Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sokka stomach growled. He had hoped after months of traveling that he would get used to the constant hunger, but he never did. The stomach would always empty, and Sokka would suffer and whine. Katara would say a snide remark, unnecessarily mean because of her own hunger, and Aang would laugh because he always took Katara’s side. The more recent additions of Toph’s mutual complaining, Suki trying to calm everyone down, and Zuko’s constant silence were only moderately helpful.

For months the hunger would bring up memories of home. He would dream of sea prune stew, blubbered seal jerky, and roast arctic hen. No food along their travels had been able to compare to the taste of the Water Tribe’s dishes—not even those delicacies served to them in the North. That was, at least, until Ba Sing Se.

Their house in the upper ring had always been well stocked with food, but the highlight, Sokka discovered, was the fresh pastries delivered every morning for breakfast. Flaky croissants, soft baguettes, little fruit tarts, all flavored with seasoning Sokka had never tasted before. Joo Dee had explained in that creepy voice of hers that they were made fresh every day in the lower ring and delivered straight to their house. They were usually still warm.

Though she had clearly been against it, Joo Dee had allowed Sokka to write a note to the baker. He wrote just a line or two asking what the mysterious flavors were that made the bread so irresistible. The note that came back was very concise, each pastry written out with it’s major seasoning. The words seemed foreign to Sokka, who had no experience in the kitchen and very little with fine foods. Cinnamon, cardamom, and Sokka’s favorite, chocolate, were completely new to him. Sokka’s second note, filled with compliments, along with a request for more of the croissants, was sent back to the baker. Sokka then had begun regularly requesting the amounts of each pastry, which was almost always followed through on, except when he’d get a reply explaining that they were out of strawberries or that the cinnamon bread had burnt by mistake. These notes eventually turned from simple orders to the baker sending back pastries that he had experimented with, with requests for Sokka’s opinion. Sokka, fully confident in his new role as a food critic, would send back long love letters of all the green tea flavored cakes and ginger lemon baguettes that he tried.

Right now, flying on Appa’s back toward the Fire Nation, all he wanted was a cinnamon chocolate croissant. That’s what home tasted like now. In those notes he had felt a semblance of himself before the war. He was back to his basics: a young kid who loved food. Sokka had never had to talk about the war with this baker. Eating breakfast and writing notes had become his fifteen minutes of peace every morning. The taste of sea prunes had begun to remind him of sitting around camp with warrior men, preparing for battle, the taste of arctic hen bringing his thoughts back to the North Pole and his failures there, but cinnamon chocolate croissants? Even after the fall of Ba Sing Se his thoughts of them had remained unstained by the darkness of war.

“I’m starving,” Sokka whined, as his stomach growled a second time, “Zuko, are we almost to your secret Fire Nation base? And will this secret base have food? Like a mountain of food?”

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Zuko answered, “Though I make no promises on the food.”

“Sparky, if we die of starvation in the Fire Nation then the whole world ends,” Toph said, “Just know that those are the stakes for you getting us food in enemy territory.”

Toph was joking, of course, but that never seemed to stop the look of awkward fear rising on Zuko’s face. Sokka never got tired of seeing it and wished Toph could too. The grim scarred face that had so often struck fear into Sokka’s heart, now was constantly being replaced by overly concerned attempts to fit in. Ever since Zuko had joined the group, and especially after he helped break Sokka’s father out of prison, Sokka had become increasingly fond of Zuko’s intensely emotional face. It was nice to see him happy, embarrassed, determined, and almost always awkward.

“I won’t let you die,” Zuko said, stiff, worried, and serious.

Sokka laughed, made some joke about how letting them die was Azula’s job, and then went back to daydreaming about croissants.

A half an hour later the gang found out that their secret base was actually the Firelord’s summer home, which lead to another half hour of arguing about whether it was safe, which meant that by the time they had decided to trust Zuko with promises of luxury rooms, hot baths, and the fact that Ozai had not been there since his wife had been banished (Sokka barely processed this new information in his hungry state), he couldn’t be bothered to tell Zuko that going to the market was a bad plan. Had he not been so hungry, Sokka might have said that Zuko’s face would be a little too recognizable, but the idea of food was too important to him.

