Chapter Text
The water was too bright, too blue, and Aonung's hand was too close to Neteyam's leg.
"Your position is all wrong," Aonung said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Forest people. Can't even sit on an ilu properly."
Neteyam gritted his teeth and tried to adjust his grip on the ilu's handle. The creature shifted beneath him, sensing his tension, and he fought to keep his balance. He'd been at this for nearly an hour now, and Aonung had done nothing but criticize every movement he made.
"I'm trying," Neteyam said, keeping his voice level. He wouldn't give Aonung the satisfaction of seeing him frustrated.
"Trying isn't good enough." Aonung circled around, his own ilu moving with practiced ease through the shallow water. "If you can't even hold on correctly, you'll never make the bond work."
The sun beat down on Neteyam's shoulders, and he could feel the salt water drying on his skin. His queue was already connected to the ilu, and he could feel the creature's heartbeat, its confusion at his awkward positioning. He knew he wasn't doing it right, but Aonung's constant commentary wasn't helping.
"Your legs," Aonung said suddenly, moving closer. "They're too far forward."
Before Neteyam could adjust on his own, Aonung's hand shot out and grabbed his inner thigh, fingers digging in hard. The touch was harsh, aggressive, and far too high up. Neteyam's whole body went rigid.
"What are you—" Neteyam started.
"Adjusting your form," Aonung interrupted, his grip tightening. His fingers pressed into the sensitive skin of Neteyam's upper inner thigh, right where his loincloth ended. "You need to shift back. Or are forest people too stupid to understand basic positioning?"
The pressure was painful, deliberate. Neteyam could feel each of Aonung's fingers pressing into his flesh like brands. This wasn't about teaching. This was about asserting dominance, about reminding Neteyam that he didn't belong here.
"Let go," Neteyam said, his voice low and dangerous. His father had taught him to keep his temper in check, to be the perfect son, but there were limits. "Now."
Aonung's eyes flashed with something that might have been amusement. "I'm helping you. Unless you want to keep embarrassing yourself?"
"I said let go." Neteyam reached down to pry Aonung's hand away, but the reef boy's grip only tightened further. The pain shot up Neteyam's leg, and he could feel his skin being pressed too hard, twisted slightly under those cruel fingers.
"Make me," Aonung said, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now. He was enjoying this, enjoying watching Neteyam struggle, enjoying the power he held in this moment.
Neteyam's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. The ilu beneath him shifted nervously, picking up on his distress through their bond. He could shove Aonung off his own ilu, could start a fight right here in the water, but that would only prove whatever point Aonung was trying to make. That the Sullys were violent, that they had demon blood, that they didn't belong among the peaceful reef people.
"You're hurting me," Neteyam said, and he hated how the words sounded, hated that he had to say them at all.
For a long moment, Aonung just stared at him, fingers still digging into Neteyam's thigh. Then, finally, he released his grip and pulled back, his expression unreadable.
"There," Aonung said flatly. "Your form is corrected. Try not to mess it up again."
Neteyam didn't trust himself to speak. He focused on the ilu beneath him, on the feel of the creature's muscles moving, on anything except the burning sensation on his inner thigh where Aonung's hand had been.
They continued the lesson in tense silence. Aonung barked instructions from a distance now, and Neteyam followed them mechanically. When he finally managed to get the ilu to move forward smoothly, there was no praise, just a curt nod.
"We're done for today," Aonung announced abruptly. "Tomorrow, same time. Don't be late."
He didn't wait for a response before diving under the water, his ilu following him into the depths. Neteyam watched him go, then disconnected from his own ilu and began the swim back to shore.
His legs felt shaky as he walked up onto the beach. The afternoon sun was starting to sink lower, casting long shadows across the sand. Other clan members were going about their business—repairing nets, preparing fish, laughing and talking in groups. Neteyam kept his head down and headed toward the marui his family had been given.
The walk back felt longer than usual. His thigh throbbed with each step, but he ignored it. He'd had worse injuries during training back home. This was nothing. He wouldn't let it be something.
He was almost to the marui when Lo'ak appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. His brother had that restless energy he always carried, like he couldn't quite figure out what to do with his limbs.
"Hey, how was the lesson?" Lo'ak asked, falling into step beside him. "Did Aonung finally admit you're not completely hopeless?"
"It was fine," Neteyam said shortly.
"Fine? That's it?" Lo'ak peered at him more closely. "You look like you want to punch something."
