Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yotha found him first.

It was late that night when he knocked on Faifa’s door, peeking in without waiting for a full invitation. Faifa was curled up on his bed, half under a blanket, scrolling on his phone.

“You okay?” Yotha asked, voice cautious.

Faifa nodded. “Yeah.”

Yotha came in, flopped onto the bed beside him like they were still kids.

“She called,” Yotha said.

Faifa was on the bed already, blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling.

“She called me too,” he said quietly.

Newton slipped in a moment later and shut the door. “Same. Said we were ungrateful. Said we hurt her.”

“Said I’ve changed,” Faifa murmured.

Yotha scoffed. “She said that like it’s a bad thing.”

There was a beat of silence.

“God,” Yotha added, dropping onto the bed. “I told you. I told you I shouldn’t have forgiven her the first time.”

Faifa glanced over, unsure if he was serious.

But Yotha just shrugged. “But nooo. You said, ‘Maybe it’ll be better this time.’ And like an idiot, I listened.”

Faifa sighed. “I just didn’t want you to carry it forever.”

“I was fine carrying it. She’s the one who keeps throwing it back.”

Newton sat down on the floor beside the bed, cross-legged. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Faifa hesitated. “I didn’t yell. I didn’t say anything cruel. I just said what I felt. And now she’s acting like I burned the house down.”

Yotha looked at him. “You didn’t.”

Faifa shifted. “But are you guys mad? I mean… I know things are kind of different now. I just—if I made it worse—”

Yotha cut him off with a laugh. “Fai. You didn’t make it worse. It was already worse. You just stopped lying about it.”

Newton added, “We’re not mad at you. We’re glad you finally said something.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Yotha said. “You didn’t ruin the family. That version of the family didn’t work. Not for you. Not for any of us.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s just us,” Newton said simply. “And I’m good with that.”

Yotha nodded. “Honestly, this is the healthiest we’ve ever been.”

Faifa let out a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Yotha echoed. “Now scoot over. Your blanket looks warm and I’m stealing half.”

Faifa rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him.

And no one said anything else—because the truth had already been said. Finally.

🌸•••🌸

Their group chat, once dead, was now very much alive. It began with Yotha sending a blurry selfie from the gym:

Yotha: i look good. everyone shut up and agree.

Faifa: you look like a confused protein bar.

Newton: sir that’s a granola bar at best.

Yotha replied with a zoomed-in photo of his bicep and a voice message that was just him saying “power” in a low growl.

Faifa sent back a 0.5x speed voice memo of himself laughing.

Newton: god help this family.

🌸•••🌸

Thursday Nights

It wasn’t something they planned.

But after that night—the night Faifa said it all out loud, and no one tried to fix it or shrink it—they started showing up.

The next Thursday, Newton texted:

Bar’s quiet. You around?

Faifa was.

Yotha showed up twenty minutes later, claiming he was only there because Gun made soup that tasted like betrayal.

They didn’t bring up their mom.

They didn’t talk about apologies.

They just… talked.

Small stuff. Songs Faifa was working on. The time Newton saw a man order milk at 1 a.m. Yotha complaining about how Gun keeps adopting plants and forgetting to water them.

And maybe that’s why it worked.

There was no grand gesture. No “healing moment.” Just three brothers sitting around, knowing no one would have to explain themselves.

⸻

By the fourth Thursday, Newton had moved them to the rooftop above the bar—claimed the barstools were making his back worse. Yotha brought snacks this time. Faifa brought nothing but sarcasm.

They sat in cheap lawn chairs, watching the city breathe.

“I’m thinking of adding a piano to the upstairs lounge,” Newton said suddenly, passing a bottle of water to Faifa.

“You don’t even play,” Faifa said.

“But you do.”

Faifa didn’t answer. Just took a sip. But he stayed until midnight.

⸻

A few weeks later, it rained.

They didn’t cancel.

The bar was closed, chairs up, music low and lo-fi. Newton was writing something in a notebook. Yotha cleaned out a glass that didn’t need cleaning. Faifa sat on the bar with a soda, legs swinging.

“I used to think none of you really knew me,” he said. Not loudly. Just… out loud.

No one said a thing.

“Maybe I didn’t really let you.”

Newton looked up. “We didn’t exactly try hard either.”

Yotha didn’t speak. But he poured Faifa another soda—no ice, just the way he liked it.

It felt like enough.

⸻

Sometimes the nights were messier.

Yotha tried to cook in the bar’s tiny kitchen once. Newton burned a pan. Faifa sliced bread with surgical precision, then laughed when no one noticed.

