Work Text:
*
Aang enters the quarters with a pocket-sized hurricane in his wake. He lands on the balcony, quiet but feasible to Zuko's sharpened ear, and his glider folds closed with a whoosh before the curtains are pushed to the side.
"I'm back!" he calls out, subdued excitement coloring his voice.
Zuko sighs, more a moderately loud exhale than a sigh really, and gives in. "Welcome back," he says then. The parchment beneath his fingers bears witness to his hesitation with wrinkles.
Aang finishes climbing through the window. His glider propped up against the wall, the airbender turns back around and gives himself a few moments to enjoy the view of the Royal Gardens that the room allows. But not unlike a well-oiled machine, Aang knows what to do next: he pushes the curtains back together, eliminating all source of light in the room except for the one generated by fire.
Zuko nods, a silent thank you and a voiceless wonder. It never fails to surprise him that another person could be so attuned to him the way his uncle is after years together on a ship. Aang just knows that the post-dinner hours are usually spent poring over manuscripts of proposals and keeping up his correspondence. He knows that Zuko values the cocoon of his work room, the embrace of the dark and the harsh torch light helping him focus.
Zuko doesn't enjoy being disturbed, but with the years his annoyance with it has mellowed out. And Aang has learned to be quiet when he really wants to.
The question is: does he want to today?
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah, I'm on schedule actually," Zuko admits unprompted. Aang rewards him with a kiss on the forehead, his nose bumping against the golden crown.
"Good," he says. Doesn't linger for long, just a moment, not enough for Zuko to consciously reach for him but enough if he really needed to. "I'm gonna meditate. I'll be back to check on you once I'm done."
Zuko smiles slyly; he's privately glad Aang doesn't pose it as a question. It takes additional weight off his shoulders, resolves him of having to put on the dutiful façade and insist that he has to get his work done first and foremost. It's not that Zuko isn't committed to his responsibilities: the legacy, the leadership runs in his blood just as Aang's spirit is made up of it. But often it's more a matter of discipline than passion that keeps him confined to his desk. The guilt of allowing himself too many liberties that threatens to swallow him whole with sticky ink. So where Zuko keeps a tight leash on himself, Aang knows when to loosen it, when to keep Zuko at a hand's distance to motivate him.
And it works flawlessly. Zuko hums in response and nods twice, managing to keep a grip on his focus even through the sounds of Aang taking off his outerwear and shutting the door behind him. The palace has more than enough space to accommodate them with a personal room for each and another that they have taken to share whenever Aang is here, even with the area allocated to servants and their families having expanded extensively on Zuko's request. For a moment he indulges himself in tracing the path to Aang's chambers with his mind, imagining his deep breaths, closed eyes lit faintly by the glow of his arrows. Then he really goes back to business and it's a testament to how accustomed Zuko has grown to Aang being here that he's able to perfect the switch.
Two project proposals and one letter from the representatives of Gaoling later, Zuko shifts his awareness to the fire for an estimation of time. The torches no longer burn as fiercely as when Zuko first lit them, leading him to the assumption that the sun has already set. Mere moments later, a knock resounds on the door.
Zuko relocates the scrolls for safe-keeping and puts the fire out with a swing of his sleeve.
"All done?" Aang asks, leaning against the door nonchalantly.
Zuko shrugs his shoulders, rolling them while he's at it. "As done as I'll ever be, I guess."
Aang chuckles. "Come on."
Zuko comes to him, more than willingly, like a moth to the sun.
Aang extends a hand, probably meaning to take him by the elbow, tug at his robe or guide him down the hallway in some other way. As much as Zuko loves to let him lead - has followed Aang, adored him before he could conceptualize it - it's of one of his greatest joys to be able to catch Aang off guard, to pave his own way. And so that's exactly what he does when he cups the back of Aang's neck, caressing the buzz that's starting to grow, and kisses him. A proper welcome, if you will.
Aang's eyes flutter shut. He kisses back easily, like he's just breathing or riding the currents of the wind. Nimble hands slide into Zuko's big, flappy sleeves, one thumb at each pulse point. He can feel the tension bleed out as the pace of their kiss decreases, moments stretching like rubber, something hypnotic washing over him. Belatedly, Zuko remembers that Aang just finished his meditation session. So that’s what this is: it’s him sharing his inner peace and serenity with Zuko, projecting calm into every touch of his lips. Shudders propagate down his spine and Aang can feel it too, if the squeeze of his hands is to go by. The chakras are not a foreign concept to Zuko, but right now he wouldn't be able to pinpoint any of them in himself even if he wanted to. Perhaps it's a sign of something that transcends his body, himself as an entity.
"Easier to do this now that you're no longer so tall to me, huh," Aang mumbles once they're separate again.
"Count your blessings," Zuko deflects drily. "I have a feeling you'll have another growth spurt one of these days," but it's in severe juxtaposition to his content smile.
Aang laughs, tangling their fingers together. One of these days, but what he really means is in a week, in a month, when few more years have passed. When Aang's duty calls and he has to leave the Fire Nation behind, once he's returned to the place carved out for him the way he has so many times before.
He likes the sound of that, so naturally, he says: "Can't wait."
Zuko grins. His hands move to Aang's cheeks, a little more hollow than they used to be.
"Firelord Zuko, tiptoeing to get a kiss," Aang says in the voice of a dignified royal announcer that vibrates through Zuko's palms. That stops once Zuko squishes Aang's face, the smallest payback for causing red flush to rise from embarrassment.
"No respect, none at all," he murmurs like he's complaining to an invisible Sokka or Toph next to him. ("If you want respect from Twinkletoes, you've got to have sunk low.")
"I'll show you some respect once we're ready for bed," Aang retorts, wiggling his eyebrows and moving to the side to open the door.
Zuko's face goes crimson. "You little--"
"Catch me!" Aang calls out, laughing, and sprints down the hallway.
*
To his credit, Zuko comes pretty close. He almost catches Aang's ankle when his footing is at its weakest, but Aang pushes him off with an air blast. Zuko is not one to give up easily, of course: they chase each other around the room, messing up the carefully arranged pillows on the bed to use them as weapons. The fire torches flicker to the sound of their laughter, until they collapse in a heap of silk and limbs, breathless, tired and happy.
Eventually, Zuko groans. "You're pressing my crown into the bed."
"Sorry!" Aang exclaims, rolling off of him, clearing the way for Zuko to get up and to the vanity.
Aang follows shortly, intently watching Zuko remove the headpiece. His hands come to rest on Zuko's once tense shoulders, warm from exertion. When Zuko makes to take his hair out of the knot, a whisper:
"Can I?"
Something in Zuko immediately strives to reject. He's afraid to examine that, even though he's not foolish enough to believe he can keep it under locks forever. Not just because of how well Aang can read him, but because in that hot air balloon that took him away from the anger and the hurt and the endless, fruitless search for his father's love, he promised to be true to himself.
But right now, Aang is here. He has his back -- literally and figuratively -- and Zuko wants and needs to make the most of it. Sometimes being this close and vulnerable with Aang feels like he's committing something irreversible. Something he can't come back from or can't push away for longer than when he needs to focus, because it always comes back to him, instead.
But when has he ever wanted to undo anything about his life since becoming Aang’s friend?
So Zuko breathes, deep, steady, and leans his head back, no matter that Aang can reach it just fine.
Aang hums appreciatively at being indulged, as he tends to. Gentle tugs and fingers acting as makeshift combs.
“I’ve always thought your hair was pretty,” he says, massaging Zuko’s scalp.
“I like the rare times you have some, too,” Zuko retorts fondly. “Sometimes I wish you'd keep it.”
Aang laughs. “For a little while, I can.”
“Delightful,” Zuko comments, resting his head against Aang’s chest. He chuckles: “Your chin looks funny like this.”
“Yeah?” Aang asks, leading his fingers down to Zuko’s temples, like he's healing him. “Maybe I'll grow a beard instead, then.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Zuko responds. He lets Aang work his magic a little bit longer before he reaches for his hands to halt them. He wants to explain that he's gonna fall asleep right there on the spot if Aang keeps going, but it seems he doesn't need to as Aang tugs him towards the bed himself.
Once nestled between the blankets Aang gestures to the corners of the room, mimicking the touch of a flat surface, making the fire diminish. They're not entangled in each other because practice has shown that they will end up that way during the night, anyway.
Zuko's eyes are closed, basking in the calm and the ghost of Aang’s touch just before. His guard is down enough to not feel eyes on him but he just knows them to be there.
“Close your eyes,” he tells Aang.
“Nuh-uh,” the Avatar replies.
“Close them. Sleep.”
“I want to keep looking at you.”
Counterintuitively, Zuko opens his. “Haven't you embarrassed me enough today?” The telltale heat of a blush invades him.
Aang chuckles, but it comes out weak. Zuko turns to face him.
“What is it?”
“Just,” Aang turns to face his stare head-on. He breathes out.
Zuko blinks: it's not often Aang is speechless. There are clearly cogs turning in his head but something is hindering him from speaking his mind. Zuko thinks back on everything he knows about Aang, how patient he is with him, his big, attentive eyes.
“Come here,” Zuko whispers then and extends his arm so Aang can use it as a pillow. Like this, holding him, Zuko feels like he’s protecting him, and it's just as good as Aang’s guiding touch.
Aang chuckles into Zuko’s neck, ticklish and relieved. “Thanks. I needed this.”
“I know,” Zuko says, voice far away and wraps his arms tighter. “Let's sleep in tomorrow,” he adds, realization hitting him that while he was caught in appreciation for Aang knowing when to give him space, Aang just wanted to be pulled closer.
“Really? This is not a ploy for you to give me the blame if you fall behind?”
“Maybe a little,” Zuko kisses the space between Aang’s eyebrows. “You'll just have to take what you can get.”
“You're lucky Air Nomads are raised to have no expectations,” Aang giggles.
“Nope, that's all you,” Zuko murmurs, and he means it in more ways than one.
In a sense Aang is emotionally and spiritually ahead of him, with how rarely he holds grudges. How he lives and breathes in the moment, finding his solace in the world instead of the isolation of his head. He doesn't expect not because he's so afraid of being disappointed the way Zuko still is sometimes, but because he's so whole on his own. Though he still wants, needs, and miraculously, Zuko gets to be the one to fulfill his wishes; and it drives him to do and be better in every way. Whatever the circumstances and the future holds, Zuko thinks he can make peace with it.
“Don't get all self-deprecating on me,” Aang says. If only he knew that Zuko is waxing Firelord worthy speeches for him in his head.
(Well, if he knew, he would find a way to make Zuko want to disappear six feet under out of shame.)
So he settles for something shorter.
“Never. I’m just doing what I can to live up to the best person I know.”
The words come out a bit strange, clipped. But Aang rises to support himself on his elbows. He looks at Zuko the way it feels when Aang remembers to close the curtains, how he likes his tea, what to say when everything gets too much.
It feels regal, so Zuko lets himself take it as a win.