. About the tulkun’s return, voices rising in song across the water. About Lo’ak and his impossible bond with Payakan, told with a mix of disbelief and fond exasperation.

You listened, smiling softly, even as something tight tugged in your chest. You were sad you had missed it. Those moments would never quite be yours. But you were happy too—happy they had happened at all, happy your siblings had lived them.

And then Tsireya mentioned him.

Almost casually, at first. As if it were just another detail. 

She told you how Neteyam kept asking, again and again. If you were resting, if you were healing well, and if he could see you.

Something in you stilled at that.

It felt warm and terrifying all at once, like standing too close to a fire. Your heart did something traitorous, beating a little faster, a little louder. You tried to keep your face neutral, tried not to let the feeling show—but inside, it bloomed, fragile and bright. The thought of him worrying, of him counting days, made your throat tighten. Knowing that while you had been unconscious, while your world had narrowed to pain and darkness, someone else had been thinking of you, holding your name carefully in their thoughts.

It wasn’t just concern—it was persistence. Care that didn’t fade after the danger passed. Care that lingered. And knowing it came from him, from someone whose approval you’d never dared to hope for so openly, made your heart ache in the softest way.

“He was distracted,” Tsireya said, shifting closer like she was sharing a secret. “Almost all the time. I have never seen him like that.”

You looked up at her immediately, interest lighting your face before you could stop it. The corners of your mouth tugged upward, a smile you didn’t bother hiding. “Distracted how?” you asked, genuinely curious.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Like he was somewhere else. He’d ask about you, then forget what he was doing. Ao’nung had to repeat himself to him more than once.”

You shook your head a little, a quiet laugh slipping out as warmth spread through your chest. You traced the edge of the mat absentmindedly, clearly listening, clearly wanting more.

You hesitated only briefly before asking, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “Did he… say anything else?”

Tsireya’s gaze lingered on your face, amused. She didn’t answer right away, clearly enjoying how invested you were. Then she shrugged lightly. “Not much,” she said. “He just asks about you. All the time.”

“All the time?” you echoed, smiling openly now, the words coming out with a breathy laugh.

She laughed with you. “Everyone is almost getting tired of it,” she teased. “If I hear your name one more time, I think Ao’nung might actually snap at him.”

You laughed again, brighter this time, the sound easy and real. Your shoulders relaxed, eyes soft, like the world felt a little kinder than it had moments ago. 

After a moment, still smiling, you spoke again, quieter but sure.

 “I want to see him too.”

You didn’t have to wait long.

It was later that night, your body heavy with the pleasant ache of healing. Ronal sat beside you, careful hands changing the kelp covering your stitches.

You were just beginning to relax when voices carried from outside the marui pod—low, hurried, unmistakably close. Before you could ask, the cloth flaps at the entrance rustled sharply.

Ao’nung stumbled in.

Or rather, was shoved in.

He caught himself at the last second, blinking in surprise as he looked between you and your mother, clearly not expecting to be the one crossing the threshold. Ronal’s eyes snapped up instantly.

“Ao’nung,” she said sharply. “You should announce yourself.”

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know,” he muttered, then stepped back as she returned her attention to you, smoothing the new covering into place with firm care.

You watched the exchange, confusion and amusement flickering across your face. Ao’nung met your gaze briefly, rolled his eyes in exaggerated suffering, and looked away like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Your mother spoke again without looking at him. “What do you need?”

You could see him hesitate, before exhaling through his nose. “Someone wants to see her.”

That finally got your mother’s attention. She looked up, clearly unimpressed. “Who?”

Your brother sighed, resigned. “Neteyam.”

The name landed harder than you expected.

Your breath hitched despite yourself, surprise flashing across your face even though Tsireya had told you—again and again—that he’d been asking. Knowing it and hearing it aloud were different things.

And then there was the other realization.

Your mother was still there.

Ronal’s gaze flicked to you, then back to Ao’nung, irritation sharpening. “He will wait,” she said. “She is still being tended to.”

Ao’nung opened his mouth like he might argue, then thought better of it. He glanced at you again, lips twitching, as if to say told you, before stepping back toward the entrance.

But the knowledge lingered, buzzing under your skin.

Neteyam was here.

You did your best to behave. You nodded when your mother adjusted the final wrap, bit back the urge to speak when silence stretched, swallowed down the smile that kept threatening to give you away.

But your heartbeat refused to slow, thudding a little too loudly in your ears. You could almost picture him standing just outside, waiting, and the thought made your shoulders tense with anticipation.

Ronal noticed. Of course she did, she had been with you ever since you were a baby. It would be impossible for her not to know.

She put the last covering with a careful pat, then leaned back slightly, studying you. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, doing your best to look calm.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her expression was unreadable, the kind that reminded you she was still Tsahìk before she was your mother. She took in the way you were sitting too straight, the tension in your shoulders, the effort it took for you not to speak.

Her sigh, when it came, was quiet but weighted.

“You are not fully healed,” she said first, tone firm, leaving no room to forget it. She gathered her tools with deliberate care. “And you will not strain yourself.”

Then, without looking toward the entrance, she added, “You may come in, child.”

Ronal rose to her feet and moved to the far side of the marui pod, her presence still felt even as she gave you space. She did not smile, but she did not object either.

The doorway cloth shifted, and Neteyam stepped inside.

He looked hesitant at first, but his eyes found you instantly. For a heartbeat, he forgot everything else. Then he caught himself, straightened, and turned to your mother.

“Tsahìk,” he greeted, voice respectful, hands moving in the formal gesture.

Ronal inclined her head in acknowledgement, nothing more.

Only then did he move closer until he crouched beside you where you sat cross-legged on the woven mat. He was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of salt clinging to his skin.

For a brief, disorienting second, the past rushed in. The last time you had spoken. The things left unsaid. The image of him frozen in your memory, untouched by everything that followed.

You pushed it aside. For now.

“Hi,” he said.

It came out softer than you expected, a little awkward, but unmistakably him—carrying that quiet, boyish warmth that had always undone you. His gaze swept over you openly, not trying to hide it: the bandages, the tiredness in your eyes, the fact that you were sitting upright at all. Like he was checking, again and again, that you were real. That you were here.

You found yourself doing the same.

Your eyes followed the familiar lines: the slope of his shoulders, the way his braids fell to the sides of his face, the darker patterns flowing toward his chest, the intricate swirls on his forehead. And then his eyes—the ones you’d missed dearly, the ones you silently thanked Eywa that you could see again.

You both smiled.

“Hi,” you said back.

Neteyam chuckled then, low and almost shy, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. 

“How have you been?” you asked, letting your voice carry across the space between you. It was way bigger than both of you usually bask in.

He shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I’m fine. I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”

The words were simple, but layered with everything he hadn’t said over the last days. And just like that, the tension between you softened.

You talked, careful not to speak too loudly, knowing your mother was still in the pod, but you savored the moment nonetheless. It was as if both of you knew how far you could stretch the conversation without drawing her attention, though neither of you fully understood what she might be suspicious of.

He told you stories, of small adventures and trivial happenings, and you answered in kind, letting the laughter and light teasing skim the surface without carrying too far. 

After a while, your mother stood up, eyes meeting yours with a quiet weight that said more than words could. She turned and left the pod, the flap rustling behind her. 

Both of you were finally alone.

You glanced back at Neteyam, and in that shared silence, something shifted. You both laughed, unrestrained by the caution that had kept you measured before. The sound echoed lightly against the walls, a small rebellion against the quiet you’d been keeping.

When your laughter softened, he looked at you fully, eyes steady and warm.

“I’ve missed you,” he said your name softly.

The words hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. You had felt the same for days, but hearing it, spoken just to you, made your heart thrum faster. You bit your lip, trying not to let your happiness burst through, and glanced at the hand he had rested just beside you.

Without thinking, you reached out and closed your hand over his.

“I missed you too, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to betray the joy you had been holding in.

His hand hovered above the cover at your forehead, tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to touch you yet. 

“I was so worried,” he murmured, a tremor betraying how much he’d held it in. “I couldn’t stop thinking about— I kept wondering if you were okay. I didn’t know how I'd feel if anything happened to you.”

Something—courage, recklessness, the weight of missing him—pushed you. You placed your hand over the one that hovered above your injury, feeling the warmth of the back of his hand, and moved it so that your cheek leaned against it. His surprise was immediate, a faint hitch in his breath, but then a small, soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I am here now,” you said. “I am doing better. I could still shoot a fish straight in its eye if I could.”

He laughed at that, but believed you wholeheartedly. “I’m sure you could. No doubt.”

Without even thinking, his thumb began brushing against your cheek, as if his adoration couldn’t be contained. You froze for a heartbeat, your own chest tightening in a way that made it hard to breathe.

Neither of you spoke. Neither moved. And yet the weight between you buzzed like electricity, impossible to ignore.

Then, as if the universe had suddenly reminded you both of everything else, you each jerked slightly back, cheeks warming instantly, eyes darting away. His grin faltered, flushed, and he quickly drew his hands back as if realizing for the first time what he’d just done. You stifled a laugh, glancing down at your hands, feeling the absurdity of the moment yet unwilling to undo it completely.

The silence stretched between you before Neteyam finally spoke, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

“I caught my first fish with a speargun.”

Neteyam went home that night with his chest lighter than it had been in days. The worry he’d been carrying no longer pressed so heavily on his shoulders, and there was an ease to him that hadn’t been there before.

His family noticed immediately.

It wasn’t anything obvious, but he was different. More present. His steps lacked their usual tension, his gaze less distant than it had been since your injury. Even his silence felt… content.

They all knew where he’d been. 

What Neteyam didn’t know was that Tuk, ever curious and far too young to understand which observations should stay tucked away, had already shared her thoughts—wide-eyed and unfiltered—with Jake and Neytiri. About how their oldest son lingered near the clan’s tsakarem. About how he spoke your name without realizing it. About how close he sat, how careful he was.

By the time Neteyam arrived home, his family was already eating.

He didn’t comment on the way their eyes followed him as he entered, nor did he seem to notice the quiet that briefly settled over the circle. He only reached out, ruffled Lo’ak’s hair in passing, grabbed a leaf plate, and sat down among them as if nothing were different at all—ready to take his share, light-hearted in a way that made their curiosity impossible to hide.

“Where have you been?” Neytiri spoke.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. “I went to see her,” he said, saying your name easily, as if it had never been a question.

Tuk’s head snapped up immediately. “How is she?” she asked, words tumbling over each other. “Is she better? I wanna see her too—it’s not fair you got to see her first!”

Beside him, Kiri spoke up, her voice carrying a rare, bright excitement. “I want to see her too.”

A small smile tugged at Neteyam’s mouth. “You can,” he said. “We can go together next time.”

Lo’ak scoffed, leaning closer. “Yeah, right. You just wanna keep her all to yourself.” He squinted, then grinned wider. “Look at your tail—it’s moving so much it’s hitting me.”

Neteyam hissed lightly and knocked his knuckles against Lo’ak’s head, more habit than anger. “No, I do not.”

He heard his father sigh, shaking his head. “Just don’t stay out too late,” he said, voice dry. “Or better yet, visit in the morning.”

Lo’ak perked up instantly. “Yeah,” he added, far too amused. “If it’s at night, who knows what they could be doing.”

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri warned, sharp but not unkind.

Neytiri watched her eldest son from across the firelight, noting the way his laugh came easier now, how his shoulders seemed less tense, how a quiet confidence had settled in him like something new and solid. Pride swelled in her chest—bittersweet, fierce, and impossibly tender all at once.

He was growing. Really growing. Stepping into feelings bigger than himself. And yet, worry lingered, because you were the clan’s tsakarem, and love, even in its smallest forms, carried risk. But just for this moment, she let herself bask in the warmth. After all, she and Jake had been the same once.

“Why didn’t you call me first? To visit you?”

Tuk’s small arms were crossed over her chest, lips pressed into a stubborn line. Her voice was sharp, a little high-pitched, all indignation and urgency.

It had been two days since Neteyam finally made his visit, and yesterday there had been chaos—the whole group had crowded into the tsahìk’s marui pod. Your siblings, Sully children, and even Roxto had all come by, making the space feel impossibly full, warm, and loud. You had barely had a moment to breathe.

And now, Tuk was here, standing in front of you like a tiny storm cloud, complaining with all the energy only a little sister could summon. “You let him see you first!” she exclaimed. “First! Me? I should’ve been the first!”

You blinked, trying not to laugh at her dramatic flare. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, Tuk. He just came by suddenly. I didn’t think that—”

Tuk’s lips curled, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t think about me?”

From the corner of the pod, Neteyam leaned against the wall, trying to look casual, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching in amusement. “I don’t see what the problem is. I just checked in. She’s fine. Smiling, laughing… what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Tuk hissed, stepping closer, “is that I should get to see her first! I’m her first friend!”

Neteyam raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide. “Okay, okay. But I didn’t plan it. I came because I wanted to see her. You think she’d say no? I’m her friend.”

“Second friend!” Tuk shrieked, stomping a tiny foot. “I swam with her first when we came here!”

“She smiles when she talks to me,” Neteyam interrupted smoothly, now crouching beside you and leaning slightly with a cheeky grin, “and I also make her laugh.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, glancing at Tuk’s flustered face, her fists balled at her sides. Tuk’s eyes narrowed, fire practically spitting out of them. “She laughs at everyone! That doesn’t mean you’re special!”

Neteyam tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh? Well, maybe I’m her favorite.”

Tuk groaned, throwing her head back. “I’m her favorite!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing this time, shaking your head. “You’re both ridiculous,” you said, but your eyes sparkled with amusement. Tuk’s fists tightened, lips pursed, but she couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto her face.

“I—fine,” she muttered. “Maybe you’re… a close second.”

Eventually, Tuk was pulled away by a younger Metkayina child, inviting her to play. Tuk’s excitement won, and with a dramatic huff of annoyance at being “forced away,” she scampered off, leaving you and Neteyam behind. And, since you were finally allowed to roam again, you both slipped outside.

The two of you sat on the rock you had claimed long ago, knees tucked to your chin, the waves stretching endlessly before you. Your arms brushed occasionally, small touches that made the quiet between you feel alive. The wind tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Finally, you swallowed, hesitated, and then spoke, your voice quieter than you expected. “Neteyam…” You paused, the weight of unsaid things pressing in. You weren’t used to opening up first, and the words tasted strange and vulnerable on your tongue. Avoidance had been your shield, but now it felt heavy.

“I… I waited for you here,” you admitted, eyes fixed on the waves instead of him. “Before I left.”

Neteyam’s gaze dropped to you. He didn’t rush you, didn’t press. He waited.

When silence stretched, uncomfortable and thick, he moved just slightly, shifting in front of you so that his knees were closer to yours. His hands rested lightly on the rock, and his eyes met yours.

