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“So, how does it feel?”
Zuko turns his head to the side and gazes at the man beside him. Aang is less than a foot away, laying in the grass with his head pillowed in his hands. Stars wink down at them from the black night sky, and the moon casts porcelain-pale beams of light across the courtyard. Zuko can’t help but think that Aang’s grey eyes shine brighter than the moon, and twinkle with more life than all the stars combined.
Zuko stares until Aang turns on his side, brows quirked and blinking expectantly up at him. His cheeks burn and he quickly replies, “how does what feel?”
“It’s midnight—you’re another year older! You’re practically an old man now!” Aang says, and grins.
Zuko tries not to smile and fails miserably. “If I’m an old man, then you ought to learn to treat your elders with more respect,” he teases back.
Airy, carefree laughter falls from Aang’s mouth, and the sound of it makes warmth bloom in Zuko’s chest. He has never been all that clever, but Aang has a knack for laughing like whoever’s told the joke is the funniest person he’s ever met. It’s another bullet point on an infinite list of why Zuko loves Aang; he never fails to make the people around him feel special.
When Aang has sobered, he uses a puff of air to raise himself into a cross-legged position facing Zuko. He places a fist against his open palm and bends forward in a bow. When straightens, his eyes are closed and he says, very seriously, “My deepest apologies, Mr. Firelord, sir. It is an honor and a privilege to spend your birthday with you, your kingliness.” The effect of his sage speech is ruined seconds later when he opens one eye to peek at Zuko’s expression and a self-satisfied grin spreads across his cheeks at the sight of the man.
Glowering stubbornly despite his lips’ desperate attempts to pull upward at the corners, Zuko deadpans, “you’re hilarious.”
Aang drops his hands back into his lap and giggles. “Really, though—I feel like we haven’t had much one-on-one time together lately. It’s nice to spend some time with you again.”
Another point on the list: Aang doesn’t shy away from mushy, emotionally-charged moments the way Zuko does. Zuko has never been good at expressing himself, especially when it comes to the more complicated emotions like love; but if there’s anyone he wants to try for, it’s Aang.
“Yeah,” he agrees, desperately wracking his brain for more to tack on. There’s a million thoughts in his head right now, all of them pertaining to the handsome airbender beside him. Zuko aches to open his mouth and let all of the words he’s bottled up for years come spilling out. He wants to tell Aang how desperately in love with him he is, how much he wishes it could be like this all the time: just them, alone together under the star-speckled blanket of the black night sky.
But Zuko knows that, while Aang has been the recipient of hundreds of declarations of love and declined just as many, Zuko’s would be the most unwelcome of all. Aang is leagues above him, and not just because he’s the Avatar. Zuko doesn’t deserve him after everything he’s done; he was lucky enough to be forgiven and welcomed into Aang’s life in the first place. Zuko has already proven to himself that very few good things are capable of lasting long around him; the last thing he wants to do is become a source of suffering for Aang, too.
The bitter shift in his thoughts makes Zuko feel cold under the moon's muted glow. He draws his knees to his chest and stares forward with unfocused amber eyes whilst inwardly he falls deeper and deeper into a spiral of self-loathing. If he’d befriended Aang earlier, would he have had a chance with him? No—even if he had, Zuko’s certain he would have found some way to mess it up and hurt Aang.
A calloused hand on his shoulder draws him back to the world. Aang has scooted closer to him, now—they’re hardly a few inches apart. “Hey,” he says, eyes filled with concern, “is everything okay? You can talk to me.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” says Zuko moodily.
“Try me.”
Zuko turns to look at Aang—his mouth is set in a firm line, his brows pulled inward, his eyes determined—and sighs heavily. “Why are you friends with me?”
The question startles Aang enough that his eyes blow wide. “What?”
“Why are you friends with me?” Zuko demands a second time, more harshly than he intended. “I spent so much time making life hell for you. I hurt you and the people that you love. I was a terrible person, and I’m not much better now. I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
“Zuko, we’ve talked about this,” Aang says, frustratingly gentle. “I think you deserve everything you have now and more, and so do many others. I know what it is to regret the past—but we can’t let things that happened then determine the quality of our lives now. When I look at you, I see a strong, brave, amazing person who’s overcome so much. You mean so much to me, Zuko.” When Zuko remains silent, Aang adds, “Besides, not everything about the old you was terrible. I thought the ponytail was cute,” he teases, and bends a small gust of wind over Zuko’s head to ruffle his hair.
A startled laugh falls from Zuko’s lips before he can silence it, and anger wells up within him unbidden. He hates that Aang can make him laugh at a time like this. He hates that Aang forgave him. He hates that Aang is so good and gentle and beautiful. He hates that he could never be enough for him. He hates knowing that, sooner or later, he’ll hurt Aang again.
“It’s not funny!” Zuko growls, shoving Aang’s hand off of his shoulder so violently that the man sways back. He gets to his feet and storms toward the palace, huffing when a firm hand closes around his wrist and holds him in place. He doesn’t look back—he can’t bear the disappointment he knows he’ll see in Aang’s eyes.
Aang’s hand crawls further up his arm, hooking around the upper half, and pulls . Zuko stumbles a step, startled, turning toward the man—a hand comes to rest against his cheek, quickly followed by the press of a warm chest to his. Aang’s body is flush against his, the tips of their noses brushing.
“I wasn’t joking,” Aang says, pressing further into him, his free hand reaching up, his lips brushing against Zuko’s.
Fear curls, hot and acidic, in the pit of Zuko’s stomach. He can’t bear the guilt of keeping someone as radiant as Aang to himself—he’s not worthy and he knows it. If he lets Aang in now, he’ll never be able to let him leave. He’ll swallow Aang up and burn away all that makes him bright; he’ll ruin him.
