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When he realized he was in love, Neteyam reserved himself a moment for denial: after all, how could he be attached to someone who almost got his brother killed? Ao'nung was nothing but an arrogant, irritating, and stressful person.
However, looking back at his memories in Awa'atlu, he couldn't find one in which the Heir wasn't present.
His feelings towards him changed gradually, and everything made him sway: the cocky smiles that made his heart light up, the more than necessary times he spent staring at Ao’nung’s face, and those captivating blue eyes like no other. As time went by, for the oldest Sully, the best moments of the days in the seaside clan were when he was with the tallest boy, even if they weren't doing anything relevant. Ao'nung knew how to make the atmosphere fun, and to the dark-skinned boy's loving heart, days always seemed lighter with him.
When nothing was left to deny, all he had to do was accept it.
However, Neteyam didn’t want to express his feelings explicitly , partly fearing his family’s reaction, who still had to get used to the presence of an impulsive heir like Ao’nung. What would they say, seeing their golden boy fall for the Metkayina? Neteyam didn't care about such things as negative opinions, but the ones from his family had always been important to him – extremely . He had already enough, always scared of taking the blame for his younger siblings' taunt, so he didn't want to give his parents new concerns or an additional reason to scold him.
Plus, to complete his list of reasons for keeping this a secret, there were all the what-ifs: what if Ao’nung didn't feel the same way? What if he would reject him? Or make fun of him? What if the relationship he was trying to build with Ao'nung would collapse? And, to make himself even more anxious and trouble his mind, what if Ao'nung would despise him for the rest of his stay in the coastal clan? Neteyam would not forgive himself if those happened.
His and his family’s safety was inside the security of the maruis, and keeping friendly contact with the next Olo’eyktan was the least they should do, and he didn’t want to throw away what they had because of some confused feelings and personal expectations. So, studying his situation, he decided his feelings had to be kept buried inside his chest.
For months, he had been trying to convince himself he could live with that, that Ao'nung would always be a potential friend and companion for fishing and chores and nothing to romanticize. He shouldn't have let himself get deceived by those butterflies, potentially ruining something that took so long to start building.
Little by little, sun-lily petals began to appear wherever Neteyam passed, but for he was always busy with something to do, he ignored them, seeing it as the work of the coastal breeze that would bring things from the nearby forest: of course, nothing out of the ordinary.
However, days later, those same petals appeared in his hammock, some in his pouch and others kept falling from his hair during the day. Neteyam had never seen so many petals since arriving in the village, but he believed it was all just a coincidence until, as he tried to wave a fishing net, a heavy cough made him shudder. He kept coughing until he ran out of air in his lungs. The cough was so bad that he brought a hand to cover his mouth, and when he moved it away, the crimson droplets made his eyes widen. His skin mixed with clear drops of blood and Neteyam soon began to shake. Luckily, there was no one around at the time.
He laughed at himself, wishing it was nothing but a lie and something in his head as he washed his hands in the shallow waters of the beach. However, reality proved to be far more direct and cruel.
A few days later, as the sun began to rise behind the horizon and people began their day, Neteyam buried himself under woven covers with an inexplicable cold. The feverish feeling caged him, accompanied by a persistent cough he tried hard to silence and had little to no strength to get up. He hoped it was just something related to fatigue.
As the day went by, he bitterly chuckled as it became clear that that wasn't just tiredness.
Neteyam had already heard about it, despite thinking it was nothing more than a tale lost in the old songs: Eywa's punishment for those who refused to follow Her will. When his family was still at peace in the forest, Mo’at had once told him the story of someone who chose to tear their eyes away from the Great Mother’s signs, moved by fear of judgment by those who could not understand, not seeing the same signs as them.
It would start as a warning: something to scare the person enough to obey. In the original chant, the Na’vi had refused to provide their services, fearful of the consequences of their actions. Mysterious petals began to fall, frequently and abundantly, and there was nothing the Tsahìk could do to prevent the worst. No one believed Eywa could worsen the punishment, but then the Na’vi began to puke flowers into the healer's pod until they branched out once and for all in the victim’s lungs.
