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The water was cold on his body, soothing him like he would a baby. A slow back and forth, but stillness unlike that on land. Ao’nung could feel the tiny golden squid swimming past him, brushing his skin, a little bit tickly. The way of water has no beginning and no end, and it was him and it was Neteyam. And there was Neteyam, walking up to him with the biggest smile on his face.
The sky was still pale, clear of clouds, and Naranawm’s large eye was still visible, softly casting her light onto Eywa’eveng. Yayo fluttered around in the air, their melodic calls falling on deaf ears as Ao’nung took in the beauty that was Neteyam. He was wearing the things he usually did, perfectly at home against the deep sea blue of his skin, but there was a shiny little white pearl braided into a braid, the one Ao’nung gave him just before he…
“I like this on you.”
Neteyam had a hand on his chin, tilting his face this way and that to catch the soft sunlight of the reef in the morning on, all the better to see Ao’nung with. The simplicity of domesticity of the action was an arrow to his heart. Ao’nung enveloped Neteyam in his arms, the press of his cheek to his, a hug he had craved for hours and days that felt like years.
Warm, warm, warm. Neteyam was so warm, blood thrumming through his body like it was supposed to. Ao’nung could feel hot tears pushing their way forward in his eyes but he blinked them back, not wanting wavering blurriness to interrupt his vision of his lover. His.
“You look handsome. Strong.” Neteyam commented, and Ao’nung blushed, dark crimson like the flower Neteyam had once picked for him. A beautiful courting gift for a beautiful boy, Neteyam had told him. Ao’nung’s heart had stuttered in his chest and he had wanted to crawl into the sand. Right now, though, he wished he had kissed him right there, and never stopped.
“I missed you.” He whispered into Neteyam’s soft skin, a little muffled but Neteyam always knew exactly what he wanted to say without needing to hear it clear. His soul was Neteyam’s soul so he understood him wholly. Neteyam just laughed, pulling back to study Ao’nung’s new tattoo.
“What has this young warrior been up to?” He replied. The words came out slow and dripping in love, just like they always did. Everything they did together, every word spoken between them was as though it was slowed and looped, a perfect silence only they could read, a world of their own just for them.
The beach was cool this early in the morning, Awa’atlu still quiet, the restless water lapping at their toes. Ao’nung’s tail couldn’t stop itself wrapping around Neteyam’s, the way it always did when he got the chance, like it had a mind of its own.
“I haven’t been to visit in a while because.. a lot has happened.” Neteyam cradled his face in his hands again, slowly stroking along the markings on Ao’nung’s teal skin. Ao’nung leaned into Neteyam again, burying his head against the other boy’s neck. A perfect fit. It was as though Eywa had made their bodies with the other in mind.
“I know.. I know.” Neteyam shushed him, petting his hair softly. He had met Ronal and Rotxo again when they had joined him in the Spirit World. Only Eywa knows how much grief Ao’nung must be carrying now.
Ao’nung stepped back, face wet and warm, little shivers trembling through his limbs as Neteyam continued to rub his arms comfortingly. He kissed his face, kissed the saltiness of the tears away from the boy. Delicate, like Neteyam thought he deserved, like he just wanted to, and Ao’nung broke down in tears again. The tiny sobs wracking his body made Neteyam want to burn the world for taking so much away from this lovely one.
“Oh, angel.” He gathered Ao’nung back into his arms and sat them down on the beach. It was beautiful, the slow ebb and flow of the water, the soft crunch of the sand under their bodies, and the noise of the village waking up, rustling marui flaps and the squeaks of ilu, wind in the treetops and the rustling of the mangrove leaves high above. All Ao’nung could focus on was the steady thrum of Neteyam’s heart, never to be doomed to cease again.
He wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he hadn’t meant to cry. “I know this was supposed to be a nice moment. I don’t know why I’m sad.” He knew that you weren’t supposed to talk about death to the dearly departed themselves. They were happy in Eywa’s arms, safe, complete. But Ao’nung felt lost and broken, like a net ravaged by a pxazang that refused to be repaired.
Neteyam just shook his head, continuing to hold Ao’nung and caress his hair. His boyfriend was so perfect. Ao’nung entwined their hands like he had yearned to the moment he laid eyes upon him many eclipses ago, seeing him stand so strong on the sandbank, his ikran, Syura, tossing her head behind him. So tough, this young warrior. Even though Ao’nung had not understood his urge then, it did not go away.
Now, he studied the difference in their hands. Neteyam’s slim blue hand versus Ao’nung’s finned teal one. Neteyam kissed his forehead, just holding him. “Are you okay now?” Ao’nung nodded. His lover was the sweetest.
He felt the air ripple around him, and bit back a groan. It was the real world, come to beckon him back. He knew his time here was short, coming to an end, and yet he refused to admit it.
The two boys breathed in tandem for a short while, hand in hand, all part of their bodies wrapped around one another like two tsyong. But Ao’nung could feel that ever present pull, the urge to breathe real Pandoran air choking him, even though the txampaysye would not let him drown. He frowned, like a child, and Neteyam must have felt the crease in his forehead against his skin, because he stirred in his position.
“What is it, my love?” he questioned, so gentle, like Neteyam always was.
“I have to go.”
Neteyam frowned in copy of Ao’nung’s action then, making his boyfriend laugh. “I’ll see you soon?” It was spoken as a question but they both knew it was but a promise.
In reply, Neteyam pressed his lips to Ao’nung’s, a soft and delicate kiss like woodsprites gently floating through the air. Ao’nung hummed into the kiss, desperately wanting to deepen it, but knew he could not. He pulled back, studying his lover’s face. The gentle patterns, his bright eyes, the love that radiated out of him. It made Ao’nung woozy.
“Goodbye.” he whispered, and then it was over. Just the darkness of his eyelids as his kuru disconnected from the fronds of the Spirit Tree. He opened his eyes, spotting his father not too far away. It seemed Tsireya had already left, though Ao’nung was not sure why.
Tonowari met Ao’nung’s gaze, giving him a warm smile. “All good?” he signed, and Ao’nung returned his smile, although a little more reserved. It was clear his father had been talking to his mother, well of course.
“All good.” he signed in reply, thinking about the gold flecks in Neteyam’s irises. A human poem Tsyeyk Sully once told him, after Neteyam’s funeral, came to mind. It was one of the only times Toruk Makto spoke to him.
The tide recedes,
but leaves behind
Bright seashells on the sand.
The sun goes down
but gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land.
The music stops
and yet it lingers on
In sweet refrain.
For every joy that passes
Something beautiful remains