AVATAR TWOW: Torn between the 2

Chapter vi| Red Thread

N E T E Y A M
Red Thread
PT1

MY FOREHEAD IS RAISED. My eyes are wide and my pupils are blown. I stand still, gaping at the long black curls that cascade on his slope shoulders. My blue lips are agape with marvel.

His stare burns through my struck one as he makes his bun. My head only swirls to think he had looked so feminine. So soft. So tempting. In a blink of an eye, the long curls that reach his shoulders now reach his nape again.

"What you standing there for?" He asks, though he already knows, simply wanting to poke fun. There's a smirk on his face, though his eyes are docile. I shake from my daze—the forgotten food in my arms now resurfacing in my sight.

I sit next to the pond. My eyes bounce from his every feature, gawking amidst the water that trickles like rain onto his agape lips. He peers at me, his chin lifting, and doe eyes soft—the droplets streaming down his throat slowly—ever so slowly, and enticingly.

I hadn't realized I was scowling, my eyes crinkling with desire, and keenness; ripping through him from the inside and out.

"Neteyam," He coos, his damp hands wrapping around my taut forearms. I gawk at his veins as my heart twists with warmth at him having said my name so gently and alluding.

"What?" I ask, my voice coming out near a whisper. I sound stupid as there's nothing, in particular, to ask for. My left-hand wraps around his right wrist and both of his grasps loosen. But he doesn't pull away.

I smile, though it lacks its usual jaunty.

"I'm gonna have to leave early today," I tell him. I divert my gaze onto the dirt as he nods, his azure eyes piercing through me like a blade.

I back away, and sit a few inches away, though my downcast gaze still doesn't meet his prying one, even when I'm facing him. His arms rest on the edge, folded over the other, and he rests his chin upon them, his eyes still peering.

"Say..." I croon, my eyes finally lifting to look past him. "How long have you been here for?"

Ao'nung hums and turns so his back faces me. The small sounds of water plopping gratify my ears. He leans back, and sinks into the pond, the back of his head resting on its muddy edge. "Maybe a month or two? I stopped counting," He says.

My heart swells. I scoot to him and grasp the sides of his face. My face hovers over his, my long braids fondling his face. He frowns, though not with dire sentiments. He is confused as he asks: "What are you doing?"

His voice is meek, really light with small amusement lacing beneath—barely audible. I get the sudden urge to nuzzle his nose with mine, but I don't act on it.

"You feel like crying?" I ask him.

"You're stupid, forest boy. I'm not one to cry," He says, fluttering his eyes closed.

"Don't fall asleep," I say.

"'Course I won't. I haven't eaten yet."

I chortle as my hands leave the sides of his face. My damp palms grab onto the woven basket behind me, and I drag it over beside Ao'nung.

"Don't eat too late. It's not good for digestion," I whisper, my fingers caressing his bun, amused by the crazy shooting hairs on all sides. His eyes are still closed, and he hums. My fingers linger there, engulfed by the silk and soft feel of his curls.

I realize then that I'm not acting like me. I'm acting bizarrely. My heart thumps in my throat and ears—so fast that I'm almost terrified it's gonna shoot out and leave me to drop dead.

I frown, my mind urging me to stop, questioning what the hell it is I'm doing. I am not aware of my actions as my eyes gaze distant at him, and my hand continues to massage his scalp like it has a brain of its own.

"My sister used to do this same thing," He remarks, fluttering his glossy azure eyes open. He stares at the blinding sky, and I stare too, though not at the sky.

"Who does it better? Me or your sister?" I ask playfully. He sinks into my warmth, and shrugs, heaving a content sigh.

"That's something I'm not willing to answer," He deadpans.

I roll my eyes. "C'mon, it can't be that bad..."

"You're right. My sister does way better."

My hand stills. I scowl and bare my fangs in a hiss with lightheartedness and he laughs. My stomach does twirls, but it's something I ignore.

"You're a bitch," I say with a pop of my lips.

"A what?" He asks, raising his chin, his curious eyes looking over him and at me. My hand cups underneath his chin, and I feel the bob of his cold throat.

"Kal-wey-aveng!" I sing, enunciating every syllable.

"You need to stop speaking your demon language around me," He states with a roll of his eyes. "Now are you going to tell me what Oin—whatever means?"

"Ointment?" I jut my chin and feign to think for a few seconds, later shaking my head to his comical disappointment. He goes back to staring at the sky.

"Son of a bitch," He says through grit teeth. I laugh, throwing my head back, the moment appearing so comic in my eyes.

My body runs with ecstasy that I only know when I am around the Metkayinan boy. I laugh too much and smile too much when I am around him. I am in too deep, and it's too late to turn back around.

My heart is caught between his long fingers, like a string of yarn that he binds around; tangling it. It thumps with pools of love as his fingers are still, doing nothing. He doesn't have to. My heart is already clamped.

"Give me my food," He says after a while.

I put the basket in his asking hands, and he digs from there. Today's special is Bladder polyps and Episoth seeds, my favorite. Frankly, I had to sneak the big basket this morning, especially from my mother's keen eyes.

She's heavily clever, able to figure anything out in mere seconds. Moreover, she is terrifying when mad or frustrated, and I am not about to be a victim of her wrath.

So I awoke early, snuck the basket, and came here.

"You know, you keep leaving your bow. You afraid something's gonna come eat me so you leave it here for me to defend myself? Aww, how cute," Ao'nung coos with chaff, grinning. "I hate to break it to you dude, but I don't know how to shoot a bow. Things are terrifying."

"Yeah..." I lightly chuckle, playing into his teasing, though my mind goes clack with realization. Right. My bow.

I want to rub my face with exasperation. I mentally facepalm, having forgotten, again.

6