“It’s okay. Take your time,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

And in that quiet, he wished—more than he could ever say—that he could take every burden from you, lift the weight pressing against your chest and carry it for you. He didn’t need you to say them aloud, somehow, he just knew. Every tight line in your shoulders, every hesitation, every small tremor in your voice.

You finally looked at him, meeting his gaze, and then the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I am sorry. About—about what I said before. It wasn’t your fault. I was just being stupid—I wasn’t thinking. I pushed it on you and…”

Neteyam’s lips curved gently, already forgiving you, long before your apology had finished. His eyes held no anger, just that warm golden you have grown to love. He had already forgiven you, had always been ready to—and that scares him. No matter what you said, what you did, or what burdened you, he would take it.

His hands moved almost on its own, cupping your cheek gently. His thumb brushed against the small, unnoticed tears that had slipped down your face, and he murmured softly, “Hey… it’s okay. You are not stupid. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… I—” you babbled, words tumbling out in a rush, little choked apologies spilling between sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m crying… I just… I—ugh, I’m sorry!”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, thumb still brushing your cheek. “Hey, hey… shh. It’s fine. Really.”

There was something in the way he looked at you then: open, unguarded, with that quiet warmth that made the world shrink to just the two of you. The curve of his lips, the subtle glimmer in his eyes, the way he lingered on you without a word—it was enough to make your chest tighten and your thoughts betray you. Just like that, you wanted to kiss him. Badly.

The thought startled you and for a heartbeat, your eyes flickered instinctively to his lips. Your mind scrambled, but the thought wouldn’t go away. It pulsed, teasing the edges of reason, and panic mingled with longing in a confusing, burning knot.

You could feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and grounding, and every instinct in you wanted to close that space between you. But you couldn’t, not really, not like that. So you did the next best thing—or at least what your frantic brain told you was next best.

You lunged forward, arms winding around his neck, pressing your nose to the corner of his neck and shoulder. Your body shivered against him, heart hammering in your chest, and for a moment it felt like the only way to quiet the chaos in your head was to press yourself close, to anchor yourself to him without actually breaking the line you couldn’t cross.

For a second, he froze, startled, caught off guard by the sudden movement. Then, without hesitation, his arms tightened around you, holding you close. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

You rested there for a moment, muffled apologies spilling again against him. 

Your arms around his neck were soft, trembling slightly, and the faint scent of salt and sand clung to you—something so familiar yet intoxicating in its immediacy. He could feel the steady rise and fall of your chest against his, the small shiver that ran through you, the brush of your hair against his cheek, and each tiny detail hit him like a drumbeat in his chest. He’d never been this aware of someone before, not like this. Not like you.

There was a selfishness in him he didn’t even try to hide from himself. He wanted to freeze the moment, to keep you pressed here, close, safe, and warm. He wanted to forget the world outside the rock, forget all the rules and the waiting, and just exist in the scent of you, the weight of you, the soft sound of your apology muffled against his shoulder. 

He tightened his arms unconsciously, just a little, almost possessively. It was overwhelming, and yet comforting, and terrifying all at once.

When he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, the weight of it made something in him ache, a quiet longing mixed with awe. “Shh,” he murmured, “you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

The days after that moment passed like a blur, though not without their small, precious highlights.

You barely saw Neteyam, not because he wasn’t around, but because the preparations for the Tulkun return ceremony had consumed the clan. The air was thick with planning and purpose, the village alive with movement, with voices calling, weaving nets, and making new clothes.

You were mostly helping your mother, assisting with small but important tasks. There was a rhythm to it that soothed you: weaving, checking, organizing, keeping the sacred spaces ready. Your hands moved with ease now, and it felt almost miraculous how the pain of before had begun to fade. The heavier weight of grief and fear, the anxiety that had pressed on your chest for so long, still lingered faintly—but it was no longer suffocating. 

Finally, you were allowed to swim in the waters again. The sensation of gliding through the current with your spirit sister was like reclaiming a lost part of yourself. You could feel the gentle push and pull of the water around you, your muscles strong and responsive. The familiar rhythm of swimming, the coolness of the sea, and the brush of her fin through the water alongside yours felt comforting in a way that words could never capture.

You told each other stories—small, silly things, the kind of shared secrets that made your chest ache with quiet happiness. The waters carried your laughter and the echoes of your voices, and for a few fleeting hours, it was just the two of you. 

“On my journey home. The sky people have attacked us. One hunter was shot.”

You floated beside her, letting the current carry you, your limbs moving easily, your hair drifting around your face like soft waves. You pressed your palms together in a sequence of quick signs, fingers tracing arcs and lines as you relayed your story.

“I went back for him, but my tsurak got shot too! Its weight pulled me under, and I hit my head.”

Your spirit sister responded instantly, her massive form undulating beside you. A series of clicks, whistles, and soft hums rolled through the water, echoing in the coral-filled shallows. 

“You are strong, sister. Stronger than you know. The tides could not take you.”

But responsibility waited, as it always did. In a few days, you would perform a dance with your clan sisters, a display of unity and grace for the returning Tulkun. So even as you swam, even as you laughed, your mind kept one eye on the schedule, on the preparations, on the tasks that couldn’t be ignored. That meant that your time with Neteyam, while precious, was brief—rarely more than an hour before the duties of the clan called you away.

Neteyam, however, noticed everything. The closeness you had shared, the way your hand brushed his accidentally—or intentionally—did not escape him. Every touch, every fleeting brush of your arms, every small smile or laugh that lingered just for him, added up. Even the short moments of stolen connection felt enough.

“It’s more… heavy than usual,” you said without turning. “The ceremony’s coming, so it’ll be even better on the day itself.”

You had your back to him, fingers absently adjusting the heavier braid adornments tangled in your hair. The shells and threads caught the moonlight filtering through the water, making them shimmer like tiny stars.

Neteyam’s gaze softened as he looked at your hair, lips quirking into a kind of quiet, unassuming smile.

When you finally turned, catching him staring, his fingers were holding a strand of your braid loosely, brushing it almost absentmindedly. His eyes, half-lidded with lashes casting shadows, looked up at you in that tilted-down, boyish way that made your stomach twist.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly.

His heart hammered. He liked it. He liked you. So much that he had to pray to Eywa to stop himself from leaning in and kissing you right there.

Because the way you looked at him—the subtle tilt of your head, the warmth in your eyes, the gentle curve of your lips—took his breath away. Every detail of your face was magnified in his mind: the soft arch of your eyebrows, the freckles across your nose, the way the moonlight seemed to catch in your cerulean eyes. If he thought he was captivated now, he couldn’t imagine the day of the ceremony. He didn’t even want to think what he’d do.

He swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the braid, voice low, steady but charged. “It's beautiful. You’d be the prettiest,” he said, carrying something unspoken, something that made your breath catch.

He watched the way your hair clung to your cheeks, the way your shoulders relaxed when you laughed, the curve of your smile even when brief. He wanted to hold onto it all, to bottle the warmth and simplicity, to protect it—and yet, a small, selfish part of him wanted more, to keep you near forever, to make these fleeting touches stretch into infinity. He just lingered and reveled in it silently, knowing it was enough for now.

The day of the ceremony arrived.

By dusk, the village had transformed. Drums carved from reefwood and stretched with cured hide began to sound—deep, steady heartbeats that rolled through the sand and into the water. Conch shells answered them, hollow and haunting, blown like flutes, their notes rising and falling with the tide. Other instruments followed: clicking shells, coral chimes, woven rattles filled with polished stones. All born of the sea, all singing back to it.

The air was rich with scent. Roasting fish glazed in oils and herbs, steaming broths thick with salt and spice, sweet fruits split open and shared. Smoke curled lazily upward from fire pits, carrying warmth and comfort, clinging to skin and hair. Firelight danced everywhere, reflected in shells strung between posts, in beads woven into nets, in polished bone and coral.

Decorations lined the shore and the walkways—braided kelp, luminous shells, strings of pearls and glassy stones that caught the light and scattered it. Bioluminescent patterns along every Na’vi body glowed brighter than usual, soft blues and greens, each design unique.

Clothing was more intricate than he had ever seen. Layers of woven sea fibers draped over one another, shells sewn carefully into hems so they chimed softly with each step, stones and braided kelp arranged in complex patterns. Every movement made them shimmer. 

And the water—Eywa, the water. It brightened with every passing moment, the surface alive with light as shapes gathered beneath it. Massive shadows moved slowly and reverently, the Tulkun drawing near, their presence announced in ripples of blue, violet, and soft white. Around them, schools of bioluminescent fish wove through the current, scattering sparks of light like living constellations.

Anyone else would have been swept up in it. But Neteyam felt it anyway, a tightness in his chest he couldn’t name, a restless energy that had nowhere to go.

He shifted his weight, then adjusted the armband on his forearm. Again. And then again, fingers worrying the edge as if it had suddenly decided to sit wrong.

Lo’ak noticed immediately.

“Bro,” he said, eyeing him with blatant disbelief, “are you serious right now? Why do you look like you’re about to fight a whole palulukan herd?”

Neteyam shot him a look. “I’m not.”

“You’ve fixed that thing, like—” Lo’ak gestured vaguely. “Six or seven times.”

Neteyam dropped his hand at once, jaw setting. “I said I’m not nervous.”

Lo’ak grinned, clearly unconvinced, but let it go—for now.

Truth was, Neteyam had also dressed with more care than usual. He wore his forest necklace and armband, more layers than his everyday ones, their patterns intricate, carved with stories of home. Another armband rested on his opposite arm, and his loincloth was reef-made—shell pieces stitched carefully into it, kelp of different colors wrapped at the waist. A technique Kiri had shown him. One you had helped refine, laughing softly when he fumbled it the first time. His usual cummerbund remained the same; he hadn’t made a new one, partly because time hadn’t allowed it, partly because he wanted to wear something from the forest. His mother had said it suited him.

More beads and feathers threaded through his braids, catching the firelight when he moved. And then there was the paint.

It wasn’t common among the reef people, not like this. But at his parents’ request, the elders had helped them prepare something that would hold beneath the water. Neteyam had painted himself—white and bright green, patterns blending forest tradition with something new. His hands had been steady when he did it. Now, standing here, he felt strangely exposed beneath it.

“Neteyam.”

He turned to his mother’s voice. It was when he’s still in his family’s pod, just right after he finished putting the paint and the rest of his hair accessories.

She was looking at him with an expression that made his chest tighten for an entirely different reason. Awe, softened by something tender. This was the look she’d once given him when he was small and first learned to hold a bow properly. Now it carried pride too.

“Come here,” she said.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as she studied him. Neteyam felt his ears warm, his gaze dropping despite himself.

“You are grown,” she said quietly, smiling. “Handsome. Strong.”

“Mother,” he muttered, embarrassed.

Her smile widened, just a little mischievous. “She will like you like this.”

Neteyam inhaled through his nose, fighting the way his heart jumped. “It’s not— it’s not like that.”

Neytiri laughed softly, giving his shoulders a final squeeze. “Ah. Enough. Do not tie yourself in knots.” Her voice gentled. “Enjoy this moment. It does not come twice.”

So he let himself enjoy it.

Neteyam let the night carry him—its noise, its warmth, the way awe rippled through his family as they took everything in. He ate until his fingers were slick with oil and salt, watched dancers move in rhythms unfamiliar yet beautiful, laughed when Lo’ak tried (and failed) to follow along, all flailing limbs and misplaced confidence. It was ridiculous. And somehow, that alone made it worth it.

He noticed his parents too. The way his father stood less rigid than usual, shoulders eased, gaze softened as he took in the ceremony. The way his mother smiled more freely, laughter slipping out without restraint. Seeing them like that was rare. It settled something in Neteyam’s chest he hadn’t realized was still restless.

For the first time since arriving, he thought, quietly, that Awa’atlu could be home. 

And yet, his eyes kept wandering.

They scanned the crowd again and again, searching for a familiar shape. Every time his gaze swept over a group of dancers or passed a cluster of people, his heart gave a small, foolish leap. 

He’d heard the dancers wouldn’t join the rest of the village until after their performance. Kiri had mentioned it in passing, also wondering when they’ll see you and Tsireya. He clung to that thought, grounding himself with it. He would see you then. During the dance. And—Eywa willing—after.

The thought of how you might look tonight sent his heart into dizzy circles.

It didn’t take long. Three fish skewers. A handful of fruit. One round of conversation with family and friends. Then the conch shell sounded, cutting cleanly through the hum of voices. The energy of the village shifted instantly. People began moving toward the water, some breaking into a jog, others hurrying with eager steps.

This was it.

You hadn’t told him you danced. He’d only learned through overheard conversation, your sister’s voice carrying pride when she mentioned it. That you were good. That you always had been. He had no idea what it would look like—how Metkayina dances differed from those of the forest, how the sea would shape the movement.

But as he followed the crowd toward the glowing shoreline, anticipation buzzing through him, he realized one thing with absolute certainty:

No matter what it looked like, no matter how different it was—

Seeing you would be enough.

Neteyam followed the others beneath the surface, the world above dissolving into muffled echoes and wavering light. The glow intensified instantly—blues and greens blooming brighter the deeper they went, the sea alive with motion. Tulkun voices resonated through the water, vibrating through his chest more than his ears.

He looked for you immediately.

His eyes darted, adjusting slower than those born of the reef. Shapes blurred together at first—moving bodies, streaks of light, the vast silhouettes of Tulkun circling with reverent patience. The dancers were already taking their places, forming arcs and spirals around the great beings.

The routine began.

Na’vi bodies moved like currents given form—twisting, spinning, flipping effortlessly through the water. Some danced in perfect synchronicity, mirroring one another in clean, sweeping motions; others broke away in alternating patterns, weaving between Tulkun fins and massive bodies, then returning to the group as if pulled by an unseen tide. Arms extended, then folded. Legs kicked and curved. Whole bodies arched and rolled, weightless and precise.

The Tulkun joined them as partners.

They turned slowly, gracefully, their immense forms moving with a gentleness that defied their size. Fins guided dancers forward; a tilt of a massive head became a cue. Together, they created living shapes—circles within circles, expanding and collapsing like breath.

And then Neteyam saw you.

Your movement caught his eye like a change in the current. You flowed through the water with an ease that made everything else feel louder in comparison. It stole the air from his lungs. Not in the way water ever had, but in the way something precious does when you realize, all at once, how deeply it matters.

Your clothing was more intricate than he remembered, layers of woven sea fibers trailing softly behind you, shells and beads catching the light with every turn. Kelp strands wrapped and knotted with care moved like extensions of you, accenting each spin, each arch of your back. Your hair fanned out around your head, braids drifting, ornaments glowing faintly as you turned.

And your skin. Your bioluminescent patterns glowed brighter beneath the water, lines and curves glowing softly with your movement. Every twist of your torso made them show. Even from a distance, he could see your face—focused, serene, eyes sharp and alive, completely at home here.

You smiled mid-turn, not at anyone in particular, just at the dance itself.

Neteyam forgot to look away.

He followed you through the entire routine without meaning to. When you dipped low, his gaze followed. When you rose, spinning upward toward the light filtering down from above, his chest tightened. He watched the way your hands cut cleanly through the water, the way your body curved and straightened in perfect balance.

You were far from him. Close enough to see, but too far to touch.

And still, you were all he could see. 

He realized that even if you were doing nothing at all, you would have caught his eye just the same. 

The routine came to its end in a slow, reverent spiral, dancers and Tulkun drawing together before drifting apart once more. Applause didn’t exist here, not underwater—but the water itself seemed to hum, alive with approval.

When the dancers surfaced, Neteyam was already waiting on the shore with the others, voices rising in cheers. He joined in, but his eyes searched only for you.

Then he saw you.

The smile came without permission, easy and wide, and he cheered again, louder this time, though it was meant for only one person. He watched you greet your family first, waiting back to give you space, even as his feet carried him instinctively behind his own. When the moment felt right, he slipped away, weaving through bodies and laughter, shells chiming and firelight flickering everywhere.

He searched for you the way someone searches for shore while treading water. Faces blurred past him, bodies crossing his line of sight, laughter and voices colliding into noise. For a moment, he thought he’d missed you entirely, that you were swallowed somewhere deeper in the crowd.

And you were doing the same.

Turning, scanning, eyes slipping over strangers, pausing too long on silhouettes that weren’t him. The space was too big, the people too many. It felt unfair, almost cruel, that after all of that—after the sea, the dance, the waiting—you still hadn’t found each other yet.

Then it happened.

Not all at once. Not cleanly.

Neteyam caught movement first—your hair, the familiar sway of your shoulders—and he froze, breath caught halfway in. At the same time, you turned, eyes lifting instinctively, like you’d felt him looking.

People moved between you. Someone laughed loudly, another stepped directly into his line of sight. For a second, he lost you again—and his heart dropped with it.

Then your eyes found his.

Across the crowd. Too far. Far enough to hurt.

You stared at each other through the shifting bodies, the space between you opening and closing as people passed, like the world was testing how badly you wanted this moment. Neither of you looked away. You couldn’t. 

You both lifted your hands at the same time, waving, then laughing when you realized how perfectly in sync you were. The distance suddenly felt unbearable.

So you both closed it.

Slow at first, then faster, weaving through people who barely registered anymore. The crowd thinned, parted, blurred. All Neteyam could see was you, glowing even here, even now—proof that no matter how vast the space, you always seemed to find each other.

And when there was finally nothing between you at all—

You stopped.

For a moment, both of you only smiled.

“Hi,” he said finally, soft, like it meant more than the word ever should.

“Hi,” you answered, just as quiet.

Your eyes traced him slowly. The paint along his face caught both the firelight and the lingering glow of the sea—white and green etched with care, vivid against skin still damp from the water. His braids were threaded with beads and feathers that swayed faintly when he breathed, and you noticed—couldn’t help noticing—how his chest still rose a little faster than it should have

He was looking at you the same way. Taking you in, memorizing the way the water had left your skin glistening, the droplets tracing your collarbones and arms, soft reflections of the bioluminescent patterns that flowed along your body. The way the light caught in your hair, outlining every strand as it clung damply to your shoulders. The intricate layers of your clothing, sea-woven and luminous, moving with you even when you were still.

Without thinking, you said it, confidence rising in your chest like a tide. “You look good.”

The words surprised you, where they had come from. But looking at him—seeing the way his gaze lingered—you guessed he thought the same.

A boyish chuckle escaped him. “You look good too,” he said, his voice low, and the way he said your name made it feel like sunlight warming the hollow of your chest.

You laughed softly, a little breathless, and the sound loosened something between you. Without a pause, you closed the space between you, reaching for his hand. Fingers entwined with his, warm and steady.

“Come,” you said, tugging him gently. “You should meet my friends.”

He blinked, slightly confused, the question clear in his eyes. But he didn’t hesitate. He followed, weaving through the crowd as you led him, hand in hand, laughing softly as you navigated between clusters of celebrating clan members.

You stopped before a circle of Metkayina close to your age, the space clearing almost as if by instinct for the two of you. They made room, smiling, curious. You guided Neteyam down to sit beside you, the wet fabric of your clothing brushing lightly as you settled.

“One by one,” you introduced your friends, careful to gesture to each, murmuring names. “And this is Neteyam,” you said, looking at him with a smile to encourage him.

He smiled in turn, polite but relaxed, greeting each of them with easy words. You noticed the way his lips curved naturally, how at ease he was despite the unusual crowd, and your chest warmed at the sight. He fit here, just as he fit anywhere he chose to be.

“And he’s a great hunter,” you continued, nudging him lightly, “so you should hear his stories!”

Neteyam’s eyes lit up at the invitation, and he began to speak, weaving tales of hunts and skill, of the forest and the water. The Metkayina listened, rapt, nodding, smiling. Their eyes brightened at his words, echoing the excitement you had always seen in him. And as he spoke, swelling with pride, you felt the same: the joy of seeing him seen, accepted, even celebrated.

The circle leaned closer to him, intrigued, hanging on every word. And you, beside him, couldn’t stop smiling—not just because of the stories, but because, for now, this was his world and yours.

“Well… you wouldn’t have to worry about hunting in the future now, Tsakarem,” Nìkxey said, one of the girls you did iknimaya with, her tone playful.

Your cheeks warmed, and a laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Nìkxey!” 

Neteyam’s laugh followed hers, low and amused, and he nudged you gently with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry either,” he murmured just for you, a smile tugging at his lips. His hand brushed yours lightly as it rested in your lap, sending a small thrill up your spine.

You shouldn’t think about what that really meant, but those words refused to leave you the whole night.

Hours had passed since the bulk of celebration had wound down. The drums and conch shells had faded, the fire pits now smoldering low, sending only wisps of smoke curling into the night. Most of the village had retreated, laughter and chatter reduced to distant murmurs, leaving only the gentle crash of waves and the occasional call of someone walking home. 

You and Neteyam, hand in hand, slipped away from the remaining crowd, laughter spilling freely between you as you ran deeper into the forest behind the village.

You hadn’t spent much time here yourself—only occasional trips for fruit or to explore—but enough to know secrets that few others did. And tonight, you wanted to share one with him. You weaved through giant leaves, brushing past ferns and low-hanging branches, each step on the cold, damp soil grounding you. The sound of Neteyam laughing behind you, calling out, “Where are you taking me?” made your chest swell with a happiness you hadn’t expected.

“Be patient, forest boy,” you called back, a grin tugging at your lips.

He didn’t complain. In fact, something about the forest—the way the leaves whispered, the soil gave slightly beneath his feet, the shadows of the trees stretching into the night—made him feel at home.

After a while, the running slowed, and you finally stopped. You turned to face him, seriousness replacing the playful energy in your expression. “This is a secret between the two of us,” you said, voice earnest, “got it?”

Neteyam’s gaze met yours, unwavering, and he nodded, almost too quickly. “I promise,” he said, his tone low.

“Good,” you replied with a small smile, turning back to move forward. You pushed aside long, draping leaves, revealing an entrance tucked almost perfectly into the undergrowth—a small hollow, cave-like, hidden from casual eyes.

Neteyam didn’t question it. He trusted you, and that was enough. He let you pull him inside, hand still intertwined with his, feeling a thrill of anticipation, knowing you had chosen to share this secret with him.

Just a few steps in, and after a small turn, the hollow opened to reveal a pool of water, still and dark, its surface reflecting nothing. Neteyam paused, brow furrowed, unsure what to make of the shadowed space.

You only smiled, that quiet, knowing smile that made him uneasy in the best way. Your eyes flicked from him to the pool and back, gauging his reaction, waiting for the spark of curiosity—or maybe wonder—to light in his gaze.

“Come,” you said softly, squatting at the edge. Your fingers dipped into the water, and it shimmered immediately, a soft, ethereal glow radiating outward. As you swirled your hand, the pool brightened in response, ripples scattering points of light across the cave walls. You looked up at him, eyes wide, grin stretching across your face.

Neteyam’s hesitation melted into a laugh, and he joined you at the edge. But mischief colored his expression. Without warning, he splashed water toward you, droplets flying through the air. You shrieked, laughing, but the moment his playful grin met yours, you couldn’t resist returning the favor.

Back and forth it went: splashes, laughter, circles around the pool, each movement coaxing the glowing water to flare brighter. The bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls seemed to pulse with your motion, lighting the cave in soft, undulating waves of green and blue.

You finally gasped out, giggling, “Okay, stop—enough!” but neither of you really meant it. Your chest heaved, hair plastered to your face, droplets tracing your collarbones, and your laughter mingled with his. Neteyam, soaked and grin still wide, mirrored your exhaustion.

You paused, breathing heavily, standing on opposite sides of the pool, the glowing water between you. Then, on impulse, you bent your knees and jumped. The pool was small but deep enough that your feet wouldn’t touch the bottom if you leapt. The water swallowed you, cold and alive, and when your head surfaced, glowing reflections danced along your skin.

“Your turn,” you said, eyes flicking toward him.

He didn’t hesitate, launching himself in with a splash that nearly sent you under again. You spun quickly, trying to shield yourself, sputtering and laughing as he laughed at your frantic movements. When he surfaced, you both simply stared at each other giggling. The pool was small—you could feel the slight push of his arms with every stroke, the movement of his kicks under the water.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly.

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. “How did you even find this place?”

You shrugged, eyes tracing the glowing moss and scattered bioluminescent plants along the cave walls. “Curiosity. I followed a lizard here a year ago. I accidentally found it.” 

Your gaze swept the pool, the cave, the soft shimmer of light across every surface. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer immediately, because he wasn’t looking at the cave. He was looking at you. The glow of the water caught your skin, yes, but it was more than that—you looked radiant, almost angelic, every feature defined in the soft reflected light.

The strands of hair plastered to your shoulders, the faint curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes—it stole his breath. 

A soft, low “yes” finally left him, and your heart skipped.

Catching him already staring, you couldn’t resist. With a small, playful chuckle, you splashed water at him.

Neteyam’s voice cut through the gentle ripples of water. “You were amazing back there,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I was right. You are the prettiest.”

The way he looked at you—the closeness, the subtle shift of his shoulders forward, the slight lean toward you as the water carried you both—made your heart race. Unknowingly, you two had drifted closer, the small pool no longer just space. 

You smiled, glancing away for a moment, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. But curiosity, and something bolder, pulled your gaze back to him. “And you look very handsome,” you said softly. “Have I said it before?”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “Just in a different way.”

You could only smile at him, eyes tracing his face again, memorizing what you had seen so many times but never enough: the patterns painted along his skin, the sharp line of his nose, the depth of his eyes, the curve of his lips. You felt a shiver run through you, not from cold, but from the ache of desire that had been gnawing at you, quiet but persistent, all this time.

To push the thought down before it took over, you sank deeper into the pool. The light from the glowing water bent around you, illuminating your path as your eyes followed his movements. He mirrored you almost instinctively, descending into the water with ease.

Now face to face beneath the glowing surface, the light refracted over him, casting gentle patterns across his features, highlighting angles and planes you had never appreciated fully before. And somehow… somehow, he looked even more handsome down here, framed by the light and water, and closer than ever.

The water cradled you both, holding your bodies in a slow, drifting stillness. Your hair floated weightlessly around your face, strands glowing faintly as they brushed his wrists.

Neteyam felt unsteady in a way no battlefield had ever made him feel. 

The water muted the world, but it did nothing to quiet his thoughts. If anything, it made them louder—spinning, overlapping, all of them circling you. The way you hovered there in the glow, hair drifting like something alive, eyes fixed on his as if he were the only thing in this hidden place worth seeing.

He thought of the small moments that had led here. Your laughter by the shore. The way your hand always seemed to find his without either of you acknowledging it. The looks that lingered just a second too long. The careful distance you kept, as if afraid of what would happen if you stepped closer—and the way that distance somehow made everything sharper.

Neteyam, who had faced danger with steady hands and a clear mind, had never felt this nervous. Not like this. Looking at you felt like standing at the edge of something vast and unfamiliar, something he had dreamed of without ever naming. You looked unreal, like the answer to a question he hadn’t known how to ask.

Enjoy this moment.

His mother’s voice surfaced in his mind.

And then you moved. Your hand drifted forward and settled against his chest, right over his heart, fingers splayed as if you were listening rather than touching. The contact was light, but it had unraveled him completely.

His breath hitched. His heart responded instantly, pounding hard beneath your hand, wild and unhidden. He wondered if you could feel it, if you understood what you were doing to him. Part of him hoped you did. Part of him was terrified you did. 

Hear it. Hear how much it’s beating for you.

You looked at him then—really looked at him—and there was so much meaning in your eyes that it felt heavier than words ever could. The glow of the water reflected back in them, soft and shifting, and for the first time since stepping into this hidden place, Neteyam felt certain.

Certain enough to move.

He swam closer. The space between you narrowed until his legs brushed yours, then lingered, your tails grazing and curling together as if the water had guided them there. The contact sent a quiet jolt through him. Real. You were here. So close.

Your body hovered just inches from his now, the glow outlining you in soft light. He could feel the movement of the water between you, feel the warmth of you even through it. His gaze flicked to your eyes, searching, asking—is this okay?

You answered without speaking.

Your lashes lowered slightly, your head tilting just enough to close the last uncertain angle between you. An invitation. A trust so open it stole the breath from his lungs.

When his hands lifted to your face, the water resisted just slightly, like it wanted to test his resolve, like touching you was something sacred. His palms cradled your face, thumbs resting just below your cheekbones, the deep blue of his skin a stark contrast to your glowing teal. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and the world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact.

When he leaned in, it was slow enough that you felt every second of it: the faint current shifting between you, the brush of his nose against yours, the way your breath mingled in small silver bubbles before drifting away.

Then your lips met.

The kiss was brief. Soft. Gentle. Slowed by the water, shaped by it. For that moment, you were suspended together—no ground beneath your feet, no urgency. 

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, noses brushing, eyes still open as if neither of you wanted to risk losing sight of the other. Bubbles escaped you both in uneven bursts, laughter caught somewhere between breaths.

In that instant, something settled, like a tension that had lived in both of you for far too long had finally been answered. The question that had hovered in glances and half-touches, in every moment you almost reached for each other, was no longer unanswered.

You wrapped your arms around him, and he returned it just as naturally—strong arms closing around you as if he’d been waiting to do that all along. Together, you kicked upward, breaking the surface at the same time, air rushing back into your lungs in shared, breathless laughter.

Water streamed down your faces, clinging to lashes and braids, the glow of the cave softer up here but no less intimate. For a heartbeat, you were still pressed close, foreheads nearly touching, the echo of the water rippling around you.

Neteyam pulled back just enough to look at you.

His hand lifted, gentle as before, fingers tipping your chin up so you’d meet his gaze. There was something unguarded in his eyes now—warm, almost shy, like the bravest thing he’d done all night was still finding its words.

