Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Your brother hates me.” Ao’nung mumbles, tangling his fingers in the net he’s currently trying to detangle. Lo’ak and him have been out all morning, setting nets out in the reef and checking old ones.

The two of them have gotten close, after Ao’nung left him outside the reef and almost killed him, after Lo’ak had taken the blame even though everyone knew, deep down, that it was really Ao’nung’s fault.

They bonded over always being perceived as a disappointment, always failing to measure up to their sibling, Lo’ak to Neteyam and Ao’nung to Tsireya. They spend most of their days together now, Ao’nung taking it upon himself to teach Lo’ak personally alongside his sister, furthering his hunting skills and his ability to stay under the water longer.

Lo’ak huffs and snatches the net out of Ao’nung’s hands, using his extra finger to his advantage and detangling the knotted net in seconds.

“He doesn’t hate you- He just has issues making friends, he was like this back home too. Neteyam also has a staring problem, courtesy of our mother,” Lo’ak says, bumping his shoulder against Ao’nung’s and handing back the net, watching closely as Ao’nung casts it perfectly.

Ao’nung looks over his shoulder, spotting Neteyam, glaring at them from the shore, one of his arms wrapped around himself subconsciously, covering the bullet wound on his chest, now healed up after long months of rehabilitation and bed rest, as ordered by his mother, the Tsahìk, and Neteyam’s own mother.

“I just thought- That after we became friends- After I apologized, that he wouldn’t want to feed me to an akula.” He grumbles, glancing down at the water that’s currently lapping at his waist, the beads on his loincloth swishing with the tide, the sand beneath his feet soft.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes, looking back over his own shoulder and spotting Neteyam’s gaze quickly, his brother’s eyes softening once they connect, a tiny, teasing smile gracing his older brother’s lips as they make eye contact.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes once more, turning back toward Ao’nung, the other having drifted over to the right slightly, getting closer to the walkway leading to plenty of marui.

He looks behind him, making sure that the young Omatikayan is following him, Ao’nung having developed a sense of protectiveness over the other ever since they made peace and became close friends.

Lo’ak may be a better swimmer now than he used to be, even a better hunter, but he’s still young, still naïve to the way of the water some days. It’s Ao’nung’s job, as his friend, as the heir and future Ole’eyktan of the Metkayina clan, to watch out for him, to protect him.

He may not have taken his job seriously before and may have resented the Sullys for bringing their war to his home, but he feels neither of those things anymore, only a disgusting swell of fondness in his chest for the entire Sully family, including the eldest son currently glaring at them from across the reef.

“Neteyam doesn’t want to feed you to an akula, skxawng,” Lo’ak says exasperated, coming up next to Ao’nung where he leans against the walkway, his eyes flickering constantly to Neteyam and back down to his feet. Lo’ak places both his hands on the sturdy rattan and heaves himself out of the water, twisting his body so he lands in a sitting position, his legs now dangling over into the water next to Ao’nung.

Ao’nung mumbles something to himself, hissing quietly to himself, and then turns around sharply, facing Lo’ak, his back to Neteyam now. As he toys with a stray fiber, the feeling of Neteyam’s gaze burns into his back, like he’s trying to kill him from across the water.

Lo’ak tilts his head as he looks at his older brother, confusion written all over his face because he knows Neteyam’s ‘I want to skin you alive’ look and this is definitely not it, it hasn’t been for a while, but he hasn’t been able to figure out what this look is.

He’s still not sure, but he feels like he’s closer to figuring it out like it’s right in front of him.

Ao’nung doesn’t say anything, just continues to pick at the loose, stray thread, watching as it unravels minutely under his fingers. He’s completely lost in his own head when Lo’ak speaks up, kicking him gently in the ribcage, drawing his attention away from the walkway and up to him instead.

“Even if he did, I wouldn’t let him,” Lo’ak says, puffing his chest out a little, his tail flickering behind him as he says the words, giving way to his feelings easily enough.

Ao’nung laughs, the iridescent shells and beads Tsireya had braided into his hair last night clinking together, creating a soft, melodious sound, one matching his own laughter. Lo’ak squints his eyes, glaring at Ao’nung as he laughs and digs his toes into his side, forcing Ao’nung to laugh even harder and shrink away from him.

“I’m pretty sure Tuk or Kiri would better protect me than you,” He snorts out, smacking Lo’ak’s foot that sneaks toward him again, causing him to miss the five-fingered hand that creeps forward and tugs on one of his braids, his hair down today instead of up in its usual bun.

Lo’ak doesn’t say anything, just pulls on the dark strands and smirks in delight when Ao’nung smacks his hand away, a grimace on his face along with a snarl.

He mumbles something under his breath along the lines of ‘I could definitely protect you- And Tsireya’ as Ao’nung fiddles with his braid, fixing the ornate shell so it looks like how it did before Lo’ak got his sticky, grimy, little fingers on it.

Ao’nung is about to say something, threaten Lo’ak with telling Tsireya how he messed up her handiwork, or how he’d never give the two of them his blessing if they asked (jokingly, of course), when Lo’ak speaks, his voice quiet and serious, something very unlike him.

“You saved him, so, even if he hated you before, he couldn’t now. No one does. My parents-” Lo’ak says softly, refusing to meet Ao’nung’s eyes as he speaks, his words coming out slightly choked as he cuts himself off.

Ao’nung’s eyes immediately drop to the ocean floor, watching how the water ripples, tiny waves rolling into him as an ilu swims past a ways away.

Lo’ak doesn’t need to finish his sentence, Ao’nung already knows what he’s going to say. He remembers vividly, like it was just yesterday and not months ago, almost a full moon cycle, the way Neytiri had embraced him, how she sobbed into his braids as she held him, words of thanks pouring from her mouth as he staunched the bleeding.

Or how Jake found him later, when Neteyam had woken up and regained consciousness, his hands still coated with Neteyam’s blood, shaking like a woven hammock in a Pandoran storm. Ao’nung couldn’t bear to wash it off, realizing that this might be the last thing any of them could remember Neteyam by if he were to join Eywa.

Ao’nung remembers how Jake had slowly coaxed him into the water, scrubbing the dried blood off his hands, not a word being said between the two of them. He’s not sure how long he would’ve sat there if Jake hadn’t found him, both his parents and Tsireya working tirelessly on Neteyam.

Ao’nung doesn’t like remembering what happened to Neteyam, doesn’t like how almost every night, when he lies awake in his hammock, he replays the entire day over and over again. It makes him feel sick, his stomach twisting in knots, his heart on the verge of leaping into his throat and out his mouth.

Most nights, when the horrific scene of Lo’ak approaching the island with Tsireya and spider in tow, Neteyam holding onto Tsireya’s ilu weakly, he has to fight the urge to crawl out of his family’s marui and seek out the comfort of Eywa. The urge to go to the Cove of the Ancestors strong.

Usually, Ao’nung can fight it, can roll around and toss and turn until he falls into a fitful, restless sleep. But, some nights, he can’t escape it.

The two of them had split up, Neteyam asking, almost pleading for Ao’nung to stay behind with Kiri and Tuk. And Ao’nung had wanted to argue, wanted to go aboard the ship and help because his little sister was on there, Lo’ak was on there.

These demons had come into his home, had burned villages to the ground, had hurt his people. He didn’t want to just help; he wanted to kill.

But Ao’nung had seen the look in Neteyam’s eyes and had understood immediately that for Neteyam to protect Lo’ak and Tsireya, Ao’nung had to protect Kiri and Tuk. The protest had died on his lips before he could even get it out, nodding his head quickly and grabbing both girls’ arms, guiding them over to a rocky outcrop above the ocean, a tiny island amidst all the carnage.

He helped them both out of the water, a stray piece of metal floating past them as he looks below the water once more, Neteyam’s figure retreating. Ao’nung doesn’t think Kiri liked him very much back then, he knows he’s grown on her since then, but she doesn’t argue when he crouches close to her, placing himself in front of her, her shaky hands pressing against his back as he blocks her with his body, Tuk tucked against his side tightly.

He has one hand outstretched behind him, firmly holding onto Kiri, the other wrapped around Tuk, his skimwing jawbone blade clutched in his hand. People are flying above them, beside them, but Ao’nung keeps his gaze firmly on the sinking ship, completely focused on the task at hand, protecting Kiri and Tuk.

When Tsireya, Lo’ak, Spider, and Neteyam approach, the latter looking pale and sickly, Ao’nung immediately knows something is wrong, knows that although they’ve all returned, something isn’t right.

That’s when Lo’ak screams at him and Spider, demanding they help hoist Neteyam onto the rocky outcrop. Once they get him out of the water, that is quickly darkening with blood, Ao’nung feels everything move in slow motion.

He watches as Tsireya instructs Lo’ak to hold pressure as she looks around frantically, tears streaming down her face as she panics. Kiri and Tuk are on the ground next to Neteyam’s head, whispering quiet prayers to Eywa.

All of a sudden, time snaps back into focus, the scene in front of him unfolding with only one end in sight, Neteyam dying.

And Ao’nung has already made too many mistakes in his life, has already been a disappointment one too many times, has shamed his family and their clan, has hurt the Sully family. He refuses to do any of those things again.

He remembers a type of kelp his mother had been collecting lately, instructing Ao’nung that it would help her once the baby was born, in case there was bleeding that would not stop on its own.

She had ground it into a paste and instructed Ao’nung how to apply it, if his future mate ever needed it, or himself. For once in his life, he had paid attention to his mother’s lessons, and he had never been more grateful.

He instructs Tsireya to staunch the bleeding until he returned, and then dove into the dark, murky water, blood and carnage from the battle floating all around him.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to find, the kelp a bright green, turquoise amongst the pink and orange wildlife. Ao’nung cuts off as much as he can hold, and retreats back to the surface, clambering onto the rocks rather ungracefully as he stumbles over to Tsireya and Lo’ak holding pressure still, Neteyam gasping loudly.

He vaguely hears the sounds of wings flapping, two different sets, one an ikran, the other a skimwing, as Neytiri and Jake land on the tiny cluster of rocks they’re on, Neteyam’s mother’s voice ringing out loudly as she rushes over, wailing, screaming.

