Archive of Our Own ^beta

Though, sometimes he wished he was. 

Maybe I shouldn't have come here. Lo’ak thought to himself, already beginning to sense that brewing, terrible feeling in his gut. Eclipse was close, the stars distant in a sense that they too did not want to be there. The thick mangrove trees appeared to reach for the sky, their branches extending in a wide canopy over the four boys. The forest was shadowed, and yet Lo’ak could see the looks of disgust they watched him with. This wasn't a truce, of course not. It hadn't been the first time, and it wouldn't be one now. 

So why, why did it hurt so much? Why was Lo’ak upset? Why did he feel.. betrayed? He knew not to get his hopes up, Lo’ak was certain he hadn't this time, and yet his heart still ached in his chest like a weed was growing inside; plaguing his thoughts and his mind with hopeless dreams that would never cease past just that. A dream. A stupid, brainless idea that his imagination formed and sculptured in a way so tempting, so delightful and yet so unreachable. Every dream, every idea, every hope and prayer was unrealistic as long as Lo’ak looked the way he did. No Na’vi had four fingers like him. That's what made him all the worse.

That's what made the Metkayina boys glower at him like a demon. Like a curse that should've been exorcised. Like a defected, corrupted experiment. An experiment by Eywa.

“We're not going to go searching for rare herbs, are we?” Lo’ak murmured, his fists clenched at his sides. The middle boy smiled, cackling to his friends, as if saying; ‘Can you believe this guy?’ 

“No. But I thought you already knew that.” The one to the left said. He was bulky, for a fifteen year old. Lo'ak could vaguely recall his name being something like Ayve’ur, meaning ‘first sight.’ Maybe it was because the first time his opponents caught sight of him was typically their last. Just a blissful guess from Lo’ak. 

Ayve’ur steadied his expression with a glare, taking a few steps forward. Lo’ak watched with caution, feeling his muscles tense. Something told him that he wasn't going to get out of this situation as easily as anticipated.

“Why do you have to lie to me this way?” Lo’ak spoke in agitation, readying his fists. Nothing could ever go his way. He wished for a day of peace, for a day where he could live without the weightful worries of his existence. For a day where Lo’ak could hang out with other Na’vi without hesitation, where he could have fun without feeling as though he were a pest. Like his mere life was a disease without cure.

“Lie? When did we lie, demon? Did you really think we'd hang out with a bad omen?” Ayve'ur growled, raising his fist. Lo'ak braced himself for the pain, and damn, did the pain come. The punch was painful. It felt like a million fires setting ablaze in his eye, piercing and melting at his socket, sending his brain up in smoke signals of retreat. But Lo’ak was stubborn, and refused to be rough-housed so effortlessly. So he hit him back, and before Lo’ak could blink, he was wrestling with him on the floor, his two buddies teaming up on the poor Omaticaya boy. His hair was pulled, his tail was tugged on, his face the biggest target to the three of them. 

Lo’ak put up a good fight, punching and clawing and even biting once or twice. Anything he could use to his advantage, he did, and still that wasn't enough. It never would've been. It never had been. He had known that, and when his efforts turned to futile attempts, Lo’ak put on a brave face and took the attacks, the insults, the hateful stares. He drank it all up, soaking it up like a sponge, letting it swell up as a lump in his throat. But Lo’ak did not cry, he did not give them the satisfaction of his salty tears. He did not allow them that purchase. 

___________________________________________________________

Lo’ak let out a groan, his attackers long gone. His face felt as if it had been beaten into a whole new form, insides and all. He could not see out of his left eye. It was swollen horribly, from what Lo’ak could estimate. The taste of blood was bitter on his tongue, reminding him of just how pitiful he was. Oh Eywa, why must you deceive me so much? Lo’ak internally questioned, cursing to himself as he heaved himself up. His limbs felt like lead, but he willed himself to move in the direction of his family's marui. Sleep was very, very appealing at the moment.

___________________________________________________________

        Please don't be awake.. Lo’ak had begged to himself as he entered the marui. All seemed well. Lo’ak had been about to slip into his sleeping mat, when he was interrupted by a stern voice. 

“Where have you been?” His father inquired, looking tired. And mad. But he always seemed sort of mad when he looked at Lo'ak.

 Lo’ak felt his heart sink to the very tip of his toes at the sight of his father. He was familiar with that look, with the way Jake’s eyes all but bore into him, brutally reminding Lo’ak that he was not a son worthy of his affection and that he was not perfect; that he was not capable of reaching expectations. That he wasn’t Neteyam. 

Yes, he admitted it. 

Lo’ak was not Neteyam. Not in skill, nor in appearance. Not even in patience. Neteyam was everything that Lo’ak was not. Neteyam was everything that Lo’ak failed to be. That is why Lo’ak stood in the doorway of their marui at dusk, bruised with a look of shame on his face, and Neteyam did not. Neteyam would not have allowed for those insults to reach his mind, he would have ignored their advances with a smile. Neteyam would have waved them off as insecure; Neteyam would’ve thought with his head instead of his fists. But Lo’ak was not Neteyam. He was only himself, and there was only so much pressing and tugging at his buttons that Lo’ak could take before his anger surged through in an fiery wave of impulsiveness. If anything, his scathed knuckles were proof of that. 

Jake drew in a deep, heavy breath. “Lo’ak, what did you do?” He asked in a way that made Lo’ak want to curl up and disappear. He’d been a victim of that tone hundreds of times, and yet every time he heard it appeared harder than the last. It was like a personal blow to his soul. Words could not describe the anguish that simmered in his heart. 

“Sir—” Lo’ak choked out, his voice failing him as he stumbled for his own words. How could he even manage a response, when it took all of Lo’ak’s will to stand? This exact outcome had been repeated time and time again, and Lo’ak could only plead with his eyes that his father would listen. “Sir, I—” Lo’ak attempted to formulate a sentence, but it was difficult when his mouth wouldn't move, when his throat was so dry it felt on fire. 

"Dad-" Lo'ak choked out, resisting the urge to wipe the blood from his lip. "Dad, they called me a demon. They think I am a curse of Eywa.”

That seemed to catch his father's attention. For a moment, for such a sliver of a second, Lo’ak’s father appeared angry, enraged even, and not at him. Then his expression hardened again, so quickly that Lo’ak wasn't sure if he'd imagined that flicker of rage. Perhaps he had. Perhaps it was just another one of those hopes he pleaded for. 

 “Clean yourself up and go to bed. You’re grounded.” Jake concluded with a sigh of exhaustion, turning to where Neytiri had fallen asleep on her mat, cradling little Tuk in her arms. Lo’ak watched in silence, the pit in his stomach eating at him from the inside. He could do nothing but watch as his father resigned to bed, too fatigued with his day to even scold him for what stupid fights he participated in. To tired even check to make sure no wound was fatal; to check that his little boy was okay. Lo’ak doubted that the outcome would be the same if it had been Neteyam.

Oh, Neteyam. Lo’ak turned to the direction of his siblings, expecting to see their sleeping postures. Though, he was surprised to find Neteyam staring back at him, his golden eyes gentle with concern as he sat up in his sleeping mat. What happened? His eyes questioned. Lo’ak had to look away, too afraid to meet his brother’s eyes. Ever since that day, –the day Neteyam had nearly died– Lo’ak had been unable to meet his brother’s eyes for longer than a few seconds. Every time he did, images that Lo’ak tried so desperately to forget would flash in his head to remind him of how stupid, of how dumb and unreliable he was. It was like a curse that Eywa had bound to him as punishment for nearly ending the perfect son. The son that Lo’ak was not. 

“What happened to your face, brother?” Neteyam finally asked. It felt like an eternity of silence until he eventually got up, approaching his brother with a tender yet worn expression. “Were those losers picking on you again?” He questioned once more, searching his face for an answer. Pleasez stop looking at me. I can't. Lo’ak could only beg to himself, opening his mouth with a tired huff.

“It’s nothing. Just a couple of bruises.” Lo’ak made an effort to shrug off Neteyam’s gestures. At his attempt, Neteyam only grew more determined, taking his hand and leading him to his mat. Neteyam always had a tendency to care for his injured siblings, no matter how small the wounds. 

“Sit, skwxang. Your lip is busted. It is not nothing if you are hurt.” Neteyam said with a sigh, flicking Lo’ak in between his brows. Lo’ak responded with a grumble, allowing for his brother to tend to his wounds. 

The bruises themselves weren’t severe, though they were abundant. The swelling on Lo’ak’s left eye was particularly bad. It was odd that Lo’ak had managed to seize himself in a fight at that hour. Nightfall had long passed; the stars twinkled lavishly. Neteyam could only begin to imagine how his baby brother had managed  to rope himself into such a fight at the time it was.

“How did you manage to get in a fight at this time of night, Lo?” Neteyam asked in genuine curiosity, frowning obscurely. That black eye didn't look so well.

