Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bell rang, signaling the end of another long afternoon of lectures. Aonung’s hand laced with Neteyam’s as they left the classroom, and instinctively, Neteyam intertwined his fingers with his. Nashvi fell in step beside them, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Students murmured as they passed, eyes darting between the three of them. Whispered names, snickers, and glances followed them down the hall. Neteyam felt the heat of attention prick at the back of his neck, but Aonung walked ahead, posture relaxed, as if the stares didn’t exist. Neteyam, however, hated feeling like he was suddenly a headline instead of a person.

He let out a quiet breath and shifted his hand in Aonung’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “My hands are kind of sweaty,” Neteyam lied lightly, almost sheepish. “The classroom was hot earlier.”

Before Aonung could even process it, Neteyam slipped his fingers free gently, fanning his hand jokingly as if to prove it. He laughed under his breath, casual, harmless. Aonung did not think too much about it and merely rolled his eyes playfully. Aonung barely glanced at him. “Dramatic.”

Nashvi watched the exchange from the side. He didn’t comment, but he noticed the way Neteyam subtly tucked his freed hand into his pocket instead of letting it hang loose. They reached the intersection near the admin wing when Aonung stopped, realization dawned across his face.

“Oh shit, I’ve got to meet my father,” he remembered, adjusting his jacket. “He wants to go over my college resume.”

The mention of college suddenly pressed against Neteyam like a weight as he thought about the applications, essays, recommendations, deadlines. Finals were just around the corner, and the carefree rhythm of high school days felt suddenly fragile, slipping faster than he wanted to admit. Neteyam blinked, trying to mask the flutter of nerves that bubbled up at the mention of college. “Your college resume, huh? … How’s it going so far?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, genuinely curious.

Aonung smirked, brushing a hand through his hair as if the question amused him. “Pretty good,” he responded casually, though there was a small pride in his tone. Then, without warning, he patted Neteyam’s head. “Thanks to my angel who raised my GPA,” he praised softly.

Neteyam’s cheeks flared, a faint heat spreading across his face. “That’s a little too much credit.” he chuckled, trying to play it cool. Aonung’s grin widened at the reaction, pleased with the little effect he had, before giving his shoulder a light squeeze and stepping back.

Aonung turned toward Nashvi and randomly punched his arm. “Later, Nash,” he beamed. Nashvi raised an eyebrow, and gave a half-wave in return.

Then, Aonung shifted his attention back to Neteyam and without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Neteyam’s forehead. “Bye bye.” he teased before turning away, walking briskly down the hall toward his father’s office.

For a moment, Neteyam’s eyes lingered on the spot where he’d disappeared, the echo of that teasing “bye bye” still warm against his forehead. The kiss had been quick, careless in the way Aonung did things when he didn’t think too hard about them. Effortless, like he did not care about who was watching. He wondered how he pulled that off. Neteyam swallowed and looked away as he walked with Nashvi to the lockers.

They walked side by side down the corridor. The crowd had thinned now; only a few underclassmen lingered near the stairwell, their laughter bouncing against the tiled walls. Sunlight streamed through the long windows, cutting the hallway into bands of gold and shadow. Dust floated lazily in the light. It felt quieter than it had just minutes ago, but the weight of everything unsaid pressed heavier.

Neteyam reached his locker and twisted the combination slowly, metal clinking as the door swung open. He stared inside, textbooks stacked evenly, worksheets organized by files, a mini calendar taped to the inside door. Finals, his Mathletes tournament, and Aonung's big basketball game were all circled in red. Nashvi, on the other hand, had a clutter inside his locker and merely shoved his books inside without any care.

“So, how’s your resume going, Tey?” Nashvi asked curiously as he shut his locker.

There was a brief pause before he added, quieter, “I’ve already completed most of it and I kind of want to apply for this competitive program at TRU.”

Nashvi straightened slightly. “TRU?”

“The Reef University,” Neteyam clarified, brushing his thumb over the worn edge of his notebook before putting it inside his locker. “They have this biomedical sciences track under their STEM faculty. It’s something I’ve always been interested in but you need to pass like an interview and an exam to get in.”

Neteyam had been looking closely at TRU’s Biomedical Sciences program, a rigorous STEM track centered on molecular biology, human physiology, genetics, and bioengineering. It was the kind of course that demanded long lab hours, dense research modules, collaborative projects that simulated real clinical or biotech environments. His father had been the one to first suggest it, pointing out how consistently Neteyam had been excelling in chemistry, physics, and advanced mathematics, how naturally he gravitated toward problem-solving and systems thinking. At the same time, he’d quietly considered pairing it with something else, maybe a double degree or at least a minor in a humanities course like sociology or psychology. 

Nashvi gave him an impressed nod and commented, “Yeah. That’s one of the best universities in the region, Tey. Me and the boys have been thinking of applying there too but for you know, more generic courses. Ones that are easier to get in.”

He remembered. That night after practice, Aonung had video-called him for some help in his biology homework. Aonung had been quieter than usual in the call, spacing out. With the prospect of university drawing closer, he has been concerned about his finals’ grades. He remembered Aonung’s words.

“I want to try for TRU,” Aonung admitted back then, voice low. “But it’s competitive as hell.”

Neteyam had looked at him, a reassuring tone slipped in his voice. “You’ll get in.”

“I didn’t know you guys were considering it too,” Neteyam pointed out.

“We are,” Nashvi nodded. “I’m looking at political science or like, law? I’m not so sure yet. Koro says he wants to take a gap year but I’m pretty sure his mom will force him to just apply anyway.”

Neteyam nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“I see. My dad’s been encouraging me to apply as soon as possible,” Neteyam added after a moment. “He keeps saying TRU’s biomedical department has strong research funding. Good faculty. Strong postgrad pathways.”

Nashvi tilted his head. “So that’s what you want? Medicine?”

“Maybe,” Neteyam replied honestly. “Or research. Or biotech development. I don’t know yet.” 

There was a brief pause before Nashvi added, more carefully, “You know it’s seven hours away from Awa’atlu, right?”

Neteyam’s smile faltered just slightly. “Yeah,” he said, shutting his locker as he leaned against it. “I know.”

Seven hours did not sound like much when you said it quickly. But it meant dorms. It meant seeing your family only during holidays instead of everyday. It meant missing Tuk’s random late-night rambling, Lo’ak getting scolded by his parents for leaving a mess somewhere, Kiri dragging him outside to look at the sky. He shrugged, pretending it didn’t settle heavy in his chest.

“It kinda sucks,” Neteyam muttered quietly. “It would feel weird to be away from my family.”

When Neteyam was little, his father used to say it like it was law, like it was carved into stone, Sullys stick together. It wasn’t just a phrase but it was a promise. It meant no matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, family stayed close. Neteyam had believed that completely. He had built himself around that idea, being the dependable eldest, the steady one, the glue. But now the thought of leaving for a university seven hours away felt like quietly breaking something sacred. Like stretching that motto thinner than it was ever meant to go.

And beneath all of that sat another thought he didn’t say out loud. What if Aonung didn’t get into TRU? He’d joked before about not being confident, about how competitive it was, about having AU, Awa’atlu University, as his safe option. If that happened, Aonung would stay. Neteyam would leave. Seven hours would turn into scheduled calls and trying to feel close through a screen. Long distance. The words felt fragile and dangerous in his mind. 

Neteyam swallowed before asking it, trying to keep his tone light. “Do you… think Aonung will get in?”

Nashvi did not hesitate before answering,  “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Neteyam pressed, searching his face.

Nashvi snorted softly. “Duh. His grades are way better now.”

Neteyam blinked incredulously but Nashvi just chuckled.

“Tey,” Nashvi scoffed, pushing off the lockers. “You’ve been tutoring him for, what, half the school year? His GPA literally jumped. Teachers don’t complain about him anymore. He actually turns things in.”

“You really think he has a shot?” Neteyam asked again, softer this time.

Nashvi rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of fondness there. “If he doesn’t get in, it won’t be because he’s not capable. And honestly? His application’s solid. Captaincy. Improved academics. Recommendations from, like, our coach, teachers.”

Neteyam let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a little more relieved.

“He’ll be fine,” Nashvi added. Then he nudged him lightly. “You’re the one who should be worried. Biomedical engineering at TRU is brutal to get into.”

Neteyam huffed faintly with a small pout, “That’s not comforting, Nashvi.”

They fell into step again, heading down the wide staircase that led toward the cafeteria wing. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, turning the polished floors into streaks of gold. Lockers slammed shut in uneven rhythms. Someone laughed too loudly. A group of juniors squeezed past them, whispering as they went. Neteyam kept his gaze forward this time. After the conversation about TRU, about distance and grades and possibility, his mind felt too full to notice the whispers about him or maybe he was just tired of noticing.

“Rotxo texted,” Nashvi muttered, glancing at his phone. “Apparently Koro argued with a bunch of freshman who stole our table.’”

Neteyam huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s just Koro.”