Ao’nung drops onto his knees next to Neteyam, the other’s yellow eyes glazed over as he gazes up at his parents, his brother, his sisters, until they finally settle on Ao’nung, a look he can’t decipher in the moment etched into his pretty, dark blue skin.

He immediately sets to chewing the kelp, not even grimacing at the slightly bitter taste and spitting it out into his palm once he’s deemed it ground enough. Before he places the poultice on Neteyam’s wounds, he looks up at Tsireya, at Jake and Neytiri, at Lo’ak, and speaks, his words barely audibly over the crashing of the waves.

“I can save him- I can- I just need you to trust me,” Ao’nung says, holding his breath as he realizes that the words aren’t directed toward Jake or Neytiri, not Lo’ak or Tsireya, not Kiri or Tuk.

No.

His gaze drops down to Neteyam, waiting for the injured man to look up at him and give him a nod, a breathy ‘Yes’, a sign, anything, to signify that he trusts him. But when he looks down, he finds the other’s gaze already on him, his yellow, iridescent eyes glowing as he looks at him, looks inside him.

Ao’nung waits with bated breath, the kelp paste turned poultice sitting in his hand as he stares at Neteyam, waiting.

And he waits until he gets a tiny breath, a puff of air escaping the other’s lips, his eyes flickering shut briefly as he nods his head, the tiniest, barely-there movement, but enough of a confirmation for him to move forward.

He leans over Neteyam and slathers the poultice on the entry wound of the bullet, careful to not dip his fingers into the open flesh, apologizing softly when Neteyam grimaces, a choked off groan escaping him.

Jake and Lo’ak help Ao’nung turn him, applying the kelp generously over the exit wound, pausing for a short moment to chew up more. Tsireya hands him two sizable plant leaves, providing a makeshift bandage.

They all wait, Neytiri singing a soft lullaby to Neteyam as she holds him, Jake running his hands through his son’s braids, Kiri and Tuk on either side of him, holding his hand tightly in theirs. Lo’ak is on the outskirts, blood coating his hands as he stares at the picture in front of him, Tsireya by his side, steadying him.

Ao’nung sits by his leg, attempting to give the Sully family as much privacy as possible but also still trying to monitor for any more bleeding.

And somehow, Eywa had decided to spare Neteyam, decided to grace Ao’nung with the ability to do something good for once in his life. The bleeding stopped, Neteyam’s breathing evening out, less labored and choppy.

His eyes stayed firmly shut for hours, seemingly in an endless sleep, but alive.

Ao’nung chews on his lips and hisses lowly, turning away from Lo’ak briefly and spitting out frustrated and angry words.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” He says lowly, shaking his head slightly, the beads adorning his hair clicking lightly, like he’s trying to physically dislodge the memory from his head.

Lo’ak’s hands fly up and pleads innocent. Ao’nung rolls his eyes and nudges Lo’ak’s knee with his elbow, grumbling when the other smirks, a laugh bubbling out of him.

“I’m just saying- I think my parents like you more than me,” Lo’ak says exasperatedly, his arms coming above his head as he stretches, a lazy yawn escaping him. Ao’nung is about to respond with something snarky when the young Omatikayan cuts him off.

The thing about Ao’nung is, that he doesn’t change his personality when he likes you, he’s still a brat and bossy and pushy and borderline mean, but now he does it with fondness, not ire.

“Which makes absolutely no sense because you’re a fucking bratty son of a-,” The other starts, yanking his leg away as Ao’nung dives in close, his teeth bared and a hiss escaping his throat, a growled out, ‘Are you calling my mother a-’ before the sound of footsteps disrupts their friendly fight.

They both still and look up at the approaching figure, Ao’nung worried that Neteyam has finally had enough and come over to protect his little brother from him. Meanwhile, Lo’ak is scared Tonowari or Jake has seen their sons neglecting their duties and come over to shoo them back into work.

It turns out, it is neither Neteyam or either one of their fathers, instead, it’s a third, different option, a warrior that Lo’ak has seen a few times, and a hunter Ao’nung has long become acquainted with.

Lo’ak isn’t sure what his name is, honestly doesn’t remember it, before Ao’nung speaks up and says it.

“So’lek? What are you- Shouldn’t you be out with the hunting party?” Ao’nung questions, still in the water, peering up at him from where he’s comfortably waist deep in the water. Lo’ak nods his head at the hunter when the other finally drags his eyes off Ao’nung and looks his way, the Metkayina warrior sizing him up, a tiny tsk escaping him as he takes in their proximity.

“Ao’nung, I was looking for you.” So’lek says, a basket of something settled against his hip, his ceremonial tattoos a strong contrast against his seafoam skin. Ao’nung cocks his head at that, slightly confused as to why the other would be looking for him.

He goes to get out of the water, both of his hands planted next to Lo’ak, the other’s eyes flickering across the reef at the sudden gleam of dark blue skin in his peripheral. Ao’nung can’t see behind him, can’t see Neteyam moving from the spot he had previously been occupying, the eldest Sully child stalking over to the walkway.

Before Ao’nung can even pull himself up and out of the water, So’lek is leaning down, setting the basket down on the woven rattan and crouching, placing both his hands on Ao’nung’s biceps and pulling him up and out of the water.

Once his feet hit the ground, he’s hissing, backing up toward Lo’ak, a bratty, nasty snarl on his face.

“I’m plenty capable of getting out of the water myself- I’m a warrior and hunter, just as you.” Ao’nung spits out, positively frustrated and pissed off now. He’s not sure what he was thinking considering no one, not the men nor the women in their clan, would like to be treated like they’re an incompetent babe.

So’lek doesn’t say anything, just bows his head slightly, a quiet, non-verbal ‘I See You’. Lo’ak huffs, finding the interaction amusing. It’s funny, watching Ao’nung’s ire focused on someone else. It’s also funny that anyone thinks Ao’nung can’t take care of himself.

(It’s different when someone manhandles you because they’re protecting you, loving you. Versus when someone manhandles you because they think you are not capable of handling yourself.)

“The Ole’eyktan allowed me to stay behind for this hunt. Gave me his permission to gather some things and gift them to you.” So’lek says, bending down and picking up the discarded, handwoven basket on the walkway.

Ao’nung doesn’t say anything, just accepts the outstretched basket overfilling with delicacies ranging from different types of fruit, some sweet, some sour, and a variety of fish including multiple flat skate fish (a rare, delicious treat that only the most skilled hunters can catch).

“What is all this?” Lo’ak questions, peering over Ao’nung’s shoulder, having the slight height advantage that he’ll never let the other live down, and reaching into the basket to grab a purple-pink palm sized fruit.

So’lek hisses, his sharp canines on display.

“It’s a courting gift, for Ao’nung- It’s not for you to touch.” He says, watching with disdain as Lo’ak retreats slightly to split the fruit open with his hands, the bright red juice spilling over his fingers.

Lo’ak just grumbles as he stuffs the fruit into his mouth, humming happily to himself at the sweet taste. Ao’nung doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really know what to say, and Lo’ak’s loud chewing in his ear is irritating him a little too much.

So’lek bows his head once more and retreats, dodging Neteyam as he makes his way down the walkway, weaving through the endless maruis dotting the woven pathway. Ao’nung’s eyes immediately land on the eldest Sully, his grip turning tight as the other sends a seething glare his way.

He’s got the same look on his face as he did earlier when he was looking at them across the reef, but somehow, he looks angrier, more tense.

Lo’ak, none the wiser to the glare his brother is sending, continues to munch on the fruit, smiling widely as the juice drips from his mouth, his words coming out slurred as he speaks with his mouth full.

“So’lek gave Ao’nung a courting gift- A courting gift! Can you imagine that? Who would ever want to court this skxawng- Let alone actually be his mate-,” Lo’ak says, tiny chunks of fruit flying out as he speaks, disgust coloring Ao’nung’s face as he feels a chunk land on his shoulder.

“Lo’ak-,” He growls out, baring his teeth as he brushes off the spit up fruit on his shoulder.

Before he can turn around and throttle the younger, Neteyam is speaking up, cutting the squabbling pair off.

“Enough, Lo’ak. That’s the Ole’eyktan’s son. Do not talk to him like that.” Neteyam says, a frown etched into his brow, a slight twitch of his lips like he wants to hiss and snarl but is holding himself back.

One of Neteyam’s hands is resting on the hilt of his knife, the other clutching onto one of the beads on his loincloth, twisting them repeatedly. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth, centering himself, fighting off whatever thoughts he was having.

Lo’ak rolls his eyes, creeping out from behind Ao’nung and snagging another fruit from the basket, walking languidly toward his brother, throwing the fruit in the air as he speaks.

“Yeah, but he’s also just Ao’nung- Annoying and a pain in the ass.” Lo’ak huffs out, smirking at Ao’nung’s quiet, little hiss.

Neteyam just scowls at his younger brother and yanks him by the wrist, ignoring Lo’ak’s annoyed grumbles and pained, tiny hisses. Lo’ak throws an amused glance over his shoulder toward Ao’nung as he’s pulled away, Neteyam’s voice low and hushed as they get farther and farther away.

Ao’nung watches as they head down the walkway, sidestepping other members of the clan going about their daily duties.

He groans, dropping the basket full of delicious treats and delicacies from So’lek.

“He hates me,” Ao’nung mumbles, watching as a couple of ilu swim underneath him, fluttering in the water without a care in the world. Ao’nung wishes he could just swim in the water, carefree, happy, not a single duty to occupy his time or mind.

A young, newly mated couple strolls by, hand in hand, happy.

Ao’nung stops them, offering up the basket full of fish and fruit, not wanting to be courted by So’lek. They’d benefit more from the food than Ao’nung would, he knows for fact there’s a handful of fruits in there that can help with fertility.

They smile at him brightly, thanking him thoroughly before making their way to their marui.

Ao’nung dives into the water, immediately emitting a series of clicks, calling his ilu to his side and running his hands over his neck, nuzzling his face into his ilu’s beautiful, spotted neck.

