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The sun sinks slowly toward the horizon off the coast of Motunui, glittering like a red pāua shell over a glassy sea. The crash of the surf mingles with the cries of the seabirds as they swoop down and dive into the water to catch the first of the nocturnal schools of fish. In the distance, the sound of many voices float down from the village — talking, singing, laughing. It is the sound of excitement, anticipation, and happy preparation.
While the rest of her people are fully distracted, Moana Waialiki slips away unnoticed and picks her way quietly and carefully down the path to her favorite, secluded lagoon on the western shore of the island. As her bare feet sink into the soft, damp white sand, she feels the tension from the past weeks of activity begin to drain from her body. At last she steps out into the surf, and she releases a long sigh.
It's been too long.
With a rather stupid grin of pure bliss plastered across her face, Moana wades out into the tide, feeling it embrace her like a long-lost friend. She reaches down and skims her fingers along the surface. In response, the water swirls affectionately around her in greeting.
"Hello, ocean," she murmurs.
An enormous swell rises up before her, towering over her small form. She holds an arm out, and the wave moves in closer. But instead of washing over her, it simply lowers its giant crest to meet her outstretched hand. When it pulls away, a nautilus shell is resting in her upturned palm.
"Thank you," she says, holding it close to her chest. "It's beautiful. I'll add it to my collection."
The wave moves its crest up and down, as if nodding. Moana continues her walk down the beach, her gift from the ocean tucked under her arm. The swell moves alongside her as she strolls parallel to the coast — not at all like a normal wave should behave. She smiles at the thought.
"Sorry I haven't been down here in a while," she tells the ocean as she trails a hand through the water. "Things have been a bit hectic up in the village. I'm sure you know why."
The ocean gives another nod, and this time there's a strangely sympathetic quality to its movement.
"Oh, I'm okay," Moana assures it, ignoring the pang in her heart. "It'll take some getting used to at first, but I'm not too worried. I've been through worse." She shoots it a smirk. "After all, I've put up with you all these years, haven't I?"
As expected, she gets a splash in the face for her impudence. Laughing, she slaps at the surface playfully. She spends a while down at the lagoon, swimming, talking with the ocean. Although it can't talk back, it is the best listener she's ever known.
As the sun sinks beneath the sea, leaving behind a purple- and pink-stained sky, Moana finally wades out of the surf and stretches out on a piece of driftwood to dry off. She sets her nautilus shell carefully on the ground beside her, admiring its perfect spiral. The ocean always did give her the coolest swag.
Out of the corner of her eye, she detects movement. She turns in time to see a small, mottled brown gecko emerge from the bushes and onto the sand. Smiling, she watches as it scurries toward her and comes to a halt near her feet, regarding her with its blank reptilian stare.
"Hello there," she greets it.
To her surprise, the gecko darts forward and nips at her big toe.
"Hey!" she exclaims, drawing her foot back. "That was rude!"
Her surprise increases as the tiny lizard throws its head back and lets loose a laugh. A very loud, deep, raucous, familiar laugh.
She feels her mouth drop open. "Maui?"
The gecko vanishes in a flash of blue light, and in its place stands a huge man, heavily muscled and covered in tattoos. He wears a traditional lava lava skirt and a necklace of assorted teeth, and his long, curly hair is unbound. In his hands is a giant fishhook carved from bone.
"Hey, little Momo," he replies with a cocky, dimpled grin.
In an instant Moana shoots to her feet and launches herself into his arms. Dropping his fishhook, he picks her up and swings her around with seemingly no effort, as if she weighs less than a palm frond. As she wraps her arms around his thick neck, basking in his warmth, she experiences the familiar flutter in her heart and the tingling sensation in her stomach that she has come to associate with his presence.
"I missed you, you big dope," she finds herself saying into his massive shoulder. "I wasn't sure if..."
She trails off and blinks as a sudden thought occurs to her. "You bit me!" she squawks indignantly. "Who even does that!?"