Zuko was gone about twenty minutes, during which time Sokka laid in the softest bed he had ever felt, wondering what the Ba Sing Se baker had made that morning. He hoped that his last note, in which he had suggested that the baker experiment with a chocolate chai bread, had reached the baker. For the first time he allowed himself to worry if the baker was still safe after the Fire Nation’s occupation, or if the Fire Lord might kidnap him to make his wonderful pastries for the enemy.

Sokka remembered that he had used to picture the baker as a pretty girl, covered in flour, delicate hands kneading large clumps of dough. He had thought that, he assumed, because the handwriting of the returned notes seemed too pretty and dainty to be that of a man. It wasn’t until Joo Dee had seen Sokka with one of the notes and very worriedly asked “You have another note from him?” that the baker took a masculine form. It didn’t change much for Sokka. They were still the same. Handsome, floured, and delicate. Not delicate in that they were fragile necessarily, but in that they were perceptive, careful, and diligent. There was delicacy in the minute details of baking, Sokka assumed, and treasured the baker on such assumptions. He knew that the baker was probably some dirty refugee, old, worn, and forced to work for the upper class, but his day dreams of handsome bread makers had become his only joy, and he wouldn’t let them be ruined.

“Finally!” shouted Toph when she felt Zuko’s return. Everyone conglomerated in the courtyard to meet him.

Zuko came back masterfully carrying arms full of baskets. There had been a considerable store of money in the house that Zuko had taken for the supplies.

“Here, I got these for us tonight,” Zuko said, setting down a basket holding warm steaming kebabs, even vegetarian ones, and a large porcelain bowl of rice. Not even Katara tried to be dignified as they all grabbed for the kebabs, scarfing down their firsts and seconds before Zuko had even made it back from putting the rest of the food in the kitchen. He had bought plenty, so there wasn’t much chance of them running out, and it wasn’t until Sokka was on his fourth that he bothered to talk.

“You didn’t have any problems in the market, right?” Sokka asked, “No one noticed you?”

“No,” Zuko said, his mouth full of rice, “I figured it’d be ok because everyone here is kind of clueless. Me and Azula were here a few weeks ago and no one recognized us, even the kids of high up officials. I think all the sun here goes to people’s heads.”

“Well that’s lucky,” Suki said, “Though I’m sorry that you had to go on vacation with your crazy sister.”

“He deserved it,” Sokka joked. Zuko nudged Sokka’s shoulder, no longer completely uncomfortable when Sokka joked about his time as the angry Prince. It seemed to Sokka that anyone else commenting on it put Zuko on edge, but the whole prison break thing must have bonded Zuko and Sokka enough to allow Zuko to let his guard down a little bit.

“I guess that’s true,” Zuko said, “Though it wasn’t my worst experience with her. We destroyed this guy’s house together, along with Mai and Ty Lee. It was fun.”

“I can’t imagine having fun with those awful girls,” Katara said, “I mean, Azula is more than I can stand by herself, and then you tack on the grumpy girl and freaky qi blocker? Wouldn’t call that my dream vacation.”

“Mai isn’t so bad,” Sokka said so that Zuko wouldn’t have to. They hadn’t told the rest of the gang that Mai had saved them at the Boiling Rock. Zuko seemed to want to avoid talking about it, unsure as they were of her current fate. Sokka had his own experience with avoiding talking about lost exes, and didn’t want to force Zuko into thinking too much about his.

Katara looked a little surprised, but Suki mouthed “I’ll explain later,” and the conversation was dropped.

That night Sokka got to bathe in hot water until his skin turned pruney and sleep through the night on silken sheets. Sure, his body, still adjusted to their chaotic travels, woke up just as the sun was rising, but it didn’t feel so bad to wake up early when he had managed not to toss and turn so much.

