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“Like waves washing away the footprints on the sand, Ember Island gives everyone a clean slate. Ember Island reveals the true you.”
Minghao never understood how you could love and hate something so much at the same time until he set foot onto Ember Island for the first time in years, and probably for the last time in as much time too.
They’re on the far side of the island, away from where the resort houses and the tourist attractions are. No one builds here because the land isn’t stable and the ridges are too high, difficult to travel. But the sun is still bright and the trees are still green and when Minghao scoops up a handful of sand it still sifts through his fingers, the thin particles filling up the crevices of his palm. When he sucks in a lungful of air it scrapes against his throat in the way that only fresh ocean air does, too clean to be gentle but refreshing all the same.
Objectively, it looks exactly the same. But the last time Minghao was here, he was twelve and on vacation with his parents, excited to be away from home and entranced by the sights, the sounds, the thrills. Now he is eighteen and all he feels is tired. He’s still waiting for the relief to hit—doesn’t know if it ever will.
It’s not Ember Island that’s changed, it’s him. The prospect is a little terrifying to think about.
“If we’re trying to get away from the Fire Lord,” asks Wonwoo, “then why the hell are we going to a place infested with Fire Nation citizens?”
It’s a fair question. Minghao expected him to ask it, especially considering he always gets a little grumpier after they fly on Xiaoba, Junhui’s sky bison. Something about not being in touch with the earth while in the air. Minghao thinks if he were blocked off from his element, he’d get a little testy too.
Or, well, elements. Considering he’s, ah, lucky enough to have more than one.
“This isn’t normal Fire Nation territory,” says Minghao. “It’s like a vacation resort for rich Fire Nation families. But almost all of the adults are back on the mainland for civic duties around this time of year, so the only people left behind should be…”
“Teenagers,” Junhui finishes for him.
Wonwoo snorts. “Dumb teenagers,” he amends.
“Exactly. We’ll fit right in.” It’s both good to be back and bad because it’s not as good as it should be. But Minghao has learned to stop having expectations, because nothing is ever as good as it should be anymore. “Welcome to Ember Island.”
In the Fire Nation’s government databases, Minghao’s story starts when he’s born. In his schooling records, it starts when he learns how to firebend. In the tales they’ll tell of him long after he’s dead, it starts when his parents die in a freak accident and Minghao airbends for the first time, but too little and too late.
But Minghao’s story really starts when he meets Junhui.
The thing about being thirteen is that everything feels like the end of the world to you, so when something actually catastrophic happens it’s hard to predict how you’ll react to it. Minghao cries for days over the death of his parents, cries for days more over the fact that he can now airbend apparently, which is fucking fantastic and probably what got him in this mess in the first place. What use is learning how to bend a new element if you can’t use it in time? When he finally runs out of tears is around the same time he runs out of food, which is good timing, he supposes. There’s nothing like the gnawing pains in your stomach to kick your ass back into drive, no matter the weight of whatever tragedy sits heavy on your shoulders.
Finding food is his first order of business. It’d be a little easier if he actually had any clue where he was, but Minghao had watched his parents die before his own eyes and just ran, ran out of the upper echelons of the Fire Nation’s capital, past the looming gates of the border, through forests and jungles and deserts, trying to run away from a world where his parents are gone and he’s the Avatar.
The thing about running from your problems is that they always catch up to you in the end. He’s been camped inside a little cave on the outskirts of some city for days, tired and hungry and lost and alone. It’s hard going from riches to rags when you’re a kid, harder still when your parents are dead, and there was only one thing keeping Minghao from curling up in that cave and dying right there: the Fire Nation had found out he was the Avatar while he was on the run and put a massive bounty on his head, either to kill him or make him its slave. Minghao was damned if he was going to let either thing happen.
So he sheds the ornaments with his family’s crest on them, covers his clothing in mud, and heads into town.
