Chapter Text
The air in Milan was crisp enough to freeze the breath in your lungs, but the atmosphere inside the Olympic Village was suffocatingly hot. It was a weird mix of adrenaline, anxiety, and the smell of expensive coffee.
Ao’nung shifted the massive snowboard bag on his shoulder, trying to look like he knew exactly where he was going. He didn't.
Everything in the past couple months has felt like a fever dream. The reality of how quickly he’d shifted from competing in local competitions in the northwest to being one of the representatives for the USA in the olympics hit him just now, standing in the middle of the lobby.
His tail swayed anxiously behind him. He didn't feel like he belonged here. He felt like a kid who’d accidentally walked into a gala while wearing pajamas.
“Call us when you get to the room,” Ronal had practically commanded at the drop-off zone ten minutes ago. She was intense. She loved seeing her son finally get the fame and attention he deserved, but she was also terrifyingly protective because of it. Tonowari had just clapped him on the shoulder and told him to ‘flow like water,’ which was the most dad-coded advice that he took with a grain of salt.
He pulled his phone out, the screen bright with notifications. The internet already loved him— or at least, they found him entertaining. His accounts were blowing up, and his new social media manager was probably having a stroke right now.
Ao’nung had ‘accidentally’ retweeted a fan talking about one of his ancient youtube videos from 2018 of him and Rotxo doing stupid snowboarding tricks and failing miserably. The tweet said something like “the same guy who's representing the USA this year btw.”
Ao’nung smirked at the screen. It was funny. He didn't understand why his team found him retweeting this stuff as ‘unprofessional.’ The fans found him cool and relatable, it got him engagement, why did he need to be media trained? He was here to snowboard and entertain, not run for senate.
He scrolled for a few more seconds before shoving his phone back into his pocket, trying to focus. His eyes searched, finally landing on the signs for the athlete dorms.
After a little more confusion and accidentally walking into the wrong elevator, he made it in, dropping his stuff down carelessly and flopping onto the bed. He finished his mandatory check-in call with his mother, and now… silence. He was bored. He was finally here, at the peak of his career, the place every athlete dreams of, and he was staring at the ceiling. He probably should be practicing, but honestly he's been practicing for days straight and his brain was fried.
He checked the schedule for the games today, scrolling through the app. Bobsledding, freestyle skiing, mens figure skating…
His ears perked up. Hmm.
Pril loves figure skating. She specifically loved that one guy. What's his name? Net…or maybe it was something with yams? Ao’nung gave up guessing and opened google.
Neteyam Sully.
Right. That guy. Everyone who was discussing the Olympics this year had to bring him up with it.
He was the Sully family's golden child. You couldn't exist in 2026 without seeing his face on a billboard, or seeing a paparazzi photo of his family somewhere. The “Royal Family of Sports,” the magazines called them. Dad with the track gold, Mom with the archery gold, the brother acting in award-winning films, the youngest seeming to become another sports prodigy in gymnastics. He didn't know what the other sister did, She was more private. But still, most people knew all their names.
Ao’nung knew about Neteyam mostly because of Pril. She was 7 years old and her current life goal was to become an award winning figure skater like Neteyam. She made it her mission to educate him, so Ao’nung was forced to listen to her rant on and on for hours about Neteyam. She would show him millions of videos of his cool tricks and how she needs Ao’nung to take her to the rink to practice more.
He was sick of it to be honest. Yeah figure skating was cool and took a lot of skill, but it felt boring to watch. He needed action, and figure skating wasn't stimulating enough to him.
He really didn't feel like going, but Ao’nung wasn't competing until later that week so he didn't really have much to do. And Pril would probably lose her mind if he sent her a video of Neteyam live.
Might as well, he thought, walking out into the hall.
The sliding doors to the arena opened, and his ears flattened slightly as the noise hit him first. It wasn't the raucous, party-like cheering of a snowboard crowd, It was a tense, held-breath kind of silence, punctuated by the sharp shhhkt of blades on ice and the swelling of orchestral music.
Ao’nung flashed his credentials to a stern-looking security guard and slipped into the standing area near the tunnel. He didn't want a seat; he just wanted to see what the hype was about.
The announcer's voice echoed through the massive arena, sounding pristine and serious.
“Representing the United States, Neteyam Sully.”
The roar that erupted from the crowd was deafening. It was piercing. It was the kind of sound usually reserved for pop stars, not athletes. Ao’nung felt the vibration in his chest. He quickly scrambled to pull his phone out to record.
But before he could open the camera app, he saw him.
Neteyam Sully glided to the center of the ice like he owned the building. No, like he owned the concept of winter itself.
