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Ao’nung had seen a lot of things that made his blood boil before — referees making garbage calls, rival players mocking his teammates, idiots in the hallway making snide comments about his tattoos — but nothing, nothing, compared to what he felt when he saw Neteyam Sully walk into school that morning.
A black eye.
A split lip.
A goddamn bandage on his cheek.
Neteyam. His Neteyam.
The kindest person on the planet. The one who tutored freshmen in math after class and stayed late to help the janitor collect recycling. The one who held Ao’nung’s hand under the bleachers and smiled like the sun was something he could touch.
Ao’nung froze mid-step in the hallway, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the morning chatter. He saw Neteyam keeping his head down, shoulders tight, backpack slung too heavily over one arm.
Every instinct in Ao’nung screamed to grab him, pull him close, make sure he was real and breathing and okay.
“Neteyam?” Ao’nung’s voice cracked when he said it.
Neteyam flinched slightly, then tried to smile. It was small and brittle, like glass about to break.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You’re early today.”
Ao’nung’s throat burned. “What the hell happened to you?”
The words came out too loud, too sharp. A few people turned to look, but Ao’nung didn’t care. He reached out, hand hovering just short of Neteyam’s bruised face. “Who did this?”
Neteyam’s lips trembled. “Ao’nung, I— it’s nothing, really, I—”
Nothing.
Ao’nung felt something snap behind his ribs.
“Nothing? You’ve got a bandage on your face, Teyam, you look like someone—”
He stopped when Neteyam’s eyes glistened. Actual tears.
Neteyam never cried. He was the calm one, the dependable one. Even when Lo’ak was acting out, when grades or expectations or the future weighed him down — he smiled through it all.
And now… he was shaking.
Ao’nung’s voice softened immediately. “Hey. Hey, baby, shh…” He touched Neteyam’s unbruised cheek carefully. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk right now. Let’s… let’s skip classes today, yeah? Get ice cream or something?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to respond — but instead, his whole body collapsed forward.
Ao’nung barely caught him in time.
Neteyam buried his face in Ao’nung’s neck, trembling, and the first quiet sob tore out of him.
Ao’nung’s arms wrapped around him instinctively. “Teyam… shhh… I got you. You’re okay, I got you,” he whispered, hand moving up and down his boyfriend’s back.
He didn’t know how long they stood there before he guided Neteyam into a nearby supply closet. The door shut behind them, muffling the world outside.
Ao’nung held him close, feeling every shaky breath, every stifled cry.
Finally, Neteyam choked out the words.
“It— it wasn’t even me they wanted to fight. It was Lo’ak. Those new guys, the ones who just transferred? They were picking on him, and he… you know him, he fought back. I tried to pull him away, and one of them hit me instead. Just—”
He wiped at his eyes, frustrated. “I didn’t want to fight back, Ao’nung, I swear. I just wanted it to stop. But Lo’ak— he thinks they’re his friends.”
Ao’nung’s hands tightened around him.
He wanted to track those bastards down and show them exactly how it felt to hurt Neteyam, but he swallowed the anger because Neteyam needed comfort, not fire.
“Come on,” Ao’nung murmured, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s get out of here. My place, yeah? We’ll figure it out later.”
By the time they reached Ao’nung’s house, Neteyam was running on fumes.
Ao’nung helped him out of his shoes, coaxed him to drink water, then pulled him onto the bed.
Neteyam curled up against him wordlessly, cheek resting on Ao’nung’s chest. His breathing finally began to steady.
Ao’nung brushed his hair back, tracing the faint bruise with featherlight fingers.
The thought of anyone hurting him made his chest ache.
“Don’t go doing this to me again, yeah?” Ao’nung whispered, pressing a kiss to Neteyam’s forehead. “You scare me when you cry.”
Neteyam managed a tired laugh. “Didn’t mean to.”
Ao’nung smiled faintly, tightening his hold. “Sleep, yawane.”
He stayed awake until he was sure Neteyam’s breathing had evened out, the sound syncing with his own heartbeat.
The next morning, Ao’nung tried to act normal.
He made pancakes — slightly burnt but full of effort — and poured juice into the nice glasses his mom kept for guests.
When Neteyam emerged from the bedroom, hair mussed and wearing Ao’nung’s hoodie, the sight made Ao’nung’s heart clench.
“You trying to bribe me with food?” Neteyam asked softly.
Ao’nung grinned. “Maybe. I’m also asking you to come to my game tomorrow. Big one. Finals, baby.”
Neteyam smiled — a real one, small and warm. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Ao’nung’s cheek.
Ao’nung felt the world go quiet for a moment. Everything — every ache, every worry — was worth it when Neteyam smiled like that.
The next day, Ao’nung couldn’t stop scanning the bleachers.
Every time the gym doors opened, he expected to see that familiar dark hair, that shy little wave Neteyam always gave before his games.
But he wasn’t there.
Maybe he’s late, Ao’nung told himself. Maybe Lo’ak dragged him somewhere.
The whistle blew, the game began. Ao’nung forced himself to focus. The ball, the court, the rhythm — muscle memory carried him through. His team won, the crowd cheered, and still — no sign of Neteyam.
Something cold settled in Ao’nung’s chest.
He reached for his phone. Dozens of notifications.
Lo’ak. Kiri. Roxto.
His stomach dropped.
He called his sister, voice tight. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone—”
“Ao’…” Tsireya’s voice broke. “It’s Neteyam.”
He couldn’t breathe. “What about him?”
“He—” she choked, “He was shot.”
Ao’nung didn’t remember getting to the hospital. One moment he was on the court, the next he was sprinting down sterile white corridors, lungs burning, throat raw from screaming Neteyam’s name.
