Chapter Text
“What is going on in here?”
Neteyam’s voice was sharp as he stepped into his room, towel still draped around his neck, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He froze in the doorway, eyes narrowing at the chaotic scene before him.
Lo’ak was standing in the middle of the room—his room—surrounded by piles of clothes that had definitely not been there before he left. Neteyam’s suitcase, which had been neatly zipped and tucked away, now lay open on his bed, half-emptied, with shirts and pants tossed in every direction like someone had been searching for buried treasure and gave up halfway.
Seriously?
Neteyam blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. I was gone for twenty minutes.
“How—how did you even get in here?” he asked, frowning. “I locked the door.”
Lo’ak, completely unfazed, looked up with the grin of someone who knew exactly how annoying they were and had zero plans to stop.
“Bro! What a surprise,” he said innocently. “You were taking forever in the shower, so I had to break in. Good thing you got dressed in there, though. That could’ve been… traumatic. For both of us.”
Neteyam stared at him in disbelief.
“I—what? You—Lo’ak, what are you doing?”
His gaze swept over the mess. “Why are you going through my suitcase? What is all of this?”
Lo’ak shrugged, as if the answer was obvious.
“Just doing some quality control. You know, making sure you’re not packing anything embarrassing. You have, like, three identical black shirts, by the way. We need to talk about that.”
Neteyam pressed his fingers to his temples, jaw clenched. He didn’t curse—not out loud, at least—but whatever-the-hell this was definitely deserved one. Or several.
He took a steadying breath. “You're not making any sense. Why would you be packing for me in the first place?”
Lo’ak perked up, like he’d been waiting for that question.
“Oh! Right.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a brightly colored flyer, and handed it over with a flourish. “Ta-da.”
Neteyam took it reluctantly, flipping it open with the wariness of someone who knew better than to trust anything Lo’ak said was a “surprise.”
Across the top, in bold letters, it read:
AWA’ATLU WATER FESTIVAL – July 10–18
(...)
“Teyam, give me your hand. I think I’m gonna throw up,” Tuk whispered dramatically, already clutching it like she was about to be launched into space.
Neteyam blinked. “Tuk, we’ve been in the air for—” he checked the screen, “—five minutes.”
She didn’t answer. Just tightened her grip like he was her emotional support seatbelt.
Neteyam sighed, trying to rub her back while she fidgeted violently in her chair. Her braids bounced with every movement, making her look like a wind-up toy gone rogue. She’d been vibrating with excitement and terror since they stepped onto the plane.
“You’re gonna be fine. It’s only a three-hour flight. Shorter than one of Lo’ak’s showers.”
“Hey!” came Lo’ak’s offended voice from the seat in front of them. He turned halfway in his chair to glare at Neteyam. “I’m efficient, okay? I multitask.”
“Snore and drool simultaneously?” Kiri chimed in beside him, not even looking up from her book.
Lo’ak huffed and turned back around. “Y’all are just haters.”
The seating arrangement had been a bit of a diplomatic crisis. Kiri tried everything to avoid sitting with Lo’ak. “He moves too much. He breathes too loud. He smells like boy.” She’d even offered to sit with Tuk.
But their parents had shut that down fast.
Lo’ak was chaos. Kiri, although dependable, liked to zone out to music and completely forget other people existed. Which left Neteyam. The designated adult in a group of teens who clearly needed a leash. And Tuk? She was thrilled. She treated Neteyam like a human teddy bear with anxiety.
Now, thankfully, she was flipping through one of the glossy airplane magazines, her complaints on pause for the moment. Neteyam finally leaned back with a breath of relief, popping in his earbuds and hoping to disappear into a mediocre action movie.
He’d never admit it, but yeah—planes kind of freaked him out too. But being the oldest meant no weakness. No fear. Only firm jawlines and emergency plans.
Still, he was glad when the seatbelt sign turned off and the flight smoothed out.
And before they knew it, they were descending.
It hit him the second the plane doors opened.
Heat.
Not the “oh, it’s a little warm” kind of heat. No—this was someone-left-the-oven-on-while-you-were-napping heat. A thick wall of humidity and sun that slapped Neteyam in the face like it had a personal vendetta.
“Why does the air feel like soup?” he muttered, dragging his suitcase through the crowded airport.
“I don’t know, but I love it,” Tuk said, already skipping like she wasn’t made of sweat and suffering.
Kiri tied her hair up in a messy bun, adjusting her sunglasses. “Welcome to Awa’atlu. The land of sea, sun, and bad tan lines.”
“So… where are we staying?” Neteyam asked cautiously, already sensing the trap.
Lo’ak gave him a sly grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Oh no,” Neteyam groaned, “don’t tell me you picked the place.”
Lo’ak gasped. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know I did hours of research.”
“TikToks don’t count.”
“TripAdvisor and TikTok. That’s called being well-rounded.”
Neteyam’s eye twitched. “If we get bed bugs, I’m feeding you to the ocean.”
But they’d all agreed to walk. The inn was supposedly nearby, and after sitting on a plane for hours, they wanted to stretch their legs (and Lo’ak claimed he had “vacation calves” to activate, whatever that meant).
It wasn’t Neteyam’s first trip without his parents, but it was the first time he was responsible for all three of his siblings while completely unsupervised. Which felt… wrong. Like someone gave him the nuclear codes and said, “Good luck, champ.”