Ao’nung had seen photos, obviously. Pril has shown him a million of them when she was fangirling. But seeing him in person was… jarring.
Neteyam was wearing a deep, midnight blue costume that shimmered under the harsh arena lights. It was expensive, sleek, with sheer panels that showed off a physique that was lean but still had muscles that looked like he could throw you across the room. He stood in the center, chin tilted up, waiting for his music.
He looked cold. Not temperature cold, but sharp. Unapproachable. Like he's the coolest person in the room, but the mask cracked as his tail flicked anxiously.
The music started– something dreamy and airy. Ao’nung recognized it as the lyrics began; Pink in the Night by Mitski. Neteyam started to move, and Ao’nung actually froze.
It wasn't just skating. It was surgery. Every movement was precise. Neteyam gained speed with a terrifying efficiency, his edges cutting deep into the ice. He turned backward, his braids whipping around, looking over his shoulder with a focus that could probably shatter glass, and launched himself into the air.
Ao’nung didn't know what trick that was. He didn't know a Lutz from a Salchow, but he knew it mesmerized him. The way neteyam rotated four times in the air, defied gravity, and landed on a single thin blade with the grace of feather hitting the ground was insane. It was mechanically perfect. The crowd gasped, but Neteyam didn't break character. He flowed instantly into a spin, his body blurring.
Ao’nung found himself leaning forward over the railing, the phone forgotten in his hands.
He was used to the chaos of snowboarding. You chucked yourself into the air and hoped you grabbed the board right. This? This was controlled perfection. It was intimidating as hell.
Neteyam moved through a step sequence, his footwork so fast it made Ao’nung dizzy. There was a moment, just a split second, where Neteyam glided past the section of the boards where Ao’nung was standing. The skater's chest was heaving, sweat glistening on his temples, but his expression was locked in a mask of absolute determination. His eyes were dark and focused, and his ears were pinned back against his skull.
For that one second, Ao’nung forgot to breathe.
He’d expected the “Perfect Prince” of the tabloids. He hadn't expected someone who looked like he was fighting a war on the ice. It was intense. It was beautiful seeing the prodigy in action.
“Woah.” he whispered involuntarily, running a hand through his dark curls.
Neteyam went into his final combination jump— a triple axel into an euler into a triple salchow. It looked effortless, but Ao’nung could see the tension in Neteyam’s quads, the sheer power required to launch back up after landing.
When the music ended, Neteyam struck his final pose. One arm reached out, head bowed, chest heaving rapidly. The arena exploded. Flowers and stuffed animals rained down onto the ice like a storm.
Neteyam straightened up. The mask slipped, just a fraction. You would have missed it if you weren’t staring as hard as Ao’nung was. A tired, polite smile touched his face, looking up to the crowd as he caught his breath. He nodded softly to the judges, then to the crowd. He looked exhausted, but he kept the smile on and held himself with that rigid, perfect posture that screamed Sully Legacy.
Ao’nung watched as Neteyam skated toward the exit, dodging the flowers. He looked… lonely. That was the only word for it. Surrounded by thousands of cheering fans, burying his face in a tissue his coach handed him, Neteyam Sully looked like the loneliest person in the room.
Ao’nung felt a weird tug in his chest. He wanted to know him. Not the poster boy, but the guy who looked like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his sequined shoulders.
Ao’nung finally blinked for the first time since the performance started, looking down at his phone. He in fact forgot to record at all. But he didn't care, as his eyes quickly flicked back up to the star. He watched Neteyam disappear into the tunnel, the cameras flashing blindingly around him. A grin tugged at the corner of Ao’nung's mouth, chaos bubbling up again. Maybe figure skating is a little more interesting than he thought.
Without really thinking, he slid his phone back into his pocket and followed the signs for the ‘Athlete Zone.’ He had an All-Access pass, he might as well use it.
The hallway behind the arena was chaotic, filled with press and coaches but Ao’nung managed to find a quieter spot near the skaters locker rooms. He leaned against the wall, scrolling through instagram, waiting.
A few minutes later, Neteyam appeared. He had his skate guards on now, clicking loudly against the concrete floor. He was wearing a Team USA jacket over his costume, zipped halfway up, and he looked even more exhausted up close. His long, thin tail dragged slightly behind him, lacking its usual poise. He was staring at the floor, headphones around his neck, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Ao’nung’s ears perked up as he looked over. His heart did a weird little flip. Okay, be cool. Just ask for a video for Pril. Don’t be weird.
Neteyam looked up and stopped. He spotted Ao’nung leaning there; a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a snowboarding hoodie, looking completely out of place among the sequins and spandex.