Panicked, Zuko plants both hands on Aang’s chest and shoves him off. “ Don’t, ” he snarls, starting toward the Palace once again.
Aang doesn’t try to stop him a second time, and Zuko storms all the way to his room in an enraged haze. He flops face-first into his bed and lets out a frustrated yell into a pillow; then, he turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. It’s only after several minutes of deep, calming breathing that he finally reflects on the events that had transpired moments earlier.
He’d been having a fun, happy night with the person he loved most in the world—and, of course, he’d ruined it with his own destructive tendencies. He’d been so angry with himself he’d acted blindly. He’d physically pushed Aang twice, and all because he was so frustrated with himself that he’d blamed Aang of all people for choosing to forgive him. His initial reaction was a mistake—he could have come back from that. But then Aang tried to kiss him. Aang tried to kiss him, and Zuko pushed him away. After years of silently pining, Zuko had finally gotten the opportunity to express his love, and instead he’d done the exact opposite. He’d seen Aang at his most vulnerable, and shoved him away in disgust.
Anguish falls over Zuko, thick and heavy. Hot tears sting his eyes, burn trails down his cheeks, leak between his lips and leave an unbearable bitterness on his tongue.
Zuko lays in bed and wallows in self-pity until the first rays of sun peek over the horizon. The soft, golden light paints his room an invigorating orange; he slips out of bed and pads to the balcony, hoping the sunrise will give him the strength to face the day. Of course, the universe is never so kind to him—Zuko has only just reached the balcony’s railing when his eyes fall upon sad, grey ones.
Aang is in the garden, sitting cross-legged on the grass. He’d been meditating, Zuko supposes, and had been interrupted by the noise of the balcony doors opening. For a moment, they just stare and blink at one another; then, wordlessly, Aang gets to his feet. The anguish on his face makes a lump in Zuko’s throat; he has to work to swallow it down when he watches the airbender turn on his heel, starting deeper into the gardens.
“Aang!” Zuko cries, disrupting the early morning silence. He leans over the railing, straining downward as if hoping to pluck Aang right up off the ground.
Aang stills, but he doesn’t turn around. His back is rigid.
“Wait for me, I’ll be down in a second!” Zuko calls.
Apparently this is the wrong thing to say, because Aang starts walking again without so much as a glance in his direction. Zuko’s mouth falls open—he calls for him again, but Aang still doesn’t stop. In fact, he seems to have quickened his pace slightly. Zuko knows that he has less than an hour before he’s swept into meetings for the rest of the day, and that his birthday party will start immediately after. The opportunity to be alone with Aang won’t present itself again for at least another day—that is, if the Avatar doesn’t decide to leave immediately after the party. Who knows how long he’ll be gone after that.
Panicked, Zuko impulsively swings a leg over the edge of the balcony, then the other—stairs be damned. “Aang!” He calls a third time, far more desperate. The ledge is slick with the early-morning dew; he has to fight to keep his grip, but he won’t let that stop him. He leaps from the balcony to the rooftop below him with a muted thud.
Aang whips around at the sound, jaw dropping instantly at the sight of Zuko carefully walking to the edge of the roof. Under normal circumstances, the sight of Firelord Zuko scaling his own Palace would have been hilarious; now, though, it only frustrated and confused Aang even more. With a strong gust of air he’s propelled himself upward, landing silently on the roof several feet in front of Zuko.
“What are you doing?!” Aang demands irritably, arms folded across his chest and scowling.
“I wanted to explain myself,” Zuko replies. He begins to step closer, conscious of where he’s putting his feet—the combination of his sleep slippers and the slick shingles is not ideal, and one misstep could send him tumbling to the gardens below.
“I think you made yourself pretty clear last night, Zuko.”
“No, I didn’t,” Zuko says, and takes several careless, quick steps forward.
“ Zuko ,” Aang chastises, stepping closer with his arms outstretched, ready to catch him should he fall.
“I’m so sorry, Aang. I—I was being so stupid last night.” Zuko says, raising his eyes from the shingles to the man in front of him. “I was scared,” he says, and then gasps when his foot slides an inch or two. He catches himself, but it doesn’t matter—Aang is there in an instant, his hand closing around Zuko’s wrist, keeping him upright.
Zuko lays his hand over Aang’s and squeezes it. Their eyes are locked on one another. “If you only knew,” Zuko whispers, “how long I’ve wanted this…”
Aang’s brows pinch together. “But last night—”
“I know,” Zuko interrupts quickly, desperately. “I know, and—and I’m an idiot. I’ve been dreaming of that moment for years, and when it finally happened, I ruined it like I do everything else. I don’t want to do that to you, too.”
Aang’s shoulders slump. His face softens, eyes growing wet. He shuffles closer. “You don’t ruin everything.”
A pathetic, relieved whimper falls from Zuko’s throat. His eyes are stinging again. “ Aang ,” he rasps, and takes the man by the shoulders, and draws him closer with desperate force.
They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and then Zuko stumbles a step and they both go careening off the roof, tangled in each other’s arms. Aang catches them with a gust of air, and they drift to the ground, and they laugh and kiss some more in the damp grass, and then Zuko goes to get ready for the day, and Aang follows. They kiss in his room, and in between each meeting Zuko attends. They go to his birthday party, and dance, and kiss, and eat, and kiss, and talk, and kiss even more.
They escape the party early, hand-in-hand; they kiss in the courtyard, beside the Turtleduck pond. They kiss under the light of the moon and the stars and the paper lanterns that have been lit for Zuko’s birthday. They kiss in the grass, laying chest-to chest, breathless and tender. They kiss until Zuko’s lips are sore and his cheeks are permanently rosy and his voice doesn’t work. They kiss until the sun comes up the next morning, golden light spilling over them. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss.