Chapter Text
Neteyam's typical friday night starts like this.
When he has classes, he goes to them and finishes with at least one page full of notes. Neteyam calls that a good day. When he doesn't, he wakes up at seven in the morning and makes breakfast for two because his baby brother would sooner burn the house down than cook a sunny-side-up egg successfully.
His friday mornings don't really matter, if Neteyam's being honest.
What matters is whether he gets the right amount of drunk or not by the time he's hopping off of Ao'nung's enormous Jeep at a random frat house driveway.
What matters is whether or not the music at the party is good enough to dance to. What matters is whether or not his belly button piercing complements his outfit.
At this point of the night, he has checked everything off of his list. Which means it's been a great day for Neteyam. And it will be a great night for him too.
Neteyam was grabbing another red cup and pouring a suspiciously blue liquid from the bottle on the kitchen counter when he felt a large hand brushing on his lower waist.
He took a breath and immediately recognized the familiar cologne making its way through his nose. Neteyam leaned into the lingering touch that never left his waist.
"Pour me a drink?" Ao'nung asked, speaking too close to Neteyam's ear.
He smiles and tilts his head up to meet Ao'nung's blue eyes. "Say the magic word."
The taller boy rolled his eyes, hands still attached to Neteyam's waist, keeping him close.
"Please." He says with a straight face.
Neteyam smiled. Too sweet.
A smile too sweet on lips like Neteyam's always acts like poison.
Neteyam leans into his space and steals a peck from his best friend's lips. Lingering for a few seconds before he got back to his pouring duties.
"And he listens," He says with a proud smile.
Ao'nung scoffs, letting go of Neteyam's waist and taking the red cup from Neteyam's hand. He slips away, peeling off towards the backyard. Neteyam watches him go without really thinking about it, eyes tracking the way Ao’nung moves through the crowd like he owns the space. Someone—some girl—laughs at something Ao’nung says. She touches his arm. He doesn’t stop her.
Neteyam takes a sip of his drink and tells himself it doesn’t matter.
They're not dating. Not even close.
Ao'nung has been a constant presence in his life since he was fourteen and newly acquainted to California. Ao'nung is Neteyam's best friend. A shoulder to lean on when things get hard. A place to run to when he wants peace. Or the person he could trust when he wants a little bit of chaos.
They don’t do exclusivity. They don’t do expectations. This isn’t anything that needs defending.
Still, he notices when Ao’nung stays over there longer than usual.
Kiri brushes past him, eyes flicking from Ao’nung back to Neteyam, unreadable. Tsireya says something that makes everyone laugh. Lo’ak shouts over the music from across the room, already drunk out of his mind.
Neteyam doesn’t move.
The music is too loud for thinking.
That’s fine. Neteyam didn’t come here to think.
Someone’s elbow digs into his back as he moves through the living room, plastic cup sloshing in his hand. There’s sweat in the air, beer on the floor, laughter bouncing off the walls. A body presses in front of him, warm and familiar.
Ao'nung announces his presence with a touch on Neteyam's back that goes down to his waist. He doesn’t say anything when he steps close. He never does. He just reaches out, both hands settling at Neteyam’s waist like they belong there. Like it’s muscle memory, not a decision.
Neteyam exhales, the tension he didn’t realize he was holding bleeding out of him all at once.
“Hey,” Ao’nung says, mouth near his ear, more vibration than sound.
Neteyam turns automatically. Their faces are close enough that he can smell citrus and salt on Ao’nung’s skin. Someone whistles nearby. Someone else laughs. No one looks surprised.
They kiss.
It isn’t dramatic. There’s no hesitation, no build-up. Just mouths meeting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Ao’nung’s hand tightens at his waist; Neteyam’s fingers curl into the fabric of Ao’nung’s shirt. He barely registers the music anymore, barely registers the room.
Someone bumps into them mid-kiss. Ao’nung laughs into Neteyam’s mouth instead of pulling away, adjusts his footing, and keeps kissing him like nothing happened.
Neteyam lets him.
When they finally part, it’s only because Ao’nung tilts his head back, grinning, eyes bright. “You good?”
Neteyam nods. “Yeah.”
That answer comes easy. Always does.
They don’t talk about what it means. They never do. There are no rules to break if you don’t name them in the first place.
When Ao’nung comes back, it’s like he never left. He slides in close again, shoulder to shoulder now, fingers catching the hem of Neteyam’s hoodie and tugging once, absent-minded.
“Tsireya’s wrecked,” Ao’nung says. “I gotta take her home.”
“Okay.”
Ao’nung studies him for a second, searching his face. “You sure?”
Neteyam gives him a look. “Always.”
Ao’nung smiles so gently that Neteyam wants to scream. He leans in, presses a quick kiss to Neteyam’s mouth—not the deep, open kind from earlier, just something soft and easy. Familiar.
“Text me when you get home?” Ao’nung asks.
Neteyam doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Ao’nung squeezes his waist once more before pulling away for good this time, calling Tsireya’s name as he disappears into the crowd.
The party doesn’t slow down.
Neteyam lingers, talking to people without hearing most of it. He dances when someone pulls him into it. He laughs at the right moments. He feels light, suspended, like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Later, when the music shifts and the room thins out, he finds Ao’nung’s red hoodie draped over the back of a chair. It must’ve slipped off at some point, forgotten.
Neteyam picks it up without thinking.
It smells like ocean air and something sharper underneath. He folds it over his arm and tells himself he’ll bring it back next time.
Outside, the night is cool and quiet compared to the chaos he’s leaving behind. Neteyam breathes it in, chest rising and falling evenly.
