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The air between them had grown colder, more than the crisp autumn breeze brushing their skin. The crowded streets were alive with costumed children, excited shouts filling the air as candy bags overflowed. But for Neteyam, all he could focus on was Aonung, walking beside him in silence, stiff and distant.
Lo'ak, Tsireya, Kiri, and Tuk were ahead, darting from house to house, their laughter a stark contrast to the tension that simmered between the two older brothers.
Neteyam watched them run, but his attention quickly slid back to Aonung, his jaw tight as he walked. They’d had this conversation before—over and over, like a bad loop. Aonung wanted space. Aonung wanted to travel. Aonung didn’t want to be tied down. It was a script Neteyam knew by heart but one he stubbornly refused to accept.
"Why do you keep pretending like this is fine?" Neteyam asked, his voice low but pressing. He wasn’t asking about the kids.
Aonung didn’t look at him, eyes focused on the orange glow of a pumpkin on a neighbor’s porch. "Because we have to be here. For our families."
Neteyam stepped closer, his shoulder brushing Aonung's. "No, I mean us. Why are you pretending like this—like what we had—doesn't matter?"
Aonung’s face hardened, but he still didn’t meet Neteyam's gaze. "It’s over, Neteyam."
Neteyam’s heart sank at the familiar words. He hated how easily Aonung said it, how coldly the words fell from his lips. He quickened his pace, stepping in front of Aonung to stop him.
"It doesn’t have to be," he said, reaching out and grabbing Aonung’s wrist, tugging him closer. "Why are you running away from us?"
Aonung stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he glanced around. There were people everywhere: families walking by, children laughing, and their siblings just a few feet away. He couldn’t cause a scene. "Neteyam, let go."
But Neteyam’s grip tightened. His eyes bore into Aonung's, desperation flashing behind them. "I don’t want to let you go. You know we could make this work if you just gave it a chance."
Aonung’s heart raced, both from the closeness of Neteyam’s grip and the weight of eyes around them. He pulled his wrist but didn’t fight too hard, knowing they were in public. "We’ve been over this," Aonung hissed, keeping his voice low. "I don’t want the same things you do."
"You keep saying that," Neteyam muttered, stepping even closer, his free hand slipping down to hold Aonung's. "But I know you still feel something."
Aonung froze, his breath catching as Neteyam's fingers intertwined with his own. The warmth of his touch was all too familiar, stirring memories of times when this closeness had been something comforting instead of suffocating. He knew he should pull away and tell Neteyam again that it was over and that they couldn't go back. But with so many people around, with Lo'ak and Tuk nearby, he couldn't make a scene. Not here.
"Neteyam, please," Aonung whispered, his voice strained, but there was a crack in his resolve.
Neteyam shook his head, determination hardening his features. "I know you're scared, Aonung. Scared of being stuck, scared that I’ll keep you from living the life you want. But I love you." His voice broke on the last words, barely above a whisper. "And I know you love me too."
Aonung’s pulse quickened, his heart slamming against his chest. He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. But that didn’t change anything.
"You’re making this harder than it has to be," Aonung said quietly, eyes flickering around, hoping no one noticed the tension between them. Lo'ak and Tuk were running further ahead now, chasing after a group of kids, oblivious to the storm brewing behind them.
"Harder than it has to be?" Neteyam’s voice turned sharp, but he softened almost immediately. "I don’t care how hard it is. I’d rather fight for us than walk away."
Aonung tried to pull his hand away, but Neteyam’s grip didn’t falter. "This isn’t something you can fix by holding on tighter, Neteyam."
"I know you’re scared of losing your freedom," Neteyam said, his voice intense, his gaze unrelenting. "But I’m not asking you to settle down tomorrow. I’m asking you to believe we can find a way. Together."
Aonung bit his lip, the weight of Neteyam’s words pressing down on him. He knew Neteyam believed what he was saying. But they wanted different things, and no amount of love or persistence could change that. His dreams didn’t align with Neteyam’s. They never would.
"Neteyam," Aonung said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I need to live my life on my terms. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. But... I can’t give you what you want."
Neteyam stared at him, his face unreadable, a flicker of pain behind his eyes. "You don’t know what I want if you keep running away."
Aonung’s chest tightened, the truth gnawing at him. They couldn’t stand there forever, holding on like this, trapped in a moment that refused to pass. The world continued around them, but they were stuck—two people who once shared everything now separated by their unyielding dreams.
Slowly, Aonung pulled his hand away. This time, Neteyam let him go.
"We can’t keep pretending, Neteyam," Aonung said, forcing the words out, each one heavier than the last. "You need to stop holding on to what we had. It’s not fair to either of us."
Neteyam’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. His hands fell to his sides, and Aonung could see the heartbreak behind his eyes. But it was the truth—one they both had to face, even if it tore them apart.
"Let’s... let’s just watch the kids," Aonung muttered, taking a step back, his heart aching as he distanced himself from the one person who made him feel so much.
Neteyam didn’t respond. He just watched as Aonung turned away, his fists clenching in quiet frustration, unable to hold on to the one thing he wasn’t ready to lose.
The walk back to their siblings felt longer than it should have. Neteyam trailed behind, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret, frustration, and an aching sense of loss. He hadn’t meant to push so hard. But how could Aonung not see it? Not feel what Neteyam did? Was he really so sure about leaving everything they had behind?
Lo'ak was waiting for them at the corner, waving excitedly, his face half-hidden behind a poorly-fitting werewolf mask. "Hurry up! Tuk wants to hit the haunted house before it closes!"
Neteyam forced a smile for his brother’s sake, though his heart wasn’t in it. He quickened his pace, catching up with Aonung, who had already reached Lo'ak.
As they fell back into step, Neteyam brushed his fingers against Aonung’s one last time. It wasn’t a forceful grab this time, just a gentle, fleeting touch, a silent plea that he didn’t dare voice out loud again.
Aonung tensed, but he didn’t pull away this time. He just kept walking, pretending like nothing had happened, even though Neteyam knew that he felt it. They both did.
And as they joined their siblings, blending into the chaos of the night, that fleeting touch was the only thing Neteyam had left to hold on to.