Chapter Text
“Do you have to be so insufferable all the damn time?” Katara Nilak exclaims, glaring at her brother, who is the victim of her anger. They’re walking down the hall of the fourth floor of their building towards their shared apartment, the noon light filtering in from the few windows lining the right side of the hallway.
“All I'm saying,” Sokka repeats in a tone typically used to say ‘I got this’ about using a broken stove after the house is already burning, “is that girls don't fight- at least, not well."
“I’ll fight you, right here, right now!” Katara hisses, glaring at her brother through narrowed eyes.
“Katara, you’re five-foot-two.”
“Fine! Then I’ll get some other girl to fight you, show you what we’re made of!” Katara spits at him.
“Like there's any girl my age who can take me in a fight,” Sokka scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll find one!” Katara roars.
Sokka scoffs and shoves her shoulder playfully, tipping her balance and she falls straight into a tan door. It's unlocked and half-open, and it swings open as she crashes inside, landing on her stomach, fully expecting to be in someone’s kitchen, an apology already on her lips, but instead sees the inside of a broom closet. Sokka laughs, and she hears him slapping his knees.
She rises quickly and brushes herself off, eyebrows already pushed low over her eyes, raising an accusatory finger at her brother when she hears rustling from the back of the closet. She turns and sees a faint blue light, illuminating someone’s face.
Sokka seems to notice too, for his laughter tapers off and he’s peering curiously into the closet.
“Hello?” Katara says, turning fully to face the inside of the closet.
“Oh- crap, oh my god-” a young voice swears, from the back of the closet. “Damn it-”
“Who’s there?” Katara asks cautiously.
“Oh, sorry, hi.”
A kid emerges from the closet, standing a few inches taller than Katara. He has a blue fauxhawk running down the middle of his head and he has blue arrow tattoos down his hands. He’s wearing gray jeans and a bright marigold-yellow hoodie. His gray eyes are wide with confusion, but he's still smiling somewhat nervously. He has white earbuds plugged into the phone he’s holding, which is lit up with a paused scene of a Netflix show, the wire wrapped around his hand.
“I’m Aang,” he says.
“Why were you hiding in a-” Sokka starts accusingly, then forgets the word for a closet, and starts gesturing wildly at the open tan door. “In one of those wall-boxes?” He finally sputters.
“Sorry about his manners,” Katara says primly, “I’m Katara, the rude one is my brother, Sokka.” Sokka shrugs and narrows his eyes at the boy, Aang.
“Yeah, yeah, introduction’s done, wanna tell us why you’re in a- broom closet!” Sokka exclaims the last part, and it ends up sounding more like a separate statement, but the boy understands.
Aang has an awkward grin still plastered on his face. “Um, so my university is doing an exchange program and I’m in it, so my group came by a while ago to do a tour or something but I sort of-um, I left and hid in here and I was watching Stranger Things on Netflix but I fell asleep and uh, yeah,” he’s speaking quickly and brightly.
Sokka’s eyes widen at the mention of his favorite show, but then narrow. “How can you fall asleep during Stranger Things? It's one of last year’s greatest cinematic accomplishments!” The older boy exclaims.
“I've seen each episode five times, and it’s incredible! I still can't believe the ending, when Hopper and-” Aang begins passionately, but Katara slaps her hands over her ears.
“I'm still not done yet!” She says loudly. “Sokka already spoiled some of it for me, because he can't keep his mouth shut.”
“Hey! I stand by my choices. You had to know that Jonathan and Nancy don’t end up together. I saw your eyes getting all glittery during that scene in the woods- you were going to go full-on shipping and I couldn’t watch my little sister do that to herself!”
“Anyway,” Katara says, turning to face Aang. “Sokka and I were going back to our apartment for a second then going to grab some coffee. Want to come?”
“Why not?” Aang replies with a grin that doesn’t quite hide the creeping blush in his cheeks.
Zuko’s radio is punching out a strong beat with a funky guitar riff, as he rounds a curve in the road, pressing down on the acceleration. He doesn’t know what to make of the song, but it’s good enough that he doesn’t want to throw the radio out the window anymore. He shouldn’t have gone out to visit his uncle this late, it’s a long drive there, and Zuko already has to wake up early tomorrow morning for his next field training assessment. His supervising officer wouldn’t be happy if he was out of sorts or worse, late to the assessment, and he sure as hell wouldn’t pass if he didn’t get a good night’s sleep.
Zuko sighs, and reaches to grab his phone to call his uncle, setting it on speaker phone and propping it up against the dash. The old man picks up on the fourth ring, and Zuko flicks the radio off.
“Uncle,” Zuko says in his hoarse voice, guilt already on his lips.
“Zuko! I was just beginning to boil some tea for us. Tell me, do you prefer ginseng or chamomile today? If it was a long day, maybe some chamomile will do you well. Or maybe if you’re feeling restless...” Iroh begins to ramble, and Zuko immediately feels bad for having to cancel.
“Uncle, I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “I won’t be able to visit tonight. I-I have to be at the precinct early in the morning for another assessment, and it’s already six o’clock.”
“Ah,” Iroh says, and Zuko can imagine the bittersweet smile on the old man’s kind face. “I see.”
“But if it’s any consolation, I think I would’ve preferred the ginseng.”
“Well, then more for me!” Iroh laughs heartily. “You know it’s my favorite.”
“Of course, Uncle,” Zuko replies. “I’ll visit soon, okay? How about Saturday? I get the day off.”
“That would be wonderful, Zuko.” Iroh says, then pauses. “You hang up first, I can never figure out this cell phone.”
“Of course, Uncle. Bye.” Zuko hangs up, and turns the radio back on. It was the same song as before, Zuko recognizes the riff in what he presumes is the chorus. We love alot, so we only lose a little, but we are alive, we are alive, we are alive, sings an airy male voice.
Zuko completes a U-turn, and a few minutes later, the song has descended into the final chorus, backed by the riff, and there are a few cars on the road, mostly going the opposite direction as Zuko, until-
Collision.
He sees a gray Mazda in the corner of his vision- now his black car is spinning across the road as Zuko fights for control with the steering wheel. The airbag inflates, pushing his hands forward.
Shit.
He spends an eternity -which is really only a few seconds- grappling with the wheel until he slams the brakes and the car stops with a screech, on the other side of the road he’d been driving down, narrowly missing a lamppost.
He pounds his fists against the dashboard, and opens the door forcefully, fully prepared to muder whoever ruined his car, and to assess the damage, and strides to the middle of the road.
He sees two things.
First, the whole top-left corner of the hood is smashed, the metal twisted backward into a snarl. The left headlight is shattered, bits of orange and white glass littering the road. The front left tire is completely deflated, with a nasty gash clean through it likely caused by the rather large and menacingly sharp bit of metal that detached from the front bumper. The rest of the car seems to be intact.
The second thing he sees is that the gray Mazda pulled over rather crudely upon hitting him, and now rests rather unceremoniously parked by the opposite sidewalk. The passenger door of the Mazda is open, and a girl is standing outside, hand pressed to her mouth.
And she’s beautiful. Her skin is a rich, dusky copper tone that accentuates her sapphire eyes and her long brown hair falls down to her slim waist. She’s wearing an airy blue top and gray acid wash jeans.
Zuko knows, from looking at her for less than a second, he knows that he’s completely, utterly and inexorably screwed. Obviously because whichever moron she’s driving with crashed his car. Not, you know, because she’s gorgeous or anything.
The girl walks quickly to Zuko and looks at him with concerned eyes, and asks, in a light voice, “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, my brother is the absolute worst at driving, and I told him not to take this road- and, Sokka, get out here and apologize!” She exclaims suddenly, snapping at the gray car.
Zuko tries not to let his anger show, but as soon as her brother -Sokka- emerges from the driver side, it surges back up. The kid is unscathed, whereas Zuko probably has a few nasty bruises along his arms and knees. Their car is still shining, other than a small scratched up patch on the right side of the hood, a mere fraction of the damage to Zuko’s car. How did that happen?
“Oh, uh, hi,” the blue-eyed boy says, and suddenly, he looks familiar. He’s several inches shorter than Zuko (admittedly, Zuko is six feet tall. Most people are several inches shorter than him) with eyes as blue as his sister’s and the same dusky skin. His face is more square, and sharper where hers is softer and rounder. His hair is cut close at the sides and pulled into a ponytail in the back.“Hey, um, I'm sorry about your car, man.”
“You’re sorry about it?” Zuko grinds out, pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand gesturing emphatically. “You’re the one who crashed it!”
“Shit, look, I’m a mechanic, we can take it to my shop and it’ll be fine in no time, trust me.”
“Oh my God,” Zuko groans and makes a sound like an incredulous snort and an exasperated chuckle. “Oh my God. You just wrecked my car, and I have to be early at the precinct tomorrow morning. You better have it ready in no time.”
“Precinct? Are you a cop or...” Sokka trails off, taking a few steps forward. “Wait- I know you!”
Zuko raises an eyebrow dramatically. “Do you?”
“Zuko Kasaiko?” The boy guesses, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m Sokka… Nilak. We had world history together back at CCU. I think?”
Zuko frowns. He’d graduated from Central City University two years ago -major in criminal justice and minor in astronomy-, but he doesn’t remember the boy before him. Sokka looks familiar, sure, but Zuko doesn’t remember him specifically. “Right,” he says, though he’s sure no one buys it.
“Listen, I’ll call a tow and you can ride with us to Bumi’s mechanic shop. I’ll even get you a discount. Fifty percent sound good?” Sokka suggests, eyes bright and dancing.
“Fifty percent? Only? You crashed my car, Sokka,” Zuko deadpans.
“Okay, seventy-five. Come on, get in the car, and that sounds shadier than what I mean,” Sokka says, and Zuko sighs.
“It’s not like I have any other option here. But I get shotgun.”
“Great! Okay, Katara, ride in the back with Aang.” Sokka says eagerly.
Katara. The name is almost as beautiful as her. She glares at her brother, before smiling warmly at Zuko, and sliding into the backseat.
Zuko climbs into the gray Mazda as Sokka makes a phone call. Zuko looks in the rearview mirror and sees the girl, Katara, Sokka’s sister, slouching against the window behind the driver’s seat. There’s another boy, Aang, he guesses, with a blue faux hawk and a yellow hoodie. He’s smiling brightly. Katara introduces herself quickly to Zuko (is that a blush tinting her cheeks?) and Sokka hushes her. She shrugs with an innocent smile.
Her smile puts dimples in her cheeks. Oh, now he’s really, honestly screwed.
“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me!” Katara yells at Sokka as they watch the black Lexus spin away from them, the entire left side of the hood in a terrible state of snarling metal.
“Hey, it’s not my fault!” Her brother exclaims in his defense.
“Yeah, Sokka, it is. I told you not to take this route and you took this route and now you’ve crashed some guy’s car!” She huffs, whacking his arm for good measure.
“Guys, please, calm down, I’m sure the guy will understand.. He’s probably a nice guy!” Aang suggests from the backseat, resting his elbow on the back of Sokka’s seat.
Katara sighs in response, opening the door and she sees the full damage done to the black Lexus. Her hand flies straight to cover her mouth as she sees the extent of the damage. It’s near impossible that Sokka’s crappy car caused that much damage to an indestructible Lexus. Then the driver steps out of the vehicle.
He’s tall, taller than Sokka, with black hair that falls into his sharp and angular face. His eyes are a honey-russet, and narrowed to slats as he glares -understandably so- at Katara’s car. He’s not the kind of person that is blindingly handsome, so flawless they seem unreal. His is a more quiet beauty, in the way his chiseled chin matches his slim aristocratic nose, in how his cheekbones seem to raise his eyes.
Then he turns his head, the light catching onto the other side of his face, and she sees the scar. It’s a burn scar, that much is clear- pink and ridged skin surrounding his left eye, reaching past his temple. It must’ve been painful, but judging by the way this boy holds himself, he doesn’t seem like he dwells on it. And despite the scar, he’s still beautiful. And Katara realizes, she wouldn’t mind looking at him for a little while longer.
He speaks, and his voice is low and gravelly.
The tow truck arrives, the driver giving Sokka a wide grin and a friendly wave as he loads up Zuko’s car onto the small ramp in the back. Katara sees Zuko wince, and then they’re driving toward Sokka’s mechanic shop.
Sokka gets Zuko’s address, and vows to return the Lexus -fully repaired- to it’s owner before six a.m., and drops him off at his apartment building.
They leave Aang at his dorm, and it’s on Sokka’s drive to drop Katara off at their shared apartment (Sokka’s going to return to the shop to repair Zuko’s car, of course) that Sokka says,
“Damn,” because he almost crashes into a post again.
Katara thinks ‘damn’ because she’s met two new people today and one of them is sort of her best friend now and the other is a bitter will-be cop she would really like to see again. Just to make sure his car is all right later, of course. Of course.