“Can I…” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “…kiss you again?”

Your answer left no space for doubt.

His breath caught when you kissed him, a barely-there sound against your mouth. It was clumsy this time—your teeth bumped, a soft, startled laugh breaking between you—but neither of you pulled away. His hand slid from your chin to your cheek.

You feel him, the warmth of his lips, the careful way he adjusted just to fit you better. The faint taste of saltwater lingered as your lips moved against his.

Your arms slid more securely around his shoulders, fingers curling into the damp strands of his hair. He responded instinctively, hands settling at your waist. The water lapped softly against your sides, rocking you together in slow, gentle movements.

His forehead brushed yours between breaths, noses touching as he paused just long enough to breathe you in before kissing you again. You smiled into the kiss without meaning to, and he felt it—felt the way your lips curved, the way your body relaxed against his.

When you finally pulled away, it was only because your lungs demanded it.

The space between you widened just enough for breath to return—yours shaky, his uneven. Your arms loosened, hands slipping down from his shoulders but never fully leaving him. His hands stayed where they were, steady at your waist.

For a long second, neither of you spoke.

The glow of the cave caught in the paint on his skin, and without really thinking, your hand lifted. Your fingers traced along his forehead, following the lines of paint that had somehow survived the water. Down his temple. Beneath his eye. Along his cheek, down his throat, where his breath hitched almost imperceptibly under your touch.

Your hand continued—over his shoulder, and finally came to rest at the center of his chest. Right where his heart still beat too fast.

You looked at him then, earnest and open, your palm warm against him.

“I see you."

The words hit him harder than any kiss had.

Neteyam swallowed, emotions crowding his chest all at once. He lifted one hand, placing it over yours where it rested on his heart, holding it there as if to keep it from breaking free. With his other hand, he brushed the damp strands of hair from your cheek, fingers barely grazing your skin.

“I see you too,” he murmured back. Then, quieter, almost shyly, “Sevin.”

You laughed softly, the sound echoing faintly against the stone. “Sevin?” you teased, tilting your head. 

His mouth curved into a hopeful smile. “You don’t like it?”

You pretended to think about it, lashes lowering as if you were suddenly bashful. “I like it,” you admitted.

Silence settled again—but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Of looks held too long. Of breaths that hadn’t quite steadied. Your hands drifted lower, sliding from his chest, skimming the edge of the cummerband he wore. Not lingering—just noticing. He looked good. Strong in a way that made your chest warm.

When you looked back up at him through your lashes, his gaze softened even more.

“What else do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

You bit your lip, just for a moment, then lifted both hands to his face, framing it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, your touch sure now.

“We should just kiss,” you said.

And you did.

Carved your initials into a tree at Hogwarts and never told you

He will try to make you laugh during arguments which ends up making you more angry

Scares you often- he will sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist

He will stare at you and when you ask why he’ll just say “You’re beautiful.”

When you brush your teeth he will start and stop whenever you do, he just follows your lead

He hams up his sickness so you will dote on him and give him more attention

He will come up with silly pet names and call you a new one everyday

If you need to leave in the evening, he will pretend to fall asleep to make you stay

He likes to annoy you in little ways but always takes proper care of the big stuff

He loves to swim- if you guys go to the beach, creek, or river, he will be in there until his hands are pruned and you have to yank him out

His hand will always find your thigh

Whenever he has cold hands trust that they will make their way under your shirt

He is a very good listener but will often try to problem solve instead of just letting you rant

Quite calm when it’s just the two of you. He still teases but it’s much more toned down away from the eyes of others- it’s his time for repose

Hates when other people tease you and will try to embarrass them

He needs someone very supportive who will be a pillar instead of shutting him down

He hates to feel like an idiot and gets quietly upset when people talk down to him

He’s very charming but he will use this to deflect and redirect blame

He has a hard time apologizing- he thinks through situations and seldom finds himself in the wrong

He will always kiss you on the neck and the shoulders- whenever he hugs you it comes with a small kiss pressed to the shoulder

He’s extremely social but will sometimes shut down when he’s home away from a day of socializing- he just wants everything to be quiet as he nestles into your collarbone

He leaves early in the morning for work but will jot down a corny little note to make you smile or leave breakfast

He will not tell you when he’s hurt and will bottle it up until it slowly damages the relationship- you need to really pry to figure out what’s going on

Amazing with kids and loved to talk about what it will be like when you guys have them

Whispers jokes to you in group settings- everyone wonders what you two are laughing about

He loves to sleep- days off he will be sprawled in bed and begging you to join him

MASTERLIST

you could have said it was the way of the world. you could have reminded him that your own past carried bruises just as deep, maybe deeper, scars you rarely spoke of. instead you reached out and took his hand in both of yours, warm and steady, and said, “listen to me zuko. right now and forever, i’m here for you. because i want to be here. because you matter to me.”

that night something inside his chest shifted, small and fragile and terrifyingly bright. he had grown up knowing only the sharp edges of power, the cold absence of his mother, the calculated disdain of his sister, and the burning disappointment of his father. familial love had been barely an atom, flickering out before he could ever hold it. uncle iroh’s gentle wisdom had been the single flame keeping him from freezing entirely.

but you… you chose kindness — you chose him.

you chose to pack his things with perfect folds while the others’ bundles looked like wham bam thank you ma’am. you chose to save the ripest berries for his share when foraging. you chose to sit beside him on watch, sharing silence that felt safe instead of empty. you chose to mend the tear in his sleeve with tiny, careful stitches. you chose to smile at him across the campfire like he was someone worth smiling at. you chose to defend him gently when sokka teased too hard, turning the moment into something light instead of sharp. you chose to remember the stories he told about his mother and ask about her on quiet mornings, letting him speak her name without it hurting quite so much.

every small act stacked like kindling around the lonely boy still living inside the scarred young man. and zuko, who had known no love at all, felt the first warm sparks of something new catching inside him, slow, sweet and undeniable.

you had taught zuko what unconditional love even meant, drop by drop, day by day, ever since that strange afternoon in the woods when he wore the blue mask and you were just a girl searching for medicine to help your friends. he still remembered the exact way your voice sounded, scared but steady, explaining why you were there. from that moment his heart, began learning how to beat properly, how to open, how to love without fear of being burned.

and after everything… after the war, after the long hard road to respite, he knew without any doubt that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving.

so in the quiet garden on the outskirts of the palace, the one his mother used to take him to when their family felt too heavy, he dropped to one knee among the blooming fire lilies and asked, voice barely above a whisper,

“will you marry me?”

you laughed, quiet and surprised, which made his ears turn a shade of pink and his hands tremble just a little. you explained, still smiling, that he never even asked you to be his girlfriend. 

but then you said yes anyway, 

and something inside him clicked into place. like the final piece of a long broken puzzle. since that day he had been closer to enlightenment than he ever thought possible, simply because it was you.

you loved him through every storm. when the nightmares came and he woke drenched in sweat, gasping for air, you were already there, arms sliding around him without hesitation, holding him close until his breathing evened out. you fetched him cool water, pressed damp rags to his forehead, whispered gentle words of encouragement against his hair until the ghosts retreated. when old memories rose up and he snapped without meaning to, you never flinched. you simply waited, then took his hands and reminded him he was safe now, that he was allowed to be human. every outburst, every shaky moment, you met with patience and understanding that still left him in quiet awe.

because you chose to love him like that, he chose, every single day, to love you the same way in return. 

his version of love was soft, awkward, and brand new, like learning to walk again in uncharted territory, but it was entirely his. and he was grateful you allowed him this chance.

he built a statue of you in one of the palace courtyards, even though you had politely declined the idea at first. when you finally saw it, nervous at the grandness, you noticed the inscription at the base: “the woman who triumphed our family curse.” the words made your eyes sting with happy tears.

he named the new women’s school after you, the one dedicated to teaching young firebenders and earthbenders and waterbenders how to use their gifts to heal the world instead of harm it. he remembered every quiet conversation you had shared about wanting to guide girls who dreamed of doing better, and he made it real. when he told you, you cried again, touched that he had remembered that dream so carefully in his heart.

but it wasn’t only the grand gestures. it was the everyday care that made your chest feel warm and full.

he always wrapped his arms around you softly yet protectively whenever you walked through crowded streets or busy halls, because you had once mentioned how much you disliked feeling swallowed by too many people. his body became your shield, one hand resting gently at the small of your back, the other curled around your waist, guiding you through the noise while his warmth kept the world at a comfortable distance.

when you sat together in the evenings reading or hes able to get respite from politics, he would carefully lift your feet into his lap without a word, his scarred hands surprisingly tender as he massaged away the ache from long days of walking or helping others. his thumbs moved in slow, careful circles, working out every knot while he watched your face to make sure the pressure was just right, never too hard, never rushing. it became one of your favorite unspoken rituals, the way he poured all his quiet devotion into making sure even the smallest discomforts melted under his touch.

and every night before sleep, no matter how late the duties of the fire lord kept him, he would pull you close under the heavy silk blankets, tucking your head beneath his chin so your ear rested right over his heart. one arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulders, the other hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns along your spine or brushing stray hairs from your forehead. he held you like you were something precious gold, his breathing slow and steady against your hair, until both of you drifted off wrapped in the same safe, warm cocoon he had never known he could create for someone else.

but of course,

his favorite way to show his love had always been the way he adorned your body,  such as this particular day.

you had just finished your evening routine, the soft silk robe hugging your frame and slipping gently off one shoulder, exposing a sliver of warm skin that caught the low lantern light. zuko stepped out of the bath, droplets still tracing lazy paths down his chest and shoulders, a towel slung low around his hips. the moment he rounded the corner into your shared chambers and saw you there, he stopped dead in his tracks, breath catching in his throat.

he murmured your name, voice low and rough with something deeper than exhaustion.

your smile bloomed in the mirror, soft and knowing. you set the little powder puff down on the vanity and turned to face him, the movement making the robe shift just a little more. “hi honey,” you said gently, eyes warm with affection. “how was the meeting?”

“it was okay,” he answered, stepping closer, “i’m hopeful. but, i’m exhausted.” he leaned down, intending to press a kiss to your forehead, one hand brushing his damp hair back so it wouldn’t drip onto you. you tilted your face up to meet him halfway, and instead your lips found his in a quiet, lingering touch.

he smiled against your mouth, the tension in his shoulders easing just from that single connection. “how was your day?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper as he pulled back only enough to look at you.

“it was good,” you replied, reaching up to trace a thumb along his jaw. “really good.”

his gaze softened, then darkened with that familiar, tender hunger. he dipped his head again, this time pressing slow kisses along the side of your neck, warm and unhurried. his hands found your shoulders, thumbs working in gentle circles to massage away the day’s quiet weight, kneading the muscles with careful strength while his lips continued their soft exploration.

“you feel so good under my hands,” he breathed against your skin, the words vibrating through you. every touch was deliberate, sweet, like he was reminding himself that you were real, that you were his, that he was allowed to love you like this.

the robe slipped a little further down your shoulder as his fingers trailed lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with light strokes. he kissed the newly exposed skin, slow and lingering, then moved back up to capture your lips again, deeper this time.

his palms slid down your arms, then back up, coaxing the robe to loosen even more until it pooled loosely around your waist. he didn’t rush. he never rushed with you. instead he savored every sigh you gave him, every small shift of your body toward his, learning you all over again with every caress.

“let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered, forehead resting gently against yours, eyes half-lidded and full of quiet devotion. his hands roamed lower.

he put his arms under your knees, around your back, tilting you gently before lifting you up in a smooth carry. you wrapped your arm around his neck and yelped in surprise, laughing softly as you were caught off guard by the sudden lift, your robe slipping even more as you clung to him.

he carried you the few steps to the bed with careful, steady strides, his hold warm and protective, then laid you down on the silk sheets

he unraveled your robe with slow, aching fingers, letting the fabric fall open and pool around you so he could see every inch of skin he loved so much.

you said his name softly, almost like a sigh, “zuko…”

he leaned down right away, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck in a warm, lingering kiss. then he took a big inhale of you, slow and deep, then let the breath out against your skin like he needed it to steady himself. a low groan slipped from his throat, vibrating into you as his hand found your thigh again, squeezing gently before rubbing the spot in long, soothing strokes.

“you always smell so good,” he murmured, voice rough with quiet praise, lips brushing your pulse.

you giggled, the sound light and happy as his kisses kept trailing along your neck. “zuko, you’re tickling me,” you whispered between soft laughs, one hand threading into his still damp hair.

he shook his head a little, smiling against your skin without pulling away. “good,” he teased gently, voice low and devoted, “i like hearing you laugh while i take care of you.” his mouth moved lower then, kissing a slow path from your neck to your collarbone, then down to the center of your sternum, each press of his lips soft and intentional. 

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, lips grazing just below your belly button. “all mine… and i get to love you every night.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs tracing gentle circles over your ribs while he kissed lower still, taking his time, savoring every little shiver he pulled from you. “tell me if it feels good, okay? i want to make you feel perfect.”

you let out another soft giggle mixed with a pleased hum, fingers tightening in his hair. “it already feels perfect… you always know how to touch me.”

he looked up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and full of that sweet devotion, and gave you one more kiss right at the dip of your hip. “because i love learning every part of you,” he said quietly, voice warm with honesty. “every sound you make… every way you move for me.”

his hands gently parted your thighs, palms warm and careful as he settled between them, shoulders flexing under the lantern light. he kissed the inside of one thigh first, then the other, slow and teasing, working his way closer while his breath ghosted over your skin. he glanced up at you again, cheeks flushed, that soft smile still playing on his lips.

“i’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admitted, pressing one last open mouthed kiss just above where you needed him most. “just… letting me taste you. letting me make you feel good.”

then he leaned in, tongue tracing a slow, devoted stripe along your clit and your breath catches. he groaned softly at the first taste of you, eyes fluttering half closed like it was the best thing he had ever known, and kept going, slow and sweet and utterly focused on you.

he started with short, teasing licks, light flicks of his tongue against your clit that made your hips twitch and a soft gasp slip from your lips. each one was deliberate, playful, like he was savoring the way your breath hitched every time he pulled back just enough to make you want more.