Sokka was surprised when he didn’t find Zuko out in the courtyard. Zuko always woke up before anyone else, practicing his forms in the red and gold sunrises. Sokka headed down towards the beach, but didn’t find Zuko there either. He supposed that Zuko was just as tired as the rest of them, and while abnormal, it wouldn’t be completely absurd for him to be sleeping in. Sokka took a deep breath, willing any worry out of him, before sitting on the beach and watching the pinks and oranges dance across the sky and through the waves.

It had been a week or so since the last full moon, so as the pinks faded into blues Sokka turned towards the west. Sure enough, the moon hung in the air, her features turned blue to match the sky. He smiled at her, and then at the sun, thanked them again for the eclipse they had provided, apologized again for messing it up, but was glad that it had at least provided them with a firebending teacher for the Avatar. He tried to hope that Tui and La and Agni, all here together with him, had a plan. Sokka wanted to believe in the world that Gran Gran had taught him about, where the spirits really did aid those that encourage lightness in the world. He thought of his father, of Gran Gran, of Arnook, of Mai, of his baker, of the girls who wrote haikus, and he wondered if they could see this same sun or moon or sea and find hope in them too.

“Hey,” came Zuko’s voice as he sat on the sand beside Sokka. He passed Sokka an orange, which Sokka accepted with thanks before beginning to peel it.

“You weren’t practicing?” Sokka asked after a minute of just watching the waves and tasting citrus.

“I can’t sleep well here,” Zuko said, “So I was working on something else. The sun rose before I could finish. I have to work on forms with Aang later anyway, so I figured it’d be ok to miss a day of my solitary practice.”

“How can you not sleep here?” Sokka asked, “The beds are so comfy. I didn’t even dream. It was incredible.”

“This place... There are ghosts here.”

“Spirit stuff? Aang can deal with that,” Sokka said, stuffing another orange slice into his mouth. Sokka had learned that the bigger deal he made of spirits, whether in confirmation of their existence or denial, the worse things got for him. Leaving it up to Aang was his best option.

“Not real ghosts,” Zuko clarified, which relieved Sokka, “Just memories. Not all bad, but even the good ones are painful now.”

Sokka nodded. “That’s rough buddy,” he said, then added, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Zuko replied, which was ok with Sokka. Zuko’s past didn’t really feel like any of his business. It was behind them. “Can I ask you about something unrelated?” Zuko added, tracing lines into the sand.

“Sure, anything,” Sokka answered.

“When we were all arguing about Katara and I going to find the Southern Raiders, Aang mentioned someone named Jet. I just... I knew a guy named Jet in Ba Sing Se and I know it could be someone else but...”

“Messy brown hair? A piece of straw in his mouth? Annoyingly handsome? Very anti-Fire Nation?”

“Seems like the same guy,” Zuko said, “Were you friends?”

“Sort of...” Sokka answered, “We met him and his freedom fighters when we were headed to the North Pole. I never really liked him and he tried to destroy a Fire Nation town even though they were just civilians. We saved the town and left Jet, and didn’t see him again until Ba Sing Se, when he had been brain washed.”

“Brain washed?” Zuko asked, surprised.

“Yeah. They brain washed anyone who talked about the war.”

“Oh,” Zuko said, “That... that would’ve been my fault then. My Uncle and I were set on living a peaceful life in the city, but he saw that Uncle was a fire bender by mistake. He tried to report us and then we fought and he was arrested... I didn’t know...”

“Zuko it’s not your fault,” Sokka said, “But Jet, um, we think he’s in bad condition. Maybe dead. He went with us to Lake Laogai and Long Feng, the leader of the Dai Li, hurt him pretty bad.”

Zuko’s face scrunched, his hand freezing in the sand. It seemed to Sokka that Zuko had known Jet for more than just that one fight. After a moment Zuko began pulling off his shoes and rolling up the hem of his pants. Without a word he got up, stepping into the shallows of the ocean, turning towards the sun, and bowing deeply.

Sokka stood and waded into the water next to Zuko.

“He was important to you?” Sokka asked in a whisper. Zuko, staying bowed, nodded. Sokka turned westward towards the moon and bowed as well.

Another minute passed before Zuko’s back straightened. “Agni, protect him into the next life.”

