Work Text:
it's starting again,
the longing that begins and begins and begins
- Kim Addonizio
Despite what his uncle liked to believe, Zuko did believe in soulmates. The amount of happily bonded couples he knew were proof enough on their own, but he’d believed in them far before he watched several of his closest friends fall for their fated partner. There was evidence enough along his own wrist: three simple words ingrained into his skin, having appeared there long before he was old enough to read them on his own. The first words his soulmate would ever say to him.
In the pale morning light, Zuko lay in his overwhelmingly large bed and traced the letters.
Looking for me?
A small, sad smile came to his face. Such a simple question, and yet it had the power to undo him. He remembered the day he’d heard those words—the young, defiant airbender who had said them—and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They’d been so young, then. The image of Aang, twelve years old, small and slight with the rounded face of childhood, lingered in his memory. It could have been so simple.
Zuko had been sixteen. He’d felt worlds away from Aang at the time, and had made an enemy of himself in his desperation to restore his honor. It was a foolish, useless endeavor; looking back on it now, fifteen years later, made him wince. He’d wasted so much time. He was still wasting time.
Zuko dressed in silence, wrapping a silken red cloth around his wrist to hide his soulmark. He didn’t need to see the words to be reminded of them, anyway—he’d had them memorized long before he’d even met Aang.
Looking for me?
Zuko let out a soft, sad chuckle as he dressed for the day. He’d been looking for Aang his entire life—he just hadn’t known it until it was far too late. By the time he realized just how much he loved for Aang, they’d already agreed to never speak of their bond. It had been Zuko’s fault. Aang had wanted to pursue him, to try and make things work after he’d taken his position as Firelord.
Zuko had refused, stubbornly, stupidly, and Aang had accepted it. He’d moved on. They remained friends, of course—not even Zuko was stupid enough to let the airbender walk out of his life entirely—but it had been different between them since then. Aang and Katara had built a life together for a little bit, each acknowledging that they weren’t truly soulmates. When Katara’s had come along, they parted amicably.
Aang had been alone ever since. Zuko, too. He’d tried to move on, indulged in a few flings over the years, but nothing ever made him as happy as a smile on Aang’s face could. But Zuko had severed that bond, and there was no going back now. Aang wouldn’t want him, wouldn’t be able to forgive him for all the anger, the confusion, the aching hurt that had long permeated their bond. Asking Aang to save him, save them —it was too much to ask of a man who had spent his entire life saving others. Zuko had been selfish enough already. He wouldn’t burden Aang with his desires, as much as he might wish to.
And yet, without even knowing what he’d done, Aang still managed to fulfill all of Zuko’s wishes. Because there he was—a knock at Zuko’s bedroom door had interrupted him in the midst of tying his hair up, and he’d opened it to find none other than the Avatar standing outside.
“Zuko,” Aang said, and smiled cheerfully as if he hadn’t just appeared, unannounced, outside the Firelord’s bedroom door.
Looking for me?
Zuko’s breath caught in his throat; fire ignited in his gut. “Aang,” he gasped, his hand instinctively clasping down on his wrist over the cloth that covered his soulmark. “Why—?”
“No reason,” Aang interrupted cheerfully. He slipped past Zuko and into the Firelord’s bedroom without an invitation, looking around as if it were a museum.
Zuko blinked and shut the door before turning back around. Aang was standing beside his bed, peering up at the large painting of the fire nation’s emblem hanging above his headboard. One of his long-fingered hands was absently toying with a silken pillowcase. “You know…” The Avatar started, then stopped, staring pensively up at the painting. He turned toward Zuko again and his smile was smaller this time, sadder.
Zuko wasn’t sure where to start. “Aang,” he said again, because the man in front of him had been the starting point for all of his hopes and dreams since he was fourteen years old.
Aang’s eyes met Zuko’s. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said at length. “I had a dream about you, and I had to see you.”
Zuko frowned. “You came because you had a nightmare about me?”
Aang’s brows were pulling downward, his eyes winking with pained laughter. “Not a nightmare,” he replied, and his voice was strained, “a good dream.”
“A good dream about me.” Zuko repeated, his head spinning.
“About us,” Aang corrected.
“Us?”
A nod.
Zuko stared, and Aang stared back. His smile was pathetic, wobbly and strained. Zuko hated the sight of it. He wanted to make Aang smile for real.
Looking for me?
Zuko was tired of looking. “Aang, ” Zuko rasped the name as he crossed the room; Aang met him halfway, arms open, and Zuko crashed into him.
He grabbed Aang by his shirt and wrenched him forward, sighing in ecstasy when their lips finally, finally met. Aang’s arms wound tightly around him, and Zuko happily allowed the Avatar to pull him closer, closer, closer.
“Aang,” Zuko whispered against the corner of Aang’s mouth. He kissed his face desperately, wanting to press his lips to every inch of his soulmate’s skin. “I dream of you, too—” He pressed his lips to Aang’s cheeks, to his nose, to his forehead, to his eyebrows— “I look for you every night.”
Aang hummed, and took his chin, and guided Zuko’s lips back to his. “Never again,” he whispered. “I’m here now.”