Maui just laughs again and sets her down, ruffling her hair with a giant hand. Moana bats it away, but inwardly she's too pleased to see the demigod to be genuinely irritated. Under his necklace of teeth, the little Maui tattoo on his chest waves happily at her. Smiling, she waves back.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," she says as she resumes her seat on the piece of driftwood.
Maui scoffs. "And miss the big day? Not a chance."
He moves to sit down beside her, and for an alarming split-second, Moana thinks she might be catapaulted into the sky. To her relief, however, the log only creaks and groans in protest under his considerable weight.
For a few moments, neither of them speak. They've shared too many long silences to ever be uncomfortable with each other.
Maui reaches down and picks up the nautilus shell, tossing it back and forth with seeming carelessness. Moana knows he would never drop it, but she gives him a warning glare anyway.
"So," he says at last, setting the shell aside, "you nervous?"
Moana shoots a look at him, as if to say, What do you think?
The demigod winces. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry I asked."
Eager to change the subject, she asks, "Where have you been this time?" Her tone is inquiring, not accusing.
He gives a rolling shrug of his broad shoulders, muscle moving beneath brown, tattooed skin, and Moana finds it somewhat difficult to focus on his next words. "Oh, you know," he says casually. "Fighting monsters, saving entire civilizations from certain peril, accumulating adoring followers wherever I go."
Moana feels a smile tug at her lips. "So, the usual, then."
"Pretty much."
She digs her feet into the sand and lifts them up, watching the fine grains fall through her toes. "You took your sweet time coming back here," she can't help pointing out.
Maui sighs. His voice when he replies is quiet and serious, not at all like his usual boastful tone. "I told you I wouldn't miss your wedding, Moana. Haven't I always been there when it counted?"
Moana turns to gaze up at his profile. "Yeah," she murmurs, feeling the flutter again. "You have."
She looks down at her malu, the tattoos on her legs that mark her as the daughter of the high chief. They descend like ladders from the tops of her thighs all the way past her knees, reflecting both her family line and her love of the sea. "Remember when I got these?" she asks, pointing to the geometric markings below her skirt.
His eyes follow her gesticulation, and he huffs a laugh. "How could I forget? You nearly pulled my arm off."
They both fall silent, each reliving the event in their minds. Moana remembers with fondness the way the mighty demigod let her hold his hand during the entire agonizing process, not even complaining when her fingernails drew blood. She remembers how he distracted her with songs, and stories of his many heroic deeds, just to keep her mind off the pain as the tattoo artist made cut after deep cut into her skin. She remembers how he mopped the sweat and tears from her face, and stroked her hair with his huge, gentle hand. The pain was worth it.
And yes, she realizes, he may leave, often for months at a time, but somehow he always seems to know when she needs him.
Maui's smile fades as he stares at the tattoos. "Not one of my favorite memories, to be honest. Never did like seeing you in pain."
Moana nudges him with her shoulder. "You're just a big softie, aren't you?" she teases.
"Watch it, Princess," he growls menacingly at her. "I will throw you headlong into that lagoon."
She slaps his tree trunk of an arm. "That's 'Chief of Motunui' to you, buddy," she corrects him.
"Sorry, Princess."
Moana laughs, but it's tinged with sadness. It's only been a year since she lost her father to a disease that claimed the lives of many of her people — just one of the more unfortunate consequences of traveling to new islands. She is slowly becoming more accustomed to his absence, but there are still times when the pain sneaks up on her and deftly snatches the wind from her sails.
As if reading her thoughts, Maui lightly rests a hand on her shoulder. He was there for that, too.
After a moment, his hand falls away, and he stretches. "What do you say we go for one last sail, before you get hitched?" he suggests. "For old times' sake. I'll have you back before morning."
Moana's heart gives a traitorous leap at his offer. It's been entirely too long since she was out on the open sea, feeling the smooth wooden surface of the deck beneath her feet, the cool salt spray on her face. And it's been even longer since she went sailing with Maui. But there's still so much to do. She shouldn't have even snuck away from the village in the first place. She should be assisting with the preparations for tomorrow's wedding feast, not running away like a disobedient child. Especially not with a demigod who has always been a terrible influence on her.