‘What made him more angry, my vicinity with Lo’ak or the fact that anyone would even thinking about mating with someone like me’ Ao’nung thinks to himself, trying to get all his negative thoughts out before he makes tsaheylu.

No matter what he does, he can’t change Neteyam’s mind or how he views him. All he can do is pretend that Neteyam ignoring his very existence isn’t making him agitated beyond belief and hurt like an akula just pierced his chest.

Ao’nung makes sure to talk with his father later that night, when the sun has set and made way for the eclipse, politely asking that he not allow just anyone to attempt to court him. Tonowari apologizes sincerely, only wishing the best for his son.

His father does remark being slightly confused, So’lek was a good hunter, a strong swimmer, and a good soul. He had all the makings to be a good mate.

Ao’nung is quick to assure him that he appreciates his father’s thoughts behind his actions, but So’lek is not who he wishes to be with. He is all of those things, a good man, kind, but Ao’nung wishes to choose his own mate, and So’lek is not the one he chooses.

When his children fall asleep that night, Tonowari is left alone with his thoughts, a knowing smile on his lips as he thinks of the mate Ao’nung would choose for himself, perhaps someone who is the eldest son of the Ole’eyktan of the Omatikaya clan.

----------♡----------

It’s dinner a few days later when Ao’nung is on the receiving end of Neteyam’s glare once more, this one equally as scathing as the last. Traditionally, in the Metkayina clan, they have communal dinners, everyone contributing with food and stories.

Every member of the Metkayina clan has their own unique, handmade plate, some tough pieces of ratan woven together, others gorgeous, large shells that have been collected from the ocean floor.

Plenty of the younger members of the clan have pieces of wood, decorated and painted with vivid inks and designs, the swirls of color standing against the dark wood.

When the Sully’s came to the ocean, they had nothing to eat off, looking around at the other clan members nervously, unsure. His mother, Ronal, had gifted them a set they had used when they were younger, the plates ones they had used when they were younger.

The painted, inked wood looking almost hilariously small in all of the Sully family’s hands.

After Ao’nung had apologized to Lo’ak, he had set to making the family their own, individual plates.

Ronal had grumbled at the idea, hissing and declaring that she will make Neytiri and Jake’s, stating that she, as the Tsahik, should be the one to make the former Ole’eyktan and former Tsahik their plates.

Ao’nung had turned his back to his mother and smiled, a tiny thing. It was obvious that the Sully’s were starting to grow on everyone, even his downright terrifying, stoic mother.

He had started with Tuk, figuring the youngest of the Omatikayan family would be the easiest, the child loving all things that come with ocean, shells, animals, coral, everything. It takes a few days until Ao’nung finds the perfect shell, light pink mixing with cream and pearlescent streaks.

He can tell from the first time he saw it that that shell was the perfect one for Tuk. Ao’nung makes sure that no animal is living inside the shell, gently examining it with his hands and eyes.

Once he deems it vacant, he takes it back to his family’s marui, a cloth and bowl of water next to him as he sits down.

It takes him a few hours to scrub the shell clean of any sand or remnants of an animal ever inhabiting the pretty pink conch. But once he’s done, the new shell-turned-plate shines and glistens beautifully, radiating warmth and kindness, just like Tuk.

When he gifts it to the youngest Sully, she starts jumping and bouncing around, almost teleporting around him with her excitement, causing Ao’nung to whip his head around trying to pin her down with his eyes.

She had hugged him so tightly, the beads in her hair clanking softly as she shakes her head while speaking, ‘Thank you’s’  and ‘You’re the best Ao’nung’ spilling out of her. She had animatedly walked off, stopping everyone that she walked past and showing them her new plate, pointing an enthusiastic finger back at Ao’nung.

Safe to say, Tuk liked her new eating utensil.

The next person he decided to focus on was Kiri.

She was harder to scavenge for than Tuk but easier than her two brothers. Ao’nung had known right away that for Kiri, it shouldn’t be focused on something beautiful or ornate, but instead something that connects her with Eywa during their communal mealtimes.

He had decided to weave her a thick, rattan bowl/ plate, colors native to their clan, unique only to their atolls and reefs. Ao’nung had selected pink and purple fabrics, decorating the tough, woven bowl, attaching small shells and beads to the handles on the sides.

Kiri had been surprised when he had presented the gift to her, a slightly suspicious look on her face when Ao’nung had approached her. She had accepted it cautiously, running her fingers over the material slowly, cataloging every detail Ao’nung had included.

She had gasped quietly, her eyes drawn to the intricate, tribal markings on the underside of the bowl. Her voice pipes up softly, a ‘thank you’ tumbling from her lips as she leans forward, a quick, short hug exchange between the two of them before they both pull back, both slightly awkward.

Kiri doesn’t say anything else, just smiles at him warmly, everything that had happened before hand fading into the past, and wonders off, her fingers playing with the rattan gently, lovingly.

That was the first time since he had apologized to Lo’ak that he had felt he had actually done something right, something good.

Lo’ak was definitely harder than Kiri and Tuk. Ao’nung hadn’t been friends with him for long when he had gotten around to making his mealtime plate, but he had learned two very important things. One, he was quite seriously infatuated with Tsireya and two, he ate like he was trying to drain the sea of every last fish.

He had adapted to Metkayina cuisine faster than the rest of his family, skipping over the cautious glances his siblings and parents had thrown at their carefully piled food that first night, containing a variety of fish, fruits, and vegetables, all fresh from the ocean or foraged from the jungle inland, and instead dug in, holding up a thumbs up and smiling.

Ao’nung modeled Lo’ak’s plate off Tsireya’s, mirroring the careful swirls decorating the large, pale blue shell.

His face had lit up when Ao’nung had shoved the shell toward him, making sure not to break it as he deposited it into Lo’ak’s hands. They don’t exchange any words, Lo’ak watching him stalk off quickly, his braids swooshing as he walked.

And the hardest of all was Neteyam. Ao’nung hadn’t even started on his yet, the oldest Sully child absolutely baffling him. It was sort of difficult to make a gift for someone who didn’t like him and only told him things about himself when forced.

(Ao’nung had even made Spider a plate, knowing how much he means to the Sully family, or at least most of them. He had forced Lo’ak to help him write Spider’s name in both Na’vi and the language the Sully’s sometimes speak, English.

The young human had latched onto Ao’nung tightly, a tiny sniffle escaping him. Ao’nung had patted Spider’s back once, awkwardly and stilted, before he gently shoved him away, crossing his arms and pretending that he could care less, trying to ignore the tiny flourish of pride and happiness at the genuine excitement on Spider’s face.)

So, it’s fair to say, Ao’nung has been sitting on the design of Neteyam’s plate for quite some time. His mother had already finished both Neytiri’s and Jake’s already, all of them sending Neteyam slightly sad and pitying glances when the entire clan gathers for meals.

Which is where Ao’nung finds himself now, seated between Tsireya, who’s on his right, and Rotxo on his left. Neteyam was a couple spots down, sitting next to his family, who were currently throwing him empathetic smiles.

Neteyam wasn’t even sparing them a glance, which was rare considering the ever-dutiful nature of him, and was instead, staring at Ao’nung, burning a metaphorical hole into the side of his face.

The Metkayina heir tries not to look up and meet the other’s eyes, not overly eager to see the disdain painted on Neteyam’s face, instead focusing on his plate piled high with grilled fish and nodding along to what his sister was saying.

The conversation is light, Tsireya easing some of the tension from Neteyam glaring as she discusses her soul sister, making sure to detail all the things they talked about since the tulkuns had migrated back home.

Ao’nung loses himself in the conversation, telling his sister what he and his brother had touched on, skimming over the fact that he mentioned the eldest Sully and instead focusing on stories and songs shared.

Rotxo chimes in as well, always happy and joyful, the positivity radiating off the other at all times.

Ao’nung is too busy listening to his best friend and sister to notice the young woman approaching them, a nervous look on her face and a purplish blush high on her cheeks. It’s not until she’s standing directly behind them and clears her throat that the three of them turn around, their attention finally drawn from their conversation.

“Etuwa!” Tsireya calls out excitedly, setting her shell turned plate onto the sand and standing up, embracing the other joyously. The girl, Etuwa, returns the hug and grasps Tsireya with one hand, the other tucked firmly behind her back, like she was hiding something.

“What’re you doing- Are you finished with your meal? Did you not get any yet- Let me fix you a plate,” Tsireya starts, the pearls and shells adorning her skirt glinting against the firelight as she spins quickly, hastily searching for the food making its way around the circle.

“Ah- Tsireya! You’re too kind.” She says, smiling, the curls in her hair bouncing as she tilts her head slightly. “I actually came by to give something- A gift for your brother- For Ao’nung.” Etuwa says, her words breaking up a tiny bit as the blush on her face continues to grow, spreading higher up on her cheekbones.

Ao’nung tries not to let the surprise and shock show on his face as he stands up, brushing the sand off him as he goes, suddenly aware of the number of eyes now on him, including the likes of the entire Sully family, Neteyam’s the most intense of them all.

He fights the urge to seek out Neteyam’s bright, glowing yellow eyes, the urge to hide away from everyone else’s gaze and allow only the eldest Sully to look upon him. But he resists, focusing his attention on the pretty Metkayina girl, and responds, his words as quiet as they can be while still allowing Etuwa to hear him.

“A gift for me? What is the occasion?” Ao’nung questions, ignoring the instinct to hiss at his younger sister as she huffs and rolls her eyes out of the corner of his vision. He feels his stomach fill with the same dread as it had when So’lek had approached him, the same sinking feeling at the intention of the gift.

“It’s a courting gift- I know it’s usually the other way around but with you being the Ole’eyktan- And a mighty warrior- I just thought you’d be too busy to court someone, so I figured I shall try courting you.” Etuwa says bashfully, both of her delicate hands coming out from behind her holding a neatly packaged gift, wrapped with dark green leaves from the island.

She removes one of her hands to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushing a dark turquoise as she holds out her courting gift, waiting patiently as Ao’nung stares at her, his eyes wide.

