AVATAR TWOW: Torn between the 2

Chapter vii| TSIREYA & LO'AK

T H I R D   P O V
Our Secret Spot
Special: PT 3

"SWIM WITH ME..." Tsireya coos, all her fingers pinching together (in what's called the Ma Che Vuoi gesture). "Swim together with me..." she reiterates.

"Swim together with me," Lo'ak repeats after her, pinching his fingers also, but his hands are too far from one another.

Tsireya's slim hands wrap over his big ones; fixing them here and there (which there isn't much to fix). "They're too far," she says. "They have to be close together...like this."

As her touch keeps on caressing, Lo'ak gawks at her with doe eyes. His tail proms and his brows pinch as he goggles at the girl's small face and her long lashes that flutter. He's drooling; awe-stricken by the woman that looks mellow, still amused with his hands. The rays of daylight illuminate her face just right and accentuate her every feature.

She looks like an angel as specks of sunlight form on her head like a halo. The bright colors of buds and the vibrant greens of grasses laud her enchanting turquoise skin just right.

He doesn't stop staring at those moving lips; plump and full. He isn't listening to anything that spews past her lips. He's whirling in his world; submerged with his heart spinning right and round. He's oblivious to the demure grin and the tiny glimpses she peeks at him.

"This is an invite, to allow others to swim with you," Tsireya croons, lifting her head a tad to peer into those sharp golden eyes; lighting like the reds and yellows of bonfires.

Lo'ak drowns in that baby blue color; vibrant and lustrous like pearls. His stomach pangs with nerves and he gulps; his throat all of a sudden feels too dry.

"Ye...yeah," he stammers. He stares at the ground, shy that his voice had come out meek.

He senses the drilling of the woman's eyes on him as his body pricks with goosebumps. He almost drowses himself in that gaze. Almost lets himself be sipped and mesmerized.

As he looks at her again, his chest thumps the hardest ever; till his pulse knocks his throat—throbbing—and all he can hear is the blood rushing like ripples in his ears.

"Look," he says, yanking a white flower off its green stalk. He tucks it behind Tsireya's small ear, who grins and coyly giggles.

"You're not supposed to do that, Lo'ak. Nature is sacred," she says, but her feigned solemnity falters as the man's large hand caresses her hair.  "The Tulkun are soon to arrive," she blurts.

Lo'ak hums, but he isn't paying much attention as his eyes are glued upon the Metkayina before him. His eyes dart around, feasting on her foreign beauty; her cyan swirls and wide nose—and even the big flare of her ribs. He glimpses the whisk of her tail. "What are Tulkun?" he mindlessly asks.

"They are spirit brothers and sisters," Tsireya explains, grabbing his wrist and holding it up to the sun's sheen. "They are our ancestors."

She winks an eye as the light bends around Lo'ak's five digits, irradiating her face snappily. "You are Omatikaya...strong five fingers that tell your story. I see you for your essence and so will the Tulkun. You are blessed by Eywa," she eulogizes.

Lo'ak smiles and pats her head; something his brother does for him to signal affection. That's what he feels for this girl; love and affection. It's intense like never before. He isn't one to believe in those exquisite tales of love, intentional happenings or destiny sort of happenings, or anything that shapes itself to be romantic and fawning. He cares the least for those types of things.

Back home he would flirt with a girl or two and create a few crushes here and there, but he never thought of settling for mating or a "relationship" as his father calls it. It never rubbed his mind. But this girl...he'd do anything for this girl.

He interlocks their fingers and brings his head closer as if to whisper to her as the heat of their palms mashing jointly burns in his stomach.

"Do you have a Tulkun sibling?" he asks her softly.

His ears flick as her big eyes twinkle with joy. She grins and nods and flicks her curls back with her free hand as she explains heartily:

"Her name is Ìhiti, she's kind. Last time I saw her, we swam for hours," she lets out a giggle as she recalls, her fingers gripping tighter around Lo'ak's. "She told me she made more friends...and that next time she sees me—I should tell her about my Tsahìk training. She's eager for my results."

"That's good," Lo'ak sighs, petting her head, his fingers knotting through her silky long curls.

"Do you guys have something similar?"

He mildly shrugs, "Besides talking to the dead and our Ikrans—we don't have much like that."

"I see," Tsireya smiles, cupping Lo'ak's hand with both of her hands.

She rests the big hand on her chest and lets Lo'ak's slim fingertips fondle her sternum. His hand covers her whole. She treasures the safe warmth that scatters through her; to her ribs, heart, arms, legs—everywhere. Everywhere about her flutters, just as everywhere burns; every hair of her skin scorches with the hotter rays of sunlight.

"I want you to meet my spirit sister," she says all too firmly.

The confession spews blandly on her tongue, but Lo'ak catches all the sneaky connotations veiled beneath her voice; trimming with every possible notion of what 'this' could mean—all of them being romantic. 

Lo'ak nods and cups her cheek, his thumb caressing her slick flesh. He represses the many shudders up his spine and the many goosebumps that ghost his every hair. She leans into his touch and continues to gaze up at him with those doll-like eyes and those flashing pearls of white and those cut-sharp dimples of hers.

His heart smacks against his rib cage. It sounds too fast and spirals too many times. His stomach dips and twists as butterflies swerve and dart all around. His pulse is like a drum—a string of BOOMs and BANGs deafening his ears and jiggling his body like some earthquake.

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