Unfortunately, being the Avatar doesn’t make you any smarter. Minghao wanders the streets, mouth watering from afar at the stalls decked in Earth Kingdom colors, and when he can’t find enough money lying on the ground for a meal, he decides to pick the weakest-looking kid he can find and rob them. It’ll be fine, he assures himself. Most Earth Kingdom denizens are non-benders, and even on the off chance that he does happen to steal from an earthbender, they probably won’t be trained well enough to defend themselves from Minghao’s two? one-and-a-half? one-and-one-tenth? elements.
It still sounds like a spectacular idea, up until he’s creeping down an alley behind a skinny boy with a paper plate of meat in his hand. Before he can even reach out a hand to snag the meat and go, he’s slammed into a wall by a giant gust of air, the breath knocked out of his lungs. He slumps down at the base of the wall, looking up at his victim-turned-assailant. “You’re an airbender,” he says, something like awe overriding the pain in his voice.
“No shit,” says the boy, glaring at him. The meat is still balanced delicately in one of his hands. He’s trying to maintain the scowl on his face, but his cheeks start to tinge pink with embarrassment. Minghao realizes they’re both out of place—a firebender and an airbender, both in the middle of the Earth Kingdom where they definitely shouldn’t be. “If you’re done trying to rob me, I’ll get going now—”
“No, wait!” says Minghao, sudden desperation fueled by a realization that this is an airbender. “I— I’m an airbender too!”
The boy casts a glance at his clothes, the red of the traditional Fire Nation fabric starting to peek through under the mud. “Sure.”
“Really, I am,” says Minghao, focusing all his attention on the plate in the boy’s hand. He doesn’t really know how to airbend properly yet, but he’s done it once before—it shouldn’t be too hard to do it again, right? He can’t hold back the smile that blooms on his face when he manages to carry the plate toward him on a breeze. “See?” he says, stuffing some of the meat in his mouth. Oh, that’s good.
“Hey, give that back,” the boy yells, reaching out for him. Minghao dances away, light on his feet, and shoves more food into his mouth. He’s not really trying to run away—somehow he’s got it into his head that this street rat is going to teach him airbending. The laugh that starts to bubble up in his throat promptly dies when the boy launches himself at him, tackling him onto the ground and spilling the meat all over the both of them. Minghao hits his head on the hard cobblestone, hissing in pain.
“Hey, what was that for?” he groans, rubbing the back of his head.
The boy shrugs, picking up some of the fallen meat and stuffing it in his mouth. Minghao wrinkles his nose. “You started it,” says the boy, chewing with his mouth open and accidentally spitting some of the meat on his face, and that’s how Minghao meets Wen Junhui.
On the list of first encounters Minghao’s had with people, his first meeting with Junhui ranks somewhere near the bottom. And yet despite that—or maybe because of it—it ends up working out in the end. Junhui, like a madman, actually agrees when Minghao, like another madman, asks him to drop everything and come with him to teach him airbending. They’re both a little off. Maybe that’s why they end up working so well together.
So that’s the beginning of the beginning of it all. It’s only years later that Minghao realizes that it was the beginning of the end of it all, too.
“Is that still safe?” Joshua asks as they hike toward the house on the ridge, out of the sight of the rest of the houses. Minghao’s parents had purposely built it like that, away from the chaos of the main hub of the island. He wasn’t grateful for it as a child, but he sure is now. “You said you haven’t been here in years, right?”
“It’ll be fine,” says Minghao. “The only thing I can think of is the mongoose lizards hidden under the trapdoor, but they should’ve starved to death already.”
“Should’ve?” echoes Soonyoung.
Minghao smiles at him. “Yeah. But you might wanna watch your step, just in case.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” asks Soonyoung, but Minghao is already striding up the steps. He fits his palm into the seal on the giant metal door, sending a blast of fire into it and blinking in surprise when the door creaks open.
It was his father who usually opened the door for them, the grooves in the seal sculpted to match the shape of his hand. The fact that it responds to Minghao now can only mean that the seal recognizes his firebending signature as part of his family’s. The realization is staggering—he has to take a few moments to compose himself, before he turns around.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” he asks, when the rest of them haven’t moved, too busy gaping. “Come on, already.”
The inside of the house is still pristine, untouched by anything except the fine layer of dust that sits on everything. Minghao swipes a finger over a table and it comes away coated in gray. It reminds him too much of ash to be comfortable.
“My father’s old clothes should still be lying around somewhere,” he says, eyes skimming over all of their get-ups—Wonwoo and Soonyoung’s Earth Kingdom tunics, Joshua’s Northern Water Tribe robe. Only he and Junhui have been switching garbs since they were kids, shedding clothing like identities and slipping fully into the role of each new outfit they wore. They’ll have to do something about Junhui’s airbender tattoos, though. “We’ll be able to find something for all of you.”
“Do we really need to, though?” asks Wonwoo. “How long are we planning to stay here anyways?”
Minghao wishes he had an answer to that, but he doesn’t. They’d barely escaped their latest scuffle with the Fire Nation army, hunted down by someone Minghao once considered a friend, and his only plan after that was bringing them to Ember Island. He has no plans, no ideas left—and that, more than anything, is what scares him. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
Somehow, the clothes in the trunk sitting at the base of what was once his parents’ bed haven’t been eaten away by moths yet. Minghao shakes them out, wrinkling his nose at the musky scent that comes off the fabric with each shake, but otherwise they’re wearable. He passes them out and waits for the others to leave the room, finding their own space to change, before it’s just him and Junhui left in the master bedroom.
There hasn’t been any shame between them for a long time. Minghao doesn’t even hesitate before shedding his robes, slipping into Fire Nation clothing for the first time in years and marveling at how familiar it still feels. Some things never change, after all. He turns around to see if Junhui’s done yet and—
The breath catches in his throat when Junhui straightens up, decked out in the red silks that his father favored. The color looks good on him. Natural, even, like any moment now Junhui could roll into a cartwheel and spring out of it with fire on his palms, easy as breathing.
“Why does it look better on you than me?” Minghao whines, joking and not joking at the same time. Junhui laughs.
“It’s my rugged good looks,” he says, and Minghao’s eyes dart to the collar newly clasped at the base of his throat. “Keep up, Haohao.”
Minghao snorts, taking all the thoughts that are threatening to overwhelm his brain and shoving them in their own tiny compartments, to be dealt with never. “I’m gonna—” he says, pointing to the bathroom and hoping Junhui will finish the rest of the sentence on his own, before he slips inside.
Minghao digs the palm of his hands into his eyes and looks into the mirror at his own reflection. He’s glad Junhui didn’t follow him inside—he’s not sure he could’ve handled the image of the two of them standing side by side, dressed in the colors of his childhood, and not wonder what could’ve been in another lifetime. He allows himself another minute to stare at his reflection—at the clothes that feel so familiar but look so foreign on him, halfway between pure Fire Nation and imposter like he’s a stranger in his own skin—long enough that he’s not sure exactly what he is anymore. He tears his eyes away, reminding himself of what he came in here to find.
The cosmetics are in a drawer below the sink, and Minghao finds a powder that looks like it could cover Junhui’s tattoos. He dabs some on his own face, rubbing it into a mole, and hums when it blends in with the rest of his skin.
When he heads back into the bedroom, Junhui stands with his elbows resting on the windowsill, looking out at the view. “It’s nice here,” he says, before Minghao has the chance to say anything. “Scenic view, perfect weather. But a little lonely, right?”
“My parents preferred it that way,” says Minghao. “They wanted a break from all the chaos of the mainland. People can’t piss you off if they’re not around.”
Junhui laughs again. Minghao can’t stop looking at the choker on his neck, the pendant of his family’s crest sitting at the base of his throat. Does he even know what it means? “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, then.”
Minghao shrugs. “I guess. It’s a good hideout now, at least.”
There’s a gentle breeze flowing in through the window, and it ruffles Junhui’s hair, soft strands fanning over his forehead. This is a place to be alone, to heal, but it is not the same as being home. There is a lesson Minghao learned very quickly when he was thirteen, and it is this: a house cannot be a home if there are no people in it. Healing can happen away from home but it does not truly finish until you are home.