“I tried to mend bridges, and ended up sending the whole village up into flames.” Lo’ak huffed, using a sky people saying that he had been taught. Apparently, Neteyam had not been taught such things, as he glanced behind him to stare at the village, eyes wide as if expecting to see screaming Na’vi with their maruis burnt down. 

“You set it on fire!?” He whispered.

“No, skwxang. It's a sky people saying.” 

“Oh, okay, because of you did set the village on fire-” 

“Shut up!” 

Neteyam and Lo’ak turned to look at a grouchy Kiri, who was glaring at them. “For the love of Eywa, will you two go to sleep?” She scowled in annoyance, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry sis.” Neteyam said with a grin, patting Lo’ak on the shoulder. “You should sleep too, Lo. We have training tomorrow.” Lo’ak let out an exasperated groan, rolling his one co-operative eye. The other one, unfortunately, was out of commission at the moment. 

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He huffed. Neteyam let out a laugh. 

“Come on, it's not that bad. Maybe you'll like it."

"Ugh, no way. Aonung is going to make fun of my bruises tomorrow and I'll never hear the end of it." 

Neteyam shook his head, chuckling. "I'm sure Aonung wouldn't do that, I thought you guys were finally-" 

“GO TO SLEEP!” Kiri yelled, nearly waking up the whole marui. Lo’ak and Neteyam snickered between one another, curling up in their mats. Lo’ak's face still hurt, terribly so, but at least he had his siblings. 

With that thought, sleep came to him easily. 

“What's happening?” Lo’ak wanted to ask, a frightened look on his face. Why weren't they standing with him, why was his father shielding his siblings like Lo’ak was a demon? 

“Get rid of the demon! Exile him from our home!” The crowd yelled, chanting ancient speeches as if they were warding off an evil presence. The evil presence was him, he quickly realized. But he was not evil, Lo’ak swore he was not. He was just a kid, a kid who tended to make mistakes, yes, but a kid.

 Lo’ak opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, to plead for forgiveness. “No! I am not a demon, I-'' A perfervid, scorching pain erupted in his throat. Lo’ak’s heart drummed against his ribcage like the beating wings of the Great Leonopteryx, and he watched in horror as coiling ropes of black mist oozed from his mouth in thick tendrils. They latched to his skin, picking and eating at him like a slab of meat. The pain was unbearable, every bite to his skin felt like a million needles dissecting the tightly laced flesh that protected his very being. His very soul. 

“Dad!” Lo'ak wheezed in anguish, eyes ablaze in utter agony as hot tears cascaded down his blue cheeks. His father only watched, glaring at him. 

“Neteyam! Dad! Ma!” Lo’ak screamed, begging for forgiveness as his very existence was ripped away from him, stolen brutally from his hold. “Please! It's me, I'm your son! Don't you love me!? It is me, Lo’ak! Please say that you love me!” His voice felt like that of a child's, weak and frail. His family only watched, gazing sternly and unwaveringly. 

Lo’ak felt so vulnerable, the eyes that watched him made no move in his rescue. “Why won't you save me!?” He wanted to scream. Lo’ak wanted to tear them to shreds, he wanted to force them to see him. To realize that he was there, that he was not a demon; that he was a boy with a heart that throbbed with every touch, with every insult and with every stare. He could feel, he could hurt, he could cry. Lo’ak not a failure. He was not a curse. Eywa loved him too, he knew she did. They were wrong. 

They were all wrong. 

Wrong.. wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong…

Every. Single. One. 

“I HATE YOU!” 

~~

“Lo?” Lo’ak was shaken awake, gasping out as if he'd been choking. “Lo’ak, are you okay?” He couldn't manage a response. It was like a snake was slithering up his esophagus. 

“Neteyam, put him on his side!” A familiar voice yelled, though Lo’ak couldn't register a name for it. He vaguely processed being turned on his side, feeling his throat burn as he vomited all he'd eaten the previous day. The taste was unpleasant, and his eyes screwed shut as he discarded the contents of his stomach. The scorching in his throat only made him hurl again, tears brimming at his eyes. 

There was a panicked yell from the left, as far as Lo’ak could tell, whatever he was doing wasn't healthy. It felt his insides were combusting, rearranging themselves uncomfortably. Lo’ak had never experienced a deeper level of suffering. He was not one to get sick, not this terribly, anyways. This was unfamiliar - a foreign situation he did not enjoy. 

Lo’ak could barely register being hauled up as he finished throwing up his whole stomach, listening to incoherent voices speak from all around him. This was giving him a headache. Why was it so hot?

“Hot..” Lo’ak croaked out, managing to voice his discomfort. Somebody spoke to him, he strained his ears to listen, but they did not comply. The response was a muffled wave of sound in the back of his head. Ow, his head. His head pulsated painfully, a soft ringing beginning to crescendo the more he focused on its volume. 

His eyes felt heavy. Lo’ak wanted to sleep. He willed himself not to, but once again his body did not listen. With a fluttering of his eyes, he was asleep.

________________________________________________________________________

“It appears he has a concussion. A bad one, at that.” Lo’ak recognized Norm’s voice, his eyes cracking open in recognition. Though, at opening his eyes, he was blinded by the midday sun, letting out a hiss. His hands retracted over his face, shielding his poor eyes from the sunshine. 

“Lo’ak!” Tuk let out a squeal, bounding over to the mat that Lo’ak was laid on. He let out a groan, his ears ringing at the volume. 

“Tuk, be quiet. He just woke up.” Kiri murmured, patting her hair. She walked over to Lo’ak as well, glaring at him with that gleam in her eye that Lo’ak knew all too well. He was about to be scolded out of his mind. 

“Before you start, I just wanted to say-” 

“Lo’ak, you might just be the stupidest Na’vi that I've ever met.” She cut off, glaring at Lo’ak. She appeared to be mad, but Lo’ak knew enough to know that she was only worried. Neteyam nodded, standing at her side. Lo’ak had no idea when he'd gotten there, but apparently he agreed with Kiri’s statement. How unfair. He was getting double-teamed. 

“Wow, thanks.” Lo’ak huffed, looking away from his siblings in annoyance. His eyes then met Norm’s, who was watching Lo’ak as he talked with his father. Their conversation was hushed, so he couldn't make out what  they were saying, but something in his gut said it wasn't too nice.

Lo’ak opened his mouth to ask a question, when his face was turned to his mother's, who cupped her hands on his cheeks like a crazed woman. “I pray to Eywa that I do not murder my skwxang son!” She hissed, looking worried despite her threatening. Lo’ak only grumbled, allowing for his mother to look him over. 

“Why must you get into fights at night, Ma'itan? In the day, at least I can mend your wounds.” She scolded Lo’ak with a stern voice. 

“Ma, I was trying to make friends. It's not my-” Lo’ak paused, recoiling as he felt his throat close up again. Did he even have anything left to dispose of in his stomach? No. Did that stop Lo'ak from regurgitating his whole stomach? No. Why would you think so? 

Neytiri cooed with worry, not leaving his side as he heaved all of his remaining stomach fluids. Norm went to his other side, frowning. When Lo’ak was done, he felt like throwing up all over again, only he couldn't. His stomach felt like a hollow, shriveled up bow quiver. 

“This is odd. I never thought Na’vi could experience concussions this way. Their skulls are stronger. You must've hit your head pretty terribly, Lo’ak.” Norm calculated with a sigh, reinspecting the back of Lo’ak's head. Jake came to Norm's side, his expression unreadable as he looked over his son himself. Lo’ak wasn't sure if he appreciated all the attention, but at least he was skipping training in the meantime.

“Is it severe?” Jake asked the question that seemed to be on everyone's mind. Norm shook his head, pursing his lips. That response in itself appeared to ease the minds of his family. 

“No, it's not. Lo’ak should avoid any unnecessary movement though, like exercising or training. He should rest until his injury subsides.” Norm concluded, patting his shoulder. “You'll be experiencing some nausea and things like that. It'd be best to sleep frequently until you heal.”

Lo’ak nodded in acknowledgement, though Norm's words sort of flew over his head. With that, Norm left, smiling faintly as he bid his goodbyes. 

There was a new silence that filled the marui once he'd left. Lo’ak sat up, suddenly having the urge to go to the beach. The ocean would ease his mind, surely.

“Oh no, you're not going anywhere.” His father said, a firm look in his eyes. Lo’ak turned to him in disbelief, pausing mid-motion.

“What?” Lo’ak asked. 

“You're not going anywhere. You are hurt.” Jake repeated with a frown.

“But sir-” 

“No.” Jake hissed, leaving no room in his tone. Lo’ak groaned, gritting his teeth as he resigned back to his mat, purposely turning to the wall. He hated it when they treated him like a helpless child. He was not a glass jar, he was not on the verge of breaking from pressure. He was not. 

Right?

Lo’ak closed his eyes, when he felt someone sit at his side. Surely, it was Neteyam. He always made an effort to comfort his siblings when things didn't go as anticipated. He made a face of disinterest, refusing to look up at his brother. He would not listen this time. 

“Did you get them?” A low, fatherly voice whispered. Lo’ak snapped his eyes open, surprised to see his father sitting besides him. He fumbled for his words, eventually letting out a nod. 

“Yes sir.” Lo’ak nodded, trying to hide the absolute bewilderment he was experiencing. 

Jake pursed his lips, as if he too was new to this, nodding. “Good. That's good.” He mumbled, getting up and leaving. Lo’ak watched him leave with an expression full of surprise, before he turned on his side, letting his eyes fall closed. 

Before he'd fallen asleep, Lo’ak remembered catching a glimpse of Neteyam’s smile. Huh. He thought to himself.

The day's work finally weighed down on Lo’ak, and he fell into sleep, letting the cool sensation envelope him in darkness.

“Teyam?” The little boy croaked out, his lip quivering as he looked up to his brother. His chubby, blue and indigo streaked cheeks were stained with past tears. New ones leaked from his golden eyes in their absence. 

“Yes, Lo. What's wrong? Why aren't you playing with your new friends?” Neteyam knelt down in front of his baby brother, wiping away the salty droplets from his face. Lo’ak was unable to resist the cries he let out, pointing to the ugly gash in between his ring finger and his pinky finger. His demon finger. 

“T- they said I am a fweak!” Lo’ak cried out, his lips parting as he wailed. The little boy did not understand why they treated him that way. His daddy was Toruk Makto! He was his son! He could be just as great. His grandmother said so. 

Neteyam's face contorted into one of exasperation, his eyes widening in alarm at the blood; frantically he shook his head, cooing reassuringly to his baby brother. His dearest, all too innocent baby brother.

Neteyam could not believe how terrible someone could act to someone so adorable, so clumsy and special as his baby brother. 

 “No, no, no. Lo’ak, you are not a freak. Strong heart, see?” He muttered, pressing his hand over the little one's heart. “Let's go home. You are bleeding. Ma is worried.” 

Lo’ak let out a sniffle, shuffling to his feet. Reluctantly, he followed behind his brother, cradling his bleeding hand close to his chest. It hurt, stinging painfully with every wobbly motion the little boy advanced in. 

~~

Eventually, they'd made it back to the Tree of Souls, where their clan had found refuge since the day Toruk Makto –their father– saved the Omaticaya clan from the despicable sky people. 

Omaticayans came and went from the living areas, everyone appeared occupied in their daily tasks. No one spared a glance at the two children, who padded along the abundance of vegetation to the giant tree hut their family lived in. Lo’ak tried to ignore the blood that smeared on his soft, kid belly. 

Before they could even make it to the door, Neytiri burst out of the hut. Their father followed suit. “Ma’itan! What happened to your hand?” His mother asked with a soft, fond tone, taking his little hand. Lo’ak thought that his tears had all been used up, but at the sight of his mother, the little boy could not suppress the urge to burst into tears.

Neteyam bound over to his father, tugging at his wrist and pointing to his brother with a sad expression. Lo’ak had not listened to what he'd said, too engaged in the sobs that erupted from his eyes. His mother did her best to comfort him, holding him closely in her arms. 

“There, Ma’itan. Let's mend your hand.” Neytiri murmured, scooping up the crying six year old in her arms. Kiri had watched the ordeal from the hut, frowning at her little brother.

Lo’ak allowed for his wound to be mended, crying softly. “Mama, it hurts.” He whined, braids falling over his face. 

“Mama, it hurts..” Lo’ak moaned with a hoarse voice, awakening to a scorching sensation in his throat. The sensation was familiar. Lo’ak knew that he should be getting up, or at least turning to his side, but his body felt like lead and movement would not reach his limbs. 

He let out a series of coughs, feeling vile race up his throat, only to be sucked back down by his lying position. In an instant Lo’ak was rolled onto his side, and with that came all of yesterday's dinner. His head throbbed; a gross, pulsating feeling repeating in his veins as he vomited. 

“There, Ma’itan.” His mother cooed, moving his unkempt braids from the chunky mess he created by his face. The smell reeked so horribly, Lo’ak was tempted to throw up again. But then he was picked up, moved to a different mat. 

“Ugh.. I was going to train today, too..” Lo’ak murmured in a voice full of disappointment. Before this morning, he’d been healing relatively well. His migraines had subsided, and his body fatigue had completely vanished; which in truth made Lo’ak itch for action. He had never been one to sit around, especially not for so long. His brain was practically screaming at him to get up and go wrestle a tulkun to the death. Which would’ve been an impulsive fight, most likely to result in instant death. Something told the Omaticaya that would be him. 