They made terrible grilled cheese. Drank warm beer. Yotha started complaining about Gun’s taste in TV. Faifa defended him like it was a sport.

It wasn’t therapy. It wasn’t reconciliation.

It was just dinner.

“We’re not a normal family,” Yotha muttered, flicking a crumb at Newton.

“Thank God,” Faifa said.

And they all cracked up.

⸻

One night, Faifa arrived first.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t smile. Just dropped his bag, took a seat, and rested his forehead against the bar.

Newton didn’t ask questions. Just set a glass down beside him and said, “Didn’t water down the soda this time.”

Faifa let out a small, half-laugh.

Yotha arrived ten minutes later, tossed Faifa a spring roll, and took the seat beside him without a word.

They stayed like that for a long while.

Just being.

⸻

Late one Thursday night, as the bar lights dimmed and they sat in the quiet hum of the fridge and the ceiling fan, Faifa spoke without thinking.

“I used to think I didn’t want a family.”

Newton raised an eyebrow. Yotha sipped his drink.

“Now I know I just didn’t want that family.”

He paused, then added, almost reluctantly:

“This? This I could live with.”

Yotha reached for his glass and raised it wordlessly.

They all toasted—not to forgiveness. Not to the past.

Just to Thursday.

To being here.

To still trying.

____

It was a quiet Thursday night.

Faifa was wrapped in a throw blanket like a human burrito, half-asleep against the bar counter. Newton was lazily organizing coasters. Yotha hadn’t shown up yet—something about Gun and a malfunctioning rice cooker.

Faifa had barely spoken all night, just hummed in response to Newton’s bad playlist and poked at his drink.

Then, out of nowhere:

“Can I get a hug?”

Newton looked up, mid-coaster-stack, blinking like he’d misheard.

“What, from me?”

Faifa nodded, the blanket shifting slightly as he sat up. “Don’t make it weird. Just… you know.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely making it weird,” Newton said, already crossing the floor with open arms. “You’re done for.”

Faifa snorted but didn’t move away. Newton scooped him into a hug like he was handling a very delicate, very sarcastic piece of glassware.

“You’re warm,” Faifa muttered.

“I’ve been simmering all day just for this moment.”

“Gross.”

But Faifa didn’t pull away.

And Newton didn’t rush it.

They stayed like that, warm and wordless, until the rooftop door creaked open.

Yotha stepped in. Saw the hug.

Paused.

“Seriously? I leave for one hour and Newton turns into the emotional support unit?”

Faifa didn’t look up. “You were late.”

“I was saving Gun from rice-related death.”

“So you chose carbohydrates over me.”

“I thought we had something!”

“We do,” Newton said, still hugging Faifa. “It’s called sibling neglect, and I’m here to fix it.”

Yotha groaned. “Oh no.”

Newton turned his head slowly. “You’re next.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Emotional ambush. Full-body contact. No escape.”

Yotha backed up, hands raised. “Don’t. I’m warning you.”

“I contain multitudes, and all of them are huggers.”

“I will leave. I will jump off this roof.”

“You’ll land in a hug.”

“This is a violation of my rights!”

“I made you,” Newton declared. “I get one free hug per decade.”

Faifa was now openly laughing, face buried in Newton’s shoulder. “Please hug him. He deserves it.”

Newton advanced like a villain in a sitcom. Yotha darted behind a chair.

“We’re not doing this!”

“Oh, we are. One of you asked for a hug and now I’m emotionally activated. This is who I am now.”

Faifa slid to the floor, still wrapped in his blanket, tears of laughter in his eyes.

Yotha eventually gave in—because he tripped, or because Newton is secretly stronger than he looks, no one would ever confirm.

The group hug was lopsided, chaotic, and full of poorly concealed affection.

Yotha grumbled the entire time.

“I hate this. I hate both of you. Let go.”

“You smell like jasmine tea,” Newton said.

“I WILL REPORT YOU.”

Faifa leaned into the chaos, muttering, “We should do this every week.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Yotha snapped, pinned under two-thirds of the sibling unit.

“Too late,” Newton beamed. “Thursday night: drinks, drama, and unsolicited emotional growth.”

They eventually peeled apart, panting from laughter.

And Faifa—still in his blanket, cheeks pink, heart steady—looked at them both and said, softly:

“I really needed that.”

Yotha didn’t argue this time.

He just reached for the chips and mumbled, “Next week, I’m showing up in armor.”

____

The message came on a Tuesday. Short. Casual, like nothing had happened.

His birthday’s next week. He’d love to see you. Maybe we could all get lunch. Just you and me, for a bit. Talk.

Faifa read it three times, thumb hovering over the reply.

He didn’t answer right away.

That night, he brought it up—Thursday, of course. Rooftop, late, soda in hand.

“She texted me,” he said.

Yotha didn’t even look up from his bag of chips. “Let me guess. ‘Poor sweet Aron. So innocent. Wouldn’t it be nice if his big brother came around for his birthday?’”

Faifa blinked. “That was alarmingly accurate.”

Newton snorted. “She’s got a formula. Guilt bait, nostalgia trap, finish with a sprinkle of martyrdom.”

“I don’t want to avoid Aron,” Faifa said, quiet. “He’s a kid. It’s not his fault.”

“No one’s saying you should,” Yotha said. “But let’s be honest—she’s not inviting you. She’s inviting the version of you she thinks she still controls.”

Faifa nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He paused. Then: “I just wish she’d love him. Really love him. The way she couldn’t with us. Maybe if I show up—”

“No,” Newton cut in gently. “That’s not on you. Aron’s her son. If she can’t love him without conditions, that’s her failure. Not something you can fix by smiling through it. I won’t let you do that anymore ”

🌸•••🌸

A sunny afternoon. The park is scattered with balloons, picnic tables, and kids running with cake-sticky fingers. The party is modest but bright. A banner reads in shaky marker letters: “Happy Birthday, Aron!”

Near the tables, their mother stands smiling tightly, adjusting paper plates and making conversation with other parents. She keeps glancing at the gate.

She expects one son with a boyfriend maybe.

She does not expect all of them.

But they arrive— Faifa, Yotha, Newton , followed by Gun and Wine .

Their mother freezes. Her smile falters.

Faifa is the first to greet her, short and neutral. “We came for Aron.”

She opens her mouth to say something—probably aimed at Faifa—but Yotha cuts in, voice even. “Don’t make this about you.”

Gun places a gift on the table, his hand resting lightly at Yotha’s back. Wine stays close to Faifa, an unreadable look on his face. Silent, steady.

Then—

June bursts forward. “P'Faifa!”

Faifa’s whole face softens. He bends down just in time for her to tackle him in a hug. She’s grinning wide, tears on her cheeks.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, June.”

She doesn’t let go. “You came.”

“Of course I did. You and Aron are my family.”

From across the yard, a little voice shrieks: “ P'Faifa! ”

It’s Aron —small, stunned, and now suddenly sobbing as he runs over. He barrels into Faifa, wrapping his arms around his waist, crying so hard his shoulders shake.

Faifa holds him tight.

“Hey, hey—Aron, I’m here. We’re here.”

Aron looks up through tears at the circle of brothers, his little voice cracking. “You came for me?”

Yotha kneels beside him. “Of course we did. You think we’d miss your birthday? You’re stuck with us, kid.”

Aron wipes his eyes. “Even P'New?”

Newton snorts. “Rude. But yeah. Even me.”

Their mother watches from the background—speechless. This wasn’t the scene she imagined.

They sit. They eat. They help with the cake and laugh with the kids. June sticks to Faifa’s side like glue. Aron doesn’t stop beaming.

Gun quietly cuts pieces of cake for the younger kids. Wine makes June laugh by pretending to get frosting on his nose. Every single one of them finds a way to make the moment about Aron and June —and not about her.

At one point, she approaches again, voice quiet, hopeful. “It means a lot that you came. Maybe this can be—”

Newton interrupts. “Don’t.”

She blinks. “I just thought—”

Faifa’s voice is calm. “We’re not here to rewrite anything. We’re here because Aron and June are part of us. That’s all.”

She looks at them, at the solid wall of unity she never expected to face.

Yotha adds without venom: “We love them. That doesn’t mean we forget.”

Newton crosses his arms. “Don’t mistake presence for permission.”

Yotha , still seated, doesn’t even look at her when he says, “You don’t get us back just because we showed up.”

She says nothing. Slowly walks away.

🌸•••🌸

The sun is lower now. Kids are trickling out with their parents. The brothers linger, gathering empty cups and folding chairs. June and Aron sit in the grass, poking at leftover cake with plastic forks.

Faifa watches them quietly. Aron is giggling over something June whispered. She’s got frosting on her cheek. They’re happy. They’re just kids.

Faifa smiles. Then the smile falters.

Yotha notices. Comes to stand beside him. “You okay?”

Faifa nods slowly. “They’re just… so good. So untouched by all of it.”

Yotha glances toward the kids, then back at his brother. “That’s not an accident, you know. She have a reason to be obliged to love them" Maybe Yotha was just a little angry. You know, the emotionally constipated kind — all clenched jaw and dramatic sighs.

Faifa swallows. “She loves them. Because it makes her look like a better mother now. With her new husband, her second try. She puts in the effort—for them.”

Yotha says nothing.

“I’m glad,” Faifa adds, voice low. “I want them to be loved. I begged her to love me, it didn't work. They don't have to try. But sometimes it feels like… that love came out of what she learned failing us.”

“Maybe,” Yotha says.

Faifa exhales. “It’s just hard to hold both things at once—being happy for them, and still hurting for us.”

Yotha nods. “That’s what being the older one means, huh?”

Faifa manages a small smile. “Yeah. I just don’t want them to have to go through what we had to.”

Yotha puts a hand on his shoulder. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Across the park, June waves excitedly . “P'Fai! Come sit with us!”

Aron shouts, mouth full of cake: “We saved you the best slice!”

Faifa looks at them—his heart aching and full all at once.

“Go,” Yotha says. “You’ve earned the best slice.”

Faifa walks over, kneels between them, and lets Aron rest against his side. June’s hand wraps around his wrist like she’s afraid he’ll vanish.

And even with the ache still there, he knows this is worth it —loving them fully, freely, with nothing held back. Even if it never fixes what came before.

He just hopes it’s enough to build something better now.

🌸•••🌸

The ride back was quiet at first.

Newton was at the wheel, focused on the road, jaw relaxed but eyes alert. Yotha lounged in the passenger seat, one foot propped against the dash, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. In the back, Faifa sat behind Yotha, head tilted against the window, Wine curled into his side with no regard for personal space, legs draped halfway over Gun, who was pressed up against the opposite door and silently tolerating it. Gun, for his part, had one earbud in and was flipping through Aron’s handmade thank-you card with the kind of care reserved for rare artifacts.

It had been a long day. A loud day. A necessary one.

And now, under the soft glow of highway lights, everything was still.

Until Wine, nestled against Faifa like a cat who’d claimed a lap, broke the silence.

“Okay but—let’s admit it—Aron’s taste in people? Impeccable.”

Gun didn’t even look up. “He gave me a sticker and then told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to June without clearance.”

Yotha smirked from the front seat. “And you listened.”

“Obviously. Kid had authority.”

Faifa chuckled under his breath. “He also asked if we could come back every weekend.”

“That was after he tried to feed me icing with his fingers,” Wine mumbled.

Yotha glanced back. “He let you near the cake? I had to trade three juice boxes just to get a slice.”

Newton, still driving, sighed. “I didn’t even get cake.”

“Because you showed up late,” Gun pointed out.

“I was in the bathroom !”

“Still your fault ,” Yotha added

“Okay,” Newton said, completely unfazed, “but let’s talk about how I’m the one driving all of you home and yet somehow the only one without a boyfriend.”

There was a beat. Then Faifa, without lifting his head, said dryly, “Sounds like a personal problem.”

Gun grinned, smug. “We offered to set you up.”

“With who?” Newton asked. “your emotionally unavailable friends? Yotha’s exes who still send him death wishes ?”

Yotha didn’t even blink. “Don’t be jealous just because I inspire loyalty. They still think of me after all this time"

Gun finally looked up. “That’s one word for it.”

Wine snorted and nuzzled closer into Faifa, who leaned his head gently on top of Wine’s without hesitation. No one commented on it. No one needed to. It was familiar now—easy. Soft, and theirs.

Newton huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Unbelievable. All of you, disgustingly in love.”

Gun gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from behind. “Hang in there, P'. Someone out there probably likes emotionally repressed control freaks.”

“Thanks, I feel seen,” Newton muttered.

“Don’t worry,” Faifa said. “We’ll write you into the next family group Valentine’s.”

“By name,” Gun added. “With glitter.”

Yotha stretched in the front seat. “Only if he earns it. Maybe he needs to be the emotional support boyfriend for once.”

“I support you emotionally every time I agree to drive,” Newton said flatly.

Everyone laughed—easy and genuine.

Gun leaned back again, letting his head bump lightly against the window. “You guys did good, though. Showing up. Letting them know you're still here.”

Yotha nodded. “They needed it.”

Faifa didn’t say anything, but his hand found Wine’s without looking, fingers twining together.

The car settled again into silence—not heavy, not tired. Just full of something good.

Family.

Even if it looked a little different now.

