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Ao’nung is not alone when he feels it.
Rotxo looks at him in concern as his head swivels back and forth looking for any approaching danger. He’s confused by the spike of worry, pain, and fear that he faintly feels. His ears twitch as he tries to think about what could be happening to make his emotions–
Neteyam.
His heart drops as he thinks about the bond, their tsaheylu, and the strong emotional connection that comes with it.
He had last seen the Omatikayan when he was taking the odd, blinking device away to distract the sky people and now, he wonders if he should have followed him.
If he had, maybe they would both be standing here on Metkayina sand, fingers intertwined as they waited for the others.
Or maybe they would both be in danger, but at least Ao’nung would be sure of his mate’s condition.
At the thought of that word, Ao’nung shakes his head in an effort to get rid of the stupid hypotheticals that would get him nowhere. He instead decides to fill the empty space with words.
“Rotxo, where’s… where are the rest of the Sully kids?” The last one they had seen was Kiri before she was snatched up and taken to the demon ship, so he knows that Rotxo doesn’t know, but he needs to speak. He needs a distraction.
“I’m not sure. But, don’t worry, I’m sure they’re all fine.”
At that, Ao’nung suddenly feels a harsh spike of fear before the feeling dissipates and he’s left with a feeling of emptiness.
No.
No. No. No.
He begins to pace around, arms crossed, his breathing heavy and shaky. Rotxo stares at him with furrowed eyebrows, unsure of what to do or say. So he stays quiet, just observing his friend: something Ao’nung is immensely grateful for.
‘He’s okay. Neteyam is okay. He is fine. There’s no need to worry. Everything is okay. He’ll be back safely.’
And if Ao’nung feels doubt crowding his mind, he ignores it.
Days pass and Ao’nung hardly sleeps. On the nights that he does find sleep, he finds himself fingers away from touching a colorful pattern of constellations that twinkle across a certain dark blue canvas.
The funeral comes and goes, but the gaping Neteyam-shaped wound in his heart never closes.
Ao’nung begins to see Neteyam in everything around him: in the water, in the fish, in his friends.
He starts to wonder about what his world would look like if he had never known the Omatikayan.
He decides right there and then, no matter how painful the loss, that he’s glad he doesn’t know.
Ao’nung sees Tsireya first, but she probably registered his presence before he did. Her hands are busy with the corals she touches and she looks content with the small fish that swim around and under her arms. She finally turns around, a small smile on her face, when Ao’nung draws nearer.
Ao’nung can see the sadness in her eyes as she waits patiently for him to speak and he knows. He knows that she knows.
He can see Neteyam in her.
‘I…’ He begins to sign before shaking his head. ‘Neteyam…’ He stops again.
Tsireya only smiles at him. He makes a frustrated sound and closes his eyes before deciding to put it as bluntly as possible.
‘We… Neteyam and I… we bonded.’
He balls his hands into fists and his body tenses. It’s not because he’s afraid of Tsireya’s reaction: the girl had been pining over Lo’ak for quite some time and clearly doesn’t share the same demon blood sentiment as his mother. Rather, it’s the fact that this is the first time he’s told anyone about what he and Neteyam shared.
Wrapped in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice Tsireya’s hands holding his until she squeezes so he looks at her. ‘Lean on me, like when we were kids,’ she signs and Ao’nung smiles despite his earlier anxieties.
The siblings lean on each other back to back, hand in hand, and stay there until they almost run out of breath, just like they did when they were kids. Feeling the other’s warmth and breath through their back but not feeling the pressure from looking at a face was such a grounding experience and Ao’nung wonders how they came up with this idea as children.
He also wonders if Neteyam would like a coping method like this.
He thinks he would.
The walk to his family’s marui feels longer than it usually is, but Tsireya’s warm hand in his is a constant reassurance that he is not alone.
She squeezes his hand one last time as they approach the pod, and he glances at her before separating their hands.
“I’m waiting right here for you,” she whispers, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.
He steps in to see his mother and father laughing together and when they notice him, their laughter fades, but the happiness remains in their eyes.
Ao’nung wants to wring his hands, rock back and forth on his heels, tap his feet, or anything to get rid of his nervous energy, but he stands tall in the presence of his father like the warrior he should be.
“Son?” Tonowari calls out. His mother looks at him and then her mate, before Ao’nung makes eye contact with her to let her know this is for her as well. She sits tall, smile falling completely as she calls out, “What is it, my son?”
Before he can worry them any longer, he inhales deeply and speaks with a shaky voice:
“I mated with Toruk Makto’s son, Neteyam.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, he flushes from the tips of his ears down to the end of his tail, but he also feels a weight lifted off of him. This was the first time that he had called Neteyam his mate aloud, in words.
He can almost see Tsireya’s hand over her mouth, eyes downcast as she waits for any sign that she needs to walk in. He nearly smiles.
He almost forgets where he is, until he feels his mother’s arms cradling his head and her tears dropping into his hair. “Oh, my son…” He feels his father’s hand on the back of his head. “You have suffered such a great loss,” his mother finishes.