Minghao has an idea of what home looks like, but he’s not there yet—doesn’t know if he’ll ever be. There are some things you have to sacrifice in exchange for bearing the fate of the entire world on your shoulders, because you cannot carry everything.
“Here,” he says, holding up the compact. “Let me cover up your tattoos.”
It is a necessary evil. As comfortable as Junhui looks in firebender clothing, he is an airbender through and through. It feels like a crime to strip away that part of his identity, as temporary as it may be. Minghao chants silent apologies in his head as he pats the powder on Junhui’s arms, his legs, his forehead.
When he’s finished covering up the last of Junhui’s tattoos, he steps away to observe his work. Junhui twists his arms, marveling at the skin. “It’s like they were never there to begin with,” he says. Minghao doesn’t know how to feel about it.
So he says, “You’d blend in pretty well now.”
Junhui looks him up and down, says, “You would too.” Minghao doesn’t know how to feel about that, either.
“That’s the dumbest idea you’ve had yet,” says Wonwoo, when Minghao and Junhui make their way back into the living room.
“Do you ever get tired having that stick up your ass?” Soonyoung fires back.
Minghao shoots a questioning look at Joshua, who just shrugs.
“Soonyoung wants to go to the beach,” he explains. “Wonwoo thinks we shouldn’t.”
“That’s because Wonwoo hates fun,” says Soonyoung, crossing his arms.
“Shut up,” Wonwoo tells him, before turning to Minghao. “I think it’s too risky. If someone finds out we’re not from the Fire Nation—”
Soonyoung slaps him on the shoulder. “Relax, will you?” he says, scowling. “No one’s gonna find out. We look like dumbass Fire Nation teenagers already.”
They really do, dressed in traditional Ember Island leisure clothing. Soonyoung looks the part already, springy and light on his feet, and Wonwoo’s frame has always been on the slender side for an earthbender.
“I still think it’s a bad idea,” says Wonwoo.
“I think it’ll be fine,” Joshua chimes in. “As long as everyone’s careful. We could even keep our ears out for any intel.”
“See,” says Soonyoung, prodding Wonwoo in the side with his elbow. “We can have fun and do recon at the same time. Lighten up, Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo looks at Minghao to back him up. but Minghao just shrugs. Wonwoo sighs.
“Beach it is, then.”
“I hate sand,” Wonwoo mumbles as he and Minghao pad along the beach.
The other three had gone running for the ocean as soon as it was in sight. Minghao walks along leisurely, relishing the feeling of the sand slipping in between his toes. It’s soft and pleasantly warm on the cracked soles of his feet—comforting, in a way. He hums in surprise. “Really?”
“Mhm.” Wonwoo kicks at the sand, scowling as it flies up. “It’s too soft. Not stable enough to bend. I imagine it’d feel more like waterbending than earthbending, considering how small and fluid the particles are, but I wouldn’t have any experience with that.”
Minghao looks out at the shoreline. His eyes catch on Joshua standing with his legs in the water, looking at peace, before they shift over to where Junhui and Soonyoung are splashing each other. The sea spray catches the sunlight and reflects it out, and if he looks for long enough it lights up Junhui’s whole face, glimmering. “You could ask Joshua.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin describing it,” says Wonwoo. Minghao looks over at him, but Wonwoo’s gaze is already trained on the shoreline where Minghao had been looking just moments before. His eyes soften. “They look happy.”
Junhui’s smile is brilliant, and Minghao feels the corners of his own mouth tugging up in response. “I’m glad they’re enjoying it. Moments like these are hard to come by these days.”
“I hope you’re happy too sometimes, Minghao,” says Wonwoo, light. “Sometimes I think you get so wrapped up in being the Avatar that you forget you’re also just a kid.”
Minghao pauses to digest that, feeling like he’s been hit out of left field. “Aren’t you only a year older than me?” he chooses to say.
Wonwoo shrugs. “Maybe so.” His eyes narrow, and Minghao follows his gaze to where Soonyoung is jumping up and down, waving his arms and yelling something unintelligible. Wonwoo’s expression morphs into something that Minghao can’t really pin down, can only call ‘exasperated fondness.’ “I can’t hear a single thing you’re saying,” he yells back, before he takes off, kicking up sand behind him.