Pretending works.
For now.
Neteyam wakes up with the taste of cheap tequila and Ao’nung’s name lodged somewhere between his throat and his chest.
The apartment is too bright. Someone—Lo’ak—obviously forgot to close the blinds when they left for the party. Sunlight spills across the living room like it’s accusing him of something. The couch smells faintly like sweat, cologne, and whatever Ao’nung insists is “good weed.”
Neteyam blinks up at the ceiling and waits for regret.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, there’s the familiar ache: dull, manageable, routine. Like sore muscles after practice. Like a bruise you press just to remind yourself it’s real.
He rolls onto his side. His phone is face-down on the floor, next to a hoodie that isn’t his.
Ao’nung’s.
He stares at it for a second too long before sitting up.
From the kitchen, Lo’ak says, “You alive?”
“Unfortunately,” Neteyam croaks.
Lo’ak snorts. There’s the sound of a cabinet opening. A glass clinks against the counter.
“You puked in the sink,” Lo’ak adds. “Not the toilet. Which is wild, because the toilet was right there.”
“Stop narrating my crimes.”
“You deserve to be remembered for that shit.”
Neteyam drags a hand down his face and stands, pulling the hoodie off the floor. It smells like salt, soap, and something that makes his stomach flip in a way he absolutely refuses to unpack before noon.
He steps into the kitchen.
Lo’ak is leaning against the counter, already dressed, annoyingly awake, holding a glass of water like he’s some kind of responsible adult. He looks Neteyam over with narrowed eyes.
“You good?” Lo’ak asks.
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Neteyam opens the fridge. “You ask a lot of unnecessary questions.”
Lo’ak watches him pull out leftover takeout and poke at it without interest. Watches him avoid looking anywhere that might imply last night existed.
“You know it’s fucking ridiculous, right?” Lo’ak says finally.
Neteyam stiffens. Just a little.
“Which part?”
“You and Ao'nung,” Lo’ak says. “The kissing. The ‘oh it’s just a party thing.’ The way you look like you’re waiting for something that never happens.”
Neteyam shuts the fridge harder than necessary.
“You never forget to remind me,” he says coolly.
“Because you never listen.”
They stare at each other across the kitchen island. Brothers. Two sides of the same stubborn coin.
Two sides that apparently looks very different right now. In this situation.
If he had somehow received a warning that his baby brother's college life would turn out better than his, twelve-year-old Neteyam would never believe it.
In fact, nineteen year old Neteyam has not even made peace with it.
He looks at the cold and unappetizing leftover takeout box and he tries his absoute best to not think about Ao'nung.
Neteyam was never the type to remember everything that goes down in his life when he's drunk out of his mind. He tries not to think about how he starts to remember every single kiss they had at every single party.
Lo’ak sighs, running a hand through his freshly braided hair. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna act like you don’t care, you should at least be convincing.”
Neteyam’s jaw tightens.
“I don’t care,” he says.
Lo’ak studies him for a long moment, like he’s weighing whether to push or back off. For once, he chooses mercy.
“Whatever,” Lo’ak mutters. “I’m leaving in like, an hour.”
Neteyam blinks. “Your road trip?”
“Yeah. Hayden's waiting outside.”
“Right,” Neteyam says. “Have fun.”
“I will,” Lo’ak says pointedly. “Try not to implode while I’m gone.”
Neteyam flips him off.
Lo’ak grins and grabs his suspiciously large duffel bag. At the door, he hesitates.
“You know you don’t have to keep doing this, right?” he says, softer now.
Neteyam doesn’t answer.
So Lo’ak leaves.
Another party happens the next day.
It’s smaller. Everyone knows everyone. Someone puts on music too loud, too early. Someone spills beer on the carpet and laughs like it’s a personality trait.
It's a Sunday, which means they should be at home, because Neteyam's pretty sure every single person in here has Monday classes. Instead, they're getting drunk and dancing to the same set of playlists as they do on every single weekend.
Neteyam shows up with Tsireya and Kiri. Rotxo brings snacks. No one asks questions.
Ao’nung finds him like he always does—like it’s muscle memory.
They don’t talk about Ao'nung's missing hoodie. Or the night before that. Or the way Ao’nung’s hand settles at Neteyam’s waist like it belongs there.
They just kiss.
It’s easy. Familiar. Harmless in the way things are right before they aren’t.
Someone whistles. Someone says something stupid. Ao’nung laughs against Neteyam’s mouth.
See? Nothing.
Later, Neteyam is perched on a couch, Tsireya’s legs tucked beneath her, Kiri scrolling on her phone, Rotxo half-asleep on the floor.
“You guys are gross,” Kiri says without looking up.
Neteyam smirks. “You’re jealous.”
“Of poor life choices?”
He shrugs. “Everyone needs a hobby.”
Ao’nung presses a beer into his hand. Their fingers brush. It lingers.
Neteyam doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t lean in either.
Later still, Ao’nung leaves early—something about driving Tsireya home even though she lives with their parents and he lives in the dorms, something responsible. He presses a quick kiss to Neteyam’s temple before he goes, like it’s nothing.
Like it’s normal.
Neteyam watches him walk away.
He stays until the music fades and the room empties and the night loses its shape. Then he goes home alone, hoodie still sitting in his drawer, exactly where he left it.
He doesn’t feel disappointed. He doesn’t feel lonely.
He's just aware.
Aware of the space Ao’nung left behind. Aware of how easily he filled it when Ao’nung was here. Aware that almost is starting to feel like a habit.
He shakes it off and heads home.
After all, almost isn’t an accident.
It’s just the way things are.