Ao’nung pushed off the wall, flashing a grin that was usually charming but currently felt a little lopsided. “Hey! Uh, Neteyam, right?”
Neteyam blinked, his expression unreadable. He looked like a cat that had just been woken up from a nap and was deciding whether to scratch someone. “Yes?”
His voice was soft, breathless from the performance, but guarded. His ears remained pinned back slightly.
“I’m Ao’nung,” Ao’nung said, stepping forward a bit too eagerly. He realized too late he was encroaching on personal space and took a half-step back. “I, uh- I saw your performance. Out there. Just now.”
Neteyam stared at him. “Okay?”
“It was sick,” Ao’nung said, the words tumbling out. “Like, genuinely. I don’t know anything about skating, honestly, I usually just think it’s spinning in circles, but the way you defied gravity on that quad thing? Insane. The physics were crazy.”
Neteyam’s eyebrows shot up. He seemed confused by the lack of formality. Usually, people stammered or cried. This guy was talking about physics and saying it was ‘sick.’
“Thank you,” Neteyam said, shifting his weight. He looked at the sharpie in Ao’nung’s hand that he’d grabbed from his pocket. “Do you… want an autograph? I have to get to doping control, so…”
“What? Oh. No,” Ao’nung looked at the sharpie like he’d never seen it before. His ears drooped with sudden embarrassment, heat rushing to his cheeks. “I mean, yeah, sure… but- well actually, my little sister, Pril? She’s obsessed with you. Like, scary obsessed. I was supposed to record your set, but I kind of forgot because I was watching, and I recorded the floor instead.”
Ao’nung laughed nervously, his tail giving a traitorous, anxious swish behind him. Neteyam did not laugh. He just blinked, his golden eyes scanning Ao’nung’s face. “So,” Ao’nung continued, sweating slightly now. “I was wondering if I could just get a quick video? Just saying hi? Otherwise, she’s gonna disown me.”
Neteyam sighed, a long, weary sound. He rubbed his temple. “I really can’t right now. The press is waiting.”
“Right. Yeah. My bad,” Ao’nung said, immediately backtracking. He felt like an idiot. Of course the guy was busy. “Forget it. Sorry to bother you, man.”
He turned to leave, the embarrassment heating up the back of his neck, his ears practically flattened against his hair.
“Wait,” Neteyam said.
Ao’nung stopped and turned back.
Neteyam was looking at him with a strange expression. His ears had finally flicked up, and he seemed to be analyzing Ao’nung; the messy hair, the chaotic energy, the genuine embarrassment.
“You’re Ao’nung Tsika’u,” Neteyam said. It wasn’t a question.
Ao’nung’s eyes widened. “Uh. Yeah. How do you know that?”
A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of Neteyam’s mouth. “I saw the tweet. The one where you eat snow for three minutes.”
Ao’nung felt his soul leave his body. “Oh my god. You saw that?”
“Everyone saw that,” Neteyam deadpanned. He was still in that somewhat detached state like most celebrities are with strangers, but it had dialed down to mild amusement. “You’re the snowboarder with no survival instincts.”
“I have survival instincts!” Ao’nung protested, his tail giving a defensive thump on the floor, grinning despite himself. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
Neteyam hummed, unimpressed. He glanced down at Ao’nung’s phone. “I can’t do a video. I look…” He gestured vaguely at his sweaty, exhausted self. “But give me your phone.”
“Huh?” Ao’nung’s ears fully perked up.
“Your phone,” Neteyam repeated, holding out a hand.
Ao’nung unlocked it and handed it over, bewildered. Neteyam tapped away at the screen with quick, precise thumbs.
“I’m putting my number in,” Neteyam said casually, as if he wasn't giving his contact info to a chaotic stranger he just met. “Text me your sister's name. I’ll send a video later when I’m not… like this.”
He handed the phone back. Ao’nung stared at the new contact: Neteyam Sully (Skater).
“Seriously?” Ao’nung asked, looking up.
“Don’t make me regret it,” Neteyam said, pulling his jacket tighter. “And don’t leak it, or my PR team will actually hunt you down.”
“I won’t,” Ao’nung promised, feeling a grin spread across his face. “I’m good with secrets. Ask my mom about the time I broke a window and hid the glass for three years.”
Neteyam actually rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a real smile was there. “Good luck in Slopestyle, Snow-Eater.”
With that, Neteyam turned and walked away, clicking down the hall, leaving Ao’nung standing there with a phone in his hand and a heart beating way faster than it should have been.
Ao’nung looked at the contact again.
Score.