“i love how you react to me,” he murmured against your skin, voice warm and low, before leaning in again with those quick little strokes, teasing you open slowly, devotedly. his hands stayed attentive the whole time, palms stroking up and down the soft skin of your thighs in long, soothing glides, thumbs tracing gentle circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue.

then he shifted, going slower, a little heavier, pressing the flat of his tongue against you in languid, thorough drags that had your back arching clean off the bed with a shaky moan. he hummed in quiet satisfaction, the vibration sending sparks through you, because by now he considered himself a master of your tells: the way your fingers tightened in his hair when it felt just right, the little hitch in your breathing, the way your thighs trembled around him. he read every one of them like they were written just for him.

while he kept licking you, his hands guided your legs gently, lifting them to drape over his shoulders and around the back of his head so you could pull him even closer whenever the pleasure swelled. the new angle made everything feel impossibly good, his warm breath and soft groans mixing with your own quiet sounds until the room filled with nothing but the two of you.

his palms slid upward, slowly cupping both of your breasts with careful warmth. he gave them soft, loving squeezes, thumbs brushing over your nipples in gentle circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue, drawing another broken moan from you. his groans grew a little deeper, vibrating right into your core, the sound of his pleasure tangling sweetly with yours.

you looked down at him through teary eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted on a soft whimper, and the sight of you like that, so open and overwhelmed and trusting, hit him so hard he had to squeeze his eyes shut tight. a low, desperate groan tore from his throat as he buried himself even deeper into your pussy, tongue working you with renewed devotion, like he needed to lose himself there before the ache in his own body could overwhelm him.

“you’re so perfect,” he whispered against you between long, heavy licks, voice rough with love and restraint. “just let me take care of you… let me make you feel everything.” his hands stayed on your breasts, squeezing softly, thumbs teasing, while his mouth never stopped, slow and sweet. utterly focused on pulling every trembling sound from your lips.

you whined his name in a soft, desperate groan, hips rolling toward his mouth without thinking. “zuko… please, it feels so good,” you gasped, voice breaking on the words as a quiet curse slipped out, “oh fuck, zuko…”

he stayed silent, completely focused, the only sounds in the room were the gentle rhythm of his tongue and the soft, slick noises of his mouth against you mixed with your breathy moans. he shifted lower then, licking your entrance over and over in long, devoted strokes, lapping up every drop of wetness that had started to flow for him like it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

his hands slid down from your breasts, palms warm and a little rough from years of training and firebending, stroking along your labia with slow, careful touches that made your whole body feel weak and trembling. the contrast of his rugged hands against your soft, sensitive skin was heavenly, sending sparks up your spine with every gentle glide of his fingers.

he looked up just in time to watch your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy, lashes fluttering, lips parted on another shaky moan, and the sight made his breath hitch against you. still he didn’t speak; he simply pressed deeper, tongue working you with quiet desperation 

then, he eased one finger inside you, listening so carefully to the soft gasp that left your lips, savoring the way your walls fluttered around him and the warm, perfect feel of you. he pumped it gently, in and out in unhurried strokes, curling just enough to find that spot that made your thighs tense around his shoulders.

his mouth returned to your clit, sucking softly now, lips closing around the sensitive bud while he kept fingering you with that same saintly patience. as time stretched sweet and slow between you he added a second finger, then a third, stretching you open so gently, so perfectly, every movement measured to draw out more of those pretty sounds from your throat.

he groaned quietly into you only once, humming through your core, but otherwise he kept going, tongue and fingers never faltering, slow heavy licks circling your clit while those three fingers pumped deep and steady inside you, curling just right against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. your walls started to flutter, squeezing around him tighter and tighter, and when the pleasure finally bloomed your whole body shook with it, thighs trembling around his shoulders as you cried out his name in a broken, breathless moan, “zuko… oh my god, zuko—”

he felt every pulse, every shiver, drinking you down like he could never get enough, only pulling back when the last aftershock rippled through you. he kissed his way up your body, slow and saccharine, until he hovered over you, lips finding yours in a deep, open mouthed kiss. you groaned into it, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he swallowed the sound like it was honey.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and full of awe, one hand cupping your flushed cheek while the other stroked your side in soothing circles. “doing so well for me, my love… you came so perfectly, just like that. i could stay between your legs forever if you let me.”

his praise was soft and coddling at first, gentle little murmurs pressed between kisses, but the longer he held you the more it shifted, heat building low and heavy between you. his lips moved against yours again, slower this time, deeper, tongue sliding in to taste you properly while his breath grew hot and ragged. the kiss turned hungry, intimate and wet, little gasps and sighs mixing as he tilted his head to get even closer, like he needed to breathe you in. your hands slid up his bare back, nails grazing lightly, and he groaned low into your mouth, the sound vibrating through both of you.

he pulled back just enough to reach down and loosen the towel still wrapped around his waist, letting it fall away completely. his cock sprang free, hard and flushed, brushing warm against your thigh as he shifted. without breaking the kiss he moved you over, wrapping your legs around his waist with gentle hands, palms sliding down the backs of your thighs to hook them snugly in place as he pressed forward and finally entered you, slow and careful, inch by inch until he was buried deep. the stretch of him made you squeeze around his cock instantly, tight and perfect, and he groaned low against your mouth, forehead dropping to yours.

“gentle love… gentle,” he breathed, voice strained and husky, hips stilling for a moment while he fought for control. “ease up… you’ll make me cum too fast if you keep doing that.”

you nodded quickly, eyes glassy with pleasure, and forced your body to relax around him just enough. he let out a shaky exhale and started stroking again, long slow pumps in and out that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. his golden eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, never looking away, like he needed to watch every flicker of feeling cross your face while he moved.

then his hand slid up, cupping the back of your neck gently, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you up softly to meet him. he kissed you deep and hungry, tongues sliding together while he let the last thread of restraint slip. carnal need took over for one perfect moment and he thrust hard once, a single powerful snap of his hips that punched the air from your lungs and made you moan into his mouth.

he pulled back just enough to chuckle, soft and low and a little breathless, the sound rumbling warm from the corner of his lips as they stayed pressed to yours. “sorry… couldn’t help it,” he whispered, already easing back into that sweet, steady pace, rolling his hips in deep, measured strokes that kept you both right on the edge of too much.

every other kiss he pulled away just far enough to murmur against your lips, voice rough with love and heat. “does that feel good?” another slow thrust, another kiss. “yeah? that feet good?” his mouth found yours again, wet and open, before he breathed, “oh baby… you feel so good around me… so so perfect.”

he kept that slow, deep rhythm for a little longer, hips rolling into you with the same worshipful patience, every stroke dragging deliciously against your walls until you were both breathing in the same shaky rhythm. his forehead stayed pressed to yours, eyes half lidded, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every soft sound you made for him.

then something inside him shifted, the heat building too sweetly to hold back anymore. his pace started to quicken, thrusts growing a little faster, a little harder, still careful but now edged with that raw need he only ever let show when he was buried inside you like this. he breathed your name against your lips, voice low and rough, like saying it grounded him.

the faster he moved the more your name slipped out, tumbling from his mouth between kisses and gasps. every snap of his hips drew it out again, sweeter and more desperate, until it became a quiet chant pressed into your skin. his hand stayed cradled at the back of your neck, holding you close so he could kiss you through every thrust, tongues sliding slow and filthy while his body worked you open with building intensity.

“you feel so good… so good around me,” he groaned, the words breaking on a shaky exhale as he sped up even more, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the quiet room alongside your mingled moans. his free hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in just enough to keep you anchored to him while he drove deeper, faster, chasing the way your walls fluttered and squeezed every time he hit that perfect spot inside you.

he kissed you harder then, open mouthed and breathless, pulling back only to whisper your name again. “baby… look at me,” he panted, eyes never leaving yours even as sweat beaded along his scar and his rhythm turned perfectly filthy. every thrust now punched little gasps from your throat, his cock dragging so deliciously deep that your toes curled and your back arched up into him.

“that’s it… just like that…” his voice cracked with how good it felt, the sound of your name growing more frequent, more wrecked the harder he fucked into you, like he needed to taste it on his tongue while he lost himself in your body. 

his hips snapped forward with wet, rhythmic sounds, pace relentless now but still so full of love. your name falling from his lips like a broken mantra, until you cried out his name loud and desperate, back arching hard as you gasped, “please zuko… cum inside me… please—”

he unraveled right there, eyes widening as his rhythm stuttered for half a second. “baby… are you sure??” he panted, voice wrecked and breathless, still driving into you deep and steady like he couldn’t stop even while asking.

you nodded frantically, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheeks as you begged, “yes please… please breed me zuko… i want your kids so bad… i want you to fill me up—”

that did it. the words hit him like appa(sorry). a raw groan tore from his throat, half cry, half sob of pure overwhelmed love, and he buried his face against your neck for one shaky second before he sped up, thrusts turning faster, deeper, but still so gentle with you, like even in the middle of losing control he refused to be anything but careful with your body.

he watched your face the whole time, golden eyes locked on yours, making sure every deep stroke felt perfect and that he wasn’t ruining your night routine, and never wanting to ruin even a single moment of your comfort. 

his cock dragged so deliciously inside you, hitting that spot over and over until your walls squeezed around him again, tight and fluttering, pulling another broken moan from him.

“please baby… i’m gonna cum—” he whispered, voice cracking, hips losing their perfect rhythm just a little as he teetered right on the edge.

you grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him down closer until his forehead rested against yours, and he let you, desperate and needy. his lips found yours in a messy, breathless kiss, all tongue, heat,  and love as he finally came hard, hips jerking forward one last time while he emptied himself deep inside you, pulse after warm pulse filling you exactly like you’d begged him to.

he kept kissing you through it, soft desperate sounds vibrating into your mouth, hands cradling your head like you were the most precious thing in the world while his body shook with the force of it. even then he stayed gentle, hips rolling in slow little aftershocks, making sure every drop stayed right where you wanted it, right where it belonged. and you wrapped yourself so tight around him.

“i love you… i love you so much,” he breathed against your lips between kisses, still buried deep, still holding you close like he never wanted to let go.  

a few months later,

the palace gardens felt like a dream under the warm afternoon sun. you sat comfortably under a wide awning with katara beside you, both of you gently cradling your rounded bellies as a soft breeze drifted across the lake. in the distance aang, sokka, and zuko stood near the water’s edge close to the beautiful statue that had been built in your honor, talking and laughing about something you couldn’t quite hear.

katara let out a soft giggle, her hand resting on her bump. “i can’t believe we got pregnant at the same time,” she said warmly, eyes sparkling with joy.

you giggled back, leaning your head toward her. “i know… it feels like fate. do you already know the name?”

she nodded, smiling brightly. “yes. let’s say it at the same time?”

you both counted down together, voices light and playful. “three… 

two…

one…”

“izumi,” 

“bumi,”

you both paused, then let out a sweet “aww” in unison before dissolving into quiet, happy laughter, the sound floating gently through the garden.

hip hip hooray!! dadaman is backk!! zuko nation rise tf up!! like comment and reblog!! lmk what u think!! stay tuned for more!

You’re dealing with changes. And the past you’re trying to leave behind. Your body is not handling it the way it should. All of it is catching up to you right now that you’re trying to make amends with yourself. But when you spend your whole life going after people’s lives to take them with you and exchange them for money, it’s everything but easy. Headhunting was all you knew, all your father thought you to do and to be. Through training, and words, and violence. He beat you up when you failed, locked you outside the house in sheer cold when you told him you were too sick to train, called you a failure and starved you when he caught you playing outside with other kids instead of working out. Your father was in it only for the money, but raising a little girl with only violence isn’t enough. Hatred is needed. Hatred and resentment can make a person unstoppable. Just make sure that they don't develop their own perspective on things.

And when the poster of a pirate with a 30 million bounty and a straw hat appeared in town, your father gave you a mission. Kill Monkey D. Luffy, bring back the bounty, or else your life is over. And so you followed Luffy all the way through islands and waves, attempting to kill him in cold blood. You sparred, and fought, and you got bruises and cuts and he did too, but he never, ever finished you even when he had the possibility. And vice-versa. Until one last time, you broke down crying for your life. Not the one threatened by the straw hat pirate, but the one your father sought to kill if you failed. And, instead of killing you when you were kneeling on the ground, Luffy got down and wiped your tears with a strip of his red shirt that you tore away in battle.

«Crying looks weird on you, you have kind eyes» he just said, his thick eyebrows furrowed.

Your face rose too meet his in shock, only a confused “uh” escaped from your mouth. Next thing you knew you passed out out of exhaustion and woke up on the Going Merry, inside a bed, with food by your side and your wounds bandaged.

«Luffy insisted on taking care of you, I don’t know why he would do that so don’t make any false moves» a girl with red hair, Nami, said to you soon after.

And without even realizing it, you became part of the crew. Luffy basically took you in without even asking you. At first, you would try to run away and reject his attempts spitefully. But you were too far from home as of now, and every island the Going Merry docked at in the Grand Line was life-threatening for you to deal with alone. So every time, Luffy ended up taking you back to the Merry and trying to bandage you. Trying because he was terrible at it, so Sanji or Usopp had to fix it afterwards. All the while he started asking you about your life, why you were a headhunter and after him, and if you cry often or not. All questions asked with a big grin on his face. At first, you kept your mouth shut. But then, you didn’t even know why, you started opening up to him a little, bit after bit. You told him about your resentment towards pirates, and what your dad taught you, and how, still leaving out the abuse part for now. You’re not ready. After listening, he only said.

«Your dad sounds mean, good thing we found you!» and with that, he just chuckled and walked away without questioning you even further.

That time, when you got into your room on the ship, you broke down crying as soon as you closed the door behind you. Thinking about how he smiled at everything you said, how he wiped away your tears the last time you tried to kill him, and you realized something. Luffy was the only person to show you kindness, ever.

So you stopped trying to evade. You started to reciprocate his questions, grins, and gestures. He complimented you on your smile, said that it suited you way more than tears. He repeated that you had kind eyes every time he considered it necessary. The rest of the crew grew accustomed to you, started to trust you, and you were leaving behind the life you had before. No more prejudices about pirates and which lives were worth it or not in this world. You became one yourself.

But the more you felt love towards them, the more it was harder to escape your past self. The lives you took away, the people you did wrong. It wasn’t something you really wanted to deal with, you thought that escaping would be enough. You thought that Luffy, the one boy you swore to kill to save yourself, would suffice. But then the vertigos began, along with the palpitations and the random burning in your stomach. The same things you started feeling as you spent more and more time with Luffy. Until, in Little Garden, you realized that you were in love.

Ironic, you fell in love with the one guy you were hunting down. But you couldn’t deny it anymore, and when he took you by the waist with his stretched arm to ride a dinosaur with him you accepted it. With a smile on your face, your hands latched around his waist and your cheek pressed against his back. The moment came crashing down on you when he turned around and looked at you with the most gentle smile you’ve ever seen and the deepest brown eyes. You didn’t look away, your lips parted, so close to his face and you said to yourself “yeah, I really am in love with him”.

But as soon as you accepted your love for the captain, your body started rejecting your past life even more, to the point of sickness. You didn’t want to be the person you were before, you wanted to be good, to be kind like Luffy said. But how can a former blood-lusted headhunter allow herself to forget and just go on to be a pirate? How can she forgive herself, and the abuse? Zoro too was a headhunter, and he didn’t bother that much about his past, but it was different, he had perspective. You didn’t gain it until now and it’s too much to handle so suddenly. Today, it reached the point of exhaustion, and you passed out on the deck on a sunny, calm day on the Going Merry.

You wake up a few hours after, sweaty and trembling. An ice package is carefully placed on your forehead, but your temperature is as high as ever. There’s no one else in the room, but you can hear voices outside the door.

«I just wanna check on her!» someone said.

Luffy. You recognize his voice even in febrile exhaustion.

«I just told you, you can’t Luffy! Not until I figure out what she has! We can’t risk you getting sick, or the rest of the crew» a tender, child-like voice. Chopper.

«Chopper, move» Luffy repeated.

You hear stomping, and the voices of Zoro and Usopp raising. Nami and Sanji joined soon after. More thuds and stomps, voices mixing but Luffy trying to be louder. He was clearly growing angry. The door beats a few times, you hear a struggling noise and restraining.

«Luffy…» you whisper under your breath.

But before you can even try to get up, your head falls back and your eyes flutter close again.

It’s night now. Pale moonlight softly envelopes the room, and you can hear the calming sound of waves crashing against the Merry. The ship is decked, it’s not moving. And you feel warmer than before, but not because of the fever, even though you still feel sick to the core. It’s because someone is cuddled next to you. When he notices your open eyes, a relaxed and joyful smile extends on his tan face. Your heart skips one or two beats.

«Luffy?» you would’ve jolted, normally, but you’re too weak to do anything more than whisper his name, vaguely confused.

Maybe it was an hallucination. Are you really that down bad for him? But not, by the tender touch of his hand on your waist under the covers and the tickling of his black curls against your cheek, he’s very real.

«Hey, you’re awake!» he whispers, but with a note of evident excitement «how do you feel?»

As you try to collect your thoughts, your worries have the best on the butterflies that bloomed in your stomach due to his proximity. Luffy was cuddled up next to you in your bed, one hand carefully on your waist and one between your hair, caressing them slowly.

«Luffy, you know that I’m sick right-»

«Don’t worry! We decked not long ago and Chopper and the others went to find some medical herbs, you’ll get better I promise»

«That’s not the point, you could get sick too we don’t know what I have yet! It could be viral!» you try to protest.

But the captain doesn’t flinch. His smile doesn’t even falter in the slightest.

«While the others are out searching for meds my duty is to check on you. You were trembling lots, so I’m doing my job perfectly fine!» he replied.

In reality, things went a bit differently. That afternoon Luffy had a big fight with the rest of the crew, because he insisted on seeing you so hard that he had to be physically restrained. Which wasn’t an easy job, even with a transformed Chopper and Zoro’s muscles. He was worried sick about you. Even when Nami got sick he was preoccupied and willing to climb a snowy mountain bare handed for her, but with you it was visceral. Since Luffy was so agitated, they came up with a compromise. Everyone will go out to find medicines on the next island, and Luffy could stay with you on the Merry to check on you, but absolutely no touching. He could sit next to you, bring you food and water if needed and give the crew a signal for an emergency, but no physical touch. And there he is, cuddled up with you.

«You could’ve just brought me an extra blanket…» you murmur.

«Do you want one?»

He asks you innocently. It’s his way of asking you if you’re uncomfortable with him so close, but you don’t want to let go. So you just don’t answer, and silence falls in the cabin. The only sounds audible are the waves pleasantly crashing against the nearby shore, and your breathing. You try to make yours as steady as possible.

After a few minutes, one of your hands travels up his arm. Your other hand moves to touch his face, the tip of your fingers caressing his face, grazing his nose, his left eyebrow, carefully tracing the scar under his eyes. And then between his locs, rhythmically stroking his hair, paying attention not to move his straw hat. No one dares to say a word, until he breaks the silence.

«’s nice…» he says softly, content.

You can’t see his face very well in the moonlit room, but you know that if you just moved your face a little, you could easily kiss him. The idea that he might reciprocate doesn’t sound even that absurd as of now.

But instead of daring to do so, you tear up.

«Why are you like this?» you ask, voice breaking.

Luffy comically frowns and lets out a confused “uh?”.

«What do you mean?»

«I said» a sob escapes your lips «why are you like this? With me? Why are you so nice to me?»

He doesn’t understand where this conversation’s going, at all. He’s dense about it.

«Why shouldn’t I be?» he repeats, still genuinely confused.

«Because I’m a bad person, Luffy!» you snap, raising your voice. The hand that was stroking Luffy’s hair is now covering your tearful eyes.

«That’s not even true!» he shakes his head, raising his voice back a little.

«Oh for fucks sake Luffy. I hunted you down for months, killed pirates mercilessly since I was a little kid, took away so many lives. And now? I become a pirate myself and act like my life was never that way? As if nothing happened? The more I spend time with you guys, the nicer you are with me, especially you, the more I refuse to accept it and I end up in this state. I’m so tired!»

One of your hands grips your hair almost painfully, your palm wet with tears. For a couple of minutes, Luffy doesn’t say anything. He lets you cry quietly, not moving a muscle. After a while, he talks again

«It’s not your fault» he says, calmly.

You don’t say anything. So Luffy repeats himself.

«I’ll say it again. It’s not your fault. People sometimes do things because they don’t know any better. All you knew was killing pirates for money and well, all I knew my life was that I wanted to be one. But I’m learning. The world is made of headhunters, thieves, liars, doctors, princesses and cooks. And these people can be kind, like you»

«How can you be so confident about me being kind?» you ask him.

«Because my gut knows, and I always trust my gut» he says.

You can make out the shape of his smile, his beautiful and ever beaming smile. Only now you realize that he stopped grinning when he said those things to you.

As you let out a few more tears, Luffy does something he never did for you. He reaches for his straw hat, takes it, and places it on your head. You jolt a bit, surprised.

«Listen, no matter what, it’s time for you to choose how you wanna live your life. It’s not up to your dad to tell you, or…me. If you wanna stay with us, this is your home. But if you want to go on another path, it’s only up to you. I just want you to be happy, okay? It’s important. Because I mean it when I say that tears don’t suit you»

His smile is faltering again. You bite your lower lip, attempting to stop your sobs.

«If I decided to leave the crew, would you be sad?»

He doesn’t answer for a while, his smile is gone now. He tries to hide it by burying half of his face in your shoulder.

«I just told you, you have to chose for yourself»

«I want to stay, Luffy»

He hugs you a bit tighter now, his legs tangled in yours, and your silhouettes mixing in the dark, undistinguishable from one another. He’s smiling again.

«Good, because otherwise yeah, I would’ve been very sad about it»

Sheets rustle, and Luffy is now moving. He props himself up to take a better look at your face, moving a strand of hair away from your forehead. Then, he kisses your cheek right on the spot your tears ran down on the most. And then he kisses the corner of your mouth, and your temple, and your forehead.

«’s this okay?» he asks in a hushed tone.

Feeling your heart stuck in your throat, you nod frantically.

Luffy keeps on kissing your face everywhere, delicately, weirdly so for a guy like him. Never on your lips, but everywhere his kisses needed to be.

«But if you want to stay, you have to let us, and me especially, be kind to you. Alright? Because I think you’re kind, funny, nice to be around and that you have nice eyes. ‘mkay?» he casually says, in between kisses. Your eyelids flutter close and he places a kiss on your right one too, before stopping to let you answer. You realize that your tears stopped running and that your temperature feels lower now.

«Okay, I’ll let you be nice to me. And I’ll stay» you whisper.

You allow yourself to kiss him on his forehead, then between his dark hair, and then right under the scar under his brown eyes.

The next morning, the crew found you two soundly asleep, still cuddled up. Most shockingly, you had Luffy’s hat sitting on your head. Sanji let out a sigh and a chuckle soon after, Zoro looked away and Nami groaned. Usopp covered his eyes, mistaking the situation for something a bit different, while Vivi reassured him that you and Luffy did not just have sex.

Meanwhile, Chopper had his hooves gripping his antlers, letting out a small screech.

«Luffy! Get out, now!» he shouted.

Both of you jumped awake, you barely had time to open your eyes before Chopper transformed and yanked Luffy out of your bed, dragging him outside the cabin as he tried to explain himself. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

A stress-induced flu, that’s what Chopper diagnosed you with soon after giving you the proper medications. And with time, the vertigos and palpitations slowly started to disappear. And if they happened to come back, Luffy always knew, and he would cuddle up with you in bed just like that night.

you shrug and take another look to your outfit; it wasn't anything out of the ordinary but you did put in a bit of thought today in terms of colour coordination and texture pairings, so maybe that was the difference he was trying to deduce. you give his hands a squeeze, gazing back up to meet with his eyes already in a daze the longer he stares at you.

"i just felt like wearing this today. why?" you remove a hand from his to put it on your hip, "do i look weird?"

he shakes his head and leans back to get a better look, sighing, "you look so good..." he slyly lifts his arm and makes you twirl, to which you oblige with a chuckle. he groans and throws himself back onto the chair, using a hand to pull you towards him as you step between his legs; used to the proximity as your knees bump alongside his.

"how the hell do you look like that and i'm still stuck here?"

past his squinting eyes, he huffs, already having a conversation with himself.

"now we have to go out. ain't no way you look that good and i'm not taking you out."

there's a moment of silence and martin hates that you know.

with your hand in his, you give it a shake and snort.

"i feel like there's a but coming,"

"but..."

"there it is."

he groans, shaking his body childishly. he keeps your hand in captivity as he flings it arms up and about.

"i have this one track to get done before i can go!" he half-glares at you, squeezing your hand, "and then you come in here looking like that, distracting me and–"

"i can leave–"

"and so you must stay here until i'm ready to go," he stubbornly tugs onto your hand so you're forced to stay close to him. it got easier for you to sit on his lap as he swirls closer towards the table; as if he's trapping you with him (he is) and he makes you stay like that with him despite letting your hand go. every time you try to wiggle out of his grasp, he stubbornly holds you near past his equipment and his attempts to getting his work done.

it was useless trying to debate with him on his work efficiency if you just gave him his space but hey, if this is the way he wants to work, you had no objections if you could have him this close to you.

“It’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to your cabin, yeah?” The dark haired boy smiled at you.

Gods how you loved that smile of his.

It’s a tradition of yours. Him walking you back to your cabin after your outings. The two of you walk hand in hand as your near the Athena cabin.

You and Luke had been acquainted for quite some time. You both first met when you arrived in camp for the first time.

You were fifteen back then. Time passed by as fast Zeus’ lightning strikes as summers blurred after summers. In a blink of an eye, you guys were both eighteen now. Adults, no longer those carefree teenagers that relied on your counselors.

During those three years of friendship, you and Luke only got closer. It was hard to admit, and after an excruciating time of denial (and constant pestering from your half siblings including Annabeth), you finally surrendered and admitted the growing feelings you harbored for your close friend.

You’re too afraid to confess your feelings as you treasured your friendship with him deeply. You would gush about how sweet he is to Annabeth, rolling yourself on your bed as blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing. Confiding to Annabeth about your recent encounters, eyes lit up rivaling the shine of Apollo himself as he thinks of you.

Poor girl. Annabeth was sick of it.

But this summer, you felt a shift in your dynamic with the curly haired boy. He would eat lunch with you more often, asking you to go on more hangouts, challenged you on more duels, battles. It felt different, closer.

You were not complaining, matter of fact you were quite glad. Maybe your feelings wasn’t just one sided after all.

But as time move forwards, the closer you two get, more couple-ey interaction commends. He would tuck your hand behind your ear as you both converse, intwining your hands when your in the same path, calling you nicknames.

The more your relationship with him progressed, the more it blurred the line between friends and more. At this point, you knew he had feelings for you as well, and he too was well aware of yours.

A bubble of thought soon started clouding your mind. What were you both now? Friends? Close friends? Lovers? You don’t remember Luke asking you to be his girlfriend.

What was the nature this relationship?

You feel his grip on yours loosening as you stopped near the grey building of Cabin 6. “This is it for you, princess.”

Words rolled of his tongue like honey and you felt like a honeybee, drawn to its sweetness.

Friends don’t call each other nicknames.

Luke placed a gentle hand on your cheek, drawing closer has he placed his lips on your temple, as if he was kissing your thoughts away. “What’s got you thinking so hard since we started walking, hm?”

Your cheeks lit up like campfire at his action, he smiled noticing your flushed state.

Cute

You look up to the curly haired boy, his fingers still pressed on your cheek. What are we, Luke?

What if Luke suddenly doesn’t want you anymore because of that question?

Were you too selfish by wanting more?

Was this not enough for you?

No it wasn’t. You want to draw a clear like between friends and more, and Luke and you were shoveling a deep hole in the middle of said line.

What if he fears commitment and disappears?

“Oh no, it’s nothing Luke.” You shook your head away from his grasp, pushing all your thoughts away. “It’s late, I should probably get in.”

But before you can turn away from him, Luke was quick to grab your hand, not letting you go any further. “No, Yn. Something is clearly bothering you. And I don’t want you to go to bed with an unpleasant feeling.”

He squeezed your held hands. “Please, Yn. Is it something I’ve done?”

You were quick to deny him. “It’s not, Luke. I don’t even know it’s just. I don’t know, confusing? I think complicated is the right word.”

The dark haired boy brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing your forearm softly. “It’s okay take your time, darling. I’m listening.”

You sighed seeing him caress your hand gently as he brushed his lips on the skin. “It’s about us, Luke.”

Dark hues make contact with your own. “What about us?”

“What are we Luke? I don’t even know anymore.” You retracted your hand from his grasp, frustration getting a hold on you. “Friends don’t hold hands while they walk, friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads, or hands, or even call each other nicknames.”

You look up to see the confusion written clearly on his face. “What are we, Luke Castellan?” You asked once more.

There was a moment of silent and you dreaded it. Each passing second you can hear the rustling wind, chirps of birds, and the sound of your heart falling into your stomach.

Before he finally broke it. A wholehearted chuckle graced his lips, creasing his eyes.

You scrunched your eyebrows at his reaction. Clearly displeased. Were you some joke to him?

“Luke, this is serious, why are you laughing right now?”

He quickly straightened his composure after hearing your tone. “Ehem, wait sorry. You’re serious? Is this what you’ve been worrying about?”

“Well yeah. What’s so funny about it? Am I just some joke to you?”

“No no! Yn, wait.” He placed both of his hand above your shoulders. Eyes peered at yours before genuinely asking. “Haven’t we been dating for like two months now?”

What? Confusion warps your face.

“Yn, remember? Two months ago when I took you on a picnic by the lake? I asked if you wanted to be together and you agreed to it, remember?” He tried to recall your memory.

Then it snapped.

“Oh, that was a confession? I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” Luke mentally face palmed himself and you sheepishly giggled.

“Okay maybe I was too vague with my words so let’s redo it right now yeah?” You tilted your head at him.

The dark haired boy took both of your hands from your sides, lacing them into his. “Yn L/n, daughter of Athena, one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen, wisest and the most just ever, will you take the pleasure of being my girlfriend?”

You unwind your laced fingers, your hands moving, circling themselves around the nape of his neck as his hands are now placed on the sides your waist, drawing you closer. “Hm will I?” You teased him lightly.

“Please?”

“I guess you got yourself a girlfriend, Castellan.”

You laughed against his chest. And you can feel his ribcage expanding was he laughed along with you.

You tilt your head above, standing on the tips of your toes, as you pulled him even closer than before. Your noses touch at the proximity and you could feel his breath on yours. “Is this why you’ve never kissed me before?” you hear him whisper.

“Well I am doing it right now.” You pull him in, his lips crashing with your own. His grip on your waist tightened as your hands made its way to the softness of his curls. Eyes tightly shut as you both bask in the bliss of ecstasy before pulling apart.

He leaned his forehead against yours. Giving your lip a small peck as he craves for more of you. “I don’t know if this is not obvious yet but I like you, so so much, my Yn.”

You softly giggled. “I like you just as much, my prince.”

He doubled over with a groan, clutching his stomach. A familiar chuckle reached his ears as Chris strolled over containing a hysterical laugh.

"Sorry man, had to snap you out of that trance" Chris said with a smack to Luke’s back.

Luke's face burned hotter. He hadn't realized how blatantly obvious he'd been. Straightening up, he attempted to mask his flustered expression. "Shut up, I wasn't in a trance" he retorted, his voice a shade higher than usual.

“You totally were” Chris poked him playfully. “You are every time you look at her.”

“Okay, okay” Luke swatted Chris’s hand away, “stop touching me.”

Chris, ignoring his protests, squeezed his arm with mock sympathy. “Aw, don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not a baby,—”

"When did the mighty Luke Castellan become all weak and whiny for a girl?" Chris teased, playfully tousling Luke's hair.

Luke swatted his hand away again. "Hey! I'm not—!"

“Hey” a causal feminine voice cut him off.

Luke freezes. You stood mere inches away, your smile widening at the sight of his flustered expression. "H-hey" he managed, his voice barely confident, and shaky.

Chris stifled a snort, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Luke shot him a withering glare, silently pleading for him to cut it out.

“You alright?” you ask, "I saw the, uh..." You paused, gesturing vaguely with your hand in the direction of Chris. "The volleyball-, greeting?" you ask, a confused but fun expression on your face.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he offered, his voice strained. "Just a love tap, I guess." Another pointed glance in Chris' direction revealed him struggling for composure.

"Looks like you're busy" you said, your gaze flickering to Percy, who stood awkwardly to the side. You offered him a warm smile.

"Right, yeah" Luke stammered, finally managing to tear his gaze away from you. He remembered Percy standing awkwardly beside him. "Percy, this is yn, Aprhrodite´s cabin" he gestured towards you, his voice regaining a semblance of normalcy. "yn, this is Percy, the new camper."

"Nice to meet you" you greeted him, your voice laced with a kindness that put Percy instantly at ease.

"Nice to meet you too" Percy stammered back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"You're lucky," you continued, turning back to Luke, your eyes sparkling. "Luke’s the best counselor around, especially for new campers."

Luke felt a familiar heat rise in his cheeks at your praise. He always struggled with compliments, especially when they came from you. "Ah, don't listen to her" he stammered, deflecting awkwardly.

"Oh, don't be so humble" you teased, your playful tone sending shivers down his spine. "You know you are. You helped me out a lot when I was new."

Your words hung in the air, causing another wave of warmth to flood his cheeks. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. But he forced himself to focus, so he turned to Percy. "yn's always around the training field," he began, his voice a touch higher than normal. "So if you ever need a sparring partner or just someone to answer questions, you can find her here."

You raised an eyebrow playfully. "Coming from 'Best Swordsman' himself" you said, a teasing lilt in your voice.

His cheeks burned even hotter, but a genuine chuckle escaped his lips. "Alright," he conceded, his lips curving into a small, charming smile. "that might be true."

"Humble much?" Chris chimed in, ever the opportunist. He tossed the ball towards Luke's head, light and playful.

Luke turned around to Chris, “Dude” he calls. He hears your slight giggle from behind.

"Well, I gotta get back to training" you sighed, a hint of regret in your voice. You turned towards Percy, your smile warm and genuine. "Percy, if you ever need anything and Luke's not around, you can just look for me, okay?"

Percy, still a bit overwhelmed by the new environment, managed a hesitant nod. "Okay, thanks" he mumbled, a shy smile gracing his features.

"I'll see you around then" you chirped, offering him a final wave of encouragement. "Good luck with everything, alright?" As you turned to walk away, with a final glance towards Luke over your shoulder, a hint of something unspoken lingering in your eyes. "Bye, Luke."

The simple farewell hung in the air long after you'd disappeared. Chris nudged Luke's arm with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. "You're so into her, man" he declared, barely containing his smile.

Luke groaned. "Shut up" he muttered, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.

They continued walking. "I mean it! You were practically stuttering" Chris exclaimed, his voice laced with mock horror as he reenacted Luke's awkward greeting. "'Uh, h-hi yn, uh-, y-yeah, I'm camp's best swordsman'"

"Okay, I do not act like that" Luke protested, his voice laced with mock indignation. He glanced down at Percy, a playful glint in his eyes. "Help me out here. Do I really talk like that?"

"Well," he admitted with a shrug, "maybe a little."

Luke groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. He playfully shoved Chris, who burst into fresh laughter. "See!" Chris crowed. "Even new kids thinks you’re like a lovesick puppy around her."

Luke shot a playful glare at Percy. "Don't listen to him, he’s full of crap” he muttered, though a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"Seriously, though," Chris continued, his voice turning serious for a moment. "Just ask her out already. She'll say yes."

Luke hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. "I don't know, man" he trailed off, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Chris slung an arm around Luke's shoulder. "Dude, you've been practically drooling over her since forever. And trust me, she's totally noticed. You gotta take a chance. Besides, I have a feelings she feels the same way." Chris added. He suddenly launched into a dramatic impersonation, his voice taking on a high-pitched tone. "'Oh, bye Luke,' " he whined, twirling a nonexistent strand of hair around his finger and swaying his hips in a comical exaggeration. "'He's the best counselor at camp, oh! He helped me sooo much!'"

Luke cringed, his face burning a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. "Okay, that´s enough". Chris's words, though delivered in a ridiculous way, struck a chord within Luke. He looked down at his shoes, suddenly feeling doubtful. "I just don't know..." he mumbled, the confidence Chris had tried to instill in him wavering. "What if she says no?"

Chris stopped his antics, his playful grin softening into a reassuring smile. He patted Luke on the back. "What if she says yes?" he countered. "Stop overthinking it, man. Go for it."

Luke chuckled, the sound laced with a hint of nervousness. Chris's teasing, although annoying, had pushed him to confront his feelings. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and met Chris's gaze.

"Fine, fine" he conceded. "I'll give it a shot. But if she says no," he warned, his voice laced with seriousness, "I'm blaming it all on you."

Chris threw his head back and roared with laughter. "The risk I'm willing to take for you, my friend"

Luke shoved him playfully, a grin plastered on his face. "Yeah, yeah, now scoot," he urged, gesturing towards the direction Chris had come from. "I gotta keep showing Percy around."

Chris mock saluted him. "Aye aye, Captain! Good luck!" he chirped, throwing a wink Luke's way before sauntering off, leaving him alone with Percy.

A blush crept up Luke's neck as he turned back to Percy. "Sorry about that" he mumbled, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, he was sure a twelve year old wasn’t entirely interested in Luke’s love interest.

Percy didn’t seem to care. "Honestly," he admitted, "that's the most normal thing I've witnessed today. So," he continued, his curiosity piqued, "what's next?"

The flickering firelight danced across Luke's face, casting long, flickering shadows as he stared intently into the flames. He wasn't really seeing or listening anything around him – his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and anxieties, all centered around you.

All day, he’s had you on his mind, a constant reminder of the decision he'd almost made. Since that first glimpse of you years ago by the lake, you'd become a captivating melody in the symphony of his life. Unlike other Aphrodite children, rumored to be arrogant or aloof, you possessed a genuine warmth that never failed to draw him in. Braiding little girls' hair with a gentle smile, your actions were a window into your kind soul.

It had been a long day, filled with his usual camp duties and a nagging restlessness that he couldn't quite shake. Chris's words echoed in his head, a constant reminder of the decision he still hadn't made. Should he really take a chance? Could you possibly be interested in him?

A deep sigh escaped his lips. He glanced up, his gaze drawn towards the sound of laughter that sent a familiar shiver down his spine. There you were, surrounded by your friends. Your face glowed in the warm light, illuminated by the cheerful flames that danced around you.

A sudden sense of purpose washed over him. He couldn't stay silent anymore. But a fresh wave of fear washed over him too, as he considered the setting. Here, surrounded by campers that could hear, was hardly the ideal place to confess his feelings.

He stood up, sticking a marshmallow to the end of the stick he was holding and walked closer to the fire. And he stood there, a solitary figure amidst the chatter and laughter, his mind racing with a thousand different scenarios. Just as he was about to convince himself to wait for another opportunity, a soft footstep beside him startled him out of his thoughts. He kept his eyes trained on the fire, afraid to look up, afraid his nervousness would be telegraphed in his gaze.

Because he knew, it was you.

A small, shy smile played on your lips as you looked at him, your eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "Hey," you said softly. "You okay?"

Your sudden presence sent a jolt through Luke. His heart, already hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, stuttered in its beat. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to appear composed.

"Yeah, I'm alright" he managed, his voice a touch hoarse. "Just needed a little distraction."

He turned slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. The firelight danced in your eyes, casting playful shadows across your face. He found himself mesmerized, lost in the warmth of your smile and the depths of your gaze.

"Too many counselor duties?" you teased gently.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a nervous tension. "Can get pretty tough sometimes, you know" he admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Responsibility and all that."

He turned back to you, his eyes meeting yours again. This time, he held the gaze a beat longer, the air crackling with a sudden, unspoken energy. He felt himself drawn to you, captivated by the beauty of your features.

"I understand" you whisper. There was a subtle shift in your posture, a subtle lean closer that mirrored his own. "How's Percy doing?" you asked, changing the subject, leaning your own marshmallow into the fire.

"He's holding up well" Luke responded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Just, like everyone does when we arrive here."

You breathed out a small smile. "That's good to hear." A moment of comfortable silence followed, broken only by the crackling fire and the occasional chirp of crickets. “Any ideas on who his father might be?" you finally asked, your voice filled with curiosity.

Luke pondered your question, his gaze flickering between the flames and your inquisitive face. "Honestly, no clue yet" he admitted, shaking his head slightly. "He doesn't quite fit in with any of the cabins. But we'll figure it out."

"Poor kid" you murmured, a flicker of sympathy crossing your features. "I really hope he doesn't end up unclaimed."

As if sensing the shift in mood, Luke shifted his position, his body turning slightly more towards you. The warmth of your presence radiated beside him.

"Don't worry" he said softly. "He'll be alright. We'll make sure of it."

You nodded silently, blowing gently on your marshmallow to cool it down a little. The playful banter had momentarily distracted you from the nervous tension that had been building in Luke's chest.

A playful smirk tugged at Luke's lips. "Actually," he began, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "he reminds me a little bit of you."

Your head snapped up, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. "What? Why?"

He chuckled at your reaction, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. "I don't know," he feigned contemplation, drawing out the suspense before shrugging lightly. "He just gives off the same 'new and confused' vibe you had when you first arrived at camp." He says, "And," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "he seems to have a knack for getting himself into trouble just like a certain someone I know."

You swatted him lightly on the arm, a playful frown creasing your forehead. "Hey" you exclaimed, feigning offense. "When did I ever get myself into trouble?"

Luke scoffed. "Oh, come on, don't be so modest" he countered, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I still remember how you managed to get into that fight with that Ares kid."

"Well, he wouldn't leave me alone" you mumbled, your voice laced with a hint of defiance. "Someone had to teach him a lesson."

“And your solution was to throw Pegasus' shit at him?" he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Well," you stammered, trying to defend yourself, but the vividness of the memory left little room for argument. "Yeah, okay" you finally admitted with a small defeated voice.

Luke shook his head in mock disapproval, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Sometimes I wonder why I even put up with you" he joked, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No one's asking you to stay" you countered playfully, returning his teasing smile. "You're free to leave anytime."

Luke's laugh filled the air once more, a welcome sound that calmed the nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"Wouldn't dream of it" he replied, his voice turning a touch softer. And he didn’t mean to say it, but it came out unwarranted. He met your gaze, holding it for a beat longer than usual.

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, a subtle change. You let out a small, nervous chuckle, breaking eye contact and turning your gaze back towards the dancing flames.

Luke couldn't help but notice your nervous gesture, but instead of taking it as a sign of rejection, he interpreted it as a reaction to his own sudden boldness, even though his heart was down his ass.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the plunge. There was no turning back now. "Hey," he began softly, his voice barely a whisper above the crackling fire. "Can I ask you something?"

You met his gaze, a nervous flutter in your stomach mirrored by the rapid beat of your heart. Tentatively, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a self-conscious gesture that only accentuated your beauty in Luke's eyes.

"Yeah, sure" you replied.

Luke cleared his throat again, trying to mask the nervous tremor in his voice. "I, uh," he stammered, "I-, I was wondering if you... would like to go out with me? Sometime?"

The nervousness in his voice was impossible to miss, but it was the spark of hope in his eyes that truly captured your attention. You couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for him. There he was, this strong, capable counselor, reduced to a blushing mess in front of you.

At that moment, the world around him seemed to fade away. All that existed was you. The oversized grey sweatshirt you wore hung loosely on your frame, making you appear smaller, more vulnerable. Even without makeup, your beauty was undeniable, a captivating mix of strength and softness that had him completely enthralled.

You looked at him. Silence stretched between you, thick with anticipation. Luke held his breath, his palms slick with nervous sweat. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your answer.

Then, slowly, the corners of your lips began to curve upwards. A smile. A genuine, radiant smile that lit up your entire face and sent a wave of warmth through him.

Luke's heart leaped in his chest, but before he could react, a soft laugh escaped your lips. The sound washed over him, chasing away his anxieties and replacing them with a soaring sense of elation. The blush creeping up your cheeks confirmed it – he wasn't imagining it.

He rushed to speak, the words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I know that-, this is something you're kinda used to" he stammered, his voice laced with nervousness. "Getting asked out, I mean. It's just... I don't know, I- you-"

He stopped mid-sentence, frustration causing him to sigh in defeat. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a defeated, "Shit" under his breath. Which only made you laugh harder.

It was like a symphony to his ears. He couldn't help but smile back, even with the butterflies doing a frantic tap dance in his stomach. "Sorry" he mumbled sheepishly.

"Don't – don't be sorry” you chuckled, waving your hand dismissively. "You're good." The laughter subsided, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. But to Luke's anxious mind, the silence stretched into an eternity, filled with the dread of having somehow messed this whole thing up.

Just as despair threatened to engulf him, you spoke. "Yes" you said, your voice soft but firm. "I'd love to."

Luke stared at you, momentarily speechless. His brain, overloaded with disbelief and unexpected joy, struggled to form a coherent response.

"Really?" he finally managed. It was a question loaded with disbelief and pure, unadulterated happiness.

"Yeah" you laughed, nodding your head as if he'd asked the most ridiculous and obvious question. "When?" you countered, playfully turning the tables on him.

"Uh..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in a fluster. "Shit, sorry," he stammered again. "I just – I didn't think you'd actually say yes, so I haven't really thought that far ahead." His confession only made you laugh harder.

A nervous laugh escaped Luke's lips as he ran a hand through his hair. Honestly, he couldn't believe his own luck.

"I'll give you some time to think about it if you want” you said, your voice laced with amusement and comfort.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. That sounds good" he stammered, his flustered response betraying the excitement bubbling over in his chest.

The comfortable silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the crackling fire and the occasional pop of a burning marshmallow. You both seemed content to simply bask in the warmth of the fire and the newfound connection you shared.

Just as Luke was about to break the comfortable silence, a voice cut through the air. "Hey, yn!" a familiar voice called out.

You turned your head towards the sound, a smile gracing your lips. "Right, uh..." you trailed off, turning back to Luke. "I gotta get back."

A brief pang of disappointment shot through Luke, but it was quickly overshadowed by the excitement bubbling within him.

"Go ahead” he replied with a smirk. "Don't keep her waiting."

You took a step back, but before turning to leave, you locked eyes with him.

"Don't keep me waiting" you said, your voice soft but firm.

The playful challenge in your words sent a new wave of butterflies fluttering in his stomach and lower.

And now, you have given up on sleeping entirely, staring at the ceiling of your quarters with no sign of sleep’s embrace at all. No matter what you tried, it wouldn’t come. You can already see sunlight begin to shine under the door. Your friends are stirring, and you can already smell the breakfast Sanji’s making this morning. Another night of restlessness. You can barely force yourself out of your cot, but there isn’t a point in staying. It won’t help. You drag yourself to the deck, feet shuffling and face scowling.

“Still can’t sleep?” You don’t notice Usopp until he speaks, and you look up to see him up on the railing, fishing pole in hand, face flooded with pity and concern.

“No.” You try desperately to keep from snapping, knowing it isn’t his fault, isn’t anyone’s, but the best you can do is keep your voice flat and your words short. He winces a little at your tone, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he ponders you quietly, before seemingly coming to a decision.

“Do you want help?”

“Help how?”

“Help falling asleep! From the great Captain Usopp!” He puts on a silly wide and smug smile, but you can still see the worry in his eyes. He probably doesn’t even have any ideas yet, he just wants to help in any way he can.

“I would try almost anything at this point. What’re you thinking?”

He lets out a smug little laugh. “I knew you’d want my help! I don’t know if you know this, but I’m the greatest storyteller in all the seas.” He gives you a conspiratorial grin. “I bet you I can tell you a bedtime story that’ll send you to dreamland before you know it!”

You consider it. Usopp is an amazing storyteller, of course. You’ve never heard him tell a single tale that wouldn’t hook you enough to keep you awake, but maybe he’s just never tried. “Alright. I’ll come get you tonight—”

“Tonight? You’ll probably die by then! We’re gonna do this now, and you can sleep the entire day!” He grabs your hand, dragging you back to the bunks. You pass a few of your other friends on their way out, and while Zoro and Nami give you strange looks, they don’t comment. Just before the door closes, you see Sanji’s head pop out of the kitchen you call everyone in, and his eyes shift to you in confusion.

The door slams with a definitive sounding thunk, and Usopp’s hands push you onto your cot. He tucks you in with surprisingly practiced hands, before saying, “Alright. Get ready for the best sleep of your life!” He clears his throat dramatically. “Once upon a time, the great Captain Usopp—”

“—the end! …Nothing, huh? Not even for a second?” You flick open an eye to see disappointment on poor Usopp’s face. His tale had continued for at least an hour, with several dozen twists and turns as he tried to stretch it out until you finally started snoring, but you were as horribly, devastatingly awake as ever.

“Not even a wink. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, you're not the one who failed.” His shoulders slump a little. “I really thought that would work.”

You sit up to pat this hand comfortingly. “You didn’t fail, Usopp. I’m just…cursed. Probably. By God.” His stomach grumbles, and you suddenly remember he skipped breakfast to help you. “We should probably eat something.”

“Probably.” He looks so dejected it makes your chest ache a little.

“It’s okay, Usopp. Really.”

He doesn’t respond, getting up to head to the kitchen as you trail behind him. Everyone else has finished eating, half of the crew having already left, with only Sanji, Robin, and Nami chatting quietly over the table. There’s a plate set and ready, food growing cold, and you feel a flash of guilt knowing it was for you.

“Oh, my dear, you’re finally here! I was getting worried. I can fix you a new plate—here—” Sanji shoves the cold plate into Usopp’s hands. “I’ll throw something better together, just you wait!” Before you can even respond, he’s back to the kitchen, busying himself with making you something else.

“Are you alright? You look rather…” Robin trails off, clearly looking for and failing to find any words to describe your current state that wouldn’t be horribly offensive. 

“Awful.” Nami finishes for her, firmly but not without pity. “Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah. I haven’t slept in at least 48 hours.”

“Oh my god.” Nami’s mouth hangs open a little, having not realized the full scope of your issues. Her face is painted with concern. “Are you…alright?”

“Not really.”

“You still can’t sleep?” Sanji calls out in concern over his shoulder, his knife still chopping away. “Do you want me to make you some tea? It might help.”

“Is it chamomile? I’ve tried that already.”

“It has chamomile in it, but that isn’t the only part. Valerian root, passionflower, and a couple extra things. I can’t guarantee it’ll fix your problem but it might help. I made it for Franky once and he fell asleep right at the table.” There’s no small measure of pride in his voice at that.

“I’m open to anything, at this point. Would you make me a cup?”

“Of course, dear!” His voice gets soft and honeyed the way it always does when he speaks to you, and after a new plate is placed in front of you he rushes off to the pantry to find the ingredients he needs.

Robin looks over you consideringly. “If that doesn’t work, why don’t you try reading? I always find winding down with a book helps.”

“Maybe. Usopp told me a story and it didn’t end up working, but reading it myself could be different.”

Nami taps her chin with her fingers, pondering. “Do you want to use aromatherapy, too? I have some lavender we could spray on your pillow. That might help too.”

“We can throw whatever spaghetti at the wall you want, I just want something to stick. I’m not picky.”

And with that the girls were off to grab their chosen items, while Usopp silently scarfed down cold eggs and tried to bandage his wounded pride. Sanji is humming a song you don’t recognize as the kettle whistles, and he expertly prepares your cup of tea. He’s sneaking glances over at you, probably lost in a daydream where he saves you from your horrible insomnia and you fall madly in love with him in return. Honestly? If he manages, you might. Any hero that saves you from this is worth considering.

As soon as the mug of tea is placed in your hands, Sanji’s fingers seemingly deliberately brushing against yours, you’re ushered back to your cot, where Nami, Robin, Brook, and Franky are waiting. You have no idea when this turned into a group activity, but sure. Why not?

“I thought some soothing music might help. A lullaby, maybe?” Brook’s voice is soothing and soft, like he’s already trying to lull you to sleep.

“And I brought a white noise machine as a backup! Thought you might like it.” Franky’s voice is as gentle as his natural boom can be.

Your eyes flick between them, then back to Nami, who’s unnaturally focused on fluffing your pillows and adding extra blankets to your cot, making it look the most inviting it ever has. “Are you gonna charge me for those?”

“No! …Probably not.” Her grin is mischievous.

“Honestly, if you get me to sleep, I’ll pay whatever you—”

“Woah! Don’t make any promises you can’t keep. She’ll keep you to that.” Franky’s voice is filled with brotherly concern. “Nami, don’t pay attention to that. Anyone that tired has no idea what they’re saying.”

“I wouldn’t actually take payment for this! I’m not a monster.” Her last punch to your pillow has a bit of extra force behind it, her irritation clear.

Before they can continue bantering, Brook begins playing a tune on his violin, bringing the rest of you to silence. Your hands are wrapped around your warm mug of tea, a book chosen by Robin open in front of you while you sip. The smell of lavender is strong enough to have flooded the room. Franky clicks a button on his little machine and the sounds of spring rain washes over all of you. Your shoulders relax, a soft smile slipping onto your face, but your eyes are no closer to closing. Even when Sanji comes in to take your mug away, the warmth long faded, or when Brook’s finger bones grow tired and his song comes to an end, or when the snores of your friends start to fill the room, you do not sleep. You feel no closer than you were an hour ago when this started, no closer than you were this morning when Usopp had tucked you in. You honestly feel like you’ll never sleep again.

It isn’t until noon that you finally give up, having finished half of the book that Robin lent to you. The smell of lavender had started to fade an hour ago. You carefully step over Franky and Brook passed out on the floor, your eyes wandering over to Nami and Robin sleeping peacefully on vacant cots. You try to be glad this worked for somebody, but you can’t help a bitter sort of jealousy brewing in your chest. Why do they get relief when they aren’t even suffering? Why is it only you who has to feel this weight dragging you down?

You try to stalk past Luffy, pouting all the while, but your captain catches you by the wrist with a rubbery hand. “Are you okay?”

You huff. “I’m never going to sleep again.”

“That sucks.”

You blink at him blankly.

He blinks back.

“I’m just having trouble sleeping. Not, like, literally.”

“Oh.”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah.” He hums, pressing his lips together in thought. You can practically see the lightbulb above his head when he has his idea, his eyes brightening and smile widening. “Oh, I’ve got it!” He pulls you along with him, dragging you quickly further onto the deck before you’re unceremoniously shoved forward, stumbling over your legs and landing on something firm and warm.

“Bwuh?” Your eyes flick up to see Zoro bathed in sunlight, his good eye just barely open, a yawn forcing his mouth open wide. “What’s goin’ on?”

“You’re good at sleeping!” He gives a wide grin. “Help ‘em!” And without elaborating he just…runs off to do god knows what, satisfied that he has somehow solved the problem.

Zoro’s eye focuses on you questioningly, but before you can explain, you suddenly become intensely aware of your position. You’re in his lap, face pressed into his thighs, your chest pressed into his lower legs. You both stare at each other, wide-eyed, unsure on what to say or how to say it.

“You comfortable down there?” His voice is even, but he’s betrayed by the hint of pink on his cheeks.

“I—um. I’m…fine.” You wince at the shake in your voice. You can feel heat spreading from the tips of your ears down to your neck, and you hope it isn’t as noticeable as it feels. The smirk on his face shows it probably is.

“Oh yeah?” He gives a quiet laugh. “You’re welcome to stay.” Despite his own embarrassment, he radiates smugness. That’s Zoro for you—ever the strategist, he finds whatever upper hand he can get and uses it to corner his opponent. He’s looking at you like a cat does a mouse, and you really do feel like prey. You instinctively go to hide your face from him, only to find your nose brushing against his thigh. He chuckles. “Oh, getting cozy, that’s good. I guess you’re in for the long haul.”

You flush even further, and with your voice muffled against his leg, you manage to protest. “I’m having a bad enough time without you bullying me, Zoro.”

“This isn’t bullying. C’mon, I’ve seen how you fight, you’re tougher than that. You normally don’t back down that easily.” His hand ruffles your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “What’s got you so down?”

You whine quietly. “I haven’t slept in days, and I haven’t slept well in weeks. I feel like I’m dying.”

His energy immediately changes, eyes and smile softening into something more genuine. “Doesn’t sound fun. And Luffy thought I could help you with that?”

“I guess.”

“What have you tried?”

“Everything. Counting sheep, bedtime stories, warm drinks, lavender—”

“Bedtime stories?” His voice is teetering on teasing again.

“Usopp’s idea.”

“What, did he tuck you in too?”

You go quiet.

“Wait, really?” He sounds well and truly baffled.

“It was actually kind of nice,” you mumble. 

If you didn’t know better you would think Zoro was pouting. His eye is a bit narrowed, his mouth in a flat line, bottom lip slightly jutted out. “Oh yeah? Well it didn’t work, did it? So you had to come to me for help.”

His hands grab your shoulders, pulling you up so you’re sitting instead of laying on his lap, your face directly pressed into his chest. You can hear his heartbeat below it, not exactly rapid but certainly betraying him, letting you know this situation is affecting him just like it’s affecting you. His arms wrap around you, and when he speaks, you can feel the rumble of his voice radiate through his chest and into you. “And now you’re gonna sit here with me, you’re gonna fall asleep before you know it, and the rest of those fools will have to accept that only I could give you what you need.” He pulls you impossibly closer, snugly tucking you into him and leaning back to pull you down to the deck with him.

“Someone’s a little jealous, huh?”

He scoffs. “Why would I be? Who’re you laying on right now, huh?” His hand grips your hip as if proving a point. “Go to sleep already, you need it.”

“What, you think this is all it takes? Cuddling?” Even as you say it, you break into a yawn, and your eyes begin to droop. His presence is comforting, and between his body heat and the gentle warmth of the sunlight, you can feel yourself beginning to fade. Your vision is too blurry to see his cocky grin, but you know it’s there all the same.

“Yeah, I do. Now get some rest.” You barely hear his response over the calming sound of his heartbeat. Your breathing slows, and before you know it, you’re sleeping for the first time in what feels like years.

After you’ve fallen asleep, he takes his time to observe you. The way your hair shines in the sunlight, the way your mouth parts slightly when you snore, the way your body feels so natural and right against his. His hand rubs a soothing circle into your back while you rest, and you make a soft noise of contentment that he can’t help but smile at. You look so beautiful like this, so small and soft and fragile. Something to care for. Something to protect. It feels right to have you in his arms, right against him, where he can keep you safe. 

He wonders if you’d be willing to do this all the time, though he’d rather die than ask. He has his pride. Maybe you’ll come to him, wide eyed and wanting, next time you struggle to fall asleep. Maybe you’ll ask in that shy little voice if he’d be willing to help you, in the way only he can, and all he’ll have to do is open his arms for you to fall into. Maybe he’ll have more days and nights like these, with the comforting weight of another in his bed. What an idea.

He wonders what you might give him in thanks. One of those breathtaking smiles, surely. A hug, perhaps. It wouldn’t be more than this, pressed together, but the idea of you initiating it, of it being a deliberate choice on your part, makes his heart beat a little faster. He imagines you throwing your arms around him of your own volition, no captain shoving you forward. He imagines those arms moving around his neck instead, pulling him closer so you can press your lips onto his. He imagines how soft they’d be, and how desperate you would be to feel his own. He imagines you wanting him in a dozen different ways, each unique, each better than the last. He imagines calling you his, and you calling him yours in return.