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Zuko liked being alone. Being alone meant not having to control his temper, nor make awkward attempts of conversation. It also meant he could sulk and sink in his self-pity without being bothered about it.
Zuko loved being alone; and that was the main reason he looked forward to the following month. Sokka had gotten a notification for him to travel to the other side of the country to do Agni knows what and he would have to stay there and oversee the project for a whole month. Although, knowing that Suki conveniently also was going to be missing for most part of said month, Zuko suspected they were investing themselves more on a vacation than on actual work.
It wasn’t like he wanted them to leave, not quite. He liked his roommate, his commadrie; and got to know his girlfriend well the past years as well(even if he couldn’t quite understand how she could stand with Sokka’s silliness all the time). He appreciated, even loved, his friends . There was a time when that word wouldn’t even cross his thoughts, the prospect of having friends; but after his father finally got tired of him and he could finally expand his wings and fly out to the world he found himself surrounded by the strangest, most goofy group of people and he couldn’t be more grateful.
—— His father’s final straw being not wanting to pursue a degree in law, and instead leaning to the engineering and coding side of the world.
He couldn’t phantom why, really. Their family business —although presumably corrupted and supported by suspicious funding— was mainly based on technology and communications. It wouldn’t be difficult for Zuko to be part of the informatic team and keep helping the company grow larger. But now, that spot belonged to his sister, apparently; and Zuko couldn’t even dream of being nothing similar to her. She was the perfect child: reserved, frivolous, and deadly cunning . She knew when to raise her voice and when to remain quiet, an ability that Zuko lacked, and which remainder was forever imprinted on the left side of his face since his last conversation with his father.
And even if he loved his friends — deeply, truly —, he needed his time alone. Just as he did when he was marked, banished. Just as he did when he pushed his uncle away, even if he regretted immediately. Even if he still regretted although he had long forgiven him.
Sokka knew, and that was what mattered. He wouldn’t bother to tell him if he didn’t know the boy at all. After five years of friendship —nearly six—, he knew Sokka wouldn’t let him go in his sulking peacingly if he didn’t give him a good reason for.
And he had a goddamned good reason .
Even after almost seven years, his father would find him and ruined him if he had the chance. He didn’t need to do anything, this time. Just exist, apparently.
Something about her sister dropping from his company, something about her being determined to reappear their relationship and run away from their hideous father.
—— He had poisoned her mind, he had said in that stupid and forever-engraved-in-his-brain voice message. He had made her weak . How ; Zuko wanted to ask. How did he have something with anything her sister did, when he hadn’t spoken to her in years? How, when both his father and his legal firm made it perfectly clear that he could not dare to reach anyone from his past . Like he wanted to, anyway.
But it wasn’t his accusations that made Zuko want to scream until his lungs burned, to break every reflecting surface that reminded him of what he’d see everyday plastered on his face. It was the fact he had dinamitated his career in the majority of companies in the country, the ones that mattered anyway.
Surprisingly, his sister did come to his rescue this time. Surprisingly she had held to him an olive branch and promised, for him and for herself, to win the battle against their father and regain what was legitly theirs. Their honor , she joked.
But even if she gave him something to hope for, he had a right to sulk for a while in the meantime. He had earned that much.
So that’s why he beamed for that month alone. To sulk, to be angry. To cry even if he wanted to. Just him, his thoughts and a thousand ideas of how to assassinate his father in cold blood. All being left alone from his friends, all by himself; so he could collect the pieces of himself before they even noticed something was wrong.
He wouldn’t have that luck , apparently.
He growled when he heard the doorbell ring, from his place sprawled on the couch. He growled in his way to the door too, not bothering to cover up his half naked body —just a pair of boxers on him and the undershirt he used to sleep— when he opened the door, ready to shout at whoever dared to disturb his depressing morning hours when his jaw nearly draw at the sight.
Whoever he may have expected at the other side of the doorframe, she wasn’t.
“ Hi Zuko! ” Katara said in a chirping voice, a wide smile drawn in her face.
His mouth opened to say something, then closed, then opened again.
He was sure he may resemble a fish out of water, desperately trying to breathe; but he couldn’t help it, no sound came out at the sight of the girl on his doormat.
Katara, his roommate’s sister.
Katara, one of his closest friends, his best friend even if it wasn’t for Sokka.
Katara, that was supposed to be all the way north in the Northern Water Tribe district.
Katara, that had a suspicious and large bulge under her right arm. Was that a bag?
“ Can I come in? ” she asked, her smile faltered. His own face came to form a frown, while his brain still tried to process what the hell was going on.