Newton muttered just loud enough:

“If one more person cuddles, I’m pulling over.”

Laughter again. Because no one was going to stop.

🌸•••🌸

The rooftop looked like a new place.

Sunlight spilled across the tiles like it had missed them. The city hummed softly below, but up here, it felt like the world was quiet just for them. Warm air, four drinks sweating on the ledge, and nothing heavy left to carry.

Faifa stood near the edge, arms out like he could touch the whole sky. His breath filled his chest without resistance. He closed his eyes—and screamed.

Loud. Joyful. Unapologetic.

Not a scream of sadness. Not one of pain.

Just release. Like all the years of shrinking had finally burned off him.

And then he laughed.

God, he laughed. It burst out of him, full-body and breathless, so sharp and sudden it startled birds from the railings. He clutched his stomach and nearly crumpled to the ground.

Wine startled slightly—then laughed too. Because this was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Faifa, unfiltered and loud, so light he could have floated. The boy who once whispered his pain like a confession was now laughing so hard he hiccupped.

“I’m perfect,” Faifa choked out between gasps.

“You always were,” Wine smiled, heart stretched wide and soft.

Faifa turned, wild with energy, and launched himself at him. He wrapped his arms around Wine’s neck and kissed him hard, messy, grinning against his mouth.

“You,” Faifa said, “are the best decision I ever made.”

Wine’s voice caught. “And you’re everything I never believed I’d have.”

Behind them, Gun shrieked. “Okay, break it up! Some of us are single parents to emotional baggage!”

Faifa turned like a tornado and tackled Gun next. They crashed into a heap, Gun squeaking in protest.

“You stayed, ” Faifa said, hugging him like a lifeline. “You chose us.”

Gun blinked. He hadn’t expected to feel so wrecked by that. “Of course I did. You two are mine now. Forever.”

Faifa kissed his cheek. “You’re family, Gun. My rainbow friend. My emergency contact. My partner-in-crime. Whether you like it or not.”

Gun groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted softly.

Faifa turned to him. Really turned. And for a second, neither moved.

His smile softened, but it didn’t fade.

Yotha stood nearby, too still, too quiet, still watching like he hadn’t convinced himself he belonged in this kind of scene yet.

Faifa crossed the space in two steps and wrapped his arms around his brother like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You can stop now,” Faifa whispered.

Yotha stiffened, confused. “Stop?”

“Trying,” Faifa said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You can stop trying to be part of my life. You already are. You’re not fixing anything. You’re here . Just be here. I want you here.”

And Yotha—God, Yotha nearly broke.

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” Faifa kissed his cheek without warning.

Faifa pulled back slightly, hands still on his shoulders. “You are. You’re part of my life again. Not because you earned it. Just because you stayed.”

A single laugh broke from Yotha’s chest, quiet and surprised. “You’re exhausting when you’re healed.”

“And glorious,” Faifa added, glowing.

“Infuriating,” Gun chimed in.

“Radiant,” Wine said, grinning.

Faifa turned around dramatically. “New rooftop rule: we love loudly and unconditionally and probably annoy each other about it.”

“Too late,” Wine murmured, resting his chin on Faifa’s shoulder. “I’ve been annoying with love for months.”

Faifa laughed again—loud, warm, weightless.

They collapsed together in a messy pile on the ground—legs tangled, hands overlapping, hearts full. Someone’s foot was in someone else’s lap. Faifa’s head ended up in Gun’s stomach. Wine’s hand found his. Yotha tossed a leftover tangerine slice at a bird.

It was loud, and clumsy, and perfect.

Faifa looked up at the sky. It didn’t seem so far away anymore. It looked like something that belonged to him now.

The rooftop that once held his silence now held his laughter. His family. His joy.

He glanced around at them—Wine, steady and glowing; Yotha, finally still, finally present; Gun, loud and chaotic and so deeply part of this world.

Faifa smiled so wide it hurt.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this,” he whispered.

Wine leaned closer. “Like what?”

Faifa looked at all of them.

“Loved out loud.”

Gun rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry, and I’ve only got one tissue and it’s covered in snack crumbs.”

Yotha snorted, head tipped back toward the sky.

Wine just kissed his temple. “You deserve it. Every version of you.”

Faifa closed his eyes and let himself believe it.

This was the version he never thought he’d live to meet—the Faifa who didn’t flinch when someone called him precious. Who didn’t apologize for needing. Who laughed too loudly and hugged too long and never once said “I’m fine” when he wasn’t.

He had made it.

Not to perfect.

To peace.

And he wasn’t alone.