Heavy and painful chestache, agonizing days, anxiety, and longing – those were the symptoms told in the passages. When the victim's body returned to Eywa, the clan leader announced their early death and called the accident disobedience disease . The unique song was passed on and was now used as a curse to scare children with strong tempers who always got into trouble, but nothing like that ever happened again.
Neteyam laughed all the more at his good fortune . The dark-skinned boy didn't know whether to trust something he had heard when he was young but didn't want to doubt Eywa's capabilities and desires.
Still, he was terrified by the description of such slow, painful self-degradation, with lungs being destroyed by roots and flowers. So beautiful and so tragic. When he asked if there was any cure, Mo'at grumbled about going against the Great Mother's wishes but still talked about an old memory ritual. Neteyam cursed his old self for not being more interested.
“If you don’t remember what you’re doing wrong, maybe she won’t punish you for being irresponsible and naive,” was the only thing he could recall of her answer: a mere and personal idea.
Neteyam doubted Ronal knew anything about it or her willingness to make him forget.
“Are you awake?” Neytiri asked from the entrance of the empty marui, returning from the usual walk she’d always take when everyone left the marui.
She had still to fully integrate herself into the Metkayina’s way, but she tried her best to be helpful on dry, safe land.
She approached with hurried steps when Neteyam tried to respond, but a cough restricted him from doing so. She crouched down, bringing a hand to her firstborn's forehead, and a low hiss vibrated as she felt the burning skin. She hurried to find some herbs and put them in boiling water, with the other's muffled coughs in the background.
"Drink it: this should bring down your fever,” she ordered, helping the boy support himself and drink the strong-tasting liquid before reassuring him: “I know it’s sour, but it will help make you feel better,”
“Thank you—” Neteyam tried to say but was interrupted by another coughing fit, a hand rushing to cover his lips.
His mother knew he was sick, but Neytiri didn't expect it to be that serious. Though insisting that he should rest, she always received a weak smile as a response, and Neteyam would later carry out more activities than he should. But things were getting overwhelming: now he couldn't even stand up.
Neteyam prayed blood and petals wouldn't be evident when he lowered his hand, but Neityri was too close. Taking the slightest glimpse of red on his hand, she pulled it away, staring at the mess on his blue skin.
“How long has this been going on?” And her question came out more like a demand than a simple question, the phantom of fear in her tone recognizable.
He didn't have time to respond.
“By Eywa, you need to see the Tsahìk! I will ask someone–”
“No!” Neteyam hurried to respond, eyes wide and throat sore: his voice no longer sounded like his, “I don’t want you to call anyone.”
“But you’re coughing blood! Lots of blood. You can’t keep like this, ma’ Neteyamur. ”
“I can, and I will. I don’t want the Tsahìk to know about this.” He said, low but strained, clearly making an effort, “There’s nothing she can do for me and I don’t want anyone else to know.”
Neityri looked at him with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and concern, standing still for long as she pondered what had to be done: so long that the coughing struck again, and this time, it was impossible to stop the blood from being evident.
It was when a third voice resounded that his body completely shook.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Sully?” Ao'nung called from the entrance, greeting an 'I see you’ as his eyes focused only on the woman at that moment as Neteyam's silhouette remained covered by the wooden hammock, “Do you know where Neteyam is? He didn’t show up for training today.”
And in the tone of his voice, Neteyam could see that he was afraid to talk to the woman, who, despite being extremely worried, still exposed her disdain for the visitor with her eyes half-closed. Then her eyes softened, and Neteyam tried vehemently to understand the reason for such change.
“He’s here, sick. I need to find your mother: do you know where she is?” She stood up despite Neteyam’s desperate and suffering request, failing to notice the frightened and worried expression on the Metkayina heir's face as he answered the question.
“ Mother –”
“This is not open for discussion, Neteyam! Your fever must be driving you crazy if you think I’m going to leave you coughing up blood without doing anything.”