“A- A courting gift?” He stammers out, his hands firmly next to him, fiddling with a stray piece of fabric from his loin cloth.

Ao’nung doesn’t want a courting gift, not from Etuwa at least. She’s nice, kind, one of the prettiest women in their clan, desired by many, yet Ao’nung does not want her, or her courting gift.

He feels the need to be gentle with her, not wanting to hurt her feelings whatsoever due to her compassionate behavior and her friendship with Tsireya. He’ll take the gift, whatever it may be, and then refrain from gifting her anything back, signaling that no courtship would be taking place.

“Yes, Ma Ao’nung, a courting gift.” She says pleasantly, a bright yet soft smile on her face. The entire clan falls silent at that exact moment, the words ringing out loudly, every person seated around them clearly hearing Etuwa’s words.

Ao’nung feels a shiver run down his spine at the term of endearment, something so intimate and private only reserved for mates or courting couples. His hands are frozen by his thighs at her words, until she reaches forward and wraps her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand up and placing the gift in his palm gently.

He looks down at the leaf-enclosed present, his stomach firmly in his throat and his feet somehow, nerves and unease overcoming him at her words.

Ao’nung doesn’t get the chance to respond to her before there’s a loud commotion behind him, the clattering of a plate and indignant shouts from someone that sounds suspiciously like Lo’ak. He peers around Etuwa, ignoring her protests and tries to pinpoint the disturbance.

Ao’nung easily spots a midnight dark back disappearing through the sea of people gathered around for the evening meal. His eyes flicker over to where the Sully family is sitting, his suspicions on who had stormed out confirmed when he doesn’t spot Neteyam with his family.

His eyes immediately dance back over to Neteyam’s disappearing form, his braids swooshing and swinging aggressively as he walks away, sand kicking up as he goes. Lo’ak looks anxiously between his brother’s back, his parents who look completely lost, Kiri who looks like she knows exactly what’s going on, and Ao’nung, who’s still standing next to Etuwa and Tsireya, gift clutched tightly in his hands.

Ao’nung doesn’t hear what Lo’ak says to his family, but he watches as the younger Sully brother leaps up, apologizing as he weaves through the people sitting on the ground, jostling a handful of plates laden with food, a sheepish smile on his face as he gets through, chasing after his brother immediately.

He’s about to push past Etuwa and Tsireya, the urge to chase Neteyam, and in turn Lo’ak, across the sand and the shore overwhelming, but he’s stopped abruptly, a hand pressing against his chest firmly.

It’s Etuwa.

“Ao’nung, you must open the gift.” She says, her voice soft, flowing in the wind gently, soothing but not enough, nothing like Neteyam’s deep timber that carries in the breeze like the smell of rain, the forbearing of a storm just on the horizon.

Ao’nung hadn’t realized until that very moment that he’d much rather hear Neteyam’s voice, receive Neteyam’s courting gifts, be with Neteyam, his flaws and imperfections only making his body, heart, and very being, yearn for him.

But Neteyam had stormed off in disgust or hatred or anger, Ao’nung isn’t entirely sure. All he knows is that the other did not like seeing him be courted, the reason not mattering.

So, he stays exactly where he is, his toes digging into the sand as he watches the two Sully boys disappear, their silhouettes getting smaller and smaller until Ao’nung can’t see them.

He doesn’t want to open the gift, doesn’t want to have to plaster on a reaction that would befit the heir of the Metkayina clan. But he knows he must, his duties call to him, control him, even in matters such as courting, as love.

Ao’nung takes a deep, steadying breath, drawing his eyes off where Neteyam had run off and instead looking downward, his fingers running over the delicate leaves wrapping the gift. He unwraps it, sluggishly, like he’s moving through the water at dusk, everything moving slowly around him, the fish, the ilu, the coral, the plants.

He can hear Tsireya and Etuwa talking, quietly, the rest of the clan chattering, drowning out all of Ao’nung’s thoughts, blessedly.  

The leaves finally fall away, flittering to the ground, kicking up flecks of sand as it lands, and he’s able to see the courting gift Etuwa had given him. It’s a gorgeous, beaded necklace, shells and bright stones and gems adorning it, a skimwing tooth in the center. It’s a higher neckpiece style, the type his mother wears, the type Tsireya wears, the type he’s seen Neteyam wear.

Even at this moment, he can’t stop thinking of him. Perhaps it’s always been him, since the day the Sully’s came to Awa’atlu, seeking uturu.

If only Neteyam didn’t have such a disdain for Ao’nung, if only Neteyam could see him, like Ao’nung sees Neteyam.

----------♡----------

“Neteyam- Neteyam!” Lo’ak calls out for him, a muttered ‘fuck’ escaping his lips as he trips on a stray tree branch buried in the glittering sand, the sun and moon creating a beautiful glow over the shore.

How is he walking so fast?

Neteyam refuses to turn around, picking up his pace and trying to create as much distance between Ao’nung and himself as possible, ignoring Lo’ak calling for him. Lo’ak has to sprint to catch up to him, throwing his body in front of his older brother to stop him from plowing forward, his hands landing on the other’s shoulders, effectively stopping him.

They’re a good distance away from the rest of the clan, the glow from the fire the only thing still visible from their position on the sand.

“Neteyam- What was that about, huh?” Lo’ak questions, looking at his older brother’s face and then quickly glancing over his shoulder, making sure that their parents or anyone else hadn’t decided to abandon their dinner to come investigate what was so clearly wrong with Neteyam.

Neteyam doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and takes a deep, slightly strangled breath in, attempting to shove Lo’ak to the side and keep stomping down the beach.

Lo’ak just hangs onto his shoulders, refusing to budge, narrowing his eyes at him at his ‘response’ if you could even call it that.

“Bro, what is wrong with you? Did you eat something bad- Do you need some alone time?” Lo’ak asks, a grimace quickly covering his face as he speaks, looking his brother up and down, like he’s looking for a sign that his stomach is upset.

Neteyam tries to brush him off once more, responding with a curt ‘Yes’ and sidestepping him once more, rolling his eyes as Lo’ak refuses to release him, his grip on him tight.

“No- That’s not it. You’ve been acting weird lately, like the time I was with Ao’nung and-” Lo’ak cuts himself off, stepping on his tiptoes the tiniest bit to look over Neteyam’s shoulder, his eyes wide, scanning, a look of understanding spreading across his face as he looks back at his brother.

“This is about Ao’nung, isn’t it?” He says, his eyes narrowed even more as he glares at Neteyam, his grip turning hot as shame and embarrassment flash through his older brother, unbeknownst to him.

Neteyam finally shakes him, Lo’ak finally letting him go, his arms falling to his side as he watches his brother continue to stalk off.

“You can’t hate him forever,” Lo’ak calls out, Neteyam’s back to him, and watches as he stills, his feet almost stumbling in the warm sand as he comes to a halt.

Neteyam slowly turns around, confusion, disbelief, and horror, all painted on his face, and stares at Lo’ak, his feet still planted firmly on the ground below them, refusing or perhaps unable to move.

“What?” Neteyam questions, his hands clenching into nervous fists by his side, Lo’ak’s gaze jumping from his brother’s face to hands, taking note of the other’s blatant nervous tick. Lo’ak crosses his arms and tilts his head, an exasperated huff escaping him.

“You can’t keep holding this grudge against him. He apologized, for everything. Kiri has long since forgiven him, and Tuk is obsessed with him. Bro- Even Mom and Dad like him. Mom- Who rarely likes anyone!” Lo’ak says, his voice low in pitch, like he’s afraid that someone may hear them, may discover his mother’s secret that perhaps she finds this new place they now call home much less abrasive than she originally thought.

“Lo’ak-” Neteyam starts, his younger brother immediately cutting him off, most likely expecting him to go on a tangent about Ao’nung’s actions like he had done after he had almost gotten Lo’ak killed.

“He apologized for the whole leaving me out in the open ocean with a deadly akula thing like three times, which is a lot for Ao’nung, which you’d know if you could get over yourself and actually get to know him. And he’s my friend Neteyam, he is a good person, honestly, you just have to get past his annoying exterior.” Lo’ak says, his chest heaving with his words, his displeasure with his brother rolling off him in waves, almost tangible.

Why couldn’t Neteyam just move on and let things go? His brother can often hold grudges because he thinks he’s protecting his family that way, similar to their father, whereas Lo’ak and his sisters take after their mother, forgiving easily and loving harder.

He wishes, more than ever, that Neteyam would stop being the ‘perfect son’ and just let this entire thing with Ao’nung go.

Neteyam feels panic rising in his chest, the feeling of being misunderstood such an upsetting and dread inducing feeling. The need to explain himself, to defend himself is ingrained in him, used to having to try and explain himself to his father time and time again.

The urge to clear the air, to set the record straight is bigger than the pit in Neteyam’s stomach at having to voice his honest thoughts about Ao’nung, at having to bare his soul to his brother but there is no anyone else he’d trust as much as his brother with his feelings.

Even though he is confident that his younger brother is going to tease him as much as physically possible.

“I do not- That is not-,” Neteyam huffs, the words getting stuck in his throat as he meets Lo’ak’s inquisitive eyes, his entire demeanor guarded as he waits for an explanation. Neteyam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, clenching his hands even tighter, and centers himself.

He can do this. He has to do this. Lo’ak has clearly caught onto his actions and behaviors around Ao’nung and the last thing he wants is to create tension between him and his younger brother.

“I do not hate Ao’nung, nor do I dislike him.” Neteyam finally gets out, hoping and praying to Eywa that that will be enough to deter Lo’ak, enough to settle his curious nature.

He should have known it would not be enough.

“No, you definitely do. Your face gets all purple and splotchy when you’re around him, like mom’s does when dad is being annoying and lovey-dovey and bothering her. And you are always staring at him, like you are trying to kill him with your eyes. And- And you are always butting in when he’s talking to other people, like you don’t want anyone else to be his friend or be close to-,” Lo’ak stops talking, his eyes going even wider than before, true understanding washing over him as he looks at Neteyam and then whips around to look at the distant crowd, the clan still enjoying their nighttime meal and then back to his brother.