He hadn’t seen Katara in ages, not since she had taken an internship in her pre-med studies to go north. If his calculus were right —and they were almost always right— her scholar year was still on.
And even if he’s always loved to see her, even if he wanted nothing more than embracing her in a bone crushing hug; he stopped himself. Under other circumstances; yes, he would .
“ Sokka is not here .” was what he did instead.
“ I know .” she said, the smile this time returning, although with a different light, almost mischievously.
“ You know. ” he deadpanned. “ And you’re still here. ” he continued, his frown deepening. “ Shouldn’t you be on the North Pole? ”
“ Oh, that. I finished early ” Was that even possible? Zuko thought. But Katara can’t lie, she was terribly at it. He would press for details later, surely; but right now all he wanted to know was what the hell was she doing here, right now and why the Gods hated him so much .
“ Sokka won’t be here in a while .” he said instead.
“ I know that too .”
“ Then why-- what are you doing here, Katara? ” he asked, defeated. He knew he should never have gotten up from bed.
“ I wanted to see my best friend, silly .” she smirked.
“ Katara .”
“ What .” she responded nonchantaly.
“ What are you doing here, really ? ” he repeated, accentuating his last word.
Maybe it was the look on his eyes, or the way he strongly gripped the doorframe to get his temper at bay; but whatever it was seemed to do the trick and Katara deflected.
“Okay, okay. I wanted to check on you.” she shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek like she always does when she was nervous. “Sokka said you were down. Especially down, not like usual ‘Zuko-down’. I got worried.”
“ He told you!? ” he yelped, and before he could be embarrassed about how childish his voice came out he made a mental note to aniquilate Sokka once he came back.
“ He didn’t want to! Okay? I may have pushed him… to tell me. You know how I am. ” she shrugged again, this time dropping her gaze to her feets. “ I would never turn my back on people who need me, Zuko. And you do-- need me, that’s it. Not me, in particular. But a friend, clearly. Even if you so stubbornly think you don’t, I’m not leaving. ” she raised her eyes again, determination flaring in the blues of her irises. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow, her whole posture fierce and daring him to even try stopping her. “ Well, can I come in now or what? ”
He complied and, once he closed the door behind his back decided he wasn’t going to be controlled by her. He appreciated the effort, he really did, but she had just burst his private bubble of self destruction and he didn’t like that. He had earned his sulking month. He deserved it.
He thought he could manage her presence, even if the sight of her made his skin boil and his insides warm. Just as they did a long time ago.
She had changed in their time apart. Barely and small changes here and there, but the blend of them all made her even more beautiful than before. Not just beautiful, outstanding .
But he wouldn’t be controlled by those stupid sensations, or by the way his body seemed to be electrify when her hand barely touched his.
He had a crush on her once before, many-many years ago. He had a stupid and tremendous crush on the sister of the only friend he had ever had. But it was futile, it went away. Or so he thought.
He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he would not be besten by a stupid crush.
He would survive whatever days she had decided to stay and crush in his bubble and then let the fluttering butterflies of his stomach die again undisturbed.
He had just to wait for a few, and he would be calm and sulking once again.
Or so he thought.
It goes like this
Everyday, every morning; he would wake up and get to the kitchen.
Then, a few hours after, she would wake up and do the same. At that time, Zuko would already be on the couch, staring at nothing on the television while he left his inner turmoil to consume him.
Sometimes he would even stare at his phone, at his sister's contact, trying to master the courage to call her and being there for her just as she tried to be there for him before.
Whatever he may be doing —or not doing at all—, she would then crash next to him on the couch, take the remote from wherever he left it laying and turn off the screen. She would star bittering and chatting until he’d gave in and started talking too, and then she’d convinced him —or forcing— to do some short of stupid activity.
A week into her stay; she had seemed to have picken his schedule, waking up barely minutes after him. She had also seemed to improve his confidence around the apartment, as Zuko nearly crashed with her, just on his underwear as he didn’t expect her to be awake yet, and had to brace himself on the counter to avoid sending both of them tripping onto the floor.
But when he raised his eyes to her figure, he wished to have something more than the counter to lean on.
She was narrowly awake, that much was obvious on the way her eyes were blurred and she fought to suppress a yawn. But she hadn’t just got up from bed either, if her dripping hair was any indication.
What nearly made Zuko was another thing altogether.
It wasn’t her chirping “ Mornin’, Zuko! ”, far too energetic for someone that looked like she could fall back to sleep at any minute. It wasn’t the way her lips curled in a little smile just for him, even if the butterflies of his stomach seemed to differ.