"I'm just tired." Neteyam kept walking, hoping Lo'ak would take the hint and drop it.
But of course Lo'ak didn't drop it. He never did. "Dude, I know that face. That's your 'I'm pissed but I can't show it because I'm the perfect son' face. What did Aonung do?"
"Nothing. Drop it, Lo'ak."
They reached the marui and climbed inside. The space was empty—their parents must have been out with Tuk and Kiri. Neteyam headed straight for the sleeping mats, intending to lie down and end this conversation, but Lo'ak followed him.
"Seriously, bro, you look—" Lo'ak stopped mid-sentence, and his voice changed completely. "Neteyam. What the hell is that?"
Neteyam froze. "What?"
"On your leg. Your thigh." Lo'ak moved closer, his eyes wide. "Is that—is that a bruise?"
Neteyam looked down and felt his stomach drop. There, just visible below the edge of his loincloth, were dark marks on his inner thigh. He could see the clear outline of fingers pressed into his skin, purple and blue against his darker blue skin tone.
"It's nothing," Neteyam said quickly, moving to sit down and hide it, but Lo'ak grabbed his arm.
"Nothing? That's a handprint, Neteyam. Someone grabbed you there." Lo'ak's voice was rising, panic creeping into it. "Who? Who touched you there?"
"Lo'ak, calm down—"
"No, don't tell me to calm down!" Lo'ak's grip tightened on his arm. "That's—that's a really personal place, and you have a bruise, and—" He stopped, his eyes going even wider. "Are you—did you—are you mated with someone? Is that what this is?"
"What? No!" Neteyam pulled his arm free. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" Lo'ak's hands were shaking now. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like someone grabbed you really hard on your inner thigh and left a bruise. So either you're seeing someone and it got rough, or—" He stopped again, and when he spoke next, his voice was smaller. "Or someone hurt you."
Neteyam felt his throat tighten. "I told you, it's nothing."
"Don't give me that!" Lo'ak's voice cracked. "Who hurt you? Why do you have a bruise there? That's not a training injury, that's not from falling or hitting something, that's from someone's hand. Someone grabbed you." He was pacing now, his tail lashing behind him. "Who was it? Tell me who it was."
"Lo'ak, you need to calm down—"
"Stop telling me to calm down!" Lo'ak whirled on him. "This is serious! Someone put their hands on you in a place they shouldn't have unless—" He stopped, seemed to be working something out in his head. "Did you want it? Did you want someone to touch you there?"
The question hung in the air between them. Neteyam felt his whole body go rigid, felt something cold settle in his chest. Did he want it? The memory of Aonung's fingers digging into his skin, the pain, the humiliation, the way Aonung had refused to let go even when asked—
His silence stretched too long.
"Oh shit," Lo'ak whispered. "Oh shit, Neteyam. You didn't want it."
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to say it! I can see it on your face!" Lo'ak moved closer, his expression shifting from panic to horror to anger and back again. "Someone touched you without permission. Someone hurt you. That's—that's not okay. That's really not okay."
"It's not a big deal," Neteyam said, but even he could hear how hollow the words sounded.
"Not a big deal?" Lo'ak's voice was getting louder again. "Are you insane? Someone assaulted you! Someone—" He stopped, took a shaky breath. "Who was it? Tell me who it was and I'll—I'll—"
"You'll what?" Neteyam stood up, trying to inject some authority into his voice. "Start a fight? Get us kicked out of the clan? We're here because we have nowhere else to go, Lo'ak. We can't afford to make trouble."
"So what, you're just supposed to let someone hurt you?" Lo'ak's eyes were bright, and Neteyam realized with a shock that his brother was close to crying. "You're supposed to just take it?"
"I can handle it."
"Handle it? Neteyam, someone put their hands on you! Someone grabbed you hard enough to leave a bruise! And from where they grabbed you—" Lo'ak swallowed hard. "That wasn't about teaching you something or training. That was about—about power. About making you feel—" He couldn't seem to finish the sentence.
Neteyam looked away. His brother was right, of course. It had been about power, about putting him in his place, about reminding him that he didn't belong here. But admitting that felt like admitting defeat, and he couldn't do that.
"I'm fine," he said again.
"You're not fine!" Lo'ak was definitely crying now, angry tears running down his face. "And you shouldn't have to be fine with this! If someone is making you do something you don't want to do, or hurting you, or—" His voice broke. "You can talk to me, okay? You can tell me. I know I mess up a lot, I know I'm not the perfect son like you, but I'm still your brother. I can help. I want to help."