Neteyam drops his head, his braids creating a curtain around him as he stares at the sand, his beads clinking together slightly as he attempts to hide his now purple, splotchy cheeks.

“Wait- Wait! The splotchy cheeks and the staring- The staring! And- and the butting in- You like him! You like Ao’nung! You little jealous freak, you didn’t want anyone to court him, that is why you have been so irritable, so weird, lately.” Lo’ak says slightly hysterically, laughing as he speaks like he just passed his iknimaya and not like he just found out that Neteyam likes Ao’nung.

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam hisses, his prediction coming true, his younger brother absolutely making fun of him. And honestly, was he that obvious? He thought he was hiding it a lot better than that but apparently not if even Lo’ak could piece it together, even if it took him a couple of tries.

“No- No- This is too good. This whole time, I thought- Ao’nung thought- That you hated him when in all honesty, you want to court him! You want to be mates! Neteyam and Ao’nung sitting in a tree-” Lo’ak teases, laughing as he dodges his older brother’s attack, Neteyam lunging at him with his hands outstretched.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam yells the flush high on his cheeks and spreading down his neck, wanting to strangle Lo’ak. He just continues laughing, dancing around him, and singing that stupid, little nursery rhyme that their father had taught them when they were children.

Lo’ak doesn’t stop, not until he’s out of breath, leaning over slightly as his chest heaves, laughter still spilling out in short bursts. Neteyam just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, his eye twitching slightly at the younger’s behavior.

“Are you done?” Neteyam questions, absolutely done with him.

Lo’ak nods his head, gulping for air and grabbing his chest, a teasing smirk covering his face.

“For now, yes.” He huffs out, a groan of pain escaping him as Neteyam reaches forward and tugs on one of his braids in retaliation.

“You must not tell anyone, not mother or father. Not Tuk either, she cannot keep a secret, especially from Ao’nung and Kiri would probably tell Spider who would tell Rotxo who would tell Ao’nung.” Neteyam tells Lo’ak, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, not wanting to give his brother any more leverage.

Lo’ak nods his head once more, listening quietly to his older brother as he speaks. They just stare at each other for a beat and then another before a devious smirk takes over Lo’ak’s lips.

Neteyam feels his heart plummet, already knowing that his brother is about to propose one of his crazy, reckless ideas to him. And sure enough, he does.

“You’re going to court Ao’nung and I’m going to help,” Lo’ak says an almost giddy grin on his face at his genius idea.

“Lo’ak- No,” Neteyam says, gritting his teeth as he speaks. As much as he would like to court Ao’nung, to mate with him, the thought of disappointing his parents, not being the perfect, golden child of Toruk Makto is enough to make him balk, to make him cower.

That’s not very mighty warrior of him.

Lo’ak must sense his thoughts, his younger brother knows him better than anyone.

“Bro, come on. Do you really think Mom and Dad will care?” Lo’ak questions, one of his eyebrows raised skeptically, in disbelief. Neteyam just huffs and looks out over the water, watching as the waves lap gently against the shoals.

Neteyam’s lack of answer is equal to a ‘Yes’, at least if you’re fluent in Neteyam language.

“Mom was the daughter of the Ole’eyktan, she was to be the next Tsahìk, she was literally supposed to mate with Tsu’Tey, and she abandoned all of that for Dad, who is just some random guy!” Lo’ak says exasperatedly, his hands flying in the air as he speaks.

Neteyam opens his mouth, ready to defend his father and clarify that he is not just some ‘guy’, that he is Toruk Makto and the former Ole’eyktan of the Omatikaya clan, but Lo’ak beats him to it.

“I know- I know, but you get what I am saying. My point is, that Mom and Dad really do not care who you mate with, as long as you care for them deeply. And you could do a lot worse, plenty of people are vying for the hand of the heir to the Metkayina clan.” He jokes, swallowing his laughs as he watches Neteyam’s eye twitch minutely, clearly displeased at the thought of others courting Ao’nung.

As quickly as he gets upset about the comment, he deflates, a deep sigh leaving him as he crosses his arms. His eyes slide back over the water, the color of the sea reminding him of the swirls of aqua and turquoise painting Ao’nung’s body.

“And what of his parents? What of Ronal? She is the Tsahìk and Tonowari is Ole’eyktan, would they wish for their son to mate outside of their clan?” Neteyam grumbles, accepting that, yes, perhaps his parents would not be opposed, but that Ao’nung’s would be, very much so.

Lo’ak sighs, he’s on the verge of strangling his brother, right here, right now.

“Tonowari wants his children to be happy, no matter what, and he likes dad. Ronal is the same. She may not like us, but she loves her kids, and if Ao’nung wishes it, she will do her best to give it to him. Of that, I’m sure.” Lo’ak says, his voice uncharacteristically soft and reassuring as he steps closer, reaching out and squeezing Neteyam’s bicep.

Neteyam looks down at their feet, watching the sand blow gently over their toes, the midnight blue of his skin stark against the pale white beach. He feels his breath shudder out of him as he avoids his brother’s eyes and the real reason why he’s afraid to court Ao’nung, to mate with him.

He is terrified of his parents’ reactions, his siblings’ reactions, but that’s not what is stopping him, what is making him a coward. It’s the thought of Ao’nung rejecting him, not wanting him, deciding that he’d rather someone other than Neteyam court him.

He voices such thoughts to his younger brother, allowing a tiny shred of vulnerability to show.

“What about Ao’nung? He does not seem to want to be anywhere near me.” Neteyam gripes, looking at Lo’ak with a defeated look, his mouth twisted downward in a frown.

And honestly, Lo’ak is about to fucking snap. How can they both be so stupid? How could Lo’ak have been so stupid? It’s been staring him in the face since Ao’nung and Neteyam met.

Lo’ak lets his hands fall away from his brother’s arms, coming up to scrub at his face instead, muttering a quiet ‘skxawngs’ underneath his breath before taking a deep breath and speaking.

“Ao’nung does not want to be near you, because he thinks you hate him! I don’t even blame him because you have, admittedly, been acting weird since the whole ‘Ao’nung saved your life’ incident.” Lo’ak starts, not even taking a breath or allowing Neteyam to butt in, the other’s mouth already opening to defend himself.

“He is my friend, Neteyam. I know how he feels for you, and it’s the farthest thing from hate. Court him, please, for my sake and for both of yours because I’m going to lose my mind if you both do not start acting right.” Lo’ak huffs exasperatedly, catching his breath and looking into Neteyam’s eyes, urging him to understand him.

As Lo’ak watches his older brother, who never falters, who never wavers in the face of despair, the strongest man and warrior he knows, including their father, he sees the understanding and realization slowly spread across his face.

His eyes light up, the downturn of his lips straightening out, settling into a determined line, the purple, splotchy blush high on his cheeks. He nods his head once, then twice, assured, a single-minded goal now set in place.

“I am going to court Ao’nung.” Neteyam says, stubbornness seeping from him as he speaks, his shoulders set back as he looks at Lo’ak. He is going to do this, he is going to face his fears, so he can be a mate worthy of Ao’nung.

Neteyam can do this, he wants to do this. He wants Ao’nung to be his mate more than anything, more than life itself.

He plans on doing everything in his power to court him, the way Neteyam knows Ao’nung deserves.

----------♡----------

After about five or six lengthy, torturous conversations with both his parents and Lo’ak, separately of course, Neteyam finally feels confident and assured enough to move forward and begin the courting process with Ao’nung.

Both his mother and father had been open and accepting, worried more about the fact that Neteyam had been keeping his feelings to himself for so long than their son having feelings for the Metkayina clan heir.

After their initial shock and acceptance wear off, comes the mating talk and proper rituals and how to court, etc., causing Neteyam’s cheeks to warm up as he tries to think about burying himself in the sand to simply escape this talk with his parents.

He thought that would be the most difficult aspect of all of this, confronting his feelings and being openly vulnerable with his parents but in reality, this next step is much harder. Finding a suitable gift for Ao’nung is proving to be much more challenging than he originally thought.

It takes a couple of days of bouncing ideas off Lo’ak and his father, his mother butting in when she deems it necessary, shutting down Lo’ak’s idea of hunting an akula and bringing it to Ao’nung, scolding her youngest son for even suggesting something so dangerous, to find a courting gift suitable for Ao’nung.

Neteyam wants something that incorporates both Omatikaya and Metkayina traditions, specifically regarding jewelry. Ao’nung’s love for wearing shells and leather and beads in his hair, draped across his thighs, wrapped around his waist, is widely known, making it the perfect gift.

It’s not only something he knows Ao’nung will like, but it’s also intimate, something that takes time and effort, truly showcasing Neteyam’s feelings for him, that he’s willing to put in the work to learn something new, to challenge himself, just for Ao’nung (even though when it comes to the Metkayina heir, nothing is work).

He decides to combine the shells, pearls, and beads of the Metkayina clan but in the design of an Omatikaya armband. It’s not something he’s seen Ao’nung wear, considering it’s not traditionally worn in Awa’atlu culture but it’s something he himself wears often.

Neteyam wants this courting gift to represent them both and his feelings for Ao’nung, which he can feel growing day by day as he observes the other from afar. Lo’ak is correct in the fact that he has not gotten to know Ao’nung by his own mouth, or his own actions, but that does not mean he does not know him, the things he likes, and dislikes, how he acts and behaves, how he feels.

He’s watched Ao’nung.

He’s seen how he takes care of his new baby sister, always carrying her around the village either settled on his hip or wrapped against his chest, pointing exciting and new things out to her every day. Neteyam watches closely as Ao’nung introduces her to water, always shocked at how well Metkayina children take to the water and is mesmerized by the way the other boy smiles openly and laughs freely with his baby sister.

Neteyam’s seen how ever since the ship, ever since Tsireya was taken, Ao’nung tends to always be lurking behind her, whether she’s by herself, or with others, it doesn’t matter, he’s never too far behind. He’s seen how Tsireya had exasperatedly explained to Ao’nung, multiple times, that she was fine by herself and didn’t need her big brother trailing behind her like a shadow. Not that it did any good in stopping Ao’nung from following her.

