Chapter Text
He's a long way from home.
Lo'ak shoved a cigarette in his mouth and flicked his electric blue lighter. A small flame mirrored off his tired eyes and shone. The cigarette caught fire. It's a stupid habit his father begrudgingly had grown familiar with; Jake just sighs when he sees it but doesn’t get too angry anymore. ( You’re gonna get caught one day or another, idiot.)
Lo'ak inhaled, feeling his muscles relax. Wisps of smoke lazily trailed up into the air. The walls echoed with hollow clanks and groans when the wind blew, and there were faraway sirens. He put the lighter back down and busied his hands with a spray paint bottle.
Blue. Dark blue.
The boy mustered the can before popping the lid off. He shook it and faced the wall. Now, it was anything but bare. He and Neteyam had found it when they first moved to New York. Lo'ak dreaded the day he would fill up the space entirely. ( Yooo, this is sick! Brooklynn! Woo! )
Lo'ak absently chewed at the cigarette in his mouth, concentrated. The corners of his focused eyes watered from the smoke. The can hissed and reeked of paint as he carefully dragged it along the wall and around the figure he had previously painted. Past spoken and unspoken words bounced off the fortification. ( Why him, why him, why him? I killed him…)
And…done.
Another vibrant portrait of his older brother proudly stared back at him. Lo'ak had taken forever on Neteyam's smile; those ‘bunny teeth,’ as Dad called them, made Neteyam’s smile extra cheeky and childish. He had used dark blue to outline everything, along with a brilliant yellow. Lo'ak automatically turned to his right to make eye contact before pulling away. Empty spaces always felt emptier when he thought of him, and sometimes, he could hear a few remarks. His heart wrenched.
Lo'ak stepped back to see the entire wall, subconsciously adjusting his AirPods. He did not want to drop them here again. A bit of pride swelled in his chest, seeing the stark difference between his art now and a few years ago. ( You’re getting good, mighty warrior. Keep working--quietly; you don’t want Dad to skin you. And me!) Reverence for the mural, fueled by the moonlit paint, danced in his gaze.
Lo’ak scanned the alleyway, taking the final drag of his nicotine-filled cigarette before dropping the butt down and crushing it with the sole of his shoe. A chill settled in his bones; he pulled his hoodie up. ( Did you steal my sweater, Lo’ak? Ugh, fine, you can use it. Don’t spill anything on it! You know I want to wear it for orientation.)
The boy slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and hopped on his skateboard. It was beat-up, adorned with more scratches and stickers than he could count, but it worked. Lo’ak would visit skate parks with Neteyam and spend hours practicing nifty tricks. He used to make Neteyam watch every little thing he did, smiling widely when he received applause in return (Careful! You might fall! Ah--oh, great job, Lolo!)
Pushing off his red-and-white Jordans (which he knows are as creased as hell), Lo’ak weaved through the street, mindful of the passing pedestrians, litter, and cracks.
It was a fickle thought, people. They never knew what he had lost. To them, he was another acne-covered boy passing them, and they probably were praying he wasn’t too lost in his music. Eywa, Lo’ak was still embarrassed by the time he had crashed straight into a middle-aged businessman (by the look of his fancy suit), and how much Lo’ak hoped he wouldn’t get sued or anything stupid.
He was another person in another person’s world. He also didn’t know what they gained or surrendered. And that…was something. The world is a big place, as Neteyam said one evening as they sat on their rooftop and licked their melting ice-creams, just big enough for all the miscellaneous experiences, emotions, and ideas bound to happen. Neteyam was an old soul like that. Spewing fancy shit the English teachers would go wild for. Lo’ak missed those words, too. ( You act so posh, ’Teyam. No, seriously, it’s like Shakespeare or Edgar Allan Poe possessed you.)
The houses he passed seemed never-ending. Lo’ak pondered the thought of kids inside, probably being tucked into bed now. Darkness slowly crept in, following the rising moon. The sun had set; bright colors dripped off the scenery like watercolor. ( Another story! C’mon, pleeease? I promise I’ll sleep after!)
Lo’ak paused at a red light post and began repeatedly clicking the button, knowing very well that the amount would not change the wait time. He didn’t know what song was playing now, but it made his brain tickle. A woman walking her small terrier spared a glance at him before checking her Fitbit for her active progress.
