Chapter Text
Aonung should’ve seen this coming.
It hadn’t started as anything serious—just small complaints.
Neteyam pointing out the mess in the apartment, the dishes left in the sink, the laundry piling up.
The way Aonung never seemed interested in doing anything anymore. Not going out, not picking up new hobbies, not even keeping up with the routines he used to swear by.
At first, Aonung brushed it off. Those things weren’t supposed to matter.
Not really.
But lately, since moving in with Neteyam, since leaving his parents’ house everything had shifted.
His whole life, Aonung had been expected to perform. To know exactly how to act, how to speak, how to carry himself.
He had to excel in sports, stay active, keep moving. Routine wasn’t optional—it was enforced.
His family didn’t care much about grades, but discipline? Structure? That was everything.
And it had worn him down more than he ever admitted.
Because now, with no one watching, no one pushing—he felt empty.
All that pressure that once kept him moving had vanished, and with it, his motivation. What was left was exhaustion he’d never been allowed to feel before.
So he stayed in bed. Slept in. Wasted time. Did everything he hadn’t been able to do as a teenager.
People always assumed he was just the spoiled, arrogant rich kid.
They weren’t completely wrong.
But they also weren’t right.
Yes, he’d grown up with money, with privilege but it came at a cost. Aonung had to be perfect. Confident. Untouchable.
His personality, the cocky grin, the sharp tongue—had become armor. It never let anyone see how badly he was struggling.
Because struggling was never something he’d been allowed to do.
So when the one person who had always understood him suddenly… didn’t—
It hurt.
But it didn’t surprise him.
Neteyam had been busy.
College had taken over his life completely. Assignments, deadlines, expectations. He was always tired, always distracted, always somewhere else, even when he was standing right in front of him.
Aonung loved him. More than he knew how to say, more than he knew how to show.
But Aonung also had a reckless mouth.
And that’s what ruined everything.
They were in the middle of arguing—again. About the same things. Aonung not doing enough. Not trying. Not caring.
And then Aonung said it.
“If you hate the way I am so much, maybe you should just break up with me already.”
His tone was steady. Almost bored. Like it didn’t matter.
Neteyam froze.
“What…?” he said quietly.
Aonung looked away.
“No—no, Aonung.” Neteyam stepped closer, grabbing his hand, firm but not rough. “Look at me. Look at me and say that again.
Tell me that’s really what you want.”
For a second, just a second, Aonung hesitated.
Then he doubled down.
“Let’s break up,” he said, voice flat. “We’re just… not meant to be. We’re too different.”
Neteyam inhaled sharply.
And that sound—that one shaky breath cut deeper than anything else.
But Aonung didn’t take it back.
He never did.
That night, Neteyam left.
For the first time, their room didn’t feel warm. Didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel like theirs.
It felt cold.
Empty.
Aonung lay in bed long after the door closed, staring at nothing, the silence pressing down on him until it became unbearable.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under, his face still wet with tears he refused to acknowledge.
——————————
It had been a few months.
Aonung never really got over it.
Now he worked as a barista—something temporary, something easy. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
He had tried contacting Neteyam. More than once.
Every time, it ended the same way:
Please don’t contact me anymore.
Now he was blocked.
Aonung stared at his phone, the message burning into his eyes.
“You can no longer contact this number.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.
Yeah.
He’d messed that up. Badly.
Maybe he shouldn’t have called so many times. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent those messages late at night, drunk, high, desperate.
But what was he supposed to do?
Just let it go?
He locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket, forcing himself to focus as new customers walked in.
Aonung liked observing people.
Judging them, analyzing them—it passed the time.
It wasn’t always malicious. He just… noticed things. The way people dressed, how they spoke, the little habits they didn’t realize they had.
It was something he used to do with Neteyam.
They’d stand behind the counter together, whispering commentary, making each other laugh over the smallest things.
Aonung would exaggerate, and Neteyam who used to be so composed—would crack, covering his mouth to hide his grin.
Aonung had been a bad influence.
That much was obvious.
Neteyam had changed around him. Loosened up. Broken rules he normally followed without question.
And Aonung-
Aonung missed that version of him more than anything.
“Here,” Aonung said, handing a customer their drink.
Then he glanced outside.
And froze.
Someone stood across the street.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Familiar.
No.
That wasn’t,
It couldn’t be.
Neteyam had moved to America after the breakup. He was supposed to be gone.
So why—
“I’ll be right back,” Aonung muttered, already pulling off his apron.
His coworker complained, but he didn’t hear it.
He was already out the door.
It was him.
Neteyam. In the flesh. Right there.
And-
Kiri.
Aonung’s stomach twisted.
Out of everyone.
Of course she was with him.
Their history wasn’t exactly… great.
Aonung had bullied her back in middle school. It had taken seven years—and one very awkward family dinner for the truth to come out.
The fallout had been immediate. A fight with Neteyam. A long, tense argument where Aonung had tried desperately to prove he wasn’t that person anymore.
Kiri had accepted his apology.
Technically.
But she’d never liked him.
And she probably never would.
She noticed him first.
Of course she did.
Kiri’s eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and observant as ever, taking him in like she was already dissecting his presence, his timing, his intentions.
“Neteyam,” she said, voice calm but edged with dry indifference, “your ex is here.”l
No nickname this time.
That almost felt worse.
Neteyam turned.
And Aonung’s breath caught.
He looked
The same.
And not.
His features were just as Aonung remembered—strong but soft in the right places.
Long lashes framing those steady, unreadable eyes. Straight nose. Full lips.
But everything about him felt… sharper now. More put together.
He wore something simple-clean, effortless.
A fitted white t-shirt, sleeves hugging his arms just enough to show the muscle he’d built over time. Light-wash jeans, no rips, no mess. White sneakers, spotless.
Even from a distance, everything about him looked intentional. Neat. Controlled.
Very Neteyam.
Very not Aonung.
And then there was the expression.
That polite smile.
The one he used for strangers.
For people he didn’t want to let in.
Aonung hated that smile.
He’d rather see him angry. Yelling. Hurt.
Anything but this.
Because this meant distance.
Finality.
“Hey…” Aonung said.
His voice came out quieter than he intended.
Unsteady.
And for the first time in a long while—
Aonung didn’t feel in control at all.