Chapter Text
It had been months since the Sullys had arrived among the Metkayina. Long enough for the village to grow used to their accents, their tails, their forest ways. Long enough for grudges to form and one in particular to settle like coral between Aonung and Neteyam.
Neteyam tried to forgive easily, but every time Aonung sneered at Lo’ak, every time he mocked his brother for being different, that quiet ember of anger flared again.
So when Aonung walked by, Neteyam didn’t speak. When they trained together, he didn’t meet his eyes. It was easier that way, to hate him a little, to protect his family from him.
But Eywa had a way of testing hearts that didn’t want to be tested.
That evening, the sea was restless, bruised clouds rolling in from the horizon, heavy with rain and thunder.
Lo’ak had already gone back when Tonowari ordered everyone to shore, surprisingly so, but Neteyam stayed, guiding his Ilu through the rising chop. He wanted just a little more time, to master the way the ocean moved beneath him.
He didn’t notice Aonung until the boy’s Ilu appeared beside his, cutting through the water effortlessly.
“Storm’s coming fast,” Aonung said, his tone half-taunting, half-concerned. “What, forest boy can’t read the sky?”
Neteyam gave him a sharp look. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure,” Aonung muttered, though his gaze flicked toward the horizon again. The clouds had turned black.
The first strike of lightning split the sea.
Then the wind came sudden, screaming. The waves heaved higher than either of them had ever seen. Their Ilus cried out, panicked.
“Neteyam!” Aonung shouted as a wall of water crashed between them.
Neteyam barely had time to grip his Ilu’s reins before the next wave struck harder, wilder. He was thrown, his body slamming against the jagged rocks beneath the surface. Pain burst across his side, and then darkness and saltwater swallowed him whole.
When Aonung saw him, it was instinct not thought. He dove, slicing through the chaos, following the trail of blood that thinned in the water like red smoke.
Neteyam was limp when Aonung caught him. Too still. The waves were merciless, trying to take them both, but Aonung held on his arms burning, lungs screaming dragging Neteyam toward the cliffs until, finally, he reached a narrow cove half-hidden by stone.
There, he pulled him onto the sand, coughing and shivering, seawater pooling around his knees.
“Hey—hey! Forest boy, wake up!”
Neteyam gasped, a choked cough tearing out of him, water spilling from his lips. He tried to sit up but winced, clutching his side.
“Easy,” Aonung said quickly, lowering him back down. The usual sharpness in his voice was gone replaced by something soft, worried. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine…” Neteyam muttered, though his teeth chattered and his skin had gone pale beneath the bioluminescent glow.
“You’re not.” Aonung hesitated, then stripped off his wet outer wrap, pressing it gently against the worst of the cuts along Neteyam’s ribs. His fingers trembled, but his movements were careful reverent almost.
Neteyam flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away.
The rain drummed against the rocks outside the cove, the sound almost calming after the chaos of the storm. Inside, the glow of their skin and the faint pulse of the sea plants painted everything in shifting blues and purples.
Aonung sat close — closer than either expected. “You shouldn’t have stayed out there,” he murmured. “It was stupid.”
Neteyam huffed a weak laugh. “You came after me.”
“Yeah, well…” Aonung glanced away, ears flattening. “Guess I’m stupid too.”
For a moment, silence. Then a quiet, unguarded laugh from Neteyam. The sound eased something tight in Aonung’s chest.
“You saved me,” Neteyam said softly, eyes meeting his. “Why?”
Aonung hesitated. The truth came out before he could think of anything else.
“Because I couldn’t watch you disappear.”
Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. His throat ached, but warmth spread through him despite the cold. Aonung’s hand was still pressed lightly against his ribs, fingers splayed over his heartbeat.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Aonung’s gaze lingered on him on the sharp curve of his jaw, the faint shimmer of water on his lashes. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, almost under his breath. “Just… don’t hate me anymore.”
Neteyam looked at him for a long time. The rain softened outside.
“I’ll try,” he said quietly. “If you stop giving me reasons to.”
Aonung smiled small, genuine. “Deal.”
By the time the storm faded, Neteyam had fallen asleep against Aonung’s shoulder, breath steady, body finally warm again. Aonung didn’t move. He just sat there, listening to the waves sigh against the rocks, his arm resting lightly around the boy he’d once sworn he couldn’t stand.
Somewhere between the thunder and the silence, something inside both of them shifted — something fragile and new, growing in the quiet between heartbeats.