Crazy, just how Lo’ak liked it. (Sorta.)

Neytiri cooed once more, snapping Lo’ak out of his internal rant. “I know, Ma’itan. I am sorry, but you’re still unwell.” She murmured, caressing his cheek with a warm expression, Lo’ak never quite understood why, but being treated this way made him want to cry. It made Lo’ak feel nostalgic, as if he were a six year old again. A six year old, like in that dream he had. Lo’ak had forgotten that ordeal completely, but now the memory was fresh in his head; like a seashell washed up to shore after years of being buried under the crashing waves of Eywa. 

Hm. Waves. Lo’ak preferred trees, though. Trees were big and strong, with thick mighty trunks that pierced the sky, their branches extending as they basked in the face of sunlight; shielding the boundless plethora of planetary and vegetation that clung to Eywa’s core from under the canopies, connecting every root and seed into a carefully woven net of life. A net of the Great Mother’s creation. Neytiri said that all were connected to Eywa, though Lo’ak found it hard to believe that his demonic properties could somehow align with the supreme being that way.  

“Lo’ak.” Kiri said, waving a hand over his eyes. He blinked, once again pulled out of his train of thought. For how long Kiri had been calling his name, Lo’ak did not know. Kiri wasn’t waiting for his response, apparently, as she continued the moment Lo’ak’s attention was faced her way. “Ma and I are going to the TshaÌk to get you herbs. Behave yourself, okay skwxang?” 

Once again, before Lo’ak could manage a snarky remark, she left. Lo’ak was alone. Atleast, he was, until a familiar Metkayina invited himself inside. 

Ugh, seriously? Lo’ak thought to himself, scowling as Aonung made his way over to him. Oddly enough, Lo’ak couldn’t muster up displeasure at the boy’s appearance. Well, his arrival, more like it. Lo’ak found himself peculiarly content Aonung’s current appearance. 

 The Metkayina had his hair down, the black curls coiling down past his shoulders in inky sections. Aonung wore a new necklace with his typical accessories, which was clasped around his neck. The design was simple, though eye-catching with the way it was woven; brown leather strands and dried seaweed twined into a hilling depiction with a sparkling pearl ornamented in the center. 

..Lo’ak had to pry his eyes away.

Oh Eywa, did I hit my head? He cursed to himself, looking up to meet pale blue eyes boring into him just as equally. Lo’ak suddenly remembered how terrible he looked at the moment. How embarrassing. He didn’t smell, did he? 

Wait. Why would I care? Lo’ak asked himself, scowling. Perhaps his head needed some healing still. 

“Here, forest boy.” Aonung said, suddenly sitting in front of him with a wooden bowl in his hands. He pushed it forward, observing Lo’ak delicately. As if voicing with his eyes: ‘you better eat what I've made you, and enjoy it, or I will personally shove it down your throat.’ 

Huh. Why was his heart beating so fast?

Lo’ak swallowed the lump in his throat, taking the wooden bowl with an awkward smile. “..Thanks.” He finally spoke, examining the foreign soup with golden eyes. 

Frankly, the soup looked delicious. Inside of the golden broth was a steamed fish, with seaweed and a set of plants Lo’ak could not name swirling around. The contents appeared well seasoned, drifting aimlessly in the bowl. He lifted the bowl to his mouth hesitantly, Aonung observing intently.

It was such an explosion of flavor that Lo'ak had a double take, processing the soup with wide eyes. It was a tangy, exquisite explosion of savory flavor on his taste buds. There was a sort of after sweetness to the seaweed, adding the perfect diversity. “Great Mother, this is delicious!” Lo’ak blurted out, digging into the soup like a madman.

Aonung watched with a prideful smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is a traditional soup for mending the ill.” He explained, tucking an inky curl behind his shoulder. He appeared.. nervous? Awkward? 

Lo’ak couldn't contain the smile that grazed his lips, setting down the now empty bowl with a satisfied hum. He didn't know how to word his gratitude. Not with Aonung.

Aonung took the bowl with a blank expression, getting up. “Well, I've got things to do. Bye, forest boy.” He said, patting Lo'ak's shoulder with an unreadable look in his eye. Lo’ak was sure his hand had lingered a little too long on his shoulder, but maybe that was just his imagination. 

Weird. Lo'ak's heart was racing.