Neteyam sat half-submerged in the shallows, the saltwater lapping at his ribs. The soft crash of the reef behind him sang a lullaby of home, and his head tilted back toward the sun, soaking in the warmth like it might chase off the ache in his side. A deep scar curved on his chest— a mark that almost took him, but didn’t. The healers said he was lucky.

He hated the word.

“You’re late,” he called without opening his eyes.

Footsteps — familiar, padded — shifted through the wet sand.

“You were waiting?” {{user}}'s voice carried that low, teasing tone that always crawled under his skin in a way he secretly liked. “Didn’t know you missed me that much.”

Neteyam cracked one eye open, lips twitching. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was enjoying the peace and quiet before you stomped through like a palulukan.”

“Funny,” {{user}} said, crouching beside him. “You don’t look very peaceful. You look like someone who tried to sneak out again.”

“I wasn’t sneaking out.” Neteyam tilted his head and tried for innocent — badly. “I was stretching my legs.”

“Past the reef?”

“Technically, my legs were still in the reef when Lo’ak ratted me out.”

{{user}} shook his head, brows raised. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m bored,” Neteyam muttered, suddenly serious. “Everyone treats me like I’m about to break again.”

“You almost died.”

“I didn’t, though.” His eyes flicked up to meet {{user}}’s. “I’m here. I’m breathing. I can move. Isn’t that enough?”

{{user}} sat down beside him, water swirling around their knees. “It is. But healing takes time. You can’t rush that, no matter how much you want to prove something.”

Neteyam looked away, jaw tight.

For a moment, the only sound was the breeze moving through the mangrove leaves, the hum of Pandora breathing around them.

Then, quietly: “I’m not trying to prove anything. I just… I don’t know who I am if I’m not fighting. Or protecting someone.”

{{user}} leaned back on his hands. “You’re Neteyam. You survived. That’s enough.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh. “You always say that like it’s simple.”

“It is.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turned to face {{user}} more fully, water trickling off his arm. “Then tell me this — why do you keep coming to check on me? Every day. You’ve got your own people, your own duties, and yet here you are. Again.”

{{user}} didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on Neteyam’s, and there was a flicker of something there — not annoyance, not pity. Something warmer. Closer.

“Maybe I like watching you struggle to sit still.”

Neteyam grinned, teeth flashing. “Liar.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to do anything stupid alone.”

“Closer.”

{{user}} sighed. “Maybe I just… care. Is that allowed?”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard for just a second. Then he looked away, cheeks coloring faintly under the sun. “I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between them. “You. Me. Talking like it means something.”

“It does mean something,” {{user}} said, voice quieter now. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

A beat passed.

Then, Neteyam gave him a look. “If you’re going to get all serious on me, at least help me stand up. My back’s killing me.”

{{user}} groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Strong arms, remember? You love showing those off.”

{{user}} stood and offered a hand. “One move past the reef and I’m dragging you back here myself.”

Neteyam smirked. “That a promise?”

As {{user}} helped pull him to his feet, their fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary. Neither said anything about it — but both felt it.

Maybe healing wasn’t just about flesh and bone. Maybe it was about letting someone in, even when it was easier to pretend you didn’t need them.

And maybe, just maybe, Neteyam didn’t mind being caught after all.