"I wish I could," she says regretfully. "But I'm afraid I can't."
Maui stands up and faces her, his hands on his hips. "Come on!" he persists. "Can't you hear the ocean calling to you?" He leans down and whispers into her ear, his long hair tickling her skin. "Moanaaaa... I miss yooouuu..."
Moana heaves an aggrieved sigh. "Maui..."
"I'm not hearing a 'no'," he says in a sickly sweet, sing-song voice. Before Moana can open her mouth to reply, he plucks her neatly from her driftwood perch and slings her onto his shoulder like a sack of taro roots.
"Maui!" she yelps, her face burning in mortification. "Put me down right now, you obnoxious whale! This is not a dignified position for a high chief!" She pounds on his muscled back with her fists, to no avail. "Let go of me!"
Ignoring her violent thrashing, indignant protests, and empty threats, Maui picks up his fishhook in his other hand and carries them both down the beach toward her waiting canoe, which is most decidedly not where she last put it. Beside it, sticking vertically out of the sand, is her old, beloved oar, with his stupid little heart carving on its blade. With mingled annoyance and grudging affection, she realizes he planned this all along.
He sets her on the ground, and she finds herself giving in with less resistance than perhaps she should be feeling. "Ugh, fine," she concedes. "One little sail around the island. But then we come right back."
On his chest, Mini-Maui leaps up and down in a joyous dance. His host, however, is considerably less pleased. "Boring," he drones. "When did you get so boring?"
Moana punches him hard in his barrel stomach. "Okay, okay," he says. "Once around the island."
They set the sails and start out into the bay just as the moon begins to rise over the water. They fall into their same familiar rhythm, one checking the tension of the sheets while the other mans the tiller. Until now, Moana didn't realize how much she missed sailing with Maui. It's as easy and natural as breathing.
As Moana stands beside the mast, she looks over her shoulder at Maui, seated in the stern of her little boat. Other than the green and black lava lava he wears, a gift from her people to replace the somewhat comical skirt of scavenged leaves he used to sport, he looks the same as he always has. She, on the other hand, has changed quite a bit since they met five years ago. In particular, her feelings toward the smug, impossible demigod have changed. Try as she might, she never could succeed in making that little flutter go away; in fact, as the years passed, it only continued to grow stronger. There have been times when all she wanted to do was bury herself in his warmth and his scent and his soft, silky hair. Not that she'd ever tell him any of that.
And not that it matters now anyway.
The boat passes over a cloud of bioluminescent plankton, the countless tiny, glowing creatures mirroring the stars overhead. Moana watches as a school of manta rays glides gracefully through the swarm, like an underwater dance, and she is reminded of her grandmother. She stretches out on her stomach and leans out of the canoe, passing her hand through the glittering water.
"Maui?" she says. "Can you do me a favor?"
She hears his voice behind her, relaxed and confident. "Sure, kid."
"You know how you lassoed the sun to make the days longer?" He doesn't reply, because of course he knows, he's the one who did it. She goes on anyway. "Do you think you could lasso the moon and keep it from sinking down into the sea? I don't..." She swallows. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this night to end."
Maui still gives no reply. Moana sighs and continues to trace patterns on the water's surface, unconsciously drawing his tattoos from memory. In her peripheral vision, she sees him tie the mainsheet to the tiller and stand up. He walks to the bow, leaning his bulk against the mast.
"So this... guy you're marrying," he says in an even voice. "What was his name? Ta'amu?"
"Tuala," she corrects him for the hundredth time.
"Whatever." He darts a sidelong look in her direction. "You like him?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "He seems pleasant enough."
"'Seems'?" She looks up to see him frowning down at her. "How well do you actually know him?"
Moana sits up with a sigh. She's decided she does not enjoy this conversation. It's giving her a heavy, sick feeling in her stomach. "Not that well," she answers. "We've only spoken a handful of times." She feels fairly certain she's told Maui all this before. "He's sort of quiet and serious. But very well spoken of by his people. He's intelligent, mature, respectful of his elders, kind to children. And he's made quite a name for himself as a fisherman."