They wouldn’t let him into the operating room. He could only see flashes — doctors shouting, blood on blue gloves, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning his eyes.
Jake and Neytiri were there, hollow-eyed. Lo’ak sat with his head in his hands, muttering, “It was supposed to be me.”
Ao’nung’s world tilted.
They said the bullet went through, missed his heart by an inch, punctured a lung.
They said he kept crashing. That they were fighting to keep him alive.
Ao’nung fell to his knees in the waiting room, hands gripping his hair.
He prayed — to Eywa, to anyone listening — Please. Not him. Please.
Neteyam didn’t wake up.
They kept him in the ICU, tubes and machines keeping his chest rising and falling.
Ao’nung visited every day, even when the nurses told him to go home.
He sat beside the bed, talking softly.
“Teyam, you remember when I failed that chemistry quiz and you made me flashcards? You said I’d thank you someday.”
He laughed, voice cracking. “Well, I’m thanking you now, babe. So wake up and accept it, yeah?”
Silence. Only the hum of the monitor.
He held Neteyam’s hand, tracing the veins beneath his skin.
“Your hand’s still warm,” he whispered. “Means you’re still here.”
Sometimes he fell asleep in the chair. Sometimes he crawled into the bed carefully, laying his head on Neteyam’s lap, pretending they were just napping between study sessions.
He told him stories — about practice, about stupid locker room jokes, about how Kiri said she’d punch him if he didn’t eat.
And still, Neteyam didn’t move.
A week passed.
People started to move on.
Students whispered that Neteyam wouldn’t wake up.
Some of Ao’nung’s teammates cornered him in the locker room one day, their words sharp and cruel.
“Look, Ao’, I get it — that boy was cute, but it’s been a week, man. You need to get your head back in the game.”
“Find a girl, bro. Someone to distract you. That nerd’s not coming back.”
Ao’nung didn’t think — he just swung.
His fist connected with the guy’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
“Say his name again,” Ao’nung growled, “and I’ll break your nose next.”
He stormed out, vision blurring. He drove straight to the hospital, chest heaving.
When he saw Neteyam again — pale, motionless, the faint beep of the heart monitor steady and cruel — Ao’nung broke.
He sank to his knees beside the bed, head pressed to Neteyam’s thigh.
“Teyam, please…” His voice shook. “Please come back to me. I’ll do anything. You said I make you feel free — but I can’t breathe without you. Not like this.”
He wept until the world blurred. Until all that existed was the sound of his sobbing and the soft mechanical rhythm keeping his boyfriend alive.
He must’ve drifted to sleep like that, because when he woke up, there was a faint movement beneath his cheek.
He froze.
Then—
A twitch. A soft, struggling inhale that wasn’t machine-driven.
Ao’nung’s head snapped up. “Teyam?”
Neteyam’s brow furrowed faintly. The heart monitor picked up pace.
“Neteyam,” Ao’nung whispered, voice trembling, “baby, can you hear me?”
It was small — the tiniest shift of fingers against his palm — but it was enough.
Ao’nung hit the call button, shouting for a nurse, but his focus never left Neteyam’s face.
When the nurses came rushing in, Ao’nung leaned close, brushing his thumb across Neteyam’s hand. “You keep fighting, yeah? You promised we’d go for ice cream.”
Two days later, Neteyam opened his eyes.
They were heavy, unfocused, but alive.
Ao’nung was right there, gripping his hand so tightly it must’ve hurt.
“Hey,” Neteyam croaked. His voice was hoarse from the tube. “You look like shit.”
Ao’nung laughed — a wet, shaky sound. “You nearly died, and that’s your first sentence?”
Neteyam’s lips curved weakly. “Sorry for worrying you.”
Ao’nung leaned forward, resting his forehead against Neteyam’s. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Neteyam smiled faintly. “No promises.”
Ao’nung exhaled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, you idiot.”
“Love you too,” Neteyam whispered, eyes fluttering shut again — but this time, it was just sleep. Peaceful. Safe.
Weeks later, Neteyam was walking again, slow and careful, still recovering.
Ao’nung wheeled him out into the hospital garden, where sunlight spilled across his face.
“Feels weird,” Neteyam said quietly. “Being outside again.”
Ao’nung smiled, threading their fingers together. “You scared the hell out of me, yawane.”
Neteyam looked down, guilt shadowing his eyes. “Lo’ak told me what happened after. He— he can’t even look at me without crying.”
Ao’nung squeezed his hand. “He’ll come around. You saved him.”
Silence settled between them — heavy, but not unbearable.
Neteyam leaned his head on Ao’nung’s shoulder.
“Do you think things will ever feel normal again?” he asked softly.
Ao’nung looked at the sunlight glinting off Neteyam’s hair, at the faint scars peeking beneath his collar.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I’ll be here. Every step. Until you wake up all the way.”
Neteyam chuckled quietly. “I’m already awake, dummy.”
Ao’nung smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”
That night, when Ao’nung finally went home, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The ache was still there — the fear, the memory of that phone call, the sound of his name shouted across sterile halls. But beneath it, something gentler pulsed.
Love.
Steady and unyielding.
Maybe life wouldn’t go back to the way it was — maybe the scars would never fade completely — but Ao’nung had him back.
And that was enough.
He closed his eyes, remembering hearing Neteyam’s voice in his memory, soft and teasing: “You’re the basketball junkie who stole the valedictorian’s heart.”
Ao’nung smiled through the tears.
“Yeah,” he whispered to the dark. “And I’m never giving it back.”
[END]