No. What made Zuko’s brain go completely ballistic was the red clothing enveloping her body. His robe. The very same rope his uncle gifted him from one of his latest birthdays.
Although his uncle was the last thought in his mind at the sight in front of him.
She looks good in red , he thought. Followed by a ‘ She looks good in your clothes, too ’.
Those were the last coherent thoughts in his mind, whatsoever.
If she noticed the way his cheeks burned or how his lungs had seemed to forget how to do their job; she didn’t comment on it.
He stomped to his room shortly after, his steaming coffee cup still in hand.
He woke up an hour early from that day on; and after the initial awkwardness he couldn’t shake off when interacting with her, they soon found themselves in sync once again.
(If he noticed how her eyes lit up the slightest when she surprised him while his shirt wasn’t still on, he didn’t comment. It seemed the least to do after her silence with the robe incident .)
Things slowly settled down between the both of them, founding some common grounding and a surprisingly calm and understanding.
If Zuko didn’t want her to stay when she first crossed his doorstep, after a week and a half he wasn’t so sure what he would do without her.
He didn’t know when things started to change between them, really. He just knew that one night, at one moment; he found himself with his arms and lap full of Katara, her breathing rhythmically slowing down while her eyelids started to flutter; the movie they had chosen long ignored by the brunette. If she felt the way his heart erratically beated inside his chest like some caged animal, where her cheek rested, she didn’t say.
It should have been an isolated incident. Zuko knew it. As long as he wanted, deep down — or maybe not that deep —, to be something more, to mean something more. But he was not delusional, and he knew he would never —in his entire existence— be nothing more to her. He was lucky enough that they got over their rocky past and became friends. He wasn’t going to hope something good like that could happen to him.
Because that was Katara, a force of nature. A stubborn and fierce little thing, with the force of the ocean itself if you dared to make her angry or cross any of her loved ones; but utterly good and compassionate and understanding .
But against better predicament or judgment, it kept happening; and the butterflies in his stomach, the waves of electricity that course through his veins all because of her, only kept increasing their force.
There were smaller incidents; like the long lasting looks Zuko would give Katara from time to time when she chose to steal his robe again, or as a direct attack to his poor mismatched beating heart, his shirts . Long enough for Zuko to be embarrassed, but not long enough for her to notice —or so he hoped—.
There were milder incidents; like the one in the couch, which has repeated almost every single night of their movie ‘dates’, like Katara liked to call them (if she only knew how his lungs skipped a breath every time she pronounced that cursed word). Or some ones where they had ended up sleeping next to each other and waking the next morning in a tangle of limbs, neither of them quite knowing how they ended up there.
There was an incident, whatsoever, that wasn’t small , neither was it milder.
That was an incident that turn his world upside down, set up the butterflies of his chest free and burned every breathe his lungs dare to take from that moment to the present.
It started innocent, really.
Just a couple of friends laughing, celebrating.
Not ending up killing each other during that month, a shot. Katara finally cheering Zuko up and breaking him out from his sulking bubble, another shot.
More shots and glasses followed, the cheap whiskey bottle they had decided to buy to wave off Katara’s last night on his apartment half empty at that time.
More jokes and laughter, too.
And then . . . —then they were suddenly close, too close , and Katara’s breath was tingling against his lips; and she smelt like fruits, and vanila, and whiskey . He didn’t know when they got that close, nor how they did in the first place. He didn’t care either (and he knew he should; he should care and should move and should put some distance between their faces and bodies because she was his friend, and she didn’t want him --not like he wanted her at least; but he was a weak person, he has always been ).
And after . . .--it all happened in the blink of an eye; her arms around his neck, his anchored on her hips. His lips rough against the soft of hers; his tongue caressing, battling, melting against hers.
And just as it started —suddenly, fast, in a second —; it ended; leaving the pair flustered and breathless. And just as the moment was created, it was broken.
And just as they once were close —the closest—, now they jumped from each other's embrace and muttered words fastly while they retrieved to their rooms in an attempt to forget what just happened. Zuko didn’t forget, how could he?
She had left the next morning, just as her brother arrived.
He hadn’t dared to get out of his room, and she hadn’t dared to ask for him to do it.
A week has passed since.
* * *
They had kissed ; barely a week ago.
She had kissed Zuko , or maybe he kissed her; she didn’t know. She didn’t care either.
What she did care is how she had acted like a scared child, running from him the moment their lips broke apart. Running away from the apartment without daring to say a word to him.
She had slipped, she knew.