They took the stairs down together. Nashvi walked half a step ahead now, scrolling absentmindedly. Neteyam watched him for a moment and realized that Nashvi had been distracted lately. More on his phone. More quiet pauses mid-conversation. More “I’ll catch up later” moments.

They were halfway down the corridor when a voice called out from behind them.

“Nashvi!”

Both of them turned. It was Ongu, leaning casually against the lockers near the vending machines, one hand raised in a wave. Nashvi froze for half a second but Neteyam saw it. Then, Nashvi straightened, slipping his phone into his blazer pocket.

“Fuck,” Nashvi muttered under his breath.

Neteyam hummed and pointed out, “You’ve been talking to Ongu a lot lately.”

Nashvi did not answer right away. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. “It’s just… school stuff.” Nashvi added, adjusting the strap of his bag. “He’s a hall monitor, so he’s probably giving reports.”

Neteyam did not look entirely convinced, but he decided not to push. Ongu called his name again, impatiently this time. Nashvi let out a deep, irritated sigh. “You go ahead, Tey. I’ll meet you and the others at the cafeteria in a minute,” He reassured and put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder.

Neteyam just gave him a nod and walked off to the direction of the cafeteria. Lately, Neteyam had started noticing it in small, unsettling ways. The way Nashvi’s laughter would cut off too quickly whenever someone approached, the way his shoulders seemed tighter, like he was bracing for something. And then there was Ongu. Somehow, Ongu was always nearby now. Leaning against lockers. Waiting by the stairwell. Catching Nashvi’s attention with a low call of his name that made Nashvi stiffen before schooling his face into something neutral. They were talking more often, too often. Quiet conversations that stopped the second anyone else got close. Nashvi would brush it off, say it was nothing, just random stuff, but his eyes kept darting over his shoulder like he was checking who was watching. Neteyam didn’t know what was going on, only that something felt wrong. Nashvi had always been open, loud, easy to read. Now he was guarded. Distracted. 

When Neteyam was out of sight, Ongu’s expression darkened, his arms crossed as he leaned against the lockers. “So… what’s your progress?” he asked, his voice low, sharp. “There’s been nothing.”

Nashvi tensed, immediately bristling. “School just reopened,” he shot back, trying to keep his voice even. “The basketball season is months away. Finals haven’t even started yet, so there’s no reason to—”

Ongu cut him off with a sharp, incredulous look. “Don’t give excuses. You said you’d handle it.”

Nashvi ran a hand through his hair, voice tight with frustration. “You’re acting like it’s easy to bench Aonung from the team,” he snapped, leaning closer. “His grades are good. Everything’s going well. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Ongu’s expression did not soften. He shrugged, almost dismissively. “That’s not my problem.”

Nashvi’s jaw clenched. “Not your problem?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a hiss. “It’s my problem, Ongu. You and Paytxul are asking me to do something impossible.”

Ongu’s gaze remained cold, unmoving. “Then make it possible.”

Nashvi’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his chest shifting into a heavier, more desperate weight. “And I don’t even know how I’m supposed to… break those two up,” he muttered, voice low, almost pleading. “They’re… I mean, Aonung’s serious. Neteyam’s not stupid. I don’t even know where to start.”

Ongu’s lips curved into a sharp, almost cruel smirk. “Why don’t you know anything?” he snapped, leaning in closer. “Figure something out. Or else, your little secret gets out.”

Nashvi stiffened at the words, the unspoken threat slicing through him. His mind raced, panic pricking at the edges, but he forced himself to meet Ongu’s gaze. “I’m… I’m trying,” he said tightly, each word carefully measured. “It’s not like there’s a clear way to do it.”

Ongu’s smirk didn’t fade. “Well, there should be. I don’t care how messy it gets. Just make sure it happens. Or everything you’ve been keeping safe? Gone.”

Nashvi stayed frozen for a moment as Ongu’s footsteps faded down the hall, leaving a strange, heavy silence behind him. Dread crawled along his spine like cold fingers. Time was ticking. He shook his head, trying to clear the tension clouding his thoughts. Reaching into his pocket, he realized with a sinking feeling that he’d forgotten his wallet. With a reluctant groan, he turned back toward the stairwell to retrieve it.

As he ascended, a sudden commotion from the direction of Principal Tonowari’s office caught his attention. Voices, sharp and tense, carried through the open door. Curiosity and a twinge of worry made him pause near the corner, just out of sight. As he walked over, he squinted through the glass panel of the door. There they were: Aonung, standing tall, jaw set, facing his father, Principal Tonowari. Papers were spread across the desk and most prominently, Aonung’s college resume.

“I’m telling you, Father,” Aonung insisted firmly, “I don’t want to be in STEM. I’m interested in Political Science or something. I want a course I can actually… think in, lead with, you know?”

Tonowari’s expression was strict, unmoving. “Aonung,” he said sharply, “STEM is practical. It’s solid. Your future is secure if you focus on your sciences. You’ve got the grades already. Don’t throw that away chasing… abstract ideals.”

“I want to understand governance, strategy, how to influence and lead people effectively. STEM just… isn’t me.” Aonung retorted, “Also, I only got the grades from studying extra. Wouldn’t it be better if I focused on something I could naturally excel in?”

Tonowari paused, and his voice dropped, sharper this time. “I’ll consider you taking HUMMS… but know this. If your finals aren’t impressive, you will get benched from the basketball season. Do you understand me?”

Aonung gaped incredulously, heat rising to his face. “That isn’t fair! You said the same thing during midterms! I worked my ass off, and now you’re threatening me again?”

Tonowari’s tone sharpened. “Then work harder now. I’m not negotiating your priorities. You want basketball? You earn it. You want a say in your future? Prove you can handle both.”

Aonung let out a frustrated groan, pacing the office as his hands ran through his hair. “It’s always conditions! It’s always ultimatums. Why can’t you just… listen?!”

Tonowari’s reply was cold, measured. “Because results speak louder than words. And you have to understand that being captain comes with responsibility. Excellence is non-negotiable.”

Outside the door, Nashvi stepped back slightly, heart hammering as he absorbed every word. His stomach twisted as the realization hit him like a cold wave. That was the only way to bench Aonung from the basketball season. Nothing else mattered; nothing else could touch him. At first, he considered the absurdity of asking Aonung to just sit out voluntarily, to skip practices or games, but the thought barely formed before he scoffed inwardly. Of course Aonung wouldn’t agree. This was his final year as captain. Every point, every assist, every win mattered to him.

The only way to get Aonung benched was to drop his grades. How the fuck was Nashvi supposed to do that?

-

Neteyam pushed open the cafeteria doors and scanned the room. The faint smell of fried food filled the air, and his eyes immediately landed on the familiar faces at their usual table. Koro and Rotxo were sitting already. On the table, sat a small stack of brownies in a container, perfectly cut squares glistening slightly in the cafeteria light.

“Hi, you two.” Neteyam greeted as he walked over, taking in the sweet, chocolatey aroma. “You baked these?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Rotxo.

Koro had his mouth full and muffled a reply between enthusiastic bites. “Mmph.. Hi Tey..”

Rotxo rolled his eyes at Koro, who was still shamelessly chewing, then looked back at Neteyam. “Yes, your sister gave me the recipe, Tey. And honestly? I love it.”

Neteyam’s lips curved in a small smile, impressed. “Kiri, huh?” he asked, teasing lightly. “So I see you two have been talking now.” He took a careful bite of it when he had one. The brownie was warm, gooey, chocolate-rich with a hint of vanilla, identical to how Kiri usually bakes her brownies. “Wow,” he murmured between bites, “this is… really good. I’m gonna tell Kiri she’s got competition.”

Rotxo smiled sheepishly at Neteyam’s compliment and realized someone’s absence. He leaned back to give Neteyam a pointed look. “Hey… where’s Nash?” he asked, slightly curious.

“He’ll catch up later,” Neteyam replied, “He has something to take care of.”

Koro muttered something with his mouth still full that sounded like, “Typical.” Rotxo ignored him, leaning forward again. “So… Aonung’s going over his college resume right now, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Neteyam replied, taking out his lunch bag. “I think his dad’s pushing him pretty hard.”

Rotxo leaned back slightly, frowning, the tone of his voice betraying a little curiosity mixed with concern. “Do you know what he’s thinking of taking?”

Neteyam pondered thoughtfully. “He’s been thinking about HUMMS, political science. Something like that. He’s not really into STEM. At least, that’s what he said the last time we talked.”

Rotxo hummed, processing the information. Then he turned to Koro with a raised eyebrow. “What about you guys? Have you started on your resumes yet?”

Koro groaned dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. “Nothing,” he admitted flatly. “I mean, what am I supposed to put? I don’t even care what I take. I seriously don’t want to go to uni.”

Rotxo blinked at him and monotonously asked. “Seriously? Nothing?”