She walked with determined steps towards the exit, hurriedly.
Neytiri was almost out of the building when she sighed and grabbed Ao'nung's arm to get his attention, her golden eyes focusing on the oceanic tone of the younger's direct gaze. Despite being shorter, she exposed her importance by having him look away afterward.
“Keep an eye on him, don’t let him get out.”
And he didn't even wait for her to get out of the marui to approach Neteyam, a curious and anxious look that made his stomach turn.
‘ Why do you have to be like this? ’ He thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘ It makes me feel loved ’.
The Sully tried to answer the other's doubts, saying he was fine and that it wasn't a big deal, but he started coughing again. This time, petals forced themselves up Neteyam’s throat as he felt Ao’nung’s hands on his back to give him as much support: one of them fell on his thighs, drenching with blood. The bluish flower stood out easily. Ao'nung let go of him for a moment, mouth open and scared.
“Forest bo–” He tried to speak, stuttering.
“Get out,” Neteyam interrupted as he cleared his throat, “Please, just get out!”
The light-skinned boy stared at the petals as if trying to understand where they came from, eyes steady.
Ao’nung remembered Neteyam coughing more than usual in the last moments they were together and even joked about it, but he had thought it had to be something temporary. He had noticed some flowers like those at the time but always imagined Neteyam had gotten them running through the dense forest behind the village. After all, that was his natural environment, right?
But he hadn't gone out today, as far as he knew and thought, and there weren't any flowers there. He also couldn't think of any kind of medicine or food that used sun-lilys, so why — there, realization hit him full on.
Ao’nung, too, vaguely remembered an old chant that the elders used to sing at certain times. He always thought it was nonsense and impossible to happen, for it seemed very brutal and painful for someone to degrade themselves by loving someone without being reciprocated. Well, from what he could remember of the story, that was it: a young one in love who denied the purest feeling the Great Mother could provide someone, suffering in utter silence until it all flourished, breaking through the heart from which the first feeling’s seed had grown, taking the lungs and all the air needed to breathe.
All this for simply staying quiet.
But there he had it: living proof that it really could happen and would happen again, and he had no idea what to do to help.
Ao’nung watched Neteyam clean his lips and thighs as best he could, visibly tired and panting, without even giving him a single look.
“Please, I would like to be alone,” when the Metkayina didn’t move, he furrowed the space between his imaginary eyebrows, tail moving in discomfort: "Aren’t you listening to me?”
“Who is it?” Ao’nung asked quietly and Neteyam's confusion spread on his exhausted face.
"Who what–”
“You know,” and Ao’nung looked irritated.
A chill ran through the oldest boy, not knowing what the younger knew, his eyes finally rising to look at him.
“You know what this is: there's no way not to know! We can’t let you kill yourself because you don’t want to admit something. Tell me who they are and I will–”
The dark-skinned boy frowned more and more, unable to figure out how the hell Ao’nung knew about the tale. But even so, his biggest confusion was how he knew he was disobeying Eywa. Ao’nung didn't know who the person was, at least, and Neteyam was grateful for that.
“Ao’nung, there’s no point. If you know what this is, you should know there’s no help: no Tsahìk knows how to cure it.”
“You should try to do the opposite of what you’re doing, at least! If you don’t do anything, it’s like you’re–” Ao’nung couldn’t finish his sentence as he watched Neteyam’s lips open in a sad smile. He walked closer and put his hands on Neteyam’s shoulders to prove his honesty: “Let me do something, please.”
How he was holding the shorter Na’vi, it seemed like he was afraid he would disappear before his eyes at any moment. The heir had never seen him so weak. The unceasing glow of his piercing golden gaze was so dull it seemed like someone else's, as if he was leaving.
“My grandmother used to say there was a way,” Neteyam murmured, looking down at the hands on his lap. Ao'nung stared at him expectantly, tightening his grip. “It's an old ritual to make me forget what I'm doing wrong: I can’t be punished for something I don’t remember, but… I don’t want to.”