Maui folds his arms over his chest. "Sounds like a dreamboat," he mutters.
She feels her eyes slip shut wearily. "Yeah."
He clears his throat, causing her to open them again. "Sorry, aren't you a little young to be getting married?" he asks. At her raised eyebrow, he goes on to explain. "I don't know, maybe it's just the demigod in me talking. All you humans seem young compared to me."
Moana resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm almost twenty-one, Maui. My mother married my father when she was sixteen. The age I was when I met you." He blinks in surprise at this. "According to our customs, that's the generally accepted age for marriage. By my island's standards, I'm an old maid."
Slowly, she shakes her head. "No, I've put it off for as long as I could, but it's time to fulfill my role as the chief of my people. To carry on the royal line. Besides, marrying a matai from another village is the ideal way to strengthen our bonds between the neighboring islands."
Maui blows out a breath. "I don't know," he says doubtfully. "It seems like kind of a raw deal for you."
She stands up, raking a hand through her hair in frustration. "What do you want me to say, Maui? I admit, I'm not thrilled about it. I would love to be able to keep sailing the seas and going on adventures with you for the rest of my life. But I can't."
"Why not?"
He sounds genuinely confused, and it makes her angry. "Because life doesn't work that way! It's not just about pleasing yourself. I have a duty to my people."
"Oh, yuck," he exclaims, looking down at her as if she's just forced him to taste something revolting. "Do you even hear yourself? Don't you remember how you used to tell me that wayfinding was in your blood? That it was all you ever dreamed about since you were a tiny little kid? What happened to you?"
The truth of his words sting, but she refuses to let it show. "I grew up, Maui," she says simply.
The demigod gazes at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he murmurs. "I noticed."
He turns away to tighten the sheets, and Moana realizes her heart is pounding in her chest. "You keep going on and on about your people," he says. "Don't you think your people would want you to be happy?"
"I..." Moana tries to come up with a response, and falters.
"And what about me? Your best buddy, your favorite demigod in the whole world?" His posture is stiff as he holds his back to her. "Do you honestly think I'd be able to live with myself if I let you go off and marry some goober, and... watch you sacrifice your happiness for the sake of duty?" To her surprise, his voice seems to waver. "Gods, Moana..."
Feeling a pang, she puts a hand on his arm. He flinches, but doesn't pull away.
"Maui," she says softly. "It's not the end of the world. You'll still come visit, like always. I know you will. I may not be able to run off with you at a moment's notice anymore, but... we'll still see each other. It'll be okay." She squeezes his arm. "I'll be okay."
Maui glances down at her. He seems to be struggling with something, but for the life of her, Moana can't figure out what.
"What if..." The words suddenly tumble from his lips all at once. "Whatifyoumarriedmeinstead?"
Moana has to grab the mast to keep from falling off the canoe. "Ummm... What?"
He plows on, heedless of her obvious shock. "It wouldn't be the first time a demigod and a human got together. And what better arrangement could there be for your people than an alliance with the gods themselves?"
She can't believe what she's hearing. "A-Are you being serious right now?" she stutters.
"Of course I'm being serious," Maui replies, as if there's nothing at all crazy about anything he's proposing.
Proposing. Proposing? No, no, no. There's no way this is actually happening. She must have fallen asleep on the boat. Any minute now, Maui is going to wake her up. Probably by dropping a fish down the back of her dress.
"Think about it, Mo," he says. "If we got married, we could still go wayfinding together. And you wouldn't have to get hitched to some stranger who doesn't even know you. Because who knows you better than Maui?" He puffs out his chest proudly. "Nobody, that's who."
And all at once Moana realizes what he's doing. He's trying to save her. He knows she is having reservations about marrying Tuala, and he thinks he's stumbled upon a surefire way to get her out of it.
The only thing is, she doesn't want him to save her. What she wants from him is something he can't give.
She blinks back tears of regret. "Maui..."
"I mean, you would still be chief, obviously, because... yikes. Can you imagine me in charge of a whole village?" He laughs at the thought. "That'd be a total disaster."
"Maui!" she shouts, silencing him at last.