“What do you want me to do?” Koro groaned, exasperation dripping from his voice. “Pretend like I’ve been volunteering and reading textbooks when all I’ve done is… play basketball and sleep?” He picked at his brownie, clearly using the snack as a buffer against responsibility.

“I’ve listed everything down already,” Neteyam replied, “Projects, volunteer work, extracurriculars… everything. I didn’t leave anything to chance.”

Koro waved a hand lazily. “I don’t care what I take. I seriously don’t want to go to uni. I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for it. Or even want it. I mean, school’s been enough of a headache as it is.”

Neteyam just rolled his eyes at Koro, knowing well that he was going to apply anyway. He glanced at Rotxo, curiosity flickering. “Nashvi said you guys are considering TRU too,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Rotxo nodded. “Yeah… I’m thinking about applying for STEM.”

Rotxo had always been quietly ambitious in his own way. He had his sights set on a competitive STEM course at TRU, much like Neteyam. His grades were always above average, excellent even, consistent enough to give him a strong chance at the program. Koro, by contrast, was average at best. Sure, he had a few Bs sprinkled across his report card, but he rarely stressed over them. School never really mattered much to him; he coasted through classes with minimal effort, preferring to spend his energy on whatever he found fun in the moment, whether that was gaming, hanging out with friends, or just lounging around.

Koro snorted, waving his hand. “I don’t care what I take. I don’t wanna go to uni.” He repeated.

Rotxo side-eyed him, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You’re gonna regret saying that someday, you know.”

“I’m serious!” Koro whined, jabbing a finger at the air for emphasis. “I wanna work as a barista or something. Like, imagine all the hot customers.”

Neteyam tilted his head, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean… you can work part-time while going to university,” he offered. “Lots of people do. Gives you some independence, extra cash… plus, you wouldn’t be chained to the dorm all the time.”

Koro groaned, slumping in his seat dramatically. “Ugh… that’s not the same. I just… I don’t want all the lectures, the exams, the essays. I wanna live my life, man.”

Neteyam stayed quiet thoughtfully for a few minutes before speaking up again, “I’m… a little bit worried about Aonung getting into TRU,” he admitted quietly, “I mean, his grades are good, but… it’s competitive. I just—” He trailed off, glancing at Rotxo and Koro, feeling a strange mix of nerves.

Rotxo waved a dismissive hand, a confident smile playing on his lips. “Nah, don’t worry about that, Tey.” he reassured. “Aonung’s gonna get in, no doubt. His grades are solid, HUMMS isn’t that competitive compared to the STEM courses, and I took a peek at his resume the other day. Seriously, it’s good. He’s got a bunch of stuff listed already. He’s gonna be fine.”

Koro groaned dramatically, resting his forehead against the table. “He has a better chance than me,” he muttered. “You should see mine. It’s a blank page.”

Neteyam nodded, feeling a small relief wash over him at Rotxo’s reassurance. He chewed his food slowly, letting the quiet settle over the table for a moment. The cafeteria buzzed around them with voices of students bouncing off the walls, trays clattering, the faint scent of pizza and fries mixing with Rotxo’s chocolatey brownies but he felt like the noise had dimmed because of another worry he had in his mind. 

Then, hesitantly, Neteyam spoke, his voice low. “Can I… tell you guys something?”

Rotxo and Koro immediately turned to him, their attention sharp. They could sense the hesitant tilt in his posture, the way he fidgeted with his fork, the slight furrow in his brow. 

Neteyam swallowed, hands tightening slightly around his fork. “It’s about… Aonung. About his exes,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above the ambient hum of the cafeteria.

Koro groaned dramatically. “Wait, you literally asked me this during school break, Tey,” he sighed, though there was curiosity buried beneath the theatrics as he wondered why Neteyam was constantly thinking about the matter.

Neteyam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting to Koro before settling back on the table. “I know… I know. It’s just that… okay, so… me and Nung were in the toilet together at Tuk’s party… we almost—”

Rotxo laughed nervously and immediately held up a hand, cutting him off with a sheepish smile, “Okay okay, spare us the details, Tey.”

Neteyam’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered, almost under his breath, “You see… I’ve never done anything like that. I mean, really. And I’m… pretty sure Aonung has.” His gaze flicked down at the table, embarrassed, a faint heat creeping up his neck.

Koro’s jaw dropped, eyes wide. “WOAH. So… you and Paytxul, when you two were dating… you two were… CLEAN?” His voice cracked slightly, disbelief mingled with curiosity.

Neteyam flushed, biting the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, it’s not like I planned it. I just… I’ve never done anything like that before. And with Aonung… it feels… different. I know he’s experienced, and I don’t want to seem like I can’t keep up.” His hands twisted nervously in his lap.

Rotxo leaned back, looking thoughtful as he offered a reassuring smile to Neteyam. “Tey… don’t stress it too much. Aonung isn’t going to judge you on… experience. He likes you for you, not for what you’ve done in the past.” He gave a reassuring shrug.

Neteyam groaned, leaning over his plate, cheeks still warm. “That’s not even the point,” he muttered, picking at the brownie. “I just..  I feel like I have to step up or something. Like, I can’t just be boring. Not with him. He’s different. And I… I don’t want to mess this up.”

Rotxo offered more support, “You won’t mess it up, Tey. You just be you. He’s with you because he likes you, not because of anything else.”

Koro leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Okay but if you really wanna keep up with him, Tey, I mean… you might need some, you know… tips,” he giggled, wiggling his eyebrows. “Little tricks. How to… make it more interesting. Spice things up.”

Rotxo immediately shot him a glare that could cut glass. “KORO—NO,” he snapped, slapping his hand on Koro’s head. “Do not—you hear me?—do not start giving Tey sex tips in the middle of the cafeteria. We are not doing this here.”

Koro grinned, completely unbothered by the scandalized expressions on the other two’s faces. “I’m not saying they have to do it but you know… take hot pictures, Tey. Make him think about you when you’re not around. That’s how you make a guy like Aonung… uhm… well, you know.”

Rotxo immediately threw up both hands, eyes wide. “KORO! NO. Do NOT tell him that! He is not ready for… whatever that is!”

Neteyam’s face burned red, heat crawling from his ears to the tips of his fingers. He glanced between Koro, who was grinning like a proud troublemaker, and Rotxo, whose expression was full of horror. “I’m not asking for that kind of advice! I just… I want to not screw up. I don’t want to look dumb. Or weak. Or…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding even more vulnerable.

Rotxo glared at Koro as if daring him to say anything ridiculous and then, shifted his attention to Neteyam. “Tey… breathe. Look, Koro is being ridiculous. You don’t need to follow his ‘tips’ word for word. Just… be confident, be honest, and don’t let your nerves control you. That’s enough.”

Koro squinted at Neteyam for a second, his teasing expression slowly shifting into something more calculating. He tapped his finger against the table like he had just unlocked a new topic. “Wait a second..” He trailed off in realization.

Rotxo sighed immediately, “No. Whatever that tone is, I don’t like it.”

Koro ignored him, still staring at Neteyam. “You’re stressing about experience. You’re stressing about keeping up. You’re stressing about not being boring.” He leaned forward slightly. “But have you two even said ‘I love you’ yet?”

The question dropped between them like a brick.

Rotxo waved a dismissive hand almost instantly. “They probably have. Koro, you’re not with them 24/7.” He turned casually toward Neteyam, ready to back him up but he realized that Neteyam had gone still. The kind of still where a realization is unfolding in real time.

For all the intensity between them, the random touches, the kisses that left Neteyam breathless, the way Aonung’s hand would instinctively find his waist in crowded rooms, the late-night calls that stretched until one of them fell asleep. Back when he’d dated Paytxul, the words had come easily, almost automatically. They’d slipped into conversations like they belonged there, at the end of phone calls, tucked into casual goodnights.But with Aonung, it was different. Maybe it felt too big to say lightly. Maybe it wasn’t something that could be tossed around casually like before. But still, how the fuck did neither of them had actually said I love you?

“Damn, are you for real, Tey?” Rotxo questioned, eyes wide in disbelief.

Koro let out a disbelieving whistle. “That’s actually weird.”

Rotxo turned to him slowly, “Koro.”

“No, I’m just saying,” Koro continued, completely unaware of the incoming danger. “Aonung usually says it. He said it with his exes.”

The air shifted and Rotxo’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost violent. “KORO. Don’t make it worse.”

But the moment those words came out of Koro’s mouth, Neteyam’s stomach dropped. “He did?” he asked quietly, the words barely audible over the cafeteria noise.

Koro immediately threw his hands up apologetically and laughed nervously. “WAIT. That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Neteyam’s lips played into a small pout and he let out a sigh. “No, it’s fine. I mean… you’re probably right.” He swallowed. “He’s dated more than me. It makes sense.”

Rotxo leaned forward urgently. “Tey, no. That doesn’t mean anything. Different relationships are different.”

Koro nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah! Exactly. Maybe those were easier to say it in. Or maybe he didn’t mean it the same way.”