That touch that felt so right began to weigh: his passionate mind couldn't continue deluding him, and things were bound to get worse. His eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t want to, I can’t! I would never forgive myself if I chose to forget! I can't have them, I know I can't, but I also don't want to forget them… nothing would make sense.”
And it all sounded like a confession. Funny , thinking about it: to talk about Ao’nung as he listened without knowing.
Ao'nung had been there from the moment they landed in Awa'atlu, and there were no such moments where he wasn't around. There were no memories in Awa’atlu without him. It was like forgetting months of a life that he took a while to get used to. Neteyam did not even realize he had started crying.
“We can try. No, we need to try”, and each word made him cry even more. “I can look for this person wherever they are, here or in the forest, and I swear no other will ever know. You’ll be fine, but you need to tell me who they are.”
‘How can you be so sure?’ Neteyam wanted to ask, but another coughing fit hit him. He remained sad after the coughing stopped.
“It won't help. I have been disobedient for too long.”
Ao'nung sighed.
“But you have to try! No one will ridicule you, Neteyam!” He assured, placing his hands on the shorter boy's neck and making him look into his blue eyes. “Even if the person doesn’t feel the same, at least you tried.”
The footsteps that resounded from outside the marui made both look toward the entrance, staring at Neytiri and Ronal entering in a hurry with cold faces. Neteyam didn’t take long to sign ‘I see you’ . The Tsahìk's critical gaze went directly to her firstborn and she looked him up and down, a silent conversation between glances that didn't last long.
“He’s sick like the Na’vi in the Silence Song,” Ao'nung announced, facing her directly.
Neteyam's eyes widened as Ronal silently associated the blood and petals with the explanation, receiving a desperate and painful look. According to the version she knew, there wasn't much that could be done about disobedience, much less when the flowers had already started to fall. The Tsahìk looked at the boy lying in the hammock, a shadow of curiosity and pity in her strict eyes.
“You know how the disease works, don’t you?”
Neteyam nodded.
“There's not much I can do against Eywa's will: this has to be fixed by yourself. Either you admit what you know you have to admit, or you won't have time to regret,” and Neteyam gave her a weak smile: he liked her direct personality.
“I knew you couldn't do anything. That's why I asked my mother not to come looking for you. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”
But Neityri's gaze seemed too desperate, and the muscles of the Metkayina heir's body twitched with tension, and the spiritual leader herself seemed filled with something close to sadness. Neteyam barely managed to cover his mouth before he started coughing violently, this time some leaves accompanied the petals, making the metallic taste of blood stronger. Ronal sighed, reaching out and pulling Neytiri outside, probably to have a private conversation.
Funny enough, he had managed to worry the toughest woman he had ever met! Now, that was a feast.
Ao'nung stood still. He looked at the ground before taking a deep breath and searching in his pouch for an old piece of cloth. He bent down in front of the hammock and carefully grabbed the dark-skinned boy's hand to wipe away the crimson liquid, having difficulty with the dried parts on his palms. Neteyam could feel himself becoming weaker and weaker, more and more distant, and yet he memorized every place the Metkayina touched him.
The differences in the sizes and colors of their bodies made his stomach do pirouettes. Everything felt so good and right yet so painful, so sad, necessary…
“You…” he revealed, sighing very quietly.
Ao'nung's eyes instantly raised, trying to understand the forest boy’s words. A hopeful, anxious glow that seemed like a question itself, and despite the tightness in his chest and lungs, he forced himself to answer.
“It's you ,” he repeated, finally meeting the lost gaze of the subject of his affection, “You're the reason I'm like this. I love you, but I didn't want you to know.”
The world went quiet for a few seconds and the sound of waves crashing on the beach's rocks was muffled by the confusion in the Omatikaya's feverish mind. His words came even more slurred when he was ready to continue:
“I was and still am completely terrified to tell you this”, his eyes lowered, and his senses seemed out of orbit, shaking with cold, anxiety, and fear: “I didn't know how you could react, or worse, how my family could react. I couldn't risk our safety and everything else out of selfishness: that's why I chose not to tell you. Please, I like to have you around– don’t go away.”