"Stop," she tells him as he stares at her in surprise. "Please, just stop. I don't want your pity."
He frowns. "Pity? What are you talking about?"
Moana draws in a shaky breath and looks down at her feet. "I don't want you to marry me because you feel sorry for me," she says, with as much dignity as she can muster.
A heavy silence hangs between them. And then Moana feels Maui's enormous hand grasp her chin and gently turn her face up to look at him. In the light of the moon, his eyes shine with an emotion she has never seen in their dark depths before. It's a strange mixture of exasperation and tenderness and something she's hesitant to name.
"Feel sorry for you?" he repeats in a low, husky voice as he cradles her face in his hand. "Do you really think I came all the way here, and stole you from your island on the night before your wedding, because I feel sorry for you?"
Moana's mouth suddenly goes dry. Her heart is beating frantically in her chest like a bird caught in a snare, and she's pretty sure she's ceased breathing entirely. She tries to speak, but both her brain and her tongue have simultaneously chosen to stop working.
Unfortunately, Maui takes her state of speechlessness for stunned displeasure. Slowly, his hand falls back to his side, and she watches helplessly as the tender light literally fades from his eyes, replaced by hard obsidian. He turns silently away from her and walks back to the stern of the boat.
As he resumes his seat at the tiller, adjusting his course, Moana finally regains control of her motor functions. Quickly, she follows him, her heart in her throat.
"Maui," she says, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder.
He shrugs it off. "Forget it," he says flatly, avoiding her eyes. "Forget I said anything. I'm taking you back."
She jerks the mainsheet from his grasp. "You're not taking me anywhere," she tells him firmly. "Not until we talk about this."
Lightning-quick, he snatches the rope back. "Watch me."
His voice is so cold, so detached, that it causes a lump to form in Moana's throat. She kneels down on the deck directly in front of him, giving him no choice but to look at her. "Maui, don't shut me out," she pleads softly.
At last he meets her gaze, and his eyes betray a deep pain. "Why not?" he retorts bitterly. "You don't seem to need me around anymore. Frankly, I'm not sure you ever did."
"Don't say that!" she exclaims earnestly. "Of course I need you. I'm always going to need you."
Maui regards her for a long moment, and he seems to deflate as his anger slowly fades. "Maybe," he says wearily. "But you've made it pretty clear that you don't... care about me the way that I..." His breath catches on a sigh. "That I care about you."
There it is. There's the confession Moana has imagined him saying a thousand times in her head, but never thought she would hear in her lifetime. She doesn't know whether to be furious at Maui for dumping this on her at the worst possible moment, or deliriously happy that her feelings are actually reciprocated.
At least, she tells herself, he didn't wait until after I was married.
She swallows hard and manages to speak, but her sentences are fragmented, uncertain. "I... I didn't think you could ever... I mean, why would you? You're Maui, demigod of the winds and seas." She shrugs. "I thought you just saw me as... as a kid. An insignificant little mortal."
Maui scoffs. "An insignificant mortal who restored the heart of Te Fiti and saved the world." The unmistakable note of awe in his voice makes her chest tighten. "You're Moana. You're... You're everything."
Moana shakes her head. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she asks him in frustration. "Why did you wait until now?"
He stands up abruptly, causing the canoe to rock. Almost without thinking, she secures the rudder as he paces the deck. "Because I didn't... feel this way before," he says at last. "Not until a year or two ago. And even then, I tried to convince myself it would pass. That I'd get over it."
The irony of Maui's words is not lost on Moana. She, who told herself countless times that what she felt was just a silly, adolescent crush. For all the good it did her.
He sighs. "But then you had to go and form a marriage alliance with some jerk who doesn't even know how amazing you are. Who couldn't possibly appreciate you and... care for you the way I do. How could I just stand by and let that happen, without at least telling you?"
Tuala isn't actually a jerk, but Moana doesn't have the heart to argue the point. Not when Maui is standing there by the mast, looking so defeated, so sad. She's never seen him so sad; not even when he was unable to beat Te Ka on his own. The sight physically pains her.