She should have controlled her feelings, kept them at bay; but the dim light and the burning whiskey gave her the courage she hadn’t had during the last couple of years.
She thought he wanted her too, that ; just as much as she had wanted it, just as long too.
But seeing his face after, the shock on his factions; she had been wrong.
Or so she thought, until her brother called.
“Katara!”
“Yes? Sokka?”
“What the hell happened last week?” he asked through the phone, his words slurring just a little.
“Are you drunk!?”
“Not important.” a hiccup. “Seriously though, what did you do? You’ve broken the guy.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” and then it hit her. “ Wait, are you talking about Zuko?”
“ ‘Ssup!”
“What about him?” she asked, trying to forget her brother's words ( you’ve broken him ), trying to quiet her own memories of his shocked face, the feeling of his lips on hers.
“I called you so you could help him, cheer him up! ” he shouted, making Katara nearly drop his phone. “ And I don’t know what you’ve done, but you made it worse!”
“What?”
“You made him sulkier, Kata-ra… ” he said in the middle of another hiccup.
“ Sokka, where are you? Is he with you?”
“Zuko? No! He barely left the house all week. You broooooke him .” he screamed again; this time Katara did separate the phone from her ear.
She didn’t even bother answering her brother, who was chatting to someone on what she assumed was a bar or some kind of pub, their phone call forgotten.
She hanged up on him and hurriedly searched through her chats, pausing briefly to control somo of her nerves before she clicked on his name and started texting.
[Today: 23:40]
Katara: Hey!
Katara: how are you?
A couple of minutes passed without answer and Katara was about to drop her phone and drove her ass to his door when she heard the ‘ clink ’ that signilised his response.
[Today 23:43]
Zuko: I’m fine
She bit her lower lip, then continued.
Katara: are you sure?
Zuko: yeah I said I’m fine, didn't I?
Katara: you’re obvsly not fine
Katara: please zuko
She waited for him to answer, but he still left her on ‘seen’.
She didn’t care about the way she made her feel anymore, not at that moment. At that moment the only thing she cared about was the strangled feeling in her chest knowing he wasn’t okay at all. And that he didn’t trust her. And another thousand dangerous and dark thoughts.
Katara: don’t lie to me, Zuko!
Katara: just…
Katara: just tell me the truth
Katara: please
The double blue tick appeared again next to her messages, and she was just about to scream her frustration against her nearer pillow when a new notification bloomed on her screen. Followed by another couple, fast as lighting.
Zuko: the truth!?
Zuko: you want the truth?
Zuko: the truth is miss you, okay? I fucking miss you
Zuko: and I can’t stop thinking about the kiss, and how much I want to kiss you again and then how you didn’t wanted it
Zuko: me
Zuko: the truth is I fucked up our friendship just for being weak
* * *
He shouldn’t have answered.
He shouldn’t have had picked the fucking phone in the first place.
And now. . ., now he had exploded to her —to the girl of his dreams— via message and dinamitated the last hope he could have about saving their friendship.
Minutes passed, then half an hour; and Zuko couldn’t stop looking at the blue ticks next to his messages. The way she wasn’t responding, and how he knew she wasn’t going to do it.
That’s it , he thought; you’re the greatest idiot in the world .
He was in the middle of his self pity party, his body half crouched on the couch and his phone still in hand when he heard the doorbell. Whoever it was, he wasn’t answering. He didn’t feel like moving.
He had just send a last message to Katara, hoping she at least tell him to fuck off . Something, anything. Not just leave him in fucking ‘read’.
He had just hit the button ‘sent’ when the knocking started again, this time more insistent.
He was about to lose his temper, scream at the top of his lungs to whoever the idiot at his doorstep was that he could shove it when the screen on his phone lit again, the message displayed on it sending Zuko’s brain short circuiting.
He didn’t hesitate, he practically jumped from the couch and ran to the door, nearly tripping on his way. He wasted less than two seconds in opening the door, his lungs breathing heavy.
The sight in front of him made him wonder if he had fallen asleep somehow and the last ten minutes hadn’t occurred.
Then, before he could say a thing; a lopsided smile formed on the girl’s face and her arms jumped to the front of his shirt, tugging him forward until his lips were on hers once again.
This time neither of them jumped afterwards. Neither did they stop there.
The screen on his phone was still lit with the last incoming message, the message that had made his heart jumped from his chest.
——. Katara : I’m sorry, Zuko. I’m so sorry you think that! Please open the door, I’m here. Come outside and kiss me.
Story inspired by this beautiful piece of art;
by @zk_dokies:
