Chapter Text
Prior Context:
The Beginning of Chaos
It started at a family dinner.
Too many kids. Too much noise. Not enough sleep.
Neteyam was bouncing At’eyl on his knee while Alo’ike leaned against his side, half-asleep. Across the table, Kiri had Reko balanced on her hip while Kaia played with Rawiri under the table. Tis’reya was passing snacks between the twins with expert precision.
Ao’nung watched all of it with a slow grin.
“You know,” he said casually, “it’s funny how the three of you always sit together.”
Neteyam looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lo'ak snorted. “It means you’ve got a vibe.”
Rotxo leaned back in his chair, smiling cheekily. “Yeah. The ‘soft-but-sneaky’ vibe.”
Kiri raised a brow. “Careful.”
Ao’nung grinned wider. “What? Just saying. That if we were to have a prank war, we already know who’d win.”
Neteyam narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
“Obviously,” Ao’nung continued, gesturing to himself, Roxto, and Lo’ak, “The Tops.”
Silence.
Then—
Kiri laughed. Hard. “You cannot be serious.”
Neteyam’s smile was slow and dangerous. “Oh, you want to play that game?”
Tis’reya set a twin down gently. “We really shouldn’t.”
Neteyam reached over and squeezed her hand. “We absolutely should.”
Rules were established:
-
No pranks that endanger the kids.
-
No permanent mess.
-
Emotional damage is allowed (within reason).
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Kids may participate only if they understand it’s a game.
Alo’ike raised his hand immediately. “I understand.”
Kaia nodded seriously. “I’m good at secrets.”
Rawiri yelled, “PRANK!”
The toddlers clapped.
Ao’nung laughed. “This is already a mistake.”
Neteyam smiled sweetly. “Oh, Ma'nung. You have no idea.”
Round One — “Confession” {Aonunete}
Ao’nung chose his moment carefully.
Too carefully.
The kids were asleep—Alo’ike curled around his favorite stuffed ilu, At’eyl sprawled sideways in his crib, snoring softly. The penthouse was quiet in that heavy, late-night way where everything felt louder than it should.
Neteyam was on the couch, folding laundry with methodical calm. Ao’nung watched him for a long moment, chest tight, rehearsing the words over and over until they felt wrong in his mouth.
This was a prank.
Just a prank.
He swallowed.
“Ma'teyam,” Ao’nung said softly.
Neteyam looked up immediately. “Yeah?”
“We need to talk.”
Neteyam’s fingers stilled in the fabric.
“…Okay.”
Ao’nung sat across from him, elbows braced on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor like a man walking into his own execution.
Neteyam noticed that too.
“What’s wrong?” Neteyam asked, concern threading his voice. “Is something wrong with the kids?”
“No,” Ao’nung said quickly. “No—kids are fine.”
That didn’t help.
Ao’nung exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“I did something,” he said.
Neteyam’s heart gave a sharp, unpleasant jolt.
“What kind of something?” he asked quietly.
Ao’nung lifted his head.
“I cheated.”
The word hit like a gunshot.
Neteyam didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
The silence stretched so long it became unbearable.
“…What?” Neteyam finally whispered.
Ao’nung forced himself to meet his eyes. “I slept with someone else.”
Neteyam felt like the floor had vanished beneath him.
His hands trembled, the neatly folded shirt slipping from his grasp and pooling uselessly in his lap.
“No,” Neteyam said immediately. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” Ao’nung said, voice tight. “It happened once.”
Once.
Neteyam stood up so abruptly the coffee table rattled.
“Say that again,” he said, voice dangerously calm.
Ao’nung’s throat burned. “I cheated on you.”
Neteyam laughed—short, broken, disbelieving.
“That’s not funny,” he said. “Stop.”
Ao’nung didn’t smile.
Didn’t laugh.
Didn’t soften.
“I’m not joking.”
That was when it truly sank in.
Neteyam staggered back like he’d been struck.
“How long?” he asked hoarsely.
Ao’nung hesitated.
Too long.
Neteyam flinched.
“…A few weeks ago,” Ao’nung said quietly.
Neteyam pressed a hand to his mouth.
“Were you going to tell me,” he asked, voice shaking, “or was I supposed to just—what—never know?”
“I was always going to tell you,” Ao’nung said quickly. “I just—I didn’t know how.”
Neteyam’s chest felt like it was caving in.
“Was it someone I know?” he asked.
Ao’nung looked away.
Neteyam sucked in a sharp breath.
“Eywa,” he whispered. “Oh my Ewya.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” Ao’nung said immediately. “It was a mistake. It was stupid. I was stressed and angry and I wasn’t thinking—”
Neteyam laughed once, sharp and disbelieving.
“Didn’t mean anything,” he repeated. “You cheated on me and it didn’t mean anything?”
“I was going to tell you,” Ao’nung said quickly. “I swear. I just—”
“Just what?” Neteyam demanded. “Just decided lying was easier?”
Ao’nung flinched.
“I never stopped loving you,” Ao’nung said desperately. “Never. You have to know that.”
Neteyam shook his head.
“Then why?” Neteyam demanded his voice breaking. “Why would you do this to us? To our family?”