As they turned onto a sunny street, the coastal air hit them in full force—salty, loud, and filled with movement. The sky was clear, the sea stretching out like it had something to prove. Artisan stalls lined the beach walk, bursting with colors and shouting vendors, and in the distance, a massive stage rose like a beacon of chaos and questionable taste.
Neteyam stared, stunned for a second.
Okay… it’s kind of beautiful.
There were slides twisting down into the sea. Giant floaties. People dancing in groups and blasting music. And the buildings? Painted like pastel dreams, windows open to let the breeze in.
It was loud. Crowded. Unpredictable.
Basically, Neteyam’s worst nightmare.
But also… kind of exciting.
Just a little.
He glanced at his siblings. Lo’ak was already flirting with a vendor. Tuk was trying to pet a dog the size of a bear. Kiri was taking pictures like she was scouting for a travel blog.
And somehow, even with the sun melting his soul and the anxiety buzzing in his chest, Neteyam smiled.
Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad.
If the inn didn’t collapse.
If Lo’ak didn’t get arrested.
If Tuk didn’t adopt a sea turtle.
If he didn’t lose his mind.
(...)
“Come in,” Ao’nung called out, not even looking up as a couple of knocks tapped softly at his bedroom door.
It cracked open an inch before a mop of unruly curls poked through the gap—like a nosy little creature testing the waters. He didn’t even need to see the face to know who it was.
“Figured you’d be in here dying.” Rotxo’s voice came just before the door creaked open all the way. “What’s up, bro?”
He strolled in like he owned the place, letting the door swing open behind him. Ao’nung shot it a glare but didn’t bother getting up from the bed to close it.
“Do you have a personal vendetta against privacy or what?” he muttered, sweat still clinging to his chest and collarbone as he reached for his water bottle.
Ao’nung had been working out all morning. Not to impress anyone—definitely not that. It was just... something to do. Something to focus on with the festival looming over his head. And sure, he kept in shape. He had for years. But working out in peace and working out with witnesses were two very different realities. One made you feel strong. The other made you feel like a weird fish flopping around on a yoga mat.
Rotxo scanned the room like a detective walking onto a crime scene, eyes landing on the pile of towels and the glistening skin of his best friend. He smirked.
“Nervous for tomorrow?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ao’nung sat up slowly, dragging a hand down his face. His shoulders were broad, but right now they looked tired. Like the weight of the entire ocean was pressing down on them.
He took a long sip of water before responding, his tone as casual as he could manage:
“Nervous? Who do you think you’re talking to, man?”
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and tossed the bottle to the floor.
“I’ve dealt with kids trying to sneak into the adult zone for three summers. I’m practically a pro.”
“Right, right,” Rotxo chuckled, walking over to flop onto the bed beside him. “The confident veteran routine. Love that for you.”
Ao’nung snorted.
Rotxo had also signed up to be a lifeguard that summer. Mostly because it paid decently, and he could call “working” lying under an umbrella with sunglasses on. The job was mostly uneventful, if you didn’t count the elderly regulars who refused to stay in the shallow end, and the little kids who insisted the red flags were just suggestions.
“Not to stress you out or anything,” Rotxo started, his tone already suggesting he was about to do exactly that, “but a little bird told me that there’s gonna be way more tourists this year. Like, full invasion. Some festival organizer posted a promo video and it kinda went viral.”
Ao’nung slowly turned his head to look at him, the corners of his mouth tightening like he was trying not to launch into a full mental breakdown.
“You’re telling me this now?” he asked flatly. “The day before?”
Rotxo shrugged, trying (and failing) to look innocent.
“Better late than never?”
Ao’nung groaned and let himself fall back onto the mattress, arms crossed behind his head.
“Great. Can’t wait to be yelled at by five different moms because someone’s kid wandered into the wrong section. Again.”
“You love it.”
“I’d rather be eaten by a shark.”
Rotxo grinned, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You’re not gonna bail. You wouldn’t leave me and your sister alone to deal with the chaos.”
He knew exactly what he was doing the second he said sister. Ao’nung gave him a side-eye so sharp it could cut seaweed.
“Don’t use Tsireya as a bargaining chip, that’s low.”
“Effective, though,” Rotxo grinned, completely unbothered.
“Besides, your mom would murder you in cold blood if you skipped out. Festival duty is, like, a rite of passage now.”
Ao’nung let out a resigned sigh, draping his forearm over his eyes like a man awaiting execution.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
There was a moment of companionable silence—just the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance, the hum of a ceiling fan, and Rotxo's thoughts turning mischief-colored.
“Hey,” he said, a little too casually, “who knows. Maybe this is the year you meet someone cute, huh?”
Ao’nung lifted his arm just enough to peek at him suspiciously.
Rotxo smirked. “Could be a girl. Or, y’know... a guy.”
There was a thwack, and then Rotxo was howling dramatically, rubbing the spot on his forehead where the nearest pillow had made brutal contact.
“Ow! Dude!”
“Stop saying stupid shit,” Ao’nung muttered, eyes back on the ceiling, trying very hard not to look even a little flustered.
Rotxo was still laughing under his breath as he rubbed his head. He’d touched a nerve. That much was obvious.
Ao’nung wasn't gay.
Absolutely not.