Minghao watches him go, meeting eyes with Junhui. Junhui laughs, eyes curving into smiley crescents, and even though the wind carries the sound away from him Minghao can feel its warmth anyways.
By virtue of his sheer athleticism, Soonyoung manages to join a random group of Fire Nation kids playing kuai ball and leads his team to victory in his first ever match. He’s not even breaking a sweat when Minghao finds him, but the rest of his team looks absolutely winded.
Junhui’s hot on Minghao’s heels, clothes drenched from when he’d been tormenting Minghao in the water. He throws his arms around Minghao’s waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder, and Minghao yelps when he can feel the water soaking into his own clothes. Junhui’s grip is like iron—Minghao tries to wriggle out of his arms for a minute before giving up and resigning himself to his fate.
“That was insane,” says one of the boys on Soonyoung’s team, eyes actually twinkling with admiration. “What’d you say your name was again?”
“Hoshi,” Soonyoung says proudly, blinking when he finally notices Minghao and Junhui. “And these are my friends.”
“What are their names?”
Minghao freezes, racking his brain for a fake name, but Soonyoung swoops in before he blurts out something stupid. “They’re Moon and Eight,” he says, pointing at Junhui and Minghao in turn. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have trusted Soonyoung to come up with anything smart either.
“Moon and Eight?” says the boy, squinting at them. “Those are your real names?”
“They’re religious names,” Minghao says at the same time Junhui says, “Our parents were hippies.”
“So which one is it?”
Minghao exchanges a glance with Junhui. “Our parents were very devout hippies,” he lies.
Luckily, the boy doesn’t press it. “These your friends too?” he asks, when Wonwoo and Joshua finally catch up.
“That one is,” says Soonyoung, pointing at Joshua. “The other one’s just a loser who decided to tag along with us and we can’t get him to leave us alone.”
“I swear to god, S—”
“What did I say, William?” says Soonyoung, cutting him off. “Losers don’t get speaking rights. Right, Zhixiu?” he says, with a pointed look at Joshua.
Joshua blinks. “Uh, I guess.”
Soonyoung clears his throat. “Anyways, I was just introducing Moon and Eight to…”
“Seokmin!” the boy offers, grinning. “Your guy Hoshi here’s a natural at kuai ball,” he says, slinging an arm over Soonyoung’s shoulder. Soonyoung doesn’t seem taken aback by the sudden familiarity—if anything, he even leans into it, grinning.
Reflexively, Minghao looks over at Wonwoo. For a moment, Wonwoo’s eyes flash with something that could only be described as hostility, before it melts back into cool indifference. “Nice to meet you,” he says. Minghao doesn’t know how he manages to make it sound like a threat.
Seokmin doesn’t even notice. “You think your friends might be as good as you at kuai ball?” he asks Soonyoung, eyes glued to his face like he can’t bear to look away from him.
Soonyoung shrugs. “Eight, maybe. He’s pretty bouncy. Why, you wanna play another round?”
“Ah, not today,” says Seokmin, pouting. It’s kind of cute. “I gotta go now, but if you’re free tomorrow we can totally play another game!”
“Aw, so soon?” asks Soonyoung. “We just met, too. Where are you in such a rush to get to?”
“My friend Mingyu’s throwing a party at his house while his parents are away. Starts at dusk, but I gotta go over early to help him set up,” says Seokmin, suddenly beaming again. Man, this guy really is cute. “Actually, you guys wanna come? Mingyu gets kinda touchy when strangers come over because last time someone broke a super expensive vase and he got yelled at for it, but you guys seem cool. I’m sure he’d be okay with it.”
Soonyoung perks up. “Oh, that sounds—”
“We’ll think about it,” says Wonwoo, terse.
“He wasn’t asking you, William,” Soonyoung snaps.
“We’ll have to see if we have time,” Minghao says diplomatically, stepping in before Wonwoo and Soonyoung can actually start fighting. “But it sounds like it’d be fun.”