“You too Yue,” Sokka added, “Jet needs all the help he can get.”

“One more ghost,” Zuko said with a sigh.

“One more ghost.”

***

The next morning Sokka’s body let him sleep a little later. He missed sunrise, but was awake in time to catch the end of Zuko’s morning routine. While Zuko worked on his last few forms Sokka set to work stretching and starting in on push ups. He used to do these things at night, the moonlight acting as his motivation and all the powerful benders asleep, but with the nice mattress he had been too drawn to sleep for push ups and crunches.

“You have good form,” Zuko had said, wiping sweat off his face with the hem of his tunic. Sokka wondered why he didn’t get abs like Zuko’s if his form was actually good.

“Yes well you might forget but just like everyone else here I’m also a warrior who has been training since I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid,” Zuko replied.

“I mean a tiny kid,” Sokka said, “I was the best warrior in my village.”

“Because you were the only warrior in your village.”

“That’s beside the point!”

“Whatever Sokka, you could have just taken the compliment in the first place.”

Sokka rolled his eyes and went back to his crunches. He liked Zuko a lot these days, but he could never seem to get over his annoyance at him for being muscley and ridiculously good with a sword. It didn’t seem fair.

Sokka wondered if he had ruined himself forever in Ba Sing Se, stunting his abs from ever existing by eating far too much bread. Clearly his abdominal region had been angry by such an overload of carbs and was now refusing to produce important and attractive muscle.

“Can you stop glaring at me?” Zuko asked as he finished his post-workout stretches.

“I’m angry with you.”

“Sokka, you know I was joking, you’re a really talented warrior and if you hadn’t been fighting by my side at the Boiling Rock then I would probably be dead.”

“Thank you,” Sokka said, “And that’s not why I’m angry.”

Zuko sighed. “Why are you angry?”

“I want your abdominal muscles.”

Zuko had the audacity to laugh, which only made Sokka angrier. This was a serious dilemma.

“You’re ridiculous Sokka,” Zuko replied, “And you need to vary your exercises more if that’s what you want. You already have a strong core so it won’t be so difficult.”

“Even if I once ate an entire baguette in one sitting? My body isn’t eternally upset with me.”

“I’ve eaten plenty of baguettes in my day and have not had a problem with that,” Zuko replied.

They spent the rest of the morning working on exercises to help build Sokka’s desired body and muscles. Zuko was a surprisingly good teacher, always letting Sokka whine to his heart’s content. He supposed that Zuko must have gotten that from his Uncle. Sokka barely knew the guy, but he seemed from Zuko’s accounts to be wise and helpful, the way Zuko tried to be.

Sokka’s stomach grumbled and he took that as a sign to stop their training. Zuko stood and reached a hand down to help Sokka up. Sokka took it and they made their way to the kitchen where Sokka began a pot of rice for breakfast.

“Zuko,” Sokka said as his stomach grumbled again, “Do you know what happens to the citizens of a city when the Fire Nation takes over?”

“Uh, it depends,” Zuko said, “Are you asking about anyone in particular?”

“I just... We left some friends in Ba Sing Se. I worry about them.” Sokka wasn’t about to tell Zuko that he had fallen in love with the idea of a baker in the city and sometimes worried about him, even though he was a practical stranger.

“If they were in the Upper Ring with you then they would have had to pledge their allegiance to the Fire Nation and they’d be given a small job to do that would promote the Fire Nation to the rest of the civilians. If they didn’t they’d be arrested. If they actively rebelled then they’d be killed,” Zuko answered.

“And in the lower ring?” Sokka asked.

“Their taxes will go up significantly. Often times their houses will get taken to make room for soldiers and new Fire Nation citizens. They’ll have to be loyal to the Fire Lord. They’ll make it though. I’ve been all over the Earth Kingdom. They’re strong people. Resilient.”

Sokka nodded, then continued. “What if they, I’m just throwing this out there, what if they were very skilled at something. Like if they were the best cabinet maker in the world. Not anything important, but very talented. Would the Fire Nation... take them?”

“Sometimes. The Fire Nation has a lot of antiques though. They don’t need anymore cabinets really.”

“Oh...”

“You know, I was in the Fire Nation for a bit. If you think they might have been captured for their skills I might have heard about it. If you give me their name—“

“No, it’s nothing, they’re probably fine. I was just wondering.”

“Ok...” Zuko answered, “Is there anything else?”

“No. Thank you for telling me.”

***

That night Sokka dreamed of cinnamon. There were piles of seasonings, and Sokka was instructed to smell each one and identify it. “Cinnamon,” he would say, and Momo would write it down, “Cardamom. Ginger. Orange peel.” When he had named them all, Momo had ran off, and Sokka followed. He was in the streets of Ba Sing Se. Momo had stopped in front of a small shop. Sokka knew that inside would be his baker. As he reached for the door handle, however, he awoke. The dream was so vivid that he could still smell the cinnamon.

He sighed, sitting up. The sun was rising again. Sokka watched it creeping upwards from his window. “Agni, let your Nation treat my baker well.”

When the sky turned from golden to blue, Sokka sniffed again. The smell of cinnamon was still there. He knew his dream had felt strong, but the envisioned smell couldn’t have lasted so many minutes. Rolling out of bed, Sokka sniffed again, repeatedly, following the scent toward the kitchen. Slowly, he took the door handle and pushed it open.

Inside was Zuko, the front of his shirt and his hands coated in flour. The smell of cinnamon was even stronger here, mixed with that of chocolate. Sokka closed his eyes, certain that this must be another dream.

“Sokka, you’re up! I was hoping you’d sleep in. I wanted to surprise you all,” Zuko said, wiping his flour hands onto his shirt, “I just put in the first batch of croissants and I’m just starting on a loaf of chocolate chunk chai bread. I’m not sure how it will be. I haven’t had a chance to work on the recipe, but I think it will be good.”

“Zuko...” was all Sokka could get out, utterly stunned.

“Do you know if anyone doesn’t like chocolate? Because there’s chocolate in the cinnamon croissants too. I mean, the tarts won’t have chocolate but—“

“How do I wake up?”

“What?” Zuko asked, confused.

“Usually when you realize you’re dreaming you wake up. What else could I try. Pinching myself?” Sokka asked, grabbing his skin between his fingernails. Nothing happened.

“You’re not dreaming Sokka,” Zuko answered.

“Then why are you....” Sokka searched for the right word, “Covered in flour?”

“I was baking?” Zuko answered, “I wanted to surprise you all with something good to eat because you’re always hungry. My mother taught me how to bake when I was a kid, and then I picked it up again when I was in Ba Sing Se. The tea shop that my Uncle and I worked at was a bakery too, so that’s what I did in the mornings instead of firebending practice.”

“You were a baker. In Ba Sing Se,” Sokka said, very carefully, “And now you’re making chocolate chai bread.”

“Yes?”

“And you’re... you’re covered in flour and you’re handsome and you...” Sokka started gesturing wildly, “You have delicate hands.”

“I’m not sure if I’d say that—“

Sokka didn’t pay attention to anything else he said. He ran forward, wrapping his arms around Zuko’s neck. Sokka buried his nose in Zuko’s collar bone, taking in the scent of dough, nutmeg, ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, and chocolate. It smelled like home.

“You’re ok,” Sokka breathed, “You’re safe.”

“Sokka,” Zuko said, finally putting his arms around Sokka, “What’s wrong. Did you have a nightmare before?”

“No, no,” Sokka replied, loosening his grip enough to look at Zuko’s face, but refusing to let go, “I’m just so glad you’re ok. I’ve been worried about you for months.”

“Months?”

“I... I’m the one who asked you to make the chocolate chai bread. I wrote you those notes.”

“You...” Zuko said, but then it clicked and Zuko tightened the hug again, “I was so worried about you! I thought... When I was in the Fire Nation again I tried looking for you so I could protect you, but I couldn’t find you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“And I’m so glad it’s you,” Sokka mumbled into Zuko’s shoulder. He knew Zuko couldn’t know what that meant—that Sokka had made himself in love with his image of this baker and now that image was none other than his friend—but he said it anyway.

“The feeling is mutual,” Zuko replied.

Sokka finally broke away from Zuko, not wanting his feelings to get carried away. It seemed that Agni and Tui and La must really have been looking out for them all along.

“How many more minutes until those perfect croissants are ready?”

“Probably around seven,” Zuko said.

“Seven minutes. Ok,” Sokka said, hopping onto the counter, “In the mean time, how about you explain to me why you turned over Ba Sing Se when you had such a nice person writing you notes on how good your pastries were? Have you no loyalty?”

Zuko blushed. He must have know that Sokka was joking, but it was a particularly sore spot for him.

“I was going to use my Princely powers to protect you,” Zuko reminded him, “My loyalty to him—to you—wasn’t broken.”

“Fine, fine. As you are no longer evil I’ll forgive you,” Sokka replied.

“Thank you,” Zuko replied, seeming genuinely pleased.

“...So you learned this from your mom?” Sokka asked.

“Yes. When I would get upset or nervous we’d go to the kitchens and make bread,” Zuko replied, “My Uncle says that the secret ingredient of tea is love, but the secret ingredient for breads is worry. You put it in when you knead the dough. It makes it rise better.”

“Right... Your mom sounds nice.”

“She was. Is,” Zuko answered, “On the day of the eclipse my father told me she wasn’t dead, but banished. After the comet I’m going to go look for her.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sokka said reflexively, and Zuko stared at him, searching.

“What about going home?”

You are my home, Sokka wanted to say, but it was too big of a feeling. His home wasn’t meant to be Zuko, or the imaginary baker, but just the smell of bread and spices and memories of calm. He missed Gran Gran, and his father. Zuko was right. And yet...

“I carry my home with me now,” Sokka answered, “My village is still important to me, but they won’t need me the way I thought they would. You’ll need help though, and I’m an excellent tracker. Plus I bet your mother’s baking is even better than yours.”

“Oh, definitely,” Zuko said, smiling, “I won’t hold you to it if you change your mind, but you coming with me sounds far better than going alone.”

“It’s settled then.”

In another minute Zuko was taking the croissants out of the oven. He warned Sokka that they’d be too hot to eat, but that didn’t stop Sokka from grabbing one immediately and taking a bite. It was too hot, just like Zuko said, but Sokka didn’t care. The familiar taste of quiet mornings was all that Sokka needed.

“Spirits, Zuko, I love you,” he said, mouth still full, thinking mostly of cinnamon and chocolate.

“That feeling,” Zuko said, “Is also mutual.”

Chapter Text

“What do you think about chocolate chai bread?” Zuko asked Jin, setting her tea in front of her. He barely made eye contact with her, his thoughts far away, in a different part of Ba Sing Se.

“Hmm,” she replied, raising the cup to her lips, “It sounds good, though maybe a little sweet. Did a certain someone suggest it?”

Zuko blushed, but nodded. He had no reason to be embarrassed. She had known about his letters with the man in the upper ring for a while now. After their date he rather awkwardly confessed that, while he had actually had a good time with her, his heart was preoccupied. Jin didn’t seem to mind that their relationship took a quick platonic turn. Her constant teasing for more information on his true love had made them fast friends.

“He said that trying chocolate chai bread was ‘of the utmost importance’, and underlined it twice.”

“Well then you have no choice but to make it for him,” Jin replied.

“I bet Uncle would like it too...” Zuko mused.

“Oh no, what if you’re writing to some old man like your Uncle. What if he’s got tons of grey hair? Or he’s bald!”

Zuko groaned. “There’s nothing worse than him being bald.”

Jin laughed. “You should ask him to meet, that way you can know for sure.”

Zuko sighed, running his hands through his hair. Jin had suggested this many times before. She was always the romantic, so she was quite eager to see how things would end with Zuko and his mystery man. Zuko, on the other hand, found his letters with the man in the Upper Ring to be one of the few things that made him feel calm—maybe even happy—and he didn’t want to risk losing that.