He gestured toward the hallway.
Ao’nung’s voice dropped.
“She’s pregnant.”
The world tilted.
Neteyam grabbed the back of the couch to steady himself.
“…What?”
“She says it’s mine,” Ao’nung said quietly. “I don’t know for sure yet, but—”
Neteyam turned away, pressing his fist to his mouth.
Pregnant.
Another child.
Not theirs.
“Are you leaving?” Neteyam asked, voice closed off but breaking despite his effort.
Ao’nung shot to his feet. “No. No, Eywa, no.”
“Then what?” Neteyam whispered. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“I don’t know,” Ao’nung said honestly. “I just couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”
Neteyam’s shoulders shook.
He hadn’t cried when he’d been shot.
He hadn’t cried when deals went bad or when blood was spilled.
But this—
“I trusted you,” he said quietly.
Ao’nung stepped closer.
Neteyam stepped back.
Ao’nung froze.
“We built this life together, found our own peace in this war,” Neteyam continued. “You’re my husband. You’re their Dada. How am I supposed to look at you the same?”
Ao’nung’s eyes burned.
“I’ll do anything,” he said. “I’ll fix it. I’ll take responsibility. I won’t abandon you or the kids. Ever.”
Neteyam let out a broken laugh.
“So you’ll just… add another?” he asked bitterly, tears streaming down.
Ao’nung reached for him instinctively.
Neteyam stepped back.
“Don’t,” he said sharply.
That hurt worse than any punch ever could.
Neteyam turned away, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair.
“Do you know what the worst part of all this is?” he asked quietly. “It’s not even the act. It’s that you looked at me, at our children, every day after and didn’t tell me.”
Ao’nung opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“I trusted you,” Neteyam continued. “I trusted you with my heart, my body, our children—”
His voice cracked.
“Papa?”
They both froze.
Alo’ike stood in the hallway, small and sleepy, rubbing his eyes.
Neteyam turned instantly quickly wiping the tears on his sleeve, heartbreak shoved aside by instinct.
“Hey, baby,” he said softly. “You should be in bed.”
“I had a bad dream,” Alo’ike murmured—then looked between them. “Why are you yelling?”
Ao’nung felt sick.
Neteyam swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “Go back to bed, okay? Papa and Dada are just… talking.”
Alo’ike hesitated. “You’re not mad forever, right?”
Neteyam’s chest ached.
“No,” he said immediately. “Never forever.”
Alo’ike nodded, reassured enough, and padded back down the hallway.
The moment he disappeared—
Neteyam broke.
He folded in on himself, sinking onto the couch, hands shaking violently.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Was I not enough?”
Ao’nung’s breath hitched.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Never say that. This was my failure. Mine.”
Neteyam looked up at him, eyes glassy.
That was it.
Ao’nung cracked.
“I can’t do this,” he blurted.
Neteyam stiffened.
“What?”
Ao’nung scrubbed his hands over his face, breath coming fast.
“I can’t watch you hurt like this,” he said. “I can’t—”
Neteyam stood again, fury flashing through the pain.
“So what,” he snapped, “you confess and then decide you can’t handle the consequences?”
Ao’nung dropped to his knees.
Literally.
“Neteyam,” he said desperately. “Please.”
Neteyam stared down at him, heart splintering.
“Get up,” he said coldly. “You don’t get to beg.”
Ao’nung flinched.
“I—” Ao’nung sucked in a breath. “I need to tell you something else.”
Neteyam’s hands curled into fists.
“What,” he said. “What else could you possibly—”
Ao’nung looked up, eyes wild.
“It’s a prank.”
Silence.
“…What?” Neteyam said faintly.
Ao’nung swallowed. “It’s a prank. A challenge. Lo’ak and Roxto—”
Neteyam slapped him.
The sound echoed through the room.
Ao’nung didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
Neteyam stared at his own hand like he didn’t recognize it, breath shaking violently.
“You—” His voice fractured. “You let me think my marriage was over. I pictured our kids asking why Dada left,” Neteyam snapped. “I pictured myself having to explain This to them.”
Ao’nung eyes filled as he surged to his feet, hands hovering helplessly.
“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately. “Neteyam, I swear to Eywa, I would never—”
“You brought our child into this,” Neteyam whispered, eyes blazing. “You let Alo’ike hear us fighting.”
Ao’nung’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t think—”
“No,” Neteyam said sharply. “You didn’t.”
Tears finally spilled, angry and unrestrained.
“You don’t get to joke about this,” Neteyam said. “Not us. Not after everything.”
Ao’nung reached out again.
This time, Neteyam didn’t step away.
He grabbed Ao’nung’s shirt and pulled him close, forehead slamming into his chest as he broke down completely.
Ao’nung wrapped around him instantly, holding him like he was the only thing keeping Neteyam upright.
“I’m sorry,” Ao’nung whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how bad it would hurt. Please forgive me.”
Neteyam sobbed, fists clutching at him.
After a long time, he pulled back just enough to look up.
“If this is how the Tops wanna play,” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to lose this war.”
Ao’nung let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead to Neteyam’s.
“…Yeah,” he admitted. “I think we might be dead.”