“Ah, okay,” says Seokmin, grin tempered with slight uncertainty. Minghao understands—Soonyoung and Wonwoo get on like a house on fire, emphasis on the fire. “I’ll give you the address just in case, then?”
He points Minghao in the general direction of this Mingyu’s house before saying goodbye to the rest of them, spending a little longer smiling at Soonyoung than the rest of them. His hand drags up Soonyoung’s arm as he starts to walk away, and he walks backward to wherever he’s going so he and Soonyoung can keep waving at each other, grinning like twin idiots.
For just the briefest moment, there’s a ripple in the sand, so quick Minghao almost thinks he imagines it. Seokmin trips as he’s walking, falling down onto the ground, and Soonyoung hisses in sympathy.
Minghao glances at Wonwoo. Wonwoo looks back. “Not a word,” he says, before he stalks off in the direction of their beach house.
The grand story arc of Minghao’s life goes like this: his parents die, he finds out he’s the Avatar, he defeats the Fire Lord, and he saves the world. In the stories they will tell about him long after he’s gone, his friends will likely only be a brief mention in the long epic of his pursuits. Wen Junhui taught him airbending, Joshua Hong taught him waterbending, Jeon Wonwoo taught him earthbending after a long, long struggle with himself. He doesn’t know if Soonyoung will even merit an aside—the things Soonyoung’s taught him are not tangible or quantifiable.
That is how history will see it, but it’s not exactly fair or accurate. His friends have never been mere stepping stones to his destiny, and Wen Junhui is so much more than his airbending teacher.
Minghao meets Kwon Soonyoung and Jeon Wonwoo when he’s fifteen, after a scuffle where Wonwoo’s parents learn he’s brawling in underground earthbending tournaments instead of studying to be the proper gentleman they want him to be. They blame it on Soonyoung, Wonwoo’s best friend from school, who has never professed to be a gentleman or pretended he had any interest in becoming one. It’s a whole mess.
At the time, it was a pretty big thing, occupying all of Minghao’s brainspace for the next few weeks in his excitement to finally learn earthbending. In hindsight, that’s not the most important part. That comes later, when they set up camp for the night and Minghao watches Soonyoung and Wonwoo retreat into the same tent together.
“They like each other,” says Junhui, after everyone’s settled down for the night. He’s lying down on his sleeping roll and looking up at the stars. He’s always preferred sleeping out in the open, unrestrained by fabric confines. Minghao’s taken to joining him ever since they met—it’s become a habit now.
“Well, they said they were friends, right?” asks Minghao, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Junhui. It’s hard to see anything in the dark, but Junhui’s eyes are unnaturally bright. “Shouldn’t that be a given?”
“Not like that,” says Junhui. “Like, like like.”
It takes a moment for it to click in his head. “What are you, five?” says Minghao, laughing when Junhui reaches out to push him off balance. They giggle for a bit before Minghao realizes that they’re probably disturbing the others and shushes Junhui. “How can you tell?” he asks, serious.
Junhui shrugs as well as he can while lying down. “I don’t really know. It’s just in the way they look at each other, I guess. Like there’s no one they’d rather be with. Like they’re okay with coming with us on this crazy joyride around the world as long as they have each other.”
“Huh,” says Minghao. Junhui shrugs again.
“Like I said, I don’t really know,” he says, rolling over onto his side. “You kinda just have to see it for yourself. Goodnight, Minghao.”
“Goodnight, Junhui,” Minghao echoes, lying down next to him on his own bedroll. Soon, the sounds of Junhui softly snoring fill the air, but Minghao’s still staring up at the sky. It’s probably for the best that he’s already gone to sleep—Minghao doesn’t know what he’d do if Junhui were awake and Minghao asked the question sitting on the tip of his tongue.
How can that be, when I look at you the same way?
In the end, it’s Joshua who ends up being the reason they go to the party. Minghao thinks it’s because he’s repressed from never having fun during his childhood, but no one can say no to him when his eyes are sparkling with excitement like that, not even Jeon Wonwoo.