“That’s not helping,” Rotxo muttered.

“I’m trying!” Koro hissed back.

Neteyam leaned back in his chair slowly, running a hand over his face. The earlier embarrassment about experience had completely shifted into something heavier. If Aonung had said it before with other people… Why not now? Was it because this was casual to him? Was Neteyam reading too much into everything?

Rotxo leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice gentle but firm. “Tey.” He called out, snapping Neteyam out of his trance. “You love him,” Rotxo said quietly. “Right?”

Neteyam swallowed and nodded.

“So maybe he’s in the exact same position. Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he thinks you’re not ready. You literally just told us you’re worried about keeping up with him.” Rotxo explained, “He loves you a lot, Tey. We can all tell.”

Koro, now significantly more cautious, leaned forward again but gently this time. “Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the ex thing like that.” He grimaced. “That was… poorly timed.”

“Very,” Rotxo deadpanned.

Koro shot him a glare and lightly shoved him in the shoulder. “But think about it, Tey. If this feels bigger to you? It probably feels bigger to him too.” He backed up.

Neteyam frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Koro clarified, shrugging, “maybe with his exes it was easy. Casual. Whatever. But with you? Maybe it’s not casual. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said it.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, staring down at his hands. “You’re right…” He nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe he’s just… waiting.”

Koro tilted his head. “Okay. So here’s a crazy idea.” He suggested, “Why don’t you just say it? Like, later after school and see what happens.”

“What if he doesn’t say it back?” Neteyam huffed out, a pout playing on his lips.

Rotxo shook his head and laughed. “Do you really think that’s likely?”

Neteyam hesitated. But then, he thought about the way Aonung’s grip tightened when someone looked too openly. The way he always made sure Neteyam got home safe. The way he’d once whispered, “You matter more than you think,” like it was a secret confession. Maybe he already said I love you, just in different words. Also, it has always been Aonung being the one confident enough to make moves so perhaps it was time for a change. 

-

The final bell echoed across the campus, signaling the end of another long day. Sunlight was fading softly, painting the basketball court in warm, golden hues as Neteyam watched Aonung and the others shoot some hoops. The air carried that end-of-school lethargy: sneakers squeaking against the polished surface, basketballs thumping against the rim, the faint noise of students leaving in the distance.

As they played, a deep, confident voice called out from the edge of the court. “Yo basketball boys!”

They all turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy approaching, his letterman jacket still on like he hadn’t fully come down from the adrenaline of a big win. His hair was tied back neatly, and his smile carried the easy confidence of someone used to being the center of attention. Tarevìk, the football captain of Awa’atlu High, who shared some classes with Aonung and Neteyam. 

Aonung grinned immediately. “Vik. What’s up?”

They clasped hands in that half-bro handshake, half-shoulder bump thing that looked aggressive but friendly at the same time. Neteyam just watched them and offered a meek smile to him.

“Yo, Aonung,” He started, his voice friendly. “Listen, me and the team’s throwing a party tonight to celebrate Awa’atlu High’s football victory. You guys should come.”

Aonung’s face brightened, a genuine smile breaking across his features. “Thanks, man! Sounds good.” He nodded at the captain.

The captain’s gaze shifted toward Neteyam, his expression friendly. “You can bring your boyfriend too!” he invited, giving Neteyam a polite smile.

Neteyam blinked, caught slightly off-guard. “Oh… yeah, alright. Thanks,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. The familiarity of being referred to as Aonung’s boyfriend in school was still something he needed to learn to get used to.

Aonung clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, we’ll go, man. Should be fun.”

The football captain grinned, nodding, then glanced toward Koro. Their eyes met briefly, and in that fraction of a second, a flicker of recognition passed between them,an unspoken acknowledgment that seemed to ripple with history. Koro smirked, almost imperceptibly, and the captain mirrored the gesture. 

Nashvi and Rotxo noticed, and both exchanged a questioning glance, eyebrows raised in silent curiosity. When Tarevìk left, everyone gave a weird look to Koro who just shrugged nonchalantly. Nashvi’s eyes darted between Koro and the empty path Tarevìk had taken. “Yeah… what was that about?”

Koro’s lips twitched, a mischievous grin spreading slowly across his face. “Oh… that?” he laughed. Then, catching their skeptical looks, he added, a little too proudly, “I kissed him in junior year.”

Neteyam’s eyes went wide. “Wait—what?”

Rotxo groaned, rubbing his forehead. “How the hell did you never tell us.”

Koro shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back against the fence. “Yeah, I ghosted him because he was a bad kisser.” 

Nashvi raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the fence. “So… are we going to this party or what?” he asked, voice casual but with just enough curiosity to make it clear he was considering it seriously.

Aonung dribbled the basketball lazily once, catching it with a small grin. “Why not?” he said. “Sounds like fun, and it’s the end of the football season, we should celebrate with them, right?”

Neteyam hesitated, tilting his head as he scanned the court. “Are… they going to be drinking?” he asked, his tone careful, like he was weighing whether this was something he could handle.

Koro’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward conspiratorially, grinning like a kid letting out a secret. “Oh, you can bet they won’t skip it at a football party. That’s actually why I kissed the football captain,” he admitted, smirking as if the confession was perfectly normal and warranted no further explanation.

Rotxo’s hand shot up, slapping the side of Koro’s head gently. “Koro! Seriously! Can you not?” he groaned, looking both exasperated and mildly horrified.

Nashvi crossed his arms. “Well, I won’t be drinking,” he decided confidently, “I’ll be driving my bike and also, it’s a school night.”

Koro leaned forward eagerly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Hey, we can meet up at my place first and just grab an ilu.” He caught Neteyam’s curious glance and added, “It’s like… uh, you know… an app. You click and get a quick ride, easy peasy. We don’t have to deal with anyone drunk-driving.”

Nashvi shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll still drive,” He told them, “You all can meet up at Koro’s and I’ll meet you guys at the party.”

Aonung nudged Neteyam lightly with his shoulder, his smile warm and teasing. “You don’t have to drink, angel. You can just come with us for the vibes, hang out with us, have fun. If you don’t want to, it’s totally fine.”

Neteyam felt a little warmth bloom in his chest at the reassurance. “Yeah… okay. I’ll come,” he said, his voice soft but certain.

Aonung’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glanced down, eyebrows raising slightly at the text. It was from Tsireya, who told him to get ready as their father was done for the day and they had to go home. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and looked up at the group, the basketball still resting lightly under one arm. “Alright,” he told them, voice calm but carrying a hint of reluctance. “I’ll head home now. I’ll meet you guys tonight.”

Rotxo tilted his head, “Oh… you didn’t drive today?”

Aonung shook his head, shrugging casually. “Nah. My dad felt like driving me and Reya. Figured I’d let him, save me some gas money,” he replied with a lazy grin, his tone light as he picked up his bag from the bleachers. He started walking over to Neteyam, the golden light of the late afternoon casting a soft glow across his features. Neteyam’s heart thumped in his chest, just from the way Aonung moved, confident and effortless, yet completely focused on him. When he reached Neteyam, Aonung placed a gentle hand under his chin. The touch was warm, grounding, intimate in a way that made Neteyam’s stomach twist with a delicious flutter. Without another word, Aonung leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Neteyam’s cheek. 

“See you later, angel.” Aonung murmured.

Neteyam’s ears burned at the simple, affectionate gesture. He wanted to say something, he needed to but the words seemed to stick somewhere behind his throat.

Aonung straightened, tossing the basketball lightly to his other hand, ready to leave the court. Neteyam opened his mouth, then closed it again, the courage fleeting. From behind, Koro nudged him sharply in the shoulder, eyebrows raised in his typical mischievous way. “Tey. Say it,” he urged.

Neteyam froze, glancing at Koro and then back at Aonung. The boy in front of him was so calm, so unassuming, yet the kiss on his cheek had sent his thoughts spinning. He took a shaky breath, then gently tapped Aonung on the shoulder. “I… I l… I l…” he stammered, panic and shyness tangling in his chest. His heart hammered so loud he could almost hear it in the quiet of the empty court. He froze, cheeks flushed deep crimson, and swallowed hard. Instead of finishing the sentence, he forced a nervous smile and said softly, “I’ll… see you tonight.”

Aonung’s lips curved into a gentle, understanding smile, the kind that made Neteyam feel like he had just said everything he needed to, even if the words hadn’t come out. “Yeah,” Aonung replied, his voice low and reassuring. “See you tonight.”

When Aonung walked away, Koro started bursting out in laughter at Neteyam’s cute, futile attempt. “Oh Eywa, Tey! That was so adorable,” he cackled, slapping his knee for emphasis.

Neteyam’s ears burned hotter, his hands gripping his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Koro… s-stop!” he snapped, though the plea came out more flustered than angry. His usual composure had evaporated entirely under Koro’s relentless teasing. He internally cursed himself. Why was saying three words, that should be customary in a high school relationship, so hard?