Neteyam's jaw tightened. His gaze stayed fixed on the woven pattern of the mat beneath them, tracing the same interlocking design over and over. Lo'ak's words hung in the air between them, raw and sincere in a way his brother rarely allowed himself to be.
"It was nothing," Neteyam said finally, but even he knew that that was a lie.
"Bro." Lo'ak shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "I saw your face when we got back. That wasn't nothing."
The fire crackled somewhere outside their marui. Neteyam could hear his father's low voice in the distance, speaking with their mother. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. But his skin still remembered hands that shouldn't have been there, grabbing, insistent.
"They didn't listen when I said no." The words came out quieter than he intended. "I kept saying no, but they—" His throat closed up.
Lo'ak didn't say anything. Didn't push. Just waited.
"They thought it was funny. Like I was being... difficult. Playing hard to get." Neteyam's hands clenched into fists against his thighs. "I'm supposed to be strong enough to—"
"Stop." Lo'ak's voice cut through sharp and firm. "Don't do that. Don't make it about what you're supposed to be."
Neteyam finally looked at him. His brother's face was serious in a way that made him look older, the perpetual mischief gone from his eyes.
"You said no. That's all that matters." Lo'ak's ears flattened back. "Who was it?"
"It doesn't matter now."
"The hell it doesn't—"
"Lo'ak." Neteyam pressed his palm against his forehead, suddenly exhausted down to his bones. "I just... I need to not think about it right now."
His brother studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But we're talking about this later. And if you won't tell Dad, I will."
"Lo'ak—"
"Later," Lo'ak repeated. He grabbed the sleeping mat from the corner and dragged it over next to Neteyam's, the woven fibers scraping against the floor. "Come on. You look like you're about to fall over."
Neteyam wanted to argue, wanted to say he was fine, that he didn't need to be watched over like a child. But the truth was his whole body felt heavy, wrung out. The thought of sleeping alone, of lying in the dark with only his thoughts—
He stretched out on his mat without protest. Lo'ak settled onto his own, close enough that Neteyam could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Thanks," Neteyam whispered.
"Shut up and sleep, bro."
But Lo'ak's hand reached out in the darkness and gripped Neteyam's wrist for a second—just a quick squeeze, there and gone. The kind of touch that said I'm here without any words attached to it.
Neteyam stared up at the woven ceiling of the marui. Moonlight filtered through the gaps, creating patterns that shifted with the breeze. The sound of waves rolled constant and rhythmic outside, nothing like the whisper of leaves back home. Everything here was wrong. The sounds, the smells, the way people looked at him like he was something foreign and unwelcome.
Aonung's face flashed through his mind—that smug expression when his fingers had dug in, when Neteyam had asked him to stop and he'd just gripped harder. Like it was a game. Like Neteyam's discomfort was entertainment.
His jaw clenched. The anger sat hot and tight in his chest, coiled like something alive. He wanted to hit something. Wanted to go find Aonung right now and make him understand what it felt like to be grabbed, to be held down, to say no and have it mean nothing.
But he wouldn't. Because that's what Aonung wanted—for Neteyam to lose control, to prove he was just another violent demon-blooded forest freak who didn't belong among civilized people.
"You still awake?" Lo'ak's voice cut through the darkness.
"Yeah."
"Your breathing's all wrong. You do that when you're pissed."
Neteyam didn't respond. His brother knew him too well.
"I meant what I said," Lo'ak continued. "About telling Dad if you won't."
"Don't." Neteyam kept his voice flat, controlled. "I can handle my own problems."
"This isn't about whether you can. It's about whether you should have to."
"Drop it, Lo'ak."
Silence stretched between them. Neteyam could hear his brother shifting on his mat, restless even lying down.
"Was it one of Aonung's friends?" Lo'ak asked suddenly. "Rotxo? One of those other guys who's always hanging around?"
Neteyam's stomach tightened. He'd said too much already. If Lo'ak kept digging, kept asking questions, eventually he'd figure it out. And then there would be a fight, and Dad would get involved, and they'd probably get kicked out of the clan, and it would all be Neteyam's fault for not being able to handle a simple training session.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine." Lo'ak decided to drop it for now, and keep an eye out for his brother even though he knew Neteyam was strong and could look out for himself, he still had the need to protect his brother instead of the other way around for once in his life.