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Ao’nung was not hateful.
He doesn’t consider himself hateful at least. He took exceptional care of the ilu, was a good hunter that got multiple kills, and had Roxto as a friend and if that wasn’t indication enough, he didn’t what would be.
He was, however, comfortable. Which meant change was not really welcome. Yes, it was necessary. The sea is always changing, the tides pull back and forth on Ewya’eveng but it is not always such a large change. The sea, in its changes, is steady.
So when those large creatures, with wings so large that they kick up the sand with each beat, arrive on the shores of Awa’altu, a pit grows in Ao’nung’s stomach. His world seemed to shift, slowly slipping away from his grip.
So he responds with biting words.
They are not like him, is the first thing that pops into mind. He cuts through the water with ease, his tail moving behind him to guide him forward. These na’vi are a darker blue, almost the deep blue of his sea. And thin, a thin tail and thin arms that seem better for the wind than for the sea.
One catches his eyes and he ducks his head in greeting. Ao’nung lets a mask of arrogance and cockiness fall over his face as he catalogues the forest na’vi. Four fingers, hair above his eyes, beads clicking in his hair, thin frame corded with strength.
Ao’nung feels something in his stomach, recognizing something in him that called.
…
Ao’nung desperately wants to wack this forest na’vi. Lo’ak is his name (Lo’ak, Lo’ak, he repeated in his head, a mantra of some kind). He is a smart na’vi but has a temper along with a willful disregard for safety.
“Lo’ak, you are not breathing correctly,” he says irritably, pressing harder on the forest na’vi’s stomach. “From here, not from here,” he presses his hand against the na’vi’s chest. “You breath from here, you die.”
Lo’ak glares at him. “Well, I’m trying fish lips but it’s not easy. I bet if I dared you to a climbing race you would lose.”
Ao’nung is dumbfounded. He really should have told Tsireya no, you can deal with the freak, I have better things to do. But no, his own morbid curiosity about this na’vi had won.
”Why does that matter? I am trying to make sure that you do not die,” Ao’nung glares at him, both of them bristling at each other, teeth bared. Lo’ak hisses at him.
Ao’nung pushes himself up, walking away from Lo’ak. He tries to think through the anger building in his head. This na’vi! He has the nerve to act as if he knew better.
A thought came to mind. A thought that would work. He smirked before turning to Lo’ak.
The younger na’vi is glaring up at him, still seated. Ao’nung’s hand encircles his wrist (gently because he doesn’t want to hurt him, not too much), dragging him up and to the edge of the water.
“We are going to try something. My father taught me when I was young to do this,” Ao’nung instructed Lo’ak, standing behind him. He places his hand on Lo’ak’s taut stomach, guides him to face forward before speaking.
”Do you see the tide? How it does not rush? Your breathing must be like that. You are a forest na’vi, used to running and making your own path. Here, we are guided by the sea. So let it guide your breath.”
He takes deep, exaggerated breaths, letting Lo’ak follow it. He feels the na’vi follow, hesitantly at first before falling into the rhythm with ease.
Ao’nung is no longer looking at the tide. Not its soft movements that shifted back and forth, constant in the movements. He is looking at Lo’ak.
Dark blue skin, striped in a way that invites him to touch and trace. He smells of salt and fruit, skin smooth with a cream Ao’nung had seen him put. (He wonders if he could taste it on his skin.)
He drags in a deep breath. “Now,” he says softly, lowly, “do not let your breath quicken. Keep your heartbeat slow,” he whispers in his ears before pushing Lo’ak into the ocean.
Lo’ak falls into the water with a large splash and an infuriated yell of Ao’nung’s name.
He watched as Lo’ak’s body twists into the fall and swiftly dives into the water, using the techniques that both Tsireya and Ao’nung has taught him. Lo’ak surfaces with a glare on his face, mouth open to throw an insult.
”Your heartbeat, is it fast?” Ao’nung says before Lo’ak could begin to speak. When the words register, Lo’ak’s face becomes concentrated, eyebrows furrowing, creating creases on the space above his eyes.
Cute, he think before he smothers it with all his might.
“Whatever fish lips,” Lo’ak grumbles, pulling himself up on the rock. “I’ll get you back.”
”I’ll be waiting,” Ao’nung answers, the response colored with amusement.
…
In hindsight, he should have not provoked the children of Toruk Makto. They had already been here a few weeks, closer to 3 months than not. But something about them still causes Ao’nung to bristle, wanting to strike them and show them that they were not welcome.
And being the son of the Ole’etkayn had its perks. No one wants to upset the golden son so they often adapt to him. Ao’nung is a little ashamed to admit that he’s used that to his advantage.
But the children of Toruk Makto, especially Lo’ak, have their own sense of justice. They protected each other fiercely and anyone they considered theirs.
So when Ao’nung and his crew bullies Kiri, calling her freak and grabbing her tail, he should’ve known exactly where this was leading.
(Especially when he provokes Lo’ak specifically. But he can’t help it. He wants to see the younger na’vi angry, snarling and teeth bared. It ignites something in Ao’nung. Spirit is good in a na’vi.)
Stars shoot in his vision as the fist with four fingers collides with his nose. A crunch sounds from his own face, blood immediately beginning to drip.
The grin splits on his face as he swings at Lo’ak and everyone seems to devolve into the fight, fists flying, hair being pulled, even tails.
He focuses on Lo’ak only. The older brother is fighting Roxto, both of them colliding into each other.
Ao’nung’s hands brush against Lo’ak’s skin. It is warm, proof of life under him. He wants to sink his teeth into him, see what noises he can drag out of the forest na’vi. His eyes track the lithe movement of Lo’ak’s body, swinging at each other.
He really should not be thinking about this.
The battle finally finishes when Jake finds them, dragged to the scene by Kiri. Ao’nung knows even more now that he screwed up when Toruk Makto has to pop up.
He glares at Lo’ak as he’s pulled from the younger na’vi. He pulls himself up, bringing back the golden son of the Metkayina back over himself.
“What is with you?” Jake demands from the whole group. “All of you kids are smart, why are you fighting?”
They were lined up in a row, the Sully kids looking disgruntled and slightly annoyed.
Jake glared at all of them before sighing. “Go to your parents, kids.”
All of them nod shamefully. It was difficult being reprimanded by Toruk Makto apparently. His disappointment waved over them.
Ao’nung gives a glance back to the Sully kids as he trudged his way home. He needed a cold dip so he could get the feeling of Lo’ak hands off him, the press of his knuckles and the bite of his teeth on his arm.
…
It doesn’t work.
…
Even the day after, where he was out hunting with the others, it lingers. He could not sleep at all last night, mind filled with the feeling of Lo’ak’s teeth digging into the muscle of his bicep and those four fingers curled into a “fist” to punch him. He tossed and turned, woke up restless.
Even now, he is distracted as they scout the reef for game. Every time he saw a dark blue blob, he hoped that it would be Lo’ak and be disappointed when it’s not.
His ears flicked as they registered a new sound. He turned his head slightly, finding Lo’ak on an ilu. His head is hung lower as he swims up to them.
“Ah, what’s tree boy doing here?” Koro taunts, heat and venom filling the words. Ao’nung wishes he was with Roxto right now, easier to not feel the weight of being the golden son. Not being bound to the image of the cruel reef na’vi. Not so bound to his own comfort and hatefulness.
Lo’ak ignores it and looks straight at Ao’nung. His yellowish-green eyes are focused on Ao’nung, intense almost. They remind him of sunlight streaming through leaves, slightly tinted from the green. He could drown in them.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” he apologizes, though not genuine. “So many times.” And there we go. Ao’nung bites back the smile, looking down at his ilu then at his friends.
A silent conversation happens between all of them, a plan growing. It tastes slightly rotten in Ao’nung’s mouth.
His cruelty has its limits. But his pride is wounded, nose forever crooked, and the want simmered on his skin that he felt reckless. Reckless with Lo’ak.
The plan moves smoothly because Ao’nung knew where to aim. He has observed Lo’ak for so long, watched how he moves through the village. He knew that Lo’ak played often with Tuk, liked walking on the beach at night, and preferred being alone a lot.
(And when he was alone, he got this look on his face. Sad, ears downturned, a blank look in his eyes as if he was not there. Never had been.)
So he knew that to compare him to his brother, it would get him to agree. And like an ilu following for sweet fish, he falls for it. Those “brows” knits in a face of determination.
The swim to out of the reef and to Three Brothers Rock is pumped with adrenaline. Lo’ak cut through the water with a joy that Ao’nung can’t help but partake in. It’s infectious.
He wanted to dash his head against a sea rock. What is it about this na’vi? He should hate him. He came here and brought this new change. No matter what they thought, war followed the Suli’s. Their children a little too orderly and something lurking in their shadow. More beyond the four fingers on two of them.
But looking at Lo’ak now. It just wasn’t in him.
…
(He still left him though. And maybe it’s because in reality, Ao’nung hates himself. Not Lo’ak. The golden son hated himself and that’s why he does what he does. Runs over people with no respect. He is not Tsireya or Roxto. He is just Ao’nung, head full of poison that ruins everything he touches cause he cannot be perfect and happy. He must choose one.)
…
”Ow, ow, ow!” Ao’nung repeated as he’s dragged by the ear. Neteyam had a harsh grip, tighter than an akula’s bite.
He stumbles as Neteyam stops abruptly, in front of their parents. Dread fills his stomach as it registered what was happening.
”Tell them what you told me!” Neteyam growls at him, ears pressed against his head in a show of agitation.
He looks towards his parents, already finding the disappointment and suspicion. Doubt and the feeling of being useless shoots through him, digging like hooks through his back.
“I left Lo’ak at Three Brothers Rock,” Ao’nung admits, dropping to one knee in front of them, head ducked down in respect. “I left him there at the sun’s peak.”
Silence thundered in the marui before everyone jumps into action, Jake shouting orders as he glares at Ao’nung before storming off, calling for an ilu while Neytiri makes a loud chirping noise, wingbeats following after.
An iron grip finds his shoulders but he doesn’t need to look up to know it’s his father. “We will deal with you later,” he says in a disappointed voice but eyes still kind, nonetheless pushing him deeper into the ocean of his mind.
He doesn’t say anything as they empty the marui. Heat burns at his eyes and he stifles a gasp. He was so fucking useless. He was not smart and he was definitely not perfect. So why was he not happy?
(Why did the idea of Lo’ak actually being hurt make him want to sink deep into the ocean? Darkness to light but reverse. The sea could take him.)
…
When the boat arrives back with Finerua and Lo’ak, Ao’nung feels the glare the younger na’vi was sending him. It was a drag of fire on his skin, suffused with hatred and anger and embarrassment.
Ao’nung keeps quiet as his parents bracket him. They hadn’t spoken to him yet. Dread pools in his stomach, anxiety blooming into his chest. He knows he fucked up, leaving someone not yet adjusted or ready outside of the reef but Lo’ak was strong. Ao’nung knew this.
He wouldn’t get hurt, the son of Toruk Makto. He was bigger than life and Ao’nung wanted to bathe in that feeling.
Ao’nung watches as Lo’ak stomps up to him but is intercepted by Jake. His father mutters something, running his hands over Lo’ak’s braid and dragging him into a one armed hug. Lo’ak does not break his glare on Ao’nung.
”He’s fine, he’s fine,” he announces to the crowd. “Just a few scratches.”
”Lo’ak!” Ao’nung hears and Neytiri dashes from behind him, jumping into the boat with a deft movement. Much like Jake, her eyes are soft, hands frantic as they look him over.
”I pray for the strength that I will not pluck out the eyeballs of my youngest son,” she said, mimicking the action with a snarl. Despite the harsh words and snarl, it was gentled with how she looked at him. Like he was the one of the few things in her world that would be constant.
“No,” his dad’s voice cuts through the chatter, silencing everybody just enough to be heard as he chastised Ao’nung. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef. The blame is his.” The weight of his palm on Ao’nung’s neck pushed him down till he was on one knee. He hit the ground with a thud, ducking his head towards Lo’ak. The heat of the forest’s na’vi’s gaze seemed to burn through his skin and down to his bones. How embarrassing it was to be brought down. To be punished.
Well. As long as it was Lo’ak.
”Okay, let’s go,” Jake says in a relieved breath, already gesturing for Neytiri and Lo’ak to follow, sure in the fact that at least in this instance, his son is not the one in trouble. Ao’nung continued to kneel, knowing that he would be punished as soon as they arrived back to the marui and then he would have to go apologize to Lo’ak and-
“No. This is not Ao’nung’s fault,” Lo’ak says abruptly and Ao’nung lifted his head to look at the na’vi in confusion. What?
”This was my idea,” Lo’ak lies through his teeth though it seemed to fool everybody. “Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.”
Neytiri gave Lo’ak a seemingly shocked but not surprised look, pressing her hand against his arm. “Lo’ak,” she scolded while Jake gestured for him to get up and follow, not even speaking. Ao’nung watched with confusion. Why did he lie? This was Ao’nung’s fault, he deserves the blame and to be punished; it is the na’vi way.
Jake whispers something to Tonowari that Ao’nung strained his ears to hear before he is being dragged up by his arm. His father waits for the rest of the gathered na’vi to leave, watching them go with a calm expression before he finally spoke. “Is this true?” he asks calmly, eyes softer and open.
“Ao’nung, what were you thinking?” Ronal asked, her voice stern as she tried to read his face.
His voice leaves him for a moment, trying to think of what to say. Lo’ak lied. Why would he lie about something like this? They were not friends, obviously. He didn’t know what they are so what was the point of covering for him when he shoud have obviously been punished, talked to, or even “grounded” as Lo’ak explained one time during their lesson when they saw Tuk sitting sullenly on the shore.
“He is lying,” he mumbles, the words like stones in his heart. “I do not know why he lied but he is. I left him out there like I said earlier.”
Both his mother and father pulls back from him, squinting in suspicion. He gulps, feeling the bruise under his right eye throb with fresh pain. His tail hangs low, wrapped around his leg; an old habit from childhood when he would be getting reprimanded.
“Why would he lie about something like this?” Tonowari asks after another moment of silence. “Unless…” he trailed off, sharing a look with Ronal over Ao’nung’s head. A silent conversation passed between them, Tonowari tilting his head and Ronal responding with a sharp nod, giving Ao’nung a look.
“Later, Ao‘nung, we will talk. Now go,” Ronal dismisses him, leaning forward to lay a kiss on his forehead. Ao’nung freezes, looking up at them.
”I am not in trouble?” He asks, heart fluttering at the prospect of not being reprimanded.
They both laughed. “No.”
…
“Because I know what it’s like to be one big disappointment,” Lo’ak says with a self deprecating smirk and Ao’nung wanted to wipe it off his face. He wanted to lean in and press his lips against them.
(What would he taste like?)
Fuck. He should not be thinking this about someone he had almost gotten killed. He scoffs as Lo’ak turned around, walking slowly. His body moved oddly and that’s when Ao’nung registers the scrape on his knee, slowly dripping down his leg.
“You are hurt,” Ao’nung said, reaching forward to hold his wrist. His fingers scraped against hot blood and he wanted to cry. He had hurt Lo’ak, unintentionally.
”I’m fine, fish lips,” Lo’ak grumbles, trying to yank his hand out of Ao’nung’s grip and failing.
“No, you are not,” Ao’nung says harshly, bringing him closer to the light of the torch.
The damage wasn’t as intense as it looked in the darkness. But it was still worrying to Ao’nung. A pit grew in his stomach and gnaws at his being like an angry akula.
”I know some healing if you will not go to the Tsahík,” Ao’nung says, running his hand over a particularly bad scrape, feeling the forest na’vi wince. He uses his mother’s formal title, trying to show that he was not trying to exert influence.
Lo’ak’s face shows resistance and Ao’nung could not help the rush of heat that moved through his back. What is it about this forest na’vi that keeps distracting Ao’nung? He was different from his siblings but not so different in a way to warrant this. Ideally, he would’ve fell for the oldest, Neteyam.
It was a golden boy falling in love with another golden boy. The son of Ole’etykan falling in love with the eldest son of Toruk Makto, three fingers and no hair above his eyes. But that was not here.
“Alright, fish lips, if you insist,” Lo’ak rolls his eyes, stepping closer to him.
Ao’nung’s gaze falls to the lithe shape of his body. He could almost taste the salt and copper, sweetened by the cream he put on every day like a ritual. It would be a wonderful taste.
Ao’nung drags his gaze up to Lo’ak’s lips, licking his own, finding his mouth dry. “Come,” he says, his voice rough with something he refused to name before dragging him into the forest. The trek is tame, filled with moss and large roots that trip up Ao’nung occasionally but Lo’ak navigates with ease. The night sounds surround them, the air cool and damp.
The trees open to a small spring, perfumed with flowers that glistened with water from the waterfall that fed into the small pool. It glowed with syuratan, painting the scene in shades of blues.
“Woah,” he hears Lo’ak say softly next to him and something blooms in his chest, glad to show Lo’ak something so beautiful.
“Come, this is my secret,” Ao’nung hums, continuing to hold his hand and guiding Lo’ak towards the pool. He sets him on a rock before turning to rummage through a basket that he keeps at the side. It was stocked with bandages, salves for small injuries that he didn’t want his mother to treat and nag him about it. Most were ones that he had pilfered from his mother’s stock, some he made himself.
He reaches for a full jar and opens, the smell of medicinal herbs filing the space between them. He digs his fingers into it before pulling it out, a good amount on his three fingers. Silently, he asks permission from Lo’ak to apply. He gets a jerky nod in response.
He applies it to the biggest spots first, his right knee, his elbows, a cut on his right bicep.
He is selfish. He does not need to be moving this slow when applying the medicine, so sure in his movements. Even as he leans forward placing his hand on Lo’ak’s thigh for support, he knows that he doesn’t need it. But he wants it. The muscle of Lo’ak’s thigh tenses in his hand and Ao’nung instinctively responds by squeezing the muscle, nails digging in slightly.
A sharp inhale of breath. Lo’ak’s eyes slowly rise from their downturned position and meets Ao’nung’s eyes.
Lo’ak is beautiful, even with the bruise on the corner of his lip and the scrape at the edge of his hairline. From here, the smell of him is so strong that Ao’nung wants it to stick in his lungs. His lips are parted in a surprised expression, “eyebrows” as Lo’ak has called them raised higher than usual. From here, Ao’nung can catch the thump of his heart and how it picks up and quickens.
Ao’nung wants to say something but from the slight panic and confusion in Lo’ak’s eyes, he understands that he should not. Lo’ak is a year younger than him and Ao’nung cannot overwhelm him with his want and desires.
He clears his throat and turns his head down to his task, moving with more efficiency to clean Lo’ak’s small wounds. They don’t speak and they don’t say bye when Ao’nung finishes. They just let it go.
(Ao’nung takes a dip into the pool after. He waits to be sure that Lo’ak is gone, that he is no where in the vicinity before he runs his hands through his hair. He tugs at it, trying and failing to distract himself from the ache in his loincloth. Desire itches at his skin, making feel like a raw nerve.
The brush of the water feels so good, making him think of Lo’ak. Would he touch him gently, like the tide brushes against the shore? Or would he have a heavier hand? Ao’nung lets out a shaky breath as he unties his loincloth, shedding it and placing it at the water’s edge. He tilts his head backs as his hand wraps around his length.
He imagines that it’s Lo’ak’s hand around him, four fingers instead of his own three. He moves it up and down, biting his lips to muffle the gasp that almost escapes his mouth when he thumbs the slit. The water covers most of his body but it is obvious what he is doing from the way his head is still thrown back and how the water splashes around him.
His stomach grows taut with need as he feels stars behind his eyes. His hand is moving faster now, no longer moving up the whole length. He was growing sloppy and frantic, back arching as the pleasure mounts. Eyes squeezed shut as he finally gives up on being quiet, Lo’ak’s name falling from his mouth in soft gasps.
He cums with a small cry of Lo’ak’s name, body shuddering slightly. White ropes cloud the water as he pants, eyes still closed. His body feels loose, arms heavy with a sleepiness that only came when he indulged himself.
Fuck. He is so screwed.)
…
When he is back home, body scrubbed with a soap he had left near his little sanctuary, his mom and dad are waiting for him.
Tsireya is conveniently gone so he knows that this was planned far in advance. He does not even wait as he sits on the cushion in front of them. His legs are crossed in the traditional format, one leg lain over the other, hands laid open over his knees. A cup with tea steamed in front of him, a sweet blend meant to calm nerves.
“Son,” Ronal starts, her face in her slight gentle expression, where her eyes soften at the corner and a gentle turn of her mouth. Ao’nung sees where he gets it from now. They are both quite adept at hiding their emotions behind a mask, only letting those closest to them. “We must talk.”
He takes a sip of the tea, letting its warmth run the course of his body and settling into his stomach. Its taste is familiar, reminiscent of all those times where Ao’nung would come to his mother when he could not sleep from anxiety making a home in his chest.
“You like Lo’ak,” Tonowari says bluntly and Ao’nung coughs on his next sip. He punches his chest, trying to get a breathe in as he stares at his dad wide-eyed. Unlike Ronal and Ao’nung, his dad was an open book. He did not try to be cunning but aimed for honesty. His eyes always kind and a true window to his soul. Tsireya might have looked like their mother but she was their father, through and through.
“What?” He gasps, taking deep breaths to regulate his breathing. And trying to take attention away from how his cheeks darken.
“It is obvious, Ao’nung,” Ronal says with a hint of a laugh in her voice. “Before I was courting your father, I acted the exact same way. Tested him, teased him, even fought him.”
Ao’nung gapes at his mom. He did not know that his mom was the one that initiated the courtship or the one that led most of it. To think, his mother. From his memory of his mother, she had always been the Tsahik, proper and teaching Ao’nung and Tsireya their manners and how to uphold themselves when at their age, she was fighting their father.
Did this mean that she struggled with the same things then? Of wanting to be perfect or be happy? Which one did she choose to end up here?
He watches as Tonowari turns his gaze to his mom and how his eyes are filled with love and adoration for her. Ao’nung can’t help but fake gag playfully, envying it all the same. He had always told his mom that he wants to be in love like dad was with her.
Ronal, without even turning, pushes Tonowari away. He laughs, conceding and turning to Ao’nung with a smile.
”He makes you happy, yes?” He asks, like it was as simple as that.
Does Lo’ak make him happy? He makes him want to kiss him and push him. There are multiple moments where the only urge with Lo’ak is to drown him in the sea. Happiness is complicated because Lo’ak is complicated. Maybe that was answer enough—that he wasn’t sure if Lo’ak made him happy or not. But he made him feel alive. Perfection did not matter with Lo’ak and that was thrilling.
“Yes,” is the answer that leaves his mouth and anxiety does not follow. He does not question if it’s the right or wrong answer, it’s just the answer.
“Well then. You must court him,” Ronal says decisively, nodding her head. “Soften him up, spend time with him. If he is what makes you happy, then we support it.”
Ao’nung doesn’t understand exactly what happened for this to follow. His mom was giving him dating advice. Embarrassing.
“You’re… okay with it?” He asks confused, placing his tea down.
”Of course,” Tonowari says, a furrow appearing in his forehead. “Why would we not be?”
”Because I’m your son?” Ao’nung reminds him, in case he forgot. “I need to choose a mate good for the village. Lo’ak is not even Metkayina.”
Ronal and Tonowari blink at him, confusion flooding their faces. Why would he think that they care whether that Lo’ak is Metkayina? Even if he were not the son of Toruk Makto, they would have encouraged it. Ao’nung should not have to worry about status because in the eyes of Ewya, love is the most holy thing.
“Son,” they both start gently before Ronal nods at Tonowari, indicating for him to take the lead. “We do not care if Lo’ak is not Metkayina. We care that you are happy. Ewya cares that you are happy. If Lo’ak makes you that, we will not question it and trust in Ewya and you.”