His tone became so strained that he feared Ao’nung would not understand what he was trying to say, especially because he spoke as fast as he could. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and, even though weak, he found the strength to grab one of Ao’nung’s hands, langer than his, and squeeze it desperately.
Please, don't leave.
“Remember our first class?” Ao'nung asked, words low and hurried, his free hand going to the Omatikaya's sternum, “Breathe– from here: inhale and exhale. That's it. Repeat.”
And, with the help of the younger one, Neteyam managed to regulate his breathing. At great cost, but he did it. Tears bathed his face in a relieved and silent cry. The heir's warm, soft, and cozy body clad him in a careful embrace. His heart must have skipped a few beats.
“I'm not going anywhere. Breathe. You'll be fine.”
And he continued repeating the promise for some time, long enough for the dark-skinned boy to go back to sleep to make up for the misspent night.
Neteyam knew his mother and the Tsahìk had returned to the marui at some point: he heard the whispers, and probably someone had joined the group, but he could only focus on the heat of Ao'nung's body, and how his body kept going side to side, rocking him.
Despite being anxious, Neteyam realized that the youngest kept his promise not to leave. He hadn't answered him, but he was holding him with such care that it made Neteyam feel special, and the option of being rejected broke when he finally fell asleep. One less weight trapped in its slender structure.
“ I see you , Neteyam. I'll be right here when you wake up,” Ao’nung promised in a whisper, and the other wished it wasn't just another daydream of his tired mind.
He hoped not.
He feared waking up with no one there, alone and coughing until he could no longer breathe. He was afraid he had imagined it all. But when he woke up a few hours later, the curls of the boy's bun were the first thing he saw: Ao’nung was sitting on the floor next to him with his eyes closed.
Their fingers were intertwined and his hand felt warm, Neteyam tried his best not to wake him as he turned to watch that ethereal figure. However, upon feeling the slightest of Neteyam’s movements, that sea in his blue eyes opened as if they were just waiting for that moment.
“Hey,” Ao'nung called softly, smiling. "Are you feeling better?”
The shorter boy squeezed his hand as he returned the smile, still afraid that he would suddenly disappear.
“Hey,” He didn't know why they were whispering, but the golden eyes didn't dare stray from the oceanic ones, “I'm still a little tired, but I feel better.”
“You should rest more. My mother said you should stay in for a few days,” the Metkayina said softly, like a confidant, and that made Neteyam smile a little more, “But since I know you won’t be quiet for long, you should at least try to sleep for the rest of the day.”
Neteyam giggled, face red. Then he stopped, watching Ao'nung quietly.
“This isn’t a dream, is it?” He asked, softly.
Instead of answering verbally, Ao’nung closed the gap and placed a kiss on his forehead. Then he backed up a little, fangs showing in a smirk.
“It’s not a dream. I can repeat it as many times as you want until you believe it’s true,” He leaned close to one of his ears, whispering as quietly as he could as if it were an absurd secret: “I love you, too, and that won't change when you wake up. You can sleep peacefully.”
And he did.
From the opposite corner of the marui, Neytiri watched with an astonished expression. A sigh of relief left her lips, soothing all the bad things she had felt in the last few hours. She ignored all the disdain and remorse she felt for Ao'nung, internally thanking him for being there. She had no idea how, but he was helping Neteyam get better simply by being there, so she considered him an acceptable visit. She pretended not to see the intertwined fingers, sighs, smiles, or long looks.
Neytiri rather focused on finding ways to make her boy healthy again, studying everything she knew about herbs and hoping that Ronal was doing the same. It didn't matter how: she just wanted him to be okay.
Sun-lilys were beautiful flowers, but far away from an innocent, pure, young soul like Neteyam’s, further from his lungs, heart, and disobedient, benevolent mind.
Beautiful flowers, far from him.