He’s seen how no matter how busy Ao’nung is with his future Ole’eyktan duties set by his father, no matter how strict or rigorous they may be, Ao’nung will make time for some of the young village children, teaching them to fish, to hunt, how to properly weave baskets or collect the ripest and tastiest fruit, always patient and kind.

So, admittedly, yes, Neteyam has not had many conversations with Ao’nung, only a few stilted and tense exchanges, always prompted by Lo’ak, usually resulting in Neteyam walking off, unsettled by something he had yet to put a name to.

But that does not mean he does not know Ao’nung. He’s seen him, truly seen him, underneath his prickly exterior, his stand-offish, indifferent façade he so often portrays.

Which is how he finds himself, kneeling in the ocean, the sea lapping at his waist, the soft sand beneath his knees as he searches for the perfect shells and pearls and anything else that would add to the courting jewelry, pondering all the times he’s seen Ao’nung’s true personality, a tiny, barely-there smile on his face.

Along with the smile, though, is a tiny furrow of his brow, determination coloring his face, most likely making him look slightly weird as he digs in the sand, muttering to himself, recounting certain shells he found and what would go well with them, as well as glancing back to the shore every so often, eyeing the brown leather pouch sitting in the sand, heavy with his findings.

It’s going well-ish. He’s found a few shells and other bits and baubles that he thinks will match both his and Ao’nung’s personality and also showcase his feelings for the Metkayina heir.

But he has yet to find anything that really screams ‘I like you and I want to court you!’, deepening the furrow in his brow as he continues to search, watching the slight ebb and flow of the sea wash away tiny flecks of sand.

Neteyam is so focused on his search for the perfect addition to his courting gift for Ao’nung, that he doesn’t even realize the other approaching, not until he sees Ao’nung’s shadow rippling in the water, the ocean swooshing as he approaches him.

Neteyam is quick to hide the shell he had just grabbed, a dark brown tiger cowrie adorned with beautiful luminescent stripes, clenching it tightly in his fist, hoping the newcomer doesn’t see what is in his hand.

When he looks up, he’s shocked to find Ao’nung looking down at him, his head cocked to the side as he peers at Neteyam, a look of confusion on his face, his hair uncharacteristically down today instead of in its usual updo.

Neteyam gets lost for a second, admiring the other’s beauty as he gazes up at him. His eyes are so beautiful, so bright and warm. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Ao’nung clears his throat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Are you alright? You look, distressed? If you have lost something, perhaps I could help you find it, forest boy.” Ao’nung says, a teasing smirk gracing his ethereal face, his lips curving upward, the look of confusion washing away. Neteyam drags his eyes down, watching as Ao’nung digs his feet into the warm sand beneath them, desperately trying to formulate an answer that does not give way to what he is thinking.

“I- Uh- You see-” Neteyam starts, glancing back up at Ao’nung briefly, his telltale splotchy blush appearing on his face, his nerves and unease evident on his face. Okay, so apparently, now that Neteyam has come to terms with his feelings, he is unable to think properly in front of Ao’nung, which is just great.

“I was just-” He trails off, unsure of where his sentence is going until something catches his eye, something glinting and glittering in the sand, the water reflecting sharply off it. Neteyam immediately cuts himself off, diving at the object that caught his attention. Of course, the object happens to be right next to Ao’nung’s feet, which causes the Metkayina boy to jump away from Neteyam’s hands grabbing near him, looking very suspicious.

As he grabs the object, he kicks sand up, obscuring Ao’nung’s view, making him most likely appear crazy as he looks downward at his hand.

“It is perfect,” Neteyam says softly to himself, eyes wide as he stares at the creamy white pearl in his hand, the gemstone reflecting the bright sun off it beautifully, the surface perfectly smooth. He’s in awe at finding something so exquisite, so breathtaking. He already knows it’ll make the perfect courting gift for Ao’nung, the boy who is standing off to the side of him, still staring at him confused, unable to see what is in his hands.

“What is it- What-” Ao’nung starts, his smile gone, his lips downturned in confusion and his head shaking in bewilderment, his arms still firmly crossed over his chest. Neteyam risks a glance upward, briefly, noting how divine Ao’nung appears with the sun at his back, his curls framing his face, his arms rippling with muscle.

“I have to go- I apologize!” Neteyam shouts, scrambling to his feet and shuffling backward, retreating toward the leather pouch seated on the warm sand on the shore. He keeps his eyes on Ao’nung, making sure the other doesn’t follow him and doesn’t continue to question him because he really does not have a good answer. He’s well aware of how suspicious he looks in the moment.

As Neteyam reaches the shore, he quickly hurries to the pouch, tucking the pearl into the bag amongst his other findings and rushing off, making sure that he doesn’t trip over his own feet in his haste to get away from Ao’nung, not wanting the other to catch onto what he is doing.

In his eagerness at finding the perfect gemstone for his courting gift and wanting to hide it from Ao’nung, he had dropped the previous shell he had been holding, the delicate item drifting toward Ao’nung as the water shifted in his movements.

Ao’nung watches as the Omatikaya boy rushes off, confused and clueless as to what the other was doing in the shallows of the water, sifting through the sand. He spots the tiger cowrie next to his feet, his confusion growing as he bends down to inspect the item, his eyes glancing back up to Neteyam’s retreating form as he runs his finger over the slightly jagged surface.

“Why was he looking for shells?” Ao’nung muses to himself, quickly shaken out of his thoughts as Lo’ak calls for him, Tsireya next to him, both of them seated comfortably on their ilu’s, smiling at him as they wave, beckoning him over.

As Ao’nung joins them, he realizes belatedly, that that was the first conversation, although brief and odd, that he and Neteyam had that wasn’t oddly charged, with no tension in either of them. It was nice, he thinks to himself, letting his sister and Lo’ak sweep him into whatever they’re doing.

----------♡----------

Neteyam had made quite a quick getaway, his feet carrying him quickly from the shore to the cluster of maruis carefully constructed on the water, the waves lapping underneath his feet on the rattan walkway.

He’s not even sure where he’s going at first, his bag of shells and other miscellaneous objects clutched tightly to his chest, his eyes glancing around as he hurries forward, allowing his feet to take him where they so seem to desire.

It’s not until he’s right in front of Ao’nung’s family’s marui that he notices where he had been headed, what he had subconsciously been seeking.

Neteyam had spent roughly two weeks in the Ole’eyktan’s marui, Ronal wanting him close by in case something were to happen to him, not allowing him out of her sight for even a minute. He remembers his parents flitting in, his sisters and brother lying beside him, Tsireya always making sure he had water and Ao’nung, only visiting late at night, when he thought Neteyam asleep, wetting a piece of cloth and placing it on his forehead, effectively cooling his feverish body.

He remembers the nights when it was just Ronal and him, his nightmares paired with his fitful sleeping due to the wound enough to make the Tsahik herd her family out of their own marui, claiming she did not want anyone in her way as she tended to Neteyam.

And when he apologized profusely, for everything, for bringing this war here, for creating this mess, for making the Ole’eyktan sleep in another marui, she stayed silent, allowing him, her back to him as she ground something up. And when he finished, when he was out of breath from speaking, the bullet having caused weakness in his stamina, in his courage, in his bravery, only then did she speak up.

Neteyam remembers. Ronal had spoken so quietly, her words barely audible.

“You saved Tsireya and Ao’nung, and in turn, me. I could not bear losing either of them, and neither could your mother shoulder the loss of you. I would not wish that, on any mother. You are still but a child, your mother’s child.” She had spoken, the only time Neteyam had ever heard kindness in her voice that was directed toward him.

She had turned around quickly, applying the poultice onto the bullet wound on his chest, going in on him and lecturing him about resting, and how he should move as little as possible as he heals. Neteyam had grimaced and nodded his head, listening as intently as possible through the searing pain.

Neither of them spoke of that night again.

But Neteyam still found himself making his way sometimes to their Marui, always being careful that no one would see him as he drifted past the Ole’eyktan’s family marui. He’s not sure why, perhaps because he had spent so much time there before Ronal had allowed him into the watchful care of his mother.

Neteyam isn’t expecting anyone, most maruis empty this early in the day, most clan members out hunting, gathering, weaving, crafting, anything and everything they could be doing, they were. So, when he stumbles past, still slightly confused as to why he decided to go here, he’s shocked to see Tonowari sitting in the center of the marui, his back to Neteyam.

Before he can just slip past Ao’nung’s family marui and pretend that he is strolling the walkways connecting everything instead of peering into other navii’s homes, Tonowari calls out, startling Neteyam as he does.

“No use standing out there, I know you are here, boy.” He calls out, Neteyam’s eyes going wide as he speaks, clutching the bag tighter against his body, like somehow, the Ole’eyktan has eyes in the back of his head, all-seeing.

Neteyam stays still for only a second longer, his feet moving him into the marui when he sees the slight jerk in Tonowari’s frame, motioning him forward.

Neither of them says anything as Neteyam shuffles into the marui, both quiet, the air still, until Tonowari motions him forward once more, Neteyam quick to move. He comes to stand in front of the Ole’eyktan, his head bowed slightly in respect, dropping the leather pouch from his chest and holding it tightly in his hands, both in front of him.

“Sit,” Tonowari says, a kind smile on his face, even though there’s a hardness around his eyes, similar to his father’s, the evidence of leading etched into their faces, their wrinkles. Neteyam goes down softly, deftly, making sure to give the Ole’eyktan plenty of room for whatever he was doing prior to Neteyam’s spontaneous visit.

His eyes are on the leather pouch in his hands, but he dares a quick glance upward, spotting what the elder is working on. It’s a tiny bracelet, minuscule in his large hands, but he handles it with delicacy, a gentleness that only a father could have.

It’s obvious it is for Al’ira, the newest addition to their family, the youngest of the three siblings. The string is covered with shells and pearls, even tiny carvings made out of wood, all representing the sea.