The party is already booming when they get there, the ground floor crammed with people eating, talking, swirling their drinks in their hands and laughing. Apparently Seokmin has a penchant for inviting anyone he deems “cool,” much to Mingyu’s displeasure.
Mingyu, Minghao finds out when Seokmin introduces them, is tall, and handsome, and “somewhat of a firebending prodigy,” says Seokmin, rubbing Mingyu’s bicep. He raises his eyebrows suggestively and looks directly at Minghao when he says that, for some unknown reason that Minghao can’t seem to figure out. He pulls Soonyoung away with him to the refreshments table, a disgruntled Wonwoo looking like he’s barely restraining himself from going after them. As more people come into the house and the crowd sweeps the rest of his friends away, Minghao finds himself alone with Mingyu in a corner of the room.
“Shouldn’t the host be out there mingling with his guests?” asks Minghao, amused.
“Nah, it’s okay,” says Mingyu, laughing. “They’ll all be fine without me. I don’t even really know or like many of these people, anyways, but they bring good food and drinks so I can’t argue too much.”
“I hope I’m not monopolizing too much of your time then.”
“I’m all yours,” says Mingyu, winking at him, and it sends a small thrill down Minghao’s spine. He’s not used to being flirted with—most of the people he meets are more concerned with trying to capture or kill him—but he can’t say it’s not nice. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Eight,” says Minghao, already committed to the fake name Soonyoung had given him. “But you can call me… Akihiro.”
“Akihiro,” says Mingyu, rolling the syllables around in his mouth with such a reverent sound that Minghao almost wishes it was his actual name. “Cute. Is that a nickname or something?”
“Something like that.”
“Seokmin says you’re the only firebender in your group of friends,” says Mingyu. “That’s kinda rare, isn’t it?”
How much has Soonyoung told this guy already? Minghao confirms it with a nod.
“And you’ve been traveling all over the country like that?” Another nod. “Wow, you must be a pretty good firebender if you’ve been responsible for them all this time.”
“Ah, I’m just alright,” says Minghao, biting back a laugh. “The others can hold their own pretty well.”
“I get the feeling you’re better than you say you are,” says Mingyu, a knowing look in his eye. Minghao can’t tell if he’s still flirting or if he’s starting to catch on, but the desire for the former is starting to outweigh his fear of the latter. “You should show me sometime. We can spar a bit.”
Minghao laughs. “We just met and you’re already trying to challenge me to a duel?”
“Not a full-blown Agni Kai!” Mingyu is quick to assure him, smiling. He rests a gentle hand on Minghao’s shoulder, and the touch is light but it feels so heavy, taking up all of Minghao’s attention. “But I’d love to learn some tips and tricks from you.”
“If anything, it’ll be the other way around,” says Minghao. “Didn’t your friend say you were a prodigy?”
“Oh, Seokminnie was just exaggerating,” says Mingyu. The crowd shifts and swells around them, and Minghao finds himself stepping closer to Mingyu to avoid bumping into anyone. Minghao’s not short by any means, but Mingyu is really tall, the difference in their heights noticeable as Minghao tilts his head up to maintain eye contact. It’s oddly comforting—like he could make Minghao feel safe in his arms. “He just likes to talk me up to cute boys.”
“What a good friend,” says Minghao. Mingyu steps just the slightest bit closer, and the hand on Minghao’s shoulder drops down to his arm. “And do I count as one of those?”
Mingyu laughs, and the sound is low and warm, burrowing into Minghao's ribs and pooling in his stomach. “Have you ever seen yourself in the mirror?” he asks. “Akihiro—” and Minghao suppresses a flinch at the name that’s not real, at the realization that none of this is real, just a passing flight of fancy— “you’re the cutest boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Mingyu is nice, Minghao thinks in the back of his mind, feeling as if he’s watching his body move from the outside. Mingyu is sweet, and doesn’t deserve to be used by Minghao for a night of escapism when Minghao is aware that nothing can come out of this, the two of them. Minghao doesn’t deserve to be deluded by himself into thinking he can want things that he can never have. When Mingyu leans in, dipping his head to meet him, Minghao steps away.