-

The music hit them the second they stepped into the house: pulsing, bass-heavy, unmistakably a football victory party. Students were scattered across the living room, some sprawled on couches, others huddled around the snack table or playing a few rounds of beer pong, the air thick with the smell of pizza, chips, and something a little stronger wafting from a few plastic cups. Koro immediately gravitated toward the drinks table, his grin wide. 

“Let’s see how fast I can get wasted tonight.” Koro declared, grabbing a cup and swirling it with exaggerated flair as he took a sip. He frowned slightly after a moment. “Ugh… that’s weak.” He turned, spotting Tarevìk standing near the snack table. “Yo, Vik! You got anything stronger? Come on, I need something that actually hits.”

Tarevìk chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Patience, Koro. Take it easy,” he teased, holding up a bottle with a smirk. Koro’s eyes gleamed, and he darted forward like a predator spotting prey, grabbing it eagerly.

Meanwhile, Aonung lingered near the edge of the crowd with Neteyam and Rotxo, cup in hand but untouched. Nashvi was sitting on the couch, occasionally dodging a random ball every now and then from random football jocks. Neteyam noticed Aonung being hesitant immediately, leaning a little closer. “Not drinking?” he asked softly.

Aonung’s gaze flicked to him, faintly amused. “Still early, angel.” he murmured, voice low enough only for Neteyam to hear.

Koro, catching sight of Aonung, immediately perked up, tilting his head and waggling his eyebrows. “Ohhh, is that a challenge I hear?” he teased loudly enough for everyone nearby to catch it. “Come on, captain! Let’s play a drinking game. You too, Rotxo. You know you want in.”

Rotxo groaned, already feeling the tension of the evening mounting. “Koro… no. Not this early,” he muttered.

Before he could argue further, Koro had grabbed his arm. “No backing out. Circle’s forming now.”

Aonung’s lips quirked in amusement, and he gave Neteyam a glance. “Looks like I do want in now,” he murmured with a teasing lilt. He moved with confidence, guiding Neteyam toward the forming circle of drinks and laughter. The basketball boys clustered together, slapping each other’s shoulders and laughing, while Nashvi shook his head and backed off, leaning against the sofa, muttering about getting home earlier. Neteyam followed suit, sitting just outside the circle, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes flicking nervously toward Aonung.

The rules of the game were simple: “Take a shot if you…”, a popular high school drinking game where the host prompted various statements, and anyone who matched the statement had to down their shot. Laughter erupted as statements ranged from “Take a shot if you’ve ever flirted with someone here” to “Take a shot if you’ve ever cried watching a movie.”

The first few rounds were harmless. A few boys from the football team even joined in and laughed, but Rotxo started to accumulate shots almost immediately. “Take a shot if you’ve ever lied about homework!” someone called. Rotxo hesitated… then downed it. “Take a shot if you’ve ever cried during a movie,” another challenged. Rotxo choked back the laugh, but obeyed dutifully.

By the fifth round, Rotxo was wobbling slightly, eyes glassy but sparkling with reckless joy. Koro, barely fazed by the earlier sips, leaned back and took another shot without flinching, his grin wider than ever. “C’mon, Rotxo! Don’t chicken out now.”

Rotxo was wobbling dangerously, tears starting to form at the edges of his eyes. “I… I don’t know why this is so hard!” he slurred, voice cracking as he threw his arms up dramatically. “You guys are doing this on p….purpose!”

Neteyam’s attention, though, had drifted completely toward Aonung. The basketball captain had loosened up from a couple of shots, his normally confident, steady movements slightly unsteady. He randomly got closer to Neteyam, elbow brushing against Neteyam’s knee. Every small touch felt electrifying.

“Mineee,” Aonung whined suddenly, his words soft but possessive as he leaned in, pressing a quick, heated kiss to Neteyam’s temple. He trailed soft kisses across the side of Neteyam’s face, hand brushing lightly over his shoulder. Neteyam’s heart thudded painfully against his ribcage, a mixture of heat, nerves, and the intoxicating closeness of Aonung overwhelming his senses.

“You’re mine,” Aonung repeated in a teasing, slurred whisper, tugging Neteyam a little closer, as if the proximity could erase the rest of the party. Neteyam’s hands went to his lap, fidgeting, trying to stay composed as Aonung’s lips found the corner of his mouth for a teasing, soft kiss. Aonung draped an arm over Neteyam’s shoulders, pulling him into the side of his chest. “You’re staying close tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing near Neteyam’s ear. “No one else gets you but me.”

“Nung, behave.” Neteyam whispered to him with urgency.

Rotxo let out a loud wail that cut through the thumping music after he fell to the ground and hit his elbow lightly onto the glass table, clutching his elbow as if the world itself had betrayed him. “Owww! My elbow! It hurts so bad!” he wailed, eyes glassy and rimmed with tears, his balance gone completely from the shots he’d taken. He collapsed further onto the floor, whimpering dramatically, arms flailing for someone to notice his suffering.

Koro, still perched on the edge of the circle with a bottle loosely dangling from his hand, blinked at him, completely unfazed by the party chaos around them. Then, as if the situation were finally real, he leaned over Rotxo, grinning in his usual mischievous way, though a bit more focused now. “Okay… okay, Rotxo, settle down,” he said, tugging at the other boy’s arm gently. “Here, let me see. You didn’t break it, right?”

Rotxo hiccuped, sniffling loudly, “I… I don’t know! It hurts! Make it stop!” He flopped sideways dramatically, curling his legs and pressing his elbow against his chest but it did not even hurt at all.

After a few moments, the boys managed to steady Rotxo and get him back to sit down, wiping his eyes, hiccupping dramatically, but still smiling weakly. Koro, meanwhile, grinned like the night had been the highlight of his life, and the circle decided to continue with the game, everyone slightly tipsy now, voices louder, laughter more uninhibited.

The next rounds got spicier. “Take a shot if you’ve ever made out with someone in this room!” someone shouted, leaning back with a cheeky grin. The entire circle groaned and laughed as everyone except Rotxo slammed their drinks down. Rotxo whimpered softly, still nursing his elbow like it was a mortal wound, shaking his head emphatically. “You guys are… g.. gross.”

Neteyam, meanwhile, felt heat creeping up his neck as he watched Aonung take his shot without hesitation, smirking faintly as he chugged it down.

“Take a shot if you’ve ever had an ex in this room,” another player dared, and the group dissolved into laughter and murmurs. Aonung’s hand shot up instinctively; he took another drink, grinning at the teasing jabs from the football guys. Neteyam’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Every time a question about exes or experiences came up, Aonung didn’t hesitate, taking his shots like a seasoned pro, the alcohol making his casual confidence even more magnetic and, to Neteyam, painfully intimidating.

Neteyam felt a pang of insecurity tighten around his ribs. He had never done anything like that, and now, sitting there next to Aonung, watching him so naturally toss back drink after drink, flirt after flirt, he felt like he was somehow inadequate. His hands fiddled nervously in his lap ashe tried not to overthink every glance Aonung gave him.

Nashvi, standing beside Neteyam, noticed the tiny tensing of his shoulders every time Aonung raised his hand for another shot. Nashvi’s heart tightened slightly as he realized how tense Neteyam had become, the subtle body language speaking volumes: clenched hands, half-swallowed breaths, eyes darting away from the circle’s laughter when Aonung’s turn came around. It was almost like he was shrinking in on himself, overwhelmed by the questions and the unspoken comparisons to all of Aonung’s past experiences. 

Nashvi leaned slightly closer to him, his voice low enough that only Neteyam could hear. “Tey… you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Neteyam murmured, voice tight, though the slight tremor betrayed him.

Rotxo was too far gone in his drunken dramatics to notice the tension building, Koro was not that drunk yet but too busy egging on the next round with a wide, almost predatory grin, and the rest of the group was caught up in the laughter and chaos of the game. 

All of a sudden, Rotxo’s glassy eyes found Neteyam’s across the circle, and his tipsy composure cracked entirely. “T-Tey…” he hiccuped, voice wobbling as he clawed at his chest dramatically, “you’re… you’re my best friend! Our Tey!” His words were loud, slurred, and fragile, almost breaking as the emotion spilled out. 

“Uh… yeah.” Neteyam awkwardly laughed and shifted closer to Nashvi but Aonung grabbed him by the arm, not letting him move an inch away.

He opened his mouth as if to continue, to confess the thoughts that had been tumbling behind his drunken, tear-streaked eyes, thoughts about Aonung only getting close to Neteyam because of that ridiculous bet. “T-Tey, Nung… he’s badddd and evil… he’s only dating you for a be—“ But before he could get the words out, his face twisted violently, and he gagged, retching toward the floor.

“Rotxo! That’s it!” Nashvi barked, not letting another word come out of drunk Rotxo’s mouth. He leapt forward, grabbing Rotxo firmly by the arm to steady him. Rotxo collapsed against Nashvi’s chest, sobbing as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I… I can’t… I just—” he hiccuped again, sniffling pitifully.