Neteyam doesn’t say anything just glances upward to Tonowari’s face, bowing his head once more in respect before meeting the other’s eyes.

“I am not overly skilled in making jewelry, not like Ao’nung and Tsireya are, but I do enjoy it, especially when I am making it for those I love. I have a feeling that you are very similar in that regard.” Tonowari says, his fingers easily placing bead after bead onto the string, even while looking at Neteyam, his hands moving on instinct, and love.

And then it hits Neteyam what Tonowari just said, his eyes glancing downward at the pouch in his hands, his gaze widening at the Ole’eyktan’s knowing words.

“I- Yes, I am not adept at making jewelry, but I do enjoy it when it pertains to the ones I care about,” Neteyam responds softly, fingering open the bag in his hands, the perfect pearl gazing up at him through all the other beauties of the sea he had collected.

He feels Tonowari’s eyes on him, both falling silent again, waiting for the other to make the first move, to break the quiet that has befallen the two of them. Neteyam fiddles with the strings, cinching the bag closed and looking back up at Tonowari.

He has a knowing look on his face, a tiny smile turning his lips upward, his eyes crinkling with hidden laughter at the young man’s plight.

“Why have you come, Neteyam? What is it that you seek?” Tonowari says quietly, his curls falling over his shoulders, his inquisitive gaze so much like Ao’nung’s it strikes Neteyam through the heart, the similarities between father and son so obvious.

“I- I am not sure. One minute, I am fleeing from Ao’nung, and the next, I find myself here.” Neteyam explains, confusion coloring his voice as he speaks, unsure of his own actions, only sure of what his heart wants, in this very moment, and everyone in the future.

Ao’nung.

“If you came here, looking for my permission to court my son, then you are gravely mistaken. It is not my permission you need; it is Ao’nung’s own. He may be my son, and I may always view him as my boy- But he is a man now. If he, and only if he, wishes to mate with you, then that is what shall happen.” Tonowari speaks softly, his voice calm and even as it always is, the hint of a smile still etched into his face.

Neteyam’s eyes go wide as he shakes his head quickly, his braids clinking together with the effort, his cheeks turning purple with hints of dark, midnight blue, just a shade darker than his skin.

Not that Neteyam doesn’t want his approval, because he does, but he’s also well aware that like Tonowari said, it’s Ao’nung’s choice in the end. He had been worried that the other’s parents would be opposed, but truthfully, Neteyam was more scared that Ao’nung would say no.

Like Lo’ak said, Ronal and Tonowari love their children and would allow them to pursue their happiness, no matter what, or who.

Tonowari huffs out something that resembles a laugh, his head ducking briefly as he collects himself, trying not to laugh too loudly at Neteyam’s blubbering and stuttering, turning his eyes back up toward the young Omatikaya.

“If not for that, then maybe something else. Something to add the final touch to your courting gift then?” Tonowari says playfully, a smile on his lips as he reaches behind him and grabs a few strings of leather, a gorgeous deep and dark brown, reminiscent of the trees in the forest, reminding him of his home.

Neteyam reaches out, his fingers skimming over the pieces of leather, the perfect, final touch for his courting gift for Ao’nung, tying everything together to create the most exquisite jewelry, filled with love and emotion.

Tonowari watches as Neteyam grasps the leather pieces, a soft, tentative smile spreading over the young boy’s face as he does.

“I could show you a few things, certain customs, and jewelry unique to the Metkayina? Maybe it will help you with your gift.” The Ole’eyktan says, gesturing toward the materials lying around him, the bracelet he had placed on his thigh when he had reached for the dark, leather strings.

Neteyam nods his head, the anxiety previously on his face, and in his heart, washing away from him as he looks at Tonowari, his eyes bright and wide.

The Ole’eyktan takes that as his cue to start explaining, more than happy to show Neteyam the ropes and intricacies of Metkayina jewelry making.

----------♡----------

The two of them spend the next three hours in the Ole’eyktan’s marui, Tonowari helping Neteyam thread the shells on the leather, listening intently as he describes his ideas to him. It’s not until Ronal stomps into their home, a snarl on her face as she starts in on her mate for shrinking off his duties.

Until she notices Neteyam next to him, her voice trailing off as she inspects the both of them, her eyes running over the materials scattered around them, the arm band clutched tightly in Neteyam’s hands.

She doesn’t say anything, just takes a deep breath in and blows it out, settling her hands on her hips and demanding Tonowari follow her, so he can actually do his duties instead of hiding away in their marui.

Tonowari leaves him with a quiet, calm goodbye and free pickings of all the supplies laid out before quickly attaching himself to his wife’s side, a tiny smile and a kiss pressed against her curls.

Even as she tries to shove him off, she’s smiling, and Neteyam is struck by how similar her smile is to Ao’nung’s.

It takes him another five days, working from sun up to sun down on his courting gift for Ao’nung. Lo’ak brings him his meals and his mother helps him with any ties and knots that he’s not familiar with.

And when he finally, finally finishes, the armband, he finds that he can already imagine Ao’nung wearing it. The shells are threaded together with the leather from Tonowari, the pearl he had found nestled in the middle, standing out amongst all the brightly colored shells.

Beads are hanging down from the armband, varying in dark blues and greens, reminiscent of the forest back home, of places he’d love to visit with Ao’nung. There are different teeth amongst the beads, all taken from Tonowari’s collection, all from creatures hidden in the depths of the sea.

Neteyam hopes that Ao’nung likes it, that he understands the meaning behind the gift.

As he wakes up the day after he finishes his courting gift, he feels anxiety buzzing beneath his skin, the urge to dive under the water and hide there forever almost overwhelming him. It’d be easier to figure out how to breathe underwater than to confess to Ao’nung, at least that is what he feels.

He’s sitting there quietly as his mother prepares breakfast, his father banned from helping since he almost burnt down their marui when they first arrived, the same leather pouch he had been collecting shells in sitting beside him, the armband now nestled safely inside.

Lo’ak takes that as his opportunity to start talking and share his opinion (Lo’ak will take any opportunity to blab, especially at the expense of his siblings, especially at Neteyam’s expense).

“Are you finally done acting like a recluse? Ready to court Ao’nung? Neteyam and Ao’nung kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-,” His younger brother teases, only cutting himself off when Kiri reaches across the floor and smacks him on the back of his head, hissing at him and then rolling her eyes when he makes an exaggerated groan of pain.

“Knock it off, Lo’ak,” Kiri says, sending a small, supportive smile her brothers’ way. Neteyam nods his head in thanks, even though he is practically immune to Lo’ak’s teasing at this point. Lo’ak is about to speak up, most likely to defend himself against his older sister and brother before Tuk pipes up.

“Is that what you and Tsireya were doing yesterday? You guys thought no one was around but I was trying to find you because it was dinner time and you both were super close-,” Tuk starts, genuine confusion and bewilderment on her face, Lo’ak’s eyes going wide as could be and jumping over to his younger sister, slapping his hand over her mouth right as Jake drops the knife he was sharpening, Neytiri slamming the bowl down in her hands, a seething scowl on her lips.

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri growls out, her canines prominent as she hisses his name out. Lo’ak just shakes his head, desperately looking at anyone and everyone to save him, except for his father, whose gaze he is ignoring with everything in him.

Kiri huffs out a laugh, taking that as her cue to leave, grabbing some of the fruit their mother had cut up and standing up, rolling her eyes as Lo’ak jumps up, mumbling an excuse about needing to do something with Kiri and quickly shoving her out the front of the marui, ignoring Neytiri’s sharp yells.

When the two of them are out of sight and hearing distance, Neteyam shoots Tuk a bright smile, reaching out to ruffle his baby sister’s hair. Neytiri is speaking low, her voice coming out fast as she talks to Jake, clearly upset and disturbed by the newfound evidence of Lo’ak being intimate with Tsireya without properly courting her.

Neteyam watches as his father has a hint of a teasing smirk on his face, whispering back to her, most likely pointing out how the two of them mated if the change in his mother’s mood is anything to go off, coupled with the blush high on her cheeks, so similar to how his own looks.

He stands up, snatching Tuk as he goes, juggling her into a comfortable position on his back, allowing her to cling to him like a syaksyuk, and quickly makes his way out of the marui, allowing his parents to squabble in peace.

“‘Teyam, are we going to find Ao’nung?” Tuk says softly, perched on his back, her chin hooked over his shoulder as she scans the walkway as they move toward the shore, the water clear underneath them.

Neteyam hums in confirmation, nudging his head into his younger sisters, his courting gift clutched tightly in his hand, the other tucked under Tuk’s knee, supporting her as they make their way.

“I am going to find Ao’nung. You are going to hang out with some of the kids your age.” Neteyam says, hoping that Tuk won’t argue against him, or throw a tantrum as she so often does when something does not seem to be going her way. She is only a child, no matter how many deaths and bloody fights she has seen.

“No,” She says, stretching out the ‘o’, smooshing her face against Neteyam’s shoulder as his feet hit the warm sand covering the beach, the sun shining down on them brightly, warming them both as Neteyam continues his trek.

He’s headed to the area where the ilu tend to reside, the young children of the Metkayina clan favoring that spot to swim and play at.

“I want to go with you- To find Ao’nung. Please!” She says, her voice pitching high as she whines, thrashing slightly in Neteyam’s hold, his grip tightening to make sure she doesn’t accidentally fling herself off.

Neteyam huffs as he makes his way toward the kids splashing in the water, the ilus swirling around them happily, chirping as the children squeal in joy. Even though she protests, Neteyam can feel her perk up slightly at the sight of them, her delight at being around others close to her age obvious.

“Tuk, courting someone should be private and intimate. It is not something you bring your baby sister to.” Neteyam says, a teasing lilt to his tone, but an undercurrent of truth as well. Tuk just puffs out her cheeks and sighs, clearly upset with her older brother but not seeing the point in continuing to argue with him.

It only takes them a few more minutes until they’re upon the group, all of the younger na’vi in the water waving to them, some of the kids rushing forward to greet her. Tuk wiggles off Neteyam’s back, immediately forgetting about tagging along with him and rushing forward into the water with her friends, splashing around excitedly.