“I have to go,” he says, smiling apologetically. “I think one of my friends is calling for me, and you don’t want to see what they’re like when they get drunk.”
Mingyu’s face falls visibly, and Minghao’s heart clenches with guilt inside his chest. “I guess you better go save them then,” he says, smiling again—not as bright as before, but still a smile. He’s really too sweet for his own good.
Minghao smiles, pained, and turns to leave.
“Wait, Akihiro!” Mingyu calls, and then there’s a hand circled around his wrist, catching him before he can flee. Minghao twists his head back, meeting Mingyu’s pleading eyes. “Come find me later, alright?”
“Okay,” Minghao lies.
Mingyu lets go of his wrist, placated, and waves goodbye. Minghao slips into the crowd, making his way through the room and away from cute, nice boys that he could hurt.
The house is huge—Mingyu’s parents must really be rich. Minghao pushes through groups of people, no destination in mind but away, and finds himself on a balcony overlooking the beach. Despite how nice the weather is, it’s empty, except for one person standing by the railing.
Junhui turns to look at him before he can even walk up to him, as if attuned to his presence. He swirls the plastic cup in his hand mindlessly, the lazy smile on his face bright in the darkness. “Having fun?”
No. “Yeah,” says Minghao, joining him by the railing. The reflection of the moon shimmers on the waves, perfect circle forming and deforming with the ripples of the water. “Where are the others?”
Junhui shrugs, the cup dangling from his hand like he’s about to drop it. “Haven’t seen them all night.”
His speech is just slightly slurred, slower than normal, and the realization that this is Junhui when he’s tipsy slams into Minghao like a slab of earth. “And you’ve been out here all by yourself the entire time?”
“Sure have, Eight,” Junhui drawls.
“Don’t.”
Junhui turns to look at him, eyes hooded with drowsiness. “Hmm?”
“Don’t call me that,” says Minghao. “It’s just us out here.”
“Okay, Haohao,” Junhui says happily. He holds out the cup in a sudden raise of his arm, liquid sloshing out the sides. Minghao takes it from him without thinking. “Want some?”
No. “Okay,” says Minghao, and tips some of the liquid into his mouth. It burns as it goes down, scorching the inside of his throat, and Minghao scrunches his face up. “God, what is this?”
“No idea, it was just sitting there on the drinks table. It smells awful, doesn’t it?” Junhui crows, sounding elated about it.
“Absolutely disgusting,” Minghao agrees. That sets Junhui off into a bout of giggles, and after a while Minghao starts laughing too.
Junhui always looks beautiful, but especially like this—silhouetted by the light of the moon, face open with laughter. Junhui, more than anyone, deserves to experience the simple joys of being alive. It makes something twist in Minghao’s chest, tight and painful.
“Man,” Junhui wheezes, trying to regulate his breathing after he’d started choking on his own laughter. “It’s good to be like this sometimes, right? Like we’re just dumb teenagers messing around at a party. No,” he waves a hand idly, “Fire Lord chasing us down, no wars we have to stop. Only threat here is that I might have a hangover tomorrow.”
God, he’s drunker than Minghao thought. “How much of this did you have?” he asks, giving the cup a little shake.
“Only one cup,” Junhui whines, with an extra wheedle to his voice that means he’s lying. “But it’s nice, right?”
“What is?”
“Feeling like you’re on top of the world,” says Junhui, flinging his arms out wide. There’s a glint in his eye, like he’d suddenly sobered up from the bite of the windchill. “Like everything is yours, if you want it.”
Minghao would give him everything, if he could. Junhui looks out at the ocean, profile cast in a pale glow by the moon, and he’s right in front of Minghao but he feels so far away. Minghao’s scared that if he reaches out for him, Junhui will only recede further, a back disappearing in a sea of fog. The desire he’s pushed down for so long has become insidious, spreading its ugly tendrils through the rest of his body and closing around his neck. Helpless, he can only stare.
Minghao is the most powerful person in the world, but there are some things, he knows, watching the line of Junhui’s back as he turns to face the moon, that even he can’t have.