The tears streaming down his face can’t be contained while he stands in his parents’ embrace. He barely notices Tsireya’s smaller frame sneaking in to hug his waist.
He wonders what it would have been like if he could tell his family with Neteyam at his side.
He thinks it would be Neteyam’s idea.
Ao’nung does not know what to make out of the looks the Sully family are giving him.
He sits on the floor of their marui, facing them all in the aftermath of telling them about his bond with their son, yet no one has spoken.
Tuk’s eyes are flitting from person to person.
Kiri sits next to the sky person who had joined their family observing him with a mixture of emotions that he cannot decipher.
Lo’ak shot him a small smile before staring down at the floor, eyes knit close together.
Jake and Neytiri look at each other having a conversation with their eyes alone, often glancing at him.
As awkward as he feels, Ao’nung knows that he cannot leave until he gets a response. But as the silence extends he begins to grow nervous.
Jake exhales a sigh and speaks first, “Ao’nung, we really don’t know how to tell you this, but–”
“We know,” Neytiri finishes for him.
The Metkayinan’s eyes widen as he scans their faces in confusion.
“Yeah, Neteyam told us… right before he…” Lo’ak mumbled.
Oh.
Ao’nung tilts his head down so that they don’t see his eyes beginning to water.
Neytiri is the first to touch him, lightly placing her hand on his shoulder and he has to choke back an embarrassing sob at her next words.
“We see you, Ao’nung. Our son did and so do we.”
The entire family crowds around him in a giant hug and Ao’nung cries harder wishing more than ever that Neteyam was here.
Queue in hand, Ao’nung hesitates. He looks back at those watching him.
Jake and Neytiri smile softly at him, their hands linked together.
Kiri and Rotxo stay with Tuk who waves and grins widely at him.
Lo’ak’s arm is around Tsireya as she signs words of encouragement to him.
His parents look at him and nod, motioning him to connect to the Spirit Tree.
Ao’nung turns to face the tree and inhales slowly as he creates the tsaheylu.
Ao’nung sees Neteyam sitting at the shoreline, fingers outstretched for the waves to hit as they roll in.
His breath hitches in his chest. Neteyam has a beauty incomparable to anything he has ever known. ‘Pretty boy’ he would often call him and Neteyam would always roll his eyes with a tiny smile on his face.
(“Of course you would think that, pretty boy.”
Neteyam predictably rolled his eyes, “Will you ever let go of that?”
“I mean, it's a pretty self explanatory and fitting title.” Neteyam just continued to look at him, his face a mixture of amusement and patience, so Ao’nung couldn't stop the thoughts on the tip of his tongue.
“Obviously, you’re really attractive. Your complexion, your eyes, your hair. But, it’s also the small details about you that are pretty. The way your skin rivals the sky at night like a battle for which stars shine brighter, the way you smile through your eyes but also through your entire face like when your cheeks just crinkle up and you look so adorable and happy, and the way you hold so much meaning in things that I never thought about seriously like the beads in your hair, and the way you look when you’re relaxed around me, so careless and free and– Eywa, I just think you’re really pretty.”
Ao’nung crossed his arms and looked at everything but the beautiful boy in front of him as he tried not to be embarrassed.
Neteyam had scanned his eyes waiting for him to make eye contact. “Thank you.”
He pauses.
Thank you for seeing me, Aonung.”)
As he takes steps towards Neteyam, the boy turns to look at him and Ao’nung’s lips tremble.
Son of the Olo'eyktan and a supposedly fearless warrior, reduced to a shaky mess at the sight of an Omatikayan boy. How silly of him.
Neteyam smiles dazzlingly, his face crinkling in excitement to see the other as he stands up.
“Hey,” Ao’nung manages to croak out. He chastises himself for not being able to keep an even voice.
Neteyam raises an eyebrow with a playful grin. “Hey, yourself.”
Within seconds, both of them find their arms wrapped around one another, faces buried into the crooks of the other’s neck. The feel of Neteyam’s body against his own is grounding yet makes him feel high all at once. Braids rub on his face, the texture somewhat comforting, as he tries to get as close as possible to the boy. He can feel Neteyam’s chest rise and fall on his own: a constant reminder of the harsh reality.
He pushes that thought to the back of his mind.
It isn’t until Neteyam pulls away slightly and runs his thumbs across Ao’nung’s cheeks collecting water droplets, that he realizes that he’s crying.
“C’mon, remember what you always tell me? Let it out: tears or words. Whatever’s bothering you, let it out.” He presses a lingering kiss to the space where Ao’nung’s nose and cheek connect.
‘You don’t know,’ he wants to yell. He wants to channel all of his bottled emotions into words, but he can’t. He won’t.
So instead, Ao’nung cries.
He sobs, and weeps, and screams into Neteyam’s shoulder, clinging to the boy as if holding on could make this anymore real. Neteyam just stands there with one hand on the back of Ao’nung’s nape while he presses comforting kisses into his neck and shoulder.
Ao’nung doesn’t know how long he spends wrapped up in the other’s arms, but no matter how long it was: it wasn’t enough.
No amount of time that they had together would be long enough.
But, he would grieve, he would heal, and he would learn to love the memories of time that they did have.