His breath stutters in his chest. He looks at his parents than at his own hands. Happy is what they wanted from him.
Was all that he did for nothing? All those harsh words that he would spit at others to prove that he was better. Those hours out at sea pushing himself to the max, his limbs cutting through the waves despite how tired he felt. None of it was really necessary. It made him a good warrior and a good Ole’eytkan-in-training but his father always told him he would be good regardless.
He blinks harshly, fighting back the tears. He takes in a greedy inhale of air, his chest expanding. He feels full with emotion and like he can take a breath. His shoulders are not weighed down with expectations.
“Oh, Nung,” Ronal whispers softly, using his childhood nickname. She reaches forward and hugs him, awkwardly due to her belly but warm. He squeezes his eyes shut, reaching up to hug her back.
”My son, you do not need to be perfect. You simply must be.” He does not know who says it, both of their voices blending in his mind.
“Sa’nok, sempul,” he coughs out, fighting the sobs.
They do not respond, Tonowari’s arms wrapping around the two of them instead. He no longer feels like crumbling down from wanting to be perfect. He knows now that he just has to be happy, however that looks.
…
Turns out that it looks very similar.
Much of his routine doesn’t change; he feels lighter nonetheless. He still swims hard, muscles cutting through the water with ease.
Words are softened around the edges and he talks to his crew cause they’re barely even friends, only Roxto is the one that deserves that title.
And he continues to hang out with Lo’ak. He brushes their hands together every time he can. He notices that Lo’ak struggles to eat constantly so he adds a pouch to his loin cloth and carries dried meats and fruits, always offering to Lo’ak.
After the change, for a week, Lo’ak was on edge. He would look at Ao’nung with suspicion, never trusting the words or the fruits or the touches. It eventually thawed to a warmth, not exactly a full friendship because it could never be that (Ao’nung wanted too much and Lo’ak was what he wanted; panting, sweating, Ao’nung’s name on his lips.)
“Fish lips,” Lo’ak laughed that day, pushing him away as they sat closer to the shore, letting the water lap at them. Ao’nung only smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corner. “I can’t believe you think that an ikran can swim.”
“Hush, baby tail, I assume everything can swim,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes. “Now, are you ready for the exchange?”
Lo’ak nodded, a small smile on his face, brushing some of his braids back. His face is shining under the sea sun, his skin a deeper tint of blue from constant days in the sun. Ao’nung drank in that sight, tucking it into his chest with the many moments of Lo’ak he wanted to remember.
Ao’nung went first, pulling out a shell. It was a small conch that was colored in a deep green and dappled with flecks of gold and blue. It was a rare find, one he could’ve taken to the Wind Traders. But Ao’nung saw it and thought of Lo’ak’s forest, the few stories that he had told on their quieter hunts on land. So he dressed it up as a truce, a sign of friendship and Lo’ak refused to be outdone.
Lo’ak went quiet at the sight of the conch. He grabbed it from Ao’nung’s hand, cradling it gently. His eyes grew wet and Ao’nung didn’t say anything in case he ruined the moment. For a few seconds, the only sound is their breathing and the water, the distant village just low enough to ignore.
He cleared his throat and blinked furiously, trying to clear the tears. Ao’nung averted his eyes, giving him the privacy to collect himself before looking back up.
Lo’ak has his head ducked, ears low. He still had the conch cradled in his right hand but he used the left to pull out his own gift. It was a fan seashell, a white that looks almost like pearls that slowly transitioned into a soft blue.
Ao’nung took it from him gently, running his hand over the shell. He feels the deep lines, one of his three fingers tracing it down.
“It is beautiful, Lo’ak,” he breathed, blinking back his own tears. He had never been gifted something so beautiful.
”Really? I wasn’t too sure, I had to ask Kiri for help because I suck at this and not gonna lie, I can’t even properly tell what color is it,” he rambled, looking everywhere but Ao’nung.
“I am sure,” Ao’nung interrupted him. He smiles and just like he hoped, Lo’ak smiled back.
One day, Ao’nung will tell him. For now, friends will do.