Maui turns toward her and pulls her to her feet, clasping her hand desperately in his own. "Don't marry him, Moana," he urges. "I'm begging you. Me, Maui. We're meant to be. You don't believe me, just look."
He moves aside his necklace, and on his chest, directly over his heart, his little tattooed counterpart is standing next to the miniature version of herself, hand in hand.
"Even the gods want us to be together," he says softly.
Moana can't help but smile through her tears. "I'm pretty sure that just means you want us to be together," she replies.
Maui steps closer to her, squeezing her hand. "So what do you want?"
"Maui..." She gives a shaky sigh. "I can't just go back on my word. What kind of chief would I be if I ignored my duty to my people?"
"That's not an answer," he says in a low, firm voice. "What do you want, Moana?"
She stares up at him, and he is again the powerful demigod she knows, all fire and passion and reckless impulsivity. He is Maui, arrogant, infuriating, overprotective, and unflinchingly loyal. And she can't imagine life without him.
"I want... you," she says, her voice breaking. "Maui, of course I want you."
Releasing her hand, he draws his massive arm around her and pulls her against him, and she barely has time to think before he leans down and presses his mouth to hers. For his size and strength, he's infinitely gentle. As he kisses her, he holds her delicately in his hands, like a sacred object. Finally something clicks in her brain, and she returns his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, curling her fingers in his hair.
At last they break apart, both a bit breathless. And then, grabbing his fishhook, Maui transforms into a hawk and soars into the air with a joyful cry. Grinning and shaking her head, Moana watches him twist and turn loops through the star-filled sky. The show-off.
When he lands on the boat and returns to his human form, he is all swagger and casual confidence once again.
"It's settled, then," he says as he takes the tiller. "You break off your engagement to What's-His-Name, we get married, have five or six little semi-demi mini-gods, and you can continue being chief while I teach our kids how to be awesome. Deal?"
The adrenaline from their kiss hasn't completely subsided, but Moana's head is still clear enough to identify the flaw in his logic. "Don't give me that," she tells him, poking him on his bicep. "We both know that within a week, you'll be itching to leave again. You always do."
"But I always come back," he points out.
"But will you want to stay?" she persists.
Maui waves a dismissive hand. "Psh. Easy-peasy. I've got all the time in the world."
Moana kneels beside him. "You might," she reminds him gently. "But I don't. I probably have sixty, seventy more years left. And that's if I'm lucky."
She thinks of her father, taken while still in his prime, and of her mother's almost palpable grief. The world is not a kind place for mortals. It is even less kind for a demigod who has given his heart to one.
As if reading her mind, Maui leans forward, hair falling over his shoulders, and presses his forehead to hers.
"I wouldn't trade the next sixty or seventy years with you for anything."
She kisses him then, holding his face in her hands. He moves her hair aside and strokes her back with his large palms. The passage of time becomes uncertain as they tentatively explore each other with their hands and lips, caressing, committing to memory. When they finally pull away, she rests her cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat fast and steady under her ear.
He presses his lips to the crown of her head. "Love you," he murmurs.
Moana smiles against his skin. "Love you. Big dope."
Her gaze drifts over to his tattoo of Mini-Maui, and she's a little startled to find it kissing her own counterpart rather passionately.
"Hey, hey," she scolds, flicking the tiny figures with her fingers. "Break it up, you two."
She feels Maui's laughter more than she hears it. "Come on, Curly," he says, urging her to hop off of his lap — how did she get there, by the way? "Let's take you home. We've got some bad news to break to Tama'i."
"Tuala."
"Whatever."
Moana shoves him, but there's no real anger behind the action. As they sail back toward Motunui, the ocean sends up huge, exuberant waterspouts in their wake, soaking them both in the salt spray. Moana anticipates a mixed reaction upon her return, to put it mildly. It won't be easy, breaking the news to her village and to her betrothed that a wedding will not, in fact, be taking place tomorrow. She has no doubt that relations between her island and Tuala's will be strained by this change of events. Perhaps even damaged beyond repair.
Maui wraps a lazy arm around her waist, and the young chief smiles.
Totally worth it.