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“So,” Aang starts as his messenger bag flops from his slack shoulder and to the floor of Zuko’s living room. He drops down onto the couch and begins rummaging around in his bag, speaking over the clatter of various pencils, pens, and notebooks, “where did you want to start?”
The question is a simple one, but Zuko still fumbles for an answer as he stares incredulously at the slender boy rifling distractedly through his cluttered school bag. Out of all the improbable things to happen in his life, this had to be the most improbable of all. For surely Aang—sweet, cheerful, strikingly attractive Aang from Zuko’s third-period world history class—couldn’t be seated in Zuko’s house.
Zuko had never been particularly lucky, but he was inclined to believe that his luck was starting to change for the better. After all, what other reason could there be for the boy he’d been silently pining for for nearly a year to suddenly suggest that they work together on their upcoming project? The chances of Zuko being so fortunate were nearly equal to that of winning the lottery every day for a week; it was nothing short of a divine miracle.
And Aang certainly does look angelic in that moment, the crown of his freshly-shaven head haloed by the chandelier hanging behind them in the kitchen. He raises his head, smiling softly, grey eyes crinkling at the corners, and Zuko realizes he has yet to give an answer. He’s been so distracted staring at the gorgeous teenager, he doesn’t even remember what he’d been asked.
“Um.” You can do this. Just don’t say anything stupid . “Can I get you something to drink?”
Aang blinks, and then sets the notebook he’d retrieved from his bag down on the table in front of him. “Sure,” he says cheerfully, taking the abrupt sibject change in stride as he does everything. “Do you have any tea?
Zuko inconspicuously wipes a bead of sweat off of his brow and heads to the kitchen. So far so good. “Plenty. My uncle owns a tea shop, so we have a lot of custom brews. Mango tea for you?”
Aang has gotten up and followed Zuko into the kitchen. He peers over Zuko’s shoulder as the elder boy opens a cupboard and reveals an alarmingly large array of different teas. Zuko is far too aware of the minimal space between Aang’s chest and his back; heat radiates between them and he blushes uncontrollably, imagining what might happen if he took but one step back.
Surely Aang would pull away, get out of his space—but what if he didn’t? What if he leaned in closer, rested his chin upon Zuko’s shoulder? What if those toned arms of his snaked their way around Zuko’s waist, pulling him into a soft embrace? The mere thought of it made Zuko’s knees weak, and he gripped the cabinet’s handle to keep from slipping.
“How did you know mango was my favorite?” Aang asks, breaking Zuko from his daydream.
His companion’s cheeks color as he retrieves the mango tea. “You said it during introductions, I think,” he says, feigning nonchalance. Aang had said it during introductions—Zuko knew it for a fact because he’d been infatuated with the teen from the moment he set eyes upon him that first day in class, and had unwittingly memorized the three facts that Aang had shared about himself with the class.
Aang beams at him and Zuko’s heart does a little flip in his chest. “Wow, you must have a really good memory!”
Only when it comes to you , Zuko nearly says, snapping his mouth shut before that mortifying thought can escape. He shrugs in lieu of an answer and begins brewing the tea; Aang occupies himself by waltzing around the room, examining the photos on the wall. Zuko watches him eye the photos, admires the way Aang carefully examines each one—no matter what the teen does, he makes sure to do it with great care.
When the tea is finished, Zuko pours two cups and carries them back out to the living room. Aang follows along, plopping back down onto the couch. Zuko sits down on the opposite end and Aang scoots closer, oblivious to the thunderous pounding of Zuko’s heart. They’re so close together that their knees knock together and their shoulders brush as they bend their heads close to peer down at Aang’s notebook, where he’s jotted down some ideas.
They run through a list of possible topics for the project, Zuko drumming his fingers anxiously against the arm of the couch all the while. He can hardly focus with Aang so near, his mind continuously wandering away from school and to more important matters, such as the breezy smell of Aang’s cologne or the twinkle of his big, grey eyes.
He keeps it together long enough to settle on a topic with Aang, and they even manage to get some of the groundwork done. They exchange email addresses, divvy up the workload, and set to work researching. Aang stays close to Zuko even after they fall into an easy silence, apparently content to stay close even when there's no pressing need to, what with both boys absorbed in their research.
A few hours pass, and Aang yawns. “I have to go,” he says, beginning to gather the various papers, pencils, pens, and notebooks he’d left strewn about. “When can we meet up again to put more of the project together?”
This is my chance. Keep it casual—don’t sound too eager. “Tomorrow?” Zuko suggests stupidly, mentally smacking himself upside the head.
Aang smiles in return. He doesn't seem at all repulsed by the suggestion. “Sure,” he says. “Want me to bring some food?”
He said yes! Play it cool. It’s just a study session. “Yeah,” Zuko agrees, nervously running a hand through his shaggy mop of black hair. “We could watch a movie or something.”
Aang stills, and the alarm bells start blaring in Zuko’s head. Why did I say that?! Stupid, stupid!
“We could ,” Aang agrees, amusement playing on his lips, “but we probably wouldn’t get very much work done.”
“Right." Zuko's cheeks burn, and he fidgets. "Um, well, m-maybe we could—go see one? Some other time, I mean. After the project, or something.” Zuko rambles nervously, dark eyes downcast. What the hell am I doing?!
Aang’s smile grows wider, if that were even possible. “Zuko, are you asking me on a date?” He asks cheekily.
Zuko’s heart stutters in his chest. A flush crawls from the base of his neck all the way up to his forehead. He stammers, “um—” IOh god, he knows. I'm an idiot. Fuck. I can still fix this. Say no, make up an excuse— ”yes. I am. Um. I-If you want to.”
A delightful little blush comes to Aang’s cheeks, and he nods. “Okay. Dinner and a movie tomorrow night, then. The project can wait a day, right?”
Zuko’s jaw drops. He stares, and nods, and blushes brighter when Aang lets out a soft, affectionate laugh.
“Cool,” the boy settles his bag onto his shoulder. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Zuko.”
By the time Zuko has the presence of mind to return the farewell, Aang has already skipped out the door and disappeared from sight. He's not exactly sure what just happened, but he supposes it doesn't really matter. His heart flutters.
He has a date with Aang tomorrow.