The little, pixelated orange person blinked on, indicating his free will to roll across the stripped section of the road with no remorse. He used to hold his mom’s hands tightly, crossing the road, making sure to look both ways. He wasn’t sure when he did that last. Tuktiery, his younger sister, also seemed to have stopped doing it. ( Steady, TukTuk, ’Teyam’s got you. You wanna hold my hand and jump? Alright, be careful. Whoa! Look at you!)
He’s a long way from home.
Lo’ak’s breath hitched when he hit a pothole, but he managed to keep himself steady.
Life was a bit odd like that. Why was he allowed to stay steady on his board? Why not fall flat on his face and break his nose? What made him less undeserving of that fate? Mundane accidents, but still accidents. Thick crimson blood of retribution flowing down and staining his face.
Perhaps someone clicked the wrong button in the simulation. After all, life was entirely of mistakes. An error in the system. ( What if we're all self-input characters of humans who downloaded themselves, their psyche? Or are other humans using us to predict our extinction and stop it? You get what I mean? The world is all coded in this intricate system of mathematics and biology. It's wild, Lolo.)
Neteyam and his crazy, crazy ideas. He'd known so much more than Lo'ak would ever even come close to figuring out. The family line is continuous and eternal; speculation to date to the primordial and beyond is extremely difficult to pinpoint and gave Lo'ak a headache just thinking about it. He would never be able to do what Neteyam could.
He’s a long way from home.
Lo’ak boarded the bus, his hazel eyes skimming through the seats. There was an empty one wedged between a man and an elderly woman. He seated himself, clutching the duffel bag tightly in his lap and pressing it against his torso. Beside his leg was a wad of pink bubble gum with a rusty dime stuck to it. He scrunched his nose.
Nodding his head back, Lo’ak stared out the window. Cars zoomed by; his eyes followed. His face barely reflected off the dirty glass. An ache began to creep up on his legs. The boy’s mind somehow meandered through some…particular memories. He had no kind voice from a kind figure behind him. No one to brush his tears away the way he did, no one to pat his head and tell him it’s going to be alright like he did.
The bus creaked and slowed to a stop, but it wasn’t the one Lo’ak needed. He cast his eyes down to avoid the newcomers.
He don't love himself, tryna love me.
( Look in the mirror, Lolo. Who do you see? )
He saw himself. Neteyam by his side, hand resting on his head. But himself. Gold locked with gold, black pupils dilating.
The bus began moving again. Lo'ak instinctively became more attentive, not wanting to miss the next stop. His right leg bobbed up and down; he flicked the silver zipper of his bag with a tink. The corners of his eyes burned with unshed tears.
( I see me.)
( Yes, you. Not Dad. Because you're Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. )
A breath in, a breath out. In a spiritual sense, to get lost in oneself is the journey to find inner beauty.
Repetition. The bus stopped again. Lo'ak stood up and strolled out, mumbling a quiet “thank you” to the bus driver. He held the railings as he left and jumped off the last step.
Lo'ak sucked in a breath, wiping his eyes, and rolled the short way home. Only a few more minutes left. A few minutes left in the world but perhaps eons in another. ( A whole nother dimension! That'd be cool.)
( You think we're happy in the other universe?)
( ...maybe.)
( But I wanted this one.)
Soft, tangible silence.
He’s a long way from home.
He’s… home.
Lo’ak stopped and kicked up his skateboard with a huff, nodding his head to fling off the stray braid that came in front of his eye. His bag hit him in the hips as he walked up the few stairs to ring the doorbell; he was careful not to trip. He had once again forgotten the keys. ( Ah, the same as always, baby bro? Psh, it’s okay. One day, you’ll grow up and finally remember. I’ll rest in peace once it happens!)
The door opened before he could knock.
It was Neytiri, his mother, smiling softly at the sight of her only son. Her eternal other stood beside, gently cupping Lo’ak’s cheek. A halo above his head, kind eyes that have seen both worlds. Warmth surged in the boy’s chest, and he realized that perhaps this world was enough. Silence shattered.
“Welcome home.”
( Welcome home. )