“You know I can’t,” he replied, “Even if he were our age, and not bald, he probably wouldn’t even come down to this part of the city, let alone fall in love with a poor refugee.”

Zuko was reminded of his time as a Prince, never stepping foot out of the palace. He assumed it was generally the same for the upper class of the Earth Kingdom, never really leaving their bubble of other wealthy people. If they did, they’d risk seeing the broken lives that their wealth was founded on, and in Zuko’s experience the rich generally preferred to be naive and happy. He himself wished that he could go back to a time where the Fire Nation’s integrity was unquestioned by himself—where he didn’t have to know the patterns of burn marks on innocent legs, or see the destruction that Fire Nation engineering had made on the earth. If he were Fire Lord he’d find a way to stop the ruffians in the Earth Kingdom and share the Fire Nation’s prosperity without getting civilians involved.

He ran his fingers through his hair once more, trying to get that thought out of his mind. There was no hope left for him, and he shouldn’t dwell on hypotheticals. Zuko would be a refugee for the rest of his life. He would never catch the Avatar, never best Azula, and certainly never be allowed to take the throne.

“Well maybe if he knew how good looking you are. You could send a portrait,” Jin suggested.

Zuko scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, my face is not particularly capable of enticement.”

She shrugged. “It worked on me. It says ‘I’m Zuko, I’m naturally handsome and also have the strong moral fiber to stand up for what I believe in, no matter the cost.’”
Zuko scrunched up his nose, turning away from Jin. He knew that she much have had some speculations, of course, but to hear them so out right was jarring. Perhaps they were getting too close, if she felt comfortable making conjectures about his scar out loud.

“Sorry,” Jin said, “I didn’t mean to... I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“My scar, the story of it, isn’t something that would make anyone like me more,” he said, his shoulders tense, “It certainly didn’t mean I was good, or brave, or... or honorable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin said, clearly unsure of herself. She must have known that an apology couldn’t really be enough.

***

Zuko stared at the parchment, empty and mocking him. His heart was aching, his breath unsteady. All he wanted to do was punch some fireballs to get his pent up emotions out, but instead he got to watch ink drip onto the page as he struggled for words.

He wanted to take Jin’s advice. When writing to his pen pal Zuko could focus on the present. So much of his life was spent brooding on his past failures, or looking towards his future destiny, that he never got to feel like an active participant in it. He was constantly being dragged around by ghosts and fates, never getting to take a moment to just exist. The man in the Upper Ring gave him the space to breathe in the moment, and he was simultaneously terrified to lose that feeling, and greedy to gain more of it.

For days, maybe weeks now, Jin had been pressing Zuko to ask about meeting the man on the other side of the page. One of Zuko’s favorite rebuttals was that he didn’t know anything about them, but on perusing the old letters, hoping some sort of inspiration would strike, he realized that wasn’t really true. Zuko knew that he liked chocolate more than anything else, that he was currently living with a sister who hated papaya, that he had some sort of small pet based on little ink foot prints that sometimes appeared in the letters, that he had a particular skill for haiku, and that he was not originally from Ba Sing Se. He probably knew as much about the stranger as he knew about Jin.

Candle wax began dripping onto the table as he reread the most recent letter.

Have you considered making a chocolate chai bread? I’m not entirely sure that the flavors would pair well, but it’s worth a try! I figured I could trade you the bread for this haiku that I’ve written for you.

I eat chocolate
And my heart is transported
To another home

In all honesty your letters pastries have brought me some of the first real joy I’ve had in months. I worry constantly about how I can solve or improve things that are happening around me, but your breads being warm on the table every morning have become a constant little perfection i my life. I know you put a lot of time and care into them, but when I see them—smell them—in the morning, it’s like they are magical and effortless. It’s such a comfort to not worry about when I will eat, or if it will be enough, or if it will actually taste good.

And it’s so nice to hear from you.

Yours,
X

Zuko traced over the writing with his thumb, feeling the slight indents caused by pressure on page and ink. The letter was real, written by a real person’s hand. A person who took comfort in him, someone who had no honor, no real purpose, not even a clean shirt. He read the letter again.

Yours.