Neteyam stands there for a little bit, watching how well Tuk has adapted since they first came, making friends and integrating herself into the Metkayina’s way of life, and feels a smile tugging at his lips.

Eventually, Tuk shoos him away, claiming that he’s embarrassing her.

Neteyam wanders down the shore, the water lapping at his feet as he walks along the edge of the water, the sand warm beneath him. He walks for a while, the leather pouch held tightly in his hand, careful not to clutch too strongly, not wanting to crush any of the delicate beads and shells on the armband.

For some reason, now that he wants to find Ao’nung, the other is nowhere to be found. Neteyam looks in all of his usual spots, the tiny cluster of atolls on the west side of the island, where he usually likes to watch the sunset, the last of the day disappearing over the horizon, the tallest tree on Awa’atlu with its skinny branches and delicate buds of promised flowers, where Ao’nung usually chooses to nap under when he was shirking off his duties. He had even asked Rotxo if he was out hunting, the other looking at him confused at both the question and the fact that ‘no he has not seen Ao’nung all day’.

Neteyam keeps pacing around the island, looking for the Metkayina heir anywhere and everywhere, but he cannot find him, no matter where he looks or who he asks. Ao’nung seems to have vanished into thin air.

It’s not until the sun has begun to set, the sky turning a beautiful burnt orange with pinks and purples dotting the horizon, the moon already rising that he remembers the one place he has yet to check.

The Cove of the Ancestors.

Neteyam may not be as good of a swimmer as Tsireya or Ao’nung or even Lo’ak, but he is better than he was when they first arrived in Awa’atlu, when the pair of siblings started teaching them.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the Cove, the floating islands above the water tilting softly, the ones underwater swaying softly with the current, the Ranteng Utralti glowing brightly from underneath the blue, crystalline water.

The spirit tree illuminates the Cove, bright pink shimmering off the water and reflecting upward, onto the floating islands and the limestone arches. Neteyam is struck once more with the beauty of Eywa, the beauty of her creations.

He runs his eyes over the entirety of the Cove, taking in everything, when he finally spots Ao’nung, the other curled up in one of the many alcoves, his knees drawn toward his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, his face turned to the side with his cheek pressed into the top of his knees, his gaze hazy as he looks at the tree of souls.

Neteyam is quick to swim over, the courting gift now tied around his waist and secured to his cummerbund safely.

He’s not a quiet swimmer, so the fact that Ao’nung doesn’t recognize his presence until he’s hauling himself up and onto the tiny stone overlook where he’s crammed himself is worrying. Ao’nung’s head jerks up, his eyes slightly clearing as he looks at Neteyam.

“What are you doing here?” Ao’nung says, quietly, his voice tight and tense as he speaks. He drags his eyes off Neteyam, letting them settle back onto the tree of souls, the luminescent pink reflecting off him, spreading over his skin, making the aquamarine color look even softer.

Neteyam doesn’t say anything, just sits there, his feet dangling into the water, the ocean has seemed to stop, slow in the Cove of the Ancestors. Droplets of water slide off him, his arms and face quickly drying as he stares at Ao’nung, watching him, analyzing him.

His hands find the pouch around his waist, untying the knot carefully so he can hold the courting gift that is wrapped delicately in the warm, wet leather.

Before he can get the armband out of its leather confinement, Ao’nung is speaking again, his tone harsher, a slight tremble evident.

“Neteyam- What are you doing here- What could you possibly want from me-,” Ao’nung huffs out, all of his emotions clear as day. Anger, frustration, confusion, desperation, hurt. Neteyam can hear them all, can feel them all.

Ao’nung cuts himself off though as he watches him pull open the bag, uncinching it and reaching his hand inside, carefully grasping the armband and pulling it out, the turquoise beads and the cream pearl glinting beautifully in the setting sun and fuchsia bioluminescence.

“What is that?” Ao’nung stutters out, confusion now the overwhelming emotion on his face and also radiating off him, everything else taking the back burner. He eyes the armband suspiciously, looking between Neteyam and the piece of jewelry before back up to Neteyam.

They both just stare at each other, neither of them saying anything. Neteyam had planned out exactly what he wanted to say, yet suddenly, all of his words seemed to have escaped him. He doesn’t know how to put into words everything he’s feeling, everything he wants. Not just with anyone, but with Ao’nung.

It’s silent for a moment longer, Neteyam opening and then closing his mouth as he tries to put his feelings and wants into words. He drops his eyes down, looking at his courting gift for Ao’nung, running his thumb over the jagged teeth decorating the jewelry.

But the other doesn’t stop staring at him, Neteyam can feel his eyes on him.

“When I cannot sleep, I find myself coming here. Some days, I just stare at the water, watching, like that devil ship is going to surface and wreak havoc once more. Other days, I connect with Ranteng Utralti, reliving that day over and over again, watching myself make the biggest mistake of my life, letting you go, alone, onto that cursed ship all over again!” Ao’nung cries out, his despair and hurt evident, his hands clenching his forearms tightly, his arms still wrapped around his knees as he looks at Neteyam.

His eyes are full of so much pain it makes Neteyam’s heartache. Ao’nung’s fingers dig into his skin with so much despair. Neteyam doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to comfort him. He hadn’t even known that Ao’nung felt this way until this very moment.

“If I- If I would have just gone with you, then perhaps you would not haven gotten hurt- Perhaps you would not hate me as much as you so clearly do! I know you did not like me before, but ever since that day- Ever since you got shot, you have developed a hatred for me that I cannot fathom and if I could do anything to go back- To stop you from going alone and getting hurt, then I would. I would do anything, Neteyam, to save you from the pain of that day.” Ao’nung chokes out, tears wetting his eyes, his gaze firmly fixed on Neteyam even as the words tear him apart.

He stares at him, dumbfounded.

Ao’nung looks exhausted, his feelings and guilt eating him alive, his skin paler than how it usually looks, the life and brightness usually coloring his eyes and face missing.

How had Neteyam not seen? How he had not seen how his behavior and attitude had affected Ao’nung?

He wasn’t thinking about how he was making Ao’nung feel, too focused on how he himself felt, too busy trying to figure out just how much he truly cared and loved the other.

“Ao’nung-,” He starts, reaching out toward him. He doesn’t know what to say, his words getting stuck in his throat. He looks down at his hands, at the courting gift in them.

Neteyam’s words may fail him at times, but his actions never do.

He thrusts the armband toward Ao’nung, nodding his head at it when the other just looks at him, clueless as to what to do.

“Take this- It is yours- I mean, it is for you- I made it for you.” Neteyam stammers through his words, trying, and failing, to properly voice his feelings. He sighs when Ao’nung continues to stare at him, his eyes wide, not making any move to reach out and grasp the armband.

Neteyam decides to give up on trying and instead, just speaks, doing instead of thinking.

“This,” Neteyam says, motioning toward the jewelry in his hand, still outstretched, “Is my courting gift to you. I tried to combine the Metkayina style with something we wear often in the Omatikaya clan, to symbolize the both of us. I,-“ Neteyam says, losing some of his confidence, his words getting lost in his throat as Ao’nung reaches out and takes the courting gift, his brows furrowing as he inspects it, running his fingers over every bead and tooth, the leather strap pulling a soft gasp from him.

Neteyam forces himself to keep pushing forward. If Ao’nung could be brave and open his heart, then so can he.

“I wish to be with you, Ao’nung. To be mated for life. I care for you, deeply. I did not realize how I felt, until that day, when I got shot. When I saw you, above me, your hands covered in blood, your eyes full of fear and terror, I thought about what would happen if I left- If I died. Not just with my family, but with you. I would never be able to tell you how I feel- Tell you that I love you.” Neteyam says, the words flowing out of him, easier than anything he has said all evening. He wants to reach forward, press close to Ao’nung, and feel him but he refrains, allowing the other to come to him instead, well aware of the pain he has already inadvertently caused him.

Ao’nung’s head shoots up at that, his eyes finally tearing off the armband and looking up at him, surprise written all over his face.

“You- You do not hate me?” Ao’nung stammers out, clutching the beads tightly to his chest, shuffling closer to Neteyam, his legs falling from where they were curled up against him, creeping ever so closer to him.

“I could not hate you, Ao’nung, even when you tried to get Lo’ak killed.” Neteyam starts, smiling softly as he tries to interrupt him, most likely to tell him that he had tried to hurt Lo’ak all those months ago, but he did apologize, the two now attached at the hip most days.

Neteyam continues.

“I know you apologized; everyone has forgiven you. And if you seek my forgiveness, then you have it. You can have anything you want, Ao’nung.” Neteyam says, slowly moving closer and closer until they’re almost nose to nose, sharing the same breath, Ao’nung’s hands still pressed against his own chest, the armband held delicately in between.

“What I want, is you, Neteyam. And perhaps for you to help me put on my courting gift.” Ao’nung says, leaning forward, pressing their foreheads together, letting their noses brush against each other, their lips dancing just out of reach.

Neteyam nods, their heads bumping against each other as he does. He takes a minute to appreciate the moment, feels the relief of having his feelings out in the open, and reciprocated as well. They breathe in sync, both calm, the color returning to Ao’nung’s cheeks as he drops his hands from his chest and presses the armband into Neteyam’s hands.

They both pull back, Neteyam reaching up and carefully wrapping the leather around Ao’nung’s bicep and tying it, the pearl sitting in the middle, the akula teeth dangling from it, and the beads glinting in the moonlight that has come over them.

Neteyam runs his hand over the jewelry now adorning Ao’nung, smiling at the other shyly, secretly proud of his work, and not-so-secretly happy at Ao’nung accepting his courting gift.

“I have the perfect courting gift in mind,” Ao’nung says, leaning forward once more, his curls slipping over his shoulder as he presses close, his lips so close to Neteyam’s.

He can feel the smile on Ao’nung’s lips as he speaks, feeling one tug at his own at the feeling alone, already well aware that whatever the other says, Neteyam will continue to smile, absolutely gone for him.

“How would you feel about finally getting a plate of your own?”