Nashvi held him tight for a moment, letting him cry but keeping him upright. He glanced over at Koro, who was still perched on the edge of the circle, bottle dangling from his fingers, a tipsy grin on his face but otherwise steady. “Koro… are you even drunk or not?” Nashvi asked, voice low but sharp, cutting through the haze of the party.

Koro blinked at him, tilting his head lazily. “I’m… tipsy,” he admitted with a shrug, “but not… not wasted or anything.”

Nashvi let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Then take care of Aonung and Tey,” he instructed firmly, nodding toward where Aonung had been leaning slightly against Neteyam, lips brushing teasingly against his temple. “I’ll handle this little drama over here.”

Neteyam’s eyes followed Nashvi as he guided Rotxo toward a quieter corner of the room, soft sobs and hiccups spilling into the air. Neteyam’s stomach churned at the sight of his best friend so undone, and a pang of guilt mixed with worry twisted through him. He looked back at Aonung, who had noticed the commotion but remained close, a hand still draped over Neteyam’s shoulder.

Nashvi guided Rotxo carefully through the crowded living room, dodging stumbling partygoers and weaving past the pulsing lights, until they reached the bathroom door. He half-lifted, half-supported Rotxo to the toilet, letting him slump over the edge. Rotxo clutched the rim like it was the only anchor in the world, throwing up violently as Nashvi handed him a glass of water he had picked up from the counter earlier.

“I… I’m gonna… I can’t… Aonung only dated Neteyam for a bet!” Rotxo croaked, his voice trembling as his body shuddered against the porcelain. Then, between gagging breaths, he started crying again, hot tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. “You… you’re evil, Nashvi!” he hiccuped, burying his face in his hands. “All of this… all of this bet nonsense… you… you made it happen with Aonung… with Tey… you’re… you’re so evil!”

Nashvi’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone gentle, even as Rotxo’s words hit him like tiny daggers. “Rotxo… keep your voice down and calm down. That’s in the past… Aonung’s made his choice now. None of this changes who he is with Tey.”

Rotxo sniffled violently, shaking his head and hiccuping again. “N-No… Nashvi… you don’t get it. Tey… Tey’s… Tey’s the sweetest person ever! He doesn’t deserve… he doesn’t deserve any of this stupid… stupid game!” His sobs turned into shaky hiccups, and he leaned his forehead against the toilet bowl, as if pressing closer to the world might make the guilt vanish. “I… I should’ve told him!”

“You… you’re really evil,” Rotxo whimpered again, voice muffled against the toilet. “Making a bet like that… and then… and then Tey… he didn’t even know…”

“I know, I know,” Nashvi soothed, pressing a hand to Rotxo’s shaking shoulder. “But it’s over now. Aonung and Tey… they’re fine. You just focus on getting through this.”

Rotxo hiccuped once more, finally managing a weak little laugh through the tears. “But Tey… he’s so… sweet… Nashvi… he’s too good…”

Nashvi let out a long breath, staring down at Rotxo’s slumped form. The music outside thudded through the walls, muffled but relentless, but in the cramped bathroom it felt strangely distant. Rotxo was still clutching the toilet like it had personally offended him, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Rotxo,” Nashvi called out quietly, kneeling beside him. His voice had shifted, less irritated, more serious. “I need to tell you something. About the bet.”

Rotxo sniffled dramatically, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “You’re… evil,” he repeated weakly, though the edge had dulled.

Nashvi swallowed. “Just listen, okay? It wasn’t supposed to get this bad. It started as a stupid joke. Ongu and Paytxul pushed it.”

Rotxo blinked slowly, eyes unfocused.

Nashvi continued, words spilling faster now that he’d started. “But now Ongu and Paytxul are threatening me. They want Aonung benched from the team. They want him to break up with Neteyam. And if he doesn’t, if I don’t help them, they’ll tell Neteyam everything. About the bet.” He hesitated, then forced out the rest. “And they said they’ll tell everyone about my overdose. They’ve got a report. Recordings. They’ll make it look like I’m unstable and unfit for university.”

The confession hung heavy in the air.

Rotxo stared at him for a full three seconds.

Then—

“Uuu… uu… uwa uwa uwa wa… taku taku~”

Nashvi just stared at him. Rotxo’s expression brightened suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch inside his drunken brain. He swayed slightly where he knelt and began singing louder, completely off-key. “Uu uu uwa uwa uwa wa taku taku~” he crooned, hands waving vaguely in the air like he was conducting an invisible orchestra. 

“Rotxo,” Nashvi groaned flatly.

But Rotxo was gone. Absolutely gone.

“Chiikawa is just like Tey,” Rotxo declared solemnly, pointing at the toilet bowl as if it were a sacred audience. “Cute… but strong… and he tries so hard…” His lip wobbled again. “And Hachiware is like, like Aonung… kinda or maybe I should be Hachiware..”

Nashvi pressed his fingers to his temples.

“And Usagi!” Rotxo gasped dramatically. “Usagi is Koro.”

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, leaning closer to Nashvi with intense seriousness. “Chiikawa is important.”

“Okay,” Nashvi replied dryly.

Rotxo sniffled once, then pointed vaguely at the ceiling. “I watch Chiikawa on Discord with Kiri at night.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, completely unaware of how vulnerable he’d just sounded. “It’s our thing,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” Nashvi sighed.

“I like Kiri.” Rotxo stated earnestly, a pout on his lips.

“Wow,” Nashvi said sarcastically. “I totally don’t know that. Thanks for telling me.”

Rotxo turned his head, narrowing his eyes. “You sound like you know!”

“Since you started smiling at your phone like an idiot now and change your Discord status to ‘busy’ at exactly 11:07 p.m. every night.” Nashvi pointed out.

Rotxo had already decided the bathroom was no longer his stage. With sudden determination, he slapped his palms against the floor and pushed himself upright. The motion was far too ambitious for someone who had just been sobbing into porcelain five minutes ago. He swayed violently, nearly headbutting the stall door.

“I need… fresh air,” he declared with drunken authority. “Hachiware does not cry in bathrooms. He faces the world.”

“What the fuck,” Nashvi muttered, grabbing him before gravity could win.

Rotxo turned dramatically, grabbing Nashvi by the collar of his shirt. “Momonga,” he whispered intensely. “Come with me.”

“Who the hell is—”

“COME ON.”

And before Nashvi could protest again, Rotxo was dragging him out of the bathroom, one arm flung over Nashvi’s shoulders in a half-headlock, half-hug. Nashvi stumbled forward, forced to match his uneven pace. The music hit them full force the second the door swung open. They barely made it two steps into the hallway before Nashvi froze.

Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, expression smug in that infuriatingly effortless way, was Ongu. He was positioned just beside the bathroom door like he’d been waiting. The dim hallway light caught the sharp edge of his smirk as his eyes flicked lazily over the two of them, taking in Rotxo’s disheveled state, Nashvi’s irritated grip, the chaos practically radiating off them.

Nashvi’s eyes rolled so hard and he grit his teeth in irritation. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped.

Ongu lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Relax. Tarevik thought I was still on the basketball team.” His smile widened slightly. “So I got invited.”

The audacity. Nashvi felt his pulse spike. Of all nights. Of all times. He did not want to deal with whatever scheme he had with Ongu, not when he had to babysit Rotxo. “I don’t want to deal with you right now,” Nashvi said sharply, cutting him off before he could say anything more. “I’m dealing with Rotxo.”

As if summoned by his name, Rotxo slowly lifted his head. His eyes landed on Ongu he squinted like his brain was running on 10% battery. He went quiet for half a second. Then, with complete, brutal bluntness, Rotxo stated, “You’re ugly.”

Nashvi’s eyes widened as he hissed, “Rotxo, that’s rude—”

Rotxo stared at Ongu longer, head tilted slightly like he was evaluating a questionable piece of abstract art. “Like… really ugly,” he added, nodding once for emphasis.

“Rotxo.”

Ongu looked offended. “You’re wasted as hell, kid.”

Rotxo ignored him entirely and suddenly turned to Nashvi, eyes wide with a new wave of panic. “I don’t look like him, right?” he demanded urgently. “Tell me I don’t look like him!”

Nashvi bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “What?”

“I don’t wanna look ugly!” Rotxo blurted, voice cracking dramatically. “What if I do? What if I’ve been ugly this whole time and nobody told me?! What if Kiri thinks I’m ugly and she only watches Chiikawa with me out of pity?!” The spiral was immediate. His breathing picked up, hands flying to his own face as if he could physically inspect every feature at once. He squished his cheeks together, pulling at his hair slightly.

“You are not ugly, okay?” Nashvi reassured, swatting his hands away.

Ongu, still leaning against the wall, let out a quiet, amused exhale. “This is embarrassing.”

Nashvi shot him a lethal look, “Shut up.”

Rotxo turned slowly back toward Ongu, eyes narrowing in suspicious concentration. He leaned forward slightly, swaying, comparing their faces like a scientist conducting field research. “…Okay,” Rotxo muttered in relief after a long moment. “We don’t look the same.”

“You’re being embarrassing,” Nashvi muttered and dragged Rotxo away from Ongu, heading toward the living room.

By the time Nashvi managed to pry Rotxo’s grip off his collar and steady him properly, he realized something deeply unfortunate. Koro was already gone. Not tipsy. Not swaying. Gone. He was in the middle of the living room, aggressively dancing like the beat had personally streamed in his bloodline. His movements were dramatic and uncoordinated, arms windmilling, shoulders jerking, absolutely zero rhythm but one hundred percent confidence.

Rotxo gasped out loud.

“USAGI,” he breathed.

Before Nashvi could grab him again, Rotxo stumbled forward toward Koro like a pilgrim returning home.

Koro turned mid–arm-flail, eyes glossy but bright. “ROTXOOOO!” he shouted back with equal enthusiasm, as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Then, they started dancing. For no reason.

Across the room, Neteyam stared at them with wide eyes. Aonung was slumped against him on the couch, fully passed out. His head rested heavily on Neteyam’s shoulder, lips slightly parted, one hand loosely gripping Neteyam’s sweater like he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence.

Neteyam hadn’t moved. He just sat there, one arm wrapped securely around Aonung’s waist to keep him from sliding off, watching the chaos unfold with wide, bewildered eyes.

“…Wow,” Neteyam murmured.

Nashvi stood a few feet away, staring at the disaster he had indirectly enabled.

Rotxo and Koro were now attempting some kind of synchronized move that involved finger guns and aggressive hip thrusting. It was not good and absolutely embarrassing. Nashvi stood there watching in exhausted disbelief as Rotxo yelled, “WA WA TAKU TAKU!” and Koro echoed him like a malfunctioning backup dancer.

On the couch, Neteyam blinked slowly and he felt Aonung shift against him. At first it was just a small movement, his fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of Neteyam’s sweater. Then his head rolled faintly against Neteyam’s shoulder, eyes narrowed as consciousness clawed its way back in. His gaze landed on Neteyam, tracing Neteyam’s face slowly from his eyes beneath his glasses, the curve of his nose, the faint flush on his cheeks from the heat of the room.

“…Morning, my love,” Aonung mumbled, voice thick and warm with sleep. “What time is it?”

Neteyam blinked, startled by the sudden tenderness. “Morning?” He snickered incredulously, glancing over to Nashvi who was also amused by the sight.

Aonung squinted vaguely at the ceiling as if expecting sunlight to stream in through invisible windows. He hummed contentedly, nuzzling slightly closer like they were in bed instead of at a loud party. Neteyam shifted carefully and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with one hand while keeping the other steady around Aonung’s waist. The screen lit up against the dim room.

“Uh…” Neteyam informed him. “It’s 11:15pm.”

Aonung’s smile immediately faded and his eyes widened.

He shot upright so suddenly that Neteyam almost lost his balance.

“11:15?!” Aonung croaked.

“Yes—”

“11:15 PM?!” Aonung’s voice cracked.

“Yes, Nung—”

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no—” Panic hit Aonung like a wave. He grabbed Neteyam’s shoulders with both hands, eyes suddenly wide and glassy. “I promised your dad,” he blurted, words tumbling over each other. “I promised him I’d bring you home before twelve.”

Neteyam stared at him. “It’s literally forty-five minutes away—”

“He’s going to hate me!” Aonung interrupted, already spiraling. “He’s going to think I’m irresponsible. He’s going to ban me from the house. I’ll never recover from this. I’ll never be able to marry you.”

Neteyam choked on air and blushed at the mention of marriage. He sputtered out, “What?”

Aonung’s eyes started watering. Actually watering. “I ruined everything,” he said hoarsely. “He trusted me. He looked at me and said, ‘Bring my son home safe.’ And I said yes. I said yes like a fool.”

“Nung,” Neteyam said, trying not to laugh and fail at the same time. “Chill.” 

Aonung was already shaking his head dramatically. “No. No, this is serious. I can see it now. He’s going to stand at the door and he’ll say, ‘You had one job.’ And I’ll be finished.” Suddenly, he squinted at him, as if remembering something extremely important. “Wait,” he muttered. “Who’s that princess who has to go home before twelve again?”

Neteyam asked, “What?”

“That princess,” Aonung insisted, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “The one with the dress and the carriage and the deadline.”

“…Cinderella?”

Aonung snapped his fingers weakly. “Yeah. Her.” He leaned back slightly, studying Neteyam again, eyes unfocused but adoring. “…You’re Cinderella.”

“I’m… what?” Neteyam huffed out a laugh, finding Aonung’s drunken words effortlessly cute.

“You really are a princess.” Aonung sighed out dreamily and let his fingers trace Neteyam’s chin, studying his features despite his wobbly vision. His thumb traced faintly beneath his eye, admiring. “My princess,” He corrected softly.

“You’re so dramatic,” Neteyam murmured fondly.

Aonung leaned his forehead gently against Neteyam’s. “I’ll get you home before twelve,” he promised fiercely, like it was a sacred vow. “I will not lose my princess to curfew.” Aonung pulled back just enough to squint down at his phone again, jaw set with sudden determination. “It’s fine,” he declared, as if addressing an invisible council. “I’ll order an ilu right now. Fastest one. Premium. Express. The royal treatment.”

“Nung—” Neteyam started, but Aonung was already fumbling dramatically through his apps.

His fingers were clumsy against the glowing screen, tapping the wrong icons, opening his camera twice, somehow switching the language settings before finally finding the ride app. He leaned heavily into Neteyam’s side for balance, tongue poking slightly out in concentration. “I’ve got it,” Aonung muttered. “No one panic.”

“I’m not panicking, my prince,” Neteyam chuckled, though he couldn’t stop smiling as he reached over to poke Aonung’s cheek affectionately.

Aonung squinted at the pickup location on his phone. “Why is it asking where we are? It knows where we are. It’s tracking us. Technology is evil.”

“Just pin it, Nung.” Neteyam guided.

“I am pinning it,” Aonung insisted defensively, pressing the screen with exaggerated force. Suddenly, the app froze and the screen had flickered to darkness which meant that his phone died at the most inconvenient time. He stared at the dark reflection of his own wide, betrayed eyes. “…No,” he breathed. Aonung pressed the power button rapidly. Once. Twice. Three times. “NO! Don’t do this to me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not now. Not when my princess needs me.”

Neteyam let out a soft laugh, reaching into his own pocket. “It’s okay. I’ll just order it from mine.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Aonung gasped like Neteyam had suggested something deeply offensive. “No,” Aonung insisted firmly, gripping Neteyam’s wrist before he could unlock his phone. His expression was dead serious despite the glassy edges of his eyes. “You are not paying for your own ilu.”

Neteyam raised a brow. “Why not?”

“You are my beautiful princess,” Aonung interrupted. “Princesses do not order their own transportation. That is literally the entire point of being a princess.” He looked down at his lifeless phone again, shaking it once as if it might reconsider its betrayal. It remained stubbornly dark.

Neteyam was about to unlock his phone anyway when Aonung suddenly stiffened. His gaze sharpened, well, as sharp as it could while intoxicated. He slowly turned his head. Across the room, near the makeshift drink table, Nashvi was laughing at something someone said, motorcycle keys dangling loosely from his fingers. Aonung pointed at him with exaggerated intensity. “You.”

Nashvi tensed up at the sudden call, “Me?”

Aonung straightened, swaying slightly before grabbing Neteyam’s hand to steady himself and drag him with him. He marched, more like drifted, toward Nashvi with wobbly determination. “YOU. NASH.”

Nashvi blinked. “Yeah, Nung?”

“You drove here,” Aonung accused.

“I did.”

Aonung grabbed Nashvi by the shoulders, eyes wide and urgent. “Take my princess home.”

Neteyam covered his face with one hand sheepishly. “Nung, seriously, it’s fine. I can just—”

“PLEASE,” Aonung blurted, voice cracking in a way that made a couple of nearby partygoers glance over.

Nashvi looked between them, then at Aonung’s trembling lower lip. “…You’re serious.”

“Yes,” Aonung hissed fiercely. “He has a curfew.”

“It’s not even—”

“And I promised his dad,” Aonung continued, gripping Nashvi tighter. “Before twelve. It is currently eleven fifteen PM. That gives us approximately forty-five minutes, which is less than an hour, which is basically no time at all.”

Neteyam stepped closer, resting a hand on Aonung’s arm. “Nung, I can just order an ilu—”

Aonung whirled around dramatically. “You will not.”

“Why?” Neteyam groaned out.

“Because,” Aonung insisted, lowering his voice like it was sacred knowledge, “I refuse to let my princess pay for his own carriage.”

“It’s not a carriage. It’s an ilu.” Neteyam corrected.

Nashvi stared at them both for a long second before sighing heavily. “Fine,” he muttered. “I wanted to get out of here anyway.”

Relief flooded Aonung’s face so quickly it was almost comical as he hugged Nashvi, something that was rarely ever done in their years of friendship. “You are a hero.” He praised then, suddenly switching into hyper-protective mode. He leaned in toward Nashvi, lowering his voice to an intense whisper. “You cannot let him fall off the motorcycle.”

Nashvi looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices. “I know how to drive, Nung.” He reassured and gently pried Aonung’s hands off his shoulders, smoothing down the front of his own shirt like he needed to physically reset himself. “Okay,” he muttered, “Come on, Tey. Let’s go before he starts saying more random shit.”

Aonung, however, did not look reassured. He hovered anxiously as they were about to walk toward the door, his eyes glued to Neteyam like he was escorting him to war instead of to a motorcycle parked outside. Aonung’s voice rang out sharply, “WAIT.” Aonung marched forward again, pointing dramatically at Nashvi. “When you’re on the motorcycle,” he said sternly, “do not let him hold you.”

Neteyam stared at him incredulously. “Nung, if I don’t hold Nashvi, I’ll literally fall.”

Aonung’s face went through at least four emotions in five seconds : confusion, offense, horror and spiraling devastation. “Fall?” he echoed weakly.

“Yes,” Neteyam said slowly. “That’s how motorcycles work. You hold onto the driver.”

Aonung’s breathing quickened. “No. No, no, no. That’s unacceptable.”

“It’s basic physics,” Nashvi muttered.

Aonung ignored him entirely, stepping closer to Neteyam with wide, glassy eyes. “You cannot wrap your arms around another man.”

Neteyam burst out laughing. “Oh Eywa, have mercy on me.”

“It is not funny,” Aonung insisted as his voice cracked slightly. “You are my princess and princesses do not cling to random bikers.”

“He’s not random, he’s Nashvi.” Neteyam corrected.

“Exactly,” Aonung retorted darkly, like that somehow made it worse.

Neteyam gently grabbed Aonung’s wrists to stop his pacing. “Okay, okay. I’ll hold him so I don’t fall. It’s not romantic. It’s survival, alright?”

Aonung froze. He squinted at Neteyam like he was trying to read his soul. “…Only for survival?” he asked suspiciously.

Before Neteyam could even respond, Aonung abruptly scooped him up, completely off the ground. “NUNG—!” Neteyam yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as the world tilted. Aonung laughed, a bright, slightly unhinged, delighted sound, and spun him in a slow, wobbly circle right there in the living room, almost knocking into a vase. “You are so beautiful,” Aonung declared loudly.

Nashvi stood there, staring blankly at them. “At this rate, your princess is gonna miss his curfew.”

Aonung pulled Neteyam closer instead, still holding him up with surprising strength despite the alcohol in his system. He pressed an exaggerated kiss to his cheek. Then another on the other side. Then one to his jaw. Then his forehead. “You’re beautiful,” Aonung mumbled between kisses. “So, so beautiful. My beautiful princess.”

Neteyam wanted to let go but he could feel it in the way Aonung was holding him, tight, possessive, trembling slightly with emotion he didn’t fully know how to contain. The kisses were messy and overenthusiastic, landing half on his cheek, half near his eye, one accidentally brushing the corner of his mouth. Aonung kept mumbling it between each one like a broken record.

“So beautiful.”

Another kiss.

“My beautiful princess.”

Another.

“I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Neteyam’s laughter softened into something quieter. He knew Aonung was drunk. He could smell it faintly on his breath, see it in the hazy shine of his eyes, hear it in the way his words tripped over each other. Tomorrow, he’d probably only remember fragments, the panic, the curfew, maybe the part about Cinderella. He probably wouldn’t remember the exact way he was holding him right now, like Neteyam was something precious and breakable and entirely his.

Because sober Aonung was guarded. Teasing. Proud. He showed love in sideways ways, in protective gestures, in jealous grumbles. But he had never said it. Neither of them had. The words had hovered between them for too long.

Neteyam exhaled softly and mentally told himself Aonung wouldn’t remember, that it would merely dissolve into the blur of the night. 

“I love you, Nung.”

The words slipped out gently.

For a few moments, Aonung did not react and just froze. The room seemed to tilt back into focus as Aonung slowly pulled his face away from Neteyam’s cheek. His hands were still firm at Neteyam’s waist, but his expression had changed. The playful haze in his eyes sharpened.

“Say that again,” Aonung murmured in disbelief.

Neteyam’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs. “I love you, Nung.” he repeated softly. The words felt heavier the second time. More intentional. Like setting something fragile down between them and trusting it wouldn’t shatter.

Aonung’s breathing shifted. He cupped Neteyam’s face with both hands and leaned in slowly, deliberately, pressing his lips to Neteyam’s in a way that stole the air from his lungs. It was not a sloppy or rushed kiss but one that was so deep. Neteyam’s fingers curled into the front of Aonung’s shirt as he kissed him back, heart racing so hard he thought Aonung might feel it. The world outside their little orbit blurred completely now, the loud music, the shouting, the clatter of something breaking in the kitchen.

“I love you,” Aonung murmured when he pulled, “A lot, like so much, I love you too much that it’s so hard to say.”

From behind them, Nashvi cleared his throat loudly. They both turned slightly. Nashvi was standing there swinging his motorcycle keys, helmet under his arm, staring at the absolute disaster of a living room around them, someone slumped half-asleep on the couch, another person dramatically gagging into a trash can, two football guys arguing about music choices near the speaker.

Nashvi gestured vaguely at the chaos. “Such a romantic place to start making out,” Nashvi deadpanned. “Right here. Surrounded by vomit and bad decisions.”

Aonung reluctantly pulled back, though his hands stayed clasped around Neteyam’s for a second longer. “…Text me when you get home, my princess.” he reminded.

“I will.” Neteyam laughed and leaned to kiss him on the cheek, “I love you, kay?”

“I… love you.” Aonung said back. 

Then Nashvi tapped on Neteyam’s shoulder and guided him toward the door before their cheesy moment could stretch any further. The cool night air hit them immediately as they stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the humid, alcohol-thick air inside. The bass from the speakers thudded faintly through the walls behind them, vibrating the door as someone inside shouted incoherently. A crash followed. Then laughter. Neteyam glanced back through the window. From outside, the party looked even worse. Red cups scattered across the grass. Someone passed out on the porch. They walked down the porch steps toward the motorcycle parked under the streetlight. The metal gleamed faintly, cool and steady in contrast to the chaos inside.

Nashvi stopped beside it and froze when he looked at the handlebars with only one helmet hanging there loosely. “…Wait. I didn’t bring a spare.” He muttered under his breath. Nashvi sighed and held out his helmet. “You wear it.”

“What? No, it’s your bike.” Neteyam refused.

“Seriously,” Nashvi insisted, pressing the helmet into his hands. “Put it on.”

Neteyam nodded and lifted it over his head. He struggled immediately. His braids got caught awkwardly at the back. The padding shifted. He tried angling it differently. It half-covered his eyes. He pushed it up again. “This thing hates me,” he muttered.

Nashvi watched him fumble for about five seconds before stepping closer. “Hold still.”

Neteyam huffed but stilled as Nashvi gently adjusted the helmet, carefully guiding his braids back so they wouldn’t pinch. He tugged the strap down and fastened it securely beneath Neteyam’s chin. “There,” Nashvi teased, giving it a light tap. “Princess is secured.”

They both swung their legs over the motorcycle. Nashvi in front, Neteyam climbing carefully behind him. They pulled away from the curb, the football captain’s house shrinking behind them, music fading into distant noise. The night air was cool against Neteyam’s arms. Streetlights blurred softly as they passed beneath them. After a few minutes of steady riding, Neteyam leaned slightly closer so he could be heard over the wind.

 “How was Rotxo?” Neteyam asked, concern laced in his voice.

Nashvi let out a short breath that could’ve been a laugh. “He was fine.”

“Fine?” Neteyam repeated skeptically.

“He was singing that ‘uu uu uwa uwa’ thing again,” Nashvi added.

“That song is stuck in my head forever,” Neteyam said, shaking his head. “Drunk Rotxo is so funny.”

“Drunk Rotxo is exhausting,” Nashvi corrected.

They rode in comfortable silence for another stretch of road. However, Nashvi’s mind raced as he remembered the encounters of the day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bet, the way Ongu and Paytxul had cornered him, dangling threats about spilling everything to Neteyam, about the bet, about his past overdose, about everything and how little Rotxo seemed to even register it because he was drunk as hell. It was infuriating, gnawing at Nashvi’s nerves. With a frustrated sigh, Nashvi decided that the smartest thing to do, probably the only thing that wouldn’t blow up in everyone’s faces, was to wait. Tomorrow, he would tell Rotxo. Tomorrow, he would try to get some support.